Thank you for all the reviews and follows. Hopefully the next few chapters answer some of your questions about how much Han knows about what Luke can do with the Force, etc. Any and all feedback is welcome. -T
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The forest was much noisier at night.
Han sat sourly in the center of the Falcon's ramp, blaster on his lap, feeling the damp cold creep into his bones, and silently cursed Luke, Jedi Knights in general, the Princess, Darth Vader, and his own inability to look out for number one - himself.
Chewie was standing in the distance, a long shadow in the Falcon's running lights, his bowcaster at the ready, and let a mournful howl.
Something uncomfortably close howled back. Solo's head snapped up, his finger tensing in the trigger. He lowered his infrared goggles over his eyes and scanned the dark forest.
"Watch it, you've got two behind you," he warned the wookiee.
Chewie turned and sent a warning shot into the trees, the laser burning a green line across Han's vision. There was a yelp and the sound of scrambling in the bushes.
Han got to his feet, blowing on his fingers to work some warmth into them, walked carefully down the ramp. He cupped his hand around his mouth, tilted his head up to the sky. "LUKE!"
No answer except the chittering sounds of the forest.
Chewie wuffed again. Solo shook his head. "We can't go until daylight, pal." He checked his chrono, for the umpteenth time. "Two more hours." It would be stupid to go out when it was still dark, especially considering they had no idea where Luke had gone, and considering how many Bersen they had taken pot shots at, just from the clearing.
But the longer Luke remained missing - going on eight hours now - the more his stomach twisted in knots, the more his mind conjured up pictures of the young man lying bleeding somewhere from a Bersen attack, or attacked by a Wella Vine, alone.
Blast the kid.
Chewie yowled something, took another shot at the trees. Han ground his teeth, aimed his scanner again at the forest, again registered no human forms, again forced himself to sit down and wait.
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The sky lightened from navy to gray, the forest sounds quieted, and Had decided it was safe to go. He threw the survival pack on his back, battened the ship, and followed Chewie into the brush.
They walked a long time in silence, pausing every few minutes to take a reading with the scanner and shout Luke's name. They followed the stream down until it met with another one, becoming more of a brooding river, narrow and deep, glassy on the surface, strong current underneath.
"Luke!" Han called for the millionth time.
They continued on in glum silence, rechecking the scanners every few minutes. After a time, his back now aching with the weight of the survival pack, Han's eyes caught something dark in the shadows. Cautiously, he approached it and nudged it with his toe. It was a Bersen. Or at least, what was left of its body. The head had been cleanly decapitated. With a lightsaber, by the looks of it.
Han felt his heart catch in his throat, eyeing the dead animal. "Luke!" he called again.
No answer. Four more meters downstream were the carcasses of four more Bersen and a single boot print in the mud on the edge of the riverbank. Luke had definitely been here.
The life-form scanner came to life in Solo's hand. Han jerked it toward him, scanning its readout. There was something, forty-five meters to the south of them. Chewie roared something unintelligible.
"Come on," Han snapped, quickening his pace to a jog. "This way!"
They scrabbled alongside the muddy riverbank for several minutes, Han glancing at his scanner to make sure they were still following the signal.
"Luke!" He shouted. This time he thought he heard a sound. Chewie leaped forward to a small copse of trees, his roar unintelligible.
Han finally rounded the brush. Chewie was kneeling next to a dark form sat against a large boulder.
It was Luke.
The young man was soaked through, the knees of his tunic caked with mud, a jagged tear in the sleeve. Luke's eyes met Han's, stormy gray with defiance.
Solo dropped his pack in the mud next to Luke and Chewie. "You okay, pal? Are you hurt anywhere?"
Luke shook his head as Solo's hands frisked over him, looking for any sign that the Bersen had gotten him. He must have taken a swim in the river - he was drenched. "Not…bleeding," Luke mumbled, teeth chattering.
Han pulled a blanket from the survival kit.
"You didn't," Luke began as Solo settled the blanket around his shoulders, "need to come out here to get me. I told you I'm fine."
Han shook his head, digging in the pack for warmers. "Sure you're fine. Just half-frozen and nearly became Bersen lunch back there."
"I can take care of myself."
"Sure kid," Han dismissed, irritation growing. How had the Princess roped him into this job again? He reminded himself the kid had just had his world turned on its side, what with the Alliance and Vader and this whole father business. He was allowed at least one free pass for that at least. Solo chewed his lip, clamped his mouth shut on saying something he'd regret later. "Doing a great job so far."
Luke glowered. "You and Chewie should go. You didn't sign up for this. Vader is on his way," he added, heavy resignation in his tone. "It's me he wants - not you. You need to leave."
Luke spoke with such conviction, Han felt a tendril of uneasiness creeping up his spine. What if it was possible that Luke really did know Vader was on his way? What did he really know about what the Jedi were capable of? Could they really communicate with each other across the Galaxy? It seemed far-fetched, even for Luke's crazy Force business.
He sighed, sympathy replacing his exasperation. "Kid, we're not leaving you. If it's worrying you that much, we'll blast out of here by tonight, okay? Find a new hiding place."
Eyes distant, Luke nodded.
"If you're done with the self-imposed exile routine, then come on." Solo offered a hand up.
After a moment, the dark expression on Luke's face eased slightly, replaced by a look of chagrin. He took the proferred hand and let Solo pull him to his feet.
"You okay to walk?" Han asked, surveying him. Luke's lips were a tinge of blue, his skin pasty, wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead. His teeth chattered, but he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and nodded. Solo nodded back. "Get the blood flowing - you'll be feeling better in no time. You've got warm clothes and a cup of hot kaf waiting for you back at the ship."
Han led the way forward, Chewie bringing up the rear, Luke between. Han shouldered the pack, pulling out his navigator to make sure they were retracing their steps and not inadvertently driving deeper into the forest.
They again passed the carcasses of the Bersen. Han spoke to keep Luke talking. "How many did ya run into last night?"
When Luke didn't answer, Solo turned to repeat the question. "About twenty," Luke answered finally. "They traveled in two different packs."
Han let a low whistle. "You're lucky they didn't make Bantha hash out of you."
"They don't like the water," Luke finally allowed. "And they didn't seem to be able to follow my scent after that."
"That saved your hide."
A long pause. Then, "Yes."
Chewie wuffed something.
"He says he thought you didn't know how to swim," Han translated.
"I don't."
Solo turned to give Luke a look. The kid was frowning at the water - its glassy surface reflecting the gray of the early-morning sky - his expression unreadable. "You're really lucky then. Or really stupid."
Luke shrugged, blue-gray eyes taking on a vulnerable expression before it was quickly quashed, hardening again to a frown. "Maybe both."
A little further up the trail as the path near the bank became steeper, Luke stumbled in the mud. Han half-turned, saw that the younger man wasn't getting up, hands braced against the ground; eyes listless, fixed on the trail in front of him. "Come on, kid," he muttered, trying to sound encouraging. "Not too much farther now."
Chewie stepped up, pulled the kid to his feet, Luke leaning heavily on the wookiee for a moment, catching his breath. Chewie growled something now. Was the cub sick?
Solo frowned, eyeing Luke. It wasn't that cold at the moment, but the overnight temperatures had gotten cool. He knew it didn't take extraordinarily low temps for hypothermia to set in, especially soaking wet as Luke was.
"You feeling okay, kid?"
"Sure, fine," Luke's face was blank, pale, his voice was small - nothing like the torrent of anger that had tumbled out of him the night before. Maybe the kid had gotten it all out of his system, which would be good because Solo could tell he was becoming short tempered, and needed some sleep soon before he ended up losing his cool at Luke or Chewie over something stupid. Luke pushed away from Chewie's assistance, brushed uselessly at the mud on his trousers, fumbled for the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter around him. His expression returned to a scowl, brow creased. "You don't have to slow down for me."
Chewie stayed near Luke anyway, stood by to steady him as they crested another hill, this one with less than a noticeable trail, slick leathery leaves underfoot.
It began to rain, a light, misty drizzle that assured everything that wasn't wet before would become so in the next few minutes. Han quietly cursed to himself, feeling steadily grumpier. "We're almost to the ship," he reassured out loud again. "Just a little farther."
He reached the top of the small hill and recognized the stretch of trickling steam ahead. "There, see?"
It was another ten minutes before the ship came into view, exactly as they had left it. By now, both Solo and Chewie had Luke by one elbow, all pretenses aside, keeping the younger man from stumbling over the protruding roots and rocks in their path, and they were all, indeed, soaking wet. Luke's breathing was ragged and he was shivering violently. Han berated himself for not trying to get the kid warm before setting back to the ship, so eager as he was to get out of there. It was clear the long hours he had been exposed to the wet and cold temperatures had taken their toll.
"Come on Luke," he urged quietly, pushing away his own anger and exhaustion as he focused on the kid. "Almost there."
Chewie toggled the ramp controls. It began to rain harder. Solo practically dragged his friend up the ramp. The din of the rain pelting the ship was hard to talk over.
"Chewie, boil some water," Han instructed the wookiee. "We need some kaf and hot soup or broth." He turned back to the gray-faced form of Luke, half-collapsing against the corridor wall. "Come on kid, we have to get you out of these wet things."
Luke did not resist as Solo pulled him forward, to the bunkroom. Han dug out thermal blankets, dry clothes, tossed them in Luke's direction. The younger man fumbled with the clasps, swayed dangerously before Han caught him, steadied him. "You okay?" The smuggler asked again.
Luke only nodded.
Solo helped Luke, got him bundled in the cockpit where he could turn the heat at the highest setting - "give it ten minutes, kid, and it'll be like a sauna in here" - and grabbed the mug of broth Chewie had warmed for him. Once he made sure Luke was okay, he changed out of his wet clothes, downed some Kaf and eyed the brooding sky. The rain had trickled to a stop for the moment.
"I guess we should get the stealth netting off the ship before it starts to rain again."
Chewie growled a question.
Solo chewed his lip. "Well, Luke is adamant that we can't stay here. So we either humor him, or," he shrugged, "we chase him through the forest again."
The wookiee barked a short laugh.
Solo glared. He was running on too little sleep to find the humor in this. "Not funny, pal."
It took another hour to remove the netting, both of them picking out the leaves and branches and lifting the sodden mess, more than double its weight thanks to the rain, to the center of the ship, where they attempted to detangle and refold it.
"You're right, Chewie," Solo panted, leaning over to catch his breath, after the wookiee had raised his objections about muscling the heavy netting inside. "This thing is almost more of a hassle than it's worth. We may need to let it dry a bit before putting it back in the hold."
The wookiee barked something.
"Right. And then it will rain again." He scanned the sky. Patches of blue were peeking through. "But it's clearing up. If the sun comes out, it'll dry in an hour or two." He chewed his lip. "When the princess pays us, we should upgrade to the newer Tunstun ones."
Chewie concurred.
"Anyways," Solo stifled a yawn, stretched against stiff muscles. "I'm going to catch some sleep while it dries. Then plot out our next move."
He swung himself down the access ladder, and dropped to the ground. At the ramp, he kicked the mud off his boots and trudged into the ship, rubbing bleary eyes. Now that the adrenalin from the previous night was wearing off, the full weight of his exhaustion settled down on him.
On his way to his cabin, he poked his head into the cockpit. A wall of hot air hit him. Luke was slouched under the thermal blanket in the oversized co-pilot's chair, his unfinished broth on the console beside him. He appeared to be asleep. Solo did not disturb him, just reached the controls on the bulkhead, shut off the heat, and slipped quietly out.
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The planned hour-long nap became three, and when Chewie poked his head in the cabin to tell him something, Solo jerked awake, trying to remember where he was and how he got there.
"Mmmkay," he mumbled to the wookiee and covered his face with his pillow.
The wookiee growled again and this time the words registered.
Something is wrong with the Cub.
"Hmm?" Han opened his eyes, registering his surroundings now. "No, he's fine. He was sleeping last I checked."
Chewie shook his head, barked something Solo didn't catch, and left the cabin.
With a groan, Han covered his face with the pillow again. What he would give to able to just lie here…
But he swung his legs over the side and pushed to his feet.
"Okay, okay I'm up. What's the problem?" He padded back to the cockpit, ready to tell Luke to stop whining…
But Luke was no longer curled up in the chair. Instead he was lying on the deck thrashing against Chewie, who was knelt beside him in the cramped space. Han got a look at the younger man's features - eyes dark and sunken, cheeks hollow, lips gray - and went cold. Something was very wrong.
"Chewie, what happened?" He pushed past the wookiee to kneel at Luke's other side. "Luke!" He snapped sharply, thinking the young man would open his eyes, or answer. But he got no response.
"Luke, come on kid." Han shook the kid's arm - froze when he realized…. "He's burning up."
In a creeping sense of panic, Han brushed Luke's forehead. "No kid - this is the absolute wrong time to get horribly sick. The wrong time, you hear me?" He turned to the wookiee. "Get the medkit. We've got to get the fever down."
Chewie complied, tearing out of the cockpit. "Luke," Han said again, trying not to notice Luke's paper-dry skin, his wheezing breathing. Hypothermia didn't typically leave its victims with a fever, did it? Maybe Luke had picked up some other pathogen during his all-night foray into the forest. Not a Bersen, not the Wella vine either. What other dangers had been lurking out there that they didn't know about? "Luke, wake up."
Solo shook him lightly, patted his face to wake him up. Luke flailed his arms briefly, and muttered something the smuggler couldn't understand.
"Come on, kid," Han rambled. "We've got to blast out of here soon and we need your help. Come on - snap out of it, okay?"
Chewie arrived with the medkit, a big backpack jammed with supplies. Solo silently thanked the timeliness of Tam and his resources. The Falcon's medkit had needed replacing for a while now.
'Fever tablets," he muttered to the wookiee. "Got anything like that?"
Chewie dug into the pack, tossing packages aside. He emerged triumphantly with a….
"Medical scanner?" Han's eyebrows raised. "Okay, sure, give it here." He thumbed the scanner to on while the wookiee was still turning the pack upside down in search of those tablets. He aimed it at Luke. The temperature reading read 105.7. Solo swore.
"Not good," he muttered to Chewie. "What the hell did he manage to catch?"
Chewie howled a helpless response. The cub may need medical attention.
Han laughed shortly, no humor in his voice. "Yeah, well, that's just the problem. When the entire galaxy has a price on your head, medical attention is a luxury you can't afford."
Suddenly Luke's eyes opened wide, staring just past Han. "Vader," he mumbled, his expression fearful. Then a moan. "No…."
Han pursed his lips, shook Luke again. "Luke, wake up. You're okay. You're okay." He could feel the heat from Luke's body radiating through the woven tunic shirt. "We've got to get this off him," he muttered to Chewie.
A half-sob from Luke. His eyes were closed tightly now. "No," he cried louder. "No!" Suddenly the thrashing resumed with a vengeance, limbs striking at anything within range.
Han narrowly missed getting punched in the nose. "Chewie, hold him!" He ordered. "We need to bring his temperature down." Short of taking him back out to the stream and dropping him in it again, he thought darkly.
Chewie, already sitting on the floor, pulled Luke toward his lap, holding the young man's arms to his sides so he could not hurt himself.
Han resumed the hunt for the fever tablets. Surely a medkit this extensive would have a basic medication like that…. "Here!" He pulled them out triumphantly, holding up a small bottle. He popped the bottle open and thumbed out two pills. Now for the challenge of getting Luke to swallow them.
Luke's teeth were clenched together, his expression a grimace. "Kid," Solo coaxed uselessly. "I need you to swallow this medicine for me, okay? That means you have to open your mouth."
Chewie was holding Luke's head still, in spite of the kid's Herculean effort to free it. At the next moan of "no…" from the kid, he dropped the tablets into Luke's mouth.
Luke didn't exactly swallow them. In fact, he started to gag until Chewie turned him on his side and the tablets made their unfortunate reappearance on the cockpit floor.
Han grimaced. Well, that didn't work. "Don't go messing up my ship now, kid, or I'm dropping you off at the nearest spaceport," he muttered to an incoherent Luke. Chewie growled something about a syringe, gesturing to the med kit again.
"Right," Solo realized, plunging his hand into the pack, searching, hoping. There were several syringes, each filled with a different color of viscous liquid. His eyes scanned the labels until..."found it!"
He tore open the sterile packaging, loaded the ampoule, pushed Luke's sleeve up past his elbow, held his arm steady, and pushed the plunger before Luke had a chance to squirm away. Luke arched forward with another moan.
"Don't let him hurt himself," Han told Chewie, pushing to his feet. "I'm going to grab some cold packs."
He returned with a handful of cold packs and towels from the galley. Luke was lying still now. "Fever should be going down soon," Han grunted, hand brushing the kid's forehead. He palmed the medical scanner, aimed it at Luke again. His temp and heart rate were still both sky-high. "Come on, let's get him to his bunk."
The wookiee lifted the young man carefully. Luke lay motionless in the wookiee's arms, his eyes closed, face still a gray pallor.
Once they got him in his bunk, his tunic shirt down to his waist to cool him down, Han set a cool, damp cloth over Luke's forehead, and wrapped several cold packs in towels.
"Come on, kid," he muttered again, tucking a pack under each arm, one on the boy's forehead. "Time to wake up."
He got no response.
They waited. There was nothing else to do. Pace the ship, eye the afternoon sun make its slow creep across the forested sky, and wait.
Solo kept the medical scanner clutched in his white fist, obsessively checking it, willing the numbers to go down, but they held steady.
They changed out the cold packs, piled on more, gave Luke another shot of medicine, tried to coax some water through parched, cracked lips, tried to shake the younger man out of his delirium, but there was no change.
Finally, several hours in, Han was starting to realize this problem might be bigger than he and Chewie could handle alone. Reluctantly, he sent off a coded message to the princess. Your golden boy needs a medic. Please advise. He pressed send, running a hand exhaustedly over his face. Who was he kidding anyway? What could the princess possibly do or say from half a galaxy away that could help them solve this mess?
He shuffled back to the bunkroom, where Chewie was keeping a silent vigil. "Any change?" He asked hoarsely, fingers tightening on the medscanner again. Luke lay silent and still, breath shallow.
The scanner beeped a new warning. 107.
Kreth.
Solo might not be a medic, but he knew how dangerous this was. "We need to get him to a doctor right now," he muttered. "He can't wait any longer."
Chewie barked plaintively. How?
Han pursed his lips. They had no other choice, really. He had to hope this planet's locals were politically neutral, didn't study most-wanted lists or harbor bounty hunters, and possessed some degree of helpful medical technology. "It's back to civilization," he muttered to the wookiee. "We're going to hope the natives are friendly."
Chewie barked in surprise.
"We are out of options," Solo snapped. "At this point, we risk it or he could die."
The wookiee was silent.
Han considered his decision a moment longer, then stood abruptly. "I'll take the pre-flight. Watch him."
He charged back to the cockpit, sank into the familiarity of the pilot's chair, flipped a half-dozen switches. The Falcon hummed evenly and reassuringly to life. He scanned the displays. All systems were on-line.
Chewing the inside of his cheek, he eyed the com unit. He was about to blow their cover. Here goes nothing.