• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“The incident on Klatooine?”

“As is so often the case, you’re a step ahead of me. It makes my job more difficult. But yes, this combined with the other incidents could spark more activity elsewhere. In fact, Desha has just placed reports on my desk of another freedom march that has all the earmarks of becoming a full-fledged revolt. This incident on Klatooine will no doubt inflame that situation.”

Another one? What was going on? “Where?” She had muted the sound, but the silent celebratory rioting on Klatooine continued to unfold as she listened to Dorvan.

“Blaudu Sextus.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You’re not alone, ma’am. And fortunately, given what else they have to cover at the moment, the holonews hasn’t picked it up yet.”

For an instant, Daala wondered if that was a subtle reprimand. She decided it wasn’t. Dorvan either didn’t comment, or said what he felt in his usual blunt, dry manner.

“The planet is little more than an out of the way mining colony,” her chief of staff continued. “Their police force can handle a minor protest, but if this becomes a true revolt, they’re incapable of putting it down. Unless we intervene, the government may fall.”

As Daala watched, the cam closed in tight on the sight of a Hutt writhing in agony. Someone had put a blaster bolt right into his tail. She wasn’t overly fond of Hutts, but they were sentient beings, capable of hate and greed and love and compassion just like anyone else. Granted, the latter qualities were not often seen in abundance in the species, but they were capable of it.

The protests held on Coruscant had, thus far, been peaceful. But violence was contagious. And the Treaty of Vontor had been the most famous example of slavery in the galaxy. With that gone—

“We can’t let that happen,” Daala said decisively. “We can’t let Blaudu Sextus fall.”

“It is very much out of the way, ma’am. Given the current situation, it might be advantageous for the GA to avoid intervening in internal politics at this juncture and let the problem solve itself one way or another.”

Daala clicked back to the other channel. Javis Tyrr—wasn’t Dorvan supposed to be doing something about the man?—was mercifully still muted, but the cam took a slow, loving pan over the armed Mandos standing almost as still as statues in a thick ring of beskar armor and weapons around the Jedi Temple.

“Has the Freedom Flight taken credit for the protest on Blaudu Sextus in any way?”

“No ma’am, this appears to be all localized. Hence my comment.”

But Daala knew the Flight would, soon enough. And then that little reporter would start covering Blaudu Sextus. And then …

“No,” Daala said. “If the government topples, the rebels would think they can start picking away at the edges of Alliance territory. The Freedom Flight will step up activity there, start egging on would-be revolutionaries, and we’ll have uprisings springing up like weeds all along the Outer Rim. This incident on Klatooine couldn’t have come at a worse time. We need to stop this now, before it spreads.”

“Well, ma’am, the Octusi slaves—”

“We don’t have slaves in the Galactic Alliance, Wynn.” She practically bit off each word.

“Of course we don’t. The, ah, Octusi servants are pacifists, and if images of GA troops facing off against them in full riot gear start showing up on the holonews, it’s not going to reflect well on us.”

Daala nodded slowly, still watching the coverage of the siege. Her green eyes narrowed as the cam paused on Belok Rhal’s scarred visage. It was the only solution. Things were getting out of hand, everywhere. She couldn’t allow this spark to ignite other tinder-dry areas throughout the Alliance. It had to be contained. Stopped. And she knew who could get the job done.

“Well, then,” she said, “We won’t have GA troops in riot gear on Blaudu Sextus.”

“I’m not following you, ma’am.”

“Contact Belok Rhal. Tell him I need a rapid response Mando brigade to put this thing down. Now.”

“Mandalorians? After what just happened?” Seldom did Wynn Dorvan’s voice hold much expression other than dry humor.