They came out of hyperspace while Luke was still dry-heaving in the fresher. His second go at getting drunk hadn't yielded results any difference from the first, unfortunately, and he'd spent all of the last thirteen hours paying for it.
Han had checked up on the kid before heading to the cockpit. Luke had been sat leaning against the wall of the small fresher, face gray and gaunt, eyes closed. In no uncertain terms, he told Han to get out and leave him alone.
Solo did so, reluctantly. Now he was sitting, somewhat uncertainly in orbit around a very green, very sparsely-populated planet. The few pockets of inhabitants resided near the equator, but their technology was nowhere near what would constitute a threat of detection, especially if they moved in and landed quickly. After that, Solo's brilliant plan was to lie low for a while, either until supplies ran out or they received word from the Princess that they were in the clear again.
"The northern hemisphere," he told Chewie, gesturing with his free hand. It was warmer there - it was currently that part of the planet's summer. Solo hated the cold, so the decision was made. They could set down within three-thousand kilometers of the nearest settlement and remain perfectly undetected.
The wookiee grunted and took the controls. They swept in, a blur of green. It was mid-day on this side of the planet, its orangy sunlight behind them.
"Try to find a clearing small enough that it won't take too much to camouflage the Falcon," Han told him. He wanted to make sure the ship and the readings it gave off were completely undetectable, both from space and from local passersby.
Chewie lowered the Falcon into a small clearing in a denser forest, trees so tall that immediately the effect of the sunlight dimmed in the cockpit.
"Nice work," Solo grunted, unstrapping and heading again to the hold. The work of putting the stealth netting over the ship would probably take the rest of the daylight hours. They may as well get started.
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ooooooooooooooooooooooo
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The sensation was like an eruption, a torrent of water bubbling up, then exploding forth with such intensity that it tore Darth Vader from sleep - or at least what passed as repose for the dark lord - left him reeling, his respirator the only thing keeping him from gasping for a steadying breath of air.
Luke. The boy, to his knowledge, had not used the Force before - not like this: pointedly, deliberately, and with surprising power for someone supposedly untrained. It was completely unshielded, as though the boy was unaware that his using the Force was akin to turning on a large lumen, whose spotlight lit up the dark, pinpointing his exact presence.
The moment was brief, quickly absorbed by the darkness again, but Vader could now recall his son's signature in Force, like a familiar scent.
The first time had been a surprise, a brief flare of light, a comet burning though. The second time, when that light flared up again - stronger, steadier, slightly more in control - Vader was ready. He latched onto the mental signature of the boy, mentally flinging his senses out, searching for a location.
Luke was not with the Rebel Alliance - that had already been ascertained through his spies. Vader had already correlated the boy's sudden disappearance from the Rebel base with the absence of the Millennium Falcon and its pilot. What he did not know was where Luke and the pilot had gone.
Now that he felt that bright steadiness in the Force again, Vader reached out.
Luke, he sent. There was no response.
He needed a location. A quadrant of the Galaxy, a system. Though the boy was unshielded, his presence shone out the brightest when he used the Force. It would take another event like the first one to be able to hone in on him.
Vader clenched his black leather having into a tight fist. He could be patient when he wanted to be. He could wait until that moment came. And he would be ready whenever it did.
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oooooooooooooooooooooooo
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For a group of people who had been almost constantly on the run in recent memory, it was surprisingly difficult to stay in one place and try not to go crazy.
One week in and Solo and Chewie had replaced the ship's alternator, which they had been meaning to get around to for over a year; fixed the broken cooktop in the galley, tuned the hyperdrive motivators, cleaned the supply compartments, and now it seemed the Wookiee had taken up wood-carving, a skill Solo had to admit, he had no idea his partner possessed.
The planet was a pleasant-enough place to be. Certainly Solo had been much worse places in his life. It was temperate, with fresh water a short walk through the brush to a small stream. The local wildlife seemed to be mostly nocturnal - they had heard the strange howling and growling of animals only at night, but saw nothing during the day. They were careful to batten the ship at night. Some of the animals came close enough to the ship that the Falcon's infrared scanners spotted them. The computer's database, though it had limited information on Cattairn III, informed him that these were called Bersen, and they were extremely aggressive, with a nasty bite, known to be poisonous to humans. There were also carnivorous plants - some type of vine known as Wella, with beautiful flowers and a deadly neurotoxin to paralyze its victims with, some aquamarine creatures that resided in the streams that were actually edible, and some type of flying animal similar to Mynocks.
It could've been worse, Han decided. Besides, give him a carnivorous vine over a squadron of stormtroopers any day.
Luke, for his part, after getting over his hangover - which took three solid days - remained aloof and uncommunicative. No matter how Han and Chewie tried to draw him out, he was distant, disappearing in the forest for hours at a time or sometimes sitting cross-legged on a large boulder about seventy feet from the ship, motionless. The young man was starting to look haggard, his tunic hanging loose on his slight frame, the dark circles under his eyes lending a gaunt look to his face. Solo knew he wasn't eating, probably not sleeping either.
Han worried about him. Mostly because the younger man seemed so calm, so detached. It almost seemed the brash teenager he'd picked up on Tattooine a year ago was gone. He'd almost rather see the angry version of his friend that surfaced when he'd told him the news about Vader, than this insular, uncaring one, so preoccupied with his inner demons that he often didn't notice Solo speaking to him. But there was nothing to do but wait until they received further instructions from the Princess, so they waited.
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ooooooooooooooooooooooo
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Darth Vader started appearing in his dreams.
The first time, Luke gasped to wakefulness like a drowning person clawing for the water's surface. The heavy breathing of the dark-helmeted monster seemed to follow him, even after he had jerked awake in the darkened bunkroom, grabbing a fistful of blanket to reassure himself he was still on the Falcon.
He pulled that blanket around his shoulders and padded softly to the cockpit. It was still quite dark outside, the chrono putting it at 0300 local time.
They had been on Cattairn III for a few days. Luke knew about the predators that lurked in the dark, and so he sat vigilantly in the cockpit, waiting for the first tendrils of sunrise to peer through the trees, and then he quietly stole from the ship, thin parka fastened up to his chin to shut out the bite of the early morning chill, and he ran. He ran through underbrush, leapt across streams, boulders, fallen logs. He ran until he could run no more, then he sagged to the ground, his knees sinking into the soft mud, his hands shaking with exertion, a scream of despair on his lips.
Ben, why did you lie to me?!
Why?
When he finally returned to the ship, he noted the relief in Chewie's eyes, and the worry in Han's.
How they must hate him. He was the reason they were here on this backwater planet, hiding instead of flying, fighting, smuggling. It was his fault the ship was covered in camo netting, relegated to nothing more than a glorified camping hut.
His fault.
The second time Vader appeared in Luke's dream, he spoke. My son, he said. The dark figure was standing in the meadow near the ship. His voice had taken on an almost fatherly tone, enormous black gauntlet reaching out. Tell me where you are and I will come to you.
Luke's cry to wakefulness did not shut out that voice. In a panic, he tried to shut his mind against it, his heart hammering in his ears and throat.
Just a dream, he reminded himself over and over again. Just a dream.
He began to be afraid to go to sleep. Instead of sleep, once Han shut the ramp for the night, Luke would wander to the hold or the galley, or the cockpit, any place with loose objects and he would practice. Practice using the Force to lift and move and spin those objects. At first it had been extraordinarily difficult, but then suddenly it was easy. It was easier than sleep.
He sat on a large rock in the sun during the daylight hours, lifted larger objects, moved them around, practiced honing his concentration, his awareness of the life forms around him. So absorbed would he become that when he finally came to awareness, he found hours had passed.
Other times, he spent practicing with his lightsaber, with the remotes Ben Kenobi had used on their first journey on the Falcon, what seemed like ages ago.
He didn't sleep. Then one afternoon, sitting on the rock, in complete wakefulness, balancing seven rounded stones on top of each other with the Force, aware of Han, and Chewie in the ship, of the small insects burrowing in the soil, of the wind as it moved in the gentlest of breezes, the voice, as if out loud, spoke. My son, I am coming for you. Soon we will be together.
The stones slammed to the ground as Luke jerked in shock, shutting the voice from his mind, pulling inward, hiding.
Coming for him. No, that was impossible. Darth Vader did not know where he was.
It was nearly dusk, the sky a pale pinky-orange over the tree canopy. The time had passed without his being aware that it had. In the distance, near the ship, Chewie was calling something to him.
Slowly, Luke eased off the boulder, his legs refusing to cooperate for a moment, so long had he been sitting unmoving in one position. Chewie called something again, and Luke approached the ramp. The wookiee wuffed something at him, tousled his hair good-naturedly.
"I'm okay, Chewie," Luke answered, trying to guess at the meaning. He walked up the ramp, aware of the wookiee's eyes on him.
"What's for dinner?"
"Hungry, kid?" It was Han's voice, filled with that tone of false bravado that he had used in Tam's warehouse. When Luke rounded the corner to the galley, got a good look at Solo's face, he could see the crease-lines on his forehead, the set in his mouth that told a different story.
Luke was scaring him.
Luke tried to act casual, to ignore the look in Han's eyes. "Gundark stew and topatoes," he murmured, trying to adopt an expression of enthusiasm as he peered into the serving pot, the boiling brown sludge resembling the mud outside near the stream. Quite possibly he failed miserably.
"Luke, you haven't eaten all day. Here," Solo pushed a plate of reconstituted food in front of him.
Luke's eyes darted from Han to Chewie. They were both watching him, expectantly. Dutifully, he sat, and took a bite of the stew. His stomach was in knots, and it revolted at the introduction of the food.
"I'm…" he looked at them helplessly. "I'm afraid I'm not very hungry tonight." He set down his utensil.
Han and Chewie exchanged a look. Luke didn't miss it, but somehow it made him feel angry, like a scolded child.
"Han, I have to talk to you."
Solo's eyebrows raised. Luke tried to remember the last time in the past week that he'd spoken more than a few words to either of them. He couldn't.
"It's urgent. Something tells me we need to leave this planet. Immediately."
Han frowned. "What, is this some kind of gut instinct? We just got here. It's the perfect hiding spot. Why are you so jumpy?"
Luke shook his head. "You have to believe me. I'm not being jumpy. I just feel….like Vader knows where I am. Like he's coming for me."
Solo frowned. That look was in his eyes again. "How would you know that?" His voice sounded suspicious.
Luke shook his head. "I don't know." How to explain this? "At night when I try to sleep, I think I hear his voice, telling me he's coming for me. I - I can't get away from it. I don't even want to sleep because that's when he starts talking to me, in my dreams…"
Luke trailed off. He'd said too much, he realized. The look in Solo's eyes was a mixture of edginess and pity. He didn't want pity. He wanted to be taken seriously, not this -
"Kid," Han sighed, as though he were talking down to a child. "What you need is a solid, uninterrupted night's sleep. When someone operates on as little as you have been, they start hallucinating - "
" - I'm not hallucinating," Luke snapped back, less than sure himself.
"Here," Solo was popping a tablet out of a pill container, holding it out in his open palm. "If you take one of these, I think it will help."
Luke eyed the pill in the smuggler's hand. "What is this, a - a sedative?" He shook his head. "No, I'm not taking that." He glanced from Han to Chewie. "You have to believe me."
"Luke," Han's voice sounded tired. "I know this whole Vader business isn't easy for you, but you've got to get a grip, pace yourself - "
"'Get a grip'?" Luke snapped, feeling white hot anger bubbling in his throat. Nothing, he was quickly realizing, was more infuriating than to not be taken seriously. "I'm trying to tell you we might be in danger and you want me to 'get a grip'?" His voice rose in pitch, and he pushed to his feet.
He was leaving, he didn't care where, just away.
"Luke, we have nowhere else to go," Han said at his back. "The list of mostly uninhabited planets that don't lie in either Imperial or Alliance space are few and far between. We can't count on neutral places not to give us away. Both of us are on the top of the most-wanted list, in case you forgot."
Luke turned on the smuggler. "And I'm telling you he knows where to find us," he snapped. "We're not safe here."
He spun, catching his parka from where he'd dropped it on the deck by the bulkhead, booted feet echoing down the corridor. Then Han's voice, laced with that same tone, "Luke, where are you going - it's getting dark out there."
He didn't care. The ramp lowered, the remains of the day merely tendrils of color in the dark, velvet sky. He could take care of himself. But he needed to get away, like oxygen, he just needed out.
Like that first day when he had taken off, booted feet scarcely touching the ground, he ran. Ran away from all of it, from Vader, from the Jedi Knights, from Obi-wan Kenobi, from the Alliance that wanted to kill him and the Empire that wanted him alive. He simply ran.