Please keep in mind that this is a first draft.
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Fortune's Fool
By Susan Zahn
In revolutions authority remains with the greatest of scoundrels.
--Georges Jacques Danton (1759-1794)
Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of.
--Benjamin Franklin (1706 - 1790), Poor Richard's Almanack, June 1746
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Han Solo had never been one to sit and philosophize on life, nor contemplate the deeper whys and wherefores of events in the universe. Even though he dealt on a daily basis with speeds that warped time and boggled simpler minds, he'd never wondered what time itself meant. After all, he didn't care about why the hyperdrive motivator of the Millennium Falcon worked, but rather if it worked, and making sure it stayed that way. Time was relative to him only as far as it related to how long the stretch might last between paid smuggling runs, or how many parsecs he could out-pace a Corellian-built star cruiser, or how long he could push the patience of a crime lord or a certain princess.
Now, however, Han mulled over how relative time could be, and just how significant it was to him.
For instance, how was it possible that six standard months could feel like little more than a few seconds?
"Han?"
Six months?!
His own mind boggled at that massive warp.
"Han?"
A small hand took hold of his shoulder to give a gentle squeeze, causing Han to blink and look up. Even though it seemed to swim with his blurred vision, it was without a doubt the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. Then he realized that three other sets of concerned eyes were focused on him as well, along with a few photoreceptors.
Seated on the bench along the stern railing of the armored skiff they'd liberated from Jabba the Hutt's henchmen, Han drew in a deep breath and straightened up, feeling the hot wind that buffeted them whip his hair around. The sensation at once felt overwhelming and familiar.
Manning the helm of the craft, Lando Calrissian redirected his gaze past them and called out: "We need to make a decision pretty quick. That's not looking good."
Luke Skywalker straightened up from where he'd been squatting down in front of Han. "I think we can reach the Falcon before that sand storm hits, but it really depends on how Han is feeling. Obi Wan Kenobi's homestead is closer if-"
"The Falcon," Han blurted out. He hadn't meant to sound desperate, but his first instinct was to go home, and the thought of spending the duration of a storm anywhere other than his beloved ship was motivation enough to make him adamant. Too late he realized they were still staring at him, and followed up in a more reasonable tone. "I'm okay. Don't worry about me. Let's just get off this dust ball."
"All right, Han," Luke responded with a calm smile. "I guess this place takes some getting used to."
"No offense, Kid, but if I never set foot on this planet again, I'll be a very happy man."
"No offense taken. It's not the first time I've heard that."
"Yeah, well, this time I mean it."
Luke chuckled and reached to pat him on the back. "Glad to have you back, anyway." Then he moved aft to stand beside Lando as he pointed off into the distance.
Now wrapped in a heavy cloak that provided some protection from the twin suns still bright overhead, as well as restore a bit of modesty, Princess Leia Organa resumed her seat beside him. When had she gotten up?
"You're sure-?" she began.
"I'm okay."
I'm okay. I'm just…
Inundated with the enormity of it all, he sank back into his own thoughts. His most trusted friend, Chewbacca, had briefed him while they'd spent the long night in that dank, filthy cell in Jabba the Hutt's palace dungeon, explaining the events of those six months while he'd been entombed in carbonite. How could it be that so much had changed in that long span of time, and yet nothing had happened to him in those infinite seconds?
You mean other than dying and being brought back to life? Nothing at all…
Luke's transformation, Lando's conversion, Leia's confrontation…
Still at his other side, Chewbacca's large mitt hove into view, holding a metal canteen. [You should have some water, Solo.]
Han blinked hard again, waiting for his vision to clear, and then in frustration he brought up a hand to scrub his face as he tried desperately not to worry if they were permanently damaged.
Once again he felt Leia's gentle hand, this time gripping his own as she tried to stop him from rubbing. "I'm sorry they're still bothering you, Han, but that will only make it worse. Does it hurt?" Without waiting for an answer, she mumbled something in Alderaani that he couldn't make out but could sense was negative and of distress, then she shifted beside him and glanced out past the bow of the skiff while her hand alighted on his thigh just above the knee to give a squeeze. Not expecting the intimate contact, he jumped in surprise; just as sudden as it had arrived, it was gone before he could drop a hand to keep it there.
[We have medication on the Falcon,] Chewbacca supplied. [In the meantime, you should have some water.]
"I don't want any blasted water, Chewie! Will you two stop it, all ready?"
That earned him another group stare of renewed concern, which only irritated him further.
"I don't need a nursemaid, I just need…"
I just need time…
Her voice sounding a little huskier than what he remembered, as if she were the one who needed water, Leia said, "Just a few more minutes. We're almost there."
