Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All was quiet in the space above Ank Kit'aar. The Imperial Star Destroyer Devastator slowly drifted in the planet's orbit, on the border of its gravitational field. She stood watch in the silence of the void, her white paint shining under the sun's rays, a looming but still presence in this remote corner of the Mid Rim.

The peace was disturbed by a Theta class shuttle exiting hyperspace. She set on a direct course towards the huge battleship and hailed her as soon as she came in range.

“Imperial Star Destroyer Devastator, this is shuttle Corintium requesting permission to dock.”

A few seconds passed before the answer came through.

“Shuttle Corintium, transmit the clearance codes for access.”

“Transmission commencing,” replied the pilot as he pushed a few buttons on the instrument panel, giving the command to send the data.

For a moment, the only sounds in the cockpit were the whirring of engines and the buzzing of high speed transmission; then the channel reopened and the same officer spoke again.

“Shuttle Corintium, permission to dock granted. Proceed to deck B-49, aft bay.”

The shuttle continued on her path and positioned herself under Devastator's large belly. Two lids slowly opened in the Star Destroyer's hull, like a wide mouth swallowing the smaller ship then closing to trap her inside.

Monitored by duty officers, Corintium made her way in a docking bay buzzing with activity. Pilots ran, maintenance workers attended crafts, commanders yelled orders at the soldiers; all around, stormtroopers patrolled, keeping an eye out for any suspicious behaviour. Without paying them any attention, the shuttle flew over them and landed on the deck. Her engines stopped and her latch opened to let out her passengers.

Black uniform neatly pressed, cap jammed on his dark blond hair, bag on his shoulder, Luke descended the shuttle's ramp among the other recruits. His sharp eyes wandered across the ship, burning with curiosity as he took in every detail. The sheer size of the bay was overwhelming, there were so many things to see it was hard to be anything but completely enthralled.

He had studied the setting of a regular Star Destroyer at length, but setting foot into one was something else entirely.

He was so taken in his contemplation that he nearly failed to see the purposeful mechanic running into his path, and stopped just in time to avoid crashing into him.

“Watch where ya goin',” the man said, throwing him an annoyed look.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbled in response.

But the worker was already away. The young man sighed, feeling a bit lost. He was the only one of his class assigned to Devastator, and he couldn't help a sting of loneliness at having to confront the hugeness of the Imperial flagship by himself. He wondered if any of his friends were in the same situation, trying to make sense of the Navy without knowing whom to turn to.

His thoughts wandered towards Biggs, his childhood best friend. Biggs' support had finally helped him convince his family to let him apply to the Academy, and they had been all but inseparable for the two years their training had lasted. Luke had no doubt that, had his friend been with him now, he would have found his way without any problem, all the while teasing him for being so impressible.

He put these musings away, unwilling to dwell on his worry for his friend and how much he missed him. Right, find a deck officer, he recalled the instructions given to him at the Academy. A glance down at the datapad containing his orders brought back a smile on his face. He was going to be a pilot. At last.

He scanned the docking bay for familiar faces, and managed to spot some of the others he'd seen aboard the shuttle. He jogged towards them, figuring they all had to get through the same point before getting redirected to their stations. His comrades stopped in front of a man in his early thirties with a serious look on his face, exchanged a few words with him, then bowed and went their way as Luke approached.

“Ensign Luke Lars, reporting for duty, sir,” he said with a salute.

The officer saluted back, and Luke handed him his datapad.

“You're assigned to the 61st squadron,” the officer said. He typed a signature code into the orders sheet, then gave it back to the young man. “Down this hall, take the second on your right, section 928. You're expected in the command room.”

Luke thanked him, then walked away, unsure if he could find his way through the maze of corridors making out the innards of the Star Destroyer.

Fortunately, his instructions had been clear enough. After only a few minutes of wandering, Luke stepped in a room that he was confident was the right place. Its walls were grey, like those of the rest of the ship, with a couple of unlit screens hanging from them. There was no furniture but a holographic console in the middle of the room, with place for about a dozen people to stand around it. An officer stood there, studying some reports, before turning when he heard Luke enter. He was a lieutenant, a bit taller than Luke, with dark brown hair and a strict but somewhat soft air about him. The young man saluted and introduced himself.

“Ah, Ensign Lars,” the officer said. “I'm Lieutenant Tanbris, we've been expecting you.”

He looked him over once again, and a frown appeared on his face as his eyes roamed over Luke's figure. The young man remained at perfect attention, doing his best not to show his unease.

“How old are you, Ensign?” Lt. Tanbris finally asked.

“I'm eighteen standard, sir,” Luke answered, a bit puzzled by the question.

Lt. Tanbris' eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Fresh out of the Academy, then?”

“Yes, sir, I just graduated a few days ago. Why?”

An uneasy second passed; then Lt. Tanbris's face relaxed, as if shaken from a thought. He gave Luke a small smile.

“Nothing. This is only unexpected. I know we've been in cruel lack of new blood lately, but... Never mind. Ensign Phennir will be arriving in a moment to show you around before your first shift.”

Luke nodded, looking around while Lt. Tanbris went back to his reports. It would have been nice to have somewhere to sit: he felt rather awkward, waiting like this.

“Don't worry,” Lt. Tanbris advised him, without looking up from his work. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Luke muttered a thanks, a bit annoyed that his nervousness was so obvious. It wasn't so much that he was afraid, just incredibly impatient. He couldn't wait to learn his duties, get in the cockpit and fly like he'd waited to do for years now.

Flying had always come naturally to him. When they were younger, he and Biggs used to race madly through the canyons of Tatooine, pulling stunts that frightened their friends. Biggs had been the only one who understood the exhilaration of speed, of moving through the air like nothing held you back. Nothing else had ever given Luke that absolute feeling of freedom and happiness, and he'd soon decided that was what he wanted to do for a living. He yearned to leave the planet, to see the galaxy and fly among the stars.

But this desire had another source as well, a more secret one. Luke rarely spoke about it, and then only to the people he felt close to. His father had been a pilot before he died at the end of the Clone Wars, shortly before his birth, and Luke had always held an undying fascination for him. His whole childhood, he had longed to know him: did he have the same blond hair, blue eyes and restlessness as he had? Did he also laugh in pure bliss when flying? Had he looked at the sky like he did, and want nothing else than take off to meet it? The stories he made up had always involved him somehow. He had wanted to make him proud, from wherever he was.

Now that he was older, Luke had finally accepted that his parent was gone, never to come back. But it didn't help a stray thought to wander to him from time to time. Right now, he wondered what his father would think, seeing him become what he'd always wanted to be. It was a heart-warming thought, and he indulged in it, a smile blooming on his lips. He felt as though the universe was only waiting for him to apply his mark on it.

An unknown voice pulled him out of it.

“Care to share what's so funny?”

He turned his head towards the sound. A man with black hair, broad shoulders and a light brown, angular face was looking at him, or rather looking him up and down. He'd crossed his arms over his chest; above his sharp cheekbones, dark eyes held a calculating spark.

Before Luke could answer, Lt. Tanbris stepped in.

“Ensign Phennir, this is Luke Lars, your new wingmate and squadron member. He just arrived on board and needs to be shown around.”

Phennir's joyless smile fell as he stared at Luke.

“You're a kid,” he said, turning up a straight and flat nose without bothering to hide his contempt.

Luke's pride flared at the easy dismissal, and he was unable to suppress a glare.

“Yeah, so what?”

“Kids don't end up in Black Squadron,” the man glared at him. “We're not Flight School.”

“Tell that to my superiors,” Luke snapped. “Not like I'd have chosen to fly with the likes of you by myself!”

He saw the tension rise in the other man, saw his fists tighten, but he didn't back off an inch. The nerve of him! He'd show him he could fly, he was sure he was better than him by a few parsecs anyway –

"Gentlemen, please calm down," Lt. Tanbris interrupted before their argument could turn into something nastier. “We are on a warship, not in a cantina. Ensign Phennir, I believe you are soon to be on patrol. I highly suggest you acquaint your wing mate with the work before the both of you take off.”

Phennir's expression darkened, but he uncrossed his arms and looked back at Lt. Tanbris.

“Yes, sir,” he said with strained politeness, before turning once more to Luke. “Come, FNG. Let's show you how things go around here. By the way, name's Chaser.”

Before Luke could react, he stormed off. The young man gritted his teeth in irritation, hurrying to catch up with him.

"Here's where we debrief, here's where we have time off, and here's where we bunk," Chaser gestured around him. Luke was certain he could never recognise all these similar doors on his own. "And here's your locker. Put your stuff in here quick, we've got a tight schedule."

Luke only had time to lock his things up. Chaser was already going away, leaving him behind in the dull corridors.

“Hey!” Luke protested. He hurried to run after Chaser, and threw his squadmate a glare when he arrived at his level. “You know, you're supposed to show me around, not drag me!”

Chaser gave him a feral grin, all white teeth and thick eyebrows, which infuriated Luke even further.

“Too bad if you don't like it, FNG. That's how it is.”

"I'll show you how it is when we get in space," Luke replied, fuming. What a stroke of luck, to be paired with such an arrogant moron! But he had another thing coming, if he thought Luke would let himself be treated that way. This was the job of his dreams and he wouldn't let anyone ruin it for him.

He was about to let him know exactly how he felt when he noticed the huge smirk on Chaser's face. He frowned, realising the other was baiting him, and he was falling for it hook, line and sinker. He pinched his lips and forced himself to calm down.

“The call sign is kinda lame, too,” he drawled. “Calling new squad mates Flying New Guys was old style decades ago. When did you graduate the Academy, during the Clone Wars?”

This time, Chaser was the one to glare at him, although the corner of his lips hitched. Luke couldn't repress his grin.

“You find yourself funny, youngster,” Chaser retorted. “But you'd better watch your mouth until we find you a proper name, because “Scrawny” would fit you like a glove.”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“If that's the squad's naming habits, I'm surprised you escaped Brainless Brawns.”

Chaser let out a howling laugh.

“You've got a sharp tongue, if nothing else,” he said, before sobering. “Not something you should display too much around Black Leader.”

Luke shrugged, but inside his guts a stone had dropped. That would be a bad idea indeed...

“Your Black Leader doesn't scare me any more than you do,” he bragged anyway. It was out of the question that he let Chaser see his unease.

Chaser threw him an incredulous glance.

“You don't even know who he is, do you? Or are you just completely daft?”

“Of course I know who he is,” Luke snapped, on the defensive. “Everybody knows about Black Squadron's leader.”

He had been floored when he had received his posting. He'd had to reread the document three times before it started registering in his mind, and Biggs had opened wide eyes when Luke had shown it to him. Even now, he was still reeling about it, how an eighteen-year-old cadet like him with no flight experience got assigned to one the most elite squadrons of the Empire. He wasn't sure if he should be elated or worried.

“And you'd get smart with Lord Vader?”

Chaser looked positively astonished now. At the name, Luke felt the familiar twinge of fear move in his guts again.

“No,” Luke shrugged, “just like I wouldn't get smart with any superior officer.”

That may or may not have been a bald-faced lie, but Luke didn't even think about it. He was too busy wondering once again how in the nine Corellian Hells he had managed to get assigned to Darth Vader's personal squadron. The black cyborg was so well known Luke had heard of him even on his backwater desert planet, and the stories had been even wilder at the Academy. No one knew whether he was human, droid, or even some kind of bloodthirsty alien. He had supposedly wiped out all Jedi from the Empire using the same wicked powers as they did, and a single gesture of his hand was enough to send you to the ground, dead.

Needless to say, Luke didn't exactly feel comfortable with it, but he wasn't used to showing his weaknesses to others, either.

Chaser came in front of Luke, preventing him from walking further.

“Listen, kid,” he said. “I don't think you realise what you've signed up for. You don't want to get on Lord Vader's wrong side. He doesn't fly with us all that often, with all his other duties, but when he does you better fall in line. He's strict. He's demanding. He doesn't tolerate mistakes. There's a reason we're only the best of the best here.”

Luke's face hardened.

“And you think I'm not good enough.”

“It's not a question of good enough,” Chaser retorted, waving to emphasise his point. “Listen, I don't care if you were the first of your class. Grades mean nothing here. You're not going to last a week with that attitude. You should file for transfer as soon as you can. It won't end well.”

Luke glared at him.

“You don't know me,” he slowly said. “I appreciate the concern, but I was assigned here, this is where I need to be and neither you nor I got anything to say about it.”

Chaser looked at him for a moment more, then raised his hands in surrender.

“Fine,” he said. “You can't say I didn't warn you.”

Luke didn't answer, annoyed at the knot that had tied itself in his guts despite his bold words. This was ridiculous. He could fly just fine. There was no reason he would get any problem with his commanding officer. He'd just do his job as best as he could, and everything would be all right...

“C'mon,” Chaser's voice tore him from his thoughts. “We got to get you a flight suit.”

He headed off ahead of Luke again, and Luke made a point of walking at his side. This time, his squadmate had the decency to slow down enough for him to catch up.

They entered a big room, full of lockers with pilots designations written on them. Luke followed Chaser between the rows to the back of the room. There stood a large rail where hung many flight suits. They came in different sizes, but were otherwise all identical, black with the Imperial crest on their sleeve. Chaser pressed a button that made the hangers rotate on the rail, then unhook a suit and flung it at Luke.

“Try that on, it's the smallest we have. Gloves and boots are in the cupboard,” he said. He pressed another button, and the bottom of the device opened, revealing helmets and oxygen tanks. He then went to the lockers of the farthest row on the left, and opened one.

“When you come back, you put it back here,” he said, taking out his own suit, gloves, boots and helmet. “Your flight designation should be on your locker's door. What is it, by the way?”

“Black Five,” Luke replied, remembering the content of his orders sheet. A shiver of excitement ran through him again.

Chaser nodded, then took off his uniform jacket and donned his gear with fluid and practised movements.

Luke hurried to imitate him. As much as he hated to admit it, the small suit was the right size. He managed to find a pair of pristine gloves and shining boots as well, and was fiddling with the last fastenings of his tank when Chaser turned towards him.

“You ready?”

“You bet,” Luke replied with enthusiasm.

Chaser flashed him a grin, then put his helmet on his head, clipping the oxygen tubes to it.

“Then let's get in the beasts.”

Chapter Text

Helmets on their heads, they ran along the flight deck and towards the fighters, where a tech was working on their crafts. Chaser stopped by the command officer and saluted him. Luke hurried to do the same.

“Black Five and Six coming to take the shift, Commander,” said Chaser.

The commander nodded.

“Take A61-ZC-5 and 12. No special conditions reported. Keep watch on outer space rather than planet-side. Move along.”

Chaser saluted once more, then made his way to the gantry above the ships, followed by Luke. The young man climbed down into the small cockpit with barely repressed excitement, and let the hatch close above him with a hiss. He pressed the power-up stud, pulled a few levers and did a rapid check-up of various levels: energy, ion engines, balance, radio, laser cannons. All control lights were green.

He was finishing his checks when Chaser's voice rang over the comm.

“Black Five, this is Black Six for a transmission test, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, Black Six,” Luke answered.

“Good. Prepare for launch. Six out.”

“Copy. Five out,” the young man replied, unable to shake off his grin. After a few more exchanges between him and Launch Control, his ship began to move towards the bay doors. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Chaser's own craft head in the same direction. They crossed the atmospheric shield, and reached the area of the bay that was being emptied of all air by the pumps.

Hands on the controls, feet on the pedals, he closed his eyes and exhaled, waiting for the moment of the launch. He tried to recall the advice given to him at the Academy, but his mind was running far too fast. The confinement of the ship, that most found difficult to bear, was comforting to him. This is where he was meant to be; he felt in his place, invincible and free. Knowing this was one of the most dangerous jobs in the universe changed nothing to that. If anything, it only heightened the thrill.

The doors of the bay slowly opened, revealing the pitch-black void spreading beyond them.

“Launch planned in four... three... two... one... go!”

As soon as the signal rang, Luke pushed on the throttle pedals to propel his craft forward. The first rush of acceleration took him at the pit of his stomach and pushed him in the back of his seat; he smiled, delighted by the familiar sensation. The darkness was all around him, embracing him, compelling in its mysterious infinity.

To test his craft – but mostly for the joy of it – he tried a few spins. The controls were amazingly reactive, a mere brush of the yoke sending the ship darting in the right direction. It was as if it responded to his mind rather than his body's commands.

“You done playing, Five?” he heard Chaser say through the radio. “We've got a job to do.”

“Affirmative, Six,” Luke replied. “What are we doing?”

“Plain old security patrol. We roam 'round the ship and make sure nothing unwelcome goes through. You cover for me.”

“Okay.”

Luke positioned himself behind Chaser's ship, watching for any threat from outer space. Chaser was flying on a steady path, tracing long and straight lines, and Luke soon found himself chump at the bit for a little action.

His wing mate must have taken pity on him, because his voice soon made itself heard again.

“Black Five, this is Black Six. How does some manoeuvring and element formations sound?”

“Sounds great, Six,” Luke hurried to answer, eager at the idea.

“Copy that. We'll go easy at first, stay behind me. And keep an eye out.”

Before long, Chaser started to twist into space, taking him through a series of figures. He begun with rather effortless things like he promised, before starting to test Luke's reactivity a bit further. Luke complied with great pleasure, soaring in space at his side while still watching out for him. They whirled and roam together with ease, going through increasingly complex motions. As much as he enjoyed showing off, Luke slowly tuned into Chaser's flying style, understanding the way he moved and predicting his next actions with more and more accuracy.

He was disappointed when Chaser called it off to return to standard patrolling. But he didn't have much time to regret it. A few minutes later, a radio call ordered them back to deck, relieved of their duty.

Return to normal gravity was a bit of an adjustment, and it took Luke a few seconds to regain his balance. Chaser didn't show any such trouble as he climbed down from his craft, however. He took his helmet off and shot Luke an unabashed smile.

“That was not bad at all for a first time, FNG,” he said. “We may make a good team after all.”

"That was great," Luke replied. "Same thing next time?"

Chaser chuckled.

"Too hungry for your own good, I see! You're gonna be a real pilot in no time. Just try to pay a bit more attention, wasn't always easy to catch you in the middle of your twists and twirls."

Luke nodded, still very hyped by the outing. The way his craft and his body reacted to each other, the feeling of being so small in the middle of the universe, yet having it so close it belonged to him... it was exhilarating. He already longed to go back; he'd spend his entire life out there if he could.

A nudge in his side tore him from his wistful contemplation of the launch doors.

“Come on, stars-head! Lunch time. Get a move on or there won't be anything left to eat.”

It was only at that moment that Luke realised how famished he was. He hadn't eaten anything since leaving Prefsbelt IV, and so much had happened since then that he felt he could swallow an entire bantha.

Chaser and he walked through the grey corridors, going deeper into the ship. Finally they arrived at the low-grading officers' mess hall. There were but a few people there, around fifty perhaps. Soldiers' lunch time, especially pilots', depended on one's duty and shift schedule, so the mess was hardly ever full.

They stopped by the buffet to take their meal, some sort of stew Luke didn't recognise, then went to a table to eat. Five people were already seated there, and greeted them as they saw them coming.

"Chaser!" a thin and wiry red-haired man called, prompting Luke's wing mate to sit down next to him. Luke took the seat in front of them, earning a quick glance before the pilot turned back to Chaser. "Was starting to wonder if you'd show up at all. How come you're stuck babysitting?"

Chaser answered before Luke could protest.

"That here is our new kid, uh..." he said before frowning at Luke. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Luke Lars," Luke replied.

The man next to him, who had light brown hair and glassy eyes with a face looking like a toad's, turned towards him.

"So you're our f'ing new guy?"

"Yep, nice to meet you," Luke answered with a smile.

The other stared at him for a few more seconds. Luke did his best not to shrink under his scrutiny.

"You don't look like much," he finally said, then got back to his meal.

Chaser laughed.

"Don't mind Qorl," he told a confused Luke. "He's a great pilot, but what he's got in space he lacks in social skills."

"The Empire needs fighters, not chatterboxes," Qorl replied without even bothering to look up at them.

Chaser rolled his eyes, then proceeded to introduce Luke to all the others. There was Mauler, a tall and muscular man with a bionic eye who was Darth Vader's wingman and their leader in his absence; Backstabber, Chaser's red-haired neighbour; Dark Curse, the oldest of them all, still strong but carrying his age in his eyes; and Vil, a confident-looking Corellian who couldn't be more than a few years older than Luke. The young man took it in stride, determined to remember them all.

"So, Luke, is it?" asked Vil from across the table, leaning on his elbows. The short military hairdo suited him better than most people, and he had a friendly smile that immediately put Luke at ease. "Where do you come from?"

“Tatooine,” Luke answered.

Vil made a face.

"Aw, tough. Never been there, but I've heard from people who have. Lots of travellers on Corellia. The Hutts don't make life too difficult?"

Luke shrugged, turning his spoon in his stew.

"You get used to it," he answered. "They mostly keep to the town, leave poor moisture farmers like my aunt and uncle alone. I only ever saw their agents at harvest time, when they tried to rob us of most of our crops. Wasn't sorry to leave that dust ball behind."

Vil laughed, a warm and relaxed sound.

"I can imagine! It was the same for me. Couldn't wait till I was off-planet. Space travel is in our blood, I guess!"

"Yeah," Luke smiled. It was nice to find someone who understood. "My father was a pilot too, so flying's definitely in my blood."

Vil raised his eyebrows in interest.

"Oh? What kind of pilot?"

Luke looked down with a grimace and swallowed his mouthful.

"I'm not sure, actually... I just know he fought for the Republic. I never knew him."

"I'm sorry," Vil said. He watched him more closely, a smile tugging at his lips. "You know, you don't really look like a clone."

Luke blinked.

"Uh, what?"

Vil looked at him in expectation, then his smile slipped from his lips as he noticed his joke fell flat.

"Oh, nothing," he waved. "Don't mind me. Most of the Grand Army of the Republic was made up of clones and Jedi, that's all. And since your old man couldn't be a Jedi..."

Luke's heart missed a beat, and he forced a laugh to conceal it.

"Haha, all right... Sorry, been a long time since history lessons," he said, taking care to keep his tone light-hearted.

"Nah, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Vil replied. He looked as embarrassed as Luke was, which was nice, since it meant he probably hadn't noticed his discomfort. "Anyway, have you ever been to Coronet City?"

Luke said he didn't, and Vil started telling him why it was one of the best places of the galaxy, spicing it with tales of the spacers he had met there. Backstabber, who it turned out was also Corellian, chimed in too, and the both of them painted a colourful image. Luke listened to them with rapture; he had missed on so much on his small Tatooine! He'd thought of voyage and faraway places as much as stepping into a spacecraft, and the tales fed his imagination.

They had finished eating when Mauler stood up and demanded their attention. His red eye scrutinised each of them in turn.

"Boys, this afternoon I want to go over some squadron manoeuvres and tactics, as well as shift schedule and briefing of the next operations. Meet me in the command room in five."

He waited for the other pilots to confirm, then left the table.

“Better hurry,” Vil advised. “Mauler is a decent guy, but he's strong about discipline and hates losing time above all else.”

The six of them left their trays at the exit, and walked down the corridors to the meeting place. Chaser, Vil and Backstabber had started talking about TIE models, comparing them to Republic fighters. Dark Curse listened with a smile but didn't intervene much, and Qorl was walking on his own, a few steps in front of them.

Luke frowned. Something wasn't right. The light-hearted talk was off, a little forced, and he had no idea what was happening. For the first time since meeting them, he felt like an outsider, ignorant of the squadron's history and everything surrounding it.

Squadron's history... Suddenly he understood what had struck him as odd. He came closer to the others.

"Chaser, I was wondering," he said, seizing a lull in the conversation. "Have you guys been in battle recently?"

His wingmate frowned, and smiles fell, the air much heavier around them.

"Why do you ask?"

"Nevermind," Luke replied, starting to regret having brought this up at all. "I was just curious... I thought there were twelve people in a squad."

The others exchanged sombre glances.

"Yeah, that actually rarely happens," Chaser said. "Pretty book theory. Squads that remain complete don't see a lot of action."

Luke looked away, a pound of lead dropping in his stomach. He knew casualties were high in fighter squadrons, but hadn't been faced with the fact before now.

“It happened a little over three weeks ago. There was... I don't even know if we can call it a battle," Vil started to explain, exchanging a glance with the others. "It was an escort mission, easy and straight. Some kind of crystals for construction, they told us. A small shipment, but they needed a few TIEs to protect them for the beginning of their voyage. Turns out, wasn't such a bad idea after all. We weren't expecting trouble... but then, a whole squadron of Rebel ships came out of hyperspace.”

“Rebels,” grumbled Chaser. “We'd be at peace if not for them.”

"We don't know how they knew we were going to be there," Dark Curse continued, light wrinkles edged around his eyes and on both sides of his hawk nose. "I doubt we'll ever learn if they were interested in our cargo or just blockading all Imperial ships. Anyway, they attacked us. They had good ships, the new X-Wings they got when Incom defected. We managed to drive them away, but took heavy losses."

"Five people in our squad, three in the other. Lord Vader was livid," recalled Backstabber. Luke opened wide eyes; that was a lot of people. "He wasn't flying with us, of course, but losing so many was a hard blow. Especially in such a small, simple, straightforward operation."

"You couldn't know they would attack," Luke intervened. "There was no way to foresee that."

"At least the shipment got away," Chaser replied. "Our superiors must have known there was a risk. That was the goal of the mission, and we succeeded. The rest doesn't matter."

The others nodded and felt silent, deep in their thoughts. The knot in Luke's guts didn't lessen any until they arrived in the command room.

There, Mauler didn't give them much time to brood. He had planned some formation training and immediately got down to business. Luke had to summon all his concentration to follow.

"As you know," Mauler said, "it's not enough to be in peak physical shape to be a pilot. Your mind must also be as swift and accurate as a starbird. You must notice everything, assess everything, and take quick decisions. That's why it is so important these formations be as natural as reflexes. Exert constant attention, gentlemen."

He assessed each of them in turn, taking the time to observe them, although Luke didn't know if he meant to see or to make them feel seen. He puffed his chest out and met his gaze with pride.

Mauler was precise and demanding. He talked about the recent movements of the enemies and what they thought it meant. He then reviewed a long list of squad formations, explaining in great detail their strengths, weaknesses and usefulness. After that, he wore them down in the flight simulators, watchful as a hawk and honing in on their smallest flaws.

“Good work, Black Five,” he told Luke when reviewing their performances afterwards. “Your reflexes are excellent, but mind your surroundings and your partners' movements."

It was late when they were finally given leave. Luke stumbled towards the refresher, his mind swarming with attack and defence patterns, his head spinning. As he got into the sonic shower, he wondered if that was what they called "space-legs", or if the feeling was just due to the amount of new information he had received.

He relaxed under the soothing buzzing, sighing with content as he felt the muscles in his back unknot themselves. It was hard, in this environment, to keep worrying about casualty risks and death hazards. He knew his work was dangerous. He had accepted it long before applying for the Academy.

After all, it was war.

Summoned by this train of thought, another conversation jumped to the forefront of his mind, the one he'd had with Vil about his father. He really needed to watch his mouth better; he was already lucky the pilot hadn't pried further. He didn't want to know what would have happened, had he discovered Luke actually was a Jedi's son.

He shivered as he turned off the shower. No, bringing up Anakin Skywalker hadn't been smart at all. His aunt and uncle, when they had sat him down and explained everything to him, had been very clear his father's identity would put him in great danger.

At first, Luke had been angry at them for keeping the truth from him for so long, and telling him his father was a navigator on a spice freighter of all things. But he had soon understood. Jedi were enemies of the Empire. Word getting around at Luke's school that his father was one could have gotten him killed.

That was why Owen and Beru had been so reluctant to let him apply at the Academy. They had only relented after Biggs and Luke wore them down with months of pleas, complaints, and logical arguments. Even so, they had issued strict conditions for Luke's going, the biggest of those being that his heritage remain an absolute secret.

Luke bit his lower lip. For his whole training, he had managed to keep quiet, hard as it had been to keep his best friend out of the confidence. And now he nearly slipped up, in such a stupid way, too.

He wouldn't mention his father again, he decided while he dressed. That was the safest way to avoid unwanted scrutiny. Better to keep all his thoughts to himself, rather than risk questions he couldn't answer.

It was lucky Darth Vader hadn't been there. If there was one person in the whole Empire who could never know of his ascendency, it was him. Luke shivered by merely thinking about what would happen to him if the Emperor's most feared enforcer discovered his secret.

Once he was ready, he exited the refresher and locked his things away before collapsing on his bunk like dead weight. He hadn't thought a day could be so exhausting.

Sleep didn't take long to find him, and he fell in its grasp, dreaming of the stars.

Chapter Text

It only took a couple of days for Luke to realise exactly how busy the job was.

Since his arrival, it seemed he hadn't had one minute for himself. Between advanced formation training, operation meetings, and his various other duties, every hour was crammed full. To his dismay, he had quickly realised flying was not even the biggest part of the work. Every outing had to be carefully planned and debriefed, even things as simple as patrolling. The good part was they were all on the same starship, so to speak; whenever he had trouble with something, there was always a helping hand held out to him. Luke would of course always return the favour later, and he was learning fast. He could feel his peers appreciated his goodwill and upbeat attitude.

There was one thing, however, he wished he never had been acquainted with, and that was datawork.

Luke sighed and passed a hand on his face, staring at the security report he had to fill in. He'd had to check the fighters to make sure they were in order, and had in fact enjoyed that part. Mechanics were something he'd always been at ease with. An ion engine, when you looked at it the right way, was not all that different from a vaporator; and Luke had been so obsessed with starships when he was younger he knew them all inside out. But the amount of forms that came with that duty was downright baffling. He was still struggling to figure out what to write, how to do it and whom to send it to.

Luke stretched on his chair, keenly feeling his muscles work. For a moment, he brushed the idea of leaving the report for later and going for a good workout instead. He had neglected his physical shape a little in the previous days, anyway, as he adapted to his new environment. He knew he needed to get back to it soon if he didn't want to fall behind the regs.

Looking down, he noticed with a twinge of annoyance that the upper fastening of his uniform had detached itself for the second time that day, and the right section of his double-breasted tunic was hanging at the front. He hastened to close it again, making a note to replace the clip as soon as possible.

No, he had to finish this now. He seized once more all the determination he could, dove into the document, and started to type. Why did the Imperial Navy have such a hatred for plain and simple Basic?

He had managed to complete half the document correctly, or at least as much so as he could, when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Realising he'd been slouching, he straightened in his seat, but relaxed when he saw Backstabber approach him. He knew the red-headed pilot couldn't care less about his posture.

"Hey, FNG," he said. "Was looking for you. We're all set for hyperspace, wanna come and see?"

"What? The departure?" Luke asked. He knew their stop at Ank Kit'aar had only been a temporary one for maintenance and resupplying. They were now heading back to more troubled areas of the galaxy. But he hadn't expected his work to stop as they travelled.

"What else?" Backstabber answered with a smirk, before adding when he saw Luke's conflicted face. "Lt. Tanbris cleared us."

Luke bit his lip in hesitation.

"I don't know... I've still got this thing to finish."

"It won't last much longer than ten or fifteen minutes, then you can get back to it," Backstabber insisted. He put a bony hand on his shoulder. "Come on, you really wanna miss your first jump?"

Luke didn't immediately answer. In truth, he really didn't want to miss it. The rare times he'd been in hyperspace, it had been in the passenger area, where there weren't any viewports. To say he was curious was an understatement.

But he wasn't sure he could afford it... how long would it take him to finish this datawork? Ten minutes had to be fine...

"All right," he conceded with a smile at last, before putting his datapad down and rising from his chair. "I'm coming."

He followed Backstabber through the monotonous corridors of the ship. They walked across the empty docking bay, which seemed much bigger to Luke with most of the ships stocked in the hangars, and headed to the control room.

There was but one officer there. He shot them a questioning look, but after Backstabber gave him a short explanation, he nodded and went back to his work. They settled next to a secondary viewport, and Backstabber stood on the side so Luke could have a good view.

"It's a tradition for pilots on their first assignment to watch the ship jump," he told Luke. "I still remember mine. I was not much older than you, I was stationed on the Crusader when she came back from her maiden voyage. Couldn't tear my eyes off it. They say you can go mad if you stare at it for too long."

Luke nodded, not sure he believed that last statement. Spacers were after all known to be superstitious. Outside, space was as dark as it always was, only punctured by the small bright dots that were the stars.

Then something seemed to shift, and next to him, Backstabber smiled.

"There," he whispered.

And Luke felt it. The pull in the pit of his stomach, as though a hook had taken him there and dragged him backwards. Even more surprising was the view in front of him. The stars had begun to stretch, unfolding into thin threads of light that spun and raced madly towards him, a kaleidoscope of blue and white. Mesmerised, he stared at them, trying to catch sight of them all while knowing how impossible that was.

Backstabber tapped his shoulder.

"We should get back now," he said.

They exited the control room the same way they'd entered it.

"Thanks," Luke said with a genuine smile. "That was amazing."

Backstabber offered him a crooked grin of his own in return.

"I know."

They crossed the docking bay in silence. Now that he paid attention to it, Luke noticed the ever-present noise in the hangar was a little different. There was a sharper buzzing to it, more shrill, yet so faint it was barely audible.

They were about to reach the large blast door when Luke noticed something that made him falter in his step.

On the other side of the bay, talking with an officer, was the tall and ominous shape of Darth Vader. Clad in black, a wide cape falling to his ankles, the man, if he truly was one, seemed listening to his interlocutor. He had his back turned to them, and even in this passive stance, held a crushing presence that dominated the whole empty bay.

Luke stared at him for a second, intimidated. Then Vader seemed distracted by something. He turned his head sharply, allowed the young man a glimpse of his mask's profile. A shiver ran down Luke's spine, as if cold tendrils had wrapped themselves around him and started poking at his limbs. Unsettled, he decided he'd rather be found at his station than here, no matter how authorised he was.

Backstabber threw him a questioning glance as he caught up to him.

"What's up?" he asked.

Luke only shrugged, unable to put his discomfort into words.

They made their way back with small talk and light banter, until Backstabber left Luke to see to his duties. The young man thanked him once more then went on his way, his head still full of fascinating images.

Real life took over when he came back to his abandoned datapad, and he groaned. Datawork was such a pain.

An hour later, Luke had finally figured out the gist of it and sent it on with great relief, glad to have that behind him. He was munching on a ration bar and pondering the rest of his day when Chaser strolled in the room and greeted him. Luke swallowed his mouthful, then returned a joyful "hello" to him.

"Backstabber took me to see the jump," he said, eager to share the wonder he felt.

Chaser threw him a huge smile.

"Ah," he said, with the air of someone who knew exactly what Luke was talking about. "You enjoyed it?"

"It was fantastic!" Luke replied. "I wish I could do it again. Not that it's likely, with everything we've got to do. Do you know where we're going?"

"No idea," Chaser said. He dropped onto the bench next to him. "They didn't tell us. I'm glad we're gone, I hate idle missions where we barely do any flying."

"Tell me about it." Luke tried to imitate the older pilot's nonchalance, but it came out as excited anyway. Chaser chuckled.

"I can't wait to gun down some Rebels, don't you?"

He made a blaster gesture with his hand. Luke's stomach dropped.

"Sure," he said. He looked away and took the last bite of his bar.

"I still don't understand why they bother," Chaser continued. The hatred in his voice made Luke ill at ease. "I can't wait until the day we're rid of these kriffing nuisances. They should all be sent to Kessel, at least there they'd do something useful for society."

Luke didn't say anything, a knot in his guts. As much as he disagreed with the Rebels, he had never managed to summon such heated feelings towards them. Many of his fellow cadets had held this sort of speech, but never with that much passion. The deep-running animosity Chaser displayed made him shiver.

Unfortunately, his fellow pilot seemed to have noticed his discomfort.

"You all right?" he said, frowning. His thick eyebrows formed a line across his forehead.

"Yeah, great," Luke said, trying to conceal his sarcasm. He managed to muster a smile, and hoped Chaser wouldn't see through it. "It's nothing."

Chaser threw him a dubious look, but didn't comment.

Still, the air felt stifled and heavy. Guilt had taken Luke in the chest, but he couldn't make sense of it. He supposed he ought to share Chaser's point of view, like everyone in the Empire, but he couldn't bring himself to it. He had never been able to, despite everything he'd told his best friend back then.

"You're going to be fine," Chaser said. His voice was softer, to Luke's relief. "I know what they say at the Academy, about newbies not lasting more than five minutes, but that's just to scare you. They want you to know what you're getting into."

"I know," Luke said, his tone dryer than he'd intended to. He didn't want Chaser patronising him right now. He rose up from his seat, put his wrapper in the bin with a bit too much force. "You don't have to worry about me."

He was about to leave the room when Chaser called him back.

"Hey, easy!" he said, looking at him in astonishment. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Nothing," Luke retorted before he could help himself. He tried to stop his hands from shaking. "I just have better things to do than to sit here fantasising about shooting people down."

He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. The guilt roiled in his stomach when he saw Chaser's gaze darken.

"That's the kind of reasoning that gets you killed in less than five minutes in battle."

"I know," Luke replied. "In battle. Thing is, we're not in battle. And they're people, too! How can you be so cold about it?"

"How can I be so cold about it?" Chaser retorted, and Luke flinched. "Do you have any idea how many squadmates I have seen shot down by them? They're agitators! Criminals! They kill law-abiding citizens each time they disagree with anything! And I'm the cold one for wanting to stop their madness?"

"That's not what I meant!" Luke hurried to say. "I don't like what the Rebels do either! They have it all wrong, and I hate that we're at war because of them. But..."

"But what?" Chaser challenged, glaring at Luke, his arms crossed. He was still sitting on the bench, and despite standing higher than him, Luke felt tiny under his gaze. "Tell me, FNG, why did you join the Navy?"

Luke's heart missed a beat. Suddenly I wanted to fly felt like a silly answer. His instructors had never accepted it, in any case, and Luke doubted Chaser would.

But that was only scratching the surface, wasn't it? Luke had made his choice knowingly. He had been aware it would come to this, of what he would have to do. He had dreaded it for a long time. He had gone on anyway, certain it was the right thing to do.

It didn't make things any easier.

"I want to stop the Rebels," he said. "I just... I'm just not looking forward to killing them."

Smiling faces and laughs appeared in his mind, easy camaraderie long past, and his stomach contorted.

Chaser sighed. Luke looked at him, and was relieved to see his face had softened.

"I understand," he said. "I'm sorry I got mad. That's a normal feeling. The first blood is always the hardest. But you'll get used to it."

Luke nodded, but the words were more sinister than comforting to him. His rows with Biggs and the others at the Academy seemed so long ago now, like innocent children's games. Of course, he had always known it would come down to life and death, to killing or being killed. But it felt much realer, now that he could hear it in Chaser's voice and knew it would be his turn all too soon.

"Hey," his squadmate said, noticing his sombre mood. "You wanna have a mock fight in the sims? That's why I'd come in the first place. I still need an hour to be clear and I'd thought maybe you'd enjoy a game."

Luke smiled, hoping that would take his mind off their previous conversation.

"Sure," he said.

"Great," Chaser replied, standing up. "By the way, your shirt's open."

Luke swore under his breath. He closed his uniform once more, then hurried to follow Chaser out.

As expected, he felt much better as soon as he got into the flight simulator's cockpit. It was easy to forget about the hard parts of war, soaring in space and knowing the only thing exploding before his eyes was points of data. Chaser had chosen a few battles for them to re-enact, and as hours of finely honed training kicked in, Luke's mind was entirely focused on the challenge. Soon there was no other tension between them than the adrenaline of the competition, friendly rivalry, and a strong desire to win in each of them.

They sparred for a little more than an hour. Still, it ended far too early for Luke, with a tie they argued with vehemence.

"Nah, FNG, you lost, you get stuck with filing it in. That was the deal," Chaser said on their way back to the pilots' living room.

"No way, you lost," Luke retorted. "C'mon, I saved your ass in the last battle like the good wingmate I am, you'd have been destroyed otherwise."

Chaser snorted, gave Luke a slap in the back that sent him a step forward.

"Not my fault you didn't understand the concept of competition," he said, laughter softening the sharp edges of his face. "I took down the most enemies, I win."

"I did it just so you wouldn't feel wiped out by a kid half your age," Luke bit back. "I may have killed one or two less fighters than you, but I took down all the most powered-up of them, those that count for double the points, so I win."

"You just made that up," accused Chaser.

"I didn't and you know it!"

"Nah, that's not how it works. You better accept your defeat gracefully or I'll have to report you for immature conduct."

Luke shook his head, half aggravated, half biting back a smile.

"Why you hypocritical, dishonest piece of bantha –"

He stopped dead in his tracks, his playful mood disappearing in an instant. A few feet ahead of them, Darth Vader was exiting a conference room, a commander with an oblong face and shadowed eyes on his heels. Both he and Chaser snapped at attention, but Vader didn't respond to them at once. He stopped in front of them with deliberate slowness, his hands behind his back as he watched them without a word. His mechanical breath rang loudly in the silence of the grey-walled corridor. Luke's heart was running with fright.

"Ensigns," he finally greeted them. "I expect you have a reason for displaying such undignified behaviour."

"No, my lord, we do not," Chaser replied. "We apologise. It won't happen again."

"See to it that it does not. I will not condone this childishness on my ship," Vader said, pointing an ominous finger towards them.

Luke swallowed at the unspoken threat in his voice. From this close, the man seemed impossibly tall, his suffocating presence taking up the whole corridor. Luke forced himself to remain still, at perfect attention, even as the mask started to study him. He kept his eyes forward, feeling like a mouse under a lothcat's gaze.

"What is your name?" Vader asked him.

"Luke Lars, sir," Luke answered, the knot in his gut tying itself tighter with every passing moment.

"Tell me, Ensign Lars," Vader continued, his metallic tone soft, but with a dangerous edge to it. "Do you consider your appearance appropriate to greet your commanding officer?"

Luke frowned, not understanding the question. He was about to ask for clarification when a gesture from Vader prompted him to glance down at his uniform. His heart missed another beat.

Once again, his tunic had fallen open, a whole section of the thick black fabric hanging negligently at the front, mocking him. Its weight was pulling on the second fastening, which seemed on the verge of detaching itself as well.

His mouth dry, he hastened to fix the clip on his shoulder again. It fell down once more as he tried to set it into place, seconds stretching with unbearable slowness. Finally, it was all in place again. He returned at attention, looking straight at Vader, his face as blank as he could despite the terror shaking him inside.

Vader remained still for a long time, and Luke had to call on all his courage to stay upright and not to shrivel down. The lack of response from Vader seemed to spell unspeakable doom. His imagination was running wild, unhelpfully, with all the horror stories he had heard about him.

"Beware, young one," he warned at last, sending chills down Luke's spine. "You would do well to behave if you do not wish to incur my displeasure."

He then walked away without one more word. The commander quickly responded to their salute with a pitying glance at them, then followed Vader on his way.

When they turned the corner, Luke released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was somewhat marvelling at still being alive.

"Man, that's some first impression," commented Chaser. "I knew you were someone with a talent to get in trouble."

Luke shrugged, trying to throw away the rest of his nervousness with the gesture.

"I do my best," he grinned sheepishly.

Chaser scoffed.

"That's all and well, but we still have a debrief to do. And you should really fix that uniform," he said with a nod at Luke's shirt.

Luke agreed, and they returned to their squadron quarters in companionable silence.

Chapter Text

Unknown to the pilots, deeper in the bowels of the ship, was a chamber whose walls were white and spotless. Against these harsh colours, the lights were dim and warm, designed to allow damaged eye tissues to see without hurting. A variety of mechanical devices hung from the ceiling, waiting to be of use. The slumbering droid and the various supplies made the spherical room look more like a small sick bay than the space of rest and concentration it was.

In the black chair in the centre of the pod sat Darth Vader, immersed in deep thought with a datapad in his hand, impervious to the stifling sterility of the environment. The oxygen-enriched air brushing the scarred skin on his face provided a small comfort from the constant pain of his condition, and he enjoyed the cold colours the world bore without the red-tinted veil of his mask. As such, he always retreated here when he had something to ponder or to meditate upon.

He glanced down again at the report he had been reading. It was the file of his squadron's newest recruit, arrived aboard the ship, it seemed, barely a few days ago.

DV-61-5. Luke Lars. Birthday: 23-5, Year One. Born on the first day of the Empire, he hailed from Tatooine, and his guardians were modest moisture farmers. He had been accepted into the Imperial Naval Academy on Prefsbelt IV soon after turning fifteen, the lowest age for enrolment. Next to his personal information, the holo of a blond young man displayed a nervous yet bright smile, piercing blue eyes standing out against his tanned skin.

He stared at the picture, recalling the brief times he had seen the youthful features in the flesh.

At first glance, he was nothing out of the ordinary. It was pure chance he had been stationed on his flagship. The officer in charge of his posting had a history of sending cadets he didn't appreciate to Devastator, knowing how demanding and dangerous such a posting was to those without experience. More than once, Vader had needed to get rid of mere children whose overconfidence was rivalled only by their incompetence. Had the man not enjoyed the Emperor's favour, he would have made sure this odious practice came to a halt a long time ago.

But this boy was different. He had something special about him, something he couldn't place.

Vader skimmed through his profile again. His grades were honourable, he had obtained various commendations by his instructors. What really stood out, however, was his scores in battle simulations. The numbers of medals and awards he had won was well above average, proof of a skill and intuition usually found in much more seasoned people, and he had been the first of his class by far.

He scrolled to the next page and threw a glance at his recent simulation records. They were probably the only existing ones, given how recently he had started service, and yet they were illuminating. All of them showed a gifted pilot, perfectly in tune with his craft. He still needed to improve his coordination with others, but he moved with the ease and agility of someone who had been flying his whole life.

Such reflexes were abnormal. Almost as if he knew in advance what he would encounter.

Vader remembered the subtle undercurrents in the Force he had felt lately, which moved around the boy in a peculiar manner. There was something about him...

He came back to the beginning of the file, found his birth certificate and the result of his blood test. By decree of the Emperor, all children had to be subjected to it before they reached their second birthday. It was a clever way to track newborns, and detect any Force-sensitive children. But the boy's midichlorians count scored three thousand and two hundred per cell. It was slightly above average, but still nowhere near enough for him to be able to feel the Force, much less use it. The test was flawless, with all necessary details present and coinciding, every formality followed.

And yet he couldn't have imagined that resonance...

He closed his eyes and reached out. The whispering swirls of the dark side of the Force billowed around him in response to his questions. He tried to latch onto the boy's characteristic presence, but in vain. His brightness, shimmering and elusive, mingled in the flickering ocean of the thousand of lives present aboard the ship. Vader couldn't follow it.

He came from Tatooine. Fate was persistent, Vader mused, in throwing this accursed planet in his path. As a matter of fact, he could better than most locate the boy's farm on its surface with the meagre information of the document. It lay on the outskirts of Anchorhead, near the Jundland Wastes and the border of the Dune Sea. Images of the endless desert formed in his mind, ruthless and unyielding, yet familiar.

Mechanical hands tightened into fists as he remembered the last time he had visited his homeworld. Fours years ago, rumours and alleged sightings of a Jedi had led him to discover the hiding place of his former master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The man had not aged well, his hair white and his skin withered both by the years and the unrelenting heat of the twin suns. They had not fought for long, so weakened had he been, as well as lacking part of his sanity. Vader had found but little satisfaction when he ran his blade through the man who had crippled him and left him for dead. The sight of his empty robes falling on the ground had only filled him with a hollow sense of loss.

A new thought took hold of his mind, overcoming the frustration that came with the memories. Could this boy have been Obi-Wan's apprentice? The old man would have been devious enough to falsify his test results without any trouble. And the both of them had lived close to each other...

For a moment, he let himself entertain the idea. How fitting a revenge, to take the boy for himself and turn him against his previous teacher, the way Obi-Wan had made sure his own wife betrayed him. It would be all too easy, stationed under his command as he was, at his mercy, to break his will and rip all he held dear from him, just like he had lost everything, so long ago...

Parched lips painfully pursed as unwelcome memories washed over him. Vengeance was useless. Striking down Kenobi had achieved nothing. Images of her soft features still pursued him, her shining eyes, her little nose, her playful smile and rich dark brown curls he had, in spite of his best efforts, never truly forgotten.

He had killed her. If only he had been stronger, she would still be there, laughing and happy, raising their child in peace. He had been so delighted back then to learn he was going to be a father, before it all turned into ashes, before joy faded into grief and immeasurable loss.

For a moment, among the ever similar days running past without taste or flavour, he stopped to wonder what their lives would have been, had the man who had called himself his friend not taken her from him, had his anger not overwhelmed him at the worst moment. Their little one would already be eighteen now, growing out of adolescence and discovering adult life...

No, he thought in anger, berating himself for his moment of abandon. No. Remorse and regrets were pointless, as was longing for an existence that would never come to pass. Such things belonged to the past, back in the life of a weaker, foolish man.

A flare of resentment struck him as his eyes fell down on the young and smiling picture of the file. It didn't make sense. The boy lacked the distinctive strength a trainee usually possessed in the Force. Beside that, there was no reason for an apprentice to grow up a few miles away from Obi-Wan's house instead of with him. Had it been the case, he was certain he would have found the two together, fighting alongside each other. And why would he want to serve the Empire that had slain his mentor? No, that couldn't be.

There was no telling what had attracted his attention to the boy, he concluded while turning off the datapad. He would keep an eye on him and see if more arose from it. Time would reveal the answers he sought.

He waited for the mask and helmet to close down on his face again before rising up and exiting the pod.
 

The stars, countless burning points puncturing the cold blackness of space, endlessly spinning around him. G-forces twisted and pulled on him, his breath catching in the effort, his hands clutched on the controls. He grit his teeth as a laser beam missed him by a hair, thanks to a last-second recovery.

Trust your instincts.

He jerked into a loop to try and avoid the Rebel X-Wing pursuing him. Meanwhile, he still kept his mind open to signs of the other four he knew were somewhere out there.

"Got him, Five," he heard his partner say with great relief.

A few seconds later, his assailant blew up in a thousand fiery shards. Luke released the breath he'd been holding. He bit back a thanks in order not to cloud the transmissions, and focused on the other fighters around them.

Keep your attention on your surroundings at all times. The enemy can come from anywhere.

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, needing the relaxation and insight it brought him. He knew this was a dangerous habit, and he should rid himself of it as soon as he could. But up until now, he had been unable to, despite all his attempts. It seemed to give him a presence he had never managed to achieve any other way.

Aware of the movements of Vil and Dark Curse around him, he turned to go after one of the remaining enemy fighters. He paid extra attention to stay in a good position in relation to them. It was a delicate balance, to keep your freedom of movement while staying in formation. He hadn't completely managed it yet, and still had a tendency to think too much on his own.

One of the fighters came back in his line of vision, heading for one of his partners. Immediately, Luke was on its tail, determined not to lose this opportunity.

"Six, there's one after you, I'm on it," he said.

He barely heard the other's acknowledgement. His entire attention was focused at the small cross-shaped fighter in front of him. It was good, Luke thought through clenched teeth. The ship kept moving in front of him, evading all his manoeuvres, and Luke couldn't get a lock on it. He pushed on the throttle, tried different angles. His efforts became more and more daring as the enemy kept escaping him.

A warning on his scopes and a shot of fire he narrowly to avoided made him utter a curse. He'd been so taken in his chase he'd failed to notice the two other X-Wings that had taken him as quarry. He pulled up out of their line of fire, abandoning his own pursuit to evade them. They followed suit, far too close for comfort, keeping him on a tight defensive. He tried various figures to get away, but one of them was always there, forcing him to move yet again away from them.

He let out another Huttese expletive under his breath, his heartbeat quickening. Nothing he did managed to shake them. They were too well tuned together, working in pair to bring him to a place where he would no longer be able to escape. And it was efficient. He knew he couldn't keep up that rhythm for long. He could feel his control slip away, more and more close calls brushing at his defence.

His head was spinning, sweat trickling down his back. He hardly even saw what he was doing. The world was moving too fast. He could only rely on his reflexes, firing every chance he had to get out of the impossible situation. If only I could take down one of them... just one of them...

A red beam made him jerk on his right, propelling him just in front of the other fighter, a perfect target. No –

He felt the shot coming before he even saw it, before he could do anything to dodge it. A scream rose from his throat as his surroundings lit up in a blinding light, then everything went black.

Luke took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He unclasped his shaking hands from the controls and forced himself to relax, staring blankly at the score on the screen. That had been one of his most intense sessions yet. He usually had better control, but his opponents had been particularly vicious this time. He allowed himself another minute to get a grasp on his composure, then exited the small cockpit.

Mauler was standing a bit further, looking at an overview of what Vil and Dark Curse were doing, still in their own sims. Luke joined him without a word, looking at the small blue and red dots on the hologram. Soon enough they destroyed another one, before being taken down one after the other.

Mauler waited for both pilots to scramble out of their respective sims, looking as dismayed as Luke felt, before he addressed them all.

"Congratulations, boys," he told them. "You managed to bring down a good amount of enemy fighters despite being vastly outnumbered."

"Thanks, Mauler, that makes us feel a little bit better about getting trashed by the bots," Vil replied. "What was even that program?!"

"Template based on records of the battle of Kuat, with enemy ships fitting the profile we established of the new Incom starfighters stolen from us by the Rebels," Mauler answered.

Vil raised his eyebrows and emitted a low whistle.

"Now how about getting down to business?" Mauler went on, cutting off Vil before he could utter the comment he visibly longed to make.

"We were doing well at the beginning, then one of the enemy ships made a movement we were not expecting and broke our formation," Dark Curse's deep voice provided. "We struggled to regain it, which they exploited."

Mauler nodded, pointing a remote at the hologram to play out that sequence of the simulation again.

"Yes. See how from about that point your formation weakened? Immediately two of them seized the chance and dove into the flaw."

"We tried to regain some coordination afterwards, but it was too late," Vil said. The three-dimensional image illustrated his words. The three blue dots tried to converge again, but they were kept separated by the red points moving between them.

"Maybe we could have managed it there, look," Luke said, pointing out a particular area on the holo. Mauler paused the recording. "We had a window of something like two seconds we could have used to rally. They were still outnumbering us but at least we could have watched each other's backs to get through to them."

"We would have needed to be perfectly in tune with one another to spot that opportunity," Dark Curse said. "I doubt it would have been possible, but that is something we can concentrate on more in the future, anyway."

Luke nodded, absently watching the moving points. One of the blue dots was getting closer and closer to a red one, and in doing so let itself be carried away from the others.

"That was me," he realised. "I was so focused on that ship I forgot to pay attention to anything else."

Indeed, in no time at all two other enemy ships had taken the blue dot in chase. They separated it from the other and turned it instantly from hunter to prey, liberating their ally in the movement. Luke's ship evaded them for another few seconds, then flickered and vanished.

"You held on for a pretty long time against them," Vil noticed.

Luke shrugged.

"It was already over anyway. You were both taken in your own fight, and I was completely cornered. There was no way we'd have gotten out of that one."

Mauler nodded and turned off the hologram, before setting the light back to their usual level.

"That's all for now," he said.

The others were moving to leave the room when Mauler addressed Luke.

"That wasn't your most brilliant performance, Lars, but you're making a lot of progress. I'm confident by the time we head into battle all together, you will fit in perfectly with the rest of the squadron."

Luke thanked him with a smile, then hurried to catch up the others.

"Man, I can't believe how crushed we've been," Vil said when they arrived at the squadron's quarters, collapsing on the bench and running a hand through his short black hair. "Can't say I'm eager to face these X-Wings again. I wish Incom was still on our side."

"Yes, they were one of the best," Dark Curse answered. He carefully sat down with a sigh. Luke went and took a drink from the tap. "It was a hard blow for us, one that will take time to recover from. The Rebels are getting bolder... A glass of water would be welcome, lad, thanks," he added, answering to Luke's offer.

"I heard there was a lot of unrest throughout the Outer Rim lately," Vil said, sitting carelessly with an ankle on his knee, but frowning.

"They're regrouping. Their recent successes must have booosted their confidence."

Luke held out his glass to Dark Curse, and wrinkles appeared around the older man's slanting eyes when he thanked him with a smile. Luke settled next to them, taking a sip from his own glass. Biggs had told him about Incom's, one of the biggest ships and weapons factories of the galaxy, defection to the Rebels. It had been an eventful moment, even in the middle of their finals and the last few weeks of training.

"We'll get the upper hand again, I'm sure of that," Luke said. "We still have many more resources than they do."

"Sure hope you're right," Vil replied. "But it's worrying all the same. As long as they kept acting separately, they weren't much of a threat. But if the leaders are trying to bring them together, they could become very dangerous."

Luke nodded.

"By the way, we've dropped out of hyperspace by now, right?" he asked.

"Shortly before the end of my shift, I gathered," Vil said. "No idea where we are. We weren't given any details yet."

Dark Curse smirked at Vil, eyes sparkling over his hawk nose.

"So you don't know your stars, Vil," he teased. "A short look outside would have been enough to give you at least an idea."

"I haven't had the chance to look outside, Dark Curse," Vil answered. "Besides, you are the only one who can recognise the constellations at a glance wherever you are in the galaxy. We can't all be astronomy professors at the university."

Luke's eyes widened.

"You were an astronomy teacher?"

Dark Curse's smile turned somewhat wistful.

"Yes, I did a doctorate at the University of Ussa, on Bellassa, then I became a professor. I loved teaching, and many of my students went on to have bright academic careers... But then the war broke out, and I figured there were more important things I could do to help protect the Republic, and then the Empire."

"So you proceeded to become an ace pilot, of all things," Vil teased, rolling his eyes.

Dark Curse shrugged.

"I always had an interest in flying. I wasn't as well-behaved as most people thought. I did a lot of property damage in my twenties, speeding on the airways. And I tell you, in my capacity of former university professor, that we have arrived somewhere in the north-east of the galaxy. My guess is around the Nembus or the Kwymar Sector."

Luke frowned.

"I can see where it is, roughly, but I don't know much more."

"There's not much to know," Dark Curse said. "It's hardly a busy place."

Luke nodded, a faint smile on his face.

"That would make it a good hideout for Rebel cells, wouldn't it?"

Dark Curse took a sip of water.

"So would I think, too."

"Guessing is useless. We'll get orders soon," Vil said. "We'll get all the information we need at that moment."

"Certainly, but we can be allowed some wondering, can't we?" Dark Cuse answered. He set his empty glass down and glanced at his chrono. "Anyway, I'll have to leave, I need to pick up my laundry before night cycle kicks in."

Luke imitated him, and groaned upon seeing the time.

"Yeah, and I should get a few hours of sleep. My patrol's at 0230 tonight."

Vil threw him a sympathetic glance.

"I hate nightly patrols," he said. "Good night then. I'll finish the few reports I have to hand in and turn in as well."

Luke headed towards the dorm, not feeling all that tired. The weariness only set in once he finished readying himself for sleep. He settled in bed with a yawn, a cold chill travelling down his spine as he brought the cover on him. He frowned. He'd thought he had gotten used to the temperatures of space, but he still felt that single icy shiver from time to time. It didn't really seem like regular cold, either. It felt pulsing and moving, nearly like a living thing.

He shook his head, smiling at his own silly thought. Time for sleep, then. Dismissing both the feeling and the ludicrous idea, he lied down and closed his eyes, then quickly fell asleep.

Chapter Text

"Black Five and Six, we're ready to receive you. Proceed to launch bay."

"Copy that, Control, thanks. Five out," Luke said. He heard Chaser acknowledge the order as well, in a worn yet still professional voice.

Both pilots manoeuvred their craft to the bay, paying attention to their speed. This was the most delicate part of any mission: for a successful landing, one had to lodge the fighter into a pair of big claws hanging from the rails. Those would then be driven back behind the atmospheric shield to the hangar, where the pilot could disembark at last. To make the operation a little less delicate, there were three levels on the claw where the ship could hang safely. Pilots were supposed to aim at the second one: getting the first meant you were too high and risked a collision with the rail, and the third amounted to nearly missing the landing altogether. To get the perfect speed and position demanded a great amount of skill and dexterity.

Luke engaged the front thrusters, noticing he was coming in a bit too fast. After two hours of dull flight spent watching out for nonexistent enemy ships, he felt exhausted. However, the mission wasn't over, and he needed to be completely alert for this last part of the flight.

A soft beeping and a signal on his screen forced him into razor-edged focus. It was detecting another ship a few meters away from him, a little under his level. For a moment he was tempted to turn around and check on it, but he refrained his urge. He was tired, his shift was over, the landing procedure was engaged. He was supposed to get his ship back home and let the next ones deal with the threat, if it even was one at all. From where he stood, the craft didn't seem to be exerting any aggressive behaviour.

He let Chaser take the lead and get towards the landing rail first. The bay was wide enough that two dozen fighters could land at the same time, so Luke could have just come in with Chaser. But at this time of early morning, Luke didn't feel comfortable risking it.

He followed as soon as his wingmate was in. As usual, he could see his aim with great precision, nearly feel the metal it was made of, and sense every meter between him and it. The sensation was a little overwhelming, but gave him a welcome sense of control.

A cold tingling through his spite distracted him, and he started. It was the same sensation he'd experienced when he went to sleep a few hours ago... It could have been the cold of space and the tiredness of his late patrol, but something told him that wasn't the case. He tried to latch on the feeling and pinpoint it, but it was gone before he could do so.

So was his concentration, and he realised a bit late that he was completely deviating from his course.

"Control, this is Five, I'm rectifying that now, thanks," he reassured the man who was trying to call his attention through the radio.

Scolding himself for his mistake, he did his best to get back on track. He approached the landing rail in a less than ideal angle and barely managed to cram into the third level.

As soon as he was back behind the atmospheric shield, Luke took off his helmet and sighed. They were supposed to wait after disembarking to do that, but tonight he didn't care. He was too irritated by his missed landing for that, and he didn't understand how he could have messed it up. Besides, he had always hated the pressure of the helmet on his skull and face.

He waited a little longer, then gave the command to open the hatch and climbed up out of the cockpit. He then walked away, unwilling to talk to Chaser. It was childish, maybe, but this was the first time he hadn't managed to get the right spot. His pride had taken a blow, and he really wasn't in the mood for his wingmate's teasing.

"Hey, aren't you forgetting something?" Chaser called him when he saw him leave. "I'm not gonna check up your TIE for you."

"Coming back in a minute," Luke answered.

Chaser shrugged, going back to his ship.

"Don't expect me to wait for you. I'm going to sleep as soon as I'm finished."

That was what Luke had been hoping for. Without answering, he walked on and left the hangar.

He wandered in the corridors until he found a hallway with viewports. He stopped there and leant against the thick transparisteel, letting the view wash over him. He had always enjoyed gazing at the steady calmness of space, but had quickly realised how much better the view was on an actual spaceship. Even scarcely-lit Tatooine couldn't compare with a vessel drifting in the middle of the void. Without the veil of atmosphere to separate him from them, the lights of the stars stood out sharply against inky blackness. The only disturbance to his contemplation was the reflection of the ship's artificial lamps on the pane, but at this time of the night-cycle, they were subdued enough for him to get a wonderful view of the cosmos anyway.

He let his gaze wander between the constellations, letting the quiet of the immensity wash on him and still his frustration. He only recognised a couple with certainty, but he tried to guess what the others were. The cold shiver that had distracted him seemed to have all but disappeared now. However, when he paid attention to it, he could still feel its shadow run through his bones, dormant.

He sighed and let his forehead rest against the cool material. What was wrong with him? It wasn't uncommon for him to have strange and unexplainable feelings, but they rarely were so persistent; insistent, even. This dark coldness seemed constantly hovering around him. It varied in strength, but it was always present, griping in a stifling way. He didn't remember when it had begun, but he was sure it had never happened before he set foot on Devastator.

A shape moving beyond the viewport interrupted his musings. It was hard to distinguish what it was from this far, but he was pretty sure he recognised the light markings of a TIE fighter. But it didn't seem to be one of the pilots on patrol. For one thing, it was alone, and it wasn't behaving like someone on watch. It soared gracefully through space, then swooped down in a nosedive, taking abrupt twirls before rising again.

He didn't look away from it, mesmerised: he didn't think he'd ever seen anybody fly like that. It was incredible. A little part of him wished he could be there, accompanying him in his crazy movements. His eyes were glued to the ship's movements in awe.

After a while, he remembered he still had a job to finish: his TIE fighter was waiting for its post-flight checks. If he wanted to catch some shut-eye, he needed to hurry to do it before the start of the day-cycle. Tiredness and flight didn't go well together; it was time for him to get back at it.

Throwing decorum to the wind, he jogged more than he walked in the corridors on the way back to the hangar. Only the bare minimum of men were working at this hour, and his steps resonated in the large empty space. Chaser was gone like he had said, certainly sound asleep already. Luke realised he had no idea how long he'd been staring at the flying ship.

He was finishing to recharge the battery and to check the last outer systems when he heard another fighter coming in the hangar. Was it already so late that the next patrol was already back? No, other people would have taken off to relieve them. He looked up, then hurried to focus on his work again when he caught a glance of the pilot exiting the ship.

The craft, which must have been the same he had seen joyflying – there was no other word for it – with such virtuosity, was Darth Vader's.

Luke replaced the cover on this TIE's charging level with deliberate slowness. Further, he could hear Vader seeing to his own fighter.

In all the stories he'd heard of him, none of them had ever mentioned how skilled he was at flying. Luke was gaping in wonder. He wanted to rise up and tell Vader how impressed he had been, perhaps ask him a few tricks. But his commanding officer seemed to think the hangar deserted, and Luke wasn't certain alerting him to the opposite was wise. Finally, he remained there crouching by his craft, pretending to be absorbed by checking out its hull. In reality, his mind was full of images of flight, wishing he could one day do the same.

He had hoped Lord Vader would walk past him without acknowledging him, but he didn't have such luck. Heavy boots clunked in the silence then stopped not far from him, and the thunder of a respirator made the air tremble.

"Ensign Lars. I did not expect to find you here so late."

The bone-deep cold had returned, stronger than Luke had ever felt it. It wrapped itself around him, his legs, his arms, his feet. Trying in vain to block it out, he threw a quick look at his shirt to make sure it was closed, then realised he was still wearing his flight suit. He stood up to face Vader and put himself at attention, helmet under his arm.

"Good night, Lord Vader," he greeted him. "I was just finishing my last post-flight checks after coming back from patrol."

"Alone?"

The cold wasn't abating at all, if anything it became more pressing. Luke couldn't help the shudder that ran through his spine.

"No, my lord," he warily answered. "My wingmate already went back to our quarters."

Vader's mask was tilted forward, his hands resting on his belt. Covered from head to toe as he was, his cape covering most of his shape, it was very difficult to read his mood, and it made Luke anxious not to know what he wanted. I did nothing wrong, he tried to tell himself, but the nervousness wouldn't go away.

"You didn't follow him."

No, I was too frustrated I didn't manage a perfect landing and needed to blow off steam, Luke's mind unhelpfully provided, but he wasn't about to tell the Dark Lord that.

"I was distracted for a little while," he admitted. "I took a short walk to clear my mind..."

He bit his lower lip, not sure what he wanted to say next would be well received, but needing to say it all the same.

"... that was one hell of a flight out there, sir."

Vader remained immobile. Luke winced when he realised how informal, how boyishly amazed his words had sounded.

"Forgive me," he hastened to say, feeling his cheeks warm up. "I – I didn't mean to..."

"It is nothing," the Dark Lord dismissed his rambling with a brisk gesture of the hand. "I understand you have shown quite a gift for flying, yourself."

There was something loaded in the words, some kind of probe that made Luke frown with uneasiness, despite his pride at the compliment.

"Thanks, sir. I'm trying my best," he shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "I... uh, I've flown for most of my life. I can't imagine not doing it."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and he had the impression Vader was watching him.

"I see."

The young man looked down with a shiver, feeling cold and strained again. He wondered if fatigue could have that effect on someone. Or maybe it was his mind running off again, his hyperactive imagination giving meaning to things that had none.

Then it subsided, if only a little.

"If you have nothing left to do, I suggest you retire for the night," Vader said, as if he had read his thoughts.

"Yes, my lord," Luke answered, relieved to have an excuse to leave his overwhelming presence. "Good night."

Vader inclined his head as only response. Luke walked away without showing his haste, feeling the disturbing weight of his gaze on his back.
 

The awakening was tough, and much too early for Luke's taste. He groaned in his pillow, calling on all his courage to get up. His bed felt far softer than a hard-edged standard Imperial bunk had any business to be.

With a supreme effort of will, he managed to get up and change into his uniform, before heading to the living room and making a beeline for the caf machine. The whole squadron was there; for once, nobody was otherwise occupied.

"Hello," joyfully said Chaser, a smirk on his lips that Luke didn't like. "I see the night was short, how long did you stay brooding over your missed landing before checking in?"

Kriff. He'd noticed the bad landing. With his wingmate's competitiveness, Luke had been foolish to hope otherwise. He bit back a groan: it was far too early for this.

"Can't see what you're talking about," he replied, making Chaser snort at his blatant bad faith. "Don't tell me you've gathered the whole squadron to tell them I actually am able to kark a landing?"

"You'd need that to get your ego deflated," the other quipped.

"The reason we're all in here together is that we have a tactical meeting in half an hour with Lord Vader, so Lars, you better move your ass right now," Mauler chimed in. He then turned back to the datapad he'd been reading, also holding a cup of the bitter beverage. He sounded exasperated by their antics, his electronic eye flashing yellow-red colours.

The others snickered. Luke acknowledged him with a discrete "yessir" before grabbing a ration bar and sitting down on a bench, quietly sipping his caf. The conversation had gotten more subdued after Mauler's sharp remark. Luke felt the caffeine starting to kick in, a relief he sorely needed.

"I'm glad to get back to real work," Backstabber told Chaser. "I was getting crazy with all these surveillance missions. It's high time we put 'em Rebels back in their place."

Chaser agreed with the sentiment.

"Yeah, can't wait to get some action either."

Luke almost threw in a barb, eager to get back at him, but then decided to keep his mouth shut for once. This kind of thing could wait for him to reach full consciousness.

When they arrived at the command centre, it was Lt. Tanbris who stood behind the console in silence. Lord Vader was a little further back in the room, facing them from a distance, his hands behind his back. Luke wondered what he was doing here. He didn't seem to be going to speak; Lt. Tanbris was, like often. But then why had he come?

They waited for them all to come in and gather around to holotable. Then Lt. Tanbris pushed a button, and the lights diminished, letting the round shape of what looked like a planetary map appear before their eyes.

"We are currently orbiting Carosi XII, the seventh planet of the Carosi system," Lt. Tanbris said. "Before you make a remark, there is no mistake. The fact that it bears the sign for twelve and not seven has historical reasons that I will not get into. The locals have long been suspected of harbouring Rebels, but proof of it has only been recently discovered. They have hidden an outpost in the mountains under the guise of a medcentre. We believe them to use it to coordinate different operations in the sector."

"Are we completely certain that is a base and not a real medcentre?" Vil asked. "A mistake on that front could cause a lot of trouble on many plans."

"We are," Lt. Tanbris confirmed. "I have neither the time nor the clearance to go into details, but rest assured the matter has been thoroughly investigated."

He paused, and the holograph zoomed in on a specific place on the planet.

Luke threw a quick glance at Vader, still intrigued by his presence. The man was intimidating even when he did nothing.

Lt. Tanbris's voice brought his attention back on the meeting.

"The ground assault led until now demonstrated limited efficiency. As such, an air strike has been considered more fruitful."

The map zoomed in again, now showing a very detailed image of the area. Their target was a bright red square in the middle of the translucent blue schematics.

Then Lt. Tanbris stepped back, leaving the place to Lord Vader.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said as he took place in front of them.

He made a brief gesture of his hand, and the map zoomed in again, showing a detailed image of the area. Their target was a bright red square in the middle of the translucent blue schematics.

Luke watched around, intrigued by the way Vader had done that without touching any button. Nobody else seemed to wonder at it, though, so he reported his attention on the meeting.

"The attack is scheduled tomorrow in the early morning, at 0100," Vader said. Luke inwardly grimaced, but it made sense: they needed to strike at the best time for the light and weather condition on-planet.

"At 0045, the ground troops will be ordered to retire from the strike site. A squadron of Bombers will then descend in atmosphere to aim at the target. Your primary goal will be to locate and destroy the outpost's shields generators, and deal with potential reinforcements from the Carosites."

He then started explaining the mission in more detail, describing the operation step by step and illustrating the movements on the map. Luke listened as attentively as he could. Vader's words were clear and precise, and summoned limpid images in his mind of what was expected of them. This he was familiar with: war games were a common occurrence at the Academy, even in pilot training. He had once or twice even been in Vader's position, exposing strategic goals to fellow cadets.

But this was no longer an elaborate game where he would be facing his comrades in a simulator. It was real, and he tried to deny the way his stomach twisted at the thought.

It made things easier to know there shouldn't be any Rebels pilots stationed on the outpost. Luke was thankful for that, even though he couldn't help the twinge of guilt.

"Any questions?" Lord Vader finally asked.

Luke shook his head, reviewing the meeting in his mind and finding everything clear. Around him, the other pilots exhibited similar reactions. Backstabber was frowning, Vil looking down and stroking his chin. Qorl was looking at Vader with an intent look.

"Very well." Vader waved again, and the map disappeared as the lighting came back to a normal level. "I will see you tonight."

He then addressed a few words Luke didn't hear to Lt. Tanbris and exited the control room, cape flowing behind him. The lean officer took the datatapes with him, then followed suit. Already the squadron was gathering in smaller groups, discussing the preparation of the assault and what still needed to be done. Luke followed their discussion from a distance, still distracted by the meeting.

A medcentre. Of all the disguises the Rebels could have chosen, they had used this one. It was clever, for sure; but he couldn't help but think it was a little cowardly, too.

A hand on his shoulder tore him from his musings.

"Afraid yet, FNG?" Chaser teased.

"You wish," Luke answered.

"Then come." His wingmate pulled him away with him towards the others. "We have a lot of work."

Chapter Text

With a sigh, Luke ran a hand on his face. He stared blankly at the report in front of him describing the geography of Carosi XII and its atmosphere conditions.

Their target was planted on the slope of a tall mount in the north section of the Eurae montains, a range of ice-covered volcanoes. Most of them were extinct or dormant, but a few remained in activity, especially in the south-western part of the planet. It was what made the capital, Newlife Point, well known for its naturally hot springs. The setting of the mountain on which the medcenter stood made any ground assault near impossible. Snow and ice covered the mountain, and the glacier ran down all the way to the valley before continuing to the North, cutting access to the building by its Eastern side. When they had tried it, Rebel firepower had repelled them easily, secure in their stronghold that had once been a place of healing.

“That's a well-defended and strategically-placed medcentre,” had joked Backstabber when they had first gone over the mission.

There had been a few snickers before the discussion came back to their flight plan, which they'd been finalising for six hours. From the different ways to get to the shield generators, the paths of escape and attack, and the flight conditions, there had been a lot of work. At last they were wrapping it up, and Luke was straining to keep focused.

Finally Mauler brought it to a close.

“We have a little over eleven hours before taking off,” he said. “I want you down in the hangar ready to do a last run-through of the plan at 0030. Until then, take your rest and make sure you are in peak shape for the assault. Dismissed.”

Luke let out a relieved sigh as they exited the meeting room, relishing the cooler air of the corridor. He understood the necessity of these tedious meetings, but it didn't make them any less tiring. Everything they had discussed was spinning in his mind without any order. He he felt as though his head was going to explode.

A hand setting on his shoulder tore him from his musings. He slowed down, letting other pass him by as he looked questioningly at Chaser.

“I need to talk to you,” his wingmate said, watching the rest of the squadron walk back to their quarters.

“I'm listening,” Luke frowned. Usually what Chaser said, anybody could hear. It was uncharacteristic for him to take someone to the side like this.

The pilot sighed, which confused Luke even more. This was definitely unusual.

“It's about what you told me the other time,” Chaser began, his brown eyes staring right into Luke's. “About the Rebels being human and not being in battle. From now on, you are in battle. This is the enemy and nothing else. You get that?”

“Of course I do,” Luke said. “Don't think I don't know what I signed up for. I know what must be done.”

“No you don't,” Chaser retorted, and his briskness surprised the younger pilot. “You have no idea what you signed up for because nobody does before their first battle. When you come back from this you won't be the same. You'll be shaken. You'll have seen things you'll wish you never had. And that's only if you come back at all. So you've got to put it into your head that the more of these guys die, the better, because the second you hesitate is the second you'll be dead.”

Luke didn't answer immediately, the unexpected outburst jarring all his irritation away. The merciless words were unnerving all on their own, but it was the heat in them that threw Luke. For all his gruff tones and rough words, Chaser wasn't often found speaking that seriously.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “But I promise you I'm not going to freeze at the first casualty. I'm aware I don't have the same experience as you all, but I'm not coming into this completely blind. I'm in this because I want to win this war. That I'm not happy to kill people doesn't mean I won't do it.”

“I hope your pretty reasoning still holds on when you actually have to pull the trigger,” Chaser warned. “There's a reason for all this drilling you seem to have dumped about why the Rebels are so bad. It's not only because it's true; it's because you need it to survive.”

Luke nodded, a cold knot tying itself in his stomach despite himself. He knew it was true. He wished he could see the Rebels as faceless monsters that did nothing but wreak havoc on the galaxy. He was determined to do his duty, no questions asked.

But it would have been so much easier hadn't he known his best friend was flying in an enemy cockpit, somewhere in the galaxy.

“I understand,” Luke said, unable to think of any other fitting answer.

Chaser pursed his lips and tapped his shoulder, before turning around and going away. Luke stayed there a few more seconds, his eyes staring at nothing as he grappled with his conflicted thoughts. Then he shook his head and walked out as well.

They had a battle to prepare.
 

They were all ready in their black flight gear, shining helmets under their arms, five minutes before the time Mauler had given them. Despite the late hour, the sound of flight techs preparing their crafts filled the hangar. A little further, the other regular TIE/LN fighters , Wraith Squadron, and the TIE Bombers, Eta Squadron, were also getting ready for take-off. Nervous excitement made Luke's stomach flutter.

As Mauler's recapitulations reached their end, the huge form of Darth Vader approached them, cape flowing around him. His mechanical breath seemed weaker than usual in the middle of the noise, but his voice was as booming as ever.

“Sharp and swift minds and focus on your objective will be the key to success. Now head to your ships, and remember your orders.”

The pilots then snapped in a salute.

“For the Empire!” one of them shouted.

The cry was taken back by all the fighters. Luke loudly joined the heady chorus, swept away by the power of their voices rising together.

Vader acknowledged them with a nod and walked away. They broke position and ran to their fighters, putting on their helmets, climbing down the ladders and closing the hatches above their heads. Luke turned the systems out, still running on the enthralling emotion that had taken them all. Nothing could resist their combined skill. They would win this battle.

Vader's TIE Advanced led them as they departed, two fighter squadrons surrounding the bombers. They approached the planet, descended closer and closer to the atmosphere, and left the sun behind them as they did so. When they were near the surface enough to catch a glance of the landscape, Luke gasped at the beauty of it.

It must have been the earliest hours of the morning on the planet. The blue sky was still coloured in pink where it touched the horizon, behind the snow-covered tops. Light and shadows were entwined on brown and white surfaces, sparkling where the sun brushed them. Descending on the slope of the highest mountain and into the valley was a river of turquoise ice, glistening and shining under the rays of dawn.

“Target on sight at 10 degrees. Move in attack position.” Vader's voice ringing through the comm called his attention back to the mission.

They were getting very close to the mountain in question, which stood dark and ominous in Luke's eyes. The young man could make out a building of smooth and light-coloured shapes against the rocks. Smaller and rougher, built for utility rather than aesthetics and looking more recent, three devices stood around it. Their antennas displayed an invisible yet effective shield.

“Black Leader, Group Six coming in,” an unknown voice said.

Vader acknowledged. A bomber, flanked by two pilots of Wraith squadron, left the group and dove towards the closest shield generator. They approached it from above, but a shot of laser fire forced them to break away. A fighter turned back and fired at it, but the magnetic shield absorbed his attack.

“All ships move closer to the ground,” Vader ordered. “Their laser cannons are inside the shield. They cannot be disabled.”

“Great,” Vil muttered, “so it's hit and run time.”

“Cut the chatter, Black Eleven.”

They dove near the surface, zigzagging between the snow-covered rocks, and separated to approach the different targets. Luke flew next to Eta Three, together with two other groups. They aimed at another generator, a bit higher on the glacier.

“Group Two and Three, try to distract them. Group One, we're going in.”

“Copy, Black Leader,” Luke announced, echoing his flight mates.

They pulled up, immediately followed by the laser shots. Luke did a barrel roll then dove to avoid it, gritting his teeth, the beams too close to him to his taste.

“Eta Two, look out –“

“Blast! I'm HIAAAA – ”

Luke swerved aside just in time to avoid the bomber. The ship spun a little further, then crashed down on the mountain in a bright explosion. Luke looked away from the blast, but it shook his ship anyway, short-lived flames licking at his hull.

“Attack missed. Coming at it again.”

Luke took a shaky breath and pulled up again, ready to make a diversion. Laser beams followed him once more, and he teased them closer, too aware of the deadly dance he was leading. He held tight on his ship controls.

The comm was frantic, buzzing with transmissions of all nine groups of starships.

“Black Ten, on your right –“

“Eta Four coming in –“

“Break-Break, all fighters, I have incoming at 210 degrees!”

Luke threw a quick look at his beeping screen. An unidentified amount of enemy fighters were coming their way.

“Copy, Wraith Seven,” Vader said. “Eta Squadron, keep your focus on the targets. All other fighters cover for them, ready to engage.”

Luke pulled up and made careful circles around their target, like the other fighters. This was going to make things harder.

“Those are no Carosite ships, they're Headhunters,” a Wraith pilot said. “Rebels!”

Luke's heart fell in his stomach.

“What? No way! They're coming from the south, not from the outpost!”

“Speculation is pointless,” Vader hissed. “Stay on target!”

The young man tightened his knuckles on his controls, his blood drumming in his ears. He couldn't hesitate. He had to do this. I hope you're not with them, Biggs, he prayed.

There were about a dozen ships, which were coming at them full throttle. Luke had to dive down, barely flying under the belly of one of the Headhunters.

“Black Five, cover me,” Dark Curse asked him as he flew right before him.

“Wilco, Six,” he answered, placing himself on his tail.

It was like being back in the sims, following the others' movements while looking out for the enemy. But none of Luke's shots were hitting their target. He bit back a curse, kept firing and missing. His heart skipped a beat as a red beam darted a few feet away from him.

"Five, what's happening? Dark Curse asked. "You're flying erratically."

“I – I'll be all right in a minute,” Luke answered.

He took another shot that missed his assailant again. Everything was a blur around him, ships exploding, cries ringing, frantic exchanges everywhere.

Chaser was right, he thought. I'm not cut out for this. I'm going to die.

Another shot Luke barely avoided. The Rebel came at him again, and this time he didn't have time to react. He gripped his controls tighter, expected heat and pain...

Dark Curse flew in and defeated his assailant. Luke breathed.

"Black Five, listen to me. Breathe. Pull out for a moment if you need, you're doing no good like that."

Luke nodded, forgetting the other pilot couldn't see him. He took a deep breath in, then out, trying to regain control of his emotions. Where was the half-aware state that preceded his best performances?

Another Headhunter arrived from behind. Luke barely had time to avoid it as it rushed towards Dark Curse. It teamed up with the other one, kept Dark Curse hanging between them. A shot missed him by a hair, and he only escaped with an expert twist.

"Dark Curse!" Luke cried out.

He gritted his teeth, charged at the Rebel ship, fired three shots at it and pulled up. The ship exploded in a thousand tiny shards. Luke exhaled.

"Thanks," Dark Curse said. He seized the moment to fire at the second enemy, who was destabilised by its partner's explosion. Soon it followed it into oblivion.

Luke didn't answer, his jaw set. He felt as if loosening any of his muscles would cause a breakdown. There was a constant sizzling in his head, and he struggled to keep it away from swallowing his thoughts.

“Target Two destroyed!” echoed over the comm, in a voice he thought he recognised as Qorl's.

A wave of relief overcame Luke, allowing him to relax the tiniest bit. Two left to go, then they would be clear.

“They're aiming for the bombers,” Wraith Leader said. “All fighters cover for them!”

Luke made wide circles around his own target. This time he was careful not to fly too high, lest he attracted the outpost's fire. He imitated the other fighters from his group, and remained on the lookout for enemies. Eta Leader was making a run for the target. Vader's distinctive craft covered him on one side; Black Two watched the other.

A Headhunter emerged from behind the mountain and flew in their direction. It aimed directly for the ships attacking the generator.

“Group One, fighter incoming at 160, I'm taking it,” Luke announced.

Barely hearing his comrades' acknowledgements, he rushed towards it and shot. He pushed it away from the others, evading its fire. The ship tried to evade him and get at him, but Luke twisted away from his range, careful to keep it on his scopes and in his field of vision. But the pilot was good. Luke had to deploy all his dexterity to keep away from him, and couldn't land a hit.

The sun was nearly getting to the top of the smallest mountain of the range now, illuminating whole sections of the glacier. Luke dove closer to the shining ice. He tried to lead his opponent to a place where the sun would blind it, and Luke could fire at it. But the Rebel didn't let him do so, and turned his trick against him by flying around him. Luke had to manoeuvre subtly to avoid facing the sun. The chased each other all the way up the glacier, like two birds on hunt, both prey and predator, soaring over the large crater on top of the mountain.

The Rebel dove in, and Luke followed it. The both of them flew about a foot away from the black rocks of the ground, that seemed covered in smoking ashes. Fast as they were going, it was a challenge to avoid crashing down. But Luke felt at ease. This was so similar to the wild races in the canyons of Tatooine he had enjoyed with –

Stay in the present, he berated himself. The enemy was in front of him, and he fired, a second too late. It missed and embedded itself into the crater rather than in his opponent's hull. A vague anxiety seized him. He thought he heard a rumble far down, but that was preposterous, over the screeching sound of engines.

He pulled up, seeking the open space of the skies again. As he had intended, the Rebel took the bait and rose behind him, pursuing him into the cloudless blue. No laser from the outpost came to disturb them. Luke had guessed they wouldn't risk firing on one of their own.

He tried to get closer to his target, wanting to take it down quickly, before other Rebels came to its aid. He trusted his reflexes and came full throttle at him, pushing it again and again. He could feel the other's surprise and fear as he got more and more unbalanced. In a last assault, Luke fired, and dove down before the enemy craft blew up on him.

Keeping his thoughts on a tight leash, trying not to remember the sound of the explosion nor the flash of terrified emotions that had darted through him, Luke rejoined with the others, that a couple Headhunters still prevented from taking down the generator.

“Black Five, cover for Eta Leader on the East, I'm taking the western part,” Chaser told him.

Luke acknowledged and immediately rushed into one of the fighters, hoping to scare it away from its objective. It was tenacious, and tried by all means to get around Luke, who had trouble keeping it away.

“Black Four, I could use a bit of help,” he called, his voice strained.

“Hold on a second –“

“Target One destroyed,” Vader's voice rose.

Luke's relief was short-lived. Taking advantage of his moment of distraction, his opponent flew past him and rushed towards Eta Leader. Luke chased after him with a cry, but couldn't prevent it from diving in range of the bomber. The Rebel fired, and the bomber fell.

Luke winced, then rose and followed the remaining fighters to the last target, higher on the mountain, where the battle had gathered. None of what had preceded compared to the chaos the area now was. Both Imperial and Rebel fighters were littering the sky, trying to get close to the shield generator, either to destroy or protect. Luke mindlessly followed the others and concentrated on the orders firing through the comm. He shot at the enemies, but had no way to know if he had hit them. Explosions burst from everywhere, screams echoing between the officers' instructions.

“Target Three destroyed! The shield is down!”

The Rebel fighters must have noticed it as well, for they shifted towards the former medcenter in defence.

“All ships in formation,” Vader ordered, “and proceed to main target!”

“Sir, Eta Squadron is down!”

Luke looked around, astounded and frightened, searching the shapes of bombers around him and finding none. Surely they couldn't have shot down the entire squadron?

“Then cannon fire will have to suffice,” Vader answered, cold as ever. “Rearrange in standard attack pattern and move in!”

Luke tried to obey and rejoin his squadmates, but the Headhunter flying in the opposite direction prevented him from doing so. He was forced upwards all the way up to the mountain's crater, which was now abundantly smoking. He finally managed to hit his enemy, who took fire and spun down, before crashing on the fuming black rocks. A shiver ran through Luke's spine, as if a greater danger than that of the battle was threatening them.

Vader's fighter flew above his head, taken in his own dogfight.

“Black Five, keep firing inside the crater.”

Luke frowned, unsure if he had heard well. This was a terrible idea, he was certain of that.

“Black Leader, this is Black Five, please say again?”

“Black Five, fire at the crater,” Black Leader repeated.

Luke bit his lip, flying circles close above the ground, torn and hesitant. He wanted to protest, to refuse to do it, but this was his commanding officer. Doing so would earn him a reprimand at best, maybe even a court-martial, if he was unlucky...

At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to act. A sense of doom had taken hold of him, a certainty that disaster would strike and they should get out of it as soon as they could. It was ludicrous, he couldn't understand it, but the feeling was so strong he couldn't ignore it either.

“Black Five, this is an order,” Vader said once more, now sounding very annoyed. “All fighters gather close to the top of the mountain!”

Sharpening his will, Luke forced himself to shoot, closing his eyes involuntarily as he did so. Again he heard the distant rumble again, and knew he hadn't imagined it, but he shut it out and continued to fight. Other Imperials were joining them, and Headhunters were charging. Luke knew this agitated swarm would disturb the restless force, or whatever it was, he could feel awakening as they fought. It was hard to see in the middle of the smoke.

A pair of dogfighting ships crashed on in the crater, eliciting a spurt of fumes from where they had fallen. Luke's ears tingled with a roar of unknown origin. Before he knew what was happening, he shot up in the sky, unable to stay there a second longer.

“All ships pull up, again, all ships pull up now!” Vader ordered.

All the remaining TIE fighters rose up, reaching the height Luke had already flown to not a second too soon.

Under them, the ground had begun to shake, and the rumble Luke had heard before made itself more present and real. Smoke and ashes rose from the mountain, or rather the volcano. There was so much of it so much it was obscuring the sky. The fighting had all but stopped: the fighters had either fled, or like Luke, been stunned by the fearful and awesome spectacle. Blinding red cracks were forming inside the crater. Magma began to burst out of it, pouring down the slopes of the mountain and melting ice and ground alike.

“The mission is over,” Vader said over the comm, hardly audible above the thunder of the eruption. “Everyone head home.”

They spent the short flight back in complete silence, shaken by this unexpected development. The eruption must have been developing for a while, thought Luke. He had felt it, he was certain he had, although how, he had no idea. The battle kept replaying before his eyes like a hectic mental film, but his eyes were unfocused, and his body seemed to be acting on its own.

Finally, they were back in Devastator's docking bay. It was the same as they had left it, calm and peaceful. The battle had not taken more than one hour, and they were still in the middle of night-cycle. But Luke found it looked different. He had trouble deciding if it was reality that had changed, or if his mind was playing tricks on him, struggling to process the recent events.

He climbed out of his TIE, his glove catching ash as it brushed against the hull. He took his helmet off, but didn't feel the relief that usually accompanied the action. His hands were trembling.

A bit further, the squadron had gathered, exhausted and covered in sweat. Luke absently counted them, afraid of knowing, but needing to. One person was lacking: he didn't take long to realise Backstabber was the one absent. They had to be grateful it was only one, he supposed, considering how many casualties there had been. He still had trouble to believe none of Eta Squadron had come back.

He hadn't realised Dark Curse had risen and come to him until his hand was on his shoulder. How had he not seen him coming?

“Come,” he said. “We all need something strong to drink.”

Luke nodded, afraid to speak, uncertain if he still could. The squadron was moving away towards their quarters, and Dark Curse patted him on the back as they followed, offering silent comfort.

They had nearly rejoined the others when Darth Vader's voice sounding in the hangar made him freeze.

“Ensign Lars!”

Detached from the knot in his abdomen and the hammering of his heart, Luke turned towards him. The Dark Lord had just exited his fighter, towering in the middle of the hangar. He looked angry, and Luke's stomach tightened.

“Follow me.”

Luke froze, struck by the threat he could hear in these two commanding words. His whole body feeling cold, he forced himself to walk towards Vader, step by step. He kept his eyes straight on him, struggling not to look at the many glances he knew he had to be receiving.

The Dark Lord turned around and marched out of the hangar, Luke falling in step behind him.

Chapter Text

Vader strolled down the long corridors leading to his quarters. Behind him, he could feel the boy nearly jog to keep up with his strides. His fear was bleeding through the Force, bright and intoxicating, so strong Vader had trouble focusing on anything else.

He opened the door with a sweep of the hand and entered, the young pilot on his heels. Lars hesitated for the shortest moment before crossing the threshold. He advanced to the middle of the room and stood at attention. The door swooshed closed behind him, trapping him in Vader's company.

Vader stood with his back turned to him, his hands clasped under his cape. He let the sound of his breath fill the room, chill the young man to the core. After spending such a long time instinctively immersed in the Force as he flew, his presence was still grounded in it, blinding in its intensity. Vader couldn't hear his thoughts, but he felt his mind work fiercely, trying to guess what Vader wanted with him, what was going to happen to him. Vader caught glimpses of the dreadful pictures he was attempting to dodge with little success. His imagination was running wild, prodded on by growing anxiety.

The Force was strong with him. Of that there could be no more doubt. Vader had been led astray by his average blood test for a while, but the obvious power radiating from him dispelled any confusion. Few beings possessed such a natural connection, such a clarity in their feelings. He allowed himself to bask in the boy's purity as he unhooked his lightsabre from his belt.

He should kill him. That, too, was undeniable. Unless the Emperor himself decided otherwise, Force-sensitive beings were a threat to the Empire and should be disposed of; tracking them down had once been one of his primary duties. The young man seemed untrained and oblivious to his potential, and he was trapped in these rooms, with him. It would be all too easy to run him down with a swipe of his blade, or to reach out and break his neck... Nobody would question the presence of the body in his quarters, and all memory of the boy's existence would soon be forgotten.

Yet Vader was reluctant to strike him down. How strange, he mused with a humourless smile, that he should feel inclined to spare that boy whose gift marked him for destruction, who had disrespected him and nearly disobeyed his orders. Others had died for much less...

But the boy intrigued him. He was an excellent pilot, an asset he didn't quite want to lose yet. His service would be of great value for the Empire. And there was something there, in his stature or in his mannerisms, in the strong will held in his clear blue gaze, in his mesmerising Force presence that shone too brilliantly for one so untrained. It was like a faint scent of memory hanging around him, and it troubled the Dark Lord deeply.

He replaced the weapon to his waist, then turned around and studied him. The young man didn't move, but kept his back held straight, his eyes staring ahead of him. His right arm was held along his leg, his left one holding his helmet. He was still clad in his flight suit, his hair moist with sweat, looking worn down despite the tight posture.

No, he would grant him a reprieve. His next misstep would always be early enough for Imperial laws to strike upon his head...

"Ensign Lars," he said, letting his voice carry some measure of the danger he had just escaped. "I trust you know why I have summoned you."

"Yes, my lord."

Vader took a step closer to the boy, watching his muscles tense in apprehension.

"You nearly disobeyed a direct order in the middle of battle," he carried on. Lars shivered, barely avoiding to shrink under his overbearing presence.

"Yes, my lord," the pilot repeated. "I do not know what came over me. I apologise. It won't happen again."

So it had been the Force indeed that had prompted him not to act, an instinct he had followed confusedly, without knowing why. Impressive...

"I should hope not. Your actions today could have had disastrous consequences. You have endangered your comrades' lives and the success of the mission."

The young man swallowed, losing his voice altogether. Vader let the tense silence stretch as he passed him by, circling him, his cape swirling against the boy's ankles.

"As punishment, you will spend the remainder of the night in the brig, after which you will not take flight for the foreseeable future. Lieutenant Tanbris will inform you of your new duties and you will report to me every evening until I decide to let you regain your place in your squadron."

"I... yes, my lord," said the boy, sounding both relieved and disappointed.

Vader approached him from behind, not even an inch away from him. Lars' breath quickened.

"Be very careful, young one," he said with deliberate quietness, towering over his shoulder. "I will be watching you, your every move, your every breath. If you make one step out of line again..."

The young man was shaking now, from fear, exhaustion and strain from his position. His terror was spiking in the Force.

"... you will wish you had never attracted my attention."

The boy let out a shivering breath.

"I understand, my lord," he bravely said.

Vader straightened, stepped back, and took his commlink from his belt to order troopers to take him away. As they waited for them, he remained silent, watching the young man before him. He looked ready to collapse at any moment, but Vader let him fight to remain at attention. There was a familiarity he couldn't place in the youthful features, a boldness that remained despite the fear reeking from him.

He would break that stubbornness before he destroyed him, one way or another.

He watched the boy until his escorts marched him away from his chambers, deep in thought.
 

Sand, as far as the eye can see. In the middle of the endless blue sky, a pair of twin suns, watching on the desert. Grains flying around, carried by the Khamsin wind and the speed of the skyhoppers.

Two boys were racing side to side, neither gaining the advantage. Their speeders were so close they were touching, grinding together as the boys shared defiant gazes, trying to get ahead of the other. Finally, they sped out of the canyon into the open space and screeched to a halt, dust worming itself into the engines. They stepped down, still laughing in exhilaration, and the taller of the two, a boy with dark hair and eyes, passed an arm against his friend's shoulders, ruffling his mop of blonde hair. The smaller one tried to pull out of his embrace, but in vain, and the both of them fell sitting on the sand.

"Can you imagine," the blonde boy quietly said, "how awesome it would be to race between the stars?"

The other grinned.

"One day, that's gonna happen, Luke. We'll fly in battle together, the finest pair of hotshots the galaxy's ever seen. We'll be a couple of shooting stars that'll never be stopped."

Luke smiled and looked down, cocking his head on the side. His eyes had lost part of their sparkle.

"I'm not joining the Rebels though, Biggs, you know that."

Biggs frowned, dreams and laughter forgotten.

"You've been spending time with that trooper again, haven't you."

"His name's Jem," Luke retorted. "And he's a good man!"

Biggs sighed.

"It's not because one Imperial is a good man that the whole system is good, Luke. Don't let yourself be taken in by their propaganda, you're smarter than that."

"But they have been bettering things here," Luke argued, looking his friend in the eye. "The school in Anchorhead, the freed slaves in Mos Espa – that's all them."

"That's only part of it. The school is just a way for them to put their ideas in young heads like yours. And they only freed the slaves to weaken Jabba the Hutt. They're doing far worse things outside in the galaxy..."

Suddenly they were on Prefsbelt, in the dry and grey corridors of the Academy.

"... I'm no longer losing my time with your secret meetings," Luke said as they got into their dorm, making sure no one was around. "They're just Rebel propaganda and, honestly, it's ridiculous. I don't even know how you can believe that!"

"It's the truth," Biggs said.

"Yeah, right," Luke replied. "That's why they always speak of the gruesome slaughters the Imperials commit, but never of all the civil lives the Rebels destroy with their sabotages! How can you not see it?"

"Luke..."

The young man sighed, suddenly seeming very tired.

"Listen, let's talk about something else. I don't want to argue right now... we're always saying the same things anyway."

They kept walking in a corridor similar to the one they'd just left, and arrived in a hangar, where people were boarding two different shuttles. Luke was standing facing Biggs and another man awkwardly.

"So, Biggs, Hobbie, you're really doing it?" Luke asked.

"Not so loud," Biggs hurriedly said. "I swear your mouth is worse than a crater."

Luke glanced around, suddenly worried.

"I'm sorry. I'm quiet now, listen how quiet I am," he said, barely whispering.

The two other men chuckled at his antics, and Luke smirked, but their hearts were not in it.

"Yeah," Hobbie said. "We are."

Luke's mouth pressed in a thin line.

"Be careful," he ended up saying. "I wish we never cross paths."

Biggs's face contorted in a grimace.

"This is war, Luke. We're enemies and nothing else now."

Luke's eyes widened, and he gaped at the taller man. It was so unlike him to say that...

"Biggs... you'll always be my friend, you know that," he pleaded.

Suddenly Luke found himself in the cockpit of his TIE, flying up the mountain, killing a Rebel pilot.

"Really, Luke? Am I? You killed me!"

Luke put his hand on his ears and closed his eyes, but Biggs's words were just as strong, his face staring accusingly at him. It was but a black skull now, and his breath sounded loud and laboured, his voice dark and foreboding.

"No... Biggs..."

"You killed me! Killed me... killed me..."

Luke woke up with a start, his heart hammering in his ears. It was a nightmare, nothing but a nightmare. Their goodbyes had ended with Biggs reassuring him they'd always be friends no matter what happened, not this cold and cruel separation. He still remembered it distinctly. He wasn't at the Academy, he was onboard Devastator, in the cell he'd been confined to for the night.

He hadn't killed Biggs. These Rebel pilots he'd shot down, neither of them had been him. Luke had to believe that. He would never be able to forgive himself if it turned out he had taken his childhood friend's life, the boy with whom he'd shared most of his dreams, the man who had allowed him to get off his boring planet. What were the odds, of all the Rebels in the galaxy, that he would face him during his first battle? There was simply no way it had been him.

Yet he knew the possibility was going to haunt him for a long time.

Luke sighed and sat up on the cold metal bench, putting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Of the three hours of night he'd still had, he'd spent at least two rolling over and over on the hard surface, his thoughts bumping into each other in his head, making such noise even his exhaustion hadn't been enough to make him doze off. He'd finally managed to reach a state of anxious slumber, only to be torn from it soon after, and he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He lay down on his back again, an arm under his head serving as a makeshift pillow, and tried to find a comfortable position as he waited for his guards to come and take him out, distractedly running his fingers against the smooth wall.

The small cell was dark and cold, and Luke shivered. It was more than the temperature: there was a feeling of deep unease here, of oncoming suffering and death. Luke had the impression it was just waiting in the shadows, biding its time before it could take him.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the ludicrous idea. It was probably just the dream influencing him. And maybe also his encounter with Vader, the memory of which was even more vivid in his stark environment. He now understood better all the rumours about him, although none of them did him justice. There were no words for the liquid terror that had run through his veins when the Dark Lord had threatened him, for his awesome and crushing presence that made him freeze on the spot just from standing next to him. For a shattering moment, he had been certain he was about to die.

The worst was that, to a certain extent, he had deserved the punishment. Refusing to execute orders was serious business, dangerous for himself, the group, and the mission. He knew that, and yet he still had felt compelled to ignore Vader's instructions, pushed by a sense of urgency that came from nowhere. It had been such a deep instinct, so powerful... He didn't understand it.

But he resolved to listen to it no longer. He didn't want to put an entire mission in jeopardy again... and neither was he curious about what Vader would do to him, should he disobey once more.

Luke took a deep breath. It was all right. He was alive, Vader hadn't killed him, he had another chance to prove himself. The next time they met, he swore his commanding officer wouldn't be so unhappy with him.

He wished he could contact Biggs and Hobbie... know if they were all right, at least.

By the time his door opened on the troopers come to free him, Luke couldn't have been more grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. Squinting against the bright light coming from outside, he jumped up and exited the cell. A soldier handed him a datapad.

"Your new orders," he said.

Luke nodded, and they led him out of the brig before letting him go. Luke scurried along towards the squadron quarters, his muscles sore, heavy tiredness loading his bones. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bunk and get some real, restful sleep. Unfortunately, he had an entire work day ahead of him before he could do that. He was determined to take at least some time for a shower, though. He still felt dirty from the battle of the day before, he was in sore need of a change of uniform, and his dream was staying like a bitter aftertaste in the back of his mind.

The only one in the rooms when he arrived was Lt. Tanbris. The others must already be busy with their day. Luke was relieved not to have to talk to them. He didn't feel like explaining his situation right now.

"Ensign Lars," Lt. Tanbris said, opening wide eyes. "Where have you been? You didn't check in yesterday with the rest of the squadron."

Luke shrugged uncomfortably, earning himself a frown from the lieutenant. He handed him his orders.

"I was given this for you, sir."

Lt. Tanbris took the datapad and turned it on. He nodded as he read, understanding appearing on his face.

"Well, it seems your career is off to a fine start," he said, throwing Luke a disapproving glance. Luke listened attentively as he told him of his duties, repressing a grimace. Maintenance, datawork, watch duty: he had an inkling Vader had given him the most boring tasks on purpose.

Not like he had room to complain. After all, it was supposed to be a punishment.

Lt. Tanbris gave him his device back, and Luke muttered a thanks.

After a short trip to the refresher, he set out to find the officer in charge of his station. He got through a few officers before a helpful lieutenant redirected him to the hangars and told him to check in with the chief flight tech. At least he would still be working on ships... He'd hesitated to go in engineering for a while, but the thrill of piloting had won out.

It turned out the chief flight tech was a tall, dark-skinned, clearly overworked man. Luke found him underneath a TIE Interceptor, making repairs. He cleared his throat uneasily, not knowing if he should manifest himself more clearly.

The man emerged from under his ship, and threw Luke an aggravated glance.

"What's it?"

"I was told to report here, sir," Luke said. "I have..."

"Right," the tech waved, going back to his work without even a look at Luke's datapad. "Go lend a hand to the guys working on the shuttles."

Luke waited a few moments to see if there was more, but the man was already engrossed in his repairs again. He repressed a frustrated sigh, annoyed by the fact nobody seemed to know where he was supposed to be. Was it so impossible to give him clear instructions?

He spent the morning performing menial tasks all across the hangars, handing out an hydrospanner here, checking the oil levels there, and overall feeling spectacularly useless. The techs seemed to have their routine, know exactly what they needed to do, and while Luke's help seemed welcome at times, mostly he just had the impression he was intruding in their crazy schedule. From time to time, he spotted a couple of pilots running to their crafts, and a wistful pang went to his heart. That was his place, not here.

Finally, after one more vague redirection, he found himself collapsing on a crate in a small storage room, weary and tired, and feeling like nobody would miss him anyway if he took a small break. Sitting down was heavenly; were he to lie down on the ground, he was certain he would fall asleep in less than a minute.

Enjoying the calm, he took a look around him. The room was a mess of spare parts and tools, supplies, broken objects needing to be repaired. It was the most disorganised place Luke had seen on the Star Destroyer yet... in the image of the tech department, he couldn't help thinking.

A high chirping electronic sound made him turn around. A black domed astromech droid was coming out of a dark corner of the room, and rolling excitedly towards him.

"Hey," Luke smiled. "You alone in here?"

The droid twirped something Luke didn't understand. It sounded a little like a positive answer, maybe.

"I'm just taking a break," Luke said. "I made a mistake, so I can't do my job any more. I'm a pilot, but my boss banned me from flying, so now I'm helping out with maintenance."

He sighed, looked around at the cluttered room. "Well, helping out as much as I can, that is."

The droid made a noise that seemed commiserating to Luke, and a wan smile appeared on his lips. He wished he knew how to understand binary: he had no idea what the small astromech was telling him.

"I just wish someone knew what I'm actually supposed to... hey, what is it?"

The astromech's chirping had suddenly become a lot more insistent. He was rolling towards him with a long trill, and had started bumping repeatedly into his shins. Luke still had no clue what he wanted from him. He let a small laugh escape him.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," he said. An idea struck him. "Wait a minute, maybe I can..."

He looked around and soon found what he was looking for: half buried in the junk, he saw an old binary translator. Luke unburied it from the mess, blew on it to chase away some of the dust, and scrunched his nose when he unwillingly breathed some of it. He started looking in the innards of the thing, fiddled with a few wires, and plugged it into his newfound friend. He smirked in satisfaction when the screen lit up.

"There, that's better. So, what were you telling me?"

I need repairs, the screen read in green Aurebesh letters. Small. My sensors. Been here for weeks!

"Really?" Luke said. "That's terrible. Come here, I'll see what I can do."

He grabbed the pack of tools lying next to it, and opened the droid's panel to search for the problem. Repairs were something familiar, something he enjoyed doing. For a moment, he found himself back in his uncle's workshop, tinkering with vaporators' damaged pieces, or trying to make the junk they bought from the Jawas work.

"There, I see. It's your video sensor all right, a faulty contact... By the way, how do I call you? You got a name or a designation?"

Another beep rang, and the young man glanced up. W4-L3.

"I'm Luke," he answered, looking back at the sensor. "Nice to meet you, Weefour."

A few minutes later, the job was done. He checked a last time if everything was in place, then closed the panel's hatch and his toolbox before straightening up.

"There, all set," he told the droid. He patted his dome and got back on his feet. "Everything working fine now?"

He didn't need the translator to understand the droid's exultant tweeting as he bumped in his legs again, nearly making him topple over.

"That's all right," Luke laughed. "It was nearly nothing."

Weefour's enthusiasm was contagious, and Luke felt much lighter. It was hard to remain serious and worried around him.

The chief tech's voice in the doorway made Luke turn around.

"Lars?"

"Here, sir," Luke hurried to say, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be helping them out.

"That's where you are," the man said, opening the door. Luke stood at attention in front of him.

"Sorry, sir. I was tending to this astromech," Luke said.

Weefour twirped, and Luke bit back his smile. The chief tech looked down at the droid, then back at Luke.

"Yes, well, if you are finished here, there's other work to do. We need to check the bombers' hydraulic system, there's been complaints..."

He left without checking Luke was coming with him. With a last smile at Weefour, Luke hurried to follow the chief tech out of the room.

Chapter Text

Luke spent the rest of his day constantly running around to help the techs. He was starting to understand their routine, and once or twice had taken it upon himself to fix a thing or two without their supervision. It wasn't much, but it was something, at least. Better than just standing around in their way.

By the time night-cycle was approaching, he was so exhausted even walking felt like a huge effort. He'd had to restrain himself not to show how much of a relief it was when the chief tech cleared him. He had but one thing in mind: crashing on his bunk and passing out until the next day.

Yet here he was, stifling yawn after yawn and dragging his feet, poking at his datapad.

He didn't feel like reporting to Vader. His commanding officer was strict and daunting, and never satisfied. While these were traits Luke respected, he didn't have enough energy left to endure another frightening lecture on responsibility and obedience.

And frightening it had been. He still remembered the deep sense of danger rising in him as Vader had turned towards him, the underlying threat in his words, of something far worse than a mere blame. For an awful moment Luke had started to wonder if he was going to leave these quarters at all.

But it was ridiculous. All the rumours he'd heard about the man were getting to his head. He was still alive, and Vader had punished him by the book, considering what he'd done. There was nothing to be afraid of. He wasn't a coward, and if he would just stop moping and get this over with, he could get some sleep at last and clear the fog in his head. With these thoughts in mind, he headed for Vader's room, forcing himself to walk quickly.

Vader's door opened before Luke could even ring the intercom. He invited him inside with the deep and rumbling voice that resonated through Luke's bones and made him shiver. Luke crossed the threshold and came forward in the room. He held out the datapad where the chief tech had written down his observations, then stood at attention once Vader had taken it.

As Vader read, Luke discreetly took a better look at the surroundings. He hadn't been in a state to be observant yesterday, but right now he found himself curious. The room was dark, and its black walls barely held any furniture: a desk, a chair, and that was it. The only interesting element was a spherical pod of some sort with a strange zigzagging pattern in the middle. Luke supposed it must be an opening. He had never seen anything like it.

All in all, it wasn't such a fascinating room, and Luke soon turned to watch Vader himself. He seemed completely absorbed in his reading, which encouraged Luke's boldness. Clad all in black, his mask covering his face, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Luke wondered if he ever took the mask and armour off... and what were the buttons on his chest for? His head was tilted down towards the screen, the left hand casually holding the datapad as the right scrolled down the text. Seeing him like this, looking so much like any other officer despite the intimidating gear, Luke was certain he was just as human as him.

"Are you unable to remain at proper attention, Ensign Lars?

Vader hadn't even looked up to berate him. Slightly spooked, Luke straightened and looked ahead of him again with an apology. Way to make a good impression, Luke.

Finally Vader turned the screen off and set the datapad down next to him. He directed all his attention on Luke, who did his best not to shrink on the spot from the weight of it. He didn't move an inch, keeping his back ramrod straight, eyes set forward. A cold shiver ran down his spine as Vader took a step towards him.

"It seems I must congratulate you on your good work," Vader said. "Your superior was satisfied with your performance, and described you as efficient and diligent."

Luke thanked him, hope surging in his heart at these words. Would Vader reinstate him sooner than he had planned to, then...?

"Maybe I should let you stay working as a flight technician rather than a pilot, as you obviously find it easier to obey orders in that function."

Luke's jaw tightened, and he had to swallow his protest, not sure whether Vader's words were serious.

"I assure you, my lord, I will no longer ignore an order like I did yesterday," he said just in case. He hoped Vader wasn't actually considering keeping him grounded indefinitely. The idea of not taking flight in years was unbearable.

Vader tilted his head, his hands on his belt.

"I am most interested in knowing why that happened in the first place."

Luke swallowed.

"I have no excuse, sir."

"Oh, I am not looking for excuses," Vader said. "I would like to hear an explanation."

Luke's mouth became dry. He couldn't tell Vader about the sudden and urgent feeling that had taken hold of him in the middle of the battle. At best, he wouldn't believe him; at worst, he'd think him crazy. Besides, how could he explain something he himself didn't understand?

"Do not think of lying to me," Vader warned, so attuned to Luke's thoughts the young man nearly started. "I will know if you do."

Luke licked his lips, feeling very awkward.

"I – I can't explain it," he said. "For a moment, I had this strong impression that I shouldn't fire, that something terrible would happen if I did. I tried to ignore it, but..."

He trailed off. Vader kept silent, watching him intently. Once more, Luke felt the dark tendrils of cold wrap themselves around his limbs, probing him, searching him. The most ridiculous thought sprang to his mind, and he discarded it. He'd grown to associate the sensation with Vader's presence, but it couldn't be intentional on his commanding officer's part, that was impossible.

"You have powerful instincts, young one."

Luke didn't answer, unnerved by what he could hear in Vader's quiet voice. He'd never felt this out of his depth in his life. Kriff, what was it about Vader that unsettled him so much?

Vader leant back and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Tell me about your life on Tatooine," he said.

Luke was taken aback by the change of subject. What did that have to do with anything?

"It was... uneventful, my lord," he reluctantly answered. "I lived with my aunt and uncle, on a farm near Anchorhead."

He wanted to slap himself for his thoughtless reply. As if Vader knew anything about Anchorhead.

"Not your parents?" Vader asked. Luke had the impression this was no surprise to him.

"They died when I was born, my lord."

"Do you know anything about them?"

Luke's heart missed a beat. He couldn't know... could he? No, there was no way he knew.

"Very little, sir," he answered, keeping his voice as light as he could. Vader's previous warning came to his ears: no lies. "I never knew them."

A pang of sorrow and longing seized him. He hoped Vader wouldn't press further. Regardless of the peril lying in discussing his Jedi father with Vader, something he'd hoped he'd never have to do, this was personal and he didn't want to talk about it.

"Tell me," Vader asked regardless.

Luke forced himself to breathe. Vader's unwavering gaze made him uncomfortable.

It was only an innocent question, he tried to tell himself. Something you asked people to know more about them... although why Vader was interested, he had no clue. This felt like navigating quicksand: not knowing where to set foot but aware the slightest misstep would swallow him whole.

"My father was a pilot," he ended up saying: a truth, if not in its entirety. "And I don't know anything about my mother."

He didn't offer anything else. Not his insatiable curiosity about them, especially his father; not his loneliness when other kids were being picked up by their parents after school; not the endless yearning and melancholy that had permeated his childhood, the way he never stopped looking at the sky for some trace of his father. Vader had no business prying there.

Yet he wondered how much of it was really private. Vader's gaze made him feel as if he could see in the deepest layers of his mind. Luke hated that sensation with a passion.

"Did you experience these... feelings when you were younger as well?"

Luke frowned, thought.

"I had... hunches, sometimes, of when a sandstorm would be coming, or where we'd left an object we couldn't find," he said. "But nothing more. Never like during that battle."

Vader didn't move, his arms still crossed, looking straight at Luke.

"Did you know a man called Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"No, sir," Luke said. Then he remembered something. "There was Old Ben, though. Ben Kenobi. He was an old hermit living past the Dune sea when I was younger. I saw him afar sometimes when I was hanging out in Anchorhead. But he disappeared a few years ago, I have no idea what's become of him."

Vader tilted his head. Luke wondered what he was trying to learn, what was so important about his past. He hoped Vader had finished questioning him. He feared if he kept him any longer, he was going to just fall unconscious on the ground without a warning.

"Very well," Vader said with a wave of his hand. "You may go."

Luke nodded crisply before turning back and exiting the room. The door opened on its own, without Luke needing to touch any control.

He couldn't help the wave of relief when it closed back on him again, separating him from Vader. What a creep. At least it was over for today, but Luke really wasn't looking forward to repeating the experience every evening. Trying not to think about that, and keeping his mind on the promise of a good night's sleep instead, he hurried towards his squadron quarters.

Entering the familiar rooms felt like coming home after ages away. He was of half a mind to just head straight to his bunk, but his rumbling stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten anything that day yet. He headed for the living room, intent on grabbing a quick snack and a glass of water before finally crashing down.

When he arrived, Dark Curse, Vil and Chaser were sitting on the benches talking, and didn't notice him immediately.

"Hi guys," Luke casually greeted them, heading towards the cooling unit.

There wasn't a lot left to eat or drink, he noticed. As he took a ration, he reminded himself to resupply the unit whenever he could. As the youngest member of the squad, it was one of his unofficial but no less important duties. It had its perks, as he could choose what he brought back from the stock, but it also meant he was given the cold shoulder when he was late doing so.

"FNG?" an incredulous voice sounded behind him.

Luke turned around, his hunger all but forgotten. Three astonished gazes were staring at him as if an unknown beast had just stepped into their space. Chaser's square jaw was hanging open.

"Yeah, nice to see you too," he answered tentatively, not sure what was going on. "What happened? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Damn if we haven't," Chaser retorted. "Where the kriff have you been?!"

"I – I've just been grounded," Luke said, unsettled. "No big deal."

His wingmate snorted.

"Right, no big deal," he scoffed, eyebrows low on his eyes.

"Come sit with us," invited Vil, seeing how confused Luke was. "We thought you were a goner. We haven't seen you since you left with Lord Vader after the battle..."

"Oh," Luke said, suddenly understanding. He sat down next to them. "You thought he'd killed me."

He shivered, thinking how close that had been from happening. He wasn't too sure how he was alive, either.

"That was the logical conclusion when you didn't come back yesterday night," Dark Curse explained. "Nobody quite felt like sleeping, so we had a drink together in memory of Backstabber, and we thought we'd wait for you to return. After a couple of hours, we had to face reality."

"I see," Luke whispered. "So... Backstabber... he's really –"

A shadow crossed their faces.

"Yeah," Vil said.

Dark Curse sighed, and Chaser looked down. Luke's guts felt heavier. He hadn't known the red-haired Corellian very well, hadn't even learnt his name, but he'd taken a liking to his dry humour and deadpan speech. It sent a pang to his heart to realise he'd never see him again.

"So, tell us," Chaser said, apparently eager to change the subject, "since Lord Vader obviously didn't break your neck, what happened?"

"He just dressed me down," Luke explained. "Told me what I did was irresponsible and I'd better watch out. Then he sent me to the brig for the night and grounded me. I've been following flight techs all day, tomorrow I think I'm on watch, and I've got to report to him every evening."

"What did you do?" Vil frowned.

Luke looked down and smirked, the stupidity of it hitting him in the face, now that everything was said and done.

"He ordered me to fire, I asked for confirmation, then I didn't do it before he told me again."

Vil's eyes widened.

"You should be dead," Chaser mumbled. "You've got no idea how lucky you are."

Luke nodded.

"I know," he muttered, recalling the threat in Vader's voice the night before, his mechanical breath so close to his ear and the silvery gleam of the weapon at his side. "He's terrifying."

"Any commander would've lodged you a bolt in the back of the neck in his place," Chaser snapped. "Were you out of your mind? You can't just ignore orders like that! It could have put the whole mission in jeopardy!"

"Why don't you take your blaster and do it yourself, then?" Luke said, annoyed. After the day he'd had and the two nerve-wracking meetings with Vader, he had no patience left.

"Maybe I should!" Chaser retorted, sitting up and waving his hand for emphasis. "At least you could no longer try and blow yourself up with the operation!"

Luke rolled his eyes, exasperated. He was so sick of his squadmate constantly belittling him, trying to give him advice when he didn't ask for anything.

"Stop telling me what to do! Who do you think you are, my father?"

"Clearly he didn't do his job and educate you," Chaser shot back.

Luke's blood rushed from his face. He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again, rage taking his voice from him.

"Because he's dead!" he finally managed to retort, barely controlling himself.

He balled his hands into fists, glaring at Chaser. He wanted to hit him, to break the flat edges of his nose or give him a black eye. There was a persistent ringing in his head, over which he barely heard Vil and Dark Curse trying to temperate things between them, telling them to stop, to calm down.

"Maybe it's better he doesn't see the indisciplined runt his son has become," Chaser spat.

That was the last straw. Luke rose up, intent on beating Chaser bloody to the ground. Vil and Dark Curse stood as well and held him back.

"Lars! Stop!"

"You huttuk stoopa kung –"

He struggled a moment against his squadmates' grasp before the blood stopped rushing to his head. Vil and Dark Curse released him, but didn't step back. Luke glared at Chaser, slightly out of breath. Chaser hadn't moved at all, was still sitting casually, disdain written on his face.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," he said, "but this is not a school yard for you to make merry with your toy ships. This is war, this is real, and you'd better stop dreaming and get down to work like everybody else!"

Luke glared at him, lips tightly pursed together, rage still boiling in him. He looked down with a slow nod.

"Sure," he said, staring unflinchingly at him again. "Keep insulting my family and telling yourself I'm the child."

He took a step back and headed to the bunk room in a carefully controlled pace, only stopping to throw the rest of his ration bar in the bin. He changed in his sleepwear and went to bed, but was unable to find sleep, too fuming to reach any kind of slumber.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard other steps come in. He didn't move, didn't give any sign he was awake as the person stopped in what had to be the middle of the room, in front of his bunk.

"Lars?" Chaser's voice whispered.

The words hung in the silence for a second. When Luke didn't answer, he sighed deeply, then headed to his own bed.

Luke brought the cover higher on his shoulders and closed his eyes, slowly breathing out.
 

The following morning, Luke skipped breakfast and headed directly to his station. He felt like he'd been run over by a speeder, and dreaded the boringness of the day, but he was determined for it to happen without a hitch. He was on watch duty in the flight hangars, which meant he'd spend his day keeping record who took off and who landed and tracking the ships as they left, came back, or went to maintenance. Again, he had the eerie impression Lord Vader had made it his purpose to tailor the most tedious tasks to him.

Luke shot a longing glance at the snubs he'd attributed to the pilots that had just reported to him, staring as they started moving towards the launching area. It hadn't even been two days, yet he was already yearning to take flight again, and missing the delicious sensation of searing into the void. He'd always felt trapped, stuck on the ground. Taking off had been his only way to escape a dull existence of moisture farming on Tatooine. While life in the Imperial Navy could never be described as such, flying remained something soothing and calming for him.

Right now, he would have taken the distraction in a heartbeat. He couldn't take his mind off the argument of the night before. Chaser had been right when he'd said Luke was a liability. In truth, Luke himself was very anxious at the idea that it could happen again. What would he do if that feeling came back and he found himself unable to resist it? No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand what had happened. He felt like a freak and a time bomb, not knowing where these hunches came from or why they kept surging randomly in his mind.

A small black shape came across the hangar towards the ships, and he smiled, recognising the little droid he'd helped the day before. Apparently Weefour remembered him too, for he changed course with an excited bleep and bumped into his chins.

"Hi, buddy," said Luke. "Everything okay?"

Weefour whistled happily then rolled further, heading to his work, Luke supposed. He wondered if Weefour was doing repair work, or if he was luckier than him and was scheduled to head out in a shuttle or other transport ship. Unlike many other fighters, TIEs didn't have place for astromechs in them.

Luke turned back to look in front of him, grinning. His smile fell down when he saw who was approaching.

"Black Four and Ten coming to take the shift," Chaser said, looking just as unhappy to interact with Luke as Luke felt. Next to him, Qorl was holding himself straight, apparently oblivious to the discomfort between them.

Happy to have an excuse not to look at him, Luke glanced at his datapad with the day's schedule to see which ship his wingmate was assigned too.

"You've got A61-SB-8 and 9," he said, keeping his tone businesslike and his face neutral as he met Chaser's gaze again. "No special conditions reported."

Chaser seemed to hesitate for a second. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to talk, then stopped himself, pinching his lips.

"All right, thanks," he said with a nod, before walking away with Qorl in his wake.

Luke slowly breathed out. This was going to be a very long day... He let his gaze run across the hangar, noticing the small mouse droid who was hurrying on the ground, running around the soldiers' feet. The droid ran straight into Weefour, leading to some interaction between them he couldn't make out.

A shiver ran through him without any apparent reason. He looked around; a bit further stood Darth Vader, coming out of an elevator with an officer Luke didn't recognise.

Vader stopped walking, his mask turning towards him. Even from this distance, Luke shifted on his feet, uneasy with the scrutiny. The cold intensified, moving across his body and trapping him in its probing embrace. He held Vader's gaze, wishing for nothing more than to be left alone, but determined not to be the first to look away.

An electronic noise tore him from the strange interaction. Weefour was rolling past him with a beep that sounded just like a sigh.

"What's up?" Luke asked him.

As only explanation, the little droid began playing a holographic recording of the mouse droid he'd just met, tweeting something Luke had no trouble understanding despite the lack of translator. A grin slowly appeared on his face.

"Really?" he asked. "What are you gonna do about it?"

He wasn't sure his small friend had head it, though, as he continued whistling and twittering enthusiastically. Luke let him gush on and on, but stopped pretending to take interest in the one-sided conversation after a while.

He glanced up, still feeling the weight of a gaze on him. Vader hadn't moved, watching him with unnatural stillness that unnerved Luke deeply. Go away, he thought very hard at the cold tendrils shimmering around him.

Incredibly, it worked. The sensation receded, and Vader turned back to the officer, the both of them walking away in the corridors.

Absently watching Weefour, Luke wondered once more with dread in his stomach what it was exactly the Dark Lord wanted with him.
 

"My apologies, Commander Piett." Dismissing the disturbing feelings the sight of the boy had awakened in him, Vader addressed the man next to him. Despite his perfect bearing, the commander didn't manage to conceal a questioning gaze, and Vader knew he had let himself be distracted for too long a time. "You were saying?"

Immediately Piett was back to business, an attitude that pleased the Dark Lord immensely.

"The probe droids have been sent out, my lord," he said. "We are expecting to receive analysable data within the next days."

"Good," Vader praised. "The Rebels must have another base hidden in the sector. I want it found as quickly as possible."

There was no other way they could have sent reinforcements at Carosi XII as soon as they had, he had reasoned. Furthermore, he knew the X-Wings that had attacked the transport his squadron was escorting a few weeks ago had been traced as coming from this part of the galaxy. It was too suspicious to be a coincidence.

For a moment, Vader wondered if the Rebels had known the significance of the cargo of the ship they had attacked, or if it had been a blind assault, launched to weaken them without precisely knowing its consequences. That was another of the reasons for his zeal in locating this base. If it turned out the Rebels had knowledge of the Empire's secret project, swift action would have to be taken, before the information could make its way back to the head of the organisation Vader knew was steadily growing in size and efficiency.

"Yes, my lord," Piett answered, before bowing and going back to his duties, leaving the Dark Lord alone.

As he watched the commander walk away, Vader found his thoughts irresistibly drawn to the boy again, in spite of himself. The young man, with his small build, blonde hair and insolent bearing was both annoying and deeply troubling. He recalled the snatched glimpses he had just had of him, distinctly talking and laughing with the small astromech as if he was a friend, with a carelessness Vader had long forgotten. Ancient memories of another boy and another droid rose to his mind, and he crushed them mercilessly.

That time was gone. Dwelling on it was useless.

Vader strode down the corridor with growing irritation.

Chapter Text

Pushing down a yawn, Luke shifted from one foot to another. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, looking around the docking bay and waiting for people to come to him with their orders. His feet were starting to hurt, and he had to fight against the weight of his eyelids in order not to have them fall down on their own. He thought he was going crazy from always seeing the same scenery, of which he was beginning to know every single detail. He needed to move, else he might die of boredom.

It had been like that for a month now: the days passing, longer than they had ever seemed before, filled with ever-more wearisome tasks. Working with the techs had been interesting enough compared with the utter dullness of watch duty and paperwork filing. And he had less free time than ever. The night before, he had worked well past 2300, only to carry on with a double shift from 0200 to 0600, and being stationed here as a deck officer right after. He felt both ready to fall asleep right there, standing on his feet, and so restless he could have screamed in frustration.

Needless to say, he wasn't exactly in the most stellar mood.

To think that the first time he had been here, he had imagined a glorious life flying and twirling in his snub, joking around with his squadmates between exercises and adrenaline-packed fights. He'd never thought he would be forced to remain here, standing for hours without anything to do, not even knowing if he would ever take flight again. If it was up to Vader, he would probably spend his whole existence stuck on the deck, watching the others rise in the sky while he was reduced to dreaming of it.

He kicked at imaginary dust. Not that there was any on the always pristine floors; they were too clean, too perfect, like everything in the Empire. It helped with his irritation, though.

As often when he felt down, he tried to imagine how his father would have fared in his situation; but today, the thoughts didn't bring him any comfort. Surely he had been far too clever to do anything as foolish as that. Even if he had, Luke was certain he would have taken the punishment far more gracefully.

But it had already been a month, and Luke had no idea when it would stop. How could he remain upbeat and optimistic? He felt just like he had on his uncle's farm, stuck on the ground and dreaming to fly, stifled and frustrated...

At least his uncle hadn't watched him like Vader did. Luke had no idea how to deal with him. He vaguely had the impression his superior wanted something from him, but what exactly, Luke had no clue. It was driving him crazy. Once or twice, he thought Vader was suspecting his secret, but he knew better than to ever confess he was a Jedi's son. After their betrayal and attack on the Emperor, all Jedi had been declared enemies of the Empire, an edict that according to his aunt and uncle was still effective and enforced... by Darth Vader himself, if the rumours were to be believed.

Luke wasn't sure what to think of that. His father had died before the end of the Clone Wars, so Luke was pretty sure he couldn't be one of those who supposedly turned against the Emperor. And why hunt all the Jedi, never mind their children? It just didn't make sense. He had tried looking up this part of history in order to try to understand, but it had been in vain. Knowledge was scarce on Tatooine, and the prejudice against the Jedi in the military Luke soon had to cut his research short.

Of course, Biggs claimed the Jedi were slaughtered by their own troops under a phony pretext... but Biggs was so brainwashed by Rebel propaganda Luke didn't trust a single word from him. Nationalisation of the commerce he could consider was happening, but there were many other tales, of slavery, of alien extermination, of children snatched from their homes, that Luke simply couldn't believe.

Still, although he still didn't understand why, he knew to keep quiet about his late father's occupation. He would have preferred not to hide it as if he was ashamed of his heritage, but there was nothing he really could do about it. He had made a promise to his aunt and uncle, one he was determined to keep.

He watched with dispassionate interest as a shuttle landed on the bay, stupidly resentful of her pilot as he watched her slowly make her way down on the deck. The hatch opened, the ramp came down, and he straightened, knowing he would probably be required to help.

Before long, officers in uniform, enlisted soldiers and stormtroopers descended on the bay. Soon enough, Luke had his hands full, signing order sheets and giving pointers to spacers, all different names or faces. It was only when a man who seemed in his early thirties approached him that he was pulled of his morose reverie.

"Ensign Xin Starfallen, reporting for duty," he said, like all the others before him.

Trying to keep an amenable face despite his frustration with his job, Luke took the datapad he was handed. His brow rose up in surprise when he saw where he was stationed.

"You're a pilot? Flying with the 61st?" he asked, throwing him a more attentive look. Despite the youth of his stern features, his hair was already greying, white streaks barely visible under his cover. His eyebrows were already white too, standing out in stark contrast against his dark skin.

"I think so," he replied. "The famed Black Squadron, I believe? We're a couple in the same case."

Luke looked around to see four other people standing behind, waiting for their turn. They were all dressed in the Navy's black uniform, their rank plaque similar to his, the same casual but daring expression on their faces.

"Yeah, that's the one," he answered, somewhat dejected. Was he being replaced by these people? Had Vader decided to keep him grounded for the rest of his time serving here, and found better pilots to take his place?

"That's my squad too," he said on a whim. "Great team, cool people. I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

"Really?" the man with the white hair said, looking surprised. "You fly too? I didn't know being a deck officer was part of regular squadron duties."

"Oh, it's not," Luke shook his head and smiled, doing his best to keep his tone lighthearted. "I messed up, so I'm temporarily grounded, that's all."

"I see," the other pilot replied. Luke couldn't help the sting of bitterness when he saw he looked somewhat relieved. Better me than him, of course. "Well, I hope you'll be flying again with us soon."

With us. Luke tried to ignore how much that hurt. They were going to take off, have a great squadron time, and he'd be forced to look from afar as they came back from patrols exhilarated. But I was here first, he couldn't help thinking, fighting the melancholy starting to take a hold of him.

He gritted his teeth. If only Vader could let him go back to flying. Perhaps he'd known the new pilots were arriving today and stuck him here on purpose just to rub it in, Luke wouldn't put it past him. Only a couple of weeks before, he would have brushed it off as a coincidence, but with the way Vader had been stalking him, he had to wonder.

"So do I," he muttered before addressing the other men. "You're the other new guys, then? You can already give me your orders, I'll sign them and then I'll show you the way. You're all going at the same place anyway."

He read their datapads and signed them, looking at them inconspicuously. There was a small man with a half-smile, a tall and lean one whose eyes seemed to be a lightyear away, one with a pointed chin and crooked nose, and one with broad shoulders, all at least ten years older than him.

"There," he said as he gave them their devices back. "So the squadron quarters are down the..."

He trailed off and swallowed, paling as he saw the unmistakable figure of his commanding officer approaching them, cape flying behind him. He was being watched yet again, he realised in irritation. Well, he was on duty, and he wouldn't let himself be pulled from it.

"... down the hall, then you take the second on your right, and it's in section 928, easy to find," he finished, pointedly ignoring Vader as he came to stand next to him, his arms crossed. Making him wait to be acknowledged let him feel somewhat vindicated.

Only then did he turn towards Vader, feeling the puzzled gazes of his future teammates as he crossed that of his superior.

"Lord Vader," he greeted him.

"Ensign Lars," Vader returned. Luke knew he was displeased, and felt recklessly pleased about it. "You seem to be taking your time to send these gentlemen on their way."

"I was just doing so, my lord," Luke retorted, looking him straight in the eye but boiling inside. So what if he chatted with them for a few seconds? It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. "I was not aware of any regulations regarding the time it took."

He was so tired and annoyed the words got out of his mouth before he could think them through. Only afterwards did he realise how bad an idea they actually were, as Vader looked at him from head to toe. Luke felt extremely small, ice running in his veins under Vader's glare and smacking himself mentally.

"You may go," Vader dismissed the other pilots.

They hesitated for a second, then visibly decided it was wiser to get away from the tension and headed down the corridors. Vader whirled on him, his attention as overwhelming as always.

"Do you remember why you have been grounded, boy?" he asked, the danger in his tone making Luke shiver.

He had come close enough that Luke had to crane his neck to look at him. The young man refused to break the eye contact anyway.

"Because I nearly disobeyed a direct order in battle," he answered, somehow managing to keep his tone respectful, if a little strained.

"You have been grounded in order to learn respect and obedience," Vader corrected. "Which I observe are still completely lost on you."

Luke looked down at that, his anger deflating a little bit. His brazen remarks suddenly seemed very stupid to him, and he was ashamed of his childishness. He hoped he hadn't just blown his only chance to get back on the squadron...

"Yes, sir," he answered. "I'll try to do better, I promise –"

"I strongly advise you to do so," Vader snapped, pointing his finger at him. Luke struggled to keep his face neutral. "If I must, I will not hesitate to take more... permanent measures to make sure your unruly arrogance no longer disturbs the order of this vessel."

Luke gulped, his eyes widening as he wondered if Vader was seriously threatening him with what he thought. Chaser's words rose uncomfortably to his mind. Any commander would've lodged you a bolt in the back of the neck in his place. Was he really implying...?

He gritted his teeth in anger, fists balling in spite of himself. Unruly arrogance! That was easy for him to say, when he was doing everything he could to drive him out of his wits!

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, looking up to meet Vader's eyes again, all but glaring at him.

The cold flames that surrounded him whenever Vader was close flared up, so furious Luke barely avoided gasping.

"Your tone most displeases me, young man," he said. Luke couldn't tear his eyes from him, petrified. "I do not think you fully understand what I just told you. Should you persevere in your pointless defiance, the consequences will not only affect your career, but your life as well. Have I made myself clear?"

Luke looked down, heart pounding in terror and hopeless rage. What did Vader want with him?

"Yes, my lord," he managed to ground out.

"Good," Vader answered. "I suggest you think about my words and remember who is in command before I run out of patience. I will see you tonight."

After this frightening reminder, he walked away without any more glance at Luke. Nails digging in his palms, Luke gritted his teeth in order not to scream.

This had been going on for four weeks. Constantly watched, berated if he put the slightest toe out of line... What had he even done this time? He had barely talked to the new pilots, he was just redirecting them, which was his job!

Maybe he shouldn't have lost his temper, though...

He sighed, feeling miserable both because of the injustice and his complete lack of control over his own frustration. Vader was the ship's master and commander. He was his commanding officer. Antagonising him was beyond reckless and stupid, it was bordering on insubordination. Luke really, really shouldn't do it.

And yet he couldn't help it. It seemed these wise thoughts completely flew out of the viewport the second Vader started breathing down his neck.

He took another shaky breath and wiped his clammy hands on his trousers. Well, it seemed he had another few hours of mindless waiting to do. Hopefully he wouldn't get murdered as soon as he left his posting...

Finally, when Luke thought he was finally going to lose his mind from all the inactivity, another officer came to relieve him. And relieved he felt, walking from his station to head back to his quarters. It was a wonder he was still standing on his feet.

When he reported to Lt. Tanbris, nobody seemed to be in the squadron's room. The new pilots must already have been put to work. He remembered that during his own first day he had indeed taken flight as soon as he arrived. How he longed to be there again...

Lt. Tanbris typed a few sentences in his datapad, scrunching his pointed nose, then handed it back to Luke with a second device.

"Lord Vader ordered that you sort and file out these reports before presenting yourself at his quarters tonight," he said.

Luke quickly skimmed through the files, barely holding back a groan. Lt. Tanbris threw him a commiserating smile

"Courage," he said. "After this your day will be over."

"It will take me hours to complete," Luke bemoaned. "Possibly the whole night, at the speed I'm usually doing this stuff..."

"Well then, it will be much needed experience for you, and you should get to it as soon as you can."

He had not raised his voice a single notch, but Luke had learnt to recognise an order when he heard it. "Yes, sir," he hurried to say before slipping away in the living room.

Luke settled on one of the benches, then opened the first file and started browsing through the documents.

It was an eclectic combination of forms: maintenance reports, prisoners' files, it seemed the only thing linking them was that they were all issues aboard the same vessel. Luke began a first sorting before getting to the real work, performing a quick search to remind himself of the procedures before launching into it.

At first it was a hassle that took him forever, but soon enough, Luke started to get the hang of it. He learnt where to look for the information he was seeking, where to put in his signature code and how to send them off. It was still a mind-numbing job, but once he found a rhythm to it he could let his mind wander while his fingers mindlessly worked.

He kept the ship maintenance files for the end, knowing it was likely to be the most interesting thing, despite not being interesting at all. At least he could somewhat understand what they were talking about. So he started with everyday logistics, and went on to prisoners reports once that first part was finished.

Luke distractedly went through the files, sorting them by section of the detention area. Apparently, as merciless as the battle had seemed, it had still allowed them to capture some Rebels... He tried not to think about that, about the real people that had to be behind the identification numbers. He thought back about Chaser's words, of thinking of them as the enemy and nothing else. He supposed he was starting to see his point...

A sentence in one of the files' summary interrupted his uneasy thoughts. Scheduled for enhanced interrogation.

He checked the security, made sure there hadn't been a breach, that he was actually allowed to see this. But everything was in order. Of course, it made sense: he seemed to remember something about interrogation files needing to be sent to another cell block, so he would need to know what files were concerned...

Luke looked around to check nobody was there, breathing deeply to try and control the frantic beating of his heart. This meant nothing. Questioning enemies was standard practice, just like interrogating suspects in a criminal investigation. There was nothing wrong with it.

But still the formulation struck a nerve, awakened memories he didn't want to think about.

... lose all their civil rights...
... prisoners of war...
... the practice of torture...

He stared at the words on the screen, feeling sick. Those were lies, false accusations spread by the Rebellion to discredit the Empire. He knew that; he'd known that even as Biggs had dragged him to one of these stupid secret reunions of his. He had spent half the time rolling his eyes as the speakers dragged horrifying video after outraging testimony on the screen, a chilling display that had left him shaken but unconvinced, angry not at the abuse they described but at the fact there were people to believe these things. They'd had one of their most violent arguments right after that.

Luke knew it was shameless propaganda. However, finding the exact formulation the Rebels had called out, right here in real Imperial files, was somewhat unnerving.

This was bantha poodoo, he told himself, rather annoyed he'd let it go to his head in spite of himself. It was obvious they had taken some actual vocabulary and twisted it into something much worse. If they wanted to have the slightest amount of credibility, they needed to have at least some grounding in reality, for all thin that it was.

They were at war. The Rebels were using the weapons they could find; confronted to an enemy much more powerful than them, dirty tricks were to be expected. He shouldn't let himself be unbalanced by this.

He opened the file, typed in his signature code, and sent the file on.

There. It wasn't that terrible, he thought, taking deep breaths and trying to stop his hands from trembling. If it had been a test, he supposed he had passed it. Most likely, it was nothing of the sort, nothing but innocent and boring datawork. It was just his tired brain making unnecessary drama out of it.

Nonetheless, he couldn't untie the knot in his guts as he went through the rest of the files. He sorted through even the ship maintenance files as quickly as he could, without looking at the designations and trying to picture what craft it was like he might otherwise have done.

It was a relief to send the last report onwards and turn off the datapad screen. He set it next to him on the bench and threw his head backwards, putting his arm over his eyes. It was over. His day was finally over.

Or, well, nearly so. He still had to report to Vader...

He sighed, his stomach twisting once again. Oh, he didn't want to see his commanding officer now. He already felt so drained and exhausted, there was no telling what blunders the stress of these daily meetings would make him do. Luke couldn't go there now. He needed to relieve some of his nervousness first...

In truth, Luke wanted nothing more than to sleep, but that was out of the question at this time. However, surely nobody would begrudge him half an hour for a work-out session...

He rose and took the datapad with him. Vader might resent him for being left to wait, but he had simply ordered Luke to come after he finished sorting out the datawork, and he had no way to know that. Besides, Luke needed it too much. He grabbed a towel and pulled suitable clothes on, then left. He hoped the gym was as deserted as the squadron quarters.

Unfortunately, there was one person present in the room, and it was one of the people he least wanted to speak to. Chaser was sitting on a bench, wiping his face dry and looking like he just finished his own sport session. For a moment, Luke considered leaving and going to see Vader directly after all, but Chaser had already spotted him.

Luke resigned himself. Thanks to both of their busy schedules, he had managed to avoid his wingmate for an entire month. He guessed it was now time for them to talk; continuing like this any further would be childish.

Chaser rose to greet him somewhat awkwardly.

"Hi, FNG. You doing okay?"

Luke shrugged, a bit startled that Chaser was going to do as if they'd never argued.

"Could be worse," he replied, hoping to cut the interaction short. He was still angry at Chaser, but he didn't have the energy to start another row.

"Yeah, I guess," Chaser muttered. He hesitated for a while, looking chagrined, then he looked at Luke again. "Listen, I'm glad to see you. I wanted to apologise for the other night. I never meant these things I threw at you, it just... it was a rough day for everybody."

Ah. There is was. Strangely enough, now that it was out in the open, Luke didn't really want to talk about it.

"It was mean, what you said about my father and my uncle."

Chaser looked down with a remorseful frown his thick black eyebrows made even more expressive.

"Yeah, it was," he admitted. "I shouldn't have."

They stayed silent for a while. Luke's resentment was slowly subsiding. He wished for nothing more, right now, than to share a patrol shift with Chaser like they so often used to do, or to go for a mock fight in the simulators. What better way to erase all traces of tension between them? But even that was denied to him.

"You had a point, though, about me being unreliable." The words crossed his lips unbidden, full of a bitterness he hadn't realised he felt. "Maybe I shouldn't have tried to be a pilot. I'm not cut out for this. The way it looks like, I'll probably be a deck officer for the rest of my life anyway. It'll be better for everybody."

To Luke's surprise and irritation, Chaser scoffed.

"What are you talking about? You're going to be a great pilot. I've never seen someone your age fly like you."

Luke looked at him, wondering if he was joking again. Chaser was looking away, a wistful smile on his lips, half mischievous smirk.

"You know, you remind me a bit of my step-brother. He's too impatient for his own good as well, always wanting to be the best and frustrated when he takes too much time to get there. We used to argue all the time – idiot was proud as a peacock, couldn't stand when I gave him advice."

"What happened to him?" Luke asked.

"He learnt," Chaser replied. "He's become a pilot, a damn good one from what I heard. Turr Phennir, ever heard of him?"

Luke shook his head. Chaser shrugged, but Luke could see the pride on his face. He wondered how it must be like, to have a sibling. He'd wanted a sister at some point during his childhood, but it had only been him with Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen.

Chaser put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, concern written on the rough planes of his face. "You're as white as a sheet."

Luke tried a weak smile.

"I'm fine," he said. It wasn't completely false; he was feeling a little bit better. "It was a long day, is all. I came to exercise a little before reporting to Vader..."

His stomach did an anxious somersault at the thought.

"Tough," Chaser commiserated. "Well, at least you'll have your evening free! It's still early enough."

Luke nodded. That would only be true if he stopped procrastinating, though.

"All right," he stood up. "I'd better get to work."

"Right," Chaser answered. "I'll see you tonight then. No hard feelings?"

Luke smirked.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm tempted to give you all my chores for a week for you to make it up to me."

A flash of humour crossed Chaser's eyes.

"In your dreams, hotshot," he retorted. "Good luck for your meeting."

"Thanks," Luke answered. Chaser left the room and he headed towards the machines, muttering to himself. "I've got a feeling I'll need it..."

Chapter Text

A woman, dressed for sleep, standing on a balcony and playing with a strand of curly brown hair. He watches her as she carelessly talks of dreams and plans for the future, of their baby and how she sees life after the birth. He answers, a smile on his face, with ideas and feelings of his own, but neither of their attentions is on the content of their conversation. They are too thrilled to find each other again, enjoying each other's presence after such a long separation. He begins flirting, complimenting her, and she replies. Their words are clumsy and senseless, but their emotion true, radiant. He approaches and kisses her, and she throws her arms around his neck, the two of them lost in bliss.

Darth Vader opened his eyes, his heart beating fast and hard, and found himself in his meditation chamber. His whole body was shaking in longing and in grief, the memory of Padmé's breath still on his lips as she was torn from him all over again. It was but an illusion: she was long gone, dead by his hand.

He rose up and roared in anguish, too far in his rage to care about the instruments shrieking and imploding around him. He was over this, had been for a long time! Why did these images come back now, years after they had stopped tormenting his every hour? They could no longer hurt him. The past had no bearing on his current life. Her death had been written in destiny, precipitated by Obi-Wan's doing despite all his efforts to prevent it. There was nothing he could do to change it.

He rubbed his scarred and bald face with his fingers, relishing the burning anger simmering in his stomach. Mechanical hands, forever bound in leather, instruments of torture and death rather than the tenderness they were once capable of, in his own image.

These emotions didn't befit him. He shouldn't let himself be bothered in this way, shouldn't be this weak, prey to his own sentiments. He opened his mind to the Force, let it feed off him and revelled in the promises of power and radiance it brought him.

He was strong. He had grown. He was better than this now.

And yet his chest was still aching with a yearning he couldn't suppress, a helpless wish for the vision to return and engulf him in everlasting oblivion.

It was all because of this boy, he thought in fury and loathing, this insolent young pilot strong with the Force, so full of life, too much like he had once been. Ever since the youth had entered his squadron, he had been troubled by him and his potential. His naiveté, coupled with his raw talent, brought back memories of a time when he too had had such optimistic expectations of the world... happier times, before he had been confronted with the harsh truth of the universe.

It was driving him insane. The boy was insolent and brash, and nothing seemed to be taming him. For weeks now, Vader had been behind him, watching his every movement, scolding him as soon as he made a step out of line, and the young pilot yet had to give in. If anything, it had only made him more rebellious... The encounter of the morning replayed itself in his mind, Lars' incensed remarks at his superior's intrusion.

A bitter smile found his lips. He had to hand it to him, he had guts. Few would dare to oppose him this way, yet the boy hadn't hesitated a moment before speaking out against what he considered an injustice. Vader had to admit he'd grown a grudging respect for him, despite his irritation with Lars's antics. It was infuriating.

So was the mystery around him. The Sith Lord had encountered many Force-sensitive children, but this youth intrigued him in ways no other ever had. Why hadn't he been discovered at birth when the test had been performed, with his obvious strength? What was Obi-Wan doing next to him on barren Tatooine? Had he been the one falsifying his midichlorians count? Why did he have the impression the boy was purposefully hiding something from him?

And why, oh why was the Force around the boy calling him that way? It was beckoning him, driving all his thoughts towards Lars, to the point of obsession. Nothing about that boy made sense, and the eclectic pieces of knowledge he held never ceased dancing in his mind, unable to lay down in a proper picture.

But he would discover everything. He would bring the young pilot to heel, break his confidence and extract all the answers out of him. He would teach him the mercilessness of existence, shatter all his illusions like his own had been, so long ago. It would be doing a favour, after all: he should already be dead by his hand... More than once, he had been seized with a strong desire to kill him. And each time, he had stayed his hand in the hope to know his secrets.

His commlink beeped, interrupting his thoughts. It was one of the officers he'd tasked with finding the Rebel base. Vader sat down and waited for the mask to descend on his face, annoyance still lingering inside him.

The hyperbaric chamber opened, and he turned his chair around to face the man waiting there.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"My lord, we have received data from the probes. We were able to compile a list of places likely to hold the Rebels."

Vader took the datapad he was handed, pleased with their progress.

"Very well. You are dismissed," he waved at him.

The man walked away, and Vader focused on the datapad and the list of planets. There were a dozen of them, but none that immediately struck him as a good hiding place for the Rebels' purposes. He would have to meditate on it and study the files in depth, as well as look at the conclusions drawn by his team...

The commlink rang again, but Vader didn't need to answer to know who it was. A bright Force signature was waiting outside the door, one that had become familiar. Vader checked the time: the boy had taken longer than he thought to complete the datawork he had sent. He was sending off waves of powerful emotions, tiredness and anger, fear and frustration, a boiling soup ready to explode. Visibly, he was going to be a piece of work to deal with. Vader hadn't forgotten about his insolence of the morning.

He was growing tired of this game. The boy would tell him what he wanted to know, or he would face the consequences.

Vader rose and left the pod, waiting for it to close before he commanded the door to open. Lars entered, looking exactly like he did in the morning: rigid as a plank of durasteel with dark circles under his eyes and a mutinous pout on his lips. He put himself at attention and didn't react as Vader approached him, arms crossed on his chest.

"Ensign Lars," he greeted him. "You are reporting later than I expected."

The boy blinked.

"I apologise, my lord."

His voice was strained, no louder than a whisper. So it seemed he could be respectful when he fancied it. It was a shame it didn't occur to him more often.

Vader took the datapad the boy had painstakingly sorted and set it aside, making a show of his lack of interest in it. Despite the effort Lars must have put in it, he didn't react, to Vader's surprise. Perhaps he was learning something, after all. He should be pleased by it, but instead he found himself somewhat disappointed by his apathy.

It didn't matter. He was going to get his answers and be done with it at last.

"Now," he said, his voice cold and dangerous. "You will tell me about Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The boy swallowed.

"I don't know him, my lord," he answered, a tired edge in his voice. Vader had already asked him several times with as much success.

"You know who I am talking about," he snarled, his patience spent. "The man you call Ben Kenobi."

Lars sighed.

"I already told you, I only saw him from afar. He was just an old hermit living beyond the Jundland Wastes, my uncle didn't like me near him."

"And that was wise of him," Vader retorted. He probed the boy in the Force, and found only truth in his words. It was infuriating. "Nonetheless, did Kenobi never try to approach you? To teach you?"

It would only make sense for Obi-Wan to try and teach him, with his strength in the Force. Vader had trouble to believe it was only coincidence that saw his old master settle so near a boy who emitted such a bright light.

"Teach me?" the boy asked, incredulous. "What would he teach me?"

"Answer the question," Vader snapped.

"No, he didn't," Lars replied, all the frustration of the world in his voice.

Again there was truth, teasing Vader, annoying him. It couldn't be. It went against all reason. The boy's strength in the Force, the falsified midichlorian count, their proximity, everything pointed to Obi-Wan's and Lars's destinies being linked. He couldn't accept that Obi-Wan having lived so near him had served no purpose.

He thought back about their confrontation, four years ago, that finally led to the death of the man that had maimed him then eluded him for fourteen years. The details escaped him, but he remembered Obi-Wan's fear back then... a fear dissonant with his apparent serenity at the prospect of his death, with his words of nonsense when Vader had finally disarmed him, with the peace on his face when the red blade finally ran through his body. Vader had been too thrown by the disappearance of Obi-Wan's body after his death to ponder that fear of his, apparently devoid of object. Now, however, he was starting to wonder about it.

Could Obi-Wan have been worried about Lars? He wouldn't put it past his old master to have been overruled by sentimentality over that boy, who looked so much like Vader had at his age, was as strong as him. Just for that, Vader would have been delighted to find the boy earlier and kill him in front of Obi-Wan's eyes... But if that was the case, why wasn't he trained?

Unless...

"Nothing?" he probed. "Not even to conceal lies under a veil of truth? Protect your mind against those who would invade it?"

"What?" The boy's eyes widened, and he threw him a terrified glance. "What are you talking about? How is that even possible?"

Still no lie. Vader was losing his patience.

"But even if it were true, you would not admit it to me, would you?"

He called the power of the Force, pushed it against the boy's consciousness. Lars gasped and shuddered, but the meagre resistance was not enough to keep Vader out completely.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lars repeated. His breath was growing faster, his eyes wide and afraid.

Even in his very mind, Vader couldn't find anything belying his words. There was a vague sense of dissimulation in his thoughts, a secret he was didn't wish known, but Vader was unable to find out what it was. He couldn't even know if it was relevant or just a natural reaction, a defence mechanism against such a violation of his intimacy. In a surge of rage, he withdrew and turned away, mindless of the boy's grunt of pain.

"That remains to be seen," he snarled, a vibroblade in his voice, his fists clenching to reign in a murderous intent. "I am going to figure you out, boy, sooner or later."

How sick he was of this boy and the mystery around him, of his insolence and brightness in the Force, of the way he always seemed to be at the back of his thoughts. He wanted him gone, wanted him to never have crossed his path and disturbed his peace of mind in the first place.

"What is there to figure out? I don't even know what you want with me!"

He whirled and waved a finger in the boy's face, who recoiled.

"Do not talk back to me, or you shall regret it," he warned, hatred growing every moment he beheld the clear and defiant eyes, the small nose, the stubborn set of his chin, the all too familiar features. His fists tightened, and he recklessly hoped for him to make a mistake.

"Then why can't you leave me alone?" Lars said, looking him in the eye.

Vader's blood boiled. His ears ringing, he stretched out his arm and unleashed the roaring power of the Force. The boy made a strangled sound, his mouth opening and closing as he vainly tried to get air into his lungs. His fingers shot to his throat, fumbling to grasp at the invisible hand restraining him. Vader raised his arm and the boy's feet left the ground; he kicked and wriggled uselessly in the air.

He had gone too far, defied him one too many times.

"Your insolence displeases me, young one," he said, taking vicious satisfaction in the overwhelming terror flooding the Force in waves, like a dying star sending its last rays before collapsing on itself.

He stepped forward, fingers of metal joining the immaterial ones around the boy's neck, pinning him against the wall. Crude artificial sensors joined with the Force allowed him to feel the skin and muscles under his grasp, the blood beating wildly in the boy's veins. Small fingers frantically tugged on his own, boots hit his unyielding prosthetic shins. He drank in it all, revelling in the young man's panic at the imminence of his death, in the dark power madly whirling around the both of them.

It was a wonder it hadn't come to this before. How many times had he longed to do this...

The boy closed his eyes. His shoulders hunched in an attempt to free himself, voiceless guttural noises escaping him in his agony. His lips were changing colour, his face reddening. Vader could feel his consciousness dim, his light diminish, gradually vanquished by overwhelming shadows. It was but a matter of seconds now before –

An invisible force tugged on his hand. His fingers twitched for the shortest second, loosening their grip on the boy just long enough for him to heave in a gulp of air. Astonished, he opened his hand; the young man fell to his knees, coughing and wheezing with senseless moans of pain.

It was impossible. No unaware, untrained Force-sensitive should be able to resist him like this. Slightly frightened, frustrated beyond all measure, Vader bent to seize him again, this time by the front of his shirt. Lars croaked out a protest, but Vader paid him no heed.

"Who trained you?" he roared.

The boy was transparent, shaking like a leave caught in a whirlwind. He tried to speak, but only a groaning cough left his lips.

"Answer me!"

"I – no one, I – I don't – I don't know –"

Vader's glowing blade was under his throat before he could even finish his sentence. The boy let out a hoarse cry.

"This is the last time I ask it," Vader snarled. "It is pointless to lie to me. I know you are a Jedi apprentice, and you will tell me who your master is now!"

The boy was hyperventilating, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"No! I'm no Jedi! Please – I don't know – p-please..."

He kept repeating it over and over. Aware he would get nothing out of him in this state, Vader turned off his lightsabre and let him go. Lars collapsed in a heap of nerves, unable to stand on his own from the shock, fear and pain. Vader stood motionless, looking down as the boy sobbed at his feet, trying to catch a panicked breath through a damaged throat, eyes shut down tightly and features contorted in pain.

It was impossible, but it was true. The boy was completely untrained, oblivious of what the Force even was. The Force clinging to him was screaming of truth and desperate honesty; whatever he was able to do with it was instinctual.

And yet what strength was his, what raw power lay untouched in his slender form! Vader could hardly believe it. He had already known him to be strong, but not to this extent, not to the point of fighting him – and overpowering him, even for the briefest moment – without any kind of previous practice. His potential had remained untapped and hidden for so long; who could say what else he was capable of?

Vader knew he should finish what he had just begun and take the boy's life before he had the chance to do any damage. He was a threat, a loose cannon that would prove utterly disastrous should he ever be used against them. Every passing day made that clearer. But a far more enticing alternative was presenting itself to his mind, eclipsing all thoughts of killing him. If he could take him as an apprentice...

Now that the idea had entered his mind, it didn't let him go. To turn him, to teach him, to be the one to tame this wild power, to explore this unknown well of undiscovered gifts: it was too alluring a thought to pass. What a team they would make in their combined strength! His head spun merely picturing it: they would be unstoppable...

For the third time that evening, his comlink beeped. He took a step back to answer it.

"My lord, the Emperor commands you to make contact with him," the holograph of an officer said.

"I will be there shortly."

He hung up and reported his attention on the boy, who was picking himself up on wobbly legs and threw him a terrified glance. He would have to deal with him later, he thought with some irritation. A shame... but maybe it was for the best. His anger was not completely spent yet, and he would need a cooler head to win him over.

"Return to your quarters," he dismissed him.

Lars didn't need to be told twice. As fast as he could, he scrambled to his legs and hurried away without turning back.

Vader headed to his communications chambers, still reeling from the strength of the power he had sensed in the young pilot. That must have been why he had felt so drawn to him: even though he hadn't noticed his sensitivity, he must have felt it to some level. The Force sometimes worked in unfathomable ways: such was its place at the core of life itself that it couldn't always be understood. More often than not, its messages could only be experienced through one's instinct. It made mastery of it difficult, but all the more fascinating.

As he knelt on the platform and waited for the transmission to reach Imperial Centre, he did his best to cast all thoughts of the boy away. Soon enough, a huge blue hologram with the shape of his master's head appeared, twice his own size. His face was sunken so deeply in his hood it was impossible to see any of his features but his eyes, two disturbingly shining spots. Vader bowed his head.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

"Lord Vader," the Emperor greeted him with a slick and guttural voice. "I would hear about your search for the Rebels base."

"The probes have been sent, as you suggested," Vader replied. "The first data reached me today. More satisfying results should follow soon."

"Good," the Emperor nodded, "good."

Vader waited, still kneeling. This could only be an accessory, an introduction before his master's real reason for calling. Such a trite matter could have been dealt with easily in one of his regular reports, and it was of no particular urgency. The Emperor must have something more significant to speak to him about.

"There has been a disturbance in the Force," he finally said, proving Vader right. "Have you felt it?"

"No, my master." Vader frowned under his mask. He searched in the Force for the anomaly Sidious was talking about, but couldn't find anything.

"It is strange," the Emperor whispered. "You felt nothing?"

"I was busy dealing with one of my new recruits. It is possible I have not noticed it."

As he talked, he wondered if it could be that Lars was at the origin of it. Was the boy that powerful, enough for his emotions to ripple throughout the whole galaxy? Had it been his own, the Emperor would have recognised them...

"A new recruit," echoed Sidious. "Young Luke Lars?"

"Yes, he is the one," Vader replied, startled. It wasn't in the Emperor's habits to pay much attention to the movements of men under his command, never mind knowing the names of his squadron members. This was highly unusual. Was it a test? Had the Emperor sent Lars to Black Squadron, did he expect him to discover something about the boy?

Sidious sketched a smile under his hood.

"Yes... A remarkable individual. I believe he is under watch by ISB, who brought him to my attention."

"The Security Bureau put him on file?" Vader asked, more and more puzzled. He was unaware they had people capable of detecting Force-sensitives, except for the thorough screening Imperial legislations put newborns through. "Why?"

"They believe he may have ties with the Rebellion. He was flagged at the Academy for his associations and has been under surveillance ever since. If he is in league with the Rebels, he could lead us to them."

That made sense. It was usual procedure for suspected Rebel spies or sympathisers to be followed in order to try and gain information on the insurgents. It was very efficient, sometimes going as far as providing them with information even if the subject was not actively involved. Less usual, however, was posting suspect people so high in the elite forces of the Empire.

"Do you wish for me to keep an eye on him? Is that why he was stationed to my personal fighter squadron?"

"Oh, no, he went through the regular process," the Emperor waved a hand. "I understand he showed considerable talent during his training. Nonetheless, the Force does things well. I have no doubt you will catch any suspicious activity he might attempt. Watch him and report anything unusual about him to me."

"I will, my master." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "I believe him to be Force-sensitive."

Immediately Palpatine's interest sparked. He leant forward.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my master."

"Is he strong?"

Vader paused, not sure whether he wanted to reveal the extent of Lars's power to his master. Doing so would put into question why he hadn't killed him yet, what he planned to do with him. But if his master was already aware of the boy, he would be highly suspicious of any attempt to conceal him... Was hiding him really worth it?

Besides, he was still undecided what to do about him... His master's guidance would hopefully help him discern whether he should kill him or let him live, obey this strange reluctance to strike him down that had stayed his hand before, and which seemed whispered by the Force itself.

"Very, I think. I was not able to assess his whole potential yet."

The Emperor narrowed his eyes, observing him in a way that made him feel small and exposed.

"And you wish to train him."

It was more a statement than a question. The Emperor's voice betrayed none of his feelings towards the project, and Vader found himself at a loss.

"He could be of great use to us, if he is as strong as I suspect him to be," he justified himself.

A silence, that seemed forever to Vader. He still couldn't read anything in his master: it made him nervous, defensive. Had he made a mistake in talking to him about it? The more he thought about it, the less convinced he was it was a good idea...

Force-sensitives had to be dealt with. Strong ones, especially, were a threat. According to all logic, he should kill the boy as soon as he saw him again...

"He could be a great asset indeed," the Emperor said at last. "Do as you wish."

He cut the transmission, leaving Vader to exhale in relief.
 

The journey back to the squadron quarters was a torture for Luke. His legs were so unsteady he had to use all his focus just to walk, his chest hurt so much every beat of his heart was a stab wound, and his throat was on fire. He cleared it several times, but it only made it worse.

He hoped he wouldn't meet anybody. The mere idea of speaking left him queasy, his head feeling as though it could explode any moment.

To his great relief, the familiar surroundings of the squad quarters were empty. He helped himself to a glass of water and added some ice to alleviate the pain. Swallowing was awful, though, and he winced as the cool liquid went down his throat.

He made his way to a bench and collapsed there, sitting with his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the wall and his mouth half open. His skull was throbbing painfully. He had never felt this terrible in his entire life...

Noise in the hallway made him look up, half thinking of retiring to his bunk. Before he could do so, however, Mauler entered the room together with Dark Curse and the new people, who probably came back from sim training. It was hard to realise he had only welcomed them this very morning: it felt so much longer ago...

He waved with a half-hearted smile as they greeted him and came to join him. Had it not felt like it would rip his throat apart, Luke would have groaned: this was hardly the ideal circumstances for them to meet properly...

"This is Luke Lars, our FNG," Mauler introduced him to the new pilots. Luke nodded at them, but didn't say hi.

"Nice to meet you," the pilot with the dark skin and the white hair said. It was the one Luke had spoken longest to this morning, but for the life of him he couldn't remember his name. "Although we already saw each other, right? You're the deck officer."

Luke nodded, keeping his lips stretched in the semblance of a smile.

"You aren't so quiet usually," Dark Curse said, frowning in concern. "Are you all right?"

Luke nodded again, vacantly staring at his drink. He had a feeling he wasn't fooling anybody, but he really didn't feel up to explaining. He took the glass to his lips once more, swallowed water and grimaced, regretting it.

"Hey, don't shut us out, what's the matter?" the older man insisted.

Luke sighed.

"I just don't feel like speaking," he tried.

The words came out as a barely understandable squawking and rasping mess, then disappeared in a violent coughing fit. Luke winced and closed his eyes, unable to hold back a moan of pain. He didn't want to see the startled looks he knew the other pilots were exchanging.

"I'll just go to bed," he said, standing up. Mauler's hand on his arm stopped him.

"What happened to you?" he asked, staring at Luke's throat. "You have red marks on your neck."

"It's nothing," Luke waved, desperate to leave. He didn't want to have this conversation. "I... I tripped and fell down."

"And strangled yourself?" Mauler said, eyebrows rising. The red light of his robotic eye made Luke ill at ease. He looked away.

"Something caught my uniform and my collar strangled me." He knew his tale didn't hold up, but he didn't care. They didn't need to know the truth, didn't need to advise him to be careful and not to antagonise Lord Vader. He didn't want their pity, their worried glances.

"I was unaware there were devices with such a capacity on the docks," Mauler said, an accent of certainty in his voice.

Luke looked at him. Mauler knew. He was only trying to get him to confess to it, to say it out loud.

A potent rush of anger seized him, and he rose up. This was none of Mauler's business. Luke was tired of being constantly interrogated, doubted, watched. Couldn't they leave him alone for once?

"I don't want to talk about it, sir. I'd rather go to sleep."

He didn't look at any of them as he all but threw his drink down on the table and headed towards the dorm, reminding himself to take deep breaths despite the pain it caused him. His hands were shaking, but they had no reason to be, and he even felt angry at his own body. He was alive, his lungs were working, he could move as he wanted and there was no looming shadow towering over him. It was all in the past, he shouldn't be so affected.

He was reaching the door when Mauler's voice rose again.

"Take a painkiller in the first aid kit."

Luke turned towards him, nodded, then slipped out.

Chapter Text

Despite the bacta pill he had swallowed to alleviate the pain, Luke slept awfully that night. He kept rolling in his bunk, laying awake long after all his squadmates had gone to bed. His forehead and ears felt too hot, the space around him too cramped. His throat remained sore and itching even after the medicine had taken effect, and breathing still felt less easy than it should be. As soon as he dozed off, nervous thoughts and beginning of nightmares came to startle him out of slumber. He felt trapped, both wishing for nothing more than to reach the depths of sleep and fearing what the next day would bring.

Luke jumped awake as Vader stood over him, his hand hovering over his throat. He sat up and managed to bite back a cry at the last minute, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was nothing, he realised as he lowered his shaking hands, that he'd held up in a defensive reflex. Vader wasn't breathing down his neck; the regular and hissing sound he heard was only Vil's light snoring.

Trying to banish the sensation of a leathered hand closing around his neck, he threw a glance at his holowatch on his bedside table and grimaced. In less than an hour, it would be time for him to get up. He would get no more sleep tonight.

He forced himself to stand with a groan. His voice was rough and croaky, but already much less painful to use than the night before. He yawned and made his way to the refresher, shivering from tiredness. He usually managed to forget how cold space was, but in the early morning hours the low temperatures of the ship were most difficult to ignore.

Luke closed the 'fresher's door and opened the tap of the sink, then splashed water in his face, grimacing from the temperature. He had taken up the habit at the Academy whenever he'd had a rough night: sonic showers just weren't as effective as real cold water to wash weariness away. Feeling a bit better, he took a deep breath and seized a towel to dry himself, enjoying the feeling of the rough material against his face. By force of habit, his eyes darted towards the mirror, and he froze.

He was awfully pale and thin, his tired eyes ringed with dark circles, but these details were hardly what attracted his gaze. Both appalled and fascinated, he gingerly held up a hand and brushed the base of his throat. Coloured spots were sprayed across his neck where Vader had held him the day before, like nebulas of purple, blue and green blood under his skin. He touched them, numb, surprised not to find them particularly sensitive. It was the inside of his throat that itched him the most.

A rush of memories assaulted him, and he took support on the basin, struggling to keep his breath steady.

He should be dead. He still remembered it all, the helplessness of being trapped against the wall, a hand of metal constricting his airways... But more than anything else, it was the intensity of Vader's fury that terrified him. That slow and steady increase of the pressure against his throat, the cold precision of the shadows holding him... Luke couldn't say how he knew it, but he was sure that hadn't been a mere outburst of anger. Vader had been deliberately trying to kill him.

Luke closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He didn't understand why Vader had let him go. His memories were confused, but he remembered being asked questions that made no sense and being rushed out of the room, dismissed as if he had just brought caf. Luke wished he knew what had happened, how he could still be standing, breathing. If only he could understand his commanding officer's frightening moods... It was terrifying to know that next time, perhaps he wouldn't be so lucky.

And that was only if Vader had truly changed his mind. What if he was just waiting for the next time he saw Luke to finish the job once and for all? Luke dreaded it. Vader had seemed to want his death so much, only to stop without an explanation... It was all too likely that the next time Luke saw him, Vader would try to kill him again, without stopping this time.

One thing was certain: if he wanted to survive, he needed to escape Vader's scrutiny. Leaving – or rather deserting – was absolutely out of the question: he would only die more quickly and surely, and for good reason. He simply refused to leave his service in the Empire like that. Asking for reassignment was just as unthinkable, because all requests went through Vader for approbation, and Luke had a sinking feeling he wouldn't let him go so easily.

He ran a hand on his face. If only he knew why his commanding officer showed such an interest in him... He had discarded his first fear that he had been discovered as the son of a Jedi: Vader seemed to think instead he was the Jedi, which made no sense and was frightening in its own way. If Vader kept believing that, then Luke truly had no hope to live.

His only option, then, was to lie low and become the perfect soldier, never complaining, never giving Vader any opportunity to notice him again. Unfortunately, his temper had a tendency to flare at the worst times, especially when his commanding officer was involved. There was something exhausting and exasperating with the way Vader constantly seemed to loom over his shoulder, which never failed to put him on the defensive.

But it wasn't like he had a choice. He needed to remain calm: his life depended on it.

Trying not to think too hard about it, Luke took his time to shower and put his uniform on. He pulled the collar as high as he could, but it remained too low to cover the marks. He hoped nobody would say anything about it...

He drank his caf leisurely, savouring the bland taste and trying not to think that this could be the last time he would ever be drinking it. Because of his early start, he had some more time than usual to breakfast, which he wasn't too sure was a good thing or not. His musings were definitely more morbid than most mornings...

Luke was ten minutes early when he headed to the squadron meeting room to receive his instructions from Lt. Tanbris. He wondered what he would find this time: until now, Vader had been creative enough in putting Luke in the places that made him miss flying the most. Had he even bothered to give Luke duties this time, or would he merely be summoned to his chambers like usual, only never to leave them?

To his surprise, Lt. Tanbris gave him with a light smile while holding out his datapad to him.

"Congratulations, Ensign Lars. You are reinstated on the squadron."

Luke blinked, not daring to believe his ears.

"What?"

"See for yourself," Lt. Tanbris said, nodding towards the datapad. "This must be one of the shortest and lightest punishments for an offence such as yours. You are to go back to your normal duties from now on."

Luke glanced down at the device, and saw confirmation of what the officer was telling him. His smile widened. He was really back, this was happening at last. He would get the chance to prove himself, to show his goodwill and determination to do better, and he was determine to seize it.

"Thank you, sir!" he excitedly told Lt. Tanbris, his grin so wide it must be eating half his face. "I'm not gonna disappoint, I promise!"

For once, his outburst didn't earn him any disapproving glance, but a smile back.

"It is not I who should be receiving thanks or promises," Lt. Tanbris said. "Go now. I believe there is a squadron meeting planned in room 113-8 in about fifteen minutes. Operation planning, if I remember well."

Operation planning... So they were expecting action soon. Luke felt like dancing and springing. He was going back on the squadron... he would be flying again... It was a deliverance, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Had Lt. Tanbris not been watching him, he would have begun to laugh and shout right then and there.

Another look at the datapad he was holding made him sober down.

"Lt. Tanbris, sir... do you know if I need to keep reporting to him in the evenings or if I'm back on a completely normal schedule? It isn't specified..."

The lieutenant frowned. He gestured towards Luke's datapad again, who held it out to him, then skimmed through it again.

"I don't know," he answered Luke, giving him his device back. "Knowing the man, however, I doubt it was an oversight."

The information settled with cold dread in the pit of Luke's stomach. He was still stuck with their daily meetings. Was it a way for Vader to make sure he behaved, or had he something more sinister in mind? Was this move of rehabilitating on the squadron only a way to get him to lower his guard, so he wouldn't expect the next attack on his life?

In any case, it wasn't like he could do a lot about it. He warmly thanked Lt. Tanbris, then left, buzzing with excitement.

He took a seat around the middle of the room, feeling nervous as if it was his first time attending such a meeting, and did his best not to fidget. It was like coming home after a long time away. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed this.

Only a short time afterwards, his squadmates entered and joined him. Dark Curse and the new guy with the black skin and white hair were the first to arrive.

"Hey," he greeted them, trying to sound as casual as possible. Unpleasant memories of the night before came to his mind, and he felt quite awkward. He hoped they wouldn't bring it up.

"Hi, FNG," Dark Curse smiled at him, the familiar wrinkles appearing around his slanting eyes. "How are you feeling? You look better than yesterday."

Luke stiffened, shrugged.

"I'm fine," he said. Eager to change the subject, he turned to the new recruit. "I'm sorry, I didn't have the occasion to catch your name."

That was true, but not the reason why Luke was asking. He'd come to realise pilots usually preferred to be known by their call sign rather than their name, and Luke had no idea what his was.

"Just call me Silver," the man waved, like Luke had expected.

"So, does this mean you're back on flying duty?" Dark Curse asked Luke.

"Yeah," Luke replied, noticing the other pilots entering the room from the corner of his eye. "I'm finally done with the grounding –"

He cut off his sentence in a great cry as a big clap in the back sent him forward, nearly sprayed on the table. Laughter rose from the assembly. Luke shot Chaser a mock glare as he walked around the table to sit across him, followed by two new pilots and wearing a wide smirk.

"That's not how you say 'hello' or 'welcome back', you brainless thug," Luke said.

Before Chaser could retort, his neighbour let out a thundering laugh.

"Well done, kiddo, that's how he should be spoken to," the man said. Luke was surprised how strong and deep his voice was, considering he wasn't particularly tall or broad-shouldered. "You sound better than yesterday, in any case. I'm Boomer, and this one here's Cosmo."

Luke threw a glance at Cosmo, a lean man with high, thin eyebrows that gave him a distracted look. Cosmo tilted his head and smiled back. Chaser groaned.

"Man, if it's gonna be like this, I think I preferred it when you were gone. I liked the quiet." He suddenly frowned, and Luke's smile froze on his face upon realising where he was looking. "Hey, what happened to your neck?"

Luke shrugged, but couldn't help rubbing his throat absently, half by reflex and half to conceal the marks. "Long story."

He looked back at the door, where the rest of the squadron was slowly coming to join them. Vil came to sit next to them, followed by Qorl and the last new guys, then Mauler who sat in the back of the room. Luke frowned. Mauler was usually the one who directed this kind of presentations; if he wasn't the one speaking, then who could it –

Everybody went silent, and Luke's blood rushed from his face. He couldn't tear his eyes from Vader's tall shape at the entrance of the room, chills running down his spine as the mechanical breathing resounded in the room, a tolling bell that had haunted his nightmares the previous night. His own breath caught in his throat, his heart beating faster, and he was suddenly far more aware of the air coming in and out of his lungs.

This was it. This was the end. Any moment now, Vader's black hand would reach out and Luke would be unable to breathe. He could see it all too clearly in his mind's eye... Luke hunched on his chair, trying to escape Vader's notice, barely able to think in the middle of his panic.

He didn't want to die...

But Vader didn't so much as glance at him. He walked to the end of the room, his cape brushing against the legs of his chairs, and Luke thought his heart would stop from sheer terror when he went past him. Vader came to stand at the end of the table then took a few seconds to survey his audience before starting to talk.

"The hiding place of the Rebels who gave assistance to the concealed base on Carosi XII has been uncovered. We are currently studying the opportunity and the best strategy for an assault. This outpost is believed to be much better defended, with a whole arsenal of ships and soldiers."

Luke's heartbeat was finally growing softer again, and he could pay attention to what Vader was saying. Perhaps he wouldn't kill him now, after all. Luke should have expected him not to want to make a mess in the middle of the meeting, in front of everybody else. It was hardly the ideal place for a murder.

He had at least another few hours of respite. After all, Vader hadn't discontinued their evening meetings...

"For long, Black Squadron was but a shadow of itself, decimated by losses to the point of being reduced to half its numbers," Vader went on. "Countless profiles of pilots were examined, scrutinized to find the best among the Imperial Navy to replenish your ranks. You are the elite, gentlemen; and the elite is not easily replaced. But today this squadron is complete once again, ready to rise to its former glory.

"I will not lie to you. The next weeks will be immensely trying. You will need to train, to adapt, to exceed former requirements to be moulded into this new body of work. Peace will not be achieved without sweat or blood. What is expected – what is needed of you is nothing less than to be the quickest, cleverest, strongest, and most competent fighters of this Empire."

Now that he was somewhat calmer, a thrill of excitement went through Luke at his words. Vader was not only good on a battlefield: he also had an orator's skill to motivate his troops. He wondered if his squadmates were feeling it too, this desire to prove themselves, this anticipation to perform as well as he could... He, for one, couldn't wait for the occasion.

If he lived until then, that was.

He cast the awful thought away and listened attentively to Vader's outlining of the training plan, the skills they would need, the first data they had managed to get on the Rebels. He talked for a long time, but Luke kept himself focused, terrified Vader would notice his slightest moment of inattention. Then, at last, Vader stepped back and left the place to Mauler before leaving the room.

Luke sagged on his seat as Mauler started speaking of more technical details. He was alive and free. He hadn't expected to feel so relieved at the simple fact.

After Mauler had finished his presentation, which Luke had only caught in spades, they headed to the sims for practical training. It was a strange sensation to slip in the cockpit once again, both foreign and incredibly familiar. Luke didn't think he'd gone that long without exercising every since he'd started his training... He closed his hands around the control, slowly breathing in and out, a smile growing on his lips.

The program launched and he was soaring in space once again, twirling and twisting like he'd done so often before. He had to repress a wild laugh in a particularly close turn, keeping track of his squad mates even while he avoided and shot down the enemy ships. It felt easy and natural, the movements he'd learnt at the Academy coming back to him as if he was just walking.

After a moment, however, he began paying extra attention to the instructions they had been given, sharpening his mind to what the others were doing and adapting to them. He may have been out of practice, but the energy and motivation he experienced more than compensated for the fact. He was determined not to make the same mistakes that had cost him his place in the squadron in the first place.

A few minutes passed like this when he began to find some sort of a routine. He felt as if he was both taking distance and incredibly close to the action, as if he was falling asleep and more awake than ever at the same time; he knew what the enemy would do before they moved, could practically feel them, guided by a powerful instinct telling him what to do before his brain even got there –

No. He voluntarily snapped out of it, narrowly dodging a Rebel coming right on him in his distraction. His heart was beating faster. He recognised the sensation: it was the same kind of feeling that had prevented him from firing when Vader had ordered him to back above Carosi XII, the same kind of feeling that had brought him so much trouble in the first place. He was determined not to let it rule him once again, lest it destroy his career – or his life, even – forever this time.

But it was hard to keep at top performance and not fall into that secondary state, which he now realised he had relied on a lot every time he'd been in flight up until now. He didn't think he managed to get completely rid of it, either; whenever he found himself in a particularly tight spot, he found himself falling back on that intuition despite himself, like it was a secret knowledge that was helping him not to get shot down.

It was quite uncomfortable to fly like that, but Luke somehow managed to find some fun in the heightened difficulty. He did not get killed until the exercise was completed, and his team had achieved an honourable score. Staring at the end screen, he ran a hand in his short hair, catching his breath before he stepped out of the simulator.

The others were already all gathered around the debrief table, waiting for Mauler, who was still gathering the results from the program, to come and review the proceedings.

"That was some warm-up," Boomer said. "I don't think I've ever sweated so much in a mere simulator."

"That's how it works here," Dark Curse replied. "Mauler likes to set the machines on a very high level of difficulty. The goal is to make real battles look like a peaceful patrol shift by comparison."

Boomer snorted.

"Worst is, I can imagine it works."

For absolutely no reason, the comment cracked Luke up, who started laughing even harder in front of his squad mates' surprised looks. It'd been a long time since he'd felt such light-heartedness, such normalcy and sense of belonging. He finally managed to get a grip on himself just as Mauler joined them, still grinning like a madman.

"It's good to be back," he breathed out as only explanation.
 

The rest of the day was spent exercising in the sims, debriefing the sessions, and studying battle tactics. They were all whacked when Mauler finally let them go, but Luke who hadn't flown in weeks was probably the worst of them all. Still, it was so good to end the day exhausted, knowing he'd sleep well that night, instead of the restless slumber he had constantly experienced during his grounding.

He just wished his squad mates would cut him some slack.

"... and then he looks him right in the face and says, 'I was not aware of any regulations regarding the time it took'!"

Luke took another sip of his drink, trying to tune out the voice of Torpedo, one of the new pilots, telling of one certain mess that had happened just the day before. Maybe if he hid his face far enough behind his glass, it would grow less red... Incredulous laughter punctuated the light-hearted story, whose finer details Luke had already half forgotten and had hoped never to remember.

So much for that.

"Vader went completely still. It was as if he'd even stopped breathing. I thought that boy would drop dead then and there!"

Chaser whistled. He tilted his head towards Luke, raising his glass.

"Every time I think you can't do anything crazier, you go and prove me wrong," he said. "I don't know if I should respect you or yell at you until you find a sense of self-preservation."

"Both," another new guy, Cosmo, intervened. His eyes had two different colours, Luke noticed. Maybe that was why he always looked distracted, as if a part of his mind was in another place. Right now, though, Luke could see the hilarity on his entire face.

"Why, where would be the fun in that? I like to live dangerously," Luke bragged. Against all reason, pride grew in him at their dumbfounded glances. He tried not to dwell on the twists his stomach was doing ever since they had started on that topic of conversation.

He glanced at his chrono. Surely he could afford another few minutes...

Laughter resounded in the room.

"Who wants to take bets on how long he takes before getting grounded again?" Boomer said, his voice so strong Luke winced from the volume. He was sitting right next to him.

The knot in Luke's guts tightened. They were probably all going to lose that bet.

He couldn't put it off any longer.

"Without me, thanks," Luke replied. "In any case, I should get moving. I'm still supposed to report to Vader."

He downed the rest of his glass and put it down on the table, enjoying the small comfort of the soft warmth spreading in his stomach. His hands weren't shaking. Everything was fine.

"You going to be all right?" asked Chaser.

The tone was light, but Luke could see the concern in his eyes, the quick glance down at his throat. He forced a smile.

"Yeah, fine. I'll be back in half an hour at most," he said, trying to believe it.

Chaser didn't look convinced. Luke held his gaze, hoping nobody could hear his heart beating against his ribs.

"All right. See you then," he said.

Luke nodded, mock-saluted all the pilots, and left the room.

He managed to hold himself quite well until he arrived in front of Vader's door. But there, fear struck Luke with full power, so strong he wondered how he was going to press the button of the intercom.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't set foot in that room again, just like that, knowing he was going to be killed – and Luke was certain now that was what was waiting for him, maybe as soon as he crossed the threshold.

And yet what choice did he have? Vader was expecting him, had expressly ordered him to report to his quarters every night. He was the commander of the entire ship; Luke couldn't hope to defy his wishes and win.

Luke stared absently at the door, frozen, unable to make a single step towards it. He felt like crying. He didn't want to die; there was so much he still wanted to do with his life...

Before he could make his decision, his heart missed a beat as the door opened, as if Vader had somehow known he was waiting outside. There was no turning back now.

The sight somehow calmed Luke's fears, and he gritted his teeth in newfound determination. Well, if it was like that, if this really was the end, there was nothing he could do about it, and he'd meet it with his head held high. He wasn't a cowering child, he wasn't the disobedient and capricious boy he knew the others took him for. He would meet Vader with courage if it was the last thing he did.

Clinging to his stubborn decision to appear strong, he walked up to Vader's door and entered the room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was aware of every move, every gesture he made, every rush of blood in his veins. He forced himself to take deep breaths, noticing how eerily in sync with Vader's they were being.

"Ensign Lars," Vader said. "I hope you have reacquainted yourself well with your squadron?"

Luke observed him from the corner of his eye, feeling himself relax the tiniest bit the longer he wasn't being attacked. There was no special inflexion in his voice, nor any hint in his body language that may have revealed what emotion he was feeling.

"Yes, my lord." Luke hesitated, then decided his next words were probably neutral enough not to irritate the man. "Thank you for giving me a second chance. I promise I will not waste it."

Vader inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Good. I am pleased to see you in this disposition. I hope you have learnt from your mistakes, and will perform better from now on."

Luke nodded, fighting not to show his surprise. Vader complimenting him? He didn't think that had ever happened before.

Perhaps he wouldn't die today after all. Hope started to blossom in his chest, against his best intentions.

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well." Vader moved, and Luke flinched, but he only crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I have watched your practice today, and I noticed that your flying style had been somewhat altered since the last time you flew. You seem to be less accurate, slower in your reactions. Do you see any reason for this change?"

Luke swallowed. Reproaches and uncomfortable inquiries again, now this was charted territory... He did his best to silence the unhelpful little voice at the back of his mind.

"I have been out of practice, sir," he tentatively answered. "But I am doing my best to –"

"No." Vader interrupted. "That is not what I am talking about."

There was an uneasy silence, one Luke had to fight not to break by asking for precisions. Once again the cold tendrils that only seemed to manifest when he was around Vader poked at his limbs, teasing him, demanding a reaction out of him. It hovered playfully around his neck, and it took all his willpower not to rise his hands and massage it convulsively.

"You have told me about a strange feeling of yours happening during the battle and preventing you from firing," Vader went on. "But that was not the first time you experienced it, was it?"

Luke stayed quiet, his mouth dry. What was he getting at?

"Every time you take flight, it is there, supporting you, accompanying you. It makes you quicker and stronger, tells you things you should not be able to know."

"My lord...?"

Luke cut himself off before he could say anything else, deeply disconcerted by these words and the accuracy with which they were describing his feelings when he was in space. How did Vader know any of this? How could he put into words what Luke himself barely understood? A mad idea took shape in his mind. Did Vader feel these things, too? Although it made no sense, it seemed the cold tendrils around him were humming in agreement.

Vader made a pause, closely watching Luke, who still had no idea what was happening. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, deliberately slow.

"Have you ever heard of the Force, young Lars?"

Luke frowned.

"No, my lord," he answered.

"As I expected. Few know of its existence; even fewer have access to it. You are one of these privileged ones. It is the Force that gives you your inhuman instincts and piloting skills. It is constantly with you, guiding you in ways you are not even conscious of. It surrounds and binds all life together, almighty and all-encompassing, holding power beyond your imagination."

He came closer to him, and Luke couldn't help taking a step back; but Vader hardly seemed to notice it.

"I can teach you to harness this power. I can help you master this gift you have been granted and achieve your full potential."

Luke swallowed, feeling trapped, fear rising in his stomach more and more strongly. He retreated again, trying to gain distance from Vader; but he could still feel the cold curls swirling around him, closer and closer, leaving him no escape.

"I – I don't understand."

"I am offering you a chance to be great," Vader went on. "A chance to do better, to show the world what you are really worth. The Force is a part of you that you cannot deny. Let me train you, and I will make you unstoppable!"

Hardly daring to move or even to breathe, Luke stared at him. He was mad. There was no other explanation to this feverish rambling, the passion in his voice, the urge of his movements. His words made no sense at all, these promises were filled with wind. It was so different from the precision with which he tackled his commanding functions it scared Luke. In this moment Vader looked twice as tall as usual, like a fire that couldn't be put off. Luke had no clue how to react.

And yet... and yet something in what he said strangely resonated within him, like they awakened something that had lain dormant during most of his life. The way hVader described the feelings he experienced in flight was so right, as if he had been in Luke's mind when he was in his fighter, and hearing him talk about this mysterious Force evoked something deep and strong inside him. All his life Luke had felt there was something more to the world than their small lives on Tatooine, some greater understanding of the universe...

He shivered, overwhelmed, unable to make sense of any of it. Why did Vader speak to him like this? What did he want? Suddenly Luke remembered his superior shaking him for answers the day before. Who trained you? he had asked. Was that what he had meant, was this a new ploy to make him admit to some sort of forbidden teaching?

Everything in him was screaming to refuse Vader's offer. And yet he knew that would be exposing himself to the man's wrath. He'd already annoyed him so much... one more antagonistic move could very well be the thing that sent him flying off the handle and made him decide Luke wasn't worth living after all.

But what was the alternative? Accepting whatever it was he was talking about, without understanding a thing about what he would be learning? Putting himself in this dangerous position without knowing what it entailed at all, and giving Vader even more power over him? The mere idea made him queasy. This was something he couldn't do, whatever the consequences of his refusal may be.

No, there was but one possible answer, even though he knew his superior wouldn't take it well.

"Thank you, my lord," he whispered, "but with all due respect, I'd much rather stay a pilot."

He closed his eyes, waiting for the storm to crash upon him; but to his surprise, nothing happened, except for the deafening silence that fell upon the room.

"I see."

Curious, Luke risked a glance towards Vader. He didn't seem mad, just... thinking. The young man had no idea what could be going on in his head.

"If you ever change your mind, know that my offer still stands. I will let you think about it. You may go."

And just like that, Luke was dismissed. He wished for nothing more than to run out of here, but didn't dare do so, too unsettled by his superior's changing moods. He wavered a bit more before taking a decision.

"My lord?" he inquired tentatively.

"Yes?"

"I... just meant to ask if I was still required to report to you in the evenings from now on. There was nothing addressing that in the orders sheet..."

He trailed off, and Vader looked at him for a long moment. He did his best to sustain his gaze. Finally, something seemed to change in his body posture, as if he'd just uttered a sigh, although his breath didn't seem changed in the slightest.

"No," he said. "You may resume a completely normal schedule."

Luke nodded, his thanks dying on his lips. He saluted somewhat clumsily, then hurried out of the room.

He walked back to his quarters giddy with relief at the knowledge that he would no longer have to come back. He was free... he was safe... he was alive... A disbelieving laugh escaped him. The recycled air of the ship's corridor had never been so delicious.

But even despite his joy, a corner of his mind kept musing over the encounter, strangely troubled by his commanding officer's thoughtful and quiet mood.

Chapter Text

Darth Vader stood in the simulators' room, his arms crossed, his head tilted forward. Everything was silent but for the quiet sizzling of electricity feeding the machines. He kept his eyes on the moving dots on the 3D screen, absent-mindedly monitoring the exercise. This attack was of tremendous importance, for Vader hoped to wipe out Rebel activity in the sector with it, and to finally find out whether they knew about the Empire's secret project. In the middle of logistics and tactical planning, he had decided to take some time to oversee the squadron's training.

He dove into the Force, feeling the different presences around him. In space, they were all but immobile, yet he could perceive the movement of their minds, their connections to one another, which completed the image given by the hologram.

One of those minds was much stronger than the rest, burning brighter and more intensely than all the others together. The more time passed, the more Vader wondered how he had missed such a distinctive presence. Untrained Force-sensitives were naturally less detectable than experienced users like the Jedi he had hunted: their connection to the Force was still dampened, temporary, mostly instinctual, and as such much less remarkable. But the boy was so clear Vader was certain he should have noticed him anyway.

Once he was trained, what a powerhouse he would be...

Yet he was voluntarily smothering his presence, keeping his distance from the Force, afraid of his own gift. Vader recalled the last encounter he'd had with him a dozen days ago and found himself still confused. He had not expected him to refuse his proposition... He had offered him the whole universe, an unimaginable well of strength and knowledge, and the boy had declined? Why would he turn away from what the universe must be screaming at him was his rightful place?

It had taken him by surprise. The more time passed, the clearer it became how exceptional Lars's ability to unsettle him was. It was even offending, in a way. Why should he care whether one small, insignificant pilot felt appropriate to deny the gift and legacy he was offering him? If he held out his hand to the boy and he didn't take it, it was his loss.

He did care, though. He hadn't realised it before that night, but he wanted to train him. To see him so strong and so ignorant was maddening. He wanted to explore the depths of his potential, to show him everything that was possible. He ached to free this searing star and unleash it on the world, to mould it and have it for himself, at his side...

And he would. With Lars on the squadron, under his command, he would still have many occasions to win him over. Vader had all the time in the world... he could wait some more before making his offer again, give the boy some time to breathe, introduce him to the idea little by little, not unlike his own Master had acquainted him with the dark side of the Force.

He supposed it would be easiest to order him into his teachings, but that would only offer him a reluctant apprentice, bound to drag his feet in everything. Vader didn't want to antagonise him and make an enemy out of him. Better to let him taste his dormant power and trap him within it, wishing for more.

He would have him, no matter how long it took.

The bright presence in the Force attracted his attention once more. It flared irregularly, as though restrained. It should be overwhelming, send out shining and burning waves through the very fabric of the universe...

Vader turned to his wingman, who was also focusing on the exercise. Bran Mithel, known by his squad as Mauler, had served for more than ten years as his second-in-command, and in all that time Vader had never found his professionalism or competency wanting. He knew he could rely on him to give him objective and insightful information.

And if he wanted to gain the boy's trust, he had to learn more about him.

"Commander Mithel," he quietly said. "What do you think of young Lars?"

Mithel frowned, thinking about his answer.

"He is a good element, my lord. He still experiences coordination problems, but not consequent enough to impede the squadron's working. Discipline is still an issue too, but he is hard-working and determined. In time, he could become an outstanding pilot."

Vader remained motionless. It was in accordance with what he had already noticed. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to know his desires and ambitions, something he could use.

"He hasn't expressed any particular interest or wish for himself?"

He felt his wingmate's surprise in the Force, but Mauler remained impassive.

"Not to me. He was overjoyed to be back on the squad, though. He is as crazy about flying as any of us."

Vader could certainly relate to that. How many times had he been in a craft himself, whether a TIE, podracer or Jedi starfighter?

"If I may ask, sir," Mauler said, "why do you have such an interest in him?"

Vader slightly smiled under his mask. Few of his men dared question him so directly, if at all; they feared him too much for that. Mauler's bold but respectful honesty, while at times annoying, was one of the qualities Vader respected most in him.

"He has exceptional skills," he replied. "I have... plans involving him. He could be much more than just a pilot."

As he said it, he was surprised how much he meant it. That boy had something special that could lead him to greatness. Vader couldn't wait to see what he was capable of.

Mauler huffed with a smile.

"It will be hard to convince him of that. It's all he seems to have in mind."

Vader crossed his arms, still following the subdued presence that kept teasing him with its latent power. An idea started to sprout in his mind. So Lars' one passion was flying... then surely giving him tools to better that should seduce him.

He ordered Mauler to check some meaningless detail then took the comm linked to the simulators, designed to let the trainers coach the trainees in the sims. He brought it up, staring at the monitor and concentrating on Lars's Force presence. The boy was currently grappling with two X-Wings, trying to escape one of them long enough to destroy the second.

"Good, Five," Vader praised him as he narrowly evaded his opponents. "Now relax. Open your mind, let your feelings guide you."

Lars started, surprise flaring. Vader felt his reluctance to obey, to surrender to the power he had so much trouble tuning out in the first place. Slightly annoyed, he considered repeating it and clarifying it was an order, but he refrained himself. Blunt force wouldn't help him gain his trust. The boy was afraid and startled, hadn't expected him to address him in the middle of the exercise.

"You have no reason to fear. Stop ignoring your instincts," he said instead. "They will help you, not hinder you. Let yourself be guided by the Force seeking to lead you."

Slowly, Lars's resistance disappeared, melted into acceptance as he finally put his advice into practice. His mark in the Force expanded, finally freed from the leash he kept on it. It pulsed brilliantly, swarming with strength and life, blinding.

"Yes..." Vader whispered, triumphant joy filling him at the sight of the small craft's movements on the digital map growing swifter and more precise. Whether it was his or the boy's emotions, he couldn't tell. "Feel it. Broaden your consciousness, let these sensations flow in you unimpeded."

Guided by his voice, Lars's presence grew again, sending out rays to try and detect what was happening around him. His fighter twirled with ease, no longer a mere vessel but a part of him. He avoided his enemies as easily as he breathed now, playful.

"You are in command. Your foes are no match for you, you can feel them, know what they will do. Take aim and trust it to reach its target."

In a perfectly controlled loop, Lars sent two shots at the X-Wings and destroyed both of them. His connection with the Force grew deeper as he was becoming more familiar with it, experimenting with it, trying to see what he could do. Exhilarated, Vader admired him for a moment, in awe at how natural it seemed for him to use his power and explore it to fly. His abilities seemed endless...

"Now return in formation. Feel the pattern made out by your allies, anticipate their movements and their needs. You are weaving a web together, to trap your enemies and destroy them."

Again the boy obeyed, instinctively knowing where he had to be, taking his place and helping out where he could. The others, trained for a very long time at this, welcomed him in their midst, and he adapted as well as he could. Together they destroyed a honourable amount of enemy crafts before the exercise finally stopped. It hadn't lasted longer than ten minutes.

As always, there was a moment of silence as the pilots dealt with the disorientation that the end of the simulation caused; then, one by one, they came out of the devices.

Lars was the last one to exit his cockpit. As he came back to reality, his presence gradually returned to its normal size; but a part of his connection remained, burning like a pillar of flames in his core. His movements although clumsy and disoriented looked more graceful than usual, and his gaze seemed sharper and clearer, taking in his environment as though he had never really seen it before.

While he took his place among the others around the holo console, Lars' eyes briefly crossed Vader's. Fleeting awe, excitement and uncertainty flickered on his features, overcoming his fear of his commanding officer for the shortest moment. As only answer, the Sith Lord tilted his head to acknowledge his success and express his own satisfaction, unable to subdue the trepidation roaring in his chest.

At my side you will be the greatest.

Shoving away the bothersome thought, he turned the hologram on, and began the debriefing.
 

Luke blinked, tried to concentrate. He could catch a word or another, a sentence at a time, but the general substance of the meeting escaped him.

He threw a quick look at Vader, hoping against all hope he couldn't see his distraction. Luke could feel the burning of two intent eyes boring inside him as he nodded at him.

He took a deep breath. He had never experienced anything like this before. In the high stress of the fighting, he'd had no choice but to obey Vader's voice as it came out of nowhere to give him instructions. The first few seconds had been familiar, old instincts overcoming him. But then, pushed by Vader's voice, he had sunk even deeper into that strange state and relinquished even more control over his craft, even as he seemed to gain more power over it.

It had been like entering a completely new world, like looking at a second universe that laid itself upon the real one in transparency. The cosmic humming of life had exploded to a fully-blown song, making his whole body vibrate in harmony, a foreign and unusual sensation he didn't know what to make of. He had felt the other fighters as if they'd been here for him to touch, despite them being only virtual enemies.

But for all that the impression had been unsettling, it hadn't been unpleasant at all. It had felt... natural. As if it had been buried deep inside him, and had only now found the chance to get out.

His thoughts turned to Vader again, but this time he didn't dare look at him. What had he done? Was this how he flew, did he feel all these things too? Was this the mysterious Force he'd been talking about?

He breathed out, still overwhelmed by the experience. His hand rose to the base of his throat and rubbed the skin above his collarbone. He had tried his best to lay low during the last few days, but it hadn't seemed to deflate Vader's strange interest in him. Luke had never expected him to go out of his way to give him flying advice... He shivered. He felt like a mouse taken in a trap, still alive and unaware of its fate but knowing it wouldn't escape the predator that had captured it.

Finally, Vader called for the end of the meeting and walked out of the room without addressing him again, to Luke's great relief. He looked around and came closer to his squadmates as they all left, and fell into step with Chaser, Boomer and Cosmo. He slowly felt more like himself, although he still was particularly aware of his surroundings.

They all came into another briefing room and took a seat around the table, soon joined by Mauler, who was assisted by Lt. Tanbris. Vader was absent, to Luke's relief. He probably had returned to his duties as commander of the ship.

Mauler pushed a button on the command console. The device at the centre of the table activated with a bleeping sound, and a round hologram depicting a planet appeared in front of them.

"This is Praadost II, the site of the Rebel base that supported Carosi during our attack and surprised us with the results we know," Mauler started. "Jungle planet, covered mostly in trees and rainforest plants. Not the ideal site for an air strike. The base is hidden deep in the woods and thought to be sensibly more important and well defended than the Carosi outpost we flew against the last time."

He pressed another buttton. The map grew bigger, closing in on a particular part of the planet. Among the trees, a red square was traced to indicate the placement of the base.

"In view of the circumstances, space forces will only be used as support, while the main strike team will give the assault from the ground. Our role will be to protect them and aid them, as well as prevent the Rebels from escaping. They are believed to have at their command a force ranging between ten and fifteen transports, as well as snub fighters, among which an undetermined amount of the new Incom T-65 starfighters."

There was an impressed silence. Luke had never gone up against a X-Wing except in simulations, but he knew they were swift and efficient ships with capable shields, which put their own TIEs at a disadvantage. Their numbers usually were far smaller than the Empire's ships, which was fortunate. For all the times he had faced them in mock battles, Luke knew they weren't to be taken lightly.

"The difficulty will be to engage the fighters while taking care to shoot as little as possible in the direction of the ground, in order not to damage our own forces' efforts. You will need to lead the enemy as high as possible in the atmosphere, or even in space. Devastator will be standing by with tractors beams to receive captured ships."

Luke nodded, along with all the others. This could prove more difficult than the standard "shoot to kill" approach, and would demand a lot of coordination. A list of suitable formations popped into his head, how to best lead the enemy fighters where they wanted them.

Mauler surveyed them all with his contrasting eyes, then spoke again.

"The highest priority will be to make sure none of them escape. However, we are to take as many prisoners as possible."

Luke's stomach tightened. He looked around, but the others didn't seem to react, only registering the information.

He took a deep breath, annoyed with himself. They were Rebels. They were the enemy. He had chosen a side in this war. It was shoot or being shot, and he should have no qualms about it. It would only make him unreliable. It was a weakness he needed to get rid of.

He shoved his concerns aside and focused on the meeting again. They studied the characteristics of the planet, the different tactics they could use, how to organise each other to be as efficient as possible. He listened and participated, concentrating on the practical details.

It lasted for three hours before they finally finished. There still was a lot of planning, researching and training to be done, but that wouldn't be finished in a day. For the moment, they had done all that they could with the data they possessed.

Luke walked in silence during the short time it took to reach their quarters. A good part of the squadron had left to attend to their business, and he was walking with Vil, Qorl, Hammer, Silver and Torpedo, but for once he didn't really feel like mingling with the others. The conversation was orbiting the upcoming assault, and he wasn't in the mood to talk about that.

He was too busy fighting the thoughts of Biggs or Hobbie captured by the Empire. His mind, unhelpful as ever, was recalling the propaganda films he'd seen during the meetings Biggs never stopped attending, the bodies racked with pain and screaming themselves hoarse while officers shouted at them. That footage was staged. It was filmed and edited to be as horrifying as possible, designed to shock.

But when his brain mixed it up with his friends' smiling faces and the dreadful understatement he had found in his paperwork, it still became nauseating.

He took a deep breath, increasingly angry with himself. He was loyal to the Empire. He wasn't making this choice again. The Rebels were lying and he was just being stupid. Why did it have to keep unbalancing him?

The Empire had freed the slaves in Mos Espa. They had brought education on barren Tatooine. Without the Empire, he probably wouldn't even be able to read. They were fighting crime and putting infrastructures in place on so many worlds. What had the Rebels brought, besides chaos, uprisings and lies? Nothing.

He had to stop these infuriating doubts that were only dragging him down.

"Hello? Devastator to FNG, do you copy?"

Luke blinked, startled by Vil's Corellian accent.

"Sorry, I – I hadn't realised you were talking to me," he smiled. "What were you saying?"

The took a bottle of ale out of the cooling unit to hand it to Hammer, then another for himself.

"I was asking if you were up for a game of sabacc. Hammer here claimed he can trash us all and I don't buy that for a second."

Hammer, a man with a thick neck and dirty blonde hair not unlike Luke's, smirked and nonchalantly uncapped his bottle before taking a swig.

"C'mon, you're terrible at sabacc, of course you'll get trashed." Luke forced himself to smile.

Vil rolled his eyes.

"Nice. Care to prove that?"

Luke thought for a moment, hesitating before joining the others at the table. Silver had already gotten the cards out.

"Alright," he gave in, hoping it would alleviate his mind.

He took himself a drink then came to sit with them, and Silver began giving out the cards. They all looked at their hands: Luke's was okay, but he didn't think he'd get very far anyway. Next to him, Vil groaned.

"Kriff."

Hammer laughed.

"With such a talent for bluff, you'll be space dust quicker than a Rebel ship!"

Luke's stomach contorted again, but he brushed it off. He really needed to get a hang of himself. He wouldn't fail in this battle like he did in the previous one.

"Hey," Hammer repeated, looking at Luke intently. "It's your turn."

"Sorry," Luke mumbled before playing his card.

"What's the matter with you tonight?" Vil asked. "You're acting off."

Luke shrugged and smiled.

"No, I'm fine."

"He's scared to go up in battle," Qorl spoke up, before playing in turn.

Luke's heart missed a beat as he crossed Qorl's glassy gaze. The toad-faced pilot had a perfect sabacc expression, and Luke couldn't read anything on it.

"What? 'Course not," he scoffed, trying to sound natural. "Whatever gave you that idea."

"You were brooding the last time too, before the fight," Qorl explained. Luke didn't much care for the scrutiny with which he looked at him. "But now it's no longer your first battle, so you're just being a coward."

"What?" Luke repeated, growing angry. "Listen – where did that even come from? I'm not afraid!"

"Then you're being a traitor, which is worse."

There was a deafening silence. Luke's heart was drumming in his chest, but he was gaping, unable to know how to answer. His voice had left him, too outraged to say a word.

"Woah, let's calm down a minute," Silver said, raising his hands. He looked as stunned and shaken as all the others. "Qorl, that's a very serious thing to say, you can't just –"

"No, let him speak," Luke growled, gritting his teeth. "Why are you accusing me of being a traitor?"

Qorl threw him a glare.

"I'm just saying you don't seem very committed," he retorted. "As if your heart weren't completely in it. It's the same every time we talk about gunning down Rebels."

"That's ridiculous," Luke answered despite the pound of lead that had settled in his chest. He leant forward on the table, holding Qorl's gaze, barely holding his anger in check. "Who are you to decide who's committed or not?"

"Someone who's got eyes rather than a bratty mouth," Qorl shot back. "You never told us what you're fighting for."

The other pilots shifted on their seats. Luke didn't pay them any attention.

"Same as everybody here. I want to win the war and put an end to the Rebellion."

Qorl let out a short and cold laugh, so shrill Luke jumped.

"Oh no, that's not it," he said. "Nobody really cares about this bloody war. That's just the tip of the iceberg!"

Luke frowned, taken aback. What was he getting at? He hadn't even really spoken to him before...

He glared at him, fed up with the whole thing. There was a strange glint in Qorl's eyes, harsh and passionate. He seemed more alive than Luke had ever seen him.

"You want to know what I'm fighting for? I want these assholes to stop harassing innocent citizens and killing the fathers of our children. I'm fighting because they're slaughtering our countries, our works, our families. They're standing for a child's tantrum, a delusion dead and gone, and as long as I live I won't let anyone bring anarchy and ruin to the galaxy I love!"

Luke gaped at him, this time out of surprise at the unexpected outburst. There was an anger running deep there, a bitterness that shocked him. He understood now what Qorl meant about not being committed: Luke certainly didn't have the same kind of rage at the Rebels in him. It made him ill at ease, but he couldn't tell if it was the violence of the speech itself or his own guilt, gnawing at his stomach.

There was a muffled cough, someone clearing his throat. Torpedo was looking at Luke sheepishly, rubbing the side of his crooked nose.

"I, uh, I think it's your turn, FNG," he said, pointing his chin towards Luke's hand.

His comment was lost in the thickness of the atmosphere. Luke took a card and set it on the deck, keeping his gaze straight on Qorl.

"You don't have to worry about me," he slowly said, his voice low and quiet. "I won't fail."

Qorl nodded once, more a warning than an acknowledgement.

"I'll hold you to it."

He set down his own card in the most complete silence.

Chapter Text

The round shape of Praadost II was glistening in the light of its stars. Clouds were swirling on its surface, above the lush greens of the vegetation. It stood unmoving and unaware of the swarm of snub fighters descending towards it from the coldness of space above.

"Black Five standing by," Luke said as Mauler asked them to report in. He was leading the squadron today, as Vader was directing the ground assault. Luke had to admit he was glad. The Dark Lord was a menace and a very good ally to have on their side, but for personal reasons Luke preferred when he wasn't too close to him.

He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through his mouth. This was it. It felt like ages since the last battle he'd been in, his very first, in which he'd messed up so badly. It certainly had been a while since he'd been reinstated on the squadron: a while spent training, planning, researching for this very moment. He wasn't sure if the strain in his abdomen was fear or excitement. One thing he knew: he didn't have room for error this time.

He easily followed his squad mates as they flew down in formation, heading all together towards the planet, where the Rebel outpost was supposed to be. It was difficult to see anything under the canopy of the trees, which was so thick it concealed everything. He wondered how ships would be able to fly out of the jungle without getting caught in the foliage.

"All ships remain on standby," Mauler said. "Get in Osk formation, and look out for any enemies coming from the ground."

Luke flew in circles, keeping watch on the sea of green underneath him. Now that he was getting a better look at it, he could see lighter spots through the vegetation, clearings scattered through the landscape. A few of them were large enough to let ships through, and so he focused on these. Around him, his squad mates and the other pilots did the same.

A few tense minutes passed in expectancy as they waited for the Rebels to get out. Luke was holding his breath, trying to watch everywhere at the same time. The sky was grey, so at least he didn't have to worry about having the sun in his eyes, even though it reduced visibility. With his ship's scanners he doubted it would be a problem.

Finally, a ship burst out of a clearing, darting full speed in direction of the Imperials, soon followed by a dozen more. One of the TIEs fired on them.

"Let them out, I say again, Delta Six, let them out! Don't fire down," Delta Leader ordered.

Together with Chaser and Dark Curse, Luke took one of the Rebel ships in chase. He took care to remain under it not to interfere with the ground battle where their soldiers were taking the Rebel base. Soon, however, they realised they wouldn't be able to push it very high.

"Airspeeders," the voice of Silver made itself heard into the comm. "We're not going to be able to bring them out of atmosphere into the range of our tractor beams."

"Then fire to cripple or destroy," Mauler replied. "And watch out for spacecraft. They're going to try and evacuate; they must not be allowed to escape."

Together with Chaser, Luke drove the Rebel in Dark Curse's direction, cornering it. Dark Curse dodged one of its shots, then fired in turn and hit it. The Rebel plummeted down towards the ground and crashed.

Luke took a deep breath and looked away from the bright explosion, trying to keep his mind away from the enemy pilot's death. He shouldn't be affected this way by the chaos around him. He'd exercised this, he'd trained for hours in the simulators, designed to be extremely realistic. Why was it that the same flash of colours, seen from the inside of similar cockpits, evoked no more emotion in him than a fly eaten by a dewback, and seized him at the throat now?

Pushing the unpleasant sensations aside, he hurried to catch up with his squad mates. Focusing on the moment allowed him to let go of some of his tension. He quickly took back his place in the formation. They were chasing another ship, and Luke fell into the movement; but this one was more tenacious than the other.

"I can't get under him," Chaser said. "Think he's understood what we're doing. Bastard's keeping a low altitude."

A crazy idea took hold of Luke's mind, but he hesitated. He was feeling more in tune with his craft now, hyper-aware of his surroundings, the exhilaration of the flight controlling part of his brain. He recognised there the strange sensation that made him such a good flier, but which had also led him to disobey Vader's orders the last time... was it really wise to trust it once more?

A second airspeeder joined the one they were pursuing, and they lost the advantage. Trying as they were to drive them upwards, unwilling to shoot at the ground, their restrictions were slowly giving their enemies the edge. Red bolts flew through the air, and Chaser had to do a sharp turn to avoid one. Luke gritted his teeth.

Nobody was giving him orders this time.

"I'm trying to get down," he announced.

"What do you mean, FNG?" Dark Curse asked, sounding confused.

Luke managed to take a shot at one of the Rebels, but missed.

"I mean I'm going under them and pushing them up."

"Are you daft?!" Chaser said. "They're flying level with the trees, you're gonna get tangled in the vegetation if you go any lower!"

"Trust me," Luke answered.

Without waiting for their answer, Luke pushed the control stick, and the TIE angled down towards the trees. He got past the security distance, still coming closer. He didn't slow down. This near, the branches of the trees were flying by much faster than he thought they would be, so quickly he had trouble spotting those that were standing out. He bolted aside as a stick of wood was coming his way.

"Just a bit closer..." he muttered, his jaw tight, heart running madly in his temples. This was crazy...

He breathed in deeply, knowing he had to get rid of his nerves to succeed. He remembered the incredible awareness he had experienced guided by Vader's voice in the simulator... He had only been able to reproduce it once or twice, and never with the same intensity, but it cost nothing to try.

He did his best to relax, embracing the flood of sensations, letting them wash over him. He reached out, sank deeper until he felt the whole jungle beneath him, knew precisely where every leaf and every trunk were. For the shortest moment, he closed his eyes and found his perception of the world improved rather than impeded.

When he opened them again, his strange sixth sense was there in full force.

He zigzagged between two overgrown Jogan trees, grinning widely. It was like the world itself was guiding his movements, responding to his thoughts and emotions rather than his gestures, even more intense than it had been that one time under Vader's guidance.

Luke located the two Rebels and came right under them, avoiding all obstacles. To escape him, they split up, giving up on their pursuit of the Imperials. They didn't dare go as low as him, though, and he had the advantage. He took one in chase, fired at its belly, but the enemy dodged him and came lower as well.

Luke swallowed and tried to shoot at him, but the small craft was agile and kept evading him. He forced himself to relax and reached out, trying to guess his enemy's movements.

A red plasma bolt missed him by a hair. Luke bit back a curse. He'd completely forgotten about the other ship, that he could see – feel – just behind him, slightly higher. Luke weaved between the trees to shake it, but he didn't want to lose the one he was tailing, either.

He swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. He needed to make a decision.

He closed his eyes, waited for a lock, shot a last time at his opponent, holding his breath. The green bolt landed a millimetre away from his enemy and barely hit the hull's side. Luke bit his lip – he needed to rise, he was running out of time, the other Rebel was getting closer – as the ship, unbalanced, barrelled on the side and fell in the trees, swallowed by the coat of green.

Luke rose in a chandelle and evaded the second ship's fire. The Rebel followed him, but Luke looped to get behind him and fired. Chaser and Dark Curse joined him, incredulous laugh echoing in his comm. Three to one were no fair odds: soon enough, their enemy was stardust.

Smiling, Luke flew a circle in the sky, relishing in the sensation as he tried to see if any of his squadmates needed his help. A TIE bursting into flame a little further tied his stomach in knots.

"Break-break, all fighters!" Mauler's voice rang through the comm. "Spaceships incoming from their base!"

Luke darted towards the clearing he'd spotted before, where the airspeeders had come from. Some other TIE did the same. Enemy craft was shooting out fast, making their exit among the Imperials' distraction.

"X-Wings!" said Hammer.

Luke gasped. He accelerated and came full throttle at the X-Wing that had just left the base. Chaser and Dark Curse were following him, ready to work together and push the ship up, out of atmosphere. He fired twice, forcing the X-Wing to alter its course. They flew higher and higher. The Rebel tried to escape but failed, forced to rise.

As they went, they entered the ceiling of clouds covering the planet and lost all vision. Blast shots shone through the thick fog, the only thing they could see. They only had their sensors to rely on, but Luke still had a precise idea where the others were.

"Black Four and Six, I think we're not heading in the right direction. We should be angling more towards 60-60 if we want to get in the beams' range."

"Roger, Five."

They were slowly changing course when Luke felt danger. He broke out of the formation, flying larger circles to try and find the source of the threat, all his senses in alert.

"Black Five, this is Black Four," Chaser said. "What are you doing?"

"Something's wrong," Luke replied.

"I have nothing on my scopes," Dark Curse chimed in. "Are you sure your sensors aren't malfunctioning?"

"No, it's... something else." Luke frowned. Something bad was going to happen, he felt it, but he didn't have a clue what it was.

"FNG? What's going on?"

Luke made a nosedive to the ground, full throttle. He fired twice then straightened up again, regaining altitude. Only then did his TIE register the torpedoes that had taken him as a target, just as they were destroyed by his shot in the dark.

He let out a breath, unable to fathom what had just happened, but glad it had. A signal appeared on his screen: another fighter.

"This is Black Five, I have incoming. I'm going to try and distract it to cover for you."

Chaser and Dark Curse acknowledged him. Luke headed in the Rebel's direction, avoiding its shots. Before it could react, he flew right above its hull then turned around, now behind it, too fast for it to do anything. He shot around it, deliberately missing, just to get it moving where he wanted it to be.

He diverted it from his squad mates and forced it upwards, towards where Devastator was waiting. They shot out of the clouds into the clear sky above. The shape of the Star Destroyer shone white in the light blue of the sky, its outline clearer as they rose out of the atmosphere.

The Rebel's movements became more frantic in front of Luke, and it was harder to keep up with it. Panic. She was trapped, faced with a sinister outcome, an Imp on her tail and many others waiting for her, knowing she would never see her friends again but only pain, torture and death...

He blinked and bit back a curse. The Rebel had found an opening and was darting in the opposite direction, turning on Luke who only just evaded it. The TIEs posted around the Star Destroyer came to help him, to drive his opponents into the tractor beam's range. But Luke and the X-Wing were too closly entwined in their dogfight for them to be capable of anything. Luke accelerated and shot as soon as he got a lock on the ship. It exploded, forcing Luke to take a sharp turn to avoid the debris.

He hurried to find back his squadmates, not thinking of what had just happened. Chaser was grappling with a Rebel; Luke approached and shot, forced him to take distance. The enemy swerved and got in the reach of the Star Destroyer. A few bolts of fire later, it shook and started ineluctably moving towards Devastator.

"Thanks," Chaser said.

They moved down again, towards the planet's surface.

The rest of the battle was a blur of red and green fire. He twisted and twirled in his fighter, reacting more than he thought. The movements of the ships around him took his entire mind. He flew by instinct, as one with his ship as a bird with its wings.

He had no idea how long it lasted before Mauler's voice ordered them to retreat to Devastator, the mission a success. Luke was among the first to land. He brought his ship to the racks and climbed out of it as soon as it was in the hangar. On his way out, he stopped for a moment with his hand on the hull, catching his breath.

Luke had never flown like that. It had been intense, indescribable. The floor was swaying under him, too solid and not enough at once. He let out a breathy laugh.

His gaze caught the captured Rebel ships, bringing him down from his high. Pilots in bright orange flight suits were forced out of their cockpits then marched away by stormtroopers, dread and defiance clear in their posture. One of them struggled, but a trooper hit him and dragged him with his comrades. A knot tied itself in Luke's guts.

A TIE flying in distracted him. Compassion for the Rebels was shoved at the back of his mind, replaced with concern for his own camp not without a speck of guilt. He hoped nobody had died this time, and that all of them would be coming back...

He nervously watched them all arrive, one after the other. Squadrons gathered together each with their own while Luke anxiously awaited his squadmates. First came Chaser and Dark Curse, who hadn't been too far from him; then Vil and Hammer, and after them Qorl, Torpedo, Cosmo, Silver, Boomer and finally Mauler.

Luke grinned in relief, his smile reflected in the other pilots. There would be no grieving tonight; just rejoicing in the triumph of winning this batlle.

A hand fell on his left shoulder.

"That was a good fight. A really good fight," said Chaser. He paused and watched Luke a little longer, a thoughtful expression on his face, then turned towards the other pilots. "Guys? I think it's time for our FNG to get a call sign, what do you say?"

Enthusiastic shouts welcomed his proposition. Luke's heart soared.

"What? Just like that?"

"How else?" scoffed Chaser, a smile on his lips.

"I agree with Chaser. You're no longer really flying like a new guy," Mauler chimed in, his massive arms crossed over his chest while the red light of his robotic eye surveyed Luke in satisfaction.

"Way too insane to go without a suitable name," bellowed Boomer.

More approval followed, and Luke couldn't hold back his delighted smile. He had wondered how the pilots earned their callsign and impatient to get his own... In the Academy, they had never really talked about this. He knew it was a kind of secret among the pilots, some kind of ceremony they weren't supposed to tell the uninitiated about.

Together, they headed to the squadron quarters. Luke's heart was beating excitedly. They gathered in the living area and sat down around the small table while Vil brought a selection of ale bottle from the cooling area.

"Permission to get drunk?" he asked Mauler.

"To drink responsibly," the cyborg answered. "I want you functional even at the end of this."

The pilots nodded, and all took a bottle; but when Luke tried to join the movement, Boomer stopped him.

"Not you. Not yet."

"Here's how it goes," Dark Curse said, leaning back in his seat and looking at Luke intently over his crooked nose, slanting eyes wrinkling. "Each ship and each squad has its own traditions. On some they'd have you do some ridiculous stuff on-planet or get completely intoxicated, or both, to validate your naming. Black Squadron does it differently, since we can't descend on a war zone and risk all our lives, and I'm not sure when we'll next be officially off-duty together. So we keep it simple. You stand on the side, and you're not allowed to drink or to speak a single word until we've settled on a call sign for you. You understand?"

Luke nodded.

"Good," Dark Curse continued. "Pilot, what is your name?"

"Luke –" he bit on his tongue, cursing his second of inattention. "Whitesun Lars."

"From no on, it no longer is," replied the older pilot. "As the veteran of this squadron, I hereby declare the naming ceremony of Luke Whitesun Lars, Flying New Guy of Black Squadron, open."

All pilots – except Luke, naturally – simultaneously took a swig from their drink.

"Before actually getting to the naming part, we each should give our call signs and the history behind them," he went on. "I'm Dark Curse, because in my first battle I once swore very heavily in the comm right before smashing an enemy to bits. My squad never let me live it down."

He sighed, but he had a smile on his lips. "They had a deplorable sense of humour."

He then turned on his left and looked at his neighbour. "I'm Cosmo," the other pilot said, "because I always have my head in the sky."

"Boomer, because of the melodious sound of my voice," Boomer rumbled.

"I'm Vil because my first name is Villian," the Corellian pilot said in turn, sitting with his legs casually crossed, his ankle on his knee. "They wanted to name me Villain at first but then they ended up saying it was too mean, so Vil's stuck as a compromise."

He looked at Dark Curse with a smirk. "How's that for a bad sense of humour?"

The older pilot let out a huff of laughter. "I'll give it to you, it's even worse."

They turned towards Mauler, who shifted in his seat, deep in thought. "When I was a kid – round our FNG's age, a bit older maybe – I used to brag about how I flew in my skyhopper, and how I'd "maul" Bothan sky dragons all the time. I stopped after Flight School, but a friend of mine got assigned at the same place I did, and the story quickly got around the entire squadron. That's how I'm Mauler."

Luke wanted to ask him more – he'd flown in skyhoppers too, what was the model, how old was it? – but remembered in time he was supposed not to say a word.

Qorl shrugged. "I'm Qorl and that's an acronym for something, but I don't remember what."

"Hammer – my name's Paldamar, and one night I was so drunk I couldn't articulate it correctly, I kept omitting the first syllable. So "Hammer" stayed."

"Silver because I already had white hair at twenty-five," Silver went on. Luke could see why: the white hair was the most striking thing about his appearance. It stood out even more against his dark skin, a feature of most Socorro natives.

Torpedo snickered before telling his story. "I had a bit of trouble with my ship's controls at first, and once I nearly rammed into one of my squad mates. The scolding of my squad leader after that was terrible – I'd deserved it but man, how awful I felt, in front of all the other pilots and everything. And then he goes and tells me I'm not a proton torpedo and I shouldn't act like one. That became my nickname way before it was officially made my callsign. So yeah, Torpedo."

"I'm Chaser," the last pilot finished, "because my family are hunters, and I'd often bore my squad mates stiff about chasing some game bird or other."

"Good," Dark Curse said. "We've heard your names; now what shall be this FNG's?"

There was a moment of silence as they thought, most of them with a devious smirk on their face, which Luke found himself not particularly caring for.

"Something stupidly reckless, like he can be," Hammer slowly said.

"Something crazy and ridiculous," Torpedo added.

"As much as talking back to Lord Vader, ignoring orders, and overall being a real smart mouth," Boomer said.

Luke cringed. Apparently, they wouldn't let him off the hook with that...

"'Smart Mouth' is good," Cosmo nodded.

"Considering who he's getting smart with, I say 'Death Wish'," Chaser chimed in.

The others laughed.

"How about something relating to his age?" Silver said, setting his ale bottle back on his leg. "Going straight from the Academy to Black Squadron's feat enough for a call sign, I'd say."

Boomer burst out laughing. "We'd certainly call him 'Kid' easily enough!"

Chaser smirked. "I think I promised him 'Scrawny' when we first met."

More sniggering erupted. "Hey!" Luke shouted, indignant, which only reinforced the hilarity.

"No talking," Mauler reminded him with good humour before Luke could finish his retort. The young man bit on his tongue and rolled his eyes. The mirth was too contagious for him to feel offended, but it was hard to stop himself from talking back to their nonsense.

"I have an idea," Boomer said. "'Night Fury'."

Chaser snorted. "What? Have you looked at him?"

"That's the thing, it's supposed to be ironic," Boomer retorted. "Make him sound like a menace when he looks like sunshine incarnate."

There were a few snickers. Luke suspected his face was bright red.

"You can as well call him 'Sunshine' then, it would fit better," Torpedo said.

"You're not calling a Black Squadron pilot 'Sunshine', I'm sorry," Vil chimed in, sounding offended. "I forbid this travesty of a call sign."

Nobody protested Vil's words, to Luke's great relief.

"Sky Guy? Or Sky Walker?" Qorl threw, and Luke's heart stopped for a second. They couldn't possibly...

"Not bad, but a bit generic," Mauler said, and the young man breathed easier. "And I think Skywalker was the name of a Jedi in the Clone Wars – so that's a big no."

"Wait, wait, I know," Chaser thundered, gesturing with his ale and dropping some on Qorl seated next to him, who protested. "Oops, sorry, Qorl. How about 'Shooting Star'?"

Luke's stomach contorted uneasily. Memories of Tatooine sprang back on him, unavoidable, as the voice of his best friend made itself heard, laughing after a dangerous stunt in Beggar's Canyon.

Some of the others looked at each other in confusion.

"What for?" Torpedo asked.

"Arriving, instantly causing mayhem, then making you believe he's vanished without a trace when really he's just gone into trouble a bit further," Chaser retorted.

Everyone laughed, including Luke, who couldn't help himself. He knew exactly what Chaser was referring to.

"Now come on," he let out in the middle of his laughter, "that's really –"

"You're not supposed to talk," Boomer forcefully reminded him.

"I think I like that one," Vil said. "It's completely ridiculous but it suits him."

"It suits his flying style as well. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with him," Dark Curse added.

The others nodded or expressed their approval. "So I suppose that's settled?" Mauler asked, before the rest of the squadron confirmed. He raised his bottle. "To the new pilot of the Empire, Shooting Star!"

Everybody cheered, and Luke was given big claps in the back and a bottle of ale. They congratulated him, then just like that, it was over, everybody talking, celebrating both their victory and the christening of the youngest member of the squadron.

Luke participated in the merry-making for a while, then had to take a step out and sit a bit further. He stared at his ale, a little overwhelmed, and wondered if there was some bigger entity ruling the galaxy that enjoyed making fun of him. Of all the call signs, for them to give him that one was too much irony. Biggs's voice was ringing in his ears, clearer than he'd heard it in a long time.

We'll be a couple of shooting stars that'll never be stopped. He'd said that enthusiastically when Luke had told him that his aunt and uncle had finally accepted to let him go to the Academy. For this short time, their elation had erased all of their differences, and they'd been just good friends once more, without complications, overjoyed at the perspective of living a new adventure together.

How different things were now. It was painful to think about it. Not for the first time, Luke wondered what his childhood friend was up to. He hoped he was far away, having fun like Luke was doing now or flying without a care, working for the cause he believed in – the cause Luke was fighting against. He hoped he hadn't been here during the battle, that he wasn't trying to deal with their crushing defeat now, or worse.

The thought that Biggs could be screaming in torment a few stories beneath Luke's feet, at the same time as he was celebrating, was sickening.

"Hey. What's wrong?" Luke looked up to find Chaser dropping on the seat next to him. "You shouldn't be brooding all alone."

Luke shrugged, tried a smile. "Nothing. It's just a bit... much. Just a few hours ago we were out there, risking our lives, and now..."

Chaser nodded, looking down with his brow furrowed, smirking.

"Yeah. I get that. Sometimes I forget you're still just a rookie."

Luke punched his wingmate in the arm, and Chaser laughed. Luke's smile grew wider, and he took a swig from his beer, but his mood didn't completely lift.

Did the Rebels celebrate after they won battles too, count their kills with triumph in their voices? Did Biggs laugh with a bottle of booze, sharing stories with his comrades? Was he succeeding in thinking of Luke as nothing but a target to be brought down, something Luke himself was too weak to do?

Some shooting stars they were. More like wild comets Luke hoped were never going to collide.

"Hey, don't pout like that, I meant it as a compliment," Chaser said. He grew more serious. "You really flew well back then. Saved my life once or twice, I think."

Luke smiled, but couldn't hold his gaze. For a moment, he thought about telling Chaser of his doubts and his hesitations about the Rebels. Maybe his wingmate would have some more advice for him. Chaser had understood him before, he'd reassured his fears and told him he it would pass.

But it hadn't passed, and for the first time it dawned upon Luke that thinking about Biggs was dangerous. Talking about him would be even more so. These were things he couldn't trust anyone with, he realised with dismay, not even his own wingmate. He was on his own.

Luke was disgusted, ashamed of himself. He felt like a traitor, a coward. Biggs was a Rebel. He had chosen his side. It was high time Luke did the same.

But while his head was sure of his choice, his heart couldn't be tranquil.

"And look how you rewarded me," he joked instead. "I can't believe you tried to have me called Scrawny."

Chaser scoffed, smiling.

"Well, I promised it to you, didn't I? And I got you a better one in the end anyway."

This time Luke's smile was genuine.

"Come on." Chaser rose with a slap on Luke's shoulder. "You've been away from the party for too long. It's your party after all, Shooting Star."

Luke got on his feet. They were just turning to the others when a loud alarm sound blared into their ears. It made them start, drowned out the chatter of the conversations.

"What's this?" Luke shouted to make himself heard over the deafening noise.

The other pilots' faces were sour. The joyful atmosphere had vanished, replaced by a tense kind of concentration.

Battle concentration.

"Everyone to your ships," Mauler ordered. "We're under attack."

Chapter Text

Luke ran along the deck in rank with his squadmates, his helmet under his arm. Around him, other pilots were hurrying to their ships, the alarm blaring in their ears.

"What's happening?" Luke heard Vil ask Lt. Tanbris behind him.

"A small group of X-Wings are attacking the ship. Desperate survivors of the last assault, in all likelihood," the officer replied. "They're acting frantic and disorganised, but analyses of the attack show there might be a risk, and they're too small to be hit by turbolasers."

Next to Luke's ship stood a familiar shape, and he smiled seeing the small droid working on his snub. When he saw him arrive, Weefour uttered a series of happy bleeps.

"Everything ready, bud?" Luke asked. The droid whistled in what sounded like an affirmative. "Thanks!"

Weefour rolled away, directed by a mechanic. Luke put his helmet on, then climbed down into the TIE's cockpit and started preflight checks. The fighter's temperature was still warm from its previous flight.

He looked up through the octagonal windscreen. His stomach tightened when he caught sight of Darth Vader striding on the deck, his black cape floating behind him, everything in him screaming of danger and future destruction. The man climbed down his ship with surprising agility, considering his size. Luke looked away.

He was surprised Lord Vader was leading them even though they were only dealing with a few Rebels. Perhaps things were more serious than he had thought.

His checks complete, he was soon cleared out by flight control, and his TIE launched into space together with the other ships. He got into formation, Vader's voice giving them instructions through the comm.

"Stay close to weaponry and shields generators. It seems to be their primary target."

Closely following Chaser, Luke obeyed. He moved aside as a blast shot where he had been half a second before. Three Rebels were heading their way with heavy fire, and the both of them had trouble evading them. They flew a moment in that tight spot before three TIEs joined them. They cornered the X-Wings, and it looked like they would soon be destroyed; but in an incredibly daring manoeuvre, the Rebels turned around and fired at them, taking out two Imperials.

"They're madmen," Chaser said, his voice strained.

With gritted teeth, Luke watched out for him as best as he could. They stayed close to the generator, warding off countless attacks. The Rebels really were desperate, their assaults unpredictable and wild, and Luke had to pay extra attention in order not to lose control, relying way too much on his instincts as he escaped close call after close call.

Dark Curse and Cosmo soon joined them, but the Rebels were getting backup, too. Proton torpedoes fired in the air, and Luke noticed with dismay they had homing devices as one tailed him in the sharp turn he took. He spun and stayed close to the shield, exhaling a sigh of relief when it finally crashed down on the Star Destroyer.

"Shooting Star, I have one behind me," Chaser called him as he made circles around the command tower. "Grinder manoeuvre?"

"Roger," Luke answered, grinning both at the perspective of the manoeuvre and at hearing his brand new call sign.

He positioned himself behind the two fighters, shooting at the Rebel while taking care not to get into an angle where he could hit Chaser. He came closer to his enemy, the both of them tangled into a spin while Chaser took distance. The Rebel managed to escape him, only to end up into Chaser's range; Luke made a sharp turn away while the two engaged in combat, keeping watch of his ally and ready to take on their opponent should it get away. Finally, after such a few exchanges, they managed to corner the Rebel snub and to shoot him down.

"Phew, thanks," Chaser said, perfectly expressing Luke's own feeling, just as another couple of Rebels took them in chase.

Far too slowly for Luke's taste, they managed to take them down, but it felt as if there were always more enemies coming. Luke could feel fatigue slowly creeping on him, tension in his shoulders as he wasn't left any moment of respite.

"Starboard shield generator hit!" a voice rang through the comm.

Fear crept on Luke. For the first time, the very real possibility that they could not make it hit him in full force. It wasn't panic, like he had felt upon being confronted to combat for the first time, but a slowly-settling realisation happening while he was in full possession of his mind. In a sense, it was even more frightening.

A few Rebels couldn't win against a full Imperial Star Destroyer, he raged. That was ridiculous.

Completely surrendering to his instincts, he gave himself even more to the fight. A X-Wing attacking Silver fell under his fire, relief seizing him every time enemies exploded around him, crashing down on the white-painted surface of the gigantic ship. Maybe it would be over soon. Maybe in a few minutes they could go back home, the threat neutralised.

"Black Five, this is Black Four," he heard into his comm. There was a strange accent in his wingmate's voice. "I'm being sandwiched, you think you can help?"

Slightly below him on his left, Chaser was indeed cornered between two Rebels, and had trouble evading their fire.

"Sure thing, hold on," Luke replied before darting in his direction.

He fired off Chaser's opponent and joined him in formation, before the two of them separated, trying to force their enemies to do the same. The fight was now more evenly matched, and the two pairs of fighters soared into space, both trying to push their enemies in a place where they could take them down.

Luke let out a groan of discomfort. He had been split up from Chaser, and was tightly engaged with one of the Rebels. He couldn't get rid of it, even less shoot it, despite all his efforts. He could feel the Rebel was just as tense as him, but smiling in exhilaration, certain it was but a question of time before Luke fell under his fire. A wave of hatred overcame him.

"Kriff –" he heard Chaser through his comm, a slight hysterical edge to his voice. "I can't shake it!"

Luke swallowed, trying to catch a glimpse of his wingmate, who seemed to be in just as bad a position as him. Heart pounding in his ears, a foreboding knot in his guts, he staked it all and jerked up before firing blindly, attempting to startle his opponent into making a mistake. The X-Wing couldn't follow him, less agile than a TIE, and Luke finally managed to get a shot at him, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders when the Rebel blew up not too far from him.

Without losing a moment, he turned to join Chaser, darting full throttle to help him. His bad feeling intensified as he kept his eyes straight on the two ships grappling in front of him. There was a spike of panic, a scream in the comm, and Chaser's fighter went up in flames.

Luke set out after the Rebel, his throat choked up with a restrained howl. It wouldn't get out – not after – it wouldn't destroy any other of them. Luke would grind it into pieces before, he would make sure it would never cause any damage again –

Chaser's killer went out in a bright explosion, its debris disintegrating as they fell on the hull's shield.

Luke took altitude and attempted to regain control of his shaking hands. His heart was beating so fast it was painful, and he felt sick in his stomach. He flew in circles, seeking to help out anywhere he could, but the fight was slowly dying down. Only a handful of Rebels were left now, slaughtered or brought in one after the other by the remaining TIEs, who were still outnumbering them by far. Soon enough, Lord Vader called off the fight and ordered them to retreat.

This time Luke was among the last to come in. Some of the fighters around were badly singed, but casualties didn't seem to have been too high: of the three squadrons that had been sent out, Luke counted about thirty pilots who had come back.

Eleven from his own squad.

Luke took a glance at his squadmates without crossing any gaze. The flow of incoming pilots had stopped, there would be no one else coming back. As usual, the ones who had looked at each other, taking in the losses.

Luke already knew.

Eleven was good, he told himself. It meant nearly all the squadron made it.

Images of Chaser's fighter blowing up in the middle of space were stuck on his retina. Yet he still expected him to get out of his snub and punch his shoulder with a barb. He kept staring at the empty stack next to his own TIE, as if it could bring back the lost ship and its pilot...

He distantly heard Vader congratulating them. For once, the cold spreading in his chest didn't seem to come from his commanding officer's proximity. He looked at his chrono. The fight had barely lasted fifteen minutes... He remembered the instructors at the Academy telling them most rookie pilots didn't last long in their first battle. But Chaser wasn't a new pilot, this hadn't been his first battle... between the two, it was Luke who was the rookie.

The others were heading back to their quarters, but Luke didn't feel like following them. He looked at them from afar, heard a short and shaky laugh, too strong to be anyone else's than Boomer's. He hoped nobody would notice him staying behind.

He didn't want to move. He didn't want to talk, to pretend.

They didn't throw him a glance, and soon enough, he was the only pilot left in the hangar. Mechanics walked around him, tending to the crafts, but nobody questioned him or – even more peculiar – asked him to move out of the way. It was as if they didn't see him, as if he was a ghost. Luke indeed no longer felt part of the living world...

A questioning bleep, a bump into his shins tore him from his stupor. He looked down and managed a small smile for his droid friend.

"Hey," he whispered, setting a hand on the astromech's dome.

Weefour whistled again, an inquiry Luke couldn't make out the details of.

"You're right, buddy," he said anyway, letting the words flow from his mouth as if they had bypassed his mind. "I – I should go and – and take off my gear – bring it back..."

His sentence died out. He took a deep breath that had trouble going through his tight throat.

He looked at the closed hangar doors again, knowing the emptiness that lay behind, and was overwhelmed by the need to move.

"Come," he said to Weefour, his metal comfortably cool under Luke's hand as they left the hangar.
 

Darth Vader strode in the corridor, his mood foul enough to be sensed even by the most Force-blind individuals. Officers and troopers alike stepped aside to make way to him, and fear followed him like a shadow, but he hardly paid it attention. Fury simmered in him, boiling and ready to explode on the ones responsible for this debacle.

All the officers stood up when he entered the briefing room, their face as pale as sheets. They held themselves with perfect poise, but for once this did nothing but irritate Vader further. He didn't want to deal with pompous decorum.

"I want to know every detail about this glaring breech of security, now."

The men shakily sat down save for one who swallowed before answering, standing at perfect attention.

"More in-depth analyses of the attack have shown the Rebels were most likely coming from Praadost II, my lord. Stray ships that survived our previous attack..."

"That is impossible," Vader cut him off. "They were all destroyed or captured. I saw to it personally."

The man swallowed.

"That is what stood out of the reports, sir, considering the angle of attack and their behaviour. They were too few and too badly organised of it to be any kind of planned operation."

Vader turned away from the officer and paced around the table, his hands behind his back. He was certain there had been no Rebels left in the base he had stormed with his troops. It was impossible they had hid: the soldiers had explored every inch of the base, seeking both enemies to kill and prisoners to make. Even if they had somehow missed a spot, Vader was certain he would have heard their lives shining in the Force. The base had been completely empty when they had left it.

If this was the truth, it only left one possibility.

"Then there must be another hideout on the planet's surface. Captain Bolvan," he addressed a man with black hair, "contact the Praadost authorities and obtain their consent for a full sweep of the planet's surface."

The man acknowledged him.

"Have any of the attackers been brought in for interrogation?"

"Yes, sir, two of them."

"Good. Send me the data you already gathered on them, but do not go further than preliminary interrogation; I want to question them myself. What about the damaged shield generator?"

Another officer answered, a captain with a square jaw, answered.

"Superficial degradation only, my lord. The shielding was not affected, and repairs are being made as we talk."

That was good, Vader thought, slightly calmer. The thought of a handful of snub fighters damaging his flagship was infuriating. He was glad to know that would soon be remedied. Perhaps the situation wasn't as disastrous as he had thought.

"Send all relevant documents to me. You are dismissed."

He exited the room, leaving his officers behind. He walked towards his quarters at a measured pace, deep in thought. Much remained to be discovered about the Rebel assault. Strategically and tactically, this sort of suicide mission made no sense. Vader doubted there had been any higher command behind it. It would have been far more clever for any undiscovered Rebels to keep a low profile and wait for an opportunity to evacuate.

Unless there was another goal behind it. A diversion, or sabotage. It could be that the attack was but a clumsy attempt to divert their attention from something hidden on planet, a Rebel project of some kind. Another possibility was that they had sought to drive them away: had they succeeded to bring down their shield generators, Devastator would have been forced to leave combat and rejoin Kuat for extensive repair. It could be that whatever they knew of the secret Imperial weapon Vader was tasked to protect had been concealed there...

A familiar Force presence brushed against his senses, interrupting his musings. He stopped walking, surprised to find him here rather than in his quarters with the rest of his squadron, and looked around to find him.

There, in a small recess in the bulkhead, the small shape of the boy was sitting, facing the viewport. He was still dressed in his flight suit, and his helmet lay discarded at his side. An astromech droid Vader thought he recognised was standing next to him. He hadn't noticed Vader's arrival, giving him ample leisure to watch him.

He was sitting with his arms around his knees, his shoulders sagged in defeat and grief, his head tilted back as gentle starlight washed over his features. He was staring at space with a faraway look, and silvery tears streamed down his face without a sound.

The droid uttered a low, mournful noise. The boy turned his head to look at it for a few seconds, then put his arm around it and leant on it, his back starting to shake with silent sobs.

Transfixed, Vader couldn't look away, hit by the waves of helpless anger and distress the boy broadcast through the Force. The cause of his grief was hardly difficult to guess, especially knowing they just came back from battle. Casualties regularly happened, and were especially frequent in fighter squadrons. Rarely, however, did pilots display their grief in the middle of a corridor, or showed such raw feelings in public. Vader was suddenly reminded of how young Lars was, much younger than all his other pilots.

The very age his child would have been, had it lived.

Bitter irritation rose in him. The emotion coming from the boy resonated with him in an all too familiar way, hitting places inside him he had thought stripped of all sensitivity. Memories of another young man forced to grow up too fast, with too heavy a burden on his shoulders and too much pain in his heart, struck him uncomfortably. He too was well acquainted with sorrow and with grief.

He clenched his fists. What right did that boy have to weep when he was lucky enough to live, a chance his own child had been stripped of? Could he not appreciate the worth of the gift he had been given, did he have to make such a pathetic display of his misery, as if he knew anything of pain?

Taken by a cruel urge, he stepped forward, determined to humiliate him and remind him of his insignificance. Before he could utter a word, however, the droid bleeped a warning and the boy looked in his direction. His cheeks coloured and he jumped to his feet.

"My lord."

His voice was still hoarse, his eyes puffy and red with moist tracks obvious on his cheeks, but he attempted to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary nonetheless. The harsh words Vader had prepared to lash out against him died on his tongue, surprised by the rigour of his shining gaze.

"A rather odd place for stargazing," he said instead.

The boy looked away towards the viewport, his embarrassment obvious. In his presence stood out a touch of resentment, a strange dissonance with the rest of his feelings and with his behaviour. It intrigued Vader.

"I found it when I was grounded."

He seemed subdued and quiet, very different from the unruly, brash young man Vader knew. His distress was obvious to anyone with a grasp on the Force, to anyone with eyes really, yet he tried so hard to hold himself together Vader found himself unsettled. The droid gently bumped against his shins and the boy set a soothing hand on it, a tiny smile stretching his lips. A pang went through Vader's heart.

"Who died?" he asked.

Lars pressed his lips together. "My wingmate. Chaser. He –" He broke off and took a deep breath. "I apologise."

"You were close to him," Vader guessed.

Lars nodded, still looking down. Once again a spike of irritation shot through the Force. Vader found himself unable to look away from him, fascinated by his vulnerability.

"I should go back to my quarters," the boy said, his desire to leave strong in his whole posture. He turned away and crouched to pick up his helmet.

"Stay."

Lars froze, then slowly stood up. He didn't turn back to face him but reached out to the viewport pane, stars shining under his black glove. His hand closed into a fist and he sighed, bowing his head as he leant against the transparisteel.

"Why can't you leave me alone?"

The words were a mere whisper, no louder than a breath, but Vader heard them nonetheless. The boy's anger bloomed, and Vader understood it at last: it was his constant attention that made Lars feel trapped, helpless, overwhelmed by an obsession he couldn't understand.

"You wish I would?" Vader said, less to obtain an answer than to let the boy know he had been heard.

Lars started and shot him a fearful glance, then sighed, staring back through the viewport with a look of utter defeat. Vader probed him through the Force, making him shiver.

He should have been offended, should have lashed out at his insolence. But curiosity was too strong. The young man's shields were nearly non-existent, his grief too strong to hold it in or keep anybody out. Vader had never been so close to understanding him, discovering his secrets.

"Yeah," Lars answered in a strangled voice. "Why are you so fixated on me anyway? I'm nothing special. I'm just a farmboy who keeps messing things up. Why don't you just kill me instead of drawing it out?"

"I have... no desire to kill you."

The words came out of his mouth before he could think them through. He knew they hadn't always been true. He wondered when that had changed, when the way Lars surprised him and unsettled him had stopped irritating him and started intriguing him instead.

"Yeah, right," the boy let out in a shaky laugh. Vader awkwardly noticed the way his fingers absently rubbed his throat. "Maybe you should. I should have died in Chaser's place anyway."

Lars swallowed, and Vader remained silent and motionless. The last remains of the boy's shields had fallen; but now, faced at last with access to the depths of his mind, Vader couldn't bear to come closer.

"I was his wingman." His voice shook, and another flare of pain shot through the Force. "It was my job to protect him. I should have saved him."

He shut his eyes tight, still leaning against the viewport. Once more, unpleasant familiarity overcame Vader.

"Sometimes people can't be saved," he said, perhaps harsher than he should have. He should just send the boy back to his quarters, he shouldn't let himself be affected like this. Oh, he hated both his own weakness and the young pilot creating it. "This is war. People die."

"He used to say that. Lots of good it did him, with an incapable wingman."

There was a touch of anger in his mind, even though his body didn't move. He remained sagged against the transparisteel, his head down, his forehead on the viewport as if he wanted to drown himself among the stars.

"You underestimate your potential," Vader found himself saying, taken in despite all his efforts. "You have the seeds of greatness within you. They must only be given time to grow."

The boy turned back to glance at him, a sharpness to his gaze under which Vader felt strangely exposed. "Are you talking about this... Force thing again?"

"Yes," Vader replied, taking a step toward him. The boy looked away, but didn't move back. "You do not know how exceptional you are. Your skills are still dormant and unrefined, but once you develop them to their full maturity, you will shine brighter than any star in this universe."

Lars bit his lower lip and wiped his cheek with the palm of his hand. He looked up at him, and Vader was startled by the fire in his eyes.

"Would you help me use this... Force to become a better pilot? I won't hesitate any longer. The Rebels deserve to die. I want to defeat them, to defend the Empire the best I can."

Under his mask, Vader smiled in triumph. This was a query he hadn't expected to receive, and victory roared in his chest.

"You will be the best of them all. I will make sure of it."

Lars nodded and smiled at him in a way that made Vader's heart ache a little, before breaking the eye contact to look at his chrono. Vader's chest constricted, his own grief still roaring in his chest, even as the boy's seemed somewhat alleviated. What he wouldn't have given to have his own child look at him like that...

"Oh, I should really go back to my quarters," Lars said. "I don't want my squadron to worry..."

He looked at Vader, who waved him away. "You may go."

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed, then turned around and walked away. A few steps later, his pace faltered and he stopped, turning back once more to look at Vader, more unguarded hat Vader had ever seen him.

"Thank you, sir. I mean it," he said, somewhat clumsily but with a sincerity that couldn't be doubted. "I won't disappoint you."

As only response Vader tilted his head towards him. The boy watched him for a few more seconds, then went on his way.

Vader stayed motionless, staring at him. Discomfort awakened in his chest, mixing up with his satisfaction and the thousand other emotions raging inside him.

Chapter Text

Debriefing was a hassle.

It was held at the very start of the day-cycle in their usual meeting room, the one where they planned, reviewed, organised most of their operations, whether training or actual war movements. Luke had woken up early, and headed there as soon as he was ready, around thirty minutes before the scheduled time. The room was silent, and the quiet bore down on him. He was grateful for Mauler's order to prepare the electronics for the meeting. Maybe he should have taken another cup of caf.

He kept tinkering with the holodevice long after he had adjusted all the necessary settings. Machines were comfortable and familiar, soothing.

He had reviewed all the possible functions of the device and could probably install it in his sleep when the other pilots joined him for the debriefing. Forcing a smile, he greeted them and exchanged the usual morning pleasantries, but couldn't hold their gazes for very long. He wished for nothing more than for the meeting to start soon.

Once they all were present, Mauler entered the room and closed the door. Luke looked up, taking a second to search for the missing face before remembering why it wasn't there with a pang to his heart. He looked down again, angry against himself.

"Gentlemen, you know why we're here this morning," Mauler started. "This battle was unforeseen and unplanned, but it is in such conditions that we truly show what we're made of. It is an opportunity to learn. During the next hour, I want us to point out every mistake we've made, every move we could have performed better, every badly-weighed reaction we've had. Feedback is how we learn best, and I hope you can be as honest with me as I always try to be with you."

Each in turn, they chimed in, dissected the battle from their own point of view while Mauler was taking notes and completing with his own observations.

"I have a confession to make, I had no idea where the rest of the squad was most of the time," Silver said.

Vil and Qorl nodded.

"I had the same impression," thundered Boomer. "These Rebels were swirling around us like flies, I never had a moment to breathe or check out where my squadmates were."

"You're right," said Mauler, scribbling on his datapad. "It was difficult to keep track of each other's positions, mostly because of how the battle was so concentrated around the shield generators. We didn't have much time to organise our defence and it showed."

He raised his head and looked at them, the red light of his eye as intimidating as usual.

"I also think I was wrong to let you drink yesterday night. We didn't expect to take flight again, and that was a mistake."

A pang went through Luke's heart. Chaser had been one of the most enthusiastic pilots to toast to his new call sign.

He swallowed and breathed in. This wasn't going to help. He had to be better, stronger.

"I was surprised by the Rebels' tactics," he said. "We're used to coherent enemies who calculate risks roughly like we do. I was unbalanced by their recklessness. I guess there's a big space for improvement there."

"Very true," Mauler nodded, thoughtfully looking at him. "That's a pertinent remark. Dealing with erratic enemies is particularly challenging. Any idea how to better that?"

The whole squadron thought for a second.

"Reflexes," Luke said. "If we're not gonna be able to foresee what they plan, then our reaction time has to be shorter. We need to be fast."

"Absolutely," Mauler answered. "And constant attention. To surprise, but not be surprised. Anything else?"

They kept analysing the battle, recalling here and there a piece of theory or a useful squad formation; then Mauler checked his watch and closed the meeting.

"Okay, guys, this is where I leave you. Debrief's over. Let's all take it into account in our practice. Five minutes, then flight plan."

Luke was among the first to leave.
 

The hiss of the helmet depressurising, followed by the rush of oxygen-enriched air on his face, was an immense relief for Vader. He took a few feeble but deep breaths, enjoying the way his weakened lungs expanded on his command, as small as the movement was due to his condition. Backache was pounding into his spine, exhaustion spreading in all his muscles. Slowly the unpleasant feeling of disgust alleviated, but his fury didn't abate, potently simmering in the pit of his stomach.

The Rebels' interrogation had given him nothing, he fumed while wiping his slick gloves with a cloth. He had been unable to tear a single reliable piece of information out of the incoherent rambling, screams and pleas of the prisoners. No satisfying explanation of their plans, no hint to what they were hiding on-planet among all the ludicrous suggestions they had tried to feed him, and most importantly, no clue whatsoever to what they knew of the battle station being built systems away from here.

He would have to try again later, he darkly mused, pinching the bridge of his nose, but in his current anger he feared he might kill them before they gave him anything valuable. And considering what his next task involved, he needed to regain his composure.

He had received a message this morning from one of his aides, informing him the Praadost II authorities had refused to grant them authorisation to further access their territory. Unwilling to let it stand, and irritated by their pointless resistance, he had managed to appoint a holo-conference with them that very morning to discuss the matter. He had never been fond of nor particularly gifted at diplomatic negotiations, but it didn't matter. All he had to do was remind them of their Emperor's will and the Empire's might. Refusal on their end was not an option.

He took some more time to meditate and breathe before he sufficiently felt master of himself. Then he let the mask descend on his face again, red plastic filtering his vision once more. Once, the sensation of the helmet enclosing his head had sent him into bouts of panicked claustrophobia. It had been long enough now that he was completely used to it, although he doubted the feeling would ever be pleasant.

When he arrived at the conference room, five minutes before the scheduled appointment, two technicians who were operating the holoconsole were already present, working on the transmission. The lights were dimmed so that the image would be easier to see. Vader positioned himself in front of the transmitter.

Soon after, a cone of blue light flickered and transformed into a three-dimensional picture of two human women wearing elaborate ceremony clothing. They slightly bowed to him when the image stabilised.

"Lord Darth Vader," one of them greeted him coldly. "What an honour to meet you."

"Let us dispense with the pleasantries, President Samu'ul," Vader snarled. "I am here to obtain the right to investigate Praadost II that you thought appropriate to deny me."

President Samu'ul's face didn't betray any of her emotions; neither did her presence in the Force, hidden behind potent shields. A true politician, Vader reflected in disdain.

"I deeply regret to say we cannot grant you that. I thought we made our position quite clear. Your invasion of our planet was illegal and led to grievous destruction of our biotope, as well as harm to several citizens. We will demand compensation from the Empire, and are not prepared to accept another such violation from you."

"I have no patience for your claims. I am here on behalf of the Emperor, for critical galactic matters. Armed Rebel activity has been discovered on-planet, a capital offence in the terms of Imperial Decree VI-856. You will grant us access to your soil for further investigation if you do not wish to be punished as the traitors you are."

The president didn't seem surprised in the least by his accusation, which Vader had expected.

"If Rebels have set up on our territory, it is without our knowledge and consent. Our involvement cannot be proven. We are innocent, and will not stand by while you disturb the peace of our citizens this way. The allegation will be investigated, and you are welcome to send a representative to help the search and control our results, but Imperial military presence within our borders is –"

"Whether or not proof is sufficient to incriminate you will be left to my own appreciation." Vader interrupted her, waving a threatening finger at the hologram. "By decree of the Emperor I have been given full power to deal with situations involving insurgency as I see fit. You will comply or be made to step aside."

A flash of annoyance surged in the eyes of the Praadosian representative. Some reaction at last.

"You are making a grave mistake, Lord Vader. This course of action violates several interstellar conventions the Old Republic ratified long ago, before the Clone Wars, and that have not been abolished since then."

"The word of the Emperor prevails over all other treaties," Vader replied.

Samu'ul's companion let out a gasp of outrage, but the president raised a hand to prevent her from intervening.

"We will not abide by this," she said, raising her chin and looking Vader straight in the eye. "These treaties you hold in such contempt grant us powerful allies. You will not get away with this."

"I look forward to this future encounter, then." Vader gave her a mocking bow, smirking behind his mask when the woman's irritation finally slipped through. "In the meantime, I would be grateful for you to lower your planetary protections. If this is not done within a standard week, assault shall be given."

Samu'ul threw him an icy glare.

"The message is duly received and will not be forgotten," she said, before the communication flickered and died.

Contact was cut, the lights returned to their normal intensity, but Vader didn't immediately move. He would have preferred to deal with this without involving any other planets, but if the Praadosians insisted on being difficult, he would do what he needed to. He had no doubt Praadost's allies would be no match for Imperial power. Nevertheless, the treaties would have to be researched, the threat analysed, so that they knew exactly what they were facing and could ask for reinforcements if need be.

"Send me the transcript of the transmission," he curtly ordered one of the technicians, leaving the room before he could even answer.

He walked out and took the direction of his quarters. This was infuriating. It seemed like everything concurred to prevent him from learning what the Rebels were hiding. For a moment, he wondered if the Praadosians were not directly involved and actively trying to protect them, but he quickly discarded the thought. It didn't matter whether or not they were complicit; for daring interfere with his goals, they would be punished.

He was taken out of his thoughts when a short figure nearly walked into him. The officer stopped himself just in time with a look of terror on his face, then took a step back and put himself at attention. Vader nearly lashed out in irritation, then stopped himself when he recognised the young features.

"My lord – I'm sorry."

Vader took his time watching him, taking some vicious pleasure to prolong his apprehension. Clearly the boy was still afraid of him, but it seemed to have diminished. He mostly seemed busy, his mind still focused on his work after being interrupted, two flimsibooks under his arm.

"Has nobody taught you to look in front of you when you walk, Ensign?" he asked, letting his displeasure filter through his vocoder.

"I was distracted, sir. I apologise."

He didn't move, his gaze elusive. Vader let him stew for a few more seconds then waved him away.

"Apology accepted. You may go."

The boy relaxed, but surprisingly enough he didn't hurry away as soon as he could. Instead he looked up tentatively at Vader.

"My lord? I was wondering if, uh, if your offer of yesterday still held..."

Ah. Yes. Vader immediately remembered the night before, the boy's grief, his acceptance of his offer to guide him in the ways of the Force.

"Join me at 1500 in the simulators' room," he said.

A flash of surprise and anticipation burst in the Force, despite Lars' efforts to keep a straight face. Vader smiled: his efforts – at last – to learn some restraint were honourable, but he still had a lot to learn.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be there," Lars said.

Vader nodded, and the boy walked away.

This would certainly prove interesting. The boy was a creature of deep instinct and emotion, boiling right under the surface, ready to spring at the slightest provocation, as he had already showed numerous times. Vader was curious to see how he would react to the dark side, how the passions he hid in the deepest corner of his heart would manifest into the Force.

He was looking forward to it.
 

Luke was already feeling more upbeat when he came back to the squad's meeting room, where the rest of the pilots were waiting for him for weather and safety briefing. He set his burden on the table.

"There it is, sir. Complete description of Praadosian weather, with charts of aerial currents and of the main winds as updated by our sensors. Oh, and here's the digital version," he added, taking a datachip from his pocket and handing it to Mauler.

"Thank you."

Mauler plugged the chip in the holoprojector and turned it on. The shape of the planet they were orbiting, now familiar, appeared in front of them.

"Keep this quick, we've already flown in this airspace, so we already know the basics. What are the previsions for the next week, what do we need to watch out for?"

Luke answered, using the diagram to illustrate at times, and the charts when questions came up. A mere twenty minutes later, the briefing was over.

The young man sighed and took a moment to stretch. He understood weather meetings and planning sessions were important, but they'd been busy at it since the morning and Luke was antsy for some actual action.

Speaking of action... He stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. It was 1450: in ten minutes he had his appointment with Vader.

His stomach turned uneasily and he wondered, like he had done several times before, if this was such a good idea after all. The last times he had found himself with his commanding officer hadn't exactly happened the best of ways... He shivered.

But surely this was stupid. If Vader hadn't killed him before – when he talked back at every opportunity, when he had nearly disobeyed his orders – he wouldn't do it now. And here was at last the opportunity to learn about that strange sixth sense of his, what Vader called the Force. He had grown to realise this was more than excellent reflexes, this was an actual ability of his, something special, and apparently Vader knew about it.

He had promised himself to do better, to learn to be as best a pilot as he could. This was the first step. Luke rose up and left for the simulators' room.

The lights were off when he entered. Good, he thought, that meant he was on time. Vader certainly appreciated punctuality. He went to the switch to turn them on, but before he even touched it the lighting flared to life.

"Welcome, young one."

Luke whirled on himself to see Vader standing next to the simulators, baffled at the humour he thought he heard in his voice. Had he done that on purpose?

"Lord Vader, I – uh – hi."

He winced, trying to calm his beating heart. That had to be the most lame greeting of all existence. Vader didn't remark on it, though. He went right at the heart of the matter.

"Before we start, I need you to answer a question I already asked you."

That wouldn't be the first time, Luke thought, his stomach roiling uncomfortably at the memories of the long sessions in Vader's quarters.

"What do you know of the Force?"

"Not a lot, sir," Luke answered. "I gathered from what you told me that it was the thing that helped my reflexes in flight, but otherwise, I don't know."

Vader tilted his helmet down towards him.

"It is that, and much more," the rumbling bass replied. "The Force is what binds the universe together. It surrounds and penetrates all of us, it is part of every living being in existence. Life creates it and cannot exist without it. It is an entity of great power, a power that can be harnessed by those strong enough."

"Strong?" said Luke. With his slender frame and his short size, he certainly couldn't be considered strong in the common sense of the term, although his training hopefully allowed him to hold his own against most civilians.

"Not in the physical sense," Vader said, confirming his thoughts. "The Force is present in all life, but some are more sensitive to its currents than others. You, young Lars, are very strong with the Force."

Luke nodded, already overwhelmed.

"So, because I'm, uh, strong with the Force, that what's gives me so good reflexes?"

"Yes. You have only started to tap into that power. The well of possibility at your fingertips is endless; with time and practice... But enough talk. Get into the cockpit. I will show you."

Luke hurried to obey and wrapped his hands around the controls. Outside the simulator, Vader was tinkering with the interface, choosing a training programme.

"Close your eyes," he ordered. Luke complied. "Take deep breths. Be conscious of your body... your feet, lungs, fingertips. Let your feelings wash over you."

Luke took the time to complete the strange exercise. There was a vibration in all of his limbs that he had never noticed. He felt relaxed, but poised for action.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," Luke said, opening his eyes.

Vader launched the countdown, and Luke grasped the controls tighter, adrenaline rushing in his guts. Three, two, one – and it began.

He was in space around some kind of planet, but he didn't have time to watch the scenery. An enemy fighter came at him, then a second. Luke's heart missed a beat. He rolled aside but the enemy followed him easily. Luke bit his lip, looped, fired at them without success. A third one appeared on his scopes, close on his tail. Luke barrel-rolled, turned left and right, but nothing hit the opponents. He was dead a breath later.

The screen went dark. Luke fought to regain his breath, his heart pounding, his hands trembling.

"What – what was that thing?"

"Your goal and assignment for today. Destroy all the enemies," Vader replied.

"But there are so many of them! This is impossible!" protested Luke. How was he even supposed to last a minute in this absolute hell of a simulation?

On his left, Vader stared him down with his arms crossed in front of him. Luke balled his fists.

"So quick to give up, then?"

"I'm not giving up!" retorted Luke. "It just would help if you gave me an exercise that is possible!"

Vader didn't answer him. Luke suddenly realised what tone he'd just used with his commanding officer. He looked down, rubbed his throat.

"I'm sorry."

"No matter," Vader said. "Are you ready to try again?"

Luke pinched his lips and nodded, despite the fact he was very much not ready for that.

Once again the countdown started, once again it was over before Luke could react. He did it over one, three, five times without noticing any improvement. After the eighteenth time, he sighed and left the cockpit, simmering in frustration and anger.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do it. I just can't," he said.

He sat down on the bench at the side of the room, ragingly wiping his brow. He didn't understand what Vader was doing, why he was putting him through this. All his teachers had always started slow with the basics before increasing the difficulty, building skills up. Of course it had always been quick, because training was supposed to be demanding, but nothing had even given him this impression of utter helplessness. He felt incapable, terrible at what he was doing, which was incredibly discouraging. If he couldn't fly, what could he do?

"You have barely been at it for fifteen minutes," remarked Vader. "Already you expect results?"

Luke looked up at him, frowning. He hadn't thought of it that way. Of course, put like that, it seemed ridiculous.

"No, sir," he begrudgingly said, even though it wasn't completely true. He had always obtained results quicker than the norm. "But I don't know how to improve."

"Do it again, and again, and again. There is no other way. Not once have you tried to open yourself to the Force."

He was right, Luke realised. So taken had he been in his panic, he hadn't thought of using his sixth sense at all, despite it being the very thing he had come to learn. Luke wanted to slap himself in the face.

"How do I do that?" he asked. "I don't have enough time to concentrate."

"Time is unnecessary. Your emotions will make it possible, high as they are running. Your senses will betray you; the Force is the only thing you can rely on."

Luke nodded, his courage coming back. He rose up and returned in the sim's chair, decided to put Vader's advice into practice and to succeed this time. He took a deep breath in, then let it out.

"Close your eyes," said Vader.

Luke frowned, but obeyed. The countdown started and he opened his eyes again, startled. He gripped his controls tighter, watched as the numbers came down.

"Keep them closed."

He wanted to protest the ludicrous idea – how was he supposed to pilot without seeing? – but his fighter was about to be launched and there was no time. Eyes squeezed shut, he fired blindly at the other ships, and was shot down even faster than before, without surprise. He watched the screen again and prepare for the next attempt.

Luke frowned when the simulation didn't start over. A look at his commanding officer made his stomach freeze. Vader was standing with his arms crossed, looking down at him. Luke didn't utter a word.

"Have you come to learn, Ensign Lars, or merely to play in the simulators?"

The words were like a blow in Luke's stomach. He swallowed.

"I –"

"You are not listening to a word I say. You keep doubting and questioning my advice. If you cannot trust me to teach you anything, you are welcome to leave and stop wasting my time."

Luke looked down. Vader's orders seemed ludicrous, and he had no idea how it was supposed to help him most of the time, but he was right. If Luke wanted to learn from him, he actually had to follow his advice.

Out of the blue, he remembered his first battle. He had been so sure back then that the course of action Vader ordered him would only lead to disaster, but it had allowed them to destroy the Rebel base. Perhaps this was the same: odd advice for unexpected results.

"I apologise. I really want to learn from you," Luke said. "I will make an effort."

"Good," Vader answered, and Luke thought he seemed placated. "The craft of the Force is one of instinct. In order to learn it, one must set aside all preconceptions. You must not only do what I tell you; your mind and heart, too, must be at it."

Luke nodded. He understood, he would do better.

"Again," Vader said.

Without a word, Luke turned back to the simulator's screen, his stomach jittering.

"Now close your eyes. Breathe in, and out. Connect to your environment; feel the machines, feel the electricity running through them, feel me."

Luke complied, guided by Vader's voice. It was a nebulous image, and he didn't know if he really felt his surroundings or just imagined them, but it was a start.

The simulation started again, but this time Luke didn't open his eyes.

As soon as his ship was launched, he turned on his right, then did a barrel roll before hearing fire coming just next to his craft. He took speed, pulled up, fired; one enemy ship was destroyed. But it wasn't over, he knew another was coming at him. He plunged again, turned left, right, rose once more, the ship still following him. He gritted his teeth, jerked aside, cursed as he felt the heat of the blast come too close, fired a bit too late, one second before turning into space dust again.

"Better," Vader said, and he dared open his eyes once more. "Much better."

Luke nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I think I get it now. But I still didn't manage to destroy more than one."

"Then you must start again," Vader said, and Luke was in for one more round.

The next try lasted closer to three minutes, so did the one after, but Luke never managed to take down more than one enemy, sometimes still getting killed before scoring any hit. It was starting to wear on him, strain and stress and frustration slowly building up.

Once more he was starting to wonder if the task truly was possible.

"Use your anger," Vader told him. "Take it, connect to it, fuel your power with it."

Luke gritted his teeth and obeyed. He was one with his craft, the simulation was all around him, and he reacted before his brain had time to register what was happening. The buzzing of the machine's electricity filled his ears, prevented him from thinking. There was no past, no future, only the present in which annoying opponents were trying to take him down.

But he wouldn't let them. He owed it to Chaser to survive.

Finally, after what felt like hundreds attempts, Luke managed to destroy all enemy ships. He stared at the screen in disbelief for a few seconds, his heart thundering in his chest, his hands clammy with sweat, but euphoric.

He rose up and grimaced when his legs unfolded. His surroundings were spinning. Everything looked much more intense than it was before, as if the world had gained in reality while he flew.

"Very good," Vader praised him. "Go back to your quarters, get some food and rest. You have earned it."

Luke thanked him, utterly exhausted. He barely managed a nod before leaving the room, his balance slowly coming back. He distractedly looked at his watch, and gaped when he saw the time: Vader had kept him for eight hours.

No wonder he was so tired, he thought. It was the most intense training session he had ever received. But he was happy. His flying had improved so much, he had never imagined there were so many things he could do with just a ship.

He fell asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow.

Chapter Text

Luke bit his lower lip in concentration, a hand in his shortly cropped hair. He looked down at the training report he had to submit, thought for a second, then typed a few words on the form. Writing still didn't come naturally to him, despite the many times he'd had to do this. The most common phrases and standard formulas he could manipulate easily enough, but it still sounded stilted, clumsy to him. He supposed it didn't really matter as long as the point came across.

He huffed with a small smile. This would always remain the least fun part of his job, he was sure of it.

He absently reread what he had and typed a few corrections. He was looking forward to finishing this and finally get some free time, which had all but disappeared even since he'd started training with Lord Vader. As a result, his administrative duties had piled up to the point it had become discouraging to tackle. But he knew he'd have to face sanctions if he didn't take care of it soon, and thus he worked on it as soon as his hectic schedule allowed it.

He skimmed over the form a last time, then sent it onwards with relief. It was the last one, he was free.

Luke yawned and stretched, then let his arms fall down. Yes, he was free, but that left him wondering what to do now. The paperwork was sent, he had already worked out, and practising in the sims was out of the question: he needed to keep his energy for his session with Lord Vader, a little later that day. He thought long and hard again, but always came to the same baffling conclusion: he actually didn't have anything he needed to do.

He looked around him, a little lost. It had been so long since he'd had actual free time. He didn't feel like bothering his squad today. Before, he'd usually go and see if anyone was up for a chat or a game; often Chaser would have been with them and teased him about slacking off...

A pang shot through Luke's heart. No, he didn't feel like joining the squad today.

He slouched on his chair and put the balls of his hands on his eyes, fighting the flow of emotions that came back in full force now that he was no longer distracted from them. He couldn't break down now, in this empty meeting room where anyone could come in at any time. He'd come here to find silence to concentrate, but it turned out that once there was nothing left to focus on, the quiet was just making it difficult for him to avoid his grief.

Luke pursed his lips and took a deep breath. There was a hollow space in his chest, and he wondered if it would go away eventually. He wasn't sure he wanted it to, not if it meant forgetting his wingmate... He stared fixedly at the table, barely noticing the patterns his hand was tracing on it.

He knew Chaser wouldn't want him to wallow in sorrow like this. He'd want him to keep fighting, to survive and help them win this war, and Luke had every intention to do just that.

It didn't make any of it easier.

"Damn you," he whispered to the empty room. "So typical of you, to leave me the hardest job."

Nobody answered him, but Luke could see his wingmate smirk anyway, the smug look on his face as he'd tell him it forged character for rookies to take on the meanest tasks. Luke laughed to himself, his heart bursting with melancholy, unable to know which of mirth or sadness was strongest in him.

He heard footsteps approaching and looked towards the door.

"There you are!" Silver said. "No one has seen you since morning, we were wondering if there was a problem."

Luke gave him a small smile.

"Paperwork," he joked. "It's always a problem."

Silver smiled back.

"We're having a short lunch break with the rest of the squad. Wanna join us?"

Luke looked down, bit his lip. He didn't really want to, but couldn't find a good reason not to go.

"Uh, sure. I'll join you as soon as I finish this," he gestured at his datapad.

Silver frowned, looked down at the datapad, then back at Luke.

"Can I help with that? You've been pushing yourself so hard lately. Wouldn't a break do you good?"

Luke looked away. Silver was being so nice to him, and here he was lying to him, just making excuses.

"It's all right. I'll be fine. Thanks."

He hoped his squadmate would let it go and just leave. He could feel his composure slipping, and the last thing he wanted was to show it. Luke was so tired of being the youngest of the squad, looked after and teased mercilessly in equal parts. But the worst was that in moments like these he did feel like that green and naive boy, affected by tiny things, sensitive and weak. He hated it.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up.

"Thinking about it over and over won't help," said Silver, and Luke couldn't tell if he was talking about his paperwork lie or if he'd worked out what was really troubling him. "Come on, company will cheer you up."

"I don't need to be cheered up," Luke stubbornly replied.

"I suppose that's why you're holed up here all on your own?" Silver said, his eyebrows rising.

Luke looked him in the eye for a second, then looked away and sighed.

"All right. I'm coming."

"Such enthusiasm. You really like us a lot, don't you."

Luke's cheeks heated up. He hadn't really thought about how his moodiness would be read by the others.

"Silver, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant," he said. "Of course I enjoy spending time with you guys, it's just..."

Silver shook his head and threw him a smile, interrupting him.

"I wasn't being serious. I know what you're going through. It's just easier to go through it together, you know?"

Luke nodded, the corners of his lips turning up. He was feeling lighter already. Maybe company really was what he needed, like Silver said.

When they arrived in the squad's main rooms, the others were all around the table and had started their meal. They took a seat in the empty chairs. Luke found himself sitting next to Boomer, who set a hand on his forearm.

"Shooting Star!" he thundered, and Luke couldn't help a wince at the volume so close to his ear. "Where did you disappear?"

"Just work," Luke said. "We can't all be slacking all day long."

"If you were as efficient as you were cocky, you'd get stuff done in half the time," Boomer retorted.

Luke laughed. He held out his hand to take a piece of bread and made himself a ham sandwich.

"Man, I'm famished. Who went to the mess for the food?"

"Torpedo," said Boomer. "He replenished the cooling unit yesterday since, you know, you didn't."

Luke cringed.

"Yeah, sorry, it slipped out of my mind... I'll be more careful about it."

"Next time I need to do your job in your place I'll eat your food too," Torpedo said from across the table. Luke couldn't find a proper comeback, and instead made a note not to forget again. Vader's lessons might take up a lot of his time, but it didn't mean the others weren't busy too.

The conversation veered to light-hearted chatter and Luke laid back in his chair, enjoying the moment. Cutting himself from his squadmates had been a mistake. Silver was right: he had pushed himself much too hard.

He was eating the last of his bread when Mauler rose up.

"Boys, this was nice, but we've still got a lot to do, so let's gather in the meeting room in five for mission briefing."

Mission briefing? Luke mused. So soon after the last one? What could it be about? Curious, he rose from his chair and helped the others tidy the table before they all headed to the meeting room together.

As they walked in the corridor, a cold Force tendril came to nudge and probe Luke, who shivered. He frowned.

"Huh. Lord Vader's briefing us himself? That's unusual..."

Vil, who was walking next to him, threw him a confused look.

"Lord Vader? What are you talking ab... oh."

The man couldn't be missed, towering as he was at the end of the room, talking with Lt. Tanbris. Mauler came up and exchanged a few words with them while everybody else took a seat. Luke sat down at the end of the table, not quite in front of Vader, somewhere where he could hopefully not be noticed too much. Finally Mauler sat down too, Lt. Tanbris stood on the side, and Vader started to speak.

"Multiple clues, including the last senseless Rebel attack, lead to think that the outpost discovered on Praadost II was not the only thing the planet is concealing. We believe there remains Rebel activity on-planet. As such, a complete sweep will be needed."

He pressed a button, and the now familiar shape of the planet started slowly rotating in front of them.

"You will be on the first line, the spearhead who will scan the surface of the planet for anything suspicious. Under you, a ground team will perform their own search; your job will be to assist them and protect them."

He paused and looked at them.

"As the Praadosian authorities have not seen fit to allow investigation, resistance is to be expected. Other squadrons will be standing by near the planet to repel external threats. You, however, will be the only ones being in direct contact with the ground team and collaborating with them personally."

They nodded, frowns of concentration on their faces. Luke stared absently at the turning planet, not knowing too well what he was feeling. He hoped they would find out what the Rebels were concealing, what was so important to them down there that they had dared attack a Star Destroyer in such a disorganised and foolish way.

A wave from Vader's hand made several points appear on the globe, and he started to explain the plan in more detail. Luke bit back a smile. What a show-off to use the Force for this, when pressing another few buttons would have had the very same result! Plus nobody knew what he was doing anyway; Luke was pretty sure he was the only one who had noticed the trick.

Suddenly reminded his commanding officer had the power to read thoughts, he threw him a fearful glance. Thankfully, Vader didn't react. Luke brought his attention back to the meeting.

After answering the squad's questions, Vader closed the briefing. He headed through the door, eliciting a shiver through Luke when he passed him by. He was getting more and more used to Vader's presence, but its intensity remained overwhelming.

As on an afterthought, Vader stopped before reaching the threshold and turned towards him.

"Ensign Lars. Simulators room in –" he trailed off for a second, "ten minutes."

"Yes, my lord," Luke answered, ignoring the gazes of his squadmates on him. Vader had brought their meeting forward by a good half-hour.

Vader nodded then left, and the room breathed. Unfortunately, like Luke had expected, so did the questions.

"Simulators room? With Lord Vader? What for?" Boomer asked.

Luke swallowed. He hadn't really planned on telling the others about this. How did one explain the Force? He couldn't possibly talk about his sixth sense. They'd all think he was crazy... He decided to settle on a half-truth instead.

"Flying lessons," he said. He stared Boomer in the eye for a second then looked away, expecting the rest of the reactions.

"Flying lessons?! Why? You don't need them!"

"I do, actually," Luke muttered in response to Torpedo.

"I don't think Lord Vader has ever tutored someone privately before, you must be something special."

"Is it a reward or a punishment for the way you tend to behave?"

"Guys, please," Luke intervened, without any idea what he could tell them. Mauler was the only one who wasn't looking at him, busy as he was gathering his notes and turning off the holoprojector. "I'm not really sure either, okay? I just told him I wanted to be a better pilot, he offered to teach me, I accepted. That's all there is to it."

"That's why we barely see you these days?" said Vil. "You're running yourself dry."

"Yeah," Luke answered. Mouths opened for more questions, and Luke hastened to interrupt them. "Listen, can you guys not just ask me all about this right now? I really don't want to be late."

"I agree," Mauler said when he arrived at their level, "gossiping like old Dathomirian witches, the lot of you. Move along, you're standing in the way."

Mauler left. There were a few looks thrown both between the squadmates and at Luke, then they all went out of the room without any more comment, to Luke's great relief. He was about to cross the threshold himself when Dark Curse set a hand on his arm.

"You all right?" he asked.

Luke smiled. "Yes, thanks, why?"

Dark Curse didn't answer, thoughtful. He glanced down at Luke's throat, and Luke brought down the hand rubbing it, suddenly self-conscious.

"You've made a habit of that," the older pilot remarked.

Luke shrugged, fighting the heat in his cheeks. "Oh, well. Hadn't noticed."

There was an awkward silence. Luke looked around, trying to find a distraction.

"Lord Vader did it, right?"

Luke froze. "What?"

Dark Curse gestured to his throat, his hawk nose making him look like a sinister bird.

"That time you came back to our quarters and you could barely speak. It was Lord Vader, wasn't it?"

Luke pressed his lips together, looking down. Dark Curse gently squeezed his arm, but Luke didn't feel comforted, just overwhelmed. He retracted it, and Dark Curse took a step back.

"I apologise. This is none of my business. I just wanted to help."

"It was," Luke blurted out. He looked Dark Curse in the eye again. "Lord Vader did that. But it was a long time ago, I'm fine now."

He held his squadmate's gaze, trying not to flinch. At last, Dark Curse nodded, still looking rather unconvinced.

"All right. You know we're here if you need anything, even just talking."

Luke smiled and nodded but didn't answer before leaving the room.

He hadn't lied to Dark Curse. It was a long time ago, he was fine. Why did he need to stir up the past anyway? If Luke's heart still beat a little too quickly, if his chest still felt a little tense whenever he needed to spend several hours alone with his commanding officer, it had nothing to do with that.

He was such a fool. Vader had been nothing but an excellent teacher up until now. Luke's flying skills had expanded drastically, he was starting to feel the Force more and more acutely, around his squadmates, outside in space, everywhere in the ship. That glance into a brand new world was too exhilarating to pass up.

Challenging regulations, he launched into a jog to reach the sims room on time. As he had expected, Lord Vader was already there. He probed him in the Force as Luke entered, something the young man had started to interpret as a kind of wordless greeting. Luke threw a look at the clock: he was two minutes early.

"Come," Vader gestured to him. "Before we start, I want you to perform a different exercise. Sit down on the deck."

Luke hesitated for a fraction of a second, then obeyed and sat not too close to Vader, his legs crossed. He felt even smaller than usual, compared to the giant that was his commanding officer.

"Set your hands on your knees and close your eyes. Breathe in and out, reach out for the Force, connect with it."

Luke complied, finding it a little difficult to relax at first with Vader towering just above him. Soon enough, however, he was swept in the familiar feeling of his respiration, lulled into regularity by the slow rhythm of Vader's own mechanical breath. He reached out with his sixth sense, a practice that had become easier, and felt the Force waiting for him at the tip of his ethereal fingers, warm and moving.

"Now scan your surroundings. Expand your perceptions."

Without even thinking, Luke did as asked. He heard the hum of the machines and the electricity coursing in the wires, saw the lights on Vader's own suit flickering, coordinated in a complex process he couldn't begin to understand. But more prominent than anything else, he felt the life thrumming in the both of them and in the soldiers outside the door, linking them all.

"Wider still... Feel the entirety of the ship. Even beyond, if you can: the stars, the planet, the wildlife on it."

Incredibly, Luke could perceive it all around him, like a flux of never-ending energy. He saw colours, and light, so much light, as if he was bathing in the sun.

He opened himself some more, and another presence made itself known to him, a powerful mass of swirling smoke. Instinctively, he knew it was Vader's; he reached out, curious. Vader's presence intertwined with his, tendrils of pure Force curling around his own, pulsating at the same time. Vader took the lead, guiding him in their exploration.

Luke sank deeper in this strange state. His heartbeat was the only physical thing he was still aware of, for it linked him to the expanding novas of their presences. Around him, everything was Force: he dove at the bottom of the ocean, soared at the highest point of the sky; he was caught in the burning mass of slowly boiling plasma exploding in a star or in a volcano.

Visions started to appear to him, twisting and whirling around him so fast his head was spinning. A thousand different futures and past mixed together, time having lost all of its meaning. He saw despair, and pain, and joy. He saw destinies unfurl and crash. He saw the start and the end of the universe, and the core of all power, of all life and death together. He saw himself as a small farmer or a radiant god, he screamed in torment and laughed in euphoria. He hurt, overwhelmed by the weight of knowledge.

The vision became more precise. He was kneeling on the cold floor, unable to move, feeling like fire had replaced the blood in his veins. He was being shouted at, but he couldn't respond, couldn't do anything but scream and beg as the agony flared up again...

Then as soon as it had started, it stopped. He was back in his body, panting, filled with an immense sense of dread. For an instant, all he could see was Lord Vader taking a threatening step towards him, towering over him in intimidation; then even this fleeting impression passed. He blinked and exhaled.

"Wow," he breathed. "What – what was that?"

"The Force," Vader answered. "Its true nature and might. That is the power you might one day wield."

Luke looked down, shaking. He wasn't about to admit it, but the experience had been terrifying. The last vision remained etched into his body, the pain, the helplessness... What did it mean? Was it the future he had seen or the past? Or was it a warning with some kind of deeper meaning? He didn't know. He felt as if his brain had been overloaded with so much information it couldn't treat it, and only the sense of pure awe remained in him. The Force truly was overwhelming...

But at the same time, despite how unbalancing and frightening his foray into its folds had been, Luke had felt... lured by it. Attracted. It wasn't everyday that one was faced with the deepest truth of the universe... He didn't quite know how yet, but he was confusedly aware it had changed him on some level.

"Now I believe you are here to learn how to fly."

Luke didn't need to be told twice. He jumped on his feet, relieved to be back to something more normal, and slipped in the seat of the simulators, grounding himself by feeling the controls in his hands.

As usual, the simulation was extremely difficult. Luke gritted his teeth as he avoided his enemies, tried his best to keep his grasp on the Force. It seemed to constantly elude his efforts, as if his recent excursion so deep in it had unbalanced him, made him unable to reach out for it properly any more.

The smokey tendrils of Vader's presence laced with his again, showing him the way. Luke took his lead, and managed effortlessly to complete the exercise.

"Again," Vader said.

The simulation started again. This time, Luke was alone as he sunk into the Force. Vader's presence was still near him, but he was satisfied to nudge him from time to time in the right direction, while Luke expanded his own tendrils into the intricacies of the program's code. He saw how the enemies were designed to react to his movements, noticed the patterns in their behaviour. An idea sprung to his mind, and he smiled. He was pretty sure this wasn't totally playing by the rules, but then, nobody had forbidden it to him either.

Using the Force, he closed his eyes, and went past the individualised avatars of his opponents to focus on the bigger picture. He went through the lines of code, seeking to understand the algorithm itself rather than its results. A close push at the right place, into the circuits of the machine itself, and all the enemy fighters exploded at the same time.

Luke opened his eyes, and couldn't repress a grin when he saw the numbers displayed on the dark screen. He hadn't even thought that score was possible to obtain.

"Good," Vader said. "Very good."

Luke didn't answer. Vader's hands were set on his shoulders, he had probably set them there during the simulation. The young man tensed involuntarily at the contact, but nothing happened. His probe on Vader's emotions read positive and contented, and so he managed to relax again, even leaning into the touch a little. The weight wasn't actually unpleasant; it even felt rather comforting.

However, the moment didn't last. As if he'd suddenly realised what he was doing, Vader took a step backwards, away from Luke. He stepped to the simulator's controls, typed in a few commands, and the second after Luke's score had disappeared.

"There is no need to keep in memory a score that would only lead to unwanted questions."

Luke absently nodded. He looked at his commanding officer, still not certain how this situation had come about, or whether it wasn't just a strange dream. His hand was mechanically rubbing at his throat.

"I don't understand," he said. "Why do you help me so?"

Vader's mask shot up, stared him in the eye for a moment during which Luke felt incredibly small.

"Do you regret coming to me for training?"

"No, not at all," Luke hurried to answer. "It's just... I don't get it. I don't have anything special."

Vader looked at him without moving, his shields up, so that Luke had no idea what he was thinking. His heart started beating faster, and he wondered if he had somehow said something he shouldn't have. He considered apologising and retracting his question; he dearly hoped whatever insolence he had committed this time wouldn't be punished. But Vader didn't do anything, didn't lash out in anger, and remained watching him, masked slightly tilted.

"Don't you feel it, young one?" he finally said, slowly, his voice impossibly low. "Our fates are linked. Your destiny lies with me."

A shiver ran through Luke; of fear, anticipation, or helplessness, he couldn't say. All he knew was the truth of these words resonating in the Force in an all too final way.

Unable to speak, he silently stood there, uncertain of what the future would bring. He looked his commanding officer in the eye, who was just as unmoving, just as awkward as him in the uneasy quiet that had settled between them. He offered a shaky smile, feeling for the first time the premises of a deeper understanding grow between them.

Chapter Text

"You have your orders. May the Force be with you."

The officers hurried away, acknowledging him on the way out. For once, Vader didn't leave the room first. In a few moments he would go and prepare himself, ready his ship and make his pre-flight checks. But another pressing matter had taken hold of his mind. And as had become usual, what troubled him was related to the boy.

He closed his eyes and listened to his breathing, focusing on the regular sound as he reached for the Force. He was distracted lately; the boy had grown to take too much place in his thoughts. Perhaps it had been a mistake to mix teaching with preparation of the attack. Even now, when he should be concentrating on the assault, he kept remembering the training session that had progressed so well and the unpredicted developments it had brought.

He hadn't expected him to dive in the Force like he had done, so quickly, with such ease. His potential never ceased to amaze him, but today, that wasn't what disquieted him.

The vision was.

He put both hands on the table and leaned on them, trying to remember it. The images were fuzzy and vague, and he couldn't perceive what kind of event they pictured. He didn't even know if it was the past, the future, or an alternate possibility. It had been a vision of darkness and pain, that much he knew; he didn't care to find out more.

What stayed with him, however, was the feeling it had awakened in him. That sense of warmth and connection as he moved through the Force, his presence entwined with the sun of his young student's. That belonging that he hadn't experienced in long and lonely years, that certainty their destinies did indeed lie together.

In spite of himself, his mind travelled back in time... wondering about a better life. Would his unborn child have been so gifted? Would it have accepted his presence so readily? He had no doubt about that. They would have explored the depths of the Force together since its first years; they would know each other nearly as well as one knew oneself. The child would have possessed Padmé's essence as well as his own, would have felt just as bright, just as familiar as Luke did.

He closed his fists. Lars would never replace the child dead by his hand. That he was certain of. He was just a pilot, a foolish and hot-headed boy, a mere tool for him to mould and use. He would dispose of him as soon as he no longer needed him – or give him to the Emperor, maybe, as an offering of goodwill. His master would appreciate his raw power.

And in the meantime he had Rebels to weed out. He wondered if Luke's progresses would show in a real flying environment...

He stormed out of the room.
 

The sight of Praadost II before them was familiar, more than Luke would have expected from a single battle there. He and his squad flew in formation around the transport of the ground team. Inside that ship sat a couple of stormtroopers who would explore the planet for sign of Rebels while they protected them from above. Luke had taken Chaser's place, alone, without a wingman. At the forefront flew Vader, flanked by Mauler. Behind them, a couple other squadrons followed to offer a second line of protection.

They flew down, looking out for the Praadosian ships they knew would try to impede the mission. All they saw below them was the moving clouds and the jungle.

They came closer and headed to their landing point, a small clearing they had localised for its lack of thick vegetation. Still they were alone, no sound around them but the commlink communication. Luke hoped they had taken the locals by surprise and they would be able to reach their destination before they reacted.

That hope died when a small force of ships appeared on their scopes.

"Black Squadron in Cherek formation," Darth Vader said through the comm. "Transport, initiate descent."

They came in front of the transport, a shield between her and the incoming fighters. The enemy was arriving in sighting range now: a flock of Nimbus fighters and old Nubian N-1s. They rushed towards them with a flurry of shooting.

Luke dodged the bolts coming at him and fired back at the ship. They engaged in dogfight. The fighter was not nearly as fast as Luke; the young man pushed it away from the protected area with ease.

"Transport landed," said the ground troop commander, a woman in her thirties. "The troops are disembarking."

"All ships cover area Aurek-1-1," Vader ordered.

Luke shot a last time at his opponent who crashed down in the vegetation, then opened up to the Force. Feeling where his squadmates were, he headed towards a less protected space. An enemy was trying to take the opening; Luke caught it before it could.

The pilot was good; they flew in circles, evading the other's fire, neither of them able to get a hit at the other. Luke gritted his teeth, prepared to ask his wingmate to catch the ship... before remembering he was alone. He had to do this on his own.

Ignoring the pang in his heart, he sunk deeper into the Force, closed his eyes, and shot. The enemy spiralled out of control, its wing destroyed. Luke bit back a curse: it fell down towards the protected area, on their men below. He rushed at it and fired repeatedly. The ship exploded in pieces before the pilot had time to eject, pieces of durasteel caught in the branches of the vegetation. Luke narrowly pulled out of the explosion.

"Probes sent, Aurek 1-1 covered," the ground leader announced. "Moving towards Xesh sector."

On Vader's order, the squadron moved again to protect said area. They expanded and formed a circle around it, a barrier to prevent other ships from entering.

Three Praadosian ships came at Dark Curse and Cosmo. Luke got closer to his squad mates.

"Black Six and Seven," he said, "do you require assistance?"

"Appreciated, Five," Dark Curse answered.

Luke joined the dance, the two trios of pilots drawing closer and further to gain an opening. His eyes half-closed, he relied more on the Force than on his sight. He dodged an enemy's fire, shot down the ship threatening Dark Curse. He then teamed up with him and got closer to Cosmo, Luke's opponent still on their tails.

The Praadosian took a shot and Cosmo evaded it, a hair away from being hit. Luke's blood froze in his veins. He gritted his teeth, rushed full throttle towards them.

He wouldn't let them take anyone else today.

"Five, watch out," Dark Curse warned, "you still have –"

Luke did a barrel roll to avoid the fire coming his way. He charged at Cosmo's enemy and pulled up, taking another shot at his own pursuer. Both Praadosians caught up in flames.

A whistle sounded in the comm.

"Impressive, but I was right there, let's take it together next time!"

"Sorry, Six," Luke answered.

He didn't have time to think more about it. Another couple of ships had taken advantage of the hole their fight had left in their defence. They were shooting down blindly, where their troopers would be.

"Two ships in protected area. Six and Seven, ready to tackle them?"

They agreed, and Luke took the lead as they flew towards the Praadosians.

"Six and Seven, take the one at 340-0, I'll cover for you," he said.

"Roger, Five."

Luke forked on the right while his squadmates took the fighter on the left. Keeping a Force tendril focused on their activity, he engaged it. Immediately the enemy focused on him rather than on the ground. Luke shot at him and flew up, the other following him. With a few well-placed shots, he pushed it next to its comrade, the both of them surrounded by Dark Curse, Cosmo and him.

"Break-break, all fighters! Enemy incoming from space!"

Luke hit one of the Praadosians' left wing. The ship whirled out of control to crash into the other one in a bright explosion.

Descending from the sky was a whole force of snub fighters Luke didn't recognise. They honed in on the already-tired Imperials, an overwhelming new wave of opponents. Reinforcements. They must have broken through the line of defence set up on the level of Devastator. Immediately, the outer line of Imperial fighters came to block their way, but some of them came through.

Well, this was where the fight started.

"Wraith and Ebon Squadron, on the first line. Black Squadron, draw closer to the protected area," Vader ordered.

Gripping his controls tighter, Luke accelerated towards an enemy ship that had crossed the first line of protection. Immediately a second came at him. Luke twisted and twirled, and finally managed to escape their grasp; but that didn't mean he could rest.

Around him, the battle was a blur of green and red fire, of ships bolting left and right, high and low. His scopes were full of moving dots, the comm buzzing with comments. It was difficult to know at each moment where the rest of his squad was.

He took a deep breath, submerged himself in the Force. His consciousness expanded in a way that had become familiar. He dove, and a shot came where he was half a second ago.

The battle became at once less and more confusing. Luke had no idea what was happening, but he rose, plunged, twirled, barrelled, fired, each of his bolts finding their target. He didn't perceive individual ships any longer. There was but the currents of movements, the trajectories of the pilots, a deep sea where he inserted himself without effort.

A cold shiver ran down his spine and another presence flared around him, seeking him out. Luke connected with it with a smile of recognition. He didn't think Lord Vader's movement was intentional, it felt more like an instinctive gesture. Still, he accepted the immaterial hand he was offering. He reached out with his own bright tendrils, wrapping around and shining through Vader's smokey curls.

He relied on the connection and used it to delve even deeper into the Force. He kept his eyes closed now, and found he perceived the thrill of battle better that way. He saw the ships around him, felt the pilots that were firing at him. He was conscious of the bigger picture around him, as well: the first circle, his own squad, still grappling with Praadosian forces; the outer layers, struggling to contain the invaders. He let the Force guide him, push him where he most needed to be, in the nexus of all these ships' trajectories. Pilots were living and dying, little points of life imploding, disappearing, sometimes at his own hand.

He felt it a little more than the others, but he couldn't know if it was because he was closer in space, or because he was a member of his squad.

He only realised when he heard Vader's voice through the comm.

Lars, at my side.

Yes, sir, he answered before obeying.

As he had thought, Mauler was no longer covering for Vader. He didn't let himself think of that, slid in next to his commanding officer instead.

Flying as Vader's wingman was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Never, not even with Biggs, had he ever felt this in tune with the other. They had the same pace, the same style, and Luke could predict his next moves as easily as if he had decided them himself. He supposed it had to be related to the Force bathing them both; but there was something more, too.

"My lord, we have found the Rebel project," the stormtroopers commander said. "A huge complex of caves, full of – of war refugees."

Vader looped, took out an enemy ship.

"Elaborate, Commander."

"Families of civilians, sir, from their appearances. They look poor and lost; there are a few aliens and outlanders. None of them seem like warriors. Though the place was well-protected, I do not think they are dangerous."

"How many?"

"A few hundreds, my lord."

There was a tense silence. Luke moved aside from Vader, shot at an opponent, who dodged and lost its advantage.

"Destroy the caves," Vader finally ordered. "We cannot afford to take any risks."

The commander paused, then gave an uneasy answer.

"Yes, my lord."

The channel closed. Luke had already forgotten these words. Still they fought, still ships flew and fell. Time seemed to have lost its meaning; had they been at it forever? He didn't know. A pressure started building in his head, a deep tiredness and weariness.

He snapped out of it when Vader's presence sharply pulled on his.

Stay in the moment.

Luke blinked, took a trembling breath, and sent a wordless thank you to his commanding officer. The depths of the Force were attractive, and it was easy to get lost in them. He would pay more attention from now on.

"My lord, we've reached the transport," a male voice said. "Commander Mavron defected and joined the Rebels' side. It is unknown what became of her and the other occupants once the caves were blown up."

"Acknowledged, soldier. Prepare for departure, but do not take off before my signal."

"Yes, sir."

The battle was starting to abate. The Imperials were the strongest force, and both Praadosians and their reinforcements were beginning to retreat.

Vader gave the order for the transport to depart as soon as a path became clear for them. The squadron took their place around her like they had in the descent, and escorted her back up. They made their way to Devastator without a problem, a few last ships taking a shot at it before either giving up or being blown up by the Imperials. After what felt like ages, they finally landed.

Luke's world was spinning when he stepped foot on the deck. He took off his helmet, focused on a stable point forward, forced himself to take long breaths, and felt a little better.

He and the squadron gathered together, exchanging looks and assessing the state of those who had come back. They wore an expression of grave worry on their faces that Luke was starting to find familiar. Mauler, as he had expected, never joined them, but all the others of the squad brought their ships to the rack and climbed down from their fighter. Luke let out a sigh of relief.

His stomach lurched again when Darth Vader headed towards them.

"Ensign Lars, you are now to take Commander Mithel's place as my wingman when in battle," he said. "Lieutenant Gufrai, you are to assume his other duties."

Dark Curse inclined his head, but nobody said a word. Vader hesitated for the briefest moment, and Luke wondered if he was trying to find words of condolence or praise for his fallen wingman. Before he could reach a conclusion, Vader turned on his heels and left, his cape waving behind him.

A pregnant silence followed, heavy and questioning. Luke felt his squadmates' gazes on him, nearly heard the questions on their minds.

"... Darth Vader's wingman?"

Luke winced upon hearing the disbelief in Qorl's voice.

"Yeah, I have no idea how that happened either, I –"

"First the flying lessons, now this..." Boomer started.

"Not here," Dark Curse chimed in. "Let's go back to the squadron quarters."

His face fell. "We should honour our second-in-command properly."

All pilots' faces adopted the same serious expression as his. A stone dropped in Luke's stomach at the reminder that one more casualty had befallen them that day. He looked at his squadmates, and realised that he could not be certain any of them would even live to see the next day. Not even him; but with the Force on his side, he supposed his chances of survival were slightly better than anyone else's. The thought was not as comforting as he thought it would be.

Before long, they were back in the squadron's main room. They sat together on the benches, in silence at first. Vil was the first to speak up, to remember a detail of the first time he had met Mauler in training. Then others took their turn, talking about his leadership skills, the way he struck inspiration in them, but also his more demanding sides.

Luke stayed quiet the whole time. He listened to the others, sketching an occasional wistful smile when the story brought up memories in him, but he never spoke himself. What could he say that could be relevant? He had never been good with words. He had never known how to express this kind of tightness in his chest.

He had hardly known Mauler. The man had been his superior of a sort, and they had only ever spoken when performing an exercise. But the thought that he was gone and wouldn't come back was an awful one.

It occurred to him with no small amount of guilt that the squadron must have done this before for Chaser, and Backstabber before. Each time he had missed it.

At last silence fell again. No more stories were exchanged. No more were needed, either, as they shared a moment of common remembrance.

"Remembering him is good," Qorl said after a minute. "But he would want us to keep fighting. That is how we will best honour him. I raise my glass to Mauler, to the Empire, and to victory, that he so often offered us."

The others imitated him, with concurring murmurs of "to Mauler, to the Empire, to victory."

Then they drank, and after another silence, the conversation started again. Silver got up to fetch his datapad, claiming that he had to work on paperwork, and Boomer left to prepare a briefing report. Soon everything was back to normal again, despite the trace of heaviness remaining in the room.

Luke was contemplating checking in early, perhaps after some of these exercises Lord Vader had called "meditation," when Vil dropped down next to him.

"So," he said. "How did you manage to end up as Lord Vader's wingman before reaching your twentieth birthday, I'm curious."

Luke huffed with a joyless smile, feigning nonchalance and pretending not to notice half the squadron had started listening. Of course, he should have known better than to think his squadmates would let it go.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are," he said. "I've got no idea why he chose me."

"But he's been teaching you," Vil insisted. "He never mentioned it? Ever?"

"No," Luke answered, a little irritated. "Why would he? I told you, I don't know how this happened."

He looked down at his half-full glass.

"Lord Vader is... unpredictable."

Vil snorted.

"Tell me about it."

"But the flying lessons," Boomer said. "No offence, but you fly like nobody's business. It seems kind of pointless. Unless he was tutoring you for some other position..."

Luke's stomach twisted. He couldn't tell anyone about the Force; they'd just believe him nuts. At the same time, maybe Boomer had a point. Vader had told him about... what was it even about? He didn't remember. But it seemed important, different than what would be expected from a mere pilot.

He shrugged, unwilling to talk further about it.

"Oh, come on," Boomer said. "Was he?"

"No," Luke snapped. "No, he didn't talk about any of this. Kreth, a few weeks ago he nearly broke my neck. I have no idea what he wants with me. It creeps me out, okay? But I also know he's my commanding officer, and I've learnt the hard way what he does to people who don't obey him. If you like breathing you should stop questioning him."

He took a rocky breath, tried to ignore the stunned looks the others gave him.

"All right!" Boomer answered, throwing his hands in the air. "All right."

They changed the subject, to Luke's great relief, but at first he didn't try to join in. Something was bothering him... something about the battle, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He thought about it for a few minutes, then shrugged and gulped down the rest of his glass.

It probably didn't matter all that much anyway. He turned his attention on the other pilots again and joined the game of Pazaak that they were about to start.

Only much later, as he was brushing his teeth before going to bed, did Luke realise what had troubled him with a pang in his chest.

The Rebels' secret project... what they had fought so hard to protect... was a hideout for refugees. Civilians whose life had been disrupted by the war, innocents who probably sought nothing more than peace and stability. And they had destroyed it – they had killed these people, whose only crime had been to have everything taken away from them.

Luke closed his eyes, fought against the guilt churning in his guts, Biggs' judging face watching him with his lips pinched, like every time they hadn't agreed at the Academy.

No. They shouldn't have associated with Rebels in the first place. Surely they had known that was dangerous.

And who knew if the camp wasn't a cover for more nefarious activities? Luke wouldn't have put it past the Rebels. People who put themselves into the line of fire knew what they were exposing themselves to.

Luke took deep breaths. When they had crushed the Rebellion... when there was peace again, this would stop. There would be no more destroying fights to force people away from their homes and families. He was fighting for all this to stop.

Sleep took a long time to find him that night.
 

Darth Vader sat in his quarters, meditating. His mind kept turning around the boy falling asleep a few rooms away from him, his presence pulsing and flaring as he slowly sank into the depths of slumber. Reaching out to him had become easy and natural, due to the bond that had formed between them.

Vader couldn't fathom it. He hadn't started formal training with him yet. But there was no denying it, not when they had communicated with such ease through the Force during the battle.

He reached out and let the wisps of his presence twirl around Luke's, helping him into sleep. He kept watching him, soothed by the regular beat of light.

He would make a good wingman. He was still angry to have lost Mithel, whose experience and dedication he would greatly miss. But the boy possessed the Force, and that made him invaluable.

If only he could have him as an apprentice, and teach him the mysteries of the dark side of the Force... he had such potential, it seemed a waste to let him wallow as a mere pilot. Vader longed to teach him, really teach him, show him everything he knew. He had no doubt the boy would take up all his instructions easily. They would grow so strong together, their power letting them achieve anything; even...

Even overthrowing his own master.

Vader frowned, wondering where the thought had come from. Sidious was knowledgeable, and he still had a great deal to learn from him. He had no interest in ruling. Palpatine, as a politician, would always be a much better choice at the head of the galaxy. And he was all he had left...

Or maybe that was no longer completely true, Vader thought, watching Luke's mind as he dreamt.

For a moment he let himself entertain the thought. To be free, to no longer have to answer to his master's every desire... Vader imagined himself plunging his lightsabre into his heart, and was surprised by the intensity of the hatred that accompanied the thought.

No. That wasn't right. He couldn't. Palpatine was his friend and his mentor. He owed him his life... But what life had become his, in pain every hour of his life, trapped in this suit that made him more machine than man?

He violently shunned the thought. Through their bond he felt the boy stir, and he cut himself from him.

Was this why his master had allowed him to train him? Was this a test of his loyalty? He knew treachery was the way of the Sith. Was Sidious goading him into betraying him?

Oh, how he hated these mind games. He loathed always having to guess what was on his master's mind; never a clear answer, never a straightforward word. He was so tired of it.

And he had a clear way out of it now.

Once again he repressed the thought. That wasn't right. Above all, he couldn't allow his master to know he was having such treacherous ideas.

It was his own fault, not his master's. He was the one who had killed his wife in anger. He had offered her the galaxy, and she had refused him, deceived by Obi-Wan's lies. She had thrown it all away. And he would offer it anew to this stranger, this nobody, just because he happened to be there and strong with the Force? He would risk it all, deny all his choices and his sacrifices, for the sake of this young upstart?

No. It was his burden to bear, and his alone.

And if the boy was the one prompting such temptations, he had to take distance from him. Already he could feel himself change, mellow at the contact of him. He couldn't afford such a weakness.

He forced himself to ignore the bright light of the boy's presence, whose tendrils reached out to him in instinct, drawn by their bond.

He was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. It was his destiny, and he had long accepted it.

Chapter Text

Luke breathed in and out, ignoring his screaming muscles. He focused on the rhythmical movement and counted seconds in his head. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, then his cheek.

Finally, the timer rang, and the machine slowed down, letting Luke bring down his pace with relief. He had neglected his condition lately and he felt it. Pushing himself farther instead of rebuilding his stamina more gradually probably wasn't the healthiest, but he didn't care. The effort, although not pleasant, made him feel good. Alive.

He wished he had a Force-lesson planned soon. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen Lord Vader once in the last days, or just in passing, quickly in a corridor.

He put a foot down from the treadmill then a second, still taking deep breaths. His face was hot, his lungs burning, and sitting down was a relief. He dried his face with his towel, roughly ran the cloth through his short hair before letting it fall on his shoulders, and rested his head against the wall as he waited for his heartbeat to slow down.

He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, feeling the presences on the ship and the energy swirling around them in constant movement, tying them together. For once, Lord Vader's twirls of smoke didn't come to meet his own presence. Luke found himself missing the cold shiver running down his spine.

This was stupid. He shouldn't care so much about his commanding officer's approval. A mere few weeks ago he wanted nothing more than for Vader to leave him alone, which was exactly what he was doing now. Maybe he had finally realised that Luke was just a small pilot from the Outer Rim, with good reflexes perhaps, but nothing extraordinary. It was much safer like this.

And yet was his safety worth the tremendous improvement Vader's lessons brought him? Luke had felt his perceptions grow, his awareness of the battlefield increase exponentially. He was more efficient in flight, better at avoiding and taking down enemies. Was it right for him to stop pursuing these new skills, that – if Vader was to be trusted – were rare in the Navy, and forsake this occasion to become the best pilot he could to defend the Empire, just because his commanding officer was dangerous?

It was incomprehensible. Vader made him his wingman, then all but ignored him. It just didn't make any sense.

Luke rose up with a rush of irritation. It didn't matter. He had other things to do, anyway: reports to write, research to make, training sessions to attend. The most important was that he keep fighting.

He shunned the uncomfortable churning of his stomach at the memory of the trooper's voice telling Vader about the refugees and Vader's own cold orders to destroy their hideout. He was but a soldier. He didn't see the bigger picture. He didn't know what tactical benefits this decision might have reaped, what other lives it might have saved.

This was why the war needed to end.

Luke sighed to alleviate the pressure in his chest and checked the time. In a couple of minutes he had a training session planned in the sims, their first without Mauler.

Another blow struck his lungs. He exited the gym and went back to his quarters, hoping a cold shower would clear his head a little.

He was feeling a little fresher by the time he walked into the familiar sims room. The whole squad was already present when he arrived; he joined them around the console as discreetly as he could, relieved when none of the other pilots said a word. A little further, Dark Curse was talking with Lt. Tanbris, their voices so low Luke couldn't make out what they were saying. The silence, despite their whispers and the buzzing of the machines, was oppressing, and Luke couldn't wait until they started.

Finally Dark Curse finished his conversation with Lt. Tanbris, who exited the room after a greeting glance in their direction. Dark Curse came to face the rest of the squad. For a moment, he merely looked at them, one after the other. His gaze was serious, his mouth slightly open, as if he was searching for words but couldn't find them.

"In order not to break with tradition," he finally said, "I have prepared a special exercise that will push you all to your limits and make you feel out of place in a cockpit, then we'll review together what went wrong – and why you were as usual utterly destroyed by the program."

There were a few fond laughs, and Dark Curse smiled, visibly relaxing.

"What I most want to work on during this session is adaptability, and what to do when an unexpected development – such as enemy reinforcements incoming – arrives. I particularly want to see how you fare when outnumbered. We are usually the ones outnumbering the enemies, but it's better to be prepared."

He then proceeded to detail the specifics of the exercise, what they would be expected to pay attention to, what enemies they would face. Luke did his best to focus on Dark Curse's voice, not on the strange sensation that was having him there instead of Vader's former wingman, nor the feeling of something missing.

Once he had finished, they were separated then sent into the sims. Luke's lips formed a wistful smile. It was all so familiar, the controls, the chair, the black screen in front of him. But it couldn't have been more than two weeks...

Well, anyway, this was an occasion like another. Force practice wouldn't do him any harm. He closed his eyes with a deep breath and expanded his perceptions like Vader had taught him as the numbers went down.

He didn't open them as the virtual ships were launched into space. Their shapes were less distinct than physical, human fighters on the battlefield, but the clusters of numbers were more predictable. The flow of electricity was buzzing in his ears, his feelings focused on the delicate thing that was the algorithm. Next to him, he could feel his squadmates' presences, unmoving but concentrated, a kind of repressed energy swirling around them, entirely focused on the machine.

Luke smiled, elated at discovering so many details he hadn't noticed the last time he had been here with his colleagues. Lord Vader would be proud...

Except Lord Vader didn't seem to care, and beside, this wasn't the moment.

He could nearly hear the ghost of his commanding officer's voice in his ear as he sunk deeper into the Force. It was much easier to do than he had expected, the motions easy and well-known, the sensations recognisable. He stopped thinking and stayed in the present, twisting in the virtual space, avoiding enemies and sneaking behind them before even realising what he was doing. He was on autopilot, but it was much more efficient than when he had the commands. Time seemed to stop, meaningless in the flow of the Force.

Then it stopped. Luke blinked, taken aback and disoriented. Coming back to the physical plane always was the hardest part. He had the impression that the exercise hadn't lasted a minute... Without throwing a look at the screen, he came out of the makeshift cockpit.

He came to stand around the console again. The silence was deafening. Was that because of the constant background noise the simulators made through the Force?

One by one, the other pilots exited their own sims in turn. Their faces all bore the same kind of vaguely incredulous stupor. Luke realised they were looking at him, and shifted on his feet.

Dark Curse was still at the same place in front of them. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"If you have anything to say before we watch the sequence and see what we can improve, go ahead."

More silence followed. Luke started to feel uncomfortable.

"Well, uh," Silver bravely started, as the others' lips remained sealed. "You chose your program well, Dark Curse – we were in bad posture from the beginning..."

"Except Shooting Star," said Torpedo.

Luke's heart picked up. The other squad members looked all embarrassed or in agreement with Torpedo, most of them a little of the two. The cat was out of the bag; Luke knew Torpedo had merely been saying what all the others thought.

"Flying lessons, sure," added Hammer, eyes wide open. "That was madness!"

"Uh... really?" Luke mumbled. Frantic thoughts were flashing in his mind as he searched for a believable explanation and found none. They'd think of him as a freak...

"Gentlemen, please," intervened Dark Curse. A pang went to Luke's heart hearing the familiar address in his mouth. "This isn't a settling of scores. If you don't have anything else to say?"

He turned on the holoprojector. Points started to move on the translucid sphere, and Luke gaped when he saw them.

"Is that... me?" he asked, pointing to one of the dots. It was moving much more fluidly than the others, always in the right place. It was somehow making it seem as if the other ships were all dancing around it.

The others all nodded. Luke laughed, disoriented, still staring at the graceful dot. It was impossible...

"How?"

"You tell us, kid," Boomer said. He was half-smiling, but Luke could read the same astonishment in his eyes as in all the others; even his, he suspected.

"Guys, please, focus," Dark Curse snapped. "This isn't constructive at all. Can we just get back to the exercise?"

They turned their attention to the recording again, trying to spot their mistakes and the points they could improve on. Dark Curse did the best he could to help them find answers, to think with them; but they were all rather distracted, and in the end he cut the session short.

They exited the room a little stunned.

"Dark Curse is good, but it's still strange to have these sessions without Mauler," Vil remarked. "Like there's something missing."

Next to him, Boomer, Cosmo and Silver acquiesced, their faces sad. Luke nodded, too.

A hand took his shoulder and pulled him behind, forcing him to halt his step.

"Hey, Shooting Star," Hammer told him. "Are you ever gonna tell us what in the nine hells Lord Vader is teaching you?"

"Yeah, that was unbelievable," Torpedo added.

Luke sighed. The other members of the squad didn't say anything, but they were all watching him. There was no getting out of it now. But they didn't have the Force, Luke couldn't teach it to them, and so what could he tell them?

"I told you," he wearily answered. "Flying. That's all there is to it."

"No way," Torpedo retorted. "That's not just flying. Nobody flies like you do."

"Lord Vader does," Luke quipped.

"Yes, but it's... it's Lord Vader! You're too fast, too sure of yourself. It's like you know exactly what's happening before it happens."

Luke let out a humourless laugh.

"What do you want me to answer to that? Do you realise how insane it sounds? I'm not some kind of psychic. I just do the best I can same as everybody!"

The others seemed to relent, but Qorl was still watching Luke with obvious doubt in his eyes.

"If "doing your best" gives such results, you should share with us how you do it, you know."

Luke felt as if he'd just entered a cold shower.

"I keep repeating it to you – there's no trick! I can't share anything with you because I don't know how I do it!"

"Yeah right," Qorl retorted. "We've just lost a squadmate, Lars! Pilots keep dying in this bloody war! We need every advantage we can have!"

Luke crossed his arms and sent him a glare. He was growing fed up with Qorl's constant antagonistic attitude.

"And you don't think if Lord Vader had some kind of secret recipe for this, he would have told you himself? You really think I'd keep something like that to myself if I thought it could help you, help us?"

Qorl met his glare head on.

"Yeah, I do. I don't trust you."

Luke snorted.

"Big news, you've made that clear. But too bad, because there's no magic trick for what I do! Believe me, I wish there were. I'd gladly give it to you if there was. We're in this together! I don't like losing squadmates any more than you do! If I could stop people from getting shot, I'd do it, a thousand times over, but I can't, all right, I can't!"

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he realised his fists were closed so tight they were shaking.

"Whoa, easy there," Silver said. "Calm down."

Luke took a deep breath, trying to bring air in his lungs through his closed throat. His chest was incredibly tight and his eyes were prickling, but he gritted his teeth, determined not to break down. He swallowed, felt more in control.

"This is useless," Silver continued, looking at all of them. "Mauler would be ashamed of us."

Luke bit his lip in embarrassment. Silver squeezed his shoulder, then stepped back towards their squadmates. Around him, the others bore the same kind of emotion; even Qorl sobered. Some of them mumbled apologies; Vil threw him a questioning glance, to which Luke answered with a small smile.

Qorl shot him a last glare that Luke returned, but he didn't say anything else. He walked away in the direction of their quarters, followed by Hammer and Torpedo. Vil, Boomer, Silver and Cosmo stayed, watching him in expectancy.

"Go ahead," Luke said. "I think I need to have a walk before coming back."

"Don't stray too late in the corridors," Boomer advised him. "Higher officers don't like it when we wander aimlessly."

Luke smiled.

"Don't worry, I'll be careful."

They threw him a last glance, then walked away, catching up with the others. Luke breathed in once more to ground himself, then left in the opposite direction.

He did his best to look confident and purposeful as he walked, though in reality he let his steps lead him wherever they would. The movement and the rhythm did him good, but the endless grey of the corridors made him feel trapped, inside the ship, inside his mind. For the first time, it dawned upon him that he was stuck on the giant metal ship, without any means to leave. The feeling was familiar to what he had experienced on Tatooine in his youth...

Finally he arrived at a small alcove in the hull, in which a viewport was set. Luke still didn't know what was its purpose, nor what engineering oddity had warranted it being placed there. But it was quiet and small, and nobody usually came here, so it suited him perfectly. It had become his go-to place whenever he felt down or overwhelmed by the life on the ship. He stopped by it and stood in front of the stars, his hand brushing against the transparisteel as he watched the constellations.

He had been here before – when Chaser died, when he first asked Vader to teach him the Force.

He tried to find out his home planet among all the spots of light outside, but in vain. It was too far from here to be able to see it...

Luke missed his aunt and uncle. He wondered how they were faring, on the farm, taken in the peaceful everyday tasks. He hoped the crops had been good and Uncle Owen had been able to hire some helping hands for the capricious vaporators... Luke smiled, thinking of the days he spent hours working on them under the heat of the twins suns, cursing against these machines when they wouldn't work. Sometimes Uncle Owen would join him, and they would ponder how to fix it together – Luke was usually the one to figure it out, though. Then they would get back into the home, where Aunt Beru was waiting for them with a fresh glass of blue milk.

It was a simple life, and never had Luke appreciated it as he did now, in retrospect. Not that he didn't love his current job; flying among the stars had always been his dream, and he didn't regret it for anything in the world. But in this moment, this minute, he craved the normality of his old existence.

Of course, living so close to the Wastes wasn't exactly restful. Luke had seen death on Tatooine, had had to fight against it and deal with it. But never had it felt so close, so omnipresent, and so unavoidable, as it has been since his posting on Black Squadron.

He closed his eyes, let the tendrils of his Force presence expand and brush the others on the battleship. How many of them would survive the next battle? How many would be lost in the slaughter, perish for the glory of the Empire? How many lives ground down by the cruelty of war?

Who would be next in his own squad to burn in a burst of flames?

And why couldn't Luke do anything about it? He had the Force, which guided him and drove enemy's fire away from him. Why couldn't he give it to his squadmates? Why couldn't he be of help?

He needed to get stronger. He needed to master it, so that he could save his squadmates' lives with it. It was of no use if he couldn't do that. And there was only one way to achieve it.

Luke closed his fists, took a deep breath, then exhaled it just as soon. He turned away from the viewport and strode back, trying not to think too much.

Old fears and unpleasant memories came back as he arrived in front of Vader's door. He breathed through the nose, forced himself not to rub his throat. Who knew what Vader was doing and at what time? Perhaps he wasn't even in his quarters...

A cold shiver and a curl of smoke reaching out towards his limbs as a question quashed any hope he might have had. Vader had sensed him. Luke wiped his hands against his trousers, then took a step and rose a trembling hand towards the intercom.

The door slid open before he even brushed the button, and he jumped, his heart beating frantically in his ears. He swallowed and crossed the threshold.

Vader's quarters hadn't changed at all since he last came: dark, simplistic, with the strange round cabin in the corner. The latter was currently open on a white environment, against which Vader's black form starkly stood out. He sat there facing Luke, his mask perfectly concealing his emotions. The young pilot took two steps forward, then stopped and stood as attention, his legs wobbly, his mouth dry.

"Speak out, Ensign. My time isn't unlimited."

Luke swallowed. Coming here was a bad idea; he could feel the danger thrilling through his bones.

"I – my lord, I wanted to know if, if you'd accept to continue the piloting lessons..."

"You need no more of them," Vader cut him off. "You are dismissed."

"What?" Luke weakly said. He didn't understand. "What do you mean, I need no more of them?"

Vader rose up, and Luke started once more.

"I mean exactly what I said. Unless you cannot understand Basic?"

"But – sir... we've only just begun – I still have so much to learn!"

Vader took a step forward, and Luke couldn't help but move back in response.

"You are dismissed."

He raised his hand, and Luke's heart stopped when he thought he felt the slightest pressure on the base of his throat. This was it... this was where it ended...

… he couldn't breathe... Vader's fingers squeezed his throat and it hurt... his vision was covered in black dots, and he couldn't escape it... he couldn't breathe...

Then Vader's hand fell, and he curtly turned away from Luke, his cape twirling behind him. The young man couldn't move. Waves of heat and coldness crashed over him, relief and terror mixed together. That had been so close...

He should run away from here. He should turn back and leave as fast as his legs could carry him.

Instead he stood in place, determined not to leave without having what he wanted. This was too important.

"My squadmates – sir – they need me. I need more training to protect them."

Vader froze, and Luke's heart missed a beat. Oh kriff, no, no...

Eyes wide, feeling like he could throw up at any moment, he watched Vader slowly turn back to face him. The eyes of his mask were cast in shadows, two pools of impenetrable darkness, seeming to suck Luke's gaze in them as he advanced towards him.

"Leave. Now."

This time Luke didn't need to be told twice. He moved back, one step, then another, until he found himself in the corridor, the door closing in front of him.

He turned back and walked blindly forward, his whole body shaking. He wasn't even sure he was walking straight.

Little by little, the tremors subsided, and his breath calmed down. His heart found back its normal rhythm, and he found he could think more coherent thoughts again as his panic subsided.

He gritted his teeth, thinking on the scene again. He hadn't deserved that. Why did Vader promise him these lessons, this power, only to take it away from him? Why did he insist on tormenting him like that? He didn't understand. He wanted to scream at his commanding officer for scaring him, for toying with him, for being a tyrant who didn't know what he wanted.

He recalled the last training sessions with Vader. He had thought there had been something like a real bond tying itself between them. For a moment, he had thought he was starting, maybe not to understand him, but to connect with him. He had thought they had something in common, something they could share.

Well, turned out he'd been a fool. He didn't know what Vader wanted, and he didn't care to discover it any longer.

He walked back to his squadron's quarters, feeling strangely hollow.
 

Vader stared at the door, feeling strangely hollow. He hadn't thought dismissing the boy would have that effect on him.

He had been surprised to find him in front of his quarters. Shunning him should have been enough for him to understand. He had never expected him to come back to ask for more lessons.

He took his datapad, opening the report that had just been sent to him. Analyses of the battle, as it turned out. Considering the types of the reinforcement ships and their trajectories, they had been traced to Rindia, a small planet not far away from there, home to the Rindians.

But his mind wouldn't stay focused on the text standing on the screen. Above the text, in transparency, he kept seeing the boy's terrified face, his fixed gaze, the tense steps he took away from him. He had already seen this expression, this certainty that death was descending on them, in other eyes before...

And his courage, his foolish insistence, even after being sent away...

"I need more training to protect them."

He gripped the datapad tighter in his hand. He hadn't rejected the boy only to have him occupy his every thoughts again. What did he have to do to make it stop?

A breaking sound made him stop to look down at the device in his hand. Unfit to resist such pressure as he was inflicting on it, its screen had began to crack. Vader set it aside from him, and put his mask in his hands.

He was so tired of this. He should never have decided to train him in the first place. He was just a boy, just a pilot. He had no reason to unsettle him like that.

And yet he did. Vader couldn't explain it. He had thought himself free of these feelings, of this pain. He had gone through so much to rid himself of it; would the Force never have mercy on him?

But no. Enough sentimentality. He rose up, walked around his room; but he couldn't help the ghost of old memories from swirling in his mind, trapped as he was with them.

"Anakin... you're breaking my heart..."

Enraged and despairing, he left his quarters. Maybe his technicians would be able to give him more details about the battle.

He still had a war to fight.

Chapter Text

Luke felt exhausted that evening when he descended to the mess for dinner. He looked around, trying to spot if any of his squadmates were in the room. A little further, Vil was sitting with Boomer, Cosmo, Dark Curse and Torpedo. Luke put his plate on his tray and went to join them.

"Hi, Shooting Star," Dark Curse looked up from his datapad and smiled at him. "Good sim today."

"Thanks," Luke muttered, trying to ignore the sombre looks of his other squadmates. Dark Curse got back to his reading without noticing any of it.

The others continued their conversation without paying him any more attention. Repressing a sigh, Luke looked down at his food, his heart falling down in his chest. He put a spoonful of stew in his mouth and swallowed it before he could taste it. He wasn't hungry at all.

Finally, most of his squadmates finished their own meal and rose from the table.

"Don't wait for me," Vil said, still eating, as Boomer's gaze seemed to alternate between him and the others. He swallowed his mouthful before going on. "I'll join you later."

"All right," Boomer answered. "See you then. Shooting Star, same."

Luke gave him a half-hearted nod. Boomer followed the other pilots, put his tray in place and left the mess. Luke sagged in his seat with a sigh, the tension draining all at once. Vil shot him a smile.

"Long day, uh?"

Luke shrugged. He stirred his spoon in his stew.

"You could say that."

"I understand. They'll come around, you know."

Luke looked up at Vil. The older pilot was smiling, but that did nothing to help Luke's mood.

"Sure," he replied, looking at his meal again.

"Honestly, can't blame them for being a little jealous," Vil continued, oblivious to Luke's complete disinterest in the conversation. "Eighteen years old, member of Black Squadron, Vader's wingman, flying better than all of us together..."

"I didn't ask for any of it!" Luke retorted. He was so sick of this, of never belonging, of being the outsider, everywhere and always. "What are they even jealous of, anyway? Being stalked and terrorised by my commanding officer? Getting nearly murdered by him?"

"Whoa," Vil interrupted him. "Hey, calm down. I'm on your side, you know."

Luke breathed through his nose, biting his tongue. He felt like screaming, but that wouldn't do in the middle of the mess hall. Plus Vil didn't deserve his frustration. Luke would be stupid to alienate one of the few allies he had left.

"Sorry," he whispered, unable to manage more. He coughed and felt a little better. "Anyway, how are you faring with... uh, everything?"

Vil shrugged.

"All right, I guess. Still reeling a little from Mauler's death. We all are. It'll pass... it always does."

Luke nodded. They sat in companionable silence for a little while, Vil finishing his caf while Luke still toyed with his stew. He felt like talking to Vil about the thing that hadn't stopped bothering him since the end of the battle, but he wasn't sure he could trust him.

"Yeah... can't help thinking about that battle either," Luke said, probing the ground. "Especially the end."

Vil's face fell, and he frowned.

"The refugees?" he asked, and a weight lifted off Luke's heart that he'd understood immediately. He wasn't the only one to have this kind of feelings, then.

"I can't get them out of my mind," Luke blurted out. "I understand they were a risk from their association with the Rebels. But I can't help wondering if there wasn't a better way to deal with them."

Vil nodded.

"The Empire's zero tolerance policy towards Rebel contact is something I've been thinking about too," he admitted, his voice low and controlled. "Sometimes people are just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Zero tolerance policy towards Rebel contact. Luke's relief disappeared as quickly as it had come. As was so often the case lately, he found himself wondering about Biggs; but worry about his friend's well-being, this time, was just an afterthought.

"Once the war is over, this will stop," he said, still half lost in his musings. "We won't need to do this when the Rebels are defeated."

Vil looked at him, then sighed.

"I hope you're right."

He gulped down the last of his caf, and Luke gave up on finishing his stew.

"Hey," Vil said, "if you've got some time right now, would you mind helping me out on the training report I need to wrap up? I need to finish it by tomorrow for the briefing, and I'm a little short, I still have a thousand other things to do..."

"Sure. What's it about?"

"Solar calculations," Vil said. Luke grimaced.

They spend the next hour working on it. By the time it was done, when Vil thanked Luke for his help and they parted ways, Luke's heart was already much lighter.
 

Darth Vader knelt in front of the holostation, trying to ignore the pain in his joints. A faint noise rang to confirm that the signal was being transmitted.

His master would be glad. They had warded off all Rebel presence on Praadost. Furthermore, it hadn't been difficult to find out who, among its allies, had sent the reinforcements that hindered their search for the Rebels. The only thing that bothered Vader was that they still hadn't been able to determine what the Rebels knew of the Empire's new weapon. The caves had been searched as much as they could before being blown up, but nothing had turned up.

The huge blue hologram of the Emperor's head appeared. Vader bowed deeper.

"You have news about the campaign, Lord Vader."

"Yes, my master." Vader rose his head to look the Emperor in the eye, but didn't stand up, his right forearm resting on his upright knee. "The Rebels were hiding refugees in caves in their mountains. They didn't seem to know anything about our project. Our search for suspicious activity pertaining to that remained fruitless."

The Emperor's face hid deeper into the folds of its hood. Vader thought he could make out the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Good. You have done well."

Vader acknowledged him with a nod.

"Praadost's forces are small and were weakened by our former assault on the base. They couldn't resist us for long. But our search was impeded nonetheless. Reinforcements came to their aid, which we traced to Rindia."

The Emperor looked pensive.

"Then you know what you have to do. No world can be allowed to defy us. Show Rindia what we are capable of."

Vader inclined his head.

"It will be done."

He waited for the transmission to be cut, and for the Emperor's face to vanish into shadow; but the call didn't end. Vader looked at his master again. What else could he be wanting to ask about?

Uneasiness awoke in his abdomen. There was only one other thing the Emperor could be interested in... Indeed, he was proven right when his master spoke again.

"By the way... how is your own little project progressing?"

"My... project?"

"Yes. The boy that you talked to me about. Is he as strong as you thought?"

Vader gritted his teeth, checked his shields. He would have preferred to avoid talking about the boy, but his master's curiosity, of course, had to be appeased. The Emperor's eyes were gleaming with greed; Vader's stomach writhed angrily, taken by a possessive instinct he didn't know he harboured.

"Yes, my master. He has shown great potential, and knows next to nothing about the Force. I have started his training, but it could be some time before he pledges himself to the dark side."

"All in due time," Sidious answered. "I am much intrigued by this apprentice of yours. You must bring him to me, once he is ready."

Vader shivered. There was no mistaking the covetousness in the Emperor's voice. And yet the boy wouldn't be turning any time soon, not with Vader having abandoned his training... He felt trapped. He had overestimated his master's interest. When he had first brought up the boy with him, he had thought the Emperor was merely indulging him. He hadn't expected him to want the boy trained...

"That could prove... difficult," he tentatively said, his heart hammering in his chest, hoping Sidious wouldn't take offence. "He has shown a certain... lack of interest for the ways of the Force..."

"Nonsense," the Emperor cut him off. "You must merely offer him what he craves. How did you try to sway him?"

"I offered to teach him to improve his flying," Vader answered, thinking as fast as he could. He needed to tell his master he no longer wanted to train him, but even as he thought it, the words seemed childish, spineless to him. Sidious should never know about the humiliation of his shameful feelings for the boy. "He has proven himself an excellent pilot..."

"As you once were," Sidious said, smiling at him as if it was a compliment. But Vader knew better. He had been a very good pilot, and he had been swayed to the dark side; surely this boy could be too.

He swallowed, a powerful wave of hatred coursing through him. As usual with his master, he was losing control of the conversation. How he despised this helplessness, this loss of power...

"His flying skills are unparalleled. I believe he would best serve the Empire here, in the squadron."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed, and Vader knew he had made a mistake.

"I would allow it, but you were so eager to train him, last time we spoke of him... what has changed?"

"Nothing, my master." As soon as he words left his lips, he knew they had come a little too fast. "I merely assessed him better..."

"And found him strong with the Force," the Emperor insisted, frowning in a show of concern. There was no getting out of this. "What is troubling you, Lord Vader?"

A cold and slick tendril, pure and oily darkness, brushed against Vader's consciousness, and he had to refrain himself from slamming his shields down on it.

"Master..."

Before he could react in any way, the tendril lightly probed at his memories, dredging up images of the boy before retracting.

"He looks much like you did," the Emperor whispered.

Vader didn't answer, his teeth gritted in anger and shame.

"He also comes from Tatooine?"

"Yes."

"Close to Kenobi's hiding place, it would seem."

Vader swallowed his furious retort, feeling stripped bare like every time his master invaded his thoughts so. He had no right... this was his mind...

And yet should he have tried to conceal these things from him? They were so trivial... it was Vader's fault if he let these emotions get in his way, not the Emperor's. He still had so much to learn.

"I first wondered if he was his apprentice," he ground out. "He is not."

The Emperor looked at him without speaking, and Vader held his gaze. He focused on his breathing cycle, unable to control even his own breath, even this most basic part of his life.

Finally, Sidious sighed.

"Very well, Lord Vader. I will trust you on this. If you believe it... wiser... for the boy not to be trained, I will abide by your judgement."

Something in the way he said it sent Vader in a rage. Sidious knew of his unwanted feelings; there was no other explanation. But he was wrong. Vader wasn't this feeble, wasn't this weak.

"He will turn, my master. I will make sure of it."

The Emperor flashed him a smile that Vader could only describe as sinister.

"Then I look forward to meeting him."

His face softened.

"You have done well, my friend. I am certain you will continue to make me proud."

The transmission then cut before Vader had time to answer. He was left on the console, reeling in confusion, his fists still tightly closed.

He rose up, gritting his teeth against the pain in his artificial joints. He hated these cumbersome appendages, unfitted to his morphology, clumsy and heavier than flesh and bone. Not for the first time, he wished his medical condition was better. The Emperor had told him he was too unstable still for his prosthetics to be changed, and they risked losing him if they tried to upgrade them. Vader only half believed him, and anger flared once again in him at the thought that his master would willingly leave him in this state.

Not that he would have minded taking the risk. In his opinion, the peril was well worth it. But he hadn't pressed the matter.

He did deserve the constant suffering.

Vader headed towards his hyperbaric chamber, overcome with the need to breathe by himself, to feel the air brushing against his face. He was tired, drained by the conversation. Taking his mask off for a while would do him good.

He sighed when the too white walls closed and the plate of metal was finally lifted from his face. His eyes prickled at the contact of atmosphere. He closed them for an instant, allowing his damaged tear ducts to produce the moisture they needed.

Feeling a bit calmer, he thought about the conversation he just had with his master again. He tensed, overwhelming guilt and disgust washing over him. Once again he had lost his composure. Once again he had let himself be ruled by his emotions. What a pathetic Sith apprentice he made, broken in every way, unable to master himself.

And as usual, his master had gotten exactly what he wanted out of him. Vader didn't know who he was most resentful at, himself or Sidious, for being manipulated into picking up the boy's training.

In any case, he had to consider himself lucky his master hadn't discovered the traitorous thoughts that had crossed his mind the last time he had thought of the boy. He was still remorseful about it. How could he even think about getting rid of Palpatine when the man had saved his life and kept him at his side, supported him through the darkest part of his life? Vader owed him his loyalty. It was the only thing he still had to offer.

But he had to admit, and the thought filled him with shame, that the perspective of a life free from his master was an alluring one.

He rose up, furious with himself. What was it in him that made him feel like his nine-year-old self any time he had to deal with the Emperor? Why couldn't he handle himself maturely, like any grown up adult?

And how had their relationship deteriorated like this, to the point where he could dream of killing him? He still remembered the moments spent in the Chancellor's office, discussing the war and the Jedi. He had felt understood back then. Palpatine had been, with Padmé, the one person he had felt able to trust completely. Vader longed to have this friendship again, and grieved the loss of it. What had changed between them?

He sketched a self-deprecating smile. Here he went again, drowning in his own misery. Was it really any wonder that his master kept preying on his weaknesses, when he was so unable to reign them in? All this time, and he still hadn't learnt anything.

He let the droid set the mask and helmet back on his face, then stepped out of his chamber. He would take care of the boy later. For now, he would prepare the attack against the Rindians.

He strode in the corridor, ignoring the doors of Black Squadron's quarters as he walked past them. He most certainly didn't feel any relief or disappointment when nobody came out of the rooms.

He would need information about Rindia, its planetary data, the layout of the world and its specificities, he thought. Hopefully Commander Piett would be able to compile it quickly, so that he could devise an attack plan.

His heart missed a beat when a familiar figure exited a meeting room, engrossed in a datapad. The boy looked up and froze when he saw him; Vader was glad his mask concealed his equally stunned expression. Soon enough Lars recovered and stood at attention.

"My lord."

Vader took a step forward and the boy twitched. He was getting better at keeping his face neutral, but simmering resentment swirled around his Force presence too strongly for Vader to miss it, trickling even in his voice. The Sith Lord couldn't help but bask in it. He reached out to touch his presence, drawn to his brightness like a moth to a flame.

"Ensign Lars. We keep running into each other, it seems."

The boy swallowed. His jaw tensed.

"Not on purpose, my lord."

He shot him a defiant glance, but stood at perfect attention, taut and terrified. Vader found himself transported weeks into the past: he hadn't been confronted to such coldness and fright from him in a long time.

"At ease. I will not harm you."

Lars looked at him once more, his face guarded, assessing him. His entire body was on the defensive, ready to bolt at the slightest threat.

That wouldn't do, Vader thought. He needed Lars to trust him if he ever was to turn him. And he had all but promised the boy to his master... He dismissed the unpleasant sensation awakening in his gut at the thought.

"You are welcome to start the lessons again, if you so desire," he said, remembering Lars's earlier request.

All fear disappeared from the boy's face. Instead he stared at Vader incredulously.

"So now...?"

He swallowed, blue eyes still fixed on Vader with fire in their depths.

"Thank you, my lord, but I'll pass."

He bowed then strolled past Vader, walking away.

Vader gaped at his gall. He reached out with the Force and grasped the boy's shoulder to prevent him from going any further. Lars turned rigid in his grasp, his breath hitching. Vader took the few steps separating them and came to stand in front of him. The pilot was keeping his datapad against his chest, his shoulders slumped, but he looked up at him with a glare.

"What do you want from me?!"

Vader forced himself to ignore the disrespect in his voice.

"You seemed eager to keep learning, when you came into my quarters."

"And you practically strangled me!"

Vader pursed his lips, repressing his anger and frustration. No, that had probably not been wise of him indeed. He had to gain the boy's trust again, he reminded himself. If he wanted to get anywhere with him, he needed to remain calm.

"Nevertheless, I am offering it to you again," he said, holding out his hand. "Do you no longer want to fly? To protect your squadmates?"

Lars flinched. He looked down at Vader's hand, then up again into his eyes.

"And then what? Will you ignore me for weeks, or just kill me once you've decided I'm no longer worth your time?"

Vader let his arm fall down.

"Watch your tone, young one," he growled, taking a step towards the boy. He waved a threatening finger in his face. "I am growing tired of your insolence."

Lars took a jerking step back, half-raising his hand in defence before catching himself. Vader froze, surprised by the unexpected reaction. The boy swallowed and looked away.

"You still don't get it, don't you," he said. His voice was shaking. "I can't keep doing this. I can't be on edge all the time without knowing what you'll do to me next. With all due respect, I think I should concentrate on my squadron training."

Vader stood there, crossing the boy's gaze again as he waited for his reaction with a nervousness he couldn't conceal.

The nerve of this youth. To talk back to him like this, to dismiss him so easily. Months of training and serving, and he still couldn't be bothered to learn respect.

He probed him through the Force, taking a cruel pleasure in seeing him shiver when he lingered around his neck. The boy's hand shot up to his throat, rubbing it as if it could make Vader's presence go away.

"You overstep your boundaries," Vader said, his voice soft and vicious, full of danger. Lars's breath caught in his throat."I have been too lenient with you, if you think my offer was something you could throw back in my face any time you desired."

The boy's eyes widened, his breath quickening.

"I – I hadn't realised it was an order..."

"I am making it one now," Vader snapped. "And you will comply if you do not want your life to be even more unpleasant. I have had enough of your petty rejections."

Lars kept his eyes down, gritting his teeth.

"Yes, sir."

"From now on," Vader continued, "you will report in the simulators' room every day at 0600. You will practise what I teach you and do your best to succeed at what I ask of you."

"Yes, sir."

The boy's shields were tightly held against his mind, but Vader could see the fear starting to overwhelm his stance again, the way his muscles contracted both in anger and in fright. It wasn't too difficult to see the mutinous expression of his face even as he looked away, or the way his fists were clenched.

His own anger subsided at seeing his pitiful state.

"I promise I will not hurt you," he said, softer. "You need not fear."

The boy didn't answer. Vader had to refrain from taking a step towards him to elicit a reaction from him. Finally, he waved him away, and Lars hurried to leave.

Vader watched him turn the corner, somewhat disappointed by the turn things had taken.
 

As soon as he was out of view, Luke stopped walking and put his hand against the wall, pursing his lips to repress the scream building in his chest. He couldn't go back to his squadron quarters like this. He was already not in the best terms with the other pilots; he didn't want them to see him in this state.

He took a trembling breath then another, forcing them through his constricted throat. His heart was still drumming from the fear caused by Vader's behaviour. He still felt those tendrils wrap around his throat, the sensation mixing with another, older and more terrible, where he no longer could breathe...

He was dead. There was no other issue now. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him like a trap he couldn't escape. Vader would never leave him alone now.

And yet... wasn't this something he had wanted? This was the opportunity of a lifetime. It could make him the best pilot anyone had ever seen... and hadn't he promised himself to do his best? Didn't he owe it to Mauler, to Chaser, to Backstabber, to his father even, all this people whose fight he had sworn to continue?

He wished they were here with him, that he could hear their voices again, see them laugh. He felt so alone.

Didn't Vader know how frustrating and exhausting his constant changes of mood were? Luke had no idea where he stood with him. He couldn't bear this uncertainty any longer, especially when it came with the constant risk of being killed on the spot.

He didn't seem to have much of a choice, though. And if he was honest with himself, he was looking forward to the lessons again, to sweeping in the folds of the Force like nothing could stop him...

He just hoped it wouldn't cost him his life.

Luke took another deep breath, straightened up, then walked back to his quarters.

Chapter Text

"... approximately seventeen hours at sublight."

Vader blinked, realised Commander Piett had stopped speaking. He didn't recall everything the man had said, though he was sure he'd caught the most important things.

"Good work, Commander," he said, repressing his irritation. He had to act as if everything was fine; Piett couldn't know about his distraction. "Make the necessary preparations, then contact Rindia and issue them our message. If they do not submit to us, we will attack as soon as we receive their answer."

Piett bowed, then walked away, unaware of his commander's turmoil. Vader closed his fists. He turned, then left the meeting room as well. He needed a walk.

These moments of inattention had become more frequent lately, ever since Vader had ordered the boy into training. He hated it. If the boy had held his attention since the very first moment he arrived on board, he had never prevented him from focusing on his work before.

The training session of the morning had happened flawlessly, a little too much so even. Lars had worked without so much as a word, obeying Vader's instructions without complaint. He had made much progress, and Vader had been pleased with his success.

But his shields were still firmly up, his body language speaking of wariness and fear.

He couldn't keep the boy's accusations of the night before from his mind. They kept turning in his head, tormenting him.

"Will you just kill me once you've decided I'm no longer worth your time?"

To his great shame, Vader realised he'd thought about doing that more than once. But now, the thought of disposing of the boy was far less appealing than it had been. He wanted him at his side, not dead.

At his side, not the Emperor's.

That last realisation bothered him immensely. The Emperor and him were on the same side. He had never thought of him as an enemy; he had no reason to do so when it came to the boy.

Besides, why should he care about that arrogant pilot's fate? It was none of his concern. If his master wanted Lars, then it was his duty to bring the boy to him. Maybe this would at last allow him some rest from the insistence with which he occupied his thoughts, though he supposed this was mostly vain hope at this point.

And yet the perspective of no longer seeing his bright eyes look at him with impertinence, feeling the warmth of the tendrils of his Force-presence clumsily probing his, or hearing the youth of his light voice uttering bold comebacks, was leaving a strange hollowness in his chest.

He remembered his wonder when discovering the Force, his power when delving into it, his eagerness to learn. Vader didn't remember ever feeling this relaxed... at peace. Being with him allowed him a welcome respite from his everyday struggle with himself, and teaching him brought him more joy than he had in a long time.

He sneered at the ridiculousness of it. It was preposterous. All the boy was achieving was distracting him from his duties. He needed to turn him so he could send him to Imperial Centre and be rid of him and his annoying influence on him once and for all.

But despite his best efforts, he couldn't suppress the reluctance churning at the base of his guts whenever he thought of the young man being shipped away to the Emperor.

Vader couldn't repress an annoyed gesture while hastening his step. He would deal with all that when it presented itself. The first step was to turn the boy. And for that, he needed to obtain his trust back.

Or maybe gain his trust would be a better term. It suddenly occurred to him how afraid Lars had seemed whenever he was close to him. How many times had he seen jump at his slightest gesture, rub his throat, or throw him nervous glances after talking back? Had the boy ever truly trusted him?

With another useless pang in his chest, Vader realised it could all be traced back to the time when he had tried to kill the boy, fed up with his arrogance. Yes, Lars had used up all his patience... but Vader was starting to regret it, nonetheless. Had he caused irreparable damage with his rash gesture?

Surely not. Lars had come to him for flying training, even after that unfortunate event. And then he had put an end to it...

Yes, maybe he had been careless with the boy. But it was nothing that couldn't be mended. He was certain Lars would warm up to him again. In time, he would understand Vader meant him no harm.

He entered his quarters, still deep in thought as the door slid closed behind him.
 

Luke drummed his fingers against the table of the meeting room, sipping his caf with a distracted eye on his report. Anxiety was churning in his stomach.

For the last couple of days, he had been avoiding most of the squadron, keeping himself to a few chats with Vil or Silver. With his duties, Dark Curse was now too busy to talk much. Qorl's disposition towards him didn't seem to have mellowed, and the others seemed content to follow his example, although they weren't as aggressive as he was. They mostly tended to ignore Luke, while Qorl went out of his way to send him a snide remark or a spiteful glance.

But this morning, they were having a full squadron meeting again. Worse than this, Luke was supposed to speak up. Stellar previsions were actually rather fun to do, in his opinion, but in the current climate of the squadron he'd rather not have to have all their gazes focused on him at once.

He kept repeating himself it was just a phase and it would pass. So said his two remaining friends. But it didn't change the nervousness roiling in his guts whenever he had to interact with the other pilots.

He wished he could tell them about the Force, this sixth sense and strange power that allowed him to soar into the sky, avoiding threats without even thinking about it. But he knew it wouldn't make anything better. They would just think he was crazy, or worse, lying to them. They would never believe him, in any case.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It was hard to keep his mood uplifted in such circumstances. He missed Chaser a lot, and wished Mauler was here... he felt so lonely. His fallen squadmates' absence was a gap in his life that throbbed like a wound.

Was it possible to turn back time with the Force? Could he possibly go back and save them? He'd have to ask –

Except he wasn't really on that sort of speaking terms with Vader any longer, and he was determined to keep it so.

He had thankfully managed to get through the first lesson fine, but it didn't mean it had been easy. He needed to constantly watch himself not to let his frustration through when he didn't get something right, or to let any inconsiderate remark escape his lips, even in enthusiasm. It was more exhausting than he thought it would be.

But he knew it was the only way for him to keep living. Vader was too unpredictable, and there was no telling what he could do to Luke on one of the bad days if Luke wasn't careful to keep to himself.

Another sigh escaped his lips.

"A heartfelt sentiment," a rumbling bass teased behind him.

He swirled back, surprised by the voice, and caught himself just in time not to glare daggers at Vader.

"Lord Vader," he merely acknowledged him.

"You are here early," Vader commented.

Luke shrugged and took another sip of his caf. He hadn't had time to have breakfast this morning, but maybe it was for the best. He didn't fancy staying in the squadron quarters, which had become stifling. Luke had wanted time by himself, to think without the heavy atmosphere that reigned there.

But of course, Vader had had to ruin his plans again.

The silence became awkward. Vader walked past Luke and went to stand at the front of the room, his back to the young pilot. Luke didn't spare him a glance.

"Young one..."

Luke threw Vader a startled glance. Was it really him he heard speak with such a soft and uncertain voice? They locked eyes, and Vader stared at him for a moment, as if he were searching his words. The Force swirled around them, unsure and hesitant. Luke had to refrain from probing Vader back out of curiosity.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Luke turned to look behind him. Boomer entered the room and shot Luke a short look, then went to sit two rows behind him. Soon after, the other pilots entered and did the same. Lt. Tanbris entered and came at Vader's side, talking in low tones with him.

Only Vil and Dark Curse smiled at him, and Silver came to sit next to him. All the others firmly stayed in his back. Luke looked down, feeling a pang through his chest.

His nervousness flared up again, and his grip on his datapad turned stronger. He really didn't want to speak up in front of them today.

A holographic planet rose up from the console in front of the room. Luke's gaze shot towards it, his dark musings eclipsed by curiosity.

"This is Rindia," Vader said. "It is the third planet of the Rindian system, and the only habitable one, populated by Rindians and a minority of humans."

Vader paused for a second, looked at them all.

"It is one of Praadost's most powerful allies; allies that sent in reinforcements to help them resist our former investigation."

Nods surged in understanding. This was a battle briefing; a battle for retaliation.

The holograph grew and zoomed on the Southern hemisphere.

"Rindia's surface is covered in shrubland. It is mostly wild, due to the dangerous nature of the shrub and its tendency to get aflame. Most inhabitants have settled in this region, where the temperature is more temperate and water more present. It contains Rindia's largest cities, including its capital. That is where we will strike."

He gestured towards an area on the map that had started to glow red.

"A barrage will be set around the urban zone to prevent any ships from escaping – barrage which you and other TIE squadrons will be responsible for holding. Meanwhile, a squadron of bombers will come in and strike at regular intervals to pressure them into surrendering."

"Um, sir?" Luke let escape. His gaze was focused on the sphere in front of him. "What if reinforcements come from the outside?"

"I am coming to it. Another barrage will be set, this time at the level of Devastator, to blockade any ships trying to enter Rindia's atmosphere. Naturally, your work will be to stop entrances as well as exits."

Luke nodded.

"Now we just hope they don't have anti-aircraft weapons," he muttered.

"Primary analyses have not detected any. If we are mistaken, then they will naturally be your primary targets."

Luke smiled, their casual dialogue reminding him of their earlier training sessions. It was so easy to exchange like this...

Qorl's whisper immediately made him regret it.

"Still trying to gain favour? Haven't had enough of it?"

Luke rolled his eyes, and had to bite his tongue not to answer. Was he the same man that had berated him for his apparent lack of loyalty recently? He was just being bitter.

Vader, however, seemed to have noticed Qorl's comment as well. He stilled, his eyes boring into the pilot. Luke tensed and looked back at his squadmate, relieved when he saw him sustain Vader's gaze with uneasiness, but clearly not restrained in any way by their commanding officer. Please don't do anything to him, he silently prayed. He doesn't deserve it... it'll just make things worse... please let it go...

Fortunately Vader seemed to relax. He came back to his presentation without any comment on what had just happened. Luke sagged in his seat and let out a breath.

He didn't speak during the rest of the meeting. When Vader finally called it off, Luke was surprised to see he stayed in place while tinkering with the holodevice, instead of storming off as he usually did; he had an inkling he knew why. Without giving him a chance, he hurried to leave the room, his hand still clasped around the briefing data he – to his relief – hadn't had to present today.

"Hey," Silver came to him with a smile. "Things seem to be better for you with Lord Vader."

Luke gave a small, bitter laugh.

"You can see it that way."

Silver's eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?"

Luke looked away and sighed. He didn't feel like explaining it.

"No, it's fine," he sighed.

Vader exited the room and passed in front of him, but Luke only spared him a side glance, refusing to acknowledge the small falter in his step he was certain he had not imagined before his commanding officer walked away. He looked back at Silver with a smile.

"I still have a few things to do, though, so maybe I'll stay here for a little while longer. See you later?"

The other pilot hesitated, then smiled back and followed the others of the squad.

Luke entered the room again, and sat at the same place he'd been seated not so long before, not knowing if he was more relieved, tired, or angry.

Truth was, he knew this situation extremely well. He'd been the outcast during his whole childhood: scrawny and blond, living farther from the city than the others, his head in the stars, he's always stood out among the others. Biggs, who shared his passion for flying, had been his only true friend during these lonely years. All the others had either shunned him or teased him. He had never been outright bullied, outside from a few occasions... but it hadn't made it nicer a sentiment to know he didn't belong.

Never had he thought it would start again once he was a pilot.

Deciding to set his grim musings aside, he took his datapad and unlocked it. It was still showing the file of his presentation, that he finally hadn't needed to do, thanks to Vader's intervention. He supposed the data would still be valuable the next time they held a squad meeting. Hopefully the atmosphere would be a little more relaxed towards him.

He opened his mailbox, which consisted solely of organisation notes, information he'd gathered, and messages from people aboard. The Holonet was a complicated piece of technology to put in place, and he hadn't heard of any network greater than planetary – except in the Core, maybe, but Luke had given up trying to follow everything sensational happening in the Core. They had long-range transmission if they wanted to communicate with someone outside the ship. But technical limitations overall restricted their Holonet to information from aboard, with the exception of the daily news downloaded from Imperial Centre via LRT.

He opened a few of his messages with a distracted eye: an automated message from some captain, a notice from repairs, the Star Weather bulletin. He had also received an answer about some Rebel ships specs, that he needed to finish a data report. Slightly more interested, he opened it.

He scrolled down, threw a glance at the figures – he'd analyse them later. But a short note by the officer in charge awakened an unpleasant sensation in his stomach.

The missing figures had been provided by interrogation and were since disproved.

He still had a distinct feeling he knew what kind of interrogation had been performed here...

Unwilling to dwell on it, he closed the message and continued to check out his inbox, doing his best to silence Biggs frowning in his mind. There was nothing he could do about it. He had a job to do. It didn't make him happy, but such was war and he was slowly coming to accept it.

Or at least, he hoped so.

He continued working for about one hour before surrendering. His heart felt like lead, and his head might as well been about to burst.

He needed a break from everything, a well-deserved breather. He closed his datapad and brought it back to the deserted squadron dorm, then left the quarters.

He wandered in the corridors, wondering where he could go to take things off his mind. He had mastered the ability to look purposeful even though he was only taking a walk, so as to not stand out against all the other officers. His mind felt too clouded to think.

However, his steps slowed down when he realised where his legs had unknowingly led him. The sim room.

That was an excellent idea. Heavy as he felt, flying was the perfect way to take his mind off things. It was productive and would make him feel better.

He walked closer to the machines, but didn't immediately get into the cockpit. His lips stretched in a smile as he remembered the last times he'd been here.

The Force is what binds the universe together. It surrounds and penetrates us all, and is part of every living being in existence...

He closed his eyes, reached out like Vader showed him. The mental motions were becoming easier and easier, and Luke was rather proud of the progress he'd made. He shifted through the ship, brushed against the unsuspecting presences around him, busy and swarming...

He jumped as a beeping sound made its way to his ears. Luke opened his eyes and swirled back, startled.

Weefour didn't see him for once. He was too busy trilling and twittering at a small mouse droid following him around and drawing circles around him. The both of them went away to the end of the room until Luke no longer saw them. He smiled.

It was going to be all right. He'd managed today, there was no reason he wouldn't keep control later. This was to help his squadmates and everybody else. He could do it.

He rose up and choose a program before settling in the sim's cockpit, letting it wash away his worries as he was swept into the exercise.

Chapter Text

Darth Vader stood in the sims room, his hands clasped behind his back. There was nobody training there; he had always made sure it was that way, for when speaking of the Force and the mysteries of the universe, he preferred there be no witnesses. He looked at the machines, completely motionless.

It had been a week since he ordered Lars to take up training again. Seven days in which the boy had showed up perfectly on time, worked tirelessly, and never failed to demonstrate his strong desire to learn and will to prove himself. Vader knew the boy enjoyed Force training, as well as flying. That was something that never ceased to transpire from their sessions.

It was going as smoothly as he ever could hope. Lars was the perfect student: dedicated, hard-working, and motivated.

Yet Vader, for some reason, didn't feel as satisfied as he thought he would be by seeing him finally learn a thing about discipline.

He still remembered how easy-going Lars had been before he had so foolishly interrupted his training. Back then he had never thought twice before asking questions, candid as they sometimes were. He had been enthusiastic, open, and allowed Vader a fascinating look into his mind as he soaked up all the information he could on the Force.

The guarded and single-minded young man that came to their daily sessions couldn't have been more different. He hardly ever said a word, except to acknowledge Vader's instructions or ask for short and precise clarifications. There was a new hardness to his eyes, too, though Vader couldn't say if it had appeared recently, or if he only saw it now that he looked at him more closely.

It was everything Vader had wanted out of him. But, all things considered, he wasn't all that certain he appreciated the change.

Hard as it was to understand, he found himself missing the boy's quips and spirit. This new, closed behaviour didn't suit him at all.

Under his mask, Vader frowned. He had sought to make Lars trust him. And while the young pilot may have obeyed his every order, it was clear he was still extremely wary of him – if not downright afraid. This must have been why Vader was so bothered by his behaviour. Once again, his actions pertaining to the boy had backfired, and he found himself not knowing how to deal with him.

Had it been a mistake to order him into training like he had done? Had his rash and impatient action managed to burn whatever ruins of bridge remained between the boy and him? But there had been no other way. Vader couldn't obtain Lars' trust while he was trying to avoid him. And with his duties lying at the top of the fleet, while Lars' were still those of a mere pilot, he couldn't count on their regular schedules giving him the opportunity to prove himself to him...

A familiar bright presence interrupted his thoughts when Vader felt it seek out his own instinctively. He turned around and saw the boy standing in the doorway, straight as an I and his whole body tense.

"Come," Vader told him, waving for him to come closer.

Without a word, the young man complied and sat down on the ground in a fluid movement, practised many times. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes without needing Vader to tell him to.

"Good," Vader praised him. "Now breathe, open your mind, broaden your perceptions... yes."

Lars performed the exercise flawlessly, immersing himself in the Force like it was a second nature. Vader couldn't help but smile, still awed by the boy's talent after all this time – skill, really, at this point.

He opened himself to the Force in turn, and guided the boy in its folds, asking him to perform different exercises. Lars executed them all perfectly, but he had yet to say a word. Displeased, Vader realised this session was all set to happen like the previous times: Lars learning and practising, but quiet, his personality hidden behind a thick wall of suspicion. This wasn't how he would get an apprentice...

He complicated the exercise, pushed Lars to his limits in the hopes to finally break his shields. The boy didn't offer any reaction beside a frown and a pike of challenge through the Force. He threw his all in the effort, still remaining practically impassive. He didn't even complain when Vader asked him to stretch his perceptions to an extent even he had trouble attaining. When he failed, all he said to Vader was a quiet, subdued apology. Vader assured him he had done well, but was troubled to realise the boy's hands kept trembling, despite his pacifying words.

Deciding he would get nowhere like this, Vader sent the boy to the flight simulator. This was always what he took the most pleasure in; it was also the area in which he had the best instinctual responses. He truly was a natural, and practice was pushing his abilities to an extraordinary point. Vader had to admit he greatly enjoyed watching him.

Thankfully, this got the boy to relax the slightest bit, though he still had to say a word besides his laconic responses to Vader's instructions. As usual, his flying was unparalleled. He soared in the digital night sky, with all the freedom and the playfulness Vader no longer saw him exhibit any other way, but still conscious of his enemies' every movement.

"Very good," he said once Lars had atomised the time record for that particular simulation. "You are improving quickly. Now, I want you to try something different."

Lars' expression didn't change, though for a second his eyes flickered to Vader's fingers, skimming through the different programs.

"Yes, my lord?"

Vader adjusted the last settings, then looked back up at the boy.

"You are to destroy the enemy ships... without any weapons at your disposal."

The slight tightening of Lars' jaw was all he showed of his surprise. Vader couldn't help remembering the loud protests he had emitted during their very first lesson, when he thought an assignment was impossible to complete.

"How, sir?"

"By predicting your enemies' movements through the Force, and using them against them. You have already shown excellent reflexes, due to your capacity to perceive the intentions of the pilots around you. Expand that ability. Use it to defeat your foes."

Lars slowly nodded, thinking.

"And no manipulating the ships through the program. Act as if they were real beings rather than algorithms."

The corner of the boy's lips jerked upwards when he remembered his previous little trick, but he repressed his smile at the last moment.

"Go."

Lars nodded, took a deep breath, clutched the controls tighter. Vader launched the program, and stood back to watch.

At first the boy did nothing but dodge the ships. Attacks were coming his way, and he avoided them, over and over again despite the odds. Vader couldn't help be impressed by his agility; but he knew he couldn't hold it for long. He had to find a way to reduce the number of his enemies.

A strained swear word escaped the cockpit after a particularly narrow escape. The boy was tiring, losing both his concentration and his control over himself. That was part of Vader's goal in assigning him such a difficult exercise, beyond the fact that it would make him progress a lot. Given the right pressure, the boy's shields would have to crack, his true emotions to shine through; then, perhaps, Vader could reach out to him.

There was a muffled groan, and the dot on the monitor flickered and died. The boy took a deep breath, made a conscious effort to relax his muscles. Then he opened his eyes, and asked Vader to start the program again.

It happened like this for another thirty minutes: Lars would dodge, and dodge again, until the moment he tired and one of the enemies got him. Like Vader thought, as he grew more and more weary, his composure began to slip, his emotions flowing more and more freely under the effects of adrenaline. After what had to have been his fifteenth run, he stopped for a moment and run a shaking hand through his hair, before casually addressing Vader.

"Are you sure I can't tweak the sim to destroy them?"

He then bit his lip and averted his gaze, looking so much like a deer caught in a speeder's headlights Vader couldn't hold back a short laugh.

"You would not only destroy your enemies, but also the purpose of the exercise."

The boy let the smile reach his lips this time, but couldn't help throwing him a wary glance. He sighed, run his hand on his face this time, then gripped the controls once more.

"I'm ready."

Vader let him run the program again, and again, before taking pity on him when each run started to be over after ten seconds.

"That is enough for today," he said.

Lars was reluctant to stand up, but he didn't protest. He took a deep breath, wavered a little when coming out of the cockpit.

"How am I supposed to do this?" he asked. "This is by far the most complicated exercise you've ever asked of me."

"I ask it of you because you can do it," Vader said. "Trust in the Force, and it will give you the answer."

Lars didn't seem overly convinced, but he nodded without a word, his lips pinched.

"Something is bothering you," Vader stated.

Lars hesitated, then shook his head.

"It's nothing, my lord."

Vader crossed his arms, ready to berate him for lying and to order him to answer, but he decided otherwise when he saw the boy flinch, no doubt feeling his intentions. He watched him better, probing him lightly with the Force to try and guess what was the matter.

"You think you are unable to do it."

Lars sighed as discreetly as he could, but Vader heard it all the same.

"I will try."

"Trying is useless, when one doesn't believe in their abilities."

Again the boy just nodded, his face so unreadable it was driving Vader mad.

"I understand. I will do my best."

"Good," Vader insisted, not certain the boy believed him. He had no idea where he was standing, and he was growing irritated by it. "I wouldn't ask you such a thing if I didn't think you were capable."

For a fraction of a second, a shadow passed on the boy's face, just as mysterious as all his expressions had been up until now; then he regained his blank mask as he slightly bowed to Vader.

"Thank you, my lord."

He shot him an expectant glance, then headed towards the exit.

"Stay," Vader ordered him. The boy sighed, but obeyed.

Vader took a step towards him, testing the waters. Like he had thought, the boy tensed and turned towards him warily. Still acting like a mouse trapped by a lothcat, then. What, by the Force, did he have to do to make him understand he didn't need to fear him?

"I couldn't help notice the change in your behaviour in the last week," he said, taking care to keep his voice low and non-threatening. "I assure you, once more, that your prudence is not needed."

"I don't see what you are talking about," the boy said, with a confidence that took Vader aback. "I'm just focusing on the training, nothing more."

"Do not lie to me," Vader snapped. "Do you take me for a fool? You have yet to utter an honest word, when before you had trouble holding your insolence in check."

"I was under the impression you wanted me to hold my insolence in check... sir," the boy answered, sounding confused.

Vader was struck speechless for an instant. He certainly couldn't fault the boy for thinking so... so why did he miss his attitude now that it was finally gone?

"That never stopped you before," he countered. "Nevertheless, while I commend you for your efforts, I must stress how important good communication is for you to learn."

Lars scoffed, clearly about to say something, but he held himself back once more.

"I understand, sir."

"Do you?" Vader asked. It took all of his self-control not to take another step forward in intimidation. He wanted the boy to stop being afraid of him, he reminded himself. "Then what were you just about to say, before you restrained yourself?"

A flash of irritation lit up in the boy's eyes, and Vader knew he'd won this round...

"With all due respect, my lord, since you want to know so badly, I thought this was rich of you to say, considering your own communication skills," Lars said. "It sometimes seems like all I manage to achieve is giving you murderous moods."

"You would not have to worry about that if you stopped trying my patience so much," Vader retorted, waving a finger in his direction.

"That's exactly what's I'm trying to do!" Lars retorted. "But it's still not good enough, apparently!"

Once more, Vader didn't quite know what to answer. The boy was right. He had wanted him to stop talking back to him, only to regret it once he had.

"I just... wish you weren't so afraid of me," he finally said. "I have told you time and again. I wish you no harm."

Lars seemed about to say something else, then he stopped himself and sighed.

"Well, could have fooled me," he muttered. "Sometimes it's like you want me to be afraid..."

Vader didn't miss the slight jerk upwards of his hand, before he stopped it from reaching his throat and brought it down again.

"I am aware of the wrongs I have caused you," he replied. "Is it so difficult to believe I do not wish to repeat them?"

Lars looked at him, then averted his gaze.

"I will try, sir."

He had closed himself off again, Vader noticed with growing frustration. This boy was impossible!

But he knew there was nothing more to be said. He waved for the boy to go, not trusting himself to speak without betraying his annoyance.

Still, he supposed they had made progress, he told himself as Lars was gone, and he forced himself to calm down. He hadn't managed to extract half as many sincere words of him since the beginning of the week. Certainly, the boy still didn't trust him, but it didn't mean it was hopeless.

If only he could find a faster way to resolve things between them... Lars' current mistrust was all too similar to the behaviour he'd exhibited before they had started training together, and this reminded Vader that he still had a thousand questions about his background. It had felt, at times, as if he had a secret to keep, something he didn't want Vader to know... for example, who had falsified the midichlorians counts on his birth certificate, and why.

Yes, the boy was still full of mysteries, which Vader had ignored for too long. Furthermore, he knew his master was keeping his own tabs on the boy, now that he had taken an interest in him. It was in Vader's own interest to make sure he disposed of the same information...

And, if there was any secret to be discovered, having it out in the open would give the boy one less reason to hide things from him.

Vader left the sims room, reviewing his best agents in his head and trying to decide who would be the most qualified for this.
 

Luke stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel, feeling much more relaxed. Sim sessions were often intense, especially when they were Force-related, but today had been particularly nerve-racking.

He dried his short hair, quickly donned his clothes, then hung his towel on the rack before leaving the 'fresher, still thinking about Vader and his impossible assignment. No, he had to stop thinking about it as impossible, wasn't it? Otherwise he would never manage to get it done.

But no matter how much he thought about it, he still couldn't think of any way to achieve it. Not only was he alone against many enemies, but his lack of weapons was such a disadvantage... avoiding them was already a tall order. To actually vanquish them, he'd need something close to superpowers...

He scoffed. Well, the Force was similar enough to one, he supposed. He just had to figure out how the hell to use it to his advantage, since he couldn't go the easy way and just take control of the fighters via the operating system... He guessed he'd have to figure that out the next time he had a session with Vader, if he thought of nothing before then. Maybe the man would give him a hint.

With a start, he realised he wasn't feeling as apprehensive at the idea as he had at the start of the week. For all his faults, the man was not such a bad teacher, and the familiarity of the setting as well as curiosity had lulled Luke into a sense of safety. He was still wary of Vader, of course: after everything he'd pulled on Luke, the young man flatly refused to let himself completely drop his guard again. But he was feeling more comfortable, in any case. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

He also had no idea what to do with the man's constant assertions that he would no longer hurt him. Sure, he seemed sincere enough, but how long would it last before he changed his mind again? Perhaps the most unpleasant thing about it all was how little Luke knew where he stood with Vader. What did he want with him? Why did he seem so eager to teach him one moment, only to reject him and threaten him the next? It made no sense at all, and Luke knew he wouldn't be able to trust Vader until he understood what was happening in his head.

That being said, regardless of how dissatisfied Vader claimed to be with his new behaviour and lack of communication, Luke found their new dynamic to be quite comfortable. Sure, he'd never had to watch his words as closely as he did now, but it made their interactions much more peaceful. That was certainly a welcome change, even though Luke didn't know how long he would still be able to hold it out.

It did require quite a lot of self-control on his end, and was part of the reason why he always left these sessions so exhausted.

He walked to his locker, opened the door to take his datapad and check his messages. He still had quite a few flight-related duties, especially now that they were preparing a battle, but right now he didn't feel up to anything but reading his holomail.

He typed in his code, opened the door, and frowned. His locker was in more disarray than he remembered leaving it... A folder was left open against the wall, pieces of flimsi scattered around. His datapad was lying plainly visible on top of all the rest.

Luke closed the folder, vaguely put the flimsi pieces in a little pile, then seized the datapad and closed his locker before sitting on his bunk, lying against the metal headpiece and bringing his feet up on the mattress.

He must have left it in that state and forgotten about it... there was no other reasonable explanation. He was the only one knowing the code, after all... and why would people go looking around in his stuff? He'd checked, and nothing had been stolen. Everything was there, it was just a mess.

He tried to distract himself from the uneasy twisting of his guts by scrolling through his mails. It was probably nothing, anyway; he had been in a hurry this morning... His eyes moved down the screen. A few tactical notes, automatic agenda reminders, a message from a superior about Empire Day coming up in a few weeks – joy.

Luke rather enjoyed the parades and the shows of the day, especially the aerial displays, but the pompous atmosphere of the celebrations he'd always found stifling. He supposed it was a reminder of his childhood, during most of which he'd been rather upset about having to share his birthday with the Empire. It hadn't helped matters that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru seemed to hold the official holiday in contempt.

Nowadays Luke had learned to tolerate it better, even appreciate it somewhat – not like he'd had a choice, with the career he'd picked. However, the constant reminder of how glorious the Empire was, and how grateful all and every citizen were for their service, still made him a little uncomfortable. Especially knowing lots of people didn't feel that way... it was a time of the year when they had to be particularly alert, for many Rebel or civil protests took place on the occasion.

Luke was sorting his mails from "not important" to "urgent" when the sound of footsteps made him look up. To Luke's great displeasure, it was Qorl who appeared on the doorstep.

"Shooting Star," he greeted him with a cold nod. "It doesn't really surprise me to see you lazing around."

"Mind your own business," Luke mumbled. "You're probably there to do the same anyway."

Qorl only shrugged, and indeed walked to his own locker. An absurd thought crossed Luke's mind.

"Hey, did you by any chance happen to get into my things earlier? I found them all messy..."

Qorl snorted.

"Knowing you, they're probably always messy," he retorted. Luke had to concede the point, though much more grudgingly than he otherwise would have. What would have sounded like light-hearted banter from any of his other squadmates only came out of Qorl's mouth as condescending. "That, or someone's watching you. I'm not in the habit of picking locks."

Luke frowned.

"Why would someone be watching me?"

"Oh, I don't know – because you're unreliable, you could be a traitor, and you can't be trusted?"

Luke rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

He returned to his datapad and ignored the other pilot's actions as much as he could, hoping he would leave him alone.

Finally, after what seemed like ages to Luke, his wish was granted, and Qorl closed his locker's door before heading towards the exit, a stack of laundry in his arms.

"Well, I need to get going," he said. "Have fun wasting your time doing whatever idle thing you're doing."

"I'm working," Luke grumbled as Qorl left without waiting for an answer. He still didn't understand the other pilot's animosity. Was it so hard to leave him alone?

With an exasperated sigh, he put his datapad on his bed, fed up and unable to focus on his mail anymore. He covered the device with his pillow, hoping nobody would pay attention to it and notice it wasn't at the right place. He didn't want to put it with the rest of his stuff right now, not if there was a thief going through the pilots' things.

He put on his boots and headed to the main room, deciding he needed a break. Maybe he could get himself a cup of caf, too. Nothing to do with guilt at Qorl's words pushing him to leave his bed.

He didn't care about that prick, he was in a soaring mood, and there was no way in hell he was letting him get to him.

Chapter Text

Breathe in. Points of light swirled around him, illuminating the darkness of infinity. The universe pulsed, moved to make place for him, the gleaming orbits of virtual planets dancing around him.

Breathe out. Red bolts shot at his defenceless ship, fighters rushed towards him. His hands gripped the controls, his palms sweaty under his gloves. He jerked left, upwards, down. By reflex, his thumbs found his weapons' controls and he fired, but of course, nothing came out.

Breathe in. One of the enemies' projectiles flew by just a hair away from him, and he did a barrel roll in a desperate attempt to avoid it. He did his best to sink himself deeper in the Force as he felt his grasp on it weaken. But it was hard to keep his heart from accelerating, his jaw from tightening, his breath from quickening.

Another shot came at him from behind. He jerked upwards, tried to locate the ship and move away from its line of fire; but before he could go far, another blast bolt arrived and everything went black.

Luke let out a breath, fighting against the scream that begged to be set free from his throat. He rose from his seat, took a few agitated steps, all the while trying to calm his frantic heartbeat.

"Eighteen minutes and thirty-six seconds. You are getting better," said Vader.

Luke didn't answer, fearing to say something he'd regret. He knew being insolent again would only cause him trouble, like it always had, but it was growing more and more difficult to refrain from yelling at his teacher for giving him such an impossible exercise.

He'd tried his best. He had lost count of how many times he'd slipped into the sim and run the program, only to get blasted after a few minutes. It was maddening. He had the impression there must be a trick, something he should do to make the ships combust spontaneously or destroy each other, but he had always failed to find it. He wished Vader would just tell him the solution, instead of leaving him hanging like this...

But asking for it felt too easy. It was the first time he was assigned such a difficult thing to do, and he certainly wouldn't give up so quickly. Even if the temptation was great.

With another loud exhale, he let himself fall down on the bench and run a hand over his face.

"Do you want to stop already?" asked Vader.

"No," Luke said, despite how much he wanted to say the contrary. Yes. This is impossible. I can't do this. But Vader had already let him know what he thought of such complaining. "I just need a break."

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, refraining the powerful feeling of defeat that was threatening to rush over him. I'll never be able to figure it out.

"You are frustrated," said Vader. "The lack of results is making you angry."

Luke nodded, but didn't give him any details. Vader had taken that habit to try and guess what he was feeling and thinking, or perhaps he was sensing it through the Force, Luke wasn't sure. He didn't care a lot for it; it felt a little too much like reading his thoughts for his comfort, and Luke had reasons to want his commanding officer away from those.

At the same time, this felt like a different, more vulnerable side of Vader. These quiet guesses, at times, sounded like Vader was merely attempting to ask him what was on his mind, trying to – dare he think it? – connect in the only way he knew.

He would have answered the query, if he didn't know how badly Vader tended to react to him speaking his mind.

"Perhaps you need to do something else," suggested Vader.

He approached the settings panel, selected a few options Luke was too far to see. He banished the temptation to just take a step and look, cursing his curiosity.

Then Vader straightened, and to Luke's surprise, headed to the cockpit next to the one he had just occupied.

"In the simulator, Ensign."

"My lord...?" asked Luke, confused. What was he up to now?

"Some dual exercise would do you good. You are my wingman, after all. I need you to be able to keep up with me."

You bet I can, Luke thought, unable to repress a grin as he threw Vader a challenging glance. He didn't have to be told twice before slipping into place, excited anticipation building in his stomach.

Oh, he'd show him. He had no doubt he'd be able to follow Vader in whatever manoeuvre he decided to take him. He'd show him just how well he could fly.

The countdown started. Luke kept his gaze set on it, careful to keep his breathing regular. He reached for the Force, pulled it to him to calm himself.

Then the numbers reached zero. A background of stars opened in front of Luke, who dove among them, feeling the environment out. He remembered his assignment, and flew in circles, seeking Vader out.

Stay behind me.

Luke immediately recognised the twirls of smoke that reached out for him, and he locked his own presence with Vader's. Following the man's dark curls of Force allowed him to find his ship without any difficulty. He positioned himself next to him, slightly behind. Vader was flying in long and slightly curved strides, easy to follow, for Luke to adapt to him.

Are you ready?

Luke bit his lip absent-mindedly and nodded, all but forgetting Vader couldn't see him. That didn't seem to disturb the man, however, who started taking sharper turns, increasing both speed and agility. Luke let a smirk form on his face as he effortlessly imitated him.

If that was how he hoped to lose him, he'd be in for a surprise.

Only a short time after, enemy ships started appearing into the distance. Luke stayed in place at Vader's side, preparing for the onslaught. The Force was still twisting around them both, surrounding them in a flickering bond of light and shadows.

Cover for me.

Yes, sir, answered Luke.

He was nearly thrown off when Vader jerked on the right, and only managed to follow his sharp turn by reflex. Further in front of them, two X-Wings were aiming for them. Luke had to pull up to avoid the first volley of fire.

He shot back, and was greatly relieved to find out his weapons worked this time. But, remembering Vader's orders, he didn't leave his side to try and pursue the enemy. Instead he remained sagely behind him, watching out for any ships aiming at his commanding officer.

Finally the enemy squadron arrived at their level, and any thought drifted to the back of Luke's mind, replaced by immediate reaction.

He dove, flew to the right, came back. In front of him, Vader was spinning and diving as well, letting escape bolts of deadly fire from time to time. Luke was far enough behind that he could see the other ships coming at his back. He made sure to keep them at bay, enjoying his weapons responding to him and scattering the ships to pieces.

But he didn't have much time to dwell on this satisfaction. Vader was fast, and Luke had to use all his concentration to keep up with him. He kept an eye at him at all time, all the while surveying his surroundings. In a corner of his mind, the mental connection they had always shared lay dormant. It flared from time to time, helped him keep track of Vader.

He plunged, shot, rose far from the remains of the ship he'd taken down. Vader was still dancing his deadly dance, and Luke accompanied him, more and more at ease with the steps. They would fly closer, farther, then closer again, fireworks of exploding aircraft on their path.

It was an incredible sensation, to know with such certainty where Vader would go next, what he would do, to predict the movements of his craft without mistake. Sometimes Luke even got the impression Vader would adapt to him, react to his own movements and intentions. He wasn't always sure who was initiating the movements; all that mattered was that they were always together, without fail.

Then Vader disappeared. Thrown aback, Luke did a loop, certain he must have vanished behind him, searching him in his scopes – which were unresponsive, he realised with some awe. All this time they had worked without instruments...

He jerked aside to avoid a bolt of fire, did a turnaround. A little further, Vader was grappling with two ships, holding them at bay with virtuosity. Luke darted to join him. He swept in, destabilised an enemy, fired at the second while Vader destroyed the first.

The simulation stopped. Numbers showed up on the dark screen, and Luke gaped when he saw how many enemies the two of them had been grappling with, as well as the time it had taken them to vanquish them all.

The exercise had taken less than fifteen minutes.

"Whew," Luke said under his breath.

He looked up to see Vader walking up next to him.

"For a first time, that was not bad," he said, but Luke could feel an undercurrent of pride in the bond still open between them. "I hope some of your frustrations have found an outlet."

"That was... wow," repeated Luke, unable to find the right word to express all his awe and admiration. "You really are a wicked pilot."

He couldn't see Vader's face, but from the posture of his body and the tilt of his helmet, he could have sworn his commanding officer was smiling.

"You are more than adequate, yourself," he answered, echoing a conversation Luke vaguely remembered having with him, long ago. "I do not regret taking you as my wingman."

"Yeah," Luke said, feeling his chest warm up with pride at the compliment. "You know, I used to think I was a pretty decent pilot, but seeing you fly sets a whole different goal."

"With time and practice, I have no doubt you will surpass me one day, young one."

Luke looked down and smiled at the nickname. He remembered the terror hearing it had once inspired in him, knowing Vader had used it as a way to belittle and intimidate him. It was the first time he could hear such fondness in the two simple words.

"When did you fly for the first time?" he found himself asking before he could help it.

He bit his lip and averted his gaze. What had possessed him? Vader never volunteered information about himself. Such personal questions... that was just asking for trouble.

Vader remained silent. Holding his breath, Luke shot him anxious glances, the old fear of being killed in the next three seconds rising in him. He was about to apologise when Vader replied.

"I do not remember," he said. "It has always been part of my life, one way or another."

Luke nodded, surprised both by the answer, and the fact there was one at all.

"Same for me," he said, smiling in wonder at this small shared thing. His mind was full of fond and carefree memories. "I was always racing down the canyons on Tatooine."

Vader nodded.

"Dangerous, but stimulating."

Luke threw him an incredulous glance.

"You've been on Tatooine?"

Vader crossed his arms in front of him. Luke slightly recoiled, feeling the question, this time, was not well received.

"I... know of it," Vader brushed off, before continuing, if that was possible, in what sounded like a softer tone to Luke. "Tell me more about your life back then."

Luke shrugged. Alarm bells rang in his mind at the thought of giving Vader more information about himself than he ought to, but they were less acute than usual. Their exchange was so much more peaceful than he was used to, it felt nearly surreal. Luke didn't want to ruin the moment.

"There's not much to tell," he said. "It was always dry, always hot. Binary suns will do that to you... I liked to watch them set. It was my promise that one day I'd leave for good and travel through the stars."

"A dream you have fulfilled."

Luke tilted his head and looked down, wondering if he was imagining the undercurrent of bitterness in Vader's contemplative words.

"Yeah... but not really, either," he said. "I always thought I'd just leave that rock behind and never come back. But since I'm away from it, I realise it's a whole part of me. The sand on my face, the hot wind blowing, the endless desert... it'll never leave me."

"You wish to go back?" asked Vader, sounding like he couldn't believe that. Luke frowned.

"No," he answered. "One day, maybe. Not now."

He started when Vader took a step away, his cape swirling in the brusqueness of the movement. What had he said now?

"It is pointless to dwell in the past," Vader snarled, with a violence that surprised Luke. "It is gone. You will never find it back."

"I know that," Luke defended himself. "Doesn't mean I can't think about it. It's where I grew up, where my family is..."

"Delusions," Vader growled. "One day you will wake up. You will realise your family, your precious home, are nothing but ashes, and it will be too late. You can count on nothing but what you have in the present, what you built by yourself."

Luke paled.

"What do you mean? Do you know something about them? Are they in danger?"

Vader made an exasperated gesture of his hand, and Luke immediately fell quiet, his heart hammering in his ribs.

"No. That is not what I meant," he said, his voice a little softer. "Do not concern yourself."

Luke relaxed the tiniest bit, but Vader's words still puzzled him.

"Then what did you mean?"

The leather of Vader's gloves cracked, as his fists tightened.

"Nothing. You should forget about it."

He turned back towards Luke and looked him up and down for a long time, probing him through the Force. Luke didn't move an inch, confused and uncomfortable.

"There will be no more lessons needed until you have mastered the weaponless exercise," he said.

Then he left the room, leaving behind a dumbfounded Luke, who stared at the simulator's screen, still faintly glowing with their results, for a long time.
 

"Black Three, standing by."

"Black Five, standing by," Luke repeated after Boomer. He kept his ship in the formation, to the right and a little bit behind Vader, flying in a straight line to their target.

Luke had seen pictures of Rindia's green and grey surface, some patches of blue under the swirling clouds. The image he now had under the eyes lacked all these colours. Hidden from the brightness of its star, only small dots of artificial lights stood out amongst the shadows of the night.

They descended a few meters, let the lamps guide them in direction of the city. Without being small, it wasn't the biggest city Luke had ever seen, either; and he had grown up on Tatooine. The streets seemed sinuous and narrow, the lighting irregular over its surface.

"Black Squadron, get in position," Vader ordered.

They separated in two groups, still going forward on their path, on the watch for potential defenders. Luke stayed close behind his commanding officer, a knot of anxiety building up in his stomach.

"Gamma Squadron, prepare to go in."

"Roger, Black Leader," Gamma leader answered.

Taking care not to wander too far, Luke started making circles in the air, feeling the tension of expectation rise around him. So far, the journey had been calm, but it was only a question of time before that change. By now, the Rindians must have been alerted to their presence...

As if on cue, his scopes started to emit a warning beep.

"All fighters, here is Black Six, I have incoming," he heard Dark Curse say, his craft a couple hundred meters in front of Luke.

"Black Squadron, defensive formation," Vader replied. "Gamma Squadron, deliver first strike."

They placed themselves all around the bombers, waiting for the enemy. Luke and Vader had taken place above them.

Then the first ships arrived, and they plunged into combat. Luke sank into the Force, connected with Vader, and launched in pursuit. They engaged a couple Rindians rushing towards them, easily took them down.

The flames of the explosion illuminated their surroundings. A coil of satisfaction that wasn't Luke's brushed against his mind, and he smiled before eagerly following Vader towards the next enemies.

They blocked three fighters who flew towards the bombers. Two of the enemy ships engaged them while the third tried to get round. Vader and Luke grappled with their assailants, and made sure to stop the other from reaching the bombers: Luke manoeuvred to send it to Vader, who in turn did the same.

It was hard, and more than once Luke was sure he'd let the free fighter escape; but he felt Vader's wordless instructions in his mind. He knew where he was, what he wanted, his body reacting instinctively, so that he wasn't sure whether his own decisions or Vader's presence through their bond guided his movements more.

At last Vader managed to shoot down his opponents, and engaged in proper dogfight with the last one, leaving Luke much space to breathe. In less than twenty seconds, Luke's own enemy was space dust.

Luke circled in the air, watching out for other fighters while doing his best not to let his attention get diverted by the sight under him. The darkness of night had subsided, chased away by the numerous flames and explosions of the bombs falling on the city. The silence accompanying the flashes of light felt out of place to Luke; if he let his mind wander, he could all too well picture the deafening noises, the cries of terror of the people trapped in the destruction. Smoke would be rising from the ruins, but they were too far above to be affected by it.

He took a breath, sought out Vader through the Force as a way to distract himself from the frantic lives running beneath him. His commanding officer's dark presence acted as a cloud, shielding him from the carnage below to help him focus on the battle he was swept in.

A bit further, a TIE fighter was grappling with two Rindian fighters, struggling to avoid getting shot down. Without a thought, Luke rushed towards it. A couple well-placed blasts forced one of the enemies to move farther, and it turned towards Luke instead.

Luke led it away from his squad mate, only to bite back a curse when he realised two more enemies were coming their way. Before he had a chance to avoid them, they were on him, three on one.

Luke twisted, and turned, did barrel rolls after loops, but his breathing increased nonetheless. His control was slipping, he was sinking into more and more defensive moves, relying nearly only on instinct.

A blast bolt missed him by a hair, and he cursed, his hands shaking. His opponents were holding him tight: he couldn't afford the slightest mistake, and yet he was bound to make one sooner or later. He couldn't hold on like this forever.

Another shot had him jerk brusquely on the left, losing his balance and tumbling just in front of an enemy; his heart missed a beat, this was it, he braced himself for the light and the pain –

The ship exploded. Luke pulled up, and saw Vader's advanced craft fly above his head. He swooped on another enemy before he could fire on Luke and destroyed it with great prejudice. Struggling to get back on track, Luke barely managed to shoot down the third of his enemies, before taking his place back at Vader's side.

Thank you, he said, relief and gratitude overwhelming him when he realised Vader must have gone out of his way to save him. They were farther away from the bombers than he had thought.

Focus, he dryly replied. The battle is not over.

Luke took a deep breath, feeling slightly chastised.

The next minutes happened in much the same way. He and Vader were incredibly in tune, their shared knowledge of the Force making them all but unstoppable. More than one bomber was saved by their intervention before the end of the mission.

Finally, Vader ordered for them to retreat. The city was alight with fire, much brighter than it once was. Luke looked straight ahead as they pulled up and ahead, back towards Devastator.

Even after successfully manoeuvring his TIE into its rack, he didn't get out of it immediately, staring ahead and seeing nothing. His breathing was steady, but his heart was drumming against his ribs. He needed air.

He took off his helmet with great relief, then opened his cockpit. The hiss of the hatch opening was distant in his ears. Belatedly, it occurred to him that climbing a ladder one-handed wasn't the most practical thing to do, but he did it anyway. He really didn't want to put his helmet back on.

Impaired by his burden, he stumbled lightly upon reaching the ground. His trembling hand settled against the hull of his ship for support. There was ash on the metal, he noticed, as if from afar.

All of a sudden a torrent of images pounded upon him, and he closed his eyes, leaning on his ship again. A mother hugging her child close, huddled in the corner of a street. A girl running, stopping as a flaming beam fell in front of her. Siblings shivering against each other in a basement, silent tears on their faces. An old man tumbling on his cane before he could reach the stairs, taken in the floor's explosions. Civilians, who hadn't asked for anything.

I did what I needed to, Luke thought with gritted teeth, fighting against the images. It's war. People die. Never had he cursed his gift in the Force so much.

But another part of him couldn't help remember Biggs' accusations, so long ago. About civilians, prisoners, unnecessary cruelty.

What had this attack achieved?

Revenge, his mind provided, and he latched onto it. For Chaser, Mauler, all of them. Rindia had helped Rebels. They deserved to suffer for it, like they had. Punishment, a warning not to do it again.

He knew these things. But they seemed empty anyway, in the face of the violence his mind showed him in sparks.

One day it would end. One day they'd defeat the Rebels, and peace would come back. All of this... it would be over.

Luke held on to that thought, repeated it like a mantra. Anger and devastation ravaged his chest, resentment for these so-called freedom fighters, who brought nothing but death on the galaxy they claimed to want to save.

This had to stop. He would make sure it would.

He opened his eyes and straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. The time of crying was over. Now he needed to fight.

He turned around to head towards their quarters, when his step faltered. Just a little farther, Qorl seemed to be walking towards him. Luke had no patience to deal with him at the moment.

But the more he approached, the more Luke realised this didn't seem to be the same Qorl he'd dealt with before. There was no aggression on his face, no mocking smile on his lips. Instead he looked at him with hesitation, unsure of himself. He opened his eyes as if to say something, then held out his hand instead.

"Thank you. For saving my life."

Luke huffed, gave him a cold smile, though this hardness wasn't directed towards him.

"We're a squad," he just said.

Qorl nodded, and Luke realised, a bit late, he hadn't taken his hand. He hoped the other wouldn't take it the wrong way; but at the same time, he found he didn't really care. Qorl pursed his lips, then smirked in that expression Luke hated so much.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect it from you," he said, a trace of admiration in his voice that wasn't enough to entirely pacify Luke.

"I'm full of surprises," he deadpanned. Qorl's face fell, and he looked about to say something else, but Luke wasn't interested in hearing any of it right now. He walked past him, dreaming of a hot shower and his bunk.

He hadn't made ten steps when he saw Vader step out of his ship. Luke remembered Vader had saved his own life, too; he changed directions, intent on thanking him.

Before he could open his mouth, Vader turned his head towards him, and they exchanged a gaze. Then he looked away and just strolled out of the hangar without a word, without even acknowledging Luke. The young man couldn't feel anything from him in the Force.

He gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists, squeezing them so tight his nails got into his palms. The pain kept him grounded, helped him manage the sudden and potent anger descending on him.

Not again. He was done with Vader's little act, done letting him discard him whenever he felt moody.

He followed the man's long strides out of the hangar.

Chapter Text

Vader stormed out of the hangar, cape flowing behind him as he walked in the corridors without conscious aim. His mind was a maelstrom of fear, pain, and above all scorching fury against himself.

Behind him, he heard the boy's footsteps following him, felt the probing tendrils of the Force against his mind. Unconscious boy, reckless, careless, without a hint of self-preservation. He had no idea what he was getting himself into; he had never stopped to think long enough for that.

In his mind's eye Vader saw him rush unprotected towards his squadmate again, tackle more enemies than he could take in an effort to divert the threat. He saw his own skirmish against another ship, how close he was to getting his prey. Then he had heard the boy's alarm in the Force, noticed how dangerously close the enemy fire came to the hull of his craft.

He hadn't even thought. Before he knew it, he had been at the boy's side, chasing away the threats on his life with extreme prejudice. He still remembered the way his heart had stopped at the sight, the despairing terror at the thought of his ship going up in flames. Even now, the possibility that he might have been too late or have missed sent cold shivers in his veins.

It was going too far. He had let it go too far. He couldn't afford this weakness any longer.

And the blasted boy kept following him. His light bled in the Force, suffocating with swirling emotions that unsettled Vader greatly and prevented him from thinking straight. He needed distance, to reconnect with his own mind and decide on a course of action... this couldn't go on.

He couldn't deal with this fear, the pain that would inevitably come once he lost him. He couldn't go through that again.

Better to stop it all now.

"Lord Vader!"

At the boy's call, he stopped. His hand moved to his hip, unhooking his lightsabre.

He needed to do it, now. He had to achieve what he could never resolve himself to do before. It was the only way.

"Lord Vader, you –"

The boy paled when Vader turned around, wide eyes staring at his weapon. He slowly put his hands up in the air, but didn't move back. A nervous huff escaped him, short and devoid of joy, and he looked up at Vader.

"Well that promise didn't last long."

Vader didn't answer, but ignited the lightsabre and pointed it at his chest. He refused to rise to his bait. One blow – one single swipe, and it would be over.

The boy didn't start, didn't jump, didn't move. He stared at him, blue eyes boring into his mask.

"Go on," he dared him.

His voice was shaking in the end, but he held himself straight, still looking at him unflinchingly. Once again, Vader saw other eyes in their place, brown instead of blue but just as determined, just as daring.

I will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war.

He had the same shape of nose, the same tense set of the jaw expressing stubbornness. A bolt of pain shot through Vader's chest, and he clutched his weapon tighter.

Why was the Force tormenting him so? What did it want to achieve? It was as if this boy had been sent to remind him of this past, all to painfully. He was just the same age as his child would have been, he was strong in the Force; he even looked like him, and Force, he had her expressions, her courage and her heart...

Would his unborn baby have been so strong, so bold? Would it have shaken Vader's world and wormed its way into his life the way Lars had?

His chest aching with an impossible longing, Vader lowered his blade. It was pointless. This boy was not his child, could never be his child.

But he found himself wishing he was.

Luke scoffed and brought his arms down, a small smirk on his face that barely hid his relief.

"Knew it. If you really wanted me dead you'd have killed me a long time ago."

Vader didn't answer. He disengaged the blade and attached the lightsabre to his belt again.

Luke was right. Vader didn't want him to die, hadn't wanted that for a long time now. But he knew the Force had a way to mock these wishes and take his loved ones away. He couldn't afford to let anyone close again, and yet it seemed it was too late.

He cared too much about him already. There was nothing he could do to change that; nothing but teach him all he could, protect him to the best of his ability.

"Why have you followed me?" he asked.

Luke closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I can't do this anymore," he said, looking at Vader. His voice as strong, as if this was something he'd held a long time inside himself. "Rebels are one thing. But these people down there... you must have felt them, too. They haven't done anything wrong."

He stopped, swallowed. An unpleasant rush of pain crossed Vader's heart. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he growled. He didn't like where this was going. Were he to find out the boy was a traitor – that he'd betrayed him, so soon after being offered mercy...

"The war needs to stop, and soon," Luke said. Vader's heart clenched seeing the fear and the determination warring on his face. "I know I'm just a soldier who needs to follow orders. But it is no longer enough. I can't just be a silent cog in the machine. I remember you made me an offer, long ago."

His right hand fidgeted with his left sleeve. Vader could feel his emotions in the Force, his turmoil of disgust and guilt for what he had witnessed and his part in it, his determination not to let this unsaid, despite the possible consequences for himself. Vader watched him for a long time, not sure how to respond, a thousand painful remembrances flooding his memories. Forbidden words were forming in his mind, words he had already told someone else, long ago. They flew out of his mouth before he could think them through.

"I did," he said, slowly.

He probed their surroundings, making sure they were alone. Anticipation was raging in his chest, and yet he hesitated. He knew his next words would change everything, crystallise all his half-admitted thoughts.

"I offered you to teach you the true power of the Force, to be more than a mere pilot. Together, we could do many great things... we could change this Empire for the better."

An image involuntarily passed between them, a decaying corpse ran through by a red lightsabre. Luke's eyes widened, understanding the unsaid significance of these words.

"Yes," Vader answered, although the boy had said nothing. "The thought had been on my mind since I met you. That is why I have been distant at times; this endeavour is not something lightly considered."

A half-truth, conveniently omitting the conflicting feelings that had been battling within him ever since he had learnt to know the boy, and that he didn't feel ready to examine too closely. Still it seemed enough for Luke, who nodded.

"I just want for this war to end and the bloodbath to stop," he said.

"The Empire has committed many wrongs towards its citizens," Vader admitted. "But together, we could correct that. We could end this conflict once and for all."

Luke was staring at him, unmoving, but his presence in the Force was flaring like an agitated star. Vader extended his hand to him, his own tendrils of smoke reaching out in the same movement to entwine with the boy's bursts of light.

"Let me teach you, and we will make the galaxy into what we want it to be."

For a long time they stood looking at each other. Trying to curb his anticipation, Vader forced himself to watch Luke in silence as the boy hesitated, warring with the last shades of his doubt. Then his bright presence calmed down and retracted as he came to a decision. Had he been able to, Vader would have held his breath.

His heart missed a beat when Luke nodded, a small, nearly undetectable movement. Both of them could feel the significance of the moment. Their bond had become nearly tangible, linking them beyond words and thoughts. The Force was swirling around them, a storm of light and shadows spiralling around them in expectancy.

Then, to Vader's great surprise, the boy didn't take his hand. Instead, prompted by the currents of the Force, he slowly lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head.

"I will learn what you will show me, so we can stop the war and bring back the peace."

Vader let his triumph broadcast through the Force. He took a step forward and put his hand under his elbow to signal him to rise. Luke stood and looked up at him again, resolve clear in his blue eyes. Vader's hand didn't leave his forearm.

He wanted to offer him promises of greatness, to tell him of everything they could achieve together. He wanted to say how far he would bring him, all the things he would be able to achieve one day. He could see his potential so clearly now, possibilities and pathways of the future unfolding before him.

Instead he merely squeezed his arm, and knew the boy understood when he smiled.
 

Ereen checked the coordinates of the planet, then started her descent. It was here. She shot a look of distaste at the brown and ochre planet. She had known Tatooine was a desolate planet in more ways than one, but seeing it with her own eyes made everything more real.

She wrinkled her nose. It was difficult to imagine that one or two hundred thousands citizens of the Empire lived on this wasteland. She had grown up in the Core, and couldn't fathom how these people could stand such an inhospitable environment instead of the mountains, forests, oceans, and proximity to Imperial Centre she had been used to.

She flew further down, looking for the closest Imperial outpost, situated close to a tiny town that Ereen's data told her was called Bestine, likely the capital. Her codes were up to date, and she had no problem landing in the protected area. Had she expected concrete or asphalt, she would have been disappointed. The landing docks, if you could call them that, were made of sand just like the rest of the planet.

She sighed and put on her protective cloak, glad she had the insight of braiding her long and thick hair extra tight today, bringing it back around her skull. Not for the first time, she reflected it would perhaps be more practical to cut it short, but she never could resolve herself to do it. Taken in the sometimes impersonal machine of the Empire, home culture and traditions became even more important; especially when your job was to be a spy and a detective. Like many Alderaanians, Ereen found the idea of fighting unsavoury, but that hadn't prevented her from wanting to contribute to the great galactic association that had been the Republic, now the Empire. She had found investigating to be the perfect way to serve for about thirty years now.

She went outside her ship, and headed towards the outpost. It was an old and worn building made of some kind of whitish stone, far from giving the impression of domination and strength Ereen had witnessed from Imperial outposts on other worlds. She sighed. Better get this over and done with so she could leave this planet as soon as possible.

She entered, and was greeted by a lone Stormtrooper at a desk.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"I would like to check the population registry," she answered, holding out her badge for him to check.

He threw it a quick glance.

"What year?"

"First year of the Empire."

Ereen watched with distaste as the trooper took an old dusty folder from the shelf, brushed the sand away from it, and held it out to her.

Of course their records wouldn't be computerised, she thought, skimming through the cracking sheets of flimsi. Thankfully, she found the document she was looking for at the start of the folder.

The boy was, after all, born on the first Empire Day.

She read the data, noticed the document's similarity with the one her employer had given her. Luke Lars, nearly nineteen years old, of father and mother unknown. He lived with Owen and Beru Lars on a moisture farm, and was far below the blood standards for Force-sensitivity. She knew all this already.

Just as she knew there was something fishy about it.

But for the life of her, she couldn't pinpoint what. The document was in order, every formality was respected, and the flimsi looked as old as it ought to be.

She pinched her nose, thinking. Of course this couldn't be as easy as she would like it to be. This journey to the desert planet was already a desperate measure, after trying to find information in other ways. But even his locker hadn't held anything of note. She'd had to acknowledge that, if he was hiding anything, then he probably hadn't concealed it close to the Empire.

Which left Ereen on this less than pleasant trip on a scorching planet, looking through decades-old flimsi for the slightest hint of something wrong. She had hoped the original document might give her more information. Obviously she had been wrong.

But that didn't mean everything was over.

She turned a few pages, disregarding marriage, moving, and death documents, and looking specifically for birth certificates. Surely the boy hadn't been raised in seclusion. He must have had friends, gone to school.

Two children held her attention, Windy Starkiller and Camie Marstrap, who lived not too far from his farm.

"Do you know where I can find these people?" she asked the trooper, showing her the two files.

He looked at it and shrugged.

"I don't really meddle with the locals, ma'am. But I bet you'll find them easily. Anchorhead is really small."

It must be, if it's even smaller than this city, Ereen nearly replied. Instead she asked the man for the coordinates of the town and gave him back the folder with a thanks.

Fifteen minutes later, she landed on the outskirts of Anchorhead. It was, indeed, even tinier than Bestine. She asked around for Starkiller and Marstrap, but often only met distrusting glances. She knew most inhabitants of Tatooine didn't like the Empire, which is why she had left her uniform in her ship in exchange for something more neutral, but that didn't seem to help much.

"You'll have the most chances of finding them at Tosche Station," an old man finally told her. "That's where all the kids gather these days. I heard the Fixer and young Camie finally got engaged. About time!"

Without asking who the Fixer was, Ereen hastened to search for the building, which would have been easy to find if not for the lack of insignia or indication anywhere.

When she entered the station, she had to blink at the sudden change in brightness. Local music was playing out of old speakers.

"Hi," the man at the counter addressed her, a hand still on the thigh of the young woman sitting in his lap. Charming. "What can I do for you?"

He was tall, and had tanned skin, black hair and a beard, like a lot of people on this planet. It made Ereen wonder that the young pilot she was researching was so fair-haired, but then, genetics were something mysterious.

Unless, that is, he wasn't a Tatooine native at all. Her employer had specifically asked her to research his origins...

"I'm looking for Windy Starkiller or Camie Marstrap," she asked.

"I'm Camie," the woman said, sitting up. "What is it? I've never seen you around these parts."

"That's because I'm not from here. I'm looking for information about a schoolmate of yours, Luke Lars."

She had pondered coming up to them with a well-rounded story to avoid suspicion, but had eventually decided on a different strategy. She was doing perfectly legal work, and her employer had said nothing to her about stealth. Besides, word coming back to the young man that a stranger was asking after him at home would likely not cause any real problem. To the contrary: his correspondence was watched closely, and his reaction to such news would no doubt be enlightening.

Fixer and Camie exchanged a puzzled glance that Ereen didn't fail to notice.

"You won't find him here. He's gone for the Academy," the man said.

"The Imperial Academy?" Ereen said, pretending to be surprised. "He's a Stormtrooper?"

"No, the Flight Academy," Camie answered her. "Such hopeless dreamers, he and Biggs both. Never could keep their feet in the ground."

Fixer squeezed Camie's thigh, and she threw him an exasperated glance. That was information he didn't want her to give out, then.

Ereen knew the name of Biggs Darklighter. He and Lars had been inseparable during their training, until they had been stationed on different ships after graduation. She had already made a note of it in her file.

She put it away in a corner of her mind.

"Oh," she said, a pout of disappointment on her lips. Time to try a different strategy, then; truth was good, but it had its limits. She made sure to look at Camie. In her experience, women tended to trust her more. "That's a shame. I'm an old friend of Luke's family. I was unaware of his existence until recently... How is he like?"

Neither Camie nor Fixer relaxed visibly, but she knew they were processing the information and would either refuse her outright or give her what she wanted.

"Biggs knew him better than us," Camie finally said. Ereen had to force down her satisfaction. "He was always with his head in the sky, dreaming of that father of his."

"What did he tell you about his father?"

"Said he was a freighter pilot, the kind of guy you find in every spaceport," Fixer chimed in. "But he was fascinated by him. Never knew much about him though, except he supposedly died. Fled and never came back, more like."

Ereen nodded. So, no more information on that front; the kids visibly didn't know their former classmate so well, and certainly not enough for them to be able to provide her with what she was looking for. Time to leave, then.

"Sounds like him," she said, staying as vague as he could. "Thank you for your answers. I hope I'll be able to meet Luke soon... it's really too bad I couldn't see him."

The couple nodded and mumbled a goodbye Ereen returned before going out.

That hadn't gone so well, she reflected, bringing back her hood over her head to protect herself from the suns. Something she had said early in the exchange had made them tick, brought them on their guard, and she had no idea what that was. Furthermore, even aside from that, it was obvious they had only known Lars from afar.

She shivered despite the heat. She had to find more information on him. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she came back empty-handed.

Asking Lars' aunt and uncle about it was out of the question. Whatever it was he was hiding, they were certainly in league with him. She would have followed the trail the two young people gave her and searched for Biggs Darklighter, but she knew she had no more chance to find him here than Lars himself.

But maybe she could ask Darklighter's parents. She didn't think they would be much more forthcoming than Lars' classmates, but who knew what their son had told them.

It would be tricky, but it was worth a try. Better that than to find nothing...

Much like the Larses, the Darklighters lived outside the town, in the desert. Ereen didn't like the idea of going out so far in the wilderness, but maybe she could use it in her advantage.

She discarded her shuttle for the trip, and rented a speeder instead. It was a real scam, but she didn't have the time to bargain more than the strict minimum. A few meters flown on it made her turn around and purchase a pair of goggles as well. She couldn't see with all the sand flowing in her face.

The way to the Darklighters' homestead was not so long, but it felt like forever to her. She was tired and dishevelled at the end of her trip. It served her plans, she reminded herself. She left the speeder and approached the house.

"Hello?" she called blindly, leaning over the outside wall. "Is there someone here?"

She wouldn't go so far as to say the homestead was beautiful, but it certainly seemed bigger and more comfortable than most of the buildings she had seen until now. The owners must be richer than the average Tatooine local.

She called a few more times before she finally had an answer.

"Who are you?"

She turned around to see an old and rather stout man walk towards her, white hair coming out of his sun hat: most probably Huff Darklighter. He looked friendly enough, to Ereen's relief.

"My name is Yana Lidrath," she lied. She always had a false identity on hand, even in cases like this where it probably wasn't needed. It was a habit she had taken; unless the person needed to know her real name, she didn't give it away. "You are Mr. Lars?"

"Oh, no, the Larses' farm is further in the west, near the Jundland Wastes," the man said.

"Oh," Ereen answered, her face falling in disappointment and dismay. Her impression of a kicked puppy must have been convincing, for her interlocutor laughed softly.

"But you look like you could use a glass of water," he offered. "Do you want to come inside for a while and cool down before going back on your way?"

"That would be appreciated, yes," Ereen answered, glad her plan was working.

Darklighter welcomed her inside and offered her a choice between water and blue milk. Ereen knew how expensive water was on Tatooine, and that it was expected of a good guest to take the milk, so she did that, even though it didn't look too appealing to her.

"So," Darklighter sat down in front of her. "Tell me, what are you going to the Larses for?"

"I'm looking for their nephew," Ereen answered, deciding to stay with the story she'd told the youths at the station. She hoped what little she'd learnt would be enough to keep the pretence up. "I was a friend of his father before he passed away. I just found out he had a child, and I wanted to meet him."

Darklighter gave her an apologising smile, his eyebrows rising.

"You're out of luck today," he said. "Luke's a pilot in the Imperial Navy. He's left the planet long ago."

Ereen closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Well this is decidedly not my day," she said. "I can't say that surprises me, however, if he is anything like his father."

Her interlocutor nodded.

"You knew Anakin well?"

Ereen shrugged, taking note of the name of the boy's father.

"A little," she said, adding an embarrassed laugh for good measure. "We worked on the same freighter for a while. It was long ago, but I thought I'd check on the kid... for old times' sake."

"I understand."

Darklighter's smile hadn't left his face as he nodded politely, but Ereen wasn't a detective for nothing. She could read people. Right now, her instincts were telling her that something had brought the old man on his guard.

She reviewed her words in her head. Had she slipped up, was there something she'd said that had awakened his suspicion?

Hmm. Another thought came to her mind. Perhaps she had just lowered in his esteem. If he took her for the boy's mother, perhaps she could find a way to use that assumption.

"I haven't seen him in so long..." she whispered, her eyes down to give the impression she was talking to herself, but still loud enough for Darklighter to hear.

She swallowed, then crossed the older man's gaze again. She didn't like to stop looking at others' faces for too long, and risk missing any important reactions. Unfortunately, Darklighter's expression was still unreadable.

"You could leave him a note, tell him where to find you when he has leave."

She rested her head on her hand.

"Maybe..." She pretended to consider the offer. "But would he even know about me? What does he know about his parents?"

The man frowned, and she inwardly cursed.

"Not much, I believe. They died when he was just a baby."

"Really?" Ereen asked. "Surely there must have been stories... Anakin Lars was someone exceptional."

All of a sudden, Darklighter's eyes became icy, all trace of the friendly man disappearing from his face. Ereen started.

"Not that I know of." He rose up. "I need to go back to the fields; I still have some work to do on the vaporators."

She imitated the movement.

"Oh, yes, I am keeping you," she hastened to say. "I apologise. I will be on my way."

"Yeah," Darklighter answered.

He half accompanied her, half threw her outside. She thanked him for his hospitality, expressed her regret not to have been able to meet Luke, then sped out of the property as fast as she could without it being suspicious.

The whole way, she thought about the exchange. Darklighter had seemed to close up the more she talked... but she couldn't figure out where she had gone wrong.

There was a secret behind this, she realised. Something big. And like her employer had told her, it involved Luke Lars' past; his father, to be precise.

But what good was this realisation if she couldn't make anything of it? Whatever this secret was, it was well kept. Darklighter had seemed aware of it, but not Lars' friends. How was she supposed to find out anything if all the people who knew refused to tell her?

It was nearly dark when she came back to her ship, exhausted, a coil of anxiety in her stomach. She had no ideas left, and she still hadn't found out what Lars was hiding. Her employer would be angry... and she knew what happened to people who made him angry.

She took a deep breath, relishing her ability to do just that, and massaged her collarbone. Don't despair. Think. There must have been other people who had heard about Lars' parents... Apparently, he talked a lot about his father as a child. She needed to find other people who knew him when he was small, and who could disclose information...

A thought came to her mind, not extremely promising, but it was something all the same. There was an Imperial school nearby that must have kept records. If she was lucky, maybe she could even talk to his former teacher...

She would do that tomorrow, she decided, before collapsing on her pillow.

The temperatures on Tatooine were far more pleasant in the morning, she decided as she headed to the school. She no longer wondered at the antiquated state of the building; they seemed to all be the same on this planet.

She arrived at the school during break time, and was warmly welcomed by the teachers even as she showed them her badge. It was nice not to have to beat about the bush, and to make her inquiries clearly. Unfortunately, that didn't mean it was the end of her frustration.

"Luke Lars?" the fifth grade teacher frowned. "I don't remember having anyone with that name in my class. But it does sound familiar. Are you certain you haven't made a mistake?"

"Quite sure, yes," Ereen snapped. "Do you keep a record of your students? I would like to have a look at it."

Fortunately, they did keep such a record. It was in a small and dusty room, but it no longer mattered to Ereen. She doubted she would find anything here, but searching was better than doing nothing. She would do everything in her power before admitting defeat.

She searched through the different folders, which were kept by year, and then alphabetical order. She couldn't help a stab of disappointment when two times skimming through the letter "L" didn't reveal the boy's file. Had he been misplaced in another year? She was discouraged in advance by the idea of searching the whole room, but she would do it if she had to. Just to be thorough, she half-heartedly threw a look at the rest of the year, just in case it was closer than she thought.

Her heart missed a beat when she found it. It was the same boy: although he was much younger, there was no mistaking his shy smile and striking blue eyes. She took it from the folder, still staring at it, certain there must be a mistake.

"When students are inscribed here, do you ask for their birth certificate?" she asked the teacher.

"Always," the other woman replied.

Ereen stared at the paper, answers clicking into place in her mind. That was why Darklighter had been startled when she had talked about Anakin Lars. There were still more questions than answers, but the pieces were coming together at last. This was huge.

At least she no longer had to fear coming back empty-handed...

Chapter Text

Luke gritted his teeth as he blocked the attack just in time. He parried, took a step back, dodged, attacked in turn, before bringing his sabre up again. Sparks flew between his blue blade and Vader's red.

"Use your anger," Vader advised. "You are frustrated and tired, but you don't do anything with it."

Luke parried again, then dove in, a desperate attempt to stop the endless blows Vader was striking him. He was swatted away like a pathetic fly.

"Again," Vader said.

Luke's grip on his weapon tightened, a flare of irritation rushing through him. He threw himself at Vader, finally regaining some advantage. But he saw his opponent's next move half a second too late. A breath later, his lightsabre clattered on the floor. He massaged his aching wrist and went to pick it up, panting.

"Good, said Vader as Luke came back towards him. "You are making progress."

Luke shot him a tired grin, slightly comforted by his words after the beating he'd taken. He knew they had only started training two weeks earlier, but it was a little discouraging to be constantly reminded of how much he still had to learn. Still, lightsabre practice might have been brutal and difficult, but most of the time, it was great fun.

Not right now, though. At the moment Luke felt like he'd been run over by a bantha.

"You're still totally destroying me," he said, half joking.

A stab of annoyance in the Force was the only reaction he got. He frowned.

"Pay attention to your footing," Vader advised. "You often keep your feet too wide open. It reduces your freedom of movement."

Luke nodded, but didn't answer. Vader brought up his blade again, in a posture that would have been complete with a raised eyebrow. Luke imitated him with reluctance, exhausted, but not daring to protest.

As soon as he was ready, Vader came at him with renewed strength and speed. Luke had trouble keeping up with his pace. He twisted his blade right and left, barely catching all the blows, unable to strike back. His attention was no longer on his feet, too surprised by the violence of the attacks to focus on anything else. Powerless to keep his ground, he took a step back, then another, feeling himself lose control.

One blow more powerful than the others unbalanced him. He only just caught it on his blade, but stumbled under the shock and fell hard sitting on the ground. He groaned in pain and looked up, before freezing when he saw the tip of Vader's sabre pointed at his throat.

Vader sheathed his sword, and Luke relaxed. He took his sweet time getting back up and picking up his weapon again, dearly hoping Vader would stop the lesson now. He was tired, he was aching all over, he was out of breath, and his butt hurt.

He often felt completely spent after a training session, but his teacher usually wasn't quite this brutal with him. Today Luke felt more like a punching ball than a student.

Vader looked at him for a moment, then reached out an open hand in his direction. Luke couldn't help a wave of relief as he limped towards his teacher and placed the lightsabre in his palm. Vader closed his fingers around it.

His commanding officer had never been forthcoming with information about his past. But when among all the hilts Vader had offered him to choose from, Luke had found this one most adapted to his hand, Vader had looked at the weapon for a long while. He had then told Luke the blade had once belonged to his own teacher, before saying with a trace of bitterness that he knew Luke would make a better use of it. Luke had tried to get the rest of the story, but in vain.

The only thing he knew was that this sword, like all those he had been presented with, had once belonged to Jedi. Vader hadn't said how he had acquired them, but Luke knew of the Purge and of the Great Treason. It was lucky he was pretty sure his father had died before that, but he couldn't help wonder with a sliver of uneasiness whether one of these weapons had once been his, after all. Had he fallen at the very hand of Luke's instructor, what kind of son would that make Luke?

But Luke had no way to know. Several times, he had wondered about asking Vader, but he had always refrained from doing so. Being the son of a Jedi remained dangerous, and even now he knew he risked a death sentence by disclosing it. Besides, there was no way his father had betrayed the Republic. Luke was certain he would have seen the necessity of what he was doing. After all, they were pursuing the same goal: bring back the peace, and make the galaxy a better place.

Vader was now staring at the lightsabre with the same lost look he had worn that first day, and Luke felt curiosity rise in him again. He could feel the storm around Vader, the wind of his emotions resonating through the Force so strongly Luke couldn't have avoided it if he had wanted to.

"Are you all right?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet. He only rarely asked Vader personal questions. Even something so simple as this could either be answered or send him in a rage, depending on his mood.

But Vader seemed to take his enquiries better lately. It was still as difficult to get answers from him, but at least he had no longer threatened his life since he had started training him for real. And he had been acting strangely during the whole lesson today. Luke would have lied if he'd said he wasn't the tiniest bit concerned.

Vader's grip on the lightsabre tightened.

"I am fine," he replied, somewhat curtly. "You must not worry about me."

"Is it about the Emperor's visit tomorrow? It'll be fine, I promise. I worked extra hard on my shielding."

The Emperor always chose to honour a specific ship for the celebrations of Empire Day, and went to see the soldiers himself before spending the rest of the day on Imperial Centre for the festivities. This year he had chosen to bestow this honour on Devastator, and while neither Luke nor Vader were particularly happy about it, they needed to act as if nothing was amiss. In prevision for that, they had worked hard to make sure Luke was in control of his mind.

Vader put the lightsabre away, shaken from his thoughts. He turned to Luke, and the young man couldn't help swallow, the remnants of old fear rising in his guts as Vader came closer. However, the instinctual reaction felt worn down and weak, and Luke had no problem putting it aside.

"Let me see," Vader ordered, bringing up his fingers to Luke's temple.

Luke closed his eyes and pictured the bright suns of Tatooine. Vader's presence enveloped his, stifling and overwhelming; but Luke didn't let himself be disoriented by the sensation, which he knew well by now. He let Vader invade his mind and sift through his memories, keeping his breath steady, redirecting him subtly whenever he came too close to images he didn't want him to see.

After no more than a few seconds, Vader retreated and took a step back. Luke opened his eyes.

"It will do," he said. "I do not think you will be in danger. You should remember, however, that the Emperor's presence is very different from mine. You will have to be on your guard constantly, for you might not even feel him inside your mind."

Luke nodded, then huffed with a smirk.

"Mortal danger, what a great birthday present," he joked.

Vader froze, clenched his fists. Luke was surprised by the sudden intensity of the emotion rushing through their bond.

"There will be no such thing," he swore. "Nothing will happen to you."

Luke blinked, unsettled by the outburst.

"All right," he said. "All right. I believe you."

They stood together for a while in awkward silence. Luke was burning with curiosity at Vader's odd behaviour, but he didn't dare ask about it again.

"Do not concern yourself with me, young one," Vader finally said, his voice softer than before. "I am merely... not fond of the holiday. It will pass."

Luke nodded. He could understand the feeling.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Luke caught himself thinking of the future and of the Empire, of how huge and daunting it always seemed, especially during the parades of Empire Day. He felt so tiny and insignificant in the middle of so much pomp.

"Will it really change anything? Our plans?" he asked, barely daring to voice it.

He had agreed to Vader's proposition in haste, in the grip of emotion. But doubt had seized him several times since then. It just seemed too easy, somehow, to take out one person and hope everything would be solved. The Empire was a huge system.

"It must," Vader answered. "We will make it change."

It wasn't the answer Luke had expected, but he accepted it for now.

The whole prospect of getting rid of the Emperor and bringing back the peace was still surreal. They had talked about it here, in the safety of Vader's quarters, expressing their wishes and the changes they would make, but Luke couldn't see it anyway. Once or twice, Vader's words of freedom and of making everything right had managed to stir him, but whenever Luke thought about it on his own, he never managed to imagine himself as a ruler.

But he would trust Vader's word that the slaughter and the cruelty would stop. If he said this would help, then Luke would believe him. It was all he could do, and better than to do nothing at all.

"The lesson is over," Vader said. "You are obviously exempt of it in the next days. In the meantime, practice what you have learnt."

Luke promised to do so, unable to help the slight sting of disappointment in him. No matter how much his muscles ached and how tired he was at the end of a lesson, he never really wanted it to end. Nevertheless, he took his leave of Vader, then exited his quarters.

He walked in the corridors, finding his path to his squadron's own rooms without any problem now. It was hard to think he had been here for several months now; it felt both like forever, and like he'd just arrived yesterday.

A sliver of hesitation slowed down his step as he walked past the simulators room. He still hadn't managed to succeed in Vader's impossible exercise. Granted, since that fateful day two weeks ago, he hadn't really had time to think about it. But now he supposed he had a little more time to practise... After all, Vader hadn't told Lt. Tanbris how long he would be keeping Luke, just that he needed him for his now infamous "flying lessons." And he didn't really feel like coming back to the squadron to prepare the Empire Day parade. The ceremonial and formality of the entire affair reminded him too much of the first weeks of Academy training, and it felt like a waste of time. It wasn't really all that hard to get in line at parade rest and to wait for orders; Luke had no idea why this involved so much preparation and talk about the greatness of the Empire. Finally figuring out the solution to the exercise would be much more productive.

He wavered for a few more seconds, then decided against it. That was irresponsible of him. He was already lucky enough to have escaped the morning's lectures about Imperial history and purpose, which everyone practically knew by heart. He owed it to his squad to suffer through the rest of it with them. He would have enough time after Empire Day to try and find out the trick at last.

When he got back to the squadron quarters, there was nobody inside but Lt. Tanbris.

"Good lesson, Ensign?" he asked Luke.

"Yes, sir," Luke answered. "Uh, where are all the others?"

"Meeting room three," the lieutenant said, before looking back at his datapad and sighing. "I would join you, but I still have a lot of work to do. There always seems to be as many messages and paperwork on Empire Week than there are during the whole rest of the year..."

Luke commiserated with him, then thanked him and went to the meeting room.

Like the officer had told him, the rest of the squadron was there, looking at tomorrow's schedule on the projector. Playful quips erupted from the other pilots.

"So you're skipping the presentations now?" Boomer said.

"Can't you get Vader to give us a free pass, too?" Cosmo asked.

"Sure, why do you think I'm still here?" Luke quipped back.

There were snickers in the room.

Only Qorl stayed quiet. He gave Luke a stiff nod, to which Luke answered with a wave and a smile. The man then turned back to the holoprojection as if completely disinterested in the new arrival, but Luke could see the shadow of a relieved smile on his face.

Everything had returned to normal, and Luke was more than happy to take his place among his squad mates again.
 

The time to welcome the Emperor came much too soon to Vader, and yet he couldn't wait until the day was over.

He strode across the hangar with a phalanx of Stormtroopers behind him, grateful his mask was concealing his sore expression. Around him, all the soldiers that weren't needed to operate the ship stood in formation, their backs straight and their voices silent, a great and daunting welcoming committee for the ruler of the galaxy.

Every year that passed, he hated Empire Day more.

Not only did the memories of the past haunt him even more relentlessly than any other moment of the year. This sinister time he would have gladly spent in mourning and solitude had to be celebrated, too. The whole galaxy was made to rejoice as he remembered everything he had lost.

For everyone else, this was a date of change and renewal, the coming of a new age. For him, it was all he had ever treasured going up in ashes.

Even with Palpatine, the one person he still had left, things would never be the same. His thoughts spiralled further down the abyss of resentment and despair as he knelt before the arriving shuttle, alone in the middle of standing men. He longed for their former conversations, for the praise and the affection, for Palpatine to confide in him again, before he called him master. Now there seemed to be an unbreakable wall between them, nothing but dry servitude remaining of their former friendship. Vader had long accepted he would never understand where he had gone wrong, what he had done for their bond to deteriorate so.

He had failed to notice as his mentor and friend slowly grew away from him, the way he had remained blind to Obi-Wan's betrayal.

The shuttle landed and his engines powered down. The robed figure of the Emperor walked down the ramp, aiding himself with his stick, so frail and old-looking for those who couldn't see. But Vader knew his hood hid lines traced by the greatest resolve, and eyes shining with the hardest steel.

He remained kneeling with his head bowed until his master approached him.

"Rise, my friend," he told him too softly for anyone else to hear, and Vader obeyed. Palpatine had never stopped calling him that, and the word blew a bitter hole in Vader's chest.

"Master," Vader answered, despite how much he hated it at present. "You do us a great honour."

The Emperor waved his hand.

"Nonsense. It was time I finally acknowledged your hard work. You more than deserve it."

Vader did his best to repress an exasperated gesture. If Palpatine knew him at all, he would be aware he didn't care for this kind of pomp, and much preferred to be left to his own devices. Especially on this day.

Palpatine seemed to hesitate, in a way Vader couldn't know if it was an act or if it was true, before continuing.

"I do have to admit, however, that celebrations are not all I am here for."

Alarms flared in Vader's mind. He frowned, but he didn't say a word, knowing Palpatine would hear his unspoken question. The Emperor looked back at him for never-ending seconds, thoughtful.

"I apologise in advance – for the news I bring... The information has come to me very recently, and there was no time to impart it to you before now."

"News?" Vader asked. His stomach lurched in confusion and worry. What news could warrant this kind of warning? Was it another of his schemes? He hoped it had nothing to do with Luke...

"Everything will become clear," the Emperor answered. "For now, I think we shouldn't keep our troops waiting."

Vader wanted to insist. He wanted to demand explanations now, to require the Emperor cease his games and tell him outright. But he knew it would be pointless to do so. Swallowing his alarm and his curiosity, he turned towards his admiral and gestured for him to commence.

And so the ceremony started. Orders were shouted, heels were slammed, as group after squadron the soldiers paraded and came to salute their Emperor. Vader stood at his side, watching his men march with pride and dignity, pace and posture perfectly mastered, more regular than droids. It was impressive to witness, so many men in such a perfect ensemble.

Then they finished, and with a last shout and a deafening salute, they fell motionless, waiting for their Emperor's response.

They stood at attention as the elderly man reviewed each of them in silence, Vader at his side with his arms in his back. The unease of the men was palpable, their anticipation rising under the intense scrutiny of the ruler of the Empire.

Finally, he spoke.

"Loyal soldiers, in the name of the Empire, I would like to extend my deepest thanks to you for your dedicated service. You have been personally selected to serve on the flagship of my most trusted lieutenant, hand picked among the elite to protect our glorious nation. That is an achievement each of you should be proud of."

He paused, watching as they brightened under his praise.

"However," he continued with a colder edge in his voice, "just as even in the purest material, imperfections can be found, thus even this highly trained body has not stayed immune to the enemy's treachery."

Another silence, loaded with the implications of the unexpected words.

"Who here bears the name Luke Lars?"

Vader's guts did a horrible somersault. Was that what Palpatine had been speaking about? Had he somehow found out about their plans, or changed his mind about Vader training the boy? A thousand fear-borne thoughts went through his mind, even as he forced himself to stand still and watch.

For a couple of seconds, there was no answer, stunned tension ripe in the air. Then the boy took a step forward and looked the Emperor in the eye.

"I do, your Majesty," he said with a bow.

The Emperor looked him up and down, appraising him. Then he raised a hand, and Stormtroopers advanced to seize the young pilot.

Startled, Luke cried out and struggled as they bound his hands behind his back, looking straight into the Emperor's eyes. Slowly, with eerie calm, Palpatine came closer to him, and tilted his chin up with two pale, spidery fingers.

"So young," he deplored, "to have committed such severe offences..."

"What are you talking about?" the boy shouted. His terror was obvious on his features.

"You are a traitor to the Empire," said the Emperor, and Vader's mind spun. "Not content to commit insubordination and disrespect your commanding officers, you engaged in treasonous activity, lied, duped the State and your superiors..."

"I did nothing of the sort!" the young man cut him off, trying to reign in his fear. "I-I made a few mistakes, I haven't been as respectful as I should have, that's true, but I'd never betray the Empire, I've always served loyally!"

"Have you?" the Emperor snapped back, his grip tightening on his jaw. "Will you deny you actively took part in several seditious meetings at the Academy, and helped two of your fellow cadets defect from the Navy? You covered for them instead of reporting them as was your duty, and supported them in each of their rebellious endeavours, making yourself an accomplice to their felony!"

Vader looked in astonishment as the boy dropped his head and closed his eyes in anguish, his breath quickening. Letting go of his chin, the Emperor took a step back to address all those present.

"But these are not the only unlawful acts he committed," he went on. "His treachery goes even further back, from his very entrance at the Academy. He entered his application under a false name to hide his identity, going so far as to forge official documents, betraying his benefactors' trust before he was even accepted."

The young man was rigid in the troopers' grasp, but still he said nothing, his gaze riveted to the pristine floor. Vader watched him, dumbfounded, unable to believe it. Surely he couldn't let this stand... any moment now, he would look up and protest his innocence...

The Emperor was still looking at him with a condemning gaze.

"Will you deny being guilty of these charges... young Luke Skywalker?"

Vader's heart missed a beat, his respirator quickening, the pain of a blaster bolt hitting his chest.

The boy's head snapped up.

"Please. Please, you don't understand," he said, panicked desperation creeping into his tone. He looked around for support, but nobody provided it to him. "It was the only way my aunt and uncle would let me apply. I never meant to cause trouble, I promise!"

"Because they knew you were of Jedi blood," replied the Emperor, spitting the epithet, the damning last blow upon all the accusations laid on him. "How right they were to fear for you... you certainly live up to your traitorous ancestors."

"No!" the boy cried out. He tried to step forward, but the troopers restraining him didn't let him. His face was white as a sheet. "I'm innocent, I swear I am, I never betrayed the Empire!"

In their frightened wandering, his eyes found Vader's, piercing him with uncanny precision.

"Please..."

But Vader didn't react, too stunned to do anything but stare into the imploring blue irises, whose familiarity suddenly made sense. Luke Skywalker... Jedi blood... His master's voice rang into his head, petrifying him by its unthinkable implications.

No. It was impossible, it couldn't be true... how could it? His child was dead, had been for nearly two decades...

"Take him away," ordered the Emperor with a dismissive gesture.

"NO!"

The boy struggled, dug his feet in the ground, thrashed about like a demented man against the guards that were trying to take him. Finally, one of the troopers struck him in the head with the butt of his blaster. He grunted and stopped moving.

"I do not think it would be wise to add resisting arrest to the list of your crimes," the Emperor chided, with a cold, teasing smile.

That made the young man freeze as he considered the direness of his situation. All fight seemed to leave him as a shaky sigh escaped his lips, and he bowed his head in distress, allowing his jailers to drag him away without further resistance.

Once the sound of their steps had faded, the Emperor addressed the crowd again.

"Let our hearts be untroubled and our minds remain strong, even in the face of such an unfortunate event. For even though evil may try to hide at the very heart of our organisation, our unity cannot be broken by lone individuals seeking to seed discord. Our resolve is too strong and our courage too determined..."

Vader wasn't listening. He was petrified, unable to believe what had just transpired.

It must be a coincidence. For all he knew, there were other Skywalkers on Tatooine; he and his mother couldn't have been the only ones. He must come from another branch of distant relatives, or just a completely other family. It was the most logical explanation.

And yet, now that the thought had occurred to him, there was no forgetting it. There were too many coincidences. The boy was exactly nineteen years old, an excellent pilot, strong in the Force, born on Empire Day... How many times had Vader been irritated to his resemblance to a young Jedi of the past? How often had his heart constricted painfully, seeing the ghost of his departed wife in his face? Even the Force seemed to be confirming it, singing of truth around him.

But he had never put things together, never envisioned what was impossible to imagine.

All this time he had thought him dead. For twenty years he had mourned him, two endless decades of useless grief, that could have been avoided had he only known to look...

All this time they had spent together since he had been stationed on his ship, and Vader had never even known his real name.

He couldn't move, submerged by the potency of his emotions. Wonder and joy – his child lived! He was alive, at his side! – warred with anger and betrayal, as well as despair when he thought of all the time they'd lost.

Had the boy longed for his father, the way he'd wanted his lost child back? Had he known all along, and voluntarily hidden this fact from him, or had he, too, been fed lies about the fate of his family?

It was still difficult to think of him and the unborn baby he'd grieved for as the same person, but he found it became easier the more he thought of it. A small smile found his face, in the middle of his turmoil, as he tried to imagine the boy's reaction...

He was torn from his thoughts by a shout at the Empire's glory and a salute to acclaim the end of the Emperor's speech. The soldiers were told to return to their stations, and Palpatine approached Vader again.

He put a hand on Vader's arm, who felt his touch burn the metal bone even through the leather.

"I am sorry you had to learn it like this," he said, very quietly. "The special ISB agent I had appointed only came back to me this morning. We need to continue with the celebrations as if nothing was amiss, of course, but the boy must be transferred to Imperial Centre in the next days to be interrogated and prosecuted. I wish it weren't necessary... but if he is a traitor, action must be taken regardless of his blood."

A traitor. His child. His apprentice. An unpleasant sensation awakened in Vader's guts. Naturally, the Force would be so cruel as to let him reunite with his son, and take him away from him in the same movement...

His reply was mechanical, stunned, without much thought.

"It will be as you wish, my master."

Every year, he hated Empire Day more.

Chapter Text

Luke lay on his back and traced an absent pattern on the naked wall. He didn't know how long he had been in here. Hours, at least; his stomach was starting to rumble, his bladder was full, he was thirsty and tired. But sleep wouldn't come to him, not with the dread gnawing at his guts.

It would be all right, he tried to tell himself, keeping his courage as close as he could in the cold darkness of the small cell. They would come, interrogate him, and see he was a loyal pilot doing his job as well as he could.

But fear and doubt were difficult to keep at bay. Even diving into the flow of the Force hadn't helped him relax. The energy felt different here, dark and stifling, as if the bare metal walls were closing in on him. It was hard not to give in to despair.

Was it his newfound awareness of the Force that made him so sensitive? Or was he just imagining things, his mind derailing with fear of what would soon happen to him?

No, he was being dramatic. They would realise their error and let him return to service soon. Luke couldn't stand the thought of being mistaken for a Rebel. After all the death they had wrought, the pain they had dealt him and his squad, how could they ever think he'd want to help their deluded cause? He would gladly take any threat on his life, rather than this injustice and humiliation.

Yet the Emperor's words sounded on repeat in his head, every accusation like a bucket of cold water dropped on his insides.

Because it was true, all of it. He had no idea how they had found out his name or Biggs's forbidden meetings, but with the Empire's resources, he supposed the miracle was rather that it had remained secret for so long.

But what other choice had there been? Keep wasting away on his farm in the middle of nowhere, staring at the sky in melancholy as all his dreams flew away from him?

He was no longer sure his current situation was so much better. Rotting in a cell and waiting for he didn't know what...

The knot in his guts lurched, and he let out a shivering breath. He still had trouble believing this was happening to him.

But everything would be fine. He had no reason to be afraid. Rebel propaganda was just getting to his head, and he hated them for that, too. He loathed the nausea clogging his throat when he recalled their shocking videos, the way his heart raced at the thought of the mention "enhanced interrogation" on the prisoners' files. These were all lies, pretty scare tactics to impress new recruits. He was a fool to be so frightened.

He just wanted to fly...

A bitter smile found his lips. No, that hadn't been true for a long time, had it? He'd wanted to stop this war and make the galaxy a better place. He'd wanted to serve the Empire and its citizens, to make a difference in the world. He had fought and killed for it. He had chosen his side.

But for all the guilt he felt, he couldn't muster any true remorse. Could he go back and do it again, he would still let Biggs defect and lie about his name.

Because Biggs might be a Rebel, but he was also his childhood friend, the one who had supported him through and through. Because a Skywalker and a Jedi's son would have been apprehended right away. None of that changed his loyalty to the Empire, to his squadmates, and to Lord Vader, his teacher and commanding officer.

He wasn't a traitor. They might punish him for his actions, as he supposed they should, but they would understand he was on their side.

He had managed to calm down his nerves somewhat when the door to his cell swished open. Two troopers entered, helmeted and armed.

"Stand up with your hands in front of you," one of them ordered.

Luke obeyed without a word. The other soldier fastened binders around his wrists; his stomach jittered when the cold metal closed on his skin. A trooper took his upper arm, the other put his blaster between his ribs, and they marched him out of the cell. Luke didn't dare ask where they were taking him.

They led him through the ship's corridors. Luke thought he recognised a place or another, but he couldn't know for sure. The hallways all looked similar, and they were walking too fast for him to check the numbers on the walls.

Finally their path grew more familiar. They walked into the open area of the hangar, the very place where Luke had taken off with his TIE countless times, where he had been arrested earlier. There stood a three-winged shuttle, similar to the one that brought the Emperor.

Luke's step faltered, and his captors roughly pulled him forward. They were taking him away. Where were they taking him? Would he ever see Devastator again?

His heart skipped another beat when he looked near the access ramp. Vader was there, talking with a soldier. He held his back to him, seemed unaware of his presence.

He had to talk to him. Vader needed to know he wasn't a traitor, he was loyal, he'd never wanted to conceal information from him.

He knew the soldiers would restrain him if he were to shout, so he poured his cry into the Force. All his emotions, all his terror and determination bled into their bond.

Lord Vader!

The bond remained unresponsive. Luke slowed down, dug in his heels, fought against the soldiers trying to bring him onboard.

Lord Vader!

"Move, scum!"

One of the troopers yanked on his arm. He stumbled, took an involuntary step forward, then had no choice but to go on, heavy finality washing over him.
 

Darth Vader gripped the datapad tighter. He stared at it without seeing it, unaware of the officer's babbling about the file. Luke's presence was pounding against his, demanding his attention. He refrained from answering him, rage and wonder and resentment still raging in his mind.

My son.

How strange that two little words could turn someone's world upside down so much. His child lived... it was a liberating, exhilarating feeling. What a fool he had been never to see it... in hindsight, it was obvious. All along, it had been so clear their destinies belonged together. The Emperor's revelation had only disclosed a part of their bond that had always been there between them, buried.

It would have been perfect, hadn't it been for that other word, that foul and terrible word that came to destroy everything.

Traitor.

He had lied to him. He had deceived him and Vader hadn't seen anything. He had been so blind about everything surrounding that boy it was humiliating. Who knew what else he had concealed from him?

Oh, there would be no more. He would tear the very thought of hiding from him out of the boy's mind –

The thought was like a cold water shower. He remembered the promise he had made to him, so long ago, when each of his gestures brought a wary expression on the boy's face. He recalled vowing he was safe with him, desperately seeking his trust.

Vader knew about broken trust and betrayed promises.

"Thank you, Commander," he waved at the officer, wanting to be alone. The man bowed and hastened to walk away.

Vader was about to look at the files again when another soldier came to talk to him, wearing the black uniform of pilots.

"My lord, we are ready to depart."

Vader inclined his head and followed the man into the shuttle. There, in the back of the passengers hold, sat the boy, surrounded by two stormtroopers. He shot him a hopeful and desperate look; for a moment, Vader wished he could dismiss the pilot and steer the ship himself, if only to escape his presence.

He walked past his son without granting him a glance and sat down at the front of the compartment. A rough shove on his presence through their bond put an end to his attempts to contact him. Vader didn't turn to see the hurt and disappointment on his face.

He glanced down at the datapad again, skimming through the files. There were extended descriptions of his offences, with only suspicions and hunches for some of them, but which, all together, nonetheless painted an incriminating picture. Palpatine's agents had been thorough... Vader stared the longest at the document that had been found at his school on Tatooine, and that betrayed his real name.

It explained why he had found Obi-Wan living so close and yet so far away from the boy. He must have been watching over him, making sure he didn't follow in his father's footsteps. It still didn't tell him why he hadn't taken him as a Jedi apprentice, and sent him to kill Vader in ignorance of their ties. That sounded more like something Obi-Wan would do.

He gripped the screen so tight he thought he might break it. Obi-Wan had taken his son from him. He had brought him to live on this despicable planet, denying him his birthright and his family. It was but one more betrayal in the long list of his crimes against him, but it was a terrible one. To think he had lost so much time with his son... nineteen long years they could have spent together rather than separate, one devastated by grief and guilt, the other stuck in a place he didn't belong and dreaming to fly...

And now, because of Obi-Wan's deception, because of the boy's foolishness in upholding it, their time was running out.

Had Luke known about it? Had he been as ignorant of their connection as himself? The question was haunting Vader, but he didn't dare use the bond they shared to find an answer. He couldn't bear to find out the boy had been aware of their relationship all along and had simply concealed it from him.

The flight to Imperial Centre was both unbearably long and much shorter than Vader would have preferred. It took all his concentration to remain focused on his datapad and not to go to Luke. It was difficult to sit there and not move, when he knew his time with his son would soon be over. It could be the last chance they ever had to talk... the last occasion Vader had to tell him the truth, ask the same of him.

But he remained silent, facing forward, barely containing the boiling emotions that threatened to spill out.

The ship entered atmosphere and landed in the Imperial Palace's docking bay. He saw Luke be taken away by the troopers, his head held high but tension in his every muscle. Vader's eyes followed him until he was out of sight, and remained stuck on the door behind which he had disappeared.

The shape of the Emperor coming to greet him tore him from his thoughts. He buried them deep in his mind, and offered an impassive mask.

"Welcome, my friend," Sidious said. Like so often lately Vader hated the word, hated the softness in his voice. "I trust the transfer happened without trouble."

"Yes, my master. The boy didn't resist."

Vader didn't know why he felt the need to defend him. It was useless. He didn't deserve it.

"Good," the Emperor said. "You have read the files I sent you."

"Yes, master." Over and over, trying to find a way to deny it all. He hadn't. The facts were glaring at him, standing out black against white, small letters that had the weight of destiny.

"Then you know what must be done."

A stone fell in Vader's guts.

"Yes, master." The lack of emotion in the vocoder's words felt like a lie in itself.

"The boy is skilled, that needs to be recognised," the Emperor went on, as if he didn't notice Vader's turmoil. "Evidence of his involvement with the Rebellion is damning but mostly circumstantial. We need a confession from him, and most importantly, we need to find out what he knows and what he told the enemy."

The stone in Vader's entrails became something living and unpleasant.

"I would like to perform further analyses on the data we collected from Praadost," he answered. "We need to be certain nothing of the project has leaked. There are other interrogators."

"But you are the best of them," the Emperor said. "The boy is strong with the Force. You are the only one who could hope to break his defences."

Vader averted his eyes and crossed his arms. Palpatine took a step forward, and set a hand on his forearm.

"This is a great tragedy," he said. "I cannot imagine the ordeal it must be, to find out your child lived only to become your enemy..."

"It is nothing," Vader replied, waving his hand in irritation and getting rid of his master's touch in the same movement. "He is nothing to me."

It felt wrong to call the boy his enemy. He wanted to deny it, but found no argument. He had helped the Rebels... maybe he was even one himself. Part of him wanted to obey Sidious's command, to take that chance to yell at him, to strike him, to hurt him.

"Then you will not falter in your duty," the Emperor challenged.

Vader tightened his fists. There was nothing he could say to that.

"I will let you think about it," Palpatine said before Vader could find a proper comeback, a coldness in his voice that wasn't often directed at his apprentice. "I will follow your advice and have other people on him in the meantime, but I don't believe they will get anywhere."

He walked away. Vader took some time to unclench his fists, vaguely ashamed, then left as well, not without a last glance towards the cells.
 

He remained as far from the detention area as he could for the next three weeks. Nevertheless, his thoughts lingered there constantly, a heavy weight settling in his chest with no hint of leaving. He had taken care to shut down the bond he shared with his son, but to his dismay it had seemed to grow stronger the moment he learnt about his identity. From time to time, wisps of emotion came through the walls he had built between them, so strong they couldn't be blocked.

He crushed them down as soon as he felt them.

The Emperor gave him daily reports about their progress, or rather lack thereof. The boy gave them nothing, protested his innocence with his every breath. Sidious didn't comment on Vader's decision to stay away, but the displeasure was obvious in his voice.

Vader threw himself in the aftermath of the Praadost campaign. He combed the data for any trace of the Empire's secret project to try and discover what the Rebels knew of it. He had his best officers on the case, he spent his time in meetings with them, imagining all the possible scenarios. But what they had gathered on the site was scarce. Only so much information could be deduced out of it. For all they knew, the Rebels knew nothing, and the attack on the shuttle several months ago had been a blind shot.

He wished there was another mission: another sector to subdue, an uprising to snuff out, anything to bring him away from Imperial Centre and what was happening here. But he knew no other assignment would come: the Emperor had told him what was expected from him. And he was reduced to grasping at straws, writing and reading the same reports over and over.

It couldn't last forever. The time came when there was nothing left to analyse, no discovery to summarise, and he had to report his results.

The Emperor was as cold and distant as had become usual when Vader knelt at his feet. He said nothing, sitting motionless in his large throne as Vader exposed his conclusions. He was facing the window, his back to Vader, who couldn't see his face. But his disdain was all too obvious in his silence, hitting his apprentice like flowing waves of darts.

"It is unlikely the Rebels on Praadost discovered anything of worth," Vader finished.

His words fell in the silence. Sidious didn't say anything, and Vader remained kneeling, his heart drumming. His joints hurt, but less than the weight of guilt and dread that had been constricting his chest ever since he stepped foot on Imperial Centre.

"Good," the Emperor finally answered. "Maybe you can put this behind you at last."

He turned to Vader and rose.

"Skywalker still doesn't talk," he said. "He refuses to acknowledge his crimes, and claims he knows nothing about the Rebels – the same old song they all sing."

Vader repressed an exasperated gesture. The boy, always the boy! His master was more obsessed with him than he accused him of being, at this point.

"If he is as stubborn as his father, it could still be weeks before he breaks."

Vader gritted his teeth. He knew what the Emperor was saying.

"I was otherwise occupied, master. I have other duties –"

"Duties you drew out for the sole purpose of avoiding this," the Emperor snapped. "But now that this matter is resolved, you should have more time to devote to what I ask of you, shouldn't you?"

Vader looked away.

The Emperor sighed, and came closer to him.

"Do not lie to yourself, my friend, or to me," he whispered. "You care about that boy. Somehow he has grown on you like a leech, a parasite. You are paralysed by the control you gave him with all the soft-heartedness of a fool. He makes you weak."

Each of his words hit Vader like an arrow, at the very heart of their target. It was all true. Vader knew it, didn't need him to mock him with his own shortcomings, to belittle him and hurt him that way.

"I am not weak –"

"You are," Sidious cut him off. "You always have been. I sometimes wonder what I saw in you, back when I took you in and offered to teach you."

He looked Vader up and down, and there was such contempt in his gaze Vader could only lower his eyes, anger rising in him. He hated feeling so worthless and small, like he was nine years old again, lost and having the impression he could never belong.

"Is this the Sith Lord I trained, shaking in his boots at the mere thought of disciplining an insurgent?"

"No –" Vader choked out. His fists were clenched so hard his prosthetics were trembling. "No."

He dared a glance upwards at his master's face. The Emperor took a step forward and put a hand on his shoulder, a sad smile on his lips.

"Look at yourself," he whispered. "Look at what he did to you. What a mess his betrayal made you."

Vader let his head fall down again, a whirlwind slashing against his chest. He wanted nothing more, at this moment, than to seize his master and throw him to the other side of the room.

He was right, as much as Vader wanted to deny it. Ever since the boy's arrest, he had been a wreck, a weakling.

He should have pushed him away from the very beginning. He should have finished the job that day when he had strangled him, overcome by anger at his insolence. But the boy had prodded at his boundaries, pretended he cared. The smiles and the wonder, the curious questions, the concerned enquiries about Empire Day... what of it had been true? Had it been nothing but schemes designed to soften him, to make his lower his guard so he could pursue his traitorous acts in secret?

He was his son. He was a traitor. It shouldn't hurt as much as it did.

"What power he has over you..."

"He has none!" Vader roared like a wounded beast, standing up and glaring at his master.

It was the boy's fault, for betraying the Empire, for keeping quiet about his name, for sneaking in Vader's heart to better shatter it.

"Then go," replied the Emperor, implacable. "Do what must be done, and give him what he deserves for his crimes against you."

Vader didn't reply, tense and stiff, hands still balled into tight fists.

Show no mercy. Do not hesitate.

He should do it. He should punish that boy for what he had done. Never before had he shied before his duty. He had done far, far worse things than this without batting an eye. And now he would cower out, just for the sake of a boy, a Rebel, a criminal?

He turned around and marched out of the room, pushing a Red Guard out of his way with the Force. Fury was pounding in his skull, loathing overwhelming his chest. He focused on it, revelled in the feeling of vicious power it gave him.

It would find an outlet, and soon.

The prison under the Imperial Palace was as sinister and sterile as any Imperial ship's, if more ancient, and it was a labyrinth. It took Vader some time to arrive at the control room of the block where Skywalker was held. When he crossed the threshold of the room, all the officers present jumped at attention.

"Lord Vader," the highest ranking man said, "you are doing us an honour."

They were five frowning men, dressed in the white uniforms of the ISB with rank insignias on their chests despite not being part of the military proper. Vader's stomach lurched when he saw the dark brown stains on the sleeve of one of them.

"Spare me the pleasantries, Major," Vader retorted, pointing a finger at him. "I am here to inspect your progress on Skywalker."

The man swallowed, and his face took a sour expression.

"It is slow, my lord," he said. Vader waved impatiently, too accustomed to this kind of euphemism. It seemed interrogation officers were the same everywhere, anxious to provide elaborate words to cover for their own failures. "He is a tough nut to crack all right, but I have no doubt we will get what we are looking for. We are working on him as we speak."

"He is currently being questioned?" Vader asked.

"We have hardly stopped since he arrived. It is but a matter of time."

"I hope so, Major, for your sake," Vader said, crossing his arms. He wanted results, and he wanted them now. "What have you already tried on him?"

"The standard procedure, my lord," the man replied. "Minimum food and sleep and the usual drugs."

Vader knew the process well: wear him down, make him slip, confuse him until he confessed.

"His reaction?"

The major licked his lips, nervous.

"Defiance, mostly, sir," he said. "That one has quite the cheek; we've had to beat it out of him several times."

Vader's heart missed a beat. He recognised Lars well there...

He crushed the feeling with a vengeance. The boy was just another prisoner, another Rebel unlucky enough to get caught. Nothing else.

"Perhaps other methods are required to subdue him," he suggested, cold hatred rushing in his veins, bringing familiar bloodlust. "Electric shocks?"

"We have tried that too, sir," the man hurried to say. His anxiety was growing by the minute. "I have an agent in; she should soon be done."

"In your own interest, let us hope she is having some success," Vader said. He had trouble refraining from seizing the officer's neck and throwing him against the wall.

A couple of minutes passed in tense silence as they waited for the interrogator to come out. The atmosphere was reeking with fear, to the satisfaction of Vader's terrible mood. If only the boy could see reason, make their work easier. Then he wouldn't have to go in himself...

Finally, a frail woman with dark red hair and pinched lips exited the room, a small device in her hand. She looked tired and had a frustrated look on her face, but opened wide eyes when she saw Vader standing there. Vader just looked down on her in silence, already knowing she wasn't bringing good news.

"So? What'd he say?" another interrogator said, oblivious to her fright.

Irritation flashed through her eyes, but she relaxed as she reported her attention on her colleague.

"Always the same thing," she spat. "The little brat still hasn't understood nobody's fooled by his game."

The men exchanged glances.

"Maybe you just didn't strike hard enough," a massive man said. "He's got to give it up sooner or later."

"Oh, he got what was coming to him," she darkly said, glaring at him. "Why don't you try yourself if you know so well what to do?"

"Sure will," the man retorted. "Just watch. I'll make him open his pretty little mouth and tell us everything we want."

There was laughter.

"Yeah, give it to him," another man said.

The woman threw the electric device to the first man. He caught it, and was already half upright when the major interrupted him.

"Before you hurry, perhaps Lord Vader wants to take the next turn?"

Vader froze. He should go; but something was still holding him back, making him hesitate.

"Oh, let your man go, Major; I do not think Lord Vader feels quite right for that at the moment," a voice behind him said.

He swirled around and saw the Emperor approaching them with something like shame inside his chest. Had he been watching him ever since he had come here? Had he somehow felt his reluctance?

The officers paled and sprung to their feet again, jumping at attention even quicker than they had done for Vader.

"Your Majesty," the major breathed out.

The Emperor didn't pay them any attention. He came to stand next to Vader.

"I may have been wrong in asking this of you," he said, in the gentlest voice Vader had ever heard him use. "You are upset by the whole thing, as is only natural. You are welcome to go back on Devastator, if you so prefer. I can find other assignments for you."

Vader frowned, his fists tightening in spite of himself. What was he playing at now? He never talked to him with such carefulness, such consideration, like a fragile thing one doesn't want to break.

He looked at the other people present in the room. Their expressions varied between carefully neutral, confused, and astonished. He didn't doubt they would laugh about it as soon as he left the room, unable to believe they saw Darth Vader run away like a coward. He was hardly appreciated in the lower ranks of the Empire; they would delight in his humiliation.

Rage grew in him again, ferocious, devastating. He would show them what he was capable of. He would not let himself be ruled by weakness.

"Such a tragedy, really," the Emperor continued. "That he should turn out as traitorous as Kenobi, so skilled at pretending to care about you, while going about his illegal business right under your nose... that he managed to deceive you in this way..."

He sighed, but it sounded wrong, empty, fake. A thousand needles embedded themselves in Vader's skin. The underlying message was all too clear: Vader shouldn't have been so blind. He should have seen, should have understood, should have stopped him.

He shouldn't care about someone who so little deserved it.

"... he is much like his mother in that regard."

Vader saw red. Pain and blood boiled in his veins, pounded in his ears with murderous intent. Before he knew it, he was halfway to the boy's cell.

The young man was lying on his back on a small slab of metal, breathing hollowly. His head was tilted on the side, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, his mouth half-open. An ugly bruise smeared his cheek purple; Vader suspected there were more where he couldn't see them. When he heard the door open, his whole body tensed, and he looked up in alarm. His hardened expression fell when he saw who his visitor was.

"Lord Vader," he breathed, relief overcoming his hoarse voice.

He struggled to get to his feet and put himself at attention then took note of Vader's stony posture. He frowned, prodded at their bond, noticed it was still closed off.

"At ease," Vader rumbled, ice cold, with a hint of sarcasm. "Such pomp is unnecessary in the circumstances."

The droid came whizzing into the room, followed by the two guards who placed themselves on both sides of the door, blocking any escape. The boy paled, his jaw clenching.

"I've already said everything I knew," he said, looking him in the eye. "I know nothing about the Rebels."

Vader tilted his head and observed him, rage boiling low and cold in his stomach. The boy was squinting under the harsh light of the cell, deep bags under his eyes, his face and temples sweating. His uniform was torn in places, stained with darker marks and hanging open at the front of his chest, which brought back bitter memories of when they first met. He was swaying on his feet, but standing proudly, his head high.

He was putting up a brave front, but Vader saw the deep-seated fear in his pupils, the frightened, knowing expectation. Gone were his joyful spirit and cockiness. His stubbornness lay plain, his gaze was unflinching.

Oh, he was going to need that courage.

"You would expect me to believe that," Vader answered, still in that icy voice.

He took a step forward, relishing the feeling of tightly held fury in his guts, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. The boy jerked back, fell down sitting on the slab.

"How long have you deceived me, Skywalker?"

The boy gasped when he heard his name. He shook his head slightly.

"You don't understand. I never meant to lie to you."

"I understand all too well," Vader replied, merciless, bending over him in menace and intimidation. The boy raised his arms to protect himself, but Vader grasped his wrists and held them with just enough pressure to make him uncomfortable. Terror crossed his features for the shortest second. "The Empire does not forgive traitors and enemies. You will not escape justice."

Skywalker stared him straight in the eye, his jaw set, fire and steel in his gaze.

"I'm no enemy," he said. "I didn't betray."

Vader shoved him against the wall.

"Empty words will not save your skin!" he roared. He squeezed his wrists tighter, pushing them in his chest. Skywalker winced, struggled not to cry out. "You helped Rebels in their efforts against us! You lied and faked your identity! No grovelling will spare you the consequences of your actions!"

The boy closed his eyes and swallowed, dry tongue running over parched lips, only fuelling Vader's rage. The nerve of him, the sheer boldness, to try and deny months of lies and deception! Did he think a few sentences would be enough to fix his predicament? Was he deluded enough to imagine anything could mend what he had done, change who he was, the threat hanging upon his head because of his identity?

One word, had it passed his lips but days earlier, one name would have been enough to save him. Vader would have hidden him, would have made sure his master could never find him. They could have had so much time together, so many opportunities to learn about each other as a family. The life Vader had fantasised about for so long, everything that he had lost and grieved for during nineteen years had been right in front of him. One word from his son was all it would have taken to give it back to him.

But he hadn't.

The boy swallowed again.

"I'm not afraid," he said, his voice thick and defiant. "I've never betrayed you, never, I –"

Vader threw him across the room. The boy hit the wall and tumbled on the floor at his feet.

"Do not lie to me!"

His whole body shaking, the young man pushed himself up on his knees to look up at him.

"It is true! I didn't –"

Vader cut off his breath. The boy put a hand to his throat, his mouth opening and closing in desperate attempts to get oxygen in his lungs.

"I want the truth, boy, and you will give it to me!"

He released him. The youth fell forward on his hands, gasping and gulping for air.

Towering over him, Vader extended his hand and took hold of his wrists through the Force. The boy trashed about, but Vader didn't let him free. He forced him on his knees again, turned him around to face the wall and brought his hands behind his back.

He didn't want to see his face.

The dark side was billowing around them, eager, stifling. Vader hurled the Force at him, whipping him, hitting him. He pressed down on his mind, demanding entrance, ripping and tearing at shields of steel. Cold tendrils wrapped themselves around the boy's limbs, his chest, his head; they held him in place, squeezing and crushing him with unbearable strength.

The boy grunted, caught in violent convulsions.

"No, no, no –"

The guards looked away as he screamed.

Chapter Text

Hours had passed when Vader came out of the cell.

"Bring me a medic now," he ordered the young and lone officer still in the control room.

He sounded more tired than angry, but the man bolted to seize a commlink anyway. Vader had to refrain from leaning against the wall, knowing it would bring him no respite. His stomach was queasy and heavy lead was weighing in his chest. He closed his eyes, tried not to think about the unconscious youth behind the durasteel door.

Finally the medic arrived. He came into the cell, and Vader lingered there for moment, looking everywhere but at the boy lying face down on the cold floor, where Vader had left him after he passed out. He was too small and pale, blood trickling from gashes on his lip, his arm and his thigh left by Vader's lack of control.

The medic performed a first assessment, then carefully put him on the stretcher. Vader knew he had brought all needed medical supplies with him, and would only move the boy to the medbay if he was in critical condition. They were used to such situations.

"Will he live?" he asked the medic. He didn't know how far he went... he had been too out of it to be careful.

The man looked at the scanner before answering Vader.

"Yes, my lord," he said, taking the boy's shirt off to reveal a torso covered in burns and bruises before working at putting an IV inside his arm.

The cold and distanced answer reassured him of Luke's survival. Suddenly he could no longer remain in here. He needed to be away from the despair and the pain reeking from this place, away from the screams and the bodies writhing behind these walls.

He let the medic work and fled.

Regaining the upper levels was like a breath of fresh air. Here there was natural light coming from the sky. People in the city went about their businesses, carefree, innocent. Vader watched them for a long time, trying to find relief in the continuous bustle of the dense traffic.

He no longer even knew if the boy had confessed. He retained but few memories of these long hours, flashing in haunting images, foreign and ear-rending echoes.

These hours were like a gap in his life, and he was now out of sync with the rest of the world. The bloody sun was falling, inflaming the sky and drawing long shadows behind it in the stillness of the Palace's corridors. His empty breath resonated in the space, too loud and too regular. He had lived with it for nineteen years, but now he found himself unable to ignore it: it was pounding on his ears like a tolling bell, the wheezing of a machine, devoid of life, devoid of conscience.

His son lived. The child he had thought lost with his mother had been just there, so close to him, and yet so far. Hidden from him, hiding from him, a pilot in his own squad, a Rebel sympathiser.

He reached out and set his hand on the transparisteel of the window. His gloves were stained with his son's blood, for in his madness he had been unable to restrain himself. He could still feel Luke's wrists under his hands, his struggle against his Force-made restraints, his flesh yielding to his fists and boots. Vader's joints were hurting, all artificial that they were, and there was a scathing burn in the pit of his stomach.

The boy was just another prisoner. His master was right: he was weak.

If only Luke had been more reasonable. He had brought this on his head, in his delusions, in his stubborn refusal to admit his crimes and to confess how much he had wronged the Empire... how much he had wronged Vader.

Didn't he realise what this was doing to him? Did he have any idea how deeply this situation hurt him, how much he wished things were different? He hadn't wanted to do it. He hadn't wanted any of this, and now his mind recoiled from the hated memories of the ordeal. But he had needed to. The boy had forced his hand.

The hand closed into a fist, leather creaking, the transparisteel behind crackling around it. How much anger was there still in him? Hadn't his son borne all of it already? Maybe it was better this way: had the depth of Vader's helpless rage hit him fully, it would have killed him thrice over...

Suddenly Vader found himself drowning, asphyxiated despite the oxygen running in his mechanised lungs. He needed more. He needed to leave this place, the eerie atmosphere of the sunset, which only worsened the violence of his thoughts. He needed familiarity, a drive or a purpose, anything to forget, even for a moment.

Luke was his son.

He should report to his Master. But not now, not when his turmoil was still so great, not when the memories were still lacerating his chest and stopping his heart every few beats.

But he hadn't checked in with Devastator in more than a day. He should go, see how his captain was faring. The change of scenery was exactly what he needed: a return to normalcy, to mundane day-to-day tasks. It would hopefully dull the pain raging inside him.

He didn't bother to check in with anyone as he flew his personal shuttle himself, on his own. He didn't want to wait for a pilot to be put to his service. He wanted to leave now, and he was as competent as anyone else to do something as easy as fly such a short distance, protocol be damned.

There was nobody waiting for him at the landing pad, for he hadn't notified anyone of his arrival. The officer monitoring movements was frantic when he realised who was approaching the Star Destroyer, but Vader quieted him down with a curt comment.

He landed with an ease borne of long practice. The hangar was deserted, save for a few mechanics. This close to Imperial Centre, even regular pilot duties had been put on hold. He felt like a spectre, walking in this big and empty space on his own.

In spite of himself, he couldn't help recalling the same space a few days prior, full of soldiers for Empire Day. He saw the Emperor descend from his shuttle... stand in front of them, start speaking...

He walked faster, fleeing from the memories.

The corridors were grey and uniform, just like they always had been. Mouse droids were sliding on the polished floor, stormtroopers patrolling around. Everything about the ship was familiar, untouched; but instead of the comfort it should have been, it just felt strange, out of place. He was the one out of place, maybe. He was standing out, like a stranger walking in his own skin, and the world oblivious to the change.

He reached the bridge at last. Officers were surprised to see him, and Captain Wermis hurried to approach him.

"I apologise, my lord, we weren't notified..."

"By design, Captain," Vader waved carelessly at him. "Report."

The captain shot at attention, rigid, and started talking. Things of little importance, things of trivia; things that distracted him and let him focus on them without much brainpower. The ship was running smoothly, as he had expected from his men. These were soldiers of honour and discipline, or perhaps their fear of him motivated them to do their job well even in his absence.

"Good work," he said when the report was finished. To his satisfaction and dismay, there was not much else to say. "I trust you will continue on this path."

Captain Wermis did his best not to look too relieved, or pleased with himself.

"Thank you, my lord," he said. He hesitated before going on. "Do you know how long we will still remain here before departure?"

Vader pinched his lips, not knowing what to respond. Now that the Emperor had obtained what he wanted of him, would he send him away? Could he ask for authorisation to depart, perhaps? There were still so many Rebels to hunt, and he could finally leave this wretched place...

And leave Luke behind, at the mercy of the court-martial, without even witnessing his trial.

What was even happening to him right now? Was the interrogation over, had he broken at last, or was he still suffering in his little cell, repeating his story over and over...

"I do not know, Captain. That depends on the goodwill of the Emperor," he said.

Again he felt as if a vice was compressing his lungs. He couldn't breathe, he didn't have enough air, but his respirator didn't seem to accelerate... he needed to move...

With a last nod at his saluting captain, he exited the bridge as quickly as he could. He needed to go to his hyperbaric chamber. There, at least, he could breathe on his own, without depending on machinery, at his own rhythm.

He walked as quickly as he could through the corridors, nearly running, his cape billowing behind him. He barely even saw the soldiers attending to their businesses, saluting at his passing.

As he travelled the familiar path, he went past no less familiar doors, and his step faltered. These were the pilots' quarters, that the simulators room in which he had spent so much time lately...

Had it really only been ten days since the last time he had been there? It felt like much longer... Would the room feel different, or would it have remained the same, like the rest of the ship, unaware of the shattering change that had overwhelmed his life?

He knew it would only bring him suffering. He entered the room anyway.

Like he had expected, he found the space all too similar to his memories. The machines were running, their quiet buzzing filling the air. Pilots were practising, unlike during his lessons to the boy, when he had made sure to forbid access to anyone but them, loath to disclose the secrets of the Force to any bystander's ears...

And yet, deprived of the boy's bright presence, the room felt empty, dark, and mourning.

In a haze of unexpected emotions, he took a step forward, and set a hand on an empty simulator. This was where he had sat most often; the Force was still resonating with his exclamations of joyful surprise at his new discoveries, with his questions, with his frustrated protests when things didn't go like he wanted...

He only realised his hands had closed into fists when he was distracted from his thoughts by a soft trill.

Vader looked down on the astromech he had seen accompany Luke from time to time. A wave of powerful emotion overcame him, and he set a hand on the droid's dome. The astromech beeped again, a questioning tone, an inquiry Vader found himself unable to answer.

A whisper distracted his attention.

"... I can't believe it. It must be a mistake."

Without turning to face the pilots, he enhanced his hearing and trained it on them, eager to hear their conversation. They were pilots from his squad; he recognised their voices, and the topic of their conversation.

"ISB doesn't make mistakes," a deep bass voice said, no louder. "You know that."

"I just can't see it," the first voice said, in its distinct Corellian accent. "Shooting Star? A traitor? Enthusiast as he always was? No way."

"Precisely. None of us saw it coming. It was a perfect cover."

"Come on, Boomer," the Corellian retorted. "I know the Rebels are sneaky liars, but nobody can be that good. He was eighteen! He'd just gotten out of the Academy!"

Vader's heart missed a painful beat upon hearing him refer to the boy in the past tense. As if there was no hope left for him.

"I heard they recruit them even before training sometimes," Boomer answered. "You know Qorl always had his doubts about him."

An exasperated noise.

"Yes, but Qorl is... Qorl," the Corellian said, sounding more aggravated by the second, his voice rising. "He was just a kid. We were all frightened to go into battle at the beginning."

"Please calm down, guys," a third voice said, quieter and more controlled. "For what we heard of the charges against him, this could just be a youthful mistake he grew out of. But the law is the law. No matter what change of heart he had, if he committed crimes, he should be punished."

"Unless ISB was wrong," his fellow pilot pushed. "Shooting Star can't be a traitor. I can't believe it."

"You're not thinking logically," the quiet voice replied. "We all liked him. We're all feeling betrayed and hurt. But ISB is never wrong. Never. In all their existence, there wasn't a single case where the convicted was declared innocent."

"You know these things aren't the same, right?" the Corellian challenged, aggression in his voice.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Vader could nearly see the uneasy gazes exchanged.

"You're not thinking clearly," the deeper voice repeated. "Maybe none of us are. I had never expected... one of ours..."

They fell silent again, a charged silence, full of grief and disbelief. Vader couldn't bear it. He walked away from the astromech with a vengeance and exited the room.

He retained no memories of his walk to his quarters. Rage had taken hold of his heart again; it was lucky no soldier had crossed his path in the short distance he had taken to reach his rooms. He wanted to tear, to destroy, to murder.

The boy was a traitor. He had let everyone down, in the cruellest way, he –

His thoughts were interrupted by his room's commlink beeping.

"Yes," he said impatiently after waving the door open for the officer behind to enter.

"My lord, I come to report on your assignment about the pilot –"

Without even looking at him, Vader lifted a hand, and the spy uttered a desperate gurgling sound.

"My lord – another – the Emperor –"

The spy's neck broke, and he fell lifeless on the ground.

Vader came closer and bent to pick up the datapad the man had been holding, which the Emperor had wanted him to have.

He opened the datapad. As he had known, it was about the boy. There had been no confession from him, he discovered with a knot in his guts, except for being the son of a Jedi and for his father's name, which he had given up in the first hours of his detainment. He had protested his innocence on everything else, and they hadn't managed to tear of him even the slightest expression of guilt.

Behind the coldness of the words, Vader heard all too clearly his anguished screams, his difficultly articulated denials, his raw cries of injustice and pained defiance. He saw again with painful clarity the trembling jumps of his body, the sobs racking his shoulders even as his face was turned away from him...

His blood froze when he reached the end of the document.

A date had been set for his trial. Despite the interrogation's lack of success, they deemed the evidence against him sufficient to prosecute him, and had launched the court-martial. All too soon, his fate would be decided.

Vader should have been relieved. The whole thing would be over soon. But he knew the sentence reserved for those who committed the crimes attributed to the boy. He felt it turn in his mind like a curse.

He didn't want to lose him.

No. No. He didn't care. Luke had betrayed him. He had lost him long ago already: when his mother had died, when he had first thought of helping Rebels in their endeavours and made himself a criminal. It was too late.

He threw the datapad across the room.

He leant on his unused office desk and closed his eyes, his fists clenched, the room shaking around him. How cruel was the Force, to dangle the life of his son in front of him like a miracle, then to take it from him just as soon! Was it so fond of his suffering, did it so want to rip apart the wretched and wounded heart he still possessed?

Luke was going to die. If he had known it before, never had it hit him as fully as it did now.

He straightened, started to pace around the room. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't stand by and wait for his child to die. He couldn't bear it.

He exited his quarters and rushed to the hangar again, then took his shuttle and left as brusquely as he had arrived, setting course for Imperial Centre again.

While soliciting an audience with the Emperor, some of his urgency had fallen, and he was starting to have second thoughts. It was his weakness talking again. It was vain to try; better to forget him, and stop his influence on his life.

When the Emperor admitted him, he fell on both his knees in front of his throne, his head bent, his heart drumming, waiting for him to speak.

"I feel that you have something to ask, Lord Vader," he said. "What is it?"

Vader swallowed, thinking of all the rebukes his master could address him – had already addressed him. Would he never learn of his mistakes?

You are paralysed by the control you gave him with all the soft-heartedness of a fool. He has grown on you like a leech. What power he has over you...

"The life of my son, master," he quietly said.

The Emperor didn't immediately answer. He rose up, came closer. Vader didn't dare move.

"Lord Vader..."

"Give him to me," Vader rose up and said, hating the desperation in his voice, but needing to say the words nevertheless. "I will turn him. I will make him loyal to us. I know I can do it."

"And what if you fail, my friend? What if he turns against you yet again?"

"Then I shall strike him down myself," he answered, barely thinking the words. "He will join us or die. But let me at least try."

"And I should believe that, when interrogating him was nearly too hard a task for you?" the Emperor rebuked softly.

Vader fell quiet. As always, his master's words had the precision of an arrow planting itself in his heart. He was ashamed by this sentiment, by the despair and the need to at least try and save that boy, ashamed by his former weakness, when he balked at his duty.

The Emperor came closer and put a hand on his arm. He had been doing that more often of late, trying to convey compassion; it only made Vader feel trapped.

"I do not blame you," he said. "I know how hard this must be for you. But that is exactly why I think it unwise for me to yield to this enquiry. He will notice and use this softness you hold for him, and that will play in our disadvantage. No matter how inhuman it must seem, I must refuse this to you."

Vader opened his mouth to answer without quite knowing what to say, hating how much sense the Emperor's arguments made.

"I remember the first days after your wife's passing," Palpatine continued, softer. "I witnessed your grief at her betrayal, helpless to alleviate it. I saw you throw yourself into your work, devastated by the thought that she died at your hand..."

"You told me I had killed her," Vader cut him off, overwhelmed by a sudden realisation. "But she couldn't have... she couldn't have given birth if I had..."

"I was deceived just as you were," the Emperor answered, and he seemed sincere, even though Vader didn't dare trust him. "I thought, like you, that she had died with her child, overwhelmed by your fury."

Vader wanted to protest again, but the Emperor's next words froze him.

"But tell me, Lord Vader – if killing your wife sent you in such despair, what would killing your child do to you?"

Vader looked away. He wanted to say nothing, he would do it without a second thought. But he still saw Luke writhing under his hands, he saw him panting on the ground after he had strangled him, and he knew the act would haunt him for as long as he lived.

"That is why I cannot grant you what you ask," Palpatine answered his wordless reply. "I am older than you; I have seen many people in my life, and I know human nature better than you do. He will betray you again, like your wife, like your friend. And when you are forced to end his life, you will either fail to do so, or be destroyed by the deed. I do not want to see you in this kind of pain again. It will be kinder and cleaner for him to die now, rather than burden you with this dreadful dilemma."

Coldness had taken hold of Vader again. So this was it. There was nothing he could do, no hope to be had.

"So Luke..."

The words escaped his lips unwillingly, and the Emperor's stretched in a sad smile.

"I am truly sorry. But there is no other way. The boy must die."

There was nothing to be answered to that. With such despair he thought he was the one passing away, Vader bowed to the Emperor, unable to force the "yes, Master" out of his vocoder.

Chapter Text

The trial was set to happen in the afternoon, in one of the justice halls of the Senate building. It was unusual for a court-martial to take place in these mostly civilian rooms, but Vader hadn't questioned the Emperor's decision.

The time had nearly arrived. He was walking next to Palpatine as the Emperor made his way to his reserved chair in the public, surrounded by Imperial Guards, and respectfully saluted by all those present. Vader didn't sit, merely stood at the Emperor's right arm, his hands on his belt. Around them, he could only see reporters with cameras and recording devices installed, all there with special authorisation from the Emperor.

He didn't want to be there; and at the same time, he wouldn't have missed it for anything in the galaxy. His stomach hadn't sat still for the past two days, a constant knot of burning regret searing his guts permanently. Yet here he was, unable to look away from the tragedy as it played out, even as he knew its terrible end.

Next to enter were the judges. There were five, all officers in shining olive uniforms, none of them ranking lower than Moff. Vader didn't know any of them, save one: presiding the jury stood the emaciated face of Grand Moff Tarkin, a favourite of the Emperor ever since he had written his famous doctrine. Vader had worked with him before, respected the man's efficiency and ruthlessness as nearly equal to his own. In this context, however, he wasn't sure it was a good thing.

Behind them entered the prosecutor and a few clerks. All of them offered the Emperor a military salute, then took their places behind the table.

Vader only granted them a glance. He was looking at the door, waiting and fearing the moment his son would arrive.

He didn't have to wait long before an escort of red-clothed guards arrived, surrounding Luke's frail figure. His hands were bound, and he was looking down, without reacting to the way his guards were pushing him around. Nothing was left of the bruises on his face, but Vader knew from his pained gait they had only used bacta on the places the public would see. They marched him to the defendant's dock, where he let himself fall down with obvious relief, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Vader took the time to watch him in more detail, a pang going through his heart when he realised how sick he looked. He was slouching in his seat, his brow furrowed, staring absently at the wooden table in front of him. They had given him another uniform, one without any rank insigna, but his hair was still greasy from sweat, his eyes encircled with dark rings, standing out above pale and jutting cheekbones.

The guards took place at both sides of Luke, and Tarkin opened the proceedings.

"Let the defendant stand up," he said.

Luke closed his eyes again, looking like he was summoning his strength. He put his bound hands on the desk in front of him, and leant on them to come up to a standing position.

"Luke Skywalker," Tarkin said, "you are accused of the charges of treason, sedition, and forgery of official documents. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, sir."

His voice was weak and hoarse, but held a quiet, restrained confidence nonetheless. Tarkin leant forward, his face contorted in indignation; but Vader, who had met the man more often than he would have liked, knew he was secretly enjoying this.

"Young man," he said with his clipping Core accent, "I do not think you are fully conscious of your situation. We have evidence against you that you will not be able to deny. Nobody here is fooled by your act. Confessing to your crimes will only make this easier for you. I repeat my question: how do you plead?"

Luke's hands tightened into fists.

"Not guilty, sir," he repeated.

Tarkin pinched his lips.

"You, young sir, are a piece of scum, a disgrace to the Imperial Navy and this entire nation," he said, detaching each word. "Not only have you aided enemies of the Empire, but you maintain your posturing even now that all know of your felonies, dishonouring yourself even further! Have you no sense of shame? No shred of decency? Do you not know it is a crime in itself, to lie in front of His Majesty?"

"I am not lying, sir," Luke interrupted him. "I am innocent."

A whisper ran through the room. Tarkin threw him a glare that rivalled the Emperor's lightning in dark intensity, then slowly leant back in his chair.

"Very well," he waved at him dismissively. "Let the defendant sit down. The prosecution may bring the evidence to the Court's knowledge."

Luke collapsed in his seat, tension leaving his body. The officer in charge of the prosecution, a general with a crooked nose and tiny dark eyes, stood up, a stack of flimsi sheets in front of him. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Gentlemen," he took the first flimsi in his hand, "I have here a written testimony from a source that prefers to remain unknown that confirms the presence of the defendant to several forbidden Rebel meetings during the course of his education at the Imperial Academy of Prefsbelt." He brandished it for the whole assembly to see, then put it aside and seized the next one. "Here is another, linking him to two of his fellow cadets and defectors, named Biggs Darklighter and Derek Klivian, who left their posting to join the Rebellion's ranks soon after their graduation..."

The officer went on, but Vader stopped listening. He was looking at Luke, who sat motionless in his chair, looking down and somewhat dazed while the prosecutor kept accumulating documents upon his head. The list went on, from anonymous testimonies to Imperial records, a damning litany to seal his ineluctable fate.

He had to die. The fact hit Vader like a punch in the gut. This trial could have but one outcome.

"Thank you, General," said Tarkin after the man closed his indictment with a show of Luke's school records found on Tatooine. "Do you wish to call witnesses before this Court?"

"Yes, Governor," the prosecutor said, gesturing towards two benches behind his stand. "Two pilots in Ensign Skywalker's squadron have accepted to share their testimony with us."

Now that he looked in their direction, Vader realised Black Squadron was indeed reunited on the prosecution's side. They were all wearing grave expressions, some sombre, others sorrowful. At the general's gesture, one of them stood up and took place at the witness stand.

Vader watched Luke again; he had looked up and was staring at the newcomer's toad-like face, his skin even whiter than it had been before, if that was possible.

"Witness, state your rank, name, and posting."

The pilot gripped the stand tighter.

"Lieutenant Aarm Jago, call name Qorl. I am a pilot in the service of the Empire."

The general took a look at his notes.

"Lt. Jago, is it true that you served in the same squadron as Ensign Skywalker, defendant to this case?"

"Yes, General."

"And that you have noticed suspicious elements in his behaviour during that time?"

The pilot swallowed.

"Yes, General."

"Can you tell the Court what these elements were?"

Qorl hesitated, then threw himself in.

"He has never seemed especially dedicated to the cause," he said. "Now, we've all been kids, afraid of battle and of killing. But his reluctance struck me as more than that. It didn't leave him even months into his commission. He never seemed eager to take out enemies, even hesitated several times before killing them. He was secretive and defensive."

The prosecutor nodded, his face neutral. Luke's expression was crumbling, and he was looking at Qorl as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Did you believe, even then, that Ensign Skywalker was involved with the Rebellion?"

At that Qorl threw a quick look at Luke, before looking at the general again.

"I – I'm not sure... I thought it was fishy, for sure, but – the Rebellion... He did save my life once –"

"Please, Lt. Jago, just answer the question. Did it ever occur to you that Ensign Skywalker could have been involved with the Rebellion?"

The pilot was gripping the stand with white knuckles, torn. He looked down and left as he thought. At last, he raised his eyes and took a deep breath.

"It... it crossed my mind once or twice."

Vader didn't need to hear it to know Luke gasped. Qorl pinched his lips.

"Thank you, Lt. Jago," the prosecutor told him. "You can sit down."

The pilot didn't need to be told twice. As quickly as he could, he headed back to his bench, his back straight but his eyes down.

Vader realised his fists were clenched and made an effort to relax his hands. This wasn't looking good at all. To think they had noticed his betrayal, and he never had... that he had been played so well... it was maddening. He truly was a fool. And yet, he realised with some surprise, he would have given anything for these pilots to have remained as blind as him. He wished this Court had never heard a single word of this testimony, if it meant Luke could...

But he couldn't, of course. It wouldn't have mattered.

"The prosecution would like to call a second witness," the general said.

"Proceed," Tarkin said.

The man that took Qorl's place was much more strongly built, although of small stature. He looked tired and torn, and his movements were stiff. He was biting his lip, and contrarily to his squadmate, never seemed to seek Luke's eyes, but carefully avoided looking in his direction.

"Please state your rank, name and posting."

"Lieutenant Rerick Pell, I'm a pilot of Black Squadron," he answered in a deep voice that Vader recognised as one of the men he had heard talking about Luke the day before.

"Lieutenant Pell," the prosecutor asked, "in the time you served alongside Ensign Skywalker, did any of his behaviour strike you as strange or suspicious?"

The man remained silent a long time before answering.

"He... was distant at times. Claimed to be busy, some days we hardly saw anything of him at all. Especially after our second-in-command's death."

"Did you ever wonder if this distance could hide nefarious motives?"

"No," Pell immediately said, without a hesitation. "I sometimes wondered what he was up to, but I never – never imagined..."

He broke off, looked down.

"And now, looking back while knowing what you know, does any of his actions strike you as suspect?"

The pilot looked back at him and frowned in deep concentration.

"Maybe... He was making incredible progress in flying, but would never speak about it..."

"Nothing more?" the general pressed. "Just secrecy?"

"Yes," Pell said, before starting again, as if he had a sudden remembrance. "Although... I wonder if – if I haven't seen him hide a datapad under his bunk quickly once..."

"That's not true," Luke weakly said, eyes wide open, as if the words had escaped him without his consent. "Boomer, what are you doing?"

He looked at his squadmate pleadingly, his expression more crushed than Vader had ever seen him. Pell threw him a glance, then looked away just as quickly.

"Quiet," Tarkin snapped at Luke, who looked down, his face darkening. "Witness, finish your answer."

"I don't know," Pell said, wringing his hands. He looked shaken by Luke's intervention. "I don't remember."

"The datapad," the prosecutor reminded him. "You had seen Ensign Skywalker try to hide it..."

"No," the pilot said, and Vader was surprised by how categorical he was. "I made a mistake. I don't remember."

The general threw him a loaded look, that Pell held as well as he could. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed.

"Very well," he said. "You can sit down."

The pilot regained his spot among his squadron. Luke stared at them from afar. Vader's felt a strange pressure in his chest, seeing them all assembled so far away from his son, against him, when they had flown together so often. He knew Luke was attached to his squadron; his loneliness and pain was all too evident.

The prosecutor addressed Tarkin with a grandiloquent gesture.

"Governor, I rest my case. As you have heard, the evidence against the defendant is overwhelming. It speaks for itself; I have nothing to add."

"Thank you," Tarkin nodded to him. "Does the defence council wish to speak?"

"No, Governor," the man sitting next to Luke said, a lean man with glasses and greying hair who hadn't said a word since the beginning of the proceedings. "The case seems clear to me. I have nothing to add."

Vader's heart quickened. This was it. This was the end...

"I want to speak," Luke said, leaning forward on his desk. There was a hard glint in his eyes that made Vader ill at ease. He looked ready to stand, but too weak to do so. "You can't do this, you have to let me speak –"

He broke off with a grunt when a guard thrust his spike in his calf.

"Silence!"

"No, let him," Tarkin slowly said, staring at Luke. There was a smile on his face Vader didn't much care for. He gestured at Luke and leant back in his chair.

"Come forward, boy! Tell us what you want us to know, and try to change this Court's opinion if you believe you can."

Luke breathed in, then pushed himself up once more, wincing at the movement. Slowly, carefully, he moved around the desk and took two steps to the middle of the room. Tarkin nodded, seeing him come with such difficulty at the centre of everyone's attention.

"I know I won't change it," Luke said, with an effort to make his tired voice carry in the entire room. "I know you condemned me before this trial even started. But I won't come quietly. I won't let you send me to my death without even a word."

He swallowed, cleared his throat.

"I have gone, in my entire training, to exactly one Rebel meeting. To make my friend shut up. I was certain it was only propaganda, I'd just be losing my time. During that reunion they talked about the treatment of prisoners of war. I came out of there furious. The lies, the exaggeration, their claims were so ridiculous there was no way they could be true. I didn't understand how anybody could believe that junk."

He took a deep breath.

"Well now I know."

Vader nearly started, surprised at the pain and the rage contained in that softly-spoken sentence.

"I know," Luke continued, letting his emotions build up in his words, "because I was made to live it. Enhanced interrogation, you call it – I've seen it written before. I've been drugged, beaten, electrocuted – barely left to eat, drink or sleep. In my entire life I had never imagined it was possible to be in so much pain."

Luke glanced at Vader, whose heart nearly stopped in his chest.

"And I was innocent. All along that thought burnt in me, kept me fighting when despair threatened to overwhelm me. I was loyal, I wanted nothing more than to serve – and still they tortured me, without making a difference, as if they didn't even care. I know I'm going to die. I'd be glad to die for the glory of the Empire. I've been ready to do so since applying to the Academy."

He swallowed again, licked his lips, grimaced in pain. Despite his weakness, Vader found himself transfixed, hung to his every word.

"But this is not the Empire I'm fighting for. This is not the security and the stability we were promised, the peace we strive to obtain. I can no longer close my eyes to the brutality that literally hit me in the face," his voice wavered in a shaky semblance of a laugh. "We deserve better. The Empire deserves better."

There was a long silence in which Luke's words echoed. Vader stood motionless, but inside his heart was drumming, an excruciating rhythm against his chest. He hated the emotion swelling inside him at his son's impassioned words, the regret that he'd had to go through this, the hope against every hope that this desperate cry would be enough to save him.

But he knew it wouldn't. He needed to die. Nothing could change that.

Then Tarkin started to laugh, a shrill and unexpected sound in the heavy silence.

"Well, well, well," he said to everyone around, still wearing that insufferable smile, "gentlemen, here is the proof that the right methods always lead to confession."

He reported his attention to Luke, whose expression had become positively astonished.

"So, young man, you recognise at last that you have attended these Rebel meetings you first denied with such passion?"

"What?" Luke blinked. "I –"

"You recognise the existence of a friend who opened you these doors, undoubtedly one of the two you then helped defect?"

"That's not what I –"

"And this passionate speech in favour of Rebel sentiments! Added to your previous confession, that of your ascendancy which you made when you were being detained, I quite believe you have just confirmed every single charge held against you."

"My father died before the end of the Clone Wars," Luke retorted to Tarkin's triumphant face. "He never betrayed the Republic, no more than I betrayed the Empire. I never wanted to hide my connection to him, I am proud of being his son!"

Vader gritted his teeth, using all his restraint to remain immobile. He wanted to... he didn't even know what. Anything but seeing this, his son's humiliation, his devotion to a man he believed dead.

Oh, how he wished to grab him, to protect him, to shield him from this ill-intentioned assembly while he told him the truth about his father. Once again he thought about what could have been, if only he had known earlier, if only he'd had the occasion to take him away before everything could end so badly...

But he remembered Palpatine's words. He will betray you again. There was no other way this could end.

Tarkin stared up at the raging Luke, no longer even hiding his pleasure at seeing him fall apart in that way.

"I knew your father, boy," he said. Luke gritted his teeth. "And I knew the Jedi. They were nothing but a nuisance, a decrepit old cult that did nothing but stand in the way of progress. Their eradication was a cleansing for the galaxy. The world has fared far better without them, just like it will once it is rid of every being like you. You are a criminal, a vermin of the worst kind, and you will perish as such."

He looked down at his papers, seized his gavel.

"Luke Skywalker, you are hereby found guilty of the charges of treason, sedition, and forgery of official Imperial documents," he said, his tone cold and professional again. "For these motives, you are sentenced to death, which is to be carried out in the next standard forty-eight hours, as prescribed by the Imperial Military Code of Justice."

The sound of the gavel resonated in the room, much too final.

A cold liquid spread in Vader's veins. This was it. It was said.

He had to die. He needed to die. He repeated the sentence in his head, as if it could help him accept it better. The words slowly seemed to lose meaning in his mind, their terrible signification dulling; but the grief and the regret remained.

It was over.

Luke stared in front of him, dazed, lost, as if he couldn't process what had just happened. He only seemed to register what was happening around him when Red Guards approached to take him away. He jerked away from them, then staggered and raised his bound hands to his eyes, looking around frantically, reaching out for something to support him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on the wooden floor.

Vader couldn't repress a panicked gesture when he saw him pass out, irrationally afraid he was already dead. But the guards surrounded him, and one of them barked at him to stand, striking him with his pike. Luke jolted before raising himself on trembling arms, something made more difficult by his shackled wrists. He crawled to the judges' table and used it to haul himself up, his whole body shaking in exhaustion. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look at Tarkin's smug face. As soon as he was on his feet, the guards seized him forcefully and took him outside, half restraining him, half supporting him.

After Luke was taken away, the judges stood up, Tarkin first. They saluted the Emperor in a perfect ensemble, then left the room in a line.

The silence broke after their exit, and journalists started talking together as they organised themselves to broadcast it. Vader hated that it would be made public, that Luke's sentencing would be spread for all to see, but that had been the primary goal of this trial, after all. To make an example out of him. To show that nobody betrayed the Empire and remained unpunished, and certainly not its own soldiers.

The Emperor rose, and there was silence once again. Vader had nearly forgotten his presence, swept in the well-organised horror of the proceedings. The Red Guards preceded him, and Vader followed as they left the room.

They walked in the corridor and headed towards the landing pads in order to return to the Imperial Palace. But Vader didn't follow all the way. At the exit of the rotunda, near the doors, sat Luke on a stone bench, now surrounded by Stormtroopers. They were waiting for the speeder to take him back to the cells of the Imperial Palace.

Vader's step faltered, and his heart quivered as he saw Luke's slumped posture, staring at the landscape around him with a faraway look. Vader hated the thought that this was the very last time he would be able to see the sky.

Irresistibly drawn, he came closer to him. He wanted to see him, to look at him while he still could. He wanted to speak to him... to tell him everything he couldn't.

The troopers moved aside to let him through. Luke looked up at him and tensed; his expression cut the words in Vader's mouth before they could come through. From here he could see the blood in the white of his eyes, in awful contrast to the pale skin of his face. His irises had an unhealthy shine, but the light in his eyes seemed dulled. Vader did his best not to think of these same eyes extinguished and vacant.

"Young Skywalker," he managed to articulate to put up a front of confidence, trying to get rid of the awful image.

Luke averted his eyes.

"What do you want?"

Vader had felt the defiance and hostility in the Force, although the words themselves came out as an angry whisper. Immediately a trooper seized his arm.

"Show some respect!"

He was about to strike him when Vader reached out an arm.

"Don't," he said, unwilling to see his son any more brutalised. Luke had endured so much... he deserved some gentleness, in the short time he still had before the end.

He already looked like he was on death's door. Vader couldn't tear his eyes away from him, filled with some kind of morbid fascination at seeing him slouching so, suffusing such weariness, such pain and exhaustion. Unbidden, a memory of a better time sprang to his mind: his easy smile and laugh, his endless curious energy, and it made his chest ache at the thought of all that was lost.

Surprised by his intervention, Luke looked up at him. Vader could feel his puzzlement, as well as that of the troopers around him. Embarrassment overcame him.

"If I deem it necessary, I shall punish him myself," he added on impulse, to hide his moment of weakness.

He immediately regretted his words. Luke paled – how was it still possible? –, gritted his teeth, and shot him a glare so full of hatred Vader nearly started. Then he pinched his lips and hung his head, staring at the ground.

Vader watched him for a long time, frozen, finding his words once more dying on his tongue. So many things remained unsaid between them. But what use were words now? Nothing could fix this situation. No confession or revelation could spare them from the truth, this terrible truth that Vader had shied away from for so long.

He loved this boy. He loved this son he had never known. And nothing hurt more, not even the pain of his betrayal, than knowing he would soon lose him, too.

The sound of a speeder engine made Vader turn around, and see the vehicle with the Imperial crest painted on its side stop in front of them. Numb, he stepped aside to let them through, and watched as they took Luke inside, the doors closing on him before the speeder moved away.

The Emperor came at his side, looking at the vehicle like he was. Vader hadn't realised he was still there. Wordlessly, he followed him to their own speeder.
 

The evening went by like a blur. Vader had stood motionless in these same corridors of transparisteel, absently watching the sun set. He had reopened the bond he shared with Luke, and spent this time contemplating it, knowing there were separated but by a few floors. It was muted, distant, but he would take any sense of his son he still could, before it all ended. It was all he still could do.

Night had fallen when the Emperor approached him again.

"The execution has been scheduled at 0530, at the first rays of sunrise," the ruler murmured, so low only Vader could hear him. "I think it is best for you not to be present. Commander Piett is in charge of it."

So he was pushed away from his own son's execution. Regret shot at him at the thought that he would never see him again; he wanted to protest, to say he needed to be there. But a part of him was too tired, too relieved not to have to see Luke exhale his last breath.

At least Piett was no cruel man, he couldn't help thinking. He wouldn't draw it out. It would be quick.

"Be strong, Lord Vader," the Emperor whispered again. "Draw on the power of the Dark Side. It beckons you: let its might feed you, grow in you."

Again Vader curtly nodded. He would have liked to tell him that it did not matter, that the boy was nothing to him, but there was no more use in pretending. A lot of things had been revealed in their futility, in these last, life-altering moments, when nothing else remained than the purity of pain.

Vader looked at the time in the corner of his lenses' screen, feeling a strange restlessness come over him. It was well past eleven, nearly midnight. In a little less than six hours it would all be over.

The Emperor's pale hand brushed his shoulder. "I will leave you for the night," he said. Then he walked away, and his apprentice stayed alone with his thoughts.

Beyond the pane, the stars quivered in anticipation, their lights trembling, small and frail in the unending darkness of the universe.

Chapter Text

Everything was silent in the palace. Even the few guards awake for their shift had sleep in the corner of their minds, hidden under the red helmets. The whole place was suspended in timeless lethargy, a bridge between worlds where the frontier parting dreams and conscious life thinned out.

Vader hadn't moved since the Emperor had left him. He stood there, staring at the stars, the dark shape of a phantom vigil. His wheezing breath reverberated in the silence, giving rhythm and shape to the trickling seconds.

But he didn't see the stars in the faraway sky. The only images dancing in front of his eyes were of his son's face.

Every moment he had spent with him was flashing in his mind like a moving tapestry. Luke smiling, his eyes glinting in challenge; Luke frowning, snapping at him when they disagreed; Luke tentatively asking him about his past in concern; Luke screaming, crying, exhausted and defiant...

He was going to die.

The numbness that had been his companion for eighteen years before he met his son seemed to be returning, to his relief. Too many emotions had upset his damaged chest since then, fresh and painful like a reopened wound. He wanted nothing more than to rest again.

So many things had been put into perspective. So many questions answered, but just as many raised. He had never understood this strange interest he had taken in the boy before. Had it been the Force talking to him, had he confusedly felt their relationship, even in his ignorance?

Now that he stopped to think about it, the boy was his own striking image, softened by the delicacy of his mother's features... How many times had he been troubled by the righteous fire in his eyes when something mattered to him, by his reckless smirk? How much had he tried to squash remembrances of the past as he heard his Tatooine accent? He had smiled at his passion when he talked about ships and flying. He had loved teaching him, showing him what he knew of the Force, witnessing his triumph when he learnt something new.

But he could never do so again.

Luke was going to die. All his thoughts came back to crush against this terrible reality, like a black hole swallowing every light.

He hadn't even told him about their relationship. He had let the chance for that pass him by, too taken in his pain and in his denial. Luke was going to die without even knowing whose son he was, thinking he'd be joining his Jedi father in the Force. And Vader would be left behind, cold and alone, mourning for the second time the child he once thought dead...

He looked at the time again. Another five hours left. Time was running, slipping through his fingers. He felt suffocated, trapped, as if he was the sentenced prisoner rather than his son.

He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, fighting the wave of helpless anger that was toppling him. What had he done to deserve this misfortune? Did the Force take such pleasure in his pain, that it insisted on ripping all of his loved ones from him, one by one? Hadn't he suffered enough?

He couldn't lose Luke. Not him too, not again. He had just rediscovered what it meant to care about someone. He couldn't bear to see his bright light snuffed out, to feel him disappear forever.

His fists clenched once more, helpless and devastated. Cracks appeared in the transparisteel, physical signs of his distress, manifestations of his wordless cry. It was unfair, he screamed at the universe. Why did you give me back my son, if he was meant to perish all along?

He had done everything to avoid getting attached. He had tried to keep his distance for as long as he could. But still the Force had thwarted his every attempt, had watched gleefully as his heart softened, then administered the last blow as soon as he thought he had finally found belonging...

And now he was haunted by everything he hadn't known, everything he could have done, before the ruthless machine of destiny had come into action. If only he had foreseen the danger threatening him... He would have protected him, sent him far away from those who wished him harm, made sure he could never be found.

For a moment, he let himself fantasise, the sweet dreams overcoming his dreadful reality for too short a time. He wished he could take Luke out of his cell, bring him to the hangar bay and give him a ship. He would explain to him why he needed to go, why he needed to hide from everybody. He would at last tell him the truth of who he was, of how much he was loved...

And then it dawned on him.

He could still do that.

The realisation hit him like a speeder at full throttle. He had access to the cells. He knew where Luke was held. Even if he didn't, finding him would be easy, with their connection through the Force. He had access to the hangars, even possessed a personal shuttle. Furthermore, it was the middle of the night. Most people were asleep; Luke would be far away before anyone realised what had happened...

He staggered forward, had to lean against the still crackling window. His head was spinning, intoxicated by the sudden lightness that had overcome him. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a veil off his eyes.

He could save him.

Just as that thought occurred to him, he remembered the Emperor's warnings, a dark counterpoint to his newly born hope. He will betray you again. He will use this softness you hold for him. And he hesitated, now knowing it was true. The boy had far too much power over him. By saving him, he could be spelling his own doom.

And his master wouldn't be pleased. Vader recoiled, thinking of Palpatine's disappointed face, of his wrinkles contorting in a harsh and judging expression. He knew there would be consequences if he chose to act, possibly permanent ones. He had never gone against his orders so outwardly before... his bond with his master would suffer, and he grieved for it in advance.

But he found he didn't care as much as he once did. It seemed to him he was thinking clearly for the first time. These dangers seemed so inconsequential, next to this miracle, this fabulous possibility opening in front of him.

Betrayals and secrets, concealments and lies... they were nothing, in the end. Not if Luke lived.

But he only had a few hours left. He had to act quickly. His heart full of a renewed purpose, he strode in direction of the detention area.

As he had thought, the few guards still awake all let him through without so much as a question. His presence struck such fear and respect into their men, nobody even dared wondering what he was doing. He was the face of the Empire, and its fist.

His heart was beating in giddy excitement when he pressed the opening button of Luke's cell. His son was lying on his back, not unlike that terrible day when he had interrogated him, and Vader repressed a shiver at the memory. His eyes were closed, but Vader knew he was not sleeping. At the sound of the door, he looked at him and sat up.

"Come," Vader gestured at him.

Luke took a deep breath, glanced around him, swallowed. Then he hauled himself up to come to a standing position and walked forward. His steps were much slower than Vader would have liked. His hands were trembling, and he was looking straight in front of him. With a pang in his chest, Vader realised he was expecting to be taken to his execution.

"Do not fear," he said. He searched for the right words to explain, but found none. The room had to be monitored: he couldn't state his purpose clearly.

Luke raised his eyebrows and threw him a defiant glare, but remained stubbornly silent. Vader gave up and grasped his forearm. Their time was running out.

He half marched him, half dragged him through the silent corridors, nearly running in his haste. He wouldn't be at peace until Luke was safely away from the planet.

But the young man was having trouble following him. He was hanging behind, his breath wheezing, too focused on putting one step in front of the other to think of protesting. Vader stopped for a second, guilt clutching his heart. He didn't want him to die of exhaustion before he could even escape.

Gently, he passed an arm around his waist, using his other hand to grasp his wrist and bring his arm around his shoulder, and took his weight on him. Luke tensed, resisted as much as he could, but he couldn't hold on for long before he leant on him, unable to repress something like relief. Taking care not to unsettle him too much, Vader resumed their hurried walk.

As they went, he took the occasion to look at him. He was still in terrible shape, his skin white and glistening with sweat, even for this small amount of exercise. His breath was tightly controlled, and Vader could feel the pain and tiredness every step brought him. He regretted they couldn't afford the time to give him some medical treatment, even if it was just something to relieve his pain. Still, there was something exhilarating to having him so close, feeling his weight and warmth on him, the light of his mind so near. It was invaluable proof that he was alive, soon to be free.

Luke tensed again when he recognised the hangar. They took a few steps in the deserted space. Vader brought him in front of his personal ship, then released him. Luke took a shaky step away from him, looked at his surroundings, before throwing him a puzzled look.

"This shuttle wasn't conceived for long-range voyages, but it is capable of it," Vader said.

Luke gaped. His eyes widened, and he turned towards the shuttle, putting a hand on the hull as realisation dawned on him. He faced Vader again, uncertainty in his eyes, a faint stirring of hope he didn't quite dare trust.

"You're..." he swallowed, licked his dry and cracked lips. "You're letting me go?"

"Yes."

Luke stared at him for another instant, searching his gaze for a trick, some sign he was lying. Then he looked at the vessel again, and let out a disbelieving laugh. He ran his fingers along the metal, exploring its surface with awe and wonder, as if it was the first time in his life he saw an actual spaceship.

Vader couldn't tear his eyes away from him. He drank in the sight of him, his lean and tired frame, his every gesture.

He was his son. He was alive.

Luke's hand stilled, and he looked down, didn't quite turn towards him.

"Why?"

Vader heard the multiple questions in the single word, and found he had no answer. Explanations collided and merged in his mind, too insincere, too much like excuses.

He took a step forward. Luke whirled on himself, suddenly tense and on alert, like a cornered eopie that had spotted a predator. Vader stopped dead, as surprised by his son's reaction as Luke seemed to be by his movement. He sent his peaceful intentions to him, then slowly took a second step, and put a hand on his shoulder. Luke was frozen, petrified.

His chest bursting with a thousand emotions, he took a moment to truly watch his son at last. His eyes roamed over his features, his wide blue eyes, his small nose, the cleft in his chin, his sharp cheekbones. Still unable to speak, he opened their bond, let the strength of his affection for this boy finally flood through between them.

This was it. There would be no better occasion to tell him of the earth-shattering truth that had thrown his world upside-down.

"Luke..."

He didn't have time to think of any further words. A warning blared in the Force, overcoming his senses. He stepped back, looked around, trying to determine the source of the disturbance.

Their time was up.

"Go," he said, pushing Luke towards the shuttle. The alarm had been given; in a few minutes the hangar would be flooded, keeping his son grounded before recapturing him. He had to leave now.

Luke had felt it as well. With a last quick glance at him, he hurried up the ramp and closed it.

The engines warmed up, flared to life. Vader held his hand out and opened the hangar doors with the Force to let Luke through. Wind blew against his mask, twirling inside his cape as the shuttle slowly rose, then shot forward in the sky.

Stormtroopers ran into the hangar, hasty footsteps and barked orders resounding around him. But Vader didn't move. His mind was still focused on Luke, shielding his ship against the cannons of air security, guiding him through the dangers of the capital's atmosphere. Finally, Luke came through and the ship jumped to hyperspace, snapping the bond between them with reassuring finality.

Vader let his hand fall, staring into the rising sun.