AN: I'm using the Legends era ages of characters instead of the 2014 reboot ages because I like Han being closer in age to Leia when they married (10 years older vs 13). Thus Young Han would've been 7 in Episode 2. Young Anakin would be 20 when the Clone Wars started and 23 when he became Vader vs 19 and 22 post-reboot. I used some of Han's backstory from a Star Wars novel I read on a wiki. All that being said, canon gets so confusing and convoluted that sometimes I just throw stuff at the wall and see what sticks and what flies out the window. There shouldn't be anything too triggering in this chapter. I reference characters from Rogue One.
Shoot first. Kill it, if you have to (Time Travel, Han Solo Style)
By Indygodusk
Chapter 5 - Science Jobs in Cloud City
Staring into the bottom of his glass, Han tried to figure out his next move now that his latest job had ended. It wasn't hard for Han to find work with traders, smugglers, and pirates, especially with the Clone Wars causing chaos in the normal shipping lanes, but he wished he had a better idea of what he should be doing besides waiting to meet up with Ben. Killing Palpatine—Chancellor of the Galactic Republic and secret Sith Lord—was a task currently beyond his capabilities, especially when he needed to kill him in a way that kept the guy's spirit from just coming back.
Every time he'd tried to get close to Palpatine he'd been thwarted. For the last year, he'd drifted wherever the work took him, mostly through the Mid and Outer Rim. Today was the closest he'd been to Palpatine since he'd woken up here and 'close' was only relative in the sense that they were on the same planet. Probably.
Han's latest job had unexpectedly taken him all of the way to Coruscant, the center of the Republic. Considering that this used to be the center of the Galactic Empire, it gave Han the willies. He had every intention of getting off-planet just as soon as he found the energy to stop feeling sorry for himself and find a new job.
Han desperately missed being the captain of his own ship and master of his own fate. However, without an established reputation, partner, or nest egg of credits, he found it too hard to buy a decent ship or get access to the right kind of high-stakes gambling game to win one. Not that any old ship would ever be as good as his Millenium Falcon, but unfortunately he had no idea where the Falcon was or even if it had been built yet. He'd won the ship from Lando, but not for another fifteen or twenty years in this timeline.
Learning it was '955 C.R.C. when he'd escaped on that first ship from Tatooine hadn't meant much to a boy with no formal schooling who'd never paid much attention to any dates but local delivery deadlines and whose life and relationships had come to revolve around the Battle of Yavin, just like the new galactic dating system of BBY and ABY. Han had only really figured out what year he'd been sent to when the news channels started reporting on the outbreak of the Clone Wars, though it was maddening to see the face of Chancellor—not yet Emperor—Palpatine blaring from every screen and not be able to do anything about it. Han had never been good with Republic or Imperial dating systems—though Ben was even worse somehow despite his formal education—but the Clone Wars were a clear marker. Han knew they'd started in 22 BBY (Before Battle of Yavin) because it came up a lot in the political speeches Leia had forced him to attend at the start of their marriage. Right now, Luke and Leia hadn't been born yet.
Han had never known his actual birthdate, but at some point, someone had picked one out for him and he'd never bothered to change it, so his younger self should be around seven or eight and already picked up by Garris Shrike and his band of thieves and vagabonds from some Corellian spaceport. Poor kid, it had been a rough start to life. Han had no memory of his parents, just of gnawing hunger and begging on the streets. One of his earliest memories was of being whipped with Shrike's belt because the man's favorite pod racer had crashed onscreen and Han had laughed. After, he'd been sent out with a pack of other orphans to beg and pickpocket, knowing that even if he succeeded there was a good chance he still might not be bandaged or fed when he returned and that he'd face another beating if he complained about it. Han hadn't managed to get out from under Shrike's thumb until he was nineteen, despite countless attempts to run away over the years and numerous beatings. Even then, Dewlannamapia, the crew's Wookie cook and the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother, had died in the process. Years later Shrike had been killed in front of Han while trying to capture him for a bounty, but it couldn't make up for all he'd done. Han never thought about his childhood if he could help it. What was the point?
Sipping his drink and ignoring the taste of the cheap liquor burning his tongue, Han leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched the screen floating behind the bar. They were showing a pod race in the mid-rim with a Dug named Sebulba in the lead. He was a native of Tatooine, not that most people in the Core would even know where Tatooine was, it being a Hutt-controlled world on the Outer Rim. The Dug was a pretty good pilot and knew some nasty tricks, though Han had seen better. Han had won Shrike lots of money as a kid by swoop racing and still preferred watching that over pod racing.
He wondered how Shmi was doing on Tatooine and if her survival would be enough to stop Anakin from turning to the dark side. It would certainly make killing Palpatine easier if Han didn't have to worry about a baby Vader getting in the way. He'd also like to spare Luke and Leia the hell Vader had put them through, not to mention the rest of the galaxy.
Below the race scrolled the local job list with destinations, desired skills, and contact information. Nothing looked too appealing. There were a few jobs for workers and pilots in Cloud City at Bespin, but Han would either be seeing the memory of Lando around every corner or Vader and his stormtroopers. Either way, it was bound to be too unsettling for the meager amount of credits they were offering. The scientist jobs paid ten times as much, but he probably couldn't hold that con long enough to get paid. Aping intellectuals wasn't his strong suit.
A human male with pale skin, auburn hair, and a scruffy beard dropped into a seat at the bar next to Han, breaking him from his thoughts. The man tapped the edge of the bar and a small, holographic screen appeared with the drinks menu. The stranger's finger moved to one of the higher-priced liquors and then paused. Sighing heavily, he canceled the selection and scrolled down to the bottom, tapping the second cheapest drink on the menu. On getting his drink, the man took two sips in a row without grimacing, though he looked down at his cup forlornly. The drink was an acquired taste, with a strong, earthy flavor that made most people spit it out if they weren't expecting it.
Raised poor but not used to it anymore, Han judged. Perhaps laid off recently? When the man opened up the job listings on his screen and started scrolling, Han smugly patted himself on the back.
Noticing his attention, the man turned and held out his hand with a wan smile. "Hello, I'm Galen Erso."
Han shook the man's hand, not seeing the harm in it, though just in case he kept his other hand casually relaxed near the blaster on his thigh. "Han Solo," he nodded. "You job hunting too?" The guy was probably too poor to cage a drink from, but he might prove useful in other ways and it didn't hurt to be friendly.
"Ah, yes…." Smile becoming fixed on his face, Erso looked down and away. "I'm a scientist, but I'm out of favor around here after being taken captive on a world that turned Separatist. My family and I were rescued, but no one on Coruscant trusts me now and I haven't managed to get a job offer that isn't with the war effort. I need to provide for my wife and child but," shoulders squaring and chin firming stubbornly he said, "I'm a pacifist. I won't build weapons to hurt people."
Han took a sip and shrugged. "I'd as soon shoot a man attacking me as not, but the war will march on well enough with or without your help and stop again just as inexplicably." Though Leia would hit him for saying as much and, he had to admit, had proved the opposite along with Luke enough times for him to feel guilty after saying it. One person really could make a big difference, even against an evil, monolithic Empire ruled by sadistic and psychotic Sith Lords.
Expression falling, Galen took another sip of his drink. "I can only hope the war does stop soon, but until then, I need to find a job to feed my family. If I don't move soon, I fear Republic Intelligence will pull me in for more pointless questioning and prohibit me from leaving the planet altogether. With the war on, it's become a witch hunt. It's almost at the point where my wife's afraid to leave the apartment with Jyn, our daughter, for fear of getting picked up by the authorities on trumped-up charges."
It was Han's guilt and memories of a more hopeful past that made him decide to expend a little effort to help the guy. "Bespin's hiring scientists," Han said, leaning over to select and expand the post on the man's screen. "Cloud City is a Tibanna gas mining colony. They even have a moving stipend for bringing along your family." If Han had actually wanted to go to Bespin, he'd be tempted to pose as Galen's brother for the free ride.
Galen shook his head. "There's no point. I don't work with gasses. Most of the work I'm interested in happens here. I'm one of the galaxy's foremost experts on crystallography and energy enrichment." Wiping a hand down his face with a sigh, he dismissed the job on Bespin and started scrolling again.
"You're also desperate," Han pointed out, "and Tibanna is one of the most important energy sources in the galaxy. It fuels stardrives, repulsorlifts, and probably a million other things I don't know about. To transport it they have to suspend it in a block of frozen, super-strong carbonite." Voice going gruff, Han took a deep breath. "Personally, I hate carbonite. If you're as smart as you say, why don't you find a way to turn Tibanna gas into a cheaper and more stable crystalline form? Or find a way to manufacture an artificial variant and sell it to someone outside the Anoat sector to break their monopoly? You'd get paid hand over fist for something like that. Poor planets on the outer rim would rename themselves Erso Prime in your honor."
Rubbing at his temple, Galen frowned. "You make it sound so simple, but it's not."
Han put his hands up and leaned back. "Hey, it doesn't matter to me what you do. Go work in Cloud City or stay here with people who don't like you and get drafted into war research." He frowned and for some reason thought of little Han suffering on Corellia. "Just don't abandon your wife and kid to starve and steal on the streets." Han might've run away when things got hard, but at least Ben was an adult (and mostly the architect of his own misery) while Leia had always had more money than Han and could more than take care of herself. Looking at the worn-out man in front of him, Han wondered if Erso's family might not be so lucky. "Running out on them would be shitty and your kid deserves better."
"No, I'd never," Galen said, going pale. "Lyra and Jyn are the very heart of me." Lips firming, Galen sat forward and brought up the Bespin post again, eyes flitting over the details. "Pride won't fill a hungry belly and at least it isn't weapons research," he muttered grimly to himself. Opening the messaging function, he typed quickly and hit send. "There, I've applied." He sent Han a wry, self-deprecating smile. "Knowing my luck, I probably won't get it, but—"
The screen chimed. Eyes going wide, Galen turned to look at Han. "Surely there can't be a response already?"
"Might as well check," Han said, nodding back at the screen. What were the odds?
Swallowing hard, Galen tapped on the message and read. "The hiring droid has approved my application and wants to set up an interview with the human lead for later today if I'm available." Stumbling to his feet, he clumsily closed the message. "I—I've got to go and prepare, review current research on gas mining, maybe take a shower." Looking at Han with a dazed expression, he smiled. "I've got to tell my family! No, wait." His smile dimmed. He shook his head and took a deep breath. "I should wait until I know if I get it. No point in disappointing them if I don't. Nevertheless, this is the first bit of hope I've had in months besides a few kind words and small favors from my friend Krennic."
Grabbing Han's hand, Galen shook it vigorously. "Thank you, thank you so much."
Han pulled his hand back before Galen could shake his arm off. "You're welcome. Good luck and get out of here." Han saluted him with his glass.
"Right." Tugging his tunic straight, Galen turned on his heel and marched out of the room with his head held high.
Smiling to himself, Han ordered another drink and returned to the job board, scrolling through for a job he'd be interested in doing. He was tempted to apply for the Cloud City run just to see if Galen and his family made it, but decided that was a bit too sentimental for a bitter old fart like himself.
When a job flying to Corellia appeared, Han stopped scrolling. Staring at the screen without seeing the details, he slowly straightened up in his chair. What if he went to Corellia and saved his younger self from Shrike? From the next decade of crime and abuse? Dewlannamapia would've never stayed with Shrike after her husband died if she hadn't wanted to raise and protect Han. She would've returned safely to Kashyyyk and lived decades if not centuries more. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do until he met up with Ben to kill the Emperor. Tapping the screen, Han expanded the details to see if he could make himself fit whatever the job was looking for.
"There's no point," said Anakin from Galen's empty seat.
Pulling his blaster, Han had it aimed at the ghost before he'd even finished speaking.
Looking unimpressed, Anakin arched a brow at him. "There's no point in that either. You can't hurt me."
"Doesn't mean I can't have fun trying," Han said with a sneer, though he holstered his blaster when he saw the barkeep looking at him askance and glancing over to the bouncer by the door as if about to call for help with the crazy man threatening empty air.
Leaning forward, Han lifted the cup in front of his mouth to hide that he was talking to an invisible ghost. "What do you mean, there's no point in going to Corellia? I saved your mom, didn't I? Stands to reason it won't hurt anything to save myself as a kid too. He's just seven and his life is hell right now and for the next decade or more."
Anakin was already shaking his head. "There's nothing there for you."
"You saying I'm not worth saving?" Drawing back, Han felt ugly words piling up in his throat.
A complicated expression creased Anakin's face before it settled into something Han would call gentle on anyone else. "There's no point because your counterpart ceased to exist when you appeared in this timeline."
"What?" Han croaked, the cup dropping from his nerveless fingers. "You saying I killed him?"
"He's not dead, he's still in you, but the Force requires balance. There can only be one Han Solo at a time and we all need you to be it because it can't be one of us." Anakin made a frustrated gesture. "I'd do it if I could, but my time is gone." Gritting his teeth, a muscle visibly throbbing at the hinge of his jaw, he said, "The Force broke with Ben's death because it lost its last champion and last chance of regaining that balance after being twisted by a long line of Sith that culminated in Darth Sidious. Ben is walking a very fine line by even sending you back, destabilizing the Force earlier in the hope of fixing things in the future. If your personality in the past had been more set or your body more Force-sensitive, the upheaval in the Force would've been too great and it wouldn't have worked at all."
"Oh." Han felt hollow. "How are you sure that it did work?"
Anakin sent him a scathing look. "Look around. You're not dead anymore and the Force hasn't imploded, wiping everything from existence."
Wrinkling his nose, Han shot him a sour look in return. "Fine, but what's the point of me knocking around for years instead of just zapping me forward to meet up with Ben now? It's not like I'm doing any good here."
"You'd be surprised," Anakin said cryptically.
"You're right, I would be because you haven't explained anything," Han said with a huff, righting his cup on the bar and slamming it down.
"Your new friend Galen Erso," Anakin said abruptly.
Han looked over his shoulder in the direction the man had left in before turning back. "Yeah, what about him?"
"He was the chief scientist on the Death Star project."
Mouth dropping open, Han looked over his shoulder again. "But he said he was a pacifist!"
"I didn't say he did it willingly," Anakin shrugged. "They tracked him down like a dog, killed his wife, and lost his daughter while trying to kill her too. After that, he had no choice but to help make the Death Star work, but he also put hidden flaws into the design so your rebellion could sabotage it years later. Before the plans were destroyed along with most of the planet it was located on, his daughter sent out a single copy to the Rebellion care of Senator Organa" —he stopped, fist clenching and unclenching— "to Leia."
"The plans you tortured her for," Han reminded Anakin, just in case he'd forgotten. Han hadn't forgotten. "The ones she refused to tell you and Tarkin about even when you destroyed her homeworld in front of her."
Nostrils flaring, Anakin stared straight ahead, seemingly ignoring him. "Galen Erso was manipulated and coerced into working on the Death Star by its architect and director, Orson Krennic, who'd long posed as his friend. By sending Erso to Bespin now and out of Krennic and the Emperor's reach, you've set him and the Death Star on a different path."
"Good," Han said bluntly. "And Palpatine's not the Emperor yet."
Anakin inclined his head. "Force willing, he never will be." Forcefully relaxing back in his chair and steepling his fingers on his chest, he continued speaking. "Last month, you took a job with pirates where they had you fly the ship that raided a large warehouse unexpectedly full of incendiary devices. That was a secret stash belonging to Palpatine that in the other timeline was never stolen. It went on to be used for Operation: Cinder, the orbital bombardment campaign after the Emperor's death that devastated so many planets and destroyed the evidence of his secret bases, crippling the New Republic before it had even begun. Your actions have now delayed or even destroyed that project."
"The job before that with a bounty hunter named Sugi had the two of you stumbling across a hidden stash of credits. The money you stole was a promised bribe for Chancellor Palpatine's allies in the Mid Rim. By hiding your tracks so well, the theft still hasn't been reported and his allies feel betrayed, turning them from his side and hamstringing several of his long-term schemes."
"Huh, am I good or what?" Han crossed his arms smugly and sat back in his chair with a smile.
"It was the will of the Force, not just you," Anakin said, making Han tense up again. "Plus my hand pulling the strings."
An icicle dragged up Han's spine. "You mean you've been silently lurking around all these months? Constantly spying on me?"
Anakin rolled his eyes. "Hardly. You aren't that interesting. I've been keeping my eye on events around the galaxy. I only pop in when the Force tells me it might be useful and give things a nudge."
"Is the Force controlling me somehow?" Han asked with horror. "Are you? Puppeting me like some kind of meat doll?"
"Don't be daft," Anakin said with scorn.
"Why, am I wrong?" Han asked, raising his chin and hoping to hear yes. "Is it impossible to do?"
"No, of course not," Anakin said with an airy wave, making Han's heart drop into his stomach, "but that would be Dark and too difficult to maintain for long. I don't use the Dark side anymore. If it makes you feel any better, you've proven in the past to be too strong-willed for Force suggestions," before Han could relax, he added, "though Light side users find it easy enough to justify using those. Since we arrived in this time, I've merely influenced items in your environment and given the weak-minded the occasional nudge. I don't have as much power on this side of death or I'd have taken more direct and extreme action." The sharpness of his expression could've cut beskar.
"Hey, I don't want you nudging me or stuff around me anymore," Han said stridently. "Just—" licking his lips, hair standing on end, Han swallowed hard, "just don't."
"I'll do what I must to make sure we succeed," tossing his head, Anakin sent him a crooked smile, "but you can calm down. I'm here to help, remember?"
"Somehow, I don't find that very reassuring," Han said. "What else have you done to nudge things?"
Anakin sat back in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee, though his ghost was sitting inside the barstool instead of on top of it. Han tried not to notice. "When we first arrived," Anakin said, "you walked into the middle of a tradeoff between a small local gang and a Sith Acolyte working for Sidious. You stepped on and broke—thanks to my help—a holocron he's been desperately searching for for decades." Anakin's malicious smile made Han shudder.
Wrinkling his brow, Han thought back. "That little pyramid thingy? And what's a holocron?"
"An information-storage device containing ancient lessons or valuable information in holographic form. They were made by powerful Force users and require the Force to activate, so they'd be useless for someone like you. Even if you could, the Sith versions can contain personality imprints that can take over the mind of the unwary and weak," Anakin gave Han a pointed look down his nose, "and puppet them like meat dolls." Han grimaced. "The holocron we broke would've given Sidious the key piece of information he needs for the ritual to keep his spirit from fading at death. With luck, we'll kill him before he figures it out independently or finds another source."
Putting his hand on the bar, Han took a quick breath and leaned forward. "Hey, if you send me to Ben now, we wouldn't have to worry about luck. I could just kill him and get it over with," he said in his cajoling-the-client voice.
"Nice try, but no," Anakin said with a smirk. Glancing over at the jobs board on the bar, Anakin's eyes narrowed and his smile faded. "Oh." Touching the screen, he expanded the selection. "Take this one…and hurry."
Han leaned forward to read the sparse details, not seeing anything special about running support on a hostage rescue with some Wookies in Trandoshan space. "Why?" he asked, looking over only to see an empty barstool. Anakin was gone. Growling under his breath, Han scrubbed his hands through his hair, got up, and left the bar for the docking bay listed on the job. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.