Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd., itself property of The Walt Disney Company. I make no lucrative nor commercial use of my writings in relationship with the Star Wars license.

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 realer.

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 like 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.