Han drew the reins in, bringing the Tauntaun to an abrupt halt on the plain.

Solo could not be certain, but there seemed to be some sound other than the howling

of the winds that whipped past him. He strained to look in the direction of the

sound.

Then he spurred his Tauntaun, forcing it to gallop across the snow-swept field.

Luke could have been a corpse, food for the scavengers, by the time the light of

dawn returned. But somehow he was still alive, though barely, and struggling to stay

that way even with the night storms violently assaulting him. Luke painfully pulled

himself upright from the snow, only to be blasted back down by the freezing gale.

As he fell he considered the irony of it all—a farm boy from Tatooine maturing to

battle the Death Star, now perishing alone in a frozen alien wasteland.

It took all of Luke's remaining strength to drag himself a half meter before

finally collapsing, sinking into the ever-deepening drifts. "I can't…" he said, though

no one could hear his words.

But someone, though still unseen, had heard.

"You must." The words vibrated in Luke's mind. "Luke, look at me!"

Luke could not ignore that command; the power of those softly spoken words

was too great.

With a great effort, Luke lifted his head and saw what he thought was a

hallucination. In front of him, apparently unaffected by the cold and still clad only

in the shabby robes he had worn in the hot desert of Tatooine, stood Ben Kenobi.

Luke wanted to call out to him, but he was speechless.

The apparition spoke with the same gentle authority Ben had always used with

the young man. "You must survive, Luke."

The young commander found the strength to move his lips again. "I'm

cold…so cold…"

You must go to the Dagobah system," the spectral figure of Ben Kenobi

instructed. "You will learn from Yoda, the Jedi Master, the one who taught me."

Luke listened, then reached to touch the ghostly figure. "Ben…Ben…" he

groaned.

The figure remained unmoved by Luke's efforts to reach it. "Luke," it spoke

again, "you're our only hope."

Our only hope.

Luke was confused. Yet before he could gather the strength to ask for an

explanation, the figure began to fade. And when every trace of the apparition had

passed from his sight, Luke thought he saw the approach of a Tauntaun with a human

rider on its back. The snow-lizard was approaching, its gait unsteady. The rider

was still too far away, too obscured by the storm for identification.

In desperation the young Rebel commander called out, "Ben?!" before again

dropping off into unconsciousness.

The snow-lizard was barely able to stand on its saurian hind legs when Han Solo

reined it to a stop and dismounted.

Han looked with horror at the snow-covered, almost frozen form lying as if dead

at his feet.

"Come on, buddy," he appealed to Luke's inert figure, immediately forgetting his

own nearly frozen body, "you aren't dead yet. Give me a signal here."

Han could detect no sign of life, and noticed that Luke's face, nearly covered

with snow, was savagely torn. He rubbed at the youth's face, being careful not to

touch the drying wounds. "Don't' do this, Luke. It's not your time."

Finally a slight response. A low moan, barely audible over the winds, was

strong enough to send a warm glow through Han's own shivering body. He grinned

with relief. "I knew you wouldn't leave me out here all alone! We've got to get

you out of here."

Knowing that Luke's salvation—and his own—lay in the speed of the Tauntaun,

Han moved toward the beast, carrying the young warrior limply in his arms. But

before he could drape the unconscious form over the animal's back, the snow-lizard

gave an agonized roar, then fell into a shaggy gray heap on the snow. Laying his

companion down, Han rushed to the side of the fallen creature. The Tauntaun made

one final sound, not a roar or bellow but only a sickly rasp. Then the beast was

silent.

Solo gripped the Tauntaun's hide, his numbed fingers searching for even the

slightest indication of life. "Deader than a Triton moon," he said, knowing that Luke

did not hear a word. "We haven't got much time."

Resting Luke's motionless form against the belly of the dead snow-lizard, Han

proceeded to work. It might be something of a sacrilege, he mused, using a Jedi

Knight's favorite weapon like this, but right now Luke's lightsaber was the most

efficient and precise tool to cut through the thick skin of a Tauntaun.

At first the weapon felt strange in his hand, but momentarily he was cutting the

animal's carcass from hairy head to scaly hind paws. Han winced at the foul odor

that rose from the steaming incision. There were few things he could remember that

stank like a snow-lizard's innards. Without deliberation he tossed the slippery

entrails into the snow.

When the animal's corpse had been entirely eviscerated, Han shoved his friend

inside the warm, hair-covered skin. "I know this doesn't smell so good, Luke, but

it'll keep you from freezing. I'm sure this Tauntaun wouldn't hesitate if it were the

other way around."

From the body of the snow-lizard, another blast of entrail-stench rose out of the

disemboweled cavity. "Whew!" Han almost gagged. "It's just as well you're out

cold, pal."

There wasn't much time left to do what had to be done. Han's freezing hands

went to the supply pack strapped to the Tauntaun's back and rummaged through the

Rebel-issue items until he located the shelter container.

Before unpacking it, he spoke into his comlink. "Echo Base, do you copy?"

No response.

"This comlink is useless!"

The sky had darkened ominously and the winds blew violently, making even

breathing close to impossible. Han fought to open the shelter container and stiffly

began to construct the one piece of Rebel equipment that might protect them both—if

only for a short while longer.

"If I don't get this shelter up fast," he grumbled to himself, "Jabba won't need

those bounty hunters."

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