You were shorter than your counterpart by a couple of fingers, and she was measuring her steps against yours to help her maintain her dignity.
You stared straight ahead, expressionless as always.
You were not helping her.
You felt your composure slipping even though your expression didn’t change. If Vader weren’t so focused on the prisoner, would he look at you and guess?
Focus, you told yourself fiercely. Focus! You forced your hard soles to strike the shining decking of the corridor in perfect time with those of your counterpart. You pretended you couldn’t hear the pattering footfalls of the girl’s soft white boots exactly matching your own steps.
Governor Tarkin was waiting in the Overbridge with Admiral Motti. Beyond the plating of the broad curved viewport was a black canvas of starlight and the blue glow of the planet Alderaan, floating serenely against its backdrop.
You and your counterpart fell back to take your expected positions in deference to the commanders present, and Vader halted, but the undaunted girl swept forward majestically to take on Tarkin herself. She was formal and snide. She told him he stank.
Vader stepped behind her, looming over her with all the menace of his full height. The top of her head came only to his breastplate. He laid one heavy, gloved hand in warning against her back, reminding her she was still his prisoner—as if it were possible for her to forget, here in the control room of the Death Star, surrounded by enemies and guards with her hands bound.
From where you stood behind the girl and Vader, you couldn’t see her face. But you could see Tarkin’s wry grin as he took her chin in his hand and told her he had signed the order for her execution.
Again, for a moment, your stomach plummeted in cold shock. But you didn’t swallow; you didn’t even blink.
She didn’t flinch, either. She answered Tarkin, still icily formal: “I’m surprised you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself.”
Tarkin didn’t rise to her highbrow baiting. Instead he stepped away from her. Coolly, he invited her to watch the first ceremonial demonstration of the Death Star’s capabilities. “No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now,” he taunted her.
You were now so invested in her defiance that you’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to be listening. Your feigned indifference was trained; it came automatically.
But the girl had no such training. She didn’t realize how Tarkin was playing her. She was unaware he’d taken over her interrogation, and already he was succeeding at stripping information out of her that neither Lord Vader nor the interrogator droid had been able to. Tarkin was forcing her into declaring her loyalty.
She was so angry and defiant and scared that she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Her speech was tight and clipped as she gave herself away, her voice full of pride and hatred: “The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.”
He was sure of her now. She’d as much as admitted her loyalty to the Rebellion.
He turned away from her and stared out at the blue glowing orb of the planet in the near distance. He said, “I have chosen to test this station’s destructive power on your home planet of Alderaan.”
And she broke.
You did not, but she did.
“No!” She leapt forward, entreating him, no longer taking care with how she shaped her words. “Alderaan is peaceful, we have no weapons—”
He turned around abruptly. She was still crying out in protest, “You can’t possibly—”
He cut her short, speaking over her exclamation. “You will provide another target, a military target? Then name the system!”
This was, in its way, more painful to witness than the physical torment the young princess had borne with such fierce determination, as Vader had probed her mind beneath the hungry needles of the interrogator droid.
Tarkin had unmasked her. The steel was gone. She was frightened and desperate. But still she hesitated, still unwilling to answer his question.
And now Tarkin, too, was on the edge of coming unmasked.
There was cold anger in his voice as he confronted her. “I grow tired of asking this—” The girl recoiled from his fury and backed straight into Lord Vader. “—so it’ll be the last time.” She flinched at last. She bent her head away from Tarkin’s, then forced herself to look directly at him again as he demanded, “Where is the rebel base?”
Her small body was trapped between Governor Tarkin and Lord Vader. All you could see was the back of her elegant, shining head. But you could tell she wasn’t looking at Tarkin now. She was staring over his shoulder at the beautiful blue planet floating beyond the wide viewing panel, the planet that was her home.
There was a strange, quiet moment in which time seemed to stand still, a pause in which the young girl thought hard and fast about who she was going to betray.
“Dantooine,” she said in defeat, still staring over Tarkin’s shoulder.
You saw Tarkin’s grim, triumphant smile.
After another moment the girl looked up at him. And then almost immediately, as if she couldn’t bear the victory in his eyes, she lowered her head. You still couldn’t see her face, and now neither could Tarkin. She repeated unsteadily, “They’re on Dantooine.”
She was lying through her teeth.
Governor Tarkin spoke to Lord Vader over the smooth crown of the princess’s lowered head. “There.”
Tarkin stepped away from his menacing position in front of the bound and cowering girl, and for just a split second he came toward you, standing motionless behind Lord Vader. In that fraction of a second you thought that he knew it, too, that he’d seen her lie, and that he was looking to you for confirmation.
But he wasn’t seeing you as anything other than the silent fixture that you always were in his presence, and in another fraction of a second he’d stepped away and added, “You see, Lord Vader. She can be reasonable.”
You stood unbroken, not moving, not blinking.
But your entire inner being was quivering in disbelief.
He didn’t see it.
She was lying through her teeth and her interrogator didn’t see it.
Vader didn’t see it.
No one saw it but you.
The training held you still. The training controlled your body, but your mind raced with turmoil.
Should you say something? Is it a trick to test your own loyalty? Has someone seen through your soaring ambition, guessed at the hierarchy you’d like to penetrate, the command post you thirst for? What will you gain by speaking out against her? Will it show keen perception, your ability to know a prisoner’s thoughts, your own untapped potential as an interrogator—?
No. Through the storm of uncertainty, you knew you were no latent interrogator. You didn’t have Tarkin’s skill or Vader’s power.
You weren’t reading the girl’s mind. It was simpler than that.
You knew she was lying because it was exactly what you would do.
“Continue with the operation.” Tarkin gave the order offhandedly to Admiral Motti. “You may fire when ready.”
“What?” the princess cried out.
There was a scuffle. Tarkin, reverting to his dry and formal self, told her, “You’re far too trusting.” The princess leapt forward as if she could somehow stop him or attack him, bound as she was, but Lord Vader seized her by the shoulder and pulled her back against the hard casing of his hulking breastplate. He held her helpless there and forced her to watch.
No one forced you.
But you and your silent counterpart stood facing the view of the doomed blue world, and just as in the prison cell earlier, you had no choice but to watch.
You’re far too trusting.
She wasn’t trusting, you realized. She might be broken and she might be under threat of execution, but she still hadn’t given anything away.
Even to save her world.
—
The destruction of Alderaan was bl
inding. There was no noise in the control room of the Death Star; all the company watched, hushed, as the terrible brightness flared around them.
You could have betrayed her now.
Whenever they inevitably sent their scouts and probes to Dantooine, you knew for certain they would find nothing there. You could have spared them the effort, the expense, the wasted power. You could have been rewarded for it.
But doubt bloomed in your heart, and you hesitated.
You’re far too trusting.
There was no reason Governor Tarkin would ever reward you.
Why not betray her, though? Why not call out her falseness, just because you were a loyal Imperial guard?
The brightness burned your eyes. You dared not blink.
You stood still and said nothing, momentarily blinded.
You would not betray her. Your spirit was shaken, and your loyalty changed. Your silence made you her ally. You were now as doomed as she was. You would never betray her.
You had joined her rebellion.
Breha Organa watched the slanted sunbeam behind Visaiya’s shoulder. The light in the gallery above the palace’s grand entrance hall grew gold, and then orange, signaling the end of the afternoon. Another day without her husband and daughter was coming to a close, but it had passed as slowly as a lifetime.
Visaiya spoke just as slowly, methodically reminding the queen of her schedule for the remainder of the day. With each word, each “then,” followed by another chore, another meeting, another duty, Breha became wearier and wearier. A tight wrinkle formed between her eyes as she watched that one solitary sunbeam. It had sneaked in through one of the high windows above them, a single splash of gold amid the silvery-blue splendor of the palace. Even when she was a child, the hall had reminded her of the inside of a seashell, smooth and lustrous, always slightly cool even at the height of summer.
“Then, you are expected to found a school for underprivileged nerfs who just want to follow their dreams and become dancers…”
Breha snapped her gaze away from the sunbeam, looking in startled bemusement at the middle-aged woman beside her. As an adviser, Visaiya was so important to her that Breha often joked that losing her would be like cutting off a hand. She had even had matching rings made for them, simple little silver bands they each wore on their right index fingers.
“Perhaps I am a bit distracted,” Breha admitted, passing a soothing hand over her face. “Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day, please; my mind is simply elsewhere.”
Visaiya nodded, consulting her datapad with renewed determination. “Of course. Easily done.” Then she paused, and Breha might have lost interest again and let her mind wander, but something in the woman’s face made her watchful. Visaiya never demonstrated concern, always maintaining a mask of relaxed confidence. But now…Now her dark brows were drawn in, furrowed, her foot tapping under her gown, rippling the silk.
“There is still no word,” Breha told her, reaching out to touch the woman’s wrist. It was an overly familiar gesture, perhaps, but these were unusual times. “Captain Anderam has asked me to stop raising him in the spaceport. He swears I will be the first to know when his shuttle lands.”
Visaiya did not look at all relieved. “I could go and keep watch. I don’t mind.”
Breha smiled gently. “Captain Anderam insisted. He is not to be bothered again today.”
“Oh, but he only requested that you stop asking for him. I was issued no such warning.”
And this was why Visaiya was her right hand. Breha was not above admitting to herself that without help she would not have weathered the recent storm—the dissolution of the Senate had come as such a blow, turning every incoming piece of news into possible calamity. The Empire was far beyond subtle politicking now; they were desperate to crush the Rebellion, and desperate animals were always the most dangerous. Breha pressed her lips together briefly and then nodded once. “Be discreet, and thank you. Now I think I will retire. I never knew I could be this exhausted.”
Visaiya made her curtsey and bustled away, silk skirts trailing in her wake like a silver shadow. Unburdened but still preoccupied, Breha turned and made her way down the gallery. Normally, nothing short of a planetwide catastrophe could make her neglect her queenly duties, but she felt tired, tired down to her bones. And normally she would welcome a hectic day to keep her mind off her husband’s and daughter’s absences, but day after worrying day had ground her down. She had never felt old until recently, never found it difficult to get out of bed refreshed and energetic, but now she felt her advancing years keenly.
“Your Majesty? A minute of your time, if you could—”
Her daughter’s attendant droid, WA-2V, approached from seemingly out of nowhere, the overhead light glinting off her bluish chassis as she darted out from behind a plant in the corridor leading toward the royal apartments. The droid rolled along quickly behind Breha, just a handsbreadth from the train of her gown.
“It’s just…” The droid hurried on, gears whirring as she struggled to keep up. “Well, the gala for the equinox is in just three weeks and the draper really must know if the princess can attend and, if so, if she might prefer silk or satin.”
“Later, TooVee,” Breha said softly. Ambushed. And here she had hoped to arrive at her chambers alone, granted—at last—a moment’s peace. “My appointments are being rescheduled. I’m not to be disturbed.”
“Majesty?” And now the minister of finance, running to catch up with them.
Peace. It was not to be.
Fast on the minister’s heels came another shiny chrome head, her daughter’s old tutor droid CZ-7OB, clickity-clacking after them on metal feet. That droid was the only one of them that actually had an appointment, and it was probably far too late to cancel that one. Breha did not slow her pace, shrugging off the minister’s questions as rapidly as they came. Soon they approached the tall, arched doors leading to the royal apartments, and the two armored sentinels that stood on either side.
Through the slits in one enameled helmet, she found the sentinel’s eyes and gave the slightest shake of her head.
“But Your Majesty! The gown!” 2V sounded ready to pop a servo with frustration.
“Step aside, droid, there’s hardly a credit in the budget to spare on such ridiculous—”
The doors to the royal apartments opened, and with them came a rush of clean, linen-scented air, the sweet sound of her youngest attendant practicing at her lute, and the even more welcoming clank as the halberds of her guards went down behind her, barring entry.
Breha stopped just inside the apartment and turned, opening her hands to them as if in surrender. Minister Lintreyst and 2V stopped short, the tutor droid bumping softly into the girl’s back with a muttered apology.
Finances. Galas. Silks. Budgets. Would Leia return in time for the equinox? It seemed unlikely, and yet in a small, private corner of her heart that had nothing to do with rebellions or politics, Breha hoped it would be so. Would it mean her success or her failure if she returned that soon? What outcome did she dare wish for?
She winced and closed her eyes tightly. It was a mother’s duty to worry, but a queen’s responsibility to endure.
“That is enough for today,” Breha told them in her firmest voice. She hated the feeling that she was being chased, and hated even more the sense that this was somehow a retreat. “Resources for the gala were allocated months ago, Lintreyst, which I’m certain you already know. TooVee, the draper can pull one of my gowns from storage; the princess may not attend the gala at all, and it would be a waste to begin a new garment from scratch.”
The droid hummed with satisfaction, even giving a little turn on her rolling lower half, as if she could not contain her excitement. “Could…Could he at least add a few embellishments here and there? A crystal or two? Perhaps embroidery along the hem?”
Walking backward into her apartments, Breha closed her eyes again and suppressed a grin. “Why, yes, TooVee, that’s an excellent i
dea. I’m certain Leia will be pleased.”
Lintreyst, by contrast, was not an excitable or easily satisfied attendant. He grimaced and turned with a flounce, his cape swirling behind him as he stalked back down the corridor and away from them. Well, that was one problem taken care of and dispatched, at least.
“SeeZee-Seven? You may follow,” Breha said, gesturing the droid forward.
Then she entered her apartments in earnest, breathing deeply as she stepped through first the antechamber, lush with plants and flowers, then the greeting salon, where her attendant Falena remained bent over her practice, and then through a short, curved corridor that led to their private balcony.
Mountain air. There was simply nothing like it for the nerves.
Breha closed her eyes against the setting sun. Pink tufts of clouds stretched across the sky, joined by a cascading sunset of orange and deep, dark blue. The melting snow off the Juran Mountains shimmered, a promise of warmer months to come, great migrating groups of thrantas swooping up from the mountains and toward those pink clouds. She smiled and fought the unease in her heart, enjoying as always the sight of those beautiful beasts, gray wings flapping, beating the air as their mournful cries filled the valley.
Behind her, her daughter’s tutor droid clacked to a stop, and she could hear the soft whir as the droid shifted from foot to foot, waiting.
“Your Majesty,” the droid began in his clear, automated voice. “I regret to inform you that I have discovered a grave discrepancy in your daughter’s diplomatic records. Ordinarily, this would be simple enough to correct, but with the princess already departed, the error could affect her mission.”
Ah yes, her mission. Nobody in the palace, of course, save a few key spies and officials, knew exactly where Leia had gone or why. It was crucial to keep the true reason for her trip a secret. Breha nodded, watching a little iridescent beetle make its way across the balcony banister. It pushed along a tiny tuft of balled-up grass, material for some growing nest.
“What is the discrepancy?”
CZ-7OB shuffled forward, joining her at the banister. If it was possible for a protocol droid to look nervous, this one accomplished it nearly constantly. Its glowing mechanical eyes darted from side to side, then up and down, and its answer came after a long hesitation. She could all but hear the circuits firing rapidly in the thing’s head.