by Alex Wheeler
Leia leaned forward. "If you're innocent, Han, help me prove it. Help me help you."
But there it was: if.
She didn't trust him. After all they'd been through. "You know, I'd never accuse you of something like this," he pointed out.
"That's different," she said.
"Yeah. I guess it is." Han stood up and returned to the dark corner he'd been lounging in when she arrived. "I guess we're done here."
"This isn't over," Leia warned him. "It's my job to get to the bottom of this."
"Fine." Han couldn't look at her. "But it's not my job to help you."
She still didn't betray a hint of emotion, nothing to indicate there was anything between them but unanswered questions. She didn't even slam the door on her way out.
But she still locked it.
CHAPTER THREE
"Hey, you can't go in there!" The guard backed up against the wall of the makeshift brig, blaster in one hand, comlink in the other. He was clearly undecided about what he should do first: call for reinforcements or shoot. "This is your last warning, you hairy—oof."
With a single, furry blow to the head, Chewbacca saved him the trouble of deciding. The Wookiee slammed the blaster into the wall, then crushed the comlink under his massive foot. The guard would be fine when he woke up. He just wouldn't wake up any time soon.
These humans were so fragile. Sometimes it seemed even a sneeze would knock them over.
A Wookiee sneeze, at least.
Chewbacca was a Wookiee of many loyalties. But none was greater than the loyalty he owed to the human who'd saved his life back on Kashyyyk. Ever since, when Han Solo called, Chewbacca delivered.
And that night, as Yavin's many moons crawled across the sky, the call had come: "Get me out of here, Chewie!"
Chewbacca planned to deliver.
Han was being kept in the back room of a supply warehouse. Once past the Rebel guarding the door, Chewbacca thudded down the hallway. His bulk made stealth impossible; his strength made it unnecessary.
"Stop the Wookiee!" someone shouted from behind him.
"Don't kill him!" came another voice. "Just stun him!"
The blasterfire came fast and heavy. Though he knew it wouldn't be lethal, Chewbacca dodged and weaved, ducking the explosions. A few glanced off his thick hide, but it took more than a single stun blast to put down a Wookiee. Still, he had to find some cover. The guards were calling for reinforcements—soon he'd be even more outnumbered and the rescue mission would be ruined.
He couldn't let Han down.
Chewbacca ducked behind the nearest obstacle he could find, a giant durasteel cart brimming with the disgusting protein supplements the humans ate for many of their meals. Laserfire raked the side of the cart, scorching the durasteel and sending sparks flying into the smoky air, but Chewbacca was safe for the moment. He peeked over the top of the cart. There were only four humans, now standing abreast in the hallway, blocking his path to Han.
The cart was on wheels.
Chewbacca had seen the facilities workers wheeling these carts to the kitchen—it took three humans to inch them slowly to the repulsorlift conveyor belts that would distribute the food. The Wookiee pressed one hairy shoulder against the cart and pushed it forward with ease. He heaved it down the hallway. The guards scattered, but not quickly enough. Humans and blasters went flying, as the metal beast mowed them down in their path. In the confusion, Chewbacca snatched their blasters out of the air, tucking two into his bandolier and shattering the other two with a single sharp crack against the wall.
Even the most foolish human wouldn't face down a Wookiee without weapons. The four men cowered against the wall, hands in the air. Chewbacca pointed at one of their comlinks and growled.
No one moved.
Humans could be so dense sometimes. Chewbacca pulled out his own comlink, miming talking into it, then pointed at the door on the far side of the hall.
One of the guards nodded quickly "I think he wants us to call off the reinforcements," he told the others in a squeaky voice. "Done." He raised his comlink. "Uh, false alarm over here at the brig," he said, shakily. "All's well with the prisoner. Facility is secure." Then he gave Chewbacca a hopeful grin. "That okay, boy?" he asked, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly, as if Chewbacca was a rather large and rather stupid pet.
Don't hurt anyone you don't have to, Han had said.
Chewbacca sighed. And instead of whacking the human over the head, he knotted the four guards together with their own binders. Then he hurried to the end of the hall to retrieve his best friend.
The door was locked. But when Chewbacca pounded a massive fist against it, the thin plastoid crumbled like flimsiplast. Han was already on his feet. Chewbacca tossed his friend a blaster. "Took you long enough!" Han complained, heading for the open door.
Chewbacca growled.
"Yeah, yeah, you did fine, Chewie," Han admitted. "Now—you want a medal, or you want to get out of here?"
Apparently, the Alliance had kept its suspicions of Han under wraps. Because when he and Chewie swept into the main hangar deck, the deck officers on duty just waved him a sleepy hello. They were used to seeing Han and Chewbacca tinkering with the Falcon at all hours of the night, and blasting into orbit for the occasional emergency mission. The Alliance had instituted a strict departure protocol, but Han wasn't much for protocols, and everyone knew it.
"Requesting permission for departure!" he shouted, winking as he ran past the senior deck officer. The officer, barely more than a kid, flushed with pleasure at the friendly gesture. No one but the newest, greenest recruits got stuck with the overnight shift. And all of the newest, greenest recruits craved attention from Han Solo.
"Permission granted," the kid shouted back, grinning. Han and Chewbacca hurtled toward the ship, strapped themselves in, and threw themselves into the takeoff protocol. With a thunder of engines and a cloud of black steam from a broken exhaust port, the Millennium Falcon was in the air.
The Corellian freighter might not have looked too pretty, but she could take off in a hurry when she had to.
As she often did.
"Millennium Falcon, this is base. Return to surface immediately."
Han ignored the request.
"Repeat, Millennium Falcon, return to base. You are not cleared to leave the system."
"Ready to fire up the hyperdrive, Chewie?" Han asked, as the comlink blared with increasingly hysterical commands. He just needed to get a little farther from the moon, and then he could engage the hyperdrive and never look back.
"Captain Solo, this is General Leia Organa. Return to base immediately. This is an order."
"You didn't say pretty please, General," Han growled at the console.
"Land the ship immediately, Han, or we'll be forced to take extreme measures—"
Han flicked off the comlink. "How many times do I have to tell you, lady? No one tells me where to fly my ship."
Chewbacca let out an alarmed bark.
"They're bluffing!" Han exclaimed. "They would never—" The ship shuddered beneath them as an alarm began to blare. Han peered incredulously at a squadron of X‑wing fighters that had just become visible in the cockpit window.
Chewbacca yelped.
"I know they're firing at us!" Han snapped. "Well, what are you waiting for? Evasive maneuvers!" Han didn't want to fire back at the Rebel ships. He probably knew some of the guys flying those X‑wings, and he didn't want to hurt them.
Not unless I have to, he promised himself.
Not unless they make me.
Two of the X‑wings peeled off from their formation and angled toward the Falcon. Laserfire streaked through space, peppering the hull. The shields held—but they wouldn't for long. Han took the ship into a steep dive, then veered to port full throttle, hoping to get below the X‑wings. But the small ships were too maneuverable, and they shadowed him every step of the way.
"Engage hyperdrive!" Han shouted, as a blast slammed into the primary sensor array. "Let's get
out of here." They weren't shooting to kill, but they were still shooting, and sooner or later, he was going to have to shoot back. And if it came to that…well, there was no way he could ever return to Yavin 4.
Not that I'm ever going back, Han reminded himself, as the ship bucked and shuddered beneath him. Not ever. Another volley of laserfire streaked toward them, and Han steered the ship into a 360 degree loop, aiming straight for the X‑wings. They scattered at the last minute, darting out of his way, but quickly swiveling around to take aim at the starboard shield projector.
"Why aren't we in hyperspace yet?" Han growled.
Chewbacca yelped in alarm.
"Whaddaya mean it's not working?" Han asked, glaring at the temperamental hyperdrive controls. "Weren't you supposed to fix that?"
Chewbacca barked angrily.
"I know you had to come rescue me," Han admitted. "It's called multitasking."
The Wookiee snorted, then turned back to the tangled nest of frayed wiring that controlled their ship's hyperdrive. He warned Han that getting it up and running could take several minutes. "We don't have several minutes," Han snarled. A barrage of laserfire raked across the ship. There was a spurt of fire from the port dorsal engine. A couple more hits like that and the engines would cut out all together, leaving them dead in space like a sitting kaadu. "We may not even have several seconds!" Han whacked the hyperdrive controls in frustration.
There was a soft whirring noise, and then the darkness of space flashed blinding white. Stars streamed past the window, twinkling points stretching to long, glowing strands that turned the galaxy into a tunnel of light.
"Huh," Han said, staring in surprise at the palm of his hand. "Guess I should have tried that sooner."
They had entered hyperspace; they were safe.
Safe from the Rebel Alliance, Han thought sourly. Never thought I'd be on the run from them.
They flew for several long moments in silence. Then, finally, Han couldn't stand it anymore. "Go ahead," he ordered Chewbacca. "Say it."
The Wookiee barked innocently.
"You know what," Han said, leaning back in his seat. A drop of grease from the leaking cooling tubes splattered onto his head. He'd been planning to repair the thing later that week.
Maybe this was all for the best, he told himself. He'd gotten too comfortable, hanging around with Luke and Leia, pretending he was one of them. He'd gone soft.
Chewbacca was still playing dumb.
"C'mon, say what you've been thinking ever since we left the moon," Han urged him, irritably. He could tell when the Wookiee was holding out on him. "Go on; get it off your big, hairy chest."
Chewbacca sighed, then growled.
"Well, I couldn't very well protect Luke from the inside of a jail cell, could I?" Han retorted.
Chewbacca growled again.
"No, I don't know how I can help him from up here, either, fuzzbrain. I do know that if I don't pay back Jabba, I'm not going to be helping anyone any time soon. Hard to help when you're dead," Han said, groaning at the thought of how angry the Hutt crime lord must be by now. "We've wasted too much time playing war games. We need to rack up some credits. And in the meantime, if we happen to dig up something that'll help Luke—"
Chewbacca cut in with an insistent yowl.
"Why should I care about clearing my name?" Han scoffed. "They want to think I'm a traitor, after all I've done for them? Let 'em."
The Wookiee hooted.
"Leia?" Han forced a laugh. "Why would I care what Her Royal Worshipfulness thinks of me?"
Chewbacca opened his mouth as if to disagree, but Han had had enough. "Just fly the ship, will ya?"
I didn't turn my back on Leia or the Rebellion, he reminded himself, taking an inventory of all the instruments that had been damaged by the Rebel attack. They turned their backs on me.
Light. Noise. Pain. Dark.
This was Luke's reality. He opened his eyes, grasped at a familiar voice, a face, something to hold onto, that would keep him from drifting away. But he could never hold tight enough; life was a jumble of sound and color that made no sense. He didn't know where he was; he barely knew who he was. He was a body that breathed, a body that hurt. And then his eyes would shut and the darkness would claim him again. A body that slept.
Time had no meaning in the world of pain. It could have been hours, it could have been years.
And then it was over. He opened his eyes, and he was returned to himself. And she was waiting for him.
"Easy," Leia said quietly, as Luke struggled to sit up. "You need to rest."
"What happened?" Luke croaked, his throat dry and cracked. But even as he spoke, he was remembering: the speeder. The explosion.
The dark warning from somewhere inside of him—or from outside? From the Force? The warning that had saved his life.
"Someone tried to kill you, Luke," Leia said. "If you hadn't jumped off that speeder when you did…"
"Old Ben was right," Luke murmured, amazed. "Let go of your conscious self and act on instinct."
"What?"
"Nothing, Just something an old friend once told me." Gingerly, Luke tested out his arms, his legs. All seemed to be in working order.
"You were injured in the blast," Leia explained, "but you've been immersed in bacta for the last few days, and you're making a full recovery. Everything should be back to normal soon."
There was a strange look in her eyes. Luke didn't understand it, but he knew that nothing was back to normal. "What aren't you telling me?"
She rested her hand on his. "Later," she said. "When you're stronger."
She was always trying to protect him. But he was stronger than she thought.
To prove it, Luke pushed himself into a sitting position. He swallowed hard, and when he spoke, his voice was clear. "Who set the explosives?" he asked. "Has the Empire attacked?" But as soon as he said it, he knew that made no sense. Nobody understood why Imperial forces hadn't yet attacked Yavin 4. But if the Empire had decided it was time to act, surely they wouldn't mess around with the death of a single pilot. They would destroy the base, and every living being on it.
But if not Imperial agents, then who?
"We're still investigating," Leia said.
"But you know something," Luke pushed, unsure why he was so certain. Was it because he just knew Leia well enough to see behind her mask? Or was it the Force again, guiding him toward the truth?
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "A cache of explosives was located…in Han's quarters."
"Then he was framed!" Luke exclaimed. "Han would never try to hurt me."
"That's what I thought, too," Leia said.
Thought. Past tense.
Luke shook his head. "You can't think—"
"I wanted to clear his name," Leia said. "I was just trying to get some information, so we'd have a place to start, but he's such a worrt-headed, hot-tempered—" She pressed her lips together, then lowered her gaze. "He broke out of custody," she said. "The Falcon lifted off without clearance and entered hyperspace. He's gone."
"But…" Luke trailed off, speechless.
"…why would an innocent man run? That's what General Dodonna said when I informed him. Maybe it's my fault." Leia gave herself a little shake, as if she was trying to slough off her doubts about Han—or maybe her loyalty to him. "Either way, he won't be back anytime soon, not after the send-off he got." She scowled in frustration. "I told those pilots just to warn him, not to fire."
"Rebel pilots attacked Han?" Luke yelped, lurching upright so quickly that a wave of dizziness swept over him. Leia put out a hand to steady him, but he shook her off. "Is he…?"
"He's fine," Leia assured him. "That ship may be a bucket of bolts, but he can still out fly anyone he—" She stopped abruptly, looking angry at herself. "Han's fine," she said brusquely. "You're the one in danger. And if Han didn't set those explosives—"
"He didn't," Luke cut in.
"Then whoever did is still out there," she
said. "Someone's after you, Luke, and for all we know, they're going to keep coming after you until you're dead. We have to get you out of here."
"You want me to run away?" Luke asked incredulously.
"Just until we get to the bottom of this," Leia said. "Think about it—we can't trust anyone."
"But—"
"The Rebel Alliance needs you, Luke." Leia held herself very still and upright, as she often did when she was trying to cover up some personal weakness. "You're too valuable to lose. Luke—please."
That was as close as she would ever come to begging him, Luke knew, and he couldn't stand to see it. "Okay," he agreed. "Under two conditions."
"What?"
"First, you come with me."
"I'm needed here!" Leia protested.
"If I'm in danger, you could be, too," Luke reasoned. "And I'm not leaving you here to face that alone."
"What's the second condition?" Leia asked, in a weary tone that made it clear she would give in.
For the first time since waking up, Luke smiled. "I get to pick where we go."
Pathetic, X‑7 thought, approaching the room where Luke was recuperating. There were no guards, no droids, nothing. As if two sentries posted at the entrance of the medcenter would be enough to keep their most valuable patient safe. Certainly, they wouldn't be enough to keep him safe from X‑7, who was waved along with a nod and a friendly grin.
These Rebels, so trusting.
So stupid.
X‑7 reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the jet injector. Less than four centimeters long, it fit snugly in the palm of his hand. When X‑7 placed a hand on his wounded friend's shoulder, no holocam would catch the tiny pinprick, the injection of two milliliters of Sennari, a toxin with lethal effects.
Sennari usually killed within seconds, but for situations like this, X‑7 preferred to use a slow-acting variant of the poison. Luke would fade away in the night, long after X‑7 had left the room. As the toxin was absorbed, organs would shut down, one by one. Within hours, the toxin would disappear from Luke's bloodstream, undetectable by even the most expert doctors. Luke's total system failure would appear a natural process. Unfortunate, unavoidable.