Chuck, a clone commando and platoon commander, stepped into the cabin where the soldiers of his unit were stationed. The compartment was quiet. Several troopers lay on their bunks resting, while Drew sat hunched over a small table, carefully servicing his carbine.
When their commander entered, the men straightened and saluted without leaving their seats.
The RC clone nicknamed Yurgo broke the silence.
"Chuck, how's the general?"
"No change," Chuck replied, squeezing into a chair. "Commander Tano is monitoring his condition."
Yurgo frowned slightly.
"No, I mean… have you seen his armor?"
Ex immediately leaned forward.
"I don't dispute that our Katarn armor has better internal systems," he said, clearly still thinking about it, "but those built-in energy shields… I've never seen anything like that."
Kago snorted from his bunk.
"Who cares? Our job is to destroy the enemy before they even know what's happening."
He shrugged.
"Didn't help him much though."
A few troopers exchanged glances.
"Yeah," Drew muttered quietly. "They beat him up pretty badly."
One of the clones waved a dismissive hand.
"Come on. He's a Jedi. They're tough as nails. He'll take a bacta bath and be back on his feet in no time."
Chuck didn't answer.
But deep down, he hoped they were right.
---
### Coruscant – The Chancellor's Office
The Chancellor's main office was located on the lower level of the Galactic Senate dome. However, it was rarely quiet there. The halls were constantly flooded with petitions, demands, political arguments, and endless state affairs.
Because of that, Chancellor Palpatine preferred to use his private office upstairs for more delicate matters.
Small adjoining rooms nearby served as places for meals or brief moments of rest.
At this moment, Palpatine sat alone at a dining table in one of those rooms.
He moved his cutlery slowly and with perfect elegance. The food was exquisite.
Yet his mood was far from pleasant.
The Senate.
Endless speeches. Endless debates. Delegates spouting empty rhetoric while pretending to serve the Republic.
How he would love to raze the entire chamber to the ground… wipe it from the face of Coruscant and send every last one of those windbags to the spice mines of Kessel.
Though, truth be told, most of them were incapable of doing anything beyond arguing.
The door suddenly slid open with a quiet hiss.
Sly Moore stepped inside.
Palpatine immediately set down his fork and knife.
Very few people were permitted to interrupt his meals.
If it was the Umbaran… the news was certainly worth hearing.
She said nothing.
Instead, she allowed herself the faintest smile—something so rare that Palpatine noticed it instantly.
Without a word, she activated the holovisor and began switching channels. When she found the one she wanted, she moved behind the Chancellor and gently placed her pale hands on his shoulders.
Palpatine looked at the screen.
And for a moment—even for him—surprise flickered.
A duel.
A Jedi…
And a Sith.
He recognized the woman immediately.
Asajj Ventress.
A Dathomirian witch and Count Dooku's new apprentice.
Twin curved lightsabers gleamed in her hands.
But the Jedi…
That was far more interesting.
Blue-silver armor.
A helmet that concealed his face.
For a moment Palpatine wondered if the warrior belonged to the ancient Jedi Guardians.
But the blade was blue—not the traditional yellow.
Interesting.
The duel continued.
Palpatine's trained eye immediately noticed flaws in both fighters. Their movements lacked refinement. Their forms were imperfect.
Like children compared to true masters.
Still…
Ventress fought with confidence and aggression.
And yet—
In the end…
The Jedi killed her.
Palpatine sighed softly.
"Such a shame."
It seemed Count Dooku had chosen the wrong apprentice.
Or perhaps he was not training them properly.
Then something happened on the recording.
Green lightning erupted from the Jedi's body.
Palpatine froze.
Green.
Not blue.
Not violet.
Green.
His mind raced instantly.
Impossible.
Life after death was impossible.
Yet the Jedi had survived burns that should have killed him.
And that lightning…
Palpatine possessed countless Sith holocrons and ancient records. Knowledge gathered across centuries.
But even with that knowledge…
This should not have been possible.
How?
He tapped his fingers slowly against the table.
I must contact Dooku. He may know something about this.
Still…
The plan remained in motion.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The Jedi had clearly been weak.
But there was something interesting about him.
Sidious's sharp gaze had already identified several techniques hidden within the duel.
Moving Meditation.
Breath Control.
Even the early foundations of Battle Meditation.
The Jedi had only scratched the surface of these disciplines.
But the fact that he had used every skill available just to survive…
That intrigued him.
Darth Sidious felt a small flicker of anticipation.
This Jedi was not as simple as he appeared.
Out of the corner of his eye, Palpatine saw Sly Moore's reflection in the polished surface of a nearby fixture.
She was smiling faintly.
She had clearly watched the recording already… and was enjoying his reaction.
Palpatine snorted quietly.
Then he returned his full attention to the screen, studying every detail.
Sly Moore reached across the table, picked up one of the blo'ku fruits, and slowly turned it in her hand.
She shut down the holovisor.
Taking a slow bite of the fruit, she looked at the Chancellor one last time.
Then she silently left the room.
Palpatine remained alone.
Immediately, two voices began arguing within his mind.
The Sith.
And the politician.
*Can this be used?*
Undoubtedly.
*Is he of interest to us?*
Yes.
*A threat?*
Definitely not.
Too weak.
*Should he be destroyed?*
There is always time for that.
*Could he be useful?*
Too little information.
Palpatine reached for the comm switch.
His secretary appeared almost instantly.
A Rodian.
"Remind me," Palpatine said calmly, "was the Director of the Intelligence Bureau scheduled for a briefing today?"
"Yes, Chancellor. Director Isard is already in the building."
"Excellent."
Palpatine folded his hands.
"Send him in."
---
Moments later, Palpatine stood beside the large panoramic window of his office. The view over the Senate District was impressive, though the office itself was far too small for his liking.
It had belonged to the previous Chancellor—Finis Valorum.
A spineless fool.
And the building itself felt like a relic of a fading era.
Not the command center of a future Empire.
Perhaps one day he would build something new.
A new complex.
A new seat of power.
Something worthy of the Order he intended to create.
The door opened.
A young man entered.
Twenty-three years old. Black hair. Blue eyes. An otherwise ordinary appearance.
But anyone with knowledge of the Republic government knew his name.
Armand Isard.
Director of the Republic Intelligence Bureau.
And one of the few men completely loyal to the Chancellor.
"Chancellor," Isard said respectfully, bowing his head.
"Have you prepared the report on Mirgoshir?" Palpatine asked.
"Yes, Chancellor. Our agents have discovered several factories producing combat droids on Agamar. Estimated productivity exceeds—"
Palpatine listened carefully as the report continued, committing every important detail to memory.
Isard had proven extremely effective since his appointment.
Under Valorum, the Bureau had been sluggish and incompetent.
Now it functioned with precision.
When the report ended, Palpatine spoke casually.
"Have you seen the latest news?"
Isard nodded.
"Yes, Chancellor. I saw nothing remarkable—aside from the death of a new Separatist mercenary and what appears to be another victory for the Jedi Order."
Palpatine smiled faintly.
"Nevertheless… I have a task for you."
Isard waited patiently.
"Find out everything you can about this Jedi."
Isard nodded immediately.
"We will need a few days. During the next briefing, I will present you with all available information."
"Excellent."
Isard bowed and quietly left the office.
Palpatine returned to the window.
His mind continued to dissect the puzzle piece by piece.
He had loved riddles since childhood.
But what he loved even more…
Was solving them.