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Sep. 18th, 2012 12:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghrainetitle: The Imperial Menace (4/8)
verse: Lucy
CHAPTER FOUR: HAN
Han hated Hoth. He hated the ice and the cold, he hated the smell of the tauntauns, and mostly he hated hiding for months on end, tied down to this one miserable place.
As he passed the north doors, he glanced out and scowled. The off-duty Rogues were outside, throwing snowballs. Hobbie sent one whizzing past Wes Janson's ear; Janson swiftly retaliated, bombarding him until he surrendered. The squadron was shouting and laughing, unconcerned by any of the numerous threats that might end their lives at any moment. Han walked quickly past, determined to finish his errand before Lucy showed up and roped him into some contest.
He took a deep breath. He didn't know how these people put up with it, just waiting for the Empire to hunt them down. At least they only had the Empire after them. He'd gladly accepted the mission to Ord Mantell, eager for any chance to get out, and nearly got himself killed by one of Jabba's goons. He should have known that would catch up with him eventually. It'd been over a year and a half, and Jabba wasn't exactly known for his patience.
Really, he told himself, he'd helped the Rebels for almost two years—he'd done his part. More than he'd ever intended to do, even when he'd helped abandon the base at Yavin after the ceremony. He'd been stupid to have stayed so long, suicidally stupid. And it wasn't like he cared all that much about their cause. Maybe they'd win and probably they wouldn't and it wouldn't much change a smuggler's life either way. It was just that Lucy and Leia were there, and it was . . .
Complicated. Yeah, complicated. Lucy would tell him over drinks about her latest death-defying mission and Leia would snap at him when she passed in the hall, and he'd figure he could stay just a little longer. Well, he couldn't afford it any more. And it wasn't like there was much to stay for at this point, was there?
They'd both more than proven that they could take care of themselves. Besides, Leia was resolutely unfriendly and Lucy had become . . . well, resolutely friendly. She seemed not to notice anyone's flirtation with either her or her friend; Leia, though obviously interested, just seemed outraged. Han wasn't entirely sure what he wanted, but he was pretty sure it wasn't that, from either of them.
Leia's hypocrisy actively annoyed him, though, so he made sure she was there when he offered his resignation.
“A death mark's not an easy thing to live with,” said General Rieekan, surprisingly understanding about a situation Han was pretty sure he'd never face. “You're a good fighter, Solo. I hate to lose you.”
Han shook his hand. “Thank you, General.”
Leia, apart from one icy glance, paid no attention to the interchange. Han clenched his jaw; then he forced his usual smile back on his face, strolling over to her.
“Well, your Highness, I guess this is it.”
“That's right,” said Leia indifferently.
Han's eyes narrowed. “Well, don't get all mushy on me. So long, Princess.”
He stalked away, down one of the corridors, not quite sure if she'd follow. If not . . . he could go talk to Chewie, or have a last drink with Lucy. He should tell her, and Lucy, at least, would admit that she was sorry to see him go.
“Han!”
He smiled to himself and halted. “Yes, your Highnessness?” he said, turning to face her.
“I thought you decided to stay,” said Leia.
“Well, the bounty hunter we ran into on Ord Mantell changed my mind.”
She was very pale. “Han, we need you!”
“We?” She sure as hell didn't mean her and Lucy. Did she really think he was going to stay for the cause, forever?
“Yes,” Leia said forcefully, and she looked as if she might be gearing up for a speech. Han headed her off.
“Oh, what about what you need?”
Leia gave him the same blank look he usually provoked from Lucy. Great. “I need? I don't know what you're talking about.”
Han just shook his head and kept walking. “You probably don't.”
“And what precisely am I supposed to know?” she demanded.
Han shot her a furious glance, ignoring the people weaving their way around the two of them. “Come on! You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!”
“Yes . . .? You're a great help to us,” said Leia, still uncomprehending. “You're a natural leader—”
“No,” Han snapped. “That's not it. Come on. Ah—”
Leia stared up at him, finally understanding. She flushed, then gave a scornful laugh.
“One woman isn't enough for you? Well, you're imagining things.”
“Am I?” Han smirked. “Then why are you following me? Afraid I was going to leave without giving you a goodbye kiss?”
Leia's eyes blazed. “I'd just as soon kiss a Wookiee!”
“I can arrange that,” he said, walking away, then shouted over his shoulder, “You could use a good kiss!”
He ducked away, leaving Leia staring after him. After a moment's consideration, he decided to go find Chewie and get ready to leave. He didn't think he could deal with Lucy just now. To make matters worse, Chewie had dismantled the central lifter.
“Why did you take this apart now?” Han said. “I'm trying to get us out of here and you pull both of these.”
Chewie muttered something Han chose not to hear.
Below them, the prissy voice of Leia's protocol droid called out, “Excuse me, sir?”
“Put them back together right now!” Han ordered, and turned towards the droids.
“Might I have a word with you, sir?”
Han sighed. “What do you want?”
“Well, it's Princess Leia, sir. She's been trying to get you on the communicator.”
Han couldn't even summon up any satisfaction at that. “I turned it off. I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Oh,” said Threepio. “Well, Princess Leia is wondering about Mistress Lucy. She doesn’t know where she is.”
“I don’t know where she is, either,” said Han disinterestedly.
“Nobody knows where she is,” the droid said.
Han’s head snapped up, his brows lowering. “What do you mean, nobody knows? She wasn’t even on patrol. She should be with Wedge or Leia.”
“Commander Antilles hasn’t come back yet,” Threepio told him. “Mistress Lucy left to find him.”
Han’s eyes widened and he glanced towards the nearby gate. The sky was already darkening; the wastelands of Hoth, inhospitable at the best of times, would turn into an icy death trap within minutes. Nobody could survive—
Han leapt off the lift, looking around wildly. “Deck Officer—Deck Officer!”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Threepio. “Might I enquire—”
Han covered the droid’s mouthpiece with his hand as the deck officer approached. The man wore a smarmy, bored smile that did nothing for Han’s already strained nerves.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know where Lieutenant Skywalker is?”
“I haven’t seen her. It’s possible she came in through the south entrance.” The deck officer’s expression didn’t waver and Han’s teeth ground together. He took a threatening step forward.
“It’s possible?” he snarled, trying to ignore the panic building in his gut. “Why don’t you go find out? It’s getting dark out there!”
The officer, now alarmed, mumbled his assent and ran off. Han dropped his hand from Threepio’s mouthpiece.
“Excuse me, sir. Might I enquire on what’s going on?”
“No,” snapped Han, gaze returning to the entrance.
Threepio, somehow, managed to sniff. “Impossible man!” he informed Artoo. “Come along, Artoo, let’s find Princess Leia. Between ourselves, I think Mistress Lucy is in considerable danger!”
Han’s hands clenched into fists.
The officer, trailed by an anxious assistant, returned a few minutes later. “Sir, neither Commander Antilles nor Lieutenant Skywalker have come through the south entrance. They might have forgotten to check in.”
Wedge might. He forgot now and then, but Lucy followed regulations religiously when she wasn’t defying them altogether.
“Not likely,” said Han. “Are the speeders ready?”
They weren’t. Han, undeterred, turned towards the tauntauns.
“Sir, the temperature’s dropping too rapidly!” the deck officer cried.
Han didn’t hesitate. “That’s right. And my friend’s out in it.”
Lucy, he told himself, hadn’t survived a dozen inevitable deaths to get killed by the weather. Not if he had anything to say about it. Still, he couldn’t quite keep himself from imagining finding her stiff body, and forced the images out of his head. He mounted a fresh-looking tauntaun.
“Your tauntaun’ll freeze before you reach the first marker,” the officer said darkly.
Han didn’t even look at him, just thought of Lucy freezing to death out in the tundra. He yanked on the reins.
“Then I’ll see you in hell!”
He couldn’t have spent much more than ten minutes searching for Lucy, narrowing his eyes against the snow and doing his best to ignore the encroaching cold. It felt longer, the light dying by inches, his tauntaun’s steps growing more laboured. He knew perfectly well that if he didn’t find her soon, all three of them would be icy husks be morning.
Han liked Wedge Antilles; still, there wasn’t much he valued above his own life. He certainly wouldn’t have risked it for Antilles. But Lucy—
He clenched his teeth and dug his heels into his mount’s heaving flanks. The tauntaun had only taken a few stumbling steps forward, though, when something stirred—a brownish shape, crumpled on the snow. A Rebel soldier. He sprang down and slogged towards it.
The shape, as he approached, resolved into a small, lean figure, weakly trying to leverage itself up on its arms. The soldier’s fur-lined hood had fallen down; the hair only glinted white, but he hadn't seen braids wrapped around the head on anyone except Leia and then Lucy. Han couldn’t help a burst of relief, and couldn’t feel any guilt over it, either.
“Lucy!” He staggered the last few feet and lifted her up, holding her upright as she collapsed against him, hands limp on his shoulders, eyes drifting shut. Han shook her. “Lucy—Lucy! Don’t do this, Lucy! Come on, give me a sign—”
She mumbled something. Han rubbed her face, apparently to no effect. He was on the point of lifting her into his arms, only hoping he could get her to the base in time, when her fingers tightened on him.
“What—?” she muttered, her unfocused gaze turning alert, colour rushing back into her cheeks and lips. Lucy’s eyes widened and she stepped backwards. “Han? What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you,” he said. “Can you walk to my tauntaun?”
She looked outraged. “Of course I can! But I’m not going anywhere.”
Han’s mouth dropped open. “Have you gone crazy?” he demanded. Lucy ignored him, instead glancing around, eyes narrowed against the fading light. She pulled her hood up over her snow-caked hair and lifted the sodden strip of cloth that usually protected her face. Frowning, she tried to wring the water out.
“I lost my tauntaun that way,” she said, pointing north. “I kept going until . . . I think I must have fallen asleep. I’ll be fine now.”
“Fine?” Han said, incredulous. “You would have died if I hadn’t come looking for you! And you still will—we both will—if we don’t head back right now! What—”
“I don’t have time for this,” Lucy cut him off, fastening her cloth. She glared at him over it, looking for all the world like a blue-eyed version of Leia. “Wedge is out there and closer to dying every moment that I waste. If you don’t have the guts to help me, go back to base. I’m going to find my commander.” She jerked around, heading northeast.
Sometimes, Han thought irrelevantly, it was real easy to see why she and Leia got on so well.
“Lucy! Wait!”
He caught up easily, grabbing her arm. “Damn it, Lucy, listen to me. You’ll never survive by yourself! What good will it do the Rogues if you and Antilles both get killed? I won’t let you—”
She jerked her arm away. “Go back, Han.”
“Fine,” said Han. By now he was shouting over the howling wind. “I’m coming with you. Just let me get my tauntaun.”
She didn’t even look surprised.
A few minutes later, they set off together, Lucy riding the tauntaun while Han walked alongside it. It was a small victory, but between Lucy and Leia, Han counted them where he could get them. The beast wouldn’t last much longer anyway.
“You sure this is the right away?” he asked, for the sixth time.
“I’m sure.”
“But there aren’t any signs. How—”
Lucy cast a sideways glance at him. “It’s a gut feeling,” she said.
Han supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t mentioned the Force. She still did, now and then, and he couldn’t help but scoff. Sure, she was a hell of a pilot, even by Rogue standards, but that didn’t prove anything except that she was naturally gifted and trained constantly. Han could never see why she’d rather attribute her success to some cosmic power than her own talent and hard work.
Antilles did. He didn’t imagine he had it, but he was a believer nonetheless. He’d said more than once that he thought Lucy should be commander, not him—and not because she filled out his reports half the time, or flew (slightly) better, or gave more inspiring speeches or anything like that. She was a Jedi. She should be in charge. Even Lucy didn’t go that far—
They stumbled over another snowdrift, the wheezing tauntaun barely remaining upright. Lucy dismounted.
“He’ll last longer if we walk,” she said briefly, dropping her hand to the animal’s neck.
Han scowled. “What’s the point if we have to walk?”
Lucy ignored him. Again. Instead, she walked a few steps forward, her brows furrowed, and kicked at the drift.
“Han, there’s something here,” said Lucy, not quite panicked. She began digging through the snow. “Help me out!”
Between the two of them, it only took a few minutes to clear the drift. Han tried not to think too hard about the lost time, or what they might find. It was going to be fine. The burst of exercise was good for them, anyway. Got the blood flowing—Lucy’d been looking sleepy again.
Han, heaving a pile of snow aside, stared down at the frozen head of a tauntaun. Their own was whimpering.
“We’re back where you started, then,” said Han. “But where’d the rest of it go?”
Lucy shielded her eyes and peered upwards at the sky, and then down again. “It’s not my tauntaun,” she said, her voice shivering. “It hasn’t been long enough for mine to be buried this deep. And the shape isn’t exactly right, anyway. It’s Wedge’s.”
They stared at the head for a moment, their tauntaun wailing behind them. With a quick, indrawn breath, Lucy stepped back towards the distressed beast, talking in indistinct but soothing tones. Han knelt and examined the marks where Antilles’ tauntaun had been decapitated.
“Claws. Big ones, by the look of ’em,” he reported.
Lucy’s eyes were enormous above the half-mask. However, she only paused for a few seconds, then said, “So we’re on the right path.”
Almost of its own accord, Han’s hand fell to his blaster. “Better keep going, then.”
They plowed on, shielding their eyes more from the thick snowflakes than the reflected light. Neither of them mentioned it. Lucy spoke only to adjust their path; either luck or her gut were in their favour. They kept finding abandoned, half-chewed bones, more and more shallowly buried. The creature, apparently, had eaten on the run.
Han studied the fifth bone.
“Still not human,” he said. Lucy just nodded, her eyes heavy. Her wiry frame wasn’t doing her any favours out here, but even Han had almost drifted off a few times.
Some ten minutes later, the tauntaun finally collapsed. Han grabbed the heaviest of the packs before Lucy could, and felt a little reassured by the dirty look she shot him.
“We’re going to have to make camp soon,” he told her, almost staggering beneath the additional weight. There was no point in admitting that they wouldn’t likely survive the night out in the open, camp or no camp.
Lucy marched a little forward, peering into the featureless white blur. “There’s something ahead,” she said.
Han walked up to her and stared at the blur. “I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Your eyesight isn’t as good as mine,” Lucy told him, a distinct tremor in her voice. She didn’t say anything about his advanced years, but Han felt certain that she was grinning behind her mask. She cleared her throat. “Try your electrobinoculars.”
Even with the binoculars, he didn’t see anything for a minute. Then, as the layers of snow shifted, he thought he caught sight of a darker glimmer. He adjusted the binoculars, and sure enough: an entrance of some kind.
“I think it’s a cave,” he said.
She raised her goggles and lifted her own binoculars to her eyes. “Definitely a cave,” said Lucy. “If Wedge is still alive, I bet he’s in there.”
Well, Han reflected, he’d rather die fighting a tauntaun-eating monster than go quietly to sleep out here. And Lucy would go first in the cold—selfish or not, he’d really rather not see that.
He drew his blaster. Lucy pulled out her own—with her left hand, he noticed. The right, which she favoured slightly, rested on her lightsaber. He’d take a blaster over the ancient sword any day, or even Chewie’s bowcaster, but still, a sword that could cut through anything might come in useful somehow. He didn’t say anything.
They crept, as unobtrusively as possible, up to the cave, crouching beneath the ledge. The temptation to fall asleep had vanished altogether. Behind her goggles, Lucy’s eyes were alert again. Thank the gods for adrenaline.
They lifted their heads slightly, just high enough to see into the cave. Even without the binoculars, Han clearly made out the man hanging from the roof of the cave, body limp but not dead. Lucy gave a low, shuddering sigh of relief, then caught her breath, an instant before Han’s gaze shifted to the creature behind him—an immense, grotesque white thing with long arms, black claws, and a luckless creature’s leg (the tauntaun’s?) in its paws. It gnawed on the leg, its occasional snarls clearly nonsentient.
Han raised his blaster.
“I’m not sure—” Lucy began, but he’d already pressed the trigger. Blasterfire struck the monster in the shoulder, but didn’t seem to penetrate its thick hide. Its answering howl was plainly one of rage rather than pain.
“Shit!”
“Why do you always have to shoot first?” Lucy shouted, throwing herself to the side as the monster barreled towards them.
Han shot again, to no more effect than the first time—the fire didn’t seem to do much more than annoy the creature, drawing its attention to him. He scrambled back, and desperately aimed for the monster’s eyes, the only vulnerable spot that he could see. His shivering hand didn’t cooperate; he hit the snout instead, and the monster only roared again, lumbering straight for him. Han hit its chest, this time.
He was barely aware of the small clink of Lucy’s blaster hitting the cave wall, but even in his panic he couldn’t miss the sharp buzz of her lightsaber igniting. Neither, it seemed, could the monster; it turned just as Lucy brought the lightsaber down on its immense shoulder, slicing off one of its massive arms. It wailed and raised the other; she ducked just in time to avoid getting tossed into the wall and swung again; this time she missed, and darted out of reach. At some point she’d pushed up her goggles and dropped her mask to the floor; she was panting in clouds of steam.
Her hands were even less steady than Han’s; she looked as if she might lose her grip on the weapon at any moment.
Han took a deep breath, praying to every power he knew of—none of which he believed in—that she’d manage to hold out more than a few minutes. He’d seen her training with the lightsaber; he knew perfectly well that it had never been about killing people with it. Even old Ben hadn’t done much more than slice off an arm. But they’d never survive if they didn’t manage to kill this thing. He staggered to his feet.
“Lucy! Get out of the way!”
The moment of distraction nearly killed her; Lucy glanced at him and the monster’s claws just missed her face. She ducked and swivelled away, then stumbled over a pile of rocks and with a cry of pain, fell to the ground. Her lightsaber’s blade vanished. Han didn’t even bother aiming as he shot again, only hoping he’d be able to distract the monster once more. It swung in his direction and then back at Lucy, who tried to get up and then collapsed back, turning her head to stare wide-eyed at her weapon. The monster seemed to dismiss her as a threat and snarled at Han.
Han took a deep breath, steadying his grip on his blaster, and aimed precisely for the eyes. This time, he hit his target; the monster screamed, covering its eyes with its remaining paw and lurching to the side. He had a clear view of Lucy, and couldn’t possibly miss what happened next.
Lucy was still gazing at the lightsaber. Then she closed her eyes, her face going slack, and stretched out her hand, even though she couldn’t hope to reach it. The lightsaber twitched, rattling against the floor, and flew straight into Lucy’s hand. She curled her fingers around the hint, ignited it one more time, and narrowing her eyes in fierce concentration, threw it straight at the monster’s back.
The creature shrieked, the glowing blue tip of the lightsaber poking through the front of his chest. Han backed up and tightened his grip on his blaster, even as the monster gave a gurgling moan. It took one faltering step forward, then another, slower one—Han raised his blaster—and the monster fell to the ground in a loud crash.
“Did I—”
Han approached cautiously. The monster didn’t stir—and surely nothing could survive a laser blade to the chest. But he’d seen a lot of strange things in the galaxy; better to be sure. He yanked the lightsaber out of its body and sliced the monster’s head from its shoulders.
“So much for him,” Lucy said, struggling to her feet again. This time she just managed it, leaning heavily against the wall. “Let’s hope he doesn’t have friends. How’s Wedge?”
Han, lightsaber in one hand and blaster in the other, walked over to the unconscious man hanging from the ceiling. Dropping his blaster, he reached for Antilles’ neck and felt for his pulse—thready but even. His skin was cold, lips blue.
“He’s alive, but he’s pretty badly-off,” said Han. “I’m not sure he’ll survive the night. Hell, I’m not sure we will. There’s not much we can do—”
“We can get him down, anyway.” Tentatively, she put some weight on her injured foot and winced, but managed to hobble in his direction. Han was half-tempted to order her to stay where she was, but he could only imagine how well that’d go over. Besides, it—might be better if she aimed the lightsaber.
He handed it to her, and she bit down on her lip, hard, drawing a few drops of blood. Her body was shaking; Han steadied her and she set her jaw.
“You’ll need to catch him,” she said, then flung the lightsaber at the ice gripping her commander’s feet. Han staggered as the other man’s weight hit him; he just managed to keep Antilles’ shoulder and head from further injury -- the creature had slashed one side of his face open. His legs hit the floor with a disconcerting clunk, and Han lowered him the rest of way.
Antilles groaned, blinking rapidly, and Lucy limped to his side.
“Wedge? Wedge, can you hear me?” She slid to the floor with an audible sigh of relief, folding her uninjured leg in and leaning on it.
“Lu-ucy?” Antilles tried to focus his eyes, and failed. “That you, Lucy? I can’t . . . feel anything . . . that creature—”
“We’ve taken care of everything. It’ll be all right,” Lucy assured him. Antilles’ eyelids slid closed and his murmurings turned incoherent. She looked anxiously at Han.
“He needs to get warm,” said Han, and mouthed silently, Fast. She nodded and pointed deeper into the cave. Good idea. It might not be any warmer in there, but at least it’d be away from the wind and snow.
Han half-helped, half-carried Antilles to the very back of the cave, leaning him against the wall. He could just hear Lucy crying out.
“Lalia?” said Antilles.
“I’m getting her,” Han said, and hurried back. Lucy was on her feet again, but teetering back and forth, even with her weight on her good foot and one hand against the cave walls. Her teeth chattered.
“Could you help me walk? I think I’d better conserve my strength for more important things,” she said. Her half-apologetic tone, when she hadn’t shown a trace of remorse for everything else she’d put him through, was the last straw. He stalked over to her and picked her up.
Lucy squeaked. “I didn’t mean—put me down! What are you doing?”
“Conserving your strength.”
She scowled up at him. “What about yours?”
“I’ll manage,” said Han, and set her down beside the mumbling Antilles. She looked as if she might move out of sheer perversity. “Listen. There isn’t any way to build a fire and your precious commander’s already halfway to freezing to death. I’d rather this whole thing weren’t completely pointless.”
“Fine,” said Lucy, scooting closer to Antilles.
Han walked to the delirious officer’s other side and slid down. They sat in shivering silence for a few minutes; then Han, himself drifting into a daze, heard her breathing deepen. He jerked upright.
“Don’t go to sleep,” he said sharply.
“Oh, right.” Lucy’s voice was exhausted. “Thanks.”
He couldn’t even dignify that with an answer.
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