Kuat looked much the same as it had when Leia had last arrived here—minus, that is, the explosions. It seemed relatively calm now, the manmade construction ring right the way around the planet buzzing with activity, the cloudy, greenish atmosphere below it undisturbed.

So. Tarkin had managed to prevent any more revolts from breaking out, if nothing else.

They were given the tour of the ring, and the shipyards contained within it; for all that she'd spent a good few weeks here less than a year ago, Leia was glad for the opportunity to reorient herself. She was also glad for the opportunity to judge how well Tarkin had been doing, in his new, additional leadership role.

So far, he seemed to be emulating his beloved Emperor to the next level.

Leia remembered just after Luke left for Skystrike, when she'd gone to visit the central power grid herself in an attempt to inspect its security. She remembered what she'd thought then, of the fear and the crushed spirits and the desolation she'd sensed.

She remembered wondering why these people would ever support them, if all they did was work and starve whether it was under the Republic or the Empire. Abstract, far away concepts like senates and humanitarian trips and security did not matter when you were living ration to ration; they only mattered if they allowed you to live, happier, for one more day.

Vilrein, Leia remembered, had agreed with her on this. She'd won most of the workers' personal loyalty by visibly petitioning Governor Trite for better pay and working conditions. According to the reports she'd sent Leia before Tarkin's politicking, their pay still wouldn't be enough for them to live easily, but they didn't have to worry about starving, or their children starving. It still motivated them to keep their jobs, because it was better pay than they'd get elsewhere in the galaxy for the same amount of labour, but—

Then Tarkin had waltzed in with his thin smiles and budget cuts, and all the credits which had been going into the workers' pockets were mysteriously sent off to Project Stardust instead.

And Leia could see the effects.

The workers had been given hope, had experienced what it was like to be treated well under Vilrein. . . and then Tarkin had ripped it away.

And they were angry.

She could sense it as their procession moved down the walkways, overlooking the thousands and thousands of droids, humans, other species toiling away at constructing the behemoth instruments of war. Palpatine had a sickening smile on his face as he watched them be built.

Luke was smiling as well. Leia knew it was because he just really liked ships, and the size and scale of these impressed him, but she elbowed him in the ribs anyway.

"And this," Tarkin said, as if he'd personally overseen everything that was arrayed out before them instead of lounging around on cushy Coruscant like the no-good, lazy bastard he was— "is the crowning achievement of Kuat Drive Yards. The jewel in the sceptre." He waved his hand with a flourish. If it was anyone else—well, perhaps not Palpatine—Leia would have enjoyed the theatrics; instead she just wrinkled her nose. "The Executor."

That got her attention. She glanced out of the viewport, and couldn't contain her shock.

Logically, she knew it had to be massive. Star Destroyers in general were massive; they needed to be, to contain all that fire power and all those people.

But the Executor. . .

It would be. . . difficult, to say the least, to describe the scene before her. It struck a chord inside her as reminiscent of when she was living on Mustafar: she and Luke were eight or nine, and just starting to learn how to use the Force. Levitation had naturally been the first thing they studied, and she remembered distinctly how her father had handed them credit chip after credit chip, one at a time, and they had made them dart around the room like starfighters.

She remembered, too, a stuffy old book Vader had had in his vast collection of Sith artefacts. She couldn't remember what it was about, but she and Luke had been fascinated by its sheer size: taller than the tip of her middle finger to her elbow, and thicker than her hand span.

She remembered setting herself the challenge to levitate it. When she'd succeeded with that, she'd set herself the challenge to levitate that and her father's credit chips.

That was the image the Executor recalled: tiny, insignificant Star Destroyers hanging above the infinitely larger Super Star Destroyer, like bright credit chips hanging above the biggest book Leia could imagine.

But Star Destroyers weren't the size of credit chips. Once upon a time, they'd been too large for her mind to comprehend as well.

Her moment of stunned silence at the sight had gone unnoticed: most others in the entourage were similarly awed. Luke still was; she could see his lips moving, muttering to himself—calculations? Statistics? Estimated prowess in battle? She didn't know; she liked ships well enough, but her brother was on a whole other level.

The measured clip of footsteps approaching down the hallway turned her attention to the newcomer.

Tan skin, short hair—the moment she registered who she was, she straightened, instantly alert. Governor—Director—Vilrein nodded at her respectfully as she passed, lips pressed tightly together, but she didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of Tarkin, Vader and Palpatine.

"Governor," she greeted first, with the barest dip of her head. Leia had to stifle a vindictive laugh at the offence in Tarkin's eyes.

Vilrein bowed deeply to Palpatine. "Your Majesty, Lord Vader." She straightened up again, though her gaze was still riveted to the floor. "I am here to answer any questions you may have on the production and capabilities of the SSD Executor. I am—"

"I know who you are, Director," Palpatine interrupted with a wave of his hand. Leia saw Vilrein's lips tighten further, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

Insult, Leia thought, and felt hot and angry on the woman's behalf.

"And I have a great many questions," he continued, turning back to the viewport. His gaze rested hungrily on the warships beyond. "How soon will Lord Vader be able to transfer his operations to this ship?"

If Vilrein noticed the power play she'd just been dragged into, she didn't let on. She just said calmly, "As soon as Lord Vader wishes, Your Majesty. Production on the Executor is almost entirely complete, despite the. . . hiccups. . . of a few months ago. The past weeks have only been touching up shield quality, performing surface measures and minor repairs—"

"Then I suppose your efforts should be congratulated, Governor Tarkin," Palpatine said. The smug smile both men were wearing made Leia's blood boil. "You've delivered my right hand man the greatest tool he could use in his efforts to keep my galaxy safe, and for that I commend you."

Tarkin, the piece of bantha dung, bowed his head and accepted the compliment like he deserved it. "I seek only to serve my Emperor."

The slight to Vilrein was not unnoticed by the woman herself. Injustice welled up inside her—Leia could sense it, and so could Palpatine—but she allowed none of it to show on her face. It was impressive.

Leia liked her all the more.

"Perhaps, Director"—was Leia imagining it, or did he place a touch of emphasis on her title?—"if the Executor is as ready as you say, we could have a tour of the interior?"

She gave another short bow, clipping her heels together neatly. "Of course, Your Majesty. If you would come this way, and I can get some of the more specialised architects and engineers to explain the finer details of the construction."

"That would be wonderful. Lead the way."

They walked for a while just to get onboard the massive ship; Leia watched it loom closer and closer and thought she had never seen anything so large in her life.

It was another hour into the tour before the responsibility for asking questions fell more onto the engineers than Vilrein herself. The moment she deemed it timely, Leia gestured for Vilrein to drift to the back of the procession, which she did with little resistance.

"My lady," she greeted, softly enough that the words didn't carry. Leia could still pick from her mind a slight. . . not resentment, but confusion and uncertainty in reporting to someone as young as Leia was.

Leia didn't begrudge her it. It was understandable.

She just cut to the chase: "How have things been since Luke and I left?"

Vilrein heard the unspoken question. After all, she had been sending detailed reports about it for months. Leia knew everything official; she wanted to hear the woman's own opinion.

". . .fraught," Vilrein said finally, glancing ahead to ensure no one heard—least of all the construction workers. "You read about the wage cuts—"

"I did."

"He wouldn't listen to my advice on what the reactions would be." She tactfully didn't name Tarkin aloud, but Leia knew what she meant. "When you left, we were back on schedule with a reasonable confidence. Now, we've risked overexerting ourselves in order to get this done, because his methods can be. . . different to what we're used to."

This was why Leia hated the process of politicking between the governors and the moffs. The galaxy was so full of species, cultures, ways of life; having such a large sector of space be wrestled over by one or two politicians, with the victory going only to the one with the most power. . . The winner didn't fit. They would impose their word on the system, but if the system wasn't expecting something similar, there would be a long period of unrest.

Speaking of which. . . "And the perpetrators of the last incident?"

"They were dealt with. All investigations back up what your brother discovered from the Velts, and we haven't had a further hint of Gerrera's Partisans anywhere around here."

Leia nodded, glad but still wary. They hadn't had a hint yet.

But the winner didn't fit. So matter how much Tarkin tightened his grip, the more things would start to slip through his fingers. Such a large, diverse area as his territory could never be governed by one man. . .

. . .the way the entire galaxy was governed by the Empire?

One way of life. One idea. That was the point of the Empire—that was why that curator on Naboo had been murdered for going against it, why Leia sometimes forgot there were colours other than black, red and grey.

She shook her head, and conveyed to Vilrein that she was finished with a slight nod of her head, then turned her attention back to the massive ship they were walking through. She had a lot to think about.

The tour lasted another few hours, and by that point Leia—and Luke; she could feel it through their bond, which only made it worse—was exhausted. She really needed to go to sleep.

When she returned to their room on the Devastator, she crashed onto the bed without hesitation, not even bothering to contest the fact that Luke was still in the top bunk. Her brother was off somewhere on the ship, probably gushing over the Executor while their father looked on fondly, but she didn't care enough to check right now. She just lay in her bed, eyes drifting shut. . .

But she couldn't sleep.

Thoughts—doubts—were ringing in her mind. She didn't think they'd stopped ringing since she'd first plugged Tsabin's datachip into her pad, and opened it.

Sabé. . .

Too tired to listen to common sense, she rolled over, pulled her comlink off the small table that jutted out from the wall, and commed her.

Why? She didn't know. Maybe she was just sick of all these doubts plaguing her day and night, and needed to talk to someone. She couldn't talk to her father, that was for sure, and the last time she'd voiced such an idea with Luke he'd fled halfway across the galaxy.

Sabé's voice was scrambled, as it always was, but she recognised the inflections in, "Leia?"

"Yes." A beat of awkward silence, then before Sabé could ask for a rational explanation when none were forthcoming— "You didn't answer my question last time."

"About the governors?"

"Yes."

Calm, measured quiet. "Well, we didn't have governors in the Republic—"

"Then who was in control? How did you get them to agree? What measures prevented them from gaining too much power?"

". . .did something happen on Kuat?"

Leia scowled. "Are you keeping tabs on me?"

"I don't mean to insult you by saying no, but no. Not in a military sense." Leia opened her mouth to ask what the hell that meant— "But we are keeping tabs on your father. And everyone knows the major Empire Day celebrations are going to be on Kuat this year, for the unveiling of the Executor."

And Project Stardust, Leia thought, but that would only be to the military. And it would be a fundamentally bad idea to talk about that with a Rebel.

"And we heard about your stint on Kuat a few months ago."

Leia scowled fiercely, for all that the connection was voice only, and Sabé didn't have a clue what she looked like. "Are you gonna call me a monster for that?"

"On the contrary. There was death, yes, but far more on Saw's part than your own. And the temporary changes instituted by yourselves and Governor Vilrein actually made Rebel recruitment more difficult in that sector for quite some time."

Leia wondered whether Sabé should be telling her this.

"'Quite some time'," she drawled instead.

"Indeed. I assume you heard about Tarkin."

"Uh huh. So how did you avoid one person accumulating too much power in the Republic?"

Sabé said dryly, "Well, one could say we didn't, in the end." That's our entire problem. "But otherwise, there were checks in place. Term limits. Other senators you had to convince." There was something like a sigh, then she muttered, "The were always other senators to convince. . ."

Leia laughed. "I suppose."

"It meant there were always new people coming in," Sabé added. "New ideas, new perspectives—it's impossible to represent every interest of every species and every culture, but we did our best. Your Empire doesn't even try."

That took a turn. Leia's hand squeezed the comlink almost unconsciously; next to her, the table rattled where it stood. "Simply because we don't waste time indulging in idealism—"

"So you don't think people deserve to forge their own fates."

The reply was out before she could take it back. "If they could agree, there wouldn't be a problem."

"People don't agree. Even in the Empire, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Leia couldn't argue with that. Especially with her family as. . . divided. . . as it was.

"That doesn't mean they don't deserve basic liberties, or rights. They still deserve to be free of fear."

"And I support that! But I am not an idealist."

"Leia," Sabé's voice was oddly sombre, "has anyone everyone told you that you're not responsible for solving every galactic crisis?"

The words punched her in the gut.

They wounded and liberated her in equal measures.

She didn't have to stick her neck out and fix every inconsistency. She didn't have to worry about everything like it was a personal attack. She didn't have to take everything onto her shoulders—even going so far as to not tell her brother about it, in recent times.

She was not that important. Not yet.

She couldn't decide whether that was good or bad.

"When I'm Empress," she said grimly, "I will be."

Leia probably thought he was badgering anyone and everyone for more information about the myriad of ships they'd seen today. She was wrong.

Luke didn't move to correct her assumption.

He had thoroughly enjoyed looking at all the ships. The Executor was a groundbreaking new ship, the largest yet, and was already giving rise to an entirely new class of Star Destroyers named for it. He was proud that that might soon be his father's flagship, that his father might officially teach him to command something like it one day—wasn't he?—but. . .

He'd been distracted all day.

He'd been distracted for days.

Tano's words still haunted him. They had been hard enough to dismiss on Coruscant, while they were living in Padmé Amidala's apartment; it was impossible to dismiss the spectre that, Luke was beginning to realise, had hung over his life for the last ten years—longer.

He had listened to his aunt and uncle's worried whispers in the dead of night, even before his father had come.

And now they'd come to Kuat, and Luke was thinking.

The last time they'd been here, they'd been sent to crush an uprising; they'd been sent looking for signs of Amidala, and found only Gerrera's work instead.

Now they'd come looking for nothing at all, and he saw too much.

How many of the people surrounding him today—officers, governors, Imperials—would fire on an unarmed transport?

It was against Imperial protocol, but. . . how many people actually followed that? How many people wouldn't fire on an unarmed transport, if it was them giving the orders, them pulling the trigger?

Tarkin would.

Palpatine, without a doubt, would.

His father—

Luke swallowed harshly at the thought, executioner, but. . .

His father would.

Would he?

No. He'd proved that at Skystrike.

Would Leia?

No. He knew that.

So they could change it, he decided. They would continue with their coup, remove Palpatine, and once they were the most powerful people in the galaxy they would be in a position to change things.

If they could. . .

He crushed the doubts down. They would. As much as his father and sister were pragmatists through and through, Luke had to hold onto some modicum of positivity. Otherwise, what was the point?

But his decision and resolve didn't stop him from thinking about Amidala.

From thinking about his mother.

So even as he sensed his sister toss and turn, trying desperately to scrape some sleep into her poor mind, he slipped into a room down the corridor that he could sense wasn't being monitored. Well, it was a storage cupboard, so it made sense it wasn't being monitored, but Luke still swept through it with the Force to check for any bugs.

There were none.

He still couldn't relax the tension from his muscles as he settled cross-legged onto the floor, despite the reassurance. Perhaps because surveillance wasn't actually what he was worried about.

Tano picked up her comlink fairly quickly, considering he had no idea where she was, what time it was, or whether or not she'd been busy. Perhaps she was just that dedicated to converting him. "Hello?"

"Tano," he greeted, a little stiffly, suddenly unsure what to say.

She laughed. "Hey, Sky—" She cut herself off midway, like there was something else she wanted to say. "—walker. Have you thought about what I said?"

"Yes." Non-stop.

"Come to any decisions?"

He gritted his teeth. "Yes." He didn't elaborate.

The only image on this call wasn't of Tano's face, but of a symbol: two lines with indents in the middle, and two corresponding diamonds. Luke assumed it was a Rebel code of some sort, but he had no idea what it could mean.

"And what did you decide?" Even through the encryption on her voice, Luke could hear the hope.

Luke didn't answer her. Instead he asked, "Why did my mother dump me on Tatooine?"

Tano went quiet for a moment. "I assume it was to protect you from your father and the Emperor."

"From my father?" Luke scoffed. "He—"

"Stole your memories, taught you to be subservient to Palpatine, stood by as the Emperor electrocuted you?"

"—loves me."

An awkward pause, though Luke didn't miss the fact that Tano had known about the torture. Clearly they had spies in the Palace. He'd have to deal with that, he thought numbly.

"And you think that your mother doesn't?"

Luke let out a ragged laugh, and tilted his head back. The cupboard's shelves dug into his back uncomfortably. "I think that her Rebellion was more important to her than me and Leia, yes."

"And your father cares more about you than the Empire?" There was scepticism in her voice, and it just annoyed Luke further.

"Yes," he snapped. That was one thing he was certain of, if nothing else. "He does."

"Impossible," she said confidently. He wasn't sure if she genuinely believed it, or if she was just trying to get a rise out of him. "He's not Anakin. He killed Anakin; he said it to my face. He wouldn't claim Anakin's children. Not out of love."

"You're wrong. Clearly you don't know as much about him as you thought."

Tano hesitated, then backtracked. "Even so, I know your mother lived with you for a year or so, when you were very young. But by then, B— her friend," Luke considered telling her that they already suspected Bail Organa was a Rebel, "had already started on trying to formulate at least small scale resistance—they'd already recruited me—and she couldn't stay out of it. She was Padmé Amidala, the staunchest defender of democracy that galaxy has ever seen. She couldn't sit in a desert and watch the galaxy burn."

He didn't say anything. Tano reiterated, gently but forcefully, "She always intended to come back—"

"And then she did," he finished bitterly, "and we were gone."

". . .yes."

Luke's finger hovered over the button to disconnect the call, but he had to ask— "Do you think she regrets it?"

"The Rebellion?" A pause, then, with all the finality of a death knell— "No."

"Alright."

"But—"

He hit the button, and the blue image vanished.

Thousands of parsecs away, Ahsoka grimaced—both at the abrupt cut off and the sheer hurt that had been loaded into that last word.

"But," she finished quietly to herself, the warmth of Dantooine's sunrise starting to seep into the back of her head, "she regrets not taking you with her."