notes: Look! Another chapter! This is now officially longer in both word count and chapter number than the original draft.
This chapter is a little shorter than the last two - and the next one probably will be too - but I decided that a) it would just be Too Many Things in the chapter if I ended it where I originally intended to end it; b) it would probably end up like a 10k chapter, and no one really wants that.
I hope you all enjoy!
CHAPTER 4
Leia awoke like the dawn-slowly at first, then all at once. The darkness that held her in its warm embrace receded, falling away like shadows before the sun, leaving her free and floundering in a sudden, cold reality.
She opened her eyes. A white ceiling, tiled and lit by white-yellow lights recessed behind plastiglass panes, glared down at her. Leia blinked, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, so used to the darkness of her eyelids, and looked around.
She was in a large, white room, empty save for the bed in which she lay. A door faced her over her feet. The air was bright and sterile, tasting of antiseptic and invalidity.
"Hello?" Leia called, sitting up. Something tugged at the crooks of her elbows, and Leia looked down. Tubes and wires were affixed beneath her skin with needles and hooks. Leia jerked at the sight, alarm flaring through her.
What's wrong with me? she wondered, following the course of the tubes and wires to the headboard behind her. A mass of machines hung there, each of them blinking long, slow lights in red and yellow and green. A bag filled with clear fluid hung above Leia's head, droplets dripping one by one to the opaque tube sunk into the skin of her elbow.
"Hello?" Leia called again, drawing her knees to her chest and trying to pull her hands into her lap. There was a jerk, and then the sharp feel of metal against her skin. In horror, Leia looked down to the right-and saw a metal cuff wrapped around her wrist, the other end fastened around the bed's railing. Leia looked to her left wrist, and saw the same.
"Hello?" Leia called for a third time, this time with fear coloring the ends of the word. "Is anyone there?"
Silence.
Leia jerked at the binders. Cold metal met her skin, and held fast.
"Help me," Leia screamed, yanking again at the binders. The metal rattled against the railings. "Someone, please! Please, someone help me!" She threw herself forward, only to be jerked back by the binders. She landed on her back, her head smacking against the headboard.
"Papá!" Leia screamed. "Papá! Please, Papá!"
Blood. Blood on the tulips, bowing before his broken body. Blood on his face, his chest, his arms, his legs. Blood everywhere.
There had been so much blood.
"Papá," Leia wailed, wrenching her arms against the binders. "Please, Papá!"
He didn't come for her.
She knew he wouldn't.
"Papá," Leia whimpered, tears streaming down her face.
She hadn't cried before-hadn't cried when she saw him disappear through the window. She hadn't cried when the transparisteel cut her skin, or when she leaned out into the air that had swallowed him. She hadn't cried when she saw him in the garden far below.
She cried now.
She cried for her father. She cried for Rebécca, killed on Twelfth Brother's blade. She cried for Abrothaar and Abretheer, and all the others that had died before her in her room. She cried for the violence, and for the pain, and for the deaths.
But mostly she cried for her father.
She wondered if that was right-if it was wrong for her to mourn so solely for one person when so many others had died. But whether it was right or not, whether she was bad for crying mostly for her father, she did not care. She cried, and she cried, and she cried for her father, dead among the flowers.
Eventually the sobs began to abate. And as they abated, the thin pillow beneath her head soaked and her face sticky with snot and tears, exhaustion crept into her flesh and bones.
"Papá," she whispered one last time, the name precious and infinite on her tongue and lips. And then she slept.
~oOo~
She woke some time later, feeling hollow and empty. Her skin felt paper-thin, and her bones felt fragile like glass. She sat up slowly, half-heartedly tugging at the binders still fastening her wrists to the bed's railings, and looked around her.
The room was still empty.
"Hello?" Leia called, hoping someone would hear, though no one had before. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
The door opened.
A woman entered. She was slight but sharp-featured, with a high, arching brow and a mess of curling auburn hair piled atop her head in a bun. She wore white: white pants, white tunic, white coat that hung loose and flowing from her shoulders. Even her shoes were white-white like the room, white like the bed, white like the air.
"Hello," said Leia, suddenly shy.
The woman did not answer her.
She came around the end of the bed, then walked to the headboard. From a hook she pulled a chart and, taking a stylus from the clip on the back, began to record the readings on the machines hanging above Leia's head.
Leia turned to watch the woman.
"What's your name?" Leia asked, trying to sound as friendly as she could. She had learned long ago that friendliness, even at the worst of times, got you more than surliness. Not that Leia was always friendly.
Again, the woman did not answer her.
"I'm Leia," Leia said. "Leia Organa. My father is Bail Organa, Prince of Alderaan. Maybe you know him?"
The woman continued to write on the chart.
"I don't know where I am. Maybe you could tell me?" Leia asked hopefully.
The woman reached up to one of the machines and pressed a button. A quick prick in the crook of Leia's left elbow made her jump, a surprised, "Ow!" ripping free of her lips before she could stop it. The machine hummed, and Leia was reminded of the times she had been to the court physician for her yearly physicals. He was the only one allowed to draw her blood, and every year he had done so with a machine very much like the one hooked up to Leia now.
"Did you just take my blood?" Leia asked the woman. "I don't think you're supposed to do that. Papá," Leia choked on a sudden wave of tears that threatened to escape, "doesn't like it when people take my blood."
The woman looked at the screen on the blood machine, and finished writing in the chart. She hung it back on the hook. She turned to Leia, and with cold hands and colder eyes, held Leia's chin still and pressed a palm to Leia's forehead. Leia fought to hold still, even when the woman in turn pulled her eyelids back and, with her other hand, shone a small penlight into her eyes. She nodded once, satisfied, and released Leia.
"What was that for?" Leia asked.
The woman turned on her heel and strode through the door, which closed behind her with a hiss.
Leia slumped back in the bed with a sigh. The pillow was cold and damp beneath her head. For a long moment Leia simply stared up at the ceiling, looking at the small, thin lines where each tile met its neighbor.
"I wish you were here, Rebécca," Leia said at last, softly. She pressed her eyes together tightly and fought back fresh tears.
Rebécca had been so much more than just a guard. All of the Honor Guard were, but Rebécca had been special. One of Leia's first memories of was of Rebécca carrying her through the gardens on her back.
"Hold on, princesita," Leia could remember her saying. Then, taking a running jump, she had cleared a hedge in one bound. Leia had laughed, and kicked her chubby heels against Rebécca's sides.
"Again," she had cried, the word fumbling and round on her toddler's tongue.
Rebécca had held her while she cried, those days she missed her parents most. Though it had not happened often, there had been times when both of Leia's parents had been called away from Alderaan, leaving her there. Those days had always cut Leia to the quick.
"Hush, little princess," Rebécca had murmured, smoothing Leia's hair back with a hand as she cradled her. "Your parents will be home soon," she had promised. "And in the meantime, you and I will have enough fun for a year."
And they had. When Leia's parents were gone, Rebécca had helped her sneak out of lessons. They had spent entire days in the mountains, fishing and hiking and even, once Leia was a little older, hunting. She had taught her the first basic stances for fencing. She had snuck with Leia down to the kitchens late at night, and they had made a mess trying to bake cookies.
Even more than that, Rebécca had always protected her. The time Leia had almost drowned in the pond in the gardens, it was Rebécca who had saved her. When Duke Aldrast had threatened Leia in an attempt to gain favor with the Queen and Prince, it was Rebécca who had caught him and brought him to justice.
"I wish you were here," Leia repeated, this time a whisper.
She also wished her father was there-but thinking about him hurt too much to bear. She couldn't even make that wish real enough to say without feeling the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. Leia frantically shoved the tears back down her throat; she was tired of crying, and her pillow was already damp. She wouldn't cry. Not again.
Leia opened her eyes. Rebécca wasn't coming, and neither was her father. She had to accept that fact.
The ceiling tiles looked down at her, mocking in their brightness. Nothing, Leia thought, had any right to be that bright. Not when Rebécca was dead. Not when Abrothaar and Abrotheer and everyone else was dead.
Not when her father was dead.
Leia sat up and tugged fruitlessly at the binders on her wrists. As before, there was only the feel of metal against her skin and the clink of the binders rattling against the rails. They didn't budge an inch.
Bored, Leia looked around her. The bareness of the room stared back. The walls were sheer and white, the floor buffed metal. The only irregularity was the thin lines between the ceiling tiles.
For a long few minutes Leia stared at the door, hoping with her bones that it would open and the woman would come back in. She, at least, was more than just the blank walls and the dully reflective floor, the white sheets on the bed and the steady blink of lights on the machines above her.
Finally, Leia flopped back down onto her pillow, still damp. The ceiling tiles, still mocking, looked down at her. She started counting them.
She had counted them twice, and was on a third time, when she heard the door open again. Leia bolted up, and saw the same auburn-haired woman enter the room.
"Hi," Leia said. "I'm happy to see you again." She wasn't sure if she actually was, but she thought it would be a good thing to say. She wanted to make as good of an impression as possible.
As usual, the woman ignored her.
She came around Leia's bed, unhooked the chart, and began writing. Leia watched her closely, but still the woman ignored her.
"Who are you?" Leia asked.
Silence.
"What are you doing here?"
The woman hummed and frowned. She reached forward and pressed a button on the blood-taking machine. There was a prick in Leia's arm, but this time she was ready for it and she bit back the "Ow" that threatened to come out.
The woman's frown deepened. She waited for a moment, tapping the end of the stylus against the chart, then reached out and depressed the button on the blood machine again. There was another prick in Leia's arm, and again she swallowed a protest.
"Hm," the woman said, and she made a note in the chart. Then she hung it on the hook, turned, and strode toward the door. She disappeared with a swish and a hiss.
Leia's shoulders slumped. Was it too much to ask for the woman to even acknowledge her? To say something to her? To treat her like a sentient being? Was she missing something? Was something wrong with her?
The door opened again. The woman entered, followed by a man and two Stormtroopers.
The man was tall and all sharp angles, with a narrow shoulders and a pointed chin. His eyes, pale reflections of ice, were cold and piercing beneath a high, arched brow. His hair, cut short against his skull, was a sleek brown, edged with the first touches of silver.
She knew him. He was Moff Wilhuff Tarkin; she had met him once at a gala on Alderaan, in which her mother and father had hosted the Emperor and his entourage. Moff Tarkin had been among them.
He terrified Leia.
The Stormtroopers stood to either side of the door while the woman and the man crossed to Leia's bed. Once again the woman took down the chart from its hook, and then turned to show it to the man.
"As you can see, Moff," she said, "the subject's midichlorian count has risen by over 100 percent since her first blood test." Her voice was not what Leia had expected-it was deep and rich, musical like velvet, and throaty.
"I see," Moff Tarkin said. His voice was as angled as his face, sharp and clear like shattered glass. His arms snaked behind his back, which was turned toward Leia, and he clasped his hands together. "And that is her current midichlorian level?" he asked.
"As of her last reading, yes," the woman said. "Though her midichlorian levels are increasing so fast that I'm sure it's higher now."
"Show me," Moff Tarkin commanded.
The woman's arm appeared around Moff Tarkin, and she pressed the blood machine's button. This time Leia was ready for the prick in the crook of her elbow.
There was a hum as the machine made its readings. Moff Tarkin and the woman turned to read the screen.
"My god," the woman breathed. "It's risen by over 10 percent since the last reading."
"How is this possible?" Moff Tarkin demanded.
"I don't know for sure…" the woman hedged.
"But you have a theory?" Moff Tarkin pressed.
"Organa stated that his daughter had been poisoned," the woman said. "There's an unknown substance in the subject's bloodstream that we believe is the poison he was referencing. It seems that there is a correlation between the diminishing substance and the subject's increase in midichlorian counts. However, we must be careful not to assign causation when there is only correlation."
"Is there any way to ascertain that the substance is the cause?" Moff Tarkin asked.
"If her midichlorian count ceases to rise once the substance is cleaned from her bloodstream, we will have actual evidence that the substance was the cause."
Moff Tarkin nodded. "And how long will it take for the substance to clear her bloodstream?"
"Twelve more hours, give or take a few."
"Good," Moff Tarkin said. "Inform me the moment it's cleared."
"Yes, sir," the woman said.
Moff Tarkin turned to Leia, his pale eyes hard and cold. Leia shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, feeling like a stain on the bed sheets. Then Moff Tarkin blinked, and turned away.
"Knowledge of her results do not leave this room," he said. "Is that understood?"
"Of course, sir," the woman said hastily.
Moff Tarkin turned to the Stormtroopers still standing on either side of the door. "Is that understood?" he asked again.
"Yes sir," the two Stormtroopers replied, their answers overlapping each other.
"Good." Moff Tarkin glanced once more at Leia, then turned on his heel and strode from the room.
After a moment, the woman left too. Only the Stormtroopers remained.
"Hi," Leia said, looking at them. "I'm Leia. Who are you?"
The Troopers remained silent.
Leia sighed. "Please talk to me," she said. "Just say….say something."
Silence.
Leia tugged at the binders on her wrists. They jangled against the railings. "Will you help me?" Leia asked. "Please?"
The Troopers did not move.
Leia jerked at her bindings again, harder this time. It made her wrists hurt, and she winced. "Please," she said again. "Even just unlock the binders?"
The only movement from the Troopers was the slight rise and fall of their shoulders as they breathed.
Leia flopped back onto her pillow. It was finally dry.
Is anyone coming for me? Leia wondered. Doritha, or Brienné, or any of the others? Then, I'm sure they'll come for me. They wouldn't leave me alone here.
But what if they didn't know where she was? What if Twelfth Brother hurt-or even killed-them all? He had killed all of the guards; he might have killed them too.
But there were others who would come for her, who would know she was missing. Master Carlist, and Aunt Mon, and Seltha, and countless others home on Alderaan. They would find out what had happened at the apartment, and they would want to know what had happened to her. They would look for her, and they would find her.
She just had to be patient.
~oOo~
Moff Wilhuff Tarkin was having a very good day.
Bail Organa, one of the thorns in the Empire's side, was dead, along with his whole Coruscanti household. Even now clean-up crews, hand-picked by Tarkin himself, were combing through his apartment, both to look for any incriminating evidence and making the carnage appear to be the result of a successful coup.
Twelfth Brother's comm. call had come twelve minutes before midnight. "She is a Force Sensitive, just as you suspected," he had said, voice thin and electric through the handheld comm. "Prince Organa knew too. He did everything in his power to stop me from taking her. I was forced to kill him, along with all of his staff."
That had made Tarkin curse silently. The murder of an Underworld or Mid Rim family was one thing-easily explained and quickly forgotten. The murder of a Core World Prince and Senator, however, would be headline news for weeks to come. He had security, and a well-trained staff; it couldn't be explained away as a robbery gone wrong, or as a family member going on a murder spree.
Damn, he had thought again. He should have expected that Organa would put up a fight. He should have anticipated that Organa would be willing to give up his own life to protect his daughter. That his entire staff had also been willing to give up their lives on behalf of the princess should also not have been a surprise.
This made things difficult, even as it made them simpler. With no witnesses left alive, there would be no one to challenge their cover story. It made the explanation of what happened more difficult, however, for it had to explain the deaths of nearly fifty people.
In the end, though, Tarkin had found a brilliantly simple solution-and it was one that the Emperor would be able to exploit at his leisure, if he so chose. A coup would provide the opportunity for the Empire to arrest and detain any Alderaanian the Emperor desired, on grounds of the coup's investigation.
The Alderaanians never had fully accepted the graciousness of the Empire.
In the meantime, Tarkin had in his possession a Force Sensitive Leia Organa-an extremely Force Sensitive Leia Organa, if the latest test results were correct. The Emperor would be pleased. Of that, Tarkin was certain.
A chime came at Tarkin's office door. He looked up from the datapad he had been reading, and called, "Come in."
Tera, the palace doctor Tarkin had bribed to care for Leia, entered. Her auburn hair, piled in a bun on top of her head, burned in the low light of Tarkin's office.
"Yes?" Tarkin asked, folding his hands on top of the desk. "What is it?"
"The unknown substance has been fully flushed from the subject's system," Tera informed him. "I thought you might like to be present for her next blood test."
Tarkin stood. "Lead the way."
The Imperial Palace's medical wing was a labyrinth of white halls and whiter rooms, each more sterile than the last. The air was cold and smelled of antiseptic, and it was quiet enough to hear the squeak of your shoes on the tiled floor and the rush of the blood in your veins.
Tarkin hated it.
Leia was being kept in a room buried deep in the bowels of the medical wing, in a never-used corner of a forgotten hall. The lights were dim and only half-lit in the corridor leading to her room, and one of them flickered with an uneasy tempo. It gave the entire hall an air of disuse and neglect.
Tera halted outside the door to Leia's room. She paused with one hand hovering over the sensor, and glanced back at Tarkin. She seemed to looking for something in his face. Whether she found it or not, Tarkin did not know, but in another instant she had pressed her palm against the sensor, and the door slid open with a faint hiss.
Leia Organa was a pretty child. Her long, dark hair accented her pixie's face-pointed chin, round cheeks, and large, dark eyes that could swallow a galaxy. Her mouth was made to give commands, and though she was short and slight in stature and frame, and only nine years old, she carried with her the air and mantle of royalty that many veterans of politics five times her age had not mastered.
To Tarkin, though, she was not a princess, was not royalty; she was his ticket into the eternal good graces of the Emperor.
They crossed the room to the bed. Leia watched them come, watched them circle to the headboard and the machinery, and did not speak. Her eyes were dark, infinite pools of shadow, and in them was silent damnation. Tarkin looked away, and did not meet her eyes again.
The machine beeped under Tera's fingers, and in his peripheral vision Tarkin saw Leia twitch. The machine beeped again, and on the datapad that Tera took down from its hook appeared a long stream of numbers.
"As you can see," Tera said, turning the datapad so that Tarkin could see it clearly, "the substance is cleared from her bloodstream."
"Hm," Tarkin said. He did not understand the stream of numbers, but trusted that Tera was not lying to him. He was paying her more than enough to ensure her honesty.
"The subject's midichlorian count has ceased to rise. And here," Tera said, and pointed to a new number scrolling across the screen, "is the subject's final midichlorian count."
Tarkin stared at it. "Surely this machine is malfunctioning," he said. Not even the infamous Obi-Wan Kenobi had a midichlorian count that high. Tarkin had done his research that afternoon.
"I don't think so, sir," Tera said. She pulled the datapad back to herself and tapped in a new command. A list of numbers and figures appeared on the screen. "Everything else is in order. There's no reason to think this one line of code is malfunctioning."
Tarkin shook his head. "I want it confirmed with another machine," he told Tera. "And I want you to run a full battery of blood tests on the subject, including a full-spectrum DNA test. Give her a physical as well-I want to make certain that the poison did not adversely affect her body."
"Yes, sir," Tera said. She hesitated, then turned to him and said, "I'd like to compare my findings with another expert in the field. I believe that-"
"No," Tarkin said, cutting her off. "This information stays inside this room. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Moff," Tera said.
"Good," Tarkin said. He glanced down at Leia, and then quickly averted his gaze. He looked at the two Troopers still standing by the door, and nodded his head in satisfaction. "Good," he said again. Then, turning back to Tera, he said, "I will be in my office."
He left without a backward glance.
Tarkin arrived back at his office a quarter of an hour later. He opened the door to darkness-he had turned his desk lamp off before leaving with Tera-and crossed to stand before the large windows overlooking the city.
The Administrative Wing of the Imperial Palace rose above the eastern wall, all glittering windows and sleek steel. Tarkin's office was on the 19th floor, high enough above the outer wall that he had a clear view of the city sprawling out before him. Neon lights turned the night to yellow and pink and blue, and the white and red tail lights on speeders made a constant river of motion on the speederways. At times when Tarkin had most to think about, he would often stand in front of the windows and watch the city move in its intricate, multi-hued dance; something about it made the thoughts racing through his mind settle into neat avenues and paths, which Tarkin could follow more easily.
He moved to stand before the windows now, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders straight. The shifting shadows played across his sharp-angled face, transforming him into a gaunt, hollow-eyed ghost.
Just who was Leia Organa? That question sat squat and heavy foremost in Tarkin's mind. According to the records he had pieced together that afternoon-it had taken him the better part of five hours to retrieve and decode them all, scattered and corrupted as each file had been, presumably in the wake of the Jedi Purge-the only Jedi in the history of the Temple who had had higher midichlorian counts were Anakin Skywalker and Yoda.
Most children of Jedi had high midichlorian counts, whether or not they were able to feel the Force. To Tarkin's understanding, though, their counts usually fell somewhere between 5,000 and 9,000. Particularly powerful Jedi, like Obi-Wan Kenobi, were recorded as having over 13,000, while Anakin Skywalker-the most powerful Force user in existence, according to Jedi records-had had at least 20,000.
So who was Leia Organa? Was she the child of a powerful Force user like Kenobi? Or was she simply an enigma, like Anakin and Yoda?
Tarkin stroked his chin and watched the speederway that cut between the Palace wall and the first line of skyscrapers.
What would the best way be to tell the Emperor of his findings? Or should he? If he was able to train Leia in secret, she would become his weapon, rather than the Emperor's. With her at his side, and the Death Star under his control once it was finished, as Tarkin hoped it would be-construction was already under his authority, after all-he would be unstoppable. He could defeat Palpatine and seize the throne for himself.
But then, what if Palpatine discovered Tarkin's duplicitousness? Twelfth Brother knew about her existence, and Tarkin was not sure how far his money would go toward ensuring the Inquisitor's loyalty. All Inquisitors, as Tarkin well knew, were in some unknown way tethered and bound to the Emperor. Would the Emperor know that Twelfth Brother was hiding something? Would he be able to read Twelfth Brother's thoughts and through that discover Leia's existence?
Would he be able to do that to Tarkin?
Yes. That was a simple enough answer. Though he had had the same basic training in thought shielding as every Navy officer underwent, Tarkin knew that he had no special skill at it. The Emperor would barely need to press before he would discover Tarkin's secret. And then where would Tarkin be? Dead, certainly; wishing for it before the end, almost certainly.
So Tarkin would tell the Emperor of Leia Organa's Force Sensitivity. That left the question: How?
Tarkin turned away from the window and, pulling out his chair and leaning forward to flip on the lamp, sat at his desk. He drummed his fingers on the wooden surface for a moment, eyeing the datapads and flimsies scattered across it. He ignored them all, and instead pulled his computer towards himself, flipping open the lid and then putting in his password.
A quick search was all it took for him to find what he was searching for. He selected the first response, and a formal looking document appeared on the computer screen.
ADOPTION RECORD
SERIAL #: 342-ZW-3918
DATE: 3 Abrel, Year 31 of Queen Breha III's Reign
AUTHORIZING PERSONNEL: Kara M. Metieen
This document declares the adoption of (print name of Adopted) Leia Amidala Organa to (print name of Adoptees) Breha Organa and Bail Organa, from Underhill Orphanage.
This document is legally binding. The undersigned Adoptees, henceforth from 3 Abrel, Y31 Breha III, are the legal guardians of the Adopted.
Breha Organa Bail Organa
(Signed) (Signed)
There were three more pages after that, each with increasingly more specific details about the adoption-both about the adopted and the adoptees. Tarkin skimmed the information, filing the relevant tidbits, such as Leia's date of birth-the same as Empire Day-and the orphanage she came from, away in his mind.
Nowhere did it say who her birth parents were.
Tarkin returned to the file database and made a second search. Then a third. Then a fourth. Still, he could find no reference anywhere of Leia Organa's birth parents.
At last, frustrated, Tarkin pushed away the computer and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him.
Either Bail and Breha Organa did not know who their daughter's birth parents were, or they were hiding that fact from public knowledge. Regardless of which it was, though-and, annoyingly, Tarkin suspected he would never find out-it seemed that the only way he was going to get that information was from the DNA test he had instructed Tera to perform. What had at first seemed to be a redundant precaution now was his only source of finding out that critical information.
He checked his chrono. He had been in his office for nearly two hours-plenty of time for Tera to complete the blood work he had requested.
Tarkin had just stood up from his desk to go look for her when he heard a chime at his door. He sat back down, and for the second time that night he called, "Enter."
As he had hoped, it was Tera.
She was pale, and as she crossed to her desk, Tarkin saw that she was trembling. She held a folded piece of flimsie in her hands.
"I have the results of the subject's DNA test."
"And?" Tarkin prompted sharply when she hesitated.
"Look for yourself," Tera said, and handed Tarkin the piece of flimsie.
He spread it out on his desktop and found that he himself was shaking ever so slightly. Was this excitement he was feeling? Fear?
The light pooled and reflected from the flimsie. For a second the dark print of the name was illegible-and then it wasn't.
Tarkin's blood ran hot, then cold, then hot again.
No, he thought. Surely not.
"You are sure this is accurate?" he asked Tera.
"Positive," she said. "I checked it twice."
Tarkin stared down at the names, and found that he was trembling again-this time with shock. Shock and something deeper: elation.
He had heard the rumors, of course. He had known the gossip. But to see the proof before him…
And still, the words burned in his eyes.
DNA TEST RESULTS
DNA MATCH FOUND:
Anakin Skywalker, Father: 100%
Padmé Naberrie, Mother: 100%
Tarkin straightened. "Well done," he said, and looked up at Tera. "Does anyone else know?"
"No," Tera said softly, and shook her head. "Only me."
"Good," Tarkin said.
Very good, he thought. There will be only one body to dispose of.
Unfortunately, he decided, Tera would have to die. There could be no one else who knew of Leia Organa's true parentage. It was a shame, really-Tera had served him well. She was honest and loyal-to his money, if not to him-and now he would have to go through the long and arduous process of finding another doctor who was the right blend of willing to defy the Emperor, in thought if not in action, and greedy.
He would have it done tonight, once she returned to her apartment. A suicide was easy to fake.
"Thank you," Tarkin said, smiling. "You have done well today. I will not forget your loyalty."
Tera smiled in return. "Thank you, Moff," she said.
"You're dismissed," Tarkin said. "Go home. Get some rest."
Tera made half a bow. "Thank you," she said again, and then turned to leave. She hesitated, then turned back. "Are you telling the Emperor?" she asked.
Tarkin's smile remained firmly in place. "I will," he said.
Tera nodded, and then left.
Tarkin waited for a moment, then opened his upper desk drawer. He pulled out a small comm. The voice, when the man on the other side answered, was gruff and thick with sleep.
"Yes, Moff?" the man asked.
"I have a job for you," Tarkin said.
The sleep in the man's voice vanished. "What do you need?"
"I need you to kill a woman named Tera Mardock. She's a palace doctor. Make it look like a suicide."
"I can do that," the man said.
"Good," Tarkin said. He added, "Do it quickly."
"Consider it done," the man said, and ended the call.
Tarkin put the comm. away, and settled back into his chair. He closed his eyes.
He had a lot of planning to do before the morning.
end notes: What did you think? I'd love to hear from you!
