by Jude Watson
Table of Contents
FIRST ENTRY
SECOND ENTRY
THIRD ENTRY
FOURTH ENTRY
FIFTH ENTRY
SIXTH ENTRY
SEVENTH ENTRY
EIGHTH ENTRY
NINTH ENTRY
TENTH ENTRY
ELEVENTH ENTRY
TWELFTH ENTRY
THIRTEENTH ENTRY
FOURTEENTH ENTRY
FIFTEENTH ENTRY
SIXTEENTH ENTRY
SEVENTEENTH ENTRY
FIRST ENTRY
LOCATION: FIRST OFFICER’S
QUARTERS/
CONSULAR SHIP TANTIVE IV
I’d like to be able to start at the beginning, but I don’t have the luxury. We’re about to exit from hyperspace at the planet Tatooine, and things are going to get busy.
So I have to start in the middle, and circle back to the beginning when I can. If you’re reading the hard copy of this dictation, my advice is to get up to speed, fast. Look, I’ve never been a hand-holder type. My job is to get the facts down, and your job—whoever you are—is to get this account into the hands of the Rebellion. I promise a reward. Your help is vital to the Alliance.
Because if you’re reading this, I’m most likely dead.
The facts: I boarded the Rebel ship Tantive IV in the Alderaan system. My mission had two objectives, both of them risky. First, the ship had to lurk in a restricted solar system, waiting for a crucial coded message.
Antilles, the commander of the Tantive IV, wasn’t exactly thrilled to find himself hiding out in a system where he could get his ship overtaken by the Imperials. He didn’t hesitate to say he thought this was a dangerous mission.
Captain Antilles has known me since I was a young girl on Alderaan, so he’s not as respectful of my position as Senator and Princess as most people. He treats me as a comrade, and tells me exactly what he thinks. Usually, I appreciate his honesty. But that day I could have done without it. I didn’t need the distraction.
So I might have snapped when I told him bluntly that he didn’t know what was at risk. Every nerve in my body was screaming, waiting for the coded communication to be transmitted. I had already sent the R2 unit to the navcomputer sensor suite. Under cover of doing repairs, the unit would receive the message.
Hundreds of Rebels had given their lives so this information could get through. I told Antilles as much as I strained toward the monitor.
Behind me, I could almost hear him fuming. His tone was frosty when he reminded me that he had the same security clearance as I did.
Of course he was right. And I trusted Antilles as much as my father, or myself. Sometimes, I have to admit, I don’t like to share responsibility. It’s easier to control outcomes when you’re the only one accountable.
So I told him. This was the most important secret the Alliance had. On a recent mission, Antilles and I had heard a vague rumor about an Imperial strategic project called the Death Star. My father and I had discovered exactly what the project was—a massive space battle station as big as a moon. And it had the fire power to destroy whole planets.
When he heard that, Antilles’s face went pale. He grasped right away what an awesome weapon that would be, and what it could do. He asked if it was online.
“Not yet,” I told him.
But they were close. And the only chance the Alliance had was to get the technical readouts of the station. That was what I was waiting for. If Rebel strategists could find a flaw in the plans, we could find a way to destroy it.
Outside the spaceport, stars twinkled in galaxies light-years from us. Antilles and I gazed outside for a moment. Sometimes in space, you can feel like a tiny speck suspended in eternity.
“A space station the size of a moon,” Antilles said softly.
He didn’t have to tell me what he was thinking. I knew. Our small fleet was still in the process of getting organized. Our space pilots are all highly trained, but next to the size of the Imperial fleet, we were more of a nuisance than a threat.
But that’s why the plans are so important! If a flaw is found, it might be all we need.
Besides, if there’s one thing that boils my blood, it’s someone throwing a doom-and-gloom scenario in my face. I’d heard them all before. You can’t fight the Imperials—they’re too powerful. If you’re a Senator, you can’t run weapons behind the Emperor’s back.
It’s too dangerous.
You’ll get caught.
You’ll lose.
I just can’t listen to things like that. If I did, nothing would ever get done. The Rebellion doesn’t have time to listen to odds.
Just then, the transmission static emitted a series of beeps. I leaned forward and punched the comlink. I told Artoo-Detoo to prepare to copy.
Antilles had chosen the R2 unit for me. The astromech droid was not only programmed for repairs and communication but could also resist interrogation probing. I could only hope the droid was up to the task ahead. I sent along his companion droid, See-Threepio, as an assistant. He would transmit Artoo’s progress back to me through the comlink. He thought the R2 unit was doing normal duty repairs.
Now all I had to do was find the right frequency to decode the message. My fingers flew over the keys while Antilles suddenly strode to the navigation screen.
A starfleet cruiser was approaching. They’d found us! We had only minutes before they would demand we leave restricted space—or fire on us.
Antilles told me that we had to take evasive action. I refused. We had to delay!
The communications officer sounded nervous when he asked Antilles what to tell the Imperials. I had to sympathize. It had taken the Senate years of patient effort to draw up universal rules of engagement and communication in ship-to-ship encounters. The Imperials had destroyed them along with everything else that was decent and fair. They’d blast you just for not answering them quickly enough.
Antilles told the officer to tell the Imperials that he couldn’t be located. He was seeing to repairs to the reactor. It was a smart move. It would give me a few minutes—if I was lucky—before they asked again. And it would keep them out of range, in case the reactor blew.
When I finally located the correct transmission code, I quickly punched the comlink and told Threepio to alert Artoo. About ninety seconds should do it.
But I guess I wasn’t so lucky. The Imperials knew we were receiving a forbidden transmission. They demanded that Antilles release the boarding lock. Their laser guns were now aiming at us.
Antilles looked at me. We both knew the risk we were about to put the crew in. But we both knew the stakes. We had to continue.
Antilles’s orders were crisp. “Repeat that we’re a consular ship on a diplomatic mission. As soon as repairs are finished we’ll be gone.”
The communications officer was sweating now. The bridge was deadly quiet. None of the crew understood why we were putting the ship in such peril. We all knew the dangers of angering an Imperial warship ten times our size and firepower.
The Imperials sent a shuttle to the ship. I stared at the transmission record, my eyes burning. Hidden by the folds of my gown, my fingers were knotted in my lap. I didn’t want the crew to see how nervous I was.
“They’re ordering that I engage the boarding lock! Right now, sir!” The communications officer sounded frantic.
We were almost there. Only a few seconds remained. I gripped my hands together so hard I felt pain shoot up to my shoulder. The Imperials approached the docking bay.
Antilles came to stand behind my chair. He didn’t say a word, or even look at me. We
both watched the red indicator light of the transmission record.
It beeped, signaling the end of the transmission. Immediately, I barked an order into the comlink to Threepio. Get Artoo-Detoo out of the sensor suite and back aboard the ship! If we took off into hyperspace, he could be blown off the hull.
The infuriating protocol droid dithered on and on. I shouted at him to get moving.
Antilles anxiously gave the order to prepare to enter hyperspace. Meanwhile, the ship shuddered as the Imperials blasted our boarding lock.
Threepio’s excited voice came over the comlink. Artoo was inside!
Okay, I admit it—we did cut it too close.
Antilles wheeled and gave the order to transmit to the Imperials that we had received an emergency transmission requiring our aid. “Hyperspeed,” he told the navigator.
Stars rushed at us, and the galaxy became a memory in seconds. We had escaped them—barely. And no doubt our disobedience would be broadcast to other Imperial destroyers, who would be on the watch.
But we had the plans!
Antilles lowered himself into the chair next to me as though his bones hurt. He informed me that I’d just added ten years to his life.
That was Antilles—I had placed him in a tight spot, without any warning at all. And now, the information aboard his ship was putting every crew member in danger. But he could still take a moment to tease me.
He asked me what equally dangerous restricted area I wanted him to invade next.
“Tatooine,” I told him.
I knew he’d be surprised. Why would we head to a remote planet in a far-off system?
He groaned and stood up. “Brief me later,” he said. He’d had enough for one day. He headed off to examine his damaged boarding lock.
Well, it’s better for only one of us to worry. Because once we get to Tatooine, my mission is to locate General Obi-Wan Kenobi. It won’t be easy. Word is that after the Clone Wars, the Jedi Knight became a hermit.
And Tatooine is full of dangers. It’s sparsely populated, mostly by moisture farmers and roving Jawa traders. The Sand People are ferocious scavengers, roaming the Jundland Wastes, where Obi-Wan was last seen living.
But finding General Kenobi isn’t my biggest problem. Convincing him to join the Rebellion is. He gave everything of himself in the great battles of the Clone Wars. He’s an old man now, and if anyone deserves peace, it is Obi-Wan. I will have to ask of him something I have no right to ask. But I will do it.
I can hear the engines reversing. We’re coming out of hyperspace. I should get to the bridge. And then to Tatooine.
Wait—a battle station alert has just been announced over the speaker! What’s going on?
Captain Antilles just told me the bad news over the comlink. We’ll never make Tatooine now. The Imperials followed us through hyperspace. Even now, we’re being pulled into the tractor beam of the Devastator. We’re only minutes away from being boarded by Imperial troops. There must be a traitor on board who installed a tracking device, or broadcast our coordinates.
I’d like to catch the rat! But there’s no time. We’re being fired upon now. Antilles tried to outrun them, but the Tantive IV just doesn’t have the power of a destroyer.
My mission is clear. I have to get the Death Star plans off this ship!
SECOND ENTRY
LOCATION: FIRST OFFICER’S
QUARTERS/
CONSULAR SHIP TANTIVE IV
Okay, Leia, think. One thing I have a healthy respect for is Imperial thoroughness. If they search the ship, they’ll not only find me—they’ll find the R2 unit. Once they discover the plans are not in the ship’s computer, they’ll scan the memory banks of all the droids.
There has to be another way…
The Imperials have jammed our communications. They’ll also be watching for the launch of any escape pods. If life-forms are aboard, they’ll blast them into nanospecs.
Life-forms…
But what about droids?
LOCATION: PORTSIDE
COMPANIONWAY
Captain Antilles accepted my plan. Trusting a droid might be risky—even reckless—but we have no choice. He ordered a full-scale resistance of the Imperial stormtroopers. They have already blasted their way through the boarding lock. They’re aboard the ship.
I made my way to the labor pool in the tail of the ship. There, I located the R2 unit. I programmed the coordinates where we were likely to find General Kenobi on Tatooine. Then I recorded my holographic message. I asked for General Kenobi’s help and explained that he must bring the R2 unit to Alderaan to be deprogrammed. This is our most desperate hour, I told him. You’re my only hope.
I sent Artoo to the escape pods. Antilles will hold the bridge so that he can jettison the rest of the pods as soon as Artoo is off. It just might confuse the Imperials—they’ll scan for life-forms. If none are aboard, they might assume it was a malfunction.
I know that the chances for success are slim. Not only will the droid have to escape the Imperial ships encircling the Devastator, it will have to locate Obi-Wan without being stolen or reprogrammed by farmers or Jawas on Tatooine.
But odds are mathematical formulas calculated to give people a reason not to try.
Smoke is beginning to fill the subhallways. The ship staggers with every blast. I can hear the sound of hand-to-hand fighting. The Imperials must be close.
I’ve kept my comlink open. Just now I heard a familiar voice ordering the stormtroopers to search the ship to locate me.
Darth Vader is aboard. This is not good news.
The Imperials must know something. Why else would the Dark Lord of the Sith chase a common transport ship? Could he know that I’ve obtained the Death Star plans?
So far, I’ve escaped Imperial imprisonment and interrogation. My position as a Senator gives me diplomatic immunity, and it’s gotten me out of some tight spots in the past. I’ve been able to travel through the galaxy recruiting new members for the Rebellion, carrying supplies and weapons, and spoiling Imperial plans—all without getting caught.
But if Darth Vader finds me, I doubt I’ll get away with diplomatic immunity this time. The Imperial warship wouldn’t have acted this aggressively if they weren’t convinced that the Tantive IV was a Rebel ship.
They’re coming for me. I can only hide for so long.
Enough diplomacy. This time I’ll meet Darth Vader with a blaster in my hand.
THIRD ENTRY
LOCATION: CREW QUARTERS/
IMPERIAL STAR DESTROYER
DEVASTATOR
Captain Raymus Antilles is dead. He died bravely. Antilles refused to reveal any information about me or the Rebel Alliance. He insisted until his last breath that the Tantive IV was a consular ship on a diplomatic mission.
I couldn’t hide from the stormtroopers for long. A squad found me and blasted me in stun mode. At least I managed to score a direct hit on one of them before they got me. If I have to take the Imperials down one at a time, I’ll gladly do it.
They bound my hands and took me immediately to Darth Vader. I was still a little groggy from the blaster blow, but the sight of the Dark Lord of the Sith was enough to clear my head at once.
I’ve met him before. He’s the one Imperial who can unnerve me. There is something disturbing about him, a dark energy like a chill wind that brings evil. It slapped me on both cheeks.
I won’t let him intimidate me. I won’t let him see my fear, or sense it. That’s what he counts on. Fear. He’s not going to get one ounce of it from me.
I didn’t give him a chance to speak first. He doesn’t deserve any diplomatic courtesy. I called him the Emperor’s errand boy. I flung the words in his face like a taunt.
My aunts have always drilled into me the importance of making a good first impression.
He didn’t react. He never does. Are there so many artificial parts holding him together that there’s no man left in there?
He sounds more like a droid than a human, thanks to the mecha
nism in his breath-mask. In a toneless voice, he told me that I was a traitor and a Rebel spy. He had the stormtroopers take me away.
Now I’m being held in a crew cubicle aboard the Devastator. I have an uneasy feeling that Vader has special plans for me.
So you might say the situation is serious.
But all I can think about is Artoo-Deetoo. Our future is locked in his memory banks. And now that Antilles is dead, I’m the only one who knows that Artoo is on Tatooine.
My backup is this data recorder. My father, Viceroy Bail Organa, gave it to me back on Alderaan. He wanted me to record my activities as a Senator for the Alderaan historical record. And he also told me that the act of recording my days would help me organize my thoughts and reflect on events.
Father is big on history and reflection.
But there will be no history to recount if the Imperials win! And reflection is a luxury I don’t have time for. So I decided to use the diary to keep track of strategies and plans. It’s a risk. If the Imperials find it, you can bet their codebreakers will be all over it like a flock of mynocks.
The design of the datapad is clever. It was fashioned on my home planet—Alderaan is well known for its innovative designers. It was originally designed for naturalists to carry on long journeys so that they could record their observations. It is capable of carrying billions of bits of voice data, can go for months without recharging, and is palm-sized and lighter than a hollow reed. It fits inside the buckle of my belt, and is undetectable by weapons or scanners.
In other words, it is perfect for my needs. I can keep a running record of Rebellion strategy.
So if the R2 unit doesn’t reach General Kenobi, then this record will show that the technical readouts for the Death Star exist. Even if I’m captured, I can find a way to send it on its way. I’ve gone through too much; too many lives have been lost. The information must get through! For the sake of the Rebellion, and for the sake of Raymus Antilles.
Which reminds me. I had promised to circle back to the beginning. Now might be the best time.
I don’t know what’s ahead. But at least I can relate how I got here.
