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The Republic didn’t have enough time to scrounge up a sizable fleet, that much was obvious from the some hundred warships inserting just outside Empress Teta’s interdiction net. As our scopes would put it, however, their fleet still possessed an impressive ratio of two score capitals and three score escorts. Truthfully, however, I was uncertain of that ratio. There was a new class of ship in the Republic fleet, one unknown to our registries, and thus unknown to our classifications.

A Star Destroyer, for certain, as their iconic drive wedge could not be mistaken. But everything else? Their physical size was conservative, at under a thousand metres, but their power output and the strength of their drives betrayed their strength. What sort of diminutive vessel required the reactor output of a capital warship? There were at least a dozen of them, and arrayed not dissimilarly to a wedge of storks at the front of the enemy formation, I would hazard a guess at their purpose confidently.

By comparison, the fleet I had on hand numbered no more than fifty, as a quarter of our full might was still campaigning against the GAR’s Deep Core fleets with Commodore Vinoc. The rest, however, were arrayed at strategic locations across the seven Tetan crownworlds. As the Republic ran hard for Empress Teta’s orbit however, ostensibly lured in by the paltry numbers I commanded, the lieutenants of the 28th Mobile Fleet closed in from all directions. Diedrich Greyshade with fifty warships from the outer planets in the northeast; Horgo Shive with thirty-three warships whence his return from the Agricultural Circuit; Krett with a strengthened contingent of twenty-nine warships from the northwestern Deep Core sectors.

Excluding the 4th Battle Division, that left one-hundred sixty warships at our disposal for the upcoming engagement, having been supplemented by the Tetan Guard and Mining Guild Enforcement Fleet. Despite the enemy’s heavier ships, they were trespassing upon Separatist space, specifically and painstakingly drilled for their arrival. They were surrounded.

With any luck, this will be a reenactment of the Battle of Krant, where General Sev’rance Tann slaughtered Jedi General Echuu Shen-Jon’s warfleet with the very same stratagem. Using herself as bait, she lured the Jedi General to make landfall on Krant, whereupon her Confederate Second Fleet pounced from the shadows of numerous orbital bodies in the Krant System and decimated the Republic force.

Fleet flagship Chimeratica disseminated her orders, and the division straightened into a hasty battle lattice the way a command caught off-guard would. In truth, this strategy was borne of the necessity to defeat a larger force with a lesser one, in the case of preparation for the worst. I held my reserves now, however, as the GAR knowingly sent a lesser force against a greater one, in an offensive action no less, and thus it could only be assumed the enemy commander was regarded as extremely capable.

“Set a pace of five-hundred Gs,” I ordered, “Close the distance and prepare to swing to port. Watch for any enemy manoeuvres.”

There was the choice to sit back and wait for the enemy to enter Empress Teta’s artillery range, which would obviously be the eminent decision for any defensive force on their last legs. However, if the enemy commander was as capable as I suspected, then they may realise the precariousness of their own situation. If the enemy commander realises they were not facing our full force, then they may decide to wheel around and strike at the nearest ambush fleet.

In which case, this would not be a reenactment of the Battle of Krant, but rather the Battle of Yag’Dhul. As such, I ordered Chimeratica’s division forward, out of Empress Teta’s range, in an attempt to close enough distance that we would be able to support our allies if such a development arises. This action in of itself may alert the enemy commander of the existence of the ambush, but the prior strategic calculus behind the original plan was more or less disregarded that we now boasted a three-to-two advantage against the foe.

“They’re slowing down,” Taylor commented, “Are they supposed to slow down?”

“Have they discovered the ploy?” Tuff’s photoreceptors flashed, his servo-joints flexing his metal fingers, “Inform the fleets to execute the battle plan. Surround them and grind them into dust.”

If I had disagreed, I would have made my disapproval known. But I did not disagree, because the enemy fleet had positioned themselves right in the centre of the ambush, as if they already knew the locations of all our fleets and were mocking us for even thinking we could get the better of them. At any moment, I expected them to dash off to the east and put Krett’s 5th Division to the sword.

For that reason, Chimeratica pressed on her drives, from 500G to double that, angling herself in such a fashion that her inbound vector straddled the hypotenuse formed by the invisible triangle of herself, Fortressa, and the enemy warfleet. Contrary to expectations, however, the enemy warfleet abruptly shifted right, counteracting against Chimeratica’s deflected vector and translating away from the weaker 5th Division.

It was then I realised the enemy commander was reading my mind–or rather, reacting with such grace it made him control the battlespace rather than giving control to me.

“–Hard right, hard over!” Tuff was already commanding, “Get us on an intercept and inform Kronprinz to meet us there!”

I shot to my feet, suitably unnerved, “Will we make it time?”

“My calculations posit so,” the tactical droid replied, “I am attempting to identify the enemy commander. There are not many left of a high calibre still remaining in the Core, save for the Admiral of the Home Fleet.”

We had expected the Republic fleet to strike first at Fortressa, prompting us to steer to port and create a gap between ourselves and Diedrich’s 3rd Battle Division. It was fortunate that we had noticed in time, lest the gulf would have been made wide enough that they could have slipped right through us and put the entire 28th Mobile on one side–effectively circumnavigating an encirclement by running straight through it.

Rather, Kronprinz’s hasty manoeuvres saved us from most of the half-committed blunder and wrested control back in our favour. With the Republic threatened to be caught in a nasty pincer from both flanks, the enemy commander once again pivoted, swinging around his dozen-so Star Destroyers around to starboard in a headlong charge into Chimeratica’s division. It was an unnecessarily bold manoeuvre, ordering heavy cruisers at best to delay a much larger fleet. Right then I wished I had half as much faith in my warships as the enemy had in theirs.

But then the flanks of those Star Destroyers yawned open, massive control surfaces rivalling the size of a Venator’s hangar doors, and within those dark canyons were a sight I’d never thought I’d see on a Republic warship. Missile launchers. The Republic Admiralty had, evidently, wizened up to Separatist naval doctrine, and invented a class of warship to match.

“Prepare for evasive manoeuvres,” I muttered, “And fake portside on my command. Prepare our own launchers; first wave countermissiles, second proton warheads. They’re making a mistake. We let them.”

Kronprinz headed the sun and stars of Tionese naval supremacy, and had proven time and time again to be the 28th’s swiftest command. The 3rd Battle Division has always been our pursuit force. As I mulled over my next moves and counted down the seconds to optimal range–of which I had no choice but to nervously press my nails deep into my palms as I wondered the comparison of Separatist and Republic missile quality.

The Confederacy already had its hands full simply producing the warships we needed to fight a war, and save for the Techno Union most of our Outer Rim worlds were appropriated for low-cost production and manufacturing, willingly or not. By comparison, the Core had all the resources and tradition it needed to continuously improve on existing technology. Just looking at the scopes, the GAR’s missile tubes already appear much larger in diameter than our own torpedo launchers. And that meant, possibly, a longer range and more powerful payload.

I hadn’t seen these warships at Yag’Dhul, but if they made it out onto the frontline…

“Admiral,” Taylor’s voice struck me from my fretting, “We’re receiving a transmission from the enemy flagship. Should I patch it through?”

“...They must be extraordinarily confident,” I clenched my fists, “Do you have anything for me, Tuff?”

“I suspect the enemy commander to be a Jedi General,” was all he had to say in that regard, “Their tactics so far, while refined, are primitive at their core. Essentially, allow the foe to trip over their own feet. It requires patience, and a great deal of faith to sit in the middle of an enemy ambush and expect them to make a mistake. Most GAR officers are far too skittish, and I find Jedi Generals possess the sense of self-assurance to make this kind of confident action–or lack thereof.”

“...I will talk to them,” I said at last.

“–Greetings, Admiral Bonteri,” a familiar voice was heard over the receiver, “I am Jedi General Plo Koon, and I have come to you with a proposal of peaceful parley, so that we may continue our conversation cut short a year ago.”

I stared down the twelve disconcerting Star Destroyers in the same, but darker light. Plo Koon. My blood ran cold. This time, I didn’t have a half-built dreadnought to throw at him.

⁂

“He must have recalled our prior engagement,” Jedi Master Plo Koon bemused as they awaited an answer, “Had Metalorn not been a world of shipyards, and thus fodder to wield, the Battle Hydra would have been quite out of options. Alas, he had one head back then, and many now.”

“There is no point in dallying with what-ifs, Master Plo,” Jedi Master Adi Gallia admonished.

“Quite the contrary,” the Kel Dor Master replied, not unkindly, “Retrospection is but the long and arduous road towards improvement. A battle of words and wit may leave naught dead but one’s pride, but a battle of starships and men may put millions to their grave. Drills and games are… adequate for their purposes, but true practice can only be done on the field, and in this terrible art each lesson learnt is paid in durasteel and blood. It is natural that as many lessons must be learnt from as few practical sessions as possible.”

“Then what do you suppose the Battle Hydra is thinking at this moment, Master?” Barriss questioned, truly curious.

“The veracity of my offer,” Master Plo answered, “And how to best defeat me.”

Iskat shifted from one foot to the other uneasily, well towering over every Jedi and officer on the bridge with her lanky height, “He already has us surrounded.”

“He knows that wouldn’t be enough,” the Jedi Master clasped his hands together, and sure enough, they could see the Separatist armada reacting promptly, clearly intent on reforming their order of battle before partaking in any diplomacy.

Barriss inexplicably found her attention glued to the tactical holo as, just as Master Plo had predicted, scores of warships flooded out from the darkest corners of the Empress Teta Star System, appearing like apparitions from the shadows of planetoids and moons and flooding into the battlespace. Beyond the two fleets directly on their flanks, there was another fleet approaching from their starboard quarter–which included an infamous Lucrehulk known to the GAR registry as Fortressa–and a final force approaching from directly behind them, ostensibly the very one preying upon the Core’s food supplies.

Instead of completing the encirclement, however, the four divisions of the Battle Hydra circumnavigated the stationary Republic formation and moved to regroup directly in front of them. Master Plo simply allowed it to happen, his filtration mask concealing a slightly bemused expression as the Perlemian Coalition merged into their notorious battle lattice, eight by ten and two ranks deep. Curiously, the whole lattice was just slightly concave, with thicker flanks and bending back in the centre like a pressed trampoline.

“I see,” Jedi Master Plo Koon said deeply, humorously, “Very clever. I imagine we will receive favourable news now.”

And as if he had willed it into existence, the Separatist flagship finally gave their reply; “I would have your terms, Master Jedi.”

It was an familiarly unfamiliar voice that responded to them, mellow and indecipherable.

“We simply wish to negotiate a treaty with the Tetan Monarchy, one favourable for all parties involved,” Master Plo said peacefully, “As you may well know, the Republic is gripped by troubles internal and abroad, courtesy of the Pantoran’s strategic wit, and surely you would not begrudge us this… desperate measure?”

“And what convinces you of the efficacy of your desperate measure?” the Battle Hydra replied, “For what reason must I humour the Republic that seeks to lay waste to my country?”

Master Plo looked over his shoulder at Master Gallia meaningfully, before purposefully stepping back. At once, Jedi Master Adi Gallia strode forward to take his place.

“You humour not the Republic, but the Jedi Order,” the Tholothian Master said, “I am Master Adi Gallia, and I speak not for the Chancellery. I hope this to be a totally diplomatic affair, whereupon we can both depart without a feeling of loss.”

“Forgive me, Master Jedi, but that seems to me an improbable outcome,” the Battle Hydra paused… before adding on, “Especially with the sad state of affairs in which the galaxy wars.”

Adi Gallia hesitated, as the bridge of the fleet flagship Hyperion was silent and its captive audience hanging onto each and every word, “...If you would have us, we would be open to a convention on Tetan soil. Our delegates would be myself, Master Plo Koon, and Knights Iskat Akaris and Barriss Offee.”

There was stark silence from the other side. My name, Barriss realised, Master Gallia used my name to get to him.

“In exchange for a temporary truce,” Master Gallia continued whereupon the lack of response, “We would submit to any temporary demands you would have of us, in order to satisfy your requirements for a continued cessation of hostilities.”

“...You will bring forward one ship, and only one,” the Battle Hydra said at last, “As would I, and we will make for Cinnagar at once. Your fleet, and ours, will remain here, neither of which is to activate their drives beyond attitude thrusters. The fleet that fails to adhere to this agreement first, for whichever reason, will be considered the oathbreaker.”

“For whichever reason?” Master Gallia clarified.

“I care not if a rogue asteroid strikes or a pirate flotilla appears from the black, the first fleet to have a vessel activate its main drives will be at fault,” the Battle Hydra said clearly, “Inform your captaincies of this promptly, as I have informed mine, and we will meet under a banner of truce.”

Master Plo Koon immediately turned to Hyperion’s captain, and ordered the agreement disseminated across all fleet channels.

“Agreed,” Master Gallia told the Warlord of the Perlemian, and Hyperion fearlessly plunged towards the Separatist battle lattice.

“One point to port!” the Venator’s captain ordered, swiftly identifying a portal in the enemy lattice, created by a single ship vacating its station. Chimeratica, Hyperion’s scopes identified.

It seemed almost as if the ship itself were holding her breath as they ceaselessly approached the yawning jaws of the Perlemian Coalition, until they were right within the enemy lattice and Separatist ships seemingly stretched on endlessly to the left and right, above and below. Barriss could all but hear the pounding heartbeats in the room, many spacers and officers present otherwise reservists and conscripts dredged up from whatever manpower caches the GAR has left, having never come so close to enemy before, much less the most fearsome warlord of the Outer Rim, save the Pantoran herself.

The beaked prows of Providences grinned down at them, the scarred Hexes adorning their shells customised and patterned in all sorts of identifications. Some marked tallies of battles fought or enemy ships downed, others symbols of homeworlds. Hyperion passed silently through the portal, sliding right past the concealed gunports bearing on either side of her flanks, and quickly caught up to the Chimeratica.

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Someone behind blew a profuse sigh of relief. Barriss shared the sentiment, and though they may not show it, she knew the Jedi Masters had too. Master Gallia’s shoulders lowered slightly, but tensed once more as they matched velocities with the Chimeratica. Barris and Iskat followed the Master’s gaze, and paused at the sight of the Separatist Hex adorning the flagship’s side.

It was a Separatist Hex indeed, with six faces, but from each face extending a curved serpentine neck, each identically S-shaped and facing a clockwise direction altogether in a whirlpool of teeth and scales.

Barriss’ keen eyes spotted a tiny signature off to the side. Artisan.

She suppressed a smile. Seems like he was still enjoying himself.

Nevertheless, within what felt like moments sailing alongside their enemy, approached the capital of the Tetan Monarchy, Empress Teta herself. They passed the orbital deepdocks of the Koros Spaceworks, then descended into the atmosphere towards the iris of Cinnagar’s eye. Before long, Barriss found herself thundering down towards the Royal District in a shuttle, viewing the nine golden spires of Cinnagar–each representing one of the nine worlds of the Empress Teta System, seven of which were inhabited–and circling above the landing zone of the ostentatious Tetan Royal Palace. Golden minarets glinted like torches in the sunlight, dozens of spires thrusting valiantly towards the sky and connected below by a network of walls and arcologies.

It seemed as if they were whisked away into the palace complex by an august wind the moment they stepped off the landing pad, the armoured Tetan Guard quickly surrounding and ushering them inside with the haste that could assume sunlight to be deadly. Notably, they made no effort to bereave them of their lightsabers, or even check for any other weapon they may possess.

“The Tetans have been longstanding allies of the Jedi Order,” Master Gallia murmured to their benefit, “Our relationship dates back to Empress Teta herself. These days, the Mining Guild rules this system in all but name. However… we may still find ourselves friends among the Tetan Monarchy.”

“Hopefully,” Iskat expressed pessimistically, glancing around in awe of the gilded halls of the Royal Palace.

The already spacious hallways opened up into a truly cavernous throne room, the floor dancing with frescoes and a ceiling so high it appeared mired in mist and hanging clouds. There was a metallic tang in the air, mixed with the heavy scent of spices. At the very far end of the hall was an empty throne, and in the centre was an obviously hastily arranged table, spartan save for a gilded vase in the centre filled with local flowers.

Rain Bonteri met them at the foot of the table, accompanied by two droids–Tuff the tactical droid, and Hare the servant droid–and a sword at his belt, which subtly drew the attention of the two Jedi Masters.

“That sword is pure cortosis,” Barriss leaned towards Iskat’s ear, or rather her shoulder, though the tall alien was kind enough to bend down to save her the embarrassment, “It’ll short out your lightsaber upon contact. Expect cortosis droids too.”

“So that’s why they didn’t ask us to surrender them,” Iskat straightened back up, cold blue eyes already analysing the room, “Good to know.”

Rain Bonteri stepped forward with narrow Onderonian eyes, smelling distinctly of silk and lavender, “Welcome to Empress Teta. May I introduce our host?”

His hair was a mess of locks and bangs, Barriss noticed, and had seen much better days. When she first met him, Rain Bonteri sported a short and neat ponytail that barely hung past his shoulders when worn low. Now, he wore a veritable mane of brown hair that messily framed his face and a ponytail–that despite being worn high–fell right down to the back of waist, frayed and ill-kempt. Barriss supposed that years of constant campaigning left little luxury for hairdressing… but surely there was enough space aboard a warship for a simple barber?

The Separatist Warlord gestured to the head of the table, where Barriss head missed a rather diminutive woman with refined features and a dainty coronet weaved into her hair.

“Princess Eara Lota,” the Admiral introduced, “Heir Presumptive to the Tetan Monarchy.”

The Jedi immediately bowed in unison, the diplomatic courtesies ingrained into them since their induction to the Order rearing its head, and the Princess seemed pleased enough at the due respect, at least. She seems easily pleased, Barriss thought, she can’t be any older than… eighteen.

“Master Jedi, you’re here to free us from the yoke of the Mining Guild, right?” Princess Eara asked optimistically, forcefully.

If Rain Bonteri was insulted by the blatant show of insubordination by his client, he did not show it, “I am certain we can come to an arrangement, Your Highness. Please, Master Jedi, have a seat.”

“Will His Majesty the Emperor not be attending?” Master Gallia asked, disguising her concern as curiosity.

“Uncle’s never awake at this hour,” the Princess answered nonchalantly, “Though he seems hardly awake on the best of days, after my cousins accident.”

“Let us speak reservedly,” the Battle Hydra offered one of his noncommitted smiles as he took his seat, “The Princess our witness, we need no other man hear of this conversation.”

Rain Bonteri’s clear eyes unsubtly shifted over to Barriss and back. The Jedi took stock of their environs, the hall was so cavernous that indeed, it could be believed one could not hear a conversation from one side of the room on the other. One would imagine there would be an echo, but the effect was conspicuously absent.

“Let us… omit the pleasantries,” Master Gallia naturally took command of the situation, speaking first, “The Jedi Order came here in hopes that Empress Teta and her crownworlds would return back into the fold of the Galactic Republic.”

The Battle Hydra’s smile grew a little more amused, “I require the Republic to kill itself, Master Jedi, and the Confederacy no longer wields the power to do so on its own. Why must I allow the Republic to bandage itself when it goes against everything my nation stands for?”

“The Confederacy stands for insubordination to the Republic,” Master Gallia returned easily, “Surely that does not require its death?”

“Now that has been a question I have heard debated to its death in the Raxus Parliament.”

“What caused its death?” Master Plo Koon pressed on what appeared to be a simple figure of speech.

“The Republic,” Admiral Bonteri answered easily, “Our insubordination is no longer possible without the death of the Republic. Your Senate has made certain of that. So I would have your Senate tear itself apart instead.”

Barriss glanced at the Princess Eara Lota, a youthful glee still dancing in her shining eyes despite the complexities of the dialogue. Noticing her attention, the Princess met the Mirialan Knight’s eyes, and Barriss realised her gaze was the make of finely sharpened daggers. She survived this long in the halls of her forebears, now usurped by foreign greed and ambition who would brook no insubordination of their own, especially from the Tetan crown. What, exactly, did that take? Since her cousin, the Heir Apparent, died in an… ‘accident.’

Has the Hydra bought her act of a fool, and is that why he was so unconcerned by her bluntness? I doubt it. Mayhaps… mayhaps they have already come to an agreement? But against a Separatist-aligned corporation? Equally unlikely. But Rain Bonteri holds distaste for corporatists, if I recall rightly.

Master Gallia and Master Plo shared a meaningful look, and the former took the dive; “It is, I am afraid, far too soon for that. We are not yet ready.”

The damning silence at the table was all Barriss needed to know of Admiral Bonteri and Princess Eara’s reaction, though the latter appeared remarkably confused. Peering into her heart, however, Barriss could sense a great deal of internal calculus within the Tetan royal.

“Wait, what?” it was not any of the opposing side, but rather Iskat Akaris who said that.

Right, Barriss winced, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Hmm,” the Battle Hydra mused, and the next time his eyes opened, they were of completely different hue than before, “You say that the wrong way again, and I might just mistake your intentions.”

“You do not,” Master Plo Koon said decisively.

“Hello?” Iskat wondered, “What the kriff is going on?”

“You bring a benighted girl to our table,” Bonteri questioned sharply, “Why is that?”

“Poor circumstance,” Adi Gallia answered, not untruthfully.

“Then educate her.”

“–Iskat,” Barriss said immediately, but gently, “We are talking about the Sith Lord in the Republic. To displace him, the Masters are courting the idea of tearing down the Republic with a civil war to flush him out.”

“Oh,” Iskat said dumbly, the cogs in her head turning, “But… must it come to that?”

Barriss looked up to the closest Master past Iskat–Adi Gallia–for an answer.

“It is a possibility we must consider,” the Tholothian Jedi said, not unkindly, “The Sith Lord is far too entrenched for the Temple to displace him peacefully, I fear.”

“Is…” Iskat furrowed her short black brows, “Is this the will of the High Council.”

Adi Gallia paused, and Rain Bonteri, like a hound sniffing weakness, leaned forward with his elbows on the table, “I am curious as to the same, Master Jedi. Can I consider the collective will of the Temple to be backing our counter-conspiracy, or is the independent act of a… splinter faction?”

The Tholothian closed her eyes, and sighed in a rare moment of fragility, “Some elements of the High Council would never consent to such a… radical act.”

Master Mace Windu, went unsaid between them. Master Yoda, even, maybe.

At first, Iskat was aghast, but slowly, gradually, as if recalling all the insult and bitterness levied upon her by the Temple, visibly softened up. Barriss wondered, then, what was going through her friend’s mind–but refrained from prodding deeper. Her outward emotions told her everything she needed to know.

“Who–” Master Plo Koon finally asked the prize question, “–Admiral, is the Sith Lord we seek?”

“...We’ve had this conversation before,” the Admiral said quietly, “But I was the one who initiated it.”

“I would not have believed you before, and you were wise enough to realise this,” the Kel Dor Master said meaningfully, “But I will believe you now.”

The Battle Hydra leaned back, “The Supreme Chancellor, Sheev Palpatine.”

The name was spoken, said, and despite the unearthly revelation, nothing at all changed. No eerie dark side mystics, no dimming or flickering lights, no otherworldly gust of chill wind so prevalent in holodramas. A man’s name was spoken and that was that.

“Knew it,” Adi Gallia mumbled.

“Loathe I am to say this, but I believe you,” Plo Koon sighed deeply through his mask, “However, I must still trouble you, for any indication of the claim you lay upon us. Proof, we may present to the High Council.”

The Perlemian Warlord snapped his fingers, and Hare produced a datachip from her internal storage. Admiral Bonteri set it lightly on the table, atop a silk handkerchief, and slid it over to their side.

“Intercepted communications,” he supplied, “Between Count Dooku and… someone, on Coruscant.”

“No definitive proof it is the Chancellor?” Adi Gallia gently picked up the datachip, as if it were a shard of glass. No, it was far more fragile than a shard of glass.

“Count Dooku is arrogant, the Sith Lord hides his arrogance behind sense,” Bonteri explained, not unaggrievedly, “He covers his tracks well, despite the best efforts of my slicers and infochants. I would, however, hazard Five-Hundred Republica to be where you can find the answers you seek.”

“Why would that be?”

He shrugged, “It appears to the Sith Lord’s residence, considering the percentage and manner of transmissions received there. Though, other locations on Coruscant do exist, most notably the Works, and the Senate Building itself. In all honesty, you may analyse the veracity of the transmissions yourself, and once you cross out all the other suspects using the information available… the remaining one must be the truth.”

Bonteri eyed her again, “And if, in the case that you may require more material to work with–for I have been negligent these recent weeks in my intelligence-gathering–you may confer with Barriss Offee.”

Barriss cringed, feeling three pairs of Jedi eyes bore right into the side of her head. She nodded silently and meekly, not trusting her voice to not crack.

“I… see,” Master Gallia bowed her head lightly, “We are in your debt. Truly.”

“No… no,” the Battle Hydra shook his head, “You do the galaxy a favour, undertaking this bloody work. Nobody will thank you for it, not even the generations to come who will never know the strangling yoke of an Imperial Sith regime. Truthfully, I have not expected much from this daring endeavour, but this expedition has proven so much more fruitful than anybody could have expected. But please, assuage my concerns; will the Temple have enough support in itself, much less the Core Worlds, to oppose the Chancellor?”

“I intend to work behind the High Council, no matter how deceitful that may be,” the Jedi Spymaster answered honestly, “I will make a backing on concerned senators and caucuses, of which there will be many. Alderaan, Chandrila, Caamas… Humbarine and Corellia. Brentaal, with luck, and Hosnian Prime. Alsakan perhaps, if simply on the prospect of overthrowing the yoke of Coruscanti dominance once more. Worlds in the Rims, too; Queen Neeyutnee of Naboo is predisposed to an alliance. The Senex-Juvex Sectors too. Dorin and Ithor, with some diplomacy. The Council of Neutral Systems, as Duchess Satine of Mandalore may be open to an agreement to end the war.”

Barriss’ head swam with the names of myriad worlds and systems, and for the first time she gained true insight into just how real Master Adi Gallia was. This is real, this treason, fomenting a rebellion in the Core and beyond! It isn’t just all smoke and mirrors…! These were worlds, systems, some who have even been part of the Republic for thousands of years, who Master Gallia had considered open to tearing away from the Republic in a second Separatism. All just to overthrow the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“And most of all,” the Tholothian murmured, “The Tapani Federation and its Freeworlds. Should I gain their support, it would be the secession of the entire Southern Core, from Balosar to Kitel Phard to Thyferra.”

“Will convincing them of the Chancellor’s dark religion be enough?”

“No,” she shook her head, “But his corruption runs deep, and he has made little friends with his constant overreaches. The Jedi Order, for all our reputation has fallen, still holds great sway over much of the galaxy. Barriss, Iskat, recall the satellite terrorist attack. The first, dummy program was…”

“A Separatist broadcast,” Barriss remembered, “But it got caught by the security system.”

“But the real program is still there, and we can still transmit a broadcast,” Master Gallia marshalled her resolve, “And I am still a member of the Jedi High Council, not to mention the most known and recognisable on Coruscant and abroad with my constant diplomatic efforts. All I need to do…”

“Is disparage the Chancellor and his Administration, with evidence and rhetoric,” Master Plo Koon finished gravely, “And the High Council will not be able to backstep. Adi, you may be–”

“Lynched, disgraced, dispelled, whatever it may be,” the Tholothian scowled, “Hang me from the Temple Spire if you must. I’ll be more damned not doing what only I could do. Rather, what of the developments in Separatist Space? Admiral Bonteri, Dooku–”

“Reputation is a rope,” the Battle Hydra’s smile has only grown wider and more genuine as Master Gallia’s tirade progressed, “Whether it is spun into a lifeline or a noose depends on the hands of the reputed. And Count Dooku’s reputation… ah, our schism will be far more mundane than yours. But the final pieces are being brought into place, and I imagine any day now the Pantoran will decide the time is ripe. Worry not for us, but for yourself.”

“Ahem,” the Princess Eara Lota suddenly made her presence known, and Barriss’ cheeks reddened when she realised they had been ignoring their host all this while, “That’s all… splendid, but what of me and mine, which the Jedi have come to settle? Or… or was the invitation from the Senate some sick sort of jest? I care not for the galaxy’s self-demolition, but rather the fate of my people, and surely some attention can be spared for this tiny little matter?”

“My most sincere apologies, Your Highness,” Rain Bonteri bowed towards her, his purple silk cape ruffling, “Indeed, let us now settle the Tetan Secession. I will make this a simple affair for all of us; seeing as the Jedi need a boost of reputation for the coming months, I will willingly surrender this affair. But– not without a fight.”

There was surely more to it than that, and the Jedi knew it.

“Explain,” Master Plo Koon encouraged.

“The Mining Guild, as a subsidiary of the Commerce Guild, unfortunately backs Dooku’s Serenno Government, and is thus a great thorn in my side,” the Battle Hydra’s eyes twinkled, irises narrowing into reptilian slivers, “We will negotiate, for some days, whereupon my absent fleets will return to me. Then it will be clear the dastardly Separatists were only buying time for reinforcements. Jedi General Plo Koon will, however, once again defeat me on the field, and I will be forced to flee.”

“Seeing the winds turn,” Princess Eara Lota spoke up, her simple countenance prevailing with a quaint smile, but with sharp and severe words privy only to their ears, “I will attempt a power coup against the Mining Guild, seeking the aid of the Jedi fleet.”

“And we will root out all Mining Guild presence in the Empress Teta System,” the Kel Dor Master appraised, “It will be effective, of this I can be certain. But the timing will have to be perfect.”

“I have been preparing for this moment all my life, Master Jedi!” the Princess laughed mirthfully, “It will be perfect. Because I am the Princess of Empress Teta, and this star system bends to my every demand.”

“Your confidence imbues me with much the same, Your Highness,” Master Plo humoured her, before turning back to the Perlemian Warlord, “But surely, you have other terms, Admiral Bonteri?”

The Hydra clasped his hands, “You are aware I used a hidden Givin hyperlane to access this star system?”

“No, but this would explain it.”

“Empress Teta is rich and resourceful,” he continued unhindered, “And the Serenno Government still suborns many powerful corporations. Empress Teta and her Koros Spaceworks… will be the replacement measure. My lieutenants wage a campaign in the Deep Core, deeper than here, to flush out the last remnants of any Loyalist fleet that can challenge this hyperlane. Once this endeavour is complete, I intend to use it for this purpose.”

“In exchange,” Eara Lota added, “Your Jedi faction will have the allegiance and might of Empress Teta and her Koros Sector, along with our subordinate systems, in your war against Coruscant. We are rich, to put it succinctly, and without the Mining Guild leeching the wealth of our worlds to fuel their bottomless greed, we have enough to share with both parties.”

They were all in agreement, though nobody did say it outloud. Why must they? Master Gallia’s earlier pleasantries, surprisingly for this kind of effort, rang as true as they could have; I hope this to be a totally diplomatic affair, whereupon we can both depart without a feeling of loss. It was truly, truly, a best case scenario. There was a peaceful air to be found, one considered more a luxury than a thousand vaults of kyber in these harrowing times. Strangely, sitting among their supposed enemies, Barriss felt more at ease than she ever did in the Temple upon her return.

“But why?” Master Adi Gallia wondered, to fill in the silence, “Why would you go so far, and risk so much? Forgive me, Admiral, however you are but one Separatist Admiral. What would concern you so much as to a religious schism perishingly few have ever heard of?”

“...These Sith Lords…” the Battle Hydra shut his eyes tight, pointing at the datachip, and for a moment the yet young man seemed far older than he was, “They speak of a conspiracy truly terrible, and to this they I fear I am unable to fathom the scale and depth of it. To see that future never comes to pass; for my sake, for the sake of everyone else… I will break anything that gets in my way, be it gods or empires or all the armies in the galaxy.”