Men are from Corellia,
Women are from Alderaan
By Elektra
(elektrasfic (at) yahoo.co.uk)
"How many times is your witless
incompetence going to result in these…situations?"
"Incompetence? Let me remind you, Your Worship, who just saved your
hide in that ion storm."
"A storm we probably flew through just
so you could get a larger repair allowance from the Rebellion!"
"The Rebellion, always the
Rebellion—gods, woman, do you have a one-track mind?"
"That’s rich, coming from you! If you
could possibly start using that lump of duracrete referred
to as your brain, Captain."
"Listen, if you don’t like flying on my
ship, you are more than welcome to get out and walk. Preferably
without a spacesuit."
"Right now, Laserbrain,
I’d prefer anything to being stuck on this third-rate planet with a scrap heap
spaceship and its brain-dead pilot!" With that retort, Leia
Organa marched out of the cockpit, leaving the Corellian smuggler fuming at the nav-computer.
Han privately admitted that it had been his
idea to fly through the storm, purely because Her High and Mightiness was
loudly insistent on speed and punctuality. And in attempting to do her a favor, he managed to guarantee himself a damaged ship and
the company of the ice bitch for at least a week. Sometimes he really doubted
his own sanity, especially with her around.
Sighing the sigh common to every man who feels he has been
treated badly by a member of the fairer sex, he turned back to the console,
praying fervently that the damage would be minor enough to escape the Royal
Wrath for a while.
"Aw, hell," he proclaimed as the
list of malfunctions steadily scrolled down the screen. As the damage
increased, so did the profanity and volume of his vituperations. Han had always
known that his vocabulary included many unsavory
phrases; he wasn’t really relishing the chance to categorize them. On the
other hand you know how much the princess hates it when you swear.
It somehow offended her rose-tinted view of the commoners’ galaxy she was
forced to inhabit. The other voice in the back of his mind pointed out that—for
royalty, a leader of a crusade doomed to fail, and an Alderaani—she
had a good deal of something approximating common sense. All she needed now was
to add the phrase "self preservation" to her vocabulary, and then she
might make a passable human being. Of course, he thought lasciviously, there
are definitely a few other phrases I wouldn’t mind her adding either.
Han, uncomfortable with the turn his
internal monologue was taking, abruptly decided that if this conversation
progressed any further, he would be a prime candidate for the psychiatric ward
on base. Next those damn voices’ll be telling me
to give up all my worldly possessions and become a hermit. Having resolved
the issue with characteristic cynicism, he returned to looking after his wounded
ship.
***
Leia stopped outside the hatch and leaned on the closed
door. She felt a renewed flush of anger at his accurate parody of her
"one-track mind" put down. For crying out loud, let him think up
his own insults! And to top it all off, she’d left first, which
probably meant that he thought he’d won by default. Well, you won’t be so
lucky next time, Flyboy. Ignoring the way her pulse quickened at the
thought of him, she decided that next to mindless violence against Han, the
best thing would be to silently vent all her anger, frustration, and panic onto
him. If he ended up with a headache, then it was less than he deserved. The smug bantha had had
the nerve to suggest that she, Leia Organa, last princess of Alderaan,
senator and rebel leader, would be interested in him, a petty, scruffy smuggler
whose only concern was the origin of his next credit.
The nerve of the man still astounded her,
and she’d been forced into his company for more than a year now. All right, so
she’d requested that he be assigned to her team on occasion, more for his
unusual problem-solving abilities than any other reason. Every time she had
come away vowing never to subject herself to his abuse again, usually while
standing in the med-centre awaiting confirmation on the latest round of damage.
The sound of his voice, drifting through the
cockpit walls, shocked her out of her contemplation. Her face reddened as she
comprehended his words—she didn’t think that the alluvial dampers (whatever
they were) could have been created from quite the parentage he was suggesting.
All the breeding her aunts had instilled in her as a child rankled at the
torrent of obscenities. She turned and moved off to the hold.
She spotted the only intelligent male
aboard, sitting at the holochess table, playing at
fixing a valve. Feeling absurdly pleased that she had managed to identify the
hardware on which he worked, she slid onto the couch
opposite him.
"Hi Chewie,
how’s it looking?"
The Wookiee looked
up at her with his wise blue eyes, then rolled them
skyward.
"That bad, huh?"
He nodded his head violently, whuffing a sentence that she interpreted as an expression
of resigned suffering. She had picked up a few Wookiee
words, mostly insults aimed at Han, but the ability to comprehend the huge
being eluded her. While body language accounted for some communication, an
actual conversation required either the presence of Han or Threepio,
neither of whom she was keen to see.
Chewie barked, waving a huge paw
in a gesture that Leia interpreted loosely as meaning,
'I'm going to the cockpit.'
"I wouldn’t if I were
you—he’s swearing a blue streak right now. He’s liable to pull a blaster on the
first person to walk through the hatch."
Chewie theatrically banged his head on the table,
expressing a loud groan. Leia burst out laughing with
appreciation as she realized that the arrogant spacer got on both their nerves
at times. She really must correct the author of the account she had read that
stated that the Wookiee species had no sense of humor. Relief settled over her as she surveyed her new
ally. "Anything I can do to help? I mean, obviously nothing too
complicated…"
Chewie cut her off with an appreciative grunt and motioned
her to follow him into one of the many corridors. Leading her to a loose,
greasy panel, he indicated that she should reconnect the wires and then reaffix
the panel, demonstrating the tools necessary for the task. Delighted by his
faith in her abilities, she snagged a pair of goggles from a nearby bin and
began rearranging her workspace.
***
The cockpit was a small affair for a ship of
the Falcon’s size and capability, an illusion not enhanced by the lanky
pilot and his house-sized first mate. At present, there was little worry about
the space, as both were involved in a lengthy, heated argument.
"It wasn’t my fault that the friggin’ Rodian was in on
it!"
*If you had thought to check the details of
the deal, then the problem would not have arisen,* Chewie
commented sagely. Han shot him a look of death, which Chewie
interpreted as meaning that he was right as usual. There were certain
advantages to two hundred years in the space lanes.
"You sound just like Her Holiness!
Can’t I do anything on my own ship—"
Chewie cut him off. *I personally have great respect for Leia, and if you wish to impress her then I suggest you
stop sounding like a petulant teenager!* Han visibly bristled at this frank
appraisal of not only his behavior, but also his
motives in providing a taxi service.
Chewie’s expression softened. *Although I do have to say,
Cub, that I think that your taste in mates is improving!* With
a toothy grin, he left the cockpit. Having finally escaped the parental
lecture, he turned back to the diagnostic screen in front of him. I have one
lousy day, he thought, and the damn furball
stays around to remind me of it for the rest of my life. Still, he had to
admit that the furball had proved to be more than
worth his weight in Corusca gems in several tight
corners. Sighing heavily, he flicked the screen off and ran a tired hand over
his eyes. Smiling to himself, he let himself relax and simply enjoy the
peaceful moment. The repairs were progressing well, the damage was less than
originally thought, and Leia hadn’t thrown anything
at him yet.
Remembering Leia,
he realized that he’d promised Chewie he’d take her
with him when he went scouting for water to refill the tanks. He braced himself
for another enervating afternoon with Her Worship.
Han wasn’t sure how Leia fitted into his
life at the moment, but it sure as hell wasn’t in a sisterly role. He momentarily
pondered the mix of fire and ice that called herself Leia Organa. She was a
contradiction of strengths and weaknesses, steel and clay. The only thing he
could be sure of was that he would never meet another woman who could affect
him in the way the petite brunette now working on a distributor valve could.
"No wonder this ship won’t get off the
ground if you spend all your time staring into space."
Han’s head whipped around fast enough to
cause his neck to audibly crack. Standing in the doorway, with an expression of
amusement on her face, was the subject of his musings.
"Uhh,
hi." The lame line caused
her eyebrow to quirk, a trait that he found immediately endearing. Careful,
Solo, gonna get burned again. Looking away, he
decided the easiest way to end his discomfort was to rile her.
"So, did you come up here to complain
or did you actually consider getting your hands dirty again?" Any hint of
softness disappeared from her face as she assumed her regular expression of
anger. He felt a small twinge of regret at the change.
"I came up here, Captain, to see
whether you had any intention of moving outside before sunset. However, if that
would prove too much of a strain…" She left her challenge unfinished as
Han muttered something unsavory and pushed past her
into the hallway. Sighing resignedly, she followed him, wondering if it would
be possible to fly this ship without him.
***
The sun beat down and the wind stirred the
red dust that seemed to be the primary component of the planet. Stopping at an
outcropping of rocks, Han reached into his knapsack and drew out a compact
sensor suite. Pointing it at the gully below, he scanned the readouts for a
promising sign. Panting heavily, his partner ascended the last rocky stretch.
To put it mildly, Leia
was not happy. She realized that Han’s stride, considerably longer than her
own, would allow him a quicker climb, but she’d expected him to at least pause
on occasion to allow her to catch up. When she got her breath back, she was
going to let him have it.
Han looked at the barren landscape below
him; it didn’t look promising. He tried to avoid looking at the princess
standing next to him. The stripped-down combat panks
and tank top she wore made her figure too appealing, which seemed to have an
adverse effect on his concentration. His obstinate eyes disobeyed his commands
and surveyed the pleasant view her new outfit afforded him.
"What in hell’s name is that?" Her
startled exclamation brought Han back to reality with a jolt. Looking where she
indicated, their feelings of apprehension grew. Where before
there had been blue sky, a menacing dark cloud lurked.
"I dunno, but
it doesn’t look too good. Looks like some kinda
storm." The sense of danger grew stronger as the storm edged nearer. Leia was obviously also feeling the peril that the inky
blot placed before them.
"It’s dust! It’s the only thing on this
rock that there’s enough of."
"If it’s dust, then we’re in deep bantha crap. I saw a dust storm just like this on Mirtan. Some of the guys I was with weren’t lucky enough to
see the end of it."
Obviously shaken by his ominous warning, the
princess started down the hill, quickly followed by her pilot. Within the
storm, the wind grew stronger.
With all the force of an unexpected tidal
wave it hit them. Grit flew in their faces, tearing at the skin. Particles
swirled, rubbing against each other, charging the atmosphere. Han grabbed Leia’s hand, pulling her closer to shield her from the
onslaught. A large rock struck him on the shoulder. The dust swirled, never
ceasing its attack, daring the two humans to fight it. Staggering forward, inch
by painful inch, they neared their ship. The charge within the storm built up,
finally reaching a dreadful level. The dust became a super-charged generator,
with Han and Leia the only conductors. A bright light
filled the air around them, and then everything went black.
***
Leia fought her way back to consciousness, combating the
ferocious pain in her head. The white walls slowly came into focus. This
isn’t the Falcon, she thought. A doctor stood by her bed, checking a
printout. Noticing she was awake, he moved over to her side, seeming more than
a little nervous. I knew I had a reputation for being difficult, but this is
something else entirely. The doctor opened his mouth to speak, and then
closed it, as if thinking better of it. He left her room. Then that Leia noticed the strange feeling enveloping her, a sense of
displacement. It was as if her spirit inhabited her body with several inches to
spare, or as if she’d borrowed clothes many sizes too big. Calming herself, she
that must be perfectly natural to feel disoriented after having been
unconscious Reaching out for the glass of water on the side table she noted the
tanned colour of her arm. Windburn, her mind supplied. The water revived
her slightly, giving her the vitality to sit up and swing her legs over the
side of the bunk. Bracing herself, she stood up and crossed to the mirror to
inspect the damage, wondering at the change in her normally accurate distance
perception. Surely the floor wasn’t that far away? Looking into the mirror, she
screamed.
***
Han felt lousy. He knew that he would for
some time yet, having had plenty of experience in being knocked out. What
the hell kind of storm was that? he wondered. And
to top off the splitting headache and the nausea that threatened his stomach,
something else felt…wrong. It was as if he were squashed, compressed, as if
he’d suddenly outgrown a suit of armor. Craning his
neck to see the readings on his monitor, he caught his reflection in the
screen. His eyes widened and his jaw literally dropped. Peering closer, he
mentally started a long string of expletives. Oh, hell.
***
Dr. Badial was
having a stressful day. Having two of the Rebellion’s greatest living heroes
under your exclusive care was not the most calming of exercises. However, he
had managed a good job thus far, he thought. Then both of said heroes had
awakened this afternoon and had promptly gone mad. Looking over the scant
information Chewbacca had been able to provide gave no immediate clues as to
the reasons. High-voltage electrical shocks did not tend to affect sanity.
Sighing, he looked toward the pharmaceutical cabinet at the end of his
examination room. The temptation to sedate himself out
of this mess was great, especially with several overbearing generals requesting
answers and progress reports. His only solution so far had been to call in
Commander Skywalker. Badial had a great belief in the
power of a Jedi, and right now his only hope was to use him to discover what ailed
his patients.
***
Leia sat staring at her reflection. It just wasn’t
possible. It couldn’t be possible. Every scientific principle precluded the
idea of it ever happening. But somehow it had. It was eerie,
to look into the mirror and see eyes staring back that couldn’t be yours. She
felt the urge to start screaming again, but that would only get her sedated,
and she wanted to find the cause of this mess as quickly as possible. And
reverse it, preferably with a minimum of fuss and outside knowledge. This just
couldn’t happen.
The door behind her slid open, admitting a
visitor. Leia turned to see Luke standing in the
doorway, a concerned expression on his face. As he sat on the bed, she could
sense that he had been sent to talk with her.
Luke drew a deep breath, unsure of how to
tell his friends that they were probably in severe need of a psychiatrist. He
decided upon the casual approach; it was easier to fix stuff if you knew what
the problem was. Mentally squaring his shoulders, he asked, "Hey, Han,
what’s up?"
Leia turned to him, wondering if there was any way
possible that she could get him to understand without seeming in need of
therapy. She decided to try; things couldn’t get much worse.
"Luke, I’m not…I mean, something’s
wrong." Her voice sounded strange, too deep; it resonated through her
throat.
"Well, you did just get hit by several
thousand volts." He held a hand out to stop her from interrupting.
"When Chewie brought you and Leia
back, he explained everything via Threepio."
"But can’t you—"
He cut her off again. "Don’t worry, you’ll only be in here for a few days, for
observation." He stood as if to leave.
"You’re going? Is there something
you’re not telling me?"
Luke chuckled. "No, I just, um, wanted
to make sure Leia was all right." Luke was at
this point blushing furiously, practically begging to be teased. She could
understand precisely why Han felt the need to bait him constantly if he came up
with lines like that.
He continued,
"And
well, I mean, she came so close to…and sometimes I…" Leia
tuned out the conversation, unsure that she could take the sickly-sweet
sentiments. One thing was certain, though - there was no way she could tell him
now because he'd die of embarrassment. And today was certainly not the time for
another casualty.
Sighing inwardly, she figured that as he
already thought she was Han, she might as well promote that impression.
Grinning amiably, hands folded behind her head with practiced nonchalance, she
drawled, "Well, say hi to her for me. She’s got to be missing me by
now." So where’s my acting award then? she
smirked, watching Luke’s flustered exit. All those times I’ve spent admiring—no,
observing—Han, really paid off.
Her bladder sent a message to her brain. Leia suddenly felt like a lost tourist without a phrase
book. How exactly did one…? Resigning herself to the inevitable, she headed for
the ‘fresher. How difficult could it be? Well, she was going to find out, whether
she liked it or not. She fervently hoped that she’d be able to see her own body
soon, if only to give the careless Corellian a few
pointers on its maintenance.
***
For a large personality, Han thought, Her Worship sure makes do with a
small amount of space. Sighing, he inspected the reflection in the mirror,
hoping that this was all a horrible dream. No, the brown eyes that he had spent
ages admiring stared incredulously back at him. Great,
just great. If there was one time in your life when you needed a
plan, Solo, it’s now. He gazed imploringly at the
monitor, as if it would suddenly spit out the answer to his prayers. Since
when was the last time anything mechanical gave you anything but a headache?
He gave up hope and continued to stare.
It was in this position that Luke found him.
Sitting down on the bed, he said softly, "Hey."
Han turned to Luke, noting that he looked
much less fresh-faced from down here. Probably ‘cause
you can’t see the moisture behind his ears. He decided on the neutral
approach. "Hey."
"I just wanted to check that you were
okay." His blue eyes flashed concern and insecurity.
Han searched his memory for a Leia-style remark that wasn’t a trigger to an argument.
"I’ll be fine as soon as they let me
out of this place."
Luke moved closer to him on the bed. Whoa.
Junior. Not while I’m in this body. You can get lucky
some other time. Han deliberately moved away, pasting a concerned
expression on his face. In haste, he pleaded, "Luke, I’m really sorry, but
I think I’m going to throw up. Could you…?" He indicated the door with his
head, leaving the sentence hanging.
Luke, ever eager to please his princess,
obligingly left.
Well, I didn’t exactly lie, he thought. If he’d carried on, I would’ve puked.
He fervently hoped that he didn’t come across that corny in his own attempts to
get close to Leia. He also realized that if something
didn’t get fixed soon, he wouldn’t be the one doing the sweet-talking. The
whole situation was giving him a pounding headache, not to mention cranking up
the tension in his shoulders. Her Highnessness was in
serious need of a massage, a point to note for future reference. He gave up on
the entire fiasco, pulled a pillow over his head, and fell onto the bed,
deciding that there wasn’t much that eight hours of solid sleep couldn’t cure. Besides,
it may still be a nightmare. He realized that he could stretch out on the
bunk without hitting any walls; this body certainly did have its advantages.
***
Luke gave his report to the doctor, a very
concerned Wookiee, and two excitable droids.
"There’s something wrong that I can’t
put my finger on. It’s as if they’re disconnected, almost. Like
they’re not where they’re supposed to be."
"Oh my, how dreadful," Threepio opined unnecessarily. "I do hope that
Mistress Leia resumes her normal functions
soon." Chewie growled warningly. "Oh, and
Captain Solo of course, although my primary designation is to the
princess," he added in form of an apology.
"Don’t worry, Threepio,
I’m sure they’ll both be fine," Luke soothed. Artoo
whistled what Luke took to be hopeful agreement.
Dr. Badial still
looked unsure. "I’m not sure High Command is gonna
buy it—are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell me, Chewbacca?"
Chewie shook his head sadly.
"In that case," sighed
the doctor, "we do this the hard way."
***
"This is all your
fault!"
"Excuse me? Who insisted that we go
before it got dark?"
"And exactly how was I supposed to have
known about that blasted dust?" She was definitely on the defensive now.
Han struggled to paste an infuriating grin
on his face, just to annoy her, but then remembered that he no longer had the
physical capacity to do so. Leia, however, was doing
an exceptionally good job of transferring her exasperation onto his features.
It also looked as if she were enjoying the ability to look down her nose at him
without some complex maneuvering. Han sighed. The
sound managed to make her look uncomfortable, as it was her favorite
regal sound and his vocal cords could not recreate it.
Leia mentally steeled herself for an increasingly awkward
conversation. It would help, she thought, if
he could even try to look like me. It was strange being able to see over
someone’s head; the power it gave her felt too good. Inspecting her body from a
new perspective, she noticed the dark circles around her eyes.
"So, what do we do about this
mess?"
With a shock, Leia
realized that not only did her body possess a reasonable tone of voice, but it
also sounded quite pleasant into the bargain. Racking her brains for any kind
of solution, yet finding nothing, she suggested, "My best guess would be
to try to get that lightning to strike again."
"You’re hankering after another week in
the hospital?" He had managed to get the snide tone right.
"You have any better suggestions, Flyboy?"
"Flygirl
for the duration, Highnessness." Her eyebrow achieved a previously unknown suggestive
quirk.
"Whatever," she drawled as
payback. "But our best bet would be to give the research team a chance to
work on it. At least they might come up with something remotely
plausible."
"And in the meantime? Research is not known for their speed in these
matters."
She looked him deep in the eyes, practically
begging him to deny the only obvious solution. No matter how hard he tried, he
couldn’t.
"So we’re stuck being each other for
the time being? Oh, joy and happiness and jubilation!"
"Han, there are worse things than being
stuck in my body, such as being stuck in yours!"
"Listen, Princess," it still
sounded like an insult, "My body has been working fine and I’m not taking
well to your borrowing it." He turned on his dainty heel and flounced out
of the room.
***
General Carlist Rieekan was a veteran of many harsh campaigns against the
Empire. And right now he would give anything to be reliving them instead of
explaining (the ins and outs of
"I’m sorry, but Security is insisting
that this matter not be disclosed. To anybody."
"Why, do they need that much time to
get their puny brains into gear?" Solo was obviously not enamored of the Alliance Intelligence Service.
"They merely wish to prevent all
knowledge of this incident from reaching Imperial ears. Think what the Emperor
could do with this ability." Seeing that Han/Leia
was about to start an argument, he quickly added, "The quicker and easier
we can clear this mess up, the more time we can have planning the new attack
campaigns." She nodded her agreement. One down, one
to go. Turning to Leia/Han, he decided
that the only way to convince him was to appeal to the smuggler’s sense
of humor.
Leia was definitely unimpressed. Carlist
decided to make his excuses, fast.
"Plus, the sooner we can have you back
to normal, the better! Chewbacca is getting tired of carrying the Falcon's
maintenance load by himself," the general continued.
***
Only one day into this false identity act,
and Han Solo was on the verge of madness. This body was so damn frustrating! It
couldn’t reach anything above a normal person’s head; it had possibly the
shortest stride he’d ever seen; it was impossible to saunter anywhere; and he
spent his time viewing the undersides of peoples’ nostrils.
Feeling as if he were continually banging
his head into a duracrete wall wasn’t helping
matters, either. Stepping out of the shower that had been intended to relieve
his stress, he took a long hard look at himself—all right, herself. He had to
admit that Her Worship had been hiding a damned fine body under those pristine
shrouds she insisted on wearing. On instinct, he reached up and removed the
clasp from his hair. The sight of the auburn tresses cascading over his
shoulders was breathtaking. It freed her beauty; she looked younger, more
alive. Which was probably why she kept it up. On
closer inspection, Han realized that there was something unnerving about
feeling sexually attracted to your own body. Admittedly, he’d met a few people
who gave that impression, but the sight of Leia Organa naked was doing very strange things to his mind. She
never looked this good before, did she? He pushed the thoughts aside, he didn't need any more problems.
Opening the cabinet, he was greeted by an
array of jars, bottles, and tubes. What the hell…? It looked like a
cross between a pharmacy and a paint store. What, by a Jedi’s head, did one do
with plomine foot powder? He couldn’t even think of a
reasonable explanation for that one. There was some
odd-looking smelly products at the back that he didn’t even want to
investigate. With a look of extreme skepticism, he
slowly shut the door and decided there were just some risks even he didn’t want
to take. Surveying the mass of hair he had unleashed, he realized that he
didn’t have the first clue how to control it. He knew that Leia
braided her hair, but doing your own hair was a very different matter from
casually messing up a girlfriend’s. He sighed in resignation and picked up the
hairbrush.
Solo, you are many things, but artistic
in the hair department ain’t one of them. He managed a ramshackle ponytail, but that was
where it ended. He decided to give up gracefully and ask Leia
when he next saw her. After that ordeal, dressing his newly acquired body
shouldn’t be that much of a problem. Anyway, it was a legitimate excuse for
rummaging through her underwear drawer. He was marginally surprised by what
he found. He had to admit he approved wholeheartedly of her choice of
undergarments—simple, yet alluring.
***
Leia was beginning to realize that being able to tower
over everybody was not the blessing it had always seemed to be. Shifting in the
cramped confines of the bunk, she tried yet again to rearrange the improbably
long limbs she had inherited. To hell with this, she thought, and began
the fairly complicated procedure of extricating her legs from the blanket.
Standing up, she found that she hadn’t been completely successful, for the
blanket snared around her foot, bringing her crashing to the cold deck.
Gritting her teeth against a string of curses, she clambered unsteadily to her
feet. Walking into the ‘fresher, she started a search for
something to tame the bush that seemed to be growing on her head. The
idea of what the careless Corellian was probably
doing to her carefully crafted braids sent a shudder down her spine.
Catching her reflection, she grinned
mischievously. She casually flexed a biceps, watching the muscle movement in
the mirror. She tried out a few more bodybuilder poses, admiring the clean
lines of the muscles. Hmmm, not bad, Flyboy. Exiting the ‘fresher, she opened his small closet to find only four
identical shirts, and two pairs of pants with the red Corellian
Bloodstripe and two with the gold stripe. Not
exactly a fashion guru, are you?
Dressed and ready for action, Leia settled the blaster against her thigh. Its weight was
unfamiliar, but in some way comforting. Walking out the hatch to the corridor,
she discovered a problem Han was probably familiar with; her skull cracked on
the low bulkhead outside the cabin, making her literally see stars. Turning to
inspect the offending beam, she promptly walked into the open engine pit lying
nearby. If this is what Han has to live with, she thought, wincing as an
exposed wire gave her a shock, it’s no wonder he’s developed the vocabulary
he has.
At the sound of his pilot crashing around, Chewie ambled out of the cockpit. Surveying her situation,
he let out what sounded like an amused rumble. Leia
realized that she still could not understand Wookiee;
life was about to get very interesting if she couldn’t understand a single word
her best friend was saying. Leia started to pull
herself up, only to wrench her knee in the process. Finally making her way out
of the pit, she noticed that Chewie already had the
med-kit in hand. The Wookiee whuffed questioningly, applying a dressing to her head. She
shrugged noncommittally, hoping it would be answer enough.
***
Badial wrung his hands in apology, trying to avoid the
increasingly angry stares of the two beings before him.
"You are not seriously expecting me to
believe that there is nothing you can do?" Han/Leia
sputtered. Leia/Han meanwhile assumed a look of
fatalistic I-told-you-so.
"We are devoting as much time and
resources to the problem as we can, Your Highness, Captain. The Rebellion
simply cannot spare the amount of time and manpower to succeed in such a short
timeframe. "
Leia/Han gave a resigned shrug, which caused Han/Leia to promptly lose his temper.
"Will you quit playing royalty in my
body?"
The doctor decided that if he had taken an
oath to preserve life, then his own certainly came into it somewhere. Jumping
in, he summarized, "With the Millennium Falcon’s sensor data
regarding the electronic structure of the dust, we’ll hopefully understand the
situation soon."
Seeing that he was about to get lynched by
an irate Alderaani masquerading as an angry Corellian, Badial continued
hurriedly, "However, the problem lies in how to reverse the effects. It
may have been any number of random factors that caused this to happen…"
His voice failed him as he realized that
neither was listening to him make excuses. To his surprise, it was Leia/Han who covered for Han/Leia’s
behavior.
"Sorry about that, she’s a
little…unstable."
"Unstable? Listen, you…" Han’s
eyes flashed angrily at this attack on his sanity, particularly as Leia wasn’t sure that the bump on the head hadn’t affected
her judgment. She settled for a grudging apology, something Solo’s voice didn’t
lend itself to.
"When do you estimate that a reversal
could take place?"
"If all proceeds as planned, then there
should be a solution within a week." Deciding that there was no way the
***
Still fuming internally, Leia
stalked along the corridor to her office, making herself
unpopular with other pedestrians in the corridors. Her brain was conjuring up
all sorts of horrible deaths for the doctor, Han, and whichever deity’s sick
sense of humor set this up. She palmed the door lock
to her office—a fairly loose term for a packing crate with a desk. Inspecting
the new report labeled SECRET,
she sat down and activated the terminal inlaid into the plastimorph.
She became absorbed in the seeming incompetence of a general named and shamed
in a report for the intelligence agency. So engrossed was she in how the
pompous old twit had kept his job, that she failed to notice when he appeared
in the doorway.
"Excuse me. I do not believe you are
qualified or cleared to read that report." Leia
looked up, aching for a good fight. He was such a stickler for rules and
regulations. He was also unfortunately an unrivaled
windbag with a severe dislike of Corellians.
"Captain, I realize that you may not be
a fully involved member of the Rebellion, but that still does not give you the
right to violate our security protocols. I personally have extreme doubts about
your ability to be trusted, and you are not ingratiating yourself to me."
Leia’s brain did a quick double take. What the…And
then realization dawned on her. Oops, wrong body! She'd proabably created a huge mess which would only result in Rieekan having to go over his investigations into Han's background
(paperwork which he'd never let her see) yet again.
But she did note the change in his attitude
when he wasn’t trying to smarm up to royalty. A
little two-faced, are we, General? Her body, appearing in the doorway,
saved her from having to find a plausible excuse. Han had obviously managed to
obtain that acid-sweet tone that she used on people she found too contemptible
for words.
"Good morning, General, I’m sure your
concern for our security is well placed. However, Captain Solo is here to meet
with me. Good day." He finished by dismissing the obviously shell-shocked
general, who left with his nose arrogantly in the air. Leia
wanted to applaud.
"Admit it, you’ve been
practising," she said dryly.
"Once or twice, but don’t tell me it
wasn’t worth it." They exchanged knowing smiles. Leia
slid out from behind the desk, keeping close tabs on her legs as she moved.
"I suppose I’d better get back the Falcon,"
she said. "It’s all fairly straightforward paper pushing, but call me if there are any negotiations."
"Sure thing," Han agreed, looking
none too pleased with this arrangement. "I’ve explained to Chewie, so you shouldn’t have any problems." He
grimaced at the thought of what she could do to his beloved ship. Leia nodded and slipped nonchalantly out the door.
Han walked over to the desk and sat down,
surveying the paperwork with extreme distaste. He’d never had any use for
bureaucrats; it was one of the reasons why he’d turned down the fast track at
the Academy. Officers, in his opinion, had all too little to do with flying and
all too much to do with making life difficult for those who did. Checking the
terminal, which seemed to be taking an inordinately long time to boot up, he
saw that it was happily displaying Leia’s user
profile. His lip twitched in amusement. Did your parents not like you or
something, Princess? He’d heard of the Alderaanian
tradition of giving ridiculously unnecessary names to children, but this one
had to have been a drunken joke. Well, well, Senator Princess Leia Leona Lianne Organa! Try saying that in a hurry.
***
As she walked down the corridor, Leia realized that Han being nice to her had brightened her
day. Why did he have this effect on her? Why did she continually regret being
cool to him when she knew it was no less than he deserved? And why did her
heart melt every time he flashed that cajoling lopsided grin her way? She
smiled wryly at her confused reactions to him, wondering how he had found such
a common touch in her.
Her mind suddenly registered the attractive
redhead walking purposefully towards her. Pamma Rylst had been assigned to Leia's
staff by the Command Council, and in Leia's opinion,
the woman was a complete waste of space. She was an expert at looking
industrious while never actually getting anything done. Plus Leia really couldn't stand the woman, or the way she was
always playing up to Han Solo. Her skin crawled uncomfortably at the enveloping
stare Pamma bestowed on her. Meeting her eyes, the
ensign raised her eyebrows suggestively, batting her eyelids flirtatiously. Pity
she doesn’t put as much effort into anything useful. Please let her just walk
past. Leia became uncomfortably aware of how many
women were admiring her backside. Dammit Solo, why do
you have to wear such tight pants? Note to self: be much more subtle while
watching Han in future.
"Hi, Han, how’s the shoulder?" The
woman could purr like a Ralltiir tiger. Leia had a sudden impulse to get out of there, fast.
"Uh, fine, I guess."
"I’m so pleased." Lowering her
voice seductively, Pamma continued, "I tried to
see you when you were in the med-center, but they
said you were in isolation."
"Oh, just the docs
being stuffy again. Y’know how they
are." Leia was rapidly running out of
conversation topics.
"Better or worse than
Her Iciness?"
Leia’s brain kicked into overdrive. Remind me to give
you the budget invoices when I get back to work. She figured that she might
give herself a few points, and knock a bit of the
shine off the other woman’s ego at the same time.
"Oh definitely worse. Leia’s really not the
worst person on the planet to spend two days in bed with." She left the
double entender hanging, enjoying the way Pamma’s jaw dropped at her comment. Serves
you right.
***
Luke finished up the checks on his X-wing,
closing the engine cover with a satisfied thud. Wiping his hands on the rag
he’d appropriated from the Falcon, he proudly surveyed his ship. The
Imperials are gonna eat space dust. As he turned
to put away his tools, he noticed Leia striding
purposefully toward the Millennium Falcon. He was about to call out to
her when he saw the expression on her face. It looked as if she was almost glad
to be boarding the ship—Han’s ship. Something twinged
inside him. He had to admit that she was spending an awful lot of time with
Han—voluntarily, it seemed. A Jedi feels no anger…, his subconscious
spitefully reminded him. And did this Jedi know Leia
Organa? He felt the almost electric attraction
between his friends, no matter how they denied it. He was also perceptive
enough to realize that their constant bickering stemmed not from a violent
dislike of the other, but a fear of discovering what could happen if they were
actually nice to each other.
He’d realized long ago that while Han was
around, he would always be second best where Leia was
concerned. The thought rankled, but he knew he’d have to accept the truth: that
they were simply meant to be together. They just hadn’t noticed yet. Both he
and Chewbacca were deriving great amusement from some of the confrontations
they maneuvered themselves into. Not to mention they
had a few credits on the long odds at the base bookmakers that Han and Leia would not kill, or maim, or publicly destroy each
other. The main betting was not on if but when each would happen.
Reaching an internal decision, he followed the princess’ footsteps up the ramp.
As he approached the lounge, he heard what
sounded like a typical fight, until he realised that Han was arguing Leia’s part and vice versa. Must have been prescribed to
them in therapy, he mused. So they can understand each other’s point of
view. They must have a pretty good understanding though, considering
that Han is having no problems reproducing Leia’s
arguments on his lack of commitment to the Rebellion. Gods know, she’s
presented them enough times. Almost instinctively, he reached out with the
Force, probing the air between his two friends. The static that flooded his
mind from that simple exercise forced him to take a pace back, trying to regain
control over his senses. It was as if there weren’t a coherent presence in
either of their bodies; instead, a mashed jumble of elements clashed, forming a
swirling, encompassing vortex. Shaking his head to rid his mind of the effects
of the shock, he quickly dismissed it as an error on his part. That’s what you
get for pulling all-nighters between missions.
He entered the lounge just in time to
prevent a new round of insults from flying. Surprisingly, it was Han who looked
more pleased to see him than Leia. Just
another strange thing about these two since their injuries. He noticed Chewie was spectating
unobtrusively by the other hatch, no doubt enjoying every minute of the show.
Sliding into a seat by the holochess table, he
attempted to start a non-violent conversation.
"So, how’s it going, Princess?"
Leia looked at Han for a second—Luke almost didn’t catch
it—and then answered carefully, "Fine, used and abused,
same as always." This time there was a definite look of accusation in
Han’s direction. The smuggler merely glared back at her obvious play for support
from Luke.
Unwilling to endure any
more taunts from herself, Leia decided to get out of
the fight for the time being.
"I’m gonna make some kaffe.
Coming, Luke?" They were fighting over the Jedi like toddlers and neither
of them cared.
As they boiled the water for the drink, Luke
finally got to the real point of why he was there.
"Listen, Han, I really wanted to talk
to you about Leia." Leia
had to stop herself from grinning; she’d always wanted to know what went on in
these man-to-man talks. Feeling in no mood to make Han’s life easier, she
acquiesced.
"Sure, what’s the problem,
Junior?"
"Well, see, she hasn’t really talked to
me for a while, and I wondered how I could make it up to her. I mean, every
time I get close to her, she starts making excuses."
Gee, I wonder why? Leia almost doubled over
in silent laughter at the thought of how Han would have felt with Luke trying
to chat him up. Luke looked slightly hurt at her
reaction. Time to play agony aunt.
"Listen, Kid, she’s been under a lot of
stress lately and she’s not quite herself." There’s the understatement
of the year. "Look, I’ll finish up here, and you can go straighten
things out with her. Be bold and understanding." That’s payback for you
Solo! Gratefully, Luke went back to the lounge. Leia altered her position so she’d have an unobstructed
view.
Luke went eagerly back to his princess, and
sat next to her. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she noticed that
Han was gradually becoming more uncomfortable. She had to clap her hand over
her mouth to stop her laughter when Luke not-quite-nonchalantly slid closer to
her, and Han desperately slid further away. This game continued until Han was
in real danger of ending up on the floor. By this time, Leia
was having hysterics at the antics of her friends. Luke slid closer one last
time and Han hurriedly jumped to his feet and exited. I think your technique
might need a little work, Kid.
***
Han paced restlessly around Leia’s quarters. Her Worship obviously had a very sparse
idea of entertainment—the holovid didn’t work and he
didn’t feel like trying to slog his way through a political treatise on the
ongoing conflict between two races he’d never heard of. Leia
had urged him to spend some time practicing applying make-up; his earlier
attempt had made him look like someone had given him two black eyes. Was it his
fault that liquid black stuff intended for eyelids was uncontrollable? How the
hell did one keep a steady hand to draw lines with black pencils, anyway? In
the end he’d given up in disgust, vowing that he’d never again be impatient
when a woman took a long time in the 'fresher. He now knew firsthand why.
Feeling at a loss he miserably went back
into her bedroom, so-called because it held a bed, one of the few items of
furniture in the place. He sat heavily on the military-issue bunk and surveyed
the bare walls. On impulse he leaned over, wondering if there was anything
interesting under the bed, when he caught sight of a small datapad
lying down the side of the bedside cabinet. He picked it up and opened it,
noting that unlike many datapads, which required a
typed password, this one identified the user by a thumbprint. Definitely intended for private viewing only. Too bad that the manufacturers hadn’t foreseen the problems that
could occur if bodies were swapped. Come to think of it, neither had he
a week ago. Solo, you’re a considerably wiser person, and just think how
much you’ll appreciate knowing how desperately boring those staff meetings are.
He grimaced at the thought; no wonder they had to train people to be
diplomats. The job went through the pain threshold of normal sentients in minutes.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back, trying to
shrug some of the tension out of his shoulders. The datapad
beeped happily, and Han saw that instead of the file screen he’d been
expecting, the display was a long series of text entries by date. Scrolling
through the first one, he realised abruptly that this was her diary, and she
would think of a thousand terrible things to do to him if she ever discovered
that he’d seen it. Caught in a momentary dilemma, wondering if there might be
anything juicy about him in there, and if it was explicit, he glimpsed a few
words on the screen. Luke? Why would she dedicate time to analysing him? That
wasn’t what he was interested in, as the eager young Jedi was rapidly finding out.
For once in his life, he decided to do the right thing and shut down the
program with a click. Must be Her Worship rubbing off on me.
***
Leia had seen many places in her time—the outrageously
ostentatious, the tastefully coordinated, the artistically minimalist, and the
militarily sparse. And none of them had prepared her for the headache that was
Han Solo’s cabin. Or junk pile, as it was probably more aptly called. She’d
spent a long time clearing up the various manuals (all starship
repair), tools, and carbon-scored pieces of circuitry
that he seemed to use as decoration. Currently, she was attempting to extract a
drawer from his closet in the hope that it might contain something remotely
interesting to do. She had to admit that his arms were incredibly strong—it was
just that she’d appreciate the fact more if she wasn’t trying to control them.
Her self-defense
teacher had once told her that every body is unique, the strengths are there to
be exploited and the weaknesses controlled. It was a pity that it was one’s
own, familiar body he was talking about at the time. The drawer shifted
suddenly, catching her below the belt. She bent double, caught off guard by the
pain. Of course, it was an injury she’d never had to concern herself with
before. Whichever woman designed the male body had one hell of a warped
sense of humour. Grimacing, she straightened up, moving uncomfortably back
to her task.
Upon closer inspection, she noted the
jumbled nature of the contents, as if he’d just stuffed things in there that he
no longer wanted to see, but couldn’t bear to throw away. A sixth sense she’d
had since childhood kicked in; she could feel some of his pain from the
memories. A pain he obviously couldn’t let go, kept to remind him how being
alone was beneficial. Picking up a small holocube,
she inspected the image of an attractive woman inside. She felt sure that she
had met her, or at least seen her. The auburn hair and green eyes were very
distinctive, triggering a memory. A Corellian
Rebel? So Han had known her. A flash of jealousy struck. She wondered
how close they had been.
Throwing the artifacts
back into the drawer, she replaced it with an angry thud. Pacing nervously up
and down the cabin, she eventually reasoned that the only intelligent and
intelligible conversation she was going to get was if she went to visit
herself. If nothing else, it would provide fodder for the numerous
scandalmongers currently inhabiting the base.
***
"So, how did you get involved in
this?" Han and Leia were currently sitting on
her undersized couch, barefoot and tailor-fashion.
"Well, there I was sitting innocently
in a Mos Eisley cantina,
when this old man and farmboy got into a brawl.
They’d decided they needed a flight to Alderaan and
were looking for transportation. Fuzzball set the
rest of it up and look what a mess I got into."
"Luke got into a bar fight?" Leia asked incredulously. "I can’t see that…oh, wait,
yes, I can." She grinned widely, knowing the effect Luke’s enthusiasm had
on some people who hadn’t been warned.
"Luke got into the fight; Kenobi got
him out."
"Sounds
familiar." She took a sip of
her wine, enjoying the pleasant buzz it was giving her. She could feel herself
relaxing, the easy conversation having much to do with it.
"Tell me about it." Han was also
enjoying the opportunity to be himself, instead of having to act the part of
the princess. He took a long drink of his wine, draining the glass. Reaching
for the bottle, he remembered that alcohol was proscribed for personal use. Her
Highness apparently had about as much respect for some stupid regulations as he
did. That didn’t mean he had to let her get away with it.
Picking up the half-empty bottle, he waved
it at her. "Not being good, Princess?" He noticed that his words were
becoming slightly slurred. What the…? I’ve only had two glasses, can’t be
drunk yet. Leia took the bottle from him,
grinning slightly. He then remembered that Leia drank
little and sparsely. He was rapidly learning why. The room started to become
blurry around the edges.
"The bedroom’s that way, Hotshot."
The princess was sounding increasingly amused at his predicament, while clearly
feeling suitably relaxed and sober.
She hauled him to his feet; he seemed to be
going comatose fairly quickly. Then he opened his mouth and did something that
he’d never done before, something that sent his companion into peals of
laughter and seriously damaged his carefully-built reputation. Han Solo started
to giggle like a rabid Kowackian monkey lizard.
***
The light sliced through his brain like a
hot steel knife. Instinctively, he pulled the pillow over his eyes, in a vain
attempt to block out the world. A vague recollection of last night’s activities
pushed aside the headache that was taking up most of his consciousness. Aw,
hell! The last thing he remembered was Leia
helping him to bed. Or carrying was more like it. He seemed to have found that
exceptionally funny because he laughed so much he nearly blacked out from
oxygen deprivation. If this is what you go through every time you get drunk,
Princess, I’d stay sober, too. His mind protested loudly at being forced to
think in long sentences. Swearing incoherently, he staggered into the ‘fresher
in the hope that she might have a large vat of painkillers stashed somewhere.
The caffeine hadn’t helped; it had only
served to make him feel more alert and ill, as opposed to just plain ill.
Checking his chrono, he realized that he was supposed
to have been in the office thirty minutes ago. Even he had to admit that the
general had a lot of nerve considering he was the perpetrator of this bright
idea. Grabbing a piece of bread and a file he’d somehow appropriated, he ran
out the door, wondering if there was anything immortal that actually liked him
anymore.
***
Dr. Badial was now
the proud sufferer of a class one headache. In order to relieve his stress, he
had decided to take the morning off and enjoy one of his obsessions—an old holoseries about humans interacting with humanoid aliens
with various headbumps. To his horror, the plotline
involved a body swap. Turning off the viewer in disgust, he flicked through an
old book he’d found in a vault under the current med-center.
That, too, was about body swaps, although this time in a purely religious
context. Somebody up there had a sick sense of humor.
Either that or they were trying to give him the biggest hint of his life.
Suddenly inspired, he reached the chapter on the miraculous reversal by the all
powerful deity. Skimming through the long, involved text, he found the
reference he’d been searching for.
"In order to
effect a reversal, certain individuals have been granted supernatural powers
which enhance the divine reality flowing from the almighty deity…"
Whoever wrote this obviously decided that
two words would not do when he could bore the reader with ten.
"To reunite body and soul, it
is necessary to consult a being skilled in the knowledge of the Universally
Transcendent Energy Field which Creates and Maintains
the Souls of All Who Exist."
The aged pages went on to give further
details about procedure, but the doctor’s brain had somehow lost the plot by
the end of the first sentence.
***
I defy this day to get any worse, Han grumbled to himself, scattering various enlisted
ranks as he walked. Not only had he been late, but he’d had to sit through a
budget meeting, fob off an ambassador he’d never met, and try and talk a well
meaning old windbag out of marrying him off to his son. Just
a typical fine day. He took a sharp turn into the officers’
lounge, causing a rather flustered lieutenant to sidestep him suddenly.
Checking to make sure he was alone, he allowed himself an unregal
sprawl onto the nearest couch. It felt good to stretch his legs; obviously he
retained some sort of memory that his legs were supposed to be a good eight
inches longer. Closing his eyes, he decided to just forget that this whole mess
existed.
"Hi."
Han literally jumped into the air. Kest, Kid, do ya have
to be so damn quiet?
Luke immediately looked apologetic, going red
in the face. "Sorry if I startled you. I just wanted to see if you were
okay," the Jedi said.
Han couldn’t resist letting him have it.
"I’d be a hell of a lot better if you didn’t try to give me heart
failure," he snapped, Luke being the latest in a long line of problems
today. Seeing his downcast look, Han softened his tone. "But hey, my
reflexes needed the wake-up call."
Luke smiled appreciatively, and Han
remembered just why he’d been avoiding his friend. Luke sat on the edge of the
couch, obviously wanting to get closer to the princess, but unsure after the
last fiasco.
"I was wondering why you’d been
avoiding me lately. I mean, you don’t talk to me. Every time I get near you,
you leave the room, and you ignore me the rest of the time." He’d obviously
decided to bite the bullet and get it all out.
Don’t hold back, will you? Han thought. In fact, the only effect the
accusations had on him was to rile him. He barely kept his temper in check.
"Listen, Luke, I don’t think you understand…"
His companion had evidently decided that
tact was not going to get him anywhere. "How can I understand when you
spend all your time with Han?"
Whew, someone’s jealous! Han, however, was not in the mood to placate Luke.
He’d already had to be civil to too many people he didn’t care for.
"And how can I explain anything to you
if you keep jumping in needlessly? And why should I explain myself to you? I am
allowed to run my own life you know!"
That was not the response Luke was
expecting. Finding himself lost for words, he settled for a sulky silence.
Eventually, he decided to try and make it up to her. Moving closer, he put his
arm around her shoulders in a warm hug. Han tensed, then as Luke moved his
other arm around him, Han stood up and put the back of the couch between them.
He could see Luke looking disappointed, and decided that, Rieekan
or no Rieekan, this was getting sorted right now.
"No way, I can’t take this any more!
This has been messing with my head for the past four days! It has nothing to do
with you, for once, and everything to do with a huge mess I’ve somehow landed
in." As he paused to draw breath, he noticed that the Jedi’s eyes were
starting to glaze over. About to start again, he was saved by the door sliding
open.
"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Han
had never fully appreciated how annoying his voice could be. Leia was definitely enjoying herself too much. Time to even the score.
"Leia, I
can’t take this anymore. You explain to the kid what happened, ‘cause he sure as hell doesn’t have a clue."
Leia? Luke felt he was missing a large piece of the plot.
He was even more surprised when Han didn’t object to being called the wrong
name. Instead he sat on a chair opposite him, looking thoughtful.
"Well, you see, when we crashed—"
"Made an emergency landing," Han
interjected.
"Crashed, we scouted for water
and got stuck in that dust storm, as you know. But, we kinda…swapped
bodies along with it."
Luke’s mouth was now fully agape, probably
because it had just hit him that he’d been sweet-talking another man all week.
"But wha…?
How? When…?"
"Welcome to my world, Kid."
Han looked much more relaxed since he no
longer had to keep avoiding his friend’s advances. Leia
decided that now was a good time for some more news. "Hopefully this will
all be fixed soon. I got a call from the doctor—he says they may have
something." She had seen many things in her life, but somehow they had
never quite prepared her for the sight of her body doing a Corellian
victory dance around the officer’s lounge. Unable to help herself, she burst
out laughing.
Still unable to keep a smile from her lips,
she extended her hand toward the door. "Come on, Hotshot, the waiting’s
over."
***
As the small group travelled through the
corridors, Luke's curiosity gradually abated.
He still couldn't disguise some of his embarrassment, though.
"You
mean when I thought it was Leia, it really was
Han?" His face displayed an uncharacteristic degree of horror.
"The
one and only, kid." Leia's body leaned closer in
a confidential gesture. "Y'know, if you ever need a few pointers on how to
sweet-talk a lady…." Luke shoved at him, turning an even brighter shade of
red.
The mention of the incident brought back to
Han his abandonment on the Falcon. That little episode practically cried
out for revenge. Inspiration struck him, causing a wide grin to spread over his
features.
"What
now?" Leia inquired suspiciously.
"Nothin'. I've just gotta go run a last-minute errand, that's all." The
princess looked less than convinced. "I'll meet you at the medcenter in a couple of minutes." He turned and
headed for the hangar bay.
A few minutes later, a seductive smile on
his face, he finished the task he had set out to do.
"Don't
forget," he said to the young pilot, "I'm in the medcenter
tonight, so I can't really get to know you until tomorrow." The look of
adoration was more than enough to convince him that Leia
Organa was going to end up with ¾ literally ¾ a
squadron of admirers.
***
The sterile room held an array of impressive
machinery, all highly polished and sophisticated. In the center
two beds stood shadowed by a large electrical tube. Badial
opened the door, still excited over the prospect of his discovery and the
chance for some peace at last.
"So, once I had deduced that the
reversal required a Jedi—or someone with the skills of a Jedi," he nodded
at Luke, "then the equipment and procedure became
quite obvious."
Luke was still a little shell-shocked from
the conversation earlier, but was doing an admirable job of pretending he knew
what the hell was happening.
"So when the energy level becomes high
enough, I just need to guide them back to the correct place?"
"It would appear so. If
you would position yourselves?"
Han couldn’t leave it at that. "One
last question—will it hurt?"
Badial merely smiled serenely and entered the control
chamber on the other side of the room.
"Charming."
Luke sat between the beds, falling into the
meditative state Ben had taught him.
"Good luck, you guys—see you on the
other side." Han positioned himself on one bed, gazing nervously at the
sparking equipment above. Leia reached over and
tucked a strand of hair into the braid it had escaped from.
"If I’m coming back," she smiled,
"I expect it to be as neat as when I left it." Han smiled back,
unable to help it. Instinctively, he reached out and took her hand. A tingle
shot up their arms. Leia attributed it to an
adrenaline rush, while Han decided that he must be cutting off the blood supply
to that particular arm.
Badial’s voice came over the intercom, starting the countdown.
Leia gripped Han’s hand tighter, praying desperately
that this worked. Suddenly a flash of light enveloped them. Leia
felt herself being grabbed none too gently and shoved in a new direction.
Through some corner of her mind, she saw Han undergoing the same rough
treatment. Without warning, she was sucked into an enclosed space. Panicking,
she fought back.
Luke’s voice sounded in her mind. Don’t
worry, you’re back home.
***
As she swam back to consciousness, Leia realized she had a splitting headache. The harsh glare
of the ceiling light didn’t improve matters. Struggling upright, she noticed
that she couldn’t feel the end of the bed. Unable to help herself, she let out
a whoop, causing ripples of laughter from the two men standing at the end of the
bed. She observed that Luke seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the
process. A groan nearby brought her attention to Han, who looked like she
felt—abused. What the hell did you do to my bra, Solo?
"Geez, Kid,
couldn’t you have been a little gentler?"
"You want to try it next time?"
Luke retorted indignantly.
Badial looked entirely too happy for his own good.
"Hopefully, next time won’t exist."
"Whaddaya
mean, ‘hopefully’?"
The confidence visibly ebbed out of the
doctor’s face. "It seems that, given a high enough electrical charge buildup and a catalyst, it would be possible for this to
recur."
"But it’s not gonna happen, right?"
"I can’t answer that, but shall we say
it is extremely unlikely?" Almost collapsing with relief, the doctor edged
out the door, promising himself a very good celebration.
Han stretched appreciatively, enjoying the
ability to cover every inch of the narrow bunk. Rolling onto his side, he
noticed something that displeased him greatly. "Hey, Princess, wanna explain these bruises?"
***
Finally able to relax, Leia
had treated herself to a long, hot soak in the shower and decided to put her
paperwork aside for an evening. Stretching out on her couch, she sipped a glass
of wine and decided that, all in all, Han hadn't really behaved very badly.
He'd been a lot more understanding than
she'd imagined, even accepting her slightly insincere regrets over the many
'Luke incidents.' Well, who would have thought he could be such a — gentleman?
The door chime interrupted her reverie.
Gathering her robe about her, she put her drink to one side and went to open
the door.
Palming the hatch, she was greeted by a
large bouquet of flowers. Behind them was a young member of Rogue Squadron with
a nervous grin on his face. Suddenly, a second pilot walked up behind him,
dressed to kill and carrying a bottle of wine.
Peering around the door jamb, she realized
that practically the whole flight group was beginning to congregate on her
doorstep. What the hell? Confusion overtook her — she wasn't sure if she
was more embarrassed by her dishabille in front of the pilots or by her own
naïve trust in Han Solo. This was obviously his revenge for his own discomfort
with Luke's flirtations.
She gave a watery smile to the young men
waiting silently and tensely for her to speak, and shut the door in their
faces. Pouring herself a large glass of wine, she walked purposefully to the comm unit. Han Solo was going to get the earache of his
life.