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Thorn arrives expecting ceremonial boredom and leaves with a dead Jedi who isn’t dead, an enraged Skywalker, and several new reasons to distrust the Order.
Thorn hates Naboo within eight minutes of landing.
The planet is too green, too open, and much too pleased with itself. Every courtyard contains flowers, every building has decorative balconies, and every decorative balcony has a perfect line of sight toward the Festival of Lights procession.
Security nightmare disguised as architecture.
He stands beneath a carved stone arch in full dress whites, one hand resting near the sidearm concealed beneath his formal jacket. The uniform feels thin without plastoid over it. Dress greys or whites are fine inside the Senate Dome, Guard Headquarters, or any building where Thorn knows every entrance, ventilation shaft, and structural weakness.
An unfamiliar open-air courtyard is not secure.
It is theoretically secure.
Theoretically secure is what officers say shortly before Medical starts requesting blood types. Theoretically secure was what the Senate Rotunda was before a third of Thorn's face was burned off.
Festival lanterns float above the crowd in glowing gold clusters. Naboo musicians perform beside the palace steps while senators, diplomats, local officials, and enough civilians to make crowd control impossible fill the terraces.
Thorn has a battalion to run.
He has prison transfers awaiting approval, three Senate escort rotations missing officers, and a shipment of caf that needs to be hidden before Boba finds it and Scalper confiscates it on medical grounds.
Instead, he is standing near Chancellor Palpatine while Anakin Skywalker radiates enough irritation to qualify as a weather event.
The vibes are off.
... Boba is rubbing off on him.
“North terrace clear,” Ghost says through Thorn’s earpiece.
Her voice is flat, nearly lost beneath the music. She is somewhere above them in black-and-red ARC armor, officially assigned as the Chancellor’s personal bodyguard and unofficially responsible for killing anything that gets through the outer perimeter.
“West gallery clear,” another Guardsman reports.
“Tower Two has movement.”
Thorn’s attention snaps toward the palace roof.
“Identify.”
“Local security. Confirmed code.”
Thorn keeps watching until a blue-uniformed Naboo officer steps into view and raises one hand.
He dislikes relying on local codes.
He dislikes relying on local security.
He especially dislikes that the Jedi objected when the Guard placed snipers around the courtyard.
Master Windu called the deployment excessive.
Skywalker called it paranoid.
Thorn called it happening anyway.
The Jedi had been unusually pushy about keeping the upper galleries clear of Guard personnel. They claimed Force awareness provided sufficient protection and that armed snipers might alarm the crowd.
The crowd can be alarmed.
The crowd can also remain alive.
Fox signed the deployment before leaving Coruscant, along with a note stating that any Jedi objection should be attached to the casualty projections and returned unread.
Fox still has not forgiven them for Kadavo.
Thorn hasn’t either.
He has a perfectly good Captain and Commander duo who now freeze when restraints close around their wrists. Rex checks every transport manifest for slave collars. Tano still wakes with bruises where she claws at herself during nightmares.
The Jedi Council praised their courage and sent them back to war.
Apparently, spiritual wisdom does not include medical leave.
Thorn adjusts his cuffs.
The Chancellor requested ceremonial Guard representation personally, which is how Thorn ended up here instead of someone who enjoys parades. Palpatine also granted him permission to retain his sidearm despite Naboo protocol.
That should be reassuring.
It is not.
Palpatine stands near the center of the courtyard speaking with Queen Neeyutnee and several officials. His hands disappear into the sleeves of his robes. He looks harmless, grandfatherly, and mildly exhausted by politics.
Thorn knows better than most how much damage those hands can do.
He keeps his face empty.
Skywalker stands 15 meters away, scanning the crowd with his jaw locked and shoulders rigid. The Jedi Knight has barely spoken since Kenobi’s death.
Thorn had seen the body.
He had seen the entry wound, the blood, and Skywalker kneeling beside his former master while medics declared there was nothing to be done.
Rako Hardeen’s name has occupied every Guard watchlist since.
Thorn understands Skywalker’s anger. That does not make standing near him comfortable. The man feels like a reactor with a cracked containment field.
Master Windu approaches from the palace steps.
“Marshal Commander.”
“General.”
Windu’s eyes move briefly toward Thorn’s jacket. “You retained your weapon.”
“The Chancellor approved it.”
“The Naboo Royal Guard has secured the courtyard.”
“They secured the courtyard before Hardeen entered the planet.”
Windu’s expression remains calm, which Thorn finds deeply irritating.
“There is no confirmed evidence that Hardeen is on Naboo.”
“There’s no confirmed evidence he isn’t.”
“The assassins may expect an excessive security response.”
“Then they’ll be devastated when they get one.”
Windu studies him.
Thorn stares back.
He spent enough time around senators to recognize a conversation that exists solely because someone dislikes being told no.
“Your snipers remain outside the agreed perimeter,” Windu says.
“Yes.”
“I asked that they be withdrawn.”
“I heard you.”
“And?”
“No.”
The music swells across the courtyard.
Windu lowers his voice. “Marshal Commander, there are circumstances you don’t understand.”
“That’s usually what people say when they want the Guard unprepared.”
Thorn’s right temple gives a faint pulse.
He ignores it.
Windu looks toward Skywalker.
The glance is quick, but Thorn catches it.
Something is wrong.
Not merely grief. Not merely the assassination threat.
The Jedi are hiding something, and whatever it is has made them more concerned about the Guard’s snipers than the actual assassin who killed one of their own.
Thorn touches the control on his earpiece.
“Ghost, update.”
“Chancellor secure. Eastern roofs clear. Skywalker is pacing.”
“I can see that.”
“He’s doing it aggressively.”
“Noted.”
Ghost pauses.
“Chief wants status every 20 minutes.”
“Fox is supposed to be sleeping.”
“He sent the order six minutes ago.”
Thorn closes his eyes briefly.
Of course he did.
“Tell him the Chancellor is secure.”
“He also asked whether you’ve eaten.”
“End transmission.”
Ghost’s channel clicks off.
Windu raises one eyebrow.
“Operational matter,” Thorn says.
“I gathered.”
The Festival procession begins moving through the courtyard. Children carry illuminated spheres along the central path while musicians follow behind them. The crowd presses closer to the barriers, recording devices rising above heads.
Thorn’s skin crawls.
Too many sight lines.
Too many bodies.
Too much movement.
He scans the palace windows again.
Ghost’s voice returns without warning.
“Marshal, Tower Four just lost visual.”
Thorn straightens.
“Reason?”
“Camera loop.”
“Sniper teams converge. Quietly.”
Windu turns toward him. “What is it?”
“Security issue.”
“Details?”
“No.”
Thorn moves toward Palpatine.
The Chancellor notices him approaching and smiles faintly.
“Is something wrong, Marshal Commander?”
“We’re relocating, Your Excellency.”
“The ceremony has only begun.”
“Then you’ll have an excellent view from inside.”
Palpatine’s smile does not change, but irritation touches his eyes.
“I’m certain the Jedi have matters under control.”
A sharp crack slices through the music.
The crowd erupts.
A man near the western barrier jerks backward, blood spraying across the lanterns behind him. The bolt had passed through his shoulder, missing Palpatine by less than a meter.
Thorn has his sidearm out before the victim hits the ground.
“Contact, western gallery!”
Ghost fires from above.
A second assassin drops behind the crowd barrier, a smoking hole through his chest.
People scream and surge toward every exit at once.
Naboo security tries to form a corridor and immediately loses it beneath the crush.
Thorn grabs Palpatine by the upper arm and pulls him behind a stone planter as another bolt strikes the wall.
“Stay down.”
The Chancellor’s face hardens. “Marshal Commander.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Thorn leans around the planter.
One assassin moves across the upper balcony, rifle rising toward their position. He wears local security colors, but his stance is wrong. Too balanced. Too calm.
Thorn fires once.
The bolt strikes the assassin through the visor.
The body folds over the railing and drops into a decorative fountain.
“Tower Four hostile down,” Thorn reports. “Ghost, cover the Chancellor.”
“Moving.”
Black-and-red armor drops from the upper gallery. Ghost lands beside the planter, one knee striking stone, rifle already tracking the rooftops.
“I have him,” she says.
Thorn releases Palpatine.
“Get him inside.”
Ghost takes the Chancellor’s arm with considerably more diplomacy than Thorn managed.
Skywalker shoves through the crowd, blue blade ignited.
“Where is Hardeen?”
Thorn catches his shoulder before he can charge toward the western passage.
“We don’t know!”
“He’s here!”
“Then stop yelling his name and let us find him!”
Skywalker’s eyes are wild.
“He killed Obi-Wan!”
“I remember.”
“Move!”
Thorn steps directly into his path.
“No.”
For half a second, Thorn thinks Skywalker may swing at him.
Windu appears between them.
“Anakin, protect the civilians.”
“Hardeen is mine.”
“He’s an assassin in an active security zone,” Thorn snaps. “He belongs to whoever gets a clear shot!”
Skywalker looks ready to argue.
Another blaster cracks from the eastern arcade.
Thorn turns toward the sound.
A figure in a broad-brimmed hat runs along the colonnade, coat snapping behind him. The face matches every alert sent through the Guard network.
Rako Hardeen.
“Visual!” Thorn shouts.
Hardeen vaults over a fallen barrier and disappears behind a line of panicked civilians.
Thorn follows, moving against the flow of the crowd. Dress shoes strike wet stone, his white jacket too bright and his unarmored chest painfully exposed.
Ghost’s voice fills his ear.
“Two hostiles moving toward the river entrance.”
“Take them.”
“Chief?”
“Busy.”
Thorn reaches the arcade.
Hardeen emerges at the far end, blaster in hand.
Their eyes meet.
Hardeen hesitates.
That hesitation nearly kills him.
Thorn raises his sidearm and centers the sight between the assassin’s eyes.
The shot is clean.
No civilians behind him.
No armor visible.
Thorn begins squeezing the trigger.
His weapon tears out of his hand.
It flies sideways through the air and lands in Mace Windu’s palm.
Thorn stares at his empty hand.
Then at Windu.
“What the kriff are you doing?”
“Don’t shoot him.”
“Hardeen killed Kenobi!"
“I know.”
“He has a weapon!”
Hardeen lowers the blaster, breathing hard.
Thorn reaches for the backup holdout hidden beneath his jacket.
Windu catches his wrist.
“Marshal Commander, listen to me.”
“You have three seconds.”
“Hardeen is Kenobi.”
Thorn’s mind stops.
Behind them, Skywalker shouts Hardeen’s name with enough rage to shake the windows.
Thorn steps close to Windu, his voice dropping to a whisper against the Jedi Master’s ear.
“This conversation isn’t done.”
He tears his wrist free, grabs his sidearm back, and runs toward the gunfire before Skywalker can kill Kenobi himself.