I'm back! I was away for two weeks, hence no fic updates, but I did manage to get three whole chapters of this written out by hand in my notebooks :D It'll take an age to type them up, but they are written and they are coming.

This was all typed up in a sort of fevered, tired rush over the past few hours, then edited in the aftermath of it, so forgive any typos XD


Luke woke up in the wee hours of that morning, cold and strangely uncomfortable, with the realisation that he didn't remember anything since—

Since the ball.

Since his father had picked him up.

He huffed. That explained why he was still in the undershirt and trousers from the previous evening, rather than pyjamas; he'd either fallen asleep there and then, or his father had put him to sleep, and been carried home.

Force.

He'd been carried home.

He really hoped none of the senators or courtiers had hung around to see that.

But it was still early, still dark outside—if this had been one of his burgling nights he wouldn't have even starting heading back yet—so he didn't have the energy to hope too fervently. He just crawled out of bed, dragged himself into his pyjamas, then blacked out again the moment his head hit the pillow.

He had to be up again in only a few hours, anyway.


"Good morning," his father greeted when he stumbled into the kitchen. The droid who was making pancakes chirped a greeting as well; Luke acknowledged them both with a faint grunt.

"Not very awake?" Vader asked, amused.

Luke plopped into his seat and—when C10 dropped a stack of pancakes on the table—reached for a plate to drown in syrup. "You're telling me. I'll be properly awake soon enough."

"Good, because I don't think I need to remind you about the military strategy meeting you have been commanded to attend."

"You don't need to, so please don't," he groaned through a sweet mouthful. "Why do I have to go? What will I be able to add?"

"You attended a military academy for several years; do not underestimate yourself. But I feel the primary value of your beginning to attend these meetings is that you will learn and absorb, rather than contribute."

"I guess," Luke admitted grumpily, spearing another piece of pancake with his fork. "Who'll even be there, anyway?"

"It is one of the yearly update meetings with the highest ranked members of the Imperial armed forces. Most officers of importance will be there, whether by holo or in person. The Emperor presides over it; I will attend—"

Luke smiled. "Alright, I like this better already."

"—as will Governor Tarkin—"

"I take it back. Ugh." Luke wrinkled his nose. "Tarkin? Grand Moff 'fear is the most effective tool to keep rebellions in line' Tarkin?" Luke imitated him as he said it, the Core accent bitter on his tongue.

"There may be a great many members of his dynasty in the navy but yes, I did mean him. Your..." He paused. "Your impression of him was uncanny."

Luke shrugged, shovelling more food in—though, at his father's pointed head tilt, he chewed and swallowed before his spoke. "At the Academy my friends and I used to compete to see who could do the best imitations. I won—there was a running joke that I should be a voice actor."

Vader said, not without amusement, "And it was common for you to use this... mimicry to mock respected members of the Empire, as well as their doctrines?"

This time, Luke pointedly did not swallow his bite before he looked his father in the eye and said, "Yes."

After a moment, he added, "My impression of you was infamous."

Vader snorted. "I cannot say I disapprove of the practice, I suppose. Though you will under no circumstances demonstrate this skill of yours at the meeting. And... we will discuss your clearly negative opinions of the Tarkin Doctrine later, as I cannot understand what you find so distasteful about it, but simply be sure to keep your criticisms quiet in the meeting, today."

Luke smirked.

"In fact, allow me to amend that." Vader sounded wary and weary all at once. "Keep your opinions and contributions to a minimum, this first time. You can raise any objections you wish to make with me, either by the Force or afterwards. But do not speak unless addressed, and do your best to be diplomatic."

Luke promised, "I'll do my best."


His best was so hard to do.

The room was filled with people and holograms, each more distasteful than the last. Tarkin, Moff Ghadi, Thrawn, Pryce... various senators, like Erialus and Falynn were attending as well, whose eyes he did his utmost not to meet. At least Piett and Veers were here—though Veers looked, for some reason, furious. Mara was there too, as a bodyguard, though her red head was mostly hidden in the crowd, on the other side of the room.

If it was about having to attend this meeting, Luke could certainly relate.

Palpatine had smiled warmly at Luke as Mas Amedda ushered him in; now he was seated on his left, with Vader on Palpatine's right, fielding an endless stem of greetings from officers whose names he barely knew.

He sat through it stoically—his channelled his mother and her charm, his sister and her stubbornness, as he sat and dealt with jovial men thrice his age celebrating atrocities; sycophantic people cosying up to royalty; stern-faced, respected officers who borderline glared at him and his father, muttering to each other.

Was it the nepotism that bothered them? If so, Luke understood their fears, even if... even if he knew that Palpatine would've wanted him just as much if he'd been born with this power without being the son of his most trusted lieutenant. But no; the resemblance between some of them, and the names he could only distantly recall, suggested that it was not nepotism they found abhorrent.

Perhaps they had a grudge against his father. Perhaps they disliked his mysticism and didn't want that line to continue. Or perhaps they were miffed that Vader had killed a friend of theirs but hadn't promoted them in their place.

Who knew.

It was a good distraction so he felt himself zoning out despite himself—despite the fact that he should be learning all the information he could, to report to Leia. His eyes snapped back to attention when his father prodded.

Luke.

Luke gritted his teeth and intentionally did not glance across the table towards Vader. He could feel him laughing at him, though he was sure no one would guess from the impassive mask.

What did I miss? Luke asked begrudgingly. He only did it because he saw Palpatine cut his gaze towards him, to look, and he did not want to be caught off guard if the old man decided to ask him his opinion.

Grand Admiral Thrawn was merely reporting on the state of the Empire's interests on Lothal. His TIE Defender scheme is running well, but a local Rebel cell is causing trouble.

Good. Aren't they always? Luke quipped, trying not to betray his discomfort. He'd... When Luke was a few years younger and more naive, when Vader had first told him of the excellence of Thrawn's plans for the TIE Defenders and prototypes, he'd been ecstatic. The concept of one day flying something like that had excited him more than anything—the speeds, the weapon capabilities... It was stunning.

But now...

Now, the concept of those ships being turned on some of his Rebel friends filled him with dread.

Indeed, was all Vader replied, then Luke sensed his presence withdraw.

Withdraw, only to then boom out loud, "Rebels are the scum of the galaxy, and have always sought to destabilise Imperial prospects. You should be able to deal with such a minor annoyance, Grand Admiral. Why bring it up at a meeting such as this?"

"Because," Pryce said, her holographic form brightening slightly as she spoke, "when we investigated the wreckage of one of the factories that was destroyed, this is what we discovered."

In the middle of the massive circular table they were hovering around, the visual from the central holoprojector changed—it was no longer a hologram of a wicked-looking, clawed TIE Defender, but... an actual image.

Luke frowned and leant forwards. It was a piece of graffiti on a crumbling wall, not unlike the crimson starbird the Ghost crew was known to leave behind. It was the same vicious red, as was some writing underneath that the holo cut off, but the symbol was totally different: a cross made of loops; or a stylised four-leaf clover, like in legends from Alderaan; or a horizontal figure of eight or infinity loop stamped on top of a vertical one.

It looked like a flower. It looked like a royal motif and symbol from Naboo. With the loop at the bottom being more elongated than the other, squashed three, it even looked like...

He caught his breath as Pryce changed the image to one more zoomed out, one with the text under it clear and whole.

It read, in blocky Aurebesh: In the name of the Angel.

No.

Stars.

Oh, stars...

Palpatine, who'd been watching this all play out in a dim sort of amusement, frowned and leaned forwards.

"Angel," he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Pryce said smoothly. "Grand Admiral Thrawn is of the opinion—"

"I believe the Rebels have adopted 'Angel' as a rallying cry," Thrawn said for himself, his voice always that disconcertingly calm monotone. "They gave this thief a name for their propaganda and they have been using it ever since. Collaborations with Director Krennic—"

"I can provide my own evidence, thank you, Grand Admiral."

A man in white stood from his seat around the table, managing to look simultaneously imperious and nervous. If Luke hadn't been worried about the hot water it would land him in, he'd have rolled his eyes at all the jostling and backstabbing.

"There was an attack on the primary building site for Project Stardust, as I mentioned in my report earlier"—Luke actually remembered some parts of that; he remembered Palpatine had been furious, Tarkin shocked and Vader smug, though he had no idea was 'Stardust' was meant to be—"and the detail about the attack that I mentioned I would go into later is this."

The image on the projector changed again. Another picture of that symbol appeared, on the side of a great curved piece of metal, the size of a starscraper. Luke couldn't tell from anything there what in the worlds Project Stardust was meant to be.

"The same people who infiltrated the project, freed the workers and set back its construction by..." Krennic swallowed, glancing between the twin glares Palpatine and Tarkin were giving him, before slowly recovering some of his self-importance. "...by decades, also left this symbol. They likely were also doing it in Angel's name."

Luke was kriffed.

Krennic was about to lose his job, and possibly his life—whatever had happened, clearly it had essentially obliterated a pet project of Palpatine's. And... it had been done in Angel's name, which meant...

Luke was so, so, so, so, so, so, so kriffed.

"Angel was behind it," Palpatine said, deadly soft. "Not directly, no, but... behind it. I see."

It was so silent in the meeting room that Luke could hear the distant, distant hum of speeders beyond the Palace.

Then Palpatine turned to the rugged man seated on Luke's left, wearing a red guard's uniform.

"Captain Vassic," he said. "This is as good a time as any to begin your report on the update you have made to the Palace's security. Lord Vader has informed me that meaningful leads on this burglar are currently nonexistent"—some polite sniggering around the table; Luke sensed his father's fury, the way he was clenching his fists, but was focused on shielding his own overwhelming relief—"so all we can achieve on that front is to increase their bounty yet again. But can you at least run through for us the measures taken to ensure that we are not breached, yet again?"

Luke tried not to look too interested as Vassic cleared his throat.

"Certainly, Your Majesty," he said. Luke listened closely.


Luke's head was spinning from the amount of information he'd been trying to internalise for all the hours he sat there. He wasn't thrilled when—as Palpatine stood, everyone else stood, and Vader gestured for the prince to follow the Emperor out—he was led straight to a training room immediately after.

He did not fail to notice how heavy his father's gaze was on his back, or how cagey he acted when Luke mentally enquired where he was going.

"There are numerous things to cover," Palpatine began, seating himself in an armchair and gesturing to Luke to sit—on the floor—in front of him.

Luke did, making sure to sit well back from where the hem of his black robes brushed the floor, adopting a straight-backed, cross-legged stance. He let his gaze wander as he did: the room was more reminiscent of his father's spartan duelling salles, or the halls at the Academy where they'd been taught to shoot and wrestle, with a rack of various weapons at the far end, a smoother floor partially covered in a mat, and a high ceiling. Luke wondered how much of his training would be physical.

He wondered if he'd have to fight Palpatine.

Would it look suspicious if he killed him by accident?

"Your father, I know, has taught you a few... basics," Palpatine said, something bitter but unsurprised in his tone. "Rudimentary levitation, telepathy... and shielding." He narrowed his eyes; Luke gulped. "We will test your aptitude in the other two later. For now, let us see how you fare with your shielding."

This could go so badly.

This could go so, so, so badly.

But it wasn't like he could refuse, could he? So he just swallowed... and nodded.

"I'm ready," he said, "master."

He wasn't; not really. But Palpatine knew that too and wasn't going to wait any longer, so he just braced himself for the assault and—

A frozen spear pierced the area behind his eyes; Luke cried out, the noise wrenched from his throat with a vengeance as images flashed to mind—

Leia, fifteen and righteous, staring down a teacher.

His father, infinitely tall when Luke was small, bending down to pick him up; shifting, fracturing, to the memory of how he'd done the same the previous night.

Piett and Veers. Zev. Trace and Han—they flashed by in an instant, too quickly for Palpatine to latch onto them, thank the Force—then Mara and Luke sensed amusement—

He gritted his teeth and pushed back.

The brutal pain in his temple eased, then spiked again as Palpatine attacked once more, dashing Luke's walls to pieces, and a shout ripped from his throat again—

No.

Leia's face, in the Senate gardens, mouthed something at him.

No.

If— If Palpatine ran into certain memories, it was all over.

My mind is a fortress, he chanted. He sensed amusement but ignored it—imagined his father's castle on Mustafar through the eyes of the child he'd been when last he saw it, infinitely tall and spired, lava crawling around its edges.

Sparks flying, left right and centre.

You will not breach my fortress.

Palpatine's shadowy hands reached greedily again, reaching for— for—

It didn't matter.

Luke lashed out, sparks flying, and they retreated. Shields coalesced in sheets of gold—part illusion, like blinding lights glinting off the Coruscanti starscrapers; part flame and magma, scalding to touch; and...

Luke had visited Tatooine, once. He'd been fifteen, curious about a past his father barely wanted to speak of—and barely capable of fending for himself. He'd crashed in the middle of a sandstorm, and he had thought he would die there.

He let Palpatine see that memory—though not all of it. Not the memory of his unknown aunt and uncle, who'd saved him and answered a few questions; not the memory of his father's fury, when he'd found out where he'd gone. Just the sensation of helplessness: of watching a shifting storm of sand swallow him,, layering onto his shield of light, glass and flame. A mess of gold, too bright to look at, too unreliable to chance invading.

Palpatine drew back, laughing distantly.

Good, he conceded, his voice hissing louder than even the torrent and storm. But shall we see if we can do better, my prince?

And the spear returned.

Agony flared. Swirling sheets of sand, glass and fire solidified, cracked, vanished into another image, of— of— of—

A dark tunnel. An unused corridor.

No.

He shoved back again, fire igniting and spinning around him, but Palpatine just laughed and more pain flared.

Use it, young Skywalker, the voice purred. Use the pain—your father may not have gone into the philosophies of the dark side yet, but I am sure he has preached the usefulness of pain as a tool to get what you want.

He hadn't, actually. He'd said Luke couldn't be trained in the dark side just yet and stuck to it—for what reason, Luke could only suspect.

But Leia had preached to him the dangers of using pain and suffering for power.

Palpatine, as if sensing his reluctance, pushed harder and Luke's vision went red. He opened his eyes to a blood-tinged scene: the training room, cast in crimson; his own ruddy hands, clenched on his knees; Palpatine's corpselike and raw skin, his ember eyes, staring at him, unblinking.

The pounding in his head only grew; he scrunched his eyes shut against the pain.

Once again, he sensed Palpatine's grip veer towards that— that memory of him sneaking through the Palace corridors, fighting Mara, and said no

No, he would not see that, that would ruin everything

He reached through the fog of pain, for his pain; pain was all he knew, it was the only thing that filled his mind as he reached

And the fires blackened. The sand hardened to transparisteel. Luke shivered, unaccustomed to the biting cold that engulfed him like an ice flash, his shields all hard angles and dark, glinting silver. Palpatine rapped on them and they rang—loudly, uncomfortably. But they did not breach.

A long, slow clapping.

Luke opened his eyes. It was Palpatine's applause—slow enough that it would seem sarcastic if Luke's couldn't sense his satisfaction.

"Good," he said, "good. Far more impressive than I expected." He smiled. "But there is, as always, room for improvement.

"Shall we go again?"


Luke's head throbbed permanently by the time he got home. He could barely fly his speeder straight without relying on blared alerts and warnings from the Force, but thankfully he made it home in one piece.

The first thing he did when he got there was take a painkiller and a nap. The second thing he did was wake up and curse himself.

He... had been meant to stay near the Palace and the Senate. Leia had messaged him in the early hours of that morning; she wanted to meet, to talk about something that had happened last night.

He wondered if it had anything to do with his father's odd behaviour after the meeting.

But he guessed he wouldn't know now. He'd have to comm her, apologise, ask to meet her tomorrow—

Unless she commed him first.

He raised his eyebrows but accepted the contact, still lying back in bed, and watched a hologram of her head and shoulders pop up.

"Hello, Leia," he said, somewhat wryly. "I— I'm sorry I forgot, I had an appointment with His Majesty, but—"

"I know. I heard." Luke's eyebrows shot up—how?—but she rattled on: "I came to yours instead. Tell your droids to let me up."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "I'm fairly sure running into my father is the last thing you want to be doing; meeting here—"

"Your father is occupied at the Palace. He will be for hours. That's the problem."

Luke frowned.

What... what did that mean?

"Alright," he said. "Come on up."


"This place is..." Leia twisted the side of her mouth, glancing around his room. "I know it's been a while since I was last here, but I didn't expect—"

"It to be so messy?" he joked. It was not quite as neat as usual—his father had stopped having the droids clean his room when he was twelve, to make sure Luke learnt to keep it clean himself, the way he had to at the Academy, and Luke had been too tired or stressed in recent days to pick his dirty clothes off the floor.

"I expected messier," she teased. He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Alright, dearest sister," he said, sitting up on the bed—that, he'd... sort of made an effort to make—and giving her his full attention. "What's this about?"

She gingerly kicked her shoes off and took a seat on the bed, just across from him, straight-backed and cross-legged like a princess should. "There are no... you know... in here?" she murmured, waving her finger around.

Luke shook his head. "That would be creepy, to be frank, and an invasion of privacy my father wouldn't want to commit to. There are the stormtroopers at the front door and the back door, as well as the top and bottom floors, who respond to any security breaches when the alarms on the windows and doors go off. But no holocams, security or not. The entire reason we moved out of our quarters in the Imperial Palace when I was four was that my father didn't want my every moment spied on or scrutinised throughout my life."

"And that's played in your advantage, certainly," Leia observed.

Luke frowned.

She moved hurriedly on. "I understand, though. My parents have the same philosophy about having the royal family have some semblance of privacy." Luke tried not to think about the fact that, technically, they had the same parents. "So, no holocams?"

"No holocams," Luke confirmed.

Leia let out a breath. "Well then. First things first, the actual mission I was instructed to give you was this: the Rebellion needs lightsabers."

Luke blinked. "Lightsabers?"

"Yes." Leia bit her lip. "Hearing that you successfully broke into the Imperial Palace means... well, they want to take advantage of that. Palpatine and Vader have collections of lightsabers as trophies, don't they? We... we have the number of Jedi in the Rebellion slowly..."

"Increasing?" Somehow, Luke was sceptical of that.

Leia huffed a breath. "No. But... You might have heard of the attack on the Imperial factories on Lothal. The Jedi of the Ghost crew lost their lightsabers there. And... I need a new lightsaber, as well."

Luke tilted his head. "You had one in the first place?"

"Of course. It was part of my training. But the lightsaber I did have..."

Luke waited.

Leia swallowed and said: "When my master gave it to me, she said it was my birth father's."

Luke flinched. "Ah."

"I think you," she said, "if anyone, should have it."

That was a terrible excuse. "Because you don't want it?"

"No. I don't want it."

That... he didn't know how he felt about this—the offer and the admission. "If someone finds out I have it—if my father finds it—"

"I know. And I won't give it to you now." She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "But... yes. I need a new lightsaber. And so do the Spectres. And you are a far more viable way to achieve that than to break onto Ilum or Jedha in order to find a kyber crystal while the Empire strips them dry."

That did make sense, as much as he loathed to admit it. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. Palpatine certainly had far, far more Jedi lightsabers than he knew what to do with. "And that attack on Lothal... that was impressive."

"What have you heard about it? I thought the Empire would want to keep it quiet—though I should mention," she smirked, bumping his shoulder, "that it was only possible because you got us that chip with the Tarkin Initiative codes. The moment we learnt about it, Project Stardust became our number one target."

"Well, you've completely destroyed it, whatever it was. Krennic was saying that the construction's been set back decades."

"Good."

"What was it?"

She shook her head. "You don't want to know."

"Fine." He smiled wryly. "But I know about it because I had to attend that big military meeting today, as prince." He pulled a face. "And... I have questions about using my name as a rallying cry."

Leia grinned at him. "You consented to it."

"I did," he conceded. "But this... I'm kriffed."

"They're looking for an angel," Leia assured him. "Not a prince. Don't worry."

"Am I not both?" he joked, something still uncomfortably tight in his chest. She swatted his arm.

"How was the meeting?"

"Boring. I'll type up the full intelligence and give it to you or Han later." He smiled, genuinely, then, even if it was a mere quirk of the lips. "It was fascinating, hearing the exact plans for the stringent safety measures they're implementing at the Palace to prevent another Angel attack."

Leia laughed. "That's good to hear. And—"

She cut herself off.

"What?" he asked. "And what was the rest of what you came to tell me?"

Leia sighed. "Senator Hyadum. You know her?"

"I danced with her yesterday."

"Exactly."

Luke tilted his head in question.

"She's been accused of treason, subject to interrogation and imminent execution," Leia said flatly, "for attempted assassination of the Imperial prince."

Each word dropped in the silence like powerless speeders, dropping from the sky.

"Ah," was all Luke said. "So that's where my father is."

"Indeed."

Luke was silent for a moment—thinking over... everything. Hyadum's face, her tattoos, flashed to mind.

"Is the accusation true?" he asked, a little numbly. "She wasn't a very good assassin, if so."

"I contacted the main cell; they contacted the cell near Pantora, who kept in contact with her. It's more extreme than we are, and... Apparently it is true," she had the grace to grimace, "though she hasn't confessed. She... she's got a similar role to me, and is generally a sweet, peaceful person. She wasn't on board with the idea of assassination, no matter who it was; she was pressured into it. She was meant to lead you out of the Palace, to a specific room, where you'd get attacked."

"I would?" he asked. "Or both of us would?"

Leia shrugged. "I don't think they minded, so long as you were dead."

Luke was still quiet. "The Rebellion doesn't know who I am—that I'm Angel," he said, "and not every major decision is run by you. How do I know they won't try to kill me again?"

"They won't," Leia said surely. Then her voice was... slightly weaker. "The Rebellion are better than that."

Luke just nodded, and made no further acknowledgement. "So you want me to rescue Hyadum before she's killed?"

"Ideally. She... got caught up in something. She has the best of intentions. And she's always been a great asset to the Rebellion."

"I'm sure she has—and you don't need to layer it on, Leia, I'll save her whether she's a saint or not."

She beamed at him. "I knew you would."

He was already running through the security in his head, the routes around the Palace dungeons, the sort of time he had. "She'll be executed tomorrow?"

"At 0600 hours, according to my informant."

Luke nodded. "Alright. Then I'll save her tonight." Palpatine's trophy collections were clean on the other side of the Palace from the prisons. "I'll save her tonight, and... I'll get back to you about the lightsabers. I won't be able to do them both at once, but..."

Well. He'd be pushing his luck to try to break into the Imperial Palace a third time.

"Thank you, Luke. You have no idea how much you do for the Rebellion."

He was about to dismiss it.

Then...

"I have an idea of it," he murmured—allowed himself to murmur. His mind flashed back to those holos—that symbol. "What's with the doodle that accompanies the Angel graffiti?"

"The clover?" He nodded. "It's a stylised angel."

"It's a bunch of loops."

"It's stylised and it's easy to draw quickly. That's what's important."

Luke huffed. "You designed it, didn't you."

"No. Sabine Wren did. But I approved it." She winked.

Luke laughed.


When he looked back at his comm again, after Leia had left, he had three missed calls from Zev.

"I need your help," was the only clear message from their minutes and minutes' worth of rambling—so, of course, the first thing Luke did was comm him back.

"Hey," he said when he picked up. "Sorry, I've been busy"—really, extremely busy, ever since his father returned to Coruscant—"but I'm here now if you need anything."

Zev caught his breath before he replied. "I— thank you, Luke. There— there was a speeder I was working on, this challenge my father set me as family bonding time, and I was wondering if you could help at some point? You know— you know mechanics isn't what I'm good at."

"Of course," Luke replied, though he was fairly sure the story was a lie; Zev wasn't the sort of person to comm him three separate times over something like that. "Does now work? Life always seems simpler when you're fixing things."

There was a moment of silence, then—

"Yeah," Zev said. "Yeah, it does."


"So what was the challenge?" Luke asked, following his friend into his back room, where the speeder was. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it." And Luke would've thought that any challenge Veers would set Zev would be something to do with military tactics, something in his own area of expertise, anyway; not mechanics.

Zev started it up. Luke winced at the racket—a sort of grinding and rattling. "I take it back."

"Uh huh. My father said that if I could fix it so it was noiseless, the way it was advertised, I could keep it."

"A typical challenge for a father." Well. For Luke's father. Whether it was typical of all fathers was debatable.

"He's trying, I suppose."

They shared a smile and got to work.

"I... haven't spoken to you much, yet," Zev said, a touch awkwardly. "Not since... you know."

"The prince thing?"

"Yeah. That." Zev twirled a hydrospanner in his hands. "What's that like?"

Luke scoffed a laugh. "I'm not a fan."

"If I could choose who the prince was," Zev offered, "you'd be first."

"Choosing isn't exactly the point of princes though, is it?" He ran his hands through his hair, uncaring that it was getting greasy. "I appreciate that, though, even if... I'm just not cut out for it. At that ball yesterday—which I was disappointed not to find you at, by the way, your father was there—"

"Me? At a ball? You must be joking."

"I would say the same— anyway, it's just clear. I'm not meant for this. I don't like sitting in on these things knowing I'm just for show, projecting an image. A symbol of... something, I don't know."

"Just for show?" Zev paused. "Don't you have any influence?"

"As prince? Nope." It was pretty early on to call that, but... he knew Palpatine would never listen to him if his views contradicted his own; he couldn't even convince his father, let alone the other important officials. He unscrewed something ferociously to let out some of his frustrations, tongue between his teeth.

"I—" Zev seemed lost for words. "When we were talking before... we both had issues with the Empire."

"It's flawed, to say the least."

"Yes. Do..." He swallowed. "Do you think it is possible for us to change it, from the inside? Or was that just naive of us?"

Luke stopped.

He... stood there for a moment, giving it some thought.

Should he be trying to do that? He hated almost all of what the Empire did—but not quite all of it. He didn't hate his father, though many did. He didn't hate Piett, or Veers, or any of the people who served it genuinely, flaws and all, because they believed in it.

Should he use his position to change it, bloodlessly? Or keep using it to burn this empire to the ground?

He wished he could say he'd thought about this a lot. But in truth... he'd started stealing for his father as an act of revenge, then for Leia, as a favour. It... had escalated from there—to stealing things he thought deserved to, should be, stolen.

Senator Hyadum—or rather, her allies, were clearly in favour of the destruction. Of tearing it all down, the cost be damned, and doing whatever it took to get there. Luke sympathised with that, even if he didn't sympathise with the assassination part.

What would he do, if he became Emperor?

What would he change?

How would he change it?

"I..." he tried to say, when he realised he'd been silent for a while. "I don't know, Zev. I want to believe that, but... I don't want false hope."

"False hope," Zev echoed.

"I'm going to do my best," Luke resolved—to Zev and to himself—"but... I'm not certain whether or not I can succeed."

Zev nodded. "That sounds like a good plan," he said. "I..."

He paused for one pregnant moment, staring, something on the top of his tongue.

Luke waited.

Zev clammed up. "I'll do my best to do either of them," he said.

"Do you know which one you'd want to do?"

"No," Zev said.

He was lying.


Sana Starros was visiting Coruscant again when she looked at a wanted poster for Angel.

The bounty had doubled.

That... that was higher than anything she'd get from Han.

Sixty thousand credits for any information on this thief...

She smiled to herself and turned away—she could use this. Somehow, someway, she could sell what she knew to cash that bounty in.

She didn't have Angel. But she did have information.

And she knew that information could go a long way.