Four

 "Mon Mothma? Senator!"

Mon Mothma felt herself being shaken, violently; she awoke with a start. For a moment all she could remember was the strange dream she'd been having: about herself, and Bail and Tarkin, and even the Emperor…and above all the distinct image of a galaxy enflamed in red. Then her eyes focused, and in the darkness she saw staring down at her two glowing, nightmarish, saucer-like discs. It took her brain a second to realize what she was looking at: the faceplate and photoreceptors of Deesix, peering over as he leaned beside her bedside. "What is it, Deesix?" she asked.

"Forgive the intrusion, Madam," Deesix begged, in maybe the most concerned tone Mon Mothma had ever heard him use, "but there is an urgent matter that demands your immediate attention."

"It most certainly should be urgent," she warned through a yawn. A glance over at the chrono— "You're aware it is three in the morning?"

"Yes, Madam," Deesix said. In the darkness she saw a sudden blob of white: he was holding up one of her cream-colored robes. "I assure you I would not have awoken you for anything less. Mr. Aach is waiting in the living area."

"Aach!" Mon Mothma blurted, coming fully awake. Aach never made direct contact, not ever: especially not at Mon Mothma's personal apartment. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid only Mr. Aach can answer that question." Deesix raised the robe pointedly. "If you will get dressed, Madam?"

It took Mon Mothma only a minute to get the robe on before she was scurrying through the bedroom door into the main living area. Aach was there all right, clad in his typical dark cloak and standing awkwardly by the large bay that overlooked the Senate Building. Usually the rotunda was swarming with activity, even after evening; but tonight it seemed strangely muted, almost quiet, with the occasional spot-light upon its exterior the only point of interest. Aach turned round at the sound of the bedroom door opening. "Senator Mothma," he greeted, halving the distance between them before the door had barely closed.

"Aach," Mon Mothma greeted in turn. She took a look toward the open window; but surely the ISB didn't have any probe droids lurking about. Did they? "What in the worlds brings you here? This must be important—your visit is highly unorthodox!"

"I'm sorry, Senator," Aach said quickly, taking her hands, "Senator Organa would have done it any other way if he could. I'll get to the point at once: you're in danger."

"Danger?" Mon Mothma repeated. She glanced back at Deesix. "What kind of danger?"

"The imminent kind, else the Senator wouldn't have sent me. I've already explained it to your droid. We need to get you out of here. Now!" He started pulling her toward the main foyer.

"I don't understand," Mon Mothma resisted, "what kind of danger? Aach, slow down!"

"I thought the droid had told you," Aach frowned. "That little speech you gave today…it didn't go over well with the Emperor. He's released the order for your arrest."

Arrest. The word washed over Mon Mothma, skirted right past her: as if it were intended to apply to someone else. "I still don't understand," she heard herself say, dimly.

"You're to be taken into Imperial custody," Aach elaborated. "No doubt for imprisonment and interrogation. The ISB is already on its way." He took a deep breath. "They know, Senator. About you, and Captain Dreis, all of it; or at least suspect enough that it doesn't matter. They must, otherwise the Emperor wouldn't be sending the Bureau themselves." He risked a peek out the window. "My best guess is, we’ve got only moments until Imperial stormtroopers arrive to take you in. And anyone else found with you."

Mon Mothma looked about the room. She realized suddenly they weren't alone: Lynia stood huddling in the corner not far from her own room, clad in one of the thin night shifts she usually wore. "Lynia?" Mon Mothma asked softly.

"He's telling the truth, Senator," Lynia whispered back, crouched and scared and clearly uneasy. "At least, he thinks he is," she amended, her blue eyes flickering in the darkness. "We need to go—before they arrive."

"She's right," Aach told Mon Mothma, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a holo-disc. "Take a look."

He turned on the projector, and a collection of images started flashing. "ISB stormtroopers," Aach identified the figures for her. She counted at least twenty in that shot. "Heading this way. They must already be in the building, if I'm picking them up this close. We need to get you out of here."

Mon Mothma watched them for a moment, marching in lock-step in a two-man line… "Then let us go," she decided, after a deep breath. Bail warned me, she reminded herself, had warned her and she hadn't listened—and now they were all about to pay the price. "If they're on their way," she went on, looking through the holo-image at Aach directly, "we need to go now."

He stared back at her, a grim but determined expression forming on his face. "Then let's go," he agreed, scanning the room. "Is there anything you need to bring with you?"

Mon Mothma took his meaning. "Everything related to Cantham House and the Rebellion is in Deesix," she told him. "The ISB won't find anything here."

"We'd better take the droid too, then," Aach concluded. And ensure the ISB don’t get their hands on him, she almost heard him add, but he had the decency not to say it aloud. "Follow me."

He had them wait huddled in the foyer while he checked the front door. But it was late, or rather early—three in the morning, she had told Deesix, far too early for anyone other than service droids to be muddling about—and the main halls were quite empty. Satisfied, Aach waved them on, as one-by-one they filed out into the corridor. "Where are we going?" Lynia hissed behind Mon Mothma.

"Main lift," he whispered back, glancing down a cross-path. "Another of the Senator's agents is reaching out to your man, Drayson. He'll collect your ship and then meet us on the Tower roof."

Mon Mothma barely heard them. "I still can't believe this," she was muttering. "Arrested? I knew that my speech would not go over well, but this…It's too bold, even for the Emperor."

"You saw the holo-image," Aach pointed out. "And forgive me for saying so, but…Senator Organa did warn you. The ISB have had their eye on us for some months. That speech was just the final push—all the excuse needed." Out of the corner of her eye Mon Mothma caught Lynia's sudden glare at the back of his head.

"No," Mon Mothma said, before Lynia could respond. "You are right about the ISB, Aach, and perhaps I should have been more careful. But I have made such public comments before. Perhaps not so direct, and never to the Emperor's face—how could I, when he rarely appears at Senate sessions anymore?—but this is about more than just speeches." She felt her jaw clench. "Tarkin. Did you see him, at the Emperor's side? The man was practically foaming. Yes, it must have been Tarkin who pushed for this…"

"It's well-known the Admiral doesn't appreciate being made to look foolish," Aach agreed. "You may be right."

"The Senate won't sit still for this!" Lynia spoke up finally. "When they hear the Emperor's attempted to detain an Imperial Senator—"

"They'll what?" Aach challenged. "If all goes to plan the Senate won't even find out. I saw the arrest order: 'to be taken quietly,' those were the Emperor's instructions. That's why they're doing it now, at night: hoping no one will notice." He grinned darkly. "Although now that I'm here that may prove difficult…Ah, Sithspit!"

He stumbled to a sudden halt. "What is it?" Mon Mothma wondered, trying to peer over his shoulder.

"This," he showed her, turning around with his holo-disc. "They've reached the main lift and put it into lock-down. There's probably already a squad on its way up." He gritted his teeth thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you know another way out of here?"

"There is a second bank back the way we came, sir," Deesix offered, "for service droids and other deliveries."

"Does it go all the way to the roof?" Mon Mothma asked.

"Doesn't matter," Aach said. "If those troops are on their way up, it's our best bet getting out of here." He waved the droid onward. "Lead the way, Deesix."

They all shuffled back the way they had come, following Deesix now as he led them down a second cross-corridor toward the back-service bank. Mon Mothma puffed in line after Lynia, keenly aware of Aach's breathing as he brought up the rear behind her. He still had his holo-disc out, and she spied him periodically checking the thing for updates. "How much farther, Deesix?"

"We are almost there, Madam," Deesix said, coming up on another hallway. "It is just around this corner—"

"Wait!" Aach urged, leaping forward and grabbing the droid by the elbow. "Do you hear that?"

They all stood silently for a moment, listening. "I don't hear anything," Lynia tried.

"I do," Aach slipped past her. "Stay here."

He sidled up to the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner. "Just what I thought," he whispered. "More ISB. Two of them, guarding this bank as well."

Mon Mothma could hear them now, too: the faint but unmistakable static of stormtrooper chatter, coming around the bend. "What do we do now?" she wondered, trying to get a peek of her own. They were there, all right: she could just make out the pair, standing idly but with blaster rifles held at the ready. "Should we go back the way we came?"

"They already got a squad up by the main lift," Aach shook his head. "It looks like we're trapped." There was the soft, scrapping sound of metal against cloth; and Mon Mothma watched as he pulled a small hold-out blaster from his cloak. "What are you doing with that?" she demanded.

"What does it look like?" Aach growled, checking the power levels. He let a critical eye sweep across the three of them. "I don't suppose any of you thought to bring a blaster, too?"

Mon Mothma pulled herself up. "Chandrila is a peaceful planet," she reminded him sternly. "Our people do not subscribe…"

"Sure, sure," Aach said, "Alderaanians, too. You're welcome to go out there and try to reason with them." He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Mon Mothma shuffled uneasily.

"Well, then," he finished, as if that settled the matter.

"There may be another way," Lynia interrupted suddenly, placing a restraining hand on his blaster-arm. "A third exit the ISB wouldn't know about."

"Third exit?" Aach repeated, sharing a look with Mon Mothma. "What's she talking about?"

"It's not far from the Senator's apartment," Lynia elaborated, helping Aach gently lower his blaster. "Come with me."

They hurried again back the way they had come, this time with Lynia taking the lead. Mon Mothma studied Aach jogging beside her as they went; he still had his blaster out, she noted, but at least he'd switched the safety back on. Deesix straggled after as fast as he could. "This way," Lynia announced, coming to another corridor. "It's down here."

It wasn't a corridor Mon Mothma recognized, although that wasn't saying much: most of her time in Wroshyr Tower was spent working from her apartment, not wandering the hallways outside it. To her eyes it seemed no different than any of the other corridors that criss-crossed through the Tower—the usual collection of paneling and ornate friezes, artful depictions of Wookiee cities and Kashyyykian wildlife. But then, Lynia sometimes saw things differently. "This is it," the woman confirmed, running up to one of the panels. "It's here."

Aach frowned. "This is a dead-end," he told her. "What are you on about?"

"It's one of these," Lynia pressed, running her hands along the frieze. "I just need a second."

"Lynia—" Mon Mothma started. She could hear a new sound now, echoing back behind: not the modulated chatter of a couple stormtroopers, but something much worse—the unmistakable crunch of marching boot-steps, a full squad filing in formation. That group of ISB agents Aach had been talking about, the one that had ridden up the main lift…it must be following after them now.

"Just give me a second," Lynia huffed. Her probing fingers suddenly found the appropriate indentation, and with a soft click the panel in front of her popped open. "See?" she said. "I told you."

They all stood gaping beside her. The panel had slid aside, revealing a dark opening within: a secret passageway! "Maintenance tunnels," Lynia identified them, with a smug little smile plastered on her face. "Left over from when the Tower was first being built. They don't get used much anymore, except by the MSE droids that do cleaning."

"Maintenance tunnels," Mon Mothma repeated, taking a step up and looking inside. The passage was a little narrow, but it was well-maintained and reasonably well-lit…and most importantly, it led away from here. "I'm impressed. How did you find out about these?"

"I pulled up the architect's schematics when we first moved in," Lynia explained. "Thought it might be useful to find out if there were any potential escape routes, and these caught my eye. The original schematics," she amended, looking at Aach. "The final copies—the ones submitted to the Senate Library—don't show them. It's doubtful the ISB knows anything about it."

"Who cares how she learned about them?" Aach interjected, urging them all inside with his blaster. "Let's just get in before we get any more company!"

They scurried through single-file. Now Mon Mothma took the lead, hurrying up the stairs. "Just keep going," Lynia hissed. "These should take us all the way to an access hatch on the roof."

"Only a couple more flights," Aach puffed behind her. The holo-disc in his hand had been replaced with a comlink, and he was speaking urgently into the mic now. "Captain Drayson, this is Aach. Captain Drayson, do you copy?"

There was a hiss of static, and a muffled voice mumbling from the other end. "I've secured Senator Mothma and her team," Aach explained. "We're on our way to the landing pads now—we'll meet you and the Hope there."

A quick confirmation, and then the comlink went dark. "Landing pad?" Lynia frowned. "I thought you said we were meeting Drayson on the roof?"

"That was just for the benefit of any nosy ISB agents who might be listening in," Aach told her, prancing up the last steps, "…and there will be nosy ISB agents listening in. Don't worry, Drayson knows where to meet us. Ah, looks like we're here."

They had reached the top of the stairwell and the end of the line. A small, single door blocked their way; Mon Mothma pressed at the panel switch to the left, and the door slid aside. A sudden gust of Coruscant night air came blowing through the doorway, brushing across her hair and face. "Everyone out," Aach instructed from behind her. "Quickly now!"

They all stumbled out onto the roof. It was another misty night, and the skies above dark and foreboding: the city searchlights barely able to penetrate as they shot up from the streets below, scanning the cloud-lines. "I don't see Drayson," Lynia said, practically bumping into Mon Mothma. She took a pointed look around. "I don't see anyone!"

"Neither do I," Aach admitted; and beneath his cloak Mon Mothma could see him fiddling again with that blaster. Worried, perhaps, that the ISB had seen through his little subterfuge after all?

"He should be here by now," Lynia went on, desperately. "I thought you said Drayson knew where to meet us!"

"He does," Aach fired back, craning his neck towards the sky. "If you'll just wait a min—ah, there he is!"

He jabbed a finger upward. Out of the dark clouds at last emerged the Chandrila Hope, its chrome exterior and muted running lights making it look like a phantom in the night. Carefully it came gliding over the roof of Wroshyr Tower, before settling into a position just above them. The entry ramp extended out expectantly.

"You see?" Aach smiled, releasing his hold on the blaster. "Everyone aboard. Lynia—give Deesix a hand with that ramp, will you?"

For a moment it looked like she might argue with him; then, almost reluctantly, she guided Deesix over and started helping him up. "You too, Senator," Aach instructed. "Trust me: you don't want to wait around for the next shuttle. My guess is the city air patrols will be here any minute."

"What about you?" Mon Mothma asked. But one look at his face told her all she needed to know. "You're not coming with us, are you?"

"I'm afraid this is indeed where we part ways," Aach said, with another smile. "I've other assignments for Senator Organa to complete: I can't spend all my time looking after you. I'll find my own way out, it shouldn't be hard once your ship clears the Tower…but don't worry, your man Drayson knows what to do. There's an abandoned Jedi medical facility in the asteroid belt near Polis Massa—he should already have the coordinates. Senator Organa's set up a safe-house for you there. He'll try and meet you once things have cooled down."

"Thank you, Aach," Mon Mothma said, reaching out for the man's hand. "For everything."

"Don't thank me," Aach urged; even in the dark, Mon Mothma saw him blushing. "Thank Senator Organa. It was his work, mostly."

"Then tell Bail thank you for me," Mon Mothma said, "but thank you, too."

Aach was saved from further comment by a sudden flash of the Hope's running lights. "Signal from Captain Drayson," he identified it, "air patrols are almost here. Get going, Senator."

She gave Aach one last look; then turned and hurried after Lynia and Deesix up the entry ramp. She found them already waiting for her in the ship's cockpit, strapped into the comm and navigation stations in the back. Drayson, not surprisingly, was there too, fidgeting impatiently at the pilot controls. "Finally," she heard him mutter, as she slipped through the door. "Air patrols will be in range any second. Where's Aach?"

"Aach is not coming," Mon Mothma told them, dropping into the co-pilot station. "It's just us."

"Then let's go," Drayson declared, pulling on the flight controls and sending them rising back into the clouds. Mon Mothma glanced out the viewport. She could still spy Aach, though barely: only a tiny spec of a cloaked figure as the Hope rose swiftly up into the night sky. By the time Drayson had them angled and rocketing off toward the upper atmosphere, the Tower roof was empty.

----------

Tarkin was trying to relax in his main cabin when he received the call. It was just reaching early morning on the planet below—too early for most civilized beings to be up and about, even on Coruscant—but Tarkin was still on Ghorman time and was having trouble sleeping. So he'd returned here, to the quarters he kept on his Star Destroyer, idly reviewing some of the reports that awaited his attention. A handful fell within the ambit of his old responsibility as admiral, but most pertained to his new promotion to Moff: dossiers on political machinations, economic unrest, and all the other headaches governors had to deal with.

So Governor Tarkin was here—flipping through his data pad, and working hard not to dwell on the embarrassment Mon Mothma had put him through yesterday on the Senate floor—when the intercom on his desk suddenly pinged. "Yes?" he asked lazily, switching it on.

"Apologies for disturbing you, sir," came the voice of a young lieutenant (the one currently on bridge duty, if Tarkin remembered correctly). "We are receiving an emergency message from Coruscant Traffic Control."

"And what is it?" Tarkin pressed, with only half-a-mind. Surely the bridge crew could handle it, whatever it was. He glanced briefly at the chrono by his desk: just past 3 am local time. If he remembered correctly, Emperor Palpatine's troops should be infiltrating Mon Mothma's apartment building right about now.

The lieutenant cleared his throat. "There is a ship attempting to flee the city," he explained carefully. "Sir—it's the Chandrila Hope!"

Tarkin sprang up in his chair, the data pad tumbling to the floor. "What did you say?" he demanded, leaning in toward the intercom. No. It wasn't possible.

"The Chandrila Hope," the lieutenant repeated. "Senator Mothma's personal yacht…"

"I know what the Chandrila Hope is," Tarkin snapped. "Where is it now?"

"They've just cleared the troposphere," the lieutenant said, sounding appropriately timid. "The city's air patrols are unable to pursue. They'll be outside the planetary gravity well in ten minutes."

At which point they'd be able to safely make the jump to hyperspace. "Move the ship into intercept position along their projected escape vector," Tarkin commanded, already getting up from his desk. "I'm on my way."

With a snarl he switched off the intercom. Incompetent imbeciles, he thought angrily—but he didn't mean the bridge lieutenant. Tarkin had no idea how the ISB had managed to bungle this one—a single senator, and a pacifist one at that, slipping out of their net—but he intended to make sure the Emperor ordered a full investigation, just as soon as he was back on Coruscant.

But that was for the future. Right now, he had a senator to catch. Straightening his tunic, Tarkin hurried toward the bridge.

----------

The ship appeared on their scope almost at once. They had barely cleared the troposphere, leaving the airspeeders that safeguarded the skies above Imperial City far behind, when there came a sudden ping from the sensor screen. "What is that?" Lynia pointed at it.

"We've got another ship moving into intercept position," Drayson gritted, his grip on the flight controls looking decidedly white-knuckled.

"TIE fighters?" Mon Mothma suggested. She recalled the patrols they'd seen flitting about the Coruscant space-lanes during their inbound trip.

"Worse," Drayson said, tapping the screen. "Look."

The dot slowly materialized into a distinct image: the triangular shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer. "Terrific," Mon Mothma swallowed, remembering too late that other sight that had been floating above the planet. "How soon will they be on us, Captain?"

"They've trying to block our main escape route. My guess is they'll be within tractor range in seven minutes."

And the navicomputer projected they'd still need another ten before the Hope cleared the planet's gravity well. "Pardon me, Captain, but…what should we do now?" It was Deesix.

"Pray?" Drayson suggested dryly. "I've already got the ship's engines at full power. Unless someone else has any bright ideas?"

Mon Mothma glanced over her shoulder, where she noticed Lynia staring out through the cockpit canopy. "Lynia?" she poked the other woman. "What is it? What do you see?"

With an effort Lynia turned toward her. "That Star Destroyer," she said, regarding Mon Mothma beneath a pair of furrowed brows, "it's the Devastator."

"The Devastator?" Drayson repeated, an abruptly dark tone to his voice. "You mean Governor Tarkin's flagship?"

"The same," Lynia confirmed. She shared a meaningful frown with Mon Mothma. "The very one he used at Ghorman."

Mon Mothma took a peek of her own out the canopy, watching the approaching Star Destroyer with renewed dread. "You saw the way he looked at you," Lynia was whispering in her ear. "During your speech. If Tarkin's in command of that ship…"

"I know," Mon Mothma said quickly. She had most certainly seen how Tarkin had looked: furious, foaming, a man out for blood… "There might be a way," she started, letting her gaze sweep across the rest of the cockpit—across Lynia, and Drayson, and Deesix. She was suddenly, acutely aware of the responsibility she had to the three of them. "If I were to board one of the Hope's escape pods and jettison it back toward the planet, it is possible Tarkin might follow me and let the rest of you go…"

"Senator!" Lynia and Deesix both exclaimed at once.

"Let me finish," she pressed on hastily. "If we were to aim the pod away from the Hope's current trajectory—and if I sent out a broadcast as soon as it launched—"

"Forget it, Senator." This was Drayson, grim at the ship's controls. "We're not abandoning you." Lynia nodded in agreement.

"Captain—"

"Besides," he interrupted, "if you think Tarkin will just break off his pursuit because of one escape pod, you're crazy. With respect, ma'am," he added, in what was no doubt intended to be a differential tone. "Any tractor crew worth its salt can get a lock on two moving targets at the same time."

Even with his superior military experience she wanted to argue. But Mon Mothma knew Drayson was probably right. "All right," she growled back. "What's your suggestion, then?"

"Like I said. We pray."

----------

"Governor," the on-duty lieutenant saluted, as Tarkin cleared the bridge catwalk and entered the Devastator's main command center. "We have a visual lock on the Chandrila Hope. She's coming up on our short-range sensors now."

"Good," Tarkin said, stepping up to one of the many trapezoidal viewports. It was hard to make out anything down there at the moment—mostly a mish-mash of civilian traffic, lost against the dark backdrop of Coruscant below it—but Tarkin could just spy the bright, almost organic shape of the Chandrila Hope, shooting out towards deep space. "How long until we're within tractor range?"

"Three minutes," the lieutenant assured him,  "and it will be an additional three before their ship clears the planet far enough for the jump to lightspeed. Governor, we have them."

"Let's not count our ducks before they hatch, hmm?" Tarkin advised, watching the small, shiny dot as it streaked across the planetary shadow. Trying hard not to remember that embarrassing display Mon Mothma had put him through… "What?" he asked.

The lieutenant was still talking. "I said, should I have the ship's tractor beams standing by?"

Tarkin stared at the young man, considering. At those round, dull green eyes: not so unlike the eyes of Mon Mothma herself, as she glared daggers at him from across the Senate floor— "I've another idea," he decided, turning back toward the viewport. "Ready the ship's turbolaser batteries."

A soft cough sounded from somewhere in the back of the lieutenant's throat. "The…turbolasers, sir?"

"And instruct the TIE pilots to report to their fighters," Tarkin continued, "just to be safe." He shifted his head fractionally. "Is there a problem, lieutenant?"

Whatever that had been in the back of the man's throat, he cleared it. "No problem, Governor. Only…you're certain? You wouldn't rather capture them alive?"

"Quite certain," Tarkin confirmed. The Devastator could take the Hope easily, of course; like the man had said, it would be within tractor range well before Mon Mothma made the lightspeed jump, and no civilian ship could escape once an Imperial Star Destroyer had her lock on it. But taking her alive, like this, with all the planet watching: that would mean a public trial, possibly even in the Senate itself—which would mean more speeches (most certainly by Mon Mothma, and likely by the rest of those pathetic pacifist Senators), further tirades decrying the Emperor and his New Order. When it was all said and done, a conviction was just as likely to make Mon Mothma a martyr for this new spark of rebellion that seemed to be spreading across the galaxy. If public outcry left the Emperor room enough to secure a conviction at all.

But killed while trying to escape—yes, that was much cleaner. Something this lieutenant would have to learn to pick up on, if he wanted a future on Tarkin's bridge. "You have your orders, lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," the man nodded quickly. Whatever his faults, at least he was good at following instruction. "Alpha Group, report to your fighters. Starboard batteries, prepare to fire."

And as the starboard gunners began reporting in, and the pilots of Alpha Group confirmed their launch, Tarkin allowed himself a rare smile. Yes, this way was much cleaner indeed.

----------

Back on the Hope, Mon Mothma watched helplessly as, on the sensor scope, the ship finally came within range of the Devastator. But not, apparently, of just its tractor beams. "Hang on!" Drayson barked, throwing them into a wild twist as the Star Destroyer suddenly opened fire. Spears of bright energy lit up the Coruscant skies.

"Oh my!" Deesix exclaimed from behind him, throwing up his arms. "What are they doing?"

"They're firing on us!" Lynia said, aghast.

"Yes," Mon Mothma sighed, staring out at the arrowhead shape that was slowly filling up the viewport. Another flash, and another salvo; and Drayson sent them into a second dive designed to evade the barrage. "It seems once again that Governor Tarkin has elected violence over non-violence."

"But why?" Lynia asked, grabbing at her chair as Drayson finally leveled them out. "I thought Aach said the Emperor wanted us alive."

"He did; when we could be taken quietly." This last was Drayson again, even more white-knuckled at the Hope's helm. "But now that we're out here in the open, with all the planet to see—"

"He wants to avoid a public trial," Lynia finished for him, "another chance for the Senator to make a declaration against the Empire."

"Exactly." On Drayon's scope a new signal started flashing. "We've got another problem," he said, dividing his attention from the controls to risk a look. "TIE fighters, heading our way."

"It looks like a full squadron," Mon Mothma confirmed. "The Governor must want me worse than I thought." She half-glanced over her shoulder at Lynia. "Are you certain you wouldn't like to try my plan now?"

Lynia opened her mouth— "Here they come," Drayson cut her off, just as the ship started shuddering with the impact of multiple laser blasts against the dorsal shields. He banked hard to the right, trying to throw their pursuers off; but TIE fighters were far more nimble than a simple civilian space yacht, and their pilots stayed hot on the Hope's trail. "Any ideas?"

"Perhaps we should try praying?" Mon Mothma suggested, bringing up a damage summary on her screen. It didn't look good. "You told me once the Hope had the best shields on the market."

"She does!" Drayson protested, sounding a little defensive. "But no shield can hold up forever against a pounding from an Imperial Star Destroyer. We're going to need to come up with an exit plan, before we get pulverized out here." ("Pulverized!" Deesix moaned pitifully.)

"The navicomputer still needs two minutes until we're clear of the gravity well," Lynia reported; and for maybe the first time in her life, Mon Mothma wished she'd taken Aach's advice and had Drayson install some weapons on this ship. Then she was rocked in her seat, again, as the Hope shuddered from another hit; on her screen, several highlighted lines switched from yellow into red. "I'm not sure the ship can take much more of this, Captain!"

A new light on Drayson's own screen started flashing. "What's that?" he demanded, unwilling this time to spare a look away from the controls.

"The sensor is picking up another group of fighters," Mon Mothma said, leaning over, "coming in around the Devastator."

"Not more Imperial fighters!" Deesix wailed.

"I don't think so," she studied the screen more closely, "they are coming in past the Devastator, out of hyperspace. TIE fighters don't have hyperspace capability, do they?"

"They're not TIEs," Lynia blurted, "they're X-wings. Look!"

She pointed. Out beyond the dark silhouette of the Star Destroyer there was a flicker of pseudomotion; and in perfect formation emerged a full squadron of Incom T-65B starfighters, wingtip lasers primed and extended and ready for trouble. Mon Mothma watched in fascination as the twelve little ships—they were X-wings, all right; she recognized their agile, angular form from Captain Dreis's holo-schematics—slipped around the Devasator and made a bee-line direct toward the Hope…and, more importantly, the small cluster of TIE fighters currently swarming behind it. All at once those wingtip lasers opened fire. Three of the TIEs were caught flat-footed, exploding into balls of dissipating energy before their pilots even knew what hit them; the rest scattered. "Attention, Chandrila Hope," the comm suddenly crackled, "this is X-wing Red Leader. Do you copy?"

"Captain Dreis!" Mon Mothma gasped with relief. "We are certainly glad to see you! What are you doing here?"

"Our…mutual friend thought you might need some assistance," Dreis told her carefully. No need to mention Bail by name: even on a supposedly secure comm channel, you never knew who might be listening in. "It looks like he wasn't far off the mark. My R2 unit's picking up some damage to your ship. Can you still make the jump to lightspeed?"

Beside her, Drayson nodded. "Captain Drayson thinks so," Mon Mothma said into the comm. "The hyperdrive casing is cracked, but we should be able to make it to the safe-house." As if on cue, there came a beep from the station beside Lynia. "And the navicomputer says we are free of the gravity well. Can your friends clear a path out of here?"

"No problem, Senator," Dreis told her, swinging his X-wing back around. "Red boys, form up. Attack pattern delta."

Around the Hope, the twelve starfighters arranged themselves into escort position. "What's the route, Red Leader?" Drayson asked.

"We're going straight through that Star Destroyer, Hope," Dreis said. "That outta catch them off guard."

"Eager to see if those snubfighters of yours really can take on a capital ship?" Drayson asked, a little nervously.

Over the comm, Dreis laughed. "Not today, Hope. Maybe another time. Keep up if you can."

His ship suddenly burst forward, lasers firing at the dark bulk of the Devastator in front of them. Drayson brought the Hope in behind, trailing Dreis's slipstream and following as best he could as the X-wings skimmed low along the Star Destroyer's surface. There were great flashes from the turbolaser batteries scattered along the ship's lines, lancing out at the Hope and its escort; more bursts of laser fire behind them as the remaining TIEs tried coming in above; but the X-wings wove easily through it all, evading the incoming blasts like a fine dance. For one, brief moment there was a bright flash, as one of the turbolasers finally connected with the front fighter's shields: but the X-wing sailed through, apparently undamaged. "That was a close one," Drayson muttered, before flipping on the comm. "Red Leader, are you all right?"

"Never better, Hope," Dreis's voice came back—it was hard to tell over the crackling comm signal, but to Mon Mothma's ears he almost sounded…excited? "A little cooked, but these things can really take a beating. Red Five, Red Six: take the lead."

On either side of the Hope two of Dreis's X-wings jumped forward, laser cannons blasting away at the offending turbolaser battery. Then they were suddenly rising up, up towards the command superstructure that stuck out from the ship's aft like a great monolith. They flew so close, Mon Mothma was certain she saw, if for a brief moment, the tall, sallow-skinned figure of Governor Tarkin himself, standing at the bridge viewport—could even have sworn she spied a look of furious, impotent rage plastered on his face, as he watched the Hope flit helplessly past—and then they were clear of the Devastator, and it was only the black of deep space before them.

With a relieved sigh Drayson reached over and yanked on the hyperdrive levers. The stars stretched into star-lines, and the Chandrila Hope leaped into hyperspace, leaving Coruscant far behind. It would be years before Mon Mothma would return again.