Leia scrambled for the handprint-sized viewport on the closet's far wall. She stared—transfixed—as Alderaan's mountainous terrain morphed, shrunk, flattened, and faded into the cloudy horizon. Then the planet as a whole grew small and round, then disappeared in a fit of blurs, indistinguishable from the other worlds, stars, and asteroids as they whirred past.

The closet grew cold and somewhat damp, and Leia pressed herself against Artoo's warm, humming canister. She breathed deep, finding comfort in the droid's familiar heat and steady purr, and waited.

It felt like hours. It felt like days. But it couldn't've been more than a few minutes.

Twenty, at most.

But with each passing second—with each system strobing across the small, crouch-level viewport—Leia only had one thing on her mind.

Her parents.

Her birth mother. Her birth father. And, most importantly…

Bail and Breha Organa.

The beings who'd raised her. Who'd given her a home, entrusted her with a crown, and cherished her, without question. Beings who'd be undoubtedly worried—maybe even horrified—upon discovering her inconveniently-timed absence.

And she suddenly felt guilty.

Horribly, irreversibly guilty.

She should've left them a note. A hologram message. An utterance to a nondescript droid. Anything to let them know she'd be back soon—after she got answers, of course. After she found out more about Padmé Amidala, the woman she inarguably resembled. The woman who was—without a doubt—her biological mother.

But she hadn't had time.

Though, for a second, she wondered if telling them would've even mattered.

She couldn't explain it, but she had a sinking, jittering feeling in the pit of her stomach; it was telling her that she wouldn't see her adoptive parents—or Alderaan, for that matter—for a while. A long, long while. And she struggled with that thought. Struggled with the strangeness of not seeing her mom or dad's happy, loving faces across the dinner table; struggled with the uncomfortableness of not hearing their playful banter as they discussed the finer details of their day. Struggled with the absence—the knowledge that she wouldn't feel their warm fingers or lips as they hugged and kissed her goodnight.

And she cringed, unsure if what she was doing was right. Unsure if leaving Alderaan was good or bad or somewhere in between...

But if it got her the answers she desperately desired, it'd all be worth it...

Right?

Leia frowned and pressed her forehead against the viewport's reinforced glass. The galaxy's cold steadily crept inside, offering no parlay until it nearly suffocated her. And just when it got unbearable, she recoiled and pressed her shoulders against Artoo's warm frame again, where she nuzzled close. She smelled—felt—the familiarity of her best friend, and was immensely grateful for its companionship.

Motor oil. Burnt rubber. Artoo's smell repulsed others, but Leia'd always thought it comforting, familiar, and a curious reminder of her childhood, when she used to clutch onto its spinning top until it nearly overheated as they terrorized the palace's many halls, hurdled into priceless artifacts, and bothered anybody with a seemingly important task. Then there were the memories where she was elbow-deep in its canister, cleaning or repairing one of its many internal parts and doodads.

Altogether, Artoo smelled like home. Like the best parts of Alderaan. And as she reminisced, she thought about the droid's many concerns: how it considered her mission a terrible idea that would result in their—or more likely, her—death.

And for a very brief moment, she wondered if Artoo was right.

Vader had traversed the entire galaxy to locate a single DNA relation to a long-dead woman. And when he'd seen her—when he'd knelt in front of her and twisted her face left, then right, holding her chin so, so gently—what did he see? What did he want? Why was he so desperate to find a maternal match to a decade-old corpse? And—most importantly—what would he do when he realized she'd stowed away on his Imperial ship? What would he do when she suddenly popped out of her closet and started barraging him with a menagerie of queries about her biological mother?

Would he get violent? Would he tear her to pieces? Would he kill her the same way he had…

Her mom?

Leia blinked and imagined her death. There were a thousand different ways her life could end, right there, right then. Limbs torn from their sockets, an invisible entity clenching her throat, a bolt through the stomach—through her heart…through her head.

Popping out of the closet, assaulting Vader with questions...

It was probably…best…not to do that.

Yeah…definitely not.

Leia blinked and squinted at the blurs illuminating the small closet she wasn't going to pop out of anytime soon, and wondered if Artoo's concerns were more than just preprogrammed responses to danger.

What if Artoo was right?

What if she was headed to her doom? What if— What if—

I'll be fine, she told herself. She'd always been fine—would always be fine. Felt it—knew it—deep in her gut, where her instincts lived. Where they festered and burrowed and occasionally whispered sweet-sounding words of encouragement (do this, not that; listen; wait; watch). And they'd never been wrong before. Had never once failed.

So she believed them. Wholeheartedly and without question. And took a breath, encouraging and refreshing.

Then she felt it, and her encouraging breath morphed into a stifled gasp.

The shuttle rattled and exited hyperspace with a jolt. It went through a series of melodious beeps and whirs, then quieted. It slowed and dropped, then shifted slightly when it settled within the hangar. There were more beeps—the sounds the powering down sequence—and then—

Nothing.

No footsteps. No mechanical respires. No radioed orders or grating sounds that usually meant the ramp was descending.

Nothing.

So Leia held her breath...and waited.

Thirty seconds. Thirty-five seconds. Forty.

Then—

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Leia scrambled onto her feet at the sound of those loud and fast footsteps. They barreled closer and closer as she righted herself, each clomp vibrating the floor in an unsettling rhythm until they cryptically disappeared altogether—

Right outside the closet's door.

Leia swallowed nervous bile and leaned against the steel frame. She pressed all her weight into it to steady herself, then reached up to activate the access panel. But the moment fingers brushed a single key, they curled into her hand, trembling. Then the whole appendage flopped lifelessly against her side.

She took a single step back and stared at the door, wide-eyed and unable to explain why she couldn't do it. Why she couldn't confront the Sith Lord who'd probably known she was hiding in his ship's closet all along.

Was she scared? Anxious? Or did she not have the strength or confidence—the wherewithal or self-assurance—that years of royal training had ingrained into her psyche.

She stared, unable to move.

Unable to breathe.

The door remained closed, and the silence was debilitating. And just when she thought it would finally whoosh open, just when she thought her heart would explode inside her chest with anticipation, the ship rattled—the ramp was finally descending—and the footsteps continued. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Until they were gone, altogether.

Leia waited again. Thirty seconds. Thirty-five seconds. Forty.

And when nothing made a sound, she exhaled, smashed her forehead against the steel door, and banged it with a frustrated utterance, "Stupid, stupid, stupid." Then she collapsed into Artoo with a frustrated snarl when her head ached just as bad as her breathless chest.

Vrrrp wrrrrp.

Artoo shuffled forward and pushed her onto her feet.

"Thanks, buddy."

Bleep blurp. Artoo's red eye glittered in the darkened closet and focused on her. Looked at her as it often did. Blurp blurp, whurrgle.

Leia snorted. "Well of course I have a plan. What do you think I've been doing for the past few hours?"

Blurp blurp?

"Well…" Leia's face flushed crimson. "Well, there're steps, you see. And phases."

Artoo said nothing to that, and Leia gave it a look.

"Those are crucial, you know. Steps and phases make the best plans."

Again, nothing. And again, another look.

Leia bit her bottom lip and thought. "So step one was the most important—get onto the ship. And we excelled at that." A wry smile, then a frown. Suddenly serious. "Then there's step two…get out of the closet. And step three…figure out where we are. And finally, step four: navigate our way to Lord Vader."

Blurp blurp?

"Well, from there…" Leia trailed off and shrugged.

Breep blum. Whurrrr.

Leia's jaw dropped. "Language," she said as she poked her best friend. "I'm an impressionable young mind. You can't just spew those words out like they're nothing."

Wurggle whurg—

"I know it's not a good plan. But that doesn't mean we're not doing this." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Sometimes the best plans are the ones made on the fly. So—" She elbowed Artoo, lurched forward, pressed her palm against the backlit panel, and waited. Then she frowned when nothing happened and pressed it again, more aggressive. "—we're doing this," she finished through gritted teeth.

Artoo wurggled, and Leia whirled and scoffed, "Well, you don't have to help if you don't want."

Bleep bleep.

"Well good." She turned around and pressed her palm against the panel. Again. "Now that that's covered…" It did nothing, and she hit it with a clenched fist. And when the door still didn't budge, she frowned some more and cursed at the steel, demanding it to whoosh open. Immediately.

And when it didn't, she turned.

Weer weeee!

Leia grimaced and sighed, then put on her best princess face—the one people always ogled and said aren't you sweet at. "So step two," she said with a nervous smile, "is slightly more complicated than originally anticipated."

Bleep bleep.

Droidspeak had never sounded so sarcastic, and Leia's smile faltered. "Yeah, so…" She poked the door and sighed. Again. "I'm going to need your help. Just this once, I promise," she bargained. "Then afterword, you're free to remain inside the closet for the rest of our mission."

Artoo was silent for a long while, then squeaked and chittered. Blurk blick?

"Well, if we can get this panel off, you can probably get in there and do what you do best."

Blurggle blurg?

"And what's that?" Leia gasped. "It's like you swapped personality chips with Threepio behind my back or something. Seriously, Artoo…open the door."

Blick blurk wurggle blurg.

"But it's safer in here?" Leia put her fists on her hips, leaned forward, and looked at the droid in its crimson eye. Then she deepened her stare when it looked back. "We're not safer in here. We could die in here." She paused, considered, then leaned back and frowned. "Well, I could die in here. You'll just go into low power mode until somebody needs a broom."

Blurggle blurg.

"Well it wasn't supposed to be funny. It's the truth."

Artoo remained still, and Leia hit the door. Again. Then she leaned against it and exhaled, loud and slow.

"If you didn't want to help, then why'd you come along?"

Boop boop.

Leia deadpanned. "You miss traveling? Well, you silly droid, look around and fall in love, because this scenery is downright glamorous." She pointed, and Artoo's top spun, following her finger. "Here's a wall." Another point. "And here's a wall. And here's a wall. And here's a door." She snorted. "Too bad it won't open, though, because I bet there'd be more places to travel to slightly beyond it."

Artoo's crimson eye morphed blue as it inspected its surroundings. It looked at every little detail—every bolt and screw—and puttered forward. It extended one spider-like, mechanical arm from its canister, then another, and tore off the panel with its sliver-sized stick fingers. It welded, severed, and twisted wires together, and when it was finally satisfied, it backed away.

Leia scrambled around the droid and stared, waiting for the door to open. Waiting for something to happen—anything to happen. And when nothing did, she frowned.

"Artoo?" Her voice was sweet. Angelic. Then a growl, "Why didn't it work?"

Wurweeeee!

"It should've worked?! Well, yeah! I guessed as much. Now figure out why it didn't."

Artoo blick blick-ed and rolled toward the panel once more. It inspected its progress, welded a few more wires, and chirped excitedly about how complicated its task was while it worked.

Leia, meanwhile, leaned back against the door and tap, tap, tapped her fingers against the cold, drab surface. She huffed after a few uneventful minutes, bored out of her mind and ready to get out, until—

Something shuffled on the other side of the door.

"Artoo," Leia whispered, holding her index finger to lips.

Artoo stopped welding and twisting wires, and waited.

And in the silence, Leia swore she heard someone cursing. But it was so faint and so far away that she couldn't make out anything other than oh no and oh my and that'll never do. And it sounded so familiar but she couldn't figure out why, especially when it was so muffled.

Then the voice very clearly said ah-ha! and—

The door opened, and—

Leia fell backwards in a heap, butt, back, and head smashing against the floor of the shuttle's main compartment. She scrambled onto her feet as fast as she could and brushed off her backside with a few dignified swipes, swearing as Artoo rolled out of the closet.

She snarled at the astromech, "A warning would've been nice."

But Artoo wasn't paying attention. Instead it said, Wer-wooo! and skittered past her, toward the golden-platted droid a few footsteps away.

"Threepio!" Leia ran forward. "What're you doing here?"

Threepio's mechanical joints whirred as it spun its arms. "I haven't the slightest idea what I'm doing here or how I got here. But I heard your voice, young princess, and decided to help."

Leia smiled. "Well good thing you did, because Artoo couldn't get us out."

Immediately, Artoo went on a tirade, admonishing Leia's choice of words and phrasing. Verp verp…Blurggle blurg…Whurggle wrug.

Threepio responded when appropriate, saying, "Well of course you couldn't get out, Artoo. It was hard-wired to be accessed via the exterior, only. And oh, Artoo! How complicated it was to break that code! If I hadn't picked up a few code-breaking tricks from the Maker, you'd still be in there…"

The droids continued, but Leia didn't pay attention. Instead, she crawled over the side of the ramp and peered out as quick as she could. Then she tried again, stood, and righted herself.

"Nobody's out there," she said, face scrunching, confused. "And I can't tell if we're on a ship or a planet, but I'm guessing ship because I didn't see anything organic."

"Oh!" Threepio said, taking a few steps. "I could've told you that, Princess. I've been wandering around this hanger for quite some time now."

Leia said nothing to that and instead looked at Artoo, expression a challenge. "So, are you ready?"

Artoo didn't reply, which was curious, and instead rolled down the ramp.

Leia followed and peered around as they descended, making sure they were truly alone. And when she realized Threepio was right and there weren't any guards, troopers, engineers, or droids, she relaxed. Nobody was around—nobody was there—and they walked through the hangar like they owned the place, with Artoo heading directly to the unguarded control port by the main exit.

They paused so the astromech could access the ship's mainframe. And while it was silently working, Threepio rocked.

"Don't be so nervous, Threepio," Leia said. "Maybe the closet'll be our only obstacle."

Her voice held hope, but Threepio hesitated. "Oh, I very much doubt that."

"Well, if Artoo can't figure out how to get me to Vader—"

"Goodness!" Threepio careened backward. "Vader!? As in Darth Vader? Nobody told me anything about Lord Vader!"

"—then I'll steal some armor and search for him myself."

Threepio didn't ask for clarification. Instead, it said, "Aren't you a little short for a Stormtrooper?"

Leia huffed.

Artoo wiggled with droidian laughter and retracted its probe. Blur blurp.

"Sweet." Artoo puttered forward, knowing the way, and Leia smirked. "Let's get going then."

"Oh." Threepio shuffled its polished feet. "This is a bad idea. A very bad idea…"

OoOoO

They walked for a while without seeing a single sentient being or droid, but that didn't mean they weren't cautious. Leia poked her head around every corner, checked every monitor, and stopped for every minor noise, just to be sure they wouldn't get caught.

She thrust her head around one more corner and immediately whirled. She took a breath, pressed her back into the grey wall, scuffled her feet, hissed, and took a moment.

"Is something wrong, Princess?"

Leia nodded, and Threepio twitched. She took another quick glance and pouted.

There were…a lot of troopers in the next hall. A lot, a lot.

Some with blasters at the ready or in holsters; others carrying datapads, tools, and various pieces of equipment. And though they all looked busy, they'd all instantly notice a ten-year old girl, protocol droid, and astromech traipsing past. And they'd look. Stare. No matter how mind-numbingly boring their tasks appeared.

Leia grimaced.

She was caught—they were caught. And they hadn't even made it halfway to their target.

So she took a breath, cleared her mind, and thought. Then nodded after a solid minute.

"Okay," she said, straightening her posture. Threepio did the same. "There are a lot of troopers around this corner. Like a lot, a lot." She paused and bit her lip. "I have a plan, but it'll only work if we all look the part."

Blurp blurp?

She looked at Artoo, then back to Threepio because the golden-tinted protocol droid tended to be their biggest problem. It was a horrible liar and always tried to talk itself out of her and Artoo's antics. Tried, was key, because it usually failed. Or got so flustered that it caused them to fail.

So she stared at its hazy optical sensors. Stared hard.

"Well, Dad says that if you look important and busy, nobody'll bother you." She looked skyward and took another calming breath. She pressed her fingers into her dress and forced it to flatten under slight pressure, then took one confident step. Then another—into the hall. She tilted her chin up and slightly to the left, and kept her gaze focused straight ahead, beyond the cluster blocking her path. If one of her tutors saw her, they would've been proud. "So follow my lead and we'll be out of here in no time."

Leia walked. Artoo rolled. Threepio…shuffled.

Leia did her best to act like a proper princess. Like she belonged. But though she tried her best, people noticed their entrance. They watched their gait and direction, looked at Leia's clothes and poise, stared at the out-of-date droids lagging slightly behind. A few troopers turned their heads and whispered to whoever was nearby. An ensign or two pointed.

But Leia didn't care. As long as nobody stopped them, her plan was a success.

They got about halfway down the hall before an officer noticed them and moved into Leia's path.

Said officer was human, and looked...unpleasant. His light-skinned face was youthful, but carved with disappointment, like somebody'd destroyed all of his wonder and whimsy, and gifted him grief and stress and more responsibilities than he could manage. He had brown eyes and brown hair speckled with the same shade of grey as his uniform, which was clean and pressed with nary a splotch to mar its perfect presentation. His chest was emblazoned with a myriad of red and blue buttons that denoted his rank, and he quickened her pace when Leia hastened hers.

He was right in her path, and Leia tried to maneuver around him, but then he was in her path—again—with an even nastier expression on his face. And when he was less than ten steps away, he looked down on her and sneered. Four steps away, and he reached down to grab her arm.

But Leia glared at him with all the intensity that she could muster, and his thinning eyebrows twitched. He pulled his hand back, and before he could get a word out, Leia barked, "Move." And he did.

He blinked as she passed, and when he finally recovered, he said, "You— Miss!"

Threepio tuned with a swish and said, "Princess—"

"Not now, Threepio," Leia hissed between her teeth.

Threepio turned and quieted, and Leia kept walking. She could hear the man grumble about something, then he opened his mouth and said, "Princess—"

"If you're in need of information," Leia huffed without turning around, "I suggest you run to catch up. I have a schedule to keep, and I won't have you tying me up without decent cause."

The officer didn't move for a few moments. Leia imagined his mouth open, jaw loose and unsure before it snapped closed. She heard his boots pitter-patter across the metal floor, and when he was finally at her side, he looked down on her and continued to sneer with one eyebrow creasing into his ever-enlarging forehead, face an easily readable map of confusion, curiosity, and rage. Clearly, he wasn't used to back-talk. Especially from a child.

"Princess—"

"I'm in a bit of a rush and already a little late, so please keep your queries brief," Leia said.

She frowned at the officer, then quickened her pace.

She didn't have a plan. Didn't know what to do other than keep up her charade. If she continued to stalk the halls with purpose, maybe he'd leave her alone.

Eventually.

Maybe.

The officer looked her up and down as he jogged to catch up, and Leia struggled to keep her twitches at bay. His frown grew and grew until it practically cracked his face in two, and then he scurried a step or two ahead, turned, and cut her off completely.

Leia glared as Artoo and Threepio skidded to a halt. Her plan had been a longshot, but it'd been worth a try.

"Princess—"

"Leia Organa," she supplied, crossing her arms. "Of Alderaan."

"Ah, Princess Leia—"

"You'd better have a reasonable explanation for this interruption. I have a very important meeting to get to. And as I already said, I'm already late."

The other people in the hall were watching the spectacle with growing interest—some more obvious than others—and the officer gave a brief bow before righting himself.

Leia couldn't help but formulate a plan while the curious ensigns' smiles lengthened. She could…use this officer. Use him to navigate the ship without interruption. Get him to accompany her through the halls so she didn't look so horribly out of place. And when she finally got to her target, safe and sound, she'd ditch him with a heartwarming thank you, get her answers, and bolt before anybody knew what had happened…

So, she smiled.

He kept frowning. "Princess—"

"I suppose you'd know the layout of this ship."

The officer looked downright baffled at her statement, so she pointed to his chest; he looked down and stared at the red and blue buttons like it was the first time he'd noticed them there, then nodded.

"Well, yes—"

"Excellent," Leia said with another tutor-approved grin. "You'd probably have a decent shortcut or two. These warships always throw me off, and I can never remember which way to turn. And my droids are only so helpful—especially when these crafts are always being modified and retrofitted with the most recent tech…" She trailed off. Smiled harder.

When he said nothing, Leia kept going. "It'd be extraordinarily helpful if I had a guide to help me reach my destination. I'd really appreciate it, what with my age and task, and the fact that I'm already desperately behind schedule because people keep stopping me…"

"O-of course," the officer said. He blinked. "It would be my pleasure. Where is your destination?"

"Sublevel 4, room 23-13."

The officer's face paled—he recognized the room number, apparently. But without argument, he turned about-face and lead the way.

They walked in silence for a minute or two, made it to the lifts, and started going up. They walked out and headed down a hall, then two, and when the officer couldn't hold it in any longer, he blurted, "Your meeting is with Lord Vader."

Leia nodded. "Yes."

"Can I ask…what about?"

Leia shook her head and said the quickest lie she could think of. "It's top secret, actually. So, no."

His eyebrows skyrocketed. "And you're from Alderaan." More statement than question, so she didn't acknowledge it. "Isn't Alderaan peaceful?"

Leia paused and nodded and said the most logical thing that popped into her head. "Very much so. And I'd like to keep it that way. That's why my mother and father sent me on this mission."

"So you're here as a diplomatic envoy?"

The man was just filled with questions.

"Precisely."

The officer quieted but didn't look comforted, and Leia didn't want to press him, but something told her that she should. So she did. "Is this…irregular?"

"Very much so," he said in a single exasperated exhale. "And I apologize for my ignorance, but Lord Vader often keeps his exploits to himself. Had I known a diplomat of your caliber was headed our way, I would've made appropriate accommodations with my superiors."

Leia shrugged. "Things happen…" She twirled a finger, silently asking for the man's name.

"Piett," he said, stopping. "Firmus Piett."

Piett extended his hand, and Leia took it and shook. He grinned with professional politeness, and she smiled.

"Well, Mister Piett—" The edges of Piett's lips twitched up higher. "I'm actually delighted things happened this way. You've been very helpful, and I doubt others in your position would've been as cordial. It took me forever to get to where I was and—" Leia caught the number above the door. "—look at that, we're already here."

Piett looked up like he hadn't noticed and nodded. Then paled. "Would you like me to accompany you inside?"

Leia shook her head. "I should be okay. But thank you for offering."

Piett's face regained some color as he nodded one final time. Then he bounced away as quick as he could, never looking back at the ten-year old, protocol droid, and astromech he left behind.

"Well," Leia said quietly to Artoo and Threepio, eyes attuned to the steel in front of her, "here goes nothing…"

She stepped forward, and the door whooshed open. She poked her head inside, then frowned.

The room—Vader's main chamber—was empty. No human or droid. Barely a decoration or adornment of any kind splattered the walls. Only a desk overladen with datapads, a work table piled with metal fragments, an uncomfortable-looking couch that looked like it'd never been used, and an expansive window with a glorious view of the stars stuck out from the drab, grey walls.

Leia frowned harder, then waved her hand to let her companions know it was safe. They walked or rolled inside together, every step careful. Every step thought completely through. They barely made a noise—besides a faint beep from Artoo which told them there was a large heat signature in the next room—and proceeded with caution.

Suddenly, things got loud. Somebody was shouting—somebody was mad. And whoever was screaming was right behind the next door, spewing out words in a rushed, uncoordinated rhythm.

Leia stepped closer and closer to the creased steel, tiptoeing as quiet as she could—

Until she recognized a voice and hastened her pace.

She knelt by the door's crease and pressed her ear to it, then frowned and wished she could open the steel without somebody noticing. Because she knew that voice; had heard it on a fair number of occasions when her antics were too dangerous or bold. When she—fairly, she'd admit—deserved admonition for her actions or decisions.

Artoo wiggled around her and accessed the control port. And then, just like that, the door slithered open.

Slightly.

She could see. And there, in the middle of the room as a flickering blue form, was her father, Bail Organa. And he was screaming.

"Where is she, Vader?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Vader was standing in front of the communications port. His tone was startlingly calm and collected, albeit slightly perturbed—even through his respirator.

"Don't lie to me," her father snapped. "Don't you dare lie to me. Not about this. Not about Leia."

There was…a pause, and Leia used the opportunity to step closer, press her cheek against the door, and scoot against it so she could poke an eye through the slit. And when she saw Darth Vader with his thumbs hooked into his belt, arguing with the projection of her adoptive father, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the situation.

Mostly because her father's hologram was hunched over the display, face a wretched mess of wrinkles and worry, clothes disheveled and caked with a bit of mud and broken twigs. He looked like a picture-perfect map of fear and exhaustion, like a father who'd spent the last few hours searching relentlessly for his missing child, only to come up empty-handed.

Frankly, he looked desperate.

"I wouldn't call you if I wasn't sure—if I wasn't absolutely positive she wasn't on Alderaan," her father said, face morphing into an unusual, uncharacteristic snarl. "So that leaves you."

Vader didn't shift or fidget under the accusation, just stood there like the mechanical monolith he most definitely was. "Your Leia isn't with me."

"Well she for damn sure isn't here!"

Vader unhooked his thumbs and pointed, then curled his fingers, threat very clear. "It's in your best interest to watch your tongue, Viceroy."

Her father faltered, face contorting unpleasantly as he processed Vader's warning. Then, he spoke. "I…apologize for my misstep. But please understand a father's worry. My daughter is missing," he said, tone more calm but still anxious. "And I've checked the entire palace—every room, every secret passageway, every garden—and all the surrounding buildings." He took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck. "She doesn't usually disappear like this—doesn't usually leave the palace without letting somebody know where she's going or what she's doing. And nobody's seen her for a few hours."

Her father straightened. "So I'm left with you. And your ship."

Vader's hand fell. "And you believe she could stow away on my ship without me knowing?"

A shrug. "My daughter is incredibly resourceful."

"And a little girl."

Her father's posture shifted again. He suddenly morphed into the strict politician he usually was. "Never underestimate a little girl, Lord Vader. Especially that one."

Vader said nothing for a moment or two. Then, finally, "I'll issue a warrant for her seizure. If she's here, she'll be found—"

"Unharmed," her father interrupted.

"—and put directly into my custody until I deem it appropriate to return to Alderaan."

Her father faltered. "Th-that's not necessary, Lord Vader. I can send a pair of droids for her. I have a protocol droid and an astromech who are well-equipped to handle such tasks, and they're familiar with my daughter and have done so before, and—"

"Unacceptable," Vader said.

"Then I'll come—"

"Unacceptable."

Her father paused, eyes narrowing. "You're not seriously going to imprison her for this, are you? She's a little girl. She doesn't know—"

"If she's as resourceful as you claim, then she's knowledgeable enough to understand the ramifications of her actions. And if your assumptions are correct, she deliberately boarded an Imperial craft for reasons unknown. That, in and of itself, is a crude violation. And if she's caught collecting intelligence or administering sabotage for—"

"She's a little girl!"

"—the Rebellion, then she'll be treated appropriately."

Her father's mouth fell open, but no words escaped his lips. Then a flurry of them poured out, each one growing more and more violent, more and more frustrated. "You think she's working with the Rebellion? Like some sort of twisted child-soldier? She's ten!"

Vader lurched forward and loomed dangerously over the projection. And even though her father wasn't physically there, he backed up a bit. Vader continued, "Though you might claim it's peaceful, Alderaan isn't wholeheartedly clean in this war, Viceroy."

A pause. Then her father's blue face grew visibly enraged. "I don't have a clue—"

"Your name, in particular, has sprung up on a few occasions—"

"—what you're talking about." A blink. "And even if I were to entertain such an accusation, if you think I'd subject my daughter—"

"So I'll keep your child close—"

"—to that nonsense, then you are horribly mistaken—"

"—and consider her insurance, wherein her life is payment for your future misdeeds." Vader crossed his arms.

"You can't—"

"I most certainly can. And will."

"You'll hold my daughter—the Princess of Alderaan—hostage because of a few unscrupulous Rebel murmurings?"

Vader's helmet tilted. "Again, I ask," he said, tone clipped, "is she yours? Truly?"

Her father staggered backward, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his fists. "Leia is adopted, but that doesn't make her any less an Organa. She's my daughter, and I love her without question." He took a step forward, regaining himself. "And though Alderaan has remained peaceful in the past, we can take up arms at a moment's notice."

"Is that a threat?"

Bail Organa squared his shoulders, glared, and reached forward. And with a crackle, he disappeared.

Leia simply stared at the empty space in front of Vader's still form. She couldn't breathe, couldn't believe what she'd heard or seen. Her father was…desperate. And angry. And frightened. And upset. And willing to go to war—to put Alderaan and its millions of inhabitants—in serious jeopardy, all because…

Of her.

She gulped.

Her mission was selfish—downright dangerous in more ways than one—and she needed to return home, look at her mother and father, and tell them she was fine. That she'd never leave their sight again if that was what they wanted. That she'd messed up and understand if they could never trust her again.

She needed to leave. Now.

And as she started to wiggle toward the opposite door—with Threepio and Artoo whirring or shuffling behind her—Vader's rage rang loud and clear through the other room.

Smash!

The sound of a computer or two being pummeled and destroyed beyond repair. Then, "Find her."

There was a flurry of feet. Soldiers and officers suddenly scurried out of the room, frantic to get away from the Sith Lord's fury, and Leia paused and pressed herself tight against the wall, hoping and praying that nobody would see her as they fled. When nobody did, she scooted onto the floor and sat eerily still, knowing she couldn't escape when there were so many people traipsing the halls.

She held her breath, stared at the opposite door, and wished for all of the troopers and officers to disappear. Wished for them to dash two, three—no, four—floors away so she could start her escape attempt.

She waited for their footsteps to die down, waited for their anxious prattle to cease. Waited for that little voice in her heart to tell her it was the right time to scamper back to the hangar before anybody could find her.

The breath she was holding burned her lungs and throat, so she started counting to occupy her time. Fifty seconds. Sixty seconds. Sixty-five.

Then, "I know you're listening, youngling."

Leia panicked. She forgot to exhale, and her face turned blue, and when she struggled to see clearly, the door she'd been peering through opened the whole way and revealed a durasteel-clad Darth Vader, helmeted gaze affixed to her own. Unblinking. Unmerciful.

He reached out, grasping for nothing and everything all at the same time, and she swiped at him, unsure of what he wanted other than her in chains like a nefarious Rebel, and then—

Vrrp vrrrrrp!

Artoo whizzed beyond her petrified form, dome top targeted at Vader's legs. It aimed and struck true, and Vader grunted and lurched awkwardly forward.

There was a flurry of violent beeps and mechanical respires, and Leia stared—horrified—as her best friend was lifted helplessly into the air before it was hurled to the other side of Vader's control room, where it smashed against an already-destroyed row of monitors with a sickening crunch.

"Artoo!"

Leia ducked under Vader's legs and pushed aside his cloak. She sprinted toward her oldest companion, hoping and praying it wasn't destroyed. She skidded and knelt—inspecting the damage before her body stopped surging forward—then felt a hand grip her shoulder and rip her back. Hard.

She pried and struggled, and after a few unsuccessful escape attempts, the hand recoiled and something invisible clamped around her entire midsection, forcing her to flail harder and harder, but to no avail.

Then, she found herself staring into Vader's red-tinted eye coverings, and she couldn't help but fidget.

"Hello there." Her voice was strangled but strangely still intelligible, and she gulped, unsure how to proceed.