by Claudia Gray
An utterly novel idea occurred to Leia. “Mom—when you were young—you never—you wouldn’t—”
“Good night, dear.” Breha turned back toward the door.
“Mom?”
Her mother simply waved airily as she went out.
The question of exactly who her mom had fallen for before meeting her dad was equal parts disquieting and intriguing. Not even that could distract Leia for long. What she’d overheard tonight was far too incendiary for her to lie in bed thinking of anything else.
Mon Mothma’s right. It’s our responsibility to do something, even if we still have to figure out the best steps to take. And she talked to me like I was an adult, not a little kid. If she sees that I can be trusted, maybe my parents will see that too.
As Leia balled her pillow beneath her head, she began to shift her plans.
Forget winning over Mom and Dad.
If anyone’s going to bring me into this struggle against the Empire, it’s Mon Mothma.
The next day, Leia spent hours holed up in the library, eating fruit and bread from a tray and drinking countless cups of tea. Neither of her parents appeared, but if they had, she was completely prepared to show them what she was working on: a thorough review of every single planet on the list of “approved” mercy missions her father had put together. Going over those worlds’ cultures and needs was worthy and responsible, exactly the kind of behavior they would approve of.
They didn’t need to know that Leia was figuring out how to turn a voyage to one of these planets into action against the Empire.
Not action the way this Saw Gerrera person defined it. Not even the kind of action her father was preparing for on Crait. She understood the limits of what she could accomplish as a sixteen-year-old girl with a ship at her disposal and very little else. The most she could offer in the struggle against Emperor Palpatine was evidence.
The Empire presented a polished, impervious façade that supposedly represented the strict rule of law. While they maintained many of the trappings of the Republic—modifying armor and uniform designs only slightly—those external signs of power had been made sharper, crisper, and more imposing. So much of Palpatine’s authority rested on the illusion that he alone had been able to provide order after the chaos of the Clone Wars. But what he called order was merely control, and that control was exercised solely for the benefit of the most powerful among his sycophants.
Planets that had their own wealth and influence remained sheltered from the worst of the Empire’s excesses. Leia had learned the truth first from her parents, then through her work in the Senate. Surely very few people were still completely deceived. But the galactic populace at large couldn’t possibly understand just how huge the gap was between Palpatine’s promises and the tyrannical reality.
They don’t see the worst of what he does, she thought, frowning as she crossed Dinwa Prime off the list of potential candidates. I can document some of that and get that documentation to the people who’ll know how to use it. That doesn’t put anyone at risk but me.
Not that her parents would want her to put herself at risk—but Leia didn’t think the danger would be too great. She had diplomatic immunity thanks to her work with the Senate and her status as a princess of Alderaan. Any number of plausible explanations would cover the kind of recordkeeping she intended to do.
But where to begin? She had to work from her father’s list, or else her parents would catch on before she’d had a chance to accomplish anything.
Ruoss Minor remained shattered after Palpatine’s last crackdown, but the harm had been done long ago, which meant proving the cause and effect might be difficult with her limited resources. Anelsana suffered in the aftermath of a trade embargo, but most of the proof of that would be found in their main cities, while her father had specifically limited her travel to the more rural northern continent….
The famine on Chasmeene.
Leia sat up straight, re-angling her screen to avoid the glare of the afternoon sun now filtering through the tall windows. The famine on Chasmeene had raged for years now, but it had begun when retaliatory strikes by the Empire irradiated vast swaths of farmland. The “crime” for which that planet was being punished: failing to meet an Imperial quota. It was a punishment that might devastate Chasmeene for generations to come. She could take readings to prove the source and extremity of the damage done; the signs of it might even be visible in regular holo images.
A smile stole across her face as she thought, Thanks for the suggestion, Dad.
Famine relief required considerable stores of food, seeds, and agricultural equipment, which meant it was necessary for Leia to commandeer the Tantive IV. She’d have been tempted to take that ship in any case; it was easier to avoid being noticed in the middle of a larger bustle of activity.
As the crew hurried around, preparing shipment bundles for each area they’d help, she began looking for a little help of her own. I’ll need to be involved virtually every moment; it’s not like I don’t want to help these people too. But these images have to be carefully shot, not chosen at random….
“You, there,” she said to one of Captain Antilles’s droids, a blue-and-silver astromech. “Can you help me?”
It whistled in the affirmative, immediately wheeling over to her side of the cargo bay. Leia leaned down closer to it—the instinctive movement of someone who wanted to keep a secret, even if the droid was capable of “hearing” instructions whispered from much farther away. “I have special instructions for you.”
The little droid’s semispherical head seemed to look up at her as it tilted back on its arms. She found herself smiling; it was always nice when a droid had personality—though what she needed most now was discretion.
“I need you to keep these instructions secret,” she ordered. “That means you reveal them to no one, not even Captain Antilles. I promise they don’t break any regulations.”
The droid hesitated for a moment, a startlingly lifelike act, but then beeped in affirmation.
Leia lowered her voice even more. “I need you to take holos and scans of the surface of Chasmeene, most particularly the areas targeted by the retaliatory strikes from a few years ago. They’re mapped out here.” With that, she slid a datacard into the reader slot just beneath the droid’s semispherical head. “Get as much information as you can, all right? I want everything.”
The droid whistled cheerfully and then rolled off, directly toward the central area for ship’s sensors. Clever little thing, she thought.
And that gave her another idea.
“One more thing?” The droid stopped rolling and turned its head around to face her as she hurried after it. “If you have the chance—maybe you could tap into the local databanks to back some of this up? I know that gets closer to violating regulations, but if you put it through as ‘cross-referencing ship sensors’ as a kind of maintenance check, I bet you won’t be blocked.”
Apparently the droid agreed, because with a few clicks and whistles, it went back to its task.
The only hint of trouble came at the very end of their stay, when Captain Antilles began easing the Tantive IV out of orbit, only to have a holographic image of a commander in the Imperial Navy shimmer into unwelcome life on the bridge.
“I’m afraid a review of our long-term databanks reveals we’ve picked up some highly irregular scans,” the commander said, her thin face pointed in nose, chin, and glare. “Someone on your ship may well be responsible. We’ll want to run a search.”
Keeping Captain Antilles out of the loop had been a good idea, Leia realized, because even a professional actor couldn’t have been as believably indignant. “This is a diplomatic vessel with clearance! We were here on a mission of mercy, as your own records should show. This is harassment of a member of the Imperial Senate, Commander, and it will be reported.”
An apprentice legislator as a “member of the Imperial Senate”—that was stretching the truth a little bit. Leia’s best move now was to stretch it more, until it br
oke. She came up to the hologram, wide-eyed, making sure to appear slightly nervous. That always made her look younger. “Is something wrong, Captain Antilles? I didn’t mean to—” Turning to the Imperial commander, Leia clasped her hands together as if beseeching her. “I’m only a member of the Apprentice Legislature. I promise, I didn’t mean any harm.”
Captain Antilles gave her a sideways glance suggesting he didn’t relish being publicly undercut in this way. Then again, he didn’t know Leia was guilty. So he couldn’t fully appreciate the relief that flooded through her as the Imperial commander’s expression shifted from doubt, to contempt, all the way to amusement.
Nobody looked at a young girl and saw a threat. That was an advantage her parents didn’t understand yet, one Leia intended to use to the fullest.
“I stand corrected,” the commander said, a thin-lipped smirk on her face. With a hand gesture, she signaled to someone outside of the holographic imager, and various flashing red signals on the Tantive IV bridge controls turned green again. “Far be it from me to importune such a critical member of the government.”
As the ship swooped out of orbit, one of the bridge officers muttered, “They get more paranoid all the time.” Captain Antilles didn’t respond out loud, but the expression on his face revealed a moment of satisfaction; Leia could imagine him thinking, Good. They should be afraid.
She made her way over to a small dataport alcove where the blue-and-silver astromech had tucked itself. Bending low in front of the droid, she murmured, “We cut it a little close there.”
In response, the droid brought up one of the screens, which began to flash with data. A lot of data. Leia’s breath caught as she realized that the droid hadn’t only gathered information about the current state of Chasmeene, but had also collected information going back years—decades?—which proved beyond any doubt the Empire’s direct responsibility for the devastation. Few humans would’ve shown such initiative, and even fewer droids.
“This is perfect,” she said. The astromech whistled in a self-satisfied way, as though saying, I know.
Exhilarated, Leia input the commands to prepare multiple datacards. She’d rarely felt as powerful as she did in this moment, when she held the proof of Palpatine’s wrongdoing in her hands.
Her euphoria lasted for two days, until she returned to Coruscant and brought her evidence to the person she thought most likely to take action.
“Your Highness,” Mon Mothma said, perhaps using the title to soften her words, “I’m afraid we can’t do much with this.”
“What do you mean?” Leia protested. “It’s proof of what the Empire’s done to a world that only failed to meet a quota! People are going to be furious when they see this.”
Mon Mothma folded her arms atop her desk. Behind her, small ships darted through the Coruscant sky. “Here in the Senate, where we see so much of the ‘official’ versions of events, we sometimes forget that the average person on the average planet is subjected to less propaganda than we are. They listen to conversations and rumors far more than the official infocasts. We have to engage with the artificial narratives of politics because that’s how things get done in the Senate. But those narratives don’t have much currency outside of Coruscant and a few other Core Worlds—yours and mine included.”
Either Leia wasn’t understanding this, or Mon Mothma wasn’t. “But—this is proof—”
“No one needs any more proof. The people of the galaxy know Palpatine is corrupt and cruel. They’ve known that for a generation.” Mon Mothma leaned back, as if the weight of that knowledge had wearied her. “It isn’t ignorance that keeps worlds in the Empire. It’s tyranny, and fear.”
Leia slumped in her chair. She’d been so sure she’d accomplished something meaningful—that it had been worth the minor risk to the crew of the Tantive IV—that this would help her parents see what she could do. Instead it was the exact opposite: proof she didn’t understand what she was dealing with, that she was in over her head before she was actually in at all.
“Don’t be discouraged, Leia.” Mon Mothma managed a faint smile. “If you think about this, you’ll realize it’s one of the most powerful weapons we have. Palpatine can dictate history here, in his academies, and in the Imperial Starfleet—but that tricks him into believing he dictates it everywhere. He doesn’t. Trillions of people understand what he truly is, and with every day that passes, more of them become willing to do whatever it takes to see the Empire fall. Right now they only lack a flag to rally around. Soon, I hope, we’ll be able to give them that.”
Even through her gloom, Leia was struck by how utterly calm Mon Mothma was. Her parents were courageous, but their dread of what was to come was both palpable and understandable. Only this woman looked completely ready to accept whatever came. She wasn’t afraid, and it was difficult to feel afraid when with her.
Maybe it’s not a flag we’ll rally around, Leia thought as she watched Mon Mothma rise from her desk. Maybe it’s a person.
The senator paced the length of her office, seemingly searching for the right words. The atmosphere suggested serenity and peace, with its pale colors, cushioned seating, and view overlooking the clouds. Even the cup of Chandrilan tea steaming on the desk promised calm. But the office, like its occupant, had concealed complexities.
Finally Mon Mothma said, “The day will come when evidence like this matters. When Palpatine has finally fallen, we’ll need to rewrite their false history to reflect the truth. Documentation like this, gathered by honest people—that’s going to give us a place to begin.”
Leia hadn’t been angling to become a historian. Someday, when she could tell Kier about this, he’d appreciate the irony of her being the one to make the textbooks. “I’m glad it’s useful.” The words came out evenly. At least she could be proud of her self-control.
Mon Mothma seemed to be proud too, because she came to Leia’s side and put one hand on her shoulder. “More than anything else, I’m honored that you trusted me with this. The Empire’s worked so hard to destroy our faith in one another, throughout the galaxy. Only by daring to reach out will we ever make the allies we need.”
“Maybe someday I’ll be one of those allies,” Leia said.
“You already are.”
The kind words helped, as did Mon Mothma’s smile. But Leia walked out of the office that day with a new sense of her own powerlessness.
How could they fight an entire government? A way of thinking, a skewed lens for viewing the world?
Maybe Mon Mothma and her parents would find a way. If they did, Leia doubted she’d get to play any part in it.
If only the next day’s session of the Apprentice Legislature had been about something else. Anything else.
“The issue before you today is to advise on sanctions against the planet Lolet,” intoned the RA-7 droid. “Their planetary government stands in violation of Regulation Sixteen-ME, regarding supplying fuel as necessary to Imperial pilots.”
Leia sat in Alderaan’s senatorial pod, sad almost to the point of numbness, as holos played out the Empire’s version of events. In the official telling, Lolet had selfishly failed to assist a stranded TIE convoy. However, it was easy to glimpse the half-hidden truth.
That TIE convoy would only have been left in the Lolet system for one reason: to intimidate the local populace. The planet had resisted refueling the ships sent to terrorize them; now every person who lived there would have to suffer.
And the Emperor had done the Apprentice Legislature the honor of deciding just what form that suffering would take.
She glanced over at Kier to find that he was already watching her. If she’d been any less miserable, that might have flustered her, or delighted her. Instead, she could only shrug helplessly. He frowned in concern, but before he could say anything to her, the debates had begun in earnest.
“I don’t see any need to elaborate on the usual penalties,” Harp Allor said, her black hair shining in the brilliant light at the center of the chamber. �
��It’s not as if this was an especially egregious offense—”
“Any offense against the Imperial fleet is egregious!” protested one of the representatives from Arkanis. “And such offenses are growing more common. We need to take a hard line, now, before planets begin to believe they can get away with such blatant disrespect.”
Chassellon Stevis’s drawl was so casual as to be cutting. “Oh, spare us the patriotic drivel. The standard procedure will be acceptable. If it weren’t, do you think we’d have been sent this issue to deal with in the first place? The Senate doesn’t delegate work to the Apprentice Legislature in the hopes we’ll do something novel and creative. They delegate work to us when they already know what the outcome will be.”
Leia’s heart sank further. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t figured this out for herself after the fiasco with Arreyel. But admitting that the Apprentice Legislature had little power and less autonomy meant acknowledging that here, too, she was entirely helpless.
The standard punishment for violations of Regulation 16-ME was an increase in tribute paid to the Empire, with the specific amount at the discretion of the provincial governor in question. If the planet was valuable enough, that amount could triple—creating a staggering debt no world could possibly pay. The only way out of debt like that was to surrender what little autonomy the planet still had and become fully, firmly under Imperial rule.
Lolet would be far from the first planet to suffer such a fate. It would follow the dark pattern set by Umbara, Raxus, Gossam….
It’s a puppet show for children, she thought bitterly. We’re both the audience and the props.
The Gatalentan pod swooped down, bringing Amilyn Holdo into the limelight. Holdo’s hair had been dyed the same green as her cloak, though at least only the cloak had little bells sewn all over it. “If I may have this assembly’s attention—surprises are yet in store!” Then she caught herself. “I mean, I have some more information that might shed light on this subject.”