Chapter Text
During the first twenty-four hours following the events of the attack, the Republic treated the disappearance of Sheev Palpatine as a criminal mere investigation. A missing person snatched by someone in the night. That interpretation survived only because no better explanation immediately presented itself.
The facts, insofar as facts existed, appeared straightforward. An attack had occurred at the Coruscant residence of Hego Damask, one of the wealthiest financiers in the Republic and a figure whose influence extended through banking institutions, investment networks, and commercial organizations across thousands of systems. Damask had survived with severe injuries. Supreme Chancellor-elect Palpatine had been present during the attack. When security forces arrived, the apartment had been found heavily damaged, its upper windows shattered and large portions of its interior bearing evidence of intense electrical discharge. Palpatine himself was gone.
By the second day, every effort to establish a coherent sequence of events had produced more questions than answers. Security recordings revealed nothing useful. Witness testimony was nonexistent with Hego’s word being all they had and he wasn’t telling them anything. No individual or organization claimed responsibility. No ransom demand arrived. No political faction attempted to capitalize openly on the situation. The Senate Guard, the Coruscant Miltia, even private investigators employed by Naboo investigated. Several intelligence agencies conducted inquiries of their own, though none admitted doing so publicly.
Each investigation reached approximately the same conclusion. Something extraordinary had occurred but nobody knew what.
By the fourth day, the Republic ceased discussing a missing Chancellor-elect and began discussing a dead one. Officially, Palpatine’s status remained unresolved. No body had been recovered, but nevertheless, few serious observers continued entertaining hopes of a miraculous reappearance. The practical realities were impossible to ignore. A man elevated to the highest office in the Republic did not vanish voluntarily. If he lived, someone would eventually discover evidence of it. If evidence refused to appear, conclusions would have to fill the vacuum.
The HoloNet devoted itself to that matter with predictable enthusiasm. Commentators debated motives. Journalists assembled timelines. Former political advisers discovered previously unexpressed concerns. Entire broadcasts became dedicated to speculation. Theories proliferated with extraordinary speed, branching and mutating faster than evidence could eliminate them. Some observers blamed remnants of the Trade Federation. Others pointed toward organized crime. Several Core World publications suggested anti-government extremists. One particularly inventive analyst argued that Palpatine had staged the entire incident himself in order to expose hidden enemies before assuming office.
That theory remained popular for nearly six hours before a senate insider who was to be on his staff said how monumentally stupid that was.
Naboo in particular received the news badly, though no other outcome had ever been expected. Palpatine had represented his homeworld for years, first as senator and later as the architect of its recovery from political isolation. The victory that elevated him to the Chancellorship had been celebrated across the planet with a sincerity largely absent from the Senate’s more calculated congratulations. Public gatherings to celebrate his ascent had became memorial vigils almost overnight. Government buildings lowered banners. Civic leaders issued statements expressing grief, outrage, and demands for justice in roughly equal measure.
Queen Amidala’s address to the planet was carried throughout much of the Republic. She spoke carefully, which only made the anger beneath her composure more apparent. Palpatine, she reminded listeners, had devoted his career to public service. He had represented Naboo honorably. He had guided the world through crisis. He had believed the Republic capable of improvement. Those responsible for his disappearance, whoever they might be, would eventually face justice.
The speech improved public morale, but did nothing to improve the investigations chances Meanwhile, financial markets reacted with considerably less dignity. Uncertainty had always been among the few forces capable of frightening investors regardless of species, ideology, or wealth.
The sudden removal of a Chancellor-elect introduced uncertainty on a scale large enough to concern even institutions accustomed to political turbulence. Several sectors experienced temporary declines. Investment groups delayed major commitments. Banking interests began quietly reevaluating assumptions regarding future regulatory policy. The fluctuations remained manageable, for the time being though many alarm bells began to sound.
As the week progressed, attention shifted from the circumstances of Palpatine’s disappearance toward a more immediate question. The Republic still required a Chancellor. That realization transformed private concern into public panic.
The Constitution provided procedures for many contingencies. It possessed provisions regarding succession, emergency authority, temporary incapacity, disputed elections, and several dozen forms of administrative inconvenience accumulated through centuries of legislative caution. What it did not possess was a particularly elegant solution for the death of a Chancellor-elect before formal assumption of office.
Committees formed almost immediately, and soon the bickering was at a height not seen since the Rusan Reformation debate. Legal scholars received sudden invitations to discussions they would later describe as exhausting. The Senate spent several days discovering that replacing a dead Chancellor-elect was considerably more difficult than electing one.
Finis Valorum’s supporters moved first. The former Chancellor had lost his power only because the Naboo crisis destroyed confidence in his administration. With Palpatine gone, many argued, the Republic should simply restore the last legitimate officeholder and preserve continuity until another election could be organized under calmer conditions. The proposal attracted support from moderates, institutionalists, and anyone who considered uncertainty a greater threat than stagnation.
Their opponents regarded the suggestion as political necromancy. Valorum, they argued, had already been rejected. His administration had failed publicly and spectacularly. Reinstalling him would communicate weakness at precisely the moment the Republic required confidence.
A second coalition gradually formed around Bail Organa of Alderaan. The senator possessed several advantages. He was respected without being feared, influential without suffering from toxic ambitious, and young enough to symbolize reform without alarming traditionalists. More importantly, he lacked obvious enemies. After several days of frantic negotiations, many senators concluded that electing Bail would offend fewer constituencies than nearly any available alternative.
The discovery did not produce consensus, though that was no grand surprise. Hardly anything in the Senate ever produced consensus. By the tenth day following Palpatine’s disappearance, the Republic found itself suspended between competing visions of stability. One faction sought restoration. Another sought renewal. A third sought delay in hopes that someone else would solve the problem first.
The situation would have amused Plagueis under different circumstances. Unfortunately, amusement required more energy than he presently possessed.
The private medical facility occupied the upper levels of a tower overlooking one of Coruscant’s quieter districts, though quiet remained a relative concept on a world whose population exceeded a trillion. Through the broad windows of his recovery suite, Plagueis could still see the endless movement of air traffic threading between distant towers, each lane carrying beings whose lives continued uninterrupted by the disappearance of a Chancellor-elect. The Republic had spent the better part of the nearly two weeks convincing itself that the event represented an unprecedented crisis.
From a sufficiently high vantage point, however, commerce continued, transports arrived on schedule, and restaurants remained full. Civilization possessed a remarkable capacity for absorbing shocks provided they occurred to someone else. The difference between the mood in the arena of politics and the common folk was stark. Plagueis looked forward to when he’d be permitted to leave this place.
The physicians responsible for his care had finally begun reducing the frequency of their visits. Several of them remained visibly uncomfortable with his recovery. The official medical explanation involved unusual resilience, timely treatment, and a measure of good fortune. The explanation satisfied administrators and insurance providers amongst other paper pushers. It satisfied the physicians considerably less, their minds reeling from his ‘miracle’ survival.
Plagueis sympathized with their frustration, in a way Fragile things, the bodies of mere normal folk.
He was reviewing the morning’s financial reports when the attending physician informed him that visitors had arrived. The announcement required little elaboration. By this stage of the investigation, there were only a handful of individuals important enough to bypass ordinary scheduling procedures.
“Begging your pardon, Magister. But Jedi Masters Windu and Yoda have requested an audience.” Plagueis lowered the datapad resting across his lap “Show them in.” The physician inclined his head and withdrew. The suite fell quiet but only for a bear. The door opened several moments later.
Windu entered first, broad-shouldered and composed, carrying himself with the controlled precision of a man who had spent much of his life forcing order onto unstable situations. Yoda followed beside him more slowly, leaning lightly upon his cane. The contrast between them interested Plagueis immediately. Windu projected discipline outward almost aggressively. Yoda projected something quieter and vastly more serene, though still with that undercurrent of power.
Plagueis rose carefully from the chair beside the windows. The movement caused a dull pull through healing tissue beneath his robes, though he concealed it easily enough. Pain became simpler to tolerate once one stopped expecting the body to behave fairly. “Masters,” he said. “It is an honor,” he said with a slight incline of his head.
“Magister Damask,” Windu replied. Yoda’s gaze lingered briefly near the scars visible above the collar of Plagueis’s robe.
“It is good to see that recovering, you are.”
“So I am repeatedly informed. I imagine the doctors would prefer they could find the magic potion that enabled my survival though, going from their tone.” The response earned the faintest shift upward of the corner Windu’s mouth before the Jedi accepted Plagueis’s gesture toward the seating area near the windows.
For a short time, no one spoke. The silence did not feel awkward, necessarily, though Plagueis could feel the subtle shifts in the current of the force that one felt when being searched inward. Let them try. Masking was a specialty of his, even more so than Sidious.
Windu folded his hands at last. “We appreciate your willingness to meet with us, Magister. We wished to wait as long as was appropriate, given your current condition.”
“Think nothing of it, Master Jedi. I have met with nearly every investigative body in the Republic already,” Plagueis replied. “And even some independent ones. Refusing the Jedi specifically would likely give offense where none was intended,.” He offered.
The Jedi Master studied him for a moment before continuing. “Indeed. Regardless you have our thanks. We have reviewed your previous statements to the authorities regarding the attack. There are several points the Council hoped to clarify, if you are feeling up for it.”
“Within the limits of memory, I am pleased to assist you wherever possible. I too wish to see the people responsible for this brought to justice,” Plagueis said. “The physicians assure me portions of the evening will likely remain unclear to me for a while.”
Windu nodded slightly. “Of course, Magister. To recap: You and Senator Palpatine returned from the opera together.”
“Yes.”
“And remained alone in the residence afterward?”
“We did.”
“What was discussed?” Plagueis allowed the question a moment before answering.
“Politics, primarily. The transition following the election. Likely appointments. Senate reactions. The sorts of matters one expects a Chancellor-elect to concern himself with immediately after securing office.”
“So there was nothing unusual?” Plagueis almost smiled
“The evening itself was unusual, Master Windu.” A faint acknowledgment passed across Windu’s expression.
“Nothing threatening, then. No indication from Palpatine or any other sources that there may have been this sort of thing coming? You must understand why this attack, especially one such as this, would be strange to be a random act of violence.”
“I understand your implication, Master, but no. Preceding the attack, the night was normal as one could be.” The questions proceeded steadily after that, Windu asked about timelines, security systems, staff movements, and the final minutes before the attack began. He approached the subject methodically, but Plagueis never missed a beat.
“When did you first realize something was wrong?”
Plagueis pretended to be struggling to be recalling something traumatic. Ever the actor. “I….believe it was when the lights failed briefly. They flickered, as if a surge was going through the conduits.”
“I saw that in one of the early reports, yes. You mentioned that in your original statement to the security forces. What happened next?” Plagueis leaned back slightly in the chair, allowing silence to settle before answering.
“I remember Palpatine turning toward the corridor. I remember believing there had been a systems malfunction somewhere in the tower. Then…” He paused, not theatrically but as though sorting damaged memory genuinely required effort. “The attack began almost immediately afterward.”
“What did the attack look like?”
Plagues suppressed a chuckle. “You may view me as a madman, Master Jedi, but it appeared to be….lightning.” The word would likely bestrange to ordinary ears. Windu’s expression did not change, though his attention sharpened slightly.
“Lightning?” He glanced at Yoda who nodded to him. “The damage inside the residence was consistent with unusually concentrated electrical energy, but that’s the first time I’ve heard it put that way.”
“It destroyed my respirator almost instantly.” Without thinking, Plagueis touched lightly near the edge of the scars along his neck before lowering the hand again. “I remember that part clearly at least. I will likely remember that for the remainder of my life. The apparatus failed first. Afterward…” Another pause. “Pain. Difficulty breathing. Broken glass. I recall Senator Palpatine shouting something, though I cannot claim to know the words themselves.”
“And you did not see the attacker?”
“No.”
“Not even briefly?” Plagueis shook his head once.
“I’m afraid the room was dark when the assailant or assailants perhaps entered the room. The lightning itself was so bright and my breathing issues caused my vision to blur so spectacularly my eyes were useless for a while.” Windu considered that answer carefully.
“The number of attackers intrigues us as well. The Senate Guard believes multiple attackers were involved.”
Plagueis nodded slowly. “I concur. I believe the level of destruction encourages assumptions regarding such a scale. People would normally expect violence of that magnitude to originate from groups rather than individuals.”
Yoda remained silent through most of the exchange, though Plagueis never lost awareness of him. The Grand Master listened with unfaltering patience, his attention moving through the conversation without visible urgency. Eventually he spoke.
“Felt something, did you?” Plagueis looked toward him.
“I’m sorry?”
“Before the attack. Unease. Disturbance. Usually signs there are before such a thing. If one knows how to interpret them.”
“No,” he said at last after a long moment. “Which troubles me more afterward than it did at the time.” Yoda’s expression changed slightly.
“How so?” Plagueis looked briefly toward the skyline beyond the windows.
“ I have spent most of my life around ambitious beings. Senators. financiers. Corporate officials. One develops instincts regarding danger.” He turned back toward them. “There was nothing. No warning. No indication Palpatine or I were in immediate danger.”
Windu said, “The Council finds the lack of solid evidence troubling. Political assassins rarely are so…clean. Even the harshest bounty hunters or criminal gangs tend to leave some sort of calling card somewhere. But with this, it appears as though they have vanished into smoke, like a wraith.”
“Yes,” Plagueis replied softly. “I imagine that would be frustrating.” Yoda’s gaze rested upon him for a long moment.
“Clouded, this matter remains. If the target were Palpatine alone, one would think credit they would want for the attack.” Silence followed once more, though now it felt less investigative than shared. Beyond the windows Coruscant continued moving beneath the fading afternoon light.. Eventually Windu rose, and Yoda followed more slowly beside him.
“We appreciate your time, Magister. We’ll allow you to rest now.”
“Please, think nothing of it. It was my pleasure. Though I suspect the Senate would appreciate answers more than my meager time. Sadly I’ve none to offer them anymore than I have you.”
“The Senate appreciates little these days, I would tend to agree,” Windu replied. The remark came surprisingly close to humor. The Jedi moved toward the doorway. Just before leaving, Yoda paused briefly and looked back toward the recovery suite, the skyline beyond it, and the wounded Muun seated beside the windows. For a fleeting instant Plagueis experienced the deeply unpleasant sensation that the old Jedi was not studying him alone but rather the indistinct shape of something inside him..
Then the moment passed. Yoda inclined his head and departed beside Windu into the corridor beyond. The door closed softly behind them, leaving the suite quiet once more.
The silence left behind by the Jedi lingered only briefly before Plagueis dismissed it from his attention. Windu and Yoda had learned nothing useful, which placed them in approximately the same position as every other investigator currently exhausting themselves across Coruscant. The distinction was merely that the Jedi understood the absence of answers more clearly than the politicians did. That was sufficient for now.
He remained seated beside the windows while the light beyond the tower slowly dimmed toward evening. The disorder of the political scene irritated him. Not because instability itself was undesirable. Instability had always been necessary for the plan. The Republic could not be conquered while it remained convinced of its own permanence. No, what irritated him was the inefficiency of it all.
Sidious had acted too early. The realization had grown steadily more unpleasant during the days following the attack. In the immediate aftermath survival itself had consumed most of Plagueis’s attention. The body demanded attention after sustaining that level of damage, even for one who understood life more intimately than any physician currently tending him. Recovery, however, inevitably created room for analysis, and analysis led repeatedly toward the same conclusion.
Palpatine had miscalculated his opportunity.
His apprentices lofty ambitions had gradually distorted his sense of reality in a way. The election victory, the attention of the Senate, the intoxicating realization that the Republic already regarded him as its future—somewhere within that convergence of triumph and opportunity, patience had failed him. A more disciplined apprentice would have waited.
Another year perhaps. Two. Long enough for their influence to settle deeper into military oversight, judicial procedure, and executive dependency. Long enough that removing Plagueis would be all the simpler with a couple more years of wear on a being already older and more physically hampered
Instead Sidious had concluded that he could no longer tolerate postponement of his full ascension and had assumed Plagueis was weak enough for it to work. The stupidity of it continued offending Plagueis almost as much as the attack itself.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the medical equipment resting silently against the far wall. The destroyed respirator had been replaced eventually, though the newer apparatus lacked the elegant customization of the original. He would need to make some heavy modification to it once he was cleared to leave. A heavy breath exited his lungs and he rubbed his fingertips along his brow.
Moves would need to be made quickly. Palpatine was dead. The Republic had lost the figure it believed would stabilize the post-Valorum era. And Plagueis had lost an apprentice that he’d spent years training. One was easily fixed. The other? Not nearly as much.
Sidious, for all his faults, had been exceptional. Truly exceptional. Intelligent enough to navigate both aristocracy and populism convincingly. Ruthless enough to act decisively while still understanding restraint. Gifted in ways that appeared rarely even among Sith. Apprentices of that quality did not simply appear whenever convenient.
Which left the obvious problem.
The Rule of Two endured because it reflected necessity rather than tradition. A Sith Master without an apprentice eventually became a dead end regardless of personal power. One mind alone could not indefinitely sustain an undertaking designed to corrupt an entire civilization across generations. The Grand Plan required continuity, adaptation, and eventually succession.
No…..he would most certainly need another apprentice. The conclusion produced no emotional resistance. Sith sentimentality toward students was among the more embarrassing weaknesses Plagueis had observed in lesser practitioners throughout history. Sidious had failed. Another would eventually replace him.
The difficulty lay elsewhere. Replacement could not be rushed. A poor apprentice represented greater danger than no apprentice at all. Plagueis rose from the chair and crossed slowly toward the windows overlooking the darkening cityscape. Healing muscles objected to the movement, though pain had become background rather than obstacle during the past several days. Outside, Coruscant glimmered beneath evening light, every illuminated tower filled with beings convinced their private ambitions mattered uniquely within history’s larger flow.
Most were wrong.
Still, periods of instability occasionally revealed individuals worth noticing. Political fracture stripped away comforting illusions. The Republic was entering precisely such a period now. And somewhere within the disorder, someone would emerge capable of seeing the Republic clearly enough to despise what they saw. The thought brought another memory quietly to the surface.
And then, he remembered something. He had met a man not so long ago that was frustrated with the republic, and his role in it. The corruption had disgusted him. And his feeling of helplessness and frustration to change it had driven a wedge between him and his comrades.
Count Dooku. Plagueis rested one hand lightly against the window frame while considering the name more carefully. They had met only briefly years earlier through intersecting political and financial circles surrounding Serenno, yet the impression remained distinct. Dooku possessed the bearing common to old aristocracy and the mind of someone perpetually dissatisfied with the mediocrity surrounding him.
Even then, before leaving the Jedi Order entirely, he had spoken of the Republic with through disappointment rather than outrage. More importantly, he had seen weakness within the Jedi long before most of the Order acknowledged it existed.
Interesting. Plagueis’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered. Dooku was no longer young, which carried both advantages and disadvantages. Older minds proved harder to shape, but they also arrived carrying fully formed convictions. One did not need to manufacture disillusionment within such beings. One merely needed to direct it.
Yes….he would do very nicely, he decided. Sidious had infiltrated the Republic by becoming exactly what it wished to admire. Perhaps this newer version of the plan required someone who was willing to play the role of someone the Republic should fear.
Palpatine’s disappearance had unsettled the Order more than most citizens of the Republic realized. Or that the Jedi would ever allow the public to truly know. They had a certain reputation that its leaders would rather keep intact if at all possible. As with everything, life needed to go on. However hard it was.
Obi-Wan Kenobi stood near the edge of one of the primary training halls watching Anakin Skywalker transform a defensive exercise into something far more aggressive than the instructors responsible for designing it had likely intended. The drones circled him rapidly while blue light flashed through controlled arcs across the polished floor.
This sequence was designed to emphasize restraint under pressure, forcing students to conserve movement rather than overpower the drones themselves. Anakin approached it differently, naturally. There was always an element of forward momentum to his training, as though he regarded every attack as an opportunity to prove how serious he took this, even though nobody had ever doubted it since his arrival.
One drone fired high, and Anakin deflected the shot cleanly without retreating. A second attacked from behind before the first exchange had fully ended, and the return strike sent the machine spinning across the floor trailing sparks instead of merely disabling it.
Several instructors looked displeased. Padmé Amidala watched beside Obi-Wan with poorly concealed amusement. “I assume that was not the intended outcome.”
“Not hardly,” Obi-Wan said dryly. Another burst of fire forced Anakin into motion again. He moved quickly even by Jedi standards, the blue blade turning through rapid transitions while the remaining drones adjusted formation around him. During moments like this, Anakin stopped appearing frustrated by training and instead seemed relieved by it. Motion simplified things for him. Action imposed order on thoughts that otherwise trended toward chaos.
Padmé folded her arms lightly while continuing to watch. “He seems more settled than he was on Naboo.” The observation caused Obi-Wan to look to the floor below more carefully before answering.
The days following Qui-Gon’s death had not been easy. Grief had settled heavily over him, though Jedi traditions encouraged restraint in how such matters were expressed publicly. Anakin, meanwhile, who had been carried suddenly from slavery, into battle, and loss all in the span of a few short days, had shown he barely understood, though he certainly tried. There had been moments during the journey back to Coruscant when Obi-Wan privately questioned whether either of them had truly been prepared for the arrangement forced upon them by circumstance and promise alike.
Yet lately something within Anakin had begun hardening into focus rather than anger alone. “He adapts quickly,” Obi-Wan said at last.
“Is that unusual?”
“For most people? Yes. There’s a reason we begin their training so young typically, Padme. It’s what makes his growth so far so amazing.” The exercise below ended abruptly when Anakin destroyed another drone with considerably more force than necessary. The machine struck the far wall and dropped smoking onto the polished floor.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “There goes another one.”
Padmé smiled faintly. “I think he enjoys proving what he can do.” Before Obi-Wan could answer, movement near the entrance to the hall drew his attention. Masters Windu and Yoda had returned. The effect upon the room was subtle but immediate. Conversations quieted slightly. Younger students straightened instinctively before realizing they had done so. Even the instructors seemed to shift posture almost unconsciously as the two Masters crossed the hall together.
Anakin noticed moments later. He deactivated his saber and approached the observation platform while the remaining drones drifted back toward their charging stations behind him.
“Masters,” he said.
“Skywalker,” Windu replied. Yoda’s gaze moved briefly toward the ruined drones still smoking near the far wall.
“Enthusiastic, your technique remains.”
Anakin grinned. “That’s what Obi-Wan says too.”
“Not always as a compliment, my young padawan,” said Obi-Wan. Padmé’s amusement returned briefly, though it faded again as Windu approached closer. Obi-Wan noticed the hardened expression on his face. The meeting with Damask had provided little reassurance.
“No progress?” Padmé asked quietly. Windu folded his hands into his sleeves.
“None.” The answer settled over the small group with familiar weight.
Anakin frowned slightly. “You still don’t know what happened?”
“No,” Obi-Wan said before Windu answered. “No one does.” Padmé looked between the two senior Masters carefully, but couldn’t find her words. Obi-Wan noticed Yoda tense up slightly, his small hands resting atop the cane.
After a moment Windu said, “The situation lacks coherence.”
Anakin looked dissatisfied with the phrasing immediately. “What does that mean, Master?” He asked. Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze
“It means,” Obi-Wan answered slowly, “that none of the explanations we come up with seem to fit together properly, Anakin. Things such as this usually follow a sort of pattern, you see. But unfortunately, it would appear that it doesn’t track.”
Yoda finally spoke then. “The shroud of the dark side lies thick over us all. Clouded, our perception remains. Great care we must take, in the days to come. New targets, whoever did this may try and find.” Silence, more uncomfortable this time, settled over them all. Anakin looked between the Masters.
“So what happens now?” Windu’s expression remained composed.
“For now,” he said, “the Republic decides what comes next. We must allow the wheels of the senate to turn until they put forth a new chancellor. And in the meantime, we must remain vigilant and wait things out. Perhaps a new opportunity will present itself soon.” The brief glance exchanged between Windu, and Yoda, however, suggested neither of the masters found that prospect especially reassuring.