Chapter Text
Darth Vader had become an irritation and a spanner in the works of Sheev’s clandestine operations. The Hutts could no longer be relied upon as their population numbers trended towards extinction. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild was in tatters, with once respected members of their guild little more than a high tech pelikki shoot for the local Sith population. It wasn’t uncommon for Vader’s apprentices to be found chasing “bounties” of their own. There was no payment other than their Master’s enhanced teachings and that was more than enough for them. These were no normal Sith. A culture of treachery did not exist within them as far as Darth Sidious had been able to observe, which made chinks in their armour inherently more difficult to exploit. How was he to sway any of them to his cause when they considered all Banites inherently inferior to their own cause? It was a dogma that superseded the average Dark Sider’s lust for power in a manner that left Sidious without his usual arsenal. For now, he was without rebuke until more information could be dug up on this mysterious, anti-Banite sect.
For now though, perched as he was in his marble refresher, all he could do was peruse potential replacements in case any of his artefacts came to harm while Vader’s obnoxious assistant was present. For an appropriate level of value, the options were slim, to say the least. Another collector, whoever it may have been, had plundered a list of Sheev’s personal favourites and the remaining options were simply abhorrent. A high return on investment, but a pink vase, decorated with loth-cat kittens had to be the single most hideous object to grace this storefront. Nevertheless, Sheev favourited the relevant items from the themed collection and spent a moment in contemplation as he foresaw the price negotiation and shuddered.
BANG.
The door disintegrated. Sheev froze as a blaster barrel settled at one of his temples. A heavily armoured Weequay leered unpleasantly and Sheev felt his bowels twist.
“Not so fancy now, are yo-”
SPLAT. Coloured blood delicately wafted away and into the wall.
Sheev’s attacker had been liquified and Sheev craned his head around to stare at his saviour.
“What?” Luke grunted and hurled the weapon straight through the nearby window, which erupted in a spray of glass. Three hundred thousand credits evaporated into thin air within an instant. “Substandard garbage, there shouldn’t have even been a mist cloud. Whoever supplied them gave them knockoff garbage.” Luke’s knowledge of weapons banned under galactic conventions didn’t come as a surprise considering his employer.
“What’s going on?” Why couldn’t he sense anything? Why wasn’t the Force answering him?
“No time!” Underwear still around his ankles, wipes in one hand, datapad in the other, Sheev was hoisted into the air and over the shoulder of Vader’s righthand man. Impossibly fast, Luke kicked off from the stone sink that crumbled and hurtled straight through the window he previously shattered, down into the traffic below. Icy cold wind blasted the exposed Sheev as Luke expertly made the decent, his metallic boots sparking as he braked down the side of the building. At the sight of nearby speeder traffic, Luke’s bent his knees and flew through the air; his cloak billowing behind him, obstructing Sheev’s vision.
“Hells, where’s your bloody security?” He yelled above the wind. Where was his security and why had the external defences been deactivated? And why, why wouldn’t the Force answer him? Was this aide using the Force himself or were those strange boots he was wearing responsible for his near flight through the air?
An explosion, not far from his residence and a spray of blasterfire that Sheev ducked the best he could while Luke once more launched himself through the air.
“Nevermind, that’s probably what’s left of them. Helpless amateurs. Time to go!”
BOUNCE.
BOUNCE.
BOUUUUNCE.
Sheev could feel each and every single impact reverberate in his ribs. Every kink in his spine compressed wildly as Vader’s lackey slammed into vehicle after vehicle, his heavy boots leaving indents as they landed. Were he to call upon the Dark Side he would be fortified against such a trifling inconvenience, but there was no such option. As Luke rebounded off a wall, Sheev caught a glimpse of a purple lightsaber racing towards a not insubstantial mass of vehicles that aiming directly at them as they fled.
Darth Sidious was all powerful, but trapped in the public eye as he was, all Sheev could do was scream and wait for the end. A scream, that by all accounts, Vader’s righthand man couldn’t even hear.
A brilliant twin moon shone in the darkness. At least that’s what Anakin would be telling himself years after the fact, so he didn’t have to contemplate the Chancellor’s two bare buttcheeks bouncing between lanes and elevations of rush hour traffic. The sizeable army of bounty hunters and assorted criminals did little to distract from the extremely prominent view of those two moons that haunted the the journalists on the scene. In spite of the explosions, blasterfire, lightsabers and what appeared to be Mace Windu himself entering the fray, the holo remained stubbornly fixed on those twin beacons. Viewership would be meteoric, but absolutely none of those angles showed the full scale of the skirmish.
There was a large number of Jedi on the scene, doing their best to block pursuit, but with a speeder to lightsaber ratio so disproportionate it was only natural that some would slip past. Those that did make it through the impromptu blockade were being led to chokepoints where ever more Jedi were lying in wait. Part of Anakin wanted to rush over to assist, but he was at the temple and nowhere near the Chancellor. It had to be left to the Jedi who were already present, but if that was Luke holding the Chancellor… Where was his nephew? Ben was never far away from his uncle, for the obvious reasons.
Anakin skidded out of his room before the thought could be finalised. Anakin had absolutely no doubt that Luke could hold his own against a gang of thugs and ruffians, when he was an administrator to a Sith Lord, but Ben was a different story. Ben had better still be in their rooms, nursing either work or school or Anakin’s heart was going to give out before he even made it out of the building.
Ben was going to kill his uncle. “I’m going to the ‘fresher, back soon!” was the single greatest lie in the galaxy that had ever been told. Yes, clearly he had gone to a ‘fresher, but the ‘fresher of Sheev Palpatine wasn’t their ‘fresher, which meant that Luke wasn’t going to be back “soon” by any stretch of the word. Instead, Luke was now skipping through traffic at the most sedate pace known to Force Sensitives, while a horde of disgruntled bounty hunters descended from on high.
The real mystery is how Luke hired them when he personally was responsible for purging them and their former patrons from the galaxy. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild was a fading memory, so where had he dredged up this bunch of losers and what he done to persuade them to successfully assault the Chancellor’s heavily guarded residency? If Ben was Han Solo, he would’ve found the seediest, most disreputable bar in Confederate territory, waxed poetic about the money involved in ransoming off the Chancellor of the Republic (as if they wouldn’t just elect a new one) and waited for nature to take course. From the considerable size of the forces currently chasing Luke and his deadweight down the main media strip of the planet, he must’ve been to an impressive amount of low quality establishments. Admiration could and would have been affiliated with the plan had Luke bothered to inform Ben ahead of time that he was taking an hour out of his valuable day to haze the competition. An hour that Ben could’ve spent doing literally anything else with his time, but instead he was stuck minding Luke’s biscuits while Sheev Palpatine mooned every single resident of the galaxy simultaneously. If he was on Nar Shaddaa at least he could’ve watched it and compared notes with the rest of the stu-
BANG BANG BANG.
Ben leapt into the air at the furious hammering on their front door.
“BEN, ARE YOU IN THERE?” Anakin Skywalker sounded four seconds away from a conniption and Ben shrunk. Anakin would’ve assumed that Ben was with his uncle.
“Yeah?” Ben called back, wincing as Luke flipped through the air instead of going around a freighter like a normal person.
“CAN I COME IN?”
“Sure.”
Anakin barged in, just in time to see a thumbnail replay of Luke’s flip and everything it entailed. “Oh… Oh wow, I was wondering why he didn’t have much a dating history, but that right there, that’ll do it. Poor guy.” Ben’s eyes would be forever scarred by the experience. “Not everyone is born lucky kiddo and if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.”
Ben blinked. “Um, thanks, I guess. My uncle’s good with this stuff as well.” Especially the portion relating to possessed ex-girlfriends. Luke was a certified professional when it came to eldritch entities trying to have their way with him. Perhaps a little bit too knowledgeable.
Anakin beamed, until there was another abrupt knock.
“Anakin, Ben, are you in?” Obi-Wan’s voice echoed through the door. Far more fraught.
“Yes, master! Come in!”
“Have you seen- oh good you have. Nasty business.” Without breaking his stride, Obi-Wan disappeared off into the kitchen and Ben heard the click of the oven being turned off. “Perfect timing, these-ouch- feel just about done for that wonderful springy texture.” Obi-Wan stuck his scorched fingers under the tap. “Did you know your uncle could do that?” Entirely too blithe to not know exactly what he was asking.
“Of course. Just because we work for a Sith Lord doesn’t mean we’re Sith material,” Ben rolled his eyes. “Uncle wouldn’t last thirty seconds as a Sith Lord.” Even now, Ben doubted that dragging your half naked rival across a populated city, in full view of the galactic press, counted as an acceptable form of Sith psychological warfare. It might’ve been too brutal even by their standards.
Before Obi-Wan could edge out another word, there was a knock, followed by a set of ears poking their way through the doorway. “In residence, are you? Time for our weekly meeting, it is.” A sing-song voice called through the door with Master Yoda practically inviting himself inside. “Messy, this business is, but have it in hand, Master Windu does.” Of course Luke had to use the “refresher” half an hour prior to his weekly meeting with Master Yoda. Perfectly timed to have all the key players away from the action.
Ben helplessly shrugged. “I’m just minding the oven, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.” His confusion must’ve resonated crisply in the Force, because Master Yoda reached over and patted Ben’s hand.
“Not to worry, young one, not alone in this, are you. We too are at a loss.” Ben’s resulting flood of relief was a reason entirely inverted to what was proposed by Yoda.
For now, Luke was successful and the only thing that Palpatine would be lifting into the air this time around was his rear end. Ben had a personal hope that Luke would burn those clothes when he was done, but it would be just his luck if his uncle decided to auction them off for charity instead. After all, it’s what Han Solo would do and, just like Han Solo, Luke would deny everything.
With each leap along the traffic lines, it became more and more apparent that Darth Vader’s secretary was no ordinary man. This secretary was no mere secretary. An acolyte at the absolute minimum, but more likely a higher ranked apprentice. Each leap was Force enhanced but none of it radiated in the Force. Indeed, the Emperor’s distress was far more pronounced with him practically howling it into the Force with as much vigour as he was able without breaking his cover. There was no answer, for of course Darth Sidious couldn’t give the game away when this was being broadcast to the entire galaxy. His only recourse was to wait impotently while Vader’s secretary resolved the situation to the best of his abilities. It was to be noted that the secretary was taking the longest, most visible path to safety, passing through the headquarters of numerous media outlets, much to their pleasure. This secretary would be enjoying the fineries of the upper crust for quite some time after this generous donation.
Nor could the the assisting Jedi hear any of the screams. Not the distress of Darth Sidious and nor did they notice the unusual grace of the aide who effortlessly backflipped over a passing cargo freighter, providing a new viewing angle to the frothing mass of firaxa that followed at his heels. No, Darth Sidious would be at the tender mercies of Darth Vader’s foremost servant while this public relations amendment was undertaken.
The Jedi attempting to assist were unable to keep pace, left behind to deal with the riffraff, but there was no real threat in this incursion even while the aide dodged blasterfire from shuttles. It was merely an excuse to humiliate the would be Emperor before his star had risen in the public eye. Darth Sidious would survive the encounter, but Sheev Palpatine would not for this by exposed him by design to all things that unsettled and unseated a Sith in their native environment. Never having truly competed with another Sith who considered themselves equal, he would have been blindsided by the pettiness and depravity of his competition. His suffering was the amusement of all of his enemies, political, ideological and otherwise and this event would galvanise their efforts. A perfect, if petty, play by Lord Vader.
Equally interesting as the chase itself was the slim, feminine figure bounding along in the secretary’s shadow. Each one of his leaps was carefully mirrored, but she was half a step behind, directly in the shadow of Palpatine. Almost loitering directly below his outstretched hands as jolt after jolt the datapad he held came ever closer to breaking free. Her cloak seemed to shimmer with her surroundings, indicating a form of stealth technology that was far more portable than what was to be expected of now or even twenty years in the future. It was a foregone conclusion that, provided she kept her pace, that she would be the winner of the datapad, whatever it contained. Rather than the plans of Darth Sidious, it would contain choice personal details relating to Sheev Palpatine that were sure to salt a wound that was now festering even before the blow’s completion.
Only at the end did Palpatine’s grip lapse and the datapad slipped from his limp hands. Down, down, down, straight into the waiting grasp of the invisible woman below. She disappeared into a shadow, prize in hand, but she would no doubt appear again, elbow deep in the next curated misfortune. Another Force user, also hidden from the Jedi, but baring a technology that had hardly been conceived of let alone a functioning prototype. The ore that had initially facilitated personal stealth technology had long since disappeared due to the rarity of the ore central to its function. This was either very new or very old or, perhaps given her presence, was a sign of a more alternative pathway which had intersected with this galaxy. Regardless, she required further observation before she became part of Darth Vader’s performance.
Finally, after forty minutes of dedicated endurance, Sheev Palpatine was finally deposited at the feet of his guards at a government building, his saviour doubled over and gasping for air in a manner that deeply suggested it was being faked for effect rather than any real need. There was no dignity, no pomp, no ceremony and, most importantly, there was no fear. What was evident to all was a sad old man, undergarments around his ankles and no mystique or silencing tactic would alleviate this amount of reputational damage. Sheev Palpatine’s transformation into the Emperor could be no more, for the moment had been obliterated by what was sure to be a carefully curated character assassination. Darth Vader was an artist in his field and perhaps the final remaining artist with the efficiency of which this event had taken place.
The hood lowered and there was a gasp swallowed by his respirator. Greying hair and penetrating blue eyes sat in a face that had died at his master’s hands years ago. Older, more wrinkled and with a beard that strongly echoed Obi-Wan, Luke Skywalker was decades too early to exist in this timeline and not deceased enough to be from a far more familiar timeline. Luke Skywalker was Force Sensitive. Luke Skywalker had appropriated his father’s Sith title and was sowing destruction along the ranks of slavers and filth across the galaxy. Luke Skywalker, a politician and senator who had undertaken the task while in the guise of a publicly practicing Sith Lord and continued to do so unharmed by the Jedi Order. Luke Skywalker was alive. Luke Skywalker was not in his correct timeline and the opportunities were limitless.
One death hadn’t been enough for Darth Sidious and he hadn’t experienced enough suffering before his existence finally came to an end. Perhaps Luke would allow him to indulge in another, more thorough, reassessment of his former master’s ongoing existence. After all, if Luke could utterly destroy an enemy before the enemy had so much as tasted power, then what was the harm in having an extra set of hands to do the deed?