Disclaimer: George Lucas owns everything & everyone SW-related. The quote is from The Phantom Menace [the book]. Zoi Ar owns the plot bunny. Any mistakes you pick are mine. Ah, and if you feel any Discworld vibes... Sorry, it leaks '-)

Author's Note: it's AU, sort of. In fact, it's a rather sad story about good intentions - and everyone knows where those end up. But it's written in a humorous way for your reading pleasure!

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Never Got Your Message

High up in one of so many administrative palaces of Coruscant someone was facing a serious problem. And that, of course, was a perfectly normal, ordinary situation. It was the capital of the Galactic Republic, after all, a place swarming with people making their living off facing and, presumably, solving problems of any complexity. It being the greatest megalopolis ever made just living there a problem unto itself. However...

However, this one was special. Oh, the actual problem was quite simple and as old as the world. What made the situation unique was the nature of the someone. And even so...

He was - biologically - a human, white male and well on the other side of forty. He was a man of a noble, though carefully not imposing, appearance, rich, influential, prodigiously gifted in certain realms. He was very much like an elderly cat, all sharp claws in a velvet glove. And, thus, very much like any other human politician whose word meant something in the big game, and there were quite a few.

He was also a Sith Lord.

Being a Sith, now... It was a lifetime challenge. Natural selection honed to perfection. It was a matter of power, art, honour and ultimate order. And even being an old Sith, he could still feel the thrill. All those ages of fight, grand mistakes and brief glory... Ages of learning and carefully cultivated hate. The lore. It kindled dark consuming fire in the young, it seduced them with dreams of greatness and adventures. It gave him a crystal clear vision of that greatness and cool, calculated, absolute powers to achieve it. He did not dream, he knew. But sometimes... Sometimes it was quite a mess to sort out.

Being a Sith here and now... In the heart of the Republic, the state system that insulted the very concept of power. Beside the Jedi Temple. The Lord smiled in a quiet, gentle manner. Across the road, practically. Behind every important scene, the third party in every significant deal, infiltrating, watching, listening - the Sith have become very good at that, - weaving... He could feel all the little strings respond to the slightest move of the metaphorical finger. Starting a rumour here, an argument there... It all made him rather proud. People were really amazing social creatures. Just a suggestive nudge now and then, and they were ready to cut the thread their civilization was held together with, and that with a remarkable enthusiasm and a conviction of it being their best idea. Really. It was surprising how they bent to the will of a Sith sometimes even before this Sith Forced them to do so. Even the best of them. Even the brightest. And, of course, none of them considered the Sith as something more substantial than some dark ancient saga.

And that was the problem.

Because, see, when you had the job done, when it was just you against milliards of unsuspecting victims and ages of arrogant oblivion, well, in the end you wanted your credit. You wanted the enemy to go down knowing what hit them. It would only be right. It added a nice edge to their misery. That was the way.

But it's been a long time and the right ways had been, alas, forgotten. He had studied the Jedi, the modern Jedi, and he had great doubts about them getting it. Stunning an enemy stuck in their self-righteous ways was rewarding, getting through to an enemy thoroughly confused by themselves was something else. The Lord sighed. He experienced difficulty explaining this to his own apprentice. They should not know, they must suspect. A certain kind of suspicion made the adversary delightfully nervous. Something to prey on their minds, but nothing to put a finger on... Unfortunately, in current circumstances they were not likely to take a hint. The Order had not fallen yet, it seemed, just because it was being torn in too many directions at once... No, that won't do. He could not possibly rely on the Jedi in handling their own downfall. Not if he wanted a semblance of a state to rule afterwards.

He was afraid he'd have to be rather straightforward about it.

He could touch certain minds, but that would be showing his hand, wouldn't it, and that definitely was not the way. Besides, some daft old bugger could trace him back. However corrupted the structure was, there popped up, with dismaying certainty, those interfering individuals. Like specks of grit in a finely tuned engine... Dealing with a group was so much safer. So more efficient. He smiled again, nastily this time. Especially if the group you have in mind has developed particular ways of thinking...

Very straightforward, yes...

He composed the message with great care. It was cyphered, of course, - something to further unite the recipients in their group effort. This would leave enough time for the realization to dawn, but not nearly enough to do anything about it, yet another elegant touch. The Balance was a wonderful thing, indeed, and the Sith respected it very much. In their own way.

The precious message had been taken down to the clerks. At this stage bureaucracy might have evolved to paperless offices, but it still employed clerks. There was something about the brain, the Lord mused, something natural the engineers have grasped just recently. Some models of protocol droids showed promise.

He did not address a droid, however. He had found a classic example of a prudent man and gave him simple, clear instructions.

The prudent man, having been gently led in a state of incentive terror, did everything for the message to be delivered to the addressee. He was a good man and a diligent worker, now what was his name...

However, there are certain laws. They are universal laws and therefore rather force themselves upon civilizations than await public recognition. Some of them are known to us as Murphy's law and such.

The addressee lived, as it were, across the road indeed. So the chance of a message getting lost, or at least seriously distracted, somewhere on its way through the net was, roughly, one to a million.

Naturally, it had worked.

Given as many security warranties as it was, the elegant message had, finally, found its way to the High Jedi Council. There was that to say about the system. It did work. All of it.

It had never been read, though, what with this crisis on Naboo and the prophetic confusion that followed. But that could not be blamed on the Sith... Well, speaking loosely...

It turned out a mess, just as he had foreseen. Sometimes history won't take hints. There was much kicking and screaming. Again. But it is not history's fault that some people always manage to learn the wrong lesson, is it?

Hmm.

Mace Windu leaned back heavily, his strong brow furrowing. "This is difficult to accept, Qui-Gon. I do not understand how the Sith could have returned without us knowing."

Quite so, quite so.

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