skin, bone, and arrogance
The acrid smell of coffee carafes left too long on heaters permeated the air, overriding the other smells present in the room: nervous sweat, jasmine perfume, musky cologne. The map hovering in the center of the broad, circular table that dominated the room showed the Core in blue and red and in some places a slashing of both. Coruscant had begun the week blue, had slashed red for the last several days as communications blackouts, misinformation, and rumors upon rumors had delayed the conclusion that was readily apparent to those who had been on Coruscant already knew: it was lost. Now it sat as a marble of deep crimson in a sea of slashed blue-red.
What everyone seemed afraid to acknowledge was that the rest of that if Coruscant was red, then so would the rest of the space around it, in fact if not in law.
Natasi stood at her spot at the table -- neither head or not foot were present at a round table, but her position as Queen of the Renascent Heirate meant a certain gravity. Tonight it felt like an anchor. She stood because she could sit no longer. She had come straight from her meeting with the Prime Minister at which she had been ordered to stand down from the Senate. The wound was still fresh, and though Renata Westaway stood at her right, and the two women were working as closely and efficiently as ever, both knew there was a bruise there. They had put it to one side in the sure knowledge that there were many more important issues to discuss.
"Gentlemen," Natasi said wearily. "We must face facts. Coruscant is lost. Billions of citizens now under the de facto control of the Imperials. Our map may show a contest, but the reality is already in effect." A hush fell over the room as even the analysts at the workstations edging the room turned to listen. "There will be people fleeing, looking safety and a place, either to stay or simply to catch their breath and regroup with their loved ones. We have plenty of space and the resources to care for them. Prime Minister," she said, looking toward but not at her chief minister, "Please ensure that the appropriate ministries have what they need. The Crown will meet funding gaps for emergency expenses."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Renata said. She had put the efforts in motion already, but she understood that Natasi Fortan needed action, and she knew why.
In the corner of the room, on one of the analyst computers, was a list of high-priority missing persons. Atop the list was Reima Vitalis. Next, Faroe Grav, Dyrn's sister who lived on Coruscant. Others followed, but a family connection heightened the anxiety. Natasi's name had been on that list until two days before, when her survival had been confirmed following her evacuation from the Senate.
"Your pardon, Your Majesty, Prime Minister," said the Secretary of State for Defense, Drummond. "We're getting another update -- just here."
The map flickered out of existence, then flickered back up again. Audible gasps sounded throughout the room. The space around Coruscant was red, now. But so was most of the core. "This is -- " Renata began, but her voice faltered.
"Confirmed," Drummond said grimly.
For a moment, her eyes closing, Natasi was in the situation room in the Imperial Palace on Dosuun. The Ssi-Ruuk were closing in, an interdiction field trapping countless souls in a crucible, with no hope of First Order fleets arriving in time to save them. The solution was obvious to her as it had been to no one else. The FIV Condcordia, sitting in dry dock, nearly hollowed, but crucially, engines and hyperdrive intact. Critically, its systems locked down but to one palmprint. That should have been the end, but fate had other plans for Natasi, and here she was again. No, not again. The situations were similar, but not the same. They had hope, still. The Empire was not the enemy of the Renascent Heirate specifically. And all was not yet lost. There was no sacrifice demanded of her here and now.
She took a steadying breath and opened her eyes again. She gazed at the map, her features now awash in the glow of a map that was more red than blue. Her dark eyes drank in the new contours, the new realities, and fell upon a familiar name. Anaxes. She had known its previous Senator, the son of an old colleague of hers from the First Order days. Her daughter was engaged to one of its favorite sons, the decorated fighter pilot
Wedge Draav
. He still had family there, didn't he?
Natasi turned to an aide-de-camp. "Will you find Captain Draav, please? I don't know if he'll be here or at the hotel. Prince George might know. Ask him to please join me in the residence, and then find me when he's en route."
