It's one of the most distinctive vessels of the Star Wars saga, and it is now finally getting the star treatment -- the titular role in Star Wars: Millennium Falcon, a new hardcover novel by James Luceno, published by Del Rey Books. The book spans decades, covering the hitherto unrevealed past of the Falcon, from its "birth" at a Corellian assembly line, to its brief appearance on Coruscant in Episode III, to its checkered past bouncing from owner to owner to finally become Han Solo's beloved starship. Piecing together the Falcon's origins is part galactic history and part mystery, and it sets Solo off on a spirited planet-hopping adventure.
In celebration of the Falcon, StarWars.com is presenting a week's worth of Millennium Falcon-focused content, starting with an preview excerpt of the novel that hits bookstores tomorrow.
So climb aboard, buckle up, and prepare to jump to hyperspace for the ultimate flight of the ship that launched a thousand fates.
Staring at her like some lovesick cub. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Then quickly trying to get hold of himself so that Lando wouldn't know what he was thinking. Dismissing the ship as a hunk of junk. But Lando was no fool, and by then he knew all of Han's tells. One of the best gamblers that side of Coruscant, he knew when he was being bluffed. "She's fast," he had said, a twinkle in his eye.
Han didn't doubt it.
Even that far back it was easy to envy Lando all he already possessed, his extraordinary good fortune to begin with. But luck had little to do with it. Lando just didn't deserve this ship. He could barely handle a skimmer, let alone a light-fast freighter best flown by a pair of able pilots. He just wasn't worthy of her.
Han had never thought of himself as the covetous or acquisitive type, but suddenly he wanted the ship more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. After all the years of servitude and wandering, of close calls and failed partnerships, in and out of love, in and out of the Academy, victim of as many tricks as he'd played on others . . . perhaps he saw the ship as a chance for permanence.
Circling her, fairly orbiting her, he nursed sinister designs. The old freighter drew him to her gravity, as she clearly had all who had piloted her and added their own touches to the YT's hull, mandibles, the varied techno-terrain of her surface. He took the smell of the ship into his nostrils.
The closer he looked, the more evidence he found of attempts to preserve her from the ravages of time and of spaceflight. Dents hammered out, cracks filled with epoxatal, paint smeared over areas of carbon scoring. Aftermarket parts socked down with inappropriate fasteners or secured by less-than-professional welds. She was rashed with rust, bandaged with strips of durasteel, leaking grease and other lubricants, smudged with crud. She had seen action, this ship, long before Lando's luck at sabacc had made her his property. But in service to who or what, Han had no idea. Criminals, smugglers, pirates, mercenaries . . . certainly all of those and more.
When Lando fired her up for Han's inspection, his heart skipped a beat. And minutes later, seated at the controls, savoring the response of the sublight engines, taking her through the paces and nearly frightening Lando to death, he knew he was fated to own her. He would get the Hutts to buy her for him, or pirate her if he had to. He'd add a military-grade rectenna and swap out the light laser cannons for quads. He'd plant a retractable repeating blaster in her belly to provide cover fire for quick getaways. He'd install a couple of concussion missile launchers between the boxy forks of her prow . . .
Not once did it occur to him that he would win her from Lando. Much less that Lando would lose her on a bluff.
Piloting the modified SoroSuub he and Chewie leased from Lando had only added to his longing for the ship. He imagined her origins and the adventures she had been through. It struck him that he was so accepting of her from the start, he had never asked Lando how or when she had acquired the name Millennium Falcon.
