The atmosphere in the Clone Commando quarters was unnervingly quiet.
Most of the warriors lay on their bunks, their eyes vacant. Drew, however, was hunched over a small table, meticulously wiping down his blaster carbine. The metal parts gleamed coldly under the lamplight.
Chuck, the Clone Commando squad leader, pushed open the door and entered. The troopers didn't rise upon seeing their commander; they simply raised their hands in a standard military salute.
Yurgo, the RK Clone, spoke first, his voice thick with worry: "Chuck, how's the General?"
Solo's heroic actions in London had long since earned the respect of these clones.
"He's still unconscious. No change in his condition." Chuck squeezed past to his bunk, removed his helmet, and continued, "Commander Tano has been by his side in the infirmary the whole time."
"Have you seen the General's armor?" Axe suddenly sat up, his voice filled with excitement. "Our Katarn armor has some of the most advanced systems, right? But the General's built-in shields actually blocked a direct lightsaber strike!"
"Even the most advanced shields couldn't prevent the General from getting seriously injured," Kargo retorted dryly, leaning against the headboard with a complicated expression. "Our mission is to take out the enemy before they react, not obsess over the effectiveness of armor."
"You can't say that," another Clone Trooper countered. "The General's a Jedi—tough as a Wodak Beast! Once we get back to the base and he gets a bath in Bacta, he'll be as good as new."
"What about the place where he was stabbed?"
"I'm not a doctor, but the Republic will definitely have a solution," Chuck interjected, cutting off the argument. "Stop speculating and get some rest. We have more missions coming up."
Just then, the cabin lights suddenly dimmed—
"Hallebaba! All lights out!"
The voice of the on-duty officer crackled over the communicator.
***
In the Speaker's office beneath the dome of the Coruscant Senate, Palpatine sat at the dining table, savoring his meal.
The exquisite dishes emitted an alluring aroma, yet his brow remained slightly furrowed, disturbed by the endless debates and hollow speeches of the Senators, like irritating flies buzzing around him.
*I wish I could throw these empty talkers into Kessel's mines to dig,* he thought with a cold smile, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the table.
Suddenly, the door slid open silently, and Sly Moore entered.
Palpatine set down his knife and fork, a flicker of interest in his eyes. Few could interrupt his meal, and this Umbaran woman's presence usually meant "interesting" news.
Faced with his unspoken question, Sly didn't speak, merely grinned.
This surprised Palpatine; such open emotion was rare from her.
She then silently activated the holographic projector, quickly cycling through channels until she settled on a combat recording. She moved behind him and gently rested her hands on his shoulders.
On the screen... was a Hutt?
Had it not been for years of practiced restraint, Palpatine would have gasped aloud. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow.
The holographic projection showed a lightsaber duel.
A Jedi... against a Sith!
Palpatine's gaze sharpened instantly as he recognized the woman wielding the double-bladed curved lightsaber.
Asajj Ventress, the Witch of Dathomir and Dooku's new apprentice.
The Jedi, on the other hand, wore silver-blue armor and a full helmet.
"A Temple Guard?" The thought flashed through Palpatine's mind before vanishing. The Jedi's lightsaber glowed the standard blue, not the dual yellow blades of a Temple Guard.
The Jedi's face was concealed by an oddly shaped full helmet, not the pure white mask typically worn by Temple Guards.
"Fascinating," Palpatine murmured.
An experienced swordsman could immediately spot countless mistakes in both combatants' techniques. They moved like untrained children, clumsy and uncoordinated.
Yet Ventress appeared more confident. In the end, she thrust her lightsaber through the Jedi's chest.
"Another Sith versus Jedi farce," Palpatine said, taking a sip of his juice with indifference. In his eyes, the outcome of such a duel was predetermined.
"Interesting... Senator Amidala seems to attract trouble like a magnet. First it was Qui-Gon Jinn, and now this."
Although Ventress's swordsmanship wasn't top-tier, it was more than enough to handle an ordinary Jedi.
But in the next instant, Palpatine nearly choked on his drink.
Ventress's lightsaber clearly pierced the Jedi's body, yet the Jedi reacted as if unharmed, countering with a punch that sent Ventress flying.
"How is this possible?" Palpatine's pupils constricted slightly.
As far as he knew, the Force technique "Cruzon" was not widely known among the Jedi. Meanwhile, the Sith technique "Negaatio Damnoriuum," popular during the Sith Empire era, had been lost long before the Empire's fall and the destruction of Korriban.
Of course, Palpatine possessed numerous Sith holographic recordings containing such essential knowledge.
The master of this technique, who could temporarily suppress pain and maintain combat effectiveness, was none other than the Sith Lord Darth Malgus. He had learned it from his teacher, Vendican, who was equally proficient in this art.
Therefore, it was even more peculiar to see a Jedi using such a technique.
Yet, this Jedi was clearly weak, yet... Palpatine sensed something intriguing about him.
The Sith Lord's keen eyes noticed traces of Flowing Meditation, Breath Control, and even the rudiments of Combat Meditation in the Jedi's movements!
Although the Jedi had only scratched the surface of these techniques, his desperate struggle to survive impressed Palpatine.
A surge of anticipation welled up in Darth Sidious. This Jedi wasn't as simple as he appeared.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Slye's smile reflected in a polished decorative piece.
The Umbaran woman had clearly seen this recording before and was now relishing his thoughts and emotions.
Palpatine chuckled softly and began watching the battle more closely, scrutinizing every detail.
He also noticed that the moment the Dathomir woman's lightsaber pierced him, the Jedi had turned the situation to his advantage.
No, he had merely minimized his losses.
Palpatine realized that the instant the lightsaber struck, the Jedi had twisted his body, allowing his spine to avoid the direct impact.
He didn't dwell on the fact that the Jedi had nearly lost. The battlefield ultimately belonged to him, and the cost... was irrelevant.
Slye picked up a blok fruit from the table, slowly circled around it, turned off the holographic projector, and took a juicy bite.
She shot Palpatine a meaningful look before turning and leaving the room, leaving him alone to ponder.
*Can this Jedi be used?*
In Palpatine's mind, the identities of the Sith Lord and the politician began to argue.
*Without a doubt.*
*Does he have any value to us?*
"Yes."
"Is he a threat?"
"Absolutely not. He's too weak."
"Should we eliminate him?"
"That can wait."
"Can we make him work for us?"
"It's too early to say. We don't have enough information."
After a moment of contemplation, he pressed the intercom button and summoned his secretary. The Rodian responded immediately.
"Remember to remind me that Director Armand Isard of the Republic Intelligence Agency should be here to report... Oh, he's already arrived? Very well. Send him to my office."
Palpatine rose and returned to his office, standing by the panoramic window as he waited quietly.
The view from the massive window was pleasant, but the office itself was too cramped.
All of this had been inherited from his predecessor, Speaker Valorum, whom Palpatine considered a spineless waste.
Moreover, this office, like the entire building, felt more like a relic of the past than the nerve center of the new order.
No renovation could ever transform it into the comfortable sanctuary Palpatine had envisioned for himself.
Perhaps it was time to build something new.
An annex, or even a completely new building, just to give those who worked there the illusion that their pitiful efforts might actually have some meaning...
A few minutes later, a twenty-three-year-old black-haired man entered the office. His features were ordinary and unremarkable, yet his eyes held an unnerving depth.
This was Armand Isard, Director of the Republic Intelligence Agency.
He bowed respectfully. "Speaker, you summoned me?"
"Have you prepared the report on Milgoshir?" Palpatine asked, his tone calm as he sat on the sofa.
"Our agents discovered multiple battle droid factories on Agamar, with estimated production capacity..." Isard reported methodically, his data precise and logic clear.
Palpatine listened intently, nodding occasionally as he mentally noted the key information.
Isard was indeed performing well. Since his appointment, the Intelligence Agency's efficiency had significantly improved compared to the Valorum era, providing timely intelligence.
"Have you seen the recent news?" Palpatine asked Isard casually after the briefing, his finger pointing towards the nearby holographic projector. "That Jedi-Sith duel was quite an interesting spectacle."
"I have, Speaker," Isard replied, momentarily startled. "Apart from the Separatists gaining a formidable mercenary, I didn't find anything particularly noteworthy."
"Oh, but that Jedi is quite intriguing," Palpatine said, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "I want you to investigate everything about him—his name, background, combat style, any information you can find. Report back to me at our next meeting."
"Yes, Speaker. I'll immediately assign personnel." Isard nodded and turned to leave.
Palpatine approached the panoramic window, gazing at the night view of Coruscant. The smile on his lips grew deeper. He had loved puzzles since childhood, but he loved solving them even more.
"This puzzle... I must see what the answer is."
***
In the main cabin of the *Star Falcon*, the senators sat together, the atmosphere heavy and oppressive. Their faces were devoid of any expression.
Church sat in a corner, silently observing the group. Except for Amidala and Organa, the others wore expressions of deep dejection.
The London mission had been a complete failure, and they had nearly been captured. No one could be in a good mood.
Yet Amidala's demeanor was unusually calm, even detached. She had visited Solo in the infirmary only once, staying less than five minutes.
Church suspected that Senator Amidala wasn't just indifferent; she might even be relieved if the Jedi died.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she overheard a conversation between the Naboo woman and Organa as she passed by Amidala's cabin.
The cabin door hadn't closed properly, and Organa's voice rang out clearly, sharp with anger: "We must exploit this incident. It will weaken public trust in the Separatists and undermine the Speaker, who's too close to the Jedi."
"I agree," Amidala's voice chimed in. "Once we return to Coruscant, I'll file a complaint with the Senate against that Jedi, Victor... His reckless actions nearly got us all killed. It's completely unbecoming of a Jedi."
Church's heart sank. She retreated to her cabin, her chest heaving with fury. "The General risked his life to save us, and all he gets is their condemnation and scheming... Politicians truly care only for power, not right or wrong."
She recalled her mother's words: "Politicians don't act on sentiment; they're driven by self-interest."
Only now did she truly grasp the cold truth behind those words.
For the first time, Church began to doubt whether the "justice" she had chosen was truly worth fighting for.
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