“Coming out of hyperspace in a moment, Your Highness,” Batten called back to Leia.
When she stood up, Leia felt another wave of tiredness hit her. She reminded herself of the bed waiting for her back on Alderaan. It wouldn’t be long now. They were only here to take a few scans of the system. To her it seemed no more than feeling out the dimensions of what her parents were planning, getting an idea of scope and scale that would let her know what to prepare for. Would they be going after targets like Calderos Station? Trying to persuade more ships to defect?
The small shudder that went through the Polestar meant they were back in realspace. Leia joined Ress Batten in the cockpit and found her already running scans. “You sure are interested in this boring planet,” she said.
But Batten had lost interest in the joke. “Oh, kriff,” she said as data scrolled by her. “Kriffing kriff.”
“What? There aren’t—is the Empire—”
“No, that’s not it.” Batten brought up a visual on the screen. “Look at this.”
The scans hadn’t even touched the planet’s surface; instead, they focused on what floated in orbit. Dozens of larger ships, from midsized transports to enormous planetary battleships, were tethered to spindly deep-space repair stations, no doubt by tractor beams. Some of the ships were newer, but most looked old—though Leia could tell they were being repaired. No. Refurbished. Kier had shown her enough of his Clone Wars historical materials for her to recognize that some of the planetary ships dated from that era, but they now sported newer, top-of-the-line engines.
“They’re fixing them up,” Batten said, more to herself than to Leia. “Getting them ready.”
Up until this moment, Leia had believed her parents would support strike attacks. Controlled, directed military action, nothing like the terrorist acts of Saw Gerrera. Resistance to Palpatine’s forces, maybe defense for those most directly endangered. Pressure that would force the Emperor to listen, to moderate, maybe even to abdicate.
She’d been fooling herself.
Looking out at the sheer scope of the armada in front of her, Leia finally understood that her parents were preparing to go to war.
“The Clone Wars.” The docent of the Emperor’s Museum addressed the Apprentice Legislature tour with the clasped hands and carefully monotone voice of a funeral guest. Behind him, a flat screen showed images of thousands of clone troopers marching in lockstep across rugged terrain. “A tragedy such as has rarely been seen before, and thankfully never will again.”
Leia flinched, then glanced around her, hoping no one had noticed. Nobody had. Most of her classmates were visibly, profoundly bored; Kier, who stood by her side, was of course completely engrossed in the images playing before them, real footage of the Clone Wars he’d studied so much.
Real footage. False history.
“Count Dooku of Serenno led the Separatist faction away from the faltering Republic,” the docent continued. “Although he acted out of craven ambition, with disregard for the billions of lives that would be lost. Dooku was correct about one thing. The Republic had indeed become rotten at its core, no longer governed by law, order, and discipline. Had the Senate chosen a different chancellor after the deposition of the weak, ineffectual Valorum, galactic order itself might have fallen apart. But the times we live through create the heroes we need.”
The inaugural portrait of Palpatine filled the screen until it seemed as if the Emperor himself was smiling down at them with kindly eyes. Leia wondered how much digital manipulation had been necessary to create that illusion of kindness. Or maybe he was only acting. Either way, she couldn’t see the point of projecting a benevolent image while doing everything necessary to prove himself a cruel man and a warmonger.
Palpatine started the past war. Was her father starting the next one?
As the docent led them into the display about Palpatine’s childhood (titled “From Humble Beginnings,” like Naboo was poverty-stricken), Leia trailed behind. Kier murmured, “Are you all right? You’ve been quiet all day.”
“I guess. It’s all just so—” She made a hand gesture instead of outright saying the word fake.
Kier considered that carefully. “When I go looking for deeper background information, it’s…hard to find primary sources.”
“You should talk to my dad sometime. He could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe. Like the time bounty hunters took him and several other senators hostage in the heart of the Senate itself.” It was safe to mention that incident publicly. Most of the stories Bail Organa had to tell about the Clone Wars were far more politically sensitive.
“Would he tell me about it? Really?” Kier had the fascinated gleam in his eye that most guys his age only had for new speeders.
Leia managed a smile. “Yeah. My parents adore you, by the way.”
“Hope they’re not the only ones.”
She nudged his side, he nudged back, and they took each other’s hands. A few steps away she saw Chassellon pretending to vomit; the joke was probably meant to be more friendly than not, but Leia had no patience for it. In truth she found it hard to concentrate even on Kier’s presence, or the museum of lies around them.
Her mind kept going back to the fleet around Paucris Major, preparing for a conflict with the potential to make the Clone Wars look like a dinner party.
“Another dinner party?” Leia said in dismay as she stood in the great hall of the palace, watching the servitor droids whir about in a bustle of activity.
“Yes, our queen is holding yet another banquet.” 2V practically gleamed with satisfaction as she rolled alongside her royal charge, weaving through droids carrying wineglasses and bundles of flowers. “I must say, it’s so good to see a return to proper courtly standards of hospitality and conviviality. Now, spit-spot, off to your room. We’ve got to make you presentable, and the Maker knows we hardly have the time!” There was nothing for Leia to do but follow.
She’d decided to come clean with her parents about snooping around the Paucris system as soon as she returned to Alderaan. Probably their explanation would be terrifying in its own right—as would the inevitable lecture she’d receive—but she’d decided she could endure any concrete truth better than the suspense of not knowing.
Instead, she’d have to bear at least one more day of it, plus the knowledge that her parents were hard at work planning this right here in the palace, around a dinner table with their co-conspirators.
Listen to me—“co-conspirators,” Leia thought as she absently shimmied into the pale yellow gown 2V had laid out for her. Her brain had already run ahead to one potential future, where this had all gone horribly wrong, where her parents were jailed or executed for treason, and where she was either left utterly alone or made to die by their side. It was as though she could hear the judicial officer speaking the charges already.