Chapter 4: Friend of the Court

It was the trial of the century The news channels went into full-on blanket coverage, chewing up every detail that leaked out before the military clamped down on the whole matter, and going into an absolute frenzy when it was released that the villain, the savior, whatever she was, was a civilian and would get a full-bore civilian trial. Experts of every stripe were dragged on-camera, from retired generals speculating on the now-classified details of exactly what had happened to pale-faced academics in ill-fitting formal attire soaking up their fifteen minutes of fame while postulating away at where her facial structure hinted she might be from.

The biggest legal defense firms on the planet offered their services to the mystery woman pro-bono in hopes of getting planet-wide advertising, while the biggest litigation firms fought tooth and nail over the chance to prosecute.

The rumor mill ground out information on overdrive as the trial began and details slowly emerged. She'd chosen a public defense attorney. In preliminary hearings she'd pled guilty, but the judge had thrown it out, stating that defendants could not plead guilty to capitol defenses. What did it mean? Why did she do it? But above all, media loves a mystery, and the question of the day was "Who is Marina Serla?"

And then the preliminary proceedings ended and the trial got going in earnest.

"Thirty-four civilian air cars, twelve police squad cars, two military Aurek fighters, seventeen million credits in property damage, and the incalculable damage of forty-two police and military deaths and at least one hundred and thirteen civilian deaths." The trail court scribe scribbled all this down before looking up to take in the electric scene. The woman in the defendants box, Marina, had reacted that time, gone pale briefly, the most emotion she'd shown so far. Around her stood three times the normal security detail, and the security around the building itself was equally expanded. But if the tight security or swarms of paparazzi and reporters intimidated her, she gave no sign.

Marina was mostly silent, answering directly and tersely, but by far her most common answer was "no comment." It puzzled her defense attorneys asking the questions, and the litigators were chomping at the bit to have her held in contempt of court, but the judge held them back, reminding them that it was not yet time to cross-examine her. And if she was silent as each of her crewmates took the stand, the lawyers made up for it.

The litigators did their best to paint a picture of a strange loner that didn't get along with the crew, and charged off with reckless disregard for life, an uncontrolled vigilante, without even giving the planetary authorities a chance to act, which authorities' lives she risked and sacrificed without remorse to achieve her ends. The public defenders described her as quiet, unassuming, just wanting to do her job and do it well, and stepping up on a strange new planet with no friends when her crew-mates needed her most.

Nobody knew what to make of her use of Republic Combat droids. She'd fought in the war, surely, but who had she been? Answers were slow in coming, and as days slowly turned to weeks, the trial near its conclusion. The defense made impassioned pleas and the litigators gave rousing speeches, but unknown to either as hey packed up for the day, a Republic diplomatic courier boat dropped out of hyperspace on full emergency power at the edge of the system and careened towards the planet on pace to make planetfall near 0400 local time.

Chief Justice Sarah Brannan groggily slid towards wakefulness as her com went off for the third straight time. She'd disconnected her normal number, as she always did during a big trial, to avoid the endless calls to get her on talk-shows and news programs to give her thoughts on the lower court's proceedings. This call came in on her personal line, and very few people had that number.

Her nightstand glowed gently as T4-N2 noted she had awoken. The little droid gave her a low dwoooo of sympathy, its volume turned down to keep from waking her husband.

Sarah yawned and looked blearily down at the astromech. "Who is it T4?"

The droid whistled something noncommittal and extended her com with its pincer arm. Her mood moving swiftly from bemused to annoyed, she attached the earpiece. "Hello?"

"Sarah, it's John. Sorry to wake you, but it's important."

Sarah gave herself a mental shake to throw off the haze of sleep. Planetary Vice President John Cormakson didn't make it a policy to call in the middle of the night without a very good reason. "What is it? What's going on?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. How fast can you get dressed and meet me at the Presidential Palace?"

Whatever it was, it was big.

"I can be ready in five minutes if it's as urgent as it sounds, but I'll need to call a cab . . ."

"Don't, an unmarked skimmer is already on its way. And don't tell anyone about this unless you absolutely must, not even Karl."

Chief Justice Brannan glanced at her husband and lowered her voice. "By the depths of space, John, just how classified is this?"

"Let me put it this way, Sarah," said John's voice in her ear. "President Sharif has been assured that if it weren't absolutely necessary, nobody in the sector would know a thing about it. It's so classified we're not even being told why it's classified. So when I said tell nobody, I meant it. This stays between you, me, and President Sharif. Not even Senator Bergeron can know. I'll see you soon."

Sarah was aghast. What could be so secret the Republic Senator for the whole sector didn't have authorization to hear about it? And more to the point, what could it possibly have to do with her?

…

President Sharif paced furiously back and forth in his office in the kind of foul mood he was infamous for with staffers but, thankfully, had never been caught on camera. He was exhausted, had an important summit with the damn Erlution Council member nations' heads of state in six hours, and more than a little chagrined that some third stringer flunky of the Sector Governor had the gall to come down to his planet and order him around. He absently bit into one of the stale cookies left out from yesterday's formal luncheon while he fumed. It was one thing to drag John, the VP, out of bed, the man had been in the military, after all. Hell, that was most of the reason he'd been tapped for the VP slot, though with the polls swinging so far back to the anti-war side again he was swiftly becoming as much of a liability as—

The door opened and President Sharif turned to see the very man in question step into the room. "John! Where the hell have you been? You can't just haul me out here for a meeting nobody knows about then . . . Sarah? What are you doing here? And where's this aid to the Governor you were going on about?"

Chief Justice Sarah Brannan doffed her coat on the back of the nearest finely upholstered chair of the small conference room and offered the president an eloquent shrug. "I've no idea, Mr. President, on either count." They both turned to look at the Vice President, who had pulled out his com.

"We're ready now, come on in." He deactivated the com and turned to face the questioning gazes. "I apologize for the secrecy Chief Justice, Mr. President, but it was necessary."

The door opened again and two tough-looking men in ill-fitted Zakaran dress clothes stepped in the room. Their heads swiveled quickly, taking in the room while their hands lay hidden within their coats that had curiously weapon-shaped bulges. They glanced briefly at the three most powerful individuals on the planet and dismissed them with the cool air of professionals doing their jobs.

President Sharif gave his Vice President a wall-eyed stare. He'd seen people like these before in his own guard detail whenever he left the mansion; they were plainclothes bodyguards, but who needed bodyguards within the considerable security of the Presidential Palace? And how the devil had they gotten in in the first place without anybody noticing? Another exploit of his over-adventurous second in command, no doubt.

Finally a third man entered, and his demeanor screamed military, no matter the civilian clothes he wore. He moved to the head of the table with two quick strides while his bodyguards took up position behind him.

"Good morning Mr President, Chief Justice. I apologize for the hour, but it was the best way to keep this quiet, and it worked out even better when I learned that John here had access to you both."

President Sharif pointedly turned away from the interloper and glared at his traitorous VP. "You know him?" The man didn't even have the decency to look abashed, damn him.

"Yes sir, we served together in the Mandalorian Wars briefly." He took a deep breath and practically beamed with pride, something Sharif had never seen him do before. "Mr. President, Chief Justice, may I present General Carth Onasi."

The President opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. The Carth Onasi? Important general, famed pilot, and hero of the war with the Sith, and friend of the legendary . . .

"He looked back at the military man. Yes, yes he had the same brown hair, the same solid build, the same face . . . stars above, he was face to face with Carth Onasi himself. A single photo op with him and the next election was a wrap. It might even be enough to set the stage for a sector governorship in a few years time! And his own VP had a connection to him and never told him!?

"Thank you, John." Carth took in the strange twitches in the President's face as it switched back and forth between outrage at his underlings and excited political calculation. It was a strange combination he'd grown depressingly familiar with in his efforts to get this job done quietly across the galaxy.

"As I was saying, this meeting must remain absolutely secret, and we don't have a lot of time, so I'll jump straight into it." Sharif's face was still doing its best Tarisian slug-fish impersonation, so he turned to address the other two. "The Republic is struggling, and there are a lot of groundswell pressures mounting in the senate and, more worryingly, in the sector governorships throughout the outer rim. The majority core world coalition is holding together, barely, but a large number of senate seats are looking to swing it the elections next year. I'll be frank. The Republic as we know it won't survive if we have to go through an ugly, drawn out fight to redraw the lines and form another coalition government."

Sarah nodded thoughtfully. Senator Bergeron was a conservative pro-Republic man to the core, which had swept him into office when the Mandalorians invaded, but the quick one-off affairs everyone had expected to be had turned into knock-down, drag-out wars and sapped the public will to fight. When the Republic was forced to raise taxes at the same time to cover skyrocketing expenses, well, it was pretty much assumed Bergeron was already a lame-duck senator, crippled because nobody expected him to be around after the next election.

Carth held up his hands placatingly. "Look, I know I'm on thin ice showing party preference on behalf of the military, but we're not talking about a normal horse-trading session to bring the fringe parties into a new coalition, we're talking about fracturing of the Republic itself. I don't think I need to describe the chaos that would create."

President Sharif had finally caught up to the conversation and shuddered at the thought. For his part, Vice President Cormakson was stunned. "Is it really that bad?"

Carth nodded grimly. "I'm sure you've heard the media reports talking about the independence and splitter movements growing on a handful of individual planets. I'm not really certain of all the details, but I've seen the classified projections. It's close to the breaking point, and some key systems, systems mind you, have been making very quiet, but very strong threats to the senate to start making progress. The pro-splitter senators feel like they have the frustration of the whole Republic behind them and are refusing to compromise on anything, which means nothing is getting done, which makes everything worse. You add on top of that the press, which is angry at being ordered not to publish this stuff, and it's only a matter of time before one of them decides to fight and we start seeing leaks. And when that happens, it all comes apart."

"Excuse me, General," cut in Sarah, "but what does any of this have to do with us?"

Carth gave the Chief Justice a respectful nod. "Almost there, ma'am. As you can imagine, this has some very powerful people very worried, and they've got an idea of how to get the Republic out of it. The biggest immediate problem is that the Republic's image is at an all-time low. We've always had some fringe anti-Republic wackos out there, but they're gaining support and some are starting to break into the mainstream, and in some places you wouldn't necessarily expect. We need to find some way for the Republic to act in a way that's very positive, very public, and very cheap. We made our stand on Telos, but that effort is bogged down now, and we don't have the manpower or the ships to try something new without pulling essential services from the outlying systems. Just imagine what would happen if you had to tell your people the Republic wasn't going to be able to help you fight the slave cartels and you can see why that won't work."

All three shuttered this time, images of terror and rioting coming to mind. They were barely at a standstill with the major inter-system slaving rings as it was.

"So, what does that leave us with? Who do we have that's publicly visible enough to make a difference without much Republic support?"

"The Jedi! Trot out one of them and have them start some sort of relief effort or other such nonsense and the systems will fall all over themselves to get in line. That's what our tax credits pay them for, right?" That was just one of of the unpopular Republic taxes Sharif wasn't looking forward to having to debate in the primaries in the not-too-distant future. "They might be unpopular these days, but the nutter crowds love those guys."

"What have you heard about Katarr?"

Sharif paused in his pacing and gave Carth a confused look at the apparent non-sequiter. "Not much. There have been some odd rumors, but nothing substantiated."

Carth closed his eyes for a brief moment. Praise the stars, it's holding.

Sarah broke in hesitantly. "I take it there's something to the rumors?"

Carth shook his head. "The rumors don't even come close. We're treading on ground I really, really can't talk about here, but the short version is that there is something actively trying to accelerate the Republic's destabilization. The Jedi gathered to try to fight it on Katarr. They lost."

"What? Who was it? The Sith?" Trust John to come at it with straightforward military thinking.

"Possibly. Our intelligence sources indicate they're still busy wiping each other out, but our sources are limited and, as I said, we're stretched too thin to go poking around out there."

Sarah collapsed into a conference chair in shock. "They're gone? The Jedi are . . . they're gone?"

Carth glanced over at her. "Not quite, Chief Justice. We know of one last Jedi; it's the woman you have on trial right now. And she could very well be the Republic's last hope. And I have a plan to get her out of here."

…

Twenty standard hours later Chief Justice Sarah Brannan's eyes burned bloodshot red as she sat in her official chambers. By the red hills of Gathrow, she hadn't been this tired since law school, but it was almost over now. They'd rushed the inevitable appeal by both sides of the case into the docket of the Planetary Supreme Court and it had gone quickly, for once, thanks to a lot of behind-the-scenes strong-arming.

It was almost over, but it had been a lot harder on her conscience than she thought it would be. This woman, this Marina . . . she had gotten a lot of people killed. A lot of innocent people killed. She'd tried to play the hero, no, she'd tried to play the Jedi. Yes, her intentions may have been noble, but she'd charged in herself with no plan, no help. She'd saved her people, yes, but that was cold comfort to the hundreds of mothers, brothers, sisters, and the rest that had come home to hear that they would never see their loved one again, never get to say goodbye, all because of one person's crusade. And to let her just walk free. . .

It was not an easy choice, and she wavered, despite what General Onasi had said. The damage this would do to the legal system would take decades to sort out without revealing the truth. Her reputation would be seriously damaged. But, worse than all of that, was that Sarah Brannan was a creature of the law, of the principles for which it stood. For justice, for fairness. She'd long ago come to terms with the need to compromise on those ideals, but this . . . this was not even close to fair. This was not justice.

But if the Republic fell, there would be no justice at all. And yet . . . and yet. She sighed and rubbed her eyes in a hopeless attempt to alleviate her headache. Her thoughts were going in circles. It was time to make the decision. She took a deep, slow breath, counted to ten, and let it out.

Okay. Time to get to work.

She emerged from her chambers and surprised her fellow judges by arguing strenuously against precedent, and even her own published opinions, to stand in support of the death penalty. She held her classified information in reserve, a gigantic hammer behind her back in case she was forced to beat a stubborn judge into submission behind closed doors. The defendant would be held guilty, and sentenced to death, one way or another. And then "Marina" would die a very deliberate, very carefully staged death.

Carth leaned back and mused in the surprisingly comfortable command chair on the diplomatic shuttle reserved for his use. Coming to Karazak at all had been a huge risk, even only holding a single private meeting in the middle of the local night cycle. He was being watched, of that he was certain, both by the more extreme independence interests in the senate and by . . . others. It was an odd feeling knowing that an enemy was watching you at every moment, could kill you if they chose, but refrained because you posed absolutely no threat to them. And extremely frustrating, for a former front-line pilot. But at the moment, he was more worried about that woman, Marina. If his trip attracted attention to her before they could get her out . . .

Maybe it was a risk for him to come out in person, but he needed to feel like he was doing something, somehow. All of this political nonsense . . . he much preferred a pilot stick to a political conference, however important. And this could really make a difference. Another Jedi . . . Revan, Bastila, where are you? We really need you now.