Interlude: Palpatine (Patreon)

Interlude:

Palpatine

A clone army.

For the Jedi.

His first instinct had been concern, of course. Wiping out the Jedi was already becoming more and more complicated by the day as they expanded across the galaxy with new enclaves and a surge in recruits, even raising the age limitation that had stood for centuries.

He would be flattered if it wasn’t so vexing.

But a clone army… that had not been in his plans.

Then he realized whose plans they fell into.

His Master had been clever indeed. And his wealth was put to good use before his death.

Of course, said untimely death had put something of a wrinkle on the final design. The first two generations of clones were devoid of any type of control device that he’d already confirmed could be implanted into the little puppets while they were young.

But, two generations was easy enough to be rid of in the war to come. Their numbers would be culled soon enough.

Obligated as they were to report this egregious crime and violation against the laws and reformations of the Republic, the insipid Jedi didn’t realize they’d handed him the keys to expedite their deaths.

And the means by which to eliminate a potential threat.

Sifo-Dyas.

Such prodigious gifts of foresight were rare, and not something even he could fully guard against perfectly.

He needed to be eliminated.

As the floating dais rose into the center of the Senate Chamber, Palpatine let his eyes scan the notables, who even now were speaking in agitated, hushed tones to their fellows on their respective senator platforms.

Organa. Always irritatingly idealistic, but powerful. An unwitting and staunch ally now. Amidala as well, so young. So naive and trusting.

Taa, the useful imbecile. Led by his nose. Foods, whores, wealth. He was as gluttonous as he was stupid, and could be made to support anything… or oppose anything.

Mothma of Chandrila. Intelligent, even shrewd, but like Bail and Naberrie, she trusted him.

Fang Zar, far more shrewd and not nearly as taken in by the kindness of the Chancellor. The man stared down from his elevated platform, eyes as sharp as an Onderonian hawk.

And finally, Satine of Mandalore. Oh, Tal Merrik was their senator, but that was nominal.

No. The true authority was the one to Satine’s right, opposite to Merrik on her left.

Alexandria.

The woman’s face was as cold as her icy presence in the Force, but her eyes were fixed on him, even at this distance.

She knew, and the thought almost made the mask slip; almost made him smile in amusement, knowing there was nothing she could do about it.

Beside him, Amedda’s staff banged loudly against the steel of the dais; three times the heavy metal struck, its sounds amplified, reverberating through the dome like chamber, each intonation echoing until all the senators were silent.

“We now bring to the floor the matter regarding the Jedi criminal, Sifo-Dyas, and his violation of the laws of the Republic.”

“That is a kind way of saying he created a slave army!”

It was Kharrus, the Gran Senator, that barked the condemnation, his fellows erupting in noise and clamor.

Mas Amedda struck the staff against the dais again. “ORDER!” his attendant roared, his voice carrying easily over the clamor “The Senator from Kinyen is not recognized at this time.”

Kharrus tried to say something else, but his microphone was already silenced, his voice now a shrill squeak echoing down from the rafters above.

Amedda turned his attention upwards: “The Floor recognizes the senator from Alderaan.”

Bail stood from his seat, nervous but firm. A succinct summary of the fool’s entire existence.

He was the leader of this faction. Alderaan was, after all, one of the most influential political entities in the galaxy, and Bail himself was nauseatingly good willed and kind hearted. The role fit him perfectly.

“We are gathered in the Senate today, as the honorable Vice Chair has said, to judge Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas for the… following crimes,” he paused to clear his throat, and Palpatine could see that the man was still shocked, still trying to grapple with the enormity of this whole thing. “Two hundred million counts of illegal cloning, with conspiracy to commit more. Credit, banking, insurance, tax and money laundering fraud estimated in the value of… several hundred quintillion credits…”

There was a ripple of shocked horror from many senators. Again, Palpatine had to fight down the smirk.

His Master’s fortune was truly gargantuan, more than most planets even, but the sheer depths of the financial reach and power he could exert had eluded even him.

To think, with a mere word or a press of a key, Plagueis, even as a mere Banking Clan member, could have sent the galaxy into financial ruin for decades…

It was not the power of the dark side, but it carried its own thrilling sense of power nevertheless truth be told.

“Impersonating an official of the Galactic Republic, falsifying the signatures and identities of Republic Senators, destruction of public records and, of course, falsely carrying out all of his illegal activities activities under the guise of his official capacity as a Jedi Master of the Order.”

That sent the room into a cacophony of angry shouting. Whether for or against, it didn’t matter. If the urge to smile grew any stronger, he genuinely feared for his act.

Oh, what folly. For the Sith Master of the galaxy to be undone not by Jedi bravery or skill, but by how laughably stupid they were.

Eventually, the room settled back to silence and Bail Organa turned to look at him. “Before we proceed further, I’ve been informed that the Chancellor wishes to say a few words. Chancellor.”

Palpatine stood from his seat, the solemn mask of quiet severity and contemplation serving him well as he made his way towards the podium on his dais.

“Thank you, my friend,” he answered gently, reaching forward to grasp the edges of the podium, giving himself an air of almost nervous uncertainty.

“I… know it is not my place to allow my personal beliefs to dictate what occurs in these halls… I am sworn to represent the will of the Senate, to act firmly, once they have decided on a course of action. But, I pray that you’ll all forgive an old man for his soft heartedness.”

He looked down, clearing his throat as he pretended to adjust his notes on the podium.

…

“I have been told-” he began, “-many times, by my friends amongst the Jedi, that we must not act in fear, that we must not give in to anger. That we must act with prudence, not emotion. With calm, rather than with haste. And though it is deeply saddening, to see one of the Order fall so far and commit so many crimes and do so as egregiously as Master Dyas has done, I would urge this estimable body to not judge those born from these acts as you would its perpetrator.”

Murmuring voices rippled across the senators.

“The clones, born from this act… are innocent,” he implored. “They did not ask for this, to be made as a private army behooved to the service of- ” he purposely hesitated, the media would certainly fill in the averted word for him soon enough. “-our Republic.”

“They are children,” he continued, nodding. “Biologically, the oldest are no older than twelve. In terms of chronology, they have only existed for six years,” he leaned forward on the podium. “We must not treat them with the same harsh judgment this wayward Jedi would taint their image with.”

He could see many senators nodding, swayed by, if not his words, then simple math and empathy. Some were still unmoved, but it didn’t matter. He would move them if needed.

“As such, I would ask this body to pass judgment only on the criminal Jedi-” and oh, how he loved saying those words together, “-and not on those who would otherwise suffer because of him. I would venture so far as to say that we should open the arms of this Republic and embrace these children to ourselves, be they soldiers or not, and find a way to give them a place in this, our society. Thank you.”

Polite applause, a handful of enthusiastic nods. It was enough.

Soon the media would devour the speech, place his words across the length and breadth of the holo. A few key positioned catspaws would further the narrative, or fumble it as need be. The clones would find their way into society, and he would make certain they found their way as soldiers.

Good soldiers that defended the worlds of the Republic, that could do what Satine on Mandalore and her rabble rousers only preached about. Soldiers that would keep the Hutts quiet for now, and let them know that they needed to build up their strength.

Good Soldiers; that followed orders.

After all, the public needed its heroes… for now.

His eyes panned across the room again, finding Alexandria’s eyes narrowed and suspicious.

She saw him.

He let her, for just the briefest of instances.

There was little point in hiding. The woman’s memory, he knew, was impeccable. Eidetic. She would watch the recordings and find what she was looking for before too long. So why not relish it?

He offered a smile.

He’d won this round.

Why not let her know?

She sat still for a moment. Then, staring straight at him, slowly brought her hands up- and then deliberately joined in the polite applause.

—

Later, as he stepped off the docked dais, he smiled at the guest waiting for him.

“Chancellor,” Came the respectful call.

“Ahh… Jorrus,” he smiled, the barest hint of poison slithering through his voice. “My friend.”

(X)(X)(X)

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