Episode 1:
That's No Moon, That's My Ride
Or
Star-Heist of the Star-Lord
Part 9 – Han Solo, 12 Years After the Formation of the Galactic Empire
After, as the fires raged and the debris fell like rain in the night sky, Han Solo turned to the old Jedi Knight and said, "Hey, Ben."
"Hmm?"
"What the hell's the difference between the Force and just plain bad luck?"
An explosion ripped across the skies, and the night briefly turned into day as a new sun was born and then died moments later. "Sometimes I wonder."
-+-
Before, it all began with an argument about who was going to drive.
"She's the fastest ship we've got, Jyn!" said Han in his most reasonable and grown-up manner.
"It's a piece of junk that's going to get us kicked out of Canto Bight before we even taste atmo," shot back Jyn Erso, acting like a baby. For some damned reason she was still calling herself Bria Tharen, and right now Han Solo didn't feel like indulging her. "And don't think I don't see you trying to sneak that box of parts, Chewbacca. You put those back where you found them."
Chewie howled a protest, joining Han's own indignant yet manly growl. Jyn was unmoved, the stubborn martinet that she was. "The maintenance and repair budget is for maintenance and repair, not to juice up that overpowered hot rod more than it already is. I know exactly what kind of repairs you needed after the fight we just had, how much the parts came out to and how long it was supposed to take."
Han was about to raise an extremely cogent point, before being rudely cut off by the sullen teenager. "If you're about to say that Peter okayed your request, forget it. He doesn't run the books on this crew, I do." Then her expression, which had been somehow both icy stern and furious at the same time, turned calm, almost amused. "But if you're willing to pay retail for them out of your bonuses, that shouldn't be a problem."
"Retail?!" said Han, and if his voice sounded like a mynok's cry at that moment – well, who could blame him? "I thought we'd killed all the pirates."
"If you buy in bulk there may be a discount," she said, ignoring Han. "Give me a list of parts, and I'll get you an estimate. You do the upgrades on your own time, not crew time, or it'll be reflected on your next paycheck."
She took the box of parts from Chewie, staggering under its weight before steadying herself. Chewie only made a mild protest, before nodding dejectedly. "And if you're going to be busy with the Millennium Falcon, then we're obviously taking the U-Wing to Canto Bight." With that, Jyn shuffled off to wherever mean teenage girls went, probably finding new ways to make his life miserable, grunting but otherwise giving no other sign that the box was tearing her arms out of their sockets.
Chewbacca made a short growl, followed by huffing, if chagrined, laughter. Han looked at his co-pilot, nonplussed. "What in the stars do you mean? They're nothing alike! Anyway, you barely spent any time with her, so how could anyone, let alone that miniature harridan, remind you of her?"
Chewbacca responded, which only made Han sputter slightly in disbelief. "What do you know about 'coloring'? You're covered in fur!" More growling. "Oh, come on. Anyway, let's go over the Falcon and find out what we absolutely need. We'll probably have to find some competitive parts pricing, just to bargain Jyn down."
-+-
Exceptionally drunk on something nameless and clear as water, Han slumped down on the crash couch in the main hold, his feet on the Dejarik board. Tiny holographic alien monsters flickered on and through his legs, fighting ghostly battles.
"Maybe we made a mistake, Chewie," said Han, "and we should get out of here. Nar Shaddaa, or … or Ylesia."
Chewie growled softly from his position beneath the Dejarik board, lying down as he was on the cool deck. He had joined Han in drinking the nameless, clear alcohol and was now too drunk to stand.
"Yeah, I know, it's easy money most of the time. But I got into this to be my own boss! Fly when I want, where I want, and how I want. No strings, no ties, and especially nobody telling me what to do. All of my life, I've had bosses: Lady Proxima, Imperials officers … that one guy, you remember. I shot him before he shot me? What was his name …."
Chewie mulled it over, and then grunted. "Right, Beckett." He took another pull from the bottle of alcohol, then passed it down to his co-pilot. "You know, all of them at one point or another have tried to kill me. But somehow that harpy Jyn Erso or whatever she's calling herself is the worst of the lot."
Chewie protested, coming in the defense of the brunette tyrant. It would have been much more forceful if he wasn't slurring his words almost to the point of incomprehensibility. Luckily, Han Solo's skill with languages was second to none. "Huh?"
Chewbacca repeated himself, speaking more slowly this time. "Oh. That's just 'cause you've got a soft spot for kids." Chewie again protested, though he couldn't hide his sheepish embarrassment. "Yeah, you know you do. It's why you didn't kill and eat me back on Mimban."
When Chewbacca didn't respond, Han rolled slightly to this side and saw that his friend had fallen asleep. His barrel chest rose and fell like a particularly hairy tide, his toothy maw wide open. Thankfully, the Wookie hadn't started snoring. "You sleep tight, buddy."
Han rose out of the crash couch, and wandered through the passageways of the Millennium Falcon. The heavily modified light freighter had punched far above its weight in the battle against the many pirates, but it had also sustained some damage in the fight. In the last couple days after the battle, after they'd gathered up everything worth gathering, and then flown to another equally deserted solar system to hide, Han and Chewie had spent all of their time making repairs to their ship. Thankfully, most of the damage was superficial: carbon scoring on the outer hull, and some electrical damage to the main hyperdrive – though how that'd happened was unknown.
The only sounds in the ship's passageways were the buzzing of the lights and his own footsteps. They'd shut the power plant down earlier, and the Falcon was running on its batteries – enough to keep the electronics working but nothing more. It lent an eerie stillness to the light freighter. He missed the purring vibrations of the fusion reactors, the shaking of the engines and the screams of the thrusters.
Hmm. Han made a mental note to himself to check the Falcon's sound dampeners and insulation.
When he'd been a child on Corellia, even before he's been a scrum rat for Lady Proxima, Han had dreamed of travelling in the stars on his own ship. The great floating arsenal of Corellia would block the skies day and night, but sometimes, just sometimes, there would be a sliver of pure infinite blackness that he would be able to catch. They were precious for their rarity when he was a child, and when he grew older and escaped Corellia they became precious for other reasons.
In the three years since he'd won the Falcon, Han Solo had flown to those very stars, from the Inner Core to the Rishi Maze. He'd made some friends, made more enemies, won fortunes and lost them. Honestly, more lost than won. And he never once looked back; never once went back to Corellia. Because that wasn't home; the stars were. The Falcon was.
But now his home was inside another ship. Did that make the Weaver his home? No. Did it make Quill's crew family? Hell, no. Gang wasn't family; teammates weren't family. Maybe nobody was family. Chewie came close, but was he family? What did that word even mean? Han had had a father once, and a mother, too, maybe. Han Solo had been born at an Imperial recruiting station, motherless and fatherless. He had no people, then. Would he ever? Did he want that?
For a moment, an image of himself as a husband and a father came into his head. He'd show his children how to fly the Millennium Falcon, the boy in the co-pilot seat sitting on Chewie's knee and reaching for the controls, while the girl was on his own knee laughing cheerfully. His wife would look at them all, smiling a smile that was reserved just for him. Before he could capture that perfect picture, to truly see the face of his wife and children, it was gone.
Han slumped down next to the main hyperdrive, the one that was twice as fast as any other ship in the galaxy, the one that he had been walking towards unconsciously. He patted its frame fondly. "Whenever I'm off on an adventure with you, I smile."
-+-
In the end, in a show of his superior negotiating skills, Han and Chewbacca piloted the Millennium Falcon to Canto Bight, conceding only in having to take along Kenobi and Luke. Meanwhile, Quill, Aphra and Jyn flew separately to the Field.
"So what's this switch do?" asked Luke, almost venting their fuel and killing them while in hyperspace. Chewie stopped him before the idiot kid could do it, and the tow-headed womp rat slumped back into his passenger seat.
Yep, Han came out the winner, there.
"Why do you have an instant-kill switch?" asked Luke, pouting slightly.
"It's not a … look, there are times when …. Ah, forget it." Didn't he know anything about ships? Who was teaching this kid piloting, anyway? Han sighed deeply, defeated. It didn't help that Chewbacca was chortling smugly beside him. "When we get back, I'll set up the simulator for a light freighter, alright? Maybe if you – not me, you – can convince Jyn or Aphra, they'll simulate the Falcon for us." Good luck with that one, Luke. Aphra made Han seem like a beacon of altruism and charity; hell, most Hutts were probably spendthrift bleeding hearts compared to her. Jyn, meanwhile, was such a prickly pear that Luke was more likely to be cut than get what he wanted.
Han looked back at the boy, who was still enjoying his first time in the Falcon's cockpit, and smirked.
"What?" Luke asked, suspicious. Han only smiled even wider. "What?"
"It's nothing, kid." The boy was practically screaming about how infatuated he was with Jyn. When he wasn't working or training, Luke followed Jyn around like a baby bird and his mama. Mostly Luke kept silent around the girl, content to just bask in her moody presence, and other than a few glares, and shouting about getting back to work, Jyn all-but ignored him. "They make a cute couple, don't they, Chewie?"
Chewbacca laughed in roaring agreement, causing Han to chortle. He continued chuckling, Luke's bleating protests trailing behind him, as Han left the cockpit to check on the ship. All of the indicator lights were good, but that didn't mean that nothing was wrong. The Millennium Falcon was technically a light freighter, and it hauled cargo like a light freighter, but it was armed and armored like a combat ship. It had combat-grade armor and shields, and laser cannons straight from a Star Destroyer. Its role in the recent pirate fight as a corvette, guarding the Weaver from the pirate ships by flying a defensive loop around the enormous heavy freighter, was really a more natural fit for the ship's capabilities than hauling small freight.
But because of its origins as a simple YT-1300f light freighter, that meant that the Falcon was a bit more temperamental . He and Chewie could – and have –defend their ship's honor to the death. But even he had to admit, if only to himself, that the Falcon wasn't the most reliable girl in the galaxy. The light freighter just wasn't designed for all of the after-market improvements that had been made over the years, most of them piecemeal. Han often daydreamed, usually when he was neck deep in the guts of the Falcon, covered in grease and electrical burns, of rebuilding the ship from the inside out: stripping her down to the frame, and rewiring and reinstalling everything. How much better, how much faster, how much more could the Millennium Falcon be if he could afford to do that?
Han could also imagine that someday, long after he was dead, the Falcon stuck on a tiny, insignificant dust ball like Tatooine working for the local defensive force on border patrol or something else equally mundane. Then Han imagined himself stuck on a tiny, insignificant dust ball like Tatooine, doing the same thing his father did: working for someone else until he was worn out and used up.
Here and now, though, he was the master of his own ship, free to go where he pleased and act as he pleased. And right now, he was pleased to run checks along the electrical grid with his meter and was gratified to find nothing wrong. The hyperdrive was running smoothly, for once, and the life support was pumping clean. What a day for miracles.
"I am put in mind of a mother and her newborn babe," said a voice from behind Han. He quickly spun around, a hand on the butt of his blaster and about to draw, before he saw who it was.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people, old man," growled Han at Obi-Wan Kenobi. The mad old wizard had exchanged his brown robes of roughly woven wool for a black and white cape that was wrapped around his body, concealing everything else. It had been done at Jyn's insistence for their cover, that of a rich man – Kenobi – being flown to Canto Bight by Han and his crew. He also had on a multi-tiered matching hat, one which should have been ridiculous on the older man but was actually, and annoyingly, handsome on the Jedi Knight. All in all, he was the picture of a rich Inner Core dandy, out on holiday to the exotic and dangerous Outer Rim, and far from the sand-beaten beggar he'd appeared when Han first saw him. "It's rude."
Ignoring Han, Kenobi said, "It is a magnificent ship, your Millennium Falcon. Deceptively … weather-beaten, but nevertheless something in which you can rightfully take pride."
Han briefly preened, always ready to hear compliments about his girl, but then scowled. Nobody offered up praise just to give it; it was bait and trap all at the same time. He'd been conman enough to know that much. "And?"
"Just that," Kenobi replied. He began to walk away, before stopping just as the bend of the ship's passageways took him out of sight. "You've been a good teacher to Luke. Thank you. I hope that you remain so."
Han stayed where he was, unable to respond.
-+-
Canto Bight, the playground for the rich and decadent, and was the only city on the planet Cantonica. It boasted the largest artificial ocean in the galaxy, and the desert which was the rest of the planet was artfully and artificially reshaped into a beautiful desolation. Cantonica was the jewel of the Corporate Sector, a haven from the troubles of the galaxy and the most loyal of the Empire's subjects.
Or so said the brochure that Han was reading as he waited in line at customs. But Han knew differently. Once, when the Empire was just forming, the Corporate Sector had been a center of resistance against joining it. Smugglers ran through Imperial blockades in a steady stream, running guns to the mercenary armies and rebels that fought a losing fight against the Imperial war machine, and taking everything they could out from the Sector – spice, precious jewels and metal, even people. In the end, the Empire won, because of course it had.
On the surface, the Corporate Sector was just what the brochure made it out to be: a peaceful oasis, under the hard iron hand of the Empire. Beneath that, though, there were pockets of rebels here and there. Not enough to cause trouble, because the Corporate Sector wouldn't allow itself to be a battleground again, but it was here that a lot of those that hated the Empire came to rest between rotations of useless terrorist attacks, and to gather materiel for their next propaganda demonstration, the only point of which was to soothe their fragile rebel egos. Not that Han was complaining. The Corporate Sector may not have been the smuggler's paradise that it once was, but there was still plenty of work to be found, whether it was with those rebels or with some other brand of criminal.
Still, even a former scrumrat from backend of the Inner Core like Han could appreciate that surface peace, if only for a little bit. The wide streets filled with hawkers and tourists, the gently sloping rooftops that rose like stubby mushrooms from the rolling hills of Canto Bight. Even if it was a manufactured grace and beauty, it was still graceful and beautiful. But most importantly, Canto Bight was somewhere new, and Han lived to go to new places. For a brief instant, he allowed his shields to come down a little and was a tourist himself rather than the seasoned spacer that he had become.
Han wasn't alone in enjoying the sights and sounds of Canto Bight. Luke darted here and there, shouting incomprehensibly about this tourist trap or that overpriced souvenir. He was impossible to keep track of or keep up with, so after Chewbacca refused to grab and carry him, the rest of them just walked along to their hotel, trusting that Luke would either catch up or die quietly on the streets.
But then Kenobi noticed Luke standing at the top of a hill, leaning out over the guardrail so much that only that he'd hooked his toes on the railing kept him from falling to his death. Han followed Luke's gaze, and saw the pure blue of the artificial ocean, made even more startling by its contrast to the golden colors of the otherwise desert planet. From here atop the hill, on the shores by the sea and being kissed by the cool, salty breeze filled with the smells of life, it was impossible to that the ocean was manmade. There, touched by the meeting of nature and nurture, Han calculated how much the contract would have been to transport all of that water from across the galaxy, not to mention all of the exotic sea life that populated it. He was dazzled for a moment at the number he came up with.
From Chewbacca's awed grumble, he felt the same way as well.
"Remember this," said Kenobi, as he also looked out at the ocean. "Life and death, movement and peace. It is moments like this that abide, not adventure or excitement."
"And all it took was fifty billion credits to make it," said Han, before Kenobi could infect Luke with more of his mystical nonsense. Chewie roared, gesturing at the perfectly blue sea, and Han nodded in agreement. "You're right, they would have juiced the Corporate Sector for all it's worth. A hundred fifty billion credits, easy. And the margins!"
Chewie and Han spent a relaxing walk to their hotel, discussing just how they would have increased their profits if they'd been part of the run to build the artificial ocean.
-+-
An hour at the casino, his neck throttled by the cravat that Kenobi had somehow convinced him to wear, Han watched bored at the dice game being played before him. He didn't know what the rules were, but that hadn't stopped him from losing money.
Looking around at the great and the good of the galaxy, Han wanted to shoot all of them in their smug, rich faces. The Canto Hotel and Casino was as carefully managed and opulent as the city itself; curving vaults from which golden light emanated down onto the games of pazaak and the spinning Jubilee Wheel; the servers in muted colors, carrying drinks from across the galaxy, their blasters and stunners kept delicately out of sight but not out of reach; and above all, and seemingly above them all, were the galaxy's truest scum. Dressed in wraps and robes that impeded all movement and required servants to put on, take off, and to do anything other than stand, or diaphanous silks that provided no protection from the elements, the galaxy's elite laughed and played in the Canto Bight playground.
Enough money to buy planets was tossed away like the shots that Han poured down his throat. If only the people wasting that money were as pleasant as the servers. Han let his eyes drift toward a beautiful togrutan woman, walking with a purpose that few in the casino showed, before turning back to the depths of his cups.
With Chewie glued to the Paradise Wheel, the old man back in the rooms Quill had booked for them, and Luke running around, Han was alone with his thoughts. And his thoughts kept going back to his childhood. Would he have ever imagined himself here, in this glamorous locale rubbing elbows with the upper crust of a million worlds, when he was young? Well, obviously yes, because he had been a stupid kid with idiotic dreams. But the reality, as with so many things in life, was more depressing than his dreams. The only thing which had never disappointed was flying. Sure, everything else that made flying possible was a pain in the ass, but the actual flying was still golden and magic.
Swallowing the last of his drink, Han stood up with a purpose. Enough of this maudlin nonsense. He would collect Chewie, find the dirtiest dive bar he could, and get some work of his own. This was his own time, and that mean that he was his own man again. To hell with Quill and his brunette harridans!
Even as he started walking to find Chewie, Han bumped into someone. Looking down, he saw that he had nearly toppled Luke over. The boy had stopped his fall by planting his back foot down to catch himself, something that he was sure Kenobi had taught him. What the old man should have been teaching Luke, though, was looking where he was going.
Han also saw that Luke wasn't alone. Just off to the side, close enough to touch but far enough to run away was a little redheaded girl. Though she was even younger than Luke, the girl had somehow mastered the art of glaring with her face entirely calm. It was an expression that said, you are doing everything wrong but I will deny being mad even though I am furious. Han had had it unfairly deployed against him by dozens of women across the galaxy, and this little girl was amongst the finest of them. And because she was so young, Han could not deploy his usual tactic of light flirting to disarm her as he usually would.
So instead he ignored her, and said to Luke, "What's got you in such a hurry?"
"I heard that they do podraces here, so I wanted to go watch," said the boy, obviously anxious to get away. "Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru never let me go, so I figured I'd do it now."
"Okay." Han couldn't help but smile a bit fondly. He'd been crazy about anything that could go fast when he'd been Luke's age, too. Hell, he was crazy about them still. Maybe after he got a gig, he could watch the podraces himself. "Who's your friend?"
"Her?" Luke pointed at the redheaded girl, and Han nodded. But before Luke could answer, the girl spoke up instead.
"My name is Lumiya," she said with a cool smile.
Author's Note:
And so starts the next arc of this story, the Canto Bight storyline. Much like the beginning of this story overall, it begins with a flashforward. So I'm making a promise to the audience that not only will there be explosions at the end, but Han will start calling Obi-Wan Kenobi "Ben."
This chapter is also the first one from Han's perspective, and we see that despite the tough exterior he's still pretty depressed about Qi'ra. It's been approximately three years since the events of "Solo: A Story Wars Story," and Han has hit a sort of quarter-life crisis. (Oh yeah, did you guys know that canonically, Han Solo was 32 when Leia was 19? So he would have been 35 and she 22 during Empire Strikes Back? Wild.)
I had quite a bit of fun writing from Han's perspective, and you'll note that the prose in the beginning goes out of its way to make him seem like the coolest dude in the universe but also makes fun of him. Because he's a Harrison Ford everyman character.
I think the most fun to write was his argument with Jyn Erso, because it's hilarious that big tough Han is losing a fight to a teenage girl over money. Because of course he is.
This chapter also saw the appearance of a little redheaded girl called Lumiya, which is a familiar name for those who know the old Star Wars Legends. So one might say that I'm drawing up Legends for inspiration for characters, which should be no surprise if you saw the poll I put up on this thread in Spacebattles. How closely she or anyone else like her will hew to Legends is something you'll have to read and find out. Also, who's that togrutan that caught Han's eye? Who knows.
Anyway, um, thanks for reading. Remember to comment, as comments are my life's blood.
