Disclaimer: Lucasfilm owns the Galaxy Far Far Away, and since this company has given the author many happy hours since she first saw Star Wars in the theater at the age of four, she'll forgive them for quite a lot. She's even beginning to get over being so upset about the prequels…

Author's Note: This story will be basically movie-compliant. It may be a slight AU as we go along. My first fandom loves were the old Marvel Star Wars comics from the 1970s and 80s, so expect some cameos from characters and locations. (The Thrawn series may also make appearances)

This is especially for Rosawyn and the members of the Reviews Lounge, Too, who've told me I really need to get out of the Potterverse once in a while and get some fresh air. Who me?

I've been working on this for my own enjoyment and now it's time to set it free. I don't know how frequently I'll be able to update, since I have another major WIP in progress, but I do have several chapters of this story ready to go, so we're good for a while... As always, hope you enjoy, and I welcome all constructive criticism. (especially if you notice any major canon errors as I'm a bit rusty in the fandom) Thanks for reading!

"Observance of customs and laws can very easily be a cloak for a lie so subtle that our fellow human beings are unable to detect it. It may help us to escape all criticism, we may even be able to deceive ourselves in the belief of our obvious righteousness. But deep down, below the surface of the average man's conscience, he hears a voice whispering, "There is something not right," no matter how much his rightness is supported by public opinion or by the moral code.

~ Carl G. Jung, 1931

One year before Episode IV: A New Hope

Proper Authorization

Belesa clenched the datapad stylus hard enough to make her fingers numb. "I am not authorized to release the figures in question. The Senator will need to submit the new forms to my department head."

"Yes, in triplicate, I'm sure, and then it will take seven to ten business days." Brys Omora pushed his chair back with a frustrated shove and crossed to the small window. Imperial City swirled behind him, half-hidden in a thick gray mist. Omora softened his stance. "Why can't you give me the bids on Stormtrooper uniforms from the third quarter? We've always shared that information in the past."

Belesa strove to keep her expression neutral even as her pride threatened an outburst. "Procedures change in troubled times." She tapped a few squares on the glowing glass surface of her datapad. "I just sent you all the documentation you will need and a copy of the new access protocol. Please review them with Senator Organa. I will be happy to assist you when the new requirements have been met. Good day."

Omora turned back to face her as the office doors quietly opened. "I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Rynon. You may share responsibility for the coming bloodshed."

Belesa's sweaty fingers left marks on the desk as she stood up. "Caf. Milk and sweetener. Hot." As the beverage machine bubbled, she stood at the window and looked down into the street. The traffic of Imperial City wove sparkling webs above and below her, aircars and taxis winking back and forth in chaotic streams. She had never minded the noise or the crowds; it was home.

Belesa studied her reflection in the tinted window, indistinct against the brilliant streaks of color and light outside. She knew she was unremarkable: shorter and broader than most women her age, neither fashionable nor pretty. While her father's middling position in the Palace had given her an opportunity others did not enjoy, she worked hard and was proud of it. She helped supply the Emperor's troops and contain the fledgling Rebellion, maintaining peace for billions of citizens. Belesa gulped her hot drink and shuffled the printouts on her desk, reviewing the figures she had concealed.

In the third quarter, accounting reported a two-hundred-percent increase in stormtrooper uniform production. TaggeMobile Systems had just won a new ten-million-credit contract to build portable troop housing. Another column noted a request for three hundred sets of caps and insignia for the Navy cadets at Carida.

The bells on her antique desktop clock chimed the end of the workday. Under the table, Belesa flexed her feet. All she wanted to do was to go home and call out for dinner, then eat it in front of the holoscreen. She buzzed her assistant.

"Lora, do I have any new messages?"

"Your mother, Miss Rynon. She wanted to be sure you remembered her party tonight."

Belesa winced. Wonderful – that would cap off the week. Her mother's parties were notorious in the City; entertaining the intellectual elite and those of high position enhanced her family's prospects, and the Rynon clan was nothing if not ambitious. Tonight she had invited the entire Alderaan delegation including Brys Omora and Senator Organa herself.

As the turbolift plummeted to her parking space below the office tower, Belesa took a tiny comlink from her handbag.

"Your mother's party is tonight?" Dara complained. "That's short notice. I don't have anything to wear, and I have an early morning class tomorrow." Dara was finishing her graduate studies in history at the Imperial University.

"You're working too hard again." Belesa started her bright red speeder: a luxury model, one of the best small machines on the market. After three years in the civil service, Belesa had finally been able to buy it without any help from her parents. She clicked into reverse and zoomed between the ticket droids at the gates, heading uptown. Defogging controls came on automatically as drizzle hit the windscreens.

"Don't drive while you're talking to me! You're going to get another ticket."

"Father gets them erased. He could take care of yours, too."

Dara grumbled something that Belesa didn't hear, distracted by a ponderous yellow taxi drifting into her lane. Belesa's red speeder skipped underneath it and zoomed from the far right to the left-turn lane. Below, pilots hauled on their retro-thrusters and swore.

"Please come, Dara. I don't want to go by myself. You know how Mother's been lately… Father's been in some sort of difficulty lately, and she's desperate to get him back into the inner circle. Besides, she invited that little snip Senator Organa. I don't know how anyone can work for her, but Lora says she's got dozens of interns clamoring to empty her recycling bin while I can't even get one sunburned idiot from the Outer Rim to do my filing." Rain blattered more heavily against the windscreens. Belesa punched irritably at the wiper controls. "I can't believe I spent so much on this speeder and the wipers don't even work."

On the comm, Dara giggled. "I'll come, but what do you have against Senator Organa? You've never actually spoken to her, have you?"

"Only cocktail party chit-chat… she was at General Tagge's ball last month. She's just so impressed with herself, and she's barely old enough to drive. Alderaan is a peaceful planet, we have no weapons, and look at our hair, it's ridiculous..."

"I'll meet you there. Be careful!"

Belesa had only a moment to wonder why Dara wanted her to be careful - was it her flying, or something she'd said? - before she nearly smacked into the side of the Kitera Towers. She laughed and wheeled the speeder around in a three-point turn, reversing neatly into her own space.

A blue-cloaked guard stepped aside as Belesa touched her parents' doorbell. Dara fussed with her sleeves; she had done her best to conceal the wear marks on the borrowed gold velvet gown with rows of pearl bead bracelets.

"Come in, girls." Lady Adreana Rynon hugged her daughter and gave Dara a kiss on the cheek. Her emerald green septsilk gown billowed out at the knee and rustled against their legs. "Supper is ready. I thought we'd have something light before the guests arrive. It's never proper to eat like a starved bantha at a formal party."

Lady Adreana led them into a vestibule just off the main entryway, where a manservant waited by the coat closet. In most households on Imperial Center, such tedious tasks would be handled by a protocol droid, but the higher ranks preferred a personal touch. Wealth and power, Belesa knew, depended as much on appearances as on the underlying truth. Belesa shrugged out of her long overcoat and dropped it in the direction of Mother's valet. Dara carefully folded her wrap and passed it to him. The valet touched his forehead and smiled.

"I don't understand why you have to be so drab. Did you come straight from the office? And why did you cut your lovely hair?" Lady Adreana turned to her daughter's choice of clothes with barely concealed dismay. Belesa liked her outfit, it was new only that week: a long black suit jacket with a high collar over slim trousers and calf-high black boots. Her only touch of color came from her most treasured possession: a ruby brooch in the shape of the Imperial signet. It was a gift from the Emperor on her sixteenth birthday, when her father had been more respected at the Palace. Lady Adreana brushed at a stray hair on Belesa's shoulder. "Well, at least the jacket does make you look taller."

Dara poked Belesa in the back. "It also makes you look like you just fell off the bridge of the Executor."

"Quiet!"

Dara followed a flushed Belesa through the marble entryway and into the family dining alcove. Larien Rynon lounged in a high-backed chair with a large glass of pale green wine in one hand.

"Good evening, ladies. I'm very glad you're here; I'm famished. His Excellency kept us quite late." The Councilor's round face folded easily into a smile.

A servant brought covered dishes, trailing steam and savory aromas. Adreana dismissed him and served mixed grains, mixed vegetables, and a simple baked casserole. "I do enjoy having my whole family at home," she said, smiling at Dara as she passed a square white plate down the table. "It looks like it's been a long time since you two had a home-cooked meal."

"Home-cooked!" said Belesa's father with a touch of mischief. "Who once told me that her greatest ambition was to never touch a prep unit again?"

"I said 'home-cooked,' dear, not 'personally cooked by your mother.'"

Belesa picked through her casserole, removing the mushrooms one by one and making a neat semicircle on her plate. "I had a long day as well, Father. There's been trouble with the new data protocol."

The Councilor speared a long green vegetable with his fork and ate it in neat bites. "I might have expected that. Chandrila, Corellia, or Alderaan?"

"Alderaan."

"We have been too generous with the Senate. The transition may be difficult, but it is necessary to control such information for the common good."

Dara set down her fork and glanced at Belesa for an explanation. "We've put some new procedures into place at the office. Just a few additional forms to fill out: it's nothing too bothersome."

Councilor Rynon patted his lips with a napkin. "The Information Act does have great significance for the public, my dear. By gathering more data, the Empire will be better able to protect its citizens."

"What kind of data?" Dara persisted. Belesa's father set down his half-full wine glass and frowned. Swiftly, a servant filled it from a crystal decanter. "I'm just curious, sir. I've studied similar measures used in the Old Republic."

"Movement between planets… purchases with credit chips… association with dangerous people or organizations."

"I didn't realize the Act went so far, Father," Belesa said, laying her fork and knife down beside her plate. Another servant came to clear it away.

"How is it decided which organizations are dangerous?"

Belesa recognized the glitter in her father's eyes; they were the same when he hunted shaak at the Emperor's game preserve on Naboo. "Dara, it's not important." Her words tripped over one another in haste. "What's important is that it works."

"You've studied the Clone Wars in great detail. The Old Republic learned a bitter lesson. Only under a single strong leader will the galaxy be safe."

"With the Senate to provide a diverse perspective," Belesa added, echoing something her father had often said.

The Councilor gripped fork and knife in both hands. "The Senators are as greedy and contentious as ever. Only the Emperor can preserve the peace."

Belesa was hurt and unsettled. The Councilor laid his cutlery aside and massaged his fingers where ridged marks remained.

Melodic chimes in the outer hallway signaled the first guests' arrival. Lady Adreana pushed her chair back from the table and arranged her silver hair, smiling at the young women. Dara and Belesa were all too glad to get up from the table.

The salon curved along the outer wall of the Palace; floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a misty twilight view of Imperial City. Outside, luxurious aircars glided serenely past, bearing dignitaries to evening gatherings.

Servants moved silently with silver trays, presenting Cambrian wine and blue-veined cheeses. Dara spied one of her history instructors and repaired to a corner to talk. Bored, Belesa sipped her second glass of wine. She nodded pleasantries at her parents' friends and pretended great interest in the buffet table, hanging back some distance from the shifting groups.

"It's nearly operational... construction is ahead of schedule. Tarkin says..."

"This is the time to invest. By this time next year, it will be over. Think of the opportunity you're missing..."

"Oh yes, isn't it lovely? Made from the skin of a strange lizard. Oh, I don't know where they used to live; one of those horrible backwater systems. They're being farmed for their hide."

Belesa shivered and stepped away from the lady in the feathered green jacket. The skin was expertly tanned and almost looked alive, as if it would reach out and bite you if you came close enough.

Dressed in sleeveless, flowing white, Senator Organa held court in the middle of the room. Her dark hair stood upon her brow in intricate braids, giving a much-needed illusion of height. The Senator attracted quite a crowd as always: mostly older men. Belesa could hear her acid voice slicing through conversations.

"It's a disturbing trend, ma'am. The Senate won't stand for regulations being passed behind our backs. This afternoon, my aide tried to obtain the most basic data from Military Procurement and was refused."

Brys Omora had noticed Belesa watching them from behind the buffet table. He nudged the Senator's arm.

"I'm aware of that." Leia Organa's cool brown eyes passed over Belesa as if she were merely a spot on the wallpaper.

Stepping toward her, Belesa felt like she was walking along the edge of a high rooftop, ready to fall at any second. "Senator," she said in a carrying voice.

"Miss Rynon." Leia Organa inclined her head slightly. "It is always a pleasure to visit your lovely home."

"I don't live here, Senator."

"All the same." The Alderaanian flicked her fingers as if to dislodge a bit of sticky pastry. "Gentlemen, Miss Rynon is not only the daughter of our hosts, but an assistant director of Military Procurement. We were discussing the recent tightening of data access protocols. Perhaps she can shed some light for us."

"The new regulations protect information from falling into the wrong hands. Trying to circumvent them only damages your reputation."

The younger woman laughed, lighting her childishly round face. "My reputation? How's yours, Lady Belesa?" Senator Organa inflicted the false title with particular malice. Her father was Lord only by Palpatine's courtesy, and her mother the only Lady in the family. "Keep your head down and do what Father tells you: that's your reputation. Comfortable, isn't it, never having to think for yourself?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Senator."

"Think about it, Belesa, but not too hard. You might break something." The crowd around the Senator broke into nervous laughter.

Belesa turned and fled. Cheap pearl beads clacked behind her, but she didn't stop for Dara's anxious hand on her elbow. She headed down the interior corridor of her parents' apartment and nearly flattened one of her mother's exotic plants. In her mind, she kept replaying her confrontation with Senator Organa, hearing her own words over and over.

At the end of the hallway, Belesa pressed her hand against a doorplate and stepped quickly inside. She pressed her folded arms against the wall and buried her face in her sleeve, gasping to get control of herself.

Mother had left Belesa's childhood room untouched. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the white bedspread. A lighted case on the far wall held student awards, holos of herself and Dara at the University, and her plaque from the New Order of Youth, recognizing four years as Student Treasurer. Mother wanted to knock the wall down and enlarge the library next door, but Father had talked her into leaving it alone.

Leia Organa had absolutely nothing to say about fathers and daughters. Her father was the Viceroy of Alderaan, making Leia a Princess. Belesa felt a faint rush of heartburn: too much wine and the heavy cream sauce at dinner.

Belesa slid off the bed and straightened her jacket, brushing a few crumbs from the hem. Dara must have known where she went, why hadn't she followed? As she passed the entrance hall in search of her friend, the front door slid open. Belesa jumped. An unmistakable dark figure swept past the blue-clad guards. She sank immediately in a deep obeisance.

"Lord Vader."