A/N: Reviews always welcome! Let me know if I've captured the characters correctly.

II

The sound of chatter hummed in the passage ways that ran underground in the Rebel base on Chad. People scurried back and forth in the makeshift base, preparing ships to send out for the next scouting run. Each hall was a tight squeeze; only two or three soldiers could stand across. It resembled the halls on any ship, especially the Millennium Falcon. The set up wasn't permanent, but it made do until the fleet was able to establish their home.

Boots on metal clanked as Luke hurried down a long corridor. The bottom of the tunnel shook as the plating went under pressure below his feet. His pace was fast to ensure he made it to his destination quickly.

As he turned a corner, Luke accidentally stumbled into two rebels who were carrying helmets in their arms. They were on their way to the landing deck on the other side of the base, no doubt. He muttered an apology, but they didn't look up or acknowledge his presence. He would have loved the irony, but his camouflage outfit had been replaced by dark tan robes similar to what he wore throughout his childhood.

Placing his hand on a scanner, Luke opened the door to a bright room with bunks on either side. Machines that looked like boxes sat in the middle with blinking lights. One screen to the left displayed a chart for a rebel soldier, who was housed on a corner bunk in the back.

"How are you doing?" Luke asked the man laying in the bunk.

A dirty-faced Han Solo looked up from his shoulder, where he was holding a white cloth to a spot where he must have been hit by the mystery blaster's first shot at him. He kept the rag placed on the wound with one hand. His other fiddled with the collar on his shirt; he was trying to loosen it so it would stay under his shoulders, leaving the scratch exposed.

A droid medic stationed in the room began to update Luke, but couldn't finish.

"Commander Solo has a minor tear on his right -"

"I'm fine," Solo insisted, not allowing his nurse to talk for him. "It's just a scratch," he muttered.

Han dabbed at the wound again and then lifted the rag; it had stopped bleeding.

"Lucky it wasn't more," Luke told him.

"I've had worse, kid."

At his reply, Luke smiled and looked at the ground. His ruffled, dark blond hair hung over his eyes and hid his face. Han, reading his friend's face, knew there was more to come. As the droid returned to bandage his shoulder, he questioned Luke.

"The patrols head out already?" Solo asked, and then added "save it for someone else!" over his shoulder when the nurse droid placed it's cold metal hands on his shoulder, trying to seal a bandage down on the small wound.

"On their way right now," Luke informed him.

"Good," he growled. "I hope they find that Imperial trash before I kill 'em myself!"

Luke didn't want to announce his doubts, but the shooter had it out for them more than the Stormtroopers did.

"I'm not sure he was working with them," he said.

Solo snorted but didn't bother with a reply.

When silence overtook, Luke looked back up at the smuggler. He waited until Han caught his eye. He had a question he deemed serious; it would be, in his friend's eyes, anyway.

"Well don't just sit there and stare, kid," Solo spat out.

Luke couldn't resist a smile. Han always had a snarkiness to him that made life humorous; he was glad to have bargained with him to be his pilot.

"You think the Falcon is ready for another trip?" Skywalker asked.

Han sat up in his bunk. His brow furrowed and he looked at Luke as though he had just grown a second head.

"Ready?" the Corellian repeated.

He always had a way of stammering through his thoughts when he didn't believe what he was hearing. Often times, he found himself repeating words as though he were trying to convince himself he had heard right.

"Ready?" Solo repeated.

Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I know, I know..."

He placed his arms at his sides and gripped the table in the middle of the room as he leaned against it.

Han was still outraged at the question. "She's always ready."

"She took a big hit on that last landing."

Solo frowned. "Nothing Chewie can't take care of until I get out of here." He glared at the nurse again as she passed, prepping the other bunks in case of new arrivals. "What for, anyway?"

Luke met Han's gaze once more. "Relocation."

"Relocation?!" Solo was in disbelief. "One Imperial fleet attacks and we decide to relocate again? We'll run out of planets before her Highness makes up her mind!"

Han's contempt of the Princess did bother Luke, but he wouldn't get in the way of it. He wanted nothing more than to avoid the conflict all together.

"It wasn't only her decision. The scouts we sent out two weeks ago radioed back from a place called Naboo."

"Naboo?" Solo repeated again. Why did that name sound familiar?

Luke nodded. "Might take a while to get there, but they said there's more of the Rebellion with them."

Han thought for a moment. Then, without warning, he jumped off of his bunk and tore out of the medical wing. He stomped his way down the corridors that Luke had just ran through until he made it back to the center; to the control room. He was well aware of Luke's heavy sigh as he sprinted off and heard his following footsteps all the way there.

The sound of chirps and a few inaudible growls echoed in the forest. Back out on Chad, the jungle was silent, except for the clank of tools banging on something holo. A long tube of wires, enclosed with plastic, was sent flying over the top of a hill from the bottom of a small valley. Then a rumble of an engine straining to start.

Chewbacca let out a cry from the ravine. He stood on top of a giant, gray ship. It was circular, but flat on top. The Millennium Falcon.

After the landing on Chad to transport the last of the Rebellion's supplies, Solo had entered the atmosphere too quickly, trying to avoid an asteroid belt outside of the planet's airspace. From the ground, the rocks looked like meteors in space. The engines of the Falcon had malfunctioned, sending it crash landing on a river bank nearby. The rebels were able to transport the ship and hide it in the ravine, in case of attack. Thankfully, the Chadra-Fans didn't mind the ship; they stayed hidden, probably feeling as though they had been invaded, too.

Another loud yelp came from Chewie as a spark hit his giant hand when he tried to jump the power belt under the Falcon's left landing leg.

He had been able to start Solo's ship successfully, but the displays in the cockpit had bad wiring and short circuited the entire system...again. Han, who had been there for that incident, threw a fit and swore he would get rid of her as soon as he could. Chewie knew he would never do such a thing, so he continued to work on it while Solo was summoned out to counter the incoming Imperial troops.

Worried that he hadn't seen his companion back since, Chewie dropped his two tools in hand and shook himself off. He made his way off of the top of the Falcon and jumped onto the edge of the ravine to climb the hill back to the entrance of the rebel base.

Before he could make it up, his leg was shot as soon as he heard the loud sound of a blaster going off. Chewie fell to the ground almost instantly, letting out a shrill cry. The pain that was in his leg was tolerable, but it had caught him off guard, and he lost his weapons to the cliff that fell into the ravine.

Chewie finally stumbled back onto his feet, but it was too late. A flash of silver and black raced up the loading boards of the Falcon and disappeared from sight.

"Commander Solo! And Master Luke!"

The voice of See Threepio was never mistaken; he always was around to greet the three in command, and Han hated that. Luke, on the other hand, was always ready and willing to engage in conversation. He had more patience than the others...probably while Kenobi had sought him out to become a Jedi knight in the first place.

"Someone turn him off!" Solo ordered, introducing himself to the room as he strode in and made his way to the holo map on the center table.

Artoo hummed and beeped a few times, making Threepio stand back and watch him hop around on the floor.

"Oh, stop it, Artoo!" Threepio begged.

Artoo beeped again and spun around.

"He likes me more than he likes you," Threepio retorted.

Han approached Leia and spun her around to face him. He towered over her by almost a foot; it never got old to present his orders while standing over her. He left one hand on her left shoulder and pointed at her face with his other.

"Listen up, your Worship. If you want to relocate this whole damned base all over again, don't you come begging for my help. The Falcon flies for me, and me only!" he snapped.

Leia was as calm as she always was.

"I seem to recall several trips with many more of us on board," she pointed out.

"Never asked for you there," Solo replied without skipping a beat.

"Sir, if I may..." Threepio broke up the argument. "Artoo has shared information with me that I think is most important for your decision."

Luke, who was silently standing off to the side, bent down and looked at the droid affectionately.

"What is it, Artoo?" he asked.

A holo of the galaxy suddenly shot up from Artoo's core, sending the room into a three dimensional display of the planets circling around the rebel soldiers who were present. Those at compuer screens stopped and turned to see what the light source was.

"Artoo wanted to point out that our sensors are picking up another incoming fleet from an unknown location."

The holo lit up with a couple of red ships outside a neighboring planet. There were only a few, but still enough to transport a good three hundred of the Imperial fleet. The ship icons moved ever so slightly on Artoo's map as they slowly approached.

"You were saying?" Leia spat in Han's face right before she shook his hand off of her shoulder.

He huffed, but backed down. "Fine, you got this one." Then, he added, "but next time, you might not be so lucky!"

"How long do we have, Threepio?" Luke asked, focused on the battle tactics and not the tension between Han and Leia.

"Sir, it seems as though Artoo is predicting three hours, at most.

Leia gasped. "Three hours?!"

"You wanted to relocate," Solo taunted. "Here's your chance, sweetheart!"

Before Leia could make any snide remarks back, the doors to the command center burst open and revealed the wounded Wookie that had surrendered the Millennium Falcon. He limped in, whining and wailing. Han and Threepio, naturally, were the only ones in the room that could understand his distress.

"Stolen?!" Solo shouted, ignoring Chewie's obvious wound. "Stolen?!" Anger flared in his eyes and his jaw tensed as he took a few steps towards his companion. "What are you trying to tell me, here, Chewie?!"

"Sir - I believe he's saying that the Millennium Falcon has been stolen by an unknown Imperial soldier," Threepio said with enthusiasm, proud to be a translator.