The project was going very well. The latest subject was viable, with excellent vitals. But all the statistics that had excited her meant nothing to the Emperor. Pride in her accomplishment was sucked away in the growing silence as the Emperor frowned at the data sheets.

"Worthless," the Emperor hissed, and she felt her throat tighten. The crimson-cloaked guard loomed ominously in her peripheral vision. "Terminate it."

She managed a crisp salute and the Emperor was gone, leaving only the blinking lights of the console and a bank of tanks to be shut down. Floating in embryonic fluid was a growing infant-tiny fingers beginning to clench and unclench. She'd been warned of the dangers of surrogacy, of growing attached.

Slowly, deliberately, she went about her business. The Emperor's project was terminated. But hers was just begun; the viable son transferred to a smaller, older tank with only a slight dip in the steady growth marked on the charts.

It was an early retirement, but Naboo was a pleasant place. She found an apartment in Theed and settled in to see the project through.

Statistically speaking, the boy was average. But his smiles were bright and his hugs were warm and his company couldn't be quantified on a chart. As her son grew, she occasionally allowed herself the grim satisfaction of having seen potential where the Emperor himself had not.

"Mama, what happened to my father?"

"Nothing, darling. But before you were born, he looked at your charts and decided you weren't what he wanted."

"...Am I what you wanted?"

She tweaked his nose. "Of course you are. You're the best thing I ever did."

Under the Empire, the Naboo Senate project was no longer an integral part of planetary politics, but the Naboo cherished it as their heritage. The boy was thrilled when he put on his uniform and entered the chambers with his schoolmates to debate the traditional subjects of democracy and social justice.

He earned high marks there, and the Imperial Officers who observed the election process patted the boy on the shoulder and offered to recommend him to the Academy Officer's Program. On the days no Imperial representative was expected, their teachers offered optional debates on the legitimacy of the Rebellion, the Clone Wars, the Separatists, and the real reason the Republic folded into the Emperor's hands.

(They were Naboo, though, and could only be proud that one of their own led the galaxy.)

(But they also had had an outspoken queen and senator who espoused an opposing viewpoint, and she was venerated in their histories as well.)

"You speak very well, my boy. You are a credit to your teachers."

The boy stood straight and tall, conscious of the honor bestowed on him by attracting the Emperor's personal commendation. "Thank you, milord."

"What are your plans for the future?"

"I've considered the Senate, milord, and also the Imperial Academy."

"You should dream bigger. I'd like to offer you a place at my right hand."

"Mama? Mama, don't you see what an opportunity this is?"

She looked at her son, and remembered the finality in the Emperor's declaration. It'd been years since her heart leaped with terror every time she met an Imperial patrol-time smoothing away the fear that what she'd done would be discovered and remedied-but now every fear was back tenfold. It was said that the Emperor had unnatural abilities, that there was a reason he held Darth Vader to heel, that even the Jedi of old had trembled in fear of him. And her son saw only the promise of power and authority.

"Mama? What are you afraid of?"

She'd raised her son to be kind. If he were on the Emperor's staff, that kindness would be smothered and chiseled into the polished edges of dominance.

(Assuming he survived.)

"Let me think it through, son. It's a life-changing decision."

The second battle of Endor made the decision for them.

The boy went into the revived Imperial Senate instead, a rising star working to bring the galaxy a measure of healing. He met a girl who wanted the same things. Their meetings made him smile, and her sing.

In the wake of the Rebellion's victory at Endor, the boy's mother had gone to him with everything she knew. She told him

about the project and the termination order, the possibility that the Emperor had missed the potential in his son until he saw the boy in the Naboo mock senate, the probability that the Emperor never knew the boy was his son, and the worst case scenarios where the Emperor had seen the resemblance, knew everything, and wanted them both dead.

All things considered, the boy took the knowledge well, though it shook him to his core.

The possibility became a certainty when a delegation of Imperial Officers showed up on his doorstep with the proposal that he become the face of the Empire. They brought a recording of the Emperor's version of the project, telling how he'd been created to carry on a great and glorious legacy and stolen away by Rebellion operatives.

"Take your rightful place, my boy, and the galaxy can be yours!"

"I should take it, right? I can-I can accomplish great things from the right position!"

The girl bit her upper lip. She loved everything about the boy, but his kind heart most of all. She'd grown up in the Imperial Center, and had seen the way it was beginning to wear on him. That was why the possibility of being catapulted into power appealed. But the Grand Moffs had held most of the power, and enforced their decrees with military might. She found she agreed with the boy's mother. The offer was more likely to be treacherous than benign. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe."

He looked at her, and took both her hands in his own. He wasn't so naive as to think that refusing was without cost. "Think of our child," he said. "Are you sure?"

"For all of our sakes," the girl told him. "Don't take the Emperor's offer."

They'd feigned eagerness to accept the position, and slipped away in the night leaving everything behind. They jumped from ship to ship, smuggling themselves off one planet and onto another, fumbling through identity changes and running out of money faster than they'd anticipated. They ended up on Takodana, an out-of-the-way planet as close as one could get to the Outer Rim without leaving the comforts of the Core worlds behind entirely. It was also green and temperate, and reminded the boy of Naboo.

The girl was the first one to get a job. She served drinks at the biggest bar in the spaceport which allowed them to get a small apartment in a dingy part of the settlement. It was nothing like the boy had wanted to offer her, and he had his moments of doubt.

Holding his newborn daughter, he wondered how anyone could reject their own child. There'd been warmth in the Emperor's voice when they talked in the halls of Theed. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the weight of the wrinkled hand on his shoulder, and the inflection of the Emperor's voice when he said, "My boy."

Maybe the problem hadn't been the Emperor. Maybe the conclusions he'd drawn debating his classmates on Naboo were wrong. Maybe the atrocities the Rebellion fought against could be laid at the feet of the Moffs and Imperial governors abusing their power. The First Order was rising from the ashes of the Empire. He'd been uniquely situated to change the direction of the galaxy and he'd thrown it all away.

But the way his pulse jumped every time he saw a patrol of stormtroopers reinforced the idea that he was not the one with the charisma to wrest control from their current leaders. His skills were not exceptional. Perhaps… perhaps that was why the Emperor had wanted to terminate the project.

The boy kissed his daughter's forehead, and remembered the way his Mama had called him the best thing she ever did. Family had been enough for her. Maybe someday he could introduce her to her granddaughter.

The girl saw the hunter first. There was little doubt what his mission was. Very few people carried a veritable arsenal and asked leading questions with good intentions. They'd saved a little money, and learned a little about hiding their tracks.

They left Takodana. They had two months on Nar Shadda and five weeks on Junction V. It became increasingly clear that they could not remain hidden in the Mid-Rim. The hunter on Takodana was not the only one on their trail, but he was the most persistent.

A family was hard to hide.

Separate, they were vulnerable.

There were many late night discussions, theories, plans, and possibilities. But the bleak truth seemed to be that they were running out of time and escape routes.

Jakku was a once-in-a-galaxy chance. It was also the hardest choice they'd ever have to make.

Their daughter never saw them again.