In the Shadow of Two Gunmen | Part I

[Natasi Fortan]

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It was raining in the southern reaches of the continent, where the Grand Moff's official country residence of Herevan Place stood majestically on the moores. Natasi would have preferred to spend the weekend at Breakriver, where the babbling of the river running beneath the house soothed her nerves, but the demands of running the state had required that she receive guests. Since Breakriver was not plotted on any map, nor were its coordinates accessible to those outside the family and trusted friends, it was not possible, so she had turned to Herevan Place. Natasi had financed the construction of the house herself before donating it to the First Order. She was not so short-sighted as to view her tenure as Grand Moff as indefinite and eternal, but she did not want to create the notion that one must have wealth in order to rule. Therefore, the house would be set aside to be used as the country residence and retreat of the sitting Grand Moff in perpetuity. Anyway, there was nothing wrong with Herevan Place, but as an official residence it didn't quite give Natasi the peace and freedom that she wanted when she needed to get away from the capital.

Worse still was that it was raining, which meant that the Grand Moff couldn't even go for a long walk as was her tradition.

Instead she sat in the drawing room, cross-legged on the floor opposite the comfortable wingback armchair reserved for her guest, [member="Jaius Sovv"], holding an uncharacteristically feisty George in her lap. This was Natasi Fortan at her least formal - in comfortable slacks and a sweater, no makeup, no affairs of state -- her biolocked red box would not be delivered for hours -- relaxed, as much as a woman like her could be. "Shhh," she murmured against George's silky golden hair as he fussed with one of the disused tokens from the game board that sat on the table between Sovv and Natasi:

Her eyes followed Sovv's token -- she had graciously allowed him to be the battleship despite her preference for the little pewter shape -- as he followed the board in accordance to the numbers on the dice. "Oh, Mayfair. Bad luck," said Natasi. "And I've just put up hotels. Let me see -- oh, dear. Two thousand credits. No, George, leave Mr. Sovv's token alone. That's cheating and we leave that to our guest, don't we? If you persist I'm afraid I'll have to ring for Nanny." Of course, George likely couldn't understand a word, but she had always believed in speaking to children as if they could understand; she had read somewhere that it improved their development.

Natasi shifted her son so that he was pressed to her shoulder, enjoying the sensation of his smooth head and hair in the crook of her neck, the sweet scent unique to babies soothing her as she nuzzled his head. She was about to gently gloat to Sovv at her good fortune when there was a knock at the door and a footman leaned in. "Your Excellency, General Ministry vehicles at the front gate. They'll be here in three minutes."

"Thank you, Edmond," Natasi said distractedly, moving to stand up. She paced away, for a moment the game quite forgotten. "What could they want?" Natasi asked George rhetorically. "It's too early for the red box." She stroked his back absent-mindedly, lost in thought for a moment before she remembered. Natasi turned back to the board. "Will that be cash or check?" she asked Sovv with a playful smirk.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

The area around Herevan Place was off-limits to air travel, which meant that Foreign Secretary Clémence Wallace had landed miles away at the local airport and taken a pair of General Ministry landspeeders from the vehicle pool there. The upshot was that the meeting she was dreading most loomed large and distant, like a sword of Damocles waiting to fall. She didn't want to be the one to deliver her news to Natasi. The women had developed a friendship over the last few years, as Clémence moved from an advisor in the Grand Moff's policy unit to her principal private secretary following the death of Sioux Chambers at Kaeshana, to finally being appointed Foreign Secretary only a few weeks before. She was there as an act of friendship and mercy so that the Grand Moff would not have to hear that her husband -- the father of her son -- was dead.

Clem hadn't known Talbot Vitalis well. They had met socially several times but hadn't spoken extensively. He was charming and handsome and seemed to serve as a decent foil and consort to the Grand Moff. From all appearances, the couple had been well-suited. Clémence couldn't guarantee what the reaction would be, but she assumed it would be like any other wife's: complete devastation. Better for it to come from Clémence than a nameless, faceless official of the Ministry of Defense like the other parents, wives, husbands, and other next of kin whose loved ones fell in battle.

The car slowed and Clémence craned her neck to look out between the two Defense Ministry officials sitting opposite her, through the front windshield of the landspeeder. The driver handed over the documentation necessary for access, and a moment later the gates swung open, allowing the landspeeder to proceed. They moved forward, driving along the broad gravel parkway, looping around to stop at the front door. Clémence remained seated, holding her chin with one hand, her index finger pressed to her lips.

"Ma'am?" asked one of the Defense officials.

She blew out a sigh and then took a deep breath. "Just -- give me a minute."

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Jaius Sovv"]​

 

[Jaius Sovv]

President Jaius Sovv sat with his back to the drawing room windows. Old age and frequent travel had served well to desensitize him by and large, but the fact remained that country moores were about as far an environment from his native subterranean caverns as one could get short of a skyhook. Even visiting surface cities on foreign worlds, Jaius could take comfort in the duracrete cloudscrapers and pretend there was a ceiling high above him. Out here, there was nothing but countryside and wide open sky. Idyllic to most humanoids, but deeply unsettling to Sullustans.

Still, he had done his level best not to make such a minor discomfort plainly known. Where at first President Sovv had presumed Grand Moff [member="Natasi Fortan"] simply kept him around as a sort of grim trophy, he had come to understand it was an act of sympathy on the Galidraani noblewoman's part more than anything. Locking away a fellow intellectual somewhere remote with only his thoughts, limited HoloNet access, and the creature comforts of house arrest was a form of punishment in and of itself.

Given the time consuming nature of her duties as the First Order's political head of state, Jaius had come to appreciate the gesture of these little visits, and was loathe to make a nuisance of himself despite the involuntary nature of his stay. More than that, it may have been his paranoia playing tricks on him, but over time the Sullustan had come to suspect there were factions within Natasi's government less than pleased with her tenure. He could not help but wonder if that displeasure extended to his humane treatment, and whether proximity to the Grand Moff was now in the best interests of his own survival.

"I am concerned by how effectively this game seems to simulate the corruption of unchecked capitalism," he grumbled aloud, doling out the two thousand credits from his increasingly meager pile of simulacra currency. In truth, he was more frustrated than anything that his investment in the board's rail systems and water works hadn't seemed to pan out for him so far. He had been so certain such valuable public services would be a reliable bet.

The old man paused from his contemplation of this new hazard the Moff's additional hotels now presented long enough to make a funny face at her infant child George while his mother scolded him for his interference. Jaius enjoyed the presence of human infants, it was at this phase in their development he felt they most resembled his own kind. With more leathery skin and some dewflaps, the youngling could pass for one of his own grandchildren.

"My dear Grand Moff, as a Sullustan I am offended you think I would cheat at a game of economics," gathering up the die in his withered hands, Sovv gave them a good shake before casting them down upon the table, "Behold my resurgenc-oh poodoo."

It had only taken him a few seconds to calculate where his roll would place him, and he frowned deeply when he realized his battleship had landed on Go to Jail.

"How apropos," he muttered dourly. While his concentration seemed focused entirely on the game, Jaius had in fact been listening intently to Natasi's brief conversation with her footman. He now waved her away, continuing to scrutinize the game board, "Go see about your business. I must ponder my great escape."

After a few moments, he glanced up to see that she had not yet moved.

"Very well," he sighed dramatically, "You may order your guards to stun me at the first sign of tampering."

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Clémence Wallace"]​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"What?" Natasi asked over her shoulder, still momentarily distracted by the unannounced arrival of the Ministry vehicles. Something about it clearly unsettled her, but even she didn't know what. It wasn't until George squealed with impatience that she finally turned and walked back to the game board. She set George down next to her on the carpet. "Don't worry, Jaius, I'm Galidraani and cheating at games is, like cheating on one's spouse, not a criminal offense." She picked up the die and rolled it. "Just a social one."

She picked up her token, the pewter top hat, and counted out the number on the die. "Oh, damn and blast," she muttered as she came to a stop at one of the railroads [member="Jaius Sovv"] owned. "Here, you'd better take some of this back," said Natasi as she scooped up the play money he had left on the board, counting out the appropriate cost and pushing it back towards the Sullustan as she put the rest in her compulsively tidy piles. "For that kind of money, I expect to travel in first class, mind you. Oh, George, darling, we don't eat the tokens, do we?" She plucked the racecar token out of her son's hand just before he put it in his mouth. "Nor the hotels. By the Balance will he ever stop trying to eat things he finds within grabbing distance? I don't suppose Sullustan infants are any better." She left George on the carpet and scooped up the pieces, placing them in the upturned box lid, which she placed on the fireplace mantlepiece.

"Are you hungry?" she asked Sovv as she returned to pick up her son. "It's a bit early but I don't mind changing the schedule -- " Her voice dropped off when her footman again appeared at the door. "Yes, Edmond?"

"It's the Foreign Secretary for you, ma'am." Before Natasi could tell Edmond that they could meet in the library, [member="Clémence Wallace"] came in, flanked by two men Natasi didn't recognize. "I'll leave you now."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Clémence finally reached for the door handle and pressed the speeder door open, carefully stepping out onto the gravel drive. It was still cool in this part of the continent, though it rarely snowed there. She was bundled into a trenchcoat and wore a pair of red leather gloves as she approached the door and greeted the butler. "Good afternoon, Hendersmith. It's good to see you."

"Thank you, Moff Wallace," said Hendersmith, bowing slightly from the neck. "May I take your coat?"

Clémence hesitated, then sighed inwardly and allowed the ancient man to help her out of her coat. "Hendersmith, is the Grand Moff with her son?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Hendersmith, gesturing towards the doorway to the drawing room. "Shall I -- "

She cut across him. "Hendersmith, I need you to do something for me. Have George's nanny come down right away."

"Whatever for?"

Clémence put a hand on the frail old man's shoulder and leaned close. "Trust me, please. This is essential."

Hendersmith set off, and the Foreign Secretary walked into the room. She did not see [member="Jaius Sovv"] sitting near the fireplace. Her eyes tracked Natasi, watching as the woman came closer, cradling her baby against her chest. The quizzical smile on the woman's lips died away when she saw Clémence's ashen face. "What is it, Clem?" asked Natasi, fixing her friend with an intent gaze. Wallace couldn't find the words; she gaped at her superior for a moment. Natasi went on: "Tell me. Has the Alliance surrendered? No -- well, have we surrendered?"

"Natasi -- I'm sorry," Clémence finally said. "It just came through -- it's -- Dagobah."

The Grand Moff stepped forward, coming closer. "We failed to capture it?"

"The reports are still coming in on that score, ma'am, but -- "

"By the Balance, Clem," said Natasi. "If you don't -- "

Clémence inhaled sharply and finally said: "Talbot was killed in action at Dagobah, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi didn't like the look on Clémence's face; it was like she was suffering severe indigestion. "What is it, Clem?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. Whatever it was that the Foreign Secretary had to tell her, it couldn't be good news. Clem's jaw hung, the chief diplomat struck dumb for a moment. It was starting to alarm the Grand Moff. "Tell me," she ordered sternly. "Has the Alliance surrendered?" Maybe it could be good news, and she just couldn't find the words to announce it. There was no response. "No -- well, have we surrendered?" she asked, her tone somewhat incredulous. It seemed impossible.

"Natasi -- I'm sorry," Clémence finally said. "It just came through -- it's -- Dagobah."

Natasi hesitated and took a few steps forward, her pulse starting to race. "We failed to capture it?"

The Foreign Secretary shook her head. "The reports are still coming in on that score, ma'am, but -- "

Natasi smirked and shook her head. "By the Balance, Clem. If you don't -- "

"Talbot was killed in action at Dagobah, ma'am." She paused for a moment. "I'm so sorry."

There was a buzzing sound in Natasi's ears as she stared at Clémence, her face frozen in a mask of confusion. "Talbot -- my Talbot?" Clem nodded. "That's -- that's impossible. He wasn't even deployed to Dagobah. His last message said he'd be going to Varonat. Not Dagobah." Her gaze continued to bore into the woman opposite, her grasp on her son tightening imperceptibly. "Clémence, there has been a mistake. We need to rectify this before any more families get the wrong information. It would be so upsetting."

"Ma'am -- Natasi -- it's not a mistake. Captain Vitalis was reassigned to an intelligence operation at Dagobah. He was killed after sustaining injuries in a firefight with Alliance forces. I have -- " She reached into her pocket and procured a small envelope, which she held out. "Let me take George -- ah," she took the infant as Natasi took the envelope, almost immediately turning to see the nanny come in. She deposited George with the nanny as Natasi's fingers tore the envelope open. "Take him to the nursery," Clémence ordered, and the nanny whisked him away.

Mrs. Vitalis, the letter began. The Ministry of Defense is writing to inform you that your husband, Captain Talbot Vitalis, was killed in action at Dagobah. After sustaining serious injuries in a firefight with enemy forces, Captain Vitalis exhibited great bravery and courage in attempting to complete his mission and lead his men home. Unfortunately, his injuries were too severe to be treated successfully, and he died at the date indicated above. In this time of grief for you and your family, please rest assured that the Ministry of Defense will treat your husband's remains with the utmost of care, and they will be returned to the Veterans' Office in Avalonia. Should you wish to collect Captain Vitalis' remains from the spaceport, please contact the logistics specialist department at the number below. If you should need any assistance, including instructions on how to file for your loved one's death benefits, please contact the social worker assigned to your case at the number provided below. Once again, we are truly sorry for your loss. Take comfort in knowing that your loved one died in service to something greater than himself and greater than all of us: the will of the Supreme Leader to bring justice, peace, and order to the galaxy.

Natasi's eyes traced over the words once, then retraced them, her dark eyes scanning the letter for some evidence of forgery or fraud. Her mind reeled, but she could not force herself to believe what she had read. There had to be some mistake. He wasn't even supposed to be at Dagobah. They wouldn't have changed his orders -- not knowing who he was -- without telling her. Right? "It's not true," said Natasi finally, looking up to Clémence. "There's been some kind of mistake." She held the letter back out to her Foreign Secretary, who looked down at it, then back up to Natasi's face. "Take it back." If she could give the letter back -- if she didn't have it so official, in black and white, it couldn't possibly be true.

Right?

Clémence hesitated.

"Please," Natasi whispered. "Take it."

The Foreign Secretary stepped forward to take it, finally spotting [member="Jaius Sovv"] over Natasi's shoulder. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought we were alone."

Natasi let the letter fall from her fingers. "Hm?" she asked, half-turning.

Sovv.

Jaius Sovv.

Sullustan President.

Proud member of the Galactic Alliance. Ally to murderers and terrorists.

A friend of Natasi Fortan? Her eyes searched his face, once so friendly but now revolting. Sickening. I was foolish to think I could be friends with someone like you, she thought venomously. How much had he heard? The distance wasn't great; he would have heard it all. Was that a glint of triumph in his dead black eyes? Satisfaction? Natasi's fists clenched so hard that blood dripped from her palms. She started towards him. So many of her problems could be solved if she just bludgeoned his stupid face in with one of the fireplace pokers. She could reassert her dominance over the cabinet. She could stand up to the Supreme Leader. She could make her people tremble in fear at the sight of her, to cower when she spoke.

She could send a lesson to the Galactic Alliance. A deafening roar.

Jaius Sovv's head, pulped with a fireplace poker, sawed-off haphazardly with a butter knife and shipped to their squalid little capital in a shoebox.

Natasi didn't know what she would have had the wherewithal to do it she reached Sovv; faced with the sudden realization that whatever her claims to the Foreign Secretary or attempts to deny it to herself, it was true that Talbot was dead, she could have been capable of anything, but Clémence seized her arm and pulled her back. "Ma'am, don't," she whispered. "It won't bring him back, and you'll regret it in the morning."

The Grand Moff struggled but relented, taking a hesitant half-step back as she stared at the Sullustan, until her face crumpled into a mask of pain and grief. She crumpled, too, like a piece of fine stationery crushed in a fist, and only the support of Clémence kept her on her feet as she staggered away. The butler, Hendersmith, rushed to help. Natasi heard them whispering about her -- where to take her, what to do, who to call -- but she was beyond caring, and once they deposited her in an armchair in the library, with Clémence kneeling at her side and holding her hand, Natasi could hear nothing but the sound of her own racking sobs as the shock of loss and knowledge of a shattered future consumed her.

 

[Jaius Sovv]

Jaius had witnessed the conversation take place between [member="Natasi Fortan"] and her Foreign Secretary, careful as always not to reveal how closely he paid attention to the Grand Moff's state duties whenever they happened to drift into his orbit. He heard the words, understood their meaning, but looking back on this day he could not help but feel a pang of selfishness for in the moment his first thoughts had not been of his friend's loss. For now, he was far less interested in the why than the where, for news of First Imperial operations in the Dagobah system was the first piece of intelligence on his homeland undiluted by enemy propaganda he had acquired in some time.

Dagobah was along the Rimma Trade Route, and if both major galactic southern trade lanes were compromised, not only would it spell disaster and misery across the entire Outer Rim but it meant circumstances at home were even more dire than he had feared. Such grave peril now facing southern Alliance worlds consumed his thoughts, until he was forced to reckon with his immediate surroundings at the sight of a brandished fire poker.

Natasi advanced on him, and for an irrational moment he believed he was at last seeing the real Grand Moff for the first time. Gone was the pretense of civility, the veneer of familiarity for his benefit. Now there was only carnal Imperial rage, and the corrupting influence of the Darkside behind bloodthirsty eyes. But then her advisor intercepted her, and the moment passed when she practically collapsed in untethered grief. It was only then that President Sovv realized his folly. There was no supernatural evil at play here, only a young woman who had suffered sudden and terrible loss. And here he sat, a most potent symbol of that loss.

Slowly rising from his seat, the elder Sullustan approached as near as he dared before an equally venomous glare from [member="Clémence Wallace"] made abundantly clear the notion that to move any closer would be most unwise. Perhaps foolishly pressing on, Jaius summoned his most dignified composure and opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry..." his voice cracked, and his shoulders slumped. More than thirty years of experience as a diplomat and career politician utterly failed him.

What could he say that could possibly make a difference? She had every reason to transmute her anguish over the loss of Talbot into seething hate for him. More than ever before, Sovv could not help but find this entire experience as the First Order's 'guest' most surreal. This time it was almost like an out of body experience. Talbot Vitalis, a man who had died attempting to conquer an Alliance world. But he was also Natasi's husband, and part of a life here that Jaius could understand, even empathize with. Is it possible to feel such hurt over the misfortunes of a mortal foe?

He felt as if the more the armistice fell apart, the more their companionship had also begun to unravel.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

For about five minutes, Clémence stood in the hall outside of the library. The Grand Moff's doctor, Miles Penneford, was with her now and, for the moment, the Grand Moff's sobs had subsided. The Foreign Secretary stared at the corner where the opposite wall met the ceiling. She was well aware that Sovv was still in the Drawing Room; he had witnessed everything. Something would have to be done about him. The Grand Moff's affinity for the leathery-faced freakshow was unsettling for Wallace, who erred slightly on the xenophobic side of First Order policy. His presence -- alive, unharmed, not even in prison but as some sort of hanger-on to the Grand Moff, who transported him around like an ancient teddy bear wrought from skin instead of fabric -- was problematic for Clémence.

Her ruminations on [member="Jaius Sovv"] were interrupted when the door opened and Penneford, a wizened old man, stepped out of the room. "How is she?" Clémence asked.

"I've given her a sedative. She is, obviously, disturbed. She will need to rest. I don't suppose there's any possibility of keeping everything non-essential off her desk?"

Clémence chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, then answered: "Petyr Calinda is Deputy Grand Moff. I'll work with the Cabinet Office to ensure the paperwork gets routed either to him or to the Supreme Commander. How long should the sedative last?"

"Anywhere between sixty and seventy-two hours."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Penneford straightened. "I know what I'm doing."

Wallace studied him a moment. "Of course. Apologies."

"I should stay here -- to monitor her and to be on hand when she comes to."

"By all means. It's not my house. If I find Hendersmith I'll send him your way." Clémence steeled herself and glanced to the left, into the open doors of the Drawing Room. It was time to deal with Jaius Sovv. She strolled into the room and shut the double doors behind her, throwing the bolt before rounding the sofa to where Sovv sat. "Mister President," said Clémence, with no attempt to keep the malice out of her eyes or voice. "The Grand Moff won't be able to return to your little game this evening." She sat in the opposite armchair and crossed her legs. "So that leads me to the question of just what we can do with you." The Foreign Secretary raised her eyebrows and locked eyes (she thought) with the Sullustan. "Indulge my curiosity, Mr. President: what is it you do here? Why are you in a mansion and not a prison?"