Chapter 89

Coruscant, Corusca System

Corusca Sector

Where’s the Supreme Chancellor?

Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila could only wonder as she took her place in the Grand Convocation Chamber. It was no ordinary session of the Galactic Senate. The occasion marked the end of Chancellor Palpatine’s third consecutive term in an office that only permits two. By the laws laid out in the Republic’s founding documents, his time in office should have ended four years ago; instead, the Emergency Powers Act, enacted by majority vote at the onset of the Separatist Crisis, had extended his authority indefinitely.

But as the stars now set on Serenno, more and more voices began to rise in the Senate: when exactly will this ‘emergency’ end?

The answer, of course, lay in the fine print of the very amendment that had given the Chancellor such sweeping control. The state of emergency could only be terminated by the Supreme Chancellor himself–a decree that would effectively strip him of the extraordinary powers he had amassed. Except, over the past four years, the Senate had passed four additional constitutional amendments, each granting him greater authority under the guise of wartime necessity, culminating in the ghastly overreaching Reflex Amendment passed at the peak of the Crisis in the Core, in which Separatist warfleets struck as far as Coruscant and the Agricultural Circuit.

At this point, politely asking him to surrender his emergency powers would no longer be feasible. They had wilfully fed fuel to the fire for four years with their own votes and proclamations; to expect the fire to extinguish itself now would to be a fool.

They would have to smother this hungering flame the same way they fuelled it; with their votes.

Mon Mothma drove her repulsorpod deeper into the Convocation Chamber, exercising every ounce of bodily control she had to prevent herself from cringing under the scrutinizing eyes of two-thousand senators, tens of thousands of representatives, and trillions of galactic citizens.

She swept her gaze over the chamber, tracing the tiered rows of repulsorpods extending outward and upward like jagged, concentric teeth, each pod a fragment of the galaxy’s collective voice–if only in theory.

Then she saw the pods that were empty and devoid of life, Naboo’s among them. Senators removed from power, either via disgraced resignation or unfortunate accidents, or simply those who lost all faith in the august body they once served with pride. Because it was increasingly difficult to see the Galactic Senate as anything other than the theatre to rubberstamp the Supreme Chancellor’s every whimsy.

This Senate is a sarlacc pit, she could only think, the senators perched in their pods like hapless beings clinging to the walls, each trying to avoid being consumed by the central podium; by feeding it more and more power.

And the central podium itself–its space not occupied by a velvet-robed man, but solely by the imposing figure of blue-skinned Chagrian Mas Amedda, the Vice Chair of the Republic and Speaker of the Senate.

“Honoured colleagues!” Mon Mothma declared, marshalling up every last ounce of confidence in her body, “I am certain we all know why this august body has been convened today!”

She paused, casting a sweeping glare across her captive audience, as if daring any obstructionist to speak out against her. There were none. The very fact this hearing had been convened was physical proof that Mon Mothma’s caucus had enough votes behind it to force the session into the Galactic Senate’s increasingly empty schedule.

Nevertheless, she announced the reason anyway, for the benefit of the plethora of hovercams roving around the great rotunda.

“For those who believe the particulars beneath their attention,” Mon Mothma continued, her voice steady and firm, “We are here to discuss the matter of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s continued tenure, and the Emergency Powers Act that has allowed it to endure!”

The words reverberated through the chamber, the sound amplified by the intricate acoustics of the rotunda. It wasn’t the thunderous echo of applause or protest that greeted her statement, but the muted, uncomfortable hum of murmured conversations and shifting robes. The Senator from Chandrila let the tension linger, her hands gripping the edge of her podium as she cast her gaze over the sea of faces–some impassive, some visibly uneasy, and others steeled with resolve.

Hovercams whirred and hovered, their lenses zooming in on her with mechanical precision, broadcasting her image and voice to trillions upon trillions across the galaxy. She knew the stakes of this moment. They had to strike now, while they still could. Palpatine’s position was as unstable as it was in years, the confidence in his office shaken by the Crisis in the Core. They couldn’t afford to wait until the end of the war, at which point Palpatine could shore up his loyalists and renew his popular front.

“And yet, here we stand,” she said, her tone hardening. “Our brave patriots on the front have driven the Separatist back to Serenno! The Chancellor’s third term has ended, the stars set on the Separatist Alliance, and yet the powers remain unyielded, and this august body has been reduced to little more than a ceremonial gathering. The Constitution of our Galactic Republic, the foundation upon which our civilization stands, continuously trampled underfoot by executive decrees and emergency amendments! Will we let this stand!?”

The tension in the room was palpable now. Senators shifted in their pods, some nodding in agreement, others averting their gazes. From the central podium, Mas Amedda’s blue eyes glinted, his expression inscrutable. He stood motionless, his lekku draped over his shoulders like the regalia of a monarch. And yet, he clenched his staff nervously, despite admirably maintaining his facade of impassivity. He made no move to interrupt her.

The person responsible for his anxiety was painfully obvious to everybody in the hall. Or rather, the absence of said person. Mon Mothma’s gaze swept the chamber, sharp as a vibroblade. She did not know the reason for his absence, but she would be foolish not to seize the opportunity.

“But where,” she said, her voice rising to command the entire galaxy’s attention, “is the Supreme Chancellor?”

The words hit the Senate like a seismic charge. Murmurs rippled through the chamber, senators glancing at one another in confusion or feigned ignorance. Even the hovercams seemed to pause in mid-air, as if recording every twitch and whisper.

“For an occasion of such gravity,” Mon Mothma continued, “One might expect the leader of this Republic to be present. To answer the questions posed by this body. To assure the galaxy that the powers granted to him in trust are wielded with responsibility, not ambition. And yet–he is not here.”

The Vice Chair’s grip on his ceremonial staff tightened visibly, his knuckles paling against the dark wood. Though his expression remained carefully neutral, the subtle shift of his lekku betrayed his unease.

“Is his absence,” Mon Mothma pressed, her tone laced with deliberate skepticism, “A reflection of the respect he holds for this Senate? For our Constitution? For our Republic itself?”

A ripple of uneasy agreement coursed through the chamber. Even those loyal to the Chancellor found it difficult to defend his conspicuous absence. The holo-feed broadcasting the session was now focused squarely on the Senator from Chandrila, her determined expression a stark contrast to the increasingly uneasy senators surrounding her.

“–Well!? Do you have an answer, Vice Chair!?” she suddenly whipped towards the podium, driving her repulsorpod forward so hard she could feel the jerk snapping through her body, “Where is the Supreme Chancellor!?”

⁂

They inserted through one of the larger blown out windows on the upper floors, the gunships hovering there while they leapt across the precarious drop and into the tower.

Adi Gallia ignited her lightsaber on instinct. The dark side squirmed and hissed like a living fog, warded away and kept at bay by the light of her sapphire blade. Iskat was next into the building, followed by the rest of the ARC troopers. Then, the gunship cleared the zone for the next LAAT in line to unload its passengers.

As soon as all the squads of Aurek Team were assembled on the floor, they moved out, Jedi Knights leading packs of shocktroopers, commandos, and followed by Intelligence operatives. Weapons raised to their chests and glowrods glaring, the squads spread out in fire-and-maneuver squads and began to move deeper into the building, clearing out each room and alcove before declaring any level secure. Burning lightsabers painted the dusty grey walls in all hues of green and blue.

“Floor cleared!” Commander Thorn announced over the comms.

“We’ve shut down the turbolift,” Master Shaak Ti said, “Nobody will be using it.”

“Copy that,” Commander Valiant replied, “My squads have secured all the egresses. On your mark, we will begin proceeding downwards.”

“Copy,” Thorn said, “Aurek has the northside, Bacta has the southside. Let’s move.”

They descended the stairwells, squads moving like shadows through the derelict structure, the silence amplifying every sound: the faint hum of lightsabers, the scuff of plastoid boots on cracked permacrete, the occasional click and static of comms chatter.

Aurek Team’s glowrods cut through the dim haze, their beams reflecting off scattered debris and broken transparisteel. The air was thick with the scent of frayed circuitry and old dust, stirred anew by the passing of troopers and Jedi alike. The eerie stillness made every creak of the building’s infrastructure feel deliberate, as though the structure itself were watching.

“Bacta,” Master Gallia spoke, “Report.”

“North hallway secure, no contacts,” came Thorn’s reply, slightly muffled, “Moving into the eastern wing; looks like an admin floor.”

On the other side of the building, Commander Thorn’s squads were making steady progress through the southern quarter. His commandos moved with textbook precision, leapfrogging between cover points and sweeping each room with blaster carbines raised as they secured any egresses–turbolift shafts, stairwells, windows–as they moved towards the centre. They would rendezvous with Aurek Team there, trapping any occupants between the two teams.

Except with corner turned, every door breached, revealing only more emptiness. More of nothing.

Clear! Nothing.

Clear! Nothing.

Clear! Nothing.

Shaak Ti moved gracefully ahead of her contingent, her sapphire blade held in a relaxed guard position. She moved as though gliding, montrals subtly attuned to the faintest of vibrations. Until finally, she paused at a junction, holding up a hand to signal her squad to halt. The clones obeyed without question, forming a semicircular perimeter as their helmets swept for any sign of movement.

“Data terminal,” she identified from a near-inaudible hum, “It’s live.”

Commander Thorn flicked his wrist, and his shocktroopers moved in, followed closely by Intelligence operatives.

“A live data terminal here?” Captain Dyne murmured, “It could be rigged to a trap. We must proceed with caution.”

“There is no trap, Captain,” the Jedi Master replied, “I do not sense any.”

“With all due respect, General,” the Intelligence Captain returned stiffly, “It would be wise to follow protocol nonetheless–”

“Do as you will, Captain,” Shaak Ti simply said, tilting her head towards the doorway in question.

“No lifeforms inside,” a shocktrooper analysed through his visor.

Captain Dyne nodded at his operatives, “Deploying remotes.”

Two small probe droids lifted into the air and moved into the open doorway, their red irises scanning the entire room in but a few seconds.

“All clear, Captain,” the remote operator looked up, “Room’s empty. No traps, no hostiles.”

“Take a squad to trace the main bus,” Dyne ordered, “Now then, let’s see why the lights are still on.”

As soon as they broke off, the main squad moved into the room, blasters sweeping across the derelict office desks despite the all clear, cracked, blacked out terminal screens reflecting the harsh light of their glowrods. The lone, flickering data terminal stood out easily.

“Stay sharp,” Thorn warned, his helmet tilting slightly as he scanned the length of the long, dim corridor behind them.

Shaak Ti stood in the centre of the room, between Dyne and Thorn, her robes kicking up dust from the floor as she moved between the cubicles, “Aurek, this is Bacta. We’ve identified a live data terminal. Standby for updates.”

“Lucky you,” Adi Gallia’s voice returned after a moment, “Our side’s quiet as a grave.”

The Togruta Jedi glanced at Captain Dyne, “Anything, Captain?”

“We’re tracing the power, General,” Dyne bit his lip, “Looks like… there’s a functioning docking gate nine floors below us–on level six.”

“Functioning?”

“Power had been cycled to activate it,” the Intelligence Captain shook his head, “But we can’t trace when from here. All we can tell is that it’s been some time. A really long time.”

“Aurek, we’ve identified a functioning docking bay on level six,” Shaak Ti relayed the news, “I’d hazard it’s what we are looking for.”

“Copy that, Bacta.”

Nine levels down, the floor that served as a landing area was a small rectangular clearing carved into the side of the building, scarcely large enough for a gunship. A thin carpet of dust covered the ground, indicating disuse. Parallel to the long sides of the rectangle were banks of slender blue illuminators. Just as Bacta Team arrived, Aurek Team appeared across the bay, at the mouth of a corridor.

Shaak Ti and Adi Gallia hailed each other with hand signals, then beckoned their squads into the bay together, sweeping the grounds carefully. Intelligence operatives from both teams broke off to analyse any electronic surfaces that might give them an edge in the investigation, whilst probe droids and remotes meandered with design throughout the room.

“Vertical, geared hangar gates,” ARC Commander Valiant stood beneath the huge structure, staring up at it critically, “This place is really old. Can we open them?”

“Give us a moment,” Dyne grunted, huddled with two other operatives as they interpreted the data gathered by the probes. After several moments of gazing at the monitor screens of his equipment and conferring with his associates, he added; “The gates were last opened four months ago, if these logs are accurate. Stand clear of the zone.”

Valiant took several steps back–just in time for the gears to shiver, and turn, teeth interlocking together and lifting the massive portcullis-like structure upwards, revealing an oval of nocturnal sky with hardly a whisper. Crystal spires glinted in the distance, their fingertips criss-crossed by an unending river of traffic.

Up above, satellites shone brightly down upon them. A rare sight, one afforded by being so far away from the everbright Senate District in the near distance.

“Extremely well lubricated,” Valiant commented, “This thing is in-use alright.”

“This is Bacta-Five,” the squad detached from Bacta suddenly reported in, “We’ve gotten access to a main bus terminal. Aside from the hangar gate, there’s another appliance recently used. A turbolift, one that ends on level six and disconnected from the main shafts. We have reason to believe it’s still operational.”

The men on the floor glanced at each other, then almost synchronously swivelled inwards in search for the turbolift in question. Tasking the probe droids to find the target, Dyne began to trail them, waving for Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti, and the troopers to follow.

“Stay close!” Commander Thorn cautioned, “Don’t stray out of line!”

It sounded suspiciously as if he was warning the Jedi more than his own troopers, much less Valiant’s commandos. Adi and Shaak Ti took the point, with the Knights and troopers strung out behind. By the time the two Jedi Masters caught up with Dyne and his droids, the Intelligence Captain was already standing at the door to a dated turbolift.

He nodded at them before turning to the wall, pressing his gloved right hand to the call panel. When the summoned cab appeared, he affixed a scanner to the control pad inside. After a minute of fiddling with the interface, he broke into a self-satisfied grin.

“Verified, this is the turbolift,” he furrowed his brows in concentration, calling over one of his subordinates to aid him, “…The cab’s memory indicates it arrived from sub-basement two. We should start our hunt there, and if we fail to discover any evidence of our quarry… we’ll have to work our way back up one level at the time, until we do.”

The gathered operatives shifted at the prospect of so much work. Adi could feel the drop in morale among the Jedi Knights, though they were too controlled to show it. The helmeted faces of the shocktroopers and commandos, on the other hand, revealed nary a thing, as did their internal emotions.

“Not necessarily,” Commander Thorn reminded, “We’ve got three battalions of Homeworld Security on standby below us. I give the word, and they’ll move in to clear this place out in a heartbeat. We can leave the lower levels to them, and focus our attention on the basements.”

“Agreed,” Valiant grunted.

There was a loud clunk, and Dyne stepped out of the turbolift.

“I’ve locked the cab in-place,” he glanced between the two Jedi Masters, “It’s your call, Generals.”

Master Adi Gallia cast her gaze upon Commander Thorn, “We’ll proceed with your plan, Commander. Greenlight the operation.”

“At once, sir.”

“Commander Valiant,” she then turned to the ARC Commander, “Have your men find and secure all the stairwells leading into the basements.”

“Sir yes sir!”

Comlinking his battalions outside the building, Thorn ordered them to breach the tower, and if one glanced outside the shattered windows, they would see hundreds of red-painted shocktroopers smashing their way through every ingress via heavy armour and gunships alike as they systematically swept the remaining floors and adjacent structures. At the same time, Aurek and Bacta Team spread out through level six, securing the floor before making their way down.

By the time they reached the ground floor, the Coruscant Guard had already identified the stairwells leading further down. The shocktroopers stationed at their landings saluted firmly as the striketeam made their further down, spearheaded by a roving pack of probe droids sweeping the grounds ahead of them. Every time they reached a landing–basement one, basement two, sub-basement one–a detachment of shocktroopers split off and posted themselves there.

After what felt like an age of stalking further and further into the false earth of Coruscant, they finally reached the base of the stairwell. A large corridor branched off in both directions, the metallic landing of the turbolift just a few metres away from where they emerged.

“Cargo tunnel, I’d reckon,” Valiant scanned the surroundings as troopers formed firing lines on both flanks, “It’ll be a labyrinth down here, servicing the whole industrial sector.”

The probe droids were first to fearlessly advance in both directions, running their detection lights and scraping the floor and walls. One pack of droids suddenly froze, their sensors blazing as they swept the ground with doubled enthusiasm.

“Scuffed dust, in a place with no wind,” one of the Intelligence operatives called out, “Someone was here.”

At that, Iskat Akaris suddenly produced a breath mask from her robes and pulled it over her face. Her fellow Knights stared at her in surprise.

“What?” the red-skinned alien crossed her lanky arms, “I’ve been assigned to these sort of places before, during the southern exodus. Tunnels like these were used as evac corridors… if there’s no ventilation as the techie implies, you’d sooner die from suffocation than starvation or cold.”

The operator’s face darkened at being called a ‘techie’, but he begrudgingly nodded in agreement with Iskat anyway. Thorn immediately called for more equipment, mostly for the benefit of the Jedi and Republic Intelligence, since the troopers were all equipped with respiration helmets. Despite the setback, the troopers didn’t allow the investigation to stall, taking the remotes and advancing deeper into the darkness.

By the time the safety equipment reached them, some of the squads who ventured out had returned. Commander Thorn placed down a holoprojector, and the gathered strikeforce huddled around to listen to his briefing.

“There’s no sign of any activity down that way,” Thorn pointed in one direction first, then turned at the hip to point behind him, “But there are signs of repulsorcraft activity down that way. Likely one of the cargo transports these tunnels were built to service.”

“Do we know which way it went?”

The projection morphed into a detailed map of the dark labyrinth.

“It is exactly as Commander Valiant had guessed. If we are to trust this map that’s older than any of us, it connects to tunnels all over the Works–to adjacent arcologies, to the foundries, to a cargo starport… everywhere you can think of. There are hundreds, thousands of branches.”

Shaak Ti took a step back, her sharp eyes glaring down the long corridor Thorn had pointed out. Then, slowly, she lifted an arm, and pointed a clawed finger.

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“Forget the branches,” the Jedi Master ordered, “What’s at the end of this one?”

“Well,” Thorn started, pausing as he consulted the holomap, “It looks like the principle tunnel leads all the way to the western limit of the Senate District.”

The strikeforce broke into confused murmurs. They were hunting Separatists were they not? Was Shaak Ti suggesting the terrorists have undermined the very heart, the governing organ of the Republic itself? The implications were immense. But the two Jedi Masters shared a knowing look, before affixing stern glares at the increasingly anxious Jedi Knights.

“I’m afraid Master Yoda will have to double back to the Senate District, in this case,” Jedi Master Adi Gallia drew herself to her full height, and pulled the breather mask over her face, “Commander Thorn, as soon as the tower is secure, have your battalions track our progress above-ground. Now then: we advance.”

⁂

“I know!” Mon Mothma shouted out, turning to address the murmuring pods, “Some of you will argue that the war is not yet won! I know! That the Chancellor’s powers are still needed to ensure victory! I know! But I ask you, at what cost? Shall we sacrifice our Republic on this altar of security? Shall we allow the very principles we fight for to be extinguished in the name of expediency?”

A pod detached from the far side of the chamber, gliding toward the central dais. Mon Mothma’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the occupant–Senator Ask Aak of Malastare, a staunch supporter of the Chancellor and a key figure of his inner circle. His three-eyed Gran visage was tight with indignation as he moved to speak.

“Senator Mothma,” Ask Aak began, his voice reverberating with barely concealed anger, “With all due respect, the Republic is still at war. Just as you so insistently say you know this, you also know the Chancellor’s leadership has been instrumental in holding our proud Republic together and turning the tide against the Separatists. To suggest that now is the time to weaken that leadership is nothing short of reckless!”

Mon Mothma inclined her head, unwilling to yield, “I would remind the Senator from Malastare that the Republic’s strength does not lie in one man, but in its people, its institutions, and its ideals. If we abandon those ideals, we will have already lost, regardless of the war’s outcome!”

The chamber erupted into a discord of voices–some shouting their agreement, others decrying her as a dangerous idealist.

“Abandon those ideals?” a single, hoarse voice rose above it all, and the podium recognised the Senator from Eriadu. Senator Shayla Paige-Tarkin had her pod move to oppose Chandrila’s, “Just what, exactly, are you trying to say, Senator Mothma? Idealism or otherwise, the Emergency Powers Act was passed out of rationality, and nobody in this body could deny that it was instrumental to holding our proud Republic together.”

Senator Tarkin did not shout, nor did she even raise her voice. But the woman speaking on behalf of twenty-billion dead souls carried a heavy weight on its own.

“It was promised–” Senator Tarkin continued, “It was promised, that the Supreme Chancellor will stand down their emergency powers once the Separatist Crisis is over, and vacate their office for a new general election. We have not abandoned our ideals. If we cannot trust the Supreme Chancellor we have voted into office, who else can we trust? Or… do you suggest otherwise, Senator Mothma?”

Mon Mothma’s gaze locked with Shayla Paige-Tarkin’s, the tension between them as taut as a wire about to snap. The pod carrying the Senator from Eriadu hung motionless, amidst the swirling chaos of voices around them. Tarkin’s calm, deliberate tone had cut through the cacophony like a vibroblade, her words heavy with implication.