[fic] Blood of the Republic

[Lord Spitfire]

This is the new fic I have decided to start; it takes place exactly six months after the events of KotOR 2: The Sith Lords. This probably doesn't fit under the stereotyped version of Kotor III, with Revan and the Exile fighting the true Sith, but you can all this what you want, since it takes place just after TSL.

 

Well . . . Enjoy!

 

 

Star Wars: Blood of the Republic

 

 

The Sith Triumvirate has just been eradicated, and for the first time in nearly twenty years, the Republic is in a lasting peace.

 

Three months ago, the Jedi Exile had fled to the unknown regions, however not before leaving her mark on the galaxy; and that mark is a stepping stone for hope. After she leaves, her companions gather on Dantooine, and secretly train the new Jedi Order, away from the eyes of the Republic, however ready to help when the need arises. The Exile and Revan fight the True Sith continuously, and before they fall, they make sure that they push the Sith assault back two centuries; enough time for the galaxy to lick its wounds, or at least attempt to do so.

 

But this peace is fragile, and soon the Republic will collapse. However, there is still hope for this galaxy. There is still hope for the Restoration of the Republic. Its fate has made its way into the hands of two men, two men who will shape the fabric of destiny itself.

 

One Mercenary, fighting the shadows of war chasing, running away, torn asunder by the demons of his mind, fighting to remain alive, in his body and soul.

 

One Politician, a true patriot, a man determined and ready to lead the Republic into a new age; a man too young to be considered able to do so.

 

 

 

Chapter One: Refugee and Republic

 

Travis Vendettan stared out the window as he gazed out into Coruscant. The city was illuminated with an intense light as the sun gradually rose, marking the beginning of a new day; the first day of a new age. Travis sighed as he sat in the plush leather chair placed right behind the polished desk. The feeling of sitting in this large room was alien to him. It just didn’t feel right, somehow. It somehow felt as if he had been pushed into this.

 

But he knew that he couldn’t afford to feel this way. The sheer amount of people that were counting on him was enough to let him know that he had to be completely focused. One mistake he made, and the Galaxy could come crashing down. Scanning the room, he realized how large it was. There were a few seats laid out in front of him for important meetings, and another table in the back. Behind that, there was a door that led to his private penthouse.

 

It’s not just the room; it’s the resources, and the power that I have. I’ve been given exactly what I need to do what I want. There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” said Travis naturally. He quickly chastised himself for letting those words pour out of him naturally.

 

The massive golden door slid open, and in walked a man who looked in his mid-forties. Travis knew that tall figure, and dark hair well. “Admiral, you’ve arrived. Please, take a seat,” said Travis simply. The official tone in his voice was obviously forced.

 

The Admiral chuckled as took a seat. “You can cut that diplomatic crap with me, Travis,” he said simply.

 

Travis nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He sighed as he gazed out the window. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here. You see, I’m gathering specialists for a mission; an important one. And I’ll need your help.”

 

The Admiral cocked his eyebrow. “Yeah, of course I know. So do about fifty trillion people; that’s exactly what you said in your big speech.”

 

The sun was now comfortably high in the sky as Travis continued to stare out. A shiver of nervousness crept up on him as he got prepared to make the proposal. Taking a deep breath, he started, “Look, I know you might oppose this, especially since what happened on Telos; having your homeworld attacked twice must be pretty hard. You know better than I do that the Republic has always had an enemy, even in times of peace. Our enemy now is crime, corruption, and countless thousands of separatist groups that will fight for their planet’s independence. What happened on Onderon a few months ago; that sort of thing is in the process of happening on many different Republic Worlds.”

 

The Admiral nodded. “Yeah, I know. Plus, it was a bit shocking to find out that the enemy that you destroyed five years ago suddenly comes out of nowhere and attacks Citadel Station,” he replied wearily.

 

“But that’s not all,” continued Travis. “The Exchange is still the biggest threat. It’s like a virus, infecting every Republic planet from the inside. It’s not like the Sith or the Mandalorians, who fight with warships and armies; the Exchange starts within us, then takes over us.”

 

“So, what are you proposing?”

 

Travis took a deep breath, then replied simply, “I’m proposing two things; one, we have to use whatever’s left of the Republic Armada to liberate the possibly rebellious governments.”

 

The Admiral took it in. “That . . . well, it sounds reasonable. I mean, we have to take action. But, I hope you realize that if we do that, we’ll need to spend the ENTIRE Republic fleet to do that. It’s better than waiting for it to happen, but you need to know the risks. If Coruscant, or any of the Core Worlds is attacked, it will be laid to ruin.”

 

Travis nodded. “I’m aware of the risks, but if I don’t do this, then the Republic will collapse for sure. Anyways the second thing I want to do is . . . well, I’m proposing the complete eradication of the exchange.”

 

“What?” snapped the Admiral. “You do know that it’s going to be impossible, right? I mean, you’re already using the entire military to secure planets! How are you going to fight something that is probably more powerful than the Republic itself right now?”

 

Travis sighed. “This is where it gets complicated. Do you know what the budget of the Republic is right now?” he asked out of the blue.

 

The Admiral blinked. “What? No.”

 

“It is 140 trillion credits,” stated Travis simply. “You should also know that seventy percent of the Galactic Senate is corrupt.”

 

The Admiral slowly nodded his head. “Yeah, and you’re probably the first non-corrupt Supreme Chancellor in years. How is that relevant?”

 

“Well,” continued Travis, “the driving source behind that corruption is the Exchange; that means that they ARE the Republic. I’m planning on using drastic measures to . . . clean up the Senate.”

 

The Tension in the room suddenly multiplied. “You’re . . . planning on assassinating most of the Senate?” spluttered the Admiral.

 

Travis sighed. “No, I’m not planning on assassinating the Senate. But I am planning on targeting the ones that are corrupt. You see, I’ve traced every single corrupt Senator back to their source; who’s paying them. These people are the key leaders of the exchange. I’m gathering skilled and well known mercenaries from across the galaxy to work as an attack force against the Exchange.”

 

Once again, the Admiral had to take all of this in. Finally, he slowly said, “So, you’re planning on cutting off the funds from the Senate, and using them to pay mercenaries to wage a war on crime while the Republic Fleet is securing planets to make sure they stay in the Republic?”

 

Travis nodded. “That basically sums it up. It’s what I was referring to in my speech; my plan to restore the Republic.”

 

The Admiral shook his head in disbelief. “If I think about it, then if we manage to do this right, we will succeed in doing everything you said. It’s crazy, but for some reason it seems sound. But, I need to ask you one thing; do you have any ideas the number of assassination attempts that are going to be made on your head?”

 

Travis gave a short laugh. “That won’t stop my plan, will it?”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Dane Voight sighed as he took a seat on the metal stump, extending his hands to warm them against the fire. It was always cold here, on this godforsaken planet. He didn’t even know why he was here, rotting. Something had just led him here; it was not something he could explain, even to himself.

 

Once he had regained his body heat, he started glancing around the room. It was dark, with rusted metal walls. The only things in it were a bed, a closet, and a desk containing a datapad and holopad. It was barely anything, but Dane knew it was probably more than anyone else had in this place.

 

Using the fire as light, Dane gazed into his reflection into a broken mirror. He had longish, slightly messy black hair that fell to his eyes and beyond his collar. Nothing wrong there. Then, of course, there was the stubble across his face. He almost reached over to grab a knife to shave, but thought better of it. Besides, he looked . . . cooler (he chastised himself for not thinking of a more mature word) . . . this way. His black eyes looked fiery under the illuminating tint of the flame.

 

Sighing, Dane laid down the mirror and started to change into his usual attire. He first put on an undershirt and black pants. The pants were soft and looked simple, but they were thick enough for an armyman. Then came his soft shirt. It felt soft, and was as thin as cotton, but it also acted as armour. Then, he donned his signature black jacket. It looked like a windcheater, but it was really made of a synthetic material. After that came his leather gloves, and then utility belt. It contained a very small pouched that managed to pack in three normal and three kolto medpacs, and two handmade pistols.

 

Before leaving, he decided to turn on the galactic radio. A little rock music here and there couldn’t hurt, could it? Unfortunately, there was no music on right now. Instead, there was a news broadcast.

 

”Two days ago marked the Inauguration of the new Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Travis Vendettan. At only 32, he is the youngest human to ever be elected to the office. He won by a staggering 75% of the Galactic vote, and definitely has the public support. He had the galaxy on its toes in his speech yesterday,”

 

Dane sighed as he listened to yet another pompous political ******* rave on about ‘restoring the Republic.’ However, he couldn’t help but notice the Charisma in this . . . Vendettan’s voice as the radio recorded the speech. Dane didn’t let it get to him. Charisma was the greatest weapon of tyranny and corruption.

 

Dane reached over and grabbed his Laser Assault Rifle. It was as effective as a blaster rifle, but it only looked a lot less futuristic and fancy. Ready to go, thought Dane as he opened the door to his ‘house.’ He was then greeted by an all too familiar sight. He saw dozens of different metal rooms like his scattered across the area. They were in one massive containment room, where it was always dark. Looking around, he saw the desperate inhabitants walking around on the dirt. The cold, the filth, the destitution, all meant one thing.

 

The Refugee Sector of Nar Shaddaa.

 

Before Dane could take a step forward, a man who looked in his early forties approached him. He had soft, kind eyes and a gentle demeanour. “Wherever you’re going, be careful. Things down here are better than ever, but we still can’t afford to lose you,” said the man almost pleadingly.

 

Dane gave a short laugh. “Relax, Hussef. I’m just going to get some food and supplies. If you’re referring to my rifle, then you should know by now that I’m going to have to blast a few of those Exchange scum to get you guys something,” he said simply. However, before he moved on, Hussef stopped him again.

 

“No, that is not what I was referring to. Look to your right.”

 

What? Dane suddenly saw where all the eyes were pointed at. At the entrance to the Sector, there stood four heavily armoured Republic Commandos, with someone who was obviously of high rank in the centre of them. What was going on? This must have been the first time the Republic had even set foot on Nar Shaddaa.

 

The refugees suddenly went back into their holes as Dane approached the commandos, assault rifle still in his hand, as he got a closer look at the man in the middle of the commandos. It was a blue Twi-lek with slight wrinkles across his ‘skin,’ indicating his aging. “Is it true that this is one of the Refugee Sectors on Nar Shaddaa?” inquired the Twi-lek. Dane was shocked at his voice. It was clean and educated, and held a low, controlled tone. Another surprise was he spoke in perfect Galactic Basic.

 

“What do you want?” demanded Dane in his rough voice. Upon spotting his rifle, the commandos instantly stepped up their level of alertness.

 

“We understand that there are a number of veterans and mercenaries living amongst the refugees,” stated the Twi-lek simply.

 

Dane narrowed his eyes a little. What was this all about? “Yeah, that’s right,” he started cautiously. “There are about fifty refugees and twenty veterans in this area. The veterans, like me, protect the refugees from the Exchange. What’s it to you?”

 

The Twi-lek gave a slight smile. “Well, as you know, there has been a . . . shift in balance in power in the Republic,” he started.

 

Dane shrugged. Galactic politics never bothered him. “A heard something about a new Supreme Chancellor being elected, but that happens every few years. What’s so special about another corrupt leader?” he demanded impatiently.

 

“What’s special is that this one isn’t so corrupt,” replied the Twi-lek.

 

Dane scoffed. “The same bullsh-it. That still doesn’t explain why there are Republic Commandos here.”

 

The Twi-lek smiled. “Do you mind if we enter your . . . house? We have a proposition for you especially that you would be foolish to ignore.”

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

[SynysterGates]

This is actually much better than your previous threads and I like the new politically charged and intense storyline you are forming with less Jedi and Force action. I also like the way you are moving away from the games and making your own tale from scratch, which is much harder than basing of a fanfic from a game or movie's storyline. So, cheers!

[machievelli]

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