Elan
Coruscant took her breath away. After leaving the Net cafe, Elan followed the navs the Queen Mother had given her, up, up, up, past shacks built one upon the other in the lower levels where the drudges of every species scraped by, then to soaring metal mansions on the higher levels, where those around her walked with aloof purpose, as though unaware that there was a whole other world below. There were more humans in the upper levels, she noticed, feeling uneasy. Already Palpatine's invisible puppeteering was pushing non-humans to the fringes. The first breaths of too many genocides to count.
Palpatine's reign had always been so distant, a footnote in her family's history. Her father rarely talked about those days, but Aunt Leia had told her some, and likely knew more. Luke had spent his growing-up years barely touched by the Empire, and then after that at war with them; Leia had grown up in the Imperial Senate, had seen the poison Emperor Palpatine spread throughout the galaxy. He'd declared humans superior and relegated other species to menial jobs in his administration. Human ambassadors practically ran the alien planets under his rule.
Elan felt chills run up her arms. She had been brought to the brink, had landed in the midst of his early days. She could save her family, perhaps. Save Anakin? So many Skywalkers had gone to the darkness and come back stronger; Anakin himself was no exception, but what if she could pull him back before everything went to hell? And she needed to find her grandmother, whoever she was, and protect her and the infant Luke and Leia. Were they born yet? She ran the dates through her head, trying to remember how old her father was. Likely no. But soon. Within months, surely.
But could she do more? Could she shift the balance of this moment? Palpatine had no idea what an enemy walked his streets, an enemy who knew all his weaknesses and could overpower his strengths. Could she do it? She was only one person, but then again, so was he. And he had taken over the galaxy with but a few trusted allies and many manipulated followers. She didn't have the advantage of time as he'd had, but she did have the advantage of...knowing. The thought would not be dislodged from her mind.
Sleek ships glided past her as she climbed the Hill to the Senate. This landmark she knew from her history books; it was one of the few images of Coruscant that still lingered in the New Republic's consciousness. Atop a high point in the city, the Senate loomed, a dome of bright silver in the sun's first light. The statue of the ancient gods of the Republic, which had been rescued during the war and now sat in the middle of New Coruscant's flowering landscape, was dwarfed by the towers of steel and glass surrounding it. She approached, feeling self-conscious, wondering who she was to meet and how they would recognize her.
But as it turned out, it was she who recognized him.
"Senator Organa?" she asked, startled, the words slipping out unbidden. Bail Organa was younger than the pictures Aunt Leia had, but still steady, calming, as she'd always imagined. Bail Organa was an invisible presence in the Solo home, an unspoken influence in all Aunt Leia said and did. A man of integrity and strength. Elan felt as though she wanted to weep from relief.
"Princess Chume." He extended a hand, inclined his hand. "I was hoping you would make yourself known. Your mother did not precisely tell me how I was to know you."
His expression was stoic, and Elan felt her initial hopes waver. Of course Bail, the head of the Aldaraanean consulate, would distrust a Hapan. Everyone here was going to distrust a Hapan.
Bail motioned her forward and silently led her up the wide avenue lined with rows of gleaming mansions, not as towering as the surrounding buildings, but magnificent in design if not in scale. So this was how the wealthy of Coruscant had lived. Elan wondered what these mansions looked like now—then?—before? She tripped over the thought for a few moments. It was easy to accept things as they were, as long as she didn't think about it. As long as she didn't wonder what was going to happen, how she was going to get home. If she ever was going to get home.
"I—your mother indicated that the home is fully staffed, awaiting your arrival." Bail looked hesitant. "I must confess, it…I was surprised to find Hapes had such a ready presence here, unknown to any of us."
"Likely not unknown to all." The words slipped out. Elan thought, I sound glib. She didn't mean to be glib. She just assumed Palpatine kept a close eye on any presence that might threaten his rule. Hapes probably didn't concern anyone else in the Republic; from what she remembered of their history, during this time, and most times, they were isolationist, kept to themselves, were a threat but only if threatened. And no one in the Republic would have cause to threaten them, but Palpatine.
"Likely not," Bail agreed, though he may have just decided to be agreeable. Don't mess with the Hapan. Obviously.
Windows were opening above them; some were stirring in the early-morning light, though likely just servants. Elan had grown up around the upper classes. She knew their habits, and doubted it varied no matter the decade.
What was she going to do? Now that the immediate concern of food and housing and some sort of status in this time was dealt with, the question was getting harder to ignore. Search for a way home, but where to begin? And while doing that, try to, oh, stop Palpatine and save Anakin and keep the Republic intact. But how? She couldn't do it on her own. Already there were people here, working behind the scenes. Already, she knew, the seeds of the Rebellion were sowed, by people like Bail. But how to reach them? How to get them to trust her?
She looked at Bail. He was the logical one to start with. He didn't seem overtly hostile, but that was certainly not a ringing endorsement. And she couldn't lead with "hey, I'm your adopted daughter's niece come from the future to help you" unless she wanted him to think she was crazy. So how to get around it?
Well. There was the obvious route, helpfully laid out for her by the Queen Mother's initiative in placing her trust, minimal as it was, in Aldaraan.
"When we get into the house," Elan murmured, stepping close to Bail, trying to strike a secretive tone, "can we be assured it's without…surveillance?"
Bail slowed his pace, as though ready to stop in his tracks, but caught himself and kept moving.
"As you said"—his tone was wary—"you are likely not unknown to all. But…I suspect the house is safe. Your mother, after all, would have tasked her staff to scour the place for bugs."
"That is sufficient," Elan said, her mind racing as she tried to plot out the most reasonable path forward. One that would make sense, that wouldn't seem suspicious. Or not as suspicious.
They rounded the corner, and Bail pointed toward a stately building with an impossibly white façade. "Across the street from the Aldaraanian Consulate," he said. "And I never knew."
It was grudging respect in his voice, maybe, or perhaps just a grudge. His presence in the Force indicated wariness, a sense of muted concern. He was worried, but also determined not to be worried. None of that was particularly helpful.
Bail was waiting her to take the lead now that he'd pointed out the house. Her house. She tried to act confident, stepped forward across the stone street, and placed her hand on the cool metal door. There was a slight hissing noise as the door slid open.
Waiting on the other side, as though he'd been standing there since receiving whatever call Ni'Kornish had made, was a slender, pale man with white hair. His face was unlined, but for a few small wrinkles around his eyes. In Hapan terms, that made him in his older years, though Bail looked more world-weary. The man bowed, deep and slow. "Princess," he said, his voice resonant, rich.
She placed a hand over her heart in the standard respectful greeting for one of the serving station. "I thank you for your readiness. You are a credit to your Queen."
There was a brief twitch around his mouth—pride, she recognized. She'd said the right thing. How long had he been waiting here, in this place, quietly, faithfully, for the day his system needed him?
"I am Maris," he said. "Welcome to your home. May I introduce your staff?"
Elan stepped over the threshold, inclined her head slightly. "If you will grant me a moment with Senator Organa, I will be grateful for introductions shortly."
Maris bowed slightly, gestured to the left, a grand salon with huge windows overlooking the street, and closed the heavy doors behind them.
Bail looked wonderingly at the furniture, the walls, the doors. "This place is…"
"Hapans prefer the older styles," Elan said, sinking gratefully into a chair by the fireplace. "The amenities will be modern, of course, but hidden behind the appearance of antiquity."
Bail sat across from her, looking uneasy.
"I assume my coming here will be viewed by few as a neutral thing," Elan said.
Bail seemed to consider his response a moment, then simply nodded.
Elan continued, feeling wildly that she was probably going to make this whole thing up as she went along, and hoping he'd buy it. "My mother-in-law"—correcting the "mother" thing was important, key to hopefully buying a little trust—"does not precisely have control of my movements. I…I assume she told you the circumstances of my coming."
"Your husband." For the first time, Bail's expression relaxed slightly. "I am sorry, Princess."
She swallowed. Focus. She'd had the luxury of grief back home, but here-here she had to be sharp, and that meant she couldn't be knocked down every time she was reminded.
"Thank you," she said, and her voice shook only a little. "It...it has been very hard." She stopped herself there. Going further would lead her into the darkness again.
Bail's gaze had become gentle. There he was, the father Aunt Leia loved. Compassion, even for a probable enemy.
Elan looked down, clenched her fists on her lap, looked back up. "I want to help," she said simply.
Bail was nonplussed. "Help…?"
"We know," Elan said. "We know about the Sith Lord. The Queen Mother is no friend of the Jedi, but the Sith are wild and unpredictable. Hapes cannot afford for the galaxy to slide into chaos."
Bail was silent as he gave her a long, measured look. The Force sang with his skepticism. "So...you have come...to help the Republic."
Elan took a deep breath. "I have come to escape. To stop thinking about...about Dwen-and my family-" That was too much. She refocused. "I have come, and the Queen Mother has asked me to do this. She did not send me here. I came alone. She's making the best with what she has. I am not her puppet. I was not born on Hapes, did not grow up on Hapes-"
At this, Bail's eyes widened. "Are you trying to tell me you are an ally?"
"Inelegantly, yes." Elan was exasperated, mostly with herself. "I know you have no reason to trust me. But I want to be useful. And I know things. I have information, information the Rebellion can use."
As soon as she said Rebellion, Bail became rigid. His voice was cold. "There is no Rebellion."
"Of course there's a Rebellion," Elan said impatiently. "You, and Mon Mothma for sure. I don't know who else, so stop panicking-but I know this. Believe me, if I was on the other side I would simply go to Palpatine. But he cannot win." Unexpected anger surged through her. "I will not let him."
Bail's voice shook. "The Chancellor is on our side."
"The Chancellor," Elan said, steely, "is a Sith Lord who intends to take over the Republic."
Bail took an involuntary gulp of air, as though she'd knocked the wind out of him. He shook his head, rapidly, for a few seconds. "Th-that cannot be," he stammered. "He is greedy, and driven for power, certainly, but-"
"He orchestrated the Separatist resistance," Elan said, straining to remember her history. The Clone Wars. The Separatist uprising that instigated them. "He commissioned the clones. He's playing all of you."
Bail stood abruptly, agitated. "You cannot know this. You are trying to undermine us. No one person could do such a thing, be the cause of both sides of a war-I cannot-I-I must go." He bowed quickly and swept out.
The front door hissed open, then closed. Elan slumped back in the chair. Of course it sounded ridiculous. Of course he'd dismiss her out of hand.
The sound of footsteps came down the hall, and Maris peered around the corner of the doorway.
"It did not go well, I take it?" he asked.
His commiserating tone almost brought a smile to Elan's lips. She put her hand to her forehead.
"No. No, it did not."