Chapter Twenty-Three
The Millennium Falcon was being disturbingly obedient. Since they'd left Coruscant, literally nothing had gone wrong. No problems with the hyperdrive, or with the stabilizers, or the weapons or the communications suite… sitting in the cockpit was almost boring.
Han found it extremely disquieting. Chewie, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the quiet ride.
"Chewie, is it just me or is the Falcon in perfect working order?" Han asked surreptitiously. He had the sneaking feeling that if the Falcon heard him talking about her, something would definitely go wrong…
Chewbacca chuffed one of his typical Wookie laughs, then rumbled a response.
"Well, I know you've been spending a lot of time working on her, and I know we've never had a full supply of spare parts before, but… does this feel really weird to you, too?" Han asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.
The Wookie's amused response made Han chuckle.
"Good point," he conceded. "I suppose we should just be grateful nothing has gone wrong yet. With our track record, I probably ought to be making sure the main hyperdrive isn't about to cut out on us."
That quiet wouldn't last much longer, though. They were coming up on the Maw, an array of black holes that clustered near the Kessel system and made approaching the old prison planet difficult and communicating with it spotty. The whirring blur of hyperspace was distorted as they got closer to it, the spiraling lines of hyperspace twisting and tugging.
There was a rustle of movement and Iella and Mara joined him and Chewie in the cockpit, taking Luke and Leia's typical seats. "I hope we're staying well clear of the Maw," Iella said, watching a second distortion start to tug at the Falcon, and a third. "When I was here with Wedge and Corran, we didn't get this close."
"Don't worry," Han reassured her, refusing to let any of his own anxiety over the Maw touch his voice. He and Chewie had done this literally dozens of times, and most of those times had come much closer to the Maw. It had just been a while since the last time. And maybe he had more to live for, now. "Chewie and me have done this plenty of times, we'll be fine. We're not really that close."
Mara scoffed. "Pilots."
Iella grinned over at her. "They really do have different standards for risk, don't they?"
"Hey, Leia made me promise I'd be careful, so I'm being careful," Han objected. "Almost time to exit hyperspace, Chewie."
The Wookiee barked a slightly-annoyed retort of his own.
"I know that you know that," Han's tone was halfway between aggravated and apologetic. "I just wasn't sure if they knew it, and didn't want to seem patronizing."
"Too late," muttered Mara. "Of course we knew it was about time to come out of hyperspace, why else would we be here?"
Han felt his cheeks flush slightly, and compensated by concentrating on the hyperspace lever. "Oh. Well, good." He watched the navicomputer tick down as they got closer and closer to Kessel's gravity, putting some distance between them and the Maw, and drew back the lever to drop them out of hyperspace. The spinning wheel of light streaked back into the motionless dots of distant stars. He pointed out of the cockpit. "Kessel. In all its awful glory."
Kessel was an elliptically-shaped rock, large enough to retain an atmosphere (mostly) but not large enough to retain one that was pleasant for humans. Enormous facilities generated additional atmosphere, pumping out air that hovered around the planet briefly, but inevitably trailed away, leaving a faint, hazy corona that formed a tail behind Kessel. In the distance, Kessel's blue-white star offered light, but for human eyes it always felt alien. In orbit around Kessel was its sole moon, round and more typical, with its old Imperial garrison.
"Hasn't changed since the last time I was here," Iella said.
"I don't think Kessel has changed much since it was first settled by the Old Republic," Han replied, taking control of the Falcon and aiming the freighter towards Kessel and its moon. He kicked the ship to full throttle, then let the ship sail towards the planet at a quick but not hurried pace. "It's always been a deathtrap, the only thing that's been variable is scale."
Chewie worked the controls in the copilot seat, and yowled a mild alarm.
"What is it?" asked Mara, sitting up in her chair and peering at the planet over Han's shoulder.
"Chewie says he can't raise Kessel's landing control," Han replied thoughtfully. "Although that may not mean much. Back during Jabba's day, there would be times he'd bribe the entire Imperial garrison to take a day off and then he'd slip three or four bulk freighters in."
Iella whistled, sounding awed. "If CorSec had known that, we would've garrisoned this place ourselves. We dumped a lot of prisoners here over the years."
"You could've tried," Han snorted. "But don't think the Imperial authorities back on Coruscant didn't know. If Corellia had asserted itself like that, the Empire would've yanked on the Diktat's leash and forced you to back off."
Han saw Mara's expression tighten, and could see the flicker of shame in that expression. Still a little messed up by all that Imperial doctrine and dogma, Han thought, but she has a good heart, even if you have to dig past her natural buffer of hostility to see it.
Leia had spent months digging past his buffer layer of hostility, after all. He couldn't hold Mara's against her, not without making himself a hypocrite. He hated hypocrites. Besides, it was mostly Luke's problem.
Chewbacca rumbled something else, and Han nodded. "Yeah, true. Since Doole took over after Endor, it's been orderly but not too orderly. Hard to know how much of that is by design or just the natural consequence of the change in regime." He fired the Falcon's aft thrusters as Kessel started to loom in the forward viewport. "Vectoring in."
They were well into Kessel's gravity well when the blips of unidentified spacecraft started to appear on his screens. "We've got bogeys, Chewie. I'm seeing about a half-dozen. Look to be about snubfighter sized."
The Wookie worked the communications controls, then growled unhappily when there was no reply.
"Send them our New Republic identifiers again," Han suggested, waving at the computer.
Iella peered at the console over Chewbacca's shoulder, and pointed. "Can you get a better look at one of them?" she asked.
Chewie focused the screen, and the image of the unidentified spacecraft solidified into a strange-looking fighter, certainly from the TIE squadron line. It had a TIE fighter cockpit, married to three triangular wings attached equidistant around the fighter. "Imperials!" Iella exclaimed.
"I don't recognize the design," Mara said, sounding more thoughtful than surprised. "Looks like a cross between a Defender and an Interceptor, but it's not familiar to me from my Imperial service."
"I don't recognize it either," Han added. "And I don't like it. Why don't you two go warm up the quads just in case, while Chewie and I try to see what these guys want."
Iella leaned over his shoulder, examining the enemy starfighter more closely. She let out a slow, aggravated sound. "I recognize it. That's the same design that Wedge and the Rogues fought, when Moff Tavira staged the breakout of Cracken's prisoner." She folded her arms across her chest, her expression darkening. "I suppose that confirms that Vorru was involved with that, too, if there was any remaining doubt."
"Great," Han muttered. "Maybe we should've waited until we could bring a Star Cruiser with us after all. Go get the quads."
Iella and Mara vanished into the back, and the cockpit gunnery computer stirred to life. The emblems for each turret turned yellow, indicating that power was being transferred to the lasers.
Han switched on the audio pickup. "This is Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon. I'm here on official New Republic business. Administrator Doole and I go way back, and I'm sure he's going to want to talk to me." He wasn't sure, in fact he was pretty sure Doole wouldn't be happy to see him, even if Doole was still in charge, but… there was only static in reply. Han started to ease back on the stick, aiming to guide the Falcon up and off its trajectory into Kessel's atmosphere, just in case they needed to make a run for it. "Uh, please state your intentions."
The unknown TIEs were within four klicks now, and that meant they were getting alarmingly close to combat range. The turret monitor turned green, letting him know the quads were fully charged and ready for action.
The incoming fighters closed, still refusing to respond to Han's comms. Han found himself shifting the Falcon's course, adjusting to maintain his distance from the swarm—and froze. He frowned, quickly toggling through each of the fighters that were now pacing them. They were maintaining distance, trying to box the Falcon in between them, and he'd just been about to adjust their course back down towards Kessel.
"Uh-oh," he muttered. "They're trying to force us to ground, Chewie."
The Wookiee rumbled agreement, his big furred head nodding in response.
"Ladies, our friends out there are trying to force us to land," Han said over the intercom. "It looks like they're pushing us towards the main landing pad at the Correctional Facility," he added after a minute tracking the Falcon's course. "We can try to break out—" his voice trailed off as two additional ships came over the horizon, and then a third. Han's heart fell as he saw more fighters pouring from the two flight cruisers, escorted by a Corellian Corvette whose IFF declared it Captain's Ladder. The flight cruisers—little more than large bulk freighters who had been converted into starfighter carriers with room left for loot—didn't announce their IDs at all. "More trouble," he growled. "I knew this was a bad idea."
"Are we going to try to fight our way out?" asked Iella over the intercom.
Han glanced at Chewie, who gave him one of his familiar cautioning looks. "I don't think we can evade or fight three squadrons of these fighters, not if they're as capable as Wedge's report suggested," Han replied, watching his screens as the fighters continued to proliferate. "Especially not with those three larger ships boxing us in, and Kessel blocking a whole hemisphere of escape opportunities. Although…" his brain quickly regarded Kessel's geography. They were trying to force him to go low, maybe he ought to let them…
"Millennium Falcon, this is Captain's Ladder, Kessel Defense Forces." The voice that spoke over the comm was male and authoritative, with a professional military clip that sounded authentic. "Captain Solo, you are ordered to land. Our fighters will guide you in safely. Administrator Doole guarantees your safety."
"Kessel Defense Forces, huh," Han muttered skeptically to Chewbacca. "They make this place sound like it has an organized government. That would be a first."
Chewie growled his agreement.
If they were going to try to make an escape, they'd have to do it fast. The longer they waited to make their move, the more enemy fighters would be in combat range. Han examined the topography of Kessel beneath them. There wasn't a whole lot of useful terrain for cover, which was a problem… and it would be extraordinarily risky. Surrender might be the safest option… he keyed the intercom. "Mara, what do you think?" Luke wasn't here, but maybe his Force-strong probably-future-girlfriend would have some of his intuition. The Force might be incomprehensible, but Luke had also proven that it worked.
It was Iella who responded first. "Do you think they'll kill you if we land?"
Han shook his head. "No. We're too valuable as hostages, and whoever these people are I'm sure they know they don't want to piss off my wife." He was pretty sure he and Chewie had value as hostages. He was very sure they didn't want to make Leia mad.
"I have an idea, then," Iella said. "Let them guide us in."
The odd TIEs, with their three triangular wings, were now settled around the Falcon in a tight escort formation. On his screen, the two quad laser turrets powered down; in front of him, he could see the sprawling Correctional Facility start to grow on the horizon. "Red?"
Mara's voice sounded distant. He knew that tone of voice, too; he'd heard it plenty from Luke over the years. "It'll be okay, Solo."
Han didn't agree. What had he been thinking, volunteering to take them to Kessel? He hated this place; he hated the prisoners, he hated the administrators, he hated the way the air tasted like gravel and every breath was too short. He hated the TIEs pacing his currently-in-perfect-condition ship, and he hated everything they represented. And he wasn't a ne'er-do-well smuggler anymore! He should be back home at the apartment he shared with Leia on Coruscant, urging the twins to eat and comforting them when one stubbed a toe!
But Mara was going to go regardless, and he'd be damned if he'd let Luke's… whatever she was… go off to Kessel, of all places, without adequate backup. It was too late to back out now. He just had to hope that Mara and Iella knew what they were doing.
Actually, when he phrased it that way, things didn't sound too bad.
Whoever it was outside the Falcon didn't wait for Han to lower the ramp. There was a heavy knocking on the outer hatch, followed almost immediately by it popping open. One of the locals must have a deft hand with electronics, they hotwired that quick, Han thought with a scowl. He and Chewie stood within as light—the simultaneously dim and glaring blue from Kessel's star—flooded into the freighter, and the Falcon's air flooded out.
Chewie hated Kessel even more than Han did, and the big Wookiee moaned softly as the air grew suddenly thin and stale. Heavy footsteps followed the light in; the men who boarded the Falcon wore a hodgepodge of armor and equipment, classic to Fringe operators. Some wore old Imperial guard equipment, but most didn't. Unlike him and Chewie, the boarders wore oxygen masks that made Han instantly jealous.
The leader led them up the ramp, taller than the rest, with an extremely lanky build that made him look oddly scarecrow-ish. On his belt he carried a heavily modified (and very illegal) double-blaster; he also wore an Imperial blaster-resistant vest that was a size too small for him. The man offered Han a wide, mocking grin, holding his hands out wide in an expression that Han found oddly familiar, though with the oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face, Han couldn't place the man.
"Han Solo," the scarecrow-like said. Han couldn't see his mouth, but the rest of the man's body language bore every indication that the lips hidden by the man's oxygen mask wore a mocking smile. "You're going to wish you never came back to Kessel."
His voice was familiar, and Han's mind rang with recognition. Those eyes, that voice…
"I already do, Skynxnex" Han replied, crossing his arms. He was honestly surprised that Skynxnex was still alive after all these years. Back during the Imperial days, when Doole had been a corrupt administrator and part of Jabba's criminal network (and thus Han's primary contact on Kessel), Skynxnex had served as the Rybet's bodyguard. Before his arrival on Kessel, the scarecrow-like figure had been a low-level Black Sun enforcer. Neither career put him on Han Solo's current list of favorite people. Han put as much derision into his voice as he could. "We're here on official business. Do you really think the New Republic is going to let you mistreat its envoys?"
"Mistreat?" Skynxnex sounded too upbeat and innocent. "I have no idea what you could possibly mean."
Han's spine shivered. He'd forgotten Skynxnex's talent for making positively innocuous things sound sinister. "Doole and I go way back," Han reminded him. "And what I have to offer him could make him rich."
Skynxnex gestured at the men surrounding him, pointing them into the Falcon. "Search the ship." Chewie made a soft, unhappy moan as six of the other men flowed past them into their ship, the heavy sound of booted feet on metal grating making Han wince. He hated having strangers on his ship, it always took weeks to fix everything, and sometimes even months later he'd stumble across something not quite right… "Did you hear me, Skynxnex?" Han asked, folding his arms across his chest and scowling.
"Did you bring any other company, Solo?" the Skynxnex asked, stepping forward to loom over Han, his flinty gaze appraising.
"Chewie and I don't make a habit of carrying just anyone," Han retorted. "We didn't bring my wife, if that's what you're asking."
"A pity," Skynxnex said sarcastically. "I always wanted to meet a Princess." He shoved Han in the back lightly, making him stumble. An attempt by one of his comrades to do the same to Chewie provoked a growl. Skynxnex sneered at the Wookie and gestured down the Falcon's ramp. "Get moving. I'll take you to Doole. He's been wanting to catch up with Solo here for years."
Well, that can't be good, Han thought dourly. Doole had been Han's contact on Kessel during his smuggling days, one of the many corrupt administrators who had been on Jabba's payroll. The Empire had maintained strict quotas on Kessel's production and sale, maintaining their effective monopoly on a substance which had a multiplicity of uses, ranging from therapeutic to recreational to… other more esoteric uses. Kessel's glitterstim Spicewas the purest and most effective of all the varieties of space the galaxy had to offer, and Doole had been able to syphon small amounts of it off the Empire's official manifest and into the hands of smugglers.
Han had never liked Doole much, but he'd never disliked him either. He was just a contact, one of many. Still, it was possible that Doole held a grudge. Han had, after all, been forced to dump a particularly valuable shipment of Spice into the vacuum of space after his last visit to Kessel, and Jabba surely had imposed his unhappiness with that clear to Doole as much as the old slug had to Han.
It was a short trip from the landing facility to Kessel's former Imperial administrator's building. The massive structure loomed over them as they approached, the large flat face of the structure blocking the horizon like a giant, angled wall in space, the harsh rays of Kessel's blue-white sun reflecting off its semi-reflective surface. Above the facility, Han could see the pair of boxy flight cruisers hovering in low orbit, distant but nonetheless clearly visible.
Han nudged Chewie. "Chewie, your eyes are better than mine. Take a look at those cruisers for me, will you?" he whispered, glancing back at the guards behind them, whose blasters were held with the casual readiness of a semi-professional.
Chewbacca rumbled softly, turning his head slightly to look up. They were pressed into an elevator and Chewbacca leaned towards him, a quick, throaty grumble quietly passing off what the Wookiee's superior eyes had discerned.
Han's chest tightened. The cruisers have their dorsal turrets trained on the building. It wasn't surprising, in hindsight. Whoever the pirates were, they were ensuring Doole's loyalty by putting him on the business end of their cruisers, corvette, and TIEs.
From the state of the administrative building's interior, it was possible that the pirates had required a ground campaign as well to compel Doole's loyalty. The building showed all the signs of decay from lack of regular maintenance, but there were also blaster scars which could've been new. Or, Han thought, those scars could date back to when Doole first conquered Kessel, shortly after Endor. It was impossible to tell just how old they were.
After a few more twists and turns they arrived in Doole's office. The back wall was a long, broad panel of windows looking out over Kessel's desolate landscape; the air between Han and those windows filled with a thin mist of moisture from the humidifier sitting near a short desk. Doole himself looked as if he had seen better days; the Rybet's gaze turned on Han, but one of his eyes was a milky, sightless white. The reptilian alien fiddled with a mechanical contraption strapped over his other eye, lenses whirring and clicking into place. Han was reminded vaguely of Artoo, but Luke's astromech was of much better quality. After a long inspection, Doole finally hissed in recognition. "It is you, Solo!"
Han frowned. "Been hitting the Spice too heavily I see, Moruth. Always gets the eyesight first."
Doole didn't look like a prisoner, but he didn't look happy either. The Rybet's expression tightened and he hopped off his chair, coming towards him with a menacing expression—or, as menacing as a more-than-half-blind Rybet could manage, anyway. Skynxnex was the one who's expression was legitimately menacing, but—
Han frowned. Doole's lanky bodyguard wasn't even watching him or Chewie. His attention was entirely on the two other men of his security team. Realization washed over him. Those guards weren't here to keep an eye on him and Chewie—or not entirely, anyway—they were here to watch Doole and Skynxnex.
Vorru's men.
"It wasn't Spice that did this," Doole snapped, pointing at the contraption over his eye. "Why are you here, Solo?"
Han's realization fully in mind, he could hear the tension in Doole's voice. It wasn't just anger at Han for perceived old slights. The Rybet was scared. Han thought fast. "I'm here as a representative of the New Republic government," he said. "You know we've been trying to get you to open up the legal Spice trade—it has plenty of legal uses, not just illegal ones—and since we've made our deal with the Smugglers' Alliance, plenty of Fringe operators who used to avoid us have been thawing out a bit."
"You're a spy!" Doole exclaimed, disbelieving, and sounding paranoid. "Did you think you could just fly into our space, look around, and go back to your Republic with all the information they need to send a Star Destroyer over to take us over!" He clenched his tiny green fist, shaking it at Han, trembling. "We'll be ready if you try it!"
"You have it all wrong," Han exclaimed. "We don't need to take you over! A little bargaining, maybe a chat with Talon Karrde, and you could triple your profits and on legal trade! Don't be a fool!"
It was hard to tell, with Doole's one sightless eye and his second covered behind the mechanical photoreceptor, but Han was pretty sure the Rybet was staring at him. "We'll see." Doole reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a small, ornately engraved box. He fumbled with it, his webbed fingers shaking some more as he popped it open. Inside, the padded box was filled with short black-wrapped cylinders.
Han's heart fell. "Glitterstim."
"The purest that Kessel produces. With it, I'll be able to read the truth of what you say."
Han knew it was true. Glitterstim spice was highly addictive, but it wasn't strictly illegal in the galaxy, just controlled. When ingested, it produced a somewhat pleasurable telepathic boost and higher mental acuity. That made it useful for interrogations and loyalty tests, and the Empire (and the Fringe) had long exploited it for both. It allowed two lovers to enjoy a fleeting telepathic touch, or to enjoy an emotional high of a crowd, or feel an emotion that a patient would otherwise be incapable of. In some its effects were even more potent. It even had therapeutic uses. Han had seen it used, and he also knew the after effects: the addiction, paranoia, and motor problems that could follow repeated use.
Doole's hand shook as he extracted one of the black cylinders from the case, his hand shaking as he removed the wrapping and withdrew the Spice. He held the transparent, glassy fibers up, allowing it to absorb the light through the large exterior window; the fibers started to scintillate. When they turned a pearlescent blue and started sparking with energy, their color matching that of Kessel's star, the Rybet placed the fibers on his long, purple tongue and closed his mouth around them.
Doole closed his eyes, breathing deep breaths. His trembling stopped, his hands growing steady and confident. His mechanical eye focused on Han, and while Han couldn't see the Rybet's eye underneath his mechanical contraption, he could tell Doole was watching him with the glassy focus of a Spice user in full high.
Chewbacca moaned softly, and Han took a sharp breath. There it was—the clawing sensation of Spice-borne telepathy, of memories drawn to the fore unbidden, flashes of images prompted by the urgings of a foreign mind. Han tried to fight it, his expression growing twisted and furious. He hated Spice intrusions… but he knew that the rage would be obvious to Doole. He fought it back, urging his mind to bring forward his many meetings with Leia and the Inner Council about the need for closer ties to the Fringes, about the value of Kessel, the therapeutic value of Spice.
He tried even harder to keep the more recent meetings that featured Kessel out of his mind. It was hard to keep thoughts from a glitterstim addict, but it wasn't impossible. The duration of the effect was rather short, and Han had been told once long ago that you could hide some secrets if you offered others. Vorru, he thought. We're here to investigate Vorru. Vorru, from Corellia. We think he's working with Leonia Tavira, and she has a Star Destroyer. Vorru, Vorru, Vorru… He thought back to the HoloNet reports that had been common in his youth, of Moff Vorru's rule over his home system, of what he knew of Vorru's involvement with Black Sun, the little he remembered about Leonia Tavira. We think Vorru escaped, we think Vorru escaped, we think Vorru escaped…
He tried very, very hard not to think of the group of people who made up that "we". Doole could have whatever else he wanted, but if—
Doole's eyes opened wide and he turned towards the men with Skynxnex. "You fools!" he hissed. "Your master has brought him here. They know that Vorru has escaped, and they're here because they want to find out what he's up to." Doole took a half-step forward, in a manner meant to be menacing and which did convey real fury and fear. "He's going to bring the New Republic down on all of us!"
Han wasn't sure if the glitterstim effect had worn off yet. Vorru, attack on Coruscant, working with a man with a lightsaber in bronze armor—
Doole spun around, staring at Han with the bright, glassy gaze of a fully-focused glitterstim abuser. He could still see into Han's mind, could hear his thoughts for as long as the Spice high continued… Han's surprise muted into suspicion as the Rybet resumed speaking. "The New Republic will be coming for us!" Doole hissed, and Han suspected that the Rybet's glitterstim-induced high was also amplifying Doole's paranoia. "I am not paranoid!" Doole exclaimed, gripping Han's shirt in both his scaly hands and shaking him. "The New Republic wants Kessel for its own! Talon Karrde and the Smugglers' Alliance will come to steal all that I've fought for, all that I've worked for, and it's all Fliry Vorru's fault!" He spun again, sending Han spilling to the floor in an undignified heap.
Han rolled onto his side in time to watch a furious, outraged Doole march towards the men flanking Skynxnex, his hands balled into angry fists. "Are you sure they're here for Vorru?" one of the men was asking—
"Yes I'm sure! And you're sure too, don't tell me you're not, I can see it in your mind!" Han could tell that the high was starting to come down, though, the Rybet's energy was beginning to fade, rage transforming into audible fear. "Vorru and Tavira are going to destroy me."
Vorru's two men glanced at each other, their expressions hardening. "Did he think of Tavira?" one of them asked.
"Yes of course he thought of Tavira," Doole sputtered. "Did you really think New Republic Intelligence wouldn't find out! You decided to challenge Airen Cracken and you put me in the line of fire!"
"Are you sure?" the other insisted.
"Do you want to test them yourself?" asked Doole. He held the box out towards the man. "I have plenty more glitterstim, if you would like."
The man blanched. "No," he replied quickly. "Fine." He turned to Skynxnex. "Put them in a holding cell," he instructed. "We'll hold them until we contact our superiors and find out what they want done."
"No!" Doole hissed angrily. "Send them to the mines. Solo deserves no better."
Han glared. "What did I do to deserve the mines?" he objected. Doole, however, was utterly fixated on Vorru's men, and Han didn't need the Force to see what the Rybet was feeling.
Doole's anger was old and genuine—and empowered by fear. Vorru's man frowned, hesitating, then nodded reluctantly. "All right. They won't die down there will they?"
"If people died so quickly in the mines," Doole glowered, "I wouldn't have any workers." He pointed at Skynxnex. "Skynxnex, take them to the mines! The Wookiee will at least earn its keep."
Chewie rumbled menacingly.
Skynxnex stepped back before glowered at them. He moved over to Han and pressed his double-barrel blaster into Han's back. The barrel ground painfully against his spine, making him gasp. "Move. And don't try anything, Chewbacca, or I'll cook your owner from the inside out," Skynxnex growled.
Oh great. The Spice mines. This is getting better all the time. Han stumbled towards the exit, pushed by Skynxnex's blaster.
As they exited the room, he could hear the faint rattle of Doole's talons on the table again, indicating a glitterstim come-down, and Han finally allowed his thoughts to wander back to the two women hidden away in the Millennium Falcon. At least they had a chance.
That brief flare optimism faded along with the light as they descended down the long mine shaft into the pits of Kessel.
There was no light permitted in the Spice mines at all. Spice exposed to light began to ripen immediately and had to either be consumed or would be wasted, so the production and transport of Spice was as much about maintaining complete darkness around the product as it was collecting it. Surviving underground on Kessel as a Spice miner was about learning how not to rely on your eyes; touch, sound, smell, and instinct were what you had to work with, so you either learned how to use them or you died.
The Spice mines smelled distinctly of fresh air when you got closer to the surface; the deeper you got, the smells shifted depending on what you came near. Different minerals had distinctive scents that the miners could learn to recognize with time and experience, as did the varied creatures that could survive in the dark. Water deposits always meant a variety of molds, some of which could be toxic with extended exposure, and the Spice spiders often left droppings that every miner learned to recognize.
Some races, like Sullustans, were comfortable in the dark, and they tended to do well. But survival in the Spice mines was as much about luck and perseverance as it was about cleverness or senses. Humans could do well, once they got over their fear.
Kyp did quite well. Unlike most of his fellows, he'd arrived on Kessel young and had spent most of his life in the mines. The long working days were always spent in the total absence of light, and he'd long since stopped missing it.
The other miners thought him a wizard, when they thought of him at all. Even the Sullustans couldn't match his daily output of Spice when he put his mind to it, but there was little point in over-achieving. The prisoners didn't get promotions or privileges for excellent work, there was no dream of freedom for most. No one would be coming to get him out when his time was up. So he collected what he needed, supported the other prisoners when he felt it was safe and they deserved it, and avoided them when it wasn't.
In the darkness, he dreamed of freedom, family, and blue seas.
The same drives that brought him success in the mines made him decide to change his routine that morning. Usually he'd take one of the mining cars with a hundred other sentients or so down into one of the less dangerous, less profitable veins. He always came out of it with what he needed to pay for meals and a bunk, so there was no reason to do anything riskier. But today he decided to take a different mining car down into one of the richest veins, with the greatest chance of encountering a spider. He didn't have a reason to do that, really, but it felt right in a way he couldn't articulate.
He glided onto the car, feeling his way to an empty seat. He heard a loud, plaintive rumble in the next row, and with it came the distinctive scent of a Wookiee.
"I know, I know, I can't see anything either. It's like Jabba's frozen me in carbonite all over again."
Kyp hovered next to the voice, not yet sitting down as he debated the wisdom of taking the seat. It was an older man's voice, with the light sarcasm and accent common to the Corellian smugglers who came and went, cursing CorSec with every step. They usually didn't live very long.
"Hey, you! Kid! Number fourteen! Go back to your seat!" the guard operating the car yelled at him. Kyp's head turned in the guard's direction; he couldn't see the man, but he could feel his presence. The guard was one of the lucky ones, wearing infrared goggles to make policing the inmates easier.
Kyp debated, then sat next to the unfamiliar voice.
"I said go back to your seat!"
"This is my new seat," Kyp said firmly, sending the guard a scowl.
"That is your new seat," the guard echoed back.
Kyp shook his head. He wasn't sure why that worked, but it was enough that it did. He leaned closer to the man now sitting next to him. The man had tensed during the exchange, attentive and aware, but utterly unprepared to deal with the reality of the Spice mines. "Are you from the outside?" he asked.
The man next to him took a breath, probably wondering if he was about to be slashed with a vibroblade, or pushed off the car. Such things happened often enough. The car lurched, beginning its motion, rolling down the rails and deeper into the caves, building speed. The sensation of stone rushing past, air brushing over his face and bringing with them new scents, was as familiar to him as his own skin.
"Yeah, we're from out there," the man said.
"I'm Kyp. Kyp Durron," Kyp said. He still had the sneaking sensation that being here was a good idea, even if he didn't know why… Behind them, the man's Wookiee companion rumbled with a question, but Kyp didn't understand him.
"How'd you end up on Kessel, Kyp?" the man asked. Kyp didn't begrudge the man withholding his name; all new arrivals did at first. Everyone had enemies on Kessel.
"My parents were political prisoners, sent here by the Empire." Kyp's throat tightened. This was always the hardest part of meeting new people. He didn't like remembering the past, even if there had been more sunlight. "They conscripted my brother Zeth and took him off to Carida to make him a stormtrooper, but I was too young."
He heard the man grimace, could sense the twisting of his lips. The raw, sincere sympathy that Kyp could sense from him and the Wookiee reinforced the idea that meeting and talking with these two was a good idea, even if he still wasn't quite sure why. "Sorry to hear that. The Empire does that to a lot of people, though not as much as they used to. What happened to your parents?"
Kyp swallowed hard. "During Doole's revolt, they were accused of being trusties." He swallowed again, fighting back sadness and loathing. "Imperial sympathizers. They… died."
A large, adult hand found his shoulder. Kyp froze, his eyes widening, gasping the flowing air, the sense of moving stone just inches away still swirling around him. "Well, I'm Han. Stick close to me and Chewie, kid. We'll look out for you." The Wookiee rumbled something that sounded like agreement.
Kyp smiled despite himself, suddenly sure that he was exactly where he needed to be, when he needed to be there. It was the first time he'd smiled in… he wasn't even sure how long. "No offense, but I think it's going to be me looking out for you."