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Fox stays near the edge of the gala because celebrations have too many blind spots.
The musicians conceal one service entrance. Decorative banners block the upper balconies from several angles. Senators keep drifting into security lanes because the concept of an unobstructed evacuation route apparently offends their social instincts.
Riyo stands beside him, one hand resting lightly around his arm.
“You’re working again,” she says.
“I never stopped.”
“You ate half a pastry.”
“It contained protein.”
“It contained cream.”
“Cream has protein.”
Riyo looks up at him.
Fox concedes the argument by not continuing it.
From their position by the outer wall, they can see most of the chamber without being trapped in the crowd. Republic blue and white light moves across the vaulted ceiling. Clone officers mingle with senators beneath banners celebrating the passage of the Clone Rights Amendment.
Six hours ago, the Republic considered Fox property.
Now it considers him a person standing at a buffet while preparing the arrest of its head of state.
Government moves strangely.
Fox’s attention remains fixed on Chancellor Palpatine.
The Chancellor stands near the central platform, still wearing the gentle expression he has used for years while sending other people into wars he created.
Master Windu approaches first.
Grandmaster Yoda is beside him, moving slowly through the crowd. Kenobi follows several steps behind them. Two additional Jedi separate from the surrounding guests and begin closing off the Chancellor’s easiest exits.
Good.
They listened to at least one instruction.
Fox wanted Palpatine detained tomorrow, in front of the press conference, where cameras and public scrutiny might keep him from resisting.
Windu decided tonight provided a better opportunity.
The Chancellor was already surrounded by senators, military officers, and Jedi security. He had no private escape route. The evidence was secured. His personal guards had been reassigned without warning.
Fox still disliked the change.
Jedi improvisation had a casualty rate.
Riyo follows his gaze.
“They’re moving.”
“Yes.”
“Is this when I’m supposed to pretend I don’t know what’s happening?”
“You’re supposed to remain near the exit.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“It was the useful answer.”
Riyo’s fingers tighten around his sleeve.
Fox glances down.
The gold marriage arches across her nose catch beneath the gala lights. Her gown is the same red and black as the Guard, threaded with Pantoran gold.
Someone had tried to tell him earlier that the matching arches made them look coordinated.
Fox had spent most of his life being told what he matched. Riyo is the first thing he chose.
He places his hand over hers. “When this starts, you go through the west doors.”
“With you.”
“If possible.”
Riyo’s expression hardens.
“Fox.”
“Riyo.”
“You promised you’d stop phrasing survival like an optional objective.”
“I promised to make a reasonable effort.”
“That isn’t the same promise.”
“It was the one I made.”
She opens her mouth to argue.
Across the room, Windu stops in front of Palpatine.
Fox turns back.
The orchestra continues playing for several seconds before the nearest musician notices the Jedi forming a loose perimeter. The song falters. One instrument stops, then another, until a final string note hangs awkwardly over the crowd.
Conversations fade.
People begin turning toward the central platform.
Palpatine looks surprised.
Fox doesn’t believe him.
Windu speaks.
The distance and gathering whispers swallow the words. Fox can’t hear the accusation or formal order, but he knows the planned language.
Suspicion of treason.
Conspiracy against the Republic.
Connection to the Sith.
Submission to Jedi and military custody pending investigation.
Palpatine answers.
His expression remains pleasant.
He gestures toward the crowd, then toward the Senate chamber beyond the gala doors. One hand moves in a calm, measured arc, the performance of an elder statesman explaining that everyone else has misunderstood the law.
Windu responds.
Palpatine says something else.
He's stalling.
Fox can recognize that without hearing him.
The Chancellor requests a document from an aide. The aide freezes until Palpatine repeats the order. A datapad changes hands. Palpatine presents it to Windu.
Windu doesn’t take it.
Palpatine turns slightly toward Yoda.
The Grandmaster’s ears lower.
Kenobi says something, his posture rigid.
Another minute passes.
Fox checks the gala chronometer.
Too long.
“What is he doing?” Riyo whispers.
“Buying time.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
That's the problem.
Fox touches his wrist control and brings up the Guard security network.
No alarm.
No breach.
No unusual fleet movement.
The Chancellor’s private communications should be blocked, but a brief encrypted pulse appears in the system log and disappears before Fox can isolate it.
It came from inside the gala.
Fox searches the chamber.
Palpatine’s aides stand near the platform. Mas Amedda has gone completely still. Sly Moore watches the Jedi without any visible concern.
Neither looks surprised.
Fox’s unease deepens.
For years, the feeling arrived before Palpatine’s punishments. A faint pressure behind Fox’s right eye. The sensation that the air had become too still while everyone else continued breathing normally.
He dismissed it as anticipation.
Now his hand begins drifting toward the blaster beneath his dress jacket.
Riyo notices.
“What?”
“Stay behind me.”
Her gaze snaps toward the Chancellor.
“Fox, what do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Palpatine continues speaking.
His grandfatherly expression slips for less than a second.
Fox sees irritation beneath it.
Not fear.
Not outrage.
Impatience.
Windu says something short and final.
The Jedi around the Chancellor shift together.
Palpatine’s hand closes around the top of his cane he brought for show.
Fox activates his comm.
“Ghost.”
Static answers.
“Ghost, confirm channel.”
Nothing.
He switches frequencies.
“Thorn.”
No response.
Every Guard channel inside the gala has gone silent.
Fox’s pulse jumps.
“Riyo, west exit. Now!”
She doesn’t argue this time.
They take one step.
A Jedi shouts.
Fox turns.
The Chancellor moves.
He doesn’t retreat from the Jedi.
He straightens.
The harmless bend leaves his shoulders. His face twists, every soft public expression falling away at once. The air around him seems to contract.
Then Palpatine throws out one hand.
The Force detonates through the center of the gala.
Windu leaves the floor first.
He flies backward into the base of the platform hard enough to crack the decorative stone. Kenobi strikes a table, overturning it beneath him. Yoda catches himself with his cane for half a heartbeat before the same wave hurls him through a projection of the Republic seal.
The other Jedi scatter across the chamber.
Tables flip.
Glass shatters.
Senators scream.
The room goes from stunned silence to evacuation panic in less than two seconds.
Fox catches Riyo around the waist before the shockwave knocks her down. His back strikes the wall, but he stays upright.
“Go!”
Riyo grips his jacket.
“What about you?”
“Move!”
The nearest doors open as security overrides engage. Civilians surge toward them, gowns and formal jackets tangling together as the gala empties.
Jedi scramble back to their feet.
Lightsabers ignite across the chamber.
Blue, green, violet.
Palpatine stands at the center of them, his cane discarded.
Red light snaps into his hand.
The blade is short, concealed, and unmistakable.
The Sith Lord laughs.
The sound cuts through the screaming.
Fox heard Palpatine pleased. He heard him angry. He heard him speak while electricity burned through Fox’s nerves and orders emptied every thought from his head.
He never heard the man sound free.
Windu charges first.
Palpatine meets him with enough force to drive both of them across the platform. Kenobi intercepts the second strike. Yoda rises through fallen decorations and joins them, his blade flashing too quickly for Fox’s eyes to follow.
More Jedi rush from the opposite side of the gala.
Fox pulls Riyo toward the west exit.
Most of the chamber has emptied now. Cody and Bly are directing clones through the crowd. Rex has drawn his sidearm, guarding the senators being pushed into the reception corridor.
Fox should join them.
He should secure the exits, restore communications, and bring the Guard into the chamber.
Instead, unease crawls across his skin.
He looks back.
Palpatine is fighting six Jedi.
He should be surrounded.
He should be occupied.
His yellow eyes are fixed directly on Fox.
The Sith Lord disengages from Windu with a twisting leap. His red blade knocks Kenobi aside. He lands near the edge of the platform and raises one hand.
Not toward the Jedi.
Toward Riyo.
Fox understands before the first spark forms.
Palpatine knows.
The evidence.
The amendment.
The marriage.
Every place Fox might still be vulnerable.
Blue-white lightning tears across the gala.
Fox shoves Riyo away with both hands.
Her fingers rip free from his sleeve as she falls into Thorn's arms.
Fox turns his face toward the light.
The lightning hits him.
Riyo struggles against Thorn’s iron grip.
“Let me go!”
“No.”
Fox is still back there.
The west reception corridor fills with fleeing senators, shattered glass, and Guardsmen forcing civilians toward the evacuation lifts. Thorn has one arm locked around Riyo’s waist and the other braced across her shoulders, holding her against his chest as she kicks, twists, and tries to drive an elbow into the gap beneath his ribs.
He doesn’t loosen his grip.
“Fox!” she screams.
Lightning flashes through the open gala doors.
For one terrible instant, the entire chamber turns blue-white.
Riyo hears someone scream.
She can’t tell whether it's Fox.
Her feet leave the floor as Thorn drags her farther down the corridor.
“He’s still in there!”
“I know.”
“Then go back!”
“My orders are to extract you.”
“I’m ordering you to release me!”
“You’re a senator.”
“I’m his wife!”
Thorn’s grip tightens.
His breath catches against her hair, and she realizes he is shaking too.
The gala doors begin closing under emergency lockdown. Beyond them, lightsabers carve through smoke, Jedi voices overlap, and a dark shape lies motionless near the ruined outer wall.
Riyo sees black fabric.
Guard red.
Gold across a familiar face that isn’t moving.
“Fox!”
She tears one hand free.
The narrowing gap is only meters away.
Then something inside the gala rises behind Fox’s body.
Yellow eyes lock onto hers.
Thorn sees them too.
He swears, lifts Riyo completely off the floor, and throws them both toward the closing blast doors as Palpatine raises his hand again.