— INTRODUCTION —
– AT WAR'S END –
The war goes ill for the Confederacy.
Once, their droid armadas could freely strike at key Republic assets, forcing the Republic on the defensive indefinitely while their factories and shipyards produced more forces for the Seperatist war machine. That was the first year of the war. The second and third have proven far more difficult.
Now Loyalist production has caught up to—and even surpassed—their strength. The Republic finally has the numbers to both defend their key systems and strike at the Confederate's own. The CIS fights a losing war on all six of its fronts.
Though the Shadowfeed and other vast propaganda networks claim otherwise, it remains true. According to them, the Republic is overextended. They are stretched through the Outer Rim—at the end of their supply lines, lured in and pinned at countless sieges with no end in sight. Very soon, the networks say, another lighting strike will be launched. Duro might be reconquered, or the mighty shipyards of Kuat seized. There might even be another attempt on Coruscant itself.
All but the most foolish of listeners recognizes these promises as the lies they are. Gone are the early days of the war when Confederate fleets could raid the core with impunity. Now, few can leave spacedock without being on the receiving end of planet-shattering turbolaser barrages. Though the Shadowfeed networks deny it, from the icy streets of Mygeeto to the jungles of Felucia and the windswept sinkholes of Utapau, it is only a matter of time. More and more star systems fall daily across the galaxy. The war is lost.
In the end, it is not one decisive battle that will spell doom for the Seperatist Movement, though there have been many. It is simple, inevitable mathematics.
When it comes to infantry units, the Confederacy can outproduce the Republic almost indefinitely. Battle droids are cheap by design—that's their primary selling point, after all—and while it would take years for any single clone battalion to be replaced, by the time Confederate High Command is even aware they've lost one, ten more have likely replaced it.
No, the issue for the CIS is spacecraft production. With few exceptions, vast orbital facilities are required for the construction of capital ships. For all the cunning and resourcefulness of the assorted military and industrial leaders of the Confederacy, none have yet found a way to create fleets without a shipyard, or construct shipyards large enough to fashion capital ships without a planet to build them around.
The Confederacy is losing more and more of these precious shipbuilding worlds, and all the while the Republic increases production. Ever greater and larger Star Destroyers depart the core for Confederate strongholds.
Pammant is destroyed. Minntooine has fallen. Sluis Van is under siege, and widespread famine has brought ship construction to a halt. The few worlds still able to produce warships can only throw them into the Republic's meat grinder in a desperate and futile attempt to buy more time before they, too, have lost any ability to defend themselves.
The CIS has faced dire situations before. Not quite as hopeless as this, but grim nonetheless. In those times, Count Dooku would come forth with wise words to calm the fears of the citizenry. He would show there was no need to panic. Any obstacle could be overcome, with the right methods. And they believed him.
Dooku of Serenno was one of the most respected beings in the galaxy. Jedi, leader of the Seperatist movement for almost a decade, and staunch opponent of the corruption rampant in the senate. He was wise, powerful, and a masterful politician. He had been the beating heart of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. He was the proof they could still win—no matter the odds.
Was—because there would be no calming words this time.
Had been—because Dooku was dead. He perished over Coruscant. Slaughtered in the closing hours of the battle—by one of his former Jedi colleagues, no less.
Without him, the CIS is leaderless, rudderless and adrift.
Many believe his death marks the end of the Confederacy as a legitimate political movement. Who could replace him? Who could even try?
The Leadership Council have disappeared into hiding, unheard from since before the strike at Coruscant. The Parliament was already weak, and is now headless, staring down the very real possibility of extended military dictatorship within General Grievous' durasteel grip—if they survive long enough to get a choice at all.
But they ask themselves, what alternative is there? Legally, Grievous has inherited Dooku's position as Head of State. The bio-droid terror of the Separatists united the disparate military units the CIS inherited at the outset of the war into a fighting force more effective than the Republic's. From the Sector Defense Fleets to the Planetary Militias to the wide array of droid armies; Trade Federation, Techno Union and Commerce Guild alike, all have their place in a united military with a common cause.
Grievous is well suited to combat, logistics and arenas of blood. Politics, though, is an arena of an entirely different sort. He is an outstanding commander and warrior, but far from the type of being well-suited to be a politician.
The Parliament has little say in the matter. Their choice is to risk Grievous or face oblivion, and they know it.
And so, as the Republic's fine-tuned military-industrial complex endlessly chews through droid armadas, citizens of the infant Confederacy wait for the blow that will finally end three long years of struggle for survival. Whether Grievous is at last hunted down by the Jedi, Parliament manages to force a surrender through, or the megacorporation backers pull out before the death spasms of the Separatist war machine drag them down into the abyss with it, there is no real difference. Dooku's dream is dead, and the Republic killed it.
Citizens of the Republic wait as well, though not with resignation. In the Republic, there is eager anticipation. The war looks to be progressing favorably for them, and an end to the bloody conflict is at last in sight.
The Republic has suffered for decades, slowly declining and rotting away under the weight of its own bureaucracy. It had gotten to the point where they couldn't even respond to outright invasion of their member worlds without months of debate and committees. In a word, unacceptable. What use are debates and committees when people are dying?
The situation was only getting worse. The galaxy was rife with discontent, and there were whispers of more. Secession.
Until very recently, the idea that anyone would want to leave the Republic was laughable. The Republic is civilization. What bout of madness could compel you to leave that beacon of light, no matter how flawed it may become? Is it not better to work with the system and improve it, rather than cast it aside in favor of anarchy?
As it turns out, there are far too many beings willing to make that choice for any friend of the Republic to sleep well at night. What does it mean when system after system—sector after sector—makes that very decision? When they stand up and say, "No, this is broken beyond repair."
Deep down, some citizens of the ailing Republic even agreed, though they would never admit it.
For many, it is one man who maintains their faith in the Republic. Only one who seems to stand above the petty bickering of the senate and makes the hard decisions when no-one else will.
Thirteen standard years ago when Palpatine was elected Chancellor, he inherited the mess Valorum left for him after the Naboo crisis. Throughout his tenure he has maintained a firm hand on the ship of state and steadied the course. Now, Palpatine has led a broken and corrupt system with a brand-new, untested military through a baptism of fire, and is emerging from the other side with the Republic mostly intact. Perhaps even improved.
Chancellor Palpatine is to the Republic what Dooku was to the Confederacy. He is its icon, the standard-bearer for civilization itself. With government in one hand and sword in the other, he has turned back the tide of darkness, and the Republic is strong again. While the Separatist Alliance enters its death throes, the Republic has at last emerged from the shadow of greed and corruption, its power swiftly ascending far beyond anything the citizens could have dreamed of before in their lifetimes. They are reclaiming their place in the sun. Peace and stability will reign once more throughout the galaxy.
That is the public story.
Those are the tales both sides have been led to believe. It is inaccurate in a number of areas—as public stories often are, to say the least.
For example, both sides are totally unaware that every shot fired, every battle, the whole war itself—
Was all just a sham. Nothing but an elaborate stage play designed to bring the entire galaxy under the total control of one particular individual. Pieces move into place, characters are introduced and killed off. In a galaxy of uncounted trillions, one man authors the fate of all.
The performance nears its end now, and every actor has played their part flawlessly.
And yet—
It is so simple for a plot of such immense complexity to be derailed. All it takes is a single oversight. No one being can possibly account for every outcome. Eventually something, somewhere will veer slightly off course.
The wrong loose thread left uncut could spell disaster—unraveling decades of work. All it takes is a single tug in the right place.
This is the story of a piece of uncut thread, and the tale of a galaxy remade.
A/N
Clean word count: 1,610
Hello, everyone. If you're joining me for the first time, welcome! Fair warning, most of this author's note will be meaningless to you. Feel free to skip to the last two paragraphs. If you've come because you decided to follow me after you liked Sticks and Stones ages ago and suddenly got a notification saying I posted, then welcome back. I suppose it's been quite awhile, hasn't it?
Life happens, but I am very sorry I disappeared with no warning like that. I never truly forgot the story, and still getting nice, supportive reviews trickling in even after leaving the piece abandoned ages ago really does mean the world to me. Thank you.
Now, Sticks and Stones is getting a rewrite. I have the time now, and let's be honest, a lot of stuff in there didn't make sense. Older and hopefully wiser, I aim to tell a story with a similar premise—General Grievous doesn't die on Utapau—but definitely not identical to last time. I'm an ambitious bloke, so let's also clean up some of the pacing and out of character actions while we're at it. There's even something resembling an actual plan this time! Big steps, I know. Part one is mostly planned out, and as I'm writing I'll have plenty of time to consider where to go from there.
At the moment, I'm ambivalent on keeping the old story up or not, but we'll see how I feel about it later.
Regarding an update schedule, I won't make promises I can't keep. Chapter 1 is mostly finished, and should be posted within a couple weeks. After that, my goal is to get a chapter out every month or two. However, you'll be pleased to hear chapters are longer than last time, as I'm currently aiming for 4,000-5,000 words each.
Thank you for reading, everyone. :)