Whoa, whoa! I didn't know this had sparked an uprising. Sorry for the
really, really long time in between chapters. I've been in the process of
moving out of a scummy basement apartment into a new house and dealing with
midterms, no internet, blah blah. The good news is that I am two chapters
away from completing this entire story--all 236 pages of it. So here are a
couple of chapters for ya! R&R--and have a great day! Bu-bye now! ;p
P.S. sorry if you've tried to read chapters 1-11. Something happened to them. I'll fix it sometime, but just not now.
******************************* ***********************************
A quiet, persistent beeping sound percolated through Han Solo's consciousness, startling him rudely out of a peaceful sleep. With a muttered curse, he slapped out a hand aimed to squash the source of the noise--the alarm clock.
His blindly flailing hand struck something, sending it flying from the nightstand and hitting the nearest wall, with the crashing sound of shattering duraplast and metal components. The beeping stopped.
Han sighed, fully awake now, rubbing the heel of his palm at sleep-sticky eyes that did not seem to want to open and slowly sitting up.
"It's morning, Leia--time to get up," he nudged the sleeping form of his wife lying next to him, then smacked the glowlamp on the nightstand as he swung his legs over the side of the be bed. The lamp shot the tiny room with a searing white light. Solo covered his eyes with his arm, uttering another muffled curse as he stumbled to his feet.
"Hon, I think I broke the chrono," he told her, prodding the busted components of the clock with his foot. She didn't reply. "Serves the blasted thing right for waking me up. Leia, wake up--we've got a meeting to go to in an hour."
Running a hand through his tousled hair, Solo edged his way through the narrow space between the bed and the glaring metallic wall of the small room to the refresher. The 'fresher was nothing short of a glorified closet, cramped and claustrophobic, but the fact that he and Leia didn't have to share it with five or six other people made Han's opinion of its size far more favorable.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged, ready for the day, rounding the bed again to get his gun belt and blaster from the nightstand. Leia was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted and gray-faced.
"Good morning, hon," he kissed her. "How'd ya sleep?"
"Don't ask," she moaned, plowing her face into a pillow.
"Are you sick?" he asked, frowning.
"I've been throwing up half the night," her muffled voice replied, sounding irritated. "I really had no idea you're such a heavy sleeper that you didn't hear."
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Han said sympathetically, reaching over to rub her back. "I had no idea you were sick." He peered down at her face.
"What can I do for you? Get you something from the mess hall? How about a quick ration bar surprise?"
She turned her face from the pillow, unsmiling. "Not funny, Han," she muttered.
A lopsided grin came to Solo's face anyway as he shrugged. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying."
She sighed. "Can you just tell Mon Mothma that I'm sorry, but I won't be making it to the meeting this morning?"
"Sure, I'll tell her," Han nodded. "Do you need anything else?"
"Just for you to turn off that silly lamp," she murmured, shutting her eyes. "Between these metal walls and that blinding searchlight, I feel like I'm in a reflector oven."
"That I can do," he said, kissing her again.
*******************
The mess hall was crowded with bleary-eyed pilots and tired-looking Rebels, seated at long tables, poking listlessly at their food or waiting in lines, empty trays in hand. The noise was the drone of talking and the clattering of trays and silverware. Han entered the hall, scanning tables for Chewie or Lando, but saw no sign of either.
The breakfast line was unusually long this morning, Solo observed, taking a tray and watching idly as other Rebels in the line talked and laughed good- naturedly. It seemed that everyone's spirits had been lifted with the move to the new base, which had turned out to be more successful than anyone had anticipated. The base itself had not turned out to be the run-down and half-decayed mining colony Han had been expecting to see on an asteroid, but it was rather, more of a luxurious hotel designed to comfortably accommodate workers, investors and overseers of the mining operations. In fact, the area the Alliance had turned into a mess hall had formerly been an elegant restaurant. Unfortunately, that fact hadn't improved the taste of cafeteria food at all.
A cafeteria droid mechanically plopped an unappetizing blob of food on a plate, handing it to Solo as he reached the head of the line. The food was something Han could not identify, but he grimaced and took it wordlessly. Leia could count herself lucky being sick this morning.
He scanned the mess hall briefly, looking for a place to sit. It looked as though he would be eating alone this morning.
The sea of freshly scrubbed, bright young faces that seemed to make up the majority of Alliance personnel suddenly made Han feel old. He jolted as he realized his eyes were automatically scanning for one familiar face in particular. So it had seemed for a while now, every corner he rounded, every new recruit he met, that he would run into Luke Skywalker. Han craned his head, seeing an empty place to sit at a far corner in the room.
Had Luke really been gone five months? It was still difficult to comprehend. Solo still somehow expected the kid to show up somewhere, greeting them with an easy, good-natured smile and an apology for worrying them. It was still hard to believe the young Jedi was dead.
Han's eyes refocused to find he was staring straight at the frantically waving arm of a laughing Wedge Antilles across the room. He was sitting among the usual group of Rogues, all of who were apparently enjoying a good joke at Han's expense. Solo's face warmed in chagrin as he moved to sit with the pilots.
"Daydreaming, Solo?" Jansen grinned. The other pilots laughed.
Han smiled. "Lay off, guys. I had a late night last night. I'm tired."
"A late night?" Wedge echoed. "Doing what, I suppose?" he asked, sharing a laughing expression with his fellow pilots. They all chuckled. "The lone married man in our group, huh?" he elbowed Han with a knowing look.
"I was finishing paperwork, for your information," Solo growled, but their raucous laughter already drowned out his explanation.
Han shook his head, glaring at his food, and then at the Rogues. He was not seeing the humor in any of this. It must be too early in the morning.
He checked his chrono and realized he was already running out of time to get a head start on replacing the repulsors on the FALCON before he had to be at his meeting.
"Listen guys, you know I'd love to stay and chat, but I've actually got to run." He eyed his food again. Who really needed breakfast anyway?
"And do me a favor, will you, Wedge? If you see Chewie anywhere, let him know that I'll be on the FALCON for about the next twenty minutes, okay?"
"Uh.sure," Wedged nodded.
"Thanks," Han said, standing up. "I'll catch you guys later."
*************** ***********
How her contact had managed to stay in the smuggling business this long was beyond Mara's ability to comprehend, she mused silently, as she sat, looking fairly inconspicuous at her casual seat at the bar, watching him across the crowded, middle-class restaurant.
The man glanced nonchalantly around the room, and his stealth was that of an amateur. He looked shifty and uneasy--that much was visible from where she sat--and that uneasiness had intensified the longer Mara waited to meet him. She was late on purpose--it gave her a chance to analyze the person she would be meeting with and make a good judge of his character and temperament by watching him. The man was burly and scruffy, and despite his obvious strength, his eyes lacked the luster of keen intelligence that was the distinct sign of a potentially dangerous person. Mara immediately dismissed him as being a threat, seeing him as the typical example of brawn over brains that fit the job description of too many hired shippers. She could see, though, that his patience was wearing thin, and his growing nervousness at having to wait was becoming more apparent.
*Amateur,* Mara thought to herself in mild disgust. She stood up from the bar, leaving a credit chip to pay for her half-consumed drink.
It had taken almost two weeks for the combined resources of both her and Vader, sifting through various rumors and reports to locate this man, Aturra Baclalle, who, according to the information from Vader's somewhat questionable sources, knew something concerning the stolen ship they were searching for. Mara ground her teeth in restrained frustration. Vader found some information and then sent her to do the running. The dark Lord seemed to take pleasure in flaunting his ability to order her around. Mara, for her part, tried to bear her punishment in silence.
She made her way through the busy restaurant, careful not to call attention to herself.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked Baclalle as he glanced up at her.
His dull grey eyes, hidden by dark, bushy brows, communicated some understanding and he nodded fractionally, looking like he had been caught off-guard.
"You ARE Baclalle, aren't you?" Mara asked pleasantly, taking note of the man's confused expression. He had not been expecting his contact to be a woman. Good. She had been hoping it would throw him off.
"I have been sent by Roark Nass," she continued. "But, of course, you must know that already."
He nodded, his demeanor struggling to appear at ease, but the bobbing of his adams-apple gave him away. "Of course," he smiled awkwardly. "I've been expecting you. Of course," he said again. "And your name is.?"
"Of no consequence," Mara finished for him, allowing a slightly menacing expression to come to her eyes even as she smiled politely. She needed cooperation, and the way she was going to get it was by being intimidating. She was already working under the presumed identity of a high-ranking agent of Roark Nass, a fairly notorious crime lord in this sector, and also Baclalle's boss. She hoped that that instilled enough fear in this man to get him to tell her what she wanted to know.
"It has come to Mr. Nass' attention," Mara began deliberately, "that you have started dealing behind his back."
"What do you mean?" Baclalle asked cautiously.
Mara smiled thinly at him. "You know exactly what I mean." Her expression was dangerous--fortunately Baclalle was intelligent enough to see that. "The boss pays you to haul cargo, not work businesses on the side for extra profit."
The large man shook his head, but Mara could see the beginnings of fear cloud his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Mara snorted, shaking her head. "Are you going to play stupid with me? Want to be in more trouble with the boss than you already are? I'm talking about ships. Really expensive ships. Does that ring a bell with you or do I need to drag you in to Nass to explain in person?"
"I didn't actually buy it!" Baclalle blurted, something akin to terror now shining in his eyes. He sagged back against his seat, realizing he'd just confessed.
"Oh?" Mara asked, raising her eyebrows for him to continue.
"I only got an offer," the man said quietly. "I didn't buy it. I thought the boss would have approved, though. The ship was a fighter of the type I have never seen before-a couple years ahead of anything else they've got out right now. We could have sold it for five mil easy. We could have made a fortune."
"We?" Mara asked coldly. "I'll remind you that the boss's first order for his people is that they keep a low profile. Keep to your job, and leave the purchases to the people who know what they're doing. Is that understood?"
Baclalle nodded mutely.
Mara took out her datapad. "Before you leave, I need to know the name of this person who was selling this ship to you and where he can be found."
"But I don't know what--"
"Either you can tell me or you can tell the boss," Mara shrugged. "Which will it be?"
Baclalle sighed, giving in. It was obvious that he was in over his head. "It was on Dorsa in the Eastern Kinnearian spaceport. He called himself Finsha Murdoch."
Mara entered the information stood up. "You're cooperation has been very helpful, Baclalle. Consider my words to be a friendly warning to you when contemplating future endeavors. Good night."
She made her way to a private com unit where she would be able to report this news to Vader.
*****
******
P.S. sorry if you've tried to read chapters 1-11. Something happened to them. I'll fix it sometime, but just not now.
******************************* ***********************************
A quiet, persistent beeping sound percolated through Han Solo's consciousness, startling him rudely out of a peaceful sleep. With a muttered curse, he slapped out a hand aimed to squash the source of the noise--the alarm clock.
His blindly flailing hand struck something, sending it flying from the nightstand and hitting the nearest wall, with the crashing sound of shattering duraplast and metal components. The beeping stopped.
Han sighed, fully awake now, rubbing the heel of his palm at sleep-sticky eyes that did not seem to want to open and slowly sitting up.
"It's morning, Leia--time to get up," he nudged the sleeping form of his wife lying next to him, then smacked the glowlamp on the nightstand as he swung his legs over the side of the be bed. The lamp shot the tiny room with a searing white light. Solo covered his eyes with his arm, uttering another muffled curse as he stumbled to his feet.
"Hon, I think I broke the chrono," he told her, prodding the busted components of the clock with his foot. She didn't reply. "Serves the blasted thing right for waking me up. Leia, wake up--we've got a meeting to go to in an hour."
Running a hand through his tousled hair, Solo edged his way through the narrow space between the bed and the glaring metallic wall of the small room to the refresher. The 'fresher was nothing short of a glorified closet, cramped and claustrophobic, but the fact that he and Leia didn't have to share it with five or six other people made Han's opinion of its size far more favorable.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged, ready for the day, rounding the bed again to get his gun belt and blaster from the nightstand. Leia was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted and gray-faced.
"Good morning, hon," he kissed her. "How'd ya sleep?"
"Don't ask," she moaned, plowing her face into a pillow.
"Are you sick?" he asked, frowning.
"I've been throwing up half the night," her muffled voice replied, sounding irritated. "I really had no idea you're such a heavy sleeper that you didn't hear."
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Han said sympathetically, reaching over to rub her back. "I had no idea you were sick." He peered down at her face.
"What can I do for you? Get you something from the mess hall? How about a quick ration bar surprise?"
She turned her face from the pillow, unsmiling. "Not funny, Han," she muttered.
A lopsided grin came to Solo's face anyway as he shrugged. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying."
She sighed. "Can you just tell Mon Mothma that I'm sorry, but I won't be making it to the meeting this morning?"
"Sure, I'll tell her," Han nodded. "Do you need anything else?"
"Just for you to turn off that silly lamp," she murmured, shutting her eyes. "Between these metal walls and that blinding searchlight, I feel like I'm in a reflector oven."
"That I can do," he said, kissing her again.
*******************
The mess hall was crowded with bleary-eyed pilots and tired-looking Rebels, seated at long tables, poking listlessly at their food or waiting in lines, empty trays in hand. The noise was the drone of talking and the clattering of trays and silverware. Han entered the hall, scanning tables for Chewie or Lando, but saw no sign of either.
The breakfast line was unusually long this morning, Solo observed, taking a tray and watching idly as other Rebels in the line talked and laughed good- naturedly. It seemed that everyone's spirits had been lifted with the move to the new base, which had turned out to be more successful than anyone had anticipated. The base itself had not turned out to be the run-down and half-decayed mining colony Han had been expecting to see on an asteroid, but it was rather, more of a luxurious hotel designed to comfortably accommodate workers, investors and overseers of the mining operations. In fact, the area the Alliance had turned into a mess hall had formerly been an elegant restaurant. Unfortunately, that fact hadn't improved the taste of cafeteria food at all.
A cafeteria droid mechanically plopped an unappetizing blob of food on a plate, handing it to Solo as he reached the head of the line. The food was something Han could not identify, but he grimaced and took it wordlessly. Leia could count herself lucky being sick this morning.
He scanned the mess hall briefly, looking for a place to sit. It looked as though he would be eating alone this morning.
The sea of freshly scrubbed, bright young faces that seemed to make up the majority of Alliance personnel suddenly made Han feel old. He jolted as he realized his eyes were automatically scanning for one familiar face in particular. So it had seemed for a while now, every corner he rounded, every new recruit he met, that he would run into Luke Skywalker. Han craned his head, seeing an empty place to sit at a far corner in the room.
Had Luke really been gone five months? It was still difficult to comprehend. Solo still somehow expected the kid to show up somewhere, greeting them with an easy, good-natured smile and an apology for worrying them. It was still hard to believe the young Jedi was dead.
Han's eyes refocused to find he was staring straight at the frantically waving arm of a laughing Wedge Antilles across the room. He was sitting among the usual group of Rogues, all of who were apparently enjoying a good joke at Han's expense. Solo's face warmed in chagrin as he moved to sit with the pilots.
"Daydreaming, Solo?" Jansen grinned. The other pilots laughed.
Han smiled. "Lay off, guys. I had a late night last night. I'm tired."
"A late night?" Wedge echoed. "Doing what, I suppose?" he asked, sharing a laughing expression with his fellow pilots. They all chuckled. "The lone married man in our group, huh?" he elbowed Han with a knowing look.
"I was finishing paperwork, for your information," Solo growled, but their raucous laughter already drowned out his explanation.
Han shook his head, glaring at his food, and then at the Rogues. He was not seeing the humor in any of this. It must be too early in the morning.
He checked his chrono and realized he was already running out of time to get a head start on replacing the repulsors on the FALCON before he had to be at his meeting.
"Listen guys, you know I'd love to stay and chat, but I've actually got to run." He eyed his food again. Who really needed breakfast anyway?
"And do me a favor, will you, Wedge? If you see Chewie anywhere, let him know that I'll be on the FALCON for about the next twenty minutes, okay?"
"Uh.sure," Wedged nodded.
"Thanks," Han said, standing up. "I'll catch you guys later."
*************** ***********
How her contact had managed to stay in the smuggling business this long was beyond Mara's ability to comprehend, she mused silently, as she sat, looking fairly inconspicuous at her casual seat at the bar, watching him across the crowded, middle-class restaurant.
The man glanced nonchalantly around the room, and his stealth was that of an amateur. He looked shifty and uneasy--that much was visible from where she sat--and that uneasiness had intensified the longer Mara waited to meet him. She was late on purpose--it gave her a chance to analyze the person she would be meeting with and make a good judge of his character and temperament by watching him. The man was burly and scruffy, and despite his obvious strength, his eyes lacked the luster of keen intelligence that was the distinct sign of a potentially dangerous person. Mara immediately dismissed him as being a threat, seeing him as the typical example of brawn over brains that fit the job description of too many hired shippers. She could see, though, that his patience was wearing thin, and his growing nervousness at having to wait was becoming more apparent.
*Amateur,* Mara thought to herself in mild disgust. She stood up from the bar, leaving a credit chip to pay for her half-consumed drink.
It had taken almost two weeks for the combined resources of both her and Vader, sifting through various rumors and reports to locate this man, Aturra Baclalle, who, according to the information from Vader's somewhat questionable sources, knew something concerning the stolen ship they were searching for. Mara ground her teeth in restrained frustration. Vader found some information and then sent her to do the running. The dark Lord seemed to take pleasure in flaunting his ability to order her around. Mara, for her part, tried to bear her punishment in silence.
She made her way through the busy restaurant, careful not to call attention to herself.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked Baclalle as he glanced up at her.
His dull grey eyes, hidden by dark, bushy brows, communicated some understanding and he nodded fractionally, looking like he had been caught off-guard.
"You ARE Baclalle, aren't you?" Mara asked pleasantly, taking note of the man's confused expression. He had not been expecting his contact to be a woman. Good. She had been hoping it would throw him off.
"I have been sent by Roark Nass," she continued. "But, of course, you must know that already."
He nodded, his demeanor struggling to appear at ease, but the bobbing of his adams-apple gave him away. "Of course," he smiled awkwardly. "I've been expecting you. Of course," he said again. "And your name is.?"
"Of no consequence," Mara finished for him, allowing a slightly menacing expression to come to her eyes even as she smiled politely. She needed cooperation, and the way she was going to get it was by being intimidating. She was already working under the presumed identity of a high-ranking agent of Roark Nass, a fairly notorious crime lord in this sector, and also Baclalle's boss. She hoped that that instilled enough fear in this man to get him to tell her what she wanted to know.
"It has come to Mr. Nass' attention," Mara began deliberately, "that you have started dealing behind his back."
"What do you mean?" Baclalle asked cautiously.
Mara smiled thinly at him. "You know exactly what I mean." Her expression was dangerous--fortunately Baclalle was intelligent enough to see that. "The boss pays you to haul cargo, not work businesses on the side for extra profit."
The large man shook his head, but Mara could see the beginnings of fear cloud his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Mara snorted, shaking her head. "Are you going to play stupid with me? Want to be in more trouble with the boss than you already are? I'm talking about ships. Really expensive ships. Does that ring a bell with you or do I need to drag you in to Nass to explain in person?"
"I didn't actually buy it!" Baclalle blurted, something akin to terror now shining in his eyes. He sagged back against his seat, realizing he'd just confessed.
"Oh?" Mara asked, raising her eyebrows for him to continue.
"I only got an offer," the man said quietly. "I didn't buy it. I thought the boss would have approved, though. The ship was a fighter of the type I have never seen before-a couple years ahead of anything else they've got out right now. We could have sold it for five mil easy. We could have made a fortune."
"We?" Mara asked coldly. "I'll remind you that the boss's first order for his people is that they keep a low profile. Keep to your job, and leave the purchases to the people who know what they're doing. Is that understood?"
Baclalle nodded mutely.
Mara took out her datapad. "Before you leave, I need to know the name of this person who was selling this ship to you and where he can be found."
"But I don't know what--"
"Either you can tell me or you can tell the boss," Mara shrugged. "Which will it be?"
Baclalle sighed, giving in. It was obvious that he was in over his head. "It was on Dorsa in the Eastern Kinnearian spaceport. He called himself Finsha Murdoch."
Mara entered the information stood up. "You're cooperation has been very helpful, Baclalle. Consider my words to be a friendly warning to you when contemplating future endeavors. Good night."
She made her way to a private com unit where she would be able to report this news to Vader.
*****
******
