The Princess, the Scoundrel, and the Farm Boy

by Alexandra Bracken

  And because he had the worst luck of any life form in the galaxy, two of the opposing walls rumbled and began to push inward. Han’s eyes went wide. They were in a trash compactor, and if they didn’t get out in the next few minutes, they would be flattened.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Leia barked. “Try to brace the walls with something.”

  She was struggling under the weight of a metal beam, trying to wedge it between the walls pressing closer, closer, closer. Han grabbed one end of the beam, helping her get it into place. The force of the walls bent the thick metal like it was made of plastic.

  “Threepio!” Luke was calling into his comlink. “Threepio! Come in, Threepio! Where could he be?”

  This was bad, bad, bad, bad. Chewie jumped down off the platform to help them, but there was nothing strong enough down there to stop the walls. The princess had a sharp tongue, but she was practically pocket-sized compared with the Wookiee. And the more garbage that got pushed toward them, the higher it piled up, threatening to crush her.

  Han pointed to a stack of crates and bins. “Get to the top!”

  “I can’t!” Leia said. Her composure had shattered, and panic was creeping in. Han was rattled by the sight of it, and when he tried reaching out to steady her, he slipped and went crashing down into the soggy muck.

  “Threepio!” Luke was still yelling. “Threepio, will you come in?”

  The walls were close enough now that Han maneuvered so his back was against one side and his feet were pressed against the other. Leia tried to follow suit, but the sopping wet dress tangled around her legs made it almost impossible for her to pull herself up. Her swearing scorched even his ears.

  “Easy, easy,” he told her when he felt her starting to panic again. His arms strained as he reached down and helped her clamber up next to him. No matter how hard Han braced himself and pushed his legs out, it was like trying to hold back a Star Destroyer. Leia reached out blindly with her hand, and Han seized it. Hey, if he was going to die, at least it would be next to a beautiful girl.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Han said as his legs were pushed up closer to his chest. “We’re all going to be a lot thinner!”

  “Are you there, sir?” C-3PO’s voice crackled through the comlink so suddenly, Han was afraid Luke would drop it.

  “Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level!” Luke yelled into the comm. “Do you copy?”

  It was too late for that. As they pushed together, the walls piled the trash and waste up and up and up until Han could no longer see the ceiling. Metal beams and crates snapped and crumbled, falling onto their heads. He scrambled to keep both himself and the princess climbing, but where could they go? There wasn’t any way out.

  “Pardon me?” the droid sounded confused.

  Were the walls moving even faster now? Han braced his back against one wall and walked his feet up the other, willing to try anything to keep them alive even a second longer. It was getting harder to breathe. Small scraps of plastic slipped into the joints of his stormtrooper armor, stabbing into his back and neck.

  Han had always expected to go down with his ship. Blown to bits in one last burst of glory. Turning into a mashed puddle of goo was not part of the plan. He looked around, searching for something, anything, to brace the walls.

  “Threepio!” Luke shouted. “Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level!”

  Han struggled to pull himself up that tiny bit more, trying to see if Luke was still okay. The whole room shuddered like a quake, but he was so focused on looking for the kid, he initially missed the fact that the walls had stopped moving. The four of them looked at one another, holding their breaths in disbelief. Then Han let out a loud, overjoyed holler that Luke echoed back. Chewie practically crushed the kid in his excited grip, and even the princess let her guard down enough to throw her arms around Han’s neck.

  “Curse my metal body! I wasn’t fast enough. It’s all my fault! My poor master!” The droid’s voice was still pouring out of the comlink. He was clearly distressed and hearing their cheers as screams.

  “Threepio, we’re all right,” Luke said, laughing. “You did great. Can you open the pressure maintenance hatch on unit number…where are we?” He looked around for some kind of label.

  “Three-two-six-three-eight-two-seven,” Han said, pointing to the muck-splattered numbers above the hatch.

  The click of the hatch depressurizing and opening was one of the sweetest sounds Han had ever heard. He and the others scrambled out into an empty hall. Glancing around as he stripped off the filthy stormtrooper armor, Han took in the plastic sheets and construction signs around them. Good. This section would be deserted.

  “If we can just avoid any more of the princess’s bright ideas, we ought to be able to get out of here,” he said.

  And just like that, the relief on her face was replaced with a look of utter disdain. “I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but from now on you do as I tell you. Okay?”

  Han wanted to scoff and brush off her words, but, truthfully, the intense way she glared at him was a little scary. Luke hadn’t rescued himself a delicate little bloom.

  “Look, Your Worshipfulness, let’s get one thing straight. I take orders from one person.” He pointed at his chest. “Me.”

  “It’s a wonder you’re still alive!” Leia spun on her heel, nearly colliding with Chewie. “Will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way?”

  Han shot an accusatory look at Luke as she stormed ahead of them. “No reward is worth this.”

  Luke sighed. “Come on.”

  They rushed through the empty hallway, and Han was surprised to see that, when it intersected with another long sleek corridor, he knew where they were.

  “This way,” he said, taking them in the opposite direction the princess wanted to head in. She grumbled something under her breath but followed until they reached a large bay window. Below them, right where they had left her, was the Millennium Falcon. And, boy, she’d never looked more beautiful. Even surrounded by a dozen stormtroopers.

  “Threepio, do you copy?” Luke said into his comlink.

  “For the moment,” the droid said. “We’ve moved to the main hangar across from the ship.”

  “We’re right above you. Stand by.”

  Leia stepped up next to Han, casting a cool look over the ship. “You came in that thing? You’re braver than I thought.”

  “Nice.” Han shot her a dirty look. “Come on.”

  He jogged down the hall at the head of the group, rounding the next corner to where he thought the elevators should be—and right into a squad of eight stormtroopers.

  “It’s them!” one of the troopers shouted. “Blast them!”

  Without sparing a single thought to how spectacularly stupid the idea was, Han charged forward, firing wildly into the squad and shouting as he went. Despite the odds, the stormtroopers turned and fled, but Han didn’t stop. Chewie roared after him, his heavy steps pounding the ground behind Han. These were the people who’d imprisoned Han, his ship, and his best friend on this death trap. These were the people who were ruining his one real shot at getting Jabba off his back and taking control of his life again. His anger pushed him forward like a wave, heating the blood in his veins. Let them try to keep him. Let them try to hold his Falcon. To execute the princess, hurt the kid—

  Wait, no—the kid and the princess had nothing to do with it. Right. This attack was about the Falcon. If it also happened to give Luke and Leia an opening to get down to the hangar, then great, but it was revenge, pure and simple. His heart thundering, Han fired his blaster wildly, shouting louder, drowning out every thought in his head.

  Unfortunately, his courage flamed out the second he reached the end of the hallway, which just so happened to lead into a hangar full of stormtroopers. Han’s boots skidded as he tried to stop himself from crashing into them. Blood draining from his face, he whirled around and started running in the opposit
e direction as laser bolts chased him back down the hall. Chewie came into view up ahead, clearly confused.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!” Han cried, tugging his copilot toward a nearby door—stairs! It felt like they took the steps three at time, flying down them until they reached the lower level. Han held up a hand, signaling to Chewie to wait as he stuck his head out of the door at the base of the stairs.

  The hangar. It was still crawling with stormtroopers, but they’d made it that far. Han pulled the Wookiee over to a stack of crates and ducked down, keeping an eye out for Leia and Luke.

  Chewie rumbled out a question, reaching over to smack the back of Han’s head.

  “I’ll admit, I could have used a plan just then,” Han whispered. “But it turned out fine, right?”

  The longer he stared at his ship, her gray metallic plates gleaming under the harsh hangar lights, the more restless Han felt. What was taking the kid so long? And where was the fossil? Every second they wasted was another missed opportunity to escape.

  “We could go,” Han said slowly. “Just you and me. It’ll be a risk, especially if the old man hasn’t disabled the tractor beam…but we could find another job.”

  The Wookiee shook his head, sadness crystallizing in his eyes. Han felt his friend’s disappointment as surely as if Chewie had reached over and smacked him again.

  Chewbacca’s next words hit Han like a punch to the chest. It’s okay to care about them. They need our help.

  Han had never let himself get tied too closely to causes. He was fine with the Rebellion so long as it created more business for him and fine with the Empire so long as it kept out of his business.

  “I care about them,” Han said. “We don’t get paid if we bring back bodies.”

  But even as he said it, he was surprised to find the words ringing false in his own ears—to feel an uncomfortable twinge in his chest. Remembering that moment of white-hot fear when the dianoga had pulled Luke under, and how terror had cracked the princess’s tough armor when she thought they’d be crushed, Han couldn’t help but acknowledge the quiet feeling that had been sneaking up on him.

  He did care.

  They say battle can form unbreakable bonds between soldiers, but Han realized it wasn’t the fighting itself; it was that they had worked together, that they’d made it through to the other side. In a few hours, he’d come to understand Luke better than he did some of his smuggling buddies he’d known for years.

  Chewie growled another question, all innocence. He stroked a hand down over Han’s head, but the smuggler brushed it off.

  “No!” he whispered, pointing at the Wookiee. “Dump that thought right now. We aren’t going to join up and get ourselves killed for nothing.”

  Join the Rebellion? It wasn’t so much the idea of the fight that had Han’s head pounding. What Chewie was talking about was investing in a cause, making a commitment for their future. Being tied to some idea.

  Chewie crossed his arms over his chest. You’re better than this, he said.

  “You really think so?” Han asked. Sometimes he didn’t feel better than that. Sometimes he felt like the biggest coward on that side of the galaxy.

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have left them.”

  Han had been called a lot of things in his life—scum, scoundrel, smuggler—but he wasn’t heartless. Chewie’s rumbling reply brought a faint smile to his lips. “I like the kid, too. But unless he wants to come with us, we’re splitting with both him and the princess after this. We have to get Jabba off our backs. Otherwise there is no future for us.”

  A new burst of blaster fire announced Luke and Leia’s arrival in the hangar. Han jumped to his feet and ran toward them.

  “Get to the ship!” he cried, trying to take out at least a few of the stormtroopers on his way. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the hangar’s floodlights glinting off the droids’ metallic skin. They scurried forward, toward the Falcon’s ramp.

  “Luke, let’s go!” Han shouted, tugging at the kid’s arm. Luke’s feet were fixed to the ground, something like shock pouring over his face. He turned to look where Luke pointed to another set of open blast doors.

  Two figures—one as black and shiny as a smear of oil, the other hooded in a thick brown cloak—circled each other. Their lightsabers vibrated in their hands, as different from each other as their owners were. One was sky blue, the other crimson—like burning blood.

  So that was Darth Vader, huh? Always terrifying to realize rumors weren’t exaggerated. The man—creature—thing was a giant, towering over the old man. His armor looked thick enough to keep him alive even in the freezing vacuum of space. The lights on his chest panel flickered, the way a droid’s would.

  The swords hissed and sizzled as they clashed; Ben and Darth Vader danced around each other like seasoned fighters, lost in their own world. Han realized he was staring as hard as the kid and tried again to tug him back toward the ship. The stormtroopers who had chased Luke and Leia into the hangar had turned their attention to the swordfight.

  Ben looked over, the troopers’ approach catching his attention. Then he looked past them. To where Luke was standing, dumbstruck. To Han. Han couldn’t be sure—the old man was just too far away—but he thought Ben might have given him a nod just before he turned back to face Darth Vader. Ben drew his blade in and made no effort to stop Vader’s lightsaber from slashing through him.

  But instead of his body falling to pieces, an empty cloak fell to the ground. It was like the old man had just…disappeared. One last magic trick.

  Han shook his head, the hair on the back of his neck rising. Maybe not magic at all.

  “No!” Luke yelled. Han hooked an arm across the kid’s chest and started to drag him away. For a second, he really thought the kid might make a run for Vader. Luke’s anger and disbelief rolled off him.

  “Luke, we have to get out of here!” Leia shouted from the bottom of the ramp. The stormtroopers opened fire on her, forcing her to duck and run into the safety of the ship. Luke spun around one last time and fired a shot—not at Darth Vader but at the controls to the blast doors. They slammed shut just as Vader and the stormtroopers began to charge toward them.

  “We have to go, kid,” Han told him. “Before they fix the tractor beam!”

  That snapped Luke out of his daze long enough for them to board the Falcon. Han raced toward the cockpit, where Chewie was already revving up the engine. He didn’t realize Luke hadn’t followed him in until he looked back over his shoulder, through the door, and saw the princess comforting him.

  Han punched the controls, and they had hit open space before he took his next breath.

  “All right, Chewie,” he said as TIE fighters roared toward them in the distance. Only four. He reached up, stroking his ship affectionately. She might have taken a knocking, but she would never let him down when it counted. “We’re coming up on the sentry ships. Hold ’em off as long as you can. Angle the deflector shields while I charge up the main guns!”

  Chewie roared his agreement, reaching up to flip through the switches. Han left his seat so fast it spun behind him.

  For the longest time, if anyone asked Han why he was traveling alone, he’d give them the same line: The name says it all—Solo. And then he’d met Chewie, and suddenly that didn’t apply anymore. The Wookiee knew, even if Han couldn’t admit it to himself, that what scared Han wasn’t putting his heart into a cause that would fail; it was losing the individuals he opened his heart to.

  He wasn’t free, not yet, not until he dealt with Jabba and repaid his debt. Even after, he’d never be like Luke. He wasn’t meant to be a hero. But Han was beginning to suspect that he wasn’t meant to be just a petty smuggler, either. The new friends he’d made had shown him that much. The old man would laugh if he knew Han was thinking it, but it was some strange stroke of luck—destiny, Ben would say—that had brought their little group together.

  He ran toward the central hold to rally Luke to head to th
e gun ports, already imagining the weight of the ship’s large blaster as it swung around and he took aim. Han knew losing themselves in another fight would be the best way for both him and the kid to burn off the sting of being forced to stand by helplessly as Ben was cut down.

  The old man had sacrificed himself to save them. And it had taken seeing that for Han to question what would have happened if their situations had been reversed and he’d been the one in the position to make a sacrifice. Would he have done it? He wanted to believe that, yes, he would have. The thought made his chest feel tight. How incredible that, of all people, it was the old man who’d upended his universe, made him see the truth about himself with one selfless act of courage.

  Han wasn’t the best guy in the galaxy or the smartest or even the most honest, and he wasn’t sure he knew what he had done to deserve these friends.

  But for now it was enough he wasn’t flying solo anymore.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE HE’S GONE.”

  Those were the only words running through Luke’s head, caught in some horrible loop, as the ship lurched into space. I can’t believe he’s gone. He slumped onto the bench by the game board on the Millennium Falcon, his legs finally giving out under him. Luke couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t close his eyes, either, not without seeing the way Ben had looked just before…

  He’s dead, Luke thought. Why can’t I say it?

  Why did he have to keep seeing the way Ben had deactivated his lightsaber and hadn’t tried to stop him—Darth Vader. The name hissed through Luke’s mind like smoke, making the hairs on the backs of his arms rise. Just seeing the man…the thing had been enough to make Luke feel as if he were drenched in ice. The shock had left Luke useless as a droid with its circuits fried.

  That was after Ben had told him that Vader had killed his father.

  Vader had now taken another person from him.

  Luke gripped the edge of the game board so hard he was sure the surface would crack. There was no one—nothing—in the galaxy he hated more than Darth Vader. He felt himself begin to shake, tears again threatening to spill over. Luke stubbornly scrubbed at his face. What good would crying do?