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.

Pushing down a yawn, Luke shifted from one foot to another. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, looking around the docking bay and waiting for people to come to him with their orders. His feet were starting to hurt, and he had to fight against the weight of his eyelids in order not to have them fall down on their own. He thought he was going crazy from always seeing the same scenery, of which he was beginning to know every single detail. He needed to move, else he might die of boredom.

It had been like that for a month now: the days passing, longer than they had ever seemed before, filled with ever-more wearisome tasks. Working with the techs had been interesting enough compared with the utter dullness of watch duty and paperwork filing. And he had less free time than ever. The night before, he had worked well past 2300, only to carry on with a double shift from 0200 to 0600, and being stationed here as a deck officer right after. He felt both ready to fall asleep right there, standing on his feet, and so restless he could have screamed in frustration.

Needless to say, he wasn't exactly in the most stellar mood.

To think that the first time he had been here, he had imagined a glorious life flying and twirling in his snub, joking around with his squadmates between exercises and adrenaline-packed fights. He'd never thought he would be forced to remain here, standing for hours without anything to do, not even knowing if he would ever take flight again. If it was up to Vader, he would probably spend his whole existence stuck on the deck, watching the others rise in the sky while he was reduced to dreaming of it.

He kicked at imaginary dust. Not that there was any on the always pristine floors; they were too clean, too perfect, like everything in the Empire. It helped with his irritation, though.

As often when he felt down, he tried to imagine how his father would have fared in his situation; but today, the thoughts didn't bring him any comfort. Surely he had been far too clever to do anything as foolish as that. Even if he had, Luke was certain he would have taken the punishment far more gracefully.

But it had already been a month, and Luke had no idea when it would stop. How could he remain upbeat and optimistic? He felt just like he had on his uncle's farm, stuck on the ground and dreaming to fly, stifled and frustrated...

At least his uncle hadn't watched him like Vader did. Luke had no idea how to deal with him. He vaguely had the impression his superior wanted something from him, but what exactly, Luke had no clue. It was driving him crazy. Once or twice, he thought Vader was suspecting his secret, but he knew better than to ever confess he was a Jedi's son. After their betrayal and attack on the Emperor, all Jedi had been declared enemies of the Empire, an edict that according to his aunt and uncle was still effective and enforced... by Darth Vader himself, if the rumours were to be believed.

Luke wasn't sure what to think of that. His father had died before the end of the Clone Wars, so Luke was pretty sure he couldn't be one of those who supposedly turned against the Emperor. And why hunt all the Jedi, never mind their children? It just didn't make sense. He had tried looking up this part of history in order to try to understand, but it had been in vain. Knowledge was scarce on Tatooine, and the prejudice against the Jedi in the military Luke soon had to cut his research short.

Of course, Biggs claimed the Jedi were slaughtered by their own troops under a phony pretext... but Biggs was so brainwashed by Rebel propaganda Luke didn't trust a single word from him. Nationalisation of the commerce he could consider was happening, but there were many other tales, of slavery, of alien extermination, of children snatched from their homes, that Luke simply couldn't believe.

Still, although he still didn't understand why, he knew to keep quiet about his late father's occupation. He would have preferred not to hide it as if he was ashamed of his heritage, but there was nothing he really could do about it. He had made a promise to his aunt and uncle, one he was determined to keep.

He watched with dispassionate interest as a shuttle landed on the bay, stupidly resentful of her pilot as he watched her slowly make her way down on the deck. The hatch opened, the ramp came down, and he straightened, knowing he would probably be required to help.

Before long, officers in uniform, enlisted soldiers and stormtroopers descended on the bay. Soon enough, Luke had his hands full, signing order sheets and giving pointers to spacers, all different names or faces. It was only when a man who seemed in his early thirties approached him that he was pulled of his morose reverie.

"Ensign Xin Starfallen, reporting for duty," he said, like all the others before him.

Trying to keep an amenable face despite his frustration with his job, Luke took the datapad he was handed. His brow rose up in surprise when he saw where he was stationed.

"You're a pilot? Flying with the 61st?" he asked, throwing him a more attentive look. Despite the youth of his stern features, his hair was already greying, white streaks barely visible under his cover. His eyebrows were already white too, standing out in stark contrast against his dark skin.

"I think so," he replied. "The famed Black Squadron, I believe? We're a couple in the same case."

Luke looked around to see four other people standing behind, waiting for their turn. They were all dressed in the Navy's black uniform, their rank plaque similar to his, the same casual but daring expression on their faces.

"Yeah, that's the one," he answered, somewhat dejected. Was he being replaced by these people? Had Vader decided to keep him grounded for the rest of his time serving here, and found better pilots to take his place?

"That's my squad too," he said on a whim. "Great team, cool people. I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

"Really?" the man with the white hair said, looking surprised. "You fly too? I didn't know being a deck officer was part of regular squadron duties."

"Oh, it's not," Luke shook his head and smiled, doing his best to keep his tone lighthearted. "I messed up, so I'm temporarily grounded, that's all."

"I see," the other pilot replied. Luke couldn't help the sting of bitterness when he saw he looked somewhat relieved. Better me than him, of course. "Well, I hope you'll be flying again with us soon."

With us. Luke tried to ignore how much that hurt. They were going to take off, have a great squadron time, and he'd be forced to look from afar as they came back from patrols exhilarated. But I was here first, he couldn't help thinking, fighting the melancholy starting to take a hold of him.

He gritted his teeth. If only Vader could let him go back to flying. Perhaps he'd known the new pilots were arriving today and stuck him here on purpose just to rub it in, Luke wouldn't put it past him. Only a couple of weeks before, he would have brushed it off as a coincidence, but with the way Vader had been stalking him, he had to wonder.

"So do I," he muttered before addressing the other men. "You're the other new guys, then? You can already give me your orders, I'll sign them and then I'll show you the way. You're all going at the same place anyway."

He read their datapads and signed them, looking at them inconspicuously. There was a small man with a half-smile, a tall and lean one whose eyes seemed to be a lightyear away, one with a pointed chin and crooked nose, and one with broad shoulders, all at least ten years older than him.

"There," he said as he gave them their devices back. "So the squadron quarters are down the..."

He trailed off and swallowed, paling as he saw the unmistakable figure of his commanding officer approaching them, cape flying behind him. He was being watched yet again, he realised in irritation. Well, he was on duty, and he wouldn't let himself be pulled from it.

"... down the hall, then you take the second on your right, and it's in section 928, easy to find," he finished, pointedly ignoring Vader as he came to stand next to him, his arms crossed. Making him wait to be acknowledged let him feel somewhat vindicated.

Only then did he turn towards Vader, feeling the puzzled gazes of his future teammates as he crossed that of his superior.

"Lord Vader," he greeted him.

"Ensign Lars," Vader returned. Luke knew he was displeased, and felt recklessly pleased about it. "You seem to be taking your time to send these gentlemen on their way."

"I was just doing so, my lord," Luke retorted, looking him straight in the eye but boiling inside. So what if he chatted with them for a few seconds? It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. "I was not aware of any regulations regarding the time it took."

He was so tired and annoyed the words got out of his mouth before he could think them through. Only afterwards did he realise how bad an idea they actually were, as Vader looked at him from head to toe. Luke felt extremely small, ice running in his veins under Vader's glare and smacking himself mentally.

"You may go," Vader dismissed the other pilots.

They hesitated for a second, then visibly decided it was wiser to get away from the tension and headed down the corridors. Vader whirled on him, his attention as overwhelming as always.

"Do you remember why you have been grounded, boy?" he asked, the danger in his tone making Luke shiver.

He had come close enough that Luke had to crane his neck to look at him. The young man refused to break the eye contact anyway.

"Because I nearly disobeyed a direct order in battle," he answered, somehow managing to keep his tone respectful, if a little strained.

"You have been grounded in order to learn respect and obedience," Vader corrected. "Which I observe are still completely lost on you."

Luke looked down at that, his anger deflating a little bit. His brazen remarks suddenly seemed very stupid to him, and he was ashamed of his childishness. He hoped he hadn't just blown his only chance to get back on the squadron...

"Yes, sir," he answered. "I'll try to do better, I promise –"

"I strongly advise you to do so," Vader snapped, pointing his finger at him. Luke struggled to keep his face neutral. "If I must, I will not hesitate to take more... permanent measures to make sure your unruly arrogance no longer disturbs the order of this vessel."

Luke gulped, his eyes widening as he wondered if Vader was seriously threatening him with what he thought. Chaser's words rose uncomfortably to his mind. Any commander would've lodged you a bolt in the back of the neck in his place. Was he really implying...?

He gritted his teeth in anger, fists balling in spite of himself. Unruly arrogance! That was easy for him to say, when he was doing everything he could to drive him out of his wits!

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, looking up to meet Vader's eyes again, all but glaring at him.

The cold flames that surrounded him whenever Vader was close flared up, so furious Luke barely avoided gasping.

"Your tone most displeases me, young man," he said. Luke couldn't tear his eyes from him, petrified. "I do not think you fully understand what I just told you. Should you persevere in your pointless defiance, the consequences will not only affect your career, but your life as well. Have I made myself clear?"

Luke looked down, heart pounding in terror and hopeless rage. What did Vader want with him?

"Yes, my lord," he managed to ground out.

"Good," Vader answered. "I suggest you think about my words and remember who is in command before I run out of patience. I will see you tonight."

After this frightening reminder, he walked away without any more glance at Luke. Nails digging in his palms, Luke gritted his teeth in order not to scream.

This had been going on for four weeks. Constantly watched, berated if he put the slightest toe out of line... What had he even done this time? He had barely talked to the new pilots, he was just redirecting them, which was his job!

Maybe he shouldn't have lost his temper, though...

He sighed, feeling miserable both because of the injustice and his complete lack of control over his own frustration. Vader was the ship's master and commander. He was his commanding officer. Antagonising him was beyond reckless and stupid, it was bordering on insubordination. Luke really, really shouldn't do it.

And yet he couldn't help it. It seemed these wise thoughts completely flew out of the viewport the second Vader started breathing down his neck.

He took another shaky breath and wiped his clammy hands on his trousers. Well, it seemed he had another few hours of mindless waiting to do. Hopefully he wouldn't get murdered as soon as he left his posting...

Finally, when Luke thought he was finally going to lose his mind from all the inactivity, another officer came to relieve him. And relieved he felt, walking from his station to head back to his quarters. It was a wonder he was still standing on his feet.

When he reported to Lt. Tanbris, nobody seemed to be in the squadron's room. The new pilots must already have been put to work. He remembered that during his own first day he had indeed taken flight as soon as he arrived. How he longed to be there again...

Lt. Tanbris typed a few sentences in his datapad, scrunching his pointed nose, then handed it back to Luke with a second device.

"Lord Vader ordered that you sort and file out these reports before presenting yourself at his quarters tonight," he said.

Luke quickly skimmed through the files, barely holding back a groan. Lt. Tanbris threw him a commiserating smile

"Courage," he said. "After this your day will be over."

"It will take me hours to complete," Luke bemoaned. "Possibly the whole night, at the speed I'm usually doing this stuff..."

"Well then, it will be much needed experience for you, and you should get to it as soon as you can."

He had not raised his voice a single notch, but Luke had learnt to recognise an order when he heard it. "Yes, sir," he hurried to say before slipping away in the living room.

Luke settled on one of the benches, then opened the first file and started browsing through the documents.

It was an eclectic combination of forms: maintenance reports, prisoners' files, it seemed the only thing linking them was that they were all issues aboard the same vessel. Luke began a first sorting before getting to the real work, performing a quick search to remind himself of the procedures before launching into it.

At first it was a hassle that took him forever, but soon enough, Luke started to get the hang of it. He learnt where to look for the information he was seeking, where to put in his signature code and how to send them off. It was still a mind-numbing job, but once he found a rhythm to it he could let his mind wander while his fingers mindlessly worked.

He kept the ship maintenance files for the end, knowing it was likely to be the most interesting thing, despite not being interesting at all. At least he could somewhat understand what they were talking about. So he started with everyday logistics, and went on to prisoners reports once that first part was finished.

Luke distractedly went through the files, sorting them by section of the detention area. Apparently, as merciless as the battle had seemed, it had still allowed them to capture some Rebels... He tried not to think about that, about the real people that had to be behind the identification numbers. He thought back about Chaser's words, of thinking of them as the enemy and nothing else. He supposed he was starting to see his point...

A sentence in one of the files' summary interrupted his uneasy thoughts. Scheduled for enhanced interrogation.

He checked the security, made sure there hadn't been a breach, that he was actually allowed to see this. But everything was in order. Of course, it made sense: he seemed to remember something about interrogation files needing to be sent to another cell block, so he would need to know what files were concerned...

Luke looked around to check nobody was there, breathing deeply to try and control the frantic beating of his heart. This meant nothing. Questioning enemies was standard practice, just like interrogating suspects in a criminal investigation. There was nothing wrong with it.

But still the formulation struck a nerve, awakened memories he didn't want to think about.

... lose all their civil rights...
... prisoners of war...
... the practice of torture...

He stared at the words on the screen, feeling sick. Those were lies, false accusations spread by the Rebellion to discredit the Empire. He knew that; he'd known that even as Biggs had dragged him to one of these stupid secret reunions of his. He had spent half the time rolling his eyes as the speakers dragged horrifying video after outraging testimony on the screen, a chilling display that had left him shaken but unconvinced, angry not at the abuse they described but at the fact there were people to believe these things. They'd had one of their most violent arguments right after that.

Luke knew it was shameless propaganda. However, finding the exact formulation the Rebels had called out, right here in real Imperial files, was somewhat unnerving.

This was bantha poodoo, he told himself, rather annoyed he'd let it go to his head in spite of himself. It was obvious they had taken some actual vocabulary and twisted it into something much worse. If they wanted to have the slightest amount of credibility, they needed to have at least some grounding in reality, for all thin that it was.

They were at war. The Rebels were using the weapons they could find; confronted to an enemy much more powerful than them, dirty tricks were to be expected. He shouldn't let himself be unbalanced by this.

He opened the file, typed in his signature code, and sent the file on.

There. It wasn't that terrible, he thought, taking deep breaths and trying to stop his hands from trembling. If it had been a test, he supposed he had passed it. Most likely, it was nothing of the sort, nothing but innocent and boring datawork. It was just his tired brain making unnecessary drama out of it.

Nonetheless, he couldn't untie the knot in his guts as he went through the rest of the files. He sorted through even the ship maintenance files as quickly as he could, without looking at the designations and trying to picture what craft it was like he might otherwise have done.

It was a relief to send the last report onwards and turn off the datapad screen. He set it next to him on the bench and threw his head backwards, putting his arm over his eyes. It was over. His day was finally over.

Or, well, nearly so. He still had to report to Vader...

He sighed, his stomach twisting once again. Oh, he didn't want to see his commanding officer now. He already felt so drained and exhausted, there was no telling what blunders the stress of these daily meetings would make him do. Luke couldn't go there now. He needed to relieve some of his nervousness first...

In truth, Luke wanted nothing more than to sleep, but that was out of the question at this time. However, surely nobody would begrudge him half an hour for a work-out session...

He rose and took the datapad with him. Vader might resent him for being left to wait, but he had simply ordered Luke to come after he finished sorting out the datawork, and he had no way to know that. Besides, Luke needed it too much. He grabbed a towel and pulled suitable clothes on, then left. He hoped the gym was as deserted as the squadron quarters.

Unfortunately, there was one person present in the room, and it was one of the people he least wanted to speak to. Chaser was sitting on a bench, wiping his face dry and looking like he just finished his own sport session. For a moment, Luke considered leaving and going to see Vader directly after all, but Chaser had already spotted him.

Luke resigned himself. Thanks to both of their busy schedules, he had managed to avoid his wingmate for an entire month. He guessed it was now time for them to talk; continuing like this any further would be childish.

Chaser rose to greet him somewhat awkwardly.

"Hi, FNG. You doing okay?"

Luke shrugged, a bit startled that Chaser was going to do as if they'd never argued.

"Could be worse," he replied, hoping to cut the interaction short. He was still angry at Chaser, but he didn't have the energy to start another row.

"Yeah, I guess," Chaser muttered. He hesitated for a while, looking chagrined, then he looked at Luke again. "Listen, I'm glad to see you. I wanted to apologise for the other night. I never meant these things I threw at you, it just... it was a rough day for everybody."

Ah. There is was. Strangely enough, now that it was out in the open, Luke didn't really want to talk about it.

"It was mean, what you said about my father and my uncle."

Chaser looked down with a remorseful frown his thick black eyebrows made even more expressive.

"Yeah, it was," he admitted. "I shouldn't have."

They stayed silent for a while. Luke's resentment was slowly subsiding. He wished for nothing more, right now, than to share a patrol shift with Chaser like they so often used to do, or to go for a mock fight in the simulators. What better way to erase all traces of tension between them? But even that was denied to him.

"You had a point, though, about me being unreliable." The words crossed his lips unbidden, full of a bitterness he hadn't realised he felt. "Maybe I shouldn't have tried to be a pilot. I'm not cut out for this. The way it looks like, I'll probably be a deck officer for the rest of my life anyway. It'll be better for everybody."

To Luke's surprise and irritation, Chaser scoffed.

"What are you talking about? You're going to be a great pilot. I've never seen someone your age fly like you."

Luke looked at him, wondering if he was joking again. Chaser was looking away, a wistful smile on his lips, half mischievous smirk.

"You know, you remind me a bit of my step-brother. He's too impatient for his own good as well, always wanting to be the best and frustrated when he takes too much time to get there. We used to argue all the time – idiot was proud as a peacock, couldn't stand when I gave him advice."

"What happened to him?" Luke asked.

"He learnt," Chaser replied. "He's become a pilot, a damn good one from what I heard. Turr Phennir, ever heard of him?"

Luke shook his head. Chaser shrugged, but Luke could see the pride on his face. He wondered how it must be like, to have a sibling. He'd wanted a sister at some point during his childhood, but it had only been him with Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen.

Chaser put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, concern written on the rough planes of his face. "You're as white as a sheet."

Luke tried a weak smile.

"I'm fine," he said. It wasn't completely false; he was feeling a little bit better. "It was a long day, is all. I came to exercise a little before reporting to Vader..."

His stomach did an anxious somersault at the thought.

"Tough," Chaser commiserated. "Well, at least you'll have your evening free! It's still early enough."

Luke nodded. That would only be true if he stopped procrastinating, though.

"All right," he stood up. "I'd better get to work."

"Right," Chaser answered. "I'll see you tonight then. No hard feelings?"

Luke smirked.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm tempted to give you all my chores for a week for you to make it up to me."

A flash of humour crossed Chaser's eyes.

"In your dreams, hotshot," he retorted. "Good luck for your meeting."

"Thanks," Luke answered. Chaser left the room and he headed towards the machines, muttering to himself. "I've got a feeling I'll need it..."