Luke had heard stories from Biggs and Uncle Owen about the Mos Eisley cantina, but seeing it in person was beyond overwhelming. A band of Biths played a jaunty tune that hardly eased any of the tension the young farm boy felt amidst the seedier patrons of the galaxy. A plethora of alien species dotted every dark corner of the bar, most wearing hoods like Luke to obscure their faces as they discussed business dealings or gossiped about underworld affairs. It was a haven for smugglers, bounty hunters, thieves, and just about any other criminal.

And Luke felt unnerved knowing he and Ben had garnered the attention of just about everyone there.

“Be careful, Luke,” Ben cautioned, “we’re only looking for a pilot, not trouble.” Luke nodded in understanding, he definitely didn’t want to start anything with anyone here. Taking a seat at the bar counter, he fixed his eyes to his hands and tried not to tap his fingers on the stained stand.

The two sat there for a while. Despite the unsavory looks being thrown by everyone else in the room, the idle banter seemed to be drawing the attention of the bartender away from the two conspicuous humans. It wasn’t until Obi-Wan set down a respectable stack of credit chips that the bartender even bothered to glance over at the two, his body following his eyes seconds later.

“What can I get ya,” he barked with a raspy tone of impatience. Luke noticed that the man looked markedly worn down, a bit scruffy, fresh cuts on the edges of his wispy beard. He assuredly wasn’t the easiest-to-look-at bartender on Tatooine.

Obi-Wan pushed the stack of chips closer to the man, always keeping his hand on top, “I happen to be looking for transportation off-world, friend.”

The bartender turned his nose up at the words, “I ain’t your friend, and people don’t drink transportation, so I ain’t sellin’ it.”

“Perhaps I could--”

“Perhaps nothin’,” the bartender cut the hermit off with a definite tone of finality.

With a smile, Ben waved his hand in a delicate motion, speaking with a flair of confidence.

“You’d rather take the money and tell me what I want.”

Luke took a worried glance at the old man.

From the farm boy’s perspective, it sounded as if Ben had told the bartender what to do, and if what Luke knew about Mos Eisley types had an ounce of truth to it, then the bartender wouldn’t take too kindly to being bossed around. Skywalker felt himself tense and braced for some sort of confrontation when--

“I’d rather take the money and tell you what you want…” the barkeep repeated. His voice sounded placated, the roughness in his face relaxed and his eyes seemed to slip into some sort of trance. “The only ship headin’ off-world is Solo’s…”

Ben didn’t bother to acknowledge Luke’s open mouthed amazement, “And where can I find this Solo?”

The barkeep seemed to have a moment of clarity as he let out a short snarky laugh before slipping back into the trance.

“Probably dead and in the ground,” the man provided with mild amusement, “Jabba’s men’ll have that bantha fodder dead for wasting that rodian in my bar. He’s probably being turned into a scorch-mark as we speak, him and his wookie pal.” He jabbed his thumb to one of the spots where patrons could sit; only one was empty, and it was the one with what looked like a blood stain on the table… and a small black blaster mark on the wall, “Greedo never had a shot.”

“You will tell me where I can find Solo,” Ben spoke imperatively this time. Luke noticed that the bartender had been slowly getting more agitated, the power the hermit was using must’ve been wearing off.

The bartender’s eyes glazed over again at Obi-Wan’s behest.

“Docking bay… 94.” With that, Ben slid the credits over to the bartender and got up from his stool. The man shook his head as if he had just come down from a bad headache, pocketed the chips, and moved away to take a less-confusing customer’s order.

“Come along, Luke,” Ben said, making his way out of the cantina. Luke let out a sigh of relief, he didn’t like feeling the pressure of so many eyes on him. The sordid crowd made his skin crawl but Obi-Wan seemed unfazed. Luke hoped that maybe when he was a Jedi he’d have Ben’s courage.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, but halfway to the docking bay, Luke couldn’t hold his curiosity in any longer.

“What was that power you used,” his voice was bubbly. “Was that some sort of Jedi magic like back at the burrow?” Luke’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm and Ben couldn’t help but laugh.

“Is it too hard to believe I did it without some sort of magic?” He smiled, “I was known as ‘The Negotiator’ back in my prime!”

The winds picked up and a wave of sand interrupted Luke before he could get a response out. The loose layers Luke wore kept the sand out of his eyes and mouth, but the grains still buffeted his cheeks. Waiting for the winds to die down, they passed through the marketplaces lining Mos Eisley, each one filled with aliens and off-world items. Luke could never afford much more than the food and appliances Uncle Owen would let him buy, so he never gave the market much attention. But after passing through with Ben, everything seemed to have so much more color and detail.

As the wind quieted to nothing more than a soft whistle, Luke finally spoke.

“Yeah, but that thing you did,” he had been replaying the events over and over in his mind as they walked, “you told him what to say and he… did it. He looked as if he were in some… like--like you were messing with his mind.”

Luke pulled his cover tighter over his mouth as he fumbled with his words. “Can Jedi really get into people’s heads and make them do things they don’t want to? It seems… wrong.”

Ben didn’t look at him, but Luke could see the hermit thinking through the corners of his eyes. “You’re right. It is wrong to force others to do things they don’t want to. It is a dangerous power and can be abused for evil, but as Jedi we must use it only as a means to avoid conflict. A Jedi does not use the Force for their own benefit, but for the good of all.”

“So…” Luke thought about it, “since he wouldn’t tell you willingly, you made him tell you to avoid violence?”

Ben gave a slight nod. “Correct; getting involved in an altercation there would have been detrimental to our journey. There was also the need to hurry.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Ben’s voice was grim and the old Jedi picked up his pace. “If what our friend back there told us is correct, then we should hope we find this Solo before Jabba does.”

Luke had forgotten the bartender mentioning Solo being in trouble with Jabba. Even on the moisture farm, Luke knew the name and all of its infamy. The Hutt crime lord practically ruled the underworld and called the shots from his palace on Tatooine. If Solo was in trouble with the Hutt, then he made a dangerous mistake coming here.

“Right,” picking up his pace, Luke hurried after the old Jedi. Together, they maneuvered their way through the crowded pale-yellow streets of Mos Eisley, holding onto the sliver of hope that Jabba the Hutt hadn’t already turned Solo into a scorch-mark.

----

“Jabba, Jabba, Jabba,” Han Solo had no idea how he was going to talk himself out of this one, but a charming smile couldn’t have hurt the situation, “you gotta believe me, I wanted to get that shipment to you just as much as you did. You think I like missing deadlines or dumping cargo?” The Hutt didn’t respond, his wrinkled, slime-crusted face more impassive than Solo had ever seen. The slug’s wide, ugly orange eyes tracked the smuggler as he paced back and forth.

“No!” Han put his hands on his chest and gave the most hurt look he could manage, “I’m a businessman at heart, so when those Imperials started boarding me, it was either face a life sentence or--”

“Or lose my money,” the Hutt bellowed. His long green tail struck the sand and raised a small plume of dust. Han wasn’t the most fluent in Huttese, but he had taken enough jobs from Jabba to know a good tone from a bad one.

Solo kept his hands on the sides of his waist, fighting the urge to scratch that itch rising up his back and onto his neck. “It wasn’t an easy choice, Jabba.”

“And was frying poor Greedo an easy choice, Solo?” This time, Han didn’t have to fake his outrage -- but he definitely tempered it a bit.

“You sent Greedo to blast me!”

“Greedo was told to send you a message,” Jabba gurgled out in his wet language. Han really wished the Hutt would’ve just learned some Basic. Guess when you’re the big, bad boss of the Underworld, you don’t really have to cater to your employees, Solo thought to himself.

“If the message was that you wanted me neck deep in the nearest sarlacc pit,” he shifted his weight as he felt the less than subtle truth in his words, “then message received.”

The Hutt let out a sonorous laugh, his meter wide head throwing back as much as his lack of a neck would allow. Han took the time to triple check his possible exits. Yup, he lamented, still trapped.

A dozen of Jabba’s finest covered each exit; a ragtag group of the roughest humans, rodians, and weequays Han had the displeasure of being held prisoner by. To Jabba’s right was perhaps the worst of the whole bunch -- Boba Fett. The infamous Mandalorian had been working for Jabba for years, taking care of any snitch, runaway, or loose end that happened to be bad for business. He was said to be faster than a Jedi, deadlier than an acklay, and uglier than a rancor. Unfortunately, Solo found himself on Jabba’s short list, and taking care of a dozen of Jabba’s enforcers sounded like a vacation compared to taking on Fett.

Han’s eyes covered the remainder of the bay, all that he had going for him was the Falcon, but even with Chewbacca inside, Han knew that it would take far too long for the ship to power up its defense turrets to be of any help; he couldn’t really signal the wookie from outside without Fett blasting him. Besides, Chewie knew better than to try anything.

Every possible way out was blocked, every move checked, and no matter how many times Han ran through the situation, it all ended exactly the same -- except for one small detail. Just as the Hutt’s boisterous laughter died down, Han caught the slightest movement of something on one of the upper balconies of the docking bay. Cover fire seems a bit overkill, huh, Jabba? Solo thought to himself, but, for some reason, it didn’t feel like another precaution.

“Solo, my boy,” Jabba’s ravenous mouth drew the smuggler’s attention again, “it pains me to do this, but,” Han took a step back and glared at the Mandalorian who had drawn his blaster rifle on Solo. The cornered smuggler didn’t bother reaching for his own DL-44… not while the odds looked like this. “You’ve cost me too much, too often. I’m afraid that last job was your last.”

Han let himself catch his breath, long enough to mask his panic with even more confidence, but short enough that Boba didn’t take it upon himself to scorch him.

“What if I could find another job -- one worth double that last shipment?”

The Hutt let out a low groan. “Han, you were my favorite out of the scum. Fett, you may--” Jabba was cut off by the loud ringing echo of a blaster shot, and he grunted in surprise as his hired bounty hunter flew backwards. Han wasted no time drawing his own blaster and opening fire on the two nearest thugs.

They were caught off guard and fell with a thud, but Solo wasn’t as lucky with the rest -- not even a second later, the surprise faded, and the other enforcers cocked their blasters and trained them on Solo. A familiar wookie battle roar reverberated through the Falcon as it powered on, its repulsorlift engines raising a cloud of sand and dust, obscuring Han and the Hutt. Heh, they won’t dare shoot knowing they might hit target practice over here.

“You will pay for this, Solo!” Jabba roared furiously, unable to do much more as Han placed his blaster against the slug’s thick body.

“Probably,” the smuggler agreed. “Just put it on my tab.”

Just as he finished his sentence, Han saw Fett roll to his feet, grab his blaster, and aim at Solo in one fluid motion. The bounty hunter was as quick as the stories told about him, and as Fett let loose a volley of blaster shots, Han realized maybe one of those stories hadn’t been as true as the others.

----

Luke had begun to think that maybe getting involved with this Solo guy was more trouble than it was worth, but seeing the brown haired man try and talk his way out of a hopeless situation made Skywalker’s heart drop. To get into the docking bay, he and Ben had to sneak around armed guards blocking the entryways, they were lucky that no one was up on the second floor overlooking the bay. From their vantage point, they were able to hear the exchange and see the slow, inevitable shift towards Solo’s end… and Luke couldn’t stand for it.

As the Hutt let out a deep laugh, Luke began to rise and reached for the small blaster Uncle Owen had given him. Just as his fingers edged the handle, he felt Ben place a hand on his shoulder. “Patience, Luke,” was all the hermit said. Luke brought his head down just as Solo threw a passing glance up to where they were.

Imagining himself in the man’s position, trapped and alone, Luke felt a surge of empathy for Solo. Whatever he had done to put himself in the position didn’t matter, Luke could feel the fear in Solo resonating inside his own mind. The short hairs on Luke’s arm rose with a wave of cold goosebumps, an uncomfortable itch moving up his spine and to his neck. Luke scratched the spot, and refocused his attention on the scene below.

A green armored thug who looked markedly different from the rest of Jabba’s posse had raised his blaster rifle and had it aimed directly at Solo. The fear Luke had been feeling spiked, and whatever Ben had tried to tell him about patience slipped away. Solo let out one last plea before the Hutt cut him off, and right before Jabba finished talking, an uncontrollable urge moved Luke to action.

Snatching the blaster from his waistband, Luke fired a single bolt directly at the armored thug’s chest, knocking him back. It seemed like that one action spurred a flurry of activity as Solo wasted no time firing on two more of Jabba’s goons. The strange freighter the altercation was happening under activated, its repulsorlifts kicking up a miniature sandstorm. Luke covered his face as the sands hit him. He had only ducked down for a moment, but in that time he heard the sounds of Jabba roaring in anger. Fearing the worst, Luke rose to find everyone below… still.

Around a dozen blaster rifles were aimed at the group of four by the ship. The hum of the freighter’s engines barely muted the sounds of Ben Kenobi’s lightsaber as it deflected the bodyguard’s blaster shots and held itself by the thug’s neck. Luke hadn’t even noticed the hermit mov; one second Ben was right next to him, the next he had jumped down and cleared 30 feet. Was this what it was like to be a Jedi? Luke’s mind raced in awe, Super speed? Mind control? What would it take to ever beat a Jedi Knight?

“Sorry to interrupt, but I have business with your friend here,” Ben’s control of the situation and his calm voice eased Skywalker, but the dozen or so blasters aimed at the old Jedi didn’t.

The Hutt let out a series of vicious sounding noises.

“It’s either this, Jabba,” Ben countered the slug, “or we can all see how fast Solo is on the draw.” The Hutt let out another round of deep laughter, before speaking in Huttese again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Solo said cautiously, “50,000 sounds a little high for,” he gestured around to Obi-Wan and the two dead thugs, “a little misunderstanding.”

With another laugh and phrase in Huttese, Luke saw all the thugs lower their blasters, the one in green armor hesitated before following suit. Solo pointed his blaster pistol a little bit away from the Hutt, and Ben deactivated his blue beam. Slowly, Jabba and his crew made their way out of the docking bay. They didn’t bother to pick up the dead bodies, instead kicking them out of the way so the Hutt didn’t have to crawl over top of them.

Just like that, it was over.

A moment passed, and Solo and Ben exchanged a few words between one another. Finally, the smuggler nodded and let out a heavy sigh. Turning to look up at Luke, Ben smiled. “Come along, Luke. I think we’ve found ourselves a ship.”