The colony fell silent for only a blissful moment before the tanks rolled in, taking full advantage of the peaceful village it sought to extort. Mothers ad fathers grabbed their distraught children and ran for the hills. The gunfire does not discriminate and it is not until the governor rushes from his chambers - against the wishes of his staff - and begs for a ceasefire.
"Why is Count Dooku doing this? My people have pledged their neutrality!" The governor was holding back tears as he watched his clandestine village fall to ash in mere moments of the C.I.S arrival. "Turn back!"
"We do not want your useless neutrally. We want your loyalty. We want your people to work in your factories manufacturing our weapons!" But the governor was bargaining with a soulless droid who only stared at him with dead eyes. He did take out a holodisk and it showed a man standing in the most elegant of garbs. The governor sneered. He recognized that face. The leader of this droid contingent was the pretender to the throne. A descendent from a ruling family this planet overthrew not so long ago.
"Tarquinius... I should have expected you were behind this. Did Dooku spin you a good yarn?" He jeered. "Did he promise you gumdrops and a land made of sugar and honey?"
"No. Just my throne." He shot back. "Give it up Frontenac. You've served your Togrutan people proud."
"And you've brought nothing but shame to our race."
"I've done no such thing!" Tarquinius takes an umbrage to the statement. "You've let your people starve because you're too much of a coward to do what must be done to lift our blockade. The deaths that'll take place here today are on your hands just as much as they are mine."
"So we agree you are partially to blame?" Frontenac quipped, too late to stop himself from burning any of the bridges he thought to have left. "Let us negotiate we can-"
"The time for diplomacy has passed. Now, you have two options as leader of your village." Tarquinius reminded.
"We do not need to resort to the ways of our forefathers." Frontenac counters.
"If you have any ounce of Togrutan pride you will know their way is the only way."
Reluctantly, Frontenac accepted. Given the option of dying either by dueling or committing suicide, the governor surprised his contemporary by selecting the former.
"I have to tell you, Frontenac, I didn't take you for that kind of man. To be honest, I didn't view you as a man at all." Tarquinius smirked, quite proud of himself and his quip.
"I am full of surprises my former friend. You'll know one of my last ones soon enough." There was a brief hesitation before Tarquinius went offline. The realization sunk in for both parties they are about to meet their respective destinies. For Tarquinius he had men around him, assuring him his victory was certain. No man can withstand his prowess and quickness. Frontenac was in a much more sobering environment.
"My wife and child have departed the city?" He asks an aide. The aide nods his head. "Good. Take this and hand it to them." He hands the aide a letter written by hand. A lost art in this technological universe. "It is to guide them to the rendezvous point. Tell them I love them." He allowed his guard to come down, though his request was given to an underling the respect Frontenac commanded did not unnerve the secretary.
"What about the rest of us?"
"You must run for the hills of Catalaunia. They haven't made a battle droid able to match up the terrain. Conditions will be rough. Make sure to clothe the women and children in extra layers. Any man who disagrees and robs them show no hesitation to make an example of him." His eyes grew dark at the lass part of the sentence. "This is my last decree."
"Yes, sir." And the secretary vanished.
Not long after Tarquinius' ship arrived. Before this, an advisor asked Frontenac if it is wise to place a sniper high atop the capital building and end this madness. Frontenac shook his head. Explaining there are many men wishing to be in Tarquinius' position. His demise merely opens up the job.
His fate was to be shared with those unfortunate enough to not escape the wrath of the Separatists and their empire. The gusts of wind grew stronger and kicked up sand in Frontenac's eyes. He narrows them in hopes of keeping the grains out.
Tarquinius waltz down the runway brimming with confidence. Unhooking his sash he elegantly shows off his pistol to his challenger. "It's the newest model of the ABs."
"It'll look good on my wall." Frontenac admires the piece from afar.
"You can avoid this my friend. Pledge your loyalty to us and all will be forgiven."
"I was elected to keep my people from scum like you." He shot back.
"I see. Then let us duel."
The two stepped backwards for about seven paces, per their agreement. Frontenac shocks Tarquinius by hitting him with a blaster to the chest. He grabs his chest as the blood begins to spin, reddening his grey tunic. Though his shot was successful, Tarquinius remained on his feet and it was now his turn.
His hand surprisingly had a steady grip despite the evident trickle of blood. Frontenac could have ran right there, but he remained still and closed his eyes. An honorable man meeting his end in a fitting fashion. One shot was all that was needed to end the Governor. His death was painless. His sacrifice giving his people a window of time to properly escape until help arrived to overthrow the oppressive yoke.
Aides rushed to Tarquinius, a medical droid tended to his dire wounds. Tarquinius could not understand how such a prissy gentleman could have gotten the jump on him. He later deemed it the will of the universe his friend went to the grave with at least some protection of his legacy.
(Scene Break)
The Clone War has ravaged the Galactic Republic of its resources and grounded them to the nub. Moral was waning and the populace was beginning to lose hope the war would come to an end. While the loss of life was negated with the advent of a clone army. The people under the republic's umbrella still had to threw their hard earned money down the drain to support the effort.
Padawan Kyle Izzo found himself isolated in the Jedi Temple. It's been months since he was given an assignment. His master, Depa Billapa, was given plenty, but always ordered by the Jedi Council to leave her student.
While his compeers remained in the good graces of the council and saw their careers flourish, Kyle saw his light diminish and he began to grow so discouraged he rarely bothered to show up to orientation. Often sneaking off to the city to forget about his troubles.
From the battlefields of Geonosis, to the dank underground fight club where participants fought for peanuts and loss teeth. Kyle needed action. Something to beak the malaise of his humdrum idle Jedi career.
Fighting a man three-times his size fulfilled his need for a rush of adrenaline. Seeing Kyle was on wobbly legs, the hulking 350 pound giant chases him around the squared cage, his stomach and chest failing to collide with its intended target. Kyle slinked away at the last moment every time. Caught in a chokehold, Kyle managed to break free and hit the giant with a kick to the chin sending both of them tumbling down. The referee counts one, two and three awarding the plucky Kyle with the unlikely victory. People inside the club tarnish the cage with trash having placed their bets on Kyle losing.
He needed to rush out and into the locker room area, which really was just the freezer where the meat was kept, and hastily gathered his things in preparation of a departure. But he needed his payment first. Walking up the stairs to the club owners suite, Kyle waited nearly an hour to see him. His stomach churned, aware an attempt to stiff him on pay was afoot.
"I won. Give me my money." He marches in. McAllister sitting conversing with his underlings, paying an irked Kyle no mind.
"What?" He feigns ignorance.
"You said if I won you'd pay me six hundred credits." He reminds McAllister.
"Very well. We'll add this to the tab."
"Again?!" Kyle flips out. "That's the third time this month. You owe me 1,500."
"You'll get yours when business picks up."
"I need it now. You're fighters aren't going to be around any longer if you don't pay them."
"I pay who I deem important enough to secure funds for."
"I just beat your champion and I'm not important?"
"It was non-title. If you stick around you'll get your title shot in a month." McAllister offers.
"You know what? Forget it. Keep your champion." Kyle storms out, knowing McAllister would have just found another way to screw him.
Broke and without any alternatives, Kyle took the long walk back to the Jedi Temple where he is a forgotten soul easily lost in a sea of faces.