Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
The fortress world of Bys had recently been a place of madness and failure. Now it played host to refugees, ambassadors and the biggest wildcard in galactic affairs since modifiers were added to sabaac. The vaunted Katana Fleet hanging in orbit over the eerie blue green tinged planet had just upended the status quo of the Clone Wars, and by the look on Moff Tarkin's face, its Imperial masters wished to gloat. His eyes could be chilled and distant when required; the result of a special kind of military discipline that demanded steadfastness even in the face of superiors or choices that might repel lesser pedestrian sentimentalities. In times like this however they were like methane ice, and a single spark could set them alight.
Tarkin took stock of the odd menagerie of guests before him, forcing his forced smile not to appear too much like a sneer. It couldn't be helped, even the warmest expression looked oddly strained and sinister when touched by Byss' teal shadows. He sat on one of eight prominent seats situated around a round durasteel table shaped like the spoked Galactic Roundel, otherwise known as the Republic Crest. Attaches and advisors stood slightly behind and to the side of their superiors, with all under the watchful eye of crimson imperial guards and the darkly clothed visored cadets of headmaster Gentis. Ortasil and Moff Yularen were on standby in the other room, ready to share intelligence about Kaminoan capabilities should an alliance be formalized.
Admittedly Tarkin had initially opposed the Imperial intervention over Corellia, wishing instead to hit the Kuat ship yards first than move on the stubborn world after the battle was over and reduce all parties involved to slag. By all rights Tarkin and Iblis were natural enemies, but Moff Disra had convinced him that the propaganda coup that would come with helping the unreasonable Corellian was too good to be rejected out of hand, even at the potential cost of a few ships. Like it or not Corellians were human, therefore armed intervention granted the imperials two key symbolic triumphs early in their insurgency, the first being a bold realization of their humanity first agenda, the other an open declaration that the Cloners could not put down internal dissent. As expected, balance between hope and fear successfully led worlds like Eriadu to quickly swear allegiance to the Imperial cause in the wake of the attack. Siennar had also been impressed, leading to it fast tracking the production of drone models of Tie fighters which would make up for the Imperial's continued man power shortages.
Those in attendance would make for strange bedfellows; some were more reserved than others, yet none completely able to hide old contempt for their saviors. Bel Iblis was quiet so far much to Tarkin's chagrin; he may have pestered Palpatine past the acceptable parameters of an elected official during the slow march towards the new order, but he was also the leader of one of the largest diasporas of mankind in the universe, and as such could pull many strings within what COMPNOR had termed human high culture. Before Tarkin could have him assassinated, the scoundrel had taken full control of the dreadnought that had ushered him and his people to safety and was unsubtly keeping it primed for a kamikaze run into imperial headquarters if negotiations soured. Leaving privates, training droids and impassioned merchants to take charge of the Corellian home fleet so experienced officers and naval veterans could sneak aboard evac ships and help pilot Kattana vessels left undermanned after by the Spaarti incident had been a stroke of genius on his part: it was always useful to bring underlings willing to sacrifice their lives if so ordered.
Tarkin couldn't expect the same from his own people. To his left was a patrician looking Chandrilian with a pronounced gut and a ridiculous curled mustache. Tarkin surmised by his outdated male affectation that his thoughts were proudly stuck in the past, which would make him a useful pawn to turn against the soft progressivism of Mon Mothma. Every oligarch, no matter how just was at all times surrounded in a morass of privilege and lesser houses envious of their status. So long as she was paid in ships, Admiral Zsinj would find little difficulty in corralling those ambitions for the benefit of herself, her boy and her benefactors. To Tarkin's right was a young photogenic COMPNOR fanatic pulled straight from the throng of disillusioned navy cadets being retrained in General Gentis' growing list of hidden academies. This was another pet project of his fellow Moffs, the first in a long line of fools who would espouse the dignity of throwing away their lives in the name of honor and heroics. This was another bit of foolishness Tarkin would have to stomach for the time being; he'd much rather rally on simple impressment, which would both expand operations and give him the means to demonstrate the folly of resistance should anyone not comply.
The new officers reeked of entitlement and idealism. Tarkin had also come from wealth, yes, but it had always been coupled with one hard reminder: his privilege was conditional. One embarrassment too many and he'd be cast aside, forsaken amongst the beasts and savages that made his home planet so inhospitable to all those who could not retreat to the protection afforded by his social class's patrician opulence. Being reared in such a way taught a man to be utilitarian and brutal, which was quite unlike the leisurely camaraderie that was beginning to infect his navy. It would be some time before he could act with the needed levels of severity towards those who were more loyal to their own idealized versions of the New Order and personal warlords than the Moffs that were to rule it. Until that time came Tarkin would have to turn a blind eye to their pride and lack of fear: It was already hard enough for each ship to stay manned properly without descending into brigandry.
Senator Amidala was also in attendance via holoprojection. She was a beautiful woman to be sure but Tarkin still held her in contempt, not because of duplicity or greed but rather due to the self stymieing hypocrisy her foolish convictions were steeped in. It could be admitted that the Naboo Crisis over ten years prior had spurred Palpatine to power, but if not for her planet's naivety it would never have been victimized in the first place. Naboo was liberated by a backwards subspecies and their Jedi cohorts, not because of her leadership. Upon election to the Senate she had bafflingly argued against the collective response to disorder that a grand army would allow, preferring instead to fruitlessly negotiate with tricksters and charlatans that had already failed her once before, damning a thousand other backwaters in the outer rim to suffer an even worse fate than that of the briefly yoked Naboo. One fleeting victory had made her a pacifist, and despite her histrionic appeals for harmony and compromise, in the end she always seemed to find herself reliant upon men of action who knew their way around a conflict, and who were willing to do the things she would not.
Tarkin scoffed and turned away from the senator. He hadn't yet decided if she was more afraid of loss of life or how her set of ethics could be rationalized if they needed a few deaths in order to survive. If not for liberal weakness, the clones wouldn't have been needed to save her and a sizable portion of the Jedi when the Separatists' obvious intentions to conquer the galaxy were revealed. Conscripts from across the core, mid-rim and beyond would have put down any nascent hostilities through strong preemptive force, and it would have been uncompromising men like Tarkin who'd have led them. History would have absolved him of any excesses he committed to secure a lasting peace.
Yet even she would have her uses. Amidala's incessant protests of military spending was already a war of attrition all its own, albeit not one that Tarkin saw as valuable on its own merits, but rather as a practical means of weakening the resolve of collaborationists while slowly shrinking the enemy's war chest. Tarkin turned his attendance to the others in attendance. A few sycophants and apparatchik bartered away whole systems on one side of the room while half listening to weapons manufacturers jealously criticize the designs of Rothana Heavy Engineering, which had come to nearly corner the market in regards to the Republic war machine.
Then there was young Lux Bonteri, son of traitors, former separatist and foolish boy who'd wasted more time casting quick sidelong glances at his slim hooded aide than he did paying attention to those appraising him. In his youth Tarkin had shared that carnal weakness, at least until he learned to stay clearly on one side of the line between attraction and affection while interacting with those of the opposite sex. While marked out for eventual purging once the Empire regained power over the cosmos, Bonteri had admittedly driven the separatists from Onderan without overt Republic assistance, making his insurgency methods of some interest to the other moffs. The boy was obviously afraid that he'd lose her like he had his parents and comrades but had brought her along because he understood the suffering his planet had suffered after foolishly believing it could choose neutrality in the midst of a galactic war.
Tarkin could read the fear of insignificance, future turmoil and being wrong in all of them. He could use that fear and time tested gunboat diplomacy to carve a niche for himself while the galaxy collapsed, then pick up the pieces and become the emperor Palpatine should have been. There was just one real obstacle presented before him. The Moff and almost everyone else in the room glanced at Master Shaaday. All Jedi were still technically enemies of the late Emperor and by extension the Imperial Remnant, yet she had come alone and uncloaked, the light saber on her hip in full view, and her demeanor very confident for someone whose order was supposed to be nearing oblivion. The Imperial Guard kept their weapons trained on her at all times, some almost giddily awaiting a pretense to fire while more experienced soldiers gritted their teeth behind their crimson face masks. She was not afraid.
The Jedi feigned disinterest during the proceedings so far, which was strange for someone who was neither invited to nor officially informed about the location of the meeting. Her starfighter being able to follow the Katanna fleet in and out of a dozen classified hyperspace lanes without following any beacons was an unheard of feat even by the standards of mystics. More unheard of was how she timed entering the fray during the Corellian skirmish mere moments before the arrival of Imperials who had given her no reason to believe her Jedi cohorts were expecting rescue. Saving the lives of force users had been an unfortunate caveat of the successful operation. Either she could read minds or the Jedi also knew how to access the deep core hyperspace routes charted in Palpatine's secret files. It occurred to Tarkin that like the young Onderani, Master Shaaday was also fixated on the Bonteri boy's aide. Tarkin did not understand why it had taken this long for him to realize that she was Ahsoka Tano. He punched an order in his datapad for her to also to be targeted.
One by one the attendees fell silent, no longer able to ignore the tense half movements of the guards.
"Before we begin in earnest," Tarkin said stiffly, "let it be said that I do not expect your gratitude. The old adage stating how the enemy of my enemy is my friend was composed by a desperate liar. It will however serve our collective interests."
"We both know cooperation is unfeasible, governor." Shaaday responded stoicly. "You will never share power and we will never give it to you."
A few cadets gripped their gunstocks. Sensing a brewing confrontation, the other moffs slunk away like the cowards they were, ceding authority in this matter to Tarkin, their de facto leader. He raked a finger over his medals, a disparaging gesture in military circles that signaled being below the criticisms of an inferior.
"There is no need for histrionics at this time, master Jedi, the embers of your religion have little left. The Empire could lend your people the resources and sanctuary needed to recover and serve a modern galaxy, but a non-aggression pact will suffice."
"There will be no deals, governor."
Tarkin sighed and tapped the table, signaling his enforcers to ready themselves.
"Then why, pray tell, are you here?"
"To speed things along."
As if on cue, a few battered frigates and corvettes exited hyperspace. The feint over Arkania had failed exactly as planned. What was left of this portion of Kota's militia had allowed itself to be tagged by a homing beacon and the courageous skeleton crew still on board were soon shredded by the pursuing five o' 1sts turbolasers. Both sides seemed to need a moment to digest what they had stumbled into, then the sky was awash in missiles, bombing sorties and a mad dash to gain an advantage before reinforcements could arrive.
Panic then rage swept through the defenders. The Imperials had enough dreadnoughts and Carrack cruisers to survive an engagement, but Tarkin knew the victory would be pyric. Shaaday wanted to whittle down his ranks before they could become a threat and seemed to not mind putting the Altisians in danger in order to do it. Byss would have to abandoned.
It occurred to him that Shaaday had an edge to her that her kind usually repressed and a willingness to rationalize any sacrifice as the will of the force. This made her dangerous. Even the portly noble had his weapon pointed in the Jedi's direction.
"You have violated a flag of truce, maddam."
Shaaday's smug expression turned stoney.
"Do not speak to me of traditions, we created most of them millennia before your house stopped toiling in the mud. The tyrant Palpatine bent them for evil in ways you cannot even imagine, that time has passed. Before we begin, let me show you."
Shaaday paused when a guardsman's glove touched her shoulder, lending her some of his power. Removing his cloak and cowl, it was revealed to be Arana. Other Jedi such as the Dark Woman also removed their disguises, causing the cowed Corellian to slowly place his blaster on the table. A rush into and out of the room took place as both Tarkin and Shaaday remained motionless facing each other.
Flashing images raced through their minds. They watched Jedi, aware that their connection to the Force was clouded, nevertheless rush to devote themselves to the institutions and ideals of the Republic. It in turn burned away their ethics and dignity, every sacrifice second guessed by resentful careerists, every victory another step towards their own destruction. Sidious' greatest enemy was his favorite weapon, and he used it until it broke, gunned down by the same warriors they had treated with dignity over the course of the war. Ahsoka scowled as Tarkin, the lecher who had accused her of treason, showed no signs of pity or remorse as he typed away at his datapad, undoubtedly calling for more reinforcements.
The images cycled again and again back to Palpatine's unhinged cackling laughter. If Palpatine really had secretly masterminded the conflict, all claims to his legitimacy were worse than discredited. The Imperial remnant, like the Republic and CIS, would splinter and collapse into shock and disbelief, in effect cutting its own wrists. The COMPNOR youth could not tolerate his beloved leader being slandered in such a way. Thinking better than to take the first shot at a Jedi though, he instead aimed his blaster at Lux Bonteri in an attempt to use the sympathizer's death to throw his enemies off balance. Ahsoka reacted by instinct, jamming her lightsaber through the fanatic's wrist deep into his chest. The choice had been forced upon her, but after being once again feeling the wound in the force caused by Order 66, she doubted that she would have maintained her neutrality. Whether it was their way or not, the revenge of the Jedi had begun.
Ortasil ran as fast as he could away from the slaughter. Blasterfire and explosions rang out in all directions. In the courtyard below him, a stray Altisian similarly fled towards the Chuunthor, and was gunned down in the crossfire between ARC landing parties and ISB marksmen. V wings dive bombed refueling fighter squadrons and danced in the night sky with the personally modified uglies naïve pilots had hobbled together to get to where they'd now die. Everywhere was fire and pain and it was all his fault.
Ortasil's fawning allegiance to the new order had triggered order one. The clones were going to destroy everything he had devoted his life to, just as they had destroyed the temple. Ortasil stopped running. Rather than heading for the escape craft, he had somehow doubled back towards the conference chamber, taken a left and was now at an obvious dead end. It made less sense than why he was so fixated on trying to remember the minor details of Operation Knightfall, from the names of the politicians who knew of the operation to its participants and those marked out for capture rather than termination. Instead of trying to save his own life, Ortasil was wasting time concentrating on the brief glimpse he had of the one codenamed Vader marching up steps. Only when he heard the snap hiss of a lightsaber behind him did Ortasil realize that Shaaday was controlling his mind. She had drew him back to gather information, and by the look on her face it was obvious she had siphoned all the information he could give.
Ahsoka watched her from the other end of the hallway. A few more Jedi had been lost during the firefight along with many delegates and high ranking imperials, Tarkin included. Thanks to Ahsoka's intervention Bel Iblis and Lux had made it out in one piece, though their respective entourages were less fortunate. As a service to Padme, Ahsoka slashed the holoprojector that linked her to this ill fated negotiation. The senator didn't need to see Shaaday cut down a helpless man.