Prologue
Night had fallen on Coruscant with a vengeance. As storms raged across half the northern hemisphere, a terrifying power was unleashed after decades of restless slumber. A great battle had been fought and won, a battle that would shape the face of things to come for centuries. Millennia. This night belonged to the Dark Side.
A dark shape stood in the small antechamber, silhouetted by the glaring lights of the Government District sprawling out behind it as far as the horizon. "Commander Cody," it croaked, its once handsome features now ravaged by its own Darkness and hidden deep within the shadows of its hood. The thing itself was little more than a living shadow, dark and foreboding, full of malice. Before the Shadow stood the half-sized hologram of a clone commander. This was its grand moment, the moment it had been bred for, the moment the Sith had been waiting for patiently but productively in the shadows for a millennium, working their insidious machinations to undermine the Jedi and the Republic they served. "The time has come," it said, the tiniest hint of elation creeping into its gravelly voice. "Execute Order Sixty-six."
The hologram bowed its head, clad in white armor that shone dully like bone in the hologram. "Yes, my lord," it said with all the obedience of a droid. The clones had served the Republic and the Jedi well in the war, but they had never truly belonged to either of them. They had always been an instrument of the Sith, the weapon crafted from its inception to strike the final blow when the time was right. And that time was now.
The Shadow grinned cruelly. It was done. A chain of events had just been triggered that would not—could not—be stopped. The Dark Lord contacted another clone commander with an identical message. And another. Then another. The dark figure was nearly overcome by its own malevolent glee. A coded message could have been broadcast to all commanders simultaneously, but the vile creature took immense pleasure in personally issuing the order over and over again. So long had the Shadow waited for this day, decades—centuries—in the making. It had accomplished what hundreds before it couldn't; the Thing had, at long last, erased the Jedi Order from the pages of history. The noble Knights of the Republic were no more. At that very moment, the galaxy sat firmly in the very capable hand of a Sith Lord, unopposed. None could snatch it from his grasp.
He was Palpatine, newly crowned Emperor of the Universe.
Circa 50 years earlier…
He knew his parents would never fully understand. But there was no way he could live and die a simple farmer. He wanted to accomplish more in his life than the perfect crop. He just wasn't a farmer. In his heart, he knew he was destined for more. The simple life couldn't satisfy him; his urge to make something great of himself had been slowly growing since his father had taken him and his mother to Coruscant on vacation. Hanging up his stocking cap, he nervously entered the small kitchen of his family home and stepped up beside his mother at the sink to wash his hands, preparing to give the speech he'd been practicing all day in his head.
"Mum, I've got something to tell you and Dad," the young man started, avoiding eye contact with his mother, who had continued to prepare vegetables for supper. He was a scrawny boy, despite working on a farm his whole life. Barely sixteen standard years old, he was wholly unremarkable in both appearance and abilities and had been plagued with constant illness as child, leaving him weak and undersized for a boy of his age. No one felt he was destined for much more than the son of grain farmers, who would eventually take over the family business himself. He, however, had different plans, plans that, until now, he had kept mostly to himself.
His mother Eldra, not looking up from the vegetables, said, "Alright, dear. What is it, then?" Her husband Daryn sat at their modest dining table reading the latest HoloNews report. He paused the report and looked at his son.
"Well, go ahead, lad," he said. "What is it that's so important?" Daryn was everything his son wasn't, large, well-muscled, with calloused hands and the bronze skin of a life-long farmer. But his voice was warm and his temperament kind and inviting and he never displayed any hint that he was disappointed in the way his boy had turned out.
The young man shifted anxiously from foot to foot. He was terrified to disappoint his parents, both of whom he loved very much. They had farmed the Southern Plains of Naboo's biggest continent since they could walk, just as their families had before them, and so on back for hundreds of years. Very few members of either family got away from grain farming, and of those who did, none were ever very successful. He would be different, though. He knew he would.
"Well," he started again slowly. "I didn't want to tell you until it was official, but I've been accepted into the University of Coruscant and I've decided to go." He saw his mother's mouth open but cut her off quickly. "Before you say anything about the cost, I've gotten in on a full academic scholarship through my time in the Youth Legislative Service. Mum, Dad, this is really going to happen."
For a single nervous heartbeat, he feared the worst. But his father stood, walked over to him, and shook his hand vigorously. "Congratulations, Son!" He pulled him in for a hug as he beamed widely. "I couldn't be more proud of you. Imagine that, my son getting a full scholarship to the best school in the Republic!"
The boy turned to his mother, who was being very quiet. "Mum? What do you think?"
A single tear traced a line down her suntanned cheek. "I knew you weren't destined for a farmer's life," she said, giving him a sad smile. "You have great things in your future. I've always known this day was coming." She, too, hugged him, wiping her eyes with her shirtsleeve. "We're so proud of you, darling."
"Thank you," said the boy, relieved. "Both of you." He looked his father in the eye. "I'm sorry, Father, but I just can't be a farmer for the rest of my life."
Daryn gave his son an understanding nod. "Son, I've known that for a long time now. Your destiny lies far, far away from any farm. This was never the life we wanted for you." He put a strong hand on the boy's shoulder. "Whatever it is you are meant to do, I know that you will be great."
"What will you do for help around here, though?" He'd been so excited that it hadn't even occurred to him that he was leaving his parents with one less set of hands to share the workload.
Eldra spoke before Daryn had a chance. "Now, don't you be worrying yourself about that. We have a bit of money left over from last year's crop to hire an extra pair of hands to finish out the season. You just worry about what you're to be wearing your first day of class. When do you start?"
The boy looked at the floor, scraping at an old stain with the toe of his boot. "Term starts in a week," he said sheepishly.
"A week!" she cried. "What are you doing here wasting time for, then? You've got to pack! And Daryn," she turned to her husband. "You need to book him on the next shuttle leaving for Coruscant."
Daryn smiled. "And just what are you going to be doing, love?"
She returned his smile. "I'll be making supper."
Three days later, the small family stood in the crowded spaceport just outside Theed, looking very much out of place in such a bustling scene. Eldra looked around at all the women wearing the latest fashion trends while Daryn was absorbed with the variety of transports constantly arriving and departing the terminal. Their son glanced nervously all around, not particularly liking the throngs of people everywhere or the unavoidable feeling of vulnerability that came with it. Few took notice of the simple family standing there. Those that did dismissed them just as quickly. The boy hated that, too. One day he would not be so easily forgotten, so underestimated. One day he would be so important that people would remember what it was like to see him for the first time. He would lead a life of significance. He never told anyone for fear of being called mad, but he had dreamt about it. And in that dream, countless people were chanting his name, worshiping him.
Since his transport wouldn't leave for another hour, the family found a spot to sit and wait and enjoy their final moments together as a family. The spaceport was very much like everything else on Naboo; it was both functional and beautiful to behold. It incorporated elaborate stonework and complex masonry everywhere. The massive stone columns that held up the ceiling were covered in climbing vines which displayed brightly colored flowers buzzing with insects. The entire complex was open, allowing the mild winds of the Southern Plains to carry the sweet scent of the cha'aka grass through the spaceport. As was customary on Naboo, artwork was everywhere. Dazzling statues of both stone and bronzium were displayed throughout and beautiful fountains could be found every few dozen meters. Tile mosaics covered the floors, which were kept remarkably clean. Everything together had an amazing calming effect.
Nevertheless, he was very nervous. He was young to be leaving home, let alone for a place such as Coruscant. It scared him, but it also excited him. He had been there only once before, several years ago when his parents' farm reaped an astonishing harvest. They made so much profit that season that Daryn took the three of them to the capital for a vacation. They toured everything and went everywhere.
When they toured the Republic Citadel, however, this child, this farmers' son, felt a powerful connection to the immense structure and the world around it. Something had clicked in him that day. He didn't know it, but it was there. He knew that one day he would return to that planet, would make it his home. He knew that he belonged there, amid the soaring spacescrapers and billions of people and the excitement of it all. And so now, years later, he was finally making it happen. Through his school, he had applied to the University of Coruscant. With his exemplary grades and his connections made during his mandatory term in the Legislative Youth Service, he was getting in on a full scholarship. Five years plus graduate school at the finest institution in the galaxy, all just handed to him. He would have been a fool not to accept, even though it meant leaving his home and his family behind. He would miss them, of course, but he knew there was no future for him on Naboo. His path led elsewhere and fate had given him the opportunity to take it. He couldn't pass it up.
He sat, taking in the Naboo landscape and the traditional architecture, for what may be the last time for many years to come. His thoughts were broken by the announcement of his flight's early arrival. He turned to his parents, their eyes sparkling with tears.
"Please," he said. "Don't cry." He hugged his mother, then his father.
"We are so proud of you," Eldra said. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her streaming eyes.
"No matter what, Son, you have honored this family." Daryn put his rough and calloused hand, a farmer's hand, on his son's shoulder. Their eyes locked and the boy had never felt more love for his father than in that moment.
"Thank you, Dad. I'll come back, I promise."
"Go on now, darling. Your flight is boarding." Eldra was wiping the tears from her eyes. She sniffled softly before kissing her son on the cheek. "You go and live the life you were meant to live. Be great and be strong. There is nothing you can't do now. You have been given a free pass in life. Use it well."
The boy nodded. "I love you both," he said, his voice strained by the tears he swore he wouldn't shed.
He turned and left them behind, never looking back for fear that he would lose his nerve. His throat burned and his eyes threatened to well up. Be strong, he told himself. You're no longer a child. You can do this. He allowed himself to calm down. The sorrow in his heart turned again to excitement. He stopped thinking of what he was leaving behind and focused on what he was going toward. The galactic capital.
Coruscant.
A sprawling metropolis with a population of over one trillion. The city had long ago encompassed the entire planet. The only remaining vestiges of the original planet's surface were the tops of the Manarai Mountains, twin peaks breaking through the solid mass of duracrete and transparisteel. To see more of the planet's surface, one must travel deep down into the lowest levels of the city. These parts of the planet hadn't seen natural light in a thousand centuries. It was said that terrible, nightmarish creatures had evolved in the Coruscant underworld, things that even the bravest hunters in the galaxy shy away from seeking for their trophy cases. Very few who ventured that deep ever made it back to the civilized surface some four kilometers above the bedrock.
The young man gazed out across the glittering surface of the planet. Everywhere he looked, lines of speeders, transports, and haulers stretched from one horizon to the other. Spires thrust up into the sky, their tops disappearing into the clouds. A book sat on his lap. It was very old, leather bound with pages made of real paper. The cover was embossed with gold lettering: The Golden Age of the Sith by Grodin Byr'tiis. Since he was a child, bedridden with illness, this book had been his favorite. It told the history of the Sith, masters of the Dark Side of the Force, an energy field capable of allowing otherwise ordinary beings to perform extraordinary feats. These Sith and their Dark Side made up the opposition of the Jedi. Their philosophies frightened the Jedi, so the Jedi destroyed them. That part had always infuriated him. He saw the wisdom of the Sith way, saw their strengths over the Jedi. He hated the Jedi for being so narrow-minded in their beliefs. Once, when he was around ten years old, he had a dream. He dreamt that he himself would take down the Jedi Order, erase it from the galaxy. Beside him stood a dark figure. But when he turned to see who the figure was, he woke up. He never had the dream again but it had been forever etched into his memory. It had frightened him, but had also aroused in him an unavoidable desire to discover the identity of the figure, to understand what the dream had meant, if anything.
Only when he heard the whine of the landing gear did he tear his eyes away from the city around him. They had arrived at his docking platform, a floating landing pad suspended two kilometers over open air. He gathered his things and prepared to exit the transport as soon as it landed. All that he had with him was his book, a small duffel, and a medium-sized trunk his father had given him with their family name stamped in block lettering: PALPATINE.
From the docking platform, he hailed a small personal transport.
"University of Coruscant, please," he said as he entered the speeder. "The student housing building."
The driver, an Ishi Tib, made a sound that he took to be an affirmative and set off into the flow of traffic.
His taxi wove expertly through the traffic lanes, the alien gunning the accelerator at every stretch of open skyway. As they flew past the Government District, the squat, mushroom-shaped Senate Rotunda caught his eye. Though he had first seen it years ago, it was as though he was seeing it through new eyes. He was in awe of it. He imagined what must go on inside that enormous dome, the history of it. For thousands of years, that very building had housed the Republic's most basic governmental element; the Senate. Hundreds of Supreme Chancellors had addressed the galaxy from that podium. Millions of senators had passed through those doors. He had even heard that a powerful Sith had once fought a Jedi Master in that very convocation chamber. So ancient was the building that civilizations had risen, been represented within its halls, and fallen into obscurity in its lifetime.
The boy could hardly breathe. His heart pounded hard in his chest. He felt so affected by the building that he knew in his heart of hearts that that was where he belonged.
Four years later
The boy, now twenty years old, was at the start of his fourth year at University. He was taking a very prestigious political science class whose waiting list was colloquially said to be as long as a Tatooine sand toad's tongue. He, however, had no worries about his acceptance. Since his first day, he knew politics was where he needed to be. He'd taken almost nothing but politically aimed classes, with the occasional art history or foreign language course thrown in to break the monotony.
It was the first day and everyone had taken their seats, Palpatine in the back, his preferred seat. Since he was a child, he had always felt he was somewhat sensitive to the Force. He could effectively and quite accurately "read" people. He could feel out his competition and take measures to ensure his success over theirs.
He was studying the class, targeting his most likely rivals, when the professor entered the classroom. Several students gasped as a very large and very ancient Hutt slithered up to the podium and began taking roll. What surprised them further was the fact that he spoke near perfect Basic. Though the Hutts were physically capable of speaking the language, most, even those who knew it, refused out of deeply ingrained pride. As a result, and due in no small part to the fact that the Hutts have their tiny hands in almost every enterprise in the galaxy, Huttese is the second most spoken language across the galactic plain.
"Good afternoon, class," the Hutt boomed. "I am Professor Kalok. In this class, you will learn the history—and the essentials—of galactic politics from the Ruusan Reformation, which I happen to have witnessed first hand as a Huttling, through this sitting Supreme Chancellor." He pounded his little fist on the podium for emphases. "Who better than a Hutt to teach the finer nuances of politics?" He spread his short arms, laughing at his own joke and seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one else shared in his laugh. It was a warm, deep sound. The class was confused, still unsure whether this was all a gag. It soon became apparent that it was not.
Professor Kalok pressed a button on his podium with a stubby finger. "The syllabus should come up on your desk screens momentarily," he said, the deep rumbling of his voice reverberating around the room. "Please read it silently and sign when you have finished. Let me know if you have any questions."
On cue, the syllabus popped up on Palpatine's monitor. He anxiously skimmed over the document, excited to see what they would be accomplishing this semester. He was surprised to find that very little class time would actually be spent in the class itself. According to the schedule, they would sit in during several meetings of the Senate, visit some of the top-ranking senators and listen to them speak, and even meet with Supreme Chancellor Thon at the end of the semester! Excitedly, he signed the line at the bottom of the screen and sent it back to the podium.
As the students read silently, the Hutt professor made his way slowly up and down each extra-wide aisle, learning everyone's faces. With datapad in hand, he occasionally addressed students by name, asking them a question or two. When he stopped as he came to Palpatine, the man's heart shot up into his throat.
"You," he said to the youth as softly as his deep timbre would allow. "I noticed you the moment I entered the room. You were the only student who did not look horrified at the prospect of having a Hutt professor."
The man swallowed hard and tried to sound unaffected. "Well, sir, to be perfectly honest, I was rather surprised." Palpatine looked directly into the enormous eyes. The large magenta pools stared back at him. Light green slime oozed from the corners of the professor's mouth. His skin looked tough, like oil-coated greenish brown leather.
"You hid it very well, young—," he checked the roster in his hand, "—Palpatine. Have you considered actually entering into politics when you're older? It is a great skill for a politician to mask their true feelings about a subject. Their true face, if you will. It's called diplomacy."
"Actually, sir, I have thought about it," Palpatine admitted excitedly. He'd never spoken openly with anyone about it before, but he felt strangely safe with the old Hutt. "Though I attribute it mostly to delusions of grandeur, I've often had hopes of someday becoming Supreme Chancellor." He suddenly reddened and looked down at his desk, feeling as though he had said something he shouldn't have.
"Hohoho!" The old Hutt chuckled deeply. Palpatine didn't sense this was in any way condescending, however. "Young man," said Kalok, placing an oily hand on Palpatine's shoulder, "if that is your dream, let no one take it from you."
Palpatine again looked into the deep pools of the professor's eyes. "I won't, sir. Never."
The entire first week of class was fairly boring. Professor Kalok had them learning a slew of political terms and vocabulary, most in a dead language used only in politics and law. Palpatine, of course, flew through these assignments and was regularly hungry for more. Kalok took notice of the young man's enthusiasm and obvious natural abilities.
One day, Kalok asked Palpatine to stay a moment after class. After the room had emptied, Kalok placed a plump hand on the young man's shoulder. "Next semester, I suggest you take a more difficult class. Professor Grej'akk'serrit has a class on advanced political strategy. I believe you would find it most helpful on your someday quest for office." He gave Palpatine's shoulder a squeeze. "I believe you will be someone, one day. I have something of a knack for reading people; you have a gift, young man. You have every chance of reaching your dreams."
"Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you." Palpatine grinned widely. "That was Professor Grej'akk—?" He fumbled over the strange name.
"Grej'akk'serrit. He's on level four-eighteen of this building," said the Hutt. "I'll speak to him today and recommend you to him for his class next semester."
"Thank you, sir," said Palpatine again. "I won't forget this, sir." He gathered his things and hurried out of the classroom, eager to look up this professor. When he got back to his small flat, he immediately went for his computer terminal. He typed in the name "Grej'akk'serrit" and submitted the query.
Instantly, a shocking blue face popped up on the screen, giving the Palpatine a hard stare with its glowing red eyes. His hair, an odd blue-black, was pulled back into a tight pony-tail. His age couldn't be judged, as he was a species Palpatine wasn't familiar with. He looked, all things considered, Human. So with that in mind, Palpatine guessed he was somewhere in his mid-fifties.
According to his very short biography, Professor Grej'akk'serrit, who went by "Jakks," had never revealed his species or homeworld and refused to talk about his past. He had taught at the University of Coruscant campus on Carida as well as the Aldera Royal Academy of Alderaan before coming to Coruscant twelve years before. He had written countless papers on the political strategies of various politicians over the years and was apparently one of the galaxy's foremost experts on the history of politics and political tactics. The more he read (and there wasn't much) the more he longed to be in that class. This professor sounded like the exact thing he needed.
On the page with the professor's bio were several links to organizations he was a part of. One of them was geared toward matching students with politicians to campaign for, giving them much needed experience for their own eventual careers. He scanned the page and found something that might just fit him; there was a man, a Muun named Hego Damask, who was running for senator of Coruscant in the next election in two years. Palpatine saw this as the perfect chance for him to really get into the game and learn something first-hand. He eagerly entered his name and submitted it, pledging his services to the campaign that would begin in six months' time. He couldn't wait!
Months passed and he scored at the top of all of his classes. He had visited his home on Naboo for the first time since arriving on Coruscant during his end-of-term break. He was now halfway through his second semester and fully involved in Damask's senatorial campaign. He had gone to every rally, every public event, and every dinner with potential sponsors. He had gotten to know Damask personally and felt that the older Muun had taken a liking to him. To Palpatine, though, he was more concerned with making Damask a contact than a friend. In politics, it always helped to have connections high up.
His first meeting with Damask had been brief. It was Palpatine's first time at the campaign headquarters and he was being shown around by one the more senior members. The senate hopeful had made a short appearance, thanking all of his supporters in person. He was middle-aged for a Muun but approaching elderly for a Human, at least twenty years older than Palpatine's father. As with all Muun, he was tall and spindly, almost fragile in appearance. But he never gave the impression of a weak being. If anything, the man radiated great waves of strength that Palpatine thought he could almost feel like an electric tingling on his skin.
He wore high end but not flashy clothing. His only piece of flare was his hip cape of elegant shimmersilk, which was intricately embroidered with strange lettering in gold and silver thread. His face was long and thin and entirely hairless. His smooth grayish skin had an almost amphibian quality to it and his facial features, typical of Muuns, were difficult to read. What struck the young man most, however, were the Muun's eyes; they were the blackest eyes Palpatine had ever seen. He found himself somewhat unsettled by them.
Damask went through the small group of his supporters, shaking all their hands and thanking them for their time and effort. When he came upon Palpatine, he paused a heartbeat longer than he had with anyone else. He looked the young man in the eye and gave him what may have been a quizzical look before continuing on to the next supporter. Before leaving a short while later, Damask caught Palpatine's eye for a brief moment. He gave Palpatine the same look as before then left without a second glance.
It was weeks before he had seen Damask again, who had been touring around the planet campaigning night and day with a fervor some rumored to be unnatural and beyond explanation even for a species with the endurance afforded them by their three hearts. Palpatine had become evermore involved in the campaign as the days went by. He found himself arguing with members of the opposition, almost coming to blows with one man. He began speaking for the senate hopeful at political rallies held at his school. They were nothing official, but they served as platforms for him to get the word out to more potential voters, donors, and volunteers. Before long, Damask's support had almost doubled, most newcomers being students brought in by Palpatine's increasingly charismatic speeches.
"A new era is coming!" he said during one rally. "Hego Damask knows this and is prepared to represent this planet through the tides of change and into a better future!" He stood at a simple podium in one of the University's many courtyards, his voice carrying out into the ears (or whatever appendages served as ears for some) of a modest audience. He could feel the audience's energy fueling him to continue.
"Too long has the capital been represented by weak beings. Damask will change this planet for the better. All he asks is for your faith in him. Vote Damask!" He ended by punching a triumphant fist in the air. The crowd roared for what seemed like an hour. Palpatine just listened. That sound was payment enough; throngs of people driven into a frenzy by his words, his feelings. He was undeniably in his element now.
Barely two weeks before the election, Palpatine decided he would visit his parents back on Naboo. Something told him it was important to go now, despite the election being so close.
Now in graduate school and involved full-time with the campaign, it had been almost two years since he'd seen his home and he had so much to tell them. He and Damask had grown very close over the last year and a half. The wise Muun was like a second father to Palpatine. He couldn't wait to tell his parents all about the fascinating man.
He was at the campaign headquarters, standing outside of Damask's door. Damask had made it habit to spend long hours locked in his office now that the election was so near. No one was allowed to disturb him. But surely he would want to hear that Palpatine was leaving. He couldn't just take off without a word. He knocked on the door. There was a rustling sound, like heavy clothing, then the very distinctive sound of something being closed. A moment later, the door opened, revealing an aggravated Damask.
"Oh, it's you," he said when he saw Palpatine, his face softening. "What is it you need, lad?" As was typical among Muuns, his voice was somewhat high and nasally, verging on a constant whine.
"I didn't disturb you, did I, sir?" asked Palpatine, who tried to peek past the older man into the dark office.
"No, no," Damask shook his large boxy head. "I was just…" he trailed off. "What is it you need?" he repeated.
"Oh," Palpatine shook his head, suddenly remembering why he'd needed to speak with him. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going home to Naboo to visit my parents for a few days."
"Alright, son. I hope you have a wonderful time," he laid a spindly hand on Palpatine's shoulder, his bony fingers giving a surprisingly strong squeeze. "I'm sure your parents are very proud of you. I know I am."
"Thank you, sir. Well, I better go, sir. My transport leaves in an hour and I don't want to be late."
"Yes, of course. Go on. Have a good trip. I think we'll manage to continue on without you for a short time," he gave Palpatine a warm, lipless smile.
Palpatine laughed. "Yes, sir. Good-bye."
"Farewell, young man. Farewell."
The entire trip home, Palpatine had been looking forward to seeing his parents, but now, he wanted nothing more than to go back to Coruscant. He couldn't explain his sudden change of heart, but something was telling him that Naboo held nothing for him anymore. Over the last several years at school, he'd learned to trust those feelings and at the moment, they were telling him that something was very, very wrong.
Palpatine looked out the viewport next to his seat. They were coming up on Theed Spaceport, the largest port on Naboo. It looked exactly the same as it did the last time he'd seen it, the last time he'd seen his parents. It should have comforted him, but it just made his bad feeling worse. Now more than ever, he knew something was terribly wrong. Even from a kilometer away, Palpatine could see the huge mass of people crowding around one of the terminals. His terminal.
As the transport neared, he could see the scene in more detail. It appeared as though a section of the open air structure had collapsed; smoke wafted up from the rubble and rose in a brown-black ribbon high into the cloudless azure Naboo sky. Fire and rescue ships hovered over the debris, spraying the area with a chemical retardant. He saw one last detail before the transport turned to land in an alternate terminal, something that he would never forget as long as he lived: a single green lightsaber blade in the crowd.
Luggage in hand, Palpatine sped toward the damaged terminal against the heavy flow of passengers hurrying the other way. It was on the opposite end of the spaceport from where he had landed, his shuttle redirected away from the damaged terminal. As he neared, the acrid smell of smoke and chemicals assaulted his nose and eyes. Several ground fire controllers rushed past him, their equipment clinking loudly. He grabbed one of them by the arm.
"What happened here?" asked Palpatine. The controller's badge read "Grimm"
The man shook himself loose of Palpatine's grip. "A Jedi was after some smugglers. They opened fire. He defected the shots with his lightsaber, but they ricocheted and hit a gas line. The whole section of the terminal blew."
"Was anyone hurt?" Palpatine asked urgently. Things were rapidly getting worse.
"The smugglers and a couple bystanders are confirmed dead. We're digging through the rubble for more. It's bad. If I were you, I'd find your people and go home." He turned to leave, but Palpatine grabbed his arm again.
"Listen, son, I have to—"
"What are their names?" Palpatine said quietly.
"What?" The fire controller leaned closer.
"The bystanders who were killed. What were their names?" he repeated.
The man grabbed his comm off his belt and raised it to his lips. "Captain? Do we have an ID on those vics yet?"
A moment later, a man's voice answered back. "Copy. Vics are Jaren Syler, smuggler; Gavet Korwin, smuggler; Yul Redek, smuggler; Daryn and Eldra Palpatine, civilian farmers. They're the only bystander casualties so far." The line clicked off.
Grimm noticed a change in Palpatine's expression. "You okay, son?"
He couldn't believe it. His parents, dead. A Jedi to blame. Jedi.
"Daryn and Eldra Palpatine are my parents," he said, seemingly disconnected from reality. His parents, dead. Jedi. It all seemed to swirl in his head. None of it made sense.
"Oh, son, I'm sorry. Maybe you should come with me." He put his arm around Palpatine's shoulder and started guiding him away from the terminal.
"No!" Palpatine twisted himself loose. "I want to see the Jedi who murdered my parents."
"Now, son. Let's not be hasty," the man said, holding up his hands in a defensive posture, as if he feared the young man might attack him. "No one was murdered and if you want to place blame, put it with the smugglers. They fired the shots." He could see the hate filling the young man's blue eyes.
The Jedi was reckless and it had led to the death of his only family. Palpatine wanted to see the person responsible. "Take me to him now!" He let his fury and his anguish fuel him. He felt a molten pit of anger in his chest rising to his throat, where it unleashed in the form of a primal, animalistic scream. Eyes squeezed shut, he felt what seemed to be an immense release of pressure and heard a startled grunt followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. He opened his eyes to see the fire controller picking himself up off the floor, his nose bleeding. Several people nearby had stopped mid-stride to stare at the developing scene.
Grimm, seemingly unaware of the blood dripping down his chin onto his uniform, looked at Palpatine as if for the first time, grabbed his arm, and said, "C'mon. Let's go find that Jedi."
The devastation was surreal, as though it were happening in a dream. Palpatine's eyes surveyed the rubble, though what he was searching for, he didn't know. Surely, the…bodies, he thought painfully, would have been removed already. Still, he allowed his eyes to wander angrily around the broken terminal until they fell upon a young human male in the unmistakable garb of the Jedi Knights speaking to fire controller Grimm. He stood just under two meters, his long black hair falling over his shoulders and disheveled from his recent scuffle.
"You!" Palpatine snarled, a guttural, feral sound. The Jedi turned to face him, no doubt taken aback by the sudden wave of fury that washed over him.
"Master Palpatine? I am Jedi Knight Sifo-Dyas. I've just been made aware that the bystanders who were killed—"
"Murdered!"
"—were your parents," finished Dyas, not missing a beat. "Their loss was regrettable and I extend to you my most heartfelt apologies." He made a move to put a hand on Palpatine's shoulder.
Palpatine glared daggers at the young Jedi, who appeared barely older than he was himself. "Do not touch me," he snarled viciously. His hands were balled into fists, itching to lash out and clasp the Jedi's throat.
"I understand how difficult this must be for you," said Dyas, attempting unsuccessfully to use a Jedi calming technique on the upset young man. Something was wrong, the Jedi noted with a frown. It was as if the Force wanted nothing to do with him. Every pulse of peaceful energy he sent out simply broke before they could reach the man as though encountering some counter force, like waves crashing into a reef before hitting the shore.
"You will pay for this crime, Jedi," Palpatine threatened quietly. "It may not be today, but on the souls of my parents, I swear you will pay." With a final venomous glare, he turned and walked away. He purchased a return ticket for Coruscant and waited for the next available transport off planet. He was now alone in the universe.
No, he thought. Damask. The man was like a father to him. He looked up to him, aspired to be like him. He was like family. He's all I've got.
Night never truly fell on Coruscant. Light streamed into the room in thin slanted rays through the partially closed blinds. Sitting in quiet meditation, a Sith Lord suddenly stifled a gasp. His meditation had just been interrupted by a fury unlike any he'd ever felt. Somewhere in the galaxy, a creature had been born into the Dark Side more powerful than any Sith Lord to date, perhaps more powerful than any being had ever been in the history of the galaxy.
The Dark Lord's head was still reeling, still feeling the agony, the rage, the primal anger that had just sheared through the fabric of the Force. The Force spelled out a name in his mind: Palpatine. No doubt the Jedi felt it, too. He would need to act quickly. He settled himself back into meditation. He had much to think about.
It had been days since Palpatine had returned and he still refused to talk to anyone. He skipped all of his classes and even failed to attend two of Damask's support rallies. After the sixth day, Damask visited the grief-stricken youth at his apartment.
He stepped up to the door, pressed the chime, and waited for a response. When he got none, he knocked lightly.
"Go away," came a weak voice from the other side.
"Son, it's Hego Damask. May I come in?"
A brief moment passed before the door opened. The man standing opposite him looked terrible. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled. His skin looked pallid and seemed to sag from his bones. He looked exhausted, his eyes red and raw and surrounded by dark bags.
"Please, sir, come in. I'm sorry I haven't been in for a few days. There are just some things—"
"—you need to work out. I understand completely," Damask finished for him. "That is the reason I came by." The Muun towered over the young man. "I just wanted to tell you how very sorry I was to hear about your loss. I want you to understand that, if you ever need anything, you know where you can reach me. And you can take off as much time as you feel you need. It's just that…" He paused.
"What is it, sir?" asked the young man. Damask's tone implied that there was more he had to say.
He looked Palpatine long in the eye before answering. "There is an important rally this afternoon in Citadel Plaza and you are my most charismatic speaker. While I do not want to pressure you into speaking, I would see it as a personal favor that will not go overlooked. And, if I may be frank. you look as though you could use the distraction."
For a long while, neither man said anything. Then Damask turned to leave.
"I'll do it, sir," Palpatine mumbled.
"I'm sorry?"
Palpatine looked him in the eye and spoke more clearly. "I'll speak at your rally today."
Damask smiled. "Thank you, son. This one could win me the election. After today, both of our lives may change forever. For the better, I promise you."
Three hours later, Palpatine stood in front of the largest congregation of beings he'd ever seen. But the numbers didn't bother him. He had quickly become accustomed to speaking in front of vast crowds of people and that day was no different. Except that this day, this was no ordinary rally. He stood in Citadel Plaza, an enormous open plain lined with hundreds of statues, all of them important figures in the Republic's history. Overlooking the plaza was the heart of Coruscant, the Republic Citadel. The tallest, grandest structure on the planet, some say the galaxy. It was the home of the galactic government. And that day, several important members of the government would be sitting in on the rally. This event would involve every candidate on the ballot for the Coruscanti seat in the Senate. This was the big one. And it was Damask's turn.
A large dais had been constructed in the center of the plaza, upon which sat all eight candidates and their representatives. During these rallies, the representatives spoke first, then the candidates themselves. This was where Palpatine excelled. He could work up a crowd with his charisma until they were in a frenzy. Then Damask would use Palpatine's energy as a platform and the crowd would be won.
"For too long have we stood by and let Senator Garyl fail to relay our voice to the Senate, instead allowing himself to sit comfortably in the pockets of the Corporate Alliance and the Trade Federation! For too long has Coruscant been without a voice of its own! Damask is that voice that we so desperately need!" The masses erupted with cheers. He pounded his fist on the podium for emphasis, his voice booming out over the crowd. He tried to ignore the giant images of himself being projected by floating holoscreens all over the plaza.
He paused a moment, waiting for the crowd to settle down. He surveyed the scene, as he always did during his rallies. He saw beings of every species he knew and some he didn't.
"As Senator," Palpatine continued, "Damask will fight for the increasing number of impoverished Coruscanti. He will not be swayed by bureaucrats or corrupted by favors. He will fight to lower taxes on the middle class—" And that's when he noticed the small troupe of Jedi patrolling the edges of the crowd. There were four of them; two Humans, an Ithorian, and an Ishi Tib. Based on their ages, Palpatine guessed that they were two Masters with their Padawans, though he couldn't be sure. One can usually pick a Padawan out of a group by their Apprentice braid, but the younger of the Humans, a dark skinned, muscular man, was completely bald. None of that mattered, though. Palpatine hated them all.
A fire burned in his eyes and in his heart as he thought of his parents. At that moment, he would have liked nothing better than to hurl bolts of pure hatred at each and every one of them, striking them dead where they stood. He kept his composure, however, letting his hatred fuel his speech, barely noticing that the dark-skinned Human had suddenly snapped his head up to the dais as though he were looking for something.
"No other candidate, including the incumbent, can offer what Damask offers Coruscant. His native planet is Muunilinst, but his heart lies here in the Capital. His campaign has no corporate sponsors, and in turn no favors owed. He is not at the mercy of large corporations and their money. He is the best, nay, the only candidate for this office! So next week, when you are at your polling stations, vote for Damask and be heard!" He raised his arms in triumph as the plaza exploded with cheers and applause. He took his seat next to Damask, who stared at him as though he were a complete stranger. Then a tight smile slowly spread across his face.
"That was wonderful, son," he droned in his high buzzing voice. "I don't see how we can lose now." He placed a kind hand on Palpatine's shoulder. "I would like to see you at my apartment this evening. Five Hundred Republica. I have the northeastern penthouse. Come around eight. I've big plans for you, my boy."
Before the young man could utter a word, Damask rose to his feet and approached the podium to address the still roaring crowd. Palpatine's heart was pounding so loud in his ears that it blocked out the noise from the rally. What could Damask want? Was he going to give him an official position on his staff were he to win? This was exactly the chance that Palpatine needed to take advantage of if he was ever going to become Supreme Chancellor. You have to start somewhere.
He had the rest of the day to contemplate what it was exactly that Damask wanted. He looked so proud at the rally, he could only imagine it would be something good. Palpatine reflected on what Damask said back in his apartment. After today, both of our lives may change forever.
Traffic in the richest sector on the planet was far less congested than other parts of the city. As Palpatine flew through the speeder lanes, he couldn't help but feel self-conscious about his less-than-high-class transportation. All around him flew the newest and most expensive models to come out of SorenAir, Arkayn Industries, and Tenebrous Inc. factories. He'd bought his decades-old SoroSuub for dirt cheap and it ran like a crippled eopie. The fact was that the bottle of Alderaanian wine on the passenger seat beside him cost nearly twice what the speeder had. But, it got him to where he needed to go and back again, so he hadn't felt the need for anything new. Now, he was beginning to change his mind.
In this sector of the city, architecture was much more focused on aesthetics than the rest of Coruscant, with the exception, maybe, of the Government District. This was where all of the politicians, sports stars, and holodrama actors lived. Only the richest of the rich could afford to survive here. And, directly ahead of him, his destination, the building that only the richest of them could afford: Five Hundred Republica.
He circled the building several times, nervous about his meeting with Damask. He toyed with the idea of just turning around and going home. No, he thought. You need this. He's going to offer you a position on his staff after he wins. He circled one more time then brought the speeder down on the penthouse's private landing pad.
Palpatine glanced down at his chrono. It was eight sharp. He grabbed the bottle beside him and hopped out of the speeder. Damask must've been waiting for him in the shadows, because he greeted Palpatine almost the instant his feet touched the ground and he hadn't seen the tall Muun when he was landing.
"Good evening, son," said Damask warmly. The brisk breeze so high up tugged at the politician's fine robes.
Palpatine handed the senate hopeful the bottle of fine Alderaanian wine. He wasn't sure of the protocol in a situation such as this. He figured a gift couldn't hurt.
"I wasn't sure if I was supposed to bring anything so I stopped off on the way here." He was beyond nervous.
Damask smiled and accepted the bottle in his spider-like hands. "A gift was not necessary, young man. But it is appreciated all the same. Thank you." He inspected the bottle. Exquisite Alderaanian wine, aged seven hundred years. A rare vintage. Its worn label still showed the Organa family crest. "This is very expensive. You really should let me compensate you," he said as he gave Palpatine a firm look.
Palpatine turned red with embarrassment, matching his auburn hair. "Oh, no, sir. Really, I couldn't take your money." The truth was, Palpatine had spent every last credit he'd earned in the last three months on that bottle.
"Who said anything about money?" Damask's tone, once warm and inviting, now took on a colder, more mysterious edge. Even his customarily high, nasally voice had seemingly taken on a deeper timbre. He looked Palpatine directly in the eyes, the brief moment passing as slowly as a lifetime.
This puzzled Palpatine. What is that supposed to mean? he wondered, wide-eyed and confused.
Damask's expression softened and he swept an inviting and stick-thin arm toward the door. "Come, my boy. We've much to discuss."
Five minutes and two glasses of the strong emerald-colored wine later, Damask broke the deafening silence that had consumed them.
"No doubt you're wondering why I've asked you here," he began cautiously, sizing the young man up with his beady black eyes.
"I had wondered, sir. It sounded important." Palpatine tossed back the rest of his wine and settled back in his seat. This was it. He was finally going to find out what was in store for him. He took a deep breath and listened eagerly.
"Indeed it is. Far more than you realize," Damask said, his voice very solemn. "I am going to share with you a secret," he started slowly. "One so dangerous that if anyone were to find out, we both might be killed for it." He stopped a moment to let the words sink in before continuing. "I will give you this chance to walk away. Away from me, away from my campaign, and away from my secret. You will be safe and I will not contact you again." He paused long enough for the young man to comprehend what he'd just been told. "I am sorry for forcing this decision on you. I am. But it is necessary, believe me. I must ask that you choose now."
Palpatine's mind reeled. What could the secret be? Was it something illegal? What was the old Muun involving him in? Was it worth putting himself in danger, possibly mortal, to find out? He'd grown very close to Damask over the many months and years; grown to trust him. He was like a father to him, more so now that his own father was dead. He decided.
"I trust you, sir," he said earnestly. "And you can trust me. You can tell me your secret."
Damask smiled broadly, the smile of a man who has just acquired a new possession beyond conventional concepts of worth. He knew then that his faith in the boy wasn't ill placed.
"No doubt you know all about the Jedi," Damask began.
At the mention of the Jedi, a brief wave of anger rolled off of the young man. His muscles visibly tensed and his expression turned sour.
Damask continued, encouraged by the response. "But you may not know of those who opposed them thousands of years ago. A group called—"
"The Sith," answered Palpatine softly. "They were slaughtered by the Jedi for their philosophy."
Damask nodded, impressed by the boy's knowledge in ancient history. "Yes, that is correct. You see, they feared the Sith because they harnessed the Dark Side of the Force and they feared the Dark Side because they did not understand it. The Jedi do not trust things they don't understand, you see."
Palpatine had been telling himself that very thing since reading the book that had come to be his favorite as a child, The Golden Age of the Sith. It felt good to hear someone else validate his own opinions. However, he was still completely baffled as to where this conversation was heading.
"My birth name," Damask continued, "is Hego Damask, but that is but the mask I wear. My true name," he stared hard into Palpatine's eyes, "my Sith name, is Darth Plagueis."
Palpatine's eyes widened in shock and his heart skipped a beat. He stifled a gasp. "Darth—? You're a Sith? But-but they've been extinct for a thousand years!" Palpatine's surprised voice took on a razor edge. "The Jedi saw to that!"
Damask shook his head. He was impressed at the boy's knowledge. "Not extinct, boy. Dormant. Once, the Sith were many. But a thousand years ago, the Jedi defeated them at the Seventh Battle of Ruusan. They believed the Sith had all been wiped out in that one fell swoop."
"But they were wrong," said Palpatine, stating the obvious. His voice was soft, almost dreamlike. A smile formed on his lips. Like a child hearing his favorite bedtime story, he leaned in closer.
"Yes, they were. One remained: Darth Bane, who had himself orchestrated the Jedi defeat of the other Sith. He rewrote the Sith Order. To remain hidden from the Jedi and keep the Dark Side concentrated and powerful, the Sith would only practice in twos: a Master and an Apprentice. I," he said, placing a long-fingered hand on his own chest, "am the Master. I wish for you," he placed his hand now on Palpatine's shoulder, "to be the Apprentice." His hand felt unnaturally cold even through Palpatine's layers of clothing. But there was power there, too. And faint buzz just beyond the edges of his perception at the point of contact.
Palpatine was in awe. A representative of the group he had idolized from childhood had not only informed him of their continued presence in the galaxy, but that he could join them. There were no words in Galactic Basic to describe how he felt. None save one.
"Yes." The word escaped his lips barely more than a whisper, but there was power in it. That single syllable would change his life forever in ways he could scarcely comprehend yet.