No one responded. They all knew better than to speculate.

“I am asking all of you to find out. You represent administrators, politicians, the security forces, and of course the Jedi. Some of you were present at the Legacy Run disaster. Between you, there should be more than enough skill and connections to determine what happened and prevent it from happening again. The resources of the Republic and all the authority of my office are available to you. Create any teams you like, draft anyone you think might be useful. The Starlight Beacon is due to open in thirty days. I would like to use the occasion to celebrate a Republic triumph over adversity. I do not wish to open that station while a huge swath of the galaxy is locked down, underscoring the Republic’s inability to keep its citizens safe. Use the Starlight Beacon dedication as your deadline. Figure this out, my friends. I believe you can.”

Chancellor Lina Soh reached out to either side, burying her hands in the fur of Matari and Voru, taking comfort in their warmth and presence. She looked up above the tree line, to the very peak of Umate just twenty meters above. Once, the mountain must have dominated this part of the planet, the queen of the entire Manarai range. Now it was just a small chunk of stone poking up from the surface of a world that had utterly swallowed it up, dwarfed by everything around it.

Umate remained, though, the benefit of a choice made generation after generation to preserve the mountain even in this attenuated form. Lina Soh appreciated that—the way societies could choose heritage over progress, represented here in living stone.

But to the chancellor, Umate had a second meaning. A symbolism she would never voice, never speak aloud, as it went against the general spirit of optimism and hope and possibility that was a cornerstone of her government and indeed, the Republic itself.

That meaning was this: There was nothing so big it could not be swallowed up. Nothing so strong it could not be humbled. Nothing so tall it could not be made small. Not a mountain, and not the Republic.

“I am not prone to dire pronouncements,” the chancellor said, still looking at Umate’s peak, “but if this continues to get worse, and we somehow lose the ability to travel through hyperspace, all of this ends. There will be no more Republic.”

Her gaze shifted from the mountain to the night sky beyond. Coruscant was a city-world, radiating light at all hours, making it impossible to see many stars even in the depths of night. Just a few points of light were visible, shining faintly, separated by great swaths of emptiness.

“Just worlds, alone in the dark.”

Chapter Twenty