“What do you mean?” Leia protested. “It’s proof of what the Empire’s done to a world that only failed to meet a quota! People are going to be furious when they see this.”
Mon Mothma folded her arms atop her desk. Behind her, small ships darted through the Coruscant sky. “Here in the Senate, where we see so much of the ‘official’ versions of events, we sometimes forget that the average person on the average planet is subjected to less propaganda than we are. They listen to conversations and rumors far more than the official infocasts. We have to engage with the artificial narratives of politics because that’s how things get done in the Senate. But those narratives don’t have much currency outside of Coruscant and a few other Core Worlds—yours and mine included.”
Either Leia wasn’t understanding this, or Mon Mothma wasn’t. “But—this is proof—”
“No one needs any more proof. The people of the galaxy know Palpatine is corrupt and cruel. They’ve known that for a generation.” Mon Mothma leaned back, as if the weight of that knowledge had wearied her. “It isn’t ignorance that keeps worlds in the Empire. It’s tyranny, and fear.”
Leia slumped in her chair. She’d been so sure she’d accomplished something meaningful—that it had been worth the minor risk to the crew of the Tantive IV—that this would help her parents see what she could do. Instead it was the exact opposite: proof she didn’t understand what she was dealing with, that she was in over her head before she was actually in at all.
“Don’t be discouraged, Leia.” Mon Mothma managed a faint smile. “If you think about this, you’ll realize it’s one of the most powerful weapons we have. Palpatine can dictate history here, in his academies, and in the Imperial Starfleet—but that tricks him into believing he dictates it everywhere. He doesn’t. Trillions of people understand what he truly is, and with every day that passes, more of them become willing to do whatever it takes to see the Empire fall. Right now they only lack a flag to rally around. Soon, I hope, we’ll be able to give them that.”
Even through her gloom, Leia was struck by how utterly calm Mon Mothma was. Her parents were courageous, but their dread of what was to come was both palpable and understandable. Only this woman looked completely ready to accept whatever came. She wasn’t afraid, and it was difficult to feel afraid when with her.
Maybe it’s not a flag we’ll rally around, Leia thought as she watched Mon Mothma rise from her desk. Maybe it’s a person.
The senator paced the length of her office, seemingly searching for the right words. The atmosphere suggested serenity and peace, with its pale colors, cushioned seating, and view overlooking the clouds. Even the cup of Chandrilan tea steaming on the desk promised calm. But the office, like its occupant, had concealed complexities.
Finally Mon Mothma said, “The day will come when evidence like this matters. When Palpatine has finally fallen, we’ll need to rewrite their false history to reflect the truth. Documentation like this, gathered by honest people—that’s going to give us a place to begin.”
Leia hadn’t been angling to become a historian. Someday, when she could tell Kier about this, he’d appreciate the irony of her being the one to make the textbooks. “I’m glad it’s useful.” The words came out evenly. At least she could be proud of her self-control.
Mon Mothma seemed to be proud too, because she came to Leia’s side and put one hand on her shoulder. “More than anything else, I’m honored that you trusted me with this. The Empire’s worked so hard to destroy our faith in one another, throughout the galaxy. Only by daring to reach out will we ever make the allies we need.”
“Maybe someday I’ll be one of those allies,” Leia said.
“You already are.”
The kind words helped, as did Mon Mothma’s smile. But Leia walked out of the office that day with a new sense of her own powerlessness.
How could they fight an entire government? A way of thinking, a skewed lens for viewing the world?
Maybe Mon Mothma and her parents would find a way. If they did, Leia doubted she’d get to play any part in it.
If only the next day’s session of the Apprentice Legislature had been about something else. Anything else.
“The issue before you today is to advise on sanctions against the planet Lolet,” intoned the RA-7 droid. “Their planetary government stands in violation of Regulation Sixteen-ME, regarding supplying fuel as necessary to Imperial pilots.”
Leia sat in Alderaan’s senatorial pod, sad almost to the point of numbness, as holos played out the Empire’s version of events. In the official telling, Lolet had selfishly failed to assist a stranded TIE convoy. However, it was easy to glimpse the half-hidden truth.
That TIE convoy would only have been left in the Lolet system for one reason: to intimidate the local populace. The planet had resisted refueling the ships sent to terrorize them; now every person who lived there would have to suffer.
And the Emperor had done the Apprentice Legislature the honor of deciding just what form that suffering would take.
She glanced over at Kier to find that he was already watching her. If she’d been any less miserable, that might have flustered her, or delighted her. Instead, she could only shrug helplessly. He frowned in concern, but before he could say anything to her, the debates had begun in earnest.
“I don’t see any need to elaborate on the usual penalties,” Harp Allor said, her black hair shining in the brilliant light at the center of the chamber. “It’s not as if this was an especially egregious offense—”
“Any offense against the Imperial fleet is egregious!” protested one of the representatives from Arkanis. “And such offenses are growing more common. We need to take a hard line, now, before planets begin to believe they can get away with such blatant disrespect.”
Chassellon Stevis’s drawl was so casual as to be cutting. “Oh, spare us the patriotic drivel. The standard procedure will be acceptable. If it weren’t, do you think we’d have been sent this issue to deal with in the first place? The Senate doesn’t delegate work to the Apprentice Legislature in the hopes we’ll do something novel and creative. They delegate work to us when they already know what the outcome will be.”
Leia’s heart sank further. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t figured this out for herself after the fiasco with Arreyel. But admitting that the Apprentice Legislature had little power and less autonomy meant acknowledging that here, too, she was entirely helpless.
The standard punishment for violations of Regulation 16-ME was an increase in tribute paid to the Empire, with the specific amount at the discretion of the provincial governor in question. If the planet was valuable enough, that amount could triple—creating a staggering debt no world could possibly pay. The only way out of debt like that was to surrender what little autonomy the planet still had and become fully, firmly under Imperial rule.