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February 27 - March 16, 2025
The Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed. But I assure you, my resolve has never been stronger. In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire. For a safe and secure society… —Emperor Palpatine
What surprised Soujen most was how quickly the war had ended. That and the Jedi, but the Jedi had never been important in the grand scheme of things.
“Palpatine wants to be a dictator. He wants to be a dictator, and everyone else wants to prove their loyalty in case he gets his wish.”
“Is it possible,” Breha asked, “that you’re overestimating the number of people who are silent and scared? Not everyone loved the Jedi like you—for most people they’ve always been distant—and Palpatine is very popular.”
“Not many people see it yet, but they will. The Empire fired the first shot—we did not ask for this war. It is the Empire who chased us when we simply tried to survive.”
I want you to contact the offices of these senators…”
We’ve found the loose thread, and we can tug until the entire tapestry of lies unravels. We reveal Palpatine’s true face. We clear the name of the Jedi—” “No one cares about the Jedi!” she snapped, and it was heartless but it was true,
“There are better ways! People don’t change their minds in the face of evidence. People look for evidence that fits what they believe.
“She’s my daughter,” he snapped, “and she has to know I’ll come when she needs me.”
“I’m worried, is all,” she said. “You’ve been running nonstop since the Emperor, since the Jedi, since Padmé…You’re hurting yourself.” “You know what’s going on,” he said. “The Senate is the galaxy’s first line of defense, and it’s barely putting up a fight.”
Bail thought back to the day the Jedi died. He’d borne witness as the troops descended on the Temple, seen clone soldiers gun down a child without pause or humanity. Palpatine had painted the execution of the Jedi as a bloodless necessity, the surgical excision of a security threat, as if a child were no different from a battle droid.
he had spoken to the last of the Jedi. They had consulted in secret, and the wizened Master Yoda had told him about Palpatine’s obsession with dark arts, his cruel joy as he’d carried out his plan. Palpatine was steeped in the mysteries of the Sith, Yoda had said—the ancient anti-Jedi cult—and surely had been his entire life. “All he has done, his manipulation of events, I will not guess,” Yoda had told Bail. “Too arrogant was I to see. Too ignorant I am to know.”
So it was with the Senate. Coalitions, committees, task forces, caucuses, and other cliques, both permanent and transitory, abandoned well-meaning debate and kept one another at arm’s length. Corruption flourished in the shadows. Unofficial hierarchies and centuries of accumulated rules and traditions made it impossible for
newcomers to understand the esoteric rituals and power plays, let alone tackle galactic problems with any speed.
Senator after senator had seen the direction the galaxy was going and thrown in with Palpatine. Senator Malé-Dee, one of the delegation’s most ferocious voices, had simply said, “The people have spoken. What does it matter if I believe they are wrong, when I am their sworn servant? Is it not the truest act of democracy to trust the public will?”
argued that the Emperor’s age and the injuries the Jedi had dealt him suggested his reign wouldn’t last, saying, “In a handful of years, the Emperor will be gone. That will be our time, and moving prematurely will only exhaust us.”
Palpatine’s people were doubtless working the ex-Separatists already with promises and threats. Mon didn’t even have a full list of their names—the administration kept adjusting its plans for Reintegration Day, now less than a month away. Who would be permitted to rejoin the Senate and who was considered a security threat remained in flux. The candidates she did know about were mostly away from Coruscant, back on war-ravaged homeworlds, cut off from galactic communications.
“The Emperor doesn’t just want to reform government. He wants to reform society, wants us imagining what kind of people are the foundation of a strong, prosperous, and peace-loving nation of the sort we haven’t had in a century.
He thought of Padmé Amidala, and how horrible her death had been, and how young she’d seemed, even at the end—even with betrayal and disaster tainting her existence. “Are you doing this for the Jedi? Or to honor Padmé?” Breha had asked him before he’d left, and he’d told her that it was all the same. Breha had shaken her head. “No,” she’d said, “it’s not.” But it was. Because Padmé’s burden and that of the Jedi would pass down to Leia if Bail didn’t act—Padmé’s burden, Obi-Wan’s burden, and the burden Anakin Skywalker had cast aside.
“Republic, Empire…different name, all the same people.” Bail didn’t have a response to that. He should have, but he didn’t.
“Democracy is the choice to accept that one’s most cherished beliefs and foundational principles may not win the day. It is a willing abnegation where we bequeath power to those we may view as wrongheaded, unfit, or abominable. It is the paradox of holding true to ourselves, even as we accept when the vote goes against us and the desires of others prevail.
Hesperidium was an unnatural paradise—a once-lifeless rock, the least of Coruscant’s four moons, transformed into a resort and patchwork nature preserve by Coruscant’s wealthiest citizens.
Some of the protesters said Mothma was twisting the facts of the tragedy to smear the imperialist movement—that Mon was blaming the killer’s politics instead of his obvious derangement.
“Palpatine is a populist. The reason he appeals to worlds like Troithe is because people there see him making real changes in their lives. He cracked down on the corporations. He ended the war. He’s promising that the era of out-of-touch politicians and twelfth-generation nobility shaping the galaxy for their own benefit is over.”
If Saw’s crew was planning to murder a squad of clones, they weren’t with the Empire. Most likely, the guerrillas were outlaws. Perhaps terrorists in the making—as they’d fought the Separatists, now they planned to fight the Empire with the Separatist weapons they’d stolen.
The guerrillas were too cruel, too cynical, or simply too loyal to question despicable orders, and none of that boded well for Bail, Haki, or the troops on the surface.
Cowus Roont, the so-called ‘Fifth Sage’ of Dwartii and one of the founders of the modern Republic, enumerated three responsibilities of a democratic representative. First and least of those, to Roont’s mind, was the responsibility to speak for one’s constituents and act
on their behalf—to be their voice in the chambers of power, a proxy for their collective will.”
“The second was the responsibility to one’s own conscience. Roont believed that to be nothing but a proxy for the will of the people was to discard a profound ethical burden.
the third responsibility as the most important: the responsibility to democracy itself. As long as an elected leader prioritizes the continuation of democratic government, as long as that leader respects the rule of law, the people may always choose new representation to better serve their needs. Future generations may atone for the mistakes of the past. Yet should the engine of democracy break down, she wrote, ‘a citizenry will forever be left at the mercy of unaccountable leaders.’ ”
The 4040s held regular protests outside the offices of Mon Mothma and other members of the Delegation of 2,000.
“Truth matters. The Jedi matter,” Bail said.
“That, Senator”—Haki took a deep breath and smiled, white lips peeled back over gray teeth— “is the most change you can hope to create. You can inspire a terrorist movement destined for failure, capable of destroying thousands of lives over the course of decades.”
“You’d rather a madman rule the galaxy than risk standing against him?” He wanted to know. He wanted to understand. Haki shrugged. “Madmen come and go. I’ve lived a long time, Senator. I saw a lot of bad regimes on my homeworld, and the worst thing isn’t tyranny but fear—not knowing whether a war’s going to start, not knowing if someone’s speeder is going to explode as you’re walking to market. Scars a person for a lifetime, and every conflict plants the seeds for the next.”
“I’ve come to wonder if the whole war was a sort of feint—half a misdirection on the part of those who desired an Empire. Palpatine and his cronies pushed and pushed until the fighting started. Count Dooku was a…” He paused. “The particulars don’t matter. But by joining the war, all of us played into Palpatine’s hands.”
Organa tensed in his safety harness. “This isn’t the way.” “I captured you on Eyo-Dajuritz and I brought you here.
“for thousands of years they could have ruled the galaxy, and instead they chose to serve. They had their own vested interests, their own ways of politicking. But they believed their power came with an obligation to live humbly, to do good without asserting authority.
“You’re mad,” Mon said. The assassin was close enough that she could smell his soiled robes. He looked down at her, and the gesture resembled a nod. “I’m going to the Executive Center,” he said. “I’m going to kill everyone I find—the advisers, the viziers, anyone present. And I’m going to kill Palpatine. You can help me or not, but it will be done.”
“Organa thinks Palpatine is a murderer, a perpetrator of Jedi genocide. Why rush to protect him?” She wanted to say, Because murder is an offense beyond any other. Because if we act outside the courts, outside the law, we forfeit any claim to upholding the law’s principles. Because no one deserves to die terrified, at blasterpoint. It was wrong during the war, and it’s wrong still. Because Palpatine aspires to be a dictator, but anything worse is unproven. Because his viziers and his governors will take his place and inherit Palpatine’s approval ratings, and nothing will change. Because you
...more
Thirty-six hours after the attack on the Executive Center, Bail Organa stood on a floating platform in the Senate Rotunda and called for a vote on the Imperial Rebirth Act.
“Each of us is devoted to this great project. We are no longer members of the Galactic Republic or the Confederacy of Independent Systems, but of a Galactic Empire unfettered by the sins of its predecessors, still young and free to determine its own legacy.
Indeed, that is why I stand before you—to help us determine what we shall be. Unity is not enough. The next step toward rejecting the hateful philosophies, the bloodthirsty vengeance, of terrorists like Soujen Vak-Nhalis is to show that we are strong, to show that we are united in purpose as well as heart, and that we will not be divided again.”
“The Imperial Rebirth Act is a call for our Empire to take its first steps toward greatness.
We will boost protections for our industries and our workers, ensure that our cultural traditions are preserved for our children. We will take up the challenge given to us by our new Emperor and make the Empire what the Republic could never be!”
“The count is complete. The Imperial Rebirth Act passes.” There was applause. There were shouts. All Bail could think was that through some miracle, against all odds, the galaxy made sense again.
“The bill can’t be allowed to stand, of course,” he said, shifting his attention back to the viewport. The bright dot became a green-brown world as the yacht rushed toward it. “The Emperor will have to veto the provisions related to executive authority and the oversight roles of the Senate and judiciary. The rest of it can remain in effect. Some portions are quite popular, and we’ve no qualms about throwing a bone to Arvik Cornade and his lot.”
“The Emperor has no power to veto the Rebirth Act. The bill is passed.” “He is the Emperor. This is the Empire. His power, Senator Mothma, is absolute.”
“What is this place?” The vizier waited for the soot to burn off, then shifted his attention to Mon. “We’re calling it Center One. It’s a reeducation facility, built to house those whose views of the Empire lead to antisocial behavior. Here, a trained staff—an organic staff, no more than twelve percent droids—will work to correct the minds of their charges before releasing them back into the general population.”
“This is Center One. Four others are under construction, and Center Six is in the design phase, shepherded by an ambitious young engineer from the University of Cato Neimoidia. If six reeducation facilities prove too few, we can triple the number in a year or prefabricate them for airdrop.
“You ask me if we would start a war to maintain our grip on power,” the vizier said. “This is my answer: We already did. While you were obsessed with the Separatist conflict, we were doing battle on another front, capturing the love of the people of this galaxy. The Emperor won. Now we are securing our victory and reaping the spoils, while you seem to believe the fighting never began, let alone ended. I am here to correct your thinking.”
