Biggs managed to dodge explaining things to Luke until they dropped out of hyperspace and Tatooine loomed like the golden orb of a coronation set in the viewport. Luke, sitting dully in the seat of the shuttle, raised his eyebrows as it came into view.

"I didn't realise it looks as bland from up here as it does down there," he commented drily.

"You didn't look at it when you left?"

"No. We were a bit busy shooting down the TIEs chasing us."

Biggs swallowed. "Luke…"

Luke, despite his continuing protests as Vader tried to train him, was getting better and better at sensing when something was up with Biggs. He'd been giving him quizzical looks all week, but now he turned his look on him fully, gaze like searchlights.

Vader was on the other side of the hold. They were surrounded by 501st stormtroopers here to help with the attack. There wasn't anything Biggs could do or say except reach out to squeeze Luke's hand—a gesture far more affectionate than he'd dared to show since learning… everything. Luke accepted it, perhaps because of the sudden shock of it. Biggs retracted his hand rapidly, before Vader could see and take issue, but Luke drew a short breath and seemed to relax, ever so slightly.

"What is this?" he asked, less sharply now, but still firm.

"Your father is making a statement," Biggs replied evenly. Again, he couldn't say anything else. But he had made the preparations. While Vader destroyed Jabba, Biggs and Luke would run. The Rebels would be in Mos Espa to retrieve them.

Biggs hoped.

"So am I," he said, even gentler. "Trust me."

Luke didn't trust him. That was clear. He was a trusting person, but Biggs had violated that. He'd have to mend it.

Mos Espa swelled in the viewport below them, even as the Devastator dropped out of hyperspace above. It would be there to provide backup, if needed. Vader was sure he would not need it. Jabba's courtiers were cowards and scum, he said, who would not fight once the head of the beast had been destroyed. They would scramble to kowtow to their new rulers, instead.

Biggs wasn't so sure—the ambitions of Bib Fortuna were famous—but he couldn't have argued if he wanted to.

Once they landed, everyone in the streets cleared out. The garrison welcomed Vader and the troops, but Vader breezed right past the lieutenant who asked what he had come to Tatooine to enact. It meant the lieutenant's gaze fell on Luke and Biggs, trailing behind with their own accompaniment of stormtroopers. Biggs bristled when he looked at Luke and frowned, but he shouldn't have been so defensive. Luke glared at him, his ire radiating through the Force especially powerfully now that they were back in the sweltering heat of Tatooine, and even a non-Force-sensitive could feel it. The officer averted his gaze like a prince had stared him down.

In a way, one had. Biggs wondered how he was to reconcile that.

Luke glanced around them, though Biggs was still trying to keep his attention on Vader. The streets were emptying of people, the locals shrieking and scattering at the mere sight of the stormtroopers—for the first time, for what should not be the first time, Biggs's heart thumped at the sight. If people ran the moment they saw troopers, when troopers in and on Tatooine were meant to be here to help…

Troopers in Anchorhead had always been lazy, bored bullies, saddled with a position they hated on a hellish planet. They had never been kind. But they should've been reliable and shouldn't have been deadly. The locals—especially slaves, Biggs realised; he recognised the particularly poor make of homespun clothing and the instinctive, eternal alertness, the way they watched for trouble and reacted with a hair trigger faster than those of the freeborn—didn't seem to share that view.

Of course. Mos Espa was the closest settlement to Jabba's Palace, and where much of the domestic economy of Tatooine was located. It made sense that there would be more slaves here than anywhere else, but…

Luke's father—Anakin Skywalker, that was—had been a slave, hadn't he?

That explained why Luke was watching Vader so closely, watching the slaves scurry, and furrowing his brow. He moved forwards, and Biggs rushed to follow, until Luke was at Vader's side.

"Haven't you ever wanted to do something to help them?" Luke asked in a whisper.

Vader didn't seem to need more than that to know what Luke was talking about. "I do help them," he replied. "The Empire is far more stringent in slavery regulations. I improve their quality of life simply by working for the Empire."

"And dealing favourably with the master that enslaved them? You told me, you hate coming to Tatooine, but you've come so many times—"

"Silence. You do not know what you speak of."

"You can stand by and let more slaves—"

"I said silence," Vader snapped. "If you wish to enact change here, I am about to give you the absolute power with which to do that. Do not distract me with petty, forgotten pasts."

Luke's face fell. He shrank back, falling back in step with Biggs. Biggs leaned over. "Soon," he promised.

"What are you going to do?" Luke hissed. "The hell were you even thinking, convincing him to come back here? He doesn't want to help. He just wants to be the person in control, for once." Though Luke's voice wavered slightly. They both knew Vader wouldn't have reacted nearly so sharply if he hadn't already cared.

That was when the troop transports, requisitioned by spare stormtroopers from the garrison, shot past. Under the cacophony of their engines, Biggs leaned in to whisper, "Once Vader is inside the Palace and we're not, we're going to run."

Luke's eyes widened, but he was smart enough not to cry out. Biggs added, before Luke could tear him apart with doubts and distrust, "Leia's coming."

Luke relaxed significantly after that.

The rest passed by in a desert haze. Once the transports stopped in front of them, they climbed in, and were delivered to Jabba's Palace abruptly. Again, the squeals and cacophony of miscellaneous life silenced when Vader strode forwards to pound his fist on the door. A droid shaped like an eyeball, presumably Jabba's doorman, shot out to inspect him.

After a few sharp words, the door screeched open. Vader waved his hand and the troopers fell into step behind him. But before he marched into the darkness, Vader glanced back at Luke.

"You are not trained enough to witness this," he said. "It will be… chaotic. I cannot guarantee your safety."

"You haven't really cared about my safety so far," Luke retorted.

Vader ignored him. "But remember that you are also capable of this," he continued. "And you will be capable of all that comes after."

Luke was his son, Biggs thought.

One day, Luke could be Vader's greatest weapon. Another leader in the Empire, controlling and defending a thousand worlds from all that he despised—slavery, war, torment. Ruling with the same durasteel fist and lightsaber that his father had. That was what Vader wanted: for Luke to realise his own power, and the destiny that Vader, that Biggs, had decided would be best for him.

But, one day, Luke could be Vader's greatest opponent to all of that. And that wasn't the bit that Vader wanted Luke to know.

The door slammed shut behind Vader. The stormtroopers left behind to guard Biggs and Luke tilted their heads and exchanged looks in a way that told Biggs they were grimacing. They didn't want to be babysitters. They wanted to be a part of the team that destroyed Jabba.

Biggs couldn't blame them. But that wouldn't gain them his sympathy. He scanned the sky—it was approaching high noon, when the stormtroopers would be suffering the most in their terrible excuse for armour and the fewest people would be out. Princess Leia and the Falcon should swoop down to Jabba's Palace soon. Then, they just needed to get away from the stormtroopers long enough to leap onto the ramp, and they would be gone.

Luke leaned in close to kiss Biggs on the cheek—suddenly and affectionately, in a way he hadn't anticipated. The stormtroopers clearly hadn't either, but they grumbled, and Luke murmured, "So, what's the plan from here?"

His comlink chimed. Biggs glanced down at it, smiling like he'd been messaged a joke, and showed it to Luke. Luke laughed to keep the cover going. The stormtroopers were still grumbling, and the nervous sweat coating Biggs's forehead just mingled with the sweat coating the rest of his body.

We can't get into Imperial airspace over Mos Espa without alerting them of Rebel activity. After the Death Star, the Falcon is too notorious. The Star Destroyer in the sky doesn't help.

Before he could recommend Mos Eisley—it was a slightly longer trip for Biggs and Luke to get to themselves, but easy to get lost in the bustle of—she added, He's wanted in Mos Eisley as well.

If Solo was out of the desert with Jabba after paying him off, why wasn't he free to fly around Tatooine? How strong was the Empire's grip, here?

How much of their brutality had Biggs attributed to the Hutts unknowingly?

This would have been so much easier if the Rebellion had sent another ship. But, Biggs thought as he glanced at Luke, he was glad they'd sent that ship. Captain Solo cared about Luke. More than Biggs had liked, but now…

Meet us at the Lars farm, he said. We'll get there.

Across the Wastes they'd grown up flying. Home. There would be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide—there had never been anywhere to hide. But at least they knew how to make a stand there.

Luke leaned his head against Biggs's shoulder so that he could feel his subtle nod. "The fight has started," he said abruptly. "I can sense it."

The stormtroopers around them shifted. "What?"

"Vader's already started the fight. Jabba isn't dead yet, but a lot of people are dying." Biggs recognised the tightness in Luke's voice. He wished he could provide comfort, and he wished it would be accepted if he did, but for now they had something to do.

The stormtroopers shifted. Luke smirked. "Bet you wish you were down there, huh?"

"Lord Vader gave us our duty," the captain assured them. "We perform it well."

"Really? Or did he leave you here because you don't?" Luke nodded at their blasters. "What's your sharpshooting like? He'd probably only want the best of the best with him against Jabba's court."

The captain didn't respond, but a lieutenant, young and incensed, raised his blaster and fired at the door to the palace. The eyeball droid's slot was still open; the blaster bolt just clipped the edge of the hole and didn't quite go through. It was still an impressive shot.

"That good enough for you, kid?" the stormtrooper challenged.

The captain stiffened. "Trooper—"

Luke shrugged. "Give me your blaster and I'll show you."

"You? Have you even been to the academy?" The trooper leaned forwards. "Why is Lord Vader bothering with you anyway?"

Luke just shrugged again and repeated, "Give me your blaster," he met his gaze levelly, words dripping condescension, "and I'll show you."

Scoffing, the lieutenant handed Luke his blaster. Luke calmly took it, weighed it in his palm, switched the settings, and stunned him.

Biggs jerked, eyes widening. Luke, backing away, took out the next three stormtroopers before they could even touch their blasters, then thrust the blaster into Biggs's shocked hands. When the stormtroopers got a shot off, Biggs moved to block Luke with his body, only for an invisible force to shove him out of the way. The hiss of Luke's training lightsaber sprang to life; the shots bounced back at their owners.

He took the hint. There were only two troopers left, including the captain, and Luke could take those himself. Instead, he ran for one of the stormtrooper's speeder bikes and revved the engine, glancing over his shoulder.

Luke strode forwards with his lightsaber without so much as flinching. The captain did flinch, and Biggs couldn't blame him. The red blade flashed fast enough that Biggs could see Luke's face in the red blur it left behind, bloody and flushed. The stun bolts flashed and both remaining troopers fell to the ground.

The other creatures who had been outside Jabba's palace when they arrived paused, then looked away.

"He probably sensed that," Luke said, extinguishing his lightsaber and, with a running jump, landing on the back of the speeder bike. "Go!"

Biggs went.

Jabba's palace shrank so fast behind them it seemed to blink out of existence. It was perched on a cliff, and the road up was twisty and slow, but Biggs knew Luke. He wouldn't mind what he was about to do.

He dove off the edge and straight down the cliff. Luke shrieked with laughter. Biggs pulled back just before they hit the road, then down the edge again, and again, and again. In the distance, he could just hear speeders starting up, the roar of their engines booming out across the desert.

Luke winced. "Faster!" he said. "He knows. And Jabba's dead."

Biggs wondered how messy that had been.

This was their territory. This was their turf. Biggs banked to the left, swerved around Mos Espa and the backup troops Vader was undoubtedly about to summon from there, and shot towards the Jundland Wastes.

They didn't bother to talk about it; they knew what they had to do. The fastest way to the Lars farm was straight over the open desert, perhaps two hours of flying. Slightly less, if you had maniacs like them in the pilot's seat, but Biggs didn't know this speeder bike, and he didn't know how fast Vader would catch up with them. The Devastator was in orbit, but launching TIEs just for this speeder chase would be a massive upfront investment of resources; Vader wouldn't do that. No, he'd come after them himself.

Probably.

"Incoming," Luke said, and spun around on the seat so he was facing backwards, gripping the seat with his thighs. Biggs frowned—he couldn't hear any engines right now—but after a few more minutes and a few dozen more miles, he did. Troopers swooped towards them, lighter and faster on their bikes than they were.

"Keep flying," Luke ordered, and the tone reminded Biggs of Vader. The lightsaber's roar did as well.

Biggs kept his eyes ahead, which meant he couldn't see anything. The sand flashed red before he heard the shots bang out; the already hot air scorched. Red streaked in the corner of his eye, then another red streak batted it away. A crash, a flump, and a scream heralded the explosion of a speeder bike.

Another bolt seared the side of his arm before Luke deflected it into the ground below, sending up a momentary shower of molten glass. Biggs hissed—but the third confirmed his suspicions.

They were firing on him. They couldn't fire on Luke, but they needed to stop them, so they were firing on—

"Keep flying," Luke ordered again. "I've got you." As if in confirmation, the next few shots veered away from Biggs's face without Luke even having to touch them. Something warm and pulsing with love wrapped around Biggs's shoulders. His hands, shaking on the controls, steadied.

This was what Jedi could do, he thought with awe. This was what Luke could do.

Bang. Bang. The sudden hiss and release of noise that the lightsaber made when it hit them felt like a wicked imitation of parents tsking. Luke stilled where he was sat, watching…

"How many are left?" Biggs whispered.

Luke threw his lightsaber, the pent up energy in his arm rocketing out. It whistled as it boomeranged through the air, punctuated by three hisses, three gasps and six thuds. One crash. Even from here, Biggs could feel the heat of the crashed bikes going up in flames, taste the smoke acrid on his tongue.

"Now? Two."

"Alright." If Biggs correctly recognised the sandstone mesas on his left, they were just coming up on the Jundland Wastes. It was still farther to the Great Chott salt flats and Anchorhead, but— "Agh!"

A shot seared too close to Biggs's shoulder; Luke couldn't block it without hurting him. Instead, he made it curve—it skimmed his sleeve, eating a hot hole in the fabric, then slowed, and shot straight downwards instead. It punched through Biggs's pocket, down through the seat, and out again.

The shock of it made Biggs sigh with relief when he wasn't hit—the crash and sizzle as it rammed down into the engine of the speeder bike did not.

"That sounded like damage." Biggs could smell the black smoke here, as well. It wasn't bad enough to sting his eyes, yet, so he'd flown in worse, but he could smell it and that was never a good sign—

"It's not as bad as it smells," Luke said.

Biggs glanced down. "Is it as bad as it looks? 'Cause it looks pretty bad."

Their distraction cost them. Another bolt shot towards Biggs; they swerved just in time, and that peppered into the bike itself as well.

"Now it is," Luke said.

Biggs shook his head. "We'll have to stop in Anchorhead. Get Fixer to lend us something, or— I don't know. Steal it if we have to. This thing could blow any minute, we don't want to keep flying in it—"

"There are more troopers coming," Luke said quietly. "In troop transports. We can't bring them down on Anchorhead."

"We have to." The bike was spluttering now, and Biggs knew that sound all too well. "If we don't—"

He flinched so hard he nearly fell off the bike when Luke's lightsaber snapped to life at the side of his face, deflecting another shot into the sands.

"Deal with these guys first," he decided. "How far away are the others?"

"I can't see them yet."

"Then take care of these guys."

Luke nodded. With his head still facing forwards, Biggs felt it in the way Luke's body pressed against his, the movement knocking through him and into his gritted teeth.

This time, he was prepared for anything—for Luke to throw the lightsaber, to deflect the bolts, to—

A dozen shots flew out in rapid fire, from both troopers, like crimson rain. Biggs waited for a tornado of lightsaber swings from Luke. Instead, Luke threw out his hand, shaking the whole speeder bike with the force of it, and threw them back.

The troopers' screams as they died were muffled and gargled. Each bolt hit them with a whump. Their speeders ran into the ground and exploded.

"Damn," Biggs whispered. "Damn."

Luke twisted back around on the speeder, hooked his lightsaber back onto his belt, and leaned forwards to wrap his arms around Biggs's waist. Biggs knew why he was doing it—knew this was making them as aerodynamic as they could be, with two people on a one-person bike throwing off the balance—but his heart still hammered.

Luke could clearly tell. Biggs felt him smile against his shoulder. When he spoke, he could feel his lips moving against his shoulder as well.

"The backup troopers still aren't on the horizon," he said. "Your plan?"

Biggs liked that Luke assumed he still had one.

"If you can't see them, they can't see us," he said, drawing one together on the spot. It was now or never, after all. "And they don't know where we're going. They don't know we have contacts coming to pick us up."

"Can we get them to pick us up here? If Han and Leia have the Falcon—"

"Good point. Can you get to my comlink?"

Luke reached for Biggs's pocket, his other arm still wrapped around Biggs's torso. He fumbled for a moment, then gave a ragged, bitter laugh.

"The shot," he said. "You—"

"That shot took out my comlink?" Biggs spat.

Luke fumbled with it. Biggs glanced down. It certainly looked… melted.

"Then we have to meet them at the farm," he said. "We've got no choice." That was still a few hours of flying. They could make it, if… "The troopers will think we've gone to Mos Eisley. It's in this direction. They'll chase us there."

"That'll buy us a few hours, then."

"I'm not sure it'll be enough."

"We'll make it enough." Luke squeezed him a little tighter. "Go faster."

"This bike'll explode—"

"Then we'll get one from Anchorhead. Go."

Biggs hit the accelerator. The sand churned underneath them, nothing but a yellow blur.

Accelerating was the easy bit; slowing down was harder. The moment Anchorhead loomed in the distance, Biggs tried to decelerate so they didn't paste themselves against the sandstone walls. He failed. In the end, Luke threw them both off the bike with the Force and threw the bike far beyond the town walls, moments before it exploded.

"Pushed her a little too hard," Luke said, panting. He was grinning, though. What a maniac.

Biggs grinned back. "Yeah," he replied breathlessly. "…we need to move."

Fixer was in his shop, as usual, and he was playing host. His dad was quietly working on something small in the corner, but Camie, Windy, and Deak were all hanging around the speeder Fixer was under, laughing at something. Probably at Fixer.

They stopped short when Luke and Biggs staggered in, though, windswept and charred. Camie looked Biggs up and down, while Deak shot to his feet. "Luke! I missed you the last time you were back—"

"We need a speeder," Biggs said straight to Fixer.

Fixer, slowly, rolled out from underneath the speeder. He gave them a withering look. "Again? Look, I already lent you that other one for free—"

"And we brought it back. We need this one even more." Luke got the words out breathlessly. "We just flew all the way here from Jabba's palace running away from the Imps and our speeder bike exploded."

Camie scoffed. "When are you gonna stop making things up, Wormie?"

"He's not," Biggs said. "We need to get out of here, now, and it's in Anchorhead's best interest that we get out of here as soon as possible. Otherwise the Imps will fall on Anchorhead as well."

"Seriously?" Fixer asked.

Luke was looking around desperately. He reached for his lightsaber, then clearly thought better of it, and let his hands drop again.

"We don't have any credits," he said. "We just escaped."

"Then get out of—"

"Shut up, Fixer."

Fixer scowled, turning towards his dad. Mr Loneozner had been looking at them for a few minutes: his gaze alighted on Luke's lightsaber, on Biggs's scorched sleeve, on the absolute messes they both were. When he spoke again, it was to them.

"You escaped from Jabba's Palace?" he asked.

Luke swallowed. "We escaped from the Empire. Vader's here, on the planet—he just killed Jabba."

Mr Loneozner sucked his teeth. "And the troopers are chasing you?"

"They probably think we went to Mos Eisley, but—"

"Give them the blasted speeder, Fixer," he said. "Get them out of Anchorhead."

Windy and Deak were looking between Fixer, his dad, and Luke and Biggs with awe. Camie's nose was wrinkled, but she cast Biggs a second, appreciative look.

Luke started to smile, but it dropped just as quickly. "No," he said. "They're already here."

Biggs whirled on him. "What?"

"Four or five of them—they must have split off from the main group and fanned out to scan the area instead of going straight to Mos Eisley." He swallowed. "They're already here—"

"How do you know?" Camie demanded.

"How has Luke ever known anything?" Mr Loneozner responded. Luke started and gave him a look, which Mr Loneozner ignored. "Take a speeder, boys." He stood up, and Biggs realised what he'd been tinkering with, in the corner. It was a blaster. "We'll handle the stormtroopers."

Biggs strode forwards to select a speeder out the back, but Luke didn't follow. "If you put up a fight, more reinforcements will come for revenge."

Mr Loneozner stepped outside. "We'll have to make sure they can't comm for help, then."

Biggs's mouth dropped open. So did Fixer's. But none of them had the time to stare.

The speeder bikes' drone crashed through the white sandstone streets like an apocalypse. Two stormtroopers swooped past and brought their bikes to a halt; Luke and Biggs ducked so they weren't in view of the windows as they disembarked, glancing around. Their armour made them look like figures of bone.

Mr Loneozner stood in the doorway and shot them both. It punched through their ivory chest plates, leaving a black crater behind.

"Change of plan," he said. "Come with me, boys. Laze, get the speeder ready outside and drive it around to the entrance of Tosche Station for them to pick up."

"They're gonna know that you killed them!" Luke hissed, staring at the stormtroopers. Biggs knew what he was thinking. They'd both killed a lot of stormtroopers already, but seeing corpses litter the streets of Anchorhead, of all places, was just incongruous.

"There's a sandstorm due in six hours. The Empire will assume that you killed them in the chase and the sand covered their bodies and their equipment. But that just means you need to get out of here." He leaned out of the doorway and glanced right, then left, then beckoned them forwards. "Laze, get to it. Camie, Windy, Deak—stay there, out of trouble."

"Hell no." Camie pushed her way forwards. "I wanna see if Wormie's telling the truth for once."

"I don't lie," Luke muttered.

"You used to say your father was still alive."

Biggs snorted. "Who do you think is sending all these stormtroopers?"

Camie's sharp intake of breath was drowned out by Mr Loneozner's, "Come on."

He jogged down the street, around the corner. They followed where he went. The sound of the speeder bikes had cut out; Anchorhead was small enough that they ought to be able to still hear them. The other four troopers had dismounted, then.

Biggs walked carefully, the whistling of the winds and sands the only sound. His footsteps seemed very loud, but they didn't have to walk far. Mr Loneozner led them just around the corner, to the pub.

Luke and Biggs exchanged a look, and Camie raised her eyebrows, but Mr Loneozner shoved the door open and stepped right in. It was the lunch break of the day; the place wasn't packed, but it was busy enough. Chatter died momentarily as everyone looked up and seemed to clock Mr Loneozner's tension, the way the boys were almost tiptoeing behind him.

"Boys, get under the tables," he ordered, before he explained, "There are stormtroopers here. They're after Biggs and Luke."

Nobody moved for a moment.

"I said get under the tables." He gave Biggs a good hard shove, and Biggs knelt to crawl under them, wincing an apology at Camie's mother. She smiled at him and shifted over to make room. "Everyone start talking again."

Conversation started up quickly, voices strained but animated. Biggs could hear Camie's mother laughing about something inane, as always; the Whitesuns were having their third debate over cactus rearing, which meant they were ahead of schedule if they had already finished the first two and it wasn't even 1600 hours yet; and Deak's aunt chattered about whose vaporators she'd had to repair most recently and why. The drone of dull conversations hammered at his head and only put him more on edge.

But his fear peaked when a voice said, "Then why are they hiding? Let them face the troopers on their own."

Biggs met Luke's gaze under the opposite table. The rage in Luke's face shocked Biggs; hurt was the only thing he felt. His father was sitting at the end of the table Biggs was underneath—he recognised his boots—and he'd stood up to make his argument, probably leaning on the table to try to be more intimidating. Salla was next to him, pushed to the edge of the bench by the way he spread his legs, her skirts folding around her knees.

"When have you ever liked the Empire, Huff?" Mr Loneozner demanded.

Mrs Marstrap added, "And Biggs is your son."

"So he needs to learn the consequences of his actions." Huff directed his voice right at Biggs. "You can't keep bringing trouble to my door. You have to learn to fight your own battles—"

"Huff."

"—if you want to survive in the desert."

"You want the boys to go up against a stormtrooper squad themselves?" That was Deak's sister.

"If they're talented enough to get themselves into trouble, they're talented enough to get themselves out."

"You're a coward, Huff." Grunts around the room signified agreement.

His father hesitated. He cared so much about his standing. "We worked so hard to build all of this, our safe lives. The Empire leaves us alone because we made it that way. We protect ourselves and what we've built. Our children shouldn't be able to run off-planet, abandon all of that, then come crawling back the moment they get into trouble. It's for their own good."

"No, Huff," Salla said abruptly. "It's for yours."

Biggs knew what was going to happen before it did. The sound of the whipcrack smack sickened him, nonetheless. Salla's gasp was tiny, and she sagged forwards on the table, one of her arms braced against her knees.

He crawled forwards, knocking into someone else's legs to avoid touching his father's, and reached for her hand in the only comfort he could offer right now. She took it—then, as his father continued to ramble, used that grip to drag him forwards.

"None of us have blasters with us. We left them at the homesteads—that's where we're supposed to need them, out in the desert, against the Tuskens and the womp rats. The boys know that. They brought the trouble here; they know we can't deal with it for them.

Biggs made a small sound in his throat from shock. Salla's hand patted his shoulder reassuringly—then patted down his side, his waist, until she reached the weapons belt and the blaster he'd taken from that stormtrooper. She gripped it and drew it.

"They're just boys. They need help, Huff," another voice said. Mr Starkiller—Windy's dad.

"They need—"

Salla stood up. The rough fabric of her skirts brushed Biggs's cheek and he wanted to cling to it the way he remembered clinging to his mother's skirts, decades earlier, before she'd died. But Salla wasn't his mother, and it wasn't fair to demand she be.

Instead, he drew back, as she took his blaster and shot his father in the back of the head with it.

The bang and the wet splat took that sickened feeling in Biggs's stomach and nearly brought it up out of his mouth. Something slopped onto the table directly above him. Luke, under the other table, was staring above Biggs with wide eyes, and Biggs wondered how much he could see. Biggs couldn't see anything—but he felt the thump in his bones as his father's corpse slumped onto the table.

The room was silent.

Salla lowered the blaster and offered it back down to Biggs. He took it with trembling hands.

"Get a towel to wipe down the table," Salla said, her voice level.

Biggs wondered what had happened to her former master.

"What are you going to do with the body?" Mrs Marstrap demanded.

Salla shrugged off her jacket. Biggs watched it dangle from her hands, then heard her throw it over his father's head with a thump.

"That's never going to—"

"Towel. Now."

Hurried footsteps. Someone—Mr Starkiller—brought a towel and mopped up the blood and the brains. It was a rush job; he couldn't have got everything. Someone else leaned forwards and spilled some of their ale onto the table. It dripped down, and the smell was strong enough to disguise what was left of the blood.

And that was all they could do. Across the room, Luke tensed, and Biggs took that as the warning he needed before he pressed against the nearest person's legs, and the door swung open. Three sets of white stormtroopers' boots marched in.

Everyone fell silent again.

"We're looking for two men. Young." The stormtrooper captain's voice was crackly. "Luke Skywalker and Biggs Darklighter."

No one moved. After a few moments, someone—Mrs Starkiller, he thought—piped up, "I didn't know they were on Tatooine. Thought they were out with the Empire."

"They're not." The trooper didn't sound amused. "The reward for Darklighter's capture is fifteen thousand credits."

Biggs nearly choked on his own saliva.

"The reward for Skywalker is fifty thousand."

Luke, across the room, blinked slowly. His face folded in resignation.

Mr Starkiller, because that couple were the chattiest in Anchorhead, was the one who spoke this time. "Damn—could use that sort of money. We'll let you know if they come back, then. They're bound to sooner or later."

"We have reason to suspect they flew here from Jabba's Palace."

"Jabba's Palace?" Mrs Marstrap's nasal voice was wrought with curiosity. "What were they doing there?"

"That's classified until—"

"Have you checked Mos Eisley?" Camie cut in, this time, shifting next to her mother. "That's closest, ain't it? They'd probably have gone there, not here. None of us have a ship to get off-planet with."

The trooper hesitated. "That's what we thought," he said. "But we wanted to be thorough." He turned, so he was facing Biggs, Salla, and his father directly. "What happened to him?"

Biggs's heart thundered, but Salla shrugged and stroked Huff's dead shoulders. "Had a bit too much to drink," she said. "He does this every lunchtime. It's best to let him have his nap so he's able to work at least the rest of the afternoon."

The trooper scoffed and turned away. "If you hear anything from them," he said. "You will report it to the Empire."

"Of course," Mr Loneozner said gruffly. They could all tell he didn't care enough to. These stormtroopers were locals, not Vader's 501st. They couldn't be bothered with the fight.

They left the pub again, the door shutting hard behind them. Everybody held their breath.

A few moments later, Biggs and Luke nodded at each other. They rose onto their feet to climb out, and a volley of blaster shots from outside made Biggs whack his head on the underside of the table, cursing.

Mr Loneozner ran to the door. "Boys!" he shouted, fury in his voice. When Luke and Biggs managed to crawl free, they ran outside as well. The three stormtroopers lay spread-eagled in the sand. A few blaster marks blemished the wall opposite, but standing grinning, unharmed, were Windy, Deak, and Fixer.

"That was so much better than bulls-eyeing womp rats," Windy said.

Fixer hit his elbow so hard he dropped the blaster. "You couldn't hit a womp rat if it was a metre in front of you."

"I hit that guy, didn't I—"

"I told you to stay out of trouble," Mr Loneozner said.

Fixer shrugged. "You also said that we needed to kill all the stormtroopers before they commed for backup."

"You were meant to get the speeder ready for Luke and Biggs."

"Luke and Biggs aren't gonna bring my speeder back," Fixer complained. "But they can have those." He pointed.

The stormtroopers' bikes were resting against the wall, undamaged.

"You killed a bunch of troopers so you could get out of lending me a speeder?" Luke demanded.

"I don't like you, Wormie."

"I don't like you either!" Luke snapped. "Thank you."

"Shut up."

Luke glanced over his shoulder as well, and Biggs followed his gaze. Camie was chatting to her mother under her breath. When she noticed them watching, she sneered at them.

Luke's gaze skipped to the others in the pub. Hardy desert folk they'd known their whole lives. Biggs wondered what they felt like to him in the Force: a dozen and more lights, small but not dim. Dark lights getting brighter the longer he looked at them, until the broader pattern was clear to see.

"Thank you," he said again—to them, and then to Mr Loneozner, who accepted it with a sharp nod.

"We'll get rid of the bodies," he said. "All of them." To Biggs: "Let us know if you want to come back for the funeral."

Biggs swallowed and glanced back at Salla. Her face was pale but resolute—and, possibly, the most relaxed he'd ever seen her.

He nodded.

Then he took Luke's hand, and together they walked towards the speeders.

The Falcon was indeed waiting at the Lars farm. Princess Leia was kneeling in front of Owen and Beru's grave, hand hovering over the plants still bristling atop it. She heard the speeder bike and jumped to her feet.

"Luke!"

Luke's laugh was infectious, and he choked up and wrapped his arms around Leia as soon as they were in range. Leia met Biggs's gaze over his shoulder. Biggs fidgeted awkwardly, but she turned away a few seconds later.

"Glad to see you're alright, kid." Han made to punch Luke on the arm, but Luke hugged him too, and Han's laugh told Biggs he'd wanted that, anyway. "The Empire can't get you yet."

Luke shook his head, grinning. "I—" A shrill beeping interrupted whatever he was going to say, and Luke pivoted to see R2 hurtle down the Falcon's ramp, into his knees. "Artoo!"

R2 beeped happily, bumping into Luke's shins as Luke knelt beside him. "I thought you were— I thought Vader had—" Artoo chattered something else, and Luke smiled. "Of course you escaped. I shouldn't have expected differently, should I?"

R2's response was a definite no, on that. Biggs felt his heart seize up. He thought of all the droids on his father's farm, treated like servants and nothing else. He thought of how he'd treated R5.

He wondered if she was alright.

Luke glanced around, laughing. "I have so much to tell you guys."

"So does he," Leia said, nodding at Biggs.

Any lingering joy from the reunions vanished. Everyone turned to look at him.

Biggs swallowed. "I'm aware I'll be put on trial."

"You killed an innocent Rebel and delivered Luke to Vader."

"I know," Biggs said.

Princess Leia tilted her hand. "Are you coming back, then?"

"I have a choice?"

"We came here for Luke. Not a traitor."

Traitor. He tried the word in his head.

How many people and causes had he betrayed in the last few months?

Did he himself count as one?

He didn't want that to be his defining truth.

"I'll come," he said at last. "I… I'll face it."

He reached out and took Luke's hand.

The trip back to the Rebel base was long, but not long enough. Biggs was keenly aware he'd be slapped in cuffs the moment he returned, so he savoured what little freedom he had on the ship. Most of all, he savoured being close to Luke.

"He's not going to stop chasing you, you know."

He said it several hours in, when Luke was sitting alone at the dejarik table and Han and Leia were arguing in the cockpit, with the Wookiee as referee. Luke stared at the holographic animals and nodded.

"I know," he said. "But neither will the Empire. It—he never would have stopped. This doesn't change anything."

"I'm sorry about your father, Luke."

"I'm sorry about yours."

Biggs felt a stab of grief, but he was trying to bury that, for now. "I hated him. You… you idolised him, before—"

"I did."

"He's a monster, Luke. I'm sorry." He swallowed. "I thought he would be better. I thought he'd want to protect you."

Luke fisted his hand on the dejarik table. "I think that's what he thought, too."

"What?"

"I can still hear him," Luke admitted. "Calling to me. We built a bond when he trained me. He's worried about the Emperor—wants to protect me. He's not going to give up on getting me to join him. And he's angry."

"That's his default state, I think."

"I don't know how I'm going to explain it to Rebel Command," Luke said. He sighed. "But I can explain it to you."

"Explain what?" There was a beat of silence, and Biggs let it draw out, patient.

Luke pulled out his lightsaber. No—the lightsaber Vader had given him. His father's blue lightsaber was still in Vader's possession, sequestered away as evidence that he used to be a Jedi, and Luke had been given this random one instead. Biggs wasn't sure how to read into that.

Nor was he sure how to read it when Luke lit the lightsaber and studied the blade, bloody light glinting in his eyes, before extinguishing it again. Then he wrapped his hands around the hilt and closed his eyes.

Biggs was used to Luke's warmth, now. His expanding Jedi presence. He was growing more attuned, and stronger, and even Biggs could feel it in the wash of peace that enveloped him. Luke opened his eyes, and his irises seemed to glow blue.

When he lit the lightsaber again, it was white. Biggs, staring at it, felt his heart go tight.

"I love you," Luke told him. "I forgive you."

Biggs shook his head. "Luke, I— I messed up. I delivered you to him."

"You wanted to protect me. And when you realised you were hurting me, you did your best to save me. You changed. If he really wants to protect me, as he says… he can change too." Luke looked into the lightsaber, then deactivated it. "If he wants me back, he'll have to come and get me."

"I don't know if he can, Luke."

"Then that's up to him." Luke put out his hand, and Biggs took it. He kissed him, very lightly. "We just have to focus on us."

"I'm afraid," Biggs murmured against Luke's lips, like it was a secret.

"Me too," Luke whispered back. "We've got a whole empire to fight."

"This isn't how I thought an adventure would go. I didn't expect to be hiding under the table in the pub relying on the citizens of Anchorhead to protect us."

"Is that a bad thing?"

The image of his father's corpse bent over the table, Salla's face grim but free from remorse, flashed into his mind. Mr Loneozner lifting his blaster.

Vader, who couldn't have got to Luke without Biggs, and himself, who couldn't have got Luke back without Leia.

"No," he admitted. "The whole galaxy is fighting the Empire."

"You're coming around to the Rebellion, then?"

He shook his head. "The Rebellion doesn't trust me. And I don't trust them." His voice broke. "None of this is safe. I don't trust in those dreams of adventure we had, Luke. Striking out on our own…"

"No," Luke agreed, and kissed him again. "But I trust you."

The fear didn't lessen. If anything, it felt like his heart tripled in weight, a burden in and of itself.

But Luke was here, against him, and Biggs could whisper, "I trust you too," against his lips. So perhaps it was a burden he could bear.

Thanks for reading!