Star Wars: The Courtship of Princess Leia

by Dave Wolverton

  And now her air was running out. Leia picked up the busted air exchanger, banged against the ceiling harder and harder, but resisted the impulse to yell for fear that her oxygen would run out all the faster. After only a few minutes, her arms burned with fatigue, and Leia stopped to rest. She felt like crying. Han knew she didn’t trust this faulty metallic mélange gleaned from forgotten junkyards and cut-rate dealers. Sure, the Falcon was fast and well armed, but it was also always falling apart. Han had three droid brains running all his jury-rigged, modified systems, and Leia felt sure that all his technical problems couldn’t come by mere accident. Han said that the brains bickered, but those droid brains had to be sabotaging each other’s systems. Someday, one of them would do something really bad, and the whole ship would blow. It was just a matter of time. She banged on the ceiling again.

  The hatch above her opened a crack. Chewbacca growled.

  “What do you mean the sound couldn’t be coming from here?” Threepio said, his voice muffled by the hatch. “I’m sure I heard something banging right under here. Why you don’t scrap this old bucket of space debris is far beyond me!”

  The hatch flipped open, and Chewie and Threepio peered in. Chewie’s eyes widened in surprise, and Threepio lurched back. Chewie howled, and Threepio said, “Princess Leia Organa, why are you hiding in there?”

  “I’ve come to kill Han,” Leia said, “and this is the only way I could sneak aboard the ship. What do you think I’m doing in here, you turbopowered dummy, Han kidnapped me!”

  “Oh dear!” Threepio muttered, and he and Chewie looked at each other, then hurried to help her from the hold.

  Leia got up, feeling a bit dizzy, and Chewbacca looked off toward the cockpit. His eyes were hard, and the fur on the back of his neck had raised. He growled menacingly, and for one moment Leia thought that surely Chewie would rip off Han’s arms in typical Wookiee fashion. Chewie stalked toward the cockpit, and Leia ran after him, saying, “Wait, wait …”

  Han was sitting in the captain’s chair, his fingers flying over the instrument panels. The wash of stars in the viewscreens was a brilliant white—signifying that they were hurtling through hyperspace at the Falcon’s top speed of point six above lightspeed. Chewie growled, and Han didn’t turn to face them.

  “So, did you figure out what that banging noise was?” Han asked.

  “You bet he did!” Leia said.

  At her back Threepio shouted, “I suggest you return the princess immediately, before we all wind up in the brig!”

  Han turned calmly, swiveling in his chair, and put his hands behind his head. “I’m afraid we can’t return just yet. We’re locked on course for Dathomir, and the helm won’t respond to any other orders.”

  Chewbacca rushed forward to the copilot’s seat, hit a sequence of keys, growled questioningly at Leia. Threepio translated, “Chewbacca wants to know if you would like him to beat Han for you.”

  Leia looked at the Wookiee, knew how much that question must have cost him. Chewbacca owed a life debt to Han, and was bound by his code of honor to protect Solo. But perhaps, under the extreme circumstances, the Wookiee felt Han needed a little correction.

  Han raised a hand in warning. “You can beat me if you want, Chewie, and I doubt I could stop you. But before you knock me senseless, I want you to think about something: it takes two people to bring this ship out of hyperdrive, and you can’t do it without me.”

  Chewie looked at Leia and shrugged.

  “You think you’re so smart,” Leia said. “You think you have all the answers. Chewie, keep him in here. He brought a Hapan Gun of Command aboard, and I’m going to shoot him with it.”

  Han pulled a gun from his holster, and Leia realized it wasn’t his normal blaster. It was the Hapan gun—but Han had broken off the circuitry on the barrel. “I’m sorry, Princess, I think it’s busted.”

  He let it drop to the floor.

  “All right, what is it you want from me?” Leia asked, feeling somewhat defeated.

  “Seven days,” Han said. “I want you to spend seven days with me on Dathomir. I’m not even asking for equal time with Isolder, just a mere seven days. After that—I’ll take you straight back to Coruscant.”

  Leia folded her arms and tapped her foot nervously, looked at the floor, made herself stop tapping, then looked up at Han. “What’s the point?”

  “The point is, Princess, that five months ago you told me you loved me, and it wasn’t the first time. You used to love me. You believed it, and you made me believe it. I thought our love was something special, something I would gladly die for, and I’m not going to let you throw away our future just because some other prince comes along!”

  Other prince, he’d said. Leia tapped her foot, had to consciously will herself to stop. “Then you admit it? You are the king of Corellia?”

  “I never said that.”

  Leia looked away at Threepio, glared back at Han. “What if I don’t love you anymore? What if I really have changed my mind?”

  “The news nets are already reporting that I’ve abducted you,” Han said. “They began broadcasting the story just before we bugged out. If you don’t love me, then I’ll bring you back in seven days, and I’ll serve my time in prison. But if you do love me,” Han paused, “then I want you to kiss Isolder good-bye and marry me.” He jerked his thumb, pointing at his chest.

  Leia found her head shaking in frustration. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

  Han stared into her eyes. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  He really was putting everything on the line, as he had done for her time and time again. A few years ago she had thought he was dashing and bold, perhaps a bit reckless. Now that she thought about it, he had only seemed reckless because he so often risked his life for her. Han would almost throw it away at her whim. What she had once deemed an almost inhuman courage was really a sign of his unflagging devotion. And Leia found her heart pounding in fear at the thought that someone could love her that much.

  “All right,” Leia swallowed. “You have a deal—”

  “Princess Leia!” Threepio said in consternation.

  Leia added, “—but I hope you like prison food.”

  As soon as the Bith ship dropped out of hyperspace near the maelstrom of rubble that circled the Roche system, Luke knew there was trouble. He couldn’t feel Leia anywhere nearby. He went to his room, called the New Republic’s ambassador to the Verpines over subspace radio, and got the old man out of bed.

  “What’s so important?” the ambassador snapped.

  “What has happened to Princess Leia Organa?” Luke asked. “I was supposed to meet her here.”

  The ambassador frowned. “She got kidnapped a couple of days ago, by General Solo. I watch the holo vids when I can, but I’m a busy man! I don’t have much time for such nonsense. You could always call Coruscant, if it’s that important to you.”

  Luke frowned. His status as a war hero didn’t give him enough pull to make hyperspace calls on holo vid. Besides, a call wouldn’t get him any closer to Leia. He needed to go back to Coruscant, start from there. “Do you have any ideas where I might find Han and Leia?”

  The ambassador yawned, scratched his bald head. “Who do you think I am, the chief of espionage? Nobody knows where they are. Eyewitnesses claim to have sighted Solo on at least a hundred worlds. Invariably it turns out to be only a rumor, or some lookalike gets nabbed. I’m sorry, son, I can’t be any help.” The ambassador flipped off the communicator, and Luke sat, puzzled. He seldom received such rude treatment from anyone, much less dignitaries. He guessed that the operator hadn’t told the ambassador who was calling.

  Luke closed his eyes, stretched with his senses. Sometimes, in his sleep he would dream about Leia. Usually, if she was within the same star system, Luke could feel her presence. She was nowhere nearby. He decided to get his fighter out of storage and head for Coruscant.

  Han was working in the galley aboard the Falcon, trying to put together his fourth c
andlelight dinner in as many days. The smell of spiced aric tongue wafted up, and Han was busy spooning some pudding into cora shells when the pudding bowl tipped over and dropped on the floor, spattering the walls and Han’s pant leg. Chewbacca had been standing at the viewport, and the Wookiee turned and laughed.

  “Go ahead,” Han said. “Laugh it up, fur brain. But let me tell you something: by the end of this trip, Leia is going to realize she loves me. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s only been four days, and she’s already warming up to me nicely.”

  Chewbacca growled disparagingly.

  “You’re right,” Han said with a tone of dejection, “Hoth will warm up before she will. And I suppose mating rituals are much simpler where you come from. When you love a woman, you probably just bite her on the neck and drag her to your tree. But we handle things differently where I come from. We make our women nice dinners, we compliment them, treat them like ladies.”

  Chewie laughed derisively.

  “So we shoot them and drag them into our spaceships,” Han admitted. “All right, so maybe I’m not that much more civilized than you, but I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

  “Han, oh Han,” Leia called from the lounge. “By any chance, do you have that first course ready? I am getting so hungry, and you know how irritable I get when I’m hungry.”

  “Coming, Princess,” Han called sweetly as he opened the oven. He tried to pull out the pan of spiced aric tongue with the bottom of his apron, burned his fingers. He yelped and stuck his hot fingers in his mouth, got a hot pad and dumped the tongue on a plate. Somehow, the tongue looked bluer than it should, and he wasn’t sure if he had overcooked it, if the tongue was just bad, or if maybe he’d put in too much ju powder.

  “Are you about done in there?” Leia called.

  “Coming!” Han shouted, and he brought the tongue to her. He’d set a nice red tablecloth over the hologram board, and the candelabra was all aglow. Leia looked spectacular in a dazzling white dress jumpsuit and pearls, the flames dancing in her dark eyes. He set the plate down, and said, “Dinner is served.”

  Leia looked at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow.

  “What?” Han said. “What is it this time?”

  “Aren’t you going to slice it for me?” she asked. Han looked at the vibro-blade on the table. He’d seen Leia hack her way through a jungle with a dull machete. He’d seen her slice ropes off her hands with a piece of broken glass. He’d even seen her dispatch some kind of swamp monster with a pointed stick that wasn’t anywhere near as sharp as that vibro-blade. “Of course I’ll slice it for you,” Han said. “It would be my pleasure.”

  He took the blade, began slicing the tongue into portions. When he was halfway done he decided he’d better check his progress. “Are these slices all right for you? Would you like them thicker, thinner, sliced lengthwise instead of sideways?”

  “The portions look fine,” Leia said, and Han finished slicing the tongue, sat down to the table and picked up a napkin.

  Leia cleared her throat, looked up at him.

  “What now, my pet?” Han asked.

  “Are you going to sit at this table with your dirty apron on?” Leia asked. “I mean, that is a little disgusting.”

  Han remembered a moment when they had shared stale rations in a battlefield on Mindar, dead stormtroopers all around. “You’re right,” Han said. “I’ll take it off.” He got up, removed the apron, took it and hung it on a peg in the galley. He came back and sat down. Leia cleared her throat.

  “What now?” Han asked.

  “You forgot the wine,” Leia said, looking at her glass. Han glanced at her plate, noticed that she’d already begun eating without him.

  “Would you prefer white, red, green, or purple?”

  “Red,” Leia answered.

  “Dry or wet?”

  “Dry!”

  “Temperature?”

  “Thirty-nine degrees.”

  “You aren’t going to let me eat with you again tonight, are you?”

  “No,” Leia said firmly.

  “I don’t get it,” Han said. “It’s been four days now, and outside of ordering me around, you haven’t said one word to me. I know you are mad at me. You’ve got a right to be. Maybe I’ve ruined it for you, and you’re never going to be able to like me. Or maybe you’re getting so used to having servants around, that you just want to turn me into your slave. But I would hope, if nothing else comes out of this, that at the very least you would still like me as a friend.”

  “Maybe you’re asking too much of me,” Leia said.

  “I’m asking too much of you?” Han said. “I’m the one who has been cooking and cleaning and taking care of your clothes and making your bed and flying this ship. Just tell me this. Just answer me this, and answer honestly: isn’t there anything you like about me anymore? Isn’t there just one thing? Something? Anything?”

  Leia didn’t answer.

  “Maybe I should just turn the ship around,” Han said.

  “Maybe you should,” Leia agreed.

  “But I don’t get it,” Han said. “You agreed to come on this trip,” he shrugged, “albeit under duress, I’ll grant you that. But you’re madder than you should be. If you want to take it out on me, then go ahead. I’m right here. Han Solo, in the flesh.” He leaned his face forward. “Go ahead, slap me. Or kiss me. Or talk to me.”

  “You’re right,” Leia said. “You don’t get it.”

  “Get what?” Han said. “Get what? Give me a clue!”

  “All right!” Leia said. “I’ll spell it out for you: you, Han Solo the man, I can forgive. But when you brought me on this ship, you betrayed the New Republic that we serve. You’re not just Han Solo the man anymore. You were Han Solo the hero of the Rebel Alliance, Han Solo the General of the New Republic. And that Han Solo I can’t forgive, I refuse to forgive. Sometimes what you represent is so important that you can’t let your standards down. You become respected as an icon, as much for what you are as who you are.”

  “That’s not my fault,” Han said. “I refuse to be bound by anyone’s preconceived images of me.”

  “Fine,” Leia said. “Maybe you don’t think the universe should work that way. Maybe you want to be free to run off to be a pirate again or play around like a little boy, but that’s not how the universe works! You’re going to have to face up to that.”

  “Fine,” Han said throwing his napkin on the table, “so I’ll face up to it. After dinner. You tell me what you want me to do, how you want me to act. I’ll change—forever. I promise. Okay?”

  Leia stared up at him, and something in her features softened. “Okay.”

  Four days later the Millennium Falcon dropped out of hyperspace above Dathomir and the proximity indicators screamed in warning. Leia came running, leaned over Han’s pilot seat to look out: Star Destroyers littered the sky while shuttles and barges plodded up from a small red moon in a solid line toward a huge mass of metal piping and struts—ten kilometers of gleaming scaffolding that floated in space at an L5 point. It looked like some giant insect, but docked around it were thousands of craft—one Super Star Destroyer, dozens of old Victory-class models and escort frigates, thousands of boxlike barges. For one moment, Han stared at them in awe and then breathed angrily, “Trespassers!”

  Leia drew a deep breath. “Well, Han, you’ve certainly struck the jackpot this time. Why, this planet must have more enemy fighters than a Hutt has ticks.”

  Han glanced over at Chewie. The Wookiee was trying to pull up the nav charts for the Ottega star system. On the head-up holo display, two red fighters began vectoring up from a Star Destroyer. “Can the sarcasm, Princess, and get yourself up to the gun well, we’ve got company.”

  Han nodded out the viewscreen to the TIE interceptors screaming toward them. Leia knew enough not to ask if Han could outrun them. He couldn’t. “Seriously, Leia, you better get up there,” Han said. “Once they get close enough to see that we’re not an Incom Y-four, they won�
��t wait to shoot.” Leia ran up the corridor to the stairwell.

  Over the Falcon’s radio, a controller began querying, “Incom Y-four Raptor, please identify yourself and your destination. Incom Raptor, please identify.”

  “Captain Brovar,” Han answered, “carrying an inspection team for the planetary defense systems?” Han wiped the sweat from his forehead. This was the part he always hated, waiting to see if they’d swallow his story.

  After a delay of four seconds, Han knew the flight controller was querying his supervisor. Always a bad sign. “Uh,” the controller said after a moment, “this planet doesn’t have a defense system.”

  Chewbacca glared at Han, and Han keyed the mike. “I know. We’re here to inspect the sites to install the planetary defense system.” The controller remained quiet too long, so Han added lamely, “We have an extra one, or parts of an extra one. I mean, you’ve got to store these defense systems somewhere, right?”

  “Incom Y-four Raptor,” a gravelly voice called over the same frequency. “Do you have some kind of strange modifications to your ship?”

  The interceptors were coming into visual range and Han couldn’t rely on stealth anymore. He reached up to switch on the signal jammers, and Chewie winced. “It’s all right,” Han promised. “We won’t fry our own circuitry this time. I tested it before we left.”

  Han flipped the switch and prayed. Chewbacca roared in fright and Han glanced over—the nav computer had gone down. As Han watched, the run lights for the hyperdrive motivator died, along with the rear targeting computer. Han realized belatedly that he hadn’t tested the jammers with the nav computer working. They wouldn’t be jumping to hyperspace anytime soon.

  Chewie growled in terror, and Han dipped toward the glittering shipyard, diving toward a Kuat escort Frigate. All that metal would have to play hell with the sensors, and even though the TIE interceptors were technically faster and more maneuverable than the Falcon, Han would match his flying skills against these academy jocks any day.

  Bolts of blue blaster fire ripped across the Falcon’s prow, bounced off the hull, and Leia shouted over her radio, “They’re in range!” Threepio stood behind the pilot’s seat watching the blaster fire, shouting, “Oooh, aah!” and ducking with every near miss.