Chapter 27 (Patreon)

I liked the opera. I liked the Supreme Chancellor as well. A warm, personable sort of man—or at least that was how he presented himself. He came across as an engaging conversationalist who knew a great deal about the galaxy, and he spoke without the slightest trace of arrogance or condescension.

We talked about all sorts of things: interesting species and peoples, their customs, their physiology—in broad strokes, of course. We also touched briefly on democracy as a form of government. I tried not to criticize it too harshly, but Dozdronogul take me! Democracy is wonderful, of course. Just like any other form of government. From communism to tyranny. Every last one of them can work beautifully—provided the sentients at the top are actually interested in the welfare of their state and its people.

I genuinely liked Sheev Palpatine. The reforms he had set in motion were grinding forward with difficulty, mostly because of resistance from certain blocs in the Senate, but I believed they would prove beneficial in the long run. I had prepared carefully for this meeting, going through both the material Alto’s headquarters had sent me from Jabiim and a good deal of what was publicly available on the HoloNet.

So, once he got past the less-than-stellar first impression caused by my “good-natured” smile, I did my best to make my attitude clear.

Of course, I didn’t go overboard with the groveling either. No point in making myself look like some court sycophant. But on behalf of the JMG, for as long as I remained its leader, I promised full support. At the very least, we could outfit the entire Senate Guard with some decent “gear,” as they call it in the game I often waste my free time on. And it didn’t matter if the guards already had technological equivalents. We could supply the cheaper versions of our adaptive-protection amulets at practically cost price.

Not on the same level as the one I’d made for the Chancellor, of course—that one used a fragment of Crystal Dragon bone as its reservoir—but genuinely high-quality amulets were well within our means. Nimbus was already being equipped with them, along with the boarding and counter-boarding teams of our small fleet.

We could have given them away for free, of course, but there were too few of us, and working at a loss while the Guild was still in its infancy... not exactly a brilliant idea. Besides, an offer like that would look far too much like a bribe—and look like I was trying to kiss their ass so hard I might as well crawl right up it.

I also gave him a couple of books by Emperor Vivec the First. And the only one, yep. The dark elf has been successfully ruling a small continent closer to the center of the shell for several thousand years now. A fairly wise pointy-ear and a good ruler, practically worshipped by his subjects. And really, what else are you supposed to give a politician? A collection of fairy tales about insane golden-eyed spellcasters?

There was just one thing... something about the Supreme Chancellor felt off. I wasn’t about to brazenly scan him with Master Windu standing right there, and besides, who knew what sort of security measures the ruler of this world employed? None of my business. Even so, a faint sense that something didn’t quite add up kept nagging at me the entire time I was around Palpatine. Hopefully my puzzled glances hadn’t spoiled the impression I made.

As for the opera itself... Well, what can I say? If Twi’leks are magnificent dancers, then this place had gathered the aurodium voices of the galaxy. More than once, I became so absorbed in listening that I lost touch with reality for tens of minutes at a stretch. I was even a little disappointed when I realized the performance would be ending soon. Very, very impressive. Next time I’m on Coruscant, I’ll make a point of coming back.

By the way, I spotted that same Alderaanian there—the one who’d pulled a face at Suti—and gave him a broad smile without the slightest embarrassment. Even gave him a little wave. Heh. The way his face twisted at that was absolutely priceless.

Sheev Palpatine loved the opera. In fact, it was one of the few places where he could truly relax and, for a little while at least, escape the burdens of his work—both public and otherwise. And today, his rare respite had been thoroughly spoiled. Ironically enough, he had no one to blame but himself.

The Supreme Chancellor’s secret alter ego preferred not to think of himself as a spider or a puppeteer. He liked the idea of a conductor far better. A flick of the baton, and the musicians followed his will. Their talents were extraordinary, undeniably vital to the performance—but only he, the conductor, kept the beautiful music from dissolving into cacophony. Each performer played their own part, yet only the Sith Lord could see the whole composition, guiding it with light, effortless motions and conducting the exquisite symphony of democracy’s decay.

Innocent hints that forged alliances. Words that seemed meaningless at first glance, yet shattered friendships that had endured for millennia. Speeches that made even the staunchest supporters of the Republic begin to doubt, while those already wavering cast aside their hesitation and crossed over to his side. Promises that, once fulfilled, benefited no one but him, leaving those who thought they had won the game looking like fools.

Alongside those delicate strokes of masterful finesse came slaughter, bloody clashes between corporations and minor factions, acts of genocide, slave trading, narcotics in all their varieties, contract killings, and, from time to time, more personal... outings.

And all of it hidden behind a façade of democracy and equality. The screams of rage, the groans of agony, the dying shrieks—all drowned out by the background music of the Senate, a score composed of hypocritical talk of peace and lies about love, honesty, and the common good. A “thousand years of peace” that was, in truth, filled with hundreds of conflicts—some smoldering, others raging in earnest—feeding rivers of blood into the grinding machinery that was tearing down both the state itself and the reputation of its supposed protector: the Jedi Order.

The Republic was a festering, stinking tumor on the body of the galaxy. A polity created as a panacea for all the ills of sentient life, only to become a plague in its own right. And the Jedi, having willingly surrendered the reins of the state, had spent the past millennium turning themselves into little more than the Senate’s mutts.

He would have liked to take credit for it, but that would not have been true, and lying to oneself was a straight road to the grave. One could take endless pride in one’s own accomplishments, but never allow that pride to obscure the reality of the situation. In a game with stakes this high, blindness was utterly unacceptable.

The Republic had become what it was thanks to a thousand years of work by those who came before him. Yes, Sidious was the one tasked with bringing the final stage of that long plan to fruition, but without the Baneite Sith who preceded him—his Master, his Master’s Master, and all the way back to Darth Bane himself—the current Sith Lord would have had far fewer opportunities and far less room to maneuver.

But even that was not the whole truth. The Sith’s greatest ally had been democracy itself. Rule by the people. A wonderful form of government. Pure, proper, rational... provided that those who ruled in the name of that very people remembered to think about them once in a while.

And the Jedi... the Order had simply gone soft. A thousand years of supposed peace had given them exactly what they had wanted: calm, stability, serenity. In the process, they had buried themselves in traditions and rules. Sheev had read old records of the wars that once tore through the galaxy—conflicts so bloody that the Jedi Knights of those eras sounded less like peacekeepers and more like monsters bred for war. Guardians of peace who had once carried the Light Side at the tips of their lightsabers, showing no mercy when none was called for, had become rigid traditionalists. Even during the ancient wars against the Sith, the Chancellor had thought them too constrained by their own rules. Now they were worse by far.

To be honest, Palpatine was convinced that even without the Sith, events would ultimately have followed much the same course. Without those like him to hasten the process, it would simply have taken longer to reach the same end. His only real doubt was whether the Republic could have weathered the coming crisis and survived in some altered form—or whether it would instead have broken apart into hundreds, perhaps thousands, of fragments.

The orchestra was playing the music of the Republic’s twilight, but today the Chancellor had been reminded that there was more to the performance than orchestra and conductor. There was an audience as well—watching from the galleries, following every movement, weighing what they saw, and passing judgment on the performance as it unfolded.

It was no revelation to the Sith Lord that remnants of old Sith organizations still lingered across the galaxy. All manner of sects, secret orders and not-so-secret ones, societies, clans, and assorted little circles of like-minded enthusiasts.

One representative of just such a “little circle” was sitting beside him now. This red-eyed piece of rancor shit had ignored every rule of decorum, barged into his private box with all the grace of a drunken bantha, and ruined the Chancellor’s rare night off with a mocking smile on his face. Never mind that Palpatine himself had wanted this meeting with... Siith.

At first, Palpatine had doubted it. Surely the Jedi could not be such complete imbeciles that they would look at a sentient practically screaming his connection to the Sith and decide he was something else entirely.

As it turned out... they could.

They really were that stupid.

While concealing himself in the Force, Sidious found it difficult to tell exactly what he was dealing with. But everything—absolutely everything—pointed to the same conclusion. No, screamed it.

They were introducing him to a Dark Side Force-user.

And the most astonishing part was that it was the Jedi doing the introducing. Not just any Jedi, either, but one of the Order’s own Masters—Mace Windu himself.

This was no opera. The Sith Lord felt as though he had been dragged into some absurd stage comedy—a ridiculous play directed by an idiot.

“The name is merely similar, Supreme Chancellor. The Council is confident that Master Siith has no connection to the Sith.”

And all the while, the sorcerer in question stood there wearing that vile smile of his. Red eyes, black irises and pupils, watching Palpatine with an odd mixture of mocking good humor and some puzzling doubt, while that jeering grin seemed to say, Just look at them, colleague. What a pack of idiots.

He had even apologized for the smile.

“Can’t help it, Chancellor. It just sort of happens.”

Deep down, beneath Sheev’s carefully cultivated curiosity and warmth, two emotions were fighting for dominance: fury and admiration.

The sheer audacity of it. No—that wasn’t enough.

THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING AUDACITY.

Mockery of the highest order. His fellow servant of the Dark Side was practically laughing in the Jedi’s faces, all while casting the Baneite*—playing the part of the benevolent democrat—a look of mild surprise.

And then this “Master Siith” handed him his little “gifts.” As the sorcerer described the capabilities of the “adaptive-protection amulet,” the Chancellor had to make a tremendous effort to stay in character. A treasure. An artifact of power. An extraordinarily potent tool. Or an exquisitely crafted trap. According to the sorcerer, the rather substantial amulet—some ten centimeters across, with a blood-red stone set at its center—was the equivalent of a battleship’s armor and shields combined. For a short while, admittedly...

According to Siith, the amulet could be “recharged” by Jedi, and Master Windu confirmed it, adding that the charging process itself might take several days. The sorcerer gave a mournful sigh at that, and when the dark-skinned man gave him a questioning look, offered the rather cryptic explanation, “Still, that’s fast. I’m jealous.”

But it was the two books that made the deepest impression of all—and finally hardened the Sith Lord’s suspicions about the sorcerer’s true nature into certainty. Even now, with the voices of his favorite opera singers washing past him almost unheard, Sidious found his thoughts returning to them again and again.

The titles alone made him want to growl and laugh at the same time: The Eternal Empire: The First Millennium of Rule Is the Hardest and The Means of Attaining Power as the Means of Achieving One’s Goal. The author’s name—there was only one—meant nothing to the Sith, but those titles... How did this Siith know? An acquaintance of his Master’s? But Plagueis had never once mentioned anyone like that.

And then there were the conversations. “I’m very glad to meet you, Supreme Chancellor! At last the Republic has a leader who actually thinks about the outlying systems. Know that Jabiim stands with you. So does the Guild. So do I, and so does our Commander-in-Chief, Stratus.” Those words had eased some of Palpatine’s anger and confusion. What followed, however, was another matter entirely.

The suspiciously well-informed Force-user was making it perfectly clear that he was no enemy of the Sith Lord, and the words, “If you ever need the Guild’s help, don’t hesitate. For you, we’ll charge the absolute minimum,” suggested that this unknown sect was open to cooperation. But... that only infuriated Palpatine. The absolute minimum? The sheer insolence of it. Even allowing for Jedi Master Windu’s presence during the conversation, it was an astonishing lack of deference. Not we will support you with everything we have, but a straightforward business arrangement.

Now the Supreme Chancellor, pretending to be absorbed in the performance on the opera stage, was trying to work out who this sorcerer really was—and why he behaved with such... yes. Such incredible AUDACITY. Who stood behind Siith? Who? Palpatine was almost certain the sorcerer was merely a front, just as Dooku was for him. So who was the mysterious sentient conducting the sorcerer from behind the scenes?

The most improbable possibilities flashed through the Sith Lord’s mind. Orn Free Taa, the senator from Ryloth? The red-eyed sorcerer had visited his world not long ago. Jabba Desilijic Tiure? The sorcerer had recently been on Tatooine, where that Hutt’s kajidic held sway, and had bought the Chosen One’s mother out of slavery. Gardulla Besadii the Elder? Another Hutt, one who shared power on Tatooine? The idea of those slugs as Force-sensitives would have been laughable if Palpatine hadn’t known that, throughout history, there had been Hutts among both the Jedi and the Sith. And not weak ones, either.

Who else? Bail Prestor Organa of Alderaan, whom the red-eyed sorcerer had briefly met—an encounter that left Organa spitting about “the Jabiimite slaveholder they let onto Coruscant”? He seemed the least likely possibility of all... Although... no. Mon Mothma of Chandrila was even less likely! But that last thought was already bordering on outright absurdity.

What power stood behind Siith? How much stronger was his Guild than they claimed? How much did they know? What were they planning? And what, exactly, was Palpatine supposed to do about it? Why did they need Anakin Skywalker’s mother? On the one hand, it was clear enough that these “Jabiimite mages” supported his plans. On the other, they had no intention whatsoever of bending the knee.

And that, too, had been stated almost outright. “I kneel only before the Goddess,” the sorcerer had declared when Palpatine had touched in passing on the rules governing suzerain-vassal relations on one of the Outer Rim worlds. The Jabiim Mages’ Guild—or JMG, as “Master Siith” called it—had no intention of becoming his subjects. At least, not on conventional terms.

So there he was, left to wonder. Was the sorcerer waiting for him to gain greater power, or did he want a partnership of equals?... Grinding him into dust was certainly an option. But was it really? That amulet. If Siith was willing to give away an artifact that valuable, what did he keep for himself? And personal protection was hardly the only way to safeguard oneself. Information bombs waiting to go off? Trusted agents? How much did he actually know about Palpatine’s affairs? If he died, would another “sorcerer” appear—one far less favorably disposed toward the Chancellor? And whoever stood behind all this had played it beautifully. They had drawn attention to Siith, maneuvered him into a meeting with Palpatine... all without pressing the issue, begging for an audience, or appearing to seek one at all.

Their puppet, Stratus, had casually let slip a few remarks about how things on Jabiim were no longer quite so dire. Then came reports of some Jabiimite sorcerer helping the Jedi, killing Morgukai, capturing a cruiser with a crew of more than three hundred with a party of just four, establishing contact with the Republic’s guardians... and calmly walking out of the Jedi Temple practically as a “friend of the Order.” And all of this not over decades, but within the span of a single year!

And meanwhile, the red-eyed asshole in Sith robes was practically laughing at everyone around him without even pretending otherwise. “The difference between humans and nonhumans? An autopsy will tell.” And Master Windu answered that with a strained smile and, “Master, save your sense of humor for Master Rancisis.” Rancors up everyone’s asses, was this some kind of joke? These were the Jedi—the self-proclaimed guardians of peace, champions of restraint, morality, all that sanctimonious crap—and one of their Masters was smiling while a sorcerer joked about cutting sentients open. Jedi?!! Fucking Jedi! The man was all but announcing that he intended to dissect people, and your response was to indulge his sense of humor? What in the ever-loving hell was wrong with you people?

And now the bastard was baring his teeth at Bail Organa too. Though... Organa irritated Sidious as well, so by all means, let the red-eyed freak wave at him. Just look at the Alderaanian’s jaw working. Petty, perhaps, but satisfying. Still, Palpatine doubted the senator had anything to do with this. If Organa and Siith were on the same side, surely the sorcerer wouldn’t be stupid enough to draw attention to him so openly.

Would he?

Author’s Note:

Baneite* — a follower of Darth Bane’s teachings; that is, a Sith belonging to the Rule of Two lineage: one Master and one apprentice.