Chapter Text
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…
STAR WARS: THE SAPPHICVERSE
EPISODE II
THE MILITARY-INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX STRIKES BACK
It is a period of peace in the Galactic Republic, but there is unrest in the air. While the Sith Lord Darth Sidious has been defeated, and his plan to destroy the Jedi Order and rule the galaxy as Emperor has been thwarted, the web of lies and deceit he wove has yet to be fully unraveled even two years later. Many systems still do not trust the Republic, and many have joined the Council of Neutral Systems, overseen by the war-weary DUCHESS OF MANDALORE.
Supreme Chancellor Padmé Amidala has requested for the Jedi Knights Barriss Offee and Ahsoka Tano to investigate a mysterious secret project being funded by the Strategic Advisory Cell, as part of her goal to demilitarize the Republic in the wake of the devastating CLONE WARS and create a lasting peace in the galaxy.
Not all in the Republic believe in Amidala’s vision, though. Fleet Admiral Tarkin, who worked closely with Darth Sidious in his guise as Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, seeks to enforce his own brand of peace with a new fleet of STAR DESTROYERS, larger and deadlier than their predecessors. He has traveled to the shipyards of the planet Kuat, where the prototype for his new weapon has just finished construction…
The shipyard where Kuat Drive Yards manufactured its products formed a complete ring around the planet Kuat itself. In much the same way, Kuat Drive Yards held a tight grip on the planet’s economy and its governance. It was no coincidence that the most powerful family on Kuat shared their name with the planet itself, or that said family had legally-bound permanent control over the Kuat shipyard.
Some, like the woman who now served as Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, would consider such an arrangement to be corrupt. To Wilhuff Tarkin, it was simply efficient. After all, Kuat Drive Yards had long been known to build the finest capital ships in the galaxy, and with such a reputation, did it really matter who was pulling the strings, or how democratic the process was?
Said capital ships were the reason for the Admiral’s visit today, and if Lira Wessex was telling the truth about her latest prototype, the fine folks at the Drive Yards had truly outdone themselves this time. As the Eta-class shuttle swept into the hangar, Tarkin couldn’t help but drum his fingers on his armrest in anticipation. As the shuttle landed, a faint hiss issued from the hydraulic landing gear, followed by a satisfying clunk and the whine of motors as the landing ramp unlocked itself and descended.
Standing before Tarkin in the hangar were Onara Kuat, the current Kuat of Kuat, head of the Kuat family and thus also the shipyard, and Lira Wessex, the young starship designer who had made quite a name for herself already with the immensely successful Venator-class star destroyer (many in the Republic, in particular the Jedi, objected to the ‘star destroyer’ designation on grounds that it suggested needless violence, and called the Venator an ‘attack cruiser’ instead; Tarkin did not), and had since been furiously at work on the Venator’s successor, which promised to improve on the ship that had served as the backbone of the Republic Navy throughout the Clone Wars in practically every regard.
“Hello, Admiral,” said Wessex, saluting Tarkin with an eager-to-please attitude the man very much appreciated. The girl knew her place, and that for all her obvious talent, she was not the one calling the shots here. “I wasn’t sure we would see you again, given… well… you know.”
The death of Chancellor Palpatine had indeed been a setback for Tarkin’s ambitions, as had his replacement by the bleeding-heart Padmé Amidala. Still, as long as he remained Fleet Admiral of the Republic Navy, they would do things his way, and this was not up for negotiation. And if Amidala saw fit to relieve him of his command, well, she had best remember which one of them still had their guns, and which one had foolishly given them up.
“A minor issue, to be sorted out in time. I assure you that despite the efforts of the Chancellor and your rogue Senator, the Republic Navy will stand by its assurances.”
Wessex nodded. “Shall we, then?” she asked, and gestured Tarkin forward to the corridor leading to the drydock where Wessex’s prototype was in the final stages of construction. Tarkin turned a corner and was met by full-height windows looking out onto the drydock, and smiled.
It was magnificent—a great grey wedge, topped with multiple layers of blocky superstructure leading up to a sturdy neck which carried a broad, imposing bridge topped with two shield generator domes. Truly, this was the weapon needed to enforce the Tarkin Doctrine, especially with Project Stardust under construction to back it up.
“The Imperator-class Star Destroyer, Admiral,” said Wessex proudly, gesturing to her creation. “Five hundred meters longer than a Venator, and twice as heavily armed.” Tarkin stepped forward to get a better look.
“I dare say, Ms. Wessex, you have exceeded even my expectations. These vessels shall be the perfect implement to keep the more unruly systems in check and ensure a strong, defended peace in our Republic.”
“Surely the Chancellor will object,” said Wessex nervously, “especially as a peacetime effort.”
“Nonsense. The Chancellor has no idea how little power she truly holds. And as for peace, well,” he placed his hand heavily on Wessex’s shoulder. “That can be negotiated. Rest assured that this vessel will enter production, and nothing that little girl posing as Chancellor can do will stop it.
I am unilaterally ordering one thousand units, effective immediately. Contract them out to Rothana to keep them away from prying eyes. You have done a great service to the Republic, Wessex, even if the Republic does not know it yet.”
“...Thank you, sir. It will take some time for us to set up production on Rothana, but I believe we can have your thousand units within the half-year.”
“Excellent, Ms. Wessex. I shall hold you to that.” He turned her to face him, and stared into her eyes. “Let me be clear, girl: this project cannot be delayed. Failure to deliver will have consequences.” Then he patted her shoulder—heavily enough that it was more of a slap, thought Wessex—and walked back to his shuttle, leaving Lira Wessex and Onara Kuat alone together.
“You did well, Lira,” said the Kuat. “Tarkin was very pleased.”
“Was he? I honestly couldn’t tell,” Wessex replied.
“Such is his way. He put in an order immediately, meaning he was seriously impressed by your work.”
“Not impressed enough to refrain from calling me ‘girl,’ though, evidently.”
“Tarkin is a man very set in his ways, Lira. What is important is that he can make us an awful lot of money, and he can raise your profile as a ship designer substantially.”
“Provided he’s charitable enough to give credit to a woman, that is.”
“Simply be agreeable. Don’t argue with him, smile and nod even when he says things that disgust you, and follow his orders. You will have your kudos, Lira, I promise it.”
Lira Wessex was far from a bleeding heart—it would be quite difficult to hold anti-military beliefs when one’s job was to design and engineer warships. She was loyal to the Republic and to its navy, which had already done great things with her Venator in the Clone Wars. Lira didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for profiting off of designing “weapons of war” if they could hasten the return of peace and order, and properly defend that peace. She agreed with Tarkin that disarmament, like what Duchess Kryze had implemented and what Chancellor Amidala was pushing for, was foolish in this dangerous galaxy.
That didn’t mean, however, that Fleet Admiral Tarkin didn’t unnerve her. He hadn’t yet risen to prominence when negotiations were being made about the Venator, and her contact then had been mostly with Fleet Admiral Yularen, an honest, well-mannered man who had stepped away from the military at the end of the Clone Wars, leading to a power struggle in the admiralty out of which Tarkin somehow emerged on top, in spite of rumors of his involvement in the Palpatine conspiracy. Tarkin was a snake; this much was obvious to anyone who spoke to him. Accusations of misogyny and human supremacism followed him wherever he went, although nothing concrete enough ever surfaced to get him into trouble—the man was excellent at covering his tracks.
Ultimately, though, Onara was right. If she wanted to keep moving up in the world, she would have to work with the Republic Navy, and if she worked with the Republic Navy, she would have to work with Tarkin. Think about the paycheck, she reminded herself. Surely, someday, it would all be worth it.
The doors to the Chancellor’s office swung open. Barriss Offee couldn’t help but think about those same doors locking behind them two years ago, when she and Ahsoka had entered this room to ‘interview’ Chancellor Palpatine, on the day the galaxy changed. Sidious had attempted to murder them, then frame them as Jedi assassins sent to kill him, but Barriss had recorded his entire gloating confession, then stabbed him through the heart at an opportune moment while he toyed with and goaded Ahsoka. With his dying breath, Sidious had called in the order for the Republic’s clone troopers to turn on their Jedi generals, but by that point the Jedi knew of the chips in the clones’ brains and most of them had prepared accordingly, securing themselves separate and protected from their troops until they received the all-clear from the Council. Most of the casualties had occurred, on both sides, in the subsequent six-hour siege of the Jedi Temple. Both the Order and the Republic had emerged from that day somehow, beaten and bruised but alive, as had Barriss and Ahsoka. Today, though, the doors did not lock behind them, and Barriss did not find herself repeating the Jedi mantra to calm her nerves. This was a safe place, now—perhaps one of the safest in the galaxy.
While Chancellor Amidala’s office may have occupied the same physical space as that of her predecessor, it was less accurate to call it the same room. Palpatine’s choice in decor was, in retrospect, quite an obvious sign of his true identity, from the headache-inducing crimson of the walls to the various decorative objects in the room which, upon inspection by the Jedi following his demise, were revealed to almost all be ancient Sith artifacts. Similarly, although as different as was possible in intent, Chancellor Amidala’s decor very much reflected her own identity—stylish, slightly old-fashioned, and welcoming despite its opulence. The floors were marble, inspired by the royal palace of Theed where Padmé Amidala had spent her term as the planet’s queen, while the walls were a warm off-white, decorated with works of Nabooian art (from both the human and Gungan traditions) and plenty of greenery. The large window behind the Chancellor’s desk made Amidala uncomfortable after the numerous attempts on her life, so it had been hidden by a verdigris-colored curtain which let enough sunlight in while not providing a clear shot for assassins.
At said desk, and looking extremely small within the cavernous space, sat Supreme Chancellor Padmé Amidala, wearing a bright smile but with concern pricking behind her brown eyes. Barriss wasn’t quite sure of how to greet her—Padmé Naberrie had become her close friend in the two years since the Palpatine crisis, but Supreme Chancellor Amidala was the head of state of the Galactic Republic, and the appropriate level of familiarity to address those two entities which both resided in one petite Nabooian woman seemed incompatible. She settled for a bow and a “Chancellor Amidala,” while beside her, Ahsoka instead opted for a wave and “Hey Padmé!” The Chancellor seemed to get a kick out of the informal greeting, and smiled in amusement.
“Knight Offee, Knight Tano; thank you so much for coming,” said the Chancellor. “I could really use your help on this investigation. I know you two are excellent at gathering information and connecting dots—you proved that in the Palpatine crisis—but in addition to that, I completely trust you, which is important because this is a very sensitive situation, and it’s just as difficult to know who’s in on what as it is to know what they’re in on.
“I’ll put it bluntly: there is a gaping hole in the Republic’s finances. A massive amount of money seems to be getting funnelled into something, but we have no idea what it is. All we know is that everyone involved is sworn to secrecy, and whatever funding they ask for, they get. Everything is going through the Strategic Advisory Cell, who claim that they’re protecting information that is vital to the security of the Republic—information which of course I, the Republic’s head of state, apparently cannot be trusted with.”
“Perhaps you should consider becoming a Sith Lord, then,” Barriss deadpanned. “They seemed to have much less of an issue with letting one of them run the galactic government.”
“An intriguing proposition, definitely. Alas, the man who could have told me how to do so has tragically perished.” Padmé smiled cheekily, then seemed to realize she’d been drawn into friendly banter and regained her composure, becoming Chancellor Amidala again. “Enough of that, though. I asked you two to come here today because I’d like you to look into this. I wish I had better leads for you, but we don’t have much beyond budget discrepancies and suspicions at the moment.”
“Where do you suggest we start, then?”
Chancellor Amidala sighed. “I know you’re not going to be thrilled to hear this, Barriss, but… Geonosis keeps coming up in what little information we’ve managed to find. I understand if you don’t want to go back there after your previous experiences, but there’s no one I trust more to get to the bottom of this.”
Barriss had been present at both of the battles of Geonosis, and her memories of the planet consisted of watching her crechemates get slaughtered in the Petranaki Arena, being trapped under rubble with Ahsoka, and being violated by a mind-controlling parasite. Still, a Strategic Advisory Cell black project with a blank check was a much greater concern than her own trauma with the place. “That won’t be an issue, Madam Chancellor. I owe it to you and to the Republic to find out what they're up to. Besides, I’ll have Ahsoka with me.”
“Thank you; it really means a lot to me to have you two on board. Ahsoka, do you have any concerns?”
“No, ma’am. If Barriss is going, I’m going. We work better as a team.”
“Fantastic. While you’re scouting out Geonosis, I will be putting my efforts into working with Senator Organa on his Military Finance Transparency Act. If that goes well, hopefully I can give you some more information. Until then, may the Force be with you, friends.”
“May it be with you as well, Chancellor.”
In another office, in another system, another head of state understood many of Chancellor Amidala’s frustrations. Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore and President of the Council of Neutral Systems—an unaligned splinter faction which had been created in response to the Clone Wars and had expanded after the revelation of the Palpatine conspiracy disillusioned many systems from both the Republic and the Confederacy—was in fact presently discussing those issues with the Chancellor via holocall. Despite the Council’s refusal to realign themselves with the Republic at the end of the Clone Wars, Satine and Padmé remained close friends, a fact which did not sit well with either the imperialist wing of the Republic or the traditionalist Death Watch faction of Mandalorians.
The bluish projection of Padmé held her head in her hands. “It never ends, Satine, I swear. It’s unbelievable. Palpatine basically had his own whole secret government of sycophants, working against our elected government at every turn, and we can’t even prove anything for some of them. Admiral Tarkin was obviously in on the conspiracy, you can just tell, but we had to let him go because he covered his tracks so well. It’s actually worse now, since Admiral Yularen retired and Tarkin somehow elbowed his way into being promoted to Fleet Admiral!”
“Padmé, dear,” replied Satine, with deep sadness in her eyes. “I don’t want to tell you that I told you so, but…”
“You told me so. I know.” Padmé sighed.
“This is why I haven’t dissolved the Council, and why I’ve kept the Republic at arm’s length, as I explained to you when I arbitrated the Sundari Accords. I trust you, absolutely and wholeheartedly, but I do not trust the Republic. Not when men like Tarkin still hold power. It was naive to think that cutting off the head of the monster would slay it. For every head you cut off, two more arise in its place. It’s the same with the Death Watch.”
“What do we do about it, then? How can I possibly save the Republic when I’m up against all of this?”
“Padmé, if I had all the answers, Pre Viszla would be regarded as the fool he is and no one would take his stupid idea of returning to the ‘old ways’ of Mandalore seriously. I don’t know how to excise the rot from the heart of the Republic, but I do know that you’re doing the right thing in trying, and that you’re not alone in doing so. You’ve helped a lot of people over the years—the Jedi, the clone troopers, the Gungans, and everyone who wants peace and democracy in the Republic, just to name a few. Let those people help you in return.”
“It’s hard to remember sometimes that I’ve made any friends in my career, and not just an endless list of enemies.”
Satine thought of the numerous betrayals she’d suffered from her own people, even trusted friends, even her own sister. Padmé wasn’t a victim of her own circle like Satine (with the obvious exception of Sheev Palpatine), but she had a much higher profile, meaning her enemies were far more numerous and dangerous. “I know. Believe me, Padmé, I know exactly how you feel.”
“Pre Viszla.”
A figure in a gray uniform appeared through the snowy winds of Carlac, flanked by two soldiers—not clone troopers, Viszla noted. The man’s face was gaunt, almost skeletal, with a high widow’s peak of greying auburn hair, and he walked as if every step was the result of complex mental calculation.
“Who are you and what do you want from me?” Viszla growled.
“I am, shall we say, a concerned citizen. And I have a task befitting your… organization’s talents.”
“You’re with the Republic, aren’t you?”
“Not in an official capacity at the moment, but yes. Wilhuff Tarkin, Fleet Admiral of the Republic Navy. Shall we talk business, Mr. Viszla?”
“Depends on what that business is.”
“I think you will find this endeavor quite appealing, Mr. Viszla. You see, I am one of many Republic citizens who fear that Chancellor Amidala is leading us down the same road as Duchess Kryze did to your beloved Mandalore. I do not wish to see the Republic reduced to limp-wristed pacifism, nor do I approve of Amidala’s close alliance with the Jedi Order. I believe you can relate to both of these concerns, yes?”
Viszla nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent. As Fleet Admiral, the Republic Navy is at my command, but I doubt I will have much luck convincing any of the Army to join in my efforts—being a clone trooper, High General Cody is too loyal to the Jedi and to the woman who granted personhood to his kind. Therefore, I need boots on the ground from another source, and I happen to understand that your Mandalorians are the finest combatants in the galaxy.”
“So you want us to join in your coup, then?”
“Not a coup, no, just an armed request for policy change. If Chancellor Amidala agrees to my demands, we will have no quarrel. If not, well, then, that’s where your men come in.”
“I see. And what do we get out of it?”
“Once our business on Coruscant is resolved, the Republic Navy shall be at your disposal to return Mandalore to its rightful rulers. I trust that arrangement is agreeable?”
“That’s a bold plan, Admiral. We’ve been burned before, by Dooku and the Separatists. How do I know you’ll follow through where they didn’t?”
“I am not an agent of a puppet government with ulterior motives, as Dooku was. I have nothing to gain by double-crossing you.”
“We’ll… consider your offer, Admiral.”
“Excellent. I trust I will hear your decision on the matter soon. Good day, Mr. Viszla.” Tarkin departed back into the swirling snow, and Viszla felt a presence behind him.
“You can’t seriously be considering that offer, Pre,” said the voice of Bo-Katan Kryze.
“And why shouldn’t I? Tarkin has promised us the military strength we need to retake our homeworld. Surely that’s at least worth thinking about.”
“You really don’t know anything about Admiral Tarkin, do you? The man is a scumbag—not to mention a close confidant of Palpatine.”
“I don’t see why his association with the old Chancellor means anything.”
“Oh, just that he was the puppet-master behind both sides of the Clone Wars. Making it incredibly ironic for Tarkin to turn around and say that’s the reason we can trust him more than Dooku.”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard the news, but Palpatine is dead.”
“Think, Pre. What kind of people would a man like Palpatine want in his inner circle? Do you think he was looking for competence?” She walked around to stand in front of him. “I’ll give you two words, Viszla. Useful. Idiots. That’s what Tarkin is, and that’s what you’ll be if you buy into his bantha-brained scheme.”
Visza said nothing, but walked away angrily.
Bo-Katan had had her doubts about Viszla for some time, but loyalty to the Mandal’or was paramount in her culture, and besides, she was in too deep at this point, having participated in many of the most heinous actions of the Death Watch willingly—worst of all the massacre of the Ming Po people on this very planet. She’d rationalized that even if the Death Watch were brutal and cruel, at least they were acting like real Mandalorians and not Satine’s stubborn pacifists, but she wasn’t sure of that anymore. Forming an alliance with Wilhuff Tarkin struck her as decidedly dar-manda, in which case she no longer had any obligation to Viszla. She knew Tarkin was aruetii, had no respect for the Mandalorians—she’d seen his subtle sneering when he mentioned her people, and she didn’t know how Viszla hadn’t. She was certain he would just use them to get what he wanted and then ditch his end of the deal, but even if he did hold up his side of the bargain…
She didn’t like how her vod was ruling their homeworld, but she’d be damned if she let some snooty Republic admiral decide what to do about it.
It was time to pay a visit to Satine.