The Shape of Things to Come

[Mon Razien]

Domed City of Aquarius – Dac

<style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> “Order! I will have order in this assembly!”

The crack of the speaker's gavel cut through the sound that filled the hall, putting an end to idle chatter and leaving in its place a tense silence. His bulbous yellow eyes rolling across the multitude of men and women before him. Some wore uniforms and the trappings of the military, in countless colors and styles. Others were garbed in senatorial regalia, in robes and dresses fashioned in the character of their home-worlds culture.

The Mon Calamari speaker's fierce gaze roamed over them all, gathered as they were in their factions, hundreds of eyes turned towards him. They had been informed, minutes ago, that the Chief of State was en-route to Aquarius at present, having been unexpectedly delayed in transit. It was expected that upon arrival, he would make some kind of public announcement and formally begin what was to be the first conclave of the Rebel Alliance.

There was a great many things to be discussed, and an even greater number of voices to be heard – yet for all the formality of the proceedings, the speaker felt a swell of pride as he looked out across the crowd. It was a significant day for them all, and one that they would not soon forget.

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

A 'Conclave of the Rebellion' was what they were calling it. In truth, the Bothan found the entire concept to be laughable: apparently the wide-eyed idealists had done playing their game of soldiers for a while, and were intending to play at politics instead. He cast his gaze around the room, searching for any faces he recognised from photograph or flesh. A few of the military officers he recalled, but most were from the far-flung reaches of the Alliance it seemed; ones whose exploits were either too secret or too mediocre to pass in front of the eyes of the Alliance Council.

Torrsk felt that the speaker's outburst vindicated his opinions somewhat. While yes, as room filled with so many sentients was bound to suffer some pollution from sound, it only served to reinforce the fact that there would be too many voices here for any solid decisions to be made. He supposed there was some possibility that someone within this great gathering might voice some pearl of wisdom that the Council could not have unearthed on their own - it was simple mathematics that someone here had to posess some iota of fresh initiative - but the Bothan hardly felt that the magnitude of this farce would be conductive to anything more than a collapse into disarray.

Of course, the success was not the only reason for his discomfort at this gathering. Here, he could see that the newly-liberated Bothans were painfully under-represented. Their military was small, and with Humans already placed in oversight of the more shaded areas of the Alliance's operations, this gathering of officers barely held any of his kin. Much more prominant were the homo sapiens; though their contributions to the Rebellion were notable, had the galaxy forgotten that it was they who had spawned Palpatine, and landed them all in this mess in the first place?

Still: he had voiced his opinion to the Chief of State on that matter already, and would relish the opportunity to - how did the Corellians put it? - say 'I told you so.'

[General Rakev]

It all seemed disorganized to Iria.

The General tapped at her personal datapad, which illuminated the 'rough itenerary' of this meeting. She couldn't help but be enamored with the earnestness of it all, at least, but her military nature chafed at such chaos.

She made the trip to Dac, leaving her army behind, not only to voice her concerns as a senior staff of the Rebel Army, but also to make sure that this was still the ideological yearning for justice that she'd felt so abandoned from when she left the Empire in disillusionment. She needed something solid to stand upon, and something worth fighting for.

She glanced at the Bothan adjacent to her, who seemed to be more off-put by the disorganization of things than she was, if she was any good at reading Bothan tells. She'd never met Torrsk Oruo'rel, but she'd certainly heard of his reputation as a dogged realist.

[Sumor Rayial]

In comparison to his fellow General and the Bothan beside her, Sumor was far more comfortable in chaos. It was probably the reason that he was so comfortable being in command of an Expedition force. The first hours of any battle were always chaotic, and how dealt with that chaos could either win or lose the battle, if not the war.

He'd taken a spot off to the side of the large room. He wasn't totally happy to be there. In his experience with these gatherings ended up being controlled by the politicos and not the military. Even when they wanted their opinions they only wanted the one that fit their goals.

Pulling down on his uncomfortable uniform tunic he scanned the room again. He'd rather have been back on his command ship, but for the sake of the off chance that he might be able to spur on some support for a more proactive approach to the war, he was here. Not that he was holding his breath.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace had little desire to be here and played with the stencil in her hand, methodically let it slipped between two fingers, flipped it with the middle one, only to slide through them once more. It made no noise, so it didn't bother anyone near her. In fact, the seats adjacent to her were vacant as most of the Rebellion were still sore over the botched rescue attempt on Coruscant. But then again, some were afraid of being anywhere near the new Director of Rebel Intelligence. The aura of utter contempt that she projected was enough for any sentient being to stay away.

Considering the enormity of the occasion and that every department of the Alliance was being representative, Grace wore her light blue jumpsuit with grey boots and vest, which was one of the few articles of clothing that displayed her five lines of ribbons and medals earned for various operations and battles. Sometimes she wondered if all of those accomplishments were the only reasons they were keeping her around, as if it were some shield protecting her from the Alliance's real desire to be rid of her.

Regardless of the truth of that flight of fancy, Grace continued to stew quietly to herself and waited for Mon Razien to make his appearance.

[Mon Razien]

The low chatter had once again begun to raise in the hall when the sound of great doors close silenced the murmurs with a thud. The speaker looked out across the chamber and saw that, at the opposite side of the room, another party had joined the gathering – the guests for whom they were all waiting.

“My apologies, all, for the delay,” Mon Razien's voice carried throughout the hall without artificial amplification. “I thank you all for your patience, especially those of you who have selflessly sacrificed precious time to travel the distance to be here today...”

It was the voice of a young man undaunted by the collective age and experience that he found himself wading through. Clad in the stately white robes of his people, the Chandrilan native was followed by a group of likewise dressed attendants, each of whom looked red in the face from exertion. They were not so proud as to take the time to march leisurely through the gathering, rather they moved with an air of urgency, Mon Razien taking the speakers lectern with quick yet confident steps.

He paused for a long moment, to inhale deeply and take account of the room. His eyes passed over the crowd quickly, finding fleeting glimpses of recognition in their faces. The speaker, who had moved aside out of courtesy, eyed Razien expectantly. When he began, his voice was still faintly breathless.

“Thousands of years ago... our ancestors drafted the document which would come to be known as the Galactic Constitution. In this text, it was decreed that whilst power is invested in the many, it can never be seized by one – and that is a belief I hold to be unshakably true. I am one man.. I do not presume to think that my passion for this cause is greater than any you might hold in your heart, or that my voice should be heard above the hundreds of others who make up this conclave.

What I do believe, however, is this: something must change. Two years have passed now since the Battle of Endor. We believed then that the destruction of the Emperor Palpatine would end the tyranny of the Galactic Empire – but we were wrong. Palpatine was only one man. A charismatic man, but one man none the less, and one man does not make a cause. Palpatine was not the Empire. Miranda Tarkin is not the Empire. The Empire is a structure, a sense of order...”

Here he paused, eyes lowering for an instant as he took a deep and calming breath.

“..and I say order is what the Alliance needs. We have been running far too long, scattered upon the solar winds in all corners of the galaxy. Now, it is time to come together as one, to show the enemy that we are not afraid, and begin to lay down the foundations of our future...”