Reaching an accord
"Chancellor, would it even be possible for the two civilisations to co-exist? They place themselves above all else and their entire culture is based on warfare! Surely there is no room is this Republic for a species that lives like that." A long sigh pulled itself from Jarvas. He had been staring at the ceiling for hours, hearing the same argument going round the table, again and again. "What would you suggest instead?"
"A strike of course," declared the Neimoidian senator, to several nods from around the table. "We attack quickly and without mercy. Blow the Turians back to whatever hole they have hid in for all these years."
"Has becoming a senator made your brain escape your skull?" Jarvas said, pointing his furious gaze at the senator. "They are a fully-fledged army, with enough resources to blow us apart and start their own damn Republic. Are you saying you want that to happen?" Now all eyes were on him, some angry, some curious. But one pair of eyes was murderous. "You are mistaken, Chancellor," he said, every word flaring with the bitter edges of anger. "I would never see this Republic fall by Turian hands! I would sooner die!" That's good, Jarvas thought to himself, but you made no mention of it falling to Separatist hands, did you? You slimy piece of traitorous shit! You don't care if we fall to your friends. You will not make me watch our new Republic descend into the horrors of the past. Especially not so you and your Separatist allies can pick our bones when it's over. No, I will not let you or anyone else manipulate us again! Jarvas shoulders had begun to shake, and his hands gripped the table so tight that he could feel every scar and dent in its ancient wooden surface, all testaments to the hard decisions that people like him had been making for thousands of years; people who would be remembered long after the Republic had died, whose footsteps he had trodden in every day as he marvelled at what they had achieved. Now he had to show them that he was worthy of continuing their memory.
Several of the senators had begun whispering amongst each other, whispering and glancing between the Neimoidian and the Chancellor. The Neimoidian, a representative for Cato Neimoidia called Pugill, was also looking slightly concerned. He had noticed the twitches, and the way the heavy hands of the Chancellor dug into the wood frightened him a little. The way they worked tirelessly at the wood reminded him of a beetle digging up a grub. But the hands dug no more. They had come to rest in a peaceful clasp in front of the Chancellor, who was, Pugill noted, no longer eyeing him with disgust. It was a strange thing to notice, but Pugill was still trying to shake off the image of the grub squealing in its hollow as it was plucked from safety by the ravenous beetle. A strange idea, he thought, shivering in his clothes. The way it twists and squeals as it is wrenched from its home, every piece of it screaming without a mouth to shout, as it's pulled through the freezing air, only to become blissfully warm as its innards spill out of it. I wonder what it tastes like.
"What, what tastes like, Pugill?"
"It does not matter," he mumbled, "Merely a thought." Pugill looked up the table, not seeing the small scratches on his hand. "What do you have to say, Chancellor?"
"I see no reason to say anything else, Pugill." Jarvas stood up, signalling to the others to do so as well. The Neimodian, who had also begun to stand, was suddenly nervous; his eyes darted around the table, finally resting on the Chancellor, who did not seem to see him at all. "I was not aware the meeting was over," he said, "Perhaps we should continue?" The senator began to sit down, as did some of the others, though they shared a lot of confused looks between them.
"Well I see no reason to continue when we are in agreement." Pugill heard the words, but they did not register in him. All at once he was feeling a lot like the grub.
"What do you mean? We haven't agreed anything." He said, anger once again tracing searing outlines around his words only this time they were being dulled with fear. Jarvas did not notice the angry tones of the senator; instead he smiled kindly at him, though no kindness emerged from his eyes, they were as hungry and as empty as a black hole. "Well you just said that you would never let the Republic fall to Turian hands," he said, lovingly toying with every word. "And as I said: if we don't accept the treaty, then they will send in their armies to destroy us." Pugill could not see a connection. The confusion must have shown on his face, but Jarvas ignored it and pressed on. "I estimate we will be able to hold them off for a week before they break through our defences and begin attacking Coruscant. And by that time, Pugill, I fear that our 'fall' would be all but a certainty." If Pugill had been angry before it was nothing compared to how he felt now. "You're saying," he said, picking his words carefully before laying them down, "that if I'm to stop the Republic from falling to the Turians. Then I must agree to accept the treaty?" Pugill said, sweat running down his back and his hands trembling. "It's not like we have a choice is it?" Jarvas said, smiling down at Pugill, "if we don't accept, then the Turians will destroy us and the Separatists will win. And we can't let the Separatists win, can we?" Jarvas was still smiling as he watched the squirming senator. If he goes for his blaster, he thought, this will be so much easier. But Pugill did not reach for his blaster. He stood up, heaving himself off the chair, and bowed to the Chancellor. "It seems that we have no choice but to accept the treaty." Pugill pushed himself away from the table and strode out the door, followed by his entourage of sycophants, who would tell him tonight, as he squirmed around inside them, that he had made history today. But all the concubines in the universe could not dislodge the image of the grub popping inside the beetles mouth.