From a Certain Point of View

by Renee Ahdieh

  “According to her diplomatic profile, Princess Leia speaks both Huttese and Shyriiwook fluently. Regretfully, and as Your Majesty is keenly aware, the princess is merely proficient in Shyriiwook. This is, naturally, a failure of mine and not the princess, but I worry that such an error might cause her embarrassment. Oh, it is too, too humiliating.”

  Breha allowed herself a smile and turned, putting a motherly hand on the droid’s shoulder. “It’s hardly your fault that Leia did not apply herself more rigorously. I wouldn’t worry. I’m struggling to imagine a scenario in which fluent Shyriiwook would benefit her.” The droid’s eyes flickered, brighter, as if in shock. “On this particular mission, of course,” the queen quickly added.

  Nodding, CZ-7OB glanced down at its hands. “That is perhaps true, Your Majesty, and a relief to hear, but more alarming still is my discovery that…that…” And here the droid leaned forward, whispering, “I hesitate to even make this accusation, but the princess altered the record herself.”

  From behind them came a soft chuckle. “That does sound like our daughter.”

  Both Breha and the droid startled in surprise, but it was the queen who gasped and let her royal demeanor slip for a moment. Her husband had returned, worn, perhaps, but as handsome as ever in a well-worn brown cape. She rushed to him, hurling herself gratefully into his open arms. The mountain air of her home was a balm, certainly, but the embrace of her beloved was bliss itself. The war, the Rebellion, their daughter’s absence…All fled from her mind for one single moment.

  “So long,” she whispered, pulling back from him and touching his cheek. “So long.”

  “And here again,” Bail replied, craning down from his height to kiss her. “SeeZee,” he said absently, never taking his eyes off Breha’s face, “go now and fix the record, and know that we are all of us grateful for your…particular brand of diligence.”

  The droid teetered by them, regarding them with wide, bright eyes as it went. “I only hope my correction does not come too late. It is dreadfully easy to insult a Wookiee.”

  “But Visaiya should have told me!” Breha’s mind reeled. “You must have just crossed paths with her, and that damn Anderam! I told him to alert me at once…”

  Bail held her at arm’s length as the droid departed, but the smile he gave didn’t reach his eyes. Something was deeply wrong. She noticed new lines at his eyes and longer swipes of gray at his temples, and her heart twisted at the thought of all the dangers he had survived to return to that very balcony. She held him tightly again and then allowed him to lead her to the railing, their hands entwined on the cool marble. A second herd of thrantas soared overhead, their cries echoing off the perimeter of the valley and the heights of the palace.

  “Don’t be cross with either of them, heart. I told them I wanted the surprise to be mine. Stars, but I missed you and this place,” he whispered, tilting his head up toward the sky.

  Breha wanted desperately to allow herself more time to feel relieved, but her grip on his hand tightened. “Scarif…Are the rumors true? They couldn’t possibly be true…”

  Her husband glanced away from her as he lowered his chin and sighed. He seemed to turn paler, a distant, haunted look coming into his eyes. “You must not think of that now,” he assured her. Their eyes met and he forced half of a smile. “I had so hoped to make this reunion a happier one, but the news I have…” He trailed off, and for a moment he looked as if he might be sick.

  “The Senate has been disbanded,” she said. “We heard days ago, Bail. It’s monstrous. I knew the Emperor was bold, but I expected at least a measure of subtlety.”

  “The Senate.” Bail shook his head, his grip on her tightening. “That’s not what I must tell you. I thought I knew what I would say, and it’s only right that I’m the one to bear the news but now that it comes to it…”

  Breha was silent, terrified that if she said another word he would only falter again. On the railing, she watched the little beetle succumb to a sudden wind, toppling over, all of his hard work lost and scattered.

  Bail took in a deep breath, and she watched him grow steadier but still sickly pale. They had known each other for so long, survived so much, but in all their private mythology never had she seen him look this way. Her husband, a man of unshakeable courage and faith, now shaken to his core.

  “The Tantive is lost,” he whispered. “Destroyed.”

  For a moment, Breha couldn’t hear a single thing. Panic. She knew the feeling well, had known it when news of the Senate’s dissolution came, but this was something else. This wasn’t just panic, it was a perfect, hollow place carving itself out in her chest. A high whine in her head made her deaf to anything but the blood pounding in her ears. She blinked, looking through the face of her husband, through the railing, through the mountains…Then her eyes finally fixed on that little beetle rolling his way across the banister. Bail had fallen to his knees, what little of his strength remained had only lasted until he could deliver that message.

  It falls to you now.

  That void in her chest had to be filled with something or she would collapse inward, a helpless pulsar. Purpose could fill the void. For now, at least. Breha folded her hands together, clasping them tighter and tighter, as if that single point of pressure could somehow keep her upright and together.

  “We must know more than that. Send another scouting party at once. Escape pods could have been jettisoned. Our daughter is not so easily killed; she will have made every attempt to survive. We need a chart of all planets near that asteroid field. That’s where we will begin looking for survivors. And who reported this? Can they be trusted?” she demanded, hearing her voice rise until she could control it again. “I will not accept any report until I have seen the wreckage with my own eyes.”

  She nearly demanded to know what exactly the Senate was doing about it but remembered that they were alone in this, lost in an unfamiliar wilderness.

  Nodding, Bail reached for her and with shaking hands she helped him from the ground.

  “I’ve asked for all that and more,” he assured her. “We may no longer have the Senate, but we are not without allies. Breha, there is a squadron looking, but we are at war now. You know I would use every possible resource, but our personal loss must be balanced against the needs of the Rebellion.”

  The tears were coming unbidden, and Breha was powerless against them. Our personal loss. She leaned into her husband, shrugging deep into his embrace, hiding the twitch in her chin that signaled her moment of steely political resolve was crumbling.

  “Not loss,” she said. “Not yet. I won’t give up. But Bail, we should never have agreed to this, to let her go…”

  He rested his chin heavily on her head, and Breha felt suddenly ancient and afraid, frail, battered on all sides by a war she could not stop and evil she could not understand.

  “This war is just beginning, and we must make what preparations we can here. Even if we do nothing but look for her, even if we do nothing but hope, the war is here,” he said softly. “It will be fought by Leia when we find her. We could try to keep her hidden and safe here on Alderaan if—when—she’s recovered, but we both know she would find a way to leave.”

  “Yes, I know.” She pulled away, scrubbing her eyes with both hands. “We should be out there looking, too. Captain Anderam can prepare a transport for us, we should raise him.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You know as well as I do that it’s simply too dangerous. If the Tantive can be taken then so can we.”

  Breha shook her head and hugged herself, rubbing warmth into already warm arms. Her anger subsided into sadness, and she returned to her husband, letting him fold her into a tight embrace as the last comforting touch of the sun fell on their faces.

  “Of course…Of course that’s true. But I can’t do nothing, love. I refuse to do nothing.”

  She pulled a small holo device from the pockets in her voluminous skirts, finding that even that simple task required full focus. Even st
anding and breathing felt like unfairly cruel tasks. But she steeled herself, prepared to be a queen for a moment longer and a mother the moment the call went through.

  The blue image of Captain Anderam flickered to life on the holo as he accepted the transmission.

  “Perhaps we must indeed stay here,” Breha said quietly. “But we have able pilots and agents, and they will search where we cannot.”

  —

  Knowing there would be no sleep did not make its absence any easier. A constant tremor began in her hands, one Breha felt echoed in her brain. There was no word of her daughter yet, not in the direction of life or death, and the possibility that they would never really discover Leia’s fate was becoming likelier by the day. That possibility hung over her like a blind spot, and at certain moments, exhausted to the point of delusion, she swore an actual black void was beginning to obscure her vision permanently.

  Every blip on every communication device sent her into another paroxysm of expectant fear. She let nobody but Bail see it, or at least, she did her best to hide the weariness darkening under her eyes and the shaking of her hands.

  Two days. Two days had passed since her husband’s return and it felt like a lifetime, the lack of sleep blurring the hours together until she could no more rest than divine the hour or day. The long, vaulted chamber at the north end of the palace had once hosted dignitaries and been the place of sober, serious political discussion, but now it had become the hub of information while their best-trained agents searched quietly for Leia. Breha spent too much time there. She ate there, when she could stomach it. And she watched Bail from across the vastness of the meeting table, their eyes ricocheting off each other’s. Any lingering glance and Breha would feel herself hurtling toward tears.

  There would be no tears in front of their generals.

  She saw a page cross from the high-arched door to the table and stand at Bail’s elbow. Their whispered exchange was lost over the constant chatter of the men and women around them and the steady stream of incoming and outgoing holo calls. But Breha observed closely, every new piece of information bringing a surge of hope. Leads, most of them empty, seemed to circle endlessly back to the same conclusion: The Tantive had been annihilated, and with it, every soul on board.

  Bail shook his head, and she noticed the same telling tremor in his hands as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Someone must know something. Do you hear me? Go back,” he said, his voice rising in irritation. “Go back and check again, and then check once more.”

  The page swept the blue cap off his head and bowed his way out of the hall, stricken, his sweet young face turning bright crimson.

  Breha joined her husband, finding his hand under the table and taking it. He did not look at her, but he leaned almost imperceptibly into her shoulder.

  “They are worried, too, Bail. Don’t forget that.”

  “I shouldn’t have snapped at him.”

  She had only tired smiles left in her, so she gave him one. “He will forgive you.”

  “Oh, Your Majesties!” WA-2V wheeled into the chaos of the room, deftly weaving through the concerned crowd to where Bail and Breha stood. Her slender arms were laden with a gown, one Breha recognized at once as her own. It had been changed slightly, the length taken up for Leia’s petite size, a glittering spray of gems added to the hem. The droid stopped just short of them and Breha had to put up a hand to keep the dress from tumbling out of 2V’s grasp. Her fingers brushed the familiar silk and a new wave of grief crested.

  “You were right, it was a much better idea to freshen up one of your old gowns,” the droid said, fussing with the sleeves of the dress. “This one is just so special, and it would be a shame to leave it in storage. It will suit the princess just perfectly!”

  “This is not the time,” Bail interrupted, turning toward the attendant. “There are…other considerations worthy of our attention.”

  But the droid continued to look to Breha, holding out the empty gown. The queen forced herself to put her hand on the rich fabric, numbing herself to the fresh pain.

  “It’s lovely,” she assured the attendant. “When Leia returns she will be very pleased.”

  2V wheeled back and forth, fidgeting, then replied with a chirp, “I think so, too, Majesty, and she will be home soon to see it.”

  A blue man shimmered to life to their left, an incoming holo from Captain Anderam making him glow in miniature as he shouted frantically from his offices in the spaceport.

  “What now?” Bail stalked toward the end of the long table, wedging himself between two ministers huddling over the holo.

  Breha was there an instant later, leaning forward to speak clearly into the recording device. “Anderam? Can you hear me? Is there news?”

  “Above!” The captain sounded panicked. “Can you see? Something is moving into position in orbit, we had no warning…”

  “What are you saying? You aren’t making any sense,” Breha replied, watching the call begin to fail. Something was interfering with the transmission. “Captain—”

  But Bail grabbed her by the wrist, turning to her slowly, his eyes searching the floor between them. “Come,” he whispered. “Outside. Transfer the captain to my personal line!”

  She let him lead her out of the hall and down the corridor at a run, and Breha picked up her skirts to keep pace, breath catching in her throat as he brought them sprinting through the palace and to the nearest balcony, the familiar outdoor haven off their chambers. They both skidded to a stop, Anderam springing to life in Bail’s hand as they stared up at the darkening sky.

  “Get…safety…” The captain’s voice was just a crackle now.

  “Think, Bail. The Tantive goes down, our communications blocked…” She sighed and watched as the image of the captain cut out entirely. “They must know it was Leia. This is a retaliation.”

  Her husband began to pace, sweat beading at his temples as he threw down the comm in frustration. Most of what he muttered to himself was too soft to be heard. “Impossible. They wouldn’t dare!”

  Maybe this was all a distraction, some Imperial plot to keep them from searching for their daughter. Nothing was certain, she reminded herself, nothing was to be believed until they had absolute confirmation. And if the Empire’s attention had turned to Alderaan, then all the better—let them be distracted here, it might allow her daughter to escape the wreck. As long as she survived, there was hope; no matter what far-flung planet Leia landed on, she would find a way to deliver the data and complete her task.

  A shadow fell across the balcony, draping them both in cold and sudden darkness. She reached for Bail instinctively, looping her arm in his as they both turned in unison to face the valley. Breha shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand, gazing up at the sky and the massive object that moved slowly across the sun. In an instant, the thing had obscured the sun completely.

  “What could be so large?” Breha murmured. Fear knotted tightly in her stomach, and she clung harder to her husband. What was she seeing? She had witnessed an eclipse once on Coruscant, but this was so much faster. So unnatural.

  Beside her, Bail gasped and then seemed to go limp. He turned to her, eyes empty, mouth moving but silent. At last, he found his voice and searched the ground at her feet.

  “The planet killer.”

  She fought back the surge of nausea that slammed into her like a breaking wave and placed her hands on his face, forcing Bail to look at her. It couldn’t be true. Not Alderaan. They were in the heart of the galaxy, a major planet, a bastion of tradition and peace and prosperity…

  The perfect symbol to destroy. The perfect message to send. No planet was too sacred, too populous…No planet was safe.

  “My love, they wouldn’t,” she said, even as she knew they would.

  Bail smoothed his hands over hers and touched their foreheads together. “At least we will be together.”

  “No!” She refused to believe it. How could such evil exist? “There…There must be t
ime. The spaceport is too far, but we could reach our private shuttle. We…We could evacuate as many as possible! There must be something, anything, that we can—”

  The sound was incredible. They turned toward it in awe and dread, a deadening of air that pulled all noise from around them before a tremendous blast like lightning rent the air. Bail yanked her into his arms, squeezing her as light blinded them, a ring of white that grew from the horizon, spreading fast, bringing trees, beasts, and rocks with it.

  “She made it out,” Breha whispered, trembling hands balled in his cloak, her disbelieving eyes watching as the planet itself burst with a thousand bright, terrible geysers. “I would know if she was gone, Bail.”

  “She lives.” He kissed her forehead, leaving his lips there as the palace shook under them and the beams holding the balcony aloft screamed and gave. The attendants inside their apartments gave a wail of fright, and the castle sagged with no ground left beneath it.

  Her bones hurt. It felt like they were being shaken apart.

  “She lives,” Bail said once more.

  Breha closed her eyes. “I know.”

  The mountains rose up, folding toward them, swallowing them whole. She felt her husband’s warmth, his breath on her neck, then the scent of ash and smoke, and in the next moment, oblivion.

  THEN:

  You may fire when ready.

  Wilhuff Tarkin was not the type to have rehearsed words. He was not given to standing before a mirror and imagining his moments of triumph, mouthing or whispering statements that would become cemented in history.

  But these words were different. He had waited over two decades to say them. These words would begin an unfathomable frenzy of actions and reactions deep within the enormous weapon he stood in control of, and unleash a torrent of primordial fire that would erase the enemies of the Empire in a searing instant.