Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Six-hundred hours aboard the Star-Dreadnought the Executor, informally known as the Lady, and it was what could be best described as the proverbial “hour before the dawn.” Now, naturally, there was no real dawn to speak of as the spaceship currently found herself far into deep space en route to her next destination. But as the hour before the day shift woke up to take over the tasks of the nightshift, there really was no better term for the quiet atmosphere aboard the space-borne city. The night shift slowly retired from a long night of hard work, while those in the day shift turned over one last time in their beds, dreaming.

Which made the fact that an alarm started sounding in the quarters of the young Head Engineer of the Lady and Home of Darth Vader, one Luke Skywalker, all the more baffling.

Groaning as he turned over in his bed, Luke reached up to rub his face, only to wince as his prosthesis smacked into the bridge of his nose with just a tad too much force. It had almost been a month since he’d gotten it and he still wasn’t entirely used to using the thing. Especially not when he was still on the wrong side of half-asleep and slipping further back into it by the moment. Or he would be, if it weren’t for the fact that his alarm was still incessantly blaring in his ear.

Blearily opening his eyes, Luke rolled over and jabbed at the screen of his comm to shut off the irritating beeping and then promptly had to catch himself on the edge of his nightstand as he nearly tipped right out of his bed. Hanging precariously between his nightstand and his bed in with his body contorted in a manner that was almost uncomfortable, Luke groggily rested his head on the corner of his stand as he attempted to remember if there was a reason why it would be a bad idea to let himself sink into the comfortable warmth of his bed and simply fall back asleep until his brain no longer registered everything as “too damn early.”

“No reason particularly important,” his nest of pillows and blankets as gifted by the Quartermasters seemed to say as it lured him back into sleep, but that didn’t sound quite right.

Humming softly as he closed his eyes for a moment, still resting his head on the nightstand, Luke sifted through his memories. He had to be awake because… because…

Suns and fucking sand!

Luke's eyes shot open as he remembered why he had to wake up. Training! Attempting to grab onto the nightstand to help him get out of bed, he noticed far too late that his legs were completely tangled up in the blanket nest, and with a yelp he tumbled over the edge of his bed in a shower of warm fabrics and pillows as the nest claimed its revenge for being denied.

Groaning as he laid on the floor, Luke hoisted himself up on his elbows and glared at the innocuous tangle of blankets around his legs. Kicking them off with a grumble and claiming victory over the agents of sleep, he gathered up the pile of blankets and shuffled over to the closet where he dumped it all into the clothes scrubber. He then turned back around and went to gather the rest of the laundry.

Grumbling as he stripped off the remaining covers and blankets and whatnot of his little nest, he considered how, while the extra bedding he’d been gifted by various individuals was nice and made for the coziest place he’d ever slept, it had also become something of a hassle to get it all cleaned whenever necessary. He really should’ve been more careful about where he’d complained about missing the quilt Aunt Beru had made for him, but in his defense, he hadn’t expected to end up with a small mountain of various blankets, quilts, comforters, and stray pillows. All gifted to him by overzealous crew members the moment he’d so much as hinted at needing them.

Which had become something of an odd, repeating pattern over the last few weeks, he mused as he dumped the rest of his bedding into the clothes scrubber along with his pajamas. He’d become especially wary about mentioning things like food, drink, or any kind of wish in a public setting after the last time he’d off-handedly mentioned that he could go for a snack and ended up with a small pile of food stuffed into his arms.

Mentioning this phenomenon to others had only been varying degrees of helpful when most of the crew and Troopers had avoided his gaze and gained an air of embarrassment around them. Erribas had rolled their eyes when they thought he couldn’t see with a vague sense of annoyance and fondness, Admiral Piett had gone abruptly still and promptly changed the subject, and his Home, Vader, had been just as baffled as he was with a touch of amusement. Though his reaction had been the most helpful out of all of them when he’d suggested to Luke that it could be that people were trying to curry his favor through gifts.

Luke mentally translated that to mean that people were trying to start something of a friendship with him. Which… didn’t feel quite right, but it was what he had after he’d tried and failed to think of any favors appealing to those outside of his Corps. So he’d sighed, nodded, and set off with his armful of gifts while Vader had rumbled out a staticky chuckle.

Pursing his lips as he considered the implications of that suggestion while squinting at the accumulated results of one such situation in the laundry bin, Luke heaved out an aggravated sigh and resolved to put the matter out of mind as he punched in the specifications of the laundry load and hit start on the machine. He had training to get to.

Quickly throwing on a set of clothes and taking a hasty look in the fresher mirror to tame the worst of the bird’s nest that was his hair, he decided that he looked well enough to be seen running around in public. Not that there really were many people around at this time of day, but Aunt Beru would be disappointed if he didn’t put at least a little effort into being presentable.

Grabbing his boots from by the door and doing the one-leg hopping dance as he pulled them on one by one while avoiding the sheathed knife in one of them, Luke nearly tripped over the water flask he’d set next to them so he wouldn’t forget it this time around. Shaking it slightly to judge how much water was still left in it, Luke frowned as the sloshing indicated that it was far less than he was comfortable with for the kind of activities he was about to partake in. Well, it would just have to do—

Wait.

Nearly slapping himself for forgetting where he was, Luke spun around on his heels and headed back to the fresher to fill up the flask. Nine months aboard this ship, and he was still forgetting that water was in unrestricted access to him now. Or well, what seemed to be unrestricted access to him. According to Admiral Piett there was a limit on how much water each person aboard the Lady could use per month, but when he’d named that limit it had been so mindbogglingly large to Luke that he’d promptly resolved to never worry about it.

It certainly wasn’t going to matter with filling up his half-liter hipflask. Which was promptly what he did.

Closing the tap and tucking the flask into one of the many pockets of his jumpsuit before zipping it shut, Luke stretched himself out as he considered if there was anything else he was forgetting. He wouldn’t be taking his datapad with him until he’d come back from training to get ready for the day but was there anything else—

Right, his comm unit and code cylinders. Walking into the bedroom, he grabbed both off the nightstand and, with practiced movements, slid and clicked everything into its proper place. He left the tracker behind though. With what he was going to do, being easily traceable wasn’t what he wanted. 

With everything now sorted, Luke rolled his shoulders and ran through a quick series of stretches. Arms, legs, back, core, shoulders, neck. Holding each stretch for a few seconds until he felt his muscles loosen up from their sleep-stiff state, he bounced happily on his feet as he tested his flexibility a bit. Sinking down into an easy split, he stretched forward as far as he could go before he began to strain. Humming slightly as he noted that he was laying nearly flat on the ground with his legs still in a spread, Luke decided to try something a bit different than usual.

Sitting back upright, he set both of his hands down onto the ground and steadily began to lean more and more weight on them. Shifting his legs a bit to allow them enough room to move  again, Luke braced himself, shifted his entire weight forward onto his hands, and leverage the shift in his center of gravity to lift his entire torso off the ground. Quickly using the extra room and leverage to bend his knees, he tucked his legs into his torso and shifted his center of gravity entirely.

Now firmly balanced on his hands, Luke grinned in triumph as he slowly extended his legs upwards, having successfully leveraged himself out of a split and into a clean handstand with little issue. A marked improvement from when he’d started a few weeks ago.

Allowing himself to tip over into a roll, he bounced back up to his feet happily and dusted off his hands as he finally walked out the door. Time to start his training, even if he was starting a few minutes late.

Striding through the silent hallways, Luke took care to muffle his steps as he walked past the quarters of his fellow Officers, most of whom were likely still fast asleep. The walls and doors may be thick, but as he’d learned over the last few months, the military made light sleepers out of some men. Best to take care and not let himself be heard.

Besides, it was good training in relearning how to manage the sound of his footfalls if nothing else.

Coming up to the elevators, he grinned as he saw Reesan and Stitch perk up at his approach. ‘Back on elevator duty again?’ he called out to the two, taking care not to raise his voice too much.

Reesan scoffed quietly and the light, jerking movement of her helmet told Luke she was rolling her eyes, if the air around her hadn’t already given that fact away. ‘Don’t you know it, sir,’ she snarked back, voice dry as dust. ‘I’m starting to think I wouldn’t know what to do with my self anymore if I ever had to give them up.’

‘Why, Reesan!’ Stitch exclaimed with an exaggerated gasp as he clutched a hand to his chest plate. ‘One might think that you are disrespecting the noble task of standing around, doing nothing, except for sending the brass on their way to mingle with the rest of us peasants!’

Reesan, for her part, struck an exaggerated pose as she pressed the back of her hand to the brow of her helmet with a dramatic flair that would’ve made Biggs proud. ‘Tis true,’ she lamented, ‘I disparage the proud and majestic post of standing by a computer all day, punching in buttons on occasion to make the metal box go zoom. Truly, tis a travesty and one surely spurred on by the fact that my mama and papa never let me take home that one stick I found when I was eight.’

Luke hid a smile behind his hand as he bit the inside of his cheek to stifle his laughter, an endeavor not made any easier when Stitch nearly fell into an embrace around Reesan’s neck like he’d been told the world was ending. ‘What cruel fate!’ he cried, ‘What incredible tragedy!’

Shoulders shaking with silent laughter, Luke attempted to pull his face into some semblance of seriousness as he nodded gravely. ‘Heartbreaking,’ he agreed solemnly, managing to hold the expression for all of five seconds before he burst out laughing, the Troopers following suit.

‘Alright, alright,’ Stitch said between bouts of giggles. ‘Enough of that. Where to this time, sir?’

‘Oh, like we don’t know by now,’ Reesan dismissed lightly as she punched a destination into the computer, which promptly spat out a string of numbers with a cheery chime. She hummed happily as she looked back up to Luke. ‘There you go, sir,’ she said with a sharp salute, satisfaction curling around her like a veil. ‘The fifth elevator to your right will take you down to the main hangar.’

Saluting back just as sharply and with a wide grin, he dipped his head in gratitude. ‘You may know what you would do without the elevators, Reesan,’ he said as he began to head towards the elevator, ‘But I sure wouldn’t know what to do without the two of you.’

‘Flatterer,’ Stitch dismissed with laughter in his voice. ‘I bet you say that to all the box bouncer teams!’

‘Only the ones who put on a whole theatrical production when we talk!’ Luke fired back with a toothy smirk as he turned the corner to the elevators, the two Troopers’ laughter following him there.

Sure enough, the elevator was there waiting for him and the doors slipped open with a chime at the press of a button. Stepping inside, Luke smiled slightly at the familiar swooping feeling in his stomach as the lift took off, flipping his comm into his hand to check any messages he may have gotten.

It still felt odd on occasion to use his prosthetic hand for that purpose, but as he’d quickly found out, the flexible, vinyl-like material that made up his finger and palm pads didn’t leave behind any fingerprints like his left hand still did. Something which had immediately sent all manner of possibilities through his head that he was marginally certain hadn’t been Vader's primary goal when he chose the material, but he wasn’t about to weigh a gifted water skin.

The elevator dinged its arrival, and Luke stuffed his comm back into his pocket to check back on later, nothing had seemed particularly urgent anyway.

Strolling into the station and greeting the Troopers there on his way through, Luke smiled as he stepped into the bustling main hangar, the air thick with the beat of life.

The roars of machines and clanging of metal rang through the air as various gearheads hollered at each other over the sounds for assistance or the delivery of one thing or another. The great ships in the drydocks were illuminated from all angles by showers of sparks and the glow of cooling metal as Engineers crawled over them on all angles, shoring up what needed to be fixed and improving that which didn’t.

With the ATR-6s’ upgrades finally having run the gamut of tests and experiments necessary to make them cleared for combat, the ships were now in the midst of receiving the upgrades needed. A process that, with the help of the ever-expanding tutorial video archive, Luke thankfully didn’t have to oversee at all times.

Which was why he felt no guilt when he immediately ducked behind a series of crates before he could be spotted. He wasn’t here to mingle with the rest of his crew yet. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Crouching down, he tucked himself into a space between two crates, barely large enough to fit him in sideways and certainly not large enough to turn around in. When he was certain that he couldn’t be easily spotted and that he’d found a good corner to make his preparations, he set his timer on his comm, closed his eyes, steadied his body, and began to take deep, methodical breaths as he sunk himself into his runner’s mindset.

It was time to start his training.

Mind be still, and heart be strong.

Between breaths the whispers in the back of his mind swelled into an insistent hiss as he brought himself into that space where seconds passed like hours and his senses felt sharper than a knife’s edge. It was a space where the world both expanded beyond the horizon and shrunk down into a needle point of focus. His emotions whipped up into a buffer of sand and storm, and with a ruthless yank, he pulled them down and bound them into a shield.

With that, his mind began to calm as reality unraveled slightly at the edges, and Luke knew that if he tried, the Storm and Desert were only just out of reach in this state.

They had to be. This was the state when he needed their aid the most.

His breathing started to slow and deepen as he began to focus outside of his mind and into the wider world. Opening his eyes, he smiled grimly as he saw the distinct sharpness the world had taken on, sounds coming in crisper and clearer as he felt the people walking around outside his little hideaway. Pressing the timer on his comm, he looked down at the numbers displayed back at him.

Twenty-two seconds and forty-eight hundredths of a second. Not bad. It was certainly a lot shorter than the six minutes it had taken him at the start of his training, though he supposed his acclimatization to his prosthetic hand had much to do with how long it had taken him then. Unfamiliar and unavoidable sensations didn’t exactly help when one was attempting to enter a state of mind where you were hyperaware of everything around and within you.

But if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to adapt. And if the numbers didn’t lie, he’d done it rather well at that.

Shifting slightly in his hiding place, Luke put the comm away and focused on his surroundings, letting his senses flare out and pinpoint exactly where everyone around him was.

There were two people over by the other side of the stack he was hiding in—he could hear them rummaging around while chatting with each other. A third individual, a little higher up, probably perched on top of the stack, occasionally interjecting back towards the first two. There was an air of ease and exhaustion that clung to all three of them, feelings that would make them less alert than they could be.

Shifting his focus, Luke followed more distant sounds to a group of Engineers walking by a little way away, something hard and heavy clanking in time with their steps. One of the droids then, and sure enough, the steady voice of an VD-line mechanical droid added itself into the conversation on occasion. Damn, that would make things more difficult. The mechanical members of his Corps may not always have the sharpest intuition when compared to the organic members (though he noted that that was beginning to change now that he’d put a ship-wide ban on memory-wiping any droid) but they were far less likely to dismiss any glimpse they got of him as just a trick of the light.

Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the immediate vicinity of his little hideout, and the moment the group had passed, Luke slipped out of his hiding place and back into the pathway.

First order of business was to find a perch where he could observe the current activity in the main hangar and locate his target. Based on that information, he could then pick a route that would let him reach it hopefully unseen.

After that… well, he’d learned not to place any significant expectations on any part of the plan after that point. They tended to shatter like spun glass the moment they were actually implemented, but as he’d long since learned, that didn’t mean they couldn’t shatter favorably.

Breathing steadily, Luke focused on moving quickly and silently, darting between the shadows of the towering stacks of supplies and the looming figures of ships, resting in their drydocks. Keeping close to the walls and low to the ground, Luke kept in mind everything he knew about evading sight, whispered warnings of stray eyes dodging his every step in a susurration that filled his mind.

So far, the main hangar had been more challenging to sneak through than any other place in his career as a runner. Something that wasn’t helped in the slightest by the fact that at any point in time, there were more people present in the hangar than there were in the entirety of the Jundland Wastes.

He may be a good runner, but evading that many eyes in a space that was only slightly larger than the few square klicks of land his Aunt and Uncle claimed as their own wasn’t an easy task. Especially not since everyone aboard the Lady seemed to know his Name and face.

But still, if he could make it through here, he knew he could make it through damn near anywhere.

With a quick, quiet leap, he dashed out of a nook between bulkhead and a charging station and clambered up a spindly maintenance ladder to one of the half-forgotten catwalks that lined the walls of the main hangar. They were mostly used for when maintenance needed to be done in difficult places. Luke had noticed that they were practically invisible to the crew on a day-to-day basis, just another part of the scenery.

And that made them excellent vantage points for anyone who didn’t want to be seen.

After all, many species had a nasty habit of not looking up.

The metal of the catwalk shifted minutely under his feet as he placed weight on it, and with some subtle shifting, he spread out his mass over a larger area, hopefully to prevent any creaking that could give away his position. Crouched down in the shadows of a maintenance catwalk, Luke had no doubt that if anyone were to see him now, they would find him to resemble nothing as much as the stone guardians that watched over the sacred places of the desert.

If they saw him.

Drawing both his shoulders back and his shield of storm and sand that still raged in his mind tighter into his core, he scanned the hangar below, the whisper of shifting sands guiding him along in the back of his mind. If anyone were to look up, they may have seen him. May. But with reality blurred around the edges and the world seeming to move both faster and slower than normal, Luke knew that it was far from guaranteed.

He didn’t quite know what it looked like to anyone else when he entered this state, but he knew enough to know that people could be staring right at him and not see him. That the boundaries of what he could do stretched in some ways and allowed for things that had netted him one of the largest patrol areas of any runner back home. That there was something about his eyes and movements that set even Biggs on edge whenever he got like this, and had made a muscle twitch in his friend’s jaw.

He didn’t quite know what it was, but whatever it was, it tended to set people on edge and made the whispers swell into a hiss that could not be ignored.

The air thrummed as he looked over the droves of people for his target, and though there were thousands of people milling about below, they stood out as sharp as individual stars to Luke's eyes. Still, his target was nowhere to be seen, even after several scans, and so he quietly unfolded himself from his crouched position and slunk away along the catwalk.

Navigating the network of walkways barely broad enough to accommodate a single person, Luke kept close to the wall and watched his steps, feeling out each one of them before committing in case he stepped on an ill-fitting plate. He could not make a sound, not even in a place as noisy as the main hangar.

Crouching back down a little way further, Luke settled back to resume his scan of the crowd below. Various groups of organics and droids were milling around, transporting materials and components, rushing to assist their colleagues with one job or another, sauntering by with a datapad to assess the work done, and generally ensuring that the transport ships would be ready for their grand debut later.

They were not who he was looking for though, but thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long to locate his target. Squinting slightly to see if it was truly her, Luke grinned as he finally caught sight of his target and two others.

Jetstream, Vice Engineer second rank and head of the nightshift in the Engineering Corps, was standing amongst the other nightshift Commanding Officers as they appeared to be assessing the work done on the latest batch of ships while keeping a discussion going at the same time.

Toned, tan, and with pitch black hair that she always kept tightly braided up in an intricate hairdo so as to comply with regulations, Jetstream struck a severe figure despite her somewhat diminutive stature. At least, until one looked her in the eyes. Nearly black with how dark they were, there nonetheless seemed to be an ever-present spark of mischief within them that betrayed her love of laughter.

Really, it was little wonder to Luke why she and Gearbox had declared themselves to be brother and sister despite the fact that their files indicated they held no shared parentage or childhood whatsoever. A clone she may not be, but she was a part of the vod'e without question and she carried her chosen Name with pride.

She was, thankfully, a whole lot more manageable than her brother when it came down to delegation. The idea of entrusting Gearbox with the responsibility of running the whole nightshift was enough to give him a stress headache at the mere thought, but Jetstream? Jetstream he trusted to get it right, and over the last four months she’d more than proven her mettle, to the point that the nightshift was now firmly established as her domain and rarely subjected to roster shifts. Unfortunately, it did mean that he saw far less of her before he began to rise before the suns did. Metaphorically speaking, that was.

Shifting his shoulders slightly to loosen the muscles there in preparation for action, he took stock of who was situated around her.

Vice Engineer fourth rank, Soren Durras, was looking as fretful as ever as he looked over the display of his datapad, the light of the screen washing his already pale complexion out even further and highlighting every worry line in his face to the point that even Luke, situated about a dozen and a half drydocks away, could see them. ^[1] Whatever was on that screen, Luke didn’t doubt that while it would be somewhat troubling, it would be nowhere near as bad as the anxious man was imagining it to be.

Standing beside Jetstream like a particularly nervous and lanky shadow, Luke couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the chronically anxious man. It left him jittery and on edge for most of his day-to-day life, but it had the double-edged benefit of an eye for detail and potential disaster that was nearly unrivaled. If there was an issue or discrepancy to be found anywhere, one could count on Soren to spot it.

Luke did make sure to always place him under the command of someone more level-headed and confident than he was though. An eye for detail he may have, but the man could catastrophize like no other and needless to say, it could be a bit of a damper on morale if left unchecked.

On the other side of Jetstream was Orto Caraway, Vice Engineer third rank. Despite the fact that they were built like a brick house and looked like they regularly chewed through steel for breakfast, he was one of the finest Micro-Engineers Luke had ever had the pleasure of meeting, with a delicate touch and patience that neatly balanced out Soren’s more fretful tendencies.

If Luke had to equate the dark-skinned man’s general demeanor with anything, it would be the old bantha bull that Ben kept as a guardian of his herd. Large, powerful, and most certainly not to be messed with, but gentle and kind with all those around him. It described Orto extraordinarily well, and the man had laughed uproariously when Luke had told him the anecdote and off-handedly remarked that he and the bull would probably get along just fine, patting him on the back hard enough that Luke had nearly faceplanted into a table.

A steady presence, steady as a rock as some might say, and exactly what was needed to balance out the trio of Commanding Officers in the nightshift. If he ever needed anyone to be the voice of reason amongst the three, he knew he could count on Orto.

All three of them were there, seemingly discussing the work the nightshift had accomplished so far before they all clocked out for the day at seven-hundred hours. And crucially, none of them had seen him yet, perched as he was on the catwalks above.

Excellent.

Grinning as he began to plan out his route, Luke could swear that there was something in the back of his mind that was snickering at what was about to happen.

The trio was standing over by the drydocks eighteen rows away from where Luke was standing, discussing something with animated gestures coming from Jetstream and Soren while Orto nodded seriously now and again, all of them occasionally glancing at the ATR-6 stationed in the drydock in front of them.

Luke shifted his footing slightly as he considered the path he could take. If he was quick about it, he could use that collective motion to his advantage. But first he would have to pass eighteen other drydock rows, each of which was filled with ships of its own, all of which were  crawling with their own team of Engineers. The mere idea of trying to navigate that mess unseen and without being able to distract or incapacitate any of the “watchers” made a sour note of warning ring through his mind.

Luke chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered each approach, dismissing them one after another with having too much of a risk of being seen by any of the work crews and have his approach announced before he was ready to be seen. It would be a difficult endeavor indeed if he didn’t come up with some sort of plan.

Pondering whether he should attempt the route nonetheless and resign himself to a bunch of high-risk dashes and dives to stay out of sight, he shivered when the whispers swelled as something moved at the edge of his periphery. Cocking his head to the side, he spotted one of hover carts making its way down the rows, stacked high with crates and spools of various materials and he felt an idea spark to life as something trilled in triumph.

Uncoiling himself from his crouched position and slinking through the shadowed catwalks, Luke searched for the hover cart that would be following a route that would take it through the eighteenth row.

Not for the first time, he thanked the Engineers that came before him for thinking to make the labeling system they did for the drydocks. Which was useful for filling out reports, yes, but also for spotting which hover cart would run through the eighteenth row on its predestined route instead of taking him all the way to the other side of the hangar and leaving him to walk the entire way back.

Slipping up to the support beams on an overhead bridge connecting two levels, Luke crept along until he was right over the main traffic lane, balancing on the beams as he crouched down to scan the incoming traffic. When he finally spotted his target, he locked his sight on to its movements, braced himself against the beam, and when it passed underneath—

He leapt.

For a moment everything seemed to move too fast and not at all, feeling the air whistling past him even as it appeared to nearly be still. Angling himself in the air, Luke aimed for a gap between the stacks of crates that would land him out of sight and prayed with fervor that no one saw him dropping down from the beams onto the cart. The whispers swelled with something heady as the air shivered around him.

Then he landed with cat’s feet on the cart and the feeling was gone. Just like home again.

Crouching down and pressing himself into a dark corner between the crates, he listened intently to the world around him, wondering if anyone had seen him. Tilting his head back to clear his airway and quiet his breaths, he took a few moments to calm his racing heart as he waited for any exclamations of surprise or inquiries about what the blazes he thought he was doing.

But the whispers merely hummed in contentment and no such exclamations came. He grinned around his breaths as he huddled down further into the shadows. He’d done it. Just a bit more and he’d have the first part of his training routine complete. Successfully this time too.

Steadily the hover cart turned the corner and began to advance along the corridors, the engine sending softly rumbling vibrations through his feet. Row one, two, five, seven, nine…

He tensed himself in his corner and shifted his legs into a more suitable position, keeping an ear on everything going on around him, letting the whispers hiss and murmur of staying quiet-hidden-nothing-forget while he prepared for the final leap of faith, trusting that the Storm would look out for him as it always did.

Row eleven, thirteen, fifteen…

He didn’t quite know how this attempt would go, but with luck, with his strange, inexplicable luck that had even made Biggs wary of him on occasion, he could pull it off.

He knew he could.

Breathing deeply, he sunk even deeper into the whispers until they were nearly all he could hear, a strange shimmer overtaking the world that made colors flash out of his peripherals that he didn’t quite know the names of, keeping the something tucked away out of sight even as it stirred in interest…

Eighteen.

With explosive movement he catapulted himself up the side of the stack of crates in front of him, the only thing keeping him out of sight. Thrusting his hands out in front of him, he braced himself on the edge and vaulted over the stack and the side of the hover cart with it.

For a moment he was airborne, and he thanked every second of his training for ingraining the instinct in him that immediately allowed him to angle his body for a soundless landing the second time in only a couple of minutes.

His feet touched the ground and rolling them with the momentum and swell of something in the air, he found himself standing behind the trio of Engineers without having made a single sound. Quickly straightening out his clothes a bit while keeping up his steady thoughts of away-away-look-away, he waited until all three of them were turned completely away from him before approaching them with a light tread, even as he no longer bothered to keep out of sight beyond the hope that no one would spot him for the next twenty seconds.

‘—I’m telling you though, sir,’ the low voice of Soren hissed urgently as he gestured his datapad to Jetstream, worry rolling off of him in waves. ‘It’s not going to be enough. The budget is already straining, and that was just for preliminary tests. Not a whole overhaul of the ATR-6 fleet!’

‘Then we’ll get more funding,’ Jetstream replied, sounding entirely unconcerned. ‘Relax, jitterbug, it’ll be fine,’ she said as she clapped a hand on Soren’s shoulder.

‘It’ll not be fine!’ Soren exclaimed, before he apparently realized what he’d said as the air sharpened with embarrassment and he hastily added on, ‘Sir.’

‘It will,’ the deep baritone of Orto cut in, as calm and steady as ever, a vast sense of peace surrounding the man. ‘The Lady’s Sun will make it so.’

‘What Orto said,’ Jetstream agreed easily. ‘You’ll see. Lars’ll get it done.’

Luke grinned as he quietly came to a halt just behind them, schooling his face into a mild smile as he finally announced his presence. ‘I’ll get what done?’

The effect was immediate as all three Engineers startled like spooked banthas, Jetstream violently flinching while Orto let out a high-pitched shriek as he jerked away. But it was Soren took the cake and brought it all the way home, as he jumped clean into the air and promptly tripped over his own feet as he instinctively attempted to bolt.

Darting forward to catch the flailing man before he could faceplant into the floor, Luke silently blessed the man’s lanky frame as he propped it up. With Soren being nearly a head taller than him, it could’ve gotten difficult if the man hadn’t been a relative featherweight.

‘Right,’ he grunted as he steadied the man back onto his feet. ‘Good morning to all of you too. How’s your night been so far?’

‘Sir,’ Jetstream gasped as she stared at him with wild eyes and a hand pressed to her chest, clearly having just received an unexpected jolt of adrenaline, ‘With all possible respect, where the hell did you just come from!?’

‘Hitched a ride on the hover cart just now,’ he answered completely honestly, keeping his body firmly pressed to Soren’s side until he was sure the man wouldn’t topple over again with how pale he’d gone from shock. ‘You good?’ he asked the man, who was still staring down at him like he’d seen a ghost.

‘Y—yeah,’ he stammered out before clearing his throat and composing himself, shifting his stance into something more stable and dignified as he clasped the datapad to his chest. ‘I mean, yes, sir.’

He smiled kindly at Soren and was pleased when the man offered a hesitant, but genuine smile back. ‘Excellent. Well then,’ he said as he turned to face the rest of them, still staring at him wide-eyed like he’d just popped out of the ether. Which, considering what he’d just done, was probably exactly what they were thinking. ‘Let’s try this again: Good morning, how’s everyone’s night been?’

‘Sir…’ Orto said, dragging the word out slowly as his eyes squinted in suspicion. ‘How did you get here without anyone noticing your presence?’ he asked, quickly glancing around at the thousands of other Engineers milling around.

‘Good morning to you too, Orto,’ Luke said pointedly with a grin. ‘And I have my methods. Since I’m not officially starting my shift yet, I thought it best to avoid any undue attention until I’m on the clock.’ It wasn’t even a lie, strictly speaking. He really was trying to avoid undue attention before he got started with his day, though perhaps for different reasons than they were imagining.

Jetstream gave him an odd look, but slowly nodded her head. ‘Right…’ Then she shook herself lightly, seemingly shaking off her thoughts and potential suspicions with them and snapped off a sharp salute, quickly followed by the other two Officers present, and Luke saluted back with an amused look. ‘Anyway, sir,’ she continued, sounding much more like her usual self again, ‘You want the report now, or later? We were just discussing how to compile it anyway.’

Suns, why not? ‘Only good news, I hope?’ he commented mildly, tacitly giving her permission to start the rundown.

She snorted. ‘I wish, sir,’ she denied with a shake of her head. ‘Well,’ she amended, ‘Mostly good news, to be fair, but the bit of bad news is pretty bad.’

‘I’ll say,’ Soren muttered under his breath, and Luke shot him a quick glance, but the man didn’t seem keen to elaborate.

He turned his attention back to Jetstream and gave her a curt nod of permission. ‘Lay it on me, and let’s start with the positive.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she agreed as she stepped into an easy parade rest, confidence humming in the air. ‘We’re thankfully entirely on schedule with the both the upgrades for the ATR-6s and the preliminary preparations for the installment of the new grand gates. In fact, I dare say we’ll be well and truly done before our arrival at Kuat for the annual Gathering.’ Something proud and triumphant brushed past Luke's awareness like gossamer, and he smiled lightly as he identified it as Jetstream’s presence. ‘We’re also making good progress on getting the nightshift up-to-date on the techniques you ordered to be used,’ she continued. ‘I’d say a week or three and we’ll have them all up to speed on the current archive content.’

‘So far, so good,’ he agreed easily. ‘Anything else?’

Jetstream relaxed her stance a bit and nodded towards Soren. ‘Jitterbug, you’re up.’

Soren nodded resolutely and hastily scrambled to get his datapad sorted out in his arms. ‘Yes, sir!’ He nervously cleared his throat as he turned to Luke, but determination shone through in his presence. ‘As Engineer Jetstream—’

‘Just Jetstream,’ the lady in question said with a roll of her eyes.

Soren shot her a look with such aghast shock that Luke wondered briefly if the man had just seen a ghost. ‘Engineer Jetstream,’ he insisted, and while she shot him a look, she relented with a with a sigh, motioning for Soren to continue, much to Luke's amusement.

‘Either way,’ Soren continued hastily, adjusting his datapad in his hands as he fidgeted, ‘As Engineer Jetstream was saying, we’re right on target schedule-wise. We got the last performance reports of the nightshift today and we’re compiling the data into a coherent report as we speak. I expect that we should be done well before the deadline for applying personnel requests. In fact,’ he said as he turned his pad over for Luke to see, ‘We should be the first ship of Death Squadron to do so, setting the precedent for the rest of the fleet.’

Luke looked over the data pile with a critical eye and already he could spot some trends. The Lady had always taken the largest share of fresh recruits from the Gathering from what he could see of Erribas’ previous reports, and this year would be no different. From the holes he could already see in the data, they were short on every kind of specialist, and especially those with actually applicable skillsets and experience. Suns, they were short on Engineers period with how much work there was to be done on the Lady.

A marked increase in production, experimental engineering, damage repair, maintenance… They were already straining against their workload capacity, and if Luke’s discussions with Vader on future project plans were any indication, it was only going to get worse.

He sighed as he combed a hand through his hair. At least that issue would be getting resolved soon enough. With the new recruits’ graduation from Kuat’s academies being synced up with the arrival of Death Squadron for their annual maintenance month, the fleet would have the pick of the pluck from the eager-to-join ex-students. ^[2]

And as the flagship of the fleet, they were first in that pecking order too.

Contemplating the data for a bit longer, he nodded his gratitude to Soren, who perked up just enough that Luke would’ve been able to see it even if the air didn’t brighten up around him like the clouds clearing. ‘Well, send me that data as soon as it’s gone through the wringer, I’ll compile it with the dayshift’s and put together the request. Suns know we need it,’ he said with a wry grin that quickly turned genuine when Soren gave him a small, nervous smile back.

‘Yes, sir,’ the Engineer agreed readily and Luke motioned for him to proceed with the rest his report to which he easily obliged. ‘Furthermore,’ he continued, ‘The… reports came in that you received correspondence from Lord Vader stating that the components for the grand gates are in the last stages of manufacture.’

Lie.

Luke narrowed his eyes as he gave Soren a hard look. It didn’t sound like too severe of one, and his Home had indeed notified him that the gates production process would soon be entering the finalized stages, but there was still something off with Soren. Normally he might let that slip… but not during a report, informal though it was.

‘Engineer Soren,’ he interrupted mildly before the man could continue his report, ‘You aren’t being entirely honest about some aspect of that statement.’ He tilted his head slightly while never breaking eye contact with the Engineer who was now staring at him with wide eyes. ‘Are you?’

The silence stretched for one, two, three beats as the air suffused with the discomfort of all three Engineers. Luke knew that most of the people got uncomfortable when he stated the fact that they’d lied to him. As a result, he’d learned to let most minor lies like this one slip by, the harm they could do negligible when compared to the discomfort and even hostility it could bring. But even so, on this he wouldn’t budge.

He would not be lied to during a report. Not to the best knowledge of the one giving it to him.

Holding his gaze on Soren, he saw every moment when the man’s composure started to falter. Shifting uncomfortably, Soren eventually relented. ‘It… may not have exactly been a— a report, sir,’ he eventually mumbled to Luke, and Luke's eyes widened as he realized what part had been lied about, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as something almost seemed to laugh in the air around him.

‘Gossip,’ he stated confidently, knowing that he was right. Sure enough, Soren flushed a brilliant shade of red as he nodded, discomfort and embarrassment oozing off of him in a miasma thick enough that Luke could nearly taste it. ‘Very well,’ he allowed with a small grin, deciding to put the man out of his misery. ‘It’s not like the grapevine was wrong. Carry on with your report.’

With a grateful sigh and a near-explosion of relief that slammed into Luke, Soren took the chance with both hands. ‘R—Right,’ he said, adjusting the datapad once more, ‘In any case, with those, ah, rumors going around, I took the liberty of making the final arrangements to accommodate the new gates when they get delivered and installed during the Gathering, sir. I’ll send the synopsis to you, but if I am not mistaken, it should drastically smoothen the process and be able to proceed with only minimal input from us.’

Not bad, certainly a more productive report than Luke had dared hope for. ‘Anything else?’ he asked, directing a quick glance to Jetstream.

‘Just a few more, sir,’ she agreed with a grin, nodding towards Orto. ‘Big guy, do your thing.’

Orto rolled his shoulders as he straightened up for his report, and Luke abruptly had the mental image of a mountain rising up before him. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘Not much to report from my end, I’m afraid, sir. We’re right on schedule with the production of SUTA armor sets, but that’ll be as good as obsolete once we pick up the first factory delivery at Kuat. We’re a bit ahead of schedule on the tests you ordered us to do for the AT-AT shock absorption system and we’re getting the ATR-6s wired up and ready for combat, but that’s about it.’ He shrugged as he rumbled out a light chuckle, crossing two massive arms over his barrel chest. ‘I’ll just come right out and say it, sir, but it’s been quieter for us Micro-Engineers in these last few weeks than it’s been for months.’ He sighed slightly and cast his eyes upwards. ‘And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my people and I are starting to miss your… unconventional ideas.’

Luke outright beamed at the man as he barked out a laugh. He could already imagine the sour look on Erribas’ face as he relayed this particular tidbit to them. ‘Ah, not to worry, Orto,’ he reassured the man with a pat on his arm, unable to comfortably reach much higher. ‘Once the Gathering is over we’ll be able to focus on other projects again. And hey,’ he added on with a toothy grin, ‘If all goes well, we’ll have a whole bunch of newbies to help us out, so we might just be able to take on even bigger projects than ever before.’

That statement sparked the customary mixture of alarm and intrigue in other Engineers around them, and Luke bit his lip to stop himself from laughing at their faces that did exactly nothing to hide both their anticipation and utter dread at that idea. But unlike a couple of months ago, he could now sense something in there that he knew spelled good things for the future: excitement.

Ah, he’d make proper inventors out of the lot of them yet.

Orto narrowed his eyes at him, and Luke returned the gaze with a sunny smile. ‘You know, sir? I almost regret asking now.’

‘Sure you do,’ Luke waved off casually, turning his attention back towards the others. ‘And the bad news?’ he asked, steadying himself for the inevitable issues that would’ve arose too. If there was one thing he’d learned over the months, it was that heading projects as big as these ones were almost always a continuous effort of putting out fires of all sizes.

Jetstream grimaced at the mention of everyone’s least favorite part of giving reports while Soren paled even further, and out of the corner of his eye, Luke could see that even Orto had a troubled look on his face. He huffed out a breath. ‘That bad, huh?’ he quipped, and the Soren’s wince pretty much confirmed it.

‘W—well, sir, it’s, uh, it’s—’ the Engineer stammered as he fiddled with his datapad.

‘Things have been going better than anticipated, sir,’ Jetstream quickly and quietly cut in, her face severe and serious. ‘There’s been little issues with everything, and nothing that couldn’t be fixed before it needed to be brought to your attention. But the one that has shown up… well, it’s got the potential to ruin pretty much everything else.’

Luke frowned as he took in the warning. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to deal with one of those, but still… ‘And what would that one issue be?’ he asked calmly, already running potential solutions for anything from a catastrophic failure in one of the designs to a full-on mutiny through his head.

‘The budget, sir,’ Soren piped up, and when Luke glanced over, he noticed that the man had tucked his datapad under his arm in favor of wringing his hands. ‘We’re already straining up against the one allotted for the refit of the ATR-6s, and it won’t be long now before we go overbudget. Then there’s the fact that we’re also already at the limit of our annual budget and still have a quarter-year to go.’ Soren breathed out a shuddering breath as he took out his datapad once more and began frantically tapping away at the screen. ‘This coming from a Corps that previously had our annual budget shortened a few times due to not using it all, and it’s— it’s not looking too good.’

Luke blinked at the man. ‘Let me see that,’ he ordered as he held out his hand for the datapad, Soren hastily handing it over before resuming his handwringing.

Scrolling through the financial reports and statements, Luke frowned as he saw the numbers. True, they’d been as economical as they could while running their various projects, but even a farmboy like him could recognize that you didn’t simply do things like refitting an entire fleet without some serious cash to back it up. It wasn’t like Tatooine where he could just raid the local scrap yard for material when he needed more; these ships needed to be able to save lives in combat. He wasn’t going to cut corners anywhere to reach that goal.

But still…

He sighed as he handed the datapad back to Soren. ‘Any ideas on how to deal with it?’ he asked, not expecting much but willing to try anyway.

Something that was evidently the wrong thing to say as all three Engineers stared at him like he’d grown a second and third head. ‘Well…’ Jetstream stared slowly, expression never faltering, ‘You could try to and, I don’t know, maybe talk to the Supreme Commander and ask for the budget to be increased?’

Supreme Comman—? Oh.

He promptly smacked himself on the forehead as he realized what was going on. ‘I’m an idiot,’ he muttered from behind his hand. Vader. Of course. How he’d forgotten that his Home was the man in charge of the entire military he didn’t know, but if asked, he’d chalk it up to it being an hour earlier than he was usually awake.

‘Just a little, sir,’ Jetstream agreed with a badly hidden laugh.

‘It’s still early and before breakfast, sir,’ Orto comforted him, sounding like he was trying his best to not join Jetstream in laughing. Giving the man a grateful look, Luke let his hand drop from his face and gave a swift nod to all three of them.

‘Right, I’ll talk to Vader later today,’ he agreed, ‘There should be enough time before the meeting on the Gathering later today for me to bring it up.’

Immediately after he’d said those words it was like a weight had dropped off of the others’ shoulders. Jetstream and Orto relaxed their stances and even Soren regained a bit of color. Which really made it seem to Luke like that whole debacle was a lot less severe than they’d led him to believe, but if it soothed their worries for him to have that chat with Vader as soon as possible, he didn’t see any reason not to.

He didn’t see any reason why his mentor might disagree to expand the budget either, asides from perhaps there simply being no credits to allocate. The budget they had now was mostly geared towards maintenance and the occasional installment of an upgrade devised by third parties, not the large overhaul and invention projects they were doing now. And seeing as Vader had signed off on those projects himself or requested them to begin with, Luke really didn’t see what he would have to gain by putting a spanner in the works of their progress.

He snorted quietly at his own thoughts and quickly shook them off. ‘Anyway,’ he said as he directed himself back towards the trio, ‘Was that all for the morning report?’

Three quick glances were exchanged before Jetstream dipped her head. ‘That was pretty much the long and short of it, sir,’ she agreed, ‘You’ll get the finer details when we submit the written reports later on, but that’s the gist of it.’

‘Fantastic!’ He clapped his hands together with a beaming smile. ‘I’ll be on my way then, I still need to take my morning run before the next shift starts, and I doubt anyone would appreciate me showing up after that without showering first.’

Jetstream snorted inelegantly. ‘With all due respect, sir, you regularly crawl around in vents.’

‘But never before clocking in,’ Luke shot back with flourish. ‘Either way, I’ll be getting my gear from the workshop and then taking a run through the hangar. I’ll be back again with the rest of the shift to relieve you in a couple of hours. Stay strong till then,’ he finished with a wink as he turned towards the workshop.

‘We’ll endeavor to survive, sir,’ he heard Jetstream call after him, and he barked out a laugh as he switched over to a light jog, speeding through the drydocks until he was back by the main pathway that led to the workshop.

No longer bothering to hide in the slightest, he greeted and was greeted by all manner of Engineers as he ran by. And to think that he’d snuck around through these people undetected only minutes ago. Now, he could barely take two steps without a chorus of hellos and sirs coming up to meet him, and that, if nothing else did, convinced him that he truly had successfully snuck his way through the hangar.

Jogging into the hallway that led to his workshop, Luke felt the familiar giddiness stir inside him at the prospect of getting to do a proper run. It may not be Beggar’s Canyon or Anchorhead, but the main hangar for the Lady had so many opportunities to practice three-dimensional maneuvering that it nearly left Luke giddy the first time he’d realized the potential.

Stopping in front of the heavy blast doors that by now were as familiar to him as a second home, Luke quickly went through the motions of unlocking the door and barely waited for the gap between to be large enough to fit him to pass through.

He dashed over to a particularly unobtrusive and nondescript cabinet tucked away between his comm station and his design station, eager to get started. The lock on this chest was a little different than those standard in what seemed to be the rest of the empire. Kneeling down in front of the chest, the lock came to life as he triggered the proximity sensors in the process. A small retina scanner unfurled itself, along with a high-pitched whirring as he held still for the scanner to do its job. With a pleasant little chime, the scanner abruptly snapped back shut, and with it, the locks open.

Flipping open the lid, Luke looked down at the results of his handy work and perhaps a violation or two of some form of protocol or another (the little voice in the back of his mind that laughed uproariously at that and cried “An understatement!” at him sounded a suspiciously lot like Biggs).

A small blow gun, with a detachable high-pressure air canister for those especially impossible shots, and a small cylindrical container packed with blow darts. A second canister of darts, this time packed with the slightly larger and heavier variant that could be thrown instead of shot.

A set of climbing claws, one for his hand and two for his feet. All had spikes that were just a tad longer than was strictly practical for the kind of urban environment he was in at the moment, but it never hurt to be prepared and the longer spikes would pay off if he ever had to use them as an improvised weapon.

A little device called a “cracker.” With seven different lock interfacings and a wiretap to brute force the interaction if necessary, it allowed him access to the code of any lock it could interface with to facilitate some good old fashioned lockpicking, or even a straight up attack that could overwhelm and force the lock open if one was in a pinch and didn’t mind tripping any potential alarms. Highly illegal except to licensed specialists, and yes, Luke had snickered out loud when he came across that admonishment during his first time constructing one of them.

Several dozen miniature smoke canisters that were color coded for the type of distraction they would trigger. Impact explosion, noxious fumes, thick cover, a loud bang and a billow of smoke when the timer ran out… honestly, one couldn’t ask for a better portable mischief maker.

Multiple lengths of the most flexible durasteel wire he’d been able to spin yet, nearly as flexible as rope and incredibly strong, fashioned into all manner of tripwires, and his all-time favorite, a grappling hook with each tip filed into wicked points. He’d taken ages to get the flexibility and balance of his hook right, and by the end of it he could honestly say he probably had never owned a better one than this. It was a climbing tool, sure, but Luke had yet to meet anyone who didn’t struggle against him in a fight when he could make use of his grappling hook’s range and wield it like particularly nasty whip.

And finally, a stab and blaster resistant vest that he’d modified to act as a carrier for all these little gadgets too. With more pockets and belt loops than one could shake a stick at, Luke had gone for the “better safe than sorry” option and tried to refit the vest to hide his entire arsenal so far created on his body if need be. That plan failed, even with as bare-bones as his arsenal was at the moment, it’d still been too much to hide in one go. But he’d still been able to hide a good deal, and that was more than enough.

He had acquired some of the more standard stuff too from the Quartermasters, spread out over multiple days to not arouse suspicion. Things like an extra knife or two, zip ties, food and water flasks, a small supply of bacta (And he’d made a good showing of looking rather sheepish at that request to forestall any further questions. Thankfully, whatever conclusions had been drawn at the time had only earned him a sympathetic look and a small supply of first aid bacta.). Whatever he might need during a Flight.

Slowly he’d built up his arsenal, and now, a month later, it certainly wasn’t anything to write home about, but it would be more than enough to get him out of a tight situation in a pinch.

He did miss having some of his more toxic gear available to him, though. 

Fishing his vest out of the chest and buckling it on, Luke started to load up on some of the training weights he’d fashioned from chunks of scrap durasteel. It really wouldn’t do to be caught with unauthorized weaponry on his body (even if no one had even questioned him about his activities thus far, let alone demanded an explanation) and the extra weight was probably a good idea to train with as well.

There were three other things he did pick out from the chest: the climbing claw, grappling hook, and a thick, fingerless glove he used to wrap his organic hand in. Strapping on both the glove and hand claw, Luke began wrapping the coiled steel rope from the grappling hook crosswise over his chest.

Securing everything into place, he took a few moments to stretch and test his mobility.  After concluding that everything was secure and in the right place, he closed the chest back up with a slam and dashed for the doors.

Squeezing himself through the gap once more, Luke ran out into the hallway, sinking into the speed and adrenaline that came with running while the world was sharper and more present than ever. The world turned into a blur along the edges as he tore around the corner, effortlessly weaving through various people as he went, and with a flick of his wrist he unfurled a length of the grappling hook, wrapping it securely around his prosthetic forearm.

Keeping it tightly clenched in his prosthetic hand as the ground flew away under his feet and his heart pounded in his throat, Luke let the whispers swell in chorus. Warnings and hints alike flitted through his mind like keshtrells in flight, his peripheral vision alight with awareness of all the parts of the hangar moving and flaring and sparking around him. People and parts and everything participating in a dance of clockwork and computers. Here, with his body in constant motion, he had no need for thoughts, and instincts took over as he dashed through the hangar.

A dangerous place to have a run.

An excellent place to have a run.

Dashing headlong at a stack of crates higher than he was tall, Luke bounced once, twice, and with a leap that packed enough momentum behind it to break his nose and face if he miscalculated this, he threw himself towards the stack.

Hands slammed down on the edge in front of him, his momentum carried his weight over and onwards, and with flip of his perspective that briefly made the world spin the top of the stack came up to meet his boot with a hard thud.

Never letting the momentum stop for a moment, he let himself get sucked into a roll right out of the vault, and as his feet reached the edge of the crate he let his coiled body spring forward into another leap.

The air rushed around him, his body briefly suspended in absolutely nothing, but that brief moment was enough. A flick of his hand, a bit of help from gravity, and the claw of his grappling hook shot out like a striking snake. With a ringing sound it wrapped itself around the framework of one of the drydocks, a great, metal ribcage that enveloped and kept the ships inside suspended in a hover field for the gearheads to work on them.

Pulling the cord tight just in time for gravity to reassert itself on his body, Luke marveled at the way he was now able to do this without first having to bind one of his arms in a thick armguard made of boiled leather.

Swinging himself up to the side of the framework of the drydock, the weight his body put on the wire would have been more than enough to cause serious injury to his organic arm without the thick, rigid padding of leather in place. But his prosthesis? His prosthesis didn’t even acquire so much as a scratch.

Something which Vader had been incredibly smug about when he'd brought it up.

Letting the rope swing him up to one of the main pylons of the hover field, Luke clamped a hand onto the structure and immediately began clambering to safety when he heard a loud whistling and whooping rise up from down below.

Glancing down out of the corner of his eye while still hanging nearly upside down from the pylon, he saw the gearheads perched down below on the ship looking at him intently, some whistling loudly as he finally made it to the top of the pylon and with a quick yank unhooked the grappling claw from the other pylon, the claw whipping towards him only to be easily caught as it smacked into his palm. A move that was again met with loud cheers.

‘Nice one, sir!’ someone yelled down from below, an Engineer Luke thought from a distance might have been Takedown.

‘Do a flip with the next one!’ someone else yelled after a loud whistle and Luke decidedly rolled his eyes at that one.

But when he sent his grappling hook flashing towards its next target of an overhead walkway that connected two of the office pillars in the hangar, he couldn’t resist adding a little bit of a flourish to his next leap. As he soared through the air, he grinned as he heard the sound of an excited whoop travel with him away from the scene. Just to keep them happy, he told himself quietly, not believing a word of it but also not caring too much to justify it to himself.

His stomach swooped as he landed on the underside of the walkway, and a giddy feeling overtook him as he clambered up the side, fingers both organic and mechanical digging into any cracks he could find.

No matter how often he did this, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of it.

When he launched himself onto the walkway it took some quick maneuvering not to knock into two of his Officers that were just walking by, but even as he missed them by barely a hand’s breadth, he still felt the air twist around him to give him just that bit more leeway in his acrobatics.

And in the end, that’s what he loved about running more than anything. His blood pounding in his veins as he bid a quick apology to Bernas and Redline before dashing off again, the world blurring at the edges. The wind in his hair as he vaulted over the side of the walkway again and let the air surround him in his fall. That brief moment where he was airborne and his entire fate fell into the palm of his hand as he fell through absolutely nothing with only a gaping abyss below and a small strip of ground in front of him that meant a safe landing.

The absolute knowledge that he would land on his feet and be fine, whispered in the back of his mind with a certainty that never lied.

And the thump of his feet landing safely on the catwalk, reality reasserting itself with it as he rolled forward with the momentum before springing back to his feet and running off again.

The catwalks that snaked along the walls of the hangar were good for more than just hiding in that aspect—they made for a brilliant running ground as well.

Narrow, twisting, and with rarely more than a rudimentary guardrail, it was a brilliant challenge to dash through the various levels and leap from corner to corner, sailing over the gaps in between. He challenged himself to climb up the rickety ladders even faster and swing himself around corners and through levels with deadly precision.

When he finally leapt over the edge of the rails again and snapped out his grappling hook to a nearby drydock, he let himself swing to the ground floor. Feet skidding as he landed, he barely paused to yank the hook free before heading off again.

Ducking and weaving through the masses of his people while shooting off quick hellos and good-mornings every few seconds to those he passed by, the air saturated and rich with the emotions of everyone around him. Split-second reflexes were the only thing that saved him from bowling over at least two dozen people, and using his momentum to slide under the narrow gap between a hover cart and the ground, he barely avoided swiping the legs out from under another Engineer.

He laughed as he bid a quick apology to the spooked man, and dashed off around the next corner. He loved swinging between tall pylons and pillars of the hangar and couldn’t get enough of the maze that were the catwalks, but he had to admit that for as basic as it was, there was no better training for his reflexes than running full-tilt through the crowded pathways of ground level.

Flipping, vaulting, and sliding over, under, and around any obstacle in his way, he rushed through the blurring world, sometimes laughing like a madman. Suns, he loved this part of the day! One small hour to just… let loose and run. Run and leap and fall, sailing through the air, tumbling, rolling, and nearly flying.

Nothing but the wind around him and whispers in his mind.

It felt like home.

But like all good things, it did have to come to an end eventually. He had a job to do, little time to finish preparations for an intensely hectic month ahead of them, and his little hour of running amok and free was probably nearly over.

Heart pounding away in his chest, his weighted vest feeling like it weighed a ton, and lungs burning pleasantly in a way that would have Biggs call him a masochist for enjoying, Luke came to a halt near the entrance of the hallway that led to his workshop. Panting and breathing about as hard as an eopie left out of the shade at midday, Luke finally reached for his water flask. Quickly chugging the whole thing down, he almost didn’t notice it when something slowly approached.

Alerted by a whisper so quiet he almost didn’t hear it, Luke froze in his drinking and lowered his flask for a moment. Frowning as he attempted to concentrate on the odd feeling, he tried to pull it closer to decipher it. It was quiet, but though it was almost imperceptible, Luke could swear it was growing louder.

In fact, it almost sounded like a warn—

‘A pleasant Sunsrise to you, little one.’

Yelping out a high-pitched sound as he startled like a loth-cat whose tail had been stepped on, Luke whirled around to face the origin of the voice and immediately felt wave of annoyance bubble up inside of him. Standing right behind him, towering and gleaming in sheer black armor and armor weave, was the man he called Home.

Darth Vader.

With smug satisfaction rolling off of him like a blanket of fog.

‘Really?’ Luke shot back in the exact same language, Karilaa. ‘Again? Did you really have to do it again?’

Vader rumbled out a chuckle and the familiar static filled Luke's ears. It soothed something in him, and his annoyance immediately flared up again once he realized he’d actually begun to relax his shoulders while listening to it. ‘You still have yet to learn to detect me, little star,’ Vader pointed out, the desert tongue sounding so odd to Luke's ears when filtered through the vocoder, and yet, so right. ‘So indeed I do.’

Luke huffed out an indignant breath as he crossed his arms over his chest, gazing up defiantly into the opaque red lenses. Ever since they’d Named each other Home, Luke had made it a point to talk to the other man in his native tongue more often, and to his pleasant surprise, Vader had begun to respond likewise only a couple of days later. Small sentences at first, halting and stammering, with a vocabulary that had clearly not been developed or utilized for a very long time. But his Home learned fast, picking up words and even asking for help occasionally in moments that had Luke nearly bursting with pride.

By now, he’d grown confident enough in the tongue that it was getting harder and harder by the day to hear that he’d not spoken it for multiple decades beforehand. Honestly, it would almost be eerie if it weren’t something to celebrate.

At the moment though, Luke almost regretted that progress, as there was something especially vexing about Vader being smug in his own mother tongue. ‘Three more seconds and I would’ve had you,’ he informed the man sullenly. ‘Three more seconds.’

‘Then you have three more seconds worth of attempts to go before I might begin to consider not “doing this again”,’ Vader shot back with a certain amount of self-satisfaction that irked Luke to no end. Something he knew Vader knew damn well and was probably using as another means of motivating Luke into improving his detection skills faster.

Shooting a quick glare at Vader, he resolutely turned away from the man with a huff as he lifted his water flask again. ‘Was there a reason you decided to come down here and nearly make me spill my water?’ he asked before taking another swig.

‘Yes,’ Vader answered as he switched back to Basic, and Luke immediately knew that the man wasn’t here solely because he sought out his company. ‘There is.’

And there was something about that answer that made Luke lower the flask and direct his attention back to the man entirely. Something small and hidden that Luke nonetheless had seen often enough over the last few months to recognize it. Vader was… nervous? ‘What reason was it then?’ he prompted, gently pushing the man to reveal his business.

Vader shifted minutely, and Luke knew the man well enough by now to understand it as a full nervous fidget. ‘Tomorrow will be the start of the inspection of the fleet before we arrive at the Gathering,’ he began, and Luke furrowed his brow, because yes, he’d already understood that much. The whole Lady was abuzz with every tidbit of news concerning the upcoming Gathering and this was currently at the forefront of the scuttlebutt. Vader shifted again, the air between them hissing with nerves and tension. ‘And I was… hoping that—’ he tried to continue, starting and stopping and—

‘Hoping that?’ Luke offered in a different tongue, one that would always feel more private despite being spoken aloud in one of the most crowded places of the Lady.

Vader huffed out a burst of static as recognition sparked, and inclined his head to Luke as gratitude brushed up against the edges of his mind. ‘I was hoping,’ Vader continued, a bit slower, but far steadier, ‘That you would be willing to accompany me.’

Wait what.

‘Accompany you?’ Luke squeaked out, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he’d said that in Basic or Karilaa. ‘You serious?’ he implored, taking care to switch back to the more private language.

‘Entirely,’ Vader confirmed with a short nod, something small and determined weaving its way through the man’s tone. ‘I wish to use this opportunity to make your introductions to the other ships’ upper ranks and crew members. It would be a beneficial thing to do with the influence you have been exercising even over them with your projects, and besides that I— I—’

Vader abruptly fell silent again as a fresh wave of nerves made themselves known. ‘You…?’ Luke repeated carefully, taking a step closer to the man and searching the lenses for answers even as his mind raced a lightyear a minute trying to process what he’d just heard.

The vocoder crackled with static as Vader sighed. ‘I was hoping that my Home would join me,’ he finally admitted quietly, like it was a secret that brought him shame, and for a moment, he sounded like…

And then the moment was gone between one blink and the next, Luke shaking his head slightly as if trying to shake his thoughts into order. ‘I— I would love to,’ he admitted freely, ‘But— the personnel request has yet to be compiled and submitted, I need to make sure the ATR-6s finish on time and—’

‘You are not obligated to join,’ Vader quickly interjected, something tightening up around him as if braced. ‘It was merely a request, and—’

‘No, you’re not listening,’ Luke insisted, because he had a feeling that he knew what his Home was thinking. ‘I would love to join, I just—’ He cut himself off with a huff as he pulled a jittery hand through his hair, trying to think of a way to properly phrase his thoughts. ‘I just don’t see how I could without shirking my duties,’ he told the man honestly in the end. ‘They need to get done, and if they don’t then…’ He let the end trail off.

‘I… see,’ Vader rumbled lowly, something quieting down within his presence. Something that felt to Luke like it should never be quiet. ‘And… there is… nothing to be done?’ he asked carefully in another tongue.

‘What?’ Luke asked as he looked up before he registered the question. ‘Oh, I mean, I could— I could probably finish the personnel report today if I got a helping hand or two and if I push it, I could have the damage reports compiled and sent ahead to the dockyard today as well, but the rest—’

‘Little one, if I may?’ Vader interrupted gently, a gentle warmth brushing up against Luke's mind, and at Luke's gesture he continued. ‘Do all of those tasks require your supervision, Luke?’

Shutting his mouth with a click, Luke glanced up to look straight into Vader's mask. ‘What do you mean?’

Huffing out a quiet sound, Vader tilted his head sideways and gently indicated the rest of the hangar. ‘I mean that you have decently capable underlings to whom you can freely delegate, little one, and that it might be prudent to do so. Are there truly no tasks that would survive without your supervision?’

Taking a moment to look around the hangar as Vader's words sunk in, Luke slowly began to nod as the realization dawned. ‘The ATR-6s… they’re in the final assembly stages now and the archive should contain enough info to guide them through most blue prints,’ he muttered quietly as he mentally ran through all the variables. ‘I could— I could entrust them to Erribas if need be. And the damage reports as well. But the personnel report—’

‘—You just said you could likely complete in a day if you were to conscript a few aids,’ Vader reminded him gently. ‘I am not saying that you are obligated to accept my request, but… I must admit that I think that if you wished to, you could do so with a clear conscience.’

Luke breathed out a heavy breath as he ran through all he still needed to get done. There was the mountain of reports that needed to be compiled into usable things, the ships that needed to be completed, the prep work on the grand gates, the—

He breathed in.

One thing at a time.

Closing his eyes, he mulled over what would need to be done. Except for a few, reports could be delegated, and he already knew to whom he would send them to. The ships he could entrust to Erribas and Jetstream, they wouldn’t disappoint, he knew that much. The prep work for the grand gates was nearly entirely completed, and there was a veritable laundry list of Engineers whom he knew he could entrust with the final steps. He would need to start delegating the moment he got on his shift, and perhaps pull an hour of overtime or three, but—

‘I think I can do this,’ he told Vader eventually. ‘No,’ he countered immediately as he opened his eyes, ‘I know I can do this.’ He grinned as he looked up at his mentor and Home, something giddy blooming to life in his chest. ‘When did you say we start? Tomorrow?’

Vader huffed out a short string of sounds as elation and excitement spiraled into the air, infectious as anything, and only making Luke grin wider. ‘Yes, tomorrow,’ he confirmed with a warmth that settled around Luke's shoulders like a well-worn shawl. ‘And I am afraid you will be expected to wear something more formal than your day-to-day work uniform, little one.’

Groaning as he realized what that meant, he swatted Vader ineffectually on the arm when the man rumbled out a laugh. ‘Fine,’ he grumbled, ‘I’ll wear the damn uniform. But I won’t be happy about it.’

‘Nor would I expect you to be,’ Vader placated with an amused tone.

He bumped a shoulder against Vader's side in mock-reproach, and as expected the only thing it gained him was a low sound of amusement coupled with a hand briefly ruffling his hair. Another thing that had become more and more common between the two of them over the last month, and something that Luke treasured and cherished almost more than even the language in which they both now freely spoke: physical affection.

Ruffled hair and playful bumps into one another, a hand on an arm or back, even a hug from time to time, it had become so much more commonplace between the two of them that Luke was near-giddy with it every time Vader displayed a bit more affection that he would not have dared to a little over a month ago.

And it didn’t matter where they were either, the privacy of the workshop and Vader's quarters or in a corner of the bustling public hangar, Vader seemed to be equally happy and comfortable to allow Luke's displays of affection whenever, even if it was a different story for his own.

He didn’t mind it in the slightest and let man find his own limits in his own time, knowing that there was something far more important behind the gestures than initiative. He saw it in the moments where Vader, without hesitating or discomfort, allowed Luke to bump into or press against him just after a meeting with the brass of the Lady had concluded. He felt it in the moments where Vader playfully bopped him on the head or wagged a finger at him in reproach after he made an especially cutting joke at the empire’s expense, no matter if they were in public or not.

He knew it in the moments where Vader hugged him back with all the warmth and security of a Home, no matter what.

The language, the affection, the choice to allow Luke in, to allow him close, and now the choice to invite him along with the inspection… Vader was finding his voice and himself again, and whether he could see it or not, he was slowly eroding away at the chains that bound him. He didn’t know how much longer it would take for Vader to break Free, next week, next year, or next decade, but when he did… Luke would be waiting for him.

The plans for the Flight were coming along nicely in either case. Another month or three, and they would be ready.

But first, the inspection, the Gathering, and another Flight that would finally be coming to its conclusion: Zev's.

The reminder of his friend’s predicament and the fast-approaching end of it shook him out of his revery. Right. There was work to be done.

He smiled up at Vader and softly bumped against the man’s side. ‘Tomorrow then,’ he agreed, ‘But I’ll need to get going if I am to finish all I need to do today.’ Then he blinked as he abruptly remembered something. ‘And we need to have a talk later on either way, you and I,’ he stated as he heard Soren and Jetstream’s voices echoing back at him from his memories. ‘The Engineering Corps is nearing the limit of our budget, and if you want the projects to keep coming, we’ll need to talk about expanding it.’

Vader hummed lowly as he tilted his head. ‘An issue I had not considered yet,’ he admitted with a rumble. ‘Very well, we will discuss. When were you planning on bringing this issue to me?’

‘Just before the upcoming meeting today?’ Luke posited, ‘There’s a little time gap in my schedule beforehand that should be enough to make a start on the issue. Does that work for you?’

‘I believe so, yes,’ Vader agreed promptly. ‘Bring any finance reports with you and we’ll see what can be done.’

‘Will do.’ He grinned brightly at his Home as he rolled his shoulders. ‘Now then, let me go stash my gear and rush through the rest of the morning grind and I’ll get back to you when I’m on the clock.’

Vader rumbled out a static chuckle and stepped back with a gesture towards the hallway that held Luke's workshop. ‘By all means. I will see you later today, little one. May the Storm give you wings,’ he bade, the formality of the goodbye nearly making Luke roll his eyes if it didn’t make him feel like his heart was swelling in size.

‘And may the Desert watch over you,’ he returned as began to walk towards the workshop, determined to get this day underway now that it had become more hectic by a factor of magnitudes in less than ten minutes.

Already loosening the straps on his vest under his overalls, he didn’t feel Vader's presence start to leave until he’d turned the corner. Shaking his head in fondness, he began to shift the weighted thing around on his torso, and when he slipped back in through the doors of his workshop, slipping it off over his head was a cinch.

Unstrapping the weights and gear, Luke quickly tossed the vest into the clothes scrubber hidden in the corner of his workshop (something he’d quickly come to appreciate the value of as the side effects of uniform regulations and a job where one was covered in some form of grease or dust sixty percent of the time became apparent). Hitting the power button, he quickly put his gear back into its chest after a quick check for any wear and tear.

With none found and the chrono on his comms station telling him that seven-hundred hours had passed around ten minutes ago, he ran back out of the doors, the lack of weights leaving him feeling as light as the wind.

Weaving his way back through the busy pathways to the elevator station, he silently lined up a to-do list. A shower, breakfast, delegations, reports, and a budget meeting squeezed in in between. There was work to be done—and lots of it—for the coming month ahead. His first Gathering, likely to be the ultimate test of him as a green Head Engineer outside of a large battle, and hopefully one he’d pass with decent marks.

He grinned as he skidded around the corner into the elevator station. Well, only one way to find out.

As always, there was work to be done.

1. [1] For the curious amongst you readers, Luke was situated about 540 meters away at the time, give or take a couple. As you’ll most likely note, this is not the normal range at which humans can still see the lines in another person’s face. Even if they’re in a state of heightened awareness. The runner’s state of mind is not to be trifled with. ^{[ ▲ ]}
2. [2] Pick of the pluck: An idiom that references Tatooinian hunting practices. The “pluck” refers to an animal’s internal organs such as the liver, heart, lungs, kidneys, spleen, ect. With these parts of most animals being especially high in nutrients as well as sometimes preferred for flavor, they’re considered prized meat amongst most of the Tatooinian population and are used in all manner of local delicatesse. However, since most of these organs are in highly limited supply, the common practice after each major hunt was to allow the pluck to go to the families who most needed or deserved it, with the hunter who struck the death blow to the animal traditionally getting first pick. Hence, the saying of getting “the pick of the pluck” when someone is allowed first pick of a multitude of options. ^{[ ▲ ]}