Nar Shaddaa

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

“I don't care what he is doing, tell him I want to see him. And its kriffing urgent. Tell him I swore at you, threatened to kill you. Whatever you want. But I need to see Admiral Slaughter this damned instant.”

 

The ex senator from Outremer, erstwhile politician, gambler, and SACCOR (Supreme Allied Commander Corellia) when it had mattered most, turned his eyes to fiercely glare at the random and ill-informed officer who had greeted him in the hanger bay. Godfrey had been a senator for one of the most Monarchist factions in the galactic senate. In fact he had been generally hated for his heated disparagement of the Jedi Order on the senate floor. But they, he and Slaughter, were military men and all that survived the Galactic Alliance of Free Planets. 

 

But for now the commander of the Easternmost military garrison of the Rebel Alliance waited beside his shuttle. Wearing the pale blue uniform of Outremer’s naval command.

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

Godfrey held on as the gunship pilot decided to play some kind of prank on him. It was exceedingly unprofessional, especially for a high ranking member of the Rebel Alliance Military Command. He had saved Corellia for the forces sake and now this kid was playing all sorts of games with him. It was her right though, he had asked to get to the Admiral quickly, so he had no room to complain. He held onto the drop handle and did his best to keep a regal posture, even as they rocketed through turbulent atmosphere with little care for his aging knees. But that was the life he had chosen. And somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this would be his last war. And looking down to the approaching hanger, it was probably Slaughter’s last war as well. 

 

Old men had little use in the future, and they were both well past their prime, same with the shuttle of choice that he had been dispatched in. It spoke exceedingly more about the state of the Galactic Alliance Military in Exile than the aging senator and commander likely knew. He brushed his gloved hands down his crisp pale blue uniform, then stepped out of the LAAT/I gunship as it settled onto its landing gear. 

 

He tucked his cap under his arm and returned the Admiral’s injured salute with a crisp and well practiced one. Slaughter had not been in any direct action for some time, and the cast gave Godfrey a pause. But he was an Admiral, and Godfrey only a ranked commander. So he would not ask about it. 

 

“Admiral…” He looked about him, as if looking for spies. “I assume you have heard about the Imperial Meeting?” 

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

Godfrey took one look at the Admiral’s face and grimaced himself. The man exuded the feelings that were currently twisting themselves around in his stomach. A silent and ineffable rage that seemed to course its way through every blood vessel, streaming to devour every thought and word that proposed itself upon his lips. He could feel also the despair that followed every angry heartbeat. Was all that they had fought for for the last four years going to be for nothing? All those dead friends, beloved family, only to see that river of blood turn into the very beast that they were fighting to destroy? 

 

Or perhaps, like he had belittled those young jedi at Bothawui, there was something good in this new order. Gone forever would be the Senate on Coruscant. Gone too the mountains of bureaucracy, the inefficient military command, and the forced ignorance of the evils that took place in the outer rim. 

He leaned forward and shook his head. 

 

“I think it may be safe to say that Democracy is dead. At least on a galactic scale. There was even a Jedi present, the famous Wookiee one.”

 

He looked up as if the heavens would have an answer. 

 

“What can we do?”

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

The look on Slaughter’s face told him all that he needed to know about the man’s intentions. He could smell the rage on his breath, and the small veins that bulged from anger were even more apparent from as close as they were both standing. Slaughter was short, but at point blank range, the man carried himself with a grim dignity. History, if such a thing survived the war, Godfrey thought, would be kind to the short admiral whose long and storied career stretched back the decades.

 

But Godfrey himself was an old man now. He had spent the golden days of his thirties and forties in the senate. Gambling away the last days of peace with asinine propositions of trade and taxation. How many friends of the old alliance were now dead and buried? RIllian? Dead. Killed like Janhavi in the fall of Coruscant. What strength did the old Galactic Alliance survivors have? If this fight was going to happen it needed to be years ago. Not kriffing now.  

 

They had already spent far too much of their strength. One look out the viewport, or at the real time data displays that were prominent in the room would tell them the state of any Galactic Alliance centered secondary rebellion. How many of the starships in orbit with them were of Imperial make? How many of them were the diverse monarchist forces that the upstart Raven had brought into her cause? How many integrated GA units would actually turn blasters against their comrades in the name of democracy? Godfrey looked back at Slaughter and sighed. IT was time to do what he had always been very good at. His voice fell to a low growl. So only the Admiral could hear it. 

 

“Now I must say something that you may not want to hear. So forgive me for always playing the devil’s advocate, but I think I must do so again.” 

 

He absentmindedly straightened his jacket. Pulling futility at the starched pale blue fabric as if a better kept appearance would dull the knife he was about to proverbially stab into his comrade. 

 

“Who is left?” He made sure to catch the man’s gaze and hold it. “Tell me we have any allies waiting in the wings of this command room.” He pointed to the doorway, then to the Twi’lek assistant. “Tell me she is going to pull off a mask and it's going to be ShadowFett under there. Or Tenebris. Or Cadan. Or someone other than an idealistic young woman who doesn’t know she would be throwing her life away for a dream. No. Something less than a dream. A wisp of an idea. An Idea that died over Onderon then was buried in the rubble of Coruscant.”  

 

The ex-senator’s expression became pained. 

 

“If we had Gren Sairdonga, Cadio Sikaot, or even the much slandered Starlisk we might be able to bring something to the board other than prideful threats. But what forces can I bring to bear? The Bothans? My wife was a bothan if you remember. But the Bothans wouldn’t fight a war that could leave them diminished or even defeated. My own home planet’s prince has sworn undying loyalty to the Imperial Throne.”

 

Godfrey took a breath then stepped away, surrendering to a long string of painful coughs. Which left him winded and gasping. He recovered a minute later, his face flushed. 

 

“Admiral I do not mean to sound defeatist but even Mon Calamari upon its liberation is now under stewardship of an Imperial Admiral. The new MC90’s captured in the underwater berths fully crewed by an integrated crew of Imperials and GA. We have no leverage. Unless you have an entire Katana Fleet and a revived Jedi Order hiding up those resplendent sleeves of yours.”

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

The soldier in him told him to get ready for a fight, but the long term senator told him something very different: It was time to back down from a confrontation. This wasn ot the time, and the other man was far too smart for such a thing. So he would do his best to deflect and dismantle a fight before there could be one. 

 

“To tell the truth I don’t know much about you Admiral, we never served with one another during the height of the Republic, and the resulting Galactic Alliance decided against us serving in any capacity with one another. My assessment was based on my own initial impressions, thoughts, and Idealism. I made a mistake on my assessment.” 

 

Godfrey ran a gloved hand through his graying beard. Giving the other man a look of apology the best he could without actually saying it. 

 

“We both lost nearly everything in the fall of Coruscant, I lost my wife and nearly everyone I ever called friend. I didn't mean to insult you or your intelligence. Or damn well anything you are fighting for. I was merely speaking in caution because I felt that I should. I see now that you were already steps ahead of myself. So now I must ask you Admiral, what can I do to be of assistance in your plans to preserve what little we can of the Republic?” 

 

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

Now it was time for him to ask the probing question. The Same probing question the Bothans would have asked if their clan leaders were in this secure bay. 

 

“Then perhaps we can do it without a war. Bloodlessly, or at least bloodlessly as possible. For their sake” He scratched at his beard for a moment, his eyes tracing every feature of the Admiral’s. The haggard and tired lines, a man running as much on Caf as he was idealism. He looked him in the eye again, lowering his voice as he spoke. 

 

“Their entire little new empire is built around Nasra. She was the fresh new face of a young pretty girl that shook up the long string of tired old men that made up the empire we fought against all those years ago. The moffs thought they could contain her, but she purged them of anyone disloyal to her with grim efficiency right after the battle of Carida. The entire movement is her. Without her there would be no Empire.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow. It was time to make the Davidian suggestion. 

 

“So put your fleet element in the vanguard. And when the Scarab focuses on the Misericordia. Fall away. Withdraw and let that child die in the glorious death she deserves. It doesn’t need to be obvious. And the firepower of a Dreadnaught is enough to make any admiral pull his forces back. You never even have to fire a shot in rebellion. Sure a few Imperials die, but their dream of a united fascist government dies with her. Your men are safe, their planets are safe…”

 

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

“Sometimes Admiral…” He let his voice slow down to a growl, reading the shock, surprise, and anger in Slaughter’s eyes. This was a risk, but Godfrey had taken his lumps many times. It was time for him to put it all out in front of them both. The Galactic Alliance had died a death as painful as any friends. But At least the Galactic  Alliance had been something. There was freedom there. And as if all the ghosts of Coruscant were behind him, he straightened into an equal parade ground posture to Slaughter’s.

 

“…we who have been given the power to change the galaxy have to make a choice. We have to sacrifice our own egos, our own lives, for the lives of trillions who would be condemned to live under the iron fist of facsim.”

 

He lifted his chin to look Slaughter in the eye. This was not about him, it was not about Slaughter. It was about freedom. It was about an entire generation of the galaxy being born under the yoke of tyranny. A tyranny with a smiling face, but tyranny nonetheless. 

 

“I do not think we could forgive ourselves if we sat on our hands and did nothing when we had the slightest chance to give the people freedom.”

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

“She is their great uniter. If she dies their Empire dies. She is a popular figure, and who could take her place? A dried up old empire Moff? No, she is the last of them and their brightest face. We give them a promise. A promise of her legacy, a way to preserve what she died fighting for.” 

 

He shook his head. 

 

“A constitutional Monarchy. Something that maintains both of our desires but also keeps a strong republican background. The devil is in the details of course, Admiral. But…” 

 

He smiled widely and gave the man a bow that was more fitting to the courts of Outremer than a Republic ship. 

 

“I leave the matter in your capable hands. Thank you for your time.” 

 

And with that he saluted, then walked back to his shuttle. 

[Godfrey d'Outremer]

Starfields flickered and pulsed like one of the garish neon displays for courtesans that had plastered the skyscrapers on old Coruscant during the height of the Galactic Alliance’s power. And while those displays had promised much and delivered little, these starlight flickerings promised another entry into the fleet battle. A foe long forgotten in the many battles against the Sith. 

 

For in that moment the last vestiges of Galactic Alliance power tore themselves into realspace with a flash of crimson light at the rear of the House of Dragons Fleet. Having snuck swiftly from their base at Corellia, the remains of the once mighty Core Worlds battlegroup was finally here for their long awaited revenge. They had waited patiently since the failed invasion of their home system for the Sith to try to invade again. But the blow had never come. So the combined fleet had begun their own plans of attack. Now fully realized after the Sith Lords had committed their final elements.  

 

Among the dozens of capital ships, were the Belarus and majestic cruisers of the Fleet Modernization Programme alongside the light corvettes and bulk cruisers of the Corellian Home Guard. Beside them also were three Tagge class cruisers of the Falleen Diaspora who'se crew were far too eagre to rid the galaxy of the death cult. There too were the princes of Outremer with their blue painted Scythe battlecruisers and carrack cruisers in the vanguard of the GA fleet. 

 

And in the command bridge of the Scythe class battlecruiser Pacificateur sat SACCORE himself. The Supreme Allied Commander of the Core Worlds. The Galactic Alliance senator, Godfrey d’Outremer. The man who had faced the Dark Lord’s personal fleet at Corellia and had walked away with a total victory. 

 

“All ships, show these damn cultists how the Galactic Alliance gives its revenge.”

 

And the fleet answered. And a host of turbolasers, missiles, and seige torpedoes blasted towards the Cultist fleet. These Sith aligned vagabonds were nothing more than a momentary obstacle to the return of a peaceful and democratic glactic government. And the GA would see them wiped away.