Coruscant
“Scandal in the Senate! Two hundred and thirty-three Senators of various systems and planets close to the Outer Rim were discovered to be colluding with the Hutts, going against the core principles of the Republic and democracy. Chancellor Palpatine, through a secretive investigation, has managed to unearth the ghastly conspiracy. Many believe that a bright future awaits the Galactic Republic under his guiding hand.”
—
500 Republica
Padme watched the news with a smile. Over two hundred senators were arrested on the charges of corruption and breaking the ban on trading with the Hutts. The timing was surprising, so surprising in fact that she found it suspicious. Freedom First was still slicing into the Hutt database on Nal Hutta.
Days before they would be ready, the Chancellor had sprung this up.
She wasn’t about to complain, though. Palpatine’s initiative was more than welcome. It proved he wasn’t completely useless. In fact, she would buy him a present. He seemed to be fond of antiquities. She had received enough as gifts to give away one.
Her holocommunicator found the perfect time to ring.
“Asajj,” she said as her friend’s projection lit up. “Are you alright?”
“I am,” she said, giving a slow bow. “The matters here are under control. I thought I would return now that the Senate will be gathering tomorrow.” Her primary task was to guard Padme. She had assisted Freedom First as much as she could.
“Very well.”
“It's a pity that we didn’t know about Palpatine’s investigation,” Ventress said. Her mistress and the Chancellor had a great relationship. Both were from Naboo, and it was her vote of no confidence that had led to Palpatine’s ascension to the seat of the Chancellor. That he didn’t tell her anything at all was puzzling.
“Yes. It was quite unexpected. Still, as long as the corruption in the Senate is cleared regardless of the amount, it is a win for all of us,” Padme replied. She would ask him about the investigation later, but a deeper look into it was not a good idea now. Not when everything was so recent.
"True, but isn’t this too much of a coincidence? Just as Freedom First was about to expose those Senators, the Chancellors came out with a secret investigation. He might be a friend to you, but there is something wrong with this situation,” she said. Logically, she understood why the investigation was a secret. Her instincts and the Force didn’t accept it so easily.
“Honestly, it is. It's just that there isn’t much to do. Investigating this secret investigation is more trouble than it is worth now. I might look into it once the public attention fades away.”
“As you say. I will see you in an hour.”
—
Nal Hutta Orbit
Mystic Strike
Qymaen marched into the cells, gathering his arms at his back, leaning slightly down. Two of his Izvoshra followed him, steps matching his. Their guests were loud. At first, it was a demand to be set free. He knew it stemmed from their centuries of untouched rule. When they were silenced, the offers came. It was the same drivel he had listened to before.
Credits, fame, glory, even his own moon for a change.
The Hutts had offered everything, but silence was their only response. Then started the blame-shifting. Ziro, Arok, Oruba, Marlo, and Gardulla were all holding one another for the fall of their capital. None were exactly responsible, but once the corpse began to rot, the vultures screamed.
“Well, well, well. The Grand Hutt Council, rulers of the Outer Rim, are imprisoned in our bring. Tell me, how does it feel to know that a single boy led the downfall of your empire?”
“Fortunately for you, we can’t just throw you out of the nearest airlock and send the recording to every planet in the Outer Rim. Instead, you will be judged and punished the same as any other criminal.”
“I suppose in a way that is a satisfying punishment for you. To be treated just like everyone else.”
“Wait!” Ziro screamed as Qymaen was leaving. He was Jabba’s uncle, and the only reason he ascended to the Council was because Anakin turned him into a protein-based juice for wompa rats. “We can come to an agreement. The Cartel has connections in the Senate. I can give them all to you in return for immunity."
Qymaen’s chest rumbled. He didn’t contain it, letting the laughter echo in the brig. “You fool. The Chancellor already had every senator connected to the cartel arrested yesterday. No one is going to defend you anymore.”
He left the brig in a better mood, watching the crestfallen expressions of the Hutts.
—
Nal Hutta
Bilbousa
He swung the flail to the right. The spiky ball buried itself into the face of the Weequay, breaking bone and sending splatters of blood to the floor. He swung it to the left, achieving the same results. He created a shield on his left wrist, slapping the pistol in front of him away. The flail morphed into a sword, going through the jaw of the dark, leathery-skinned alien, coming out of the top of his skull.
He cracked his neck, dismissing the constructs, letting the final corpse hit the ground.
The Hutts controlled Sriluur, the homeworld of the Weequay. They had evolved under harsh conditions, making them ideal bodyguards due to their blast-resistant skin. Once Nal Hutta fell and the remaining Hutts were captured, they would free Sriluur. Enemies or not, they too were slaves in a sense.
They didn’t have chips in their bodies, but their homeworld and their families all were under the control of the Hutts. Many who did not wish to fight for the slugs had surrendered. Ones he had to kill were the mercenaries and bounty hunters, only interested in filling their pockets.
Seeing Jango Fett’s condition—one arm missing and imprisoned like a common criminal—dissuaded many, imprisoned like a common criminal, had dissuaded many but not all.
“Sir, the building’s cleared,” Bentilais said. His men were already stacking up the corpses for removal.
“Alright. What’s next?” he asked, stretching for the next fight.
“Supreme Marshall is getting ready to speak to the rest of the planet. With the Hutts captured and the capital fallen, he hopes they will surrender.”
“I’ll go see him then,” he said, opening a portal.
—
Mystic Strike
As he stepped onto the bridge, Qymaen had already finished his call on open channels.
“Marshall, how does it look?” he asked. They had to use the official titles in these public settings. Not that he minded.
“I am having the cruisers pass over the cities to incentivize them into surrendering,” he said. The damn slave owners had to choose between their lives and their wealth. He was simply herding them in the right direction.
“Is it working?” he asked. He wouldn’t know the fear of having a cruiser fly over the city, ready to unleash terror.
“Mostly.”
“And de-chipping?” he asked. While they were free of oppression now, the former slaves still needed to have their tracking devices removed. Which meant the need for a gargantuan amount of medical supplies and a battalion of medical droids.
“It is going as fast as possible, but there are too many.” Anakin sighed at the words. At the least, it was proceeding.
“The situation in the Senate. What do you think about it?” Qymaen asked. It had come out of nowhere. The Hutt collaborators were arrested. The Chancellor had framed it as proof of his commitment to democracy, justice, and the Republic. It made him more popular than ever.
“Either Palpatine took the advantage while the Senators working with the Hutts were scared out of their minds or he didn’t want us to be the ones to reveal it,” he said. He didn’t trust the Chancellor any more than he trusted any member of the Senate other than Padme. He wouldn’t be surprised if he already had evidence of the corruption.
But he wasn’t going to accuse anyone without proof.
“We won’t know either way, will we?”
“Does it matter? No intervention by the Senate is the best outcome for us,” Anakin said.
Qymaen nodded. “I wanted to shatter their pride.”
He chuckled. “Some other time maybe? The corruption in the Senate is deep after all.”
“Marshall, Sorcerer.” Asajj greeted as she entered the bridge. “I was hoping you could take me back.”
He made a follow-me motion with his hand, opening a portal to Qymaen’s quarters aboard.
“Before I forget,” he turned to them as the portal closed, removing his hood. “I wanted to ask both of you if you wanted to learn Mystic Arts. You might not have the time to learn everything, but just the portals will be a great help to you,” he said. Nal Hutta’s fall would take much of the fight out of the remaining worlds of the Cartel. Both his friends could afford to spare time for it.
Qymaen crossed his arms. “You want to teach us?” Out of respect, he did not ask Anakin’s teacher about the Mystic Arts. He only knew that one did not have to be Force-sensitive to learn.
“I mean, you can come and go as you wish. Also, when our good friend gets herself in trouble, a portal will be extremely useful,” he said to Ventress, turning to Qymaen. She nodded, unable to object.
“And you are busy enough as it is. It will cut down on your travel time.” Between his constant travels between Kalee and Tatooine and ruling his homeworld, Qymaen was busy. Learning how to open portals would certainly help.
“Very well,” the Kaleesh said, laying a hand over his heart.
Ventress smirked. “How can I say no to such an offer?”
“Great. How about a couple of hours each night? Opening portals is relatively easy as long as you can keep an open mind.”
They agreed without a thought.
—
Once he sent Ventress back to Coruscant, he stood on the bridge. Corlen had joined them, reporting the situation on Nar Shaddaa. The Hutt control over the moon wasn’t more than just taking a cut from every deal. The territory was divided between Hutt clans and gangs.
There was no law enforcement, and the population embraced almost every illegal activity.
Taking it would be more difficult than Nal Hutta. Establishing order, even more so. Its population alone dwarfed the combined numbers of Kalee, Nal Hutta, and Tatooine by eight times.
“How do we take this moon?” Anakin asked.
“By starting a revolution,” Qymaen said. “We don’t have the numbers, but at least seventy percent of the population is the poor working class. They have no choice but to toil in syndicate-controlled areas just to survive. We will have to convince them to revolt. Otherwise, this will either end in tens of billions dead from orbital bombardments or be a meat grinder for our men.”
“You are a symbol to many on the surface, proof that something can change. Your word is the only thing that can make this happen,” he said. Orbital bombardment, even without the shields on the surface, was an illogical idea. People of the Smuggler’s Moon would have to earn their freedom by blood.
“How many do you think will die?”
“Billions,” Corlen said with a wavering voice. The cost of war on their side was not heavy until now. Landing troops on the surface would change it.
“I understand why you are hesitant. If there was a different way to succeed, no matter how difficult, I would take it. We simply have no way of conquering Nar Shaddaa,” Qymaen said. His people alone numbered four billion. Even if they were ready to die to the last Kaleesh, they couldn’t succeed.
Anakin hung his head, fingers tapping on the console, considering his options. Eighty-five billion people. Twelve to sixteen billion assumed members of organized crime. Almost sixty billion workers, with the remaining population being merchants and the elites.
This would be a bloodbath regardless of how they moved.
“Very well,” he said. He walked near the glass, looking to the moon. He opened a portal, bringing the Cauldron of the Cosmos. He would need the artifact to project his consciousness across Nar Shaddaa.
He touched it, channeling the images of Ikonn through. With the cauldron serving as a medium, he pushed the copies through it.
—
Nar Shaddaa
The moon of Nal Hutta was in a state of alert. Every single criminal organization was ready to defend their interests. The invaders didn’t have the numbers to take the planet. Even the Hutts knew better than to think they could control the Smuggler’s Moon.
Shields on critical locations would discourage orbital bombardment, and the sheer numbers would bury the invaders' blood.
Victory would be theirs, they thought. Until the Sorcerer appeared all over the moon at once. He was in the sky, in the streets, on every level of the ecumenopolis, and in the homes and factories. The criminal underworld didn’t cower, however, choosing to fire.
The bolts simply went through his body.
“People of Nar Shaddaa,” he began. His voice was unusually loud even though he wasn’t shouting. “We are here.”
“This moon, your home, is ruled by criminals. They exploit you, your labor, your very lives. They might not put tracking devices in your bodies, but they enslave you all the same,” he said.
Workers, the very people Anakin was calling out to, stopped to listen.
“It is time to put an end to this,” he declared.
The gangsters, patrolling the streets, guarding the factories and managing the workforce, looked around. The broken, tired eyes of the workers suddenly had sparks in them.
“You deserve better, to live as civilized beings. You shouldn’t have to worry about your basic necessities because the gangs control them. You shouldn’t have to live in fear because the criminals feed on it,” he declared.
The workers, tired, beaten, and starving, began to rise. The citizens left their homes, taking what they could to use as weapons. Knives, clubs, pipes, anything that could kill would kill. The same criminals who believed they were in control suddenly found themselves surrounded by advancing crowds.
“Every single one of you deserves better than this. Rise with me today to put an end to their reign. Take your lives back with your own hands.”
“I am the Sorcerer of Tatooine, and I call every oppressed soul to fight until freedom is ours,” he shouted now, voice echoing across all of Nar Shaddaa.
His final words sparked a wave of violence that would leave the galaxy in fear.
—
500 Republica
“He wants to teach you the Mystic Arts?” Padme asked, taking the drink her droid offered, handing one to her friend and guard.
“Just how to open portals since I don’t have the time to be a full-time student. He is also teaching Qymaen,” she said. His offer excited her. Padmé's Jedi friend Obi-Wan did let out during one of their meetings that the Jedi Order was chasing every lead they had to find more about the Mystic Arts. Old legends, unconfirmed rumors—nothing was off the table for learning more.
“Wait, is he Force-sensitive?" she asked. The Supreme Marshal was amicable in how he treated her. He hated the Republic too much for her to call him a friend.
“Apparently everyone can learn the Mystic Arts.”
Padme’s eyes widened. “Best if that stays a secret,” she said. Anakin’s powers already attracted too much attention. If it were ever revealed that there is no prerequisite to learn the Mystic Arts, the target on his back would grow.
“Also, they still sent everything they discovered on the Hutt collaborators in the Senate,” Asajj said, fishing the datastick out of her pocket.
She took it, putting the stick in her pocket. “Maybe the details can reveal something interesting. Thank you.”