by Jason Clarke
A ghost from the past returned to haunt me today...a former officer, Commander Han Solo, now 'captain' of a meager light freighter, actually taught me a lesson today. I always knew that young man had potential, and indeed, his skill is even greater today than it was eight years ago, when he was the pilot of this very ship.
In his little freighter, whilst I was distracted by his tough talk and cocky attitude, Solo managed to destroy our tractor beam emitter, freeing the Rebel ship we had been in the process of acquiring. What he did next both angers me to a rage and commands my respect as one of the most brave acts I have ever witnessed.
In that tiny vessel, Solo actually moved to an attack position and made a run at the Ghorman herself! I was astounded, but even more so when the ship's laser cannons struck the bridge, nearly obliterating it. I escaped more or less unharmed, but Captain Fenrell was killed in the incident.
I considered placing a hundred-thousand credit bounty on the man--after all, the Empire cannot allow such acts to go unpunished--but I find that I cannot completely blame Solo for his actions. Though his values, beliefs, and system of honor may be different than my own, he still followed it to the letter, as I would, and I respect him greatly for that.
Unless he should prove a greater disturbance, I shall allow Solo to go free for now.
Han was fascinated by this log. At first, he found it troubling; he'd never known that he'd actually killed Fenrell in that attack run. The news bothered him somewhat; a feeling of guilt slowly crept into his gut. But he shook it off; this was a long time ago, and Han couldn't help but feel that Fenrell had gotten what he deserved.
The rest of the files didn't interest him, though he kept them in the computer banks for the historians back home. Sighing, Han piloted the Falcon out of the massive system of wreckage, transmitting a good-bye message to a passing A-Wing patroller. Once the Falcon had leapt into hyperspace, Han went to the back of the ship. He needed a strong drink, and all those New Republic government dinners had left him with a generous store of good vintage liquor.
Taking out a little Tatooine Binge Ale, Han sat down on the bunk of the small "quarters" of the Falcon and reflected for a while. He was still haunted by What Might Have Been...how his life would have gone had he stayed with the Empire. He'd never have met Leia, certainly...or Luke, for that matter, or Kenobi. He'd never have owed Jabba the Hutt and spent years hibernating while encased in carbonite. Greedo would be alive, and Chewie would be dead. The Empire would have the entire galaxy in its grip, with the Death Star as its glove...and there would be Han, perhaps an Admiral, perhaps even greater, wealthy beyond imagining, able to command fleets of ships and millions of troops, flourishing under the glitter and the glory of the Empire...
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD.
That odd thought came into Han's head even as he contemplated. Then he realized his mistake...the Empire would not have survived. Luke and Kenobi would have found some other pilot--maybe Dash Rendar, or some other guy who'd been on Tatooine at the time...and _that_ guy would be married to Leia, and have three kids, and be a general in the New Republic...and where would he be? Dead, most likely, strangled by Vader or killed in the Battle of Endor, or captured as a prisoner and taken to one of the grim prison worlds the New Republic used to house the millions of former Imperial officers.
Feeling the smooth vibrations of the Falcon's new hyperdrive coursing through his body, Han finished the drink, programmed the computer to wake him shortly before exiting hyperspace, and lay down on the small bunk. His mind full of dreams, memories and hopes, General Han Solo, pilot, officer, smuggler, scoundrel, husband, and father, closed his eyes and fell asleep.