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Chapter Text

Young Luke Lars arrives on Devastator, just graduated from the Imperial Academy and excited about his posting: at only eighteen, he was assigned to the elite Black Squadron, Darth Vader's personal fighter squadron. He meets his wingmate Chaser, who is dismayed by finding out Luke is only a kid. However, Luke's personality and flying skills quickly endear him to Chaser, who warms up to him and introduces him to the rest of the squad. They are only few pilots, for the squadron was decimated in a surprise Rebel attack a few weeks earlier.

Soon enough, Luke gets acquainted with the reality of a pilot's life: the paperwork, the training, the perpetual lack of time. An incident with a faulty uniform tunic attracts the attention of Darth Vader on him. The dark lord is intrigued by his familiarity, his flying skills and presence in the Force.

Meanwhile the squadron's first battle is soon approaching, and Luke is nervous. He knows Biggs, his best friend on Tatooine and at the Academy, has defected to the Rebels, and he is haunted by the idea of facing him in battle.

The fight itself is tense and difficult. Held back by a powerful instinct, Luke hesitates before obeying an order Darth Vader gave him. Vader is furious, but also curious about the Force-sensitive young man that used to live near Obi-Wan's hiding place before he found and killed his old Jedi master. He decides to ground Luke and to watch him closely.

In his new functions, Luke is bored out of his mind and unnerved by Vader's surveillance. He is further disheartened to see new pilots arrive on the squadron and disquieted by the mention of “enhanced interrogation” on prisoners' files Vader gave him to sort, which calls back to forbidden Rebel meetings Biggs dragged him to despite Luke's allegiance to the Empire.

Frustrated and exhausted, Luke talks back to Vader one too many times and Vader strangles him, attempting to kill him. Luke instinctively defends himself through the Force and manages to free himself, to Vader's astonishment.

Vader talks about Luke's potential to the Emperor, who gives him permission to train him. But after Vader's abuse, Luke is reluctant to spend more time with him and turns down his offer.

Meanwhile Luke was reinstated on the squadron and progresses in his flying. After a successful battle, the squadron unites to give Luke a call sign: Shooting Star. Luke is delighted despite the call sign reminding him of Biggs, but the celebrations are cut short when Devastator is attacked.

They manage to repel the enemy, but Chaser falls under the Rebels' fire, and Luke is devastated. He asks Vader to help him improve his flying with the Force in order to better protect his squad mates. The lessons are a success: Luke progresses quickly, and Vader is happy and proud to see his talent develop. But Luke's squadmates find the way he is growing closer to Vader suspicious. A rift grows between them, for Luke cannot possibly tell them about the Force.

The gap between them only grows when Mauler, Darth Vader's wingman and their instructor, dies in battle, and Vader names Luke to take his place. Furthermore, Vader is troubled by his growing affection towards Luke and cuts his lessons short, leaving Luke alone.

However, after a meeting with the Emperor, Vader offers him lessons again; but Luke, fed up with his commanding officer's mood swings, refuses. Vader's temper flares and he orders him back into training, which Luke drags his feet to. It takes Vader much effort to finally understand his behaviour is affecting Luke negatively and to accept that he cares about him. He promises Luke he will no longer hurt him.

Meanwhile Luke is still dismayed by the lengths the Empire goes to in order to win the war: reprisals on civilians, killing of refugees. After a bloody battle, he opens his heart to Vader about it. Vader offers him apprenticeship in the ways of the Sith, and opens the possibility of a coup against the Emperor. Luke accepts.

However, the Emperor's spies have uncovered Luke's true identity and his ties with Biggs. During his visit on Devastator for Empire's Day, Palpatine accuses Luke of treason, reveals his name as being Skywalker rather than Lars and arrests him.

Luke is interrogated and put on trial. Pushed by the Emperor, a reluctant Vader tortures him to tear a confession from him, but Luke never departs from his claims of innocence. During his audience, he denounces his inhumane treatment and proclaims his loyalty to both the Empire and his father Anakin Skywalker before being sentenced to death.

Vader is reeling from the revelation and feeling betrayed by Luke's actions, especially his hiding his identity. Everything comes back to him the night before Luke's execution. Faced with the truth of his love for his son and his grief at the fate reserved to him, he understands he cannot let Luke die.

Vader frees a badly injured Luke from his cell and leads him to a ship, staring into the rising sun as Luke flies away...

Chapter Text

The silence was deafening once blaster fire finally died out in the hangar, the engines of the ship long gone. In their haste to prevent the prisoner's flight, three squadrons of stormtroopers had assembled and now stood straight, facing their failure. Weapons were put back into holsters, eyes trained on Vader with fright.

Vader slowly turned around. The euphoria of Luke's escape was receding, and he knew he had to explain this.

He thought for a minute, his heart still light but the situation starting to sink in. His son was free. No more interrogation, trial or execution. Each minute saw him growing farther away from Imperial Centre and the torments he had endured there.

But Vader was still here, empty-handed. He knew things were looking exactly the way they were, and it was obvious with anyone with eyes he had been breaking the boy out. Fear of him was the only thing preventing these men from speaking up.

That fear was not going to hold back the one person he would most hope to fool, however.

Vader crossed the stormtrooper officer's gaze, felt the man's fright increase. He looked him in the eye and brushed the idea of blaming it on him. What was a mere trooper to him? The man was visibly expecting it, and it would be an easy and clean way to keep up appearances.

But the thought died as soon as it was born. The atmosphere shifted, the troopers straightened, the focus of the attention moved away from Vader.

Lies and justifications would be useless, now. He supposed it had always been the case.

Hunched over his cane, shuffling step by step, the hooded figure of the Emperor entered the hangar, deceptively small and frail. But the apparent weakness he was displaying was belied by the sheer blackness of his presence as it brushed over Vader's.

Disquiet awakened in the pit of his guts, but Vader stood in place, tall and stoic.

Little by little, the Emperor came closer. With a gesture, he discarded the troopers and they left, all too relieved to be spared. Vader and his master remained the only ones in the hangar, which suddenly seemed much broader and stiller.

Vader couldn't see Palpatine's face under his hood, couldn't read his mood in the Force. His heart beat faster, the remnants of old fear grasped at his soul, but he didn't give them purchase.

The gravity of his actions dropped on him like a bucket of cold water on his head. Never before had he so deliberately, so completely disobeyed his master. He had defied him, heard his orders and gone against them.

There was no going back now. His mind wandered for a moment whether Sidious would merely renounce him or if he would kill him, slowly and painfully, as he would any guilty of the same crime as him. By disobeying him, Vader had humiliated him and discarded his authority. That wouldn't be easily forgiven.

But he couldn't find it in himself to regret any of it. Had he been faced with this choice again, he would have done the same thing all over again in a heartbeat.

Luke lived. He was far away, safe from hatred, suffering and death. He let the fact run through him, warm his limbs with gladness and wonder, beat inside his veins at the rhythm of his heart as he stood straight and awaited his master's judgement.

The Emperor arrived at Vader's level, then stopped without saying anything. The silence stretched, unbearable, eternal.

Then he sighed.

"I am sorry, my friend," he said, and Vader was stunned. His master looked so fragile in this moment, so defeated, that he nearly had pity for him. "I am an old fool, and my foresight is no longer what it used to be."

Vader bowed his head, not sure how to answer. Of all the things he had imagined his master to do or say, he had never expected an apology. And for what, anyway? He was the one who had let the boy go. If anybody was guilty, he was...

"I should have expected it," the Emperor said, his voice sad, regretful. Vader felt punched in the gut. "I knew you cared for the boy. Family, love has always been your weakness. I should have known better than to make you stand by while he was executed."

"I was the one who freed him," Vader cut his master off, unable to bear his self-flagellating. It was entirely his own fault.

Only afterwards did he realise he had confessed to it aloud. He looked away, unable to bear his master's gaze.

But Palpatine waved his concerns away by a careless gesture of his hand.

"It no longer matters. He is gone, away from here. That cannot be changed."

Vader swallowed. He wished he was anywhere but here; and yet he couldn't help relief from flooding over him at the realisation the Emperor didn't intend to punish him from him. Vader knew he had hurt him; he could see it in his gaze, hear it in the tone of his voice.

"Master..."

"Let us no longer talk about it," the Emperor said, and his tone was so brisk Vader didn't insist. "Other matters must now hold our attention."

"I am listening, master," Vader said in haste, careful to conceal his emotions. He was walking a fine line, and wanted nothing less than to upset the Emperor again.

"I must congratulate you on the way you handled the presumed leak of our project." Vader scoffed at that. The operation in the Nembus sector had been a disaster. "However, it is unfortunate the Rebels left no trace of what they knew. I fear what might happen, were they to learn of the project's location before it is ready... I need you to go there and oversee the last stages of construction. There you will collaborate with Grand Moff Tarkin, who is coordinating it. You will protect the station with your life."

Vader gave him a curt nod. The thought of working with Tarkin again wasn't a pleasant one. He held the man in rather high esteem; he was, in Vader's opinion, one of the few high-ranking officers who was prepared to do what ought to be done in order to succeed in his goals, and who didn't have any qualms over getting his hands dirty when necessary.

However, that high opinion was now tainted by the memories of the last time he had seen Tarkin's brutal efficiency at work. Having to collaborate with him again left a sour taste in Vader's mouth.

But he had no room to complain, not when he was already in disgrace with the Emperor.

"I want it operational as soon as possible," the Emperor said. "It will be an invaluable tool to defeat the Rebellion. Only then will be able to finally bring back the peace to the galaxy."

A pang of regret awakened in Vader's heart at these words. Luke would have been of even greater help than any superweapon in the galaxy... With their combined strength, nothing would have been impossible.

But it was not to be. The boy lived, and that needed to be enough.

"Yes, my master," he said.

He was still reeling from his master's lack of reaction at his betrayal. He had let a dangerous prisoner go. Were he anyone else, he would have died for that crime... yet Sidious had let it slide with barely a word. Did the boy matter so little to him? After all this show, all this insistence that he be interrogated and tried in accordance with the law, he brushed off his escape like a mere nuisance? Why go through this farce to make an example out of him, instead of shooting him in the neck like any other Rebel, if he held so little importance?

Vader didn't understand. But it was just as well, and he couldn't believe his luck. The less risk for Luke to be captured by the Empire again, the better. Perhaps he could find a way to make sure he was safe... even contact him, maybe.

His son lived. Joy awakened in him again at the thought. It was all that really mattered.

The Emperor was heading back towards the hangar's exit when he stopped and turned towards him again.

"Oh, and Lord Vader," he said, as if on an afterthought. "I expect you shall have more than enough work with your posting. Do not bother yourself with the boy; I will search for him myself."

Vader's insides turned into ice. If the Emperor intended to go after him, Luke was lost. And there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to prevent it...

No. That couldn't happen. He refused it.

Tightly clamping down on the panic rising in his chest, Vader deeply bowed down.

Luke woke up disoriented and thirsty, a thousand pounding aches drumming in his body. He groaned, lifted a hand to his forehead. Where was he? What had happened? Everything was a blur of confusion. Unease was gnawing from the back of his mind, telling him he didn't want to remember; but not remembering was uncomfortable, too.

The unease was growing. His stomach rumbled, heaved and Luke only had time to roll on his side before vomiting on the deck, next to the pilot's chair he was sitting in.

The cell. The hangar. The ship. The details were blurry and confused, but he now recalled his terror as he believed he was being led to his death, his shock and disbelief when Vader – Vader –

His vision was spinning, his throat and chest burning. He grimaced, feeling a thin trickle of saliva down his chin, dripping to join the small white puddle at the foot of the chair. Stomach acid, probably; Luke hadn't eaten anything in –

How long had it been? Days, weeks? Luke couldn't tell. Time had barely seemed to have meaning among the horror and the pain. For all he knew, it could have been a lifetime or just a few hours...

He scrunched his eyes shut, let out a low moan. An acrid and foul taste was lingering at the back of his mouth. His whole body was shaking, he felt so weak he didn't know if he would be able to get up.

But he needed to. He had to find a refresher, hopefully some water and perhaps food as well if he wanted to grow stronger. This shuttle had a hyperdrive, it had to mean it was equipped for at least a day-long journey, as per regulations, right?

Oh, how he hoped the shower would be working. The idea of being clean again, of feeling like a human being rather than a disgusting beast, felt too good to be true.

A weak laugh escaped him at the thought, tears rising to his eyes. A shower. Something so simple and yet so wonderful, something he hadn't had in ages, something they had never allowed him as they left him to lie in his own filth without any dignity.

Something that meant freedom.

He was free. He was alive. It felt unreal, like one of the hallucinations their drugs had sometimes conjured to make him slip and reveal something he didn't want to, unwilling to hear he had nothing to let slip anyway. He was nearly afraid to believe it, lest his hopes were crushed once more...

But he had never felt so physically wretched during those deliriums. There had never been such silence, broken only by the subtle and comforting thrum of the hyperdrive. There had never been space to hear his own thoughts, scattered though they were.

It made Luke wonder if it might just be real.

He grasped the armchair with his right hand, his left flailing in front of him so ridiculously it made him laugh again, and pushed himself upright once more. Then he clasped the chair on both sides, took a deep breath –

– and gasped, white pain bolting through his chest.

Panting, his breaths shallow, Luke put a hand on his ribcage. It wasn't serious – a cracked or a broken rib, at most. He could still breathe if he was careful –

"No – owh!"

A boot in his stomach, then in his ribs, his lower back. He jerked, howled. He put his arms up to protect his head, his knees drawn next to his abdomen, but the blows kept coming –

– if he was careful and didn't make too sudden movements. No sudden movements, just be careful, focus on that and everything would be fine. It was fine.

His legs felt like jelly when he rose, his arms too weak. Black and white spots danced in front of his vision; he swayed for a second, blinked, then put a foot in front of the other.

Carefully at first, then with a bit more assurance, he exited the cockpit and wandered in the passenger hold. The bulkheads of the cabin were Imperial grey, and it made Luke scoff. He wondered why the Empire seemed to hate colour so much; for a moment, he wanted to paint it bright red.

He shuffled around, opened a few empty cupboards before he found supplies. Military-issued water and nutrient bars, the kind of thing whose expiration date he wouldn't have to worry about.

Luke took the rations then, feeling his legs weaken again, went to the long couch-like seats set along the bulkhead of the passenger hold. He dropped down in one with a suffering sigh and took some time to catch his breath around the acute, throbbing pain in his chest, his eyes closed. Then he took a water ration, opened it and brought it to his lips.

The liquid felt like heaven against his cracked lips and parched throat. He swallowed greedily, in great gulps, his thirst unquenchable...

... until he retched and bent forward as all the water he'd ingested came back up and down on the deck.

Right. Little sips if someone hadn't drunk in a long time, Luke remembered as he groaned in discomfort, wiping at his mouth, his rib burning. That was something everybody knew on Tatooine, where dehydration was a constant threat. He and Biggs had scoffed in first aid and survival course when the teacher had brought it up, certain they already knew so much better. Luke felt ashamed and embarrassed not to have thought of it.

He only took one more mouthful to rinse the taste in his mouth and swallowed it carefully, still thirsty but knowing better now, before putting down the ration with some regret. He then turned to the nutrient bar with much less enthusiasm, but he knew he needed the strength in order to get better. He took a tiny bite then another, chewing for a long time before swallowing, and managed to get through a third of it before giving up.

Already feeling a little less like death warmed over, and he supposed the expression was nearly literal considering what he had escaped, he hesitated to leave the supplies there then finally decided on putting them into the cupboard again. It was stupid, but leaving them here, in plain sight, made him worry they would be taken from him even though he knew he was alone on the ship.

Or at least, he thought he was alone. For all he knew, there was a squadron of stormtroopers in the cargo hold, only waiting for him to lower his guard in order to capture him again...

The thought made his breath speed up. It was ridiculous, he knew it was, but it wouldn't leave him alone. He rose from his seat, put the supplies away and looked around him. Nothing that looked like a weapon. Luke bit on his lip, feeling naked and vulnerable.

His concern didn't abate.

His breath short from both worry and injury, he headed to the cargo hold, his heart drumming painfully in his chest. Thankfully there were no cabins, or he would have had to check them all as well to be reassured. He arrived in front of the door and his hand froze over the opening button, too afraid of confirming what he knew to be a preposterous idea.

Not that it seemed to matter to his terrified body. He gritted his teeth, took a deep and painful breath before flattening his hand against the button.

The doors slid open with a pang of terror in his chest, revealing a dark and deserted room.

Nobody. Luke was truly alone in the ship, as he very well knew.

He braced himself against the wall, still half-expecting for this to be a trap, for them to jump on him as soon as he stepped into the hold. But there was nothing there, nobody, no movement whatsoever. Luke straightened and took a hesitant step forward.

The first thing he did was turn on the light and look around at his surroundings. The sound of the hyperdrive was slightly stronger here, a discrete whizzing instead of a hum. There were a couple of crates, but otherwise the hold was empty. No place to hide, no hidden corner.

But the unpleasant impression that he was being watched, and the vulnerability that came with it, didn't leave Luke. Ignoring it, he knelt in front of the crates and opened them. One of them held more rations, the other a stack of black uniforms similar to his own.

Without rank insignia, of course. Luke's throat closed at the reminder that they had taken away his own, the burning humiliation and injustice that he was no longer one of them.

He still didn't understand. It had been so sudden, so unexpected. One moment, he was rejoicing with his squadron in preparation for Empire Day, discussing peacefully with his superior officer, and the next – the next –

Luke swallowed. He took the smallest looking uniform in the crate and rose up. The one he was currently wearing was torn and burnt in places, and the smell did nothing for his headache. He left the cargo hold, grabbed the first aid pack in the passenger hold, and went to look for the shower he was dreaming of.

He turned the lock of the refresher room twice, just to make sure. It was stupid, but he couldn't help feeling it was safer. The walls were white, the lightning a little weak and the room a bit too small, but he ignored his discomfort. He dropped the clothes on the side of the sink then let himself drop to the floor. He set the medkit next to him and hesitated as his shaking fingers hovered over the fasteners of his tunic.

He knew he was injured. There was no way it could be otherwise, with the way his right lung burnt with each breath, with the ache and the weakness he could feel in every inch of his body. But he wasn't sure he wanted to discover how much. He didn't want to know what they had done to his body, see how deformed he had been by the marks of their abuse, like so many reminders of his ordeal imprinted into his skin.

But he knew he at least had to make sure there wasn't anything too serious and to disinfect his wounds. Feeling strangely exposed, he breathed out as slowly as he could, closed his eyes, and opened his shirt. Then he let it slide down his arms and fall on the floor.

He sat like this for a couple of breaths, then at last he dared peek down at his body. He lightly ran his fingers over the marbled skin of his upper arms, then let them linger on the bruised needle marks on his neck, his clavicle, his pectorals. There was a dark stain the size of his hand spreading on his ribcage, and he winced touching it. Small, round red burns were scattered in his side and the lower part of his abdomen; he took off his trousers to continue his inspection, wrinkling his nose at the smell. There was dried blood in several spots; all wounds were already scabbing over, but some seemed to have reopened when he had removed his clothes. His wrists were red and grazed from worrying against his restraints.

It was nothing that wouldn't heal in time.

His breath came out in a shaky sigh. He had expected much worse from the torment he had experienced, from the never-ending hell his imprisonment had been. He had been so certain he was going to die, so many times... Even now, he felt so weak, nauseous and aching all over. He had been certain his body must be covered in scars.

And yet it seemed he was not much worse for wear than a drunk man after a bar fight. He felt he should be relieved, but couldn't quite manage it.

He reached out for the medkit – some bacta patches for the reopened wounds and cream for his bruised rib should be enough – when it occurred to him showering first would be wiser. Bracing himself against the wall, he stood, took off the last of his clothing and stepped into the shower before turning it on.

Despite the jump he made when the sonic waves first reached his bruises, they felt incredibly good against his skin. The shower peeled off layer after layer of sweat, blood and other bodily fluids, and Luke felt like he was revived, his relief making him weak in the knees. He washed as well as he could, wincing when a sharp and blinding pain went through his chest as he tried to raise his right arm, or whenever his hands brushed a sensitive spot.

Shouts. Shocks shaking him whole. Ragged breathing, helpless rage, weakness, muscles trembling and unresponsive.

Despite the delight of finally feeling cleaner again, soon he found the small space suffocating him, the echoing sounds deafening as the walls of the shower seemed to close in on him. His stomach was tight with anxiety, his mind assaulted with nagging fear. Images and feelings flashed before his eyes, so swift he couldn't grasp them before they were gone.

Lying on a cold slab, nauseous, exhausted, shivering...

"Not had enough yet, little Jedi?"

He rinsed his hair with only the left hand, the right carefully braced against his chest. It'd been so long, it felt so good, like the showers at home and at the Academy, he'd always liked the sensation of the sonic on his skin after a good workout...

He turned the temperature higher, unable to suppress a chill.

Kneeling, hands tied behind his back. A breath too loud in his ears, a deep raging voice overwhelming him, blood boiling, head exploding.

The low hum went from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, covering every inch of his body in a delicate and cleansing vibration. Luke did his best to focus on the pleasant feeling and calm down the gasps of his breathing.

He was innocent, he'd never betrayed –

Luke came out of the shower much sooner than he had planned to, feeling short of breath and nauseous. Medical supplies forgotten, he hurried to dress then went back to the passenger hold, desperate to regain a hold on reality.

It was over, it was over. He had escaped for real, he wasn't going back.

He took his rations again, drank a few more mouthfuls of water, ate a few more bites of food. The soothing sound of the ship's engines managed to alleviate some of his stress. He felt safer and calmer, here, in the somewhat larger space where the light was warmer and more natural.

He was free. He was alive.

Before he knew it, his eyelids dropped and he passed out on the passenger couch, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

The second time Luke awakened, there was an insistent beeping in his ears. He opened eyes that seemed stuck with sand and glue and sat up, still feeling weak but in considerably less pain than before. Where was that sound coming from?

He rose from his seat and headed to the cockpit, finding the annoying noise going stronger there. He laid eyes on the hyperspace console, came next to it to look at the readings.

Reversion to real space in five standard minutes.

Luke frowned. It made sense that he had set a hyperspace course, since he'd heard the hyperdrive before... but he didn't remember setting a hyperspace course. Where was he headed?

He hoped he had planned enough jump points. A cold chill ran through him. It would be all too easy to track him if he hadn't, pluck him like a flower at his arrival...

No, that wasn't going to happen, because he must have planned enough jump points. Luke shuddered, hastened to open the travel journal, and was soon reassured to see the five stages he had programmed into his journey. It wasn't much, but it should be enough to prevent pursuers from calculating his course. He had even taken care not to use the high-traffic lanes, the ones with the most Imperial controls.

It still didn't answer the question of his destination. The numbers seemed familiar, but he was far from having memorised the entire galaxy's coordinates. There were maps and indexes for that.

He ran his fingers over the display, puzzled, before engaging the reversion procedure and lowering himself in the pilot's seat, careful of his still throbbing ribcage. He took the controls, checked the warning lights and the readouts.

The threads of light typical to hyperspace diminished into stars again. Deceleration pushed Luke forward on the controls, but he held on to them until the ship had stabilised.

Outside the viewport stood a familiar ochre planet, striped with brown and orange.

Luke stared at it, his throat tightening. Why was he so emotional about this old rock? A few years ago he wanted nothing more than to get away from it...

But so much had changed since then. Luke hadn't seen Tatooine since leaving for the Academy; it seemed like he'd been a different person then, just a boy with starlight in his eyes, his head full of dreams and no idea what life really was like. Never would he have imagined, back then, how much he would have changed, everything he would have to come through when he finally came back here.

Never could he have fathomed, either, how much he would miss it. The sight of the planet filled him with so many emotions his chest hurt with it, not from his broken rib but something different, swirling inside of him. It was indescribable.

It was home.

He swallowed the knot in his throat and began his descent.

For a moment, he hesitated about the direction; the settlements looked similar, he couldn't really distinguish Mos Eisley from Mos Espa. He knew the Dune Sea, though, Beggar's Canyon and Anchorhead. He flew a little bit faster.

His heart, too, accelerated. He was so close to home now. He had missed his aunt and uncle so much... he couldn't wait to see them again. No matter how childish it was, he wanted nothing more than to hear their voices again, to bury himself in their embrace like he did when he was a child and forget everything...

He could see the homestead now, white against the bright yellow of the sand, the blue of the sky. But something was off about it. A heavy feeling settled in his chest; he tried diving in the Force, but it felt murky and clouded, hostile, uninviting.

Luke landed as quickly as he could, a stone falling in his guts. He barely took the time to turn off the engines before running to get out of the ship, fidgeting with worry as he waited for the ramp to come down.

No. They were all right. Nothing had changed – his home was there as always, his family would be there to welcome him, surprised maybe, but happy to see him.

Finally, the unforgiving light of the twin suns dawned into the ship and Luke dashed outside...

Before stopping dead, his breath catching, his eyes wide.

Everything had burnt. The homestead was blackened with soot, the whitewash walls stained with dark trails. A part of the dome had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the roof of the building. The vaporator of the eastern ridge had crashed and fallen down, too.

But Luke's horrified eyes didn't linger there.

In front of the wreckage lay two scorched skeletons.

A wail of distress escaped him and he fell on his knees, his heart coming up in his throat. The corpses were so badly burnt there was barely any flesh left on them, and it was impossible to recognise them, but Luke knew who they were.

"No... no..."

Nausea rose at the back of his throat as he kept whispering these words senselessly, like a desperate prayer. He was frozen, unable to think, unable to do anything but stare at the remains of his guardians, so crudely left in the sun to rot.

He was free. He was alive.

But his family had paid the price.

Chapter Text

The first sun had set when Luke put the shovel down. The wind was picking up, mixing sand in his hair, and he shivered from the chill. The familiar smell of dusk and cooling heat reached his nostrils.

In front of him, standing out against the scarlet sky, were two gravestones taken from the ruins of the homestead. The names of his aunt and uncle were carved on them in uneven letters, the best he could achieve with the crude tools he had found.

He sat down in front of them, wiped the sweat from his brow. His muscles were burning, his limbs shaking, each breath he took a stab through his lungs. He wished for nothing more than to collapse onto the sand and lie there for all eternity.

But he didn't mind the discomfort. It was good to feel like this, the pain real and deserved, grounding him, absolving him.

He closed his eyes and hung his head, clasping his hands in front of his mouth, silent. What could he say? What words could express the extent of his grief, of his horror, of his remorse? It was like a hole in his chest, like a weight that had fallen into his guts.

He still had trouble believing it. It seemed like a long and overdrawn nightmare, something too huge and terrible for his brain to comprehend.

His family. Murdered.

Because of him.

Rage grew in Luke. There was no trace of the killers, but he knew exactly what must have happened. It was the only thing that made sense. It couldn't have been an accident, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru would never have let it happen. But in the eyes of the Empire, they would have been guilty of harbouring a Rebel and a Jedi, even though he was neither of those things.

They had been slaughtered for the sole crime of taking him in.

He wanted to scream his fury into the desert until his voice was hoarse. They were innocent. They didn't deserve this. All they had wanted was to live their peaceful life, to take care of their farm, to read Luke's starstruck letters from wherever he was stationed.

And that had been taken away from them, all because the Empire had thought Luke was a traitor. But he wasn't, he was loyal, he was innocent. He'd only ever wanted to serve, to fly, to make the galaxy a better place. They'd taken everything from him, and all for nothing.

He had nothing left.

The thought was like a punch in the gut, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his fist against his lips.

He had nothing left. His home was destroyed, his family reduced to ashes, he had a death sentence on his head with the force of a whole Empire after him.

He was alone, with nowhere to go.

Let them come, then, he thought with self-deprecating anger. Let them find him here, let them insult him and beat him some more before shooting him in the back of the head and leaving his flesh to decay in the open wind on top of his guardians' graves.

In this moment he was too tired to care.

His hands trembled, his breath hitched, hollow, crushed by the weight of horror and pain.

Luke...

The wind was picking up. He could feel it, hear it whistling in his ear where he sat.

Luke...

He looked up and around, trying to find the origin of the call. There was nobody around him, just sand as far as the eye could see. And that distance was diminishing as the storm was rising, clouds of grains swirling in the air in spiralling motives.

He should find shelter. He should go back to his ship and fly it away from here, for the Imperials would be sure to look for him in his home.

But the voice was still calling, and these sensible thoughts were but a whisper in his mind, overwhelmed by curiosity and the reckless urge to follow it into the desert.

Luke...

He stood up, turned from the graves, and walked away.

Luke didn't know how long he wandered without knowing where he was going, an arm up to protect his face from the sand whipping his face. His lungs were burning, his chest was aching, his muscles were screaming when he finally arrived at a small dwelling carved in rock, a square building with a dome on top of it. He hurried to the door and leant against it as he knocked, his knees trembling.

There was no answer.

"Hello? Anyone in there?"

He knocked again, desperate. Whatever strength had allowed him to stand on his feet until here, it was starting to leave him, and he slid down to the foot of the door. His face hurt from the storm without a cloak and his chest was burning; he could barely keep his eyes open, squinting and blinking and weeping to chase the sand from them. There was so little light anyway night must have fallen.

"Anyone there? Please let me in, I'm lost!"

Luke was starting to panic. He needed to get in. It was a bad idea for anyone to wander outside during a sandstorm, especially in the Jundland Wastes which were known to be dangerous, and he was still weak and injured. Truth be told, he didn't understand how he hadn't collapsed on the way here.

Were he forced to stay outside, he would never make it through the night.

"Please!"

Open the door.

Luke started. He looked around, tried to find the source of the voice again.

The door is unlocked. Open it.

Luke had many questions, but they weren't the most pressing thing. With his left hand, he reached out and pressed the activation button.

To his surprise, it did slide open, and Luke nearly fell backwards when it did. He rose and hurried to enter, leaning against the panel with a relieved sigh once it closed again.

"Hello?"

No answer. Luke frowned. He fumbled with a hand on the wall before managing to find a light switch. The room buzzed with electricity then lighted up.

He looked around, tried to see if there was anyone around who could potentially be the owner of the hut. Who could be careless enough to leave their door open in the middle of the desert, at the mercy of pillagers and Sand People?

He seemed to be alone, though. Moreover, the house looked abandoned. There was a layer of dust on every surface, too much for it to be just someone away for a trip.

Luke sat down on the ground, his back to the door, as he could feel his legs grow weaker and spots starting to appear on the edges of his vision, his injured rib throbbing in his chest. How long had he walked in the sand? He had no way to know, but certainly far too long, especially in this state.

Now he was trapped here for at least as long as the storm lasted. Even if the weather had been good, however, he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to leave. He'd just have to hope the owner of the house wasn't going to come back and chase him away, but hospitality was too strong a virtue on Tatooine for there to be a great risk of it happening.

Aunt Beru would certainly berate him for intruding in a stranger's home like that. But Aunt Beru would also want him to stay alive, and this was very much a life-or-death situation for Luke, uncomfortable as it made him.

Thinking of Aunt Beru was painful, and Luke tried to take his mind off his family.

The painful thumping in his ears was slowly receding. Luke looked around and tried to map his surroundings. White synthstone walls, small windows through which the wind was howling, furniture that was sparse but seemed comfortable: a small stove, a table, a chair, a bed with furs in an alcove which seemed to also serve as a bed.

In the centre of the room lay a brown cloak, as if someone had taken it off then left it there. It was eerily stretched out on the floor in a puddle of cloth, foreboding.

The vision was uncomfortable, and he had to look away. But the rest of the room made his heart ache as well. It was so familiar, so close to his own home, the burnt home, all destroyed, that he'd had to leave behind.

He closed his eyes against the second pang of grief in his heart at the thought. The image of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's corpses lying in the sun and the sand rose unbidden to his mind; he knew he would be carrying it for a long time. It still seemed unreal, as if by going back there he would find them once again like he'd always known them. Uncle Owen would clasp his shoulder, tell him he was glad to see him and send him to work; Aunt Beru would embrace him and see through his tough façade, let him break down in the safety of her arms...

He didn't have the strength to try and walk back there, though, in a way that had nothing to do with his physical fitness. He didn't think he could bear to see the destruction and the graves all over again.

Luke shivered, brought his arms around his chest, his knees closer to himself. He had forgotten how cold were the nights on Tatooine.

And this cloak lying on the ground... Luke didn't know what it meant, nor why it was there, but it made him deeply uncomfortable. He didn't want to move it, though, didn't like the thought of touching it.

Luke rose up just to get farther away from it and carefully made his way to the other end of the hut to the kitchen area. He knew the water was probably stale, but he opened the tap and drank anyway. He needed it too much to worry about bacteria like he usually would. Once he'd quenched his thirst, he straightened and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking around for food without much hope. There must be a cellar with some nuts and dried meat; he just had to find the stairs leading down to it. He suspected he would find it near the entrance, in the corridor.

He pondered the wisdom of it for a while. He was utterly exhausted, had nearly fainted upon arriving; the thought of stairs was not an appealing one. Yet going for longer without food certainly wasn't going to help matters.

In the end, he decided to find the trapdoor and see. There he found a light switch rather easily, which helped him gather his courage and tackle the stairs, a careful hand on the rail. After gathering some food in his arms, he came back to the ground floor then ate a little, sitting with his back against the wall again. Standing for more than a little at a time was still difficult and exhausting.

The bed was looking more and more appealing the more he stared at it, though. After several long minutes of hesitation, he decided that the owner probably wasn't going to come back in the middle of the night and thus wouldn't begrudge him sleeping there; the way the home was set, it looked like it also was a place where guests sat, anyway.

The furs were more comfortable than he had expected; they had a comforting smell of dust, sand and bantha. Lying was a huge relief, and he stayed motionless for a while, eyes closed and taking shallow open-mouthed breaths, his head swimming, pressure against his ears, pain in his ribcage.

At first he just lay on them, not wanting to open a stranger's bed, but when the bite of the cold forced him to choose between that and picking up the cloak on the ground, he ended up snuggling in them anyway. He was so exhausted he thought he'd fall asleep as soon as he was warmer.

Instead he tossed and turned for a very long time. His body was wired and tense, each noise making him jump. It was impossible to find a comfortable position, as pins and needles appeared in his limbs each time he forced himself to stop moving, and yet moving hurt his chest and made it harder to breathe. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his guardians' faces looking at him no more in love but in condemnation, twisting and twirling as they mocked him cruelly, cold grey walls closing in on Luke from everywhere around him.

In the background howled the desert wind.

Luke ended up waking from his half-slumber in tears, sweat on his face and the same mysterious whisper in his ear.

Luke...

He sat up, immediately awake and alert, and winced when the movement unsettled his rib once more. His heart was drumming in his chest.

"Who's there?"

He looked around frantically, but there was nobody. It was still the middle of the night, and the room was pitch black. Luke frowned; he didn't remember turning off the lights... Had the storm caused a power outage? But he thought he'd seen a generator in the cellar... a storm shouldn't be able to disturb it...

Luke reached out in the Force, but it still escaped him, slippery and murky. He couldn't find answers, couldn't see a thing through it.

You don't know me, but I know you, Luke.

Luke started. The voice was nothing but a caress against his ear, barely distinguishable from the wheezing of the storm. It might as well have slapped him in the face.

"Who are you?" he repeated, his heart still hammering, his hands clammy. His whole body was on alert; he didn't like this situation at all.

My name is Ben. For a long time have I watched you, protected you.

"Ben?" Luke said, frowning. "Like old Ben Kenobi, the hermit wizard who disappeared a few years ago?"

His eyes were drawn once more to the place where the cloak was lying, and a shiver of unease travelled down his spine.

The very same. I have seen you as a child playing in the dunes, flying in the canyons when you were still careless and free. But I fear I have failed you.

"What do you mean?" spat Luke. The voice may claim to be on his side, but he had no way to know that for sure. He repressed another shudder, brought his knees against his chest and wrapped himself around them. He was still fully dressed, boots included, and yet he couldn't help but feel naked.

He didn't have a weapon, not even a blaster. The Force still wouldn't answer to him when he called it, like a shadow that wouldn't let itself be touched, like a soap that would constantly jump out of his grasp. Luke was completely unarmed.

Were the creepy stranger to attack him, he would have nothing to defend himself with.

Luke. Go to the chest and open it.

Luke's heart was still thudding against his ribs, his guts knotted so tight it hurt, his breath so short it was useless. Now that he thought about it, he could remember something a little like a chest on the other side of the room. Was it a trap? Was something harmful hidden inside it?

What would the voice do to him if he refused to do it?

He just wanted for it to leave him alone. It wasn't normal; he was either growing mad or this place was haunted. The shadows looked as if they were going to jump on him and swallow him whole. The Force didn't help either, swirling agitatedly around him yet still desperately out of his grasp.

Do not fear. In this chest is your father's lightsabre.

Luke's eyes widened. "What?" he exclaimed. "How do you have that? Who are you?"

This time the voice didn't immediately answer, but Luke could still feel its presence around him, like a gentle caress against his ear. It didn't reassure him.

Everything in him was screaming at him to run away and leave this place behind. But until morning rose, and until the storm abated, he couldn't do that.

I was once a Jedi and your father's teacher. His weapon should now be yours, as he would have wanted.

Luke's stomach made an unpleasant somersault. A Jedi. The voice was claiming to be the spirit of a dead Jedi. How preposterous.

Yet he found himself latching on other words. His father's weapon...

For as long as he could remember, he'd longed to know his father. To have such a reminder of him... Luke knew there was probably nothing of the sort in the chest, that this was probably just a very elaborate hallucination. Still, he was tempted, so very tempted.

After all, a weapon was always a good thing to have. He couldn't keep going disarmed; he thought he'd seen a rifle or two on the wall, but something with a closer range would be useful as well. And it would be a keepsake of his father...

In the end, dangers be damned, he rose and walked towards the chest. He tripped in the cloth of the brown cloak and moved away from it as soon as he could, nearly afraid it would come alive.

His breath short, he knelt in front of the chest and opened it. He blindly let his hand fumble in the things stored, the darkness making it impossible to see what was inside, until he stumbled on something metallic and cylindrical.

Gaping, he slowly took it out and rose. It felt good and natural in his hand, the weight of it just right. His thumb settled on something that felt like an activation plate; he pointed the weapon away from him and pressed it.

He jumped as a bright blue light sprang from the hilt, nearly one metre long, faintly illuminating the darkness of the room. He waved it right and left, transfixed.

An idea struck him. He squatted again and lifted the lightsabre above the chest, using the light to see what was inside. There were mostly what seemed to be clothes and trinkets, but a book with a leather cover drew his attention. He took it out as well, brought his makeshift torch closer to make out what was written on it.

"Ben Kenobi..." he read, his fingers brushing the journal. Perhaps the ghost was telling the truth, as ludicrous as it sounded.

This wouldn't be the first thing Luke hadn't imagined ever happening in his life.

Luke, the Force is muddled and agitated. Great change is about to happen. You must go to Dagobah; there, you will find a Jedi Master called Yoda. He can help you, teach you.

Luke turned off the lightsabre, unheeding of the darkness that reigned once more. His mouth faintly tasted of bile, and he swallowed.

No. He wasn't a Jedi. He wasn't.

"I thought the Jedi had disappeared," he absently said, trying to change the subject, to think of something else, anything else. "Weren't they all killed by –"

He cut himself off. No, no, no, bad idea, he shouldn't think about him –

Luke hung the lightsabre on his belt with a shaking hand, although he felt like throwing it away. The darkness was squeezing his head, and he couldn't breathe.

It was a keepsake of his father. It was a weapon. A weapon was a good thing to have. It meant he could defend himself, that nobody could make him do anything he didn't want, take him anywhere he didn't want to go. He was –

– free, he was alive –

Luke fumbled around for the light, desperately needing something to lay eyes on, to distract himself with. He hoped the problem wasn't with the generator itself... Thankfully, the lights flickered on as soon as he pressed the switch. Luke took a deep breath, flexed his stiff shoulders and rubbed his wrists, wincing when it upset the still tender skin.

He wished the ghost would just go away, but Ben unfortunately didn't seem to catch on.

Yoda is the only one who remains, he said. He taught me when I was but a youngling.

Annoyance shot through Luke, violent and surprising.

"I don't need help," he shouted before he could prevent himself, maybe a bit too loud, a bit too sharp. The sound was real, so was the hut and the storm outside it. "I'm no Jedi."

Indignation ran through him at the thought. How dare he even think it? How dare he tell Luke to follow his damned, doomed path? He was nothing, just a dead space wizard who'd been crazy way before that. Luke wasn't a Jedi, he wasn't and he was never going to be one. He just wanted for the voice to shut up.

You need training, the ghost insisted. The Force is strong with you, and the dark side is lurking. Yoda is safely hidden, you won't be discovered, he will help you.

"I said no," snapped Luke. He took the lightsabre in his hand, gripped it tighter. "Go away."

The walls were closing in around him. The air was too cold. Bile and blood were rising in his throat.

Luke...

"Go away!" Luke growled, slashing around with the lightsabre.

It made a trail of blue light in the air, a strong buzz ringing in Luke's ears. It sounded dangerous and was somewhat cathartic.

Luke bit on his lip, immediately regretting his outburst. Thankfully, he hadn't broken anything; all the blade had touched was air.

But Ben no longer responded.

Luke waited for a moment, certain he was going to come back and nag him again. After a few seconds of silence, though, he forced himself to relax, reasonably certain the voice was gone now. He deactivated the weapon.

He was no Jedi, and he was never going to be.

He was safe here.

His legs trembling, Luke all but fell down sitting on the ground with a sigh and rested the back of his head against the wall, facing the chest, his heart hammering in his skull. He ignored the horrifying cold around his wrists, swallowed the blood-tasting nausea, worked to get the quick gasps of his breath under control.

Soon his limbs stopped shaking. His emotions calmed down, leaving way to great exhaustion.

Luke gave the lightsabre a glazed look, then replaced it on his belt. He felt like he had been trampled by a dozen banthas, and his rib was hurting again.

Through the window, the wind's howling abated. The dunes outside seemed to grow lighter. Morning was rising, reassuring and bright.

Luke absently flipped through the pages of Ben Kenobi's journal, without reading it. He was too worn for it, and was somewhat afraid of delving into a Jedi's thoughts so soon after he'd had such a strong reaction to him. He put the notebook in one of the pockets of his belt anyway.

If Ben said the truth about being his father's teacher, perhaps there would be mentions of him in it...

His stomach growled, which he took as a good sign. He hadn't dared eat a lot since – in the last few days, and he hoped this meant his stomach was slowly getting back in working order, for he could feel the weakness in his muscles caused by the lack of nutrients.

He would have a few bites again, then go back to sleep. It was probably safe to stay for a few days... he doubted anybody would come to find him here, in the middle of the Jundland Wastes. He was lucky to have found his place, where he would have time and quiet to recover from his injuries; he just had to hope the spirit of the dead Jedi wouldn't bother him again. Then, when he felt up to travelling, he would set out for Mos Eisley and find transport off-planet.

This time, when he made his way back to the bed and snuggled in the furs again, he fell asleep nearly instantaneously.

Outside, the storm had entirely calmed down.

Chapter Text

The DS-1 Orbital Station was as huge as it was monstrous. Spherical, the size of a small moon, it reflected light in an eerie manner due to its dish-shaped superlaser, a mechanical oddity among space objects. Even the Force reeked with danger around it, imprinted with its capacity for destruction.

Death Star certainly was a fitting name for it, thought Darth Vader as he saw it grow in front of him.

His shuttle came closer still, before arriving in a huge and nearly empty hangar bay. It was a luxury only a station this size could indulge; they certainly didn't have individual bays on Star Destroyers.

He disembarked to find a welcoming party of a dozen officers and a squadron of stormtroopers. In front of the ramp, facing him a step closer than the rest, stood Tarkin, perfectly composed as usual.

An unexpected spike of loathing resentment shot through Vader. The last time he had seen this man, he had been lounging in his seat and smirking as he sentenced Vader's only son to death. The temptation was great to squeeze the Force around his neck, send him to the same fate he had wanted to give Luke.

But he reigned himself in. He and Tarkin had always worked well together in the past. There was no reason for it to change. Such a visceral reaction was uncalled for when Tarkin had only been doing his job.

"Welcome on board, Lord Vader," he said in his clipped Core accent, bowing slightly. But today that mark of esteem only irritated Vader. He wanted to wipe away the confidence from his face and replace it with fear. "We are grateful for your assistance in protecting the station."

Vader curtly nodded.

"It would be a great shame if anything were to happen to it before it can be completed," he said, grateful for the way his vocoder failed to detect the sarcasm in his voice. "My troopers and TIE squadron have been transferred onboard."

He would miss seeing Luke in Black Squadron, Vader mused before clamping down on the feeling, annoyed with himself.

"Very well," Tarkin said. "I hope we won't have to employ their services, but they could be useful reinforcement. It never hurts to be too careful. After all, if prisoners can even break out from high-security prisons such as those of the Imperial Palace..."

Vader tightened his fists, blood boiling in his veins, but he didn't say anything.

What did Tarkin know? Surely the Emperor had notified him Vader would come to help him defend the station, but had he been made aware of any other details? What did his mandate exactly involve?

If Tarkin knew he had freed Luke, it could make Vader's efforts to protect his son from afar much more difficult...

"That was an... unfortunate occurrence," he ground through his teeth.

"I must confess I am still baffled by that boy's escape," Tarkin continued. "The investigation is still ongoing, but what they have found until now is most surprising. There were no breaks in security, no spies, no allies that could have helped him. Even a fully-trained Jedi should have found it near impossible to escape alone like he did, only a few hours away from his execution. And that boy was barely trained – you know that better than I do. I cannot fathom it."

He threw Vader a side glance that had all the sharpness of a hawk's, belying his words. He could fathom it very well.

Tarkin just wanted confirmation, Vader realised. Well, he wasn't about to give it to him.

"It is most frustrating," he replied, crossing his arms on his chest. "But he will not escape us forever. The Emperor himself is after him."

Tarkin pinched his lips but nodded. Vader focused on the satisfaction of denying him the answers he sought and tried not to think about the implications of what he had just said. With the Emperor personally searching for him, it would only be a matter of time before Luke was caught again...

He pushed away the images of his son's lifeless body lying on the ground of a remote planet, his eyes unfocused and a blaster bolt in his chest. He wouldn't let it happen.

But Tarkin's suspicions of his role in Luke's escape would make things far more difficult. Vader had to be very careful.

"I do not doubt it," Tarkin answered. "Our men have already found the shuttle he stole next to a devastated farm on Tatooine. It seemed he went back to his home planet, like Intelligence thought him most likely to."

A pang went through Vader's chest. "He was already recaptured?"

No. It couldn't be. Not so quickly... What was Luke thinking, going back there? Didn't he realise the danger he was in?

"Unfortunately, he had already left when our men arrived, and we cannot be certain he is still on-planet. Our patrols are keeping an eye out, but we do not have the manpower available to put the planet on lock-down for a single man. You were unaware of these developments?"

Vader gritted his teeth. That felt like a deliberate omission on the Emperor's part. And to be informed by Tarkin of all people...

"I have not kept up to date on his case," Vader replied, waving a careless hand in the air. He did his best not to let out any of his relief that Luke was still free. Never had he been so grateful for budget limitations.

But if their troops were so close on Luke's tail, he had to act soon, and without alerting the Emperor. It would be difficult, but he didn't have a choice.

"Enough about him," he said. He hoped it would be enough to dispel Tarkin's suspicions, if he still had any. "I would see this station now, then consult its plans. I will need to be made aware of the threats you have perceived against it so we can counter them to the best of our efficiency."

Tarkin wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Ever since the loss of Invincible, the Rebels have been growing bolder. The allegiance of a few planets in the Tion Hegemony in particular is still problematic; that is where we believe the Rebellion to be most active. Naturally, it will be far less of a problem once this station is complete, but in the meantime they need to be dealt with the old-fashioned way."

Vader bit his tongue not to warn him against the unwarranted pride and hubris he displayed when talking about the station. He doubted it was going to be as miraculous as Tarkin clearly expected it to be.

But he had been sent to protect it, and that was what he was going to do; until he found a way to protect Luke, at least.

He nodded at Tarkin to lead the way, then fell into step with him.

The massive vehicle slowly made its way on top of the dunes, its huge and bulky mass casting a large shadow on the sand. In a cacophonous noise of enormous gears and rusty machinery, it climbed up the slope and came to a plodding halt on top of the city.

Luke waited as the ramp was painstakingly brought down, sitting on an old crate and keeping the rough wool of his cloak in front of his mouth to reduce the pungent smell of the sandcrawler. It was not necessarily bad in nature, although pungent and musty, but it was so potent it was hard to bear after a three-day-long trip.

Luke pulled the hood lower on his face, making sure nobody could recognise him; with the too-large brown garment, he supposed he looked somewhat like an overgrown Jawa himself. He was glad he had found it hanging in Ben Kenobi's house, for he had needed a cloak and he wasn't sure he would have been able to take the one that was lying on the ground.

He exited the sandcrawler with relief and took a deep breath of the hot yet clean air of the desert, mindless of the uncomfortable stab it awakened in his chest. Compared with the temperature inside the crawler, the wind nearly felt fresh against his skin, and he had to fight the temptation to bring down the hood to let his face bask in it. He thanked the Jawa chief and gave them some mechanical parts he'd found in Ben Kenobi's cellar before walking away.

Still careful to keep his head down, he leisurely strolled across Bargoon Tatooni for a while, looking at the ship parts that were on offer. What a shame he only had a few credits on him, probably not enough for a ride off-planet, and which would probably soon be spent on food and drink. He keenly regretted leaving the Imperial shuttle behind. If only he'd had the presence of mind to fly it to Ben's hut, he could already be gone from here.

But even if Ben had owned a speeder, which would have allowed Luke to go back to take the shuttle again, it was probably for the best he hadn't. It would be madness to go back to the burnt homestead now, for it would surely be swarming with Imperials waiting for him. It had already been completely careless on his part to go there in the first place, and he counted himself lucky not to have been caught.

Nevertheless, it left him stranded on-planet until he found a ride; and with how poor he was, unable even to sell the shuttle to get a less traceable ship, there was a thin chance of finding one indeed...

He wandered for a while in the streets, restraining himself from looking over his shoulder every minute to make sure he wasn't being followed or watched. The city felt bigger and more dangerous than tiny Anchorhead, and even in broad daylight, he couldn't help feeling anxious without even knowing why.

Think, Luke, he admonished himself, trying to get rid of the unpleasant sensation. He needed money to get off-planet, so he had to get work. Perhaps he could see if they were hiring waiters in a cantina... with so many spacers coming here, Luke wouldn't be surprised if they were understaffed. It wouldn't pay well, but it would be something.

He was peering around the wide street, scanning the domed buildings to see if any was what he was looking for while trying to walk towards the centre of the town, when what he saw in front of him made his blood ran cold.

A unit of four stormtroopers was patrolling down the street. They passed him by without noticing him, then stopped a speeder a little further. Luke watched them, petrified, swallowing a faint coppery taste in the back of his mouth. The sound of their words was weak, but Luke was just close enough that he could make out what they were saying.

"By order of the Emperor we're looking for a young man around nineteen standard years old, human, blond, short stature, we suspect clad in an Imperial uniform," one of the troopers said. A chill of terror ran down Luke's spine. "Would you happen to have seen him?"

They were looking for him. They were looking for him. Luke had suspected it, but to hear it made everything more real.

His legs shook, and he had to brace himself against the whitened wall of a nearby house, gasping, suffocated. His stomach raged, blood and bile at the back of his throat.

No. No. He had to go, he had to run or they'd spot him, they'd notice him and –

He darted off, stumbled on his cloak before finding his footing at the last moment, and sprinted towards a nearby street.

"Hey! You!"

The interjection stopped his heart for a second and he ran even faster, without thinking, without looking back, just caring to put as much distance as possible between the troopers and him.

He weaved between houses, towers and market stalls, overcome with frenzy and barely paying attention to the protests of the people he jostled in his run. He ran until he had no breath left, ran until he couldn't go on and he collapsed to his knees against the wall of a water distribution plant, shaking all over, his ribcage on fire as he heaved and gasped for air, closing his eyes in agony. He shivered, feeling cold despite the hot sun of Tatooine.

He had to leave. He had to leave the planet now. There were troopers in this city, in this moment; he couldn't stay here or he'd be discovered, he'd be arrested, he'd be –

His shoulders hurt, tense as they were. He rolled them, rubbed his wrists, swallowed his nausea. Everything hurt, cold chills running through him again and again.

He needed to calm down, a small voice said in the back of his head. He closed his eyes, groaned in an effort to catch his breath as he licked his lips with a dried tongue, desperately tried to focus on the hot sun on the back of his cloak, even though he didn't dare remove the hood, not now, not when he knew how much danger he was in. The cold felt deeper, nestled inside his very bones, so intense it was hard to feel the stuffing heat around him.

Darkness was moving around him, deep and hungry, inescapable –

There went his idea of looking for work in a cantina. He couldn't afford to stay that long on-planet, couldn't afford to be found by anybody who looked for him, to stay in a single place all the time, right there for the plucking –

Deep breaths. In, out. He was safe. He was on Tatooine. He was free, he was alive.

He'd have to find money some other way.

Luke thought for a second. He was a decent mechanic and knew his way around a ship. Perhaps he could see to help out people around the docking bays and earn something that way, even a trip off-planet if he was lucky...

He allowed his imagination to wander. Maybe he'd find a ride quickly and find the safety of hyperspace again. He'd arrive on another small backwater planet of the Outer Rim, one without any Imperial presence, where the sky was blue and the air was fresh and Luke could settle for a bit. He'd find a quiet job allowing him to earn food and lodging in a tiny village, where nobody cared about what was happening in the wider galaxy and where he would be accepted for fixing people's speeders, without any question.

Yes. That was what he was going to do.

His heart slowed down, his mind cleared the more his resolve grew, until he found the strength to get up again.

Careful to keep his hood on, he walked around in the narrower streets that went away from the broad roads, keeping an eye out for the high and curved walls of docking bays. He didn't know this city at all, didn't know where the bays might be, but he was careful to walk quickly and with a purpose. Here there was less light and less heat; a lot of people he came across wore a hood like him, which made him feel better about it. The town didn't smell good, between trash and the occasional residue of cold smoked spice.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. He hovered near the entrance, looking around for spacers that might be in need of assistance. The bay was rather big, with three vessels stationed there; the number thirty-two was painted in big numbers on the wall.

He hesitated there for a moment, wondering if he should just enter – surely he wasn't the only one in his situation? Was there some unsaid protocol around these parts? Surely Imperial rules and traditions wouldn't apply here, he didn't want to give himself away like that – when a voice called to him.

"Hey, kid!"

Luke jumped, then brought his hood lower on his eyes, frantically searching for the origin of the voice. A tall Ithorian was casually leaning against the wall, wiping engine grease from his hands. His clothes seemed to indicate he was a bounty hunter of some sort: a leather jacket, worn pants and boots, and two blasters hanging from his belt.

"You got business in here?"

Luke took a few steps closer, careful to remain at a distance where his face couldn't be seen. He didn't like this; all his senses were screaming at him this wasn't a good idea, but he ignored them. He didn't have much of a choice.

"Sure am looking for it," he answered.

The Ithorian lifted his gaze on Luke, the two eyes on the sides of his brown hammer-shaped head scrutinising him. Luke stayed motionless, refusing to let himself be intimidated.

"I can offer you three thousand," he said. His long fingers slid inside his jacket and came out with a small brown package. "If you deliver this to Boushh in two hours at Chalmun's cantina, on the other side of the city."

Luke did his best not to gape. Three thousand?! He wasn't even sure his old speeder, the one that had likely burnt with the farm – he quickly averted the thought and the pang in his heart – would have brought him that much. And for such a small thing... there must be a catch.

"You'd pay me three thousand credits for something you could as easily do yourself?"

The Ithorian stared at Luke, who held his gaze without flinching.

"I need time more than money at the moment. Have to be out of here by tomorrow morning and still a lot of things to do. I have no time to cross the city."

Luke frowned, looked at the package the man was still holding out to him. That made sense... but something still felt fishy about it. Three thousand was a lot of money...

"All right," he said. "If you give me the money in advance."

The man barked out a laugh.

"You've got nerve, kid," he said. "How do I know you're not going to run off with the goods and my money and leave me in trouble?"

Luke opened his mouth, closed it again. He had a point. As much as he wanted to argue he'd never do that, he knew it was childish and useless.

"Half of it, at least. As a guarantee for me, and the remaining thousand and five hundred afterwards, as a guarantee for you."

The Ithorian leant back against the wall, shaking the package in Luke's direction.

"Three thousand after delivery, kid. I want to be sure my package is where it must be before giving you anything."

Luke pinched his lips. He should leave. This was a con waiting to happen; the odds were ridiculously small that he'd ever see the colour of that money. Maybe it would be even worse... who knew if it was even the package the so-called Boushh was waiting for? Maybe there was another, bigger bounty they could cash in if they recognised him – could it be they had recognised him?

He shut the thought down, despite the knot it tied in his guts. Three thousand... it was a lot, and part of him really wanted to take the chance.

"You're afraid I'll fly away from here before you get a chance to get paid?" the man asked. "Take a look at my ship, if you want. If you know anything about these things, you'll see I'm not near ready to leave yet."

With a guarded look at him, Luke made a step towards the ship, his hands in his pockets, and walked all around it. The man seemed to tell the truth: Luke didn't dare test his patience by coming close enough to touch, but from what he could see, the vessel still needed new power and fuel cells, and the wiring of one of the shields would have benefited from some repairs.

"A thousand to get that fixed," he offered while gesturing to it, "and two for the errand afterwards."

The Ithorian grinned with both his mouths.

"Nice, but I can do that myself," he said. "Come find me here after second sunset, and if you've delivered my package, you'll get your three thousand."

Once again Luke hesitated. He should just say no thanks and walk away...

"C'mon, kid. Make a decision."

Luke came closer and took the package from the man's hand. It was somewhat heavy, but no more than one or two pounds. Luke felt it warm against his palm and hurried to put it in his cloak, trying not to wonder what he'd just agreed to. The Ithorian grinned.

"Thanks," he said. "Chalmun's cantina is on the Eastern extremity of Inner Curved Street. Come back tonight and you'll see I'm a man of my word. You'll have payment as we agreed."

Luke nodded, then left and went on his way. Wasting time wouldn't help; he wasn't sure where he was, or how long he'd run to arrive here, but he was pretty sure the East was where he was coming from. If he had to find that place before two hours, he'd better move on. The suns were already declining, the first one would be set soon.

He kept to the small streets as much as possible, keeping his head down and trying to appear as inconspicuous as he could. Most frightening were the moments when he spotted troopers patrolling. Once they surprised him by passing by not even a foot away; he'd hurried to back down into an alley and watched them walk past him. He'd had to bury his nails into his hands not to run away then, his heart drumming against his chest and his mind fighting against the cold shivers and the taste of blood threatening to rise in his throat, and stayed motionless for what must have been several minutes before continuing.

The first sun was down, and the streets were bathed in dark blue light in which it was difficult to see more than shapes and shadows. Luke ignored his throbbing rib and walked quicker. He wanted to be back before the second sun set.

He was making a detour through a particularly dark and narrow alley to avoid the Imperial garrison base, keeping an eye out for the dreaded white armours, when a pull on his arm made him yelp. His assailant yanked him close in a vice-like grip, and a blaster was rammed into his side.

"Give me your money," a hoarse but deep and human-sounding voice said.

Luke's blood ran cold. He gritted his teeth, wrenched himself from the attacker's grip, pushed the blaster back, punched to get away –

– no, no, no, go away, go away –

A hit to his abdomen knocked the wind out of him, he was grasped again by the front of his cloak and pinned against the wall –

"I said give me your money!"

Terror seized Luke. On instinct, he reached out, tried to touch the Force, to defend himself with it...

Nothing came.

It escaped his grasp like water through his fingers.

Luke tried again, and again, frantically, fear overwhelming him. He struggled, kicked, screamed –

– not again, not again, I won't let you –

The man was in front of Luke, but he couldn't make out his face. He spat at him, thought he saw blood land on his feet with some satisfaction.

The attacker punched him in the nose. Luke's head shot to the side; the weapon came against his temple, and he froze, nausea in the back of his throat.

Kriff. Kriff –

– this is bad, this is bad, this is bad –

A hysterical laugh escaped him.

"I don't have any," he let out, his voice unsteady.

He could barely breathe. Darkness was swirling around him, he was shivering, suffocating, there was no way out –

The mugger gripped him tighter. Luke grunted under the pressure of the blaster in his head and swallowed, his nose throbbing.

"I don't believe you!"

Luke gritted his teeth, rage flashing in him.

"Well that's tough, I'm telling the – ugh," he groaned as he was hit with the muzzle of the blaster. Hands wandered on the front of his cloak, opened it, seeking out for his pockets.

Luke couldn't move, his breaths short, his heart pounding, tasting blood in the back of his mouth and a knot in his stomach. Oh, he was going to show him, he wouldn't get away with that, he wouldn't –

Something was buzzing around him, solid fury swirling like a storm but just out of reach, and he didn't know how the other couldn't see it, couldn't feel it cold and dark against his mind, like the Force but inescapable, uncontrollable, an ally turned against him and revealed in all its dangerousness –

The man found the package Luke was supposed to deliver and held it out in front of him.

"And that? What's that?"

Luke swallowed but stubbornly kept silent. What good was his answer? He wasn't going to believe him anyway, if it was just to keep being hit Luke didn't want to waste his breath, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction –

The attacker didn't wait for his answer to rip the package open. He stared inside it for a few seconds and went very still, then took a step back before throwing it at Luke's feet.

"Keep it," he spat. "I don't want any trouble with Jabba."

Afterwards he all but ran away, leaving Luke bewildered and shaking, leaning against the wall and gasping. The unmoving storm was still going on around him, a coldness that reached deep within his bones as he slowly realised he's gone – he's gone – I'm alone – stop panicking...

When his heart finally reached a more normal rhythm again, he blinked and looked around him, absent-mindedly wiping his nose. He was sitting on the ground, the sky had grown darker, and Luke had no idea what time it was.

His gaze fell on the torn package, a few feet away from him. On his hands and knees, he crawled next to it, curious what had made the mugger change course so completely and leave him alone.

A glance to the ripped flimsy had his heart sinking in his chest. Fury rose in him, and he reached out with a trembling hand, still sticky with the blood of his nose, to pick one of the tiny objects and hold it up to the declining light.

He had never seen one of these things for real, but he could guess well enough what it was. Its tiny size and the shape of the circuits on it made its design quite clear, as did the mugger's comment.

Slaves chips.

Seized with sudden and devastating rage, Luke rose and threw it away with the rest, before kicking the whole thing repeatedly. To no effect, naturally; it couldn't blow up at a mere movement if the master wanted their slaves to take on any kind of hard work...

He took the lightsabre on his belt, ignited it and slashed through the package. He did it again and again, letting out a roar of outrage as he felt his anger grow and grow the more he hit it. Something around him was trembling and whirling, seeping inside him and from him, an oily and dark kind of smoke prowling all over the alley.

He would never contribute to this. He would rather die, he would rather destroy it, bring it down, tear the whole thing apart –

At last one of the bombs took off. It made a spark; Luke slashed at it once more and it exploded, taking another in its wake until it set off a chain reaction that consumed the whole thing, a small reaction that still managed to blow Luke backwards and put a black stain on the white wall.

Soon enough all that was left of the package was a flaming, smoking pile of ashes. Exhausted, Luke fell to his knees and watched it with feverish eyes, his rage still aflame and burning bright even as the chips were starting to die out.

He'd have to find another way off-world, he absently thought, staring at the hot bright light, the acrid smell of molten plastic and components in his nose, aggressive but somehow pleasant. He licked his lips, grimaced when he tasted the mix of snot and blood there. Something quick and that didn't involve working for the Hutts' disgusting abuse, if possible. But the thought felt far away from him, the urgency and danger of it all but gone from his mind.

Far more present was the numb vindictiveness he felt watching the last of the chips' combustion, the yellow and orange fire reflecting itself in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Chalmun's cantina hadn't changed one bit in the seven years since he'd last come inside it, thought Han. Still the same dark and dingy atmosphere, so full of smoke one could barely breathe, the same shady patrons, the same dirty glasses with dubious drinks in them.

As unsavoury as the environment was, however, he was at home with it. It was his element: he knew how to recognise trouble at a glance, who would be a good business partner and who a scam, who he could con and get away with it and who he preferably stayed away from. He'd been at it for so long now, he liked to think he'd developed something of a flair.

Especially now that he had a brand new ship.

Well, brand new perhaps wasn't the right word to describe her, admittedly. But she was a beauty in her own right. You didn't encounter a YT-1300 with a functional class point-five hyperdrive every day. Had it been only that, Han wouldn't have been half as enamoured; but she was also spacious, with two comfortable cabins and a Dejarik table, two gunning turrets, and an efficient navicomputer. She was the perfect ship; Han hadn't had her for long, but he already knew she was going to be as trustworthy as Chewie, and that was saying something.

He just hoped Lando would get over it soon... He'd won her fair and square, after all. Well, he may have profited of the fact there was no way the other smuggler would ever have bet this baby when he was sober, but the game itself had been completely legit. He'd understand that, someday.

He took a sip of his drink – heady and distinctly Corellian just the way he liked it, although he could have done without the taste of dust – and let his eyes wander around the cantina. It didn't take him long to spot Chewbacca among the crowd, next to the bar, looking for potential clients. Chewie was a gentle and caring soul, but he was two meters tall, and as such deterred most people who were only trying to mess with them in a way Han, despite all his efforts, would never be able to achieve.

A figure approached Chewie, someone Han couldn't see much of because of the wide brown cloak they wore. It wasn't uncommon to cover one's head here; in such a lowlife setting, more than a few people preferred to remain anonymous. Still, he found himself watching them. The person was gesturing with their hands in a way that Han supposed meant they didn't understand Shyriiwook, but the exchange seemed serene, as if they weren't intimidated by Chewbacca at all. Han's interest spiked. That didn't happen often.

Before long, as Han expected, they were coming his way. Chewie sat at his side, and the stranger in front of them. Han could finally see his face, if only a little among the shadows cast by the hood: human, male, and very young, much more than Han had expected him to be.

"Hi," the stranger said. He stayed silent for a fraction of a second then looked away, tilting his head as if he couldn't work out what to say; then he took a breath and looked at Han again. "I need a ship. I'm told you have a good one."

Han's alarm rocketed. "She's not for sale, pal. You came to the wrong place."

He shot an accusing glance at Chewie. They weren't selling the Falcon!

The guy looked surprised.

"Oh, I didn't mean... No, I'm not looking to buy. Just for passage off-world."

Han relaxed at that. He slouched in his chair, looked at his drink with a bored air. From under his eyelids, though, he was watching the boy. A kid, really, and a green one at that. Han didn't think he was much of a threat.

"Where?"

The kid shrugged, imitated Han's feigned relaxedness. "Anywhere. I just need off this rock."

Han shot him a quick look. Now, that was interesting... A runaway? Half the kids on this planet dreamt of only one thing, leaving it. The cloak and the careful way he hid in it told another story, though.

"Teth?" he asked. The planet was close to Hutt space and occupied by the Empire, both powers competing for dominance. If this kid knew the galaxy a little, his reaction would show Han what he was up to.

Just like he'd expected, the boy grimaced.

"I'd hoped for a place with less Imperial presence."

And there it was. Han would have been surprised if he hadn't been doing something illegal or dealing with the Hutts. There were more reputable places for this kind of request, more likely to attract teens thirsting for adventure. Han wasn't too keen on risking getting too close to the Empire, but if the boy paid well...

"Gonna cost you some," he warned, still keeping up with the bored facade. It helped keeping him in charge, putting his interlocutor on the defensive.

The boy shifted in his seat, but didn't otherwise react much.

"How much?"

"Ten thousand," Han tried. It was a ludicrous price for one passenger, but the kid didn't seem to know his way around things well, and he apparently was in trouble. If he was desperate enough, Han could make a great deal out of it.

The boy's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then his face became neutral again. He looked down.

"All right."

Han exchanged a surprised glance with Chewie. Not even an attempt at bartering? Either he was richer than he let on, or he had something fishy going on. His body language felt off, clumsy and guarded.

"Paid in advance," Han clarified.

A clenched jaw, a lightning-quick flash in his eyes. Han didn't like this.

"Two thousand in advance, the rest upon arrival," the boy countered.

"Ten thousand after boarding but before entering hyperspace," Han replied. "Won't change much for you if you have the credits."

The tiny, nearly undetectable movement of the boy's eyes told Han everything he needed to know.

"Which you don't," he deduced. "So you can go find someone else to try and con."

The boy's composure slipped at once. He took an anxious breath and leant forward on the table, looking pleadingly at Han.

"I'll find them," he hurriedly said. "I have contacts who can help me out..."

In a swift movement, Han drew his blaster and aimed it at him. The boy jerked back, his hands slowly rising to the level of his shoulders.

"On any planet I'd drop you on? Pull the other one, kid," Han said. "I said go bother someone else before I sell you out to the Imps. I'm sure you'd fetch a better price than anything you can give me."

Sheer terror crossed the boy's eyes, before being replaced with a cold kind of steel, his jaw setting. Han nearly felt pity for him. How old was he, seventeen, eighteen? He didn't look suited to a life of crime. Han would probably feel worse for him if he hadn't just tried to scam him, though.

"Please don't," the kid said, carefully. He threw a glance at Chewie, but his first mate didn't say anything. "I didn't mean any harm. I'll leave you alone, try to get off-planet another way."

"Get money and then we'll talk," said Han, putting his blaster back in his holster and doing his best not to roll his eyes. What was this kid thinking, anyway? They weren't a charity. They couldn't afford to take shady strangers onboard out of the goodness of their hearts, especially if they had the Empire on their tail. Han had to wonder what the boy had done to find himself in this kind of trouble, though. He looked more like a kicked puppy than a dangerous criminal.

He shook the thought. Wasn't his problem.

The kid nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

He shot Han a half-hearted smile, nodded at Chewie, then stood up. Han's gaze, however, was drawn further behind him. He briskly pulled on the kid's wrist, forcing him to sit back down.

"Hey –" the boy exclaimed, wrenching his arm out of Han's grasp.

"Not so loud," Han hurried to say. "You're gonna draw attention to us."

Discreetly, the boy turned around. His shoulders stiffened as he spotted the stormtroopers talking with the barman. He turned back towards Han and Chewie and pulled his hood further down on his face, a hand going to his hip.

"They've blocked all exits," he said in a strangely blank voice.

Han looked around. As far as he could see from his booth, the kid was right. The troopers were making their way in the cantina... checking papers?

"Kreth," he said. "Chewie, did we... renew our IDs?" They took care to always have the ship's in order, at least on the surface – they were probably wanted by the Empire by this point, and there were enough good forgers in this galaxy. But their personal ones they tended to neglect, as they were rarely necessary.

Chewie grunted a "no," and Han had trouble holding back a groan of his own.

"Let's just leave then," the kid answered. There was a hard glint in his eyes, reckless, and his hand was still under the table, probably clutching a weapon Han couldn't see. "We get out now."

"Hey, kid, stop that," Han hurried to say. "You're just going to get yourself killed, and us with you. If we lay low, we have a chance to get under the radar."

"But what if we don't?" the boy snapped, with a harshness that surprised Han. "What if they come here, control us, and decide they'd rather arrest us? I'm not taking that risk. We need to move."

"And what do you expect to achieve like that except making them notice you quicker?"

The boy's face closed off.

"You'll see. I'm getting out of here whether you come with me or not. What are you doing?"

Han exchanged a glance with Chewie, who shrugged and roared a soft "your call" at him. And Han really didn't want to spend the night in a dry cell of Tatooine's Imperial outpost.

"Bring it on," he mumbled.

The kid nodded. He threw a look around then swiftly slid out of the booth, his head still deep in the hood, inconspicuous in the darkness of the room. Han and Chewie followed him closely, trying to look like some people just going to the bar.

They reached the back entrance without any incident, heading normally towards the exit. Han tensed when the trooper guarding it shifted his grip on his blaster. The boy was too close, he was going to get shot –

Then something odd happened. There was a flash of blue light, a buzz and a hiss, and the trooper fell down on the floor.

"Hey, you!" shouted his companion, but the boy had already left. Han hurried to shoot him then ran out after the kid, Chewie on his heels, without looking back to see the troopers following them. The boy was swift and nimble despite his big cloak, and didn't stop until they'd reached a dark, narrow alleyway.

"Where's your ship?" he asked Han and Chewie.

"Docking bay 94," Han replied.

The boy nodded, looking serious. Running had brought his hood down and his cloak open, letting Han see his military cut and a black shirt looking a lot like a Navy uniform, although he didn't wear any rank insignia. His posture, too, seemed a little military, ramrod straight and stiff.

"You a soldier?" Han asked.

The boy looked at him, winced.

"TIE pilot," he said, and even in the short, curt answer Han could hear some pride in his voice. "Well, I was."

Han nodded. He knew the feeling.

"Did they sack you or did you leave?"

The boy huffed with a sad, bitter smile, but didn't answer.

"This way," he changed the subject, pointing in a direction. "I think it's the shortest to the docks."

He brought back his hood on his head, then, clasping a cylindrical, metallic object Han supposed was a weapon, he left the street. Han followed suit.

They hadn't made ten steps when a voice made his blood freeze.

"Here they are!"

He looked back and saw white-armoured troopers come from an adjacent street, in the direction of the cantina they'd just left. He drew his blaster and shot at them. Next to him, Chewie was doing the same; but the soldiers were too many, the road was too narrow for them to move well. He guessed the kid had been luckier and was ahead of them. A quick glance behind told Han there was a corner just a few feet further...

Then the boy was at their side again, in front of them, waving what looked like a blade made of blue light in front of him like a pike and preventing the troopers from getting any closer.

"Go ahead," he told them.

Han intended to do just that as the kid kept waving his weapon in front of him in dissuasion; then there was a blaster shot and the blue light vanished.

He should have run. He should have fled the scene and gone back to the Falcon before taking off; they still had some supplies, and there would still be work another day. But the terrified cry the boy let out as the trooper seized his arm chilled him to the core. Before he knew it, he shot the soldier in the head to free him.

"Come," he hurried to say.

The boy picked up the sword then followed him as they ran. They took several turns in the town, crossed a two-way shop to find themselves in a backyard before finally losing their pursuers and arriving at the docking bay without any troopers on their tail.

"Well, that was close," said Han. "Thanks for the help, kid."

The boy waved and shook his head with a tiny smile.

"Least I could do for trying to con you," he said. "Have a good flight, I guess... I imagine you're not gonna stay long with the Empire here."

"Sure not," Han replied, noticing the envious look the boy shot the Falcon. He hesitated, looked him over. "What are you going to do?"

The boy tried to smile, but it came out strained, little more than a grimace.

"Lay low for a while, then try to find transport again," he said, too casually. "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll find a decent enough sum of money to leave before they find me."

Before they find me. Once again, Han wondered what his story was, what he'd done, or not done, to get in trouble with the Empire. Was he a Jedi? Han had heard stories about them having the same kind of weapon he had... If that was the case, it didn't spell out anything good for him. The boy was being casual about it, but Han heard, through his silence, how aware he was of what was most likely to happen to him.

Well. Tough. The Empire ruined the lives of a lot of people, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Good luck," he told him sincerely. "Got a feeling you'll need it."

"Thanks," the boy nodded, quickly averting his eyes, not even managing the smile this time.

He shot another look at the Falcon, then put up his hood once again before turning around and walking away, his shoulders hunched and kicking at the sand.

Han absently watched him leave, then shrugged and turned towards his ship – his ship! – when Chewie growled at him in Shyriiwook.

"There's one more bunk in the crew cabin and we've got two cannon turrets," he said. "We could use another crew member."

Han looked at him incredulously.

"Don't tell me you want to... take him with us?"

"He's not bad in a fight," Chewie replied. "You've seen it like me."

"He's trouble," Han muttered. "I can smell it two parsecs away."

Chewie uttered a barking laugh.

"Only the tallest ash tree mocks the twig for being wooden," he said, shoving Han in the shoulder.

Han rolled his eyes. "Oh, laugh it up," he said, pointing a finger in his copilot's face. "You've got nothing to say, you were the entire reason I got kicked out of the Navy."

"And you're not curious how that happened to him?"

He was right, Han realised, he was curious. The kid did say he used to be a pilot, and now he was fleeing from the Empire... Han couldn't help the way his heart constricted, remembering the look in his eyes just now, how resigned he'd seemed to his fate. How long had he been lurking around this town, trying to get away? How long until they finally caught him?

"It's none of our business," he told Chewie anyway. They weren't a charity. They were just trying to survive – and taking on a fugitive with them wouldn't exactly help.

"We really could do with a third crew member," Chewie insisted.

"No," Han replied. "Leave it alone."

He walked past Chewie towards the Falcon and pressed the ramp lowering button while running checks in his head. Fuel cells, power cells, water –

He caught himself thinking about the kid's miserable face again. It would be fine, he told himself, annoyed. Just because he hadn't fallen for it didn't mean nobody would. He'd find his ride off-planet soon enough.

"We can drop him in any spaceport if he causes trouble," Chewie argued once more. "But he fights well, and if he's a pilot he knows his way around a ship. He would be good help."

"You're just feeling sorry for him, you insufferable mother hen," Han retorted. But he couldn't deny his first mate's arguments made sense; the Falcon was somewhat bigger than their previous ship. He sighed.

"Fine," he said between gritted teeth. "But for the record, I still think this is a terrible idea."

Chewie laughed and pushed him towards the exit of the bay; Han would have to hurry to catch him, and he had no intention to run through the whole town to find him.

Fortunately, he had only just gotten past the Quebe-Luxhause System building, and Han caught up with him in a matter of seconds. He called after him; the boy jumped in surprise, his expression unreadable under the brown hood.

"Hey, kid," he said, feeling a little awkward. "Me and Chewie, we've got a deal for you, if you want."

The boy frowned, on the defensive.

"What deal?"

Han hesitated.

"Well, we've agreed to take you off-planet, if you accept to do some smuggling work for us in exchange."

The kid's face was still as guarded. "What kind of work?"

"Nothing too bad," Han waved. "Helping us with the cargo, manning the Falcon, there's always something to do on a ship. You call it quits whenever you want if it doesn't suit you and we'll drop you at the nearest port. No strings attached."

At last, to Han's relief, understanding seemed to dawn on the boy's face. His eyes widened, hope lighting in them, and he gaped.

"You mean... you're offering me to work on your ship? With you?"

"Don't take it as a favour, kid," Han answered, defensive once again. It was a bad idea; if something turned sour, it would be Chewie's fault. "It's just another way for you to pay for your trip."

"Sure," the boy said. A wide grin appeared on his face, making his eyes look livelier than anything Han had seen from him, making him look much younger. He seized Han's hand and shook it. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it," Han waved, a little too brusquely maybe. "Come. Chewie's waiting for take-off."

He turned around and went back towards the ship, the kid on his heels.

Darth Vader didn't wait for the officers' meeting to be called off before he strode out of the room, his patience spent. These things were tedious and useless, and irritated him to the highest degree. He wouldn't even have attended, was it not for the Emperor's complaints: his master feared he didn't take the Death Star's security seriously enough, and said its commanders requested his presence more often. Never mind that he had access to all the information discussed there in advance and that he addressed weekly reports of his actions to the board. No, he needed to be seen, a pathetic display of his presence that did nothing but waste time.

Perhaps, however, was it the very goal of the manoeuvre to waste his time, and prevent him from using it in other pursuits.

"Lord Vader!"

Vader clenched his fists upon hearing Tarkin's voice. The Moff tended to follow him more closely than his role aboard the station warranted; the longer it went, the more Vader was convinced that was a mission the Emperor had given him.

It was infuriating, and made him want to strangle him more and more often.

"You really need to stop storming out like this, Lord Vader," Tarkin said once he'd caught up with him. "It gives our men the wrong impression."

"I could not care less for the impression I give, Grand Moff," Vader retorted, whirling towards him and waving a finger in his face. "I have better things to do than listen to the inane chatter of self-important bureaucrats."

Tarkin pinched his lips, crossed his arms.

"And I suppose these things all involve the safety of this station?"

Vader had to repress a gesture of anger. Of the station, and of Luke, which was far more important; but he couldn't say that. From what he had been able to gather from various reports, the boy was still alive and on the loose. However, there wasn't a lot he could do to ensure it stayed that way.

Especially not with Tarkin constantly breathing down his neck.

He had tried, but his schedule and the Moff's surveillance made it impossible to do anything other than look out for news. It was a dread that wouldn't leave him, that one day he would come across a document of Intelligence filing Luke's death. He had seen enough of these; had had to write some, even, for Jedi he had killed or Rebels that had died in interrogation. Cold words, white on black, on the screen of a datapad.

They were more terrifying than any corpse he had ever seen.

"Do I have any other mission?" Vader retorted with a disdainful wave of his hand. He was well accustomed to hiding his turmoil.

Tarkin levelled him an unimpressed look.

"I reckon you intend on departing at once for Ralltiir, then?"

Vader inclined his head. "As soon as I see fit."

Tarkin took a step closer.

"And what else do you need to busy yourself with? This is a matter of great urgency, Vader."

Vader put his hands on his belt. Annoying Tarkin was a good way to evacuate his frustrations, at least; it probably wasn't very clever, as chances were high it would come back to the Emperor, but in this moment he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"So you keep saying. I fail to see the great threat you are so convinced they are to us, however. I was tasked with defending the Death Star, not squashing every rebellion you find yourself inconvenienced with."

"Do not play these games, Vader," Tarkin snapped. "You know perfectly well it is crucial in this moment. The timing of their insurgency is highly suspicious. It is possible they hold information regarding the plans we suspect might have been stolen during Operation Strikes fear. Besides, after that particular fiasco, the Empire's authority needs to be reassessed, and swiftly. Ralltiir is a perfect opportunity to do that."

"Fiasco wasn't the word you used to describe Captain Piett's successes before," Vader protested, a fierce rush of protectiveness flaring. He had been the one to promote Piett to captain and put him at the head of the campaign, and the man had performed brilliantly, rewarding Vader's intuition about him.

The stolen plans were concerning, though. Vader's intuition that the Rebels might know about the Death Star, that he had harboured ever since the attack of that shuttle, was confirming itself more and more.

"Indeed, before we lost Invincible," Tarkin replied. "Our situation is different now. We need to regain our footing more than ever, at least until this station is operational."

Had Vader been able to, he would have scoffed.

"You put too much faith in this technological terror."

"Then prove me wrong and subjugate the Rebels yourself," Tarkin fired back. "I fail to see what holds you back."

And there it was. The question, thinly disguised once more, an obvious attempt to fish for information. Vader gritted his teeth.

"It is none of your business," he coldly answered, making sure Tarkin understood his place. "I will inform you when I am about to leave."

He turned around and walked away, far from that infuriating man and who he represented. He hated having to answer to him, hated the way he restricted his movements and ordered him around, hated the power Palpatine had granted him.

He wandered aimlessly in the corridors for a while before realising he truly didn't have anything left to do here. Remote as it was, the station barely received major news of the Empire's campaigns, and most of his information came from Tarkin anyway. His flagship, Devastator, had been assigned a mission in the Elbaran Sector, although Black Squadron and the 501st had been allowed to remain on the Death Star next to him. The Emperor had made sure he didn't have the independence to move on his own, nor to find Luke.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had no choice but to leave for Ralltiir now.

Whatever happened, whatever limitations Palpatine imposed on him, Vader refused to give up. He hadn't saved his son only for him to be shot on sight by Imperial troopers. Vader would find him and protect him. He refused to accept any alternative.

It was with that purpose in mind that he headed towards his shuttle, ignoring all the soldiers he strode past save one ensign – too young, too short – he tasked with telling Tarkin he was leaving. He boarded the shuttle, performed the pre-flight procedures, and was about to check in with control when a soft beeping drew his attention.

He turned around and saw a small black-domed astromech droid rolling towards him with inquisitive trills. It was a standard W4 model, derived from the wider C2 category, with nothing distinctive about him; but Vader had seen him with Luke too often not to recognise him.

"Hello, little one," he said, surprised by the flow of emotion that the mere sight of the droid had awakened in him. "What are you doing here?"

From the binary flutter that followed, Vader thought he understood that the droid was doing maintenance on his shuttle. The electronic language used by droids evolved quickly, and he hadn't talked to an astromech for a while; furthermore, it seemed this particular droid's processing speed was at least twice what he was used to, so it wasn't easy to follow it. But the basis of it remained similar to what he'd once used to communicate with Artoo-Detoo, so he caught the gist of it.

Then the droid inquired about Luke, sending a pang through Vader's heart.

He stilled, remembering the numerous times he had seen the droid rolling and twittering around his son, the smile on his son's face, his hand on the black dome. These had been simpler times, when he had taken Luke's presence for granted, too obsessed with the mystery around him to stop and appreciate what he had. He hadn't paid much attention to Luke's everyday life, had never realised how deep the bond he had formed with this small droid ran, if this was the extent of his loyalty.

"He is... not onboard this station at the moment," he said, fiercely determined he would never find himself on the Death Star, surprised by the unexpected emotions these thoughts were causing him. He didn't want to explain what happened at length.

An idea formed in his mind when he heard the disappointed twitter of the droid. The astromech obviously cared about Luke enough to approach him for news; even droids usually knew to stay away from the fearful Darth Vader. In a land of spies and enemies, this small and unassuming machine could very well be a precious ally in his quest.

The idea gave him hope again.

"In fact," he rumbled, "I do not know where he is, except that he is in grave danger."

The worried exclamation told him all he needed to. He would do anything he could to help. The greatest risk would be that he was caught, but even in that case, he couldn't be linked to Vader. He was certainly spirited enough that it would be believable for him to act on his own. Vader wasn't all too worried about that happening, anyway.

Nobody suspected droids.

"If you want to help, I need you to investigate his whereabouts and report to me. Monitor all the communications you can, connect with central databases wherever you go and find him, all of that without leaving a trace. There are hostile agents after him, mandated by the highest authority in the Empire; it is of the greatest importance that we locate him before they do, and in secret."

The droid twittered an agreement. Vader knelt down in front of him.

"I will equip you with clearance codes and access protocols, anti-tracking algorithms, as well as a way to contact me," he said before opening the droid's panel. The astromech didn't protest and docilely let him work. Vader took care to include resetting protocols to erase his additions in case the droid was caught, and used the opportunity to check his identification number. W4-L3, he committed to his memory.

When he finished, he stood again and set a hand on the droid's dome.

"May the Force be with you, Weefour," he said.

The droid turned around and exited the shuttle. Vader let him go then engaged the take-off procedures, his heart somewhat lighter.

He would ensure Luke's safety if it was the last thing he did.

Chapter Text

Luke casually leant against the wall of the small and dark alley, the sole of a black boot up against the brick, a hand on the blaster in his holster, keeping an eye on the corner while paying close attention to the transaction at hand. He was a little self-conscious about the bright yellow of the old jacket Han had given him to wear, but in the dark alley it wasn't all that visible anyway; besides, it was much better than an Imperial uniform. On the other side of Han and the dealer, Chewbacca was also keeping watch, his bow-caster held tightly in his hairy hand.

"Listen, I don't care what sort of deal you and Jabba struck, or if he's fooled you. You can take that to him, all I'm here for is getting that glitterstim."

"No. I haven't gotten my money, you don't get the spice."

Luke threw them a glance, fingers drumming on the barrel of his weapon. The Duros dealer kept his arms crossed on his chest, defensive as Han invaded his personal space, blaster drawn.

"You've already gotten it, and if you don't, it's not my problem – Jabba sure won't be happy if his spice doesn't arrive in time. Just sayin'."

The dealer looked away, visibly intimidated but too stubborn to admit it. Luke pinched his lips but didn't say anything. He didn't like working for Jabba; unfortunately it turned out his rescuers often took jobs from him, and Luke hadn't dared protest too much. At least they were as hostile to slavery as he was... He felt vaguely sympathetic to the dealer, despite the likelihood he had actually received his due and was trying to get twice the money.

But it paid. If Luke wanted to survive, he had to make concessions.

"He – he said you'd pay me – there was nothing about advance p –"

"Shut up," Han retorted. "You know as well as I do that's not true."

Luke's jaw tightened. They'd been at it for at least ten minutes now. This was supposed to be an easy job, in and out, not this battle of wits and pride. At this rate they'd all end up caught before long... Luke itched to run away and back to the Falcon, cargo or not.

"I don't care what you say, no money, no spice."

Footsteps resounded from outside the alley. Luke jumped and drew his blaster, immediately on alert.

"Han..."

The footsteps came closer. Luke strained to hear them, tense and ready to bolt at any moment.

"What?" Han snapped.

Luke tightened his grasp on his blaster, staring at the entrance of the alley, intently listening. His hands were growing clammy, his breathing accelerating as the footsteps came closer.

"I think we're gonna have company," he whispered.

At this Han tensed too. He straightened and faced the entrance of the alley, blaster still firmly in hand. So did Chewbacca and the dealer, and they stood in expectation, listening intently. The steps grew louder, a shadow appeared on the ground.

Then the passerby, a woman in a cloak, walked past the alley without noticing them.

All of them relaxed.

"This has gone on long enough," Han turned back to the dealer. "Now you give us what we need or we'll take it from you. Your choice."

Luke sighed, tension draining from him, his heart too loud in his ears. He didn't like this. Hopefully Han would manage to wrap this up quickly...

He started when Chewie put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're done here," Han said. He handed Luke a few pockets of spice that he hid in his jacket, more relieved than he could say. "Let's move."

They started walking back in direction of the Falcon. Luke stayed on Han and Chewbacca's heels, constantly checking his surroundings. Better safe than sorry; there was something gnawing at his senses, a tremendous but vague peril screaming at him.

For once, that overwhelming sense of doom must have been right, for he was the first to see the two other Duros opening fire on them.

"Watch out!"

He pushed Han and Chewbacca out of the way, just in time for them to avoid the blaster bolts coming. In the same movement, he drew and fired at their opponents, soon joined by his co-smugglers.

"What the hell...?" Han said.

Chewbacca said something that Luke didn't understand in the commotion. He did his best, but he was still far from fluent in Shyriiwook.

The firing stopped for a short moment, which they used by running in a perpendicular street – only to find themselves faced with a dead end. Han cursed.

"We need a diversion." Luke unclipped a smoke detonator from his belt. Han looked at it and nodded.

They came closer to the wall, enough to be near the entrance of the street but not to be seen from their pursuers. The two Duros turned the corner of the alley just afterwards. Luke threw his bomb, which exploded and blinded their opponents, allowing the three of them to run away, ducking to avoid badly aimed fire.

They must have been out of sight when the Duros left the street, because nobody followed them on the road to rejoin the Falcon. Still, they watched their backs as they ran towards their ship, and did the preflight checks as quickly as they could before taking off.

Sitting in the back seat while Han and Chewbacca manoeuvred out of the atmosphere, Luke counted his breaths in silence, his heart painfully thumping against his ribs. There would be no bounty hunters, the engines weren't going to fail, they were fine.

Thankfully, after what felt like hours, the stars stretched out and they jumped into hyperspace. Luke relaxed in his seat, falling against the backrest with a sigh of relief.

"Phew," Han let out, perfectly echoing Luke's sentiment. "That was something. Good job, kid, quick thinking there."

Luke smiled.

"That was way too close," he said. "Why is it that wherever we go, there's always someone after us?"

Han laughed.

"Perks of this line of work," he replied. "You'll get used to it."

Luke grimaced, earning himself another laugh from the spacer.

"C'mon," Han said, rising from his seat. "I think we deserve to relax a bit. I still have a bottle of Corellian whisky in here somewhere, what do you say?"

Chewie let out a growl of approval. Luke nodded, too, curious. Han liked to brag about Corellian liquor, but Luke had yet to taste any.

Besides, he really could use a drink. He counted himself lucky Han and Chewbacca hadn't noticed his agitation during the chase, too busy trying to leave. They were friendly enough, but they'd only known him for two months, and Luke doubted they'd let him remain on their ship if his paranoia and irrational fears became unmanageable. It had played in their favour this time, but what of the next...?

At first he'd thought these flashes were warnings of the Force, but they had proven to be far too unreliable for that. And Luke hadn't felt any other whisper of the Force at all, anyway; it was as if it had completely left him. He'd tried sitting down and meditating, but he couldn't remain motionless for very long before he was filled with an unbearable, irresistible restlessness and had to interrupt his efforts in order to move.

There were times where he felt utterly discouraged by this. He felt crippled, diminished, as if he'd lost a limb or gone blind. But it didn't really matter. Most people fared perfectly well without the Force; there was no reason he couldn't.

Chewie and Luke followed Han into the passenger hold, where he opened the couch to take a bottle from the compartment there, before closing it again so they could all sit down on it. Then he grabbed three glasses from the shelf, sat with them and poured a generous quantity of alcohol in it.

The liquor was strong and burned through Luke's mouth, nose and throat, but soon only left a pleasant warmth in its wake. Luke immediately took another sip, savouring it. The taste was rough, but not coarse. His muscles relaxed, and he let out a yawn.

"This is good," Chewie said. "You should have shared before."

"It's way better after a few years," Han replied, twirling his glass in his hand in appreciation. "This one aged well, I'm glad I kept it this long. What do you think, kid?"

"I like it," Luke answered. "Way better than the ale we got on Tatooine."

It was what they drank most after bantha milk: water was expensive and difficult to purify. It was more refreshing than milk, but didn't taste great, and Luke didn't miss it.

Han snorted.

"Yeah, Tatooine's not gonna be renowned for its drinks any time soon."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you just laugh. I'm sure your obsession with Corellian drinks and ships has everything to do with their quality and nothing at all with you coming from there."

Han flashed him a grin. "Can't help it, kid, the best things come from Corellia."

Luke shook his head while Chewie let out a rumbling laugh.

"I am glad -" he said to Luke, who struggled to catch the end of the sentence. "He's always like this. Insufferable."

Luke sighed. "You know, you're the third Corellian I've met with that kind of ego. I've got to wonder if being conceited jerks is in your genes or something."

"Nah, it's just that we're the best at everything that matters," Han lounged in his seat, deliberately rolling his glass in his hand. "It's not our fault, anything the galaxy does, we can do it – hey!"

He let out a high-pitched squeal as Chewbacca shove him in the shoulder. Luke started laughing.

"That's not fun, Chewie! You spilled all my booze!"

Luke kept laughing, tears coming to his eyes as Han and Chewbacca play-wrestled in front of him. The alcohol was slowly doing his job, a warmth coming over him and leaving him more relaxed than he had been in a while. The ship felt homey in a way he hadn't thought he would experience again, and a rush of affection washed over him for the people who had welcomed him in their lives and all but taken him in.

It had been a long time since Luke had really felt safe, and he treasured the sensation.

They were interrupted by the hyperspace alarm, indicating they were reverting to realspace for a jump. Han and Chewbacca rose to operate it while Luke followed, sitting in the chair behind them. They pulled out of hyperspace, but the comms beeped before they could jump on their second lane.

"Huh? Odd," Han said, frowning. "Imps hailing us."

Luke's heart missed a horrible beat.

"Oh, kriff," he whispered, paling. "Kriff, I forgot to update the ship codes, maybe they tracked us, maybe they followed us –"

Chewie put a hand on his shoulder and offered what sounded like a reassurance.

Luke bit his lip without answering. Sure, one slip-up probably wasn't such a problem, but he couldn't help imagining the worst. What if they were unlucky, and just this time they had been tracked?

"Relax, kid," Han said. "I need to answer this, we're not ready for the jump yet."

They both nodded, tense. Han opened the channel.

"Unidentified freighter, please stand ready for control by the customs unit."

Luke's stomach dropped, and what little blood remained in his face drained away from it in an instant. They wanted to board them.

They couldn't. No, they couldn't –

"Nothing to declare, sir," Han said in the most boring voice he had. "We're just trying to get back home."

"Nevertheless, sir, please stand by for boarding. A simple formality, then you will be on your way."

Han grimaced and exchanged a look with them, but the message was clear. There was no getting out of this.

"All right."

He cut the transmission and let out a curse.

"See, nothing to do with the codes," he joked, but his smile was strained. "Just bad luck."

Luke nodded faintly, absent-mindedly. He swallowed familiar blood-tasting nausea, repressed a tremor in his hands.

It's gonna be fine. They won't be looking to arrest us. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against them. Chewie squeezed his shoulder tighter, and it took all he had not to brush him off.

It would be fine.

“... drop the spice... Jabba's gonna kill us...” he heard Han say from afar.

Luke frowned. Yes. Spice. Falcon. Safe.

“Smuggling compartments,” he mumbled, hating how tight his guts were, the flashes of ideas he kept getting.

He was alive, he was safe, he was on the Falcon. Those soldiers would have a look around and be gone. Nothing more.

“Right, good idea,” Han nodded.

He then stopped, looked at Luke with a frown, and the young man's heart dropped in his chest.

“You all right, kid?”

Luke swallowed, gritted his teeth, rolled his shoulders.

“Yeah, sure, why?” he said with a smile he hoped didn't look too strained. “We should get the spice before they get on board.”

Han looked at him for one more heart-stopping second, during which Luke was sure he would insist.

Then he gave up, to Luke's relief, before grabbing their cargo and taking it in the corridor. Luke watched him go, made a move to follow him, then decided to rather sit on the couch of the passenger hold. He all but collapsed into it, his legs shaking so hard he wouldn't have been able to stand anyway. His stomach was roiling unpleasantly. He absently watched his hands, his nails, the lines on his skin.

He felt like a frayed thread, bare and about to unravel at any time.

Luke's hand went to the blaster at his hip, then the rectangular compartment on his belt where he kept his lightsabre, safely out of sight yet close enough to reach. It was burning against his waist, a ticking bomb waiting to be discovered. And still he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it.

He stayed there, his head bent, even as Han and Chewbacca went to the cockpit to manoeuvre them onto the Imperial ship. He heard the ramp come down and jumped, the heavy footsteps trampling it sending shivers down his spine.

His breath hitched when he saw the soldiers enter the passenger hold. Han came to stand next to him, and Luke felt a huge amount of gratefulness as he discreetly pushed his forearm to make Luke's hand fall from his blaster.

"Who is the shipmaster?" one of the troopers asked, and Han took a step forward to introduce himself.

Luke stood next to Chewie, frozen as they opened cupboards and chests. He had to use all his strength not to jump on them and hit them until they were gone, or to bolt and leave the ship, far away from them –

But where to? They were on a Star Destroyer. There was no escape, he would only put himself in more danger if he ran –

One of them brushed him as he moved past him, and he flinched as if he had just been burnt.

"Apologies," the trooper said.

Luke swallowed his nausea, rubbed his wrists, stretched his shoulders. It was okay, he was free, he was alive –

Except he didn't feel free. He couldn't move. The walls were closing in on him and it was so cold, cold, cold.

"Stop it, no, please, please –"

Fire in his mind, fire in his veins, his thoughts ripped from him and he screamed –

He blinked, swallowed. He was still on the Falcon.

What was happening to him?

"Thank you, sir. Everything seems to be in order, we will leave you now."

"No, please –"

An explosion rocked the floor, nearly sending the troopers down.

Immediately, Luke knew he was the one who had caused it. The Force was whirling all around him, more present than it had been ever since his escape; it was dark, heavy, inescapable, no matter how hard he tried.

"What was that?" the leader of the unit asked Han as his troopers got back on their feet with a groan.

"Ah, don't pay attention to it, she's just a bit temperamental," Han waved with a charming smile. Luke admired his composure when he probably had no idea what had just happened. Luke had no idea about that himself, except that he knew it was his fault.

He was shaking from head to toe, so much he had to lean against the bulkhead, unable to stay upright on his own. He just wanted them to leave –

For a maddening couple of seconds, the trooper didn't react, looking around himself and looking uncertain.

"Sir, that doesn't sound very in keeping with safety regulations, I might have to –"

A second explosion sent them all to the floor. Smoke made them cough, but it wasn't what made Luke freeze.

What did was the sight of the smuggling compartments blown open, the packets of spice visible in the bottom of them.

Kriff. Kriff. What the –

Three blaster shots rang. Han stood with his blaster drawn, the troopers' bodies fallen into the destroyed compartments while Chewbacca was pushing himself on his feet.

Relief overcame Luke at the sight of the corpses. The vice that was constricting his lungs fell away and he gasped in air.

"Chewie, power the deflectors shields to the maximum and launch the hyperspace sequence, Luke and I are taking the guns. I just hope she doesn't do this again," Han said, slamming the ramp shut and heading for the cannon turrets.

Luke followed him, trying to ignore the coldness that reached his bones and his nausea. He frantically sank in the seat of the turret, put on the headpiece and took the commands in his hands.

They departed full throttle, startling the Imperials enough to leave the hangar without difficulty.

"Let's hope they don't have a tractor beam," Han said in Luke's headpiece. "Chewie, how long until we can make the jump?"

Chewbacca said a number that Luke couldn't understand through the mics' bad quality and the fog surrounding his own mind, when the familiar sound of the radar detecting enemies tailing them came to his ears.

"TIE fighters," Han said. "You ready, Luke?"

Luke gritted his teeth. The Imperials weren't going to stop them from leaving. They weren't.

"Affirmative," he said, his voice strangled.

He swallowed, took a breath, tried to find the half-aware state that allowed him to dive into the Force. But it was all in vain: Luke could feel it just out of his grasp, oily and elusive tendrils that he never managed to catch. He reached out to them more and more frantically, but the more he tried, the more they escaped him.

Weren't he on the radio, he would have screamed of frustration.

The ship lurched just as a green bolt fused past the Falcon. Luke grasped the commands of the guns tighter.

The old-fashioned way would have to do.

Chewbacca's evasive manoeuvres twisted and rocked the ship, making it harder to aim; it was disconcerting, Luke found, not to have any control on one's own movements. Still he did his best to aim at the small fighters; he knew how fast they were, how agile they could be.

Memories and feelings flashed in his mind, so fast he had trouble grasping them, at the same time as a tide of overwhelming, devastating rage. They wouldn't stop them from leaving, they wouldn't, even if Luke had to burn them to ashes to the last one –

I am no enemy. I didn't betray.

He let out a distressed roar just as a TIE exploded mere feet away from the Falcon.

Luke didn't know how long the fight lasted before the stars stretched out in the lines of hyperspace at last.

"Whooo!" he heard Han shout in the comms. "We've made it!"

Luke blinked, surprised and a little bit unbalanced upon realising he didn't remember anything of the last minutes but a blur of panic and anger.

He took the headpiece off, staring ahead of him. Immense fatigue overcame him; he could have fallen asleep right there, if not for the shame and the self-disgust that was roiling in his stomach.

What had just happened? Where did these flashes of emotion come from, and why did they always show up at the worst time? Hadn't he lost control of the Force, lost control of himself, of everything, they could have left without trouble. There wouldn't even have been a fight if he'd been able to get a damn grip on his feelings.

He was going to get them all killed.

He leant back into the seat and covered his eyes with his hands. It felt as if tiredness was reaching into his bones, and he wanted nothing less than to move. He wanted to fall asleep right then and there, and never wake again.

And the way he had reacted, fighting against these TIEs, the way he had relished in taking their lives... A shiver of unease ran through him. He didn't know what made him feel worse; that these pilots could have been some of his friends, or that he couldn't find it in himself to care.

They had tried to prevent them from escaping. It had been all that mattered. It was survival, killing or being killed. Hadn't that been drilled into him from Carosi to Praadost?

Hadn't his aunt and uncle tried to teach him the value of life nevertheless, even when it was necessary to take it?

He no longer knew what to think, what to feel, except this vague disgust in the pit of his guts.

Luke spent a long time staring at the elongated stars without seeing them, numb and exhausted.

Darth Vader exited the barrack, deactivating the IT-O and leaving the two guards that had accompanied him outside the door to make sure the prisoner remained inside it. Not that there was much risk of him escaping in such a state as Vader had left him; but there was no such thing as being too careful.

He made his way across the camp, striding in the large spaces between the grey buildings where speeders circulated. Situated a little to the north of the capital Cambriele, the outpost, like many similar ones, had been constructed recently to deal with the insurrection that had plagued the planet in the last few months. The original building simply didn't have enough place to host all the troops necessary for the repression, nor to process all the captives taken during the conflict and who might hold information; thus several centres like this one had been erected on the planet, with a few particularly valuable prisoners being sent to the Star Destroyer of Lord Tion, the officer responsible for the operation.

As usual after such a task, he felt worn and irritated, a restless frustration in his bones. The prisoners' screams resounded in his head, their cries of defiance and sobs alike as they either begged for mercy or shouted their allegiance to their petty revolt, refusing to give out any information – or so mangled it was a hassle to understand any of it.

Just like all the others that came before.

"I'm no enemy. I haven't betrayed."

He violently crushed the memory, refusing to let it take hold of him.

It changed nothing.

Vader took a turn to see the command centre in front of him. He entered in the main room, where a handful of men were sitting at their station; upon noticing his arrival, the officer in charge rose up to greet him, well used to these protocols after two months of Vader's presence here.

"Lord Vader, I hope the interrogation was fruitful?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," Vader said, crossing his arms on his chest. "One of them gave names whose owners I expect to be difficult to find, if they haven't already fled. I will need to question them more."

Not a single one had said a thing about the Rebellion or what they knew about the Death Star. Vader should have been relieved about it, but mostly it irritated him. He wanted these plans found, and soon.

When a moment of weakness had overtaken him and he had asked about Luke, he hadn't obtained any answer, either, making him regret taking the risk.

"You will be welcome as long as you wish," the major said with a deferential nod. "We are grateful for your help."

Vader knew that wasn't the case of all the soldiers there, considering the dirty looks one of them, undoubtedly an interrogator himself, had just shot him. He ignored him.

He was about to reply when his commlink rang. He excused himself from the major and picked up to see the small blue shape of a young officer appear.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Lord Vader, there has been an attack in the spacefield, near the docks," the man said. "Lord Tion has sent in a reserve company and is requesting that you meet him there."

"Very well. I will be there momentarily," Vader replied.

He hung up, took the time to explain the situation to the major before heading to his speeder. He wasn't very far from Cambriele's spaceport; fifteen minutes maybe, no more. These insurgents would soon regret their attack.

It had been a while since he'd fought a battle on-planet and not in a fighter, he mused. Not since... Praadost, if he remembered well. He supposed it hadn't been all that long, then. Everything had changed so much since then, it already felt like a lifetime ago.

Nor did it help that he spent his days in expectancy lately, waiting and fearing for a single call, a single message.

He pushed away the thought as he arrived at the spacefield where the attack was presumably happening. Indeed he could see blaster fire; and in the middle of the smoke, a familiar silhouette.

Princess Leia, the senator of Alderaan.

Interest seized Vader, and he disembarked from his speeder, determined to discover what she was doing here. Tion could wait; her presence made Vader think the suspicions that the insurrection was linked to the Rebel Alliance might be somewhat founded.

The princess had been a thorn in the Empire's side for too long already. Oh, not that she was making waves in the Imperial Senate; to the contrary, her charm and wit, as well as her impeccable manners, had won her the support of most of her colleagues. In the candid way that only youth allowed, she systematically opposed bills granting more power to the military and was an ardent pacifist, upholding ideals Alderaani tradition was well known for. She often travelled the galaxy to offer aid and relief to struggling populations, a passionate ambassador for peace. Beautiful and kind, there was no more stain on her perfect reputation than on the white dress she flaunted wherever she went.

It was a good guise, full of naive goodness; but although it fooled the Senate, most higher officers of the Imperial Navy knew exactly where she really stood.

Her "mercy missions" happened too often in areas where the Empire was intervening for it to be a coincidence. Mysterious funds going to the Rebellion, which never seemed to be short on either weapons or supplies, local insurrections gaining strength... Nothing could be traced to her, but the truth was obvious. The most politically inclined hadn't forgotten Bail Organa had been part of the Delegation of Two Thousand, the precursor of the Rebel Alliance. He had since then made a show of backtracking and supporting the Empire, and his daughter had kept the same line once she'd taken over from him, but it wasn't enough to fool Vader.

Her diplomatic immunity and the support granted by the Senate were the only things still protecting her, and it wouldn't last forever.

She was near her speeder, accompanied by a handful of men Vader supposed were her guard. They turned towards him upon seeing arrive; Vader came close to her, towering over her.

"Princess Leia," he greeted with a single nod. "Once again you appear where Rebel activity is rampant. You should be more prudent... you might come to harm someday."

The princess looked him in the eye as she always did, not looking intimidated in the least by the obvious threat in his voice. Amusement rose in Vader, only slightly tinted with irritation; she was always so bold, so assertive.

It would only make it all the more satisfying when she inevitably fell.

"If you're looking for Lord Tion, he's out on the spacefield's southern perimeter," she replied, dismissive in a way few beings ever dared be with him. "I believe he is awaiting your arrival."

Vader took a closer look at her. She seemed in a hurry to see him leave... was she hiding something? Beyond the obvious supplies that must be concealed in her ship, ready to be delivered to the insurgents, of course. Vader held no illusions as to what she was doing here.

He had no intention of letting her.

"Oh, but he is not the only reason for my arrival," Vader replied. "Your ship and cargo, your vehicle and your own persons – even yours, Your Highness – are subject to search, here and now."

The princess gritted her teeth, a flash of anger in her eyes.

"Any decision to search our ship rests with Lord Tion. He is in charge here," she said in all her haughty coldness, regal indignation in her tone.

Under the mask, Vader let out a small huff. Such resistance could be on principle only, but he was ready to bet she truly was carrying compromising equipment. Once it was discovered, the Empire would finally have grounds to detain her, and she would be neutralised at last. Her time was running out now; he could indulge her in this.

"And so he is," he conceded with a careless wave of his hand. "Yes. We will make this completely legal, and then see just what it is you are concealing."

The princess pinched her lips; her mind was well guarded, but Vader didn't need the Force to see the premises of a plan in there, frantic thoughts of escape.

"I wouldn't try to raise ship," he anticipated, without making any effort to conceal the smugness in his voice. "The fleet has orders to fire without warning."

For a moment, it seemed like she would protest again; she was well used to manipulating the law as she pleased, or to talking her way out of a difficult situation. But she seemed to realise, as Vader knew, that there was no counter-argument to be made.

"Of course. I wouldn't go against your order," she replied with a smile and a nod, knowing herself defeated for now.

Vader stared at her for a moment, not trusting her to really capitulate, before he ended up giving in. There was nothing for her to do. She would need to wait; and then he would have her.

Another thought occurred to him. Could it be that the princess knew about the stolen plans, the plans they had realised had disappeared a few weeks ago? He wouldn't put it past her – and if that was the case, something had to be done to find them.

He stormed off, took his commlink to try and raise Tion. The man was a fool, and his plans to get the hand of the princess in marriage were well known, but he would have to obey Vader even though he believed her to be innocent.

He tried to call him once, twice, but the call didn't go through. Frowning, Vader tried again. What was happening on the battlefield to warrant such secrecy?

Was he in on it, too? Impossible. Tion was many things, but duplicitous wasn't one of them; Vader was certain of it. The man was truly loyal to the Empire.

"To the southern perimeter, and quickly," he barked at the troopers in his speeder after leaving a message to Tion. If the battle was turning to his disadvantage, Vader would need to be there.

However, nothing of the sort was happening when Vader reached the temporary base. Tion stood there with his men, listening to some kind of device; at the sound of Vader approaching, he left what he was doing to greet him.

"Well, Lord Tion," he said. "It appears your commlink must be broken; I advise that you see to it. I want the ship of the princess of Alderaan searched at once. Under no circumstance will she be allowed to leave the planet before it is done."

"Yes, my lord," the officer said. He was holding himself straight, his gaze clear and straightforward, but Vader felt something evasive in him, an unexplained unease. "I will..."

Just as he said these words, the unmistakeable sound of a ship rising from the ground made Vader turn his head. A CR90 corvette was taking off, rising in the sky and well on its way to leaving the atmosphere.

The consular ship of the Alderaanian delegation; the princess' ship.

Vader whirled towards Tion, invading his personal space.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"I... I apologise, my lord! I had just given her leave when you arrived, I was about to rescind it –"

Vader seized him by the neck, overcome with irrepressible rage. Tion spluttered and squirmed, the familiar panic appearing in his eyes as he realised he was unable to breathe.

"Do not take me for a fool, Commodore," Vader hissed. "Your witless infatuation with the princess is all too well known to me. You purposely let her go despite knowing she is a suspected Rebel associate and enemy of the Empire!"

How he was tempted to kill the man for his incompetence, for his lack of foresight as he let his feelings blind him to the truth and took actions detrimental to the Empire. Such bumbling idiots had no business holding such high responsibilities in the Navy.

But he knew the Emperor would be displeased if he had to replace the man. Usually, it wouldn't have been able to stop Vader, but today he found he didn't want to attract Sidious's ire more than necessary, not when he was already in disgrace.

The less attention the Emperor gave him, the more freedom Vader would have to find – and save – his son from his machinations.

Tion fell to his knees as he was released, wheezing and gasping, a hand to his throat as he groaned in pain. Vader rolled his eyes at the dramatic display.

"It was... a mistake," the officer rasped. "The new surveillance system took all other communications offline for a couple of minutes. I didn't mean – it wasn't my intention –"

"Be grateful to be alive, Lord Tion," Vader snapped. "I hope your men have had the presence of mind to trace her departing vector. Send a message to the whole fleet. I want that ship found and searched if she lands anywhere but on Alderaan."

"I... yes, my lord," the man said.

Vader didn't spare him a single more glance before walking away.

The princess wouldn't escape him for much longer.

"To my shuttle," he ordered his pilot. "I need to return to my ship."

Chapter Text

Tatooine's atmosphere was trembling near the jagged horizon as they walked the narrow path towards Jabba's palace. Luke hadn't missed the sweltering heat that reigned as soon as both suns were in the sky; he buried his face deeper in the hood of Ben Kenobi's cloak, taking back the familiar habit of seeking shade wherever he could find it.

"We only lost about a tenth of it," Han said. "Could've been worse. For a while I thought we'd have to throw it all out."

Chewie let out a groan of approval.

None of that reduced the pang of guilt in the pit of Luke's guts, though, as the spice in question had been burnt during his outburst with the Force. He kept silent, walking in front of the others, glad his face was concealed from them.

"But I'm still not sure it's a good idea to visit Jabba inside his lair when he's gonna want our skins for it anyway."

"Trust me," Luke intervened. "I have a plan."

It was the least he could do, considering their cargo loss was his fault. Thankfully, Han didn't argue again.

They arrived in front of the huge gate, which was easily thrice as tall as even Chewbacca. Han reached out and knocked three small times against the door; as soon as he'd retracted his hand, a strange, round microphone came out of it.

"Coo sa uba an choy naga?"

Han cleared his throat before replying.

"Han Solo, with first mate Chewbacca and crew mate Luke. We come to bring Jabba the spice he commissioned us."

Silence on the other end of the line, then the microphone retracted back into the door without an answer.

Han turned towards them, similar confusion on all their faces.

"That went well, I guess?"

Just as Luke was about to answer, a noise made him turn back. In a great ruckus of machinery, the door came up inch by inch, revealing projections down the door that looked a little like the teeth of a wide mouth opening, then stopped at the top with a loud clang.

Chewie said something Luke didn't understand.

"Yeah," Han replied. "Nothing for it."

Cautiously, they entered what looked what a gaping maw, leaving behind the bright and heavy sunlight to enter the shadows. Luke shivered; was it only from the cold, or also from the weight of the atmosphere, he couldn't tell. He wrapped himself tighter in his cloak.

They walked down the corridor, which faintly smelled like mould and rot, before arriving in a wider hall. Several bounty hunters and other criminals were standing in the shadows, faint music playing while dancers were performing. From the corner of his eye, Luke saw Jabba's majordomo, an albino Twi'lek clad in black with pale, long-nailed fingers coming out of fingerless gloves, coming next to them to inquire after their spice; Han gave it to him.

The three of them stepped forward, slalomed between a few gangsters before standing in front of a platform where the enormous Jabba was – sitting? standing? sprawling? It was hard to tell, with the way he occupied the whole space, a huge slimy slug staring down at lesser criminals with his bulbous, glassy eyes.

"Solo!" he exclaimed when he saw them arrive. "Koose uba ma spastika?"

For a second a horrible doubt came into Luke's mind, as he realised he didn't have any of the spice on him any longer; what had they done with it? What had happened?

"Yeah, I did," Han answered, not bothering with formality. "Gave it to big ugly white there."

Luke relaxed. Oh, that was right; they'd given it to Jabba's servant, who currently seemed to be inspecting the bags Han had given him, a frown on his face. He'd seen him do it not five minutes ago.

"Now's make or break," Han whispered to his companions, leaning slightly in Luke's direction while still looking at the scene happening in front of them, all three tense and anticipative.

The Twi'lek – Bib Fortuna, Luke suddenly remembered Han telling him – came closer to Jabba and told him something neither of them could hear. Jabba looked at them again.

"Ya sa con tah haku jee naga!"

Fierfek. He'd noticed. Luke did his best to keep his face impassive.

"Of course it's the amount you wanted," Han replied, his voice forcefully offended in a way that had Luke use all his willpower to hold back a groan. Sure, that was believable. "What do you mean, there's less than you wanted? It's exactly as much as the dealer gave us!"

"Chess ko, Solo," Jabba said, drawing out the name in a threatening way that had Han's badly acted indignation die out. "Nopa foonta sa azalus."

"That wasn't failure! Jabba, I swear. Must be your guy there that took it! Have you seen his eyes, red like that, there's no way he doesn't do spice."

Jabba laughed; but it was a cruel laugh, forced and insincere in an indescribable way, and Luke had a very bad feeling about it. This wasn't going to end well; the Hutt was still entertained, still felt like indulging them, but the unpleasant sensation in the pit of Luke's guts told him it wouldn't last, and they were already as good as dead.

"Han..." he whispered in warning. Unfortunately, Han just ignored him and kept going.

"No, really! You can't just accuse us of stuff like that after so much loyal service, Jabba –"

"Powerful and mighty Jabba," Luke cut him off, deliberately projecting his voice over his. He tried to make a step forward, but Han put a hand on his forearm with a warning glance, then pointed his chin at the ground where Luke was just going to walk. There, carefully hidden, was some sort of grating Luke didn't particularly want to know what was under. He nearly imperceptibly nodded at Han in gratitude before turning back towards Jabba.

"We do not mean to insult you or deceive you in any way – that was the amount your dealer gave us. He told us there may not seem to be as much, but it is of so much better quality that one needs less of it for the same result, and it will be as if you had received more. We, perhaps in ignorance, decided to take the bargain, wanting only the best for Your Exaltedness."

There was a tense silence, during which Luke held Jabba's gaze; then the Hutt spoke again.

"Uba sa ma kankee goo," he said, and the apparent approval reassured Luke somewhat. "Um choy copah che chuba?"

Luke held up his hands in the air.

"I don't ask for more than what was given. We are only the errand boys. We were already lucky to get the stuff. He nearly refused to give it to us, claiming you hadn't paid him his dues – but we knew such a thing couldn't be true of your greatness."

The last sentence Luke couldn't help but let escape in a very pointy and sarcastic way, so that for a second he wondered if he wasn't going too far; Han certainly seemed to seem so, holding Luke's shoulder in a way that made him want to bolt. Thankfully, Jabba only seemed amused by the barb.

"Soong bargon," he said. "Ateema uba ma pateesa. Andoba goola poonoo chone sa mee jewz ku."

Luke had to hold back a sigh of relief. He was letting them go; his bet had paid off.

"Thank you for your magnanimity," Han said with a flourished bow that Luke followed.

But Jabba was no longer listening to them. He waved his hand in dismissal and turned back towards his attendant. Gamorrean guards came threateningly closer to them, pushing them towards the exit, but they didn't need much encouragement to leave the sinister premises.

Luke squinted against the bright light of the desert, the heat of the twin suns, now high in the sky, hitting him in the face.

"I can't believe he didn't even try to have us arrested," Han said. Chewie concurred. "Well done, kid. You had him pretty wrapped around your finger."

Luke ducked his head, both pleased and embarrassed.

"I've lived here most of my life. You learn how to handle him, eventually. Either flattery or brute force tends to do the trick; a mix of both gives the best results."

Han and Chewie exchanged an impressed look.

"Well, you may just have saved our skins," he said. "But maybe we should lay low for a while anyway, just in case he decides he wants our heads after all. What do you think about a change of scenery?"

Chewie expressed his approval. Luke shrugged.

"Sure. I don't like working for Jabba, I'll be happy to move."

Han nodded.

"I have some contacts on Kattada, there's a good spaceport there on which I'm sure we'll find work easily. The Empire usually stays out of those parts."

Chewie expressed his approval. Luke absently acquiesced, staring in front of him. The sky was as blue as it always was, the sand of the dunes shining white-gold at the horizon while the suns rose above their heads, increasing the temperature to soon unbearable levels. Everything about the planet was hostile and wild; Luke remembered the numerous times he'd wanted to leave, back during his childhood, before everything. He thought of his uncle and aunt's farm, abandoned in the middle of the desert, and felt a painful squeeze around his heart.

No, he wouldn't miss Tatooine.

They arrived in the spaceport of Haleoda, the main spaceport of Kattada, after three days. Han didn't push the hyperdrive too much; they still had enough supplies for them not to have to hurry about finding work. Besides, Han was adamant they were going to be employed pretty quickly.

"You're sure this won't end up like your last contact?" Chewbacca asked him sarcastically. "I would like not to repeat the experience. By the way, it's your turn."

Han rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, that was one time," he said, then looked at his pieces on the Dejarik board, before raising his eyes to Chewie again. "How was I supposed to know he'd still be mad at me after all this time?"

Luke snorted a laugh.

"You never expect people to be mad at you, even when they have reasons to."

"Well, she doesn't have any. And she's pretty influential on Kattada, too," Han replied, then moved his Grimtaash. "Look how you react to that, fuzzball!"

Luke rose his eyebrows.

"She?"

"Trouble is guaranteed then," Chewbacca quipped, and Luke was happy to understand the Shyriiwook in the quiet of the ship. He played, and his move made Han groan.

"Damn, hadn't seen that one coming," he mumbled, before registering what his friend had said. "Hey! I do not leave every woman I know on bad terms!"

"Just most of them," Luke retorted. He reached out a hand when he saw what Han was about to do. "Watch out – you're gonna get forked if you do that –"

"I know, I know, I just saw it," Han said, but he retracted himself anyway.

Just at that moment, the hyperspace alarm sounded from the cockpit. Luke turned his head towards it.

"Already? Which jump is it?" Han asked, torn from his game.

Luke bit his lip. Wasn't it the first? He didn't recall any previous alarm...

"The last one," Chewie said to Luke's surprise, rising from his seat and heading towards the cockpit. "We've arrived. I was three moves away from winning anyway."

"Sure," Han said with a falsely exasperated sigh. He exchanged a nonplussed look with Luke, mouthing "I let him win" that Luke absolutely didn't believe, then followed Chewie, the young man close behind him.

Chewbacca was right: in front of them was the turquoise surface of their destination. They launched the landing procedure, both of them operating together while Luke took his place in the seat behind them.

As they approached, they could see the actual land appear in front of them, islands of various shapes and sizes covered in beaches and in luxuriant tropical vegetation. Buildings were scattered here and there among nature; glass roofs supported by metal arcs and arabesques stood in the middle of palm trees and tall, colourful flowers.

They were soon guided to land on one among several circular platforms that seemed to rise directly from the ocean itself, joined together with bridges. The one they came on was a little wider than the Falcon and rather on the outside of the spaceport.

When they left the recycled air of the ship to breathe in the warm and sea-smelling wind, Luke caught himself wishing he was wearing less layers. It was certainly less hot here than on Tatooine, but it was still quite a difference from the cold of space, and he found himself wishing he could enjoy it fully. Still, he didn't dare take off his hood, out of fear onlookers would catch sight of his face. He was aware the fact he was travelling with Han and Chewbacca must be a certain giveaway for anybody truly looking for him, but that reasoning didn't make him feel more comfortable coming in full view of people.

They had only taken a few steps off the ship when what seemed to be a greeting party came in their direction. Four of the people were clad in the same blue tunic, baggy trousers and boots, with fezzes on their heads that had scarves descending in their backs to the middle of their shoulders. Out of the other three, one was a man with a cap and a dark brown vest; the others were women dressed in light and airy clothes, suitable for leisure and holiday in such a climate. One was blonde and wore a salmon one-piece suit with wide trouser legs; the other, about a couple inches less tall, had elaborately braided brown hair and a white long-skirted dress, that with its high collar and long sleeves would have looked too warm for the weather if it hadn't seemed to be made of the finest silk.

"Han!" the blonde woman came forward, with an assurance and a confidence that spoke of a position of authority. "What a good surprise! It has been forever since you visited Kattada. Is that a new ship?"

Han exchanged a discreet "I told you so" look with Chewbacca. Luke was only half reassured, considering the sharp, inquisitive look the woman was gauging him with, and that he did his best to meet without showing any of his own wariness. She hadn't said anything, and was acting outwardly nice and relaxed, but Luke could see in her posture that she didn't trust him; that was fair, he guessed, considering he trusted her no more.

"Yeah," Han replied, completely oblivious to the quiet exchanged transpiring between his contact and his newest crew mate. "She's a beauty, huh?"

"You could say that," the woman replied, and Luke had to hold in a snort. She exchanged an amused glance with him, but didn't seem to drop any of her walls otherwise. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for work," Han replied. "I remember Haleoda to be quite the haven, the last time I came here, as much for its hospitality as for its opportunities. You showed me most of them, back then... tell me, how's life treating you?"

"Quite well, thank you," she smiled, full of teeth as a shark's, and Luke wondered if she had once been a smuggler too. "As it happens, I've recently been elected leader of this city – so you could say I'm in charge these days. And you? I see you've made quite a few upgrades too. New ship, new... crew members?"

Her gaze drifted to Luke again, and this time Han took the hint.

"Oh, right, you haven't met Luke and Chewbacca. We've been travelling together for a while now," he said, but Luke was most grateful for what he didn't – that he'd known Chewie for much longer than Luke, and that Luke had only come onboard a few weeks prior, for all that it felt longer. "Luke, Chewie, this is Mia Ikova."

"Very pleased to meet you, Chewbacca, Luke," Mia Ikova said, shaking their hands. She had a firm grip Luke did his best to match, but he couldn't read anything behind her apparent cordiality. He hoped she wasn't secretly an Imperial or a sympathiser, or that she wasn't aware of the bounty on his head...

No. this was ridiculous, of course. Han wouldn't bring him into a lion's den. And the lady seemed rich enough not to need to sell out someone like him for sustenance...

Still, it didn't prevent his guts from tightening and his brain from working on hyperdrive.

"I must say you couldn't have come at a better time," she turned back to Han. "I also have someone to introduce you to. She's looking for a discrete and trustworthy smuggler for a job she didn't have time to tell me anything about yet."

As she talked, the other woman came closer, and Luke immediately understood what was going on: during the usual greetings, she had been watching and listening, deliberately staying away and making her own opinion while Mia Ikova took all of their attention. Now that she actually wanted to be seen, however, she exuded an aura of power that was difficult to ignore, greater even than the other woman's. It was clear she was used to commanding.

"I'm Leia of Alderaan," she said, shaking each of their hands.

Oh. Luke had thought he recognised her. Han raised an eyebrow, smirking, a strange light in his eye. He wasn't so unsubtle or rude as to check her out, but Luke pointedly refrained from exchanging a glance with Chewbacca anyway; it was obvious he wasn't indifferent to her.

There would be much teasing about it, later. Han had a talent to be attracted to the most unlikely people, but an actual princess was a new one.

"Alderaan, huh? That's a long way from here."

Leia didn't seem unbalanced by Han's obvious interest. She offered him a small smirk of her own, but remained otherwise completely serious.

"Indeed. I am on a mission of the highest importance, Captain. Mia greatly sung your praises to me; I hope you will measure up to the task."

Han clearly seemed torn between being charmed or annoyed.

"Bring it on, princess, I'm sure there's nothing you can ask that'll intimidate me."

This time, Luke couldn't resist rolling his eyes. Next to him, Chewie discretely chuckled.

Still, Luke hoped he hadn't forgotten what they were here for, and wouldn't rashly agree to anything without consulting them. They'd talk to him about it, of course, but Luke would rather avoid the awkwardness.

"Not here," Mia Ikova intervened. "We'll be much better in the comfort of my palace, don't you think?"

"Certainly," Leia agreed before they could get a word in. Luke felt intensely uneasy at the thought of having to follow them blindly; he threw a look at Han, but he only seemed mildly irritated about it.

He decided to go along with it for now, despite all his gut feelings. These had been wrong before, and he didn't really have a choice, did he?

Luke kept a discrete hand on his blaster during the whole short speeder trip to Mia Ikova's castle, a dark green building in the same style as the spaceport, with ivy climbing on its front. For a second, Luke thought they were going to be asked to leave their weapons out, and he was relieved when no such request was made of them. They entered through the front entrance and were led to a wide conservatory giving view on a luxurious garden, furnished with comfortable seats, some of the local plants, and a table on which refreshments were set.

"Please make yourselves at home," Mia Ikova told them, opening a bottle. "Our Telatti fruit is of season, and our wine is local too."

Luke declined, still unable to get rid of his wariness, although he did take off his cloak. The princess also turned the drink down, but Han and Chewie both accepted a glass.

"So, down to business," Mia Ikova said, turning towards Leia. "Why don't you tell us more about that mysterious job of yours?"

The princess gave her a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"I need certain shipment delivered in a high-risk sector," she said, looking at the three of them, "somewhere I cannot go myself."

That hint of challenge came onto Han's face once more, even as he relaxed into his seat. Luke was certain the "high-risk sector" part of Leia's sentence hadn't even registered in his brain. He sought Chewbacca's gaze, desperate to know if he wasn't the only one with a modicum of self-preservation.

"How much for it?" Han lazily asked, but there was no fooling his crewmates. His attraction to this girl is going to get us killed, Luke thought, his heart accelerating in fear. He's going to want to take it no matter how much she asks, just to impress her.

"Eight thousand, all paid in advance."

At that even Luke and Chewbacca sat a little straighter. Okay, that was already a better argument.

"Tell us more," Han continued in his drawl that Luke had learnt to recognise as meaning I am very interested but don't want you to see it. "What's in this shipment and where do you need us to bring it?"

"It's medical supplies and spare parts. Nothing incriminating on its own. But I need it to reach the insurgents on Ralltiir... past the Imperial blockade."

A cold chill ran down Luke's spine.

"No. That's out of the question," he snapped. "We won't do it."

He kept his eyes on the frowning princess, ignoring the astonished gazes of the others he could feel on him.

"Eight thousand credits, Luke. Can we perhaps think about it a little more before refusing –"

"She wants us to get past an Imperial blockade!"

Luke exchanged a pleading look with Han, then Chewie. Febrile anger was rising from inside him, as well as a certainty: they couldn't take this job.

"That's doable with a few tricks. Believe me, I don't want to get caught any more than you do –"

"That'll be without me," Luke said, suddenly fed up with the whole thing. Overwhelmed with a need to move, he rose from his seat and took a few steps away from them. "I'm not taking any part in this."

He took a deep breath, rolled his stiff shoulders, clenched and unclenched his fists before clasping his hands together in front of him. It infuriated him that Han and Chewie were even considering this, couldn't they see how terrible an idea it was –

"Luke..."

"I thought you had no love for the Empire," the princess intervened, glancing at Mia Ikova before her eyes settled back on Luke.

Luke held her gaze as she calculated, gauged him. A wave of fury rushed over him.

"I am no Rebel," he spat before he could help himself.

She jerked and stiffened, her gaze colder than ever, and Luke wondered with some astonishment if he had perhaps hit the nail right on its head.

For a second, he wondered if she was going to try to have them killed for compromising her secret, for refusing a job she clearly couldn't afford people knowing about. His hand jerked upwards, but he stopped himself short of showing he'd been reaching for his blaster.

"I see," she said, regal and judgemental in a way that made Luke's blood boil.

He turned away from her and took a few angry steps, enraged for a reason he couldn't understand. What nerve she had, asking this of them! Why couldn't she go herself if it was that important, instead of putting them at risk, instead of nearly tricking them into helping Rebels?

No. Luke refused it. He'd fallen low – living on the run, in criminality, heck, taking jobs from kriffing Jabba the Hutt – but not that low. Not low enough to work for Rebels. The very thought infuriated him to a point he knew to be ridiculous, but he couldn't help it.

"Well, I guess I will just have to find someone else," the princess said. "In the meantime –"

Luke didn't hear the rest of her sentence. A tug on his mind sent his heart racing, his limbs freezing.

That sensation...

No, no, no, no, no –

Without thinking, he came next to Han and grabbed his arm, panic searing his mind.

"We've got to leave," he said, his voice strangled.

He tried to withdraw from the Force, to control its pull on him. But he didn't have any power over it, just like he hadn't for months. It grew, inflated with his fear, and he was helpless before it.

The presence was still there, dark and commanding tendrils wrapping around his own, searching contact, familiar and terrifying.

Blood was climbing up the back of his throat, and his knees buckled before he managed to steady them with great difficulty. He was going to be sick.

"Luke? Luke, are you all right? Luke?"

He barely heard Han talk to him, spots dancing before his vision. He couldn't breathe.

No – no – go away – go away –

"Madam Ikova," an unknown man's voice registered distantly, as if through a broken comm, and yet his words threw ice into Luke's veins. "There was an Imperial communication – a Star Destroyer has just entered orbital space –"

Luke grabbed Han's shirt with white-knuckled fists, leaning on him for support. "We've got to leave now," he repeated, frantic, throwing an imploring look at him, then at Chewie. The presence was still grabbing at his mind, parasitic and overbearing. He couldn't breathe.

"He's here."

Chapter Text

"He's here? What do you mean, who's here?" Han asked, gripping Luke's shoulders.

In. Out. In. Out. Luke couldn't answer him, too busy focusing on his breath, reminding himself he needed to breathe so he wouldn't stop doing it altogether. He hated that noise, hated hearing the air travel through his nose, loud and rasping. He was suffocating, the walls were closing in on him, he was going to throw up...

He was coming. He had to stop thinking about it, he needed to act, or else –

Or else –

"Please, Han." Luke couldn't care less about the pathetic pleading squeak his voice was reduced to. Too much depended on this. "We need to raise ship now."

"I fear it's already too late," Mia Ikova intervened. "The Imperials are landing. They've forbidden all ships to leave atmosphere."

His heart sank in his chest, his thoughts freezing as the presence brushed against his mind again, closer, much too close, triumphant like a krayt dragon knowing his prey is trapped. A cold shudder ran through Luke's spine.

"Then there is nothing to do but to face them," Leia said.

"No," Luke let go of his grip on Han's shirt to face Leia. A frenzied fury took hold of him, chasing all traces of fear as quickly as they'd appeared with narrow-minded focus. "No. We need to fight and get away."

"He's right," said Mia Ikova. "You mustn't be found here. The circumstances are too incriminating. The Imperials will arrest you..."

"Let them. I won't allow you and your people be punished for my actions."

Luke stared at her determined face, the stubborn set of her jaw, the haughty yet grave tilt of her head. How sheltered did she have to be, how naïve, how stupid...?

"You're deluded," he snapped. "They'll be punished anyway, simply for letting us here. If we stay, we'll all be captured."

He gritted his teeth, trying to figure out how to put into words what they risked, the horror waiting for them aboard that Star Destroyer. Shivers of terror ran across his entire body at the thought. He couldn't – he couldn't –

Why was he even trying? They weren't going to believe him, he realised, his stomach sinking, the helpless rage building inside his guts. They didn't trust him, had no reason to trust him but they must, they needed to leave, he would make them if that was the last thing he did...

The princess crossed her arms, pinched her lips. "I'm sure I can talk our way out of this. I have several times before. Their hands are tied; the Senate won't stand for this –"

"It doesn't matter!" Luke shouted, voice angry and hoarse, and she started. "It won't stop them! They'll arrest us, they'll do everything they want to us and there's nothing your stupid Senate will do to stop them. You don't want to risk it. We need to move, we need to get out now!"

She just stared at him, taken aback, and Luke held back a scream of frustration. His heart pounded in panic; pins and needles of restlessness ran through his shaking limbs, he swallowed blood at the back of his throat, rubbed his cold wrists. The dark tendrils were still there, seeking him; he desperately held them at bay, but knew it was only a matter of time until he succumbed.

This was a nightmare. He couldn't go through this again. It couldn't be happening, he wasn't going to stay here bickering only for the Empire to pluck him like a flower –

"In any case, we need to go back to the spaceport," Mia Ikova said. "I can drop you by your ship there and go on my way to welcome them. I'll buy you as much time as I can."

Relief and gratitude overwhelmed Luke, who let out a sigh. Finally, someone who understood the gravity of the situation, the terrible danger they were all in.

Luke couldn't get captured again. He knew all too well what would happen if he did – what would happen to all of them...

No. They would get out of here.

Luke didn't remember most of the speeder ride. He couldn't recall climbing into the vehicle, couldn't recall what was said during that time. The whole thing seemed to last only a moment, during which he alternated during intense panic and intense hope, between a strong feeling of optimism and a looming sense of doom, alternating so quickly it gave him nausea.

And always, always, the dark and sickening tendrils were wrapping around him like possessive tentacles, not wanting to let go.

Luke...

No. Go away. I won't let you, I won't let you –

Just a little more time. Just a few more minutes and they'll be off-planet...

But the moment that should have brought him relief doused him in the cold shower of despair instead.

He didn't see the Falcon resting there on the platform. He didn't see the other ship next to her, her white paint with lines of red and the three staggered rows of reactors behind her. Instead, his eyes were riveted on the Imperial shuttle landed next to these, on the white troops coming out of her like a swarm of bugs, forcing them out of the speeder with their hands in the air and blocking any escape...

And on the tall black shape whose silhouette he knew all too well, whose black mask kept him from sleep, whose cape floated behind him like a flag. A nexus of Force was swirling around him, a whirlwind of dark intent all focused on Luke, a black hole waiting to swallow him, to capture and crush him.

Luke gasped. He felt the blood leave his face, his heart painfully thump in his throat. His limbs shook so hard he could barely control them; his wrists were bound in cold restraints, there was drumming in his ears, iron in his mouth...

Peace, young one.

Luke closed his eyes and let out a whimper.

No. No. Please no...

"Lord Vader," Leia addressed him, still regal despite being held at blaster point. The masked gaze was forced away from Luke, Vader's attention divided, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief. "What brings you out here, in this sector?"

"You do, Your Highness," Vader replied. Luke flinched, terror seizing the deepest pit of his stomach at the sound of the booming voice. He had forgotten how fearsome it was... "You should never have left Ralltiir when I had ordered your ship searched. That oversight shall now be fixed."

Leia gritted her teeth.

"Ralltiir is under the jurisdiction of Lord Tion. The leave I received from him was perfectly legal."

"His influence doesn't extend past that system," Vader countered, taking a step forward. "I will know what is that cargo of yours that you are so eager to hide. Finally, we will have proof of your involvement with the Rebellion."

Luke hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller, tried lowering his hands before the violent push of a blaster between his ribs forced him in his previous position with a jolt of fear. If only Vader could forget about him...

But the dark presence was still weighing on him, pinning him like a fly. Luke couldn't move, could barely breathe.

The man from earlier, the one with the cap and the vest that had accompanied them to Mia Ikova's castle and was clearly serving the princess, took her forearm and leant in to whisper something to her.

"Your Highness, the Rebel from Ralltiir, Basso, is still on board, as well as our supplies."

The princess gave him a light nod, her face growing even more serious.

"We need to prevent them from going on board," she whispered back, her lips barely moving.

Luke didn't really see how that was possible; troopers surrounded them, their white armour forming a tightening circle around them while others were already going up the ramp of the princess' ship.

"But enough of this," Vader waved. "It is, in fact, very fortunate that your presence led me here."

And then Vader was facing Luke again, and all breath left Luke's lungs as if the air had been sucked from around him, leaving only deep cold in his bones. He couldn't move, hopelessly trapped as he watched the soulless eyes of the mask stare at him, the man-shaped monster take a step in his direction.

Shudders ran through him, the Force oily and dark and agitated, ready to blow up in an instant. He could feel it touch him, knew its terrible power, the way it could tear at his mind and rip at his defences in unspeakable pain...

I won't let you, I won't, I won't –

"Skywalker. At last, we meet again."

Through the haze that had overcome Luke, he could feel Vader's triumph and relief, the certainty of Luke's capture. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

No –

No –

This wasn't over –

Calm down. You will not come to harm. I wish only to protect you.

Waves of soothing intention crashed against Luke's mind, and he jumped against the intrusion.

Unbearable pain in his skull, his head burning, his body frozen, he couldn't move, couldn't struggle, could only scream in agony –

Before he could think, he violently pushed back the attack on his mind. He threw himself forward with a hoarse cry, and fired.

Once, twice, five times, ten, he pulled the trigger as he advanced on Vader, teeth gritted, both hands shaking and gripping his blaster. His mind was buzzing with fear and rage, barely registering that none of it seemed to have any effect on his enemy.

No more, no more –

"Han! Chewie! Go to the Falcon!"

His cry was cut off by the blaster flying out of his hands and into Vader's. Without missing a beat, Luke reached to his belt and charged forward, swinging the blue blade above his head.

Red met it.

Surprise came from Vader, along with something like pride that Luke had often felt during their training sessions together. For half a second, he remembered their very few sparring sessions, before everything, the fun he had and his satisfaction when his commanding officer told him he'd progressed...

Then he nearly failed to block Vader's blow, and all that was at stake crashed down on him once more.

Around him, chaos had broken out. He could see the princess had broken out a blaster as well; she was fighting next to Han and Chewie, who was wrestling with the troopers who tried to hold them still, while the other woman and the guards were busy on the other side of the platform.

Luke, listen to me –

He did his best to ignore the new flash of panic Vader's voice ignited in him. He had to get away from here –

He stumbled backwards, tripped and fell down, his weapon cluttering away under the pressure of Vader's attacks.

"Luke!"

He heard Han call his name frantically, but couldn't tear his gaze away from Vader as he towered over him. Luke's father's lightsabre flew into his hand, and he looked down at it with something like shock.

A foreign burst of anger and incomprehension sprung towards Luke, whose breath caught in his throat, a shiver running down his spine –

No no no no no –

His memories were made of pain, his every thought burnt, his entire body was on fire as the tendrils crashed against his mind, excruciating –

He crawled backwards, frantic for an escape. He grasped at the Force, but it uselessly swirled around him, around them, out of reach. Vader, on the other hand, only had to reach out to immobilise Luke.

Luke forgot how to breathe. He was so cold – the room was so small – his wrists were trapped –

"You are beaten. It would be in your best interest to surrender," Vader said, still advancing towards him. Luke gritted his teeth, chasing the flashes of sensation away.

"Never," he spat.

Luke, Vader's presence whispered against his mind once more.

With a roar, Luke lashed out.

The ground shook, troopers shouted. A bright explosion came from the Imperial shuttle, smoke escaping from it. Vader himself lost his footing and fell to the ground.

Luke jumped to his feet and reached out to get his lightsabre back. Everything around him was made of fire and explosions, the platform rocking under his feet. A call had him turn his head; he ran and sprang on the open ramp of the Falcon. Chewie caught him and hauled him inside, punching the ramp closed.

"Get away from here, I'll take the guns," he said to nobody in particular. Chewie growled an affirmative to him, squeezing his arm, to which Luke answered with a smile.

It was a little easier to see what was happening, from here. The Alderaanian ship had also risen, she was shooting at Vader's shuttle in earnest now that Luke was out of the way.

Gripping the controls so tight he could barely feel his knuckles, Luke fired at the Imperials too. Each piece of damage he did was a relief, and he threw himself into it with abandon.

They were going to leave. They were going to escape. Luke wasn't going back, wasn't being captured again –

A brush against his mind made him yelp. His shot missed, especially with the ship moving as fast as she did to escape enemy blasters, and reached the Alderaanian ship instead.

Luke, listen to me!

His breath caught up again. No, that was impossible, why couldn't he leave him alone –

"Kid, everything all right?"

Luke couldn't answer, barely registered Han's voice in the headpiece. He could feel the bond he shared with Vader more clearly than he had any time in the past few months; it was thrumming, pulsating.

Luke. You are in danger. You –

Leave me ALONE!

Luke closed his eyes with a hoarse scream and clamped down on the bond with all his strength. It resisted for a second before deflating and withering like a root torn out of the soil, cut off.

The ship vibrated and shot forward; Luke opened his eyes just in time to see the stars lengthen into the threads of hyperspace.

In his mind, there was blessed silence and solitude.

Luke leant his head against the back of his seat and closed his eyes, keenly feeling his heart beating in his temples. His breath was ragged and shallow, coming in quick gasps through his dry mouth and throat. He let himself stay motionless for a moment as he endured the waves of relief that came over him, his mouth half-open, his whole body shaking like a leaf.

They were free. They were alive.

He was beginning to feel a little better when sounds of footsteps made him jump and look up like a tooka in a speeder's lamplights.

"Luke? You still alive there?"

Luke relaxed with a sigh. He nodded, shooting Han a smile. With more care than he should need, because his limbs were still trembling far more than they were supposed to, he grasped the ladder and started climbing out of the turret before falling into Han's arms, barely holding himself upright.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. We all made it out," Han said, patting him awkwardly on the back.

Were he slightly less shaken, Luke supposed he'd have been mortified to be in this position; given a few more seconds, he was still probably going to be. As it was, he just clung to Han as tightly as he could, absorbing the much-needed comfort like a sponge.

They'd made it out. This was real.

But it had been so close.

Their escape came back to Luke in a flash, each moment where they'd nearly been captured an icy arrow in his limbs. Late panic overwhelmed him like a tide, and he only had time to rush to the fresher, stumbling over his buckling knees and reaching the bowl just in time.

"Luke?" he heard Han ask behind him, bewildered.

Luke let out a moan then threw up once more, black dots dancing in front of his eyes. To his surprise, there was no blood coming out of his mouth, only remains of his last meal, despite the potent taste of iron he could feel in the back of his throat with his nausea. Tension went out of him as quickly as the content of his bowels, leaving him weak and shaking. His head was pounding; he could still see Vader's huge silhouette towering over him, could hear his breath rasping in his ears, could see himself in that dark little cell –

No.

He'd escaped. They'd all escaped. They were safe. It was over.

A hand was running soothing circles on his back.

"It's okay, it's okay, you're fine now," Han said. Luke could still hear the confusion in his voice.

"They're everywhere," he whispered, unable to speak any louder. He straightened up, wiped tears from his cheeks, which had overflowed due to the violence of his stomach's reaction. "How can we escape them when they're everywhere –"

His breath picked up again, the walls closing in on him as he realised how hopeless his flight was. The Empire was so powerful... how long could he outrun them? How many close calls like this before they finally caught up with him?

He could still see Vader, looming in front of him, and he'd been so close –

"Hey, hey. We've escaped them, we've done it, okay? We're not going back. You don't have to worry about it."

"But I do... Han – I'm putting you all in danger – he's looking for me, it's me he wants –"

"Shhhh," the smuggler soothed him. His hand on Luke's back was grounding, and Luke leant into it. "It's over. Don't think about it."

He held out a glass of water which Luke gratefully took. It rinsed the disgusting stench in his mouth and helped calm the stinging at the back of his throat; for some reason, it quieted his breath a little, too.

"You good?" Han asked, concern in his gaze. "Stomach settled?"

Luke looked away and closed his eyes in embarrassment, but still nodded, feeling uncomfortably exposed. He couldn't believe Han and Chewie had seen him like this. What were they going to say? They'd realise how weak he was – moreover, they had to know now that Vader was looking for him now. Were they going to leave him in the next spaceport, so he would no longer endanger them? Luke wouldn't blame them for it...

Or worse... Vader had called him by his family name. Would they realise who he was and hand him over to the Empire to collect his bounty? Luke didn't know how much it was – but he didn't doubt it was significant...

His heart quickened a little bit, but he was too exhausted to really worry about it now. His muscles ached as if he'd run for hours, his limbs heavy as if they were made of lead. There wasn't much place in him for any emotion other than numbness and vague despair.

If that was to be his fate, so be it. There was nothing he could do or say to change it, anyway.

"Come, then. We'll be more comfortable in the passenger hold than here on the deck."

Luke nodded again and let Han help him to his feet. He made a point to walk by himself the short distance that separated him from the couch in the ship's passenger hold, though. No need for them to see him even weaker than he was.

Chewie asked after him in concern, and Luke reassured him with a smile, letting himself fall down on the seat with a sigh of relief. If he closed his eyes now, he was sure he'd fall asleep in a moment.

"So..." he said instead. "Where to, now?"

Han and Chewie exhanged a glance, looked at him again. Han was about to say something when a familiar bleep made Luke turn his head on the side in astonishment.

There, rolling and twittering towards him, was a droid he hadn't thought he'd see again.

"Weefour!"

The little astromech let out an enthusiastic whistle. Luke put both hands on his dome and looked at him in wonder, laughing in disbelief.

"Yeah, we picked up a couple more guests on the way. You know that droid?" Han asked.

"Yes. Yes, he's an old friend of mine," Luke said, unable to repress his grin while he addressed Weefour again. "How did you get here? I thought you'd still be on Devastator!"

Weefour was interrupted by Han.

"He stowed away, Chewie just found him a minute ago in the cargo hold. We were wondering what to do with him, if he wasn't a plant."

Luke felt as if he'd been doused in cold water. Weefour was still an Imperial droid; it wasn't completely unreasonable to think he'd have a tracker in him.

"You're right. You're going to let Han and Chewie check you for bugs, okay, buddy?"

He was relieved when the little droid expressed his agreement; he said something about following Vader to his shuttle to keep Luke safe, which made him smile.

"That doesn't answer the previous question," Chewie said. "I've set a temporary hyperspace course along the Hydian Way, but we should decide on a destination. Since we decided to avoid Tatooine for awhile, and Han's plan on Haleoda blew up in our faces... where should we go?"

The previous hopeless despair overwhelmed Luke again.

"I don't know," he quietly said, absently staring down at his fidgeting hands. "I don't know where we can go to escape the Empire."

There was a long, heavy silence, only broken by Weefour's soft, inquiring bleeps. Luke glanced up, afraid of what he'd find on the smugglers' faces; they looked as low-spirited and short on ideas as he was.

It was his fault that they were in this predicament in the first place, he realised. Without him, none of it would ever have happened. They would be thriving, taking up any jobs they wanted and not caring more about the Empire than the average citizen. It wasn't fair for them to be caught up in Luke's own problems with the Empire. They had already been so kind to him, Luke couldn't burden them more than necessary.

"You should drop me in a spaceport somewhere," he said, swallowing the tightness in his throat. It was the right thing to do. "You know Vader's after me, now. You're not safe as long as I stay with you. I shouldn't have imposed on you in the first place."

"What?" Han replied, looking genuinely surprised – and a little offended. "No, no way – kid, don't talk nonsense, you're part of the crew, we stick together. We're not exactly on the legal side of things, either, in case you hadn't noticed. We'll just lay low for a while, find a nice place where there's work for us..."

"But where?" Luke couldn't help interrupting. He could feel anxiety taking hold of him again, the terrible certainty that sooner or later he'd end up in the Empire's clutches again, the helpless determination not to. "The Empire is so powerful – there's not a sector in the galaxy where they're not –"

"That's exaggerating," Han mumbled, cutting him off, but the heart wasn't in it.

There was a silence as the three of them racked their brain for a solution; but Luke knew, deep inside, that there wasn't one. The Empire was all-powerful. It was impossible to escape them on the long run. Luke could try – he would try, he didn't have a choice, but he knew how this was bound to end.

He'd just rather not think about it.

"I think I might be able to help," said a woman's voice, so unexpected it made Luke jump.

It was the princess of Alderaan, a commlink in her hand, walking out of the captain's cabin. She came towards them, offering them a smile that, despite being genuine, was too thin to conceal the shadows of worry on her face. Luke stared at her, his eyes wide, wondering when she came on board, how he hadn't heard her.

However, her next words raised a whole new set of questions, far more urgent.

"I do know a place where there is no Imperial presence whatsoever."

Chapter Text

Once more, the boy's ship had disappeared from the sky. Vader had tried to hold her back, to use the Force and keep his son close where he could protect him, but Luke's half-trained efforts had prevented him from doing so.

He let his hand clutch into a fist and violently brought it down, whirling on his feet and surveying the docking bay around him. His shuttle was the most severely hit: smoke was rising from the hull, and Vader highly suspected the reactors were hit. He would have to requisition a Kattadan ship or ask for another shuttle to be sent to get back to his Star Destroyer, which was waiting in orbit. He would need to have a stern word with his officers, if they hadn't even been able to stop one cargo ship from getting past them.

But then, he should have expected nothing less from his son.

He touched their bond, prodded it a little. There was no reaction from the other side; Vader knew the connection was still there, but it was subdued, distant, and he could feel nothing from it.

This day wouldn't be completely wasted, however, he thought while watching the Alderaanian ship which had crashed a little farther. Luke's freighter had inadvertently hit her, and she was as unable to fly as Vader's shuttle was.

Dark triumph washed over him, feeding from his anger and frustration. At last, he would have proof of the princess' long-suspected treachery.

"Search that ship. Bring me all the suspicious cargo you find and take the crew into custody."

His men hurried to obey at his curt gesture, stepping over the bodies of the local guards. A little farther, the leader of the spaceport was lying motionless, a pool of blood under her. They looked like they had been shot down while trying to reach the Alderaanian ship. A shame; Vader would have liked the opportunity to interrogate them...

As he would have the princess. With the evidence he was sure to find, even the Senate couldn't have denied him that.

But the princess was gone. Her security detail had made sure of it; while he was busy battling his son, they had sacrificed themselves to give her the chance to board the freighter that had also taken Luke.

If there had been any remaining doubt that the boy was a Rebel traitor, the way he and his crew had rescued the princess from the Empire's grasp would have dispelled it forever.

Had he been a Jedi apprentice all along?

No. A Rebel was one thing; but certainly Vader would have noticed if he had previous training in the Force, wouldn't have been fooled that thoroughly. He had wondered before and dismissed the possibility; surely that hadn't been a mistake on his end. The question remained, however, of when and where he had acquired the lightsabre; but he didn't seem all that proficient in wielding it, no more than the few lessons Vader himself had imparted to him. His movements were still too wide, not precise enough, exactly like the last time they had sparred, before everything...

A new wave of anger washed over him, cold and ruthless. He'd tried to reassure Luke. He'd reached out to him, made his intentions clear, and still his son had harboured no thought but that of getting away from him. He hadn't even listened, didn't know that the Emperor himself was searching for him, that he'd be safer, far safer back with Vader –

But the boy had rejected him once again. Even now, as he desperately reached out towards their bond, he received no answer, and was left with the bitter after-taste of his terror.

As if Vader was a mortal enemy. As if he wasn't currently doing everything in his power to protect him, as if he wasn't disobeying his master and taking extraordinary risks for his sake, as if he hadn't already saved his life.

And now Luke was off in the wide galaxy again, at the mercy of any officer that would have seen the Emperor's decree demanding his death. The thought struck at his heart in terror. Any moment could see his demise, and there was nothing he could do, not even amend the order for him to be brought in alive and in his own custody instead...

Again the haunting image rose unbidden before his eyes, of Luke lying prone in his own blood, motionless, two blast holes in his back.

No. That wouldn't happen. He would get Luke back, even if he had to capture him against his will. Surely it wasn't too late to make him see reason, in a moment where he wasn't in the heat of a fight. He'd trusted him before; there was no reason Vader couldn't make him understand. It was for his own good.

"My lord." The troops' officer approached him. "We have found several medi-packs, three surgical field stations, as well as spare parts and power units closely resembling those used in military material in the Rebellion."

Vader let a vicious smile appear under the mask. Medical equipment... suited for use on a battlefield.

There. He had her at last.

If only he had her in custody, too... but it was only a question of time now. Nothing would protect her any more.

"There was also a wounded man in a bacta tank. He appears to be of Ralltiir, and we strongly suspect him to be a Rebel."

That was surprising. Why would they take one refugee with them – and use precious bacta on him no less? Why take that risk when they were already in danger, and when the man probably would have been safer on his homeworld?

Unless...

"He must know something. Take him out of the bacta. I will question him myself."

And he was going to do it now. He wouldn't have access to an IT-O droid nor to any mind-probe drugs, but it didn't matter. There was no need for it. Besides, he could feel ants crawling under his skin, an excess of energy only too eager to be released. This was the perfect opportunity to do so.

He entered the small ship as the man was lifted out of the tank, coughing and spluttering in disorientation. Despite his youth – he couldn't be more than nine or ten years older than his son – the man was bald, his skin tanned, a ring of symbols tattooed around his skull. He was completely naked, except for a piece of underwear that had also supported him while he was dunked.

Before he could catch his breath, he was brought to his knees at Vader's feet. The Sith Lord roughly caught his chin in his hand, without giving him time to pull himself together.

"Why did Princess Leia take you aboard her ship?"

The man swallowed, averted his gaze, and said nothing.

"I repeat my question," Vader growled. He grasped the man's chin tighter, eliciting a grimace from him. "What are you doing aboard the princess' ship?"

He shot a dark tendril of the Force outwards and wrapped it around his mind, seeking entrance between walls built of steely fear. The prisoner grunted. He opened his mouth as if to speak, took a breath, then spat on Vader's boots.

Vader saw red. He put his hand around the man's neck and squeezed, punishing him for the insult.

"What. Are you doing. Aboard this ship?!"

Still the man stayed silent, eyes down, his brow furrowed in anguish and effort. Vader lashed out at him in the Force, ripped and struck and tore at his mind, his rage relishing the rush of power and pain –

"No, no please –"

"I'm innocent, I'm loyal, I never betrayed you –"

"Please, I SWEAR –"

The man still hadn't uttered a word when Vader shattered his skull against the ground.

"I do know a place where there is no Imperial presence whatsoever."

The princess looked pale, her brow furrowed. It was obvious something was worrying her. And yet here she was, offering them exactly what they needed... or was it?

Luke frowned, staring at her, his hand still on the dome of his little droid friend. How had she managed to get on board? And when?

First Weefour, then her... And Luke had no idea how it happened. Their escape had been such a blur. He barely remembered anything of it, except the panic and the huge shape of Vader reaching out to capture him. It was disorienting, as if he'd lost a part of his life, as if there was an amount of time everybody had lived but him, even though he should have.

He wanted to ask Han or Chewie about it, to get these precious minutes back, to dispel the impression of loss and emptiness he felt.

Instead he scoffed.

"Some Rebel stronghold, I bet," he spat. "Or another miracle."

The princess pursed her lips.

"If my offer doesn't satisfy you, you are more than welcome to go back where you came from, although I would kindly ask you to drop me in another spaceport before."

"Oh, so now you consider the danger? What happened to 'the Senate will protect me', to 'I won't allow you to be punished for my actions'? You were the one who led them to us!"

He was lashing out, he knew he was. This was unfair, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop.

"And now I am offering you to lead you away from them," she said, her tone as calm and patient as it had been since the start. It drove Luke up the wall.

A warm weight on Luke's shoulder stopped whatever he'd been about to retort. He looked up; Chewie growled a soft reassurance, squeezing his shoulder. Luke offered him a tiny smile and leant in his grounding grasp. The princess was still looking at him, studying him, her expression unreadable.

"We'll hear it," Han said. The princess turned towards him, and Luke felt the muscles of his shoulders relax.

"I just managed to raise my father, Viceroy Bail. My ship made contact with him, but too late. They never made it off Kattada."

Luke tried to repress the flash of vague guilt that had awakened in him at these words. That was bad news indeed...

"At this time, Vader must have found our cargo. I would offer to take you to Alderaan, but I am afraid this means I am compromised. My father forbade me to return, lest the Imperials be waiting for me there."

"So where would you take us?" Luke asked.

Leia didn't immediately answer. She looked at him for a while longer, biting her lower lip.

"I would rather not trust you with this information, but I have no other choice. You are my only hope."

"So it is a Rebel base," Luke cut her off in disbelief. "That's your idea of a safe place?"

"You won't find much safer, or rather a place that has more interest to keep hidden from the Empire. We're prepared to evacuate swiftly if need be, and we have many soldiers dedicated to protecting it. You need not fear to be caught there."

Luke scoffed, rolled his eyes and turned away from her. A Rebel base, a safe place. As if the Empire wasn't looking for it most zealously. Being caught there was an assured death sentence.

"That's an awful risk you're taking there, Your Highnessness," Han intervened, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. "I'm sure the Empire would pay a heavy price for this information."

"And if I understand well, so would your friend, if you went to them to sell it."

Luke, Han and Chewie exchanged a glance. She was right, of course. Ice settled into Luke's entrails once more.

The princess was still looking at him, her head tilted on the side as if she was trying to decipher him.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?"

The laugh that escaped Luke at that was harsh and strained, and surprised him as much as Leia seemed to be.

"No. No, I'm certainly no Jedi." He rose up, started pacing across the passenger hold. "Neither am I a Rebel. I won't go there."

"You won't be asked to serve," Leia said, frowning. "If you could only bring me there, you would be granted shelter and due compensation. We will not force you to fight."

"I don't want to associate with Rebels at all," Luke spat. "I won't do business with a band of terrorists and murderers, of irresponsible agitators too busy with their high-and-mighty ideals to realise the true cost of their actions."

He held the princess' icy gaze with a glare of his own, aware he'd just insulted her but unable to care. Restless anger was invading his bones once more, like ants in his limbs that made him want to scream, to fight against a foe he couldn't even identify.

"You're certainly doing a good impression of an Imperial," she replied. "You talk just like them."

Luke gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, his back tense and ramrod straight, unable to understand the shame and humiliation he felt as these words. It was true. He was loyal to the Empire, he always had been. Whatever they thought about it, he didn't care.

"Enough of that," Han intervened, putting himself between them. "There's no need for insults. We'll get you to your planet, princess, no need to get all fussy. But we'll expect that shelter and compensation you talked about."

Leia nodded, seemed to calm down a little; but Luke's blood froze in his veins.

"What? No!" he said, incensed and betrayed. "No, we won't!"

"I'm still the captain, and I say we will," Han retorted. "It's the best deal we have at the moment."

"I am not setting foot on a Rebel base," Luke protested, his voice shooting upwards.

Han exchanged a glance with Chewbacca, who took the princess to the cockpit, quietly asking her the coordinates for the jump. Luke's stomach fell even lower, if that was possible.

"If you wanna stay stuck in the ship for the whole of our stay, feel free. I see a job opportunity, I take it. It's either that or going back to Jabba, and that may not be so good for our health either."

Luke scoffed.

"You've just got the hots for her," he snapped, gesturing towards the door of the cockpit where the princess had disappeared with Chewbacca.

"Dammit, Luke, we're doing this for you!"

Luke gaped, taken aback by Han's shout. He crossed his arms, withdrew his head into his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he scoffed, averting his eyes.

"You really think we're doing so much to avoid the Imps just for the heck of it?" Han continued, his face incredulous. Luke couldn't hold his gaze. "We never had this much trouble with them before. Chewie and I may not be in perfect terms with them, goes with the job, but they don't have a mark on our heads! You're the one risking the most here, and the least you could do would be not throwing a tantrum at potential jobs that could be saving your neck!"

Luke closed his eyes, fighting against the anger and despair that threatened to overwhelm him. So that was how it was. There was nothing he could do.

"Okay," he whispered, still not looking at Han. He didn't want him to see in his eyes that it was far from such a thing.

"Luke?" Han sounded uncertain all of a sudden.

"I said it's okay. It's fine. I understand."

Before Han could ask more questions, Luke ran out of the passenger hold, clumsily shoving him as he went in his haste to go away.

He took a few quick steps in the corridor, turned around, then went back to his first trajectory. For the first time, it struck him how small a ship such as this one was. The freighter was by no means tiny. To the contrary, Luke knew it to be of a rather respectable size compared to others of her class. Still, he felt hemmed in, trapped, with nowhere to go to escape his present company.

He could go to his cabin, he supposed. The thought didn't appeal to him. Everything on a ship was calculated to take as little room as possible, and the bunks were small, with just enough space to lie down and sleep. Luke suffocated there. It wouldn't help his current need for space and quiet.

He ended up collapsing in one of the cargo holds, sitting on the floor, his back against the work station. He would gladly have tinkered with something, taken his mind off his current emotions, but there was nothing for him to do. No broken accessories, no bits and pieces to repair, nothing to soothe the constant buzz in his mind and lighten the tired weight that bore down on his thoughts.

He let out a sigh, but it didn't really relieve the knot in his guts. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he could understand Han's reasoning, and yet his decision, somehow, just felt plain wrong. He wanted to go back and yell at him, to explain to him in detail why the Rebels were evil, everything they had done, all the people they'd killed. And all for what? For nothing. They just couldn't accept that another power than their precious, inefficient Republic brought order to the galaxy. If not for them, there would be peace. It made Luke sick to think of helping them in any capacity, to a point he himself couldn't completely comprehend, and part of him felt deeply betrayed that Han had accepted it.

He was somewhat angry at himself for not telling him all that, for not arguing more; but at the moment itself, there had been but a blank in his mind, a desire to get out of the argument as quickly as possible. Even now, his reasons not to want to work with them were frenzied and muddled together, the arguments circling in his mind without order.

And why should he have fought, anyway? It wasn't as if it would have changed anything. Han wouldn't have believed him, wouldn't have listened to him, wouldn't have trusted him. It wouldn't have been any use, so Luke had truly made the right decision by just shutting up and leaving, because nothing he could have said would have made any difference. Better to save himself the humiliation and spare his energy.

And Han was doing his best. He was just trying to survive, like all of them were. It really hadn't been fair of Luke to lash out at him like that. What he'd said was right, anyway: Luke was the only reason they were in so much trouble with the Empire. They'd be far better off without him. Why hadn't they dropped him in a spaceport and left him behind yet?

Luke should have left them long ago. He should have pretended to find a better deal, or claim to be done with them. But he'd been a cowardly leech instead, unable to give up the warmth, the comfort and the stability Han and Chewie provided, even while knowing perfectly well it was at their expense.

And now there was no more chance of leaving, because they were heading to a Rebel base and wouldn't stop on any other planet before that –

Luke was no Rebel. But perhaps he was no less despicable than them.

He sighed once more. It was as if there was too much air in his lungs, with too much pressure inside his chest, but no amount of breathing out seemed to help. He brought his knees up and put his arms on them, hiding his face in his forearms.

A small, familiar beep made him raise his head again and brought a thin smile on his lips.

"Hey, Weefour," he whispered.

The droid came to bump against his legs, trilling concerned inquiries. The motion, the sounds were so well-known to him he couldn't help the small, strangled laugh that came out of his throat.

"I'm glad you're here. I've missed you."

Weefour replied in his usual chirpy way. The little astromech had always been there for him, Luke realised; he was the most, maybe the only, loyal friend he had.

He leant his forehead against Weefour's dome, letting the cool contact wash over him and soothe some of his tension.

Chapter Text

Despite her involvement with the Rebellion, and her knowledge of the base, Leia had actually never set foot on Yavin IV before. She knew the coordinates, the access codes, the location, but that was all. As such, she was pleasantly surprised by the sea of green that unfolded in front of her eyes as the Millenium Falcon began her descent.

"Home Base, this is Leia Organa, I repeat, this is Leia Organa," she said. "Permission requested to land."

Her codes were accepted, and the smuggler that accompanied her let himself be led to a landing platform, his Wookiee copilot next to him. The third member of the crew wasn't in the cockpit with them; Leia didn't really care where he was.

What a strange bunch they were, those three, Leia mused as they silently followed the guidance of the officers through the comm. She really hoped bringing them here hadn't been a mistake. She doubted they could afford to go to the Empire with that information, if their reaction to facing Darth Vader was any indication... but she didn't trust them. Giving them the coordinates had been a tremendous risk, one that sat deep and heavy in the pit of her guts. She hoped she wouldn't have cause to regret it.

Of them all, the Wookiee – Chewbacca, she thought she remembered – actually seemed the most reasonable. Leia couldn't understand everything he said, unfortunately, but his deep growls and his gestures were eloquent enough. The smuggler, Solo, was a bit more of a liability, but she'd met his type before. Talking money and being beautiful would be enough to win him over.

The third one, however, was the one who worried her the most.

Luke Skywalker. He looked somewhat familiar, but she had no idea what to think of him. He seemed volatile, quick to anger, emotion-driven in his decisions. On one hand, his talk, clearly pro-Imperial, was deeply alarming. He made her think of a few officers she'd met on Alderaan, on the rare occasion the Empire came to pressure them into a regulation or another: aggression-prone, arrogant, with a loyalty to their hideous regime that bordered on fanaticism.

On the other... she had seen his reaction to Darth Vader. She had witnessed his panic when he learnt the Emperor's second-in-command was on the planet, seen him throw himself at him with a lightsabre that looked very much like a Jedi's. Vader, too, had seemed interested in him. And she had caught parts of the conversation between the smuggler and him, before she and Chewbacca had come into the cockpit to coordinate the jump. Vague memories of an old broadcast, at least a couple months old, came up in her mind, and she wondered if it was possible that she had seen him there.

There was more to this boy than what it seemed at first glance, she was sure of it. Nevertheless, he remained an unknown, a potential disaster, and she wasn't comfortable bringing him to such a secret and important place.

It was a bit late for such thoughts, however. And it wasn't as if she had much of a choice.

At last, the ship touched down on the ground. The ramp opened, revealing a high stone platform surrounded by the lush green of jungle vegetation. There, an officer was waiting for them with a small wagon, no doubt to transport them on the base. It the entirety of the massive rock pyramid towering over them was occupied by their troops, Leia could see why that was necessary.

They crossed half the hangar, passing by several X-Wings, when Leia finally saw a familiar face there, easing some of her anxiety. She jumped off the wagon and went to greet him. From the corner of her eye, she could see the others stand up, hovering behind uncertainly. She was glad they had the sense not to run off on base.

"Your Highness, it is an unexpected pleasure to see you," General Willard said, a silver fox with thick eyebrows, warmth and concern in his eyes. She'd met him and the rest of the current High Command council often on Alderaan; for the most part, they were close friends of her parents', and they had often been invited at the palace, before there had been an active Rebellion to talk about and they had to go into hiding. "Your father called us to warn us of your arrival, but he didn't have much time to explain."

"I bear unfortunate news, Commander, although I feel I should wait to be in front of High Command proper to speak of it in more detail. For now, it should be enough to say that I have been compromised."

Willard nodded, frowning. "Let us make haste, then." He shot a look at her companions before addressing her again in lower tones. "And these gentlemen?"

Leia bit her lip.

"I will vouch for them," she replied, hoping once more that wouldn't turn out to be a big mistake. "It is only thanks to them that I managed to escape Darth Vader's custody."

The General's eyebrows shot up, his eyes widened. He glanced at the Falcon crew, then back at Leia. "We are truly indebted to them, then."

"We are. In exchange, I promised them shelter and compensation, which I have no doubt they will want to negotiate."

Willard nodded. "I understand. They should come with us, then."

As the General led them through the corridors, she shot a glance above her shoulder. Solo and Chewbacca were walking a few foot behind her, the smuggler raising an inquisitive eyebrow when she crossed his gaze. Skywalker was trailing a bit further back, looking around with a guarded frown as if he were trying to map the place, and looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Leia had to hold back a sigh.

She really, really hoped she wasn't dooming them all.

The hall in which they were meeting was huge, with high stone walls surrounding what looked like it had been a wide empty space before they came, plunged in a darkness only kept at bay by the light of their instruments. The partition walls they had erected to keep different areas separate for their sensors, comm units and analysing machines didn't even come close to reaching the high, arching ceiling, and they were dwarfed by the enormity of the place. General Willard took them zigzagging between the instruments, their footsteps echoing in the place in spite of everything they had set up, until they arrived at a wide, round holotable.

Leia took a place around it and greeted the other members of High Command that were present. Most of them were familiar: Carlist Rieekan, who was Alderaanian like her, white-bearded Jan Dodonna, that she knew to be a genius of starfighter tactics but hadn't met personally, the debonair figure of Admiral Gial Ackbar, and of course Commander-in-Chief Mon Mothma, the head of the Rebellion and one of her parents' closest friends, whom Leia greatly appreciated and admired.

"Princess Leia," she opened the meeting. "It is a joy to see you again, although the circumstances are worrying."

"They are, and I will explain it all in a moment, but I believe we should first address the matter of my arrival. These three men," she said, turning back to look at the Falcon crew, "saved me and accepted to bring me here at great peril for themselves. They should be rewarded for it."

Mon Mothma nodded, looking in their direction too.

"Gentlemen, you have our deepest thanks. What are your names and what can we do for you?"

Luke still look sullen and guarded while Chewbacca had a hand on his shoulders; despite her experience in reading sentient beings of many different species, Leia couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was Solo who took a step forward and lightly bowed his head before responding.

"I'm Han Solo, captain of the Millenium Falcon, and these are my crewmates Luke and Chewbacca. We were promised eight thousand credits for a job that, granted, we didn't get the chance to do, but I dare say bringing the princess to safety should be worth the same. I would also like to know if your Rebellion has need of smugglers with no love for the Empire and space to shelter them, 'cause we're all of that and we could do with a place to stay."

Leia didn't miss the dark glare Luke threw him, but it had no heat to it, and he didn't speak up to protest.

Mon seemed amused; Leia was sure none of her rescuers saw that on the subtlety of her facial expression, though.

"That can be arranged. The Alliance is always in need of skilful and resourceful men."

"We, ah, we'd rather not serve as soldiers, ma'am, if you don't mind. Supply runs and cargo jobs were more what we had in mind. I'm sure this isn't an unusual request and you must have other independent contractors."

Leia lightly pursed her lips. She was rather sure that hadn't been Solo's intention, but that had sounded like a clumsy attempt to fish for information. Mon Mothma, however, didn't comment on it, just gracefully inclined her head.

"I am sure we can work something out to our mutual convenience. Do you need sleep accommodations?"

"No, just a corner somewhere to keep our ship. We've got all we need otherwise."

"Very well. An officer will show you around the base. Please stay within the areas you have clearance to tread. Someone will come back to you soon to negotiate the details."

The smuggler marked his assent, and Willard let him and his two companions of the meeting room again. Mon turned to Leia again, concern written more clearly in her eyes.

"Now that we are among ourselves, please tell us what happened."

Leia took a deep breath.

"The Empire is building a new weapon. One, I'm told, capable of destroying planets."

All High Command opened wide eyes. Gial and Jan even let out gasps.

"How?"

"That is impossible! No weapon has the firepower to do such a thing!"

"Tell us what happened from the beginning," Mon asked, interrupting them. Leia was grateful: she hadn't seen the plans, she wouldn't be able to answer them. It was just as unfathomable to her. "From what Bail told us, you were leaving Ralltiir and trying to find a way to bring them supplies, is that right?"

"Yes. When I was still on Ralltiir, a local Rebel managed to approach me. His name was Basso, and he was the one who brought me that alarming information. I then managed to leave Ralltiir with considerable difficulty, because Darth Vader wanted to inspect my ship, suspecting it – rightly – to hold incriminating evidence of my involvement with the Rebellion."

She pursed her lips, a twinge of concern seizing her as she remembered the frightening talk she had had with him before he was lowered in the bacta tank for his grievous injuries.

"We then headed to Kattada, which I knew to be neutral ground and a haven of smugglers who could help me. During the trip, Basso told me everything he knew: that they call it the Death Star, that it is nearly complete, that Grand Moff Tarkin is in charge of its construction and command. According to him, he carried its plans in his brain thanks to an hypnosis technique of his people, and was going to teach us how to retrieve them once we were all in safety."

She glanced at Mon, then looked away again, staring at the holotable instead.

"Unfortunately, Vader had tracked the Tantive IV to Kattada. I only escaped thanks to the smugglers I brought here, whom I had originally commissioned to bring my shipment to the Ralltiir Rebels. My ship was captured along with all its crew and shipment."

Mon nodded, giving Leia a nod of understanding.

"So you can no longer return to Alderaan, or to the Senate."

"I am as much in need of shelter as the men who brought me here," Leia confirmed with a pang to her heart. It was a sobering thought, no longer being able to come back home... and for a long time, too, as the Empire would be seeking to arrest her until the end of the war.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up again. Mon had come closer and was now looking at her with understanding. Leia's throat closed up, and she swallowed.

"There's all the space we need here, Leia. We were lucky to find this place, it is actually quite comfortable, though it is plain by necessity."

Leia smiled at her, touched by her concern. She had known she was running a risk by working for the Rebellion. All in all, this was far better than it could have been. But reality was catching up with her, anyway, and it wasn't pleasant. She already missed the mountains of her home planet, simply because she knew she wouldn't see them again for a while.

"I'm afraid we should also refrain from contacting the Viceroy in the next few weeks," Carlist chimed in, bearing the same worried frown as the rest of them. "With the princess being compromised, he and the Queen will be under particular scrutiny. We will, of course, send him a message to tell him Her Highness has arrived safely, but I believe other communications are not worth the risk, even with our usual precautions."

That made Leia's chest ache even more, but she knew he was right. She nodded, wondering when she'd see her home or family again.

His hands in his pockets, Luke kicked some non-existent rocks, trying not to look too sulking on the way back to the Falcon. They were still docked on the landing platform, but had been promised a place in the Rebel hangar. Joy.

He looked around him. The vegetation was not merely green, but a very vibrant shade of it, with from time to time a colourful flower to add some diversity. Luke felt as though it was going to attack him any moment. The air was so moist it was suffocating, which didn't help the ants crawling through his limbs.

A Rebel base. He was on a Rebel base. He still had trouble to believe it.

It was... quite different from what he'd imagined, too. He hadn't spend a lot of time thinking about it, but he supposed in a corner of his head he'd pictured it somewhat similar to the Academy, with typical Imperial grey walls, all square and angles and minutely set up. He hadn't expected the imposing ancient temples, the damp warmth of the jungle, the improvised installations, the clever layout despite a clear lack of funds. The organisation was the one thing that was as he had it pictured, and yet... despite that this was all too clearly a military base, and how everybody he had seen had seemed even busier than in Imperial territory, the atmosphere felt less strict, nearly laid-back, without losing any of its efficiency. It was jarring, to say the least. Luke found himself intrigued.

He sat in the cockpit as Han and Chewbacca manoeuvred the Falcon into the Rebel hangar, guided by the officers of the control tower. He supposed it would be better than to have to walk through the jungle all the time, if they were staying here for a long while. But it did mean they were staying here, and that still wasn't something he was happy about.

Chewie and Han left to explore the areas they had been allowed to explore, leaving him behind with Weefour for company. Luke was grateful for it; he loved his crew mates, and was very grateful for them, but he was feeling like having some alone time now.

He hovered in the hangar, feeling aimless, lost. A shiver ran through him, and he regretted not putting on his cloak. The temperature was colder here, and so less suffocating, but it was no less humid. The cold seemed to seep inside his bones, somehow worse than even Tatooine nights.

His little droid companion softly whistled. Luke looked at him.

"You also feel out of place? 'Cause I certainly do..."

Weefour bleeped and rolled closer to him.

Luke walked around, stopping to stare at one of the X-Wings but not daring come too close. So that was the infamous ship that caused them so much trouble. It was strange, to see one so closely. How many of them had Luke taken down in battle...?

"Luke?"

He jumped, turned around, searched the source of the voice. His hand went to his hip where he kept his blaster.

But the figure walking towards him was a well-known one, and Luke relaxed. Dark hair and moustache, a bright orange flight suit, a few centimetres taller than him...

"Biggs!"

He threw himself at him, both of them laughing. Biggs squeezed Luke's upper arms.

"It's so great to see you here! When did you arrive?"

"Just now, actually," Luke answered, grinning as wide as his friend. "In the junk pile right over there. She doesn't look like much but she's never failed us yet."

Biggs snorted.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. We flew worse, right?"

"Right." Luke smiled, remembering all their stupid stunts on Tatooine.

Stars, he'd missed Biggs more than he'd realised. He hadn't expected to meet him here, even knowing he had joined the Rebellion; seeing him in good health, alive, seemingly happy, took a great weight off his shoulders.

"So how'd you land here with that ship anyway? I thought you were serving in the, you know." He lowered his voice. "With the Imps."

Luke did his best not to wince.

"I... quit. Was forcibly defected, more like," he said. "Long story. But anyway, you'll never believe it. We rescued an Alderaanian princess from the Empire."

"What? Princess Leia?" Biggs opened wide eyes. "What happened?"

"Yeah, that's her. She's... something. And she promised us shelter here, so... we're probably staying for a while."

Luke tried his best not to let out just what he thought of such a perspective. Fortunately, Biggs didn't seem to pick up on it, just pat Luke on the back.

"That's fantastic! Stars, Luke, it's been so long. There's so much we need to talk about."

He took him towards the exit of the hangar, in the sun, which was a wonderful idea in Luke's mind, as his teeth had nearly begun to chatter.

"I know! I want to hear everything. Is Hobbie here too?"

"Yeah, we've stuck together ever since leaving the Academy. I have to introduce you to the peeps in Red Squadron, you'll get along terrifically. I'll slip in a word to Command, we could use one more pilot, it'd be great if you were allowed to fly with us..."

Luke slowed down, lead falling in his guts as inexplicable anger rose in him. Of course Biggs thought he'd defected. It was a natural conclusion to make. He had no reason to be so upset at the mere idea that someone could mistake him for a Rebel.

"No, no way in hell," he said, a bit drier than he'd intended. He swallowed, tried again. "Biggs, I'm not serving. Me and my crew, we're more... independent contractors."

Biggs threw him a confused look.

"What? But I thought you'd defected from the Navy? You didn't come here to join...?"

An electronic noise of protest interrupted them, for which Luke was thankful. Weefour had followed them as they started walking in the jungle, and was apparently not appreciating the landscape, as a creeper had been stuck in his wheels.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry, buddy. Don't move, I'll fix that up in a minute."

He knelt down next to the little droid and lifted one side of him, carefully fishing for the plant that had entered the mechanism, coiling itself around the wheel.

"He's an imperial astromech?" Biggs asked, frowning.

"Yeah," Luke replied, biting his lip. The vine had stuck itself deep, maybe it'd be easier to break it... "This little guy and I, we've been through a lot together."

"And you're sure he's not a plant?"

Luke turned his head to look at Biggs. He had his arms crossed, all the excitement gone from his face as he warily looked between Weefour and Luke.

"Yes. We've checked for bugs and trackers," he said, pulling on the plant a bit too strongly. Weefour wailed, but it broke, and Luke only had to clean it up before the droid was fully functional again. Luke patted him on the dome, then rose and looked his friend in the eye.

"I can't go back to the Empire, Biggs. I don't really want them to find me, either. I'm not here to betray your base."

Biggs winced, looking sheepish.

"I'm sorry, Luke. That's not what I meant – I'm genuinely glad you're here, you know."

Luke managed to give him a tight smile, but avoided his gaze. It was stupid, to be upset about such a tiny thing. It was a natural thing to worry about – they had also wondered if Weefour wasn't carrying tracking equipment. But for some reason, rage wouldn't uncoil from his guts, a boiling feeling deep inside him that he couldn't let go of. He took a deep breath, then another.

The silence stretched between them as they walked on, awkward. Luke was looking down at the path, clearing it so Weefour wouldn't trip on vegetation again... and if it felt good to kick rocks and leaves away from the path, all the better.

"Speaking of the Empire, you didn't tell me how your posting was," Biggs asked, tentative but clearly curious. "Did they really assign you to Black Squadron? Did you really serve under Darth Vader?"

Luke closed his eyes, his anger suddenly flaring at his friend's nosiness, even though there was absolutely no reason for it. His heartbeat picked up, and he suddenly wished to be alone, away from Biggs, away from any intrusive questions.

Or even completely innocent ones. What was wrong with him?

"Yeah," he said. "That's where they put me."

There was silence again, but Luke couldn't bring himself to elaborate. That time was over, he thought with intense bitterness. Biggs could have known it all for himself if he hadn't defected, if he hadn't joined the Rebels. Luke didn't owe him anything.

He closed his fists, annoyed to notice his hands were slightly shaking.

"... Right," Biggs said, clearing his throat. "We should get back inside. Wait a second, you just arrived, didn't you? I know what you're going to love. We have water showers here!"

"Water showers?"

Luke had known they existed, and he'd always thought the concept incredibly wasteful. Still, he was incredibly curious; everybody said it was so much nicer than sonics...

"Yeah, jungle planet, water's not what's lacking," Biggs laughed. "Come, I'll show you where they are. Then maybe we can go meet the squad for dinner."

"Sure," Luke replied without much enthusiasm. He wasn't too keen on meeting the other Rebels, but he had wondered about Hobbie. Right now, though, the shower sounded really great. He'd have gladly gotten a nap on the Falcon, too. He felt weary and tired, deep into his bones.

But he didn't say anything about it, following Biggs back into the maze of the huge stone structure instead.