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Jedi Insurgency 90 (Interlude 12)
🕑 Added 2025-08-14 16:52:46 +0000 UTCDeep within the regal halls of Aldera Palace, the serene elegance typical of Alderaanian design was in full force. Tall windows casted shafts of late afternoon light across marble floors, and arched ceilings adorned with reliefs of ancient peace accords lined the halls. However, beneath the tranquility, tension hung thick as Dagobah fog.
Bail Organa stood at the head of a long, curved table crafted from native varan wood, his hands rested on its polished surface as he gazed at everyone present. He was a striking figure: tall, immaculately robed, he bore the quiet dignity of an absolute monarch who worked for his people, and was beloved for his acts of generosity. His presence was firm, yet welcoming, his reputation carried with it the weight of a thousand generations built upon trust. All who gazed upon his visage beheld a man who represented all that the galaxy could be. He was Bail Organa, King of Alderaan, protector of the Core Ideology, and nominal ruler of a thousand worlds, through which his cadet branches, and various nobles under his protection exercised his influence.
Around him sat a dozen senators, each one handpicked due to their close socioeconomic ties to Alderaan. Amongst these generational allies sat others who-at times had been confrontational-yet at the end of the day shared one trait. That being that they were founders of the Old Republic. Alderaan, Corellia, and Chandrila answered the call, whereas the other 19 founding members, Great Houses each and every one of them-such as Coruscant, Kuat, Anaxes, Duro, etc-were noticeably absent.
“My friends.” Bail began, his voice was smooth but held an edge of urgency. “We cannot continue to sit idle whilst the Republic-yes, the Republic we all swore to serve-is hollowed out and made into a throne for a despot. The Jedi are on the brink of destruction, scattered, or worse. Although a few heroes have risen to the occasion, and are our trusted friends & allies, we cannot place the burden of salvation on their shoulders any longer.”
Murmurs circled the table, some nods of agreement elicited a small smile from the young politician, however, most were silent in the face of his rousing words. Bail’s gaze swept across them, Senator Fang Zar of Sern Prime, Terr Taneel of Ghorman, and finally, Mon Mothma of Chandrila, met his eyes with the calm steel he’d come to respect. These three were his largest supporters excluding those who had sworn themselves to his family.
“We must act.” He continued, undeterred by his peers’ grim expressions. “Not recklessly, but deliberately. There are cells forming already, workers, students, veterans, they have witnessed Palpatine’s lies for what they are. Some may think that the Senate will go about as usual, but we know better. The people sense the betrayal, and know that no one man should command the galaxy for life. But although the masses have awakened to this truth, they are like tipyip's with their heads cut off. Without leadership, they will burn out or be crushed in the shadows.” Bail took a sip of water, and gauged his guests’ reactions. He was about to say more, however, one of his supporters signalled him with her eyes, to which he subtly nodded.
There was a pause before Mon Mothma rose. Draped in ivory robes, her orange hair was perfectly cropped, and she was the very picture of poise. Despite her elegant, ‘weak’ appearance, her voice was clear and forceful, cutting through the unease like a vibroblade.
“Bail, I share your concern. The Empire is not a government built upon the will of the people, it is an edifice of fear, one in which the horrors of war are used as a political tool to seize power. But it was elected into power. Through manipulation, perhaps, but it was with the Senate’s consent.” She turned to the others, sweeping her hand toward them. “If we are to restore the Republic, we must do so through Republican means. Violence will make us terrorists in the eyes of the people. But persuasion, transparency truth these are our weapons now. We must meet violence with firm resistance. To survive this storm, we must keep our heads down, and reach out to our peers.”
A few senators murmured in agreement. Bail studied their faces, and withheld a frown. Many leaned toward Mon's steady pragmatism, yet this slow and steady approach ran contrary to Bail's intentions. Perhaps if the Jedi were truly destroyed, and the CIS obliterated, he would have wholeheartedly agreed to her plan. However, he owed the Jedi a debt. His wife had never been so happy, and Revan had finally brought Alderaan an heir. The political infighting within House Organa would have been disastrous without his child, and he wouldn't have had time to devote to this anti-Imperial summit even if he wanted to.
As Mothma was about to continue with her proposal, a sharp voice cut across the room like blaster fire.
“Oh, for the love of the stars, Mothma, again with this pacifist fantasy?”
Garm Bel Iblis slammed his palm on the table as he stood. The Corellian senator’s gray-streaked mustache bristled as he spoke, his eyes flashed with disdain. “You want to sit on your hands and hope the Senate sees the truth? The Senate that handed Palpatine the keys to the galaxy without a second thought? We have been at war for five years, and you have wanted to throw in the towel since day one!”
“This isn’t fantasy, Garm, it’s principle.” Mon Mothma replied, icily. “Something you seem to discard the moment it’s inconvenient. Corellia, a supposed neutral planet regarding the war, began providing warships to the Republic when it became clear that Kuat was reaping all of the benefits. I expected better from a founding member.” Mothma sniffed.
“Don’t lecture me about principle!” Iblis barked. “You want to wait for the Jedi? What Jedi? The ones that are dead, or in hiding like cowards? We don't have time to play the long game. The economy is collapsing, shipyards are closing, trade routes are paralyzed, and the Empire’s military might is stretched too thin trying to control it all. Palpatine may be a smooth talker, but the billions of recruits he ensorcelled will take at least half a year to train!”
“Which makes violence an even more foolish prospect!” Mon Mothma snapped. “A revolt now would be crushed, and used as justification for repression. Emperor Palpatine still holds war powers. Even if we united, it would take a similar amount of time to train our own soldiers. Meanwhile, we represent 20% of the member worlds, hardly enough to win in a straight fight.”
“I’m not talking about marching into the Senate with rifles blazing.” Garm growled, and leaned forward. “I’m talking about sabotage, intelligence raids, targeted strikes. Hit them where it hurts, like supply lines, communications, and industry. While they’re still too bloated to respond properly, and tangled with the masked freak and that blue menace, we can be doing something meaningful instead of sitting on our hands everyday!" Iblis’ face was turning cherry red, and the volume of his voice was growing ever louder.
“You’d turn us into criminals.” She said coldly. “Rebels, terrorists, the very scum of the galaxy. Ordinary people would see us as rebels, defectors to the CIS, pawns of the Jedi and everything Palpatine claimed we were. Think Iblis, think. Can you truly afford to bring Corellia, 100 billion innocent people, into the chaos of war?!” Mon Mothma's volume did not rise, but the passion in her words was clear, she truly did care for all those lives, even if they were not her constituents.
“Better a rebel than a coward. I am a man, Mothma. We understand what it means to die holding the line for those we love. It is not with arrogance, or pride that I say these words, but due to duty, loyalty, and sacrifice. Something a pencil pusher who cosigned billions of credits behind some desk all their life would never understand.” Iblis spat.
“And better a coward than a fool blinded by his own rage!” Mon Mothma shot back, rising to stare Iblis in the eye.
“Enough!” Bail’s voice cracked through the room like thunder.
The chamber fell silent, the two senators-Mothma & Iblis-glared at one another, chests heaving.
Bail exhaled slowly, and clasped his hands behind his back. “We cannot afford to fracture. Not here, not now. We share a common enemy, even if we differ on the path forward.”
He looked between them, disappointment softening his tone. “Garm, your passion is commendable. Mon, your caution is wise. But until we speak with one voice, we will achieve nothing.”
He turned to the rest of the room. “This meeting is recessed. Return in one hour, after you've all had time to reflect, and cool your tempers, we shall discuss our next move.”
The senators rose slowly, muttering, some exchanged glances of concern. Mon Mothma gave Bail a curt nod and swept from the chamber. Garm lingered a moment longer, then stormed out with a snarl, his cloak whipping behind him.
Left alone in the echoing chamber, Bail Organa stared out the high arched window toward the snow-capped mountains of Alderaan, his jaw was tight, and his shoulders felt heavy with the weight of destiny.
The spark of rebellion had been struck, but the flames were but embers, barely hot to the touch.
Bail ran a hand through his hair, and smiled. When researching Revan, he had become lost in the diaries of his ancestors. Their accounts of the Jedi, the Sith, and their wars gave him inspiration, and inspired his resolve. If House Organa could weather those storms, then there was nothing he couldn't accomplish.
Mothma brought with her a wisdom born from pacifism. Her thoughts were similar the the vast majority of people. Most people wished to go with the flow, to change things with their voices, and avoid conflict. It was a stance Bail heavily respected, yet not one he could currently agree with given the circumstances.
Iblis, meanwhile, was radical in his thoughts, and wished for overwhelming violence. His position was one only a handful of people would directly participate in. What would follow in his wake would be terror, destruction, and the waning trust of the common people. It was as Mothma said, they would come to view their group as terrorists.
Both of his friends fell into the extreme camps of Orthodoxy and Radicalism, and both held their fair share of pros & cons. Yet their flaws and unwillingness to compromise made them weak.
Learning from his own time in the Senate, his family history, and as the Monarch of Alderaan, he knew what he had to do.
Bail was going to take the best parts of Mothma & Iblis’ ideals, and merge them into his own. Only through unity, would they have the strength necessary to return, no, rebirth the Republic. Not as it was, but as it should be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On an unnamed asteroid in the Outer Rim, within a cavernous chamber, flickering holograms cast an eerie blue light across the dim ceiling. Around a circular table sat the surviving members of the Executive Separatist Council. Once the iron spine of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, they had now been reduced to a fraction of their former selves. They had escaped Mustafar by mere hours, warned of the Sith’s treachery by a Jedi of all people. That warning had saved them. But survival had not guaranteed victory.
“We cannot trust them!” Nute Gunray shrieked, slamming his clawed hand against the cold metal of the console. The hologram of the Neimoidian trembled as his voice echoed off the war room’s walls. “They are Jedi! The very traitors who brought ruin to the Republic-who allowed S-Sidious to rise!”
“Your panic does not serve us any good, Viceroy.” Wat Tambor replied in his modulated voice, adjusting the settings on his chest plate with calculated calm. “The frontline has stabilized. The Empire’s advance has slowed. And that, Viceroy, is because of the Jedi survivors.”
Gunray leaned forward, his eyes wide with barely restrained hysteria. “Survivors now, assassins later! How can you be sure they will not turn on us next? The Jedi are not our allies, they are desperate animals cornered by their own hubris!”
A low murmur rippled across the council. San Hill rubbed the ridges of his long face, clearly troubled, while Shu Mai crossed her arms, watching the exchange in silence. Po Nudo raised a hand, prepared to speak, but was interrupted by a sudden pulse of static.
A new hologram flickered to life.
A tall, cloaked figure stood silently at the edge of the circle, his face was obscured by a war-forged mask of Mandalorian design. Crimson light gleamed from his visor, and despite the vast distance that separated them, none could deny the aura that spread from this masked man. The room fell into stunned silence, and for a moment, several councilors forgot to breathe.
“Who?” Po Nudo gurgled in confusion, his voice a wet whisper through his Aqualish translator. “How did the Jedi breach our secure channel?”
“Nrrmchuck. He did not breach it.” Poggle the Lesser rasped. The Geonosian Archduke clicked and chirped softly, his translator buzzing to life. “I gave him access.”
Several council members stood abruptly in protest. “You-?!” Shu Mai snapped. “You invited a Jedi into our war council?!”
“He is no ordinary Jedi.” Poggle hissed.
The masked figure inclined his head slightly, an invisible pulse touched upon the councilors’ shoulders. A name came unbidden to their minds.
Revan.
Gasps echoed around the circle. Revan, the man's warning had saved them, yet previously, they had conversed with him one singular time. After doing some research, they learned that this was a name whispered in ancient Jedi records and Sith legends alike. He was impossible, mythological, illogical, and a legend all wrapped in one mask. And yet there he stood, seemingly alive and well.
San Hill’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the newcomer. “Why are you here?” He asked, his voice was level, and knowing what Jedi were capable of, he recited a hundred logarithms in his mind at that moment, to keep himself safe.
Revan’s voice came deep and steady, holding with it a hint of playfulness. “To see if you enjoyed my gift.”
San Hill blinked. “Gift?”
Revan said nothing, only letting the silence stretch.
Then realization dawned. San Hill’s face twisted with shock. “The credit fractures. The market collapses. The cascading debt defaults in the Core Worlds…” His voice trailed off in disbelief. “That… that was you?”
“I merely adjusted the Galactic Reserve’s algorithms. A ripple becomes a storm when the invisible hand of fate is at play.” Revan said simply.
San Hill squinted his eyes, and several other councilors chuckled at the Muun, as Revan’s words were cryptic nonsense, yet also carried with it a damning truth. Did this Jedi somehow use his mysticism to alter the economy?
“Inconceivable.” Hill muttered to himself.
Poggle buzzed with grim satisfaction. “Geonosis would still be burning if not for Revan’s guidance. He disrupted the Imperial siege, the clones are gone. Our factories are operational again.”
“And what of Sev’rance Tann? Do you dare to act so arrogantly whilst she is our Supreme Commander?” Shu Mai asked in a threatening tone.
“She leads the counteroffensives in the Galactic North, whilst my area of operation is in the South.” Revan answered. “Any recent victories you’ve enjoyed, were thanks to the improved droid brain schematics I provided..”
Gunray trembled, his tone accusatory. “So you are manipulating us!”
“I am giving you a chance to survive.” Revan snapped, the first hint of edge in his otherwise measured voice. “You can barely hold your territory. The Jedi are scattered, true. But with coordination, precision, and the proper visiom… the Clone Wars can be won. I will gladly take this burden upon myself. You can rest assured, the void that Dooku has left vacant, I am more than qualified to fill.”
Po Nudo looked between the councilmembers, his four eyes unblinking. “And what now? You ask for something more? To usurp the Count of Sereno? You presume too much, Jedi. None of us are fools. What is it you are really after?”
“I ask.” Revan replied, “For reinforcements. Eriadu is vulnerable. I’ve established a bastion there, a forward command center that has already disrupted Imperial hyperlane activity in the sector. With support, it will become the anchor of a southern front.”
San Hill folded his hands. “Why should we invest more resources into your project? The CIS bleeds from a dozen cuts, what makes your cause more valuable than one of our own?”
“Because the Empire is cracking under the weight of its own greed. Strike now, and we will shift the balance. The more resources they pour into Eriadu, the more time you have to recover. Geonosis is already proof of that.”
There was silence. Then Poggle stepped forward.
“As regional representative of the Galactic South.” He declared, “Geonosis nnmm'kah, will commit full support to Eriadu. He has earned it.”
The others exchanged glances. Grudging respect. Suspicious malcontent. A whole host of conflicting emotions bubbled to the surface, yet none dared voice their discontent. The writing was on the wall, survival was at stake.
Slowly, but surely, their heads began to nod.
“Very well.” San Hill relented. “The Banking Clan will authorize a limited credit line for logistics and troop deployment to Eriadu.”
“I’ll dispatch a damaged flotilla from Mygeeto to act as a smokescreen.” Added Tambor.
Gunray said nothing, only glowering.
Revan’s gaze passed over them all.
“Prepare your fleets. The Empire believes it has won. Let’s remind them that victory is never so simple.”
And with that, his hologram vanished, leaving only static and the lingering sense that history had just shifted once again.
~~~~~~~~~~
AN: This is the 2nd to last Interlude, I hate authors who get lost in interludes, and refuse to become what I hate. (Sry to everyone who wanted a follow up on Ahsoka vs Tann). Next is the Vader POV, then on to the siege of Eriadu!
Comments
kevin candelario
Another great chapter, keep up the good work beo
conor webster
Question will Revan/corvus be using only blue lightsabers or will he change it up and use different colours lightsabers like purple or green later on into the story
