Jedi Insurgency 145 (Interlude 17)

Gathered together at Mas Amedda's office were a group of like minded individuals who had allied with one another to survive the turmoil of the current era. 

Dressed in voluminous soft robes, Mas Amedda, the blue Chagrian politician, and Chief of Staff helmed a grand table. To his left was the red uniformed young lady no older than 24, Ysanne Isard. To his right was a sickly middle-aged man, one who often competed for him with their master's favor, Sate Pestage. Finally, sitting at the opposite end of the table was the taciturn, square-jawed leader of the Imperial Military, Grand General Kaine. 

None of his guests appeared as if they wanted to be present, yet in Amedda's perspective, it was necessary. Glancing out his window at the nearby still burnt ruins of the Jedi Temple, he knew how important it was to come together in these trying times. The Emperor had fantasized at length to transform that building into the new Imperial Palace. And yet, five-almost six-months had transpired since the failure of his grand plan. It pained Amedda’s heart to have such thoughts, and as much as he knew not to think like that when his master was around, that didn't mean they were false. 

The newly birthed so-called Galactic Empire was undergoing a tumultuous infancy, and as someone who would likely find his head on a vibropike should they lose, he was doing everything in his power to make sure that that tragedy never transpired. 

That being said, he saw the window panes shaking, and felt a tremor go up his arm as yet another shockwave shook the building due to the aftermath of today's battle. A holoprojector was currently displaying a recording of a shocking sight: Mace Windu-the traitor thought dead-was engaged with Vader and the Emperor in a death defying duel. 

An entire sublevel of Coruscant was coming apart before their eyes, and there was nothing they could do about it. A Legion of troops, and who knew how many tens of thousands had perished during this climatic fight. 

Amedda pressed his hand against his broad-blue forehead, and felt his fingers trembling. Closing them into fists so that he could maintain some modicum of composure, he lifted his face, and sent a sharp glare at Isard. 

“Tell me, please tell me that this, this debacle  is already sealed, and classified. The public must not see any of this.” His voice came out smooth-like that of a practiced politician’s-yet it held an edge to it.

Across the table, Isard leaned back in her seat with ease, one pale eyebrow arched upward, and she casually crossed a leg over another one. 

“Of course it’s censored.” She replied, as if the very question insulted her competence. “All civilian feeds were scrubbed within minutes. The ISB has seized every relevant datastream. No one outside verified channels has seen the raw footage.” She paused, a razor smile forming. “Unless you doubt our protocols?”

Amedda’s eyes flicked away, he was too experienced to rise to the bait. 

“No. No, of course not, Director. I simply cannot have senators asking why half a district imploded during a ‘routine’ power maintenance.” He was quick to respond in a soothing tone. 

“Perhaps, instead of censoring this event completely, we might alter it to our benefit.” Isard idly commented, and slowly took a content smell of her teacup. 

Watching the head of the ISB shiver nearly erotically after sniffing her tea, Amedda internally clucked his tongue at such base behavior. However, she had been one to get results. Maintaining a placid expression so as not to reveal his dislike, he ever so slightly inclined his head. 

Go on.

Isard took a small, glee-filled sip, and brightly smiled at Ameda, which made the blue alien feel unsettled, as he had seen a very similar smile on her lips when she executed her own father. 

“Why, my dear Chief of Staff, isn't it obvious? Anakin Skywalker, excuse me, Darth Vader is the Hero of the Empire. Yet his loss at Eriadu was soo tragic, was it not?” Isard said, feigning pity. 

Amedda wasn't stupid, and was quick to nod his head. “If properly edited…yes, yes, I can see your vision. I approve. So long as His Majesty does not appear, and the victory is attributed to Lord Vader, this can only be good.” 

Isard rolled her eyes, but maintained her silence, evidently the woman was pleased with her plan to kiss ass. 

Amedda internally grinned. He had witnessed Skywalker's dark side plenty of times. Many had been enamored by his good looks, flashy smile, and acrobatic skills. Amedda knew better. 

‘Do be careful little girl, that the hand that feeds you does not end up around your neck.’ He said to himself, schadenfreude coloring his thoughts. 

Sate Pestage took that moment to interrupt with a loudly blowing nose. In the glow of the holoprojector, his pale, unhealthy skin looked nearly translucent. 

“The cost will be staggering. Sublevel infrastructure, transit conduits, residential units, emergency services. Rebuilding alone will drain three months’ discretionary budgets. Redirecting funds will signal weakness, create market instability, commodity fluctuation, potential rationing. This is an absolute disaster that will cost at least hundreds of millions of credits, possibly billions. We have barely rebuilt after Grievous's assault, the Senate will-”

“-accept whatever it’s told.” Isard sharply cut in. “They’re terrified. A few collapsed blocks are nothing compared to apprehending a Jedi. once we have Windu's confession-that he plotted to assassinate the Emperor-our legitimacy will be secured.”

Pestage gave her a hollow stare, as if weighing whether she understood even half of the long-term consequences from the dire forecasts that he had just laid out. He sighed softly and returned his gaze to the projected chaos. Glancing down at his datapad, new figures, stock prices, and a million other reports were constantly entering his feed, making him sport a somewhat queasy expression. 

Only Grand General Kaine remained silent. He sat at the edge of the table with impeccable posture, and his eyes never left the events taking place in the recording. The blur of blades, the crash of shattered plasteel, and the ease with which his soldiers had perished. It was any wonder that half the Jedi Order had been taken out as it was. 

When another section of the sublevel buckled, Kaine’s jaw tightened. Eyes narrowing, he could no longer keep his thoughts to himself. 

“This is the destructive potential of three Force Adepts in close quarters. A single Jedi Knight is already valued at 10,000 men. A Master…a Master is equivalent to an entire Legion. And there are still dozens unaccounted for.”

Amedda shuddered visibly at that, though he tried to disguise it with a flick of his tentacles. Thankfully the majority of such Jedi had been slain. 

‘Windu was an exception amongst the Order…only Yoda, and perhaps Revan should be as strong.’ Amedda comforted himself. 

“You need not worry, General. His Majesty has established the Inquisitorious. The Empire shall field its own Force Adepts soon enough.” 

“Soon, Amedda, is not good enough. Sev’rance Tann, Revan, Rahm Kota, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jaro Tapal. These Generals are actively pressing us, and shifting the battlemap every day.” Kaine growled. “We cannot fight a war on two fronts-against the remnants of the Separatists and against emboldened Jedi-without recognizing what this footage represents. Lord Vader is our only trump card. The T-1000's are in short supply, and these Inquisitors have yet to join the fight. I can destroy the enemy, gentlemen, outmaneuver droid brains, and starve insurgents. But these religious fanatics have stopped the greatest military machine in the galaxy with but a handful of people! 

Silence settled over the chamber. 

Amedda looked away. Pestage swallowed hard. Isard’s facade wavered. Kaine simply watched, committing every facial expression to memory.

Five months into the Empire, the galaxy was still burning. And here, at its center, these four opportunists, and power hungry individuals stared into the uncomfortable truth of their new reality:

The Force could unmake an empire as easily as it had helped forge one.

“Huh-hem.” An old man's cough softly entered everyone's ears. 

Amedda glanced at Pestage, yet his longtime rival's eyes had gone wide. It wasn't me. Was written all over Pestage's face. 

Isard drew her service pistol, seemingly pointing it directly at Amedda, making him quiver in his seat. “W-what is the meaning of this!” 

“Behind you, fool.” Kaine-who was now standing-loudly declared. 

Swiveling in his chair, Amedda looked out the long-office window, and saw a lithe, bald pale man hovering outside. Floating into the meeting room-through the glass-he appeared to have an ethereal quality to him. 

Isard wasted no words, and shot a blast at him, only for the bolt to go through, and nearly miss Pestage's head. 

“Now is that any way to treat the Emperor's Hand?” The old man laugh-coughed bloody flakes down his chin, and then took a seat next to the stunned ISB Director. 

“Cronal…to what do we owe the honor of such an august personage?” Amedda was quick to recognize this Dark Acolyte, and smoothed things over with a bright smile. 

Cronal peered down at Isard's knocked over tea, and shook his head like a disappointed grandfather looking at his idiot granddaughter. Isard bristled, yet held her tongue. 

‘Not as stupid as I first thought.’ Amedda raised an eyebrow at her, and then awaited the Force Adept's reply. 

“Forgive my intrusion, but the Inquisitorious has donated 12 new recruits to the front lines, with more on the way.” Cronal smiled. 

Kaine appeared as if such a small number was an insult, and his face reddened. Amedda could spot an outburst when it was about to happen, and clapped his hands with a smile. 

“Simply marvelous! We were just discussing how just a few geniuses such as yourself could change the outcome of a battle. Isn't that right, General?” 

Kaine grit his teeth, then took a deep breath, and readjusted his uniform. “Just so.” 

Isard appeared to be seething at that moment, and Amedda barely withheld his laughter. Her ignorance regarding the Sith and their machinations directly fed his pleasure. 

“Lord Hand.” Pestage blew his nose, and didn't bother looking at his fellow pale-sickly ‘brother-in-arms.’ “Your expenses are mounting, and the Emperor demands results.” Pestage said in a flat, nasally tone. 

Cronal thinly smiled, and watched the recording without saying a word. The tension between the two men was palatable. 

Mas Amedda inhaled deeply, wiped off some sweat from his forehead, and smoothed his robes as though he could iron out the tension that filled this room. Reluctantly, he forced some authority into his voice: 

“Enough. We are not here to gawk at one another. We are here.” He continued, eyes sweeping the table. “To finalize our assessment of the galaxy’s condition, and to present it to His Majesty with a united front.”

A united front.

None of them needed it stated aloud: if the Emperor detected incompetence, they would be fortunate if all he did was give them a shock. 

Amedda recalled the last time he had been on his master's bad side, and shivered from the memory. 

Before Amedda could speak further, Isard straightened and lifted her chin.

“In that case…” Isard said in an eager, almost triumphant tone. “I will begin. I have actionable intelligence regarding the identity and activities of Jedi Master Revan. One of my top field operatives, Agent Bond, 007, has traced his movements. The trail is warm, and soon-”

Amedda cut her off with a sly, silky laugh. 

“Agent 007? Oh, yes. I recall the reports.” He tapped a finger against his chin in mock consideration. “You have been…remarkably hands-on with that particular operative, Director. Some might wonder whether your interest in his findings is entirely professional.” He then glanced down at the spilled tea, and raised a brow in amusement. 

Isard froze. For a heartbeat her façade cracked, and her eyes flashed with something molten and murderous.

“You dare-”

Before she could unleash a verbal tirade, Pestage lifted a trembling hand. “Please.” He rasped. His sickly body lent a papery fragility to his voice, but the authority beneath it remained unyielding. “We have greater matters at hand. Director Isard’s investigations are noted. But we must also acknowledge a development of potentially… catastrophic political consequence.”

Even Kaine looked over at that, and Cronal, meanwhile, had his fingers steepled, and his eyes closed. 

“Senator Padmé Amidala has returned it appears she had survived the purge.” Pestage slowly exhaled, and met Amedda's gaze. 

The room went dead still.

Amedda’s complexion drained to a sickly blue-gray, and his lekku twitched in distress. 

“Impossible. I, she, His Majesty…” He swallowed, voice stuttering in despair. 

Countless hits had been placed on that dreadful woman. He had been there when the Emperor gloated over her demise. He knew that her death was the only thing chaining Skywalker to their cause. This. This was terrible news! 

“The Emperor forbade any action against her. We are not to interfere.” Cronal softly muttered with a smile, clearly amused that he knew something they didn't. 

“The Senate reveres her. She is a symbol of the old Republic, one with connections deep enough to stir up trouble. The impact of her presence is substantial. If she begins asking the wrong questions-” Pestage said, and then stopped himself, giving his peers a knowing look. 

“We are not to interfere?” Amedda questioned, a tremor in his voice finally betrayed the cool, calm persona he had been projecting. 

“The Emperor was explicit.” Cronal grinned. 

Isard’s lips curled. “So you say.”

Amedda opened his mouth to snap back, but the table shook under the weight of a gauntleted fist.

Grand General Kaine had slammed his hand down, his expression was filled with a grim ferocity. 

“Enough. We waste time on petty bickering while the Empire’s war machine is running dry. I care not for some whiny Senator. I care about factories, weapons, armor, fuel, food.”

Kaine then  turned his steely gaze on Pestage “Explain.” Kaine demanded. “Why have our supply lines slowed to a trickle? Why do I have frontline units rationing tibanna gas like refugees? Why are starship hull shipments delayed weeks at a time?”

Pestage shrank a fraction, though his tone remained measured. “Because, General, the galaxy is collapsing faster than it can be conquered. Trade routes are in ruins. Half the corporate sector is in open revolt. The Banking Clan’s assets are frozen. And after the incident five months ago, those very same companies we rely upon have defaulted their loans, many of which declared bankruptcy.”

“I do not care for excuses. I care for solutions. We present this to the Emperor together, or we die separately.” Kaine leaned forward, and his voice rumbled dangerously. 

For once, no one argued.

The room felt suddenly colder.

Even the holoprojector-still looping its silent, catastrophic battle-seemed to dim. 

“Agreed, meeting adjourned. I'll have the specific reports compiled by this evening. His Majesty is doubtlessly in a good mood after His victory, so we had best present this data to him no later than tonight.” 

As everyone left the meeting, Cronal's Force Projection winked out, and teleported across the galaxy. 

Appearing on the steamy jungles of Yavin IV, and entering a temple, the pale bald man's projection approached a coffin, and took a knee. 

“Master, everything is going as you had foreseen.” Cronal said, staring at the vine-covered ground. “Shall I mobilize the Brothers?” 

The coffin shook in response, and the temple. Then, as soon as the shaking began, it stopped, and a masculine, magnetic voice spoke from inside the chamber: 

“Patience, young one. After 3,000 years, the perfect vessel has returned. In due time, the pretenders, those Baneite Sith, shall meet their end. What is a few more days, weeks, or months compared to eternity?” 

~~~~~~~~~

AN: Aaand, my favorite Boogie Man of Yavin has made his appearance. I once had someone say Corvus should hide on Yavin IV, and I'm like ‘are you fucked out of your mind?!’

Besides the new villain reveal, the point of this chapter is to show the inner workings of the Empire, and why they can't just sledgehammer their way to victory. Economic disasters are no joke.