MOST OF the councilors had already left the Rebellion’s high council chambers. Some of them had gone to vent their rage about the council’s decision. Others were packing up their things to head home and give their people the bad news.

Bail Organa sat there still, unsure of what he should do. What he could do. He’d tried his best to sway the council, to get them to see reason, but it had been to no avail.

He’d thought that the news Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor had brought back with them from Jedha would have moved people to courage. Instead, it had set them arguing with each other, divided on whether they could even trust a young woman with such a checkered past.

Never mind that Captain Andor—one of the best agents working for the Rebellion—had vouched for her. Never mind that everything she revealed rang true. There were some who just didn’t want to admit she might be right.

Worse, though, were those who believed her story and thought the best thing they could do was surrender. Bail understood the skepticism of some of his fellow councilors when it came to Jyn’s story, but he could not stomach the cowardice of the others.

He sat there and stewed about that until Mon Mothma approached him. As the leader of the council, she’d had many things to deal with as the council dispersed, but it seemed she’d concluded her duties. Now they could talk in private—openly and honestly.

“Despite what the others say, war is inevitable,” she said.

Bail frowned. What a depressing way to open a conversation. But he had to admit he’d already come to the same conclusion long before.

“I agree,” he said. “I must return to Alderaan to inform my people that there will be no peace.”

He shook his head. They’d worked so hard to avoid this, to come up with some way to depose the Emperor without devastating what remained of the Republic he’d seized. Now it seemed they’d failed—and badly.

“We will need every advantage,” he said.

Mon Mothma recognized what he was saying. If the high council wouldn’t agree to support them, they would have to do whatever they could without official backing.

It was more of a risk, of course, but what choice did they have?

Mon Mothma glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. While the chamber had mostly cleared out, it was not entirely empty.

“Your friend,” she said in a low voice. “The Jedi.”

She was on the same wavelength as him. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a faithful friend long before he’d become one of the galaxy’s most hunted fugitives. Bail didn’t want to disturb the man, but things had finally become that desperate.

“He served me well during the Clone Wars and has lived in hiding since the Emperor’s purge. Yes, I will send for him.”

Would Kenobi answer the call? After so many years living alone—decades, even—would he care enough about the fate of the Republic?

Maybe. If they finally had a chance to stop the Empire? Maybe yes.

“You’ll need someone you can trust,” Mon Mothma said.

As usual, she was right. Bail couldn’t send just anyone to summon Kenobi from his exile. It would have to be someone strong, capable, and utterly committed to the Rebellion.

He could think of only one person. If he could have, he would have chosen anyone else. But it would have to be her.

Bail got to his feet and nodded at Mon Mothma once again. “I would trust her with my life.”