by Claudia Gray
“Yeah, I’d say I have a pretty good idea.” Leia mock-punched him in the arm, and Han chuckled. “C’mon. You know I love you, too.”
“Yes,” she said as she tilted her mouth up for a kiss. “I know.”
—
Across the capital city of Hosnian Prime, in a far more luxurious home, a much less affectionate conversation was being held via holo.
“Be patient?” Arliz Hadrassian’s dark eyes blazed with fury so powerful it seared even through the hologram. “My Amaxine warriors are decimated, most of my best fighters killed, our ships destroyed, and you can only tell me to be patient?”
Lady Carise, still in the silk dressing gown she’d been wearing when Hadrassian called in the dead of night, snapped back, “Exactly. Because it was your impatience that led to this in the first place!”
“No, it was your inaction. The Centrists’ refusal to stand up and declare themselves separate from the weak, sniveling New Republic!”
“The time isn’t yet right. If you were any kind of politician, you’d know that.”
“If you were any kind of warrior, you wouldn’t be willing to wait for the perfect sunny day. You would take a chance.”
“Well, you took one. You set off a bomb in the Senate to create ‘confusion’ and instead sowed suspicion.” Lady Carise reached for her cup of caf, which she badly needed. “Maybe your warriors weren’t the ones we needed after all.”
Hadrassian’s expression shifted from anger to astonishment. “You’re abandoning us?”
Coolly, Lady Carise responded, “It doesn’t sound like there’s much left to abandon.”
“Leia Organa—it can have been no other—you will at least avenge my men and eliminate her.”
“See? There you go, making it personal when it’s political. Leia Organa might well have been the one who destroyed Sibensko, but I neither know nor care. If we’re able to use the incident against her to have her thrown out of the Senate, fine, but at this point it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Politically, she’s powerless. She’ll never have any more authority. That eliminates her as a threat, and her fate after this is irrelevant. If you were thinking strategically, you’d turn your attention to whoever’s likely to lead the Populists next. Keep them confused. Off balance. Aren’t soldiers supposed to rely on strategy?”
Hadrassian’s smile could be more ominous than her frown. “You will have greater need of soldiers someday. When that day comes, you’ll regret what you have done to us. And that day is coming soon.”
The holo faded out. Lady Carise eased back on her sofa, took a sip of caf, and grimaced when she realized it had turned cold.
Maybe it was just as well the Amaxines would no longer be an issue. Hadrassian and her militia had always been too much of a rogue element to fit into the Centrists’ plans for the future. When the First Order emerged, they would want to establish the new law, not create chaos.
Besides, the Amaxines had already served a useful purpose, one that eclipsed what little good they might have done as an advance guard for the First Order. They had served as a critical distraction when it was needed most. Now that the Amaxine warriors had taken the fall as Rinnrivin Di’s funders and partners, no one would look any farther into his finances…and trace that money beyond backwater planets to the very heart of the First Order itself. Even now, the riches earned through the smuggling and gambling interests of Rinnrivin’s cartel were helping to refit and rearm the former Imperial fleet, bringing them back to their full power and glory so that they would be once again ready to conquer. Oh, there were details she didn’t know. Secrets that hadn’t yet been shared with her. But she understood how to interpret shadows. Like, for instance, the disappearance of Brendol Hux, her homeworld academy’s commandant, after the Battle of Jakku. Some said he had only given up—as if such a hero of the Empire would surrender so abjectly.
So many people lacked faith. But those who still believed—they were the ones who would resurrect the greatest power the galaxy had ever known.
When Lady Carise first got Hadrassian’s angry, desperate call—passing on the word from the few survivors of what had happened to Sibensko—it had seemed like a nuisance. Now she realized it was a blessing.
Of course, if Princess Leia was able to share more of her suspicions, trouble could still arise…but the princess would never get to address the Senate again.
—
Ransolm had gone to Senator Erudo Ro-Kiintor’s meeting on military appropriations in the hope that he might be asked to join one of the relevant committees soon. As much as he despised the reason for his recent rise in power amid the Centrist faction, Ransolm did not intend to waste the opportunities that the rise had given him.
Surely that was the best way to atone for what he’d done.
He had been right to report the truth. Ransolm still believed that. But now that he’d had time to process the information, he believed he should have gone about it entirely differently. Princess Leia had hidden the secret that she was Vader’s daughter from him, which had damaged his trust in her forever—but even if she had not dealt with him honestly, she had dealt with him fairly. The revelation affected not only her but also her son, her brother, and her husband. (Sporting broadcasts that morning had been abuzz with the information that Captain Solo had left the Theron system after the end of the last Sabers round, and rumors abounded as to when or whether he would return for the final championship race.) Ransolm should have contacted Leia, let her know what he’d discovered, and given her a chance to reveal the truth herself.
She’d deserved that much.
Besides, Ransolm had also had the opportunity to ask himself why Lady Carise Sindian had come to him with the information. She had claimed that her sensibilities as a member of the Elder Houses kept her from speaking out, but who took the Elder Houses seriously any longer? Most of the current members saw it as nothing more than a genealogical resource and an excuse for the occasional gala. And Lady Carise could’ve gone to any member of the Senate with the truth about Leia’s paternity.
The only reason for her to choose Ransolm was his partnership with Leia, his trust in her. He did not deceive himself that Lady Carise had done it for his own good.
No, she had intended to manipulate him. The only question was why.
And he did not intend to be manipulated again.
“Forgive me, Senator Ro-Kiintor,” he interjected, “but the scale of the appropriations bill seems far in excess of what can possibly be required. The New Republic already maintains a sizable military force for a government largely at peace.”
Senator Ro-Kiintor folded his hands together, palm to palm, fingertip to fingertip. “The armies we have now are adequate to the concerns we have now. But we must prepare for future conflicts.”
“With whom? The New Republic comprises the majority of worlds in our galaxy. Only small, disconnected sectors stand apart, and few of those represent any military threat whatsoever. None of them shows any sign of declaring war.”
“The New Republic is made up of separate systems,” Senator Ro-Kiintor replied. “Separate worlds. We haven’t supported their individual planetary defenses nearly enough.”
This old canard. With difficulty, Ransolm kept himself from groaning. The far-right wing of the Centrist faction never quit harping on this, in the apparent belief that the lowliest moon needed enough firepower to take out a Super Star Destroyer on its own. They managed to be even more annoying than the far-left wing, which pushed for government control of the smallest minutiae of personal and political interaction. Ransolm privately figured Senator Ro-Kiintor looked at the armaments bill primarily as a way to funnel government money to Centrist planets, for whom the largest share of funds was earmarked.
He said, “We can supply extra funds for planetary defense without it costing anything like the amounts you’ve set out here. This appropriations bill could only be justified if the New Republic were facing imminent, galaxy-wide war.”
A brief si
lence followed, during which Ransolm wondered if he’d gone too far—but then one of Senator Ro-Kiintor’s staffers laughed under his breath. When both of the senators turned to look at him, the man said, “I couldn’t help it. Believe it or not, Leia Organa is trying to address the Senate again.”
She’s back from Sibensko, and she’s learned something valuable. Ransolm felt an unwilling flash of excitement. He’d done the right thing, then, by not reporting on the mission; he distrusted Rinnrivin Di and the Amaxine warriors far more than he distrusted Leia.
Which was something he hadn’t consciously realized, until that moment…
“Pathetic,” Senator Ro-Kiintor sniffed. “She can’t possibly get a quorum to grant her the floor.”
The staffer’s grin was smug. “I admit, she came closer than I thought she would, but it’s more poetic this way. She fell short by one vote. Precisely one. All the Populists and independents already voted, so that’s it for her.”
Senator Ro-Kiintor shook his head as if in disgust.
As he walked back to his own office, Ransolm reviewed everything he knew about the investigation. He remembered his own battle against the Amaxines in the desert, Joph’s daredevil X-wing piloting, Greer bringing the courier down to Daxam IV…and Leia, gambling in the casino, firing at their pursuers in the Bastatha caves, helping analyze all the data, and finally, at the hanging gardens, speaking about the torture she had suffered at the hands of her own father.
He still did not know whether he could trust her, but he understood at last that she had trusted him.
When he entered his office suite, his assistant handed over a datapad immediately. “Issues on tomorrow’s order of business in the Senate for your votes, sir.” At the top of the list was Leia’s request for a hearing. It remained one vote short.
Ransolm pressed down on YES.
—
“You’re kidding,” Leia said as she sank into her desk chair.
Greer shook her head. “You just cleared it. Casterfo’s vote put you over the edge.”
Was that his way of saying he was sorry? Or did he just want to hear what finally happened? This might be no more than the ending to a dramatic story, for him.
Leia decided she didn’t care. She had her hearing, and nothing else mattered.
She had spent the day in some suspense, wondering if the word of what had happened on Sibensko had gotten out, how firmly she had been tied to it, and whether her enemies in the Senate intended to use this breach of authority against her. Surely people were ready to pounce on Vader’s daughter. But nothing surfaced. No one spoke of it. Leia would be able to present her own report first, with what evidence they had been able to salvage.
“See? I told you things would turn around,” Han said that evening as they dined at home.
“I don’t think Ransolm’s starting a trend,” she said drily as she tried to eat her dinner without getting it all over herself. Han had brought back Bilbringi food, cheesy meat pies with peppers; she liked Bilbringi, though not quite as much as he did. Tonight, though, it hit the spot. Maybe she shouldn’t be so worried about making messes.
Han, who could eat these things in the cockpit while flying, deftly rewrapped his own pie. “Well, don’t worry. You don’t have to deal with this alone, all right? I’m willing to be here as long as you need me.”
Willing. That one word said so much. Leia didn’t doubt Han’s love for her, but she also knew that he would always be a wanderer at heart. He would stay with her on Hosnian Prime for a year or more if she asked, but she would feel as if she’d clipped a bird’s wings.
She set down her food. “Han. It’s all right. We both know you want to get back to the Sabers.”
“It’s just a race, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, but this mess I’m in—it shouldn’t wreck your life, too. Besides,” she added wryly, “I think the galaxy would forgive me for being Vader’s daughter faster than they’d forgive me for postponing the hyperspace championship round of the Five Sabers.”
Han shook his head in wonder. “You can still surprise me.”
“The worst is over,” Leia said, trying to convince both Han and herself. “I’ll be fine.”
Simply knowing he’d soon be back in his ship, flying free, had brightened Han’s mood. “I gotta admit—I wouldn’t have known what to do with all that political mumbo jumbo anyway. Fighting with blasters is fairer, and if you ask me it probably causes a whole lot less damage.”
She sighed in fond exasperation. “Some things never change.”
His expression grew more serious, and he reached across the table to take her hand. “That’s right,” he said. “Some things will always be the same.”
“Is that a promise?”
“You better believe it.”
Maybe being invited back to Varish Vicly’s was a good sign.
“You let Han leave Hosnian Prime without telling me goodbye—or even so much as hello?” Varish slipped one of her long limbs through the crook of Leia’s elbow, as any hostess might, but Leia could sense the unspoken message as well as anyone else here: This person is under my protection. “For shame. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Han has a race to supervise, and I have work to do here.” Leia took a deep breath and smiled. “So what’s the occasion?”
“Since when have I ever needed an occasion to throw a party? The next time Han’s home, I’ll have one just for him. If he sticks around long enough!”
Varish’s loyalty had not wavered for an instant, for which Leia was deeply grateful. Tonight, however, Varish seemed intent on forcing the other Populist leaders to be loyal to Leia, too.
That was more than a single party could accomplish, even one of Varish’s. Although no one said anything rude, and most people smiled politely or at least nodded, a cascade of whispers followed Leia through the crowd. Can you believe…Is she really…Do you think…Who knew the truth?
She’d known it would be like this. The only way to get through it, she decided, was through a little dark humor of her own—which took the form of the long black dress she wore, cape and all.
If they only wanted to see her as Vader’s daughter from now on, why not look the part?
Varish whispered, “You’re not going to wear that when you address the Senate, are you?”
“Of course not.” This stunt helped her get through the party, but it would work against the substance of her speech. “Just having a bit of fun.”
Through the muddle of the crowd she saw a flash of scarlet that could only be a Gatalentan robe. “Tai-Lin!” He might have been the only person left in the Senate she still felt confident to call out to.
Sure enough, he turned and smiled at her as warmly as ever. “Princess Leia. You look—” He paused, then gave her a conspiratorial smile. “—provocative.”
“You know me so well.”
“Before the party gets too involved, a quick word, if I might?” Tai-Lin looked to Varish for permission to steal Leia away; Varish nodded and let go, loping off to offer wine to the latest arrivals.
Together Leia and Tai-Lin walked onto Varish’s long terrace. Other partygoers mingled there, but fewer, meaning they had a chance to breathe. As soon as they claimed a private corner for themselves, Leia asked, “So what’s this about?”
“Your upcoming speech.”
“But you know what it’s about—”
“I don’t mean the topic. I mean, why do you think Ransolm Casterfo voted you in?”
Leia had tried to avoid thinking about this too much. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You must be serious.” Few people could sound as grave as Tai-Lin Garr. “Has it occurred to you that he might be setting you up?”
“He did that well enough the first time.”
Tai-Lin shook his head. “There’s no telling what he might say. What further accusations he might hurl.”
“Trust me, I don’t have any secrets bigger than that one. I’m not sure that would even be possible.�
� She hesitated before she added, “I think he honestly wants to hear what I’m going to say. Ransolm was deeply involved in the investigation. He took risks in order to see it through. Probably he just wants to know how the story ends.”
“You have more faith in his honor than I do.”
“Do I?” Maybe that was true. Ransolm’s betrayal had flayed her to the bone, but she understood why he’d done it. She trusted her knowledge of the man.
“Attention, everyone!” Varish called gaily, loud enough for the entire party to hear. “As you might have guessed, I’ve brought you all together for a specific reason, and it’s time you find out what it is.” She lifted high her glass of bubbling wine. “I want you all to join me in a toast to Tai-Lin Garr—who will soon be declared the Populist nominee for First Senator!”
Cheers erupted throughout the room. Tai-Lin held up his hands, both accepting and encouraging their enthusiasm. Leia applauded, even though her first reaction was shock. How could she not have known about this?
Because you were off chasing Rinnrivin Di on Sibensko, she reminded herself. And because you don’t get invited to meetings of the inner circle anymore. Never in her life had political power been farther from her grasp. She’d never craved power for its own sake, but she was beginning to miss it now that it was gone.
Congratulations swirled around Tai-Lin for nearly an hour afterward, during which Leia endured several grueling rounds of small talk with people who didn’t much want to speak with her. Once she was able to get to Tai-Lin’s side again, however, she whispered, “How did you let them talk you into this?”
“They didn’t. I meditated on the question and considered every facet of the arguments for and against running.” From anyone else, that would sound like pompous faux-nobility. But Leia knew that if Tai-Lin said so, he’d done exactly that. “Finally I realized that duty demanded I run.”
She knew how that felt. “You’ll be able to accomplish so much. Maybe more than I ever could have done. You’re a better peacemaker than I am, Tai-Lin.”
