The next morning dawned bright and early, and for the first time in weeks Luke had slept without dreams.

He pulled himself out of bed with a groan, wondering idly why his head and body were aching so badly—then the previous afternoon hit him like a speeder.

Leia had indeed beat him into a pulp, and only partly because he'd let her. And because his brain was probably still adjusting to these new memories of his, of course.

Except they weren't new, were they?

Luke closed his eyes, wincing.

His father had stolen their memories and lied about it for ten years.

The thought still sent a pang through his chest.

He took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Then he opened his eyes again.

He could dwell on it later—and he had no doubt he would—but if he examined his feelings too closely now, early in the morning when everything was fresh and raw, he'd drive himself insane. He needed to stay positive for the time being—mostly to stop his father from knowing exactly how deeply that had cut him, but also because Leia needed him to.

Grabbing his datapad from the bedside table as he headed to make himself some breakfast was such an instinctive motion that it took him a moment to process what he was seeing when he turned it on. Usually he knew exactly what assignment he was to carry out for the day, and reaching for his datapad was just a way to refresh his memory of the details; now, he realised he couldn't remember what Palpatine had ordered him to do in lieu of working in the Archives again.

He'd had other things to think about last night.

The messages proudly displayed at the top of the screen reminded him.

Palpatine's aides had forwarded everything to him. The transcript of what the Rebel—Visz, his name had been, but the word REBEL was the most prominent thing in the document's title—had confessed, exactly; a list of every Rebel code they knew of to date; the contact details of each Imperial intelligence operative to look to for context or information; a message saying that the very datapad Visz had tried to steal was available at the Palace upon his request; and everything else he could possible need or want for any investigation.

Eclipse.

It was a nice word, for a pretty thing—Luke had seen quite a few in his lifetime, some with multiple satellites and some with multiple suns. It was a perk of travelling, as well as being able to choose where he travelled. But he doubted those thoughts would help, so he pushed them away.

Eclipse.

It had celestial imagery going for it as well. The darkness blotting out the light, if only momentarily; the corona and colours left behind when it did. He idly wondered if it might mean something, but dismissed the notion pretty quickly. The Rebels were too practical to choose a codeword for which the meaning could be derived from the word itself, and chasing after it would be a waste of time.

He emerged into the main room to see Leia curled up in a armchair, toes tucked under her with her knees against the arm, a datapad identical to Luke's cradled in her lap. She glanced up at him when he came through; she looked exhausted.

"Great. You're awake."

He sat down opposite her. "You look awful."

"Thanks for being sensitive about it."

"I meant—" He shook his head. "You know what I meant."

A moment of silence, then she offered, "I didn't sleep well."

"Understandable." He was surprised he had slept well—but then he supposed he'd worn himself out with all the emotion and sparring yesterday, and his body had forced him to rest.

Leia was watching him nervously, and it suddenly hit him what they'd said in the training room. She said, "Look, Luke, about that whole defection thing—"

"You don't have to explain yourself. " He cast his senses out to check his father wasn't in the apartment; he saw Leia confirm it with a nod. "I told you, I've been having my doubts as well. It doesn't make us bad; no government's perfect. And with Father's coup, maybe we can change that." The last words sounded hollow, but he didn't want to think about that.

Leia, however, wasn't going to let that part of his misgivings rest. "Not if Father's a part of the problem."

He winced. "Yeah, well. . . maybe we can reason with him. besides, you know he doesn't want to rule himself. Once you're Empress, he technically can't oppose you."

"Technically."

"Can we not talk about this right now?" He shifted where he sat, antsy. He'd managed to crush all of these misgivings the previous night, lost in the blur of counter, parry and strike. He wanted them to resurface on his terms, when he wanted them to. And if that just happened to be never, then. . .

"He lied to us, Luke."

"He's our father." I don't want him to be our enemy.

She met his eye levelly for a few moments, and they realised something at the precise same moment: Neither was going to back down on this.

There was no point in pushing.

"So, what about this assignment, huh?" Leia turned her attention back to her datapad. "Have you read all the documents attached to it?"

"I literally just woke up."

"That's a no, then." She grinned wickedly at him, and the awkwardness was past. "Such a slacker."

"I'll read them now," he grumbled, and switched on his datapad.

It didn't take too long: despite the abundance of possible resources, the actual information they had to go off was. . . pathetic.

"Eclipse", the datapad involved—which might not even be the datapad they wanted—and the Rebel's name and home planet.

But, they'd also found on Visz's person a datachip he'd already downloaded the contents of several pads onto. Once the slicers got into it, they'd at least know what he was after.

All in all, he was finished relatively quickly.

"Any ideas?" Leia asked as he lowered the datapad.

"Nope," he said, as much as he was loathe to admit it.

But she didn't tease him—for once. She just frowned and nodded grimly. "Alright. I'll head to the Palace and pick up the datapad and chip; we can have a look at what's on there before we start discussing ideas."

"I'll come with you," he said, already rising from his seat.

"No." He must have looked taken aback—even hurt—because she winced, but tried to play it off as, "Wearing those clothes?"

Glancing down at his pyjamas, patterned with cartoons of various wildlife from around the galaxy, he crossed his arms over the big nerf on his front. "I'll be changed in a minute."

"Will you be composed in a minute?" she asked—almost snapped, really, but he understood she was just slightly on edge. "Because after yesterday, I don't think we want Palpatine looking too deeply into what happened or what we know, and we both know what happened to you the last time Father revealed something shocking."

He cringed back at the memory of the Velts, of the lightning, of Leia's face contorted in fury. This is not justice.

His sister's face softened. "I'm sorry," she said softly, "that was uncalled for. But I don't think you'll be able to act like everything's fine."

"And you?"

She gave a bitter smile. "I'm a politician. I was trained by the best."

He took a deep breath. "Alright." To his own surprise, he stepped forward to hug her—and was surprised when she hugged him back, resting her head against the nerf on his chest. "I'll see you in an hour."

"You'd better be changed by then," she commented, smirking at his pyjamas again.

"I will be!"

Despite her words of bravado to Luke, Leia didn't want to spend too much time in the Palace. She didn't trust herself not to give anything away when under close scrutiny.

Nevertheless, she found upon requesting the evidence from Palace staff, that she had to report directly to Palpatine to get it.

It was petty, beneath him, to do so. But she had a suspicion why he did.

She and Luke hadn't exactly been subtle in their emotional turmoil the previous day. There was a good chance Palpatine had sensed it.

She suppressed a grimace. She didn't have the patience—or the mental capacity—to deal with his manipulations right now.

But she had to. So she strode into the throne room and knelt, clipping out her request before he could get a word in edgewise.

Palpatine was silent for a moment, staring down at her kneeling form.

When he spoke, it wasn't to address her request.

"I sensed a great disturbance in the Force last night," he said instead. "Did you. . . also, sense something?" She was silent, and he pushed, a dangerous edge to his voice, "I believe you and your family may be at the heart of it."

"We were, Master," she said. He'd know if she lied, and with their burgeoning coup—which she was sure would go ahead despite this. . . hiccup—on the horizon, she didn't want to arouse more suspicion than necessary. "A minor argument between us, there's some lingering resentment"—not, exactly, a lie—"but I'm sure it'll fade with time."

"I see," Palpatine said. "And, do you remember what I said to you a few weeks ago? About my visions of your father getting. . . hurt?"

Leia swallowed, glad that the angle of her position meant he couldn't see her expression. "I remember, Master."

He knew.

He knew about the coup, somehow. He had to—come to think of it, hadn't Vader said that he'd had spies on the Devastator? There was no way he didn't know.

Especially with this line of enquiry. . .

"I've been meaning to ask if you've had any insight into why that might be?"

She couldn't lie. Not outright, at least. There was the risk he'd be able to tell, and while she may do nothing more than amuse him, she didn't want to lose the privileged position she had as one of his confidants—as his successor.

No matter what she said, it had to leave him with the idea that if events played out in his favour—if he ensured they played out in his favour—she could still be his, mind, body and spirit.

What had her father described the Inquisitors as? Palpatine's creatures.

If he didn't believe she was one as well, he'd stop trying to win them back. He'd stop pretending to be kind, and he'd go straight for the throat.

"My father has always been reckless, Master," she said, making sure to advertise potential split loyalties in that comment alone—her father, or her master? "Especially with himself. I feel he's growing more and more disillusioned with the brutality and manipulations Imperial Court"—and its leader—"and may do rash something about it."

"Rash." He rolled the word around his mouth, familiar with it. It was what he'd used to describe him, weeks ago now. "I understand. But can you just clarify for me," he pushed, "what you mean by brutality?"

Force, she hated him doing that.

She hated him nitpicking her turns of phrase during their lessons, and she hated it now.

But she had learned well.

She lifted her chin and met his eye stoically, face impassive, as she said, "You know the court, Master. They'll betray anyone to stay in power." She tilted her head; her braids shifted with the movement. "Or keep it."

Palpatine laughed. He sounded genuinely delighted.

"My dear," he said, rising from his seat and approaching. She rose to her feet, taking a respectful step back, but he placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder. She forced herself to meet his eye. "It's always a pleasure talking with you. Here." He handed over a sealed, translucent bag; she could see the shape of a datapad and chip inside it. "Take it—I've kept you long enough, and you and your brother should get started soon. I'd hate to keep you from the investigation."

She took the bag almost a little too eagerly, then remembered herself and let her hand fall to her side once she held it. She heard it rustle as she bowed.

"Thank you, Master," she said, then turned to leave.

"And, Leia." Palpatine's voice stalled her in her place. For a moment she stared at the doors longingly, the red guards on either side, then turned back to face him. His face was shadowed by his hood; all she could make out were the sickly glow of his eyes and the yellowing slash of his grin. "If your father does happen to have any. . . bad ideas, you'll be sure to report them to me, won't you? I assure you I'll be most grateful."

For a moment she almost gaped.

Was— was he bribing her?

Did he think he had enough of a hold on her that once the dice fell where they must, she'd side with him over her father?

He had to.

That had been the entire point of her act, wasn't it?

Your arrogance is your weakness, she thought, staring at him, but had the tact not to say it aloud.

Instead, she bowed.

"Of course, Master," she said. "It would be my honour."

"Good." He smiled. Then, because he no doubt wanted to test his new spy— "You and Luke. . . you mean so much to him, you know? He'd never, ever lie to you." Her heart flopped uncomfortably in her chest at that choice of words—how much did he know about last night—but then he said, "You're his twin suns. I don't know what he'd do without you."

For a moment, she stood frozen.

Palpatine inclined his head. "Dismissed."

She whirled around on autopilot and marched out of the room, but her mind was running faster than the speed of light.

Luke felt his concern mount and mount the longer Leia kept talking.

"Twin suns?" he asked when she was finished. "Does he know about— about Tatooine?"

"I have no idea. I really hope not."

"Big surprise there," he snorted. He shifted on the sofa, accidentally knocking knees with his sister. "But do you have the datapad?"

Instead of answering, Leia just held it out to him.

He took it, and turned it on. The information scrolling across the top informed him that the contents of this pad included highly detailed blueprints of the layouts of several major Imperial facilities: their entrances and exits, their staff details, their role to be served in society—

"Kriff," Luke said.

"What is it?"

Wordlessly, he handed her the datapad.

Her eyes blew wide, and he knew why. If that sort of information got into Rebel hands. . . "Shouldn't this have an access code? Why did security not—"

"Visz disabled it, according to the slicers' debrief," Luke recalled from one of the reports he'd been sent. "That was how he got in. He had a code on the datachip as well. Apparently that was difficult to crack, it took them a while, but they did it."

Leia shrugged, and reached for a datareader, making sure to check there was nothing important on there—they didn't want any nasty surprises from a Rebel's chip. "Well, let's see what he had any interest in taking away with him, then."

They peered at the datareader's screen; after a moment, text began to scroll across it and the document was opened up.

"He didn't get much," Luke murmured.

She threw him a grin. "Yeah. Why didn't you wait until he had more info to catch him?"

"I was a bit concerned with the inherent security risk in letting him get away with it, at the time," he grumbled. "But look at what we do have. The architectural and engineering plans for the standard Star Destroyer, the Executor—"

"Shouldn't the Rebels already have both of those?"

"The Velts were working for Gerrera, not Amidala," Luke corrected. "Intel suggests there's very little amicable communication between those two anymore. But if you would let me finish. . ."

"Sorry, sorry." She smiled sweetly at him. "Read on."

He rolled his eyes. "The plans for the archives facility on Scarif, as well as the communications' facility; map of Skystrike Academy; and. . ." He frowned, then glanced up, concerned. "The blueprints to the central power distribution grid on Coruscant."

Leia met his gaze. "And?"

"If the Rebels managed to stage an attack on that. . . The whole planet could go down."

"The Palace has a separate system, against such threats," she reminded him.

"The Palace won't be worth anything if they take the rest of the planet," he shot back. "What if they seized control everywhere but here? Even if the Palace defences somehow never failed once in all that time, they could lay siege to the building and we'd never hold out for more than a year at most."

"You think they'd do that?" she asked him, but she seemed. . . distracted. . . suddenly.

He frowned. "You think they wouldn't?"

Leia swallowed.

"I've been doing some research on Padmé Amidala," she admitted, "and from what I've seen, she isn't one to claim that the ends justify the means."

"And?" Luke shrugged. "That's Padmé Amidala, our mother. Amidala is just someone using her good name to gain support—you only have one theory to prove otherwise."

"You don't believe that."

He let out a breath, and she knew she'd got him. "No," he admitted, "I don't. But there's no logic to it, it's—"

"A feeling?"

His lips twisted. "A shadow of a feeling, more like. A mirage."

"That's enough for me." She leaned forwards. "Padmé Amidala is Amidala, who is our mother. And she does not seem like a warmonger."

"That was twenty years ago."

"Think about it," she pressed. If Luke didn't believe her, she knew, no one would. "When has she ever committed an act of unforgivable, intentional violence?"

Luke stared at her. "Have you forgotten Kuat?"

"That was Saw Gerrera. You said so yourself—and you said yourself that they're not working together anymore. Now," she said, pointing her finger at his chest, "name me one incident of extreme violence in the last fifteen years that can only be placed on her shoulders."

He still looked unconvinced. "There's quite a few."

"Then name them."

He sighed, but began, "Onderon—"

"She was still working with Gerrera. That was literally his home planet, he just called for assistance and her cell showed up." It was the first time they'd heard her name, a little over five years ago now.

"Sullust—"

"We had a blockade around the planet and they were trying to get through it to deliver supplies to the Sullustans."

"Because they were traitors! They'd helped the Rebellion, and the massacre there meant Father was temporarily demoted, remember?"

"Temporarily," she snapped. "And then there's Tureen VII—"

"That was exactly the same!"

"Which is my point! The Rebels were there to save lives, not end them! It's the Partisans that end them." There was a beat, then Leia dredged up from within herself the gall to say, "And the Empire, too."

Luke's confusion had turned to horror, now. "You're sounding like a Rebel sympathiser," he whispered. "Are you taking their side? After everything—"

"Everything is subjective. That was this entire argument. What have they even done that's so horrible? Dared defy the omnipotent Palpatine? Isn't that what we're doing?" He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Before he could find what he wanted to say, she rushed on, "I'm not taking anyone's side, Luke. I'm just looking at the facts—and the hypocrisy. Is rebelling suddenly alright when we're the ones doing it?"

She knew he understood that, knew he believed her, but she knew just as intrinsically that he didn't want to believe her. "Father—"

"Is a lying load of shavit. We've established this—"

"Don't talk about him like that."

"What? Like he's a flawed human being who's acted like an idiot and betrayed our trust?" she bit back. "He is, and he has. You know it too. You were furious at him—even now you don't believe what you're saying about him."

"I love him. He's our father."

"Love isn't morality."

"Then what is?" Luke argued. "He's a great man."

"Do you think Amidala is a great woman?"

Her unexpected question caught him off-guard. He just frowned faintly, struck dumb.

"Because," she pressed, "if you compare the statistics for who's killed more people—"

"Don't." Luke stood up abruptly, half turning away from her. She opened her mouth to push further, but then a word slipped through his shields, screaming loud enough to sear a trail through her mind.

Executioner.

She decided, out of respect for her brother and his emotional stability, not to ask.

Instead, her tone softened. "Do you think I liked this? I gave my life to Palpatine: my trust, my ambitions, my servitude and power." She said the word with disgust. "And then Father tells me he stuck a transmitter in his suit and was complicit in the theft of my memories, to make me more compliant." Her lip curled. "My mentor failed me, and your idolised mentor has failed you as well—you just don't want to see it."

"Of course I see it, Leia," Luke ground out. He was still facing away from her, his hands folded behind his back with neat military precision, his back tense. "Forgive me if I'd like to purge last night from my memory."

He turned his head to look her in the eye. "But this wasn't just brought on by last night, was it?"

She rose to her feet, and to the challenge. "I told you. I've been researching Padmé Amidala, and I've come to some conclusions."

"Which are?"

She hesitated. She couldn't say she even knew herself.

". . .the Empire is flawed," she said finally—and weakly. If Rebels were being less brutal than them, then—

Luke scoffed. She wondered if he heard what she really meant in the words, even though she didn't know herself. It wouldn't be the first time.

"And what, exactly"—he paused halfway, eyes widening, as if it suddenly hit him exactly what he might hear if she answered the way he no doubt expected her to—"are you planning to do about it?"

She opened her mouth and took a step forward—

Only for the comm on the table in the corner to chime.

There was only one person who would contact them on that comm—only one person who preferred to have his image projected in massive before the recipients, despising the small handheld comms they carried—so the machine instantly patched him through. Luke and Leia barely had a second to get down on their knees before the Emperor's glorious visage hung in midair in front of them.

"Master," Leia greeted, trying to hide her shock and irritation behind clenched teeth, "what is thy bidding?" The greeting had always seemed a little archaic in her eyes, but Palpatine seemed to like it—

Palpatine barely cast her a glance. Despite her newfound bottomless chasm of hatred for him, the dismissal still stung. "Nothing of any concern to you, child. If it had been, I would have informed you when we were speaking just over an hour ago, wouldn't I?"

Leia recognised the rhetorical question for what it was, and didn't respond.

"Luke," Palpatine said, turning his eyes on him. Leia tensed at the brutal appraising regard he treated her brother with; it felt like he was both revelling in the power he controlled and threatening to undermine it simultaneously. "I trust you and your sister have read the datapad I gave her?"

Luke's head, if possible, bowed lower. "Yes, Master."

"Then you know the Rebels have shown an interest in Skystrike Academy."

Luke was trembling slightly, Leia realised. It pushed all the air out of her lungs and sent a heady mix of anger and shame boiling in her stomach. She hadn't realised her brother was that affected by what she'd said.

But his voice betrayed none of that. "We do, Master."

"Good. The ISB have received word from an operative that there are cadets at the Academy looking to defect—and that the Rebellion will be sending in agents to get them out. The ISB will launch their own investigation and send uniformed officers to root out the traitors, but it is my belief that a more. . . subtle. . . approach is needed."

Neither Luke nor Leia said anything. They both knew Palpatine would divulge whatever he wanted Luke to do when he was good and ready.

After a moment of silence, he did.

"You are one of the only human Imperial operatives of the correct age to be a cadet." Leia didn't miss the implication in one of—there were others, and they were not necessarily indispensible to him. She understood that now. "I want you to attend the Academy and find the traitors from the inside." He tilted his head, glancing at Leia then for the first time in a while—almost like he could feel her disquiet.

Luke? Go to Skystrike? That was parsecs away. Naboo and Tatooine had been bad enough; she didn't want to go through that again. She turned to her brother, willing him to refuse, or even haggle—

"Very well," Luke said. His fists clenched at his sides. "I'll go."

The Emperor smiled, and shot Leia a second look in as many minutes. "Good," he said. "Further details will be sent to you later today."

The holo winked out.

Leia whirled on Luke and spat, "You know, you can avoid me without fleeing to the other side of the galaxy."

"I'm not avoiding you."

"No. You just agreed to his request unthinkingly because you wanted to escape what I had to say—"

"Leia," he said.

She shut up.

"Just. . ." He swallowed, heaving himself up to sit on the sofa again. "I need to think about. . . everything, alright?"

She looked at her brother, at his earnest blue eyes, his pained expression. His hands were clasped together in front of him, his shoulders bowed over.

She sighed. "Alright."

He gave her a watery smile.

"I'll continue with the investigation here," she went on. "See if I can figure out what 'eclipse' means. But when you get back, we're having an in-depth heart-to-heart about all of this."

He raised his eyebrows. "I can't wait."

She smacked him on the shoulder.

Luke left early the next morning, in a non-Imperial shuttle due to take him to Corellia, where he'd get on the standard Imperial shuttle meant to take him and the other new cadets to Skystrike.

As the shuttle lifted off, he watched Leia out the viewport, and tried to crush the guilt at how relieved he felt.

He had a lot to think about.