Chapter 3: By Order of the Chancellor

The Senate Rotunda was the true representation of egocentrism in the Republic. Every item that lined the halls of the building must have cost around a year's wages of the average Republic citizen each, maybe even more than that. Shouldn't money of that magnitude be spent on more important things like: healthcare, education or even to fund the war? It suddenly angered him to think that that amount of credits was being wasted on aesthetic items that probably no one paid attention to bar tourists. He didn't know much about finances, but he knew that it was the taxes that civvies paid that funded his equipment. He was filled with a new respect for the ordinary folk at that point. They may be aruetiise sometimes, but they provided him and his brothers with the means to survive out on the field.

As they strode down the corridor towards the Chancellor's office, they got more than a few stares. Some were of fright, some of curiosity, but most were of disgust. What were regular infantry doing marching through their halls and mingling with the upper class folk? Cuyan hadn't really expected anything else from the hutuune, he supposed. They would never feel anything but contempt for the beings that weren't truly human, even though they were the ones that protected their shebse every day.

But now that they were dressed in their regular, mark 3 Katarn armour, they really did look a lot more imposing than regular clones. Whereas most clone armour was a clean, dazzling white or even a dark, mysterious black; the Vod squad had been issued with smoky grey armour. Not only that, they had spent a great deal of time individually decorating their rig, a little like the colours that were reflected on the plates of Delta squadron. Cuyan had often thought of it as their open sign of rebellion and urge to be seen as different from the others as much as it was used to scare the osik out of potential enemies. Right at this moment, they were in enemy territory, he supposed. After all, it was the politicians - and the Chancellor - who decided what, was going to be their next, life endangering mission. He sighed and barely resisted the urge to wave patronisingly at a passing bureaucrat. However, he expected that the daunting design of his beskar'gam would have made the gesture scary, instead of it's intended meaning of being irritating.

Cuyan's armour was an absolute riot of colour - much like that of proper Mandalorian kit. His backplate and chestplate were their usual, smoky grey colour, but a blazing red Mythosaur skull dominated the back one. It had taken ages to paint it on there. Just near his left shoulder pauldron, he had also taken the time to paint the word "Bes'ika" in forest green paint. It was another little token to show that this had been his brother's armour before his. His helmet was also dull in colour, but he had outlined the black, T-shaped visor on it with a bold, blue streak: echoing the helmet style of Jango Fett. His shoulder pauldrons, gauntlets and leg plates were all white, but the high-lighted with chipped, sky blue paint. These parts had been taken from a friend of his only a few days ago, a clone marine that had died during the Battle of Coruscant. Hardly any of the armour matched, but he didn't care. It was personal to him, and made him the most memorable part of the squad.

Aran's was much more understated, simple shades of white and black that complemented the grey base colour and the black, T-shaped visor of his buy'ce. His nicely matching colour scheme did absolute wonders for when they had to interrogate people. Due to the boldness of Cuyan's beskar', everyone presumed that he was the leader of their little group. That was until they were on the receiving end of the Vod leader's interrogation techniques. Despite Adenn's name sake - which in Basic meant "merciless" - it was actually Aran that was the most uncompassionate one for those outside of his friends and his squad. Being the Chancellor's go-to squad leader had completely changed him in good and bad ways. He was far more stressed, tense and under great pressure: and it had hardened him into a warrior that Sergeant Kal would be proud of. But it had also taken away his human nature, the side of him that could empathise with the situation of others. Hostages, as far as he was concerned, should be shot on instant. So was doing things that were absolutely necessary to get the job done; unless it meant a risk towards his brothers. He was the guard of the clones: and only Cuyan's rationalising could make him see the wider picture.

As for the inspiration behind Adenn's, his colours were also very sentimental, but more to himself than to the views of the squad as a whole. His shoulder pauldrons, gloves and under-suit bodyglove were all a sandy gold in colour. Not only did this reflect a connection to the beskar'gam of their sergeant - Kal'buir - but it was also a link to his lady friend, Raikia Rayth. She had dark blonde hair, which was not only echoed in the colour choice for his armour, but also in the fact that he had dyed the fringe part of his hair to match the colour of hers. The rest of his plates were still grey, but they were dashed with silver speckles that made him look like a walking starscape. He didn't look like this on purpose, however. During a mission to destroy a make-shift droid facility, he had become trapped on one of the conveyer belts and doused in silver paint. No amount of paint stripper could remove it all, so he had ended up leaving it be.

Their armour all had personal connotations of some kind, except Orar's anyway. For some reason, he had neglected to join his brother's in the riot of armour colours that represented what they stood for. So his was just a smoky grey - nothing more and nothing less. It was as if he had found nothing strong to believe in, so he was staying neutral. Well, it was either that or the fact that he had found something: the Republic. By not graphitizing his rig, it was like he was respecting their cause.

Hold on, their cause? That thought almost stopped Cuyan in his tracks. Didn't he consider himself to be a member of the Republic? Not really, he presumed. He couldn't vote, he didn't have citizenship and he didn't pay taxes. As far as the Republic was concerned, Cuyan didn't exist, just a faceless clone that was a part of the collective lot from the Grand Army. Sure, they acted on behalf of the Senate; but despite how hard they tried to make people see that they were included, it would never work. The GAR was a separate organism: like a second head on the political body. It had its own rules, functions and processes. It even operated on its own accord - well, if you were Kal'buir anyway. He almost preferred it that way. He couldn't imagine himself having to mix with so many people that had opposing views to your own. He found it difficult enough to bond with people that weren't his brothers as he was now. Only two people had managed it so far, and that was because they were romances of two of his brothers: Republic Intelligence Officer Raikia Rayth and Jedi Padawan Lena Arano.

His thoughts were cut short as his brothers stopped sharply before two, large doors that must have led into the Chancellor's office. He halted as quickly as he could, but he did knock against Adenn's back with reasonable force. To give his brother credit, he didn't end up falling over and took the brunt of the hit, but he did make a comment over the com-link that they shared thereafter,

"Whoa, wake up, vod'ika. Got your head in the clouds again?"

Cuyan didn't reply as he took note of Aran having some stern words with the receptionist that was positioned near to the doors. He then took note of the small queue of people that were sitting in chairs just off to his right, clearly waiting to be admitted in to see the leader of the Republic. He was fairly shocked when he realised that he recognised a few of them. A regal looking gentleman with black hair cut to just above collar level and a neatly trimmed beard was sat at the front of the line, deeply immersed in a document of some kind. His dark coloured eyes looked up at them for a moment as they approached, before his shoulders slumped and he went back to his reading. This man was Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan, and he didn't look very happy.

Sat next to him and dressed in a pure white cloak that had a high collar and framed the plain, grey dress that she was wearing was the very young senator from Chandrila. Her name was Mon Mothma, and she too was in opposition to the war and all of the violence that was going on. Her short, copper coloured hair was not out of place in the slightest possible way, and her blue eyes reflected more curiosity than annoyance at their arrival. He expected that she had seen clones dozens and dozens of times before - but it was never the same as seeing a Republic Commando up close. After all, they were shiney boys, and their rig looked so much more impressive. A couple of moments later, she looked away and whispered something to Organa who just nodded in return. Somehow, Cuyan knew that it hadn't been a nasty comment about them, and it pleased him.

Finally, he panned his HUD around to face the final politician that was waiting with the other two. By far, she was the one that caught his attention the most: not only because she was strikingly attractive but due to the fact that she held herself differently from the others. Despite an excellent and regal posture that kept her sitting upright stiffly in her chair, she looked like she was hiding something. She wore a dark lavender overcoat that didn't accentuate the curves that he knew she had. Her long, brown hair was swept back into a braid that dangled down her right shoulder, and it seemed to shimmer as the small, ornamental beads within it caught the lights overhead.

Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo must have known that he was looking - well, more like staring at her - for she looked up straight into his visor. Her deep brown eyes burrowed straight into him and made him stand that little bit straighter and more proudly. It was like he was locked onto her gaze with his own eyes; not with an artificial barrier in the way. A small, seemingly amused smile dropped onto her face before she spoke, but her voice was gentle and strong all in one instance. He couldn't understand why, but she almost sounded a little...sad,

"Trooper."

Cuyan was about to reply, but much to Organa's disgust, the receptionist spoke to Aran, "The Chancellor is ready to see you now, Sergeant."

He barely registered putting one foot in front of the other and following his brothers into the long hall that led up to the Chancellor's office for real.

"If it helps, Cuy'ika, I thought she was cute too," Adenn's voice chided into his ear, teasing him in thorough amusement. Apparently the moment had not been as private as he had first thought. "You two could make a lovely couple."

"Di'kut!" Cuyan hissed as a blush rose to his cheeks despite of the fact that he knew no one else could hear the conversation. Well, no one except Aran and Orar. "I wasn't...she..." He realised that he was rambling and so feebly reversed the conversation back onto his brother, "...besides, you have a dala!"

Adenn took the rebuke for what it was: a childish and flustered comeback. He just laughed and replied with a patronising comment that he knew would agitate his brother even more, "No harm with window shopping, vod'ika. Now please, try to concentrate on what our illustrious Alor has to say and not what is beneath her...ummm...robe."

The 'link fizzled out before Cuyan could make a more sustainable argument. His embarrassment quickly gave way to awe as they stepped fully into the Chancellor's office. The walls, floor and even the surfaces of the furniture were all a luscious, scarlet in colour. The lighting was only dialled up enough so that one could see comfortably, but it was still low enough that the late afternoon sun caused shadows from the obscure statuary in the room to creep across the floor. They all ended at the foot of a large desk that was towards the back of the spacious room. But the main focal point of the chamber was a large, crystal clear viewport that offered the viewer a panoramic view of Coruscant. It was utterly breathtaking.

"Ah, troopers, you have finally arrived," Supreme Chancellor Palpatine greeted them, rising from his aforementioned desk and smiled at them as he spread his arms out to his sides in a welcoming gesture. It was his political face, the one that he used when addressing the citizens of the Republic. As polite as it may have been, it insulted Cuyan deeply. The leader of the Republic must have picked up on this, for he dropped the façade and indicated four chairs that were placed before his desk. "Please, sit. I trust that you had a pleasant journey?"

"Very much so, Sir," Aran replied, slipping into the role of the squad speaker. It was just a habit for him to do so now. He reluctantly sat down in one of the chairs with Orar to his left, leaving Adenn and Cuyan to take the outer chairs. They would normally have remained standing, but when it was the Chancellor that made the request, they obeyed.

Palpatine sat back down with them, then steepled his fingertips together and leaned forwards towards them. The folds of his magenta robes almost swallowed them up, however he paid it no mind. Ever the professional. "I won't take up any more of your time with pointless formalities; I will just come straight to the point. I wish to apologise to you. For three, long years I have asked for your services many times, and you have failed to disappoint me. What I have failed to do, however, is thank you for what you have done."

The whole squad was shocked by the sudden humility in the Chancellor's voice, and Aran clearly vocalised their feelings with his own tone of voice, "That's...that's quite alright, Sir."

This time, the Republic leader smiled with genuine warmth. His words sounded almost, affectionate, as he continued, "That may well be, but please do not think that your efforts have gone unnoticed." His words dropped down to a near whisper at that point, as if they pained him when he spoke them, "Even those of your lost colleague, RC-1548..."

A silence hung in the air as his words trailed off, and Cuyan could have sworn that he heard Adenn's teeth grinding together as he his temper began to rise. He was unable to stop a fist from clenching up though as it laid tensed up upon the arm rest of his chair. They all knew that he had a distinct dislike for the Chancellor, and they were even more aware of the pain that he was still feeling after the loss of Besbe. Well, the latter was something that they all felt, even one and a half years later. The Chancellor's "pain" at Bes'ika's loss must have been eating him alive, and all her could do was sit there and listen to someone that hadn't known their brother at all pretend that he gave a damn about his death. The joy that Cuyan had once felt quickly changed to anger, anger for Besbe and concern for Adenn.

A strange expression crossed Palpatine's face - was that satisfaction that he had seen? - but he wasn't entirely sure what it was. The aging politician sat back and took on a less intense position as he smiled at them all once again. "And so, I am granting you with one week's leave. Effective immediately."

Leave? That caught Cuyan's attention once again. After his brain had mulled over the words for a few moments, a frown suddenly crept across his face. A week? Just a week? After three years with nothing but mission after mission after mission, that was all that they were entitled to? He instantly felt even angrier. What if they had been given a measly week earlier on in the war? Would Bes'ika still be around to enjoy it with them?

He was going to protest this point, but Aran cut in before him, "Much obliged, Sir. Where would you have us go for this...week?"

Alright, Cuyan felt a little better. Aran's hesitation had shown him that he also felt the same away about such a little time away from action. He must have accepted what the Chancellor had offered, because arguing might have lost them what little vacation they had been given. He wasn't happy, but it was the best that he knew they were going to get out of the Chancellor.

"I have arranged some officer's quarters for you back at the Coruscant barracks, up on the General's level." Oh, so they were getting some posh accommodation, at least. I wish for you to be close by, in case I need to call you for assistance."

A sharp beep interrupted their conversation and the Chancellor frowned down at his desk. He pressed a button next to a small projector plate in front of him. "Yes?"

"The loyalist committee is wishing to know if you are ready for them, my Lord," The receptionist from earlier asked sheepishly.

Palpatine's face turned sour - something uncharacteristic from the man that people normally saw on HNE - and then answered, "Send them in." He rose from his chair and turned his attention back to the clones, before offering them his hand to shake. "I will arrange for some transport to take you straight to the barracks."

Aran, Adenn and Cuyan shook his hand in turn, but the Vod leader was the one that answered for them, "That's very nice of you, Sir. Thank you."

The Supreme Chancellor took Orar's hand last and shook it, but he kept a hold of it as he looked straight into the sniper's visor and muttered, "Not a problem. It is a small price to pay for such unshakeable loyalty."

Orar seemed to be transfixed for a moment, but eventually he stepped back and followed the rest of them out of the room. They briskly left the office and walked past the loyalist committee as they did so, but Senator Amidala paid them no mind this time. Cuyan was a little crushed by this, it seemed like they were all back to business.

As they made their way back to the transport, he felt a feeling of dread begin to nibble at his stomach. Why had the Chancellor acted so strangely as they were leaving? Why couldn't he take his mind off of that Senator?

Something strange was going on, not just with the war but within him as well. Something very strange, indeed.