Disclaimer: I've never owned Star Wars, however much I would like to ...
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Chapter 2
Bail Organa returned to the ballroom in a troubled state of mind. There were problems he had to deal with right away, but leaving the party on such short notice before Senator Krevett's speech would look suspicious, needless to say, rude as well. He had to leave soon, though, and make his apologies to the poor man to avoid offense. He'd just stay for the speech, for manners' sake.
As he crossed the floor, weaving in between the swirling dancers of a dozen races, he stopped and did a double take. He thought he'd seen a swirl of peach and cream off to his right. He spun to look more closely and saw it again, topped by long dark hair. There was no doubt about it. Leia was dancing! Bail blinked in surprise. He thought she hated dancing, except with him; but there she was, dancing quite well too, with none other than Mell Krevett. The handsome young officer looked quite happy, and Leia was chuckling at something he said before they both whirled out of sight behind a pair of tall-headed Cereans. Bail shook his head in amusement and continued his journey across the ballroom. Surprises often came at the oddest of times.
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Leia was quiet on the way home. Their small, sleek ship, the Freebird, was one of the fastest personal transports in the Core, and would make the trip from Serenno to Alderaan in less than five hours. Enough time for a nap, but his daughter didn't go to the little bunk in the back compartment, despite the late hour. She sat up front watching the starlines flash beyond the transparisteel canopy. Bail watched her just as quietly. She had a faraway look in her brown eyes, and her usually tense face was relaxed. She looked quite beautiful there, and Bail wished her could freeze this picture of her forever. Oh wait. . . he could.
Bail softly got up and went back to his small personal quarters. He fetch a holocam and slipped back into the passenger's cockpit. Leia was still sitting there in her ball-gown, gazing dreamily up at the blurry white lines streaking past outside in the glowing blue of hyperspace. As soon as Bail snapped the holophoto, she stirred, glancing curiously back at him. He smiled guiltily at his daughter and sat down beside her, placing the cam on the last seat beside him. He'd get it developed and take it with him wherever he went from now on.
"Forgive me, I couldn't resist, Leia." He took one of her hands and kissed it. "You looked so happy and content and beautiful. . . And you won't stay my little girl forever."
"I'm not exactly your little girl anymore, Father, and haven't been for a while," Leia answered with a hint of annoyance in her voice, although she gave him one of her winning smiles. "But I'll always be your Leia. No one will take me from you."
"Thank goodness." Bail kissed his daughter on the forehead. "Watching you and Mell dance, I wasn't sure."
"Oh, Daddy," Leia laughed and pinched her father's cheek. "You worry too much. But I owed him that dance. He saved me from that awful Wilhuff Tarkin and helped me figure out how to pick drinks out of a thousand and one varieties. I promise that nothing is going to come of it. He's nice, but that's all. Besides, he'll be going away in three standard days for his first tour of duty, he said."
"Wilhuff Tarkin?" Bail frowned. He never liked or trusted that man. He eyed life like a battlefield, and fought with all the honor of a Hutt. If he'd even touched his daughter. . .
Leia leaned back in her seat and scowled as she remembered Tarkin. "We only spoke for a minute before Mell broke us up. I was seriously picturing my fist making the acquaintance of that big nose of his." Bail winced with a little smile, knowing how his daughter loved a good fight. "But not to worry, Father, I controlled myself," Leia assured him, noticing his concerned wince. "He told me that soon, we wouldn't have to choose between so many drinks because the Emperor would decide what's best for us all," Leia repeated flippantly. "As if Palpatine hasn't got better things to do than dictate what drinks are appropriate for a graduation ball."
Bail gave his daughter a false smile of amusement to hide his alarm. If Grand Moff Tarkin himself spoke so casually about the Emperor's tyrannical ambitions, where would it end?! He had to keep working, harder than ever! Suddenly, not even the Freebird wasn't fast enough anymore.
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Bail Organa's home in Alderaan's capital, Aldera, was a fine sleek high-rise, naturally one of the finest in Alderaan, considering he was the ruler of the planet. Of course, Alderaan was mostly democratic, but the rulers were elected for life. That made their children Princes and Princesses, at least until the parent died and a new ruler was chosen instead. Bail had ruled Alderaan with a gentle hand for nearly twenty years, since before the fall of the Republic. His home was one of the highest buildings in Aldera, a silver spire reaching for the blue sky in a backdrop of snowy mountain ranges. The modern home was staffed by both droids and humanoids, and during the day, the lower floor was often host to petitioners and visitors alike from all over the sector, and beyond as well. Bail Organa was both well-liked and well-respected by many beings, and his private and public offices were often busy from morning to night. After nightly curfew, however, if Bail wasn't obliged to host a dinner-party or other social occasion, he relished the quiet company of his daughter in the privacy of his upper stories.
Although it had been past midnight on Serenno, on Alderaan, the night had barely begun. What Bail hated was going to a party on another planet that ended right when Alderaan's day was starting. Then he had no rest before he had to start the day's work. But he thanked the fates that at least he'd have an uninterrupted, Alderin, eleven-hour night before work. And good thing too. He was expecting some incognito visitors.
Leia went directly to bed after kissing him good-night, but Bail only changed into something more comfortable. When he slipped into his study, dressed in a plain silvery tunic and dark blue trousers, he surprised his black butler droid, C2-B0, called Bo by most of the household (besides the other droids). Bo was tidying the messy study, an exercise in futility.
The droid stopped in surprise, a stack of datapads perched precariously in his metal hands. "Oh, Master, I had no idea you would still be up; are you unwell?" Bo sounded concerned. It had been several years since his last memory wipe, (almost eighteen) which had allowed him to develop a kind of a personality, something charming to Bail, who hated wiping droid's memories unless he had to. For example, when he'd brought Leia home as an infant, one of the first things he did was wipe the memories of all his droids, and he suddenly found other positions for his other household workers and servants. He hired new servants for those jobs that couldn't be trusted to droids, and so far, nobody had guessed that Leia was not actually his and his wife's daughter. And if he had his way, no one would ever know. Ever. Even his best friends believed that the miraculous had happened and his frail wife had borne the girl. Bail loved Leia so much that it hurt, but he was not about to ruin her life by letting her find out who she really was.
"I'm fine, Bo," Bail assured his droid. "But I'll be having some guests soon. Be sure to escort them in to me."
"Of course, sir." Bo primly replied, put the datapads in a bin, picked it up, and hurried out of the study, servos whirring quietly with each step. Bail sighed and settled into his comfy chair before he ran a hand over his short black beard. He did this when he was worried, and worried he was. The news he'd recently received was important, and the guests expected tonight couldn't have had better timing. He just hoped they wouldn't come until Leia was asleep. She liked to look out the window while she brushed her hair. And what would she think when a land-shuttle pulled up in front of the house this late? She was too curious and stubborn for her own good. Bail grimaced. She got that from her father, unknown to her.
He heard the faint hum of the shuttle pulling up in front of the house. A minute later, the door chime went off softly with a sound like little bells. Good old Bo, Bail smiled. He was smart enough to change the door chime to something less disturbing when a low profile was required.
A minute later, the door hissed softly open and Bo's metallic black form came into the study. "Master, Miss Mon Mothma and Master Crix Madine are here to see you. Will you receive them, sir?"
"Of course, Bo, show them in." Bail nodded and stood to pull two chairs closer to his desk. Bo stepped aside and called softly to the duo to enter.
The tall woman, former senator Mon Mothma, entered first, her auburn hair cut stylishly short and her white robes immaculate as always. The man who followed was dressed in a typical bodyguard's uniform, and he removed his black cap to reveal his distinctive mop of dark blond hair and calm blue eyes.
"Mon, Crix, welcome!" Bail embraced his friends. Mon Mothma, a dear friend and old ally, was now an exile by Emperor Palpatine's decree, and Crix Madine, was one of his family's old friends and a secret rebel intelligence officer. Or Captain, actually.
"Thank you for seeing us on such a long night, Bail." Mon Mothma smiled primly. "I had no idea you were on Serenno for Dom's party."
"Well, Leia had never been to a formal party before, and my schedule was clear." Bail shrugged and turned to a cabinet for glasses and a drink. "I thought she'd enjoy it."
"How did your daughter enjoy it, then?" Mothma sounded odd. Like she was accusing him.
Bail placed three glasses on his desk and showed them the bottle of Coruscanti wine before he popped the cork. "The finest in the Galaxy. Quite inexpensive, too, if you know who to talk to." Bail said casually as he poured out the pale pink spirits. "To the health of the Galaxy." He raised his glass with a smile and sat in his chair with a long, happy sigh.
"To the Rebellion," Crix added in a soft voice, sat down on his chair, and sipped his glass. He nodded in approval. "Not bad, Bail." The rebel officer grinned. "You always know where to get the best drinks."
"So, how is Princess Leia?" Mothma repeated without touching the glass reserved for her on the desk and sinking into her seat.
"She enjoyed the party," Bail answered with a bit of frustration. Why was she so interested in his daughter? "I believe she is in bed now. It tired her out."
"Was Tarkin there?" Mothma asked casually and picked up her glass.
"Yes. . . " Bail peered at her and put his glass down. "Why?"
Mothma did not answer, but by the venomous look that flashed in her blue eyes, Bail knew that she wasn't thinking anything charitable about the new Governor. Neither was he, come to think of it.
"We're here to discuss things of importance, aren't we?" Crix Madine tried to salvage the situation by turning it to the issues at hand, as he always had to do. Bail and Mon were forever sparring, and someone had to steer them back on track.
"Indeed," Mothma agreed with Crix and gave him a rueful smile, grateful that he'd once again directed them back to their purpose. "What have you heard about Mon Cala, Bail?"
"The rumors in the Senate have been sketchy at best," Bail Organa informed them. "But I suspected the Empire had something to do with Mon Cala's sudden economic disasters lately. I recently received a distressing communication from Ackbar. The Empire has made its move."
"That is more than true." Mon Mothma stood and clasped her hands in front of herself as if she was standing in the Senate again, giving a speech. Sorrow and anger conflicting in her face. "The Imperial machine has been stripping Mon Cala of resources, holding its children captive, and enforcing silence for many circuits now, and finally, when the planet's delicate aquatic economy can no longer hold fast under such stress, now the Emperor calls for 'humanitarian aid' and 'refugee support'? Now?! This cannot go on. And we all know that Mon Cala has not been the only planet rendered incapable of life support by the Emperor's greed."
Bail and Crix nodded sadly.
"But the best news." Crix Madine smiled triumphantly. "Drenack, the leader of Mon Cala, called Palpatine out on his crimes in the Senate earlier today. The Calamari refused to accept the 'refugee status' they were allotted, and sued the Empire for the exploitation of their home and people."
"I heard from Ackbar," Bail Organa said slowly, staring at his drink. " A bold and reckless move. But perhaps they felt they had no choice. Still. . . it was foolish."
"Bail, are you finding fault with these poor people?" Mothma demanded frostily. "I didn't think you had a heart of stone. I thought you were one of us."
"I am," Bail answered shortly without looking up. "But you know what I think about such bold and dramatic displays of rebellion. They lead nowhere but to massacre. We aren't strong enough to decisively strike a blow to the Empire yet. Mon Cala should have taken the refugee status and quietly joined the Rebellion in the home ships they were allotted. Now, how many lives will be lost when Palpatine decides to send two million Stormtroopers to put down such defiance? You mark my words: Drenack or Ackbar will end up assassinated within the week. Or both. This will only lead to more violence than we know what to do with."
"The violence perpetrated by the Empire only serves our purpose," Mothma objected in a scolding voice. "How else will other systems understand the pure evil and true nature of our Emperor? Assassinations are as dangerous for Palpatine as they are for us. He knows that they only fuel the public outrage. He knew that when he started the volunteer Stormtrooper drive. And why do you think no assassins came after me?"
"Because it would not seem an accident," Crix answered. "You are never at the scene of Economic disasters or are close to crossfire in battle-zones. However, in the case of the Mon Calamari incident, it would be too easy for Drenack's death, or anyone else's, look like unfortunate, natural accidents. Nothing would ever be able to be proven, if I know the ISB." An awkward silence followed. Bail looked stricken, lost in thought. Mothma searched her friend's face in sudden sympathy. Usually, she and Organa disagreed about the methods required to return freedom to the galaxy, but they never disagreed that Palpatine and the Empire needed to be stopped. He looked so sad and helpless now. Few had lost as much as he had, yet somehow his was always the cooler head, his the voice of prudence, his the road of caution.
"We know your methods are usually right, Bail. . . But we've been following your advice for almost fifteen years now." Mothma tried to sound gentle and sat down again, her white robes settling. "Where has that gotten us?"
"Farther than your exile did," Bail replied drily, glancing up at her with a wry smile. "Your problem is that you can't keep quiet."
"How can I in the face of such atrocities?" The white-clad woman demanded with a tremble in her voice. "How can you?"
The dark-haired man gazed at her with sadness in his dark eyes. "I have worked quietly under the very nose of Palpatine with far more results than you did with your protests and committees. Your methods got you thrown out of the Senate with zero support, and exiled when you still wouldn't quiet down like I told you. Now, you're practically a hunted woman! And what did you gain out of all this persecution? Maybe a martyr's badge, but what use is that to a Rebellion that needs ships, weapons, recruits? They already have too many martyrs!"
"I've given them a martyr; you've provided them with the materials," Mothma answered coldly, disliking the fact that Bail was telling the truth about her failures. But she'd never admit she should have kept a low profile in the Senate and helped the Rebellion more that way. It wouldn't have sat well with her conscience. "Are we not each helping the Rebellion in our own ways? My exile allows me to take a more active role in the underground movements, while you continue taking your little baby steps in the public."
"I haven't done all the work," Bail admitted. "You and Crix have your undercover work, and I have mine. Of course, Mandell has been invaluable in the Senate. In fact, he has a whole shipment of discarded third-generation X-Wings ready for pickup. I just got a message."
Captain Madine paused with his drink halfway to his lips. He stared at Bail Organa incredulously. "The Senator of Correllia, greatest producer of Imperial metal in the Galaxy, is on our side?" Crix sounded shocked. "I never would have thought! He's more liberal than the Neimodian senators!"
"Yes, he's a great supporter," Mothma cut in impatiently. "The liberalism is a cover. It isn't like Palpatine allows either liberals or conservatives a definitive voice any longer."
Bail finished off his glass and put it on his desk with a sigh. "But would Mantell be able to help so much if the Emperor thought it prudent to monitor him as he did you those last two months? Thank the Force that you destroyed any evidence of me or the other senators, or you could have brought us all down with you."
"They never got any evidence," Mothma informed him sternly. "That's why I'm here instead of in an Imperial Political Prison or assassinated. They only suspected my sympathy for the rebels because of my strong conservative stand. Which is more than I can say for you, Organa. You were having Nubian Champagne on Serenno while Stormtroopers massacred Calamari younglings. Rubbing shoulders with the likes of Tarkin and Krevett while Imperial Destroyers besieged that peaceful world of Mon Cala. How can any potential rebel know they can trust you?"
"You forget that there are people like yourself they can go to," Bail mildly replied. And then the force of what she'd just said registered and he sat upright in shock. "Wait! Massacres? Siege?! What happened to Mon Cala? Ackbar only told me that the Calamari would join us! I thought you said Drenack launched a formal complaint and lawsuit only this morning!"
"She did," Mothma replied softly and her gaze dropped to her lap. "The Empire responded quickly. We just came from the battle, if you want to call it that. Mon Cala has officially fallen. The Calamari race is doomed unless they join us. Which they have, as Ackbar told you. But they have so few WorldShips, and so few supplies. . . "
"Tell me everything." Bail sighed and rubbed his face hard. He guessed that the Senate would be buzzing about this news the next time it was in session. And the Calamari Senators would be mysteriously missing. Mon Cala a rebel planet!? Oh, the holonews would spend weeks spinning this. And poor, brave Drenack? She was likely dead already.
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Chapter two is up! Let me know if any of you like it!