by James Luceno
Bail Organa understood this, as had his predecessors in the Galactic Senate. But Bail’s compassion for those who had taken to Aldera’s narrow streets was not a case of noblesse oblige, for he shared the concerns of the demonstrators and had deep sympathy for their cause. As many said of Bail, were it not for genetics, he might have been a Jedi. And indeed for most of his adult life he had been a valued friend of the order.
He stood in plain sight of the crowds, on a balcony of the Royal Palace, in the heart of Aldera, which itself lay in the embrace of green mountains, their gentle summits sparkling with freshly fallen snow. Below him marched hundreds of thousands of demonstrators—refugees representing scores of species displaced by the war, bundled up in colorful clothing against the mountains’ frigid downdrafts. Many of the refugees had been on Alderaan since the earliest days of the Separatist movement, living in housing Alderaan had provided; many more were recently arrived onplanet, to show their support. Now that the war had ended, almost all of them were eager to return to their home systems, pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, and reunite with members of their widely dispersed families.
But the Empire was attempting to thwart them.
Placards flashed and holoimages sprang from hand- and flipper- and tentacle-held devices as the throng moved past Bail’s lofty perch in the north tower, behind the palace’s high white walls and the arcs of reflecting pools that had long ago served as defensive moats.
PALPATINE’S PUPPET! one of the holoslogans read.
REPEAL THE TAX! read another.
RESIST IMPERIALIZATION! a third.
The first was a reference to the regional governor Emperor Palpatine had installed in that part of the Core, who had decreed that all refugees of former Confederacy worlds were required to submit to rigorous identity checks before being issued documents of transit.
The “tax” referred to the toll that had been levied on anyone seeking to travel to outlying systems.
Already a catchphrase, the third slogan was aimed at any who feared the Emperor’s attempts to bind all planetary systems, autonomous or otherwise, to Coruscant’s rule.
While little of the angry chanting was directed at Alderaan’s government or Queen Breha—Bail’s wife—many in the crowd were looking to Bail to intercede with Palpatine on their behalf. Alderaan was merely their gathering place, after the demonstration’s organizers had decided against holding the march on Coruscant, under the watchful gaze of stormtroopers, and with the memory of what had happened at the Jedi Temple fresh in everyone’s mind.
Demonstrations were nothing new, in any case. Alderaanians were known throughout the galaxy for their missions of mercy and their unstinting support of oppressed groups. More important, Alderaan had been a hotbed of political dissent throughout the war, with Aldera University’s Students of Collus—named for a celebrated Alderaanian philosopher—leading the movement.
With his homeworld thoroughly politicized, Bail had been forced to play a careful game in the galactic capital, where he was at once an advocate for refugee populations and a principal member of the Loyalist Committee; that is, loyal to the Constitution, and to the Republic for which it stood.
A reasonable man, one of a handful of rankled delegates who had found themselves caught between support for Palpatine and outright contention, Bail had understood that political wrangling was the only way to introduce change. As a result, he and Palpatine had engaged in numerous disputes, openly in the Rotunda as well as in private, on issues relating to Palpatine’s rapid rise to uncontestable power, and the subsequent slow but steady erosion of personal liberties.
Only with the war’s sudden and shocking end had Bail come to understand that what had seemed political maneuvering on Palpatine’s part had been nothing less than inspired machination—the unfolding of a diabolical scheme to prolong the war, and to so frustrate the Jedi that when they finally sought to hold him accountable for refusing to proclaim the war concluded with the deaths of Count Dooku and General Grievous, Palpatine could not only declare them traitors to the Republic, but also pronounce them guilty of having fomented the war to serve their own ends, and therefore deserving of execution.
Ever since, Bail had been forced to play an even more treacherous game on Coruscant—Imperial Center—for he now knew Palpatine to be a more dangerous opponent than anyone had suspected; indeed a more dangerous foe than most could even begin to guess. While Senators such as Mon Mothma and Garm Bel Iblis were expecting Bail to join in their attempts to mount a secret rebellion, circumstance compelled him to maintain a low profile, and to demonstrate greater allegiance to Palpatine than he ever had.
That circumstance was Leia. And Bail’s fears for her safety had only increased since his close encounter with Darth Vader on Coruscant.
He had spoken of the encounter only to Raymus Antilles, captain of the consular ship Tantive IV. Antilles had been given custody of Anakin’s protocol and astromech droids, C-3PO and R2-D2. The former had undergone a memory wipe to safeguard the truth for as long as necessary, and to assure the continued protection of the Skywalker twins.
Could Vader actually be Anakin Skywalker? the two men wondered.
Based on Obi-Wan’s account of what had occurred on Mustafar, Anakin’s survival didn’t seem possible. But perhaps Obi-Wan had underestimated Anakin. Perhaps Anakin’s peerless strength in the Force had allowed him to survive.
Was Bail, then, raising the child of a man who was still alive?
What alternative was there? That Palpatine—that Sidious—had dubbed some other apprentice Darth Vader? That the black monstrosity Bail had seen on the landing platform was merely a droid version of Anakin, as General Grievous had been a cyborg version of his former self?
If that was true, would stormtroopers like Appo allow themselves to be commanded by a such a being, even if ordered to by Sidious?
The questions had gnawed at Bail without answer, and events such as the refugee march only served to place him at greater risk on Coruscant and heighten his concerns for Leia.
Unaided, Palpatine was capable of crushing any who opposed him. And yet he continued to allow others to do his dirty work, to preserve his image as a benevolent dictator. Palpatine used his regional governors to issue the harshest of his decrees, and his stormtroopers to enforce them.
The march’s organizers had promised Bail that it would be a peaceful demonstration, but Bail suspected that Palpatine had infiltrated spies and professional agitators into the crowds. Riots could be used as an excuse by the regional governor to arrest dissidents and perceived troublemakers, and to announce new edicts that would make travel even more difficult and expensive for the refugees.
With so many ships arriving from nearby worlds, it had been impossible to screen for Imperial agents or saboteurs. Even if there had been some way to identify them, Bail would only have played into Palpatine’s hands by issuing restrictions, thus alienating refugees and their ardent supporters alike, who viewed Alderaan as one of the last bastions of freedom.
Thus far, Alderaanian law enforcement units were doing a good job of confining the marchers to their preassigned circuit of the Royal Palace. Contingents of Royal Guards surrounded the palace, and the sky was filled with police skimmers and surveillance craft to ensure that the situation remained under control. On Bail’s orders, active measures could only be used as a last resort.
Standing at the edge of the balcony, the object of shouts, appeals, chants, and flurries of raised fists, Bail ran his hand over his mouth, hoping that the Force was with him.
“Senator!” someone called from behind him.
Bail turned and saw Captain Antilles hurrying toward him from the direction of the palace’s Grand Reception Room. Accompanying Antilles were two of Bail’s aides, Sheltray Retrac and Celana Aldrete.
Antilles directed Bail’s attention to a nearby holoprojector.
“You’re not going to be pleased,” the starship captain said by way of warning.
The holoi
mage of an enormous warship resolved in the projector’s blue field.
Bail’s brow wrinkled in confoundment.
“Imperator-class Star Destroyer,” Antilles explained. “Hot off the line. And now parked in stationary orbit above Aldera.”
“This is outrageous,” Celana Aldrete said. “Even Palpatine wouldn’t be so bold as to interfere in our affairs.”
“Don’t fool yourself,” Bail said. “He would and he has.” He swung to Antilles. “Comm the vessel,” he ordered as Aldera’s vizier and other advisers were hastening onto the balcony to gawk at the projected holoimage.
Before Antilles could activate his comlink, the holoprojector image faded and was replaced by the pinched, clean-shaven face of Palpatine’s chief henchman, Sate Pestage.
“Senator Organa,” Pestage said. “I trust you are receiving me.”
Of all of Palpatine’s advisers, Pestage came closest to being Bail’s archnemesis. A thug, with no understanding of the legislative process, Pestage had no business being in a position of authority. But he had been one of Palpatine’s chief advisers since Palpatine’s arrival on Coruscant from Naboo, as that world’s Senator.
Bail positioned himself on the projector’s transmission grid and signaled for Antilles to open a link to Pestage.
“There you are,” Pestage said after a moment. “Will you grant permission for our shuttle to land, Senator?”
“How unlike you to extend us the courtesy of a warning, Sate. What brings you to this part of the Core, in a Star Destroyer, no less?”
Pestage smiled without showing his teeth. “I’m merely a passenger aboard the Exactor, Senator. As to our business here … Well, let me say first how much I’ve enjoyed watching HoloNet feeds of your … political rally.”
“It’s a peaceful gathering, Sate,” Bail fired back. “And it’s likely to remain so unless your agitators succeed in doing what they do best.”
Pestage adopted a surprised look. “My agitators? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious. But suppose you get back to telling me why you are here.”
Pestage tugged at his lower lip. “Now that I think about it, Senator, it might be more prudent for me to leave the explanation to the Emperor’s emissary.”
Bail stood akimbo. “That has always been your position, Sate.”
“No longer, Senator,” Pestage said. “I now answer to a superior.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Someone you’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting. Darth Vader.”
Bail froze, but only on the inside. He managed to keep from glancing at Antilles, and his voice belied none of his sudden dread when he said: “Darth Vader? What sort of name is that?”
Pestage smiled again. “Well, actually it’s something of a title and a name.” The smile collapsed. “But make no mistake, Senator, Lord Vader speaks for the Emperor. You would do well to bear that in mind.”
“And this Darth Vader is coming here?” Bail said in a composed voice.
“Our shuttle should be setting down momentarily, assuming, of course, that we have your permission to land.”
Bail nodded for the holocam. “I’ll see to it that you receive approach and landing coordinates.”
Pestage’s holoimage had no sooner deresolved than Bail snatched his comlink from his belt and tapped a code into the keypad. To the female voice that answered, he said, “Where are Breha and Leia?”
“I believe they’re already on their way to join you, sir,” the Queen’s attendant said.
“Do you know if Breha has her comlink with her?”
“I don’t believe she does, sir.”
“Thank you.” Bail silenced the comlink and turned to his aides. “Find the Queen. She must be somewhere in the main residence. Tell her that she is not to leave the residence under any circumstances, and that she is to contact me as soon as possible. Is that understood?”
Retrac and Aldrete nodded, spun on their heels, and hurried off.
Bail swung to Antilles, eyes bulging in concern. “Are the droids on the Tantive IV or downside?”
“Here,” Antilles said, exhaling. “Somewhere in the palace or on the grounds.”
Bail tightened his lips. “They have to be located and kept out of sight.”
Never was one for crowds, myself,” Skeck said as he, Archyr, and Shryne were negotiating Aldera’s throng of demonstrators.
“Is that what first took you to the Outer Rim?” Shryne asked.
Skeck mocked the idea with a motion of dismissal. “I just hang there for the food.”
In addition to keeping out the cold, their long coats, hats, and high boots supplied hiding places for blasters and other tools of the smuggling trade. Jula, Brudi, and Eyl Dix had remained with the drop ship, which was docked in a circular bay a couple of kilometers west of the palace.
It was Shryne’s first visit to Alderaan. From what little he had seen, the planet lived up to its reputation as both a beautiful world and an arena for political dissent, notwithstanding Alderaan’s allegedly pacifist views. The mood of the enormous crowd, made up of war refugees and those who had arrived from countless worlds to demonstrate their solidarity, seemed to be in keeping with those views. But Shryne had already zeroed in on scores of beings who clearly hoped to provoke the marchers to violence, perhaps as a means of being assured extensive HoloNet coverage, and thus making their point with Palpatine.
Or maybe, just maybe, Alderaan had the Emperor himself to thank for the rabble-rousers.
Judging by the way in which Aldera’s police units were deployed, they had no interest in confrontation, and perhaps had been ordered to exercise restraint at all costs. The mere fact that the marchers were being allowed to voice their protests and display their holoslogans in such close proximity to the Royal Palace, and that Senator Bail Organa himself would occasionally plant himself in full view of the crowd, showed that the restraint was genuine.
Alderaan really did care about the little guy.
For Shryne, the presence of such a huge crowd also suggested that Senator Fang Zar was more than a clever politician. While spiriting him off Alderaan would never have posed an insurmountable challenge, the milling crowds combined with Alderaan’s deliberately lax policy toward orbital insertions and exits was going to make the pickup as easy as one, two, three.
Not bad for Shryne’s first mission.
There might even be a small amount of good attached to it—particularly if the rumors he had heard about Zar over the years were true.
Now it boiled down to keeping the appointment with him.
Shryne, Skeck, and Archyr had already circled the palace twice, primarily to scope out potential problems at the south gate entrance, where the prearranged meet was supposed to take place. Shryne found it interesting that Zar’s ostensible reason for making a low-key departure was to keep from involving Organa in his problems, but Shryne wasn’t clear on just what those problems were. Both Zar and Organa had been outspoken members of the Loyalist Committee, so what could Zar have done to cause problems for himself that didn’t already involve Organa?
Was he in a fix with Palpatine?
Shryne tried to convince himself that Zar’s troubles were none of his business; that the sooner he accustomed himself to simply executing a job, the better—for him and for Jula. This, as opposed to thinking like a Jedi, which involved looking to the Force as a means of gauging possible repercussions and ramifications of his actions.
In that sense, the Alderaan mission was the first day of the rest of his life.
Olee Starstone was the only other issue he had to clear from his mind. His feelings for her didn’t spring from attachment of the sort she would be the first to ridicule. In plain fact, he was worried about her to the point of distraction.
In response to Shryne’s decision to follow his own path, she was about as angry as a Jedi was allowed to be, though some of the other Jedi had said that they understood.
All seven had taken the
battered transport and gone in search of surviving Jedi. Shryne feared that it would just be a matter of time before they got themselves in serious trouble, but he wasn’t about to serve as their watchdog. More to the point, they had seen the risks they were taking as flowing from the will of the Force.
Well, who knew for sure?
Shryne wasn’t omniscient. Maybe they would succeed against all odds. Maybe the Jedi, in league with political protesters and sympathetic military commanders, could bring Palpatine to justice for what he had done.
Unlikely. But a possibility, nevertheless.
Jula had been generous enough to loan Filli to the Jedi, outwardly to help them sort through the data they had downloaded from the beacon databases. Shryne suspected, however, that Jula’s real intent was to disable Starstone’s reckless determination. The closer Starstone and Filli grew, the more the young Jedi would be forced to take a hard look at her choices. With time, Filli might even be able to lure her out of her attachment to the perished Jedi order, just as Jula had Shryne.
But then, Shryne had been halfway along before his mother had even entered the picture.
His mother.
He was still getting used to that development: that he was the son of this particular woman. Perhaps the way some of the troopers had had to adjust to the fact that they were all clones of one man.
Through his comlink’s wireless earpiece, Shryne heard Jula’s voice.
“I just heard from our bundle,” she said. “He’s in motion.”
“We’re working our way around to him now,” Shryne said into the audio pickup fastened to the synthfur collar of his coat.
“You sure you’re going to be able to recognize him from the holoimages?”
“Recognizing him won’t be a problem. But finding him in this crowd could be.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t expect this big a turnout.”
