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.

Vader strolled down the long corridors leading to his quarters. Behind him, he could feel the boy nearly jog to keep up with his strides. His fear was bleeding through the Force, bright and intoxicating, so strong Vader had trouble focusing on anything else.

He opened the door with a sweep of the hand and entered, the young pilot on his heels. Lars hesitated for the shortest moment before crossing the threshold. He advanced to the middle of the room and stood at attention. The door swooshed closed behind him, trapping him in Vader's company.

Vader stood with his back turned to him, his hands clasped under his cape. He let the sound of his breath fill the room, chill the young man to the core. After spending such a long time instinctively immersed in the Force as he flew, his presence was still grounded in it, blinding in its intensity. Vader couldn't hear his thoughts, but he felt his mind work fiercely, trying to guess what Vader wanted with him, what was going to happen to him. Vader caught glimpses of the dreadful pictures he was attempting to dodge with little success. His imagination was running wild, prodded on by growing anxiety.

The Force was strong with him. Of that there could be no more doubt. Vader had been led astray by his average blood test for a while, but the obvious power radiating from him dispelled any confusion. Few beings possessed such a natural connection, such a clarity in their feelings. He allowed himself to bask in the boy's purity as he unhooked his lightsabre from his belt.

He should kill him. That, too, was undeniable. Unless the Emperor himself decided otherwise, Force-sensitive beings were a threat to the Empire and should be disposed of; tracking them down had once been one of his primary duties. The young man seemed untrained and oblivious to his potential, and he was trapped in these rooms, with him. It would be all too easy to run him down with a swipe of his blade, or to reach out and break his neck... Nobody would question the presence of the body in his quarters, and all memory of the boy's existence would soon be forgotten.

Yet Vader was reluctant to strike him down. How strange, he mused with a humourless smile, that he should feel inclined to spare that boy whose gift marked him for destruction, who had disrespected him and nearly disobeyed his orders. Others had died for much less...

But the boy intrigued him. He was an excellent pilot, an asset he didn't quite want to lose yet. His service would be of great value for the Empire. And there was something there, in his stature or in his mannerisms, in the strong will held in his clear blue gaze, in his mesmerising Force presence that shone too brilliantly for one so untrained. It was like a faint scent of memory hanging around him, and it troubled the Dark Lord deeply.

He replaced the weapon to his waist, then turned around and studied him. The young man didn't move, but kept his back held straight, his eyes staring ahead of him. His right arm was held along his leg, his left one holding his helmet. He was still clad in his flight suit, his hair moist with sweat, looking worn down despite the tight posture.

No, he would grant him a reprieve. His next misstep would always be early enough for Imperial laws to strike upon his head...

"Ensign Lars," he said, letting his voice carry some measure of the danger he had just escaped. "I trust you know why I have summoned you."

"Yes, my lord."

Vader took a step closer to the boy, watching his muscles tense in apprehension.

"You nearly disobeyed a direct order in the middle of battle," he carried on. Lars shivered, barely avoiding to shrink under his overbearing presence.

"Yes, my lord," the pilot repeated. "I do not know what came over me. I apologise. It won't happen again."

So it had been the Force indeed that had prompted him not to act, an instinct he had followed confusedly, without knowing why. Impressive...

"I should hope not. Your actions today could have had disastrous consequences. You have endangered your comrades' lives and the success of the mission."

The young man swallowed, losing his voice altogether. Vader let the tense silence stretch as he passed him by, circling him, his cape swirling against the boy's ankles.

"As punishment, you will spend the remainder of the night in the brig, after which you will not take flight for the foreseeable future. Lieutenant Tanbris will inform you of your new duties and you will report to me every evening until I decide to let you regain your place in your squadron."

"I... yes, my lord," said the boy, sounding both relieved and disappointed.

Vader approached him from behind, not even an inch away from him. Lars' breath quickened.

"Be very careful, young one," he said with deliberate quietness, towering over his shoulder. "I will be watching you, your every move, your every breath. If you make one step out of line again..."

The young man was shaking now, from fear, exhaustion and strain from his position. His terror was spiking in the Force.

"... you will wish you had never attracted my attention."

The boy let out a shivering breath.

"I understand, my lord," he bravely said.

Vader straightened, stepped back, and took his commlink from his belt to order troopers to take him away. As they waited for them, he remained silent, watching the young man before him. He looked ready to collapse at any moment, but Vader let him fight to remain at attention. There was a familiarity he couldn't place in the youthful features, a boldness that remained despite the fear reeking from him.

He would break that stubbornness before he destroyed him, one way or another.

He watched the boy until his escorts marched him away from his chambers, deep in thought.

.

Sand, as far as the eye can see. In the middle of the endless blue sky, a pair of twin suns, watching on the desert. Grains flying around, carried by the Khamsin wind and the speed of the skyhoppers.

Two boys were racing side to side, neither gaining the advantage. Their speeders were so close they were touching, grinding together as the boys shared defiant gazes, trying to get ahead of the other. Finally, they sped out of the canyon into the open space and screeched to a halt, dust worming itself into the engines. They stepped down, still laughing in exhilaration, and the taller of the two, a boy with dark hair and eyes, passed an arm against his friend's shoulders, ruffling his mop of blonde hair. The smaller one tried to pull out of his embrace, but in vain, and the both of them fell sitting on the sand.

"Can you imagine," the blonde boy quietly said, "how awesome it would be to race between the stars?"

The other grinned.

"One day, that's gonna happen, Luke. We'll fly in battle together, the finest pair of hotshots the galaxy's ever seen. We'll be a couple of shooting stars that'll never be stopped."

Luke smiled and looked down, cocking his head on the side. His eyes had lost part of their sparkle.

"I'm not joining the Rebels though, Biggs, you know that."

Biggs frowned, dreams and laughter forgotten.

"You've been spending time with that trooper again, haven't you."

"His name's Jem," Luke retorted. "And he's a good man!"

Biggs sighed.

"It's not because one Imperial is a good man that the whole system is good, Luke. Don't let yourself be taken in by their propaganda, you're smarter than that."

"But they have been bettering things here," Luke argued, looking his friend in the eye. "The school in Anchorhead, the freed slaves in Mos Espa – that's all them."

"That's only part of it. The school is just a way for them to put their ideas in young heads like yours. And they only freed the slaves to weaken Jabba the Hutt. They're doing far worse things outside in the galaxy..."

Suddenly they were on Prefsbelt, in the dry and grey corridors of the Academy.

"... I'm no longer losing my time with your secret meetings," Luke said as they got into their dorm, making sure no one was around. "They're just Rebel propaganda and, honestly, it's ridiculous. I don't even know how you can believe that!"

"It's the truth," Biggs said.

"Yeah, right," Luke replied. "That's why they always speak of the gruesome slaughters the Imperials commit, but never of all the civil lives the Rebels destroy with their sabotages! How can you not see it?"

"Luke..."

The young man sighed, suddenly seeming very tired.

"Listen, let's talk about something else. I don't want to argue right now... we're always saying the same things anyway."

They kept walking in a corridor similar to the one they'd just left, and arrived in a hangar, where people were boarding two different shuttles. Luke was standing facing Biggs and another man awkwardly.

"So, Biggs, Hobbie, you're really doing it?" Luke asked.

"Not so loud," Biggs hurriedly said. "I swear your mouth is worse than a crater."

Luke glanced around, suddenly worried.

"I'm sorry. I'm quiet now, listen how quiet I am," he said, barely whispering.

The two other men chuckled at his antics, and Luke smirked, but their hearts were not in it.

"Yeah," Hobbie said. "We are."

Luke's mouth pressed in a thin line.

"Be careful," he ended up saying. "I wish we never cross paths."

Biggs's face contorted in a grimace.

"This is war, Luke. We're enemies and nothing else now."

Luke's eyes widened, and he gaped at the taller man. It was so unlike him to say that...

"Biggs... you'll always be my friend, you know that," he pleaded.

Suddenly Luke found himself in the cockpit of his TIE, flying up the mountain, killing a Rebel pilot.

"Really, Luke? Am I? You killed me!"

Luke put his hand on his ears and closed his eyes, but Biggs's words were just as strong, his face staring accusingly at him. It was but a black skull now, and his breath sounded loud and laboured, his voice dark and foreboding.

"No... Biggs..."

"You killed me! Killed me... killed me..."

Luke woke up with a start, his heart hammering in his ears. It was a nightmare, nothing but a nightmare. Their goodbyes had ended with Biggs reassuring him they'd always be friends no matter what happened, not this cold and cruel separation. He still remembered it distinctly. He wasn't at the Academy, he was onboard Devastator, in the cell he'd been confined to for the night.

He hadn't killed Biggs. These Rebel pilots he'd shot down, neither of them had been him. Luke had to believe that. He would never be able to forgive himself if it turned out he had taken his childhood friend's life, the boy with whom he'd shared most of his dreams, the man who had allowed him to get off his boring planet. What were the odds, of all the Rebels in the galaxy, that he would face him during his first battle? There was simply no way it had been him.

Yet he knew the possibility was going to haunt him for a long time.

Luke sighed and sat up on the cold metal bench, putting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Of the three hours of night he'd still had, he'd spent at least two rolling over and over on the hard surface, his thoughts bumping into each other in his head, making such noise even his exhaustion hadn't been enough to make him doze off. He'd finally managed to reach a state of anxious slumber, only to be torn from it soon after, and he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He lay down on his back again, an arm under his head serving as a makeshift pillow, and tried to find a comfortable position as he waited for his guards to come and take him out, distractedly running his fingers against the smooth wall.

The small cell was dark and cold, and Luke shivered. It was more than the temperature: there was a feeling of deep unease here, of oncoming suffering and death. Luke had the impression it was just waiting in the shadows, biding its time before it could take him.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the ludicrous idea. It was probably just the dream influencing him. And maybe also his encounter with Vader, the memory of which was even more vivid in his stark environment. He now understood better all the rumours about him, although none of them did him justice. There were no words for the liquid terror that had run through his veins when the Dark Lord had threatened him, for his awesome and crushing presence that made him freeze on the spot just from standing next to him. For a shattering moment, he had been certain he was about to die.

The worst was that, to a certain extent, he had deserved the punishment. Refusing to execute orders was serious business, dangerous for himself, the group, and the mission. He knew that, and yet he still had felt compelled to ignore Vader's instructions, pushed by a sense of urgency that came from nowhere. It had been such a deep instinct, so powerful... He didn't understand it.

But he resolved to listen to it no longer. He didn't want to put an entire mission in jeopardy again... and neither was he curious about what Vader would do to him, should he disobey once more.

Luke took a deep breath. It was all right. He was alive, Vader hadn't killed him, he had another chance to prove himself. The next time they met, he swore his commanding officer wouldn't be so unhappy with him.

He wished he could contact Biggs and Hobbie... know if they were all right, at least.

By the time his door opened on the troopers come to free him, Luke couldn't have been more grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. Squinting against the bright light coming from outside, he jumped up and exited the cell. A soldier handed him a datapad.

"Your new orders," he said.

Luke nodded, and they led him out of the brig before letting him go. Luke scurried along towards the squadron quarters, his muscles sore, heavy tiredness loading his bones. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bunk and get some real, restful sleep. Unfortunately, he had an entire work day ahead of him before he could do that. He was determined to take at least some time for a shower, though. He still felt dirty from the battle of the day before, he was in sore need of a change of uniform, and his dream was staying like a bitter aftertaste in the back of his mind.

The only one in the rooms when he arrived was Lt. Tanbris. The others must already be busy with their day. Luke was relieved not to have to talk to them. He didn't feel like explaining his situation right now.

"Ensign Lars," Lt. Tanbris said, opening wide eyes. "Where have you been? You didn't check in yesterday with the rest of the squadron."

Luke shrugged uncomfortably, earning himself a frown from the lieutenant. He handed him his orders.

"I was given this for you, sir."

Lt. Tanbris took the datapad and turned it on. He nodded as he read, understanding appearing on his face.

"Well, it seems your career is off to a fine start," he said, throwing Luke a disapproving glance. Luke listened attentively as he told him of his duties, repressing a grimace. Maintenance, datawork, watch duty: he had an inkling Vader had given him the most boring tasks on purpose.

Not like he had room to complain. After all, it was supposed to be a punishment.

Lt. Tanbris gave him his device back, and Luke muttered a thanks.

After a short trip to the refresher, he set out to find the officer in charge of his station. He got through a few officers before a helpful lieutenant redirected him to the hangars and told him to check in with the chief flight tech. At least he would still be working on ships... He'd hesitated to go in engineering for a while, but the thrill of piloting had won out.

It turned out the chief flight tech was a tall, dark-skinned, clearly overworked man. Luke found him underneath a TIE Interceptor, making repairs. He cleared his throat uneasily, not knowing if he should manifest himself more clearly.

The man emerged from under his ship, and threw Luke an aggravated glance.

"What's it?"

"I was told to report here, sir," Luke said. "I have..."

"Right," the tech waved, going back to his work without even a look at Luke's datapad. "Go lend a hand to the guys working on the shuttles."

Luke waited a few moments to see if there was more, but the man was already engrossed in his repairs again. He repressed a frustrated sigh, annoyed by the fact nobody seemed to know where he was supposed to be. Was it so impossible to give him clear instructions?

He spent the morning performing menial tasks all across the hangars, handing out an hydrospanner here, checking the oil levels there, and overall feeling spectacularly useless. The techs seemed to have their routine, know exactly what they needed to do, and while Luke's help seemed welcome at times, mostly he just had the impression he was intruding in their crazy schedule. From time to time, he spotted a couple of pilots running to their crafts, and a wistful pang went to his heart. That was his place, not here.

Finally, after one more vague redirection, he found himself collapsing on a crate in a small storage room, weary and tired, and feeling like nobody would miss him anyway if he took a small break. Sitting down was heavenly; were he to lie down on the ground, he was certain he would fall asleep in less than a minute.

Enjoying the calm, he took a look around him. The room was a mess of spare parts and tools, supplies, broken objects needing to be repaired. It was the most disorganised place Luke had seen on the Star Destroyer yet... in the image of the tech department, he couldn't help thinking.

A high chirping electronic sound made him turn around. A black domed astromech droid was coming out of a dark corner of the room, and rolling excitedly towards him.

"Hey," Luke smiled. "You alone in here?"

The droid twirped something Luke didn't understand. It sounded a little like a positive answer, maybe.

"I'm just taking a break," Luke said. "I made a mistake, so I can't do my job any more. I'm a pilot, but my boss banned me from flying, so now I'm helping out with maintenance."

He sighed, looked around at the cluttered room. "Well, helping out as much as I can, that is."

The droid made a noise that seemed commiserating to Luke, and a wan smile appeared on his lips. He wished he knew how to understand binary: he had no idea what the small astromech was telling him.

"I just wish someone knew what I'm actually supposed to... hey, what is it?"

The astromech's chirping had suddenly become a lot more insistent. He was rolling towards him with a long trill, and had started bumping repeatedly into his shins. Luke still had no clue what he wanted from him. He let a small laugh escape him.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," he said. An idea struck him. "Wait a minute, maybe I can..."

He looked around and soon found what he was looking for: half buried in the junk, he saw an old binary translator. Luke unburied it from the mess, blew on it to chase away some of the dust, and scrunched his nose when he unwillingly breathed some of it. He started looking in the innards of the thing, fiddled with a few wires, and plugged it into his newfound friend. He smirked in satisfaction when the screen lit up.

"There, that's better. So, what were you telling me?"

I need repairs, the screen read in green Aurebesh letters. Small. My sensors. Been here for weeks!

"Really?" Luke said. "That's terrible. Come here, I'll see what I can do."

He grabbed the pack of tools lying next to it, and opened the droid's panel to search for the problem. Repairs were something familiar, something he enjoyed doing. For a moment, he found himself back in his uncle's workshop, tinkering with vaporators' damaged pieces, or trying to make the junk they bought from the Jawas work.

"There, I see. It's your video sensor all right, a faulty contact... By the way, how do I call you? You got a name or a designation?"

Another beep rang, and the young man glanced up. W4-L3.

"I'm Luke," he answered, looking back at the sensor. "Nice to meet you, Weefour."

A few minutes later, the job was done. He checked a last time if everything was in place, then closed the panel's hatch and his toolbox before straightening up.

"There, all set," he told the droid. He patted his dome and got back on his feet. "Everything working fine now?"

He didn't need the translator to understand the droid's exultant tweeting as he bumped in his legs again, nearly making him topple over.

"That's all right," Luke laughed. "It was nearly nothing."

Weefour's enthusiasm was contagious, and Luke felt much lighter. It was hard to remain serious and worried around him.

The chief tech's voice in the doorway made Luke turn around.

"Lars?"

"Here, sir," Luke hurried to say, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be helping them out.

"That's where you are," the man said, opening the door. Luke stood at attention in front of him.

"Sorry, sir. I was tending to this astromech," Luke said.

Weefour twirped, and Luke bit back his smile. The chief tech looked down at the droid, then back at Luke.

"Yes, well, if you are finished here, there's other work to do. We need to check the bombers' hydraulic system, there's been complaints..."

He left without checking Luke was coming with him. With a last smile at Weefour, Luke hurried to follow the chief tech out of the room.