Owlriel
MegaraFoxfire
Martian
MelancholyCHANDRILA
Such a pleasant little world, our Chandrila. Home to Mon Mothma, Galactic Senator and a Leader in the Rebellion...a place of peace and calm throughout the land...and the seat of the New Republic, now that the Empire frays both at the edges and from within. It's not the first time that great powers of people shatter and lay broken upon the floor, hopelessly trying to pick up the pieces when the next phase already seeks to replace their order with its own. A fool's game he would not play, not in earnest.
Order...is a lie.
Before it, a Senate and a loose Confederacy showed their equal inability to control the darkest desires of all sapient life. As you bind many together, you quickly find out that they wish to tear away in as many directions, each according to their own whim. You cannot keep them forever, so you entice them into your orbit, bring them to your way of thinking by cunning or by force. But...how long can you truly master their desires? Should you not encourage their freedom and only make demands of them as necessary? Shall they not flourish outside of captivity, acting upon their drives without inhibition?
Through chaos, there is freedom.
Every being has the freedom to choose, but they are ruled by fears, misgivings, doubt... It holds them back, plunges them towards inevitable failure. Republics and Confederacies afraid of their own power, Empires afraid of their own shadows as they await treachery, and militaries... Never was a greater fear born than that of this simple phrase: The Enemy. Once you know where you stand in the universe, however, there is no fear. Once you see the paths of all other lifeforms and can tell, just by a glance, where they are going and where they've come from, your mind is clear and nothing can stop you.
In freedom, there is clarity.
Fools who walk with their head lowered, unable to see to the right or left as they plod on towards their destiny, are easily manipulated. You have need of only the will and the talent for speech. Of course, those who embrace the Force in all its splendors can achieve more. Much more. Power resides in a word, a glance, a gesture - all these things in the right place can cause so much, an avalanche of expectation leading to a disastrous effect, but only with a mind open to the possibilities.
In clarity, there is power.
There is a purpose, a force in of itself within the Force. The Force does not merely surround and penetrate all things. It has ebb and flow. Some call this balance, but...if this power flows throughout the universe, and that life only makes up one tiny percent of itself, then the balance of the Force is truly made for the galaxies themselves, not this idle boast they call history. No no...this is but a blink of the eye, a small gesture, a minor bump on the road. Take for instance...this room.
The room was an office inside a building within the capital of the planet Chandrila, seat of the New Galactic Republic. Such trappings for only one room! And yet... And yet, it moved with purpose. Not to the benefit of any line in the sand mind you, to any side per se, but something else. It moved according to the will of the man who sat within it, a fairly handsome and somewhat gentlemanly being. A human, adult of age and black of hair. He was simply doing the work of any who would be head of security, here in the Capital. He read reports, he conferred with colleagues, he set teams to put down civil unrest, and he allocated resources for the various endeavours undertaken by the Republic.
He also concealed a number of things in his coat, such as a rather formidable tube-shaped device.
They knew him as Zaras Oren, and - as far as anybody could tell - he was exceedingly good at the job he was given for his attention to detail, quick decision-making skills, and exemptlary marksmanship. The man in his office sat across from him, irritated his petty problems. The only reason he ever saw the man or anybody else was because the organization and solution of their petty problems allowed him to do what it is he wanted to do. By facilitating fools, you can slip whatever you like under the table and they'll be all-too-happy to ignore it. This particular gentleman was from the Republic War Office, Medical Division, and he had made the complaint of missing articles, believing them stolen and either sold in some black market affair or in preparation for such. He couldn't have been more wrong.
"Soldiers go out on the line, pilots thrust themselves out into space, and all of them risk sudden death at the end of a blaster or in an explosion, but for those that manage to survive the worst, they NEED their medical supplies. What do I tell them when I don't have them and I should, huh?! The medical supplies must be found!"
Zaras sighed, enduring this rant as though he'd heard it many times before or words to the effect. He had, but that isn't what annoyed him. No, what bothered him was that he was preparing the man's placation and he wasn't giving him quiet while he went through the motions for the full effect! No one appreciates the subtle dance anymore, those little nuances that make life worth living. He now gave the man a tired, but calm look, one that might easily be mistaken for disdain, for he had it in large quantities, larger even than his missing supplies...which of course were obsconded with by the man before him.
"Mr. Aerslin, while it is not this organization's responsibility to keep immaculate record of non-security matters, it so happens that we DO - in fact - since the transfer of resources from planet to ship and ship to planet - to say nothing of ship to ship - IS within our purview. To that end, I bequeath to you the facts as I know them. The 'missing' bacta tanks and fluid are not, in fact, missing. They were transferred out to outgoing ships, such as the Escalor, the Triskele, and the Mondao. Additionally, and you may find this very interesting, an independent freighter hired by Dr. Zones was also sent to pick up certain supplies for the University of Bar'leth."
That last one was actually true. He let him see the datapad on that one.
"'Delivery to a Dr. Indoumodo Zones, care of the 'No Don't Put That There'? Is this some kind of a joke?!"
Zaras delivered an empahtic shrug that solidified his confusion along with the gentleman.
"The registry checks out, and the owner and operator of said vessel is a former Rebel Pilot. What can I say?"
"And you seriously expect me to go back with this information as explanation to everyone else?"
"Yes, Mr. Aerslin. It is the truth, plain and clear."
His eyes suddenly dulled. The Force was moving...
"It is the truth...plain and clear."
"You will place your trust in security on this matter."
"I will place your trust in security..."
"Failure in these duties will being the Empire to your doorstep. You don't want that, right?"
"I don't want that... I can't let that happen..."
"I'm so very pleased to hear that, sir. Now, if you will please move along. I'm a very busy man. This planet won't mind itself, after all."
He left, giving thanks, of all things! That was certainly the best part of his work. They thanked him for his treachery. Of course, not every person may be fooled in his manner, which is why he engrained this reinforcement of the belief and the 'truth' in others, getting records to line up and all. Worst comes to worst, Zaras would find himself as baffled as you are, and would hasten to find someone to be responsible so it can never happen again...until the next time. Now, during this conversation, he had received a call upon his personal holo-comm. He was not ready, so he let it wait while he sent this man out. And then...out it came to reveal the face of Darth Simula. He was reporting - judging by his tone alone, he must have been successful. Indeed, Simula would only report failure if he felt that a great deal of effort and resources have been expended with little result, as would Tarak in his place. The man behind the desk, a Dark Lord of the Sith, smiled at the Zabrak.
"I trust your endeavours have born fruit. I, myself, have sequestered supplies away, though finding a proper site will be the real issue. And it occurs to me that a work force will be necessary. Droids would be easiest, as it's only a job of assembly. Still, if you have supplies, I would like them taken to the Dread Accomplace. Anyone who sees it must be made to forget about it later...or die."
The plan moves inexorably forwards. The purpose pushes through that ebb and flow they call balance, and soon...destiny itself may be destroyed. Freedom for all. Freedom, chaos, fear... Glorious.
With this power, I shall break the balance. The Force will never be the same.