Chapter 91

Coruscant, Corusca System

Corusca Sector

How are you going to weasel your way out of this one?

That was the sole thought running through Jedi Master Adi Gallia’s mind as she carefully observed the Supreme Chancellor. Palpatine’s gaze lingered over shoulder, and Adi itched to glance behind her to see for herself what was just so interesting to Sith Lord. She heard the doors of the suite slide open, and the knocking of a dozen more armoured boots storming into the residence.

With each passing moment, more and more of the Coruscant Guard was entering the building. And it was evident some were losing their patience.

“Answer the question, Your Excellency,” ARC Commander Valiant ordered in a tone that brooked no choice, as if he was not speaking to the most powerful man in the galaxy, “Cooperate, and we can all get this over with.”

Something dark flashed through the Chancellor’s eyes, unnoticeable to all but the most perceptive of Jedi. Blink, and one would miss the minor slip, seeing only the fabulously feigned face of confused concern he wore. Even right then, Adi Gallia could scarcely believe the man was a Dark Lord of the Sith, if not for one single reason. Once, Adi could read the surface-level emotions of Sheev Palpatine, as all emphatically talented Jedi were to do, and now no longer. The Supreme Chancellor had completely shielded off his mind, and all Adi could find was a sinister fog that obscured everything within.

For an utterly fleeting moment, Palpatine’s irises flicked to her, then back to Valiant. The Tholothian Jedi Master’s flowing head tendrils stilled, her lips thinning to a pale sliver. Shaak Ti moved, the Togruta Jedi soundlessly gliding away under the guise of conferring with a shocktrooper captain, but in reality flanking into the Supreme Chancellor’s blindside. Adi Gallia doubted the Chancellor didn’t notice; but if he did, he made no show of it.

“Forgive me, Commander,” the Supreme Chancellor demurred, placing a hand over his chest, “You must understand, my schedule has been filled for quite some time, and I am astonishingly busy these recent days. The Works, you say? The name is of some passing familiarity–may I ask you to… jog my memory? Is it on Coruscant?”

Adi Gallia almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“Your Excellency,” Captain Dyne spoke up from right behind her, holding onto his datapad with an iron grip, “The Works is an industrial arcology just southwest of the Senate District, and next to the Fobosi District. I believe you would recognise it by its administrative name: Dacho District. Republic Intelligence had recently submitted a memorandum to you, detailing a possible Separatist cell in the Works. You had personally approved the investigation.”

The Chancellor’s eyes widened in surprise, “I see. And I presume this is that very investigation… but to lead you here of all places…. I hate to discredit your team, Captain, but are you certain you haven’t missed anything?”

It was hard to ignore the blatant self-doubt Captain Dyne wore on his sleeve, the prior confidence he had in his team and equipment seemingly vanishing into thin air. He was, after all, accusing the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic of high treason, no matter how diplomatically he worded it. Despite all available evidence pointing this way, Captain Dyne struggled to articulate his certainty.

ARC Commander Valiant didn’t.

“The Jedi Generals asked you a question, Your Excellency,” Valiant’s gloved finger rested on his blaster’s safety, “Answer it.”

Irritation flashed through the Chancellor’s expression again, evidently incensed by the ARC Commander’s failure to buy into his misdirection. At that moment, not even the Jedi Masters could predict how Palpatine would react–but after a second’s hesitation, all of his facade’s dropped. The Supreme Chancellor slumped, heaving a great exasperation as any and all lightheartedness disappeared from his aged countenance.

And for the first time, the Dark Lord of the Sith uncaged his true character.

“So what if I–or any of my staff–did?” the Sith Lord drawled, a terrible flame drawing to his eyes, “What does it matter?”

In a single swift motion, Jedi Master Adi Gallia snatched her lightsaber from her waist. The sound of clicking metal filled the suite as over a dozen Jedi Knights followed her lead. At the Sith Lord’s flank, Shaak Ti was a crouched tiger, still and unmoving as she tracked her quarry’s every move. Valiant and his commandos hefted their blasters in surprise; not even they could scarcely imagine the blatant–

“Is that an admission of guilt, Chancellor?” Captain Dyne blurted in shock.

Commander Valiant pushed his way forward, having already come to his conclusion. He produced a pair of stun-cuffs from his utility belt, “We’re taking you in, Chancellor, as well as everybody who frequents this place, including staff and caretakers. Homeworld Security will be securing this apartment until the investigation is completed.”

The Sith Lord’s lips twisted into a derisive snort, “I think not, Commander.”

Valiant was frozen–bang! The doors behind them were smashed open, and the two Red Guards posted outside crashed into the carpeted entrance, tackled by a squad of ARC troopers, their weapons–ceremonial and practical–forcefully confiscated from them as stun-cuffs were slapped onto their gauntleted wrists.

“Don’t force me to do the same to you, Chancellor,” with one hand, Valiant extended the cuffs, urging the Chancellor to surrender peacefully. With the other hand, he toggled his blaster to stun mode.

“You can’t,” the Supreme Chancellor chided.

Captain Dyne tried to defuse the situation, “Your Excellency, we will follow all due processes. A Senate committee will be tasked with overseeing the–”

“No they won’t,” the Chancellor chided again, before he could even finish.

Valiant made to speak again, but before he could–

Thud!

Master Yoda slammed his wooden cane against the carpeted floor, drawing the stark attention of the entire room. The diminutive Jedi Master then lifted that cane, and jabbed its end at the Chancellor, not a single ounce of his usual whimsy present on his expression.

“Explain to us, you will,” Master Yoda ordered, “What you have done.”

Palpatine bowed mockingly, “My gratitude for permitting me to explain myself, Master Jedi.”

“Master Yoda–” Adi Gallia started.

“Listen, we should,” Master Yoda had already decided, “And learn, we must.”

The Supreme Chancellor smiled faintly, the expression not reaching his eyes as he shuffled backward. His burgundy robes whispered against the polished floor, and he extended a crooked hand in invitation. Master Yoda moved to follow, his gimer stick tapping softly against the ground. The Chancellor came to a stop with his back to the expansive permaglass window that framed the Senate District in all its nocturnal splendor.

With a deliberate step to the side, he revealed what had been concealed behind his form–the immense, ovular silhouette of the Senate Building. Its iconic dome stood out against the backdrop of Coruscant’s endless cityscape, gleaming under the lights of the Republic’s capital. Beyond it, traffic lanes shimmered like streams of liquid fire, an unceasing flow of speeders and shuttles moving to and from the Republic’s beating heart, even in the depths of night.

“Tell me,” the Chancellor began, his voice low, smooth, and laced with amusement, “Could you guess what our esteemed Senate is deliberating at this very moment?”

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. The Jedi present shifted uneasily, their discomfort palpable. But none dared to answer. Palpatine’s smile widened, a sharp glint in his eyes.

“A hearing,” he said at last, savoring the word as though it were a fine vintage. “A special session called for Chandrila and their like-minded allies.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Jedi, daring them to respond. “Could you guess the purpose of such a gathering?”

Still, no one spoke. Yoda’s ears twitched, his ancient eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded the Chancellor with quiet intensity.

Palpatine’s chuckle was soft, almost indulgent.

“A vote. A vote to end my administration,” he grinned, “A vote to end the state of emergency and force a new general election. And yet, here I am, dealing with you, and not them. Do you know why? Do you want the truth?”

Before anyone could respond, a chime echoed through the room. A nearby telescreen flickered to life, casting a pale blue glow over the gathering. All eyes turned to the screen as the emblem of the Galactic Senate appeared, followed by the stern visage of Mas Amedda, presiding over the emergency session. The telescreen was muted, but all could see the tally graphic pushed to its side, numbers climbing as the votes were counted. Red bars and blue bars surged upward, representing the opposing sides. For a moment, it seemed as though the votes to end the emergency might prevail. But then, the red overtook it, surging past with a decisive margin.

By a margin near sixty to forty, the motion fails. No sound was needed to understand the scene unfolding on the telescreen. The Senate Chamber erupted into chaos, senators rising from their seats in a mix of jubilation and outrage. Some cheered, others jeered, their voices lost in the storm of celebration and despair. The Chancellor chuckled softly, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. He turned back to the Jedi, his expression one of feigned humility.

“And there it is,” he said, casually gesturing to the screen, “The will of the Senate. The voice of the people.”

His laughter deepened, more like a crackling ember, and he turned his gaze to the vast permaglass window behind him. With deliberate precision, he raised his hand, cupping his fingers slightly. From the Jedi’s perspective, it appeared as though he held the Senate Building itself in the palm of his hand.

But he did not linger, next gesturing toward a towering megastructure beyond the Senate dome.

“Behold,” he murmured, his voice taking on a conspiratorial edge, “the Galactic Courts. Tell me, do you know how many justices on the Supreme Court I’ve personally appointed?”

He allowed their imagination to answer, shifting his crooked finger to point at another skyscraper.

“And there,” he said, almost lazily, “The HoloCommunications Commission. A fine building, though I fear it has been all but absorbed by Homeworld Security. How much of that Senate hearing do you think the galaxy saw? Only what I wanted them to see, I assure you.”

Palpatine turned back to face the Jedi, his smile widening. He stepped deliberately into the center of their view, once again obscuring the glowing Senate Building.

“Media. Law. Justice,” he said, his voice dropping to a silken whisper, “Every pillar of this Republic now answers to me.”

He spread his arms wide, the gesture almost inviting, though his tone dripped with triumph, “Isn’t it magnificent? My suite offers the perfect view, don’t you think? A fitting vantage point for my great work.”

He stepped closer, taunting them with his truth:

“Every institution, every structure beneath your feet, now bends to my will. You see, Masters,” he said, his smile hardening into something sharper, colder, “You are far too late to stop what I have set in motion.”

Master Yoda’s cane tapped softly against the floor, the sound booming in the charged silence of the room. He looked up at the Chancellor, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of centuries.

“Forgotten one, you have,” Yoda scolded the most powerful man in the galaxy like a parent admonishing their child, “The Jedi Temple. So long as the Jedi exist, justice will be upheld. If the Senate is unable, if the Courts are unable, then that duty will fall onto us. The future is not yours, yet. Not if anything to say about it, we have.”

“Ah, the Jedi Temple,” the Dark Lord of the Sith mused, his voice dripping with mockery, “A monument to outdated ideals, a crumbling bastion of your legacy. You cling to it as though it could shield you from the inevitable. You speak of justice, but what justice is left when every institution, every seat of power, bends to my will? The courts, the legislation, the media–they are all mine. I am the Republic.”

“And if you dare move against me–” he claimed, voice rising, “–you betray the Republic itself.”

Master Yoda’s green lightsaber ignited. That collective hum of lightsabers igniting filled the room as Adi Gallia, Shaak Ti, and a dozen more Knights all activated their blades, their faces set with grim determination. The room was bathed in the eerie glow of blue and green light, shadows flickering against the walls.

The commandos and shocktroopers had all taken the cue from their Jedi Generals, faceless soldiers with weapons raised against the Supreme Chancellor. Captain Dyne and his operatives had retreated to the rear of the room, escaping out of harm’s way as they attempted to contact Republic Intelligence.

“We serve the Galactic Republic,” Adi Gallia levelled her blade at the Sith Lord, “Not your twisted version of it.”

“At an end, your rule is,” Master Yoda declared, “Before it even began.”

Palpatine’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowed into yellow slits.

“Then you are enemies of this Republic,” the Supreme Chancellor announced, “Commander Valiant, the Jedi Order is attempting to stage a coup.”

Valiant blatantly aimed his blaster at the Chancellor, “What are you–!?”

“By the authority of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic: Execute Order Sixty-Six.”

⁂

Bode Akuna strode through the stark, sterile halls of Republic Intelligence, his boots echoing faintly against the polished durasteel floors. At this time of night, the building was usually relatively quiet, with most of the staff off their shifts and sound asleep. Not for this night, however; not for this recent month. As the nexus point of all intelligence flowing in and out of Coruscant, it was no exaggeration to say the Republic Intelligence HQ was the brainstem of the Galactic Republic.

The halls of Republic Intelligence were alive with a subdued hum, a murmur of voices layered over the rhythmic clatter of boots and the occasional chime of datapads. The usual tide of chatter carried rumors, and while it wasn’t the frenetic energy of peak operational hours, the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable.

Whispers of the Expeditionary Fleet’s battle over Serenno had rippled through the ranks, while the sting operation in the Works was the talk of the more action-oriented agents–an ambitious effort to dismantle a suspected Separatist cell linked to the recent satellite terror attacks. And then there was the Senate hearing, the event casting the longest shadow of all.

Chancellor Palpatine, voted out of power?

The thought lingered in Bode Akuna’s mind like an uninvited guest. The idea seemed absurd, almost laughable. Chancellor Palpatine–the man who had not only consolidated their war effort but expanded Republic Intelligence into the behemoth it was today–toppled by a vote? Impossible.

Bode navigated the corridors, weaving through clusters of analysts and junior operatives exchanging whispered speculations in safety of Republic Intelligence’s isolated walls. His steps seemed purposeful, but his mind wandered. For all the rumors flying around, one thing was clear: the Chancellor’s machine was far too entrenched to be undone by a Senate session. The Chancellor had thousands of agents at his disposal, men and women like Bode but not like Bode, who ensured that dissenting voices were quieted and critical votes secured. Whether through persuasion, coercion, or the occasional veiled threat, Republic Intelligence made certain the Chancellor’s grip remained unbroken.

It’s not a question of whether he wins the vote, Bode thought, but by how much.

He passed a holoterminal displaying a muted feed from the Senate Chamber, where senators gesticulated passionately. Even without sound, the tension on the display was palpable. Bode didn’t need to hear their words to know the arguments being made. Freedom versus security. Democracy versus control. The same old song, just a different verse. Was the vote already over? It seemed so. He wondered about the outcome, not loitering long enough to catch the details from the display he just passed.

The thought didn’t linger–replaced by an acute sense of unease creeping up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing upright. A premonition of danger all Jedi possessed. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Bode’s commlink buzzed against his belt. He slowed, glancing at the identification code. His eyes narrowed.

Adi Gallia.

Bode resisted the urge to look around, taking the call as casually as he could. Nothing to see here, his relaxed gait seemed to say, just business as usual. In his Republic Intelligence uniform, he blended right in. As subtly as he could, he turned down the first quiet corridor he found.

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Only then did he actually answer.

“Master?”

“Delete– this!” her voice came through in bursts, fractured and chaotic, underscored by the unmistakable sounds of battle–lightsabers shrieking, blaster fire ricocheting, and distant shouts, “Palpatine– Order Sixty-Six!”

Bode froze, the words striking like a physical blow.

“–have time!” she tried to say, “–stop– warn–! –satellite–!”

Her response was garbled, interrupted by a muffled crash and shouting.

“Not yet–transmitted!” she shouted, “–PRIESTESS–!”

The connection cut. Bode breathed out.

And crushed the comlink in his fist.

Then he took off towards a particular wing of Republic Intelligence, where he would find the ground terminals for the military satellites up above. He knew the place by heart; after all the central operating centre was one of the places he had to scout in order to pull off the very stunt that installed PRIESTESS in place. His mind was already piecing together the discordant information Master Gallia had imparted in haste, and mapping it to a greater plan.

This was why Adi Gallia had me on standby here at this ungodly time of night after all.

Two security guards stood at attention by the entrance to the restricted wing, their gazes sharp as Bode approached. Without hesitation, he inserted his clearance code cylinder into the dataport embedded in the wall panel. The soft hum of the terminal processing his credentials filled the silence as the guards exchanged a quick glance. Bode broke the tension with a friendly smile.

“Sorry about this,” he said casually, his tone disarming, “I know the graveyard shift’s supposed to be quiet.”

One of the guards shrugged, his posture relaxing slightly, “Better than just standing around.”

The other, more curious, tilted his head. “What brings you here, sir? My apologies if it’s classified–”

“Oh, nothing that sensitive,” Bode waved the question away with a dismissive gesture, “Managed to find a lead on the satellite case. I’m just here to verify some data for my report.”

The second guard’s eyes widened. “The satellite case? That’s big. Are you sure you can be–”