Chapter Text
DS-1 Orbital Battle Station - Hydian Way
07:00 BBY
Priority Alert N3.12
Transponder signal loss.
SUBJECT: INQ-01
Ravous went very still.
Every Inquisitor carried at least four trackers. Two in their helmet, two in their lightsaber hilt, and however many more Ravous or the current Grand Inquisitor saw fit to attach to the agent in question.
First Sister had stowed away on the freighter in full uniform. She would have hidden that uniform and obtained a disguise upon arrival to the Rebel base.
If all four had stopped transmitting…
She failed me.
The comm spat sparks as Ravous crushed it.
This explained the shift she’d felt. Like the sound of rotten wood groaning under some great weight…
She handed the ruined disk to ICC-126, and clasped her hands behind her back. Glared out at the arena full of troopers before her.
Tano.
It had to be. Only trained Force-sensitives were a real threat to First’s stealth, but for all Luke’s raw power, secret training would not have equipped him to face someone like her. First knew Luke’s potential, and she was sharp enough to have gleaned some idea of what Luke meant to Ravous— with his extraction as her objective, she would not have hesitated to kill any other Jedi that stood in her way… except for her old, wayward friend.
Ravous’ knuckles started to ache from how hard she was clenching her fists. She did not unclench them. It would only spill her rage onto something else, and clones were in short supply these days.
She had sabotaged herself.
If she had not actively encouraged First’s fixation on Tano, her brother would be out of harm’s way.
Foolish girl.
She suppressed a flinch. Took a deep breath.
It didn’t help.
The dream.
She’d seen Luke die in uncanny detail, incinerated by the same weapon that destroyed Naboo—
No.
No.
Luke was hers, and so was First Sister.
Neither the Rebels nor the Force would take them from her. She wouldn’t let them, would unleash her wrath upon them for even daring to try—
The transparisteel shuddered in front of her.
Focus.
Your will must be stronger.
Deep breaths.
Mission parameters: dual extraction, limited window.
With a gas giant the size of Yavin, and the structural integrity of the station to consider, they’d have to drop out of hyperspace at least fifty thousand klicks out, and the rest of the approach would have to be mostly inertia in order to decelerate in time, which gave her a window of approximately… two hours?
Hm.
Not many options, there. Best to keep it straightforward.
“Commander.”
ICC-126 snapped his heels together. “Sir.”
“See that my Interceptor is refuelled and reloaded as soon as possible. Standard escort.”
“Yessir. Standard ordinance as well?”
“No. Frag missiles. And… four Seeker Droids.”
“On it.”
She heard his fingers tapping a datapad… and sensed a hint of envy in his curiosity.
She smirked. “Don’t worry, soldier. I’ll show you the holo afterward.”
His envy… bloomed into something that was almost arousal, and Ravous smirked behind her mask.
It’d be a shame when the last loyal Fett Clones ran out.
Perhaps she’d re-appropriate some of Tano’s.
***
Rebel Corvette Steela
Base One - Yavin 4
03:00 BBY
They’d cut her hair.
Odd kriffing detail to get stuck on, given the circumstances, but Ahsoka had always been fascinated by hair… and between the hoods, shawls, and the helmet, she’d never actually seen First Sister’s.
Until now.
The sides and back had been buzzed short, and what remained on top had been trimmed to a few sleek black inches, tousled and spiky from the fight.
Ahsoka averted her eyes.
Even now, it felt wrong to see her without a hood or a veil or a helmet. Voyeuristic.
She finished tying First Sister’s wrist to the frame of the cot, and stood.
She took a moment to simply be still; to feel the ache in her joints and muscles and broken fingers, to let the soft sounds of the Steela’s atmo systems slowly whisper her a mental map of the room.
Then she sat on the opposite bunk, and let herself look again.
She’s so thin.
Ba— First Sister had never been a large person, but even as one of the most disciplined Padawans in the Order, there had always been a softness to her features.
Not now.
Probably not for a long time.
The elegance that Ahsoka had once found so confusing had turned sharp. Severe. And the ribs visible through her undershirt, the breasts that were barely visible, barely there at all, the striations visible in the scant muscles of her chest, shoulder, and arm…
All too lean to deliver the crushing blows that still had Ahsoka’s hands and wrists aching.
Just how heavily had she been drawing on the Dark?
Ahsoka forced herself to look at the woman’s face again, and had to regulate her breathing.
She could still barely believe they’d taken her tattoos. It seemed so karking petty.
She’d known that since the clusterfrip on Sullust, but seeing it now, without any allies or adrenaline or crackling sabers to distract her…
It was worse than seeing her hair.
Unmarked, the sickly pallor of her olive skin was somehow more obvious. Ahsoka knew helmet-pale, and this was beyond that, an almost translucent dullness. The darkest parts of of her face were the bruise-like shadows around her eyes. There were new lines there, and a new crease between her brows, drawn tight by tension even in sleep.
She looked like she’d aged eight years in the four since Malachor.
New tricks, she’d called it. With a grin on her face.
Fierfek.
Ahsoka’s hands began to ache. She took a deep breath, and unclenched them from the steel frame of the cot beneath her. Tore her gaze away from First Sister’s sleeping face.
It landed on the cybernetics grafted to her upper chest.
Because of course the Empire couldn't only replace what needed replacing. No, they’d amputated all the way up to her karking collarbone, replacing it with a smooth metal replica that seemed to serve as an anchor for the armor-plated synth-muscle of her shoulder.
Ahsoka wondered if she’d had a choice in how much of her they’d... retrofitted.
Wondered how much it weighed.
Wondered how uneven her musculature was, underneath that…
Huh.
The scoop neck of First Sister’s undershirt bared several long, clinical scars radiating out from her mechanical shoulder and across her right pectoral… and one of them cut right through an oddly angular mass of scar tissue peeking out from under the fabric.
For a moment, Ahsoka hesitated, eyeing the spot. Then she leaned forward across the space between them, carefully pinched the edge of the shirt, peeled it back a bit…
And froze.
She felt the slight pull of her lekku spasming, the hot flare of anger in her chest, the involuntary curl of her lips baring her fangs—
The Imperial cog.
They’d branded her with the Imperial cog.
How could she want this for anyone else? How could she drag innocent people into this with her and call it—
No.
Slow down, Fulcrum.
Breathe.
You’ve talked to other Inquisitors. You’ve talked to Ventress.
You know the how.
You know the why.
Breathe.
A brand. By the slightly stretched look of it, applied either during or shortly after her imprisonment.
Her ribs showing, her face gaunt… disregard for her health, both on her part and on the part of her…
Her what?
Superiors?
Handlers?
Slavers?
Ahsoka stopped the growl building in her throat. Took several deep, slow breaths. Rested her hands palm-up on her thighs, and took several more.
Then she let herself feel it.
It had taken ‘til Malachor for the tangle of things she felt toward Barriss to tighten into a knot of rage… and all it took was a few signs of mistreatment to begin loosening it again.
She was almost thankful for the brand, in a way. It was hard for her to be truly angry at someone who’d been… treated like this.
Oh, she was still plenty angry— but it was a low smoulder compared to the molten pool of rage she felt toward the Empire, toward Anakin, toward herself for missing all the karking signs…
No.
She didn’t miss them, she rationalized them. Explained them away. Told herself they were nothing to be worried about, because if her Master could be overtaken by rage and the perfect Padawan could be overcome by grief and frustration, then it was alright for her to feel the same things.
Which she knew it was, now, but seeing people from Before always had a way of bringing out the traumatized sixteen-year-old in her.
And she had been traumatized long before the bombing and the trial and those cold, bitter months in Coruscant’s underbelly. She could see that now. She wouldn’t expect a child soldier to see warning signs in a historically introverted friend from across the galaxy now…
But the guilt was still there, like a piece of shrapnel buried deep in her chest, one that burned hot when she saw what the callousness of humans—
—of fascists, and of the huddled masses that had been frightened into siding with fascists—
—had done to this woman.
And countless others.
She took the deepest breath she could, and held it for a moment.
This is a step toward justice.
I took her alive, and I have the resources to help her.
This is a step toward justice.
I responded as quickly as I could. I saved Luke’s life. I may still save her life. The information she has may save hundreds more.
This is a step toward justice.
I have an opportunity to give her the compassion she’s been starved of. To help her.
To finally move past this.
This is a step toward justice.
She paused. Listened to the symphony of life from the jungle outside. Her anger was nothing to it— just a single aberrant chord, barely audible over the thirst and hunger and joy and pain of millions of organisms.
She inhaled…
From suffering comes compassion.
Exhaled.
Inhaled…
From cruelty; mercy.
Exhaled.
Inhaled…
From violence; love of peace.
Exhaled.
Inhaled.
Repeated the mantra.
Soon, with each outward breath, she was able to release the slightest bit of anger into the Force. Boiling gas and pressurized pipes came to mind.
From suffering comes compassion.
From cruelty; mercy.
From violence; love of peace.*
Some people did need to be re-introduced to peace to realize what they were missing, but that wasn’t easy to fit into a mantra.
The words echoed through her mind, summoning up the sound of relieved laughter, of broken collars clattering to the floor, of the quiet, soothing music Kaeden played in her clinic…
She synced her breathing to her heartbeat.
In-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight…
Out-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight…
And the more the rage she vented, the more clearly she could sense the quiet thunder of Rex’s Presence, drawing closer, as well as…
Ah.
Sabine was pissed.
Which helped, actually. The girl’s anger wasn’t violent or vengeful or brooding— it was the fury of a wounded creature growling to stave off further harm.
The urge to help eclipsed Ahsoka’s anger.
Slowly and gently, she gathered in her senses. In her mind’s eye she wove her way between towering trees, past psychic snares, prowling doubts, and pits filled with razor-sharp memories. Only once she reached the proud ruins at the center of it all did she open her flesh-and-blood eyes.
She rolled her neck, and felt it pop. Stood. Placed her hand on the door panel.
A pulse of light checked her handprint. A lightning-fast needle-prick checked her DNA. A whirr and a clunk unlocked the door. The press of a button opened it.
Ahsoka sat down again— this time on the foot of the cot she’d bound the Inquisitor to.
Rex and Sabine made good time though the ship. She marched in first, bucket off, boots heavy on the deck, and Rex followed her in.
They paused on the threshold.
Stared for a minute.
When they looked at Ahsoka, it was with the same question on both their faces.
Why keep her alive?
Ahsoka sighed.
Considered how to lay this out.
Then she met both their gazes, one after the other, to let them see the truth as she said:
“Ravous is, or at least was, Leia Organa.”
Rex blinked. Sabine’s brow furrowed.
Ahsoka didn’t need to Hear the Force to sense their confusion— confusion that stuck with Sabine even as Rex’s presence crackled with anger.
“Not here,” she said, and got back up. A quick gesture lifted First Sister’s prosthetic arm off the floor between cots and into Ahsoka’s unbroken hand.
It was heavier than she’d expected.
Heavier than any honest doctor would put on a woman First Sister’s size.
Sabine & Rex stood aside to let her out, and followed her to her cabin. When the door was shut behind them, Ahsoka sat on her bunk, laid the arm down, and looked them over. Rex knew lek-sign well enough to know when he had her attention, but Sabine needed to see it in her—
“Organa as in Bail Organa?”
—eyes.
Ahsoka took solace in the fact that Sabine’s recognition probably came from the memorials that tended to crop up on Alliance bases.
Hm. Maybe she’d be willing to do a mural…
Ahsoka reigned in her thoughts, and nodded.
“Leia was their adopted daughter,” she said. “His and Breha’s. Shortly before he died, Bail expressed an interest in the techniques I use to hide my presence from other Force-sensitives, allegedly for the sake of any other survivors his agents might encounter. I might’ve taken that at face value, if he hadn’t steered an earlier conversation toward the subject of my childhood in the Temple. My earliest training. I began to suspect that either Leia or another child in the Aldera Palace was Force-sensitive, but by the time I could arrange a covert visit, it was too late.
I sensed that there was more deceit beneath the ‘rebel attack’ story, but Alderaan was locked down; I had no way to investigate. Then, this morning, First Sister referred to Ravous as ‘the little girl she found on Alderaan.’ I sensed pride, devotion, and guilt, but not deceit. If one of the other palace kids was the Force-sensitive, the Empire would have left Leia on Alderaan as a puppet ruler. Hells, if she was Force-sensitive but not particularly weaponizable , she’d still be of more use to them as a puppet than anything else. But they took her. And when I put this all together, the Force rang with truth.”
Rex stared at her for a moment.
Then he swore under his breath, and sat heavily on the tooka-scratched couch they’d thrifted on Socorro.
Sabine leaned against the wall by the door and crossed her arms.
Ahsoka braced her forearms on her knees. It sent a twinge through the wreck of her left hand.
She considered her words again. It was all there, really, but she’d never actually voiced any of the pieces before.
“Given Bail and Breha’s rebel connections,” she said slowly, feeling it out, “and given Sidious’ need to instill loyalty in his new apprentice, I think Ravous probably views First Sister as her rescuer, rather than her kidnapper. First Sister’s connection to the Dark Side has… deepened, in the last three years, and she credits Ravous for that. Also, this arm is an arsenal with saber-proof plating— not saber-resistant, like Beskar, but saber- proof. Kriffing thing probably cost more than a flock of TIE fighters… and with Maul gone, Ravous is in charge of the Inquisition.”
Rex frowned. “So… what, she’s Ravous’ favorite?”
“It looks that way,” said Ahsoka. “She’s also the senior-most Inquisitor. I think the only reason she’s not Grand Inquisitor is that she’s too kriffing effective to be wasted on an desk job— but the clearance she must have…”
“Y’coulda just said ‘she’s got intel we need.”
“I could’ve. But you deserve an explanation. Both of you.”
He raised one salt-and-pepper brow. “Both of us?”
“Malachor,” said Sabine.
Ahsoka dipped her head in slow nod. “She took Ezra while I was fighting Ravous. I will find out what they’ve done to him.”
And what they've made him do lingered in the air between them.
“Ahsoka.” Rex again. “ Both of us deserve?”
“It’s your ship too, Rex.”
“You’re keeping her here?”
She glanced at Sabine, whose expression was neutral.
“For transit to the new base, yes. Everyone else is prepping for a strike and an evacuation at the same time,” Ahsoka told them. “Things are hectic enough without throwing an unstable darksider into the mix.”
That got a distant roll of thunder out of Rex. "I don't know, it looked like she got pretty mixed into the hangar."
Ahsoka met his gaze and held it, letting him see the resolve in her eyes.
“The Steela,” she said, “is one of the only ships in the fleet with this many biometric locks, and I’m the only one in the Alliance who’s successfully contained a darksider before.”
“You have a soft spot for that darksider, too?” Sabine’s voice was flat.
“Imagine Ketsu Onyo was enslaved and indoctrinated by the Empire.”
“I’ve never bridal-carried Ketsu.”
Ahsoka smirked to cover the flare of discomfort she felt at that. “I mean, she would probably bash in your bucket for trying…”
Sabine did not smirk.
“No,” Ahsoka admitted. “I didn’t have a soft spot for that Inquisitor.”
Some of the thunder faded from Rex’s presence, and Ahsoka glanced over to see him giving her the It’s Not Your Fault look.
She looked down at her hands.
“First Sister has killed enough people today. I won’t endanger more by leaving her with a warden who’s not equipped to handle her. Or waste everyone’s time and energy by leaving her with an interrogator she has no reason to talk to.”
For a long moment, Sabine just stared at her. Then she slumped slightly, and the tension went out of her face.
“How are you doing?” She asked.
Ahsoka shrugged, and found a new ache between her shoulder blades. “I’ve bounced back from worse than a firm handshake. Should be fine in a ten-day. ‘Til then, I have the Force.”
“So does she.”
“She’s got the Dark Side,” said Rex.
“The Dark Side has her,” Ahsoka corrected.
He nodded, attention on Sabine. “Double-edged blade. We’ve got a system.”
The Mando gave each of them a searching look.
“For the record,” she said, “I think this is kriffing stupid. But I trust you.”
Ahsoka resisted the urge to get up and hug her. She could still sense the hurt, but she knew Sabine needed some time with it. Maybe she’d let her have her way with another wall.
“How’s Luke?” She asked.
“Physically?” Rex leaned further into the couch. “Fine. But he’s shinier than you were on Christophsis. In over his head.”
Ahsoka’s left lek flicked agreement. “A lot has changed for him, very quickly.”
Up went the eyebrow again.
“Grew up on Tatooine, with family. Obi-Wan trained him. They all died within a few days of each other.”
Rex huffed. “Haarchak. I’ll have the Vode keep an eye on’im.”
Good. They were experts at helping people through trauma without coming off clinical about it.
“And Padmé?” She asked.
“I think the kid’s fussing is the only thing keeping her in the medbay. Which she’s turned into her office.”
A tired smile pulled at Ahsoka’s lips and lekku. “‘Course she has.”
If Luke was anything like her or Padme, he needed to keep busy right now. Caring for someone was probably the best way to do that.
Ahsoka sort of envied him, for a moment. Padme had a battalion’s worth of issues, but at least she had a healthy stance on murder and slavery.
At least he could use her birth name without hurting.
Ahsoka took a steadying breath.
Then she laid a hand on the cold metal bicep of First’s detached arm, and cast out her senses, listening for the telltale buzz of…
There.
Must’ve activated when she detached the thing.
“I need to talk to command,” she said.
Rex huffed. Rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. I’ll get the ship ready.”
Sabine stared at the floor between them for a beat. Then she nodded tersely, turned on her heel, and stepped out.
Ahsoka reached beyond herself and nudged at the tiny buzz, frying the circuits of the tracker hidden inside First Sister’s arm.
***
Recovery Ward, Medbay 1C
Base One - Yavin 4
Luke wished he’d known his mom sooner. Maybe then he’d have some idea how to help her right now.
Her fingers flew over the array of datapads laid out across her bed, tapping and swiping almost too quickly for Luke to keep track of. Half the time she wasn’t even looking at the ‘pad she was typing on, and when she did pause to read something closely, her eye was sharp as a deadshot’s… but Luke had spent the last hour keeping himself anchored, so as to not get pulled into the storm of furious misery inside her.
How could she stay so focused despite that?
What would Ben have said about it?
Anger might lead to hatred, but Luke was pretty sure it was also the only thing keeping her going right now.
Well, that and… whatever she was doing with eight different datapads at the same time. His chair was a bit too low to read what was on most of them, but every so often one locked itself and she had to give a thumbprint and eye-scan to un lock it, so it must’ve been pretty important.
How long could she keep this up, though?
And what had she done to make the doctors scared of her?
He wondered if it had anything to do with her cybernetic eye. From the side, he had a clear view of the thick, glossy burn scar that ran horizontally from the metal to her hairline.
Luke shivered.
He’d been to Mos Espa enough to know what a blaster-scar looked like. Kriff, it was a miracle the eye was all it took, clipping the socket like that.
He sensed someone new step into the medbay— no, march , someone… both familiar and not, somehow.
A second later he heard the clack of their boots, and hushed voices beyond the curtain—
“Come in,” said his mom, not looking up from her work.
A brown-skinned hand curled around the edge of the curtain and swept it open for—
Doctor Billaba? But he was dead, Luke saw him hit the…
No.
The Doctor didn’t have quite so many lines around his eyes, or that much grey in his beard. Didn’t wear body armor, either, and there was something about the way he held himself that was slightly—
“Sir.” The man saluted. Stared at Luke. “Fierfek, it is true. Guess he got your height, huh?”
“Lieutenant Beviin,” mom said dryly, “this is my son, Luke. Luke, Lieutenant Kel Beviin, Alliance Infantry.”
Okay, so maybe he was the Doc’s brother, but married into another—
“Never met a Brother before?” Asked Beviin.
What?
The soldier narrowed his eyes. “Where you been hiding this one, General?”
“Oh, has the rumor mill not filled you in yet?” Padme hadn’t looked up from the datapads, but there was a smirk on her face.
He shrugged. “Worth a try.”
She did look up at that, with a calculating glint in her flesh-and-blood eye, and a sort of neutral, the-lights-are-a-little-too-bright-in-here glint on the lens of her other one.
Then she went back to typing, and said:
“Tatooine.”
“Oh? Didn’t know we had any safehouses out that way…”
“Quit while you’re ahead, soldier.”
“Yessir.” He saluted again, a smirk in his eyes and in his aura, and slipped the large, beige rucksack he’d been lugging off his shoulder. “Got your recs.”
There was a rectangle of dull silver metal riveted to the outermost compartment, engraved with the name SKYWALKER.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Luke, you’ll want to familiarize yourself with the contents.”
Luke didn’t realize how long he’d been sitting until he wasn’t anymore, muscles aching where they’d been pressed into cushionless plastoid for… two hours? Three?
He took the rucksack, and put one foot forward to compensate for the unexpected weight of it.
Beviin’s brows rose in mild surprise. “Sturdier than you look. Good.”
Something about that irked Luke.
“This is nothing,” he said. “Be— my uncle used t’have me hike uphill with a bag of rocks twice a week.”
The lieutenant crossed his arms. “Uncle, huh?”
“Yes,” said Mom, “I imagine the gender narrows it down, doesn’t it?”
“A bit,” said Beviin. “Not quite enough t’win any bets, though…”
Luke sat back down with the rucksack between his knees, frowning. “Mom… why does this need to be a secret?”
She hesitated, then. For a long moment— stared at the datapad in her hands, took a controlled breath, laid the ‘pad down on her lap…
And when she looked him in the eye, there was a sort of… stiffness about her.
“Until I introduced you to the Doctor earlier,” she said, “the rumor of my involvement with your father was just that— a rumor, and an old one.”
...what?
“Why?” he asked.
“Do you know what they used to call him?”
“...Hero With No Fear?”
Her expression twisted like she’d smelled something bad— but only for an instant.
“There’s a statue of him in the Imperial Plaza one hundred meters tall, planting the imperial flag atop a mound of lightsaber hilts.”
Luke’s stomach twisted.
“‘The Last Jedi’,” she said. “That’s what they call him now. The Empire’s first martyr, who gave his life to put an end to the corrupt Jedi Order. I can count on one hand those of us who know the full truth.”
“What—“ Luke’s thoughts couldn’t seem to line up right. “Why don’t you tell people?”
She looked down at the ‘pad in her lap. “The damage is already done. His legacy speaks for itself.”
“But—“
“General,” said Beviin, “permission t’speak freely?”
She stared at him for a beat, then nodded.
Beviin turned to Luke, and asked:
“You know what they call her?”
“The Voice of the Rebellion, right?” He didn’t know why he phrased it as a question. The name’d been echoing ‘round his brain since the moment Ben said it.
“Y’know what that means?”
He looked at his mom. “You… give speeches?”
“Yes,” she said. “I expose the crimes of the Empire, report on Rebel victories, and endeavor to inspire resistance. I also negotiate with allied cells— semi-independent resistance groups. That’s not all I do —I am actually a General in the traditional sense— but it is the bulk of it. I am, for most intents and purposes, the public face of the Rebellion.”
...and by introducing him as her son, she’d publically linked herself to a hero of the Empire.
A child-murderer.
Luke swallowed dryly.
“Why?” He asked. “Why would you…?”
“So that you won’t have to live a lie.”
He caught a dull throb of secondhand pain as she said that.
“Luke…” she swallowed dryly, and paused to lift the canteen off the bedside med-cabinet and sip. “By this time tomorrow, everyone on this base will know your name, and be grappling with the fact that their moral figurehead—”
“General, you’re not just—” Beviin started, but she held up a hand.
“—had an illicit affair with— with what your father was, by the end.”
...oh.
“It will make them question my judgement, my priorities, and shake their trust both in me and with the rest of command, who they’ll assume already knew. Releasing the news of… your Uncle’s story right now would be a second blow to morale at a time when we need everyone as focused and determined as possible.”
Right.
They weren’t talking about Ben. They were talking about Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, General Kenobi of the Third Systems Army— a hero who’d somehow survived the worst the galaxy could throw at him… only to die right before he could help the Rebellion.
The place in Luke’s mind where their training bond had been was cold and silent. The warm, protective presence that’d been there for so long…
He took a deep breath.
Death, yet the Force.
“My Uncle,” he said, “was a bigger part of my life than Anakin Skywalker will ever be.”
Mom blinked. In the Force she felt both pained and pleased— and confused about feeling both.
“I won’t ask you to keep him a secret any longer than necessary,” she said.
“For morale,” said Luke, half to himself. “To control the narrative.”
That caught Mom off guard.
“...he taught you well,” she said softly.
Luke braced himself against the sudden ache in his chest.
“Yeah,” he managed. “Yeah he did.”
Beviin crossed his arms. “Open the bag, jetiika.”
Right.
It took him a second to figure out the buckles and clasps, and under those was what looked like a waterproof seal, but soon he had it open, revealing a canteen and a thermos wedged in behind a roll of cloth that might’ve been a blanket, a medkit, a blaster and charge packs…
“Outer pocket,” said the soldier.
...and a small code cylinder on a loop of chain.
“ID,” said his Mom, “and basic access codes. A lightsaber is all well and good for morale, but we do have security protocols. Pull that out.”
“What?” He glanced up at her.
“The roll.”
Luke slid it free, hesitating when he found it firmer than it looked, and knelt on the floor to unroll it— revealing a pile of oddly-shaped pieces of rigid material attached to elastic sleeves and straps…
Armor.
“Something your uncle may have… neglected to teach you about,” said Mom, an odd note in her voice. “It may not fit perfectly, but it’s better than nothing.”
Luke ran his fingers over the curve of what could only be a shoulder… thing, ID’d its counterpart, then looked over the rest— shin-guards attached to knee-guards, wrist-guards attached to elbow-guards, and tubular pieces for his thighs and upper arms. All were some kind of lightweight metal, coated in drab, unmarked grey polymer, smooth and cool to the touch. He wondered how much it’d cost the Rebellion to make.
How much Ravous’ armor had cost the Empire.
He got up and started putting it on before his brain could take that ball and run with it.
The fact that Beviin was still standing there watching him, and that Beviin’s face looked way too much like the dead Doctor’s face to not be related, was also distracting.
“Is— is there something on my face?” It didn’t come out anywhere near as confidently as he’d been aiming for.
The Lieutenant just crossed his arms. “You better get used t’ this face, Skywalker. You’ll be seein’ a lot of it, and not all of us’ll take kindly t’the gawking.”
“I—” what?
“He’s a clone,” said Mom.
He…?
Oh.
Oh!
“Wait, do you know—” Cody, he almost blurted— but Beviin suddenly had a keen, interested look in his eyes, and Mom had a warning in hers.
Right.
Morale.
Narrative.
Secrets.
Something beeped.
Beviin glanced down at his wristguard, and grunted.
“Dodonna’s givin’ a briefing in ten,” he said. “Fighter squadrons.”
What?
Luke must’ve done something to show his excitement, because the first thing Mom did was look at him, wide-eyed for a second before that strong, neutral General Mask slipped into place.
“Mom—”
“No.”
He froze at the sudden hardness in her voice— and then she froze too, and a pained expression crossed her face.
“Luke,” she said carefully, “you’re not a fighter pilot.”
“But I can fly. And I have the Force, that counts for a lot!”
“More than experience?”
“Well—” Kriff. “No, but—”
“Have you ever flown an exoatmospheric craft?”
“Mom—”
“Have you ever flown in formation? Learned squadron tactics?”
“The Force will help with that—”
“Evaded enemy fighters while listening to your friends die over the comms?”
Luke flinched.
“There are a dozen ways you can aid the Alliance,” she said.
No.
Decreed.
“This isn’t one of them— not yet.”
The truth of it rang like a silent bell, and Luke fumbled for words, but the Force…
The Force was pushing him.
“Am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing?”
“There is plenty you can do to.” Oh, she was fully in General-Mode now. “We need all the help we can get with the evacuation, and you and Ahsoka probably need to talk—”
“Can I at least go to the briefing?”
Beviin twitched in the corner of his eye, surprise radiating in the Force at hearing her interrupted.
Padme wasn’t radiating anything. Her face was completely neutral, her emotions like the noise of a cantina heard through the ‘fresher wall…
Luke fiddled with the straps of his shoulder-guards, just to avoid looking at the General Face.
“What…” kriff, was this how the medics felt? No wonder they treaded so lightly with her. “What are the chances we take it out in time? The Death Star, I mean. Its weak spot must be pretty small for the Imps not t’have noticed, right? And we— the pilots, they’re gonna have to get past the defenses and bullseye it before the station gets a clear shot at us.”
His Mom said nothing. Just watched him, unreadable.
“We might all be dead in a few hours,” he said. “I want to at least know what’s going on.”
And that rang silently true as well, even as the her muffled emotions surged and stuttered before smoothing out again.
Still, she said nothing… but the General-Mask slipped, just slightly, and Luke caught a glimpse of that same look Ahsoka had given him— intent and searching, like she was trying to memorize his face.
Beviin shifted his weight slightly. “I can escort’im t’the briefing, Sir. Make sure he doesn’t get lost in the scrum.”
For a long moment, she just watched him.
Then she blinked, flesh-and-blood eye shining, and… sort of drooped, back into the mound of pillows she’d propped herself up with.
“Both of us,” she murmured. “So much like both of us.”
Luke had no idea what to do with that.
She looked like she was going to say something else— but just flicked one hand dismissively.
Beviin’s heels snapped together. “With me, jettiika.”
*
The briefing room was packed, pilots of every species in orange-and-white jumpsuits sitting on the floor, the chairs, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder along the duracrete walls, talking to each other in a dozen languages—
Until Luke walked in.
One of the Wookiees spotted him first, and his friends noticed him looking, and nudged those next to them. Soon a hush fell over the room.
Luke sensed curiosity, hostility, hope—
“Pretty, ain’t he?” Beviin’s voice boomed off the low ceiling, and several people looked away. “Don’t worry, you moon jockeys— plenty of time t’ogle his saber after you blow that eyesore out of the sky.”
He nodded to the far wall, where a huge screen displayed a black-and-white schematic of the Death Star. Most of the oglers immediately snapped their heads around to look at it.
Luke followed Beviin between the tightly packed rows of people, doing his best not to bump anybody, ‘til they found an unoccupied spot on the wall.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
Beviin just grunted.
Luke’s ears were burning.
His heart was pounding.
The last time he had that many eyes on him, there were blasters involved.
All the whispers and murmurs stopped.
Luke looked up in time to see a white-haired human man rise from his seat in the corner and walk toward the screen, head bowed in thought, hands clasped behind his back. Combined with the long, pale robe he was wearing…
Luke exhaled his pain into the Force.
“General Jan Dodonna,” Beviin murmured. “Rep Navy vet’, commander of Massassi Group since damn near the beginning. Prob’ly seen more battles than you’ve seen breakfasts.”
He had the feel of a man who was only half-joking.
Dodonna stopped next to the screen, and raised his head to survey the pilots.
“The Death Star,” he said, “is, by now, on its way here.”
Silence.
Then cloth rustling and chairs creaking as people shifted around, a few whispered swears, and… not as much fear or anger as Luke would’ve expected.
It was there, filling the room like smoke, but not the wildfire’s worth that he’d felt on the Death Star— and clearer than the fear or anger was the focus. The determination .
“Due to its sheer mass,” Dodonna continued, “and the forces required to move that mass, it will have to emerge from hyperspace no closer than sixty-five thousand klicks from Yavin and immediately decelerate. Furthermore, the most expedient route from the Naboo System will drop it on the far side of the planet. This gives us a window of approximately one hundred and seventy minutes in which to launch our assault.”
Murmurs. Synthleather creaking as pilots leaned forward in their seats.
Dodonna clicked something in his hand, and the schematics grew to fill the screen, closing in on a single square of the station’s surface, where at least a dozen red dots appeared.
“The battle station is heavily shielded, and defended by more turbolasers than a fleet of Star Destroyers— as well as a compliment of between five and seven thousand TIE fighters, which are distributed equally among its twenty-four equatorial hangar bays.”
Silence again. There was more frustration than anger, now, but the fear was louder.
Another click, and the red dots disappeared as the viewpoint backed up again. Once the whole station was visible, more dots appeared along the line that ran across its middle.
“Its defenses are designed to repel large-scale assaults— capital ships and the like. Single-pilot fighters will have the highest chances of penetrating the outer defenses.”
A purple Twi’lek raised their hand. “Pardon me for asking, Sir, but what good are snub fighters going to be against that?”
Luke caught hints of annoyance, from more than one person, and figured they probably weren’t supposed to ask questions ‘til the end.
“Well, the Empire doesn’t consider small, one-man fighters much of threat to a station such as this… and they would be correct in that opinion, were it not for the work of one of their chief engineers. One Galen Erso.”
Recognition. Murmurs.
“Yes, some of you may have encountered his daughter Jyn.”
“Qu’elle soit avec la Force,” murmured a nearby Twi’lek.
Luke blinked in surprise.
“...una flor que crece de la sangre,” someone else muttered. It had the rhythm of a prayer, or a mantra.
A Wookiee growled mournfully.
“Those who gave their lives at Scarif did not do so in vain,” said Dodonna. “Nor did you fight in vain, Knight Skywalker. These plans contain the one fatal weakness Galen Erso managed to place inside the station— a weakness uniquely vulnerable to a starfighter strike.”
The quiet was almost heavy, now—
“Located in a narrow longitudinal trench near the station’s northern pole is a thermal exhaust port two meters wide.”
No one spoke as the display moved again, showing the trench as it would look to a pilot making a run…
And suddenly the growing fear and frustration were far away.
The Force, for the first time Luke could remember, was completely silent.
It was the silence of bated breath, of waiting for something to happen, of Ben watching him with a sad smile as he figured something out—
Like something was important.
But he was already listening, so what…
“That port connects to a shaft that leads directly to the station’s main reactor,” said Dodonna. “A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the station. Now, the shaft is ray-shielded, so you’ll have to use proton torpedoes.”
Onscreen, red brackets highlighted the exhaust port, and viewpoint stayed fix for a few seconds before resetting to the beginning of the attack run, swinging down into the trench almost like Luke would…
Oh.
Almost like he used to fly through Beggar’s Canyon.
All the quiet noise and loud feelings of the room rushed back into his ears and mind— just in time for him to hear the man next to him mutter:
“That’s impossible, even for a targeting computer.”
The Force nudged.
“It’s not impossible,” said Luke. “I used to bullseye womp-rats in my T-16 back home, and they’re not much bigger than two meters.”
And then half the room was looking at them.
Kriff.
“Knight Skywalker,” said Dodonna. “You are a pilot?”
“I’m—” not a Knight, he almost said, but stopped himself for some reason. “Yes, Sir.”
“And you’ve seen combat?”
Luke felt a sort of… leaning in, at that, dozens of minds waiting for the answer— no, the story.
Ben was always good at telling stories. Even when he really hadn’t wanted to be telling them.
Luke wondered if Ahsoka could feel him dumping all this into the Force every few minutes.
“Yes, Sir.” He said— and then, hesitantly, “but… not from a cockpit.”
Dodonna just stared at him for a beat, a measuring look in his eye.
“Do you dispute the claim that your battle precognition and reflexes were instrumental in rescuing General Amidala from the Death Star without Alliance casualties?”
Luke wasn’t quite sure how he kept the bone-deep flinch off his face.
Then again, Ben wasn’t technically part of the Alliance.
Hadn’t been. Part of the Alliance.
Why was Dodonna interrupting the whole meeting for this?
“Well,” he managed, “I mean, I just swung my ‘saber around, mostly. Wouldn’t have gotten far without the General calling the shots.”
“General Amidala is a cunning woman,” said Dodonna, “but she couldn’t have cut down a squadron of Death Troopers without so much as a scratch on her.”
The last few people who hadn’t been staring at him turned to look. Surprise and hope echoed in the Force.
Ah.
This was another morale thing.
“No, Sir. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Good man.” Dodonna looked at someone in the front row, and nodded. Then he turned his attention back to the room at large. “In order to make the most of our time and our odds, you will accelerate to attack speed before executing a hyperspace micro-jump to within ten klicks of the station.”
Luke felt several people wince.
“Gold and Green Squadrons will then split off to thin out the surface defenses and keep enemy fighters busy while Red Squadron focuses on the primary objective. Once in the trench you will be safe from the surface batteries, but not from fighters, so keep it tight out there. Now, we have only rough estimates of how violent the station’s destabilization will be; as soon as we have a confirmed hit, you need to get as much distance as you can, as fast as you can. Questions?”
A hand went up in the second row.
“Yes, Captain Vander?”
“More of a request than a question , General.”
“Go ahead.”
“Please tell me you’re not gonna put the shiny in an X-Wing.”
Shiny?
“That is up to Red Leader’s judgement.”
“Dreis,” Vander called across the room, “you know anything about Jedi? You ever flown with one?”
Dodonna clasped his arms behind his back again. “Captain, this is not the time for—”
“I have.”
The entire room turned to look— and not at Luke, this time.
Ahsoka stood in the doorway, looking out over the heads of everyone around her.
Without her cloak, the armor was bare. So were the two lightsabers on her belt.
“Flown with Jedi, that is.” She crossed her arms, and leaned casually against the doorframe. “I’ll advise Red Leader.”
Luke glanced back at Dodonna just in time to see him nod, gratitude in his eyes. “Are there any other questions?”
No one spoke, anxiety and eagerness vibrating all around—
“Then report to your squadron leaders, and may the Force be with you.”
—and then everyone was moving. Plastoid-weave flightsuits crinkled and rustled, boots squeaked, and chairs scraped as they were picked up and folded, passed from hand to hand and stacked against the walls with well-rehearsed speed— but instead of filing out, everyone more or less stayed put so that three men, who Luke figured must be squadron leaders, could make their way across the room.
Two walked out the door. The third split off and came to Luke.
“Skywalker.”
He was an older guy, though it was kinda hard to tell how much older without the deep tan or sun-wrinkles Luke was used to seeing on old folks, with short brown hair and a sort of kind openness in his face even as he frowned in thought.
“...Red Leader?” Luke guessed.
“Name’s Dreis.” He held out a gloved hand. “Garven Dreis. No need to worry ‘bout callsigns ‘less I clear you for active duty.”
Right. “Of course.”
Around them, the others started filing out.
Dreis’ gaze skipped over Luke’s shoulder, looking up at—
“Tano,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Ahsoka, right behind Luke.
He flinched. Hard.
“Sorry.” She looked down at him with an apologetic smile. “I’ve gotten used to masking my presence. I’ll work on it.”
“Thought I recognized you.” Dreis crossed his arms. “Though I’m not exactly sure of your rank.”
“Just Tano is fine.”
That obviously just made him more curious, but he didn’t press it.
“Right, well. I’ve seen the same holos as the rest of the old GAR boys, and I’ve heard Dodonna’s stories, but…”
“Never seen a Jedi fly in person?”
“Or fight.”
Ahsoka hummed thoughtfully. Turned her head slightly, not enough to look at the last few pilots shuffling out, but enough to show her awareness of them—
Then she opened her uninjured hand.
The snap of a button was all the warning they had before Dreis’ sidearm slapped into her grip and fired.
The bolt bounced right off Luke’s saber and singed a spot on the far wall.
“Kark!” Dreis lurched back, eyes wide, grabbing at his now-empty thigh holster. “What the kriff are you—“
“Demonstrating.” Ahsoka clicked the safety back on, flipped the blaster around in her hand, and handed it back to him grip-first. “How much time would you say Luke had to unclip his ‘saber, ignite it, and get it into the right position to deflect without hurting either of us?”
Dreis frowned at her. “A second? Half a second?”
Ahsoka shrugged. “Not enough.”
“What.”
“Battle precognition. Luke sensed the danger and had his ‘saber ready before I actually pulled the trigger.” She glanced at his lightsaber, and he switched it off. Clipped it back onto his belt.
“The same principle works just as well with a starfighter. When trained Force-sensitives do get shot down, it’s either because they got distracted or were so outnumbered that their precognition didn’t matter. And seeing as the trench will box in the enemy just as much as it will our pilots, there’s little to no danger of the latter.”
Dreis blinked at her, caught off-guard. Shifted his weight side to side. “Alright, that’s… certainly impressive, but it takes more than reflexes to make a fighter pilot.”
“It does,” said Ahsoka, with a slight nod. “And while the Force would keep Luke aware of the position of his wingmen, it can’t teach him maneuvers.”
“Then I can’t in good conscience bring him into my squadron.”
“So don’t.”
Luke’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Ahsoka—”
She laid her good hand on his shoulder. Met his eyes.
“I feel it too, Luke.”
There was something… kinda intense about holding eye contact with her, beyond the color contrast or the feel of her attention in the Force. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“But rushing in will only invite disaster. What do you know about X-Wings?”
“Um.” He blinked at the sudden topic-change. “Thirteen point four meters long, eleven point seven six wide, two point four high, titanium alloy hull, most commonly fitted with Incom 4L4 fusial thrust engines capable of 100 megalights in vacuum and a Koensayr GBk-585 hyperdrive, sensors are… okay, that depends on— on supply chains and stuff, couldn’t find it on the holonet, but the targeting system’s probably Fabritech, and I’m pretty sure I saw KX9s mounted on the foils when I was in the hangar earlier—”
“Stop.” Ahsoka was smiling. “Good.”
Dreis looked surprised. And conflicted. “Tano…”
“Don’t put him in a squadron,” she said. “Treat him like a bomber.”
“Are you—” Dreis paused. Frowned. “...explain.”
“This isn’t a standard flyby. If one of those torpedoes so much as clips the edges of the port or the walls of the shaft it’s no good, and your pilots will have to make that shot while moving hundreds of meters per second. Unless Syndulla gets back in the next few hours, Luke is your best chance of this not being a complete disaster. He doesn’t know squadron maneuvers, so don’t put him in a squadron— put him in an X-Wing and have him follow your squadron in for the trench run.”
“He’ll get swarmed.”
“They’ll try to swarm him, and while he’s slipping out of their firing solutions like a sleen, Gold and Green can thin them out.”
The squadron leader just stared at her for a minute. Stared up at her, technically.
Luke wondered what she seemed like to people who couldn’t sense her kindness in the Force. The Wookiees here were probably the only species that outsized her across the board. And without the cloak, he could see all scratches in the pain of her armor, the slight discoloration where she’d scrubbed away blaster-burns, the half-melted ring where the Inquisitor must’ve tried to stab her in the thigh…
“You’ve gotten drunk with Dodonna,” she said. “Did you think he was exaggerating?”
Dreis’ expression got a little pinched. “Please don’t read my mind.”
“If I was capable of true mind-reading, it’s not something I would do to my allies. All I’m sensing is your surface emotions.”
“Can you not?”
She smiled in a way that sort of reminded Luke of Han. “Tell you what, Commander— we live to see tomorrow, I’ll teach you to shield your mind from Force-sensitives.”
“You trying to change the subject on me, Tano?”
“I’ll make it a seminar.”
Dreis glanced at the door. “I don’t see what Dodonna’s stories have got t’do with anything. The Jedi weren’t hurting for resources back then. They have billion-cred flight simulators on Tatooine, Skywalker?”
“Commander.” The cocky smile dropped off Ahsoka’s face like it was never there. She crossed her arms behind her back. “You know as well as I do that we need all the pilots we can get. You don’t want to take my word here? Then run him through the simulator.”
Dreis frowned. “We haven’t packed that up yet?”
“We’ve been convinced we might need it a bit longer.”
His eyes narrowed.
Ahsoka patted Luke’s shoulder-guard. “The Force is very loud about this one.”
“...I need to prep my squadron.”
“Well yeah, do that first.”
Luke could almost see the questions brimming under the guy’s skin. “Kark mind-lessons. We make it through this, you come drinking with the squadron.”
The cocky smile came back. “You think a few drinks’ll make me spill my secrets?”
“Fek no. But this is fifteen adrenaline-high pilots we’re talking about, I’m not gonna subject a shiny to that?”
“You want to be king of the scuttlebutt.”
“Come on. Return of the Jedi? They need it. We all do.”
“I’m not a Jedi.”
Dreis raised an eyebrow. Glanced at her saber-hilts, then at Luke’s. “You’ve flown with’em.”
Ahsoka sighed. “You’ll test him?”
“I will."
“Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Said it yourself. We need pilots.”
Then he turned to Luke.
“Follow me, kid.”
*
Ahsoka was smiling when he stepped out of the flight-sim, but her eyes were sad.
Half of Red Squadron was excited, hopeful even. The other half mostly seemed surprised, confused, and maybe a bit jealous?
Between the two, and all the back-thumping and questioning and ‘advice’ (which they seemed to just use as an excuse for pit humor), she slipped away unnoticed.
Luke really needed to learn how to sneak like that.
At some point between them teaching him how to put on a flight suit and filing back toward the hangar, Threepio showed up, which led to Red Squadron trying to wheedle info out of him, which led to them listening to him go on about how fascinating the fusional vernacular of the Vod’e was, which considering what Mom said about controlling the release of secrets…
Luke was starting to think Threepio might be quicker on the uptake than he let on.
Anyhow, he’d managed to get the droid to translate Vod’e to brothers, which Red Four —the purple Twi’lek named Elar— said really meant clones, when he turned a corner to find Han and Chewie loading supplies onto a hovercart.
Not making eye contact with anyone.
Withdrawn in the Force.
Luke was talking before he could really think about what he wanted to say.
“So. You got your reward and you’re just leaving, then?”
Han paused with his hands on a crate of rations.
“That’s right, yeah.” He barely even looked Luke in the eye before lifting the crate, and turning away to put it on the stack. “I got some old debts I gotta pay off.”
Picked up another box.
“Even if I didn’t, you don’t think I’d be fool enough t’stick around here, do ya?”
Something about that felt false to Luke, but—
“Why don’t you come with us?” Han finally stopped, and really looked at him. “You’re pretty good in a fight. Could use you.”
Pretty good? If it weren’t for his ‘saber skills, they’d all be shot full—
No. Not important.
“Come on,” said Luke. “Why don’t you take a look around? You know what’s about to happen, what they’re up against— we could use you.” He wet his lips, glanced away— “You’re a good pilot.”
“Oh, now you’re admitting it?” Han smirked that cocky smirk, but went back to stacking crates. Then, serious again: “I know exactly what they’re up against, kid. Hell, I know better than them. Can’t pay me enough for a suicide mission.”
Luke just stared at him for a second.
Everything they’d been through together, and he just—?
“Alright,” he bit out. “Well take care of yourself, Han. I guess it’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?”
Stupid.
He turned on his heel and started walking toward where the X-Wings were lined up.
Emotion yet peace, passion yet serenity…
“Hey.” Han’s voice was… different. Less confident than he’d ever heard it. “May the Force be with ya.”
Luke could feel him relaxing, just slightly. Opening up.
And still leaving.
What the kark?
Luke just nodded, and walked into the hangar.
It was loud, now. Sure, clashing ‘sabers weren’t exactly quiet, but two people, even radiating all sorts of passion into the Force, were quiet compared to the dozens in here now. They’d cleaned up most of the damage, but no one could’ve missed that a duel happened here. There were still black arcs on the floor where one lightsaber or another had gone low, and cracks where the fight had ended. One of the X-Wings was missing a wing, and there were mechanics swarming the side of a cargo shuttle, welding new plating over what must’ve been even more saber-damage.
Luke stepped out of the way of a hover-trolley and walked around the repair crew, which took him under the wing of another shuttle. He reached up to run his fingers along it—
“Luke!”
He paused, looking around. That couldn’t be—
“Luke Skywalker!”
But then he turned toward the voice, and it was.
“Biggs??”
Biggs Darklighter came jogging up, life support box bouncing on the vest of his flight suit and a huge grin on his face.
“I don’t believe it!” He held his arms out for a hug, and Luke all but body-slammed into it. “How are ya?”
“How am I? How are you??” Luke pulled back to take in the sight of him. Away from the Tatooine suns, his hair had gotten darker, and his skin paler, but there was a brightness in his eyes and his Presence that hadn’t been there before. “You— you defected from the Academy?”
“Tame compared to storming an imp station, I know.”
“No, that’s not—” He shook his head, grinning— and paused when he saw Bigg’s eying his ‘saber.
Because of course he would. He’d never seen it before.
“I wanted to tell you,” he blurted. “I wanted to tell you, but—”
“Luke.” He hooked an arm over Luke’s shoulders and turned, steering him toward Red Squadron’s fighters. “I spent seven months in an Imperial Academy. I know why you didn’t tell me. Hells, I’m glad you didn’t. If I’d known you were a karking Jedi five years ago, I wouldn’ta been able to keep my mouth shut about it!”
“You’re not angry?”
Biggs chuckled. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re gonna tell me everything once we get back. Frix brews this brutal Rylothi moonshine —well, he says it’s Rylothi, Elar says otherwise, even though she’s not actually from Ryloth, but—”
The lights started flashing a split second before the alarms blared.
Luke barely noticed through the sudden wave of cold that’d rushed over him.
“All pilots to your ships! All pilots to your ship! The Death Star has emerged from hyperspace on the far side of the planet.”
And that much was true. Luke could feel the crystals trapped in its core, screaming in pain and horror at what they’d been forced to do—
But the hatred was louder. Heavier. Colder. So cold it burned.
And achingly familiar.
He and Biggs ran for their fighters, hugging each other tight before they split up, deadly focus spreading through the base around them… but as Luke climbed into the cockpit of a real starfighter for the first time, he didn't feel excited. He couldn't.
Ravous, Leia, sister—
Whoever she really was, whatever she wanted to be called, she was aboard the station.
And everyone was counting on him to destroy it.
A little bit of that cold slithered into his gut.