Images flickered across the screen in quick succession. A burning document, symbolic but a good symbol. Graceful fighters in chrome and yellow lifting off and taking to the skies. Explosions from orbit as the Starfighters destroyed the station the Trade Federation had installed in orbit to collect tariffs and tax the ships coming and going. Over it all, the manifesto of the previous king was read out.
"No more will we be subject to your whims! No more will my people slave away in the mines to feed your business! No longer will we live under your booted heel and thank you for the opportunity! Your exploitation of the Naboo ends HERE!"
That wasn't the proper manifesto of course, but it made for good propaganda. The real one was much longer and went into much more detail about the need of the Naboo to rise up and reclaim independence. To that end the Old King, as he was known, who had been placed in power because he was the most willing to deal with the Trade Federation, was overthrown in a popular uprising led by House Amidala who had decided that the fortunes of the Naboo would rest on their shoulders alone. Terral Amidala had taken the first steps toward integrating the world of Naboo and the Chommel Sector into the Republic at large, especially with the plasma mines looking for sellers, and Sector Defence Forces eyeing up the N1 Starfighter designs that had shaken the galaxy so much, packing much more firepower than size would suggest.
That had occurred ten years ago, and as it was an internal matter, and as the Naboo had paid "compensation for lost foreign property while in a period of civil unrest", there was nothing, legally speaking, that could be done. Besides, many in the Outer Rim and even the less well-off expansion region systems applauded the action. The Trade Federation had begun as a method of controlling the price gouging, the market manipulation, and the exploitation of planets that had been the norm. As the years wore on, they became the very thing they had fought against, and this time there was no senate initiative to stop them. Their influence awarded them a senate seat, and their wealth allowed them to block or at least drag down initiatives that would regulate them more heavily. So the destruction of one of their Raw Material Initiatives by the very people it exploited was covertly celebrated, even if it was officially condemned.
Then Terral was assassinated. Of course, it didn't appear to be an assassination, but then again, the best ones never do. Shipping containing the Naboo exports was beginning to be attacked with greater frequency. Piracy was on the rise as a whole, but this seemed especially targeted. Terral was the great liberator, the Warrior-King who had drawn on legends of the sleeping protector to rally the people to his cause, could never back down from a challenge. He knew, or believed he knew, who was really behind this. So he led the counter-piracy campaigns within his sector from the cockpit of his specially modified N1 Starfighter, and smashed the raiders in battle after battle, until one day the raiders sprung a trap, overwhelmed the small Naboo fleet, and killed the king, destroying much of the Naboo space fleet. Pirate raids on Naboo shipping went on, but at a much reduced rate, while representatives from the Trade Federation went to meet with the successor of Terral, his young daughter Padmé Amidala.
The mission briefing was laid down on the table. It had been reviewed dozens of times before on the trip to Naboo, and the young man who had put it down knew in his heart that he could recite it word for word by now. It was a crutch, he knew that, but he was nervous. A hand went to his head, just behind his right earlobe where only a week before his Padawan braid had hung. A week before he would have given it a reassuring little tug, but his master had knighted him shortly before leaving on this journey. It was a little unorthodox while at the same time being the traditional way for a Padawan to become a Knight. Master Qui-Gon was odd like that at times, and according to some of the whispers he hadn't listened too, either a rabble rousing anarchist or a reforming crusader that the dogmatic Order needed. Obi-Wan had ignored that. As far as he was concerned, he had been lucky to become Qui-Gon's apprentice, and believed he had learned more from him than any other Padawan his age had learned from their master. A slight smile crossed his face. Of course, any other Padawan his age would argue the same for their master. Though many would come to envy Obi-Wan's knighting ceremony.
The full council, the long ritual, the fasting and the meditation admittedly had a certain appeal, and the sight of a full council in the dark council chamber lit only by their lightsabers could be a chilling effect. Master Qui-Gon believed that it was a much less intimate setting than it should be, that the right of knighting a Jedi was the prerogative of Jedi who had trained the Padawan, not the Council. So Obi-Wan's ceremony had occurred just before the two of them left, in the Temple Port. He had been ordered to kneel, clasp his hands within his masters and utter an oath.
"Be without fear in the face of your enemies
Speak the Truth, no matter the cost to yourself
Safeguard the helpless, and do no wrong."
"This is your oath" Master Qui-Gon had told him, his voice firm and commanding. "And this is how you remember it." With sudden speed he delivered a backhand to his apprentice's face. Obi-wan had swayed, shook his head, and beamed up at his master. Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber, and with an almost casual flick of his wrist, severed the Padawan braid. "Rise a Knight." He gave his final order from master to apprentice, and extended his hand, pulling to their feet not his Padawan now, but his partner.
It had drawn quite a crowd from the technicians to other Jedi who were leaving or returning from official business. Some, a few, looked impressed. Others, not so much. But a quick search through the archival data he could retrieved before they made the jump to hyperspace revealed that the only other person to be knighted in such a manner in the past thousand years had been Qui-Gon Jinn himself by his master, Jedi Master Dooku.
"Have you memorized it already Obi-Wan?" Came an almost soft voice from the doorway.
"Just about master-" Obi-Wan began, then attempted to correct himself. Qui-Gon held up a hand.
"I still call Master Dooku 'master' and I haven't been his apprentice for over forty years. I'm honoured that you still hold that respect for me." A smile crossed his face. "Now, tell me, what do you think of the situation on Naboo?"
"Well, it seems that there is potential for violence, though I'm more concerned about what may happen instead."
"You fear the Queen will be taken advantage of because of her youth?"
"Not youth, but grief. Her father has just died and she still may be in shock."
"So what is our task then?"
"To… provide a stabilising influence on any trade discussions?"
A small look crossed Qui-Gon's face. Obi-Wan lived for such looks, they told him his master was impressed, that he had done a good job. "And to remind both sides that they are part of the Republic, to dissuade threats, and be a witness." Qui-Gon finished. "Essentially, we're there to keep them both honest."
Obi-Wan gave a slight grin. "That shouldn't be too difficult master."
"You know, I was afraid you'd say that. You should get some rest, we'll be dropping out of hyperspace soon, and I want you at your best."
The Consular-Class ship, dark red in official Republic colours, exited hyperspace with a slight lurch, and appeared on the scanners of the Trade Federation bulk cruiser as a tiny blip on the radar. The bulk cruiser, one of the Lucrehulk-Class battleships modified to carry enormous amounts of cargo, had been stripped of much of its weaponry to comply with private ship regulations, but that still meant it bristled with laser cannons. Capturing one of these ships was the dream of every pirate warlord, as the profits from such an operation would allow one to retire comfortably – and safely – beyond the vengeful reach of the Trade Federation. To date, none had been taken in the two centuries of Trade Federation dominance. All who had tried were killed, hunted down and executed. The Trade Federation did not like to lose.
"The Republic diplomats have arrived Sir." The metallic voice of a security droid buzzed to life. A pair of long, cylindrical amphibious faces turned to acknowledge the sound, and returned to their conversation, perhaps a bit more urgently than before.
"I'm telling you," one said, his voice almost a croak "we cannot bully our way into the system again. You must reconsider!"
"And I'M telling YOU," the other replied in the same croaky wheeze "that we will go ahead as planned. The one who contracted us for this job is not one we could walk away from."
"Not even the Hutts have that much power!" The advisor protested.
"This one is no Hutt! He is beyond even them. We do this job, but then, when all is said and done, we retire." A shudder passed through his body.
"Not getting cold feet are we?" A dark, growly voice uttered from the empty space behind them. They hadn't noticed the small noise the holo-emitter made when it engaged, and so they sudden appearance of a cloaked and hooded figure terrified them. The advisor let out a small moan of terror, while the other swallowed several times before managing to speak.
"No my lord, not at all" he said, stuttering a little as he spoke. His lips were not used to speaking Galactic Basic, and so he stumbled on perhaps more words than he had hoped. "Just some nervous jitters before we go into action."
"I hope so Gunray." The voice spoke. It did not need to add 'For your sake', as the meaning was clear to any who cared to listen. Gunray and his advisor were listening very carefully. "Proceed as planned."
"But what about the diplomats?" the advisor asked, his voice trembling.
On a being less terrifying, the shape made with his mouth would have been called a smile. "Deal with them, Gunray." The sort of threats one could have expected did not come. They radiated from the words and became an unspoken guarantee, a display of power in that he did not need to speak threats for you to take him seriously.
As the hologram flickered out of existence, the two Nemoidians sagged a little, Gunray steadying himself against the bulkhead.
"We will not survive this." His assistant moaned.
Privately, Gunray agreed. But he couldn't say so. "Quiet! We'll have to figure out a way to deal with these ambassadors."
"But if he does not hold up his end-"
"He will! He must." Gunray exclaimed, hoping he was right.
