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Chapter Text

Thick, white smoke filled the corridors of the ship, only pierced by bright red blaster fire and the screams of the wounded and dying. Prince James Organa was almost grateful for it. Even though he could barely see, it also hid him from view in his white senator’s gown. At least so far, he seemed not to have been detected as he made his way through the halls, pressing close to the walls and peering carefully around corners before proceeding.

When he heard another pained cry abruptly stop, he could not help but wince. He was their leader, he should be there with them, and in any other situation he would have been. But this, this was more important. Tightly gripping his blaster with his right hand and the data chip in the other, he inched closer and closer to the escape pods. He himself could not leave, that would have been a foolish endeavour, as the Star Destroyer that held his Corvette in its clutches would certainly sense a life form on board and shoot him down. A droid, on the other hand…

He let out a huge breath when he saw R2-D2 rolling towards him, seemingly undamaged and softly trilling. “R2, what a relief.” He bent down, opened a compartment in the little astromech droid’s dome, and began uploading the contents of his data chip into its memory banks. “Listen to me, R2, this is of utmost importance. I need you to deliver this message to Mr. Allen on Tatooine, and quickly. Take an escape pod and let nothing deter you. You understand?”

R2 beeped solemnly, and James got up with a smile. “I have faith in you. Now, would you mind recording a message for me?” He squared his shoulders and summoned all his royal dignity, as he laid out the importance of the plans that the droid now carried, and ended the recording with a final plea.

Not losing any time, R2 turned on his thrusters and rolled off into the fog. James heard a distant “There you are, my good fellow!” in the voice of the resident protocol droid and couldn’t help another smile. At least R2 would have a friend by his side, and there was no droid braver or more loyal than Thorpio.

Taking a deep breath and raising his blaster, he melted back into the smoke, letting the noise of the fight guide his steps.

The Jawas had lined up about half a dozen droids in front of their sand crawler, but Catherine was not overly interested. She preferred to chat with the little hooded creatures with the glowing eyes, even though she could barely understand what they were saying. This particular group came by every couple of months to sell their salvaged wares, and they really weren’t so bad, despite what others might think about them. They had even taught her a few words in their language. Catherine had tried to return the favour, but Basic didn’t seem to agree with their tongues. You had to be careful, of course, when dealing with Jawas, as they were fond of pranking, but Catherine had never found them to be malicious. Still, she paid close attention to little George as he ran circles around the scavengers and called him back whenever he came too close to touching things he was not supposed to.

“Catherine!” Richard Morland waved her over. She quickly grabbed George’s hand and dragged him over to her uncle. “We’re taking these two. Clean them up before dinner, will you?”

She nodded automatically, never overly inclined to deny a request, then remembered something. “Oh, or could I do it later? I promised the little ones we would look for shooting stars – I spotted one earlier, in full daylight!”

Richard Morland’s stern expression couldn’t hide the fondness in his voice. “Always with your head in the stars. Chores first, Catherine.”

“Yes, uncle.” She took her binoculars from her belt and held them out to George. “Here, you better start without me, then. But don’t drop them, you hear me? Let William show you how it’s done, and don’t look into the suns. Don’t look into the suns.” She scrutinized the rapidly nodding child for a few moments, then ruffled his hair. “Off you go. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

She turned her attention to her uncle’s new acquisitions: a red and white astromech, and a golden, almost humanoid droid. “Welcome,” she greeted them politely. “My name is Catherine, Catherine Morland. If you’d follow me?”

The golden one bent his shape into an uncomfortable looking half-bow. “Ah, what a fine lass you are, pleased to make your acquaintance, I see we will get along famously. My name is J-“

He was interrupted by the sound of an explosion coming from the other droid, which sputtered a little and then stopped dead.

“Oh no.” Catherine hurried over and waved away the smoke. “Seems like its motivator was defective.” She looked up at her uncle who looked about to yell at the Jawas. He, like so many others, was always so quick to assume they had done something on purpose. “I am sure it was an honest mistake?” she tried.

Something touched her arm and when she turned, she saw the perpetually surprised looking face of the golden droid. “Excuse me, madam, but that R2 unit is in prime condition.” He pointed to another astromech unit, this one silver and blue. “A real bargain.”

Catherine looked hesitantly in the direction of the other droid. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the white and red one behind just because it was malfunctioning a bit, surely it could be repaired somehow? But she knew that spare parts were rare around here, and the Jawas probably would have more success scrounging one up than her. Really, it was probably for the best. “Uncle Richard? What about that one?”

Uncle Richard huffed and began to argue with a Jawa. Neither seemed happy about it, but in the end, a deal was struck, and the blue and silver unit rolled towards them with a melodic chirp and a speed Catherine was not used to in R2 units.

“You will not regret it,” the golden one informed Catherine. “He really is the finest astromech you could find in the outer rim. I have worked with him before, there is nothing he can’t repair, why, I am sure he even repaired himself once.”

Catherine nodded along. “That does sound very impressive.”

The golden droid extended a hand when the smaller one reached them and patted the R2 unit’s dome jovially. “See what your old buddy Thorpio is willing to do for you? I don’t even expect gratefulness, it’s just what one does for their friends. You would do the same for me, wouldn’t you.”

The R2 unit’s chimes sounded slightly doubtful.

Catherine called a goodbye over to the Jawas, one of the few phrases she knew in their language, which always made their little yellow eyes light up, and then turned towards her home. “Now follow me, please, I will get you cleaned up.”

She led them to the garage, where she ran an oil bath for the golden droid which he accepted with a heartfelt “Thank the maker” and a complaint about dust contamination. While he soaked, she fetched a rag and started to wipe the R2 unit down. “Now, I think you got interrupted while you were introducing yourself. Thorpio, was it?”

He made a gesture that was probably supposed to look grandiose, splashing a little oil in the process. “J-3PO, human-cyborg relations. But my friends call me Thorpio. And my good pal over there is R2-D2.”

R2 chirped cheerfully. Catherine smiled at the little droid. “It’s good to meet you, too. I’m Catherine. Welcome to the Morland moisture farm. I will help you get all settled in, and then tomorrow, I’ll show you the fields. It’s almost harvest season, which is when we’ll need your help the most. We’ve got a couple other droids, too, I’ll introduce you tomorrow. But first, bath time.”

The dust covering R2’s chassis was quickly cleaned away. Frowning slightly, Catherine bent closer to inspect the dark spots on the metal that would not come off from rubbing with a soft rag alone. Residue from explosions, or blaster fire, most likely. “What happened to you?” she asked softly. “This looks like – have you been in a fight?”

“Oh, dozens,” said Thorpio, as if Catherine should have expected that, “nay, what do I say, hundreds, even. Barely a day goes by in the rebellion without a scuffle or two, isn’t that right, R2? You see –“

Catherine did not like to interrupt people, thought it terribly impolite, generally, but she felt like she needed to clarify. “You are Resistance fighters?” she breathed. “Against the Empire?”

“Why, of course! As you can see, I am not merely any protocol droid, I am amongst the very best. I am programmed with over thirty thousand languages from all over the galaxy, you see, surely you can imagine that my contribution to the cause is invaluable.”

“I’m sure it is,” replied Catherine, still trying to wrap her head around this news. She had heard of the Resistance, of course, she had even overheard Richard and Charles talking about maybe joining them during their last visit from the academy, and while she was aware that the fight against the Empire was a real event that was happening right now, it all seemed so far away that her brain had stored away these stories with all the other myths and legends that she loved so much. “But should you really be telling me all about that? Not that I don’t want to know, but you don’t know me at all, what if I was an imperial spy or something?”

“A fine lady like you? Now don’t be ridiculous!”

Catherine turned her face away and went back to cleaning R2, tuning Thorpio out while he prattled on. She certainly did not hold any love for the Empire, and neither did she believe she had what it took to be a spy, and she was used to being dismissed during the first five minutes of a conversation. He probably hadn’t even meant it like that at all. Nevertheless, it rankled. Fortunately, she did not have to think about it for long since she found distraction in a metallic splinter that had lodged itself in a gap in R2’s plating.

“Oh! You’ve got something, there. Hold still for a minute, please.” She tried to dislodge the foreign object, first with her bare fingers, then, when that proved futile, fetched a small, narrow tool. “Now, isn’t that better?” she exclaimed happily, and then almost fell back on her butt in surprise when she saw a blue cone of light emanating from the droid, projecting the faintly striped holographic image of a young man right onto the floor of the garage.

Clad in a white, floor-length, hooded robe, with his hair delicately twisted into buns, he stood upright and with purpose, but even in the flickering light the look of worry on his face was hard to miss. “Help me, Benvolio Allen,” he said, no, urged, “you’re my only hope.”

Chapter Text

James held his head as high as possible as the storm troopers escorted him through the hallways of the Star Destroyer. His body ached from just having been stunned, and his heart ached from knowing that lives had been lost, good people, some of them friends, even, but he was resolved to not give them the satisfaction of letting either show. Not that they would care either way, he supposed, he wasn’t fully convinced there were people with thoughts and feelings beneath these white helmets.

A door hissed open, and they entered a room James took no note of, for his attention was centered on the man in the black armour and him alone. If the storm troopers already seemed inhuman, Darth Vader certainly was doubly so. Covered from head to toe in obsidian durasteel, he towered over both his underlings and James alike. His helmet resembled a face just enough for James to be able to feel his unflinching gaze but not enough to evoke any sympathies. The worst part though was his breathing: slow, ragged, mechanical, perfectly measured, and neverending.

“Darth Vader,” he said, more of an accusation than a greeting. Maybe if he just could take control of this conversation – “I’ll have you know that you intercepted a diplomatic mission. This incident will be reported to the Senate and appropriate action will be taken.”

“Spare me, Your Highness,” Vader interrupted, both anger and derision evident in his voice, distorted by his vocal processor. “This ship received several transmissions from rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.”

“I assure you, I do not know what you are referring to,” James stubbornly insisted. He did not care that Vader would see through his lie immediately. Making him believe was impossible anyway. He just had to stall them long enough for the droids to reach Mr. Allen. “I am a member of the Imperial Senate and thereby enjoy diplomatic immunity. Your violation –”

“You are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor,” thundered Darth Vader. “Take him away! And you,” he turned to an officer in a black uniform, “send a distress signal, and then inform the Senate that all aboard were killed.”

James’s heart clenched at that, and he almost missed a step.

Alone in a cell, he finally allowed himself to sag down against the wall and hide his face behind his hands. It could have gone worse. But he was well aware that this was only the beginning. He knew the Imperials, and Darth Vader in particular, would stop at nothing to get the information they wanted. He could only hope to last long enough to give the others a fighting chance.

“What is this?” asked Catherine, wide-eyed, as the hologram flickered and repeated anew.

“Help me, Benvolio Allen, you’re my only hope.”

R2 trilled something, and Catherine looked over to Thorpio for a translation. “This is a hologram, of course. Top-notch technology, for a droid like him. Of course, good ol' R2 is getting on in the years, but that's still first-class quality. Almost no static in the voice recording, too. I really have no idea why he insists on malfunctioning. Now, the image is a bit grainy and the flickering's, oh well, but that's how it is with these dustbins. Really now, R2, no need to sell yourself short, you wouldn't have been chosen to work with me if you had memory issues. By the by, how come you have a recording of –” R2’s beeping got louder and shriller. Faintly glowing between all of them, the hologram restarted again.

Catherine observed the two droids, mystified. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, obviously, if you don’t want to, but maybe there’s something I can do to help? He keeps mentioning a Benvolio Allen, I wonder – well, there’s a Mr. Allen that lives out there beyond the Dune Sea, although I’m not sure if his first name is Benvolio, I’ve only ever called him Mr. Allen. I could take you to him?”

R2 chimed something short but forceful.

“R2-D2! No need to get all high and mighty!”

Catherine let them squabble. Humming thoughtfully, she watched the young man look to the side, bend down to end the recording, and then state his plea once again. He looked to be about her age, with an open and honest face that made her feel instantly connected to him, even if the rest of his appearance couldn’t have been more different to hers, with his fine clothing and elaborate hairstyle that almost seemed to belong in a fairytale. “But it does seem important, doesn’t it? He looks like he really needs help, what happens if he doesn’t get it? Who is he, anyway, do you know him? Is he a rebel like you?” She interrupted herself. “Again, you don’t have to answer, if that’s classified or something, I just thought – I really want to help, you know.”

Thorpio generously waved her off, ignoring R2’s frantic beeps. “Oh, that's only young Master James, but he’s a good fellow, one of the best, really. Doesn't come close to us, naturally, but considering what he is, he's a competent enough lad. We’ve been in his employ for several years, and in his parents’ before that. We’ve been with him almost since he was born. As good as raised the lad, didn’t we, R2.”

R2 had resigned himself to a quiet warble.

“Then we really have to help him, don’t we? Is there any more of this recording? He must have had more to say, right? How else would this Mr. Allen know what to do?” She looked pleadingly at R2-D2.

“He says that the restraining bolt might keep him from properly accessing his memory files,” translated Thorpio the astromech’s next set of beeps and chimes. “Though maker knows why it would do that. But that’s astromechs for you, their whole design simply doesn’t hold water.”

“Oh, of course. Well,” Catherine picked up a tool and got to work, “you won’t run, right? It won’t do to go alone, I’m taking both of you to see Mr. Allen, first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe he is the one you’re looking for, or maybe he knows the right one, at least. I would take you today, only it’s almost getting dark already, and it’s very dangerous at night because of the sand people. Look, here you go.” She tossed the restraining bolt into a box with various spare parts, and when she turned back, the blue cone of light had vanished, and the hologram with it. Concerned, she knelt back in front of R2, checking him from all sides. “What happened? I didn’t damage you, did I?”

He whistled, but before Thorpio could interpret his meaning, a resounding “Catherine, dinner!” rang through the garage.

“I need to go,” she said apologetically und quickly leaned forward to give R2 a hug. “We’re going to help your son, don’t worry.”

With that, she got up and hurried back to the main house where most of her family was already at the table. There were her aunt and uncle, and five of her younger siblings – cousins, actually, but since she had grown up with them, the distinction rarely if ever crossed her mind. The empty chairs to the end of the table belonged to Richard, Charles, and Sally, who were off world studying at the academy. When Richard had first left, the academy had seemed to Catherine like the ultimate adventure, far away and mysterious and a gateway to the galaxy. His stories, and later Charlie’s, had tempered her excitement somewhat, and when she had taken and failed the entrance exam, the disappointment still stung, but quickly faded. Life was good on Tatooine, after all, between work with the droids on the moisture farm, spending time with her siblings, twice a week evening mechanics classes over at Tosche Station, and the occasional visit to Anchorhead to stock up on new reading material.

Catherine slid onto the empty seat between Mary and George and picked up the container of blue milk, pouring all of them a glass. “Did you see any more shooting stars?” she asked the boy.

He shook his head and pouted for a moment before lighting up again. “But we saw birds!”

“Really?” Catherine smiled. She had felt bad about having to break her promise, but at least they’d had fun anyway. “Tell me all about them.”

After dinner, she stayed behind while the children ran off to play. “Do you know what Mr. Allen’s first name is?” she asked her aunt and uncle.

They exchanged a glance. “I don’t think he ever said,” answered her aunt. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, well, one of the new droids has a message for a certain Benvolio Allen, and it seems urgent, so I thought, maybe that’s him. He’s the only Mr. Allen I know, after all.”

Uncle Richard’s brow furrowed. “That’s not a common name here in the area. Let me see.”

He led the way to the garage, Catherine trailing behind him. “I thought about going to visit him tomorrow, Mr. Allen I mean, just in case – oh no.”

The garage was dark, and, as it turned out when Richard Morland flipped on the lights, emptier than it had been before. Thorpio was still lounging in the oil bath, but R2 was nowhere in sight, even when Catherine checked behind the parked speeder and some of the larger spare parts.

“R2?” When she got no answer, she turned to Thorpio. “Do you know where he is?”

The golden protocol droid inclined his head toward the door. “He is beyond reason. Just up and left, after you were gone, kept beeping about his secret mission. That I did not know about, can you imagine? He had a secret mission and he didn’t tell me, me, his oldest and most trustworthy friend?”

Uncle Richard ignored him after the first few words, groaning. “There’s always something with these rust buckets the Jawas sell.” He turned to Catherine. “How could this happen? Was its restraining bolt malfunctioning?”

Catherine had continually gone paler and paler. “No, I… took it off. It was impacting his memory, you see, and I didn’t think he’d run. I had told him not to!”

“Catherine…” Uncle Richard gave her his best disappointed but also not very surprised look, then shook his head. “Go look for it first thing in the morning. Take this one, too, and take them both to Anchorhead to get their memories wiped. And don’t go looking for Mr. Allen. I don’t know what shady business these two are entangled in, but I know we don’t want that kind of trouble. Stay out of whatever this is. I don’t want anyone to endanger this family. You hear me?”

Catherine still felt like she should argue – the young man had looked so worried! – but, humbled, found that she couldn’t do anything but nod.

Chapter Text

The suns had barely risen over the horizon, yet Catherine and Thorpio already sat in her X-34, speeding over the flat expanse of the Jundland wastes. Thorpio had a lot of opinions about the landspeeder, which, to be fair, was neither the newest nor the fastest model there was. Her older brother Richard had entrusted it to her when he had left for the academy, and she diligently kept it in good condition and had even installed a couple of upgrades. Of course the XP-38 was the better model, but even if she could afford one or had the garage space, she liked this one. Her mechanics instructor at Tosche station recently got an XP-38 and had allowed her to take it for a spin once, and while its raw speed was exhilarating, she thought its controls to be too jerky and seriously missed being able to take down the roof to feel the wind in her hair. No, her landspeeder might slightly pull to the left at higher speeds, but it was smooth and reliable, and she was not interested in any criticism.

To change the topic, she asked Thorpio to keep an eye out for R2. Halfway across the waste, it had occurred to her that she had left her macrobinoculars at home, but it was too late to turn back now. They’d just have to make do, and hope that she was right in the assumption that he would make his way toward the Dune Sea where Mr. Allen lived.

And sure enough, as soon as the terrain got rougher and more uneven, they found the three parallel tracks of an astromech unit making its way between two dunes. Spirits renewed, Catherine carefully manoeuvred the speeder through the jagged hills, until she finally spotted a little silver and blue droid, single-mindedly moving forward, gleaming in the sunlight.

“R2!” She hopped out of the speeder and ran over to him. “I am so glad you are alright; I had feared the sand people got you. You are alright, aren’t you?” She crouched down and eyed him critically.

R2 rotated his dome away, let out a single honk that Catherine did not know how to interpret, and kept rolling, pushing past her.

“Oh,” she said, stumped for a moment, then hurried to catch up with him. “Well, I know you don’t really have a reason to trust me, we’ve only known each other for a day, not even that, and I know my promise track record hasn’t been all that great lately and you have no idea how sorry I am about that, and oh,” she grimaced, “I am about to break another one. You see, Uncle Richard wanted you caught and reset, but I’m not going to do that, don’t worry. I know how much your mission matters to you, and I want to help you. If that is all right with you? I mean, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to, but it really would be faster and safer if we were taking the speeder, you know.”

R2 had swiveled his dome back around which Catherine took as a sign that he was at least listening but had not slowed down in the slightest.

She sighed softly. “You’re really stubborn, aren’t you? Well, if there is no changing your mind, would you let me go with you, at least?”

He was silent for a few moments, then chimed something that sounded like an agreement and turned his focus back to the path ahead.

“Thank you.” Catherine shot him a relieved smile. She really didn’t want to let him go alone. But venturing deeper into the desert without any kind of equipment was madness. “I’ll just get some things from the speeder, and Thorpio, all right? Don’t run too far ahead, I’ll be back before you know it.”

R2’s beeping sounded kind of rude, but Catherine knew better than to take it personally.

“He doesn’t want to come with us, so we’re going with him,” she told Thorpio once she was back at the speeder.

“Ah, he’s being dramatic again,” he offered his professional opinion while dragging his butt a bit to the left. The protocol droid’s anatomy was clearly not made for scooting, but he had made admirable progress on his way over to the driver’s seat.

The landspeeder dipped a bit when Catherine climbed in. She quickly located and collected the backpack that contained water and rations, then continued where she had left off before his interjection. “Well, I am going. You are welcome to join us, if you want, or you could follow us in the speeder.” She reached behind Thorpio, grabbing the blaster rifle from the back seat, in case they encountered sand people. Not for shooting at them, Catherine had never pointed a weapon at a person before and she would quite like it to stay that way, but bright light and loud noises scared them off pretty reliably. “You said you know how to pilot one, right?”

Thorpio just laughed. “This old thing? I could fly it with half my circuits turned off. It’s not standard programming for protocol droids, but I could be a pod racer if they made pods for droids my size.” He slapped the control board. “This one’s hardly a challenge.”

“Good.” She observed his awkward shuffling for a moment or two longer but figured that it would probably hurt his pride if she asked if he needed a hand with that. “Stay close to us? I don’t want you to get lost either. Speaking of,” she watched R2 disappear into a shallow ravine, “I should go catch up with him.”

R2 acknowledged her return with a whirr and a short melody.

“This does feel kind of like an adventure, doesn’t it?” Catherine said while falling into step next to him. “Some unlikely comrades on a mission, a mysterious person in dire peril – oh well, mysterious to me, you know him, after all. My uncle tried to stop me, because he’s concerned, but now I’m going anyway…” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “I know it’s just delivering a message, really, and I’m going back home right after, of course, so it’s probably not all that big of a deal, but it still feels – big, you know?”

R2 replied with a series of trills.

“I wish I knew what that means. It’s curious, isn’t it. You understand me just fine, don’t you, you’re programmed to understand Basic, and here I am not knowing a single beep of astromech. Maybe when this is done, you could teach me? Or I could ask Thorpio, I mean, I know it is his job, but wouldn’t it be nice if he didn’t have to translate everything all the – oh no. Look at this.”

Catherine dashed over to where she had spotted tracks in the sand. The form was easy to recognize; Uncle Richard had made sure that every single one of his children could clearly identify the footprints of a bantha, a big, furry animal that the sand people used as mounts, for wool, and probably for food, too. And seeing as the wind had only just begun filling the imprints back up with grains of sand, its originator could not be far yet.

“Oh, this is bad, R2, we need to –” Catherine looked around, worried, but if there were any sand people around, they were well hidden. Unfortunately, the terrain with all its jagged rocks and short cliffs made that very easy. Who also was conspicuously absent was Thorpio with her speeder.

Some soft chimes emerged from R2 who had stopped right next to her.

“They might still be around,” whispered Catherine. “Come on, let’s find some cover and hope Thorpio finds us before they do.” She pointed toward a promising looking niche in the crags beneath a rocky overhang.

Halfway there, the first shot rang out.

“Run!” She yelled at R2 and threw herself behind a boulder.

More shots were fired, accompanied by loud whooping. One pinged off her hiding place, others went wild and hit the sand. Solid projectiles, not blaster shots. Sand people weren’t all that technologically advanced, but that didn’t make them less dangerous.

When there was silence for a couple of seconds, she dared poking her head out for a quick glance around, and this time, she spotted two silhouettes on top of the cliffs that made up the opposite side of the ravine, both fully wrapped in light fabric, mouth and eye guards reflecting the light of the desert suns.

The next shot hit the wall behind her, and she quickly ducked back behind her rock.

A look to her left confirmed that R2 had made it to cover as well. The little robot was perfectly hidden behind a big chunk of rock, save for the periscope that he had extended from his dome to be able to see.

Clever, Catherine thought. Maybe she should invest in one as well once they got out of this. She did not really want to stick her head out again. But what else could she do? She had to do something, right?

Just when she had that thought, she heard the whooshing sound of a nearing landspeeder. Her eyes flicked to the right. Hopefully Thorpio had put up the roof, otherwise he would be the perfect target now – no, no he had not. Had he even heard the shots? Or was he completely unaware?

The sound of projectiles hitting plasteel rang out, so Catherine chanced another look, and yes, sure enough, the sand people had redirected their fire to the speeder, whooping loudly.

“Thorpio! Evasive manoeuvres!” She yelled as loud as she could, using a phrase her favourite fictional starship captain uttered at least once per chapter.

Through all that noise, it was a small miracle that she heard R2’s chime. Looking over at the astromech, she noticed that his projector was active again, but instead of a wide cone he had condensed it to a narrow, blue beam, barely visible in the sunlight. She followed it with her eyes to a bizarre looking spire right next to the two sand people that looked like it could fall over any second if you gave it just the right motivation. And the blue dot pointed exactly to where it looked weakest.

Catherine’s eyes grew wide in understanding.

Then, while the sand people were still distracted by Thorpio’s erratic flying, she raised her rifle, flipped the safety off, and aimed.

Catherine had always been an uncannily good shot. Every Morland child had learned blaster safety at a young age, and once they were old enough, her aunt would take them to the range at the edge of the farm and teach them how to clean and dissemble and assemble and finally how to shoot a blaster. Later, the older children held friendly competitions from time to time, and Catherine won a disproportionate amount, despite the clumsiness she otherwise tended to display, and despite her older brothers practicing way more often. Beginner’s luck, was their explanation. A good eye, and good instincts, her aunt’s. Richard and Charlie just sucked, Sarah’s highly qualified one. Catherine did not know, and she did not much care, she enjoyed the camaraderie and the good-natured ribbing more than winning anyway.

Her shot hit its mark. The spire burst, and pieces of rock rained down on the two sand people who dropped their weapons and scrambled backwards to safety.

Not wasting any time, Catherine jumped up and ran toward the speeder. “Come on!” She yelled at R2, unnecessarily, as he was already moving, and then grabbed him around the middle to hoist him up and toss him onto the back seat, which was easier said than done as he was surprisingly heavy, but ultimately succeeded when R2 diverted full power to his thrusters to help her against gravity. Panting, she more crawled than climbed in herself and made an impatient gesture in Thorpio’s direction.

“Saved the day once again,” the golden droid smugly announced as he hit the accelerator and the button to put up the roof with a flourish.

Chapter Text

Catherine knocked on the door of the square, white building structure and took a polite step back.

“I hope he’s home,” she said, looking to R2 and Thorpio who had come up next to her. “Wouldn’t that be unfortunate, if we came all the way out here and he’s –”

The door opened, and an old man clad in a brown, hooded robe stood in front of them.

“Young Catherine!” Mr. Allen greeted her with a smile that Catherine immediately returned. They hadn’t met often, but he had always been kind to her. “And,” his gaze fell to the two droids and he fell silent, looking both of them over. There was recognition on his face, and something that looked almost like grief. “R2 and Thorpio,” he continued solemnly. “I believe you better come in.”

They followed him into a sparsely decorated living room: R2 first, chiming softly, then Thorpio, confident as always, and Catherine, suddenly feeling shy, trailed a bit behind.

“Ah, so even on a backwater planet like this people have heard of my valiant deeds,” Thorpio remarked. “Not that I'd know who in their right mind would move to a place like this. A lesser droid than I would already have succumbed to all this dust.”

Mr. Allen smiled ruefully. “It is all part of a very long story. Catherine, can I offer you some tea?”

Catherine blinked in surprise. “I would love some, thank you very much. Mr. Allen, I hope we didn’t disturb you? I’m sorry we just dropped by unannounced, but I don’t think this could have waited any longer.”

“Then I am sure you did the right thing,” the old man said mildly.

“We seem to have found the right person, at least. Your name is Benvolio Allen, right? I’m sorry, but I don’t think anyone ever told me your first name, so I couldn’t be sure. But since you know these droids…”

“That I do. Please sit,” he gestured to a couple of benches surrounding a table, then moved slowly to the next room, muttering to himself. “Benvolio Allen… now that’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time.”

When he returned, he carried a steaming tea pot from which he poured both Catherine and himself a cup. Instead of drinking it, however, he turned to R2 and, with visible difficulty, crouched down in front of him. “My old friend,” he said, wistfulness creeping into his voice. “I wish we could have met again under better circumstances. I can only assume how dire the situation must be for you to seek me out. Tell me, what brings you here?”

R2 activated his projector with a whirr. Flickering, the blue-tinted hologram of the young man called James came into view once again. Catherine leaned forward, captivated, clutching her teacup with both hands.

“General Allen,” the projection began, “my name is James Organa, Prince of Alderaan. We have not met, but I understand years ago you served with my father, Bail Organa, in the Clone Wars, and I desperately hope you still share his ideals. I was recently entrusted with tactical information vital to the fight against the Empire, but my ship has fallen under attack and I’m afraid I will not be able to complete my mission. I have placed this information into the memory systems of this R2 unit. You must see this droid safely delivered to my father on Alderaan; he will know how to retrieve it. The survival of the Rebellion depends on it. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Benvolio Allen, you’re my only hope.”

Catherine’s eyes had grown as wide as saucers with all those new revelations, and she looked over at Mr. Allen who had grown pensive. She had a myriad of questions for him, but his expression told her this wasn’t quite the time for them, yet. Instead, she turned to Thorpio first, and quietly but no less urgently said: “You didn’t mention he was a prince?”

Thorpio just shrugged. “Oh, he wouldn’t have gotten where he is without me. Good lad, probably the best those Alderaanian nobles have produced in a while, but still needs a lot of guidance. Practically had to carry him through his Challenge of the Body.”

Catherine frowned at that and wanted to inquire further but was quickly distracted when Mr. Allen heaved himself back to his feet and began rummaging through his belongings. “What are you doing, Mr. Allen, Sir? Um,” she hurried to correct herself, “General.”

He threw a glance over his shoulder so Catherine could see his wry smile. “Not a general anymore, that was a long time ago.” He pulled a duffel bag from a cupboard and began filling it. “And I am packing.”

“Does that mean you’re going?” she asked, bright-eyed, excited that the young man would get the help he needed after all, and she felt some pride that she had had a part in that, however small it might have been.

“We are,” Mr. Allen answered, and turned to face her. He had a kind face, but now there was resolve in his eyes, and for the first time Catherine had no trouble imagining him as a general. “His Majesty has made a very convincing argument, and he will need every help he can get.”

It took her a moment to fully parse this sentence. “You want me to come with you? To Alderaan?” She blinked a couple of times. “I mean, I’d love to. I’d have to ask my uncle first, of course, but I’m sure he’d allow it. He might be a bit grumpy, because the next harvest season is coming up and he always tells us how he needs every hand then, but I’m not going to be away that long, am I?” She frowned. “How far is Alderaan, anyway?”

“Far enough that we should depart as soon as possible,” Mr. Allen said, closing his bag. It wasn’t even half full. “We cannot lose any time. We will take your landspeeder to Mos Eisley. There, we will find a transport to Alderaan.” He moved through the room to a chest he had not opened before. “But before we go,” he withdrew a single object from the chest, “I want you to have this. You will need it where we are going.”

He walked over to Catherine and placed a cylindrical, metallic object in her hands. Catherine inspected it with visible confusion, turning it in every direction, even peering inside for a moment. She couldn’t figure out what it was, but was surprised at how good its weight felt in her hand, how right. “What is this?”

“This, Catherine, is your father’s lightsaber.” Catherine’s head snapped up to look at him and he held her gaze. “He was a Jedi, just like me, and I see the same potential in you, too. It is time for you to embrace it.”

If it was possible to turn the whole world on its head with just a few words, these three sentences had done it. “My… this is… you…” she tried but could not decide on a question to ask first. Then she accidentally pressed the button that ignited the weapon, and with a flash, a glowing blue blade sprang into existence. It hummed when she moved it carefully. Astonished, she looked back at Mr. Allen.

“Finish your tea,” the old man advised her gently. “I will answer all of your questions on the way.”

Catherine had retaken her spot behind the controls and quietly steered the landspeeder through the craggy landscape, familiar motions soothing her troubled mind. Mr. Allen sat to her right, equally thoughtful, and the droids occupied the backseat, Thorpio idly commenting on this or that and R2 beeping sharply in response.

“I knew the Jedi weren’t a myth,” she stated finally. “Everyone always said so, but I never believed that.”

Mr. Allen hummed thoughtfully. “The Jedi never had a strong presence in the Outer Rim Territories. I am fairly sure that Tatooine hadn’t seen a Jedi in decades before my master and I first came here. It wouldn’t have been too difficult for the Empire to convince people we never existed in the first place.” He fell silent for a moment. “Nineteen years ago, they betrayed the Jedi Order and hunted every last of us down. It doesn’t surprise me they erased us from collective memory as well.” Catherine heard a small huff, and when she chanced a look in his direction, he was wearing a wry smile. “The Jedi used to be a symbol of hope, of light. Very inconvenient for a regime built on fear.”

Catherine slowed the speeder down to be able to fully look at him without crashing the vehicle. “But you’re still here. If you survived, maybe others did, too?”

Mr. Allen was quiet for so long that Catherine almost thought he wouldn’t answer. “I am alive today because of something more important than the dying Republic.”

“What was that?”

The old man just smiled, his eyes full of warmth and sadness, then he turned his gaze back ahead. “Your mother was a dear friend of mine.”

“Oh,” Catherine said. That raised more questions than it answered. “You knew both my parents? But how did being a friend of my mother’s save you? Was she a Jedi, too? A real powerful one, so that she could save you? But why didn’t she save any of the others?”

Mr. Allen chuckled softly. “What she had was power of a different kind, but by no means a lesser one. She was one of the most intelligent and determined people I’ve ever known, but most important of all, she was kind. She truly wanted the best for everyone around her, and always fought for a better world.”

Catherine swallowed, needing a moment to take that in. “I wish I could have known her.” She looked over to Mr. Allen who was still staring ahead, not meeting her eyes. She almost didn’t ask because of how much their conversation seemed to be affecting him, but maybe, maybe it would help him, too. Still, the hesitation was evident in her voice when she next spoke. “Would you… tell me about her? And my father? I mean, it doesn’t have to be now, but, maybe, um –”

Mr. Allen interrupted her with a shake of his head, then turned back to her and smiled. “Of course, dear child. Anything, once all of this is over.”

“Oh,” Catherine said, completely disregarding whatever Thorpio currently philosophised about – a little while earlier R2 had finally stopped his efforts to make the golden protocol droid shut up whenever he started to raise his voice –, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the suns, “that doesn’t look too good, does it?”

“Catherine,” Mr. Allen said, probably to discourage her, but she had already altered course.

Thick, black smoke rose up from behind a dune in the distance, and when they came closer, the telltale bulky frame of a sandcrawler appeared, its usually reddish-brown metal hull blackened and charred. The pungent smell of burning oil and melting electronics was overwhelming, but worse was the sight of half a dozen little brown lumps scattered around the vehicle, so small, and eerily still.

“They,” Catherine’s voice broke and her eyes filled with tears, “they’re all –“

She forcefully put the speeder into parking mode and jumped out, almost stumbling on her way over to the nearest brown heap of cloth. No gleam in those yellow eyes greeted her when she turned over the tiny body with trembling fingers, and there was no pulse to be found.

Biting her lip, she got back up on unsteady feet and went over to the next body, and the next, and the next, checking every single one of them for a sign of life, in vain. She started to climb up the ramp that led inside the sandcrawler when she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“Catherine,” Mr. Allen said gently. “There is no one left alive, here.”

“You don’t know that,” Catherine argued and continued on.

She had made it up to the entrance which was almost completely obscured by dark smoke when she heard his soft “I do”, and for some reason she knew it to be true.

Sniffling, she came back and sat down next to the nearest body. “These were the ones who always come to visit us, to sell droids,” she told Mr. Allen who had followed her quietly and looked down on her with sorrow. “Every few months or so, they… they were just here yesterday. They’re the ones we got R2 and Thorpio from.” Her tears were now flowing freely, and she pulled the brown hood deeper into the Jawa’s face. She didn’t know how the Jawas paid respect to their dead, but for a race that tended to cover everything but their eyes it seemed an appropriate first step. “Who does something like that?”

“Whoever it was wanted us to think it was the sand people,” Mr. Allen answered. “Did you see the bantha tracks?”

Catherine nodded. “There were a lot of them.” She blinked. “That can’t be right. Sand people ride in single file to hide their numbers.”

“And they were killed by blaster shots, not projectiles.” The old Jedi looked at her seriously. “That is the work of Imperial storm troopers.”

“Imperials? But why would they be killing Jawas? I’ve only ever seen them out in Mos Eisley before, they don’t even come to Anchorhead! They don’t care what happens this far out!”

“They might care now,” Mr. Allen said darkly, looking meaningfully over Catherine’s shoulder. She turned as well, following his gaze to the two droids who were still seated in the landspeeder.

“Oh. Oh no. You mean they are looking for them? Well, they are rebels, after all. But… if they didn’t find them here…” Catherine’s eyes went wide with fear. “You think they’re going to the farm, next? You think, they…”

“Catherine,” he said again, wearily.

But Catherine barely heard him, as she had already jumped up and made a few steps toward the speeder, only to stop and turn back again. “I – I need to go, but… would you come with me, please? I don’t think I could… I don’t want to be alone.”

Any objections he might have had crumbled at that, and he reached out to squeeze her shoulder once. “I’ll drive.”

Chapter Text

James had no recollection of falling asleep, but he woke up on what he assumed was the next day with a heavy heart and his hair in disarray. He had spent the first hours of imprisonment alternating between hope and despair, and then, when he accepted that there was nothing he could do for now, he sat down on the small cot and mentally went through the whole crew complement of the Tantive IV, honouring, remembering, realising in anguish that already some of their names seemed to elude him.

He knew they would come back, the Imperials, possibly Darth Vader himself. Sooner rather than later, too, to continue their interrogation, and he would not give them the satisfaction to see him in this undignified state.

So he got up, stretched and straightened his clothes. Then he redid his hair. There was nothing to be done about the growing stubble on his cheek and no mirror to check the results of his efforts, but when he felt sufficiently presentable, he sat down again, back straight, head held high, trying to project what he did not feel.

And then he waited.

But no one came.

No one at all.

“Mos Eisley Spaceport,” Mr. Allen declared in a voice that one might use to introduce an old friend, “you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.”

They had arrived at the Morland farm earlier and found it burning. But while the sight of her childhood home in flames and the shattered remains of their household droid devastated Catherine, there had been no other signs of struggle, and hope was renewed when she checked the garage and found the large transport vehicle that could fit the whole family missing.

“They got out in time,” she’d breathed and, knees weak with relief, collapsed in Mr. Allen’s arms for a moment, then immediately straightened up again. “I need to find them. Maybe they went to the Darklighters, or, I think my uncle has distant relatives in Mos Espa, maybe they –“

Mr. Allen had interrupted her then, looking at her seriously but not unkindly. “Looking for them will only draw attention to them. If you can find them, so can the Empire. Hope for their own sake that they will have gone somewhere entirely unexpected. But don’t worry, young Catherine, you are not alone. For better or worse, you are with us now.”

Contemplating his words for a while, Catherine had to see the truth in them and conceded. Still, she had insisted they return to the destroyed sandcrawler and put the Jawas to rest. Mr. Allen claimed they burned their dead, and, having no reason to doubt him, they built a small bonfire. Catherine told her companions her favourite stories about their visits at the Morland farm while they watched the flames, and finally bid them farewell in their language.

Still shaken, but considerably more at peace than before, she had gotten back in the pilot’s seat, and they continued toward Mos Eisley.

Now, Catherine carefully steered the landspeeder through the streets between the low, domed sandstone buildings, warily observing every person they passed. She had been here before, once or twice, but this was the first time she had something to hide, and it made her more nervous than all the stories she ever heard about criminal activity in Mos Eisley combined.

The patrol consisting of half a dozen armed stormtroopers blocking their path still caught her by surprise, and her fingers on the controls began to tremble. “What do we do now?” she whispered urgently in Mr. Allen’s direction, frantically checking the road ahead for ways to escape.

“Act natural,” he advised, seemingly unfazed, and before Catherine could ask him what that even meant, he nodded politely at the stormtrooper who had come up to the pilot’s side.

“How long have you had these droids?” a distorted voice came through the helmet.

Mr. Allen said nothing, and when Catherine looked at him for help, he just tilted his head slightly. Panic rising, she turned back to the stormtrooper. “Oh, uh, you are asking … me? Well, um, you see, they’ve, um, been with us so long I couldn’t imagine my life without them. Sir.” She gave him a nervous smile. That wasn’t the worst lie, was it? It wasn’t even fully a lie. It had just been two days, but one of them had been very long and wasn’t even over yet, and as Mr. Allen had said before, her life was now irrevocably entwined with theirs.

“They’re up for sale, if you want them,” Mr. Allen interjected, blinking lazily into the suns, the picture of relaxation in his seat.

Catherine whipped around, horrified.

“Let me see your identification.” The stormtrooper sounded monumentally unimpressed with them both.

Catherine reflexively patted down her pockets. “Oh, sure, I…”

“You don’t need to see her identification,” Mr. Allen interrupted, now leaning forward and staring at the trooper intently, moving his hand in a curious gesture.

“We don’t need to see her identification,” the stormtrooper conceded.

“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” Mr. Allen continued.

“These aren’t the droids we’re looking for,” the stormtrooper repeated with a glance toward his comrades.

Catherine had stopped looking for her ID and now followed the exchange with astonishment. Was talking to the authorities really that easy if you just sounded confident?

“She can go about her business,” suggested Mr. Allen, waggling his fingers.

“You can go about your business,” the stormtrooper said magnanimously.

“Move along.”

The stormtrooper took a step back and waved her on. “Move along.”

Catherine, stunned and her mouth hanging open, required a second invitation before complying and hitting the accelerator. “How,” she asked once they were a safe distance away, “how did he just, you know, agree to everything you said? Did you know him? Do you have dirt on him, and by doing this,” she imitated Mr. Allen’s hand gestures, “you let him know? Is he an undercover rebel?”

Mr. Allen just smirked. “The force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Catherine’s eyes went wide. “You mean this is a Jedi thing? Can I do that, too?”

“One thing at a time,” Mr. Allen gently admonished. “Take a left, we’re almost there.”

“I bet you twenty credits there’s gonna be a murder here tonight,” Henry said, raising his voice a little as to be heard over the jaunty tune the band was playing. Feet up on the table of their little booth in the corner of Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina and taking a sip from his Tatooine Sunset from time to time, he was idly observing the other patrons and pointing out anyone of interest to the tall figure next to him. “Death-sentence-on-twelve-systems guy is here, and I think I’ve seen Greedo earlier, chances are good.”

Ellie’s snarl probably sounded aggressive to the untrained ear, but Henry knew she was merely reminding him to stay on task.

“I am focusing. Doesn’t mean I can’t be having fun at the same time. Come on.” He stuck out his hand.

Ellie let out a long-suffering low growl, then took his hand in her own furry paw.

“Thank you very much for humouring me, you are the best.” Henry smiled at her in delight and went back to letting his gaze roam through the dimly lit establishment. “Oh look. Fresh meat by the door.” An old man in a hooded cloak had just entered the cantina, followed by a wide-eyed young lady and, proof that neither of them were familiar with the rules of this place, two droids. “Told you, we should’ve gotten snacks.”

Music and chatter and other background noise made it impossible to hear what was being spoken, but he watched the bartender gesticulate angrily at the droids, at which the girl gasped in indignation. The old man quickly put a soothing hand on her arm, and whatever he said next made the taller of the droids puff out his chest and leave, followed by the smaller one. The man then made his way to the bar, and the girl, mollified, kept close behind.

“Well,” Henry said, mildly disappointed at the quick and smooth resolution of the scene. “That could’ve been more interesting. They do look out of place here, though, don’t you think? They must be desperate to come here, of all places.” Grinning, he made to get up. “I’m going to see if there’s anything some generous souls like us could help them with. It would be such a shame if they left their credits with the less savoury folk here, wouldn’t it?”

A heavy paw on his shoulder pressed him back into his seat, as Ellie stood up and walked over to the bar without another word.

“Alright, alright, got it, you do it, then.” He picked his drink back up and muttered: “I just hope one of them speaks Shyriiwook.”

They really needed a job.

At the bar, Catherine had settled on a stool next to Mr. Allen who was conversing with a tall, furry alien and did not seem to need her assistance. The bartender did not pay her any attention, either, which was probably for the best since he so rudely had thrown out Thorpio and R2, even though she could have used a drink by now. Still, she thought it better not to invite any trouble, and just busied herself looking around, curiously studying all the different kinds of people she had never seen before.

But as it turned out, trouble did not need an invitation.

Someone with huge, shimmering black eyes sidled up to her and told her something she did not understand.

“I apologise, I do not speak your language,” she said.

“He said he doesn’t like you,” a questionably helpful individual next to him translated.

“Oh,” Catherine said, taken aback, unused to this level of rudeness. “I’m sorry about that. You don’t have to talk to me, then, if you don’t want to, I’m sure there’s better company than me around.”

“I don’t like you either,” the second one continued, menacingly. “You just watch yourself. We’re wanted men. I have the death sentence on twelve systems.”

“Alright,” Catherine answered, increasingly unsure as to how to handle this situation. “I hope this one is not one of them? There are lots of stormtroopers around.”

“Imperial scum, are we now,” the man growled, and before Catherine could argue that that couldn’t be farther from the truth, he sent her flying across the room.

Then, there was a hiss and a flash of blue and a scream, and then silence.

Carefully, Catherine sat up. Mr. Allen put his lightsaber away. A severed arm lay on the floor. One by one, staring patrons turned their heads away again. The band started another song.

Mr. Allen held out his hand. “Are you alright?”

Catherine nodded and let him help her up, still staring at the arm. The lightsaber had cut through the flesh like it was nothing, even cauterised the wound. This was the kind of weapon she carried, now, too.

Mr. Allen was still speaking, but she only caught the tail end of the sentence. “… a ship that might suit us. Come on.” He put an arm on her shoulder and led her through the crowd toward the back of the room.

Henry got up when he saw Ellie’s towering form approach his booth, both newcomers in tow. The old man looked alert but unworried, whereas the girl still seemed shaken from the altercation by the bar. He caught Ellie’s eye and gave her a questioning glance. She patted his shoulder, gestured for him to take over, and slid back into her seat in the booth.

“Henry Solo,” he introduced himself with a winning smile, arm outstretched. “Captain of the Millennium Falcon, and this is my First Mate Ellie.” He shook both their hands, and, deciding to have a little fun despite it being really neither the time nor the place, held the girl’s hand a little longer than necessary while looking intently into her eyes. “And with whom do I have the pleasure?”

Delighted, Henry noted how little it took to fluster her. Already, a light blush was showing on her otherwise pale cheeks.

“Catherine. M… Maybe just Catherine, for now, if that’s alright? And this is Mr. Allen. It is very nice to meet you.”

The old man nodded and leaned forward. “We are looking for passage to Alderaan. I have been told you have a fast ship.”

“The fastest you’ll find around here. She may not look the part, but she’s been known to outrun Imperial starships.” He leaned in himself, and, with a glance toward the girl, Catherine, he added conspiratorially: “You look like you’ll need it.”

Mr. Allen hummed noncommittally.

Henry nodded solemnly. “If I may take a guess: The two of you, two droids, and no questions asked.”

At that, Catherine gasped in surprise, and Henry did nothing to hide his self-satisfied smile.

The old man also confirmed his assumption with a slight tilt of his head. “And as soon as possible.”

Henry put on his serious business face, but inwardly he already counted his credits. They really were desperate. “Surely, you are aware that this will not come cheap. Ten thousand, all up front.” That should keep Jabba satisfied for a while.

“Ten thousand!” the girl exclaimed incredulously, “we could almost buy our own ship for that.”

Henry shrugged. “You are welcome to try.”

“We can pay you two thousand now and another fifteen when we reach Alderaan,” the old guy cut in, fixing Henry with such a calculating gaze that for a moment he was unsure who was hustling whom.

Still, the offer was good, so he reached out across the table and shook hands with Mr. Allen.

“A pleasure doing business with you.” He noticed a commotion over by the bar, where the bartender was talking to two stormtroopers and gesticulating in the general direction of their booth. “I believe this is your cue. Meet us at docking bay 94, we will leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Just as the last wisp of black hair disappeared from sight, Henry took his Tatooine Sunset and made a point of noisily slurping the last dregs of it as the lead stormtrooper stopped at their table to ask him a question.

“I’m sorry, couldn’t hear you there over the sound of my drink.” He gave them his widest, fakest smile. “No, I’ve never seen them in my life.”

Chapter Text

“People really are determined to keep me in my seat today,” Henry observed, glancing up at the blaster that Greedo pointed at his face. The green-scaled bounty hunter had intercepted him the second he tried to get up, ordering him to stay put. Thus, Henry relaxed back in his seat and gave Greedo a smile showing off all his teeth, the implications of which were probably lost on a Rodian with their species’ really tiny mouth. Ellie growled lowly beside him. “I thought I’d seen your little antennae around, but I’d never imagined you were here for me; I’m so flattered. Did Jabba send you? Have I finally become infamous enough that he wants to get rid of me? Tell me, what’s the price on my head?”

The aforementioned antennae twitched, and Greedo launched a series of grunts and clicks at him, all but confirming his suspicions. The crime lord really hadn’t taken too kindly to him losing that last shipment, and his patience had run out. When it came to money, Henry knew, even family mattered little.

“I am appalled,” he informed Greedo, lying through his teeth. “You’re wasting your time with this? It’s not even a real bounty, this is a slap on the wrist, a summon for his wayward son to come home.” He carelessly waved his hand around while the other, under the table, inched closer to the blaster he had strapped to his leg. “He could just have called, the old slug, but that’s never been his style.”

Beneath his feigned nonchalance, Henry was on high alert, tracking every single one of the bounty hunter’s movements. But even then, he wasn’t too worried about this situation. Greedo had a twitchy trigger finger but was easily distracted; he just had to stall long enough to access his weapon and he would be dealt with. But if Jabba really wanted him dead, there would be others… They had to leave. Immediately.

“In any case,” he continued, “thank you so much for the message. Since you’re already doing grunt work, would you mind telling Jabba that I’ve got the money and will get back to him at my earliest convenience?”

Greedo, with the exasperation of a man questioning why he even let him monologue that long, readjusted the grip on his own weapon. Meanwhile, Henry’s fingers finally touched the cool metal of his blaster.

Not a moment too soon.

Two shots rang out, one so close after the other that it was impossible to say who had shot first.

Greedo’s blaster bolt went wide, burrowing into the wall of their booth well above Henry’s head.

Henry’s blaster bolt would have hit precisely between the bounty hunter’s huge dark eyes. Only, he wasn’t there anymore.

“Huh,” said Henry, looking over to where Ellie had reached over the table and shoved him into the nearest wall in his moment of distraction, which seemed to have knocked the Rodian out cold. “You can be very stealthy when you want to be. Almost forgot you were there.”

Chuckling at her huff, he got up and nudged Greedo with his foot. His arm flopped to the side without any resistance, and the blaster slid out of his hand. “So did he, indeed. I had it under control, though. Admit it, you just didn’t want to lose our bet – whoa!”

For the first time today, Ellie’s roar didn’t just sound furious, it was also meant that way. She got directly into his face, snout almost touching his nose.

Henry cringed under the unexpected but fully deserved chewing out. “Alright, alright, I admit he might have hit me if you hadn’t been faster than him and I am very grateful that you didn’t let that happen. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Happy?”

Ellie huffed again but didn’t complain when he slung his arm around her waist and gave her an affectionate squeeze, holding her a little tighter than usual.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I get the impression we’re no longer welcome.”

“You should have taken me with you,” Thorpio exclaimed as soon as Catherine and Mr. Allen once again met up with the droids, “I would have gotten you a way better price than that. Wouldn’t have been the easiest feat, banged up as it is, not to mention horribly outdated, and there’s nothing that can be done about the colour, but I can guarantee you I could have gotten at least twice as much and that poor sod that bought it would have thanked me for it. You must know, I do all the negotiating for my good friend James and –“

Catherine had her doubts about that, but she let him talk, instead throwing one last lingering look over her shoulder at the landspeeder that used to be hers. She was aware that it was just a thing, and it would probably be silly to miss it, nevertheless, they had been through a lot together in the years since Richard had passed it down to her. With the Morland farm as remote as it was, her own vehicle gave her the freedom to go wherever and whenever she pleased on her own – which she didn’t do as often as might be expected. Instead, she had delighted in using it to take her younger siblings on little trips when her aunt and uncle were otherwise occupied, she had even started to teach William how to drive. She had spent a lot of time tinkering with it, even given it a new layer of paint – sky blue, the colour was called, or so the holonet claimed, even though Catherine had never seen the sky have that particular shade of blue. She liked to imagine them, though, the planets with skies that clear, the green ones, or the ones with so much water that they didn’t even need moisture farms. And during today’s adventure, the speeder had been her only bit of familiarity, the last connection to home. And now, even that was gone.

“Hurry up,” Mr. Allen’s voice cut through her thoughts, addressing all three of them. Catherine nodded and followed him, clutching the credit stick in her hand tighter. The old man had put his hood up again, probably in the hopes to attract less attention as they traversed the narrow streets of Mos Eisley. Catherine wasn’t too sure that would help, as people kept staring anyway. But maybe they stared at anything.

Fortunately, the space port wasn’t far, and soon enough, they rounded a corner and found themselves in docking bay 94. Catherine stopped in her tracks. Right in front of them was a spaceship.

The body of the ship was round and flat, with a cockpit to the side and two angular protrusions in the front. Its hull was covered with sensors and communications equipment and other important looking things Catherine could not identify. She didn’t mind that it was probably relatively small, all things considered, and looked like it had seen better days; it was a real, actual spaceship, and Catherine would be flying in it any minute now.

Captain Solo poked his head out from the boarding ramp, and there was amusement in his voice when he called over: “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? You can admire her later all you want, we’re almost ready for launch!”

Excitement fully restored, Catherine continued towards the ship, but she didn’t get far before she heard hurried footsteps from behind.

“Stop that ship! Blast them!” someone ordered in the tinny voice from a stormtrooper helmet’s vocal processor, and then the first shots whizzed by.

“Run!” Captain Solo yelled and vanished back into the ship, only to be replaced by his Wookiee first mate who raised a huge crossbow and immediately returned fire.

Catherine squeaked in surprise and fear and legged it, ducking her head and only slowed down when she was safely inside the ship. Mr. Allen and R2 were right behind her, and Thorpio who was lagging behind due to not being built for running was grabbed by a long, furry arm and unceremoniously tossed inside.

The ramp closed behind them, and Catherine finally dared to breathe again.

“That was close,” she said. “Why were they shooting at us? I mean, I know they want the droids and now you probably as well, since, you know, the bar, but isn’t shooting a bit extreme?”

Mr. Allen took down his hood and regarded her thoughtfully, but before he could say anything, the ship’s engines roared to life, and the floor started vibrating beneath their feet.

Ellie growled as she pushed past them, gesturing at them to follow her.

“Let’s go,” Mr. Allen confirmed.

They hurried down the corridor, turned a sharp corner, followed another corridor and then, finally, there was the cockpit, where Captain Solo was frantically pushing buttons and pulling levers. Ellie slid into the chair next to him and seamlessly joined him in his efforts. The dashboard blinked and beeped and hummed under their hands. Catherine watched in fascination.

“Almost there,” murmured Captain Solo, pulled another lever, and the ship began to shake in response. Ellie threw a glance back to their passengers and gave a short bark that made Catherine wince. She looked over to her comrades for help, but instead it was the captain who translated. “Hold on to something; this is going to be a wild ride!”

Hastily, Catherine followed the command, and then the ground fell away. For a moment she could see the space port spread out below them and the vast expanses of Tatooine’s dusty red deserts behind it. Then, Captain Solo pulled the Falcon’s nose up and they sped towards the sky.

Chapter Text

Henry cursed as sensors detected movement behind them.

“That looks like an Imperial cruiser. Ellie, can you hold them off while I make the jump to light speed?”

Ellie growled an acknowledgement and got to work on the deflector shield. Henry turned to the navicomputer, punching in parameters. They had just left Tatooine’s atmosphere, unharmed despite being fired at by the spaceport’s security thanks to some neat tricks he’d picked up earlier in his smuggling career, and were now heading out into open space.

Unfortunately, open space seemed to be crawling with Imperials as urgent beeping announced the arrival of two more pursuers.

“Star Destroyers? Really?” He bit back another curse, already regretting having taken this job. No amount of money in the galaxy was worth Star Destroyers. He’d rather take it up with Jabba’s goons again. Who were these people?

Finishing his calculations, he turned back to the helm and sent the Falcon spinning to throw off their targeting systems.

A large explosion bloomed outside the window, and the ship was sent careening through space as the shockwave hit them.

He was dimly aware of but did not focus on the argument that was happening at the entrance to the cockpit while his ship shook under continued weapon fire, something about the golden droid wanting to prove his superior flying abilities and the girl trying to talk him down by pointing out the difficulties of hyperspace travel and the importance of waiting for the correct data from the navicomputer, ending with: “That is the navicomputer, right?”

Henry chuckled at that, but his amusement was short-lived, as Ellie warned him that they were losing the deflector shield. Gritting his teeth, he started another set of evasive manoeuvres, until, finally, he heard the beeping from the navicomputer. With flying fingers, he transferred the data over and locked them in, and the stars outside the window turned into streaks.

The shaking stopped.

Around them glowed the mesmerizing blue swirls of the hyperspace tunnel.

Henry leaned back in his seat and just breathed for a minute, then he lifted one hand, palm open in Ellie’s direction. The Wookiee looked at him, then made a low sound in the back of her throat and touched her paw carefully to his hand.

“Thank you.” Chuckling, he got up. “You got things under control here? I’ll get our guests settled in and then get started on the repairs.”

Ellie waved him off and busied herself with dismissing alarms.

Turning towards their passengers, Henry opened his arms wide. “Welcome to hyperspace. We will reach Alderaan in about two days, so you might as well make yourself at home in the meantime.” He fixed his gaze on the old man. “And I expect recompensation for the damage we sustained. Star Destroyers were not part of the deal.”

Mr. Allen studied him for an uncomfortable amount of time, then softened his features into an indulgent half-smile. “You shall have whatever you need,” he said mildly, and stepped aside to let Henry through.

“Wonderful,” Henry snarked, just to have the last word. It unnerved him that he couldn’t read the man, couldn’t see past the mask of serenity – no further than he let him, at least. Maybe Ellie had further insights, she tended to notice a lot. He made a mental note to ask her about it later.

For now, he led the way to the lounge, indicating the way to the escape pods in the process. “Just in case we encounter another couple of Star Destroyers,” he added pointedly, then stepped into the room and turned back to face his passengers.

Catherine, who had been looking vaguely guilty at his words, gasped softly at the view that presented itself. What used to be a simple common area for the freighter’s crew had been retrofitted with a bar, a sound system, and even a dejarik table. Some might call it unnecessarily opulent, but Henry had never had any objections to traveling in style.

“Not what you expected, am I right?” Henry grinned, his mood lifting considerably at the astonishment on her face. “Make yourselves comfortable; we’ve got drinks, we’ve got music, we’ve got entertainment – feel free to use any of it; as lovely as hyperspace is, it tends to get boring after a while.”

He almost wanted to take his words back immediately when the golden droid walked over to the sound system and began to flip through the music options, quickly followed by the smaller R2 unit. Mr. Allen, meanwhile, set his sparse belongings down in a corner and settled into the dejarik booth, quietly observing.

Just Catherine remained by his side, and she looked up at him with a mixture of hesitation and hope. “I would like to see the rest of the ship, if that’s all right? Would you show me?”

“Of course.” He flashed her a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

He continued the circular walk along the corridors, showed her the airlocks and the engine room, the mostly empty cargo holds and the heavy laser turret, all the while telling her interesting facts and semi-true stories about the Falcon’s history. Catherine was an attentive listener, genuinely interested in everything he had to say, bright-eyed and full of questions that he answered only too happily, and so excited about his ship that she very well might be in love with it already, even telling him that surely she must be the very best ship in the galaxy. To his surprise, she also had an interest in the technical side of things, asking him about random pieces of machinery that he hadn’t thought to mention yet, or at all, often already having a good guess what they were for.

So, when he ended the tour at the ladder that led downward into the machine room, he remarked: “You seem to know a lot about starships for never having been on one before.”

The most delightful little blush appeared on her cheeks. “Oh, well, I read a lot. Fiction, I mean, so I don’t really know all that much, and they probably get a lot of the specifics wrong, since it’s all in the future in a galaxy far, far away, but you do pick up some things, I think.”

“A most enjoyable way of acquiring knowledge,” he nodded. “What’s your favourite?”

“The Phantastic Adventures of the Wayfarer,” Catherine answered without hesitation. “It’s just so nice how there’s no war or anything and they can explore their galaxy and discover new planets and people, but it’s still so full of suspense and adventure and – but you probably don’t know it, do you? As a starship captain yourself you surely read way more serious stuff.”

Henry laughed. “Are you kidding? I love that series! My siblings and I used to pretend we were the crew of the Wayfarer sometimes; I was the ambassador and Ellie the navigator, and we had to bully him into it but – “

Catherine stared at him with wide eyes. “Wait, you and Ellie are siblings?”

“Yes, she’s my little sister,” he replied, fully aware of the apparent absurdity of that statement but unable to stop himself, and waited eagerly for her to recalibrate her worldview.

“Huh,” she said finally. “I hadn’t thought… but now that you say it, I can see the resemblance?” She looked up at him with an unsure smile, and Henry surprised himself in finding it as endearing as it was amusing.

“She’s adopted,” he explained, deciding to ease up with the teasing a little. He was already doing everything in his power not to laugh as it was. “Or rather, we both are.”

“Oh! So am I. Adopted, that is.” Catherine stopped when a flash of – something, something unpleasant, flitted across her face.

“Well, welcome to our illustrious circle, then,” Henry said, hoping to direct her away from these unwelcome thoughts, and when that didn’t get much of a reaction from her, he went back to teasing after all. “Resemblance?”

That did get the desired effect. Catherine blushed a deep crimson and exclaimed: “You are both very tall!”

Now, he did laugh freely. “I suppose that is a family trait. Now, do you want to see the hyper drive?”

Her embarrassment immediately made space for excitement. “Yes!”

When the door finally hissed open after what must have been several days alone in his tiny, hexagonal cell, James violently flinched away from the wall that he had been inspecting for any kind of irregularities – so far, to no avail.

The first day or so, he had worried, and waited, and worried some more. Had stood up when he couldn’t take the waiting anymore, paced. Two steps, turn, two steps back, turn. Shortened his step length so he could get more paces in. Reverted. Started feeling dizzy from all the turning, so he sat back down. Only went to sleep when he was utterly exhausted.

He napped a lot after that, feeling worse than before every time. Occasionally, a hatch would open in the wall and drop a brick shaped ration into the cell. He didn’t eat the first one, full to the brim with worry, he didn’t feel like he could keep anything down. By the time the second one came, he welcomed the opportunity of having something to do, even if it was just chewing.

Briefly, he had started to talk to himself around the second, maybe third day, but stopped once he realised they could probably listen in to whatever he was saying. It was stubborn silence after that.

He wondered if they had forgotten him. If they had caught the droids and gotten everything out of them, if they didn’t need him anymore and decided to just let him rot. He wondered if he’d ever know.

He napped some more, drifting in and out of consciousness, losing track of time entirely. His thoughts grew hazy as well, melding until they became an unrecognisable gooey, disturbing mass, and he grew desperate for something, anything to occupy his mind other than what he himself could come up with.

When they came after all, it was almost a relief.

Two officers grabbed him by the elbows and marched him out of the room before he could do any more but straighten his spine for the first time in who knew how long, Darth Vader wordlessly falling in step behind them, breathing slowly and evenly down his neck.

“Governor Tarkin,” he greeted the tall, gaunt man that awaited him in a room full of spacious view screens. His voice was raspy after such long disuse, and he tried to surreptitiously clear his throat.

“Your Majesty,” Tarkin replied, his calculating gaze resting heavily on James. “I hope your accommodations were to your satisfaction.”

James blinked rapidly and shook his head, trying to clear the remains of the mental haze that fogged his brain. “As a matter of fact –,” he began, but Tarkin interrupted him.

“I was hoping you could assist us with the small matter of your pesky little rebellion. You see, we would like to have a talk with them, but they do not seem to want to be found these days. You wouldn’t perchance be able to tell us where to find them?”

James felt lightheaded. So the rebels were still safe. For now. That was good. Wasn’t it? This room didn’t look like an interrogation chamber, more like a control room of some kind, and there were entirely too many officers milling about. Why did they bring him here? “I can assure you I don’t know –,“ he started to once again feign ignorance, unable to think of a better strategy.

Tarkin waved him off. “We can circle back to your pitiful attempts at obfuscation later, your Majesty. For now, it would be my honour to invite you, as the last remaining member of the Imperial Senate, to the ceremony that will make this battle station operational. A final celebration before your execution.” He smiled his tight little smile. “No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now.”

The Senate was gone and apparently, soon so would he. James closed his eyes for a second. A strange calm washed over him. Nothing mattered anymore. “There will always be those who stand up against injustice,” he stated, steady but full of conviction.

“Ah yes, you’re referring to your little rebellion again. Don’t you worry, your Majesty, they, too, will be eradicated, with or without your help. Now that we hold the power of destroying planets, it will only be a matter of time before we find the right one. And thanks to you, the honour of being the first one to be obliterated goes to...” The governor gestured at one of his officers, and behind him, the large view screens came to life.

James couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped his lungs. There, on the screens, in the darkness of space, hung Alderaan, resplendent with its clear blue oceans and vibrant green landmasses, partially covered by fluffy white clouds.

His home.

He had lost count of how often he had seen this exact view, embarking on an interstellar journey or returning from one, but it never failed to take his breath away.

And Tarkin wanted to – no.

“No!” James interrupted Tarkin’s monologue of which he hadn’t heard a further word, cold dread seizing his chest. “Please, Governor, stop this madness, there is no need to make an example of Alderaan. I will tell you what you need to know, just, please. Spare my people, they have no part in any of this.”

Tarkin lifted an eyebrow. “See, Lord Vader, he can be reasoned with.” He returned his cold, steely gaze to James. “Well?”

James drew a pained breath. “Dantooine,” he whispered, hoping against all hope they’d believe him, they’d leave the flourishing cities and idyllic landscapes of his home be, they’d turn this terrible weapon on the long abandoned military base instead. “They are on Dantooine.”

Tarkin was quiet for a few long, terrible moments. James wanted nothing more than to shrink into the ground, away from those pale eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. Then, without even acknowledging James’s words, he turned to one of his officers. “Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready.”

James felt like he had been doused with ice cold water. “What? No! Why –”

He only noticed he had been advancing towards Tarkin when a strong hand grabbed him by the hood of his robes and held him back.

“You are far too trusting. Dantooine is too remote to make an effective demonstration,” Tarkin explained, unmoved. “But don’t worry, we will deal with your rebel friends soon enough.” He turned towards the viewscreens.

“No,” James choked, fighting against Vader’s unyielding grip.

“Commence primary ignition,” Tarkin ordered, and James couldn’t do anything but watch, helpless tears rolling down his face, as bright green light illuminated the viewscreens, multiple beams converging into one, and his life shattered before his eyes.