This scene takes place directly before Chapter 24 in Ruin.  Jaina eludes to Ganner that they sim with the Chiss but never beat them. This is my take...

THE FACE


Jag leaned back in the simulator, catching his breath.  He used the silent darkness of the inactive machine to regain his focus.  Usually, he would be the first one out, waiting to escort the Chiss pilots off the Ralroost.  Today though was different.  Today was the day he would introduce himself to his uncle, his mother's brother.

Wedge Antilles was an enigma to Jag.  A brilliant pilot like Jag's father, Wedge had chosen to fight for the Rebellion, even trying to kill Soontir Fel after he knew of the marriage to his sister.  Jag's father still harbored ill feelings for the man, but Jag had agreed for his mother's sake to give Wedge a chance.

That was only part of what was bothering the Chiss commander.  He had not slept well since the battle at Garqi.  Every night his dreams were haunted by the voice that had filtered through his comm.  It was just as he had imagined it in his dreams on Csilla, calling his name.  He had tried rationalizing the absurdity of the notion to no avail.  How could he know a person's voice before ever meeting them?  But then, it had happened.  Or maybe it was just a coincidence.

He had some inkling as to whom the voice belonged to.  The other Rogue pilots called her Sticks, but she still had no name or face.  He had flown against her several times in simulations.  He even could find her easily without the benefit of her fighter's markings.  She was one of the better pilots, possibly close to the best, and she flew with a flare that was unmistakable, characterized by aggressive unorthodox moves.

Jag shook off the thoughts as an unnecessary exercise of his time as he released the canopy of the simulator.  He eased himself out and gathered his belongings in his pilot's bag before tossing it over his shoulder.  The room should have been empty by now; Jag had no desire to associate with the Rogue pilots.  Better to keep them guessing.  It was all part of the head game pilots played with their foes.

Jag made his way to the exit, but paused at the sound of two voices near the main simulation control terminal near the front of the room.  He stopped behind the last simulator in his row, staying well out of sight.

"It will just take a second, Anni.  Hold on."  It was the voice from his dream. Jag.

"Why is this so important?  So what he shoots us all down," another female voice queried.

"I don't know, it seems like he has it in for me personally," the voice responded.

Jag's heart pounded in his ears.

"Well, I don't think your smart remarks the other day did anything for Chiss relations.  He's probably just teaching you a lesson for that near miss."

"I wasn't even close; I had feet in either direction."

Jag eased over to the edge of the simulator, trying to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner.  Leaning over the terminal were two women dressed in the standard issue New Republic flightsuits.  The smaller one, standing no taller than five feet with a brown braid thrown across her shoulder, pointed her finger at the screen excitedly.  When she spoke, out came the captivating voice.

"No, it's not me personally, but he always goes after the best pilot statistically and shoots us down in order, best to worst."

"What does that say for me if I'm always near the bottom?"

"No, you're not.  Look better than top half ninety percent of the time."

"Okay, so you have your answer.  Can we go now?"

The smaller pilot stood abruptly, her slight frame motionless, her eyelids half-closed.  Her profile presented itself from that position.  He could make out the uncompromised texture of her skin.  A whisper of brown hair floated by her ear, freed by the sudden movement.  Her features were refined, just as he had dreamt them, and she was so young.  Jag had started his stellar military career at around the same age, but it was hard to imagine such a petite youthful form capable of such deadly skill in a fighter.

"There's someone here," she said.

Her eyes snapped open, and Jag ducked behind the simulator.  He held his breath, but feared his pounding heart would betray him.  Even in the heat of battle his body had never disappointed him so.  Seconds before though, his brain had acknowledged what his body already told him - that this girl wore the face in the snowstorm.  It was deniable.  The only missing piece was the eyes; he had not looked into her eyes to know for sure.

Footsteps sounded, echoing in his ears, coming closer and closer.  The other voice broke the rhythm.

"Oh Jaina, stop freaking me out like that.  Why didn't you sense it earlier?"

The footsteps stopped, and Jaina spoke.  "It's not something I keep turned on all the time."

Just then the main door to the simulator room slid open, and several other voices filtered into the room mixed with their owners' footsteps.  Jag used the distraction to slip back along the bank of simulators.  He stole through the rear entrance and fell against the door as it shut.  Silently, he cursed himself for the foolish behavior while regaining control of his ragged breathing.  Moments later, Colonel Jagged Fel, once again in full command of his faculties, strode confidently down the hall.