Chapter Text
Being in the Jedi Senate pod gives Mace hives. He’s briefly grateful he keeps his head shaved; at least nobody in the Senate will realize that politicians make him shed, which was the reason he started shaving to begin with.
If he had any hair left to make a statement with, it’d probably be standing on end anyway. Emergency Powers. The pounding shatterpoint headache makes him wonder just how well the Chancellor will stand up to giving them up when it comes time, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Mace. Today’s Mace is wondering why the kriff he’s wasting time at this senatorial theater when he could be getting the teams ready for Geonosis.
He can’t even release his feelings into the Force. It’s been almost unendurable for the last seven days, like it’s been holding its breath before a galactic-sized sneeze. Mace would very much like to go somewhere and whack things with his lightsaber.
“Patience,” says Yoda, who’s always counseling patience right up until he doesn’t feel like being patient himself. “Important it is, for Master of the Jedi Order to be present.”
“Both the Master and the Grandmaster might be considered overkill.”
“Dangerous time this is. Much fear in the Senate there is. Solidarity we must show, for the future of the Republic.”
Mace would like to shove Jedi solidarity up the Senate’s collective ass. He doesn’t, because he is a Jedi Master. He is peace. He is dignity. Some days he wishes he really had run away from the Temple as a kid and become an actor. If nothing else, he could’ve gotten away with saying kriff it a lot. Nowadays he has to just emote it. With peace. And dignity. It's not as satisfying.
Kriff it.
The voting has started on the Emergency Powers motion. Even without the pod display, it’s obvious that the motion will carry. Mace runs an idle hand over his freshly shaved scalp.
Clone armies. Republic armies made of clones. Armies they still haven’t figured out the origins of. This is the kind of bullshit that Jedi are supposed to stop, and here he is, tacitly advocating their use. Obviously things are kriffed up right now. He sees no prospect of it getting better anytime soon. Especially given this particular situation has Obi-Wan Kenobi, Chaos Monkey, wedged deep in its colon.
Another problem for Tomorrow’s Mace. His comm chirps with a message. He sighs and straightens. “Fisto’s reported in. His team is wrapping up their mission and will be free to meet us on Geonosis.”
Yoda hums to himself, maybe in approval, and turns his attention to the Chancellor’s podium. In the time Mace took to read Kit’s message, the count had finished. The Chancellor is gravely responding to the passing of the motion, promising to create a Grand Army of the Republic.
Create. Hah, Mace thinks as the Senate bursts into applause, wondering why the shatterpoint hasn’t passed with the counting of the vote. He can feel it poised, just waiting to crash over him.
“Curious,” says Yoda, his ears twitching in a way that Mace knows from sad experience means something awful is about to take place.
“Oh kriff,” Mace says, suddenly feeling it too. He clutches for his lightsaber.
It’s at this point that three things happen.
One: the terrible tension in the Force bursts across the Force sensitives of Coruscant in a deafening roar.
Two: the shatterpoint hovering over Mace cracks across his vision, whiting it out in a lightning strike of agony.
Three: a rift pops open directly above the Chancellor’s podium. It’s small and black, invisible against the stronger light that bathes the Chancellor’s seat. It lasts for all of a human eyeblink before disappearing again, one of billions that happen every second around the vast reaches of space and time.
Mace flails for the railing of the Senate pod, dimly able to make out Yoda clutching his own head. Through a tear-filled squint, Mace just barely makes out a flash high up in the dimness of the Senate chamber. Light glares off a falling object, sharp and silver.
Metal crashes into the center of the Chancellor’s podium, right on top of the man. Palpatine and Sly Moore go down. Mas Amedda, hit by a glancing blow, spins and smacks hard against the side before he, too, collapses.
The Force . . . cackles. Like a horrible goose.
Mace staggers again. He’s pretty sure his skull has actually turned inside out and his brains are now splattered across the Jedi pod floor. That’s too bad. All he can see is light, light, white and blinding. Quite an accomplishment when his eyes are squeezed shut, but that’s what he gets for letting his brain splat around outside of his head.
The Force yanks at him, excited. The applause of the Senate has given way to stunned silence even as Mace clutches his lightsaber and hurls himself blindly off the edge of the pod. Yoda is a supernova behind him. The light is— the Light, flaring through the Senate as the Dark that has choked Coruscant for so long suddenly shreds. Even as he wrestles with his headache and the demands of the Force, Mace puts together some pieces and really dislikes his split-second conclusion.
The Mandalorian in viscera-smeared beskar gets to their feet right around the time Mace lands on the edge of the Chancellor’s podium. Blood is everywhere. So are other things that belong on the inside of a body instead of the outside.
Mace squints down his lightsaber at the Mandalorian, who’s looking down at Palpatine’s face with a quizzical tilt of their helmet.
Palpatine’s very dead face. There’s no medical intervention in the known galaxy that can put that together again.
“You're under arrest for the murder of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine,” Mace says, a sinking feeling in his chest.
“Huh,” says the Mandalorian.
The Senate chooses this point to start screaming.
•──────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
“I want him dead!” shrieks Mas Amedda from his stretcher.
If that’s not representative of the Vice Chancellor’s breathtaking respect for the rule of law, Captain Inspector Kobol Antilles thinks sourly, he can’t imagine what is. He envies Master Windu’s cold composure.
His isn’t anywhere near as good, though at least his face is disciplined enough to prevent him being fired on the spot. It’s his experience and reputation that’s brought in as lead CSF investigator on the death of Chancellor Palpatine, not his fondness for the man or his cronies. Not that his personal feelings would influence his professionalism.
He sighs quietly to himself and answers the question that prompted the Vice Chancellor’s venom to begin with. “He’s currently installed in a secure room in the Senate, under guard.”
A few quick commands into the nearby terminal brings the feed up for the Security Committee and Jedi in the conference chamber. The Mandalorian, in freshly cleaned armor, sits quietly in a chair in the room. At the moment, they appear to be poking about in their bag.
“They’re still in their armor,” Master Windu says neutrally.
“They are,” Kobol says, and adds before the Vice Chancellor can complain, “and also armed, though they gave up their blasters, rifle, and knives at our request. They have been very reasonable.” Unlike several of the people in this room, he carefully doesn’t say. “They identified as a strict follower of orthodox Mandalorian traditional practices. As they haven’t been charged, we are following regulations to respect their beliefs with regards to armor and identity in not exposing their face.”
“Also so with name,” Senator Yriba chitters shrewdly.
“They have requested we refer to them as ‘Mando.’”
“I want him stripped of his armor, identified, and thrown in prison immediately for murder of my dear friend and predecessor, Chancellor Palpatine!” Mas Amedda hissed, pushing himself up only to sink back down again with a groan. “He will be sentenced and executed for treason!”
“You mean tried for treason, Vice Chancellor,” Master Windu says.
“I have emergency powers! If I say it’s treason, it is treason!”
“Emergency Powers to Chancellor belong. Promotion of you to Chancellor, missed I must have,” Master Yoda says, his beady eyes narrowing.
“In the event of the Chancellor’s death, the Vice Chancellor takes the position until a new election can be done,” interposes Senator Orn Free Taa smoothly.
Every time Kobol so much as looks at the senator, he has to forcibly keep himself from reaching for his blaster. He and his colleagues have all found too many cases dead-ended in the powerful hands of Orn Free Taa and his friends to have any fondness for the corpulent Twi’lek.
Conscious of Master Windu’s attention shifting to him (and even more conscious of the Jedi reputation for mind-reading, something Kobol is well aware is not just a rumor) he suppresses his murderous instincts and equally vicious satisfaction to say, deliberately, “Under normal circumstances, that would be correct.”
Senator Yriba’s mandibles twitch in obvious satisfaction. She is, as Kobol well knows, not a political ally of Mas Amedda and his bloc, and was the one to privately clue Kobol in on certain legal realities several hours before the meeting. “This not normal is circumstance.”
“Of course not. It’s not every day that the Supreme Chancellor is murdered by traitors in front of the entire Senate,” says Senator Orn Free Taa, with a creditable expression of grief. “My poor, dear friend.”
“It is an outrage!” cries Mas Amedda. “I will have the entire Coruscant Security Force replaced for their incompetence!”
Kobol ignores him to say firmly, “As you say, Senator. The entire Senate. Which means, according to the Articles of Succession, Section 238, Subsection 141.99—” across the table, Master Windu flinches, closing his eyes, and raises a hand to his temple, “—that the Rule of Conquest has come into effect. The slayer of the Chancellor before a registered plenum of the Senate thereby gains the title until such time as formal elections can be held.
“Which, per the emergency powers granted to the Chancellor just before Palpatine’s death, can only be scheduled by the Chancellor. Excuse me. Chancellor Mando.”
He’s never seen that particular expression on so many politicians’ faces at one time. He instantly saves it in his memories as his new Happy Place.
“That’s— that’s—” Orn Free Taa sputters.
“That’s undemocratic!” Mas Amedda shrieks.
Kobol eyes the man who’s been running around the Senate drumming up support for Palpatine’s Emergency Powers for the last two weeks, and gives in to temptation. Surely the galaxy owes him this one. “‘In such dangerous times,’” he says smoothly, repeating verbatim Mas Amedda’s own words before the Emergency Powers vote, “‘we need a single voice, a firm hand. A leader to guide the faltering ship of the Republic. We cannot stand divided in the face of anarchy.’”
The room descends into chaos.
Despite his own discomfort at the idea of the Republic being run by a Mandalorian mercenary, there’s a significant part of Kobol pointing out that there are worse candidates for leadership in a time of war than an actual warrior. There are two glaring examples of said worse candidates in the room with him right now, in fact.
Idle daydreams of what a mercenary unused to politics would do in response to Mas Amedda and Orn Free Taa’s language allows Kobol to listen to their vitriol with equanimity. Master Windu has sunk into a chair to cradle his head in his hands. Headache, he decides. Or some kind of... Jedi Force bullshit. Master Yoda’s ears are doing something bizarre. Senator Yriba and Senator Grrashook from Kashyyk, on the other hand, seem to be enjoying themselves to an excessive degree.
On the security feed, a tiny Master Yoda crawls out of the Mandalorian’s bag and is carefully lifted to sit on top of his lap. Once there, the tiny Master Yoda immediately tries to eat one of the Mandalorian’s grenades.
It is unfairly cute.
The argument is growing increasingly vicious, by the sounds of it. Kobol is hoping that if the wookie snaps and kills everyone, he’ll start with Orn Free Taa so he can have the satisfaction of watching that before he gets his own head ripped off. Under all the noise, his comm chirps. He checks it.
It’s one of the Senate Guard assigned to the Mandalorian.
mando asking for live frogs
Kobol waits for a moment, expecting a correction. Instead, he gets the amendment:
frog/fish eggs also good plz advice
Gloomily certain he’s going to regret this, Kobol sends back,
What for?
baby mando eat
Well, that answers at least one question Kobol never had about Master Yoda’s species.
The Senate commissary is, by nature of its patrons, perfectly situated to provide for the Mandalorian’s needs. Kobol sends a quick catering request to the kitchens, charmed by the unquestioning acknowledgment he gets back. Kriff, he needs to sleep.
He eyes the shouting politicians. Senator Grrashook has gotten into things now. He looks like he’s enjoying himself as much as a wookie can outside of ripping slavers’ arms off. The Jedi don’t look like they’re planning on doing anything about it. This meeting is never going to end.
Kobol sends a quick order to the security team to have the Mandalorian escorted up.
Nobody is paying any attention to him. With a casual tap, he turns off the security feed. Vice Chancellor Amedda’s histrionics are a perfect cover for him to mumble excuses and step out for the quieter atmosphere of the hall outside.
The few minutes it takes for the Mandalorian to arrive are almost enough time for Kobol to calm himself down and start second-guessing himself. Watching the armored warrior stalk up the hallway towards him, flanked by Senate Guards and with child tucked safely away in their bag, is an exercise in proactive intimidation. Kobol mutters a curse behind his hand—what the kriff is he thinking? Really?—and steps forward to meet him.
“I’m somewhat familiar with your people from dealing with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild,” Kobol says without preamble. “So I have to ask you now. What’s your Creed?”
Mando comes to a halt. His bag chirps, the flap opening just far enough for a pair of enormous dark eyes to peer out at Kobol.
Oh, come on. That’s just not fair. With a determined effort, he keeps his gaze firmly on Mando.
“Obviously caring for your child is part of it, which means you’re not Death Watch,” Kobol prompts.
“Children are the future. This is the Way,” Mando’s oddly quiet voice responds.
It sounds significant. Kobol has no kriffing clue what that significance might be. He scrubs at his face. At this point, he would happily trade his left nut for some sleep. “Fine. What else? Honor? Adherence to a contract? Duty to the tribe? I’m fairly certain you’re not a New Mandalorian, given the armor.”
It’s curious how emotive the faceless armor can be. Kobol reads the small head tilt as confusion. After a moment, Mando says, “Yes.”
“Yes to what?”
Another pause. “Honor. Adherence to contract. Duty to tribe.”
Perfect. Fine. That’s already a significant improvement over the other candidates. Kobol huffs out a breath.
“According to the rules, it looks pretty likely that you’ll be the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic in a few hours,” he says bluntly. “Rules of Conquest. You killed the old Chancellor in front of the entire Senate. It’s a Ruusan Reformation rule, something to do with possible Sith infiltration of high command—” he gestures his bafflement of the whole business. “It doesn’t matter.”
Another cautious silence. “What does a Supreme Chancellor do?”
Now, there’s a damn good question. With the kriffing Emergency Powers, an argument could be made that the Supreme Chancellor is the closest thing to a king the Republic could have. “Keep the Republic from falling?” He probably shouldn't have phrased that as a question.
Mando does a creditable impression of a statue while his child pokes his entire head out to stare at Kobol. It is offensively adorable.
“We can write up a bounty contract,” Kobol says a bit desperately. “It could be considered a bodyguard assignment.”
Mando looks down at the child. The child peers back up at him.
“And as the new Chancellor under Rule of Conquest, you couldn’t be arrested or charged with the death of the previous one.”
Mando and the child look back at him.
“It pays well?” Kobol thinks to add.
“Huh,” says Mando.
•──────⋅☾ ☽⋅───────•
The Senate emerges from emergency lockdown sixteen hours after the death of Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine in a special emergency plenary session. It’s the second in the last full cycle. Despite being a mandatory session, several pods remain empty. Notably, for those paying attention, those belonging to Outer Rim worlds that have been vocal in their discontent.
Very few people are paying attention.
After the Chancellor podium rises into the light, the gleaming figure of the fully armed and armored Mandalorian standing front and center, even fewer people are paying attention.
Once the Speaker of the Senate makes his announcement, absolutely nobody, anywhere, is paying any attention to anything else at all.
And then of course, Sly Moore, Palpatine’s Chief of Staff, attempts to attack the newly sworn-in Supreme Chancellor.
It goes poorly for her.
Very poorly.
The holonews have the best day ever.
Best. Day. Ever.
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