Between the Lines

By Susan Zahn

useakiss@gmail.com

“Hey, Luke!” An increasingly habitual frown marring his forehead, Solo stepped around a partially assembled Starfighter engine and rapped his bare knuckles on the metallic fuselage of the gutted X- Wing. “You in there?”

Luke Skywalker whacked his knuckle as his grip on the hydrospanner slipped. He let out a little curse and stuck the injured joint in his mouth as he emerged from the opened cockpit. Upon seeing who had startled him, however, the young commander’s expression brightened and he yanked the knuckle out of his mouth. “You’re back!”

“Observant as ever, kid. You got a minute?”

“Sure, Han.” Luke grabbed a rag draped over the edge of the cockpit and wiped the grime off his hands. Noticing the unpleasant expression on his friend’s face, Luke grinned. “Whoops. I take it you’ve already run into the princess.”

“You could say that,” Han supplied in disgust.

“She’s not too pleased with you. You’re lucky you were out of firing range for a while.”

“So I’ve noticed. That’s the thanks I get for helping her out. Listen,” Solo attempted to switch topics. “When you’ve got some spare time, Chewie and I could use an extra hand realigning the Falcon’s alluvial dampers. She took a hit over Argus and they were knocked out of sync.”

“Sure. I can help out now, if you want. Until the mech-techs are ready to refit that engine, I’m just wasting time right now anyway,” Luke said as he made a loose gesture towards the drive mechanism of the fighter.

“The sooner the better. I’ll never get Jabba off my back if I’m forever stuck in some blasted Rebel hideout working repairs.”

Luke had begun to extricate himself from the tight confines of the X-Wing cockpit, but he paused upon hearing the Corellian’s words. It had been a relatively long time since he’d heard Han talk about leaving the Alliance.

So that’s why Leia’s been in such a foul mood lately, Luke realized. Han and Leia usually bragged, quipped or otherwise bitched about the numerous times they worked together. On this occasion, however, Leia had remained close-mouthed about her successful mission to Ord Mantell. Although Luke hadn’t gotten the chance to grill Solo for details, the smuggler wasn’t volunteering any information either, and that definitely was out of character. By whatever tacit agreement, the reluctant duo was keeping Ord Mantell to themselves.

Far from jealous, Luke instead felt curious and not a little disappointed. Some time ago he’d accepted the rather obvious fact that Han was a better match for Leia. They stormed with one another at times, but otherwise seemed well-balanced. He thought their relationship progressed mind-numbingly slow at times, but progressed just the same, and he was glad. As entertaining as the arguments could be, the couple’s routine was getting old and Luke was no longer the only Rebel willing to play match-maker if it meant that some peace could be brought to their little corner of the civil war.

Han saw Luke’s hesitation and seemed to correctly interpret the look of concern. “Save the lecture for your cadets,” he said sharply as he stepped back to allow Luke room to descend from the fighter.

Luke slid down the hanging ladder and dropped to the icy deck with practiced agility, then rubbed his hands together to warm up his fingers. “You know I gave up 1ecturing you a long time ago. Like my uncle used to say, there’s no use pounding your head against the wall when there are perfectly good doors.”

“Thanks,” Han responded dryly. “That’s just the kind of third-hand wisdom I need right now.”

“Any time. There’s more where that came from,” Luke replied with a grin as he stooped down to shut off the remote for the space heater he’d been using to warm up the cockpit during his work. “So, how did your shuttling to Sullust—”

Luke’s sentence was interrupted by the sudden but now familiar sharp crackle of the personnel address system cutting in. At first there was a stream of unintelligible noise, snippets of words and digital chatter, but then with atypical clarity came the words: “—won’t get bored. Try staring at these statistics and budget figures—”

Luke straightened up, ready to joke about the unpredictability of the base intercom.

“That’s Leia,” Han said with an abrupt intensity that made Luke halt mid-thought and pay more attention to the broadcast conversation as well.

“—ask you something personal? You’ve…question for weeks. That hostility wasn’t—”

“Leia and Lieutenant Aldritch,” Han amended. His alert posture and the set of his dark eyebrows demonstrated his concentration.

“Yeah,” Luke stated. “That’s definitely them. Say, maybe we should go tell them—”

Han gave up his vigorous hushing gestures towards Skywalker and clamped his large hand over the Tatooin’s mouth as he hissed, “Will you put a lid on it, kid!? I’m trying to listen.”

“—don’t know. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the place, or just our moods, or the wine, the music…—from him, wasn’t it? He was so charming, so…— couldn’t resist anymore. I didn’t want to. No, no, we didn’t…you know…but I think we came very close. I stopped it before—”

Luke had pulled away from Han and was about to stress again that they should warn her of the open link, but her last words made him stop in his tracks and look at the smuggler as if just seeing him for the first time. So something had happened between them after all. Now it was all starting to fall into place.

“—And he’s mad at you now? No, he wasn’t mad about that at all…—was so nice. And that surprised you? Well, yes…—thought we had reached an understanding. I thought maybe…—the attack, but…he refused my—”

The link began to break up and Han practically growled in frustration. His eyes scanned the carved-out hanger ceiling for the PA speakers as if willing them to continue broadcasting.

Having heard enough, Luke stepped out of Solo’s reach and directed a chastising glare at him. He was disturbed by the look of gratification that had transformed the smuggler’s face. “Han, that’s as bad as eavesdropping.”

Han tossed back a look of disbelief at Skywalker’s exercise in virtue. “It’s over the frackin’ intercom, kid! What do you want me to do, stick snow in my ears? Besides, she’s talking about me. That makes it my business. Now shut up, would you?”

“—two years he’s flirted and tugged at me, and—afraid he would just hurt…—don’t think he would have pursued you for so…—attracted to him. Yes, he’s gorgeous, but that’s hardly…—for this long if he didn’t think you…—war has cost me nearly everything already. I can’t invest—”

With a final uncomfortably loud crackle of static, the intercom switched off as abruptly as it had cut in.

Luke glanced around, now conscious of just how quiet the entire hanger had become. Deck crews, mech-techs, pilots and soldiers alike seemed to have halted mid-task, their heads tipped upwards in positions of attentive listening, just as caught up in the drama. Then someone made a muffled comment, no doubt at the princess’ expense, and a wave of laughter rippled from one end of the hanger to the other from some no doubt inappropriate joke as it was passed along.

Mortified for Leia’s sake, Luke turned back to look at Han. He half expected the smuggler to chortle in self-satisfaction, if not wholehearted triumph. Instead, Solo’s expression had turned unreadable as he stared unseeing at the metallic innards of the Starfighter. Any sign of gratification had disappeared. Then he too seemed to become aware of the amused looks from the surrounding base personnel directed toward him.

Atypically subdued, Han nodded his head towards the side alcove in which the Falcon was docked. “Come on, kid. I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he growled.

Thermal head gear, goggles and thick scarf tucked under his arm, Han Solo leaned against an icy stalagmite. His attention was divided between watching the Rebel tauntaun handlers tack up his mount, and a careful study of the fit of his thick insulated gloves as he mulled over recent events.

The repairs he’d planned for his ship had progressed fast in the last few day’s, until yesterday morning. Standing beneath the Falcon with Chewie beside him, he’d realized there was nothing left that he could afford to fix or that the Rebel Alliance stores could supply. Chewbacca had queried with his typical aplomb of what to do next. Equally adapt at reading his co-pilot’s unsaid thoughts, Han had felt that Chewie’s taunt was overkill. They both had known there was no longer any official reason to stay.

Han would never accuse Luke Skywalker of good timing, but he had to admit that for once the kid had entered right on cue. Luke had come bounding up to them at that moment, disproportionately excited, Han reflected now, considering what they were about to do in the name of duty. “You didn’t sign up yet?” Luke had asked with mild disappointment, obviously having expected Solo to join the growing roster of tauntaun jockeys. “We could really use the help, Han. You’d balance out the rotation of riders.”

Han was torn between his growing desire to finally deal with Jabba the Hutt face to face, and his disinclination to leave the Rebellion now that he knew for a fact, no matter how he’d acquired the information, that Princess Leia wanted him as more than ‘just a friend.’ The timing was ironic, moronic and typical. He found himself forced to make a quick decision; hadn’t he already put off paying Jabba for years? What difference would a few more days make? Chewie could find something to do to pass the time.

Han’s thoughts were brought back to the present by the appearance of Luke. The kid was decked out in his own Alliance-issue cold weather gear. “Hi, Han. All set?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, kid.” Han pushed away from the pillar of frozen water and began gearing up. “Let’s get this over with.” The Corellian pilot stepped up to his saddled mount and grasped the proffered reigns from the handler. With a helpful boost from another handler, he swung himself up into the saddle of the tauntaun.

Luke paused at hearing his friend’s dispassionate tone, and watched Han as he tried to settle himself comfortably into the saddle. Something clearly was bothering the young man but Han wasn’t going to dwell on it.

“Hey, Luke! Snap out of it or we’ll never get those sensors placed before nightfall.”

Luke looked up from where his gaze had settled upon the snow covered tarmac to find Han frowning down at him from his tauntaun. Forced to shift in his saddle to keep Skywalker in view as the tauntaun sidled around, Han wrapped the reins more securely around his hands, and looked back down again. “You okay, kid?”

“Sure, Han.” He gave a teasing salute towards his friend and walked up to his own mount to pat her on the snout. “Come on, girl. Let’s show that Corellian what real riding’s all about.”

Recognizing the tossed gauntlet, Han let out a self-confident chuckle as he tugged the reins of his mount in the direction of the open hanger shield door. “Last one to the first marker’s a Hutt’s uncle!” With that challenge, Solo let out a whoop and prodded his ride until she was racing past the rows of X-Wings toward the shield door.

“Cheat!” Luke accused with a laugh as he mounted his own tauntaun and spurred his ride to follow.

“Chewie!”

The preoccupied Wookiee looked up from his busy work, spotted his captain, and let out a frustrated bellow. “Next time, you can overhaul the ion conduits. It was your idea.” For emphasis, Chewbacca waved the macro-fuser he’d been using, then whacked it against the Falcon’s hull. “It’s your damned ship.”

Wincing at the latest scratch inflicted on his ship, Han held up both hands in placation, for the sake of the Falcon as much as his own well-being. “All right, don’t lose your temper. I’ll come right back and give you a hand.”

“Famous last words,”Chewbacca grumbled before turning back to his work. He had a good idea where his captain was heading and knew from experience that Han was usually anything but helpful following a confrontation with the princess. “Humans!” Sometimes he just could not understand their mating habits.

Wookiees! Han shook his head as he dumped his cold weather gear onto the holochess table aboard the Millennium Falcon. He shed his heavy parka next and tossed it atop the rest. Sometimes he still couldn’t figure out his partner. On the one hand Chewie would suggest that they continue to help out the Rebels, and then on the other prod Han with the fact that Jabba the Hutt was anything but a patient or forgiving being. A lot of help that was.

If there was one benefit from riding a tauntaun, it was the time it allowed Han to be alone with his thoughts. Although neither an easy nor comfortable choice, Han realized that the outstanding debt to Jabba took precedence over his tentative love life or any of the other reasons he’d managed for hanging around with the Rebellion since Yavin.

Events on Ord Mantell had proven that eventually one of the countless bounty hunters or other opportunists would track him down. If he maintained his ties, he could effectively lead those bounty hunters to the very threshold of the Alliance. He knew the Empire would pay generously for such a tip. Worse yet, Leia had already come within the direct fire of someone intent on collecting Jabba’s offered bounty. That single fact, more than any other, scared Han into a decision.

He had once feared that if he left to meet Jabba on the Hutt’s terms, he would sacrifice whatever ground he’d gained with the princess. But he realized now it was his very procrastination that had forfeited any other option. If he had paid off the Hutt immediately, he maybe could have already consummated his relationship with her and their entire situation would be different…but now there was little chance he would survive to come back.

“Let’s start with that.” Leia leaned over the shoulder of her assistant and pointed to one particular figure that appeared on the man’s screen.

“Three thousand credits?” the soldier-cum-CPA questioned, glancing up at her.

“It’s not realistic, even for a base this size. Not since the Empire began the trade embargo on Methus Major.” She sighed at the harsh reality of their limited monetary resources. Public support for the Alliance was increasing since their triumphant destruction of the Imperial Death Star, but so were their expenses. Warfare was not a cheap undertaking. “Change it to ten. We’ll just have to cut somewhere else.”

The man grunted, lost in thought. They both studied the readout in silence, searching for a possible candidate for cutbacks.

Abruptly, Leia had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. She dragged her eyes away from her work and turned to discovered Han Solo poised within the entrance to the Command Center. He was staring back at her. It was an electrifying connection and for an agonizing eternity she didn’t know how to react. Ever since her inadvertent and humiliating episode with the intercom system a few days ago, she’d managed to avoid him. Then again, it had been easier to dodge him than she would have expected. She had the distinct impression he was avoiding her as well; Solo had the knack for finding her at the most awkward of moments and exploiting them, but he hadn’t this time. She was confounded by the fact that he hadn’t gloated over the broadcast. Was it possible that he’d somehow missed the event, and that none of the many gossipers on base had felt duty-bound to fill him in on every sordid detail? That seemed highly improbable. More likely he was allowing the pay-back to hang over her head. That would be more Han’s style. Scoundrel.

She deemed a cool demeanor appropriate as she broke their mesmerizing exchange and turned away. Let him come to her if he had something to say.

A moment later, Leia overheard Solo’s conversation with General Rieekan and she couldn’t help but turn back. The two were standing at her empty post beside Lieutenant Aldritch.

“Commander Skywalker reported in yet?” Rieekan queried.

“No. He’s checking out a meteorite that hit near him.”

“With all the meteor activity in this system, it’s going to be difficult to spot approaching ships.”

There was an instant of uncomfortable silence that Leia could sense from across the room, before Han switched topics and announced loud enough for anyone prone to listening: “General, I’ve got to leave. I can’t stay anymore.”

Leia felt her soul splinter into painful fragments as she witnessed Solo’s declaration. Until that moment, she’d convinced herself that his renewed threats to leave had been just that—threats.

“Princess?”

But the illusion was over. Han’s decision to move on was now very official and very real. Fear, anger and desperation warred within Leia. Each demanded immediate action but she couldn’t choose which impulse to obey.

“Princess?”

Leia pulled her gaze away from the departing smuggler to find the accountant gazing up at her. “Perhaps our estimated costs for supply transports could be recalculated?”

They certainly could be if Han leaves. Without answering the accountant, Leia looked back in time to see the General shaking hands with Solo in a respectful farewell.

“You’re a good fighter, Solo. I hate to lose you.”

“Thank you, General.”

With visible expectation, and what Leia swore was trepidation, Han Solo turned on his booted heel, heading in her direction. Oh gods, not here in the Command Center. She throttled the impulse to turn and run in the opposite direction. Her fingers dug a little deeper into the cushioned headrest of the accountant’s chair, but she prided herself on the glacial facade she maintained as the smuggler drew near.

Han’s face, on the other hand, was anything but devoid of emotion. What Leia saw was perhaps one of the most honest and hopeful expressions she’d ever observed on the smuggler’s mobile face, certainly since they’d returned from Ord Mantell. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to melt once more for him, right there in front of everyone.

“Well, Your Highness, I guess this is it.”

The look of invitation caused Leia’s heart to nearly pound right out of her chest, but she’d been trained by the best. No appeasement, no surrender, no matter the color of his eyes. “That’s right,” she said in a soft and far too agreeable voice that left no room for debate.

Her response obviously was the last one Solo had expected. He failed at camouflaging the injury she inflicted by so easily accepting his departure. He swiftly assumed his familiar, well-worn sarcastic tone, but there was real anger beneath it. “Well, don’t get all mushy on me. So long, Princess,” he sneered, then swung around and marched toward the exit.

Leia turned to follow, her own emotions in a surging turmoil. What am I doing?! A very real and growing part of her desperately wanted him to stay, and yet she shoved him away with every biting word. Now frantic, Leia glanced around before her eyes settled on Lieutenant Aldritch, who had turned in her seat to watch the imminent confrontation. Leia felt an urge to seek her friends’ advice in hopes that maybe she would have an instant solution to keep Han from leaving.

Kristin seemed to read the princess’ confusion and made a simple gesture as she pointed toward the exit. Leia hesitated, without the slightest idea what she would say to Han if she did catch up with him. Kristin repeated the gesture with added insistence. “Go,” she mouthed impatiently.

Already short of breath, Leia surged toward the exit, and almost fell when she tripped over one of the cables laying across the floor. She reached out, grabbing hold of the closest computer bank to regain her balance, and then rushed out the door with as much decorum as she could muster.

“Han!”

Solo had almost disappeared around the comer of the hallway, but he stopped and swung around upon hearing her shout. “Yes, Your Highnessness?”

As she marched up to him, Leia could see that Han was in no mood to talk. His reluctance was something new to her. In the past he’d always encouraged their confrontations. She planted herself in front of him, determined not only to get an explanation for his latest change of heart, but to make her regal bearing match his advantage in height. “I thought you had decided to stay.”

“Well, the bounty hunters we ran into on Ord Mantell changed my mind.”

Ord Mantell. How she’d come to hate that name! She knew Han was in serious danger, and was right in his decision to go. She knew that. He was a danger to them all now. How could she argue with such common sense?

“Han, we need you!” she blurted out, hardly even aware of what she was saying. Her exclamation echoed as loudly in her head as it did down the icy hallway. She watched Han’s calculated reaction and realized the magnitude of her slip.

“‘We need’?” he threw back at her, radiating frustration.

Leia tried to look as if it were self-evident. “Yes.”

“Oh, what about you need?” Solo poked a finger at her to emphasize his point.

“I need?” He’d never been so blatant and insistent, and it left her stunned. What did he want from her, anyway, a proclamation of undying love? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Han audibly sucked his teeth and snapped his fingers in a rude dismissal. “You probably don’t.” He seemed to declare the game a draw as he began walking away.

Infuriated by his insult, she wasn’t about to let Solo get the last word this time. This was his entire fault, after all. His long legs gave him an easy advantage, forcing her to trot to keep up. “And what, precisely, am I supposed to know?” She didn’t bother to keep her voice down, oblivious to the base personnel that attempted to carry out their various duties in the middle of a battlefield. She struggled to match the Corellian’s pace and nearly collided with one soldier who managed to dodge to the side in time.

“Come on!” Solo waved both hands in exasperation as he strode ahead of her, as if he were stating a case of fact to the judge and jury of rebels around them. “You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me.”

“Yes!” She felt like a holo-disk stuck in repeat mode. How many times did she have to recite this litany? “You’re a great help to us. You’re a natural leader.”

Han stopped and turned back so fast that Leia had to skid to a less-than-graceful halt in order to avoid crashing into him. He stabbed a finger at her. “No! That’s not it. Come on.”

For one brief instant, in her desperation, she considered telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. He must have seen it in her eyes because he jabbed a finger at her again. “Aahhh, come on…”

The two combatants were forced to separate long enough to allow an innocent supplies-toting soldier to pass between them, and then Han leaned into her personal space with renewed intensity. He retracted the accusatory finger and tapped a thumb on his chest, leaving no doubt as to who had the upper hand this time. “Come on.”

“You’re imagining things,” she volleyed in a tone that failed to convince either of them. Why was she the only one to have to admit anything? Let him do it first!

Han Solo pounced. “Am I? Then why are you following me? Afraid I was going to leave without giving you a good-bye kiss?”

Leia felt her temper flare from the insinuation. She wasn’t the one who’d asked for a kiss back on Ord Mantell, or the other times he’d finagled them from her. She wasn’t the one who’d complained about how Luke was showered with friendly kisses for the simplest efforts while his own attempts to impress were rewarded with little more than a cautious thank-you and a multi-credit chip. The subject of kissing was clearly Han Solo’s obsession and button of irritation. In the heat of battle, Leia didn’t hesitate to push it. “I’d just as soon kiss a Wookiee,” she declared, perversely proud of the flash of renewed anger she saw in his eyes.

“I can arrange that.” Han Solo retorted. He abruptly ended their argument and stormed away. “You could use a good kiss!” he shouted over his shoulder, his baritone voice hoarse with aggravation.

Abandoned without the chance at a parting shot, Leia fumed. She glanced around in time to meet the masked smile of another Rebel soldier before he disappeared through the entrance to Supplies. Wonderful!

Fit enough to growl, Leia headed back towards the Command Center. Let the money grubbing smuggler fly off, if that’s what he wants so badly! She had enough troubles in her struggle against the Empire; she didn’t need this sort of pointless and unrewarding annoyance.

Leia sensed an instant change in the atmosphere of the Command Center when she returned. A few brave members of Head Quarters personnel sneaked furtive glances, but she ignored them. Leia didn’t doubt that every person in the Rebellion held an opinion regarding her and Captain Solo. Let them. In fact, she was tempted to pick up that blasted headset and put out a call for volunteers to handle her affairs directly since she was doing such an abysmal job of it.

Leia neared her empty post and noticed Kristin’s inquisitive gaze, but refused to acknowledge the silent question. She took her seat and stared at the compscreen, not moving.

A few minutes passed before General Rieekan dared to step up. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Your Highness.”

No kidding, Leia mused before glancing up.

Seeing her expression, Rieekan seemed to be thankful that Leia Organa was fighting on his side of the war. “It’s just as I feared. There’s been a recent increase in the amount of Imperial Naval activity in this quadrant of the sector. It’s very possible they were able to track our relocation efforts to some extent. I’m going to have to restrict any air traffic going in or out for the time being, at least until our energy shields are up and operating.”

Leia remained unmoved for a moment as the varied implications of the general’s decision ran through her mind. She didn’t even want to think about the possibility of their having to move yet again, when they hadn’t even finished setting up from the last evacuation. She was so tired of running, so tired of it all. Worse yet, she knew what Rieekan would say next. She could feel it.

“Of course, this restriction must extend to Captain Solo as well. We simply cannot risk drawing any further attention to Hoth. If the Empire detects his ship within this system, they’ll be curious why a lone freighter is so far from the main traffic routes. You can see the logic in this, can’t you, Your Highness?”

Surprised by General Rieekan’s qualifying question, as if he needed her approval, Leia nodded in total agreement. Under-staffing matters aside, she held no military rank within the Alliance command. The niche she had carved out for herself was one of supplies and economics.

“Normally,” Rieekan continued in a lower tone, now visibly uncomfortable as well, “considering your…acquaintance with Captain Solo, I would ask you to deliver the bad news, but…after taking recent developments into account, perhaps it would be wiser if I spoke with him myself.”

Leia barely contained a petulant sigh. While Rieekan was an old family friend from her youth, it irked her to know he was monitoring her personal affairs along with everyone else. “Thank you, General, but I’m perfectly capable of handling the task myself.”

“Very well, Princess.” As an afterthought, he added, “You might also ask Captain Solo if he’s seen Commander Skywalker yet. We’re having trouble with the commlinks again and he’s been out of contact for some time.”

Rieekan was about to step away, but then he paused to grip her shoulder. It was a subtle but comforting gesture before he moved on to other business.

You’ve done some truly idiotic things in your life, Han berated himself, but this is by far your best effort.

As the Corellian stormed down the carved-out corridor in the direction of the hanger bay, he paid little attention to the base personnel diving to the sides to avoid a collision.

Like an idiot who didn’t know better than to quit, he’d thrown himself at Leia’s feet. What did you expect? A full confession (another full confession!) right there in the middle of the Command Center? Leia Organa had made it quite clear that her affections were conditional, and he couldn’t meet her terms. Any sensible man would’ve cut his losses and left. She was as much of a lost cause as her precious freedom fighting…So why couldn’t he just give her up as lost?

His pace slowed and he watched his breath puff out in a frosty cloud of white. Less than four days and already he’d grown to loath Hoth. The climate seemed to match Leia’s disposition; she’d become about as malleable and passionate as an icicle. He knew she struggled to maintain her chilly facade; he hadn’t forgotten how much she’d responded on that hotel couch, and he wasn’t deaf. Princess Leia still wanted him, but he had to leave. He couldn’t think of a single damned thing he could do to help them.

Han reached the hanger bay just as the personal commlink clipped to his holster belt gave a high-pitched chirp. He unhooked the small device, raised it to his mouth and triggered the link. “Solo here.”

“You need to come back to the Command Center.” The feminine voice, alto and all-too-familiar, almost sounded contrite.

Han scowled down at the commlink as he ground to a halt. “What I need, Your Worship,” he growled, “is to get as far away from this Gods-be-damned chunk of ice—”

“Solo, would you just shut up and listen for—”

The satisfaction Han experienced as he switched Leia off mid-tirade was short-lived. Now more angry with himself than with the original source of his annoyance, Han resumed his march through the length of the ice cavern. You are one prize-winning fool.

The ambient light and air temperature within the hanger bay was dropping with the advance of night outside. Han wove his way through the parked X-Wings to avoid getting trampled by one of the returning tauntaun patrols. He spied his co-pilot standing beneath the Falcon’s hull, surrounded by a jumbled assortment of tools and scavenged parts; he must have found something to occupy his time. As Han drew near, however, he saw the Wookiee’s solution to boredom and his precariously balanced temper tilted.

“Chewie, what’re you doing!?” Frantic, Han ducked under the hull of the Falcon and ran a hand through his hair as he eyed the present state of his ship’s disassembled central lifters; it would be a full day’s work just to put everything back together.

Chewbacca looked up, mystified. “You told me to find something to do.”

Amazed that he hadn’t yet developed a persecution complex thanks to the combined efforts of his best friend and the princess, Han explained as if to a child: “I meant refasten the cable housing…flush the hyperdrive coolant…polish the decks!” Han furiously waved at the Falcon’s dismantled lifters. “Why do you take this apart now? I’m trying to get us out of here, and you pull both of these?!”

“Don’t yell at me,” Chewbacca defended himself in a rumble. “It isn’t my fault you can’t make up your mind—”

“Excuse me, sir.” See-Threepio butted in with his usual atrocious timing, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

Now mad at Chewie’s accusation, Han ignored the interruption and pointed a commanding finger at the scattered parts. “Put them back together. Right now!”

“Might I have a word with you, please?” Threepio insisted.

Still raging, Han swung around and directed a cross expression at the golden protocol droid. “What do you want?”

Threepio seemed to only now register Han’s mood. His took a defensive step back. “Well, it’s Princess Leia, sir. She’s been trying to get you on the communicator.”

Han glowered even more. Now the Ice Princess was sending Threepio after him—a dirty tactic, even for her. “I turned it off. I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Oh.” Not certain as to how to interpret the Corellian’s answer, Threepio continued: “Well, Princess Leia is wondering about Master Luke. He hasn’t come back yet. She doesn’t know where he is.”

Baffled that a protocol droid this incompetent could ever make it off the assembly line, Han shook his head. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Nobody knows where he is.”

All of Han’s anger washed away in a tsunami of concern. “What do you mean ‘nobody knows’?”

“Well, uh, you see—”

Not waiting for Threepio’s long-winded explanation, Han stepped past him and headed for the flight line. “Deck Officer! Deck Officer!”

“Excuse me, sir.” Threepio turned to follow the smuggler, even as the on-duty Deck Officer trotted towards them. “Might I inqui—”

Han clamped a hand over the droid’s voice-coder, muffling his chatter as Deck Officer Tibbert snapped to attention before him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know where Commander Skywalker is?” Han queried.

“I haven’t seen him.” The Rebel soldier relaxed as he shrugged. “It’s possible he came in through the south entrance.”

“‘It’s possible?’” Peeved by what he considered a lax attitude, Han pointed a stern finger at the officer’s chest. “Why don’t you go find out? It’s getting dark out there.”

“Yes, sir.” Chastised, Tibbert nodded and raced off to carry out the civilian smuggler’s orders without question.

Threepio, now released from Solo’s muzzling hand, trailed after him as the Corellian headed for the Falcon’s boarding ramp. “Excuse me, sir. Might I inquire what’s going on?”

Mind already elsewhere, Han simply answered. “Why not?”

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