Private But It Does Rhyme

[Natasi Fortan]

Cerulean Gate Palace - Situation Room
0039 Local Time
[ W A R ]
​

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."

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Days.

Days, weeks.

It all blurred together.
​

While a notoriously reckless person before, Wedge had become somewhat of a recluse. He felt powerless, he felt out of touch with his usual self. He had taken to wearing fatigues constantly, flight suits intermittently moreso as well. As if ready to go, to be ready at the drop of a hat to fight another battle. To take another swing.

He also wore a pistol- something he didn't do outside of the cockpit. But the goings-on had terrified him. So much more so that it happened not to him- but to Reima. Reima wasn't dead. Reima wasn't alive. She was missing.

He knew how she felt then when she pulled him out of the cockpit.

He had started his day like usual, five cups of coffee to cover up for the four hours of sleep and the three hours of anxiety leading up to it. He felt guilty when he slept, ate, or drank. Reima could have been cold and scared and alone- the bed felt like betrayal. He paced around, his flight jacket and his fatigues underneath a sign that he was ready to fight at a moment's notice. A uniform, maybe, to draw him some comfort, but also, more importantly, the stolen X-wing in a nearby hangar was the reality that Wedge was willing to fight the Empire by himself.

One of Natasi's aide-de-camps found him in the hotel. He looked haggard, but cleaned up when the aide found him and told him that Natasi was looking for him. He didn't want Natasi to worry about him too. He politely thanked the aide, and set off- heading to the residence. He ran his hands together, the chill of the outside on his face unable to stem his worries. The aide went off to find Natasi- and Wedge, well.

Wedge hoped there was good news to be shared, or at least, a pleasant update. Something. Anything.

​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi had instructed that a plate of sandwiches and a large pot of coffee be kept fresh in the residence dining room -- as well as the situation room and the other rooms currently repurposed for use as crisis centers -- and she was grateful for the foresight. She was starving. She stalked along the corridor with a military attaché who was giving her the latest brief as they walked. When she reached the entrance to the residence, the unofficial boundary line drawn at the base of the marble stairs that led to the royal apartments, the point at which palace and government staff were invited to think twice before intruding on the peace of the sovereign and the royal family, the attaché halted. He had timed his briefing well so that there was no more to say by that point.

"Thank you," Natasi told him, before gesturing to the portfolio out of which he had been briefing her. "May I have that, please?" He handed it over and Natasi, with one uncertain glance up the marble stairs, tucked it under her arm and began the climb. "I'll return. Please be ready with the latest." The attaché acknowledged the order and took out his datapad to monitor what was quickly becoming apparent as a catastrophe.

Natasi found her son-in-law to be and crossed the room to greet him, taking his hand in one of hers for a gentle squeeze, kissing him on the cheek. "My dear," she said simply, sympathetic and encouraging in equal measure. There wasn't much else to offer, when they were both more or less powerless over their current situation. "Are you hungry? Come, there should be sandwiches." She drew him toward the dining room, a surprisingly intimate space with a table that seated just ten. The sandwiches and coffee were laid on a sideboard, with stacks of plates and cups and accoutrements nearby.

"I wish I had better news," she said quietly. She set the flimsi from the portfolio on the dining table and used her fingertips to gingerly nudge it toward him. "I've declassified this. You can read it if you wish. But the long story made short is that the Imperials are either on or surrounding Anaxes as we speak." Natasi paused a moment, reaching to touch Wedge's shoulder lightly. "Wedge, I don't know your parents' politics -- it's none of my business -- but I wanted to make it clear to you that if you want your family taken from Anaxes for any reason, we can put a team in motion within the hour. And I don't want you or them to worry for a moment about where they will go or who will look after them, because the answer is -- if you and they want -- here, and we will, for as long as it takes to make it safe for them to return if that's what they wish to do."

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Natasi Fortan
​

He was hungry.

He was tired.

He was thirsty.

He was a lot of things. He was also- missing his wife-to-be. He rotated the ring on his finger mindlessly, spinning it while Natasi spoke. He took a deep breath. Yes, he was missing his Reima- Reima wasn't here, Reima was out there in the vast, confusing landscape. His Reima. But the fact was that while he was missing her, she was missing her daughter. Strained as their relationship was.

"My father is the only one left. The shipyards at Anaxes were being decommissioned and sabotaged- everyone else fled. I've heard of them traveling, so far. The rest of the family checks in together. Just- haven't heard from my dad yet."

​

He picked up one of the sandwiches, finally finding his hunger and the strength to eat.

"I think they'd like it here. My father could help with some things with the Navy, I'm sure." He tapped his knuckles on the table, reading over the declassified actions she gave him. His eyes scanned it, rapidly at first, then thoroughly. First was to search for key phrases and information- something they taught them in SERE for map-reading and intelligence gathering. Finding key things first, then detailed, in-depth looks at things came later.

"They tried to recruit me, after the shitshow with the Alliance. They wanted me to turncoat on the Alliance after what they did to me."

He took a deep breath, shame in his eyes and in his words. "Reima made me realize that maybe revenge wasn't worth it." But a more chilling thought presented itself- if he, Wedge, went to them, turned coat, would they have annexed Anaxes as cruelly? Would they have put his home to the sword, if he had been there to dissuade them? There was a guilt there, a cold, unrelenting feeling in his gut deep down. Nothing he would ever vocalize- it was too far gone now, and the opportunity to save his planet from the Empire's strength was gone.

"How are you- holding up?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Wedge's revelation about the Empire's approach caught Natasi off guard. She wasn't sure she would have told her own soon-to-be mother-in-law such a thing; there could, after all, be too much honesty in a relationship. ButWedge had come to the right conclusion, even if it took a little guidance from her daughter. "I understand," she told him solemnly. "I'm pleased you didn't. Very, very pleased."

Understatement of the century, perhaps.

Natasi could piece together what Wedge was thinking then. A famous man -- a favorite son -- perhaps he could have had some strings to pull, some levers to push to make things easier on the people and world that he loved. History didn't repeat itself, but it rhymed. She had been in the same position for Galidraan during the Sith Imperial invasion.

It had not been an unqualified success.

But there would be a time to discuss that, if Wedge found her experience of interest or of value. It wouldn't do to foist it upon him now, in the vulnerable state they shared. She turned her attention back to his family.

"If you're in contact with them -- please, do invite them. This is your home, Wedge. If you want it to be. Even if -- " and here her voice faltered. She couldn't bring herself to put a name to the anxiety she felt, that her daughter wouldn't come home. " -- well, whatever may come. Your parents, your family -- call it your entire graduating class. We'll find places for them, I promise. I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it before, but it seemed unthinkable. More fool, I."

She was touched by his inquiry as to her well-being. "Oh, you know me," she said in a very stiff-upper-lip Galidraani clip, tugging at her sleeve absent-mindedly. "Never complain, never explain." A faint smile there, a brief pause as she looked down at the polished surface of the table wistfully. Then: "I'm tired," she confessed. "This is just one in a long line of events and if there's anything I can't stand, it's events." She leaned over, picked up a sandwich and peeled the top piece of bread back to examine the filling, only to make a face.

Egg and mayonnaise. Not exactly what she would have preferred, in a crisis, but she supposed it was marginally better than cucumber. At least it had some protein.

"Dyrn's sister Faroe lived -- lives -- on Coruscant. We haven't heard. I guess my hope is that Reima would have gone to her and that they'll get out of there together, if they aren't already out. But information is frustratingly thin, as I'm sure you can imagine." She took a bite of the sandwich after smoothing the bread back over the filling, chewed, swallowed. Dabbed her lips with a napkin to remove the crumbs. "Do you know where your father's last position was? It might help us to track him, if we knew where to start."

Wedge Draav​