CORUSCANT, 40 YEARS ABE:
Night had come to Coruscant's main square, although it was hard to say whether night and day truly had any meaning on the great city-planet; most of its levels were so cut-off from the sun that they operated by artificial illumination regardless of the time of day, and the disparate species who made their home in its towering buildings and cavernous warrens had as many different rest-cycles as there were stars above its thick, polluted clouds.
Even amidst the bright and blazing lights of nighttime on Coruscant, one section of the city stood-out tonight as especially luminous: the Senate Plaza which housed the buildings of the High Courts, the Library of the Republic, the City Municipal Authorities Building, and of course the great Senate Building itself.
The Senate Building was in many ways the heart of Coruscant, and it looked it: a mixing of architecture and affectations both old, new, and newer. The voluminous structure combined aspects of its Old Republic origins, its austere Imperial revision, and it's comparatively recent New Republic redesign in a semi-cohesive juxtaposition of past and present. Sleek gray corners met soft brown curves met faded old carvings, the latter having been meticulously restored from their period of Imperial defacement. It was a hodgepodge of a building for a planet that held and represented a hodgepodge of people: a galaxy's worth of species and planets all packed together in one wide, crowded chamber. The current Senate - and its environs - was half the size it had been in the opulent days of the Old Republic, and a dozen times larger than it had been during the constrained, tyrannical years of the Empire. It was an almost liminal space, holding vague impressions of the past alongside even vaguer hopes for the future.
Today, the past had come back with terrifying clarity.
The cavernous chamber was emptier than it usually was during a formal session, but there was nothing formal about today's meeting. The senators - like all of Coruscant - had been planning to spend today in celebration and spectacle revolving around the long-awaited signing of a peace treaty with the Imperial Remnant. Those senators who had been chosen to attend the treaty-signing in person had scattered afterwards - those who had survived, at least; many had not - some going to ground and some attempting to flee the planet. Others had congregated here, along with a hefty selection of those senators who had not merited an invitation to the physical ceremony, and a number of aides and clerks and assorted political analysts.
What the Senate could do in the face of the Imperial conquest was hard to say, but this was the room from which they were used to making their most important decisions. The familiar trappings of power were a heady lure in the face of fear-or maybe it was simply habit to run to the Senate when chaos struck. They were supposed to be safe here, after all. They were supposed to be important.
When the Galactic Senate had been reformed in the wake of the New Republic's conquest of Coruscant, it had been structured with an eye towards eliminating the habits of deadlock and inaction that had characterized-and hastened-the last days of the Old Republic. No longer was every world represented individually; rather each sector delegated a single senator to speak for the whole, similar to - but less restrictive than - the days of Imperial control.
How those sectors chose to select their representative varied according to the preferences of their inhabitants. Smaller, more sparsely-populated sectors that sported only one or two habitable worlds might simply have straight majority-rule elections; systems with several populated planets might operate under a lottery system or a cyclical schedule to ensure every voice had a chance to be heard. The Calamari sector, for instance, which included not just the wealthy oceanic world of Dac but also many smaller planets and colonies of Dac's neighboring systems, elected two senators who traded-off representative duties. Daccian law did not stipulate that one senator must be a Mon Calamari and one a Quarren, but that was both the purpose and result of the arrangement. This balance was considered a major contributor to the current harmony between the two oft-opposed species.
Other planets and sectors had their own methods for maintaining equanimity within their borders, and the New Republic interfered in the internecine disputes of its member-states as rarely as possible. Autonomy and self-governance, within the parameters of certain galactically-recognized rights and responsibilities of all sentients, were watchwords of the New Republic's charter and its governance focused more on setting fair-trade and treatment standards and settling commerce, trade, or property disputes between its member-states than it did on dictating its diverse citizens' daily lives.
If the Empire truly intended to seize galactic control once more, that halcyon hands-off approach seemed poised to change.
Now senators and their aides clustered together in anxious, fearful knots of chatter and confusion, discussing the possible impending upheaval. At least half of the chamber's booths stood empty, their usual occupants either in hiding or in flight, or dead on that permacrete platform where peace had been so briefly within reach. The building's usual security detachment-blue-clad guards of an uncountable number of species, all armed with stun-pikes and energy shields-hovered anxiously near walls and doors, eyes darting around in search of threats.
They did not have to search far: several of the round chamber's doors burst open with showers of sparks and smoke in near-unison. Iconic white-armored stormtroopers marched in, spraying blasterfire as they advanced.
The shots were aimed high and untargeted, clearly meant more to terrify and pacify than destroy; nonetheless, a few luckless sentients fell - some with screams and some in chilling silence - beneath the onslaught. The senate guards stalwart enough (or foolish enough) to charge the stormtroopers were quickly slain, the intensity and precision of the blasts converging on them enough to overwhelm or outflank their shields.
The Empire's entrance was accompanied by screams, but soon enough those quieted to whimpers and curses as the implacable stormtroopers mowed-down anyone who stood in the way of their brutally-enforced sense of order. They herded senators and their staff ahead of them, shoving the hapless and helpless citizens into booths and out of their way. The dead were kicked aside or marched over. The stormtroopers advanced with blank-faced inevitability, finally filing into neat lines along the walls. They stood at mute, deadly attention, their blasters charged and hot.
Then Revan walked in.
The Imperial officers and protocol droid trailing the Dark Lord through the main entrance seemed like little more than afterthoughts. More stormtroopers followed Revan, the quintessential Imperial shock-troopers taking up flanking positions along the back wall.
Revan walked up to the central podium from which Mon Mothma and the various other sentients who had served the New Republic as first Provisional Council Heads and later Galactic Chiefs of State had once done so much work to maintain the New Republic's hard-fought peace and freedom. Mon Mothma would never make another speech there or anywhere, and at this grim and bloody moment it seemed unlikely that any being bearing the title Chief of State ever would.
They had an Emperor, now.
That their Emperor was a good fifteen centimeters shorter than the being for whom the podium had last been calibrated hardly seemed to matter; Revan was short, but somehow seemed to fill all available space. The stark lights of the Senate Chamber seemed to dim as two slim, black-gloved hands raised to draw what few eyes had not already turned the Emperor's way.
The noise within the Senate Chamber dropped, as though cut-off by closing blast doors, to a tense susurration of shifting fabric and murmured voices. No one could see it behind that blank mask, but Revan might have smiled then. Something in the way that ancient helmet tilted seemed to imply a smile was happening beneath it-but a smile did not, of course, necessarily convey approval. Or even pleasure.
"Senators and citizens of Coruscant and beyond," Revan said, "my greetings." The Senate Chamber's audio projection system enhanced the volume of that soft, mechanically-filtered voice, sending Revan's words echoing around the wide domed room. Holocam drones flocked as their programming detected a speaker worthy of broadcasting and they hovered at various heights in a scattered semi-circle around the Dark Lord, recording and projecting Revan's speech - and the senators' reactions - to the rest of the city-planet and to the myriad systems and sectors beyond that fell under New Republic governance.
At least for now.
"I am Revan, a name that will be familiar to few of you," Revan continued calmly. "That hardly matters; more familiar will be my new title: that of Emperor. As you have seen," Revan gestured idly towards the ceiling of the chamber and the Star Destroyer-filled skies beyond it, "my forces are no mere Remnant to be easily dismissed - or negotiated with. There will be no peace treaty. There will be no Imperial concessions. We are in control now...and you may begin making your surrenders immediately."
Sounds of protest rose from the gathered senators but they were soft, scattered voices; no one there dared raise an objection loud or defiant enough to draw Revan's merciless gaze their way.
Revan's mask tilted further.
"I expect many of you to resist at first, of course; my Empire is not such an overwhelming military force as to possess the firepower necessary for me to conquer the entire galaxy planet by planet, not in any reasonable time-frame...I admit that readily. But."
Revan chuckled then, a soft sound made all the more terrifying for its gentleness-a gentleness that evaporated on Revan's next words, spoken low and dark and ominous: "I have killed worlds before."
It would have seemed impossible for any room in which so many sentients were congregated to become quieter than what the Senate Chamber was already, but somehow, a deeper silence spread. Even the stormtroopers, scanning the room for signs of trouble, stilled.
"The first one was difficult, true," Revan continued, once again speaking in a light, almost friendly tone. "The second, less so...and by the tenth, I had to go out of my way to find little games to keep it interesting." The chuckle returned, but there was nothing gentle about it now. "You don't want to be the world that catches my interest next. I promise you that."
Revan leaned forward, black gloves suddenly gripping the too-tall sides of Mon Mothma's podium, and turned slowly from side to side to survey the assembled senators. "So resist me if you like. I'm not going to stop anyone here leaving, or making a holo-call to contact their homeworld. I'm not even going to tell those of you watching now from those worlds not to gather your weapons, plot your alliances, prepare to fight me. Do as you will...but know the price that doing so will cost you." The pale plastisteel of the podium creaked beneath Revan's durasteel-tight grip. "Ask yourself if you want to be the next Tund, the next Alderaan?" With every planet named, Revan's voice seemed to get heavier, darker, falling into the silence of the Senate Chamber like rocks into a still pool. "The next Dentaal, the next Varl...the next Malachor V?"
The quiet that followed Revan's words was thick and weighty and it seemed to spread like shadows across the crowded Senate Chamber. Revan let it sit and settle, cold and clammy, in the bones of the listening senators for several moments before finishing coolly:
"I came to Coruscant not because there is anything of value to me on this world. I do not need your skyscrapers, your citadels...even your government secrets locked-away in your central computer core." Revan shrugged. "Oh, make no mistake, I'm going to take them-but I don't need them. I have everything I need already." One gloved hand released the podium, leaving cracks behind in the plastisteel, in order to wave at first the distant stars, then Revan's own chest, then finally the gathered lines of white-clad stormtroopers. "My ships, my power, my loyal forces…" Revan said, sounding cheerful even through the filter of that terrifying mask. "But Coruscant is the heart of your New Republic, so that is where I stand to drive my offer home, like the fatal thrust of a vibroblade: surrender."
Revan straightened, hands lifting from the dented podium to spread wide in a gesture that seemed less like a politician presenting a proposal for consideration and more like the arms of some mythical beast reaching out to grasp and eat the world. "This offer is not a negotiation," Revan continued lightly. "It is not even a declaration of war. This is your one chance to choose, people of the New Republic: you can give yourselves to my rule, to my Empire...or you can die."
The exclamations that followed were shrill and shrieking, but still more subdued than such an outrageous statement merited. The remaining members of the Senate were shaken, both from the loss of so many of their fellows and by the sheer intensity of the presence of the Dark Lord. Only a few of those beings serving in the Senate today had ever met Darth Vader, had ever met Emperor Palapatine; few had even met Admirals Thrawn or Daala face-to-face. They had no way of conceptualizing the power or the darkness in the short, armor-clad figure in front of them...but they could feel it. And they were afraid.
Revan stepped away from the podium, leaving finger-shaped dents behind. Cracks splintered out from the dented hollows, spreading across the sleek surface of the elegant plastisteel like a purella's webs stretched between tree trunks. Spreading like the fear now seeping through the watching senators and spectators both here and throughout the galaxy.
The sleek, bulbous-headed black protocol droid stepped forward to take the Dark Lord's place. "Please use your voting interfaces to declare your intentions," the droid said in its buzzy, mechanical voice. "An affirmative vote will be recorded as an unconditional surrender on behalf of your representational sector. A negative vote will indicate a rejection of Emperor Revan's offer. Should you need to consult with your local sector leaders, please select the 'abstain' option. Should you have further questions about Emperor Revan's offer you may transmit those to me now, although I caution you that per the emperor's orders, I am not empowered to negotiate any additional terms…"
Revan watched, arms folded, in calm silence for several minutes as chaos unfolded across the Senate Chamber. The high-ceilinged room began to fill with noise again, desperate and distraught, as senators and aides alike screamed and squawked their disbelief and their dismay. Unperturbed, the protocol droid catalogued each vote as it was registered by the system: surrender after surrender as first one senator and then another slowly slumped in despair...or refusals as others fled, making the reckless choice to fight and defy their new Emperor.
Revan hardly cared which they chose. A few would think themselves brave, of course; a few always did. But once the first few of those stupid, honorable fools saw their worlds slagged beneath Revan's implacable and merciless might, the rest would start to rethink their bravery. One did not need to conquer an entire galaxy to rule it; one merely needed to make it afraid.
And Revan had had a long, long time to master the art of fear.
Quick Note: I hand my computer off to the repair folks tonight to hopefully figure out what's wrong with it (cross your fingers that it's just a fan!) and what needs to be done to get it fixed. Depending on how that all plays out, updates might slow down for a bit. Don't worry, I'll be back with the rest of the story as soon as possible - the question of when that will be just isn't something that's within my power to determine. Sorry!
