Captain Han Solo of the Millennium Falcon didn't stick his neck out for anyone who didn't deserve it. Not the Navy, not the Empire, and definitely not the kriffing Hutts. But sometimes he ended up in situations where someone else did deserve it. That was how he'd been drummed out of the Navy, and how he ended up with a pair of Wookiee soulmates trying to mama-nerf him all the time.
It made him grumpy.
"Whaddaya mean, it's not medical equipment?!"
Garrawallooroo snarled, her tawny fur fluffed up in rage. Without waiting for a response, she raised her blaster rifle and straight up shot the electronic lock off one of the massive shipping containers.
Growling under his breath, Han stomped over and yanked the side door open. "Oh, that's just great. Fuck." Some contractor had offered them a hefty half-up-front sum to run medical supplies from Ryloth to a group of freedom fighters on Malastare. Maybe he should have been suspicious about the twenty-five thousand credit advance, but medical ryl and bacta were worth a fortune since the Empire had cornered the markets; paying haulers enough to not be tempted to sell the goods off was a common practice.
Chewbacca wasn't even listening; he was already ripping the next container open, while Garra went after the third. Four whole secure shipping crates, full of stun-cuffed, sedated Twi'leks, mostly teenagers. Han strapped on a respirator and edged between the floor-to ceiling racks of unconscious bodies to turn off the canister of coma gas bolted to the far wall. Maybe it wasn't the best idea - there were a dozen of 'em, per container, and the Falcon wasn't set up to take care of that many people - but he couldn't imagine a worse fate than waking up on an alien planet to unfriendly faces.
Chewie was waiting, arms folded stubbornly across his chest, when Han emerged. [[We're not taking them to Malastare.]]
As if that was even on the table anymore. "No we are fucking not. Get us back into realspace and find us a nice planet we can smuggle 'em onto. And I'll… I dunno. Figure out a cover story."
Han had a problem, the problem being that a good chunk of that up-front pay had already gone into repairs on the Falcon from their last blockade run, and Han was pretty sure the rest was about to go into bribes and a charitable donation. They wouldn't be able to pay the contractor back. Han really wanted to shoot the man, who'd sworn up and down that the only things that made this cargo illegal were the Imperial restrictions on medical supplies and the recipients being rebels. Something told Han the person waiting on Malastare was no rebel.
He retreated to his quarters and grabbed a pen. "I got a problem."
It took a few minutes before Sentra replied, "Did you take a spice job?"
"NO. Medical." When Han had started smuggling, Sentra had all but ordered him to stay away from spice, slaves, and the Hutts, and Han agreed. It meant they lost out on the high-paying jobs, but the risk of landing in Imperial jail was a lot lower. "But my contractor lied to me, and now I got cans full of sleeping kids in my hold. Thank fuck for Wookiee noses, but I can't just follow through on this now. But the credits already got used to fix my ship."
"Shit." There was a long moment of nothing, and Han cleared the marks from his arm to make room for whatever advice Sentra had to offer. "Okay, do you know who you're hauling for?"
"I wish, they're using sub-contractors." It wasn't an uncommon practice; if the smugglers got pulled over, the contractors would look like legitimate business-folk and protect the identity of the actual clients.
"Typical. What's the destination?"
"Malastare."
"The Imps have a base there. Say you got caught by the blockade and had to dump your cargo in the asteroid belt. Offer to work off the debt, or pay it back plus interest."
That was a lot of credits, and a twenty percent interest would make it even worse. But that was going to have to happen anyway. "They'll never buy that. Also, I have a reputation to maintain, what kinda smuggler gets caught by Imps?"
He could practically feel Sentra rolling his eyes. "What's more important: your rep, or a bunch of kids?"
"Sometimes I really hate you." He didn't. Sentra was the only real constant in his life; the man knew pretty much everything about Han, things he had a hard time even admitting to himself. They were practically brothers, despite never having met. "Right. Time to find a good place to take them, cus if I bring 'em back to Ryloth they'll just get sold again."
"Naboo has an asylum system. And a patrol, if you think you can handle that?" Sentra followed the message up with what looked like a comm code. Trust Han's soulmate to have a contact!
"You're the best!"
"I know."
"Chewie!" Han bellowed out the door. "Plot a course for Naboo!"
By the time they made dirtfall, the kids were all awake, if groggy, and Han's entire stash of ration bars had been depleted along with the Falcon's potable water reserves. Garra and Chewie had spent the last ten hours taking care of them while Han managed the legal stuff.
Sentra's contact was a taciturn human with the oh-so-real name of Greene. They showed up at the landing pad with a full medical team ready to help. Han waved the docs into the cargo hold on his way down the ramp.
"Few questions for you to answer on the record," Greene muttered, staring more at their datapad than anything else. "Refugees planet of origin?"
"Ryloth."
"How many?"
"Fifty-one." Three of them had been a shock: infants clinging to young adults who claimed responsibility for them.
Greene cursed softly. "Estimates on how long they were out?"
"Took the cargo on board two days ago. My crew sniffed something wrong not long after we entered hyperspace and cracked the cans. Best guess is two days at most." Coma gas had two real purposes: spy work and surgery. Keeping anyone under for more than four days with it would result in all sorts of nasty complications, most of which would make it painfully obvious the can wasn't carrying medical gear. "You wanna get someone to keep an eye on the babies-"
"Don't tell granny how to suck eggs," Greene said without looking up.
Han held up his hands defensively. "Okay, alright! I'm just worried about 'em."
He ended up donating a substantial chunk of what was left over from their initial payment to the refugees, and used the rest to restock everything. The Falcon was definitely not designed for fifty-four people.
Then he tried to think of how to salvage this. Neither the client nor their buyer would believe he dumped the cargo if they didn't make it onto Malastare. He tried a few scripts in his head.
"Hey, sorry we're late! There was an Imp patrol in the way-"
No.
"So I have good news and bad news. The bad news is, we had to jet the supplies. The good news is-"
No. Worse. But that did give him an idea. "Garra, did you keep that beacon we picked up on Lucazec?"
As soon as the Falcon was ready to fly again, he plotted the sort of course he would usually take for entering a blockaded system; whilst en route, the three of them shoved the empty cans as close as possible to the airlock and cleared everything else out of the forward hold.
Malastare was swarming with Imps. Perfect. Han grinned as he turned off the comm with its demands for identification and sent the Falcon into the mid-system asteroid field. "Pick a nice big one with lots of crannies, Chewie."
The intercom popped and Garra announced she was ready with the beacon. It wasn't anything special, just the sort of emergency buoy usually found on escape pods. This time, it was going in one of the cans. Han had been in the Navy long enough to learn that if a distress beacon didn't provide the right response when challenged, patrols had orders to destroy them; the result of one too many instances of rebels or pirates booby-trapping wrecks.
The chosen asteroid had next to no atmosphere. Garra activated the beacon, chucked it into the last open can, slammed it shut, and bolted for the door. Han pulled the switch to seal the hold and opened the airlock. With a screech that was more felt through the decking than heard, the negative pressure outside sucked all four cans into the dusty surface.
Han threw the airlock switch shut with a heavy clunk; a cloud of sparkly powder drifted to the floor in the hold. "We're done here, Chewie!"
The answering roar from the cockpit was almost lost in the sound of the engines firing up. The hard part was over; now they just had to get caught and hope the Imps were predictable.
"Look, no amount of expertise is gonna get you past the patrols a hundred percent of the time. Your buddy on Ryloth didn't tell me the Imps just set up a base here. You can't swing a tooka without hitting a TIE fighter right now."
The client's buyer, a skinny little man with the second-worst haircut Han had ever seen (the winner of that competition was General Tagge), glared up at him. "I don't care, Captain. Where's my cargo?"
Han smirked and gestured to Garra, who held up a datapad and activated the holoprojector. "Lucky you, I was thinking ahead and hid it-"
"In the asteroid belt?!"
"Would you prefer all your bacta be in Imperial hands?" Han asked smoothly as if the man's shriek hadn't momentarily deafened him. "Look, I attached a beacon to the cans. The Imps will be watching me like vultures when I leave, so I'll fly a little crazy and make a distraction for your pilot so they can pick the supplies up."
"This is not what you're being paid for!" the little man fumed. "In fact, I'm not paying you for this! You got your half up front. Leave! And be grateful I'm not having you shot!"
Definitely not rebels. Rebels would have taken the deal with him to help get their stuff. Garra was already growling in a subsonic register at the man's absolute lack of concern for the kids. The cans, at least, were fully sealed against vacuum, and they came with air exchangers installed by default for the express purpose of not suffocating anyone trapped inside. But anyone who really cared about the kids would be freaking out about their safety - space was cold.
The Imperial officer who'd demanded an inspection of the Falcon had clearly been bored and looking for some action, and had tried to start a fight over the empty hold and their claim that they were on their way in to pick up an export of compressed methane. Only the appearance of Chewie and Garra looming from the cockpit had made him back down.
Han bristled at the memory. Wookiees had a scent, sure, like every other species, but they didn't stink.
The buyer's guards showed them out. At the door, the one wearing the Captain's sash gripped Han's bicep just a little too tightly with an unfriendly smile. But what he murmured was, "Please tell me you know what the cargo really was."
Scowling, Han muttered, "Hard to miss it."
The Captain's grip tightened and he shoved Han for effect. "Our employer stocks the Magistrate's personal hunting grounds. Tell me they're safe."
Garra's fur fluffed and she answered in a snarl, [[They're in good hands.]]
Han had to translate. The relief in the guard's eyes as he shoved Han out the door said it all.
Grumbling under his breath, Han straightened his shirt and vest. "Let's get outta here, Garra. I hate this place."
[[Are there any places you do like?]]
"Anyplace that's not crawling with Imps."
She chuffed and ruffled his hair. [[Good luck with that. Let's see what my soulmate has managed to find for us.]]
Saving up to pay off a client was never fun. It wasn't the first time Han had done it - most smugglers had to do it a few times through their careers - but it was the first time the stakes had been quite so high. They had to avoid the higher-risk jobs - the ones where the ship could get damaged, which would eat into the savings - but those were often the best-paid jobs. "At this rate," Han grumbled into his drink, "we should just get a Guild membership and work the Core. Play it nice and safe."
[[Except for the yearly cost of the membership, and the Imperial oversight, and the background checks, and the stupid Imp rules about 'non-humanoids' not being permitted to operate a ship, it's not a bad idea,]] Chewie rumbled from across the lounge.
[[Counter-argument,]] Garra said. [[Get a forged license, work the Outer Rim, get the sweet high-paid hauler jobs going through Corellia and out.]]
Han's head came up and he looked over at her. "You know where we could get a good forged Guild license that'll pass Imp muster?"
The fur on her shoulders flattening told him he wasn't going to like it. [[Salla Zend.]]
Han dropped his glass on the table with a thunk. "Lando's soulmate? No way. He's still mad at me for winning the Falcon from him, she'd rat us out in a heartbeat."
[[Scuttlebutt says they had a falling-out, she's working with Shug Ninx on Nar Shaddaa these days.]]
"Falling out? Over what?"
Garra grinned, baring fangs. [[Lando wanted to go legit. Had an option on a tibanna-mining operation and won it. She accused him of selling out.]]
Han scoffed. "That is selling out. Who wants to be respectable? Puts you in the path of the Empire. Been a while since I saw Shug, anyway; Nar Shaddaa, it is."
Salla and Shug were both out on the platform when they landed. Shug was clapping, Salla had her arms folded, shaking her head at him.
"You got your own Starstrider after all, huh kid?" Shug said by way of greeting. The Theelin fixer threw his arms around Han in a backslapping hug which staggered him for a moment.
Salla rolled her eyes. "Solo was drooling over that thing the moment he saw it on Lando's lot. When sleeping with him didn't get him the ship-"
"Hey, that is not why we were dating,",' Han protested. Lando had been fun, while it lasted, but… the guy had dreams, dreams which had never meshed well with Han's. The two of them working together, focused on the same thing, had taken the smuggler underworld by storm for a few years, but then the tempest had petered out as they drifted apart.
"-He won it from him in a sabacc tournament," she finished. "Lando's fault for saying 'any ship on the lot' and hoping the winner would go for one of the pretty flashy things in the front row. He still hasn't forgiven you for that, you know."
Han sighed and muttered, "Yeah, he sends me a yearly holo to remind me."
Shug laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, then headed over to Garra and Chewie for Wookiee hugs and hair-ruffles. Han rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back to Salla, who arched an eyebrow at him.
"You're not gonna tell Lando I was here, are you?"
She snorted and tucked a trailing curl back into her headwrap. "Lando's busy wearing fancy capes and pretending he knows what he's doing with a million people to take care of. So what brings you here, Solo? The Falcon looks like she's running alright, I like the sound of her engine. You don't need repairs."
"I need a forgery. Garra said you've been making a name for yourself on that end."
"Hmmm. A forgery of what, pray tell?" She gestured to the office tucked under the cliff-like vertical wall of one of Nar Shaddaa's deep ventilation shafts, and Han followed her into the relative privacy.
"Guild license." He held a hand up as her mouth opened. "We ran up a debt-"
"Solo." She rubbed her forehead with a gloved hand. "Who are you in debt to?"
"Don't know, they used a middleman." Han grimaced and decided it was worth the risk - Salla always had a soft spot for kids and a hard one for slavery. "The man lied to us, the shipping cans were full of kids. Would you have finished that job?"
"Nine Corellian Hells, Solo, no." Salla dropped into the chair at her desk with a grunt. "You got some bad luck, Solo."
He leaned his hip against the counter. "Tell me about it."
"Okay. You got a debt plus interest; you need a Guild license to operate in the Core where the good money flows. Got it. Gonna cost you," she warned.
Han nodded readily. "I'm considering it an investment."
"Two thousand. I can make the license look sparkling, but without a bribe to get my good buddy to input the forgery number into the system without all the red tape, it'll get flagged the moment anyone runs the number."
Han winced. "Do it." Definitely an investment.
The forged Hauler's Guild license kept them going for a while. There were plenty of folks in the Core who wanted illicit things brought in - or persons of interest smuggled out. The man who hired them for a run from Kuat didn't say he was working for a politician, but Han could see it in the cost of his clothes. Dating Lando had taught Han a thing or two about fashion, even if he hated admitting it.
"So, you and a friend, going where?"
The man, an older human with a shaved head, neatly trimmed beard, and a face Han had definitely seen before multiple times over, grimaced. "Myself and my brother, going to Tatooine. The quicker, the better. No questions asked."
"No questions," Han agreed. "There a name you want us to call you by?"
The man hesitated, then said, "Rex."
"Rex, alright. That's a long run, plus risk brings it to five thousand." Han kept his expression flat. If they'd chosen a standard passenger service, it would have been less than a quarter the cost. But a clone - likely two - on the run was a particularly interesting flavour of risk.
Rex sighed and didn't even bother haggling. "Can you offer a projection on how long it will take?"
Han shrugged. "If we can avoid trouble? Two days, Standard reckoning; four at the outside. That fast enough for you, old man?"
Leveling a finger at Han, the clone grinned. "I'm not too much older than you, kid, and you know it. Four days might push our luck, but we'll take it."
Han drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. "I did say no questions asked, but if there's something absolutely vital that could affect this run, it'll help if you tell me up front."
"My brother's a fugitive," Rex admitted. "Odds are high he's carrying a tracking chip somewhere. So we need to get out of Empire space fast."
"Okay. So we'll make our exchanges between systems. It'll add a little time, but make us less traceable." Han shrugged. "Easy. Imp pilots are lazy slugs."
Rex's eyes narrowed. "Don't get cocky."
Han leaned over the table. "Trust me, buddy, I know Imp pilots. I used to be one. The good ones get out or get court-martialed."
"And which were you?"
With a glance over to the two Wookiees keeping half an eye on them from the bar, Han said, "The second one."
Rex chuckled and tilted his drink at Han. "Good man." He slid a handful of credits across the table under his hand, which Han palmed easily. "Half up front, half on delivery, yeah?"
"You got it. You know where the industrial spaceport is? Docking bay 482-Trill-16. How soon are you looking to leave?"
"How soon will you be ready to go?"
Han clapped his hands. "Perfect. We'll meet you there. Don't be late, I charge extra for heroic rescues."
They took a slight detour to deposit the credits in one of Han's covert accounts. When they reached the hangar, someone was waiting for them, but it wasn't Rex or his brother. Han let his hand drift down toward his blaster as Chewbacca growled and Garrawallooroo fingered one of her blades. "Whaddaya want, Bane?"
The Duros bounty hunter tipped his hat back. "Put yer panties back on, Solo. I'm just here to deliver a message."
Han scowled. Cad Bane was old for a hunter, which meant he was good at his job, and he'd had cybernetic enhancements done which made him one of the fastest quick-draw fighters in the Outer Rim. Scrapping with him would probably end with Han or his crew hurt. "So spill it already," he growled.
Bane gave a creepy, guttural laugh and swapped his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "You owe Durga the Hutt a lot of credits, kid. He's willing to give you some time to pay them off, but the interest rate is forty percent."
A chill settled in Han's gut, but he forced himself to play it straight. "I never worked for Durga. You got the wrong guy."
"No?" Bane drawled. "That wasn't you who spaced a full cargo from Ryloth to Malastare last year because you got spooked by an Imperial patrol?"
There was little point in denying it; knowing the middlemen had been Durga's people just made him more angry. Every time he tried to avoid the Hutts, they seemed to have a finger in his business anyway. "I left those cans in a safe place for them to collect, and offered to fly cover. It's not my fault they didn't take me up on it."
Bane snorted. "It is your fault you left a beacon on the cans: the Imps blew them apart." His teeth bared in a humourless grin and Han braced himself. "Did you know that was a cargo of kids you spaced? Buncha little twi'lek kids. Do your Wookiee friends know that?"
Even knowing the truth, Han paled at the thought of what might have been. "That was medical equipment," he protested.
"Hmm. Are you sure?" Bane smirked. "Durga knows some smugglers are a little squeamish. What's a little white lie among business partners?" Chuckling, he saw himself out while Han fumed.
[[I hate that guy,]] Chewie grumbled.
Han sighed and opened the hangar. "If I'd known Durga placed that job, I never would've taken it."
[[Because you listen to your soulmate.]] Garra ruffled his hair.
"Shit. I need to warn Sentra about that tactic."
"Sen'tra?" someone asked.
Han turned to see Rex, trailed closely by another man who wore a pair of goggles that nearly obscured a scar looping his left eye.
"My soulmate, Sentra."
Rex grinned. "Sen'tra," he repeated, with a slight halt between the syllables. "It's Mando'a. Means 'jetpack'."
The other clone shoved Rex's shoulder. "Are we gonna get off the street or what?"
Garra gestured for them to precede her. [[You understand Shyriiwook?]]
"Understand, yeah. Speak? Only if I'm trying to kill a room with laughter," Rex said, and received an approving head-scrub.
[[Han tried to speak it once,]] Chewie said. [[It was adorable, like a cub trying to copy their parents. Humans just don't have the vocal equipment.]]
"Alright, alright. Is it Make Fun Of Your Pilot Day or something?" Han muttered. "So your brother said his name's Rex, what do we call you?"
The clone hesitated for a moment, glancing at Rex, who shrugged. "Guess that makes me Cody."
"Nice to meet you, Cody. Chewie can show you where to drop your bags. We'll be on our way as soon as we get flight clearance."
Tatooine was a burning wasteland. Some spacers said it grew on you after a while; Han was of the opinion that the growth was more like dry rot. No matter how many times he had to come back here, it never improved; the thirsty air wicked away sweat as fast as it could form, leaving him parched in a place where water cost more than imported Corellian brandy. Sentra despised the place; he said the sand got into the gaps in his armour and abraded through his flightsuit.
Maybe Rex was right about Sentra - Sen'tra?- being Mandalorian. Han kinda wanted to ask. He was also mildly afraid of the answer.
Rex directed them to land at Mos Eisley rather than the more populous Mos Espa. "Mind if we linger here until our contact shows up?"
"Figured you would." All this spy stuff was exhausting, but Han could forgive that when Rex paid him the rest of what they owed plus a bit more 'for an uneventful trip', and the brothers went out to sit in the shade under the overhang.
They nearly had enough to cover the base of what they owed Durga; a forty percent interest brought the total to an eye-watering thirty-five thousand Imperial, but a few more jobs should see them through. "Garra! Chewie an' me are gonna hit the cantina for an out-going job. You be alright here?"
She roared a wordless confirmation down from where she was tinkering with the dorsal quad cannon, her current pet project. She'd already squeezed a five percent boost in tracking efficiency out of the ventral cannon, and was trying to get the other turret to match.
Han opened the hangar door just in time to see a group of people approaching - a large group of people, four middle-aged humans, a teenage boy, and two droids. Beside him, Chewbacca howled, [[General!]] and loped forward to give the astonished older human in the lead a furry hug.
"Chewbacca?!" The bearded human hugged back and tolerated his greying reddish-blond hair being ruffled to within an inch of its life. "When Rex said he found a ride with an old friend, I didn't think he meant you!"
"You know each other?" one of the other newcomers, a heavyset man with salt-and-pepper dark hair, demanded.
"Oh, indeed, we served together briefly in the War."
"You didn't tell me you knew Rex," Han grumbled as the old man ushered them all into the hangar.
[[Only by reputation, we never met.]]
The old man's reunion with the brothers was hesitant. Rex hugged him readily, but Cody hung back, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
"It's nineteen years too late, but… I'm so sorry, sir. Nothing I say can possibly make up for-"
"Cody." The old man rested his hands on the clone's shoulders. "It wasn't you."
Cody flipped his goggles to his forehead and scowled at the old man. "I'm trying to fucking apologize here, do you mind?"
The old man gave a watery laugh and hugged him. "Apology accepted."
Han surveyed the whole group, a little annoyed at the sudden party in his hangar. He had places to be, dammit. The heavyset man was clutching the woman's hand a bit desperately even as he tried to maintain a stoic face; the woman regarded the brothers with open curiosity. The other middle-aged man had an Imperial-proper haircut that clashed with his ill-fitting farmer's garb, and Han guessed the clothes were borrowed from the other man.
The teenager had hunkered down in the shade under the Falcon and was writing on his arm while one of the droids, a blue astromech, wobbled on its wheels and made distressed noises. Han wandered over and leaned against one of the ramp struts.
"Who you talkin' to?"
"My soulmates," the kid said without looking up. "This is my sister's droid; she got captured by Vader-"
"Hang on. Vader?" Han stared at the teen. The way the name of the Emperor's attack dog dropped so casually from his mouth was almost obscene.
The kid looked up, annoyed. "Yeah, Vader. I have two soulmates, one of them is with a crew who can rescue her-"
Han interrupted, "Nobody can rescue someone from Vader." The man had a reputation which was well-earned.
Rolling his eyes, the kid went back to writing. "Do you really think the Empire would tell everyone if something like that happened? I guarantee you Vader's lost people before."
Han turned away, deeply creeped out. It felt like there was an entire conversation he'd missed somewhere. Who were these people?
"Captain Solo?" The old man was there, offering a hand to shake. "My apologies, I didn't think to make introductions. I'm Ben Kenobi; this is Beru and Owen Lars, our nephew Luke Naberrie, and this is Galen Erso. You already know Rex and Cody. I'm afraid we must prevail upon you to take our group offworld as quickly as possible. We'll pay, of course," he said when Han opened his mouth to demand explanations. "Twenty thousand, up front."
Han closed his mouth. "You got yourself a ship, old man. Where are we going?"
"The Yavin system, and avoiding Imperial entanglements, if possible."
Han waved him off. "I already got that talk from the brothers. I can getcha there, no sweat."
Their departure from the spaceport didn't raise so much as an eyebrow; the landing controllers here never asked questions they might have to share with the Imperial sector governor. Han and Chewie set up a route that would avoid major Imperial presence and Hutt space, and they all settled in for a four day flight around a quarter of the Outer Rim.
Eavesdropping was a skill Han had perfected as a child pickpocketing on Corellia: you never knew what kind of juicy gossip somebody might be sharing with their friends. The money had come from the sudden up-front sale of the Larses' farm to a claimduster Owen hated - Owen muttered something about hoping Jarrel and the Imps arrived at the same time and killed each other. Galen was an Imperial fugitive who'd been brought to the Larses by Luke's sister's soulmate a few days earlier to get a tracking chip removed. It was the same reason Rex had been taking Cody to them.
When Beru produced a small, highly specialized medkit and a home-built scanner from inside the bag she carried, Han winced. Blood in the lounge: bad idea. "You can use the medbay. It's not huge, but it's clean."
Nearly everyone in the lounge turned to stare at him as if they'd forgotten he was even there. Chewie ignored him in favour of losing a round of dejarik to one of the droids.
"Not that we're trying to drag you kicking and screaming into the Alliance," Kenobi said carefully, and Han shook his head.
"I think the Alliance is fighting a losing war. The Empire is entrenched, it's using all the institutions set up by the Republic for thousands of years, and picking off bits of the fleet really doesn't do anything except fill the pockets of the corporations making new ships. But I also didn't get to be this successful by telling people what I think they ought to do. You're paying me to get you where you need to go, and your man there needs that Imperial tracking chip dumped out the airlock around Teth. Use the medbay."
Garra smirked at Han and he scowled back, not interested in another one of her lectures. She and Chewie knew damn well where he stood on sticking his neck out. He stalked back up to the cockpit to check their route again.
Rex followed him. "You're not a fan of the Alliance?"
"Afraid I'm a security risk, old man?" Han shot back.
"Yeah, actually." Rex was shorter than Han, but somehow managed to make him feel half a metre tall, in a way the sergeants at the academy never quite managed. His voice only a hair above a whisper, he hissed, "These people just gave up their lives to bring important information to the Alliance. Kenobi and Erso in particular have death marks; for that matter, so do I. So will Cody once they figure out he's AWOL, especially considering what his position was. That teenager in there woke up this morning to get a message that his sister's been captured by Darth fucking Vader, and we should be thanking every star that that monster has no idea who she really is. You're trafficking dangerous fugitives directly to an Alliance base, so I suggest you find some care in whatever corner you shoved it into and dust it off, because once the Empire finds out about you, your name's gonna be on a list, too."
Glaring back, Han growled, "Listen, Grandpa, I only care about one thing: whether or not I'm gettin' paid. Your buddy Kenobi is paying me well for this, so I'm gettin' you where you wanna go. After that, we're through. I never saw you, never heard of you, I certainly never gave you a ride to Tatooine. That's how this deal works, get it? I keep my head down, my eyes open, and my mouth shut."
Rex stared at him. "You sound like someone I used to know."
"A friend?"
The clone snorted. "No. The Prime, Jango Fett. His way of telling us to shut up, stay out of trouble, and learn from what's around us."
"Never heard of him." It was the truth, too: nothing in Han's Imperial-standard education had said anything about where the clones had come from, just that they'd been created by the Jedi to defend the Republic. According to the Empire, once the Jedi felt threatened by the Emperor's growing power, the Jedi had tried to direct the clones under their command to defect, to help them take over the government and destroy the Senate. The clones had refused and turned on their masters instead.
The whole story had never quite sat right with Han. Chewie and Garra could only confirm that the Jedi they'd seen had issued no such orders before their assigned Commanders had pulled blasters on them.
"Not surprised," Rex said with a shrug. He stepped back out of Han's space. "Empire did its best to rewrite all that history. Fett wasn't a good person. Ordered the first successful clone to be as perfect a copy as they could make, no modifications at all, to raise as his heir. And the rest of us? We were just cannon fodder. Fett despised the Jedi. What we did to them? All part of the plan. He was hired by a man who we found out later was the Emperor's lackey. Do the math."
The numbers weren't pretty. Han frowned. "I'm guessing there's more involved than mere loyalty."
Rex tapped a thin white scar over his right temple. "Loyalty had nothing to do with it. We were programmed. Like droids." He gave a humourless grin. "And the only reason we can be certain there isn't a chip in you, Mister Ex-Navy, is because they tried chipping grown adults and their minds eventually snapped and they died. Imagine if they'd got that system to work."
Han ignored the chill working down his spine. "What's your point?"
"My point is that Cody and I were lucky to make it out, never mind that our General survived. My point is that if you're keeping your eyes open while you have your head down, there's no way you can ignore what the Empire is doing, or what it would do if it could. We rescue prisoners all the time who have been experimented on, it's not pretty. My point," he said, poking Han's sternum, "is that only someone who thinks the galaxy's politics doesn't affect them, would spend their life ignoring it. When we land, you'll likely be confined to your ship and prohibited from taking off, at least until someone decides it's time to evacuate, because nobody's gonna trust you to keep your mouth shut. If your only purpose is money, what's to stop you from selling us out to the Empire?"
[[He has a death mark,]] Chewie rumbled quietly from the door. The Wookiee filled the entryway, blocking casual observers from seeing Han and Rex talking. [[We helped a load of slaves escape, but now we have to pay back the Hutt who owned them. What the General is paying should be sufficient to cover what's left.]]
Han groaned. "Why don't you just tell 'em everything while you're at it? It's none of anyone's business."
The clone stepped back and studied him carefully. "Released a Hutt's slaves, huh?"
[[He freed me and Garra from the Empire, too. That's how he got court-martialed.]]
Flinging his hands up, Han turned away and fell into the pilot's seat, irritably stabbing at the controls with his fingers. Furry arms rested across the back of his chair and a large paw settled lightly on his head. [[For what it's worth, Kenobi trusts you, and that should count for a lot once we land.]]
"What's so special about that old man, anyway?" Han grumbled.
[[He's a Jedi, cub. He survived Cody's attempt to kill him nineteen years ago. If he thought for one moment you couldn't be trusted, he wouldn't have hired us.]]
Put that way, it made some sense. Still, Han growled, "I don't care if he trusts me, as long as the job pays."
Behind him, Chewie chuffed a laugh and left.
Yavin IV was a temperate jungle moon orbiting an orange gas giant. Here and there, round ziggurats poked their crowns through the canopy. Han stared at them sceptically. "If any of the builders are still around, I am outta here. Creepy temple ruins always have something nasty lurking in them."
Kenobi chuckled. "Have you spent a lot of time in ruined temples, Captain?" He directed Han towards one pyramid in particular which seemed particularly large.
"Only once."
Garra, in the copilot's seat, said, [[We were hired to retrieve some relics someone hid for himself when he'd been on a dig team. Turned out there were a lot of traps.]]
"Ah, yes," Kenobi said, nodding. "Why else would he hire someone else to do something he might otherwise be able to do himself? Did you ever get the relics?"
"Nope," Han admitted. "Well, we did, but then he tried to kill us by activating one of the traps. And then he got caught in it. Kinda poetic."
A sizeable group of people was waiting on the platform when Han brought the Falcon down to rest. Kenobi led the way and was immediately hugged tightly by a short, older woman with long, silver-streaked brown hair coiled up in an elaborate style. "Obi-Wan! It's been too long!"
The old man laughed and pulled back a little. "I'm the first one you say hello to?"
The woman blushed. "Well. I don't-"
"Mother?" Luke was staring at her, wide eyed, and the woman pressed her hand over her mouth.
"Luke?"
Then there were tears and more hugging. It was all getting a little mushy for Han's comfort; he slipped off to one side, staring out at the forest beyond the cracked duracrete landing platform with his arms folded.
There was a bit of ink on his arm; he pushed his sleeve back to find a message from Sentra. "Been a hell of a week. How are you doing?"
Han fished the pen from his vest pocket. "Landed an easy job to cover the last of what I owe. It's legit, no worries."
"Don't scare me like that."
"One of my passengers says your name means 'jetpack'. Is that true?"
Sentra was quiet for a long time, long enough for the woman with the fancy hair to come over. "Captain Solo, yes?" She held a hand out, and he shook it reluctantly. "General Padmé Naberrie. We really appreciate you bringing everyone here safely, Captain. Obi-Wan says he paid you already, but I'd like to offer my own appreciation-"
"If this is a ploy to get me to stick around until your security guy over there is done vetting me," Han interrupted, nodding towards the craggy-faced human who looked like he'd never smiled in his life, "you can cool it a bit on the thanks. Rex warned me-"
The General sighed in exasperation. "Rex is overly cautious, but not without reason. It's no ploy, Captain, although we could always use more skillful pilots," she added with a charming smile.
Han let himself be charmed. She was definitely on their public relations arm. "I heard your kid talking about flying T-16s earlier. You're not gonna put him in a fighter?"
She sobered. "If that's what he wants to do here? Yes. I was risking my own life when I was younger than he is now; as much as I wish for a galaxy where he and his sister don't have to face such things, that's not our galaxy. It would be hypocritical of me to stop him."
That rang a bell. "His sister. She got captured, right? Will you need help-?"
"Are you volunteering?"
Han sputtered and it took him a moment to realise she was teasing him. The General smiled again and drew him back towards the group, "No, but we appreciate the offer. We have a team on it already."
He checked his arm again and found a reply reading simply, "Yes."
Han snorted and wrote back, "You're such a dork."
"I called myself 'jetpack' but you actually went out of your way to get a YT-1300, VYKK."
They had him shift the Falcon to a smaller platform on the other side of the ziggurat, and Han, Chewie, and Garra were all thoroughly debriefed by a man about Han's age named Cassian Andor. Andor had a hard time believing that Han really didn't know much of anything. The primary kerfuffle, Han gathered, was over the quiet man, Galen Erso, who was carrying the plans for some new supermassive battle platform the Empire was constructing.
"It's capable of destroying planets, possibly even stars," Andor said. "Erso says he built a flaw in the system. We can take it out with starfighters rather than risk a whole fleet, keep our losses to a minimum. We just need good pilots with more skill than brains." He leaned towards Han across the table, and Han smirked and folded his arms, leaning back.
"Are you trying to recruit me to the cause, Andor? Usually people invite me for a drink, first."
Andor's lips twitched. "No cantinas here, but I know someone who's got a still."
"Now we're talkin'."
They were in the corridor when something seized Han's lungs and twisted. Andor staggered, catching himself against the wall; ahead of them, a woman gasped and clutched her head.
"What the hell was that?" Andor choked out.
Han shrugged and grabbed his arm. "That old man, Kenobi, probably knows, come on."
They found him in the medbay; he'd been training with Luke when it happened, and the kid had eaten dirt hard. The old man himself looked like the wrong end of a hangover.
"Something terrible has happened," he said without preamble.
Han scoffed. "Something terrible? Glad you're here to tell us these things. Everyone on the base felt that." It could have been an exaggeration but he doubted that. "You're our resident expert in invisible shit. Take a guess."
The glare Kenobi leveled at Han was enough to make him shut up. "It felt as if a thousand voices cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced."
It was Andor, leaning heavily against the wall by the door, who said, "The Death Star. They must have used it."
"That's what they're calling it?!" Han blinked at Andor for a moment, then shook his head. The Empire always had a tendency to name things horribly. Emperor Palpatine loved to talk up the benevolent leader stuff, but then his army used things named Star Destroyers and Death Stars and nobody was falling for the kindly grampy routine with stuff like that hanging over their heads. Some folks liked to think that maybe the Emperor was a helpless figurehead for the hawkish types in the Senate and military; if it helped them sleep better, fine, but it didn't change the reality of things.
Andor started dragging Han into the command centre on his shifts, as if Han was one of their crew. It was a blatant attempt to gain Han's sympathies and interest in aiding them, and he wasn't certain whether to be annoyed or flattered.
It did mean that he was right there when everyone's comms were hijacked by a galaxy-wide broadcast. Two humans - a woman and a man - who looked like they hadn't slept in three days, stood in front of a shipboard viewport. General Naberrie leaned over the ops table, whispering, "Breha?"
"People of the galaxy. My friends and allies. It is with a grieving heart that I, Queen Breha I of Alderaan, must inform you of the treachery of the Empire. One Standard day ago, the Empire sent into the Alderaanian system a massive battle station which they call the Death Star. No warning was given; no negotiations were offered. Our requests for communication were ignored."
The image cut to a jumpy series of recordings from different angles, clearly taken by defense fleet pilots, first of a massive black sphere hanging in space, then of a series of green energy beams collecting at the centre of an immense focusing dish. The next shot was of the resulting beam lancing out to strike the planet, which exploded.
Instantly.
There were cries of denial through the command centre, but Han couldn't tear his eyes from the screen. The image returned to the couple, tears streaming down their cheeks. The man had his hands on the Queen's shoulders, and she reached up with one hand to clasp his fingers. "Alderaan has been destroyed, without reason. It is only through great fortune, and the risks taken by the soulmates of allies, that we had enough forewarning to begin evacuations a day in advance. Over half of our people have perished, for the sake of spreading fear, and those of us remaining are now refugees of the galaxy."
Despite her tears, the Queen's expression darkened with anger. "If any of you truly support a free and peaceful galaxy, you will stand with us against this tyranny! An Empire which destroys the lives of its loyal citizens without cause or mercy is an Empire which will destroy anyone."
"Why?" someone whispered. Han glanced over to see Luke standing there staring at the blank screen.
"Because of us," the General said quietly. "Because they sheltered me and your Uncle Ben. Because they tacitly supported the Alliance." She looked down at her hands, gripping the edge of the table. "Because now they have Leia, who was travelling under an Alderaanian flag as an envoy, when she was on her way to pick up Galen Erso."
The teenager moved to hug the General tightly. "She's alright. I would know if she wasn't." Somehow, the Alliance pilot's undress uniform didn't look ridiculous on him.
Han drummed his fingers in his belt, hiding nerves. "There's no way you're going to be able to deal with something that size," he said. That was the whole point, wasn't it: hold a big enough gun to the galaxy's head and everyone will have no choice but to cooperate.
Erso, who had been working at a terminal near the back of the room, stood up, looking pale but determined. "There is," he insisted, "because I built a flaw into the reactor core. There are exhaust ports to keep the core stabilized in near-vacuum." He reached behind him and pressed a button, bringing up a detailed technical hologram of the station on the main projector; people around the room began to drift closer as he spoke. " One of them, the largest, doesn't have a particle shield, to prevent the buildup of free radicals in the core. A proton torpedo fired successfully down that port will cause the reactor core to catastrophically destabilize." The port, located along the station's equatorial trench, highlighted in red. It looked laughably tiny.
"A single torpedo can take out that?" Han demanded, waving his hand at the image of the moon-sized sphere.
Erso's dour face twitched in a smile, his haunted eyes bright. "Which of us worked on designing it, Captain? The reactor core needed for the superweapon is highly unstable out of necessity. The positive charge contained in a single proton torpedo will be sufficient to catalyze a reaction."
Now Han understood what Andor had been getting at. "That's suicide. You know that, right?"
A Mon Calamari man wearing Admiral's insignia harrumphed. "We have a full fleet, including four full squadrons of starfighters. If we present a big enough target, we can keep their defense fleet distracted long enough for a few brave pilots to make the run."
"I'll go," Luke said immediately. "I can make that shot." From anyone else, the declaration would have sounded boastful, but from a nineteen year old farming kid, it merely sounded quietly confident.
General Naberrie squeezed his hand. "If this is what you want…."
"Does anyone ever really want to fly a tin can against a superweapon?" the kid said wryly. "No. But… I can do it. And it lets your established squadrons stay together. I just need a few good wingmen." He looked at Han hopefully, and Han scoffed.
"I don't fly fighters, kid. And I ain't taking the Falcon up against that thing." He scowled. "Anyway, it's a big galaxy. How are you even going to find it to take it out?"
Luke looked at the General, who scowled and said, "No. It's too soon."
"But we know-"
"She's right, Luke," Kenobi interrupted. "You're not ready yet."
The kid sighed and for some reason glanced at Han. Han put his hands up. "Don't look at me. But something that big, with that much energy, is gonna leave a trail. Maybe you should start there."
The solution to locating the Death Star turned out to be much simpler. Three days later, a battered freighter and an Imperial shuttle broadcasting Alliance codes popped into the system. "This is General Syndulla, requesting immediate priority landing. Is General Naberrie there?"
The General leaned over the comms officer's shoulder and borrowed his headset. "This is General Naberrie. Good to hear your voice, we were getting worried!"
"Good to hear you, too. We got your ambassador, General, but the Imps planted a tracking beacon on the Ghost and the Death Star is on our tail. We have six hours to evac the civilians."
Someone in the room slapped their desk and cursed roundly in Huttese; the General winced and nodded. She turned to one of her aides and confirmed, "Send the evacuation orders: anyone not essential staff or combat-ready needs to get out of the system."
"I beg your pardon," Threepio piped up from his position nearby, "but does that include me as well?"
The General shot the droid a sympathetic look. "No, we need you here monitoring encrypted communications. Your language database is the most extensive we have."
"Oh! I suppose I shall remain here, then." The droid sounded flattered, and Han shook his head. The machine didn't have a courageous circuit in his body, but he caved like a paper roof in a rainstorm under compliments. Not for the first time, Han wondered who'd programmed him.
When the two ships landed, Han, Garra, and Chewie were loading a week's resupply onto the Falcon; Luke ran out to get them anyway.
"Come on! You should meet them!"
"Why?" Han groaned. He was as curious as the next person, sure, but satisfying curiosity when military security was an issue wasn't always worth it. He still wasn't sure why the kid kept coming over to visit while they were at the ship.
"Because they're family!"
"Kid, I'm not family." Han ignored Chewie and Garra growling at him.
The teenager stopped and turned, folding his arms and staring Han down. "The galaxy's a messed-up place, Han. Family is everyone we choose to care for, because nobody else can be there. I noticed you don't mention your parents, or anyone else for that matter. People need each other."
Han sighed and mirrored the kid's pose. "And who told you that? Kenobi?"
"Uncle Owen." Luke reached out towards him. "Look. I hadn't seen my mom in person since I was five, and I never knew my dad, because of the Empire. My soulmates both lost their parents because of the Empire. The people who raised us, took care of us? Were the people who chose to do that. Are you so afraid of getting hurt again that you'll push away the people who want you around?"
Family is more than blood. Sentra had told Han that once, years before, when he'd been complaining about two Wookiees insinuating themselves into his life.
Han sighed and followed Luke over to the main landing pad, bracing himself for more mushy reunions.
The highlight of the afternoon wasn't Luke being tackled to the ground by a dark-haired boy his own age, or hugging his sister (who was even shorter than him, somehow), or the introduction of his sister's soulmate - who'd been piloting the stolen Imperial shuttle - but when Luke's other soulmate spied Galen Erso hovering near the entrance to the hangar and charged over shrieking, "Father!"
Chewie chuffed happily and nudged Han's shoulder before moving forward to greet the towering Togruta woman who emerged from the Imperial shuttle. [[We haven't seen you since Wasskah, cub!]]
Her face lit up and she accepted a hug. "Chewbacca! Garrawallooroo! I'm so glad you made it!"
[[Barely, thanks to Han.]] He looked back and waved Han over. [[One of his superiors caught us escaping; Han stopped him.]]
Han scowled against a blush at Chewie's proud smile.
[[He threw away a very promising career in the Navy for us,]] Garra said. She ruffled Han's hair.
"It's not a promising career if you didn't really want it," he muttered.
The white-haired, dark-skinned human woman standing beside the Togruta gave him a Look. "Then why'd you join?"
He thought of his mom, of Aunt Zay and Uncle Korol, both of whom he'd never managed to track down as an adult. Of Shrike and Corellian criminal gangs. "Didn't really have a choice."
[[We could tell he needed looking after, but he didn't want us along. Chewbacca made up some crap about a 'life debt' to convince him,]] Garra said smugly.
Han aimed a finger at her. "I knew it was banthashit from the start! I just realised that nothing was gonna get you off my case, if you were willing to make shit up, so I agreed."
[[Sure, cub.]]
"Ahsoka Tano," the Togruta woman introduced herself, grinning. "This is my wife, Steela Gerrera."
Han shook hands with them. "Gerrera, huh? Got a brother?"
"You run guns for him?"
"Once or twice," he allowed. "The crabby bastard always sets up in the worst places."
She guffawed and clapped his hand between hers. "Yeah, that's Saw. He still jumping at shadows?"
Steela was going to be fun. They spent a few minutes throwing anecdotes around - the Ghost's Twi'lek captain and her human husband joined in - before General Naberrie asked, "What happened to your arm?"
Ahsoka grimaced and pressed a hand over the bandage that was barely visible under her short sleeve. "He was there, Padmé. I had to distract him so everyone else could escape. It's fine."
The General glared at her. "You're as bad as Obi-Wan. You're seeing a medic before the debrief."
Both Ahsoka and Syndulla's husband froze. "Is he here?" the man asked. There was something half reverent and half terrified in his eyes.
The General gave him a sympathetic smile. "He's inside, yes. He thought his presence might upset your welcome."
It was only when the man moved his hand to rub the back of his neck that Han noticed the metal cylinder hooked to his belt. It could have been mistaken for a tool, but he'd seen far too much of Kenobi and Luke training with lightsabers in the last week to be fooled. He looked again and sure enough, Ahsoka had a similar pair tucked in close at the small of her back.
Ahsoka caught him looking and winked. "Yeah, Obi-Wan helped train me, and taught the man who taught me-"
"We can say it," Luke interrupted firmly. "Everyone else here already knows."
Han frowned. "Knows what?"
"Luke-"
"I'm not sure-"
"He needs to know!" Luke insisted. "We can trust him." He shot a sideways glance at Han, who sighed and nodded.
"I don't share people's secrets."
Ahsoka's shoulders slumped a little. "Vader. Obi-Wan trained Vader, and Vader trained me. Before he became Vader," she added when Han started to ask.
"He's my husband," the General said quietly. "Luke and Leia's father."
Han clapped a hand to his forehead. "That's why Rex said it was lucky Vader didn't know who- shit. Kark. Okay, this is a huge mess. I get it now."
"It's not Vader himself we're worried about," Leia said. "It's the Emperor getting ahold of one or both of us. We're both strong in the Force, and the Emperor is…." She trailed off, shuddering, and wrapped her arms around herself. "The Emperor ordered Alderaan destroyed because he learned Mother had survived and gone into hiding there. I think he assumed she stayed, or maybe it was just punitive. Imagine what Vader would do if he found out you were alive," she said, taking the General's hand, and her voice wobbled. "Tarkin told me, right after he issued the order. He made me watch."
Luke and the General both hugged her as she sobbed. The General frowned as she stroked her daughter's braided hair. "Vader wasn't there?"
Leia shook her head and wiped at her eyes. "No. I don't know where he was at the time."
A tall purple alien who'd come with the Ghost crew glanced at the sky. "Well, we know he was still on the Death Star. We got a front-row seat to Tano dueling him as a distraction."
"Hang on," Han said. "You married him, General? Wouldn't he have recognized Leia's name?"
Leia shook her head and sniffled. "I do my work as Leia Retrac. There's another agent who's one of my closest friends. We look enough alike that we pretend to be sisters when we're working."
An announcement over the base-wide loudspeaker startled them all. "First civilian transport will be departing in twenty minutes. If you are not in your assigned place, the transport will not wait for you."
Han closed his eyes. They'd been stuck here too long already, and now there was an Imperial battle-station bearing down on them. "C'mon Chewie, Garra. We need to get the Falcon ready to go."
Luke startled. "You're not staying to help? We could use someone like you!"
Rubbing his forehead against a threatening headache, Han said, "Kid, I dunno what you think of me, but I am not a good person. I have a debt to pay off, to a Hutt, and even if you manage to take that thing-" he pointed at the sky, still empty of anything save the haze of the gas giant overhead- "out, it's only a matter of time before Durga sends bounty hunters, and if they find me with you, you'll all be toast. I should have pushed for clearance earlier but your security guys hung onto me."
The kid opened his mouth to protest and his sister caught his arm. "No, he's right. And whatever he knows of us right now, it won't matter in a couple days. Whether we succeed or not, this base needs to be cleared."
Just when Han thought there might be a single person on the landing pad on his side, the girl met his eyes with a hard glare. "We can't force people to help where they're needed . If we did that, we'd be little better than the Empire."
He scowled at her. "Yeah, some of us spent too many years takin' orders already. If I stay somewhere, it's because I want to, sweetheart."
The General had a funny look on her face, like she was trying not to laugh; Luke looked like he couldn't choose which of them he agreed with. Someone stifled a giggle and Leia spluttered for a moment. "Yes, I'm sure we have more than enough arrogant, self-absorbed men around here already. We don't need any more of you!"
Han snorted. "You're never gonna see anyone like me again, princess. I'm one of a kind. Enjoy the view while it lasts." He turned around deliberately and stalked off, only vaguely aware of Garra and Chewie following him.
[[You're incredible, you know that?]] Garra grumbled when they caught up to him. [[We can help them and pay off Durga after we're done.]]
He shook his head. "It goes the other way too. Rumours spread. If someone outside the base hears we were involved in attacking that thing - provided we survive it - it'll get attached to our reputation. What good's a Haulers' Guild license if my name gets flagged at every Core world?"
Chewbacca scoffed. [[That license makes you valuable to the Alliance, you're probably one of the few pilots here who could land on Imperial Center if you needed to. Nobody would leak that.]]
"I'm glad you have so much faith in so many total strangers, Chewie." He kept walking. There was no point in earning the credits to pay off a Hutt if you weren't alive to appreciate the freedom after the fact.
Kenobi was waiting for them at the Falcon's ramp; Han didn't stop, walking right past him into the ship. The old man followed.
"I understand your position, Captain-"
"Oh, you heard all that, did you?" Han threw himself into the pilot's chair and pulled up the ship's internal diagnostics for the pre-flight check.
"Not all of it, but Padmé is my soulmate." He had the courtesy of not sitting down at one of the other stations, at least, resting his arms on the back of the copilot's chair. "Captain, I've had more than a few dealings with Hutts in my time-"
"Then you know why I gotta go."
Kenobi sighed. "Yes, but listen, please. Even if you pay Durga off in full, Hutts don't like losing control over even one potential asset. He'll find some other way to keep you on the hook, either by changing the terms of the agreement, or he'll simply have you captured for his personal amusement. It depends on what you did and whether you caused him humiliation. Do you understand? You're better off sending a droid with the credits-"
"I don't trust droids," Han said shortly. Everything in the diagnostic was showing green. He started setting the nav system to plotting a course to Nar Shaddaa.
"You don't seem to trust anyone," Kenobi said with a dry laugh. "A droid won't decide fleecing you for their own enrichment is a good idea. And you should consider sending a gift as well, something Durga would appreciate. I understand he likes to collect fine art pieces with large price tags."
Han paused and turned to look over his shoulder. "And I suppose you know where to find something like that which won't eat all the credits I've been saving."
"As a matter of fact, I do." He grimaced. "It's particularly rare now that the Empire has destroyed Alderaan."
"You're awfully generous with other people's cultural artifacts."
"It was gifted to me." Kenobi shrugged. "We would need to make a side trip to Tatooine so I can retrieve it, but an object is just an object. People are more important."
It was tempting, it really was. But Han didn't have a lot of faith in Erso's single-torpedo off switch to do the job. "Nice try, old man. Now, if you don't intend to be joining us, you should get off my ship."
Chewie and Garra knew Han well enough by now to know that they couldn't talk him out of his decision to go. But they could express their displeasure by making him do everything and just watching with their arms folded. That was fine; the Falcon could be handled by a single pilot if necessary. The base issued flight clearance and Han guided the ship out of the atmosphere. As soon as they were clear of both the moon and planet's gravity wells, Han pulled the lever to enter hyperspace.
Nothing happened.
Han sat there for a moment, just breathing with his lips pressed tight, fighting the urge to acquire two Wookiee-fur rugs. "Okay. What did you do?"
[[I don't know what you're talking about.]]
He turned and glared at his two unrepentant friends. "What. Did you do?"
Garra shrugged. [[I guess the hyperdrive is broken.]]
Han threw his headset aside and stormed back into the aft engineering compartment, rolling his sleeve up. "I'm going to murder my copilot and gunner," he wrote angrily, before pulling the floor hatch open and dropping down to see what they'd removed.
"Oh no, what now?"
"Oh, they got bleeding heart syndrome for a buncha underdogs. Again." It wasn't the first time the Wookiees had pulled a stunt like this, but it was the first time they'd engineered it so that everything appeared to be working before takeoff.
"Your crew really does have a soft spot for that type. Don't they know you have a reputation to maintain?"
Han ignored the teasing sarcasm in the reply. Sentra thought it was funny when they did this. "You know the Empire blew up Alderaan."
"Hard to miss that news."
"Yeah, well now they're coming here and my crew isn't interested in clearing out."
There was a period of silence while Han popped the hyperdrive motivator out of its casing. Nope, that was fine. Knowing Chewie, he'd probably found a single wire somewhere to remove and hide.
"Okay, now I get why you're pissed. Why are you THERE? Wherever 'there' is?"
"Took a passenger job. Then security wouldn't let us leave."
"Typical security. Can you hide the ship somewhere?"
That was a thought. Han didn't want the Millennium Falcon becoming a notch on some crapass TIE pilot's helmet, just because his copilot was stubbornly sitting with a furry thumb up his ass. One of the other moons would be a good spot to touch down, at least until the Death Star showed up. Hopefully it wouldn't take that long to get the hyperdrive running again. Han went back to the cockpit - both Wookiees had wisely taken themselves elsewhere - and found a nice chunk of uninhabited rock to hide on.
It took another two hours to find what Chewie had done, two hours spent fuming and continuously checking the forward scanner in the engineering compartment for incoming Imperial space stations. Unfortunately fixing it wouldn't be as easy as finding a replacement part among their spares - the obnoxious furball had pulled the entire actuator and wired across the gap to make the system check think it was still there. Nobody carried an entire spare hyperdrive actuator: the things had to be ordered directly from the manufacturer and couldn't be kludged or jimmied. Unsubstitutable parts were the only reason makers like Isu-Sim had remained in business for hundreds of years.
Of course, the Falcon had a backup hyperdrive - all ships did, so low-powered and slow that crossing the galaxy would take literal months, but at least they'd be moving. But that wouldn't work without the actuator, either, because the backup drive was linked through the main drive, so it could keep a ship in hyperspace in case the main drive died.
Han restrained himself from kicking the toolbox (it wouldn't really be satisfying, and likely break his foot), and instead settled for sitting in the cockpit to wait everything out. Either Chewie would cave and reinstall the actuator, or-
- or the Death Star would show up and blast the Alliance moon to pieces, and it would no longer be an issue.
As if on cue, the passive scanner registered an object of significant mass dropping out of hyperspace near the edge of the system. The only thing the Alliance had going for them was the fact that the Death Star's bulk prevented it from landing any closer. It would take the sublight drive half an hour to get that monstrosity in range.
Han took a breath. Then another. Then he switched on the comm system, checking the Alliance frequency to see if everyone had made it off the moon.
"-two transports left, General. We can get Eight loaded and clear in time but Seven is having engine trouble, I don't know if we can-"
"Get as many people from Seven onto Eight and get it in the air. It doesn't matter if supplies are light, they'll be rejoining the fleet within a day."
The other Alliance channel, the encrypted one, was all wobbly static until Han plugged in the code cylinder he'd palmed from one of the grumpy security guys (not Andor, he kind of liked Andor).
"-engage as far from the inner system as possible."
"There's no way we can stop something that size!"
"No, but we can tangle their defense fleet as a diversion while Red and Gold get in close. Something that big has enough of a gravity well that they'll be able to stay with it."
Han listened as the flight groups started their checks, recognized Luke's voice among Red group, heard General Naberrie utter the words, "May the Force be with you," and put his head in his hands. The crazy fools were actually doing it, throwing ships against something a million times their size, not for the glory or money but… to prevent another Alderaan. They'd always been planning to do this - the alternative would have been to sneak an assault team onboard to try to sabotage the reactor. Sending a few ships after a faulty exhaust vent kept potential casualties to a minimum - Erso had definitely known what he was doing.
But that all still relied on them being able to get close enough to drop a torpedo in.
Listening to other people fighting - and dying, cut-off screams as ships exploded or collided - was a particular level of torment. Han found himself listening primarily for Red squadron, skirting around the melee while Blue and Green kept the Imps busy.
"The galaxy's a messed-up place."
He didn't care. He didn't. Except he did, because Luke was in the middle of it.
"Family is everyone we choose to care for, because nobody else can be there."
Gold squadron's run was blown out of the stars before they made it in range.
"People need each other."
Red leader's run nearly suffered the same fate, and the shot missed.
"Family is more than blood."
Cursing every deity he'd ever heard of, Han slapped the intercom and launched the Falcon from its hiding place so hard the artificial gravity couldn't compensate. "Garra! Chewie! Get on the turrets!"