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Notice: Star Wars and all characters and situations thereof
are copyrights of George Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd. I don't own
them, and wouldn't dream of making money off them. This is just
fan fiction, and is not for sale in any form.
********************************************************

The door buzzer sounded for the twenty-first time inside of an
hour. The former Princess Leia of Alderaan sighed. No rest for
the weary, not in the ranks of the Rebellion against the Empire.
And despite what most of the troops seemed to think, they were
*still* a Rebellion, even a year after the death of Emperor
Palpatine and the destruction of the Death Star. Leia herself
had signed the Declaration of a New Republic, but she didn't quite
believe it. The remnants of the Empire were too powerful. They
were a New Republic in name only, and she knew it.

"Yes?" she muttered. Then, more loudly, "Yes?"

The golden droid See-Threepio tottered into her private office.
"Oh-- I'm terribly sorry if I'm interrupting, Your Highness..."

"No, it's okay, Threepio. What's the problem?"

"Your Highness, the most disconcerting thing has happened. I told
Artoo you were very busy, and should not be bothered unless it was
urgent, but he insisted-- you know how these astrodroids get, after
all-- and I thought, well, perhaps we should tell the Princess, before
his incessant chatter disturbs the entire--"

"Threepio!" she hissed. "The point. Please."

"Oh. Well, yes, the point. It seems..." and here the protocol
droid cocked his head in a very human look of concern, "You will
recall, Your Highness, our Alliance Salvage Team on Endor, under the
command of Captain-- oh, dear me, what was her name? My processors
have gotten so full of requisition reports and inventory sheets and
repair orders that recalling the simplest detail seems to be quite
beyond my capacity..."

Leia rested her elbows atop the desk, head buried in hands.
Further prompting on her part was clearly useless. When Threepio
went off on a tangent, all you could do was ride it out. "How
interesting."

"I keep insisting that I am due for a refit, but the technician
droids claim that I am not on the schedule for another month!
It's really quite intolerable, and I..."

Leia was saved the necessity of yelling at the droid again by
a mechanical squawking behind Threepio's back. Threepio moved
aside, allowing a squat, cylinder-shaped blue-and-white Artoo
unit admission into the room on his three wheels.

"Yes, Artoo, I was coming to that. You will recall that we sent
General Solo and Chewbacca in the MILLENIUM FALCON to verify their
progress and return with the first load of salvage..."

Mention of Han's name was the first thing Threepio had said
able to penetrate Leia's throbbing headache and bureaucratic haze.
"He's all right, isn't he? Has something gone wrong with the
mission?"

Threepio seemed to be averting his eyes-- despite the fact that
his optical processors were quite capable of seeing Leia's face
from anywhere in the room. "Well, not precisely, Your Highness.
That is, nothing that we know of..."

Leia stood. "Threepio, please. What happened to Han?"

"Er...it's not so much a matter of anything happening, as that
he seems to have taken a slight side-trip..."

"I'll raise fifty," Han Solo said, squinting at Drago Tark over
the pitted, wooden surface of the sabacc table at Santradi Station.

"Fifty? The human issa daring today. Notso daring as wesa
Gungans. I see yousa bet, Solo."

Han nodded easily. Tark was good. Despite coming from a
reclusive, near-forgotten race, the amphibious, bug-eyed creature
across the table had obviously taught himself more than a few
tricks of the sabacc trade. Han hadn't had a challenge like this
since the last time he played against Lando.

The other players-- two humans, a Bith, and a Twi'lek-- were
all out already, either watching their opponents carefully or
staring around at the run-down back room. The human lowest on
cash toyed with his few remaining chips nervously, and occasionally
directed a jealous glance at Han's much larger share of the
winnings. Han estimated that he and the Gungan would have these
other losers cleaned out within another hour, at which time
the *real* game would begin.

If he lived that long. It hadn't escaped his notice that a
few of his fellow players were hard-core spacers, broke and
desperate or just greedy and nasty. The Twi'lek, who wore a patch
over one of his yellow eyes, kept his hand very near to a slight
bulge in his tunic near the shoulder-- a mini-blaster, or Han
wasn't Corellian.

He hoped Chewie had everything on his end under control. It'd
be a pity to die in a dive like this, just as he was becoming
respectable.

He turned over his sabacc card-chips. "Twenty-two."

The Gungan slammed one long flipper down on the table in
disgust. "Takes it, human."

Han grinned. "Pleasure doing business with you, Drago."
As he leaned over to take his winnings, Han felt the Bith
sitting next to him bump his arm. "Hey, watch it, pal..."

As he lifted his arm to point at the Bith, a card-chip fell
out of his sleeve.

Drago pounced on it, his long ears flopping about his head as he
leaned forward. "Whatta this, Solo?"

*Wonderful,* he thought. It's probably a skifter, too-- yup,
look, there it is. Ain't it pretty? I'm not even cheating
tonight-- blasted Bith must have planted it on me. Sore loser.*
*I'm dead, now...*

The sentiment was confirmed as five supposedly unarmed spacers
leveled their holdout blasters on him. Ironically, the "cheater"
in the room-- Han Solo-- was also the only one who had adhered to
the "no weapons" rule. Not out of integrity-- it was just that
he couldn't have gotten his DL-44 past Drago's goons, and he didn't
carry holdout blasters (except in emergencies) as a matter of
professional pride.

"I've never seen that before," he said honestly, setting his
jaw.

"Yousa never sees?" Drago demanded. His Basic deteriorated
when he was angry. "Yousa noseein' real good after wesa blasttin'
yousa eyes out!"

The rough-looking Twi'lek nodded once, sharply. "No cheaters."

"Uh, yeah. On that note..."

Han's reflexes saved him, as he overturned the table on the
five of them. Five blasters went off, but all their bolts went
astray in the commotion.

Han dove for the door, but the gamblers were already recovering.
The Twi'lek fired three shots, each of which missed Han by about
one centimeter. He reached desperately for the door keyplate...
By this time all five card players had recovered, all poised to
shoot him as once. Han opened his mouth to stall, to try one
last gambit to save his life, but his throat was dry as a Tattooine
summer. All that would come out was a short, hoarse bark of
laughter.

Well, he thought, it was a good run...

Then the door imploded, and eight feet of extremely ticked-off
Wookiee barged in, howling and blasting away with his bowcaster.
Both humans and Drago dove for safety, their weapons lost and
forgotten. The Bith cheater was repaid for his hard work with a
bowcaster bolt in the stomach. Only the Twi'lek stood firm against
the assault, coolly lifting his weapon for a shot at the Wookiee.
It was probably not the brightest thing he'd ever done in his life.
Chewbacca swept the weapon aside as though it were nothing more than
an annoying insect, then tossed the Twi'lek all the way across the
room and through the door. He landed on his face, then wisely
scuttled away. The humans and Drago were right after him.
Chewie tossed Han his blaster pistol, muttering something about
idiot humans who ought to have more sense. Han lined up a shot at
the departing Drago-- it was a fair distance, but he could've at
least singed the Gungan's ear-- but he shook his head and holstered
the weapon.

He ain't worth it, Han thought.

"Let's get the hell outta here," Han said. Chewie barked his
total agreement.

On their way out the door, Han gave his copilot an appreciative
chest-scratching. Some days, Han thought, I remember why I like the
big furball...

"Okay," he answered Chewie's sarcastic growl, "so you were right.
The detour was a bad idea..."

"I'm going to kill him," Leia muttered quietly as she slipped
into the copilot's seat of Lando Calrissian's newly acquired personal
spacecraft, the LADY LUCK.

Lando winced. "If Drago's temper hasn't improved since the
old days, that might not be necessary."

"You're sure you can find him?"

The gambler shrugged. "Han doesn't have many old haunts I don't
know about-- Shouldn't be too hard to pick up his trail."

Leia groaned. I don't really have time for this, she thought--
but what else can I do? "Thank you, Lando."

"Ah," the dashing, dark-skinned man waved off her gratitude.
"It'll be a relief to be out of here for awhile. I never wanted to
be *this* respectable. People keep saluting me!"

"You don't owe us anything," said the princess. "You could
always resign your commission..."

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind," he said, and Leia caught
a very serious undercurrent to the banter. Lando won't be with
us much longer, she thought. He's just not cut out to be a soldier.

"All strapped in?" Lando asked, and she nodded. The LADY LUCK
rose from the hangar floor-- soundlessly, at least from the inside--
and blasted off towards the wide, double-doors leading out of
their new base on Sullust IV.

A comlink light blinked. Lando squinted into the morning sunshine.
"Would you get that?"

Leia nodded, pressing the "ACCEPT" button. "Go ahead."

"Well, what's this?" said a familiar voice. "I come back from
patrol and you're already gone?"

Lando chuckled. "Nothing personal, Luke. Just chasing after a
Corellian pirate."

"Again," Luke Skywalker muttered. "Wait in orbit a minute.
I'll get Artoo and meet you."

"That's not necessary," Leia said. She already felt badly that
*two* of them were tied up running this little errand. She didn't
want to take Luke away, as well.

Lando was probably thinking the same thing, but he phrased it
differently. "Frankly, Mister Jedi Knight, you'd only get us in
trouble."

Luke groaned, probably understanding the hidden meaning but
responding to the jibe. "I'm *sorry* about the sarlacc, already!"

"A *thousand years,* Luke. It would've taken a *thousand years*
for that thing to digest me!"

"If you didn't talk it to death first," the Jedi said, deadpan.
"Good luck."

"Thanks," said Leia.

"Don't worry," Lando said. "I've got a lot of practice at this..."

Han Solo looked up from where he'd passed out against the
MILLENIUM FALCON's control panel. A bright ray of sunshine filtered
past green leaves and through the transparent viewport. He
grinned.

"Hey, wake up," he said, patting his copilot's arm. When that
produced no effect, he swatted the Wookiee in the back of the
head. "C'Mon, wake up! We made it to Endor..."

As Chewie complained groggily about the blow, Han continued,
"We made it to lightspeed just in time, I guess. The planet's
gravity must've pulled us out of hyperspace, then sucked us
in."

The Wookiee hooted something self-congratulatory.

"Yeah, I guess it *was* a good idea, settin' the navacomputer
for automatic deceleration. You all right?"

Chewie said he was, then barked bitterly.

"Well, how was I supposed to know Drago had *fighters*? He
wasn't that rich, the last time!"

Chewie pointed out the obvious: They hadn't been this old the
last time, either. In days gone by, they would have made good
their escape without such a racket.

"What're you complaining about?" Han muttered, testing his
battered body by pushing up into a standing position. "We're
alive..." The wave of pain that racked his body made him sit
back down. "Barely..."

Chewie's reply amounted to, "At least things can't get worse."

Then a spear lodged itself into the transparasteel of the
canopy, and a chubby, fur-covered form landed on the FALCON's
upper hull with a thud.

"It's worse..." Han groaned.

Considering the FALCON to be a much higher priority than some
snooping teddy bear, Han ran a full check on his ship, with
Chewie's help, before dealing with the Ewok incursion.
The damage wasn't too bad. The autopilot had kicked in just
in time to prevent any serious mangling of his baby. Chewie
would need a couple of days to jury-rig repairs, but that was
nothing they hadn't faced before. Depending on where they'd crashed,
they might even be able to link up with the Alliance salvage
team, get some real spare parts, and be out of here in an hour.
They had been lucky.

But still, of all the places to crash...

Finally, Han could put it off no longer. The Ewok scout (or scouts;
the sensors were off-line) had tired of pounding on the roof and
had begun pounding on the airlock. He wanted admittance to the
shiny, metal hut he'd found, and Han decided not to disappoint him.
The airlock hissed upon so suddenly that the Ewok jumped back. He
was brown, wearing a tan hood covered with trinkets and animal bones.
Han thought he recognized this one-- if so, then the autopilot had outdone
itself, even getting them in close to the salvage site. Of course,
all Ewoks looked pretty much alike...

This one raised his spear, and Han retaliated by pressing his DL-44
Heavy Blaster Pistol into the thing's nose.

"Eek! Wee-cha fringa! Wee-cha fringa!" The little alien sank to its
knees, covering its head in fear.

Han chuckled. Chewie berated him for frightening the little thing.

"Hey, I *owe* 'em one," Han protested. Addressing the Ewok, he
said, "Remember, fuzzball? The feast in honor of the Golden God? Me
tied to a stick? Huh?"

Chewie pointed out the obvious: The Ewok didn't understand.

Finally, the Corellian sighed and put his blaster away. "Oh, get up.
I'm not gonna hurt you. C'mon, up-- up, c'mon, move it!"
Still shaking with fear, the Ewok slowly climbed to his feet. His
moist, brown eyes seemed to take in the visitors for a moment. His
gaze passed over Han, but fixated on the Wookiee. After a moment,
he yelped with pleasure, chattering away, and he fixed Han with an
enthusiastic, waist-high hug.

"Aw... I *knew* we shoulda let the Imps test the Death Star on
these guys!"

Chewie shushed him. He frowned down at the Ewok, listening and
gesturing as the little creature continued to chatter away.

"What're you doing?" Han demanded. "Oh, right, you understand
him. Sure. Y'mean to tell me you could've translated that whole
time during the battle?"

The Wookiee hooted a few soft words of explanation: He'd been
intrigued by some of the things he'd seen and heard on Endor.
Upon leaving, he'd done a little research. It turned out that the
Ewok language was based on a Wookiee trade dialect-- in fact,
Chewie guessed that the Ewok natives were possibly a sub-species
of Wookiee (or at least Wookoid) who had crashed on the planet
eons ago and regressed technologically, becoming smaller and also
omnivorous as they evolved to fit their environment. Suddenly
Chewie halted his explanation, embarrassment creeping into his
expression as he realized what he was saying: Ewoks might actually
be a higher life-form than himself.

At this point Han's copilot conceded that the theory had a few
holes, but he explained that, now that he knew what to listen for,
he could make about half of what the little scout was saying,
although he still couldn't really pronounce it.

"I dunno, pal," Han countered. "I been around Wookiees half my
life-- I never heard anything that sounded like that."

Chewie grunted something about the insensitivity of human
hearing, then went back to his task: Communicating with the
Ewok scout.

After a moment, he looked up again.

The Ewok, he said, hadn't recognized them at first-- he thought
the FALCON was an Imperial starship. Apparently there'd been a
lot of them around lately. Chewie explained that the Ewok's name
was Teebo, and that he had met them before, during the Battle of
Endor. He still didn't recognize Han-- all humans smelled alike
to him-- but he did recognize the "Great Warrior Giant," Chewbacca,
and had correctly reasoned that not many human pilots traveled
with Wookiees.

"Well, this is just great, Chewie," Han muttered. "I'm so pleased
he remembers us fondly. Now, why don't you see if you can get
directions to the salvage camp, so we can get outta here?"

Chewie knelt down to address the Ewok at eye-level. He grunted
something pessimistic, then proceeded to do his best to sound out
the Ewok language. To Han, it sounded impossibly crude-- something
like a screamer monkey trying to speak Basic-- but through trial
and error, Teebo apparently got the gist. He started squealing
faster than ever, hopping up and down and pulling on Han's pant
leg.

The Corellian pulled away. "What'd you do? Insult his mother,
or something?"

Chewie shrugged, then added that Teebo seemed to want them to
follow him.

"Thanks a lot, Professor," Han said. "I could have figured that
out. Come on-- maybe we can find somebody to lead us to the salvage
team, seeing as how we're part of the tribe, and all."

Teebo reclaimed his spear and began skipping quickly through
the forest, leaving the Corellian and the Wookiee to pick
their way through the foliage in his wake.

"Lieutenant Seth?"

Ardrovic Seth, Imperial Lieutenant First Class and all-around
hater of dismal assignments on backwater Outer Rim planets,
didn't even bother to meet his stormtrooper commander's eyes.
"Report, Sergeant."

Seth, a short man whose wispy brown hair was already thinning
despite his youth, was practically dwarfed by the powerful noncom,
who just barely managed to keep a respectful tone as he said,
"Comm-scan reports a metallic mass entering orbit, possibly under
power, not more than five klicks from the primary site. Could
be a small starship, a fighter or a freighter."

Seth spent a good two minutes studying his latest transfer
request on his datapad before finally glancing up. "Sergeant,
in the future, it will not be necessary to alert me every time
comm-scan craves attention."

"No, sir," the sergeant said, shifting uncomfortably.

Probably wondering if there's any way I could be mysteriously
lost to friendly fire, Seth thought bitterly. Let him wonder.
I didn't ask for this Sith-hole of a post.

When the sergeant didn't move, Seth waved him away. "Very well.
Take a detail, check it out."

"Sir." The stormtrooper was off then, probably every bit as
glad to be out of Seth's presence as his lieutenant was to have
him gone.

With that annoyance dealt with, the junior officer returned
his full attention to the matter of getting reassigned to
Coruscant or someplace civilized.

In addition to lush forest, chirping birds, fragrant flowers,
and warm breezes, Endor also possessed an endless array of
biting flies and sucker-bugs, at least five separate kinds of
thorn bush, and some kind of red berry that littered the ground
and squashed when you stepped on it, releasing some kind of
overpowering licorice smell. By the time they reached the
Ewok village, Han was scraped, itchy, tired, and ready to gag.
Chewie didn't seem to mind the walking or the wildlife, but the
smell was wreaking havoc on his sensitive nose.
Han thought it best for all concerned that they get this over
with, and get off Endor as soon as possible.

The first time around, they'd been carted up into the high
branches of the Ewok city by some kind of simple, vine-and-log
elevator system. This time their hands were free, which meant
they had to use the rope to climb up.

Han grumbled the whole way, in between gasps for air. "I
don't believe this. I haven't climbed a rope ladder since
Basic..."

Chewie rather irritably asked if he'd rather be tied up again.

Finally, with an effort, Han dragged himself over the side
of the Ewok village. He lay on the wooden floor, breathing
hard.

Chewie laughed that rolling, "urf-urf-urf" Wookiee laugh.

"Out of shape? Says who?" He pulled into a sitting position.
"So who do we see for a guide, Tee-- hey, where's whatshisname?
Teebo?"

Chewie shrugged. The Ewok had preceded them up the ladder,
then vanished.

"Great." The Corellian rolled gingerly to his feet-- and was
then knocked off them again by a miniature tornado of brown fur.

"Yub nub! Eech goonda da sosa teeki mak-sheek!"

"Aw, *hell*... Chewie!"

The Wookiee was now rolling on the ground, urfing his head
off. Han debated the merits of throwing a nearby rock at his
partner, then decided his priority would have to be amputating
the Ewok from his person. With great effort, he extricated
himself, scrambled to his feet, and kept the Ewok at arm's
length.

He snapped his fingers. "Hey, Chewie, isn't this the one
who-- Chewie!"

With great reluctance, the Wookiee got control of himself.

"You're a big help, pal. Isn't this the one who found Leia?"

Chewie stood, looked the Ewok over for a moment, then shrugged.

"Whattaya mean, 'no idea?' What about that nose of yours?"

At the Wookiee's reply, Han groaned. "They all smell like
licorice, huh? My condolences, buddy. Look, just try to talk
to this guy, all right. Tell him our ship crashed--"

A high-pitched voice at Han's elbow said, "Stah coosah?"

Han waved off the noise. "Yeah, in a minute. Chewie, tell
him it crashed, and we need to see the--"

"Stah coosah! Cresh! Cresh-cresh!"

Han glared at the little native. "You're interrupting me,
pal. I said--" He blinked, then glared at Chewie accusingly.
"Where'd he learn Basic?"

With great effort, Chewie asked him. The Ewok-- whose name
was Wicket-- gave the copilot a long and animated story, which
Chewie managed to boil down, roughly, as: A family of humans
had crash-landed on the Endor moon in Wicket's youth. One of
them had taught him a bit of basic. When she left, Wicket
had no use for the language, and gradually forgot it. Only later,
when he'd helped the Rebels at Endor, and later observed their
salvage team, had he realized it was the same language he'd
heard long ago.

None of which helped Han much, except that it might be a bit
easier to communicate with Wicket. Between that and the
connection to Leia, Han made up his mind to appoint this little
guy-- shorter even then most of the other fuzzball Ewoks-- as
his guide to the salvage site. Assuming the tribe didn't decide
to eat him or make him face a blood challenge or something.
Han still didn't trust these guys. One thing he'd learned from
Wookiees: If something looks cute, that's probably just camouflage
so it can get close enough to rip your face off.

A general murmur descended through the village. At Chewie's
prompting, Han turned to see a stocky, gray Ewok in an elaborate
head dress, accompanied by several large specimens with spears.
He would have known it was the tribal chief even if he hadn't
recognized the distinctive coloring.

He noticed the villagers were pressing around him now, drawing
him uncomfortably closer to the chief. Han dug his heels in.
"Hang back, Chewie-- but don't look like you're hangin' back."

Chewie grunted. He'd stand casual.

With the Wookiee in place at the edge of the crowd-- and nothing
short of a turbolaser blast was going to move Chewie if he didn't
want to move-- Han allowed himself to be guided up to the Chief.

The chief glared at him out of dark, aged eyes. "Ah chay."

"Huh?"

The Ewoks around Han pulled on his vest and pant legs. Han
understood. "Oh. Nobody's head higher than the chief's, huh?
Well, what if I just withdraw my tribal membership, and--"
"Ah chay!" This time the command was punctuated by several
jabbing spears.

"Right," Han muttered, mentally cursing these guys out in
twelve different galactic languages. "On my knees."
Annoyed and embarrassed, he sank to the dirty, pine-covered
ground again. "Better?"

"Hmmm... goonda. Acho haychey du culma poka ja noj."

Han glanced back. Chewie shrugged-- he hadn't caught that.
The Corellian then glowered at Wicket. "I don't suppose you
can help me out?"

If the Ewok understood, though, he didn't let on, and the
chief then launched into a five-minute sermonette that left
Han-- for once in his life-- wishing for the presence of
Threepio.

"Hocha!" said the Chief, gesturing for Han to stand. Apparently,
he was beginning to understand the communication gap. "Ya churda!"
With that, two of the Ewoks with spears stepped to Han's side,
gently prodding him forward.

"Hey, what's goin' on? It's not dinnertime, is it? I thought
we settled this!"

The chief led Han and his escorts forward, through the simple
village, until they arrived at a large, primarily wood hut.

The chief pointed inside. "Churda."

"What?" A spear in Han's back drove the point home. "Why? What's
in there?"

"Churda!" the chief said, more urgently. Han sighed. He supposed
it was better than getting stuck with spears out here. He ducked
low, entering the darkened hut.

Inside was a round room, spacious by Ewok standards but still
cramped for humans. By the glow of the candlelight, Han could see
an Ewok female moving around, tending to a figure on a bed...

A human figure! Han stepped closer.

"G-General Solo?" said a weak, female voice.

For a moment, Han couldn't place it. "Yeah?"

"Corporal Teige, sir..." As Han stepped closer, he could see
a young woman with sharp features and dirty blond hair. He
recognized her as one of the techs who had helped keep the FALCON
running back on Hoth. As he stepped closer, he could see that
half of her face and neck was badly blaster-burned.

"Yeah, I remember you..." Han fished around for the wounded
woman's first name, "Rhea..."

She smiled weakly, then winced. "I knew they'd send someone.
It was only a matter of time. Just had to... hang on..."

"Hang on? Listen, you're not hurt so bad." Between the young
woman's appearance and the grave look on the face of the Ewok
attendant, Han didn't think that was true, but he said it
anyway. "Listen, in a week you'll be strong enough to wrestle
a gundark. Teige, what happened here?"

She managed a smile. "Imps came-- landing shuttles, three
of them. They wanted-- I don't know what they wanted. But
they hit us hard. Captain Nanz and Lieutenant Garriden went
down in the first attack. I tried to keep everyone together,
but there were just too many..."

"You did fine," Han assured her. "They hit the salvage site?"

"Yes, sir. Some of the others might have made it, I don't
know-- I never saw anyone..." She gagged slightly as a wave
of pain hit. "Sir...we found it. Death Star wreckage all
over the place. Four, five clicks away. I don't know--" Her
voice caught.

"It's all right," Han said, taking her hand. "It's all right."
The Ewok applied some kind of paste to her wound, and Teige
began to breathe easier. In another minute, she was asleep.
Han cursed to himself. What could be so important about some
hunks of metal from the Death Star that the Imps would send
three shuttles down into this giant weed garden of a planet?

"Sabacc!" cried Drago Tark, slapping his card-chips on the table
with great abandon. "Yousa havin' better days, eh, Calrissian?"

Lando shrugged. "I'm just not on my game tonight, I suppose..."

The amused glance he directed at Leia told her differently, however.
Drago may have been good, but he clearly was not in Lando's league
as a sabacc player. The gambler was throwing the game, probably at
great cost to his personal pride.

Leia herself was just trying to play cautiously, remain in the
game long enough to help Lando when he made his move-- whatever that
was. Han had tried to teach her the finer points of sabacc once,
and Lando had administered a quick refresher course en route to
Santradi, but it still wasn't the sort of thing she'd been trained
to do in the High Court of Alderaan.

"That's okay, Calrissian," said the Gungan, slapping him on the
back. "Mesa liken myne opponents to bein' good losers."

"Listen, Drago..." Lando nodded at the two humans and the Twi'lek
across the table, "if you want some real stakes, why don't you
dismiss these losers? We'll go head-to-head."

"Ohh, but mesa hasn't taken all the money from yousa lady friend,
yet," said Drago with a laugh. He leered at Leia. "If thissen
all the good you can play, lady, yousa must have... other talents
Calrissian likes, ehhh?"

Leia's nose wrinkled, but she suppressed the urge to leap across
the table and strangle him. "I'm full of surprises."

Drago's rubbery face stretched into an unpleasant grin. "Oh,
mesa sure."

"The game, Drago," said Lando, interrupting before Leia was
forced to do their host any injury. "C'mon, I'm tired of wasting
my time on penny-ante stakes." He directed a pointed glance at Leia.
Almost time to move.

Drago leaned forward, inspecting Lando's face. "How much yousa
got on you, ehhh?"

Lando flashed a brilliant row of white teeth. "Fifty thousand.
It's just burning a hole in my pocket, too..."

"Let's see it."

The gambler nodded amiably, reaching into the folds of his dark
cape, and pulling a wad of bills from a secret pocket. He fanned
it out before Drago. "Enough for you?"

The Gungan pirate's eyes were bulging from their stalks. He
drew in a deep breath, then hissed it out. "All yousen out."

The Twi'lek sneered. "Drago, I don't think..."

"Out!" Drago roared. "Thissen one's mine."

With a groan, the Twi'lek rose, followed by the two humans. They
glared at Leia until she stood too, and then started for the door.
As Leia walked past, Lando took her hand and kissed it, the way
he had when they'd first met on Bespin.

"Wait for me on the ship, milady..."

He released Leia's hand, which now held a tiny microfuser, drawn
from Lando's cape with the money and passed to her during the
gesture. She smiled.

*You do have your moments...*

They reached the door, and Leia gestured elaborately. "After
you."

The Twi'lek looked suspicious, but apparently decided that Leia
was too small and too out-of-place on Santradi to be any kind of
threat. He grunted and left, followed by his human companions.
Leia started to follow-- then jammed the door closed and used the
microfuser to seal the lock.

Before the Gungan could even register a protest, Lando had a
hold-out blaster out and buried in the moist skin of his throat.
"Now, Drago, we're going to ask you a few questions about Han
Solo..."

The Endor night was cold, and Han rubbed his hands next to the
fire. Wicket had led them to the salvage site, all right-- or near
to it. The place was crawling with Imperial scum. They'd
returned to the village to regroup, and before long night was on
them and there wasn't time to deal with anything else until morning.

"I don't get it, Chewie," Han was saying, "what are they after?"

The Wookiee hunched closer to the fire, whuffling a noncommittal
answer.

"It's gotta be something big... Hey, maybe they're lookin' for
the Emperor's bones, huh?"

Chewie berated him for the tasteless remark.

"Thoka," said a voice at about ear level.

Han turned. Wicket was back, finally. "Shoo. Scat. Go on. We'll
talk more tomorrow."

"Thoka yub-yub tabuki kay toska! Yub-yub!"

The Corellian considered trying to translate, but decided he had
too much of a headache. He forced himself not to go for his blaster
pistol. "Will you get *outta* here, already?"

"Yub-yub! Yub-yub!" Wicket was pulling on his arm now, trying to
get Han to follow.

The Corellian exchanged glances with his copilot. "You think it's
worth it?"

Chewie pointed out that they weren't getting anything done by
sticking around here.

Han stood, and followed Wicket towards the village square.

Androvic Seth wrinkled his nose at the smell of charred metal and
spent fuel. "Why am I here, Sergeant?"

The stormtrooper commander pointed at two large, broken hunks of
debris, barely visible thanks to their glowlights. "There. And
there. That was the casing. The converter is gone."

Seth frowned. "So what?"

"Yes, sir, the..." The commander broke off, and when he resumed,
his tone was strange. "You don't know why we're here, do you?"

"Of course I do!" Seth glowered at him. "I know my orders very
well, *Sergeant*. Don't take that tone with me."

"Forgive me, sir," said the stormtrooper dryly.

Seth made a face. "Well... er, just for the sake of argument...
why do *you* think we're here?"

"Isn't it obvious? When the Rebels destroyed the Death Star's
power regulator, the main reactor must have lost all shielding--
it's the only explanation for such a total and devastating chain
reaction, and it's similar to the problem we had with the first
model. The regulator *should* have shunted over to backups,
minimizing the damage. The fact that it didn't strongly suggests
a flaw in the design of the power converter. That converter is the
most delicate part of the Death Star infrastructure-- it *should*
have been heavily shielded, and may have survived the explosion
intact. Command needs to recover it, and find the flaw, or the
same thing will happen the next time." The stormtrooper paused.
"Assuming anyone is fool enough to build another one."

"Don't presume to understand the workings of minds greater than
your own, Sergeant." Seth carefully hid all traces of revelation from
his face-- he was privately galled that this foot soldier had
understood their purpose intuitively while he, Seth, had assumed
they were merely gathering up useful salvage. *Well, Sith it all,
I'm not a technician... what do I know about such things? This
could be my passage back to the Inner Systems...*
Aloud, he said, "Your rather simple understanding of our goals
is nonetheless adequate for the task at hand. I trust I do not
have to impress upon you further the importance of finding that
converter?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, sir. It's not there."

"Not--" Seth struggled to contain his temper, and failed. "Not
*there*?"

"No, sir," said the stormtrooper, pointing again. "There's the
casing, and..."

"I don't give a Sith about the casing! I want the damn converter!"

The stormtrooper stiffened. "Sir, it's not here. The casing
has been forced."

"Forced?" Seth ground his teeth together. "That crashed smuggler
ship we found earlier!"

"Possible," said the stormtrooper, "but I doubt it."

Androvic Seth fixed his most menacing gaze on his subordinate.
"And why is that, Sergeant?"

The stormtrooper bent down, reached into the shattered casing, and
returned with a chipped, gray arrowhead between two gloved fingers.

"It was forced with this..."

"Churda!" said Wicket, pointing into the ornate, cobwebbed dwelling.

"Yeah, we been through this," said Han. "I went into the other
hut, remember? What, you got another one of our people in there?"
That thought made Han obey, and he ducked into the new hut, a hut
dug out of one of the largest trees he had ever personally seen-- and
he'd been on Kashyyyk.

The interior was dim, dusty, and filled with ancient-looking artifacts
and talismans. A large, tan Ewok with an elaborate headdress sat
at a table in the middle, his eyes closed as though meditating.

"Just a bunch'a junk," Han was muttering to his copilot. "Looks
like my apartment back on Nar Shaddaa..."

Chewie grunted that Han wasn't nearly so capable a housekeeper.

"Nice. Heeeyyy..." As his eyes adjusted to the light, Han got
a better look at the Ewok. "Hey, I know you! You're the one who
tried to fry us, last year! The medicine man!"

His Wookiee friend also recognized the Ewok, and was equally
unhappy. He charged the table, shouting vague, Wookiee curses.
The diminutive life-form didn't even cease his meditations until
the charging Wookiee was within a meter or two. Then, casually,
he lifted his eyes and said a single word.

"Shaak."

Chewie ground to a halt, probably less impressed by the "spell,"
if that's what it was, than with the ageless wisdom in the old
creature's eyes.

The medicine man focused on Han. "Sho groda kai digh paqo."

"Huh?"

"Sho groda paq dev cullpa."

"Yeah," Han muttered, "whatever..."

The witch doctor stood like an old man, a centimeter at a time,
and shuffled his way over to a cluttered shelf. He reached up,
pushing aside several of his handmade gadgets-- and pulled out an
almost crystalline, strangely modern-looking contraption.
The medicine man shuffled back across the room, handing the
device to Han.

"Ah-chah."

"You said it..." Han breathed. He turned the silvery spiral of
hard material over in his hands. Dozens of microcircuits and relays
were embedded into the surface, and yet it looked like a thing alive.
Modern technology raised to an art form.

He held it up for Chewie. "You recognize this?"

The Wookiee hooted softly. It was a power converter, he said, but
larger and more intricate than any he'd seen.

Han nodded. "It's from the Death Star. This is what they're
looking for."

Chewie agreed.

The medicine man nodded sagely, though how he knew what Han was
talking about, the Corellian hadn't a clue. He murmured two minutes
worth of totally incomprehensible garbage, and Han looked to Chewie
in desperation.

The Wookiee's brow was furrowed in concentration as he tried to
translate. Near as he could figure, the Ewoks seemed to have located
the Great Crystal Spirit in the forest, and taken it to their medicine
man. Then the Imperials came, tearing up the forest and killing many
brave warriors. The Ewoks thought the Crystal Spirit was an omen,
and hid it from the Empire. But now they begged Han to take it
away from their village, and with it the troubles it brought.

Han grinned. "Tell him not to worry." He shifted his gaze to
Wicket. "Hey-- don't worry. We'll take this thing away, all right.
And we'll get rid of your Imp problem, too. Just as soon as the
FALCON's fixed up, we're gonna signal the base and round up a nasty
surprise for these guys..."

Drago Tark might have been scum, but he remained primarily a
businessman, and Lando Calrissian's promise of cash from the
Alliance had been quicker and more effective than any threat.
He talked pretty easily, giving Leia and Lando a course heading
and coordinates to start looking.

So it was that, a day later, the navacomputer signaled that
they were approaching Endor.

"Whoa!" snapped Lando as the LADY LUCK blasted back from hyperspace.
"Where'd *that* come from?"

Leia frantically checked the scopes, verifying their distance
from the Imperial CARRACK-class Light Cruiser in orbit of the forest
moon. "I don't think they've seen us..."

"One thing's for sure," Lando said, maneuvering around the edge of
the plant to remain out of the CARRACK's range, "if they were here
when the FALCON showed up..."

"No," Leia whispered. "No, Han's not dead. I can feel it."

Lando looked at her sideways. "Greeeeeaaat..."

"Chewie, you remember that time on Ord Trasi?"

The Wookiee considered, then shook his furry head, grumbling about
the specifics of the Ord Trasi run.

"Oh, c'mon, you big coward... it was just a flesh wound."

Chewie remained adamantly against repeating the experience.

Han groaned. "Well, we gotta do something! I want those slimeworms
outta my ship!"

They were crouched in the underbrush, about fifty meters from the
bruised hulk of the MILLENIUM FALCON. Half a dozen Imperial scouts
kept watch over the area, going in and out of her ramp with parts
and tools, or returning with damaged equipment.

Chewie hooted softly.

"Yeah, you're right, pal. Looks like they're restoring her for
transit." He cursed. "Just what we needed-- an Imperial upgrade.
We'll have to pull half their substandard junk and start all over!"

The Wookiee agreed.

"First, we gotta get to her..."

Wicket pulled at Han's trouser leg. "Ee-chee na goonda wiki shub!"

Han looked at Chewie. Apparently the Ewok was suggesting they
repeat Teebo's trick from the Battle of Endor-- Wicket was offering
to steal a speeder and create a diversion.

"No way," Han said. "Short help might be better than no help,
but that don't mean I gotta like it. You stay out of this-- we'll
figure a way past them."

Chewie relayed the message. Wicket prattled away, offended.
He claimed that he was not merely 'short help,' but in fact one
of the most decorated warriors of the Ewok tribe.

Of course, to Han's way of thinking, the phrase 'Ewok Warrior'
was roughly equivalent to 'Svelte Hutt.' Only other Ewoks would
know the difference.

"Forget it," Han said. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute... I
got an idea..."

"Ow! Not so hard, ya little spicemonkey! Ow! I'm comin'!"

The Stormtrooper Sergeant, nearly as large as Darth Vader and
only slightly less imposing in his white armor, had to suppress
a laugh at the sight coming at him from Endor's omnipresent
undergrowth.

"What is it, Sergeant?" A little man with wispy brown hair
popped up from the tall grass, slapping at the biting insects
buzzing around his neck.

The Stormtrooper pointed with one hand and raised his weapon
with the other. Han Solo had just stepped out of the trees, his
hands bound with a rough length of rope, being urged forward by
a chattering, spear-carrying Ewok.

"Well... this *is* a surprise... can it be the self-anointed
General Solo? Holder of the Kessel Run record? Slayer of Boba
Fett? Nemesis to Lord Vader himself? Brought low by this..."
the officer waved at Wicket in disgust, "primitive?"

Han shrugged. "He jumped me."

The officer laughed and laughed. "Well, Solo, you certainly
picked an inopportune time to get careless."

"If this is Solo," the trooper observed, "the freighter is
the MILLENIUM FALCON."

"Of course it's the MILLENIUM FALCON!" The officer skewered
his subordinate with a patronizing glare. "Hadn't you figured
that out *yet*?"

The stormtrooper didn't seem fazed by this treatment, and
replied with a single question. "Where's the Wookiee?"

"Dead." Han shot a murderous glance at Wicket.

"A Wookiee? Killed by him?" The stormtrooper stuck his rifle
in Han's face. "I don't think so."

The officer was still laughing. "Now, Sergeant, let us not doubt
the good General... haven't you ever heard of irony?" Seth walked
a circle around Han, still laughing. The he reached up and
grabbed the Corellian's chin. "And this is ironic. Behold,
Sergeant! My passage back to Coruscant, my promotion to Captain...
To Sith with Captain, my promotion to Sector Moff if I play it
right. Oh, General Solo, it was so *very* kind of you to drop
into my lap."

His next round of laughter broke off when an Ewok spear poked
between his ribs. Seth jumped backwards, sputtering...

"Boun-tee..." said Wicket, showing his teeth.

"You must be joking! What could we possibly have that would be
of interest to you? Sergeant, take him a..."

But Wicket put his spear up between himself and the sergeant.
He tapped his foot expectantly. "Boun-tee!"

Seth wrinkled his nose. "Very well, Sergeant... pay him."

The look in the officer's eyes clearly said what he expected
the 'payment' to be.

*Hurry it up, Chewie...* Han thought.

The stormtrooper raised his rifle... then lowered it. "I won't
be a party to this."

The officer stepped toe-to-toe with his trooper, apparently
unaware of how comical he looked next to the hulking sergeant.
"You've already damaged your career, Sergeant. Don't destroy
it entirely."

"Are we the Empire, or Rebel scum?" the sergeant demanded.
"We have a code of honor-- a man brings us a bounty, we pay
him for it!"

"You call that a 'man?'" the officer demanded, with another
disgusted gesture towards Wicket. Meanwhile, unnoticed by the
Imperial commanders, or their men, who had gathered into small
groups to watch the confrontation play out, the MILLENIUM
FALCON's belly cannon was swiveling into position.
"You will carry out your orders, or I will find someone who
will!"

"Fine," said the stormtrooper. He shoved his rifle into the
lieutenant's hands. "Get someone else. And do your own dirty
work."

The stormtrooper stalked away, his officer staring helplessly
back at him. "Sergeant! Sergeant, now see here...!"

"'Scuse me," said Han from behind. The officer turned. "Maybe
I can settle this."

He removed his hands from their extremely loose bonds, and
brought his right fist around to connect with the lieutenant's
jaw. The Imp went down like a sack of spice-- far more bluster
than bite, it seemed.

His troopers reacted, their weapons snapping into position...
The belly turret roared to life, and they never got off a shot.
Han groaned, massaging his sore knuckles. "There's another
lucky break I'm gonna have to pay somebody back for some day.
Maybe it's time to think about a new line of work..."

"Ee-cha wiki du rama!" Wicket exclaimed, shaking his fists
victoriously.

"Whatever."

Footsteps sounded at the FALCON's ramp, and Chewie signaled an
all-clear.

Han nodded to Wicket, then towards the ramp. "Well, c'mon, I
ain't got all day..."

"Aw, Chewie, will ya look at this?" Han sputtered, a moment after
sinking into the pilot's chair. "The Sithspawn installed a GR-28
Acceleration Compensator! Now how're we supposed to outrun a space
slug with those things gumming up the works?"

Chewie hooted an observation, and Han couldn't argue: Obviously,
the Empire didn't care whether the ship could outrun TIEs. In
fact, they'd rather prefer she couldn't.

"Nobody's got any pride in craftsmanship anymore..." the Corellian
said as he locked in the preflight sequence. He frowned at a monitor.
"Uh-oh, Chewie, looks like that Stormtrooper commander got away.
Prob'ly the officer, too, since he was on the ground when we started
shootin'."

The Wookiee grunted. So what?

"Well, for one thing, he'll sound the alarm..."

Something behind them sparked, and Han practically jumped out of
his seat. He spun around to see a chubby, brown-furred shape
jibbering and howling at one of the ion leads, and poking it with a
spear.

"Hey!" Han jabbed a finger at the Ewok. "Don't touch anything!"
Chewie barked that the preflight was ready, and Han return his
attention to the controls. A prox alarm went off, and he nodded
to himself. "Right-- Chewie, we got a CARRACK in orbit, or maybe
a LANCER. I'm gonna want to swing around at 45 degrees, go
vertical when we reach 179. Got all that?"

Chewie responded in the affirmative.

"Okay-- PUNCH IT!"

With a sonic boom that shattered the morning calm, the MILLENIUM
FALCON reared up on her haunches, half-turned, and shot off towards
the freedom of the stars.

"There's something coming up from the planet," Leia announced.

"If it's TIE fighters, we're in trouble," said Lando.

A moment passed, as Leia ran the available checks through the
database. She laughed. "It's Han!"

"Good morning," said a voice crackling through the comm a moment
later. "Nice'a you guys to drop by."

Chewie growled something similar.

Lando slapped the console. "Solo, you old pirate, I never thought
I'd be this happy to see you! Why, when Drago told us about the
fighters..."

"Yeah," Han said, "about Drago-- when'd he get rich enough to buy
fighters?"

The gambler snorted. "Where you been, Solo? He's *always* been
that rich-- but he used to have the protection of the Hutts.
Without ol' Jabba around, he needs extra insurance."

"Well, you live and learn, I guess." The Corellian hesitated.
"Er-- is Leia there?"

"Yes, Leia is here," she said. "And if she weren't so glad
you're all right, you'd be in big trouble, Solo."

"I can explain!" he promised. "Meanwhile, we already got a mess
on our hands..." He took a moment to fill them in about the
salvage team, the converter, the Imperial patrols, and the Ewoks.
"Listen, I don't think I have to tell you we'd better not let the
Imps get that thing..."

"Amen to that," said Leia. She didn't even want to *imagine*
the Empire ever building another Death Star.

Lando was looking at the sensors with alarm. "Uh, Han, that
CARRACK cruiser is just about to peek around the rim of the
planet. Talk fast, buddy."

"Right," said the Corellian. "Listen, you guys better shove off--
get a message to the Alliance. Chewie 'n' me'll head back to the
planet, pick up that converter, and toss it into the Maw or
something."

Leia frowned. "I don't know if that's wise. It might be best
to study it."

"Why?" Han asked dryly. "You wanna build a Death Star?"

"No..." she said patiently, "but there would be many uses for
a converter of that magnitude. Whole cities, powered by a
single ion generator..."

"Umm..." Lando said, "Imperial cruiser on the scopes..."

"You hear that, sweetheart? We ain't got time to discuss this
in committee. Now, we'll try to bring it back-- but the main
thing is makin' sure the Empire doesn't get it."

Leia couldn't argue with that, so she just said, "Be careful."

"Hey-- it's *me*."

"Good luck, ol' buddy," said Lando, already turning the LUCK
around to break for open space.

The transmitter crackled for a minute, then came out with,

"Hayga jub quo bink! Yub-yub!"

"Hey! What'd I tell you about touching stuff?"

Leia and Lando exchanged a confused look.

"Do you want to know?" she asked.

"I don't want to know."

"Me, neither."

"Awright, Chewie, Leia's clear... let's get back to..."

The Wookiee rumbled something about the scopes.

"What th'... more landing shuttles? Aw, that's just great!" Han
could even see them out the viewport: A pair of Imperial landers,
fluttering down from the CARRACK. When they reached the surface
they'd unfold their insect-like wings, and disgorge a couple dozen
more Imperial Stormtroopers.

*Three guesses where they'll be headed...* Han thought.

"Think we can nail 'em before they get there?"

Chewie considered, then rumbled. Their *only* shot was probably
to nail them before they reached the surface. It would mean
exposing themselves to the cruiser, but with split-second timing,
they could pull it off. Anyway, it was better than their chances
against that squad of Stormies.

"Awright, accelerate to attack speed," Han said. "Warm up the
Quads-- link 'em through here."

The Wookiee hooted: Already done.

Han felt the slight lurch as the inertial dampers struggled to
compensate with their increased velocity. Any second now, the
Imps would see them coming...

"Whoooaoaaaaoaooahhhhoaahooaaa!" cried Wicket, taken off guard
by their maneuver and unused to speeding starships. Han heard a
dull "thud" as the Ewok fell back against a bulkhead.

He jerked a thumb behind himself, taking only ten percent of
his concentration off his piloting. "He all right?"

Chewie shrugged. Ewoks were not bright, the Wookiee said, but
they were tough little guys.

"Take over a sec..." Han muttered, quickly sliding on his black
pilot's gloves. His hands slapped back down on the controls a
moment later. "Awright, I got range on the first one..."

He lined up the shot, double-checking their distance...

And with an unholy roar, something shot past the FALCON's cockpit.
"Feech!" cried Wicket, as the cockpit did a barrel roll beneath
their feet.

"You said it, pal..."

On the scopes, a pair of black-painted TIE Interceptors were
circling around for another pass, their stabs of green firelight
licking at the FALCON's topside hull.

*Can't outrun 'em... don't have time to fight 'em... Can't even
outmaneuver 'em with these GR-28's installed...*

"Chewie," he concluded, "I think we're in trouble."

Two blasts hit home, bouncing the FALCON against the upper
atmosphere of the Endor moon. Han winced as all the paint was
abruptly scraped from their underside.

He nodded. "We're in trouble..."

Another sizzling blast of energy struck, and the shields dropped
to one-third.

"Awwww... Hang on, Chewie!" With that, Han pulled up on the
throttle, causing the FALCON to climb. Then he reversed everything,
diving the ship straight down, through the upper atmosphere and
towards the towering green canopy of trees.

The GR-28's almost held out through the maneuver. Almost.

"No," Han muttered on the way down, "No, I am not gonna crash her
twice on the same planet inside a week. It just can't happen."

Chewie pointed at a burned spot in the trees they seemed to be
on track for, and Han had to concede that not only *was* he going
to crash her twice, but in almost the exact same place.

"Well, at least this'll take care of the Imperial junk they
installed... Cover!"

Then the trees were upon them.

"Tee-chee! Tee-che quin-ga-wa fri ner pertolo!"

Little hands were tugging at Han Solo's black vest. He groaned,
removed his arms from in front of his face, and sat up experimentally.
*Not bad*, he thought. *I may be getting old, but at least I still
bounce back quick...*

He tried to straighten up, and winced at the pain in his lower
back. *'Course, in my line of work, that's a necessity...*

He swatted Chewie again. "C'Mon, get up!"

The Wookiee shifted in his seat, mumbling the alien equivalent of
"Just five more minutes..."

"Come on!" Han said, pulling the Wookiee to his feet by the strap
of his bandolier. "I don't know how we're gonna get out of this
one..."

"Wee-che!" said Wicket, still pulling at him and pointing.
"Wee-che!"

"Will ya knock it offff..."

He trailed off as he saw what Wicket was pointing at. A white-
armored Imperial Scout Trooper standing in the corridor that led
to the FALCON's main hold. The trooper's blaster was pointing at
his nose.

"Don't move, Rebel scum!"

With a groan, Han put his hands atop his head. Chewie did
likewise, tired and resigned. He rumbled that perhaps he'd been
right before: Perhaps they really were too old for this.

"It ain't the years," Han said, "it's the mileage..."

The trooper marched them back through the bushes, back through
the insect nests, and back through the licorice-berries towards
the Ewok village.

*We might be too late...* Han thought. *I wonder if they've
sent the converter up to their ship yet...*

Suddenly, Chewie stopped short, seeming to catch some scent on
the wind. He howled.

"Move forward," the scout demanded.

Chewie snarled in his face, refusing to budge. "I said, move
forward...!"

The Wookiee growled and railed at the scout, shaking his massive
fists. The scout hesitated, obviously debating whether his orders
to take them alive were worth risking Wookiee attack.
And while he was debating that, Wicket sidled away, and slipped
quietly into the trees.

"Hey!" the scout called, swinging around to prevent the escape.
While his back was turned, Chewie picked the man up bodily and
introduced him to a tree trunk. Han collected his confiscated
blaster, and handed the trooper's gun to Chewie.

"Amateurs!" he said with a snort.

Wicket popped up at his side, squealing an Ewok victory cry.

"Don't get cocky, fuzzball," Han told him. "He's got a lotta
friends..."

Wicket took them to the village by the back way, sliding and
swinging through the forest like he was born there (which, of
course, he was). Han and Chewie had to take it slower, fighting
their way past angry foliage, but they still had to be making
better time than any Imperials. They could only hope the Imps
hadn't done *too* much damage yet.

A couple of times, Han could have sworn he heard the buzz of
speeder bikes in the distance. He leaned over to Chewie.
"Encirclement formation," he muttered. "They haven't attacked
yet, but when they do, they're just gonna *squeeze* and..." He
held out his hand, flat, then clenched it into a fist.

The Wookiee nodded agreement. The Empire was not going to give
these little primitives a chance to repeat their tricks at the
Battle of Endor. This time there would be no mercy, no escape.

"Yeah," Han agreed. "We oughta do somethin' about that; as
loyal members of the tribe, I mean..."

Fortunately, Chewie had been giving that some thought, and he
claimed to have a plan.

*Nice. The Ord Trasi run all over again. Only this time I get
to be the bait. That's what I get for letting the hairball make
the plans...*

Han lay in the village square, his shirt ripped and his trousers
scorched. All around him, the Ewok huts were decimated and
vandalized. Half a dozen Ewok corpses lay scattered in the
square around him, smelling of burnt fur.

Han moaned loudly, for the fourth time this hour.

*This* time, he distinctly heard a surprised response. He
suppressed a grin. *Come onto my sail barge, said the Hutt to
the Twi'lek...*

Han watched the proceedings through half-closed eyes. On cue, a
dozen stormtroopers emerged from various points around the village
in perfect unison. *Pretty good encirclement,* Han thought, *from
those positions they could've opened fire before we saw 'em, and
nobody would've gotten out alive...*

Behind the first wave, and by no means in the lead of the
second, came a gray-uniformed young officer with a blackened
bruise on his cheek.

"Lieutenant Seth, they seem to be dead," said one of the
troopers. "Except the human over there..."

Seth grinned nastily. "Solo... perhaps our trip wasn't in vain.
The young officer knelt beside Han, picked him up by his lapels,
and viciously slapped him.

Han's eyes fluttered open, and he suppressed a snarl. *Watch
it, you little...*

"Welcome back, Solo," said the lieutenant. "As you can see, I
have survived your treachery and returned with a force sufficient
to turn this village to ash."

Han groaned. "You're a little late..."

Seth looked around himself, bewildered. "Oh... well, yes. Don't
think I'll fall for another ruse, Solo..."

Another groan. "Do I look like I'm in any condition for a ruse?"

A stormtrooper stepped to Seth's side. "Might be pirates, sir;
We've heard these animals occasionally do battle with a tribe of
pirates who retain laser technology."

"Far too convenient," Seth said.

*Funny,* Han thought, *I coulda sworn he was dumb enough to go
for that...* Fortunately, he thought up another story on the spot.
He broke out laughing. "You're almost as dumb as you look, Seth,
and that can't be easy. Haven't you got it figured yet? You got
beat to the punch!"

Seth did a double-take. "What?"

"That sergeant of yours, the deserter..." Han groaned. "He got
together some survivors from your unit and jumped the place
himself! He left me behind, alive, with a message: 'Feel free to
scrape and bow at my palace anytime once I'm a Sector Moff. I've
got a job waiting for you in sewage management.'" Han shrugged.
"That mean anything to you?"

"WHAT?" Seth roared. "I knew it-- that Sithborn pile of Hutt
slime! Just like him to try to usurp my glory-- but I'll give
him no such pleasure!" He snapped his fingers at the stormtrooper.
"Corporal, have two of your men take General Solo to my ship.
Then burn this village to the ground-- bodies and all! I don't
want two twigs left standing!"

"Yes, sir!" The stormtrooper saluted and left at attention.

Seth was stroking his jaw, muttering, "That ungrateful peon
may have the converter-- but *I* have Han Solo. We'll see which
impresses the warlords more..."

Han looked up from the ground, clearing his throat. "Excuseme, uh... burn the village?"

"Yes, of course," Seth said. Already, the stormtroopers were
applying laser torches to the flammable huts.

"Uh... you sure you gotta burn it down?"

Seth stared at him, suspicion dawning. "Why...?"
Just then, one of the huts suddenly caught, combusting into a
blaze of flame. And one of the supposedly dead Ewoks squawked
in panic.

Two dozen stormtrooper rifles swiveled around to target every
Ewok 'corpse.'

*Y'know, come to think of it, the Ord Trasi run didn't work
out too well, either...*

Seth stood before him, torn between rage and embarrassment and
sadistic pleasure. "You FOOLS! Did you think I would fall for
such a simple trick? KILL THEM ALL!"

The lead trooper tensed his weapon-- and with a wordless howl,
four hundred pounds of Wookiee fell on his head.

"Yee-CHA!" cried Wicket's voice, and suddenly Ewoks were crawling
out of the woodwork, surrounding and battering the stormtroopers.
The chaos reminded Han of the Battle of Ender on a smaller scale...

An angry Seth turned his weapon on Han. "You treacherous Rebel!
You will pay for..."

"Oh, *shut up!*" Han lashed out with both legs, knocking the
Imperial off-balance. The Corellian rose to his knees and launched
himself at Seth, and soon they were rolling around on the cold floor,
fighting for an upper hand...

Multiple blaster shots rang out. The glimpses Han got of the
battle gave him the impression it wasn't going very well. This time,
the stormtroopers had been given an extra second to prepare, and
they were taking nothing for granted. They fought back-to-back in
little clusters, spraying unfocused laser fire throughout the village,
keeping the Ewoks pinned in all directions.

Seth's right hand was pushing against Han's chin, and the
annoyed Corellian came in with a left that gave Seth a matching
bruise on the *other* cheek.

Free for a moment, Han looked up at the battle. Chewie was
in the thick of it, struggling with a stormtrooper for his rifle.
The Wookiee was much too big a target, with all the indiscriminate
fire flashing around.

"Chewie! Get down!"

The Wookiee dropped the rifle and fell, and half a second later
a burst of red caught the chest of the trooper, right where he'd
been standing.

Han patted the unconscious Seth on the cheek. "Keep practicing."
Then he rolled away, his right hand picking up his DL-44 from its
hiding place under a pile of straw. He came up firing, taking cover
behind a pile of chopped logs, trying to even the odds.

An Ewok just a few meters away squealed and fell.

*Think, Solo, think...* Han desperately looked for a way to improve
the situation, but it was just too lopsided. *The only thing that
could help us now would be a Jedi Knight, or...*

Suddenly, one of the stormtrooper pairs went down, for no reason
Han could see, although his ears detected a faint *humming...* A
moment later, two more just floated up and tossed themselves over
the side of the village.

Chewie let loose a wild roar.

A towheaded form in black was working his way through the square,
blocking laser bolts with a length of sizzling green energy. Inside
a minute, two more stormtroopers went down.

Han Solo laughed. *And while I'm at it, I'd like a cool million
credits, tax-free...* Nothing happened, though, and Han decided
it was just as well. He'd hate to use up all his luck in one day.
He sighted, fired, and brought down a scout trooper aiming for
Luke Skywalker's unprotected backside.

"Over here, Kid!" he cried, peeking up over the top of the woodpile.

Luke saw him, nodded, and went back to work, closing in on the next
knot of Imperials. Red blasts caromed ever closer to the Jedi's
thin frame.

"They're starting to zero in on him,* Han realized. *Better buy
him some time...*

"Chewie, cover me!"

With that, Han broke from concealment, slipping and diving past
Imperial laser fire as he darted across the square. He dove
behind an Ewok hut, right next to the first pair of Imperial
troops to go down. As he'd hoped, one of them still had that
laser torch...

"Don't mind if I borrow this, do you, pal...?"

With the torch in hand, Han cranked it up to its highest setting,
then started running again, heading straight for the northern corner
of the square, where the most Imps still held out.

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAA!!!" he cried, racing forward at full throttle
with a wall of flame going before him. The flames singed his own
hair, caused sweat to drip down his collar, and there was really no
good reason for the Imps not to just shoot him, but Han kept coming.
Fortunately, the sight of a crazed, torch-wielding rebel rushing
at them seemed to give the stormtroopers paused. Two of them reacted
too late, bringing their weapons to bear just as the cloth parts
of their uniforms started to burn, and two more simply dove off the
city platform, preferring to take their chances with the ground,
rather than the fire.

All of this gave Chewie a chance to sneak up on another pair and
grind their helmets together, while the startled but game Ewoks led
a counter-attack of their own.

In fifteen minutes, it was just about over.

Luke shut down his lightsaber and reattached it to his belt.
All around them, the Ewoks were rising shakily to their feet, tending
their wounded. Chewie'd gotten a little singed during the fighting,
but aside from the smell of smoke, he was okay.

Han wiped the sweat off his brow, then thumped Luke on the back.
"What's that I owe you, Junior? Two?"

"But who's counting?" said Luke with a shrug.

"How'd Leia get a message out so fast?"

"I haven't talked to Leia," said the shorter man. He extended his
right arm towards a wounded Ewok, and the other's pain subsided long
enough for their medicine man to get a bandage on his wound. "I
just thought it was a bad idea, the two of you and Lando flying
around the galaxy without me." He chuckled. "And Lando said I'd
only get you in trouble..."

"Well, you're welcome to come in with the cavalry any day, as
far as I'm concerned, Kid." Han settled back against one of the
huts. "So whadda we do now-- just wait for the Rebel rescue
mission?"

Luke shrugged. "I suppose. I'd offer you a ride on my X-Wing,
but..."

"I ain't leaving without the FALCON anyway." Han whistled softly.
"Boy, our little party really trashed this place, didn't it?"
Luke's eyes scanned the blackened, crumbling village, the Ewoks
scrambling to and fro to stamp out the remaining fires and fix up
the worst of the damage.

"The Alliance will offer whatever aid we can," Luke said. "Oh,
Han, I run into a Gungan named Drago Tark while I was looking
for you-- he seemed to be in a bad mood..."

"He's always like that," Han said, waving it off. "Lemme
guess, he tried to kill you?"

"No," said the Jedi. "Actually, we had a very nice chat-- after
I demonstrated my lightsaber's ability to cut through steel..."

"'Course," Han grunted. "Show-off..."

"He told me why he hates you so much..."

Han's eyebrows jumped. "I can explain about that! Wasn't my
fault!"

Luke shrugged. "None of my business. But, really, four thousand
*cases* of Rodian frogs? Bound for the Hutts?"

"Hey, all he said was, 'Get me something that'll please Jabba.'
How was I supposed to know Jabba was allergic to Rodian frogs?"

"Yacho!" cried a high-pitched voice, "Yacho!"

"Aw, what's wrong now..." Han stopped short as he saw what was
wrong... Seth, fully mobile and back for more, had used the
confusion of the battle to steal the converter from its Ewok
guards, and was making good his escape, heading towards a rope
bridge on the western side. The converter's crystalline shape
sparkled in the sunlight as he ran.

"Y'know, I am *really* tired of that guy!" Han growled. Seth
was on the rope bridge now, heading for a guard platform which
had a rope to the ground. Han leapt up to pursue.

"You go that way--" Luke said, pointing towards the near
side of the rope bridge, "I'll cut him off..."

"How are you gonna..." Han decided it was better not to ask.
Jedi didn't have to explain; they just did. Indeed, as Luke
raced to the edge of the city platform, he *leapt*, performing
a triple-somersault in midair and landing neatly on the guard
platform about ten meters away. Seth skidded to a halt and
turned, but Han was blocking off the other side of the bridge.
Seth was caught in the middle.

"You just don't quit, do you?" Han gestured with his blaster.
"It's over, Lieutenant."

Seth was looking between them, trying to decide which was the
lesser risk. He growled at Luke. "Who the Sith are you?"

"I'm with him," Luke said, extending his arm to point at Han...
and when he did, his lightsaber snapped into being.

The Imperial's eyes widened, and he staggered back towards
Han. "I think I'll just... go that way..."

"You go *too* far this way, it's gonna be real unhealthy,"
Han said, gesturing again with his DL-44. "Why don't you be a
good boy and put the converter down?"

Seth sighed, and bent over to place the converter carefully
between two of the rope links. Then he straightened up quickly...
With a blaster in his hand. He snapped off two shots at
Han, who dove out of the way and brought his own weapon to bear.

*So long, pal...* He squeezed the trigger.

Nothing.

Han blinked. *Between the battle and our little 'Imperial
raid' setup, I must've exhausted the power pack...*

Seth was still coming, running now, the converter forgotten.
"Uh, Luke, we got a little problem here..."

"Right. Uh-- I'm on it!"

But Seth was too far ahead for even the Jedi to catch up.
He couldn't vault past the bridge again without a running start,
and the small guard platform did not afford him one.

"Han, I'm, uh... I'm gonna let you get this one."

"Nice!" Han growled, and prepared himself to tackle the
gun-toting lieutenant...

Seth reached the end of the rope bridge, and quite literally
bounced back, landing on his rear. A large form in white
armor had appeared at the end, cutting him off.

"We meet again, Lieutenant," said the stormtrooper sergeant.
In two, long strides, he had reached Seth and picked him up by
the collar. "I quit."

Propelled by the force of the stormtrooper's arm, Seth did a
double header off the rope bridge, crashing to a halt somewhere
in the trees far below.

The stormtrooper removed his helmet, revealing wizened brown
eyes, a smooth, dark-skinned face and a trimmed beard. "General
Solo? My name is Tomas Sandstrom. It is my intention to
defect to the Rebel Alliance."

Han laughed. "Welcome aboard! Say-- get the converter, will
you?"

Sandstrom nodded, walked half the length of the bridge, and
stooped to pick up the converter. Then, to everyone's surprise,
he squeezed it between his massive fingers, crushing its delicate
mechanisms. He allowed the shards to fall from his fingertips,
sparkling in the light.

He gave Han a meaningful look. "I'm from Alderaan."

"Ah." Han shrugged. They were better off without the thing,
anyway. He looked over at Luke, and the kid seemed to agree.

Two days later, an Alliance task force showed up, drove off
the CARRACK, reclaimed their salvage, and began a search for
the other survivors of the original mission. Only Corporal
Teige was found alive, but with Sandstrom's help, the burial
sites of the other bodies were located. Apparently Seth had
wanted to leave the dead Rebels to rot, but the sergeant had
insisted on following proper procedure.

Han figured they could do worse than starting Sandstrom as
a sergeant in the Alliance. Or maybe even an officer.

The task force also began a relief effort for the Ewoks, and
sent down parts and technicians, restoring the MILLENIUM FALCON
to her usual state of repair, which was to say that she
tottered on the edge of disaster. That was okay with Han-- he
wouldn't have it any other way.

Four days after the battle at the Ewok village, the FALCON
was heading home, in tandem with Luke Skywalker's X-Wing
fighter.

"*Drago*? You're goin' into business with *Drago*?"

Sitting around the MILLENIUM FALCON's holochess table, Lando
Calrissian flashed his white teeth at Han Solo. "Don't look
so surprised, old buddy. You knew I'd be leaving the Alliance
before long, right?"

Han Solo's hands clenched into fists. "It ain't the leaving
part I'm worried about-- it's the Drago part!"

The gambler shrugged. "Han, it's nothing personal. Santradi
Station is a lucrative business. I'm just going to stay in long
enough to build up a little capital, and then I'll be off and
running again. I'm thinking of going back into mining..."

The Corellian grunted. "Really-- gonna introduce Drago to the
wonders of carbon-freezing?"

Lando tossed him a mock-serious, but slightly chagrined look.
"Let it go, Han." After a long moment of studying his shoes,
Lando said, "You know, I'm surprised you don't understand this.
It's just the business-- friends one day, enemies the next.
Whatever brings in the credits."

Han shrugged. "Well, don't let me stop you, buddy. But if
you're gonna be workin' with Drago, I advise you to watch your
back."

"Always." Again, Lando grinned. "Actually, Han, I've been
wondering why you haven't moved on yet. You've been with the
Alliance, what, five years now?"

"Four," Han said, with a sour glance. "Not counting carbon-
freeze."

"Let it go, Han." The gambler shrugged. "Anyway, somehow I
didn't picture you as staying on once the war was won."

The pilot shrugged. "Noplace else to go right now."
"Isn't there? Or is it that you don't *want* to go anywhere?"

Han sneered at him. "Now you're gettin' nasty."

"Maybe, but..." Lando grinned again. "I know there's still a
pirate in there somewhere. Admit it, Han... being out here with
Chewie, on the FALCON, taking a detour whenever you want, getting
into trouble... that's the real Han Solo. The one I know."

"Maybe he's somebody else now," Han said, looking down. "Maybe
he found something else."

"Like what? Leia? Han, old buddy, I never figured you for a
romantic."

"Not just Leia!" the Corellian protested. "It's the Alliance.
It's... a lotta things..."

Lando drummed his fingers on the table. "I'm waiting. Like
what?"

"Lando, if you don't know, I'm never gonna be able to explain
it..."

Before the gambler could prepare a reply to that, Leia came
forward from the crew cabins with a funny look on her face.
"Uh, guys...? We have a... little problem."

Han stood up, cursing. "I knew it! Those new inertial dampers
aren't holding! I *told* 'em to install Vector-4's... Doesn't
anybody listen to me?"

Leia gave him a sheepish grin. "Make that a little, *fuzzy*
problem..."

"What?"

She gestured elaborately behind her... and up trundled Wicket,
quite a good distance removed from his home on Endor, and wearing
Han's favorite blue jacket from Bespin.

"Stah coosah?" he said, peering up at them with those big, brown
eyes. "Stah *coosah*! Cresh?"

"No," Han said, "we already 'creshed' enough, thanks."

"We gotta bring him back, of course," said Lando.

"I think he intends to stay," said Leia.

"Then let 'im," said Han, resigned. "We're gonna need *somebody*
to replace Lando..."

"Tell me you're kidding," Lando said, offended. "You'd replace
me with an *Ewok*?"

Han Solo shrugged. "Well, it wouldn't be my choice, but an
Ewok's what we got, an' like I always say, short help's better'n
no help at all..."