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.

I'm terribly, terribly sorry for abandoning this story for so long. I found myself struggling with a bad case of writer's block regarding this story in particular for months.

As a result, I have had to rewrite entire parts of it in order to be happy with it. This chapter is thus not technically new, as the rewrite has grown so much I've had to split chapter 2 in two parts and reorganise other stuff.

Still, the plot might not be new, but the writing is. I cannot suggest highly enough that you go back and reread the last chapters, as you will find them very changed. New plot will happen again next chapter (hopefully very very soon now!).

I'm so terribly sorry about this. I hope you enjoy this new version of the story and that you'll stick around for the continuation!

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 everyday. 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, either 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 holdster 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 insigna. 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 that 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. Maybe that would turn out for the best: perhaps the distance from the Death Star and from the doubtlessly carefully filtered information he received would allow him to find out more about Luke's whereabouts... It was worth pursuing, in any case.

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.