A meeting on Horuz

[Krassus Horuset]

Part IV: A Calculated Culling.

 “...When you return to Nam'ta,” Moff Graush began, his voice measured and almost lethargic, “You will hold a press conference in your new Imperial uniform as your badge of office.”

The words rolled out of him like oil, thick and slow, as he idly stroked the albino Wookiee sash draped across his mountainous chest. The throne room had grown stifling with heat as the confrontation dragged on. The Twi'lek slave girl  behind him flapped her fan in lazy rhythm; more symbolic than functional sweat still glistening on the folds of the Moff's face.

“You will confirm what the people of your world believe transpired here; realizing the Confederacy could not stand against the threat posed by the Republic alone, you came to Horuz of your own volition,” he continued, tone now firming like congealing grease, “to petition the Empire to expand the defense treaty into an official Union. Nam’ta’s ascendance into the Imperial fold..." The Moff said, dragging out his words as a smile of cruel amusement danced on his features. "For the protection of your people, of course~” 

Kemma said nothing. Her fists were clenched at her sides, out of sight.

“...You will announce the *benefits* of your ascendance,” Graush droned on, lifting one massive hand in a parody of benevolence. “Official entrance into the Imperial market. An end to tariffs on Imperial goods. Easier opportunities to travel Imperial worlds with proper identification papers...”

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And not least ;the deployment of the Conquest Consolidation Corps and any and all other Imperial military resources needed to stomp out the threat posed by Barracas’  Republic 'Terrorists’ for good.”

He held that moment like a sledgehammer over stone, his pudgy fingers splaying to emphasize the privilege of it all.

Then, his tone hardened.

“And it is then that you will announce that as of now Nam’ta will adhere fully to Imperial Law.” His gaze bored into her. “And as you might know, Governor, according to Imperial Law the punishment for treason, rebellion, and association with our Republic enemies is... death.”

He let the word hang in the air like the tolling of a funeral bell.
“As such,” he continued, voice cold and judicial now, “you will decree that any and all members of the Resistance, and any who facilitated, housed, aided, or otherwise assisted these insurgents... are hereby declared enemies of the state, and sentenced to death.”

“No quarter will be given. No trials. No prisons. No rehabilitation. No mercy. The laws of war will not apply to them. They are terrorists and will be exterminated as such.”
The chill in his voice was not theatrical. It was policy. Calculated. Glacial.

“Are you mad?” Ralter snapped, her voice like flint striking steel, fury unmistakable in her tone. “Such a decree would only serve to fan the flames of rebellion! By giving the rebels no alternative to death, they will only be steeled in their resolve! They will fight like cornered animals for every inch of ground they hold, knowing what awaits them otherwise!”

“Indeed,” the Moff said, almost delighted, raising a hand to silence her before she could continue. “That is exactly what I want, Governor.”

He leaned back in his throne, folds of flesh shifting with the motion. He gestured with his chin toward his ever-present aide.

On cue Ensign Cestus Loring stepped forward again, hands clasped behind his back. He spoke with clarity and precision, the cold tone of one who had rehearsed such doctrine more than once.
“The fire of rebellion, of division and conflict, has already taken hold among your people, Governor,” Loring began. “There is no changing that now. No mending it. In fact... we have helped *worsen* it throughout this conflict.”
His lips twitched faintly in something between distaste and pride.

“The political space of Nam’ta has been allowed to split between ‘Pro-Imperial’ and ‘Pro-Republic’ for far too long. It has polarized your people beyond any repair. Those who fell in line with Republic ideology will never be swayed by any propaganda we can muster. And with an end to your democracy, their only refuge is resistance.”

Loring’s face twisted in thinly veiled disgust.
“And the Empire does not have the time or patience for a long, dragged-out insurgency, or a campaign of hearts and minds.”

He inhaled through his nose and pressed on. “That is why we have allowed your rebellion problems to fester. It is why Sith Intelligence has let this schism spiral into open war. Because for Barracas, Stendarr, and the rest of their ilk to have any hope of formal Republic intervention... they must be more than an insurgency.”

He gestured with his hand in a slicing motion.
“ Their ‘Free Nam’ta’ must continue to be something state-like. It must attempt to be a nation, otherwise it would never be acknowledged by the Senate. And if it is a nation... then it must hold ground. Raise armies. Fly banners. Make declarations. And that makes them combatants.”

“Combatants,” he added coldly, “who can be annihilated by conventional means.”

The Moff resumed speaking before Kemma could interject.

“The might of the Imperial war machine is unmatched in open warfare, Governor,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction. “And so... To avoid a campaign of hearts and minds and insurgency... We will force all dissent, all sympathy, all wavering loyalty into the ranks of Barracas’ ill-fated frontlines.”
He grinned. “And there, we will destroy them.”

Kemma Ralter’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes narrowed.
“So you *are* mad,” she said, tone equal parts disgust and disbelief. “If we do not take prisoners, neither will they. This war will become much more visceral and brutal than it already is. The death toll will be immense, the destruction—”

“Acceptable,” Graush interrupted, his voice a sudden boom. He leaned forward, casting a mountainous shadow over her. His breath reeked of spiced wine and decay. “Desirable, even.”
He settled back, fingers drumming on his polished obsidian datapad still resting on his armrest.

“In a conflict such as that,” he continued, “the fog of war is deepest where armies scorch the land. And within that fog can be obscured many things... Things that would otherwise turn the stomachs of your pathetically sensitive people.”
He paused, and his grin widened.

“Such as the cleansing that you will oversee. In my name.”

“What?” It was Ambassador Reina now who spoke up again, voice rising in outrage. His pale face had flushed with color.

But one black glare from Graush silenced him. The Moff’s gaze returned to Ralter, who had gone still, unreadable; save for the twitch in her jaw.

The sigh Graush gave was indulgent, almost amused. He chuckled, the sound low and wet, his cheeks trembling like puddings with amusement.

“Your system is now not just an Imperial world, Governor,” he said. “It is one of *my* worlds.”

He leaned forward once more.
“And I run a tight ship in the Atrivis Sector.”

He smiled. It was the kind of smile one might wear while watching something die.
“And your planet’s current demographics...” he said, slowly.

“...leave much to be desired.”

Graush shifted his immense bulk with a grunt and extended one thick, hand toward the polished datapad that had rested beside him on the arm of his. Its obsidian screen lit up with a flicker of red script.

For a moment, the light cast dancing shadows across his folds of flesh. He tapped twice, pulled up a series of scrolling statistics, and began to read aloud; not with emotion, not even with disdain, but with the practiced monotone of an autopsy surgeon reciting the fatal symptoms of a corpse.

“According to pre-war population surveys conducted by the Confederate Civil Census Bureau,” he began, “the combined population of the Nam'ta Confederacy across its seven moons totals six hundred seventy-three million.”
He paused only to wheeze softly, then continued.

“Of these, approximately *ten percent*; some sixty-seven point three million, are classified as *aliens.*”

"Undesirables." His lip curled slightly, the only trace of personal commentary.

“Of this alien population, thirty percent; just over twenty million, are Cathar. Most tracing their descent to the diaspora following the Mandalorian Wars. The largest of your alien minorities...”
He scrolled again.

“Another twenty percent are Togruta, displaced during the Galactic War. Survivors of Grand Moff Kilran's purges of the Togruta uprisings, now infesting city zones in your urban sectors. Twi’leks account for fifteen percent. The rest...”
A sneer crept into his voice.

“...a revolting smattering of Nautolans, Gran, Rodians, and Duros. The usual pestilence. Weak of will, incapable of order, wholly unfit for Imperial Integration.”
He set the datapad down with a faint click, his hand now resting atop it like a gavel on a judge’s bench.

“These numbers,” he said, “Will not do.”

Kemma stiffened.


“I will see them slashed,” Graush continued, “severely slashed. More than *halved* before the fighting is over.”

“Genocide!” Ralter said, voice trembling with barely-contained rage. “You’re talking about the deaths of millions of civilians. *My* Civilians! And you want me to see to this?!”

Graush turned his head toward her slowly, like a stone idol rotating on a gear.

“Cleansing, Governor,” he corrected. “Let’s not get sentimental over a few aliens.”

He gestured dismissively, as if brushing her concern off the shoulder of his uniform.

“Besides,” he continued, “many of these aliens are already in open rebellion. Most of Barracas' ranks are comprised of aliens. Housing zones with alien majorities are, and have been, the burning hearths of the fire of rebellion. The fighting rages hottest in their districts. Coincidence?”

He gave a theatrical shrug.
“They are not non-combatants. They are collaborators. A threat to Imperial Nam’ta. To *my* Nam'ta.”

He leaned forward now, eyes alight. He was enjoying this.

“Here is how it shall be done,” he said. “Our Artillery divisions and air forces will no longer be restrained by Confederate rules of engagement, or civilian grid maps. You will take inspiration from Kaldon's troops.... No more surgical strikes. We will target resistance strongholds where they truly live; in the alien zones." Graush smiled slightly before he proceeded. "Hospitals, housing blocks, food depots, medbays and shelters; All will be flattened. All of it under the guise of *siege warfare*, striking hidden resistance bases... Starving the enemy of that which aids their war effort.”

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and final.

“We will starve them. We will deny them medicine. Imperial Bomber command will raze shelters and refugee camps that violate curfews or 'Hide enemy commanders'. Supply lines will ‘accidentally’ be misrouted from starving city blocks. Houses will be demolished as 'Fire breaks' between frontlines, or the sites of Battlement construction..”

"Behind the frontlines," he continued, “the Imperial Alien Control Initiative will be deployed in force. Special battalions, handpicked by myself, commanded by Colonel Demetrius Cabbel.”
He tapped the datapad again.

“His mobile purging units will follow the frontlines, operating just behind the scorching fog of war, sweeping through conquered city blocks. They will eliminate 'subversive alien elements' behind the lines. Cathar laborers, Togruta medics, suspected Twi’lek sympathizers. 'Insurgent informants and terrorists in hiding'. Efficiently. Quietly. No trials. No bureaucracy. No paperwork.”

Graush turned toward her again, eyes wide with delight.

“In areas away from the front, we’ll orchestrate a campaign of informative vigilance. Propaganda will saturate the holofeeds. Alien families will be accused of aiding the Resistance. Police raids will sweep up hundreds in the night. Accused of espionage. Sabotage. Sympathy.”

He smiled again.

“They’ll disappear. Quietly. Their neighbors will be told they were spies. Their names erased. Their homes reassigned.”

He raised a finger.

“And of course; rewards. Those who report alien sympathizers will receive food credits. Land. Authority. Status. Their loyalty will be repaid. We will weaponize desperation.”

He exhaled, finally, eyes gleaming with something close to reverence.

“A humanitarian crisis will be created along the line of contact Governor. That fog of war will give us the cover we need. To reshape my- Your world for its Imperial future.”

Ralter said nothing at first. Her face had gone pale, her hands trembling at her sides.

“You’re sentencing entire city districts to death,” she said at last. “Millions. You’ll burn down cities to bury your enemies. There will be nothing left to govern when this is over.”

“There will be less alien subjects, yes.” Graush replied, voice low and velvety. “But there will be peace. Purity." He smiled, proudly. "An opportunity to rebuild Nam'ta in the wake of the consolidation, to steel its people into an Imperial world worthy of joining my sector.”

Kemma opened her mouth again... Then stopped, as his eyes locked with hers.

They were not just cruel.

They were rapturous. This is who Moff Graush truly was. He was exstatic, and not finished yet....