It's pretty late, I know... i know... its hard to find inspiration sometimes I guess. but we do pick up pace some, so that's always good.

"Han!"

Leia ushered the scruffy smuggler over with a sharp flutter of her hands. The pirate looked miffed, as he had already gotten a tray of food and had been en route to a cozy spot next to Chewie in the ship's main dining hall, close to the windows with an expanse of the star-lit swirling galaxies in the distance.

He was about to balance his tray, plus drink (the kind which guaranteed some amount of inebration, of course) plus food into one hand, when she waltzed up to him.

"Mission for you."

She handed him a data pad.

Han groaned. "What? Now?"

Leia narrowed her eyes. "Because I'm sure you're doing something much more important."

"I'm getting nourishment!" Han protested.

"You're getting wasted!" She pointed accusingly to the Corellian beer he had in one arm. "At… two in the afternoon! For krith's sake!"

Han grumbled in response, but grabbed the pad out of her hands before she could sour his mood—it was inevitable, he supposed—further, and threw it onto the table. Chewie looked up from his food that looked more like sludge and frog intestines as it clattered to a halt in front of him.

"We'll do it." Han interrupted, as he noticed her mouth open from his peripheral vision. He'd gotten very good at predicting moments in which Leia would harp. "You can go… kill babies with your eyes now, or whatever you like to do in your spare time."

Leia narrowed her eyes, looking nonplussed, before she spun around and made for the exit.

"Women." Han harrumphed, plopping into the chair opposite of Chewie haphazardly.

The Wookie gargled in response.

"What? —No!" Han frowned. "It's not like that!"

Chewie growled again, and Han was further annoyed. "You're imagining things." He folded his hands behind his head. "Not you too! Get off my case man."

Han made a face and Chewie looked a tad bit smug, but their moment of undercurrent conversation was lost in translation as Wedge sauntered up, geared up like he had just come back from taking a whirl around the planet below, and looking as if afterward he'd spent most of the afternoon under his craft.

Han didn't understand these Rebel pilot guys. They valued their planes like they were God's gift to the world, hell, Luke probably salivated at the thought of a Plutonium melded crankshaft. Wedge was no different, judging from the smudges of grease that lined his cheeks like war paint.

"Any of you guys seen Luke?" He asked as he took a swig of his drink, tray in one hand.

Han shrugged. "I'm not the kid's keeper. He was here like an hour ago."

"Where?"

"The showers."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen Ru either." Captain Ferrell, who had been sitting opposite of Han's table with Jon Vander commented.

Wedge's brows furrowed. "Her too, huh? Wonder where they could be."

"Who knows?" Jon said loftily. "What do pregnant people do in their spare time? Complain about foot cramps?"

Ferrell punched him in the arm. "Dude, don't joke about things like that. It's terror."

Vander rolled his eyes. "No. It's foot cramps."

Before the too could divulge further into childish retorts Chewie rumbled out a response. The three other men pointedly looked to Han for any resemblance of a translation. "Said he saw 'em in the Hangar Bay." Han shrugged, as if translating Wookie speak was what he did with his life, which may or may not be true considering his partner. "Luke's probably fixing his ship or something, got lost. The kid has a knack for disappearing."

"What's all this about?"

Wes moved into the fray, sitting beside Han, and Wedge moved to take the seat next to Chewie.

Captain Ferrell leaned over the back of his seat. "Looking for Luke. And Ru. You seen either of them?"

"Yeah." Wes nodded. "Luke left to go grab a particle accelerator before we leave orbit. Ru went with him."

Ferrell was puzzled. "But for what?"

Wes shrugged, diving into his Zeneban pie. "Who knows."

SESSION III

.

TIME TO KNOW

Zeba's main city, Zenesia (the planet seemed to favor the letter, which ached on Luke's tongue from a lack of use with most forms of the character Z) was much like the rest of the planet. A watery yellow sky, that seemed to drip down into the drab, stone buildings. The stores flourished, even if they lacked most hues of the visual sight, and Luke had a hard time keeping sight of Ru, who danced around the frivolous shops like a butterfly around a garden of flowers. It was hard to keep track of her, among the current of shoppers shuffling around them like salmon.

The young Jedi had come down mainly to fish around for some spare parts for his T-65 Incom. Zeba was somewhat infamous for its parts Black Market. The kind that was distributed around from guys like Han—although the man said he was reformed, once a smuggler, always a smuggler— and eventually found their way into the dingy, sea salt smelling shops of Zeba's gray water shore.

Zeba wasn't anything like Tatooine, which was just so far from the Empire and its regular search patterns that it was practically a mass hub of parts which were banned on most planets. The kind that the Empire wanted to keep away from the Rebels at all costs. Of course, Tatooine was so backwater and so god damn far that it hardly posed much of a threat. Zeba though, was close enough that it posed a problem on occasion. But even then, you hardly saw an imp within fifty light years from this place.

But anyway.

Luke's original plan was spoiled by Ru's appearance as he was lifting for take off.

Being pregnant made people weird. Ru had never cared much for what she wore, considering the fact that she hardly wore much else besides her fighter pilot gear. Now that she was pregnant and officially off the roster, her lack of wardrobe seemed to be making an impact on her psyche and sanity as a whole. She had sort of begged slash assumed that she could tag along, and Luke didn't have the heart to say no to a psychologically degrading, pretty pregnant woman.

So off they went.

In retrospect, Luke should have realized how he would spend the majority of his time.

"Look at the colors!" Ru gushed.

She held one of the local fashion, which looked like a long dress that ended somewhere beneath her toes. Its fiery colors were picked up in the unsubsiding wind, and Luke wondered how in Hell he ended up here.

Ru Murleen was infamous for being kind of an asshole. She was good, unquestionably, but she didn't care much for the rookies. Or people's opinions in general. Nor did she care much for anything really, besides practicing her skills. Although she was notorious for her collecting of boyfriends… And it was downright backwards to see her here, looking chipper and bright like a reborn child straight from nirvana, holding up fashion, for kirth's sake.

At any rate, all which Luke previously knew of the young pilot was completely and irrevocably trashed ever since she got pregnant. Maybe it was the hormones.

"It's great." He said simply, unsure of what else to say.

She danced onwards, wind picking at her soft hair from under her wide brimmed hat—something else she had picked up on the planet.

Luke scratched his at his hair as he followed her around, dust and crumbled stone getting in his eyes from the whipping breeze.

The two maundered around some more, Ru invariably ending up in some sort of fashion store, and Luke pondering on the weight of two different core processors. The shop keeper insisted that they were grade A, built right out of an Imperial factory and smuggled in by one of the more reliable shipments this side of Corellia, but Luke wasn't so sure. The boy had a knack for picking out liars, Ru mused as she watched the scene unfold. An uncanny ability to pluck out the soured words straight out of the mouth of a poker face. He was using his knack well at the moment, rebuking the merchant until he looked mostly cowed.

"This is definitely made off of some backwater planet," Luke was ranting swiftly. "Look at these wires right here? Flimsy second-class conductors. These things'll break by the end of next week, that's for sure."

The comely woman decided to intervene before Luke got himself into a fist fight with an angered, bitter Zeba native and ended up attracting the attention of everyone on the busy street. She moved for Luke's arm, the younger boy stilling at her soft fingers on his arm, and she was about to scold him for being so temperamental, when she spied something that immediately made her pale.

"Luke," She whispered into his ear with a frightful shake. "Luke, we have to get out of here."

The boy put down the two processors he was holding into the bin of used parts, the shopkeeper protesting their ungraceful landing into the heap. "What?" His eyes narrowed, attempting to scan the perimeter of vagabonds. "Why? What's wrong?" He didn't see anything else…but, well, smelly vagabonds.

Ru Murleen shook her head, tilting her hat down, curls flying everywhere. "Not here." She tugged his arm deeper into the dim, tarp-covered shop, and he followed reluctantly.

The two herded into one of the corners of the shop, dim in the shadows where the bright screen of Zeba's yellowy sky couldn't penetrate through the flimsy cloth over the store. Ru's eyes were hard and angry, like a bitter cat spitting fury. Luke's curiosity raised its head.

"There, walking past the food stall."

Luke squinted. "All I see is a bunch of nasty vagrants."

Ru hissed quietly. "No… the one in the armor, you see him?"

An old woman clutching two smaller children brushed past, leaving a man conspicuously dressed entirely in dark armor to their sight. While vagrants and law breakers were common in the small, winding streets of Zeba, to see someone like this was… certainly uncommon. He actually looked a bit imposing, blasters lined up on his belt, helmet covering his head entirely. He had a fluent way of walking, and his hurried pace meant he wasn't around for some light afternoon shopping.

Luke's eyes narrowed. "A bounty hunter." He said flatly, coming to the correct conclusion.

Sure, no one on Squad Venetus liked bounty hunters—they were their prime competition, if one could say Venetus had any competition at all—and mostly they were the sort of people that didn't play well with others. Luke couldn't stand most of them, even though a couple came and went during his course in the Squad. But mostly, while they were a deep aggravation and not anything to be scoffed at, they mostly weren't dangerous…

Ru nodded. "Not just any bounty hunter." Her voice was so soft he could scarcely hear it over the dull roar of wind and flapping tents.

"That's Boba Fett." She inclined her head, as the man left their sight entirely, twisting into a dark alley. "He's a renowned Bounty Hunter. He works in… different circles then we do, if you catch my drift." And then, quieter. "I hear he even works for Vader from time to time."

Luke stilled completely under her arm, tense and wire-strung, and Ru tilted her head to see his face stone cold. Blue eyes wide but unseeing. Ru wondered what had him looking so… she didn't even know the right word, as she had never, in her time spent with Luke, seen the expression on his face. Frightened, perhaps? But Luke had never, not once, been frightened over anything. Not even when he lopped off that sarlaac, or leapt into a den of wargs. It almost made her worried to see such a crazed look on him.

Ru frowned. "Luke?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. Has he passed?"

The woman let go of his arm, holding the hem of her dress as she peered out into the street. She turned around, a signaled him forward.

"He's gone." She said.

The two shared a look.

"We should get back and report this." Ru insisted, and Luke certainly agreed.

If this guy was working for the imps, no one on the squad was going to be pleased to hear it. Sure, to the outside eye the hunkering space cruiser looked like a medical facility for single pregnant woman—and hey, with Ru, they sure did complete the look—but that didn't mean that Luke was willing to risk Imps storming the hull of the ship and finding out that, really, they weren't anything of the sort. They had papers, and they had identification, but the lack of pregnant people might give them away.

.

.

.

Han coughed as the ship sputtered to a halt onto the craggy surface of Zeba.

It was bright, ungodly so, and he shielded his eyes against the sun which burned everything. Zeba had no atmosphere, so it was almost absurdly cold and sunny, and held nothing but rocks and water on its surface. Already, Han wasn't liking this place. From the way Chewie moaned about as he climbed out of the ship, Han figured he didn't either.

"C'mon buddy," He waved the wookie over to where he was crossing a deserted street. "Let's get this over with."

Leia's mission had been pretty straightforward. Han was posing as an underground wookie dealer, maundering around Zeba with the rest of the seedy vagrants in an attempt to find a buyer. Squad Venetus had a very hefty informant clientele due to the many bounty hunters in their fold, and currently Han was going to see if he could wheedle some information out of one of their more stingy ones.

The guy was apparently some sort of mushroom seller—and no, not the ingredient kind.

"Alright, here's the deal." Han explained as they made their way through a couple alleyways. "I'm going to go in there, knock down the door, and say I'm here selling you off to someone, and that the Rebel's have paid me big to pass on some information. My orders are to kill 'em if he doesn't talk, right?"

Chewie made a mournful noise.

Han guffawed. "Nah bud, I'm not actually selling you. But, that doesn't really matter. All you gotta do is just point the blaster at him and look menacing, y'know?"

Chewie affirmed.

The smuggler sauntered over a few streets, hooting at women and generally playing the part of a wookie dealer much too seriously, as he was dressed rather stylishly, and looked like he had quite the underhanded industry.

"The Imps have been really quite, haven't they?" Han asked lowly to Chewie, who plodded along side him.

"Yeah, yeah your right. Good for business. But that can't be anything good. If the rebels are so yellow-belied they think they can stick their noses this close to the capital, you wonder if maybe it's a trap."

Chewie growled low, Han nodding thoughtfully.

"That's true. But what could they be distracted by? There isn't much that could hold their attention so long."

Han must have looked strange, carrying on a one-sided conversation.

"No, you're right. Maybe the Alliance is up to something?"

They came to the building, and Han flicked the safety of his blaster, opening the door and quietly moving up the stairs. They were old and mostly broken, and tufts of dust took to the air, and Chewie whined low. Han shushed him, and continued upwards, looking for the room with the silver handle.

He found it, and kicked the door open.

An old man was standing by the window, and jumped at the sudden intrusion. The apartment was small, and the entire wall by the window was deteriorating, holes manifesting where the plaster had long since been chipped off by the constant wind. Han wrinkled his nose; the whole place smelt like shrooms. This would make sense, as the man had many bags of them laying on the table by the window, and there seemed to be quite a few growing in the corner of the room.

"H—Hey!" The man leapt up, hands in the air. "What's with the blasters? You here for shrooms?"

Han shook his head, and spat in the corner. "Nah. I'm here for somethin' else."

The man looked apprehensive. "If it's money you're looking for… I don't got much of that. I'm makin' a sale this afternoon, if you wanna stick around that long."

Han scoffed. "Shit, not that either. Listen, you got what I want, don't you?"

He furrowed his brows. "…magic shrooms?"

"No, no." Han strutted closer, until his blaster end was almost inches away from the man. The old guy backed away slowly, pressed against the open window. "Don't play dumb. You know about it, don't you? What those imps are up to…"

The man looked relived. "You're speaking of the Imperial Plans?" He sighed. "Ah yes, those. I'm assuming the Rebel Alliance sent you."

"Something like that." Han answered snippily, not in the mood for a conversation. "You know about it?"

"There's a lot you hear when you're sellin' shrooms." He pointed out. "People like talking on them."

"I don't need a run down of your product, old man." Han spat. "I need the intel. You got it?"

He nodded, hands lowering a bit. "Yeah… yeah. They've been real secretive about it. Been a long time comin'—a couple years, even. They're building something. Something crazy… 'to rid the galaxy of all opposition', they say. Not a lot of people are talkin', but I hear its huge, and gonna be working soon enough."

Han's brows knit. "So what is it? Some kinda weapon?"

The man looked a little scared. "That's the thing. I hear it's… it's gigantic. Gotta be, to take that long, right? They got a name for it. It's called the—

The next events happened in quick succession.

Chewie called out in alarm, lowering his blaster. Han snapped to rapt attention, head turning to where Chewie had yelled out to. The open window was adjacent to another building, and Han got one look at a man dressed in armor, helmet secured over his features, as he walked away—sniper in hand. The informant was shot dead in his sentence, crumpling to the ground—forward spatter coating the front of Han's shirt from the exit wound.

Han kicked the table over in rage.

"Dammit!"

Chewie whimpered.

Han took a few breaths, before shaking his head. "No, this isn't your fault, Chewie. I should have taken him somewhere away from the window."

He looked back to the empty building, where the man had been standing. He had to be professional, to make a shot from so far off. From the angle, most of Han would be hidden by the deteriorating wall, so at least he wouldn't have to worry about his identity.

What was more troubling, was who the man was working for. Obviously a Bounty Hunter—you didn't get that good at espionage without being in a certain line of work—but there were a variety of people who could have hired him out. None of them were good for Squad Venetus, or the Alliance.

Obviously, Leia thought so too.

"What do you mean the informant was killed?"

Her voice was alarmed, and she put down the datapads she had been carrying.

Behind her, the doors slid open to reveal a frazzled looking Ru, one hand clutching her heavily pregnant stomach and the other dragging a haggard looking Luke.

Han swallowed. "Well, we got down there, incognito and shit, and we entered the guys apartment. He said something about the Imperials building some kind of weapon—said it'd been in construction for a hell of a long time. It was big too, and top secret 'cause a lot of people aren't talking. Said it was some kind of weapon."

"And?" Leia's voice was reaching shrill hysteria.

Han shrugged. "And he got shot. Right between the eyes—it was a good one. Another bounty hunter was in one of the building's and shot him clean. Guess he either wanted the guy dead for drug reasons, or someone knew he was a rebel informant and wanted him dead."

There was nothing relieving in Leia's grave face. "They knew he was a rebel informant?" She repeated. "Then it was the Empire."

Han gulped. "Well we can't just come to conclusions like that—

"We saw him too."

Ru pulled Luke over with her, standing at her frightening height of five three. She turned to Han. "Was he wearing this green colored kind of armor? Helmet, sniper on his back?"

Han nodded.

"He was there when we were shopping. That was Boba Fett, he's a notorious bounty hunter who has no shame. He works for the empire, and I hear he's even employed directly by Vader from time to time. Some say he's one of the best."

"This isn't good." Leia murmured, looking much more contemplative then before.

Luke remained stonily silent.

"It doesn't matter to us." Han blinked, wondering why she was so upset. Sure, he was pissed that someone got to the informant before him, but that was more of an issue of personal pride. He didn't like getting bested, especially by other bounty hunters. It wasn't like one man—no matter what his reputation—was gonna put Squad Venetus out of business. And he definitely wouldn't be going after other bounty hunters. "Why are you worrying Leia? If this is a financial thing, there really isn't any issue."

"It's not that.." Leia frowned thoughtfully, a far off look on her face.

Eventually she shook her head. "Either way, this system's been compromised. If an imperial bounty hunter is sniffing around here, I don't want him coming anywhere near us. I'd like to avoid the imps as much as possible."

"Ru? Could you tell Cap that we're setting course for the next system over?" The woman nodded, spinning to the door to make for the bridge.

Leia gave Han a simpering look. "Thank you for your services, Captain. You are now free to get drunk in the mess hall if you wish."

Han looked more then pleased, saluting her as he left as well, Chewie in tow.

That left Leia and Luke.

"You're not worried for the Squad." Luke noted. Leia looked guilty. "It's the Alliance, isn't it?"

"You know I've resigned from my post there." She sighed, leaning against the side of the main control system. "But I'm still very close with them. My father still works closely with them, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't keep in contact." Her eyes softened. "They're all like my family, you know? I've worked with them for a long time."

Luke studied her for a long time, and Leia felt like there was something behind those sky irises, something large and frightening, familiar but looming behind them almost omnisciently.

She averted her gaze.

"Do you wish you still worked there?" He asked her quietly.

Immediately Leia shook her head. "No! I'm happy here. I like the Squad—I like how we get things done fast, I like how I can actually make a difference here. In the Alliance, some times it would take months to come to a decision."

Luke seemed to take this for what it was—an answer that was true, but kept to itself. Leia was happy here, she liked what they did; but she hated the Empire. Much more then anyone else here. Han didn't like it because they were too stifling. Wedge didn't like the harsh piloting laws and Wes was just kind of going with the flow. No one on the squad really liked the Empire (if there was really anyone out there who did) but no one hated it so vehemently as did Leia. It was part of the reasons she had risen the ranks of the Alliance so fast; she had a purpose, she wanted it done, and she had the drive and determination.

It was about ironic, how much of opposites they were.

"And if we worked for the Empire?" Luke's eyes were lidded and smoldering, testing her, and she bristled at the very thought. "We haven't but it's always a possibility."

Leia bit her lip, looking like she had a few choice words on the subject. Eventually, she closed her eyes and exhaled. "Then, we work for the Empire. I'm not going to like it, but I'll shut up and do the job."

.

.

.

"She really said that?" Han guffawed, as Luke caught up to him in the mess hall.

The blonde nodded. "Yup. Didn't look like she appreciated me asking but she answered all the same."

Han blinked, looking so dumb founded it was near comical. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened again. "I'm just… surprised. It's one thing to join us; I mean, we're one sexy group, y'know? But Leia hates imps."

"I know." Said the blonde, with feeling.

"This is good though," Han continued, as if he hadn't heard Luke at all. "Imps pay a lot, even though with everything else they're stingy. When they want something done, they dish out those credits like they're made from trees or something. I know we make bank now, but," The man grinned. "Well, if we take a couple jobs from those guys the Millenium Falcon will be looking like its right off the assembly line."

Luke harrumphed at that, looking like he'd only believe it when he saw it. He stabbed at his pasta. "Well don't get your hopes up. They know of us—but most likely not in a good way."

"There's nothing they know in a good way," Han waved him off. "Aside from like, Vader, or something. Everyone else is just kind of looked on by the emperor with disdain, you know? At least that's what I get from the guy. Not like you ever see his face on the hologram or anything."

At he mention of Darth Vader, Luke stilled in eating. It was brief, and afterwards he began anew, but Han caught it out of the corner of his eye. The blonde had some sort of… aversion towards the guy. Well, everyone did, but Luke more so then usual.

Han wondered why.

But there was little point in asking. Luke was anything but conversational. Han could count the things he knew about Luke on one hand, and even then most of them were fairly useless—like what kind of shampoo he used. Err, maybe that one wasn't completely useless. Girls came up to Luke on every planet, cooing at his feathery hair.

"You're probably right." Luke conceded, and Han looked up, almost having half-forgotten the conversation. "He seems like an angry person."

"Vader?" Han tilted his head, looking for the reaction. It was subtle. "Or the emperor?"

"…both?" Luke peppered his food. "I dunno. It's not like I've met either."

"Yeah, yeah this is true I—" Han blinked, looking down at the object in Luke's hands.

"Didn't I just have that—?" Han looked down to his left, where he'd been sure he'd placed the shaker.

Luke watched him, bemused. "You didn't look like you were using it."

"But when did you get it?" Luke was laughing. "Hey, this isn't funny you dork. You've gotta be a ninja or something, I swear."

Luke just shook his head.

I wouldnt keep changing my line breakers if fanfiction would stop taking them out :0 its so aggravating.