• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“You do that. Scoot, kid. Go beat up a rancor or something.” Han returned his attention to Tendra. “If you’re about to leave, you can wait just long enough for us to give the Falcon a check-over and then we’ll escort you out.”

“You’re not staying?”

“Too much to do at Borleias. Keeping your husband out of trouble, watching our daughter get in trouble …” He exchanged a long-suffering look with Leia. “So we’re going right back.”

“I’ll be ready in half an hour.” Tendra gave him another smile and headed back to her ship, her heels ringing on the metal floor of the docking bay.

Leia sighed after her. “What I would have given to be that tall.”

“I’ve got a thousand credits that say she’s always wished she was petite. And another thousand that if you two got together to talk about how much you envied each other’s height, the conversation would devolve into what pains your husbands are.”

“No bet. Our husbands are pains.”

“Well, they were Imperial credits anyway. Ready to help me go over the Falcon?”

“No, first I need to say good-bye to …” Leia looked around the docking bay, identifying each of the people moving about. “Where is Tarc, anyway?”

“I’ve got a thousand credits that say he’s hiding on board the Falcon.”

“Stop that.”

Han gave her a smile he knew to be insufferable and thumbed his comlink. “Goldenrod, where is Tarc now?”

C-3PO’s voice, sounding distinctly aggrieved, came back a moment later: “He’s in the upper quadlaser cupola, huddling in the seat so he can’t be seen. And sir, I do have a name.”

Moments later, they stood at the bottom of the access into the turbolaser shaft. “Tarc?” Leia said. “You want to come down?”

“No,” the boy said. He didn’t even lean over so his face could be seen.

“It’s time, Tarc.” Leia made her voice gentle. “If you get in line early you may get better quarters.”

“And then I’ll be stuck with them. The Jedi.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Jedi. I’m a Jedi.”

“Yeah, but you’re different. You’re not creepy. I want to go back to Borleias with you.”

Han said, “It’s safer here, Tarc.”

The boy finally did look over the arm of his chair. He stared down at Han with an expression that combined pity with condescension, a forceful you have no idea what you’re talking about look. “No, it’s not,” he said. “The scarheads are looking for Jedi. If they come here and find the Jedi, they’ll get me, too.”

“Don’t say ‘scarheads,’ ” Leia said. “It’s not nice.”

“Besides,” Tarc added, pulling back out of sight, “if they don’t come, and people come for these Jedi kids, no one will come for me.”

“Of course we will,” Han said.

“No, you won’t. The only reason I’m still alive is ’cause I look like Anakin Solo. And it hurts your feelings every time you see me. I can tell.”

Han looked at Leia. She paled and started to fold over. Han moved to put his arms around her, and slowly she straightened.

Han whispered, “Did you teach him to argue?”

“Nobody had to teach him to argue,” she whispered back. “All kids argue like senior politicians. Except that not all senior politicians can cry on cue.”

“So what do we do?”

She shrugged. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave him here. In a place where all the other children have powers he can’t compete with. Except for Wedge’s kids, who’ll probably just subvert the administrators here to get whatever they want.”

“What do we do instead? Take him back to Borleias, put him in front of the Vong? Ship him off to a refugee camp run by strangers? At least we know Kam and Tionne.”

“I just don’t know, Han.”

“But you know everything.”

“Only by comparison with my husband.”

“Ouch.” Han stopped whispering. “Hey, kid.”

“What?” Tarc looked back over the arm at him.

“Never get married.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means strap yourself in. You’re going back to Borleias for now.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Just for the time being, kid.” Han let real anger creep into his tone. “And don’t pull that because I look like Anakin skifter. Not ever again. Do you understand?”

Tarc’s expression froze. “Yes, sir.”

“Remember this face, kid.