Seriously. Have You TRIED the Cookies?

[One-who-reads]

I kept waiting for the Katana Fleet to drop out of hyperspace behind the CIS ships and just annihilate them.

 

[Mist of Shadows]

I was enjoying the story until the fucking shit with Anakin's hand. This drek needs to stop.

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 34: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The war council chamber of Sundari had been designed for diplomacy.

Tall windows. Polished stone. Gentle lighting. A circular table meant to encourage cooperation and open dialogue.

It had not been designed to host the aftermath of a battle involving Mandalorians, Jedi, Separatists, mercenaries, and an unfortunate number of explosions.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood quietly near the edge of the chamber, hands folded in his sleeves, doing his best impression of a calm and impartial observer.

It was an impression he had spent years perfecting.

Unfortunately, the Force had a way of informing him when events were about to become deeply, catastrophically complicated.

Today, the Force felt… amused.

Across the chamber, Satine Kryze stood at the center of the council table, calm and composed despite the chaos that had engulfed her world only hours earlier.

Obi-Wan admired that about her.

He admired many things about her, if he was being honest with himself.

Which he generally tried not to be.

Representatives from the Republic filled one side of the chamber—senators, advisors, military officers, and a particularly harried-looking legal attaché who appeared to have already aged several years since the battle ended.

The other side held Mandalorian leadership.

Pacifist ministers sat stiffly in their chairs, pale and shaken.

Warriors—many of them newly defected from Bo-Katan Kryze's faction—stood behind them with arms crossed and expressions that suggested they were deeply disappointed the battle had already ended.

Near the far wall stood a group of clone officers.

They stood at parade rest, identical faces calm and unreadable.

Obi-Wan found himself studying them.

There was something deeply unsettling about seeing an army of men who were, in a very literal sense, the same person.

And yet they were not.

The Force made that clear.

Each presence was distinct. Individual.

Alive.

It was a subtle distinction, perhaps. But an important one.

Which made the current political situation… complicated.

Very complicated.

Satine raised her hand slightly.

The chamber quieted.

Her voice carried easily through the room.

"Mandalore has always valued its independence."

A few Mandalorian ministers nodded vigorously.

A few warriors rolled their eyes.

Obi-Wan allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.

Diplomacy on Mandalore had always been something of an extreme sport.

"However," Satine continued, her voice firm, "the recent attack by the Confederacy of Independent Systems has made one fact abundantly clear."

A holographic projection flickered to life above the council table.

Battle footage.

Droid transports descending into Sundari.

Columns of battle droids marching through the streets.

The unmistakable mechanical forms of Separatist war machines.

Murmurs spread through the chamber.

News of the attack had already begun spreading across the Holonet.

By now, the entire galaxy likely knew the Confederacy had launched an unprovoked assault on Mandalore.

Which, Obi-Wan suspected, was not precisely how Count Dooku had intended the situation to appear.

"Neutrality," Satine finished, "is no longer a viable position."

Silence settled over the room.

Then she delivered the decision.

"Mandalore will formally rejoin the Galactic Republic."

The reactions were immediate.

The Republic delegation released a collective breath of relief so synchronized it could have been choreographed.

Several senators even applauded before remembering that applause during war councils was generally frowned upon.

The Mandalorian pacifists looked as though someone had informed them the sun would now rise in the west.

One minister clutched the edge of the table like a man attempting to remain upright during a particularly violent earthquake.

Behind them, however, several Mandalorian warriors nodded with grim satisfaction.

Finally.

Obi-Wan suspected some of them had been waiting for this moment for years.

War, regrettably, had a way of simplifying complicated political positions.

The Republic admiral seated near the center of the table cleared his throat.

"If Mandalore is rejoining the Republic," he began carefully, "then the matter of the clone army must be addressed."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly.

Yes.

That.

The admiral continued. "As you are aware, the Grand Army of the Republic is currently… undergoing a certain degree of legal uncertainty."

The harried legal advisor beside him made a small sound that might have been a sob.

Satine inclined her head slightly. "Mandalore has already addressed that matter."

A faint ripple moved through the room.

The admiral frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Satine gestured toward the group of clone officers standing near the wall. "The Mandalorian Assembly has already voted."

Obi-Wan felt a distinct disturbance in the Force.

Not dark.

Not violent.

Merely the quiet, inevitable tremor of a very large bureaucratic disaster about to occur.

"They have been granted full citizenship within Mandalorian space."

The room went silent.

Completely silent.

The Republic admiral stared.

"I'm… sorry."

He glanced at the legal advisor.

Then back at Satine.

"I'm not certain I understand."

Satine remained perfectly calm.

"The clones are not property," she said simply.

The admiral blinked.

"…not property."

"No."

He leaned back slowly in his chair.

Then, with the careful patience of a man attempting to understand a very complicated riddle, he gestured toward the clone officers.

"Then what exactly are they?"

One of the clones stepped forward.

A captain, judging by the markings on his armor.

His voice was calm.

Professional.

"Sir… soldiers."

The silence that followed lasted several seconds.

The admiral turned slowly toward the legal advisor.

The legal advisor looked like a man whose soul had just quietly left his body.

"Well," the advisor said weakly, adjusting his datapad, "if the clones are legally recognized citizens serving in a military capacity…"

He swallowed.

"…then they are entitled to the same rights afforded to all Republic soldiers."

The admiral frowned.

"What rights would those be?"

The advisor began reading from his datapad with the grim resignation of someone announcing the arrival of a meteor.

"Standard military wages."

A pause.

"Scheduled leave rotations."

Another pause.

"Medical benefits."

The admiral's eye twitched slightly.

"Retirement pensions."

The room fell silent again.

Obi-Wan slowly exhaled.

Because in that moment, he realized something remarkable.

The Republic had not merely acquired an army.

It had acquired an army of citizens.

Citizens who were now legally entitled to salaries, benefits, leave, and retirement.

And there were…

Millions of them.

Obi-Wan folded his hands calmly inside his sleeves.

Across the table, the Republic admiral had gone completely pale.

The legal advisor had begun quietly calculating something on his datapad.

Judging by the expression on his face, the results were not encouraging.

Obi-Wan gazed serenely out the chamber window toward the Mandalorian skyline.

The Clone Wars had begun.

Not with a battle.

But with a budget crisis.

...​

The palace of Sundari had always been quiet.

Peaceful.

Calm.

Bo-Katan Kryze had always hated it.

Not the architecture—she could appreciate good Mandalorian engineering when she saw it—but the quiet. The soft lighting. The clean walls. The complete and utter lack of weapons racks.

It was a palace designed by people who believed war was something that happened to other civilizations.

Which, in fairness, had been Satine Kryze's entire political philosophy for the past decade.

Bo-Katan stood awkwardly in the middle of the chamber, arms folded, weight shifted to one hip, staring at the polished floor like it had personally insulted her.

She had fought Jedi.

She had fought Death Watch traitors.

She had helped repel a full-scale Separatist invasion.

None of those things had been nearly as intimidating as standing in a room alone with her sister after several years of not speaking.

This was ridiculous.

She was a Mandalorian warrior.

She had once headbutted a man wearing a helmet.

Why was this harder?

Across the room, Satine watched her with an expression that was somewhere between fondness and concern.

Bo-Katan hated that expression.

It was the same one Satine had used when Bo-Katan was twelve and had accidentally set a speeder on fire.

"Bo," Satine said gently.

Bo-Katan cleared her throat.

"Satine."

That was it.

That was the entire opening exchange.

Several seconds passed.

Bo-Katan briefly considered diving out the nearest window.

Thankfully, the door slid open before the silence could become fatal.

Korkie Kryze wandered into the room, mid-sentence, clearly continuing a conversation he'd been having with someone in the hallway.

"—and then Ben just kicked him off the balcony."

Korkie stopped.

Looked at Bo-Katan.

Looked at Satine.

Looked back at Bo-Katan.

"Oh," he said. "Family meeting?"

Bo-Katan rubbed the back of her neck. "Something like that."

Korkie shrugged and wandered further into the room, completely unbothered by the emotional minefield he had just walked into.

To be fair, he had grown up in this family.

His survival instincts were probably highly specialized.

Satine stepped forward slowly.

For a moment, Bo-Katan thought she might start with a speech. Something diplomatic. Something political.

Instead, Satine simply pulled her into a hug.

Bo-Katan stiffened.

This was highly irregular combat behavior.

Then, after a moment, she awkwardly returned it.

The hug lasted exactly two seconds longer than Bo-Katan's comfort threshold.

Satine stepped back, studying her. Which she hated. She was a warrior, not an exhibit. "You're thinner."

Bo-Katan blinked. "I was fighting a war."

Satine nodded thoughtfully. "That would do it."

Bo-Katan shifted her weight again, suddenly aware that this was going far more smoothly than she had expected.

That was suspicious.

"Look," Bo-Katan muttered, rubbing the back of her neck again. "About the whole… joining Death Watch thing."

Satine waved a hand.

"We'll discuss it later."

Bo-Katan stared.

"You're not going to lecture me?"

"Oh, I absolutely will," Satine said calmly. "But I've been waiting years for the opportunity. I see no reason to rush it."

Bo-Katan had to admit that was fair.

Behind them, Korkie had wandered over to the refreshment table and was casually eating something while observing the situation like a spectator at a sporting event.

"This was way cooler than the last time you two talked," he commented.

Bo-Katan glanced over. "When was that?"

Korkie thought about it. "Right before you joined Death Watch."

Bo-Katan groaned.

Yes.

That had been… less productive.

Korkie leaned against the table.

"Still," he added, "it's good to see you. To see everyone, really. I missed Ben. A lot. Glad we got the chance to reconnect for a bit. It was nice seeing him kick Pre Vizsla around."

Bo-Katan snorted despite herself. "That was pretty satisfying."

"Yeah," Korkie continued cheerfully. "And it was even cooler when Ben took the Darksaber."

The room froze.

Satine's eyes narrowed slightly.

Bo-Katan slowly turned her head.

"I'm sorry," she said carefully. "What?"

Korkie blinked. "The Darksaber?" He gestured vaguely. "You know. When Ben beat Vizsla and took it."

Bo-Katan stared at him. "Huh. I must've missed that part. Or blocked it out." She then very calmly, and very slowly turned back to Satine. "I cannot believe you let a Jedi steal the Darksaber."

Satine raised an eyebrow. "That Jedi is your nephew."

Bo-Katan crossed her arms.

"That is not the point."

"And," Satine continued calmly, "if I remember our history correctly, we stole it from the Jedi first."

Bo-Katan opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Thought about that.

"…irrelevant."

Satine sighed.

"Bo—"

"No, I'm serious," Bo-Katan insisted. "The Darksaber is a Mandalorian symbol. It belongs to Mandalore."

"And Ben is Mandalorian."

"He's a Jedi!"

"He's also my son."

Bo-Katan blinked.

Korkie blinked.

Satine froze for half a second.

Then she continued speaking with the smooth confidence of someone who absolutely had not just said something extremely revealing.

"—my sister's son," she finished.

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes. "Stop telling people he's my kid!"

"I've done no such thing. I've only stated the obvious. Ben Kryze is my nephew, and not my biological child. I've never told anyone you were his mother." Satine insisted.

"Same difference!" Bo-Katan spat. "You only have one sibling! Me! People assume I'm the mother by default because of that!"

"Noncense. Ben could easily pass for a foundling."

"Foundlings are the same as being sons or daughters! It makes no sense for you to refer to the boys as your nephews!" She reiterated. "Korkie, back me up!"

"I'm staying out of this." He wisely decided.

Traitor.

"Thank you, nephew." Satine nodded, approvingly.

Why did she want to save her sister's life, again?

...​

The Jedi Council chamber had many qualities.

Majestic.

Ancient.

Serene.

Intimidating.

Personally, I would have added one more.

Deeply inconvenient.

I stood in the center of the chamber with Ahsoka Tano on my right and Maris Brood on my left, all three of us trying very hard to look like responsible young Jedi who absolutely had not just been involved in a Mandalorian civil conflict, a Separatist invasion, and the theft of a historically significant weapon.

Which, to be clear, we absolutely had.

The members of the Council watched us in silence.

At the center sat Yoda, looking exactly as calm and unreadable as always.

To his side was Mace Windu, who looked like a man attempting to decide whether meditation or a headache would arrive first.

A few seats away sat Plo Koon, whose presence in the room was the only reason Ahsoka hadn't fainted from anxiety sometime during the last ten minutes.

And then there was Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had just earned himself a lot of promotions.

Jedi Master.

Council member.

Professional negotiator.

My father.

The last part remained, thankfully, a secret. I think.

Obi-Wan met my eyes for half a second.

His expression was perfectly neutral. The kind of neutral that usually meant this conversation was about to become educational.

Yoda finally spoke. "Commend you, the Council does."

That was promising.

"Your actions on Mandalore, brave they were." I felt Ahsoka relax slightly beside me. "Instrumental, you were, in preventing the death of Duchess Kryze."

Good.

Very good.

"Saved Mandalore, you did."

Maris shifted slightly beside me, clearly enjoying the praise.

I couldn't blame her.

Stopping a Separatist invasion, a Death Watch coup, and an assassination attempt all in the same afternoon was objectively impressive.

Then Yoda continued. "Supposed to be there, you were not."

Ah.

There it was.

The Jedi Council had an incredible talent.

They could deliver praise and disappointment simultaneously with the precision of a master duelist.

I had seen them do it before.

But experiencing it personally was something special.

Mace folded his hands in front of him. "You disobeyed direct instructions from the Order."

Ahsoka sighed quietly.

Maris rolled her eyes.

I focused very hard on maintaining my serious Jedi face.

Technically speaking, the whole situation had been complicated. Yes, we had disobeyed orders. But in our defense, the Force had been acting extremely suspicious lately.

And also we had sensed a disturbance. And also there had been Mandalorians trying to kill my mother. And also there had been a Sith Lord invasion.

And also—

Okay, in hindsight, the Council probably wasn't going to accept that explanation.

"Because of this," Mace continued, "the Council has decided upon disciplinary measures."

There was a pause.

I braced myself for something terrible.

Extra meditation.

Philosophy lectures.

Extended discussions with Master Yoda about emotional balance.

Instead, Mace listed the punishment.

"Restricted mission clearance."

That was manageable.

"Additional training requirements."

Also manageable.

"Temple duties."

I blinked.

Temple duties?

That was it?

Ahsoka let out a long, defeated sigh beside me.

Maris leaned slightly toward me.

"Worth it," she muttered under her breath.

I very carefully did not laugh.

Because honestly?

I had recently helped found a Sith Empire.

I had conquered multiple planets.

I had commanded fleets.

I had fed a crime lord to his own rancor.

After experiences like that, temple chores sounded almost relaxing.

In hindsight, sweeping hallways was significantly less work than managing a galactic dictatorship.

Yoda studied the three of us carefully.

"Lessons, you must learn."

"Yes, Master," Ahsoka muttered.

Maris nodded with the enthusiasm of someone being sentenced to homework.

I bowed slightly.

"Of course, Master."

The Council watched us for another moment.

Then Mace's gaze shifted downward.

Specifically, toward my right hand.

There was a pause.

"…Initiate Kryze."

I looked up.

"Yes, Master?"

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"In your hand."

Oh.

Right.

I looked down.

The hilt of the Darksaber was still clipped to my belt, and I kept an unconscious hand on it at all times. A little taste of home, I suppose. Though in truth, I had actually forgotten it was there.

It's been a busy week.

Silence spread through the chamber.

I could feel the attention of every Jedi Master in the room focusing on that single object.

Behind me, Ahsoka made a very small choking noise.

Maris suddenly became extremely interested in the floor.

Mace stared at the weapon.

Then slowly looked back up at me.

"Explain."

I considered my options.

There were several.

None of them were good.

Finally, I shrugged.

"…Finders keepers?"

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Mace Windu closed his eyes. And slowly pinched the bridge of his nose.

It's good to be back.

...​

The Jedi Temple hangar was many things.

Busy.

Noisy.

Full of ships.

Full of Jedi.

And currently full of one extremely controversial droid.

Maris Brood leaned against the landing strut of the shuttle, arms crossed, watching the unfolding situation with deep personal satisfaction.

Across from her, Ahsoka Tano stared at the droid standing beside Maris with the same expression someone might use when discovering a nexu in their bedroom.

The droid stood very still.

Very polite.

Very armed.

"Observation," the droid announced cheerfully. "The surrounding population of meatbags appears highly uncomfortable."

Ahsoka slowly blinked.

Maris grinned.

The droid beside her was technically an HK-47 unit.

Technically.

She had, however, made a few… modifications.

The original rust-colored plating had been repainted in dark matte black with subtle crimson accents. The photoreceptors glowed a soft, ominous red. It looked less like a standard assassin droid and more like something that had stepped out of a Sith nightmare.

Maris thought it suited him. "I like him," she said.

Ahsoka continued staring. "That thing just called everyone 'meatbags.'"

HK tilted his head slightly. "Correction: I referred to the present organic lifeforms as potential meatbags. Explanation: Clearly, the non-organic beings are not meatbags. Many contain little to no liquid, and their shells are made of much denser material."

Ahsoka slowly turned toward Maris. "You brought an assassin droid into the Jedi Temple."

Maris shrugged. "He's mostly harmless."

HK immediately responded. "Clarification: I am only 'harmless' when instructed to be."

Ahsoka closed her eyes.

Maris could practically hear the internal screaming.

Which honestly made the entire situation even funnier.

"Relax," Maris added. "He's loyal."

HK straightened slightly. "Statement: I am extremely loyal to my current master. Disloyalty would result in immediate termination of the offending meatbags."

Ahsoka opened one eye.

"…that's not helping."

Maris snorted.

She had to admit, the droid's personality was doing most of the work here.

Across the hangar, a familiar voice spoke.

"Oh dear."

Maris glanced over.

Ben Kryze was walking toward them, accompanied by a very shiny, very gold protocol droid.

The protocol droid looked around the hangar with polite curiosity. "Oh my," the droid said. "Such a large facility! I do hope I am not intruding."

Ahsoka blinked again.

"…Ben."

He stopped beside them.

"Yes?"

She pointed at the droid. "What is that?"

Ben looked at the droid. "Oh, him? This is C-3PO."

The droid bowed politely. "Greetings! I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ahsoka looked between the gold protocol droid and the murder machine standing next to Maris. "…why do both of you have droids now?"

Maris shrugged again. "It felt appropriate."

HK nodded approvingly. "Statement: A wise decision, master."

Ahsoka rubbed her temples.

Maris studied the protocol droid more closely.

Something about it felt… familiar.

Then she remembered.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned toward Ben. "Was this a smart idea?"

Ben blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Maris gestured subtly toward the droid. "Didn't Anakin Skywalker build that thing?"

Ben paused.

Then shrugged.

"Technically."

Maris stared at him. Seriously. Why are the cute ones always so oblivious. "That feels like the kind of detail that could connect us back to Tatooine."

Ben remained calm.

"And?"

"And we bought that droid on Tatooine while disguised as Sith Lords."

Ahsoka's head snapped toward them. "You what?!"

Maris ignored her. She already had one nonsensical peer to deal with. Ahsoka could wait her turn. "This could expose us."

Ben waved a hand dismissively. "I took care of it."

Maris frowned. "How?"

Ben smiled slightly. "Memory wipes are very convenient."

Maris considered that.

Fair enough.

Protocol droids were not exactly known for their independent thinking.

Still…

She glanced across the hangar.

And immediately froze.

Walking past a row of starfighters was none other than Anakin Skywalker himself.

He was talking to another Jedi.

Completely unaware of the disaster walking directly through his line of sight.

C-3PO turned his head politely toward the movement. "Oh! Another human approaching!"

Maris felt her soul leave her body.

Ben casually stepped between the protocol droid and Anakin.

Ahsoka held her breath.

HK watched with interest. "Observation," the assassin droid whispered. "This scenario appears extremely amusing."

Anakin walked past them.

Did not look at the droid.

Did not recognize the droid.

Did not notice anything.

He continued walking across the hangar and disappeared around the corner.

The tension evaporated.

Maris slowly exhaled.

Then she silently thanked the Force for whatever cosmic sense of humor had allowed that to work.

...​

The gardens of Naboo were very good at keeping secrets.

Padmé Amidala had always suspected that was intentional.

The quiet stone paths wound through clusters of flowering trees and soft lantern light. Small fountains whispered gently into the evening air, their sound masking footsteps and conversation alike. It was the sort of place where a person could disappear from the galaxy for a little while.

Which, at the moment, was extremely useful.

Padmé stood beneath a flowering archway, trying very hard to focus on the moment rather than the hundred different ways this could become a political disaster.

Across from her stood Anakin Skywalker.

He looked nervous.

Which was almost endearing, considering when he was a child, she had personally watched him fly a starfighter through a blockade without even blinking.

Now he looked like a man who had been handed a thermal detonator and told not to drop it.

Between them stood a very discreet priest.

He was a local Naboo officiant who had been extremely cooperative after a modest donation to several charitable organizations that he very much supported.

At least, Padmé was fairly certain he supported them.

If not, he would probably start.

Nearby, the only other witnesses in attendance observed the ceremony.

R2-D2 sat near the edge of the path, dome slowly turning as he recorded the event with what appeared to be great enthusiasm. Padmé suspected the little astromech was going to keep a copy of this recording forever.

Which meant this secret marriage technically had a permanent backup.

That felt like something she should probably worry about later.

The priest finished the final lines of the ceremony and looked between them with a polite smile.

"You may now exchange your vows."

Anakin took a breath.

His expression softened as he looked at her.

"I thought I understood courage," he began quietly. "I've faced enemies, battles, things most people only hear about in stories."

Padmé felt warmth rise in her chest.

"But loving you," he continued, "that's the bravest thing I've ever done."

That was, admittedly, a very good line.

Padmé made a mental note to remember it.

She stepped forward, taking his hands.

"The galaxy is changing," she said softly. "Wars are beginning. Alliances are shifting."

She smiled slightly.

"But whatever happens… we face it together."

The priest nodded approvingly.

"Then by the authority granted to me by the laws of Naboo…"

He paused for dramatic effect.

"…I now pronounce you married."

Anakin blinked.

"That's it?"

The priest folded his hands calmly.

"That is, in fact, how marriage works."

Anakin looked delighted.

Padmé laughed quietly.

R2 let out an enthusiastic whistle that sounded suspiciously like applause.

The priest discreetly accepted a small credit chip and vanished down the garden path with impressive efficiency.

Padmé suspected he had officiated several extremely confidential ceremonies over the years.

For a moment, the garden was quiet again.

Anakin looked around the empty space. Then his expression softened slightly. "I wish my mother could've been here."

Padmé felt a small pang of sympathy.

She had met Shmi Skywalker once. Briefly. Years ago.

She had been kind.

Warm.

The sort of person who deserved to see her son happy.

Padmé tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know," she said slowly, "there's actually a way we could talk to her."

Anakin looked confused. "How?"

Padmé blinked. "You… call her."

"With what?"

"The Holonet."

Anakin stared at her.

"The what."

Padmé paused.

Then she remembered something very important. Anakin had grown up as a slave on Tatooine. His childhood exposure to modern galactic communication networks had likely been… limited.

"Oh," she said gently. "Right."

A few minutes later they were seated on a small bench with a datapad balanced between them.

Padmé navigated through a few directories.

Anakin watched with fascination.

"You can just… look people up?"

"Most people," Padmé confirmed.

A moment later a contact entry appeared.

Shmi Skywalker.

Location: Tatooine.

Anakin leaned closer.

"That's her."

Padmé opened the call channel.

The holoscreen flickered to life.

A moment later Shmi's face appeared.

She looked surprised.

Then very confused.

Then extremely happy.

"Anakin?"

He grinned.

"Hi, Mom."

Shmi blinked.

"I didn't even know you could call me."

"Neither did I," Anakin admitted.

Padmé waved politely.

"Hello, Mrs. Skywalker."

Shmi studied them for a moment.

Then her eyes moved between them.

Then back again.

"…did something happen?"

Anakin glanced at Padmé.

Then back to the screen.

"We got married."

Shmi froze.

Then she laughed softly.

"Well," she said warmly, "that explains a lot."

She spent the next several minutes asking questions, offering congratulations, and gently teasing Anakin about finally settling down.

Padmé could see how happy it made him just to talk to her.

Eventually the call ended with promises to visit soon.

Anakin leaned back on the bench, staring at the datapad like it had just revealed the secrets of the universe. "This thing is amazing."

Padmé smiled. "The Holonet is very useful, yes." By the stars, he was like a child… not that it was a turn on for her. Certainly not.

Anakin immediately began scrolling through random information. "You can find anything on here."

"Within reason," Padmé said carefully.

Anakin squinted at the screen. "Hey, look at this."

Padmé leaned slightly closer. "What did you find?"

Anakin pointed excitedly. "It says here they finally discovered the name of Master Yoda's species."

Padmé felt a sudden and overwhelming sense that the universe itself was about to intervene.

"It's called—"

R2-D2 suddenly let out a loud, dramatic burst of static.

The datapad screen flickered.

Then shut off.

Padmé blinked.

Anakin stared at the dark screen.

"…huh."

R2 whistled innocently.

Padmé patted Anakin's shoulder gently. "Some mysteries," she said with a small smile, "are meant to remain mysteries."

...​

The Jedi Temple dormitories were quiet at night.

Which was convenient.

Because secretly running a galactic empire required a certain amount of privacy.

I sat cross-legged on the floor of my room, lights dimmed, the door securely locked. Across from me, Maris Brood leaned against the wall with the relaxed posture of someone who had recently been assigned temple chores and was still deciding how much effort she planned to invest in them.

Between us sat two inactive droids.

Or rather—two extremely active droids currently pretending to be inactive.

PROXY units were incredibly useful.

Originally designed as combat training droids, they had the very convenient ability to mimic other individuals.

Which meant they could also mimic Sith Lords.

Which meant they could run an empire while those Sith Lords were temporarily busy pretending to be Jedi Initiates again.

Honestly, it was one of my better ideas.

Maris tilted her head slightly.

"You ready?"

I nodded.

We both closed our eyes.

The Force shifted around us as we reached outward—through space, through distance, through the strange connection linking us to the droids currently sitting on a throne halfway across the galaxy.

The sensation of Force projection was always strange.

One moment I was sitting on the floor of a dorm room.

The next I was looking out across a vast command chamber filled with officers, holographic displays, and rows of black-armored HK droids standing guard.

Technically speaking, I was now looking through the eyes of my PROXY.

Which was currently impersonating me.

Or more specifically—

Darth Sol.

Across the chamber, another throne sat beside mine.

Maris's PROXY sat there, perfectly replicating the posture and presence of Darth Nox.

The two Sith Lords who ruled the rapidly expanding First Order.

Except at the moment they were actually two Jedi Initiates sitting on a dormitory floor on Coruscant.

Life was strange.

One of the HK units stepped forward.

"Statement: Reporting current status of imperial territories, my lord."

I mentally gestured for it to continue.

The droid projected a holographic map.

"Planetary report: Jakku has been stabilized."

The hologram shifted.

"Local populations have accepted new governance structures. Crime has decreased by forty-two percent."

I blinked.

That was… good.

"Trade routes have been reorganized. Infrastructure improvements underway."

Maris's voice echoed through the projection link.

"Well that's efficient."

The droid continued.

"Territory update: Dantooine secured."

Another set of reports appeared.

"Agricultural production increased. Defensive garrisons established. Local leadership cooperative."

I leaned slightly back in the throne.

Huh.

That also sounded… good.

The HK unit turned toward the final report.

"Resource update: Hoth mining operations progressing successfully."

The hologram displayed several automated extraction facilities embedded in massive ice formations.

"Crystal harvesting efficiency exceeding projections."

Maris's PROXY leaned slightly forward in the throne beside mine.

Which meant Maris herself was probably leaning forward on the dorm room floor.

"Wait," she muttered through the Force connection. "Is the empire… running well?"

The HK droid nodded enthusiastically. "Affirmation: Current governance has resulted in improved security, economic growth, and widespread civilian satisfaction."

I stared at the report.

Safe trade lanes.

Organized infrastructure.

Lower crime.

Productive economies.

Apparently…

Benevolent tyranny worked.

I glanced sideways toward Maris's projection.

She was staring at the holograms with growing suspicion. "This feels wrong," she said.

I nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

Because this was not how Sith empires usually worked.

Historically speaking, Sith governments tended to collapse into infighting, betrayal, and dramatic lightning-related accidents.

Instead, ours appeared to be quietly becoming… functional.

Which was deeply concerning.

Maris leaned back against the dorm room wall on the other side of the Force connection.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "we could just stay here."

I blinked.

"What?"

She gestured vaguely. "As Jedi."

I considered that.

Our PROXY droids were clearly handling things just fine.

The empire was stable.

Our worlds were prosperous.

The citizens were apparently happy.

Meanwhile, our biggest problem here was sweeping temple hallways.

I leaned back against the wall in my room. "…that's an option."

Maris nodded thoughtfully. "Let the droids run everything."

I stared at the ceiling.

…

Then we both spoke at the same time.

"This feels like a terrible sign."

...​

The office of the Supreme Chancellor was designed to inspire confidence.

Tall windows overlooked the endless cityscape of Coruscant. The furnishings were elegant without being ostentatious. The lighting was warm, dignified, and carefully calculated to make visiting senators feel they were speaking to a wise and trustworthy leader.

Sheev Palpatine normally enjoyed the room very much.

Today he hated it.

Specifically, he hated the datapad sitting on his desk.

Because the datapad contained numbers.

And those numbers were catastrophic.

Palpatine stared at the budget report with the same expression a man might use when discovering that someone had quietly replaced his wine with poison.

The Clone Army had been expensive.

Very expensive.

Creating millions of genetically identical soldiers on Kamino had required an extraordinary investment of resources. Laboratories, facilities, training regimens, accelerated growth technologies—it had all cost a fortune.

But that had been acceptable.

Because it was a one-time expense.

You paid the cloners.

You received an army.

A very efficient arrangement.

Now, however, the situation had changed.

Palpatine read the report again, just to ensure he was not hallucinating.

He was not.

The clones were now classified as citizens.

Which meant they were also classified as employees.

Which meant—

He closed his eyes briefly.

The Republic now had to pay them salaries.

Salaries.

For soldiers he had already paid to create.

This was outrageous.

Palpatine leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he contemplated the various individuals responsible for this financial catastrophe.

First there was Count Dooku.

The Count had been tasked with overseeing certain aspects of the war's early stages.

Specifically, ensuring the Confederacy applied enough pressure to drive the Republic into conflict.

Nowhere in that plan had Palpatine authorized the Count to launch a spectacularly ill-timed invasion of Mandalore.

Which had then forced Satine Kryze to rejoin the Republic.

Which had then triggered the clone citizenship issue.

Which had now triggered the budget issue.

The Count, Palpatine decided, was clearly losing his edge.

He made a mental note to have a very pointed conversation with him later.

Then there was Satine herself.

The Duchess had always been… inconvenient.

Her pacifism had complicated matters for years.

Now she had apparently decided to improve the situation further by granting the clones full legal rights.

Palpatine tapped the datapad again.

Another column of numbers appeared.

Benefits.

Leave rotations.

Medical care.

Retirement pensions.

Retirement.

For clones.

The entire point of the clone army had been that they were disposable.

You did not retire disposable soldiers.

You simply… disposed of them.

Palpatine sighed quietly.

Democracy, he reflected, was truly the worst system of government ever invented.

And yet he had spent decades manipulating it into the exact position it now occupied.

The irony was deeply irritating.

He stood and walked toward the window, gazing out at the endless lights of Coruscant.

Millions of citizens.

Millions of voters.

Millions of taxpayers who would soon begin asking very uncomfortable questions about the Republic's new military budget.

Palpatine folded his hands behind his back.

Clearly, adjustments would need to be made.

If the Count could not maintain operational efficiency, then perhaps it was time to begin considering… alternatives.

A new apprentice, perhaps.

Someone younger.

More adaptable.

More fiscally responsible.

The thought amused him.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Darth… Aravice."

It sounded excellent.

Powerful.

Mysterious.

Sufficiently Sith.

Palpatine leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly to himself.

Naming Sith Lords, he had discovered, was surprisingly easy.

...​

The flagship of the Confederacy drifted in cold silence above the stars.

Inside the command chamber, Count Dooku stood alone beside a long tactical display, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The galaxy rotated slowly across the holomap.

It was a beautiful map.

Elegant. Informative. Precise.

And at the moment, extremely irritating.

The Count studied the glowing projection of Mandalore with the composed expression of a man who had just watched a carefully choreographed opera collapse when the stage caught fire.

The mission had been simple.

Decisive.

Elegant.

Remove Satine Kryze.

Without her leadership, Mandalore would fracture. The Republic would hesitate. The political situation would destabilize beautifully.

Instead—

Satine Kryze was alive.

Mandalore had formally aligned itself with the Republic.

And, somehow, the clones had become citizens.

Citizens.

Dooku stared at the word in the intelligence summary as if it were a minor grammatical error the galaxy had made by accident.

The clone army had been designed to serve as a convenient catalyst for war.

It had not been designed to receive civil rights.

Or voting privileges.

Or legal protections.

He could already imagine the endless committees the Republic Senate would create to discuss clone compensation packages.

It would be unbearable.

The Count exhaled slowly.

This had not been the plan.

The war had begun earlier than intended.

The political board had shifted before the pieces were fully in position.

And most irritating of all, several of his own assets had behaved with spectacular incompetence.

Pre Vizsla had failed.

The Death Watch had fractured.

And worst of all—

Jango Fett had defected.

Dooku had invested considerable time cultivating Fett as a reliable asset.

The man had been practical. Efficient. Sensible.

Now he was apparently working for the Republic.

Which meant the clones were now receiving tactical guidance from the very man whose genetic material had created them.

A development Dooku suspected would not improve the Confederacy's battlefield prospects.

He folded his hands calmly behind his back again.

The situation was… inconvenient.

But not catastrophic.

The Republic was still slow.

Still bureaucratic.

Still vulnerable to manipulation.

And the Jedi—

Dooku's mouth curved faintly.

The Jedi were nothing if not predictable.

The war could still be guided.

Still shaped.

Still escalated precisely as his master intended.

Which was when he noticed the other problem.

The holomap flickered as several Outer Rim systems illuminated.

Small markers blinked into existence.

Three worlds.

Jakku.

Dantooine.

Hoth.

Dooku frowned slightly.

These systems had not previously been significant.

Sparse populations. Limited strategic value. Minor trade routes.

Yet the intelligence reports attached to them were… unusual.

He opened the first transmission.

The recording was grainy, clearly intercepted from a civilian relay.

"…the new authorities have secured the spaceport. They claim to represent—"

Static crackled.

Then a voice finished the sentence.

"—the will of Darth Sol."

Dooku stilled.

He replayed the recording.

The same name echoed through the chamber.

Darth Sol.

The Count opened the second report.

Another intercepted transmission.

This one from Dantooine.

"…the governor surrendered without resistance. Their forces arrived with droids and a fleet of unfamiliar warships. They claim allegiance to—"

The message cut briefly.

Then resumed.

"—Darth Nox."

Dooku felt the faintest tightening in his chest.

Curious.

He opened the third report.

The situation on Hoth was even stranger.

Sensors had detected a fleet entering orbit.

Large vessels.

Old vessels.

Republic dreadnoughts that had supposedly disappeared years ago.

And the command codes attached to their transmissions again referenced the same two names.

Darth Sol.

Darth Nox.

Dooku slowly straightened.

That was… odd.

Very odd.

Because the Sith operated under a very simple principle.

The Rule of Two.

One master.

One apprentice.

No more.

Even Ventress was not a true Sith.

Which meant that somewhere in the Outer Rim, someone had begun using Sith titles withiut being directly connected to the line of Bane.

Dooku studied the holomap in silence for a long moment.

The systems under their control were not random.

They formed the early shape of a territorial foothold.

Small.

Distant.

But growing.

Someone was building something.

Quietly.

Carefully.

And with a certain flair for theatrical presentation.

Dooku felt the faintest flicker of interest.

Because that left two possibilities.

Either a group of opportunists had decided that declaring themselves Sith would make them sound more intimidating—

Or someone had decided to start playing the same game he and his master had been playing for decades.

The Count allowed himself a slow, thoughtful smile.

If it was the first possibility, they would be eliminated easily.

If it was the second—

Well.

That could become very entertaining.

"Darth Sol," he murmured softly. "Darth Nox."

He considered the names thoughtfully.

Yes.

This might complicate matters.

But complications, in the right hands, could also become opportunities.

Dooku folded his hands behind his back once more, gazing out at the stars beyond the flagship's viewport.

Somewhere in the Outer Rim, two unknown players had just placed themselves on the board.

The Count's smile sharpened slightly.

This could become… interesting.

...​

Yes... very interesting.

But, it'll have to wait! I sincerely hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, as always, please stay tuned for more. And, naturally, if you want to read ahead, you are more than welcome to check me out on Patreon, link below:

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[Hilight]

Maris nodded thoughtfully. "Let the droids run everything."

I stared at the ceiling.

…

Then we both spoke at the same time.

"This feels like a terrible sign."

Click to shrink...

Why and in what way? Because they can turn running a small empire into the equivalent of an idle clicker where they just sign in for the daily rewards?