Chapter Text
“Three… two… one… go!”
Luke leapt up into the air vent like Chewie had set a fire at his tailbone. He caught the edge of the panel and threw himself forward, into the shaft, bolstering his grace and strength with the Force as much as he could, just as Ben had advised him. His pulse thrummed in his neck and wrists; he could hear Han at the other end of the Falcon, counting with the stopwatch.
The air ducts were a labyrinth of sharp angles, sharp metal, and sharp slopes, but his hands found purchase on every potential handhold. Even in the pitch dark, he trusted his hands to grasp and hold him. He could see the obstacles—vents, cracks, bends—in his mind’s eye like it was bright as day in this cramped corner of the Falcon’s innards. When he kicked a panel too hard, he held it and his own weight with his mind, just long enough to spring onward. Loose screws rained on his head; he deflected them with a thought.
Even so, he could feel time trickling away between his fingers—he strained his shoulder, reached farther forward, pulled himself up with as much ferocity as he could muster. A loose panel, rusty and jagged, sliced into his knuckle. His grunt turned into a quiet curse that he hoped Aunt Beru hadn’t heard.
Not much farther now. Even if he didn’t know this twisting labyrinth like the back of his (now bleeding) hand, he’d know he was close. It pounded in the anticipation of his heart. His breathing quickened. When he reached the final drop, he fell out and into it, trusting gravity to do its work—and trusting himself, and the Force, to catch him before it did its work too well.
Neither he nor the Force needed to, in the end. Han was directly beneath him; Luke fell on him like a sprawling sack of bolts. Han shouted a much louder curse than Luke had let out, but Chewie crowed with victory.
“I told you he could do it!”
Luke had caught himself, even where he didn’t need to. His legs were braced in a crouch beneath him, his palms out to catch the floor. But they weren’t on the floor: they were on Han’s chest, and Han was glaring at him. He wasn’t cursing, though. Luke had knocked all the wind out of him.
“You gotta—” He sucked in a breath. “Get off me!”
Luke rolled to the side and onto his feet with one smooth, elegant motion. At least, as elegant a motion as any fourteen-year-old can muster. Luke was an elbow-filled sack of skin more than anything else, and judging by the way Han’s hand went to his bruised abdomen, he was now intimately aware of that fact.
He gasped in another breath. “You have to give me time to get out of your exit route!”
“I did give you time,” Luke said. He’d exerted himself in the scramble, but he’d forced himself to grapple his breathing back under control. It was still slightly wheezy, yeah, but at least he could speak in full sentences. “I went in. You had the time before I came out.”
“Forty-five seconds,” Chewie crowed, lifting his chronometer. The blinking lights on the front confirmed it.
Han grimaced. “Nah. I think you stopped that early.”
“Then why didn’t you get out of the way in time?”
“Didn’t think you could do it in under a minute. The Falcon’s air vents aren’t long, I’ll give you that, but they’re twisty, and you’ve never bested them before—”
“I told you I could do it, and I did,” Luke said. “Pay up. And maybe stand to have a little more faith in my abilities.”
Apparently the edge in his voice got through to Han, because he finally dragged himself back to his feet. “Alright. You get a whole ten credits off me,” he said.
Luke nodded curtly, then turned to Chewie, but Han wasn’t done.
“And I do have faith in ya,” he said. “I know no one can scramble like you. I’ve bet my life on it.”
“I didn’t mean those abilities,” Luke retorted. “And you know it.”
Chewie roared something, but Luke didn’t stop to mentally translate the Shyriiwook this time; he’d switched off all thought in his brain, so that his irritation had more legroom to stretch with. He marched out of Han and Chewie’s bunkroom—the end destination of their little air vent obstacle course—leaving the two of them to put the grate back on the ceiling. It grew rapidly cooler when the automatic door shut behind him, leaving him alone in the Falcon’s hallway, and he shivered. He’d been a spacer for a year, but his flesh still expected the desert suns.
His hand chose that moment to sting. He looked down at it—the cut was minor, but it did seem to be bleeding a lot. It was a good thing Han hadn’t noticed it, or he might have used that as ammunition to discredit Luke’s skill as well. You clearly don’t always know exactly where to put your hands, kid.
His blood boiled just at the thought of it. He’d better clean it up before he left an even more incriminating trail of blood. Or, worse yet, before it scarred.
Also, it did hurt like hell.
Luke and Beru shared a cabin just as Han and Chewie did, just opposite, and right next to the fresher. He should have gone directly to the fresher, but his irritation drove him to look over his meagre possessions instead; he wanted to hold his father’s lightsaber again. The pain, he could ignore. The slight, he could not. He was pretty sure he’d sensed his aunt in the cockpit with Hondo, arguing about something again, so it should be a quick in and out, no questions asked.
He'd been wrong.
Beru was sitting on her bed. She looked up when the door whooshed open, but she clearly wasn’t surprised to see it was him—everyone else knocked. She’d made sure of that. But it was Luke’s room too, so he didn’t have to. Her eyebrows were raised already, and he braced himself.
“I assume the clanging I heard from the vents was just the mynocks again?” she asked.
“They’re really persistent,” Luke agreed. “I know Chewie’s struggling—”
“Why is there blood all over your hand, Luke?”
He deflated instantly. “There was a sharp panel,” he muttered. “Was going too fast. Didn’t notice it in time.”
She held out a hand for his, and he didn’t bother arguing. He put his bloody fingers in her palm for her to inspect, biting back a hiss when her thumb brushed some of the blood away for a better look.
“A rusty panel?” she asked.
He peered at the wound. “How could you tell that under all the blood?”
“I couldn’t.” She dropped his hand. “I just know this ship. To the fresher. Now.”
He didn’t bother trying to argue. While in there, she wasted some water to rinse out the wound. Luke tried to tell himself that life control systems onboard the ship would just recycle the water back, but his desert conscience still rebelled against it, and he also wasn’t an idiot. The tech kept breaking down, and he knew their funds to repair it were dwindling. When Beru disinfected his cut, Luke hissing at the sharp pain, it was with the last few drops from the bottle.
Watching her wring them from the spout, Luke’s stomach growled. They were down to two sets of rations a day.
“Why do you keep doing those races?” Beru said.
Luke pursed his lips and looked away. “Han—”
“He thinks you know the ship inside out. These races are not what’s gonna convince him you’re a Jedi.”
Luke shrugged. “Shuts him up for a little bit.”
She did crack a smile at that. “Not for long enough.”
“No.” Luke looked down at his hand, and the bandage Beru had just fastened on it. No bacta. They’d run out last week. “He thinks I’m just a climber.”
“You are very good at climbing,” Beru said. “Gave me a heart attack or two on the vaporators over the years.”
Luke didn’t smile. “I can be more. I know it.”
“You already are more.”
Beru’s enduring faith in him was a rock-solid foundation for him to spring from. Luke, however, still tended to fall on his face. “Han and Hondo still think I’m a kid. Useless. Every job, I hardly get to get involved—”
“You are a kid.”
“Aunt Beru.”
She smiled at him. It was the pained smile she often got when she thought about their current situation, their old life, and what had changed. Their funds certainly hadn’t, but Beru and Luke knew how to wear poverty’s chains.
“Don’t try to grow up too fast, Luke,” she said. “You’re more than a kid who’s good at climbing. But right now, at least you are a kid who’s good at climbing. Don’t take that for granted.”
Before Luke could respond, the intercom crackled. It was a little-used feature of the Falcon, but Hondo did enjoy it, when he needed everyone’s attention at once. Luke had no idea where the speakers in the fresher were, but they still heard him loud and clear.
“Hello everyone! This is Captain Hondo speaking.” As if anyone else used the intercom. “Report immediately to the cockpit. We have some very exciting news!”
There was a pause, then Luke distantly heard Chewie chiding him. Hondo cleared his throat.
“Please come as soon as you are able, my friends,” he corrected. “Do forgive my lack of manners.”
Beru smiled to herself, snapping shut the first aid kit. “I wonder what that’s about.”
Luke scowled down at his bandaged hand. “I have a guess.”
They were the last ones to reach the cockpit. And sure enough, it was as Luke had expected.
“You accepted another job?” Han snarled. “Without even checking in with us?”
Hondo spun around in the pilot’s seat of the ship, his arms outstretched. Since formally being declared captain of the Falcon, he’d invested in a new hat, larger and fancier. It had a male convor’s feather in it, bright turquoise—apparently the male birds were showier than the females—and shining embroidery that Luke was pretty sure depicted the starscape around Florrum, the planet Hondo used to love so much. The hat tilted precariously over his eyes as he leaned forward eagerly. Were it not for Hondo’s jovial tone and the hat’s general ostentation, that narrow look would have been threatening.
It might still be, depending on circumstance. Hondo took nothing seriously, until it was as serious as the grave. He had betrayed Luke with a laugh, when they first met.
“Han,” he said. “I am the captain, am I not? I know what jobs we should take—”
“We both know you got here by cheating!”
Hondo pressed his hand to his chest. His jacket had been updated too, with beads and tassels and all the finest decoration a Weequay could ask for. “Cheated? You wound me. We had our agreement. Perhaps the fact you seem so reluctant to accept the outcome suggests you would be a poor captain yourself.”
Chewie put a large paw on Han’s shoulder, which was good, because Han looked about to throw himself at Hondo. They were often like this—civil and even friendly most of the time, then as soon as Hondo did something that angered Han, they were sniping all over again. Luke wondered why he was considered the child of the crew.
He also wondered why Han had ever agreed to decide the captaincy of the Falcon by a game of sabacc. But, to be honest, that choice did have Han written all over it.
“Oh yeah?” Han muttered. “And what would your previous crews say about your leadership?”
Hondo didn’t rise to the bait. “My previous men were cunning! The fact they betrayed me is proof that I taught them well. I am still so proud of them.” He glanced at Luke, as if he was about to say more but thought better of it. Luke wondered if he spent his life waiting for them to betray him too.
Chewie exchanged a look with Beru. Before Han could spark off again, he asked in a low rumble, “What’s the job?”
“And what deal did you strike?” Beru added.
Hondo lowered his hands, gesturing magnanimously toward Beru. “Han was once again jumping to conclusions. I have not accepted the job just yet. But I am very excited by it.”
Luke raised his eyebrow. Their track record so far on jobs hadn’t been stellar. The cargo jobs had gone the best, since there was far less risk involved when you were just agreed to move, perfectly legally, some random farming equipment from planet to planet. But they weren’t very lucrative, and Hondo was a pirate and Han and Chewie smugglers. The attempts at smuggling had been hair-raising and tense; their piracy jobs abysmal. Piracy took… cooperation. There’d been a lot of failed boarding attempts because Han and Hondo were arguing too much, or Beru had outright refused to assist with a job she considered inappropriate. It was only the fact that the Falcon looked uniquely trash-like and generic that stopped them from getting recognised at any major port.
None of the jobs had been ideal for Luke. They’d only discovered his skill at sneaking and climbing, bolstered by the Force, because they needed someone to sneak into the guild buildings where the jobs were being doled out, so they could approach buyers directly once they had their details. That was all Han and Hondo thought he was good for: espionage and hiding. He couldn’t fly a ship yet, so they’d claimed the actual action for themselves.
“This is not a smuggling job,” Hondo said. “It is more in the lines of piracy—or, well… Hm. I will let her explain it. It will make a change from my dulcet tones!”
None of them laughed. Hondo sighed and reached for the comms panel on the Falcon’s dashboard. He pressed a button—only then did Luke notice the blinking red light that told him someone had been waiting on hold for some time.
“Here they are, my dear,” he said. “You are free to explain it to them as you did to me.”
A blue hologram of a brown-haired Human woman materialised—about Aunt Beru’s age, with some lines in her face, but a severity of dress and posture that made her seem both younger and older. Frown lines creased her lips, though when she glanced around the cockpit, taking them all in, a smile actually cancelled them out. It appeared when she looked at Luke.
“Ohnaka?” she said.
“Yes—”
“Do not call me my dear.”
Hondo blinked, his whole charming approach deconstructed. Luke smothered a smile of his own, focusing his attention on the woman as she regarded them all.
“This is the crew that assassinated Jabba?” she asked.
That took them all by surprise. Luke stepped back like she’d slapped him. Han’s mouth gaped open, his finger coming up to point while he tried to think of something to say. Chewie made a noncommittal but surprised little roar. Beru’s arm went in front of Luke, her other hand on his shoulder.
Hondo froze.
“That was not how she opened it earlier,” he admitted. To her: “Assassination is far too strong a word, my— ah. We were simply present when he met his unfortunate end.”
“As was I. I believe I can guarantee you that no one gained such a valuable glimpse at his assassin.” She nodded to Beru. “We are in your debt. It is why we approached you for this mission.”
Beru said quietly, “Who is we?”
“The Empire are trying to build a second Imperial garrison on Alderaan,” the woman said. “The first is already problematic for my interests on the planet, but it is not insurmountable. A second would make operations significantly more difficult. I would like to enlist your help to prevent it.”
“How would we do that?” Han scoffed. “It’s the Empire.”
“By stealing the credits they are sending to pay for its construction. The Emperor does not trust the Organas. The ruling family,” she added after blank looks, “of Alderaan. He knows they do not want this garrison built, and he does not trust them to adequately bankroll it themselves. So, he is sending a representative with the credits, to ensure they are spent wisely, to the best effect, to build the greatest garrison that five million credits can buy.”
It was the way she emphasised the number that caught Luke’s attention—as it did everyone else’s. She couldn’t be serious.
Could she?
“Those credits will be flown into the Alderaan system from Coruscant under armed escort. If your team can ambush the ship, board them, steal the credits, and come away with them, you will take half the cut. Half a million credits for each of you. And two and a half million for my organisation.”
“Who is your organisation?” Beru asked. “Who are you?”
The woman looked at her. Something gleamed in her dark eyes. “You may call me Dakellen.”
She stopped, but Beru didn’t let her off. “And your organisation?”
“Fledgling,” Dakellen said. “But I worked with your father’s liberation movement on Tatooine to free slaves from Jabba’s Palace, Beru Whitesun, if that is enough for you.” She paused, then added, “Lina is doing well. We resettled her on Onderon.”
Beru’s face froze in a tableau of shock, her eyes wide and lips parted. She shook herself out of it, but her voice still shook as she said, “That is enough for me.”
Han gave her an incredulous look. “Well, it’s not enough for me,” he cut in. “Half a million credits—sure. But Alderaan’s a Core world. Pretty central. Realspace will be swarming with security, and the ship’s already under armed escort. How the hell do you expect us to break into that thing?”
The fact that they hadn’t made very successful pirates so far went unspoken.
“Coruscant and Alderaan may be close to each other on a galactic scale, but the route between them still crosses multiple hyperspace lanes,” Dakellen said. “And the Emperor is too paranoid to let this treasure travel along major routes with the riffraff of everyday spacers. No, I don’t think you should ambush the ship over Alderaan. You should be there waiting for it when it drops out of hyperspace to course correct on the edges of the Skako system.”
“Skako Minor?” Hondo asked, stroking his chin. “Lots of chaos there since the Clone Wars. But no budget for it to be dealt with. Dangerous place.”
“Which is why the ship will only drop into realspace on the edge of the system, for thirty seconds at most,” Dakellen agreed. “Are you up to the task? I will send you the intelligence, but if you choose to refuse, I will find someone else.”
They all looked at each other.
“I will get back to you in ten minutes,” Hondo announced. He reached over and put her on hold.
When he spun back around to face them, his face was a mask of excitement. “Well?” he crowed. “Is this not the perfect score? We need the credits—you all know we do, and you have been hounding me about it. Here they are! An ambush in an out-of-the-way, unimportant planet. We may have had a rough run, but this, we can take.”
“Are you sure?” Chewie growled. Hondo ignored him, although Luke was pretty sure he could speak Shyriiwook by now.
Beru was still staring at where the hologram had been. “You didn’t find her, Hondo,” she said. “She found you.”
“Well, yes,” Hondo admitted. “But that just means our reputation is getting around! This is a chance for us to make a truly big score.” He turned to Han. “Don’t you want to get flying again?” he asked. “Really flying? Impossible odds, the thrill of danger—”
“I don’t trust her,” Han said. It was the only negative thing about the situation he could say. Luke could see that, despite his irritation, he did desperately want to jump into some crime again.
“Of course I don’t trust her,” Hondo said dismissively. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Luke felt a pang, but he didn’t ask even us? He knew what the answer would be.
“Half a million credits each,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t fathom that amount of money. Not even Huff Darklighter, the richest person Luke had ever personally met (not including what he’d witnessed in Jabba’s Palace), had a fraction of that wealth.
“You could buy your own ship with that,” Hondo commented. It wasn’t said pointedly, but he looked at Han as he said it, so it might as well have been. “You could buy fifty ships!”
“Or you could buy your own,” Han snapped, “and give mine back!”
“Do you really think we could do something like that?” Luke murmured. It was intended for only Beru to hear, but Chewie did as well, and nodded reassuringly at him.
“Yes,” Han and Hondo said immediately.
Chewie’s answer was more believable.
“Yes,” he said in a mourning wail. “Because we have to.”
Beru took his hand.
Luke may be used to poverty. But desperation like this was still a new and powerful feeling.
“There you have it, my— Ms Dakellen,” Hondo said, leaning back in the pilot’s seat. The others had filed out of the cockpit after giving Dakellen their decision, probably to argue. They did a lot of that. Especially that Han… And Luke, well, he was an opinionated boy if there ever was one. “I told you they would not disappoint you.”
She had a faint smile that unnerved him, but not enough for him to stop. Hondo had faced down a great many contractors. Anyone offering this sort of money had something to hide.
And probably wouldn’t want their faces shown to the Empire…
“I never expected them to,” she said. “But you, Ohnaka, I have low expectations of. Which is why I asked to have this personal conversation with you afterwards.”
“You flatter me with your attention, if not with your words,” he assured her. Her amusement grew. “What matter did you wish me to address?”
“A warning. And an additional clause to our agreement.” She paused. “If I were you, and I knew that I was being paid two and a half million hard credits to steal five million, I would simply take the score and disappear, never paying my employer.”
“The thought had never even crossed my mind,” Hondo lied. “Have you not heard of honour among thieves?”
“No. I have not.”
He tutted. “So untrusting. You must have had some terrible deals before.”
Again, that smile. It didn’t drop as she said, “The Hutts are in chaos presently. I’m sure you know that. Jabba’s son Rotta succeeded him on Tatooine, but he is a child, and Gardulla pulls his strings. But I am sure any one of them would be eager to learn that the same irritating but incompetent crew trying to disrupt their spice shipments is also the crew involved in Jabba’s death. They may not have bothered so far, but they would certainly begin tracking you in earnest after that.”
“As I told you earlier. We were simply present. We had nothing to do with his death.” His hat slid farther down his forehead with sweat. The turquoise feather bounced in front of his field of vision.
“I’m sure.” But she knew her point had sunk in. “And as for the additional clause to our agreement. I want to split your two and a half million payout five ways. I do not know which one of you killed Jabba, but I have great respect for whoever did. And I know your reputation, Ohnaka. If a member of your crew does not come back from this mission, the remaining credits will be split without you, and you yourself will not be paid. I want all of you to come back alive.”
His hand, which had moved up to brush the feather aside, now stilled. “That is a most unusual request.”
“It is non-negotiable.”
She’d lied. He was sure of that, although Human faces were so strange, so odd, so difficult to read sometimes, hers especially. But he didn’t know if she’d been lying about the threat, the ultimatum, or the reason behind it all.
“I must protest nonetheless,” he pushed. “It is hardly fair to me. You know that this job will be dangerous. I cannot guarantee anyone’s safety.”
“And yet you are the captain. It is your role to take care of your crew.” Her lips twisted. “That you are protesting at all suggests you are a poor captain, anyway.”
Rage surged in his chest. He needed to check their comms system. Had she truly been on hold earlier, when he was talking to Han? Or had she been listening to everyone they’d said?
His lip curled. His voice cooled. He still knew how to play the terrifying pirate, after all these years. “Do not try to tell me how to be captain. I have plenty of experience.”
“Every crew you have ever had has abandoned you,” Dakellen stated. “Or you have abandoned them. Whoever amongst you had the courage to kill Jabba, I know that it was not you.”
She turned away, glancing down as if looking at a monitor screen. “I will send you the details,” she said. “Best of luck with the job. It seems that your crew is in desperate need of a score.”
“Why did you really choose us?” Hondo asked her.
But the hologram winked out, and he was left alone in the captain’s chair.