Chapter Text
Episode IV: A NEW HOPE
It is a period of civil war.
Rebel spaceships, striking
from a hidden base, have won
their first victory against
the evil Galactic Empire.
During the battle, Rebel
spies managed to steal secret
plans to the Empire's
ultimate weapon, the DEATH
STAR, an armored space
station with enough power
to destroy an entire planet.
Pursued by the Empire's
sinister agents, Princess
Jemma races home aboard her
starship, custodian of the
stolen plans that can save her
people and restore
freedom to the galaxy....
--
A fierce battle raged outside, with the formidable star destroyer bearing down on the small research vessel with turbo laser fire. Inside, klaxons blared through the pristine white corridors of the starship and crew members raced to battlestations as more blasts rocked the ship, determined to put up a fight against the Imperial force that was attacking them. Suddenly, the ship gave a terrible lurch and the engine stopped whirring.
“Did you hear that? They shut down the main reactor. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness,” AI-DA exclaimed. The golden protocol droid shuffled across the corridor with her astromech counterpart, weaving around the humans struggling to remain on their feet.
R2-D2 let out a low nervous beep in response.
The corridor was suddenly filled with the echoing sounds of metallic latches, clanking and moving around the ship’s outer hull.
“There'll be no escape for the princess this time,” the droid fretted. “Or us, for that matter. We’re doomed.”
The astromech droid zipped ahead of the much slower AI-DA. In the chaos, she quickly lost sight of the little droid.
AI-DA threw her arms up in dismay, “Oh, where did he get to now?”
In a darkened corner of the ship, illuminated only by a faint red glow, Princess Jemma approached the blue and silver droid, wearing a loose-fitting white gown and twin buns in her hair. Looking down at the data card, she realized that she was literally holding the fate of the Rebellion-- of the entire galaxy, really, in her hand. Good people had died in order to acquire this information; and now this droid was her only hope of completing her mission and making sure their sacrifice was not in vain.
Moving quickly, she bent over the R2 unit and inserted the data card into its memory banks. Even though time was of the essence, Jemma carefully added a layer of encryption to the file-- it was critical that this information did not fall into the wrong hands.
Taking a step back, she recorded a quick, but impassioned plea for General Coulson’s help. Just as Jemma completed the message, she heard a noise from across the room and instinctively knew her time was up. Pulling back the hood of her cloak, Jemma retreated back into the shadows, blaster at the ready.
As the youngest representative in the Imperial Senate in a generation and a high ranking rebel leader to boot, Princess Jemma was used to being in control. But as she looked on as the golden protocol droid approached the R2 unit and the pair headed in the direction of the escape pods, she realized that the success of her mission now rested with these two droids and their ability to get to General Coulson. It was an uneasy feeling. She could only hope that they were up to the task.
With her ship having fallen into the hands of the Empire and stormtroopers swarming all over the place, Princess Jemma knew it was only a matter of time before she was captured herself. Well, I won't go down without a fight, she thought.
As if on cue, she heard the pneumatic swish of a door opening, followed by the sound of stormtrooper boots echoing through the hall. Taking a steadying breath, Jemma drew her blaster to her chest and prepared to strike.
“You two, go that way. Make sure you set your weapons to stun. Lord Ward wants all of the passengers kept alive for questioning,” one of the stormtroopers commanded, his voice modulated by his standard issue helmet.
So Darth Ward was on board. That was interesting-- it meant that the plans that they had acquired were valuable enough for the Emperor to send his attack dog after them personally.
The ‘troopers were close, now. She could see them from her hiding place. Just as she was debating the merits of shooting first and revealing her position or keeping out of sight, the decision was taken out of her hands.
“There’s one over here,” the one of them called out, pointing in her direction.
Her location given away, Jemma abandoned any notion of stealth and fired two shots in quick succession. The pair of stormtroopers crumpled to the ground, but before she could contemplate her next move, she heard something behind her and everything went dark.
When she came to, her hands were bound and a ‘trooper was nudging her with the butt of his blaster, “Good. You’re awake. Lord Ward wants to see you.”
The stormtroopers surrounded her and herded her through the ship’s corridors (as if she didn’t know her way around her own starship!), until suddenly, at one of the junctures, they came to a screeching halt. It only took her second to realize why. Darth Ward was striding over to them, black armor gleaming and cape billowing out behind him. Princess Jemma supposed that he was rather menacing, on the surface. But the heavy black helmet and mask that he wore, clearly designed to instill fear in the hearts of his victims, only served to dehumanize him in her eyes.
Jemma stood up straight and stared into the dark soulless eyes of his mask, refusing to show any sign of weakness. “Darth Ward. I should have known you were behind this. It has your fingerprints all over it-- bold and reckless,” Jemma retorted. “You can’t honestly expect the Imperial Senate to stand for this. When they hear you've attacked a research vessel without provocation…”
Darth Ward interrupted her, “Don't act so surprised, Your Highness. I know for a fact you weren't on a scientific expedition this time. Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.”
Despite being a politician and sometimes-spy, Jemma had never been the best liar. But with her life and mission on the line, she feigned ignorance and repeated emphatically, “I don't know what you're talking about. I am a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan...
“You are part of the SHIELD Rebel Alliance and a traitor! Take her away!” Darth Ward roared, punctuating each word with a jab of his finger.
As she was dragged away, Jemma took a deep breath. That round may have ended in a draw, but she suspected there were many more to come and she was going to need her strength-- and her wits.
Dressed in a loose tan tunic cinched in at her waist with utility belt, a young brunette stared off into the distance, the planet’s twin suns beating down on her. She didn’t know why she bothered. For as far as the eye could see, there was just sand and beyond that, more sand. Kicking the grains beneath her feet into a cloud of dust, the girl thought bitterly, I hate this place. She could feel in her bones that she was destined for something greater, something more than the simple life of a moisture farmer. Some days, her dream of flying off this desolate wasteland that she called home and never looking back was all that got her through.
Breaking through her reverie, she heard someone bellowing her name, “Skye! Skye!”
A portly middle aged man was rushing towards her. When he reached her, he bent over and took a couple of deep breaths before panting out, “What are you doing out here? You were supposed to meet me in the garage ten minutes ago.”
“Sorry, Uncle Billy. I must have lost track of time,” Skye replied sheepishly.
He fixed her with a stern gaze, “That’s no reason to neglect your chores. What do we always say in this family?”
“Duty comes first,” Skye repeated without emotion, as if she had said it a thousand times before.
“That’s right. Now, I need you to run a diagnostic on those two new droids I bought from the Jawas this morning. I want to make sure they’re in tip-top shape before putting them out in the fields tomorrow.”
Everything centered around moisture farming on the Koenig homestead-- her uncles’ could drone on and on about the status of the fields, the upcoming harvest or how to increase their yield for hours.
“Yes, Uncle Billy,” Skye said sullenly, before a light bulb went off in her head. “You know, if these two droids work out, maybe I can head off to the Academy this season, instead of next?” Skye dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot, like her father-- and going to the Academy was an important first step. Her uncles had been putting her off for the past two seasons, citing too much work-- maybe these two droids might just be her ticket off Tatooine.
Her hopes were dashed just as quickly. “And leave me and your Uncle Sam here alone, before the next harvest? No, no, no. Out of the question. Now, go see to those droids. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Skye trudged off towards the garage dejectedly. When she reached the domed sandstone structure, she found two droids waiting for her. The first was a golden protocol droid and the second was a blue and silver astromech unit.
“Artoo, wake up. Our new mistress is here. Hello, Mistress--” the golden droid greeted, before pausing expectantly, waiting for her to introduce herself.
“Skye. But you can lose the ‘mistress’-- just Skye is fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. Protocol droids were always so fussy with titles and well, protocol. Obviously, it was part of their programming, but it didn’t make it any less annoying.
“I am AI-DA, human cyborg relations. And this is my counterpart, R2-D2,” AI-DA said, gesturing to her smaller companion. The little droid beeped excitedly.
Skye smiled in spite of herself, “Nice to meet you both. Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get you hooked into my system so I can see what I’m working with.”
Skye was a pilot by trade-- she was good at it and saw it as her best chance to get off this rock. But her true passion was in computers and electronics. She had a knack for coding (and hacking) and had built a number of specialized programs to make their lives a little less monotonous.
Skye plugged the blue astromech in and said, “Alright, little guy. Let’s find out what’s under your hood.”
Tapping a few keys on the keyboard in front of her, Skye pulled up Artoo’s programming and gave it a quick scan. When she got to his memory files, though, her brow furrowed in confusion, “Huh, that’s strange. A large portion of your memory bank has some pretty heavy duty encryption on it. What could a little droid like you be hiding?”
The R2 unit let out a low whistle.
“Artoo says he doesn’t know what encryption you’re referring to,” AI-DA translated, before offering up a suggestion of her own, “I suppose, it could have something to do with our position in the Rebellion. Though that seems unlike-”
“Wait, you’re with the Rebellion?” Skye interjected, eyes sparkling. “Have you been in many battles?”
“Oh, yes. Several, I think. We narrowly escaped during our most recent one, which is how we came to be in your service,” AI-DA responded. “But, honestly, ma’am, there’s not much to tell. I was an interpreter and this R2 unit’s primary function was maintenance. Which is why I very much doubt the encrypted files are of any importance.”
Skye harrumphed and sat back down dejectedly. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the protocol droid, taking what she said as personal challenge. After a beat, she turned back to her computer station, face screwed up in determination and said, “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
Skye’s fingers flew across the keyboard at breakneck speed. Occasionally, she would murmur something to herself. After a couple minutes, her murmurs grew more excited, “Yes, yes! Almost got it…”
R2-D2’s holoprojector suddenly came to life and a blue tinged holo of a brunette about Skye’s age in a hooded white dress was cast in front of them. The desperation in her voice palpable, the girl in the recording said, “Help me Philbi-Wan Coulson. You’re my only hope.”
Skye watched as the grainy, static filled snippet continued to play on a loop, entranced, “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who is she?”
AI-DA hesitated for a moment before responding, “I’m not sure. I believe she was a passenger on our last voyage, a person of some importance, I believe. Our captain--”
Skye cut the protocol droid off, “Where’s the rest of this message? Can you play it for me?”
Artoo let out a low beep and rocked back and forth.
“Why must you be so difficult? These people are our masters now, you can trust them,” AI-DA tried to cajole the little droid, but Artoo’s beeps only grew more insistent.
AI-DA huffed, “He says he belongs to this Philbi-Wan Coulson, a resident of these parts and that this is a private message for him. Though I’m not quite sure what he’s going on about, we’ve never had a master by that name.”
Skye let the remark about it being a private message go for the moment. She was confident she would be able to crack the encryption, anyway. The mystery surrounding this Philbi-Wan character was more intriguing. “I wonder if he means Old Phil Coulson,” Skye mused. “I mean, I don’t know any Philbi-Wan, but their names are too similar for it to be a coincidence. Though why anybody would be so desperate to get in touch with that old hermit is beyond me.”
Skye looked back at the recording. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she felt compelled to help this girl. There was just something familiar and warm about her. She moved back to her workstation and started tapping on her keyboard again, “Well whoever she is, she seems to be in a lot of trouble. The rest of the message has to be in here somewhere.”
Skye must have pressed the wrong button, because just as suddenly as the message snippet had begun to play, it stopped. She said indignantly, “Hey! Where’d she go? Bring back the message.” Skye pounded the keys in front of her furiously, trying to find the right combination that would restart the recording.
R2-D2 beeped and whistled in response. “What message?” AI-DA exclaimed, smacking the top of the droid for extra emphasis. “The one you’ve just been playing, the one you’re carrying in your rusty innards...”
Before either of them could respond or press the droid further, Uncle Billy (or was it Uncle Sam-- she never could tell their voices apart.) called from the house, “Skye! Dinner!”
Skye groaned in frustration. Her uncles really did have impeccable timing. Still, the last thing she wanted was either of them checking up on her, so she quickly bellowed back, “Just a minute-- I’ll be right there!”
Turning her attention back to the droids, she grumbled, “Don’t think you’re off the hook. I’ll be back to deal with you after dinner-- we’ll see about getting the rest of that recording out of you then.”
Skye stomped off in the direction of the homestead’s main structure. Before she was out of earshot of the garage, she could hear AI-DA admonishing R2-D2, “When she gets back you better play her that message.” There was a low beep, followed by AI-DA replying, “No, I don’t think she liked you at all.” The next beep from the little droid sounded almost sad. “No, I don’t like you much either.”
Skye chuckled to herself, her anger and frustration dissipating. She may not want to admit it, but those droids had brought some much needed intrigue and excitement into her life. Maybe they would be the ones to finally save her from the all-consuming boredom.
Skye took it back. These droids weren’t going to be her salvation, they were going to be the death of her. It was because of them that she was out in the middle of the desert at the crack of dawn.
When she went back to the garage after dinner, she found AI-DA hiding in the shadows and the R2 unit gone, presumably after this Philbi-Wan Coulson. With the suns setting, it had been too dangerous to go out after him, but at first light, she and AI-DA took out the speeder to search for the troublesome droid. Skye didn’t even want to think of what would happen if she wasn’t able to recover him before her uncle found out he was missing.
Binoculars pressed to her face, Skye scanned the horizon for any sign of the droid, with no luck. The little droid was elusive-- and strangely determined. The pair drove onward until finally the scanner pinged. There was a lone droid within range-- all the way out here, it had to be their little R2 unit. Skye changed their heading and sped off in the direction of the ping.
Relief washed over Skye as she spotted the R2 unit on the path in front of them. Killing the engines, she hopped out the speeder and rushed over to the droid, “There you are! What do you think you’re doing?”
The droid let out a series of beeps and whistles, as Skye gave him a once over. He didn’t look any worse for the wear. Maybe everything would work out okay after all.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Mistress Skye is our rightful owner now. I’ll have no more of this ‘Philbi-Wan Coulson’ nonsense-- and don't talk to me about your ‘mission,’ either,” AI-DA scolded.
“It’s fine,” Skye placated. “But we really don’t want to linger out here. Let’s get home before Uncle Billy and Uncle Sam completely lose their minds. If I get back soon, I might only be grounded for the next century or so.”
Suddenly, R2-D2 jumped to life with a mass of frantic whistles and screams, rocking back and forth as he did.
Skye asked, eyes darting around looking for danger, “What is it?”
“Artoo says that there are several creatures heading in this direction,” AI-DA said, translating the other droid’s warning.
Skye’s eyes lit up in alarm, “Sandpeople!”
Perfect, Skye thought to herself. At least this day couldn’t get any worse.
As she laid flat on her back, disoriented from being knocked out, it occurred to Skye she should stop tempting the universe like that.
“Ow,” Skye croaked out, gingerly rubbing the back of her head where the Raider must have whacked her with his staff.
She remembered the sandpeople getting the drop on on her and the droids. She was able to fight a couple of them off, before everything went dark. Skye assumed one of them had been able to sneak up behind her and knock her out. What she didn’t know was what (or who) had scared them off and why she was left behind.
As she slowly started to sit up, Skye heard something rustling nearby. Instantly alert and pain forgotten, she called out, “Who’s there?”
Skye knew if it was sandpeople again, she was in trouble. She didn’t have a weapon and still felt a little unsteady.
“Hello there,” a deep voice called out from behind her. Turning in the direction of the voice, Skye watched as a man stepped out of the shadows and lowered his hood dramatically. “Sorry, that corner was really dark and I couldn’t help myself.”
Skye sized him up. The middle aged man wore a light tunic and pants, with a darker brown hooded robe. When he had pulled back his hood, he revealed a dark receding hairline, warm eyes and a comforting smile that instantly put Skye at ease. This man just seemed so familiar-- Skye knew she knew him from somewhere, when suddenly it hit her, “Phil? Phil Coulson? Boy, am I glad to see you!”
“I wish I could say the same, Skye. What are you doing all the way out here? It isn’t safe,” Coulson said, sounding like a worried parent.
“You’re telling me. I guess you’re the one who saved us from those sandpeople?” Skye paused and looked at Coulson expectantly. When he nodded his head in the affirmative, she continued on, “Well, that’s one mystery solved. As for what I’m doing out here, you have this little droid here to thank for that. He ran off in search of his former master.”
Skye looked at the old hermit thoughtfully, “Actually, maybe you can help solve another mystery for me. He claims to belong to a Philbi-Wan Coulson. It’s not exactly that common of a name, so I figured he must be related to you or something. Do you know who he is talking about?”
Old Phil slowly sank down onto a nearby boulder and repeated, “Philbi-Wan Coulson? Philbi-Wan. Now that is a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time. A lifetime ago, really.”
Skye’s eyes lit up, “So you do know him!”
“Of course, I know him-- he’s me,” Coulson said, tapping his chest lightly. “I haven’t gone by the name of Philbi-Wan since before you were born.”
Skye conceded, “Then he does belong to you.”
“Funny. I don’t recall ever owning a droid,” Coulson shook his head, looking as if he was deep in thought until a Tusken Raider battle cry broke his reverie. He eyed the overhanging cliffs, suspiciously, “I think we better get indoors. Sandpeople are easily startled but they’ll be back and in greater numbers.”
Artoo let out a low hum, causing Skye to look around. She knew was forgetting something-- when, suddenly, it hit her like a lightning bolt.
“AI-DA!” Skye cried, before taking off to find the droid.
They had managed to locate AI-DA and bring her back safely in Coulson’s hovel. Finally able to take a breathe, Skye surveyed her surroundings. The small, spartan quarters, cluttered with desert junk, certainly fit the bill of a man who had been labeled a hermit by the locals but at the same time, they radiated an air of timeworn comfort, security and home .
“No, my father didn't fight in the Hydra Wars. He was a navigator on a spice freighter,” Skye corrected Coulson. He had to be wrong, she had heard the stories a thousand times and never once had either of her uncles mentioned the war.
“No, Skye, that's just what your uncles wanted you to believe. They disagreed with him-- they felt he abandoning his duty to go off and fight someone else’s war,” the older man explained.
Skye took a moment to process the information, before tutting, “That sounds like my uncles. So, you’re saying you both fought in the Hydra Wars?”
“Yes, I was once a Jedi Knight, as was as your father,” Coulson revealed.
“A Jedi? Really?” There was so much she didn't know about her family. Skye looked down at the floor and said wistfully, “I wish I'd known him.”
Coulson clasped her on the shoulder, “He was the best star-pilot in the galaxy, and a strong leader. I understand you've become quite a good pilot yourself. And he was a good friend. Which reminds me…”
The Jedi walked over to a chest in the corner of the room and rummaged around in it for a moment. When he walked back over to Skye, he was carrying a long silver tube.
“I have something for you,” Coulson said, handing her the weapon. “Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough. I guess today is that day.”
Skye looked down at the relic in wonder, “What is it?”
“Your father's lightsaber. This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight. More precise-- and more lethal-- than a blaster. And much cooler, if you ask me,” Coulson explained.
Pressing a button on the handle, Skye ignited the saber and a long blue beam shot out from the hilt. As she waved it around experimentally, a soft glow danced across the ceiling and the energy crackled and sizzled as it cut through air.
“An elegant weapon for a more civilized time. For over a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic,” Coulson recalled. “It was our duty to be the shield that protected the galaxy from harm. At least, that’s what the order used to stand for, before the Empire.”
Extinguishing the lightsaber, Skye turned back towards Coulson, having finally worked up the nerve to ask the question that had haunted her for years, “How did my father die?”
Coulson closed his eyes as he recalled the painful memories, “A young Jedi named Darth Ward, who had been assigned to my strike team before he turned to evil, was seduced by the dark side of the Force and betrayed us all. He helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights, murdering your father and countless other Jedi in the process. Now we’re all but extinct.”
Skye latched on to an unfamiliar word Coulson had said, “The Force?”
Coulson tried to put it in as simple terms as possible, “Well, the Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.”
From the corner of the room, Artoo beeped and drew attention to himself. Coulson seemed to welcome the distraction and walked over to the little droid.
“I guess we have been ignoring you for too long, my little friend. Let's see if we can't figure out what you are and where you come from,” the Jedi knight
“He has some heavy duty encryption on his memory. In the part of the message I saw earlier…” Skye started, before trailing off when she saw Artoo’s holoprojector come to life and the image of the regal looking girl was cast in front of them.
“Found it,” Coulson said triumphantly.
Skye rolled her eyes at the older man and had a sarcastic reply that died on her lips when the recording began to play.
The girl in the recording began, “General Coulson. Years ago, you served with my father in the Hydra Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Philbi-Wan Coulson. You're my only hope.”
Skye gulped-- so that’s what the encryption had been hiding. Secret plans that could make or break the Rebellion. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. It sounded dangerous.
Coulson turned towards her and said matter of factly, “You must learn the ways of the Force, if you're to come with me to Alderaan.”
“Alderaan? I'm not going to Alderaan, I've gotta get home , it's late, I'm in for it as it is!” Skye practically screeched, looking at Coulson in disbelief.
“I need your help, Skye. She needs your help,” Coulson said, gesturing to where the holo had played. “I'm getting too old for this sort of thing.”
Skye looked down, clearly conflicted and overwhelmed, “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to get off this stupid planet and go on some grand adventure, but this is real life, not some fantasy. I've got work to do-- I just can’t get involved.” She paused for a moment, before clarifying, “It's not that I like the Empire; I hate it, but there's nothing I can do about it right now... It's all such a long way away and my duty is here.”
“That's just your uncles talking,” Coulson said bitterly.
“Oh, God, my uncles. How can I even begin to explain all this?” Skye fretted, clasping a hand over her mouth.
Coulson didn’t have an answer for that, so instead he just repeated, “Come with me, Skye. Learn about the Force. It’s your destiny-- your family’s legacy.”
“Look, I can take you as far as Anchorhead. You can get a transport there to Mos Eisley or wherever you're going.” Skye compromised.
Coulson stared at Skye for a beat, before saying quietly, “If that is what you feel is best, Skye, I won’t try and change your mind.”
The Jedi’s disappointment was palpable. Skye tried to tell herself that she was doing the right thing, but for some reason, she couldn’t get the image of the princess pleading for help out of her head
Light years away, Princess Jemma found herself in a detention cell on the very battlestation that she hoped to destroy-- the irony of which was lost on her.
Before she was brought on board the Death Star, Darth Ward had brought her up to the star destroyer’s observation deck to impress upon her the power and strength of the Empire (and its new weapon). The move had been clearly designed to intimidate her into cooperating, but it had backfired. Seeing the weapon up close and personal had only strengthened her resolve to keep her mouth shut, so she could keep that thing away from the Rebellion and everyone she cared about.
The princess briefly let her thoughts wander to that R2 unit and whether he had completed her mission. She knew he hadn’t been captured yet-- Darth Ward would have come and gloated about it immediately, so at least that was something.
Every so often, an Imperial intelligence officer would come by to interrogate her. For hours at a time, they would bombard her with questions, growing more and more frustrated as she failed to give them the information they were looking for.
Jemma had grown tired of the game and was curled up on her cot facing the wall. So when she heard her cell door open again, Jemma said without looking, “Honestly, I don’t know why you lot keep bothering. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“We’ll see about that, Princess,” came the mechanical voice of Darth Ward.
Jemma instantly spun around and was greeted by the sight of Darth Ward, flanked by two Imperial guards.
“Darth Ward, how kind of you to pay me a visit,” Jemma bit out sarcastically.
“I must say, Your Highness, I’m impressed by how you’ve held up against my operatives’ questioning,” Darth Ward said, in a tone that could almost be described as congenial. However, when he continued on, it turned threatening. “But now you get to deal with me.”
“I’m not afraid of you. Do your worst,” Jemma challenged. “I’ll still never tell you what you want to know.”
Ward warned, “I think you’re going to come to regret that statement, Your Highness. You will tell me the location of the rebel base.”
In behind Ward floated a shiny black sphere-- Jemma recognized it as a mind probe. Instinctively, she tensed up. For all of her bravado, a bit of fear began to creep in. There was no defense for this-- all she could do was hope that she was strong enough to withstand the mental barrage.
Hope. As Jemma stared into Ward’s cold, unfeeling mask and mentally steeled herself for the probe, it was hope that sustained her and gave her strength. Hope that the droid would successfully complete her mission. Hope that someone would rescue her. Hope that good would triumph over evil.
After all, rebellions were built on hope-- she would prove that.