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"Hey kid, we're coming out of light-speed in twenty minutes." Solo poked his head into the darkened cabin, jolting Luke out of his, finally, dreamless sleep. "Get up to the cockpit in case we see some action."

Luke rubbed bleary eyes, sat up. He'd been asleep for probably eight hours, but he still felt like he could sleep for twenty. "Be right there," he mumbled.

Gingerly he sat up, straightened his tunic, fastened his father's lightsaber to his belt, and put on his boots.

Chewie wasn't in the cockpit, so Luke sat down in the co-pilot's seat again, which earned him a frown from Solo, but the pilot didn't order Luke to leave.

Luke studied the readouts in front of him, noted the time remaining in hyperspace. In his opinion, which clearly had no weight around here, going to Terrenia was a stupid thing to do. Really stupid.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat, "was thinking about what you said-the Alliance 'breathing down my neck'?"

Solo grunted, not looking up from the navicomputer.

"Is there someone in the Alliance, a mole, maybe? Someone looking to cash in that bounty? Is that why the Princess wanted me away from there?"

Solo glanced up, an odd expression in his eyes. Luke tried carefully to read his friend with the Force. He got the sense of turbulent emotion, but wasn't sure if that same sense of sadness he had seen in the Correlian's eyes earlier was accurate or simply super-imposed by Luke's own feelings. There was so much he didn't know, might never know about using the Force. "Something like that, kid," Solo allowed.

"Well, I am capable of looking out for myself," Luke defended. "Running away, putting ourselves in greater danger," he nodded to the viewport, "seems like a really bad idea. Why don't we spend our energies trying to find the mole instead?"

The beeping of the proximity alarm turned Solo's attention back to the console. "It's a bit more complicated than that," the smuggler grunted.

Luke opened his mouth to further make his case, but Solo was already concentrating on the task at hand.

Han leaned toward the com. "Standing by, Chewie?" There was a tinny growl over the speaker. Solo nodded curtly. "Then hang on, here we go." His head snapped toward Luke. "Strap in, kid, this could get rough."

Luke did not need to be told twice. He secured the oversized restraints as best he could, as Han grasped the hyperspace levers, pushed them forward. Mottled blue became streaks of stars, which became pinpoints of light, framing a small, brownish, cloud-shrouded planet.

"Here we are." Solo's voice was neutral, guarded. Directly in front of them hovered a disc-shaped ship-or was it a space station?- small insect-like runner ships swarming in and out. "Nothing's changed."

The com crackled to life. "Unidentified ship," a meaty voice filled the cockpit. "Transmit your ID immediately or prepare to be fired upon."

Luke felt anxiety worm its way through his gut, but managed to keep his mouth shut and merely raise his eyebrows at Han.

Solo was smiling. "Tell Tam, that's no way to treat an old friend, especially one who saved his neck back on Fodor…. Oh, three years ago?"

There was silence. Solo chewed his lip, toggled the com. "Be ready," he told Luke and Chewie unnecessarily. "It's entirely possible he doesn't care to remember Fodor. Or that Tam doesn't run this outfit anymore."

The com came to life again, a different voice this time, hoarse and scratchy. "Solo, s'that you? What do want?"

"Tam!" The smuggler grinned at the com, false bravado filling his features. "Just calling in a favor, pal. A place to land and a couple month's worth of supplies. I've got credits to burn."

A couple months? Luke frowned at Han, that sinking feeling twisting his stomach again.

"You're a very stupid man for coming to Terrenia at all," Tam remarked. "You have a death wish, hmm?" Solo opened his mouth to respond, but apparently Tam wasn't looking for an answer to the question. A swarm of the small ships was leaving the disc-like station and approaching the Falcon. "But you want to land? I'll send you safe passage, friend, and we'll call it even. Landing pad seventy-two."

Solo's cocky grin returned as he switched off the com and crowed to Luke, "See? I told ya, no big deal."

"Sure," Luke muttered. "No big deal." He shook his head. "A couple months of supplies, Han?"

Solo winked at the younger man and snapped his fingers. "Right, kid. Extended mission, remember?"

"How extended?" Luke demanded. "The Alliance needs us. We can't be gone this long, not when things are in such dire straights as it is. This is silly."

The smuggler's expression darkened. "Turns out they don't need you as much as you would like to think, kid."

Luke sat forward, feeling agitated again. "What are you talking about? What did you and Leia discuss that you just can't tell me about?"

Han turned his full attention back to the viewport, avoiding. "You know what, Luke? I'll tell you everything after we land, get our shipment and get back into hyperspace, okay? In the meantime, shut up about it, stop asking questions, and find us some camouflage."

Luke shook his head, mouth open to snap back some retort when the last of Han's words caught up to him. "Some what?" Was it one of Han's diversionary tactics to change the subject mid-sentence?

"Camo," Solo repeated, hooking his thumb to the back of the cockpit. "Chewie's going to stay with the ship, and you and I are going to avoid being recognized while we pick up the shipment. There are some cloaks in that utility closet. I think."

Luke sighed, stood. "Fine. We are going to have this conversation the moment we get back on the ship."

"And in hyperspace."

"In hyperspace. Whatever," he dismissed. "I'm holding you to it." He managed to pull the hatch open, and rummaged through the clutter. After a moment, he found what could pass as parkas, with hoods, and pulled them out. "This is camouflage?"

Solo dismissed Luke's skeptical look. "Combined with a scarf or something to cover most of our faces, I think it'll be okay."

With another dubious look toward the gear, Luke tossed it to Han. "Whatever you say."

"And you're going to have to lose the lightsaber, kid," Solo told him, dropping his poncho to the floor next to him, eyes focused on the viewport and the cloud swirl over the brown planet. "That's going to get you recognized faster than you can say Hutt's Paradise."

Luke's hand closed protectively over the hilt of his father's weapon. He never went anywhere without his lightsaber and did not intend to do so now, especially not knowing what kind of danger they were walking into. "It will be hidden under the parka," He promised Han. "No one will see it."

"Fine," Solo grunted. "Just keep it out of sight. Okay, hold on, we're coming into the atmosphere. Might get bumpy."

Luke took his seat again, pulled the parka over his head. It smelled of wet wookiee. The Falcon became enveloped in milky cloud cover as they made their descent. He gazed out into the opaque cotton, lost in thought momentarily. A flash of memory came to him. Did he dream it? Descending in a ship, no visibility through the cloud cover, Han's voice I've lost all instruments! Chewie's alarmed roar, and Luke, his heart in his throat, hands gripping two fistfuls of crash webbing.

"Nice and easy," muttered Han in a low, calm voice, which brought Luke around to the present, the strange shred of not-memory slipping away. They flew closer to the surface, the small escort ships peeling off and heading out again to deep space. The clouds were dark and low. "They get acid rain here," Han was saying. "From all the pollution. Nasty stuff. Can't tell if it's raining right now or not."

As if in response, a few splatters of liquid struck the surface of the viewport. Solo cursed. "Now it's going to go messing up my ship."

A roar from Chewie over the com must have meant roughly the same thing, for Han snapped "I know, pal," in a curt tone. "Nothing we can do about it!"

The smuggler brought the ship through the poisoned atmosphere to the surface of the planet. The scene in front of Luke was chaotic. Mottled buildings, ships, shanties, spaceports. It all appeared a shambles in front of him, one structure blending into the other, old, rundown, hobbled together. He had no idea how Han appeared to know exactly where he was going, but the smuggler deftly maneuvered the ship through what Luke belatedly realized was the yawing mouth of a wide hanger, sheltered from the acid rain by a corrugated roof, and set down gently on the stained, pocked duracrete surface.

"Chewie's going to stay with the ship," he muttered, scanning his instruments as he shut things down. "I don't think this should take long. You ready?"

Luke was. The cloak dwarfed him well enough in its folds of fabric. He didn't really need anything besides its floppy cowl to hide his face. Of course, that also meant that it was a little difficult to see. "Ready," he replied, feeling the familiar weight of his lightsaber against his leg under the cloak. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, but its presence was reassuring, nonetheless.

He followed Solo through the corridor and down the ramp. Chewie met them at the ramp controls, barking something insistent to the smuggler. Han waved his hand again, dismissively, apparently unconcerned.

"What did he say?" Luke asked, frowning. Chewie slapped the controls, lowering the ramp. Neither of them answered him. Luke thought, not for the first time, how it would be useful for him to learn Shyriiwook, but that thought was cut short as he was hit with a blast of stench - sulfur, and garbage, and some other smells he could not identify, but which brought his hand to cover his nose and mouth. "Good Stars, what is that smell?"

Solo grunted again. "You probably really don't want to know, kid. Whatever it is, breathing it in will probably take a year or two off your life."

Luke coughed as the overpowering stench caught in his throat.

"Easy now, don't give us away so easily." Solo muttered. "You don't need the whole planet to know you're fresh off a backwater planet and green as a tree."

Luke tried to catch his breath. His eyes were burning. He hacked out another cough, and swallowed hard, willing it away. "Sorry," he mumbled, his face heating at Solo's barb.

But the smuggler was already turning to the task at hand, sauntering down the ramp. Luke hurried to follow, carefully clearing his throat and pulling the side of the hood to his face, infinitely preferring the smell of wet wookiee to whatever smell wafted through the hangar like a thick soup of coolant chemicals and raw sewage.

Afraid he'd cough if he spoke, Luke kept his silence and followed Solo, who seemed to know exactly where he was going. They weaved through a maze of ramps, corridors, walkways, and stairs. They passed a variety of interesting beings, none of whom spared them so much as a glance.

Han's choice of disguise turned out to be useful in more than one way, when they followed the path to an open-air street, with its light drizzle of acid rain. Luke pulled his exposed hands into the too-long sleeves and kept his head down, eyes on the ground.

Presently, they came to an unremarkable building, a sort of dilapidated warehouse that had clearly seen better days. Solo pushed open the door, to the darkened interior. Luke, unable to make out anything in the gloom, tensed as he followed, his hand brushing the hilt of the lightsaber still hidden under his cloak.

A click of a blaster safety and they both froze. Luke's heart was thudding in his ears.

"Solo?" It was the same gravelly voice from the com. Tam, Luke remembered. A large man, taller than both of them, gray hair a dishevelled popcorn halo of frizz, stepped out of the gloom, his eyebrows like small furry morts over beady black eyes. Luke wondered momentarily if this supposed "friend" of Han's might just try to rob them at gunpoint instead, favors be damned. His hand tightened in the lightsaber hilt.

"It's me," Han answered. "Call off your lackeys."

Suddenly the room flooded with harsh, white light, searing Luke's eyes. As soon as he adjusted to the light, he realized there were four more beefy thugs on either side of Tam, brandishing heavy carbines, their faces a dark sneer of contempt.

Tam lowered his blaster, motioned for his guards to do the same. He moved toward Han in a gesture of camaraderie, clapping him on the shoulder as Solo lowered the hood of his cloak. "Good to see you, my friend."

Han's expression was a guarded smile. "Looks like the galaxy has been treating you well," he remarked approvingly, gesturing to the warehouse surrounding them.

A hearty chuckle from Tam. "I can't complain, can I? Come with me." He gestured for them to follow.

Luke removed his hood and fell in line with Han, peripherally aware that the heavy-set guards took up formation behind them. They walked to the far end of the warehouse, several large durasteel boxes parked on the rough floor.

Tam gestured. "I believe this will be about what you need." He dropped the controller into Solo's hand. "Roughly three months supplies-food, medical equipment, blankets…" he waved his hand dismissively.

Solo nodded and dug some credit chips from his pocket. "How much?"

"Two thousand."

Solo balked. "Two thousand?" he repeated, his brow creasing. "What happened to calling in favors for an old friend? Twelve hundred."

"You are calling in favors for an old friend," Tam growled. "You landed, you got supplies, and now you are going to be able to leave, unmolested, despite that price on your head that could leave me a very rich man, hmmm?" Those eyebrows shot up. "Seventeen hundred. That's my final offer."

Han grinned again, all false bravado again. "Pleasure doing business with you," he crooned, dropping the credit chip into Tam's open hand.

As if on cue, the bodyguards fanned out, weapons holstered. Solo toggled the controls to the grav cart, checked to make sure both crates were secured. "Come on kid, let's go," he muttered to Luke, the first he'd spoken to him since they left the ship, and flicked the controls of the remote. With a faint whine, the repulsor sled hummed forward. Solo went in front and Luke dropped again to the rear, smothering another cough as he did so.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Han called without turning.

"Do your best to stay alive," Tam replied dryly.

Luke flicked his hood over his head again as they stepped again out into the poisoned drizzle, noting the singed holes the rain had already left in the sleeves of the cloak. They were walking a little slower this time to accommodate the grav sled.

It was when they had returned again to the covered walkway that a growing sense of unease wormed its way into the pit of Luke's stomach. He pulled back the hood, glanced around them to see if anything was amiss. They were approaching an isolated stairway, but no one was in sight. Nothing seemed wrong that he could see. They began to make their way down the stairs, the servos of the repulsor sled whining in protest to the change in angle under the weight of the load.

Luke was halfway down the stairs when two figures stepped into view, blasters raised. Luke froze. The sled froze, and, in front of him, mostly hidden under the cowl of his cloak, Han froze.

It was a Rodian, a strange-looking helmet perched on his head, and a beefy human dressed in a tattered brown tunic-one of Tam's bodyguards, Luke realized, in the part of his brain not processing the fact that they were staring down the barrels of two blasters.

"Going somewhere, Solo?" the Rodian hissed at Han. "We'd be happy to take this load off your hands."

"Hey guys," the Correllian's hands were open in front of him, even as the human relieved him of the burden of the remote. "We bought this fair and square from Tam. He's not going to be very happy with you if he finds out you robbed us on the way to our ship."

A snort of derision from the Rodian. "I do not work for Tam. We're actually more interested in how you can make us very, very rich."

Luke couldn't see Han's face, but he could tell Han was going for the innocent routine. "Me?" he sputtered. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid," the human snapped. "Jabba's got a price on your head so high, every hit man on this side of the galaxy is carrying around your holo." He raised his blaster, menacingly. "Dead or alive."

Luke swallowed, his eyes going to the supply boxes on the grav sled. Obi-wan had told him he could use the Force to manipulate objects with his mind. The idea had seemed too fantastical at first, then too difficult. If he tried, really relaxed into the Force, could he will the sled to move, even just a little bit? He choked back a cough.

"You!" The human snapped, re-angling his blaster to Luke. "Over here."

Luke started down the steps carefully, his hands also open in front of him. Now would be his chance, while blaster was not aimed point-blank at Han. His mind fumbled with the shape of the load, wondering if he could move such a heavy object, when another thought occurred to him: the remote. He shut his eyes briefly, visualizing the controls, the Force around him, vaguely aware of the Rodian snapping at him to hurry. He was down to the bottom step, close to their aimed blasters. Maybe this wouldn't work after all.

Suddenly he felt it-the switch moved-the grav sled lurched forward, and the two thugs jerked toward it in surprise. That split second was all he needed.

It seemed the world was moving in slow motion. Luke's lightsaber was in his hand, ignited before they could complete their turn and re-aim. The blasters fired simultaneously, but it seemed as though the lasers were streaking toward him in slow motion. Luke's blade caught first one crimson bolt and then another, sending them back along their trajectory, into the chest of the surprised Rodian. A burst of fire from Han's blaster barrelled into the human, who dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Luke stood frozen while Solo leaped forward to reclaim the sled's remote. "Come on, let's get out of here, before we run into any more trouble." He looked back at Luke. "You okay?"

Numbly, Luke nodded, shook himself free of the shock of what had just happened, what he had just done, reattached his lightsaber to his belt.

As if reading his mind, Solo gestured to the weapon. "I guess it's good you brought that thing. What was that-I had no idea you could fight like that!"

Luke swallowed, coughed. "Practice, I guess," he offered, though he knew it was more than that. He had no idea he could fight like that either. Something had changed.

"Yeah, well, you're good in a fight, kid," Han answered. Something in his voice sounded like begrudging admiration, mixed with...fear? That didn't seem right. Solo wasn't afraid of anything, least of all Luke and the "hokey Jedi stuff" he claimed wasn't even real. "Come on, let's get out of here."