Chapter 41

Coruscant, Coruscant System

Corusca Sector

It was not long after the departure of the senatorial delegation did Yoda receive peremptory summons from the Office of the Supreme Chancellor.

The reason for the summon was without explanation, but conveyed all due urgency with the lack of protocol-approved language accepted and expected for such communications. Regardless, it wasn’t a meeting he anticipated with any kind of pleasure. More and more of late it seemed the Jedi were being drawn into politics, into matters of legislation and legalese that had never been their arena.

The Jedi were sworn to uphold the Republic and protect its ideals, not entangle themselves in the fortunes of any one Chancellor.

But that thousand year paradigm had changed. Changed by Chancellor Palpatine–not because he was a bully or a strongman as some had feared he would become. Quite the contrary, in fact; Palpatine was constantly resisting the Senate’s growing desire for him to assume more and more executive powers. He resisted, the Senate insisted, and he was forced to acquiesce. And every time he acquiesced, he turned once more to the Jedi for advice.

It was hardly an ideal situation. The Jedi Council was not just another branch of the executive office; a claim growing thinner every passing day, according to cynical holonews services.

But how, in good conscience, could they refuse to aid a man who had so humbly begged for their help? A man who championed them in the Senate at every opportunity, against ever louder voices? A man who had worked tirelessly for peace since assuming the highest political post in the galaxy and was now faced with the terrifying task of keeping their flagging Republic afloat?

How could the Jedi Council turn its back on such a man?

Clearly, it couldn’t. Clearly, in the face of these daunting times, the Jedi must set aside their traditions and come to the aid of the man a galaxy looked to as its saviour.

But that didn’t mean they had to be happy about it.

“Forgive me when I say this, Master,” Master Gallia murmured as they made their way through the bewildering maze of corridors to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s executive suite, “But the summons only asked for you. I may find myself unwelcome.”

“Attend you will, Master Galia,” Yoda said firmly, “In these unfamiliar times, your expertise is a welcomed necessity.”

“Unwelcome times,” the Tholothian replied softly, “The very fact that my expertise is welcomed bodes poorly for our Order.”

When the Jedi Order accepted the Republic’s call to war, even the most consular Knights and Masters were forced to take up their lightsabers and depart for battle. The Jedi were oathsworn to do so. They were dying now to uphold that sacred oath. No sacrifice would be too great to ensure the survival of peace and the Republic. Master Adi Gallia would’ve been no exception, even if she was self-admittedly poor in combat and even if it took months of training to refamiliarise herself with the skills she lost.

Then came the Battle of Christophsis, and just like that Master Gallia had to stow her saber once more and resign herself to defending the standing of the Jedi Order in the halls of politics, against growing condemnation and louder denunciation. Even now, her personal war of words and favours were the only things keeping the Order’s reputation clawing itself back up the mountain from which it fell, rather than plummeting into the abyss.

For that, Yoda could never be more grateful.

Yet still, even the ancient Jedi Master had no positive response to Master Gallia’s statement. A bleak feeling, made worse as they entered the crimson opulence of the Chancellor’s suite… and as Master Adi Gallia smoothed her expression and poise into that not of a Jedi, but of a seasoned politician not one twitch out of place of the oppressive decor. Perhaps it was merely habit by now, and nothing indicative of Master Gallia’s increasing distance from the Temple, but Yoda still could not avoid the sinking feeling that he had just witnessed the death of another Jedi.

Killed, not by the enemy, but by the failures of the Order she served.

Yoda expelled himself of such dangerous thoughts, even as he took in the bleeding palette of the office antechamber. An unexpected choice of colour scheme for such an unpretentious man. He had asked the Chancellor about it, once, to satiate his curiosity.

“When I think of my new responsibilities I grow cold with fear,” Palpatine had said, “Red grants me the illusion that I am warm.”

Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila was waiting in the otherwise empty antechamber, dressed in her emblematic swan white raiment. Her face immediately brightened upon noticing their entrance, leaping to her feet to greet them.

“Master Gallia! And, of course, Master Yoda…” she breathed out, flicking her attention towards the diminutive Jedi briefly as if in afterthought, “What a mercy it is to see you again. The Chancellor’s summons must have been a surprise, but I assure you there is a good reason for them.”

Master Gallia showed none of the displeasure she displayed before, an affable cordiality gracing her features as she took the Senator’s hands and cradled them, “Likewise, Senator. We were most concerned when we recognised the unusual nature of the summon’s writing. I assume you have your suspicions concerning the subject of these summons?”

“I am afraid so, Master Jedi,” Senator Mothma nodded gravely, “A terrible revelation that could threaten everything my colleagues are striving for on Onderon.”

With the absence of Senator Organa and Senator Amidala, Mon Mothma was one of the last major pillars of the Loyalist Committee remaining on Coruscant. As a woman closely involved with the debates over many affairs not excluding the Republic’s security, it should not have been a surprise that she was also summoned.

Before Yoda or Adi could reply, the doors to Palpatine’s office opened and Sly Moore stepped into the antechamber, her needle-like irises piercing as ever as she took in each of them.

“Master Jedi, Senator Mothma,” she said politely, “The Supreme Chancellor will see you now.”

The gravity of the situation was made apparent the moment Yoda saw the Director of Republic Military Intelligence, Armand Isard, in the office, apparently having just given a report to the Chancellor. And the Chancellor… Palpatine was in a worse state than Yoda had ever seen him in. Almost slumped in his chair, the Chancellor of the Republic tiredly massaged his forehead as he acknowledged the entrance of the Jedi, the creases of his face deep and taut with feverish anxiety.

“Master Jedi… I am afraid I had let my guard down,” Palpatine admitted, “I… I had made the grave mistake of believing being so close to peace meant we were at peace. Director Isard, could you please show our Jedi friends the images from Foerost?”

Foerost. One of the largest shipyards in the galaxy, and one that had sided with the Separatist Alliance. Republic forces had swiftly blockaded the world after the Battle of Geonosis in hope that the lack of supplies would strangle the shipyards into submission, or at least obscurity. One this was for certain; the Republic did not have the resources to assault an armed orbital structure of this calibre. If there was news coming from Foerost, Yoda thought, it could not be good.

A series of highly annotated holo-images shimmered into existence above the Chancellor’s desk, and Director Isard seized the opportunity to elaborate before any of their untrained eyes decided to ask the obvious question–what are we looking at?

“What you are seeing here,” Armand Isard spoke plainly, “Are signs of activity in all two-hundred of Foerost’s construction docks. The Techno Union is building a secret fleet five hours south of Coruscant. Considering the size of each dock and other observations, each ship is at the very least equivalent to a Providence-class dreadnought.”

Yoda stared at the floor, both hands grasping his gimer stick. What answer could he have to that? This was not what the Jedi were summoned for, no, but Yoda felt the need to say something nonetheless.

“Unforeseen was this development,” at the very least, he could assuage the Chancellor’s self-blame, “Made a mistake, we all did. We breathed out, before we were even safe.”

“Unforeseen, yes,” the Chancellor murmured as Mas Amedda shuffled into the office, “And by the Jedi as well, no less… ah, my friend, good news I hope?”

The Chagrian Vice Chair shook his head grimly, “The Oversight Committees were insistent. The Media Security Act must be passed before the Senate hears this. There is already a majority support in the committees and Core-aligned factions.”

“Bill!” Senator Mothma rebuked, “It has not been introduced to the Senate, and will remain a bill if we have anything to say of it!

“Media Security… Bill,” Master Gallia crossed her arms, “I dislike the word ‘security.’ It’s a pretty little wrapping the committees like to use to thinly disguise a new version of tyranny.”

“Because it is tyranny!” Mothma insisted, hands frantic, “This bill will essentially nationalise all media outlets in the Republic! First the media, and then it’s the end of all private enterprises in the Republic! Can’t we see? It sets a precedent that cannot pass!”

“Senator Mothma,” Mas Amedda said without emotion, “I am afraid the bill already has enough support to pass in the Senate. Expected key opponents such as your allies Senator Amidala, Senator Organa, and Senator Breemu are absent, and Chandrila cannot shoulder the opposition alone.”

“Chancellor!” Senator Mothma pleaded in a last ditch effort, “If the bill reaches your table, you must veto it! Else… else you would be putting your signature to the end of democracy in the Republic!”

“An odd notion, Senator, considering the bill is going to pass through the democratic body,” Director Armand commented softly, purposefully, “Chancellor, I find myself in agreement with the Oversight Committees. If the media catches wind of an enemy fleet mere hours away from their worlds, it will be pandemonium in the Core. Our home armadas have been sent to the front, and the Deep Core Reserve is nowhere to be seen. We cannot afford any disruption in public order, not with the Separatists as skittish as we are, with the ongoing summit.”

Chancellor Palpatine looked up at the Jedi with distress in his eyes, caught between the airlock and hard vacuum. There was an urgent hope he conveyed, as if expecting the Jedi to have some miraculous solution for his predicament.

“Wait,” Master Gallia tried to unwound the tension, though her swaying tendrils betrayed her uneasiness, “Director, care to explain how the Separatists are building a fleet from scratch while under siege?”

“It had been a shameful oversight,” Director Armand admitted sourly, “Unlike most shipyard worlds, Foerost is largely uninhabited. With no extraction regulations or limits, the entire planet serves as a resource source for its shipyards.”

“Communicating with their government, Foerost is not,” Master Yoda asserted, “Under siege they are.”

“Master Yoda is right,” Mon Mothma latched onto the argument, “There isn’t any way Foerost knows about the state of the galaxy. They still think they are at war! Can’t we contact them?”

“They won’t believe anything less than Dooku himself, and you know that, Senator,” Director Isard clenched his tablet tightly, “Aside from that inconvenient fact; we have already tried. The Foerost Shipyards have cut all communications. They are utterly unresponsive to all of our attempts.”

“Well, are there any signs at all that the Techno Union is planning to use this fleet of theirs?” the desperate Senator tried one last time.

“None at all. That is the only good news,” Isard replied, “But you know as well as I how selective the Core is in their hearing. Chancellor, there is no other recourse; you must sign the bill into law when it passes. We are nearly at peace. Once we are, this law will be gone with your Administration. One last sacrifice, Chancellor.”

Slowly, painfully, Palpatine removed himself from his chair to stand staring through the transparisteel window into Coruscant’s teeming sky, hands clasped behind his back, chin sunk to his velvet robes.

“Do you know, my friends,” he said at last, breaking the heavy silence, “There are times when I begin to doubt I have the strength to go on.”

“Don’t say that!” Mas Amedda exclaimed frantically, “Without you the Republic would have already fallen!”

“The Speaker is correct, Chancellor,” Mon Mothma hastily seconded, “This is not your failure. If there is anybody to blame than bad fortune, it is Intelligence for failing to reveal this threat, and the Senate for overreacting. They–we–are the ones who have failed the Republic, not you.”

The fact that Director Isard did not move to protest was begrudging agreement in of itself.

“But I have failed!” Palpatine retorted loudly, swinging around, “I have failed, by allowing the Senate to ‘overreact’ again and again and again! In the name of defence, in the name of protection, in the name of security! I stand before you as the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, but I also stand before you as the man who is tearing down the Republic’s Constitution bit by bit! We are this close to putting the dreadful war behind us. This close! And yet I must still sign my name on the corpse of another of the Republic’s democratic institutions?”

“That’s untrue!” Mon Mothma turned to the Jedi for help, “You can still veto the bill, not to mention, it hasn’t even been introduced to the Senate yet! You have my word, Chancellor–I will fight against this bill with everything I have. I will not let Padmé and Bail return to a Republic where her citizens’ voices are no longer theirs.”

Just as slowly as he stood up, Palpatine returned to his chair, composing himself with a hint of shame, “I must confess you surprise me, Senator. Given your close relationship with Senator Amidala, I wasn’t entirely certain you still supported me.”

Senator Mothma laughed bitterly, “It is true the Senator from Naboo and I have disagreed with you on several critical issues, especially during the Separatist Crisis. But neither of us have ever denied that you were only doing what you thought was right for the Republic. Neither of us could have begun to imagine what it must be like sitting in the chair you are now, trying to keep us ‘safe’ yet ‘free’ at the same time.”

“An easy road to walk, it is not,” Yoda agreed, “No shame there is, in stumbling once so often. Stand up again, you still can.”

“That’s right,” Master Gallia glared at Director Isard, daring him to argue, “You can still widen the road. Compromise with the committees. The bill is still a mere draft. It can still be edited. You must not even allow the bill to be introduced to the Senate in the state that it is in now. Senator Mon’s fear of precedent is correct, but wrong about one thing. Every evil bill we allow to even enter the Senate makes the next one that much easier to introduce, even if it is defeated in the end.”

Chancellor Palpatine looked at them with wide eyes, hands half-outstretched, as if clutching at something intangible–as if the Jedi had just given him back his soul.

“Compromise,” he muttered feverishly, “Yes… we can still compromise. Mas, please tell our dear senators that I will not be the man who signs away the freedom of the Republic, even if in the name of peace.”

Mon Mothma could have collapsed in relief. Perhaps, in the privacy of her own apartment, she still would. And Yoda sympathised with her greatly.

“The bill still must retain enough enforcement to prevent a media circus once Foerost gets revealed,” Director Isard warned, before stepping back to indicate that he had spoken his piece.

Palpatine rubbed his hands, deep in thought, “The current bill seeks to overcorrect. Instead of this body, what if it temporarily expands the HoloCommunications Commission regulatory powers over the HoloNet? This way, the Commission can issue a gag order and censor any media without that could threaten public order–at least until the armistice is signed. It could also finally act against the prominent elements of speciesism in the media that has grown louder following Senator Amidala’s call to treat with the Separatists.”

Senator Mothma tensed up again, but breathed out, “I dislike it, but I cannot deny that this could very well be the smallest thing the committees could swallow. I will speak to my caucus and the Loyalist Committee. You have my promise, Chancellor; the bill as it is will be defeated before it even enters the Convocation Chamber.”

“I must excuse myself as well, Chancellor, Master Yoda,” Master Gallia bowed, “I fear I’ve found too many friends in the Senate as of late. On the bright side, I will be able to aid Senator Mothma’s cause.”

“Please, please, my friends,” there was nothing but gratefulness written on the Chancellor’s face, “You have my sincerest apologies for taking so much time out of your most certainly busy schedules. Especially you, Master Jedi. I owe all of you a great deal today. If there is anything in which you require my assistance, you must only ask.”

As Senator Mothma and Master Gallia departed to speak with their allies; as Mas Amedda sunk into a couch to take a sigh of relief; as Director Isard measuredly packed his effects before his long journey back to the Center for Military Operations; as Chancellor Palpatine absentmindedly tapped near his desk’s comlink, as if awaiting news from the peace summit… Yoda could only think that this day could have gone much, much worse.

No, Yoda shook his head as he left the office, today is a good day. It is, after all, another day in which the Republic has not fallen.

⁂

Onderon, Japrael System

Japrael Sector

It felt like nary a handful of hours before dawn was climbing over the rooftops again, and streets already busy with the morning life of the markets. Scout was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she strode through the Onderonian palace’s stone corridors, with Ahsoka hurrying to keep up beside her. It was the first official day of the summit, and both sides were hoping to set off on the right foot with the prisoner exchange; the most public and publicised event on the itinerary. Millions of Onderonians would be watching, and trillions of galactic citizens.

That meant if there was any saboteur aiming to make a statement, this day would be the perfect time to do so.

At the foot of the mountain, both the Senate Guard and Onderonian Royal Army were out in force on the grounds of Yolahn Square, with the latter commandeering the innermost ring of buildings encircling the central avenue. The Square was shaped like a cross, inclined slightly upslope towards the mountain. The opposite avenue lances straight through the city, defining the Merchant’s Quarter and leading straight to the gatehouse, while the perpendicular avenues disappeared into the tangle of skyramps and rooftops.

It was from those perpendicular avenues which the Republic and Separatist prisoners-of-war would come in from, before meeting in the Square. Letting the Force guide her, Ahsoka led them both to the Masters, who were patrolling the grounds–even though Scout thought it was a bit useless, considering the sheer amount of soldiers already present.

“Scout, Ahsoka,” Master Plo greeted, “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than on dragonback,” Ahsoka grumbled, and Scout nodded her mirrored sentiments, “My body’s still sore all over.”

“You know, when I was younger I dreamed that one day I could ride dragons too,” Master Skywalker quirked a smile, “Though I hadn’t quite imagined dragons would look like this.”

“I remember that,” Master Kenobi grinned through his beard, “Turns out you were looking in the wrong place all along.”

“What do you mean by that?” Scout asked.

“There’s an old tale on Tatooine, that there were dragons who lived in our suns,” Anakin Skywalker’s smile grew sombre for reasons unknown, “Maybe we should have been looking at our moons instead.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author’s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Master Kenobi sighed lightly, folding his arms into his sleeves as he squinted up at the lonely moon in the sky fading into the blue as the sky brightened.

“Where’s Barriss?” Ahsoka suddenly piped up, looking around, “I could’ve sworn she came back with us…”

“She did, Ahsoka, you weren’t dreaming,” Master Plo said kindly, “I told her it wasn’t necessary for her to attend. What she needs now is rest.”

“An entire year spent as a Separatist prisoner,” Ahsoka mumbled, “I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

“She was Bonteri’s prisoner,” Master Kenobi mused out loud as they walked, “Ahsoka, what did you think of him?”

“Bonteri?” the Togruta echoed, “I mean– he said a lot of… am I really allowed to say this?”

“I have already informed Obi-Wan and Anakin of our conversations,” Master Plo advised, “What your Master wants to know is your observation of Bonteri’s character.”

Ahsoka scrunched up her face in thought, her unmatured lekku bouncing stiffly in the morning breeze. Scout decided she ought to lift some of the burden, at least until her friend could organise her thoughts.

“He seems normal,” was Scout’s answer, “A normal person who follows rules. From what I heard about the Battle of Columex, I wasn’t sure what I expected. But I didn’t think Bonteri is the kind of person able to… you know.”

Master Kenobi nodded sagely, “Normal people can do extreme things, when they believe it is their duty. As Jedi, we must seek justice where possible, but also be prudent as we do so. Is a lawful man evil?”

Scout shook her head, feeling as if she had been transported back into one of her hated Temple lectures, “No, Master.”

“But what if the laws he adheres to are evil?”

“That means the laws are evil, not the man,” Ahsoka protested.

“Would you feel the same way if you were at the Battle of Columex?” Master Kenobi’s gaze was distant, “If you were watching Separatist battleships bear down on you, filled with spacers seeking your death because you are a Jedi?”

“That’s because Dooku is evil, and he made the rules the Separatists follow!”

“Evil… is a terrible word,” Master Plo grieved an old friend, “I prefer misguided, by the dark side. I hope he is misguided by the dark side.”

Scout looked up at the old Jedi, “Count Dooku was your friend, Master?”

Plo Koon turned around, “Dooku was stern, and perhaps not the easiest to talk to. But he was respected by the entire Order, and a friend to all of us. I still regret the mistakes we made, but hopefully with this peace we can start fixing them.”

“Masters,” a soft, yet clear voice rang out.

Master Plo looked past Scout’s shoulder, “Barriss. You should be resting. I have already called for a shuttle to bring you back to the Temple, and have informed Master Luminara of your return.”

Master Luminara Unduli’s lost Padawan. Scout knew Master Luminara lost a Padawan far outside the Republic’s borders, apparently for a secret mission that was critical to the war. It was hard not to know, considering Master and Padawan left, and only Master returned. Considering how long it’s been since, it’s a miracle–the will of the Force–that Barriss survived all that time. Scout doubted she was the only one wondering how. Rain Bonteri, at least, clearly knew she was a Jedi.

“Thank you, Master, but I have done nothing but rest,” Barriss’ cobalt eyes were bright, and disturbingly awake, “I cannot leave until I have seen Columex through.”

“You were at Columex?” Ahsoka… didn’t quite shout, but still exclaimed in the same eagerness she would when searching for war stories.

Barriss dipped her head.

“Hold on a moment,” Master Skywalker stepped forward, “On which side were you fighting for?”

Huh…? Wasn’t she a prisoner–

“I was onboard the Separatist destroyer Messenger, and frigate Unicorn before that, Master Skywalker,” the Mirialan Padawan curtsied the best she could in the robes lended to her, “I am blessed to see you again in good health.”

“I knew I recognised you from somewhere,” Master Skywalker scowled, “You were at Atraken, weren’t you? The Unicorn was the ship that warned us about the refugees. You warned us about the refugees.”