Chapter Text
The newly declared Emperor Palpatine panted as he stood on the platform of the head of state. Fighting Yoda…had taken more out of him than he’d care to admit. The wretched little toad had more energy and tactical sense than he had expected given the Jedi’s advanced age. They had not pressed the Grandmaster of the Order hard enough in the war, clearly. And he himself still had not fully recovered from his fight with Mace Windu, from the lightning that had been reflected back at him. Hubris had always been a vice of his, he could admit that much. He would have to remember that as he ruled over his…his…Empire…
A wave of dizziness washed over his body, and Palpatine gasped as he sank to his knees. He could feel the sweat running down his face and back, could feel his heart racing. It…it had been too much. He shouldn’t have sent Vader away. Cad Bane could have killed the Separatist Council for him while his new apprentice guarded him from vengeful Jedi. Hubris.
No. No, he wasn’t…he couldn’t be dying. Not now! Not hours after the culmination of a thousand years of Sith plotting and scheming. Not…Vader couldn’t run the Empire, that wasn’t what the boy was trained for…
He didn’t have any contingencies. Not for this. Death before the final victory, yes, of course. He’d even planned for if his death came after Dooku had been discarded. And he was already working on contingencies for if his Empire was overthrown. But now? No! He hadn’t even really given his cronies and tools in the military their heightened powers yet. They knew what was coming, they knew what to expect, what they were owed, but there hadn’t been time to get anything in writing and into law!
The last thing the Force told Darth Sidious of the Line of Bane was that Darth Vader was dying and in desperate need of aid on Mustafar. The last thing Sheev Palpatine of Naboo knew was the pain, frustration, and humiliation of being within arm’s reach of victory only to lose everything.
And so died Emperor Sheev Palpatine, a formerly secret Sith and puppetmaster of the galaxy.
OoOoO
Obi-Wan sat silently in the conference room of the Tantive IV. Anakin was dead. Padme was dead. Their children lived, but what kind of life could they expect to live? The Sith had won. Palpatine may not have his apprentice, but the Jedi had been massacred, the Republic overthrown. The Clones…he didn’t even know what had happened with the Clones. Cody…why had he turned on him? Why had they marched into the Temple? Would he ever know?
“Hidden, safe, the children must be kept.” Yoda said gravely, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present.
“We must take them somewhere where the Sith will not sense their presence.” He agreed reluctantly. Yoda grunted with a nod, and Bail opened his mouth. Before the man could say whatever he meant to though, an aide rushed in, eyes wide.
“Palpatine is dead!” The young woman gasped, panting. “His guards found him collapsed on the floor of his podium in the Senate Chamber. The doctors say it was natural, a stroke and a weak heart. An emergency meeting of the Senate is being called for to decide what happens next.”
Silence reigned for a moment as all three of them stared at the young woman. “If Palpatine is dead…” Obi-Wan said slowly.
“Gone, the Sith are.” Yoda said, closing his eyes. “Dark, the Force still is, but growing darker it is not. Light is shining through once more. Dim, but not being snuffed out.”
“That changes…everything.” Bail concluded. “There was no Imperial Charter signed into law, no line of succession, no heir appointed. With Palpatine dead before anything could get passed into law, and everyone having had time to calm down, there’s a chance we could turn this whole fiasco around. Restore the Republic before it is really even gone.”
“I will go to Kamino.” Obi-Wan said, making a decision, following a line of thought that had been nagging at him. “Something happened to the Clones. The wave of slaughter was too immediate, too coordinated, and too complete for this to be merely following orders. I know the men who marched on the Temple, I fought alongside the 501st many times, and they would not have fired on younglings and elders merely because of Anakin's orders. Something else is at work here, and I will find out what. If it is an outside force, some working of Palpatine’s, then perhaps they can be freed from it, and the galaxy made safe for the Jedi once more.” He looked at Yoda, whose eyes were still closed. The ancient master hummed.
“If truly gone, the Sith are, then hide the Jedi must not.” He said finally, opening his eyes and giving a firm nod. “Feel some, I can. Rally them I will. If find the reasons for this treachery you can, Obi-Wan, then return to the Republic we may. And if not, planets I know, where rest and recover we can, while Senator Organa restores the Republic.”
“I will take the Twins to my wife.” Bail said. “We’ve been looking to adopt for some time, and they’ll be safer on Alderaan than anywhere else right now. Then I’ll return to the Senate, and see if we can’t mitigate the damage Palpatine did before his death.”
OoOoO
Two days later, Bail tapped a button on the controls of his pod within the Senate chamber, entering the fray. It was a mark of both the wealth and power of Alderaan and of the sheer disarray and lack of any rule that his fellow Senators fell silent fairly quickly as he approached the center of the chamber. “The chair recognizes the Senator from the sovereign system of Alderaan.” Mas Amedda said swiftly. If Bail wasn’t fairly certain the man had been fully corrupt and complicit in the many crimes of Palpatine he’d have felt sorry for the Chagrian. It couldn’t be easy to run the Senate right now under the circumstances. But the odds that Amedda wasn’t corrupt and gutless were slim to none, and so Bail reserved his sympathy for the victims of the man and his cohorts.
“Esteemed Senators.” He called out. “We are in a time of turmoil. A few short days ago we declared Palpatine Emperor, ourselves the Galactic Empire.” It hurt to use the complicit language, to act as though he’d approved of the transition, but the veneer of decorum, of not throwing accusations around, was what would see them through the challenges of the day. The truth would out, but he couldn’t unleash his full vitriol now. That was not how politics worked, not in this body. It had not been that long since they’d greeted the death of democracy with thunderous applause, mere days, morality would not be how he won this day.
“But now we face a crisis. Our Emperor is dead, with no heir appointed. We have no laws for what to do in this situation within the framework of this new Empire. Moreover, the Confederacy of Independent Systems still stands. Dooku and Grievous may lie dead, but their Parliament is intact, as are the bulk of their droid armies. We have lost Palpatine, and we have lost the Jedi. Now is not the time to be floundering and flailing in the deep waters. And that is why I call for us to return to being a Republic, effective immediately…” a clamor of voices rose up in response to that, shouting, but Bail was used to this and raised his voice accordingly, “For a period of five years, until the issues of the CIS and the decimation of much of the GAR’s command structure can be addressed. And that we immediately vote on a new Supreme Chancellor to move forward with this.” He hated this, hated acting like they might just instill a new Emperor in the near future, but needs must, and better he fight that fight in the future than lose the fight now. Better a battle he could prepare for than a war he had nothing to aid him with.
“Senator, the Senate spoke!” Mas Amedda protested. “And as former Vice Chancellor, I would argue that the line of succession is clear!” Bail gave him the most incredulous stare he could muster, and more jeering rose up in the Senate, from both those who he and Padme had counted as allies and the more…unpleasant human Senators. It was not a crowd he relished being aligned with, and he’d need to make that much clear. Some compromises weren’t worth making.
“With all due respect, you were never elected, the late Palpatine appointed you. We may have been able to get the general public to accept his ascension to a throne, but certainly not yours. If you wish to put your name in for the new Chancellor, you can try again once the situation is calmer though.”
“This is outrageous!” The Senator from Ord Mantell protested, his pod approaching the center. “We voted by overwhelming majority to become an Empire!”
“The overwhelming majority was for Palpatine to be Emperor!” Bail reiterated, glaring at the man. “No Imperial laws were passed! We were supposed to debate those today! You would add choosing a new Emperor with no apparent successor ready to that lengthy process, while the CIS licks its wounds at our borders? It takes weeks to select a Chancellor, and that’s an office with term limits, with checks and balances and procedures for impeachment! None of that exists for the office of Galactic Emperor at present, which means the selection process must be done with great care and precision, things we do not have the time for! The Clone War has paused, but we lack a head of state to sue for peace or appoint new generals now that the Jedi are all dead! The CIS Parliament needs only to vote for a new head of state and then they’ll be fully ready!” There was a murmur throughout the Senate, and Bail pressed his advantage.
“We are currently a body without a head, a government without a leader, and that is a dangerous place to be in war. We can either take the time to completely restructure our government and legal system now, with no idea of when the CIS will resume the war, or we can vote for a new Chancellor and table this issue for when there is not an external threat that must be addressed!”
More murmuring arose, and Bail pointed his gaze at Mas Amedda, who looked more worn down than anything. “Very well!” The Chagrin called. “We will have a vote.” He began punching buttons on the pedestal of the Chancellor, and a moment later Bail saw the vote appear on his own platform. He put in his vote without hesitation and waited.
What followed was perhaps the single most stressful vote of Bail’s life, but after several minutes of internal deliberation the Senate’s choice became clear and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. It seemed more Senators had cheered along for Palpatine’s declaration of a transition to Empire out of craven opportunism or fear of being seen opposing him than genuine ideology. He had his two thirds majority, and the Republic would be saved…for another five years.
OoOoO
“Who does he think he is?” Ozzel demanded, pounding a fist on the table.
“The Senator of one of the richest and most well connected, well respected planets in the Republic and husband of its monarch.” Gideon drawled, leaning back in his chair. “The question is, what do we do about it?”
“We fight!” Rampart snapped. “We have the Clones still!”
“We could do that.” Gideon allowed. “Or we could let this play out. He’s not wrong about the CIS. With Grievous and Dooku dead their threat is greatly diminished, but they have more bodies and we’ve lost the Jedi. Whatever Palpatine’s plans to destabilize them totally, or to replace the Order, both died with him. Organa has given us a neat little timeline. Five years to rebuild, five years to plant seeds and make our own plans. It might be worth considering the benefits of letting this play out.”
“No.” Tarkin said slowly. “No, we can’t do that. The situation is fraught, but one does not strike the iron while it is cooled, to paraphrase the archaic expression. People do not accept sweeping changes to their government and way of life in times of peace and comfort. They will not give up the vote, a Senate with at least pretensions of true authority, or a leader with term limits if they feel safe and content. There is also more overt, militaristic opposition to be considered. Generals Yoda and Kenobi were seen fighting their way into the Temple after Order 66, and reports suggest that both made it out alive. I see no reason to believe that they were the only Jedi Generals to have survived the purge. There were too many, and their skills too great, to comfortably assume that only two came out the other side.
“In addition, we don’t know how much longer this Order 66 Palpatine engineered will last. The Clones are drones right now, but that might change in the coming years, months, or even weeks. If the Empire we were promised is to come into being, we must move to set it in stone and in the hearts of the people now.” He glanced at Krennic. “What can your division bring to bear?”
“I’ve been rerouting resources from the primary project ever since Palpatine’s death was announced.” The man said. “Some quantity of Star Destroyers and AT-ATs are ready to go as we speak, but the late Emperor’s preferences were for weapons that would be…less than helpful in a Civil War fought within the Core itself.” Krennic grimaced, and Tarkin fought the urge to do the same. “Too much destruction will not help us, not in the heart of power and privilege, not with the Jedi scattered.”
“So you have nothing.” Rampart sneered. Krennic glared at him.
“What I have are the best weapon designers and engineers in the Republic, ready and willing to work to ensure our power. But unless you think enacting genocide on some of the richest and most influential planets in the galaxy is going to win us the public support we now need, then the best I can offer right this moment is more advanced capital ships and more heavily armed troop transports.”
Tarkin let out a quiet hum. He didn’t entirely agree with Krennic’s opinion that there was such a thing as too much destruction, reducing a few Core worlds to glass or rubble would solve their problems in his opinion, but he did acknowledge that even with their resources they lacked the economy or infrastructure to finish the Death Star while fighting for what was rightfully theirs.
“I will order the Clone Troopers to congregate to the worlds we know will be loyal to us, here in the Core, or to Kamino, whichever is closest to them.” He announced. “This will give us the troop advantage and prevent the loyalist fools like Yularen from commanding them instead.” It wouldn’t be a complete fix, he suspected Yularen would have the 501st on a tight leash and perhaps the 212th and 41st as well, but the majority of the natural born officers of the GAR were on their side and with them the majority of the Clones. “The galaxy will be ours gentlemen, we will just have to do a little more fighting than we hoped.”
OoOoO
Obi-Wan slipped his starfighter into the atmosphere of Kamino. He’d never be the pilot that Anakin…that Anakin had been, but the years of war had honed his skills enough to slip into the atmosphere of a planet that was not particularly crowded, especially one that he knew as well as he knew Kamino. The defences had not changed, which meant he knew all the little weaknesses that could be exploited. There weren’t many, of course, but if one knew what they were, and had the Force to assist them, and were in a GAR scout craft then they could be chained together to get one into Tipoca City without being noticed…or at least, with only having to deal with small quantities of easily mindtricked guards.
Now that he wasn’t being shot at, and wasn’t in the gaping, screaming vortex of pain and terror and misery that was the Temple, he could properly sense how wrong the Clones felt. The vod'e were muted, their vibrant and unique signatures tamped down into a haze of quiet nothing. It was horrifying, it was wrong, and it only made him more certain that something had happened to them, that the deaths of the Jedi were the machinations of Palpatine rather than some conscious act of betrayal. He had failed Anakin, had failed to notice the signs that the boy he had raised was Falling and needed intervention, but he had not failed the 212th. Something else had interceded.
Tipoca City was crowded, bustling as more and more vod'e showed up. From the grumblings he overheard amongst the Kaminoans as he slipped through vents and less secured hallways, someone high up had ordered the GAR stationed in the Outer and Mid Rims to report back to Kamino, abandoning the battlefields there, and the Kaminoans had no choice but to quarter them, anxious about upsetting whoever now had control of the droid-like GAR.
The chaos made him take a much more circuitous route than he’d anticipated, but it also meant things were far less organized than normal, and this all meant that despite the increased number of threats he still got into Lama Su’s office without raising an alarm.
“Prime Minister.” He greeted, sitting down casually in front of the Kaminoan’s desk, slinging one leg over the other, shifting his robe to make his lightsaber obvious.
“General Kenobi.” Lama Su replied, more visibly nervous than Obi-Wan had ever seen a Kaminoan be. He reached for something under his desk, but a flex of the Force knocked his hand away from whatever it was. Holdout blaster or alarm, Obi-Wan didn’t much care. Lama Su swallowed and put both of his hands on the top of his desk.
“I believe you have some explaining to do.” Obi-Wan said, flashing a smile that was a little more feral than he was entirely comfortable with. Before him sat the being who was, in some part, responsible for an estimated ninety-eight percent of the Order being dead, shot down by the vod'e they’d trusted, the vod'e they’d loved. Not the most responsible, certainly, but more responsible than most who weren’t named Sheev Palpatine. “What, precisely, did you do to the Clones, and how do I turn it off?” Lama Su spread his hands.
“As I told you when we first met, the Clone Troopers were implanted with inhibitor chips, to keep them loyal and to aid in their accelerated learning. The original order requested a series of orders be implanted in the chips as well, contingency plans should anything go awry. I assumed you knew.”
“You assumed we knew that there was a code word that would turn our army against us?” Obi-Wan repeated incredulously. He did his best to keep his language cold and distant. The Kaminoans did not view the Clones the way the Jedi did, and calling them vod'e, or other more emotional reactions, would not get through to the being before him.
“Order 66 called for the execution of all Jedi, yes. But Order 65 called for the execution of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, and Order 64 for the purge of the Galactic Senate. It was assumed you were merely safeguarding for every possibility.” Obi-Wan resisted the urge to massage his temples. Someone had certainly been thorough, yes. Palpatine had stacked the deck far more than he’d realized.
“How do I rescind this Order 66? And how do I prevent it from being reinstated?” He asked, forcing his voice to be calm.
“There is a signal I can provide you.” Lama Su said, voice sounding a little relieved that he had an answer to Obi-Wan’s problems. “It has a limited range, but any Clone Trooper who receives it will revert to their normal operating state. As for preventing it from being reinstated, only the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and the members of the Jedi Council can activate the Orders. They’ll follow the orders of the GAR command structure, but very few can activate them.” Obi-Wan nodded slowly.
“By all means, provide me with that signal.” He said simply. Lama Su nodded quickly and began tapping away at the computer on his desk, reaching slowly and obviously as he reached into a draw and withdrew a simple datapad. A moment later he passed the datapad across the desk to Obi-Wan, who picked it up. It could be a trap…but Lama Su was a politician and businessman, one trapped alone in a room with a rather angry Jedi. Obi-Wan suspected that treachery wasn’t going to cross his mind, simply because there was very little that he could do that would kill Obi-Wan before Obi-Wan could kill him. Lama Su’s office in Tipoca City was on the opposite end of the city from where the majority of the vod'e were after all.
So, with that in mind, Obi-Wan patched the datapad into the GAR’s frequencies (nobody had bothered to remove his access it seemed, likely due to the chaos caused by Palpatine’s sudden and unexpected death) and sent out a signal. All at once the Force let out a long, relieved sigh, a great weight of Dark lifted from the city, and then he felt the deaths start. He remained in his chair, inspecting the code of the signal, and only glanced up when Lama Su’s comlink started beeping frantically. The Prime Minister read the messages he was getting in alarm, then stared at Obi-Wan.
“The Clone Troopers are slaughtering my people.” He said, voice shaken.
“You turned an entire army into mindless drones, and forced them to act against their own self interests, then allowed them to stay armed and armored amongst you. What did you think would happen when I rescinded the Order overriding their free will?” Obi-Wan asked, arching an eyebrow.
Under different circumstances Obi-Wan would be inclined to intervene. But there were too many vod'e in Tipoca City for him to feasibly gather them all in one place and isolated from the Kaminoans to talk them down. And whatever Tipoca City had been before the production of the vod'e had begun, it was now a place purely of industry and military training. There were no civilians in the city, no younglings or innocents, only those who had, in one way or another, contributed directly to the suffering of the Clone Troopers.
“You’re a Jedi…” Lama Su began.
“Yes, yes I am.” Obi-Wan said sharply. “And because of you, only two hundred of my culture, my friends, my family survive. Two hundred of what was once ten thousand, and that is being deeply optimistic, going purely off of those whose deaths were not confirmed yet. Do you think I sit before you a kind man? My mercy is that I will not allow the Clone Troopers to carry their crusade across all of Kamino. No more, no less.” Lama Su hesitated, then lunged for whatever it was under his desk. He was no soldier though, no Cad Bane or Ventress, and so his head fell to the floor before he had made contact with whatever he thought would be his salvation.
Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, released his emotions into the Force, and put his lightsaber back on his belt before turning to face the door. He would not participate in the massacre going on outside, but he would not feel guilty about it either. The Kaminoans in this facility were slavers, and one did not judge the actions of revolting slaves.
The vod'e were as efficient as he expected, and a quarter hour after he sent the signal out the doors to Lama Su’s office burst open…and Cody stared at him. “Hello dear.” Obi-Wan said gently. Cody choked on his words, tearing his helmet off, then walked forward, reaching out and putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his movements stiff and jerky with disbelief and shock and relief warring loudly inside of him as he reassured himself that Obi-Wan was real.
“General.” Cody sobbed, and Obi-Wan pulled him into a hug. He didn’t hug people enough. He’d start now though.
“I’m here. I’m alive. It will get better.” He murmured, speaking as much to the vod'e crowded into the doorway as he was to Cody. He recognized some, Bly and Boil and Waxer, all frozen in shock. Others he didn’t know, and were frantically reporting something into their helmet coms. Cody swallowed and nodded jerkily, then stepped back, Obi-Wan letting him go.
“Orders General?”
“Once you and your vod have finished up in the city, focus on evac. The tubies and younglings and shinies. The late Prime Minister was generous enough to provide me with a signal that rescinds what was done to you, but the range is limited, I don’t think it got anyone off the planet, not with just a datapad. The Kaminoans will keep, but your vod in the Inner Rim, the Colonies and the Core, they’re still enslaved and they must be our priority.” Cody nodded jerkily, and Obi-Wan could see Bly had shaken himself enough to be relaying the orders. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t everything. But it would be enough. For now at least.
OoOoO
Jabba undulated into the huge Hutt Grand Council chamber, flanked by representatives from the various families of the Desilijic Clan, as well as their bodyguards.
It had been a month since the Clone Wars had ground to an uneasy and uncertain halt. After four years of war that consumed the galaxy, the fighting had ceased…but no treaty had been signed, no formal surrender offered. The Republic and CIS had simply ceased to shoot at each other, the Clones abandoning the battlefields to congregate in the Core and Inner Rim or else in Kamino. And a few days later the Clones had left Kamino as well, flooding to the seat of Republic power. And now…now they were shooting at each other, the Republic engulfed into a civil war even murkier and less defined than the Clone Wars had been.
The galaxy had fallen into chaos of a different sort once that happened. The Jedi were gone, or greatly diminished at the very least. The CIS had withdrawn their own droids back to the most agreed upon borders, choosing to consolidate and shore up the planets that had willingly joined them rather than try to hold onto rebellious planets in the face of the losses that would have killed them if not for the Republic’s sudden implosion. Interesting noises were coming from Mandalore (expectedly) and from Corellia (very unexpected). The Trade Federation, Banking Clan, Commerce Guild, and Techno Guild were all flagging, throwing a staggered galactic economy into further strife.
And it was this environment of mire and chaos that had him intrigued by the calling of the full Hutt Grand Council. Jabba himself presided over a Hutt Council, one that ruled over the Hutt Clans who made the bulk of their profits and holdings outside of Hutt Space, but this was the Grand Council, the closest thing the Hutts had to a Parliament. It ruled over every aspect of the Clans. Not just the kajidics, the crime syndicates, but the Hutt unions, their infrastructure and bureaucracy, the doctors and scientists, the legitimate businessmen and the mercenaries. There were three billion Hutts on Nal Hutta alone after all, and while that was less populous than other species it still left too many Hutts to be neatly confined to crime alone as many of the lesser species believed. They were ruled over by various Councils, who all in turn could be called before the Grand Council. It was rare, but it happened. This would be the fifth such Council in his nearly six centuries of life.
Soon enough Grejic, Head of the Grand Council, surged smoothly forward to the central platform, raising his arms. “Comrades-in-power, siblings-in-profit, I have convened you today to discuss the state of the galaxy. To discuss the glorious and unprecedented opportunity that sits ripe before us today.
“Long ago, longer than any living Hutt can remember, the Hutts ruled over a grand empire. We were once the power in the galaxy, the threat that incited the formation of the Republic to begin with. Our power is still strong, but outside of the borders of Hutt Space we are considered criminals, thugs, operating under the knowledge that the Jedi may intervene if we are not quiet and underground.
“But now the galaxy is ripe for the taking. The Republic fights itself in the Core, while the CIS licks its wounds and shores up its own borders. The heart of the Outer Rim, and an unprecedented amount of the Mid Rim, lies before us, a precious jewel waiting to be snatched. To become ours in name as well as in fact, to rebuild the Empire so that even when the Jedi rebuild they will be unable to impede our business!”
“The Republic has been badly wounded before, as have the Order.” Zier of Besadii drawled. “Both always recover in short order.”
“But not like this.” Grejic retorted. “In the past it has been the work of the Sith, or Mandalore. An outside force taking territory from a unified Republic. Now the Republic fights itself after four years of war with the CIS, its troops ranging no further than the Colonies. Ryloth and Kashyyyk stand abandoned, and every world in between, battered from the Clone Wars with only paltry local resistance groups to defend them. The great monopolies of trade and business lie with their CEOs dead, their armies taken, the Republic ignoring them. And what of us, my comrades-in-power? What has the Clone Wars brought to us but heavier purses and untouched ranks of mercenaries? There is an opportunity that will not come again, an opportunity to shatter the Republic, to prevent it from ever regaining its full might again!”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Jabba asked, intrigued despite himself. The Order rarely ventured to Tatooine, but they did help the slave underground on occasion. And Ryloth was close enough to Tatooine, to his base of power, that taking it in full, controlling the flow of Twi’lek slave girls, presented a delicious opportunity for further profit. “When the Republic or this would-be Empire emerges victorious from the current civil war, what is to stop them from sending the might of the GAR against us? Mercenary companies will fare poorly against the Clone Troopers.”
“Our coffers overflow, our resources are plenty.” Grejic responded, passionate. “Let us reach out to the CIS and to Mandalore. Mutual defense and reconstruction materials for Mandalore, and a full propping up of the CIS. Whoever wins in the Core will face a unified and varied Outer Rim, and face it in a state battered from years of continuous war. Because, my fellow Hutts, there is one other planet the Republic and this would-be Empire have abandoned. Kamino.” A hush fell over the great gathering, followed swiftly by murmuring. “My spies tell me the Clones who now fight for the Republic against their Imperial brothers razed the facilities at Tipoca City before leaving.” Grejic continued. “The cloners are adrift and undefended, and should the Republic emerge victorious they will be in peril. And Kamino lies between the recognized boundaries of Hutt Space and planets we would desire to take regardless, such as Tatooine and Ryloth! Imagine what they might do for us in exchange for our wealth and protection!
“So, I call for a vote! All in favor of the formation of a true Hutt Empire, of a formal Army and Navy, and a campaign of expansion while this opportunity is available to us?” For the first time in Jabba’s life, the culminating vote of the Grand Hutt Council was unanimous, and Emperor Grejic beamed at them. “Excellent! Now, let us strategize.”
OoOoO
Bo-Katan Kryze stared at the array of news reports that filled the holotable of her planning room. The galaxy was a damn mess. The Clone Wars were functionally over, but with neither the CIS nor the Republic offering an official surrender who knew for how long. Maul was gone, vanished into the ether, but she didn’t know if that was a permanent state or just a momentary reprieve either. The Republic was locked in a civil war, one of a far smaller scale but far messier for it, the outer half of the galaxy abandoned as the would-be Empire defended its Core world strongholds and sought to expand outward, the diminished GAR forced to focus solely on the rebellious faction.
Admittedly, the CIS had withdrawn as well, but again, who knew how long that would last. They’d lost Dooku and Grievous, sure, but they still had billions of Battle Droids, perhaps trillions, and with the Jedi seemingly cut down to a bare fraction of their numbers they wouldn’t need as many leaders capable of matching a Jedi in a fight. They could probably make more Grievouses even.
And so Bo-Katan had been rallying Mandalore as best as she could. Not just the planet, the people. Her people. Satine had meant well, but her timing had been terrible. Pre Vizsla had meant…less well, and his path had resulted in disaster. She would thread the needle between the two, she hoped. Consolidation and reconstruction would be her focus. Perhaps Mandalore would wage war again, but if she had her way that would be a task for her great-granddaughters at the absolute earliest.
The Clans had been rallied, their leaders called, and her throne secured. The Mandalore System was, for now, hers in full. Eventually there would be challengers, the remnants of Kyr'tsad would rally against her and those who clung to her sister’s vision of the future would make getting anything done a struggle, but right now everyone was just relieved to have a moment to breathe and a leader who was focused on repairing their homes and getting trade restarted.
The formal declaration of the Mandalorian Empire had been sent out across the HoloNet three days ago, and unsurprisingly it had barely made a dent in the Core’s news-cycle, the heart of the Republic focused on its own problems. But their neighboring systems, the ones that traditionally had fallen under the umbrella of the Mandalorian Empires of old…well, the Republic wasn’t exactly looking like a promising state at the moment. Four years of the Clone Wars, and right when everything was looking like it might finally end a new war had kicked up. The CIS was a dying state, with relatively little sway in this region of the galaxy, so not many supporters nearby her. And the would-be Empire didn’t seem to have an Emperor right now so much as a barely cohesive Council of warlords who would likely start infighting within the decade if they won. In short, she wasn’t surprised there was already talk of joining her new empire.
The missive from the Hutts had been unexpected. Mandalore had a…mixed relationship with the Hutts, traditionally, and she trusted them about as far as she could physically throw a full grown one, but she did need raw materials and the proposition of a military ally to shore up their legitimacy when the situation in the Core resolved was very tempting. She had sent a cautious reply offering to sit down and talk, to see what they wanted precisely. Hutts were at their worst when they had the advantage after all, and she wasn’t going to sell her people down the river. She’d made a deal with the devil once, she wouldn’t do it a second time.
Speaking of which. “I’m a little twitchy around Sith lately.” She spoke aloud, one hand moving to her hip as she kept her eyes on the table’s projections, grateful a paranoid instinct had driven to keep her in her armor and helmet even here.
“I got out of the Sith.” A husky voice drawled, and a pale, near-human woman with a blonde undercut slinked into view, easing out of the shadows and approaching Bo-Katan from the side until she stood at the opposite end of the table. A second later she pulled out a lightsaber, igniting it to reveal a yellow blade. “See?”
“You could have gotten that off a corpse. There’s enough dead Jedi lying around the galaxy now.” Asajj Ventress snorted and turned the blade off, returning it to her hip.
“Fair enough. But regardless, if I wanted you dead you’d be choking on air now. No, I’m here to make an offer.”
“Oh?”
“The Jedi weren’t the only Force wielding culture Palpatine ruined. He had his puppets in the Separatists attempt to stamp out mine. The Nightsisters of Dathomir.” Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow at that. She knew of the Nightsisters, Dathomir was close to Mandalore after all, but she’d never met one. They’d been a famously insular bunch, even moreso than the Jedi. “You need every advantage you can get, and I need to preserve what’s left of my sisters. Give us a place to call our own, and I’ll put out a call of refuge and safety. The Nightsisters get a home, and you get something to counter the Jedi.” Bo-Katan froze in thought, turning the idea over in her head. Mandalore had nearly beaten the Republic in its entirety on multiple occasions, and every time the thing that had killed them had been the existence of the Jedi. Enough of the Order existed that it could be a real problem down the line, should the Republic defeat the would-be Empire and decide it wanted their systems back.
“The Nightsisters have been a…remarkably insular culture in the past.” Bo-Katan said slowly. “Why should I trust you would stay once you’d recovered?”
“We confined ourselves to one planet and one place once before, and that led to us being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.” Ventress said curtly, face twisting. “The Sith nearly won, but all it took was a little treachery and a heart attack to wipe them out. The Jedi suffered the most perfectly executed backstabbing in galactic history and still came out with numbers in the low hundreds because they were spread out and numerous. I intend to ensure the Nightsisters do the same, even if I have to drag them into that kicking and screaming. And if you get the systems it looks like you’re going to, you’re going to have Force sensitives to build off of very soon.”
“And why Mandalore?”
“Location and trust mainly. We’ll reclaim Dathomir when we have the numbers to make it worth it, and you’re our neighbor.” Ventress said with a smirk. “But beside that, who would I go to? The CIS slaughtered us, the Empire is Palpatine’s creation, and the Republic is unlikely to welcome us with open arms. It’s you or the Hutts and, well…we are the Night sisters and they’re Hutts.”
“Not exactly flattering reasoning, but I respect the pragmatism.” Bo-Katan drawled back, then cracked her neck. “Very well. Let’s get to negotiating.”