Chapter Text
“Have you read this?!”
Hunter rolls over in his bunk, blinking at Tech who’s stood less than a meter away, brandishing is data-pad with an excited grin on his face. Hunter, not the best sleeper in the world had actually been asleep for once, until Tech arrived at his elbow demanding an audience that is. There’s a faint shuffle above him as Crosshair rolls over in his bunk, staring down at his brother in similar disgust.
“New orders?” Hunter askes blearily.
“No, no. It’s a new article from the Coruscant Free Post, she interviewed Chancellor Palpatine and she didn’t pull any punches!” Tech waves the data-pad around, his eyes wide behind his goggles.
Hunter flops back with a groan. “You woke us for this?”
“He’s obsessed,” Crosshair remarks from the bunk above them. Tech looks up at him with a glare but continues undeterred.
“Chancellor Palpatine, after weeks of persistent requests, finally agreed to an interview this afternoon on the proviso I could ask only three questions that had to be submitted twenty-four hours beforehand for approval,” Tech reads, propping his goggles up his nose. “I found his countenance to be disagreeable and pallid, sagging like the skin of a rancor whose been left tethered in the Tatoonie sun too long. The robes he wears rival Senator Amidala in their extravagance, but serve as a distraction to his otherwise ashen and unappealing appearance, rather than to beautify it like the latter.”
“I don’t know what half of that means,” Wrecker moans from the lowest bunk.
“She said Senator Amidala is hot and Chancellor Palpatine is not,” Crosshair explains.
“Well, we all knew that,” snorts Hunter.
“Of the three questions I permitted to ask, I was in the end only able to ask him one. He doesn’t speak to you as if you were an individual posing a question to him but instead responds as if he were addressing the entire senate who hang on his every word, regardless of how insidious and often nonsensical they are. My only question I was able to pose was this ‘How do you intend to guide the Republic from its current state of war to the peace it has long enjoyed?’ I found his answer vague and inconclusive as he talked at length about securing a future for the Republic and large-scale construction projects to boost the security of the Republic, but with very little detail into how this would be achieved,” Tech continues to read.
“He’s a politician, what did she expect?” Crosshair remarks, propping his chin into his hand.
“When I pointed this out to him, he became hysterical, his voice rising furiously to remind me that I was here on his good graces, and that as a native of Raxus I should be grateful that the Republic continued to extend hospitality to me. He then-“ Tech continues but Hunter cuts him off.
“She’s from Raxus? I didn’t know that,” Hunter remarks in surprise.
Tech looks away from his data-pad and nods. “She was thrown off her home world for criticising Count Dooku’s formation of the Separatist regime and how many millions of credits were being poured into the droid army rather than protecting and housing the vulnerable worlds under the Separatist regime. She was approached by the Coruscant Free Post to write for them and has covered the war almost from day one.”
“Tell the truth,” Crosshair smirks from the top bunk.
“The truth?” Tech stares up at him blankly.
“She’s a cute little reporter with victory rolls.”
“I don’t see how-“ Tech begins.
“What the hell are victory rolls?” Hunter asks blankly.
Before Tech can respond, Crosshair has snatched the data-pad off him and scrolled to the top of the article to find the photo of her that’s at the top of every article which he blows up before handing the data-pad to Hunter. Tech tries to snatch it on the way past but Hunter is too quick for him, rolling away from him with it and holding Tech back with one hand. Hunter wolf whistles as Tech begins demanding furiously that he return his data-pad, while trying to lean over his brother who’s easily holding him off with one hand.
“Let me see! Let me see!” Wrecker demands excitedly poking his head up from the lower bunk.
Hunter throws the data-pad past Tech which Wrecker easily catches, rolling back into his bunk with it as Tech now tries to wrestle free of Hunter who’s laughing. Finally free of Hunter, Tech crawls into Wrecker’s bunk who’s giggling like an idiot trying to roll away from Tech who’s yelling at him. Hunter grins as his brother’s wrestle in the bunk below him before Tech finally retrieves his data-pad. Hunter grins at him as he straightens up, his hair dishevelled and his goggles askew.
“She’s a real looker Tech, no wonder you like her articles,” Hunter teases.
“She provides an insightful and stimulating perspective on the state of the Republic, her looks are inconsequential to her abilities as a reporter,” Tech snaps, smoothing his hair down.
“You said it, stimulating,” Crosshair smirks, drawing out the last word with a seedy drawl.
Tech’s mouth drops open as Hunter bursts out laughing at his scandalised expression. “She’s nearly as pretty as Senator Amidala, I like her hair,” Wrecker offers with a grin.
“Shall we paint her on the opposite side of the ship’s nose?” Hunter looks down at him.
“She is an outstanding journalist and voice for the downtrodden!” Tech gasps. “I’m sick of you animals reducing the fairer sex to mere objects of your lustful attention!”
“Oh come on Tech!” Hunter exclaims. “Admit she’s cute! We don’t sit around listening to Senator Amidala’s speeches because we like politics.”
“I do! Its important to understand the state of the Republic!” Tech exclaims.
“Be honest,” Hunter gives him a look.
“I am being honest! Both women are worth more than the minimal value have placed on the based on their looks!” Tech returns angrily.
“So you admit they both have looks,” Crosshair points out.
“Well of course I do but that’s not the kriffing point!” Tech yells up at his brother.
“Tech its fine! You can admit she’s cute and she’s stimulating its not a crime-“ Hunter tries to explain with a laugh.
“Her writing is stimulating! Not her!” Tech snaps.
“I bet the rest of her is pretty stimulating,” Crosshair remarks seedily.
Tech huffs, turning heel and storming back to the cockpit of the ship as Wrecker bursts out laughing in the bunk below him. “Tech! Tech we’re kidding! I’m sure she’s really-“
Tech slams his fist on the door button that snaps shut almost instantly, reducing Hunter’s yell to a muffled, incoherent noise. Tech flops down in the captain’s seat, propping his goggles up his nose in annoyance at his brother’s basest opinion of who he considered to be the best, most honest journalist in the Republic. His data-pad had timed out, Tech tapping the screen that opens to her image that fills the whole screen and pauses.
Of course, he thinks she cute.
He’s male with a pulse and eyes that contrary to popular-belief hold perfect 20/20 vision. Of course, he’s noticed the way the corner of her mouth pulls into a knowing smirk like she’s just caught you out. Or the way her eyes gleam in that lovely shade of lothcat green or her hair piled up in rolls on her head seemingly held in place by magic. Of course, he’s noticed all that but that’s not the point.
Tech taps out of the image and scrolls to the bottom of the article to type out a reply to the article like he always does but the hovers over the other messages.
I thought you were a political journalist not a fashion editor. If I wanted an expose on Chancellor Palpatine’s outfit I’d turn to page 33 and the fashion report. Stick to what you know, oh wait, you don’t that’s why you were thrown off your home world- KarkingClones
If I wanted the opinions of a misguided, Separatist spy I’d go to Coruscant Super-Max. Why does the Coruscant Free Post keep threats to our democracy like you on its pay roll?- MythasoursRock
Your writing is deliberately floral to hide the fact that your opinions are so blatantly misguided. No one cares what a resident of Raxus thinks and when the Republic wins the war we will reduce your planet-
Tech stops reading and pushes his goggles up his face to rub his eyes. There were hundreds of comments like that, some markedly worse and more explicit. Her articles, especially on politicians often garnered polarising comments, but this time it was serious. Tech often wondered if she read them, maker knew he couldn’t if he were her but he also couldn’t sit across from Chancellor Palpatine and ask the important questions, let alone committing to print exactly how that interview went.
Pushing his goggles back down his face, Tech scrolls to the bottom and begins typing out a message under his dubious moniker.
_____
Your editor, Marcus looks up from his desk and throws the data-pad down on his desk in disgust, his blue Chiss face screwing up in disgust as you let yourself in.
“A rancor who’s been left tethered in the Tatoonie sun too long? You’re kriffing kidding me right?” he stares at you.
“Is it wrong?” you slide into the seat opposite him.
“He’s the Chancellor for makers sake! What the hell were you thinking Dot?” he exclaims, using your office-nickname that’s partially due to your size and the punctuation mark.
“What I was thinking is that he’s a pompous old git who swans around that Senate building using his emergency powers to do makers knows what across the galaxy!” you fire back. “The war has been running for almost two years! Why hasn’t he relinquished those powers? Why’d he assumes them in the first place?”
“It took us weeks to organise that interview,” Marcus complains.
“Which it shouldn’t have? As the leader of the democratic Republic he should be open to the questioning of the Press and I don’t mean that puff pastry piece of garbage paper he talks to every week who tell us how wonderful he is,” you snap. “He hasn’t done any press days since the war began and I don’t buy the crap that he’s too busy, he just dosnt want to be asked questions he dosnt want to answer.”
Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose. “A rancor Dot. You cannot call the Chancellor a rancor.”
“And I called Count Dooku ‘a stony faced sociopath determined to bring the galaxy to ruin’, what’s your point?” you retort.
“And you were thrown off the planet. As you’re going you’ll be exiled to Mandalore because the only politicians who like you is Duchess Satine.”
You shrugs. “Or Alderaan. Bail Organa likes me. Mon Mothma doesn’t totally hate me either though she didn’t appreciate my pointing out that their one child policy was the hallmark of a dictatorship not a democracy.”
“Maker help me…”
You lean across his messy desk. “You understand I’m not just slagging off the Chancellor because he looks like a candle that’s been left on the window sill too long right? You know as well as I do, that he seized powers from the Senate by manoeuvring the young and naive Queen of Naboo, who’s now a senator who’s a hundred percent still under his thumb and that either this war will never end or it will end in him overthrowing the democracy to his favour.”
“Don’t be absurd, the Jedi wouldn’t let him,” Marcus responds. “That’s one advantage our modern civilisation has over democracies of the past in that we have the Jedi to keep it check. Maker knows I don’t agree with all of them, and if Ki-Mudi-Andi comes in here again I’m going to pitch a fit but as a whole, they do their job.”
“Yes. As promoters of peace while fighting the front line as Generals,” you reply derisively. “That’s my favourite oxymoron.”
Marcus shakes his head. “Regardless of how right or not you are the truth is this: we have over eighty thousand comments on that article you posted last night and almost all of them are negative. If you came here to stir the pot and paint a target on your back, then congratulations you succeeded.”
“I came here to prevent another democracy falling into the hands of a leader of dubious origins by revealing the truth fand holding politicians accountable. A democracy is only as good as the journalists who keep it honest,” you state.
Marcus holds your gaze and then sighs heavily, knowing you’re right. “Have you heard from your family recently?”
You shake your head, unable to voice that it had actually four months since you received word on their whereabouts on Raxus, but you only told Marcus about it two months ago when all attempts to reach them failed. He tried to find them through his contacts on Raxus reporting on the Separatist parliment but came up empty-handed. Marcus nods and begins rummaging around on his desk.
“I think for your sake you should leave Coruscant for a bit,” he says quietly. “Its not just eighty thousand comments, its countless abusive recorded holo messages and some of those are death threats.”
“I’m not fleeing. They had to throw me off Raxus and I was a citizen. They’ll have to do the same to me here too.”
“You’re not fleeing. You’re… going out on assignment,” Marcus explains with an expressive gesture. “I just don’t want you meeting any of the Coruscant Guard down a dark alley one night on your way home is all I’m saying.”
“He’d be stupid for trying it, it would evident to all and sundry what happened.”
Marcus pulls a face. “I don’t think anyone would care right now. You’ve said enough that if something were to happen, public sympathy would be for the Chancellor not you. You’re just seen as a pot-stirrer, not an exposer of truth. Not everyone shares your opinion about democracy only being as good as its journalists.”
“Because people don’t want to hear the truth!”
“No,” Marcus concedes quietly. “On the upper levels, people want their bread and circuses like they always have. Its different on the lower levels but even down there the sympathies aren’t exactly aligned in your favour.”
You sigh. “What’s my assignment?”
Marcus finds a folder of files and passes it across to you. “Senator Amidala contacted me privately about a week ago, asking me if I could spare a reporter to go undercover to report on the conditions in the GAR. At the time I said no, I didn’t have anyone at a loose end who I thought was up for the task but now I do. As the war lags on and clones are becoming more of the furniture around here, many humanitarian groups are concerned about their welfare and treatment as a sentient species. She is considering forming a draft of legislation to present to the senate effectively humanising clones, which will allow them greater freedoms but she needs the evidence to prove her legislation is worth the trouble it will cause.”
“Hold up,” you hold up a hand as you begin to read her notes that are written in beautiful, cursive handwriting. “If they pass legislation giving clones the same rights as anyone else in the Republic then that will mean they can choose to fight for the GAR or not?”
“Senator Amidala suggested that perhaps it would work on a mandatory military service structure where a clone must serve for two years and then be allowed to leave or re-enlist as they choose,” Marcus explains. “She wants a private meeting with whoever chooses to undertake this hot potato of a mission beforehand so if you say yes, I’ll message her office right away and tee up a meeting.”
“This would change the face of the Republic if it passes,” you muse. “There’s no way Chancellor Palpatine would allow it though because it could completely destabilise his army and rip up the very reason he got his emergency senate powers to begin with, not to mention what it would do to the relationship with Kaminoans and the Republic.”
Marcus grunts in disgust. “Yeah, don’t forget the long-necks.”
You look back down at her notes for a few moments feeling your heart race uncontrollably. “How do I get into the GAR though? I can’t even use a blaster.”
Marcus shrugs. “There’s a few ways, my recommendation is an aide station for a field hospital but you’re pretty cluey and seem to get luckier than everyone else in this damn office so surprise me.”
You laugh slightly and close the file. “I’ll do it.”
“I knew you would. Please try not to get shot… either here or on your way home. You’re a pain in the ass but a useful one,” Marcus grins as you stand.
You laugh a little louder. “If I do, just known Chancellor Palpatine pulled the trigger.”
“Which is unreportable,” the Chiss nods. “I’ll send a message to Amidala and get back to you.”
You nod your thanks and slip back out into the carnage known as the office. The Free Post is big on shared office spaces so only your boss has a closed in, sound proof office whereas everyone else’s work spaces are spread around the wide-open plan room that gives a view of Crouscant’s dingier suburbs. You pass your colleagues tapping away frantically at their computers or talking to holos before sliding into your desk. You log into your computer and hesitate, your mouse pointer hovering over the now ninety-two thousand and climbing comments.
Against your better judgement, you click to open the tab watching the message tree drop open seemingly into infinity. You don’t read every message, you have work to do and you’d be here for the next fifty years if you did, but you pick random ones out and Marcus is right. You really have done it this time.
I hate you! Who gave you the right to comment on Chancellor’s Palpatine’s appearance? Age is cruel to us all and I’m sure you wont look like you do now in old age. Go back to your home world, oh wait, you cant- Coruscantsucks
You’re a miserable news hack who cant write for bantha shit. Go bore someone else with your big words.- Lightspeedskipper
If I find you in a dark alley I will cut your fingers off first, followed by-
You scroll past that one, watching the words blur together feeling your chest tighten. For all your bravery and promise to uphold democracy by honest journalism, you were still human and the thought that ninety-two thousand people took the time out of their day to tell you how much they hated you and what acts of violence they would enact against you to shut you up wasn’t pleasant.
But it also scared you a little. There were ninety thousand people who weren’t seeing what you were- that Chancellor Palpatine was an insidious creep who was clearly up to no good, its just neither you nor anyone else had been able to prove it. Ninety-thousand people who were convinced that the creation of million of sentient clones to fight a war that had dragged on for two years, with thousands of deaths, with no sign of letting up, sucking up billions of credits and leading to countless worlds being decimated was not just ok, but necessary. For every ninety-thousand who commented there must be at least double that number who agreed but just didn’t comment, that was the basic algorithm of public opinion. That thought alone scared you.
You had almost closed the message tree when the words ‘brave reporter’ caught your eye. You scrolled back down and found the message towards the end of the thread.
Thank you for writing this incredibly honest and detailed report on your ill-fated interview with Chancellor Palpatine. I am personally disappointed that you were unable to ask him your three questions, or even to get one suitable response from him as we deserve. You are an incredibly brave reporter and I know this message will be buried among the messages of hatred and nationalistic hysteria, but they do not represent the opinion of the informed masses who look forward to your honest articles each week. Please keep doing your good work- RednBlackTookadoll99.
Tooka doll?
You stare at the screen name in amusement wondering who the hell would choose that as their screenname to comment under a political editorial but then spot some of the other usernames like CommanderFoxsleftnipple and PadmeAmidalasfootstool and decide its slightly cute. You nearly scroll up again and then for reasons you cant label open the reply bar.
Thank you. Readers like you make it worthwhile.