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"Space is cold, darling."
She remembered the gentle curve of her father’s mouth as he had said it. She had been ten and small for her age, dressed in senatorial whites that were still a little too big for her, shivering in the aft compartment of the cruiser on her first trip to Coruscant. He had crouched down in front of her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he draped his heavy cloak over her shoulders. It was all thick fur and heavy velvet, and it still smelled a bit like banked fires and the sharp scent of the starblossoms that flowered at the foot of the palace’s retaining wall. Like home, Leia had thought as she fingered the broach on the collar that was scribed with the Alderaanian royal symbol and smiled up at him.
She whispered it silently to herself now, over and over again, as she pressed her back against the icy black metal that formed the walls of her holding cell. Space was cold, and the shivers going down her spine were not fear. The low, bass thudding in her ears was the sound of the engines of the space station cycling down, not the panicked beating of her heart. She was Princess Leia Organa, of Alderaan, and she was not afraid.
She stiffened when the door to her cell whisked back in its housing, rumors of new, dangerous interrogation droids burned into her memory. But instead it revealed a small squad of stormtroopers, and she stood up, back straight, every inch the wrongly accused senator.
“Come with us,” the lead trooper said in clipped tones, his voice slightly robotic through his helmet’s filters.
She swept past him, head held high, and found herself enveloped by the squad as they lead her through the station’s cavernous hallways.
She had just begun to grow tired of the endless identical hallways when they reached their destination, a spacious boardroom like any one of the hundreds of boardrooms she’d been in before. Standing before the viewport with his hands folded neatly behind his back was the skeletal form of Grand Moff Tarkin, and sitting at the far end of the highly polished table was a man dressed in plain black robes, pouring over a set of datapads. At the sound of the door, the Moff turned around.
“Ah, Princess Leia,” he said, smirking slightly. “So glad you could join us.”
“A senator lives to serve,” she replied, loosely folding her hands in front of her. “But I don’t think arresting a senator on a diplomatic mission will reflect too well on your service, governor.”
“I would be more concerned about how words like conspirator and traitor will reflect on yours,” he said, unruffled. “But why don’t you sit. Master Kenobi has been waiting for a chance to meet you.”
At that, the man at the end of the table looked up, and Leia froze, pinned by the spike of primal fear that shot down her spine. He had a neat, close cropped beard and short hair, both a pale grey, and when his mouth twisted into a welcoming smile, the expression had the bite of a blade about it.
“Senator, please do sit down,” he said, gesturing to the seat just to his right. “I must admit that even I get tired walking around this station, and I’d rather like to discuss something with you.”
The stormtrooper behind her had to nudge her forward with the muzzle of his blaster before she moved to sit. Master Kenobi’s eyes were a strange shade of amber, and they didn’t leave her as she sat, piercing straight through her even though the expression on his face was perfectly mild. It was only when he finally looked back down at the datapads that she found her voice.
“Of course. How may I be of assistance, Master Kenobi?” she said, squaring her shoulders and starring at the side of his face.
At that, he stood up, sweeping up the datapads in one hand, leaving her to stare at the black cloak he’d left draped over the back of his chair. From everything her father had told her about the man, about his position and his power, she had imagined that he would dress in silks and heavy furs like any powerful senator. But he wore plain tunics, and the cloak was the same rough homespun cloth that could be found on the backs of farmers across hundreds of systems. Even Leia, in her simple synthsilk gown, wearing no other decoration besides the symbols of her station on her belt, looked more like the kind of person who could change the balance of power in the senate with a single word.
“Now, Senator Organa,” he said, spreading the pads out in front of her on the table. “I’m sure all of this is very familiar to you.”
But looks could be deceiving, Leia reminded herself as she looked down at the first display and bit the inside of her cheek to keep her face emotionless. She made a great show of reading through the information on the first pad, and then skimmed the rest of them. It was impossible. He shouldn’t have such detailed information about not only the Rebellion’s past installations, but about its leaders as well.
This was war. The Rebellion had spent the past fourteen years nipping at the Empire’s heels, gathering power, disrupting what it could. But now, with the completion of a station with the firepower of the Death Star and the aide of what was obviously a much better developed information network than the Rebellion had previously realized, there could be no more arguments for a diplomatic negation or a localized coup. They no longer had that luxury.
“What do you want from me,” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes as he stood over her.
“Dropping the pretense, Senator,” he said, humor coloring his tone.
She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him pointedly.
At that, he actually did chuckle, albeit quietly, and moved away from her towards Tarkin, tucking his hands into opposite sleeves as he did so.
“I want the name of the planet where the Rebel base is located, of course,” he said, more to the viewport than her.
“I don’t know,” she replied immediately.
Somehow she could tell that he was frowning even though he didn’t turn around, and when he replied his voice was frigid. “Don’t lie to me, Senator. If you don’t cooperate, I will have to provide some incentive.”
Leia swallowed shallowly. “You can’t torture me for information I don’t have.”
He turned halfway back towards her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t waste both of our valuable time on such a futile exercise. You are not the type of woman who would give up information so easily. There are other, more productive, ways to negotiate.”
With that, he stepped away from the window, allowing her a clear view. Directly before her, nestled like a jewel on black velvet, was Aldaraan, marbled green and blue and white, fist sized, and serene.
“Alderaan,” she whispered, wondering distantly where all the air in her lungs had gone.
“Yes,” he said conversationally. “A beautiful planet, although I haven’t visited it for many years. For some reason your father never extended an invitation.”
“What are you doing,” Leia finally forced out. “Alderaan is a peaceful planet in a neutral system. We’ve made no move against the Empire!”
“All true, but Governor Tarkin has been rather persistent about displaying this station’s full power, and without a military target, I’m afraid we must make due with what we have.” He looked sideways at her as her planet grew slightly larger in the viewport as the station settled into a stable, if distant, orbit. “Of course, if you would like to provide us with another target, perhaps we can discuss alternatives.”
Leia swallowed again, her mouth suddenly dry. She kept her eyes on the planet floating tranquilly beyond the viewport, and clenched her fists under the table.
“Dantooine,” she finally whispered. “They’re on Dantooine.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded. “Thank you, Senator.” He turned back towards the viewport and then added to the man next to him, “Now, Tarkin, isn’t it about time we fully tested this station’s capabilities?.”
Tarkin merely nodded and then strode to the communications grate embedded in the wall. “Commence the operation. You may fire when ready.”
Leia didn’t even fully realize she had stood up until she heard the crack of her chair hitting the deck plates and she cried, “What are you doing? You said you would spare us.”
The corner of his mouth twisted up. “I said perhaps, Senator.”
“Wait, you can’t do this.” She stumbled as she hit her hip hard against the corner of the table as she moved towards the viewport, her eyes still glued to Alderaan. “Please don’t do this. What do you have to—”
But it was too late for any arguments. The station shuddered, a bone deep hum of circuits heating up and then releasing, and then a spear of green light thrust past the viewport and her home disappeared in a brilliant burst of orange and red and white. It felt like the explosion opened a pit in front of her, dark and deep and sucking at her feet. She would have sunk to her knees, but Master Kenobi caught her arm in a viselike grip, forcing her to stay standing.
“Acceptable,” he was saying, talking over her head to Tarkin. “Although somewhat brutish.”
“You can’t put down rabble with elegance, Master Kenobi,” the Moff replied dryly.
“I suppose not,” he replied evenly, and with that he passed her off to two stormtroopers.
As they half guided, half dragged her from the room, she heard Tarkin ask, “Shall I set course for Dantooine, then?”
“No need,” Master Kenobi replied. “There’ll be nothing there but the remains of some unimportant Rebel outpost. I’ll send a scout ship.”