Before Hope: Chapter 2 (Written by Kyra Organa)

Kyra dashed out of the alleyway and into the crowded and dirty streets of the Sanctuary Coast. She trudged casually towards the docking bays with her head down, eyes on her feet, and her hand warily resting on her DL-44 blaster.
When she arrived at the docking bays, all the doors were locked or boarded shut, except one. That was docking bay 43, who’s door was slightly ajar. Some call it luck. Some call it the will of the Force. Kyra called it clumsiness.
She nervously slipped into the docking bay and behold, a Corellian YT-1300f light freighter! To the untrained eye it looks like glorified scrap, but to her it looked like a classic ship with a resourceful pilot. It had so much rewiring and new panels it probably didn’t have a single scrap of its original parts. The boarding ramp was lowered and because of the crates inside and out it was evident that the crew had been loading the ship until quite recently.
She clutched her blaster and apprehensively slunk into the maw of the ship. It was packed with randomly dispersed crates full of who-knows-what, so she slipped behind one of the crates and reclined out of sight on the rusted oil-stained floor.
A few hours later, she heard the owners of the ship enter the docking bay. They fiddled with some of the ship’s components and re-wired the ship’s hyperdrive motivator. Then they swaggered tiredly into the ship. From Kyra’s secluded nest she saw that the owners of the freighter were none other than the Wookiee and scruffy-looking scoundrel she had previously seen heading towards the cantina.
The man spoke first, “Come on Chewie, let’s get off this aristocratical Alderaan. There's more stormtroopers in this run-down town than smugglers in Mos Eisley.” The Wookiee howled something in return. The pair headed towards the cockpit and soon the ship began to lift from the planet’s surface. The ship began to unnaturally rock as the pilot hit the gas.
“To Tatooine and beyond!” whooped the man, “Punch it, Chewie!” The ship moaned as it zipped off into hyperspace. As the freighter did so, a large crate shifted and fell painfully on top of Kyra’s arm as the ship’s internal compensator tried to adjust to the sudden departure to lightspeed. She yelped.
The bilingual chatter in the cockpit ceased. Kyra held her breath and wished she could‘ve reached for her blaster, but it was pinned down with her arm under the crate. The sound of footsteps neared. She froze as the loud clicks of boots that belonged to the man and soft padding of paws of the Wookiee came within two feet of her.
“Well, Chewie, I guess we’ve had a late night.” The footsteps began to fade. Kyra released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. With a crash, the Wookiee threw aside the crate she was hiding behind. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t a stowaway,” the man growled. He didn’t draw his gun, for he thought that she was no threat. Note the word ‘thought'.
Kyra stood up and slowly began raising her hands. Suddenly she clenched her fists and swung at the man. For someone a head taller and stronger built he sure fell easily. Without thinking she began to run, but this was a spaceship with a circular design, and there was nowhere to go. She sprinted and ended up rounding a bend and met with the man who was sitting on the floor massaging his bloodied face.
Before even half a second went by his gun was out of its holster and aimed at Kyra. As he later claimed, “I’m the fasted draw in the outer-rim.” Kyra believed him. He sized up this strange girl—who hurt not only his face, but his pride—and nearly laughed.
She was a petite, narrow-framed girl dressed in a loosely-hanging orange jumpsuit with a pointed face with large, amber eyes, an upturned nose, and rosy lips drawn into a tight frown. Her hair was bound back into a brown braid which hung down to her waist. Her fists were clenched tight and her jaw tighter. ‘This feisty little thing sacked me?’ he thought, rather embarrassed.
“Listen, whoever you are,” the man said calmly, “tell me who you are and why are you on my ship.”
She stood resolute, “Who’s asking?”
“Good answer,” the man replied. The Wookiee drew his heavy bowcaster and pointed it at her skull. “If,” he continued, “you were talking to any one else.”
“Kyra, Kyra Organa,” she subjected, “and you are?” The man froze. ‘Qi’ra. Why must it always be a Qi’ra?’ He thought. After half a second he quickly regained his confident composure. “You don’t know who I am?” He said, pretending to be hurt, but still keeping his blaster trained on Kyra. She shook her head, enjoying the chance to instigate this stranger. “I,” he said with great flourish, “am Captain Han Solo, smuggler, card shark, and ladies man.”
The Wookiee and Kyra both rolled their eyes. The Wookiee then growled something to Han Solo. “Oh, yes,” Solo said rather blandly, “and this is Chewbacca, co-pilot of the Millennium Falcon.” Kyra's jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me!?” Han shouted, “You’re more impressed by this glorified hairball than me?” Chewbacca growled something Kyra was glad she didn’t understand. In reality, she wasn’t impressed by either of them, but the Millennium Falcon!
This was the diligently modified freighter that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs and escaped the clutches of so many greedy crime lords and jealous enemies. With its illegal class .5 hyperdrive and upgraded laser-cannons, nothing was impossible for this ship.
Her thought process was interrupted when Solo muttered something to Chewbacca, “Tie her up. We’ll drop her off at the nearest Imperial station.”
“What?!” She gasped, “You can’t do that! Aren’t you wanted criminals?”
“So you have heard of me,” Han retorted, “and by the way, it’s called an anonymous tip.”
Chewbacca began binding her hands behind her back. “You might as well shoot me out of the air-lock,” Kyra growled.
“Don’t tempt me,” Han said savoring the moment. Kyra gave up playing tough. “You can’t do this,” she pleaded, eyes wide, “I’m just a kid! If you want work I’ll do it! I’ll give you my credits! Just please drop me off at a nowhere planet in the outer-rim and that’ll be the last you’ll ever see of—” Her groveling was silenced as Han pulled the trigger and stunned her. She fell to the floor with a painful thump. “She’s not dead,” Solo said to Chewbacca, “but when she wakes, the head-ache will make her wish so.” He gagged Kyra and shoved her into one of the smuggling compartments under the floor. Han sauntered off to his quarters as Chewbacca stayed guard, half out of loyalty to Solo and half out of curiosity of the young girl who was stashed in the cage-like compartment under the floor with no food or water.


It pained Chewbacca to see any sentient creature in a cage, for Wookiees have been often sold into slavery to places like Tatooine or The Spice Mines of Kessel. Chewbacca had been a slave once, brutally worked on Mimban, with never enough food, never enough water, and never enough trust. Trust: that was a word not often used, nor seen in action. Chewbacca tiptoed [or the Wookiee equivalent to tiptoeing, which was neither graceful nor stealthy] and grabbed a canteen and a portion of food. He slipped it into the prison under the floor—not thinking of the fact that Kyra was gagged—and leaned against the wall, being hushed to sleep by the mechanical humming of an old ship in hyperspace.