Captain Trillo saw more vessels than he did beings, and he seemed genuinely sorry the small group from Buteral would depart without a chance to share a story or a drink.
Albrina thought, as pretty as space was, she didn't think she'd like the job of a docking vessel captain. She was standing with the others in what essentially was a large, airtight tube. They had entered from the shuttle through a hatch, all ducking their heads, and from there through another. The door was very thick. No amenities were in the corridor; only a sign by each hatch warning of an airlock, and soft yellow lights cast a dim light. It looked boring.
"Welcome to my Home," Captain Trillo quipped once they were crowded in the docking vessel's narrow corridor.
Albrina continued to muse on the life of a docking vessel captain. He must have very nice quarters, she figured. A place he might even be able to arrange how he was comfortable. Some soft furniture, for instance. And maybe family could travel with him.
"Sorry to see you Alliance folk go," he was saying. "Had fun with them young pilots. Thought they was hot stuff, they did," he chuckled. "What were they? The Ragus or something."
"Rogues," General Rieekan corrected with a smile. "Rogue squadron. I hope they didn't cause you any trouble."
"Rogues, that's it. Nice boys. But I hear Buteral will still get a lot of traffic and that's a blessing. If they ever build a proper landing pad, then maybe they won't need me."
General Rieekan shook Captain Trillo's hand. "Buteral's got a unique geography," he added. "It's going to need your docking services a while."
Captain Trillo graciously accepted the compliment. "Got some extra luggage for you." He gestured at a pile of vacuum-packed black bags and winked at them. "Little departing present for ya. Been storing them here. Be glad to get rid of them. I'm not a warehouse; I dock vessels."
Albrina smiled politely at him and turned her attention to General Rieekan, who had cleared his throat.
"Each of you take one," he explained. "For the purpose of this trip, these are personal belongings. Issued now, instead of when you get there. It's a new uniform."
"Oh, and one more thing," Captain Trillo broke in. "Excuse me, General. I need," he consulted the comm in his hand, "ah... Renzatl."
General Rieekan pointed at her. "Major."
Eyes wide, Albrina said, "I'm Renzatl."
"Right. Go in the nave, through there, then head fore. I don't know, Major, they asked for you," he answered. "Make it quick, whatever they want. I stick to clearance, and you are scheduled in twelve."
Albrina mutely headed in the direction of his gesturing hand, stopping to look back over her shoulder at the group, wondering who wanted her and what a nave was.
"What, Minister Mothma change us from tan to purple?" one of the aides was saying as she left. He turned his bundle around in his arms, trying to get a better view of the contents through the dark packaging.
Rieekan, who knew what was in each bundle, was amused. He waited as the group moved forward one by one to collect their bundle. "I'm not aware of any fashion statement. But they tell me if we don't put these on before the ramp puts down, we'll get hypothermia."
The aide thought Rieekan's comment was a joke, and as he waited for the general to smile or deliver a punchline, his face changed from laughter to realization to a confused dismay.
It was then Rieekan put a consoling hand on his aide's shoulder. "Joke's on you, I'm afraid."
"Kriff, sir," the aide breathed as he lifted a flap and put a hand inside his bundle to feel around. "Where the hells are we going?"
Captain Trillo was behind Albrina to rush her along.
The nave, it turned out, was the captain's station on the bridge. A tiny room with a panel that slid shut, it contained a single chair, set high on a swiveling post, and a vast array of equipment spread before it. Above that a curved transparisteel window afforded an expansive view of space. A play on words, she saw; a nave featured in religious architecture but here it exemplified a spacer's love of the airless sea he traveled.
She sat and didn't want to touch anything. But Captain Trillo stood outside, his broad back facing the door, epaulets on his shoulders making him appear wider, and she figured it must be obvious. Everything was green except for one slow blinking yellow light on the panel helpfully labeled communications. Albrina took one last hesitant look at Captain Trillo's back, and then with her lips pressed together, pushed the switch up and the light turned green.
There was an immediate reaction. "Major Renzatl?"
Albrina thought she recognized the efficient yet dull tones of a droid. "Yes."
"One moment, please."
"Who-" But she was cut off. The green light now blinked rapidly. Albrina sank into the chair and told herself to wait. Sometimes extreme efficiency made for inefficiency. "I only have about ten minutes," she muttered softly at the light.
She had shifted from staring at the panel to take in the stars, not a long time, when the light stopped flashing.
"Albrina," a woman's voice said. "Forgive me for pulling you out. I wanted to explain the last minute shuffling, and apologize for any confusion."
It was on the tip of her tongue to demand the speaker identify herself, but that would only be playing games. The slow speech and the deliberate enunciation was often imitated in the ranks and famously belonged to Mon Mothma. Instead, Albrina asked, "Shuffling? I'm not aware, Minister."
"Oh. I suppose Carlist managed to keep that behind the scenes. Good for him. We had you going somewhere else, first, Albrina. To Shino-ak. But when I took a closer look, I decided I needed you elsewhere."
"There's no need to explain, Minister."
"Perhaps. You'll be setting up a TRAD office. I'm afraid you're the only one." This was possibly dismaying news. "It's remote." The Minister's tone turned very droll. "It is our hope it's terribly boring for the soldiers."
"Well, then, I might be bored too," Albrina cautiously joked. "Is there anything else you wanted to say, Minister? I'm told the transport is due for liftoff."
After a slight hesitation, Mon Mothma said, "There is. The shuffling was due to- Carlist demanded to serve with Princess Leia. And I thought- I'm terribly worried about her. I want you to continue your casework with her."
"Have you spoken with her?"
"No."
"Is there a reason for your worry? I am glad to report I don't really share it-"
"I don't recognize her. Her actions. It's unlike her... to make up her own missions, to act like this is Alliance strategy when it's not... to..." A sigh of frustration was heard from the other end. "I don't know, Albrina. I worked side by side with her in the Senate. And... she wasn't like this."
"Have you considered she doesn't recognize you, Minister?"
Mon Mothma's voice showed clear surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Side by side signals an equality. You're the Minister now. It was her planet that was destroyed. With her father killed she should be Queen. In a way, it is her war."
"Bail," Mon Mothma sighed. "He envisioned there would be civil war, you know. I don't think he saw his daughter holding the sword leading the army." Her voice sharpened as she registered the rest of Albrina's statment. "And it is the Alliance that is at war. Sadly, on behalf of Alderaan. And for all of the galaxy."
Captain Trillo knocked on the door.
"I suggest communication," Albrina said after tossing him a nod. "Confrontation. Talk to the Princess yourself."
"When Carlist insisted he would still serve her while he served the Alliance... anyway, when any Alderaani are cleared for duty they'll be sent to where she is." The Minister refrained from naming the base in case Imperial hackers were eavesdropping.
"I would recommend that, yes," Albrina said. "Minister, I'm afraid I need to-"
"Even side by side, Albrina, she was still Bail's little girl. I thought she knew that."
"The Death Star changed all that." It sounded curt. Normally Albrina used extra words to soften, but time was pressing and the Minister was a direct woman.
"Yes." There was a pause. "Carlist indicated- He brought up that perhaps the Princess's conclusion about the need for her new assignment disagreed with my own. I can't have her sowing seeds of war on her own. I'm worried she's rogue, or- or- That she'll put herself in danger. Do you understand? My hope is that if she continues to work with you, those wild thoughts will be tempered."
Considering that while working with Albrina the Princess stowed away, went to Imperial City over her objections, and gave a press conference without consulting anyone, Albrina thought to herself, not likely. But she said, "Of course, Minister. I'll do my best. Thank you for your concerns. I'll keep it in mind, and formulate how best to proceed while in transport. Which," she segued into a farewell, "I really must board now."
"Of course. Clear skies." The light turned red.
The Minister had in interesting leadership style, Albrina thought as she exited the nave and let Captain Trillo lead her back to the tube. She used first names, she was abrupt, she was deeply involved to the point of micromanaging, and she cared so much she moved sideways rather than straight on.
And she was impressed with Carlist Rieekan's behind-the-scenes maneuvering. He'd made it sound his new command came after the decision to pull out. But it must have come after the Princess's transfer, the easy, early decision.
The transport was the first real clue that their trip was going to be a long one. Seating was lounge-style and there was a meal dispenser. Albrina headed aft first, and dropped her things off on a bunk. Twenty cots stacked two high lined a wall. Peering along the dark room, she saw that a few had chosen bunks deeper into the ship, away from the entry. She didn't wish to make anyone's acquaintance by learning they snored, so she headed in the opposite direction. She didn't mind light or activity and hoped she was establishing a boundary of personal space.
There was nothing to be done about the 'fresher, though, except share. There were three sonic shower stalls, three sanis, and a counter holding three hand sonics.
She dropped the bundle she had collected from Captain Trillo on Home at the foot of the cot.
The routine of Buteral gave way to travel. The air was stale rather than windblown. But it was easy to adapt to. Sleep, eat, and find a way to entertain oneself. Albrina saw quite a few immersed in their databoards, using the time guilt-free to watch a holo or catch up on light reading. General Rieekan used a table some rows behind her, seated with his three aides close by. They met each day to recap discussions Albrina had no idea of, but as the day lengthened, a quiet would grow in the transport.
Albrina had some work to do. Administering the surveys, compiling the data, and then interpreting it with Major Klander had taken up considerable time, and then came news of her transfer and the packing that went with it. She'd spent the first hours of the journey as part of the background, listening to snatches of conversation and watching people move about. She exchanged nods and smiles, meaningless pleasantries, but she held herself back, as she always had. After the battle.
The shuttle was a basic model. Only one viewport in the passenger area. The more installed, the more chance a vessel could depressurize- and therefore the better built it needed to be- or even attract the attention of pirates because extra viewports signaled luxury.
The gods forbid, she thought of pirates, and shuddered. Piracy was on the rise. It seemed the galaxy was dangerous in so many ways now.
Who would even think it? Need some quick credits. Let's stop a ship. Terrorize and steal.
Her mind wandered. Good for business, someone had muttered recently, not exactly friendly. Albrina leaned forward and scanned her fellow travelers, wondering who had said it. It felt recent. Not Jaf; he remained on Buteral. Rieekan would never use such a tone. A client, maybe. Albrina had many, and very serious, conversations throughout a working day. Sometimes they returned to her, like a light breeze, disconnected and random. The Princess? During one of their discussions of politics and economics and law? An example of the Empire's negligence; it caused the dark underbelly of society to rise. The Princess was angry at the Empire's total lack of decency. Piracy, slavery-
Underbelly. Pirates, and-
Not the Princess. The smuggler, Han Solo. That's who said it.
As a smuggler, he was worlds away- even for the Princess. As a Corellian, he was so familiar. That accent, that put Albrina right there, right on her street that no longer existed, though it had been years since her last visit. After her husband had died...
And as a man... she had thought of her nephew while talking to Solo. Her little nephew, still in that sweet and innocent phase, a cute little boy... he'd be all grown up now. So unfair, and so hard to imagine him like Solo. Physically primed... would he have a hairy chest too? but not that hardness, she hoped. Innocence always went away. But it should never be stolen. Not by a bomb, not by Life.
It reminded Albrina of something, and she brought her databoard out of idle, looking for her files. She hadn't transcribed the Princess's letter -
She read it again, this time focusing on where the Princess mentioned Solo. She had written it looking out upon a smuggler's moon. I didn't know his path existed.
Albrina found hints that Princess Leia was unaware of the existence of something else, something in her, what the Minister also hadn't considered. If I would be happy. If I would be loved. On Alderaan, she was a senator, a Princess, and she would be Queen, and it didn't matter if the man she produced heirs with loved her or not. In her Since, the Princess already loved two men and a Wookiee. Together, separately, and differently.
Finally motivated, the doctor set about to tie up some loose ends.
Notes of Dr. Renzatl
Patient 20233
Time and circumstances have prevented me from conducting a traditional treatment plan with Princess Leia. And yet, it has progressed.
I recall her reticence and reluctance to discuss her trauma in her first days Since, but as time passed, she became more willing to understand how it almost participates in her actions. I would also go so far as to say that she now is more accepting of it, and letting it lead her. I am curious to learn if she agrees with that statement.
Time isn't the only the factor in grief. It must be active time. And the Princess has been active.
I have added two files at the end of this note for reference where I do not have a transcript; they are rather atraditional ones, and extremely creative. The first is a press conference- remember she is a princess and wields a great deal of political influence and capability to generate news- and the second is a letter she sent me.
I have come to think of the press conference as a session delivered publicly, and therefore anyone is as able to analyze it.
It is a remarkable document. It shows how she has overcome her reticence. She delivered the truth of her captivity on the Death Star, without any stigma of guilt or shame. It is a powerful moment of recovery.
In that moment, she was a woman and a daughter and a princess. She showed her vulnerability and her sadness. She shared her grief as a truth, in its stage of anger, and invited others to feel it with her. Where most avert their eyes at grief too strong or gone on too long, she demanded the galaxy see her.
The letter is very different. It is significant that she wrote this while journeying aboard the Millennium Falcon. There, her thoughts were hours-long, complex, full of memory and questions. If her press conference was an audible and public session, then this letter is private and heartfelt.
She wrote of recovery. She can see it happening, but is still unsure of her outcome. Her descriptions are wonderful: I'm in the middle of something. I stand on rubble.
The letter lacks the cold anger of the press conference, and the fragility of the bereaved. The Princess has come to know trauma as a bitter thing; it is like a betrayal. And to see others living blissfully unaware of their own doom brings back the lessons of fear and despair.
Hers is a letter of identity, of finding a place in this galaxy she is unsure if she'll ever be at home in again. She is human, and we are a species of connection and community.
She wants a home. Her first act, while still in shock, was to join the Alliance. Princess Leia is often puzzled by her own resentment of an organization which has pledged to do what she so badly needs to see happen, namely rid the galaxy of the Death Star and find justice for Alderaan. There have been sly barbs and small resentments throughout our sessions. Perhaps the fault lies first with the Alliance, whose initial treatment of her upon landing at Yavin was inexcusably negligent. Or is it hers: it is hard to take a rank when you've been trained for a throne. The result is a cautious and mistrustful handling of each other.
Her second act, not long after and while still deeply troubled, was to evacuate against orders on the Millennium Falcon. She has made several journeys on this freighter. She does not see it yet, but if she were to read her own letter, perhaps she will: the Falcon, with its weird crew of human and Wookiee, is home.
She feels familiar, the Princess wrote of the freighter. The ship is run down, underestimated, and in poor condition. The Princess might use these same terms to describe herself.
She is a kindred spirit. And there is this: he is always fussing and tinkering and I think almost hurt by them (malfunctions). The freighter, if not loved, is cared for. Tended to.
Can Chewbacca and Captain Solo have come to love the Princess as they do their ship, and why not? They have certainly logged many hours with her aboard their ship, and probably have gotten to know each other quite well. I have met Solo only once, and it will not factor into my evaluation of the Princess, but I note that he is human, a species that crave community and connection, no matter the pose of mercenary loner he strikes.
There are different types of love. Basic human love involves that of family, friendship, and romance, though there can be physical love too. On Alderaan, Princess Leia learned selfless love to prepare in her future role as queen. She readily talks about family love. But she has become increasingly aware, even when meeting other Alderaani, that romance and friendship were not fostered or deemed necessary for a young Princess.
She doesn't grieve the young man she was betrothed to. She grieves the fact that no one thought it important- not even she- if she had romantic love or not.
She is so young. Captain Solo appeals to her, she wrote, because the Death Star gave them equal footing, and he doesn't fault her for it. She did not mention if she found him physically alluring, though that is quite possible. And if so, then new feelings are developing in her that Alderaan never prepared her for, and this scares her.
Princess Leia's trauma has taught her two things: Alderaan failed to give her everything, and Alderaan will never be again. In this way, her recovery is frightening. If she opens herself up to becoming this woman who loves and fights and nestles inside a freighter she considers home, can all that disappear again? If the answer is yes, then her recovery will stall.