Two

Cantham House—the Organas' elegant estate, one of several residences they kept on Coruscant—was an altogether different affair from the sleek, almost austere façades that defined Wroshyr Tower and the Republica and the other accommodations used by Coruscant's political elite. Decorated in the High Style of old Alderaan, it was defined by classic, ornate stonework and wide gardens about the grounds: more reminiscent of, say, the Lake Country of Naboo than the high spires of the Imperial capital. It was here Bail spent most of his time whenever the Senate was in session, surrounded by his staff and droids and other attendants from the Alderaanian retinue. But he spent it largely alone: his wife, the Queen Breha, rarely left Alderaan, now that they had a new baby daughter who needed looking after.

Drayson set their borrowed aircar down gently on the wide street that ran outside the front of Cantham House, casting a wary glance up the stone steps that led to its large entry doors—and the chrome-plated servant droid waiting at their top. "You're sure this is necessary, Senator?" he asked. He didn't, Mon Mothma noted, immediately turn off the repulsors.

"Of course I'm sure," she chided, from where she sat beside him in the front. "There is a reason Bail extended us the invite, Captain—an important one. These dinners are one of the few ways we have to exchange information without the Emperor's spies getting suspicious. Isn't that right, Lynia?" She glanced over her shoulder, where Lynia was sitting in the back with her hair done up in elaborate braids.

"That wasn't quite what I meant," Drayson clarified before Lynia could answer, pulling awkwardly at the collar of his dress uniform. Mon Mothma felt a sudden smile, then did her best to hide it: she'd forgotten how much Drayson hated getting dressed up, even for a Fleet man.

"You're wondering if you needed to attend?" she suggested with a raised eyebrow, and Drayson blushed. "Believe it or not, Captain, you are an important part of my team. While I may be against the use of violence, I still recognize its necessity at times, and I value your military perspective. Whatever Bail intends to show us tonight, I'll want your take on it too. And yours, Lynia," she added again.

"Thank you, Senator," Lynia said before Drayson could interrupt this time.

"Yes, well," Drayson coughed, finally switching down the engines, "we might as well get this over with. Come on, Deesix."

Together the four of them scurried out of the aircar and scrambled up the front steps. "Welcome to Cantham House, Mon Mothma," the chrome-plated droid greeted, from where it stood waiting patiently at the top. "Senator Organa has been expecting you."

It pushed open the main doors—elegantly decorated with brass handles, just as ornate as the rest of the exterior—and the warm, welcoming light of the main foyer suddenly bathed out onto the stoop. "The Senator is currently in the library, enjoying pre-dinner drinks with the rest of his party," the droid explained as it ushered them inside. "You three are the last to arrive. If you will follow me, please?"

It led them through the door, across the marble foyer and down one of the many branching corridors to a stylish room on the first floor. This undoubtedly was the library, judging by the walls stacked floor-to-ceiling with shelf-fulls of multicard data sets; and, more importantly, by the fact that Bail and the other guests could be seen already mingling within. "Thank you," Mon Mothma said, as the droid ambled up to the threshold and showed them in. She looked over her shoulder. "Deesix, why don't you go check on the kitchens? We'll join you in the dining hall when dinner is called."

"Of course, Madam," Deesix responded, shuffling off with the chrome-plated droid.

Mon Mothma stepped into the library, followed closely by Drayson and Lynia. Most of the figures in the room were of course immediately familiar to her. In one corner stood the easily-recognizable frame of Bail Organa himself, tall and dark and dressed in his usual robes of blue and gray, a drink of some amber liquid held in his hand. Mon Mothma couldn't see exactly the two individuals to whom he was speaking (their attention was on Bail, and their backs to her) but judging from their silhouettes she assumed one was Orn Free Taa, the…heavy-set representative from Ryloth, accompanied by one of those pretty Twi'lek girls he usually had hanging off his arm. Another chrome-plated droid stood not far away from them, attending with a tray of more drinks. And over by the fireplace, in the crisp gray of an Imperial fleet uniform—

Mon Mothma let out a little gasp. "That's Captain Tarkin!" Lynia sputtered into her ear.

"Admiral Tarkin now," Drayson corrected softly. "He was promoted by the Emperor, after that last campaign in the Clone Wars. Quite an impressive offensive he put on, actually."

Mon Mothma tried hard to ignore the admiration she could hear in Drayson's voice. Captain—now Admiral—Tarkin's career was quite familiar to her, as it happened: particularly his penchant for selecting force over diplomacy at the earliest opportunity. "Impressive or not, I'm surprised Bail would have invited him," she said, looking at Lynia. "When you said 'one or two other dignitaries' would be attending, I didn't think…"

"I didn't know Tarkin was one of them," Lynia asserted quickly. She paused. "What do you think he's doing here?"

They would get their answer soon enough. By now Bail's eyes had spotted them across the room, standing awkwardly by the doorway. Excusing himself from Free Taa, he wandered over their way. "Mon Mothma," he greeted stiffly as he offered his hand, "thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, Senator," Mon Mothma returned…and for once she didn't need any of their usual play-acting to make her voice cool and distant. "You remember Captain Drayson, no doubt; and my associate, Lynia?"

"Of course," Bail nodded to each of them. "Please, get yourselves a drink. The droids will have dinner ready shortly."

Drayson and Lynia excused themselves, drifting off toward the droid with the serving tray. "Mon Mothma—"

"What is he doing here, Bail?" she practically hissed, gesturing over at the fireplace.

"I didn't have a choice," Bail told her, smiling through his teeth. "He was testifying before an armed services committee meeting and overheard me talking with Senator Taa. I couldn't well say no then, could I? Besides," he went on, "the Emperor can hardly accuse us of conspiracy when we are inviting his favorite admirals to our little gatherings. It's the perfect cover."

"I suppose," Mon Mothma conceded, letting her eyes wander back over to the fireplace. There was another fleet officer with Tarkin—a younger man whose round face she didn't recognize, clad in the darker uniform of a commander—and the two of them seemed caught up in some animated discussion with Drayson, if the flurry of hands was any indication.

"Come on," Bail urged, following her eyes, "you should say hello. It's only polite."

She permitted herself to be dragged over to the fireplace, where she could just catch the last snippet of Tarkin and Drayson's conversation. "Admiral Tarkin," Bail interjected, tapping the other's shoulder, "pardon me, Admiral. May I present Senator Mon Mothma?"

"Of course," Tarkin nodded in his precise Imperial diction, "I am quite familiar with the Senator. I must admit I am surprised to see you here, Senator Mothma; I had heard you were still visiting your family on Chandrila. And how is your father these days?"

"He is well, Admiral, thank you," Mon Mothma said, taking the other's proffered hand. "Retirement suits him—a reward well-earned, after so many years in Republic service. As perhaps your own retirement will someday suit you?" She tried to make it playful.

"Perhaps," Tarkin allowed, his pale eyes conceding nothing. "I have just become acquainted with your man Drayson here," he went on, before indicating the round-faced commander standing beside him, "but allow me to introduce my own attaché, Commander Motti. He advises me on various military matters."

"Senator," Motti bowed stiffly.

"The Admiral was just telling me about his maneuver at the Battle of Murkhana," Drayson explained. "Very ingenious."

"Oh yes," Mon Mothma agreed quickly, "quite interesting, I'm sure."

"You know of it, then?" Motti asked, taking a sip from his cup. "Do you also take an interest in military strategy, Senator?"

She was saved from further comment by the sudden ring of chiming bells. "Ah, the call for dinner," Bail explained, setting his drink down and gesturing them toward the door. "If you'll follow me, gentlemen?"

Mon Mothma let Tarkin and the others slip around her, giving the admiral something between a glare and a smile as he went past. She moved to follow— "Stay here a minute," Lynia whispered, grabbing her by the arm.

"What is it?" Mon Mothma asked, fighting back a sudden irritation. No need to take out on Lynia what she was feeling about Tarkin. When had the woman snuck up on her, anyway? "They're calling dinner…Lynia?"

She could see suddenly that Lynia's eyes had changed color: alternated from their usual lavender into a striking aquamarine. "What is it?" Mon Mothma asked again. "Have you seen something?"

Lynia nodded wordlessly. Here was one of those unusual abilities of hers, being put to good use: Lynia sometimes got…auras might be the best word, whenever she looked at certain people. Mon Mothma wasn't sure how else to describe it, and Lynia had never done any better. It was some vestige inherited from her non-human mother, apparently—nothing to do with the Force, as far as either Mon Mothma or Lynia could determine. Clearly she'd just had a vision now.

"Lynia!" Mon Mothma demanded.

Lynia swallowed. "It was that Commander Motti," she explained, breathing hard. "When he asked if you knew anything about military strategy. I saw something then."

"Around Motti?" Mon Mothma pressed.

But Lynia shook her head. "Around you."

Around her? That hardly seemed possible. Lynia usually saw something anytime she looked at Mon Mothma—she'd admitted as much, the first time she'd been questioned about it—but Lynia also claimed the aura never changed. Until now. "What did you see?" Mon Mothma asked her softly.

"I don't know," Lynia confessed. She rarely did—rarely understood what she saw, or at least how to explain it. "Just…something. Like everything suddenly went red."

There were tears at the edge of her eyes; she was practically crying. Her visions sometimes did that, left her a little shaken. "I doubt it is anything important," Mon Mothma lied, glancing at the doorway through which Motti had just exited. "Probably more to do with the commander than me."

"Are you sure about that?" Lynia challenged.

The bells chimed a second time. "We are going to miss dinner," Mon Mothma said, heading off further comment. "Bail and the others will ask questions if we don't hurry up and join them."

"I honestly don't know how to describe it," Lynia muttered again.

Mon Mothma put an arm around her. "Come on," she said, guiding her towards the door, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. We can discuss it later."

----------

The dining hall in Cantham House was even more impressive than the library, worthy of all the trappings that were associated with the High Style. A long and lavish table was set out in the middle of the room—cut and fashioned from some dark, polished wood native to the forests of Alderaan—and surrounded on either side by three high-backed chairs, with one more each at both ends. The serving-droids were already waiting for them, Deesix among their number: they stood in a line along the far wall, watching as the guests slowly filed in and took their places.

To Mon Mothma's surprise she found herself seated beside Tarkin on one of the table's longer sides, practically brushing elbows with the admiral. "Ah, braised bruallki," Tarkin observed as one-by-one the droids brought out the first dish. "One of my favorites. Have you ever had bruallki, Senator?"

"I can't say that I have," Mon Mothma answered simply.

"No? You have been denying yourself a great pleasure! When you have spent entire weeks on nothing but military rations, you come to yearn for the simple taste of a well-cooked bruallki."

"And what is it that brings you back to Coruscant, Admiral?" Drayson asked, as Deesix placed a plate in front of him. "Other than the bruallki, of course."

"Yes, what?" Mon Mothma pressed. "Last I had heard, you were inspecting the garrisons in the Outer Rim. Did something go wrong?" She leaned back smugly. There. Something to show she had sources on him, too.

Tarkin smiled dryly. "You are very well informed," he told her, "for a Senator. One might wonder where you get such precise information." He looked over at Drayson. "To the question, Captain: nothing went wrong, I have simply been recalled…by the Emperor himself. He has a special assignment he wishes me to oversee."

"Ohhh, a special assignment!" squeaked Free Taa's pretty companion, stroking one of her head-tails—lekku, if Mon Mothma remembered the Twi'lek term correctly. "And what is it?"

"Top secret, I'm afraid, madam," Tarkin said, giving her a conspiratorial look. She giggled behind her fork.

"And what about you, Senator?" Motti asked, leaning over from Tarkin's other side. "It was my understanding that most Senators returned to their districts whenever the Senate was in recess. You are from…Chandrila, was it? What brought you back to Coruscant?"

"There is no such thing as a recess for a Senator, Commander, not really. The same, I am sure, for a fleet man," she added, and Motti nodded appreciatively. "But if you must know, it was these recent reports of political unrest that forced Captain Drayson and myself to return prematurely."

"You mean on Sullust," Motti sighed sadly. "Yes, the Admiral and I received an update earlier this week. Most unfortunate."

Everyone around the table nodded in agreement. But Lynia stared at Motti oddly. "What exactly do you mean by unfortunate, Commander?" she asked.

Motti shrugged. "Only that the poor creatures have resorted to such counterproductive measures. A factory strike only prevents Sorosuub from completing their contracts on time, which in turn limits the wages they can pay their workers. These protests harm the Sullustans as much as they do anyone else."

"'Counterproductive measures?'" Mon Mothma frowned. "Is that what you call a people exercising their right to self-expression?"

Tarkin chuckled. "Ah, so that is what they are doing? Are the creatures even capable of such a thing, do we know? I have worked with Sullustans before, Senator. A babbling race, hardly representative of intelligent thought."

At one end of the table Free Taa coughed awkwardly. "I have worked with the Sullustans myself, Admiral—in the Senate for many years," he puffed. "I am not so sure I would agree with your characterization of their people."

Tarkin opened his mouth to respond— "And what about Mantooine?" Mon Mothma challenged. "Are the humans there equally incapable of self-expression, in your estimation?"

"Even humans can sometimes be misguided," he told her, pointedly. "I ask you: what have such actions accomplished…other than to weaken the Empire, make her more vulnerable to her enemies?"

"What enemies?" Mon Mothma demanded; and Free Taa added softly, "The Clone Wars have been over for years, Admiral."

"All the more reason to keep the Empire strong: to ensure such a catastrophe can never happen again. Need I remind you that the Separatist movement was born from demonstrations like these? Nor, I have heard," he continued darkly, "are the Separatists our only enemy." He did not elaborate.

From the head of the table, Bail cleared his throat. "A lively discussion, to be sure," he tried smiling. "You will have to forgive my colleague, Admiral, if perhaps she is a little over-zealous. You can see why we disagree so much on the Senate floor." Mon Mothma glared at him.

Tarkin turned toward her, honed in with those pale, intensive eyes. "I am a simple man, Senators; a military man. I am not a politician, nor do I subscribe to any particular political belief. I have only one belief: in the superiority of order over chaos, of action over inaction. Everything I do is in service of that ideal."

"But this is exactly why the Sullustans are protesting," Lynia piped up from Bail's right. "The Emperor's claim to power is that it's the only way he can keep us safe. How do we know that's true, unless we're allowed to have an open dialogue about it?"

"The Emperor was duly confirmed by act of the Senate," Motti reminded her, "and after rigorous debate, I might add. There's nothing undemocratic about that."

"During wartime," Lynia countered. "Now that the war's over, does he still need that much consolidated power?"

"If the alternative is risk of another war?" Motti pushed back.

Mon Mothma waved Lynia quiet. "You say you believe in order, Admiral," she said. "Are you suggesting representative government and free expression are impediments to that goal?"

Tarkin practically snorted. "Representative government is a luxury the galaxy can no longer afford. It is too slow, too unreliable; the Clone Wars proved that. Consider the Trade Federation incident on the Emperor's own home world. The Senate sat and deliberated, convened endless committees to investigate the validity of the Naboo's claims…when what was needed was immediate, decisive action. Queen Amidala knew that. I believe she was a personal friend of yours, yes?"

Mon Mothma nodded. "But Padme also understood that before we do act, we must first determine how we should act. Which is why we Chandrilans believe that violence must always be the last resort, not the first…as do the Alderaanians," she gestured at Bail. "And the Naboo."

Tarkin paused. "Your father," he asked suddenly, "he was an arbiter-general for the Republic, if I recall correctly."

Mon Mothma frowned, glanced at Drayson. "Yes, that's right."

"Then you are aware that the primary purpose of his role was to ensure order across the galaxy? To the point of direct force where necessary?"

Mon Mothma shook her head. "He was a general, true; but he was an arbiter first. My father always believed in deliberating with his enemies before taking action against them."

"And yet all his arbitrations would have been useless if he had lacked the power to enforce them. Words will get you only so far."

"Take this new situation on Ghorman, then," Drayson interceded, "the tax protests. If you were the Ghormian governor, how would you handle the matter—hypothetically? Not with force, surely."

But Tarkin shook his head. "There is nothing hypothetical about that scenario, Captain."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I will have to decide in fact what is to be done about the situation there," Tarkin told him. "That special assignment I mentioned? The Emperor is dispatching me to Ghorman to personally resolve the demonstrations."

"You!" Mon Mothma blurted.

Tarkin gave her another one of his cold smiles. "Don't sound so surprised, Senator. The Emperor has been most displeased with the governor's inability to control the situation, and has no desire for further escalation. He has asked for someone with a, shall we say, stronger hand to step in."

"But the protests on Ghorman are political," Free Taa asserted. "They are not military."

"Incorrect, Senator. The protests are administrative: and is not the primary purpose of the military to assist the Emperor in executing his administration?"

Mon Mothma hid a grimace. So Tarkin was it—the response Lynia had heard about from her source in the Admiralty office. "And what do you intend to do?" she asked quietly.

"To be frank, I had not yet reached a decision," Tarkin admitted. "Commander Motti and I have been discussing several alternatives. But I suppose you have a suggestion?"

"You know my suggestion," she said, looking directly at him. "Open a dialogue with the protesters, hear them out. All they want is to be listened to."

"Is that all they want?" Tarkin smirked. "And here I thought they didn't want to pay their taxes."

Mon Mothma ground her teeth. "Regardless of your opinion on the merits of their demands," she tried, "they are not any kind of military threat. They are just engaging in their right to free speech."

"Ah, and how many other systems are to be indulged in their free speech, mm? Taxes must be levied, Senator; the Empire cannot function without them. No, it must be quashed, and quashed swiftly!"

This last he declared with a fist upon the polished table, that rattled his plate. "Forgive me," he said then, clearing his throat. "I too can sometimes become over-zealous." He started poking at his food to hide a sudden embarrassment.

Mon Mothma glanced across the table, shared a look with Lynia. "You consider yourself a strong man; don't you, Admiral?" she asked.

Tarkin looked up at her. "I believe strength is the only position worth operating from," he said bluntly. "It is the only way to ensure the security of Imperial rule."

"Ah! But isn't the position of greatest strength one that doesn't need using?" She touched his arm. "The most powerful weapon one you need never fire?"

"I have always supposed that to be true," Tarkin conceded.

"Well then, wouldn't the best testament to the Empire's power in this case be a similar restraint? You have the guns, and the Ghormians must surely know it: prove to them you won't be impressed by their little tantrum. Yes, that seems to me a far more interesting task, for a man so accomplished as yourself…to put an end to these demonstrations without the resort of easy violence."

"Is that a challenge, Senator?" Motti asked. He sounded amused.

Mon Mothma shrugged. "If you choose to see it as one. I am told that Admiral Tarkin never shirks a test."

Tarkin stared at her for another long moment. A second smile split his lips then—not a smirk this time, but a genuine one. "It is true I appreciate a good challenge," he admitted, bowing his head. "This seems very important to you, Senator."

"It is," she said.

"Hmmm… Very well! I accept the challenge."

"You'll hear them out?" Lynia asked. "Find a non-violent solution?"

"I make no promises! But I will do my best, see what I can do to find alternatives to these protests."

He held up his drink in salute, before finishing it off. "Wonderful!" Free Taa exclaimed, clapping his hands. "It is so enjoyable to see our colleagues in the Fleet and Senate coming together!"

"Yes," Bail agreed, "it is wonderful." But he glanced oddly in their direction—whether at Tarkin or Mon Mothma herself, she couldn't say.

----------

The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly enough—or at least, without event. Conversation drifted back and forth: everything from a spirited debate on the best vacation spots on Coruscant to Motti's review of the most recent performance at the Galactic Opera House. The appetizers were removed and the main course brought in, followed by dessert and a post-dinner brandy, until at last the evening was played out and the time for departing arrived.

So it was that at the end of the night Mon Mothma found herself once again beside Admiral Tarkin, standing out on Cantham House's front stoop while he bid her a final goodbye. "I must thank you, Senator," he was saying, offering a differential nod, "for a most engaging evening. The conversation was…interesting."

"And I you, Admiral," Mon Mothma said. At the foot of the stairs Commander Motti stood patiently, waiting and watching. Further back she could see a couple of Bail's droids helping Free Taa get his sizable bulk into his airspeeder, supervised by his lovely female companion. "I hope you will honor your word, and take our little chat to heart."

Tarkin laughed politely. "A man does not usually rise to the height of my station without already being somewhat set in his ways, Senator," he admitted. His head bowed slightly. "But I will keep my word."

"Then you really will try and find a diplomatic solution to the Ghorman protests?" Mon Mothma asked hopefully.

"As I said before, such a definitive promise is beyond my ability to guarantee. Unfortunately the pleasant ideals discussed over a dinner party must sometimes give way, when faced with the realities of the field. But I shall do my best."

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up behind them. "Senator Mothma?" a voice called out. It was Bail. "A word, please, Senator, before you depart."

Mon Mothma offered Tarkin a thin smile. "I expect I am due for a lecture on the proper etiquette of a Senator at dinner parties."

Tarkin smiled back. "Undoubtedly. My advice, if you'll consider it, would be: don't let him to be too hard on you. Conviction is useless if it is not strongly-held—I should know. Good evening, Senator."

Without a word more he turned and descended quickly down the stairs, joined by Commander Motti before the two of them headed towards their own airspeeder up the street. "Mon Mothma?" Bail repeated.

Mon Mothma turned around, to find Bail's tall frame looming over her from the doorway. "Don't tell me, let me guess," she said, before he could get started. "You are worried I was too combative with him."

"You might say that," Bail observed dryly. "I understand that you didn't want the admiral here, but that didn't mean you had to intentionally antagonize him!"

"I was only telling the truth," Mon Mothma shot back. "Clearly the Fleet already has their eye on me, and Tarkin must have some exposure to my speeches in the Senate. There was no reason to restrain myself just because we were sitting across one another over drinks and bruallki." She paused. "Besides, the more outspoken I am, the more attention it puts on me; and the more it insulates you from suspicion."

"Hmmm," Bail allowed. "It's still risky."

Mon Mothma sighed. "Would you rather I had sweettalked him instead?" she argued. "That would have looked more preposterous than anything else."

"I'm not disagreeing," he told her, taking her arm suddenly and grabbing it tightly. "But we must be careful. Tarkin isn't just another fleet admiral. You heard him; the man's got the ear of the Emperor himself, and rumor is he's being brought into Palpatine's inner circle. Word of this is bound to get back."

"Very well," Mon Mothma conceded with a sigh, "I shall be more cautious in future. Now; may we finally discuss whatever new scheme of yours precipitated the need for this farce of a dinner party, in the first place?"

Bail grinned. "All right," he said, releasing her arm and waving her on. "Come with me. The others are already waiting."

She followed him back through the halls into the library, where the others were indeed already waiting: Drayson and Lynia sitting together on one of the plush sofas, while in the corner Deesix and Bail's chrome-plated droid chattered excitedly together in a language Mon Mothma didn't recognize—Bocce, maybe? "This is all of us?" she asked as she followed Bail in. She selected a seat in one of the sofas across from Drayson and Lynia. "Just the four of us?"

"For tonight," Bail said, grabbing the comlink from his belt. "All right, Aach, you can come in."

Behind a panel one of the side doors popped open—access, Mon Mothma presumed, allocated for the droids and other servants—and two men stepped through. The first she recognized at once: Aach (a codename, Mon Mothma had always presumed; she didn't know his full name, or even if he had a real one) was one of Bail's most trusted clandestine agents, and had been working behind the scenes for the Organas for months now. Mon Mothma had met with him often, though rarely outside the confines of Cantham House—it was critical for his cover (and hers) that they not be seen making direct contact.

But the man who walked in behind Aach she didn't recognize. "Ah, there you are," Bail said, claiming one of the empty chairs around the sitting area for himself. "Aach, I believe you already know Mon Mothma's staff: Captain Drayson and her assistant, Lynia. And, of course, the Senator herself."

"Of course," Aach said, taking each of them in. "Senator," he added as he came to the end, with a respectful nod.

"It is good to see you, Aach," Mon Mothma smiled. She glanced behind him. "And who is this gentleman?"

"An associate of mine," Aach told her, slipping aside so the man could step forward. "May I introduce Captain Garven Dreis?"

"Captain?" Drayson repeated. "Captain of what?"

"I served in my planet's Air Defense Fleet during the Clone Wars," Dreis explained, in a slow regional drawl Mon Mothma couldn't quite place. "On Virujansi."

That was it. "I am familiar with the campaign on Virujansi," she said. "Welcome, Captain. We are glad for your company." She turned back to Bail. "And why has the unfortunate captain been roped into our little conspiracy?"

"For the record, Senator, he approached us," Aach intervened, urging Dreis on. "Captain?"

Dreis cleared his throat. "For the past couple months I've been working as a test pilot at the Incom Corporation's new fighter division. Ever since the end of the Clone Wars they've been looking to develop something that could rival the success of their previous work on the ARC-170."

"And with the rise of Sienar's TIE series, Incom's concerned they're lagging behind for fresh Imperial contracts," Lynia suggested.

Dreis nodded. "Exactly. Hence the project I've been assigned to. Take a look."

He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small holo-disc, laying it on the table. "The T-65B," he identified the small, nimble starfighter that suddenly appeared. "Incom's newest space superiority fighter. Equally suited for intercept and hit-and-fade missions as it is for escort or bomber duty. These here," he pointed at the pairs of cylindrical pods situated on either side of the cockpit, "these are 4L4 fusial thrust engines, allowing for speeds up to 70 MGLT. They're fast," he added at Mon Mothma's blank stare. "You've probably already noticed the four laser cannons, one for each wing; it also sports two Krupx torpedo launchers that can hold a payload up to three each, and a Koensayr R300 hyperdrive motivator for deep-space operation." Dreis leaned back and smiled. "There's no official name yet, but the boys have taken to calling her the 'X-wing.'"

The X-wing. Yes, Mon Mothma could see that, judging from the way the two wings on either side split out when in attack position. "Very interesting, Captain," she said, trying to sound respectful. She looked between Aach and Bail. "And why is Captain Dreis showing us this so-called 'X-wing?'"

Aach smiled grimly. "Because we're going to steal it."

There was a sudden silence in the room, the kind of hard, deep silence no one wants to break first. "Excuse me?" Drayson braved at last.

"Captain Dreis and his team are going to steal it. This," Bail pointed at the holo-disc, "this is to be the first weapon in our true campaign against the Emperor. You heard the captain: it's versatile, it's powerful…and most importantly, it's small. Well-suited to our goals for armed rebellion."

Mon Mothma shared a glance with Lynia. This had certainly gotten interesting. "And are we readying to make armed rebellion, then?" she asked pointedly.

"You've read the reports," Bail said. "Systems across the galaxy are grown tired with the Emperor's iron rule. It's going to come to a head soon: you know it as well as I. The old Republic can't be salvaged anymore, I see that now…so we have to clear the way for the new one. I'd prefer we be prepared when that time comes." He jabbed a finger at the holo. "And that means fighters."

Mon Mothma frowned, reminded for a moment of what she had told Tarkin tonight: that Chandrilans considered violence a last resort. But haven't we exhausted all the others? she asked herself pointedly. "What do you think, Captain?" she asked, turning to Drayson now.

Drayson studied the holo-schematics carefully. "We don't have many starfighters in the Chandrilan Defense Fleet," he admitted, "so I'm relatively unfamiliar with such craft. But I agree with Senator Organa: a snubfighter would make an ideal tool for the kind of guerilla warfare we'd need in a campaign against the Empire. Assuming it's as powerful as Captain Dreis says," he added dryly.

"Oh, it is," Dreis assured him. "Trust me, I know starfighters. This little beauty could even take down one of those fancy Star Destroyers, given the right opportunity."

Drayson snorted. "A starfighter take out a capital ship?" he said incredulously. "I don't know about that—"

He died off at a gesture from Mon Mothma. "When would you do it?" she asked Dreis.

The man glanced at Aach, shrugged. "In a couple of days, probably," Aach told her. "We'll need that much time to make sure the rest of Captain Dreis's team is in position."

"We're all with you, ma'am," Dreis added, offering her a salute.

Mon Mothma hid a smile. "Does that mean you approve?" Bail asked, looking at her.

She stared back at him. "I approve," she said at last. It felt strange to say it out loud. She'd spent so long planning for this moment, it felt almost surreal that it had finally arrived— "It's risky, but I agree it is the best alternative available to us right now."

"Then you may move forward with your plan, Captain," Bail told Dreis. "Aach or myself will be touch in a few days."

"Yes, sir," Dreis nodded; and then, straightening, offered Mon Mothma a deferential bow. "Senator Mothma. I just wanted to say I'm looking forward to working with you. It was your speeches in the Senate last month that helped convince us to join with Aach here."

"Thank you, Captain," she said, trying to ignore the sudden frown she caught on Drayson's face. "We look forward to working with you as well. All of us."

Dreis offered another bow. Then, escorted by Aach, the two removed themselves from the room via the side-door through which they'd come in. "What was that last bit all about?" Drayson demanded.

"Don't you know? The Senator's oratory has made her something of a cause célèbre lately," Bail smiled, "particularly among the lower classes. She's become quite the recruiting tool…even if she does still need to learn when to cool it down."

"Yes, well," Mon Mothma smoothed her robe. "Can I assume that concludes our 'secret business' for the night?"

"Yes," Bail confirmed, "and it's probably best if you three were soon gone, too. I didn't spot anything out front, but that doesn't mean the ISB couldn’t have left a probe droid behind. If they don't catch you leaving soon, they might get suspicious. Come on," he said, getting up from his chair and gesturing towards the library door, "I'll walk you out."

----------

It wasn't until they were halfway on the ride back to Wroshyr Tower—and an exhausted Mon Mothma had settled tiredly in the aircar’s front seat—that she suddenly remembered: about Lynia's vision, and an aura gone inexplicably red. "I am sure it is nothing to worry about," she told herself quietly, for the third time; and then leaned her head back, and closed her eyes asleep.