Chancellor Palpatine stood alone in the shadowed depths of his private office, the vast transparisteel window framing the endless spires of Coruscant. The evening traffic lanes glittered like rivers of fire far below, but his attention was fixed on the encrypted holorecording that had just arrived from the Jabiim relief fleet.
He played it once. Then again. Then a third time.
General Dagon's face filled the projection — gaunt, rain-streaked, eyes carrying the unmistakable shadow of the dark side. Behind him, fifty thousand clone troopers stood in perfect ranks while ten massive Accumulator-class cruisers settled onto the mud like predatory birds. Alto Stratus and his surviving commanders were already loaded in chains. The old Congress flag of Jabiim fluttered above the capital in the background.
And Dagon's voice — calm, exhausted, and utterly victorious — delivered the final line:
"Tell the Senate the High Jedi General is coming home to claim his seat."
Palpatine's wrinkled mouth curved into the grandfatherly smile the galaxy knew so well. But in the privacy of the chamber his yellow eyes burned with cold fury.
Fifteen thousand clones lost. An entire Separatist fleet annihilated. Savage Opress, Durge, and every last assassin droid — gone. And now this upstart Jedi demanded the very seat Palpatine had carefully kept vacant for his own purposes.
"High Jedi General," he hissed to the empty room. "How delightfully predictable."
He activated a private comm panel. Within seconds, his aides began receiving rapid-fire orders.
"Prepare the Grand Convocation Chamber for a full Senate address tomorrow at 1400 hours. I want every holocam in the Republic focused on the arrival of the Jabiim expeditionary force. Broadcast it live across the Core and Outer Rim. Announce the promotion of General Dagon to High Jedi General and his elevation to the Jedi Council. Have the ceremonial robes prepared. And make certain the captured traitor Alto Stratus is paraded in chains for the cameras."
The aides scrambled to obey. Palpatine allowed himself one soft, venomous chuckle.
The public would see a triumphant Republic hero. Palpatine would see a problem that needed solving.
But first…
He opened a second, far more secure channel — one that tunnelled through a dozen encrypted relays straight to Serenno.
Count Dooku's hologram materialized almost instantly. The Sith Lord looked composed, silver beard perfectly trimmed, but Palpatine could taste the tension radiating through the Force like spoiled wine.
"Master," Dooku began smoothly, bowing his head. "I assume this concerns Jabiim."
Palpatine's voice was silk over razors. "Indeed it does, Tyranus. I have just received word that General Dagon has not only held the planet but utterly annihilated your fleet, your droid legions, your precious Nightbrother apprentice, and even the immortal Durge. Fifteen thousand Republic clones lie dead in the mud, and now this… Jedi demands a Council seat and the rank of High Jedi General. A rank I was forced to promise him in a moment of political theatre."
Dooku's expression remained impassive. "The fleet appears to have suffered severe technical difficulties, my Lord. Communications were lost shortly after the dispersal rockets were expended. Atmospheric interference on Jabiim is notorious. I have been attempting to re-establish contact for days, but—"
"Technical difficulties," Palpatine repeated, the words dripping acid. "How convenient. My agents on the surface report nothing but wreckage raining from the sky for weeks. Entire Lucrehulk battleships reduced to molten slag. Every droid, every assassin unit, Savage Opress, and Durge himself — vaporized. And you speak to me of technical difficulties?"
Dooku inclined his head slightly, the picture of aristocratic regret. "I assure you, Master, I dispatched the full armada as ordered. The last confirmed transmission indicated heavy fighting but no indication of total loss. Clearly the storms—"
"The storms did not melt beskar armor into puddles," Palpatine snapped, the grandfatherly mask cracking for a single heartbeat. "The storms did not turn two million battle droids into glass sculptures. The storms did not allow one single Jedi and fifty thousand clones to conquer a planet that was supposed to bleed the Republic dry for years!"
He leaned closer to the holo, yellow eyes blazing.
"You have failed me, Tyranus. Again. Jabiim was meant to be a quagmire. Instead it has produced a hero who now marches straight into my Senate demanding power I never intended to give him. And you stand there and lie to my face about technical issues."
Dooku's voice remained level, but a faint tightening around his eyes betrayed the strain. "I will dispatch new forces immediately. Grievous can be redirected. The loss is regrettable, but not irreparable. We still control—"
"You will do nothing," Palpatine cut him off. "You will remain on Serenno and reflect on the cost of disappointing me. When Dagon arrives on Coruscant with his army and his prisoners, I will smile, pin a medal on his chest, and welcome him to the Council. And while the galaxy cheers, I will begin the process of turning his victory into the very noose that hangs him."
He straightened, the kindly Chancellor mask sliding back into place with practised ease.
"Enjoy your 'technical difficulties,' old friend. They may be the last excuse you are ever permitted to give."
The hologram vanished.
Palpatine stood motionless for a long moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Then he activated another channel — this one to the commander of the Coruscant Home Fleet.
"Prepare full ceremonial escort for the arriving Jabiim cruisers. I want the entire Senate plaza lined with Republic banners. And quietly… increase security around the Jedi Temple. High Jedi General Dagon is coming home."
A cold smile touched his lips.
"Let the hero enjoy his triumph. It will make his fall all the sweeter."
Outside the window, the endless lights of Coruscant continued their indifferent dance. In the distance, the Jedi Temple glowed serenely against the night sky.
Palpatine turned away, yellow eyes gleaming in the dark.
The game had changed.
And he always won the long game.