One

"Senator Mothma?"

Mon Mothma looked up from the data pad she'd been reading. Some report on the latest trade route dispute, or so she thought: she'd gone over the thing three times and had yet to make any sense of it. For the briefest moment she wished she were still back home, on Chandrila, chasing the blackback birds with her father in Crystal Canyon. But no—She was aboard her personal starship, the Chandrila Hope, on a return trip to Coruscant, bent over the work-desk she kept in her private cabin. A single desk-lamp illuminated the room, while an assortment of data cards and other official materials were strewn about.

"Madam?" the gold-plated droid repeated from where he stood in the cabin's open doorway. D6-L5, better known by the designation Deesix, and Mon Mothma's personal protocol droid. It had been in her service ever since her father first bought it for her, years before she'd considered joining the Imperial Senate. Even the length of a decade had not quite spared the small annoyance she occasionally felt at Deesix's needlessly prissy mannerisms. "Pardon the intrusion," he went on, "but I have a message from Captain Drayson. We will be arriving at Coruscant in five minutes. Four minutes," he amended, tilting his head.

"Thank you, Deesix," Mon Mothma said, setting down the data pad. "Please inform the captain I will join him shortly."

The droid stared at her for a moment, peering with those blank, saucer-like eyes. Then, with another tilt, "Yes, Madam," Deesix responded, before removing himself from the doorway and permitting the door to close behind him.

Mon Mothma sighed in the near-darkness. She still remembered the pride, the excitement she'd felt on that first trip, her maiden voyage to Coruscant all those years ago. A newly-elected Senator then, the youngest in the history of the Republic: no small feat for an otherwise unexceptional girl of nineteen. At the time she’d been invigorated, exhilarated even, at the prospect of her first look of the capital. But that had been before the Clone Wars…before the Empire. Now all she could think of was the great burden that lay ahead of her.

With another sigh she pulled herself together and pushed away from the desk. Most of the data cards had been standard bureaucratic fare like the trade route dispute: communiqués concerning appropriations bills and taxation amendments and the like. But a handful contained more disturbing messages. Mon Mothma fingered one of them: reports of a protest at a SoroSuub factory on Sullust, and a similar demonstration outside the Imperial governor's mansion on Mantooine. And these were just the most recent. None of them had yet turned violent—thank the Force!—but Mon Mothma knew it was only a matter of time.

"But what is to be done about it?" she asked, aloud and to herself. The Emperor had shown little concern about the issue so far, despite continuous complaints from both Mon Mothma and other, more senior members of the Imperial Senate. It seemed unlikely he would attempt any further resolution, not unless and until things escalated. Which was the exact scenario Mon Mothma wanted to avoid.

With one final sigh she stood up and adjusted her clothes. Mon Mothma had never been much into fashion, even as a young girl, and wore only plain, loose-fitting robes cut from a well-spun weave local to Chandrila. A pair of braids dangling from the shoulders were their only decoration, along with the small medallion that hung about her neck. She took one last sip from the cup of tea sitting on her desk (a Dagoban bentaxne berry mix that Deesix seemed particularly fond of) before heading for the bridge.

The low hum of the hyperdrive engine was the only sound that greeted her as Mon Mothma made her way down the short corridor that connected the sleeping cabins with the Hope's cockpit area. Some senators she knew preferred larger, more luxurious transportation when they traveled, all the better to accommodate their sizeable retinues: Bail Organa's Tantive IV immediately came to mind. But Mon Mothma had always preferred sprightlier ships. Hence the Chandrila Hope: a nimble little craft only slightly larger than the chrome-plated Nubian yachts one constantly saw flitting about the galaxy. In the tradition of Chandrilan pacifism the Hope sported no weapon systems, but it did have a state-of-the-art deflector shield and a hyperdrive that could break Point Five.

The door to the cockpit was already open as she stepped up to it. "Captain Drayson," Mon Mothma greeted the only visible occupant, sliding in and taking the empty co-pilot's chair. She peeked out the canopy at the rolling swirls of hyperspace zipping past. "How much longer until we reach Coruscant?"

From where he was seated in the pilot's station, Drayson looked over at one of his monitors. "We'll be breaking out in less than a minute, Senator," he told her, before returning focus to the flight controls. But he risked a moment to glance at her out of the corner of one eye. "Pardon me for asking, but…is everything all right? You look tired."

"That is because I am tired," she said, slumping back in her seat. "I had assumed the purpose of a holiday was to rest. And yet here I am, more exhausted now than when we left Coruscant two weeks ago."

Drayson shrugged. "I think everyone's been feeling a little tired lately," he allowed.

"Even you?" Mon Mothma smiled at him.

It wasn't an idle compliment. Drayson had come up through the ranks of the Chandrilan Defense Fleet, and was one of the hardest workers Mon Mothma knew. It was during his stint with the fleet that Drayson had met Mon Mothma's father, himself an arbiter-general for the Republic. Drayson had been a faithful friend to the family ever since, both to Mon Mothma herself during her current tenure in the Senate and to her father before that.

But the man only shrugged again. "Even me," he admitted. "The truth is, I don't think the break was a complete waste. Your father was glad to see you, even if it was only for a short time." He was saved from further comment by a ping coming from the nav board. "We're almost ready," he told her, putting a hand up on the levers that controlled the hyperdrive. "In three…two…"

The rolling swirls outside transformed suddenly into star-lines as he pulled the levers back, and with the slightest lurch the Hope came out of hyperspace. Directly ahead of them, square in the canopy's center, sat the bright big jewel that was Coruscant. From space it didn't look that much different from the dozens of other planets Mon Mothma had visited in her short years, not at first glance. Scattered white cloud-cover masked the browns and blues of the planet's surface; on the main continent, large concentric circles of light spotted the landscape, the only indicator at this distance of the massive cities that awaited on the planet below.

But Coruscant wasn't just any other planet. It was the Imperial capital, and the skies above it were practically jammed with spacecraft in the various stages of coming and going: everything from small stock light freighters to Corellian Corvettes and up. Above them all hung a far-too-familiar shape: the arrowhead silhouette of one of the Emperor's prized Star Destroyers.

Drayson pointed at it. "That looks like the new model," he observed. "One of my classmates from the academy showed me the schematics. It's almost twenty percent larger than the older units; a lot more firepower, too. I hear the Emperor's ordered hundreds of the things into production."

"You almost sound impressed, Captain," Mon Mothma noted, trying hard to keep any judgment from slipping into her voice. The Chandrilans were a largely peaceful people, who abhorred violence: but Drayson was a fleet man, and no doubt had a professional interest.

Drayson frowned thoughtfully. "Impressed? I wouldn't say that, exactly…" he hesitated, "but you can't deny it's an extraordinary accomplishment of engineering. Even if I don't agree with what they're being used for." One of the lights on his board started flashing. "Looks like we're being hailed by Coruscant Traffic Control," he said, turning over his shoulder. "Deesix?"

"At once, Captain," the droid answered from where he'd been sitting mutely at the communications station. Mon Mothma gave a little start: she hadn't even noticed him there.

While Deesix gave Traffic Control their identification and destination Drayson moved them into position in the long line of in-bound traffic. More stock light freighters and some larger transports, along with a handful of space yachts even shinier than the Hope. And sweeping among them— "Those are new," Mon Mothma observed.

"What is it?" Drayson asked, squinting out the canopy.

"Those," she indicated. Drayson followed where she pointed, and finally spied the pair of small, H-shaped fighters that were darting back and forth among the flow of traffic. "TIE fighters," he growled. "What are they doing?"

"It looks like a patrol," Mon Mothma suggested. "Inspection duty?"

"I think you're right," Drayson agreed, studying them more closely, "they're skimming near enough to run a full scan on most of those ships."

"I didn't know the military had TIEs checking ships coming into the capital."

Drayson coughed. "They don't. Or at least, they didn't. There must have been a change in policy."

He was interrupted by the sound of Deesix speaking into the comm's headset. "Acknowledged, Traffic Control," the droid confirmed. He leaned forward toward Drayson's ear. "Captain, we have been cleared for Landing Platform 1-714. Traffic Control says Lynia will meet us there."

"Lynia!" Mon Mothma exclaimed with delight.

"Maybe she'll know what's going on," Drayson said, getting a grip on the flight controls. "Here we go."

He steered them out of the inbound lane and started down to the planet below. Usually the Coruscant skies were bright and almost cloudless, with only scatterings of white. Yet today's weather must have been a particularly foggy one, for the canopy was soon completely enveloped; Drayson was flying entirely by instruments. When they finally broke through the top layer, emerging from the clouds like a ghost, all they could see were the very tops of the highest skyscrapers, reaching up out of the mist like little islands. "There's the platform," Drayson identified it, floating among the buildings not far away. "I'm taking us in."

Even with the poor visibility Drayson was able to set them down with the barest of bumps. "I'll need to stay with the ship a couple minutes to finish the shutdown procedure," he told Mon Mothma as he powered down the engines. "Why don't you and Deesix go with Lynia, and I'll check in with you later?"

Mon Mothma looked out the canopy into the mist. She didn't see Lynia, but she could just barely make out the darker shape of a city aircar parked outside. "Are you certain?" she asked him. "I'm sure Lynia would be happy waiting."

"Go ahead, Senator," he urged. "There are a couple tests I want to run on the stabilizers anyway. And Lynia will be eager to give you an update."

"Very well," Mon Mothma said, undoing her restraints and standing up. "Come along, Deesix."

She hadn't seen Lynia outside, but the woman had clearly been there waiting; the entry ramp to the Hope had barely lowered before Lynia came hurrying out of the mist to greet them. "Mon Mothma!" she called out, offering a quick hug. "I mean, Senator," she amended more formally, removing herself and clearing her throat. "It's good to see you."

"It is good to see you, too, Lynia," Mon Mothma laughed, holding her at arms-length and giving her a once-over. When most people looked at Lynia, all they saw was a youngish and attractive (if somewhat exotic-looking) woman before them, no different than the myriad of other humans who helped staff the Senate. And in some ways, that was in fact all she was. But Lynia was only half-human, on her father's side: her mother had been something altogether different, and Lynia had inherited some unusual abilities that could be put to good use. She was one of Mon Mothma's most trusted aides. "Deesix missed you as well, I think," she added.

"Yes, indeed, Madam," Deesix confirmed, scuttling down the ramp behind her. "I am pleased to see you are still fully functioning."

Lynia giggled, and Mon Mothma thought she caught a twinkle in her lavender eyes. "Thanks, Deesix." She peered up the gangway. "What about Captain Drayson?"

"He is looking over a few things on the Hope. Nothing serious," she added at Lynia's questioning eyebrow, "just a standard check. He said he will meet us later."

With only a slight little twist at the mouth (by the Force, even her frowns were pretty!) Lynia led them toward the aircar she had parked waiting. "I hope your trip was uneventful," she said, as she started for the driver's seat.

"Uneventful enough." Mon Mothma helped Deesix strap himself in—the poor droid had trouble sometimes, considering his joints—before joining Lynia up in front. "I noticed several TIE patrols on the way in," she went on. "The captain thought they were new?"

Lynia nodded grimly. "That's right. We had an incident last week with a couple smugglers. There was some light resistance, a starfreighter got damaged. Now all incoming ships are subject to search and inspection."

She switched the aircar's engines on, and suddenly they were up and zipping across the Coruscant sky. "Hmm," Mon Mothma said, feeling the wind whip at her hair. "I didn't see anything about that on the HoloNet."

"The Emperor's been trying to keep it quiet," Lynia told her, "said he doesn't want to cause any panic. Personally I think he was glad for the excuse; his office has been pushing for more patrols for months. You saw the other reports I sent you?"

"You mean about the protests? Mantooine doesn't concern me, yet—I doubt the Emperor will see them as a threat, not without a more forceful demonstration—but Sullust is another matter. The Empire is already fostering a significant bias against non-humans. This incident won't help."

"I agree we'll want to keep a closer eye on the Sullustans," Lynia said. "But I wasn't talking about them, or Mantooine. Haven't you heard about Ghorman?"

Mon Mothma's brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't think so. Was it in the latest communiqués?"

Lynia guided them around a cargo-hauler blocking the way. "It should have been. Deesix?"

The droid nodded. "I added it this morning to your pile, Madam. The blue data card?"

"I must have missed it," she said, turning back to look at him. "Give me the highlights."

"Well, Ghorman is located in the Sern sector, on the edge of the Colonies along the Rimma Trade Route. It is a temperate planet with an average day/night cycle of twenty standard hours—"

"Not those highlights, Deesix. The ones about the protest."

Deesix seemed to consider that. "Ah, yes, of course. It concerns the latest appropriations bill before the Senate. The Emperor is proposing a ten percent tax increase on all trade conducted along the Rimma Route. The Ghormians are refusing to pay."

Mon Mothma shook her head. "And what do they propose instead of the increase?"

Deesix stared at her. "You misunderstand, Madam. They are not refusing to pay the increase. They're refusing to pay any Imperial taxes."

Mon Mothma felt her jaw drop. "What?"

"The Ghormians' position is that additional taxes are not warranted, now that the Clone Wars are over. They are refusing to submit any new funds until the Emperor dramatically reduces his military presence along the Outer Rim."

"They're not wrong," Lynia mumbled from the driver's seat. "The Clone Wars have been over for months—years now. The Separatists are all defeated. The Empire doesn't need a standing army anymore, let alone a galactic fleet."

Mon Mothma thought for a minute about that shiny new Star Destroyer floating overhead. "That argument has been made by many," she said softly, "including myself. It has yet to win the Emperor over. Or a majority of the Senate."

"Yes, and the larger the Imperial fleet gets, the less persuasive it's going to be," Lynia said darkly.

"At any rate," Deesix went on in a high pitch, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted, "the Ghormians have taken to the streets to express their dissatisfaction. Reports indicate they have surrounded the Imperial garrison in the planet's capital."

Mon Mothma let out a heavy sigh. "This won't end well," she told Lynia. "Things are already tense enough, without the need for more escalation. Do we know how the Emperor is going to respond?"

"The HoloNet report didn't say," Lynia said. "But my sources in the Admiralty Office suggest the fleet's been instructed to prepare some kind of response. I don't have any details yet."

Up ahead the mists were starting to part, and Mon Mothma could just see the rising spire of Wroshyr Tower—the suite complex where she kept her official apartments—looming out of the clouds. Named after the famous wroshyr trees from the Wookiee homeworld of Kashyyyk, The Tower was one of the tallest private buildings on Coruscant: dwarfed only by the Republica and the Emperor's new Imperial Palace and a handful of other structures. "This is exactly the kind of thing we need to avoid, Lynia," Mon Mothma said, as her assistant steered them toward the landing areas near the Tower's top. "If things get any more out of hand… Let me know the moment you hear more from your sources."

"Of course," Lynia said. "If it's any comfort, I don't think the Emperor wants this to escalate any more than we do."

"Doesn't he?" Mon Mothma asked, less to Lynia than herself. "It seems like every move he makes is designed to further antagonize the Senate. Perhaps this will finally be the kick the others need to understand how serious things have become."

Lynia let that pass without comment. Instead she brought the aircar halfway around Wroshyr Tower to its southern side, where a large opening had been cut into the building's otherwise smooth façade. A platform jutted out, providing a place for airspeeders and cloud cars and other transports to be parked. Even in a city as crowded as Coruscant, the platform was only half-filled; there were plenty of spots available for Lynia to choose from. Picking one closest to the doors, she set them down.

Mon Mothma's apartment was near the upper floors, as befitted a Senator—still small in keeping with her modest tastes, but with an unobstructed and impressive view of the domed Senate building glowing in the distance. It was a simple arrangement: just a common area that included a kitchen, dining room, and sitting area; a decent-sized bedroom off the main living section, for Mon Mothma; and a smaller one on the other side for Lynia. "I do have some good news, at least," Lynia said as she led Mon Mothma and Deesix through the front door. "From Senator Organa, actually."

"Senator Organa?" Mon Mothma blurted. Bail Organa was the Viceroy of Alderaan, currently its Senator and one of Mon Mothma's most vocal critics in the Senate. At least officially. "What is it?"

"It's right there on the table, actually," Lynia said, pointing at the dining room. "It's an invitation," she explained, as Mon Mothma hurried over to examine it, "to a dinner-party he's hosting tonight at Cantham House. He didn't know if you'd be back in time…but if you were, he offered to have you join him."

Unofficially, Bail was Mon Mothma's closest ally. Together the two of them had worked in concert since the days of the Clone Wars to curtail Chancellor (now-Emperor) Palpatine's power. But it was rare for him to contact her so directly. "The timing seems curious," she said, turning the invitation over. "When did he send it?"

"Before the HoloNet report went out, if that's what you're getting at," Lynia said. "I don't think this has anything to do with Ghorman. At least, not initially."

Mon Mothma nodded. The Emperor had spies everywhere, even in the Senate; and with all the rumors about this new Security Bureau that was supposedly compiling lists of anti-Imperial sympathizers, Mon Mothma and Bail were often forced to host their meetings in secret. Or else under other pretenses. "Who else will be there? Do we know?"

Lynia shrugged. "Just a couple other Senators, I think, maybe one or two dignitaries. But should I reply you'll be attending?"

"That we'll be attending," Mon Mothma told her. "Whatever it is, Bail must have something important to show if he needs to meet so urgently. I'd like to give those eyes of yours a chance to check it out too, see what you think."

Lynia blinked at her. "That's not exactly how it works," she said, a little stiffly.

"Is that a 'yes,' then?"

Lynia blinked again, then smiled. "As you wish, Senator," she nodded.

"Good," Mon Mothma said, taking a seat at the dining table. "Then get that reply out to Bail's people. I want to spend the rest of the afternoon reviewing the other reports you sent in. We need to ensure I didn't miss anything else important in those data cards."