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Han could feel it coming. A sinking in his gut, a sourness in his mouth: something bad was coming.
And it wasn’t hard to guess what, was it? He was almost thirteen, and none of the Jedi who came by the crèche had ever looked at him twice. Nobody was going to choose him. He guessed he could see why. He wasn’t the best of his clan with the lightsaber, or the most talented with the Force. Just another ordinary Initiate.
They were going to send him to the Agricorps, he just knew it. Sure, the instructors said it was voluntary, but where else would he go? Han had been at the Temple since he was a baby. He knew he was Corellian, but not where from. He didn’t even have a last name. He could see the rest of his life stretching ahead of him, full of the knowledge that nobody wanted him; not his parents, not the Temple, not a training Master.
No. He might still be a youngling, but he wasn’t going to let other people choose his future. Not Han.
It was easier than he’d figured, in the end. He had a map of Coruscant he’d copied out from the Archives and an adult’s tunic he’d taken from the Temple laundry. Dressed in that, he looked less like an Initiate; after he’d climbed out the crèche window and entered the city, nobody looked twice at him, supposing he was a poor kid who’d taken a wrong turn into the wealthier parts of Coruscant. He made his way into the lower parts of the city, pickpocketing when he thought he could get away with it. Every step eased the sense of doom that’d plagued him for weeks.
Han’s plan was simple, really. When the instructors started looking for him – if they bothered, considering that nobody wanted him – they’d expect him to stay in the upper, more familiar parts of Coruscant, or maybe to take a ship to Corellia to try to find his family. They wouldn’t expect a fine, upstanding young Initiate to go somewhere disreputable. So that was exactly what he’d do. He could stow away on a ship, maybe, or find someone who didn’t mind hiring a youngling. He was okay at mechanics, and he thought he’d be good at piloting. He already knew what all the switches and buttons were for, after all, and wasn’t that most of what you had to learn?
The lower city was… loud. Not like the Temple at all. Han could hear a dozen languages he’d never encountered being shrieked around him; the air was redolent with smells that ranged from mouth-watering to nauseating. Every presence around him glowed in the Force, and Han was suddenly glad that he’d listened to the Masters and learned to shield himself properly. It hadn’t seemed important in the Temple, where everyone was familiar and most people were already shielding, but here? Here it was vital, and he finally knew why they’d insisted.
Because it was important for Jedi, he thought, and brushed the thought away. Clearly it wasn’t just for them, right? Because it was important for him, and he wasn’t a Jedi. He was just Han.
The light started fading, and Han realised he was exhausted. The city was wonderful; he wanted to learn every language he could hear, taste the foods he knew they’d never served in the temple, meet everyone and see everything. He also wanted to hide from the constant noise. Find somewhere peaceful, maybe meditate. It was boring, but he liked the way it made the Force feel, and it’d probably help him make his shields stronger.
Well, he’d just have to get used to it. Jedi meditated. Ordinary people probably didn’t. He could have peace and quiet when he found a ship and left Coruscant.
That night, Han slept outside the Temple for the first time, tucked between a wall and a pile of crates. The ground was cold and lumpy. He didn’t stop smiling, even when he finally fell asleep.
It took Han longer than he’d thought to find a ship to leave Coruscant. Sometimes the captains he spoke to only looked at him for long enough to realise he was a youngling and then turned away; sometimes their eyes lingered on his short-cut hair instead. Han tried using the Force to make it grow faster, so he didn’t look so much like an Initiate, but it didn’t work.
The bad feeling was coming back. They had to have realised he was gone, up at the Temple. How long would it be until they realised he was down here? He started making plans to sneak onto a ship instead. He’d probably get thrown off at the next port, or sent back to the Temple, but that was better than staying here. He lurked around likely-looking ships, trying to work out if he could sneak into the hold when nobody was loading it, and ignored the nerves fluttering in his stomach.
“Hey. Kid, what are you doing?”
Han jerked his eyes away from the latest prospect and looked up – and up. The man beside him was a lot taller than him. Han recognised him, gut sinking, as the ship’s captain.
“Looking for a job,” Han said, trying not to sound like he’d been caught out at something.
The captain raised his eyebrows, smirking, and cast his eyes up and down Han. His gaze paused for a moment on Han’s hair.
“Doing what, exactly?”
Han shrugged. “I can fix stuff. And I’m stronger than I look. And I can pilot.”
Another smirk crossed the captain’s face, but he didn’t accuse Han of lying. “And is somebody going to come looking for you?”
Yes. “No. I’m an orphan.”
The captain regarded him for a moment longer. “I already have a mechanic, but as much time as he spends complaining about the workload, I don’t think he’d mind a hand. I’m Ars Nante. Call me Nante or Captain.”
Han grinned. “Yes, sir. Thank you!”
“And you are?” Nante said.
“Oh. I’m Han.” Nante flicked an eyebrow at him, and Han remembered. Most people had a surname, didn’t they? Well… “Han Solo.”
After all, he was solo. Just Han. Not a member of his clan any more, or the Temple. All alone in the universe.
He liked it.
“Come on, Han Solo,” Nante said. “We’re leaving in two hours. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew, unless you’ve got any last-minute errands here.”
Han shook his head. “No, sir. I’m ready to go.”
The last of the bad-feeling warning faded from his gut as he stepped onto the ship, and he smiled.
The Jumper made a meandering path around the galaxy. Han had known that the war against the Separatists was large, of course, but he hadn’t realised how all-encompassing it was until he was actually standing behind the crew, listening as they discussed which planets were likely to have useful trades, and which would be too dangerous to visit, and whether it was worth running the Separatist-Republic blockades for a higher payout at the end.
That wasn’t the only thing Han learned in his first few weeks aboard the ship. He felt like he hadn’t spent this much time learning things in the Temple, even, but he liked it. Which parts of a spaceship you could fix on the fly and which you had to be planetside for. Whether people were yelling at each other because they were friends or because they were about to get into a fight. How to fly a ship – well, a little, anyway. How to play dice and sabacc, and then how to cheat at them. How to swear in eight different languages.
Han never did get around to meditating, but he guessed it wasn’t that important any more. The Jumper was a smuggling ship, and smugglers didn’t need to meditate, did they?
He made up fake histories for fun and tried them on the crew. He was an orphan who’d grown up on the streets of Coruscant. He was a serial stowaway, born in space and determined to live there. He was actually an adult, but he had a terrible medical condition that just made him look young. He was a runaway slave from the Outer Rim – Nah, kid, your accent’s wrong. And saying you’re a runaway slave is just asking for trouble, anyway. They never believed him, but he figured they wouldn’t believe the truth if anyone ever told them, either. It’d make things easier if anyone ever caught up with him.
Slowly but surely, Han began to relax. There was still a bad feeling nagging at him, but it was faint and distant, so he figured he’d have time to figure it out and run away from whatever it was. The crew liked him, the work was easy enough… he figured this’d be as good a place as any to stay for a while. Maybe when he was older he’d get his own ship. A nice one. But for now? This was good.
Han woke, gasping for breath. A dream – a nightmare – teased at the edges of his consciousness. Screams. Pain. Death.
He growled in irritation and slumped back into his blankets. He’d thought his shields were strong enough to block out the Force-echoes of nearby battles, but apparently not. There must’ve been a major offensive somewhere close by for him to have felt it so strongly, though. And the Republic had lost. Or, at least, a lot of living people had died. Damn Seps.
They’d only been on Makem Te for half a day and he hated it already. The air outside smelled wrong, and they hadn’t made as much of a profit on the goods they’d smuggled in as anyone would’ve liked, so the crew was tense. Maybe if there was a battle somewhere nearby they could get out of here faster. Han hoped, anyway.
A noise by the door to the crew quarters made him frown. Everyone was out enjoying themselves – pit of a planet or not, they spent enough time stuck together on the Jumper that the crew was always ready to party when they had time on-planet. Nobody should be here at – he squinted at the chrono – this early in the morning.
“You’re awake,” a voice said by the door. Han recognised Nante, and frowned. “Good. I need to talk to you.”
Han blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“You have to leave the Jumper,” he said bluntly.
Han frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re going to head back to Coruscant eventually,” Nante said. “You can’t be there. And you’re safer as far away from the Core as you can get.”
“I wasn’t planning on heading back to Coruscant,” Han said cautiously. He rubbed at his hair, finally grown out from the short cut he’d had at the Temple. “But you’re not heading straight back there, are you?”
Nante flicked a glance around them. Like he was worried that somebody might be listening in, Han thought, and felt something tighten in his gut.
“I’ve been out listening to the latest rumours in the market,” he said, even more quietly than before. “Best way of finding out where not to go to next. They’re saying the Jedi have been declared traitors.”
Han stared at him. “What?”
Nante nodded. “Something big happened on Coruscant. Politics.” He spat on the dirt. “The Republic’s been dissolved – Chancellor Palpatine had himself declared Emperor – and anyone connected to the Jedi is being politely asked to hand themselves in to Judicial, or whatever they’re going to call it now.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Han said. “If one of the Jedi did something bad…”
Nante scoffed. “They’re saying the Jedi were executed. By their own troopers. And…” He paused, looking down at Han.
Something was sinking in Han’s gut. Sour in his mouth. “Something bad happened at the Temple. Didn’t it.”
“Nobody’s talking about it,” Nante said. “But there was a detachment of clone troopers sent there, they say, and the Emperor’s second-in-command.”
“It was all kids there,” Han said, staring at his hands. “And oldsters, and Jedi who weren’t fit to fight. Nobody important.”
“You need to get away from the Core,” Nante said, tipping his chin up so their eyes met. “I mean it. And get away from anyone who’s seen you. Make sure, if we ever meet again, I don’t have any idea who you are.”
Han nodded. Something was pulsing wrong-wrong-wrong in his gut. He hadn’t planned on going back to Coruscant, but now he knew. If he went back, something bad would happen.
“I knew I had to leave,” he said, and was shocked at the grief in his voice. “I just didn’t –”
“Pull yourself together,” Nante said. “You can’t grieve where anyone else can see you. Get off this rock before someone comes looking, and if anyone finds you, keep us out of it. Hear me?”
Han nodded again, brushing a hand across his eyes. He stood unsteadily and pulled his rucksack from under his bed, filling it with clothes and knickknacks he’d picked up on half a dozen worlds. Nante watched him for a moment, and then reached out, offering him a handful of credits.
“You’ve earned it. Don’t know how long it’ll be good for, of course, but you’ll need it to be going on with.”
“Thanks,” Han said. He could do this. He’d done it when he left the Temple, hadn’t he? Find a ship, get himself a berth, give them a name – a different one this time, he thought – find a new planet. Keep moving, because they can’t find you if you don’t stop. Keep your shields up. Stay out of trouble.
It’d be easy.
It had to be.
Han watched as the Jumper took off, wondering what Nante had told the rest of the crew. He wasn’t sure how many of them had realised he was a Temple runaway. Or, for that matter, how many had been listening to rumours about Jedi instead of enjoying themselves. Probably not that many. And Nante wouldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. He wouldn’t want to draw attention.
The Jedi were gone. Han knew it the same way he knew the way his body ached after lightsaber practise in the Temple. The Jedi were gone, the Temple was destroyed, and if he hadn’t left he would’ve been too.
He really was all alone now.
Han lifted his chin. Well, he wasn’t going to let something like that stop him. Time to find another ship and get off this mudball. He’d done it once and he’d do it again, and no Emperor was going to stop him.
He didn’t need the Jedi to survive.
Solo: (adj.) alone; without a companion or partner