pR0n, glorious pR0n

[valarltd]

What Says the Wind?
(Long!)
Usual disclaimers.
AU, Slave!fic, Underage (adult by local standards), interspecies, rape, humiliation, etc. Multiple slash pairings, including Luke/Boba Fett.







"Solo, how do you get yourself into these messes?" Han grumbled under his breath as the armored doors ground shut behind him and his two companions, stopping the breeze that swirled the sand into the palace.

He knew exactly how he got into messes like this: his lady. He'd won the Millennium Falcon two years before in a game against the notorious Lando Calrissian. The gambler had taught him and his Wookiee partner the basics of the ship, before parting ways. Unfortunately, the basics were not everything and Calrissian had neglected to mention how many ports he had skipped without paying
docking fees or the way the Falcon tended to break down when it would do the most damage.

They had arrived here, fresh off a stint with the Black Hole Gang: a group of freighter bums, outlaws and hired guns. It had been good company, and the leader, Amazia, was sad to see them leave.

"You always have a place here, if you want it, Solo. That goes for you, too, Furball." She had shaken his hand, and hugged Chewbacca. "If you ever need help in the clean world, find these two. They went legit a while back."

Found them, he had, on a backwater rim world called Tatooine. A desolate place, with two suns and a Hutt-controlled economy, the main products were sand and pilots. Moisture farms were so large, with vaporators a half-klom apart, that most children learned to fly before they could read.

Zora and Talla were an unlikely pair. Unmated human females were a rare enough occurance on the Rim. Zora was tall, square-shouldered and curvelessly slim enough to pass for a man, especially with her cropped red hair, wearing the jumpsuit and large-brimmed flat-crowned hat she favored. Talla was shorter, sandy-haired and stocky. Her taste in clothing mirrored her partner's, sans hat. They were Jabba
the Hutt's main pilots for legitimate goods like food and luxuries, and had offered to sponsor him to the Hutt.

Between jobs and perpetually in need of credits, Han had agreed. The old girl needed a new motivator, replacement alluvial dampers, and about six hundred credits to bail her out of impound. Again. Han had already decided that the next time he ran into con artiste extraordinaire Calrissian, he would take every credit out of the gambler's hide.

The palace was an old monastary, cool and dark inside. A stench like nothing he'd ever encountered assailed him. The stones underfoot were slippery with substances Han didn't want to think about.

"Solo, take your hand off your nose. You'll offend our employer. Here, have a whiff of this gunk." Talla passed over a small clay pot. The acrid smell stunned his nose so the stench didn't penetrate anymore. Even the smell of the green smokestick Zora had fired up wasn't detectable.

Han had seen Hutts on other worlds, but nothing prepared him for the sight of Jabba. The repulsive slug-like being reclined on a dais, his oily yellow skin shining under the intermittent torch light. The huge orange eyes watched as his dancers entertained him, half-shut with pleasure. One tiny arm held the mouthpiece of a hookah from which he took occasional puffs. The wide slash of a mouth drooled almost constantly and the pointed tip of a slimy tongue protruded to lick the nonexistant lips.

The dregs of space hovered around the edges of the room as the dancers went into the final forms. The fat, multi-breasted Askjian spun into the range of the slim boy who moved in the center of the women. He took the chain attached to his collar in both hands and swirled it over her, catching her in a loop and pulling her close. He wound the chain about them both, and they danced together. His hands moved over her body, never touching her, yet seeming to arouse her anyway. His movements were subtle and graceful, especially for a boy still in the middle of his adolescence. He bent her backward, almost kissed her and then spun her out of his chain and embrace. She resumed her place in the circle that swirled around him. He spurned them all, burst from the circle and danced toward the dais.

The spacers stared unabashedly at him as he moved and swirled his slender form, clad only in low-slung black harem pants, toward the dais. His long blond hair, caught in a silver clasp, floated like a ribbon behind him. He dropped to his knees before Jabba, and danced on his knees, lowering his head back to the filthy floor behind him, shimmying his shoulders and seeming to beg for Jabba's attention. He ended, still on his knees, draped forward, one slim hand at the edge of the dais, stretched imploringly toward the grotesque Hutt.

Han released the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and tried to calm himself. The dancer had created quite a reaction, one he hadn't had for another man in years, not since before the Academy. Zora and Talla were tugging at his elbows, urging him forward, as the young man climbed the dais. Han couldn't watch as the Hutt smeared a slimy kiss over the boy's face.

By the time the trio reached the middle of the floor, the dancer had settled himself to sit on the dais as Jabba twined his ponytail through absurdly small fingers. They bowed politely, and Zora stepped a little closer and began speaking Huttese.

*Mighty Jabba, the least of your servants bring you a new pilot for consideration. He has a fast ship and none of our useless scruples about the law. We would sponsor him in your service for the standard fee of 10% of his profits.*

The Hutt seemed to consider her offer. *You and your lady serve me well, Zora. If your friend can pass a simple test, I will take his service for the standard fees. He will go to Gornak and pick up a load of food-stuffs that even your foolish scruples should allow him to carry. If he is back here within 4 days, I shall accept him.*

Zora bowed. *Thank you, mighty Jabba."

The great slug boomed at Han. Zora stepped back. "He asked your name," she whispered.

"Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon."

Jabba said something else, of which Han only caught his name.

"Thank him, and bow," Zora instructed.

"My thanks, Jabba." Han bowed from the waist.

*Teach him Huttese,* Jabba ordered Zora. *Go now. Here is an advance. Your coordinates are on the chip. Four days.*

*Thank you, mighty Jabba,* Zora bowed, repeated herself in standard, and Talla dragged Han into another bow.

The Twi'Lek majordomo escorted them back to the door, and handed Zora a chip. "Your advance and coordinates. Good luck."

Astonishingly, for Han had never seen her so much as look at a man, Zora caressed his lekku. "On our return, Fortuna." She smiled as the bony, taloned hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her closer.

Talla pulled Han out the door to their speeder. "They're old friends. Sorta. She sleeps with him and we get good jobs and better pay than most pilots, even the illegal ones. I hate seeing Jabba. He's gruesome and I have to be quiet. He understands Basic. I wish I could speak Huttese. Did you see the dancing boy? Isn't he pretty? Jabba's had him for about four years now, and he just keeps
getting better. I don't know why they make him dance with the Ugly One." Zora joined them, wiping away a trickle of blood at her mouth from the Twi'Lek's pointed teeth, and Talla piloted them out, her monologue never ceasing. Anything that crossed her mind came out her mouth.

"Where we goin', Zora?"

"Gornak. Food run." She dabbed at the blood again, this time with a pocketcloth, and Han could see a rather substantial bitemark on her lips.

"We taking the Snowstar or the Falcon?"

"Falcon. Jabba wants to see how Solo flies."

"How long do we have?"

"Four dee."

"Four days! That's ridiculous. Solo, how fast is your crate?"

"Point five past light speed. Zora, you OK?"

She smiled contentedly. "Fine. Promised us an extra K." She pressed the cloth firmly to the cut and tipped her head back.

"We just might make it." Talla pressed the accelerator a little harder. "Zora, he always does this and you always let him. And we always spend that bonus on synthflesh to patch you back up when you two get done."

"Jealous," Zora taunted.

Three hours later, three very long hours of listening to the women bicker, Han was ready to lift. Without them. How they managed to argue when Zora responded in single words to Talla's constant speech he still hadn't figured out. The woman could make one word and a raised eyebrow more eloquent than some senatorial speeches he'd heard. Since Zora still had the chip, he decided to take them along.

Once back in Mos Eisley, Zora paid the portmaster and laid in supplies for the trip. Han and Chewbacca ran the preflight, setting up the coordinates and calculating the jump. Talla contacted their shipper and alerted him to their arrival.

It was a long trip, for a four day time limit. Zora had set Han up with a series of Huttese language cubes, and spent the free time coaching him through the basic pleasantries. Talla put her mechanical skills to work, helping Chewbacca replace alluvial dampers and all the other on-going repairs. Wookiees are incurable gossips, but even Chewie was starting to tire of her running monologue by the time they reached Gornak.

A day and a half later, they made the pick-up and started the return trip. The big wookiee coaxed every erg of speed he could from the engines, and they were back on Tatooine in less than three days.

*You and the females will offload the so-called food post-haste, Han. I will purge the ship of its reek,* Chewbacca announced as they landed.

"Right, pal." He went to the hold to find Zora, smokestick going, unloading the crates with a handtruck. "How we getting this to Jabba's? It won't fit in your speeder."

"Repulsor truck," she said around the smokestick.

The typically curt answer annoyed Han to no end, not in the least because he had endured Talla's nonstop chatter for three days, in the intervals when he wasn't studying his new employer's language. "Do you ever just talk?"

"Nope, Talla does."

"Why?"

Zora sighed and looked him square in the face. Slowly she began, "Back home, no one uses longspeech, like this, except in school, church or government. It wears me out, and people don't understand shorttalk." She rubbed one temple. "Headache. Talla talks. I think."

"What's in that thing you smoke? How high are you?"

"Not high. Odor killer. Here." She passed it to him, obviously intending for him to take a drag. He obliged. A blend of several pungent herbs sent his head swimming, but had no other effect. The stench from the food-crates was less noticeable. He took a second puff, and handed it back to her before lending a hand
with the crates.

When the last one was off the ship, Chewbacca shooed the humans off as well while he began the decontamination. Zora leaned against one of the struts, her wide hat pulled down over her eyes to block the glare, smoking while they waited for Talla. Han paced, kicking up the sand in the docking bay, hating the delay. The dust
took the shine from his boots and his blaster felt heavier than normal. Talla arrived, they loaded the crates into the back of the truck, sweating in the twin-sun heat, and set out for Jabba's.

This time, mercifully, Talla napped while Zora drove. Han drank in the silence like the best brandy. Two hours out, Zora had him run through greetings, thanks and farewells until they arrived.

The court was dozing in the high heat of the long afternoon. Zora parked the repulsor truck, and Fortuna inspected the cargo, running grasping hands over it as the brain-tails of his head twitched with delight. He turned beady red eyes on the two women, and spoke. Han followed some of the conversation, but was rapidly lost in the range of metaphor and the Twi'Lek's accent. He tried not to flinch as
Fortuna patted him on the back of the head, a motion that would have been a stroke of his lekku had he been the proper species, before leading them to the throne room.

Jabba was well-pleased by their success, and by Han's ability to greet him in Huttese. He announced a bonus for the extra half-day they were early before calling Han forward. The translator droid stood by just to be sure there were no misunderstandings.

"His Excellency wishes to know if you would fly for him."

"Yes, Jabba."

"Will you carry spice?" translated the droid.

"Yes."

"Will you carry water?"

"Yes."

"Will you carry slaves?"

"No. No pay is worth a summary execution."

Jabba gave a booming laugh and tugged the leash of the boy on his dais. He said a few things as the boy clambered up his bulk to endure a repulsive kiss. The open sides of his loose trousers allowed easy access for the Hutt's tiny hands. The spacers watched, half-fascinated, half-sick as the dancer undulated against the huge
slug, seemingly aroused by his master's touch.

"The mighty Jabba wishes to express his disappointment in your scruples, but believes you will make a fine pilot. Master Fortuna will explain the standard rates to you."

Without warning, Jabba shoved the boy from him, sending him sprawling on the slimy stones at Solo's feet. "Bonus. Cheelooda." Jabba tossed the chain to land beside him.

Han looked puzzled. The youngster pulled himself to his knees and twined one arm around Han's leg, giving a very clear message.

"Thank him." Zora's instruction was pitched for his ears only.

"Uh, I thank you for the bonus, Jabba."

Jabba turned his attention to Zora. *You will stay here. Then, Solo will make a Kessel Run for me. You and Talla will bring in a new shipment of Kleeworms. The shade of my palace is yours for two days.*

Zora swept her hat off in the most elaborate bow she could. Jabba had given them a great honor. She expressed her thanks in the most flowery expressions Huttese could manage, and nudged her partner and protoge.

Talla bowed and thanked Jabba in standard. Han gave his new Huttese vocabulary a try and thanked Jabba in his own language. Jabba laughed and boomed something else. At a prod from Zora, he thanked Jabba again.

They were dismissed, and, at a word from Zora, Han picked up the end of the chain leash. The Twi'Lek took them to guest rooms, one for the two partners and one for Han. He thanked the majordomo and slipped across the hall to the women's room, the boy still on the chain behind him.

"Okay, what was that all about? I followed most of it. Let's be sure I got it right."

"Kessel." Zora spoke even more curtly, her tongue sore and her mouth aching from the alien language. "2 dee here, then lift. Congrats on language."

"You're to make a Kessel Run for Jabba. We'll spend 2 days here and then go our ways. And Jabba expressed his pleasure that you're learning Huttese." Talla's long experience let her fill in the blanks.

"I can do a Kessel. Did one for Amazia a few months ago. So what do I do with Cheelooda here? Do you speak Basic?" he asked the boy.

The boy glared at him with eyes as blue as Travig skystones. His low-slung, side-slit pants matched them. He looked at Zora and said something in Huttese. She laughed silently. Han looked at her, not sure he'd heard what he thought the boy had said.

"He said 'Yes I do, but not to you.'" She listened as the boy let out a few more sentences. "He says you don't have to hurt him, and he'll behave. Quit calling him cheelooda."

"Isn't that his name?"

"No. A vulgarity." He said some more to her. "He says if he doesn't please you, Jabba will feed him to the Rancor."

"Now wait a minute..."

Zora slipped back into her customary mode of speech. "Easy. Fuck him or he dies."

Han turned and stalked from the room, leaving the boy with the two women. "He'll come around," Talla assured him. "You hungry, pretty boy?"

"Don't call me that, either." The boy's voice was sweet, with none of the crackling of adolescence. A faint accent, a trace of Huttese, colored his Basic. "I'm always hungry. Porcellus tries to keep me fed, but Jabba so seldom lets me be away from him. Who can eat leaning against a Hutt?"

Zora smiled and pointed to the foodsynth. The boy helped himself. "Kid, cloudfruit?" He punched up a bowl full for her. Talla was already programming herself a meal. Not that the banquet tonight wouldn't be wonderful but the kid had a valid point: few humans could eat in the presence of a Hutt.

They ate for a while, Zora silent, and Talla making a running travelogue evaluation of their last trip.

"Talla. Solo." Tired, and wanting a nap, Zora knew she had to get her partner out so she could sleep.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll check on him after I'm done. Kid, you were really rotten to him, and he's a nice guy."

"My name is Luke," the boy snarled before getting up for another plate of food. He returned and began picking at the Bantha stew. "He called me cheelooda like it was my name."

"No Huttese," Zora yawned.

"Solo doesn't speak much Huttese," Talla amplified. "He didn't know it was nasty. You want to die?"

"Not really, but I'm not thrilled about living either. What do I have to look forward to except dancing? And one day I'll make a misstep or Jabba won't like what he sees, and I'm Rancor-bait."

"Sleep," Zora announced, stretching out on one of the benches in the room. There were no beds. "Wake for revel," she instructed the room's auto-alarm.

"I'm gonna check on our buddy." Talla rose and started out.

"Wait. I'll go. I'm supposed to be there anyway." The boy caught her at the door, calm resolve on his face.

"Good going, kiddo." Talla brushed his lips lightly. "He'll treat you right. If he doesn't, we'll knock some sense into him. I think I'll see if Zora wants company for her nap."

Han Solo was not given to brooding, or even deep thinking. It interfered with action. But siting in the uncomfortable chair, staring at the grimy stone wall, he was brooding now. The walls should have been damp, but this was Tatooine.

He thought of the dancing boy, and wrested his mind from that track. He thought of Zora and Talla, but that brought him back to Jabba and the dancer. He thought about Chewie, but even that line of thought brought him back to the boy. It was the dancer he saw defying the Imperial slave drivers and being condemned to execution. He'd risked everything for a Wookiee whose language he didn't even speak at the time. Had the last five years changed him so much he wouldn't sleep
with a boy he found attractive to save the kid's life?

He knew what it was. If he used the boy, he was giving tacit approval to Jabba's slave-holding. By giving this approval, he could expect to be asked to do a slave run, even though he had explicitly said he wouldn't. But that was far in the future, and the boy needed his help now.

"Captain, sir?" The perfectly pitched voice from the doorway interrupted his thoughts. He saw the dancer standing there, frightened, yet hopeful.

"C'mere, kid. I don't bite."

The motion was halfway between a saunter and a slink and it brought the boy across the floor in a manner that made him seem infinitely desirable. He dropped to the floor to kneel at Han's feet, awaiting his fate.

The moments stretched into agonizing silence. He finally blurted "I'm sorry I was rude to you, sir."

"'Sokay, kid. I'd probably be rude too if someone was using a filthy word like it was my name. So, what is your name?"

"Luke, sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir. I haven't had anything else since I've been here." Han wondered exactly how long that had been, and asked. "Eight years. I used to work on the speeders, and was the second best pilot. But then Melina saw me five years ago and insisted I was too pretty to be in the garage. She pulled me out and trained me to dance. She didn't let me go to Jabba for a year."

"How old are you, kid? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Sixteen, sir."

Han stood up and paced a circuit of the room. This one was just a kid. In the core-worlds he'd still be in school. Out here on the Rim, he was probably old enough to be working and starting a family of his own. He pounded the wall and made another circuit before stopping in front of the boy, who was visibly trembling.

"What does it mean, 'cheelooda?'"

"The cheelooda is the receptive male partner, sir. In Huttese sexual hierarchy, that puts me somewhere between a human female and a trained caniad." He bowed his head, almost as if the very words oppressed him, defiling him and making him even more of a slave. Han noticed that Luke had made sure that long hair was draped across his freshly polished boots. Every gesture was incredibly sexual, and completely rehearsed.

Han caught his chin and lifted his face up to look at him. Luke was a piece of the bright outside trapped in Jabba's hellhole palace: sand-colored hair and eyes the same shade as Tatooine's sky. A beautiful boy, very talented, and the Hutt had him thinking he was the lowest form of sentient.

He stroked the boy's ponytail reassuringly, trying to put him at ease. "On Corellia, nobody's always on the bottom. When two males choose each other, real popular in adolescence, they alternate or find other types of pleasure. I don't think I've forgotten everything." He sat down and pulled the boy onto his lap. "You like to kiss?" he asked before he caught a good whiff. "On second
thought, let's wash Jabba off your skin. You reek of him."

Luke brightened noticeably at this suggestion. "I'll show you where the bath is, sir. Jabba has real water baths, can you believe it? Of course, slaves use a sonic shower belowstairs."

"Where's the bed?" Han asked as he followed to the offset room and began to run a decadently warm tub.

"Oh, nobody sleeps in these rooms, sir. Jabba insists all members of his court sleep in the throne room. We'll go down there in a few hours, for the revels. There'll be food, and entertainment, and an orgy. You'll be expected use me in front of the whole court, sir."

"In, kid. Wash all the Hutt-stink off, and then we'll figure out what to do. And stop calling me sir."

"Do you prefer master?"

"No. Captain, if you have to show respect. Han, if you possibly can."

Han watched, impressed, as Luke shimmied out of the gold pants. The boy's body was perfect: slim and toned from dancing, almost hairless, and smooth. Shame long beaten out of him, he moved as confidently naked as most men did clothed. Han was startled when Luke handed him the chain still attached to the metal collar he wore.

"Put the last link over that hook in the wall, please, Captain. That'll keep it out of the water. Unless, you'd rather hold it? Or join me?" The sidelong seductive glance hit Han like a stunbolt, making him dizzy and too hot all at once. He took the safe route and linked the chain over the hook, before retreating to the uncomfortable chair to think some more.

Taking up where he'd left off, he ran through his chain of reasoning, almost admiring the low cunning and quick way Jabba had sized him up. Almost. If he took the kid, Luke he reminded himself, in front of the whole court, it was a tacit approval of slavery in general, and Jabba holding slaves in particular. If he
didn't, the kid would be killed. The code he had been raised with taught that one could do almost anything to save another's life, but trading in slaves, which he was sure Jabba would ask of him, carried a capital sentence. The Empire was jealous of its perogatives.

The sight of Luke, standing naked in the doorway to the bath, decided him. Water still beaded on his body, tracing his smooth limbs in the uncertain light. Whipcord thin, all muscle over bone, the long hair trailing loose down his back, and the chain falling over one shoulder along the line of his body, emphasizing the soft fairness of his flesh against its dark metal, if Desire had a body it would be this one.

*Space the future,* Han decided.

Not trusting his voice, he motioned Luke over with a jerk of his head. Again, the seductive walk, apparently habitual, left him aroused and wanting. He pulled the boy onto his lap and smelled him. The slime and stench of Hutt were gone, and he smelled of soap and something sharper, the smell of Luke himself.

"Where were we?"

"You asked if I liked to kiss, Captain. I do, but men don't kiss."

"And who told you that, kid?"

"No one, they just never have. The women, they like to kiss. They kiss and touch and cuddle. I like that a lot, and they say I'm good at it. Men treat me like I'm just an opening for them to use. And some of them like to hurt."

"Don't worry about that, I don't. But I do like kissing. Now show me what your ladies like."

The boy's lips were warm and soft. They just barely brushed his and were gone, only to return a moment later, in a more lingering fashion. His warm tongue teased the spacer's lips, before coming back for a full exploration of the waiting mouth. Luke pulled a little away, tugging Han's bottom lip with his teeth, as he broke
the kiss.

"Wow. More."

Luke was splendidly eager for more. He straddled his temporary owner's lap, rubbing his slightly damp body against the bare skin revealed by the open-neck shirt. His mouth was everywhere on Han's face, but especially on his mouth, licking, nibbling, teasing his tongue and teeth.

Luke looked up, trembling slightly and breathing hard. "That was nice, Captain. I don't get nearly enough from humans. Actually, I like all of it. I have to. If I hated being touched, I wouldn't last." The resigned tone was almost painful, but his eyes were clear and honest. "And I think I like you. I know I want you. If we do this now, will you be able to do more at the revel?" Apprehension and a fear
of being insulting played over his face.

"I'm Corellian, kid. That answer enough?"

His answer was a very warm mouth over his own. Talented kid, indeed. The kiss alone would have been expensive in a Core brothel. He seemed to relish learning the new lessons, and the long-fingered hands were light on Han's neck and chest.

"Do you want me now, or shall we wait, Captain?"

"Now. Right now. Do your worst."

Luke gave a low, throaty chuckle that went straight to Han's groin and raised goosebumps on his upper arms. "My worst? Why not my best?"

"Save that for tonight. The Hutt wants a show? By the Sea and Stars, we'll give him one. But this is for us."

****

The band moaned in the background as the revel got into full swing. Couples and groups of various beings gyrated to the music, some of it hardly dignified enough to be called dancing. Trays and carriers of food for all species had been brought up from the kitchens, and more beings indulged in them.

Han managed to snag a couple of fried buns lightly dusted with powdered sugar, and pass one to Luke before the Hutt arrived. They'd eaten from the foodsynth in the guestroom as a precaution. Talla had shared her nose-stunning inhalant, and Zora had offered them both puffs on her ever-present smokestick. The partners moved through the crowd, greeting old acquaintances. Han tugged Luke into a quiet
corner and held him perched on one leg, running obtrusively possessive hands over the boy's bare chest. Luke had explained that such a display would be expected and also help keep him safe from the other denizens of the palace. Not to say that it wasn't very pleasant into the bargain.

Every now and then, the boy would lean in and give him one of those incredible kisses. Idly, Han wondered if he could make enough to buy the kid and free him. Random images passed through his mind: long hyperspace jumps made short by intense lovemaking, evenings of three-way chess against Chewie and Luke, extra hands to unload cargo, sensual kisses anytime he wanted them. Another brush of the talented
mouth drove the pleasant ideas away with even more pleasant reality.

Jabba floated into the room on a repulsor platform. He slithered onto the dais, and waved a munificent hand at his court before taking up the waterpipe to watch. The dancers were becoming more frenzied, and at least one group had begun indulging in what their species considered foreplay. It seemed to consist of rubbing the
spines on their bodies against each other until they bled. Han quit watching and gave his attention back to the boy on his lap.

"When do we need to move to something more intense?" he asked between kisses on the throat above the collar.

"Sometime after Yarna chooses her partner for the evening."

"Who's Yarna?" Han didn't care. The soft neck and firm jaw under his mouth were all that interested him at the moment.

"Her." Luke pointed at the Askjian flirting her way through the crowd. He arched his neck a little to enjoy the kisses that had become light nips. He slid one hand along the front of Han's trousers and stroked the rapidly expanding bulge he found there. "Nice. And what shall we do with this when the time comes?"

The teasing could be cute, but Han was trying to stay in control, at least for the moment. "You talk too much." He removed the exploratory hand, and placed it on his shoulder before turning Luke in to face him a little more. "If you want me to wait, keep that hand there, and kiss me."

Well-trained, eager, obliging kid.

Talla wandered by, still unattached, but the men were too busy to pay her much attention. "Solo! Solo! Quit thinking with your blaster!"

"Go 'way."

"Jabba's not amused enough. He's glaring at the two of you. Get on with it!"

"Go away," Han insisted much more clearly. "We're on it."

Talla wandered off, her eye caught by a human on the outskirts of the throne-room. Han broke from Luke's mouth to stare. Surely that wasn't Mandalorian combat armor! He'd personally led the squadron four years ago that had wiped out the commando band. It was his last assignment before the debacle with Chewbacca that had gained him his partner and lost him his career. He decided he was seeing things.

"You ready, kid? I'm long past. Your mouth first."

"You just let go of it."

"Mouthy brat. You this difficult for all the pilots?"

"Just you."

"If you don't want Jabba to take you away, you'd better start licking so it doesn't hurt when I bend you over the bench."

Taking his meaning, Luke slid bonelessly off his lap, and with fingers so deft Han almost didn't feel them, had him exposed to the full view of the court, and especially Jabba. Only a moment of bareness, then wet silk enclosed him, the warm plush tongue moving in a soft spiral pattern.

"Get me really wet, kid. I don't want to hurt either of us." Oh, that mouth. The hair was perfect, a silken leash to guide the boy's motions.

The room had been a mere sample. His thighs were bare and smooth as satin where he'd taken Han between them, flexing the flat, strong dancer's muscles to form a tight passage, guiding the other's shaft to lie next to the base of his own. His fingers had danced lightly over his cock, teasing the protruding tip of the older man's as he pressed and released his legs in hard pulses. Vaunted Corellian
staying power or no, Han had lasted less than three standard minutes under this delightful torture. The sight of Luke sitting on his lap, doing all of that, had sent him over the edge before either of them was really ready.

Now, the first ragged edge taken from his lust, Han meant to enjoy himself. He was as wet as he would be getting. "On your knees in front of the bench, and drape over it," he said, standing up. The air was chilly on his damp cock, and he was looking forward to warming it up. Luke positioned himself quickly. He barely gasped at the first blunt nudge against his opening, and then Han was deep
inside his warm body.

The music, the others, even Jabba himself faded into inconsequence. All that mattered was the boy beneath him. He was careful, making sure not to hurt, at the same time moving steadily and apparently roughly. Determined to be as entertaining as he had to be to keep the kid alive, he climaxed with a yell. Slightly embarrassed, but knowing it was in a good cause, he ran his thumbs across Luke's lower back, still gripping his hips.

Jabba's attention wandered to watch a green Twi'lek girl as she danced. Han waited until he had relaxed a little, and then pulled out and closed his pants. Gently, he reclosed Luke's as well, and drew him up for another of those kisses.

"Told you I hadn't forgotten everything."

"I only hope you've got another in there before the night is over."

Han chuckled and drew him back in. "Just try me, kid."


****

Han's life fell into a pattern over the next year. He'd make a run in record time for Jabba, relax at the palace for two days with his reward, return to Mos Espa and work on the Falcon for three days, then Bib Fortuna would contact him with another job. It was the steadiest work he'd ever had, and the Hutt paid well. With so little down-time, he had no chance to spend money, except on his lady. The
constant maintenance made the Falcon run like she never had before. Chewbacca was sleek and contented. He had no desire to subject his sensitive nose to the fetor of Jabba. He was happy to space, drink beer at the cantina, and work on the ship. He also took care of the money, carefully investing the small fortune they were accumulating.

This time, the partners had brought in illegal water. Han had turned it over to Jabba's agent, and received the receipt voucher. He was about to present it to Jabba, a day early, and claim his bonus again. Jabba preferred to pay his incentives in slave time. He had persuaded Han to try a few of the others, but the Corellian preferred Luke. Being a smart businessman, Jabba made sure the pilot
was happy. He was happy, and his groin twitched with anticipated pleasure.

Unfortunately, the big slug was also a controlling sadist at heart, and lately Han had been walking into scenes that were obviously set up to humiliate the young slave in front of him. Jabba was making it perfectly clear that Luke was still his, no matter how often Han enjoyed him. This time, he was bound on his knees, arms spread wide above him on a metal frame, servicing a line of humans and
near-humans who presented themselves.

Steeling himself, Han ignored the scene as he dickered with his employer. The Hutt was insistent that he try a new acquisition, a human female. She was very lovely, but Han stood fast.

*A man who knows what he likes. Very well. Join the pool. We're seeing how much the cheelooda can swallow before he gets sick. You want a try?*

Han shrugged as if it made little difference. "Sure. He looks like he's at the end of his endurance. A little green, which is fine for a Rodian but looks terrible on humans." The courtiers who were paying attention laughed when Jabba did. Han bit down hard on his anger, and silently promised Luke he'd get him out of there.

*You go next.*

There were complaints from the men who'd waited for their turns, but a glare from the pilot silenced them. As the devaronian male stepped away, he stepped up and cupped Luke's chin with his right hand, laying his left on the boy's shoulder.

"I can get you out of this, kid, but it won't be pleasant. I may have to hurt you a little. You want me to?" The whole thing was a toss-up, and he wasn't sure he'd even be hard when the time came. He thought of Luke again, in the most erotic scenarios he could devise, instead of in misery here in the Hutt's throneroom. The
touch-and-go moment passed.

"Get me out of it, Han. Please...anything." Luke rasped through bruised lips. His hands hung limp and bloodless.

"C'mon, boy. Don't act like you've never seen it before," he snarled loudly enough for those around to hear as he opened his pants. They laughed as he grabbed Luke's ponytail and shoved him down on the rampant erection. The boy gagged as he was forced.

Sparing a gentle caress of his thumb on the side of Luke's neck, Han was rough, varying the pace and pressing deeper with each thrust. If he kept trying to force Luke to swallow him, eventually, he'd trigger a gag reflex, and the kid would throw up. That would be the end of Jabba's little game.

Luke took a small comfort in the steady stroke of Han's thumb against his neck, the weight of his hand on his shoulder. He knew what his lover was trying to do, and fought, trying to help spring the gag reflex.

He gagged on the hard flesh bumping against the back of his throat. Encouraged, Han rammed deeper, promising himself he'd be extra nice to the kid tonight. This was going to be really repulsive. He felt Luke heave around him, and barely got out of the way in time.

"I'll make him polish my boots later, Jabba. Can I have him now?"

*Eager? Too many days in space, my boy? Take him and your usual rooms.*

"Thank you, Jabba. The Scourge of Corellia was just too much for him."

He untied Luke and helped him out of the throne room to the Hutt's booming laughter. Once settled in his usual room, he got Luke a glass of water, and had him rinse his mouth. Then he kissed the boy slowly and gently.

"Are you all right? I'm so sorry, kid."

"Thank you." Luke was still raspy. "I'm fine now that you're here. You didn't hurt me."

"Of course I didn't!" Han snapped. "I only shoved my cock so far down your throat you tossed! I know pain is relative, and compared to some of these dregs that's almost nice, but it isn't me."

"Love you. What wind blew you my way?"

Han wasn't sure he'd heard right. "What?"

"I love you. You didn't hurt me. You know I can swallow you with no trouble. I closed up on purpose." Luke let him absorb this information. Then, he looked up, loose hair trailing in his face. "What if I wanted you to hurt me?"

"First, don't say things like that. It's bad luck. Second, I don't do pain. I don't take it, I don't give it."

"One of the reasons I love you. So many of the others like to hurt. Him."

Han knew who that meant. Just because he didn't associate with bounty hunters didn't mean Jabba had the same scruples. The one in highest favor was a Mandalorian renegade who had made himself Luke's own personal nightmare.

"No talk of Fett tonight. You're going to recover for a while." Han kissed him. "Then we're going to have a bite to eat, before I make love to you all night long."

"All night? Is that a promise?"

"It is, and I always keep my promises."


****

Jabba's palace still stank, but Han had the formula for the odor killer from Talla. He wasn't ready to take up smoking Zora's herbs. He followed the unctuous Twi'Lek and stopped dead at the entrance of the throne room.

The attention of the entire court was focused on one exceedingly well lit pillar. A slim, bare figure hung in manacles, exposed to the merciless double sun. The sunburned back, barely screened by the long hair, was very familiar.

An order from Jabba's dais sent a tall humanoid female into the lit area. She blinked against the glare, let the light gleam on her blue-black skin and pure white hair, and held up a multi-tailed whip.

The tenor of the crowd turned ugly, blood-lusting. She paraded a bit more, dragging out the preliminaries, well aware of the picture she and the boy made. Han held down the urge to tackle her, throw the whip into the rancor pit and snatch the kid. That would be Luke's death sentence faster than the double suns he was broiling under, what with the implant.

His self-control strained its leash as she brought the whip down across the reddest part of Luke's back, drawing a yell from the slave boy. The crowd cheered. A second blow and a third fell. From the crowd, a voice yelled "Refuse our amusement, will you, slut? Beat him to death, Shamidi!"

At the sixth blow, the leash broke and Han strode to the center of the throne room. "Jabba!"

*Hoom, hoom! Solo. You are just in time to watch the show. Shamidi is beating my disrespectful cheelooda into unconsciousness, to remind him of his place. Continue!

"I come to bargain for him, Jabba. I want his place to be with me."

Jabba laughed. *The hard mercenary has a plifir cream core! He is sweet on a cheelooda!*

"Space flight can get pretty dull," Han said half to himself, as if he hadn't heard. "A body-servant trained cheelooda like him could make it much more interesting. And a lot more pleasant." He tasted the falseness of his indifference, and only hoped it wasn't audible. Showing real interest would make Jabba suspicious.

Luke heard only the words, and slumped in the chains that held him upright. His last hope, the one he had clung so desperately to through the hours in the sun, under the first blows of the whip, crumbled. Han had promised him his freedom. Now it sounded like the smuggler just wanted his servitude.

*When he is unconscious, we negotiate. Shamidi!*

The female swung the whip again. Luke didn't even cry out, but hung gasping in the chains, his face pressed to the sandstone pillar. She continued. He refused them the satisfaction of his torment, but took it, and let it wash in him and through him and out into the pillar.

But even the silent complacency of the stone wore thin, and his body, still half a child's, collapsed under the onslaught. Shamidi put her whip at the base of Jabba's dais, and prostrated herself. It was then that Han saw the slave collar on her throat as well, the exact shade as her skin, and the dampness of her eyelashes did not escape him either.

*Now, Solo, what do you offer me for the cheelooda?*

"I can pay you--"

*I expected better than that, Solo. So prosaic. Make an interesting offer for an interesting slave.*

"I do the next run, a Kessel, for no more than my docking fees."

*Better. Now, we make it interesting. The speed record on a Kessel is thirteen standard days. You leave here tomorrow. I set the implant for an explosion exactly twelve days to the minute you leave. If you return, spice and all, before the cheelooda explodes, he is yours. If you refuse, I detonate him now!*

"Then I accept, Jabba. And I am grateful for this opportunity to prove myself." The words stuck in his clenched teeth. Luke's life hung in his hands and on his piloting skill.

*Unlock him, and take him with you. You stay tonight. Tomorrow the race is on!*

Han stalked to the pillar and unlocked the chains with a key Bib Fortuna handed him. Very, very carefully, he eased the limp body over one shoulder. Yarna followed him from the throne room.

"Sir? This will help him." She handed Han a clay pot filled with greenish cream. "I know you'll take good care of him."

"Thank you." Worry made him short with her, and he strode off to his usual rooms.

Luke's front, pressed to the pillar, had been spared the worst of the sunburn, so Han laid him carefully on his stomach. He smoothed the cream over the welts and burn, and watched them lose the angry look that had worried him.

Luke began to stir, swimming out of cool darkness and coming back to harsh light. He listened as a smooth, deep voice talked, and slowly it dawned on him who he was listening to.

"You lied to me," he managed. He would have spat in Han's face if he'd had the strength.

"No, Luke, never."

"You told Jabba you wanted me as your slave."

"When have I ever told Jabba the straight story? I want you, at my side as long as you want to stay there."

"You called me cheelooda."

"Only to Jabba. Only because he called you that. If I can beat the best time on a Kessel Run, you're mine. Look." Han patted down his vest. Finding the device, he showed it to Luke. "This is an extractor. Jabba gives me your code, I deactivate the bomb and remove it. You may be with me, but I won't own you." He tucked the
remover away and leaned forward for a light kiss, mindful of the boy's burned face.

"Love you, Han."

That phrase always made Han uneasy. He pulled back. "Don't say that too quick. I haven't told you everything. If I don't make it back, Jabba explodes the implant."

"Either way, I'm free. Love me. Please?"

"You're burned really bad, kid. I don't want to hurt you."

"Your hurt is better than any of the others' gentleness. Take me?"

"Let me check your back." Han stood up to look him over. The welts were gone, and the burn fading. "Maybe later. Yarna's stuff is a miracle."

"Oh, they can't mark me. Not for long. Frustrates the sandstorm out of Jabba, he likes marks to linger. I don't know why, but I heal really fast."

"So I see." He sat back down on the floor beside the bench, letting Luke kiss him, enjoying the kisses that were still as technically perfect as the first ones had been, but meant more with feeling behind them.

"Han?" Luke's voice was soft near his ear. "If you sat up on the bench, I could suck you. I've been thinking about it since you left. Every time Jabba gave me to someone else, I closed my eyes and pretended he was you. Come up?"

Not one to refuse an invitation like that, Han hoisted himself onto the bench. Luke dropped his head into the older man's lap, and rolled onto his side, facing the smuggler. He tried lifting a hand, but his abused arms cramped under the effort. Using only his mouth, he worried Han's pants open, and let the semihard flesh fill his mouth.

It quickly came awake under his ministrations, and he sighed softly with pleasure. He loved doing this on his own terms. He flexed one hand, and winced. Strictly his mouth, then, and no helping hands.

A large hand came to rest on his head, and smoothed his hair. Had his back not been so burnt, he knew it would be on his shoulder, tracing the line of his scapula, making circles on the small of his back.

"That's enough for now, kid."

Luke shot a curious look up at his lover.

"I said enough. We have plans to make for when I come back for you." He tugged the ponytail to free himself. Seeing the glare he was getting, Han conceded. "All right. Finish me. I'll think better afterwards."

****

*Why do you trouble me again, Old Man? Did we not establish years ago that the cheelooda was not for sale?*

"Have you ever seen one of these, Mighty Jabba?" asked the old man as if he hadn't heard. He pulled out a globe as large as his cupped hands from his robes. Its opalescent surface began to glow and it levitated out of the oldster's hands.

*Jedi tricks* Jabba sneered. *A polyplas sphere treated to glow.*

"A sand pearl." The old man activated a small reader. The document it projected was sealed by a noted lapidary in Mos Eisley. "It is worth over 50000 Imperial credits."

*Mad old hermit! A tenth of that would buy any slave in this palace, and some of the free men as well.*

"I only want him."

*Very well. For 50,000 credits I can buy a dozen such boys.* Jabba laughed at some private joke.

"Master Jabba," the boy began.

*Silence. You belong to him now.* The tiny hands unfastened the collar and the powerful tail shoved Luke off the dais. *Be off. Do not let me see you again. Either of you.*

"Come along, son."

His heart sinking with each step, Luke followed the old man out of Jabba's palace and to the speeder. His thoughts were far away with his smuggler, wondering what would happen when Han found he was gone.


****

Solo skidded the hovertruck into the bay, and vaulted from the cab. Fortuna nodded sagely, and sent a message droid skimming ahead of him. Sparing less than a glance for the Twi'lek, he dashed into Jabba's throne room, skidding to a stop in front of the crime lord. His heart thudded into his boots. The spot on the front of the dais was empty.

Jabba was dozing, clutching a chain that led to an empty collar. The stench of blood and excrement hung in the air. Red smears marked the slimy slug's skin.

"Where is he, Jabba? I made your damned run in less than twelve days! I've got a ship that nearly shook herself apart, a copilot half-bald from shedding, six burned-out power couplings, and a positive ID from an imperial cruiser. Now pay up!"

The Hutt laughed. *Too late, Solo. Your chrono must be faulty. The cheelooda exploded an hour ago. His belly blew open, guts spilled everywhere. His pretty boy-toys flew in three directions. Someone has souvenirs. The rancor ate the rest. You will be paid in credits.*

"Pay me. And no more jobs. I don't work for people who don't keep their promises. You just lost the ship and pilot who made the Kessel Run in eleven standard days for your little joke."

Han took the credit chip, and stalked out of Jabba's palace for the last time. He had enough saved, and with this payment he could start his own company, or get by until he decided what to do with himself. How had a teenage sex slave come to mean so much in just the few months he'd known him?

*Goin' soft, Solo. Soft heart, soft head as Da used to say. No more. No more cheeloodas, no more smuggling, no more trouble.*

****

The old man's house was small and neat. Luke didn't remember ever smelling anything as clean as this place. The air was recycled and cool, and the floor was clean. He sat nervously on a bench as his new owner dug through a trunk. Various oddments were carefully set aside.

"Ah! I knew I had one here somewhere." The old man stood up and checked the power gauges. "Still good. I haven't used this since my last mission with your father."

"My father?" Luke was stunned by the news. "You knew my father, sir?"

"Lie back, son, and open the left side of your pants."

Resignedly, Luke laid back and willed himself hard, knowing the day had been too good to last. To his surprise, the old man pressed the device to his hip. "Let's see if I still remember how to do this," he mumbled as he punched codes, and then the whirr of a small medical laser filled the house. Luke gripped the sides of the bench, and breathed slowly. He'd tolerated worse.

"I haven't lost my touch. Close them up." A small cylinder shone dully in his palm. "Luke Skywalker, you're a free man." He glared at the implant, and it melted into nothingness.

"Free? Skywalker? Where'd it go?"

"I think I said both of those, yes. The implant, or rather its component elements, are being filtered out of the air right now by the recycler."

"Tell me everything, please? I don't remember anything before I woke up in the mechanic's quarters at Jabba's. I didn't even know I had a last name. Do you have a name, or do I just call you sir?"

"Very well. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi in exile. Your father, Anakin Skywalker, asked me to care for and train you before he died. I placed you with my brother and his wife. Eight years ago, their homestead was burned out by sand-people. I was off-planet. When I returned four years ago, I followed the cold trail to Jabba, and found you. Thirteen, and looking so like your father. I suspect you
have either trauma-induced amnesia or you were mind-wiped. There are those who do not want the last of the Skywalkers to become a Jedi."

"Jedi?"

"For a thousand generations, the Jedi were the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy. Before the dark times. Before the Empire." The old man looked pensive, and Luke wondered if he should say something. He had a million questions, but he wasn't sure if Obi-Wan would want to answer them.

"Now, young Luke, shall we begin your training?" The lassitude dissolved, and the blue eyes twinkled. "First proper clothing and a haircut. Here. These were your father's. They may be a little long." From one of the stacks, Obi-Wan handed him a pile of clothing. "The second bedroom is yours to use."

Luke carried the clothes into the small bedroom. A narrow bed, a small closet, and a chest of drawers furnished it. A single 2D sat on the chest. He picked it up. A very tall young man, in his early twenties, stood with a shorter, older man. They both wore the same cream and tan robes Obi-Wan had just given him. He stripped out of the gold harem pants, the last vestige of his time with Jabba,
and stepped into the soft underwear. It chafed obscenely, he hadn't worn any for five years. Ignoring the sensation, he pulled on the cream colored trousers. Obi-Wan appeared at the door in response to his burst of laughter.

"A little long?" Luke laughed again. The pants ended a good ten cents below his feet.

"Finish dressing and come out. I'll hem them up to fit you. It's entirely possible you haven't gotten your full growth yet."

"Yes, sir."

"Luke, if you are to be my apprentice, the proper form of address is 'master.' I hate to require it, but there are formalities."

"Yes, Master."

"Very good, Apprentice. Haste, our meal awaits us."

At the mention of food, Luke pulled on the shirt and overtunic. He belted them. Since Obi-Wan, his master, he corrected himself, had left the cloak at the door, he decided to hang his own there, too.

Luke walked back into the main room. Obi-Wan carefully hid a smile. The boy was built like his mother, and was practically swimming in his father's clothing. He cuffed the sleeves that draped over Luke's hands.

"Come eat. We'll alter them after lunch."

Having missed breakfast, Luke attacked the meal. Obi-Wan sat back, eating the bread and fruit, watching as the boy ate neatly but rapidly. He looked so like Ani, even the gestures were the same. The table was cleared to the plates within minutes.

"Are you still hungry, Luke?"

The boy looked up a little shyly. "A little, Master. May I have more?"

"Apprentice, you may eat as much as you need. I remember quite a lot about seventeen year old boys. My own master had trouble keeping me fed, as I had trouble keeping your father fed. This, too, shall pass."

"Thank you." Luke took the empty dishes to the sonic sterilizer, before punching up another meal for himself.

When he finished and took his plate to the recycler, Obi-Wan had him stand on a small platform while he marked out where the hems should go. Luke changed out of the Jedi clothing and into a nightshirt at least three sizes too big to wait while his clothes were altered.

"You sew? By hand?"

"I picked up many skills during my own apprenticeship. I seldom have need of an autovalet."

Luke asked question after question, each of which Obi-Wan answered patiently, his sadness at the boy's ignorance growing deeper with every word. Luke had a clever mind, and his education had been limited to mechanical work, flying, dancing and sex. One more thing to rectify.

Suddenly, the boy looked distressed. "Han!"

"What?"

"He's a pilot of Jabba's. He was making a Kessel Run in exchange for me. The only reason Jabba sold me to you today was to spite him."

"Would he have been a better master than Jabba?"

"Much. He's fond of me. He's good to me. He even showed me the implant extractor he'd gotten to use when he got back and Jabba signed me over."

Seeing his apprentice's clear infatuation, the old Jedi conceded. "We'll get word to him. You can see him when he's on-planet."

Luke looked about to say something, and then held his tongue.

"And I can see about a double bed." An impish grin crossed the old man's face. Luke almost blushed. "You love him very much. You can't hide your feelings, Luke. You shine, and your Force signature shines brighter."

"Force signature?"

"A lesson for later. Now off with the nightshirt, and let me cut your hair."

Luke hesitated with the nightshirt.

"Come, son. You don't want all the hair trickling down amid your clothes."

Obi-Wan spread a cloth under a chair as he spoke and went for the snips. Luke stripped to his underwear and sat down, stroking his ponytail sadly. He wouldn't miss being dragged around by it, but he would miss Han playing with it, caressing it, wrapping it around the both of them as they made love. He unbound it for the last time.

The first thing Obi-Wan did was pull a handful of hair into a smaller ponytail, and clip the length until it was a mere handspan long. He bound off a second lock behind Luke's ear and cut the back to just above the nape of his neck. The front, he clipped even shorter until the fine strands stood up on their own. Using a soft brush, he dusted the fragments away.

"You get dressed, Luke. I'll clear up. We have a small ritual before I teach you more."

Luke carried the clothes to his room, and dressed apprehensively. Rituals with Jabba usually meant someone's death. But he wasn't afraid of the old man. He looked at his reflection in the small mirror. His hair was cut identically to the man in the photo, except for the braid.

When he returned to the main room, Obi-Wan had spread a pair of small mats on the floor. The old man knelt on one and indicated that Luke should kneel across from him.

"In ages past, when a Jedi Master selected his padawan, his apprentice, from the ranks of the initiates, a grand festival rang through the halls of the temple on Coruscant. The Initiate was taken out of his white clothes and given the tan and cream of a padawan. The Master cut his hair in the main hall, shearing away the long ponytail of childhood, and replacing it with the cut you wear. (One merely had to pray the Master had steady hands, lest one look as if it had been done in the dark.) Then the braid was plaited, beaded and bound as a training bond was established. I did this for your father, Anakin. My master, Qui-Gon Jinn, did it for me. His master did it, and so on, back into the mists of time and legend. Now, Luke Skywalker, son of my friend and padawan Anakin, I take you as my
padawan learner, honoring the vow I made your father."

Obi-Wan reached forward and took hold of the loose lock of hair behind Luke's ear. "Three parts go into this: master, apprentice and Force. The Force binds us, permeates us, guides us and obeys us." He swiftly plaited a braid in the hair. "These beads mark you. The first is the gold of the Jedi order. The second is my own, identical to the one my master gave me. It says, for those who can read it, that you learn from Obi-Wan Kenobi. The third is the one I have selected for you." He held up a Travig skystone, square-cut, its gold veins wide and deep. "When you take a padawan, you will give him an identical one. The bindings are symbolic of the training bond we form, and the binding of the Force."

All the time Obi-Wan was speaking, Luke was aware of a growing feeling of connectedness. He'd had flashes of insight before. The other slaves had even used him to find lost objects. Now, he could almost hear the older man's thoughts, like the first whispering gusts of a sandstorm.

//Yes, that is the Force, my boy.//

//? I can hear you.//

//A training bond. Here, the first meditation.//

Luke took the proffered information from his teacher's mind and set about studying it as he knelt on the mat. It intrigued him in the same way speeder engines and dance rhythms did. He studied the elegant construct from all angles and began trying to insinuate himself into it. Success came at last, and his entire body glowed with contentment. Coming up from the meditation, he saw Obi-Wan smiling at him.

"Very good, padawan. It took me three days to solve that riddle when I encountered it. You took four hours. Are you ready for dinner?"

"I'm always ready for food, Master. Shall I program?"

"If you would like. One day, we will leave this place. In our next dwelling, we shall have a true kitchen and I shall teach you to cook organic food. There is more to eating than programming the taste and texture of your nutrimix."

Luke put the two plates on the table, and joined his master for the meal. Obi-Wan watched in amusement as Luke put away two bowls of stew, half a loaf of bread, some fruit and a small cake. The foodsynth would be getting a lot of use with him here.

After the meal, they went outside. Silently, they watched Tatoo I and Tatoo II set beyond the stony ridges of the Wastes.

"Can you feel it, Luke? All the life? How does it feel? How does it sound? My master heard it as a song, with each life singing a single note. Your father heard it as an engine, each life a separate humming part. What do you hear?"

"I hear the wind, Master. The lives are like breaths of air. All blend to form the wind. The wind brings the dew, but it also brings the sandstorm."

"Excellent. Come inside and review the first meditation again before bed. The nights are cold."

The days fell into an easy pattern: housekeeping, breakfast, vaporator collections and maintenance, meditation, lunch, general education, training exercises, dinner, the sunset, more meditation and bed. Luke fell into it easily, finding the work less onerous than it had been at Jabba's. The meditations varied and engaged his
mind. Some were mental puzzles, others discussions on the nature of things.

Weeks, then months slipped by. His hair grew, and Obi-wan cut it. He grew, and Obi-Wan altered his clothing. He would never be as tall as his father, it seemed. Plentiful food and strenuous exercise had hardened the new weight into muscle. No longer the slender dancer, he found he was far more at home in the new shape of his body. Even the desires which had driven him nearly crazy in the first months began to subside. He found the exercise reduced his need to masturbate to twice a day instead of the half dozen times that had been the norm for the first month after leaving Jabba.

Obi-Wan told him stories of his father, of the Old Jedi ways. He thrilled to tales of the Clone Wars and listened with rapt attention to the romance of his parents. Thoughts of Han came with less urgency. Obi-Wan assured him that the spacer had not put in on Tatooine in almost a year.

In the second year with Obi-Wan, they acquired a computer with Stellnet and he began accessing history files. Slowly, he began piecing together the history he did not get from the Imperial net over breakfast. Obi-Wan always insisted they watch it, even though Luke sensed his distress more clearly with each passing day. One morning, a black gargoyle filled the screen. Darth Vader, the Emperor's personal aide, announced a sweep of the Corellian shipyards, rounding up rebel sympathizers. The masked warrior demonstrated the fate of one of the sympathizers. Luke perceived his master's acute agony, and turned off the holo before the man in the picture died.

"Master? Why does he upset you so?"

"Vader was my last pupil. He turned to evil and betrayed the Jedi order. He took service under the emperor and eradicated us. He murdered your father, and many other good knights."

Even two months ago, Luke would have been horrified and furious. Now, with the first true evidence of Jedi calm, he stood and extended a hand to his master.

"Come meditate with me."

Obi-Wan relaxed into the meditation, a serenity koan, feeling Luke through the bond. He listened to the Force, and heard what it told him.

"No exercise today, padawan. We are doing something very different." He went to the chest of oddments and pulled out a tube, and offered it to Luke. "Your father's lightsaber. It may not handle as well as your own would, but we haven't time to build one."

"You sense it, too, Master. What is it?"

"A nexus in the Force. Momentous things are in the offing, Luke. I can only trust our few months of training have been enough. We go to Anchorhead tomorrow. Today, you practice with the saber."

The wooden saber drills had been one of his favorite exercises, and they served him well. He didn't take a single hit from the training remote that Obi-Wan set on him. He sparred with his master with the sabers set at low power.

Over lunch, Obi-Wan said "You won't be winning the Padawan Division Saber Tournament, but it will suffice. Things converged more quickly than I expected. I fear my foreseeing fails as my life approaches its end."

"Master, don't say that! You won't die. You can't leave me half-trained."

"I said approaches, padawan. The prescience has been failing for some years now. Blame Jabba for your lack of training. Had he sold you six years ago, you would be at the height of your powers. We shall meditate, do the closing maintenance, and pack."

Luke cleared the table and settled into meditation across from his master. The light breeze of the Force was gathering, as the zephyrs gathered before a storm. Soon, they would form winds, and gales, and the howls would be heard for miles, until even the non-Jedi would feel it. Something very, very large was coming.

****

The next morning, two men in brown robes walked the streets of Anchorhead, almost indistinguishable from the Jawas who arrived at midday. Obi-Wan had engaged in a spirited haggle with the chief of the scavengers and they were now the proud owners of an ancient and very battered R2 unit.

They loaded it into the speeder and made the six hour trip to Mos Eisley. Obi-Wan rented a room, signing them in as "Ben and Lou Quig," a father and son pair from Mos Espa. Luke cleaned the R2 unit as best he could, but was amazed when Obi-Wan spoke to the droid.

"All right, old friend, show me what you have for me."

The little blue and silver droid beeped and began to project a hastily made holo of a young woman dressed in senatorial clothing.

"Organa, from Alderaan," Luke supplied, his morning news sessions bearing fruit. The young woman was a notorious pacifist, opposing the vast majority of the Emperor's plans. A small gust in the Force drew his attention, but he concentrated on what she was saying.

"Years ago, General, you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now, the hour of need is upon us again, and we require your assistance once more. My mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of freedom in the memory of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely to Alderaan. You are our last hope."

"In the morning, padawan, we will find a fast ship. We will need to be careful. Mos Eisely is the most wretched hive of scum and villainy in the sector. Now we meditate and rest."

The fast ship was harder to find than they had anticipated. Most of the local shippers were cargo haulers, living in their flight suits with no passenger accommodations. The last office, their final stop before moving to the space port bars for a free-trader, was an office marked "DirectShip, Inc., Tatooine office."

The red-haired woman behind the counter, working on invoices, looked familiar to Luke. When she stood to greet them, he realized who it was but kept his mouth shut.

"We're looking for passage to Alderaan."

Zora checked her schedules and looked back at the two robed and hooded men. "How many, and how soon?"

"Myself and my son. This droid. We would like to lift today if possible."

She checked the log. "Ah, luck. Our corporate president is finishing his inspection today, and headed to Alderaan to check up on the office there. He might agree to take you. He's at Chalmun's Cantina. Look for the Wookiee. If not, I lift tomorrow."

"Thank you. Something for your trouble." Obi-Wan set a small stack of credits on the counter.

"No, sir. I get a percentage referral fee. Clear Skies." She returned to her invoices.

"An honest woman in Mos Eisley. It is a day for surprises," Obi-Wan commented once they returned to the street. He patted Artoo fondly.

"Master. I know her. And I know who the corporate president must be." Luke showed him the mental images of his first encounter with Zora, Talla and Solo.

"Your insight serves you well. Let us see if your lover holds you in as high regard as you hold him."

Chalmun's was a very dingy bar. The droid detector pinged Artoo, and Luke opted to wait outside. rather than risk losing the droid. After all, if his instincts were right, he'd have several days to reacquaint himself with the pilot.

Obi-Wan found two Wookiees at the bar, conversing in low tones. He approached them, and spoke haltingly to the elder as protocol required. Amused to hear a human even attempt their language, they listened to his proposition. The younger escorted him to a corner table.

"Han Solo, owner of DirectShip and captain of the Millennium Falcon. Chewie here says Zora sent you to me. Passage for three to Alderaan?"

"Yes. The young lady at the offices. If yours is a fast ship."

"Fast ship? You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?"

Actually, Obi-Wan had heard a great deal about her, from Luke. He didn't know how much of the second-hand information to trust since Luke wasn't sure what was accurate and what was braggadocio. "I heard that you worked for Jabba and made runs in record time."

"Record time? She made the Kessel Run in 11 standard days. She's fast enough. Is it a local problem?"

"We must avoid Imperial entanglements."

"Not a problem. We're so clean we squeak. And DirectShip always gets the cargo through." He ran through some rapid mental calculations. Chewie barked something, and he added the factors in. "My partner is an idealist. Five thousand."

"Two would be more than fair." A light came into the old Jedi's eyes and he made a small gesture with his hand.

"Two would _not_ be more than fair, old man. Jedi mind-tricks only work on the weak-minded. You're asking me to take two people, one with a standing Jedi bounty on him, and a droid to an interdicted world, without proper papers or procedures. I could lose everything. The only reason it's not ten is that Chewie likes you. Ten might cover most of our fines if we got caught."

"Will this do, Captain?" Obi-Wan pulled a minisafe from his robes and keyed the code. It opened to display a matched pair of krayt dragon pearls.

"Fine." He pocketed the minisafe, and glanced at the door. "Docking bay 94, whenever you're ready to lift. If you're avoiding Imperials, I'd say go now."

Han watched the old man slip out the back door of the bar from a corner of his eye. He and Chewbacca produced their IDs at the stormtrooper's request. He debated tossing out a business card, but decided not to be too brave. The troopers moved on.

"Something fishy about him, Chewie. You go warm up the ship."

The Wookiee went and Han took one more drink of his firewhiskey. He had heard about Jedi and wasn't at all sure he had gotten a good deal. He opened the minisafe. The dragonpearls gleamed redly at him before he snapped it shut. A fence would give him maybe twenty thousand here on Tatooine. That figure would double in a core system. And quadruple again from a legal jeweler. Either the old man was foolish, crazy or very wealthy. He stood to go, his danger sense
telling him he'd be earning every credit.

The muzzle of a blast rifle in his chest stopped him. "Leaving so soon, Solo? You just made planetfall last night. But then, there's nothing to keep you lingering here anymore, is there?" The rough voice picked up a metallic timbre from the blank helmet. Han couldn't tell if the man was just that callous or if he was trying to pick a fight. "Jabba would like to see you."

"I don't want to see him. Or you, Fett."

"Hard feelings over a slave dead these two years? I thought you were more of a businessman than that, Solo. Professional enough not to hold the complaints of a cheelooda against me."

"I'm a legitimate businessman now." Solo carefully did not address the taunts. The bounty hunter was definitely trying to start a fight. Luke was still a very sore spot in his memories. Every time he thought of the kid, he felt his stomach thud into his boots at the gruesome picture the Hutt had painted. It had haunted his sleep for weeks and still occurred at odd moments. In his mind's eye, he saw
the dancer sprawled over the Hutt's tail, a bloody hole instead of a lower abdomen, genitals gone, and intestines looping out over the bloodstained gold harem pants. Worst was the agonized look of betrayal combined with freedom he saw on Luke's face. He had even, in more irrational moments, considered finding the beings who had taken the body parts for souvenirs, and buying them. Then, through contacts,
he would find an illegal cloning lab and bring the kid back.

"Yes, I know." Even the helmet's speakers couldn't keep the disdain from Fett's voice. "DirectShip, offices on fifteen worlds, a fleet of thirty ships, and you're still living hand to mouth. Jabba has an offer to make you rich."

"Jabba is a loathsome slug, a slaver and a spice dealer. I don't need his money or his trouble."

"Suit yourself, Solo. But know that you aren't welcome on Tatooine. If you work here, you work for Jabba."

"I work for myself. And Jabba can take up obstruction of a licensed trade corporation with the Imperials. Now get out of my way. I have an inspection tour to complete."

The bounty hunter watched the former smuggler leave the cantina before informing Jabba that Solo had declined. He listened to the orders coming over his helmet's com unit and nodded slowly.

The price on Han Solo's head had just been set. No one refused Jabba and lived to tell of it. The hunt was afoot.

***

"Master, will this get us to Alderaan?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "You, padawan, are the one who has extolled the virtues of the ship all afternoon. Are you judging by mere appearances?"

"I'm sorry, Master Obi-Wan. She just looks like she's about to fall apart sitting here."

Artoo beeped his agreement.

Either the pilot had supernally acute hearing or he was used to the first reaction to his ship. "She'll make point five past light speed. I've made a few special modifications myself. Now, we're a little rushed so if you'll get aboard..." He grasped the smaller man's arm to hasten him aboard the ship.

The hood fell back, revealing a face Han had never expected to see again. He dropped the arm and stepped back, a hundred generations of superstitious sailors and spacers screaming at him that he was seeing a ghost. Luke pulled his hood completely down, and smiled.

"Hello, Han."

"Quickly, padawan." The older Jedi was halfway up the ramp, and Artoo was already aboard. Luke moved away, and up the ramp. Han watched, stunned at seeing the kid alive, and amazed at the change two years had wrought in him. He was a man now, confident and gorgeous. Regretfully, he noted the lovely walk had given way to a
purposeful stride. A low growl from behind Han startled him out of his shock.

*I smell Imperials. We must go, young one. You will tell me about this one once we are in hyper.*

Chewbacca went in and began the preflight as Han locked down the lifter coupling he had been repairing. The squadron of stormtoopers strode in, standing around the edge of the bay. Han opened the comlink at his belt so Chewbacca would know what was happening. Their commander, a young man sweltering in Imperial grey, approached him.

"Captain Solo?"

"That's me. If you need to hire me, my offices are just down the street. Zora will be happy to book you on the next DirectShip vessel that's lifting. I'm taking off as soon as your men clear the bay. I have a surprise inspection to conduct, and an office to close."

"Not so quickly, Captain. We have reports of you talking to an old man at the cantina, this old man." The commander triggered a display and showed the wanted holo. It was the old man who had hired him. "He is a Jedi. The standing bounty for a Jedi is 50,000 credits alive, or 30,000 dead. We will need to search your ship."

"Of course. I told the old man I wasn't taking passengers. They're always more trouble than they're worth."

The troopers streamed aboard, searching every compartment. Satisfied, they left. The commander paused at the foot of the ramp.

"Captain Solo, as one officer to another," he gestured at the bloodstripes the pilot still wore, "I would suggest you not return to Tatooine personally. We were tipped off by certain agents of Jabba the Hutt. I'm glad you had the sense turn down the old man. Clear skies."

The bay was empty, and Han and Chewbacca took off at a gentle speed, and made a legal, technically perfect jump to hyperspace.

"Cool as Hoth. I still got it, Chewie. I better go check the passengers."

*Sit!*

"Yes, Mother." Sometimes the big hairball forgot who was the captain and who was the first mate. Han never held it against him, but he did rib the Wookiee about it.

*The boy?*

"He was a slave of Jabba's. That last Kessel was supposed to be a freebie and I would get him in exchange. Jabba told me he had exploded the kid's implant. I guess he sold him instead."

*_He_ is the one who left you smelling like--*

"Yeah," Han cut him off. "He's the one. His name is Luke."

*I am glad he is alive, young one. You have missed him. Go.*

Han went to the ring corridor and opened a microphone to the compartments. "It's okay. Come on out. We're in hyperspace and on the way to Alderaan."

A deckplate lifted slowly. The two Jedi hoisted themselves out of the compartment. Luke replaced the deckplate.

"Well done, Captain," Obi-wan commented. Han wasn't paying attention.

Luke straightened up, only to be turned around. One hand held the braid that fell past his waist, and the other wrapped around him and pulled him close. Han kissed him hard and long, sinking into memories and denied desires. Luke's own body, starved for contact, responded, and his arms went around Han's neck as he kissed back.

Releasing his lover's mouth, Han whispered "Jabba told me you were dead. He was very graphic."

"He sold me," was all Luke managed before Han was kissing him again.

"Padawan," Obi-Wan warned.

"Yes, Master?"

"I shall be in the cockpit if you need me." He left the two young men embracing in the ring corridor.

"He's your master?"

"A title of respect for a Jedi teacher. I'm free."

"Nice of him to give me a leash." Han tugged him a little closer with the braid. "I miss the ponytail though."

"I still have one." Luke turned his head to show it.

"Short. More a handle than anything." A wickedly lusty grin crossed the pilot's face. "Do I get to give it a try? Stars, I missed you!" With that, he had to ravish Luke's mouth yet again.

"Missed you, too. You never came back to Tatooine."

"Nothin' here for me with you dead. I had Zora and Talla set up the office here, just like some other old friends have the other offices on other planets. I get twenty percent off the top, after bribes and tarriffs, and the office staff splits the rest 20/80 with the pilots. Aaah, you don't care about that." Han couldn't think with him this close, and blurted out his heart's desire. "Come to bed with me."

"It's been a while, but I don't think I've forgotten everything." Luke smiled, dazzling him as he had the first time he'd seen the boy's face.

"You're not--" Han waved a vague hand at the cockpit.

"Ben is like my father, or maybe grandfather, since he raised my father as well. The last human I had was *him*."

Only one person merited that inflection. "Fett. Someday, kid, you're gonna tell me exactly what that bastard did, and we'll track him down and return the favor. What do you say?"

"No. No talk of him, ever again. No talk of Jabba, or the past or the future. Be in this moment with me, Han." Luke silenced him with a kiss. How he'd missed kissing another person! Denied any caresses but his own for two years, he refused to let the spacer go as they made very slow progress to the captain's cabin.

Once there, Han cycled the door shut and began unfastening Luke's belt as he let the cloak fall. Belt, sash, overtunic, undertunic, and his golden dancer was standing there again, oddly changed. The haircut was unfamiliar, the body had grown, and the face no longer wore its haunted look.

"Nothin' you don't want to do kid," he promised, feeling awkward with this much-missed stranger. "I always say that, then you explode and I wake up. You're not going to explode, are you?"

"Not this time. Not ever. The implant is out and destroyed. Talk later. Make love to me now, like you used to." The kisses were the same, still as glorious as he remembered.

Han wasn't sure how he came to be sitting on his bunk, propped against the bulkhead, watching his young lover's well-honed body extend the same invitation it had three years before, writhing on his lap. Again, he accepted.

The smooth chest was harder, more muscle than he remembered, but the skin was as warm and supple. He twined the braid in his fingers, pulling Luke closer for a kiss, before looping the strand of hair around his own neck.

"So, are you my cheelooda now?" Luke teased, kissing his way over to lick at the spot just below Han's ear that drove the bigger man insane.

"Want me to be? Like that one night when you took me in the bath?"

"Oh yeah," Luke breathed. "That was good."

"Don't give me that big-eyed innocent look, kid. Getting it from a painted pleasureboy in a bath for two on _Tatooine_ has to rate as one of the most decadent experiences of my life. Especially when a certain very limber pleasureboy managed to suck me while he was up inside me."

"So now I'm corrupting you..." Luke's hands were already in his pants, teasing him erect and stroking in odd corners that he'd almost forgotten about.

"Can't corrupt me. Corellians are born corrupt."

"Prove it," Luke demanded with a final nip at the hot spot. "On your knees and bend over the bunk."

"Pushy kid." But Han obligingly stepped out of the pants and dug through the drawer beneath the bunk. He tossed a small bottle to Luke. "It's been a while, and I don't think spit's going to be enough." He took the position the younger man had requested.

"That an offer for later?" Sensitive hands ran over his back, and strong fingers
penetrated deep into his back muscles, massaging away the residual tension from
the encounters in the cantina and the docking bay. "Are you ready?"

"Always."

Fighting the urge to bury himself in the man before him, Luke took it slowly, savoring each millimeter of penetration: the tension as the tight ring fought his entrance, the satisfying pop as it opened, only to clutch him beneath the head, the maddening heat as he worked his way in. He spread himself atop Han's body, skin to skin, stretching his arms to massage and loosen the deathgrip the pilot had on the blankets.

"All right?"

"Stay still. It's been a while." The words came out in short bursts between the
clenched teeth.

"Tell me when you're ready." Luke busied himself kissing the neck and face beneath him. "Would this help?" An inquisitive hand wormed itself between Han and the bunk, stroking him, savoring the hardness.

"Oh yeah." Han raised his head for another kiss. "Always does." He pressed back. "Go ahead. I'm ready."

Luke set a nice even pace, matching it with his hand. Then, he slowed. "Is
there a second in there?"

"Always."

"Oh good. Because I'm next. Hold on, lover, I'll teach you to fly without a ship." The dancer was back with a vengeance, even down to the faint Huttese accent. This time, the pace was very solid.

"You taught me that a long time ago." Words failed as sensation overwhelmed his senses. For long minutes, it seemed the source of the whole universe was concentrated below his waist, pulsating and culminating into an explosion so intense he wasn't sure the stars weren't real.

Luke waited until Han had come down a little before reaching his own climax, wanting to feel it all, without distraction. His head swam from the juxtaposition of heat at his front, engulfing him, warming his chest and the biting cold of space that seeped through the thin metal shell of the hull and froze his back. He buried his face in the shaggy dark hair, taking in the scent and feel of his long-gone lover.

In the last instant, he tipped Han's face back to him, and kissed him deeply, even as he pressed as far inside as he could. He released the warm lips, remaining spread atop the limp body of the pilot, as he came down.

"Love you. The wind blew you back to me," he whispered as he pulled away, knees complaining from the metal deckplates.

Han stood up, painfully. Next time, they were definitely putting some padding down.
"Bed, now." He dropped onto the bunk and pulled Luke down to him by the trailing braid.

*Your cub was sorely missed, Old One.* Chewbacca flipped a couple of switches and stared at the nothingness of hyperspace through the transparasteel canopy.

"You can't know how pleased I am about that. I was so very afraid your partner had forgotten him. That would have devastated him."

*My Hahnko never forgets a good thing. And the cub was very good for him.
When they were together, he was happier than I had ever seen him. He drank very little, worked hard and fought not at all. When he returned from the Hutt the last time, it was as if someone had cut down his own Life-tree. He threw himself into his work, but there was no joy. He still drinks too much. After the crisis on Alderaan, and if he wishes it, would you let the young one come with us?*

"I promise nothing, my friend, save that I will consider it and listen to the Force."

Chewbacca listened intently and then sniffed before barking laughter. *The cubs have finished rutting, Old One. It is safe to use the fresher and the food synth. This is going to be a long trip.*

"A sentiment worth repeating." Obi-wan stood and patted a furry shoulder. "Shall I bring you something?"

*Kaf please, in my own cup. You'll know which it is.*

The Jedi paused in the forward compartment, waiting for the kaf to brew.

//Luke.//

Luke startled awake, his head still pillowed on his lover's chest. //Master?//

//When Captain Solo goes on duty, I need you for saber drill in the forward compartment.//

//Yes, Master.//

//Go back to sleep, padawan. I trust your reunion went well.//

Luke sent a drowsy chuckle along the bond and snuggled closer. The ship was chilly, but Han put out a lot of warmth. In more ways than one, he thought contentedly, drifting back to sleep.

Han woke on his side, curled around someone. He opened one eye and smiled to himself. For the first time in two years, he felt intact. The hole that had gaped in his gut, ignored until he had convinced himself it was gone, had been wrenched open, cleaned and truly healed. Luke was alive, free and in his bed. What else could he want? He tightened his grip on the sleeping man, and toyed with the braid.
He missed the ponytail, but this was a fair substitute.

Experimentally, he twitched the end over Luke's cheek, then stroked it down his neck to tease one nipple with it. The boy snorted and came awake. He smiled up at his awakener and kissed him.

The cabin alarm sounded.

"My watch. Chewie'll hand me my left arm if I'm late. You probably need to talk to your teacher."

"You're right. I have saber drill."

Han rolled out of the bunk and began to dress quickly. "And how do you know?"

"Obi-Wan told me." A glance at the door told Han it was still locked. Luke caught the motion. "We're Jedi. He didn't need to come in."

Luke sat up and stretched. The dancer was still there, but the Jedi was coming more to the fore with each moment. As he dressed, he seemed to age and become more mature. At last, grave-faced and calm, he waited while Han tugged on his boots. The effect was totally spoiled when he broke into a wide grin and kissed his lover.

Han was late into the cockpit anyway.

Chewbacca ambled sleepily through the forward compartment, barked something that made Obi-Wan smile and went to his own oversized bed. Luke was busily deflecting bolts from a training remote set at high speed.

"That will save your life, padawan. It saved mine many times. But seldom do you have just one opponent." Obi-Wan lofted two more remotes into the air.

By the time Han checked on his passengers, Luke was wearing a helmet with the blastshield down, fending off heavy-stun bolts from six remotes set at response time nil. He waited until Obi-Wan deactivated the remotes and Luke lifted the blast shield before announcing, "You can quit worrying about Imperial entanglements. The route is clear from here to Alderaan. We'll be there in about an hour."

"Good, we've time to meditate. Padawan." Suddenly, the old man crumpled like a string-cut puppet into one of the acceleration couches, and Luke collapsed to his knees, hands pressed over his ears, cradling his exploding head.

Han drew him back to his feet, and helped him to one of the seats. "Luke, are you all right?"

Luke pressed close, steadying himself with the definite Force-presence of his lover, and looked at his master. "Master Obi-Wan?"

"I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced."

"Exactly. Pain. Incredible, sudden and then gone. I still hear the screaming, Master. But it is a lone voice, now." He slowly began to untangle himself.

"Let us meditate and see what the Force tells us."

Luke rose to spread the meditation mats that he'd brought with them, and they sank into the standard kneeling position. Han busied himself with a power converter he was retooling to fit the hyperdrive, and tried not to think about the boy, no, man, behind him. On his knees. The braid dangling invitingly. His mouth exactly level--he cut the thought off quickly.

Quickly Han shot a glance over his shoulder to see if Luke was having the same sort of thoughts, meditation or no. The young man was facing his teacher and they breathed in synchronous rhythm. But while the older man's face was blankly serene, a line of anguish still crossed Luke's face.

Unable to stand the gap between erotic fantasy and pained reality, he gave up and went to the cockpit to wait for the transition to normal space. Chewbacca joined him, still groggy, but competent.

*Young one, are you sure closing the Alderaan office is the best?*

"The system's been interdicted for two months. Not like we're making any profit."

*There are more important things than profit, Hahnko, and you know it. The Alderaan office has never turned a profit. All you get from it is rebel information. Just as it is all you sell there.*

Han didn't answer. The Jedi had come forward to watch the arrival. Luke was containing his excitement, but his eyes still glowed at the idea of seeing a new world.

"Coming up on Alderaan. Transit to normalspace commencing on five, four, three, and mark."

The starfield returned. Alderaan should have hung against it, turning lazily in the light of its primary, shining blue and white and green. Something thudded against the rear deflector.

"What the--We've come out in some sort of meteor shower. It's not on any of the charts."

"What's going on?" Luke asked.

"Our position's correct but no Alderaan." Han made a hasty scan of the equipment and banked to avoid another asteroid.

"What? Where is it?" A horrible suspicion was filling Luke's mind and the screams that only he could hear had diminished to broken sobs, but the cries were becoming louder.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, kid: it ain't there. It's been totally blown away."

"Destroyed, by the Empire," Obi-Wan added, completely self assured.

"The entire starfleet couldn't destroy the planet. It'd take a thousand ships and more fire power--"

"There's another ship coming in," Luke interrupted. "Maybe they know what happened."

Han checked the scope. "It's an Imperial fighter."

"It followed us!" Luke said. "I thought you said they gave you an all-clear."

"If they hadn't, we wouldn't have lifted," Han snapped backed.

"It's a short range fighter," Obi-wan announced, looking at the scope.

"There aren't any bases around here, where'd it come from?" Han wanted to know.

"It sure is leaving in a big hurry. If they identify us, we're in big trouble." Luke flinched as his master chided him along the bond for stating the obvious.

"Let it go, it's too far out of range," Obi-wan suggested.

"Not for long." Han's face was grim as he accelerated.

"A fighter that size couldn't have gotten this deep into space on it's own." Obi-Wan was still pondering the craft. Something, just out of his grasp, troubled him about it.

"Maybe it got lost, part of a convoy or something."

"It's not going to be around long enough to tell anyone about us," Han reassured his passengers.

"It's headed to that small moon," Luke pointed out.

"Alderaan doesn't have any moons," Han said, double checking both the
astrogation logs and his memories.

The satellite came closer, its canyons and mountains forming too perfect a surface to be natural. "That's no moon, that's a space station."

"I think you're right, old man. Chewie, full reverse. Get us out of here."

The instruments complained, and the old freighter shuddered.

"Why are we still moving towards it?" Luke wanted to know.

"Tractor beam." Panicked scenarios ran through Han's mind, and he tried to decipher the best of a dozen bad options.

"No one knows we are aboard, and you have clearance to be in this sector, am I right?" Obi-Wan asked. "There are alternatives to fighting or running."

The Falcon landed gently, and Han and Chewbacca came to the bottom of the ramp with their hands high, and weapons tied down. An officious Imperial captain met them.

"Your ship has entered an interdicted area, in violation of general order 19. You will be detained until we can ascertain the facts of the matter. Take them to my office."

A detachment of stormtroopers escorted the partners away from their ship. No one noticed a pair of figures slipping out of a hidden hatch in the hull. Quickly and quietly, the Jedi made their way to an empty comm room.

Obi-Wan sat at the console and typed faster than Luke's eye could follow. Information ran over the screen so fast, only a droid could make sense of it. Obi-Wan seemed to follow it all. "Padawan. We must split up. You have a mission. The princess is here. She's being held here." He slowed the information to a pace Luke could follow. The younger man memorized the maps quickly. "I must go and see to the tractor beam. Your lover should be able to talk his way out of the situation by the time we return."

"I will not fail you, Master."

"Then go. And may the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master." Luke ducked out the door, hugging the wall, and clouding the minds of those he passed. If they saw him at all, he registered as another technician. He made his uneventful way to the Detention Block.

Once there, he paused, halting the lift between floors, to puzzle out the next phase of his plan. He had mastered being dim, but he couldn't fool security cameras. It dawned on him how to do it properly. He stepped out of the lift and melted back into the shadows.

"Did you hear something?" The duty officer looked up from a screen of numbers that had stopped making sense ten minutes before.

"No sir." Even in the detention area the troopers were alert.

"I'm going to check it out. Stay here."

"Sir, regulations forbid--"

"Trooper, if I don't stand up, I'll become part of this chair. Now I'm going. You come and cover me."

"Yessir."

The two men made their way to the shadowy corner by the lift. They never knew what hit them. Luke put them down into deep unconsciousness, and waited. He sent a Force suggestion into the mind of the other trooper on duty, and tripped the monitoring switches. As the stormtrooper absorbed himself in fixing the wiring under a panel, Luke made his way past the darkened eyes of the cameras to cell 1138.

The door cycled open and the princess sat up, staring in disbelief at the Jedi in her doorway. He drew back the hood, showing her his face, and beckoned her. She came to him without a word. He laid one finger across her lips, cautioning her to silence.

"I'm Luke Skywalker, I'm here to rescue you. Master Obi-Wan is with me. Come quickly and silently," he whispered drawing the hood back up.

Unfortunately, the trooper had looked up from his work and saw them. "Where are you going?"

Luke made his voice as menacing as he could. "I am taking the princess to Lord Vader, at his order. Do you wish to delay the Dark Lord?" It was a calculated gamble that Vader would be on the station, a reaction to the faint aftertaste in the Force that he kept feeling.

"Who are you, what's your ID?"

Luke opened himself to the Force. "I am the shadow of the Dark Lord. You don't need to see my identification."

The trooper busied himself with the controls for the lift. "I don't need to see your identification. Move along. Don't keep Lord Vader waiting."

Luke hustled Leia into the lift and dropped to the hanger level. Once inside, she looked at him, pulling the hood back and brushing his lips with her own.

"Thank you. I don't know who you are, but thank you."

"I am Luke Skywalker, padawan learner to Obi-Wan Kenobi. We have your droid. We chartered a ship to Alderaan, but when we got there, it was gone." He recognized her voice. "You've stopped screaming, Princess."

"What?"

"When Alderaan was destroyed, you screamed as if you would never stop. I heard you all the way here. I am pleased you are recovering from the ordeal." The lift stopped. "Do not be surprised at the ship, your Highness."

She took one look into the hanger bay and looked back at Luke. "You use the Force to hold that thing together, don't you?"

Remembering his own reaction, he smiled at her. "And a lot of twine. She's fast though." Obi-Wan glided up behind them.

"Padawan, what would your lover say to that remark?"

The youths jumped, and Leia dropped her deepest curtsey of respect. "General Kenobi. I am deeply honored to meet you."

"The tractor beam is out, but will not remain so. We must hurry. Get the princess aboard, and I will get our pilots released."

Dim again, this time shielding the princess as well, Luke made his careful way across the hanger bay and got Leia to the foot of the ship's ramp.

A strong presence in the Force made him spin around. "Get aboard, Princess. Strap in. The liftoff will be quick and rough. I must go."

He saw Han and Chewbacca sprinting toward the ship as the troopers hastened the other direction. "Take care of the princess and the R2 unit!" he said, dashing in the same direction the troopers were headed. "I have to help my master."

With a pilot's lightening reflexes, Han caught the braid as Luke flew past. "You can't help him, kid. He's fighting Darth Vader."

"Let go of me, Han. I have to help him." He saw where the old Jedi was dueling the black-armored giant. His hand was on his own saber, and he wrested it from his belt, oblivious to the squadrons of stormtroopers between him and his master.

"You can't help him," Han repeated. "He said to tell you to get aboard."

"Noooooooooooooo!" Luke screamed, and Han turned to see the old man's cloak falling empty to the floor. He spun Luke by the shoulders and half shoved him up the ramp, taking advantage of the younger man's momentary distraction.

"Lift! Chewie, lift!" he yelled, slamming his hand over the hatch controls and dashing for the cockpit.

Luke stood where he was, feeling the Falcon begin to shudder, trying to calm himself. His master was one with the Force. He could feel Obi-Wan's presence, no longer fettered by matter, and he was calmed.

But a second presence announced itself, skittering over him like a cold hand. //Who are you?// Luke stiffened and shielded his thoughts but not quickly enough. //Padawan Skywalker// The dark sending sounded almost pleased with itself, and quickly broke off.

Luke, shaken, went to the forward compartment to check on the Princess and R2. They had disassembled the droid as part of the ruse, and would put it back together on the way to... It occurred to him he didn't know where they would be going.

The Princess was well, a bit shaken by the hasty departure, but undamaged. She had unbuckled and he was leading her to the cockpit when the pilot barreled down on them.

"We're coming up on their sentry ships. Take the belly gun, we're not out of this yet." He scaled the ladder to the top gun, and Luke climbed down to his turret. Leia continued steadfastly to the cockpit and sat beside the giant wookiee, too concerned with escape to worry about the arthropod.

Only four TIEs greeted their escape, and those were quickly dispatched. The harrowing excitement of the whole day bubbled over when the two men reached the corridor together. Leia, hearing them on the ladder, went back to greet them, only to find them locked in a passionate embrace. She staggered back to the cockpit, remembering Obi-Wan's comment about Luke's lover.

*The cubs are at it again, small one.*

She looked up at Chewbacca, not speaking his language, and he tapped the translator readout on the console. She looked askance at him, and he explained some of the history of her rescuer.

Finally, Chewbacca went to the back to repair a few things that had been rattled loose in the fancy flying of their escape, and Han came forward. He sat in the copilot seat, mildly annoyed at Leia being in his chair, and made the transit back to normal space.

They were well away from the battle station, in the midst of an empty quadrant. "Where can we take you, Your Highness? DirectShip Incorporated's flagship is at your disposal."

"Thank you, Captain Solo," she answered matching his formality, and disclosing nothing of what his copilot had told her. "Yavin is our destination now."

"Plotted and set." He made a speedy transition back to hyperspace.

"I hope your small detour will throw the Death Star off long enough for the techs to get the information from the R2 unit."

"What's that droid carrying that's so important?"

"Technical readouts of that battlestation. I only hope a weakness can be found. It's not over yet. They're tracking us, you know." She saw him reach for the override. "No, no, I want them to. It may be our only chance of destroying that monstrosity."

"I don't want a chance at it, Princess. All I want is to get you, and the blasted droid, off my ship and check on my company. Be damned lucky if my whole operation doesn't get seized over this stunt." Chewbacca returned with a mug of kaf and Han stood up. "I'm gonna check on Luke. Losing the old man like that is going to take it out of him."

Chewbacca woofed agreement. The princess followed him silently. In the main compartment, Luke knelt on the meditation mat, his saber out and ignited.

As he brought it to his head, Han took a step forward, "Luke, don't." But he stopped as the saber went out, and the braid drifted slowly to the mat.

"In the days of the Old Republic," Luke's voice was eerily calm, "when a padawan passed his trials, his master would cut his braid and remove the ponytail. He would then be a full-fledged knight. My master is one with the Force, so I cut my own braid."

His hands went around back to untie the ponytail, and he smoothed the hair down to lie with the rest of it. He put a knot in the end of the braid, and tucked it into a belt pouch, before standing up and rolling up the mat.

The princess came wordlessly to his side, and he acknowledged her. "We shall begin repairs of your droid at once, Princess. Perhaps, you should rest after such a day." She nodded agreement, and Han waved an absent hand toward the crew cabins.

He sat down at the tech station, and watched Luke begin reassembling the droid. The wordless calm unnerved him, and he had to break the silence. "Luke? Are you OK, kid?"

The clear grey eyes looked up at him, full of sorrow and anger, overlaid with false serenity. Overwhelmed, Han went to him and pressed his hands to the table, forcing him to drop the tools. Once Luke's hands were empty, Han kissed him.

Luke drew back. "No."

"No?"

"For now, I mourn. My master is gone, and although I feel his presence, it is not enough. He can't teach me anymore. He's just part of the Force now, another part of it, but not himself anymore." The formal speech of the Jedi was giving way to the raw pain of the boy. "Vader took him, just as he has taken everything else from me. Vader killed my father, and now he's killed my master as well." Luke's fists were clenched on the table and he deliberately stopped himself. "Hate leads to anger and anger leads to the Dark Side." He breathed carefully, calming himself, relaxing his fists, drawing on the feel of the pilot's hands which had not left his arms.

"I will return to your bed in time, my love. For now, let me work my grief out through my hands." He leaned over and kissed Han, before picking up the hydrospanner.

"All the time you need, Luke. But you're gonna tell me how you spent your afternoon sometime." The lightheartedness didn't quite come off, and Han went to his own cabin. He tugged off his boots and threw himself on the bunk, almost too keyed to sleep. A grueling day. He hadn't had one like that in a few years. He lay and thought about the endless questions of the Imperial commander, and his own perfectly true, totally uninformative answers to them. The excitement of their escape, the adrenaline of which was only just starting to leach out of him, and then the sheer naked fear he'd felt seeing Luke hold that lightsaber to his head. For a moment, he thought he'd lose the boy. He wasn't sure he could stand it again. He wished Luke would come to bed. He found himself wanting to hold and
comfort the young man, help him grieve for the oldster who had been his teacher, liberator and protector. Going soft, Solo, he snorted at himself. He listened to the faint hum of the hydrospanner and clink of metal as Luke reassembled the droid.

Somewhere in the listening and the thinking, he fell asleep.

***

Han awoke to Luke's warmth beside him. He shifted, and watched as the other man rolled over to curl closer. Pleased Luke had decided to join him, he ran an idle hand along Luke's side, feeling the muscles, the bone, the scar on the outside of his hip. Han sat up to take a closer look, and swore colorfully at what he saw. The symbol was obviously a word, and it had been burned into Luke's thigh by a practiced, very precise hand. He reached for the readout beside the bed, and scanned the mark before requesting a definition.

This time his swearing was loud and vigorous enough to awaken Luke. He looked up and smiled at Han until he realized what was happening.

"Who did it? Who dared mark you?" Han demanded. "Jabba didn't do that, I know."

"Fett," Luke said, very softly.

"Do you know what it means?"

Luke nodded, his eyes shadowed and wary. He'd never seen Han this angry, not even after the x-frame.

"Tell me. Tell me about it." The flat coldness informed Luke that his words would be sealing the bounty hunter's death warrant.

"No. Come watch. It started after you'd been working for Jabba for a year. Boba Fett decided that anything you could do, he could do better. It amused Jabba to hand me off to him immediately after you'd had me."

"It would. Go on."

"You had a run to R'alla, for illegal water. The last thing you told me before you left was 'Stay alive. Be here when I come back.' You were very cruel, you know. You gave me hope of escaping. Because of that hope, I was doing my best to stay alive. Watch."

Han felt as if he was plummeting into the endless blue of Luke's eyes, as the past came alive around them.

***
Luke sat on the dais, listening to catch the last echoes of Han's steps as he left. The trip to R'alla and back would take about nine days; water runs like this were one of Jabba's shorter errands. He could endure. He always did. He missed his lover already.

The band gave out a slow tune, and Jabba shoved him off the dais with his tail. *Dance. *

Obediently, wanting to be alive for Han's return, Luke turned the shove into a graceful slide. He glided out into the middle of the floor, and danced. From the corner of his eye, he noticed some of the denizens of the palace drawing in closer, closing a ring around him.

Gauntleted hands clasped his upper arms, squeezing painfully tight. He altered the dance and undulated against his captor, not looking to see who held him. A metallic voice chuckled in his ear, and his insides turned to ice. He kept moving anyway, knowing he had not been told to stop.

Boba Fett let him go, then, without warning, fired the capture-cable from his vambrace. Luke didn't dodge it, but kept his arms out, letting it wrap around his waist. Still obeying Jabba's order to dance, he spun himself into the cable, coming within arm's length of Fett, then twirled out, almost to the limit.

He pretended to fight the cable, tugging it and dancing to the others who watched as if asking for their help. Slowly, the bounty hunter reeled him in. It was a game Luke knew all too well. He slowed his breathing, trying to calm down. Fear washed through him, a harbinger of the things to follow.

*Enjoy, * came Jabba's order.

Fett finished the game by wrapping him entirely in the cable and towing him out of the throne room.

Alone in Fett's room, the hunter retracted what was left of the cable, leaving an ugly welt on Luke's waist as it whipped off of him. He knew better than to utter a sound of pain, but sank to his knees as his owner required.

Heavy boots circled him. He tracked their progress by sound. He heard Fett remove the helmet, and felt the fear take an even firmer hold. On nights when the hunter left his helmet on, it was usually a quick use or two, a backhand slap across the face and banishment to a slave cell for the rest of thenight. But when the helmet came off, Luke learned a little more about what the live bounties underwent at this man's hands.

"Stand up and strip."

Luke obeyed the order quickly, gracefully, doing his best to be perfect and give Fett no excuse to harm him. He stood, arms spread slightly, feet apart, balanced but vulnerable. Silently, he swore that if the odds were ever in his favor, Fett would never know what hit him.

The gloved hand ran down his back, tracing the faint remnants of the welts from his last beating. Luke was unsurprised when two fingers shoved into him, dry and rough enough to hurt. He didn't gasp or cry out.

"Good. You aren't too stretched from him. I know all about Corelli, my pretty slut. All about them." Fett pulled his fingers out and looked disgusted at the residue on his gloves. "And here you are, befouling me with his slime." He wiped his fingers on Luke's back in a fancy pattern. An evil idea came to him, and he ordered, "Get me something to write on you with."

Luke quickly brought a small eye-stick from the tiny slaves' prep room just off the main bedchamber. The hunter shoved him to his knees and tested it on his arm for color. Pleased with the dark brown, he drew an intricate symbol on the back of Luke's left hand. "I want to find that mark somewhere on your body next time you are given me. If I don't find it, I'll mark it on you." He pulled an apparatus from his belt. "Know what this is?" Luke shook his head. "It's a slave-marker. The scar it leaves does not heal and cannot be removed without removing the muscle beneath it. If I can't find this word on you somewhere, I will carve it into you, right here." He put his hand on the outer side of Luke's left thigh. "Where I can always feel it when I want."

"Yes, Master," Luke managed. That meant he'd have to apply the mark every day, since he never knew to whom he would be given. If another did not like the mark, he would be punished for wearing it; if Fett marked him, he'd be punished for provoking the hunter into it.

"Good, now, suck me off." The hunter undid the codpiece of his armor, and presented himself. Luke obeyed, shutting his eyes as he did so, until a hard yank of his ponytail pulled him back to reality. "I don't think so, slut. Keep your eyes open. See me, not _him_."

Luke did his very best, eager to have this over. Fett was good for about two times around. He licked and sucked, taking the shaft all the way into his mouth and then pulling out until the barest tip of the head remained. He knew what the hunter liked and provided it beautifully. Well-trained over the years, he never even flinched at the bitter salt that filled his mouth as Fett climaxed.

The hunter left Luke on his knees, and went to sit in the chair and stare at him. After a few moments, he wandered back over and circled the kneeling boy. Luke felt the delicate probe of a bootknife at his ear.

"You're thinking of Solo, again. If I thought it'd take him out of your mind, I'd drive this knife straight into your brain and fuck you as you died convulsing. As it stands, I can't afford to pay for you, so I'll settle for this."

He shoved Luke forward, making him crack his head against the floor. He jerked Luke's wrists behind him, slapped a pair of binders on them, and pressed the boy's chest to the floor.

Using only the remnants of Luke's saliva, he took the boy brutally, shoving hard and deep, then pounding as roughly as he knew how.

Fett couldn't see his face, so Luke shut his eyes again. He clenched his teeth against the burning and breathed against the pain until it subsided. Then, he tried to imagine Han was taking him, rough with need and desire. That helped even more. At length, the hunter finished, collapsing atop him.

***

"That doesn't explain the mark, kid."

"You left on that last Kessel. I didn't have time to draw the symbol. Fett lost his temper. Jabba found it amusing, the idea that you would be getting merchandise with a Mandalorian trademark."

"Some trademark. He labeled you a sex toy, forever."

"That's the polite translation."

"I know."

"You know, I wouldn't mind wearing it for you." The tentative, tremulous smile barely touched Luke's lips.

"Like this?" Han trailed his fingers over the mark, tracing each line and curve of it. "Mine," he said. He moved down to trace it with his tongue, then envelope the whole of the scar with his mouth. "Mine," he whispered against Luke's skin. He moved up, and kissed Luke, pressing deep, learning the mouth he knew so well all over again. "Mine. Not anyone else's. Mine, for as long as you want to stay."

"I'll stay as long as you'll have me, my love."

**

By the time the Falcon landed on a jungle moon orbiting the gas giant Yavin, Luke had come to a place in his grief where he could accept all that had happened. The reassembled droid had been carried away to have its memory banks worked over, the princess had disappeared and Han and Chewbacca were busily repairing the damage from their escape.

When he had walked down the ramp, serene in his robes, a gasp had gone up throughout the hanger. Leia had introduced him to the Alliance brass and he had sensed their discomfort upon hearing the words "Jedi Knight and student of Obi-Wan Kenobi." They had given him a room and he meditated now, kneeling on the mat and listening to the wind in this new place. Activity surged around him, and he knew what was in the offing. He rose, and went in search of a flight leader.

"You need pilots," he said to man in the captain's uniform. "I would like to volunteer."

"What have you flown?" came the question, boredom carefully covering the desperation in his voice.

"T-16 skyhopper. Sailbarges, skiff, pod-racers."

"What? Humans don't race pods. The reaction time is pared down below human reflexes. Wait a minute." The captain took a better look. "You're the Jedi!"

"I am. Check me out however you need to."

"All right. The simulator is this way."

Luke emerged twenty minutes later, calm and cool, not even sweating. The captain gaped. "All opponents killed, and all you took was a hit to the stabilizer. You're in. Skywalker, was it?"

Han wandered in to watch the briefing. He was shocked to find Luke sitting on the front row, listening as intently as any other pilot. He listened to the briefing and found himself agreeing with the young man who opined that a two meter target was impossible. The pilots dashed for their ships on General Dodonna's order, but he caught Luke's attention before his lover could leave.

"So you're going up?"

The blue eyes shone with the joy of flight, but something darker lurked beneath the surface. "I couldn't miss it. Why aren't you in a flight suit?"

"Snubs are a young man's game, Luke." Han's voice was very quiet. "I used up my time and more, long ago. I'll be up there with you. The Falcon's as fast as anything they've got, and better armed. She loves me and won't turn on me like this fickle bitch would." He patted the side of Luke's X-wing, then pulled the young man close for a lengthy kiss. "Be careful, Luke. I can't lose you again."

They hit space. The X-wings divided into their squadrons and the Y-wings into theirs.

"Would you look at the size of that thing?" demanded a stunned young man with the unlikely name of Wedge Antilles. Luke remembered sitting next to him in the briefing, and having him and another young man assigned as his wingmen.

They listened as Gold Leader started his run in the trench, paying less than half their attention. The rest was occupied in keeping the enemy fighters off their comrades, and off their own tails. The Falcon made all the difference. The heavy quad guns provided covering fire for the ships in the trench, and she picked off any TIE fighters foolish enough to come her way.

"I'm hit!" from Gold Leader was followed by "Torpedoes launched!" Then there was only radio silence.

"Red Five, start your run. Good luck, Luke," said Red Leader, nursing his own half-crippled fighter out of the trench to play bait for the TIEs.

"Close it up, Wedge, Zak. We're going in full throttle. Han, keep those TIES off our tails for just a little longer."

"Will do, kid. Can you pull out at that speed?"

But Luke was gone. He switched off his computer, and rode the winds of the Force. The hurricane gale picked him, and carried him, and he rode it, mastering it, exulting in it, as the fragile fighter shot down the trench.

A darker pattern emerged from the wind he rode, trying to tear him from his precarious flight. But he held firm in the timeless storm that raged about him.

"Zak, Wedge, Luke's not responding!" Han tried not to shout over the comchannel, and then he saw the prototype TIE appear. "We have some serious company. Distract them. Keep them off him!"

The X-wings scissored and dodged as much as the narrow trench allowed. The prototype and his wingmen hung close. Zak went in a fireball. Then Wedge was hit. Han got one of the wingmen, but the leader was too good.

"I can't hold her. Solo, I've got to bail."

"Antilles, keep your ass in that trench, you damn coward! Luke needs you for five seconds. Are the rebels turning out such crap you can't--" In the midst of the harangue, the wingman came into Han's sights. He fired a fraction of a second slow, damaging the TIE and sending it spiraling into the leader. The prototype whirled out of the trench as his wingman exploded on the floor.

Luke approached the place where the winds began to set him down. He fired, guiding the missile into the shaft with gentle breezes of Force, and then pulled up, and out of the trench. As he came back, deposited in the easy chair by the last zephyrs, he heard Han whoop over the com, and Antilles cheer.

"Come on, kid, let's get out of range!"

The ships raced back toward the moon, and set down in the hanger of the rebel base.

Han dashed across the hanger, catching Luke as he came down the ladder from the cockpit of the X-wing. He spun the young man around and kissed him squarely. A ragged cheer then a more forceful one went up from the rebel techs. The princess dashed over, and they opened their arms to her and hugged her, too.

**

The entire Rebel Alliance assembled in the great hall of the Massassi temple, waiting to honor their heros. In the anteroom, Han and Luke waited. Han had polished his boots and dug out a good shirt with a collar that closed. Luke had cleaned his cream and tan robes, and comported himself with dignity befitting the last Jedi. Han just wanted to kiss him until he lost his composure and let fly the grin that seemed to light his whole face.

Together, they made the long walk down the main aisle of the room, and climbed the stairs to the Princess. She hung the medal on Chewbacca first, stretching to do so, even though he stood a step below her and bowed deeply to receive it. Then Han's medal, and she smiled as he gave her a wink and a smirk. Lastly, she presented Luke's, and gave him her very best smile. For a moment the Jedi melted, and the very young man underneath smiled back.




Epilogue:

Talla wandered into the office of DirectShip, and thumped the cooler down on her
partner's desk. She opened it, took out two brandy gourds and handed one to Zora.

"Drink," she ordered, uncharacteristically curt. "You need it." She switched on the
holoview.

Zora raised her eyebrows and took the drink. She watched the screen.

"This is an important message from Imperial Center. Earlier this week, terrorists from the revolutionary group calling themselves The Alliance destroyed the prototype research station Discovery. We have positive ID on four of the terrorists." The first picture flashed on the screen.

"Princess-Senator Organa from Alderaan. There is a thousand credit reward for
information on her whereabouts. Ten thousand credits for her delivery alive and well to Lord Vader. She should be considered armed and dangerous."

A second picture appeared.

"Shit."

"You got it in one, partner. Looks like it's time to close the office, swipe the petty cash box and take a long vacation. They'll be coming for DirectShip soon. Maybe Amazia can use a couple ladies with a fast ship."

"The human is Captain Han Solo, president of DirectShip. The Wookiee is his
companion, Chewbacca. A thousand credit reward will be paid for information as to their whereabouts. The Wookiee carries a five thousand credit bounty, dead. The human carries a twenty-thousand credit for delivery alive and unharmed to Lord Vader. Both should be considered armed and extremely dangerous."

Zora swore softly and at length. Talla just stared as her partner exhausted her vocabulary in eight languages. It was the single longest speech she'd ever heard out of the woman. As Zora opened her desk drawer for the cash box, a third picture appeared.

"This human styles himself Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight." Zora dropped the cashbox with a clatter and gaped. "Delivery of this man, alive and well, to Lord Vader, will pay some lucky citizen of the Empire half a million credits. Skywalker should be considered armed, and extremely dangerous. As a Jedi, he is capable of mentally enslaving sentients. Warning, even if unarmed, approach with caution."

"Expensive cheelooda," Zora commented.

"Let's lift before the troopers show up to close us down. Come on! We're going back to work for the Black Hole Gang."

Zora grabbed the ledger and the filing boxes, and the two women left the office at a sedate pace. No one paid them any attention. It was, after all, Mos Eisley.

In the office, The holoview continued babbling to itself. "In other news today, the outlaw group known as the Black Hole Gang failed to surrender after a standoff with Imperial troops. There were six Imperial casualties, and no survivors of the gang."



*end*

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snooping around. ...gonna rec this.