Rating: PG for language
Summary: AU.  A stranded Han spends the night before his
rescue listening to the echoes of his past lives
Type: Vignette

Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd be off this rock
so fast it would make your head swim.  As it is, I own
nothing except an expired passport, a handleless skillet
and an option on a case and a half of A&W from Priceline.
Star Wars and Indiana Jones are the property of George Lucas.
The Maltese Falcon belongs to Dash Hammett.  Witness, The Frisco
Kid and Six Days, Seven Nights are property of the Studios.
Gone with the Wind is property of the Margaret Mitchell estate.

Acknowledgements:  This is for my daughter, Victoria,
who is on a Harrison Ford movie binge.  And for the
lady at the Corellian Embassy who inspired me
with such pieces as "Star Witness" and "Raiders
of the Lost Carbonite."

Notes: I tried, but I couldn't work _Blade Runner_ in.

Feedback: I crave it. It's my favorite high.

*****
Echoes
c 2000 Angelia Sparrow
*****

Somewhere in the Carolina Swamps.

The trees here are ancient.  Most have survived everything.  I know.
A hundred and fifty orbits ago, I planted an emergency beacon in one.
That's too damn long to be stuck on one planet, even one with
as short an orbit as this has.

I've had to reinvent my life about every thirty years.  I age a lot
slower than these humans do, about one year to every five of theirs.
I found this out in the 19th century.  The late 20th was murder, with
computers everywhere.  Almost as much fun as back home.

I scratch the bubble where the homing transmitter is implanted under the
skin of my arm, as I have every night for the last 54,642 nights.
I have a lot of time out here in the swamp, so I figured it up.

The comlink went off a week ago.  Scared the hell out of me.  It'd been
quiet for so long I'd given up.  The voice I'd been
living to hear came through faint and crackly.

"Han, are you there?  Have we found you?"

Luke never sounded so good.  Even with an edge of
desperation in his voice, he sounded like home, and rescue
and everything.

"You found me, Luke.  Now get me off this rock!"

We talked very briefly.  The warp-rift that had chucked me to the
far side of the Rim had re-opened and he was coming after me.  I had
to get back to the emergency beacon.  I sold the DeHavilland and
flew back to the United States.

Now, I'm camped, in this sith-forsaken swamp, with a fire,
and the com is going again, echoing off the trees around me.

"Han, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, kid.  When are you gonna quit
foolin' around and get here?"

"Tomorrow, dawn.  We're trying not to set off the
defensive systems of the planet."

"See you then."

I pull the pack a little closer.  Not much to show for
a century and a half.  But it's all I'm taking back.
I'm too excited to sleep tonight.  Tomorrow,
I'll be back in my own bunk, in my own ship.

There have been substitutes, but none have been my lady.
I pull the compass out of the top of the pack.  This was the latest.
A DeHavilland Beaver is a sweet little craft, for an
atmospheric machine.  I'd take it over an old T-16 skyhopper any day.
Shame I can't take the _Spitfire_ when I go.  I sold her
to Francois.  He'll treat her right.  She's back on
Maneteka.  I can't believe I still have that silly
magazine the editor left with me.  Leia may find it
amusing to know what the earthwomen worry about.

Is Leia still waiting for me to come home?
And how am I going to break the fact I've been
married twice while I've been away?  I wonder how long I've been gone?
Has it been 30 years as it looks on my face?
Have I been missing a week, a month, how long?
I hope Leia waited.  The ring she gave me on our wedding day
is at the very bottom of the pack, in a safebox.  It
doesn't fit anymore.  I've gained weight.  I wonder
what she'll think of the grey hair.

The next thing is the Bible Rachel gave me for our wedding anniversary.
I have a story marked that only Luke and Chewie get to hear.
It's a legend about a tribal leader named Jacob
who marries a pair of sisters: Rachel and Leah.  They
should find it amusing.  I don't think I'll tell anyone
the one about the king who watches the woman bathe on
her rooftop.  That's Rachel's memory and mine.  Leia may like
some of the poetry.  Amazing what the shepherds come
up with when they're bored.

I miss Rachel.  She's a widow again, so she believes.  She lives
simply off of "John Book's" life insurance and police
benefits.  Samuel's in college.  They gave up so much for me.
She was shunned for marrying an English.  I loved her.
I loved all of them through the years, all dark haired and
sharp tongued.  None of them my true wife.  A picture of the Book family
falls out.  This was the year before I "died."  Samuel
is a slight sixteen year old.  I'd just taught him to
drive.  We went out for dinner to celebrate and
had the photo made at a store on a whim. I set the book and picture
aside carefully.  I've kept tabs on her in the five years
since the end of my life as Book.  But keeping tabs isn't like being there.
I miss her.

A little deeper is a gold and jewelled falcon.  The
irony is not lost on me as I set it aside.

The coiled bullwhip is still well seasoned.  The fedora's in my tent.
I've taken care of both of them over the years.
The old leather jacket wore out around 1960.
I wish hats were still fashionable for men.  I'll
probably never wear it again.  But it went so many places,
I can't bear to leave it behind.  Actually, I think I'll
wear it when they pick me up.   I never kept any of the big treasures
I found.  I only kept things that meant something.  I'm
not sure I can explain the tulle rose to anyone.

It's yellow with age, almost seventy years since she wore it,
and fragile.  Tulle isn't made to survive sand,
snakes, sea water and mummies. That was a real adventure.  Marion died
about twenty years ago, ancient and senile.  She never knew
I was visiting her at the end.  She should have been
a Corellian.  That woman could out-drink, out-fight and
out-swear me.  I wish they'd rescued me seventy years ago.
I'd loved to have taught her to fly.  And who knows,
maybe she'd have fallen for Luke.  I handle the plass bag
carefully, so as not to crush it.

Deeper into the well of memories by flickering firelight,
I dig.  The echoes of the past are dinning in my ears.
The adventures, the women, the voices.

The white yarmulke from Avram's wedding is brittle.
Hundred and ten year old satin.  That's a life I'm not
proud of.  Petty theft was one thing, and I've done my
share on a dozen worlds.  Powercoupling here, hydrospanner there.
And the Corellian words for who owns what tend to be blurry anyway.
But bank robbery was over the edge.  I just didn't care much
after I left Atlanta.  Avram changed that.  He was one
of the few purely good people I've ever met.

At the bottom is the lockbox.  I turn the combination
lock.  Two rings glint in the firelight.  One a simple band with
a starburst.  Mine.  The other a woman's ring.  A huge diamond
surrounded by emeralds.  Vulgar really.  It cost
a hundred thousand pounds in the 1860's.  Today it would be
worth several millions.  I had it made special, and
out of spite.  I was wealthy enough to do it.  Blockade
running and gambling paid well in those rough days.  Scarlett loved
the ring, and the money.  But never me.

That was a woman!  She could get madder faster and stay madder long than
almost anyone I ever met.  Almost.  Her only competition
in that department gave me the starburst ring.

And what trick of fate maneuvered us into the same conversation?
As soon as she pouted that she wouldn't kiss me for that silly
bonnet, I found myself saying the same words.

"You should be kissed, and by someone who knows how."

The Georgia afternoon heat mingled with the remembered
chill of the Echo Base as she said "And I suppose you're the proper person?"

Swept by the echoes, I told her "Yeah, but it wouldn't be much fun."
Were the eyes so close to mine green or brown?  The hair was still dark.

"I'd rather kiss a pig."

I managed a flip remark about Irish and their pigs, recalling a similar one
about Wookiees.

Scarlett's been dead since the Great War.  The prospect of another
war was too much for her failing heart.  Our life was tumultuous,
and more of a running battle than Leia and I ever had.  Ashley didn't
help matters.  He was so much like Luke, an idealist.  The same
fragility Luke had after Endor, had shattered inside of him.
Primitive wars are always more brutal.  And all Scarlett
ever saw of him was the sun on golden hair, the slim hands
and the smooth motions.  It was that bad moment in the ewok village
all over again, but without any mitigating circumstances.
And it didn't last two days, but years.

Echoes are gettin' louder.  I don't know if I want to listen
to any more.  The sky to the east is starting to grey.
I carefully pack my life on Earth into the backpack.
I dowse the fire, and retrieve my hat.  The tent has nothing
else for me, just a sleeping bag and food concentrates.
On second thought, I take the food.  You never know with
the Falcon's foodsynth.  Everything else can stay here
for the elements or a needy hiker.

A hum throbs through the morning air.
Loud.  Only one engine sounds like that.
The lady is beautiful coming down out of the sun,
retros firing as she settles on the triangle
of landing gear.

The ramp comes down and I sling the pack on
one shoulder and tip the hat onto my head.
It feels like an old friend.  I saunter
to the ship, as if I'd only been gone for an afternoon.

Chewbacca is waiting, his pelt lighter with age,
but only a little.  He grabs me.

"Pal, pal!  Lemme breathe."  Slobbery wookiee kisses
on each cheek are an experience.

And there's Luke.  Older, but not much.  He looks at peace,
finally.  He hugs me, crushing the same ribs Chewie just pulverized.
I've missed him.

"Did you fly this crate all the way across the galaxy
by yourself, kid?" I ask.

"Not quite, hotshot," says the voice I've missed the most.

I'm up the ramp, and there she stands.  The real one,
of whom all the other sharp-tongued, dark-haired women
have been pale reflections.  She's showing
silver threads among the chestnut, but she's still
gorgeous.

I kiss her, and it is worth every minute of the
time I've spent exiled.  Chewie and Luke
are running preflight.

"How long have you been looking for me?"

"Ten years.  How long were you here?"

"A hundred and fifty of their years."

She winces and kisses me again.

I go forward to take one last look at the world
I called home for so long.  I was a lot of things there:
gambler, smuggler, prospector, teacher, adventurer, cop.
The pack still on my back holds six lives.
I'm glad to get back to my own.

"You lost your ring."  Leia's voice is sad.

"No, sweetheart.  I just need it resized."
She feels right curled into my side as the
blue-green ball drops away.  She reaches up and
tugs at the brim of my hat.

"I like it.  Definite scoundrel."

I am home.