These little pickup errands are getting boring, Han Solo thought grumpily, watching numbers on his screens as the Millenium Falcon approached Theed.

Not that he enjoyed getting into trouble, or having his ship shot up by Imperials--or Hutts, or bounty hunters, or whatever else could be shooting at him--but a little excitement along the way did make a trip more worthwhile. After all, half the reason he'd gotten into smuggling was the thrill, not just the profits. And the Rebellion had at least promised to be entertaining for a while, what with the Princess and the kid around. And sticking with them tended to discourage the debt collectors, who really didn't want to be caught up in Imperial business.

But being a freighter pilot and professional smuggler, that's what the Alliance had been using him for--ferrying supplies and personnel willy-nilly into places that most ordinary Rebel transports couldn't go. His ramshackle--but well-built and extensively modified, he'd insist--ship was well equipped to tackle some of the sneak-in-and-outs he'd taken on in his months tagging along. And the Rebels paid, and gave him free berth and fuel, which was always welcome.

And whenever he grumbled about leaving and getting back to his real life, Chewie would give him that look and whine about it, because Chewie was a sucker for noble lost causes and Chewie really liked the kid too.

Well, now the kid had gone and got himself caught or killed or...something, and nobody knew what to do about it. They had no idea where he could be--and as far as Han knew, reports said the Imperial First Fleet was swimming all over the region where they'd lost Luke and the location of their old base. It was too much to risk to rescue one pilot, even if he was everyone's friend.

The kid was too damned likable, Han grouched to himself. Even made independent smugglers like himself want to take stupid risks to go and rescue him--because it hurt too much to think he was dead. But until they had more information, there wasn't anything anyone could do.

"Chewie," he called into the intercomm, "we've been cleared and we're coming up on our landing. Get up here."

A grouchy moan-bark came back through the speaker.

"Yeah, well, the little modifications can wait. As long as the transponder's running right, we'll be okay."

Chewbacca growled once more and the intercomm switched off. Moments later, the large Wookiee wedged himself through the cockpit door and into the copilot's seat, easily matching his movements with Han's as they brought the Falcon to a gentle landing in one of the common bays on the outskirts of the Imperial-controlled city of Theed.

"Keep her ready to fly, pal," Han ordered casually, stripping off his flight gloves and heading for the rear. "I'll go see if our guests are waiting like they said they'd be."

Chewie huffed briefly.

"Yeah, I've got the fake cargo covered. Hopefully by the time they crack the lid we'll be well out of here. You just stay out of sight, pal."

Being casual and acting like he belonged there was one of Han Solo's best smuggling skills. If you didn't act suspicious, usually no one suspected you--and Imps were notorious for noticing twitchyness. Hopefully he'd just be one more privateer captain making a supply drop for a client, and no one would notice he was taking on more than he was dropping off.

Han lowered the passenger and cargo ramps, unstrapping and guiding out the bulky crates on their hoverpads. The cargo manifesto stated that these were hovercar parts and architectural tools for delivery to one Darred Naberrie--but in actuality, they were stuffed with cheap packing material and chunks of metal and plastic trash, just believable enough in weight and content to pass a perfunctory scan.

And this was a heavily-controlled Imperial resort world, so thick with the Empire's presence that security was actually lax, since they were sure they couldn't be invaded here--the Emperor's own homeworld. Han fought down a grin at the thought--manical dictators never did think the fox could be in their own backyard.

He noticed the small flotilla of people entering the bay as he offloaded the last couple of crates, casually turning to smile at them as the elderly gentleman with a cane approached him, followed closely by a tall bill-faced alien of a species he couldn't quite recall the name of.

"Good morning, Captain," the old man said quietly, pleasantly.

"Morning," Han replied, just as amiably. "Lovely day for a family outing."

The old man's face shifted to just a hair more serious, as he completed his half of the code phrase. "We would have preferred boating, but the lake is closed."

Both men relaxed somewhat, and the elder turned to nod at the others--more people than Han would have expected, most of them carrying small cases and luggage. At least these folks seemed to have the sense to travel light.

"I'm Ruwee Naberrie," the old man announced, offering a hand. "This is my family, and our associate--" He gave a quick nod toward the alien, who grinned widely. "--Mister Binks. I'd like to thank you for coming so quickly, Captain."

"Han Solo," he replied, shaking the proffered hand. "Don't thank me, thank the Alliance Council. They're the ones who put the rush order on this."

Naberrie nodded. "We've said our goodbyes, and we're all prepared."

"Great. If you'll all just get on board, stow your gear, and strap yourselves in, we'll get out of here." Han pushed the last of the crates away from the cargo ramp and gestured toward the yawning hold.

There were four women in the group--two of them older, and one of the younger ones visibly pregnant. Two other men assisted the women with their luggage, one late middle aged and the other in his twenties. A little boy of about four or five was herded along by Binks, clutching a pudgy stuffed animal close.

And as much as Han Solo tried to be the indifferent smuggler captain, he couldn't help but feel his heart twist at the thought of this entire family uprooted and endangered by the Empire.

At least they were an efficient bunch, compared to passengers he'd had in the past. They were quiet and quick--apart from Binks, who kept up a running commentary of interest and amazement at the freighter's interior--and in no time at all had disappeared completely into the ship, the women heading forward to the seating lounge and the menfolk staying behind to strap things down in the hold.

"We'll be underway shortly," he announced briskly, striding past them. "Get seated fast."

Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the cockpit, closing ramps as he went. Really, he considered, all this was just too easy. Boring, almost.

"All set, Chewie?" he asked as he plunked back into the comfortable embrace of his chair.

The Wookiee barked shortly, then grunted a query.

"Good," Han responded. "Yeah, they're all here. Few more people than we thought, but it shouldn't be a problem."

Chewie grumbled, pointing at the sensor map.

"Hyperdrive signatures? Nah, just more incoming traffic. We're still in business, nobody's raised any alarms." Shrugging, Han reached over to trigger the intercomm. "Everybody strapped in back there? We're about to leave."

"Yes, thank you, Captain," came the old man's voice.

Han switched off the comm. "Right. Well, here we go, pal."

The engines still warmed in standby from their quick stop, the Falcon was roaring to go as soon as he finished obtaining clearance from the spaceport control. When that was done, he eased the old girl into flight, merging cleanly into the exit lane above the city and taking his slow, lazy time heading into space--at standard atmospheric speed for a Corellian light freighter. The last thing he needed at this point was to be tagged with a traffic violation.

Act legal, they treat you legal.

It wasn't until they cleared the atmosphere and were heading out of the gravity well that Chewbacca roared suddenly and punched buttons on the sensors and transponder.

"Whaddya mean Star Destroyers?" Han snapped, eyes darting from the navicomp to the sensor screen. "Aw, sith. And one of the command ships? Hells, don't tell me the Emperor decided to come stay this weekend."

Chewie snarled something, grunting about their passengers.

Han studied the screen. The Star Destroyers had just arrived from hyperspace--those signals Chewie had picked up--and were settling into lazy orbits at regular intervals. There were five ships, accompanied by one of the massive Super-class Destroyers, and it looked like they were setting up a blockade.

"No, I think it's a coincidence," he said at last. "If they'd known we were coming they'd have been here waiting and jumped on us before we even landed. Heck, they'd be all over us right now."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the broadcast comm crackled to life.

"All ships in-system, please be advised: This planet has officially come under naval interdiction. You are ordered to return to port on Naboo for inspection. Please cooperate with ground and flight control officers in re-docking at your landing bays. All ships are warned: Any deviations will result in the disabling of your vessel and the arrest of your crew."

"We can't have that, now can we?" Han sighed, not bothering to turn on the comm; no reply was better than an insolent one. "How soon can you get us another hyperspace course, Chewie? It doesn't have to be far, just out of their sensor range. We can re-vector later."

The Wookiee whurfed distractedly, already keying up the data in the computer.

"Great. For the moment, let's play dumb."

It took around a minute for someone aboard one of the Star Destroyers to realize that a certain crotchety old Corellian YT-1300 wasn't turning around. By that time, the Falcon was well away from the nearest warship--but not far enough that Han felt confident about backchat.

"Freighter Lady Nebula," crackled the comm on a direct line, "you are ordered to stand down outgoing hyperspace procedures and return to the planet. Do you copy?"

"Sorry, buddy," Han spoke insolently into thin air, still not bothering with turning the comm on. He grinned at Chewie. "I wonder what they think of us this time, pal--equipment malfunction, or just deaf?"

Chewbacca barked sarcastically.

"Hey, just because I don't reply to an official hail doesn't automatically make me a smuggler. I could be a hick who doesn't know how to use his own comm."

Chewie snorted his opinion of that.

Han chuckled. "You're right. I wonder how much time they'll give us?" He made a great show of checking the chrono, before the comm crackled again.

"Freighter Lady Nebula, this is your final warning. Stand down and prepare to be boarded."

"Oooh, we're getting the personal touch now. Ready Chewie?" Han checked the proximity sensors--they were still in range of the nearest Destroyer's guns, and the great warship was already heaving to in pursuit of them.

Chewbacca hooted a string of numbers.

"Almost, huh? We're outta time." Han's lackadaisical air faded as he sat up straight and gripped the controls. With a finger, he flicked open the in-ship intercomm. "Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We're about to experience some turbulence, so please make sure you're all strapped in tight and ready."

With that, he thumbed the intercomm off and punched the throttle. The Falcon leaped forward--abruptly exceeding all speed and acceleration profiles for a ship of her type, and leaving the slowly-approaching Star Destroyer flat-footed in her wake. Spinning toward the new hyperspace vector, Han keyed up the navicomp and prepared to jump to lightspeed.

Chewie growled something as turbolaser fire began to flash across the canopy--warning shots. The Destroyer was too far back to properly target them for a killing blow, but could still singe their shields enough to damage them.

"Hey, I know I sounded like a flight stewardess," Han grumbled. "You want me to scare the nice folks back there by telling them we might get shot out of the sky?"

Chewie barked again.

"Right. Well, the point's moot now anyway--let's get lost before that thing gets any closer. Ready?" Han watched the navicomp flash a positive vector, and began his countdown, timing his actions to his copilot's. "One...two...three!"

As the last lever was pulled, the Falcon gave a single cranky hiccup as the sublights cut off out of sync with the hyperdrive engaging--they'd have to get that fixed soon--but the stars outside blurred into lines of speed and faded into the mottled tunnel of hyperspace.

The danger passed, Han flopped back in his seat. "Imperial slugs," he commented, grinning at his own achievement. Even smoother than the Tatooine escape... "All those Star Destroyers, and they never got near us."

Chewie grunted to remind him that they'd gotten out far enough ahead of the blockade's net that it wasn't an issue--not due to any particular piloting skill.

Han scowled. "Would you rather we fight our way out through a half-dozen Star Destroyers with Ma an' Pa Naberrie and the kids along for the ride?"

Chewie gave him a look; Han rolled his eyes and got up to head back and check on their passengers. He could hear Binks' rather shrill worried tones as soon as he stepped through the door.

However, he found himself met in the corridor by a young woman with frizzy-curled hair--and a bright grin full of contagious enthusiasm that was so eager he couldn't help but think of Luke. Behind the girl came the eldest Naberrie woman, demure and stately, with a prim but wry face and a ready smile; she had gray hair that had once been dark, and brown eyes--and she somehow reminded him of Leia in a way that started to prime his disobedient tendencies. But there was a quiet strength to her--a regal bearing, a timeworn intensity--that made even the Princess seem like a little girl in comparison.

Han knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this...was a Lady. Unconsciously, he drew himself up straight, his disrespect circuits shorting out as she made eye contact. "Ma'am," he greeted with a nod, as she set a hand on the younger girl's shoulder to calm her excitement. "We've just made the jump into hyperspace. It was a little dicey there at the end--the Imps caught on to the fact that we were heading out without their say-so."

"Thank you, Captain," she replied, smiling at him. "We were a little startled, but all in one piece, thanks to your expert skills."

The younger girl nodded vigorously. "That was incredible!" she gushed, almost bouncing. "I've always wanted to fly in space battles. My aunt used to tell me--"

Han didn't miss the gentle squeeze the elder woman applied to the girl's shoulder. "Why don't you go back and check on Ruwan, Pooja," the Lady suggested gently. "Help your sister. We'll have plenty of time for stories later."

Pooja's elation wilted somewhat; she nodded, turning to do as she was bid.

"I apologize," said the Lady, when she was gone. "My granddaughter's passion has always been for all things adventurous--and romantic tales of smugglers' voyages are a favorite of hers. I am Jobal Naberrie; you met my husband."

Han nodded. "We're on a temporary hyperspace vector right now, ma'am. As soon as we're out of Imperial range, we'll drop out to re-calculate our original course. No sense letting the Imps know which way we were headed."

"A wise choice, Captain," Jobal responded evenly. "I will tell the others. It should not be a long journey?"

"Not too bad, no," Han replied, shrugging. "Might as well make yourselves at home. Galley's open. You'll want to keep the little guy away from the rear sections, there's open paneling back there."

"Thank you, Captain." Unhurried, the woman turned to leave.

"Uh, if you don't mind me askin'..." his mouth blurted without his permission, leaving him feeling like a clod--he wasn't good at manners, even when he tried. But the Lady was looking at him again, and he had to press on. "What's a nice bunch of people like you doing running from the Empire? I mean...what did you do to tork them off at you?"

Shadows of old grief flickered across the woman's features. "It's not what we've done, Captain," she answered, her voice tighter than before. "It's what the Empire has done to us, and what we plan to do about it. They have already wounded my family...and now, as a final straw, they have taken my grandson from me."

Han nodded again; it was a familiar story in the Alliance--people who just couldn't stand the injustices any more. "I'm sorry," he offered lamely, unsure what else to say.

The shadows gone for the moment, Jobal looked at him kindly, smiling once more. "Thank you. As you can see, we are not warriors--but what we do have, we will offer to the Alliance, in return for their help. As it is said, Captain...knowledge is power."

The stately woman turned away once more to go back to her family--leaving Han with eyebrows high, wondering what secret the Naberries held that could drive them to this.