by George Lucas
“Don’t give me that look,” he said sternly. “Every day more bounty hunters are searching for me. I’m going to pay off Jabba before he sends any more of his remotes, Gank killers, and who knows what else. I’ve got to get this price off my head while I still have a head.”
Leia was obviously affected by his words, and Han could see that she was concerned for him as well as, perhaps, feeling something more.
“But we still need you,” she said.
“We?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What about you?” Han was careful to emphasize the last word, but really wasn’t certain why. Maybe it was something he had for some time wanted to say but had lacked the courage—no, he amended, the stupidity—to expose his feelings. At the moment there seemed to be little to lose, and he was ready for whatever she might say.
“Me?” she said bluntly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Incredulous, Han Solo shook his head. “No, you probably don’t.”
“And what precisely am I supposed to know?” Anger was growing in her voice again, probably because, Han thought, she was finally beginning to understand.
He smiled. “You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me.”
Again the princess mellowed. “Well, yes, you’ve been a great help,” she said, pausing before going on, “… to us. You’re a natural leader—”
But Han refused to let her finish, cutting her off in midsentence. “No, Your Worship. That’s not it.”
Suddenly Leia was staring directly into Han’s face, with eyes that were, at last, fully understanding. She started to laugh. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I? I think you were afraid I was going to leave you without even a …” Han’s eyes focused on her lips, “… kiss.”
She began to laugh harder now. “I’d just as soon kiss a Wookiee.”
“I can arrange that.” He moved closer to her, and she looked radiant even in the cold light of the ice chamber. “Believe me, you could use a good kiss. You’ve been so busy giving orders, you’ve forgotten how to be a woman. If you’d have let go for a moment, I could have helped you. But it’s too late now, sweetheart. Your big opportunity is flying out of here.”
“I think I can survive,” she said, obviously irked.
“Good luck!”
“You don’t even care if the—”
He knew what she was going to say and didn’t let her finish. “Spare me, please!” he interrupted. “Don’t tell me about the Rebellion again. It’s all you think about. You’re as cold as this planet.”
“And you think you’re the one to apply some heat?”
“Sure, if I were interested. But I don’t think it’d be much fun.” With that, Han stepped back and looked at her again, appraising her coolly. “We’ll meet again,” he said. “Maybe by then you’ll have warmed up a little.” Her expression had changed again. Han had seen killers with kinder eyes.
“You have all the breeding of a Bantha,” she snarled, “but not as much class. Enjoy your trip, hot shot!” Princess Leia quickly turned away from Han and hurried down the corridor.
II
THE TEMPERATURE ON THE SURFACE of Hoth had dropped. But despite the frigid air, the Imperial Probe Droid continued its leisurely drift above the snow-swept fields and hills, its extended sensors still reaching in all directions for life signs.
The robot’s heat sensors suddenly reacted. It had found a heat source in the vicinity, and warmth was a good indication of life. The head swiveled on its axis, the sensitive eyelike blisters noting the direction from which the heat source originated. Automatically the probe robot adjusted its speed and began to move at maximum velocity over the icy fields.
The insectlike machine slowed only when it neared a mound of snow bigger than the probe droid itself. The robot’s scanners made note of the mound’s size—nearly one-point-eight meters in height and an enormous six meters long. But the mound’s size was of only secondary importance. What was truly astounding, if a surveillance machine could ever be astounded, was the amount of heat radiating from beneath the mound. The creature under that snowy hill must surely be well protected against the cold.
A thin blue-white beam of light shot from one of the probe robot’s appendages, its intense heat boring into the white mound and scattering gleaming snow flecks in all directions.
The mound began to shiver, then to quake. Whatever existed beneath it was deeply irritated by the robot’s probing laser beam. Snow began to fall away from the mound in sizable clumps when, at one end, two eyes showed through the mass of white.
Huge yellow eyes peered like twin points of fire at the mechanical creature that continued to blast away with its painful beams. The eyes burned with primeval hatred for the thing that had interrupted its slumber.
The mound shook again, with a roar that nearly destroyed the probe droid’s auditory sensors. It zoomed back several meters, widening the space between it and the creature. The droid had never before encountered a Wampa Ice Creature; its computers advised that the beast be dealt with expeditiously.
The droid made an internal adjustment to regulate the potency of its laser beam. Less than a moment later the beam was at maximum intensity. The machine aimed the laser at the creature, enveloping it in a great flaming and smoking cloud. Seconds later the few remaining particles of the Wampa were swept away by the icy winds.
The smoke disappeared, leaving behind no physical evidence—save for a large depression in the snow—that an Ice Creature had ever been there.
But its existence had been properly recorded in the memory of the probe droid, which was already continuing on its programmed mission.
The roars of another Wampa Ice Creature finally awakened the battered young Rebel commander.
Luke’s head was spinning, aching, perhaps exploding for all he could tell. With painstaking effort he brought his vision into focus, discerning that he was in an ice gorge, its jagged walls reflecting the fading twilight.
He suddenly realized he was hanging upside down, arms dangling and fingertips some thirty centimeters from the snowy floor. His ankles were numb. He craned his neck and saw that his feet were frozen in ice hanging from the ceiling and that the ice was forming on his legs like stalactites. He could feel the frozen mask of his own blood caked on his face where the Wampa Ice Creature had viciously slashed him.
Again Luke heard the bestial moans, louder now as they resounded through the deep and narrow passageway of ice. The roars of the monster were deafening. He wondered which would kill him first, the cold or the fangs and claws of the thing that inhabited the gorge.
I’ve got to free myself, he thought, get free of this ice. His strength had not yet returned fully, but with a determined effort, he pulled himself up and reached for the confining bonds. Still too weak, Luke could not break the ice and fell back into his hanging position, the white floor rushing up at him.
“Relax,” he said to himself. “Relax.”
The ice walls creaked with the ever-louder bellows of the approaching creature. Its feet crunched on the frigid ground, coming frighteningly nearer. It would not be long before the shaggy white horror would be back and possibly warming the cold young warrior in the darkness of its belly.
Luke’s eyes darted about the gorge, finally spotting the pile of gear he had brought with him on his mission, now lying in a useless, crumpled heap on the floor. The equipment was nearly a full, unattainable meter beyond his grasp. And with that gear was a device that entirely captured his attention—a stout handgrip unit with a pair of small switches and a surmounting metal disk. The object had once belonged to his father, a former Jedi Knight who had been betrayed and murdered by the young Darth Vader. But now it was Luke’s, given him by Ben Kenobi to be wielded with honor against Imperial tyranny.
In desperation Luke tried twisting his aching body, just enough to reach the discarded lightsaber. But the freezing cold coursing through his body slowed him down and weakened him. Luke wa
s beginning to resign himself to his fate as he heard the snarling Wampa Ice Creature approaching. His last feelings of hope were nearly gone when he sensed the presence.
But it was not the presence of the white giant that dominated this gorge.
Rather, it was that soothing spiritual presence which occasionally visited Luke in moments of stress or danger. The presence that had first come to him only after old Ben, once again in his Jedi role of Obi-Wan Kenobi, vanished into a crumple of his own dark robes after being cut down by Darth Vader’s lightsaber. The presence that was sometimes like a familiar voice, an almost silent whisper that spoke directly to Luke’s mind.
“Luke.” The whisper was there again, hauntingly. “Think of the lightsaber in your hand.”
The words made Luke’s already aching head throb. Then he felt a sudden resurgence of strength, a feeling of confidence that urged him to continue fighting despite his apparently hopeless situation. His eyes fixed upon the lightsaber. His hand reached out painfully, the freezing in his limbs already taking its toll. He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. But the weapon was still beyond his reach. He knew that the lightsaber would require more than just struggling to reach.
“Gotta relax,” Luke told himself, “relax …”
Luke’s mind whirled as he heard the words of his disembodied guardian. “Let the Force flow, Luke.”
The Force!
Luke saw the inverted gorillalike image of the Wampa Ice Creature looming, its raised arms ending in enormous gleaming claws. He could see the apish face for the first time now, and shivered at the sight of the beast’s ramlike horns, the quivering lower jaw with its protruding fangs.
But then the warrior divorced the creature from his thoughts. He stopped struggling for his weapon, his body relaxed and went limp, allowing his spirit to be receptive to his teacher’s suggestion. Already he could feel coursing through him that energy field generated by all living beings, that bound the very universe together.
As Kenobi had taught him, the Force was within Luke to use as he saw fit.
The Wampa Ice Creature spread its black, hooked claws and lumbered toward the hanging youth. Suddenly the lightsaber, as if by magic, sprang to Luke’s hand. Instantly, he depressed a colored button on the weapon, releasing a bladelike beam that quickly severed his icy bonds.
As Luke, weapon in hand, dropped to the floor, the monstrous figure towering over him took a cautious step backward. The beast’s sulfurous eyes blinked incredulously at the humming lightshaft, a sight baffling to its primitive brain.
Though it was difficult to move, Luke jumped to his feet and waved his lightsaber at the snow-white mass of muscle and hair, forcing it back a step, another step. Bringing the weapon down, Luke cut through the monster’s hide with the blade of light. The Wampa Ice Creature shrieked, its hideous roar of agony shaking the gorge walls. It turned and hastily lumbered out of the gorge, its white bulk blending with the distant terrain.
The sky was already noticeably darker, and with the encroaching darkness came the colder winds. The Force was with Luke, but even that mysterious power could not warm him now. Every step he took as he stumbled out of the gorge was more difficult than the last. Finally, his vision dimming as rapidly as the daylight, Luke stumbled down an embankment of snow and was unconscious before he even reached the bottom.
In the subsurface main hangar dock, Chewie was getting the Millennium Falcon ready for takeoff. He looked up from his work to see a rather curious pair of figures that had just appeared from around a nearby corner to mingle with the usual Rebel activity in the hangar.
Neither of these figures was human, although one of them had a humanoid shape and gave the impression of a man in knightly golden armor. His movements were precise, almost too precise to be human, as he clanked stiffly through the corridor. His companion required no manlike legs for locomotion, for he was doing quite well rolling his shorter, barrellike body along on miniature wheels.
The shorter of the two droids was beeping and whistling excitedly.
“It is not my fault, you malfunctioning tin can,” the tall, anthropomorphic droid stated, gesturing with a metallic hand. “I did not ask you to turn on the thermal heater. I merely commented that it was freezing in her chamber. But it’s supposed to be freezing. How are we going to get all her things dried out? … Ah! Here we are.”
See-Threepio, the golden droid in human shape, paused to focus his optical sensors on the docked Millennium Falcon.
The other robot, Artoo-Detoo, retracted his wheels and frontal leg, and rested his stout metal body on the ground. The smaller droid’s sensors were reading the familiar figures of Han Solo and his Wookiee companion as those two continued the work of replacing the freighter’s central lifters.
“Master Solo, sir,” Threepio called, the only one of the robotic twosome equipped with an imitation human voice. “Might I have a word with you?”
Han was not particularly in a mood to be disturbed, especially by this fastidious droid. “What is it?”
“Mistress Leia has been trying to reach you on the communicator,” Threepio informed him. “It must be malfunctioning.”
But Han knew that it was not. “I shut it off,” he said sharply as he continued to work on his ship. “What does her royal holiness want?”
Threepio’s auditory sensors identified the disdain in Han’s voice but did not understand it. The robot mimicked a human gesture as he added, “She is looking for Master Luke and assumed he would be here with you. No one seems to know—”
“Luke’s not back yet?” Immediately Han became concerned. He could see that the sky beyond the ice cavern entrance had grown considerably darker since he and Chewbacca had begun to repair the Millennium Falcon. Han knew just how severely the temperatures dropped on the surface after nightfall and how deadly the winds could be.
In a flash he jumped off the Falcon’s lift, not even looking back toward the Wookiee. “Bolt it down, Chewie. Officer of the Deck!” Han yelled, then brought his comlink to his mouth and asked, “Security Control, has Commander Skywalker reported in yet?” A negative reply brought a scowl to Han’s face.
The deck sergeant and his aide hurried up to Solo in response to his summons.
“Is Commander Skywalker back yet?” Han asked, tension in his voice.
“I haven’t seen him,” the deck sergeant replied. “It’s possible he came in through the south entrance.”
“Check on it!” Solo snapped, though he was not in an official position to give commands. “It’s urgent.”
As the deck sergeant and his aide turned and rushed down the corridor, Artoo emitted a concerned whistle that rose inquiringly in pitch.
“I don’t know, Artoo,” Threepio answered, stiffly turning his upper torso and head in Han’s direction. “Sir, might I inquire what’s going on?”
Anger welled up inside Han as he grunted back at the robot, “Go tell your precious princess that Luke is dead unless he shows up soon.”
Artoo began to whistle hysterically at Solo’s grim prediction and his now-frightened golden partner exclaimed, “Oh, no!”
The main tunnel was filled with activity when Han Solo rushed in. He saw a pair of Rebel troopers employing all their physical strength to restrain a nervous Tauntaun that was trying to break free.
From the opposite end, the deck officer rushed into the corridor, his eyes darting around the chamber until he had spotted Han. “Sir,” he said frantically, “Commander Skywalker hasn’t come through the south entrance. He might have forgotten to check in.”
“Not likely,” Han snapped. “Are the speeders ready?”
“Not yet,” the deck officer answered. “Adapting them to the cold is proving difficult. Maybe by morning—”
Han cut him off. There wasn’t any time to waste on machines that could and probably would break down. “We’ll have to go out on Tauntauns. I’ll take sector four.”
“The temperature is falling too rapidly.”
“You bet it
is,” Han growled, “and Luke’s out in it.”
The other officer volunteered, “I’ll cover sector twelve. Have control set screen alpha.”
But Han knew there was not time for control to get its surveillance cameras operating, not with Luke probably dying somewhere on the desolate plains above. He pushed his way through the assemblage of Rebel troops and took the reins of one of the trained Tauntauns, leaping onto the creature’s back.
“The night storms will start before any of you can reach the first marker,” the deck officer warned.
“Then I’ll see you in hell,” grunted Han, tugging the reins of his mount and maneuvering the animal out of the cave.
Snow was falling heavily as Han Solo raced his Tauntaun through the wilderness. Night was near and the winds were howling fiercely, piercing his heavy clothes. He knew that he would be as useless as an icicle to Luke unless he found the young warrior soon.
The Tauntaun was already feeling the effects of the temperature drop. Not even its layers of insulating fat or the matted gray fur could protect it from the elements after nightfall. Already the beast was wheezing, its breathing becoming increasingly labored.
Han prayed that the snow-lizard wouldn’t drop, at least not until he had located Luke.
He drove his mount harder, forcing it on across the icy plains.
Another figure was moving across the snow, its metal body hovering above the frozen ground.
The Imperial Probe Droid paused briefly in midflight, its sensors twitching.
Then, satisfied with its findings, the robot gently lowered itself, coming to rest on the ground. Like spider legs, several probes separated from the metal hull, dislodging some of the snow that had settled there.
Something began to take shape around the robot, a pulsating glow that gradually covered the machine as if with a transparent dome. Quickly this force field solidified, repelling the blowing snow that brushed over the droid’s hull.
After a moment the glow faded, and the blowing snow soon formed a perfect dome of white, completely concealing the droid and its protective force field.
