Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Coruscant, Corusca System

Corusca Sector

Where’s the Supreme Chancellor?

Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila could only wonder as she took her place in the Grand Convocation Chamber. It was no ordinary session of the Galactic Senate. The occasion marked the end of Chancellor Palpatine’s third consecutive term in an office that only permits two. By the laws laid out in the Republic’s founding documents, his time in office should have ended four years ago; instead, the Emergency Powers Act, enacted by majority vote at the onset of the Separatist Crisis, had extended his authority indefinitely.

But as the stars now set on Serenno, more and more voices began to rise in the Senate: when exactly will this ‘emergency’ end?

The answer, of course, lay in the fine print of the very amendment that had given the Chancellor such sweeping control. The state of emergency could only be terminated by the Supreme Chancellor himself–a decree that would effectively strip him of the extraordinary powers he had amassed. Except, over the past four years, the Senate had passed four additional constitutional amendments, each granting him greater authority under the guise of wartime necessity, culminating in the ghastly overreaching Reflex Amendment passed at the peak of the Crisis in the Core, in which Separatist warfleets struck as far as Coruscant and the Agricultural Circuit.

At this point, politely asking him to surrender his emergency powers would no longer be feasible. They had wilfully fed fuel to the fire for four years with their own votes and proclamations; to expect the fire to extinguish itself now would to be a fool.

They would have to smother this hungering flame the same way they fuelled it; with their votes.

Mon Mothma drove her repulsorpod deeper into the Convocation Chamber, exercising every ounce of bodily control she had to prevent herself from cringing under the scrutinizing eyes of two-thousand senators, tens of thousands of representatives, and trillions of galactic citizens.

She swept her gaze over the chamber, tracing the tiered rows of repulsorpods extending outward and upward like jagged, concentric teeth, each pod a fragment of the galaxy's collective voice–if only in theory.

Then she saw the pods that were empty and devoid of life, Naboo’s among them. Senators removed from power, either via disgraced resignation or unfortunate accidents, or simply those who lost all faith in the august body they once served with pride. Because it was increasingly difficult to see the Galactic Senate as anything other than the theatre to rubberstamp the Supreme Chancellor’s every whimsy.

This Senate is a sarlacc pit, she could only think, the senators perched in their pods like hapless beings clinging to the walls, each trying to avoid being consumed by the central podium; by feeding it more and more power.

And the central podium itself–its space not occupied by a velvet-robed man, but solely by the imposing figure of blue-skinned Chagrian Mas Amedda, the Vice Chair of the Republic and Speaker of the Senate.

“Honoured colleagues!” Mon Mothma declared, marshalling up every last ounce of confidence in her body, “I am certain we all know why this august body has been convened today!”

She paused, casting a sweeping glare across her captive audience, as if daring any obstructionist to speak out against her. There were none. The very fact this hearing had been convened was physical proof that Mon Mothma’s caucus had enough votes behind it to force the session into the Galactic Senate’s increasingly empty schedule.

Nevertheless, she announced the reason anyway, for the benefit of the plethora of hovercams roving around the great rotunda.

“For those who believe the particulars beneath their attention,” Mon Mothma continued, her voice steady and firm, “We are here to discuss the matter of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s continued tenure, and the Emergency Powers Act that has allowed it to endure!”

The words reverberated through the chamber, the sound amplified by the intricate acoustics of the rotunda. It wasn’t the thunderous echo of applause or protest that greeted her statement, but the muted, uncomfortable hum of murmured conversations and shifting robes. The Senator from Chandrila let the tension linger, her hands gripping the edge of her podium as she cast her gaze over the sea of faces–some impassive, some visibly uneasy, and others steeled with resolve.

Hovercams whirred and hovered, their lenses zooming in on her with mechanical precision, broadcasting her image and voice to trillions upon trillions across the galaxy. She knew the stakes of this moment. They had to strike now, while they still could. Palpatine’s position was as unstable as it was in years, the confidence in his office shaken by the Crisis in the Core. They couldn’t afford to wait until the end of the war, at which point Palpatine could shore up his loyalists and renew his popular front.

“And yet, here we stand,” she said, her tone hardening. “Our brave patriots on the front have driven the Separatist back to Serenno! The Chancellor’s third term has ended, the stars set on the Separatist Alliance, and yet the powers remain unyielded, and this august body has been reduced to little more than a ceremonial gathering. The Constitution of our Galactic Republic, the foundation upon which our civilization stands, continuously trampled underfoot by executive decrees and emergency amendments! Will we let this stand!?”

The tension in the room was palpable now. Senators shifted in their pods, some nodding in agreement, others averting their gazes. From the central podium, Mas Amedda’s blue eyes glinted, his expression inscrutable. He stood motionless, his lekku draped over his shoulders like the regalia of a monarch. And yet, he clenched his staff nervously, despite admirably maintaining his facade of impassivity. He made no move to interrupt her.

The person responsible for his anxiety was painfully obvious to everybody in the hall. Or rather, the absence of said person. Mon Mothma’s gaze swept the chamber, sharp as a vibroblade. She did not know the reason for his absence, but she would be foolish not to seize the opportunity.

“But where,” she said, her voice rising to command the entire galaxy’s attention, “is the Supreme Chancellor?”

The words hit the Senate like a seismic charge. Murmurs rippled through the chamber, senators glancing at one another in confusion or feigned ignorance. Even the hovercams seemed to pause in mid-air, as if recording every twitch and whisper.

“For an occasion of such gravity,” Mon Mothma continued, “One might expect the leader of this Republic to be present. To answer the questions posed by this body. To assure the galaxy that the powers granted to him in trust are wielded with responsibility, not ambition. And yet–he is not here.”

The Vice Chair’s grip on his ceremonial staff tightened visibly, his knuckles paling against the dark wood. Though his expression remained carefully neutral, the subtle shift of his lekku betrayed his unease.

“Is his absence,” Mon Mothma pressed, her tone laced with deliberate skepticism, “A reflection of the respect he holds for this Senate? For our Constitution? For our Republic itself?”

A ripple of uneasy agreement coursed through the chamber. Even those loyal to the Chancellor found it difficult to defend his conspicuous absence. The holo-feed broadcasting the session was now focused squarely on the Senator from Chandrila, her determined expression a stark contrast to the increasingly uneasy senators surrounding her. ŗἁ₦ỘᛒÊṩ

“–Well!? Do you have an answer, Vice Chair!?” she suddenly whipped towards the podium, driving her repulsorpod forward so hard she could feel the jerk snapping through her body, “Where is the Supreme Chancellor!?”

⁂

They inserted through one of the larger blown out windows on the upper floors, the gunships hovering there while they leapt across the precarious drop and into the tower.

Adi Gallia ignited her lightsaber on instinct. The dark side squirmed and hissed like a living fog, warded away and kept at bay by the light of her sapphire blade. Iskat was next into the building, followed by the rest of the ARC troopers. Then, the gunship cleared the zone for the next LAAT in line to unload its passengers.

As soon as all the squads of Aurek Team were assembled on the floor, they moved out, Jedi Knights leading packs of shocktroopers, commandos, and followed by Intelligence operatives. Weapons raised to their chests and glowrods glaring, the squads spread out in fire-and-maneuver squads and began to move deeper into the building, clearing out each room and alcove before declaring any level secure. Burning lightsabers painted the dusty grey walls in all hues of green and blue.

“Floor cleared!” Commander Thorn announced over the comms.

“We’ve shut down the turbolift,” Master Shaak Ti said, “Nobody will be using it.”

“Copy that,” Commander Valiant replied, “My squads have secured all the egresses. On your mark, we will begin proceeding downwards.”

“Copy,” Thorn said, “Aurek has the northside, Bacta has the southside. Let’s move.”

They descended the stairwells, squads moving like shadows through the derelict structure, the silence amplifying every sound: the faint hum of lightsabers, the scuff of plastoid boots on cracked permacrete, the occasional click and static of comms chatter.

Aurek Team's glowrods cut through the dim haze, their beams reflecting off scattered debris and broken transparisteel. The air was thick with the scent of frayed circuitry and old dust, stirred anew by the passing of troopers and Jedi alike. The eerie stillness made every creak of the building’s infrastructure feel deliberate, as though the structure itself were watching.

“Bacta,” Master Gallia spoke, “Report.”

“North hallway secure, no contacts,” came Thorn’s reply, slightly muffled, “Moving into the eastern wing; looks like an admin floor.”

On the other side of the building, Commander Thorn’s squads were making steady progress through the southern quarter. His commandos moved with textbook precision, leapfrogging between cover points and sweeping each room with blaster carbines raised as they secured any egresses–turbolift shafts, stairwells, windows–as they moved towards the centre. They would rendezvous with Aurek Team there, trapping any occupants between the two teams.

Except with corner turned, every door breached, revealing only more emptiness. More of nothing.

Clear! Nothing.

Clear! Nothing.

Clear! Nothing.

Shaak Ti moved gracefully ahead of her contingent, her sapphire blade held in a relaxed guard position. She moved as though gliding, montrals subtly attuned to the faintest of vibrations. Until finally, she paused at a junction, holding up a hand to signal her squad to halt. The clones obeyed without question, forming a semicircular perimeter as their helmets swept for any sign of movement.

“Data terminal,” she identified from a near-inaudible hum, “It’s live.”

Commander Thorn flicked his wrist, and his shocktroopers moved in, followed closely by Intelligence operatives.

“A live data terminal here?” Captain Dyne murmured, “It could be rigged to a trap. We must proceed with caution.”

“There is no trap, Captain,” the Jedi Master replied, “I do not sense any.”

“With all due respect, General,” the Intelligence Captain returned stiffly, “It would be wise to follow protocol nonetheless–”

“Do as you will, Captain,” Shaak Ti simply said, tilting her head towards the doorway in question.

“No lifeforms inside,” a shocktrooper analysed through his visor.

Captain Dyne nodded at his operatives, “Deploying remotes.”

Two small probe droids lifted into the air and moved into the open doorway, their red irises scanning the entire room in but a few seconds.

“All clear, Captain,” the remote operator looked up, “Room’s empty. No traps, no hostiles.”

“Take a squad to trace the main bus,” Dyne ordered, “Now then, let’s see why the lights are still on.”

As soon as they broke off, the main squad moved into the room, blasters sweeping across the derelict office desks despite the all clear, cracked, blacked out terminal screens reflecting the harsh light of their glowrods. The lone, flickering data terminal stood out easily.

“Stay sharp,” Thorn warned, his helmet tilting slightly as he scanned the length of the long, dim corridor behind them.

Shaak Ti stood in the centre of the room, between Dyne and Thorn, her robes kicking up dust from the floor as she moved between the cubicles, “Aurek, this is Bacta. We’ve identified a live data terminal. Standby for updates.”

“Lucky you,” Adi Gallia’s voice returned after a moment, “Our side’s quiet as a grave.”

The Togruta Jedi glanced at Captain Dyne, “Anything, Captain?”

“We’re tracing the power, General,” Dyne bit his lip, “Looks like… there’s a functioning docking gate nine floors below us–on level six.”

“Functioning?”

“Power had been cycled to activate it,” the Intelligence Captain shook his head, “But we can’t trace when from here. All we can tell is that it’s been some time. A really long time.”

“Aurek, we’ve identified a functioning docking bay on level six,” Shaak Ti relayed the news, “I’d hazard it’s what we are looking for.”

“Copy that, Bacta.”

Nine levels down, the floor that served as a landing area was a small rectangular clearing carved into the side of the building, scarcely large enough for a gunship. A thin carpet of dust covered the ground, indicating disuse. Parallel to the long sides of the rectangle were banks of slender blue illuminators. Just as Bacta Team arrived, Aurek Team appeared across the bay, at the mouth of a corridor.

Shaak Ti and Adi Gallia hailed each other with hand signals, then beckoned their squads into the bay together, sweeping the grounds carefully. Intelligence operatives from both teams broke off to analyse any electronic surfaces that might give them an edge in the investigation, whilst probe droids and remotes meandered with design throughout the room.

“Vertical, geared hangar gates,” ARC Commander Valiant stood beneath the huge structure, staring up at it critically, “This place is really old. Can we open them?”

“Give us a moment,” Dyne grunted, huddled with two other operatives as they interpreted the data gathered by the probes. After several moments of gazing at the monitor screens of his equipment and conferring with his associates, he added; “The gates were last opened four months ago, if these logs are accurate. Stand clear of the zone.”

Valiant took several steps back–just in time for the gears to shiver, and turn, teeth interlocking together and lifting the massive portcullis-like structure upwards, revealing an oval of nocturnal sky with hardly a whisper. Crystal spires glinted in the distance, their fingertips criss-crossed by an unending river of traffic.

Up above, satellites shone brightly down upon them. A rare sight, one afforded by being so far away from the everbright Senate District in the near distance.

“Extremely well lubricated,” Valiant commented, “This thing is in-use alright.”

“This is Bacta-Five,” the squad detached from Bacta suddenly reported in, “We’ve gotten access to a main bus terminal. Aside from the hangar gate, there’s another appliance recently used. A turbolift, one that ends on level six and disconnected from the main shafts. We have reason to believe it’s still operational.”

The men on the floor glanced at each other, then almost synchronously swivelled inwards in search for the turbolift in question. Tasking the probe droids to find the target, Dyne began to trail them, waving for Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti, and the troopers to follow.

“Stay close!” Commander Thorn cautioned, “Don’t stray out of line!”

It sounded suspiciously as if he was warning the Jedi more than his own troopers, much less Valiant’s commandos. Adi and Shaak Ti took the point, with the Knights and troopers strung out behind. By the time the two Jedi Masters caught up with Dyne and his droids, the Intelligence Captain was already standing at the door to a dated turbolift.

He nodded at them before turning to the wall, pressing his gloved right hand to the call panel. When the summoned cab appeared, he affixed a scanner to the control pad inside. After a minute of fiddling with the interface, he broke into a self-satisfied grin.

“Verified, this is the turbolift,” he furrowed his brows in concentration, calling over one of his subordinates to aid him, “...The cab’s memory indicates it arrived from sub-basement two. We should start our hunt there, and if we fail to discover any evidence of our quarry… we’ll have to work our way back up one level at the time, until we do.”

The gathered operatives shifted at the prospect of so much work. Adi could feel the drop in morale among the Jedi Knights, though they were too controlled to show it. The helmeted faces of the shocktroopers and commandos, on the other hand, revealed nary a thing, as did their internal emotions.

“Not necessarily,” Commander Thorn reminded, “We’ve got three battalions of Homeworld Security on standby below us. I give the word, and they’ll move in to clear this place out in a heartbeat. We can leave the lower levels to them, and focus our attention on the basements.”

“Agreed,” Valiant grunted.

There was a loud clunk, and Dyne stepped out of the turbolift.

“I’ve locked the cab in-place,” he glanced between the two Jedi Masters, “It’s your call, Generals.”

Master Adi Gallia cast her gaze upon Commander Thorn, “We’ll proceed with your plan, Commander. Greenlight the operation.”

“At once, sir.”

“Commander Valiant,” she then turned to the ARC Commander, “Have your men find and secure all the stairwells leading into the basements.”

“Sir yes sir!”

Comlinking his battalions outside the building, Thorn ordered them to breach the tower, and if one glanced outside the shattered windows, they would see hundreds of red-painted shocktroopers smashing their way through every ingress via heavy armour and gunships alike as they systematically swept the remaining floors and adjacent structures. At the same time, Aurek and Bacta Team spread out through level six, securing the floor before making their way down.

By the time they reached the ground floor, the Coruscant Guard had already identified the stairwells leading further down. The shocktroopers stationed at their landings saluted firmly as the striketeam made their further down, spearheaded by a roving pack of probe droids sweeping the grounds ahead of them. Every time they reached a landing–basement one, basement two, sub-basement one–a detachment of shocktroopers split off and posted themselves there.

After what felt like an age of stalking further and further into the false earth of Coruscant, they finally reached the base of the stairwell. A large corridor branched off in both directions, the metallic landing of the turbolift just a few metres away from where they emerged.

“Cargo tunnel, I’d reckon,” Valiant scanned the surroundings as troopers formed firing lines on both flanks, “It’ll be a labyrinth down here, servicing the whole industrial sector.”

The probe droids were first to fearlessly advance in both directions, running their detection lights and scraping the floor and walls. One pack of droids suddenly froze, their sensors blazing as they swept the ground with doubled enthusiasm.

“Scuffed dust, in a place with no wind,” one of the Intelligence operatives called out, “Someone was here.”

At that, Iskat Akaris suddenly produced a breath mask from her robes and pulled it over her face. Her fellow Knights stared at her in surprise.

“What?” the red-skinned alien crossed her lanky arms, “I’ve been assigned to these sort of places before, during the southern exodus. Tunnels like these were used as evac corridors… if there’s no ventilation as the techie implies, you’d sooner die from suffocation than starvation or cold.”

The operator’s face darkened at being called a ‘techie’, but he begrudgingly nodded in agreement with Iskat anyway. Thorn immediately called for more equipment, mostly for the benefit of the Jedi and Republic Intelligence, since the troopers were all equipped with respiration helmets. Despite the setback, the troopers didn’t allow the investigation to stall, taking the remotes and advancing deeper into the darkness.

By the time the safety equipment reached them, some of the squads who ventured out had returned. Commander Thorn placed down a holoprojector, and the gathered strikeforce huddled around to listen to his briefing.

“There’s no sign of any activity down that way,” Thorn pointed in one direction first, then turned at the hip to point behind him, “But there are signs of repulsorcraft activity down that way. Likely one of the cargo transports these tunnels were built to service.”

“Do we know which way it went?”

The projection morphed into a detailed map of the dark labyrinth.

“It is exactly as Commander Valiant had guessed. If we are to trust this map that’s older than any of us, it connects to tunnels all over the Works–to adjacent arcologies, to the foundries, to a cargo starport… everywhere you can think of. There are hundreds, thousands of branches.”

Shaak Ti took a step back, her sharp eyes glaring down the long corridor Thorn had pointed out. Then, slowly, she lifted an arm, and pointed a clawed finger.

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“Forget the branches,” the Jedi Master ordered, “What’s at the end of this one?”

“Well,” Thorn started, pausing as he consulted the holomap, “It looks like the principle tunnel leads all the way to the western limit of the Senate District.”

The strikeforce broke into confused murmurs. They were hunting Separatists were they not? Was Shaak Ti suggesting the terrorists have undermined the very heart, the governing organ of the Republic itself? The implications were immense. But the two Jedi Masters shared a knowing look, before affixing stern glares at the increasingly anxious Jedi Knights.

“I’m afraid Master Yoda will have to double back to the Senate District, in this case,” Jedi Master Adi Gallia drew herself to her full height, and pulled the breather mask over her face, “Commander Thorn, as soon as the tower is secure, have your battalions track our progress above-ground. Now then: we advance.”

⁂

“I know!” Mon Mothma shouted out, turning to address the murmuring pods, “Some of you will argue that the war is not yet won! I know! That the Chancellor’s powers are still needed to ensure victory! I know! But I ask you, at what cost? Shall we sacrifice our Republic on this altar of security? Shall we allow the very principles we fight for to be extinguished in the name of expediency?”

A pod detached from the far side of the chamber, gliding toward the central dais. Mon Mothma’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the occupant–Senator Ask Aak of Malastare, a staunch supporter of the Chancellor and a key figure of his inner circle. His three-eyed Gran visage was tight with indignation as he moved to speak.

“Senator Mothma,” Ask Aak began, his voice reverberating with barely concealed anger, “With all due respect, the Republic is still at war. Just as you so insistently say you know this, you also know the Chancellor’s leadership has been instrumental in holding our proud Republic together and turning the tide against the Separatists. To suggest that now is the time to weaken that leadership is nothing short of reckless!”

Mon Mothma inclined her head, unwilling to yield, “I would remind the Senator from Malastare that the Republic’s strength does not lie in one man, but in its people, its institutions, and its ideals. If we abandon those ideals, we will have already lost, regardless of the war’s outcome!”

The chamber erupted into a discord of voices–some shouting their agreement, others decrying her as a dangerous idealist.

“Abandon those ideals?” a single, hoarse voice rose above it all, and the podium recognised the Senator from Eriadu. Senator Shayla Paige-Tarkin had her pod move to oppose Chandrila’s, “Just what, exactly, are you trying to say, Senator Mothma? Idealism or otherwise, the Emergency Powers Act was passed out of rationality, and nobody in this body could deny that it was instrumental to holding our proud Republic together.”

Senator Tarkin did not shout, nor did she even raise her voice. But the woman speaking on behalf of twenty-billion dead souls carried a heavy weight on its own.

“It was promised–” Senator Tarkin continued, “It was promised, that the Supreme Chancellor will stand down their emergency powers once the Separatist Crisis is over, and vacate their office for a new general election. We have not abandoned our ideals. If we cannot trust the Supreme Chancellor we have voted into office, who else can we trust? Or… do you suggest otherwise, Senator Mothma?”

Mon Mothma’s gaze locked with Shayla Paige-Tarkin’s, the tension between them as taut as a wire about to snap. The pod carrying the Senator from Eriadu hung motionless, amidst the swirling chaos of voices around them. Tarkin’s calm, deliberate tone had cut through the cacophony like a vibroblade, her words heavy with implication.

The Senator from Chandrila took a measured breath, steadying herself.

“I do not question the necessity of the Emergency Powers Act when it was passed, nor the leadership of the Supreme Chancellor during the darkest days of this war,” she began, raising her voice, “But necessity does not justify perpetuity. Trust in our leaders must never replace accountability. If we abandon our oversight, if we do not demand a return to the rule of law, then we set a precedent that no Republic can survive.”

Tarkin’s pod shifted slightly, bringing her closer to the center. Her expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something sharper in her eyes, “Senator Mothma, you imply that the Supreme Chancellor has no intention of relinquishing his powers. That he would defy the very laws and principles you claim to hold dear. Are you accusing him of treachery?”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, the question hanging in the air like a charge waiting to detonate.

Senator Mon Mothma paused, sweeping her gaze around the Convocation Chamber again. She met the eyes of her compatriots: Bail Organa of Alderaan, Bana Breemu of Humbarine, Fang Zar of Sern Prime, Meena Tills of Mon Cala, Tanner Cadaman of Feeniz, Tendau Brendon of Ithor, Canny Bertar of Mrlsst, Lexi Dio of Uyter, and hundred more. But not enough. For every encouraging reply, came half a dozen scathing glares.

The Galactic Senate had long been fractured by partisanship, that was no secret, but never had the divisions been as glaring as they were now. The Loyalist Faction, once a proud bastion of support for the Republic and its democratic principles, had become a mere extension of Palpatine’s will. Their loyalty was no longer to the ideals of democracy but to the man who had steadily amassed unprecedented power.

Chandrila, once firmly aligned with the Loyalists, had severed those ties. To Mon Mothma, the irony was bitter. The Loyalist Faction, which Chandrila had once championed, now stood as her staunchest opponent, their blind fealty to Palpatine anathema to everything she believed in. Yet here she was, aligned with former adversaries in a desperate bid to salvage what remained of the Republic’s integrity.

How war makes strange bedmates, she thought grimly.

Despite the unease of their new affiliations, Chandrila did not regret its choice. The Loyalist Faction had swelled in size and influence, but only because Palpatine had absorbed more members into his orbit, turning the Senate into a hollow echo of its former grandeur. That the Supreme Chancellor didn’t even bother to attend this session as his very character and office was called into question–for Mon Mothma, this was the breaking point.

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. It was now or never. Once she crossed this line, there would be no turning back.

“Accuse him of treachery?” she said, her teeth clenched against the weight of her words. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Cacophony.

The chamber erupted into chaos, a cacophony of voices echoing through the vast rotunda. Pods whirred to life, careening into the open space as senators jostled for recognition. The thunder of outrage, shock, and indignation reverberated off the Senate Chamber’s walls. This, Mon Mothma believed with all her heart, this is the sound of a crumbling Republic.

Bail Organa shot her an encouraging smile from across the hall. More and more hovercams were focusing on her now, as if she was the subject of a holodrama. Mon Mothma stared at the empty pod for Naboo, and wondered for the well-being of the woman who once staked her entire life and career on peace.

Alas, that day would now never come.

You will not like my means, Padme. The Senator from Chandrila sighed. But you will know I have no choice.

Well then, time to channel her inner Queen of Naboo.

“DO NOT PRETEND SURPRISE!” Senator Mon Mothma thundered, her voice amplified to each and every corner of the chamber, "Every one of you knows what I say is true! You may dress yourselves in the finery of tradition, wrap yourselves in the illusion of duty, but you are nothing more than puppets dangling from the strings of one man’s endless ambition!"

Gasps rippled throughout the chamber. Some pods froze in mid-air, their occupants stunned into silence. Others surged forward, senators gesturing furiously, their faces flushed with anger.

"You’ve sold yourselves to him!" Mon Mothma continued, her gaze sweeping the assembly, hammering her fist, "Bribed with promises of influence, silenced by threats of reprisal, or blinded by the false light of his so-called leadership. You sit here, in this hollow shell of what was once the Republic’s beating heart, pretending that this is still a democracy! But you know the truth!"

She paused, letting the weight of her words hang in the air. Hovercams darted around her, their lenses fixed on her determined expression. The eyes of the Republic–its citizens, its soldiers, its systems–were solely on her now, not on the senators and representatives cowering in their pods.

"You know," she said, her voice lowering but losing none of its edge, "that the Supreme Chancellor has no intention of surrendering his powers. Not after the war. Not ever!”

“And you–" she pointed an accusatory finger at the assembly, her voice rising again, "–will do nothing to stop him! You will let him dismantle what remains of the Republic, piece by piece, until all that is left is his personal empire!”

"Enough!" Senator Ask Aak shouted, his pod gliding closer, "You go too far, Senator Mothma!"

"Too far?" she shot back, her voice like a whip, "Not far enough! Our citizens deserve to hear the truth. And the truth is that this Senate has failed them. Failed the Republic! Failed the very Constitution we were sworn to protect!”

The chamber trembled with the echoes of her words. Mas Amedda shifted uneasily in his central podium, his grip tightening on his staff. He glanced toward the doors, perhaps hoping for an intervention that would not come.

"And so, I demand action!" Mon Mothma declared, her voice ringing with unyielding resolve, "I demand proof that the Supreme Chancellor would keep his own promises! Today marks the last day of his third term, and Chandrila will not permit a fourth! Chandrila demands that he surrender his emergency powers, steps down, and stands aside for a new general election. And Chandrila demands that he does so immediately!”

The chamber erupted again, louder this time, a maelstrom of protest and disbelief. But Mon Mothma stood firm, her gaze fixed not on her colleagues but on the hovering cameras, on the citizens of the Republic who watched from their homes, their workplaces, their starships.

Vice Chair Mas Amedda slammed his ceremonial staff down, his voice booming out; “ORDER! We will have order!”

Mas Amedda’s voice echoed through the chamber, amplified by the acoustics of the vast rotunda. The pounding of his staff reverberated like the hammer of judgment, silencing the protest, support, and argument alike.

“The Senator from Chandrila has made her motion,” Amedda declared, his voice steady but his lekku twitching ever so slightly, betraying his unease. “As Vice Chair of the Galactic Senate, I call for an immediate vote on the motion to demand the surrender of emergency powers and the resignation of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.”

“–This is not just a vote against one man," for a moment, Chandrila’s voice was all that there was, "This is a vote for the Republic. For democracy. For our future. The question is not whether Palpatine will yield his power–the question is whether you will yield yours. Whether you will stand up for the Republic, or stand aside as it falls. My honoured colleagues, the galaxy is watching; I pray you make the right choice.”

She stepped back, and hovercams dispersed, scanning the faces on the myriad repulsorpods and judging their actions. The chamber fell into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of repulsorpods adjusting their positions. Mon Mothma remained in her pod, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Her face betrayed no emotion, but inside, her thoughts raced.

She had done all she could. The speech, the accusations, the demands–everything had been said not just to sway the senators but to ignite a fire among the Republic’s citizens watching from afar. If Palpatine’s hold on the Senate was unbreakable, perhaps the court of public opinion could be her ally. Stars know we will need it if it comes to war.

The chamber’s ambient lighting dimmed slightly as the voting process began. As each senator submitted their decision, the incoming results emerged on each pod’s integrated display. Mon Mothma’s gaze flickered to the tally. At first, the results were as expected–staunch Loyalist worlds fell squarely into the Chancellor’s camp. But then, to her surprise, she began to see cracks in the monolith.

Senators from typically Loyalist-aligned systems hesitated before casting their votes. Some, visibly shaken by her words, shifted their allegiance. Even a few Core worlds–systems she had thought irrevocably tied to Palpatine’s orbit–lit up in her favor.

For a brief, flickering moment, hope surged in her chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, the tide was turning.

But as the final votes trickled in, the truth became clear. The holographic tally stabilized, and the numbers solidified. Mon Mothma had won over far more than she had dared hope, but it was not enough. The majority remained loyal to the Supreme Chancellor. The majority remained Loyalists.

The Vice Chair’s voice broke the silence. “The motion fails. The Supreme Chancellor retains his emergency powers, and no further action shall be taken at this time.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, but it was subdued, lacking the earlier fervor. Mon Mothma allowed herself a slow, deliberate breath. She met the hovering lenses of the holocams once more, ensuring scornful disappointment crept onto her expression. It was not a difficult effort by any means, as her heart sank.

She tuned out the gloating, the triumphant looks, the crestfallen gazes. She eyed Bana Breemu shaking her head and retreating out of the Senate Chamber. She witnessed Canny Bertar whispering to her aides in hushed tones. She saw Fang Zar rush out of his pod with a panicked haste in his steps. She met Bail Organa’s meaningful gaze, and realised what it had come to.

“Any closing words, Senator Mothma?” Senator Jannie Ha’Nook asked, an unreadable expression crossing her face.

Mon Mothma sighed, “This august body has revealed to the galaxy its true colours. Chandrila will no longer participate in this Senate, and henceforth recluses itself from any future hearings.

Having exhausted every other recourse, the Senator from Chandrila quietly retreated back to her assigned station before the heckling could grow, turning to her duo of aides sitting behind her. She murmured to them, away from the hovercams’ prying ears. They have failed to save the Republic by democratic means, failed by the democratic majority no less. Adi Gallia was right; against a democratically elected dictator, they must consider the unthinkable.

“Prepare the Gallian Manifesto, and ready our ship,” she met her security detail at the door, joining the increasing number of senators retreating from the Convocation Hall, “We are leaving Coruscant tonight.”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

⁂

Squatters, death stick runners, lost droids, undocumented refugees–the tunnels leading into the Senate District were highways for anyone and anything trying to find their way into central Coruscant. Illegally. And with each passing group of people they met, or apprehended, the harder and harder it was to trace their quarry’s trail.

Or rather, harder and harder for Republic Intelligence’s conventional means.

Because Master Adi Gallia and Shaak Ti knew exactly where they were going, following the shrouded allure of the dark side permeating the hallways. Their senses led them forward, closer to their target, subtly nudging along the droids and operatives towards the paths and clues they wanted them to find. First, they followed the tracks of a repulsorcraft, then dusty footsteps–the most difficult part of the hunt, as they took several leaps of logic through one of the most heavily trafficked sections of the labyrinth, relatively speaking–before finally finding a small alcove that once housed a speederbike.

A speederbike which they were now in search of.

And all the while, the Jedi followed the scent of the dark side, pushing their compatriots along.

“How far are we from the Senate District?” Shaak Ti asked.

“Within a couple of kilometers,” Captain Dyne answered, “From here on out, the number of small branches will increase exponentially as we surface into what is, frankly speaking, the seedy underbelly of Coruscant. The possibilities will be endless.”

They continued to walk in silence for a long while, the corridor’s expressionless walls almost mocking their sustained effort. They were a kilometer closer to the outlying areas of the Senate District when Shaak Ti paused, her honed senses picking up something again. As if on cue, the probe droids whirled around refocusing their attention on the featureless facades around them.

“Hollow space,” Valiant pointed sharply, “Right over there.”

Joining the others, the Jedi watched the droids hover with clear purpose in front of a large niche in the tunnel wall. Captain Dyne’s handheld sensor needed only a moment to discover a small control panel that operated the niche’s sliding door. The door concealed the entrance to a cramped, dimly lit chamber.

And within; a repulsorlift speederbike, leaning against a wall. Likely the very one they were searching for.

The Intelligence operatives immediately got to work analyzing the make and design of the craft, as well as picking out any smudged fingerprints, fibers, hairs, and other clues as to the identity of their mysterious Separatist confederate. Further into the chamber, Valiant and his commandos were breaching through a locked door, barreling through the threshold and spreading out on the other side.

Adi Gallia followed them through.

“Another corridor,” she sighed.

“Another corridor closer to our quarry,” Shaak Ti corrected optimistically.

They wasted no time in advancing into the corridor, sometimes wide enough to contain a speeder, and othertimes so narrow everyone had to edge through sideways. For two kilometers, walls, ceiling, and floor were damp from water that had trickled down through Coruscant’s upper levels. Which could mean they were increasingly closer to the city surface. Before, finally, they reached another landing–a relatively larger antechamber at which they could catch their breath.

His eyes fixed on the display screen of his data processor, Captain Dyne ambled toward Adi Gallia and Shaak Ti.

“General, our search is about to take us to a whole new level.”

Adi Gallia looked around the tunnel for signs of a concealed turbolift or staircase.

“Up or down?” Shaak Ti asked, equally bewildered.

Dyne glanced up, blinking at her, “I didn’t mean ‘new level’ in the literal sense.”

He indicated the hovering probe droids, which were eager to have the team follow them east, “But to answer your question, we will be going up. If we continue on this trail, we’re going to end up in the sub-basements of Five-Hundred Republica.”

500 Republica: a monolithic tower of transparisteel and clari-crystalline, home to thousands of Coruscant’s wealthiest senators, celebrities, shipping magnates, and media tycoons.

“Looks like we’re not just looking for a Separatist confederate,” Adi Gallia smiled, “But very likely a Separatist benefactor.”

With its fifty-three skydocks, hundreds of private turbolifts, arrays of hidden security armaments, and towering atria, 500 Republica was a world unto itself. Containing more technology than many Outer Rim worlds and more residents than some, the sky-piercing structure was the unrivaled gem of the Senate District. Gilded by the rising sun, its head in the clouds, buttressed by the towers that had allowed it to outgrow all its neighbors, 500 Republica was the lofty vantage from which a privileged few could actually gaze down on Coruscant.

Which was precisely why the building had become the landmark the galaxy’s disenfranchised pointed to when they spoke of Coruscant’s disproportionate wealth and elitism. Why 500 Republica was viewed by many as more emblematic of the bloated, indulgent Senate than the Senate’s own squat mushroom of a home.

Adi Gallia could feel the oppressive weight of the structure bearing down on her as the team entered 500 Republica’s level-one sub-basement–square kilometers of supportive ferrocrete and durasteel, crammed with whining, whirring machines that kept the tower stable, aloft, secure, climate-controlled, and supplied with water and power. As deep as it was, the sub-basement was still a hundred meters above Coruscant’s true underground, and twice that above the original surface of the planet.

Considering the place they’ve ventured to, their strikeforce had to contend with the very real possibility of being stalled for hours–if not days–as Republica security decided whether to grant them permission to enter and carry on the investigation.

Ironically, this was where the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act came into play, with which Homeworld Security was provided legal authority to approve searches and seizures without due process. All Commander Thorn had to do was inform Republica security that their building was possibly housing a Separatist–and thus threat to internal security–and that the Coruscant Guard would be storming the building, whether they liked it or not.

As Commander Thorn departed to hammer out the details with the local authorities, the Intelligence operatives were quick to slice into the memory banks of all the turbolift in order to access their logs and camera feeds. In the meantime, Master Yoda finally rendezvoused with them in the expansive and opulent lobby of the residential tower.

The diminutive Jedi Master chuckled as he waddled towards the gathered striketeam, “What a frightful sight this is, hmm?”

Adi Gallia released an amused huff. Indeed they were; over half a hundred Jedi, commandos, and shocktroopers occupying the main foyer of the largest, most affluent residency in the entire galaxy. The vast lobby of 500 Republica was an expanse of polished stone, golden fixtures, and artful lighting, a space designed to impress even the most powerful dignitaries. But now, it was transformed into a military staging ground. Shocktroopers stood in tight formation, their red armor gleaming under the chandeliers, while Jedi Knights conferred in low tones. The hum of lightsabers deactivating and the crackle of comms added a discordant edge to the otherwise serene ambiance.

Guests and residents steered well-clear of them, obviously wondering just what was going on.

A few hours of waiting later, the sharp clack of boots against the floor drew her attention. Captain Dyne, surrounded by his operatives, approached with brisk efficiency. His expression was grim, tinged with no little amount of puzzlement, and his datapad was clutched tightly in one hand.

“Good news, Captain?” Shaak Ti questioned first.

“Generals,” he nodded down at Master Yoda, “My team has traced our quarry. But the results we have landed on are… puzzling, to say the least. We’re still not quite sure what to think, honestly speaking.”

“Indeed? But you have concluded which floor our mysterious benefactor went to?” Adi Gallia pressed urgently.

Dyne hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the shocktroopers and residents nearby, as though unwilling to speak the truth too loudly. Adi Gallia could sense the turmoil within him–duty and fear clashing in his thoughts. Finally, he leaned in slightly and lowered his voice.

“We have reason to believe our quarry landed on this floor,” he pointed at a chart of the 500 Republica’s levels, “On the level of the Supreme Chancellor’s penthouse suite.”

Adi Gallia made every show of disbelief and confusion, and no little amount of generous suspicion.

“Are you certain you haven’t missed anything?”

Dyne jabbed a thumb at the probe droids nearby, “The droids wouldn’t have. The logs, feeds, dates, they all point to this conclusion.”

“Certain, are you?” Yoda asked, his voice flat yet piercing.

“Unfortunately.”

Shaak Ti swivelled towards Valiant, her dress swirling against the pristine tiling and spreading its gathered dust everywhere, “Prepare your men, Commander. We are heading up.”

“Yes, General!”

Captain Dyne swallowed thickly, “I believe we should await clearance from–”

“Find. Fix. Finish,” ARC Commander Valiant snapped, “That’s the job. That’s what we’ll do. Doesn’t matter who or what. We’ve got the clearance. That’s what the Security Act is for.”

The ride up was quiet, to say the least. There were only a handful of turbolifts landing on the floor the Chancellor’s suite was located on, each only large enough for little over a dozen men to fit inside at a time. Thus, the first turbolift was commandeered by the three Jedi Masters, three Intelligence operatives including Dyne, and over half a dozen armoured ARCs crammed into the remaining space.

After what felt like an age, the turbolift doors hissed open with a soft chime, revealing the polished and opulent hallway leading to the Supreme Chancellor’s suite. The air felt heavy, charged. At the far end of the corridor, two crimson-clad Red Guards stood motionless, their pikes held at precise angles. Their helmets obscured any reaction to the approaching strike team, but their presence radiated silent warning.

Shaak Ti stepped forward, her hands loosely at her sides but her posture commanding.

"We are here on official business of Homeworld Security," she said, her voice calm yet unyielding, "We have every reason to believe the Supreme Chancellor’s residence has been compromised. Stand aside."

The guards didn’t flinch. One tilted his head slightly, the only acknowledgment of her words.

“The Supreme Chancellor is not to be disturbed,” the guard intoned.

Commander Valiant stepped up, his blaster rifle held ready; “You’ve got your orders. We’ve got ours. Move, or you’ll be moved.”

Leave it to the ARC trooper to be diplomatic, Adi Gallia thought exasperatedly.

The guards didn’t budge. Adi Gallia could feel the tension rising, a coiled spring ready to snap. She exchanged a glance with Shaak Ti, who gave the barest nod. Before either Jedi could speak, the doors to the suite slid open with a smooth hiss. The two Red Guards froze for a brief moment, then stepped aside.

“He let us through,” Shaak Ti murmured.

The strike team moved forward cautiously, the Jedi leading the way with lightsabers unlit but ready. Behind them, the ARC troopers fanned out, their movements precise and disciplined, rifles scanning every shadow and corner. Intelligence operatives hung back slightly, their datapads and scanners aimed at various objects and surfaces. At their centre, Master Yoda waddled casually, humming to himself softly.

The suite was a sprawling marvel of wealth and power, a multi-leveled penthouse that overlooked the glittering expanse of Coruscant. Expansive windows stretched from floor to ceiling, bathing the space in the glow of the city-planet's endless lights. Luxurious furnishings were arranged with calculated elegance, and the air was thick with the faint scent of exotic incense.

At the center of it all, standing with his back to the intruders as he gazed out over the cityscape, was Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. His hands were clasped behind him, and his posture was relaxed, almost disarmingly so.

“Masters,” Palpatine said without turning, his voice smooth and untroubled, “To what do I owe the honour of this... unexpected visit?”

The Jedi stopped a few paces away, and as always Shaak Ti was the first to speak, “Supreme Chancellor, we have reason to believe this location has been compromised. We are here to ensure your safety and to investigate any potential threats.”

Palpatine turned slowly, his expression calm, his eyes shadowed, “Compromised? Here, in my own home? I find that hard to believe, Master Jedi.”

“Nevertheless,” Adi Gallia said firmly, “We must be thorough.”

Cat and mouse met their knowing gazes. Adi Gallia hated to say that she was increasingly unsure who was the cat and who was the mouse, considering how swimmingly the operation was going.

The ARC troopers began to spread out, taking positions around the suite. Their boots clinked softly against the polished floors as they scanned for any sign of danger. One trooper signaled to Valiant, who nodded and moved toward a secondary level of the penthouse. Behind them, another turbolift disgorged the next squad of troopers.

The Chancellor’s gaze followed the troopers briefly before returning to the Jedi, “I must say, this is highly irregular. I trust you have sufficient justification for barging into my residence unannounced?”

Shaak Ti met his gaze evenly, “We do, Supreme Chancellor. The trail of our investigation leads directly here. We must ask for your full cooperation.”

Palpatine’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and the corners of his mouth twitched as though suppressing a smile, “Of course, Masters. I have nothing to hide. You are free to search to your hearts’ content.”

His words were cordial, but there was an edge to them, a subtle challenge that set Adi Gallia’s senses on high alert. The Force swirled around the room, dense and turbulent, warning of unseen danger.

Then that feeling was suppressed as Master Yoda jaunted forward, pointing his cane at the Supreme Chancellor, “Questions, we have for you. Answer them, will you?”

“Of course, Master Jedi!” his tone was light, almost playful, but his eyes remained fixed on the Jedi, watching, measuring, waiting for something, “Ask away. How can I help?”

“...Supreme Chancellor,” Master Adi Gallia asked, one hand reaching for her lightsaber. She could feel the presence of Captain Dyne directly behind her, “May I ask whether you visited the Works any time in the last six months?”