Into the Fold

"It's so big," Luke exclaimed in wonder, his voice very light as he watched the large tan coloured sphere that hung in orbit.

"Yep," one of the other pilots seated across from him said, "I never get tired of being in awe of that marvel. That is a testament to the might of the Empire, my friend."

"You know, if you weren't a flight officer, you'd make a great recruiter," Biggs replied, sitting between Luke and Hobbie, who happened to be sleeping comfortably.

The other officer merely laughed.

The co-pilot of the shuttle turned to face the main hold of the vessel and said, "we're docking in 5. Grab your gear and stand by."

This caused all of the new members of the Imperial Death Squadron—Darth Vader's personal fleet—to make sure they were secured in their crash webbing.

The vessel shook a bit as it began its final vector into the large station's massive docking bay. The shuttle landed, as klaxons blared, informing the deck officers to stand by for the shuttle.

As soon as the co-pilot gave a thumbs up signal that ensure that they had landed safely, Luke and the others grabbed their gear and removed their crash webbing and left the vessel, standing side by side on the pristine deck. It never even bothered Luke that all of the officers in the entire Imperial Military were male humans. Very few—an almost infinitesimal amount—were other species.

A higher-ranking officer—clad in the same black uniform as every other flight officer—walked across the hangar, surveying this new group of top-notch pilots, fresh from the academy. His face held a regal stature of someone who had spent his entire life in the Imperial Navy. The man—no more than 50 years—began to speak, his accent revealing his origins as somewhere in the Core.

Luke paid no mind to the pep talk, as he found himself oddly at peace and yet perturbed. He had tried to open himself up to the greater whole, as Ben had once urged him, but he knew that this strange feeling had been there at one point in his life—one point when he was very young. He just couldn't seem to figure out what it was. At one point, the feeling was comfortable, only to have it twist itself into a possessive something that unsettled the young man. It's probably just myself getting used to this new adjustment, he thought. It hadn't been the first time this had happened—but Luke had never been able to figure out what this feeling meant.

Luke was concentrating really hard because it took Biggs to wake him from his reverie as the top pilot realized that the officer had left.

"Are you all right, Luke?" Biggs asked his friend carefully. After his first time in joining the Academy, Biggs had grown homesick as well.

"Yeah," Luke replied dismissively, "I am just trying to get used to this marvel." His voice held awe at the battlestation, but it also held something else.

"Luke, is there something you want to tell me?"

"No, I'm all right. Really, I am," Luke replied, as he knew that his best friend wondered about him. "Come on," he said after a moment, his grin returning to his face, "Hobbie is probably wondering where we are—and I'm sure he has taken the best bunk in the barracks."

"You're probably right. All right," Biggs nodded, "let's get going. I just hope that Hobbie has saved us some good bunks too." Both men grabbed their bags and joined the procession of new pilots to Lord Vader's elite fleet.

His face was contorted with a mixture of fear and surprise as he collapsed to the ground, his hand reaching his throat, the other reaching out to the dark form that towered over him.

"Apology accepted," Vader said as he took pleasure in watching the bewildered officer die, the man's eyes bulged and closed one final time.

"Lord Vader," one of the officers said, "Grand Moff Tarkin would like to see you."

"Very well," the Dark Lord replied.

"Also, we have received our new replacements."

"Excellent, I look forward to seeing them in action," Vader said as he walked away. It appeared that Tarkin had finally calmed down—he had been angry for quite some time after the Death Star had failed its weapons test. He also didn't terminate Princess Organa, something that made Vader curious as to what the Moff had in mind for her.

He began to walk towards the tactical room, knowing full well that Tarkin would greet him there. Tarkin was almost always there; almost as if it had become his new home, Vader mused.

He still felt the not-so-subtle shifting within the Force—something had come within his grasp and he still couldn't pinpoint this raw, untapped power. Killing that commander seemed to give only mild comfort to Vader, as his mind continued to feel the intoxicating presence of this untouched variable. If it has made it this far, then perhaps there is still an opportunity for me to use this presence against the Emperor, lest he finds out.

The Dark Lord of the Sith made a mental note to eliminate other variables from slighting his chance of gaining a new ally. The Emperor's spies and personal officers would have to be eliminated. Accidents were known to happen—after all, this was the Death Star. Perhaps the station would continue to suffer as a result of Rebellion subterfuge; it wasn't the first time something like that had happened. Vader could only smile.

As he entered the tactical room, he noticed Tarkin was looking out at the view. Vader could feel the man's rage. Vader fought the urge to laugh at the man's weakness. Some creatures would allow their weaknesses to get the better of them, Vader had moved long past that. Vader had learned how to control his own weakness and convert it into a calculated and unparalleled strength.

Before he could say anything, Tarkin spoke.

"Our reports came back from Dantooine--she lied to me!"

"I told you that one was not to be trusted."

"Execute her immediately!"

Vader resisted the urge to shake his head and laugh at the arrogant Moff. "Very well."

"We'll be arriving at Alderaan shortly—the Death Star will not fail its weapons test this time, Lord Vader."

Interesting, Vader couldn't help but think.

"She will die along with her planet. The Galaxy shall bow to the might of the Empire—and the Rebellion will come to a swift end," he replied, regaining his composure.

"And what of the missing data?"

"The Rebels will undoubtedly come for us—give it time Lord Vader."

They had left the desert planet without any Imperial entanglements on the surface, now all they had to do was escape the system in one piece. Tatooine was under a quarantine and two Imperial Star Destroyers were closing in fast. Much faster than what Solo had said about his much prized vessel.

"You better go strap in, we're in for a bumpy ride!" Solo yelled into the main hold as he and Chewbacca tapped several keys, eager to evade the lancing emerald energy that came their way while they plotted the jump to lightspeed.

"Oh, I hate space flight," the golden droid muttered as he and Obi-Wan strapped themselves into their chairs.

R2 rested comfortably—or as comfortably as an astromech could be, under the circumstances—and whistled a reply to his bipedal counterpart.

Obi-Wan found himself sincerely hoping that delivering the droids to Bail would be quick—so he could begin his journey of finding Luke. He didn't want to watch the boy succumb to a path that another pupil of his had taken.

And just as Han thought they were done for, as the ship lurched to and fro, he shoved a level and watched the stars streak into one seamless stretch of light. The Millennium Falcon had outrun the Imperial Destroyers—and had escaped the quarantine.