This fic was written for the Star Wars summer fic exchange, organised and run by SilverDaye! My fic is for LadyVader23, a brilliant writer; please go check out her stuff, you won't regret it :D

Particularism:

NOUN

1.
exclusive attachment to the interests of one group, class, sect, etc, esp at the expense of the community as a whole

2.
the principle of permitting each state or minority in a federation the right to further its own interests or retain its own laws, traditions, etc.

Firmus Piett was on holiday.

Imperial stances on holiday leave for its citizens—military or civilian, though more attention was given to the military purely for the Empire's focus on, well, militarism—were supposedly unambiguous. No one was required to take a holiday that they didn't wish to—indeed, as far as the Empire was concerned, anyone who was dedicated to their jobs were, naturally, not at all inclined to take them if unnecessary. But, if they desperately wished to, they were given a baseline of a few days per standard year! To be increased or decreased on a case by case basis, of course, depending on Rebel activity, necessity of the individual and previous work loads! Which was all well and good, but Piett had originally thought that was never something that he would need to worry about after he'd been assigned to work under Lord Vader, because taking holidays was not a thing he'd ever envisioned himself living long enough to do.

Yet here he was, and the case by case basis that Imperial bureaucracy approached the matter with was his downfall, now.

Because the Empire at large was... large. It spanned thousands of worlds, each with individual cultures, worth, and... opinions on how much the Empire should be involved in the day-to-day business, rights and taxation of their citizens. The Regency Worlds were loyal subjects of the crown and were treated easily because of it, their individuality less infringed upon in return for their obedience in matters the Emperor deemed more important. Alderaan and Naboo held their individuality but were expected to openly embrace the Imperial way of life and elite, and bear the same taxes as an Imperial citizen on, say, Coruscant. Many Outer Rim worlds like Tatooine were barely governed by the Empire at all, more in the hands of the Hutt cartels, but complex politics there kept the Imperial presence minimal, if ever-present.

And on Axxila, Piett's beloved homeworld, the governor had seceded most rights, most laws, to Imperial ones—after all, the place was known for its criminal problems and the general disregard for law and order, Coruscant's dark mirror, so why object to laws changing? It wasn't like they were going to be followed, anyway.

So upon the Declaration of the New Order, Axxila's laws were steamrolled in favour of the larger Empire's... apart from, that was, an odd few.

One of which was: Axxilans were required to take a mandatory two weeks' holiday every ten years, at minimum.

No one knew why that was where the line was drawn. Perhaps the governor in charge at the time of the change didn't think people should be worked and worked and worked like droids without the appropriate recharge. (It was even said that he'd tried to haggle to have that preposterous number of mandatory weeks per ten years increased!) But considering how few Axxilans ever made it high up enough in the Imperial fleet to be considered so necessary they were not at all expendable, the Empire had agreed to those terms without much fuss.

More's the pity, Piett thought now.

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Firmus!" his sister shouted from her spot in the kitchen. He could smell tashe, one of the local cuisines that he hadn't had since he'd left for the academy, and despite his distaste for the situation at large his mouth watered. It wasn't much, and Aurelia wasn't much of a cook—never had been—but tashe was just meat and vegetables stewed in a specific way, for a specific amount of time, and until now Piett hadn't realised how much he'd missed it. "Can you watch Luc while I—"

"I can," he called back before she could finish. He knew what she was going to ask. His nephew had been born and raised to a loud, pudgy creature while he was away, and neither of them had known what to do with each other in the three days since he'd arrived, but he figured he might as well try again. If he could survive Lord Vader's wrath, he could go toe to toe with a nine year old.

Then he actually looked the kid in the eye and realised that perhaps no, no he could not.

Lucus was sitting in the living area of their flat, on the sofa that formed a loose triangle with an armchair and a wooden chair around the table, his legs drawn up underneath him in an uncomfortable version of crossed legs that only children were flexible enough to pull off. Piett's legs ached just looking at it.

Nestled in his lap was a large datapad, which Lucus seemed to find far more fascinating than the uncle who sat tentatively in the armchair across from him, hands folded neatly on his knees. Piett wasn't wearing his Imperial Navy uniform—of course he wasn't, he was off-duty, he was on leave—but in that moment he wished he was. In his uniform, his posture looked impeccable; put together; as the kids would say, cool. Outside of it, he looked like he... well.

Lucus had accidentally called him stiff when he'd first rocked up on Aurelia's doorstep for the first time in years. And Piett was pretty sure he'd heard something about stuck up when Aurelia had commed him while she and Lucus were at the market, and he'd instinctively answered with, "Piett here."

Well. That had been three days ago. Three unsuccessful days, but if he was the sort of man to give up after three bad days, Lord Vader would have killed him long enough despite all of his aide's valiant attempts to stop him.

So Piett affixed a broad smile to his face. It felt insincere. It probably looked it, too. This was worse than talking to Ozzel. "Hello, Lucus. May I see what you're looking at?"

Lucus frowned deeply at him. He didn't say anything.

Piett held out a hand—then retracted it. How did one entice younglings into conversation? Was there a specific skill or technique to be used?

"You've been looking at your datapad all afternoon," he tried again, that grin still on his face. It was starting to hurt. He realised his teeth were gritted too late to stop it from showing in his voice. "I... what is so fascinating about it?" Did that sound condescending? It probably sounded condescending. "That is, I mean to say—what are you looking at? It must be very interesting to hold your attention for this long."

Seriously. Piett was used to spending his time staring at datapads, but that was because he worked in a highly stressful work environment with countless updates flooding in every second of every hour of every cycle. (Piett already thought his vision was deteriorating particularly quickly from all the artificial light.) Even then, he was fairly sure he'd spend far more time staring if it wasn't for Lars and his stunning capacity for... well, aiding.

"Luc," Aurelia said sternly from the kitchen, yanking Piett out of his thoughts. He'd forgotten she could hear them. He'd forgotten he was here. For a moment, he'd been back on the Executor—and, he realised with mounting dread, it had been less stressful. "When your uncle talks to you, it's rude to ignore him."

Lucus scowled, eyebrows furrowing tightly. He shot a look between his mother and his uncle, blue eyes—he hadn't got them from the Piett side of the family, what did Aurelia's wife look like again?—intense.

"Ah, it's quite alright," Piett said in a placating tone. He sounded like he was trying to make a report to Lord Vader seem less disastrous than it was. Kriff. "I just wanted to start a conversation with you—could I see your screen? I'm sure it'll be just as interesting to me."

Lucus looked highly doubtful about that. But a nervous glance in the direction of the kitchen, and he was handing it over to his uncle without complaint, though he curled in around himself, like he didn't want to touch Piett. Piett tried not to be offended.

He just let his fingers clasp around the edge of the datapad and pulled it towards him, raising an eyebrow at the image on the screen. It was... a picture—or a drawing, a digital drawing, of what looked like a scrappy, terribly cared for ship, and a motley crew of all species, several of whom were missing a limb or two and had them replaced with increasingly impractical appendages. They were all standing huddled together in one panel, glaring at something, then the next was just a blur of yellow and orange light with the word POWWWW written across it.

"You're reading a comic? It looks stimulating," Piett said. For some reason, that attempt to be sympathetic did not register very well with Lucus. "What is it about?"

"Pirates," Lucus mumbled. He was eyeing his datapad, but clearly didn't have the guts to ask for it back just yet.

"Oh?" Piett pushed, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice. Pirates. His nine year old nephew was reading a romanticised account about pirates. "You know, I used to hunt pirates for the Axxilan antipirate fleet. Is that a career you would be interested in?"

Lucus did perk up at that. Finally. "I want to be a pirate," he said, and mimed something with his hand. Pulling the trigger of a blaster, maybe. "Like Captain Ohnaka."

"Captain... Ohnaka?" Piett took deep breaths.

"Yeah! Captain Hondo Ohnaka and his crew, they go travelling the galaxy and bring cool stuff back to Florrum, and—"

"Hondo Ohnaka was a real pirate, you know?" Piett interrupted. The way Lucus's eyes widened to the size of asteroids was quite gratifying, he had to say. He was getting somewhere! Finally!

"Really?"

"Yes." Piett nodded. "He was a smuggler, and a spice runner—there was a famous incident during the Clone Wars where he captured two Jedi and a Sith Lord at the same time."

Lucus looked like he was about to faint. "Did you ever meet him!?"

"No. He was captured by the Empire and executed for his crimes ten years ago. Quite pathetic at the end, really—his entire crew abandoned him, and sold him out to save their own skins. When he was found it was on a useless freighter, which had been hanging dead in space for a week, and he surrendered without a fuss."

The light in Lucus's eyes died out.

"Oh," he said. "Can I have my datapad back?"

With some disappointment, Piett handed it over. Lucus tapped the screen and the drawing of the explosion disappeared, to be replaced by one of what looked like a shootout. How wonderful.

He sighed. Perhaps this was impossible. He would only be staying on Axxila for another four days anyway; perhaps he should just admit defeat with Lucus and stumble around him until he left for another ten years. There were no children on the Lady Ex—he was suddenly, viscerally grateful that Lord Vader had no children Piett would have to navigate around or risk his superior's wrath—so he wouldn't need these skills anytime soon anyway. He would see Lucus again once he next came on leave. Surely a nineteen year old would be easier to connect to than a nine year old.

But Aurelia had no intention of letting him off that easily. Honestly, he'd have thought that younger siblings should have more respect. "Lucus, don't just sit there and read your comic, talk to Uncle Firmus—"

The doorbell rang.

Who could that be? Piett didn't have the faintest idea. Perhaps Aurelia was expecting guests for dinner, or perhaps it was another assailant. An odd assailant, to ring the doorbell, perhaps, and this was far from the most lawless part of Axxila, but nowhere on the planet could be considered lawful; there was a reason they needed an antipirate fleet and there was a reason Piett had joined it—

"Firmus," Aurelia called sweetly. She'd gone to university on Alderaan, and while she rarely showed it, there were certain... genteel qualities she demonstrated on occasion that she'd definitely picked up from her wife. The way her old-fashioned wheedling seemed almost polite was one of them. "Can you get the door for me while I cook?"

"Of course," he said on instinct. Anything to escape this. Lucus gave him a look, even if Piett doubted he understood exactly what had just gone on.

He made his way to the front of the living area, past the rack of coats, and glanced at the holoscreen that showed who was outside.

Then he froze.

What, by all the stars in the infinite sky, was he doing here—

He hit the button to open the door immediately, and a blast of cool air swept in. Lucus shifted, Aurelia called, "Who is it?" but Piett just stared.

"You..."

"I apologise for interrupting you on leave, Captain," Luke Lars said, scratching the back of his neck, shifting on the balls of his feet and looking all around shifty, suspicious and sheepish. "But I... was on planet, and I had hoped to ask of you a small favour?"

Piett suddenly regretted wishing he was back on the Executor—the moment he heard that, he had the feeling this would not be good.

"A—" Piett blinked. "A small favour?" This evening was getting more and more bizarre.

Lucus had pushed himself to his feet, to see who the young man in the... terribly uncared for Imperial uniform was—was that a rip on his sleeve?—and where he'd come from. Despite the fact that there was no way Lars could see his nephew past Piett, he glanced in that direction and smiled warmly.

"It's nothing, I promise. I hope," Lars assured him. "And I truly don't mean to intrude, I'll be going as soon as possible. But I remembered from your file that you used to work with the antipirate fleet of Axxila—"

"That I did." Piett folded his arms, resisting the urge to glower—at Lars or at Lucus. His past as one who combated criminals, pirates, slavers, was not one to be belittled or judged...

"Well then, I was hoping you could point me in the direction of their headquarters? The headquarters of the public relations branch, at least—the contacts. I have a question to ask of them."

Piett frowned. "You... you want directions?" The utter surrealism was only increasing...

"Yes. I had a map, but it was stolen from me, and I appear to have lost my way." He smiled, then added—and he had the wheedling tone that Aurelia seemed to have dumped—"And, if at all possible, could you accompany me to their offices? This query is... of an important nature. An urgent one. I have no wish for it to be slowed down by bureaucracy or misunderstanding, and I believe it may help to have you there to help smooth things over."

"What do you intend on doing?" Axxila may have submitted most its laws to Imperial ones, if only because no one was policing their laws anyway, but the antipirate fleet were fiercely protective of what they had. (Piett cringed just thinking about the palaver it had been trying to transfer to the Imperial Navy.) If Lars thought this would be a... problematic... visit...

"I'm afraid that that is classified at this moment, Captain. You understand that that is not a matter of trust, but what I'm at liberty to reveal?"

Piett oomphed. Or maybe he hmphed instead; the sounds were pretty similar.

"How did you know where I live? Where Aurelia lives?" he asked instead, buying for time. Clearly, Lars noticed that, but he didn't object to it at all.

Piett had always wondered—though never regretted—how Lord Vader seemed to get along so well with an aide who was... well. So nice.

Lars shrugged. "It was in your leave report."

"Right..." If Piett wasn't mistaken—and he was relatively sure he wasn't—that sort of thing was classified for an officer as high-ranking as he was. Only Piett's immediate superior—Ozzel—and Lord Vader should know what planet he was on, let alone his specific address. And while it was entirely possible that Lars was the aide who'd been given that report to file, something told him he wasn't nearly as innocent as he first appeared.

But he was Lord Vader's most trusted underling. And he technically bore his authority. And technically, if Luke Lars was jumped and mugged or killed on Axxila, especially if Piett was known to have spoken with him first, Piett might as well just kiss his Imperial career goodbye.

He didn't know what was going on. Between Lucus and Lars, he was beginning to grow resigned to it.

"Very well," he said. "I suppose there's no other explanation for me to accept."

Lars beamed. Piett snorted.

"I will accompany you tomorrow," he agreed finally. He didn't have a choice, after all.

Lars nodded his acceptance. "Thank you, Captain. I'll be back—"

"Firmus," Aurelia said, well, firmly. She strode out of the kitchen then, and paused when she saw Luke at the door. Piett supposed the main thing she was noticing about him at first was how young he was. Piett himself was too used to it by now. "Who is this?"

Piett swallowed. "Ah, Aurelia, this is Lars, one of my superior's aides, with whom I work on a regular basis."

Both Aurelia and Lars snorted at the same time. Lars had the grace to try to cover it up with a cough, but Aurelia muttered, "Whom."

Piett rolled his eyes. "Lars, this is my sister, Aurelia, and her son." Lucus had sidled over to his mother and was... not hiding behind her skirt, but certainly hanging slightly closer to her than before.

Lars smiled brightly. "Hello," he greeted, "I'm Luke."

Lucus's eyes blew wide. He glanced at Aurelia who smiled and said, "This is Luc."

Lars turned that brilliant smile on Lucus, who looked like he'd frozen in front of a searchlight. "Ah, but he's a much cooler Luke than I am." He gestured to Lucus's datapad. "Is that The Adventures of the Captain?"

Lucus's eyes went wide. "Yes!" he crowed.

"Which issue are you on?"

"Twenty seven! Lord Ukood's Revenge!"

"That's a good one." Lars was grinning. Piett was... unnerved by all of this. "My best friend loves that comic series, and it was my favourite as a kid."

"I like—"

"Firmus," Aurelia said sternly, "Luke's standing on the doorstep shivering, aren't you going to let him in?"

Piett glanced back at Lars, who shook his head. He also shook most of his body; he was shivering—it was cold in this part of Axxila at night—but he just said, "It's fine, I was just stopping by quickly to ask your brother a favour. I'll be on my way."

"Would you like to stay for dinner? My wife, Carina, is away for now, we have an extra place. And my brother never talks about his work," Piett was feeling increasingly attacked by this conversation, "so it'd be lovely to talk to you a bit more! And I'm sure Luc wants to talk comics with you, since no one else in the house will." Lucus, who had been bouncing on the balls of his feet looking eager, flushed bright red but kept looking eager.

Yet again, Piett was being singled out.

"Uhhh," Lars said. "If you'll have me."

"Of course," she said, and dragged him inside.

Dinner was... an awkward affair. At least it was on Piett's part. He just sat there next to Lars and shifted uncomfortably as his sister shot him increasingly pointed looks, but this wasn't his area of expertise! He'd never signed up to a holiday at all, let alone a holiday where he had to entertain his superior's assistant.

Fortunately, he wasn't doing much of the entertaining. Lucus seemed to have taken a shine to Lars immediately, and while they nattered about comics with Aurelia chiming in whenever she could, he just... sat that. Eating tashe.

It was very good tashe, he'd give it that.

"Do you work on a starship, Luke?" Lucus asked. Lars smiled.

"I do. I work with your uncle here—we help hunt down Rebels and protect the Empire." He pointed at Lucus's datapad, left lying on the counter on the other side of the room; he wasn't allowed to read comics at the dinner table. "It's my job in particular to keep things organised so that pilots like Belle can do their jobs fighting pirates."

"You're like Alfie?"

Who in the stars was Alfie? Lars clearly knew. "Yes," he said, "exactly."

Lucus frowned. "I prefer Belle."

"She's a great character, definitely. She's my favourite too."

"Why didn't you become a pilot then?"

Lars blinked. "I wanted to," he admitted. "But Lord Vader—my superior, that is—asked me to become his aide, since he— since he thought it was what I'd be best at, and it's also very exciting. You know characters like Nikrat?"

Lucus crumpled his nose. "I hate Nikrat."

"Believe me, so do I. And the Empire's not perfect, but my job means I can find out where people like Captain Nikrat are being evil and abusing their power, and Lord Vader does his best to put a stop to that."

"But Belle put a stop to that! She and Hondo..."

"And they got hurt badly. If I do my job right, no one gets hurt at all but Nikrat is still taken down."

Lucus was still staring up at Lars, and Piett suspected he'd be hearing a lot less about Captain Hondo, and a lot more about Luke Lars in the next four days.

"Wow," Lucus said. Aurelia smiled, glanced between them.

Well, Piett thought. If Lucus had to pick up a role model or a hero to look up to, Lars was a fairly sane, stable person. He was sensible, he could control Lord Vader's temper well enough, and he even looked fairly similar to Lucus—his hair was naturally lighter than Lucus's dark brown, but browned from the lack of sunlight he saw in space, and their eyes were very similar. That was who Piett had been reminded of earlier.

"Where are you from, Luke?" Aurelia leaned forwards to ask. "We've talked a lot about Luc but not much about you."

Lars shrugged. "I'm from Tatooine," he said, smiling. "There isn't much of interest out there."

"You mean where all the pirates go to get jobs?"

Great. They were back to pirates.

"Yes, but it's not that interesting. I was a moisture farmer in the middle of the desert. Life was pretty dull until I went to the Imperial Academy."

"Outer Rim hicks don't usually come to work for Lord Vader," Aurelia pointed out, shooting looks between Lars and Piett. "Yet I'm talking to two of them."

Lars shrugged. "I got lucky. Vader ran into me at the academy, took a shine to me." He took a sip of his drink—just milk, Piett noted, which he supposed meant a lot more knowing he was from Tatooine—and didn't say anything more about it. "What about you? How do you spend your time?"

"I work at the local tax company," she said drolly, standing up to spoon more tashe onto Lucus's plate. He glared at it, but glanced at her—she didn't even look his way before he sighed and kept eating. Piett couldn't fail to notice that the portion she'd given him was far more heavy on vegetables than the one he'd taken for himself. "Not that interesting. But my wife is an officer for the local police force—not the massive antipirate fleet Firmus used to fight, but on a more local level. She's dealing with a kidnapping case in the lower levels, this evening."

Lars leaned in. "Really? From what I've heard about Axxila—and I mean no offence," he added hurriedly, "as someone from Tatooine—but she must be very brave. Axxila seems like a complex place to police."

"As layered and problematic as Coruscant but not as well-regarded or funded," Aurelia agreed. "I actually met Carina on Alderaan, where she's from, but she insisted on moving here when I needed to care for my parents, and then we just never left. She's put down roots here."

"She's from Alderaan?" Lars asked politely. "My sister used to live there—I had thought they were fairly pacifist as a whole."

"Well, the terrorist Leia Organa ought to tell you otherwise," Piett muttered.

Both Aurelia and Lars looked at him. "Princess Leia Organa was a respectable member of the Imperial Senate," Lars observed—not without humour, which seemed... odd. Aurelia was definitely displeased with him.

"She was one of Carina's idols," she said, "despite the..."

He felt hot. "Destroying the Death Star business?" he bit out. "Even before that, she was clearly a Rebel. The amount of times Lord Vader almost caught her red-handed, and with a blaster... you were there in person, Lars."

Lars just shook his head. "I understand where you are coming from, Captain, but I always prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt. I do not approve of the wanton destruction... the murder involved... but one has to see her perspective. The Death Star itself threatened murder by its nature. It courted disaster."

"So you would sit down and talk to her about its destruction if you could?"

"As I said—benefit of the doubt." Lars winked at Lucus. "You never know when you'll need an ally one day."

Great. Now Lucus looked even more starstruck.

"Is Lord Vader aware you hold these opinions?"

"Is my lord aware that I am capable of critical thinking? Of course." He smiled slightly. "We've had discussions about this before."

Piett... relaxed. Minutely. Lars was a loyal servant of the Empire—he knew that. If Lord Vader knew about these opinions of his and still tolerated them—perhaps even approved of them—then Piett could trust him. He was simply trying to view the situation from an objective stance.

And Piett hadn't exactly adored the Death Star, either. Even if the death count was... staggering...

"Well, I apologise for my rash words," Piett said. "Allow me to change the subject. You said you had a sister on Alderaan?"

If anything, Lars looked even more amused. "I do, Captain. I don't hear from her often, but it's always a delight when I do."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister," he pointed out. Aurelia snorted.

"So what does Carina do?" Lars asked, turning back to her. "I'm curious how an Alderaanian might approach social problems so different to those at home..."

The rest of dinner flew back on the wings of Lars's charming conversation, and Piett was really starting to resent the kid. He just seemed so... put together, except no, because that would imply he was a politician. He just wasn't cunning at all; very charming, and very likeable, and Piett had no idea how to trust that.

It had been long enough since Lars had started as Lord Vader's aide that he was accustomed to him in an official capacity, but in a social capacity... he was strange. And he seemed on edge, even as none of his charm seemed forced.

Once everyone had finished, and Lucus was sent to bed for the night, Lars insisted on helping Piett wash up the dishes. They chatted unnaturally about natural things and then Lars was glancing at the time and saying that he should probably go.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Aurelia asked once he was at the door, pulling on his jacket over his uniform. It was a pretty well-made jacket, that didn't scream it, but it was plain and black and Piett thought it might work very well against the cold night. "Are you sure you don't want to stay the night here?"

"I'm fine," Lars said easily. "I know where I wish to sleep, and I wouldn't want to be a bother."

"On the contrary, it's been a pleasure having you."

Lars smiled, a little tightly. "Tell Luc I said goodbye?"

"I will. And drop by again before you leave the planet?"

"I will." Lars nodded at Piett. "Captain."

"Lars."

"I think you can just call me Luke, now," he said with a laugh. "I share a name with your nephew."

Thankfully, before Piett could respond to that horrendous breach of protocol, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Well," Aurelia said, "he seemed lovely."

"He is," Piett had to concede. "He's one of the least obnoxious to work with on the Lady."

"The Lady?"

"The Executor."

"Your ship?"

"Yes."

Aurelia gave him a look. "You know, you don't talk about your work much."

"It is mostly classified."

She sighed. "Do you like Luke?"

Piett thought about it.

"I do," he admitted. "He's hardworking, and a genuine lifesaver—" He cut himself off. "He's managed to turn around a lot of doomed projects in his time."

"I know the rumours about Vader, Firmus. You mean he stops them from happening?"

"I mean that Vader likes him, and he's good at containing such situations before they occur."

"Can't blame Vader. Luke's nice."

"He is."

She looked at him slyly. "So who else has he saved? Who isn't so nice on board the Lady?"

"Aurelia..."

"What? You've been away for ten years. Your comms and messages are sporadic. Is wanting to know what has my big brother so distracted a crime? You're on leave." She jabbed his arm. "Come talk to your sister."

Piett smiled. "Alright. Now, you've heard about Luke Lars."

"That I have. Why did he even come round anyway?"

Piett shrugged. "He wanted me to accompany him to the headquarters of the antipirate fleet tomorrow—he has an enquiry to make and thinks it might go smoother if I'm there."

Aurelia frowned. "Tomorrow is Augustus Day, Firmus. The headquarters—at least, the ones that accept enquiries from outside sources—would've closed by sunset."

Piett paused. Then he groaned. "You're right."

"Did you forget the date?"

"No, I just forgot that we technically have a day celebrating an ancient warlord who nobody's worshipped in years."

"Technically he invented space travel."

"So the story says," Piett drawled. Aurelia snorted. "Poor Lars—"

"He asked you to call him Luke."

Piett rolled his eyes. "Poor Luke, then. Won't they be closed until Primeday?"

"Yes."

"I'd better go after him." He got to his feet and reached for his coat, hanging on the rack. It was heavier and... browner... than his Imperial uniform, and that made him feel oddly dirty. "Let him know. He can't have gone far."

"We'll make a polite person out of the military man in you yet."

"Military men are polite."

"Except when they have blasters."

Piett gave her an odd look, but she just glanced at the door. "You'll have to hurry, though. He seemed to know where he was going."

"That," he said, "would be the oddest thing of all."

He stepped out into the night and glanced left and right. The walkway around this building on this part of the ecumenopolis was narrow, with thin railings, but widened as it looped around the side to join into a wider walkway, where speeders could occasionally run and be parked.

Luke had completely vanished, but he thought he heard... something—grunts? A scuffle?—to his left, so he turned the corner and...

Ducked just as a loose railing went flying over his head and clattered into the night.

He cursed. Reached for the blaster at his side, hit only empty air; cursed again. But he ran right around the corner towards the noise.

Dug further into his pocket for the teeny tiny blaster Aurelia actually let him carry inside her flat, thumbed the trigger, because—

Luke grunted as he was slammed into the wall, blood trickling from one of his nostrils, but he drove his knee into his assailant's sternum and they staggered back with a gasp. Piett caught the briefest glimpse of their face before they hunkered over and rammed at Luke again—near-human, heavily scarred, with one bloodshot crimson eye and a build like a mountain. He lunged at Luke, but—

Luke was not there.

Instead, Luke flipped over him, neatly, landing on the railing over the air lane, was that boy insane, teetered, then threw himself forwards again to latch onto his shoulders. The guy roared, but Luke knotted his hands around his throat—

"Why," Luke hissed, "were you following me!?"

He was tossed in response. He rolled when he hit the duracrete and got up just as quickly, but then Piett stepped in while the man was still staggering from the effort and shot him neatly across the bicep.

It was a tiny blaster. It was a tiny shot. But it bled a lot, it caught the man off guard, and he whipped his head around to stare.

"Get out of here before I call the regional police," Piett snapped, and memorised his face, his build, the injuries Luke had given him.

The man snarled, but just shot Luke a death glare and lumbered off. He had a speeder parked on the stretch of wider land ahead of them and revved it to go, shooting off into the night.

Piett sighed, and turned to Luke—only to be taken aback by the mutinous look he got in return. "I could have handled him."

"You are very welcome." He put his blaster away and faced him full on, frowning. He'd always known the boy was young, but seeing him outright pouting like Lucus drove the point home.

Luke rolled his eyes. "He was following me for a reason, and I wanted to find out why. I don't have anything on me worth stealing—only a lot of Imperial credits."

"Those are next to worthless out here."

"I noticed. But I didn't have the heart to tell the Emperor his generosity was empty."

Piett's eyebrows climbed higher and higher on his face. "The Emperor?"

"Indeed. It was with his blessing that I came here, Captain. It has nothing to do with you."

"His blessing? Not Lord Vader's?"

Luke's expression... soured. No, that wasn't quite the right word; it tensed, and scowled, and... yes, actually. Soured.

"Everything I do is on my... lord's behalf," he said. He raised his hand to wipe away the blood trickling onto his lip. "I thought that was a given."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Luke gave Piett a look. It was a steady, assessing look—Piett felt judged, but also reassured. The boy may seem a bit feral, but he still had his wits about him. He was still just as sane as before.

"Thank you for your help, Captain," Luke said. "Now I'd best be on my way. I'll see you tomorrow."

And without waiting for Piett to respond, he just started walking along the walkway, towards the bridge to the other side.

"You won't," Piett called after him. "Aurelia just reminded me: it's a planetary holiday tomorrow. The civilian contact branch of the Axxilan antipirate fleet will be closed until Primeday."

The boy's hands clenched at his sides. For the first time, Piett realised he was wearing black gloves.

"That's too far away," Luke said distantly. Piett didn't think he was talking to him.

Piett shrugged. "That's bureaucracy for you, I'm afraid. It's the local laws."

"This is Axxila. Nobody follows the local laws."

"Well. We do our best. I did my best," Piett said pointedly.

Luke sighed, and turned around again. The harsh light of the lamps that thrust out of the sides of the buildings like eyes cast his anguished face in stark contrast, but he said graciously, "You're right, Captain. I apologise." He bowed his head. "I'll just be heading back to my residence, now."

Residence. Interesting way of putting it.

"I'll accompany you," Piett said. "Is it far from here? Do you have a speeder?"

"It's an hour's walk by foot," Luke admitted easily.

"Then we'll take Aurelia's speeder. I'm sure she won't mind."

Luke gave him another searching look. "You're sure? You want to come with me?"

The intensity in his eyes baffled Piett, but he said, "Yes. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it."

And then there was the matter of if Luke got jumped, Piett would have Lord Vader to answer to—without a magical Ensign Lars to defuse the situation.

Luke smiled a little. "Alright, then. Lead the way."

A few notes:

- Hondo did not get executed. He escaped and faked his execution and is still out there, swindling the galaxy at large.

- Nikrat and Ukood are totally Tarkin and Dooku, just in children's comic form as exaggerated villains.

- Everything about Axxilan culture, local laws and establishments is 100% fictitious and I had fun making it up XD