Chapter 95

Coruscant, Coruscant System

Corusca Sector

It was a brand new day in Republic City. The skies were clear and blue, the light of Coruscant Prime’s azure gleam reflected off the resplendent orbital mirrors that hung like blooming zeillas in the heavens. From the spires of the Senate District to the neon-drenched depths of the Uscru Entertainment Sector, the city hummed with the familiar rhythms of daily life. The great skylanes of the ecumenopolis thrummed with the endless stream of airspeeders, the great durasteel arteries of the Republic’s heart.

It was a brand new day in Republic City. And life marched forth as usual, for it had always appeared neither war nor strife ever putting but a misstep in the ever tenacious capital of the galaxy.

But this time, there was something wrong. A distortion in the flow of the morning rush.

Holo-displays flickered between the usual corporate advertisements and something far more jarring–urgent bulletins issued by the Senate Emergency Response, a scarlet banner scrolling across the bottom of every screen:

STATE OF MARTIAL LAW DECLARED. TEMPLE PRECINCT UNDER LOCKDOWN. REPORTS OF A JEDI REBELLION CONFIRMED.

A Jedi rebellion?

The words struck like a bolt of static through the consciousness of the city. Some dismissed it outright–a preposterous fabrication, an absurdity. The Jedi? The guardians of the Republic, the living symbol of peace and justice? But others hesitated, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of their disbelief. The Jedi had grown distant in recent years, ensnared in the machinery of war. In these times, their failures were as widely reported as their successes. And there had been rumours of a disaster on the Hydian front…

And then, there was the smoke.

It rose from the Temple Precinct like a dark omen, thick plumes coiling into the pristine morning sky, scattering ash and soot against the gleaming towers of Coruscant. Citizens on skywalks and balconies and the open-top seats of their airspeeders turned their gazes upward, raised hands shading their eyes against the sun, murmuring amongst themselves. There were five new skyscrapers in Galactic City that day, black and foreboding like spindly fingers grasping for the sun.

Some whispered of a coup. That the Jedi had made a final, desperate grasp for power. That this was the price of their arrogance, of their secret dealings in the Clone Wars. Others argued that this was a purge, that the Supreme Chancellor had finally turned against his former allies.

But no matter which story they believed, the fear was the same.

The Jedi Temple was burning.

–And then, there was the noise.

Galactic City never slept. Even in the dark of night, the constant flow of sky traffic never ceased. Noise was a fact of life in the beating heart of the Republic; a constant, rolling symphony of civilization. The whine of repulsorlifts, the hum of high-speed skylanes, the distant echo of ship horns from the upper atmosphere, the underlying roar of sublight drives, the whisper of wind coursing through the great duracrete canyons of the cityscape. These were the sounds of Coruscant.

But on this new day, there was another added to the great orchestra of Galactic City.

A thunderclap of firepower cracked across the city, rolling like an oncoming storm. The distant rumble of artillery, the deep, percussive boom of siege cannons, the unmistakable, staccato bark of heavy repeating blasters. These were sounds of war, sounds that did not belong here. Not on Coruscant.

The sky above the Temple Precinct flashed with the brilliance of high-powered turbolasers, an artificial thunderstorm cast by the relentless assault on the Temple Precinct’s shields. Sonic booms rattled transparisteel windows, sending tremors through the towering spires. Sirens wailed across multiple districts as security forces scrambled to contain the growing panic.

Then there was the shouting.

From the upper levels of residential towers to the crowded plazas far below, people pointed, shouted, recoiled in horror as the towering military walkers of the Coruscant Guard advanced, their artillery pieces thundering against the Temple’s mighty gates. Gunships circled like carrion birds, their blasters spitting lances of fire at the great stone ziggurat behind shimmering barriers of blue.

The status quo upheld for the past thousand years had been shattered, crushed under the fist of field artillery. Coruscant had seen war. It had withstood planetary assaults, terrorist bombings, Separatist incursions. But this– this was something else.

Coruscant seemed to be at war with itself.

And that fact was none more clear than within the Jedi Temple itself.

The Temple groaned. The ancient flagstones trembling under the fury of an army. Dust rained from the vaulted ceilings, filling the air with the scent of age and slow decay. Morning light spilled through shattered permaglass, casting jagged beams across the marble floors.

The deflector shields had been exhausted, its generators overloaded under the relentless barrage of the Coruscant Guard.

Beyond the sealed gates, a legion of clone troopers was on the march. Thirty-thousand bodies clad in red-white plastoid, ranks upon ranks of them stretching across the great plaza, their cannons and walkers arranged with droid-like precision. And above, the sky belonged to the Republic; gunships prowled the air, sweeping the outer terraces with laser fire, seeking the smallest breach, the smallest weakness.

Inside, the Jedi held their silence.

The Force was thick in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, in the heart of the Jedi Temple, where the last vestiges of an ancient order gathered. Here, where water once danced freely through tranquil gardens, where light cascaded through skylights in golden shafts, there was now only the hush of people. Younglings clung to their instructors, small fingers grasping at the folds of brown and white robes. Padawans sat in clusters, whispering to one another in voices that strained to be calm. The Knights stood apart, tense, hands never straying far from their lightsabers, seeking assurance in their trusted weapons.

Gate Master Jurokk stood with arms folded, the invisible mantle of his station heavy upon his shoulders; “They’ve moved in the siege cannons. Four of them, each with direct sightlines on the main gate. They’ll breach within the hour.”

“Faster than expected,” Jedi Knight Barriss Offee’s voice was quiet, “And the lower levels?”

“They’re attempting to sap the Temple from below. We’ve already sealed everything beneath the Temple that we could, but it may not keep the clones at bay forever. Especially if they got Intelligence analysts with them,” Drallig exhaled sharply, shaking his head, “That said, the Coruscant Guard knows that too. And they know the hangars are our only way out.”

Barriss Offee studied the holoprojection before them, the Temple’s schematics flickering in unstable light. If the situation was not glaringly obvious enough, there was a big red dot on the main gate, almost pulsating in beat with the staccato of not-so-distant artillery fire.

“We will need to begin evacuating to the hangar bays as soon as the main gate falls,” Barriss murmured, “We can’t let them surround us. Split up everybody here into three, four groups, each to a different hangar. It’ll increase our collective chance of survival.”

“We’ll need to delay the Coruscant Guard for an entire day,” Cin Drallig crossed his arms, ill hiding his apprehension, “I fear to admit, I do not know whether that will be possible.”

“That is unlike you, Cin,” Master Jurokk put his fist in his palm, “Delay them or not, we can only try, and leave the rest to the will of the Force. The Entrance Hall and Great Hall are undefendable; they are far too large. The clones will be able to march their walkers right up the Processional Way, if the central mezzanine doesn’t collapse beneath their weight.”

Another tremor shook the ground beneath them. Distantly, the Temple doors groaned against the weight of a Republic war machine. The sound was muted and far, somehow inevitable, altogether like the thunderhead of an approaching storm. An uneasy silence settled over the gathered Jedi, heavy as the stone walls around them. In the center of the chamber, the holoprojection flickered, the pulsing red dot at the main gate looming larger, brighter, as if it could already feel the heat of the cannons trained upon it.

Barriss Offee turned her gaze upward, to the skylights above. The sky was still blue, cloudless and clear–deceptively beautiful. She wondered how many civilians out there were watching, listening, feeling the distant tremors but not understanding what they meant.

How many believed the words blaring from the HoloNet? That the Jedi had betrayed the Republic? That the Temple, this sacred place, had become a den of insurgents?

There was no time to dwell on it.

The younglings had already been gathered into small groups, each with an instructor, each trembling with an unspoken fear. Padawans straightened their backs, tightening their hands into fists, willing themselves to be stronger than their years. The Knights adjusted their stances, shared glances, fingers clasped around their belts in silent acknowledgment of what was to come.

And the Masters–some who have guided the Jedi Order for years–stood apart, their faces expressionless. And they breathed their entire lives into the hands of the Force..

Then it came. A blinding flash. A thunderous impact. The Temple doors buckled.

Inside, the Jedi felt it fall. They looked at one another. Then, without a word, they moved.

⁂

To say Admiral Honor Salima of the Coruscant Home Fleet was entirely confused would be a grave understatement, though the stern-faced woman did not show it. The situation for the past day and night was enough to keep even the most carefree spacer up and pacing through the hours.

Not because the situation was worrying–thought it was; or even tense–though it was; but because the situation was simply that absurd.

First, the Home Fleet’s transceivers had been flooded with zettabytes of junk data from Republic Intelligence. For the Home Fleet’s comtechs, who obviously had no possible context behind the sudden denial of service attack, their only conclusion was that Republic Intelligence’s servers had been sliced into. The mere thought of that alone was enough to send the Home Fleet’s officers into the frenzy.

Because Republic Intelligence being sliced into?

Republic Intelligence of all people?

To say it was hardly believable would be an even larger understatement.

Admiral Honor immediately ordered dispatches be transmitted back planetside, demanding a situation update, to no response. It took the better part of an hour for the Home Fleet’s comtechs to discover it was not Republic Intelligence, but the military comsats over Coruscant that had been sliced into, and that the sudden freak show was not only occurring to the Home Fleet, but to every military hyperwave transceiver across the galaxy.

That naturally led into the next absurd conclusion; these military satellites had been recently replaced after Separatist Admiral Dua Ningo’s Attack on Coruscant. Was it possible that they had all been sabotaged? But for all of them to be exhibiting these symptoms… just which part of the production line had they been compromised? It was Ansible Incorporated that had manufactured these comsats–had Separatist saboteurs undermined Ansible’s production line? Or was it a new technological terror, a Separatist sleeper agent of sorts, wreaking havoc in a last ditch effort to impair the GAR’s comlines as Serenno fell? Or was it, stars forbid, an inside job?

No matter what they speculated, the only conclusive fact was that Coruscant would be effectively isolated from the rest of the galaxy for however long until Homeworld Security resolves the situation. For the citizens of Galactic City, this could be waved off as no more than a sudden network failure–something they were now more or less accustomed to with the war raging on across the galaxy.

For the Grand Army of the Republic, however, the situation was much more concerning. With their secure comlines down, they would have to rely on unsecure commercial and civilian lines of hypercommunication.

And then, hours later, Republic Intelligence finally made another secure transmission. Except, instead of it being a situation update or reassurance or anything that could have put the captaincies of the Republic Navy at ease, it was the command to execute Order 66. The Jedi have rebelled against the Republic, it was announced, and have allied with the Separatist State to perform an attempted coup of the Galactic Senate and unlawfully execute the Supreme Chancellor.

For the Coruscant Home Fleet, the situation had just gone from mildly worrisome, to downright ludicrous.

The Jedi Order, betraying the Galactic Republic?

That was not to say the Home Fleet, and the Republic Navy by extension, were by any means champions of the Jedi Order. Hardly, in fact. But in some ways, the Home Fleet and Republic Navy were intimately familiar with how the Jedi operated.

Were the Jedi naive and inexperienced? Certainly!

Were the Jedi arrogant beyond their ability? Definitely!

Were the Jedi entirely unfit for their military offices? Of course!

But were the Jedi ever not well-meaning in all that they do? Few GAR officers would answer yes.

Because for all the Jedi were foolhardy and downright stupid at times–from the perspective of a bonafide career officer, of course–the Jedi never acted out of spite or animosity, no matter how much friction was present. If they did, they would not be Jedi after all.

So, the Jedi suddenly betraying the Republic? The Jedi who had not one political bone in the bodies? Betraying the Republic?

The captaincies of the Home Fleet had a sneaking suspicion it was the Galactic Republic betraying the Jedi Order, not the other way around, and Admiral Honor was of no exception. Not that they would ever admit it out loud, of course. Because the fall of the Jedi Order benefited them in every way, and honestly speaking, it was not a rare opinion in the GAR that the Jedi Order was well past its time.

And thus, in the end, would Admiral Honor Salima and her Home Fleet do anything as the Jedi were slaughtered across the galaxy?

No.

The Home Fleet was crewed by noble scions and political personages. Over the Crisis in the Core, Admiral Honor Salima had done much to elevate the Home Fleet’s station above ‘glorified sinecure’ to ‘battle-honoured fleet element’ since, but at the end of the long day, the officers of the Home Fleet were still entirely politicians in military uniform. And during times of great upheaval, there was nothing politicians were known for better than sitting on the fence before falling into the camp of the winning side.

Suffice to say, it was obvious the Jedi Order was not winning.

The sight of the Temple Precinct burning through the Arlionne’s scopes was evidence enough of that.

“So the Chancellor has taken action,” Flag Captain Terrinald Screed said as if it was a verified fact, “He’s removing the last roadblock between himself and unfettered authority.”

Nevertheless, it was a difficult assumption to argue against, considering how the Supreme Chancellor has been manoeuvring the last few weeks. With the Galactic Senate’s latest vote to maintain his office into the fourth term, the Chancellor must have decided he knew held all of the Republic’s institutions in his bag… all except for one.

One, which he was now finally ridding himself of.

And yet, there was a reason why the Supreme Chancellor had to resort to destroying the Jedi Order, rather than subverting or compromising it as he did the other organs of the Republic. The Jedi Order had ten-thousand years of history at its back. The institutions of Coruscant were as ephemeral as the tides of Spira, and they ebbed and flowed with every administration. But the Jedi Order? The Jedi Order was the one constant of Coruscant, as solid as the earthen spire their ancient ziggurat was built atop.

The Jedi Order was unassailable by political means. Even in a galaxy increasingly lukewarm to their presence, there were still legions of soldiers, politicians, and regular citizens of the galaxy willing to rush to champion their name for no gain but to preserve their venerable memory.

For the Supreme Chancellor to finally decide the Jedi Order is at its most vulnerable, vulnerable enough to uproot entirely… they must have committed a blunder truly undefendable.

Admiral Honor Salima tapped the console idly, “Do we have any insight into what heinous act the Jedi had committed recently?”

Captain Screed gestured at the digital dispatch, “They rebelled, sir.”

“How?”

Terrinald Screed frowned, “A Jedi party attempted to assassinate the Chancellor in his apartment, it appears.”

“Which Jedi?”

Arlionne’s Flag Captain swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the mounting pressure, “…Well, the names reported are Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti, Yoda, among others. They’re still being identified–the situation’s fresh as it could be.”

“Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti…” Honor’s brows furrowed, “If I recall rightly, those two were put in charge of that Homeworld Security investigation of a Separatist cell in the Works.”

“…Are we to interfere in any way?” Captain Screed asked hesitantly, unsure of his superior’s questioning.

Honor Salima raked her hawkish gaze across the Battle Room, “Are we in any position to?”

There was a deafening pause in Arlionne’s Battle Room, brief and no longer than a second, but perceived by all within. Honor made no accusation, no claim, and no judgement, but whatever imagined implication contrived by the overactive minds of the officers present was enough to strike the room into dangerous silence.

Thankfully, before their collective imagination could escalate, the Arlionne’s comms chief hastily approached Admiral Honor with a dispatch fresh from the transceiver, almost too eager to change the atmosphere. The Admiral of the Core raised an eyebrow as she snatched the tablet from his hands.

She squinted, “From battlecarrier Prudence… unknown and unregistered vessels sighted approaching inner planets from the OboRin Comet Cluster… numbering twenty to thirty. Bearing oh-nine-six absolute on the Corellian Run. Prudence reports indications of recent extraction from hyperspace and enlarged drive cones.”

“Acceleration,” Terrinald Screed caught on quickly, “Their extraction point is a bit far out, isn’t it? Is the interdiction net raised?”

Honor glanced at the nearby plotting board, where deckhands were already getting to work plotting out the speed and vector of their incoming contacts. The board was by no means empty. Coruscant was the beating heart of the galaxy, and there was a constant influx of contacts popping in and out of the system every second. The Coruscant System’s interdiction net was not raised, nor would it ever be without the Home Fleet being notified.

Captain Jan Dodonna’s Prudence had singled out their new guests for a reason. Whether it was their inactive transponders, their suspicious extraction zone, or simply a leery gut feeling, Honor Salima was not one to undermine the judgement of one of her capable captains. Besides, with the unprecedented upheaval gripping Coruscant right now, there was no reason to not be overly careful. Any number of parties–Separatist or not–could be looking to take advantage of the situation.

“Order Prudence to keep her distance,” Honor flicked her wrist, giving the tablet back to the comms chief, “She will deploy a recon wing to investigate further. They will identify themselves, or be disallowed from crossing the inner planets.”

“Right away, sir!”

“We could commit a task force to intercept them,” Captain Screed suggested.

Admiral Honor narrowed her eyes, “Have you no faith in Captain Dodonna’s abilities?”

Terrinald Screed shook his head, “Not so, Admiral, but Prudence’s meagre picket line may not be able to intercept this flotilla should they be warships.”

“…Very well. We’ll deploy the–”

“–Incoming transmission from the Regal, Admiral!” the comms chief came dashing back, breathing heavily, “Separatist warships sighted bearing one-seven-eight absolute on the Koros Trunk Line! At least seventy of them! Task Force Regal is moving to intercept!”

Bearing 178°? Koros Trunk Line? They’re coming from the Deep Core?

Admiral Honor Salima’s tactical sensibilities were already kicking into drive. Her immediate conclusion: a pincer attack! However, looking at the ranges involved, if this was a pincer attack, it was a poorly executed one. One pincer was far too close, and the other pincer was far too distant. The Separatists could be described in any number of ways, but incompetent was not one of them. It was a credit to the efforts of Separatist admirals and generals that their breakaway state had survived to this day.

So the comsats were sabotaged by the Separatists after all? And the timing… the Jedi really had allied themselves with the enemy?

“Dispatch Task Force Dragon to rendezvous with the Prudence immediately!” Admiral Honor commanded at a brisk pace, “Helmsman, bring us around to the Coreward egress! We’ll meet Regal there! And get me a scope sync with the Regal!”

The scope synchronisation came quickly, the displays scattering with static before fizzling back into a high quality feed of the Regal’s scopes. The spacers of the Arlionne were then seeing what the spacers of the Regal were seeing. A moving constellation of seventy–no, more than that–some eighty new stars quickly approaching. Honor didn’t even need the registry to identify the drive cones. A mere glance at the smear of ion and gas had her identify them as Providence-class battlecruisers, the backbone of the Separatist navy.

“Bring us to battle stations!” Captain Screed roared, and the lights thudded to blood red and klaxons wailed in the background, “Prepare for combat!”

“–Sir!” the comms chief shouted again, “Regal is standing down and awaiting further orders!”

“Oh– by Caraya’s soul!” Screed nearly grabbed the chief by his collar, “What the hell is happening out there, man!? Out with it!”

“T-Tetan transponders!” the man gasped, “Regal’s identified and verified the Royal Cinnagar! It’s the Empress of the Deep Core!”

⁂

The training gallery was burning.

What had once been a luminous corridor of polished stone and towering statues was now more akin to a war zone. Smoke curled against the vaulted ceiling, choking out the midday sun that once spilled through shattered windows. The air reeked of scorched fabric, blaster ozone, and the acrid bite of charred duracrete.

And in the center of it, Barriss Offee fought possessed by a void-shrouded revenant.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she pivoted on her heel, sweeping her blade in a wide arc to deflect a flurry of blaster bolts. She was heel deep in corpses, shattered statues, and blackened craters where blasterfire had struck home. Above, the vaulted ceiling trembled under the pounding of artillery fire, dust sifting down like the first flurries of an approaching avalanche.

Her lightsaber moved in arcs of liquid fire, cutting through blaster bolts and carving the marble floor with errant strokes. The Coruscant Guard advanced in squad formations, their visors aglow in the flickering light, their rifles spewing sapphire death. She ducked, rolled, lunged–deflecting one shot into a trooper’s chest, then pivoting to sever the rifle of another. But there were too many.

Barriss danced back, her free hand outstretched, hurling a shattered column into the advancing formation. It bought her a moment–only a moment–and she exhaled sharply. Her tattoos burned, a sensation unfelt since the day Master Luminara put a pen to her skin. She took a glancingly brief moment to look around.

The Mirialan Jedi was guarding one of the approaches to the Room of a Thousand Fountains with a dozen other Jedi Knights and a single Padawan Learner braver than he should be. They were buying time, time that seemed to be slipping through their fingers. But Barriss would not believe that their desperate bid to buy time was hopeless. Every hour they fought, every minute they struggled, every second they bled for, was a single grain of sand in the hourglass the cavalry could spend to reach them in time.

She spotted a heap of fallen robes, and rushed to bring the injured Knight to their feet. A bolt clipped her shoulder, sending a burst of heat through her zeyd-cloth dress, but she bit back the pain. She could hear the clank of approaching walkers outside, the steady pounding of boots as more clones stormed the halls.

Her jaw clenched. Is it time to fall back to the next crossroad?

Her errant thought cost her dearly. By the time she released the dead Jedi, a clone was already aiming a blaster carbine right between her eyes. She twisted–but there was no angle left, nowhere to go.

Then, the clone’s body jerked violently, his rifle spinning from his hands. Another toppled beside him, his helmeted head snapping to the side as if struck by an invisible hammer. The rest turned in alarm, shifting their formation–

And then the whirlwind descended.

The first thing Barriss saw was a flash of red and blue. A cerulean lightsaber carved through the clones with mocking ease, slicing through plastoid armor like a scalpel through supple flesh. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement–just sheer precision, a surgeon’s scalpel to the throat of the clone formation. A shocktrooper spasmed violently and collapsed, a smoking hole punched through his chest. Another fell, then another, their bodies twisting as unseen blows struck them from behind.

A blur of fluttering cloth and jewels leapt through the carnage. Clones were thrown off their feet, slammed into the walls with bone-crunching force, lifted and crushed by unseen hands. Their shouts turned to scratchy screams, their formation shattered in a blink.

And then, standing amidst the fallen, robe torn at the shoulder, lekku bloodied, expression unreadable–

Jedi Master Shaak Ti.

Barriss stared, heart hammering, “M-Master Ti?”

The older Jedi turned, her chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths.

“We need to move,” she said with utterly no sense of urgency, “I’ve already been briefed on the situation.”

Barriss swallowed a lump in her throat, a hundred questions flashing through her mind, none relevant to the situation.

She nodded, turning to shout at the surviving Knights, “Let’s go!”

Together, they ran.

They fell back to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Central as it may be, the Force was still strongest there, and it was still the most defensible section of the Jedi Temple. It was a frying pan, surrounded by the fires of the Coruscant Guard surrounding it, but abandoning the room would be leaping straight into said fires.

Shaak Ti and Barriss weaved through the chaos. The corridors shook with detonations, the walls buckling as the shocktroopers pressed their advantage. The Jedi moved in small groups, covering each other as they fell back. Yet, while they retreated, unblemished white robes still fluttered gloriously as Temple Guards stepped back into the haze of the battle, twin-bladed sabers carving golden arcs through the smoke.

Nameless, faceless, and unfearing of death. For there was no death, only an eternity in the Force.

At the end of this long day the Jedi may or may not escape, but not a single Temple Guard will live past sundown. That was the oath they swore, that was the duty they gave their lives to the moment they donned the gilded mask they wore. They were to protect the Jedi Temple, and if the Jedi Temple was to fall, it would only be after each and every single one of them was dead.

Master Jurokk met them at a crossroads, his blade igniting as he cut down an advancing squad. His face was streaked with soot, his expression grim.

“We’re losing ground,” he said without preamble, barely taking notice of Shaak Ti’s sudden attendance, “We’ve led the Coruscant Guard to believe we’re all gathered in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The moment the defence becomes untenable, we’ll retreat through the evac corridors.”

“Are they secure?” Master Shaak Ti asked.

Master Jurokk smiled wanly, “We know the Temple better than they do. Not a single clone has been spotted in the corridors as of now. In any case, the Room of a Thousand Fountains is the perfect place to slow the clones down–being an artificial jungle and all. We’ve decided Master Cin Drallig and his Temple Guards will remain behind when the time comes, and delay the clones for as long as possible there.”

“They won’t survive,” Barriss stated.

“The rest of us will.”

⁂

The Royal Cinnagar was a Tetan Supremacy-class attack cruiser. It was a conservative size, only a little half-kilometer from bow to stern. But that didn’t make it any less grand to the eyes. Its hull was curved and slender, sloped at bow and stern in the traditional oceangoing style, hearkening back to more ancient times. But that was not what caught the eye. Its superstructure was more beautiful than practical, a veritable gothic cathedral sat atop its hull, sensor masts for spires and autocannon banks for buttresses.

Very much so, Admiral Honor Salima had decided, a luxurious flagship worthy of an empress.

But the Empress herself? Not so much.

Empress Eara Lota was a slight of a girl, barely an adult by galactic standards. She clearly fashioned herself an empress, the colours of her imperial regalia somehow visible through the blue-scanned filter of the hologram. It was enough to make Terrinald Screed shift nervously beside her, and make the officers on deck tense up.

Why were dozens of grown men and women terrified of a little girl?

Well, because in the Home Fleet, they were all still politicians in military uniform at the end of the day.

More specifically, because there was a reason the Tetan Monarchy was one of the last galactic governments still able to style themselves the imperial dignity. Empress Teta was the veritable throneworld of the Deep Core, one of few worlds capable of coming close to rivalling Coruscant in luxury and splendor, in no small part due to the high habitability of the Tetan Star System. The reason why the Tetans had arrived was obvious; they were long-time allies of the Jedi Order. In fact, the very founding of the Tetan Monarchy five millennia ago was partially credited to Jedi aid. Not to mention that the Jedi Plo Koon had recently aided the Tetans in rebuking the Battle Hydra’s occupation of their capital system.

Admiral Honor Salima was not ignorant to the senatorial crisis occurring on Coruscant. The Senate’s confirmation of the Chancellor’s fourth consecutive term had seen no small number of senators withdraw from the government. The antagonism of the Tetan Monarchy, one of Coruscant’s longest standing allies, would be a severe blow to the Legitimist Republic, as much so as Alderaan’s, Humbarine’s, or Duro’s.

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A diplomatic trespass against the Tetans could not be afforded. Not just in fear of the political fallout, but also the strategic fallout. The discovery of a secret hyperlane through the Deep Core, exploited by the Separatist Admiral Rain Bonteri to strike at the Core Worlds and Agricultural Circuit, was the linchpin of Empress Teta’s military significance, and it was no small significance indeed.

“I will make this brief,” Empress Eara Lota said simply, “My delegation wishes to confirm Empress Teta’s position in your Chancellor’s new Republic.”

There was no hesitation in her words, no uncertainty in her bearing. Honor Salima had dealt with enough rulers, senators, and generals in her time to recognize that Empress Eara Lota was not asking for permission. The Empress was immediately making it abundantly clear that the ‘Admiral of the Core’ did not rank above the ‘Empress of the Deep Core’.

Beside her, Terrinald Screed stood rigid, his lips pressed into a thin line. The officers on the command deck had the same stiffness about them. The weight of the conversation hung in the air.

Honor inclined her head slightly, “Your Highness, I take you understand the delicacy of the situation.”

Eara Lota’s expression did not change, “Continue.”

The Admiral of the Home Fleet swallowed her indignation, “Then Your Highness understands that the Jedi are in open rebellion against the Republic. Coruscant is under emergency security measures. I cannot permit foreign warships to make landfall as of now.”

A faint flicker of something–amusement, perhaps–crossed the young Empress’ face, “So you consider us a foreign fleet?”

Honor’s brows arched slightly, “I am no person to play with words, Your Highness. As of this moment, all armed fleets not flying the flag of Coruscant are considered a foreign warfleet.”

Eara Lota’s smile died, a doorway closed off to her. She continued nonetheless; “Empress Teta is one of the Republic’s most steadfast Coreward members. We have stood with Coruscant for well over five millennia. And yet, I have received no official notice of this so-called rebellion. No declaration. No formal communication from the Senate. All I have seen are unverified reports and scattered transmissions.”

“The Jedi had sabotaged our communications infrastructure to ensure their attempted coup goes smoothly,” Admiral Honor smoothly replied, “Fortunately, Homeworld Security acted swiftly, preventing the Supreme Chancellor’s assassination.”

“Is that so?” the Empress trailed off in thought.

Honor took her gaze away from the girl’s form, to the viewports. To the Separatist warships.

Her Flag Captain followed her attention, “They all have verified Tetan signatures, sir. Must be warships captured from the Battle Hydra.”

“Why would she bring them here?” Honor grumbled.

“…To make a point?” Terrinald wetted his lips in uncertainty.

“Have we gotten any reply from planetside yet?” she hissed at him, “We can’t keep them here forever.”

Captain Screed promptly whirled on his heel and marched back into the Battle Room with all the intensity of a hurricane, urgently demanding updates.

“–Nevertheless, this situation regarding the Jedi Order is a matter of concern to me,” Empress Eara Lota smiled apologetically, “I’m certain I won’t have to explain why. As such, I would like to confirm the situation for myself… and assure certain agreements with the Senate.”

“I have been receiving certain transmissions you see, Admiral,” the girl continued, “From Chandrila, Duro, Alderaan, and half a hundred others claiming to be the true ‘Restorationist’ Republic. Alarming transmissions.”

Salima exhaled slowly, “I do not question your loyalty to the Republic, Your Highness, but–”

“But I do question the Republic’s loyalty to us,” Eara Lota interjected, “Tell me, Admiral, does the Chancellor’s Republic still count Empress Teta among its allies? Or does it now consider us an enemy? As it does Chandrila and Alderaan? This is what I am here to make certain.”

A silence fell over the command deck.

Honor Salima did not move. Did not blink.

This girl, this barely-adult Empress, had backed them into a corner.

To deny her would be to publicly snub the Tetan Monarchy, an insult with consequences that stretched far beyond this moment. If the Tetans decide to align themselves with Chandrila and the Secessionists… the political ramifications alone would be enough to make the Legitimist Senate tremble. The military ramifications–blocking one of the few hyperlane-rich Deep Core powers from Coruscant–could shake the very foundation of not just war effort, but the Republic’s future itself.

And Eara Lota knew it.

The moment stretched.

Terrinald Screed returned, face glistening with sweat. He shot his Admiral a glance, and nodded frantically.

Then, Honor Salima inclined her head.

“My apologies for the inconvenience, we have just received an update from the Galactic Senate,” she said, “Your Highness may seek further instructions from ground control.”

Eara Lota beamed, “Perfect! I will only proceed with my imperial flotilla to avoid panic. The captured ships will remain here under your close purview.”

“Our thanks,” Admiral Honor got out, “For your consideration.”

The hologram flickered, then vanished.

The silence remained.

Terrinald Screed exhaled sharply, “This is a mistake.”

“Who are we to stop it from happening?” Honor Salima clenched her fists, “Just what has this galaxy come to?”

The sublight drives of the Royal Cinnagar’s cathedral-warships bloomed gold, and their sleek forms were thrusted past Arlionne’s formation, teardrop hulls gleaming in the Coruscant sunlight. Honor watched them pass, wondering what would come of it. Then, she turned her attention back to the Separatist warships, their leviathan-like silhouettes close enough to draw out a sense of hair-raised, edge-of-your-seat anxiety any veteran Republic spacer would be closely familiar with, even despite their friendly status.

“The Senate made their decision,” Honor continued, impassively gazing towards her should-be enemies, “It is out of our hands. Now, what of Dodonna’s report? Those unregistered vessels in the outer planets?”

Terrinald looked to his datapad, and paused, eyes widening, “Prudence has identified them as Separatist warships, sir.”

A beat passed. Honor stared at the Separatist warships outside Arlionne’s viewports. A new, dark light shone in her eyes, as if a longtime suspicion of hers had just been confirmed.

“Actual Separatist warships?”

“Yes, sir,” her Flag Captain nodded shallowly, “No organic crews detected. Prudence suggests they are stragglers, left behind by the Perlemian Coalition in the wake of Rendili.”