One Republic Divisible

Posted on Fri May 8th, 2026 @ 11:09pm by Damask Hul & Octavus Paralles

4,757 words; about a 24 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Supreme Chancellor's Office, Coruscant
Timeline: Concurrent with Thane's Recovery

Octavus Paralles had not slept.

The realisation came to him not as a revelation, but as a quiet, unwelcome certainty, settling somewhere behind his eyes as his fingers pressed more firmly into his temples. There was a dull, persistent ache there now, not sharp enough to demand attention, but constant enough that it had become part of the background of his thoughts, as familiar as the hum of the climate systems threaded through the Chancellor's suite. It had been there when he had risen, there when he had reviewed the morning briefs, and it had not once relented.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes closed, elbows braced against the smooth, curved surface of the obsidian desk before him. The material was cool to the touch, immaculately polished, its surface reflecting a faint, warped impression of his own face beneath the dimmed office lighting. Even that seemed tired.

For a moment, he allowed himself to remain there, hands pressed to his head as though he might physically contain the pressure building within it. The silence of the room did not comfort him. It pressed in, heavy and expectant, broken only by the distant, muted thrum of traffic far below and the occasional whisper of movement from the outer offices beyond.

Lin Viatha had not come in.

Paralles' brow tightened slightly at the thought, though he did not open his eyes. It was not like her. The Mon Calamari had been a constant presence throughout his tenure, precise and unflappable, a careful balance between Coalition expectation and her own quiet allegiance with the Outer Rim Alliance bloc. That, Paralles had always thought, was what made her invaluable. She understood both sides, even if she did not always agree with either.

And yet today, conspicuously, she had been absent.

No message beyond a brief note citing 'pressing matters'. No elaboration. No attempt to insert herself into the day's unfolding crises. It was unlike her to leave a vacuum where one was so clearly forming.

Others had not been so restrained.

His eyes opened slowly, and his gaze drifted across the desk to the neat stack of datapads arranged there with almost clinical precision. Several bore the discreet insignia of major corporate offices, their headers marked with priority tags that had ensured their immediate delivery. Statements of support. Offers of logistical assistance. Quiet reassurances that the Republic would not face its present difficulties alone.

GalactaWerks, of course, was most prominent among them.

Paralles' lips pressed into a thin line, though not in displeasure - not entirely.

The Company had been... proactive. Reaching out before the Senate had even settled into its current paralysis, offering clarity where others had offered only accusation or retreat. It was, he told himself, exactly the sort of civic-minded engagement he had long encouraged. The kind of partnership that had allowed the Third Republic to rebuild, to advance, to become something more than the fractured remnant it had been in the years since the Second Outer Rim Conflict.

And yet...

His fingers eased away from his temples at last, though the ache remained. He pushed himself upright from the desk, smoothing a hand down the front of his gown as he rose. The fabric fell neatly back into place beneath his touch, the pale blue catching the low light in soft gradients as he moved.

The office itself remained as it always had. Ordered and composed. A curated reflection of continuity more than personality. The bronzium busts stood in silent observation along the walls, their expressions fixed in that same distant assurance that history always seemed to grant its victors. Valaha. Waay. Others besides. Their presence did not comfort him today.

He stepped away from the desk without looking back. The vast window that dominated the far wall drew him as it always did, though his pace was slower now, measured, each footfall deliberate against the polished floor. When he reached it, he did not immediately look out. For a moment, he simply stood there, hands clasped loosely behind his back, gathering himself.

Then, finally, his gaze lifted. Coruscant stretched endlessly beyond the transparisteel, a living tapestry of light and motion that defied comprehension even now. Towers pierced the sky in layered strata, their upper reaches bathed in the soft hues of an artificially maintained dusk, whilst far below, traffic lanes burned in steady streams of white and amber. Holo-signage flickered across entire districts, vast advertisements and public notices bleeding into one another in a constant, shifting mosaic.

From this height, it was perfect.

There was no sign of unrest and no hint of fracture; there no indication that the foundations beneath that endless city might be straining under pressures too vast to see. Everything moved as it always had. Efficient, ordered and alive.

Paralles found himself staring at it for longer than he intended.

For a moment, he allowed himself to believe it - that everything was still functioning. That the debates, the documents, the accusations and denials were all part of the usual machinery of governance. That the Republic, as it had so many times before, would absorb the shock and continue on.

His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.

"One Republic indivisible," he murmured under his breath, though there was no audience to hear it.

The words felt thinner than they once had. Behind him, the office remained silent. The datapads did not move and the busts did not judge. The door remained closed.

And, yet, the absence within the room was more noticeable than any presence might have been.

Lin Viatha was not there. The Senate was not aligned... The Jedi were no longer above the fray.

And, beyond the horizon of that glittering city, others had already begun to speak with far greater certainty than he could afford.

Paralles did not move from the window. For the first time in many years, the view did not steady him.

A soft chime cut cleanly through the stillness of the chamber.

It was a precise sound, measured and unobtrusive, yet in the quiet it seemed to carry further than it ought. Paralles did not turn immediately. His gaze lingered a moment longer upon the distant lattice of lights, as if reluctant to let it go, before he exhaled once more and allowed his attention to return to the room behind him.

A faint click followed, and then the intercom stirred to life.

"Speaker of the Senate, Vice Chancellor Damask Hul of Duros, here to meet with His Excellency."

The droid’s voice was even, toneless, its cadence perfectly regulated. It simply stated fact, as though the name carried no more weight than any other scheduled appointment.

Paralles’ eyes lowered slightly.

For a brief moment, something within him shifted. Not relief, precisely, but something adjacent to it. A sense of structure returning. Of familiarity - of a line being drawn back through the chaos of the day.

Damask Hul was many things. Obstructionist, cynical... Infuriatingly blunt when subtlety would have served them both better. There were times - many times - when Paralles was convinced the Duros took a quiet satisfaction in undermining Coalition efforts simply to prove a point.

And yet - he was also consistent.

Predictable, in his own way. Grounded. Unmoved by the tides of rhetoric that so often swept through the Senate. Where others had faltered, withdrawn, or begun to hedge their positions in the wake of Bothawui and the Bastion Document, Hul had remained exactly what he had always been.

Present. Loyal, despite their differences - finding a way through together.

Paralles straightened slightly, the fatigue still present but momentarily pushed aside by the instinctive composure of office. His hand moved once more across the front of his gown, smoothing a crease that had already been smoothed, before he turned fully from the window.

"Send him in," he said, his voice measured, steady once more.

The door mechanisms responded immediately, a low mechanical hum preceding the smooth parting of the entrance to his chamber. Paralles took a single step forward from the window, not quite returning to his desk, positioning himself instead between the two spaces as though unwilling, for the moment, to commit to either.

Despite everything, he felt it then. A faint, unwelcome flicker of encouragement. This was what the political alliance between the Coalition and Centrality blocs had been built for. Differences, friction - opposition, even. But, ultimately, dialogue. Two factions, two visions, forced into the same room, working toward something greater than either alone.

He allowed himself a small, polite smile as his eyes settled upon the doorway as his confederate arrived.

"Damask."

There was a perceptible pause as the Duros stopped just past the doorway, placing his arms behind his back until he heard the subtle click of the door closing behind him.

"Octavus." He answered, eyes immediately drifting to the scattered datapads bearing corporate iconography.

"The situation in the senate is devolving," Hul's eyes flicked back to the Supreme Chancellor, his gaze lingering a fraction too long on the tension in Paralles’ posture, "Assurances and recompense from the company will not be enough this time. People are fearful and rightfully so - they are looking at every mining operation, every refinery, every corporate presence with distrust now."

His ruby eyes narrowed, watching the Human as though awaiting the inevitable flinch; the instinct to defend. To placate.

He continued, "Not just in the Rim, but across the Republic. GalactaWerks has been everyone's neighbour for years and only now are they sensing the stink. The stink, might I remind you, that the Centrality has warned of for countless cycles. This should not be a revelation..."

He angled back slightly, drawing in a slow breath.

"Yet here we are."

The words settled between them, and Paralles suppressed a sigh, his small glimmer of hope already fading, the tiredness of his body and bones returning. He had heard variations of this before, from Hul and others besides, but there was something in the timing that made them land differently now.

He drew in a slow breath, folding his hands loosely before him, regarding the Duros with a steadier expression than he felt.

"You speak as though this begins and ends with GalactaWerks," he said at last, his tone even, though there was a quiet strain beneath it. "As though we are dealing with a single bad actor that can be excised and everything else will simply... correct itself." His head tilted slightly, not dismissive, but searching. "It is not so simple, Damask. It has never been so simple."

He moved a fraction closer to the desk, one hand resting lightly against its edge, grounding himself more than the gesture required.

"The Republic does not function in isolation from its partners, nor from its industries. It never has. We have spent years rebuilding a galactic system that relies upon cooperation between state and enterprise, between Core and Rim, between interests that do not always align but must nevertheless coexist. It's a Galactic Republic! And now, because of one Document, one crisis, we are to look upon that entire structure and declare it rotten?"

There it was. It was not quite anger rising inside him. Not quite, anyway, but certainly something firmer.

"I would not hold every Duros accountable for the actions of a single tyrant born of your world," he continued, his gaze holding Hul's now as his voice dipped lower and more reflective. "Nor would I condemn an entire species because some among them chose to act without conscience. We do not govern by fear, or by association. If we begin to do so, then we validate every accusation the Outer Rim Alliance and all our detractors have ever levelled against us. There is more at stake here than one corporation... Much more."

His posture eased, though the fatigue had not left him, and he let himself slip back into his chair, sliding further down than was perhaps professional.

"And if we reduce this to something so narrow, so... convenient," his eyes flicked briefly to the datapads before returning to Hul, "then we will lose control of it entirely." His eyes narrowed. "Yet... here we are."

Damask finally allowed himself to move from the entrance and took up position before Paralles' desk, placing one hand down upon it, while keeping the other behind him.

"Your ideals do you credit, Octavus, but there is nothing convenient about my position on the various corporate interests rooted throughout the Republic," his sharp voice pronounced to the slumped Chancellor, "Nor do I believe it is a simple problem to unmake."

He rose slightly, allowing his tone to settle as he extended an olive branch.

"I do not envy you the spotlight on this occasion, old friend. So, let us work together to find an avenue that maintains that oh-so-fragile peace with the Rim. As you suggest, the many should not bear the blame for the few, so let us take this moment to hold those responsible to account."

He straightened a small standing plaque on the surface before him, lining it up with the desk mat and restoring a rough symmetry.

"For the protection of the systems we represent and not for the protection of the system." Hul's voice continued to echo softly, "Now is the time to bolster the power you were elected to hold. Show the people you wield it for justice. If not..."

He withdrew his hand from the desk and once again held both palms behind him.

"Then they will demand it back."

Paralles held his gaze upon the Duros for a moment longer, weighing the words not for their rhetoric, but for the intent beneath them. There was no mistaking it now: Damask was not merely criticising - he was positioning.

A faint breath left the chancellor, quieter than before, though his posture straightened almost instinctively at the challenge.

"You speak as though I have not already been doing precisely that," he replied, not sharply, but with a controlled firmness that carried more weight than any raised voice might have. "As though restraint is weakness, and not the only thing preventing this chamber, that Senate, from tearing itself apart entirely." His eyes flicked briefly toward the city beyond the window, as if spying the rotunda from here, and then back again, sharper now.

"Every action taken from this office carries consequence," the Human continued, "not only for those we would hold to account, but for every system watching us now, waiting to see whether we govern with principle... or with fear."

A brief pause settled between them, deliberate and he tapped hand on the table, almost a nervous tick.

"What do you propose, then?" Paralles asked at last, his voice even. "Say you are the Supreme Chancellor. What choice do you make, Damask, that does not end in bloodshed, in the erosion of liberty, or in the very fracture we are both supposed to be preventing?"

Hul did not look away when posed the very direct question. If anything, his posture settled further as though he has been waiting for this moment.

"Those things you fear, Octavus," he began, the weary lines that betrayed his age sharpening momentarily into sharp Duros form, "Bloodshed, erosion of liberty - they are not distant threats. They are already unfolding. So, the question then becomes: how do we stem the tide and preserve what we still have?"

Damask let the truth hang between them for a moment before continuing.

"You ask what I would do: I would begin by freezing all corporate contracts with the Republic. Not cancelling or nationalising them, as many livelihoods now rely on company-managed ventures and the public sector does not have the resources to simply sweep in and take over. But simply pausing any further spending, pending review."

He stepped around the edge of the desk, not pacing or posturing, but simply repositioning. A subtle shift that allowed Paralles to once again get a view of the sprawling ecumenopolis outside his window.

"This signals strength, without overreach and, most importantly, will buy time. It tells the Rim we are listening and it tells the Core we are not surrendering to populism."

His eyes narrowed, now looking beyond Paralles into the middle distance.

"And most importantly: it tells GalactaWerks that our tolerance is not unlimited."

There was another pause, softer this time and Paralles almost went to speak before Hul continued.

"Of course," Hul added, more conversationally, "In time, the Republic must begin reclaiming stewardship over its lifelines - sector by sector. Local governance should take root in these industries again, with the senate providing the ultimate oversight. But that is further down the road..."

He turned back, the sharpness once again in his eyes, "But, of course, for now, this is still your road to walk. But I would implore you: Do not sleepwalk through this moment, Octavus. Take the wheel back. Turn this crisis into the beginning of something stronger. The people will remember who did."

Paralles listened in full. He did not interrupt, nor did he shift or move to fill the silences Hul allowed to settle between his points. There was, in parts, a clarity to what the Duros was proposing that he could not simply dismiss. It was measured. Controlled. Even, in its own way, responsible. That, perhaps, is was what troubled him most.

A quiet breath left him as Hul finished, the Chancellor’s expression tightening not in anger, but in something more restrained. Disappointment, perhaps, or the recognition of a path that, once taken, would not easily be abandoned.

"You make it sound reasonable," he said at last, his tone low, almost reflective. "Deliberate. Controlled. A pause, not a purge. A signal, not a strike." His eyes lifted fully to meet Hul’s red orbs, imploring him to understand and support him, not detract or challenge. "And yet it is still a step in the same direction. You speak of stemming a tide as though we are already drowning," he continued, a faint firmness returning to his voice. "I do not accept that premise. Not yet. What we are seeing is not collapse. It is reaction. Fear, yes. Opportunism, certainly - but not inevitability. Never." He shook his head. "The Alliance has been waiting for a moment such as this, even though we have given them such reparations since the Second Conflict, given them representation in the Senate and allowed their devolution to carry on largely unabated... Yet, they seize upon Bothawui, upon this blasted 'Bastion Document' - not because they seek justice, but because it gives them licence to fracture what remains of our Republic and carve out something smaller, something they can control. And if we respond by halting the very mechanisms that keep this galaxy functioning, we validate them!"

His hand tightened faintly against the desk. An unusual and unfamiliar anger had entered his voice, which he recognised and then sought to get back under control.

"GalactaWerks is not the enemy," Paralles said plainly. "Not in the way you suggest. They are visible, yes. Convenient to rally against. But they are also, at present, one of the few entities still capable of maintaining supply lines, infrastructure, stability. Whilst others posture and threaten, they continue to act - to help, to bear responsibility whilst others blame one another. And, if there are those within the Company who have acted unlawfully, then they will be held to account. As individuals - in the courts, where that belongs, following the due process of law, but not as a justification to undermine an entire system that billions now depend upon."

He drew in a breath, steadying himself further. There was a slight tremor to his hand, which he covered beneath his other palm, realising it had become clammy. He never ceased to be amazed that these conversations with Hul often left him more traumatised than addressing the entirety of the galaxy in a public forum. And, to think just minutes before, he thought the Duros was going to settle him.

"You speak of reclaiming stewardship," he finally managed to continue, voice dry even from that brief pause. "Of returning power to local governance. In time, perhaps. But through reform. Through law. Through consensus... but not through reaction. Not through gestures that risk emptying plates and breaking galactic trade routes in the name of appearing decisive. We will not govern through fear," he finished, quieter now, though no less firm. "Not of the Rim and not of the Core. We hold the line. We ensure that people are fed, that trade continues, that rights are preserved not only for our citizens, but even for those who would stand against us."

His gaze did not leave the Duros, although he could feel what little energy was still left in his frame rapidly seeping away. His joints ached and his bones felt heavy. His head was ready to find its way to a pillow, and he increasingly regretted ever asking to see Hul. At times, he wondered at returning to New Alderaan, to watching his son prosper as a senator himself, to enjoying the vineyards of his noble house. But, as ever, he disdained of being thought of the Chancellor that surrendered the line. He would see his term out with honour and with dignity - with the respect of his peers and citizens.

"And we rely on the institutions that still bind this Third Republic together to see us through it," he added after that silent thought, trying his best to firm his position in his chair, to look stately and resolute, even to his political opponent/partner. "The Senate. The markets... and the Jedi."

Paralles caught a flash in the Duros’ eye - the brief glint of a man ready to bite again. But the moment never came. Instead, Hul took in a deep breath and turned away from the desk, now blotting the window from the Chancellor's view.

"You are resolute and consistent my friend," the low voice held a note of concession for the first time since he had stepped into the office. Not quite comfort, but the quiet relief of a blade being sheathed.

"That makes you better than most and is the reason I fought so hard to work beside you all these years," he tilted slightly, allowing a faint ribbon of sunlight to cut across the desk., "Perhaps you will once again be able to hold this fragile alliance together through moderation. Perhaps you will do as you say and hold the individuals involved to account... if there are any to be found."

He seemed to catch sight of something in Paralles' face in his shadow and turned fully, eyes more concerned, "I can see how much this troubles you, Octavus. If I could but make this simpler, I would..."

He allowed a moment of stillness to fall between them, the muted sounds of the capital dull and distant.

"So," Hul asked finally, "Now you know what I will argue tomorrow, what course will you set before the Senate to restore their confidence?"

Paralles let the question hang unanswered.

His eyes remained fixed on Hul, studying the Duros in the half-light of the office as though trying to determine whether the concession he had just heard had been genuine or merely tactical. He looked tired again suddenly, not politically weary but personally so, like a man who had been standing upright for too long simply because others expected him to remain standing.

"But you could make this simpler."

The words were not sharp, but delivered quietly. Paralles leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand rising to press briefly against his mouth before lowering again. The tremor had returned faintly to his fingers, though he ignored it this time.

"You could help quell this," he continued - Damask's words had brought a fire back to him, an absolute desire to still be heard and understood, especially now. "Not through manoeuvring or pressure or another carefully measured warning to the Senate, but plainly. Publicly." His brow furrowed with restrained frustration. "You are one of the few men in this Republic whose voice still carries equal weight in the Core and the Rim alike. You know that and know that. The Senate certainly knows it!" He shook his head once, slowly. "If you stood beside me tomorrow and told them that we endure this together, that our institutions still matter, that the Third Republic remains worthy of patience and restraint rather than panic and fracture..." His voice tightened slightly now, dry from the strain and his tiredness. "Then... then, perhaps, just some of these voices calling for reprisals and seizures and emergency powers might remember what civic duty actually demands of them. For the remainder of my term - little more than a year, I will keep reminding them. We can keep reminding them."

For a brief moment, the Chancellor looked older than he usually allowed himself to appear, even in front of a trusted man as Damask Hul. He did not believe his necessarily looked weak, but he actively felt worn by the sheer effort of continuing to believe in moderation whilst everything around him drifted toward extremity.

"We cannot govern a galactic civilisation solely through outcomes," he said quietly, voice lowering almost to the point it was as if he was addressing only himself, perhaps even reassuring himself. Even as he continued, he was not overly sure. "Intent matters. Process matters. The public must believe that we are still trying to do what is right and not merely what is expedient or demanded in the moment. The moment they cease to believe that..." He exhaled softly and slowly. "Then the Republic becomes nothing more than another state enforcing order simply because it possesses the power to do so."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the great skyline of Coruscant beyond Hul's shoulder before returning.

"And if that day comes, then it will not matter whether GalactaWerks survives, or the Senate, or even our alliance itself, because we will already have surrendered the very thing we claim to be preserving."

The office fell quiet again after that. Not tense this time, but heavy with the mutual understanding that neither man truly believed the road ahead would permit both morality and stability indefinitely.

Still, Paralles straightened once more despite the exhaustion pulling at him, stubbornly reassembling the posture of the Supreme Chancellor before speaking again.

"So yes," he said at last, voice calmer now. "Tomorrow I will argue for measured investigation, judicial oversight, and continuity of trade. I will oppose reactionary seizure proposals and any move toward emergency nationalisation powers or the implementation of governors, or any other gurus or 'temporary' figureheads to 'see us through'. I will ask the Senate to remember that fear is not governance." A faint, tired smile touched his face then, gone almost as soon as it appeared. "And I suspect you will stand shortly afterwards and explain to them why I am naïve."

Damask seemed to close up somewhat at that remark, allowing both hands to drop momentarily to his sides.

"Naïve?" he echoed, with a gravelly texture as though he was chewing over the word itself, "No. A man does not become the leader of a nation by being ignorant. I would never presume you to be as such."

He angled his head down, some of Paralles weariness perhaps reflecting back at the Duros as he had a rare moment of hesitation over his words.

"What I see, however, is a system that is too eager to forgive, if it means maintaining the status quo," his strength returned as he forced himself on, "And a man that sees it all quite clearly yet chooses to shield himself with nostalgic reverence of a golden age that has long since passed. If it ever truly existed."

He straightened his cuffs and shuffled slightly on the fine Alderaanian rug beneath his feet.

"Appealing sentiment in peacetime, but when thoughts turn to war..." the Duros' tone grew ever sterner before they collapsed away entirely.

"Well, I shall leave you to consider the finishing touches to your speech," he began edging away towards the door, no longer looking at Paralles, "There may yet be time for some final tweaks. Rest while you can. Tomorrow will be… demanding."

As the door whispered shut behind him, Paralles was left alone with the dull, muted city once again.

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