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.

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 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."

"You can't let them on board." Luke was pretty proud that his voice was as steady and hard as it was, considering how terrified he felt. The familiar blood-tasting nausea was making its appearance in the back of his throat.

No, no, don't. Han and Chewbacca couldn't know, couldn't see him like this –

Han sent him an apologising look.

"I don't have a choice," he said. "It happens sometimes, but they're usually bored and don't want to be here more than we want them to. If they don't find anything, we'll be fine."

"You don't understand. You can't let them come here, you can't!"

Luke closed his eyes, pressed his hands against them, trying to repress the cold chills going over him. Get a grip, get a grip on yourself.

Chewie squeezed Luke's shoulder tighter, and it took all he had not to brush him off. The walls were closing in on him, except they were not, he needed to keep a cold head –

"They won't be looking to arrest us," Han said. "Everything will be all right."

Luke let out a hysterical laugh. Last time he had thought that – last time –

He breathed, clung to the present time as much as he could.

"... drop the spice... Jabba's gonna kill us..."

Luke frowned. Yes. Spice. Falcon. Safe.

"Smuggling compartments," he mumbled. He looked at Han, watched his eyes, his hair, his nose. The hum of the ship. Chewie's hand on his shoulder.

They couldn't know. They couldn't know how damaged he was inside. His heart beat faster, his shoulders so tight they hurt, and his wrists were sore –

He was alive, he was safe, he was on the Falcon, there was nothing to worry about, get a grip, get a grip –

"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 a second more, during which Luke was sure he would insist. No, please, he can't know –

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 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 –

"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 thing such 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 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 Thousands, 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 of 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 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 off line 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."