Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd., itself property of The Walt Disney Company. I make no lucrative nor commercial use of my writings in relationship with the Star Wars license.
Luke breathed in and out, ignoring his screaming muscles. He focused on the rhythmical movement and counted seconds in his head. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, then his cheek.
Finally, the timer rang, and the machine slowed down, letting Luke bring down his pace with relief. He had neglected his condition lately and he felt it. Pushing himself farther instead of rebuilding his stamina more gradually probably wasn't the healthiest, but he didn't care. The effort, although not pleasant, made him feel good. Alive.
He wished he had a Force-lesson planned soon. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen Lord Vader once in the last days, or just in passing, quickly in a corridor.
He put a foot down from the treadmill then a second, still taking deep breaths. His face was hot, his lungs burning, and sitting down was a relief. He dried his face with his towel, roughly ran the cloth through his short hair before letting it fall on his shoulders, and rested his head against the wall as he waited for his heartbeat to slow down.
He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, feeling the presences on the ship and the energy swirling around them in constant movement, tying them together. For once, Lord Vader's twirls of smoke didn't come to meet his own presence. Luke found himself missing the cold shiver running down his spine.
This was stupid. He shouldn't care so much about his commanding officer's approval. A mere few weeks ago he wanted nothing more than for Vader to leave him alone, which was exactly what he was doing now. Maybe he had finally realised that Luke was just a small pilot from the Outer Rim, with good reflexes perhaps, but nothing extraordinary. It was much safer like this.
And yet was his safety worth the tremendous improvement Vader's lessons brought him? Luke had felt his perceptions grow, his awareness of the battlefield increase exponentially. He was more efficient in flight, better at avoiding and taking down enemies. Was it right for him to stop pursuing these new skills, that – if Vader was to be trusted – were rare in the Navy, and forsake this occasion to become the best pilot he could to defend the Empire, just because his commanding officer was dangerous?
It was incomprehensible. Vader made him his wingman, then all but ignored him. It just didn't make any sense.
Luke rose up with a rush of irritation. It didn't matter. He had other things to do, anyway: reports to write, research to make, training sessions to attend. The most important was that he keep fighting.
He shunned the uncomfortable churning of his stomach at the memory of the trooper's voice telling Vader about the refugees and Vader's own cold orders to destroy their hideout. He was but a soldier. He didn't see the bigger picture. He didn't know what tactical benefits this decision might have reaped, what other lives it might have saved.
This was why the war needed to end.
Luke sighed to alleviate the pressure in his chest and checked the time. In a couple of minutes he had a training session planned in the sims, their first without Mauler.
Another blow struck his lungs. He exited the gym and went back to his quarters, hoping a cold shower would clear his head a little.
He was feeling a little fresher by the time he walked into the familiar sims room. The whole squad was already present when he arrived; he joined them around the console as discreetly as he could, relieved when none of the other pilots said a word. A little further, Dark Curse was talking with Lt. Tanbris, their voices so low Luke couldn't make out what they were saying. The silence, despite their whispers and the buzzing of the machines, was oppressing, and Luke couldn't wait until they started.
Finally Dark Curse finished his conversation with Lt. Tanbris, who exited the room after a greeting glance in their direction. Dark Curse came to face the rest of the squad. For a moment, he merely looked at them, one after the other. His gaze was serious, his mouth slightly open, as if he was searching for words but couldn't find them.
"In order not to break with tradition," he finally said, "I have prepared a special exercise that will push you all to your limits and make you feel out of place in a cockpit, then we'll review together what went wrong – and why you were as usual utterly destroyed by the program."
There were a few fond laughs, and Dark Curse smiled, visibly relaxing.
"What I most want to work on during this session is adaptability, and what to do when an unexpected development – such as enemy reinforcements incoming – arrives. I particularly want to see how you fare when outnumbered. We are usually the ones outnumbering the enemies, but it's better to be prepared."
He then proceeded to detail the specifics of the exercise, what they would be expected to pay attention to, what enemies they would face. Luke did his best to focus on Dark Curse's voice, not on the strange sensation that was having him there instead of Vader's former wingman, nor the feeling of something missing.
Once he had finished, they were separated then sent into the sims. Luke's lips formed a wistful smile. It was all so familiar, the controls, the chair, the black screen in front of him. But it couldn't have been more than two weeks...
Well, anyway, this was an occasion like another. Force practice wouldn't do him any harm. He closed his eyes with a deep breath and expanded his perceptions like Vader had taught him as the numbers went down.
He didn't open them as the virtual ships were launched into space. Their shapes were less distinct than physical, human fighters on the battlefield, but the clusters of numbers were more predictable. The flow of electricity was buzzing in his ears, his feelings focused on the delicate thing that was the algorithm. Next to him, he could feel his squadmates' presences, unmoving but concentrated, a kind of repressed energy swirling around them, entirely focused on the machine.
Luke smiled, elated at discovering so many details he hadn't noticed the last time he had been here with his colleagues. Lord Vader would be proud...
Except Lord Vader didn't seem to care, and beside, this wasn't the moment.
He could nearly hear the ghost of his commanding officer's voice in his ear as he sunk deeper into the Force. It was much easier to do than he had expected, the motions easy and well-known, the sensations recognisable. He stopped thinking and stayed in the present, twisting in the virtual space, avoiding enemies and sneaking behind them before even realising what he was doing. He was on autopilot, but it was much more efficient than when he had the commands. Time seemed to stop, meaningless in the flow of the Force.
Then it stopped. Luke blinked, taken aback and disoriented. Coming back to the physical plane always was the hardest part. He had the impression that the exercise hadn't lasted a minute... Without throwing a look at the screen, he came out of the makeshift cockpit.
He came to stand around the console again. The silence was deafening. Was that because of the constant background noise the simulators made through the Force?
One by one, the other pilots exited their own sims in turn. Their faces all bore the same kind of vaguely incredulous stupor. Luke realised they were looking at him, and shifted on his feet.
Dark Curse was still at the same place in front of them. He cleared his throat before speaking.
"If you have anything to say before we watch the sequence and see what we can improve, go ahead."
More silence followed. Luke started to feel uncomfortable.
"Well, uh," Silver bravely started, as the others' lips remained sealed. "You chose your program well, Dark Curse – we were in bad posture from the beginning..."
"Except Shooting Star," said Torpedo.
Luke's heart picked up. The other squad members looked all embarrassed or in agreement with Torpedo, most of them a little of the two. The cat was out of the bag; Luke knew Torpedo had merely been saying what all the others thought.
"Flying lessons, sure," added Hammer, eyes wide open. "That was madness!"
"Uh... really?" Luke mumbled. Frantic thoughts were flashing in his mind as he searched for a believable explanation and found none. They'd think of him as a freak...
"Gentlemen, please," intervened Dark Curse. A pang went to Luke's heart hearing the familiar address in his mouth. "This isn't a settling of scores. If you don't have anything else to say?"
He turned on the holoprojector. Points started to move on the translucid sphere, and Luke gaped when he saw them.
"Is that... me?" he asked, pointing to one of the dots. It was moving much more fluidly than the others, always in the right place. It was somehow making it seem as if the other ships were all dancing around it.
The others all nodded. Luke laughed, disoriented, still staring at the graceful dot. It was impossible...
"How?"
"You tell us, kid," Boomer said. He was half-smiling, but Luke could read the same astonishment in his eyes as in all the others; even his, he suspected.
"Guys, please, focus," Dark Curse snapped. "This isn't constructive at all. Can we just get back to the exercise?"
They turned their attention to the recording again, trying to spot their mistakes and the points they could improve on. Dark Curse did the best he could to help them find answers, to think with them; but they were all rather distracted, and in the end he cut the session short.
They exited the room a little stunned.
"Dark Curse is good, but it's still strange to have these sessions without Mauler," Vil remarked. "Like there's something missing."
Next to him, Boomer, Cosmo and Silver acquiesced, their faces sad. Luke nodded, too.
A hand took his shoulder and pulled him behind, forcing him to halt his step.
"Hey, Shooting Star," Hammer told him. "Are you ever gonna tell us what in the nine hells Lord Vader is teaching you?"
"Yeah, that was unbelievable," Torpedo added.
Luke sighed. The other members of the squad didn't say anything, but they were all watching him. There was no getting out of it now. But they didn't have the Force, Luke couldn't teach it to them, and so what could he tell them?
"I told you," he wearily answered. "Flying. That's all there is to it."
"No way," Torpedo retorted. "That's not just flying. Nobody flies like you do."
"Lord Vader does," Luke quipped.
"Yes, but it's... it's Lord Vader! You're too fast, too sure of yourself. It's like you know exactly what's happening before it happens."
Luke let out a humourless laugh.
"What do you want me to answer to that? Do you realise how insane it sounds? I'm not some kind of psychic. I just do the best I can same as everybody!"
The others seemed to relent, but Qorl was still watching Luke with obvious doubt in his eyes.
"If "doing your best" gives such results, you should share with us how you do it, you know."
Luke felt as if he'd just entered a cold shower.
"I keep repeating it to you – there's no trick! I can't share anything with you because I don't know how I do it!"
"Yeah right," Qorl retorted. "We've just lost a squadmate, Lars! Pilots keep dying in this bloody war! We need every advantage we can have!"
Luke crossed his arms and sent him a glare. He was growing fed up with Qorl's constant antagonistic attitude.
"And you don't think if Lord Vader had some kind of secret recipe for this, he would have told you himself? You really think I'd keep something like that to myself if I thought it could help you, help us?"
Qorl met his glare head on.
"Yeah, I do. I don't trust you."
Luke snorted.
"Big news, you've made that clear. But too bad, because there's no magic trick for what I do! Believe me, I wish there were. I'd gladly give it to you if there was. We're in this together! I don't like losing squadmates any more than you do! If I could stop people from getting shot, I'd do it, a thousand times over, but I can't, all right, I can't!"
A hand settled on his shoulder, and he realised his fists were closed so tight they were shaking.
"Whoa, easy there," Silver said. "Calm down."
Luke took a deep breath, trying to bring air in his lungs through his closed throat. His chest was incredibly tight and his eyes were prickling, but he gritted his teeth, determined not to break down. He swallowed, felt more in control.
"This is useless," Silver continued, looking at all of them. "Mauler would be ashamed of us."
Luke bit his lip in embarrassment. Silver squeezed his shoulder, then stepped back towards their squadmates. Around him, the others bore the same kind of emotion; even Qorl sobered. Some of them mumbled apologies; Vil threw him a questioning glance, to which Luke answered with a small smile.
Qorl shot him a last glare that Luke returned, but he didn't say anything else. He walked away in the direction of their quarters, followed by Hammer and Torpedo. Vil, Boomer, Silver and Cosmo stayed, watching him in expectancy.
"Go ahead," Luke said. "I think I need to have a walk before coming back."
"Don't stray too late in the corridors," Boomer advised him. "Higher officers don't like it when we wander aimlessly."
Luke smiled.
"Don't worry, I'll be careful."
They threw him a last glance, then walked away, catching up with the others. Luke breathed in once more to ground himself, then left in the opposite direction.
He did his best to look confident and purposeful as he walked, though in reality he let his steps lead him wherever they would. The movement and the rhythm did him good, but the endless grey of the corridors made him feel trapped, inside the ship, inside his mind. For the first time, it dawned upon him that he was stuck on the giant metal ship, without any means to leave. The feeling was familiar to what he had experienced on Tatooine in his youth...
Finally he arrived at a small alcove in the hull, in which a viewport was set. Luke still didn't know what was its purpose, nor what engineering oddity had warranted it being placed there. But it was quiet and small, and nobody usually came here, so it suited him perfectly. It had become his go-to place whenever he felt down or overwhelmed by the life on the ship. He stopped by it and stood in front of the stars, his hand brushing against the transparisteel as he watched the constellations.
He had been here before – when Chaser died, when he first asked Vader to teach him the Force.
He tried to find out his home planet among all the spots of light outside, but in vain. It was too far from here to be able to see it...
Luke missed his aunt and uncle. He wondered how they were faring, on the farm, taken in the peaceful everyday tasks. He hoped the crops had been good and Uncle Owen had been able to hire some helping hands for the capricious vaporators... Luke smiled, thinking of the days he spent hours working on them under the heat of the twins suns, cursing against these machines when they wouldn't work. Sometimes Uncle Owen would join him, and they would ponder how to fix it together – Luke was usually the one to figure it out, though. Then they would get back into the home, where Aunt Beru was waiting for them with a fresh glass of blue milk.
It was a simple life, and never had Luke appreciated it as he did now, in retrospect. Not that he didn't love his current job; flying among the stars had always been his dream, and he didn't regret it for anything in the world. But in this moment, this minute, he craved the normality of his old existence.
Of course, living so close to the Wastes wasn't exactly restful. Luke had seen death on Tatooine, had had to fight against it and deal with it. But never had it felt so close, so omnipresent, and so unavoidable, as it has been since his posting on Black Squadron.
He closed his eyes, let the tendrils of his Force presence expand and brush the others on the battleship. How many of them would survive the next battle? How many would be lost in the slaughter, perish for the glory of the Empire? How many lives ground down by the cruelty of war?
Who would be next in his own squad to burn in a burst of flames?
And why couldn't Luke do anything about it? He had the Force, which guided him and drove enemy's fire away from him. Why couldn't he give it to his squadmates? Why couldn't he be of help?
He needed to get stronger. He needed to master it, so that he could save his squadmates' lives with it. It was of no use if he couldn't do that. And there was only one way to achieve it.
Luke closed his fists, took a deep breath, then exhaled it just as soon. He turned away from the viewport and strode back, trying not to think too much.
Old fears and unpleasant memories came back as he arrived in front of Vader's door. He breathed through the nose, forced himself not to rub his throat. Who knew what Vader was doing and at what time? Perhaps he wasn't even in his quarters...
A cold shiver and a curl of smoke reaching out towards his limbs as a question quashed any hope he might have had. Vader had sensed him. Luke wiped his hands against his trousers, then took a step and rose a trembling hand towards the intercom.
The door slid open before he even brushed the button, and he jumped, his heart beating frantically in his ears. He swallowed and crossed the threshold.
Vader's quarters hadn't changed at all since he last came: dark, simplistic, with the strange round cabin in the corner. The latter was currently open on a white environment, against which Vader's black form starkly stood out. He sat there facing Luke, his mask perfectly concealing his emotions. The young pilot took two steps forward, then stopped and stood as attention, his legs wobbly, his mouth dry.
"Speak out, Ensign. My time isn't unlimited."
Luke swallowed. Coming here was a bad idea; he could feel the danger thrilling through his bones.
"I – my lord, I wanted to know if, if you'd accept to continue the piloting lessons..."
"You need no more of them," Vader cut him off. "You are dismissed."
"What?" Luke weakly said. He didn't understand. "What do you mean, I need no more of them?"
Vader rose up, and Luke started once more.
"I mean exactly what I said. Unless you cannot understand Basic?"
"But – sir... we've only just begun – I still have so much to learn!"
Vader took a step forward, and Luke couldn't help but move back in response.
"You are dismissed."
He raised his hand, and Luke's heart stopped when he thought he felt the slightest pressure on the base of his throat. This was it... this was where it ended...
… he couldn't breathe... Vader's fingers squeezed his throat and it hurt... his vision was covered in black dots, and he couldn't escape it... he couldn't breathe...
Then Vader's hand fell, and he curtly turned away from Luke, his cape twirling behind him. The young man couldn't move. Waves of heat and coldness crashed over him, relief and terror mixed together. That had been so close...
He should run away from here. He should turn back and leave as fast as his legs could carry him.
Instead he stood in place, determined not to leave without having what he wanted. This was too important.
"My squadmates – sir – they need me. I need more training to protect them."
Vader froze, and Luke's heart missed a beat. Oh kriff, no, no...
Eyes wide, feeling like he could throw up at any moment, he watched Vader slowly turn back to face him. The eyes of his mask were cast in shadows, two pools of impenetrable darkness, seeming to suck Luke's gaze in them as he advanced towards him.
"Leave. Now."
This time Luke didn't need to be told twice. He moved back, one step, then another, until he found himself in the corridor, the door closing in front of him.
He turned back and walked blindly forward, his whole body shaking. He wasn't even sure he was walking straight.
Little by little, the tremors subsided, and his breath calmed down. His heart found back its normal rhythm, and he found he could think more coherent thoughts again as his panic subsided.
He gritted his teeth, thinking on the scene again. He hadn't deserved that. Why did Vader promise him these lessons, this power, only to take it away from him? Why did he insist on tormenting him like that? He didn't understand. He wanted to scream at his commanding officer for scaring him, for toying with him, for being a tyrant who didn't know what he wanted.
He recalled the last training sessions with Vader. He had thought there had been something like a real bond tying itself between them. For a moment, he had thought he was starting, maybe not to understand him, but to connect with him. He had thought they had something in common, something they could share.
Well, turned out he'd been a fool. He didn't know what Vader wanted, and he didn't care to discover it any longer.
He walked back to his squadron's quarters, feeling strangely hollow.
.
Vader stared at the door, feeling strangely hollow. He hadn't thought dismissing the boy would have that effect on him.
He had been surprised to find him in front of his quarters. Shunning him should have been enough for him to understand. He had never expected him to come back to ask for more lessons.
He took his datapad, opening the report that had just been sent to him. Analyses of the battle, as it turned out. Considering the types of the reinforcement ships and their trajectories, they had been traced to Rindia, a small planet not far away from there, home to the Rindians.
But his mind wouldn't stay focused on the text standing on the screen. Above the text, in transparency, he kept seeing the boy's terrified face, his fixed gaze, the tense steps he took away from him. He had already seen this expression, this certainty that death was descending on them, in other eyes before...
And his courage, his foolish insistence, even after being sent away...
"I need more training to protect them."
He gripped the datapad tighter in his hand. He hadn't rejected the boy only to have him occupy his every thoughts again. What did he have to do to make it stop?
A breaking sound made him stop to look down at the device in his hand. Unfit to resist such pressure as he was inflicting on it, its screen had began to crack. Vader set it aside from him, and put his mask in his hands.
He was so tired of this. He should never have decided to train him in the first place. He was just a boy, just a pilot. He had no reason to unsettle him like that.
And yet he did. Vader couldn't explain it. He had thought himself free of these feelings, of this pain. He had gone through so much to rid himself of it; would the Force never have mercy on him?
But no. Enough sentimentality. He rose up, walked around his room; but he couldn't help the ghost of old memories from swirling in his mind, trapped as he was with them.
"Anakin... you're breaking my heart..."
Enraged and despairing, he left his quarters. Maybe his technicians would be able to give him more details about the battle.
He still had a war to fight.