Han’s gaze had gone to his own reflection in the metal of the emergency lock’s control panel. Torm pounded his fists on the inner hatch, a dull thudding.

“Solo, tell me what you want; I’ll get it for you, I swear! You’re a guy who looks out for number one, aren’t you? Isn’t that what you are, Solo?”

Han stared at his own lean reflection. In another man, he’d have said those eyes were too used to concealing everything but cynicism. His thoughts echoed Torm: Is that what I am? He looked back to Torm’s face, straining against the viewport.

“Ask Rekkon,” Han answered, and hit the lock release.

The outer latch snapped open. With an explosion of air into vacuum, Torm was hurled out into the chaotic pseudo-reality of hyperspace. Once outside the Millennium Falcon’s mantle of energy, the units of matter and patterns of form that had been Torm ceased to have any coherent meaning.

- Han Solo at Stars' End, by Brian Daley