Off Course

Chapter Two

"My lad, what did I tell you about letting humour get in the way of a plot? We Sith thrive on being evil, choking the odd minion with the Force, and laughing maniacally. We do not indulge in petty mischief…even if it is rather morbid…."
—Spirit of Darth Plageius in conference with Darth Sidious, time unknown.

"Is something wrong, my master?" The voice, haughty by nature, today held an extra dose of disdain. Of course, Count Dooku would not have permitted it – or his condescending smirk – had they met in person, but the war had blessedly put an end to such meetings, and even Darth Sidious' legendary might in the Force did not extend over the HoloNet, at least, not on Coruscant, surrounded by Jedi.

"Oh nevermind, Darth Tyranus, all is proceeding as I have foreseen…."

That remark was not altogether believable as half of Darth Sidious' body was bent over double and disappeared from the holocomm's pickup range, presumably beneath his elaborate desk. The eyebrow raised in incredulity went unseen by the Sith Master as grunts and clunks were heard.

"Well?" he demanded, when the pause in conversation exceeded his taxed patience, "What news of Mandalore?"

"Allied Forces have taken the system." Dooku reported, ill at ease, "They are fortifying for a ground assault, but as I informed Vizsla, they cannot hold should the Jedi achieve orbital superiority and slag the place."

'Oh don't be ridiculous, Tyranus!" Sidious cried, followed by a bump and muffled curse in Huttese, a little side-effect of hanging out with Anakin every fortnight. "The Jedi don't commit to orbital bombardment. Can you see the furore on the HoloNet should the Open Circle Fleet slag a 'neutral planet'? Besides, I'm certain it's written somewhere in their code, 'No chaos, harmony' perhaps?"

Count Dooku sighed. Sometimes he just didn't know why he became a Sith. Yes, he missed Qui-Gon dearly, and the Senate was full of blithering nincompoops – not least the Gungan delegation – but at times, his master surpassed even them.

"My Lord," he began, falling back on the age-worn politician's trick of covering an urge to throttle with excessive formalities, "The Jedi Order had no compunctions about bombarding Korriban from orbit during the Hypersace War." Before his master could protest, he quickly added, "Or bombarding Dromund Kaas after their poster-boy offed the Emperor. Or—"

"Alright, alright, I get the picture!" Darth Sidious cried irritably. He straightened, or at least tried to, and instead thunked the back of his head against the underside of his desk - really hard.

When he regained coherence he added, "Fear not my friend, I have the Jedi occupied with a matter close to home, it will be quite some time before they can muster an adequate force to deal with the situation, be it orbital bombardment or the Jedi Marching Band driving away Death Watch with their out-of-tune clamour."

A snap-hiss sounded, and a glowing blade tip speared through the desk. It wiggled for a bit, there were more grunts, exclamations of pain, creaking of joints, and finally it began to move. It sliced more-or-less along on the desk's edge, cutting it free from one of its supports. A moment later, the support was knocked away and in a tumble of black robes Supreme Chancellor Palpatine rolled out of his chair and out, away from the collapsing desk.

Nigh on seventy years of Jedi disciple where not enough to stifle Count Dooku's laughter, instead, they transformed it from a ridiculous bellow into a more dignified snigger.

Palpatine was not amused, having spent a good half hour stuck beneath his desk, his elderly back was killing him, and the extrication was far from pleasant. "Oh stop it! It's hardly funnier than when you nearly sat on Master Yoda."

Dooku was about to beg to differ, but Palpatine righted himself and quickly changed the subject, "Anyway, I've had enough of this blabber. How is Darth Mall?"

Dooku cringed. It was another of his master's idiosyncrasies, but the elderly should be tolerated ,if not indulged, "He performed well during the initial invasion, but Vizsla reports he is getting himself into scrapes with Black Sun on a regular basis."

"Good, good! He is following his predecessor's footsteps!" neglecting to right his desk, Palpatine grinned at Darth Tyranus' holoprojection, skewed 36° and flickering randomly. "Mall will serve us well if Kenobi shows on Mandalore."

"Why do you insist on calling him that, anyway?" Dooku tried to inquire. It could not hurt, could it?

"Well, I had to call him something, and if I called him 'Maul 2.0' it would just sound like a droid and diminish the fear-factor." Palpatine paused to think, then lit upon an idea. "I guess I could have called him Maullinator'!"

Oh yes it could. For a moment, Dooku lamented the presence of any solid objects within a five meter radius of the holoprojector in his study; he could really apply one to his forehead right about now. Hurriedly, he asked a question of his one, hoping to derail his master before he could go on a renaming spree. 'Union of Separatist Associates' was bad enough. "Master," he asked, "What are you occupying the Jedi with this time?"

"Oh this and that..." Palpatine proclaimed nonchalantly, dusting his robes for effect. "A bombing here, some propaganda there. A protest, some stonewalling, some military interference, a framing and some subverted agents…nothing big." He paused, and then added, "With the Jedi distracted by betrayal in their ranks, they will not respond to Mandalore in time, and the clone army shall lose faith in their leaders. Hahaha—"

Dooku was surprised, "You managed to turn some Jedi to the Dark Side? But the dental plan isn't even worth it these days!"

"Oh no, my apprentice," Palpatine assured, "Just the Dork Side."

Sensing impending doom, Dooku hurriedly said his farewells, citing that the Separatist Council needed some guidance. Though, as his finger hovered over the disconnect key, he could not resist one last jibe. "You know you could have simply wheeled your chair back, right?"

Anakin Skywalker was not a happy camper.

At all.

The torpedo compartment of the ARC-170 was not a comfortable lodge. Though, at least the trip from Cato Neimoidia to Coruscant was short.

Of course, the ARC-170 had been designed with three living crew in mind, but it was not designed to be part of the Open Circle Fleet, and thus two of the cabins were not capable of supporting life. Which resulted in his current predicament. Well, rather, which lead to his current predicament, his Padawan assisting in it, having unceremoniously dumped him out of the torpedo bay upon landing.

"Not funny, Snips!" he called, but after two years together, Ahsoka was immune to his various growls, scowls, and barks.

"Payback for messing with my sabers!" she called to him, "I do not look good with pink blades!"

"If you're finished," a tolerantly fond voice came over the PA system, "You're expected at the Council Chambers…yesterday."

"Yes Master Windu…" the two chorused, despite there being no way for their response to be heard, and helping her master of the permacrete hangar floor, Ahsoka strode onwards into a larger world of intrigue, conspiracy and Jedi Business.

This chapter turned out whackier than I had expected, and definitely more humourous than I intend for the rest of this fic, yet I did my best to tell the story that I needed to tell, while delighting in Palpatine's misfortunes. Depending on feedback, I might revisit this on a more somber tone.

Next chapter shall see us engaged in some Crime Sith Investigations - erm, pardon me - Crime Scene Investigations, and a little more foreshadowing, world-building and other literary devices. Chapter Four will be when action starts (read: lightsabers get turned on), starring my battle against a chase scene.

No elaborative notes being needed, I shall wish you all a good day, and that the Fiction be with you!

Clean word count: 1,210 | Published: 8/11/14 1022 GMT