Aftermath: Star Wars by Chuck Wendig

happen like this again.”
    The wind whips up and lifts his wispy hair from his liver-spotted head. “We are not yet at that day. We must show military strength. If we project weakness, the Empire will capitalize on it. Giving the war over to the fickle vagaries of politics will slow our response time, weaken our resolve, and make us appear vulnerable—in part because we
will
be vulnerable.”
    Auxi offers a wry, knowing smile—she’s enjoying this, isn’t she? “Oh, it gets worse, Hostis. Tell him, Chancellor.”
    Mon Mothma sighs and says, “I will today put up a vote that resolves to cut our military presence by ninety percent once we are able to officially confirm an end to this war.”
    His face falls. Eyes wide, mouth open as if the old man is hoping to catch a winged meal of one of the orange-eyed deer-flies that buzz around here. “You cannot be serious.”
    “I am quite serious. Look around you. The dead on our side are not proper soldiers, no matter how much we pretend they are. They’re farmers and miners, pilots and smugglers, all drawn into this conflict against the greater evil of the Empire. Once our conflict is over, what do we say to them? Keep fighting for us? Against what? To what end? For what ideal?”
    “For democracy, of course—”
    “Democracy is not in need of defense. People are. And it’s why we’ll keep that ten percent. A peacekeeping force. The rest of our efforts will go toward training the militaries of other worlds. We will be a true Galactic alliance, and not a false one with an authoritarian sun at its center.”
    Hostis scowls. Gravely he says: “Then we shall see only endless war, Chancellor. Smaller armies just means smaller civil wars all across the galaxy. It means oppression will grow like weeds and we won’t have the eyes or the control to stop it. In this time of upheaval, the galaxy will need law and order and you will grant it only chaos. It is that vulnerability that caused the rise of the Empire in the first place. The people of the galaxy reaching out, looking for a central authority, desperate for protection…”
    It’s Auxi who speaks up next. The woman is always wry, spunky, even a little venomous at times. “It sounds like you are on the wrong side of this conflict. I’m sure the Empire would be glad to have you, Hostis.”
    “Why…how
dare
you…”
    Mon Mothma holds out both hands. “Stop. Please. No bickering. Not like this. We must respect disagreement. That being said, Auxi has a point. We are not fighting the Empire just to become the Empire. This is not a power grab, and that’s what I want to show the galaxy. I want them to know that we trust them, as the Republic has always trusted them. If we’re going to ask anybody to fight for us, they need to know what they’re fighting for. And they will fight for a unified, democratic galaxy. Not one that merely pretends to be as it’s squeezed tighter in an unyielding fist. We must yield. And to your comment about earlier history…we will put safeguards in place. We will move forward, smarter this time. More aware.”
    “Chancellor…,” Hostis says, but his plea dies in his mouth.
    “My mind is made up. It’s why I brought you both here. I need you to see the bodies. The waste. The tragedy of war. I need you to see why we need to end it. I cannot ask our people to fight for this again and again. Not once the Empire is truly diminished.”
    Auxi nods and says: “It’s time to go, Chancellor. History awaits.”
    Hostis says nothing further. He just screws up his face into an uncomfortable smile and offers a grim, placating nod. “Of course.”
    “Thank you both,” Mon Mothma says.
    Together, they walk back through the debris of war. For it is time to return home. It is time to return democracy to the galaxy.

“I need to procure a way off this rock,” Sinjir mutters, pushing on through the narrow streets of Myrra. He passes by a food vendor—the big-headed Bith, like most of the