Chapter Text
He watched his fingers tremble numbly as he inserted the stolen plans into Artoo, and began recording his message. His mouth was dry and his voice was shockingly steady as he pleaded to no one. He couldn't help but wonder, as he knelt down and terminated the holorecording, what it would have been like if he had managed to reach General Kenobi himself.
Well, there was no point in dwelling on it.
"Go," he hissed at Artoo. "Go on! Quickly!"
The blaster-fire was growing closer. Luke crouched for a long minute after Artoo had crooned sadly and rolled away. The hem of his long formal dress, a girdled white tunic that reached his shins and provided slits up the sides for mobility, pooled along his feet. He wore white leggings and white boots, and a slim silver circlet burrowed into his hair and fell heavy on his brow. His hood draped gingerly over his head and slipped against his cheeks as he tilted his head to glance around him at the bowels of his ship.
He was not surprised that it had come to this. Just sad and weary.
A few days ago, Luke had been on Base One. He had been observing the panic from the sidelines, checking in after a successful mission to a Tarkintown on Lothal. He'd brought back some new recruits, and had immediately asked for the Specters to process them.
"Specters?" the lieutenant had said absently.
"The crew of the Ghost? I saw it on the landing pad." Luke had felt his heart sinking, but he couldn't quite believe it. "Hera Syndulla? Kanan Jarrus? Ezra Bridger? Sabine Wren? Garazeb Orellios—?"
"General Syndulla is here," the lieutenant said. "The rest, though, I can't say."
Luke had had a series of disheartening conversations that day, beginning with Hera Syndulla. She had turned to look at him, fresh mauve circles digging beneath her brilliant green eyes, and her face brightened and fell swiftly like the beating of wings.
"Luke," she said very softly. He smiled at her, and met her with a great, enveloping hug. She held him tightly, and he considered that something was very wrong. So he squeezed her tighter.
"You don't have to tell me," he said when they finally broke apart. "If it's painful, please don't feel any obligation— I understand."
Hera shook her head. Her lekku swung furiously. "No, it's…" She had pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. "It is what it is. Kanan and Ezra are gone. Sabine is holding down the front on Mandalore. Zeb and Chopper are all that are left."
Gone, Luke thought. Gone. Gone, like ghosts.
He did not question what "gone" meant. He merely nodded, and let the subject steer clear of the people they were both grieving.
He bade goodbye to Hera after another long hug. She held him for far longer than was probably appropriate, and he found himself burying his face in her shoulder.
"Ezra loved you," she murmured. "You were all he ever talked about sometimes."
It was embarrassing, how much Luke had visited Kanan and Ezra before his work in the senate had consumed his every waking hour. Specifically Ezra. He told the boy about Ahsoka, and how her recovery was fairing. Every time Luke arrived, Ezra would ask him to spar, and Luke would politely decline. Now he regretted that.
Is he dead? He wished he were brave enough to ask. Should I be mourning him? Is it right for me to mourn him?
"What should I tell Ahsoka?" he decided to say instead.
Hera looked at him. He was no longer shorter than her, and he gazed down into her face. It was always alarming, how relentlessly beautiful and stolid her face was.
She said calmly, "Tell her that the Force is with them. Wherever they are."
Luke suspected that meant that they weren't dead, but they might as well be.
Next he had stumbled into a familiar face while attempting to find his father in the labyrinthine temple. He paused for a moment at the sight of the fur-lined Corellian cut jacket. His own clothing was muted gray fatigues, in attempt to blend in and not be recognized as a prince outright, so the man looked straight ahead without glancing. He was shoulder to shoulder with a petite girl.
Tentatively, he called out. "Cassian?"
The man's head snapped in his direction, his dark eyes shifting uneasily toward Luke's face. They gazed at him dully, the bags beneath his eyes heavier than Hera's, and for a moment there was no recognition. The woman beside him stopped and glanced at him impatiently.
After a few moments of staring, Cassian's brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened.
"Prince Luke," he uttered, lowering his head respectfully. Luke smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I did not recognize you."
"I guess without the fancy cloak, I just look pretty plain, huh?" Luke laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Cassian did not blink. "That's not it," he said. "You've grown older."
The woman turned to look at Luke for the first time, as though Cassian's words had enticed her. Their eyes met, and Luke gazed at her for a moment in bemusement.
"Well… yes…" Luke trailed off, blinking as the woman averted her eyes sharply from his face. "I guess. I mean, it's been, what? Three? Four years?"
"Four. I believe."
"Weird." Luke took a step forward and peered at the woman. "Miss? Have we met before?"
She turned her large green eyes to him sharply. They flickered briefly from his head to his toes.
Her shrug was noncommittal and one-shouldered. "Who's to say?" she said, her core accent flittering against her words. "I've met a lot of people."
Luke studied her. The way her mousy brown hair framed her round, smooth face. He straightened up as it hit him.
"Saw Gerrera," he blurted. The woman stiffened, and her green eyes fell upon his face like talons. However, Luke was a senator. He was undeterred by the dirty look of a small woman, so he continued without wavering. "I remember. There was a summit— this was years ago, before I even really knew what the Rebellion was. But you were there. With Saw Gerrera. He and my father yelled for hours, and you just glared at me. Don't you remember?"
The woman chewed on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes had narrowed.
"No," she said absently, turning away. "You must have me confused."
Cassian caught her arm. "Jyn," he hissed.
"What?" She shot an irritated glance up at Cassian. "You want me to kiss the boots of some prince just because you're pals? In case you haven't noticed, I have better things to do."
"Jyn," Luke recalled. "Jyn Erso. Right? I'm Luke Organa, and I would appreciate it if you stopped pretending you don't know me."
Jyn's jaw shifted, and Cassian turned his face away to hide a smirk.
"That was a long time ago," Jyn said. "I'm not that little girl anymore."
"Tell that to your eyes," Luke told her gently.
Jyn stared at him. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked off.
Cassian exhaled a small puff of breath between his teeth. He met Luke's eye and grimaced. "She's a handful," he said, "I'll admit."
"I always wanted to be her friend," Luke said distantly, watching her disappear around the corner. "She was older than me, and was always tossing this knife at a wall, and I just thought she was so cool. But she hated my guts because my dad disagreed with Saw."
"Saw Gerrera was always militant to a fault," Cassian admitted. "Though if I am honest, I don't think he was ever treated fairly. His methods may have been extreme, but we are hypocrites if we act like we are better. How high and mighty are we, killers of killers, that we find one form of execution more humane than another?"
Luke wetted his lips. He had not seen Cassian in so long, and he did not remember their conversations being quite like this.
But he couldn't help but nodding.
"I never agreed with Saw's methods," he said.
"You are a pacifist," Cassian scoffed.
"I am an idealist, Cassian," he corrected, "and I will be the first to admit that my ideology is flawed. But it is mine. We all have different ways, I suppose, of dealing with what the Empire has dealt onto us. Saw… I think he had just seen too much. I'm angry, you know, that the Alliance did not attempt to be more understanding. His war started during the Clone Wars, and I don't think it ever stopped."
Cassian looked distantly past Luke's face. "Something I suppose me and the crazy old man had in common," he said lightly. He passed it off as a joke, but Luke could tell how much that struck him.
He had decided to change to subject to soothe the man's mind. "I saw you brought new recruits," he said brightly.
Cassian shook his head. "Bodhi's the only real recruit," he said quietly. He paused, and waved offhandedly. "Bodhi's the pilot."
"The pilot?" Luke's eyes widened. "From the meeting? The one who delivered the message?"
"Yeah. That one. Jyn's not really a recruit, and Chirrut and Baze… I don't know. They don't have anywhere else to go, but I don't know if they'll want to stay here."
Luke mentally tucked away all these names. "Well," he said, "tell them the option is always open. We can always use the extra hands."
Cassian had smiled down at Luke. It was a warm, genuine smile, that reminded him of that night on Naboo. It seemed to reach his eyes for a moment.
And then it was gone.
Luke remembered now that Cassian had been confirmed to be on Scarif. Jyn too. And Bodhi Rook, he had been the pilot, Luke knew. He must have been on the ground as well, because otherwise Rogue One would have gotten out. The other two, Chirrut and Baze, Luke didn't have last names for. He had begun compiling a list of names, but it was hard when he had no contact with the rest of the Alliance, and he was being chased across the galaxy by Darth Vader.
He hadn't even gotten to mourn Cassian yet. Cassian, who was an acquaintance, and whose opinion mattered greatly to Luke. Cassian, who had defied orders to retrieve those plans. Cassian, a six year old on Fest during the height of the Clone Wars, turning Separatist to Rebel without blinking as the galaxy transitioned from Republic to Empire.
Luke listened to the heavy footfalls of plasteel boots against grated metal. He was hiding behind a pillar, his head tilted back toward the ceiling. I need to buy time for Artoo, he thought numbly.
He stepped out from his hiding spot and held his hands up in the air.
"Officers," he gasped, "did you catch him?"
The stormtroopers glanced at each other. Their blasters were pointed at him. Luke started forward at a slow, nonthreatening pace. One trooper's blaster began to droop.
"Catch who?" he asked.
"The bounty hunter!" Luke's eyes widened as he continued his approach. He sounded breathless, and his shoulders shrunk as he shook his head furiously. "He stowed away on my ship— he's stolen something valuable! Isn't that why you're here?"
"Negative," the other Stormtrooper said mechanically. "We are here to take you into custody."
"Me?" Luke huffed. "Are you joking? Listen, he's going to—"
And then, without delay, Luke twisted and curled his arm around the hesitant trooper's, tearing the gun from his grasp and flipping him over his head. The stormtrooper knocked into his comrade, and they both fell to the ground Luke shot at them both blindly before whirling to face the oncoming force. Three new stormtroopers came barreling down the narrow corridor, firing stun bolts at him. He took aim and began to shoot at them, weighing his options as he backed up against a wall. He hit one square in the breastplate, and the others kept shooting, stepping over the fallen bodies of their fellow troopers and pressing Luke into a corner.
Please, he thought, all his heart pouring into the Force, please let those plans reach home.
A stun bolt collided with his shoulder, and he found himself slipping to the floor.
Sweat had begun to pocket beneath the long, dark curtain of her hair. She had decided to wear it down today, as Owen had dragged her along to buy some new droids. It was styled plainly, aside from the braid crowning her head that pushed her hair from her face, and the long, thin braid behind her ear that represented her apprenticeship with Ben.
That morning, through her binoculars, she had seen an explosion in the sky. She hadn't had the heart to tell Owen and Beru though. She didn't know what it had been, and part of her had not believed it had happened.
Not to mention she'd seen Biggs that morning. Biggs, who had been away for a little while training to be a pilot, had sauntered in and told her he was now with the Rebellion. Ridiculous! And people called her rash!
She was hanging back by the speeder, picking the sand out of her nails when her uncle called her over. She sighed deeply, and trudged over to his side.
"We gotta get an astromech," he said. He'd already chosen a gleaming gold protocol droid. Leia glanced at it.
"Yeah?" Leia folded her arms across her chest. She glanced along the line of droids curiously. Her feet dragged against the sand, and she passed by a few wriggling astromechs before stopping. She set her palm on the dome of one and said, "This one."
Owen spared her a dull glance. "I'll bite," he said dully. "Why do you want that one?"
Leia peered up at the sandcrawler. The Jawas had been haggling with Owen for a few minutes while Leia had been daydreaming. Part of her was angry she hadn't begged Biggs to let her stowaway on his ship so she could join the Rebellion too. But then she thought of Ben, of Owen and Beru, and she sighed.
"Don't you think it's a pretty color?" Leia asked her uncle mildly. She knelt down beside the little astro-droid, pressing her cheek to the cool metal of its dome. "Come on, Uncle Owen, you never let me pick the droids."
"You want it because it's pretty?" Owen scoffed, his eyes dragging behind his lids. "Typical."
"Is there something wrong with that?" Leia asked in a faux-sweet voice, her smile tight as she looked up at her uncle. His shoulders hunched, and he began to grumble.
"These two then," he said to the head Jawa. Leia smirked, and she patted the top of the astromech's dome. It beeped at her enthusiastically, and she glanced down at it curiously.
"Sorry," she said, "I don't know what you're saying."
"Oh!" The golden protocol droid waddled over to her and he pressed his hand to his chestplate. "If I may be of assistance— R2-D2 has been my companion for many years. He said he appreciates your earnest nature, miss."
Leia raised an eyebrow, and she chuckled nervously. "Right…" She patted the droid absently. She glanced at Owen and shrugged, leading the droids back toward the speeder. "Well, you two look like you could use a tune up. I don't have much time, but I'll do what I can."
She tried not to think about Biggs. It was hard, but necessary. He would make it to the Rebellion, she was sure of it, and when he did she would be glad.
The protocol droid, C-3P0, was incredibly talkative. Leia tuned him out as they made their way back home. There was still sand beneath her nails, and she frowned. She kept her nails neat and short, because Ben told her to, but that never seemed to stop sand from creeping into her cuticles.
"Biggs came home today," she said conversationally.
Owen spared her a glance. "Oh?" He nodded. "How nice. Did he confess his love for you?"
Leia bit her tongue and sunk into her seat. She had told Owen a thousand times that Biggs did not like her like that— that Biggs preferred a bit more masculinity in his pursuit of happiness, if Owen caught her drift— and yet this conversation persisted. It was as if Owen wanted her to marry Biggs or something.
"Sadly," Leia said tightly, "he was too busy to think of it."
"Hm." Owen frowned. "Well, it'll happen eventually."
Leia chewed on the inside of her cheek and glowered out toward the Lars homestead. "Doubt it," she muttered.
Once they made it home, she hopped out of the speeder and quickly led the droids to the garage. She did not bother telling Owen what she was doing, because she did not have the time. She was a busy woman! If she didn't hurry with the droids, she'd keep Ben waiting.
She was quick to fill a tub with oil once she entered the garage, half-listening to Threepio as he rambled about how long it's been since he had a good soak. Artoo was quiet as she allowed the tub to fill and dragged a charger out from a cupboard and plugged him in.
Finally, she collapsed onto a crate and hung her head back in relief. It was nice to have a bit of time to herself. It rarely happened nowadays.
Threepio gushed about the oil bath, and promptly began to complain about the sand. Leia laughed.
"It looks like neither of you are really equipped to handle the climate," she said, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands. "Your makers must've been shorthanded. Or cheap."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that!" Threepio huffed. "We simply were not made for these conditions, miss. I'm not even sure what planet we're on."
Leia eyed him curiously. "Really," she said. "You're not from here?"
"No, miss."
"Call me Leia."
"Yes, miss Leia."
She studied him briefly before sighing. It was useless to argue with a protocol droid about manners. "Leia," she muttered. "Just Leia."
"I see. Well, as you know, I am C-3P0, human-cyborg relations. And my companion—"
"R2-D2," Leia said, kneeling before the little droid and unplugging him. "Got that."
Artoo beeped softly in response. Leia peered at him, and she dragged her toolbox closer. She took a rag and began to oil the droid's face.
"You've seen some action, huh?" She smiled warmly at the droid. She had not actually picked it because she had thought he was pretty. Though, yes, she thought the droid looked nice. Leia had just felt this was the right choice. "I haven't seen this much carbon scoring since Ben took our speeder to Mos Espa for a weekend."
"With what we've been through," Threepio sighed, "it's amazing we are in the condition we are in, what with the Rebellion and all."
Leia spared him a glance. "Really," she said dryly. "You two are part of the Rebellion?"
"Certainly, miss Leia."
She exhaled softly through her nose, and she shrugged. "Well, I guess that explains the scoring, and why you're so odd." She tapped Artoo's neck, and bit her lip. "Buddy, you've got something wedged in there real tight. Hold on."
She dug through her toolbox and produced a pick that was normally used to chip rust out of the crevices of a droid's plating. She dug it into a spot between Artoo's dome and body, and wriggled it. The fragment shifted, and Leia scraped at it carefully. It popped out and she caught it in her hands triumphantly.
Then she jumped up, backing away uncertainly as Artoo's holoprojector leapt into life. A projection of a boy shivered and glowed mutely in the dimness of the garage. He was gazing sadly ahead, his hair hidden by a white hood. His voice was desperate and imploring.
"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said, "you're my only hope."
Leia stood, gripping the pick in her left hand and swallowing down a great deal of doubt and suspicion. Her mind was reeling, her eyes glued to the boy's face, and she closed her eyes as his voice echoed in her ears over and over and over.
"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."
She took a deep breath.
"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."
She shook her head furiously.
"What is this?" she demanded, pointing to the hologram.
Threepio looked baffled. He peered down at Artoo, who whirred sheepishly.
"What is what?" Threepio hissed, translating Artoo's bluff. "She asked you a question! What's that?" He jerked a finger at the boy.
Artoo's whistle was bright and unassuming. His dome swiveled, as though glancing at the hologram, and he beeped again.
"Oh," Threepio sighed, "he said it's nothing. Just old data. Pay no mind."
Leia's jaw shifted irritably. "Right," she murmured. She pointed to the boy, and looked down at Artoo seriously. "Who is he? Is he a rebel?"
Artoo looked at her, and he beeped at her curiously.
"Rebel?" Threepio translated. "I don't know any rebels."
"You literally just said you were in the Rebellion," Leia said, frustrated. She folded her arms across her chest and glared down at the little astromech. "Play back the entire thing, I want to hear it."
The message simply continued playing on a loop. It grated her nerves, hearing the boy utter the same phrase over and over. Especially because she knew who he was talking about, and she could not quite believe what was happening.
I did tell Ezra that he could contact me if he was in trouble, she thought, if they really needed me and Ben. But this? This is on the nose.
Also, she had never seen this boy before in her life. He certainly wasn't Ezra Bridger, the boy she had befriended two years earlier.
"Well?" Leia frowned at the droid. She stepped toward it, bending down to check the quality of the holoprojector, but Artoo rolled back and warbled defensively. Leia stood up and backed away with her hands up. "Are you joking? I won't hurt you!"
"Behave yourself, Artoo!" Threepio gasped. "You're going to get us into trouble."
Artoo's dome swiveled toward Threepio, and he replied in a long series of beeps and boops that Leia could not follow for the life of her. She waited impatiently, her jaw tight as Threepio sighed and turned to her.
"He says he's the property of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a resident of these parts. And it's a private message for him. Quite frankly, miss, I don't know what he's talking about. Our last master was Captain Antilles, but with what we've been through, this little R2 unit has become a bit eccentric." Threepio's translation was quick, and he seemed as irritated as Leia felt, which was a nice source of validation.
She looked down at the little droid, and she pressed her lips together thinly as she studied the droid. He stared up at her innocently. It didn't make any sense. None of it. The boy's voice was in her head, desperate and pleading, and she would not unhear it until she knew exactly what had happened to him.
"You belong to Obi-Wan Kenobi?" she asked Artoo hesitantly.
Artoo whistled brightly in confirmation.
"Yes," Threepio translated.
Leia closed her eyes. Well, she was going there anyway.
"Would you like me to take you to him?" she asked.
Artoo rolled back and then rolled forward, a series of enthusiastic beeps causing her to laugh.
"Okay, okay," she said, waving her hands at the droid. "Just turn that thing off. I'm sick of hearing it."
The boy's voice, the waning sound of someone's final plea, died abruptly. Leia watched his cold blue face flicker out like a light, and she inhaled very sharply. The image of him had burned itself into her vision, branded behind her eyelids. She could not blink without seeing his dimpled chin and big eyes.
"You can stay here if you want, Threepio," Leia said, gathering her things hastily and throwing them into the speeder. She'd packed a snack for herself and Ben earlier that morning, plus some ingredients for dinner. She helped Artoo into the back of the speeder and shot an inquisitive look Threepio's way.
"If it's all the same to you, miss Leia," Threepio said, "I think I'll power down."
"That's fine." She settled into the speeder and waved at him. "If my uncle stops in, tell him I've gone to Ben's."
She was quick about it. Too curious about the contents of Artoo's message, and too restless to tell Ben how strange this day had been, she forced her speeder to go as fast as it could without guzzling all her fuel.
This could be a trap, she thought. Using me to get close to Ben. Nobody calls him Obi-Wan anymore.
Something was wrong. She'd felt it when she'd woken up that morning. This day was unlike the others, and she would have to adapt to whatever curveball the Force sent at her.
"This way," she said, parking in front of Ben's hovel and jumping out of the speeder. She entered without knocking, tossing her bag of food onto a small table by the door. Artoo rolled in after her, his dome swiveling around curiously as he absorbed his surroundings. "Ben!"
Her master's voice floated in from the kitchen. "A moment, Leia, if you will be so patient!"
She rolled her eyes and glanced down at the droid. "I'm perfectly on time," she told him, "and he's still making tea. Unbelievable, isn't he?"
Artoo warbled, and Leia smiled down at him vacantly. She sat down in her usual chair and shook her head. "I don't know what you're saying," she said.
Artoo rolled closer to her. He whirred softly, and she watched him with large, curious eyes. She'd never had an astromech quite like this before. Usually they bought droids that were half scrap, and they rarely lasted more than a season. This one, though, was teeming with personality. She smiled at Artoo, and rubbed the top of his dome.
Ben strode in, his threadbare brown robe billowing as he set down two clay cups full of grayish tea. He did not even spare a glance at Artoo before sitting down across from her, crossing his ankle over his knee and relaxing back into his chair.
"I see you brought a companion today," Ben said. He turned his gaze to the droid, and he sipped his tea absently.
"This is R2-D2," Leia said, gesturing toward Artoo and shrugging. "He said he belongs to you."
Ben drummed his thumbs against his cup and peered into it with a raised brow. "Don't seem to remember owning a droid," he said lightly, tossing a glance at Artoo. "Interesting."
Leia picked up her cup and blew on it tentatively. "It's just what he says," Leia said. "Really, I'm not convinced. He's a tricky little droid, and his companion told me they were part of the Rebellion. It could explain a lot."
Ben did not even bother feigning shock. "The Rebellion," he repeated. He blinked, and hummed softly to himself before taking a sip of tea. "Hmm…"
Leia took a small sip and set her tea aside. Artoo was looking between them curiously. "I just saw Biggs today, and he talked about joining the Rebellion," she said. "I don't think it's a coincidence that these droids showed up, Ben."
"You believe the Force brought them to you?"
Leia frowned deeply. "I can't see what else it could be," she said. "I knew to pick Artoo. I felt it in my bones that this droid was the one I had to take home with me. And then he said he knew you, and I thought, well, it could be a trap. But I don't think it is. The message— oh!" Leia twisted in her seat and peered down at the little droid. "Show Ben the message!"
Artoo warbled softly, as the bright image of the boy in white flashed back into existence. The holo wasn't entirely stable, and it flickered as the boy took a deep breath. She noticed a band of something shiny around his forehead, and a few wisps of hair that had not made it under his hood.
"General Kenobi," the boy began softly, his voice strong and level. It sounded as though he was used to talking for long periods and speaking as precisely as possible. "Many years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I intended to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and unfortunately my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed remarkably. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. I trust you if this message finds you, then you will return him to Alderaan, and my father will know how to retrieve it. I understand that what I am asking of you is dangerous, and you have no reason to risk your life for this shred of a chance that we may prevail, but I am asking you anyway." The boy paused, and he drew a shaky breath. His hands, which had been gesticulating in a persuasive manner, fell into each other. He wrung them nervously.
When he spoke again, his voice was thin and breathless.
"You are a Jedi. You fought in the Clone Wars, and saved so many lives. I have grown up hearing scraps of stories about you, from various sources, and I understand that what I am asking you now is painful. I wish with all my heart that I could see you face to face, to explain how much this means. Not to me, but to the millions of lives that are at stake right now, every second that this information is out of our hands! We must act, or all of our efforts, yours included, will be for nothing. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."
The boy's eyes flickered away suddenly, as though he had heard something, and he quickly bent forward to kill the transmission.
They sat in silence as his final words echoed in her brain, desperate and soft.
Ben covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes were clouded with shock and sorrow, though she did not feel it through their bond. He was keeping his emotions to himself, falling into an old rhythm of seclusion. She watched his hand drag down through his beard and down his chin.
His gaze flickered to her eyes. He stood up and spoke very gravely.
"We must go to Alderaan."
Leia nodded. She didn't know why she was nodding. She didn't know if she wanted to go to Alderaan. But she nodded, and she spared a glance outside.
"It's dark," she whispered. Her voice was small and hoarse. "We should wait until morning."
Ben nodded. He paced back and forth, his hand cupping his chin, and he did not let up his shields. Leia chewed on her bottom lip and pulled her knees up to her chin. She didn't know what to do or say to make this better. She had known this boy had been in trouble, but this sounded so much more serious than she thought.
"He was scared," she whispered.
Ben spared her a glance. His eyes lingered on her, and his expression softened.
"Do not worry about him, Leia," he said gently. "He seems resourceful. I'm sure he will be fine."
She licked her lips. Liar, she thought, though she kept the thought to herself.
Artoo whistled, and both Leia and Ben looked at him frantically. Leia's legs dropped back to the floor and she jumped to her feet as another holo burst alight before them. This time a middle aged man appeared, his appearance as stately and regal as the boy's. His shoulders were straight and his chin was high, but his hair was falling onto his forehead and his eyes were sunken into his face. He looked ill and disheveled.
"General Kenobi," the man said in a tone nearly identical to that of the boy. "If you are hearing this, then something terrible has happened to me. Our worst fear has been realized."
Ben lowered himself almost shakily back into his seat. Leia remained standing, gaping at the holo of the man and trying to wrap her head around what she was seeing and hearing.
"Currently I am en route to Mustafar," the man continued, "to retrieve my son. Vader has had him for, if I am correct in my guesstimate, around six standard hours. He was taken from Naboo just before Queen Mandira's coronation, for apparently no reason at all. This message is being recorded merely as a contingency, but if you do receive it, then I must ask you to act. Take the girl away. Hide her family. I believe I won't talk, but I know that I may not have a choice in the matter if the Force comes into play. I am only a man, and I know this is a fool's errand, but I love my son too much to lose him. So brave this storm for me, old friend. Save them. For me. For Padmé."
The holo winked out, and Leia blinked rapidly. She had understood very little of what the man had said, though she assumed "the girl" meant her. Did this man know her somehow?
"What the hell?" she gasped. She looked down at Artoo incredulously. "What the hell was that?"
He warbled a series of beeps brightly.
"What on earth is he saying?"
Ben sighed very deeply. It was a resigned sigh. "He said that this is an old message," Ben said. "It was recorded, but never made it to me. This man, Bail Organa, returned safely after retrieving his son."
"His son is the boy, then?" Leia asked.
Artoo beeped, and Leia knew that it was an affirmation. She nodded. "That's good to know," she said. "But why play it?"
Artoo's reply was clipped and perhaps… irritated? Ben chuckled at it regardless.
"He said that it was for me, so why not?" Ben smiled fondly at the droid. Then his smile fell away, and he shook his head. "This was recorded before the boy's, so he returned home safely. Whatever business he had with Vader…" Ben pressed his lips together thinly. "Well, I'd like to know what happened, but I have to have faith that it resolved itself peacefully somehow, otherwise that boy would not be sending us such a message."
Leia was silent as she allowed it to sink in. She sank into her chair and blinked rapidly at the ceiling.
"It could be a trap," she murmured.
Ben did not respond. Instead he stood up, and he walked over to the basket she had made him many years before out of japor brambles. She chewed on her nails pensively, sand gritting between her teeth as he removed her father's lightsaber and offered it to her.
"Leia," he said somberly. "I think it's time you kept this with you at all times."
Luke stumbled and bit his tongue as the stormtroopers shoved him forward. He could not keep up with their footing, not after being stunned, and he glared down at his shackled wrists. This reminded him too much of Mustafar. Would Vader take him there now that he actually had proof that he had done something wrong? He felt physically ill, like there was a pressure on his chest and a knot in his stomach.
What mattered was that the droids had gotten away. The plans were gone. They were safe. And Artoo would find Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke knew it. What mattered now was that Luke did not break under torture. He had been tortured once, by that Inquisitor on Mustafar, but he imagined the torture used under interrogation was much worse.
It did not matter. He would die before he sold out the Rebellion.
The hallway was so bright, and Luke had to tear his eyes away from the scorch marks made by blaster bolts. He had stepped over the body of one of the crew— one of his men. His mouth was dry, and he felt bile burning the back of his throat.
A monstrous silhouette appeared before him, and Luke was yanked to a stop. He gazed up into Vader's mask, and he felt the pressure on his shields, as always. Vader had been viciously attacking Luke's shields for three long years. During senate sessions, dinner parties, balls, social outings. Luke had no peace. The walls in his mind were always up, and he could not afford to let them wear.
"Hello, Lord Vader," Luke said cordially, his smile tight on his mouth. "I suppose we'll be having our usual round-about, then?" He held up his shackled hands and put on a weak, deep voice as he waggled his finger at the air. "'Tell me what I want to know, Prince Luke!'" He settled his hands back before him and returned to his normal voice. "'I certainly don't know what you're talking about, Lord Vader!'"
"Enough," Vader hissed. His respirator echoed between them in the silence that followed as Luke gazed up at him defiantly. "I am through with your games, your highness."
"Games?" Luke repeated innocently. "Truly, Lord Vader, are you mocking me? You come onto my ship in the midst of a diplomatic—"
Vader cut him off sharply. "You are lying," he snapped at Luke. "You weren't on any mercy mission this time. You passed directly through a restricted system. Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by Rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you."
The pressure on his shields was blinding. Luke's jaw clenched as he stared up into Vader's mask, his tongue behind his teeth and his heart in his throat.
He smiled thinly, and he shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said simply.
Vader reeled back, his fury palpable. The air seemed to grow warmer as he straightened, his shoulders squaring as he jerked a finger in Luke's face.
"You are part of the Rebel Alliance, and a traitor." He waved emphatically. "Take him away!"
Luke felt Vader's eyes on his back as he was wheeled around and shoved forward. He realized how truly and utterly doomed he was just then.
I might have to tell him, he realized. But would that save me, or would that damn me?
Luke clenched his fists and pressed his lips together thinly.
The only leverage Luke had had over Vader in the years that he had known him was the scrap of information about his lost child. So what would Vader do when he found out that the child he had been seeking for three years was Luke?
He'd rather not think about it.