The one in which the authoress, deciding that the Prequels consisted of stellar concepts and uncivilised execution, decides to write a full-on AU of the GFFA
Chapter 1. The Occupation of Naboo
In the ancient city of Eirtaévid, two Jedi exited the beautiful, rambling stone Basilia where they had been debriefed on their endeavours with the Naboo Youth Programme, and headed through the streets to the transport station. Transports ran four times every day; two to Theed, one to Arnval, and one to Tattan, where Naboo's only spaceport was located. It was the transit to Tattan that they boarded.
"You know, Master," remarked the younger of the two Jedi in a Coruscanti accent that sounded suspiciously similar to Perth talk, "Ever since we came to Naboo, I've been sensing . . . something. Something that . . . well, whatever it is, it's definitely something big. And it's going to change a lot of things, both for us and for others."
"You think too much of the future, Apprentice mine," said the elder of the two Jedi. He was a tall, powerfully-built man, with a head of greying hair pulled back from a wide, broad-planed face.
"I thought," said the younger man, climbing onto the transport and helping his master up, "That we were meant to focus on the future."
"But not at the expense of the present," said the older man. "Remember, always follow the Light, regardless of all else." He sat down in one of the tall circular booths provided. "For in the Light, all is made clear."
The young man sat beside his master and looked pensive for a moment. "Master," he said, "I know that you're sympathetic towards the Independents, but . . . I don't believe we've ever talked about why."
They felt the transport take off from beneath them. The elder Jedi sighed. "We are all Jedi, all of us," he said. "They are as correct as we, from a certain point of view."
"How so, Master? I've heard it said that many of the Independents accept the Dark Side."
"Acknowledge it, not accept it. As indeed, do we."
"How is it the same, Master? We acknowledge its existence, but shun it completely, whilst they . . . well, they allow it, in some measure, do they not?"
"They have a rather different conception. Our order believe in rules and regulations to keep to the Light; and not without reason. The Independents have rules as guidelines, not as dogma, for they follow the Light itself, without regard to their own rules or personal concepts. Or at least, they do so in theory."
"There are a great many risks in that approach, Master."
"There is risk in everything, Apprentice."
"You're going to tell me, Master," said the young man with a grin, "That I have to assess whether or not the risk is worth taking."
"You know me very well."
They sat in silence for a moment. The young man had a mature, masculine face and light brown hair slightly inclined to red. It was cropped short on the sides and back; the hair on top was brushed forward in the style of all Jedi Apprentices. He was twenty-four years old, in the eighth year of his apprenticeship, and was expecting to be Knighted in perhaps three or four years time, and his name was Obi-Wan Kenobi.
"Master, I do have another concern," he said.
"Oh?"
"I know you've been in contact with Count Dooku," said Obi-Wan. "And . . . my concern may be entirely unfounded, but I know he moved to the Independents some time before he left the Order. I . . . well, this is entirely unworthy of a Jedi, but I'm worried of what the Council might think of you."
"Worry not what the Council thinks of me. It is my concern, and not yours."
"I'm worried that they might conflate your personal affection for him into ideological sympathies."
"It's the mistake of many to conflate personal loyalty with unhealthy attachment."
"And if you are attached?"
"Then in my case, the attachment would best be closed. For others, perhaps, it should be accommodated for."
And so here begins the tale that ignited the stars.
—-
Naboo was a planet of outstanding natural beauty. Its surface was 89% water; and its landmasses consisted of small islands in the perfect blue and two continents full of mountains and high plateaus that rode high above the clouds.
It was, by all accounts, cut off from most of the Galaxy. It had only a very small population; 7 million humans, perhaps, and its contribution to the Galactic economy was less than minuscule. It exported Shasza fruit and products thereof; art; ecological engines and technology, stone, timber, and water, and that was all.
Industry on Naboo was tiny. Most people lived in mountain villages or coastal settlements, largely self-sufficient, but with good enough technology to avoid desperate poverty. There were quarrymen and loggers; engineers and craftsmen; Shasza plantations and processors, but none of it was done by factory, and market prices on Naboo itself were fixed by settlement - locally - and kept that way for a period of six years.
There were only six human settlements that held more than one million people; Theed, the capital; Arnval; Tattan, where the spaceport was located; Keren; Tajahanai; and Ertaévid, the planet's original capital.
And there were the Jungians. But the humans of Naboo did not generally mention the Jungians, except for when they did.
In other words, the planet was Sleepiness and Idyllicism personified.
Which was why the Royal Council had been so surprised, seven years previously, to receive a proposal from the Trade Federation. In an effort to increase exports, the Federation had, in a deal brokered by Hego Damask the Muun and Naboo's Galactic Senator, offered to enter into partnership with the government to reform and improve Naboo infrastructure, in turn for a share of the export profits.
It was this deal which was giving King Stantabes a Very Big Headache, at the very time he didn't want one.
Naboo was ruled by what they called the Three-Headed Cogency. There was the Mother Queen, serving for up to two terms of seven years, representing wisdom, tradition, and experience. There was the Commonman King - Stantabes - to represent the will and interest of the people, serving for up to three five-year-long terms. And then there was the Daughter Queen, a young girl who served from the age of thirteen to seventeen, to represent innocence, vitality, and the future. All three monarchs were elected.
Right now, the Mother Queen was in badly failing health and was going into hospital. More specifically, she was going to a specialist in Keren for an operation and a long convalescence, which was the reason that Stantabes really didn't need a headache.
The headache itself was the Trade Federation. They were, technically, running the Naboo infrastructure, and he couldn't deny it had brought a lot of jobs, benefits, and conveniences to his planet. But there were more and more reports of abuses of both practical and official power by Federation officials. The problem was compounded by the Federation being largely responsible for public security, and since continued Jedi presence had ceased just over one hundred years ago, and none of the Jedi sects they had contacted since had the resources for a long-term commitment such as that.
And as if that wasn't enough, the Trade Federation - right up to its Viceroy - was clamouring for centralised industry of machines, droid factories, factories for Shasta fruit, factories to mass-produce art, grand plantations, intensive quarrying, sea drilling . . .
It would turn the people of Naboo into downtrodden wage slaves. Stantabes, unlike most Naboo, had travelled. He hadn't always liked what he'd seen.
But not even he could have guessed what was coming next.
"The Trade Federation are putting in an important call right now, Your Majesty," one of his aides told him. "They ask that you and both Queens be present."
"They'll have to do without Verana," said Stantabes, donning his ceremonial del. His aide helped him tighten up the sash, handed him his staff of office, and they headed to the Hall of the Ministry to receive the call.
Queen Amidala was already seated and dressed in her rich ceremonial robe, her face painted - or maybe it was one of her handmaidens. The girls were, at any rate, standing unobtrusively in the background. It would have been nice if someone had been able to impersonate Queen Verana too, but it was a bit difficult to impersonate a woman so immensely fat and hover-chair bound. They'd have to admit that she was in hospital, in no condition to be patched through on calls, and do without her.
At the communications table, the figure of a Neimoidan was patched in. Stantabes was surprised to see that it was Viceroy Gunray himself, and no lower-ranking ambassador or representative.
"Your Majesties. It is a pleasure to see you; but should there not be a third?"
"My royal mother," said Amidala, "Is currently indisposed. My royal brother and I greet you in her stead."
"Ah," said Gunray, bowing slightly, "I see. My hopes that she will be recovered shortly." He turned to someone outside of the pickup zone.
"Bring up the image of the spaceport," he said.
"Viceroy," said Stantabes, "If you would kindly explain your reasons for this call?"
"All in good time, Your Majesty," said Gunray. The view above the Com Table shifted to a 3-D satellite image of Tattan Spaceport; Stantabes recognised the tall Traffic Control and Communication Spires, rising high above the other buildings.
"Your Majesties," the voice of Gunray came over the image, "Until now, we have been asking for increased control of the Naboo Infrastructure and permission for extensive rebuilding and full control of Naboo Security, and rationalisation of industry of production. We have asked for factories to be built in which Shasza fruit can be grown and processed at a higher rate, we have asked for more commercial crafts to be produced, and we have asked for you to drop your accusations of abuses against us. Since you have not granted these, we ask for all of these concessions now, as well as concessions of land and airspace. Commander, commence targeting."
There was a heartbeat's pause, and then suddenly bombs and torpedoes began raining down on Tattan Spaceport. The Spires were the first to go, but the soundless explosions and falling debris were clear. It looked as though the city was blowing up and imploding in on itself. Warships came into view, and began shooting torpedoes and laser bolts into the city, into the streets.
Stantabes slammed his hands down on the Com Table to stop himself from collapsing; Amidala's stoic mouth hung open in shock. Sio Bibble, Minister of Public Services, clamped his hands to his mouth; Tiré Oropine, Minister of Environment, screamed aloud and fell to the floor.
"If you do not grant an unconditional surrender of full sovereignty to the Trade Federation in the space of six hours," said Gunray, flicking back to his image, "Then Theed and Eirtaévid will suffer the same fate."
He said that as though he was explaining to someone that they had to sign an extra form. Nothing in his pose or voice gave away that he was even slightly disturbed by the huge loss of life that he had just ordered.
"All of your Communication Amplifier towers have been shot down," he continued, "And your interstellar communications jammed. Your surrender will be transmitted via the Federation Complex near Theed."
The image shut down. There was complete silence in the Hall of Ministry, except for Oropine's quiet sobbing.
"Bring a communications technician here," said Stantabes sharply. Everybody jumped, but one of Amidala's handmaidens ran off to fetch one.
"He may have cut off our links to the Galaxy, and perhaps even in Naboo," said Stantabes. Internal communications was a vital part of Infrastructure after all.
"But he cannot cut off our spirit, so long as we disallow him to do so. Ministers Bibble and Oman, take the Palace's team of medics and head to Tattan with all speed to assist with relief efforts there. Use my ship to get there. When the technician arrives, I shall attempt to get an independent communications network up and running; in the meantime, we should evacuate Theed. Minister Agrila, ensure that as soon as contact can be made, by whatever means, that Eirtaévid is evacuated, and then proceed to all other metropolises and cities."
There was a number of frantic 'Yes, Your Majesties' as people scurried off to do his bidding. Stantabes turned to Amidala.
"Royal sister," he said, using the formal message of address, "What say you to their demands?"
"If we deny them," she said, "They will not stop until we accept them. And when we accept them, the whole planet will be enslaved to the Trade Federation's whims and interests. They will build factories and shepherd men and women into them to be no more than cogs in a machine. They will reproduce our sacred arts and auction them off to the highest bidder, make another copy, and do the same. They will build in our mountains and by our lakes, and care not for the damage they do our systems and our planet."
The Daughter Queen was supposed to represent innocence, Stantabes thought, but then, fourteen-year-old Amidala was wise beyond her years.
"I think it wise," he said, "To ask for help. We cannot hope to fight the Trade Federation ourselves."
"What would you propose, royal brother?"
"I would propose," said Stantabes, "That you be the one to fetch help. You have less experience of administration, royal sister, but you could make us a valuable ambassador in these troubled times. Meanwhile, our royal mother and I would stay and bring our system through this dark time."
"Should we not sue for peace, royal brother?" asked Amidala.
"We should," he said, with a smile, "But asking for peace is not the same as surrender, sister mine. Peace is when both sides win; in a surrender, only one side can do so."
"Would not the Senate see our surrender as a move under duress, and therefore illegitimate, and the occupation of our planet with it?" she asked.
"Perhaps in a perfect galaxy, but not in ours. The Senate is stretched over the galaxy, sister mine, and would not help us if we let the Trade Federation in. To surrender, in their eyes, would be to legitimise, and they will not send help if the occupation is seen as such. So no, we will not surrender. Our royal mother and I will resist, and you, royal sister, will bring help from above. If you are not objectionable?"
Queen Amidala looked pensive.
"Have we no other options?" she asked at last.
"We could surrender. But then all would be on the Trade Federation's terms. Or we could resist alone, but in that case we would be brutalised indeed, and likely not successful. We could ask the Jedi for help, and I believe that they would be less corrupt than the Senate. Or we could ask the Gungans, but I do not think they would be likely to help us."
"We shall go to the Jedi, then," said Amidala. She turned to Stantabes with a little curiosity showing through her mask.
"What makes you think the Senate so corrupt? Or if it is, that Chancellor Valorum would not be able to help? He is of this planet."
"I have served in that Senate, royal sister, and I was never so happy as the day I gave up office there."
Amidala turned her gaze ahead, sad and stoic.
"It is settled, then," she said. "We will not surrender immediately, and resist as long as we can, but we may acquit for expediency's sake. Meantime, I shall find us an ally in the Jedi, and also enlist the help of our Senator in the Senate for good measure."