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.

The round shape of Praadost II was glistening in the light of its stars. Clouds were swirling on its surface, above the lush greens of the vegetation. It stood unmoving and unaware of the swarm of snub fighters descending towards it from the coldness of space above.

"Black Five standing by," Luke said as Mauler asked them to report in. He was leading the squadron today, as Vader was directing the ground assault. Luke had to admit he was glad. The Dark Lord was a menace and a very good ally to have on their side, but for personal reasons Luke preferred when he wasn't too close to him.

He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through his mouth. This was it. It felt like ages since the last battle he'd been in, his very first, in which he'd messed up so badly. It certainly had been a while since he'd been reinstated on the squadron: a while spent training, planning, researching for this very moment. He wasn't sure if the strain in his abdomen was fear or excitement. One thing he knew: he didn't have room for error this time.

He easily followed his squad mates as they flew down in formation, heading all together towards the planet, where the Rebel outpost was supposed to be. It was difficult to see anything under the canopy of the trees, which was so thick it concealed everything. He wondered how ships would be able to fly out of the jungle without getting caught in the foliage.

"All ships remain on standby," Mauler said. "Get in Osk formation, and look out for any enemies coming from the ground."

Luke flew in circles, keeping watch on the sea of green underneath him. Now that he was getting a better look at it, he could see lighter spots through the vegetation, clearings scattered through the landscape. A few of them were large enough to let ships through, and so he focused on these. Around him, his squad mates and the other pilots did the same.

A few tense minutes passed in expectancy as they waited for the Rebels to get out. Luke was holding his breath, trying to watch everywhere at the same time. The sky was grey, so at least he didn't have to worry about having the sun in his eyes, even though it reduced visibility. With his ship's scanners he doubted it would be a problem.

Finally, a ship burst out of a clearing, darting full speed in direction of the Imperials, soon followed by a dozen more. One of the TIEs fired on them.

"Let them out, I say again, Delta Six, let them out! Don't fire down," Delta Leader ordered.

Together with Chaser and Dark Curse, Luke took one of the Rebel ships in chase. He took care to remain under it not to interfere with the ground battle where their soldiers were taking the Rebel base. Soon, however, they realised they wouldn't be able to push it very high.

"Airspeeders," the voice of Silver made itself heard into the comm. "We're not going to be able to bring them out of atmosphere into the range of our tractor beams."

"Then fire to cripple or destroy," Mauler replied. "And watch out for spacecraft. They're going to try and evacuate; they must not be allowed to escape."

Together with Chaser, Luke drove the Rebel in Dark Curse's direction, cornering it. Dark Curse dodged one of its shots, then fired in turn and hit it. The Rebel plummeted down towards the ground and crashed.

Luke took a deep breath and looked away from the bright explosion, trying to keep his mind away from the enemy pilot's death. He shouldn't be affected this way by the chaos around him. He'd exercised this, he'd trained for hours in the simulators, designed to be extremely realistic. Why was it that the same flash of colours, seen from the inside of similar cockpits, evoked no more emotion in him than a fly eaten by a dewback, and seized him at the throat now?

Pushing the unpleasant sensations aside, he hurried to catch up with his squad mates. Focusing on the moment allowed him to let go of some of his tension. He quickly took back his place in the formation. They were chasing another ship, and Luke fell into the movement; but this one was more tenacious than the other.

"I can't get under him," Chaser said. "Think he's understood what we're doing. Bastard's keeping a low altitude."

A crazy idea took hold of Luke's mind, but he hesitated. He was feeling more in tune with his craft now, hyper-aware of his surroundings, the exhilaration of the flight controlling part of his brain. He recognised there the strange sensation that made him such a good flier, but which had also led him to disobey Vader's orders the last time... was it really wise to trust it once more?

A second airspeeder joined the one they were pursuing, and they lost the advantage. Trying as they were to drive them upwards, unwilling to shoot at the ground, their restrictions were slowly giving their enemies the edge. Red bolts flew through the air, and Chaser had to do a sharp turn to avoid one. Luke gritted his teeth.

Nobody was giving him orders this time.

"I'm trying to get down," he announced.

"What do you mean, FNG?" Dark Curse asked, sounding confused.

Luke managed to take a shot at one of the Rebels, but missed.

"I mean I'm going under them and pushing them up."

"Are you daft?!" Chaser said. "They're flying level with the trees, you're gonna get tangled in the vegetation if you go any lower!"

"Trust me," Luke answered.

Without waiting for their answer, Luke pushed the control stick, and the TIE angled down towards the trees. He got past the security distance, still coming closer. He didn't slow down. This near, the branches of the trees were flying by much faster than he thought they would be, so quickly he had trouble spotting those that were standing out. He bolted aside as a stick of wood was coming his way.

"Just a bit closer..." he muttered, his jaw tight, heart running madly in his temples. This was crazy...

He breathed in deeply, knowing he had to get rid of his nerves to succeed. He remembered the incredible awareness he had experienced guided by Vader's voice in the simulator... He had only been able to reproduce it once or twice, and never with the same intensity, but it cost nothing to try.

He did his best to relax, embracing the flood of sensations, letting them wash over him. He reached out, sank deeper until he felt the whole jungle beneath him, knew precisely where every leaf and every trunk were. For the shortest moment, he closed his eyes and found his perception of the world improved rather than impeded.

When he opened them again, his strange sixth sense was there in full force.

He zigzagged between two overgrown Jogan trees, grinning widely. It was like the world itself was guiding his movements, responding to his thoughts and emotions rather than his gestures, even more intense than it had been that one time under Vader's guidance.

Luke located the two Rebels and came right under them, avoiding all obstacles. To escape him, they split up, giving up on their pursuit of the Imperials. They didn't dare go as low as him, though, and he had the advantage. He took one in chase, fired at its belly, but the enemy dodged him and came lower as well.

Luke swallowed and tried to shoot at him, but the small craft was agile and kept evading him. He forced himself to relax and reached out, trying to guess his enemy's movements.

A red plasma bolt missed him by a hair. Luke bit back a curse. He'd completely forgotten about the other ship, that he could see – feel – just behind him, slightly higher. Luke weaved between the trees to shake it, but he didn't want to lose the one he was tailing, either.

He swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead. He needed to make a decision.

He closed his eyes, waited for a lock, shot a last time at his opponent, holding his breath. The green bolt landed a millimetre away from his enemy and barely hit the hull's side. Luke bit his lip – he needed to rise, he was running out of time, the other Rebel was getting closer – as the ship, unbalanced, barrelled on the side and fell in the trees, swallowed by the coat of green.

Luke rose in a chandelle and evaded the second ship's fire. The Rebel followed him, but Luke looped to get behind him and fired. Chaser and Dark Curse joined him, incredulous laugh echoing in his comm. Three to one were no fair odds: soon enough, their enemy was stardust.

Smiling, Luke flew a circle in the sky, relishing in the sensation as he tried to see if any of his squadmates needed his help. A TIE bursting into flame a little further tied his stomach in knots.

"Break-break, all fighters!" Mauler's voice rang through the comm. "Spaceships incoming from their base!"

Luke darted towards the clearing he'd spotted before, where the airspeeders had come from. Some other TIE did the same. Enemy craft was shooting out fast, making their exit among the Imperials' distraction.

"X-Wings!" said Hammer.

Luke gasped. He accelerated and came full throttle at the X-Wing that had just left the base. Chaser and Dark Curse were following him, ready to work together and push the ship up, out of atmosphere. He fired twice, forcing the X-Wing to alter its course. They flew higher and higher. The Rebel tried to escape but failed, forced to rise.

As they went, they entered the ceiling of clouds covering the planet and lost all vision. Blast shots shone through the thick fog, the only thing they could see. They only had their sensors to rely on, but Luke still had a precise idea where the others were.

"Black Four and Six, I think we're not heading in the right direction. We should be angling more towards 60-60 if we want to get in the beams' range."

"Roger, Five."

They were slowly changing course when Luke felt danger. He broke out of the formation, flying larger circles to try and find the source of the threat, all his senses in alert.

"Black Five, this is Black Four," Chaser said. "What are you doing?"

"Something's wrong," Luke replied.

"I have nothing on my scopes," Dark Curse chimed in. "Are you sure your sensors aren't malfunctioning?"

"No, it's... something else." Luke frowned. Something bad was going to happen, he felt it, but he didn't have a clue what it was.

"FNG? What's going on?"

Luke made a nosedive to the ground, full throttle. He fired twice then straightened up again, regaining altitude. Only then did his TIE register the torpedoes that had taken him as a target, just as they were destroyed by his shot in the dark.

He let out a breath, unable to fathom what had just happened, but glad it had. A signal appeared on his screen: another fighter.

"This is Black Five, I have incoming. I'm going to try and distract it to cover for you."

Chaser and Dark Curse acknowledged him. Luke headed in the Rebel's direction, avoiding its shots. Before it could react, he flew right above its hull then turned around, now behind it, too fast for it to do anything. He shot around it, deliberately missing, just to get it moving where he wanted it to be.

He diverted it from his squad mates and forced it upwards, towards where Devastator was waiting. They shot out of the clouds into the clear sky above. The shape of the Star Destroyer shone white in the light blue of the sky, its outline clearer as they rose out of the atmosphere.

The Rebel's movements became more frantic in front of Luke, and it was harder to keep up with it. Panic. She was trapped, faced with a sinister outcome, an Imp on her tail and many others waiting for her, knowing she would never see her friends again but only pain, torture and death...

He blinked and bit back a curse. The Rebel had found an opening and was darting in the opposite direction, turning on Luke who only just evaded it. The TIEs posted around the Star Destroyer came to help him, to drive his opponents into the tractor beam's range. But Luke and the X-Wing were too closly entwined in their dogfight for them to be capable of anything. Luke accelerated and shot as soon as he got a lock on the ship. It exploded, forcing Luke to take a sharp turn to avoid the debris.

He hurried to find back his squadmates, not thinking of what had just happened. Chaser was grappling with a Rebel; Luke approached and shot, forced him to take distance. The enemy swerved and got in the reach of the Star Destroyer. A few bolts of fire later, it shook and started ineluctably moving towards Devastator.

"Thanks," Chaser said.

They moved down again, towards the planet's surface.

The rest of the battle was a blur of red and green fire. He twisted and twirled in his fighter, reacting more than he thought. The movements of the ships around him took his entire mind. He flew by instinct, as one with his ship as a bird with its wings.

He had no idea how long it lasted before Mauler's voice ordered them to retreat to Devastator, the mission a success. Luke was among the first to land. He brought his ship to the racks and climbed out of it as soon as it was in the hangar. On his way out, he stopped for a moment with his hand on the hull, catching his breath.

Luke had never flown like that. It had been intense, indescribable. The floor was swaying under him, too solid and not enough at once. He let out a breathy laugh.

His gaze caught the captured Rebel ships, bringing him down from his high. Pilots in bright orange flight suits were forced out of their cockpits then marched away by stormtroopers, dread and defiance clear in their posture. One of them struggled, but a trooper hit him and dragged him with his comrades. A knot tied itself in Luke's guts.

A TIE flying in distracted him. Compassion for the Rebels was shoved at the back of his mind, replaced with concern for his own camp not without a speck of guilt. He hoped nobody had died this time, and that all of them would be coming back...

He nervously watched them all arrive, one after the other. Squadrons gathered together each with their own while Luke anxiously awaited his squadmates. First came Chaser and Dark Curse, who hadn't been too far from him; then Vil and Hammer, and after them Qorl, Torpedo, Cosmo, Silver, Boomer and finally Mauler.

Luke grinned in relief, his smile reflected in the other pilots. There would be no grieving tonight; just rejoicing in the triumph of winning this batlle.

A hand fell on his left shoulder.

"That was a good fight. A really good fight," said Chaser. He paused and watched Luke a little longer, a thoughtful expression on his face, then turned towards the other pilots. "Guys? I think it's time for our FNG to get a call sign, what do you say?"

Enthusiastic shouts welcomed his proposition. Luke's heart soared.

"What? Just like that?"

"How else?" scoffed Chaser, a smile on his lips.

"I agree with Chaser. You're no longer really flying like a new guy," Mauler chimed in, his massive arms crossed over his chest while the red light of his robotic eye surveyed Luke in satisfaction.

"Way too insane to go without a suitable name," bellowed Boomer.

More approval followed, and Luke couldn't hold back his delighted smile. He had wondered how the pilots earned their callsign and impatient to get his own... In the Academy, they had never really talked about this. He knew it was a kind of secret among the pilots, some kind of ceremony they weren't supposed to tell the uninitiated about.

Together, they headed to the squadron quarters. Luke's heart was beating excitedly. They gathered in the living area and sat down around the small table while Vil brought a selection of ale bottle from the cooling area.

"Permission to get drunk?" he asked Mauler.

"To drink responsibly," the cyborg answered. "I want you functional even at the end of this."

The pilots nodded, and all took a bottle; but when Luke tried to join the movement, Boomer stopped him.

"Not you. Not yet."

"Here's how it goes," Dark Curse said, leaning back in his seat and looking at Luke intently over his crooked nose, slanting eyes wrinkling. "Each ship and each squad has its own traditions. On some they'd have you do some ridiculous stuff on-planet or get completely intoxicated, or both, to validate your naming. Black Squadron does it differently, since we can't descend on a war zone and risk all our lives, and I'm not sure when we'll next be officially off-duty together. So we keep it simple. You stand on the side, and you're not allowed to drink or to speak a single word until we've settled on a call sign for you. You understand?"

Luke nodded.

"Good," Dark Curse continued. "Pilot, what is your name?"

"Luke –" he bit on his tongue, cursing his second of inattention. "Whitesun Lars."

"From no on, it no longer is," replied the older pilot. "As the veteran of this squadron, I hereby declare the naming ceremony of Luke Whitesun Lars, Flying New Guy of Black Squadron, open."

All pilots – except Luke, naturally – simultaneously took a swig from their drink.

"Before actually getting to the naming part, we each should give our call signs and the history behind them," he went on. "I'm Dark Curse, because in my first battle I once swore very heavily in the comm right before smashing an enemy to bits. My squad never let me live it down."

He sighed, but he had a smile on his lips. "They had a deplorable sense of humour."

He then turned on his left and looked at his neighbour. "I'm Cosmo," the other pilot said, "because I always have my head in the sky."

"Boomer, because of the melodious sound of my voice," Boomer rumbled.

"I'm Vil because my first name is Villian," the Corellian pilot said in turn, sitting with his legs casually crossed, his ankle on his knee. "They wanted to name me Villain at first but then they ended up saying it was too mean, so Vil's stuck as a compromise."

He looked at Dark Curse with a smirk. "How's that for a bad sense of humour?"

The older pilot let out a huff of laughter. "I'll give it to you, it's even worse."

They turned towards Mauler, who shifted in his seat, deep in thought. "When I was a kid – round our FNG's age, a bit older maybe – I used to brag about how I flew in my skyhopper, and how I'd "maul" Bothan sky dragons all the time. I stopped after Flight School, but a friend of mine got assigned at the same place I did, and the story quickly got around the entire squadron. That's how I'm Mauler."

Luke wanted to ask him more – he'd flown in skyhoppers too, what was the model, how old was it? – but remembered in time he was supposed not to say a word.

Qorl shrugged. "I'm Qorl and that's an acronym for something, but I don't remember what."

"Hammer – my name's Paldamar, and one night I was so drunk I couldn't articulate it correctly, I kept omitting the first syllable. So "Hammer" stayed."

"Silver because I already had white hair at twenty-five," Silver went on. Luke could see why: the white hair was the most striking thing about his appearance. It stood out even more against his dark skin, a feature of most Socorro natives.

Torpedo snickered before telling his story. "I had a bit of trouble with my ship's controls at first, and once I nearly rammed into one of my squad mates. The scolding of my squad leader after that was terrible – I'd deserved it but man, how awful I felt, in front of all the other pilots and everything. And then he goes and tells me I'm not a proton torpedo and I shouldn't act like one. That became my nickname way before it was officially made my callsign. So yeah, Torpedo."

"I'm Chaser," the last pilot finished, "because my family are hunters, and I'd often bore my squad mates stiff about chasing some game bird or other."

"Good," Dark Curse said. "We've heard your names; now what shall be this FNG's?"

There was a moment of silence as they thought, most of them with a devious smirk on their face, which Luke found himself not particularly caring for.

"Something stupidly reckless, like he can be," Hammer slowly said.

"Something crazy and ridiculous," Torpedo added.

"As much as talking back to Lord Vader, ignoring orders, and overall being a real smart mouth," Boomer said.

Luke cringed. Apparently, they wouldn't let him off the hook with that...

"'Smart Mouth' is good," Cosmo nodded.

"Considering who he's getting smart with, I say 'Death Wish'," Chaser chimed in.

The others laughed.

"How about something relating to his age?" Silver said, setting his ale bottle back on his leg. "Going straight from the Academy to Black Squadron's feat enough for a call sign, I'd say."

Boomer burst out laughing. "We'd certainly call him 'Kid' easily enough!"

Chaser smirked. "I think I promised him 'Scrawny' when we first met."

More sniggering erupted. "Hey!" Luke shouted, indignant, which only reinforced the hilarity.

"No talking," Mauler reminded him with good humour before Luke could finish his retort. The young man bit on his tongue and rolled his eyes. The mirth was too contagious for him to feel offended, but it was hard to stop himself from talking back to their nonsense.

"I have an idea," Boomer said. "'Night Fury'."

Chaser snorted. "What? Have you looked at him?"

"That's the thing, it's supposed to be ironic," Boomer retorted. "Make him sound like a menace when he looks like sunshine incarnate."

There were a few snickers. Luke suspected his face was bright red.

"You can as well call him 'Sunshine' then, it would fit better," Torpedo said.

"You're not calling a Black Squadron pilot 'Sunshine', I'm sorry," Vil chimed in, sounding offended. "I forbid this travesty of a call sign."

Nobody protested Vil's words, to Luke's great relief.

"Sky Guy? Or Sky Walker?" Qorl threw, and Luke's heart stopped for a second. They couldn't possibly...

"Not bad, but a bit generic," Mauler said, and the young man breathed easier. "And I think Skywalker was the name of a Jedi in the Clone Wars – so that's a big no."

"Wait, wait, I know," Chaser thundered, gesturing with his ale and dropping some on Qorl seated next to him, who protested. "Oops, sorry, Qorl. How about 'Shooting Star'?"

Luke's stomach contorted uneasily. Memories of Tatooine sprang back on him, unavoidable, as the voice of his best friend made itself heard, laughing after a dangerous stunt in Beggar's Canyon.

Some of the others looked at each other in confusion.

"What for?" Torpedo asked.

"Arriving, instantly causing mayhem, then making you believe he's vanished without a trace when really he's just gone into trouble a bit further," Chaser retorted.

Everyone laughed, including Luke, who couldn't help himself. He knew exactly what Chaser was referring to.

"Now come on," he let out in the middle of his laughter, "that's really –"

"You're not supposed to talk," Boomer forcefully reminded him.

"I think I like that one," Vil said. "It's completely ridiculous but it suits him."

"It suits his flying style as well. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with him," Dark Curse added.

The others nodded or expressed their approval. "So I suppose that's settled?" Mauler asked, before the rest of the squadron confirmed. He raised his bottle. "To the new pilot of the Empire, Shooting Star!"

Everybody cheered, and Luke was given big claps in the back and a bottle of ale. They congratulated him, then just like that, it was over, everybody talking, celebrating both their victory and the christening of the youngest member of the squadron.

Luke participated in the merry-making for a while, then had to take a step out and sit a bit further. He stared at his ale, a little overwhelmed, and wondered if there was some bigger entity ruling the galaxy that enjoyed making fun of him. Of all the call signs, for them to give him that one was too much irony. Biggs's voice was ringing in his ears, clearer than he'd heard it in a long time.

We'll be a couple of shooting stars that'll never be stopped. He'd said that enthusiastically when Luke had told him that his aunt and uncle had finally accepted to let him go to the Academy. For this short time, their elation had erased all of their differences, and they'd been just good friends once more, without complications, overjoyed at the perspective of living a new adventure together.

How different things were now. It was painful to think about it. Not for the first time, Luke wondered what his childhood friend was up to. He hoped he was far away, having fun like Luke was doing now or flying without a care, working for the cause he believed in – the cause Luke was fighting against. He hoped he hadn't been here during the battle, that he wasn't trying to deal with their crushing defeat now, or worse.

The thought that Biggs could be screaming in torment a few stories beneath Luke's feet, at the same time as he was celebrating, was sickening.

"Hey. What's wrong?" Luke looked up to find Chaser dropping on the seat next to him. "You shouldn't be brooding all alone."

Luke shrugged, tried a smile. "Nothing. It's just a bit... much. Just a few hours ago we were out there, risking our lives, and now..."

Chaser nodded, looking down with his brow furrowed, smirking.

"Yeah. I get that. Sometimes I forget you're still just a rookie."

Luke punched his wingmate in the arm, and Chaser laughed. Luke's smile grew wider, and he took a swig from his beer, but his mood didn't completely lift.

Did the Rebels celebrate after they won battles too, count their kills with triumph in their voices? Did Biggs laugh with a bottle of booze, sharing stories with his comrades? Was he succeeding in thinking of Luke as nothing but a target to be brought down, something Luke himself was too weak to do?

Some shooting stars they were. More like wild comets Luke hoped were never going to collide.

"Hey, don't pout like that, I meant it as a compliment," Chaser said. He grew more serious. "You really flew well back then. Saved my life once or twice, I think."

Luke smiled, but couldn't hold his gaze. For a moment, he thought about telling Chaser of his doubts and his hesitations about the Rebels. Maybe his wingmate would have some more advice for him. Chaser had understood him before, he'd reassured his fears and told him he it would pass.

But it hadn't passed, and for the first time it dawned upon Luke that thinking about Biggs was dangerous. Talking about him would be even more so. These were things he couldn't trust anyone with, he realised with dismay, not even his own wingmate. He was on his own.

Luke was disgusted, ashamed of himself. He felt like a traitor, a coward. Biggs was a Rebel. He had chosen his side. It was high time Luke did the same.

But while his head was sure of his choice, his heart couldn't be tranquil.

"And look how you rewarded me," he joked instead. "I can't believe you tried to have me called Scrawny."

Chaser scoffed, smiling.

"Well, I promised it to you, didn't I? And I got you a better one in the end anyway."

This time Luke's smile was genuine.

"Come on." Chaser rose with a slap on Luke's shoulder. "You've been away from the party for too long. It's your party after all, Shooting Star."

Luke got on his feet. They were just turning to the others when a loud alarm sound blared into their ears. It made them start, drowned out the chatter of the conversations.

"What's this?" Luke shouted to make himself heard over the deafening noise.

The other pilots' faces were sour. The joyful atmosphere had vanished, replaced by a tense kind of concentration.

Battle concentration.

"Everyone to your ships," Mauler ordered. "We're under attack."