Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [9]
“Quiet!” he whispered. “Just relax.”
Han squinted up at the dim form above him. “I can’t see … What’s happening?” He was, understandably, disoriented, after having been in suspended animation for six of this desert planet’s months—a period that was, to him, timeless. It had been a grim sensation—as if for an eternity he’d been trying to draw breath, to move, to scream, every moment in conscious, painful asphyxiation—and now suddenly he was dumped into a loud, black, cold pit.
His senses assaulted him all at once. The air bit at his skin with a thousand icy teeth; the opacity of his sight was impenetrable; wind seemed to rush around his ears at hurricane volumes; he couldn’t feel which way was up; the myriad smells filling his nose made him nauseous, he couldn’t stop salivating, all his bones hurt—and then came the visions.
Visions from his childhood, from his last breakfast, from twenty-seven piracies … as if all the images and memories of his life had been crammed into a balloon, and the balloon popped and they all came bursting out now, randomly, in a single moment. It was nearly overwhelming, it was sensory overload; or more precisely, memory overload. Men had gone mad, in these first minutes following decarbonization, hopelessly, utterly mad—unable ever again to reorganize the ten-billion individual images that comprised a lifespan into any kind of coherent, selective order.
Solo wasn’t that susceptible. He rode the surge of this tide of impressions until it settled down to a churning backwash, submerging the bulk of his memories, leaving only the most recent flotsam to foam on the surface: his betrayal by Lando Calrissian, whom he’d once called friend; his ailing ship; his last view of Leia; his capture by Boba Fett, the iron-masked bounty hunter who …
Where was he now? What had happened? His last image was of Boba Fett watching him turn into carbonite. Was this Fett again now, come to thaw him for more abuse? The air roared in his ears, his breathing felt irregular, unnatural. He batted his hand in front of his face.
Boushh tried to reassure him. “You’re free of the carbonite and have hibernation sickness. Your eyesight will return in time. Come, we must hurry if we’re to leave this place.”
Reflexively Han grabbed the bounty hunter, felt at the grated face-mask, then drew back. “I’m not going anywhere—I don’t even know where I am.” He began sweating profusely as his heart once again churned blood, and his mind groped for answers. “Who are you, anyway?” he demanded suspiciously. Perhaps it was Fett after all.
The bounty hunter reached up and pulled the helmet away from his head revealing, underneath, the beautiful face of Princess Leia.
“One who loves you,” she whispered, taking his face tenderly in her still-gloved hands and kissing him long on the lips.
2
HAN strained to see her, though he had the eyes of a newborn. “Leia! Where are we?”
“Jabba’s palace. I’ve got to get you out of here quick.”
He sat up shakily. “Everything’s a blur … I’m not going to be much help …”
She looked at him a long moment, her blinded love—she’d traveled light-years to find him, risked her life, lost hard-won time needed sorely by the Rebellion, time she couldn’t really afford to throw away on personal quests and private desires … but she loved him.
Tears filled her eyes. “We’ll make it,” she whispered.
Impulsively, she embraced him and kissed him again. He, too, was flooded with emotion all at once—back from the dead, the beautiful princess filling his arms, snatching him from the teeth of the void. He felt overwhelmed. Unable to move, even to speak, he held her tightly, his blind eyes closed fast against all the sordid realities that would come rushing in soon enough.
Sooner than that, as it happened. A repulsive squishing sound suddenly became all too obvious behind them. Han opened