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Holonet News: “A New Era of Justice Begins”
Dateline: Chandrila, 7 ABY
HANNA CITY - Today, Chancellor Mon Mothma announced the creation of the Council for Imperial Accountability and Rehabilitation (CIAR) -- a cornerstone of the New Republic’s Reconstruction Acts.
The Council will oversee transparent hearings for former Imperial officials, ensuring fair trials for the guilty and offering rehabilitation to those seeking redemption. “We cannot heal by repeating the Empire’s cruelty,” the Chancellor said. “But neither can we ignore its crimes.”
Senators praised the measure as a step toward unity across war-torn worlds. “This is how we rebuild. Not through vengeance, but through courage and truth,” said Senator Tirrina Vo of Corellia.
Public response on the Holonet was overwhelmingly positive, with #JusticeForTheGalaxy trending on Space Twitter within hours. Many are calling CIAR the foundation of a “kinder, stronger Republic.”
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“WHELP, there goes my career. An abject pleasure to have worked with you-”
“Sinjir-” Mon Mothma shook her head. She was used to her aide’s blustering by now, but she had to admit … maybe he deserved to bluster a little this time.
“No, no, you’re right! Of course you’re right. It’s not just my career that’s ending,” Sinjir replied in a droll. “No, it’s my entire life isn’t it? Wonderful while it lasted, hmm? Oh, who am I kidding, it’s been a positive shit show from day one-”
“Sinjir.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Well at LEAST when they string me up, or light me up with however many volts, or ... what? No, you’re more civilized than all that, fine, pump me full of fast acting toxins I suppose -- at least then you’ll be able to point to my corpse and say ‘See? We committed Justice!’ and feel better about yourselves.”
“Rath Velus!”
“What?!”
“Are. You. Finished?” Mon glared at him. The rest of her personal advisors were in their seats around her desk with Sinjir standing having made his impassioned speech as if he was on stage and they were all an adoring audience. She met his eyes. Sinjir's gaze was full of anger, much more anger than she’d ever seen from him since he’d started working for her. This must be one of those rare glimpses at the man who used to break people at the ISB. The Loyalty Officer who had no love for life or limb. Who carried out orders without question. And then…
… Then it was gone. Vanished. Poof. His face was back to a neutral position, eyebrows only slightly furrowed, shoulders once more set into his familiar half shrug.
“Sure,” he answered, waving her off and plunking back down into his seat. “Just say something nice to Conder at my funeral, hmm?”
“You’re not being executed,” Mon said firmly.
Sinjir scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought THAT was for your little Tribunal to decide.”
Mon didn’t flinch, though she wanted to. “It is,” she said, voice soft but clear. “And it will. But not today. And not here.”
Sinjir leaned back in the chair, crossing arms with a hrumph. “So what is this then, Madame Chancellor? A farewell tea? A last chance for you to say, ‘Oh, I always liked you, Sinjir, in spite of all the torture and treason’?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’ve been dramatic since the day I met you,” he said with a pointed scowl. “I thought that’s why you hired me.”
She allowed herself the faintest exhale. “I hired you because you understood the Empire better than anyone. Because you were willing to take responsibility in ways others weren’t.”
“Ah,” he said, steepling his fingers. “And look how well that turned out.”
Mon clasped her hands together on the desk. “You wouldn’t be on trial because of your service to me, Sinjir. Nor for the Rebellion. You MAY be charged for what you did before that, but they haven’t even reviewed names yet. They may even consider your defection and service to the New Republic mitigating enough to clear you. The CIAR is not a witch hunt.”
“No?” His eyes sharpened. “It feels remarkably witchy from this end.”
She ignored that. “They’re reviewing Imperial records. Witness statements. Testimonies from survivors.”
He went still, the humor draining. “I see. And how many of those survivors know that their statements will be used to make the Republic feel righteous?”
Mon’s expression softened with fatigue, though honestly she had exchanges like this with Sinjir at least once a week and one would think she’d be used to them by now. “You and I both know the Republic cannot build legitimacy on forgiveness alone. People need to see that those who served the Empire are held accountable. That potentially includes you.”
He studied her for a long moment in silence. Then he just shrugged. “Even better. I’m to hang in front of the Holonet cameras so the galaxy can sleep better. Bravo!”
“I’ll let them try you if it comes to that,” she replied evenly. “Because the rule of law applies even to those of us who help make it. Especially to us.”
Sinjir snorted, shaking his head. “You’ve grown idealistic in your old age.”
Mon’s mouth curved faintly. “You’re confusing idealism with necessity. We can’t be the Empire’s mirror image and call ourselves free.”
He sighed and rose again, smoothing his jacket, but this time instead of pacing in front of her and the others, he turned toward the door. “You know, when I first joined you, I thought maybe you were the one person in this blasted galaxy who saw the difference between justice and revenge.”
“I still do,” she said firmly.
“Then pray your Council remembers it.”
He reached for the door trying to make one of his dramatic exits, but she stopped him. “Sinjir.”
He sighed again and turned.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’ll testify on your behalf.”
He smirked, though his eyes betrayed an incredible weariness. Much different from the anger of only a few moments ago. “You’d better hope you’re more convincing under oath than I ever was.”
And with that, he was gone. Silence hung heavy in the room as everyone looked around at each other wondering who was going to speak first.
Mon just shook her head. “Give him time,” she said. “I think he knows how important this is.”
“With all due respect, ma’am,” Sondiv replied. “This is Sinjir you’re talking about.”
She nodded at him. “And I don’t think you give him enough credit.”
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“Sin, it’ll be fine.” Conder had come home from work to see his husband pouring over datapads and holonet articles, third cup of caf empty on the kitchen counter.
“Fine?! Con, explain to me EXACTLY how this will be fine? Explain it like I’m a toddler because I’ve examined every angle and not a single one of them is fine!”
Conder leaned against the doorframe, jacket half-off, watching the man he loved spiral into the sort of pacing fury that only Sinjir could manage. “Because,” he said carefully, “you didn’t do what they’re accusing you of. You defected. You fought for the Rebellion. All of your Imperial work was done for her.”
Sinjir threw up his hands. “Oh, splendid! I’ll be sure to tell the Council that! ‘Oh yes, my apologies, I only helped dismantle a fascist regime after I finished helping run it!’ That’ll play marvelously on the Holonet. And as for her, Uddra is DEAD, Con. Dead. And oh, that’s right, I’m the one that executed her!”
He began pacing again, voice rising as if trying to drown out the memory. “Never mind that she had a trial. A real one. Republic court, or what we could make of one in the tail end of the Rebellion, testimony, the whole shining model of democracy. They found her guilty and had the decency to let me be the one to carry out the sentence. It was all nice and official.” He stopped, a bitter laugh escaping. “But now? Now it’s going to be dredged up like I dragged her into an alley and did it for fun. The Council will twist it into whatever narrative sells best. ‘Rath Velus, the executioner who couldn’t stop executing.’ It doesn’t matter that I followed orders this time. It doesn’t matter that it was justice. The galaxy’s rewriting the story, and I’m the villain. Again.” He leaned forward on the counter, both hands braced, eyes wild with exhaustion. “So tell me, my ever-optimistic husband, how in all the voids of space is that going to be fine?”
“Sin.”
“No, no, don’t you ‘Sin’ me, darling, it’s not as if I haven’t earned this. The entire galaxy finally gets to tut at me and say, ‘Ah yes, the monster has been leashed.’ And you’ll get to stand in the crowd, shaking your head tragically, pretending you didn’t know.”
Conder’s voice softened. “You think I’d do that?”
Sinjir stopped mid-rant, jaw tightening. “I think you should,” he said, quieter now. “Because if I were you, I wouldn’t want to be married to someone the Holonet is going to call a butcher.”
Conder crossed the kitchen, stopped just short of him. “You’re not a butcher.”
“Tell that to the people who’ll testify otherwise.”
Conder exhaled, reaching out to carefully rest a hand on Sinjir’s arm, as if approaching a wounded animal. “We’ll get through this. You’ll have representation. Mon’s not going to abandon you.”
Sinjir scoffed. “Oh, she’ll be diplomatic, certainly. But she can’t stand in front of the mob and say, ‘This one’s different.’ Not when the whole point of this Council is to prove that no one is different. Or special. Or worthy…”
Conder hesitated, then leaned his forehead against Sinjir’s. “Then we fight it. Like we’ve fought everything else.”
For a long moment, Sinjir didn’t respond. Then, almost inaudibly, he said, “You really are terrible at picking lost causes.”
Conder smiled faintly against him. “Maybe. But I’m excellent at staying with them.”
Sinjir huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been a sigh, and turned his head just enough for Conder’s temple to brush his jaw. The smallest, easiest movement, and somehow it cracked the dam. Conder tilted his face up, and Sinjir met him halfway. The kiss was grounding for both of them.
When they parted, Sinjir’s hand lingered against the back of Conder’s neck, thumb tracing the edge of his collar. “You know,” he murmured, “you really should’ve married someone boring. A data analyst, perhaps. Someone whose most scandalous secret is a mislabeled spreadsheet.”
Conder smiled, forehead still pressed against Sinjir’s. “Too late. You already ruined my taste.”
That pulled an actual bit of laughter out of Sinjir. For a heartbeat the world felt mercifully small again, just the kitchen light, the smell of caf, the warmth of another person choosing to stay…
Then Conder pulled back slightly. “What about Sylvia?”
The spell was immediately broken. Sinjir frowned. “What about her?”
Conder shrugged. “She’s good at this kind of thing. You know, strategy and optics and the like. If anyone can make the Council see reason, it’s her. Or at least… remind them you’re not the only one they’re putting on trial.”
Sinjir’s frown deepened. “She’s already got enough eyes on her as it is. She might masquerade as a Jedi now, but her records are out there. They’ll come for her, too.”
“All the more reason to talk to her,” Conder said gently. “Maybe she’s already thought of something. A statement, a defense, a way to turn this into something survivable.”
Sinjir stared at him for a long time, then pushed his hair back, muttering, “You know, every time you suggest something that sounds halfway reasonable, I start to worry which one of us actually used to work for the ISB.”
Conder arched a brow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You do remember that I hate her, right?”
“And?”
Sinjir sighed. “Fine. Call her. But if this ends with both of us on a list, I’m haunting you.”
“You already do,” Conder said, smiling faintly as he reached for the comm.
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“So it’s actually happening then?” The woman on the holoscreen seemed unassuming enough. Blonde hair in a loose bun, pale robes in the Jedi style falling into place across her shoulders.
“Yeah,” Conder answered rather solemnly. “I’d hoped you might have some sort of argument or statement ready in case it did. You know. Something about how you and Sin have been paragons of Justice or something since the war ended?”
Sylvia Orcanthus huffed a quiet laugh, the holocam catching a glimpse of the bright stone behind her. Jedi architecture, serene and orderly in ways that didn’t quite match with her own chaotic style, if you knew her well enough. The Jedi attache leaned back a little in her chair. “Paragons of Justice,” she repeated, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Conder, I’m a woman who once signed off on interrogation orders. Sinjir’s a man who conducted them. We imprisoned families and executed detractors. You don’t sell us as paragons. You sell us as… examples of what not to repeat.”
Conder gave her a look halfway between exasperation and fondness. “You’ve both done more good than most of the people judging you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Maybe to the Force,” she said softly. “I’m not sure it does to the Council for Imperial Accountability.”
Conder huffed, folding his arms. “So you’re just accepting it? That you’re going to be called in?”
“I’ve accepted the likelihood,” she said gently. “The Council is new, and they’ll want names the public recognizes. Names that make good theater. Kallus will be an easy headline: the redeemed spy, the model defector. And Governor Adelhard will be an easy conviction. The Council needs victories it can point to before it tackles the complicated ones. Build trust in the system before getting dirty in the harder cases.”
“Like you and Sinjir.”
“Like us,” she agreed. “We’re the messy kind. People who did harm and then tried to make amends. There’s no easy judgment for that, so they’ll save us for when the public’s ready to question what justice actually means.”
Conder leaned closer to the holo. “And you’re just … what? Waiting to see when the summons come?”
Sylvia’s eyes didn’t waver. “Waiting, yes. But not hiding. If they call me up, I’ll answer. If they call up Sinjir, he will too. We’ve both got ghosts, Conder. Victims that deserve to be heard, even if all they want is to look at us and know we were made to answer for our crimes.”
He looked at her for a long, hard moment. “You really believe in this Council then, huh?”
“I don’t know if I believe in the Council,” she admitted. “But I believe in the need for it. I believe in the people who died without getting to tell their story.” She smiled faintly again, a little sad. “Let’s just see what happens first. There’s no sense borrowing trouble. The easy cases will come before us.”
Conder sighed. “You sound so calm about it.”
“I’m not,” Sylvia answered. “But calm sounds better on the record.”
“And what do the Jedi say? They’ve got to know that you’ll be called up…”
Sylvia hesitated, just long enough that the silence became its own kind of answer. Then she exhaled and leaned back in her chair again, the folds of her robe catching the light from the holocam. “They say the right things,” she said at last. “That the path to the Light runs through truth, that confession is an act of courage, that justice and compassion must coexist.” She gave a quiet laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Beautiful words, really. I think some of them even believe it.”
Conder frowned. “And you don’t?”
“I do,” she replied, hesitating only slightly. “I believe in truth. I believe in facing what we’ve done. But the Order is young. Half the Knights are philosophers, the other half are soldiers who spent their lives trying to remember what peace feels like. They don’t know what it does to you to live inside a system like the Empire. To be part of it.”
He returned to the question that they’d been circling. “So what happens if the Council calls you, then?”
“Then I stand before them as a Jedi,” she said simply. “Not because the Order will protect me (they won’t) but because it’s what I’ve chosen to be now. Maybe that will mean something. Maybe it won’t. I’m not a Jedi Jedi of course. But I am an attache. A scholar. I still teach the younglings, albeit not to use the Force. We’ll find out what that means to them.”
Conder was quiet for a moment, watching her face flicker in the holo’s pale light. “You make it sound like you’ve already accepted a guilty verdict.”
Sylvia’s mouth curved in a tired, honest smile. “I accepted it the day I switched sides, Conder. And so did Sinjir. Whatever comes next, it’s only the rest of the reckoning.” Silence hung between them for a moment. “I notice he’s not on the call with you. How’s he holding up?”
Conder hesitated. “Badly, if I’m honest. He’s pretending otherwise. You know how he is, more sarcasm per sentence than blood in his body. But this… this one’s different. He thinks he deserves it.”
Her gaze softened. “He’s not wrong to think that. I’m sure we both would like to sleep without seeing the faces of our victims. But deserving punishment and deserving destruction aren’t the same thing.”
Conder’s lips twisted. “That last bit at least makes you sound like an actual Jedi.”
“Well, thank you!” Sylvia chuckled lightly, obviously trying to lift the mood. “I’ve had a few years of practice.” When Conder’s mouth didn’t twitch upward as she’d seemed to hope, she shrugged. “Tell you what. I’ll prepare something. A statement, maybe. Not for sympathy, mind you. For clarity. If we’re going to be symbols, we might as well decide on what we stand for.”
“Thank you,” he said, and for a second, the weight in his voice cracked her calm. Just a little.
She swallowed a bit and then inclined her head, eyes distant now, already thinking through the speech forming in her mind. “Tell your other half that I’ll see him soon. I’ll make sure the next time we need to send a representative to the New Republic, that I’ll be on the shuttle. And tell him that if he tries to make jokes during my little speech, I’ll break his nose with the Force.”
That earned an actual huff of a laugh from Conder, seeing as how the woman wasn’t actually Force sensitive. “I’ll make sure he’s warned.”
She smiled. “Good. Maybe that’ll finally make him take me seriously.”