Columex Approach, Columex System
Vorzyd Sector
Columex’s hyper-junction is going to be inoperable for weeks, if not months.
That was what I thought. There was probably enough scrap in the star system to build the Death Star from scratch. Scrappers were already laying into the thick of it, like vultures and rats. Sanctioned scrappers, of course, who were only allowed to access Republic vessels. Their double-duty was to pluck out any survivors–prisoners of war–because why would we dirty our hands when we could outsource the job?
Despite FTL communications, there was no underestimating the fog of war. With all the latent jamming, electronic warfare, and interference muddying up the waters, it took several hours for the entire fleet to reestablish a coherent grasp of the situation and bring everybody up to speed.
Repulse cruised over the cracked hull of Pride of the Core, her holocams recording every bit of it and transmitting the scene to media stations planetside. I could just imagine the news banner being livestreamed all over the star system: BREAKING NEWS – Victory! Republic General taken prisoner!
That’s right. Governor-General Therbon of the 12th Sector Army, found and captured in one of the Mandator’s internal combat information centres. These star dreadnoughts; they were being used as mobile command centres. Perhaps they were so mind-bogglingly large nobody could have expected them to fail. And perhaps they wouldn’t have, if we didn’t bring superweapons of our own.
At least the Pride of the Core still looked like a ship, albeit more like an oversized slice of pizza, with its conspicuously missing bridge. Her sister ship, however, wasn’t so lucky. There was nothing left of the Legacy of the Founders. The warship that had given us so much grief at Centares; completely vaporised. Victoria Louise essentially had the yield of a thermonuclear bomb at impact–something happened, for certain, whether it was a core meltdown or a gas detonation–but whichever the case, the Legacy and everything within a twenty mile radius was now stardust.
All of this was being broadcasted straight to the affiliated press clubs down on Columex, and from there tossed out to Near Perlemian, and then the rest of the galaxy. Murkhana and the Shadowfeed most definitely have their hands on the intel, and so will the Senate on Raxus Secundus. It was in these succeeding hours after the battle that speculation was most rampant, and whoever shouts the loudest first will be able to shape the narrative to their benefit.
The Republic dreadnoughts, the Separatist dreadnoughts, the Cylinders, the fact that there’s three Admirals and two Generals in one star system. The media could tunnel vision in on a hundred different things.
And this was where being at the source was most advantageous. Dooku has Murkhana and the Shadowfeed in his pocket, but even Murkhana needs to get their intel from Columex. And who sends the intel to Columex?
We do. We can practically dictate what happened in the Battle of Columex, at least for the first precious months.
Press clubs will always leap on the most sensational scoops–what will bring the most clicks and revenue. They will want drama. All the boring numbers and figures can be left to the military commentators. Those can follow in the wake of the first wave, when the story is more straight.
As such, I was thinking; why should the headline read ‘Republic General taken prisoner!’ instead of ‘Sev’rance Tann saves the day!’ or something to that effect. We have the battle transcripts and logs, nobody in the Coalition Armada was going to deny that the Pantoran was here first.
I didn’t know if it was a precious coincidence or impressive planning, but the 1st and 4th Fleets jumping in immediately after she announced that ‘Reinforcements have arrived’ was going to be a huge publicity victory for her.
“Carrion Spike has docked to our portside airlock,” Stelle sluggishly whirred, clearly reaching the end of his rope, “Messenger in Flames report a shuttle is enroute.”
“Very good, guide her to the bridge. You may change bridge shifts when Tuff arrives,” I replied, “Hare, contact–”
“Understood, Master–” Hare, on the other hand, was quite spry. Thinking of it, have I ever seen her recharge? “–Is there something the matter?”
The rabbit robot tilted her head, noticing that I was staring at her strangely.
“Where…” I wetted my lips, “When do you recharge?”
Hare paused, before slowly raising a finger to her metaphorical lips–where did she even learn human gestures?–and saying, “Don’t ask a droid her secrets, Master.”
And on cue, the holoproj flashed with a response. I quietly received it.
“Rain?” Mina was very clearly looking down at her own holoproj, her voice hushed and urgent, “Is the battle over? What happened?”
I could hear faint footsteps and chatter in the background. She was in the Senate House, I realised. Had there been a special emergency session of the Senate just for the battle? That changes some things.
“We won,” I answered, and she slumped in relief, “The Republic had deployed two Mandator-class dreadnoughts.”
Her brows drew closer, “Those showpieces–?”
“Retrofitted for battle,” I explained, “The casualty count is coming in, Mina. We lost almost two million spacers. We won’t be able to stop another push.”
Mina quickly caught on to the implications, “The next vote isn’t going to fail.”
The Republic lost a lot more, but I was trying to shape a narrative here. I wasn’t lying; we won’t be able to stop another push. The thing is, I was absolutely certain there won’t be another push, because the Republic just had was tantamount to two full Sector Fleets completely gutted. Whatever operational warships they have left will be withdrawn to the border of the Mid Rim in order to dig in. Which is why the vote has to happen now, before the situation settles.
“Right,” I nodded, “Have any of your colleagues received news of the battle yet?”
The Senator’s eyes shifted, “No… I don’t think so.”
“Then you’ll be first,” I felt compelled to whisper, despite knowing she could adjust the output volume of her holoproj at leisure, “The Pantoran arrived with reinforcements, saving our asses just as we were about to break. Of the two dreadnoughts, one was captured and the other was completely destroyed. The General of the Republic’s Twelfth Sector Army is our prisoner.”
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, “The Pantoran did–”
“Yes,” I replied quickly, eyeing General Tann’s progress to the bridge on the camera feed, “Look, I’ll have all the material you need sent to the Embassy via a press club. Can you get a vote right now?”
“Now?” Mina unconsciously bit her lip, “No, that’s… but I can introduce a motion and schedule it in a week.”
“Too long,” I shook my head, “Make it tomorrow, or in two days. Tell them what I told you–make it an emergency.”
Mina paused, looking up to something–or someone–in front of her, “...Fine. I’ll send you the details. Make sure Tann is present when it happens.”
“Understood,” I promised.
Insider knowledge wasn’t rare. If Mina was any other senator, I could send the info to her straight–but I had her reputation to consider. Like most Peace Faction senators, her image is that of idealism, honour, and virtue. The senators will still connect the dots when they realise she’s the first to receive the news, but as long as there isn’t a direct path to trace, the actual public won’t care.
I saw her take a deep breath in preparation for the speech she was about to make, and then the connection was interrupted.
“Hare, get Admiral Greyshade–” The title still tasted strange on my tongue. Not quite bitter–he was only an Admiral in the local context–but still odd, “–And have him transmit the logs to the foreign correspondents’ association.”
Hare was a brilliant adjutant. I only needed to tell her the bare minimum and she’d pick up on everything else. As she made herself scarce, I climbed out of my seat and cracked my back, observing a small legion of tugs drag the Pride away. The death toll was going to echo throughout the galaxy, I could already see it. But right now? Right now it was the POWs that were important. Hundreds of captured warships and hundreds of thousands prisoners of war of every rank, species, and race.
Disregarding all the hidden politicking, this was now our most powerful card against the Republic.
“Have you considered upgrading your flagship, Commodore?” Sev’rance Tann’s sharpness belied the chipper tone just underneath, “You could do much better than this.”
In hindsight, General Tann’s survival was never in doubt. Didn’t Vinoc say she could foresee the future? Obviously everything would be part of her calculations. Not to mention there was a good chance the Force–read: plot armour–was watching her back at all times. Still, I never quite expected her to use the Carrion Spike.
I turned around, “I still quite like her. What about the cloaked ship?”
General Tann scraped her glowing red gaze across the comparatively small pilothouse, inspecting the consoles and the droids at their stations as she made her way down to the viewports.
“I have no doubt that Dooku intended for our new dreadnought to eliminate me,” she ignored me with one breath and dropped a figurative atomic bomb with the next, “I admit I am not the most well-versed as to why that would be, and hope you can share with me your insights.”
“Why would I know what Count Dooku is thinking, sir?” I asked, trying not to be too outwardly nervous.
“If someone does, I believe it would be you,” the Pantoran smiled thinly.
I am actually insulted, more or less because it’s true. Dooku’s seriously pulling out all the stops for this, and I hate that I kind of knew exactly what him and Palpatine were trying to achieve out of this whole mess. Backup plan and all.
“I can’t say, General,” I broke eye-contact to check the shuttle’s progress, “Nevertheless, your election to Supreme Commander is all but confirmed. Your timely arrival means all of our logs corroborate the fact that you led our reinforcements into battle. I have forwarded the information to a contact in the Senate, who I believe, has already introduced the motion to the floor.”
“That is hasty,” she commented, not untruthful, “Would it not be wiser to consolidate my position among the Admirals and Generals before pressing my claim?”
“No,” I said bluntly, “We need two things to pass the vote for certain; the Coalition Senators and the Peace Faction. We already have the Coalition, but we still need the Peace Faction. And for them to vote, they need to believe the situation on the Perlemian is still precarious.”
“I must commend you for the creation of the Coalition,” General Tann praised, “I would have never considered it, but I can see it was quite the ingenious solution to our political troubles.”
“Only for the short-term,” I noticed Stelle giving me a hand signal, “Allow me to explain, sir. Both we and the Republic are spent. Neither of us have any more offensive potential. The war on the Perlemian is functionally over.”
“For the Coalition, perhaps, but the Confederate Fleets are still active and fresh.”
I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder, and Stelle began shepherding out the bridge shift, “From what we can tell, the Republic have only retreated back to the Mid Rim frontier, and have no intention of withdrawing any further. They are undoubtedly intent on ensuring their progress does not become undone.”
The General’s expression mellowed into one of introspection, mind no doubt already working through preliminary battle plans and strategies.
“If you would excuse me, General,” I started, tugging my collar, “Commander Vinoc had informed me of your abilities… I would not pretend to understand how the Force works, but would you allow me to make my own prediction of the near future?”
“Continue,” she said almost absent-mindedly.
“There is going to be a ceasefire–” her head snapped towards me almost imperceptibly, and I knew I had her attention, “–The very fact that the Republic mobilised not one, but two star dreadnoughts, is telling. They had every expectation of victory, and this recent defeat is borderline unrecoverable. The Shadowfeed is going to stoke public outrage, not to mention the cadres of high-ranking officers and princelings that are being processed into our internment hulks as we speak.”
“...This hypothetical ceasefire,” General Tann mused, “Do you believe it will last?”
What a loaded question, I cringed. I don’t think she’s the type to have a ‘correct answer’ for those kinds of questions, but it was still worth a thought; does Sev’rance Tann want the war to end?
“No,” I answered honestly, “The powers that be do not want the war to end–not truly. A call for peace on the Perlemian will achieve three things: buy time for a reorganisation, facilitate a prisoner exchange, and ‘reset’ public opinion.”
Bloody red eyes sharpened, “A false flag.”
“I concur, General. A false flag attack will likely reignite the war.”
And then there was the hidden purpose of the ceasefire; to block the election of the Separatist Supreme Commander. The Republic threat is over, at least for now. And that means the fire underneath the Senate has died. With the ceasefire in place, the Coalition and its senatorial bloc will disband, and Dooku will be free to install Grievous in power at his leisure. This is why it was so pertinent that the election happens now.
I continued to tell her exactly as such; “The Coalition was never a permanent solution. Once they realise there is no more threat, they will begin to disband. Similarly, the Peace Faction that we rely on is only reliable until they realise there is no more threat. This is our very narrow window of opportunity where the stars have aligned.”
“Is this truly all speculation, Commodore? Or is it founded in some truth?”
“It is how I would act should I be a Loyalist pro-war senator, sir. Though I may be overthinking; this is quite beyond my paygrade.”
“I imagine that won’t be for long.”
“Uh, pardon–?”
The clanking of metal footsteps echoed down the hallway, distracting both of us and preventing me from pressing the issue.
“The shuttle has arrived, Master,” Hare informed me quietly.
“Watch the bridge for me,” I replied, before addressing the General again, “There is one more thing, sir. Care for a walk?”
Sev’rance Tann drew herself back into the imperious stature that made her so famous in the Confederate military establishment. Onderonians were on the taller side of the human species, but the General met my height with ease. It’s been quite a while since I haven’t needed to look down–literally–on the person I was conversing with.
“Certainly,” she allowed.
We passed the incoming bridge shift as we retreated into the darkness of Repulse’s hull, with most of the lights dimmed or completely out in order to prioritise power for self-repair systems. The bridge shift pivoted in lockstep as we approached, saluting the General in perfect tandem, before swinging back and continuing on their path.
“Even your crew meets your standards,” there was the slightest smile tugging at Tann’s lips.
I cleared my throat, “Did you know about our dreadnoughts, General? Forgive me if I am overstepping.”
“I did not, but I do intend on searching for answers,” the Pantoran was staring straight ahead, “I heard General Grievous nearly secured the office I seek, and now he commands the very dreadnought that fired at me. Do you have anything to say?”
“You did arrive rather unorthodoxly, sir,” I admitted, “He will either pass it off as friendly fire from an inaccurate shot, or that he was aiming at the Pride and disregarded the enemy Venator in the line of fire. I imagine the latter.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“It will be hard to prove malicious intent,” she admitted.
“Might I offer some advice, General,” I started, holding the turbolift open for her, “Never approach General Grievous alone. He is Dooku’s puppet, has a standing order to eliminate you, and is a trained Jedi killer.”
“Trained Jedi killer?”
I nodded sharply, “The battle report from Christophsis details how he personally dispatched three–perhaps more–Jedi. One of them was even a Councilmember, if the rumours are to be believed.”
Her brows furrowed, “This will be taken under advisement, Commodore.”
The turbolift spat us out into the starboard hangar. Munificents didn’t have much in the way of hangar space–most of the Vulture complement hung from rafters outside–and what little there was had been reserved for shuttles and landing ships. Such as Messenger’s stunt-legged Sheathipede-class.
I almost didn’t recognise the dead-eyed girl in cuffs, held still by Tuff’s firm grip. Barriss Offee had grown taller, her hair growing out straight and stringy past her shoulders. Despite that, however, her shoulders were straight and even, and for one second I saw something haunted and obsessive beneath her dissonant blue gaze. The kind I’ve only seen in one other person before.
A light slowly dawned on Sev’rance Tann as she dug through her memories for what must’ve been a footnote of a character in her life. And then she recognised the same thing as I did, or something similar in the Force, because the red glow of her eyes darkened by a tone.
“Barriss Offee,” I greeted politely, “It has been a long time. Good work, Tuff.”
The droid inclined his head by a degree.
“Do the Separatists really want the war to end?” the Jedi suddenly asked, holding her arm.
I opened my mouth to answer, but an off-thought came to mind. This was the perfect time to hear General Tann’s answer, instead of just repeating mine again. As such, I shot the her a meaningful glance and took a half-step back.
“...That has always been our objective, Miss Offee,” General Sev’rance Tann stated, “It has never changed.”
A muscle in the girl’s jaw tightened, “The Jedi Order has lost its way. We now obey a Republic that no longer serves the interests of its people. If you allow me to return to the Temple, I will attempt to reason with the Jedi Council.”
I showed no outward emotion, “What do you think, sir?”
“I sense no untruthfulness,” she admitted, “But I must ask you this, Miss Offee. Do you truly believe you can bring change to the Jedi Order?”
A shadow of doubt crossed Barriss’ face, but her expression firmed up soon after, “I will tell them of what I’ve seen. They’ll believe me–they must.”
“And the Republic?” Tann pressed further.
“If… if Master Yoda can be convinced, he’ll talk to the Chancellor.”
I snorted softly, breaking my act for the briefest moment. Unfortunately, I was dealing with two Force users, and now found myself under their combined scrutiny.
“I like the conviction,” I chirped unhelpfully.
“But you don’t believe it to be realistic,” Tann raised an eyebrow, “Something to add?”
Then and there, I wondered if it would be alright to unload everything I knew. Not the wisest idea from first glance, but I forced myself to remember why I’m putting in so much effort in the first place. Siding with Sev’rance Tann, fighting a one-sided war against Dooku from the shadows, consolidating political and military power. Rising the ranks. It was all to create enough of a power base to resist the rise of the Empire.
I had forgotten that purpose, embroiled in the war.
“Hare, have Commander Vinoc on the line by the time I return to the bridge,” I spoke into my comlink.
“What do you know?” Barriss tried to step forward, but Tuff caught her stiffly, jerking her back, “What are you hiding!?”
I met General Tann’s gaze for a good minute, resisting the urge to rip away from that inhuman stare. Sighing, I swung back to Barriss, ripped the Confederate roundel from her shoulder, and deposited the rank plaque in her hands.
“Like I said, I admire your conviction. Follow me; it’s never too late to learn the truth.”
?
Coruscant, Coruscant System
Corusca Sector
Sometimes, Padmé Amidala wondered if she was ever shown the same datafiles as everybody else in the Galactic Senate.
Every day the war continued to crawl forward, with every new Senate session, she felt as if the galaxy was slowly becoming insane. Or was it only the Senate? Or perhaps, am I the one who is insane? She was struck by a giddying sense of clarity as her colleagues continued to shout and scream around her.
Yes, it must be me who has gone insane. That must be it. That must be the explanation.
What other explanation could there be?
Padmé could laugh.
It was only the shared, slightly bewildered, slightly concerned glances she had in common with Bail Organa of Alderaan and Mon Mothma of Chandrila that kept her grounded. If she was insane, then at least there was some consolation in not being the only one who has lost their mind.
Padmé could laugh, again.
Her lips quirked upwards, drawing a worried look from Teckla, her former handmaiden and now senatorial aide. Padmé reassured her with a look, before once more reading the datafile presented by the Republic High Command to confirm that she was not, in fact, insane. The sheepish–no, sheepish was too weak a word–the utterly mortified orderly was still by the Chancellor’s podium in his repulsorpod, arms folded at his back and gaze fixed to his feet. He stood there as if he was expecting execution by firing squad, and Padmé could only pity him as the bearer of bad news.
Because there was no way to see the ‘silver lining,’ because there was no silver lining.
Ten million patriots are dead, and these so-called servants of the people are baying for more war!
Was it deliberate callousness, or were they so out-of-touch with reality, their lives consumed by this brutalist steel cradle? Have they forgotten that there was a war raging outside, while they continued to avail themselves of the limitless privileges they afforded by their stations?
“There should be no debate!” Senator Rab of Tarn cried, “We must immediately pass a bill to fund the construction of more ships!”
“By whom!?” the Senator from Rendili shot back, “The only thing Kuat seems to be capable of delivering is defeat!”
The Senator from Rendili’s outburst was so deviantly irrelevant to the scope of the issue it was almost absurd. Still, the quick jab was not unfounded, and the Kuati representatives could only sit and swallow the insults. Not only had their Venator line of star cruisers been thoroughly disparaged by many prominent admirals, their vaunted star dreadnoughts had also been destroyed.
Certainly, they have claimed time and time again that the losses were a matter of operation, not product, and that the blame ultimately fell on the shoulders of both the military and the Jedi, but for now it was preferable not to draw any more untoward attention. As such, the Kuati delegates shrunk further in the shadows in order to remain out of the discourse.
“We cannot afford to be irresponsible!” Senator Organa boomed over the shouting, “The Republic is already near bankruptcy due to the cost of this war! The amount of funds necessary to replace our losses will bankrupt us!”
“That is not necessarily the case!” Senator Saam moved his pod forward, “Members of the Senate; if you would refer to the emergency appropriations bill my caucus has drafted, you will find that there is a way to procure the funds we need!”
Padmé navigated her pod''s dashboard to find the mentioned bill, and lost just a little more faith in the body in which she participated. This was so blatantly shameless.
“–This bill will essentially deregulate the banks!” Senator Farr of Rodia rebuked in outrage, “This is utterly unacceptable!”
“It is a small price to pay in order to recover our losses, Senator!” Senator Burtoni of Kamino countered, “Or are you perhaps suggesting we allow those Separatists roll over us on the Perlemian?”
The Senate exploded again.
“Never!”
“We must stop those animals!”
“Fund the war! Fight the Separatists!”
“And what about those responsible for our crushing defeat?” Senator Orn Free Taa of Ryloth called for action, “How will the Grand Army face accountability!? They promised a victory, and instead returned to us begging for credits with the worst defeat the Republic has faced in a thousand years!”
“I promise you, honoured Senators,” the orderly proclaimed, “We are completely restructuring our staffs so that a disaster of this scale will never occur again!”
“And what does that mean!?” someone roared, and the orderly shrunk several inches.
Padmé felt like a wooden doll as she slowly lowered herself into the seat of her senate pod, cradling her head in her hands. Money, money, money. It’s all about credits, and not a single mention about those who died fighting for us! She peeked at Chancellor Palpatine through a gap in her fingers, and found the man observing the proceedings–or lack thereof–in an almost dreamlike quality. It was the sight of Finis Valorum come-again, except this time she did not know whether the Chancellor was distraught over the ineptitude of the body he governed, or the state of the war itself.
There was clearly going to be no help from him.
She sighed deeply.
Wouldn’t the Jedi be able to instil some semblance of reason into the Senate? Except, they are apparently as much to blame as the Grand Army. If the media is to believe, Jedi Command sent their best Jedi General to battle, and now he too was dead.
But she had more to worry about than that.
Where are you, Anakin? He told her he was going to the Outer Rim, just before he left. Does that mean he was on the Perlemian as well? Was he among–her eyes caught a glimpse of the figure, and she hated the clench of fear that gripped her–was he among the ten million dead?
She wouldn’t know for weeks, maybe months. How could she? She was a senator, and he was a general. They had their duties, and their own wars to fight.
And oh, how I am failing mine. How we all are.
Padmé chided herself for being selfish in a time of great crisis. Even though misguided, at least her fellow colleagues were arguing in the name of the Republic. What was she doing? What was she thinking of?
“You need to say something, my lady,” Teckla leaned towards her imploringly, her well-meaning words twisting the metaphorical dagger.
“In this crowd?” Padmé jabbed her chin towards the bickering Senate, “Everybody knows the platform I run on. They won’t let me get a word in, because no-one seems to care. Ten million people are dead, and they think the best course of action is to continue the bloodshed instead of end it.”
Teckla paused, craning her head up to look around, “Your caucus will, won’t they? My lady, nobody here might care, but the people will, when they realise somebody is still looking out for them. Why not speak to them instead?”
“The people…?” she murmured.
“The Senate is still accountable to the people,” Teckla gave her a determined smile.
Padmé didn’t know how much of that was true anymore, but she was never one to give up on a challenge. The Senator from Naboo slowly rose to her feet, sweeping a look across the Grand Convocation Chamber as a plan began to form in her head. Most of the Senators are just observing, she realised. Since it was such a crucial moment, most just wanted to side with the safer option.
An option that has yet to arise, not while the debate was split right down the middle.
And what about the Chancellor? What was his agenda? Ever since the Military Creation Act, he has been introducing and passing more and more controversial bills that bordered on overreach, which he used to empower the military even further. But as a member of the Loyalist Committee, Padmé had always put her personal feelings aside to endorse them.
Now, though?
Padmé eyed the orderly, before drawing her gaze to one of the many holocam droids in the Convocation Chamber, making the rounds to record the reactions of every senator as if this was some sort of holodrama. The media wanted views, and that meant they needed drama. Arguing senators? There was no better source.
Still, one or two holocams will still make the rounds, on standby and constant vigil for the next voice to be raised.
She wetted her lips and cleared her throat in preparation for a speech, making a show of straightening out her dress. As expected, one of the holocams caught it and began traversing the open hall towards her pod.
She had to make an impact, something to cut through the din and catch the attention of those holocams. That was the only way she could speak to the ‘people.’ Military defeats have been hidden or downplayed before, but one on this size and scale? There must be billions tuning in to watch how the governing organ of the Republic intends on responding to the crisis.
Padmé silently inputted a request to speak.
Speaker of the Senate Mas Amedda looked down at his console, and then at her, nodding tersely, “The Chair recognises the Senator from Naboo!”
The holocam droid followed her Senate pod as she drove it forward.
The Senator from Naboo took a deep breath– “HAVE YOU ALL LOST YOUR MINDS!?”
Her voice boomed throughout the Grand Convocation Chamber, drowning everything out and stunning the Galactic Senate into deafening silence. From the corner of her eye, Padmé spotted two more holocams approaching her.
If that didn’t catch their attention, nothing will.
Padmé Amidala: a measured, articulate, and persuasive voice of reason in the Republic Senate. She knew the image she wore before the Senate, and the galaxy. At that moment, however, she was the daring partisan guerrilla, the former queen of a world subjected to invasion and occupation. Someone who knew first hand the consequences of war, and have had enough of it.
“Now that I have captured your attention, honoured colleagues!” she all but bellowed, “Might I comment that all I have heard is credit, credit, funds and financial bills!? While all of you bicker and argue over the fiscal cost of the war, might I remind this august body that there is the mortal cost!? Must I remind every one of you that ten million people are dead!?”
You are fighting your war, Annie. I will fight mine.
“They were clones, Senator!” Senator Edcel Bar Gane of Roona scolded, “This is what they were bred for! All you have done is made a fool of yourself–”
“And all you have done is expose the depths of your ignorance, Senator!” she roared, “Must I remind this august body that there are only two million cloned troopers in the galaxy as well!?”
Edcel Bar Gane recoiled, as if he had been physically struck. A fourth holocam had joined the audience floating above her head, and she wondered how many billions, trillions were watching her every move. She could feel the astonished stares from Senator Organa and Senator Farr, while the rest of the Senate enraptured themselves to her rhetoric.
This is where I belong.
“What are you saying, Senator Amidala?” Senator Paulness asked.
“What I am saying is that those were our countrymen who had fallen, not clones!” Padmé berated the Senate, “They were not clones. They were loyalists! Patriots! Young men and women who have taken up the torch of the Republic, to fight for the Republic! And in a single day, ten million of them lost their lives! What have we achieved? A few extra parsecs in the Mid Rim!?”
“Their bereaved families and friends are watching us, right now! And all of you have nothing to say but scream and shout at each other about credits and funds!” the Senator from Naboo snapped her attention to the Senator from Roona like a hawk, “You argue for the appropriations bill, Senator Bar Gane! But while you only think about the ships to replace, I am thinking about who has to crew them! Will you be personally visiting the homes of grieving families, offering your greatest condolences–your thoughts and prayers!–with the left hand, and then demanding the conscription of the second son with the right!?”
“Honoured colleagues!” Padmé addressed the full Senate once more, voice dripping with sweetness, “When I hear the argument for this appropriations bill, all I hear is the argument for ten million more of our constituents to be thrown into the next battle and once more BE SLAUGHTERED LIKE LIVESTOCK!”
Gasps rang out– aghast, appalled and astonished. Any one of a hundred emotions, and they all served her purpose. Padmé paused for the briefest moment, waiting for the Chair to reprimand her for breaching some archaic code of conduct or the other–but to her surprise, nothing came.
“T-That is enough, Senator Amidala,” Senator Saam attempted to mollify her, “You have made your point quite clear–”
“Have I, Senator Saam!? Have I?” she swept her gaze across the Galactic Senate, meeting as many eyes as she could, “Have I made it clear that this august body’s solution to the deaths of ten million of our countrymen is keep the bloodshed going!? Have I made it clear that this august body’s solution to the deaths of ten million of our countrymen is to line the pockets of their shimmersilk cloaks with bribes from the immoral corporations that fund the engine of war!?”
Senator Saam cringed, seeking support from his fellow corporate senators. But Lott Dod of the Trade Federation and Nix Card were motionless, clearly reading the writing on the wall. It was no secret, but nobody has dared to spell it out so clearly. Padmé knew she had just made enemies with half of the Republic Senate. But she could not care; this was greater than any of them. She could be completely on her own and it wouldn’t matter, because she already had all of them by the throats.
“Please conclude your statement, Senator Amidala,” Mas Amedda requested.
Padmé cleared her throat again, sharing a grin with her Teckla before returning to her audience, “My honoured colleagues. I have not an inkling of doubt in your loyalties! There is no doubt that my countrymen–Nabooans–were present in the defeated fleet, and have lost their lives fighting for the Republic. Just as I have no doubt your countrymen were present too. They were true patriots! As such, the Naboo concludes that we must honour their sacrifice, to ensure that nobody follows them to such a fate! Naboo concludes that this war must end!”
“–Chandrila concurs with the Senator from Naboo!” Mon Mothma announced.
“Rodia seconds the Senator from Chandrila!”
“Alderaan is in full agreement with Naboo!” Bail Organa had the widest smile as he said so.
Senator Bana Breemu raised a hand “As is Humbarine!”
“Traitors! All of you!” Senator Mot-Not Rab railed against them, wilfully ignorant of the shifting atmosphere, “Who’s side are really on!?”
Padmé didn’t answer at first, imbuing the Senator from Tarn with what seemed like confidence. In reality, however, she was only waiting for the holocam to make its way to his repulsorpod. Just as the Senator was about to continue–
“I am on the side that wishes for no more of our sons and daughters to die, Senator,” she replied coolly, “I am on the side that no longer wants to see grieving mothers weeping over caskets, or see children waiting by the door for a father who would never return. What about you, Senator? I am curious, as I imagine the galaxy is, as are your constituents. The holocam eagerly awaits your answer, honoured Senator, so tell us; whose side are you on?”
Mot-Not Rab swung around to find the holocam buzzing sinisterly above his head, catching a right good look of his panic-struck expression. When there wasn’t any answer but stunned silence, the droid almost shook in disappointment, before hovering away to find the next poor soul to terrorise.
When it was abundantly clear there was no more opposition, Padmé finished her speech.
“The Senator from Naboo wishes to sponsor a peace initiative with the Separatist Alliance!” she declared, “Enough of the galaxy has bled for nothing, and so I will say it once and now: this war is over! Vote now!”
The Senate went wild, erupting into raucous cheering and applause. The very air was now buzzing with excitement, with dozens of new holocams introduced into the Convocation Chamber in order to capture the standing ovation in its entirety.
“She’s right!” Padmé could hear.
“Listen to her!”
“This war is over, vote now!”
“This war is over!”
“This war is over!”
The whole Senate took up the chant, louder and louder until it seemed the whole galaxy roared along with them. And among it all, Padmé locked gazes with Chancellor Palpatine, who replied with a kind smile and nod. She breathed out, and took her seat. She could finally relax, because she knew that–
“THIS WAR IS OVER!”