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05-07-2025, 03:57 PM
Part V: Ashes in Uniform
Graush shifted on his throne again, the leather in his uniform creaking and groaning under the weight of his bulk. Leaning backwards into his seat, his hand returned to the datapad. Lifting the device once more with quiet reverence, as though it was a priest's book before a sermon.
With a few blunt taps, the pale-red glow of the information displayed on it returned to life; casting harsh lines across the folds of his face.
He did not look up immediately, only read. Slowly. Like a man reviewing the last page of the final chapter of a favorite book. Inhaling deeply as he got comfortable in his throne, licking his lips before he parted them again to speak.
“A final matter,” he murmured.
Kemma did not move, freezing in place as the Moff's dark eyes settled on her again.
“According to the most recent Confederate Personnel rosters,” Graush began, “your Security Forces currently retain an active alien component. Amounting to roughly five percent of total enlisted personnel. Twi’leks, Cathar, some Togruta and a few outliers from a half-dozen other species,” Graush said, reading it off like ingredients on a recipe list.
His gaze flicked up from the datapad, cold and unwavering as they met the governor's again.
“This will be corrected.”
The words struck like a hammer to stone. He let them linger for a moment before clarifying.
“Your Security Forces are now a part of my Sector Defence Forces... And I do not have alien soldiers. These men of yours are to be relieved of duty. Immediately. No review. No appeal.”
The room held still. Even the fanning Twi’lek behind the Moff's throne seemed to hesitate for a moment as silence reigned in the throne room for a long, drawn-out moment.
Then Kemma Ralter stirred. Her voice was quiet, but sharp.
“I... I cannot do that. Many of them have fought loyally, even as others defected to the rebellion. They've held lines when human forces broke. Many of them come from communities in open revolt, and have chosen Confederate unity over dissent. They will have nowhere else to go, their ranks are all they have.”
She paused, swallowing as the Moff loomed over her, holding firm to her beliefs on this matter. “If we cast them aside, they'll be desperate. Out of a job. Trained, battle-hardened. Angry.”
She met his gaze without blinking.
“You would do little more than giving the rebellion new, professional, soldiers.”
Graush simply leaned back in his throne at that, lowering the datapad as he let out a satisfied sigh. Smiling faintly, as if she had simply confirmed something he already understood. “Yes.”
He put down the datapad on the armrest again and rested his hands across his stomach like a judge settling into final judgement.
“Some will indeed drift toward Barracas and his disjointed army of Republic Insurgents. Others, with no love for the Republic but a need to eat, may find work in the private regiments of Commodore Kaldon, I suspect. His armies' appetite for warm bodies to throw forward ahead of their artillery remains insatiable,” the Moff said, shifting in his seat once again, waving a hand through the air as if brushing the matter off his shoulder.
“I have already spoken with Kaldon about that eventuality, and an agreement has been reached.” He paused, tone mild, as if discussing grain distribution.
“Any of these aliens that join the KIG, Kaldon will deploy as expendable shock infantry. Deployed at the front of his formations. They will march first. They will fall first. Fixing Republic lines in place alongside Kaldon's conscripted prisoners, while his professional Mercenaries and Artillery find holes in their lines. Any aliens that join up with Kaldon will likely find a quick death, aiding the Empire as the next wave steps over them.
Efficient. Predictable. Clean.”
Ralter opened her mouth again, but it was Ambassador Reina who spoke first, finally having gathered the courage again to meddle in the discussion.
“Many in our officer corps will reject this. Some of them have served with these troops for years. Others trained them. Even among our most loyal human commanders, the backlash—”
“Will be your concern!” Graush interrupted, eyes now on Ralter alone. “You are no longer representatives or politicians of a squabbling Confederacy. You are functionaries of the Empire.” He said, leaning forward in his throne to loom like a mountain of pale flesh, raising one of his enormous hands, clenching it into a fist that loomed like an executioner's axe to underline his point.
“You will enforce Imperial Law. Imperial Standards. And Imperial expectations. Imperial obedience. Nam’ta's military is no longer your own. It is ours. Mine. The sooner it becomes unrecognizable to its old self, the better.”
Reina's lips parted, then closed. His expression soured into something close to fear again, but not surprise.
The silence returned, thick with the smell of the Moff's sweat and the odor of antiseptic that clung to every part of his palace. Then Reina spoke again, more carefully.
“I maintain, Your Excellency, that this is not a wise move. Our government is already strained by the war. Entire districts are flooded by refugees. Our internal market has collapsed. Fear is widespread. Public sentiment is on the brink. Adding this military reorganization, the removal of aliens from government and army alike atop the fire will be disastr—”
“Then let your public sentiment crumble.” Ensign Loring interjected, his voice razor-thin and pitiless. “Let the old sentiment collapse under its own irrelevance. A new Imperial age is dawning for your people. Those who adapt will survive. The rest, if they make themselves obstacles to this transition, will be removed.”
Kemma Ralter stared down at the floor for a moment. Her face was unreadable. When she finally raised her head again, there was something brittle in her posture. Her expression, mixed, conflicted.
“I need room,” she said. “If you want compliance, if you want order, if you want this annexation to go smoothly, you need to give me the space to manage this transition politically without it turning into further open revolt. Our party is loyal to the Empire, our government is loyal. But they will need a tactful hand for the transition. If I am to rule, I need to be able to breathe. I need to be able to do what is best for the system.”
Graush watched her plea with something close to amusement. He tapped the datapad’s obsidian surface one final time, locking it with a sharp, audible click.
“You will do as you are told, Governor,” Graush said, his tone cold, detached. Then he leaned forward slightly, his folds shifting like the earth before a tremor.
“Or perhaps,” he said, voice low and even, “you would prefer the truth be made public.”
The words hung there, vague at first, until his gaze narrowed.
“The details regarding your meteoric rise through the Party’s ranks. The conveniently timed retirement of your rivals. The campaign funding. The ‘technical errors’ in the vote count. Sith Intelligence has dossiers on all of it. Audio. Documents. Patterns. We have invested a great deal in putting you in this position, Governor... Now it is time you pay your dividends.”
He leaned forward again, his tone low, hissed through his teeth like the utterings of a great serpent. “Because if your party members were to figure out the truth... Should you stray from the publicly accepted narrative... The alternative will be... unpleasant, I imagine.”
Ralter said nothing.
Reina turned his head, eyes widening slightly. As if he had heard the rumors but could never bring himself to imagine there was truth to them. “What is he talking about, Kemma?”
She didn’t answer him.
Graush made a dismissive motion with his hand, as if closing a book. “I believe I have said enough on the matter... As governor you will do as you are told. You'll return to Nam’ta Prime in full Imperial Uniform.” He said, motioning to the large doors that slid open with a heavy groan, two figures who looked like tailors stepping into the room as if cued. “You'll speak the words I've given you. You'll have your Presidential Guard lower the flag of the Confederacy and raise the Imperial banner for all to see. And you will ensure your people believe it was your idea.”
Another pause.
“And then our work will begin in earnest.”
And there it was. The bargain fully laid bare. Any illusion of control held by the Confederate President and her aide upon arrival in the Horuz system, stripped down to the bone.
Kemma Ralter closed her eyes for a breath, exhaled slowly, then nodded. Once. The sound was softer than anything spoken in the room that night, but its impact landed like the slamming of a door. “As you command, Your Excellency,” she spoke, compliance ringing through in her tone.
Graush reclined into his throne with a grunt of satisfaction, the datapad set aside like a tool no longer needed. Loring said nothing, but the look in his eyes suggested nothing had gone off-script. His gaze shifting between the two former Confederate diplomats with a cold detachment, no hint of emotion betrayed on his face.
The future of Nam’ta was now charted. And with silence and resignation, it was condemned to one of blood and ashes...
[THE END]
Graush shifted on his throne again, the leather in his uniform creaking and groaning under the weight of his bulk. Leaning backwards into his seat, his hand returned to the datapad. Lifting the device once more with quiet reverence, as though it was a priest's book before a sermon.
With a few blunt taps, the pale-red glow of the information displayed on it returned to life; casting harsh lines across the folds of his face.
He did not look up immediately, only read. Slowly. Like a man reviewing the last page of the final chapter of a favorite book. Inhaling deeply as he got comfortable in his throne, licking his lips before he parted them again to speak.
“A final matter,” he murmured.
Kemma did not move, freezing in place as the Moff's dark eyes settled on her again.
“According to the most recent Confederate Personnel rosters,” Graush began, “your Security Forces currently retain an active alien component. Amounting to roughly five percent of total enlisted personnel. Twi’leks, Cathar, some Togruta and a few outliers from a half-dozen other species,” Graush said, reading it off like ingredients on a recipe list.
His gaze flicked up from the datapad, cold and unwavering as they met the governor's again.
“This will be corrected.”
The words struck like a hammer to stone. He let them linger for a moment before clarifying.
“Your Security Forces are now a part of my Sector Defence Forces... And I do not have alien soldiers. These men of yours are to be relieved of duty. Immediately. No review. No appeal.”
The room held still. Even the fanning Twi’lek behind the Moff's throne seemed to hesitate for a moment as silence reigned in the throne room for a long, drawn-out moment.
Then Kemma Ralter stirred. Her voice was quiet, but sharp.
“I... I cannot do that. Many of them have fought loyally, even as others defected to the rebellion. They've held lines when human forces broke. Many of them come from communities in open revolt, and have chosen Confederate unity over dissent. They will have nowhere else to go, their ranks are all they have.”
She paused, swallowing as the Moff loomed over her, holding firm to her beliefs on this matter. “If we cast them aside, they'll be desperate. Out of a job. Trained, battle-hardened. Angry.”
She met his gaze without blinking.
“You would do little more than giving the rebellion new, professional, soldiers.”
Graush simply leaned back in his throne at that, lowering the datapad as he let out a satisfied sigh. Smiling faintly, as if she had simply confirmed something he already understood. “Yes.”
He put down the datapad on the armrest again and rested his hands across his stomach like a judge settling into final judgement.
“Some will indeed drift toward Barracas and his disjointed army of Republic Insurgents. Others, with no love for the Republic but a need to eat, may find work in the private regiments of Commodore Kaldon, I suspect. His armies' appetite for warm bodies to throw forward ahead of their artillery remains insatiable,” the Moff said, shifting in his seat once again, waving a hand through the air as if brushing the matter off his shoulder.
“I have already spoken with Kaldon about that eventuality, and an agreement has been reached.” He paused, tone mild, as if discussing grain distribution.
“Any of these aliens that join the KIG, Kaldon will deploy as expendable shock infantry. Deployed at the front of his formations. They will march first. They will fall first. Fixing Republic lines in place alongside Kaldon's conscripted prisoners, while his professional Mercenaries and Artillery find holes in their lines. Any aliens that join up with Kaldon will likely find a quick death, aiding the Empire as the next wave steps over them.
Efficient. Predictable. Clean.”
Ralter opened her mouth again, but it was Ambassador Reina who spoke first, finally having gathered the courage again to meddle in the discussion.
“Many in our officer corps will reject this. Some of them have served with these troops for years. Others trained them. Even among our most loyal human commanders, the backlash—”
“Will be your concern!” Graush interrupted, eyes now on Ralter alone. “You are no longer representatives or politicians of a squabbling Confederacy. You are functionaries of the Empire.” He said, leaning forward in his throne to loom like a mountain of pale flesh, raising one of his enormous hands, clenching it into a fist that loomed like an executioner's axe to underline his point.
“You will enforce Imperial Law. Imperial Standards. And Imperial expectations. Imperial obedience. Nam’ta's military is no longer your own. It is ours. Mine. The sooner it becomes unrecognizable to its old self, the better.”
Reina's lips parted, then closed. His expression soured into something close to fear again, but not surprise.
The silence returned, thick with the smell of the Moff's sweat and the odor of antiseptic that clung to every part of his palace. Then Reina spoke again, more carefully.
“I maintain, Your Excellency, that this is not a wise move. Our government is already strained by the war. Entire districts are flooded by refugees. Our internal market has collapsed. Fear is widespread. Public sentiment is on the brink. Adding this military reorganization, the removal of aliens from government and army alike atop the fire will be disastr—”
“Then let your public sentiment crumble.” Ensign Loring interjected, his voice razor-thin and pitiless. “Let the old sentiment collapse under its own irrelevance. A new Imperial age is dawning for your people. Those who adapt will survive. The rest, if they make themselves obstacles to this transition, will be removed.”
Kemma Ralter stared down at the floor for a moment. Her face was unreadable. When she finally raised her head again, there was something brittle in her posture. Her expression, mixed, conflicted.
“I need room,” she said. “If you want compliance, if you want order, if you want this annexation to go smoothly, you need to give me the space to manage this transition politically without it turning into further open revolt. Our party is loyal to the Empire, our government is loyal. But they will need a tactful hand for the transition. If I am to rule, I need to be able to breathe. I need to be able to do what is best for the system.”
Graush watched her plea with something close to amusement. He tapped the datapad’s obsidian surface one final time, locking it with a sharp, audible click.
“You will do as you are told, Governor,” Graush said, his tone cold, detached. Then he leaned forward slightly, his folds shifting like the earth before a tremor.
“Or perhaps,” he said, voice low and even, “you would prefer the truth be made public.”
The words hung there, vague at first, until his gaze narrowed.
“The details regarding your meteoric rise through the Party’s ranks. The conveniently timed retirement of your rivals. The campaign funding. The ‘technical errors’ in the vote count. Sith Intelligence has dossiers on all of it. Audio. Documents. Patterns. We have invested a great deal in putting you in this position, Governor... Now it is time you pay your dividends.”
He leaned forward again, his tone low, hissed through his teeth like the utterings of a great serpent. “Because if your party members were to figure out the truth... Should you stray from the publicly accepted narrative... The alternative will be... unpleasant, I imagine.”
Ralter said nothing.
Reina turned his head, eyes widening slightly. As if he had heard the rumors but could never bring himself to imagine there was truth to them. “What is he talking about, Kemma?”
She didn’t answer him.
Graush made a dismissive motion with his hand, as if closing a book. “I believe I have said enough on the matter... As governor you will do as you are told. You'll return to Nam’ta Prime in full Imperial Uniform.” He said, motioning to the large doors that slid open with a heavy groan, two figures who looked like tailors stepping into the room as if cued. “You'll speak the words I've given you. You'll have your Presidential Guard lower the flag of the Confederacy and raise the Imperial banner for all to see. And you will ensure your people believe it was your idea.”
Another pause.
“And then our work will begin in earnest.”
And there it was. The bargain fully laid bare. Any illusion of control held by the Confederate President and her aide upon arrival in the Horuz system, stripped down to the bone.
Kemma Ralter closed her eyes for a breath, exhaled slowly, then nodded. Once. The sound was softer than anything spoken in the room that night, but its impact landed like the slamming of a door. “As you command, Your Excellency,” she spoke, compliance ringing through in her tone.
Graush reclined into his throne with a grunt of satisfaction, the datapad set aside like a tool no longer needed. Loring said nothing, but the look in his eyes suggested nothing had gone off-script. His gaze shifting between the two former Confederate diplomats with a cold detachment, no hint of emotion betrayed on his face.
The future of Nam’ta was now charted. And with silence and resignation, it was condemned to one of blood and ashes...
[THE END]
