Chandrila

“Now,” Theren said, “you most likely will spend most of your time on Bastion, you understand. Lieutenant-Governor is not a position of direct governance, it’s representation.”

“I understand,” the man replied. His name was Zelich Caesar, and he’d been the Deputy Governor on Chandrila previous to the occupation. He’d not been targeted for assassination, primarily because he was recognized as one of the few pro-Imperial officials left in the Chandrilan government. He was almost forty, but looked to be about thirty-five, with a full head of dark hair and a tanned complexion. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and cunning. “And, if I may ask, is this me representing your will to Chandrila, or Chandrila’s will to you?”

Theren smiled slightly. The man was obviously astute. It usually took a few weeks of casual brainwashing before a Lieutenant-Governor came to understand the true function of the Conclave as a distributor of the Governor’s will. “A little bit of both. You can bring your world’s concerns to the council, but make no fucking bones about it – the Conclave acts as a way to conduct the Empire’s will to the territories I hold.”

Zelich nodded his head briefly. “Fine with me.”

“Alright, then.”



The Zenith,
Chandrila System

The first meeting of the replenished, nine-member Conclave was tense, at best. For the most part, it consisted of Theren bringing minor security issues to the forefront, and assigning the new Legionnaire regiments rolling off the Kamino assembly lines. The Koornacht Cluster Lieutenant-Governors also had to be briefed on the new construction specifications. The skilled workforce of enslaved Yevetha had not, in Theren’s opinion, been fully tapped yet, and he intended to do so.

When the formal business concluded, Theren opened the floor to any business from the Lieutenant-Governors. To everyone’s surprise – Theren included – Zelich Caesar was the first to speak up. “Governor, if I may, I believe I have an issue of some pertinence.”

The Lieutenant-Governors muttered among themselves, many giving Zelich disapproving glares. Typically, new Lieutenant-Governors were expected to remain silent for their first few Conclave meetings; most had little to say, and didn’t understand the workings of the Conclave, still laboring under the delusion that it was anything but a puppet government designed to keep the citizens of the Bastion Conclave in line. “Let the man speak, for god’s sake,” Cris Kellis said, and the others were instantly silent.

Following the recent purge of the Conclave, Kellis had been left as the dominant and most influential member of the council. While official Conclave policy stated that each representative should be given equal weight, Theren did little or nothing to dissuade this. Zelich cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Kellis.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“As I was saying, I believe I have found a chance for great gains, for both the Empire and its people. As of now, Commodore Gevel has secured two of the most influential worlds on the Perlemian Trade Route, Corulag and Chandrila. However, the Outer-rim Sovereignty has taken Esseles –”

There were a few mutterings of disapproval. Cris Kellis chimed in with, “Sort of an inexplicable move, given their name…”

“—which leaves us with an option to box them in, and negate the advantage they’ve gained. For several years, we’ve been receiving regular transmissions from Ralltiir, requesting assistance and aid.”

The representative from Corulag snorted. And with good reason; Ralltiir had once been a proud, strong Imperial world. But when its markets have begun to shift in Imperial directions, the government moved to stop this, and the Emperor had been immensely displeased. He’d made an example of Ralltiir, sending a task force to invade the world, leaving it in shambles, the government dissolved. Its ten billion residents had been forbidden to leave the world; using a blockade, the system was completely blocked off.

Theren remembered all this very well. As a child, he’d been told stories of it; long previous to the invasion, his parents had fled the world, searching for work on Coruscant.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” Theren asked, glancing at the Corulagian Lieutenant-Governor. He immediately sat back, shaking his head vigorously. The respect and fear of Theren had increased exponentially, after the traitorous members of the Conclave had been killed. “Mr. Caesar, why haven’t these calls been answered?”

Zelich shrugged. “It was Imperial policy not to answer calls for aid from Ralltiir. In recent years, Ralltiir has been considered a lost cause. No one bothered to dedicate money or time to it.”

“I understand that it has been somewhat rebuilt, since the Imperial task force destroyed it?”

“Somewhat. Several of the primary industrial and commercial centers have been rebuilt, but there are still vast tracts of destroyed infrastructure.”

Theren nodded thoughtfully. Finally, the representative of Corulag spoke up again. “Sir, you cannot possibly be considering bringing Ralltiir back into the fold! The world deserve what it got; the last thing the Conclave needs is a disloyal world.”

The Commodore fixed him with a careful look. “You don’t feel that the advantage of occupying more of the Perlemian Trade Route outweighs the possibility of some dissent among the population?”

The other did not respond. Theren nodded, “I’ll take that to mean you’ve seen the light. In that case, we will show Ralltiir the generous side of the new Empire. The Emperor is no longer in power, nor has he been for a long time. We’ll rebuild Ralltiir, and engender the gratitude of its people in doing so.”

The Zenith
Hyperspace, en route to Ralltiir

Theren’s quarters, like most important rooms on the Zenith, were dark. For some reason, he had always preferred spaces that were dimly lit; perhaps it had been all the time spent on lower levels of Coruscant. He would never know. Stepping over a variety of paper and datapads strewn about the room, he sat down on the side of his bed, mentally reviewing the plan for Ralltiir.

Theren’s father had died before the boy could have possible known him, but his mother had often told him stories of her great, beautiful homeworld of Ralltiir. A place of many wonders, of great technology and advancement. He smiled wryly. And then the Emperor stepped in.

Reports had flooded in from Ralltiir, most of them vague, about the rebel conspiracies, and the mighty hand of the Empire stepping in. Theren had done market research; there hadn’t been any rebel conspiracies. Just a government that had resisted the will of the Empire, and had been punished, rather brutally, for it.

As a young man growing up on Coruscant, the example set on Ralltiir had been rather intimidating. But then, in the poor, lower levels of Coruscant, the Empire seemed like the furthest thing from them; they rarely took an interest in the slums. Survival had been more important. But, unavoidably, the Stormtroopers would find their way down there, from time to time, and several people would be shot or led away. The Empire, it seemed, was about inquisition as much as it was about peace.

But Theren had dedicated himself to his studies; he’d been determined to find his way out of the hole that he’d been born in. His father had gotten himself shot over some sort of bet regarding swoop races, and when he was old enough to understand this, Theren realized that a life lived in those slums would be a life wasted. At that point, the Empire had seemed to be the enemy; a great, terrible tyrant that ruled over his life from far away.

Yet as his studies continued, he came to know the Empire as something different; as a liberator, from war, and from want. While some championed it as a way of finding power, slowly, Theren had come to realize that it was built on a single principle; unity. Within unity, there was no war; no want; no famine; no greed. When all worked as one, the plagues which had brought humanity so many times to the brink of destruction would be erased forever.

Therefore, all opposition to the Empire, he’d realized, came from ignorance. The government of Ralltiir, like the rebellion, like Lexicon Industries, placed a higher price on their own greed than they did the greater good of humanity. They refused to see the larger picture; they saw only what the Empire took, not what it would eventually give. Their own greed was their single motivator: greed for money, greed for freedom.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that an injustice had been done by the Emperor, in what he’d done to Ralltiir. It was not the people who were at fault, in this equation, but a government motivated by petty self-love. Theren’s quarrel was with them, with the rulers who cared more for themselves than the greater good, not with the people they trod upon. He had never been able to share his views with his mother; when he returned to his home in the slums after his time at Imperial College, she hadn’t been there. He’d never found out what happened to her; like many, she simply disappeared, perhaps thrown in Imperial jail.

Theren picked up a pad of paper and one of his many pens, and began to scribble on it. He’d justified his motivation for taking Ralltiir by agreeing with Zelich Caesar’s notion of securing more clout along the Perlemian Trade Route, but his motivation ran much deeper than that. As a child, he had seen what had been done to Ralltiir by the Empire, and thought it was wrong – but there was nothing he could have done. As an adult, he had come to know that the Empire was built upon a principle that was worthy of his allegiance, as he had freed himself from the poverty and ignorance that he’d been born into.

When he’d finally enrolled in the Imperial Navy, after several years as a history professor, he’d done so with the intent to correct injustices such as this. Now, the power was in his hands. And he was determined to use it to inform, rather than injure; to free, rather than control.

Theren chuckled. Had he begun to develop a messianic complex?

Ralltiir

Flying over Ralltiir gave the planet the look of a planet which had experienced a massive, nuclear holocaust. Below was a seemingly-endless field of destroyed homes and rubble, the remains of massive buildings laying on their side, having crushed other structures. It was disturbing to note that the damage had been caused not in abstract form, but very directly, over a long, agonizing period of time, by human hands.

The offer by the Bastion Conclave for diplomatic audience with Ralltiir representatives had been, as expected, accepted. The absorption of Ralltiir into the Bastion Conclave was expected to go smoothly; what they had to offer was something that the ruined world desperately wanted, and had been begging for, for years. All they needed to do was offer them a chance at once again being a prosperous, influential world, and no one on the Conclave doubted that they would take it.

Then, as if the Sentinel-Class landing ship had hit a wall that separated two dimensions, the wasteland of ruined structures stopped. Instantly, the planet below was covered in tall, commercial buildings, a miniature version of something one might find on Coruscant. Looking as far forward as the circular viewport would let him, Theren saw that this rebuilt city didn’t stretch far; two or three kilometers, at the most.

On the transport with him, also transfixed on the planet below, were Zelich Caesar and Tornel. Tornel looked up, noticing that Theren had stopped staring at the world below. “There are ten or twelve of these rebuilt cities. Citadels, I think they call them,” Tornel said, gesturing out the viewport.

Theren nodded. “I don’t think they’ll be in any position to refuse our offer.”

“I don’t know,” Tornel shrugged. “They threw down the Imperial governor, here. And they haven’t had quite a good run with the Empire. Independence runs strong, here.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not that long,” Zelich said.

Theren raised an eyebrow at him. “What was that?”

“I said, ‘Not that long.’ These people have long memories – and what they’ve had to endure isn’t something you can forget overnight.”

“It hasn’t been overnight. It’s been years.” Tornel said.

Zelich looked out the window again. “Doesn’t seem like years.”

Theren fixed Zelich Caesar with an intent glare. “Our intelligence file was wrong. You’re not a native Chandrilan; you’re from Ralltiir.”

Zelich continued to look out the window. Finally, he turned back to Theren. “You got me. Abort the mission and shoot me in the head, I hear you’re good at that. My purpose on the Conclave was to get help for Ralltiir. That’s why I had my documents forged.”

Theren shook his head. “I’ve had members of the council do worse. If the worst you can do is lie to get aid for your homeworld, you’re staying. This is my homeland, too.”



“In exchange for your loyalty, you will receive funding to help you repair your infrastructure, and your economy,” Theren said. He looked intently and earnestly at the Ralltiir representative, who was a gray-haired, spry-looking old man. His name was Fellax Kien, and he was the elected Governor of Ralltiir. “You’ll receive reparations, as well.”

The man grunted. The meeting was taking place in what seemed to be the highest office in the highest tower on Ralltiir, at least from the view. Out the transparisteel windows, even the tallest buildings of the citadel were visible below. “What about the infighting and crime? The slums are filled with it – completely lawless.”

“You’ll be dispatched a standard compliment of Legionnaires, to keep the peace and provide defense,” Theren replied. “More, if you need them, and we’ll supply you with riot-control vehicles and the funding I mentioned will include that needed for a police force. The only way Ralltiir will be of true use to the Empire is by becoming prosperous again, and that’s how I’ll be justifying diverting all this funding your way.”

Kien grunted again. After a moment of looking out the window – through which the slums were still very visible beyond the citadel – he spoke slowly, and quietly. “I don’t need to tell you that the people of this world aren’t particularly warm towards the Empire. Ralltiir used to be a center of prosperity and finance; now we’re nothing but floating piece of waste.” He sighed. “We’ve built these citadels, trying to distance ourselves from the poverty and crime, to return to some semblance of civilization, but we can’t do it on our own. Eventually, I suppose we always knew we’d have to accept the Empire’s help.”

“That’s what I’m offering, Governor. Help. The new Empire is not the old Empire. Palpatine is long dead, and the Regent is not the same man. We are still prepared to be uncompromising in our pursuit of Imperial principles – as the Empire will always be – but we are prepared to use different methods to achieve our ends.”

Kien looked at Theren, seemingly appraising his honesty. “I know that Ralltiir has become an important world in terms of the Empire’s domination of the Perlemian Trade Route. This could all just be posturing to ensure our return to the Empire.”

In truth, it was roughly halfway between. Theren would’ve liked to believe that his movies were purely humanitarian, but at the back of his mind was the nagging voice that spoke of the benefits this would bring to the Empire. “Does it matter? I’m offering you a chance to pull Ralltiir out of this. My motives don’t matter worth a fuck, to anyone.”

Kien nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I expected no less. But, before I sign anything, I want you to do something with me. It won’t take long. An hour, at most.”

Theren shrugged. “Anything.”

“I want you to walk in the slums with me. Just… take a walk. See what it’s like there.”

Theren’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Does it matter? I’m offering you a chance to control the Perlemian Trade Route.”

“Alright, then,” Theren said, smiling wryly.



The slums appeared even more devastated on the ground than they had from the air. It was truly a scene of a post-apocalyptic world. While the smoke that usually permeated such scenes was absent, the ashes and rubble were readily apparent. The road on which they walked was a dirt road, and they had to watch their feet for fear of tripping over the crumbled debris that littered it.

Fellax Kien walked by his side, and they were surrounded by six Legionnaires, one of which – though even Theren knew not which one – was actually a Conclave Executor. Children and parents huddled, crouched, and stood staring at the passing party outside their ruined, gray homes. “How do these people live?” Theren asked.

Kien sighed. “They live off the refuse from the citadels. They take used food, rebuild used goods and sell them back to us. A precious few have jobs doing hard manual labor at industrial facilities.”

“Shit,” Theren muttered. “I’m from the slums of Coruscant. They look like paradise in comparison.”

“I’m from these very slums,” Kien replied. “It was those in the slums who led the uprising against the old Imperial governor. I was a part of that; which is how I came to be Governor.”

“All of these people will have jobs,” Theren said, continuing to stare at the people on either side of the road. Poor, dressed in rags. “And fair wages. No market competition on Ralltiir for at least a year. Nationalized corporations only. They’ll build goods that’ll be put to use in their own defense.”

To their left, there was a slight scuffle. One of the Legionnaires was holding back a struggling woman. “Sir,” he said, looking back urgently, clearly unimpressed at his current situation. “This woman – she claims to be your – your mother.”

Theren stared. And there, in the Legionnaire’s arms, underneath a mop of filthy hair and buried beneath baggy rags, was his mother. The woman who had raised him on Coruscant, and watched him leave home for Imperial College. When he’d returned home from Imperial College, she hadn’t been there. She was skinny, seemingly starving, her face gaunt.

“Mother?” He asked.

She stared at him for a moment. Her eyes locked with his, but it was as if she didn’t recognize him; they were vacant and cold. “So it’s true, then,” she said. “You are one of them.” She spat the words. “I’ve heard about it, on the Holonet – my own son, one of the monsters… the murderers… making a name for himself as a killer…”

There stared at her. He didn’t know what to say.

“One of the bastards!” She screamed, lunging at him. The Legionnaire leapt back into action, holding her back. “One of the motherfuckers! I spent four years in prison while you pissed around at your fucking college!”

Theren continued to stare. To his left, Kien was looking horrified.

Finally, Theren shook his head. “Get this woman out of here, and give her something to eat. She is not my mother,” he said coldly.

His mother was still snarling at him as the Legionnaire pulled her away. “The slums do much to chip away at the sanity of their residents,” Kien said.

Theren nodded glumly. They certainly did.

It had all started as such a simple mission.

Nothing had been simple about it.