Chuck, a clone commando and platoon commander, entered the cabin where the soldiers from his platoon were stationed. They lay silently on their bunks, while Drew, huddled behind a small table, was servicing his carbine. When the commander appeared, they saluted without getting up. The RC clone nicknamed Yurgo asked:
"Chuck, how's the general?"
"No change," Chuck said, squeezing into his seat. "Commander Tano is monitoring his condition."
"No, I mean—have you seen his armor?" Ex flared up again. "I don't dispute that our Katarn armor has more advanced internals, but those built-in shields..."
"Who cares? We destroy the enemy before they even know what's happening," Kago replied dryly. "Didn't help him much, though."
"Yeah, they beat him up pretty badly."
"Come on, he's a Jedi. They're tough as nails. He'll take a bacta bath and be as good as new."
"Will he grow his arm back too?"
"I'm no doctor, but I think we can come up with something."
"Enough chatter. Everyone, stand down."
***
The Chancellor's main office was located on the lower level of the Galactic Senate dome, but since it was constantly suffocating there with petitions, demands, requests, and state affairs, the Chancellor preferred to use the office upstairs for more private conversations. Small adjoining rooms nearby were intended for meals and short breaks.
Right now, in one of those rooms beside his office, Chancellor Palpatine was sitting at the dining table. He was slowly and gracefully wielding his cutlery, and although the food was more than delicious, his mood was far from ideal.
It was all because of this Senate. Endless debates, speeches by delegates spouting empty rhetoric... How he would love to raze this place to the ground, wipe it off the face of the planet, and send all those windbags to the mines of Kessel. Although, truth be told, they were hardly capable of anything beyond ranting and raving.
Unexpectedly, the door slid open with a quiet hiss, allowing Sly Moore to enter the room. Palpatine set down his fork and knife with interest—few were allowed to interrupt his meal and brief moments of rest. If it was the Umbaran, then the news must indeed be worth hearing.
In response to his silent question, the woman allowed herself a faint smile, which surprised Palpatine—Sly rarely permitted emotion to surface. Without a word, she activated the holovisor and began switching channels. Finding the right one, she moved behind the Chancellor and placed her pale hands on his shoulders.
And on the screen... Hutt take it, if not for his long-honed restraint, Palpatine might have gasped. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow. A duel was being broadcast—a Jedi and... a Sith. Yet Palpatine recognized her instantly: Asajj Ventress, the Dathomir witch and Count Dooku's new protégé. In her hands gleamed twin lightsabers with curved hilts. But the Jedi... he hadn't seen one like that in a long time. Certainly not in person. Blue-silver armor, a helmet concealing the face. A Guardian? The thought flickered and vanished—the blade was standard blue, not the double yellow of the Guardians. The helmet was of an unfamiliar design, not the snow-white mask. Interesting.
The fencer's trained eye immediately noted numerous flaws in the fighters' technique—they moved like clumsy children. Still, the Dathomiri woman appeared more confident, and in the end, her red blade pierced the Jedi clean through.
Another Jedi dies ingloriously, Palpatine mused, sipping juice from his glass. It's worth thinking about—Senator Amidala truly attracts trouble. First Qui-Gon Jinn, and now this.
The next instant, he nearly choked—the Jedi kept fighting as if nothing had happened!
HOW?
As far as Sidious knew—and he knew more than most—the Force technique Crucitorn was not widely practiced among the Jedi, while the Sith art Negatio Damnorium, once common during the age of the Sith Empire, had vanished shortly before the Empire's fall and the desolation of Korriban. Yet Palpatine possessed numerous Sith and other holocrons containing the necessary knowledge. The technique was best practiced by Sith Lord Darth Malgus, who was taught by Vindican, his Master and mentor, who was also fluent in the art. It was all the more unusual to see a Jedi using it.
Oh yes, the Jedi was clearly weak, but... there was something interesting about him. Sidious's keen gaze detected traces of Moving Meditation, Breath Control, even the rudiments of Battle Meditation. The Jedi had only scratched the surface of those disciplines, but the fact that he used every skill at his disposal to survive impressed Palpatine.
Darth Sidious felt a stirring of anticipation—the Jedi was not as simple as he seemed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the reflection of Sly's faint smile in a polished fixture. The Umbaran had clearly already seen the recording and now savored his reaction. Snorting softly, Palpatine turned his full attention back to the fight, studying every detail. Even the fact that the Dathomirwoman had stabbed him with her sword, the Jedi had turned it to his advantage. Though no, he minimized the loss - Palpatine noticed that the Jedi had twisted his torso at the moment of impact, taking his spine out of harm's way. The fact that he had nearly lost was irrelevant—the battlefield still belonged to him, and the cost of that wasn't that significant.
Sly reached for the table, picked up one of the blo'ku fruits, and slowly circled around it. She powered down the holovisor, took a slow bite of the ripe, juicy flesh, and—after a long, silent glance at the Chancellor—left the room, leaving the Sith Lord alone with his thoughts.
Two voices immediately began arguing inside him—the Sith and the politician.
Hmm... Can this be used? Undoubtedly. Is he of interest to us? Yes. A threat? Definitely not. Too weak. Destroy him? There's always time for that. Make him work for us? Too little information.
Reaching for the comm switch, the Chancellor summoned his secretary. The Rodian's face appeared almost instantly.
"Remind me—was the Director of the Intelligence Bureau, Armand Isard, scheduled for a briefing? Is he here yet? Excellent. Send him to my office."
Moving into his office, Palpatine stood by the large window, waiting for the arrival of the head of External Intelligence. The view from the wide panoramic glass was pleasant enough, though the office itself was too small for his taste. He had inherited it from the previous Chancellor, Valorum—a spineless nobody, in his opinion. Moreover, the office, like the entire building, felt more like a relic of a bygone age than the brain center of a new order. No amount of remodeling could turn it into the cozy place Palpatine had dreamed of for himself.
Perhaps they should have built something new: an annex, or even a whole building, if only to give those who would work there the illusion that their pathetic efforts meant something.…
The door opened, admitting a twenty-three-year-old man of unremarkable appearance—black hair, blue eyes. Yet anyone with the slightest knowledge of government would recognize him as Armand Isard, Director of the Republic Intelligence Bureau. And only a select few knew that he was utterly loyal to the Chancellor.
"Chancellor?" The man bowed respectfully.
"Have you prepared the report on Mirgoshir?"
"Yes, Chancellor. Our agents have discovered several factories producing combat droids on Agamar. Estimated productivity exceeds—"
Palpatine listened attentively, committing every necessary detail to memory. Isard had performed well. Since his appointment, the Bureau had become far more efficient than under Valorum's administration, delivering intelligence swiftly and reliably.
"Have you seen the latest news?" Palpatine asked casually as the report concluded. "Quite an entertaining spectacle."
"Yes, but I saw nothing remarkable in it, other than the appearance of a new mercenary among the Separatists, Chancellor."
"Nevertheless," Palpatine smiled faintly, "I have a task for you. Find out everything you can about this Jedi."
"We'll need a few days. During the next report, I'll provide you with all available data," Isard said with a nod before leaving the office.
Palpatine turned back to the window. His sharp mind continued to analyze what he had seen. He had loved riddles since childhood—but most of all, he loved to solve them.