The new guy was named Locke Koroban, which was the fakest name Biggs had ever heard. His scoff upon hearing it, however, got him in trouble, as Princess Leia fixed him with a look.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant Darklighter?"

Everyone was looking at him. This was their second briefing in as many weeks, and this was not the sort of subtle, stay-in-the-background behaviour that a spy was supposed to engage in. But honestly, Biggs had already had to explain to Vader what was taking so long—his own cowardice was—and he didn't have the patience to be careful.

Biggs swallowed. "You said that Koroban would fly with Luke on this mission?"

Princess Leia's mouth formed an oh as she looked at him, eyes hard as diamond. He felt exposed in the same way he did whenever Luke called him out on what he was thinking or saying. But whatever she saw when she scanned his soul like a status report, she didn't diagnose him with anything in front of all his colleagues, which was all he could ask for, really.

"Yes, Lieutenant Darklighter."

She did, however, come to talk to him later, when his colleagues had all dispersed. At least he knew someone in the Rebellion was professional, then.

"Darklighter," she called when everyone filed out at the end. A few of the boys sniggered, though her tone wasn't admonishing.

Luke raised his eyebrows but gave Leia a smile that she returned and squeezed Biggs's hand. "I'll meet you outside." To Leia, "I'll see you in the mess hall!"

"Save some of the sweets for me," she said graciously. But as soon as the door shut again, her eyes hardened again to that diamond-stare. "What is this about, Darklighter?"

He crossed his arms, wondering why he felt like an apprehended child again. She wasn't treating him like one—just like a superior checking in with her pilots to make sure everything was going well—but when Narra had filed out of the room, the dismissal in his gaze had been deeply familiar from another time, another man. Tension had his gut hostage, and it wasn't even wholly to do with the fact he knew he was acting pretty kriffing suspiciously.

"I don't know what you mean," he tried to say casually, though his stance would give him away to any moisture boy, let alone a trained politician.

"You know we're flying in different pairs each mission to build rapport between the teammates. What's your problem with the current line-up?"

"Nothing."

"You have no problem with the current line-up?" She tapped her datapad. "Only because you've been switching out your missions for two weeks to fly with Luke. Luke's Narra's XO and he's new. He needs to be more familiar with the squadron than anyone other than Narra, so you should stop hijacking his missions to spend more time with him."

"He—"

Her voice softened. "It's a war. I know you're worried. But I know Luke has raised this concern with you, and so has Narra, so I'm doing it now."

For a moment, Biggs wondered if Luke had asked her to do this—had confided in her about his concerns. Because he was concerned—he had told Biggs that, and made it clear he didn't appreciate being coddled—but only that Biggs didn't trust him. Or that Biggs was paranoid. Or worried. Both Luke and, apparently, Princess Leia were convinced that this was the reason, and Biggs was simultaneously grateful for and despised it. If they couldn't flag his suspicious behaviour for what it was, how could he trust them to weed out Koroban as a spy?

"That's not it," Biggs said truthfully.

Princess Leia raised her eyebrows further, as if she could sense the truth. "It's certainly a part of it. Leave it alone. Let this find its place. We don't have time for our sorrows or sentiments."

"But we have time for hope?" he bit out. "You're always preaching about that and expect me to give up sentiments?"

"We all need our hopes. But you let yourself be ruled by fear and suspicion. If you don't pay attention to that and figure out how to trust your fellow Rebels, you won't be any use to the Alliance," then, like she sensed Biggs's scoff pre-emptively, "or Luke. Leave it alone, Darklighter. If you're that scared, talk to one of the Alliance's psychotherapists, and they can help you handle it. But Luke is going to fly with Koroban first thing tomorrow morning, because that's what leaders do, and you're going to take your day off instead of taking on more unscheduled flights."

"Because that's what soldiers do?" Biggs said bitterly.

"That's all any of us can do," she corrected. "Dismissed, Darklighter."

Biggs went straight to the simulators after their meeting. In the pods, he let the simulated g-forces tear through him until the physical ache they left behind deafened the ache Princess Leia's words had left, and the increasingly shrill buzz of his nerves. Lord Vader was almost certainly getting impatient with him—again. He needed to deliver Luke soon, and he needed to get rid of the spy soon.

It was hours before he crawled out again. The night cycle on Home One was in full swing, so when he went to the mess hall it was empty of any organics. The droids behind the counter trundled up to serve him something even more rubbery than Salla's overcooked convor eggs, and Biggs sat alone at one of the long, empty tables and chewed it until it was tasteless, nutritional sludge in his mouth. Footsteps made him glance sideways. He paused.

Koroban stood in the door.

Another bland mouthful of gunk fell out of Biggs's mouth onto the plate. Koroban noticed him, gave him a shy, polite nod, then went up to the counter and nodded at the droid as well. When he sat down, it was opposite Biggs, close enough that Biggs felt the hairs on the back of his arms ruffle at the air movements.

"You're with Skywalker, right?" Koroban asked at last, chunks of food in his mouth muffling the sound.

Biggs didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but whatever it meant he would always answer in the affirmative, so he nodded.

Koroban finished chewing his food and actually swallowed before speaking, this time. "What's he like?"

"Excuse me?" What sort of unsubtle espionage was this? He knew that he for one had gone around asking about random, suspicious things when he was new to the Rebellion, but… really? If this was the Emperor's spy, he expected better.

The lack of subtlety just put him on edge. Maybe Koroban—or whatever his real name was—knew, and was trying to either keep an eye on Biggs or throw him off the scent.

Koroban made a noncommittal noise with his mouth. "Y'know. As a person. To fly with. I haven't had the chance yet, and he's the Hero of Yavin—I wanna know what to expect. You seem to know him really well."

"I do."

"Care about him a lot."

"I do."

Koroban took another bite, as if the food on his plate was appetising, and munched, spraying out his next words. "How long have you known him?"

"Since we were kids."

"What should I expect, then?" Koroban swallowed again, glancing down at his plate suddenly. He reached for the knife and fork he'd so far been neglecting and, almost self-consciously, cut the food into flabby little snippets, bite size, and then smaller and smaller.

"Why do you want to know?" Biggs challenged.

Koroban looked up from his mincing project and gave Biggs an awkward smile. Kriff him, it transformed his face. He looked pitiful. He looked nervous. "I'm new as a pilot—worked in comms before this. You used to fly with the Empire, right? I… don't wanna make any rookie mistakes. I haven't flown in an X-wing out of atmo before, and… well. Embarrassing yourself on a one-to-one mission with the guy who destroyed the Death Star?"

"Devastating," Biggs drawled.

"Yeah." Koroban looked down at his food again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother—"

"Luke is new too. He's talented, but he's new. Don't put too many expectations on his shoulders—that might crush him."

"Did he fly with the Empire as well, then?"

Biggs's words died in his throat. "No," he said finally. "No, he's never done that. He came straight from Tatooine."

"Tatooine?" Koroban grimaced. "There? That's just a dustball."

"We were both born there," Biggs said stiffly.

"Yeah, but you learnt to fly with the Empire—how did he learn to fly? He'll have different strengths and weaknesses to us, won't he?"

The word weaknesses zipped through Biggs like a laser.

He was talking to a spy. He was talking about Luke to a spy.

"Yeah," Biggs said. "He might."

Koroban smiled shyly again. "I'll keep an eye out for them, then. We're flying in what," he glanced at the chrono, "one standard hour."

They were. Biggs had faffed the night away worrying and stressing and spilling Luke's secrets to a spy. And now Luke would fly with him in one standard hour, and—

What? What did Biggs think would happen?

"Hopefully it goes well."

"No."

Koroban creased his brows. "What?"

It took less than a second to yank his blaster from his belt and nail Koroban in the chest. He slumped into his diced, minced food. The bang seemed to come a few seconds after, as if Biggs had watched the shot from a great distance. The shout came even later.

Biggs snapped his head up. Wedge stood in the middle of the room with a tray of food, staring. He must be an early riser: the night cycle lights were only just starting to pinken in a simulation of dawn.

Like Luke, but Biggs squashed the thought. Luke wasn't here—yet. Wedge was.

"Darklighter," Wedge said, "what—"

Biggs yanked up his blaster, and a flash of conscience made him set it to stun. Wedge slumped to the ground, his tray clattering behind him.

He looked at the chrono. Less than an hour, now. Koroban wasn't going on his mission with Luke. Good; he might have used it to hand him in, or leaked the coordinates to the Emperor, or…

The pieces slotted together in Biggs's mind.

Less than an hour to hide two bodies. Based on the strength of that stun blast, Wedge would be out for an hour, maybe an hour and a half if he were lucky. He and Luke should be out of here by then, and then they would never come back.

That bridge had burned. Biggs just had to carry the torch a little further.

"Biggs!" Luke greeted when Biggs entered the hangar and kissed his cheek. "Come to see me off?" Then he took in Biggs's full flight suit and rolled his eyes. "I've talked to you already—"

"I know," Biggs said. "And so did Narra and so did the princess. This is the last time, I promise. Koroban isn't feeling well, so he agreed to switch."

Luke creased his brows, and for a moment Biggs panicked that he'd caught him in his lie. But affection was a powerful drug. He nodded.

"You got that on holocam, Artoo?" he called, teasing.

R2-D2, from his place already in the socket of Luke's X-wing, beeped his affirmative. Biggs rolled his eyes. R5 wasn't here, which should make this easier for him—but just as he thought it, she rolled into the hangar, beeping in confusion.

"Good thing that Koroban was gonna borrow your droid for this mission anyway," Luke said affectionately. Right. Biggs had forgotten about that. "Alright. She knows the coordinates—get in and we can leave."

They did. Biggs still couldn't override R5's safety features to find the coordinates of the Rebel base, but he could do it to find the coordinates of the mission they were going to. He hacked into the navicomputer, ignoring her shrill protests, and submitted them.

All he had to do was wait.

They dropped out of hyperspace over a blue gas giant, Luke voice on the comm spelling out everything Biggs needed to know about the mission.

"…potential site for a new base, since they don't want us knocking around Home One forever. This planet is remote enough it doesn't even have a name, but some of the moons are habitable to humans and humanoids, so we're just meant to land and check it out… wait." Biggs heard Luke tapping something, R2 warbling. "Are you reading this?"

"What?" Biggs, heart in his throat, let R5 run a scan on the surrounding area. There was the planet, there were its moons… "I don't see anything."

"Something's here. On the other side of the planet."

"I don't read anything."

"Trust me, it's there. Artoo and I are trying to get a clearer reading, the atmosphere is interfering with our signals and whatever it is, it's trying to hide from us." Biggs swallowed—both at the fact that Luke had figured out the trap so quickly, and that this was just more evidence of his Jedi powers.

Vader had said that he didn't want to hurt Luke—he wanted to train Luke, convince him to join the Empire—but doubt infected Biggs's heart. What guarantee of that did he have? Lord Vader was an honourable man, to the extent that anyone could be honourable and still effective in war, but Luke was stubborn, and this was a massive risk—

"It's…" Luke's shock forced him to trail off, fear tinting his voice, and Biggs knew that he had to put his doubts aside. It was far too late for them. "It's the Devastator."

Despite everything, Biggs sighed. It had been a long hyperspace trip, and he knew that the Devastator had a much higher class of hyperdrive than their ragged X-wings did, but there had still been the risk that the Devastator wouldn't get there before they did.

"What?" Biggs asked, trying to keep up the pretence. He didn't sound very convincing, he knew, and his relief must be blaring through Luke's sixth sense; he was flying close enough alongside Luke that he saw him give him a sidelong glance through the cockpit. But Luke had bigger issues right now.

"Prepare for the jump to hyperspace, now. I'll take emergency route Aurek and you take Besh. Arfive, we'll meet you at rendezvous point Thesh, alright? Artoo and Arfive, calculate our routes. Biggs and I'll handle the flying."

Luke would have been an excellent leader in the Rebellion, Biggs thought. Princess Leia had made a good choice, after all.

"Biggs?" Luke's shout over the comms woke him up. Luke was already shooting away from the planet and the Star Destroyer behind it, the TIEs tumbling out of its belly like baby spiders out of their mother. "Snap out of it—come on!"

Belatedly, Biggs shook his head, grabbed the controls, and flew after him. Luke was flying for the part of the system furthest from any moons or planets, to give R2 an easier job for the hyperspace jump. Biggs swallowed and made to follow, hoping against hope that—

A TIE fighter screamed past him, and Biggs had to roll to avoid it. Good. If they were already after him, then it wouldn't be long until Luke was surrounded as well.

This was Black Squadron. Biggs should stop worrying and let himself be captured.

He pulled out of his roll just as quickly as he'd leapt into it, the TIE on his tail screeching over him. R5 yelled, trying to take control from him, but he kept the controls locked on manual. The TIE fired on him, and he dove to the side again to avoid them—towards where the Devastator was creeping towards them, around the planet.

"Biggs!" Luke's voice cut through the instinctive panic that came to any pilot who risked being hemmed in. "Check behind you"—Biggs took the hint and dodged just before another spray of lasers raked across his back shields—"I'm on my way, I promise."

"No, Luke! Stay out there!" It was what he was meant to say, right? "Jump to hyperspace when you can—"

It was too late, even if he'd meant the words. TIEs reached Luke like swarming ants, and whatever Luke had been about to yell over the comms was cut off abruptly. Biggs spared a moment to watch Luke on his scopes, gaped, then twisted his neck to stare at him out of the cockpit.

They'd guessed which was the Death Star pilot.

Biggs had cried with joy when he'd been promoted from Grey to Black Squadron on the Devastator; he used to watch their training sessions, in awe of their clean, quick flying, the sheer skill they had refined until it was sharp as a blade. Now, two or three pilots swooped around him almost lazily—they weren't trying, with him. They knew they didn't have to. Biggs couldn't have broken out of this cage unless he was willing to risk severe bodily harm and crash into them. A few shots splattered against his shield, but they were almost insulting afterthoughts. He could feel them doing what he was doing: staring at Luke.

He had twelve pilots on him at once. Biggs gaped, mouth dry, as one dived straight at him, trying to drive Luke into the net of other TIEs swarming around them. Luke let his ship hang in the air as they dived, still… still… A few dozen metres from impact, he shot out of the way, accelerating faster than Biggs had known X-wings could go. Biggs's mouth dropped open. The diving TIE staggered into their fellow pilots, and they scattered, reforming just in time to catch Luke's tail wind.

The hail of fire had Biggs's hand tighten on his joystick—which was good, because that was when one of the TIEs pursuing him decided to have their own fun and fired. He flipped forwards and shot as far ahead as he could; the TIE directly in front of him swerved to avoid a direct collision, and Biggs arced around to the left, but his exit closed in front of him as they reformed. They matched his inertia and kept moving, moving forwards—

Right towards the gaping mouth of the Devastator's hangar.

"Biggs!"

Biggs looked over his shoulder. The TIEs were still hot on Luke's tail, close and neat like a banner streaming behind him. He dived behind the moon, and they followed; one, two, three had the foresight to duck around the moon and come at him from a different angle. Biggs lost visual contact with them, and never regained it. He spotted debris sparkling in the moon's atmosphere, though.

R5 unhelpfully informed him that they were ready to make the jump to hyperspace. Biggs glanced around. That was useless; there were too many people knotted around him to have a hope of that, and the Devastator being right there made his stomach heavy. But R2 would have told Luke the same thing. Luke was not trapped, and he was ready to jump. The TIEs couldn't follow him there.

"Biggs," Luke said, sure enough. "Biggs, we need to jump—can you get clear?"

Biggs swallowed. Was this what would happen? Luke was a good pilot; he'd known that. He hadn't known he'd be good enough to evade the trap. If he left, he would return to a Rebellion where Biggs was known as a murderer and traitor, and Biggs would be left to answer to Vader—

Except Vader was here. He'd launched from the hangar and was flying, spinning, barrelling straight at Biggs. That TIE Advanced, with the curved wings and the squint-like cockpit, was unmistakeable.

"No," he choked out. "I can't."

This was it, then. Luke would escape, Vader would just shoot him out of the sky and have done with it, and everyone would be back at square one—except Biggs, who would be dead. He instinctively made to roll away, dive out of Vader's flight path, but the TIEs boxed him in, and Vader's bolts tore through his shields like they were skin—

Crimson flashes bloomed on the back of Vader's ship. His trajectory buckled and swerved, and Luke dived behind him, smooth as an arrow trailing his banner of pursuing TIEs. He hammered Vader with all the force his cannons had, Vader's shields shimmering and flickering with the heat of it, and Biggs's heart leapt.

Luke hadn't left.

Of course he hadn't left. He was Luke.

And it meant—

Vader spun around, ducked beneath Luke, and let Luke soar right over him. Once he was behind, he fired again—but not at Luke. Slightly to his left. Luke swerved right, towards the hangar. The TIEs on Biggs's tail picked up their pursuit as well.

There was no point in resisting, or even pretending to put up a fight. Vader was in the battle, Luke had given up his chance to leave, and there was only one way this would go. Biggs let them shepherd him into the hangar and came down hard, skidding along the floor and barely avoiding a collision with the other ships stationed there. The TIEs came in more gracefully behind him. Their landing was almost smug.

Biggs didn't care. While R5 shrieked and went into lockdown mode—something Biggs should probably prevent, come to think of it, if Vader wanted to use her knowledge of Rebel rendezvous points and coordinates, but R2 would be coming too anyway—he twisted around to stare out the hangar door.

They hadn't tried to engage the tractor beam on Luke, but it was clear why. He was difficult to track even with the naked eye, and Vader on his tail was just as blurred. The dozen TIEs that had been on Luke before had fanned out, ready to intercede if needed, but clearly it was not. Luke might be giving Vader a run for his credits, but still no gambler would bet against him.

Luke was that much slower. That much less agile. Shots hit him over and over, while he got half as many shots on Vader, and Luke's shields were of a lower grade.

The spark and fizzle as they burned out made Biggs's heart stop.

But Vader stopped firing, thank the stars. He still didn't want Luke dead. Instead, he just zoomed towards him, and Luke turned to flee, and there was only one place left for him to go. When he hit the hangar, it was a testament to Luke's reflexes and R2's control that nothing went up in flames.

Biggs's heart, slowly, started beating again.

The TIEs, one by one, landed again, settling neatly in their places along the outside wall. Vader came last and spent the least time on landing. He had hardly touched down when he opened the cockpit and leapt out, not bothering to wait for a ladder. His cape flared behind him. His boots landed with a thud.

Biggs craned his neck for a glimpse of Luke's face, but it was turned away from him. Luke fixated on Vader, the back of his neck gleaming with sweat. As Vader came to a stop directly in front of Luke's cannons, he stared at Luke, and Luke glared back.

He reached for the controls. The cannons glowed and boomed as they prepared to fire—and Vader raised a hand. Their barrels twisted, turning in on themselves, and the shots collided with Luke's own wings instead. They crackled, bent, and burned.

A tech pushed a ladder up to the side of Luke's X-wing. Black smoke belched and curled up towards the ceiling, but even with that risk to lungs and limb, it took a long time for Luke to climb out.