Star Wars_ I, Jedi - Michael A. Stackpole [221]
“Hey, Chewie! Don’t you think that’s too close?” He stared at the Falcon’s navicomputer, wishing they had chosen a course that would take them a safer distance from the Maw. “What do you think this is, an old smuggling mission? We got nothing to hide this time.”
Beside him, Chewbacca looked disappointed and grunted an excuse, waving his hairy paws in the stifling air of the cockpit.
“Yeah, well we’re on an official mission this time. No more skulking about. Try to act dignified, okay?”
Chewbacca groaned a skeptical reply, then turned to his navigational screens.
Han felt a pang at returning to his old haunts, reminded of when he had been just on the other side of the law, running spice, being chased by Imperial scout ships. When his life had been free and easy.
On one of those frantic missions, he and Chewbacca had practically shaved the bottom plating off the Falcon, taking a shortcut and skimming closer to the Maw cluster of black holes than had ever before been recorded. Sensible pilots avoided the area, using longer paths that kept them clear of the black holes, but the Falcon’s speed had carried them to safety on the other side, making the Kessel run in under twelve parsecs. But that “guaranteed sure thing” mission had ended in disaster anyway; Han had dumped his load of spice just before being boarded by Imperials.
This time, though, Han was returning to Kessel under different circumstances. His wife Leia had appointed him an official representative of the New Republic, an ambassador of sorts, though the title seemed somewhat honorary.
But even an honorary title had its advantages. Han and Chewbacca no longer had to dodge scout ships, or duck under planetary sensor nets, or use the secret compartments under the deck plates. Han Solo found himself in the unlikely, and uncomfortable, position of being respectable. There was no other word for it.
But Han’s new responsibilities weren’t just quaint annoyances. He was married to Leia—who could have imagined that?—and he had three children.
Han leaned back in his flight chair and locked his hands behind his head. He allowed a wistful smile to cross his face. He had visited the kids as often as he could, in their protective isolation on a secret planet, and the twins were due to come home to Coruscant in a week. Anakin, the third little baby, had filled him with wonder as he tickled the tiny ribs, watching an expression of amusement cross the infant’s face.
Han Solo, a father figure? Leia had said a long time ago that she liked “nice men”—and that was exactly what Han was turning into!
He caught Chewbacca looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Embarrassed, Han sat up straight and frowned down at the controls. “Where are we? Shouldn’t it be about time to end this jump?”
Chewie growled an affirmative, then reached out with a furry paw to grasp the hyperspace controls. The Wookiee watched the numbers tick away on his control panel; at the appropriate moment he hauled backward on the lever that dropped them back into normal space. The mottled coloring of hyperspace fanned into starlines with a roar that Han felt more than heard; then they were surrounded by the expected tapestry of stars.
Behind them the spectacle of the Maw looked like a garish finger painting as ionized gas plunged into multiple black holes. Directly in front of the Falcon, Han saw the blue-white glare of Kessel’s sun. As the ship rotated to align them with the ecliptic, Kessel itself came into view, potato-shaped and maned with the tendrils of escaping atmosphere, orbited by a large moon that had once housed a garrison of Imperial troopers.
“Right on target, Chewie,” Han said. “Now let me have the controls.”
Kessel looked like a wraith coasting along its orbit, too small to hold on to its own atmosphere. Huge generating factories constantly processed the raw rocks to release oxygen and carbon dioxide, making it possible for people to survive outside with simple breath masks instead of total environment suits. A good portion of the newly manufactured atmosphere escaped into space, wisping