Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Wars. I don't own much of anything, really. George Lucas, mastermind that he once was, owns Star Wars. I own a hamster. Jenna is my idea, but I don't own her world. I think we've been over this…
Author's Notes: Yes, chap. 7 is a bit messed up; I'll fix it as soon as I get up the courage to find the old files. Please read and review, reviews give me the enthusiasm to post more. J
"Luke!"
Han's voice was truly panicked, and the tone was echoed in the anguish on the Correllian's face. A roar, almost lost over the crashes reverberating throughout the ship, managed to work its way past the haze of horror in Han's mind. Chewie, his long time co-pilot, needed help. Someone was attacking his precious ship, and it was his duty as captain to send that piece of Hutt slime crying to whatever crevasse it managed to ooze out from. Han sent a frantic look back at the pale young man, his dark brown eyes terrified. Luke, one of his best friends in the galaxy, needed his help too. The kid had managed to become an integral part of the cocky pilot's life; they had simply been through too much together to abandon him now. Han slapped a palm against the blinking comm panel and shouted at his hairy co-pilot while he snatched up a waiting medkit. As he quickly rummaged about for the necessary drugs to revive his friend, Han began demanding answers.
"What's going on Chewie?" Han demanded as, after a failed search, he viciously threw the medkit to the metal floor and began sifting through the footlocker at the end of the bunk. Half of the Wookie's answering tirade was drowned out by blaring alarms or the clatter of violently thrown objects as Han's search became more desperate. The overhead light panels began to flicker again, a staccato punctuation to the drawn-out answer. Finally the sandy-haired man lost patience and he slapped his palm against the bio-bed's sensors, cutting off the alarms. With the sudden relative silence, Han could make out more of his partner's rant. What he did hear, however, made no sense. Something about being pulled against their will, something big and… blue? That gave Han pause. Since when did anyone paint their ships blue? The Correllian shook his head, deciding that must have heard wrong.
"Why don't we ever have alprodimine?" Han snarled rhetorically, and then answered his frantic partner. "I can't come up, the kid needs help. Look." Han raked his hair back again, trying to keep his tenuous hold on sanity. "Just keep us steady for a few more minutes, okay?" he snapped irritably, abruptly ending the conversation with a sealed carton of bandages thrown at the comm. panel. Why was it, whenever they got into trouble, it was never just a little trouble, like normal people, who led nice, normal lives. Maybe they get a blown fuse, or someone gets a horrible case of the hiccups. No, not them, that sort of thing doesn't happen to the heroes of the high-faultin' Rebel Alliance. No, they had to have a dying Jedi, a motivator shot straight to Kessel, and some hotshot pilot painting their shields. Han took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Without the needed drugs, this whole rescue operation was going to be a lot more difficult. As Han ran over the few lessons in resuscitation he had received, a long, drawn-out howl echoed through the ship.
The rattling, jerking motion suddenly ceased, and an eerie silence stole over the ship. A fraction of a second later, a scream broke that silence.
"Luke! Kid, calm down, it's alright!" Han had to shout to make his voice be heard over the confused babble streaming from the young man's lips. The older pilot desperately wanted to be in two places at once: One him could stay here and straighten the kid out, and the other him could find out what was going on in the cockpit. His over-active imagination had already come up with several unpleasant possibilities for the sudden calm. Perhaps they were caught in a tractor beam; Chewie would have to shut down the sublight engines to prevent blowing them out. Another option was the attacking ship, whoever they were, was just sitting there, savoring their victory. Just the kind of thing Warlord Zinji's troops would do, or some upper-crusty Imperial Moff with too few victories under his belt. Or maybe…
Han shook his head, trying to clear away the oppressive mood. Maybe, just maybe, his partner managed to fight everyone off, and they were safe now. The ever-cocky pilot allowed himself a lop-sided grin at that. Yeah, and goldenrod would blow a fuse calculating the odds on that one.
The overhead light panels were still flickering, casting an oppressive pall over the compartment. Han watched his friend as Luke slowly began to calm, his ice-blue eyes still focused somewhere in the middle distance, not taking in anything, but staring at something the Jedi alone could see. His stream of panicked garble slowed to a few mumbled words punctuated by the sharp intake of breath, as if the kid kept forgetting that breathing was a necessary part of life. Han resisted the urge to shake the younger man, to demand an answer for the scare he had been given. Instead he leaned back to rest his head against the heavy metal bulkhead, wearily shut his eyes, and listened to the sounds of his friend coming back to reality. At least one thing was going his way today. Han had to repress a shudder at the thought of losing another friend, especially one so young. He was about to work up the energy to ask for an explanation when a musing rumble interrupted his thoughts.
"Chewie!" Han practically shouted, bolting to his feet, all weariness forgotten. "What's going on? Why aren't you flying this hunk of junk? Why aren't we under attack?" Chewie began to answer, but Han's quicksilver mind was already on to the next topic.
"Is the ship badly damaged?" Han shot a worried look at his towering co-pilot. "They didn't scratch the paint, now did they?" He managed to dredge up one of his famous lop-sided grins, trying to tamp down the rising anxiety he felt. Again the ginger-furred Wookie began an explanation.
"Wait, we need to get some answers out of Luke, he's probably starving, he has been out of it for a while. Why don't you go get him some food, I think there's something edible in the mess." Han ordered as he turned back to the still-silent Jedi, concerned about the pallor of his friend's face and the dark circles decorating his eyes. Chewie simply leaned against the door frame, glaring at his captain in exasperation. Not hearing any movement behind him, Han whirled back around and returned the glare.
"Well? What are you waiting for, a royal decree? Move it!" Han growled, his brown eyes flashing. Chewie shrugged eloquently and turned to leave. Before he could quite get out the door, he was stopped again.
"Wait, where did you say we were?" Han questioned, unable to remember the answer to that question. Chewie slowly turned around again and stared at his captain, daring him to speak. When no orders were given, the now rather cross Wookie calmly explained to Han that they had landed, they were no more damaged then they had been before this whole mishap, and he would now go prepare food. If that was alright with the captain, of course. Han frowned.
"Landed? Landed where, we are in the middle of the most desolate piece of space available!" Han snapped as his temper began to rise again. Why was it no one could give him a straight answer? Chewbacca sighed and tried to think about something besides wringing the temperamental human's throat. Speaking very slowly so his companion would not miss the whole point of his explanation a third time, Chewie explained that they had been caught in the gravitational pull of a nebula, and there had been a planet inside, which they had landed on. Han considered this explanation.
"So no one was shooting at us? And we're okay?" Han asked, credulous. Could it be they had actually gotten lucky for a change? Chewie nodded, opting for the short answer. Short answers seemed to get through to the human when he was stressed. When no more questions came, the Wookie left the compartment, muttering under his breath about captains who seriously needed medication for their massive mood swings. Han resumed his seat on the floor and gazed up at Luke, who dazedly peered back at him. Han's head reeled, he was still trying to process the fact that they were all still alive, breathing, and for the moment, safe. Luke broke the silence first.
"Han, I have a bad feeling about this." The young Jedi stated shakily, still trying to regulate his breathing. Han shut his eyes and groaned.
"You know kid, you just might be right."