Chapter Thirty-Seven: Typhoon
There was something unsettling about walking the halls of the Senate building so late into the evening, Bail thought. The absence of people gave the place a certain cavernous nature—even the thoughts inside one's head seemed to echo down the corridors. To go from literally thousands of beings chatting in the halls to utter silence was almost oppressive, as if the lack of noise had a sonic presence all its own.
As he strode purposefully across the polished slate floors, the Chancellor passed only the occasional custodial droid, or the typical first-year staffer who felt they had to work longer hours than their boss just to prove a point. Bail chuckled underneath his breath. He had been that staffer once. At the time, he had assumed that rising in the political ranks would mean he spent less time working. How wrong I was, he thought, stifling a yawn. He hoped Mon Mothma had some caf brewing in her office.
Bail slowed as he continued down the gently curving hallway, stopping at the door engraved "Chandrila." Beneath the world's name, a removable plate bore the name "Mon Mothma." They may as well make the nameplate permanent, he mused. Unlike me, she isn't going anywhere.
As the automatic door slid aside, he crossed the threshold into the office suite. Senators' offices were, by nature, designed to be modular and customizable. Mon Mothma had chosen flooring and walls of polished white to echo the architecture of her homeworld. Each room was separated with striking, angular panels of transparisteel. Most of the panels had been dimmed to the point of opacity, but a few were still transparent, and Bail could see straight through to the senator's office. She sat at her desk, typing diligently at a computer terminal and sipping from a steaming mug.
Mon Mothma's eyes only briefly diverted from her work when Bail entered the office suite; she glanced up and waved the Chancellor over before returning her attention to the computer. Bail strolled through a set of double doors, nodding his head to greet her as he entered her office proper.
"You know, sometimes I miss my old office. It was cozier," he said, taking a seat opposite his partner in crime. I suppose I should consider it alarming that I'm just throwing that phrase around.
"Careful what you wish for, Chancellor," was her reply. "You may end up back in it if we don't play this right."
"About that," Bail mumbled. It was enough to get Mon to stop typing and look up at him. "I called Breha. The people of Alderaan haven't taken too kindly to my . . . rash behavior. There's a coalition building that wants to hold a recall election."
If this news fazed her, she didn't show it. Maybe my hijinks finally broke her. "I see."
"To top it all off," Bail continued, "My chief of staff just quit. He'd been offworld on personal leave, and I'd been blocking incoming messages for most of the day, but his resignation letter finally got through. 'Morally outraged' at my behavior, he said." A sigh. "So, add that to the list of problems we have to deal with."
Mon rose to her feet. "This is going to sound a bit counterintuitive, Bail. What if we didn't deal with them?"
"How does that help us?"
"The Constitution forbids a planet recalling the Chancellor. You'd have to be demoted back to senator for the recall election to even work. If the vote of no confidence fails, this problem goes away on its own.
"As for your chief of staff. . . replace him in two weeks. Nobody is going to join what looks like a sinking ship, and all you'll be doing before the no confidence session is holding meetings with the undecided members of congress. A droid can schedule meetings."
Bail took a deep breath. "I suppose you're right. Of course, if I do lose the vote of no confidence, that recall election back home will end me. I won't have spent any time on Alderaan campaigning. My career will be—"
"Priority message incoming," interrupted a voice from his commlink. He recognized it as the after-hours switchboard droid stationed in his office.
"Blasted thing. I'm so sorry, Mon, I thought I had this on mute."
She shook her head. "You should take it. Can't afford to be ducking calls if we want to sway votes our way."
With a nod, Bail removed the commlink from his pocket and spoke into it. "Priority message from whom?"
"The message was transmitted from an unknown civilian ship, but it is keyed with General Obi-Wan Kenobi's code signature."
His eyes widened, and he met Mon Mothma's gaze. "Is it a live communication?"
"No, sir. Merely a prerecorded message packet. Audio only."
Bail hastily set the commlink on the desk between the two of them. "Very well, send it through."
"Bail! BAIL!" Right off the bat, it didn't sound good—Bail had heard many different emotions in Obi-Wan's voice, but never raw panic.
"If you're listening, send ships to Had Abbadon NOW. It's worse than we thought. They're not after healing fluid. They found a way to imprint memories into clones. If they capture the planet, they could train troops in an instant. They're nearly through the surface. We don't have long. Please hurry."
All Bail could think was an inane And here I thought it was impossible for things to get any worse.
He held back the urge to curse in front of his colleague. Joy at the news of Obi-Wan's survival clashed intensely with horror at the thought of what the Confederacy was about to achieve. Millions of troops, raised to pull the trigger from birth. Trained to tear ships to pieces with a single lightspeed jump.
Absentmindedly, the Chancellor reached toward his commlink to replay the message.
"Bail." The measured voice of Mon Mothma snapped him out of his trance. Looking up, he saw her face, pale and drawn but resolute. She shook her head. "Listening to it again won't change what it says."
"I know," Bail said, sighing in defeat. He slouched in his chair. "We can't call the Defense Committee together until tomorrow. If I tried to scrape together an emergency meeting now, half of them wouldn't show up."
"I've a feeling many won't show up even if you wait until morning," Mon added with a frown. "It'd be an easy way for them to prevent you from getting anything done. Skip the meetings so we haven't got a quorum."
Bail nodded. "So I'm on my own."
"It would seem so."
Growling, he squeezed his hands together until his knuckles began to ache. "I can't just sit here and do nothing. I know you said not to touch Had Abbadon, but the situation has changed." He snatched his commlink off the desk, then paused and glanced at her. "Aren't you going to try and stop me? Talk me out of it?"
Raising an eyebrow: "Talk you out of what, precisely?"
Bail stopped to consider. It was a fair question. He knew he needed to do something. He just didn't know what. "I . . . don't know. Obi-Wan said to send ships."
"Which you can't do without the Defense Committee," Mon Mothma mumbled. To Bail's surprise, it seemed almost as if she were disappointed by this fact.
Bail looked up from his intertwined fingers. "Not necessarily. Sure, one of the Star Destroyers up in orbit won't listen to me. The Heroes of Alderaan, though. . ."
"Typhoon Division?" asked Mon Mothma. "If anyone were to break the rules to go after General Kenobi, it would be his own people."
He found himself fighting to suppress a grin. "Don't tell me you're signing off on this."
"Absolutely not." The senator stood and rounded her desk, white robe flowing behind her. "It's the best option, given the circumstances, but I can't be seen supporting it. Bail, I—" she hesitated for a moment, then stared down at the pristine marble floor of her office. "I wouldn't be able to help you any longer. I would have to vote against you in the special session. And what support you do have in the Senate will likely evaporate overnight. This will end your career."
"I know." Bail gripped his commlink between thumb and forefinger, weighing the situation.
Obi-Wan, he thought to himself, the day being your friend means being a lesser Chancellor is the day I leave the Senate. It appears that day has come. He raised the commlink in a mock-toast, then pressed the call button.
"Droid, connect me to Typhoon Division. Have the commander take the call somewhere private. His office, or his quarters. Somewhere nobody else will hear him."
"Of course, sir."
Rising to his feet: "If you want me to do this somewhere else, I understand."
Mon Mothma nodded. "That would be best, I think." She motioned toward her office doors and followed behind Bail as he moved toward the exit. "I wish you the best, Chancellor Organa. It's been a pleasure working with you."
"Thank you, Senator," Bail said as he stepped into the corridor. "For everything."
A quartet of fighters streaked past the viewport as Commander Cody stood and gazed—half his attention on the training exercises happening outside the window, the other half drawn to the spiraling clouds of Kashyyyk's atmosphere.
He raised a mug of caf to his lips and inhaled, then suppressed a wince. Caf: instant, One serving, Revision-1152 was printed on the disposable, single-use mug. Miss the old formula, Cody thought. This one's gritty. Like someone poured goddamn sand in it.
For better or for worse, Typhoon Division was often selected to test the Republic Defense Forces latest gear. Weapons, vehicles, and even food. And as much as the caf sucked, it wouldn't do to complain in front of the officers. Cody tilted the mug back and dutifully suffered through another dredge of the grainy drink. At least it makes the morning training exercises easier.
He lowered the synthetic cup to his side, letting it dangle between thumb and forefinger, and watched as another set of four fighters soared past the bridge window—dangerously close, Cody noted to himself. On days like these, he couldn't decide whether he missed his time as a fighter jockey. There was a certain thrill to it, but . . .
Another flight of four buzzed the bridge, interrupting his reverie. After their formation roared by, Cody turned on a heel and strolled to the rear of the bridge, approaching the officer at the communication hub.
"Chief Reyes?"
"Yes, Commander?" The young officer spun to face Cody and snapped to attention.
"Pass a message along to Sawshark Leader, would you? Three Flight's grouping looked a little sloppy; they should tighten it up on the next pass."
"Aye aye," came the reply as the officer turned her focus back to the station and pecked out the message on her terminal. The commander remained behind her, waiting. "Flight Lieutenant Janzen invites you to 'hop in a Headhunter and try to do it yourself,'" Reyes said, reading the reply as it appeared on her viewscreen. After a brief pause, she hastily added: "Sir."
Cody let a short breath escape his nose. "Thank you, Chief. That will be all." He turned and moved away from the communication hub, intending to return to his place at the center of the bridge.
He had only taken a step when Chief Reyes spoke up: "Um, Commander? There's an incoming call for you."
Cody paused and glanced back at Reyes. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask from whom? In response, the Operations Chief simply stepped away from her terminal and gestured towards it.
Cody realized he must have allowed a reaction to cross his face when Reyes spoke up. "This is bad, isn't it, sir?"
"Send it to my office," he ordered.
The commander strode confidently away from the bridge, but picked up his pace as he rounded a corner and moved out of view of his crew. Chief Reyes was probably right. Considering the time of day at the galactic capital, a call like this probably didn't bring good news.
As the door to Commander Cody's office slid aside, his eyes swept across the room. Nothing out of place. Good. Cody lifted his disposable caf mug to his mouth and downed the sludge that had settled at the bottom. Then, without looking, he flung the empty cup toward the trash receptacle in the corner; a gentle thump confirmed he'd been on target.
Cody moved to stand behind his desk, pressed a finger against the pulsing green button on its surface, and then snapped into a salute. A life-size hologram of Bail Organa wavered into existence in the center of the office. Cody held his salute as he spoke: "Chancellor."
"Commander Cody," Organa replied. "As you were. This . . . isn't exactly an official call."
The commander allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. "What can I do for you, sir?"
"You're alone?"
"Of course, sir."
"I find myself in an awkward position, Commander. I need your help. General Kenobi needs your help."
Cody didn't hesitate. "If you send the coordinates, we can be on our way in twenty minutes—"
"Wait." The Chancellor's hologram looked about as beaten down and weary as a flickering image could. "In the interest of full disclosure . . . going after Obi-Wan would be an unauthorized action. The Defense Committee hasn't voted on this. I don't have approval to ask you." After a moment of silence, Chancellor Organa continued. "I will take full responsibility. You and your crew will not be punished. But you have a right to know before I go any further."
"What does he need?" Cody asked.
"The mission he left for earlier this week has not gone as planned. The Galactic Confederacy is less than a day away from capturing a planet that will give them a crucial advantage over the Republic. They have to be stopped. Obi-Wan said to send ships. I'm sending you. Provided you're willing, of course."
Cody stood still, staring at the hologram of Chancellor Organa. He took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "Absolutely. Send us the coordinates and any relevant intel."
"Coordinates are on the way. Unfortunately, there really isn't any intel to speak of. Obi-Wan didn't have time to send a breakdown of their fleet. I don't know what you'll be up against. I'm sorry."
"We'll make it work, sir. It's what we do."
As Cody marched back onto the bridge of the Coelacanth, a rumble of hushed conversation ceased. All eyes turned to the commanding officer.
"As some of you have no doubt heard," Cody began, shooting a knowing look at Chief Reyes as the woman sank into her station chair, "I just received a call from Chancellor Organa. We have a new assignment." He began taking measured steps towards the front of the bridge. As he moved, he gestured to an officer beneath him in the bridge pit. "Tactical, recall the fighters, and order the frigates to form up. Navigation, pull up the latest set of coordinates we received and plot a course." Cody reached the front of the bridge, turning on a heel to face away from the window. "And Comms?"
Chief Reyes sat up straight in her seat. "Sir?"
"Connect me to the whole division. I've got a few words for everyone."
Reyes spun in her chair, pressed a handful of buttons, then turned to look back at Cody and gave him a nod.
The commander turned to look back outside the bridge viewport. He watched as two squadrons of starfighters buzzed toward the underbelly of the Victory-class Star Destroyer. The engines of three Consular-class frigates flared up as the support vessels moved to surround the lead ship of Typhoon Division. A marble of green slid out of view as the fleet rotated away from Kashyyyk's orbit.
"This is Commander Cody." He paused. He was never very good at these speeches. The inspirational rallying was best left to Obi-Wan. But if the general wasn't here to make the speech, making a speech about the general was the next best thing.
"To those of us in Typhoon Division, General Kenobi is more than just the man in charge. He's a mentor. He's a source of inspiration. He's a friend. I don't doubt for a second that if any one of us were in need of help, the general would do everything he could to help us. But today, it's time for us to help the general.
"When he left the fleet earlier this week, nobody knew why. I can now tell you he was on a secret mission to save a planet from being captured by the Confederacy. That mission has failed, and General Kenobi has called for aid. We are that aid. We will save the general, and we will save the planet, but there are other consequences. We will likely start a war.
"I won't lie to you: this is not an authorized mission. The Chancellor sent the request personally, and without anyone's approval. If this makes you uncomfortable, and you would rather not participate, you'll be free to depart the fleet before the final leg of our hyperspace jump. I will not hold it against you, and neither will Obi-Wan.
"He's counting on us. Though they don't know it, the Republic is counting on us. Let's show those tank-bred bastards what the soldiers of Alderaan are capable of. Let's save Obi-Wan Kenobi. God knows he's saved us more than once."
Cody paused and glanced behind him at the navigation station. "We're all set, sir," the officer stationed there said with a nod. Cody's attention returned to the window.
"Typhoon Division: prepare to jump into hyperspace on my mark."
REPUBLIC ARCHIVES: REPUBLIC DEFENSE FORCE
For much of the Republic's early history, the galaxy-spanning government kept no unified military force. The task of defense fell to individual planets and systems. This was, as the representatives of smaller worlds and colonies often pointed out, unfairly balanced in favor of larger and wealthier worlds. This changed with the passage of the Unified Defense Initiative Act. The Defense Initiative eventually became known as the Defense Force, and the modern Republic military was born.
Every Republic world contributes proportionally to a shared pool of soldiers, ships, and munitions. For example, the Star Destroyer Coelacanth, though purchased by the Alderaanian Royal Navy, is maintained and operated by the Republic Defense Force. The Senate Defense Committee directs the RDF, though most day-to-day decisions are made by high-ranking members at RDF headquarters, leaving the Defense Committee members time to do other work in the Senate. Soldiers do not enlist directly with the RDF, but rather with their home planet. RDF headquarters are located on Coruscant, and staffed by Defense Force members from all across the galaxy.
Republic member worlds are only required to provide armaments and troops to the Defense Force until a galactic quota has been met. Once the quota has been filled, further participation by any planet is entirely voluntary. However, general consensus is that this quota is not enough of a military force to truly defend the Republic in a full-scale war.