Finn gaped at her. “Wait—you can understand that thing?”
Beating Rey to a response, the man holding the blaster on them warned, “And ‘that thing’ can understand you, so watch it.” Still aiming the weapon in their direction, he stepped back. “Get outta there. Come on up. No funny stuff. We’re watching you.” His attention focused on Rey, he almost smiled. When he did, there was a hint of something half playful in his demeanor. But only a hint. And there was nothing whatsoever lighthearted about the blaster he kept pointed in their direction.
As he emerged from the service corridor, Finn found himself looking up at the man’s companion. And up, and up.
Impatiently, their captor gestured ever so slightly with the muzzle of his blaster. “Where’d you find this ship?”
“Right here.” She saw no reason not to tell the truth. “I mean, down on the surface. Niima Outpost, to be specific.”
Dropping his lower jaw to signify his disbelief, he stared back at her. “Jakku? That junkyard?”
“Thank you!” Finn said. “Junkyard!” His original opinion confirmed, he shot Rey a look that was pure I-told-you-so.
Looking away from them for the first time since they had emerged from below, their captor addressed his towering cohort. “Told ya we should’ve double-checked the Western Reaches! Just lucky we were in the general vicinity when the ship powered up and its beacon snapped on.” He turned back to Rey. She was trying to make sense of the mismatched pair standing before her and failing utterly.
“Who had it?” he continued. “Ducain?”
Again, she thought: no reason to prevaricate. “I stole it from a salvage dealer named Unkar Plutt.”
Brows narrowed as the weathered visage wrinkled even more. “From who?”
“Look.” Taking a chance, Rey lowered her hands so she could spread her arms wide. “I don’t know all the details for sure. I’m not privy to Plutt’s private accounting. But talk says that Plutt stole this ship from the Irving Boys, who stole it from Ducain.”
“Who stole it from me!”
In addition to anger, their captor’s voice was filled with righteous indignation. To Rey, it sounded a little forced. Definitely this man was not now and never had been a stormtrooper or anything like it. What he had been, maybe, was someone not unlike herself. A bit of a businessman, a bit of a con man, a bit of an adventurer. And since he was older, it was only reasonable to assume that he had been a bit more of all of those things than herself. What his intentions toward them were she could not yet guess. But the fact that he didn’t know who Unkar Plutt was was definitely a plus on his side. He would be unlikely to immediately turn them over or try to sell them to someone he didn’t know. Where he stood in relation to the First Order remained to be seen. Thus far, at least, he didn’t strike her as someone overly interested in politics.
Her hurried speculation as to their captor’s possible motives was interrupted when he took a step toward her. Finn tensed, but neither the blaster nor the man’s free hand came up.
“Well, you tell him when you see him again, you tell him that Han Solo just stole back the Millennium Falcon for good!”
Whirling, he holstered his blaster and headed for the cockpit, his lofty associate at his side. Either he was satisfied with her answers, Rey thought, or else he didn’t care. With his back to them as he headed in the opposite direction, neither Finn nor Rey caught the change of expression from the suggestion of a smile that had threatened to crack his heated glare to a wide, contented grin. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t his countenance that awed them: It was his name.
Han Solo.
A legend of the Rebellion against the Empire. Trader, pirate, con man, and fighter extraordinaire. It was hard to believe he was real, Finn thought. Solo was history come to life.
No longer under the gun, or even restrained, and abandoned in the lounge as if their presence was less than insignificant, Rey and Finn exchanged a look.
“What now?” Finn gestured in the direction of the corridor that led to the cockpit. “He—he just left us here.”
“We could wait for one of them to come back,” she suggested.
He nodded slowly. “Yes, we could do that. Just sit here and wait.”
Without another word they broke for the cockpit.
VIII
FINN AND REY caught up to the unlikely pair in the corridor. Wanting desperately to confront their captor—if captor was what he was, considering that he wasn’t acting much like one—Finn struggled to get past the hairy bipedal mountain that was blocking his path. Said mountain ignored Finn’s feeble efforts to push his way past.
Having managed to sidle past on the other side, Rey could hardly contain her incredulity. “This is the Millennium Falcon? I didn’t—I didn’t make the connection when we stole—when we came on board.” She could not keep herself from staring at the pilot. After all, it wasn’t every day in the galaxy that one met a living legend. In point of fact, it was her first living legend. For a living legend, a part of her mused, his appearance was more than a little disheveled. Almost as much as that of his companion.
“You’re Han Solo,” she said, looking askance.
This time instead of a smile, a grin: part amused, part knowing, and maybe a little bit bitter. “I used to be.”
Finn found himself equally dumbstruck. Here right before him, close enough to touch, was a celebrated figure from the ancient past. Well, he corrected himself, from the fractious past, anyway. He doubted the individual who had angrily confronted them with blaster in hand would take kindly to being referred to as ancient. And the looming mass of wailing hirsuteness who was his companion…what was his name? He searched his memory and what he knew of history. Slew—something, that was it. No, he corrected himself. That didn’t fit as a name for a—what was the species called? Ookie? Again he fought to recall.
Chewbacca. Chewbacca the Wookiee. And Han Solo. The Han Solo. Or else a pair of extremely accomplished liars. Though if what he could remember was accurate, accomplished liar would fit the Han Solo as well as anything else.
No harm in probing further, Finn told himself. It wasn’t as if he and Rey were going anywhere. Not now.
“Han Solo?” he queried hesitantly. “The Rebellion general?”
“No,” Rey broke in, half accusingly, half admiringly. “The smuggler!”
“Huh?” If he had been bemused before, Finn was now thoroughly bewildered. Without thinking, he addressed the shaggy mass lumbering along in front of him. “Wasn’t he a war hero? In the fight against the Old Empire?”
Though the Wookiee uttered something guttural and incomprehensible, Finn thought he managed to catch the gist of it. Something along the lines of “Yeah—I guess—kinda…” Of course, the giant could equally have been confirming what Rey had said. Having no way of knowing whether his intuition or the girl’s identification was correct, he trailed along in confusion. It did not occur to him that both might be equally accurate.
Rey could not keep from looking around, seeing the ship she had stolen in an entirely new light. No wonder it was crammed full of modifications! No wonder it had demonstrated unusual speed and maneuverability.
“The Millennium Falcon.” She could not keep the wonder out of her voice. “This is the ship that made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs.”
“Twelve parsecs.” Entering the cockpit ahead of the others, Han scanned the console. A wave of something washed over the Millennium Falcon’s rightful owner. Not nostalgia. That wasn’t part of his makeup. But there was definitely something. Possibly remembrance of old friendships, or adventures long past, or exotic destinations once visited. Most likely the financial opportunities missed. Moving forward, he let his hands rest on the main console as his eyes continued to rove from instrument to monitor to…
What the devil was that?
Moving slightly to his right, he touched a couple of contacts and
was rewarded with a readout that was anything but pleasing.
“Hey! Some moof-milker installed a compressor on the ignition line!”
“Unkar Plutt did.” Rey saw Finn shoot her a look and she glanced away, abashed. “I’d spent some time poking around all the ships parked at the outpost. Mostly at night. It was a way to learn some things. I was careful, and nobody much cared anyway, since I never took anything or tried anything.” She brightened. “Made it a lot easier when we filched this one. Though it wasn’t my first choice.”
Han nodded knowingly. “I can relate to that. What halfwit puts a compressor on an ignition line?”
She nodded in agreement. “I thought it was a mistake, too. Puts too much stress on the hyperdrive flow.”
“…Stress on the hyperdrive flow,” Han echoed, reaching the same conclusion at the same time. For an instant he looked puzzled and just a tad curious. Who was this girl, who spoke so knowledgeably of flow rates and ignition pressures? His curiosity didn’t last long. Too many other matters of greater consequence were on his mind.
“Chewie, put ’em in a pod and send them back to Jakku. Or anywhere else local they want to go.”
“Wait, no!” Rey moved toward him. A stern stare halted her in her tracks but could not silence her. “We need your help!”
His brow wrinkled. “My help…”
Holding her ground, she indicated the silently watching BB-8. “This droid has to get to the nearest Resistance base as soon as possible. He’s carrying a map that leads to the present location of Luke Skywalker!”
The strangest look came over the Falcon’s owner. In an instant and in response to Rey’s distressed request, all the hardness seemed to drain out of him. For a moment he was no longer on the ship. He was not even in Jakku’s system, but somewhere else. Unable to stand the lack of response, Finn spoke up.
“You are the Han Solo who fought with the Rebellion? If so, then you knew him.”
“Knew him?” The flinty stare had gone hazy, the strong voice soft. “Yeah, I knew Luke.”
“Well, then,” Finn continued, “maybe you could—”
He broke off as a distant but distinct metallic thunk reached them inside the Falcon. Snapping back to the present, Han was all business again as he scowled in the direction of the ship’s loading ramp.
“Well, that tears it. Don’t tell me a rathtar’s gotten loose.” Without another word he vacated the cockpit, hurrying back the way he’d come. Everyone else followed, with BB-8 bringing up the rear. Neither Rey nor the droid had the slightest idea what was going on. Finn did, and wished he didn’t. Though he’d never seen a rathtar, he knew a little something about the species. A little, he knew, was more than enough. He had to struggle to keep up with the Falcon’s owner, who moved with surprising speed. Not unlike his ship, the trooper realized.
“Wait, wait,” he implored the older man.
Ignoring him, Han exited the Falcon onto one of the service decks of the enormous freighter and headed directly for the nearest control panel.
“Hold up now. I need to be sure what you said. A what’s gotten loose?”
“Rathtar,” Han replied curtly.
“No.” Finn was shaking his head. “You’re not hauling rathtars.”
Han spoke without breaking stride. “I’m hauling rathtars.”
Materializing within and above the console, a host of images revealed both the interior and exterior of the hulking freighter. One of the latter revealed the approach of a nonmilitary transport. The sleek craft nudged its way along the hull, like a parasite hunting for an easy way into a potential host. Not recognizing the ship’s design, Finn focused on Han instead. The pilot’s expression showed that he was not pleased.
“You recognize the arrival,” Finn said. It was not a question. “From the look on your face, I can tell that you wish you didn’t.”
“You could say that,” Han replied. “It’s the Guavian Death Gang.” He looked over at the Wookiee, who moaned confirmation. “Yeah. They must’ve tracked us from Nantoon. You’d think traveling through hyperspace you could throw people off. Not these guys. That’s never good. They’re persistent. I hate that.”
“Hate what?”
Han didn’t look at him. “When someone who wants to kill us finds us.” Abandoning the cockpit, he and the Wookiee headed off toward a circular corridor opening. Once again, Finn and Rey found themselves reduced to following.
“What’s a rathtar?” Rey asked Finn. They were now hurrying down a passageway that had, like the rest of the lumbering freighter, seen better times. Splashes of paint and old stain substituted for more efficient indicators, while unidentifiable crates and piles of gear were piled haphazardly in corners and against the walls.
It was Han who replied first. “You want the scientific description? They’re big and dangerous and ugly.”
“O-kaaay,” she responded. “Why would anyone want something big, dangerous, and ugly? Who would want something big, dangerous, and ugly? And be willing to pay for it?”
Where the hell was that accessway? Han wondered. Girl sure had a lot of questions. “People have funny hobbies,” he explained as he kept moving fast. “Some are collectors. There are those who collect different kinds of galactic currencies, some who collect old liquor containers, a few who like to accumulate holos of famous entertainers. Seems like the more money they have, the bigger the things they like to collect. There are even a handful who like to collect biological specimens. Those with money collect live ones. Those without money become scientists.” He gestured and they turned a corner.
Finn moved closer to Rey. “I know of a perfect example that explains everything you’d ever want to know about rathtars.” She eyed him expectantly. “Ever hear of the Trillia Massacre?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” he replied. And that was the extent of his explanation, briefly referencing an incident so vile and depraved that he wished only to assure himself she knew nothing about it.
“So,” she continued, turning her attention back to Han, who at least seemed willing to explicate a little, “you’re carrying these rathtars to a collector?”
He nodded. “I got three going to King Prana. Kings not only like to collect, they like to boast about their collections. Seems Prana’s in competition with the regent of the Mol’leaj system. The regent doesn’t have a rathtar in his private zoo. Neither does anybody else.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Finn muttered.
“So I got this contract to get some for Prana. Three. It was difficult work. I’m expecting a bonus, and I’m not ready to give it all up just because of the Guavian Death Gang.”
“Three!” Finn could hardly believe what he was hearing. “How’d you get them on board?”
Han looked over at him. “I could tell you that Chewie and I got a bunch of their favorite food, tied it to a stick, and led them into the holding bay. But that would be a lie. Let’s just say I used to have a bigger crew.”
Striding effortlessly alongside, Chewbacca groaned assent. Behind Finn, BB-8 beeped a question to which the Wookiee readily replied. Droid and Wookiee then entered into a rapid-fire conversation, the sound of which made Finn’s head hurt.
He was wondering why Han called a halt in the middle of an unremarkable section of corridor until their guide activated a hidden wall control and a hatch opened in the floor. He gestured for them to descend.
“Get below deck until I say so. Don’t go wandering around: This ship is big enough to get lost in, and there are areas you don’t want to go.” He smiled thinly. “Some of the cargo would be glad to see you, but you wouldn’t want to see it. And don’t even think about trying to take the Falcon.”
Rey indicated the waiting droid. “What about Beebee-Ate?”
“He’ll stay with me. If he’s that important to you, that’ll ensure you don’t try
anything funny. I’m still not sure I buy your story.”
Finn felt a little chill. Fooling the girl had been easy enough, but this was Han Solo. Make one mistake, say one wrong thing, and he was liable to find himself not just challenged but dumped outside—without an atmosphere suit. He was going to have to watch his words more carefully than ever. If Han found out that he had a stormtrooper in his midst…
No, Finn corrected himself. Ex-stormtrooper. FN-2187 was dead. He was Finn, and no longer a fighter for the First Order. Why, the best pilot in the Resistance could testify on his behalf! If only he were alive…
Halfway down the hatch stairway, Rey paused to look back. “What happens now?”
Han’s attitude softened slightly. “When I get rid of the gang, you can have your droid back and be on your way.” He glanced across at BB-8. “I’m used to dealing with droids.”
“The rathtars.” Finn couldn’t keep from asking. “Where are you keeping them?”
A thunderous wham sounded behind him and he jumped, stumbling toward the open hatch. Behind an oversize, triple-reinforced port, an orange orb appeared. Finn assumed it was just an eye of some kind, but it was still big, dangerous, and ugly. Finn’s heart slammed against his chest.
“Well, there’s one,” Han said nonchalantly. “Or part of one, anyway.” For a second time something massive rammed against the opposite wall, and the deck shuddered under their feet. “Not real bright, rathtars. You’d think by this time they’d have figured out they can’t break out of their holding compartments, but they’ve been banging away at the walls ever since Chewie and I got them on board. They don’t seem to get tired.”
“Maybe they just want food.” Finn had managed to calm himself.
Han cocked an eye at him. “You volunteering?”
For an instant, Finn wondered if their guide was being more than half serious. Then Han smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t think a rathtar would eat you anyway. You’re not their natural prey. Take you apart piece by piece and stomp on the pieces, yes. But not eat you. Now get below. And keep quiet.”