They call him on Benduday: the next Joint Commission meeting is postponed. Understandable, but he hoped for a free Primeday.

Mtoro doesn't take a moment to laugh at his expense when he tells her. "Just what are we going to do with the army now?" she asks.

"How do you mean?"

"The war's over."

"It's not."

"It basically is. It's just a matter of time until Grievous is captured."

Doesn't seem there'd be much capturing involved as long as it's Skywalker doing it.

"The Republic needs an army," he says. "This one already exists."

"Are you sure we need an army this size to prevent local conflicts?"

"Well, I don't know, maybe they will downsize it. If you think that's what we discuss on the Commission, well, think again. Ah, I dread the next meeting. It's going to be four hours of throwing insults and accusations at each other. Who allowed what to happen and so on. Some concerned citizens apparently are angry we don't publish our findings, but it's for the best. If they knew what their tax credits are going into, they'd start a rebellion no clone army would stop."

He looks at the watch — real casual-like.

Devin should be on Sanner soon. Within what is it, five or six hours?

"I don't know," Mtoro says. "That time when they shot that Jedi — I still can't shake it off."

"He was a traitor."

"Was he?"

"For all intents and purposes. He sent clones to a certain death on a regular basis. Who can tell if it was incompetence or malice? I mean, in any other military in history, he'd be shot either in the back by his soldiers or in the face by his superiors — only they'd keep it quiet. We, well, we, I guess, are going for greater transparency."

Tchadashi walks to their desks.

"It's starting."

Alnam looks at his watch again. "Do we have time? Shit, we're going to leave in half an hour."

"Nah, we're good. We got forty minutes."

"Even if watch the whole thing, what are we going to be late for?" Mtoro asks, getting up from her desk. "Rubble?"

"Sir Bossman will be pissed." Alnam nods in the direction of Ruad's office.

"What we do has no bearing on that. He's pissed all the time."

They join the rest in the cafeteria in five minutes. Their own fault for not putting a better viewscreen closer to the office, Alnam thinks. They haven't missed anything important — it's the usual pre-session shit when they get there. Repulsorpods flying about, senators chit-chatting — although far less today than normally.

"Look at them go," Alnam hears somebody say. "At least today they could've started on time."

"What do you want from these faggots? Don't you know how they risked their lives trying to get to the landing platform?"

"It's time they are dissolved," says Tchadashi — to a supportive choir of voices.

"I don't believe the Chancellor will," Alnam says.

"Why? Insider information, Mr. Favorite?"

"Fuck off, Leland. It's because pissing off their homeworlds isn't a good idea right now."

"What a load of crap. We're doing fine — we don't need any hand-downs. Hell — nobody's going to ever vote again for any of these fucks. Wherever you're from, if you saw the second of the third, you know this system is busted."

"Just watch them cry about emergency powers again," an old Herglic agent says. "This is when we need to concentrate our efforts and end this damned war. Just watch them piss it all away."

"The Chancellor won't let them," says Howoren. "Maybe he was too soft, but I should emphasize this 'was.' Not after what happened."

"It could dissuade him from continuing the war," Mtoro says.

"Palpatine? No, ma'am."

"You don't know what it's like — to be kidnapped."

"And you do? Well, I know one thing: when he walked off it, he wasn't wearing any pansy pants." Howoren's stance changes almost unnoticeably, but he's another man now. "I am happy to report to you," he says with such an upper-class Coruscanti accent that no one in the canteen can help but laugh, "that the Confederacy has been dealt a mortal blow, and that Count Dooku is no more."

"You chose the wrogn career path," Alnam tells him.

"It's not too late for this dog. Did it sound to you like Palpatine was about to give up because of his terrible experiences?"

"Let's hope not," Mtoro says through laughter.

On the screen: Amedda calls the session to order.

"This son of a bitch is high again," somebody on the left says.

Howoren shushes her down.

"What? Just look at him!"

Alnam doesn't see it — but he sees that Mas Amedda is a non-Human.

We were this close to having him as the acting chancellor, he thinks. I don't care he's an alien, but tons of people would've.

They start with another moment of silence. Agents check their watches vigorously. Enough silence. Now we want words, words and actions.

"The first matter on today's agenda," Amedda says, "is Senator Dibasi's reform draft."

"Look who's here," Alnam tells Mtoro.

The Sethri Sector senator floats up to the podium.

"Your Excellency. Fellow delegates," he says in a solemn voice, "friends. In light of the recent events, it became obvious not only to me that the current system of governance in our beloved Republic can no longer support the necessary measures required to uphold and promote our way of living. Today, we are facing challenges that we have not faced for a millennium."

"It seems to me that the worst is over, Narlaut."

The cameras hurry to show Senator Organa's close-up.

"Conniving piece of shit," Tchadashi says. "Were you even on Coruscant on the second?"

Amedda restores order. Dibasi continues:

"I have been working on this draft for a long time — since the beginning of the war. The latest events that endangered our very seat of power showed me without a modicum of doubt that all the measures we have taken so far were mere," he glances down and then back up, "palliatives. No amount of emergency powers is capable of making us strong enough. We are not up to the task."

"Are we really not?" Organa chimes in again. "One can argue that the emergency powers were among the causes for the disaster. The disaster, dare I remind you all, that we have conquered and put down."

"The disaster that should not have happened in the first place. It could have been prevented. All the senseless loss of life we suffered could have been prevented. Just if we were stronger as a nation. Just if we cut down the bureaucracy."

"Should I remind you we are part of that bureaucracy?"

"Let us not think in absolutes, Senator Organa. Nobody who knows me can sincerely say I have anything but deep respect to the Galactic Senate. But dire times require dire measures."

"What I question is the direness of the times."

Cameras show some senators applauding Organa. A wide shot next dispels the illusion, though: they are in total minority.

"In the past few days," Dibasi goes on, "this rhetoric has been used time and again by the proponents of willful ignorance. 'We have beaten back the Separatists on Coruscant,' they say. 'The war is basically won,' but it is not. It is not. Make no mistake: our fleets have suffered casualties even larger than the Separatists'. We are still at risk, and we cannot hold without drastic changes to how we govern. Without false humility, I can tell you that in the past few days, I have worked harder than ever to complete the final revision of this draft. And not only I, fellow delegates. The Reorganization Act is the fruit of hard work of more than two dozen senators. Years of thought and preparation went into it.

"I know you all have studied it, but for posterity's sake, I shall give you a brief reminder of the main points.

"First of all, the Republic cannot function as it did for centuries anymore — as a loose federation of planets each hogging the covers as soon as opportunity strikes. Let me quote the architect of the Republic as we know it today. In his Reformation Act speech, Supreme Chancellor Tarsus Valorum said, 'This reformation should not be taken as the end-all, nor should it be taken lightly. We must avoid the mistakes of the past and not become stagnant again. The division of representation and power we made today should not be seen as unbreakable canon, but as the groundwork for later legislation to keep up with the demand of the day.' To keep up with the demands of the day, fellow delegates. This is what we have to do to survive as a society.

"For that purpose, we need a form of government that would shape all the sectors into a single responsible society. I do not mean that this noble parliament has outlived its use, no. But we must complement it with a means to ensure that the Galactic laws are followed throughout the Republic. A presence is required that will be felt across the Galaxy, no matter how many parsecs away from the Core. Every citizen should feel safe from both external threats and the bureaucrats' apathy."

Tchadashi nods. "About time."

"Speaking of time," Mtoro says, "aren't we—"

"No-no-no," Howoren tells her without looking away from the screen. "We got ten more minutes."

"To be able to protect our people and out planets, we have but one solution," continues Dibasi. "Sector and region governors will be appointed according to the bill. We cannot, my distinguished friends, live in a sweet denial of the need of military power to keep our unity."

Accompanied by Howoren's pained sigh, the Chandrilan repulsorpod floats into the picture.

"What you are proposing, Senator Dibasi, is that we reinstall the institution of moffs," the Chandrilan lady senator says. "Are you aware of the implications of this?"

"Call it what you will," Dibasi parries, "it bears only one implication: that we should finally be united, and united for real, not just in our self-congratulatory speeches.

"I shall move to our next point. With the growing role of our military, we cannot afford any more empty and meaningless talks in this chamber concerning the Republic's army expansion. It is, it pains me to admit, ridiculous that we have to discuss — during war time — if it is necessary or acceptable to order additional weaponry for our troops, ships for our fleets, and soldiers for our battalions. It is not up to me to discern the reasons those of us who insist on starting arguments about these have, but I think most of us will agree that this is unacceptable.

"What we propose is that the matters of expanding the Grand Army of the Republic are relegated to the Supreme Chancellor and are to be solved at the request of the corresponding sector or region governor or a group of them."

Organa again:

"And your solution to control the process is a separate commission that will investigate the legitimacy of the... governors' requests. And here we thought your aim was to decrease the amount of bureaucracy."

Another panning shot of the Senate. These are the loyalists — or so they call themselves; Alnam isn't sure what they're loyal to. A close-up of Senator Amidala.

"That's one legendary hottie," Tchadashi comments. Women in the room give him a pro forma disapproval.

Alnam lets out a laugh. "If how cold she was when I was talking to her is any indication, I don't envy General Skywalker."

"Cold is the natural state of any woman when you're around, Alnam."

Alnam gives Tchadashi a finger.

"Be quiet, y'all!" Howoren demands.

On the screen, Dibasi has logicked — or banthashitted — his way out of Organa's trap and is droning on about the military extension process.

"Some boring shit," Tchadashi says. "I wanna hear the good bits: how they're gonna screen senators and hopefully take some of their decision-making power away, since all they use it for is ensuring no decisions are made."

"Not all of them are bad," Howoren responds. "Look at Dibasi, for example."

Alnam wants to agree, but he remembers how Dibasi was in person.

He's a buffoon, and a buffoon is the best we've got.

"Alright," Mtoro says, "guys, we really got to go now."

"Come on," Tchadashi protests, "he's starting on the Jedi!"

"We'll have to watch the recording."

"Just a minute!"

"Nah," Howoren says and starts rising, "that midget in the high office is going to have our asses for it. Let's go."

Away from the viewscreen, there's no escaping from the thoughts. They talk on the way, but Alnam knows: the thoughts are coming, and none of them pleasant.

And they come when he takes his post in the Industrial District. The explosive disposal team works, and the rest are relegated to a guard duty. Blessed are the taxpayers — they have no idea what Alnam is thinking about while supposedly protecting them.

Why did I do it? Why did I send him to Sanner?

The answer has been picked up and sorted into a number of garbage bags — or was it just one body bag?

No, don't give me this banthashit. You are no atoning sinner. If you were, you'd've jumped off the first platform you came across. Or the platform you threw Fozatta off, if you were feeling poetic. Yet here you are. Still.

Alnam looks around and sees nothing that is actually around him. Something will come out of it, he thinks.

Something? Like what? Devin shooting Father? Or being shot by the RT security systems?

Devin coming back to shoot me? Do cops do suicide by a drug addict?

That's if he can even get into the tower. And if Father relayed what happened to his dear diary before going to sleep.

But Father, Alnam knows, keeps this sort of information. All sorts of information, really. Even on his own son. Even on himself. The great debt book to be unleashed when the day of reckoning comes.

So Devin finds it, decrypts it if it's encrypted, which it is probably not, finds Father, shoots him, then finds you and shoots you. That it?

You did have a plan when you sent him to Sanner, right?

That's right. He did. Just not this kind.

Shunned Industrialist's Murderer Comes for Son, Gets Retribution. Or: Relative's Retaliation: Reprobate Ruffian Rightly e-Radicated. Alnam Absolved.

He remembers Telos IV. How Devin came back for him. On the parking lot. Didn't have to. Would've been smart to leave him to the gunmen.

The question now is if he's coming back for me this time.

But Alnam knows it's not the question. The question is this: what will he do if Devin comes for him?

If he does, fuck it, let him decide. He wants to kill me, let him go ahead. Wants me to confess on live holovision — fine.

But Alnam knows it's not the answer. What he doesn't know is why he makes like it is.

I fought for too long. I did horrible things, although I can no longer feel that they were horrible. Say what you want about sunken costs, this time it's not a fallacy, it's sentient lives I took to keep myself out of trouble. I can't stop now. I literally can't. If I do, I'll make what I did all the more horrible.

This is some insane logic.

It works for me.

He remembers Telos again. Devin really didn't have a reason to rescue him.

Sad to see it has come to this.

He tries to be appalled, but can't. He imagines Devin's face. Imagines aiming a pistol at it and pulling the trigger.

Very sad indeed.

It can't be much harder than with the Devaronian, can it? After all, it's not Alnam's fault Devin decided to rescue him. It's not going to be his fault when Devin decides to kill him.

Then why don't you warn Father? It can't be that you want to pull the trigger this much. It's just that then you won't be a clean-slate hero with no disreputable ties.

He told Father once he would draw the line at killing Devin — and now this is what it all has come to. Alnam wishes he could see another way — no, another truth — but there isn't any. This is the only truth that exists: all three of them are murderers.

Devin may come for you first, you know.

Then I won't have to put any more burden on my conscience. That is, if he's fast enough. And if he's not... Father will owe me big time.

Alnam gets a lungful of air, and even though it is filled with dust, it feels good. It feels good when the world makes sense.