Chapter Text
A/N: Some readers may have noticed that I changed the title of this fic. I originally intended this to be the title, but I chickened out thinking it gave too much away. After much deliberation with myself, I changed it back. You'll see what I mean in the end :)
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2 ABY
General Carlist Rieekan is sweating. His forehead shines under the bright array of the illumination banks as his fingers drum a nervous rhythm on the table. His pale blue eyes stare stalwartly at the polished plasteel surface of the furniture. As if the answer to his conundrum is etched into its bright finish.
Mon Mothma sympathizes with Rieekan. She too keenly feels the urgency of the moment. She crosses her legs, only to uncross them, and smoothes the long white silk of her dress each time.
Admiral Ackbar sits perfectly still. A study in tranquility. His white uniform is immaculate and his large rust-colored webbed hands are folded placidly in his lap. His mottled domed head faces the wall of the counsel room, though his yellow goggle-like crystalline eyes take in over 300 degrees of vision on either side. She muses he sees every detail in the room. The Mon Calamari admiral swivels his focus onto her and maybe she imagines it, but it seems an optimistic sparkle enters his eye.
She wishes she shared his sanguine outlook on this matter.
General Airen Cracken sent her his regrets a half rotation ago. The spymaster was busy overseeing an intelligence operation on the other side of the Outer Rim but told her to alert him to any new developments. His best operative would be able to handle the situation she faces, he said.
Colonel Adi Jinn.
Another one of his blood thirsty agents no doubt. Mon knows the Alliance greatly benefited from their work, especially at Scariff… The Death Star would still be around had it not been for the Intelligence Department. But, stars knew what sort of unscrupulous activities might be perpetrated this time.
Mon wrings her hands beneath the table. A soft sigh escapes her lips.
She dislikes Cracken. She disliked Draven more — though he surprised her in the end. By laying down his life for the Princess.
The moral pragmatism of these intelligence officers is something she despises. If she’s being honest, it deeply disgusts her. For Mon, right is right and wrong is wrong. But, Cracken is a man whose moral compass shifts with the wind.
Still, she can’t deny that their circumstances are dire.
She lifts a hand to hold her head as she closes her eyes. A burgeoning tension headache squeezes her temples dully. She swallows thickly against the churning acid in her stomach.
If they lost Leia… or even Luke… would the morale of their forces hold up?
The counsel chamber door slid open with a sharp pneumatic hiss.
Mon opens her eyes and sees a young woman step confidently and gracefully over the threshold. She clears her throat and immediately sits up straight in her seat. She schools her shocked expression to one of poise and consideration.
The last person she expects is a woman.
Cracken’s operative can’t be more than thirty and it’s hard to guess exactly how tall she is by the thickness of the soles of her charcoal boots. Perhaps as tall as Mon herself? She wears a black combat suit with dark plasteel armor spanning her chest and over her shoulders. Jet black plasteel plates shield the front of her thighs and pitch shin guards fit over her boots from her ankles to her knees. A pair of coal gloves rest in her right hand as she comes to stand near the head of the counsel table. She nears the empty chair that would have sat Cracken.
The agent has dark brown shoulder length hair, a long symmetrical face, prominent cheekbones, a petite nose, and a sharp jawline. Her dark eyes sweep the counsel chamber with serious contemplative intent, examining each of them in turn before her gaze lands on Mon.
She sees Ackbar and Rieekan sit a bit higher in their seats. The admiral is content to simply look appraisingly at the newcomer, while the general gives her a brusque nod in greeting.
A strange fleeting sensation passes over Mon’s head and body, like a breeze that can’t be felt. A caress, but one without touch. Her headache eases for a moment. Chills run down her spine at the eerie feeling. She grabs a hold of the arm rest of her chair.
“Colonel Jinn, is it?” Mon finds her voice. She musters a quick polite smile but it fades in response to the durasteel mask of dispassion the agent wears. The agent’s mind and heart is just as armored as her body, Mon muses.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jinn responds, her tone is crisp and direct.
Mon winces at the curtness. Just like Draven.
She thinks there’s a hint of a Coruscanti accent in the agent’s voice.
“We have a serious situation, Colonel,” Mon says, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “Princess Leia and Commander Luke Skywalker disappeared five standard days ago. They were sent to meet with our tentative allies on Circarpous IV but never arrived.” She sighs, folds her hands carefully on the table. “Now, our intel tells us that they cannot be raised on any of our hyperwave channels.
“It appears that something terrible has happened, but we do not know what. We do not have the manpower or safety assurances to assemble a search party to look for them. Being that as it may, we the members of the High Command can’t allow their disappearance to go unexamined. Far too much is at stake as we reassemble our forces after our evacuation from Yavin 4. And… losing Princess Leia and Commander Skywalker after our losses from the Battle of Yavin would be devastating to the morale of our troops.”
She studies the young woman’s steely countenance. “Colonel, you must understand that if something happens during this assignment… if you were to be captured… I cannot guarantee that we will have another operative to send after you. If you agree to this mission,” she raises her brows for emphasis, “you will be on your own.”
Colonel Jinn doesn’t appear surprised at all. In fact, she slowly nods in her head in agreement. After a quiet moment of consideration. “That’s… understandable.”
Definitely a Coruscanti accent, Mon decides.
Rieekan finally speaks up. “I’ve read the reports on some of your past assignments.” He leans forward with interest. “You have a very impressive record. Cracken wrote ‘highly commended performance’ at least three times. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him use those words before.” He offers the Colonel an easy smile. “The Alliance already owes you a great debt for your contributions to this war.”
“There is also the matter of promotion,” Admiral Ackbar joins in.
Mon gives him a careful sidelong glance.
“General Draven was killed in the line of duty nearly one standard year ago. As I’m sure you’re aware, his position has yet to be filled.” Ackbar waves a webbed hand in her direction. “I believe your stellar performance as Colonel of the Intelligence Service is enough commendation for this role.” He considers her carefully with his large round yellow eyes. His voice takes on a more commanding tone. “Bring them back alive, Colonel, and the position is yours.”
That brings a spark to the operative’s eyes. A slight lift of her brows. Not happiness, at least not in any manner Mon recognizes. But, there’s a distinct light of interest. Ambition perhaps?
She’s yet to encounter female operatives other than her cousin. Sartha is stern, stubborn, and brave.
Mon sees common traits in the colonel as well. But, there are others. There is discipline, patience, and steely professionalism.
Like an assassin.
Colonel Jinn stands to attention and salutes the admiral. “Yes, sir.”
Ackbar returns the gestures. “You are dismissed, Colonel.”
Mon watches as Jinn brusquely turns and exits the counsel chamber as silently as she entered. A dark specter retreating down the hall. Mon slouches slightly, allowing herself to lean back into her chair. She can’t help but feel this is an ill-fated mission.