And we shall stand eternal

-1-

If you would understand the mysteries of the Force, focus not on the end. Examine instead the insignificant change; the word, the shadow, the dance of a breeze. The man who can read the path in these signs has already touched the future. He will shape the end.

On this night one such change is in motion; the shift so small that even a master of the art might be forgiven for missing it.

But forgiveness is not part of the nature of change.

Change is relentless.

Change will be.

Instruction on the Nature of the Force

-----------

The view from the mid level apartment on the very edge of the entertainment district of Galactic City was not special; lurid streams of traffic slicing the night, stained by the rising glow of the hoardings advertising products and services to all and sundry.

Especially to sundry, Palpatine reflected. He turned from the window just as the door slid open, "What did you find, Yorath?" he asked.

"Not much," the other replied.

Palpatine sat as Yorath helped himself to a drink. Only when he was settled deep in the opposite chair did Yorath continue. "I accessed the terminal that they have near their compound, the one with all the public relations information – it was tricky to get through to the secured stuff, but I did manage it." He lifted a thick-fingered hand to his brow and winced. "Problem is, I triggered something. About a minute after I reached the first file I was marched away from the terminal and given a very strong hint that I shouldn't come back."

"I wondered about that." Palpatine said, eyeing the bruise that narrowed one eye to a mottled parody of a wink. "I didn't think Jedi got into fist fights."

"It was a lackey. If it had been one of them I'd still be answering their questions."

"True." Palpatine sighed. He leaned back, gaze tracing the path of a tension crack that split the permacrete ceiling. "We're left where we started."

"Not entirely," Yorath said, "Before they saw me off, I saw a name!"

Palpatine straightened and found himself staring into a grinning face, "Do you want to share it with me?"

"Te Ne'bris. A Bothan. The file noted him as a witness on the original case. It seems that he works as a lobbyist. On top of that, I've found that this Te Ne'bris is currently compiling a report into the financial affairs of one Torias Mindel. He's on a retainer from a dodgy offshoot of a pressure group working to discredit Mindel's bill."

"The Earnings Declaration Annex, that's due to go to the vote in less than two weeks. He actually thinks that smearing the Senate's most reputable member is going to work?"

"Seems someone let him down and he stands to have to pay back quite a sum of credits if he doesn't dig up some dirt."

"I assume he's already spent the credits."

Yorath nodded in response.

"This is why I don't charge you rent," Palpatine said with a chuckle.

"Rent?" Yorath protested, "I'm not here that often."

"Often enough for you to have a passcode. You never set down a landing strut without installing yourself here for a few days. What is it going to look like when I'm ambassador and a scruffy merchant keeps knocking on my door?"

"You still have a force-pike up your behind, don't you?" the same accusation that Yorath had made the very first time they met, only then it had been delivered with all the loathing the ten year old foundling could muster.

"You never could take a joke," Palpatine replied recalling the scuffle that had followed when he had risen to that provocation; the memory of his defeat still chafed. "So this Bothan's desperate?" he continued, returning the conversation to its purpose.

Yorath nodded, "I think that's why he agreed to see us. I spent the afternoon chasing him up. He's certainly not living the low life. I hinted I had a contact on the inside who might be able to help him out."

"Me?" Palpatine smiled thinly, "I don't know about the inside, but the odd bit of legislation crosses my desk. Yorath," he asked, sensing that his friend was not telling him the full story, "what did you tell him?"

"Rising star, high ambitions, ear of the Senator," Yorath shrugged, "The usual stuff. Had to make it sound tempting."

"He'll see right through us! I draft speeches, Yorath. I read bills and make suggestions. That's not having the ear of …"

"And what do you base the speeches and suggestions on? A copy of just about everything goes through that office of yours – you four, if you wanted, could bring down the government. Anyway, it's true enough for him. Grab your jet pack," Yorath added, "We need to be at Pinnacle in twenty minutes."

-------

Acantha Sul searched. A thousand ordinary minds eddied through the Plaza, wave upon wave of muted tones that peaked and troughed the surface of the Force. Just for a moment she caught a glimpse, an extraordinary awareness, luminous against the wave of monotony, and then it vanished

Just a momentary breach, she thought, letting the flow recede. "Did you see it?" she asked the Padawan who stood to her left.

He blinked the last remnants of the Force out of his awareness than admitted, "I saw nothing, Master Sul."

"He was very subtle," she said turning to face the Padawan. "Barely a touch, but he was there. If someone does not want to be found, and if they know how, they can keep it from you."

"If we cannot use the Force to search and we cannot use our eyes, what chance do we have of this mission being a success?"

"Where am I, Oon Fak?" Sul asked.

"Standing in front of me," he replied.

"What am I doing?"

"Talking to me."

"And what does the Force show you?"

She saw the Zabrak bright in the Force, tendrils reaching out around him. "I see nothing, Master Sul," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "Not even you."

"Reach out, Oon. Expand your field to enclose me, do you sense anything unusual?"

"I see only blankness, like the night."

"Reach out further, into the crowd. Touch an ordinary mind."

"It is blurred, thoughts, desires, conflicts."

"Now compare that with what surrounds me."

"You're featureless, a void."

"That is the most basic way I can hide my Force presence. Even an absence tells a story; something that should be there but is not is as telling as an unexpected presence. Look again and tell me what you see."

She wrapped herself in the semblance of an ordinary mind, "I see the mind I saw before,"

he said.

"This is hard to maintain for any period of time but not impossible. These techniques are very basic, not so much hiding in the Force but hiding from it, or at least from anyone more than normally sensitive to it. As we progress I'll show you more sophisticated techniques. With them you can become the Force, for a time at least, and only a master would be able to find you. Look one last time, Oon."

He closed his eyes and said, "I see your normal Force presence, Master Sul." As he spoke she reached out then quickly snatched her hand back into her robes, "Are you trying to hide?"
"No, Oon. Open your eyes." She extended her hand palm up and she saw his expression crumple as he recognised his own lightsaber.

"How did I not sense you?" he asked reaching for it.

"You blinded yourself, Oon. I surprised you, after all my tricks with my own presence. You were distracted. All I had to do was reach out with my hand. Don't rely so heavily on the Force that you neglect the evidence of your other senses."

"I begin to see the danger," Oon said clipping his lightsaber to his belt. Acantha fancied his tone was a little sulky, "from Force wielding would be pickpockets."

She raised an eyebrow, "I didn't quite hear that, Oon," she said.

"I meant to ask, why would anyone need to hide?" he said, taking the invitation to retract his jibe.

"A good question. Why should a Jedi have need to hide? A Jedi does not have that need, but if he ever wants to find someone who does, then he must know what he is looking for. Not all Force users are Jedi and some feel that they have need or reason for disguise. The Jedi Council find it prudent to keep an eye on those who are not Jedi. Some have grown up within our own Republic those with weak abilities, sometimes criminals, sometimes not – everyday citizens who rarely realise what causes their uncanny good fortune. There are others who come to us late, too late to train, often from the fringes of the Republic and then there are those trained in other traditions, mystics generally. They are by far the most dangerous and from time to time they stray into our protectorate."

"And they're not all open about who they are?"

"Have you heard of the witches of Dathomir, Oon? They are Dark Side users, they do not exactly advertise their presence to the Jedi; the Mendoxx Brotherhood are another group whose members you would not want to meet on a dark night and, well there are also much worse possibilities."

"How bad can it get?"

"How much history have you studied, Oon?"

"Enough," he replied wryly, "Not my favourite subject."

"Knowledge," Acantha said, "is every bit as important as saber practice."

"Yes, Master Sul," he agreed, and perhaps seeking a way to divert the lecture that was looming he asked, "Is this preacher using the Force?"

Acantha considered the question, "We do not yet know. The preacher as you dub him, appeared just over a month ago. He spoke at a complex very much like this one – he spoke of an empire, the destruction of the Republic and of new peace. A few days later he chose another venue and gave a similar speech. Every few days, another commercial complex and another appearance."

"Coruscant is a very attractive destination for the deranged and the dispossessed," Fak remarked. "If we have to track every one of them we could be at it for some time."

"Based on evidence from the first sightings of our preacher, there is no record of his arrival on Coruscant – not on any transport, anyway. Nor is there record of his previously being resident. We want to know who he is, what he is saying and to whom he is saying it, and whether or not his audience is actually listening."

"You think he may be some form of prophet?" Oon Fak asked, sceptical.

"I don't think anything of the kind," she replied, "I'm simply here at the direction of the Jedi Council. We will find the preacher and make our report then they will decide if the words are more than ravings. And by the way, Oon, Jedi don't smirk!"

-----------

Having been born and raised in the glittering heart of the Galactic Republic, by the time the Coruscanti of a certain social standing comes of age he has been exposed to such a stream of commercialism, spin and sensation, that his attention span is comparable in duration to the life expectancy of an unarmed Ewok facing a Rancor. As any auditor droid could calculate, this is rather less than a standard minute. These bright young beings seek out the latest thrill, moving on swiftly as boredom settles in and their less privileged contemporaries catch on to the trend. It was a matter of note therefore that Pinnacle was and had been the place to be seen for three standard months. It may have been the arbitrary membership policy, it may have been the choice location at the apex of Corybance Heights or even just the unique fusion cuisine. Whatever it was Pinnacle was not the sort of place Palpatine would normally have visited.

"I know you said this Bothan wasn't exactly slumming it, but this is a bit beyond what I was expecting," he said as the air taxi deposited them on the edge of a crowded landing platform.

"I thought the same," Yorath laughed, "It's the place. Wait here. I'll check if we can get in before we make ourselves look like idiots in front of this mob."

Palpatine waited, a dull figure against the splendour of the Coruscant night eyeing with distaste the fashionable beings that buzzed around, iridescent, like flies attracted by some exotic scent.

A hand on his shoulder. Palpatine turned. "Name's on the door," Yorath said with his wonky grin, "Follow me."

They went straight to the front of the queue, Yorath happy to push past anyone who seemed reluctant to let them through. Palpatine had the distinct impression that Yorath was enjoying it though he himself didn't much care for the sneers and whispers they attracted as they passed by.

"Do you ever plan to grow up?" he asked as the po-faced human doorman led them inside.

"No need, I'm not the one who wants to be an ambassador – I leave that all to you."

"I think our friend is trying to make an impression on us," Palpatine remarked taking in the gleaming entrance, a vast transparisteel atrium at the very top of the building with no evidence of support or join, "I think that he wants us to think that he belongs here."

Toward the centre of the room the floor dipped into a spiral ramp that took them down to a lower level. The room which they entered was dark and curved around the edge of the building, the most prominent aspect, Palpatine noted was the floor. It was transparent except for three bands of black that followed the curve of the building taking full advantage of the precipitous nature of the city. Long term residents might be inured against the height, but Palpatine deliberately walked on one of the solid bands as they rounded the building. They passed several doors through which faint sounds of music or of laughter could be heard then eventually they were shown into a small but definitely solid dining room where the only occupant sat sampling a delicacy that writhed on a flat dish before him.

"He's not nearly as relaxed as he appears," Palpatine muttered as one creature dissapeared down the throat of the other. It was clear to him why Te Ne'bris had chosen this place to meet. He wanted to establish his authority, to impress upon them the disparity in their relationship. He knew the type, and he knew that they usually won at least against people without his own particular advantages.

"You lead," he told Yorath then allowed himself a deep breath. He didn't know if he could manage it. This was not a schoolyard squabble or an office conflict easily won with a little subtle influence. This was real, the target unknown and he remembered a hard learned warning about the dangers of experimentation.

"I'm Yorath Marr," he heard his friend saying, "we met briefly this afternoon."

"Sit, sit," Te Ne'bris seemed amiable enough, "Spring wine," he ordered waving the hovering waiter away. "And who is your friend?"

"My friend. That's enough for you to know."

"Friends have names," the Bothan said.

"Not this one." Yorath's approach was certainly direct, but then Palpatine rationalised, perhaps that was how one conducted business beyond the Outer Rim.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

He doesn't waste time, Palpatine had to appreciate that, but he sensed that this Bothan trusted no-one, not even himself. Why?

"It's about a Jedi. A Padawan named Chaliapin," Yorath said.

"I don't know any Jedi," Te Ne'bris leaned back, stroking the tip of his beard with the fingers of one hand.

"Maybe you've forgotten," Yorath continued, "it would be, fifteen, sixteen years ago. He wasn't much more than a boy. He met a mysterious end. Sound familiar?"

"No. Not in the slightest."

"It's not a name one would forget," Palpatine remarked.

"But I haven't heard it before."

"Odd then that I saw your name on a report about this Jedi," Yorath interrupted.

"Very odd," the Bothan agreed. The waiter returned, burdened by a laden tray. His fluttering wings seemed to be working double speed to keep their owner aloft and their rapid flup, flup, flup was the only sound in the room apart from the clink of crystal followed by the low gurgle of golden liquid being poured. Palpatine used this interruption to push into the Force and he was surprised at what he learned – Te Ne'bris clearly remembered the event and had an equally clear belief that it had never happened. How could that be?

"The Jedi look after their own," Te Ne'bris said as the door slid closed behind the waiter, "they don't need outside help."

"You were the one who found him. Weren't you?" Palpatine asked sipping the sweet wine.

The Bothan took a very slow, very deep breath, "What's your interest?" he asked just as Palpatine felt the first thread of resistance snap with a tiny shift in the Force.

He put his glass down.

"Chaliapin was my brother," Palpatine replied, "I made a promise to our mother that I would find out the truth about his death. You will tell me the truth."

"Truth is an expensive commodity in this city."

"I'm willing to pay," Palpatine grasped the bridge of his nose for a second.
Te Ne'bris peered at him "I doubt you're that wealthy."

"I'm not offering credit. I'm offering information."

"What can you offer me?"

"I haven't come here to waste your time, Te Ne'bris. I've done my research. Is it not true that you are involved in a probe into the financial affairs of Torias Mindel?"

"Never heard of him."

"Really? I was under the impression that you were some form of journalist," again Palpatine felt a lurch as the Bothan's resolve weakened, "Even the most lowly gossip peddler is aware that Torias Mindel is one of the most outspoken supporters of the Earnings Declaration Annex that is currently causing so much of a stir in certain circles. Is it my imagination or has that not been the most prominent news story in recent weeks?"

"That Torias Mindel!"

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere," he exhaled, "What do you want to know about Mindel?"

The fur on the Bothan's neck, what was visible above his brocade collar, lifted in a ripple of anticipation. "What do you have?" he asked keenly.

"I'm not going to come out and tell you just like that. Knowledge for knowledge, secret for secret. First you will tell me about the Jedi."

"I need more than that; I need proof that you know something," the Bothan was being very difficult. Palpatine admitted to himself that he would not normally have tried to manipulate him in this way, he had neither a simple nor a weak mind. But necessity had placed this challenge and if he were to get any closer to solving the riddle of his brother's death then Palpatine had to accept and to win that challenge.

"Tell us about the Jedi!" Yorath demanded filling the silence. "Then he will tell you about Torias Mindel."

"There's not much to tell. They're not immortal," Te Ne'bris said as Palpatine saw his mind glow with the thought of what he could gain with the right information. He added the afterthought, "Sometimes Jedi die."

So do lobbyists, Palpatine thought with increasing irritation. "Why don't you start by telling us where?" he suggested.

"Where?" Te Ne'bris tested the word, and finally Palpatine sensed his reluctance to speak was beginning to splinter. He pulled out of the Force, confident that momentum would carry the Bothan the rest of the way. "In the Gorge, that passage between the Aurora Plaza and the Lumerian Way that everyone uses as a short cut."

"I know it. Perhaps a bit more detail …" he suggested, the Gorge as it was colloquially known had both a vertical and horizontal stretch of over three standard kilometers and so a bit of precision would not hurt.

Te Ne'bris gave a thoughtful grunt, "There's a small club – it's about half way up the edifice, right at the top of the lower level. I was leaving this club one night and I'd gone on to the walkway that leads to the other side. The clientele prefer not to arrive directly at the door you see, city full of gossips. They like to keep the pretence that they are there for innocent reasons."

"I don't really care what you buy with your credits," Palpatine said, his dislike of the Bothan increasing with every word he spoke, "If you could get to the point."

"The point, yes. It was early, I'd only been there to interview Orm – never mind who. I reached the walkway and it was deserted, then I noticed something hanging over the railing – I thought a cloak, or something of value that I might return to its owner, so I had a look."

"What a paragon of virtue you are," Palpatine muttered.

"I had a look and saw it was a person, a human bent back over the railing, he was dressed like a Jedi maybe twelve, thirteen, possibly a little older I'm not that sure with human age. Anyway I pulled him off the railing, I couldn't really leave him like that and it doesn't hurt to make the right friends. He was like a bag of blood – I don't think there was a bone in his body that was whole – he collapsed right there and then, flopped down onto the walkway. That's when he dropped his light sword. I picked that up and hid it and as I did I clicked on a little recorder I always have with me. I don't know how, but he was still alive. Do you know what he said?" Te Ne'bris paused.

If I knew what he said do you think I'd be talking to you, Palpatine thought.

"They tried to take me – something like that. There was a lot of noise from passing traffic so it was hard to tell. That's when he died. I think he must have activated a beacon or something," Te Ne'bris continued, "there I was on my knees with a body when the Jedi turned up – three of them. I thought I was a goner. That's the truth."

"I believe you," Palpatine said, "but if, as you say the Jedi came and you were still there, how come you have any memory of this? Surely they would have taken steps to make sure that the knowledge of their loss was protected."

The Bothan laughed, "Mind tricks! Anyone can learn to stop a mind trick, very useful in my line of work. They tried their finger waving and I played along. Answered their questions like a man in a trance, gave the responses they expected then they sent me packing with an order to forget everything I'd seen."

And that made it clear what had happened – their block had been partially effective; it had prevented the Bothan from using his information even though his memory of events remained conscious. That was the restraint that had caused Palpatine so much trouble.

"You didn't use the information, is that not odd?"

"It never occurred to me."

"Do you still have them, the light sword and the recording?" Palpatine asked casually.

"It's my only proof it ever took place."

"I am willing to trade proof against Torias Mindel for those items – they will be a great comfort to my family. And you can finally make some profit on the knowledge you have held through these years."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I am a bureaucrat, Te Ne'bris. I know certain parties who have as much of a vested interest in defeating this bill as you have – parties who cannot afford to make their opposition publicly known. Bring me the light sword and the datachip and I will give you the evidence you need."

"The light sword and the datachip, yes."

"Good."

"Who are you?" the Bothan asked suddenly.

"My name is Hartal Inlia," Palpatine said ignoring the look that Yorath gave him

"You're younger than I expected."

Not surprising as he is the head of Alderaan's research office, Palpatine thought, but he simply replied, "Appearances can be deceptive."

"If you will excuse us, Te Ne'bris, I will fetch my part of our bargain. Yorath here will contact you with a rendezvous point."

Before the man could object Palpatine got up and followed by Yorath left the room.

"Why did you say your name was Hartal Inlia?" Yorath asked as soon as they reached the open air.

"A whim," Palpatine replied, "I didn't like the way he looked at us, it will give him something to …" he turned suddenly to his right and stumbled, reeling as though an explosion had rocked the platform. Through a haze he saw the outline of a female Twi'lek, people laughing, the blurring crowd. Then he felt hands tighten on his arms.

"Are you alright?" Yorath asked, "Palpatine?"

Palpatine nodded, fighting a wave of nausea. Someone had delivered him something rather stronger than the Force equivalent of a tweaked nose. Someone who wanted to let him know that they knew what he could do.

"Palpatine?" Yorath repeated.

"It's nothing," he said, allowing Yorath to lead him aside, too disorientated to try and locate his attacker.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry. Just the change of air," he forced a smile, "Wait and follow Te Ne'bris, I'll contact you with a meeting place."

"Palpatine?"

"I'll be at the embassy," he said, finally and turned away.

----------

"Master Sul, I would speak with you."

Slowly, Acantha Sul let go of the threads she had woven into the Force. She watched as they washed away, dissolving the pathways she had made through the events of the past weeks to earlier that day in the plaza. She rose and smiled at Oon Fak. "Tell me your solution. Perhaps it will be better than mine, come."

Gravel crunching beneath their booted feet, they walked toward the pond that lay among the rocks fed by a gurgling stream. Here the air was moist and Acantha could imagine that she was outdoors and not in an artificial garden shielded from the scouring Coruscant air. Sitting, she trailed her hand in the cool water as she waited for Oon to join her.

"He's playing with us," Oon said enthusiastically, "hide and seek. We need to reach out and find him through the Force."

"Oon, do you not think that perhaps I've already tried that."

"But what have you been looking for? Think, Master Sul. The first time the preacher appeared everyone saw him, it was the height of day – every head, tentacle and muzzle in that square turned to see what the commotion was about – the Coruscanti are a nosy bunch –it's impossible to look in a window without someone else thinking there must be something worth seeing."

"What has this to do with our preacher?"

"For the last eight or nine times we've been chasing a shadow – we've heard the voice but have you seen a single head turn to see who is speaking? Have you heard the HoloNet broadcasts asking for an enquiry into the disturbances of the peace, or of members of the Senate calling for an end to people being free to make politically incendiary speeches on the streets? I haven't – do you really think they would let an opportunity like this pass? Any of a number of factions could be making ground with it but still we hear nothing."

"Even today, Oon? We heard him."

"We heard a shadow. This is hide and seek in the Force, just like the younglings play – we can hear him in the Force, the others, all those thousands of people cannot hear a thing because there is nothing meant for them to hear."

He's right, she thought, not one passer by has mentioned a thing, not a shaken head, no snorts of derisive laughter. Only the quiet response of the Jedi Council.

"Well done, Oon. I've had us looking for something that isn't there," she said. His was the answer that had been eluding her for weeks. "It proves now that our preacher is a Force user."

"That's good isn't it?"

"Not necessarily, but it gives us a clear way to go. We shouldn't be too quick to assume; just because he has said a few disparaging things about the Republic doesn't mean he is an enemy though we should not be so complacent that we put ourselves at risk. If we are allowed to be our only judge surely we will always be judged to have no shortcomings. We must look outside ourselves to find and to understand the truth - that applies to the council as well as to individual Jedi, Oon."

He looked puzzled as if admonished for a transgression he hadn't committed.

"I didn't mean that as a reprimand, not for you anyway, Oon, but for this foolish Jedi who not for the first time has put too much faith in her own judgement."

-------

"Good evening, sir" the security droid chirped from behind the desk which during the day was typically occupied by a pretty thing from a good Naboo family which happened to be based on Coruscant.

Palpatine knew to which he would rather be talking as he went through the identification process, "Has Omnian Clish left for the day?" he asked.

"Three hours ago, sir."

"Never mind," and then with a shrug, as though he didn't want to have entirely wasted his journey he turned away, "I'll be in the pit," he said, not caring whether or not the droid heard.

The pit, as the small windowless office at the Naboo embassy was known, or as Yorath had put it, that office of yours, had a certain reputation. Every establishment, in education, in business, in politics has such a room where sharp minds endure deplorable conditions of pressure and environment because they know it is the way to the top. The pit housed the protégés of Omnian Clish, fished out of the grey tide of button pushers that the homeworld foisted on the embassy each year on the mistaken assumption that large numbers helped the establishment function. They did the bulk of the work in the Department of Policy Research and enjoyed certain privileges not normally extended to such officially junior functionaries. These four were an elite. Hungry, keen minds, none too troubled by conscience, who all wanted to advance – the pit had it's own rules and as he sat at his desk Palpatine scrupled on the idea of extending those rules to the rest of the world.

Based upon the rules of this room he weighed a reputation against a promise, a truth against a lie, a past against a future. And with comforting sophistry, he began to see how it might work

There was only one course of action he could take.

Authors Note:

This story is pure speculation about Palpatine's early career, and only one of many possible routes to the Dark Side. – I will take no liberties with canon but where it does not yet exist I hope to have fun nudging the boundaries of the Star Wars galaxy.

Many thanks to UninvitedCat who kindly beta read this chapter for me, and who I hope will stick around to beta the rest.

Feedback, positive or negative, is encouraged and appreciated.