By the time the TIE came out of hyperspace, Han had binded Phasma with restraints he found in a compartment. He had also treated his lightsaber wound with a medical kit he found under the rear passenger seat. Against his better judgement, he took some medication to manage the pain.
“I can’t fly the ship with these bindings, Solo,” Phasma said.
“That’s the point,” Han replied, punching in new coordinates for another jump. “Move to the rear,” He added, tapping his blaster on her helmet.
With reluctance, she shimmied around the pilot’s seat, making her way to the back. Han’s blaster stayed steady on her head. She sat with a clink. Han strapped her in and rearranged her bindings to secure her to the seat. He studied his work, then, out of curiosity, he reached to take off her helmet.
“Remove my helmet and I’ll remove those hands,” Phasma snapped.
Han contemplated this. Again, against his better judgement, he left her helmet on. He took the controls and they jumped back into hyperspace.
“Why are you keeping me alive, old man?” Phasma demanded.
“Believe me, there was a time, long ago, when I was always the one to shoot first. At some point, I grew a conscience.”
“So you’re going to let me go?”
“No, I just can’t shoot you. I’m still going to kill you.”
“Then why are you taking me across the galaxy to kill me?”
“Convenience. It’s on the way to see an old friend of mine.”
“It would be a mistake to not kill me right now, Solo. I’ll kill you the first chance I get.”
“Oh, I know. But, I don’t expect you to understand the internal struggle between heroics and murder.”
The TIE came out of hyperspace once again. Han felt nostalgic as the ship approached Tatooine. Seeing the twin suns, Han recalled his time on the planet as a younger man. Smuggling, swindling and stealing. Han shook his head of the thoughts. Whenever he recalled the misdeeds of his youth, he felt a pang of guilt. Deep down, he felt that his behavior must have had some influence on why his son succumbed to the Dark Side.
They broke through the atmosphere, Han saw Mos Eisley ahead. He used the location of the settlement to gauge where he needed to go. The ship banked as he steered them straight into the Dune Sea. Han thought of his last time on Tatooine. Awoken from the cold carbonite, rescued by his friends, taking out Jabba and his gang.
After a while, Han spotted what he was looking for. Rusty remnants of Jabba’s barge still littered the Dune Sea, stripped down to bones by scavengers. He slowed the TIE and swung it around so that it hovered low over a giant hole in the sand.
Phasma kept her calm. She watched as Han set the autopilot and opened the top hatch. He began undoing her bindings except for a clamp keeping her hands together. Han kept his blaster pointed at her face as he stood her up and moved her towards the hatch ladder. He motioned to Phasma to look out the cockpit window. She followed his gaze. The circular window framed the monster’s gaping mouth. Rows of teeth quivered and several tentacles reached for the ship.
“Meet the almighty Sarlaac.” Han smirked.
“This is dramatic, Solo,” Phasma replied.
“Yeah, well, I need you to talk. So, option one: you talk, you die fast. Option two: you don’t talk, I throw you in my old friend The Sarlaac, where you’ll be digested for the next thousand years.”
With confidence, Han sat down in the pilot’s seat, aiming his blaster at Phasma’s chest. Phasma stood facing Han.
“Where is Snoke?” Han demanded.
Phasma stood her ground in silence, her cape flowing in the gentle breeze coming in the hatch.
“Where is my son?” He growled. “Where does the First Order fall back to?”
“Back on Starkiller Base, you had me overpowered with that Wookie.”
“Location, that’s all we’re talking about. I need to know where Snoke is.”
“But now, you’re all alone. A frail, old man, with a hole in his chest, no one to help him. You’ve let your guard down, Solo.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I couldn’t afford to let you fire your weapon in space. That’s not the case anymore.”
Lightning fast, Phasma reached down and clamped her bound hands around Han’s neck. Han took a moment to react, the pain medication numbed his reflexes. He squeezed off a blast into Phasma’s chest. Han waited for the mighty woman to fall down dead, but it didn’t happen. Han realized the blast hadn’t even scuffed her Chromium armor.
Phasma picked Han up by his neck, off his feet, strangling him. Without hesitation, Han stuck the barrel of his weapon under Phasma’s chin, inside her helmet. He pulled the trigger at the same instance Phasma dropped her hold. The blast missed her jaw by inches and Han fell back into the pilot’s seat.
“You should have killed me,” Phasma said.
Han raised his blaster as Phasma kicked a lever to the side of the pilot’s seat. The seat ejected, with Han on it, through the hatch and into the air. He tried to cling to the seat but after a rotation they separated as gravity took hold.
Han landed hard on a bank of sand, face first. Something wrapped around his ankle and started pulling on him. Dazed, Han spat out sand and flipped over. He saw the tentacle wrapped around his foot, pulling him down, towards the creature’s mouth. Han had a flash of deja vu, recalling when he saved Lando from this same predicament. He grasped at the tentacle, unable to release the tight hold it had on him.
Han looked up at the hovering TIE and saw Phasma in the cockpit, watching to make sure he didn’t survive. With a final tug on his ankle, the tentacle pulled him into the creature’s mouth.
*This is a work of fan fiction. Star Wars and it’s characters are property of Lucasfilm Ltd and Disney.