While icy winds assaulted the camouflaged hangars of Hoth's rebel base, workers inside the huge metal complex hurried to prepare their fleet of X and Y-wing fighter ships. The Imperial Death Star had been destroyed a short two months ago, but there was much to be done if the evil Empire was to be defeated.

Leia Organa twisted a boren-grommet into place, made a face at the X-wing's inoperative propulsion system, and swore at it under her breath.

"That usually doesn't help unless you kick it good and hard at the same time," a familiar voice said from behind her. Leia whirled.

"Han!"

"Hiya, Princess."

He opened his arms, and it seemed for a moment that she would accept the invitation to rush into them. But she merely smiled at him instead and said, "When did you get in?"

Awkwardly, he dropped his arms. "Just now. Chewie and I have a few repairs on the Falcon to make. You need some help with that?"

Her smile faded into an annoyed frown. "What makes you think I need any help?"

Smiling, he picked up a tool. "Your fuel intake feed line is crossed under your port bow
guidance gyro. All you have to do is --"

She snatched the tool from him. "I know what to do," she said icily.

"That's just what I said. You can handle it."

"Han Solo, you are an insufferable--"

"--But lovable."

"--overbearing-"

"--Debonair."

"--loud-mouthed--"

"--Extremely articulate!"

"--son of an Alturian flatworm!"

Another voice cut across their argument. "Ah, Leia. Still just as charming as ever," it said.

Leia looked up, and her smile was instantly back again.  "Uncle Hubert!"

Han turned to stare at the man Leia had just run to warmly embrace. "Uncle who?"

"Dawntreader told me you were down here," the newcomer said to Leia. "But I had to come and see for myself."

"I'm glad you did."

"Ahem," Han said loudly.

"You must be on your way to Dauron," Leia continued, ignoring Han. "Another cargo run?"

"Ligerian weld-root rum. I've got a hold chock full of the stuff. You know I remember a dance you did on Ligeria once..."

"So," Han interrupted. "You're Leia's uncle?" He thrust out a hand, grinning sheepishly. "Han Solo, Captain of the Millennium Falcon."

The other man stared at him blankly, one arm still firmly encircling Leia's shoulder. "Leia's uncle? Oh, that's a good one. Really good."

Leia was still smiling, obviously enjoying Han's confusion. "Uncle Hubert and I are 'good friends'. Everyone's always called him Uncle."

"Oh." Han nodded, more rankled than before.

"By the way," Uncle Hubert said to Leia. "You don't still have that dance outfit, do you? The one with the silver fringe and the coins hanging right about here?"

Han picked up a spanner from the tool kit, making much more noise than necessary. "I can take care of that fuel line problem for you," he announced, and began attacking the X-wing's side panel as though it were an Imperial storm trooper.

"Yes, I'm sure you can," Leia purred. She put a friendly arm around Uncle Hubert in return and they walked away together.

Han watched them go with slow-burning fury glinting in his eyes. He threw the spanner down angrily, swearing when it bounced on the concrete and landed on his toe.

Something that sounded like a cross between a vaporator engine and a rockslide came from behind him. Chewbacca stood there, chortling, with his furry arms propped on his even furrier hips.

"So who asked you, you reject from a dust mop factory? Get out of here!"

Chewy looked momentarily hurt, then said plaintively, "Grrmp forff zzgrg hrmrrim grzzgrggg?"

Han's mouth fell open. "I am not!" He jabbed a finger at his fuzzy first mate. "And you stay out of it, you hear?"

"Gjjrrgrmgg."

Han glared at him. "Smart alec." He stalked away in pursuit of Hubert and Leia, not caring that Chewie trailed none-too-discreetly along behind.

He found them in the hangar's makeshift lounge area, seated on a wooden bench deep in reminiscent conversation. Han lurked behind a bank of lockers, shamelessly eavesdropping. "There's such a lovely symmetry to Imurian Sensura dancing," he heard Uncle Hubert opine. "And it's certainlv the most beautiful dance I've ever seen you do. I'll never forget that night."

Han had to grab his own fist to keep it from smashing into the rivetted back side of the lockers.

"We did have a wonderful time, didn't we?" Leia's pleasant voice responded. Then she added in more melancholy tones, "Things were so much different for us all then."

"They'll be that way again, Leia. You'll see."

"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it? We have an important job to do, Uncle Hubert. We need... Well, we could use your help. And your ship."

He laughed. "Including a cargo of bootleg Ligerian rum?"

"Well, you never know."

"That rum is worth a king's ransom on the Dauron black market, sweetheart."

She sighed. "Don't you ever take life seriously? Even for a minute?"

"Not if I can help it. Listen, Princess, I've got a hot ship with a hotter cargo sitting over there in your camouflaged bay dock just waiting for a steam purge before it can take off again. But I'll tell you what. As soon as the goods are delivered, I'll turn around and come back. I'd cross a whole galaxy for you, you know that."

Behind the lockers, Han Solo grimaced. That line was older than the universe. When Leia didn't answer, he peeked around the corner to see his worst suspicion confirmed. Uncle Hubert and Leia were sharing a passionate kiss.

Boiling, Han moved to intervene in the tender moment, but a huge hairy hand suddenly clamped his shoulder and pulled him away.

"Hey! What's the idea?" Han complained when they were safely out of earshot.

Chewie cut loose with a long string of grunts and gutteral growls.

"Don't tell me what's none of my business!" Han shot back. "It's none of your business what's none of my business! Now stop following me around and go play with the hyperdrive or something, will you?! You're beginning to get on my nerves!"

He stormed off, and eventually found himself heading coincidentally toward the bay dock where Uncle Hubert's ship was waiting. The steam purging droids were just finishing their work on the sleek blue ship, which bore the unlikely name of Lady Love. Han watched the purge droids depart, leaving the ship by itself, and an idea occurred to him. Ligerian weld-root rum was potent stuff: so potent only a felinoid Ligerian or Dauronite could drink it without risking the loss of his larynx. It was also one of the most fumacious liquors brewed anywhere in the galaxy. Why, the smell alone was said to be enough to...

Not completing his own thought, Han headed toward the resting ship wearing a broad, malicious grin...

For the first time, Leia slipped out of his embrace. "You're still living in the past, Uncle Hubert. I danced for my father's guests on Alderaan, but that was a long time ago. Before the Rebellion -- and before Vader."

For a moment he looked thoroughly disappointed but recovered quickly. "Can't we forget all that, for old time's sake? Even for a moment?"

"I can't forget what I am. Any more than I could forget to breathe. I'm not a child anymore. Or an overspoiled princess who happened to enjoy exotic dancing. That's all in the past. All of it."

"Oh come on, Princess --"

"Just Leia now, if you don't mind."

"My, we are the grim little thing, aren't we?" He threw up a placating hand at her angry look. "Easy," he soothed. "Look, at least let me show you my ship, will you? She's a real beauty, this one. And when I bring her back here, she should be able to help your forces--"

He let the sentence trail off. He'd begun to reach for the hatch control as he spoke, but stopped when Leia turned abruptly and walked away. He started to call her name, but deciding that would be undignified, stifled the temptation. Shaking his head, he started off in another direction.

The Lady Love sat quietly on her launch platform, waiting. Scant minutes after Uncle Hubert had departed, a figure crept out of the shadows near the forward hatch. Han Solo cautiously approached the ramp and looked around in consternation. Hubert hadn't opened the hatch. His carefully-laid plan would have to wait just a little longer...

A loud crash and a startled yelp sent both Uncle Hubert and Leia running back to the holding bay. From somewhere, Chewbacca had also appeared, and the three of them converged on the Lady Love in time to see Han Solo attempting to sit up from amidst a heap of splintered shipping crates. Broken glass and a positively reeking odor spilled out of the wreckage.

"Ligerian weld-root rum," Uncle Hubert said jocularly, and grinned at the picture of the infamous Captain Han Solo, Corellian smuggler and renowned space pirate, spreadeagled in the ruins of what had obviously been a booby trap intended for the captain of the Lady Love. Priceless. Absolutely priceless.

Leia covered her nose and tried valiantly to suppress a giggle. She didn't succeed. Chewie, trying to help Solo out of the 90 proof carnage, found his huge hand being rudely slapped away.

"Just leave me alone," Han snapped. Under his breath, he muttered, "Abgefroding fuzz-faced neanderthal!"

Chewie took umbrage at that, and whined an insulted response. Brooding, Han glared heatedly back at him and mumbled something in non-translatable Corellian.

"Delighted to see you enjoy the distilled spirits, Captain Solo," Uncle Hubert said gleefully. "I'll just bill that particular cargo to the Millennium Falcon -- oh at wholesale rate, of course. Good of you to volunteer for clean-up duty, too. I was hoping someone would come along..." He found a broom and a metal spanner in the nearby storage locker and picked his way through the crunching glass and wood to hand them both to Han.

"While you're at it, I thought you might like to check out the starboard side afterburners. They've been a tad slow on the uptake the last couple of trips." He pressed the spanner into Han's hand, having already placed the broom in the other, then ducked hastily back as the Corellian came lunging at him with the spanner held high. Only Chewie's intervention prevented Uncle Hubert's untimely demise.

"Well, Princess," Uncle Hubert said while the wookie continued to restrain a steaming Han Solo. "Are we still on for dinner tonight? Lt. Fallon promised me the exclusive loan of his quarters for the evening, and I--"

Leia held up a hand, ignoring the blast of Corellian obscenities coming from amid the pile of broken cargo crates. "I hate to disappoint you, Uncle Hubert," she said pleasantly. "Really. But I'm afraid I already had a commitment for this evening. For a lovely, neon-lit stroll through the Y-wing hangars."

Han Solo stopped swearing and grinned, pulling free of Chewie's grasp. _That's my Leia,_ he thought. _Always quick on the snappy comeback. I knew she'd come through in the end.._

"You can t be serious," Uncle Hubert was protesting.

"Oh, but I am." Leia looked toward the two comically diverse figures in the rum heap and said, "Shall we?"

Han's grin broadened. "You bet, your worship. Just let me clean up a little and--"

He was cut off by Chewbacca's sudden growl and a short flood of Wookiean dialogue. Han's face fell as he listened. "You what?"

Hairy lips parted over Chewie's enormous teeth. He patted Han consolingly on the shoulder, then marched out of the refuse heap and put a huge furry arm possessively around Leia, nudging Uncle Hubert aside on the way by.

"You're joking," Han said incredulously, almost chorusing a similar remark from Uncle Hubert.

"We'll see both of you boys later " Leia said, smiling sweetly. "Ta ta!"

Adding his own hooting farewell, Chewie led her gently but smugly away. Han glowered after them, swinging the spanner back and forth with murder in his eye.

''Strangest young woman I've ever known," Uncle Hubert commented, coming to stand at Han's side. "Ah well. Love and war and all that garbage, I suppose." He looked at Han appraisingly. "How are you at Imurian Sensura dancing?"

Han dropped the heavy spanner squarely on Uncle Hubert's toe, and gloating at the resultant flood of pained epithets, walked away.
 

THE END