Chapter Text
Tarkin sat in the Council Chamber of the Imperial Command on Ord Mantell, quietly seething. This was not how things were supposed to have gone. He had anticipated a fight, yes, but only a few skirmishes. Yularen and whatever officers he could have rallied to side with the Republic and its new Chancellor behind the ridiculous idealism he hadn’t known the man harbored. The Jedi, operating off to the side, from the shadows, having to avoid their own troops. He had not expected the Kaminoans to backstab him, had not realized they had a way to revert the Clones to their baseline personalities rather than the more tolerable and efficient state Order 66 created in them. Sending the troops of the Mid and Outer Rim to Kamino was supposed to remove them from the playing field, not provide Kenobi with an army that he could safely command!
The threat of the Jedi had been greatly diminished, but the early strikes by Kenobi and his blasted signal had sapped the Imperial Army of a handful of battalions, enough forces to confine them to holding actions and defensive maneuvers. Rather than being able to roll over the Republic forces, they’d been forced to accept a vicious and messy stalemate even with the jammers going across as many frequencies as was feasible to keep their Clones theirs.
To make matters worse, barely a month after the new civil war had begun planets had begun to secede from the Republic. Not to the Separatists, but to new states. Mandalore had managed to put itself to rights and was rapidly reclaiming its traditional territory, planetary and system governments declaring they preferred to take their chances with Bo-Katan Kryze over an unstable Republic or ‘tyrannical’ Empire. Others had joined the nascent Hutt Empire once the damnable slugs had begun to spread their slimy hands out of Hutt Space and into the neighboring systems. Kenobi had brought the full might of the outer half of the GAR to the Core with him, and that meant Tarkin and his allies had been forced to keep their half in the Core as well, neither side having the forces to defend the Outer Rim territories of a Republic that should have died peacefully months ago.
Tarkin was confident that once this was all settled he could overwhelm both, the Hutts were primarily using mercenaries and the Mandalorians lacked the numbers needed for a long term war, but it would be a third wave of war within a single decade and he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the public’s reaction to that. It would be necessary though. Their spy networks weren’t as strong out beyond the Colonies, and were getting weaker through counter espionage and desertion, but he knew the various industries of the galaxy, the Trade Federation, the Techno Union, the Commerce Guild, what remained of the Banking Clan after Palpatine nationalized them, were getting plundered and incorporated into the Hutt and Mandalorian Empires, the remainder being fed to the CIS to prop up the floundering state. The economy would require war, either that or legitimizing the upstart states. And that wouldn’t do, not with how many leaders the Empire had. Palpatine had moved to secure the entire galaxy in a matter of years, with the number of collaborators that such a thing required, and such numbers could not be satiated with only half of what they had promised, not without destabilizing degrees of internal purges.
Purges he was, admittedly, considering carrying out right now as the Council squabbled. This was not how the Empire was supposed to function, the entire point had been a strong executive that could cut through the squabbling and slowdown of the Senate. But nobody who remained had the authority, the power and pull that Palpatine had, and with the war going on there was no time to campaign and jockey properly to get that sort of influence, meaning that sheer pragmatism had necessitated the quagmire that he was now witness to.
A quagmire that faltered and stalled further as blasterfire rang out, then abruptly stopped. He, like most of the room, froze briefly and then pointed his pistol at the door. They were all military men at war, and while few had fought on the ground they all knew enough to defend themselves. So long as Yoda didn’t come through, Tarkin thought they had a decent chance.
The doors flew open, and through the doorway stepped…well, it certainly wasn’t Yoda. A tall Zabrak male strode in, black and red, calm and confident…and with an especially long lightsaber hilt at his waist. “Gentlemen.” He purred, his voice deep but silky all the same. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Darth Maul. Like you, Palpatine promised me much. Like you, he did not deliver upon those promises and I have been left to battle and scramble for what is mine by right. And like you, I have a particular grievance with Kenobi. I am here to help you balance the scales, that we might all get what we have earned.”
“And why would we align ourselves with you, a strange alien with no army, no territory, no…” Ozzel began, sneering, only to cut himself off, choking on nothing as Maul made a lazy gesture.
“You have your Clones Troopers, you have your Navy, you have some of the richest planets in the galaxy.” Maul said calmly. “What you lack is something to combat the Jedi.”
“You’re one man.” Gideon drawled.
“The Jedi are a fraction of what they once were, the majority of their surviving number the elderly, the young, or the wounded. What remains are traumatized Padawans whose Masters held the line for them and a scant handful of Knights and Masters. You do not face an army, you face a pittance. Potent, but limited in their range and effect. You only need one.”
“Release him.” Tarkin said softly. Maul arched a brow, and then a gasping Ozzel slumped in his chair, Maul’s hand returning to rest at his side. Tarkin was impressed. The fact that Ozzel was still alive and conscious implied finesse and restraint on this Maul’s part. He valued a blunt instrument of course, sometimes all one needed was a hammer, but a varied skill set was more valuable at this moment in time, particularly when they had no other counters to the surviving Jedi still able to fight beyond attempting to bury them in Clones they could not replace. “We accept your offer. Let us discuss terms.” Maul grinned, and Tarkin settled in. He could work with this.
OoOoO
Bail stepped quietly into the office of the Supreme Chancellor and waited for the Senator of Kashyyyk to finish.
“I understand your people’s plight, Senator.” Mon Mothma assured her. It had been a fight to get her appointed as Supreme Chancellor, but with most of the Senators of the planets that had gone to the would-be Empire either gone or imprisoned it had been manageable. He trusted her, and more importantly the Jedi trusted her. With Padme dead she'd been the best choice. Bail himself couldn’t have run, it would have seemed like setting himself up to be the next Emperor. And after what Palpatine had done, what Obi-Wan had uncovered about the Clones, it was absolutely essential to have someone in the office of Supreme Chancellor whom the Jedi could trust, because it was absolutely essential to have the Jedi on the field to give them the edge against the would-be Empire. Too many of the GAR’s natborn officers had followed Tarkin into treason, and many of those who remained had done so because they viewed the Imperial forces as traitors rather than actual conviction to the cause.
…also, Mon was handling being shouted at by a Wookie much better than Bail thought he could have done. Eventually said Wookie left, slumped but not angry at least, and Bail approached the desk. “What was that about?” He asked. Mon sighed and crumpled in on herself.
“The Hutts have taken Kashyyyk.” Bail froze, then swallowed and sat down.
“How?”
“Trandosha has officially seceded from the Republic in favor of becoming a member state of the Hutt Empire.” Mon said grimly, gesturing at a stack of flimsi bound in leather. “They’re citing the history of a Wookie Senator always representing the system they share with Kashyyyk, locking Trandosha out of representation. I’m sympathetic to that complaint, admittedly, but rather than appealing to me they’ve chosen to throw in with the Hutts, allowing them a staging ground to send troops to Kashyyyk. The Wookies are holding out on the ground, but with the damage the Separatists did before they withdrew and the lack of GAR support the Hutts have successfully blockaded the planet and already begun taking slaves.” Bail swore quietly, and Mon nodded grimly.
“It’s a foothold in the Mid Rim for the Hutts and a sentient rights nightmare on a Republic planet.” She said bluntly. “But…we don’t have the troops to fight on another front right now.” She slid a holoprojector into the middle of the desk and pressed a button on it, pulling up a map of the Core, Colonies, and Inner Rim, highlighted by the planets that had gone to the Empire, either through treason or conquest, vs the Republic’s holdings. “We’re at a dead stalemate at present. Our generals tell me they think the Empire should collapse under the internal strain within a few standard years, something our intelligence agrees with, but removing a fleet from any of the fronts we currently have would lengthen that timetable. And opening the supply lines needed to support a front out in the Mid Rim would open a weakness for the Empire to exploit.”
“There’s nothing we can do?” Bail asked bleakly. Mon sighed.
“I’ve asked for time with General Kenobi, he may have a better idea of our options than I do, but we can’t afford to properly break the Hutt blockade, let alone take Trandosha like we’d need to.” Bail swore again, but composed himself as an aide knocked on the door. Mon quickly turned the holoprojector off and buzzed them in.
“Chancellor, Vice Chancellor.” The aide said, anxious and holding a datapad out. “This was sent to you from the Senator of Corellia.” Mon frowned and took it.
“What does Garm want?” Bail asked wearily, then almost fell out of his chair when Mon started swearing. “Mon?”
“He…regretfully informs me that Corellia, Kuat, and Fondor are all seceding from the Republic, along with a dozen other systems whose economies rely on shipping materials to their shipyards.” Mon seethed. “The Tri Compact they’re calling themselves apparently.” She scrambled for a comlink, one Bail recognized as linking her to the Corries. “Commander Fox, I need Senator Garm Bel Iblis brought to me immediately. And also the Senators of Kuat, Fondor, and…” she squinted and started reading from the datapad, going through the list.
“Right away Chancellor.” The stoic Commander of the Coruscant Guard replied briskly.
“What in the heavens possessed them to do this?” Bail demanded. Mon consulted the datapad.
“They’ve decided that the ‘chronic and persistent’ instability of the Republic makes their continued presence in it untenable, and that if the Empire wins they don’t want to be a part of that either so they’re getting out now. They’ve also said that the ease with which Palpatine was able to subvert the Republic, to the point of getting the majority of the Senate to make him Emperor and the majority of natborn GAR officers turning traitor, has caused them to give a vote of no confidence to the entire institution. They have graciously promised to allow us to keep using the hyperlanes they now control, as well as the continued honoring of their contracts with the GAR for construction and maintenance however.” She spat the last out sarcastically. Before she could say anything else though, the comlink beeped.
“Supreme Chancellor. I’m afraid the Senators you requested all left the planet in the last few days.” Fox reported. “As have their entire staff, down to the droids. My men are reporting bare offices.” A long moment of silence filled the air, and Bail started swearing, rubbing his forehead.
“Thank you Commander. That will be all.” Mon said tiredly, setting the comlink down.
“...if we can’t open a new front on Kashyyyk we certainly can’t open one on Corellia or any of the other planets involved in this…and if they’re willing to keep arming and maintaining us…” Bail said slowly, running over the numbers in his head. “We might have to allow this.”
“We can’t lose control of those hyperlanes!” Mon snapped. “Nor the loss of their shipyards, any of them!”
“This was planned for some time.” Bail pointed out wearily. “As evidenced by the fact that they all left, quietly and coordinated, without anyone noticing anything amiss. Any Clones stationed in their defense would have been recalled by Tarkin before the new war began, meaning their defenses will be a mix of homeguard and automation, likely guaranteed to be loyal to this Tri Compact if they felt confident in making this play. If we dedicate enough resources to it we can likely retake them, but that will still be time, credits, and manpower we can’t afford to take from the current fronts. And laying siege to any of those planets would do serious damage to the shipyards, either directly or in the long term depending on who we besiege, damage we can’t afford to fix. By agreeing to continue servicing the fleet and continuing to honor their contracts, they’ve backed us into a corner.”
“...I hate that you’re probably right.” Mon sighed.
OoOoO
Trilla made her way through the halls of the Corellian Jedi Temple, leading her small group of Commanders to the Temple’s Council Chamber, where they'd been summoned by Master Sinube. She’d been on their way to Ilum with her Master when Order 66 happened, taking a group of younglings to get their Kyber crystals, several parsecs away from any Clones. They’d survived, and received first Master Kenobi’s warning and then Grand Master Yoda’s call to regroup on an isolated swamp planet. Shortly after had come the second message from Master Kenobi, a declaration that he’d uncovered what had happened with the Clones, and reversed it…mostly. The Sith (the Supreme kriffing Chancellor!) had laid the groundwork for his victory into the GAR itself, and those cronies were now waging war on the Republic with enslaved vod as their tools.
Those Jedi who were willing and able to return to the battlefront, to lead vod into battle and defend the Republic, returned to the fray. Those too old, too infirm, or too young were settled on Corellia, the planet having been devoid of Clones on the ground due to its placement far from any front. Presumably karking Palpatine would have directed a detachment there had he lived long enough. Those able but unwilling to return to the battlefront were sent to Ilum and Lothal, to restore the latter temple and render the former something that could be lived in permanently without impeding the Kyber ritual.
Trilla’s Master had survived the genocide, but she soon learned that she was one of the very few. Cere had returned to the war, but had left Trilla behind to help serve as a guard of the Corellian Temple, and to help those Padawans whose Masters had died and who’d insisted they wanted to do something more active than construction and restoration. All of them younger than her by a few years to boot. Ayla Secura’s Padawan Maris Brood, had been saved by having been confined on a MedCorps station far from the front with a minimal number of Clones compared to the Jedi onboard, and the two boys, Caleb Dume and Cal Kestis, their Masters had died, holding the line for them so that they could escape.
And now they were all here, trying to pretend like the galaxy hadn’t stopped moving for them when their Masters had died. Because it hadn’t, even if it should have. Order 66 should have been a momentous occasion, but instead the Republic had moved past it to get back to internal squabbling with…concerning ease in Trilla’s opinion. People were dying in droves again, the fronts of the war changed but the effects the same. The Jedi were on the battlefields again, diminished but fighting for a Republic Trilla wasn’t sure she believed in anymore. The people, yes, of course, none of this was the fault of the average citizen or even all of the elite, but the Republic itself? She wasn’t so sure about that anymore. She needed someone to talk to about this, but Cere was gone and with everything else going on bothering one of the Masters trying to run things here with her own feelings felt unspeakably childish.
She stepped into the Council Chamber and gave a bow once she’d reached the middle, noticing her fellow adrift Padawans doing the same. “Masters, you summoned us?” The elder Jedi looked at each other, and then a Corellian Councilor whose name Trilla didn’t know gestured to Master Sinube.
“You’re the most senior of us here, and the one they’re familiar with. Best it comes from you.” Master Sinube snorted.
“How very courteous of you Master Vrook.” He drawled, then thumped his cane against the ground. “Corellia has decided to leave the Republic.” Trilla froze.
“They’re joining the Empire?” She breathed, fear racing through her at the thought despite her best efforts. If they’d already decided to do it, they might not have time to evacuate before a second Temple massacre began…
But Master Sinube was shaking his head, and she forced herself to relax. Slightly. “No, not the Empire, thank the Force.”
“The Separatists then?” Cal burst out, interrupting Master Sinube. Fortunately the elderly Jedi wasn’t bothered by the disruption and shook his head.
“Not the Separatists, nor the Hutts, nor Mandalore. They have formed a compact with Kuat, Fondor, and a number of other planets. Small in geographic terms compared to the galaxy, but a formidable alliance in terms of finances and military hardware.” Trilla rocked on her heels at that information. A new nation state in the galaxy? That was…well. She’d spent her whole life with just the Republic, or the Republic and Dooku’s puppet state. She wasn’t even entirely sure if the CIS was a viable nation on its own, without the duplicity of Palpatine playing both sides. And there was precedent for the Hutt and Mandalorian Empires, if ancient precedent. This was…new.
“The office of the President of Corellia has reached out to us, letting us know what they’ve done and doing their utmost to assure us that we remain welcome and under the protection of their armed forces.” Master Sinube continued.
“For what it’s worth, I believe them.” Master Vrook interjected. “The President put guards around the Temple here even before Master Kenobi returned with the signal to free the Clone Troopers. And this Tri Compact has sworn to uphold their existing contracts to arm and maintain the GAR.” There was a general noise of murmuring assent from the gathered Corellian Councilors at this, and Master Sinube nodded.
“So, if we trust their sincerity, and thus far we lack any reason to not do so, then we are left with the question of what we should do. And it was thought that you, who fought for the Republic, who waged war so young, should have a say in the matter. Do we stay on Corellia, even as it leaves the Republic we are sworn to? Or do we stay here and hope to recover in peace, to one day serve the Tri Compact and Republic alike if the Empire falls?” The Padawans looked at each other in long silence, Trilla assumed each of them was thinking and reaching out to the Force like she was.
“Well…I guess if they’re still the good guys…” Cal began, and Master Sinube grimaced.
“They did also inform us that they would be partnering with the Hutts to supply their new navy in exchange for backing to insure their independence, which is something that should weigh our decision.” He added. “I apologize, it slipped my mind for a moment.” To Trilla’s surprise, Caleb shrugged.
“The Hutts would get their Navy from somewhere, the CIS is relying on them and still has its shipyards after all.” He pointed out. “It’s not ideal, but…” He grimaced and shrugged again. “Not like the Republic didn’t help the Hutts.” Trilla tilted her head in reluctant acknowledgement. That was hard to argue with. If the Clone Wars had taught anything, it was that the galaxy was messy and frequently unpleasant.
“Why do we have to serve either of them?” Maris demanded. There was a moment of silence, and she flushed, the color especially stark on her snow white skin. “I mean, obviously we need alliances, and we’re going to keep helping people but why do we need to become their Jedi?”
“...she has a point.” Trilla said, glad someone else had said it so she could get her thoughts in order. “Palpatine pulled the trigger, and stacked the deck, but he was exploiting systems and laws in place for decades, in some cases centuries. The Senate was able to force us to become generals and commanders. And even before that, I remember our recent history classes, Master Jinn and Master Kenobi got sent to Naboo because then Chancellor Valorum went around the Senate and called in a personal favor. Before that Master Dooku was tricked into massacring the stabilizing third party in Mandalorian politics because he trusted the Senate to vet their missions. The Hutts were able to grow their reach enough that during the war we had to negotiate with them and treat them like a sovereign state. This isn’t…if we just go back to how things were this will happen again, but worse cause we’re weaker now.”
“The Council is aware of this.” Master Sinube said gently. “Both here and those surviving Councillors out on the battlefield. We will seek to get the laws and practices amended.”
“But will the Senate agree? They’re going to have reconstruction in the Core, they’re going to have to push back against the Hutts conquering of Republic worlds in the Mid Rim and beyond, the CIS still has most of its army and navy, Mandalore is on the mend, and now the biggest producers of warships and artillery has gone independent. Will they give up having the Jedi at their beck and call?” Trilla pushed, eyes wide and bright. “Honored Masters, I know that the Order still owns planets across the galaxy, that there are other abandoned Temples, and that our resources are vast. I think we need to consider leaving the Republic ourselves.”
“Put ExploraCorps and AgriCorps full time on getting planets ready…” Caleb mused.
“Ooh, ooh, we could bring back the Army of Light!” Cal said excitedly. “And give homes to any refugees fleeing the Hutts!”
The Council stared at them, bemused and mildly alarmed. But they weren’t arguing with them.
“I don’t…I don’t want to be sent back out in a decade because we trusted the Senate would do the right thing.” Maris said, taking a shaky breath before standing tall. “What Barriss Offee did was wrong. But why she did it wasn’t. We need to learn, we need to change.”
Silence reigned in the Council Chamber for a long moment.
“You’ve given us much to think about.” Master Sinube said finally. “Thank you, young ones. You may return to what you were doing before, while we discuss this and reach out to our colleagues in the field and in the ServiceCorps.” Trilla and her fellow Padawans bowed and beat a hasty retreat.
“...I can’t believe we said that.” Cal said once the doors were closed behind them.
“It needed to be said.” Trilla said firmly.
“Yeah, just…not used to having things to contribute in these meetings. Usually I just gave my report and…” He swallowed, and Trilla patted him on the shoulder.
“It’ll get better…I hope.” She said gently.
OoOoO
JX394ND-5777 (recently given the shorter designation of ND-5 for ease of communication with the biologicals he’d be working with for the foreseeable future) adjusted his coat. It was a strange thing to be wearing as a commando droid, but the purpose for the long green garment had been explained to him and so he kept it on.
It had been some time since ND-5 had been brought out of storage, his first failure in the field being deemed serious enough to remove him from active duty but not serious enough to waste by decommissioning. In that time he’d learned that Count Dooku, the Ruling Council, and General Grievous had all died, and the Clone Wars had come to an uncertain end. Not officially over, but the Parliament and surviving military leadership had decided to treat the Republic abandoning the fighting to engage in a civil war within the Core as a ceasefire, consolidating their borders and attempting to repair the economy.
And now they were no longer alone in being arrayed against the Republic. And so ND-5 had found himself brought out of storage to serve as a bodyguard, a role he’d occasionally played in the past, for the CIS’ official representative to the meeting in the Corporate Sector. A grand summit for representatives from the CIS, the reformed Mandalorian and Hutt Empires, and the newly formed Tri Compact, to sit and discuss the state of the galaxy, sign formal treaties, and come to agreements as to what they would be offering each other. Personally, ND-5 wasn’t entirely certain that aligning themselves with the Hutts or the Tri Compact fit the Confederacy’s values, but he wasn’t the politician and he could understand the need for compromises in the face of an existential threat. And the Republic and Empire did pose a potential existential threat, should either side emerge from the civil war and find the CIS alone and shaken. Transitioning a wartime economy back to peacetime was a difficult process, he was given to understand, and what he knew of the Senate implied they’d likely prefer to pick the Clone Wars back up rather than do that difficult work.
“That’s what we have to offer Lord Durga, take it or leave it.” The annoyed sounding representative of the Compact, former Senator Garm Bel Iblis, huffed. “Much of our current manufacturing capabilities are tied up in our contracts with the GAR, or else in fortifying our own borders to keep the Empire out. We’re cutting into our commercial productions to offer the Hutt Empire the manufacturing rates as it is.” Durga, a young Hutt with a large birthmark across his face, made an expression that ND-5 was reasonably certain constituted a sneer. Hutt facial expressions and body language were not part of his standard information banks, and so he was having to make guesses and educate himself on the fly. Hopefully transferring this information once they returned to the CIS would save his fellow droids trouble in the future.
“So you expect me to return to the Emperor and tell him you will be basing all future contracts based on your sense of honor?” The Hutt drawled.
“No, tell him that if we don’t fulfill our contracts the GAR will have the justification they need to begin seizing our shipyards, and they certainly won’t let us equip you at all if that happens. So you can accept getting less ships and tanks than you’d hoped for, or you can try and find someone else capable of building an entire navy and armored division for your Empire. Given the size of the capital ships you requested, I wish you luck.” Durga gave a noise that ND-5 thought was a reluctantly approving chuckle. Maybe he could find a protocol droid to download the necessary data from, since it seemed the CIS would be dealing with the Hutts much more frequently now.
“If I might, Lord Durga.” Representative Singh began. “We still have the Geonosians factories in working condition, they’re no longer manufacturing droids at the rate they once did and so can be redistributed to other things.” The Hutt was looking at Singh now, and ND-5 took the portion of his attention allocated to the Compact delegation to increase his awareness of the Hutt delegation. He didn’t take anything away from what was allocated to the Mandalorians. “While they may not have the skill in ship building that the planets of the Compact do, I believe even our Corellian friend will admit to the Geonosian skill at space station building.” Iblis made a grunt of acknowledgement.
“In return for the aid you have already given us in this…economically trying time, and for our contribution to this alliance, we would be more than happy to provide you with space stations to aid in holding down your new territory and advancing your borders.”
“And how, precisely, would space stations advance our borders?” Durga asked, a brow raised. At least that was a fairly universal expression, amongst species who had them.
“The Geonosians have developed space stations with fully operational and robust hyperdrives.” Singh said confidently. “Able to move the stations across the galaxy as easily as any capital ship. Now, of course, once they’re out of hyperspace they are not as mobile as capital ships, but as you are not at present fighting foes with any serious naval forces I believe they would be more than adequate for your current purposes.” ND-5 thought that Durga looked rather thoughtful, a certain gleam in his eye as he mused over Singh’s proposal.
“Yes, yes, that could be quite useful indeed. I will have our military council reach out to the Geonosians to see what quantity would be feasible. I accept these terms from the CIS.”
“Question.” The Mandalorian woman directly across the table from Singh drawled. Ursa Wren, ND-5 believed her name was. “Why is your droid wearing a floor length military duster?” This drew attention not to Singh but ND-5 himself. He was glad he didn’t have the biological problem of bad posture that Durga’s bodyguards had, that would have reflected poorly on the CIS. He was aware that his nation was the ‘sick man’ of the galaxy at the moment.
“To help put you at ease.” He said, directing his gaze to the Mandalorian representative. So far the Mandalorian had been largely silent. Mandalore had a somewhat better economy than the CIS at the moment, with their own manufacturers for ships and weapons. Outside of raw materials and trade agreements, they didn’t need as much from the other members of the conference beyond the mutual defense pact that was at the heart of the whole affair.
“Because a commando droid in a jacket is a…striking visual image?” Wren asked, raising an eyebrow. Unlike her bodyguards, her helmet was off, if on the table right in front of her.
“It is large and baggy. This slows my quickfire speed down to something closer to human levels. It puts me on a more even playing field with your bodyguards.” ND-5 corrected. “It is a show of good faith.” There was a moment of silence, then Wren snorted.
“Fair enough. Proceed.”