Leia, Princess of Alderaan

by Claudia Gray

  “I want to keep soaking up the atmosphere here,” Amilyn said as she drifted over to them again. That came across as reasonable until she added, “If you don’t let the gases in a new planet’s air sink into your skin organically, it can cause disturbances in your dreams.”

  Chassellon rolled his eyes. Leia took that as a signal to head to the receiving line and get it over with.

  So many of the apprentice legislators were nervous to meet a grand moff. She observed that feeling without sharing it in the slightest; she had been no more than six the first time she met a king. While the others trembled, stammered, and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot or tentacle to tentacle, Leia stood straight, glad she’d braided her hair in a coil atop her head to provide the illusion of extra height, and waited her turn. When at last she was face to face with Grand Moff Tarkin, she took his hand with assurance. “Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.”

  “Your Highness,” Tarkin said. His hand tightened around hers—only slightly more than would be customary, but enough that she felt he was holding her there. That lasted for only an instant, however, as did his brittle smile. “I look forward to discovering whether you’ll be the same kind of senator as your father.”

  “I hope to be,” Leia said. “I’ll be visiting Eriadu for the first time soon, as part of a pathfinding class. They don’t tell us which mountain ranges we might have to find our way through, but I thought you might have an idea.” Diplomacy often meant flattering people. One way of flattering them was referencing their homeworlds; another was asking their opinion on a subject in which they would be well informed. She was proud of folding both into one question.

  “The Rivoche Ranges,” Tarkin said without hesitation. His eyes remained fixed on hers with an unnerving directness. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “I try to, sir.”

  “A good habit to cultivate.” He paused, then added, “Unlike, for instance, looking for loopholes in Imperial regulations.”

  Outwardly, Leia didn’t flinch. Inwardly, shock was followed by shame. Had word of her rescue on Wobani spread that far, that fast?

  Probably it wasn’t Wobani he was most interested in, though. More likely it bothered him that she’d witnessed what happened to Calderos Station. She’d been waiting for word of the attack to hit the HoloNet, eager to learn the different theories about who might be responsible. Instead, there had been total silence. That meant a cover-up.

  That meant she was one of the few people who knew a secret the Empire very much wanted to keep. Leia understood enough to realize that was a risky position to be in.

  Tarkin added, “You have a talent for finding weaknesses, Your Highness. And for exploiting them. That talent can work for you or against you. You’ll have to decide which.”

  He moved on to the next young legislator, and Leia stood alone in the crowd, silent amid the noise, unsure of what surrounded her.

  Leia stayed up that night in hopes of seeing her father, but as the hours went on and she became more tired, she finally decided that he must’ve returned to Alderaan for a brief time. Or maybe he’d needed to go offworld on a fact-finding mission on short notice. Either possibility was plausible; she’d hopped back and forth between various worlds with him often enough. Since he knew she was now busy with the Apprentice Legislature, it made sense that he wouldn’t have asked her to go along. Determinedly she convinced herself not to be upset about it, to go to bed and start fresh the next day.

  When she emerged from her room the next morning, however, she found her father seated at the table, absently eating a slice of fruit loaf while his caf steamed in a nearby mug.

  Bail Organa startled when he saw her. “Leia? You’re here on Coruscant already?”

  “Of course. The Apprentice Legislature came into session.”

  His gaze turned inward. “I thought that was…” Then he grimaced. “Yesterday.”

  “Yeah.” But she felt a little better already. It wasn’t okay for her father to have missed everything, but at least he felt bad about it.

  “I can’t claim I’m sorry to have missed the speeches, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you.” He gestured to the nearest chair as he began cutting her a few slices of fruit bread. She grabbed her own cup of caf before sitting beside him. Her father raised an eyebrow. “They say caf stunts your growth.”

  “My growth is stunted already. If I’m stuck being short, I might as well have the caf.”

  Bail laughed out loud, and Leia had to smile.

  Many senators dressed in ornate, luxurious robes trimmed with fur, or plated their hides with precious metals. Bail Organa wore simpler clothes with nothing finer than an everyday cape. With his height, broad shoulders, and striking dark eyes, he didn’t need shallow grandeur to command attention or respect. Until recently, Leia had thought her father didn’t even age the way other humans did. However, in the past few months, time and stress had begun to weave gray into the hair at his temples, to etch new lines on his forehead and around his eyes.

  “Now, tell me about the other apprentices,” Bail said. “We don’t have much time, but there must be a few who stand out.”

  “Kier Domadi—”

  “The other representative from Alderaan? His mother’s a professor who teaches at Archipelago University. What about him?”

  Leia realized she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, even though Kier was the person she’d thought of first. “I thought he was standoffish at first, but that’s not it. He’s shy. Smart, interesting.” It occurred to her that she was spending too much time on just one apprentice legislator. Swiftly she added, “Then there’s Chassellon Stevis, from Coruscant, who’s totally full of himself.”

  “Shocking,” Bail deadpanned. The two of them shared the same opinion of most natives of Coruscant.

  Warming to her subject, Leia said, “Then there’s this girl from Gatalenta named Amilyn Holdo who is…let’s say, a little odd.”

  Her father shook his head in affectionate disbelief. “I trust your judgment, Leia, but don’t be too quick to write people off. Sometimes they can surprise you.” With that he rose to his feet and downed the last of his caf.

  Unable to hide her disappointment, she said, “You’re leaving already?”

  “I have a meeting with Mon Mothma first thing this morning.” Bail said it in the tone of voice that meant his mind had moved ahead; already he was more there than here. “Then the session, and afterwards I’m taking the Tantive IV on a fact-finding mission for a week, perhaps two.”

  “That’s a long time.” Leia had stayed in their Coruscant apartments on her own before, but rarely longer than a night or two, and even then 2V had been with her.

  “You’ll be just fine here.” Her father’s hand rested on her shoulder. “No wild parties while I’m gone.”

  That made her laugh, but his attention had already drifted elsewhere. He kissed her forehead absentmindedly before walking out without looking back.

  Their apartments on Coruscant—a penthouse suite independent from the rest of its building, known as Cantham House—would be considered relatively modest by either senatorial or royal standards: a few bedrooms, a great room, and a crescent-shaped balcony that looked out on a wide swath of the cityscape. To Leia, who had been raised in a palace, the apartments had always seemed small.

  They felt too big when she was alone.

  The first real session of the Apprentice Legislature began with introductions. Leia had never been more grateful that only forty worlds sent representatives these days. If she’d been involved a generation ago, she wasn’t sure she could’ve endured thousands of people naming their homeworlds and a hobby. She paid careful attention the entire time—you never knew what detail might offer common ground or an interesting insight—but concentrating on this kind of minutiae for so long made her head hurt.

  Chassellon Stevis talked about restoring antique landspeeders to luxury standards. “Takes a while to hunt down the right parts, I can tell you, but the end re
sult is worth it.” Note: More patient and methodical than I would’ve guessed.

  Amilyn Holdo had woven feathers into her braided blue hair, which gave her the look of a fledgling chick. “I like comparing different planets’ traditional astrological charts to see if they agree on the influences exercised by various stars. The parallels are uncanny!” No need for an extra note there—Leia had understood this girl from day one.

  When they reached the Alderaan pod, she gestured for Kier to go first. His interest surprised her more than anyone else’s had. “I plan to be a historian, specializing in the Clone Wars era, so I take part in Clone War reenactments whenever I can. I usually play a clone SCUBA trooper, whenever aquatic battles come up.”

  She’d known from his dossier that he studied history, but she’d imagined him as someone who spent all of his spare time quietly bent over books. Apparently not. Note: Comes across as shy and silent, but he has a fighting spirit.

  The lights fell on her as the amplifier droids hovered close. Leia stood, glad for her experience in public speaking. Some of the others had stammered or hesitated, but she addressed the chamber smoothly. “I’m Leia Organa, princess of the ruling house of Alderaan, heir to the crown, and now a member of the Apprentice Legislature. Since I expect to be involved with the Imperial Senate throughout my life, I’m glad to be able to make a start here, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you all.” There. She’d mentioned the royal status without overemphasizing it, and hopefully nobody would dwell on it….

  Kier whispered, “Say something personal.” When Leia glanced at him, he raised his eyebrows. “Everyone else did.”

  He was right. They were supposed to mention a hobby or personal interest of some kind, and she needed to follow the format. She collected herself to say…what?

  I’ve studied Alderaan’s history going back to the first human settlement. That was part of her royal education. I’ve been an intern in my father’s senatorial office for two years. That wasn’t personal. I’m in a pathfinding class with a few other apprentice legislators. But that, too, was her Challenge of the Body, an official step on her way to being monarch. She’d never before realized that she didn’t really have a lot of personal interests; her duty and her future consumed nearly every moment, so completely that she hadn’t even been able to see it.

  “I like storms,” she said. “Thunderstorms, I mean. I like to watch them.” With that she sat down, hands clasped in her lap. As the members from Glee Anselm began their introductions, she caught Kier watching her. No doubt he was wondering how a princess—no, how anyone could be so devoid of a personal life. “Mine was the dumbest one,” she murmured.

  “It’s not dumb. It’s honest. Everybody else puffed themselves up, me included. You spoke from the heart. That takes courage.”

  Either Kier Domadi was a deeply nice guy beneath all the awkwardness, or he had a big future in diplomacy. Leia gave him a broad smile before turning her attention to the other students, learning what she could about them from the few clues they gave.

  What would someone be able to tell about her, from the fact that she liked thunderstorms?

  She became more comfortable when they finally moved on to their first real order of business. The lights went down as a holographic image coalesced in the center of the senatorial chamber: four different star systems, from disparate parts of the galaxy. An automated voice spoke: “The issue: the Emperor will soon build a new academy of aeronautical engineering and design, but has not yet chosen a host planet. The Apprentice Legislature shall weigh the worlds according to the criteria provided in your session notes, and make your recommendation for the site of the new school.”

  This was the kind of work the Apprentice Legislature undertook—no security issues, relatively low importance, but with real-world consequences. Leia cheered up at the prospect of flexing her senatorial muscles, because she’d learned a thing or two while working for her father.

  One of the things she’d learned: even the simplest debate could turn into a total disaster.

  “You can’t be serious!” demanded one of the apprentices from Malastare. “Iloh is the only choice!”

  “How can you say that?” Harp’s cheeks flushed from the emotion of the debate. “Iloh is a waterworld. There’s hardly even space for a landing field! Harloff Minor is more suitable in every way.”

  “Except for the high levels of air traffic,” Kier pointed out. He was one of the few still speaking in a normal tone of voice. “At least with Iloh, the skies are free for test flights and experimental designs, including the ones that could be unstable.”

  Chassellon gestured toward the hovering hologram planet nearest him. “Not one person is going to think of Lonera?”

  “It’s practically in the Expansion Region,” scoffed someone in the Arkanis pod.

  Sssamm hissed that this would be a problem if nobody had ever figured out how to fly past lightspeed. Since they had, what was the issue?

  More squabbling broke out, until the moderator droid began to blink yellow. The warning quieted people, but made them sullen too. Everybody wants to win the first debate, she thought. The point of a negotiation is to make each party feel as though they’ve won.

  “If I might,” she began, speaking for the first time since very early on. “We’re spending almost all of our time talking about three of the four worlds. Nobody’s argued on behalf of Arreyel.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Chassellon said, “For good reason.” A few murmured assent.

  Arreyel was a small Inner Rim world, a former Separatist planet that had never recovered from choosing the wrong side in those disastrous wars. It had fallen into disfavor with the Emperor early in his reign for reasons that were now murky, almost forgotten, but the stain lingered. Arreyel’s economy was depressed, and with no unique materials or talents to offer, the planet had little chance of improving its fortunes soon—

  —unless something important were to be built there. For instance, a major new Imperial academy.

  “I admit, Arreyel isn’t the first planet that comes to mind.” Leia gestured toward the hologram in a way that expanded Arreyel’s system to fill more of the space. The blue-and-white planet rotated before her. “But it was included in this group of four. That means the Emperor’s open to doing something there again. The world has a chance to start over.”

  “That’s not really the question,” Kier said. Somehow he managed to speak in a tone of voice that made it clear he wasn’t arguing with her, only expanding the discussion. “We’re supposed to choose the planet best for the school, not the world that would benefit the most.”

  Leia held out her arms, encompassing the entire apprentice chamber. “After the past two hours, I think we all know—none of these worlds is clearly better than the rest. They all have pros and cons, but they’re evenly matched. Any of these planets would make a good home for the academy. So that frees us to consider which one would benefit the most. That’s clearly Arreyel.”

  People remained quiet for a few moments, until Chassellon shrugged and said, “Might as well spread the wealth.”

  Not everyone agreed—but they got the votes needed to push it through. With Arreyel chosen, everyone applauded, and Leia couldn’t help feeling proud. She’d found a way to do a good deed from the very heart of Palpatine’s government; that was how you could sometimes make the system work.

  “Good job,” Kier said.

  Like she needed this guy to tell her how to operate in the Senate. “I know.”

  He gave her a sidelong look then, and she wasn’t sure whether he was amused or offended. She hoped she was equally mysterious to him.

  But mostly she was thinking about telling her parents of her accomplishment…whenever she next got to speak with them.

  On her first night, Leia worked late. Her “office” was a tiny cubby just off the Apprentice Legislature rotunda, hardly bigger than a closet; she knew most apprentices used the rooms more as lockers than as places to do work. B
ut Leia had a place for her things here on Coruscant, and she liked work. So she’d wedged in a tiny chair and desk and now sat scrolling through various screens of data.

  She wanted to get a head start on things, and besides—she wasn’t in a hurry to return to the emptiness of Cantham House.

  Having completed the dossier on Arreyel, she scanned through a few other documents to see what was worth considering. A word caught her attention and made her scroll back; once she’d read it, she sat up straight.

  Calderos Station.

  Still, she’d heard nothing about the attack. The Empire clearly wanted to hush it up. So how was this in her files?

  A quick review turned up the answer: Calderos Station was referenced in an older file, one that hadn’t been updated to reflect the events of the past few weeks…or deleted to erase those events, either. The data before her summed up shipping in that area, as part of the background for a tariff debate they’d take up later in the session.

  But whoever had attacked that station must have arrived disguised as any old cargo convoy—

  Leia began searching through the data for the most common vectors of space traffic through Calderos Station in its final months. Most of the worlds were larger ones like Bilbringi and Arkanis—no surprise there—and a few shipments still went to Wobani, however infrequently.

  But a couple of unlikely planets kept coming up over and over. First there was Crait, which she’d never heard of; when she pulled it up from memory banks, she saw why. It was a salt-covered rock in the middle of nowhere. How did that planet have any trade, much less enough to have repeatedly gone to Wobani? And Itapi Prime was a world very near Coruscant, prosperous in its own right and wholly loyal to the Emperor. What it wasn’t was a major exporter of goods to distant planets like this one.

  Didn’t I hear someone mention Itapi Prime recently? Leia frowned. She’d figure out when and where later.

  For now she only knew that the traffic patterns through Calderos Station in the past few months had been abnormal—not so much that they’d draw immediate attention, but noticeable after the fact. Was it possible that those patterns were linked to the attack?