King Organa finished giving his speech to the people of Aldera. He turned and walked back into the building from the fourth story balcony of the Senate Hall, overlooking the marble-tiled and spit-polished grand boulevard of Alderaan. The speach had been a hard sell, attempting to convince the numerous factions of Aldera to honor the new "temporary redistribution of funds through fiscal restructurement" in order for the Alderaanian govenment to be able to pay the exhorbitant amount of tax money requested by the Guild for their new army. His speach had gone fairly well, with the crowd divided nearly half and half; half supporting every word against the "terror loving anarchists" and half calling for the King's head on a platter. By the end of the speach, most of the crowd had been appeased, but there were a considerable number of individuals who jeered at every sentence. Organa gave one last wave to the throng of thousands of people who had turned out for the speach, and then took the las step back into the comfortable room which housed the balcony. The three other political advisors clapped as the glass-paneled doors were closed by him, but the Minister of State had a hard look on his face. The minister appeared to be about to say something, but no sound could be heard. Organa felt pricks of pain stretch over his back and neck, and then was thrown across the room and onto a glass table. A dull roar shook the room, and fire tore through the windows and doors. A bomb had gone off in the plaza. The mushroom of fire streched upwards and outwards, smashing and burning all in its path. Once the initial explosion had passed, Organa pulled himself painfully to his feet, using one arm. He tried to lift the other arm, but he could not move it. Blood streamed down his face and eyes, and from holes in his tattered and scorched clothes. He limped through the wrecked doorframe and out onto the balcony. The once beautiful and pristine marble plaza, with elegant buildings and manicured trees, had been reduced to a smouldering crater filled with debris, flame, body parts, and unrecognizable corpses. A slight tug was felt on his good arm. Organa turned, seeing a security guard yelling at him to do something. He could not hear a word that was being said. The guard pulled him back inside, into the hallways which were being drenched by the security sprinklers. He tried to walk, but could not. For the first time, the king noticed a jagged peice of metal protruding from his left calf. The guard seemed to have noticed it as well, and threw Organa's arm around his shoulder, practically carrying him out of the room, past the dead bodies of what were once his political advisors. Whoever has done this, Organa thought to himself, I will find them. They will pay for this crime. Now war is unavoidable. They will pay for the murder of tens of thousands of innocent people. The perpetrators will be brought to justice, and justice will be the point of a knife...my knife.