(A/N)- Happy New Year readers, welcome to a hopefully productive 2024!
This fic has been brewing since last year, actually, but for various assorted reasons has been both delayed and difficult to work with. I'm not sure how many chapters it's gonna be but my plan is to try and have weekly updates into February.
This is set roughly post ANH but canon has also been taken out into the backyard and shot. It's a crack!fic, don't ask how it all works, just sit back and hopefully enjoy the ride.
All right, enough waffling, let's get to the shenanigans.
Disclaimer: Ha ha nope, if I owned Star Wars there would be much better business decisions made.
Chapter 1: How Did We Get Here, Exactly?
-SW-
Yavin IV - Massassi Temple - Office of Mon Mothma - Mission Debriefing
8.4 hours after "The Incident"
There was a dull pressure pulling at the undersides of Senator Mon Mothma's forehead, as she carefully set her freshly-brewed cup of hot Chandrillan herbal tea on the desk in front of her. (Extra strength tension tamer, an expensive blend.)
She sank into her seat with a weary, kind of bone-tired exhaustion.
The kind of exhaustion she used to get back in her Senate days when Palpatine called them all into the chamber for one of his long dramatic speeches to "motivate" them to vote for his latest pet tyranny measure. (By the galaxies could that shriveled prune drone on and on!)
The kind of exhaustion she'd felt after laboring twenty-six hours (by herself, with no medication thank you so much, Perrin, you were a big help) giving birth to Leida.
That kind of exhaustion.
Exhaling heavily, she spoke.
"All right," she said. "Let's go over everything again, just to be sure we have it all straight."
She glanced up at the three sheepish-looking women seated across from her: a green-skinned Twi'lek pilot, a young, composed Alderaanian princess, and a lady in plainclothes of varying browns and tans—who all seemed in that moment much less like the brave and competent Rebel leaders they were and much more like juvenile delinquents having a conference with the principal to discuss the terms of their detention.
The three exchanged chagrined glances.
"General Syndulla, why don't you start?" Mon Mothma prompted, curling hands around her teacup.
"Of course, Senator." Hera Syndulla straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat, lekku bouncing a bit against her back.
Assuming an air of professionalism (as much as there could be anything professional about the situation) she began.
"At 0700 hours this morning, my crew and I—Rebel Designation: Spectre Cell of Phoenix Group—" she added for the benefit of Mothma's notes. "—received a mission assignment from Major Bren Derlin, concerning some classified Imperial intelligence data the Alliance wanted retrieved from IRO facility Alpha-Four, located on the Imperial occupied planet Klipspree in the capital city Jargoon, near Hanger 37 of the city's main spaceport."
She paused a moment, expectantly.
A tick or two passed.
"...Do you need to write any of that down?" she asked, when Mon Mothma merely nursed her cup and sipped from it with a morose expression.
The Senator waved her off, gesturing vaguely at the rectangular black box on her desk. "We're recording," she told her. "Go on."
Hera nodded and resumed. "Our mission was to retrieve information pertaining to secret Imperial construction projects out in the Rishi Maze. The files were believed to be stored in the facility's main data core, in the North Tower." Hera adjusted her seating, getting a smidge more comfortable. "We left Yavin no later than 0730, I filled my team in on the mission details while in hyperspace, and we made it to Klipspree around 1100." She lifted her hands open-palmed with a wry, embarrassed smile. "And then, well..."
She trailed off.
"Poodoo hit the aerator?" Mon Mothma guessed.
"To put it mildly."
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Mon Mothma addressed the next person in the line. "What about you, Senator Organa?" she asked.
Princess Leia Organa came to attention. Her hair in its single low-rise bun was still impeccably in place (remarkable, considering), though her white jacket showed traces of carbon dusting and splatters of something greenish that looked almost like slime.
"We were en route back to Yavin from Malastare, after a mostly successful negotiation with the underground Dug Council," she said.
"Mostly successful?" Mon Mothma pressed, tiredly.
"Well, Han didn't shoot anyone this time... but he's probably not going to be invited back anytime soon," the princess explained, smiling a bit at the memory, leaning back in the chair with her arms crossed.
Mon Mothma didn't have the mental capacity to deal with or process that at the moment.
"We'll unpack that at a later briefing," she decided. "Let's just focus on today."
Leia made a face. "Right. Today." Seemingly reluctant to continue, she nevertheless forged on ahead. "Well, at about 0900 we received a coded message from Lieutenant Draven, with a request we assumed at the time came from Rebel High Command, to intercept some highly classified lists of known Rebel sympathizers on Klipspree and surrounding worlds and prevent their transmission through ISB channels. The list was kept on a data disk locked inside a secure console locker."
She glanced significantly towards Hera, face twisting as if being forced to confess some mortal sin.
"Also at IRO Alpha-Four in the North Tower."
"Huh," Hera said in mild fascination. "Did Draven know we were already assigned to a mission at that location?"
Leia's brows wrinkled. "I'm not sure," she confessed. "I don't think so. I looked into the logs later and it didn't look like our assignment was properly entered into the active missions manifest until later. May have just been a miscommunication between branches."
"An oversight I can assure you will not happen again," Mon Mothma said, shuddering.
"We were already in the general quadrant and Han wasn't exactly eager to return to Yavin—" Leia continued.
"Unpacking that later," Mon Mothma mumbled again, staring down into her cup. The tea wasn't nearly strong enough.
"—so we just diverted course and headed straight there."
Emerging from a long drag of her tea—which was doing nothing for her headache, she really ought to get her money back—Mon Mothma asked, "And approximately what time did you get to Klipspree?"
Leia looked at Hera again. "I think it was at 1109, local time," she said, embarrassed.
Mon Mothma still wasn't sure if she believed in the Force but she wondered in that moment if it was laughing at her.
They turned to the last person sitting.
The woman cleared her throat, ducking her eyes a bit at being suddenly the new center of attention. "Cere Junda, Senator," she introduced. "I've been operating a Rebel cell out of an S-161 "Stinger" XL—"
"Oh that's a beautiful model," Mon Mothma said appreciatively as she set down her cup.
"Thank you—called the Stinger Mantis, captained by one Greez Dritus of Latero, for about seventeen years now."
Managing a tired smile, Mon Mothma extended a hand. "Well I wish it were under better circumstance but... welcome to the Alliance, Miss Junda."
The woman held up a palm. "Please," she said, "call me Cere." Switching tacks, "As for what brought my crew to Klipspree, let's just say we have a vested interest in tracking down and liberating stolen Jedi artifacts and happened to trace one to IRO Alpha-Four in—"
"Let me guess," Mon Mothma interrupted wearily. "The North Tower?"
Cere's mouth twitched, bemused. "Adjacent to it, actually," she corrected. "Down a short hallway."
"Oh good!" the Senator burst out with unexpected sarcasm, throwing her hands out and her eyes up towards the ceiling. "It was down a short hallway! At least you weren't all stepping on each other's toes!"
"Ohhhhhh I'd say there was a bit of toes-stepping involved," Hera piped up.
"And zapping," added Leia. "And explosions."
Cere shifted in her seat. "Is your friend okay?" she asked. "The little blonde padawan? He took a pretty hard hit, BD-1 was worried."
"He bashed his head like only a Skywalker can," Leia sighed. "But the med-droid says he'll be fine, wanted me to discharge him early on account of he won't shut up about his new Jedi friends and the droid says its 'distracting from his primary function'. Han was down there too inhaling a whole bottle of blood pressure medication last I saw him."
"Sabine can paint back over her artwork," Hera offered. Checking herself, she amended, "Let me rephrase: She will paint back over her artwork and return the Falcon to normal."
Leia smirked. "Actually I think the color is an improvement," she said.
Mon Mothma watched the three converse with a spinning head.
Oh yeah, no, the Force was definitely laughing at her now.
She let her hand drop into one of the drawers in her desk and surreptitiously skimmed a migraine tablet from the bottle, tossing it back dry and following it with a gulp of tea.
"—missing a crate of Corellian hooch and I can't get hold of Zeb, so that's where he and Chewbacca must have—" Hera stopped herself when she noticed Mon Mothma's dead glassy exhaustion. "I'm sorry," she said, putting up apologetic hands. "Let me start at the beginning."
"Please do," the Senator begged, sagging in her seat and gesturing limply towards the recording device.
Hera took a slow, deep breath.
-SW-
Klipspree Airspace - Imperial Cruiser The Revenant - Conference Room B
8.5 hours after "The Incident"
Incident reports were a necessary evil he knew, but by the galaxy there was nothing ISB Agent Gideon hated more. The naked incompetence these reports often revealed in the rank and file of what was supposed to be the Empire's finest almost made him want to strangle someone.
...Though he suspected he wouldn't be doing most of the strangling today, he thought, glancing aside at the hulking black mass of mechanical anger and death to his left that was Darth Vader.
Darth kriffing Vader. You knew you were screwed when the Emperor's right hand man (Machine? Gideon wasn't sure but he wasn't stupid enough to ask.) was called in. Vader hadn't said anything in the twenty minutes he'd been hovering at Gideon's shoulder—hadn't done much of anything aside from breathe menacingly, really—but Gideon swore there was a palpable vibrating fury in the constant hrrrrrch-choock of the black respirator that made him want to instinctively protect his own throat, nervous.
A preliminary perusal through the notes already collected on his datapad all but confirmed it to Gideon: Someone was getting shanked today.
(Possibly multiple someones, it depended on his and Vader's moods, the subjective reasonableness of the excuses given, who happened to owe Palpatine personal favors, whose daughter Gideon might have liked to take out to drinks that night after everything...)
Gideon sighed and dropped the datapad down on the desk. Ignoring the looming cloud of Bad Vibes And Wrath standing at his left shoulder for now he spoke up and prompted the person on his right.
"Date and time?"
The Imperial stenographer adjusted her trim silver spectacles, other hand poised over her typing pad. "Already recorded, Sir," she replied in a clipped, pleasant voice.
Inhaling, Gideon braced himself. "All right, let's get this kriffshow overwith," he grumbled. He held up a finger sharply. "Don't put that in the report," he told the stenographer.
She nodded, her neat gray ponytail bobbing under her cap.
Gideon cleared his throat.
"Incident Report, Case Code 003-4A-5672-T078: Inquiry into Rebel incursion at Imperial Research Outpost Alpha-Four in Jargoon on Klipspree. Presiding investigator, ISB Agent Gideon. Also in observance, His Eminence Lord Darth Vader." Gideon paused and checked his stenographer, who was tacking away at her typing pad in an even, steady rhythm, stopping moments after he stopped.
He faced towards Vader.
"Lord Vader, do you have any comments you wish to add?"
The steely black mask continued to look menacingly forward, Vader's sinister breathing continuing unabated.
Hrrrrrch-choock... hrrrrrch-choock...
"No," Vader growled.
Oooh, he was pissed. Well, more pissed than usual, Gideon amended mentally, hiding a gulp.
Turning back forward he continued. "Beginning intake of material and eyewitness testimony." He pressed the comm button on the desk, speaking to the troopers just outside the door. "Send them in," he ordered.
The doors to the room opened with a hiss and two Imperial officers stepped in, facing the desk. The taller one's face was blanched and sweating, and shorter stouter one was wringing his cap in his hands with a tight expression, both men clearly already aware of the deep banthashit they were in.
"Commander Dreyn Yalbrook, chief officer of the Jargoon Imperial garrison," Gideon acknowledged, nodding slightly at the taller man. "And Commander Bells Wan, facilities director of Imperial Research Outpost Alpha-Four."
He waited expectantly for 'Yes Sir's from both of them.
Dreyn swayed in place on his feet and Bells just coughed.
Disappointed and already more than a little annoyed, Gideon leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands together sternly on the desk in front of him, rather akin to the posture of a strict but well-meaning teacher addressing a pair of problem students that he nevertheless somehow—despite all evidence to the contrary—believed were worthy and capable.
"I assume you understand why you're here, Commanders?" he asked.
"We—" Bells started to squeak out, then cleared his throat with a slightly louder cough. "—we uh... we had an... incident... involving some Rebels... Sir," he somehow managed to stutter out.
"Let us not mince words, gentlemen," came the sharp baritone voice of Vader, making the two startle and jump. The blank eyes glared daggers down at them. "You allowed no less than three separate Rebel ships to land in Jargoon, infiltrate the IRO facility, and brazenly attack your forces." The next hrrrrrch-choock sounded a bit strained through the breath slots, as if beneath the mask Vader was having some kind of conniption. "After which," he snarled, "you were unable to prevent these Rebels—five of whom were known Jedi fugitives—from escaping."
"F-Five, Sir?" Bells strained.
"Five," Vader confirmed darkly.
Dreyn was practically glistening with sweat now.
Gideon jumped in, picking up the data pad and reading from it. "Property damage to major parts of Hanger number 37, including collapsed wall between Bay 3 and Bay 4, additional damage to surrounding buildings in Jargoon, estimated at a total of a hundred and thirty million Imperial credits," he read off. "Extensive damage to the Imperial facility itself, with multiple impacted walls, traces of graffiti, a blown data core, and one hallway inundated by an as-yet-unidentified gelatin. 157 known Imperial casualties, ranging from 16 lacerations, 102 blaster wounds, 12 dismemberments, two-dozen concussions and instances of head trauma, five cases of electric shock, and one death by suffocation in said aforementioned gelatin."
By this point the two officers were both whiter than a sheet and looking ready to puke.
(Gideon pulled his polished Imperial boots a bit further under the safety of the desk.)
He let the data pad clatter back onto its surface.
"Now," he said, "in your own words and to the best of your ability, can you tell us what, exactly, happened?"
He and Vader waited for a long... pregnant... pause.
The air unit hummed quietly in the background.
The stenographer waited, fingers baited.
...
...
Commander Dreyn burst into hysterical tears.
A long wheezing sound came from Vader as his broad shoulders deflated. Dreyn sobbed and blubbered, large mucus bubbles escaping his nose, abandoning any sort of Imperial dignity altogether.
Suppressing a twitch Gideon glanced aside towards a whimpering Bells. Aaaaand yep, the other officer had peed his pants. Wonderful.
The stenographer's hands hovered uncertainly over her typing pad as she looked on with concern. "Should... I write that down?" she asked.
Gideon sighed and dug out the flask from his coat, untwisting the cap and taking a quick drag.
This was going to be a long day.
(A/N)- Reviews are appreciated.