HEIR TO A NOBLE WOMAN
(Leia's POV)
Recently, Han and I received a document from the Smugglers' Alliance to be submitted to the High Council of the Provisional Government. I was surprised when I received it; it demonstrated knowledge of Galactic law and details of operations and procedures. Apparently Sapphire, one of the smugglers Han's known forever, was an attorney before she got sick of upholding Imperial law. She was convinced by my husband to join with the Rebellion, and served us well.
There was surprisingly little dissension with regards to the document. Even with the group choosing to keep the name Smugglers' Alliance received only three negative votes. This will please Han and the crew.
Unfortunately, I have to settle for comm'g him later. He's offworld, doing pilot drills with the trainees. It's only a three day mission, so it's not as if he's been frozen in carbonite and I have to chase all over the galaxy to find him.
I have one more report to write on crop tariffs. The excitement is killing me. But to my relief, I've caught up on everything else. I'll deal with the report at home.
I stuff the offending datapad into my bag and head on out, hoping no one will stop me before I exit the building. I've gotten hung up for hours that way. I get lucky. Maybe for a change they've remembered the families that some of them have and decided to pay some attention to them.
Family. The word pricks at me.
Luke, of course, is my brother, and having him as family is delightful (most of the time).
Han, of course, is the man of my dreams, dreams I didn't even know I had. I developed a crush on him not long after meeting him. He and Luke were attempting to rescue me from the detention block on the Imperial Death Star. They hadn't actually thought it through, but we all miraculously survived.
I was terrified of my feelings for Han for a long time. I'd try to deny them, and I might have done so forever, but there was a day in the circuitry bay where he indicated that he was not going to let me get away with not expressing my feelings for him.
That kiss is one of my favorite memories. Obviously, we had many more after that, but that kiss is seared into my memory. And on the flight to Bespin, well, I'll just say that we took it to next level, thank you very much, and he's mine. I don't share.
It's quiet when I enter the apartment, almost too quiet, probably because I know Han won't be home tonight.
There's leftover waterfowl that Han prepared last night, along with a bowl of mixed fruits and some stuffing for the waterfowl. Han's not a fancy cook, but who needs gourmet when the man makes the best comfort food ever. He also got a chocolate lava cake from the bakery, which was very sweet of him. Chocolate is my antidote to stress.
I put the waterfowl and stuffing into the warmer and collapse on the sofa. I've had a lot on my mind lately, and it isn't all about work.
I told Han when we first got engaged that I did not want children. He said he would accept that. But I know he wants a family. He doesn't bring it up, but I know it's there.
My reasons for not wanting children have nothing to do with how I feel about them. I like children. I like them better than some adults I know.
They have to do with my biological father and to a lesser extent, with my brother. Luke thinks I need to forgive our father and move on. I told him that our father hasn't earned it and I won't hand it to him. Luke has also told me that if I were to have Force sensitive children, that they would be in great danger of being kidnaped by rival factions and enemies. He says he can't predict the future with certainty but he feels that any kids Han and I might have will be Jedi.
This is causing me a lot of internal conflict, and this is because I met and married a man to whom I'd love to have children with. Han would be a wonderful father and I know he wants to be one. I want nothing more than to make him happy. But what happens if they are born evil like my progenitor?
This has actually created some strain in my relationship with Luke. He says that our father did always have good in him. I beg to disagree. Our father was willing to have me killed more than once. He tried to kill Luke, a fact that he's conveniently forgotten.
I've had enough of my work clothes and put on something soft and comfortable.
As I'm changing, I see the stack of antique datapads on the bureau. I've had them for a few weeks now. Sapphire said they belonged to my paternal grandmother. I'm tempted to pick them up from time to time, but something makes me put them back, as if I were about to be burnt by them.
My comm goes off as soon as I finish putting my tank top on. It's Han.
"Hey Flyboy," I say. "How're the trainees doing?"
"I've had several near death experiences today, but that's nothing new. How's it going, sweetheart?"
"The High Council approved not only your document, but agreed that you can keep smugglers in your name."
"Sweet. Sounds like a good day's work."
"I'm almost caught up. I only have one report to do on crop tariffs. I know, it's a thrill a minute."
He laughs, which is one of the many things I love about him.
"How're you spending your evening, Princess?"
"Finishing the report, maybe grab a fiction to read, watch some bad holovision. And you?"
"Going the hell to bed early. These kids have way too much energy. I told 'em if they were hung over tomorrow, I'd kick their asses out, but there are plenty of ways for them to get in trouble."
"Let me guess: you never did that."
Han affects his, 'who, me?' innocent face. "Never!"
"Right. And I'm ten feet tall and have foot long fangs."
"Which is why I try to stay on your good side, sweetheart. I've been on the receiving end of when you're pissed off."
"Only when you've deserved it," I banter with him.
"I miss you, sweetheart."
"You just miss having sex with me."
"And that's a problem because...?"
"Don't get too worn out on your trip. I have plans for when you get home."
"Are you wearing a bra?"
"Right now? No."
"Damn, and I'm not even there to keep your nipples warm."
"They'll still be attached to me when you get home, Flyboy. Now get some sleep and show the kids how it's really done. I love you."
"I know," Han says to me, and we're laughing as we end the comm.
I love that man.
01123581321345589144233377610987
I finish my dinner and warm some of the chocolate lava cake Han left me and sit down with my report. It's not long before my eyes glaze over and I realize I've been looking at the same columns of figures for over half an hour. It's just going to have to wait until tomorrow. I'm sick of work and I've done enough of it for a day.
I try to read something from my library but can't get into it. I try the holovision and discover that we have 2500 channels and nothing is on.
My eyes travel to the bureau again. My grandmother's diaries.
I decide I'll try to read just one.
Besides, there's nothing saying that I have to keep reading.
01123581321345589144233377610987
The next time I check the chrono, I'm shocked to find that it reads 0200. I'd been reading nonstop for over six hours, mesmerized by the account of my grandmother's life.
Her life was a difficult one; she was sold into slavery as a small child. She intricately weaves the tapestry of the masters she'd had; some cruel, some kind, but there were never any easy moments of her life. There were a few photos of her as a young girl, and she looks an awful lot like me.
What strikes me most is not just her life, but her lack of bitterness. I'm pretty certain that I wouldn't be able to avoid becoming that way had I the life she had.
She describes her pregnancy, although she makes no mention of a father and indicates that she has no idea how she conceived. I confess to a certain skepticism on account of that; even though I was a virgin when I met Han, I knew what the mechanisms for human conception consisted of. She was very excited about having a child; she felt, as all mothers probably do, that her baby was going to be a very special one.
Ironically, the baby, a boy, was born while she was working for Gardulla the Elder. His cruelty stands out in sharp contrast to her joy over giving birth to a son. She speaks lovingly of her little boy; he was an affectionate, caring child. I have to check back now and then to make sure she's still talking about Anakin Skywalker. So far, there are no indications that she had any other children.
She goes on to say that while she was certain all mothers felt that their children were special, there was something very different about Anakin. Apparently he was quite the handful; he was frequently in trouble and his adventures were the cause of great worry to her.
I seem to remember my adoptive father saying the same thing about me. I have to smile.
After Gardulla, she and her son went to work for Watto, a junk dealer who wasn't much better than their previous owners. I cringe when I read terms regarding ownership in her descriptions; owning sentients is so terribly wrong at every level. That I learned from my father. I know how my husband feels about it; it was the reason he was cashiered out of the Imperial Navy.
She writes that her son's gifts become stronger as he grows up, and she is desperate to hide them from Watto; she feels that young Anakin would be regarded as a prize for someone even worse than Watto, and could be manipulated. Not that he hadn't figured out how to manipulate others; it's obvious from her text that he had.
I confess to having some trouble relating this kind, gentle and mischievous young boy to the arch villain he became as an adult.
The one thing she can't hide easily is that Ani (as she refers to him) has exceptional piloting abilities. It's unfortunately apparent to Watto, who sees a profitable venture in him. Shmi worries about her son's penchant for taking great risks.
Fate behaves in strange ways, though, and Shmi speaks of a visit from a man named Qui-Gon Jinn and his contingent consisting of Padme Amidala, Jar Jar Binks and an astromech droid going by the name R2D2. I smile; R2 has been Luke's faithful servant for many years now. It's as if he's always been family. Han can't stand droids, but it's hard not to have affection for R2. He's pulled us out of more than a few jams, and he remains quirky and loyal, always making us laugh (or sigh with relief). It was during a sandstorm that Anakin, after offering to help them repair their ship, that he'd taken them to where she and her son lived. Shmi describes it as a hovel, but she welcomes their honored guests.
Ani has by now built a protocol droid named C3PO. The meeting of C3PO and R2 is incredibly amusing.
Shmi hopes that they have come to free the slaves on Tatooine, but learns, to her chagrin, that that is not their mission. Still, she knows that ill treatment of her guests would be unthinkable. They were on a diplomatic mission to Coruscant (where we now live) when their ship failed.
It's obvious to Qui-Gon that Anakin has exceptional abilities and is highly Force-sensitive. Shmi recounts the circumstances of Anakin's birth to Qui-Gon, and he tells her that her son could well be The Chosen One.
It's nearly Boonta Eve, which is celebrated in part by the podraces. Anakin has been building his podracer for sometime now. She points out to Qui-Gon, who's offered to sponsor him in the race, that he's never finished a race before. Shmi finally relents, but only after Anakin says that he can help others by winning the race.
If Anakin won the race, he would be a free person. Qui-Gon tells Shmi that he will try to secure her freedom as well, although Shmi felt that that would not happen. It would be enough, she said, to see her son free.
I think of my capture by Vader and his minions during the Rebellion. I'm still having trouble equating this boy with the Vader he becomes.
Anakin wins the race; it's a mixed blessing. He has secured his freedom but not his mother's. Shmi seems to have foretold this but it makes her pain no less deep and terrible. Every night she would hold a vigil for her son, praying for him to be returned to her.
What strikes me is how much her feelings about the Jedi and the Force parallel mine. She remains ambivalent; she knows her son has great gifts and must use them, but he is her son, and she loves him and anguishes over his absence.
That her son was taken from her angers me in a way I've never experienced before. I feel her coming off the pixels in front of me, feeling for the terrible choice she had to make.
But it makes me certain of one thing: were Han and I to have children that were Force sensitive, we would do everything we could to give them lives that were as normal as possible.
I stop for a moment. If Han and I were to have children...
I want to read more, but by 0400 I realize that I need some sleep if I'm to get through the day.
01123581321345589144233377610987
I tuck the datapad I didn't finish last night into my purse; with any luck, I'll get an actual lunch hour.
Sadly, I'm held over in a long meeting, with no shouting but plenty of simmering irritation. Lunch is brought in for us, and it's quite good, but I would have preferred a vending sandwich and an hour of peace in which to read.
The same things are reiterated to the n + ith time. We are getting nowhere, and I reach into my purse and pull out my comm, turning it to text mode. I'm not just irritated, I'm bored as nine hells. I text Han and ask how he is and if he's had any more near death experiences. I explain that I'm in yet another endless meeting where there's little forward movement. He texts me back a short time later: "Tell 'em what you really think, and that you don't give a flying fuck whether they object or not."
I speak up finally. Han's right; trying to please everyone here will not help, so I might as well please no one. I outline my plan, which admittedly I have only come up with in the last half an hour. Mon Mothma gives me a beady eyed look; she wants everything run by her first, but that's too bad. I've got reading to do and I'd like to get home at a semi-reasonable hour tonight. She's welcome to speak up and shoot me down, but strangely enough, she doesn't. The only way that would happen is if she ran out of her own ideas, which I suspect she had somewhere between getting her kaf and starting the meeting this morning.
There's dissension, but less than before, and we make the first tentative steps towards getting the language right, which may sound trivial but most assuredly is not. A change of one word can alter a proposition and twist it into something it was never meant to be. Or, if the proponents and opponents are underhanded, was meant to be. Politics is an insanely confusing concept in theory, and even uglier in practice.
At the end of the day, we're at least pointed in what I and several others believe is the right direction. I even manage for what passes as a compliment from Mon Mothma, who says that perhaps I should speak up more often. I don't think she agreed with my methods, but I managed to get people a little bit closer together. Fortunately, she's not in the mood to do a postmortem, and I flee the building the first chance I get, taking the service exits. I can't wait to get home to read.
Why my grandmother's story has captivated me so, I'm not sure, but I do know that her story is compelling in a way I've not experienced previously. It's hard to explain, but I feel a...connection, as if she lives in me in some odd way.
I feel her anguish at having to give up her son. She's a strong woman and she holds herself together, but I can feel her pain.
She does find some happiness; a moisture farmer names Cliegg Lars falls in love with her, and she's freed from bondage. She still misses Ani, as she continues to call him, but she finds some contentment with Cliegg, and she treasures her life as his wife. One thing that's certain: Shmi Skywalker loves with all her heart and her being.
Her joy is short lived; the Tusken Raiders have taken over Mos Espa. It's her last entry.
Cleigg makes some entries. Shmi was captured by the Tusken Raiders in a skirmish. Cliegg is certain that she is dead. However, Anakin and Padme Amidala return to Tatooine, Anakin convinced that Shmi is not dead. It's Cliegg's first meeting with Anakin, and his impressions are that while Anakin is headstrong, stubborn, and more than a little arrogant, his devotion to his mother is unmistakable. Leaving Padme in Cliegg's care, he journeys to a Tusken encampment, where he found his mother, who'd been tortured by them. She was barely alive when he found her. Anakin told Cliegg and Padme that she had died expressing her love for him.
And there her story ends. Or does it?
Her son came hoping to rescue her. I can sympathize with his anger against those that harmed his mother.
But I've learned something from this. I learned that my biological father was not born evil. He was a little boy, shaped by a difficult life, many of which were beyond his control.
I learned something else. No matter how gifted a child may be in the Force, it's in that child's interest not to be taken from his or her family. The Force is indeed a powerful thing, as I've learned from Luke. There's only so much we can do for our children, only so much we can do to protect them. But we can try.
I've been so engrossed in the story that I jump when I hear my comm go off. It's Han.
"Hey loverboy," I say, smiling at him. He looks exhausted. "Ready to head home?"
"Tomorrow can't come soon enough." He yawns but then smiles at me. "They actually did pretty well today. I only suffered a few coronaries." We both laugh, and we talk about our days, and share the sort of in-jokes only we find funny.
"I have some news for you," I say to him.
"Oh?" His ears perk up and he grins at me, lechery personified.
"My implant? I'm thinking I'll have it removed."
He's silent for a moment.
"Am I to understand that Han Solo has been left speechless?" I tease him.
His smile bursts forth like the late afternoon sun on Coruscant. "I'm just thinking about the implications of that."
"Well, hurry home, Flyboy. We've got a lot of work to do."
"Sounds like the kind of work I like most."
I put my grandmother's datapads in a neat stack and tuck them into my night table. Perhaps we'll have a daughter who will want to read them someday.
My grandmother may have been a slave, but she never defined herself by that description, and she was indeed a very noble woman.
I thank her, and I swear I can feel her smile at me.