The royal family preferred to use Aldera’s central public spaceflight facility. Countless times, Leia had come here with one or both of her parents to be ushered aboard, but this was the first time she’d ever personally commandeered a vessel for an interplanetary trip. Putting the request through the palace majordomo, Tarrik, had felt almost routine. When she saw the Tantive IV waiting for her, however, the ship’s size struck her anew. The thought of it being at her disposal—the knowledge that more than two dozen crewmembers awaited her orders—thrilled her to the core. For months, even years, she’d been eager for some real responsibility. That began today.
She recognized the gray-shirted man walking toward her, so she drew herself up and clasped her hands together within the wide bell sleeves of her dress. “Captain Antilles. Thank you for readying the ship so quickly. When can we be under way?”
“Within the hour, Your Highness.” He smiled down at her, his head tilted slightly to one side. “You can count on us.” With that, he gave her a sharp salute and strode back to his work. Leia was left standing there wondering why she didn’t like that reply. Captain Antilles had been polite, deferential, even friendly. She had no doubt of his loyalty and willingness to serve. But the tilt of his head—
He doesn’t think of me as a leader. He still thinks of me as a little girl. She frowned. He thinks I’m cute.
It was silly to be surprised by that, much less offended. The captain had known her since she was a toddler, and she’d only just had her Day of Demand. Leia hadn’t grown to her full height yet, either…she hoped. As her mother liked to say, Authority can be given, but leadership must be earned.
Today, she would begin to earn it. Soon neither Captain Antilles nor her parents would doubt what she was capable of.
The trip to Wobani was swift and uneventful. Leia spent her time in the cargo holds, making sure all the rations were stored correctly and that the officers had clear instructions for distribution. When they reached the planet, she’d only need to look over the layout of the resettlement station to decide precisely where to set up.
“Easy as dunking a Mon Calamari,” she murmured to herself. (It was an old saying, but she’d learned by playing with Mon Calamari children at the senatorial complex pools that the real trick was getting them to surface first. You couldn’t dunk anyone who was still underwater.)
Wobani would require no special climate gear; it was a temperate Mid-Rim world, humid but otherwise unremarkable, and they’d be close enough to the equator not to have to worry about snow. The planet had never been especially prosperous or heavily populated, supporting itself primarily through basic manufacturing of small parts and armor, and growing grains and spices that thrived in marshy conditions. Like many other worlds across the galaxy, it was prosperous just past the point of subsistence, engaged in intragalactic commerce only to a modest degree, and ambitious for no greater position in the galaxy.
Then, six years ago, Palpatine had begun the “Commodities Enhancement Program,” which promised better market access galaxy-wide for food and other organic raw material. Like so many of the Emperor’s other promises, it was a lie designed to conceal other plans; her parents had taught her how to see through such things. Wobani was given impossible quotas to fill, and when the planet’s farmers fell short, they were fined. Large areas of common land were instead parceled out to various Imperial officials who would, supposedly, “put them under better management.” Really this meant they could now profit while the native Wobani became ever poorer and hungrier.
Every world targeted by the commodities program suffered, but Wobani had entirely collapsed. Famine was now widespread. As the agricultural sector faltered, the factory cities became overcrowded with desperate migrants in search of work, which in turn meant that the factories could pay lower wages and force people to labor in more dangerous conditions. By now the Wobani would do anything to stay alive. There was talk of building Imperial work-camp prisons on the planet; that was virtually the only industry it could sustain any longer, and the populace was demoralized enough to accept such prisons in their midst. Free movement between star systems was the norm, but the Empire had put Wobani under strict travel restrictions, to “prevent its exploitation.” In the Senate, it was widely believed the restrictions were primarily an attempt to cover up how bad the situation had become.
Leia thought that was ridiculous. Every senator and staffer knew about the mess on Wobani, but they didn’t say so. If people had just spoken the truth, the news would’ve spread to everybody on every planet, everywhere, and then there would’ve been no point in covering things up in the first place.
Even her father had remained quiet. His silence angered her even more than the blockade.
So she hadn’t told her parents where she was going on this mission. Leia, familiar with travel protocols, sought diplomatic landing clearance first. For someone representing the royal house of Alderaan, approval was very nearly automatic. Captain Antilles might think of her as a child, but he’d never question her commandeering the Tantive IV for a preapproved mission. Probably he assumed her parents had put in the request, but his assumptions weren’t her problem.
She imagined herself returning to Alderaan, strolling into the palace’s dining hall, and casually explaining to her parents that she’d been to Wobani herself, yes, that political hotspot even members of the Senate—like her father—hadn’t dared to speak out on. That would show them….
But Leia didn’t really want to show them up. She only wanted to make them see her again.
This melancholy turn of thought vanished when Captain Antilles’s voice came over the comm: “Your Highness, we’re beginning our landing approach.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.” With that, she brought the hood of her dress up over her braids and headed for the boarding ramp. Only moments stood between her and her first, maybe boldest, humanitarian mission, and she felt nothing but the burning desire to do something that would matter, both to her parents and to the entire galaxy, and the confidence that she could.
That lasted until the Tantive IV’s doors slid open to reveal hell.
Leia’s lips parted in shock as she walked out. The rolling countryside, which once would’ve been covered with fresh green stalks of spring grain, now was only mud and a few yellowing stalks of plants that could no longer thrive. Wobani’s sky had taken on the dingy tint that came only from pollution, a haze that might never clear again. However, the desolation of the planet itself didn’t come close to that of its people.
Surrounding the landing field, stretching out to the horizon in every direction, were cheap, prefab shelters, like what someone might take on a long hike to sleep out in the wild. They weren’t meant for daily use, but from the looks of things, thousands of people had been living in these for months. Deep ruts scarred the muddy pathways that served as roads between the shelters. Every single one of those ramshackle shelters housed a family, or perhaps two. Surrounding them stood gaunt people with stained, worn clothing and a febrile neediness in their eyes that scared Leia as much as it moved her. Even before she stepped off the platform, people had begun to shout and call, pleading for help.