Chapter 33

Raxus Secundus, Raxus System

Caluula Sector

“This session has been convened today to debate and decide on the confirmation of the Sovereign System of Japrael’s nomination for the office of the Supreme Martial Commander of the Separatist Armies.”

Bec Lawise’s ritual opening statement was a calm spell that descended on the Separatist Senate, mellowing out otherwise explosive arguments and debates into civil sobriety. His was the guiding hand that has steered the apparatus of the Confederacy since its inception. Just as there has been no legitimately considered opposition to the Dooku Administration, Bec Lawise’s position as Congress Leader was rock solid.

Lawise’s level voice commanded respect and maturity as a rare neutral figure in an increasingly partisan Senate. Like the vast majority of Siniteens, he was a political realist, using that massive brain of his to measure every intent and intonation to maintain the fragile decorum in the chamber.

Which was why his decision to spell out the Sovereign System of Japrael was so measured and deliberate. First was that the Confederacy was supposed to be a non-partisan democracy–political parties were not outright banned, but there were legal stoppers in place to prevent them from participating in elections. This non-partisan behaviour was naturally extended to the expected conduct of both the Head of State and Congress Leader. As such, colloquial labels like ‘Peace Faction,’ ‘War Faction,’ and ‘Coalition Senators’ were not legally bound by any means, and were created by pundits to divvy up the Senate for easy reference.

Not that it was wholly untrue, anyhow.

Despite the very antipodal nomenclature, cross-party deals were common between the War and Peace Factions. Their antagonism only extends as far as international relations are concerned, as most of the Independent Systems share similar economic principles–which was why they joined the Separatist Alliance in the first place. Thankfully, this meant the Confederacy’s domestic policies were far more coherent than the Republic’s. Pre-war Republic’s, at least.

In any case, the second reason was that Onderon was an ‘ally’ of the Confederacy. When the Treaty of Iziz was signed, both Onderon and Raxus acknowledged that the Japrael System was going to be an enclave and especially vulnerable. Onderon’s treatment was similar to Fondor in that regard; the membership of an Inner Rim system would be a massive boost the Separatist legitimacy, and so both times diplomats were tasked with specifically wording the treaties so that Onderon and Fondor were ‘allied’ star systems.

Neutral parties, so to speak. Secession wasn’t illegal in Republic law–but apparently joining the Separatist Alliance was. Thus, Onderon used that paper thin argument that it had simply exercised its right to secede in order to disqualify the Republic’s moral high ground and deter invasion.

Paper thin. Less than paper thin. Onderon and Fondor had representation in the Separatist Senate, and had contributed military resources.

But that was where Onderon and Fondor differed. Fondor was one of the premier shipyards of the galaxy, nestled in the Core’s backyard–while Onderon was an inhospitable, barely populated backwater on the fringes of the Inner Rim. The last I’ve heard, Fondor was under siege–by an Onderonian Jedi, ironically. But Onderon? The reason why this diplomatic scheme worked for Onderon was because it would be too much of a hassle for the Republic.

Alright, maybe that was an understatement.

Fighting Onderon would be hell on earth for the Republic. Like Fondor, the Onderonian populace was lukewarm at best to the Separatist cause; but once their homeworld was under invasion? The Republic wouldn’t be fighting Onderonians, they would be fighting Onderon.

Onderon. The planet with a biosphere actively hostile to human life, not to mention the Demon Moon’s yearly crusade. The planet with a frankly prideful and notoriously xenophobic people who lived in hidden cities that can’t be named or located by anyone but those who lived there. The planet with an aeon-long history of bloodshed, with innumerable fortresses and mountain redoubts carved into its impenetrable geography.

Any invader wouldn’t even know where to start. Iziz, the so-called capital city? You might as well mark Japrael System’s dot on the starchart as Iziz, because that’s the only Onderonian settlement the galaxy can name. Fuck, even I can’t name any city outside of Iziz’s woefully small sphere of influence–I don’t think anybody in this sorry excuse of a ‘capital’ city can.

No, better leave this shithole of the star system alone in its ‘neutrality’ then spend nineteen years and a million men slogging through the jungle. It wasn’t like Onderon had any strategic importance anyway–location-wise or resource-wise.

The Congress Leader drew my attention back to the event at hand, “The floor is now open to debate.”

Speaker Lawise waited several heartbeats, but there was not a single voice of dissent.

Maybe it was the cliques of officers watching from the mezzanines–myself included–imposing a watchful pressure on the politicians below. Each one of us owed our lives to Sev’rance Tann–or at least that’s how it was spun–and a walkout would be a tacit condemnation of our government. Holocam droids buzzed around; the eyes of the Confederacy were on us.

Or maybe it was the star of the show, Sev’rance Tann herself, standing in close-eyed silence at the foot of the debate tables below. She was the very picture of composure, ready to answer any inquiry or refute any detraction of her character. Confidence radiated from her stance in waves, and even Mina Bonteri standing a handful of kiosks away appeared moved. Maybe it was simple enough that nobody dared oppose the face of the Confederate Armed Forces right in front of her.

The answer was simple; it was everything previously mentioned, and it was the collective conclusion of the Senate that this was the closest they’ve ever been to confirming a Supreme Commander; the Peace Faction have finally taken a step off their platform to meet the War Faction in the middle in a rare display of compromise. If any of the War Faction argues, it would be the death sentence of their entire agenda and even legitimacy.

Even those on Dooku’s payroll could only keep their heads down and let gears turn. Sev’rance Tann was a decorated hero of the Confederacy who had fought for the Separatist cause ever since its inception. She was the only Separatist commander who had ever struck the Core Worlds. She was at one point the executive nomination. The media’s exaltation of her character had only catapulted her fame to astronomical heights. I daresay she was very well now a household name, at least in the Near Perlemian region.

The only thing that could stop the inevitability of her confirmation was Dooku himself, and he was nowhere to be seen. I could just imagine the man hauling ass from Serenno–and even though the thought made me want to giggle, that ever-present part of me warned not to underestimate him.

However, simple logic dictates that there was absolutely no way for him to get here in time. He could take any path–the Republic-occupied Salin Corridor, the Gordian Reach or the Listehol Run–and still take days to reach Raxus even with the latest hyperdrive.

He wasn’t getting here in time. End of story.

Would you look at that, I mused, the Senate is in checkmate.

“If there is no opposition in this body,” Mina Bonteri boomed, voice powerful and clear as water, “Then Onderon moves that this body proceeds with the vote.”

Once again, Lawise waited some seconds for dissent, before finally relenting, “The dais recognises the Senator from Onderon’s motion. By the Bylaws of Independent Systems, a voice vote is required to proceed.”

A resounding ‘aye’ rose from the stands, to the point some of the spectating officers were moved backwards in surprise, as if the wall of noise had physically shoved them. From the corner of my eye, I spotted the Harch Admiral Trench rising head and shoulders over the crowd, passively stroking one of his mandibles as he eyed General Tann like a… well, like a spider watching a fly.

“The ayes have it,” the Speaker declared, though with an unmistakable tone of lament.

Before I could even begin to analyse why, however, he had already moved on.

“The Sovereign System of Japrael’s nomination is General Sev’rance Tann,” he announced to nobody’s surprise, “Her file is now being transmitted to your consoles.”

A ripple of humour billowed through the spectating military caste. File, the common thought seemed to be, what file? What was there to look at, what was there to think about?

Was it her capture of Sarapin, the world that supplied 80% of the Core’s power? Was it Krant, where she dealt the second decisive blow against the Republic by killing a Jedi General and crushing a Sector Fleet? Was it Christophsis, or Bothawui, or Columex?

Usually, a hearing would begin by now. Nothing serious; just a meaningless audit for the books. Stuff like cross-referencing her achievements, confirming her competency, and acknowledging her loyalty. But not a single Senator dared to stand up and break the thick, heavy fog settling over the benches. The peer pressure was so thick it made even me uncomfortable; only expounding by the pure calm General Tann displayed. I could be made to think this was just another military council.

All it would take is one person, I thought, one person to break the ice. I swept my gaze over the opposing stands, searching out the Senators I knew to be corporate-backed, or Dooku loyalists. Those driven by ideals–Peace or War Faction regardless–were likely sincere, but those driven by profit? It seemed not even profit could make them move now.

“According to the Bylaws of Independent Systems, an absolute majority is needed to confirm the Supreme Commander’s nomination,” Speaker Lawise tapped his console and stepped back, “You may now cast your votes.”

Like a great dam breached, the mounting pressure was abruptly released by hundreds of Senators all but leaping from their seats and dispersing among each other to debate the vote in their cliques. The only outliers were the Coalition Senators, who had already voted en masse, and General Tann herself, unmoved and straight as an arrow even as Senators crossing the floor gave her a wide berth.

I hunted down Admiral Trench once again, and began moving towards him. It was not difficult–even by alien standards, the towering Harch race was off-putting. Admiral Trench was a legendary figure long before Sev’rance Tann’s name first appeared in officer logs, and his very presence only stacked even more legitimacy to General Tann’s claim. There was an invisible wall, almost tangible, that separated him from the rest of the spectators.

“Commodore Bonteri, may we have a moment of your time?”

I froze, spinning on a heel, “Commander… Dymurra.”

Commander Dymurra of Ampliquen saluted carelessly, before smoothly transitioning into an introductory gesture for the steel-clad Skakoan beside him, “This is Bunt Dantor of the Techno Union. We have a proposition to make.”

I shifted my gaze between them, before glancing over my shoulder to make sure Trench hadn’t moved.

“I appreciate forthrightness,” I said, and they took it as permission to speak.

“With the– with General Tann’s inevitable ascension, the Loronar Corporation and Techno Union wish for a collaborative venture with our new Supreme Commander,” Dymurra started.

“You are being a bit hasty, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” Bunt Dantor inserted, “As businesses, we must seize the initiative. Doubtlessly, our rivals will be courting the Pantoran as soon as this farce of a vote is over. We wish for an exclusive contract with the Office of the General.”

“You seem confident in the vote’s result,” I commented mildly.

“If you are not, officer, then consider that the Techno Union’s worlds will vote for her if our proposition is accepted.”

I sucked in a wince. Alright, that was a bit too honest. Luckily, we were far from the prying eyes and ears of the camdroids. Nevertheless, their objective was rather straightforward–they wanted to get the jump on the rest of the military-industrial complex. With a Supreme Commander, the disparate corporations finally had a centralised figure and budget to approach in order to get contracts, and every single one of them wanted the largest slice of the cake.

A raised a flat palm, “It’s the Free Dac Volunteers that have brought this one, isn’t it?”

“We are on the same page, officer.”

With the reveal of two QFD-built star dreadnoughts–and likely many more in the works–the Free Dac Volunteers Engineering Corps undoubtedly were the premiere starship manufacturer of the Confederacy. Not to mention their chokehold on the Providence-class and Recusant-class designs that make the backbone of the Confederate Navy.

They must have secured the contracts from Dooku and the secret council of corporations backing him, circumventing the proper processes. But with a Supreme Commander, that avenue no longer existed, and everything concerning the matters of the military must go through the Office of the General of the Separatist Army. This was their chance to tear away the QFD’s dominance with a superweapon of their own.

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However, if I remember correctly, Wat Tambor–Foreman of the Techno Union–was a member of that secret council.

“What does the Foreman have to say about this?” I raised an eyebrow.

“There has been no contact with Foreman Tambor since Ryloth,” Bunt Dantor said bluntly, “But the board of directors cannot let this opportunity slip.”

I could have also asked why they came to me of all people, but I suppose they had been thorough in their research, so it would be moot.

“Very well,” I conceded, “Give me your proposal.”

Dymurra smirked, producing a holoproj before inserting a datachip into it, “The Loronar Corporation had closely observed the Battle of Columex, and considering the effectiveness of your strategy, we propose a testbed for an entirely new class of vessel.”

The schematics burst out of the projector, detailing a warship that could only be described as an interstellar catamaran. The intent was clear enough–even without digging into the specifications–they wanted to replicate the Tann Railgun with an internal propulsion system rather than external.

The immediate problem that I noticed–and so did they–was that the Tann Railgun wasn’t a railgun. They called this vessel a testbed, and not a warship, because an internalised Tann Railgun had never been done before. See, the Tann Railgun couldn’t be replicated with some rails and electromagnets–the galaxy has a long history of kinetic mass drivers–because the Tann Railgun was more accurately a warp drive pretending to be a mass driver.

A railgun can’t accelerate its warhead anywhere near relativistic velocities–the most powerful could perhaps manage a muzzle velocity of 20KPS; and the Tann Railgun had 100,000KPS. The drawbacks, however, were immense. Just to accelerate a proton torpedo needed the full power output of dreadnought reactors, with corresponding military-grade tractor beams. The energy required was immense, and the safeties were limited–we were dealing with the fabric of space-time here–any smallest hiccup could result in… well, just look at what happened to my bastardised version of it at Columex.

A dozen warships vapourised and tens of thousands dead.