Three

"Do you still have that copy of the Abregado report," Mon Mothma asked Lynia, "the one with the numbers Deesix ran?" It was several days later: the two of them were back in Mon Mothma's apartment in Wroshyr Tower, crowded around the large table in the dining room as they reviewed what would become Chandrila's official response to the proposed tariffs on the Rimma Route. There had been no word so far on either the Ghorman protests or Admiral Tarkin's progress there, not even if he had yet arrived. They had been waiting eagerly for any news…but the HoloNet was silent.

"Lynia—the Abregado report?" Mon Mothma repeated, and Lynia looked up from the data pad she'd been reading—an update from the Gamorrean delegation, if Mon Mothma remembered correctly. "Sorry," the other woman said, shuffling through the various data cards scattered across the table. "Here," she said finally, selecting one and handing it over to Mon Mothma, "it should be on this one. Although I'm still not convinced Deesix's numbers are accurate."

"They're accurate," Mon Mothma promised, taking the card and sliding it into her own data pad. This was it, all right: an analysis of the larger economic effect of the tariffs on the region. "Deesix may have his faults, but I have learned it's never a good strategy to question him when it comes to charts and figures." She nodded at Lynia's screen. "Any luck on your end?"

"Not really," Lynia said, setting down the data pad with a sigh. "The Gamorreans still intend to support the Emperor, even if they don't agree with his policy." She rubbed at her eyes, tiredly: her aura abilities sometimes worked as well on abstract reports as they did on people, but they seemed to be failing her now. "I still think that we're going about this the wrong way," she mumbled, stroking the bridge of her nose. "An economic argument isn't going to convince the Emperor any more than our other ones."

"I disagree," Mon Mothma said, thumbing through the Abregado report. "If we can present the Emperor with sufficient proof that these tariffs will suppress economic activity along the entire Route, it may be enough to persuade him to abandon the policy."

"But it's not the real reason you're against the tariffs," Lynia protested.

"Perhaps not," Mon Mothma allowed. "But we discussed this, Lynia. The Emperor isn't receptive to any argument that proposes a decrease in military spending; and the ultimate purpose of an argument is, fundamentally, to convince those on the opposing side. We have to find something he will respond to." She reached the end of the report and set it aside. "Nothing new here. What if we tried to spread the pain around, extend the tariffs into other systems?"

Lynia snorted. "Then we'd just have protests on Corellia and Malastare instead of Ghorman and Mantooine. Maybe even along with."

"You're probably right," Mon Mothma admitted, ejecting the Abregado data card and sliding in another. "How about Senator Antilles's speech last year—"

She broke off as the door to the apartment suddenly slid open. "Ah, there he is," Mon Mothma smiled as Deesix waddled in. "Deesix. We were just reviewing your numbers on Abregado. Although Lynia has expressed doubts as to how accurate they may be."

"The calculations are correct, Madam," Deesix assured her, while Mon Mothma studiously ignored the tongue Lynia stuck out in her direction, "I ran them several times to be sure. But I'm afraid you must put aside the Ghorman response for the time being."

"Are you sure? Lynia was rather insistent—"

"Madam, please," Deesix interrupted, and Mon Mothma stopped: the droid never cut her off. "I bring a message from Captain Drayson. He wished for me to show you this at once."

"Show us what, Deesix?" Lynia asked, straightening up in her chair. Apparently she had noticed how serious he'd gotten, too. "Let's see it."

Slowly Deesix wandered over to the wall where Mon Mothma kept her holo-projector. Wordlessly he turned it on, and the screen above started flashing with images being broadcast across the galaxy. Deesix kept turning the dial, until he found the desired channel— "Ah," he declared finally, switching up the volume, "here we are."

It was a HoloNet report, live and in simulcast. Mon Mothma took a step closer for a better look. "Deesix?" she asked softly, staring at the holo-screen.

"They only started reporting it ten minutes ago," Deesix explained, in his usual calm and conversational tone. "Captain Drayson asked that I inform you as soon as he saw it—he assumed you would wish to know at once." He studied her. "The captain's judgment was correct, if I am reading your faces accurately."

The report was from Ghorman. Mon Mothma listened to the newscaster's voice with only half-an-ear, her attention instead on the small ticker that scrolled along the screen's bottom. Massacre on Ghorman, the words read, before moving aside for further detail, Hundreds of Protesters Dead, More Injured. Mon Mothma read the words over and over, barely aware of the hollow feeling that was taking over her chest; a distant pressure, that felt almost like it was happening to someone else.

"'Hundreds dead?'" Lynia read the line off the ticker. "I don't understand. What happened?"

"It was Tarkin," Mon Mothma said. It was a statement, not a question. "It had to be Tarkin."

Deesix tilted his head. "You are correct, Madam. The reporting is still incomplete, but it appears that upon the Admiral's arrival in-system a large group of protestors took over the landing field and refused to disperse. This," he pointed a jointed arm in the direction of the holo-cast, "was the unfortunate result."

"The bastard!" Mon Mon gritted through suddenly clenched teeth. Lynia let out a little gasp—Mon Mothma almost never swore. "I can't believe he attacked them. He promised he would find a non-violent solution—He promised!"

"Pardon, Madam," Deesix interjected, offering the droid equivalent of a cough, "but Admiral Tarkin never made any attack on the protesters. They were instructed to clear the field, in order to allow his ship sufficient room for landing. When they did not comply, he simply landed anyway."

Lynia sputtered. "Are you saying," she demanded, "that he landed on the protesters?"

Deesix turned his head toward her. "That is what the HoloNet is reporting. So you see," he continued, looking back at Mon Mothma, "the Admiral did keep his word. Technically speaking."

Mon Mothma fought back a sudden surge of anger. Deesix was only a droid, after all. "Technically?" she repeated; she made it sound like a dirty word. "Do you consider this a non-violent solution?" She jabbed a finger at the holo-screen.

Deesix considered. "Perhaps you are correct," he allowed, and she could tell behind those saucer eyes of his he was re-evaluating his grasp of human behavior. "I am merely a droid, and no doubt do not understand the nuances of your language."

"Forget Deesix, Senator," Lynia said, coming up behind Mon Mothma and taking her arm. "What are we going to do about Tarkin?"

Mon Mothma sighed. It was just as she had predicted: the Emperor had permitted things to escalate too far, and now the situation was completely out-of-hand. Sending a fleet admiral to deal with a political protest… "We will need to convene an emergency session of the Senate," she told Lynia, stepping towards the table and searching among the scattered data cards for her data pad. "We'll need Bail, Senator Taa, the entire Delegation of 2000…Ghorman is in Sern Sector, isn't it? Have they elected a replacement for Senator Zar yet?"

"Forgive me," Deesix interjected again—he was starting to make a habit of it, "but that won't be necessary. An emergency session has already been called. By the Emperor himself."

Mon Mothma stopped what she was doing, turning away from the table slowly. "The Emperor?" she said, sharing a look with Lynia.

Deesix nodded. "He has recalled Admiral Tarkin and demanded his presence before the Senate. The entire Assembly is commanded to attend."

"Maybe that's good news?" Lynia offered, in the kind of tone that implied she didn't believe it herself. "Why else would the Emperor call him back, except to give him a dressing-down?"

"One of his favorite admirals?" Mon Mothma challenged. "In front of the entire Senate? No," she shook her head, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Neither Lynia nor Deesix had a response to that. "So what do you want to do?" Lynia asked finally, breaking the silence.

Mon Mothma stared at the holo-screen. "Get in touch with Bail," she started. "Unofficially: use backchannels if you have to, even if it means Aach. I want to know how he intends to respond to this."

Lynia started writing down on her data pad. "And then, Madam?" Deesix asked.

"And then, Deesix," Mon Mothma said, feeling her hands clench, "and then we start preparing a response of our own. I am tired of letting these incidents go without comment. It's time we let the Emperor know the Senate won't stand for it any longer."

----------

Mon Mothma had not yet been back to the Senate Building since her return from this, her most recent trip to Chandrila. It hadn't changed much, in the weeks she'd been gone—no surprise there, she had seen that readily enough from the view at her apartment window in Wroshyr Tower. The same domed rooftop glittering in the Coruscant sunlight, the same rows of angled statues that were laid out like a twin hedge along the path to its front entrance...the Senate Building looked much as it had always had, even back to Mon Mothma's first term during the glory days of the Old Republic.

But there was one difference from those older times, a subtle but important change, that was hard to let pass without comment. Where in prior days the halls of the Senate had been defended by the blue-robed, high-helmeted figures of the Senate Guard, they were now patrolled instead by the white-armored ranks of the Emperor's newly-formed stormtroopers. The same stormtroopers, Mon Mothma remembered, who had assaulted the Jedi Temple and been key to the Emperor's rise to power. A subtle reminder, if anyone needed it, of who was in command now.

Drayson set their aircar down on the back platform by which the Senators usually entered and exited. More of those white-clad stormtroopers watched as they landed, studying them wordlessly through emotionless faceplates. "Here you go," Drayson said, finding a spot close to the entrance. "I'll find a place to park the car. Signal me when you're ready to leave."

Mon Mothma was already halfway out the door before she paused. "You are not coming in?" she asked.

Drayson hesitated. "I'd rather not," he confessed softly. He waved a hand at the building. "I don't want to see all…this. If you don't mind, Senator."

Mon Mothma frowned, not quite sure what the this was to which Drayson was referring. Did he really admire Tarkin's campaign that much, she wondered, or is it something else? But all she said was, "Of course, Captain."

Once the three of them had exited the aircar and Drayson risen back up into the sky, they started making their way through the main doors and into the building. The stromtroopers let them pass unmolested, though one did turn his head pointedly as they pattered by. The Senate Building interior was only a slight improvement over the façade outside: a conservative mix of that classic style worthy of Cantham House with the austere shapes of the Coruscant skyline. A soft mat of nondescript carpeting (taupe or beige or some other muted color) covered the floors, while the walls remained bare except for the occasional spatter of a simplistic geometric pattern. Some Senators, Mon Mothma knew, liked to decorate their own particular chambers with more flair: bright colorings from floor-to-ceiling and high-backed, elaborate furniture—the Emperor's own chambers were a good example. But the main halls of the Senate were kept to a minimum, the better to avoid offending the tastes of as many species as possible.

With Lynia and Deesix in tow Mon Mothma hurried down the halls towards the level that held the circular platform assigned for the Chandrilan delegation. Here the corridors were jammed with beings from across the Empire, designated representatives of an entire galaxy: everything from wide-mouthed Quarren to long-necked Quarians, a cluster of Bith chattering huddled in one conversation pit to a group of lanky Kaminoans wandering lazily past. And, of course, plenty of humans. "The whole Senate must be here," Lynia breathed as they squeezed their way between a pair of lumbering Wookiees. "including the junior representatives."

"It certainly seems that way," Mon Mothma agreed, casting a look about. Yes, Lynia was right: the Senate Building was about as crowded as she'd ever seen it—more so even than that fateful session when the Chancellor had revealed the Jedi’s betrayal, during the Clone Wars’ final days. Yet among that great mass she could still spy at consistent intervals the white spot of an occasional stormtrooper, watching over the proceedings. "Look," she said then, pointing towards a tall shape coming towards them. "There's Bail. I wonder what…"

"Senator Mothma," he greeted stiffly, acting up the distant dislike they typically displayed for each other in public. His familiar retinue was assembled behind him; Mon Mothma didn't see Aach (that was to be expected, Aach usually acted covertly) but the cluster did include a handful of protocol droids, and Mon Mothma wondered mildly if the chrome-plated serving-droid from the other night was among them. "It's no surprise seeing you here."

"If you mean it's no surprise that Chandrila wishes to register its frustration with these most recent events," Mon Mothma countered, "then you are correct. An action I would encourage the Alderaanian contingent to consider as well."

"And we will," Bail confirmed, "though perhaps with a little more polish than you are accustomed to." He cast a look about before taking her by the arm. "I wonder if I might have a private word, Senator?" He nodded pointedly at the two staffs gathered around them.

Mon Mothma instructed Lynia to meet her at their seats, then allowed herself to be guided over towards an out-of-the-way spot behind a nearby column. "What is it, Bail?" she asked, casting a covert look around the floor. But no one seemed to be paying them any mind—not even the stormtroopers. "They're going to start soon."

"We still have a minute," Bail told her. He too was staring at the stormtroopers, and trying hard not to look obvious about it. "Don't worry," he smiled, noticing her frown, "none of the ISB's recording devices can catch us here. I had Aach do a scan for their blind spots."

"Fantastic," Mon Mothma said dryly, shifting her feet impatiently. "Now what is this all about?"

Bail finally brought his full attention on her. "That speech you plan to give," he said, darkly and deadly serious, "you can't do it. Yes, I know all about your grand scheme," he added at her surprised look, "Lynia may have shown a little too much of her hand when she met with Aach. You're planning on berating the Emperor publicly. But you can't."

"What are you going on about?" Mon Mothma demanded, "of course I can. And I will! This nonsense has gone on long enough, Bail."

"It's too forceful," Bail continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "and too soon. Do you really want to draw the Emperor's attention to us, just as we're starting to build up a real resistance?"

"Draw his attention to me, you mean," she growled back. "This is my decision—and my risk—to make. And I've made it."

They were interrupted by the sound of chimes: the call for the Senators to take their seats, the warning that the session was about to begin. "They're starting," Mon Mothma said, trying to push past him.

"Wait!" Bail hissed, reaching for her arm. "We need to think about the longer strategy here. You could jeopardize everything we—yes, we—have been working towards. Don't do this."

The chimes rang a second time. "I weary of the long strategy, Bail," she told him bluntly. "We have allowed ourselves to become too tentative for too long; meanwhile, people across the galaxy are dying. It is time for action. Now, if you'll excuse me?" she finished, finally slipping past him.

Mo Mothma found Lynia and Deesix waiting for her in the Chandrilan box, looking out on the long line of concentric rings that circled down the Senate Rotunda. In the center of the room, rising up from the floor like a long spear, was the wide podium where once-Chancellor, now-Emperor Palpatine ran the Senate meetings. It was no surprise to see him already in position, clad in his usual dark robes with the cowl drawn up, the better to hide the great disfigurement he had supposedly endured at the hands of the Jedi years ago. True, it had become increasingly rare for the Emperor to make a personal appearance in the Senate these days—he usually left such matters to his Vice-Chairman of many years, Mas Amedda, since becoming Emperor. But Palpatine was the one who had called this special session, and so he would lead it.

To his right as always stood Mas Amedda himself, tall and stoic with his blue mane and long horns and staff of office clutched in one hand. But on the Emperor's left-hand side… "There he is," Lynia told Mon Mothma, pointing.

Mon Mothma tried to follow where she indicated. "Who?"

"Who else?" Lynia countered darkly. "Admiral Tarkin."

Yes, there he was all right, in a position of honor on the main podium beside the Emperor. "Hmmm," Mon Mothma muttered thoughtfully. "Doesn't seem particularly nervous, does he? It seems unlikely the Emperor put him there for a dressing-down."

"Probably not," Lynia conceded, her eyes twinkling. "Look—he's staring right at us."

Mon Mothma saw she was right. Tarkin had been squinting among the rows of gathering senators until he had located the right level, and now he was staring up at Mon Mothma and Lynia directly with those piercing eyes and gaunt expression. Mon Mothma stared back at him, pointedly; she wasn't sure if he noticed, not at this distance, but she spied what felt like a mocking smile as he turned away.

"Order!" someone shouted out suddenly over the din; it was Mas Amedda, banging upon the podium with his staff. "Order! This emergency session of the Senate is set to begin!"

Mon Mothma and Lynia took their seats. The chamber quickly quieted down as the remaining senators likewise found their places, settling into respective boxes along the wide circumference of the Senate rotunda. When all had finally fallen silent the Emperor rose slowly from his own seat and started his address:

"Members of the Galactic Senate!" he began, his steady and sonorous voice echoing across the chamber (benefitted, in part, by the comm speakers hidden in strategic locations throughout the room). Mon Mothma knew this speech was also being broadcasted live via the HoloNet, and she could only imagine the millions of beings across the galaxy who were crowded around their holo-projectors watching. "Distinguished representatives! The Empire has reached a critical point, one from which it cannot falter. Although the Separatists have been defeated and the Clone Wars ended, there are still forces in the galaxy—rebellious, discordant forces—that seek to plunge our society once more into anarchy!"

He paused then, allowing his words to sink in. Mon Mothma glanced about the Senate, desperate to see what effect, if any, the Emperor was having. Most of the faces she saw were blank, unreadable: whether due to reservation or some other reason, she couldn't say. But there were some gathered there—particularly among her human colleagues—who were staring at the Emperor with rapt attention.

"You have heard," the Emperor went on, "of these traitorous demonstrations—on Mantooine, on Sullust, on Triton and Ghorman—protesting the protection and security ensured by the Empire. Do not be deceived! Though there may be some among you who believe these demonstrations to be nothing more than harmless acts of self-expression, they are instead a concerted effort to weaken our resolve and plunge us into a second civil war."

"'Concerted?'" someone repeated then, no doubt at some assigned cue. "Are you saying these protests are being coordinated? By whom?"

"By whom, indeed, Senator? My agents tell me they have uncovered evidence of a growing resistance movement across the galaxy, funded by former Separatists—and including members here of our own esteemed Senate! Seditious traitors who wish to exchange the security of the Empire for the allure of their own rise to power. I ask you: what else but such a coordinated strategy could explain the sudden rise of demonstrations we are seeing across the Empire?"

There was a growing murmur amongst the Senators. At the words coordinated and particularly former Separatists many of the people gathered there had started mumbling amongst themselves. Mon Mothma leaned in closer to listen.

"Yes!" the Emperor continued, his booming voice rising above the murmur. "Take this most recent tragedy on Ghorman. I dispatched one of my most senior officers, a great hero of the Clone Wars," here he indicated at Tarkin, who nodded politely, "to put a peaceful end to the Ghormians' demonstrations. He did not seek violence—though what else would one call a refusal to pay taxes, than an act of violence against the Empire itself? How are we to keep the space-lanes safe, ensure the protection of our citizens, if we are unable to fund the ships to do so?

"But when Admiral Tarkin arrived, he found only more rebellion and discordance. Rather than meet with the Emperor's delegate for an exchange of views, these rebels instead chose to rile up innocent civilians and attempted to prevent the Admiral's landing. When Admiral Tarkin requested that the crowd disperse, the instigators would not permit the other protesters to leave. This tragedy…well, you all know what was the result."

"Here it comes," Lynia whispered in Mon Mothma's ear.

"It was with my authority that Admiral Tarkin acted as he did, to end the Ghormian riots as quickly—and bloodlessly—as possible. I know there are those among you who wish he had acted otherwise…those who were not there, who have never risked their lives for the Empire as Admiral Tarkin has. Though the loss of life is regrettable, I commend the Admiral for his ingenuity and quick thinking, to end this crisis before it could spiral anymore out of control."

"Ingenuity?" Lynia hissed. "Quick thinking?" Mon Mothma hushed her quiet.

The Emperor paused again, gazing around the chamber. "Such a strong hand on the helm is exactly what we need if we are to move past these latest incidents. Men like Admiral Tarkin should be celebrated, not denigrated. As such, I am promoting him to the rank of Moff, and name him Imperial governor of the Sern and Seswenna Sectors. There his talents will no doubt serve the Empire well…"

Mon Mothma felt her jaw drop. Promoted? Palpatine was promoting Tarkin after this debacle? Surely not! She hadn't been so naïve as to think the Emperor might punish Tarkin for his abuse—not really, not without a push from the Senate—but a promotion? And to governor? Suddenly everything Mon Mothma had planned to say at today's session fled from her mind.

Her opinion was apparently a divided one in the Senate. Half the Senators had taken to their feet at the Emperor's announcement, cheering and applauding both Tarkin and the Emperor himself with great enthusiasm. But there were others among them, those who remained seated with stone faces and hands in their lap. No doubt their names were being noted by the Imperial Security Bureau, for further follow-up and investigation. She was both relieved and annoyed to spy Bail among the former, though even at this distance his applause appeared muted.

And Tarkin himself? Mon Mothma turned towards him now, and his honored position to the Emperor's left. The Admiral—correction, Moff—looked as smug and satisfied as ever, that self-assured smile hovering over his lips again. "Order!" Mas Amedda commanded from the Emperor's other side, banging his staff upon the podium, "the Senators will come to order!"

Mon Mothma realized suddenly that not all the commotion was positive. Underlying the din she could hear a handful of jeers and other comments, impugning the Emperor as much as his newly-minted Moff. Most of it, if she was judging the voices and languages correctly, was coming from the non-human representatives. "Order!" Mas Amedda tried again, and as ineffectually as before, "the Senate will come to order!"

"Justice for Ghorman!" someone shouted; while elsewhere down the line another voice chortled, "Down with Tarkin the Tyrant!"

Mon Mothma watched Tarkin's expression turn sour, the smile on his lips twisting downward into a sneer. The lines around his eyes hardened. But the Emperor continued to wave among the Senators, either unbothered or simply uncaring—she wasn't sure which. "Order!" poor Amedda was practically screaming now, still banging uselessly.

"Justice for Ghorman!" the voice kept shouting, growing almost shrill. "Justice now!"

"The esteemed Senator from Malastare will keep his voice down, until his appointed time for speaking has arrived!" Amedda demanded.

But even if the esteemed Senator from Malastare did fall reluctantly quiet, his cry was quickly taken by others throughout the rotunda. "Justice for Ghorman!" they started chanting. "Justice for Mantooine! Justice for Sullust!"

"Silence!" Amedda went on, desperately. "We will have silence until the Emperor is finished!"

"I for one should like to hear from someone other than the Emperor," a new voice interjected then. Mon Mothma blinked in surprise: why, it was Senator Taa, as round and portly as ever. Usually he was reserved, even docile, in these sessions, a bigger proponent of closed-door dealings than bombastic Senate speeches. But now he put that baritone voice of his to good use, lecturing from the perch of his box. "This is the Imperial Senate, is it not? Surely it is a place for Senators to discuss these issues, not the Emperor. Senator Mothma," he paused then, turning towards her, "perhaps you would like to speak?"

The entire Senate as one turned their faces up toward her. She was acutely aware of it, just as she was acutely aware of the sudden fidgeting of Lynia and Deesix behind her, and she felt a cold sweat clamming up on her skin. Looking about, Mon Mothma realized at once why Taa had selected her: of all the Senators who had not applauded, she was the only human.

"Senator Taa, I…" Her voice drifted off for a moment as she gazed around the chamber. Over by the Alderaanian delegation she could see Bail, staring up at her with such intensity that she wondered whether he was hoping it could will her into silence. Further down was Tarkin, his previous smiles and frowns replaced by something new—a thoughtful, almost wary expression as he watched Mon Mothma closely. And then there was the Emperor himself: quietly observing from the penetrating pits of those famously-yellow eyes, all that could be seen of him beneath the shadow of his hood.

Mon Mothma took a breath. "Senator Taa, I thank you for the opportunity to speak. I had initially intended to offer you all an impassioned speech against the deeds of Admiral Tarkin—I do not, will not call him Moff—and his actions at Ghorman. My staff spent hours, days helping me prepare it, citing precedents from the entire history of the Old Republic." She looked over at Bail. "But I cannot give it now.

"I can say only this: that we have just heard our distinguished Emperor as he explained the many reasons Admiral Tarkin is worthy of our appreciation, protecting us from a so-called 'coordinated effort' designed to propel the galaxy once more into civil war. He has offered us fine words—words of protection, and security, and safety. But I tell you, his words are false."

There was a gasp then, a collective one that seemed to fill the entire chamber. Down at the podium Mon Mothma saw the Emperor's haunting eyes suddenly narrow, focusing in on her like a tractor beam from one of his fearsome Star Destroyers, but she plodded on before he could interrupt. "Yes! I say he has offered us only fictions and deceit. There is no concerted effort, no second Separatist revolution to move against the Empire. There are only a million voices, crying out at once. And why are they crying out, you might wonder? The Emperor does not care. His only care is to silence them, bring them to heel before they can grow louder."

She could hear growing mumblings as her own voice crescendoed with momentum. "The Emperor says all he wants is to keep the galaxy safe," she went on, half-remembered words from her speech coming back to her, "and yet here he promotes men to protect us who only know violence. I asked Admiral Tarkin—yes, I met with him personally, prior to his assignment to Ghorman—to try and find a peaceful response to the protests. The Admiral in turn gave me his word he would try. Yet we have all seen what Admiral Tarkin considers to be peaceful: hundreds dead, more wounded. What is the toll to be, should one day he be commanded to resort to true violence?"

"Tarkin the Tyrant!" one of the delegates (Mon Mothma couldn't tell who) started up again.

"You all know me, Senators," Mon Mothma continued, "and more importantly, you all knew my father. When my father served you as arbiter-general for the Republic, he believed that only a sustained faith in the power of peace would keep the fabric of our society whole. Unity, not force, is what binds us together. My father taught me that destruction and violence were meant to be his last resort, not the first. This is a lesson that was lost the day the Republic died and the Empire was born.

"Yes, I had a speech I had intended to make: to convince—to beg—the Emperor that the only answer to Admiral Tarkin's actions must be some punishment, to send a clear message that such unilateral, irrevocable acts will not be excused. It was to be a good speech. But there is little point now. The Emperor hears no words but his own, and follows no counsel but that which already agrees with him. He does not hear the million voices crying out, nor does he wonder why they do so. If so many cry out, he thinks, it must be a conspiracy; for him there is no other explanation!" She stared down the rows of platforms beneath her, brought her stare directly into the yellow gaze of the Emperor. "Emperor Palpatine, I say to you: there is no movement, no new Separatists acting against you. There are only Imperial citizens, wanting to be heard. But if you continue these iron-fisted policies against them…there may be."

The Emperor stared back at her, his eyes hardly flinching; Mon Mothma was glad she could only barely see them properly at this distance, so sure was she of the hate and venom that must be broiling behind. The rest of the Senate had fallen eerily, uncharacteristically silent…no interruptions, no calls of "Tarkin the Tyrant!" or "Justice for Ghorman!" anymore. There was only the echo of Mon Mothma's voice as she prepared her final words.

"Mr. Chairman," she said then, directing her gaze beside the Emperor to Mas Amedda, "the planet of Chandrila logs its formal protest against this promotion. We will not stand for such willful acts of violence to go rewarded." A long pause. On the Emperor's other side, she watched as Tarkin quivered with rage. "Mr. Chairman," she repeated, when Amedda did not at once respond, "do you note our protest?"

"It is noted, Senator," he said finally.

"Thank you," Mon Mothma said stiffly; and without another word stormed out of the Senate.