I do not own this. I wish I did, but I do not. Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. And the "glorified fanfiction"—that's all it is, truly!—that I'm rebuttaling…Vector Prime(eew)…belongs to a certain piece of Sithspawn known as R.A. Salvator. Nothing in this story is supposed to resemble any real people, events, or institutions, and any such resemblance is merely coincidental, and should not be taken seriously.

SUMMARY: After the events of Vector Prime…

A long time ago, in the galaxy far, far away…

A new evil is rising. Hard to find, and hard to see, it shrouds itself in myths and pain. Few who have seen it at work live to tell…and a hero of the Rebellion and the Republic may become its next victim. The Dark Side consumes and destroys all it touches. Can the Skywalker-Solo clan survive its horrific touch?

Han Solo, broken hearted from his recent traumatic experience, blinded to the sufferings and concern of his family and friends, strikes out in the Falcon trying to patch his life back together. What he finds will defy his wildest dreams…

Chewie slowly opened his eyes. Then shut them abruptly. "Arrorowwroogh," he moaned. His furry head felt like someone had just shoved it inside the Falcon's engine and taken off. In fact…Life-debt or no life-debt, Anakin Solo would be very sorry about this. Not even a Jedi-trainee could do this to Chewie for practice—at least, they couldn't with two arms…

Chewbacca was right. Anakin was very sorry. Not for cramming Chewie in the engine to shut him up while the boy tinkered with the Falcon, but for not being able to get the Wookiee off-planet in time…And Anakin would never get the chance to apologize, either. Chewie, Han Solo's best friend, a hero of the Rebellion, the greatest uncle a kid could have, and idol of Kashyakk, was dead. Killed. Suicided. Murdered. However you said it, nothing changed.

Anakin felt like going to get a lightsaber, sticking it in his mouth, and thumbing the trigger. Somehow, though, he had the idea it wouldn't work. Dad would think he was running away, mom would be ready to kill dad, Jaina and Jacen would be really sad—and angry, too—and his Uncle Luke would probably find a way to stop him from doing it at all. Maybe a blaster would work better…But how would I get the blaster?

Han Solo had gone a little farther than his son. He actually had the blaster by his ear, was pulling the trigger, than flinched and dropped it. "C'mon, pal, be a sport…" Han's voice trailed off. There was no pal to pull the blaster away and give him a kick big enough to throw him through the bulkhead. There was no pal, period. Right now, Han didn't give a Sith that Anakin felt like scum. He didn't worry about his other two kids, his wife, or all his friends. All he though about was Chewie. The big buddy who was no more. Han grabbed for his blaster—and successfully rammed his head into the top of his bunk.

Man, he thought, this must be hitting me bad. I haven't hit that since I got the thing. "I know, I know, Chewie, but I was drunk then…" Han irrittaitedly ran a hand over his wet cheeks. I gotta stop talkin' to him. That'll just make it worse. "Ha! What a clown I am! That won't make it worse! 'make it worse' ha! Nothin' c'n make this w'rse, 'cause there ain't nothin' t' get w'rse…" Han didn't notice his speech slurring. Had he, the captain of the Millennium Falcon would never have attributed it to the fact that eight bottles of hard Corellian brandy lay strewn about his bunk.

Chewbacca peeked carefully out of one eye. It was still bright, but it no longer hurt to open his eyes, at least. Chewie could say nothing about the rest of him, of course, but at least he could see again. "Arror grra krran?" he asked.

"Ah, Master Chew Bacca. How good to see you awake." Obviously, whoever this was didn't know his name, if he pronounced it in two. Chewie was about to clear things up when his jaws clicked shut abruptly. The figure had just stepped into Chewie's line of vision.

"Mrrrrrn…" Chewie moaned, even though he could see no face, that voice and smell were more than enough to tell Chewie who he was addressing.

And it wasn't good. Not at all.

In the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, Princess Leia Organa-Solo, Chief-of-State of the New Republic, struggled to catch her breath.

What's wrong with me, she thought. It's as if there's a black cloth over my head… But I feel danger, too… Suddenly, enlightenment struck. It's the Force!

The Force is trying to tell me something…something's wrong…and somebody's in danger!

But why would the Force tell her something? She had the Force, yes, but she was no Jedi! Why didn't Luke notice? He'd be able to figure it out. Her brother was a Master Jedi; he'd know right away what it meant!

In the Jedi Temple of Yavin IV, Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master and Rebellion hero, was having a nightmare.

No, Luke told himself, not a nightmare—a premonition!

"Through the Force, many things you will see. Other places, old friends long gone," Yoda had told him. Luke remembered his first such vision; one which had almost resulted in disaster at Bespin. Hopefully he'd handle this one a lot better. Luke sighed and surrendered himself to the Force.

Danger…that was the prominent sense Luke got. Nothing was very clear, but he knew one of his close friends was in danger, or soon would be. He stretched out his feelings, probing, but could make out no face. It was as if a cloud of darkness surrounded him, trapping him in, suffocating him…Get a grip, Luke told himself. Now that was odd; he hadn't felt that was since Vader had—Vader? Could that be it? No…this wasn't about Vader, or any Sith…it was a friend. Luke knew it was a friend.

Maybe if I try to pick the person, then see if it fits? That had never been tried before to Luke's knowledge, but then, thanks to the Empire, that knowledge was limited indeed. Oh, well, couldn't hurt to do that.

Luke stretched out his feelings, searching. Mara? Was it—no, it wasn't Mara…Leia, then? Was his sister in any trouble? No, neither were the twins…Anakin…he sensed a faint foreboding about Anakin, but not this…Han…Han was very troubled, but somehow Luke thought that was different. That was about Chewbacca—Chewbacca? Now why did that name seem to fit? Chewie was dead…Luke quickly stifled his grief before he lost the vision. He tried it again; no, it was definitely Chewbacca! That didn't make sense! A vision from the past, perhaps. But then the dark veiling didn't make sense, because it had already happened. Chewbacca was already dead—already dead! That was it; a veil didn't cloud this; it was covered in a shroud of darkness!

Chewbacca's death shroud!

Luke sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. Chewbacca's death shroud… Beside him Mara awoke.

"Luke, what's wrong? What's the matter?"

"Mara…." His voice was hoarse, it rasped in his throat. It was a struggle just to breathe through the suffocating shroud. Luke gasped in a breath before continuing urgently: "Mara, it's Chewbacca…he's not dead!"