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.

Despite the bacta pill he had swallowed to alleviate the pain, Luke slept awfully that night. He kept rolling in his bunk, laying awake long after all his squadmates had gone to bed. His forehead and ears felt too hot, the space around him too cramped. His throat remained sore and itching even after the medicine had taken effect, and breathing still felt less easy than it should be. As soon as he dozed off, nervous thoughts and beginning of nightmares came to startle him out of slumber. He felt trapped, both wishing for nothing more than to reach the depths of sleep and fearing what the next day would bring.

Luke jumped awake as Vader stood over him, his hand hovering over his throat. He sat up and managed to bite back a cry at the last minute, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was nothing, he realised as he lowered his shaking hands, that he'd held up in a defensive reflex. Vader wasn't breathing down his neck; the regular and hissing sound he heard was only Vil's light snoring.

Trying to banish the sensation of a leathered hand closing around his neck, he threw a glance at his holowatch on his bedside table and grimaced. In less than an hour, it would be time for him to get up. He would get no more sleep tonight.

He forced himself to stand with a groan. His voice was rough and croaky, but already much less painful to use than the night before. He yawned and made his way to the refresher, shivering from tiredness. He usually managed to forget how cold space was, but in the early morning hours the low temperatures of the ship were most difficult to ignore.

Luke closed the 'fresher's door and opened the tap of the sink, then splashed water in his face, grimacing from the temperature. He had taken up the habit at the Academy whenever he'd had a rough night: sonic showers just weren't as effective as real cold water to wash weariness away. Feeling a bit better, he took a deep breath and seized a towel to dry himself, enjoying the feeling of the rough material against his face. By force of habit, his eyes darted towards the mirror, and he froze.

He was awfully pale and thin, his tired eyes ringed with dark circles, but these details were hardly what attracted his gaze. Both appalled and fascinated, he gingerly held up a hand and brushed the base of his throat. Coloured spots were sprayed across his neck where Vader had held him the day before, like nebulas of purple, blue and green blood under his skin. He touched them, numb, surprised not to find them particularly sensitive. It was the inside of his throat that itched him the most.

A rush of memories assaulted him, and he took support on the basin, struggling to keep his breath steady.

He should be dead. He still remembered it all, the helplessness of being trapped against the wall, a hand of metal constricting his airways... But more than anything else, it was the intensity of Vader's fury that terrified him. That slow and steady increase of the pressure against his throat, the cold precision of the shadows holding him... Luke couldn't say how he knew it, but he was sure that hadn't been a mere outburst of anger. Vader had been deliberately trying to kill him.

Luke closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He didn't understand why Vader had let him go. His memories were confused, but he remembered being asked questions that made no sense and being rushed out of the room, dismissed as if he had just brought caf. Luke wished he knew what had happened, how he could still be standing, breathing. If only he could understand his commanding officer's frightening moods... It was terrifying to know that next time, perhaps he wouldn't be so lucky.

And that was only if Vader had truly changed his mind. What if he was just waiting for the next time he saw Luke to finish the job once and for all? Luke dreaded it. Vader had seemed to want his death so much, only to stop without an explanation... It was all too likely that the next time Luke saw him, Vader would try to kill him again, without stopping this time.

One thing was certain: if he wanted to survive, he needed to escape Vader's scrutiny. Leaving – or rather deserting – was absolutely out of the question: he would only die more quickly and surely, and for good reason. He simply refused to leave his service in the Empire like that. Asking for reassignment was just as unthinkable, because all requests went through Vader for approbation, and Luke had a sinking feeling he wouldn't let him go so easily.

He ran a hand on his face. If only he knew why his commanding officer showed such an interest in him... He had discarded his first fear that he had been discovered as the son of a Jedi: Vader seemed to think instead he was the Jedi, which made no sense and was frightening in its own way. If Vader kept believing that, then Luke truly had no hope to live.

His only option, then, was to lie low and become the perfect soldier, never complaining, never giving Vader any opportunity to notice him again. Unfortunately, his temper had a tendency to flare at the worst times, especially when his commanding officer was involved. There was something exhausting and exasperating with the way Vader constantly seemed to loom over his shoulder, which never failed to put him on the defensive.

But it wasn't like he had a choice. He needed to remain calm: his life depended on it.

Trying not to think too hard about it, Luke took his time to shower and put his uniform on. He pulled the collar as high as he could, but it remained too low to cover the marks. He hoped nobody would say anything about it...

He drank his caf leisurely, savouring the bland taste and trying not to think that this could be the last time he would ever be drinking it. Because of his early start, he had some more time than usual to breakfast, which he wasn't too sure was a good thing or not. His musings were definitely more morbid than most mornings...

Luke was ten minutes early when he headed to the squadron meeting room to receive his instructions from Lt. Tanbris. He wondered what he would find this time: until now, Vader had been creative enough in putting Luke in the places that made him miss flying the most. Had he even bothered to give Luke duties this time, or would he merely be summoned to his chambers like usual, only never to leave them?

To his surprise, Lt. Tanbris gave him with a light smile while holding out his datapad to him.

"Congratulations, Ensign Lars. You are reinstated on the squadron."

Luke blinked, not daring to believe his ears.

"What?"

"See for yourself," Lt. Tanbris said, nodding towards the datapad. "This must be one of the shortest and lightest punishments for an offence such as yours. You are to go back to your normal duties from now on."

Luke glanced down at the device, and saw confirmation of what the officer was telling him. His smile widened. He was really back, this was happening at last. He would get the chance to prove himself, to show his goodwill and determination to do better, and he was determine to seize it.

"Thank you, sir!" he excitedly told Lt. Tanbris, his grin so wide it must be eating half his face. "I'm not gonna disappoint, I promise!"

For once, his outburst didn't earn him any disapproving glance, but a smile back.

"It is not I who should be receiving thanks or promises," Lt. Tanbris said. "Go now. I believe there is a squadron meeting planned in room 113-8 in about fifteen minutes. Operation planning, if I remember well."

Operation planning... So they were expecting action soon. Luke felt like dancing and springing. He was going back on the squadron... he would be flying again... It was a deliverance, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Had Lt. Tanbris not been watching him, he would have begun to laugh and shout right then and there.

Another look at the datapad he was holding made him sober down.

"Lt. Tanbris, sir... do you know if I need to keep reporting to him in the evenings or if I'm back on a completely normal schedule? It isn't specified..."

The lieutenant frowned. He gestured towards Luke's datapad again, who held it out to him, then skimmed through it again.

"I don't know," he answered Luke, giving him his device back. "Knowing the man, however, I doubt it was an oversight."

The information settled with cold dread in the pit of Luke's stomach. He was still stuck with their daily meetings. Was it a way for Vader to make sure he behaved, or had he something more sinister in mind? Was this move of rehabilitating on the squadron only a way to get him to lower his guard, so he wouldn't expect the next attack on his life?

In any case, it wasn't like he could do a lot about it. He warmly thanked Lt. Tanbris, then left, buzzing with excitement.

He took a seat around the middle of the room, feeling nervous as if it was his first time attending such a meeting, and did his best not to fidget. It was like coming home after a long time away. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed this.

Only a short time afterwards, his squadmates entered and joined him. Dark Curse and the new guy with the black skin and white hair were the first to arrive.

"Hey," he greeted them, trying to sound as casual as possible. Unpleasant memories of the night before came to his mind, and he felt quite awkward. He hoped they wouldn't bring it up.

"Hi, FNG," Dark Curse smiled at him, the familiar wrinkles appearing around his slanting eyes. "How are you feeling? You look better than yesterday."

Luke stiffened, shrugged.

"I'm fine," he said. Eager to change the subject, he turned to the new recruit. "I'm sorry, I didn't have the occasion to catch your name."

That was true, but not the reason why Luke was asking. He'd come to realise pilots usually preferred to be known by their call sign rather than their name, and Luke had no idea what his was.

"Just call me Silver," the man waved, like Luke had expected.

"So, does this mean you're back on flying duty?" Dark Curse asked Luke.

"Yeah," Luke replied, noticing the other pilots entering the room from the corner of his eye. "I'm finally done with the grounding –"

He cut off his sentence in a great cry as a big clap in the back sent him forward, nearly sprayed on the table. Laughter rose from the assembly. Luke shot Chaser a mock glare as he walked around the table to sit across him, followed by two new pilots and wearing a wide smirk.

"That's not how you say 'hello' or 'welcome back', you brainless thug," Luke said.

Before Chaser could retort, his neighbour let out a thundering laugh.

"Well done, kiddo, that's how he should be spoken to," the man said. Luke was surprised how strong and deep his voice was, considering he wasn't particularly tall or broad-shouldered. "You sound better than yesterday, in any case. I'm Boomer, and this one here's Cosmo."

Luke threw a glance at Cosmo, a lean man with high, thin eyebrows that gave him a distracted look. Cosmo tilted his head and smiled back. Chaser groaned.

"Man, if it's gonna be like this, I think I preferred it when you were gone. I liked the quiet." He suddenly frowned, and Luke's smile froze on his face upon realising where he was looking. "Hey, what happened to your neck?"

Luke shrugged, but couldn't help rubbing his throat absently, half by reflex and half to conceal the marks. "Long story."

He looked back at the door, where the rest of the squadron was slowly coming to join them. Vil came to sit next to them, followed by Qorl and the last new guys, then Mauler who sat in the back of the room. Luke frowned. Mauler was usually the one who directed this kind of presentations; if he wasn't the one speaking, then who could it –

Everybody went silent, and Luke's blood rushed from his face. He couldn't tear his eyes from Vader's tall shape at the entrance of the room, chills running down his spine as the mechanical breathing resounded in the room, a tolling bell that had haunted his nightmares the previous night. His own breath caught in his throat, his heart beating faster, and he was suddenly far more aware of the air coming in and out of his lungs.

This was it. This was the end. Any moment now, Vader's black hand would reach out and Luke would be unable to breathe. He could see it all too clearly in his mind's eye... Luke hunched on his chair, trying to escape Vader's notice, barely able to think in the middle of his panic.

He didn't want to die...

But Vader didn't so much as glance at him. He walked to the end of the room, his cape brushing against the legs of his chairs, and Luke thought his heart would stop from sheer terror when he went past him. Vader came to stand at the end of the table then took a few seconds to survey his audience before starting to talk.

"The hiding place of the Rebels who gave assistance to the concealed base on Carosi XII has been uncovered. We are currently studying the opportunity and the best strategy for an assault. This outpost is believed to be much better defended, with a whole arsenal of ships and soldiers."

Luke's heartbeat was finally growing softer again, and he could pay attention to what Vader was saying. Perhaps he wouldn't kill him now, after all. Luke should have expected him not to want to make a mess in the middle of the meeting, in front of everybody else. It was hardly the ideal place for a murder.

He had at least another few hours of respite. After all, Vader hadn't discontinued their evening meetings...

"For long, Black Squadron was but a shadow of itself, decimated by losses to the point of being reduced to half its numbers," Vader went on. "Countless profiles of pilots were examined, scrutinized to find the best among the Imperial Navy to replenish your ranks. You are the elite, gentlemen; and the elite is not easily replaced. But today this squadron is complete once again, ready to rise to its former glory.

"I will not lie to you. The next weeks will be immensely trying. You will need to train, to adapt, to exceed former requirements to be moulded into this new body of work. Peace will not be achieved without sweat or blood. What is expected – what is needed of you is nothing less than to be the quickest, cleverest, strongest, and most competent fighters of this Empire."

Now that he was somewhat calmer, a thrill of excitement went through Luke at his words. Vader was not only good on a battlefield: he also had an orator's skill to motivate his troops. He wondered if his squadmates were feeling it too, this desire to prove themselves, this anticipation to perform as well as he could... He, for one, couldn't wait for the occasion.

If he lived until then, that was.

He cast the awful thought away and listened attentively to Vader's outlining of the training plan, the skills they would need, the first data they had managed to get on the Rebels. He talked for a long time, but Luke kept himself focused, terrified Vader would notice his slightest moment of inattention. Then, at last, Vader stepped back and left the place to Mauler before leaving the room.

Luke sagged on his seat as Mauler started speaking of more technical details. He was alive and free. He hadn't expected to feel so relieved at the simple fact.

After Mauler had finished his presentation, which Luke had only caught in spades, they headed to the sims for practical training. It was a strange sensation to slip in the cockpit once again, both foreign and incredibly familiar. Luke didn't think he'd gone that long without exercising every since he'd started his training... He closed his hands around the control, slowly breathing in and out, a smile growing on his lips.

The program launched and he was soaring in space once again, twirling and twisting like he'd done so often before. He had to repress a wild laugh in a particularly close turn, keeping track of his squad mates even while he avoided and shot down the enemy ships. It felt easy and natural, the movements he'd learnt at the Academy coming back to him as if he was just walking.

After a moment, however, he began paying extra attention to the instructions they had been given, sharpening his mind to what the others were doing and adapting to them. He may have been out of practice, but the energy and motivation he experienced more than compensated for the fact. He was determined not to make the same mistakes that had cost him his place in the squadron in the first place.

A few minutes passed like this when he began to find some sort of a routine. He felt as if he was both taking distance and incredibly close to the action, as if he was falling asleep and more awake than ever at the same time; he knew what the enemy would do before they moved, could practically feel them, guided by a powerful instinct telling him what to do before his brain even got there –

No. He voluntarily snapped out of it, narrowly dodging a Rebel coming right on him in his distraction. His heart was beating faster. He recognised the sensation: it was the same kind of feeling that had prevented him from firing when Vader had ordered him to back above Carosi XII, the same kind of feeling that had brought him so much trouble in the first place. He was determined not to let it rule him once again, lest it destroy his career – or his life, even – forever this time.

But it was hard to keep at top performance and not fall into that secondary state, which he now realised he had relied on a lot every time he'd been in flight up until now. He didn't think he managed to get completely rid of it, either; whenever he found himself in a particularly tight spot, he found himself falling back on that intuition despite himself, like it was a secret knowledge that was helping him not to get shot down.

It was quite uncomfortable to fly like that, but Luke somehow managed to find some fun in the heightened difficulty. He did not get killed until the exercise was completed, and his team had achieved an honourable score. Staring at the end screen, he ran a hand in his short hair, catching his breath before he stepped out of the simulator.

The others were already all gathered around the debrief table, waiting for Mauler, who was still gathering the results from the program, to come and review the proceedings.

"That was some warm-up," Boomer said. "I don't think I've ever sweated so much in a mere simulator."

"That's how it works here," Dark Curse replied. "Mauler likes to set the machines on a very high level of difficulty. The goal is to make real battles look like a peaceful patrol shift by comparison."

Boomer snorted.

"Worst is, I can imagine it works."

For absolutely no reason, the comment cracked Luke up, who started laughing even harder in front of his squad mates' surprised looks. It'd been a long time since he'd felt such light-heartedness, such normalcy and sense of belonging. He finally managed to get a grip on himself just as Mauler joined them, still grinning like a madman.

"It's good to be back," he breathed out as only explanation.

.

The rest of the day was spent exercising in the sims, debriefing the sessions, and studying battle tactics. They were all whacked when Mauler finally let them go, but Luke who hadn't flown in weeks was probably the worst of them all. Still, it was so good to end the day exhausted, knowing he'd sleep well that night, instead of the restless slumber he had constantly experienced during his grounding.

He just wished his squad mates would cut him some slack.

"... and then he looks him right in the face and says, 'I was not aware of any regulations regarding the time it took'!"

Luke took another sip of his drink, trying to tune out the voice of Torpedo, one of the new pilots, telling of one certain mess that had happened just the day before. Maybe if he hid his face far enough behind his glass, it would grow less red... Incredulous laughter punctuated the light-hearted story, whose finer details Luke had already half forgotten and had hoped never to remember.

So much for that.

"Vader went completely still. It was as if he'd even stopped breathing. I thought that boy would drop dead then and there!"

Chaser whistled. He tilted his head towards Luke, raising his glass.

"Every time I think you can't do anything crazier, you go and prove me wrong," he said. "I don't know if I should respect you or yell at you until you find a sense of self-preservation."

"Both," another new guy, Cosmo, intervened. His eyes had two different colours, Luke noticed. Maybe that was why he always looked distracted, as if a part of his mind was in another place. Right now, though, Luke could see the hilarity on his entire face.

"Why, where would be the fun in that? I like to live dangerously," Luke bragged. Against all reason, pride grew in him at their dumbfounded glances. He tried not to dwell on the twists his stomach was doing ever since they had started on that topic of conversation.

He glanced at his chrono. Surely he could afford another few minutes...

Laughter resounded in the room.

"Who wants to take bets on how long he takes before getting grounded again?" Boomer said, his voice so strong Luke winced from the volume. He was sitting right next to him.

The knot in Luke's guts tightened. They were probably all going to lose that bet.

He couldn't put it off any longer.

"Without me, thanks," Luke replied. "In any case, I should get moving. I'm still supposed to report to Vader."

He downed the rest of his glass and put it down on the table, enjoying the small comfort of the soft warmth spreading in his stomach. His hands weren't shaking. Everything was fine.

"You going to be all right?" asked Chaser.

The tone was light, but Luke could see the concern in his eyes, the quick glance down at his throat. He forced a smile.

"Yeah, fine. I'll be back in half an hour at most," he said, trying to believe it.

Chaser didn't look convinced. Luke held his gaze, hoping nobody could hear his heart beating against his ribs.

"All right. See you then," he said.

Luke nodded, mock-saluted all the pilots, and left the room.

He managed to hold himself quite well until he arrived in front of Vader's door. But there, fear struck Luke with full power, so strong he wondered how he was going to press the button of the intercom.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't set foot in that room again, just like that, knowing he was going to be killed – and Luke was certain now that was what was waiting for him, maybe as soon as he crossed the threshold.

And yet what choice did he have? Vader was expecting him, had expressly ordered him to report to his quarters every night. He was the commander of the entire ship; Luke couldn't hope to defy his wishes and win.

Luke stared absently at the door, frozen, unable to make a single step towards it. He felt like crying. He didn't want to die; there was so much he still wanted to do with his life...

Before he could make his decision, his heart missed a beat as the door opened, as if Vader had somehow known he was waiting outside. There was no turning back now.

The sight somehow calmed Luke's fears, and he gritted his teeth in newfound determination. Well, if it was like that, if this really was the end, there was nothing he could do about it, and he'd meet it with his head held high. He wasn't a cowering child, he wasn't the disobedient and capricious boy he knew the others took him for. He would meet Vader with courage if it was the last thing he did.

Clinging to his stubborn decision to appear strong, he walked up to Vader's door and entered the room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was aware of every move, every gesture he made, every rush of blood in his veins. He forced himself to take deep breaths, noticing how eerily in sync with Vader's they were being.

"Ensign Lars," Vader said. "I hope you have reacquainted yourself well with your squadron?"

Luke observed him from the corner of his eye, feeling himself relax the tiniest bit the longer he wasn't being attacked. There was no special inflexion in his voice, nor any hint in his body language that may have revealed what emotion he was feeling.

"Yes, my lord." Luke hesitated, then decided his next words were probably neutral enough not to irritate the man. "Thank you for giving me a second chance. I promise I will not waste it."

Vader inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Good. I am pleased to see you in this disposition. I hope you have learnt from your mistakes, and will perform better from now on."

Luke nodded, fighting not to show his surprise. Vader complimenting him? He didn't think that had ever happened before.

Perhaps he wouldn't die today after all. Hope started to blossom in his chest, against his best intentions.

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well." Vader moved, and Luke flinched, but he only crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I have watched your practice today, and I noticed that your flying style had been somewhat altered since the last time you flew. You seem to be less accurate, slower in your reactions. Do you see any reason for this change?"

Luke swallowed. Reproaches and uncomfortable inquiries again, now this was charted territory... He did his best to silence the unhelpful little voice at the back of his mind.

"I have been out of practice, sir," he tentatively answered. "But I am doing my best to –"

"No." Vader interrupted. "That is not what I am talking about."

There was an uneasy silence, one Luke had to fight not to break by asking for precisions. Once again the cold tendrils that only seemed to manifest when he was around Vader poked at his limbs, teasing him, demanding a reaction out of him. It hovered playfully around his neck, and it took all his willpower not to rise his hands and massage it convulsively.

"You have told me about a strange feeling of yours happening during the battle and preventing you from firing," Vader went on. "But that was not the first time you experienced it, was it?"

Luke stayed quiet, his mouth dry. What was he getting at?

"Every time you take flight, it is there, supporting you, accompanying you. It makes you quicker and stronger, tells you things you should not be able to know."

"My lord...?"

Luke cut himself off before he could say anything else, deeply disconcerted by these words and the accuracy with which they were describing his feelings when he was in space. How did Vader know any of this? How could he put into words what Luke himself barely understood? A mad idea took shape in his mind. Did Vader feel these things, too? Although it made no sense, it seemed the cold tendrils around him were humming in agreement.

Vader made a pause, closely watching Luke, who still had no idea what was happening. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, deliberately slow.

"Have you ever heard of the Force, young Lars?"

Luke frowned.

"No, my lord," he answered.

"As I expected. Few know of its existence; even fewer have access to it. You are one of these privileged ones. It is the Force that gives you your inhuman instincts and piloting skills. It is constantly with you, guiding you in ways you are not even conscious of. It surrounds and binds all life together, almighty and all-encompassing, holding power beyond your imagination."

He came closer to him, and Luke couldn't help taking a step back; but Vader hardly seemed to notice it.

"I can teach you to harness this power. I can help you master this gift you have been granted and achieve your full potential."

Luke swallowed, feeling trapped, fear rising in his stomach more and more strongly. He retreated again, trying to gain distance from Vader; but he could still feel the cold curls swirling around him, closer and closer, leaving him no escape.

"I – I don't understand."

"I am offering you a chance to be great," Vader went on. "A chance to do better, to show the world what you are really worth. The Force is a part of you that you cannot deny. Let me train you, and I will make you unstoppable!"

Hardly daring to move or even to breathe, Luke stared at him. He was mad. There was no other explanation to this feverish rambling, the passion in his voice, the urge of his movements. His words made no sense at all, these promises were filled with wind. It was so different from the precision with which he tackled his commanding functions it scared Luke. In this moment Vader looked twice as tall as usual, like a fire that couldn't be put off. Luke had no clue how to react.

And yet... and yet something in what he said strangely resonated within him, like they awakened something that had lain dormant during most of his life. The way hVader described the feelings he experienced in flight was so right, as if he had been in Luke's mind when he was in his fighter, and hearing him talk about this mysterious Force evoked something deep and strong inside him. All his life Luke had felt there was something more to the world than their small lives on Tatooine, some greater understanding of the universe...

He shivered, overwhelmed, unable to make sense of any of it. Why did Vader speak to him like this? What did he want? Suddenly Luke remembered his superior shaking him for answers the day before. Who trained you? he had asked. Was that what he had meant, was this a new ploy to make him admit to some sort of forbidden teaching?

Everything in him was screaming to refuse Vader's offer. And yet he knew that would be exposing himself to the man's wrath. He'd already annoyed him so much... one more antagonistic move could very well be the thing that sent him flying off the handle and made him decide Luke wasn't worth living after all.

But what was the alternative? Accepting whatever it was he was talking about, without understanding a thing about what he would be learning? Putting himself in this dangerous position without knowing what it entailed at all, and giving Vader even more power over him? The mere idea made him queasy. This was something he couldn't do, whatever the consequences of his refusal may be.

No, there was but one possible answer, even though he knew his superior wouldn't take it well.

"Thank you, my lord," he whispered, "but with all due respect, I'd much rather stay a pilot."

He closed his eyes, waiting for the storm to crash upon him; but to his surprise, nothing happened, except for the deafening silence that fell upon the room.

"I see."

Curious, Luke risked a glance towards Vader. He didn't seem mad, just... thinking. The young man had no idea what could be going on in his head.

"If you ever change your mind, know that my offer still stands. I will let you think about it. You may go."

And just like that, Luke was dismissed. He wished for nothing more than to run out of here, but didn't dare do so, too unsettled by his superior's changing moods. He wavered a bit more before taking a decision.

"My lord?" he inquired tentatively.

"Yes?"

"I... just meant to ask if I was still required to report to you in the evenings from now on. There was nothing addressing that in the orders sheet..."

He trailed off, and Vader looked at him for a long moment. He did his best to sustain his gaze. Finally, something seemed to change in his body posture, as if he'd just uttered a sigh, although his breath didn't seem changed in the slightest.

"No," he said. "You may resume a completely normal schedule."

Luke nodded, his thanks dying on his lips. He saluted somewhat clumsily, then hurried out of the room.

He walked back to his quarters giddy with relief at the knowledge that he would no longer have to come back. He was free... he was safe... he was alive... A disbelieving laugh escaped him. The recycled air of the ship's corridor had never been so delicious.

But even despite his joy, a corner of his mind kept musing over the encounter, strangely troubled by his commanding officer's thoughtful and quiet mood.