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Leia pivots around a corner and runs down the hallway as quickly as her white suede boots will allow. Her already turbulent breath stutters at the outburst of artillery fire near the rebel base, and her heart hammers painfully in her chest.
The empire is closing in, and there isn’t much time left. She needs to find Luke. Now.
He isn’t in the mess hall, or his bunk, or the hangar; she thoroughly scoped those areas and found no trace of him. Luke isn’t the type to abandon the rebellion in its time of need, and she knows he didn’t escape with the others. So where is he?
Her brown hair tumbles freely out of its two painstakingly assembled buns, but Leia smooths the strands and tucks them behind her ears. She cannot afford to worry about her appearance, not when…
“Oof!”
A figure hurtles out of an empty room and smashes into her. A pair of strong hands reach out to grab her arms before she crashes to the cement floor, and the lightning-fast motion causes her head to spin.
“Leia! Are you alright?”
She registers the worry in his voice before his face gradually comes into focus. Panicked blue eyes sweep up and down her body, searching for any signs of injuries, and his thick golden hair is a shaggy mess.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Luke. Where have you been?”
He winces from the accusation in her voice. Leia doesn’t really mean it, but sometimes her tone is harsher than she intends.
“Checking each room for survivors,” he says as he lets her go. “I escorted everyone I found through the underground path.”
Leia nods and adjusts the sleeves of her forest-green tunic. “So, everyone’s gone?”
An explosion rattles the base, and Luke and Leia descend into a crouch and cover their ears. Before the aftershocks fully ripple away, Leia jumps to her feet and pulls Luke to stand.
“C’mon,” she says, steering them down several adjoining hallways as the sound of battle draws closer.
They scurry down a U-shaped stairwell, and when they reach the bottom step, Luke abruptly stops.
“Wait,” he says, gasping for breath. He leans against the stone wall and frowns. “Where are we going? The underground tunnel is on the opposite side of where we are.”
“The hangar.”
“The hangar?” Luke repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Trust me, Luke. We’ll find everything we need there.”
Luke stares into Leia’s eyes for a few moments, and Leia swallows nervously. Is Luke sensing something with the Force? Or is he as frazzled and exhausted as she is?
Finally, he shuts his eyes and sighs wearily. “Have we been compromised?”
“I suspect there’s a traitor in our midst.”
“Who?”
Leia shrugs. “Does it matter now? It could be someone from High Command. It could be one of the new cadets. Every single rebel has a giant target on their back, and collaborating with the empire might be the only way to make it out alive.”
“Leia, I think…”
“What?” She isn’t trying to rush him, but they haven’t moved an inch in at least two minutes. “The empire is not too far away, and some of the rebels aren’t going to survive the onslaught. We don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, either, so let’s just…”
“He’s here.”
Leia bites the inside of her lip while Luke rubs his prosthetic hand over his face.
“Is he close?” she asks. A trickle of sweat runs down her forehead and curves along the side of her cheek. Luke nods in response, and Leia exhales sharply.
“Do you know where he is?”
Luke mumbles a negative, and Leia puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. She doesn’t know exactly what occurred at Bespin, but Luke was shellshocked, bloodied, battered, and missing his right hand when the Millenium Falcon rescued him from a weathervane. The memories of that day haunt Luke—he’s told her as much, but can’t seem to elaborate further. Leia understands, but her futile attempts to help him are like a prisoner's chain fettering her ankles, branding her guilt. Luke is her best friend, and with Han imprisoned in carbonite, they only have each other to rely on.
Leia knows loss and grief; she suffers the wound from the double-edged sword every day. But she’s a general, a senator, and a princess and that means Leia is the one who has to keep her head up high and make the tough choices. Her predicament is hers alone.
It’s always been this way.
“Okay. We can try to avoid him. Let’s just keep moving.”
They swing the door open and exit the stairwell. Another turn, and they enter the wide corridor that leads into the hangar. A bomb detonates outside the rebel base to their right, and Leia’s ears ring from the piercing volume.
Perhaps that’s just as well, because neither one of them hears Darth Vader’s respirator.
Luke and Leia grind to a halt as the armoured form stands in front of them, blocking their escape. A string of empty X-Wings broods from behind him, alongside the lowered ramp of an imperial transport shuttle, exposing its blackened chasm. The tease of the rose-gold dawn beckons on the remote horizon like a hopeful promise. But there is nowhere to go.
“Vader,” Luke says, his hands bunching into fists, voice surprisingly steady. “This isn’t going to go the way you want it to.”
“Ah, young one, I believe it will.”
Vader’s modulated tone infuses with something sinister. Leia shivers as his gaze lands on her, but she maintains eye contact with the death mask.
“My compliments on a job well done, general.”
Leia registers Luke’s initial confusion in her peripheral vision, but she can’t bring herself to face him.
“Thank you, Lord Vader.”
She bows her head and feels a rush of crocodile tears flood her eyes. Luke tugs roughly on her arm, urging her to look at him.
“Leia?”
She stubbornly averts her gaze, but his fingernails dig into the sensitive skin of her bicep and she hisses in pain. Instinctively, she tilts her head up and makes eye contact; Luke’s lips tremble as the realization of what Leia has done finally hits him. “Why did you do this?”
Leia’s shoulders slump, as though the weight of the galaxy crushes her. She has her motivations for the betrayal, none of which Luke will ever understand. Her deal with Vader is her burden to carry—unfortunately, Luke is the casualty.
Another blast ricochets, this time from above them. The stench of charred wood and sulphurous fumes drifts in from the maw of the open hangar and assaults her nostrils. A prong of smoke breaches the space between her and Luke, and she waves it away with her free hand.
“I’m sorry, Luke,” she says. “I had no choice…”
“There’s always a choice, Leia!”
She flinches from the distraught bent in his voice. Hastily, she wipes away the wetness on her face and notices Vader retrieving an object hidden from view beneath his massive cape.
“You are correct, Skywalker. There is always a choice.”
She gasps as Vader offers Luke his lightsaber. The metallic cylinder reflects the hanging ceiling lights as it rests on his outstretched palm.
Luke releases his grip on Leia and retreats, putting some distance between them. He glances between Vader and the lightsaber, then resolutely shakes his head. “I won’t.”
“You own the power to end life, Luke. Strike her down and seek your justice.”
Leia freezes, unable to believe what she’s witnessing. This isn’t the way her deal with Vader is supposed to unfold—they made an agreement, he promised…
“No,” Luke says, and a surge of gratitude settles Leia’s heart.
Vader pauses for an uncomfortable moment, as if deep in some contemplation. Finally, he tilts his helmet in a gesture Leia has come to recognize as acceptance.
“Very well.”
Vader clips the lightsaber onto his belt, then curls his hand. Leia looks on, puzzled; then an invisible pressure squeezes her windpipe and restricts her airflow.
“Luke!” she cries, scrambling blindly at her neck with one hand and reaching for him with the other.
But Luke simply takes another step back. His jaw clenches, the muscles twitching beneath his stubbled skin, and redness blotches his cheeks. He and Vader stare at one another, unspeaking, until the pressure dissolves and Leia crumples to the floor.
She heaves, gulping in breath after breath. She cups her throat and presses her fingertips into the heartbeat pulsing in her veins. The itchy sensation disappears, and her equilibrium stabilizes. But she is no longer the same, and neither is Luke.
Vader grips Luke by the elbow and marches him to the imperial shuttle.
“Luke, wait…” she says hoarsely, but he ignores her.
“On your feet, general,” says Vader, and Leia rises on wobbly legs at the command. He doesn’t turn back as he boards the ramp, but she follows dutifully behind.
Vader directs Luke to sit in an empty passenger seat, then handcuffs both wrists to each stiff armrest. Leia tries to initiate eye contact with her friend, but he turns his face away.
It’s not what Luke thinks. She has good reasons for doing what she did—if only she can explain her thought process to him! Leia is positive Luke will eventually agree with her point of view.
In the meantime, she plunks into the co-pilot’s chair with a sigh as Vader launches the flight sequence. A dark sunrise guts through the destruction of the rebel base and punctuates the wildfires scorching the once-lush greenery of the planet. The ship ascends over the devastation until nothing is visible. The empire retreats, for now. She is safe, and Vader has what he came here for.
All of this is for Luke. At least that’s something she and Vader agree on.
She rotates in her seat to view her best friend. Luke stares out of the viewport; his hands fold loosely over the edge of the armrest, and he appears lost in thought. If not for the rigidity of his posture, the furrowed brows, and the firm line of his mouth, Luke looks peaceful.
“He will come around, Leia.”
Vader’s tone is softer than she has ever heard it. She rights herself and steals a quick sideways glance at his deadly, insectoid profile. A fledging smile shapes her lips.
“I hope so, father.”