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The voice woke him. As usual.
Are you planning to sleep through the day?
Han Solo managed to pry a crusted eye open and tried to focus on his tiny, unkempt room. Something had crawled into his mouth to die during the night. He had the sneaking suspicion that it had been his tongue.
Wake up! The voice echoed in his head without bothering to deal with his ears first. It was impossible to ignore it, no matter how much Han wanted to.
"I am awake," he growled, proving his point by rolling himself unceremoniously onto the dirty floor. The cold of the plasticrete tiles served to jolt him to something resembling full alertness. He really was going to have to start paying his bills.
There was a sensation in his head - a feeling that someone was sharing his eyes. Han ignored it for the time being. Sooner or later he would track down enough spice to give his lodger a killer headache.
Have you thought about what I said?
"I already said no." Han kicked aside something that looked half-decayed and made his way to the room's tiny sanitation station. The man in the cracked mirror had too much gray hair and heavy bags under his eyes.
The voice managed to glower at the inside of his head. Kriffing stubborn idiot. They need your help. There was no need to say what "they" it was talking about.
Han decided to skip the spice and go straight for the good stuff. Once he figured out how to scrape up the credits for the landlord. "I tried that," he pointed out as levelly as he could manage. He only sounded slightly murderous today. "You were there. You know what it got me."
The voice had the decency to sound embarrassed, but it kept on anyway. You have a son who needs you and you had a wife who loved in you. Trust me, that's enough if you know anything.
"If Ani needs someone, you go look after him."
I can't. The voice was frustrated now. She tied me to you, remember?
Han remembered. Trust Leia to pull a stunt like that. He had first heard the voice while staring up at the vanishing tail lights of a fighter twenty years ago, understanding too late...
It had taken him a while to realize just who he had occupying the back of his head. Or whatever it was Jedi did.
Although he hesitated to call the voice a Jedi. No matter what Leia had said.
The prophecy is starting, the voice pressed. The Sith know it. If you aren't on Tatooine when the Circle begins to spin, you will lose your son as you lost your wife.
Han hunted for a really crushing reason why he should stay exactly where he was, relatively safe on Ord Mandell. If only he could get a coherent thought instead of a mess of memories.
If only there was a way to see Ani again.
The voice sighed. I can't make you do this, it said finally. It has to be your choice.
Now he knew where Leia had learned her guilt-trip thing. "Who am a looking for?"
You'll know when you find them.
"That's not helping me."
The voice seemed to shrug. If I could do any better, I would. It would be easier if you weren't as blind to the Force as a womprat in a windstorm.
"Watch your mouth." Han shoved himself away from the mirror and started rummaging for a shirt that came within a few sectors of clean.
Just when you were comfortably at rock-bottom, you could always trust your father-in-law to make things worse.
***
Aunt Olivea was the one who first noticed the noise, which should not have surprised Ben at all; she was always the most observant. She set down her plate of bread and dried meat, frowning off into the distance. "Did you hear something?"
Uncle Gavin did not even look up. "Farstrider probably forgot to tie up his bantha."
"It sounded louder than a bantha cub." Abandoning supper, Aunt Olivea stood up and made her way to the stairs. "I'll be right back," she said as she started up.
"It's nothing," Uncle Gavin called after her, more as a parting shot than anything else. But despite his light tone, he did not look like he believed his own words.
Ben glanced at Sasha, who shook her head. She had not heard anything, either. She seemed focused on Uncle Gavin - so focused that Ben suddenly realized what she must be planning. She was going to ask about applying to the Academy again. That had to be it.
But why in the galaxy did she have to bring it up now, when everyone's nerves were frayed?
"Father?" Sasha cleared her throat. "Actually, I was thinking about how you were planning to talk to Brin Farstrider's son. He's good with tools - better than me. I don't think you need me here next year."
Uncle Gavin watched her warily. "What are you getting at?"
Sasha took a deep breath and forged onward. "I want to submit my application to the Academy this year."
Silence. Complete and utter silence.
Then, finally, Uncle Gavin spoke. "No."
"Why not?"
Ben tried to scoot away from the two combatants without looking too obvious about it.
"Do you want to spend the rest of your life following orders?" Uncle Gavin asked sharply. "Do you want to be hated throughout the galaxy?"
"Imperials aren't hated!" Sasha shot back. "It's just you, Father - just you and Aunt Olivea. The Empire's the future and I'm not going to be forgotten just because you can't accept that!"
Ben could almost see the rage boiling under Uncle Gavin's face. Sasha had really done it now.
"I'll…I'll just go check on the garage," he said weakly, standing up so quickly that he almost sent the table toppling. Neither his uncle nor his cousin seemed to hear him.
"I lost a lot of family because of that future of yours," Uncle Gavin growled. "I've seen people - good men and women - turned into monsters because they thought like you! You're staying here like Ben! It's a good life!"
Sasha gave Ben a murderous look. He was going to get an earful tonight. Sith and sand, why'd you two have to bring me into this?
"Fine!" Sasha's aim was as good as it had always been. The plate shattered against the wall, sending fragments of pottery and food everywhere. "That's just fine, Father! Staying here won't bring your fragging rebellion back. I want to change something!" Her voice caught on a sob. "And I'm going to, damn it." She turned around and stormed off to her room.
Ben edged to the door. He almost made it before Uncle Gavin pinned him with a sharp look. "Where are you going, boy?"
"Looks like I'm going nowhere." He shoved open the door and slipped into the blissful silence of the garage, almost shaking with pent-up rage. Not at Sasha or Uncle Gavin, not really - just at the unfairness of the universe in general. Why'd they have to bring me into it? I'm not part of their fragging fight!
Blue twittered anxiously from his corner among the tools, his single blue 'eye' glowing with what Ben liked to think was concern. He smiled tightly at the little droid. "How're you doing?"
The droid whistled thoughtfully. Ben sighed and leaned on the garage wall. "You and me both."
***
At one point a pleasant chime had played whenever someone wished to enter one of the small complex's rundown, filthy apartments. Perhaps due to some landlord's sick sense of humor, it now had a harsh, unceremonious beep designed not only to wake the dead, but also to get them into proper military formation as soon as possible.
The small room's occupant threw a boot in the general direction of the door. "Go away."
"Hal? Get out here or you'll be breathing space dust."
Oh, frag. Valin Horn - known variably as Hal and Evil Son of a Hutt in the more decently notorious parts of the galaxy - sighed and started to pull on the nearest pieces of clothing.
"Hal!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered. "Seal your word port already."
"Your captain?" Melody asked. The young woman rolled onto her back, settling into the groove Hal had left on the small, lumpy cot. "It's not even six hundred," she growled as she scooped up her cheap chronometer. "I'll tell him where he can blast it."
"Sorry. No can do." Hal glanced at himself in the cracked mirror and smoothed his tousled brown hair. Barefoot, he made his way to the door and unlocked the door. "Alright. Come in."
Solo stormed in and glared at him, an effect spoiled by two days worth of stubble and stains on his shirt. "We're leaving in a chrono. Get ready."
Hal gaped at him. "A chrono?" he echoed. "Slag that."
"Where does he have to go this time?" Melody demanded. Somehow she had managed to find a clean jumpsuit and fix her hair into a sloppy black bun. Unlike Hal, whose respect for Solo bordered on grudging, she regarded the captain with open contempt. "If Black Sun wants their spice, they can wait like everyone else."
"This isn't about Black Sun." Solo's voice did not change, but Hal could almost feel the intense stare boring into the back of his head. And suddenly he realized what the real message was.
It was his father's fault. If Hal had been born on Nar Shaddaa or Ord Mantell or some other decent location, he would not be where he was now: running spice and funneling the funds into the Rebellion. But no, he was a Horn, son and grandson and who knew what else of law-abiding CorSec officers. His father was probably still back home sitting happily at a desk and pretending that everything was well with the galaxy.
That sort of blind devotion to duty was not the life for him. Oh, no. Not for Hal Horn. But somewhere along the way he had picked up anti-Imp feelings. And because his family always took things into their own hands instead of letting events run their course, here he was, one of the namless rabble supporting the Alliance.
Only how was he supposed to tell Melody that? How was he supposed to turn to her and say that he was risking his life for a dead cause?
"Mel?" He looked back at her and tried to figure out how to form the words.
She understood anyway. "You have to go, don't you?" Even her disapproving frown was pretty. "I've got a job in a couple of days. There'll be credits when we get back."
"Right." A job. Melody's jobs were dangerous - anything that involved stealing from wealthy gangs was inherently so. Hal made himself smile. "I'll be back in a little bit. It's only a spice run." Solo's face tightened. For the moment, he ignored what that might mean. "Just a spice run," he repeated.
"Come on, kid. We need to get going."
Melody hugged him quickly before turning her glare on Solo. "Do you want him going out like this?" she snapped, gesturing to Hal's state of dress - or lack of, anyway. "Give us a minute." Without waiting for a response, she slapped the control pad and shut the door in Solo's face. "Sith-loving two-faced space slug. What's this about, Hal?"
"Just a spice run." Hal met Melody glower for glower. He had known her less than a year and, more than ever, he was beginning to realize that he had probably met his match in her. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"No. I don't." Melody sighed and tossed him a clean shirt. "Here. The one you're wearing looks like Solo's. What's going on, Hal?" she asked as she retrieved her blaster and strapped it on. "I could see it in his face. This isn't a normal run."
"I don't know." That, at least, he could say honestly. "Maybe a big job."
"A big job," she echoed flatly. "Hal Horn, if you get yourself killed, I will personally disintegrate you."
"Same goes for you." He tugged on his boots and tucked his blaster and vibroblade in their holsters. "If you die, I'll hand you over to the Imps."
Melody's jaw worked as she tried to come up with a good retort. Then she smiled. Nothing else in the universe could possibly have been more beautiful. "You look scruffy."
"I do not," Hal protested despite all evidence to the contrary.
"Yes. You do."
"And you'd fit right into the Emperor's court, I'm sure." He leaned over and kissed her briefly. "Be careful."
"You too, nerfherder." Abruptly she was all business again, planting her hand in the small of his back and shoving him to the door. "Get going before Drunk and Smelly comes in looking for you."
Hal grinned and tossed her a mock Imp salute as he headed out into the shabby corridor. He had one last look at Melody's face before she closed the door behind him. She could be a courtesan, he decided after a moment. Only she'd turn the Empire on its head.
"Where to?" he asked aloud.
"Tatooine."
"Tatooine?" Hal stared at Solo. "What's there besides sand and more sand?"
Solo just looked straight ahead, ignoring the bottle shards and garbage crunching under his boots. "I don't know. A job."
"With who? Jabba died years ago."
"I don't know." Solo looked at him just long enough to snap, "Now stop asking questions or you'll find yourself floating home."
And that seemed to be the end of that.
***
Great, Alai Luwellaen thought irritably. If there's a bright center of the universe, this must be the planet it's the farthest from. She brushed her blond braid out of her brilliant blue eyes, frowning at the rapidly approaching desert planet as if she could extract its secrets simply with the force of her stare. The two pilots in the transport's small cockpit watched her nervously, no doubt knowing that she held special standing - and certainly unsure what she had done to warrant favor in the Emperor's eyes.
She smiled tightly, eliciting a worried twitch from the older pilot. I could kill you in a nanosecond, she told them silently. But I won't. You aren't worth my time. The power of that knowledge - of that surety - gave her the same thrill it always had. I am greater than you. I am greater than the Emperor. No one else has the blood of two Sith lords in her veins.
"Lord Rage," she said calmly. "We are approaching Tatooine. Troops should be setting down in the targeted settlements momentarily."
The hologram flickering between the two pilots nodded slowly. He should not be intimidating, but Alai knew too much to take this particular Sith apprentice lightly. After all, he was the reason she had no true family. She had seen him slay her parents when she was just a child. She feared him in many ways - more than she feared the Emperor.
"Proceed," he ordered curtly.
Alai nodded. "As you wish, my lord." She severed the connection with a gesture and turned to the pilots. "Order the other two transports to begin sensor sweeps over their assigned targets. Do not deploy troops unless further orders are received."
"My lady." The pilot nodded curtly and eased the small transport into the planet's atmosphere. Alai opened her mind to the sensations around her, smiling faintly when she felt the anxiety radiating from a few of the younger stormtroopers. As if there was anything to fear on this particular mission.
Sighing, she allowed her consciousness to explore the vast planet below, leaping from curiosity to curiosity as a few brilliant individuals caught her attention.
Abruptly she froze, every sense alert. No. That was not possible.
Jedi.
Rage sensed it too, then. She touched the thin cylinder hanging from her belt. There were no true Jedi left, of course, only those who claimed to be something long dead and gone. But she would not be caught off-guard. The Emperor's Hand feared no one.
***
"It's freezing in here," Ben growled, more to himself than Blue. He rubbed his arms against the sudden chill. It would not be the first time Sasha had messed with the climostat just to spite Uncle Gavin. I'm really going to tell her off this time, he told himself. A moment later, he smiled cynically. No, I won't. No one ever tells Sasha anything. And even if they would, she wouldn't hear them.
Suddenly anxious to be away from everything - even Aunt Olivea and her noises - he pushed open the garage doors and climbed into the bulky landspeeder, easing Blue up after him. "Come on. It's probably warmer out there even without a parka."
Blue beeped at him, clearly confused. Well, what did droids know? They could probably survive in deep space.
The wind in his hair and the exhilaration of flight - even in this rickety, cobbled-together piece of junk - was enough to dispel both the cold and the disgust with his family. Whooping more to scare Blue than anything else, he circled around the settlement a few times before heading out along the edge of the Dune Sea, following the run of the Jundland Wastes. He knew where he wanted to go. Hermit's Hut. No one else had gone to that old ruin in ages. And Sasha probably had no idea that it even existed.
Solitude. That was what he needed.
***
Olivea Darklighter barely heard the familiar whine of a landspeeder fading behind her. Her eyes were locked on the strange, glinting shapes descending through the star-sprinkled sky. A tiny, anxious twinge suddenly became full-blown fear. She knew Imp transports when she saw them.
"Olivea?" Shay hurried out of her garage. "I heard it, too. What - ?"
"Imps." She handed her microbinoculars to the girl wordlessly. "They're here for the message."
Shay shook her head. "There is no message. I've tried and tried to get it, but something's interfering." She glanced back at Olivea's home. "You don't think Gavin already has it, do you?"
"I already asked him. He hasn't seen it, either." Her heart hammering against her ribs, Olivea grabbed the girl's arm and shoved her roughly back toward the cluster of houses that made up Draco's Well. "Hide what you have. Destroy it if you need to. I don't want these people hurting because of us."
"You don't want Ben and Sasha getting hurt." Sometimes Shay seemed too old for her own good. "Don't worry. Get back and warn Gavin. I'll be fine." Casting one last look at the rapidly descending ships, she turned and ran on light feet back to her home.
Olivea shivered and pulled her shawl around her. She knew, in a way that went beyond instinct, that these Imps were after the message. Shay was her niece - the girl's mother, Callie Sunstrider, was Olivea's own sister - but that did not stop the hard-hearted thought that she was expendable. Everyone in the settlement was if it meant that the message could possibly survive. When the cause one believed in was so near death, it was almost impossible to see the fine line between necessity and recklessness.
Just let them survive, she thought desperately. Please, Maker. Just let Ben and Sasha survive.
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