The thing he hadn't realized about jungles was that they were wet. Not jumping in a pool of water wet, but...sticky. He felt sticky all the time and didn't like it, not one bit. The only thing that helped was, ironically, a water shower, and that comfort only lasted as long as he stood under the stream. As soon as he dried off, he was sticky again. Tatooine had never seemed so appealing...the suns, the heat, even the sand. It was with a little sadness that he remembered brushing sand off Fixer's 'hopper model when his dad gave it back to him. Maybe grains of sand were still there, dusting the pristine floors of the Devastator.

Sitting in the cockpit of Hobbie's x-wing, Luke sighed and called a spanner to him and began to drill a new hole in the duraplast to replace a sensor. Red Squad fighters had taken a beating during the Death Star attack, and he was grateful that Boss had conscripted a mech from Gold to help with the scut work. Said mech was across the hangar under the belly of a snub, which was good because he was too chatty for Luke's taste. There was too much to get done and he didn't have time—

Impatient you are.

Luke sent an impression of disgust into the Force.

Go away, whoever you are. I'm not interested.

Say you that so quickly when you know not Who. . . . .

Unless you can fix this sensor, go away. The voice had been becoming more annoying and persistent over the last day. Luke paused in his work and clenched the spanner tightly. Who are you?

Know you this already if listening you had been.

Luke shook his head. "Go away," he said aloud.

For a second he hoped the order had worked, but noooo….

Yoda, I am.

"Big whoop. I don't know you."

Your father, spoke of me he did.

What? No, he didn't— Oh, wait just a second. Were you eavesdropping?! Are you the—

Jedi Master, yes. Been helping you I have.

I don't need your help!

The loud/silent disapproval was giving him a headache. Look, Mister Yoda, I know you were never nice to my dad. No matter what he says, you're not coming anywhere near me so get out of my head. "Out!"

"Does the spanner work better when you talk to it?"

He looked down at Hobbie. "As a matter of fact, yes. If you're looking to take it for a ride, it won't be ready for an hour or so."

"Nah. Any riding to be done, Gold can do it. They haven't done anything since transport guard duty, lazy nerfs." The pilot stared up at him. "Wanna grab lunch?"

"Stars, is it that time already? Yeah." He hesitated. "But I have to stop by CC first, don't know how long it will take."

"Be a major suck-up and it won't take as long, whatever you want from them."

Luke wasn't sure if he could suck up well enough to gain the favor he wanted. "I'll try. Catch you later."

He climbed down the ladder and waved to the other mech, then walked quickly away so the mech—whose name he couldn't remember—didn't take that as an invitation to join him.

Command was fitted neatly into a tiny makeshift office at the rear of the hangar. Cautiously, Luke cracked open the door. Gods, it was air conditioned! Commander Narra was there, good thing, but so was Security Chief Nikran. He sighed when Nikran glared at him.

"In or out, make up your mind. What do you want?"

"Commander Narra. Sir, may I speak with you?" Luke asked politely because, oddly enough, this civility stuff was working out well for him. Probably because no one expected it. There was something to be said for lowering people's expectations and then reversing course.

"Chief, there's an incoming supplies shipment. Check it out—and the crew."

"Very well." Nikran strode past him, deliberately bumping his shoulder and shooting him a suspicious look. Luke rolled his eyes.

"What can I do for you, Oz?"

For one thing, you could quit calling me 'Oz'. "I'd like my chip back, sir. The blood test results."

The commander studied him. "Why?"

"Why?!" Luke blurted, then caught himself. "Because it's mine—my chip and my identity."

Narra leaned back in his chair.

He barely refrained from tapping his foot impatiently. "If you're erasing Luke Skywalker, I'll want that chip for...for proof. Unless...you haven't destroyed it, have you?"

Narra shook his head. He stood and walked to an old-fashioned safe, punching in the security code—which Luke memorized quickly although they probably changed it every day— and brought out the small chip. He handed it to Luke.

"Thank you, sir." Yeah, it looked like his, but he'd check it later in his datapad to be sure. They had probably made copies anyway. He cleared his throat.

"Is there something else?"

"Well, yeah...yes, sir." This was the challenge. "I'd like to contact Captain Jovay."

Commander Narra returned to his chair, sat and leaned his arms on the desk, delaying tactics that Luke recognized. "You're asking the Alliance to initiate a contact with an Imperial Intelligence officer for someone who's potentially a security risk?"

That was a little confusing. "You mean me?" Narra gave him a Dad look. "I'm not going to tell him anything, I just...I need some personal questions answered. You know… stuff. Personal stuff." Like about my dad! he wanted to scream, but figured that would be a bad idea. "He's my friend. Remember he was coming to see me when you arrested him." He sniffed disparagingly.

Narra pressed his palms against his forehead. "You want to talk to your friend who is an agent of the enemy?"

Didn't I say that? "Yes."

Then came the biggest sigh he'd ever heard from the man. "I'll discuss it with Command and get back to you."

"Great! Today?" Oops, that didn't go over well. "I mean, thank you, sir. I appreciate your consideration of my request."

Narra raised one eyebrow—Luke seemed to get a lot of those lately— and gestured toward the door.

"Right...thanks!"

That hadn't been so bad. He wondered if he'd done the appropriate amount of sucking up to succeed.

OooOoo

The pilots were playing a quiet, civilized (not) game of sabacc. Luke put the audiobuds in his ears but didn't switch on the datatape, knowing he would be interrupted immediately by one of them.

This time it was Porkins. "What're you studying now?"

"Hyperbolic geometry as it relates to the third dimension."

Janson and Hobbie turned from the game. Zev...damned if he didn't raise an eyebrow.

"Kidding," Luke said, pausing. "Actually it's high-energy particle physics."

"Is there such a thing?" Porkins asked. "I can't tell if he's serious."

"He's kidding," Janson said, but his tone was uncertain.

Luke nodded. "Kidding. Actually, it's Guidelines of Royal Protocol at the Imperial Palace."

"Right." They turned back to their game. "Let us know when you're granted an audience," Zev added.

Hah! He was beginning to understand how to throw them off track. After listening for an excruciatingly boring five minutes about the proper length of time and depth of bows and curtsies depending on the room and the occasion, he was grateful to turn it off when Boss entered.

His gratitude turned to disappointment when Garven looked at him and shook his head. So...they wouldn't let him contact Jovay. Not surprising. Also not surprising that Oz would find a way somehow. It just required more thought and a lot of luck.

"Can we get a couple fans in here?" Janson wondered. "I'm sticky all the time."

"Not touching that one," Hobbie muttered.

"I've asked. They've been requisitioned elsewhere already." Narra dropped onto the battered sofa. "I also requested an additional pilot."

To replace Biggs who replaced whoever replaced the one before him. "Maybe we should just retire Red Three," Luke said quietly. "It seems to be an unlucky number."

"Biggs was Red Five. You were Three...remember?"

Sometimes it was hard to keep all the lies straight. Luke stared at his hands and didn't reply.

Zev slapped his cards on the table, startling everyone. "Boss, why are we pretending Oz can't fly? We know he was Five, and we know—"

"That's enough!" Not the tone in which Garven normally addressed them and it surprised them into silence. "Darklighter was Five, he destroyed the Death Star and died in action. Period, end of discussion. Nothing contradictory to be repeated ever."

"But why—"

"No one can retaliate against a dead man." Wedge shifted restlessly. "And Command doesn't trust Oz anyway."

"Antilles—"

"Oh, c'mon, Boss!" Janson protested. "We all know Oz was arrested and released, so obviously he's innocent of whatever they thought. Besides, he's too—"

"I'm right here," Luke reminded him quickly.

"—he's too fashionable to be a spy," Janson finished and shot him a grin.

Zev tapped his fingers on the table. "And another thing...why in hells would a Force sensitive kid be left homeless on a Rim dustball? It doesn't make sense and it's damn near criminal!"

"Where would you rather he be left?" Wedge snapped. "In the Core, so Vader could kill him like the others?"

Okay...so Wedge didn't know Vader was his dad. But he knew about the Devastator. Far too many people knew too much...that was not a thought he wanted to follow to its logical conclusion because that would involve eliminating people he cared about, which didn't sound very Jedi-like.

Maybe he was a Sith.

"You know the problem?" Porkins asked dreamily. "It's like when you're sitting on an egg, expecting it to be a varactyl, but when it hatches it turns out to be a rancor."

After a few moments, Hobbie said, "I don't think rancors come from eggs. And really, how often do you sit on eggs, Pork?"

"That was just an example! I'm saying that's what Oz is like. Smart-ass troublemaker turned into…whatever he is now."

"Oh, we know what he is...or will be," Zev drawled. "The question is, what is Red Squad going to do with a Jedi?"

Boss crossed to the table, pulled out a chair and sat heavily. "Krit. Stop speculating."

"I'm not a Jedi! In fact...what if I'm a Sith?" Luke offered helpfully.

"Oh, that would be so much better." Unexpectedly Zev chuckled. "Well, you are our resident Vader Whisperer, so who knows?"

"Please!" Janson objected. "Oz doesn't know Darth any better than I do! He just has a man-crush on the Big Man in Black. And...I mean… really… who doesn't?"

Ewwww. Luke grimaced, then decided he could use the distraction. "If you think he looks great now," he told Janson, "you should see his formal dress uniform!"

"When did you see—"

"On a broadcast." He warmed to the subject. "It's a beautiful smoky grey with silver braided trim, even on the boots. Furry cuffs and collar."

"Really? I've never seen—"

"And the cloak! Well…."

"What?" Janson leaned forward eagerly.

"It's even darker, a deep grey-blue...and the lining is crimson satin!"

Janson's eyes grew huge. "Are you kidding me?! That would be amaz— Oh, krit, you are kidding me! ...Aren't you?"

"Gods, you should see your face!" Hobbie exclaimed.

Janson sniffed. "It doesn't matter whether that's true or not. Now I have a new image to dream ab—"

An alarm blared outside their door, three short warnings, cutting through the laughter like a blade. The pilots leaped up, grabbed their orange jumpsuits and were out the door before Luke could ask anything.

"Stay here!" Boss shouted as he raced down the steps.

"I—" But there was no one left to hear his protest. He stood outside, shifting nervously, watching as pilots poured across the compound heading for the hangar. He couldn't sense Imperial warships—but would he be able to? He really needed more training.

Please let them all come back. Please….

Hovering by the hangar entry, he was relieved to see the cockpits emptying as the pilots spilled out of their fighters to surround Commander Narra.

"You need to shave twenty seconds off your reaction time—the more, the better. We need to be much faster when we face an attack."

Luke exhaled shakily and shook his head, not prepared to listen to the rest of the lecture which sounded like it was going to go on for awhile. He went outside to enjoy the miserably hot night air. Leaning against the side of the giant pyramid, he closed his eyes, thinking of Mos Eisley. On a night like this, he'd be sweaty from a long day in the sun, smoking cheap spice, spying on the activities of revelers who—

"Hi."

He started and opened his eyes, staring at the crooked smile of Dayan.

Well...this was unexpected and...sticky.

Straightening, he felt...annoyed. "Why're you still here?"

"Nice to see you too." The man folded his arms. "Sorry about the other night. I don't usually come on so strong. But you really are—"

"Don't." Luke shook his head. "I understand. You were grieving. Are you doing okay?"

"Best I can."

"Then..." He hesitated. "Why are you still here?"

"No transport available. I put in for a hardship exit and got approved, but it'll be awhile before I get one to Lah'mu."

"That's a long way." An idea began to form in his head. Never waste an asset. "Maybe I can help with that," Luke said slowly. "Maybe we can help each other."

Dayan gave him a sideways look. "How much do you want?"

"What d'you—" Oh. "No, I've given that up." Again. "I just need a message to get out to someone. Think you can do that if I can get you a transport tomorrow?"

"Depends. Is it illegal...or treason? One side or the other?"

"No, it's personal. Going to an Imp, but personal."

Dayan shrugged. "As long as it won't get me arrested or killed, sure."

"Meet me here at 0615 tomorrow."

"So early?" Dayan looked him up and down in a way that definitely was uncomfortable. "I'll meet you here later tonight if you want."

"I…" Luke hesitated. "If I say no, will you still take the message?"

"If I say no, will you meet me here later?"

He shook his head. "No. Deal or no deal?"

Dayan gave him a half-smile and tilted his head. "Deal."

Luke nodded and left, slipping unnoticed into the hangar where the lecture was still going on. He just needed a couple minutes alone to record a message for Jovay… and his dad.

OooOoo