Thank you everyone who has reviewed! The next few chapters are a little on the shorter side, so I will try to make up for it by posting more often. As always, I own nothing, and I hope you enjoy the story. -T
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They made it back to the ship without mishap and, with the help of Chewie's brute strength, loaded the crates into the cargo hold.
Han was more than relieved to blast out of Terrenia. He hoped he'd never have to see this miserable planet again. As soon as they were clear of the small world's gravity well, he set the coordinates for hyperspace.
"Where to this time?" It was Luke's voice from the jump seat behind Chewie, quiet, almost accusing. He did not like being left in the dark. Not that Solo could blame him.
Solo's eyes roamed over the coordinates. "Cattairn III," he answered casually, not looking up. "Flora, fauna, forests, very few inhabitants. A real touristy spot."
Luke was silent a moment. Finally, "I see," was his only reply.
Solo ignored the pouting, waited for the signal from the navicomputer and then muttered, "hold on" as the stars streaked blue and the inertia pressed them back into their seats.
"Well Chewie," Han clapped his hands together, undoing his restraints, "let's go check out this cargo and see what we've got to work with."
He gained his feet, and both Luke and Chewie followed, down the corridor to the hold. The two crates were sitting side-by-side, unlocked.
Solo seized a nearby hydrospanner and began to pry the lid off the nearest one. With a little extra pressure, the catches popped free and he lifted the metal top out of the way.
Relief flooded him as he saw the box was filled with exactly Tam had said it contained. Package after package of dehydrated meals, an extensive medkit, four gray blankets, cleansers, detergents, macrobinoculars, fresh oxygen filters, and O2 condensers. A small part of him - okay, a large part of him - had been worried that his gamble on the supplier was misguided, that the old man would simply take his credits and send him with nothing. But even smugglers had a code of honor they adhered to. He held up a package of dehydrated bantha steak. "Who's hungry?"
Chewie wuffed a laugh, probably as relieved as Han. Now, at least, they wouldn't have to worry about supplies for a while. Solo gathered up as many of the packages as he could fit in his arms. "Let's get this stuff to the galley. I think this calls for a celebratory drink."
"Don't tell me he included a complimentary bottle of wine," Luke said in disbelief, gathering his own armful of dehydrated meals.
"Ah, no - he would have charged another thousand," Han replied. "Fortunately, the Falcon is actually stocked with a good supply of alcohol."
"Priorities," Luke laughed. Solo grinned.
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The food was warm and passable in taste, and within the hour, the three of them sat back in contentment, comfortable in each other's company, pleasantly full of food and the warm buzz of Corellian whiskey. All, but Luke - he hadn't touched his drink.
"You have to learn to hold your liquor, kid," Solo chided him, gesturing to the glass. "It takes practice."
Luke grimaced. Solo knew he didn't drink, not since that one time a year ago, after the destruction of the Death Star, when the pilots all got themselves knock-down drunk and Luke had given himself such a terrible hangover, he didn't leave his bunk for two days. Luke had later told him he did not like the feeling of being inebriated. Han told him he just had to try again, and he would eventually get better at it.
Luke shook his head now. "No thank you."
"Suit yourself," Solo reached for the glass, poured its contents carefully back into the bottle.
"I'm ready to have that conversation now," Luke said quietly.
Solo glanced up, confused. "The….?" Then he remembered. He stalled for time. He really didn't want to ruin a perfect dinner hour upsetting the kid. "Aww, Luke, it's late. We're all really tired - especially you. You still haven't slept off that mission to Tuloth. Let's all get a good sleep cycle, and then discuss this."
Luke's expression darkened. "Han…." His tone held a warning. Would the kid get angry? Like Darth Vader? Come to think of it, he'd never actually seen Luke get really, really angry. Indignant, maybe, or self-righteous about his cause, but never really angry.
Chewie growled, pressed to his feet. He was going to make himself useful cleaning up. Solo glared at the wookiee. "Okay pal, go ahead and abandon me now, that's really great."
"Han, we're talking about this right now." Luke's expression was intense. It brought Solo back to that moment the kid was brandishing his lightsaber, having nimbly taken out that Rodian before any of them could blink, as if he was alternately far away, and reading his mind at the same time. Hand felt a shiver go down his back. Now that he knew what he knew, should he really be surprised?
"Umm, kid, you're really not going to like this," he tried again. "It's going to ruin your evening."
Luke set his jaw. "Don't keep me in the dark, Han."
Solo held the younger man's gaze a second longer, then dropped his eyes to the table. "Fine." He spread his hands. "Fine. But don't say I didn't give you fair warning."
Luke's expression didn't change. His hand was balled in a fist on the holochess table, his eyes boring holes into Han's head.
Han bumbled forward. "The Princess, and High Command….they obtained a communique intercepted from the Emperor to Darth Vader. They were able to decode it. The message was about you."
Luke's eyes widened. "Me?" he echoed in surprise. "Why me?"
"Well, thanks to the Death Star," Han quipped, trying to lighten the mood with a half-smile. "You're famous now."
"But there's more than that," Luke said quietly, not returning the smile. It wasn't a question.
Solo pursed his lips, serious again. "Right." He folded his arms, a defensive posture, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. "The communique went on about Darth Vader's son."
"His son?" Luke frowned.
"Yes." Solo bit the inside of his cheek, scanned Luke's features for any sign of awareness, or deception. There was none. Just open-faced confusion. "Did you know he had a son?"
"No…" Luke shook his head slowly, frowning at the holochess table. "What does all this….?" His eyes came up to Han now, sharp, suspicious.
"What does all this have to do with you?" Han finished for him. He laughed humorlessly, a hollow, empty sound, as he raked his fingers through his hair. "You wouldn't believe it, kid, but it has everything to do with you. The communique names you, Luke Skywalker, as his son."
Luke's features froze.
The sudden silence filled the room like a choking gas, breathless, expanding the space, the distance between them, the time that suddenly held still. Somehow, without moving a muscle, Luke's eyes communicated his horror at Han's words.
"No," he whispered, as if the shock of this revelation had snatched his voice, stolen his ability to move away; to have the previous moment returned to him, back before he knew his life could never be the same again. "No, that's not true."
"I take it you didn't know." Han had not exactly planned for his words to come out like that, mildly accusatory, like he was interrogating the young man across from him, instead of delivering shattering news.
"No," Luke's voice was louder this time, anger flooding his tone. And hadn't Han just wondered if Luke was even capable of getting angry? Now he regretted it.
Luke stood clumsily, knocking some utensils to the deck with a clatter. "I don't know what you take me for, or what kind of game Vader is playing here, but it's not true. I'm not his son. He isn't my father. I've never met the man. My father was a Jedi Knight. He died before I was born. Ben told me that. My father was a good man."
"Luke," Han tried to placate him, catching the kid's sleeve, to get him to stay, to calm down. "I'm not accusing you of anything. Sit down - "
"No, clearly you believe some of it, or we wouldn't be here, running away from the Alliance." Luke was nearly shouting now, pointing an accusing finger at Solo. "Where are we going? Somewhere I can't endanger anyone - since everyone thinks I'm the next Vader?"
"Kid, no one thinks that," Solo tried again. But Luke wasn't listening. He was leaving. "Luke - there's more to the story, if you'll just listen."
But Luke fled the galley to the bunkroom, the door snapping shut behind him.
Han sighed noisily, his gaze surveying the cold remains of their dinner.
Well, that had gone about as well as he'd expected.