Leia finished drying her long, dark hair with a towel and began combing
it out in front of the mirror of the small cabin in the Mon Calamarian
cruiser. It had been allotted to her to allow her to freshen up and get
some rest, for which she felt unspeakably grateful.
The Alliance ships were due to pull out of Endor's star system in three or four hours at the latest, because, despite their victory, the Empire was still at large and a very real threat. Normally, Leia had a part in overseeing some of the tasks involved with evacuations, but apparently Mon Mothma felt sorry for her after Madine had raked her over the coals, because she arranged for Leia to take much-needed refuge in one of the ship's private cabins and reclaim her sanity. Leia frowned at her reflection—the dark circles under her eyes and the pale appearance of her skin. She really did need some sleep.
Han had shuttled back to Endor less than an hour before to get the Falcon and take care of some last minute things. Leia knew the real motive behind Han's returning to the moon, besides seeing that his ship got repaired, was to try to maintain the hope that Luke was still alive, still coming. Han tried to be strong for her, but Leia could see the dark expression in his eyes, his suspicions that he didn't voice, the knowledge that they would have to face the facts that Luke might not be coming back.
Leia sighed, tiredly. She was so exhausted and drained that she could not even allow the doubts to sink in. Her mind kept arguing that Luke was alive. He had to be alive.
Quickly plaiting her hair into a simple braid, Leia eyed the cabin's narrow bunk. She needed some sleep if she was going to continue to function with any degree of civility. She took one last disgusted look in the mirror and padded softly over to the bed and laid down, eventually drifting off into an uneasy sleep.
*******
Han tried to keep from pacing as he watched repairs being made on the Falcon, but with little success. Another steamy, humid morning on Endor was underway, and the Ewok's primitive village had become a buzzing metropolis full of tired pilots, crew, and repair teams who had set up shop.
"Hey buddy!" a familiar voice called. Han turned to see Lando Calrissian striding toward him through a crowd of milling Ewoks and droids. "You look like you just swallowed a clawed pitten. What's wrong?"
Han gave him a humorless glare. "I'm waiting for my poor ship to be repaired," he growled pointedly. "I hate seeing anyone else working on it."
Calrissian chuckled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Why don't I put you out of your misery. Come over to the transports and help me do something useful."
Han glowered, but started walking. "Since when have you become Mister Responsible?" he muttered, frowning.
"Hey, pal," Lando held up his hands in surrender, "I'm the one trying to be friendly, here. Besides, they need all hands. The higher-ups figure to be out of here before 1600."
Solo focused his glare on the trees ahead of him and muttered, "I know."
Calrissian recognized the reason his friend was so melancholy and he swallowed hard. "Look," he said. "I heard about Luke this morning, that he's gone MIA. Antilles filled me in. I'm sorry."
Han sighed in defeat, scowling at the ground. "We're pulling out less than twenty-four hours after the battle. That hardly helps his chances of being found."
"They're doing everything they can," Calrissian argued. "But you know the longer the Alliance stays here, the more it runs the risk of being under attack. The Empire is far from dead.
"I know he was a good friend," Lando added quietly. "Hey—he was my friend too." He trailed off, his words spent. Han couldn't help but notice that Lando had just discussed Luke in the past tense.
You know it too, he thought to himself. The kid's not coming back.
Stars, how am I going to tell Leia?
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Han nodded, acknowledging and thanking his friend for his sympathy. "We're at war," he reminded Lando tightly. "Casualties happen. Sometimes they're your friends."
"There's still a chance he could be alive," Cloud City's baron administrator added feebly. "After all, if there was anyone I would trust to get out of a tight spot, it would be Luke."
Han nodded mechanically. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and glanced around. "So…where are these transports you were talking about?"
Lando balked at the sudden change of subject. "Umm…over here. Follow me."
They had barely begun to walk when, over the din of the humans, aliens, and droids, a voice called, "General Solo! General Solo!"
Han turned to face a young Rebel officer, fresh off the B-wing, his bright, panicky expression directed at him.
"Yeah?" Han's brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Sir," the young man saluted grimly. Belatedly, Solo returned the gesture. "We found something, sir—in the woods about four kilometers away from here."
Han's blood turned to ice. "What is it?" he asked through stiff lips. He thought he knew already, but he kept shoving that cold knowledge to the back of his mind.
"I think you'd better come with me, sir," the young officer insisted. "We can explain on the way."
Without further questions, Han followed the Rebel at a brisk pace to the sleek black vehicle humming impatiently for them.
The pilot was solemnly quiet and they took off without another word.
"So, do you want to tell me what's going on?" Han called over the rushing wind of the speeder. No one answered for a few moments and Solo could see through the thick foliage that they were coming up on something. In a matter of seconds, it became evident that what they were looking at was the burned out hulk of an Imperial shuttle, its bulk lying cold and lifeless on the fertile, green surface of the Endor moon.
The speeder stopped abruptly about four meters from the wreck.
"Sir," the young officer said very quietly. His voice was sad and flustered all at once. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but we received orders that you were to be informed immediately if there were any—"
Han shut his eyes, his last fading hopes being washed out with the brightness of the horrible truth. "Please," he murmured. "Just get on with it."
"Yes sir," the young man answered penitently, managing to look even more flustered.
"I think we've found Luke Skywalker."
The Alliance ships were due to pull out of Endor's star system in three or four hours at the latest, because, despite their victory, the Empire was still at large and a very real threat. Normally, Leia had a part in overseeing some of the tasks involved with evacuations, but apparently Mon Mothma felt sorry for her after Madine had raked her over the coals, because she arranged for Leia to take much-needed refuge in one of the ship's private cabins and reclaim her sanity. Leia frowned at her reflection—the dark circles under her eyes and the pale appearance of her skin. She really did need some sleep.
Han had shuttled back to Endor less than an hour before to get the Falcon and take care of some last minute things. Leia knew the real motive behind Han's returning to the moon, besides seeing that his ship got repaired, was to try to maintain the hope that Luke was still alive, still coming. Han tried to be strong for her, but Leia could see the dark expression in his eyes, his suspicions that he didn't voice, the knowledge that they would have to face the facts that Luke might not be coming back.
Leia sighed, tiredly. She was so exhausted and drained that she could not even allow the doubts to sink in. Her mind kept arguing that Luke was alive. He had to be alive.
Quickly plaiting her hair into a simple braid, Leia eyed the cabin's narrow bunk. She needed some sleep if she was going to continue to function with any degree of civility. She took one last disgusted look in the mirror and padded softly over to the bed and laid down, eventually drifting off into an uneasy sleep.
*******
Han tried to keep from pacing as he watched repairs being made on the Falcon, but with little success. Another steamy, humid morning on Endor was underway, and the Ewok's primitive village had become a buzzing metropolis full of tired pilots, crew, and repair teams who had set up shop.
"Hey buddy!" a familiar voice called. Han turned to see Lando Calrissian striding toward him through a crowd of milling Ewoks and droids. "You look like you just swallowed a clawed pitten. What's wrong?"
Han gave him a humorless glare. "I'm waiting for my poor ship to be repaired," he growled pointedly. "I hate seeing anyone else working on it."
Calrissian chuckled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Why don't I put you out of your misery. Come over to the transports and help me do something useful."
Han glowered, but started walking. "Since when have you become Mister Responsible?" he muttered, frowning.
"Hey, pal," Lando held up his hands in surrender, "I'm the one trying to be friendly, here. Besides, they need all hands. The higher-ups figure to be out of here before 1600."
Solo focused his glare on the trees ahead of him and muttered, "I know."
Calrissian recognized the reason his friend was so melancholy and he swallowed hard. "Look," he said. "I heard about Luke this morning, that he's gone MIA. Antilles filled me in. I'm sorry."
Han sighed in defeat, scowling at the ground. "We're pulling out less than twenty-four hours after the battle. That hardly helps his chances of being found."
"They're doing everything they can," Calrissian argued. "But you know the longer the Alliance stays here, the more it runs the risk of being under attack. The Empire is far from dead.
"I know he was a good friend," Lando added quietly. "Hey—he was my friend too." He trailed off, his words spent. Han couldn't help but notice that Lando had just discussed Luke in the past tense.
You know it too, he thought to himself. The kid's not coming back.
Stars, how am I going to tell Leia?
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Han nodded, acknowledging and thanking his friend for his sympathy. "We're at war," he reminded Lando tightly. "Casualties happen. Sometimes they're your friends."
"There's still a chance he could be alive," Cloud City's baron administrator added feebly. "After all, if there was anyone I would trust to get out of a tight spot, it would be Luke."
Han nodded mechanically. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and glanced around. "So…where are these transports you were talking about?"
Lando balked at the sudden change of subject. "Umm…over here. Follow me."
They had barely begun to walk when, over the din of the humans, aliens, and droids, a voice called, "General Solo! General Solo!"
Han turned to face a young Rebel officer, fresh off the B-wing, his bright, panicky expression directed at him.
"Yeah?" Han's brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Sir," the young man saluted grimly. Belatedly, Solo returned the gesture. "We found something, sir—in the woods about four kilometers away from here."
Han's blood turned to ice. "What is it?" he asked through stiff lips. He thought he knew already, but he kept shoving that cold knowledge to the back of his mind.
"I think you'd better come with me, sir," the young officer insisted. "We can explain on the way."
Without further questions, Han followed the Rebel at a brisk pace to the sleek black vehicle humming impatiently for them.
The pilot was solemnly quiet and they took off without another word.
"So, do you want to tell me what's going on?" Han called over the rushing wind of the speeder. No one answered for a few moments and Solo could see through the thick foliage that they were coming up on something. In a matter of seconds, it became evident that what they were looking at was the burned out hulk of an Imperial shuttle, its bulk lying cold and lifeless on the fertile, green surface of the Endor moon.
The speeder stopped abruptly about four meters from the wreck.
"Sir," the young officer said very quietly. His voice was sad and flustered all at once. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but we received orders that you were to be informed immediately if there were any—"
Han shut his eyes, his last fading hopes being washed out with the brightness of the horrible truth. "Please," he murmured. "Just get on with it."
"Yes sir," the young man answered penitently, managing to look even more flustered.
"I think we've found Luke Skywalker."
