It had never been a secret. But it had never been explained.
Adopted, they'd said. Born of two young and fearless individuals, impassioned in the midst of intergalactic turmoil. Individuals who'd ignored the ramifications of the worlds around them and instead looked to one another for guidance and focus. Individuals who, though bursting with love, eventually succumbed to the fate of the Clone Wars, when fear ran rampant and the Empire took its first fistful of power.
It was simple—a classic story shared by thousands of orphans across the galaxies—yet for ten-year-old Leia Organa, it felt so complicated.
Too complicated.
Her parents? Dead.
Her adoption? Finalized a few days after her birth.
Her childhood? Significantly better than most, but filled with questions she didn't feel comfortable asking aloud...
How'd they die? When, exactly, were their fates sealed? Why'd they leave her in Bail and Breha Organa's care? And, most importantly: who were they?
Leia frowned at the dimly-lit city underneath her bedroom balcony, then returned to the comfort of her plush bedsheets. She snuggled and squirmed until the queries pitter-puttering around her mind quieted, then sighed. It was almost a nightly routine, now; joining with her adoptive parents' tradition of tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.
Questions.
Questions that were a constant reminder of things that could have been, had the Galactic Republic not fallen and allowed the Empire to take hold. A constant reminder of the life she could have had, had the Senate of old been more aware of the deadly trap consuming them. Of the childhood she could have lived, had—
"Starshine?"
Her bedroom door opened, and Leia closed her eyes, feigning sleep for what felt like the umpteenth time. She could feel the hall light creep across her face—a single ray of pure, artificial light in an otherwise dark room.
"Asleep," she heard, disappointment clear.
"She's getting too old, my love." Her father's voice. "Too old for bedtime kisses and well wishes. Too old for nightly tuck-ins." A contemplative pause, then the sound of a light peck on her adoptive mother's cheek. "We knew this would happen eventually."
"But so soon? It seems like yesterday she was a babe in my arms…"
Their conversation continued, but receding footsteps drowned out the words.
Leia sighed. Again. Then opened her eyes to stare at the dark ceiling above her head—at the nothingness that oftentimes lulled her to sleep.
The inky blackness was calming and peaceful and blank at a time when her life was unusually chaotic, rigid, and filled with an airtight schedule of etiquette lessons, basic combat training, intergalactic language tutors, and practice political negotiations. With travels throughout the Empire and—
Those questions.
Leia sat upright, ripped the covers from her legs, and stepped out of bed. Then she made her way to the door and snuck beyond the confines of her room. To the halls, which were finally empty for the night. Barren. No servants, no politicians. No Artoo units or protocol droids. And no Mom or Dad to stop her ambitious curiosity.
She ambled to the living room and grabbed her favorite hologram projector. She flipped the toggle and found a comfortable spot on the sofa where she could watch her infantile self coo in her adoptive parents' arms.
For a moment, she was happy and distracted and enamored with the swirling blue haze before her eyes. It was delightful, but so strange and foreign...
So she studied the hologram. First, her mother. Then, her father. And after staring at those faces—familiar faces she'd seen day after day grow older and older from the pressures of daily life—she wondered what those faces could've looked like had events turned out differently.
What they would have looked like had two other people survived.
Leia squinted, thinking.
Did she have her mother's eyes or hair color? Did she have her father's cheekbones or chin? Would they have shared the same interests or favorites like foods and colors?
She looked away from the hologram, forlorn.
Having been an infant, there was almost nothing to remember. Only a brief inkling that her mother was beautiful and kind, but strangely sad.
And her father?
Her face screwed in concentration.
Nothing. Not a memory of what he could've looked like nor a single thought about his character. Not the memory of his coarse clothes against her skin nor the pads of his thumbs caressing her cheek. Almost like she had never met him. Never once been coddled in his arms during her first few days of life. Never once seen the color of his irises or the wrinkles under his eyes. Never once felt his acknowledgement or love...
She hated that feeling. Hated that she didn't have a picture to commemorate their memories or a name to search for on nights like tonight.
Annoyed, she stood and looked left, then right.
Like so many nights before, she headed for her parents' private galactic database—down two flights of stairs and into the fourth room on the left—and when she got there, she plopped onto the most uncomfortable chair on Alderaan and pressed the power button for the main screen. It glittered grey for a moment, then turned black. And when the cursor blinked green, she started typing.
Frantically.
Desperately.
Documents. Articles. First-hand accounts detailing every minute detail of every insignificant skirmish on land, sea, sky, or in space. She combed through countless lists of Clone War casualties, forever hopeful that something would stick out. That a few vowels or consonants would look familiar when jumbled in just the right order. That they'd form the name of a place or a battle…
Or a person.
And while distracted with the ever-changing screen, Leia didn't notice the door opening off to her right...
Or the machine whirling up beside her. Whrrrrrrp.
Leia turned, startled, then frowned at the silvery-blue astromech droid.
"Artoo," she huffed. "Shush up, okay? You know I'm not supposed to be in here."
Brrrrr boop beep.
"I know what time it is, silly. I just can't sleep."
Whrrr.
"Yes, yes." Leia waved at the droid, shooing it away. "Again."
Breep boop.
"Well I don't know why I can't. I just…can't. Now be quiet or go away. I'm looking for something."
Artoo didn't move. It just flashed its red eye and scanned the contents of her screen, then turned its head slightly counter-clockwise and looked at her. Looked through her, as it often did.
Beep boop beep.
Leia blinked, then exhaled. "I—I don't know what I'm looking for. Just that I'm looking."
Breep breep.
"I know that wasn't helpful. But I can't explain it to you. You wouldn't understand."
Whrrrrrrp.
"Because you're a droid. You don't have parents."
Boop boop.
"I know I have parents. But they're not my biological ones. I want to know—" Leia frowned. "—I want to know about my real parents. About my birth mother and father."
Artoo remained still for a while, then shook back and forth on its three legs, like it had an idea. Burp burp.
"Seriously, Artoo?" Leia snapped, eyes rolling. "If I knew their names, do you think I'd spend my nights pouring over this stupid computer?"
The droid stopped rocking. Brrrrr.
Leia flushed and bit her lip. "Sorry. I didn't mean that." She fumbled over her words. "I'm just exhausted. And looking at all of these lists—these planets, cities, and people… It's— It's depressing. So many places. So much death…"
She paused, and Artoo centered its weight on its central and left legs, then nudged her gently with one of its shoulders like it was comforting her.
Her voice came out soft and sad. "Do you think I'll ever find them?"
Artoo righted itself but gave no response. No beep or flickering light. No bodily tilt or turn of its head. Just stillness.
"Yeah, I don't think so either."
There was an eerie silence, and Leia sank into her uncomfortable chair. She tried to hear something—anything—but could only hear Artoo's steady hum. So she let it fill the void in her ears and closed her eyes, wishing the soft sound could lull her to sleep. And just as she was about to drift off, Artoo shifted and rolled back and bounced off a large piece of machinery along the far wall with more force than it intended.
Brrrrr-ur-brrrrr-ur-brrrrrr.
Leia eyed the droid and squinted. "That's a bad idea, Artoo. A supernova-sized bad idea."
Brup brup.
"Of course I know what it is. I was there when it was installed." She stood from her chair and walked over to the machine and kicked the front. "A thermocycler," she said. "Just another way for the Empire to collect data on its less savory inhabitants." She snorted. "A ridiculous violation of our citizen's basic rights—a DNA collector."
Artoo wheeled back and turned its body forward, stance questioning.
"What?" she said. "You think it's right for the Empire to collect a DNA sample from every criminal, politician, ruler, and government worker, whether they want to give it or not?"
Beep beep.
"I know you don't have DNA. But does that make it any less right?"
Wrrrrrrr.
"Well no, mine's not in there. Not yet, at least. Not until I'm queen."
Reeeee-ruuuu.
"You want me to do what? Why?"
Beep beep.
"Well that's just stupid, Artoo. Seriously, horribly—" She blinked and made a face at the collector. She thought about how it contained data from individuals throughout the galaxy—digitized double-helix strands from so many distant places, so many different individuals. And maybe somewhere, somehow, one of those people could be related to her, even if it was a distant connection. "—brilliant."
Artoo chirped and rolled away, leaving a wide berth, and Leia filled the space in an instant and plugged in a few directional commands. She paused once or twice, confused, but eventually powered through, using her technological savvy to bypass the normal opening sequences. And when it finally came time to press her thumb over the needled keypad, she took a breath and looked at her android companion.
"D'you really think this will work?"
Artoo wiggled.
Leia scowled. "Yeah, I don't know, either." She took another breath, this one deeper. "But here goes nothing."
The minuscule prick only hurt for a moment, and after it was done, she pulled back her thumb, put it in her mouth, and sucked until the metallic taste faded away.
"I dunno, Artoo," she said, watching the loading screen percentage climb, "this might've been a bad—"
Ding!
Data poured onto the screen. An undecipherable sequence—
Then a flashing line.
A name.
Leia almost squealed.
After so long—after so many sleepless nights wondering and searching—she might've finally uncovered a little piece of her lineage. A little more of the truth nobody was willing to discuss out loud. A little more information about who she was—about who she could've been.
But when she looked up and read the single flashing line, she couldn't help but stare blankly at it.
Maternal Match: Padmé Amidala
"Well that can't be right." She hit the scanner. Once, twice, then thrice. "This machine must be defective or something."
Bleep blump.
"No, Artoo. You don't understand."
Blurururur.
"Of course I know who she is, but that's why this stupid machine is wrong. Dead wrong."
Leia stared at the flashing line and read the name over and over—Padmé Amidala. Padmé Amidala. Padmé Amidala—and the more she read it, the more it left a sour taste in her mouth.
Mostly because of the woman's fame—her skill in battle and negotiations, and the fact that she was one of Naboo's youngest queens, and later, their senator. She was an infamous war hero who led countless expeditions, more times than not coming out victorious, and yet still, dead. Slaughtered by the Sith Lord, Darth Vader. Murdered, long before her time. Gone, when the galaxy needed her most.
Padmé Amidala.
Beautiful, cunning, stubborn. Beloved, admired, and adored by all who met her. By all who happened to cross her path.
So different from her supposed daughter: a ten-year old girl still growing into her cheekbones, baby fat still dissolving and sliming the rounded edges of her face. Who occasionally struggled to remember the complicated names of foreign dignitaries, no matter how many times she practiced. Who was oftentimes described as stubborn to the point it was a negative quality, not positive. Who was only beloved, admired, and adored by her adoptive parents when she caused mischief throughout the palace.
Boop boop.
Leia snorted, reverie broken. "Well that can't be true," she said, jaw setting in concentration. "We do not look alike. And I'll prove it to you."
She walked to the computer and pulled up old holographic images. She zoomed in on the deceased senator's face and stared, transfixed, at the growing number of similarities.
Brown hair and brown eyes. Light-toned skin and short bodily build. The resolved expression on her face and the way her lips creased just so when Padmé's hologram smiled—
Just like Leia's did when she practiced greeting figureheads in front of the mirror.
"Nope. Nope." Leia shook her head, frowned, and squinted. "See, Artoo," she said, struggling to disagree, but doing it out of pure pigheadedness. "I look nothing like her." She paused and considered more logical reasoning. "And besides, there could be a million people in the Empire who share my traits. A million people who could be related to me. Our stupid machine is broken. And that's that."
Artoo didn't beep or move, but its solitary eye glowed dark crimson the more it stared at Padmé's holographic image.
Brup bruuup.
"Artoo," Leia collapsed the hologram and shut down the computer, "there's no way she looks just like you remember. You've never met her before; you must be thinking of somebody else."
Wurreeeeeeeep!
"Hey! Shush up! Do you want us to get caught in here?"
Beep beep.
Leia smiled and put her hand on Artoo's rotating top. "That's more like it," she said as she bit her bottom lip and walked out of the database, Artoo trundling at her heels.
They walked and rolled for a bit, and when they finally made it to her bedroom, Leia pursed her lips. "Mom and Dad can't know," she said.
Wuuuuur.
"I'm serious, Artoo. If they found out what I did tonight, they'd probably get upset. So you can't tell them, got it?"
Wurp wurp.
Leia frowned at Artoo's lackluster response. "You know what? I think you might need a checkup or something. You've been saying a lot of crazy things tonight, and that's not normal. You should probably run a scan just to make sure you're feeling okay."
Wurggle wurrgle wurrgle. Artoo's head spun like it was insulted, then it backed away. Breep boop boop.
"Well goodnight to you too," Leia huffed as her bedroom door whooshed open and allowed her inside. She entered and the door swished closed, and when she was finally all alone, she collapsed onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes bleary but very much awake. Thoughts of her suspected maternal match—her suspected biological mother—clouded her mind. Distracted her from sleep once more.
She had to know—just had to keep searching...
So she dug out the handheld unit designed specifically for her schooling and read through everything the database had on Padmé Amidala.
Everything she could find...
On her mom.
OoOoO
The morning came quick—too quick.
Leia struggled throughout the day, distracted and tired and moping through the palace's halls as she attended different classes and lessons specifically designed to prepare her for her upcoming coronation.
Her handpicked tutors had noticed her sluggishness with disappointed frowns on their faces and scowls upturned in horrible fashion until they all decided to dismiss her early. And now free, she roamed the palace's many halls, searching for her parent's personal apartment—
Until she heard something strange and approached with curious caution.
She neared, and the voices grew more defined.
Then she rounded another corner and heard everything very clearly. Too clearly.
An argument of sorts.
Her father, voice calm and steady, but obviously upset. And a strange, gasping retort.
Leia stopped, eyes wide.
She knew that gasping sound—had never experienced it personally, but had been told about it—and she continued her approach with heightened trepidation, ears attuned to the distinct, low-pitched voice of the Emperor's favorite crony and apprentice: Darth Vader.
One fearful step, then another. And as she neared—as she tiptoed to a better location where she could eavesdrop and peek with ease—the Sith Lord stopped talking and breathed.
Once, twice, thrice.
Then, "I know you're listening, youngling."
