Recap
Looking back, everything started to unravel the moment Joren Logan was kidnapped. In theory, the cracks of the Coalition’s fall stretched back to its’ very foundations, but such speculation would be left for the more fanciful strain of historians. Once Caleb Logan’s hunt for his father lead him to Glee Anselm, however, the end had definitely begun.
Ironically the actual perpetrators of the biological attack were never caught, but their act of terrorism had repercussion they almost certainly never imagined. Coming across a world devastated by bio-weapons, Caleb Logan displayed the Onyxian’s famed tactical ruthlessness by pegging the planet for the newly formed ‘Section 8'. The Onyxian’s new special-operations team would be well-concealed in the heart of a terrible disaster.
Unfortunately for the Logans and the Onyxian Commonwealth, Glee Anselm wasn’t just any planet - it was a member of the League of Nations, an Empire-backed group formed for mutual security and stability. The Empire seized the opportunity and before the Coalition’s Prime Minister was even informed of Glee Anselm’s existence, a huge League relief fleet had surrounded the planet. Coalition-affiliated agents were discovered on the surface, and the crisis spun out of control.
Things began to decline quickly. Negotiations over the incident broke down several times, despite quiet meetings between the Empire’s Supreme Commander and the Coalition’s Prime Minister. Internally, the hidden divisions in the Coalition split the various power groups, but none so much as the Onyxians who fumed at the Empire’s outmaneauvering tactics. In order to avoid a mutiny from within, the Prime Minister approved a desperate attack to put the Empire on the defensive.
That battle was held over Bilbringi, and the galaxy has not been the same place since.
Those groups that favoured military action - the Confederation, the Azguards, and the Onyxians - assembled a fleet outside Bilbringi. Their commander, the recently returned Joren Logan, thought himself wise for striking suddenly. Unfortunately, the Imperial high command was wiser, and had guessed the power struggle within the Coalition would result in rash action. The battle was brief and decisive. The aftermath was less so.
Acting immediately, Imperial fleets poured north from prepared staging points into worlds across the Onyxian Commonwealth. They also targetted the Cren Alliance who had contributed to the invasion, sending a message to the rest of the Coalition that none were safe. The Empire declared the Onyxians a rogue state and demanded that the Coalition reject them. In one last desperate bid to hold his Coalition together, Prime Minister Regrad appeared in person on Coruscant to beg the Emperor for peace.
The Emperor offered harsh terms, but with the might of the Empire poised to wipe them from the face of the galaxy, Regrad accepted. The Onyxians were lost, but as the Prime Minister expected, this was but the start of the trouble.
The sign of the Coalition’s weakness reinvigorated the Black Dragon Empire’s Eastern campaign, which ended in route and retreat by the beleaguered Eastern Province. With now two nations crushed by Coalition defeats, other allies soon drifted away.
The Gestalt Colonies had been on their way out since before even Glee Anselm, but this latest disaster sealed any chance of reconciliation. The Confederates, feeling the Coalition could not protect them in light of their failures to fight the Empire and the Dragons, also resigned their membership. Though no official word was sent, the Cren were so shaken by their experience that their involvement in the Coalition quickly faded. After months of political damage-control what remained of the Coalition stabilized, although now only half the size.
The Prime Minister now faces his greatest crisis yet - what to do next.
Coalition High Command
Azguard, city of Az
Prime Minister Regrad of the New Galactic Coalition lived in quarters far more humble than his title suggested. From an apartment in the High Command Tower he had an unparalleled view of the pale mountains and brisk rivers of his homeworld. The city of Az, built into the rock all around them, stretched down before him like a carpet. It was a wonder to behold.
For the last couple of months since his return from Corsucant, during which he had coordinated the evacuation of the Eastern Province and the Onyxian Commonwealth, he had taken time out of his day every morning to look out and marvel at the sun rising over the mountains. Regrad had felt strange lately, as if he had passed through world-weariness and entered some strange plateau of calmness on the other side.
He rose once more from his narrow bed and pulled his robes of state from the closet. Regrad pulled them on and pushed himself out the door, the building outside as always alive with activity.
Today was different, however. Today was a special day. Today was the day of the State of the Coalition address.
How times had changed since his last address - how many wars had been fought, both open and covert. How many people he had met and friends he had lost. These thoughts had cycled through Regrad’s mind so often whenever he started to think about the address that he’d been unable to write a speech. Yet even now, zero-hour grew ever closer.
He walked through the familiar hallways until reaching what could be called a ‘central chamber’. From the ground floor to the roof, a clear shaft ran straight through the center of the building, letting Regrad look down from above at the nerve-center of the Coalition’s operations hard at work. Doing so now, he could mentally pick out points like the CIB liason’s office, the Ministry of Ethics, the Ministry of Peace, the White Knight’s office, the military command...
Regrad couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt uninspired in a way he’d never felt before. It worried him, most of all when facing a moment that some were quietly calling the make-or-break moment for the Coalition’s future. As he stood there, looking out at all that moved at his command, Regrad knew he couldn’t leave that future hanging.
“Miette,” Dolash murmured, as Viryn’s android secretary scurried by on business of her own. “Assemble my cabinet and council in the conference room. We need to talk.”
The conference room was always an ad-hoc meeting place, a place where the Coalition’s most powerful and influential met in a hurry when important things had to be decided. The walls were always plastered with notes, screens, holograms, datapads, and more while the table itself was oft littered with garbage, but all of this was cleared quickly while the hastily assembled council filed in.
White knights, government ministers, Representatives, generals, admirals, officials of all stripes... the ruling body that had somehow formed out of the Coalition was quickly convened, with all taking seats and all who couldn’t make it appearing by hologram. Last in was the Prime Minister himself, taking his seat at the head of the table and glancing about the room. How reduced their numbers were since they’d last met.
“So...” said Regrad, sighing and sitting back. “Are we everyone?”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” answered Ruuvan of the White Knights with a respectful nod. “Every top level federal official, as you requested.”
“What about the provincial council?”
“There... isn’t one any more,” answered Marth Meer, the dour and gloomy minister. “With yourself representing the Azguards, only the East and West would be needed to form a complete provincial council, and we already have Ion and Panacka here by hologram. The Sinsangese have also sent a delegate.” The noted ambassador, who was sitting near the back, offered a slight inclination of his head. “This is everyone.”
Regrad sighed again, leaning forwards. “So... the State of the Coalition address is coming up, and I’m drawing a blank. I guess the big question is, what do we do now?”
The various leaders shifted uneasily and glanced at each other. This wasn’t going to be an easy meeting. Regrad, heedless, pushed ahead. “Let’s review our situation. Militarily?”
Jan Dondana, his usual good looks marred by the stress of sleep deprivation, came slightly more awake. “The bulk of the Onyxian and Eastern fleets were saved from their respective retreats and have been integrated where possible. The other provincial fleets made a clean withdrawal and we managed to quickly plug the command structure gaps. Our forces are reduced but we’re still holding strong, I’d say despite morale problems our organization is still top-notch, for now.”
“Well, that’s good at least,” said Regrad. “What about deployment? Our current position?”
“Thass me,” said Frakutsk, Minister of Peace, as he brought up a map of the galaxy on a hologram projected over the table. “Wesa no lookin’ good ovah North Fringe no mores, an wiv Easten Province gettin’ crunched, wesa no longa gots control of outa-rim. Janny tells you ‘bout army deploys.”
“What the gungan’s saying,” replied Jan, struggling awake once more, “is that we’ve basically lost so much territory as to totally lose our stake in a lot of regions.” He drew his finger in a half-circle across the outer rim. “Our concentration of troops and territory now stretches in a crescent from Sinsang, down to Kashyyyk, over to Azguard, then up to the now surprisingly strong West.”
“Then that’s where we’re going to have to concentrate ourselves and our efforts,” said Regrad, drawing his own hand through the crescent. “Consolidation. The first step on the road to recovery. Okay, so we know our situation, now what about intelligence?”
“The intelligence networks were basically untouched by the chaos,” answered CIB chief Ferguson Mumphs. “We’re still operating abroad, albeit with fewer resources and safe-houses, but I believe we can maintain our aggressive campaigns of-”
“Scratch the aggressive until further notice,” said Regrad, barely glancing at Ferguson’s shock. “The CIB might still be going strong, but without an equally strong Coalition to support you there’s no safety net for if anything goes wrong. I won’t bluff with our agent’s lives.”
“Understood,” replied Ferguson with a sigh.
“So we’re wounded but stable,” said Regrad. “We’ve got a clear rebuilding plan ahead of us, lots of work to do... but that’s not the real question at hand...” An ominous silence reigned as the elephant in the room finally came forwards. “What do we do about the Empire?”
“We’ve gone through hard times before,” said Marth. “Careful governing, patient rebuilding, and one day we’ll be ready to face them again.”
“Yeah, and get smacked down all over again!” The voice drew some looks - Viryn Quell sat alone away from the table, pouring himself another shot from a whiskey bottle he kept gripped in one fist. “Maybe now’s a good time to sit back and review why we keep going through hard times.”
“Because we keep getting our asses handed to us,” growled the East’s Captain Panacka from one of the screens on the wall. “We make way too many enemies, not nearly enough friends, and are frankly outmaneuvered and outnumbered on every front.”
“Succinct,” Viryn remarked with a smile. “So it’s going to be a hard sell for you to go out there and tell everyone to get back on the ‘getting our asses kicked’ wagon.”
“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” said Ferguson. “The Black Dragon Empire’s an aggressive and territorial power. War with them was inevitable. As for the Empire, well, you’ve seen the same intelligence I have... is it any surprise we don’t get along?”
“You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong with the Empire,” snapped Viryn, who downed his fresh drink. “Even with all my firebrand speeches and cutting remarks, I still understand the value of picking our moments and getting things right - Bilbringi wasn’t one of them.”
“So long as we live and profess our ideals, the Empire will be our enemy,” Marth observed. “It’s the nature of the Empire to undermine and oppose free and just democracies like ours.”
“Well maybe if we didn’t get into their shit all the time, they’d be less inclined to undermine us,” said Viryn. “I’m just saying the Empire keeps railing about how unpredictable and dangerous democracies are, and you guys aren’t setting a great example by picking fights with them every couple of years.”
“The Minister is correct,” the Sinsangese ambassador said - the slightest hint of suppressed disdain evident. “The Coalition’s long history of conflict with the empire only serves to fuel more conflict. If we wish to live in peace we must first be willing to let other live in peace.”
“The Empire doesn’t deserve peace,” Jan hissed, waking quite suddenly. “I’ve fought against them most of my life and by now everyone should know why they’re worth fighting. They commit genocide! They conquer unprovoked, they kill anyone who disagrees and they outright and openly despise freedom.”
“The question isn’t wether they deserve to be fought,” the ambassador whispered. “Merely wether we are the ones to do it.”
“How many years has it been?” said Captaion Ion of the West, from a different screen. “I mean, I hate the Empire too, but how many years have we been plugging away at these guys with no effect? Maybe we need to accept there’s nothing we can do about it right now.”
“That’s not true!” exclaimed Ferguson, slamming the table. “My agents are out there every damn day, watching secret police executions and bloody suppressions and mass-murders. There’s always something we can do!”
Viryn, who had seemed so sure a moment ago, seemed to pass into a period of deep melancholy. “There is - or at least, there should be... but let’s face it, gang, we’re fucked. The Empire’s bigger than ever before. We’re the galaxy’s assholes at the moment. Heroic band of freedom fighters we ain’t.”
Ruuvan, a Mon Calamari White Knight, rose from his seat and bowed towards Regrad. “Mr. Prime Minister, please, tell us what you’re thinking.”
Regrad, who had seemed deep in quiet contemplation, glanced up at his colleagues. All were watching, almost hungrily, for something to inspire and revitalize them. “Do you really want to know?
“Any reasonable and rational leader would look at his position and decide his firs priority is to consolidate their remaining holdings and buckle down. Get out of foreign affairs as much as possible, pour all efforts into rebuilding internal infrastructure and economy. Abandon all fancy ideals that don’t fit into a budget and accept that as a second rate power our only purpose is the welfare of our constituents.
“Then again, any compassionate, integrity-possessing being wouldn’t be able to side idly by and watch as countless billions of people suffer under monstrous tyrannies. The oppression and massacres of the Black Dragon Empire and the New Order are on such a scale that future generations will mark our time as a black chapter in history. I pray nightly that we do well enough so that future generations will think of these crimes as horrendous and not the norm. For a good being, there is no excuse relating to economics or logistics that justifies the evils we witness.
“As it stand, I haven’t yet decided which I am.” With that, he rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time, everyone, but I think I need some time alone to think.”
Leaving them with no words of comfort - for he had none to give - Regrad departed the conference room and left the Coalition’s greatest to consider their futures. For his own part, Regrad would be considering them too.
In a place not real, yet also not entirely unreal, another conference was being held. One which, once again, waited for the arrival of Regrad.
“He will not come,” stated the first voice, deep and gravelly like bedrock. “His will has eroded too greatly.”
“He will not speak,” howled the second, its’ voice whistling through the immaterial space. “His bonds of community are too weak.”
“He will not continue,” gurgled the third, each word sloshing about the air. “His dream of peace is too faded.”
“He will not survive!” rasped the fourth, each word sparking and crackling. “His passion for life is too dim.”
“He will not.” intoned the fifth, each word a measured silence. “For he cannot.”
“He will be here soon,” murmured the sixth. Each word echoed ever so slightly, as though a near-perfect chorus of voices were speaking. “Let’s ask him in person.”
Regrad went straight back to his room, collapsing on his bed. From there, he could see out the window to where the podium had been erected. Already crowds of supporters had gathered, for regardless of the circumstances the Azguards were fanatical supporters. Borderline mindless, Regrad had to admit. He couldn’t bear to watch them waiting below and pulled the curtains shut before going back to bed.
His mind still swimming in the varied arguments he’d heard, Regrad didn’t remain awake for long. Drifting slowly off to sleep, his eyes closed in one world only to open in another. A familiar infinite blackness extended in all directions before him, but Regrad himself was still entirely visible.
“I wondered when you would return...” Regrad murmured. “Show yourselves. I have questions, and I need answers. I have no time for riddles and visions today.”
At his request, the darkness before him exploded in light and colour. The six gods of the Azguardian pantheon appeared from the blackness, splendid beings representing both the elements and the different facets of the Force. At the forefront was a luminous being that shone brightly in the dark, Yunos the god of light.
“I know,” said Regrad with a sigh. “I know. You have no power to make destiny happen, only to set it into motion. The mistakes were my own.”
“Not solely your own, at least,” remarked Yunos, who moved towards Regrad. “The galaxy is a complex place, and any number of things could have-”
“It doesn’t matter,” snapped Regrad. Despite a lifetime’s devotion, he felt anger welling up inside him. “The point is I’ve failed. The Azguards have failed. We didn’t save the galaxy, we didn’t defeat darkness, but we’re still alive. Now what?”
“There will be other battles,” grumbled a great being of rock, Argrak - the god of Earth and Will. “This defeat need not drag you down forever. You are beaten now, but in the future...”
“It’s always in the future,” Regrad remarked bitterly. “It’s always some imagined far-off point where we’re finally going to get things right and save the galaxy, meanwhile in the real world people die by the billions galaxy-wide. They die as a result of the failed wars and as a result of harsh Imperial policy that gets to go on because of those failures. The wars are futile.”
“You of all people should know that every situation is unique, that every battle is a chance for the tide to turn,” murmured a giant squid - Jarvis, god of Water and Peace. “Every battle is its’ own chance to do good, and even though you have been defeated before, the next challenge may finally be the time of victory and peace.”
“True, every situation is unique, and could in theory deliver final victory for the forces of good” said Regrad, crossing his arms. He narrowed his eyes at Jarvis before continuing. “That doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a pattern, though. Waging war isn’t like rolling the dice, where a one-in-ten chance comes up around once every ten rolls. War is about position, people, weapons, ideology, strategy... and it’s time to admit that whatever we lack that they have, we will never get. The odds aren’t just stacked against us, we don’t even get to roll the dice. We cannot win to begin with.”
“Where is your passion for life? Your love of justice?” exclaimed a huge fiery tiger - Relokan, god of Fire and Passion. “Are not these things so wondrous, so important, as to make every chance no matter how slim worth it? Can you say that sparing any effort is acceptable in the cause of something so beautiful as simple life and freedom?”
“If there really was so much as a slim chance, I would try,” Regrad affirmed. “If I thought it was within possibility, I would try. I have tried, many times as a matter of fact, and have tested thoroughly the fact that no such hope exists. Wouldn’t it then be an injustice on my part to continue pursuing an impossible dream when I could at least do some small good elsewhere?”
“And of the others?” queried a great golden eagle - Herluey, god of Wind and Community. “Of the countless billion lives whom you will never know, yet whose souls you feel as surely as your own? Will you abandon them to their fate?”
Regrad bit his tongue, a baleful reply quickly squelched before answering “It will be their fate wether I abandon them or not, I just don’t see why the rest of us should join them too.”
The gods fell silent. The space of darkness between them and Regrad seemed infinitely vast, yet at the same time they felt so close that Regrad thought he could reach out and touch them. He did not. At last, he cast his eyes to the bat Ishon, god of Shadow and Necessity.
“What, god of darkness? No criticism from you?”
“I am afraid I can see you no longer,” stated Ishon. “You are beyond the boundaries of my watch. You stand with the orphan of Arcadia.”
Regrad felt a fresh chill run down his back, followed by steely resolve. “So be it.”
“Regrad...” Yunos pleaded, approaching the Azguardian leader. “We can help you, if you wish. We can help lead your people back to greatness and help you save the galaxy. That future, no matter how distant, is still within your grasp if you want it.”
A few quiet moments that seemed to stretch to hours went by as Regrad considered it. At last, agonizingly, he turned his back to the gods. “No...” he whispered. “That future is gone forever. The prophecy is dead. The vision is over.”
With not a word more, the dream world faded, and Regrad opened his eyes to the real world once more. The first thing he did was open the curtain and look out at the podium.
It was almost time.
Looking back, everything started to unravel the moment Joren Logan was kidnapped. In theory, the cracks of the Coalition’s fall stretched back to its’ very foundations, but such speculation would be left for the more fanciful strain of historians. Once Caleb Logan’s hunt for his father lead him to Glee Anselm, however, the end had definitely begun.
Ironically the actual perpetrators of the biological attack were never caught, but their act of terrorism had repercussion they almost certainly never imagined. Coming across a world devastated by bio-weapons, Caleb Logan displayed the Onyxian’s famed tactical ruthlessness by pegging the planet for the newly formed ‘Section 8'. The Onyxian’s new special-operations team would be well-concealed in the heart of a terrible disaster.
Unfortunately for the Logans and the Onyxian Commonwealth, Glee Anselm wasn’t just any planet - it was a member of the League of Nations, an Empire-backed group formed for mutual security and stability. The Empire seized the opportunity and before the Coalition’s Prime Minister was even informed of Glee Anselm’s existence, a huge League relief fleet had surrounded the planet. Coalition-affiliated agents were discovered on the surface, and the crisis spun out of control.
Things began to decline quickly. Negotiations over the incident broke down several times, despite quiet meetings between the Empire’s Supreme Commander and the Coalition’s Prime Minister. Internally, the hidden divisions in the Coalition split the various power groups, but none so much as the Onyxians who fumed at the Empire’s outmaneauvering tactics. In order to avoid a mutiny from within, the Prime Minister approved a desperate attack to put the Empire on the defensive.
That battle was held over Bilbringi, and the galaxy has not been the same place since.
Those groups that favoured military action - the Confederation, the Azguards, and the Onyxians - assembled a fleet outside Bilbringi. Their commander, the recently returned Joren Logan, thought himself wise for striking suddenly. Unfortunately, the Imperial high command was wiser, and had guessed the power struggle within the Coalition would result in rash action. The battle was brief and decisive. The aftermath was less so.
Acting immediately, Imperial fleets poured north from prepared staging points into worlds across the Onyxian Commonwealth. They also targetted the Cren Alliance who had contributed to the invasion, sending a message to the rest of the Coalition that none were safe. The Empire declared the Onyxians a rogue state and demanded that the Coalition reject them. In one last desperate bid to hold his Coalition together, Prime Minister Regrad appeared in person on Coruscant to beg the Emperor for peace.
The Emperor offered harsh terms, but with the might of the Empire poised to wipe them from the face of the galaxy, Regrad accepted. The Onyxians were lost, but as the Prime Minister expected, this was but the start of the trouble.
The sign of the Coalition’s weakness reinvigorated the Black Dragon Empire’s Eastern campaign, which ended in route and retreat by the beleaguered Eastern Province. With now two nations crushed by Coalition defeats, other allies soon drifted away.
The Gestalt Colonies had been on their way out since before even Glee Anselm, but this latest disaster sealed any chance of reconciliation. The Confederates, feeling the Coalition could not protect them in light of their failures to fight the Empire and the Dragons, also resigned their membership. Though no official word was sent, the Cren were so shaken by their experience that their involvement in the Coalition quickly faded. After months of political damage-control what remained of the Coalition stabilized, although now only half the size.
The Prime Minister now faces his greatest crisis yet - what to do next.
***
Coalition High Command
Azguard, city of Az
Prime Minister Regrad of the New Galactic Coalition lived in quarters far more humble than his title suggested. From an apartment in the High Command Tower he had an unparalleled view of the pale mountains and brisk rivers of his homeworld. The city of Az, built into the rock all around them, stretched down before him like a carpet. It was a wonder to behold.
For the last couple of months since his return from Corsucant, during which he had coordinated the evacuation of the Eastern Province and the Onyxian Commonwealth, he had taken time out of his day every morning to look out and marvel at the sun rising over the mountains. Regrad had felt strange lately, as if he had passed through world-weariness and entered some strange plateau of calmness on the other side.
He rose once more from his narrow bed and pulled his robes of state from the closet. Regrad pulled them on and pushed himself out the door, the building outside as always alive with activity.
Today was different, however. Today was a special day. Today was the day of the State of the Coalition address.
How times had changed since his last address - how many wars had been fought, both open and covert. How many people he had met and friends he had lost. These thoughts had cycled through Regrad’s mind so often whenever he started to think about the address that he’d been unable to write a speech. Yet even now, zero-hour grew ever closer.
He walked through the familiar hallways until reaching what could be called a ‘central chamber’. From the ground floor to the roof, a clear shaft ran straight through the center of the building, letting Regrad look down from above at the nerve-center of the Coalition’s operations hard at work. Doing so now, he could mentally pick out points like the CIB liason’s office, the Ministry of Ethics, the Ministry of Peace, the White Knight’s office, the military command...
Regrad couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt uninspired in a way he’d never felt before. It worried him, most of all when facing a moment that some were quietly calling the make-or-break moment for the Coalition’s future. As he stood there, looking out at all that moved at his command, Regrad knew he couldn’t leave that future hanging.
“Miette,” Dolash murmured, as Viryn’s android secretary scurried by on business of her own. “Assemble my cabinet and council in the conference room. We need to talk.”
***
The conference room was always an ad-hoc meeting place, a place where the Coalition’s most powerful and influential met in a hurry when important things had to be decided. The walls were always plastered with notes, screens, holograms, datapads, and more while the table itself was oft littered with garbage, but all of this was cleared quickly while the hastily assembled council filed in.
White knights, government ministers, Representatives, generals, admirals, officials of all stripes... the ruling body that had somehow formed out of the Coalition was quickly convened, with all taking seats and all who couldn’t make it appearing by hologram. Last in was the Prime Minister himself, taking his seat at the head of the table and glancing about the room. How reduced their numbers were since they’d last met.
“So...” said Regrad, sighing and sitting back. “Are we everyone?”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” answered Ruuvan of the White Knights with a respectful nod. “Every top level federal official, as you requested.”
“What about the provincial council?”
“There... isn’t one any more,” answered Marth Meer, the dour and gloomy minister. “With yourself representing the Azguards, only the East and West would be needed to form a complete provincial council, and we already have Ion and Panacka here by hologram. The Sinsangese have also sent a delegate.” The noted ambassador, who was sitting near the back, offered a slight inclination of his head. “This is everyone.”
Regrad sighed again, leaning forwards. “So... the State of the Coalition address is coming up, and I’m drawing a blank. I guess the big question is, what do we do now?”
The various leaders shifted uneasily and glanced at each other. This wasn’t going to be an easy meeting. Regrad, heedless, pushed ahead. “Let’s review our situation. Militarily?”
Jan Dondana, his usual good looks marred by the stress of sleep deprivation, came slightly more awake. “The bulk of the Onyxian and Eastern fleets were saved from their respective retreats and have been integrated where possible. The other provincial fleets made a clean withdrawal and we managed to quickly plug the command structure gaps. Our forces are reduced but we’re still holding strong, I’d say despite morale problems our organization is still top-notch, for now.”
“Well, that’s good at least,” said Regrad. “What about deployment? Our current position?”
“Thass me,” said Frakutsk, Minister of Peace, as he brought up a map of the galaxy on a hologram projected over the table. “Wesa no lookin’ good ovah North Fringe no mores, an wiv Easten Province gettin’ crunched, wesa no longa gots control of outa-rim. Janny tells you ‘bout army deploys.”
“What the gungan’s saying,” replied Jan, struggling awake once more, “is that we’ve basically lost so much territory as to totally lose our stake in a lot of regions.” He drew his finger in a half-circle across the outer rim. “Our concentration of troops and territory now stretches in a crescent from Sinsang, down to Kashyyyk, over to Azguard, then up to the now surprisingly strong West.”
“Then that’s where we’re going to have to concentrate ourselves and our efforts,” said Regrad, drawing his own hand through the crescent. “Consolidation. The first step on the road to recovery. Okay, so we know our situation, now what about intelligence?”
“The intelligence networks were basically untouched by the chaos,” answered CIB chief Ferguson Mumphs. “We’re still operating abroad, albeit with fewer resources and safe-houses, but I believe we can maintain our aggressive campaigns of-”
“Scratch the aggressive until further notice,” said Regrad, barely glancing at Ferguson’s shock. “The CIB might still be going strong, but without an equally strong Coalition to support you there’s no safety net for if anything goes wrong. I won’t bluff with our agent’s lives.”
“Understood,” replied Ferguson with a sigh.
“So we’re wounded but stable,” said Regrad. “We’ve got a clear rebuilding plan ahead of us, lots of work to do... but that’s not the real question at hand...” An ominous silence reigned as the elephant in the room finally came forwards. “What do we do about the Empire?”
“We’ve gone through hard times before,” said Marth. “Careful governing, patient rebuilding, and one day we’ll be ready to face them again.”
“Yeah, and get smacked down all over again!” The voice drew some looks - Viryn Quell sat alone away from the table, pouring himself another shot from a whiskey bottle he kept gripped in one fist. “Maybe now’s a good time to sit back and review why we keep going through hard times.”
“Because we keep getting our asses handed to us,” growled the East’s Captain Panacka from one of the screens on the wall. “We make way too many enemies, not nearly enough friends, and are frankly outmaneuvered and outnumbered on every front.”
“Succinct,” Viryn remarked with a smile. “So it’s going to be a hard sell for you to go out there and tell everyone to get back on the ‘getting our asses kicked’ wagon.”
“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” said Ferguson. “The Black Dragon Empire’s an aggressive and territorial power. War with them was inevitable. As for the Empire, well, you’ve seen the same intelligence I have... is it any surprise we don’t get along?”
“You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong with the Empire,” snapped Viryn, who downed his fresh drink. “Even with all my firebrand speeches and cutting remarks, I still understand the value of picking our moments and getting things right - Bilbringi wasn’t one of them.”
“So long as we live and profess our ideals, the Empire will be our enemy,” Marth observed. “It’s the nature of the Empire to undermine and oppose free and just democracies like ours.”
“Well maybe if we didn’t get into their shit all the time, they’d be less inclined to undermine us,” said Viryn. “I’m just saying the Empire keeps railing about how unpredictable and dangerous democracies are, and you guys aren’t setting a great example by picking fights with them every couple of years.”
“The Minister is correct,” the Sinsangese ambassador said - the slightest hint of suppressed disdain evident. “The Coalition’s long history of conflict with the empire only serves to fuel more conflict. If we wish to live in peace we must first be willing to let other live in peace.”
“The Empire doesn’t deserve peace,” Jan hissed, waking quite suddenly. “I’ve fought against them most of my life and by now everyone should know why they’re worth fighting. They commit genocide! They conquer unprovoked, they kill anyone who disagrees and they outright and openly despise freedom.”
“The question isn’t wether they deserve to be fought,” the ambassador whispered. “Merely wether we are the ones to do it.”
“How many years has it been?” said Captaion Ion of the West, from a different screen. “I mean, I hate the Empire too, but how many years have we been plugging away at these guys with no effect? Maybe we need to accept there’s nothing we can do about it right now.”
“That’s not true!” exclaimed Ferguson, slamming the table. “My agents are out there every damn day, watching secret police executions and bloody suppressions and mass-murders. There’s always something we can do!”
Viryn, who had seemed so sure a moment ago, seemed to pass into a period of deep melancholy. “There is - or at least, there should be... but let’s face it, gang, we’re fucked. The Empire’s bigger than ever before. We’re the galaxy’s assholes at the moment. Heroic band of freedom fighters we ain’t.”
Ruuvan, a Mon Calamari White Knight, rose from his seat and bowed towards Regrad. “Mr. Prime Minister, please, tell us what you’re thinking.”
Regrad, who had seemed deep in quiet contemplation, glanced up at his colleagues. All were watching, almost hungrily, for something to inspire and revitalize them. “Do you really want to know?
“Any reasonable and rational leader would look at his position and decide his firs priority is to consolidate their remaining holdings and buckle down. Get out of foreign affairs as much as possible, pour all efforts into rebuilding internal infrastructure and economy. Abandon all fancy ideals that don’t fit into a budget and accept that as a second rate power our only purpose is the welfare of our constituents.
“Then again, any compassionate, integrity-possessing being wouldn’t be able to side idly by and watch as countless billions of people suffer under monstrous tyrannies. The oppression and massacres of the Black Dragon Empire and the New Order are on such a scale that future generations will mark our time as a black chapter in history. I pray nightly that we do well enough so that future generations will think of these crimes as horrendous and not the norm. For a good being, there is no excuse relating to economics or logistics that justifies the evils we witness.
“As it stand, I haven’t yet decided which I am.” With that, he rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time, everyone, but I think I need some time alone to think.”
Leaving them with no words of comfort - for he had none to give - Regrad departed the conference room and left the Coalition’s greatest to consider their futures. For his own part, Regrad would be considering them too.
***
In a place not real, yet also not entirely unreal, another conference was being held. One which, once again, waited for the arrival of Regrad.
“He will not come,” stated the first voice, deep and gravelly like bedrock. “His will has eroded too greatly.”
“He will not speak,” howled the second, its’ voice whistling through the immaterial space. “His bonds of community are too weak.”
“He will not continue,” gurgled the third, each word sloshing about the air. “His dream of peace is too faded.”
“He will not survive!” rasped the fourth, each word sparking and crackling. “His passion for life is too dim.”
“He will not.” intoned the fifth, each word a measured silence. “For he cannot.”
“He will be here soon,” murmured the sixth. Each word echoed ever so slightly, as though a near-perfect chorus of voices were speaking. “Let’s ask him in person.”
***
Regrad went straight back to his room, collapsing on his bed. From there, he could see out the window to where the podium had been erected. Already crowds of supporters had gathered, for regardless of the circumstances the Azguards were fanatical supporters. Borderline mindless, Regrad had to admit. He couldn’t bear to watch them waiting below and pulled the curtains shut before going back to bed.
His mind still swimming in the varied arguments he’d heard, Regrad didn’t remain awake for long. Drifting slowly off to sleep, his eyes closed in one world only to open in another. A familiar infinite blackness extended in all directions before him, but Regrad himself was still entirely visible.
“I wondered when you would return...” Regrad murmured. “Show yourselves. I have questions, and I need answers. I have no time for riddles and visions today.”
At his request, the darkness before him exploded in light and colour. The six gods of the Azguardian pantheon appeared from the blackness, splendid beings representing both the elements and the different facets of the Force. At the forefront was a luminous being that shone brightly in the dark, Yunos the god of light.
“I know,” said Regrad with a sigh. “I know. You have no power to make destiny happen, only to set it into motion. The mistakes were my own.”
“Not solely your own, at least,” remarked Yunos, who moved towards Regrad. “The galaxy is a complex place, and any number of things could have-”
“It doesn’t matter,” snapped Regrad. Despite a lifetime’s devotion, he felt anger welling up inside him. “The point is I’ve failed. The Azguards have failed. We didn’t save the galaxy, we didn’t defeat darkness, but we’re still alive. Now what?”
“There will be other battles,” grumbled a great being of rock, Argrak - the god of Earth and Will. “This defeat need not drag you down forever. You are beaten now, but in the future...”
“It’s always in the future,” Regrad remarked bitterly. “It’s always some imagined far-off point where we’re finally going to get things right and save the galaxy, meanwhile in the real world people die by the billions galaxy-wide. They die as a result of the failed wars and as a result of harsh Imperial policy that gets to go on because of those failures. The wars are futile.”
“You of all people should know that every situation is unique, that every battle is a chance for the tide to turn,” murmured a giant squid - Jarvis, god of Water and Peace. “Every battle is its’ own chance to do good, and even though you have been defeated before, the next challenge may finally be the time of victory and peace.”
“True, every situation is unique, and could in theory deliver final victory for the forces of good” said Regrad, crossing his arms. He narrowed his eyes at Jarvis before continuing. “That doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a pattern, though. Waging war isn’t like rolling the dice, where a one-in-ten chance comes up around once every ten rolls. War is about position, people, weapons, ideology, strategy... and it’s time to admit that whatever we lack that they have, we will never get. The odds aren’t just stacked against us, we don’t even get to roll the dice. We cannot win to begin with.”
“Where is your passion for life? Your love of justice?” exclaimed a huge fiery tiger - Relokan, god of Fire and Passion. “Are not these things so wondrous, so important, as to make every chance no matter how slim worth it? Can you say that sparing any effort is acceptable in the cause of something so beautiful as simple life and freedom?”
“If there really was so much as a slim chance, I would try,” Regrad affirmed. “If I thought it was within possibility, I would try. I have tried, many times as a matter of fact, and have tested thoroughly the fact that no such hope exists. Wouldn’t it then be an injustice on my part to continue pursuing an impossible dream when I could at least do some small good elsewhere?”
“And of the others?” queried a great golden eagle - Herluey, god of Wind and Community. “Of the countless billion lives whom you will never know, yet whose souls you feel as surely as your own? Will you abandon them to their fate?”
Regrad bit his tongue, a baleful reply quickly squelched before answering “It will be their fate wether I abandon them or not, I just don’t see why the rest of us should join them too.”
The gods fell silent. The space of darkness between them and Regrad seemed infinitely vast, yet at the same time they felt so close that Regrad thought he could reach out and touch them. He did not. At last, he cast his eyes to the bat Ishon, god of Shadow and Necessity.
“What, god of darkness? No criticism from you?”
“I am afraid I can see you no longer,” stated Ishon. “You are beyond the boundaries of my watch. You stand with the orphan of Arcadia.”
Regrad felt a fresh chill run down his back, followed by steely resolve. “So be it.”
“Regrad...” Yunos pleaded, approaching the Azguardian leader. “We can help you, if you wish. We can help lead your people back to greatness and help you save the galaxy. That future, no matter how distant, is still within your grasp if you want it.”
A few quiet moments that seemed to stretch to hours went by as Regrad considered it. At last, agonizingly, he turned his back to the gods. “No...” he whispered. “That future is gone forever. The prophecy is dead. The vision is over.”
With not a word more, the dream world faded, and Regrad opened his eyes to the real world once more. The first thing he did was open the curtain and look out at the podium.
It was almost time.