Chapter Text
“Ma’am! We need to get out of here and make our way to Echo Base. We are too close to Scarif. The shockwave will…”
Mon gripped the railing in front of her. The blinding lights, the tension, pulled down her shoulders all the way to her fingers. She braced herself against another hit to the hull. It was all happening at once, everything she had told herself that could happen, everything she had readied herself for, all wrapped into a single day—the hope, the fear, and, amongst it all, the aching loss. Whatever was left of Scarif, the truth had many layers; the story that she would tell and the one she would hold for herself.
“Captain, make the jump to hyperspace.”
The brilliant lights streamed past them, throwing them to another hiding spot, another temporary home. She closed her eyes as another life was left behind her; how many times would she have to do this?
In her heart, she could hear herself say the word she never had time to say out loud…
Goodbye.
.
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5 BBY
“Are you telling the truth, Director Krennic?”
The senator for N'Zoth was buzzing literally and metaphorically as his tiny wings propelled him from one end of the witness box to the other as he looked to catch Orson Krennic in a lie. The old buzzard came so close to Krennic that he wondered if he could accidentally swat him away.
“The truth, Senator Brasic, is that imperial progress cannot be beholden to these petty enquiries about budget expenditure. You only want transparency when you haven’t seen results. Still, when we provide your world with a quicker method of harvesting or construction materials that reduces the excavation of your own natural resources, you never seem to ask how or why. In fact, I’d argue that the truth is inconvenient and you’d rather not know.”
Senator Brasic took one of his long purple fingers and pushed his sliding glasses up his nostrils, making a sniffling noise that Orson wasn’t sure was directed at him or merely a product of the man’s age and species.
“Director Krennic,” a feminine voice spoke from behind Senator Brasic.
Orson tilted his head to the side of Brasic, and Brasic took the hint to fly back to his seat as Senator Mon Mothma stood up.
“Senator…”
He had seen the statuesque redhead before, around various imperial events and was sure he even bumped into her once in the art history museum, but he hadn’t ever caught her name.
“Senator Mon Mothma,” she answered for him.
He repeated her name in his head, trying to associate the woman with the name.
“Director Krennic,” she continued. “Perhaps if complete transparency is a problem for you, then you could explain to us what you are not doing. As you must realise, Senator Brasic and his compatriots are only concerned with the potential impacts on their trade routes. A little reassurance perhaps?”
A stifled laugh tugged at Krennic’s smile, and he gave up on hiding it, laughing at the request.
“I wasn’t aware Imperial senators required consoling.”
Mon narrowed her eyes at Krennic, challenging him to continue with the response she was after. Blue-green eyes met steely blue, and he let her wait just a few seconds longer before turning to Senator Brasic.
“Senator Brasic, I can assure you that the Imperial transports to our research centres will have no impact on your trade routes.”
Brasic’s purple nose scrunched, trying to hold his glasses in place. The crunching noise of the man’s crackling skin attracted a side glance from Senator Mothma, who, though accustomed to the elder Senator’s various noises, tried to ignore how bizarre she found them.
Krennic let out a laugh and slapped his hand on the witness stand before rising.
“Well, if that is all, I will be leaving,” walking off before seeing Senator Organa raise his hand.
Mon looked back at Bail, with her eyes pleading to let it go for now as she began packing up her things.
.
.
Of course, he didn’t remember her name, despite meeting several times during these committees. She should be grateful that she was so forgettable that she could stay under the radar of the Empire’s elite, but this ruffled her feathers more than she liked.
It was only a few weeks ago that they had run into each other at the Art History museum. He had interrupted her discussion with the curator to correct what he believed was an error with one of the panels on military history. She, of course, had introduced herself, and he had quickly continued talking as if she hadn’t spoken a word. It wasn’t that this hadn’t happened before with equally pompous Imperial officers; it was that the curator had so readily indulged Krennic with his apparent corrections that it made her second-guess the reliability of the museum against Imperial propaganda.
As a novice historian herself, she investigated the correction Director Krennic offered, and was more annoyed than ever that he was actually correct. When she shared the information with Luthen, he seemed more amused than anything, which rattled her further.
“Even a broken timepiece can be right twice a day,” he had said.
He’d offered her some advice about what he knew about Krennic from his own sources. The man was ambitious, infinitely curious and volatile. Despite his force of will, he was still prone to dalliances with both women and men who captured his attention. A nocturnal party go-er, who had mellowed over the years, but could occasionally be the subject of conversation in Imperial gutter rags.
From what Luthen had shared and the brief encounters she had with him previously, she saw his personality type as something of an amalgam of different political leaders she had encountered in the past, and even her own husband. But she’d never encountered someone so high in the emperor’s military as colourful as he seemed.
“Try not to let him get under your skin. He’ll be his own downfall soon enough.”
It wasn’t Krennic getting underneath her skin at the moment, but Luthen. She ignored the condescending tone and wondered about the second part. Was it just a general statement about their hopes of the empire falling? Or did Luthen know something else about Krennic he wasn’t sharing?
“I’ve done my best to avoid him this far. Hopefully, he doesn’t need any more funding for his energy project.”
“Energy project?” Luthen’s ears perked up at that.
“From what I’ve been told, it’s part of a scientific research project for the Empire to extend energy supply to all sectors.”
“Interesting…”
Mon wasn’t sure if Luthen was going to add anything to that thought, as they soon were interrupted by a visitor to the shop. Saying her goodbyes, she left the shop and headed back to the Senate to finish for the day.
.
.
Orson had spent the last three weeks overseeing the work on Eadu, checking every calculation twice. He was in awe of the design of the weapon that he was creating. This was no Imperial Star Destroyer; this was a beacon of strength and superiority. When he would leave Eadu, he would make sure he would take a course that would travel past his work in progress so he could gaze at her in all her grandeur.
Her imposing structure would rise like a moon gazing over the horizon. She would dominate over any mortal who would challenge her. She was everything he had worked towards, his genius—and maybe a few others he would of course give credit to—but it was he who made her more than a weapon, and it was he who facilitated the best minds in the galaxy to bring about her glorious vision. So in his eyes, she was his masterpiece, a symbiotic connection he was unwilling to break.
She was, however, not in Coruscant.
He could look out to the view of the plaza and imagine her imposing sphere, but here he could neither speak of her nor share his joy in her with anyone. Normally, he would be thrilled to be in Coruscant, wooed by the lively, rich atmosphere of the city, but this visit, he found himself begging like an outer rim cast off for money to continue building his magnificent temptress.
Politicians, detestable and vile in their bureaucratic ways, he had no time for them or their petty attempts to stifle his own greatness. He was eager to return to his research, but the continued committee hearings he was forced to attend bound him to this place, and now it appeared he couldn’t leave the Senate plaza.
“How long until traffic is cleared?” he demanded of the parking attendant.
The attendant, no more than nineteen, had been busy running between his supervisor and that supervisor’s manager until an Imperial soldier made his way over to try and calm the ever increasingly annoyed Director.
“Sir, there have been multiple pileups on the expressway, and we are just waiting for alternative transportation for you and Senator…Who is it, Faulton?”
“Senator Mothma,” he replied.
“Right, Senator Mothma.”
Krennic’s eyes narrowed.
Her.
“Let me take you to the Imperial lounge to wait. It’s more comfortable, you can access communications equipment if you need, and there’s a bar.”
Krennic’s gruff disposition relented, and he followed the officer to the lounge. When the door opened, he saw Mothma by a window, reading and sipping tea. She looked over at him, and for a brief moment, they both uncovered their true feelings upon seeing one another, brewing agitation.
Krennic looked around. It was just them and the barman.“You will inform me as soon as this situation is resolved and not a minute later,” he said, turning back to the officer.
“Understood, sir,” he replied. He looked over at the Senator, who had been watching everything unfold, and nodded in her direction as well. Agitation or not, he would at least acknowledge the Senator.
“Hefraana Bourbon, neat,” Krennic demanded as he walked to the bar.
He looked over at the Senator while he waited for his drink. She was gazing out the window, watching the last of the light disappear into the Coruscant night.
She seemed relaxed.
The last of the sunlight gave its final dance across her face and her rich auburn hair. Tiny flickers of light darted their way along her skin while her eyes began to close. The way the light melted with her natural colouring made it appear as if she was part of the sun, and now part of the light, giving way to the night.
Beautiful, he thought.
The barman slammed the glass down on the bar in front of him, and it snapped Krennic out of his observations. He looked up at the barman, ready to scowl, but the man had already turned his back. Krennic picked up his glass and swirled the liquid around gently before breathing in its aroma and taking the first sip.
He looked over at the Senator again, the warm glow of the bar lights breached the encroaching darkness of the room, and the artificial light now danced across her face.
In that moment, Orson made a choice.
Picking up his glass, he decided to have a little fun and walked over to the Senator.
“Two truths and a lie,” he said as he placed his glass on his side table near her and took a seat.
She didn’t want to give him the pleasure of reacting so quickly, but the sound of the glass hitting the table made her eyes fly open. Of course, he would sit beside her without asking. Intruding on whatever quiet moment she could get, and assuming that she would want to talk with him.
“Director,” she replied, still not looking at him.
“Senator.”
He leaned forward on his chair, an attempt she didn’t doubt was to get her to look at him.
“Have you ever played two truths and a lie?”
Mon relented, if just for a moment. She turned her face towards him and provided him with a look of stilted patience that any child of a long-suffering mother would recognise. He either didn’t recognise the look for what it was, or ignored it completely. The man was a child asking about childish games and insisting on her attention. Unfortunately for her, ignoring him was not an option.
“Not outside of high school,” she added.
“Well then, considering we are stuck here for a while, we should play.”
Krennic took the tea she had stopped drinking and placed it on the table away from them. “Barman! Another,” he said, tapping at his own drink.
The barman, for his part, shared Mon’s initial look of frustration, but as any reluctant employee of the Empire, he quickly subdued it and acknowledged the request.
Mon, for her part, was close to protesting. Opening her own mouth to react, then quickly shutting it, was a recurring pattern she had with Imperial officers. She was annoyed, but she wasn’t allowed to convey it with anything more than aristocratic snobbery. Krennic wouldn’t expect anything different from someone with her wealth, and expected annoyances were allowed.
“What makes you think we are going to be here long enough to play anything?” Mon asked, watching him gesture to the barman that the drink he ordered was for her.
Presumptuous much?
“Oh, I overheard the news report while I was at the bar. It’s a complete mess out there. We may be stuck here for hours.”
Mon looked at him with a blank stare and then turned to pick up her bag. “Well, if that’s the case, I might as well continue working.”
“Senator,” he said, reaching over for her arm and holding it with a delicate, pleading gaze. “I just ordered you a drink. It would be rude to leave one of the voting public without at least sharing a moment of your time with me.”
The voting public? Krennic was not from Chandrila; this man is ridiculous.
She wasn’t sure she had successfully hidden her reaction to his behaviour. He was now playing the card of wounded guest, without the merit of being invited to share her company in the first place. And the way he was holding her arm was preposterous. He was a child begging for attention with those ridiculous, big blue eyes.
Mon felt stuck.
If she left now, how did she know he just wouldn’t pester her again, or use it as an excuse to get under her skin at the next hearing?
“One drink,” she relented. Putting her bag down and taking a seat while the barman brought her drink and set it on the table beside them.
“Thank you,” Krennic added, letting go of her arm.
He seemed sincere, at least from what she could tell. The cheeky grin of his was tucked away for now. The one that made a farce of their committee hearings.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes, two truths and a lie.”
Well, it was good while it lasted.
“I’m not playing this game with you,”
Mon took a sip of her drink and winced at the strong flavour.
Krennic’s eyes glowed with mischief. He looked like a cartoon villain, she thought.
“A bit strong for your tastes?”
Glaring over the drink, Mon took another swig of the drink and placed it on the table.
“Hardly.” Having adapted from the first sip, she had no strong reaction to her second.
“Good, so let’s get started. Hmm, let me think, two truths and a lie…”
Krennic picked up what was left of his drink and downed it. He watched the Senator, who, while she hadn’t warmed up to him yet, was at least patiently waiting to see what he’d have to say. And what could he say? He wondered.
“ Ok, here goes…I have a photographic memory, I can’t swim, and I’ve always wanted a child but never had the chance.”
Mon covered a laugh before taking a drink.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, genuinely.
Mon put down her drink and tried not to laugh again, but failed. “You, having a photographic memory? You could barely remember my name today, and we’ve met several times.”
Krennic sat back in his chair and placed his feet on the table between them. Mon’s eyes widened at the action. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked over at the barman, hoping he hadn’t noticed Krennic’s crude behaviour. Getting kicked out of a bar with Director Krennic would not look good.
Director Krennic seemed very relaxed and didn’t seem phased by what Mon or the barman thought of him. Stretching back, he placed his arms behind his head and nodded to the barman for another drink.
“So is that my lie?” he asked in a quiet tone.
His voice was unnerving and ran through her like the warm bourbon on her tongue. Mon cursed the alcohol; maybe it was too much for her, or maybe he was too much for her.
Mon had her elbow leaning on her chair, with her face held up by the attached hand. Unlike Krennic, she wasn’t relaxed; she was equal parts anxious and light-headed, and her glossy eyes watched the Director.
What a smug, self-satisfied man. He made no effort to hide his rudeness, indifferent to the scene he caused or how inappropriate it was.
What did it matter to him? He just enjoyed playing his little game. Oh, the things she wished she could do if there were no consequences.
Picking up her drink again, she took another sip and placed it down on the table near his feet with a thump.
Looking straight at him as nonchalantly as she could muster, “They could all be lies for all I know.”
He wasn’t ready to let it go. She wanted to act like she didn’t care, but he knew he was pushing her boundaries. Senator Mothma, the rich do-gooder who wasted her time appearing as morally right as was allowed—what could she be like behind closed doors? He thought.
Krennic moved forward to Mon’s surprise. He leaned his elbow on his chair to mirror her own pose, centimetres between their face, breath beside breath. “They could all be lies… but Ms Mothma, you can only pick one.”
The sun was gone by now, and the lights of Coruscant filtered through the windows around them. The lights in the bar were low, and this allowed whatever was outside to appear brighter in contrast. It was then that Mon noticed something different in the atmosphere around her. One of Coruscant’s moons, bright and full, must have peaked out behind her, and she could see its intense grey reflection in Krennic’s eyes.
Her distraction did not go unnoticed by Krennic, who squared his shoulders. “Senator? Senator?”
She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way the moon’s appearance caused Krennic’s eyes to hollow and appear lifeless, but it unnerved her. All she could see in his eyes was that desolate, grey moon. It was an otherworldly nothingness, and it made her shiver. She pulled herself back and shook her head to remove the vision.
Krennic was confused; maybe he had been too close to her, but whatever the issue was, he found it difficult to restrain his frustration at her action. Before he could say anything, she looked back and seemed to have righted herself out of whatever the problem was.
“Sorry, I got distracted—long day,” she added.
Before Krennic was able to enquire further, the barman brought him his next drink, and he took a swig and ignored whatever reaction she was bound to have about that.
“The one about the child,” she finally said. “That’s the lie. You’re too career-focused, I can’t see you with a child.”
“Should I order us some food?” he asked, standing up, once again seemingly ignoring her response.
The mood had shifted, and Mon felt herself partly responsible for that. He was an unusual man, but she knew that already. He didn’t seem to deal well with being ignored in any fashion, and perhaps her distraction and the way she had pulled back—maybe she had offended him? She wasn’t sure. They shouldn’t have been that close anyway. Still, she thought, the evening should not remain awkward.
“Let me,” she offered.
He seemed to relax at her offer and sat back down as she waved the barman over and they selected a few share plates from the menu.
“So was I right? About the child?” Mon asked as the barman left.
“You were,” he replied, picking up his drink. “But…” he began, “Don’t you have a child?”
Mon’s breath caught in her throat at his words. Does he know about Leida?
“I overheard you talking to one of the other Senators when we left. Something about your daughter’s schooling.”
There was no point hiding it anyway; he was ISB. If she lied, he could just as easily look it up, and if he found out she lied about something so easy to find out, he’d probably start wondering what else she’d lie about.
“Yes, I have a daughter, Leida. I was enquiring with Senator Jopo about the academy he sent his son to.”
“Can we get some water for the table?” Mon asked the barman as he placed down the first of their appetisers.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, fetching their water.
“Hmm,” Krennic mumbled.
“Trying to decide what to eat first?”
Krennic looked up at her, scanning her before thanking the barman for the water. “No, more wondering about you.”
“Wondering?” she asked, attempting to keep the nervous tone from her voice.
“You said I’m too career-focused to have a child, and yet the same could be said about you,” he added, picking up one of the tempura vegetables.
She wasn’t about to reveal to him the relationship she had with her daughter or the way her husband picked up the slack. It didn’t matter how warm her drink had made her; she still had good enough sense not to give him a weapon he could potentially use against her one day.
“Sometimes when you really want something, you make it work,” she offered.
Krennic took a sip of water without letting his gaze leave her. She was a curiously guarded woman, and it only made him more interested in knowing just what she kept behind those walls of Senatorial defence. There had been rumours, of course, and he was aware of the list she had been placed on, but beyond that, he hadn’t looked much further.
She’d been like a mosquito picking at him during hearings and seemingly appearing in many of the places he’d find himself. He hadn’t forgotten her name, but he’d liked her to think that he did. It amused him to play with her like that, and he wished to continue their games, at least while he was here.
“So, two truths and a lie… I believe it’s your turn, Senator.”