PART II: "Hope"

OOO

Three standard months later…

Padmé stared at me.

I stared at Padmé.

Angular brow arched, Padmé said, "So—Mr. Skywalker. Seems like my parents haven't been entirely truthful about you, or you about yourself. But I suppose I should not be shocked about such lack of truth. After all—you're all plotting a rebellion against the Empire right under my nose. Why bother and tell me that you're actually just a farmer on Tatooine?"

In my shock, I fumbled for words. Ever since she'd shown up at my doorstep, I'd been suffering from speech issues. "Padmé," I ventured—"princess—"

"Oh, no," came the quiet return, a world of anger rippling through the currents of the Force. "No more lies. No more false stories. No more untruthful explanations." What had Han and Leia been telling her? "I know it's true. All of it. I've been digging. I have all the evidence I need to go to the Imperial authorities and—" Here she laughed, a touch madly—"none of you even realized it. You've all thought yourselves very clever, haven't you?"

Her chin went up in pride. "But I am clever, too."

Heart pounding with heady terror, I nonetheless managed to retain an outward countenance of calm even as I imagined I could hear the sound of Vader's breathing, the noise of the stormtroopers' boots already. It was a skill I'd continued to build in the past three months of negotiating, constructing a rebellion from the ground up, and having to seem like I had it all "Jedi together". Not that we had much of a rebellion after three months of work. It was pretty hard to convince anyone to get onboard while the Death Star still stood and the Empire was still the titanic Force it was. Also, we had very little money. I wasn't sure how we'd resolve it all.

Maybe there would be nothing to resolve, if Padmé truly intended to—but no. She wouldn't. I didn't believe it.

Trust the Force, I thought. Some of Obi-Wan's last advice to me. And I hadn't missed the fact that she didn't mention my Jedi status; she didn't know. There was that, at least.

"You are clever indeed," I agreed. "You always have been. Have you reported us?"

"No," said she, visibly startled at my placidity. Thus came the hasty addition: "But I'm going to just as soon as I get some answers."

Padmé, I thought sadly. Oh, Padmé. You wouldn't report your own family—your own father. I don't believe it…

Because I refused to believe what Leia had said a few months ago. There was good in Padmé, love in her. Yes, love for the Empire and for her mentor, Tarkin, but also love for her family and for her people. Maybe I hadn't been able to tell her the whole truth about the Empire before this, but I also knew some seeds had been sown these past few months. Seeds of doubt. I glimpsed them within her—soft shoots growing up from the moldering dirt of her formerly wholly brainwashed mind.

They should be there. Because prior to leaving the palace, I'd done something… shady.

Before I left, I'd used the Force to gain entry to young Padmé's computer. On it, I found a variety of interesting things, none of which I actively tried to snoop at. Though her wallpaper disturbed me, given it was a large image of the Death Star with the "30 years of Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace" banner beneath it. She also had lots of pictures of herself and Han together. And it did seem like she had a pretty big crush on Prince Palpatine, given the wealth of pinned articles about him starting from when he was no older than a day.

However, I sped quickly through all of this, finally reaching my goal. Knowing it was wrong, but knowing wrongness could sometimes be used to a good cause, I clicked on the proper file. After all, Erso had proven that "wrong for right" lesson pretty conclusively, in my opinion.

I looked over all planets on Padmé's list entitled 'Charitable Missions.' It became necessary to do my best to ignore her notes about 'says some unemployed here. Will bring food, but also make sure to report them for vagrancy' and the like. They just made me mad.

Once I found a few unsuitable worlds she'd seemed less interested in, I deleted them, then typed in substitutions of my own where they fit. I wasn't stupid; I knew she would notice if I changed them all. But the list of potential planets included no less than thirty, and so I was hedging my bets that putting in a few of my own selections would go unnoticed—particularly when I made notes like 'birthplace of Lady Kiria DeWinters' and 'the Heir visited here once'.

If the notes were lies… well, they were lies for a cause. None of the worlds Padmé had on her list could show her the truth. Somewhere like Iloh could. I was hedging my bets that her vanity and her love for the Heir would cause her to visit some of my suggestions thanks to the notes.

And it seemed that she had gone to Iloh or somewhere similar after all. I felt the shadowy impact of seeing such suffering, such an example of Sidious's harsh reign. Yes. She was not so wholly centered in the Empire as she had been before. I could work with that.

I was surprised Han and Leia hadn't contacted me, angry about her visiting such planets. But maybe they didn't know. Or maybe they didn't suspect me of such behavior as changing her file around. People didn't realize I could be sneaky, too.

I laid my hand on her shoulder and said with a gentle smile, "Padmé—let's go inside and talk. You can tell me how you found out about all of this."

OOO

So, it began with the conversation between Leia and me. Should have known someone could misconstrue that, I realized. But—

"You thought Leia and I were having an affair?" I had to smile, and to laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, believe me: that's not happening."

"Really?" came the cold reply.

Time for truth. I didn't care what Leia believed. I didn't care what Han believed. No, I wasn't her father or her mother. But if Padmé was this close to wanting to report us…

"Really. Padmé… it wouldn't even be possible. You see—I'm your uncle."

Her jaw dropped. Her gaze grew horrified. I felt a little hurt.

Then… the honey gaze turned inward. "I know," she uttered softly, eyes flying back up to mine. "Somehow, I… I always knew. It was always so easy to talk to you… And then, you were showing such interest in me—I thought you might be stalking me…"

"Right," I agreed. "You felt our familial connection. And I'm sorry about the stalking part."

"You were?"

"Of course not!"

She huffed out, then her gaze narrowed on mine. "How did I? Know somehow, I mean? Because even when I thought… maybe you were up to something… I didn't feel threatened by you that much… I just… I really believed you wouldn't hurt me… Though there was no sense in taking chances," she added officiously.

"We can get to why you did," I returned. Someday. "Why don't you tell me the rest of the story of how you got here?"

She went on to do so in full, explaining how, after believing Leia and me guilty of an affair, she first tried to contact her best friend Alba Tarkin to talk. But the girl, now enrolled in the Imperial Academy, hadn't answered. Padmé had felt alone, desolate, and despondent; Alba was her best of friends and really her only one at the time. She was left to reason it out alone. Of course, Padmé knew her mother and father had been fighting—but they generally did. Then, the fights got much worse. And one night, she heard Han yell, "I didn't sign up for this, Leia!"

Suspicion. Hurt. Worry. Each blossomed within her with brutal intensity. She decided to track me down and demand answers about all of this. But on reaching Riosa, she learned that no "Lord Whitesun" existed. "I did meet a very nice man, the Governor of the world, though."

"Casterfo something?"

"Ransolm Casterfo, yes. He has done good work on the world."

"For all the Empire wrecked it with manufacturing the parts for the Death—sorry, "Peace"—Star," I returned lightly, "yes."

Padmé ignored this jibe, and continued with her tale. It seemed to calm her, telling someone of her cleverness and persistence. Selfish pride gleamed up in her like the jewel of a crown.

"And so, after you came around for that 'dinner party' of Mother's the other day—oh, yes, I know those aren't dinner parties at all, but meetings of conspirators—I decided to track you. I put a beacon on your ship. And here I am."

I took a moment to decide my tack.

"Well, that was very clever," I praised after a moment. "Though I'm hardly surprised."

Padmé flushed, pleasure with herself clear. But she roused herself. "So, then, you're prepared to take your proper punishment with repentance?"

"What do you think our proper punishment is?" I inquired conversationally, neglecting to tell her she sounded like an Imperial propaganda tape. I poured some more jawa juice into her glass, then some blue milk into mine. The red and blue colors of the different drinks contrasted sharply against each other in the fullness of light of the noonday suns. "Mine and your mom and dad's, I mean."

Padmé took a sip of her juice, then frowned at me. "Don't try to use reverse psychology on me, Mr. Skywalker," she returned coolly, that flinty light in her eyes. "Whatever punishment you all receive… it shall be just."

"Of course. I was just wondering how you thought this might go. But no matter." I smiled gently at her. "Either way, we'll all end up dead, and probably Alderaan, too…

"Would you like some bread with that?"

"Alderaan isn't going to end up—and I am most certainly not—"

"Oh, no. Of course not. But anyway, so how was your charitable mission to Iloh?"

"How do you know I went to Iloh?"

"I'm the one who put it on your list," I admitted.

"You?" She breathed out sharply, then uttered, "I knew that I hadn't… But it said that the Heir had—" She flushed again, and then proceeded to eye me coolly. "Very well played. You surprise me."

"I only wanted you to begin to see the truth," I returned evenly. "And I think you did begin to see. I think that's not the only truth you've started to see. Like here. Or Riosa. Lovely, aren't they?"

"Alderaan will not be destroyed. Don't you see? That's why I'm doing this." An agitation showed in her I'd never seen before. A febrile, almost glazed light gleamed in her eyes. "I know you all can't have done much. Who would believe the Empire could ever fall? The Peace Star? So putting down this flare of resistance will be a small matter, and the Emperor will show forgiveness. As will Lord Vader. They are the kindest, most generous… most forgiving beings in the whole galaxy—"

Oh, Padmé, I thought, and in this moment understood something I hadn't. Padmé believed in the Empire. She trusted in it. And she was entirely idealistic about it—to a fault, even if her faith was slightly shaken.

Or was she so idealistic of it? Did she truly believe what she said? Or was she only attempting to paint her ruthlessness in a better light? I couldn't believe anyone could possess such cruelty, but then Tarkin did. And he mentored her for a reason.

Still, I didn't believe it. This was the first time I'd ever confronted cool-headed, ice-hearted ruthlessness existing amidst loving idealism, and I couldn't contemplate the coexistence. I couldn't believe Padmé would actually do such a thing.

Because in the end… she couldn't. Wouldn't. Even if I had to take steps against her that I didn't want to take.

"We're going to destroy the Death Star," I said.

Silence.

"What?"

"It can be destroyed," I continued. "The Death Star can. That's what started this all. We have the plans, and we plan to destroy the station. We think, once the threat of the planet-killer is gone, the worlds will begin to rally against Sid—against Emperor Palpatine. What would keep them under subjugation and slavery in all but name, then?"

"…you're sure that you can destroy it?"

"Quite sure."

Conflict shadowed her face. "The planet-killer enforces his reign," she said quietly. "If it could be destroyed… Well, I see how you would believe that rebellion is no useless gesture, then."

"That's right."

"But I still believe it to be. The Empire has flaws, but everything does. It's so close to perfect—"

"It isn't. I'm sorry, Padmé, but it's time you know the truth. The Empire is brutality, corruption, injustice, and evil. It's headed by beings who follow the dark side of the Force. None of us have any choices. The Senate is long disillusioned after the planet-killer's premiere; you think that a coincidence? No. Because Sidious never intended for the Empire to be the so-called 'triumph of the people' as he calls it. It's his Empire, a monument to his massive ego, and he can do whatever he likes.

"Now, I know you, Padmé. I really believe I do. And I know that for all you might lately look down on your father for his long difficulties in adjusting to his princely role, you love him more than you love anything or anyone. And you take your duty seriously. And for all your idealism, you aren't a fool, either. I'll tell you exactly what will happen to those you love if you do this: complete apocalypse."

She was about to reply to this last when suddenly a knocking came at the front door. Knock.

Knock knock.

Knock.

And an all-too-familiar voice said, "Luke?"

Stang, I thought. Biggs. The Imperial Admiral on leave from his new promotion a few months ago. A promotion that suddenly made it very easy to cut off all contact with him.

He'd replaced the fortunate Ree, who had been promoted to Grand Commander of the Death Star after Tarkin's retirement a few months back, which had supposedly been willing by the now seventy-nine-year-old man who'd long outlived required retirement age. Everyone knew the old canard wanted to keep going forever, but the Emperor forced his hand, and so Ree got promoted. Grand Commander Ciena Ree was one of the few survivors of the command of the Executor II, Vader's flagship. That left a power gap. One filled by a son of Tatooine, well known and respected in the fleet. And when I heard the news… I'd felt like vomiting, and screaming, and crying all at once.

Because Biggs Darklighter had become Darth Vader's Admiral.