PART I—12 Years before "A New Hope"
EN ROUTE TO THE H'ZONALM SYSTEM, OUTER RIM TERRITORY




The Ghorman burst out of hyperspace, slowing as it entered the H'Zonalm system. Shortly after its arrival, swarms of TIE fighters erupted from its stern like insects, practicing attack maneuvers. The ship began its slow course toward H'Zonalm II, a planet that had become quite rebellious as of late. The Ghorman's glowing white engines pulsed softly as the massive Star Destroyer began its mission of conquest.

Alone in his conference room, Grand Moff Willhuff Tarkin was deep in thought.

As always, the Emperor was foremost in his mind. Tarkin hoped to crush the Emperor and the upstart, Darth Vader, and make both men kneel before him.

Tarkin knew these were foolish dreams; Vader's power in the Force would never allow Tarkin to enslave him. The Grand Moff would follow his plan; to take over the Empire using a weapon, one powerful enough to destroy all Coruscant, including the Emperor and Vader. Only then could Tarkin assume control of the Empire.

Even now, plans were being made to create a huge starship, a moon-sized monstrosity with enough firepower to destroy an entire planet. This vessel, nicknamed the Death Star, was the brainchild of Tarkin's own think tank of scientists, hidden safely away in a section of space called the Maw.

Unfortunately, it appeared the Death Star was a long way off. It was trapped in the planning stages; the latest estimates gave at least twelve years before the vessel would be finished. This seemed like an interminably long wait, but the Grand Moff was a patient man. He would wait until the right moment to strike.

Tarkin was shaken from his reverie by the swish of his door opening. "Grand Moff Tarkin, sir."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, Lord Vader is on the holotransmitter," said the ensign, Drogan. "He requests a meeting with you."

Tarkin sighed. "Very well. I shall take it in here."

Drogan nodded and turned to go. "Oh, Ensign," said Tarkin, "please inform my servant that I am ready for my meal."

The officer looked puzzled for a moment. "The fish head?"

"Yes, the Mon Calamari," Tarkin corrected. "As I said, inform him I am ready for breakfast." Drogan nodded and left.

Tarkin ran a hand through his gray, thinning hair, then sat up in his seat, tugging on his uniform to straighten it. Finally, he switched on the holotransmitter.

A tiny, seven-inch-tall figure suddenly leapt into being in front of him. The image of the Dark Lord of the Sith was flickering and rough, due to the immense distance between the Ghorman and Coruscant.

Tarkin always loved seeing Vader this way; so small and seemingly helpless. For a moment, he pondered why Vader always chose to stand during these briefings. Perhaps Lord Vader wished to make himself appear as large as possible; but seven inches wasn't much more than four.

"Greetings, Lord Vader," said Tarkin. "What is it you want? I am busy preparing for the assault upon H'Zonalm II. I have little time for idle discourse."

"Then we are agreed, Governor," Vader replied in the rumbling bass that filtered through his death's head helmet, "since I do not partake of idle discourse. I have contacted you to deliver a message: the Emperor has a new mission for you. Once you have dealt with the H'Zonalmi, you are to travel to the planet Despayre in the Horuz system of the Outer Rim. There is a penal colony there, and the Emperor believes it to be an ideal source of labor for the construction of the Death Star."

"I see," Tarkin said noncommittally. "You may tell the Emperor that the task is as good as done. We will depart for the Horuz system as soon as the H'Zonalmi are quelled."

"Excellent," Vader replied. "Farewell, Governor." The tiny figure flickered out of existence.

Tarkin was pleased. Finally it seemed that progress would be made on the Death Star. He was examining the file on Despayre when his servant entered the room, pushing a small anti-grav cart.

"Ah, Ackbar," Tarkin. "What have we today?"

""Your favorite, Governor," the alien replied in a deep, gravely voice that belied the fish-like exterior of Ackbar's face. "Corellian deep-dish fremoule with Goruth sauce."

Tarkin smiled thinly as Ackbar placed the plate in front of him. He took his knife and carved into the fremoule. "Do you happen to know how soon we shall be in orbit around H'Zonalm II?"

"If I heard some officers correctly, we will arrive near the planet in about two hours," the Mon Calamari replied.

"Excellent," Tarkin replied as he took a sip of water. "You are quite observant, Ackbar."

"Yes sir," Ackbar said. "But only so as to best serve you, sir."

"It is appreciated," Tarkin said with a nod. His thoughts turned once more to the Death Star.

Quietly, and with a quick glance at Tarkin's computer screen, Ackbar left the room.

***



The Imperial officer's face twisted into a half-grin. "Looks like you lose again, Kuyi," the officer said, pulling the sabacc chips from the center of the table into his own huge pile.

The black-haired, dark-skinned officer across from him sighed as he sat back in his chair. "You're unbelievable, Slick," he muttered. "How many wins is that?"

"More than you want to know," the other replied. He made a show of counting up his chips. "Hey, you can't say I didn't warn you."

Kuyi grinned. "Yeah, I guess you did," he said. "Still, you didn't have to take me for everything I had..."

"You didn't have to bet everything you had," said Slick. "Hey, you know you can pay me later. Or we could always play double or nothing...?"

"I don't think so," Kuyi said. "I've learned my lesson."

The door to Slick's quarters hissed open and Acting Sub-Lieutenant Hodie Drogan poked his head in. "You guys seen that fish-head?" he asked.

"Ackbar?" said Kuyi. "Not around here. Why?"

"Good." Drogan flopped into a chair. "I hate that guy."

"What, the Mon Calamari?" Slick asked.

"Has everyone heard of the Mon Calama-whatever except me?" Drogan muttered.

"I hardly ever see him," said Slick. "Why does he bother you?"

"He's just...ugly. And nosy. He's always poking around the bridge, and following Tarkin everywhere. And Tarkin loves him so much that the fish-head never gets kicked out."

"Sounds like someone's jealous," Kuyi said with a grin.

Drogan ignored him. "And I don't understand why Tarkin would even stand the presence of an alien on the bridge.

"Calm down, Hode," Slick said. "It's no big deal. He can't harm anything. And I'm on the bridge all the time, and I don't see him much."

"He could be a spy," Kuyi suggested.

"A fish-head?" Drogan asked incredulously. "I don't think they're that smart. Besides, he was taken as a slave, I heard."

"Speaking of the bridge," Kuyi said, changing the subject, "how does it feel to be the pilot of a Star Destroyer straight out of the Academy, Slick?"

Slick grinned, looking a bit sheepish. "It's not that great. I just punch in the coordinates and execute the maneuvers. The navicomputer handles all the hard stuff."

"Sure, play it down," Kuyi said. "Play it down while we engineers are stuck with the stormtroopers, listening to them whine about their jobs while we're trying to get through a practice drill or something."

"Speak for yourself," Drogan said as he eyed the sabacc chips on the table. "Being a lackey for the Grand Moff is no picnic either. All I do is report messages to him and track down that damn fish-head. The only good thing is, I got to see Vader in a holo once."

"Really?" said Kuyi.

"What's he like?" asked Slick.

"Well, it's kind of hard to tell with those holos, you know," said Drogan. "But he looks like he's about seven feet tall or so. He's dressed all in black, with a bunch of computer junk on his chest. But the helmet's the creepiest thing; it looks like a big black skull. And then there's that breathing machine of his. Makes him sound like an old man wheezing."

"Better not let Tarkin hear you talking like that," said Kuyi. "Hell, you'd better not let Tarkin catch us playing sabacc, Slick."

"Ah, he won't come in here," said Drogan. "He's got better things to do. As for Vader, Tarkin hates him more than the Rebellion. Gets in his way, I guess. I heard a transmission once where Admiral Motti was saying all sorts of stuff, calling Tarkin a control freak and telling him not to underestimate Vader and the Emperor. I guess ol' Moffie has some big plan to take over the Empire or something."

"Whoa," Slick said. "I wouldn't talk about that too much, Hode. Tarkin executes officers for stuff like that."

"Bah," Drogan said with a dismissive wave. "I don't talk about it much, and I know you two won't say anything. Anyway, what say we start a new game here, eh?"

Slick grinned. "You ready to lose, partner?"

Abruptly, the intercom next to Slick's door crackled to life. "Sub-Lieutenant Solo, report to the bridge."

Slick jumped up from the table. "Sorry, fellas, duty calls."

"What a shame," Kuyi said with a grin. He hunkered down to rob Drogan of every credit. It would help him pay back Slick, if that were possible.



***



Acting Sub-Lieutenant Han "Slick" Solo had acquired his nickname after performing a particularly smooth maneuver in a malfunctioning U-33 loadlifter while attending the Imperial Starfleet Academy. The incident had brought him to the attention of the Academy higher-ups. After that, Han's career in the Academy had been well greased. He was hailed as one of the finest pilots to enter the service of the Empire in years, and few were surprised when Han received a commission to pilot a Star Destroyer straight out of the Academy. What had surprised Han was (as he'd later found out) the Grand Moff himself had requested him.

  At first Han had been very proud, but within two months the appeal of a naval career had waxed and waned. He was already tired of the long hours, the endless drills, the implacable and uninteresting console he stared at all day long. He could never allow himself to doze or daydream, as doing so would mean a strong reprimand. But he often imagined leaving the fleet and becoming a freelance pilot...

But it wasn't as if he had a choice. Once an officer, always an officer, as the saying went; though in the Empire, the proverb wasn't referring to personal integrity.

Many officers remained officers until the day they died. Stormtroopers had it easy, as did TIE fighter pilots; their life expectancy was little more than five years after entering the service, due to the extremely high-risk nature of their jobs.

But Imperial Navy officers on Star Destroyers never really got off the ship. They might take leave and visit home, or even retire...but one could never truly escape the Empire. If they wanted you, you were there, no questions asked.

Tarkin was on the bridge. Han hurried to the pilot's seat, relieving the old, feeble officer who served as Han's alternate; Han always felt a twinge of pity for old Redeg as the Alderaanian pulled himself up painfully from the seat and limped toward the lift doors.

Once seated, Han took the time to adjust his stark gray uniform and adjust his cap. The Grand Moff ran a tight ship, and it wouldn't do for the pilot to look as if he had just left a seedy game of sabacc.

Through the massive window that dominated the bridge, Han saw a disco of swirling green and orange: H'Zonalm II. He knew what was coming next.

An Imperial "quelling" of a planet always followed the same pattern: some bureaucrat in a war room on Coruscant would find a planet or another strategically valuable, either as a position or a source of valuable resources or any other such reason, sometimes quite infeasible. The planet, whether it was a member of the Empire or not, would be declared "rebellious." A Star Destroyer would be sent—sometimes two or more, depending on the size of the planet and the technology of its inhabitants—and would decimate the planetary defenses, as well as any major cities. A new Imperial government would be installed—Han knew this was why D'jik Sevvro, the Loloen bureaucrat, was on the Ghorman—and that was that. The planet belonged to the Empire.

It was an aspect of serving the Empire that Han hated. Though he had been raised to understand the doctrines of the Empire, his parents had always said the Empire was an evil institution, and they'd practically disowned him when Han told them he wanted to enter the Academy. Now, Han felt a twinge of guilt (and sometimes more than a twinge) during these planetary conquests.

Han brought the Ghorman into orbit around H'Zonalm II just as the Grand Moff gave the order for the TIE fighters to attack. Han watched with fascination; he knew the tiny ships were little more than tin balls with a pair of solar plates, and would fly apart at the slightest blast. More impressive were the large TIE bombers that tailed the convoy. The bombers' job was to take out any significant defenses, such as ion cannons—and to level the major cities.

"What is the extent of their defenses?" Tarkin asked the tactical officer as Han angled the Ghorman to allow its lower weapon banks a clear shot at the planet surface.

"They have fighters to match ours," the tactical officer, Anatya, told Tarkin. "And they appear to have a few energy shields around their major cities; nothing that could damage this ship."

"Excellent," said Tarkin. "Proceed."

His duties more or less complete, Han watched as the TIE fighters engaged the smaller, more maneuverable fighter ships of the H'Zonalmi. The pilots of the native craft were far less disciplined than the Imperial forces. Soon the fighters were no more.

Once the first waves of defense were destroyed, the heavy TIE bombers entered the atmosphere, escorted by a few TIE scouts that took out any stragglers. The bombers kept out of the gravity well as much as possible, and Han watched as the first few bombs fell from the large ships, landing in bright flashes of light on the auburn surface of the planet.

Thousands just died, Han thought. And why? Because they resisted? No. Because they didn't want to be another cog in the Imperial war machine? Not even that. They were just in the wrong solar system at the wrong time.

Han had long ago recognized what the Empire had become. Long gone were the early days of the Empire, when Palpatine and his cronies had sworn they would correct the excesses of the corrupt Senate and restore the glory of the Republic. Yet, Han also knew the Empire could do much for him...give him more wealth, recognition and power than he could imagine...

"Grand Moff..." Anatya said uncertainly.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"There's a major energy buildup directly below us on the planet, sir...it appears they may be charging some sort of weapon...?"

The Grand Moff frowned. "Are you asking me, Lieutenant?" he snapped. "Tell me what's going on!"

"It looks like they're going to fire an ion cannon!" Anatya cried.

Han knew what that meant. An ion blast would destabilize many of the Ghorman's systems. At best, it would delay the mission for a significant amount of time. And at worst...while the ship was incapacitated, the planet could fire some type of thermonuclear weapon or neutron missile, and destroy the entire ship...

"Evasive maneuvers!" Tarkin barked at Han.

Startled into action, Han glanced at the tactical screen on his console to find the location of the cannon. It was dead center below the ship, and it almost certainly could rotate to accommodate a change in position. He would have to find a better way...

One chance.

With seconds to spare, Han executed a series of commands on his console that altered only the Destroyer's position relative to the planet. The Ghorman angled itself, becoming a thinner target for the ion blast.

Expecting a wider range, the ion bolt passed the ship's hull by a mere twenty meters, vanishing into deep space.

"Sir," Anatya said in a tremulous voice, "our bombers have destroyed the ion cannon."

"Too little, too late, Lieutenant," Tarkin said coldly.

"But sir—"

"Enough. You are hereby demoted to Acting Sub-Lieutenant and assigned to engineering."

Anatya was speechless. He remained motionless for a moment, bewildered.

Tarkin frowned." Get off my bridge!"

Anatya turned and sped toward the lift. Han felt for the man. Anatya had served on the Ghorman for more than ten years. Technically, he was fifth in command.

Or had been, anyway.

The crew was silent. No one wished to draw the attention of the angry Tarkin. Han swallowed and watched his console, noting that the TIE bombers had decimated five cities so far.

"Sub-Lieutenant Solo," Tarkin said, walking toward the pilot.

"Yes sir?" said Han, rising to his feet.

"That was an excellent maneuver, Lieutenant. Your quick thinking may have saved this ship."

"Thank you, sir," was all Han could muster.

"I am promoting you to full Sub-Lieutenant. Good work."

Again, in his bewilderment, Han could only mumble a "thank you, sir."

Tarkin nodded, then turned and left the bridge.

Now it was Han's turn to be speechless. Once Tarkin was gone, the bridge crew stared at Han. Somewhat self-conscious, he allowed a small grin to escape his lips...and then the bridge erupted in applause, a rare thing on a Star Destroyer.

"Thanks," Han said, saluting the captain and crew before resuming his place at the pilot seat.



***



Seven hours later, the inhabitants of H'Zonalm were completely under Imperial control and the provincial governors were already being set up within their new governments.

Lieutenant Han Solo left the bridge and returned to his quarters, elated with his new position but exhausted by the long day.

He entered his quarters—and stopped short.

Kuyi was sitting on Han's bunk, his face reddened and damp with tears.

"What—what's wrong?" said Han.

"Drogan..." Kuyi gasped.

"What? What happened to Drogan?" Han demanded.

"We were...we were in the middle of the sabacc game," said Kuyi. "And Tarkin walked in. He looked right at Drogan, and told him that they'd been watching him. Spying on him. Tarkin said he was a traitor. Damn, Slick, it must have been that thing about Tarkin's...um...oh, I don't know. I don't know why he did it!"

Kuyi looked nervously around the room, then at Han. Han nodded. If they'd been spying on Drogan, they could spy on anyone. Best not to discuss Drogan's mention of Tarkin's "big plans."

"What did Tarkin do, Ku?"

"He—he accused Drogan of treason and sentenced him to death, right there. Death by vacuum." Kuyi spoke in a dead monotone. "They took him away, and they ejected him. Right into space. They made me watch. He just went limp, and floated away..."

Han was horrified. Right after Tarkin had promoted him, he'd gone to Han's quarters, accused Drogan of treason, and sent him to his death.

Since his promotion, Han had been trying to justify the Empire's tactics to himself, to see reason in the death and hatred it propagated. But now he knew...

...he could never believe in the Empire.

Kuyi was angrily wiping the tears from his eyes. "It was his own damn fault," he muttered. "I told Drogan his big mouth would get him in trouble. Always going around, gossiping about Tarkin. Damn idiot. He did it to himself."

Han was silent.


***



"So, Slick," Kuyi said, "it looks like where to next?"

They were watching H'Zonalm II as it rotated slowly below them. The planet had been quelled in just three days, and soon the Ghorman would move on to its next mission.

"Some planet called Despayre, " said Han. "In the Horuz system. Some sort of labor camp or penal colony or something."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," Kuyi said. "Word is the Empire's going to start some big secret project there. Guess what kind of criminals they have on Despayre?"

"I have no idea," said Han.

"Wookies," Kuyi said with disdain. "Lots and lots of Wookies."

"Wookies?" Han said. "Big hairy things, right?"

"Yeah," Kuyi replied. "I hate Wookies. They stink."

"Wookies," Han repeated.


***



Alone in his quarters once more, Willhuff Tarkin pondered the deeds he had performed in the last few days. The conquest had gone fairly well, with the exception of the ion cannon. The execution of Ensign Drogan had been an unfortunate affair, but a necessary one; the officer had known far too much about Tarkin's private plans and ambitions, but worse, he's gossiped about them.

Tarkin's mind wandered to the new pilot, Solo. The young man would be an excellent addition to Tarkin's small, tight-knit group of supporters...or conspirators, as some might call them. Tarkin thought he might invite Solo to be one of the pilots of the Death Star upon its completion.

Ackbar entered, pushing a lunch cart. Brushing aside the mosaic of thoughts that swirled in his mind, Tarkin gave the alien a cold, lipless smile.

 


PART II
EIGHT YEARS LATER
THE MODO SYSTEM, NEAR MODO III




The Millennium Falcon screamed away from the blue-green planet, engines glowing with white flame as her pilots made a desperate escape.

In the out-rigger cockpit, Captain Han Solo and his first mate—a Wookie named Chewbacca—were frantically trying to prepare for a jump to hyperspace.

"Keep going!" Han shouted. "They won't be able to scramble their patrol ships to this side of the planet in time..."

Han knew if he could just get the damned navicomputer to accept the course, they would be home-free. Unfortunately the navicomputer, while quite advanced for its time, was still a little slow.

Chewbacca bellowed again. This time Han stood up and took notice. "Star Destroyers?" he exclaimed. "Star Destroyers? Where?"

The smuggler looked out the cockpit window and, sure enough, two gargantuan Star Destroyers loomed in the distance, slowly powering toward Modo III—and the Millennium Falcon.

"Wonderful," said Han.

Chewbacca wuffled a question. "No, we can't change course," said Han. "Those Destroyers won't bother us, I don't think. They look like they're preoccupied with that other ship..."

Han's brow furrowed as he stared at the small tactical screen. "Looks like some sort of starliner or something...the Imperials have a tractor beam on it, and they're drawing it in..."

Chewbacca growled again. "Yeah, you're right, probably Rebellion stuff, none of our business."

Han shook his head. His intuition was gnawing at him. Something about one of those Star Destroyers...

"Chewie, can you get a fix on their transponder signals?" he asked, forgetting about the navicomputer for the moment. As he turned to stare out the cockpit again, the tactical screen lit up with small blips.

"Patrol ships coming in fast," Han said. "We've only got a few minutes here. Get me those transponders, Chewie."

Chewbacca played with the console. Though they usually stuck to the standard frequencies, certain Imperial ships (particularly those with special or powerful commanders) sometimes changed them...

Chewbacca finally isolated the frequency of the first Star Destroyer. It was called the Conquest; Han had never heard of it. "What about the other one?"

Alarms suddenly blared across the Falcon, and Chewie howled in surprise. "Patrol ships," Han said as a blast rocked the freighter. "Damn. The navicomputer hasn't got the course set yet...I'll have to out-maneuver them."

Chewbacca growled a response, but Han shook his head and said, "No, you keep working on that transponder. I want to know who that other ship is."

Han put Falcon into a dive, plunging away from the small patrol fighters and executing a spiral maneuver that led them toward the two Star Destroyers. Chewbacca again howled in alarm.

"Don't worry, Chewie! I know what I'm doing...those patrol ships won't follow us near those Destroyers..."

Guessing Han's plan, the patrol ships began to pelt the Falcon with blasts. The Falcon shuddered.

"Just a few more kilometers..." Han muttered.

Finally, the patrol ships broke formation and headed back toward the planet. Han breathed a sigh of relief.

The two Star Destroyers now filled cockpit window. They loomed like floating mountains, peaked by the spherical shield generators. Han banked the Falcon and brought it under the Conquest. The other Destroyer was still trying to drag the starliner into its docking bay; it seemed the smaller ship was putting up a fight.

Good for them, thought Han. While Han didn't care much about the Rebellion, he cared less for the Empire.

The comm panel crackled to life. "Imperial Star Destroyer Conquest to unidentified freighter. You are interfering with Imperial business. Please identify yourself and leave the area before we are forced to destroy you."

"I'd like to see you try," Han muttered under his breath as Chewbacca resumed his search for the Destroyer's transponder signal.

"Ah, copy that, Conquest," said Han. "This is Captain Crank Glesin, of the freighter Orka. We were about to jump to hyperspace when we had a malfunction. We're just fixing it now."

Even as he spoke, the navicomputer beeped to inform him that the course had been set. About time, Han thought.

There was a long pause from the other ship. Han waited, tense, wondering if the Imperials had noticed the patrol ships' pursuit of the Falcon, or worse, were communicating with Modo III and asking about it.

Han was greatly relieved when the Imperial voice came back on and said, "Copy that, Orka. Do you require assistance?"

"No, that's all right," Han replied. "It was a minor problem with the maneuvering thrusters. We'll be out of your way in no time."

"Understood, Orka. Please leave the area as soon as possible."

We're going, we're going, Han thought. "Understood, Conquest. Sol—I mean, Glesin out."



***



On the bridge of the Ghorman, Commander Stem Kuyi frowned at the comm panel. The captain had left for his sleep shift, and now the commander was stuck on the bridge with Tarkin during the capture of a Rebel ship. This interfering smuggler was just an annoyance...and yet...

"Something's not right here," he muttered to himself.

"Commander?" said a cold voice behind him. "Is there a problem?"

Kuyi turned. "No, Grand Moff. Just a freighter flying a bit too close."

Tarkin glanced at the comm screen, furrowing his white brow. "'Crank Glesin'? That has to be a pseudonym."

"Yes, we think so, sir," Kuyi said sheepishly. "We think he's just a smuggler."

Tarkin frowned in annoyance. "Is he worth a delaying our operation?"

"No sir," said Kuyi.

"Good," Tarkin nodded in assent. "Has the Rebel ship been accosted?"

Kuyi checked the tactical screen. "Nearly, sir," he replied. "It will be in our docking bay in two minutes."



***



"Who are they?" Han asked again.

Chewbacca repeated his answer.

Han sat back in his chair. The Ghorman. His old ship.

He knew Tarkin was aboard. And he remembered Drogan.

An unusual rage suddenly bubbled up in Han. Grabbing the controls, he rolled the Falcon and plunged below the Star Destroyers, gliding along the bottom of the Ghorman.

"Get in the tunnel, Chewie!" Han said. "Hurry!"

Han slammed his fist on the transceiver.



***



"Tarkin!"

Aboard the Ghorman, the bridge crew jumped at the sudden shout that from the comm panel. Tarkin snapped to attention and whirled.

"Who was that?" he demanded.

"The pilot of that freighter, sir," the comm officer replied. "Captain Glesin..."

"Tarkin! I know you're there!" the voice screamed over the channel again. "And Kuyi! Are you there, too?"

Shaken, Kuyi replied, "Yes, this is Commander Kuyi...and what do you think you're doing, addressing us in such a man—"

"Oh shut up, Ku!" the voice shouted. "Commander now, eh? Have you lost any more friends along the way?"

Kuyi could only sputter, bewildered; Tarkin was outraged. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Ku knows," the voice said. "Right, Ku?"

"Han...?" Kuyi said slowly.

"Sir..." the tactical officer began. Tarkin held up a hand to silence him.

Han chuckled over the comm channel. "That's right, Ku. I'm back."

Recognition now dawned on Tarkin. "Han? Han Solo?" His expression became smug. "So, Solo, this is what you've been reduced to? Smuggling just to stay alive. Are you still fond of Wookies?"

"I've got one as my co-pilot," said Han.

"Sir," the tactical officer said urgently, but Tarkin angrily waved him off.

"Interesting," said Tarkin. "Is it the same one you threw away your career for?"

"Yeah," was Han's terse reply.

"Indeed," Tarkin said. "So tell me, Captain Solo. Before we destroy you, I must ask...was it worth it. Do you regret your choice?"

"First off, Willhuff—do you mind if I call you that? How about Willy? I like that one. First off, Willy, you'll never catch me. As to your second question...

"...not for a damn second."

"Grand Moff!" the tactical officer cried.

"What is it?" Tarkin snapped.

"The freighter has destroyed our tractor beam emitter! We've lost the Rebel ship!"

The bridge became silent as a tomb. A low chuckle drifted over the comm channel.

"Well, Willy," said Han, "It's been great chatting with you, but I've got to go. Have a good one! You too, Ku. Catch me next time!""



 ***



Han laughed again as he switched off the transceiver. "Score one for Drogan," he said. Chewbacca started to come out of the gun tunnel. "No, not yet, Chewie!" Han cried. "Get back in there! Nice shooting, but I'm not done yet."

Chewbacca growled a question, but Han waved dismissively. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing..."

The hyperspace course was already set. There was nothing wrong with one last blast, Han thought. He angled the Falcon away from the bottom of the Destroyer as the Rebel ship entered hyperspace.

The Falcon came up and over the tapered bow of the Destroyer, Han pouring on the speed as the freighter neared the head of the huge ship.

"Chewie," Han said over the intercom, "I'm going to send you some coordinates. Aim for that spot, if you can..."

The Falcon crossed the distance in seconds. An instant before striking the massive superstructure above the wedge-shaped hull of the ship, Chewbacca fired a volley of laser blasts that struck the Destroyer point-blank. At the last possible moment, Han pulled the Falcon up and away from the Destroyer.

TIE fighters were already surrounding them as Chewbacca returned to the co-pilot seat.

Han pulled the hyperdrive lever. The Falcon was catapulted into hyperspace, far out of reach of the pursuing Imperials.



***



The bridge of the Ghorman was a wreck. A smoky haze filled the air, and small fires lit the shadows not touched by the auxiliary lighting. The large viewscreen was shattered.

Tarkin pushed a chunk of debris off his body, then dragged himself to his feet. Beyond the few cuts and scratches—and a pounding headache—he found himself in satisfactory condition.

Kuyi was another matter. A ceiling panel had crushed his chest. His eyes were glassy and empty.

"Did we catch him?" Tarkin growled to no one in particular.

The tactical officer answered. "Negative, Grand Moff. The ship entered hyperspace and escaped our fighters."

"Damn!" Tarkin cried.

Solo...Han Solo. The promising young pilot, seemingly destined for a stellar career in the Imperial Navy. The man who threw it all away for the life of a Wookie slave.

Tarkin remembered watching the court-martial. Watching as the tribunal carried out Tarkin's instructions that Solo not be executed but dishonorably discharged. Tarkin remembered watching the former lieutenant, grim-faced and unrepentant, leave the court with a dignity that seemed out-of-place for the situation.

 As he was led to sickbay by a medtech, Tarkin considered placing a bounty on Solo's head. A thin, lipless smile spread across his face.



***



Aboard the Millennium Falcon, Han Solo was still chuckling. "Not a bad piece of work, eh, Chewie?"

Chewie growled in agreement, then wuffled a question.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose it was a nice thing to do," Han said as he sat down in the pilot seat again. "But saving those Rebels was just something I did to get Tarkin all riled up. To get back at him. You know."

Chewbacca snorted doubtfully.

"C'mon, Chewie, why would I want to get mixed up in the Rebellion? The whole thing gets in the way of business. And I doubt a damned idealistic Rebel government would have customs officials as easy to bribe as the Empire's."

Chewbacca agreed, then was silent. Han knew the Wookie suspected he'd saved the starliner out of the kindness of his heart. But Han knew better. He'd only wanted to get back at Tarkin, and Kuyi, too, for the death of Hode Drogan.

Hadn't he?






PART III
TWENTY-FOUR YEARS LATER
THE ATHDEN SYSTEM, OUTER RIM TERRITORY




General Han Solo slowly guided the Millennium Falcon through the deserted Athden system. The system contained one small red dwarf star and two planets, neither of which supported any life, though there was evidence that one had been home to a great and powerful civilization, long ago.

Now the territory was little more than a galactic garbage dump. A special magnetic anomaly made the area particularly well-suited for gathering old, useless vessels, space stations, and any other assorted junk that the owners didn't want any more, but were too big or expensive to annihilate.

The system had once been a popular spot for scavengers. But a recently commissioned New Republic outpost, which charged for scavenged materials, had diminished its popularity.

A-wing fighters patrolled the endless floating debris, watching out for unauthorized scavenger vessels. But Han knew he was safe: General Solo had pull in the New Republic. Besides, these days a lot of younger pilots recognized the Falcon by sight.

Because they've seen pictures of it in history books, Han thought grimly. But he was glad to get past the outpost with little trouble.

Han had come to Athden on an anonymous tip. He had received a transmission informing him that the Star Destroyer Ghorman, now a useless hulk, had been relegated to the Athden Dump. Despite Leia's protests, Han had found the temptation to visit his old ship irresistible.

After confirming the tip with the outpost, Han had said good-bye Leia and the kids, assuring them he'd be home soon. He'd even left Chewbacca behind. He'd needed to go on this one alone.

Flying the Falcon without a co-pilot was easier now, thanks to constant upgrades (fully funded by the New Republic, of course). The ship was still nowhere near the standards of the new YT-class freighters, but it was far more powerful than it had been when he'd taken Luke and Ben Kenobi for that first ride.

 Han slowly guided his old freighter through the wreckage. As he passed, he noticed several classes of vessels he recognized: an old Firespray-class patrol ship, heavily modified, now a worthless piece of trash; several Imperial shuttles, which reminded him of the Tydirium, the shuttle he'd piloted undercover to Endor; hundreds of damaged TIE fighters; a blasted Mon Calamari cruiser, now a dignified, inactive hulk; a few Corellian freighters that looked a little too much like the Falcon for Han's comfort; and there, floating near the planet of Athden II, were the Star Destroyers.

There were three of the mile-long vessels here, bruised and battered from their long battle with the Rebellion. Flanking the Ghorman (Han recognized his old ship by its lack of a finished bow, a wound the ship had suffered in the Battle of Endor) were the Thorn of the Rim and the Valorous, both in far worse condition than the Ghorman.

The Falcon's sensors informed him there was no life support active on board the Ghorman; disappointing but expected. The computer core had been downloaded by Rebellion techs long ago, but Han suspected there might be something the Rebels had missed.

The Ghorman's computer was still operating, though it could do little more than respond to what was asked of it. Han downloaded a file from the central computer core, using a brand-new device that had been installed on the Falcon less than a month before. Thanking the Force for small favors, Han eyed his old vessel while the computer hummed at its task.

Years after his court-martial, in a dreary bar somewhere in the Corporate Sector, Han had learned where the name Ghorman had come from. Ghorman was a planet, located in the system of the same name in the Sern sector near the Core Worlds. It was the site of the infamous Ghorman Massacre, an early atrocity committed by the Empire. During a peaceful anti-tax demonstration, a warship sent to collect the taxes landed on top of the protesters, killing dozens and injuring hundreds. The warship's captain, Willhuff Tarkin, was promoted to Admiral for this action. The Ghorman Massacre was commemorated every year on its anniversary by those opposed to Palpatine's New Order, and it convinced Bail Organa of Alderaan to join the cause of the Rebellion. That Tarkin would commemorate the action as well—by naming a Star Destroyer after the planet—seemed like the product of a sick mind.

As he gazed at the huge vessel, a strange mixture of old thoughts and feelings begin to bubble in Han's mind. He remembered piloting the huge ship. That huge, wedge-shaped monstrosity, and the wonderful feeling of strength and power he'd felt at its controls. He remembered his friends: smug Drogan, and that slime devil Kuyi, and maybe a few others. Life had been orderly, simple, in the Empire.

Now life was complicated. He had a wife and kids, a fleet, a Republic to think about. Yet who knew? Had he continued to pilot the Ghorman, he might have become commander, instead of Kuyi...

The computer beeped, shaking Han from his reverie. He tried to open the long file he'd downloaded. It was encrypted, of course. Encrypted quite well, for the time period it had been created in. But the computer quickly deciphered it. It then demanded a password, and Han stared at it, perplexed.

"Ghorman" he typed in. "Incorrect Password" flashed the screen. Too obvious.

He tried "Deathstar." Same result. He tried "Fear," "Empire," "Nikrat" (Tarkin backwards), and even "Grandmoff." All came up negative.

Han sat back, stumped. He tried to recall everything he could about the long-dead Grand Moff, every little fact about the man.

Then he slapped his forehead. "Daala," Han typed. "Incorrect Password," the screen flashed. He tried "Alaad."

Han breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the personal log of the late Grand Moff Willhuff Tarkin glowed on the screen before him.

Though he was sure the historians back on Coruscant would find the contents of the log invaluable, Han wasn't interested in most of it. He thought hard for a moment, trying to remember the date he'd gained his promotion, and the day he'd attacked the Ghorman in the Falcon. After a few minutes of searching, he found the files he was looking for.

First was the day of his promotion. The log entry read:




Ackbar made an excellent breakfast this morning.

The day went rather well. The conquest of H'Zonalm II has proceeded without hindrance. There was some resistance in the form of an ion cannon, but thanks to the quick action of our new pilot, Acting Sub-Lieutenant Han Solo, we were able to avoid the blast. I promoted Solo to full Sub-Lieutenant on the spot, and also demoted that worthless tactical officer, Anatya, to Acting Sub-Lieutenant.

There was some unpleasantness, unfortunately. I had a communiqué with Vader, and still I think he threatens me, and  silently mocks me.

Worse, one of my officers, an ensign named Hode Drogan, was running at the mouth today. He had learned far too much of my ambitions, and spoke far too often of them.

I had him executed, much to my distaste. I cannot abide such impudence and gossip amongst my officers. I cannot allow such crass knowledge of my plans throughout the ship, particularly when I already suffer so much from that boorish Motti.

Once we have finished this conquest, we are to proceed to the Horuz system, where I shall oversee the beginning of the Death Star project. My heart leaps slightly at the thought...the most powerful weapon ever known, to be under my command...




The log ended there. Han reflected on it, briefly. He had forgotten Ackbar had been Tarkin's servant.

He skipped over his court-martial; he didn't want to know Tarkin's thoughts on that. His court-martial had been a grim, ugly time for him, one he didn't care to remember.

 He located the file from the day he and Chewie had attacked the Ghorman.



A ghost from the past returned to haunt me today...a former officer, Lieutenant Han Solo, now the 'captain' of a meager light freighter.

He taught me a lesson today. I always knew the man had potential, and indeed, his skill is even greater today than it was eight years ago, when he piloted this very ship.

While I was distracted by his tough talk and cocky attitude, Solo in his little freighter managed to destroy our tractor beam emitter, freeing the Rebel ship we had captured.

What he did next enrages me—and commands my respect as one of the bravest acts I have ever witnessed. In that tiny vessel, Solo actually moved to an attack position and made a run at the Ghorman herself. The ship's laser cannons struck the bridge, nearly destroying it. I escaped uninjured, but Commander Kuyi was killed.

I considered placing a hundred-thousand credit bounty on the man—after all, the Empire cannot allow such acts to go unpunished—but I find I cannot. The man is too brave. I shall let him go. And I wonder whether our paths shall cross again.




Han was fascinated. He didn't know he'd killed Kuyi in that attack run.

The news bothered him. A feeling of guilt slowly crept into his gut. But he shook it off—this was a long time ago, and part of him couldn't help but feel Kuyi had gotten what he deserved.

The rest of the files didn't interest him, though he stored them in the computer banks for the historians on Coruscant. Sighing, Han piloted the Falcon out of the wreckage, transmitting a good-bye message to a passing A-Wing patroller.

Once the Falcon had leapt into hyperspace, Han went to the back of the ship. He needed a strong drink, and all those government dinners had left him with a generous stash of vintage liquor. Taking out a little Tatooine Binge Ale, Han sat down on his bunk and reflected.

He found he was still haunted by What Might Have Been...how his life might have gone had he stayed with the Empire. He'd never have met Leia, certainly—or Luke, for that matter, or Kenobi. He'd never have owed Jabba the Hutt and spent years encased in carbonite. Jabba would be alive, and Chewie would be dead. The Empire would have the entire galaxy in its grip, with the Death Star as its glove...and there would be Han, perhaps an Admiral, perhaps even greater, wealthy beyond imagining, commanding fleets of ships and millions of troops, heir to all the glitter and the glory of the Empire...

All that glitters is not gold.

The refrain had leapt into Han's mind. Where did I see that? he wondered. A book somewhere?

Then he realized his mistake. The Empire would never have survived. Luke and Kenobi would have found some other pilot— Dash Rendar maybe, or some other guy on Tatooine—and that guy would be married to Leia, and have three kids, and be a general in the New Republic.

And where would Han be? Dead, most likely, strangled by Vader or killed in the Battle of Endor, or shipped off to some backwater prison planet.

He thought of Leia, and Jacen and Jaina, and little Anakin. He remembered the odd little hair-buns Leia had when they first met, all those years ago on the Death Star. He thought of the way Anakin's face lit up when he laughed.

Yeah, things are better the way they are, he decided.

Feeling the smooth vibrations of the Falcon's new hyperdrive coursing through his body, Han finished the drink, programmed the computer to wake him shortly before exiting hyperspace, and lay down on the small bunk. His mind full of dreams, memories and hopes, Han Solo, pilot, officer, smuggler, scoundrel, husband, and father, closed his eyes and fell asleep.