This is a work of fan fiction and all canon characters, scenes, and concept are the property of LucasArts. Original characters and plot property of Gerald Tarrant.

Please do not repost this fanfiction without permission.
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Twelve: Looking for Reasons

There was the sudden pull and whine as the shuttle leapt out of hyperspace and into real space. Sublight engines kicked on, hummed. Starlines coalesced into pinpoint stars and a blue-green planet.

The comm clicked. "Unidentified ship, state your name and business."

The pilot keyed in the clearance code while the copilot flipped the switch to broadcast their identification signal. He leaned forward and spoke into the small comm. "Imperial shuttle A34-22 requesting clearance for landing, clearance code Blue."

There was silence, then a crackle from the comm. "Shuttle will be cleared when we have confirmation of your code transmission. Stand by."

The shuttle waited as the planet grew in diameter through the viewport. The copilot wiped his sweaty hands surreptitiously on his trousers. The pilot glanced over at him, smiling sickly. "You too?"

"Yeah. I feel like I'm going to throw up or something."

The pilot nodded. "I know what you mean." The comm light came back on. "Hang on, I think we're cleared."

The comm crackled again. "Imperial shuttle A34-22, you are cleared for landing in docking bay sixty-eight. Standby for tractor beam."

"Acknowledged," said the pilot, flipping off the comm and the identification signal and guiding the shuttle in. "Here we go."

Through the viewport, the blue-green planet grew larger, and a lighted orbiting station came into view. Several Star Destroyers hung motionless around the station and the unfinished skeletons of others floated some distance away. An almost completed Nebulon B-Frigate with worker droids and ships buzzing around its underside drifted on the other side. Smaller platforms orbited the large station. The pilot's hand moved on the throttle lever, gradually slowing the shuttle down as it approached the station that now loomed huge on the screen.

"Big," said the copilot, with admiration.

"Not as big as the Death Star," said the pilot. "Start landing cycle now. Shut down all auxilliary power."

The copilot punched in a rapid code series and the engines purred slowly. There was a short jolt as the shuttle was caught in the tractor beam and then was pulled rapidly towards the station and one of the growing mouths that was the docking bay.

The shuttle glided across the mouth of the bay, settled gracefully to the floor. The pilot hit the last series of buttons, shutting the shuttle down completely, and hit the ramp release. It hissed down in a shower of gases. "Good skies," said the copilot.

The pilot looked out the viewport, raised his eyebrows. Rows upon rows of Imperial stormtroopers stood at attention down both sides of the slick black floor of the docking bay. Facing the shuttle were three green-uniformed men, their faces looking sickly and pale in the lights of the bay.

"Good luck to them," said the pilot, unstrapping himself from the seat

"Yeah," said the copilot fervently. "I know how they feel."

The stormtroopers stood silent, unmoving, unfeeling behind their thick black-and-white helmets. Vader looked around as he disembarked, felt a faint contempt. Stormtroopers were a waste of money. Stormtrooper armor, anyway.

One of the three green-uniformed men stepped forward formally. He had a mousey face and a small neat moustache over his upper lip. He swallowed nervously. "Greetings Lord Vader. It is an honor to have you with us."

"Thank you, Colonel," Vader said, sweeping past him, black cape billowing. "I commend you on your hard work these past months."

That was surely unexpected, for there was surprise and relief on the face of the three men as they hurried to catch up with him. The stormtroopers stood there, watchful. "Thank you, Lord Vader," the colonel said. "We always do the very best in our work, of course."

"Of course," Vader said, his voice gracious, with the faintest hint of a dangerous edge. "When may I see my ship?"

The colonel hedged. "Ah...there are still a few minor things, lord, before it is ready. Only a few. It should take only a few hours more. I am sure you would like to rest after your long journey."

Vader almost smiled inside his helmet. A few minor things. If he knew Imperial bureaucracy, that would mean a wait of almost two days. Well, he could wait. He was not a patient man, but he would wait. He would humor the personnel of Kuat Drive Yards for now.

"Very well," he said. "I will be in my private quarters. Notify me when the minor constructions are finished."

"Yes, lord," the official stammered, obviously noting the warning note in Vader's voice. Very good.

He turned to go, signaled to two of the stormtroopers to follow him. Useless though they were, stormtroopers did have a talent for inspiring fear. Himself with two of them following should be enough to keep everyone else in the station a good distance away.

"Ah, Lord Vader?" called the colonel after him.

He turned. "Yes, colonel?"

"We were...ah...wondering. What would be the name of this ship?"

Vader did smile this time, painful though it was. The name. He had decided on it just last night, thinking in his meditation chamber. It had to be a fearsome name. Awe-inspiring. A name that symbolized the invinciblity, the cruelty, the dread that surrounded him. A name that symbolized him.

"The name of the ship," Vader said, "will be the Executor."

He strode away, not missing the look of sick horror on the colonel's face. Behind him, the rows of stormtroopers stood motionless, shining white, silent, inhuman.

The snow swirled, billowed, hiding the landscape. Crystals of it stung Luke's face behind his scarf and goggles. He blinked, turned his tauntaun around. Nothing here. There was never anything here. He placed the last sensor and squinted. Through the blowing snow, he could barely see the outline of the third marker. He was right, then. Time to be heading back.

He unwound his scarf from his face, punched in the code to his wrist transmitter. "Echo Three to Echo Base."

"Echo Base here," a crisp female voice said.

"This is Commander Skywalker. I've placed my sensors and am heading back in."

"Great. Find anything, sir?"

Luke snorted. "Are you kidding?"

There was a hint of laughter in the controller's voice. "I didn't think so, sir. We'll see you shortly."

"Right. Echo Three out."

His tauntaun snorted, head trembling. "Easy, girl," Luke said, replacing the scarf. Boy, it was cold. A far cry from Tatooine, where there were sandstorms instead of snowstorms. "We're leaving."

He gave the tauntaun its head, and with a bleat it bounded across the snowscape. The wind lessened, died, and all of a sudden the landscape cleared. Sunlight danced on the smooth ice plain, sparkling on crystals in the air. Luke sucked in his breath, took in the breathtaking sight. Sunsets on Tatooine were never like this.

He reached the first marker, turned towards base. Another day, another sunset. How routine. Not that he had enjoyed the fighting, by any means, but that would have given him something to do. He had his X-wing, but only a fool would go joyriding out in space with the asteroid field surrounding Hoth and Imperial sensors out who knew where. Han would probably do something like that, but not him.

Han. Han, who still hadn't come back. Luke had just about given up hope for him, and he knew Leia had too. He could see it in her eyes. Han's absence was a terrible strain on her, even more than on him. There was something there, Luke knew, because every time he mentioned Han, Leia would get this look on her face that he couldn't quite figure out, as if she was desperate for him to come back but yet she didn't want him to. He would give anything to figure it out, but again, he would never intrude into her privacy. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure how he felt about her, anymore. Too many things. Too complicated.

He saw the ice cliff of the south entrance in the distance, urged his tauntaun on. His nose was numb despite the scarf and goggles and he could hardly wait to get inside. The tauntaun sped across the snow, probably as eager as he was. His stomach rumbled and his legs hurt from gripping the animal. The cave grew nearer and the tauntaun slowed as Luke pulled back on the reins, slowing it to a walk as they passed between the blast doors of the bay.

Inside it was loud and relatively warm. Luke dismounted, handing the reins to a junior officer who led the bleating lizard away. He signed in, took off his scarf, goggles, and gloves, and prepared to head back to his quarters, then saw Wedge squatting, working on one of the snowspeeders. He walked over.

"Still having problems, I see," he said.

Wedge squinted at him, cocked an ear, then spun around. "What did I tell you?" he bellowed at the antennaed alien working on the opposite side of the speeder. He ran stiffly around the the other side and plucked the components out of the alien's seven-fingered hands. "No. This one goes here, that one goes there, and the red one connects with the blue one, not the yellow one!"

The alien nodded briefly, antennae twitching, and continued working. "Moron," Wedge mumbled, standing up and stretching.

Luke clapped him on the back. "Good going. I see you're in a good mood today."

Wedge groaned. "I'm never going to finish. We're going to be here till doomsday, working on these dumb speeders. I can't see why we don't all use tauntaun."

"I can see why," Luke said. He sniffed, wrinkled his nose. "I smell horrible."

"Yup," said Wedge, not bothering to deny the fact. He looked over at the alien, who had rectified his mistake but was now looking puzzled. "I'd better get on."

"See you," said Luke, and turned to walk away.

"Hey, Luke!"

"Yeah?"

Wedge stood there with a mystifying grin on his face. "You want to see something?"

"What?"

"Go to the main hanger bay before you clean up."

Luke stopped. "Why?"

"Just go. It's a surprise."

"A surprise, huh? Like that surprise when you rigged that automatic water dumping bucket in my room so that when I opened the door it dumped all over me and made a big wet melted ice puddle in the middle of my floor?"

Wedge grinned. "Naw. You'll like this one."

"I'm sure," said Luke doubtfully. He exited the hanger, wondering whether to listen to Wedge or not. Every time Wedge got that grin on his face it meant he was up to something. Well, what the heck. He needed some fun anyway. And if it happened to be another water bucket, he'd make sure he'd get Wedge back good this time.

He pushed past people in the narrow ice corridors, nodding to the murmured hellos and smiling at the wrinkled noses. They needed to invent some stuff that stopped tauntauns from smelling. A man could get rich inventing something like that. The Rebel Alliance would pay anything for it. At least, he would.

He turned into the corridor that led to the main hanger bay, walked through the doors, still thinking...and then stopped dead.

There, in the middle of the hanger floor, was the Millenium Falcon.

He just stood and stared. He couldn't believe it. Han was back? He must have gotten back while Luke was out on his tauntaun. He stood there and grinned, then started to run. The landing ramp was open and as he reached it, a figure appeared, jogged down.

"Hey, kid!"

"Han!"

Luke reached him, threw his arms around him. Han hugged him back, hard. "Han! You're back! When?"

"You had just gone out. I asked around when I couldn't find you."

Luke stood back, just looked at him. Han looked the same as ever, unruly brown hair, old white shirt and black vest, dirty pants and dented blaster hanging from a worn blaster belt. Except that Han was grinning like a maniac with that old lopsided grin, and Luke knew he must be, too. From the ramp, Chewbacca growled a greeting, then hoisted Luke into the air, patting him with one furry paw.

"All right, Chewie, all right!" Chewie set him back down. For a moment all three of them simply stood there, grinning at each other with a trace of embarrasment. Luke felt giddy with excitement.

"Man," Han said, "You won't believe-"

Someone screamed behind them at the entrance to the bay and then Han was almost bowled over by a slim figure rushing at him. "Han!" Leia screamed, hugging him.

When she let go of him, Han made a deep mock-bow. "Greetings, your Worship," he said.

Leia tried to look annoyed, but gave it up. "I thought you'd never come back. I thought you'd left us."

"Me?" Han pretended to be hurt. "I'm gravely offended, you Highness-ness."

"Oh, stop it, nerf herder."

"Nerf herder!" Han turned to Luke. "Look. My first day back and she's already picking on me." He sighed. "Times change, people never do."

Chewie barked, patted Leia on the head. She gave him a pat on the arm. "How long will you be back, Han?"

He shrugged. "Depends. I got a little held up there on my last delivery, thought it might be good to hole up here for a little while until whoever found me forgets they did."

Leia looked skeptically at him. "What are the chances of that?"

He grinned. "Next to none. But I'm a gambling man. Gambling for a miracle right now might help."

She smiled at him, a real smile. "It's good to have you back."

For a moment he smiled at her too, and Luke felt an unpleasant sensation creep down his spine, as if they had forgotten he was even there. Then Han turned to him. "Well, kid, looks like you'll have to put up with me living with you for a while."

"I don't mind," Luke said. "But I'd better go take a shower."

"Yeah, you smell. Where's the general?"

Luke shrugged. "Depends on which one you want. Madine's in central control. Rieekan's out by the power generator."

Han grimaced. "Rieekan. But I can wait. Have a little extra free time before he finds out I'm back and gets me to slaving away for him."

"Right." Luke gave him a grin. "I'll see you later."

Han waved, turned to tell Chewie to start unloading. Luke headed back through the doors. Han was back. That was great. He shouldn't have to worry anymore. He was safe, home in one piece. Everything was all right.

But he couldn't help remembering that smile between him and Leia and wondering what it might mean.

"Three thousand credits," said Daral.

"Three thousand one hundred seventeen," said the six clawed alien to his right.

The Quarren opposite him at the dimly lit table smiled nervously, shifted in his seat. "Three thousand one hundred thirty." He pressed the small scrambler button on the bottom left hand corner of one of his metallic sabaac cards and glanced at it hesitantly. His expression became more ghastly. "Ten."

Daral fingered the skifter card in his pocket and watched the faces around the table. The stakes had gotten enormously high since the game started half an hour ago and he wasn't sure he was going to last. He had done all right so far, but that was only because he had played Cloud City Casino sabaac far more often in the past few weeks than he wanted. Kent had suddenly acquired a penchant for sabaac and had gone and spent all his money on books on sabaac rules. He'd sat up at night on the computer, not studying as Kelgyn did, but reviewing ways to play, cheat, and win at sabaac, then had tried to teach Daral. Daral had written himself off as a hopeless case, but he'd managed to learn the Cloud City Casino rules before Kent gave up completely and started teaching Kelgyn instead, who was a much better player. It was surprising, but Daral had never realized how much he had learned by watching Kent and Kelgyn play their all-night matches while he was trying to sleep.

Besides, he would have thought sabaac beneath him. Not a game fit for someone his own status.

"Three thousand one hundred sixty credits," said a Devaronian to Daral's left. She reached over, plucked a card from the six-clawed alien's hand, then grinned, showing sharp, pointed teeth. "Negative eighteen."

Daral took a deep breath, ignoring his shaking hands, and pressed the scrambler button. The card face changed, coalesced into the Queen of Air and Darkness. He sucked in his breath, calculated quickly. He had the Two of Sabres, which meant that he needed only one more point to win exactly. He palmed the skifter card swiftly under his sleeve, changed it to the One of Flasks as he reached over and took a card from the Quarren. He made a quick exchange of cards, sliding the skifter out from his sleeve and into his hand. "Twenty-three," he said, and placed his cards on the table.

The Devaronian froze. "That is not possible!" she hissed. She glared at his cards, hand reaching for her blaster, and for a moment Daral thought he was doomed. Then she threw the cards down on the table, and stalked out.

The Quarren gazed at him mildly, blinking bulbous eyes. "You play well, young human. Would you like your money now or later?"

"Now would be nice," Daral said, trying to sound nonchalant. His palms were dripping sweat.

The Quarren shrugged, shoved a pile of credits across the table at him, tossed his cards into the center of the table. The six-clawed alien did the same, then stalked out after handing Daral a bag full of coins. The Quarren looked at him a while longer, tentacles waving, then walked away. Daral slumped in his seat with relief, threw his cards in the center, palmed the skifter back into his sleeve, and pressed a small button on the table. The cards disappeared into a small center drawer.

The Devaronian hadn't paid him, but that was quite understandable. Devaronians were not known for their good grace at losing anything, even a sabaac game. Daral took a deep breath, let it out, concious of the smoke-filled air in the cantina, then looked around. Behind him a couple of Ithorians hung around a table, bobbing from the waist. He sniffed, grimaced, turned around to see a green, eyeless alien smoking something that smelled like a dead carcass. A Bith band played a slow, jazzy tune in the corner. He looked the other way, saw a Rodian glaring at him. Daral turned quickly back to the table to gather up his credits before someone like the Rodian decided to blow his head off and make off with them. He got up, flipped a couple of coins on the table to pay for his untouched drink, and walked out into the shimmering afternoon air, keeping one hand on his blaster, just in case.

He had arrived in Mos Eisley spaceport just last night and had managed to sell his beat-up freighter to a couple of Jawas who seemed interested in getting off the planet. Or maybe they were thinking of stripping it down. Either way, he doubted there was much on that freighter that could be of actual use, but he had gotten the better end of the deal. Three hundred credits, just for that piece of junk. Those Jawas must have really wanted to get off Tatooine.

Looking around, Daral could see why. There wasn't much on this sand heap in the middle of nowhere. Behind him, the cantina squatted in the sand like an overweight, sunbathing Hutt. The sun's glare reflected off its roof and onto the sand. What pavement there was had been eroded away by the grit, cracked and barely visible through the sand covering it. As far as he could see, white buildings crowded together in haphazard patterns along the streets, the sun lighting some to a fierce white-hot fire and throwing the eaves and doorways into dark shadow. The plaster walls of most of them were cracked and peeling.

A hot breeze drifted past, carrying with it the scent of something vile and rotting. Daral exhaled quickly, looked the other way.

In front of him was a wide street, if the sand-strewn ways could be called that. The smell of sweat and musty disuse was everywhere despite the burning sun, and there were not many beings out at this hour in the afternoon. What manner of beings walking the streets did so hurridly, as if eager to get to a cooler place to rest. The streets were mostly quiet, and the afternoon itself was lazy and sleepy, though Daral could not shake the feeling of danger that also permeated the air, as if one wrong move could bring a knife slipped into his ribs.

Several hooded Jawas hurried along the street, squeaking to themselves. A lizard looking alien was carrying out a gutteral conversation with a squat metallic droid. Two landspeeders roared past, chased by several Gamorreans and shattering the afternoon calm for a moment. Thankfully, there were no Imperial stormtroopers about anywhere, though he had seen a squadron upon arrival. A hot wind whipped sand into Daral's eyes. He blinked several times and started slowly forward, trying to make out individual buildings against the glare.

Walking across the street in front of the cantina, he bumped into a fat, frog-looking alien. The alien jumped, screamed at Daral in a high-pitched unintelligible language, then spotted the blaster at Daral's hip and shut up. Daral managed a fierce glare at the alien and stalked off in what he hoped was a good imitation of offended pride. He had had that expression down for years, even at the Academy. But somehow he couldn't seem to remember it now.

Sounds of a heated argument came from nearby, followed by blaster shots, then silence. Daral jerked around, surprised, with a hand to his blaster. A few passers-by looked at him curiously, but no one seemed to be terribly concerned. Mos Eisley. As far as bad spaceports went, Daral had never been in one as bad as this.

He reached the shelter of a smallish building situated next to a large junk pile. Maybe he could find something in the junk pile. He leaned against the flaking plaster side of the tumble-down building, scanning the pile. Except he didn't know what he was looking for. He needed a ship, but one couldn't pull a ship out of a scrap heap. A droid would be nice, but that would be an extra burden to pay for if he didn't really need one. A new blaster. Maybe they sold some around here.

He knew he should get moving, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to stir. What was he doing here, anyway? Where was he going to go if he did get a ship? His whole life, going down the drain and him powerless to stop it.

A rough tug on his pants leg startled him. "Hey!" a scratchy voice demanded harshly. "You no steal!"

Daral blinked, looked around, then down. A small blue alien with furry ears stood there, no higher than his knees, holding a blaster trained on him. Daral froze. "I'm just looking," he began.

"No! You steal! Mugga see you, stand there, not go away! Mugga know! You thief. Mugga shoot if move!"

Daral felt sweat trickling down his spine. "Now, look here. You want to search me? I haven't taken anything."

The small alien didn't move. Its nose twitched rapidly. "You no move or Mugga shoot now!"

A shadow fell over the alien and it looked up, startled. Carelessly, a sun-browned human hand reached down and plucked the blaster away. A deep voice spoke. "So you took my blaster, huh?"

The alien hopped up and down in agitation. "Mugga no take! Mugga see in street! No take blast!"

Daral looked up, saw a rough looking man standing there. He glanced from the man to the alien, muscles tensed, unsure of what to do. The man looked about late twenties or thirties-though it was hard to tell; he could have been only a little older than Daral himself-a short beard, and longish blond hair bleached light by the sun. His features were brown and weathered by sun and wind. He was dressed in a dirty, sleeveless white shirt and dark patched pants and moved with the slow, easy grace of experience. The man saw his look, laughed easily.

"It's all right, kid. You can move. This ain't his pile of junk. He's just trying to scare you."

The alien began to screech. The man cuffed it lightly on the side of the head with the blaster and it crumpled on the sand, making whimpering noises. "Oh, get up, you," the man said. "I know your tricks."

"Kev hurt Mugga," whined the creature.

The man stepped over the alien, ignoring it, and extended a hand to Daral. "He's kind of crazy," he said, jerking his head to indicate the alien. "Crazy but harmless. He'd miss with that blaster at point-blank range. Besides, he doesn't know how to use one."

Daral warily took the hand, shook it. "Name's Ters," continued the man. "Kevrin Ters, but most folks call me Kev." He stepped back. "Don't tell me you don't got a name, boy."

Daral swallowed. "Call me Kent," he said. On such a remote planet, the chances of anyone ever having heard of the Krellises were slim, but this man seemed like the type to have traveled around. Better to play it safe.

The man squinted at him through the sun's rays, sizing him up. "So it's like that, huh?" he said. "Sure, whatever, Kent. What, you in some kind of local trouble? Need to stay undercover for a while?"

Daral shrugged. "Kind of."

The man grinned widely. "I'll leave it at that. Guess we all got secrets. What are you hanging around here for? You don't look like the type to mess around in places like this much."

Inexplicably, the tears welled up. He looked down at the ground, blinked. "I've got nowhere else to go," he mumbled.

He sensed Ters looking at him, the easy bravado changing to an expression akin to sympathy. "Seems like you're in a tough spot," he said.

Daral looked away. The sunlight was a haze of bright colors through his tears. "What's it to you?" he mumbled. "You can't help me any."

"Now look here, kid," the man said, sounding faintly hurt. "I ain't going to pry into your own business, but looks like you're in trouble and if I could help you, I would." He was silent for a while, then snapped his fingers. "Hey, wait a minute! What do you say to coming along with me? I'm looking for an extra hand on this run anyway. Could use you. If you want to get off this sandball."

Daral barely heard him, staring down at the sand. What's the use? I've got nowhere else to go. I'm going to be stuck here on this hellhole the rest of my life. No family. No ship. No future. What a bloody mess my life's become. What a bloody mess I've become.

"I don't need your sympathy," he bit out, looking up. "I can take care of myself."

"I don't doubt it," the man said. But his eyes were still watching Daral. "But like I said, I could always use an extra hand. A little company would be nice, too. I get tired of this guy jabbering on all day." He nudged the blue alien with his foot.

"What are you, some kind of slave trader or something?"

The man's expression darkened. "Now you get something straight, kid. I may be a spice smuggler and I may be dishonest and a cheat, but I ain't ever going to stoop as low as that. Ain't nothin ever going to make me do anything like that. I'd kill myself first. Understand?"

Daral nodded, heart pounding. Whatever else he was, this man was not someone to take lightly. "Spice, huh?" he said instead. A smuggler. On Coruscant those men had always been spoken of with contempt, dirty no-good criminals who should be shot on sight. The only good smuggler is a dead smuggler, the saying ran. Smugglers were devils of men who rejoiced in refuse, too stupid to make a living anyway else.

Or so Daral had believed. Now he was not quite so sure. A smuggler's life, with its danger, sounded far better than his own ragged existence now.

"Sure," said the man. "Or whatever else I can get my hands on. A man needs money to live on, you know. If you've been here before, chances are you've seen me around, too. Good spaceport for smugglers."

"So I've heard," said Daral. The alien was stirring now. One furry ear twitched. Ters walked over and picked it up.

"Well, I'll best be going," he said. "If you're coming, kid, just tag right along." He walked away and did not look back.

Daral watched his retreating back. Chances are, this man had a ship. He could get off planet, at least. Even if the man was a smuggler, he seemed trustworthy. But then, who knew? He stood, torn in indecision. This might be your last chance to get out of here.

The man stopped just before rounding a corner out of sight. "Kid?" he called.

Daral hesitated a split second longer, then hurried after him.