SUP3R GI3L: I'm glad you liked the chapter! Thanks for reading!
Funny Cide:Will do! Here you go!
I AM EOWYN: I only live to serve you . . . Thanks for reading!
Summers2004: Nah. Perfectionism is keeping me from posting this last chapter on Pink Nails. It's bugging me . . . but it is written. So, here soon, I'll get it up to my expectations . .. Thanks for reading!
EsmeAmelia: I'm glad you like the bantering. Thanks so much!
Amanda: Characterization is my goal . . . so thanks for commenting on it!
lo: Thanks!
LimeLight: Thanks to you! Your reviews make my day, of course. (And again, let me reiterate that we'll wait as long as we need to for NQLL -- don't be stressed!) Ah, but I adore your Leia as well - you write semi-psycho and traumatizedreally well. Erm, that didn't come off as a compliment, but it was meant in that spirit. Ha-ha. You know what I mean!
And it comes about that this three part challenge requires a fourth chapter for completeness, in my honest opinion. I know you guys are just real beat up about that, ha-ha. Be looking for that in a few days . . .
Part III: Lando.
Whatever Han and Leia are doing right now, I bet it's better than my current situation. To tell the truth, anything would be better than this.
Actually, no. Reliving Cloud City wouldn't be.
Or Ylesia.
Or the hangover to accompany Han's bachelor party a year ago.
But I digress.
My brilliance has landed me exactly in hell. Or as close to it as I can get. Perched over a precipice leading to a remarkably large lava pool, feeling the waves of heat pulse against my skin, I realize . . .
One, I don't do superheated rock.
Two, I'm overdressed for the occasion.
And three, if I die, I lose my money.
This last one passes the others in its haste for immediate attention, and it's the one that motivates me to shimmy across the precipice and fumble for a decent handhold in the cliff face, no easy feat for a man like me, who – may I speak bluntly? – leaves the physicality of life to others. The rock is sturdy, erasing my vision of crumbling rock and a caped Calrissian falling to the magma below, and I eventually reach the edge of the cliff, hauling myself over with a pained breath and exhausted sigh.
I am not out of shape.
But I am crawling on the ground, reaching for the feet of the native youth standing above me.
Who needs dignity when my life is on the line?
"Memumphe. Ti malgo et sprulphra. Idio!"
Hmm. Well. I may have a bad feeling about this.
You know, you never can get tired of the whole hero treatment.
Apparently surviving hell is tantamount to encapsulating the spirit of the local fire god. Thus the hero treatment. Not that I'm complaining. In fact, I wholly support this way of life. It's dignified, in a heathen sort of way. Uncivilized is chic nowadays. And this hat is great, if you forget the particulars of its origins.
And so sue me, I decide this way of life is much, much more dignified than the one I lead off this little gem of a world.
Out there you've got real heroes like Skywalker and the Solos.
Who the hell needs a Calrissian?
Ah, smell that? I don't care what part of what animal it's taken from. I eat it with a smile and look at the celebrations out there near the center of the village. For me. And only me.
Buried in my shirt somewhere, my comm warbles.
I sigh, then raise the blasted thing to my lips as my gaze settles, once again, on the line of torches set up for my celebration.
Where something has just spontaneously combusted.
Actually, no. Where someone has deliberately started a fire.
I have a hard time trying to figure out where the organization is in this chaos, but I can plainly see that it's originating near the source of the flames. I scramble up to the top of my hut, look towards the mass of natives conglomerating near the edge of the row.
Just in time to see a human woman smash a native's face into a pole and face a heretofore unseen man. The woman keeps her back to me as she glances at the fire and shakes her head.
Of course it's them. Who else starts a fire in the middle of my celebratory feast?
I can tune my ears to hear the last part of her sentence. " – was deliberate and that you have a plan."
No. Haven't you learned anything about your husband, Princess?
His voice returns her sarcasm. "Okay, let's say that for right now."
And then they leave me.
In a village full of natives.
By myself.
Don't those two think of anyone else other than themselves?
Cruel, cruel irony. That's the title of my autobiography.
And if I survive this little escapade, it might even get written.
Most civilized beings would not blame that last occurrence on their guest of honor. It's slightly inconvenient for me that Solo has a thing for fire: inconvenient enough that the village elders have decided that little, harmless me, Great Magnificent God of Flame, wished a giant swath down onto their village and decided to sacrifice me to the god of water.
I think.
You'd think they'd at least tell me, in Basic, why I'm going to die. Common courtesy and all.
Hmm. And what is this?
Note to self: If I survive, let Han know I found his tracking device. The man would lose his scar if it wasn't attached to his chin. I shove the half-buried piece of plastisteel into my pants pocket, hopefully before any of the natives see.
Nope. Wow, they really are unobservant.
Facing down the river, that fast river that seems to be going at breakneck speed, I try to avoid thoughts of the booming hydroponics market on Tatooine and focus on the situation at hand.
And maybe not. It's just a bit depressing.
Well, first rule of con-artistry: when in doubt, smile. Shake hands/claws/mandibles. And then leave.
Fast.
So I'm jumping into the river – damn it's cold – and feeling myself tugged under the water and pushed at, yep, breakneck speed, towards the mouth of the river. Which, unfortunately for me, is not within the next three yards and is still freezing.
This is what they don't share with you on the day you sign up for the Rebellion. 'Join the Alliance! See the galaxy! Free the enslaved! Learn to swim in order to jump into semi-frozen rivers!' Not a good slogan.
Luke and Leia might be the only ones who'd sign up under that pretense.
Well, I'm probably at least a kilometer downstream from the natives by now. I find a rock big and stable enough to haul myself up, and just sit here, looking at that evil river as it rushes past me, dragging with it a piece of roughly rectangular-shaped purple fabric, shimmering faintly in the light from the overcast sky.
My cape.
That damn river took my cape.
I hate this sithspawned planet and everything on it.
I will not deny it. I am hungry. Hungry enough to do stupid things. Hungry enough to walk right up to this big lizard-thing and try to steal one of its eggs.
Like I said, stupid things.
It's not as if the big lizard-thing is awake – that would be downright suicidal. Whatever anyone says, I am not Han Solo. Not willing to risk everything for a thrill. I'm just so blasted hungry that I can muster enough courage to sneak towards the big lizard-thing's nest and try to steal the egg.
I'm not smart enough, apparently, to account for the sound of the egg rolling beside me as I struggle to pick it up.
And so the big lizard-thing jumps up and looks around, misses me and the egg entirely, and begins to fly off in a completely different direction, towards who-knows-what.
Some creatures deserve to die for their stupidity.
Suddenly, I'm hearing a scream and the rustling of bushes as the owner of the scream takes off running. Shouting.
" – wonderful ideas you have, Sweetheart –"
It's then I realize who just saved my life.
And, for the first time since his wedding, I'm the smallest bit glad I'm not Han Solo right about now.
My legs start a quick jog, egg regretfully not in arm, as I cut through the jungle, following the playfully caustic remarks of the Solos until the big lizard-thing roars in frustration and begins a moody trek back towards its nest. They obviously found an escape from the big lizard-thing and are lying low for the time being.
That's fine by me.
I can't save them all the time.
"You lost it?"
I could hear Leia's voice from the brush, less than ten meters to my left, and she sounded a little less mad than the time Han had donated one of her formal gowns to Wes Janson. But not a whole hell of a lot less.
"Oh, now, wait, don't go and blame me for all of this – "
"You lost the tracking device! How are you not to blame?"
"It's not my fault!"
Sure, old buddy. Sure it's not.
Leia is still yelling. "You were supposed to fix it and get us off this gods-forsaken planet! What are we going to do now?"
Oh, that's too good a line to pass up. With a grin and a – if I may say so myself – dashing wink, I step through the brush.
"Kiss the handsome guy that found it?"
Han and Leia both whip their heads around to stare at me. Sitting in a jungle clearing, drenched and completely encased in mud, the two are almost mirror images of each other – Leia still being the more physically appealing of the couple, of course. Even with all the mud. Strange. They scramble up and come towards me, Solo looking about ready to tear the tracking device from my hands. I throw it to him and back away. My attire may not be the best I've ever had right now, and I may have lost my cape, but I'll be damned if I'm going to further ruin my image.
Han is inspecting the tracker. "How did you fix it?"
"You switched the polarity monitor and it was set to minimum power usage." I throw a look towards Leia. "You'd think the great General Solo would have figured that one out, huh?"
Umm. That growl does not sound friendly. "You'd think."
"So the tracker is armed?"
I turn toward the Princess. "Of course, milady."
"Lando, shut up."
"Han." She rolls her eyes. "And Chewie's within range, right?"
Han walks toward her and dumps the tracker into her hand. "Should be. He's waiting by the second moon, as far as I know."
"How long before he gets the signal and comes?"
Han throws her a look. "Who knows? Could be a couple of hours, days." Did he just wink? "Maybe even nine months."
They continue to bicker back and forth as I sit and check out the tree to my right. They're always doing this. It gets slightly annoying; they've been together for so long now. At least they don't do the overly-physical displays of affection thing. They seem quite content to leave that where it should be. Solo doesn't have to flaunt Leia around any more than he does already. He's already the most hated man in the galaxy.
I muse over what they've said, and something hits me. Nine months.
Nine months?
Are you kidding me?
There's no way in all the hells of Corellia that he meant it that way.
Is there?
"Hey, guys, is there a reason why nine months on this planet would be a problem?"
Han's eyes are twinkling, I think. I'm not sure. Leia looks furious at one moment, and slightly euphoric another. Can't they just give me a straight answer? Don't they know how confusing they are right now?
"No," they answer, but I have a very distinct feeling that they both mean "yes". They just don't want to say it.
And that confirms it.
Han Solo's reproduced with Leia Organa.
A Solo with Force powers.
Good gods above, save us all.
And, good gods above, I can have so much fun with this.
So let me reiterate: yes, there will be a fourth chapter to all of this. An epilogue of sorts. I am the best author in the world . . . except not. Er, whatever. G'night.
KR
