round robin for fans of Han, Chewie, Admiral Thrawn & General Kenobi

Dear fellow fanfic writers: I excised the below from a story because it didn't fit where the story eventually went. (Hate it when that happens.) I have changed a few names and facts (to protect the guilty) and offer it to anyone who cares to continue it. I might jump into the round robin later; then again, I might not.

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I guess it got started when the Hammerhead insisted I venture outside his house. Well, strictly speaking it started with the establishment of the Senate some 25,000 years ago, or at the very latest a few millennia later when the Jedi went into law enforcement, but I really should start in my lifetime, preferably after I reached my majority. It's just that I hate talking about Tatooine. Gods, what a dump! Makes Gamorr look like a thriving cultural center.

Anyway, Momaw said Mos Eisley was my home now, and I had to learn my way around. He wasn't going to be around forever, he said. What if something should happen to him? Fortunately, nothing did, but still he insisted. By the time he went home to Ithor, I knew every square centimeter of town, except for the inside of some particularly rough joints. I'm still curious about Chalmun's Cantina.

For my first time outside his house in a year, Momaw gave me a simple task: go to Watto Junior's, buy a power cell, and bring it home. Looking back on it, I can't believe what I put Momaw through before I'd do that much. We built a scale model of Mos Eisley, with extra detail on the path to Junior's and back. And I made Momaw buy me a blaster. I would not set one toe outside without some sort of weapon on me. I can still see him holding the blaster out to me between two fat fingers, as squeamish as if it were a week-dead womp-rat.

Poor Momaw. There was no hatred in him; the very thought of weaponry made him nauseous. But it's a good thing I made him get that blaster.

I got to Junior's without incident and snapped up the first overpriced cell he showed me. (I really should have haggled, but I was in a hurry and Junior knew it.) While scurrying home, power cell in my sweaty grasp, something I saw from the corner of my eye stopped me in my tracks. It was a Rodian carrying a human child. In the Core, I would have taken no notice. But this was the Rim, where tribalism reigned. The Outer Rim, yet. No human family on Tatooine would hire a Rodian as a nanny, or even a baby-sitter. And he was being awfully furtive. He ducked into a side alley and out of sight almost before I could register what I'd seen.

Automatic pilot took over. I didn't think; I just acted. Trying to be casual, I took the same side alley the Rodian had. When out of sight of the main thoroughfare, I turned on the speed. Yeah, I'm no expert, but I can Force-run if I have to. Almost crashed into a wall, took a wrong turn, reversed, and took what was the correct turn? there was the Rodian, not far ahead of me. I backed up behind the corner, stopped, put down the power cell and drew my blaster. Made sure it was set on low. Peeked around the corner. The Rodian had also stopped and was looking about, all nervous. Maybe he'd heard me. I waited until his back was towards me, zipped up behind him and zapped the back of his head. That way he never saw me, and the blast didn't hit the kid.

As the Rodian fell, I caught the kid and did a quick inspection. Not quite a meter high, about fifteen kilos mass. Slender little thing, but not malnourished. He was clean under the daily layer of dust everybody picks up on Tatooine. His fingernails were neatly trimmed. He was way too quiet. He should have been fighting, or crying, or both. Instead he nestled against me, limp as a sleepy pittin and totally content. Had some of the blast hit him? I stroked down his soft blonde hair. I sniffed his face and smelled sweetblossom.

I went cold. Not from the sweetblossom, either. All the air flew out of my lungs. I gasped, saw little flashing dots, then saw solid red. ?Idiot!? I hissed through gritted teeth, and kicked the Rodian's ribcage. ?You stupid s---head!? Each word p

 

Interesting, but you might want to replace some of the letters in the expletives with asterisks. (Board rules an' all.)

 

Whoops, that's right. Will do.

 

BlasTech:

[translated from the original Talz] Shut up. Go away. Die.

Melly:

Yeah, that's BlasTech, all right. Bless him, I thought he'd bought it. So the yak-yak drugs don't work on him! You'd think he'd express some gratitude to you, our hosts. After all, we're no longer freezing our asses off on Hoth. At least it's a little warmer here.

BlasTech comes from the same orphanage Blue and I did. At least a generation earlier; I'm not sure how long Talz live. He was left on the doorstep, in a crate used to ship? you guessed it: blasters! Now, my crate was labelled "Melaniné-1138". That might even be my official name. It's an ingredient for foundation and/or sunscreen.

I was such a whiny brat. I thought it was just terrible, being a poor widdle orphan child. I was sure I was royalty, treacherously deprived of my birthright. Or at the very least, the product of innocent young lovers torn apart by cruel fate. Maybe one or both fairy tales are true . . . but I doubt it. Because I never tried to find out for sure. I know I could have, if I'd really wanted to.

Blue Boy had it right all along. "We're children of the Force," he'd say, with that lovely smile and those ruby eyes, like a painting come to life. "And the Force chooses its own."

He always had the right attitude. He didn't let little things get to him. I don't know where he got that incredible self-possession. He must have been what Ithorians call an old soul. Me, I'm a baby, on my first time around. I loathed the institutional discipline that suited Blue like a second skin. I shouldn't have had to put up with such nonsense; I was a princess! (Or at least a duchess.) But now that I've seen the world, I know a lot of other kids had it a lot worse. A helluva lot worse. If you must be a poor widdle orphan child, Alderaan is the best place to be one.

Whoops? only Alderaan's gone boom. I keep forgetting that.

I'm no tactician, but I can't help but think that wasting Alderaan was a dumb move. That turned a lot of upright citizens against you Imps. How many more Death Stars can you build before everybody rebels against paying taxes for those damned things? No wonder the Empire's suffering such a brain drain.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

I can't help but feel we're drifting off subject. What was the nature of your relationship with Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Melly:

We didn't have a f---ing relationship. [laughs] Oh, wait, strike that. Yeah. We did have a f---ing relationship. I was his f---ing slave. Ben Kenobi officially purchased me from Momaw Nadon. He had papers on me and everything. And an explosive implant under my breastbone. All nice and legal, by Hutt law. If you boys think Core law means anything on Tatooine, you've got another think coming.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Was Kenobi retaliating because of your rudeness to him?

Melly:

Don't talk so wetheaded. He didn't have money to blow on little s--- like that. Although I did go pretty cheap. Not only did Kenobi whammy Momaw into selling me, they classified me "unskilled"! What an insult.

[long pause]

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Please continue.

Melly:

He ... needed me on Tatooine. I'd had every intention of blowing that lousy rock the minute I got the cash together. Alderaan was getting too hot; I was thinking about Ithor ... jeez, I wonder whatever happened to Momaw ... Whoo! I made a funny! Alderaan got too hot, all right!

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Why did Kenobi need to keep you on Tatooine?

Melly:

Guess.

Medic:

Sir, she's going to end up back in bacta if you don't stop soon. That would only delay?

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Very well. We'll continue tomorrow.

Melly:

Aw, we were just getting to the good part.

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Author's note: I am inspired by this paragraph from DBKate's story "Eclipse" (boy, can that girl write) which made me wonder, Jus

 

Kenobi laid a trap, and I walked right into it. I can't believe how stupid I was. Like one of those kid runaways from the Rim that end up in Coruscant Grand Station?

Excuse me, Imperial Central Grand Station. Those poor dumb kids think the slick-dressed scum that greet them there will make them stars. Right. Stars in tri-D pornos, being ****ed to bits by Dugs and Hutts. Brother Daisy told us orphans about the real world. He taught us how to look after ourselves, because Force knows nobody else would.

But then, I wasn't exactly one of Brother Daisy's star pupils.

Maybe I should be reassured by all the trouble Kenobi took. It's not like he showed his true face right away. He took his sweet time earning my trust. Making friends. He was in no hurry, and I was valuable property. I was a potential source of great power. He wasn't about to spook me before I was good and his. It helped that he was friends with Momaw Nadon. I should have realized that that sweet Hammerhead would befriend anyone who'd while away the hours with him, drinking his horrible tea and debating pacifist philosophy.

Crazy old wizard, my ass.

Then one day I wake up and Momaw Nadon is nowhere in the house. I wake up with a chest sore from the bomb Kenobi had planted in it. And there's nobody there but him. Crazy Ben Kenobi. The once and future General Obi-Wan Kenobi. Who calmly informs me that he's bought the Hammerhead's house and everything in it. Including me.

 

Maybe you should put italics in the flashbacks (or flashforwards). The chronology is a bit confusing. Actually, very confusing. But it's extremely . . . interesting.

 

After the disastrous rout at Hoth, Chewbacca kept a close eye on his honor brother. He took a long-overdue leave to visit Malla and the children, quite literally dragging Han with him. In Chewbacca's strong opinion, Han could use a taste of normal domesticity. Or as close to normal as these hard times allowed.

Ah, sweet Kashyyyk. Lush scents of love and security. Home. Family. The strong, safe arms of Mallatobuck.

Chewbacca would have been the happiest of Wookiees, if not for the fact that Kashyyyk worked no magic on Han. He watched now as Han let the twins crawl all over him. Such a sweet tableau. Uncle Han in the nursery, gently playing with the baby girls. Han was not enjoying it, but nonetheless indulged their infant antics. This disturbed Chewbacca. Not the fact that Han wasn't enjoying it?

It was the fact that Han was being . . . so patient. Far more patient than he should have been. Han should have shrugged himself away from the twins an hour ago with a polite comment about how cute they were. Then he should have fled to help Lumpy watch some idiot kid-vid. Not one of Han's favorite pastimes, but it beat being drenched in baby drool.

Han was not himself. Because of the one who was lost at Hoth. One of many, oh so many lost, but the only one who mattered to Han. The one who called herself Melly. Chewbacca snarled softly, devoutly wishing the woman would stay lost. Even as he wished it, he knew this thing would not be resolved so easily. Han was hooked on her.

Chewbacca stifled a groan. For three years now he had valiantly endeavored to accept Melly. His visceral dislike of her wasn't rooted in anything specific. He should have liked her. She was a good soldier and a decent mechanic. She did her fair share of the work, and a bit more, competently and without complaint. That alone should have earned his respect. Despite strenuous propaganda to the contrary (Chewbacca shuddered at the memory of the latest low-budget vid), there was a great deal of drudgery involved in running a Rebellion.

Chewbacca was forced to admit that he just didn't like the woman's attitude. Even for a human, she had too much of a slave mentality. And he smelled something unhealthy in Melly's dealings with General Kenobi. She was supposed to be Kenobi's apprentice. That's what Kenobi called her, but it did not escape Chewbacca's notice that Melly never referred to herself as such. She didn't refer to Kenobi at all if she could help it. When she could not escape mentioning Kenobi, a whiff of hostility chilled the air, try though she might to hide it.

It made no sense. Melly had no honor debt to Kenobi. There was no amicable concord of any kind between them. She regarded him with a sullen fear. The only explanation Chewbacca could think of was that Kenobi was blackmailing Melly. That made sense. Chewbacca would not put seriously illegal or even immoral dealings past the woman. But that didn't seem to fit the picture, somehow.

With a chill, Chewbacca knew it wouldn't be over until he knew exactly what held Melly to the Rebellion. So be it. The sooner he found out, the better.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Han was distantly aware of one twin yanking at his hair and the other chewing on his booted ankle. He didn't care. The little monsters could set him on fire and peed on him to douse it for all he cared. He was trying to paint a portrait of Melly in his mind.

It was funny, but Han couldn't picture her face. Except for her eyes. Big dark eyes. Yeah, she had beautiful eyes. A warm clear brown with little amber flecks. Like old Corellian brandy. Like high-grade mynock repellant. Han had a weakness for big dark eyes. Try though he might, though, the rest of her face escaped him. He wasn't even sure what kind of hair she wore. But he couldn't forget that body. Tall and slender and graceful and strong. Like Bria. The way she moved. Like a dancer. Like Bria.

Han felt his pulse quicken, then thrum his whole body with longing. For a brief moment all the pain fell away.

Yeah. Oh, yeah.

It didn't hurt

 

Melly:

Brother Daisy reared us to be soldiers. I hated it. I still hate it, but I can do it all right. If nothing else, my nameless ancestors bequeathed me with strength and endurance. And it helps to be Force-strong.

Blue Boy, now, he loved the soldier's life. Even at the end, he never regretted it. He was happy to follow in the steps of his nameless ancestors. Despite his brave policy of not caring where we came from, Blue had started reading about the Chiss. And the Chiss believed in dying gallantly and gracefully.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Is there a point to this?

Melly:

It's plot exposition; it's gotta go somewhere. No, seriously, it's related. Maybe. It's not like the babble juice you're feeding me helps me think straight. You wanna hear about the night before the morning I woke up with a bomb in my chest? It's good for a laugh.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

I'm breathless with anticipation.

Melly:

Up yours, pal.

[short pause]

Where was I?

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Kenobi.

Melly:

Oh, yeah. He's the whole point of our little chats, ain't he?

I was confiding in my dear good friend Ben Kenobi. I'd finally come to trust him. I let him fill in the sketchy training I received in the orphanage. We were celebrating my new expertise at telekinesis. Kenobi had some Alderaanian ale for the occasion.

And I drank it. Jerk. Fool. Idiot.

I got all weepy and told him all about Blue Boy. About his last words. ?It doesn't hurt.? A brave, comforting lie. Blue was hurting like hell, and tormented by thirst. ?I love you, Melly. I love you.? He'd never said it before. He said it then because he knew it was the last thing he'd ever say. And because maybe it was the last thing I'd ever hear.

Kenobi was very sympathetic of my sad story. He stroked my hair and said, ?There, there.? And then?

I woke up, and it had all been a horrid dream. The last three lonely years? nothing but a nightmare. No more Darth Vader. No more battles in the terrible cold of space. Blue Boy wasn't dead after all. He was alive and well. We were in a field of flowers on Alderaan, making love.

And then . . .

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Please continue.

Melly:

Well, excuse me! It's embarrassing, all right?

And then I woke up, for real this time, with a tender sternum and a few other tender places, and Kenobi was kind enough to explain ?bonding? to me.

It's a Jedi thing. When two Force-adepts do the nasty in just the right way, their Force-cooties get together and start doin' the nasty too. Or something like that. I don't know the details. I didn't have to know. All I know is, Kenobi got stronger in the Force. Strong enough to take Vader, which was the whole point. I got stronger too, but Kenobi was still way ahead of me, so I couldn't take him, damn it!

 

Chewbacca dreamed a most strange dream. Perhaps it was the influence of the spacesickness remedy. Even with all his traveling experience, if he spent much time on a planet or asteroid or anyplace with a natural gravitational field, upon returning to hyperspace he got (at least) queasy and (at worst) violently ill if he didn't carefully dose himself that first tenday.

He was in the South Corridor of the late Echo Base. Only it wasn't cold; there wasn't even a tingle in the bare soles of his feet. Chewbacca turned, poking at the packed ice with his toes, and saw Melly. And since this was a dream, he didn't have to be polite and behave as if he could endure her presence. He bared his teeth and growled.

She stretched out her arms to him, both placating and beseeching, and told him, ~You're right, Chewie. You're absolutely right.~

The strange thing was, Chewbacca heard her and at the same time didn't hear her. He couldn't quite determine what language they were using. He knew Melly did not understand Shyriiwook.

~What am I right about?~ Chewbacca asked suspiciously, expecting the familiar blank look.

Melly did not reply. She drew nearer, fixing him with those big dark eyes that Han waxed eloquent about far too often. ~Don't tell Han. Not yet.~

Chewbacca bellowed with frustration: ~Don't tell him what?!~

Melly, who was quick to flee at the least sign of irritation from Chewbacca, not to mention a full-fledged roar, did not even flinch. Even in a dream, this struck Chewbacca as odd. She came right up to him and put her hands on his shoulders, and for some reason Chewbacca bent down low enough for her to whisper into his ear:

~Dagobah.~

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

So you couldn't best Kenobi. Did you not think to escape?

Melly:

I tried. Just once.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

How did you try to escape?

Melly:

I ran into the desert. So I'd blow up. Idiot. If I'd given it half a thought I'd've slit my throat or bit a blaster, but instead I just ran away. But I didn't blow up.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Obviously.

Melly:

Let me tell the story, okay? Yes, obviously, I did not blow up. Just got lost in the lousy, stinking desert. Kenobi found me before I died of dehydration. He hauled me back 'home' and blew the next month making me beg for the next sip of water. Time he was done, I was cured of trying to escape.

 

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

If I were you, I'd want to kill General Kenobi. I'd want him dead, dead, dead.

Melly:

Oooooh, are you trying to impugn my sense of honor? No, I don't want him dead. Hell, no. If he dies, I'll probably die with him.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

Because of the life-bond.

Melly:

Yeah, that's the down side. Kenobi made sure he got that through my thick skull. "Severing shock", it's called. Even if I didn't die, the shock would cost me my youth and health. I don't want that. My race is a sturdy but short-lived one.

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

But a handsome one.

Melly:

Enough with the good-cop, bad-cop thing, okay? It's getting on my nerves!

Monitoring Interrogation Officer:

My apologies. You're too smart to fall for that.

Melly:

Don't be so obvious. I'm barely smart enough to know you're a lot smarter, so cut the crap. I know you've got me right where you want me. So what else is new? Let's go right ahead and discuss my pathetic, sorry excuse for a personal life. Let's talk about Han.