Never
Too Heavy
By: Westel
He came to consciousness slowly, feeling
returning to his hands first. They felt heavy, twice their normal size, and the
tips of his fingers pounded with each heartbeat. There was a noise in the
background, but it was far away, and he heard it as if out of an old memory.
Gradually, feeling returned to his upper arms and chest; the breath he drew was
cold and shallow. There was sensation in his head, now - something was wrong
with the right side of his face.
The noise came again, a sound of rending and slavering,
and a roar of recognition that its live, fresh prey was awake.
Luke opened his eyes.
He was hanging upside
down, his feet frozen into the ceiling of the creature's lair. Strewn around
him was evidence of the beast's ravenous appetite, starkly red against the
blue-whiteness of the room. The air reeked of fresh blood; he recoiled at the
smell of it.
Sounds from the other part of the cave told Luke
the ice creature was coming, its movements ponderous and slow. But Luke knew
firsthand its strike was lightning fast - he had never heard nor seen it until
it had attacked him. Now, however, his sense of the creature was strong, so
strong that his stomach lurched at the mental vision he saw of the creature's
blood and saliva-stained mouth and fur.
Desperately, he stretched
out his arm in vain for the lightsaber that lay just out of his reach. He tried
again with the other hand, but he was simply too far away to get to it. His
instincts urged him to panic, to struggle against the ice which held his feet
fast, to scream in terror. But he resisted, reaching inside himself and
focusing on one thing - the lightsaber. It had quivered in the snow the last
time he had reached for it. He let that image take form in his mind again; saw
it moving incrementally out of its snowy nest, leaping toward his hand...
Springing lightly from the snow, it slapped into
his palm as surely as if he had reached for his blaster in its holster. He
ignited the saber and it sprang to life, its blue blade slashing through the
ice and freeing him just as the creature moved into the room. Luke tried to
stand, but his head swam and his vision darkened, no doubt from the sudden rush
of blood into his lower extremities. Somehow he struggled upright, slashed
unprettily at the creature. But the blow was true; the animal sprang back,
pawing at an arm that was no longer there. In its agony, it momentarily forgot
Luke, who clumsily bolted from the cave, seeking only to get as far away from
the creature as he could. There was a sentience about the animal; Luke was sure
that, had it not been so severely injured, it would have been upon him by now,
tearing him limb from limb, and not just because it was hungry.
Struggling on despite the
cold, the deep snow which pulled on his legs with every step, Luke thought of
nothing but escape. Again and again he forced his leaden limbs to move, having
no awareness of the direction he was taking, of how he might try to protect
himself against the encroaching storm, the steady drop in temperature. Vaguely
he was aware of the strong taste of iron in his mouth, but that sense, along
with all the others, was fading. Adrenaline alone kept him going, and his ears
rang with the sound of his own hot blood coursing through his veins as he
pushed on. The storm was growing now, and he soon was enveloped in a relentless
cloud of white.
Han climbed back on his Tauntaun and headed
towards the faint life readings his scanner had given him. He squinted against
the white nothingness of the storm, watching for any sign of movement, anything
against the pale blankness that
might be a human form.
Thoughts of his recent argument with Leia swam in his mind as he looked for his
friend, but he relentlessly pushed them back, cursing himself for not having
been with Luke when he went to look at that meteor. If he didn't find him soon,
Luke would surely be dead by morning. Even if the youth could contrive a
shelter of some kind, he didn't have the proper equipment to keep himself from
freezing in the minus hundred degree weather.
His mount wheezed as it ran, its lungs slowly
freezing in the encroaching cold. In nature, Tauntauns spent the night in
Hoth's many caves, herding together for warmth until the morning brought a
warmer day. In captivity, the Rebels cared for them in stables built in the
Command Center; they were useful animals for travel on the frozen planet, and
so far more dependable than snowspeeders. Until night came.
Han felt sorry for the animal, though he didn't
particularly care for the smelly beasts. But this one was docile and pushed on,
despite the fact that it was dying by degrees. Han knew that if he didn't find
Luke, he'd lose his mount soon and would have to build a shelter to spend the
night alone. He didn't look forward to spending a sleepless night knowing that
Luke was freezing somewhere out there in the waste.
The Tauntaun faltered,
it's breath coming in audible gasps, now. Han was eyeing his drawn blaster,
considering putting the animal out of its misery, when a blurred movement
caught his attention directly ahead of him. Something was out there! He urged
his mount forward, capping a hand over his eyes to try to see better. Yes,
there was someone there - it could only be Luke. The boy was reaching toward
him, then collapsed on the snow bank as Han dismounted.
Han struggled toward the young man, floundering
in the soft, deep snow. He turned him over; reaching to cradle his head and
neck between his hands, he stopped suddenly, appalled by the damage done to the
right side of his face.
"C'mon, Luke. Give me a sign, here!" he
panted, leaning over and catching the faint warmth of Luke's breath on his
cheek. He needed to get Luke to shelter right away - the young man's face was
pale with shock and cold.
He glanced up as the
Tauntaun breathed its last and fell, and knew what he had to do. Dragging the
now delirious Luke to the side of the animal, he took the lightsaber from his
belt and depressed the igniter. The intensity of the forming blade pushed the
pommel against his hand, like a living thing. It was heavy but wieldy in his
grip, and he found it easy to open the belly of the animal, spilling out its
intestines in order to make room for Luke and keep him warm while he built the
shelter. Force! but it stank, even in the cold that turned the entrails to
bricks in seconds. Luke would have to take a hundred showers to get rid of the
stench later, but this was the best - the only - alternative he had.
Night began to fall fast as Han built the shelter
- half of pre-form which folded out from a compact box to form a shell of
sorts, half of packed snow - which proved more difficult than he had
anticipated because of the high winds. By the time he had finished, his hands
and face were numb; if he didn't get into shelter soon he himself would suffer
from severe frostbite.
He plunged through the drifting snow to the body
of the animal and pulled Luke from its frozen carcass. Luke wasn't moving now,
or talking, and his face was ashen. Blood and other liquids from the animal's
body were congealed on Luke's clothing and snapped off with little popping
sounds as Han dragged Luke through the snow. Finally, Han was able to maneuver
him into the shelter, which was just big enough for the two of them and tall
enough for a man to sit up bent over. He lay Luke on a thermal pad placed on
the floor of the shelter, then scrambled to push snow into the entrance,
leaving one small air-hole on the side out of the wind, and they were shut in.
Luke opened one eye - the
other was swollen shut - and watched Han close off the opening to their
makeshift shelter. He tried to swallow but his tongue felt like a belsa
ball in his mouth. An attempt to sit up was worse; his body not only wouldn't
cooperate, but seemed frozen to the floor despite his struggle to rise. He
coughed with the effort and saw a spray of blood fan out across his chest and
arm. A vision of the slavering ice creature, ribbons of flesh and gore
stringing from its jaws, tore through Luke's mind, and his stomach roiled.
Han
turned and crawled to Luke's side, holding his head as he retched and vomited
up vast quantities of blood. He washed his friend's face with snow, careful of
the lacerations which had now begun to ooze bright red, and gave him something
to rinse out his mouth. Again Luke spat bright red, though not nearly as much.
"Luke, do you hurt anywhere besides your
face?" Han worked to get the strap free on Luke's hat, removing it
carefully.
"Face?" Luke's speech was slurred; his
eyes wandered, unfocused.
"Do you hurt, buddy? Your ribs, your legs,
arms. Anything hurt you?" Han was going over Luke's torso, realizing that
he probably wasn't going to get much help from the injured young man.
"Don't feel anything,
mostly... head hurts," Luke managed. He thrust his tongue into his right
cheek. "Loose tooth."
"Lemme see," demanded Han, gently
prying Luke's teeth apart when he didn't respond. Say 'aaahhh' thought
Han, crazily. A cursory exam revealed the problem. Luke had a laceration along
the inside of his cheek; whatever had grabbed Luke had packed a pretty hard
punch and Luke's teeth had done the rest. The bleeding had slowed considerably
and now that Luke had emptied his stomach of all the blood he had swallowed, he
would probably be all right in that regard.
"What did this, Luke?" Han asked,
jamming his hands under his armpits in an attempt to warm them a little.
"Ice creature," murmured the youth, his
voice catching at the memory of it.
"A Wampa? Sith, Luke, you're lucky to be
alive!"
Luke nodded slowly, closing his eyes. "Know
it."
Han was worried about Luke's hazy consciousness,
and of course his hypothermia. He had to get him warmed up right away. His own
fingers, just getting their feeling back, burned and throbbed with the
increased circulation, and he was clumsy with the fastenings of Luke's jacket.
Putting Luke into the Tauntaun's carcass had saved his life, but
now the liquids that had penetrated Luke's clothing were thawing, wetting Luke
afresh and filling the small space with a noxious odour.
Han wrinkled his nose and cursed softly as he
removed the jacket and overshirt, leaving the undershirt alone because it was
mostly dry. Luke seemed unaware of what his friend was doing, muttering
something about Dagobah again, and someone named Yoda. His color was still bad,
and Han knew he had to do something to relieve Luke's shock. He pulled a
thermal blanket out of his kit and wrapped it around Luke; digging a hole on
one side of the shelter, he buried Luke's jacket and shirt. The smell improved
a little. Rummaging in his pack again, he brought out a lamp-stove, a crude
commodity, but good enough to heat the packet of broth crystals from the
survival kit. He lit it, set a cup on it, and added a handful of snow. While he
was waiting for it to melt, he put a clean dressing on Luke's face. Luke winced
only once, but it was no comfort to Han. As the snow began to melt, he added
the crystals, stirring it with a finger until it got hot.
Maneuvering in the small
space was difficult, but Han managed to get behind Luke and, leaning back
against the shelter wall to provide some head room, he pulled Luke into a
half-sitting position between his legs. Holding his friend with his left arm,
he tried to get some broth into Luke with the right. A lot of it spilled, but
Luke did respond by drinking a little, and he kept it down. Han could feel
Luke's shivering beneath the blanket - a good sign, because when he first
brought him into the shelter he wasn't shivering at all. He set down the empty
cup and used both hands to briskly rub Luke's arms, shoulders, and back. How
long he kept this up he didn't know - his cold-abused hands ached and tingled
with the effort to warm his friend, and back muscles complained of his awkward,
half-sitting position. Finally, when he had to stop long enough to shift his
weight a little, Luke brought a hand up and weakly patted Han's arm.
"I'm all right, Han. You rest." Han
leaned forward, craning a look at Luke's face. His color was a little better,
and Luke was looking directly at him. Han's frown transformed into a grin.
"Hey, Kid! Welcome back! You had me scared
for awhile." Han released his hold on Luke, who crawled to the opposite
wall,
facing him. Luke's
movements were slow and faltering, but at least he was moving. He leaned back
wearily, pulling the blanket around him.
"You think you …," Luke began,
the movement of his mutilated face sending pain lancing through his head. He
couldn't continue.
"We all were. We knew when you didn't come
back after spotting that meteor that something had happened to you. We couldn't
just leave you out here..."
"You couldn't
leave me…," Luke clenched his teeth together as he spoke - it was less
painful that way. "Tauntaun?"
"Yeah. I couldn't use the snowspeeder –
they're still working on a way to adapt them to the cold..."
"So you..." Luke grimaced. The pain was
increasing in his face and head. "…took a chance on a Tauntaun? Han, you
could've..." Luke's body shivered convulsively. "…could've
died."
Han straightened the thermal pad on the floor,
hiding his discomfiture as he worked. Luke had a habit of doing this to him,
making him feel like some kind of big brother, like the kid looked up to
him, for Force sake! It made him cringe with embarrassment – and it made him
want to grin like an idiot. Han didn't know how to cope with such awkward
feelings, so he dealt with practical matters instead.
"Not me! I've been a gambler all my life,
remember? I figured the odds couldn't stack up against me all the time,
and I was right. C'mon, now, we've got to get some sleep, and I only brought
enough gear for one. We'll have to share, okay?" He wanted to get Luke
under covers again. Luke needed to be kept warm, but because of shock, the one
thermal blanket wrapped around his body wasn't enough.
"'Kay." Luke's speech was slurring
again. Han helped Luke over to the pad, put him down on his left side and
placed his arm under Luke's head for a pillow. He curled up, spoon fashion,
behind his friend, pulled the second blanket over them both, and wrapped his
other arm over Luke's chest and arm. As they lay there for awhile, the sound of
their own breathing drowned out by the storm's winds, Han
felt Luke begin to relax. The shivering soon stopped and Luke fell asleep. Not
long after that, the exhausted former smuggler followed suit.
"Ben... Ben, don't go... I don't know where
it is... Ben, wait..."
Luke stirred in Han's
arms, waking him. It was pitch black, the survival lamp having cut itself off
while the two men slept. Han listened to him for a moment, wondering if he was
dreaming. It was more of the same talk he'd been spouting when he found him.
Luke talked about Ben (he assumed Ben Kenobi) as if he were still alive, as if
he had just been talking to him.
Luke's restlessness continued. He pushed against
his blanket as if he were hot; Han pulled the glove off his right hand with his
teeth and touched Luke's forehead. It was burning up, and his hand came away
damp. Carefully, so as not to disturb him any more than necessary, he eased his
left arm out from under Luke. It was dead weight, having gone to sleep under
the pressure of Luke's head. He spent the next minute or so pounding it against
his chest to get the circulation back, experiencing the pins and needles that
hurt almost as much as the frostbite, before he got enough feeling to light the
lamp again.
"Yoda... Jedi Master... I don't know - don't
know him... Ben, please! Please don't leave me... "
Luke had turned onto his back, throwing off the
blanket completely, digging his fingers into the packed snow in his delirium.
Han was shocked to see that the bandage on Luke's face was completely saturated
and blood had seeped down under his jaw and across his neck. Looking down at
his left arm, Han saw for the first time where Luke's blood had flowed onto the
sleeve of his jacket as they had slept. Force! As if he could afford to have
anything else go wrong!
He took off the sodden bandage, alarmed at the
condition of Luke's face. The creature's claws must have been covered in
bacteria; the lacerations were swollen and angry red, and leaked both blood and
fluid. Apparently the broad-range antibiotic Han had put on the bandages had
been of little avail.
He checked his chronometer. Still four hours
before daybreak. All right - he could weather four hours - and so could Luke.
He called him 'Kid', but the boy was tough, much tougher than he looked. If he
would admit it, that was one of the reasons he liked Luke, because underneath
that brash, boyish bravado he'd seen on Tatooine, he saw a strength of
character that was only now coming to the forefront. He'd seen that so many
times in his life - trials either made or broke a man. In Luke's case, he saw
no sign of breaking yet, though the youth had seen and been through a lot in a
very short span of his young life. Now Luke was on the edge of life or death,
and Han was determined that he would give him every chance for life.
He made a poultice of snow
layered between two pieces of cloth and laid it upon Luke's face, tying it with
another strip of cloth. Luke cried out at the touch, and Han had to keep him
from pulling it off. Shortly, however, Luke quieted and Han could see that the
cold compress was slowing the bleeding, at least. Han tried to clean as much of
the blood off Luke as he could, realizing they both would be a sight when they
returned to the Command Center.
Then he thought of Leia. He tried not to think of
her, mostly, though he was rarely successful. She was so far out of his league.
For a time he had tried to believe that he could 'love her and leave her,' but
she wasn't the type. Then he tried shrugging her off, but that didn't even
begin to work. So here he was, stuck with the fact that he cared for this
little slip of a woman with a heart and soul the size of Coruscant, and she
intrigued and infuriated him, frustrated and enticed him, as no woman had ever
done. It was disconcerting, and Han made up his mind there and then that he was
going to have it out with her one way or another when he had gotten Luke to
safety.
For now, however, keeping Luke alive so as to get
him to safety was his only objective.
He covered Luke's trembling body again with both
thermal blankets and watched him closely, because he kept wanting to kick them
off. Again and again he forced Luke to take a little water or broth, though he
coughed and choked on much of it. Most of the time Luke continued in delirium,
talking incoherently or calling out to Ben, and occasionally speaking out of
childhood memories, talking to his dead Aunt Beru or
puzzling out a problem
with some piece of farm equipment. It was entertaining sometimes, despite
Luke's desperate condition, and enlightening. The farmboy hadn't led an easy
life, it seemed. Funny - Han had thought the opposite, based on the spoiled way
Luke had acted when they'd first met. Seems he was finding out a lot of things
about the youth - and human nature.
Only an hour to go. Han had wakened abruptly from
a short nap he hadn't meant to take, and glanced worriedly over at Luke. He
seemed to be sleeping normally, his breathing even, though a little shallow.
The bandage still looked good, just stained pink here and there. Only the sheen
of sweat on Luke's forehead indicated that he was still feverish.
The blankets had slipped a little. Han reached
over to pull them back up; Luke stirred and opened his eyes.
"Good morning," Han said, smiling
crookedly.
Not wanting to move his jaw, which felt like a
Bantha had stepped on it, Luke nodded, which proved even worse. His face
contorted with pain and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Though his
eyelids were squeezed shut, a tear escaped from the left one and rolled down
his cheek. Han gripped his arm, waiting for the spasm to pass, offering his
silent support. As the pain eased a bit, Luke let out a breath and reached up
to wipe the tear away.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"What for?" Han growled. "'Cause
it hurts like hell?" He settled next to Luke, cross-legged, leaning
forward a little to avoid the low ceiling. "Luke, there's no shame in
feeling pain. I've cried like a baby sometimes - ask Chewie."
A ghost of a smile creased what was visible of
Luke's face.
"You don't believe me? Okay, Kid, as soon as
we get back I'm gonna tell you some stories that will make your hair stand
up."
Luke stared at him a moment, then closed his eyes,
his mouth shut tight. Han knew that look. When you were in that much pain, you
wanted to die. You knew it was a crazy thing to be thinking, but you still
wanted to die. You'd pay money for someone just to hit you
over the head, cut your throat - anything to stop the agony. But you got
through it somehow. The best way was with someone who cared about you.
For so long, Han only had Chewie to care about
him. The friendship was mutual, and Han had been there for Chewie many times.
But that had been the scope of his understanding, because until he met
Chewbacca, Han had never experienced true friendship. There was Lando, of
course, but he didn't quite rank as a friend - not in Chewie's class, anyway.
At least, his friendship hadn't been proven yet. Luke, now... He watched the
youth fight his pain, saw his shame in giving in to it. Was his embarrassment
because he was afraid Han would think less of him? Why did that matter so much
to the kid? Was it because Han's friendship was that important to him?
Sure, they all referred to each other as friends,
even Leia, but what did that mean? They'd been through a lot together since the
destruction of the Death Star; there was a certain fellowship that naturally
developed between comrades-in-arms. But where did real friendship - that
indescribable link between two people - fit in all this? In the cold confines
of the haphazard shelter, Han looked at himself and his relationships as he had
never done before.
Luke stirred again, a small moan escaping him.
"Luke, you all right?"
"Sure," Luke murmured.
"It won't be long before daybreak. They'll
be looking for us as soon as the temperature rises a bit. It's almost
over."
Luke opened his eyes, looked at the older man.
"Han..." He blanched, drawing a quick breath. Han gripped his arm
again and waited. "You're... good friend..." Luke placed his hand
over Han's and squeezed. "Thanks."
Han felt his face redden,
and he was at a loss as to what to do about it. Finally, realizing there wasn't
a damn thing
he could do about it, he put his free hand
over Luke's and smiled. "Any time."
The comm crackled and
sputtered. There was a human voice in there somewhere, but Han couldn't make it
ou. He glanced over at the air hole; sunlight and blue sky were visible through
it. The wind had died down; day was fully dawned. Han checked on Luke, who
slept fitfully, then dug out the door to the shelter, scrambling to the top of
the snow bank where he'd found his friend. The snow was packed down and firm;
the Tauntaun was nowhere to be found. Han didn't want to think what might have
happened to it in the night.
It wasn't long before the comm came to life
again. Han was never so glad to hear another human voice as he was that very
minute.
"Good morning!" he called, watching the
horizon for movement. "Nice of you to stop by!"
"I've found them!" he heard from the
other end, then saw his morning ride appear over a nearby hill. He waved and
hurried back into the shelter to get Luke. He glanced around, picking up a few
items to put back in his kit, waking up Luke in the process.
"Hey, Kid, I told you we'd get outa here.
Our ride's about to land."
"Good." Luke struggled to a sitting
position, looking around for the first time for his jacket.
"You don't want it, Luke. We'll get another
one for you." At Luke's puzzled look, Han continued, "Trust me!"
Luke was
having trouble managing both blankets, so Han took one of them and stowed it,
along with the thermal pad, in the emergency kit. He pulled the remaining
blanket closer around Luke's shoulders and motioned toward the door. "Can
you get out okay?"
"Yeah." Hard not to notice Luke's
attempt to limit moving his face. Easy to understand, Han empathized.
There were sounds of the snowspeeder landing
outside. As Han emerged into the bright sunshine, he saw Luke move toward the
vehicle, then stumble and fall to his knees. He was struggling to get back up
when Han reached him, wrapping the blanket around him again. He kept his left
hand on Luke's
"In a
hurry?" he kidded, hating to see Luke suffering, amazed at himself for
caring, for not blocking his emotions as he had learned to do over the years.
"Mm-hmm," said Luke, that little smile
appearing at the corner of his mouth again.
"Well, me too. I'm so hungry I could eat a
Tauntaun!"
Luke looked at him like he was crazy. Han
shrugged.
"Well, maybe not a Tauntaun."
"Captain
Solo, there's only room for one in the back of my snowspeeder," said Zev,
the pilot, as he climbed out of the vehicle.
Han looked at Luke, who had closed his eyes and
leaned heavily on his friend. He shook his head. "That's all right, we'll
make room. I know what to do."
Han climbed into the back of the fighter and the
pilot helped Luke climb in to sit between Han's legs, toboggan style. As they
flew back to the Command Center, Luke kept leaning forward and bumping his head
on the canopy. Han reached up and pulled him back.
"Relax, Kid; we'll be back soon."
"Too heavy," Luke mumbled.
"What?"
"I'm... too heavy."
Han couldn't believe his ears. The kid surprised
him at every turn. He patted Luke's shoulder awkwardly.
"You let me worry
about that. You're not heavy, Luke." His thoughts drifted for a moment,
his look far away. "That's what it's like with friends, anyway," he
continued. "They're never too heavy."
466
His back to Han, Luke's
face lit up in surprise, then he smiled despite himself. But he hardly noticed
the pain, because he had just been witness to something that would remain
precious to him for the rest of his days - the cementing of a lifelong
friendship.
He sighed and leaned back against Han's chest,
relaxing. Before he knew what was happening, he was asleep.
Luke stopped on the way to his snowspeeder and
spoke to Chewbacca, getting a hug in return. Up on top of the Millennium
Falcon, Han fussed at a repair droid, then stopped to talk to Luke. The two men
looked at each other for a moment.
"You all right?" Han asked, though it
was obvious Luke had fully recovered.
"Yeah."
Kid's still talking in monosyllables, thought Han.
Luke was recalling the long hours they had spent
together in the shelter, that first revelation of friendship, and couldn't help
but think back to the first time they were separated, when the Rebels were
preparing to attack the Death Star and Han was leaving with the reward. They
had parted angrily then - at least Luke had - yet Han had called the blessing
of the Force upon him. Luke had been too upset then to notice the change in
Han. Not until later, after Han had gotten Vader off his tail, did he realize
it. He understood now that Han wasn't leaving because he wanted to, but because
he had to. The bounty hunters were everywhere, and Han knew that not only was his
life in danger, but everyone's around him, as well.
Luke wanted to tell Han how much he meant to him
- started to say so - but knew it would embarrass Han no end, maybe even make
him angry. Just knowing Han cared was enough. He flashed a grin at his friend,
nodding a farewell and good luck.
Han watched the boy turn away, couldn't let him
leave without saying something.
"You take care of yourself," he called.
467
Han watched him for a moment until he disappeared
among the snowspeeders, then looked down at Chewie, who was watching him.
"You got somethin' to say?" he barked.
Chewie shook his head and went back to work, but
his shoulders shook with a deep chuckle of understanding - and approval.
465
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