AUTHOR'S NOTE: As I don't read EU, I'm not sure what Han Solo's "canon" past is, or even if it's been explored much in the books and other media. If there are discrepancies, I apologize.
Chapter III
Tarkin leaned a little over the Emperor's – no, his – desk as he addressed the Head of the Galactic Senate. "Do you not understand me, Lady Mothma? Must I repeat myself?"
"I heard you perfectly well," the Chandrilan senator replied evenly, the shock she had worn moments earlier now a brief memory. "I cannot understand, however, how you think the galaxy can be governed without the democracy provided by the Senate…"
"The Imperial governors have direct control over their systems now," Tarkin replied with a slight smile. "The Galactic Senate has proven to only be a hindrance, endlessly bickering over the issues while loyal citizens suffer. The governors will be able to act immediately and decisively now, without having to wait for the Senate's approval."
"I can't believe you're doing this," Mothma countered, shaking her head. "The people depend on the Senate…"
"For the entertainment they provide?" Tarkin laughed. "Lady Mothma, the Senate is little more than a political circus. And while you may consider it great fun, I assure you that I do not find the quagmire and bureaucracy of the Senate at all funny."
Tarkin's personal servant, a Mon Calamari, entered the room. "Captain Lodestar is here to see you, sir," he reported.
"Very good," Tarkin replied. "Show him in."
Mothma watched the alien go with a measure of distaste.
"You have a problem with my servant Ackbar, my lady?"
She turned back to Tarkin, face serene but eyes hard. "I have a problem with the fact that you seem to think of all non-humans as lesser beings."
"Oh come now, simply because I have a few aliens working for me…"
"Over a dozen," Mothma countered. "In fact, all the staff in your personal residence, excluding guards, are non-humans. They're not even servants, either – more like serfs or slaves."
"You say that," Tarkin said slyly, "when you have a servant yourself. Did a Wookie not accompany you into the palace today?"
"Chewbacca is my loyal bodyguard," she replied. "And he receives wages for his services."
Tarkin laughed. "What would a Wookie do with wages?"
Mothma gave him a look of disgust. "Back to the subject at hand, Tarkin. You cannot break up the Senate like this. The galaxy needs democracy. It needs freedom. The people have a right to be represented in the government."
"That is not your call, Lady Mothma. It is up to the Council of Moffs to decide that. And as Head of the Council, my word is law." He leaned back in his chair. "I expect all Senators to be back on their homeworlds within the week, or there will be arrests made."
Mothma opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment the doors to Tarkin's office opened to admit two guards, each clutching the arm of a ragged boy. Scrawny and dirty, with bruises and scratches of varying ages streaking his arms and face, he wore a stained tunic that might once have been white, a pair of too-big green trousers held up with a strip of rubber that passed as a belt, and boots that were caked with the filth of Corusant's fetid lower levels. All his clothes were crudely patched and covered with dirt, and stuck in the makeshift belt was a battered blaster – stolen, no doubt – and a crude shiv made by sharpening a chunk of durasteel and fixing it to a plastic handle. These Lodestar plucked from his belt, earning a vicious kick in the shin for his trouble.
"What is this?" demanded Tarkin, standing. What gave the Captain the right to drag this scum into his office?
"Found him with his hand in the pocket of a Grand Admiral, sir," Captain Lodestar replied. "Thought you might want to handle it, seeing as it happened on palace grounds."
The boy launched into an array of insults that made Mothma flush a brilliant shade of red.
"How did this trash make it onto government property!" demanded Tarkin. "Find that breach in security, Captain, and fix it!"
"What about the boy?" Lodestar inquired.
The child in question spat out a string of vulgarities that would have withered a microphone.
"Take him where all who break the law go," Tarkin replied. "To the security block."
"The security block?" repeated Mothma. "He's a child!"
"He's a thief," Tarkin replied dismissively. "He shall be punished as one."
"A detention block is no place for him," Mothma countered. "He would be torn to shreds."
"Then perhaps he would think twice about breaking the law…"
"Hey!" barked Lodestar. The boy had somehow slipped free of his grip, grabbed the knife from his hands, stabbed the other guard in the leg, and ducked out of the office.
"Stop him!" Tarkin ordered. "Use any measures you deem necessary!"
Lodestar charged after the boy. The other guard jerked the blade from his leg and limped out. The Imperial Guards had always been a notoriously tough breed, and they remained resilient as the newly christened Guards of the Moff.
Mothma whirled to face the Grand Moff. "For a child!"
"For a criminal guilty of theft, assault, and resisting arrest," Tarkin replied harshly. "It is not your concern, Mothma. If I were you, I'd be more concerned about finding new employment than worrying about street trash such as that."
Mothma stood and strode out, obviously seething.
Tarkin watched her go. The former Senator was a lovely lady, he thought. Such an elegant face… and as far as he knew, she was still single. Perhaps, with a little persuasion…
He swiveled his chair to face the enormous window, surveying the horizon where a blood-red sun glowed. The Emperor and meddlesome Senate were out of the way. The Council of Moffs had complete control now. All was right in his world.
And he would see to it that things remained that way. No taking chances – Palpatine or his insane lapdog Vader might return eventually. And neither would be pleased to find a usurper upon the Imperial throne. Rumor had it that both were dead… but as the old Outer-Rim adage went, don't believe it unless you have a body.
He smiled in satisfaction. Death Squads had worked well enough to eliminate the Jedi. Perhaps they could take on Sith as well.
It was time to send that "scout team."
Break…
In a decrepit cantina just two levels up from the slums of Corusant, in a room dark and hazy with death stick smoke and reeking of spice, sweat, intoxicating beverages of every variety, and blaster ozone from a recent altercation that had ended badly for both parties, a covert meeting was taking place.
"I can't stay long," Ackbar told the others, taking a seat at a table that was sticky with spilled drinks. "If Tarkin realizes I've snuck out, he'll have my head on a Force pike."
"We will be quick," Mothma assured him.
Apart from Tarkin's servant and Mothma, there were three others present. Chewbacca, a handsome ginger-furred Wookie and Mothma's personal bodyguard, let his blue-eyed gaze rake the establishment every few minutes, seeking anything out of the ordinary, any sign that they might be discovered or attacked. Captain Zevul Lodestar of the Guard of the Moff was present, minus his overly conspicuous red armor and clad in a hooded robe lest any of his men stumble in for a round and recognize him. And finally, seated directly between Chewie and Lodestar but not looking at all perturbed by his seating arrangement, was the young pickpocket, blaster and knife tucked securely in his belt again.
It wasn't much to start a rebellion against the Empire with, Mothma knew. But it was all they had at the moment.
"I appreciate all your cooperation in this matter, gentlemen," she stated. "I am only sorry nothing worthwhile came of it."
"On the contrary, we learned a great deal from it," Ackbar replied. "We learned that there's no way an assassin can get in through the back gate of the palace garden without discovery."
"Speaking of which, do I get my pay for that?" the boy asked, extending a grubby hand.
"Be patient, young Solo," Mothma told him. "You'll get your reward."
"Just call me Han," he replied. "Not 'young Solo.'"
She nodded. The boy was unusually mature, even cynical, for his twelve years… but then, a life on the streets would rob anyone of their innocence in a hurry. Born to Corellian-born space gypsies who had perished soon after arriving on Corusant, Han Solo had spent most of his life as an orphan, picking pockets and selling snippets of information to ward off starvation. At the moment his only loyalty to her cause was the promise of credits, but she suspected that, inside the stony walls he had constructed about himself, there lay a good heart.
"Lodestar, what have you learned about the situation on Tatooine?" Mothma inquired.
"The Emperor is definitely dead," the Captain replied. "Vader lives but was badly wounded in the battle with his master. Apparently a young boy was also injured in the fight, a farmer's child about nine. No word on what a boy was doing at the scene of the fight, but that's being investigated."
Mothma nodded. "Ackbar, has Tarkin taken any measures to locate the Emperor?"
"More than that," he replied in his distinctive gravelly voice. "He's sending a Death Squad to make sure the Emperor and Vader don't come back."
"What'll you folks have?" mumbled the Devaronian server, sounding half-drunk himself.
"Flameout, on the rocks," Lodestar requested.
"Corellian whiskey," Ackbar added.
Chewie barked his order.
"My friend will have the same as the Mon Calamari," Mothma translated. "Nothing for me, but some juri juice for the boy…"
"With a shot of Hutt vodka!" the boy interjected.
The Devaronian shuffled off with the order before Mothma could change it. Technically the legal drinking age on Corusant was sixteen, but dives like this paid no attention to that law or any other law that could cost them a potential credit.
"You're a little young to be drinking something as hard as Hutt vodka, aren't you?" asked Lodestar.
"Had worse," he replied casually, which was probably the truth.
Lodestar's comm beeped. He withdrew it, got up from the table, and retreated to a dim corner of the bar to take the call.
Mothma addressed the boy next. "What's the news on the street?"
"Money talks," he replied.
She sighed. "I'll increase your payment by ten percent."
"Twenty."
"Fifteen."
"Deal." The drinks arrived, and he paused to take a sip of his own. "People have pretty much figured out the Emperor's bit the dust, but everyone's scared that Vader's still out there. Bunch of hopped-up guys in the Dead Sector claim to have seen him organizing an army of street trash. In fact, everyone and their droid has a story about him, and they're all weird."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "Couple of panhandlers who work the Silver Tower district say Senator Organa skipped the planet."
Mothma frowned. Bail was another supporter of her newly organized resistance. Had he ducked out, afraid of the repercussions? Or was there another reason for his absence? "And they're certain of this?"
"Sure are. Left in a hurry, too. One says he saw him leaving the house with his daughter, but no wife. No idea where they're going."
"Thank you, Han."
"Tarkin has never liked Organa," Ackbar informed her. "It could be that Organa suspected a plot against his life and is leaving the planet to escape it."
"That is possible," Mothma acknowledged. "But we will make no assumptions until we hear from Organa again."
Lodestar returned to the table, a stunned look on his face. "That was my contact. There's a new development on Tatooine. Things are more complicated than we thought."
"What do you mean?"
He rubbed his temples as if trying to get rid of an oncoming headache. "The doctor at the medical center where Vader is at the moment just completed blood work on both the Dark Lord and the boy who was caught in the crossfire," he explained. "One of the tests they did was a DNA analysis. There's a definite link between the boy's genetic material and Vader's."
"A link?" Ackbar repeated, astonished.
"A strong link," Lodestar replied. "Too strong to be a distant or even a close relative. The only explanation is that the boy is Vader's offspring."
Mothma felt her jaw drop, and she snapped it shut quickly. Vader's offspring? Vader had a child? Had he fathered a son without the Emperor's knowledge? Had the boy played a hand in the Emperor's death?
Chewie gave a warning snarl. Two Imperial officers had just entered – drunk out of their minds, yes, but enough to sound an alarm if they happened to catch sight of their group.
"We'll speak more of this later," Mothma whispered. "Tomorrow, same time, my residence. I trust you will all be there?"
"I'll find a few errands to run," Ackbar replied.
"I have to, don't I?" Han muttered. "You haven't paid me yet."
"I'll be there," Lodestar promised. "And with your permission, I'd like to bring my associate..."
"We've been over this, Captain," Mothma sighed. "I don't want Fett involved in this…"
"He's the best," Lodestar countered. "And he's sworn to silence. He could be our greatest asset."
She relented, not having time to argue. "Careful on your way out, gentlemen."
Break…
Luke was back in his own bed, picking at the bandage where the doctor had just drawn blood, when Biggs entered.
"Hey Luke, you're all right!"
"Hey Biggs!" He raised his arm and high-fived his friend. "You finally came!"
"Hey, I brought you something," Biggs said excitedly, dropping a box in Luke's lap.
"Whoa, cool! 'Mandalorian VII: Jaster's Revenge!'" He ripped open the box and shook out the disk, then leaped out of bed. "Let's try it out!"
"Yeah, the doctor said she'd set up a holoprojector…"
While the two boys set up the game, Biggs demanded the entire story of Luke's adventure from him. Taking great relish in his newfound celebrity, he told an elaborate, gripping, and only slightly embellished tale of his abduction by Jax Pavan, his battle against the Tusken Raiders, Sandy's rescue, and the exciting showdown between the Emperor and Darth Vader. Of course, at the time none of it had been exciting, but now that it was the past and much of the horror had worn off, he realized what he'd been through was actually pretty cool.
"Why would Darth Vader kill the Emperor?" demanded Biggs. "I mean, c'mon, a guy doesn't just kill his boss for nothing."
"Well…" Luke cast a hesitant gaze at the curtain that blocked his father's bed from view. If he admitted to Biggs that he was the son of the Dark Lord, how would he react? Most everyone thought of Darth Vader as a killer and a psychopath. And Biggs was his friend. He couldn't stand the thought of losing his friend.
"C'mon, Luke, you can tell me anything."
Luke took a deep breath. "Darth Vader… well… he's my father."
Biggs just stared. Then he laughed sarcastically. "Okay, real funny. Not."
"No, I'm serious! He's my dad! That's why he fought the Emperor and chased Jax and me all over the Dune Sea! Even Uncle Owen admits it…"
"But you don't even look like him!"
"How do you know what he looks like?"
"Well… you're short! You're shorter than half the kids in Anchorhead! And he's huge!"
"That doesn't mean I'm not gonna grow…"
The curtain slid aside. Vader emerged from behind the hanging, limping slightly, his steps slow but steady.
Biggs gaped.
"Um, hi, Dad," Luke said sheepishly. "Didn't mean to wake you up."
"Couldn't sleep anyhow," Vader replied. His gaze rested on Biggs. "So this is your friend."
Biggs squeaked something Luke didn't catch.
"I will not bite you, Biggs," Vader assured him, lowering himself to the floor and taking a seat next to the two boys. "And to answer your question, yes, Luke is my son."
Biggs stared at Vader for a few minutes. Then he turned to stare at Luke. Finally, he uttered one simple word.
"Cool."
Luke felt almost deflated with relief. "Biggs and I're gonna play the new 'Mandalorian' game, Dad. Wanna watch?"
Vader shrugged – which was a weird sight, come to think of it. "I have nothing better to do."
"Too bad this game doesn't have three-player mode," Biggs noted as he activated the game.
"Perhaps I can fix that," Vader mused. "Let me see the game."