Jedi Insurgency 225 (Interlude 33)

The hologram flickered to life in a wash of cold blue light, casting long, warped shadows across the polished obsidian floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. The figure of Viceroy Nute Gunray trembled within it. His thin shoulders were hunched, and he had the unmistakable appearance of a battered wife pleading for forgiveness. 

“Y-Your Imperial Majesty, what a relief, what a tremendous relief it is to see you unharmed. The reports of the assassination attempt were…most distressing. Truly, the galaxy would be lost without your guiding hand.”

At the far end of the chamber, seated upon a throne of pitch-black durasteel, Emperor Palpatine sat in silence. His hooded visage was a void, swallowing the ambient light, his yellowed eyes the only points of life within the darkness. The faint hum of the hologram projector was the only sound that dared to intrude upon the quiet. 

Gunray swallowed, and bowing his head, continued to press forward. 

“I assure you, my lord, the Trade Federation remains steadfast in its admiration of you. Your survival is nothing short of destiny itself. And with Mace Windu’s impending demise, your appearance as a man of honor, and law shall be secured. It will be a grand event! A demonstration of Imperial justice that will echo across the stars.” Gunray quivered, spitting each word faster out than the last, fearful that Palpatine would halt his speech at any moment. 

Palpatine’s expression did not change, and Gunray faltered for half a heartbeat before rushing onward.

“I come bearing an opportunity, my Emperor. On Felucia, the battle rages still, but the situation is fluid, thanks to the interference of the Jedi. However, I believe that the Commerce Guild’s headquarters is vulnerable. My forces are in position to strike. With your blessing, I can crush them utterly. By the end of the week, their assets shall fall into the palm of your hands.”

“You speak much, Viceroy.” Palpatine slowly drawled, his gaze lazily glanced at the Neimoidian like a lizard regarding its prey. 

Gunray flinched as though struck, and began to babble:  “I, of course, my lord, I only wish to-”

“You wish, hrm? You wish for survival. You wish for favor. You wish to crawl from the doomed future of the Confederacy, and share my fire?” Palpatine said in a flat tone. 

“Y-Yes, my Emperor. The Trade Federation humbly petitions to join the Empire. We can be of great service. Our fleets, our resources, our-”

“Your failures are well documented.”

The temperature in Gunray’s room-half a galaxy away-seemed to drop.

Gunray’s entire body was trembling, and for a moment, he gagged on spittle as he desperately tried to get his next words out. “We have learned from them, my lord. Adapted. Grown stronger. I give you my word-”

“Your word ” Palpatine echoed, as though tasting something mildly unpleasant.

The Emperor rose from his seat in a slow, deliberate motion. His robes whispered against the floor like the approach of a storm. He descended the shallow steps of his dais, until he stood closer to the hologram.

Gunray instinctively bowed, like a supplicant asking his Lord to pass judgement. 

“Haha, you honor me with your presence, I-” 

“Enough.”

The single word cut through Gunray like a vibroblade, forcing him into silence. 

Palpatine leaned slightly forward, peering into the projection as though Gunray were physically present. 

“I do not require your praise, nor your enthusiasm. I require results.”

The words seemed to echo, and directly into Gunray’s psyche. Palpatine’s eyes narrowed, and if the slimeball looked up at that moment, he might even catch a glimpse of dark amusement. 

“You claim you can turn Felucia into an Imperial world. You claim you can erase the Commerce Guild’s presence. You claim you can deliver me victory.”

Gunray nodded rapidly. “Yes, my lord! It is already within my grasp. I merely await your command.”

“Then you misunderstand your position.”

A thin smile stretched across the Emperor’s lips as Gunray became pale as milk. 

“You act,” Palpatine continued. “You destroy your enemies. You prove your usefulness. And should you succeed…” He slowly intoned, speaking as if he were hinting at something. 

Gunray leaned forward slightly, nodding along desperately. “Then the Trade Federation will be welcomed into the Empire?”

“Perhaps.” Palpatine replied with the ghost of a smile. 

“Y-Yes, my Emperor. Of course. I shall not fail you. Felucia will fall. The Commerce Guild will be eradicated. Everything, everything, will be done in your name.”

Palpatine returned to his seat, already losing interest with this broken toy of his. 

“See that it is.” He said, then cut the call. 

For a long moment, Palpatine remained still, deep in thought. Then, after some time, he let loose with a dry, rasping chuckle. 

“Pathetic creature.” 

Whether Nute Gunray lived or died mattered little.

With the trap set, all he cared for were results. Pressing a finger on his throne, a call connected seconds later. 

“Brief me on Projects G & Z. Have they become viable now that the little clone girl has been retrieved?” 

~~~~~~~~~~

The jungles of Felucia burned as war met her surface. 

Fungal towers the size of starships pulsed with bioluminescent veins, casting sickly blues and violent purples across a battlefield choked with smoke. Spore clouds drifted like ghostly tides, and every footstep threatened to vanish into the carnivorous undergrowth. It was a world filled with vicious critters, clone troopers, and one Jedi General who only believed in the power of ordinary men. 

General Jedi Master Rahm Kota stood at the forefront of it.

His boots sank slightly into the damp, alien soil as he surveyed the chaos from atop a ridge of twisted mycelium. Below, the battered remnants of the Commerce Guild’s expeditionary force were entrenched around a cluster of shattered platforms, and a massive industrial complex. The guild had spent a fortune on elite mercenaries, top of the line city-wide shields, and a Legion of B1's/B2's. 

Alongside these corporate scum were Kota's own troops. Men and women pulled from Eriadu’s streets, factories, and orbital stations. They made up the bulk of his new recruits, supplementing the loyal men he had taken to war since the invasion of Geonosis. Although he had fought alongside the Starcrusher Corp, Kota retained a healthy distrust for those vat grown sycophants, and was only comfortable leading those into battle who had something to fight for. 

A lesser commander might have hesitated to bring so many green troopers to the battlefield, but Kota wasn't afraid. The people of Eriadu were tough. 

“They’re breaking!” One of the recruits shouted, pointing toward the Guild’s failing line. “General, we have to move now or, the enemy will march their artillery past the shield's perimeter!”

“I know.” Kota interrupted, his voice was steady, unworried about that sector, as his apprentices; Falon Grey and Caleb Dume were stationed there. 

He could sense the fear in his men, and in the mercenaries. He foresaw a desperate fight up ahead, a betrayal on the horizon! Kota’s jaw tightened slightly as he planned his next actions around a future that could be. 

“Form up!” He barked, turning to his recruits. “I want tight formations! Keep your spacing, watch your lines of fire! You are not rabble, you are soldiers of the Republic!”

A murmur rippled through the troops, and some of the fear was replaced with belief. 

It clung to Kota like a gravitational field. Ever since they had conquered Sullust, and tasted blood, ever since they had witnessed Kota's powers over foresight, the troops had placed their faith in their General. 

“You think this jungle is your enemy?” Kota continued, raising his voice as blasterfire echoed in the distance. “You think those droids are your enemy?”

He ignited his lightsaber with a snap-hiss, the green blade casting a fierce glow across his scarred face.

“No. Your enemy is fear. And I don’t see a single coward among you!” Kota growled, his voice was deep with conviction. 

The recruits straightened their backs, and the grip on their blasters firmed. 

“And today, we prove that the Republic is not built on clones or credits, but on people! Real people! Ordinary workers who see the injustice of the galaxy, and refuse to kneel!” Kota roared like thunder, and waved his weapon from left to right. 

A roar answered him in response, even the corpo hired mercenaries, and B1's belatedly joined in. 

Kota grinned as he pointed towards the shield, and the countless number of Imperial clone troopers that were advancing towards them 

“Once they advance beyond that line…give them everything you've got!” 

Blasterfire erupted immediately as the clone troopers advanced from the shrubbery of the jungle towards the industrial zone. Red bolts were streaking through thick, glowing mist in every direction. The recruits fought hard, some were sloppy, but above all else, there was determination in their actions. They had grit. 

Deflecting several bolts, the middle-aged General felt the fight calling to him, and moved against the incoming imps at the threshold of the shield like a storm given form.  His green lightsaber deflected hundreds of bolts, slaughtering a man every second. Slashing left, he severed a leg at the knee, swiping vertically, he bisected the cockpit of an advancing AT-TE. 

He not only worked the offense, but as a Jedi, the lives of his own men were more important than some kill count, and he worked the defense too! 

A subtle push through the Force here nudged a recruit out of a lethal firing line. A sharp command there redirected a squad before they stumbled into a flanking maneuver. His presence anchored the Republic soldiers, transforming shellshocked raw recruits into a fighting force that could go toe to toe with elite clone veterans. 

For five days and five nights they held that line. Wave after wave of white plasteel armored clone troopers tossed themselves into the meat grinder that was the Commerce Guild's Headquarters. Clone Assassins attempted no less than five separate strikes against the shield generator, only to be stopped by a Jedi who had sensed their presence. Meanwhile, the battle in space had devolved into a game of chicken, where each fleet-who were relatively evenly matched-danced between moons & asteroid fields. 

After five days of nonstop slaughter, a tremor in the Force warned Kota that the traitor had finally revealed himself. 

From above, the low, mechanical hum of incoming transports cut through the battlefield. Massive frigates full of droids floated down, and were requesting the shield be brought down so that they could unleash their payload. 

One of the recruits looked up, relief flooding his voice. “Reinforcements! It's the Trade Federation!” 

Kota turned to his two students. The young teen, Caleb was frowning, whilst the recently promoted Knight, Falon tiredly stared at his master. 

“What would you do if I told you those reinforcements were traitors?” Kota said with a big, boisterous smile. 

“Please let that be a joke.” Caleb pleaded, his blue eyes widened in surprise. 

“You've been with Master for five months now, you know the old man's idea of a joke is a surprise stomach punch.” Falon-a man with long blonde hair-said with a sigh. 

“Bah! Useless! While the enemy is in front of us, you two bemoan your fates! You two notice that the clones have stopped firing for now. You notice anything else?” Kota scowled, and crossed his arms. 

“The Trade Federation transports are flying quite slowly, and in a very tight formation.” Falon said with a frown, scratching at a beard. 

“You're not thinking about bringing them all down on top of their heads, are you?!” Caleb shouted in surprise. 

“Bah hah hah hah hah!” Kota ruffled the short teen's close shaved black hair, and let loose with a big belly laugh. “Let's do it! Help me out, you two! Let's bring them down one at a time!” 

Before either of his students could argue, Kota had already stretched out both of his hands. 

“This is crazy!” Caleb shouted. 

“You'd think someone taught by Master Yoda would be more reserved.” Falon agreed, yet also joined in on the fun. 

Working as three, the trio of Jedi combined their efforts, and before long, a droid transport dipped down from the sky, and slammed into a cluster of AT-TE's. The resulting explosion was epic, and a plume of red hot orange flames spread into the mushroom forest. 

“Again!” Kota roared. 

After nine troop transports were pulled down, Caleb & Falon were sitting on the floor, panting like dogs on a hot day. Kota, meanwhile, was holding his side. 

“Am getting too old fer this shit.” Kota wheezed, but was quick to stand up straight, and pretend as if everything was perfectly fine when the troopers looked back at him in awe. 

Holding his lightsaber aloft, he shouted down at them from his command post. 

“For the Republic! Advance! Seize their supplies! After this, the Imperial dogs can only watch from their macrobinoculars as we dine on the finest food that the Commerce Guild can afford!” Kota howled with glee, and pointed his saber into the jungle. 

“For the Republic!” The soldiers howled back, and swarmed after the clones in an unending tide. 

~~~~~~~~

AN: What they pulled down weren't capital ships, or even something as big as a corvette. If you watch the 2003 clone wars battle of Coruscant, you can see Yoda playing around with these droid transports like they're nothing.