"Goddamn piece of crap cab," Frank muttered, smacking the rattling dashboard. At 65, he was too old to hustle for fares across NYC, but social security checks didn't cut it these days.
His last pickup was three drunk losers blabbering about politics and failed relationships. Frank filtered out their nonsense, focused solely on getting home so he could collapse into bed.
That's when disaster struck - the taxi cab controls suddenly died and Frank wrestled helplessly with the wheel as they plunged off the bridge. His passengers wailed. Then a bone-jarring impact into the East River and everything went black.
"...ake...up!" A furry paw smacked Frank's face.
He jolted awake, gasping painfully. An anxious giant dog thing studied him from the co-pilot seat. What the hell?
Consciousness came crashing back into Han Solo like the screech of blaster fire. He bolted upright, pulse racing, eyes darting in alarm at unfamiliar surroundings. The flickering glow of controls and displays in a compact cockpit. The hum of engines. Stars streaking by outside.
"Whoa, easy there!" came a gruff, worried voice.
Han turned to see an anxious Wookiee - no, not just any Wookiee. Chewbacca from Star Wars - Frank's childhood obsession he still rewatched religiously. But how...?
"Chewie?" Han muttered in disbelief. His voice sounded younger, his body felt lithe and alert. This made no sense.
"I've totally lost it..." he muttered, struggling to make sense of this. The best explanation was a coma hallucination from the crash impact. Yeah, just an elaborate dreaming mix-up of reality and fiction.
The Wookie barked worriedly. Frank hesitated, then reached to grip its furry arm - feeling totally solid and real. Huh? He glanced down at himself, now wearing Han Solo's clothes and gear. Frank's jaw dropped as the impossible truth sank in.
Han rubbed his head, mind reeling from fragmented memories of what seemed another life. Had he hit his skull during that scramble to dodge Imperial Patrols? He felt different somehow - thoughts crisper, senses oddly heightened. As if awakening from a stagnant dream into a rushing torrent of new potential.
Chewie barked worried concern.
"I'm fine," Han assured quickly. "Just got a serious adrenaline jolt back there. Better check all systems though." As he strode around the Falcon, Han flexed his hands experimentally. Strength and vigor long foreign now flowed in his veins.
Midway through system diagnostics, Han paused with sudden intuition. He closed his eyes, concentrating on a nearby hydro spanner. The tool shuddered, then began rotating slowly before him.
Han's eyes flew open wide even as his mouth twisted into a sly grin. The Force - it was real after all! Not some hokey religious propaganda. Which meant...Han stroked his chin thoughtfully as the escaped tool continued spinning mesmerically. Destiny had brought him - the galaxy's most cunning free agent - into chaotic orbit with emerging legends. What couldn't he achieve with such power and foresight?
"Priority dispatch from command, Captain Solo" the navicomputer clamored. Han started from his reverie, halting the floating tool and checking coordinates even as excitement rose within him. Tatooine is dead ahead. Time to rendezvous with a JJ-protocol and astromech carrying coveted data for the Rebellion. His place of destination... the Cantina Bar! Obi-Wan and Luke are looking for passage to the Alderaan system.
________________________________________________
The Millennium Falcon touched down in Mos Eisley spaceport. Han straightened his vest, checked his blaster rig, and strode down the landing ramp oozing confidence, Chewie at his heels. Time to rendezvous with their charter passengers in Chalmun's Cantina - an old geezer and wet-behind-the-ears farmboy.
Han scanned the dim, smoky interior until he spotted them seated in a shadowy corner. He slid casually onto a stool at their table, signaling the bartender for his usual before giving the pair a cool appraising look.
...
...
..
.
Just then, a scuffle broke out behind them. A large Aqualish thug named Ponda Baba had grabbed the youngster by his shirt, taunting him loudly as a battered old soldier. Before Han could rise from his seat, the Aqualish's arm went sailing through the air, severed cleanly at the elbow by the old geezer's glowing beam sword which hummed ominously.
The bar crowd gasped and retreated as Ponda Baba fell back clutching his sparking stump and howling. His wolfman partner aimed a blaster pistol shrieking vengeance, but the warrior was too fast - with a single sweeping crimson arc he sliced the blaster in half to the amazement of onlookers. A robed figure stood calmly amidst the shocked mob, blade poised and glinting from its glowing blue steel.
Han froze, scalp tingling as long dormant instincts awoke. He had drastically underestimated this seeming simple man - the elder's movements held the flowing discipline of a battle-hardened master. Han had only glimpsed such skill among the most elite forces during his stint fighting terrorists.
Those piercing eyes turned to meet Han's, glinting with wisdom and regret. In that heavy moment some veil lifted from Han's mind - he Saw how the twin suns looked from distant sandy valleys...felt the agonizing sear of molten flesh...heard the youngster's panicked cry through rain and darkness...
This. Is. Star. Wars. Holy fucking shit. I've seen unimaginable death in my time of service, but seeing someone get pumbled and shit on with a laser sword is something else.
They both head towards the seat in a shadowy corner. He and Chewie slid casually onto a stool at their table, signaling the bartender for his usual before giving the pair a cool appraising look. Luke and Obi-Wan followed suit.
"Han Solo," he introduced briskly. "I hear you gentlemen are seeking safe passage to Alderaan."
"Yes indeed, if it's a fast ship!" the fresh-faced young one piped up eagerly. Probably never been off-planet in his life, Han mused.
"Fast ship?" Han scoffed. "You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?" At their blank looks, he continued smugly. "She's made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs. I've outrun Imperial Starships and Corellian pirates alike. She's fast enough for you, old man. What's the cargo?"
The elder in humble robes stroked his grey beard. "Only passengers. Myself, the boy, two droids...and no questions asked."
Han nodded slowly. Fair enough for these seeming simple farm types. Although something about the older man hinted at hidden depths - an aura of gravitas and sorrow. Almost like he could see right through Han's soul. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
"No questions sounds like our kind of charter, eh Chewie?" Han said lightly. "Docking fee will cost you extra though."
The boy looked to his elder companion, who nodded assent. "We can pay you two thousand now, plus fifteen when-"
Han held up a palm. "Kid, let's get one thing straight between us so this is a pleasant trip. The number you first quoted - I'll consider that your final offer for safe passage to Alderaan. I don't haggle once a price is named." He stared levelly into the old man's penetrating blue eyes now shadowed in contemplation at Han's sly negotiation tactics. The true mission hardly concerned mere credits - but Han had appearances to maintain as a cocky smuggler.
"Very well Captain Solo, we have ourselves an arrangement," the elder agreed amicably. Under the table, Han crossed his fingers - partly symbolic, partly utilizing an old proprioception trick to maintain a perfect sabacc face. Oh, this was going to be almost too easy...