I
She takes one last glance at the screen, to watch the ships enter hyperspace, each one flying in another direction to eventually meet in one place. Most of them will not return. But someone will succeed and bring back the plans, she is certain. And if not... there will be others. There always are. Everything has a price, and they are willing to pay a high price for getting free of fear.
Their secret war has been going on for years, and she lost any illusions – delusions – long ago. Somewhere on the way she has also lost her fire. She is no longer that energetic, restless senator she used to be, and the fire is gone from her eyes. No, now she is a stately, reasonable leader of the Rebel Alliance.
Some of them kids who are new to all this mess enjoy it, in some way – the adventure, the thrill. Logical, she thinks. Pretty, heroic tales of war to keep fear and anxiety at bay, she can understand that well, even if she no longer enjoys either fighting or politics, and this war is both. There is no glory in war. Really, it is all just like a game of holochess, moving pawns across the galaxy and hoping the enemy will somehow miss the change on the board.
Some of their agents will never come back. Some will be captured by the Empire. They know the risk. They know no one will come for them if they fail.
Her soldiers do what they can to save their friends, and she praises them for it. But she learned to sacrifice people years ago. She will not risk ten lives to save one; the Alliance does not have enough soldiers to fight the Empire openly, so she will not risk any life she does not have to.
Resources, that is what they are. Pawns on the chessboard. Years ago, she used to argue fiercely against such attitude, but since then she has accepted it as her own. That is what allows her to be logical and calm about it all. Others are not like that – firm believers, wholeheartedly giving themselves up to the case – but someone has to be the mind behind it all, because will alone is not enough to win. So she lets others be enthusiastic about their fight, have their legends and illusions and everything, she even encourages it, because it helps them to be braver, it helps them face death, while she is moving pieces across the board of the galaxy.
When the last ship disappears from the screen, she reaches for a data crystal lying on her desk. There are many scratches on its surface, so many it would be impossible to ever use it again. She has not used it in years, anyway. By now, it is nothing but a reminder.
A corner of Mon Mothma's lips curls up into a mirthless, but challenging smile.
Your move, Wilhuff.