(no subject)
Ugh, my classes start tomorrow, and I'm hoping to get into a fourth one before then. I like psychology, but three psych classes is ... eh.
title: The Imperial Menace (5/8)
verse: Lucy
CHAPTER FIVE: HAN
Han could hear Lucy shifting around slightly-probably finding a more comfortable position for her foot. Between them, Antilles seemed to be breathing a little more deeply, but his skin was still colourless and chilled.
“Han,” Lucy murmured. She sounded almost dazed. “Can you talk to me?”
He looked at her over Antilles’ head, but couldn’t make out anything except her sodden braids. She must be leaning forward.
“Sure,” said Han, forcing energy into his voice. “What do you think’s going to happen when we get back? Another hero’s welcome?”
“Probably.” The back of her head tilted to the left; she was leaning on Antilles’ shoulder. At any other time, Han would have resented the gesture. He’d never been jealous of his friends’ lovers or his lovers’ friends (he still didn’t know which was the more accurate description of his and Lucy’s relationship). But though he liked Antilles, something about his apparently endless perfections bothered Han. Even as a friend, he thought Lucy could use someone more … interesting. Some guy with a few blemishes on his soul might be good for her. Hell, even a woman. Just not Antilles.
Right now, though, it was impossible to resent anything about the poor bastard. Those feet would have to be amputated for sure.
Han cleared his throat. “There might even be a ceremony. You can wear another frilly dress.”
“I only did that as a … thing.” She waved her hand, and Antilles muttered to himself.
“A slap in the face, yeah. Believe me, everyone knew what you meant.”
“Well, good,” said Lucy. “’Sides, I’d have to borrow another from Leia. Though that’s okay. She has great taste.” Han prudently kept his opinion to himself. “Okay, too much white. I like black better. But she won’t.”
“Huh?”
“Treat us like heroes. Bet you anything she’s furious with both of us.”
“Nah,” said Han. “Just me. She likes you, she’ll probably just pat your head and tell you to wear thicker clothes next time.”
“She likes you too,” Lucy said seriously. “She just doesn’t fuss like she does with me. You’d think she was my aunt or something. We’re actually the same age, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Han. “You told me she was seventeen too. At the Death Star.”
He’d never quite managed to believe it. Lucy had been so … adolescent. Leia’d never seemed like a kid. But then, he wasn’t sure Leia had ever been a kid.
“No, the exact same age. She was born on Empire Day too.” Lucy paused. “And it’s been almost two years. We’re not seventeen any more.”
Han coughed. “I’ve noticed.”
“I don’t feel that different, though. I mean, I guess I am, but that’s . . . the war and everything. Not turning nineteen. And I still-I can’t even believe it half the time. Lieutenant Skywalker.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Camie would never believe it.”
“Should be Commander Skywalker. Who’s Camie?” said Han, not terribly interested, but determined to keep her talking.
“She was one of my friends back home. Well, not a friend, really. She didn’t like me. And honestly, I didn’t like her either.” Han stifled a chuckle. “But we were part of the same group. Tank and the Fixer and Camie and me and . . . the rest. Camie and I were the only girls. But she was more of a tomboy than me. Except when it came to machines.”
“This other girl wasn’t any good at flying, I guess?”
“No, she was,” Lucy said, and added frankly, “I was just better. It didn’t make her like me any more.”
Han laughed out loud that time. “Usually doesn’t.”
“She wasn’t terrible or anything, though, just-tough. One of the boys. I was more like . . . Leia, I suppose. Braids and blasters.” Lucy chuckled, then sobered. “Camie was happy enough with her parents’ farm and the station. I-I knew I shouldn’t, but I always wanted more. Bigger causes, faster speeders. Poor Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had to put up with an awful lot.”
“I can believe it. But Leia’s pretty tough,” said Han, considering. “In her way.”
“That’s what I mean. It’s not Camie’s way. She’d never sit through boring political meetings or stay back and give orders. Not much for calming anyone down, either. She just looked out for herself and the people she liked. She was a good friend, if you were her friend.” Lucy leaned forward to look at him, a faint smile curving her lips. “I bet she’d have liked you. But not me. She was sure I’d never amount to anything. She didn’t even believe me when I said my father had been a pilot.”
“Huh. Haven’t been many places they don’t know who Anakin Skywalker was,” said Han.
“Really?” Her eyes lit up.
Han searched through the bags for a stim shot. They all carried them for emergencies; Lucy had undoubtedly already used hers, but Antilles wouldn’t make it much longer without one. “Yeah. I mean, where I grew up, our parents weren’t exactly sitting down to a nice cup of tea and the HoloNet. I never saw a Jedi, even before the Empire. But we were still all playing Clone Wars. My friends and me, we used to fight over who was going to be Skywalker and Kenobi, and who had to be Separatist droids.”
Lucy pressed her hands against the floor and pushed herself forward, just far enough that Han could see her without either of them craning their necks. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Who were you?”
Han laughed. “Skywalker.”
“Best starpilot in the galaxy?”
“That’s right.”
They smiled at each other, then glanced away.
“It’s funny,” Lucy said, “that it’d be his home planet where they don’t know what he became.”
Skywalker became a martyr, Han thought. Just like all the rest. Like you’re gonna be, and Leia-
Lucy pulled her glove off. Shivering, she pressed her hand against her commander’s cheek and then his forehead. Her brows drew together.
“But I wanna be Kenobi,” mumbled Antilles.
Han glanced at her. “Sounds like he’s still with us.”
“For the moment. I think he’s getting worse, though. Our body warmth isn’t enough to get him through the night.” Lucy bit her lip. “We’ll be lucky if it’s enough to get us through.”
Han held up the syringe he’d dug out of his packs. “He’ll need this, but even with it-” He peered into Antilles’ glazed eyes. The other man didn’t seem to even register his presence.
“I’ll give it to him.”
She stripped Antilles’ arm to the skin, talking in the same soft voice she’d used with the tauntaun-now that, he thought idly, was nothing like Leia’s, except every now and then when she addressed Lucy herself.
Antilles scarcely stirred. Without a word, Han handed the syringe to Lucy and got to his feet, walking towards the forefront of the chamber and leaning his arm against the wall. They might very well die out here, lucky even if their corpses got found. Antilles almost certainly wouldn’t make it. Even after killing that monster, their chances-
The monster. Han stared at the animal’s vast corpse. Something of that size would retain heat for awhile. A long while.
He turned on his heel and jogged back to the rear of the cave, where Lucy was rolling Antilles’ sleeve back down and replacing his gloves. His head did little more than roll to the side, but he managed to track their movements.
“Lucy. Shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t have . . .” Antilles squeezed his eyes shut, then with a visible effort, said, “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
“Nonsense,” said Lucy crisply. She was blinking rapidly enough that Han suspected she could do with another shot herself.
“Need . . . the squadron.”
She managed a reassuring smile. “I arranged everything. I've put Hobbie in command until we get back.”
“Hobbie?” Antilles shut his eyes again. “Aw, shit.”
“I don’t think he’ll get the Rogues decommissioned in twelve hours,” said Lucy. “And you know he’s readier than Wes. It’ll be fine.”
“When you base . . . to m’sister,” said Antilles. His gaze was already unfocusing again.
“I’ll tell her anything you want her to know,” Lucy promised.
“Imps never know what hit them. That right? Skywalker, Janson, you’re with me. All set?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lucy, resting her fingers against his forehead again, then withdrawing them before Antilles could swat her hand away. She glanced over her shoulder at Han, her eyes wide and frightened. Fever, she mouthed.
“I’ve got an idea. Give me your lightsaber.”
She frowned, but tossed it up at him. If it’d been lit, she would have sliced his head off; as it was, he barely managed to catch it. She was getting worse, too.
Han ignited the lightsaber and walked forward, towards the dead monster. He thought of trying to drag it back towards them, but admitted to himself that he didn’t have the strength-probably not even if he weren’t cold, wet, and thoroughly weary. Instead he walked around the back, towards the creature’s belly, and grimaced.
“Smells bad enough on the outside,” he muttered, and sliced it open with an awkward swipe of the lightsaber. “Lucy, can he stand?”
Belatedly, he remembered the man’s clinking feet.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I can, if you need help-”
“No!” Han hurried back, just able to make his way by the blue-white glow of the blade. Only a few minutes left until full night, now. He tried to think of a way he could both illuminate his path and drag the delirious Antilles, and came up with nothing. “Fine. Yeah. I’ll need light. Just hang on to the wall, okay?”
He helped her up and returned the lightsaber to her. Over the next few minutes, he dragged Antilles towards the monster’s corpse, while Lucy staggered along the cave wall, the pale gleam of the lightsaber shivering.
“What-what are you going to do?” she said.
“That thing’s still warm-on the inside, anyway. And we’re just losing heat to him. We’ll all have a better chance this way.” He stopped by the beast, taking a few deep breaths. The air seemed to burn its way down his throat.
“You’re going to put Wedge inside the monster’s body,” Lucy said. A note of disgust crept into her flat voice. “With the organs and . . . things.”
Han hoisted the barely-conscious man up by his armpits and stuffed him inside, tucking his legs in after him. “He can thank me later.”
“Right,” said Lucy dazedly.
He pushed Antilles deeper into the animal’s body, pulling the flaps of skin down over everything but his face. Then Han turned and made his way over to the wobbling Lucy. He didn’t even try to pick her up this time; as small and light as she was, he doubted he had the strength left to carry her, and she might very well take off his head with her sword. Instead he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she leaned against his side, and they staggered back to the rear of the cave.
He didn’t release his grip on her when they slid down to the floor. Lucy extinguished her lightsaber.
“Han,” she said, then paused. “You’re warmer.”
I’m not dying, thought Han. Yet. “So are you. We didn’t get captured by a snow monster and left hanging in its cave for hours on end, even if you did take a nap out there.”
“It was stupid, I know. I was just-” She yawned- “so tired.”
Han cleared his throat. “You don’t have to feel too bad for Antilles, you know. The Rebellion has the best prosthetics in the galaxy. And I’m sure he’ll have a blast telling stories about the night he spent between Solo and Skywalker.”
She elbowed him, weakly enough that he could scarcely tell she had. Han managed to chuckle.
“Threesomes not your thing?” he drawled.
“Not with my commanding officer,” said Lucy primly. Then she yawned again, a sudden weight pressing against his shoulder, something soft, cold and damp brushing against his cheek. Her hair, half-soaked, half still caked with snow. She shouldn’t let her head drop, he thought, his own stiffly upright: but even he, with his much larger bulk, was growing drowsier by the minute, and it didn’t seem too important. If she were to sleep, she would do so whether she forced her head upright or let herself lean on him. She might not even be drifting off, just seeking-if only by instinct-his greater warmth. He shifted closer to her, muttering something that struck him as immensely witty.
Lucy didn’t reply. He heard her slow, deep breaths, and felt a flicker of arm. He had to wake her up-in just a moment-he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, she was gone.
Clearly the sleep itself had not taken her, and they couldn’t have slept long: it was still dark, if not the utter black of before. The rest seemed to have done him little harm; when he reached out and felt nothing but the frosty night air, he sprang to his feet, instantly alert. Surely if she’d been dragged off by some other beast, it wouldn’t have left Han so entirely unmolested? He’d woken in the exact same position he’d gone to sleep-and why would an animal have chosen Lucy over Han, anyway?
“Lucy? Lucy!” Han shouted, running forward. The first time he walked into a wall, he slowed down enough to look for their telltale glimmers before he abused his body further. He all but stumbled into the snow monster, though, which incongruously gave a small grunt. Right, Antilles; Han re-oriented himself towards the cave entrance.
As he approached, his vision cleared further. Hoth’s moon had risen high in the sky. He could just make out the figure sprawled out in the entrance, her injured leg bent at an awkward, unnatural angle.
“Lucy!”
Running the rest of the way, Han knelt beside Lucy’s prone body. She wasn’t dead; he could see her breath on the air, the slight motion of her lips. Still, he ripped off his glove and checked her skin and her pulse, just as she had done with Wedge. Her pulse was still strong and her flesh only a little chilled. He breathed a sigh of relief and, thankful for the burst of energy that rest and adrenaline had given him, lifted her up again. This time Lucy didn’t protest.
“Ben,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “Dagobah system. Ben. Yoda . . .”
She sounded as delirious as her commander. There were no drugs left to give her; Han just carried Lucy back to the rear of the cave, sat down without releasing his grip on her, and poked and prodded her when she looked like she might be falling asleep again. They could do nothing but wait for morning.
Those last three or four hours were some of the longest he ever passed, with nothing to occupy his mind beyond the deathly cold, and no conversation possible with Lucy, whose incoherent rambles had long since given way to silence. Inevitably, however, the sky continued to lighten and the sun rose on Hoth. Morning had arrived.
Lucy seemed lucid enough, so Han walked just outside the cave, hoping to catch any signals from the inevitable search party. Within twenty minutes, his transmitter buzzed.
“This is Rogue Two. This is Rogue Two. Captain Solo, do you copy? Commander Antilles, do you copy? Lieutenant Skywalker, do you copy? This is Rogue Two.”
Han could just make out a snowspeeder in the distance. He waved one arm back and forth, raising the transmitter to his mouth with his free hand.
“Good morning,” he replied, and laughed out loud. “Nice of you to drop by!”
title: The Imperial Menace (5/8)
verse: Lucy
CHAPTER FIVE: HAN
Han could hear Lucy shifting around slightly-probably finding a more comfortable position for her foot. Between them, Antilles seemed to be breathing a little more deeply, but his skin was still colourless and chilled.
“Han,” Lucy murmured. She sounded almost dazed. “Can you talk to me?”
He looked at her over Antilles’ head, but couldn’t make out anything except her sodden braids. She must be leaning forward.
“Sure,” said Han, forcing energy into his voice. “What do you think’s going to happen when we get back? Another hero’s welcome?”
“Probably.” The back of her head tilted to the left; she was leaning on Antilles’ shoulder. At any other time, Han would have resented the gesture. He’d never been jealous of his friends’ lovers or his lovers’ friends (he still didn’t know which was the more accurate description of his and Lucy’s relationship). But though he liked Antilles, something about his apparently endless perfections bothered Han. Even as a friend, he thought Lucy could use someone more … interesting. Some guy with a few blemishes on his soul might be good for her. Hell, even a woman. Just not Antilles.
Right now, though, it was impossible to resent anything about the poor bastard. Those feet would have to be amputated for sure.
Han cleared his throat. “There might even be a ceremony. You can wear another frilly dress.”
“I only did that as a … thing.” She waved her hand, and Antilles muttered to himself.
“A slap in the face, yeah. Believe me, everyone knew what you meant.”
“Well, good,” said Lucy. “’Sides, I’d have to borrow another from Leia. Though that’s okay. She has great taste.” Han prudently kept his opinion to himself. “Okay, too much white. I like black better. But she won’t.”
“Huh?”
“Treat us like heroes. Bet you anything she’s furious with both of us.”
“Nah,” said Han. “Just me. She likes you, she’ll probably just pat your head and tell you to wear thicker clothes next time.”
“She likes you too,” Lucy said seriously. “She just doesn’t fuss like she does with me. You’d think she was my aunt or something. We’re actually the same age, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Han. “You told me she was seventeen too. At the Death Star.”
He’d never quite managed to believe it. Lucy had been so … adolescent. Leia’d never seemed like a kid. But then, he wasn’t sure Leia had ever been a kid.
“No, the exact same age. She was born on Empire Day too.” Lucy paused. “And it’s been almost two years. We’re not seventeen any more.”
Han coughed. “I’ve noticed.”
“I don’t feel that different, though. I mean, I guess I am, but that’s . . . the war and everything. Not turning nineteen. And I still-I can’t even believe it half the time. Lieutenant Skywalker.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Camie would never believe it.”
“Should be Commander Skywalker. Who’s Camie?” said Han, not terribly interested, but determined to keep her talking.
“She was one of my friends back home. Well, not a friend, really. She didn’t like me. And honestly, I didn’t like her either.” Han stifled a chuckle. “But we were part of the same group. Tank and the Fixer and Camie and me and . . . the rest. Camie and I were the only girls. But she was more of a tomboy than me. Except when it came to machines.”
“This other girl wasn’t any good at flying, I guess?”
“No, she was,” Lucy said, and added frankly, “I was just better. It didn’t make her like me any more.”
Han laughed out loud that time. “Usually doesn’t.”
“She wasn’t terrible or anything, though, just-tough. One of the boys. I was more like . . . Leia, I suppose. Braids and blasters.” Lucy chuckled, then sobered. “Camie was happy enough with her parents’ farm and the station. I-I knew I shouldn’t, but I always wanted more. Bigger causes, faster speeders. Poor Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had to put up with an awful lot.”
“I can believe it. But Leia’s pretty tough,” said Han, considering. “In her way.”
“That’s what I mean. It’s not Camie’s way. She’d never sit through boring political meetings or stay back and give orders. Not much for calming anyone down, either. She just looked out for herself and the people she liked. She was a good friend, if you were her friend.” Lucy leaned forward to look at him, a faint smile curving her lips. “I bet she’d have liked you. But not me. She was sure I’d never amount to anything. She didn’t even believe me when I said my father had been a pilot.”
“Huh. Haven’t been many places they don’t know who Anakin Skywalker was,” said Han.
“Really?” Her eyes lit up.
Han searched through the bags for a stim shot. They all carried them for emergencies; Lucy had undoubtedly already used hers, but Antilles wouldn’t make it much longer without one. “Yeah. I mean, where I grew up, our parents weren’t exactly sitting down to a nice cup of tea and the HoloNet. I never saw a Jedi, even before the Empire. But we were still all playing Clone Wars. My friends and me, we used to fight over who was going to be Skywalker and Kenobi, and who had to be Separatist droids.”
Lucy pressed her hands against the floor and pushed herself forward, just far enough that Han could see her without either of them craning their necks. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Who were you?”
Han laughed. “Skywalker.”
“Best starpilot in the galaxy?”
“That’s right.”
They smiled at each other, then glanced away.
“It’s funny,” Lucy said, “that it’d be his home planet where they don’t know what he became.”
Skywalker became a martyr, Han thought. Just like all the rest. Like you’re gonna be, and Leia-
Lucy pulled her glove off. Shivering, she pressed her hand against her commander’s cheek and then his forehead. Her brows drew together.
“But I wanna be Kenobi,” mumbled Antilles.
Han glanced at her. “Sounds like he’s still with us.”
“For the moment. I think he’s getting worse, though. Our body warmth isn’t enough to get him through the night.” Lucy bit her lip. “We’ll be lucky if it’s enough to get us through.”
Han held up the syringe he’d dug out of his packs. “He’ll need this, but even with it-” He peered into Antilles’ glazed eyes. The other man didn’t seem to even register his presence.
“I’ll give it to him.”
She stripped Antilles’ arm to the skin, talking in the same soft voice she’d used with the tauntaun-now that, he thought idly, was nothing like Leia’s, except every now and then when she addressed Lucy herself.
Antilles scarcely stirred. Without a word, Han handed the syringe to Lucy and got to his feet, walking towards the forefront of the chamber and leaning his arm against the wall. They might very well die out here, lucky even if their corpses got found. Antilles almost certainly wouldn’t make it. Even after killing that monster, their chances-
The monster. Han stared at the animal’s vast corpse. Something of that size would retain heat for awhile. A long while.
He turned on his heel and jogged back to the rear of the cave, where Lucy was rolling Antilles’ sleeve back down and replacing his gloves. His head did little more than roll to the side, but he managed to track their movements.
“Lucy. Shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t have . . .” Antilles squeezed his eyes shut, then with a visible effort, said, “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
“Nonsense,” said Lucy crisply. She was blinking rapidly enough that Han suspected she could do with another shot herself.
“Need . . . the squadron.”
She managed a reassuring smile. “I arranged everything. I've put Hobbie in command until we get back.”
“Hobbie?” Antilles shut his eyes again. “Aw, shit.”
“I don’t think he’ll get the Rogues decommissioned in twelve hours,” said Lucy. “And you know he’s readier than Wes. It’ll be fine.”
“When you base . . . to m’sister,” said Antilles. His gaze was already unfocusing again.
“I’ll tell her anything you want her to know,” Lucy promised.
“Imps never know what hit them. That right? Skywalker, Janson, you’re with me. All set?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lucy, resting her fingers against his forehead again, then withdrawing them before Antilles could swat her hand away. She glanced over her shoulder at Han, her eyes wide and frightened. Fever, she mouthed.
“I’ve got an idea. Give me your lightsaber.”
She frowned, but tossed it up at him. If it’d been lit, she would have sliced his head off; as it was, he barely managed to catch it. She was getting worse, too.
Han ignited the lightsaber and walked forward, towards the dead monster. He thought of trying to drag it back towards them, but admitted to himself that he didn’t have the strength-probably not even if he weren’t cold, wet, and thoroughly weary. Instead he walked around the back, towards the creature’s belly, and grimaced.
“Smells bad enough on the outside,” he muttered, and sliced it open with an awkward swipe of the lightsaber. “Lucy, can he stand?”
Belatedly, he remembered the man’s clinking feet.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I can, if you need help-”
“No!” Han hurried back, just able to make his way by the blue-white glow of the blade. Only a few minutes left until full night, now. He tried to think of a way he could both illuminate his path and drag the delirious Antilles, and came up with nothing. “Fine. Yeah. I’ll need light. Just hang on to the wall, okay?”
He helped her up and returned the lightsaber to her. Over the next few minutes, he dragged Antilles towards the monster’s corpse, while Lucy staggered along the cave wall, the pale gleam of the lightsaber shivering.
“What-what are you going to do?” she said.
“That thing’s still warm-on the inside, anyway. And we’re just losing heat to him. We’ll all have a better chance this way.” He stopped by the beast, taking a few deep breaths. The air seemed to burn its way down his throat.
“You’re going to put Wedge inside the monster’s body,” Lucy said. A note of disgust crept into her flat voice. “With the organs and . . . things.”
Han hoisted the barely-conscious man up by his armpits and stuffed him inside, tucking his legs in after him. “He can thank me later.”
“Right,” said Lucy dazedly.
He pushed Antilles deeper into the animal’s body, pulling the flaps of skin down over everything but his face. Then Han turned and made his way over to the wobbling Lucy. He didn’t even try to pick her up this time; as small and light as she was, he doubted he had the strength left to carry her, and she might very well take off his head with her sword. Instead he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she leaned against his side, and they staggered back to the rear of the cave.
He didn’t release his grip on her when they slid down to the floor. Lucy extinguished her lightsaber.
“Han,” she said, then paused. “You’re warmer.”
I’m not dying, thought Han. Yet. “So are you. We didn’t get captured by a snow monster and left hanging in its cave for hours on end, even if you did take a nap out there.”
“It was stupid, I know. I was just-” She yawned- “so tired.”
Han cleared his throat. “You don’t have to feel too bad for Antilles, you know. The Rebellion has the best prosthetics in the galaxy. And I’m sure he’ll have a blast telling stories about the night he spent between Solo and Skywalker.”
She elbowed him, weakly enough that he could scarcely tell she had. Han managed to chuckle.
“Threesomes not your thing?” he drawled.
“Not with my commanding officer,” said Lucy primly. Then she yawned again, a sudden weight pressing against his shoulder, something soft, cold and damp brushing against his cheek. Her hair, half-soaked, half still caked with snow. She shouldn’t let her head drop, he thought, his own stiffly upright: but even he, with his much larger bulk, was growing drowsier by the minute, and it didn’t seem too important. If she were to sleep, she would do so whether she forced her head upright or let herself lean on him. She might not even be drifting off, just seeking-if only by instinct-his greater warmth. He shifted closer to her, muttering something that struck him as immensely witty.
Lucy didn’t reply. He heard her slow, deep breaths, and felt a flicker of arm. He had to wake her up-in just a moment-he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, she was gone.
Clearly the sleep itself had not taken her, and they couldn’t have slept long: it was still dark, if not the utter black of before. The rest seemed to have done him little harm; when he reached out and felt nothing but the frosty night air, he sprang to his feet, instantly alert. Surely if she’d been dragged off by some other beast, it wouldn’t have left Han so entirely unmolested? He’d woken in the exact same position he’d gone to sleep-and why would an animal have chosen Lucy over Han, anyway?
“Lucy? Lucy!” Han shouted, running forward. The first time he walked into a wall, he slowed down enough to look for their telltale glimmers before he abused his body further. He all but stumbled into the snow monster, though, which incongruously gave a small grunt. Right, Antilles; Han re-oriented himself towards the cave entrance.
As he approached, his vision cleared further. Hoth’s moon had risen high in the sky. He could just make out the figure sprawled out in the entrance, her injured leg bent at an awkward, unnatural angle.
“Lucy!”
Running the rest of the way, Han knelt beside Lucy’s prone body. She wasn’t dead; he could see her breath on the air, the slight motion of her lips. Still, he ripped off his glove and checked her skin and her pulse, just as she had done with Wedge. Her pulse was still strong and her flesh only a little chilled. He breathed a sigh of relief and, thankful for the burst of energy that rest and adrenaline had given him, lifted her up again. This time Lucy didn’t protest.
“Ben,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “Dagobah system. Ben. Yoda . . .”
She sounded as delirious as her commander. There were no drugs left to give her; Han just carried Lucy back to the rear of the cave, sat down without releasing his grip on her, and poked and prodded her when she looked like she might be falling asleep again. They could do nothing but wait for morning.
Those last three or four hours were some of the longest he ever passed, with nothing to occupy his mind beyond the deathly cold, and no conversation possible with Lucy, whose incoherent rambles had long since given way to silence. Inevitably, however, the sky continued to lighten and the sun rose on Hoth. Morning had arrived.
Lucy seemed lucid enough, so Han walked just outside the cave, hoping to catch any signals from the inevitable search party. Within twenty minutes, his transmitter buzzed.
“This is Rogue Two. This is Rogue Two. Captain Solo, do you copy? Commander Antilles, do you copy? Lieutenant Skywalker, do you copy? This is Rogue Two.”
Han could just make out a snowspeeder in the distance. He waved one arm back and forth, raising the transmitter to his mouth with his free hand.
“Good morning,” he replied, and laughed out loud. “Nice of you to drop by!”