Precipice by shadowsong26
Homecoming: Chapter 7
It felt like they had all been holding their breath for six months.
It wasn't that the disasters had stopped happening-though nothing, Bail knew, would ever match that first, terrible week. The Emperor had introduced several other sweeping changes, one right after the other; the Senate had been powerless to do much more than ceremonially ratify the decisions, even a massive overhaul of the physical infrastructure on Coruscant.
Including an announcement, just days ago, that what was left of the Jedi Temple would be rebuilt as the Imperial Palace.
Bail had sent a coded message to one of the dead drops he and Obi-Wan had set up after hearing the news-not that the Jedi wouldn't find out eventually, of course, but he thought (or hoped, anyway) it might be marginally less awful coming from a friend.
But that aside (as heavy a burden as it was to set aside), things had stabilized for the time being. At least on the surface. Even Padmẻ 's return to Coruscant, while it had come with all the expected press fanfare, had yet to give any indication that her deception had been discovered. After four months, the chance that Palpatine was holding back on his retaliation, letting them think they were free and clear and setting them up for some future disaster, was starting to feel more like destructive paranoia than sensible caution.
Padmẻ had agreed with him, when they'd discussed the matter over dinner last night. Her apartment, so far as either of them or their trusted security personnel could determine, was still the safest place for them to discuss such sensitive subjects. Not least because, while he had made drastic, if subtle, improvements to the security on his own apartment, it was easier for him to visit her without raising eyebrows than vice versa. Not least because, since Luke was on planet with her, he had a perfectly above-board excuse to drop by, outside of anything to do with work. Legal or otherwise.
Particularly given the conversation he and Breha had had that morning.
"The next time you come home," his wife had said, smiling, "and I hope that's soon, because there's a little girl I want you to meet."
As dark and difficult as these days were, as oppressive as the atmosphere on Coruscant-on Imperial Center -was, Bail had carried the joy of those words with him all day long.
She had sent a picture (along with a few other small items, including one from one of the dead drops), of a tiny child with large, soft eyes and a sweet, if slightly confused smile. The girl was a little older than he and Breha had discussed-close to eighteen months-but Bail didn't care. The holo had already found pride of place on the desk in the study in his apartment. He would move it to his Senate office once everything was official. And, as far as he was concerned, she was perfect-Breha had found her, after all. So, unless the little girl decided she hated him, Bail would have a daughter very soon.
Of course, as uplifting as it was, that probably also contributed to his feeling that they needed to move forward, now. They were supposed to be fixing the world for their children, so that the twins-and now his little girl, to say nothing of the trillions he had never met-would never have to see or do the things that they had seen and done.
And so, he was heading back to Padmẻ 's apartment, as arranged by a flurry of quick and carefully coded messages. It was time to expand their network. It was time to start their rebellion in earnest. It was time to stop observing and begin to actually build.
When he arrived, one of Padmẻ 's handmaidens-Sabẻ this time-opened the door for him. "Please, come in, Senator. She's in the back room with Luke but will be out shortly."
"Of course," he said, and followed her in. "Is Senator Mothma here yet?"
Sabẻ shook her head. "No. I imagine her excuse for visiting required more...creativity...than yours, in any case. We won't worry for another half hour or so."
He nodded, and took a seat on the couch, accepting the cup of tea she poured him just as Padmẻ emerged from the bedroom.
"I thought I heard you come in," she said, waving him off when he started to stand. "I just put Luke down. He's sleeping through the night every night now."
"That's good news," he said, smiling. One advantage of starting with a slightly older child, I suppose-my daughter already does that. So far as I know. Most children do by eighteen months, if I remember correctly. He'd done quite a bit of research, the first time Breha was pregnant.
"What about you?" she asked, taking a cue from Sabẻ's tray. "I know you and Breha have been talking."
He felt his smile widen. "Nothing's official yet, but…"
"Oh, that's wonderful!" she said, with a bright, genuine smile of her own.
"Don't mention it to anyone yet, please," he said. "Not until everything's formalized."
"Not a word, I promise," she assured him. "I want to see pictures the minute you have them."
"Of course," he said. "I'll be going home at the end of the week. Hopefully, after that…"
"I'll keep you in my thoughts," she said, then set her cup down. "Any news from our other friends?"
Ah. And here was a slight difficulty. The surprise from the dead drop weighed heavily in his pocket-especially considering what it was. A handwritten letter, on a couple sheets of flimsi; Please give this to her if it's safe -A.
Just like Skywalker, reckless, to leave something that could identify them like that. And, just like Skywalker-cleverly taking a kind of refuge in audacity. Flimsi was easy to destroy if anyone was compromised; and almost certainly there would be no trail, no other copies, unlike with an electronic message. And it would positively thrill Padmẻ to hear from her husband, to have concrete proof in her hands that he was alive and safe, at least when he'd written the letter.
On the other hand, given the nature of the meeting they were about to have, she needed to be focused. And he doubted she could manage that, if he gave it to her now. Were he in her position, he knew he wouldn't be able to ignore a letter from Breha, no matter what pressing business was at hand.
Fortunately, he was spared having to make a decision when the bell rang.
Padmẻ sighed, her eyes tracking Sabẻ as she went to the door. "Tell me after?"
"Of course."
He heard Senator Mothma's voice, soft and measured, thanking Sabẻ for her courtesy, and then she at last joined them.
"Senator Amidala, Senator Organa," she said, with a brief bow. Both Bail and Padmẻ rose and echoed the gesture.
"Thank you for joining us, Senator Mothma," Padmẻ said. "Especially at such an unusual hour."
She inclined her head and took a seat on the couch next to Padmẻ. "I think I can guess why I'm here," she said.
Skipping the pleasantries, he thought. Probably for the best. Mothma had been with them, at least in spirit, for a long time-she had signed the Petition just as they had, after all.
Some of the Two Thousand had already disappeared or been openly killed. Mothma had publicly recanted-as had he and Padmẻ; a devastating necessity-so she was safe for now. But he knew that her private convictions remained unchanged. As had theirs.
"I'm sure you can," Padmẻ said, meeting her halfway. "But I don't know that you grasp the extent of what we're proposing."
Mothma arched one elegant eyebrow. "I'm listening."
"Revolution," Bail said quietly.
The word hung between the three of them for a moment, the only sound coming from Mothma's spoon clicking faintly as she stirred her tea.
"You really believe we cannot resolve this through legal channels, in the Senate," she finally said. She had said much the same thing herself, months ago. Bail remembered it well. But now, there was a different tone to it. Something resigned, almost-hopeless.
"Unfortunately, we do," Padmẻ said, putting a gentle hand on Mothma's.
"It's gone far beyond that now," Bail added. He did not look out the window, in the direction of the scaffolding around the Temple. Padmẻ had her windows blacked out now, anyway.
Mothma was quiet again for a moment, considering, then sighed and set her cup down. "I am with you," she said. "I want to be with you. But what recourse do we have? What resources? We cannot fight a war. Not against him."
"Not yet," Bail said. "But it will come to that someday, I think." As much as he wished it weren't true, he knew better.
"Our job is to be ready when it does. To have support for...for the people who will do the direct fighting," Padmẻ said. "Funds, equipment, supplies…"
"To say nothing of rebuilding when it's over," he continued. "We have...contacts in the field, who are already taking direct action. Their half of this will grow. And so must ours."
"I see," Mothma said. "Forgive me, but I must ask-do you speak for yourselves, or for your planets?"
"Breha is with us," Bail said. "She has requested plausible deniability, but Alderaan will be a waystation for supplies and personnel, and information." As it already was; Skywalker's letter burned in his pocket.
"It's...complicated," Padmẻ said, staring down into her tea. "Apailana is in an extremely difficult position. We both are. She won't do anything to endanger our people, but she is as-ashamed of our connection to all of this as I am."
She nodded, sympathetic. "I will speak with key members of the Assembly on Chandrila, as soon as I can do so securely. But for now, I speak only for myself and my personal resources."
"That's not an inconsiderable advantage for us," Padmẻ said.
Mothma bowed her head briefly. "Thank you, Senator."
"Padmẻ," she corrected, then smiled wryly. "If we're going to conspire to commit treason in my sitting room, I think we should be on a first-name basis."
Mothma-Mon-smiled at that. "Of course," she said. "Padmẻ."
The necessary question out of the way, Padmẻ then changed the subject-something lighthearted, a public reason for their meeting; a way to pass the time until it would not be suspicious for Mon and Bail to leave.
A small step forward, but a step forward, nonetheless. Bail could already feel some of the tension easing from his shoulders.
They could win this. And the galaxy he would leave for his daughter-his precious daughter, who he already adored, even without having held her-would be the one she deserved.
Sidious studied the boy kneeling at his feet-not the one he'd wanted there, which still irritated him, but a tolerable substitute. At least for the time being. He had other candidates, of course-a human woman, a male Mirialan, a Twi'lek child; a few others-but this boy had the most potential.
Fifteen, born and raised in a slum on the underlevels; he had slipped through the cracks. He was bitter, vicious, clever-and ripe for exploitation, unstable in all the right ways. Not the strongest candidate in terms of raw power, but even untrained, he was skilled at using what he had to best advantage. Most importantly, he could be ready for action sooner than the others, and suit Sidious' needs quite nicely.
Besides, he would need backups, in case this one failed-or overstepped-and needed to be disposed of. He would keep the other candidates close, for that purpose and perhaps others. Time, and the Force, would tell.
"Your name," he said, the words hissing past his lips, spoken by the darkness deep within him, "is Specter."
"Yes, Master," the boy murmured.
"Rise," he said; and it was only his own voice now. "We have a great deal of work to do."