AN: I know I should be working on my "Silly Star Wars Poetry" right now, as I haven't updated it in a month, but this idea popped into my head out of nowhere and I had to write it down. So enjoy, and don't take it too seriously . . . In fact, don't take it seriously at all.


Han Solo made his way down the streets of the small Yavinian city, heading for the abandoned industrial area where nearly half of the Rebel Fleet was parked. His keen eyes scanned the sky. No sign of any Imperial ships. He slackened his pace, chuckling to himself at the Empire's incompetent sluggishness. When the Rebels had intercepted the Imperial message ordering a surprise attack on Yavin, they had hurried to evacuate all Rebel soldiers, as well as some of the civilians who lived near the Rebel base. Now, forty-eight hours later, the evacuation was nearly complete and the Imperial fleet had yet to show up. Han was taking no part in the evacuation – the Millenium Falcon wasn't exactly spacious – but had tagged along anyway, as the trip provided the perfect opportunity to stock up on supplies for his ship.

He neared the industrial complex, and was surprised to see that most of the larger transport ships had already taken off. Only a few smaller ones remained, each surrounded by a throng of what looked like a hundred people. Han skirted the crowds, grateful that he wasn't a captain of one of those transports. He eventually caught sight of the Falcon, parked a few hundred yards away from the other ships.

Han stopped abruptly. "What the . . ." Over fifty people were crowded around his ship, fighting to get on board. Han began sprinting, his bag of merchandise thumping against his leg. As he got closer, he saw C3PO standing on the entrance ramp, ushering the people in.

"Threepio!" Han forced his way through the mob until he stood next to the droid, blocking the Falcon's entrance. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Does this look like a transport ship?"

"Oh, hello, sir!" C3PO replied. "There is no more room on the other transport ships, and seeing as how no one has started to board yours yet -"

"Threepio, I'm not even participating in this evacuation! You need to get all these people out of here!"

"You're not?" Threepio was obviously surprised. Idiot. "Then why did you come -"

"'Why' doesn't matter, Goldenrod. What matters is that you get everyone that you let on off before I deactivate you!"

"But sir!" the droid protested. "The Imperial Fleet will attack at any moment and many of these people might die! We have to get as many of them as possible off the planet!"

Han gritted his teeth, realizing that Threepio had a point. That's the trouble with droids, he thought. Their logic is impossible to argue with. He glanced at the crowd, which had fallen silent, awaiting his decision. He hated the idea of a bunch of strangers on his ship, but if he could save a few lives . . .

He turned back to C3PO. "How many people did you let on?"

"Well, I didn't keep count, sir, but not very many. There is still plenty of room onboard."

A long moment passed before Han sighed, resigned. "You better be right." He then turned to the crowd. "Okay," he announced. "The people already on board can stay, but the rest of you will have to find a different transport. Sorry. There's no more room." A storm of protest erupted, but no one tried to follow Han and Threepio as they ascended the ramp and closed it behind them. Han made his way into the main hold. His jaw dropped as he took in the scene.

About thirty people were crammed into the hold, shoving others aside and arguing loudly. The floor was transformed into an obstacle course of suitcases and backpacks. People were fighting over the holographic chess table, ransacking the kitchen cupboards, and trying to open the secret (at least, they were supposed to be secret) smuggling compartments. Over in the corner a group of young children were trying to climb onto Chewbacca's shoulders. The Wookiee was protesting loudly and trying to gently push the kids away, but they didn't take the hints and continued to torment him.

"Threepio!" Han bellowed. The droid hurried over. Han glared at him, his eyes dark with fury. "You said there was still plenty of room on this ship! Is this your definition of plenty of room?"

"I'm – I'm deeply sorry, sir. I must have made a slight miscalculation," C3PO stammered.

"Slight miscalculation?" Threepio flinched. "Are we evacuating the whole damn planet? How many people did you let on?"

"Well, sir, there are many people who live nearby and -"

"How many people, Goldenrod?" Han advanced on the droid, his voice deepening to an impatient growl. The only thing that prevented him from throwing a punch was the knowledge that the impact would hurt his hand more than it would hurt Threepio's head.

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know." Han stared at Threepio in disbelief. "Then why don't you go count?"

The droid nodded hurriedly and disappeared into the crowd. Han took a deep breath and followed, heading for Chewie so he could rescue him from his tiny admirers. Once that task was completed, the two met up with C3PO in the hallway.

"So did you count them?"

"Oh, yes, sir! I counted twice, just to be sure. There are twenty-six refugees on this ship, all of them civilians. They -"

Han interrupted him. "You let twenty-six people onboard?"

"Yes, sir!" The droid's tone then became worried. "But, sir, there is a slight problem. This ship does not have enough room for twenty-six people."

Han just gaped. Of all the glaringly obvious things to say . . . Even he couldn't come up with a sarcastic response to that. "You just -"

The radio announcement echoing through the hallway cut him off. "Attention, all Rebel craft! Imperial ships have been detected. If you have not taken off, do so immediately. Repeat, take off immediately!"

Chewie hurried into the cockpit to obey. Han shot Threepio one last glare. "I'll deal with you later," he promised, before following the Wookiee.


Han burst into the cockpit, slamming the door shut behind him. "We need to do something about them, Chewie!" he gasped. They had only been in hyperspace for a few hours, and already their sanity was waning. "They've completely taken over our quarters, trashed the kitchen, made a mess out of the smuggling compartments, and they're yelling and fighting over everything imaginable while bombarding me with -"

Chewie placed a comforting hand on Han's shoulder, cutting his rant short. He barked out a suggestion.

"I already did that, Chewie, practically first thing," Han replied, calming down a little bit. "I radioed them while you were checking on the hyperdrive. Transport One isn't going to lift a finger to help us, and what's more, that impertinent lieutenant I talked to informed me that we have to take these people all the way to Naboo. Naboo! That's a week's journey, even with light-speed!"

Chewie asked what he was going to do.

"I don't know, pal. It's not like I can just chuck everyone out of the escape hatch, I can't murder Goldenrod no matter how satisfying it would be, and I can't get ahold of Leia or Rieekan on Transport One. They could potentially order Transport One to meet up with us and take some of these people, but since they're too busy organizing other stuff, we're on our own."

Chewie groaned out another suggestion.

Han raised his eyebrows. "Interesting idea, but I don't think that it would work . . . do you?"

Chewie shrugged and barked a response.

"I know we don't have many options." He thought about Chewie's suggestion for a while, and finally sighed. "We could try, Chewie. I still don't think it'll work, but I can't think of anything else we could do." He found a large piece of cardboard and a permanent marker, and began.


The next morning, Han entered the main hold and nailed the cardboard sheet to the wall. He stood up on a chair to get everyone's attention, and once they had fallen silent, began reading and explaining the contents of the cardboard sheet to the crowd.

Rules of the Falcon

1. I am the captain. What I say goes. If you can't live with that, the escape hatch is to your left.

2. The cockpit is off-limits. No one except Chewie or myself is allowed inside, unless it is an emergency.

3. An emergency is an event such as a fire on board, a radiation leak, an airlock malfunction, etc. Unless someone's life is in danger, don't come running to me with "emergencies."

4. Quiet hours are 24/7. Extremely quiet hours are between 1 AM and 9 AM.

5. No one is allowed in the bathroom for more than five minutes at a time. Sorry, but with twenty-eight of us sharing one bathroom, this rule is necessary.

6. The smuggling compartments (which were SUPPOSED to be secret) are for storage only. They are not bedrooms, dining rooms, or bathrooms (if I ever find out who made that mess . . .)

7. If Goldenrod is – wait, scratch that – WHEN Goldenrod is being annoying, PLEASE don't hesitate to turn him off.

8. My written permission is required to turn Goldenrod back on.

9. There is enough food for everyone for the entire trip, so there is no need to ration it out. That being said, don't eat like a herd of hungry Banthas, because then the food WILL run out.

10. The radio is to be used only for news, communication, and Chewie's Bon Jovi CDs. (not too often, though, okay pal?)

11. No tampering with any of the Falcon's electrical circuits EVER. You will likely be electrocuted (if not by the ship, then by me).

12. The holographic chess table and sabacc cards are to be shared. Also, they are supposed to be fun – sore losers will be banned from using them. (Chewie, this goes for you too!)

13. The blaster controls in the turrets are not video games – no matter how fun they look.

14. Kids – I know Chewie is fuzzy and soft, but he is NOT a cuddly toy. Please don't treat him like one, because he finds it very annoying and may get angry.

15. Please don't waste my time by talking about trivial stuff. If there is a problem with the ship, I will be glad to listen, but if you want to vent about how badly the Yavinian polo team is doing in the galactic playoffs or whatever they're called, find someone else. I don't care about Yavinian polo.

16. If there is the slightest amount of doubt in your mind as to whether or not you should do something, you should not do it.

17. Chewie and I will enforce these rules, so if you value your arms, it is wise to obey.

18. The blank space at the bottom of this list is intentional. If anyone does something stupid, I will add a new rule outlawing that action in the space below.

19. And of course, the obvious ones: no fighting, stealing (I WILL notice if anything goes missing), mess-making, or general jackassiness will be tolerated.

20. Goldenrod, every single one of these rules applies to you too.


"Well, that went well," Han remarked as he sat down next to Chewie in the cockpit.

Chewie barked out a question.

"Sure, there was a bit of protesting for some of them, particularly numbers four and ten, but overall, I think they got the message. Hopefully, those rules will make our trip a little bit easier."

Chewie asked another question, holding up a CD with a hopeful expression on his face.

"If you must." Chewie plugged the CD into the radio, and the sound of the screaming guitars of Bon Jovi's "Raise Your Hands" soon filled the cockpit. Han put the Falcon on autopilot, settled back in his chair, and closed his eyes, while Chewie began silently rocking out.

Maybe now I'll finally get some peace, he thought.

Within two minutes, there was a scuffling noise from the main hold. Han heard raised voices, a thump followed by a loud crash, angry yelling, and finally someone banging on the cockpit door. Han groaned as he stood up to greet the problem.

It was going to be a long week . . .


AN: Thanks for reading! Feedback of all types is welcomed. And virtual Chewbacca plushies go to anyone who caught the Spaceballs reference!