Slaves Of The Empire {1}

| Interlude |

A year and ten months ago...

Chancellor Palpatine's manor house on Coruscant was built after the classic style on his homeworld: lavish without the impression of decadence, airy without the impression of wasted space. It was ironic that the swarm of servants, clones, and police officers only made the high-ceilinged rooms feel emptier.

Anakin had only visited him here on a few occasions, but every time he left the small storage room he and Ahsoka were using to question the servants, he was struck by a deep sense of familiarity. The departed chancellor's presence was an almost physical thing that suffused the place with warmth. That warmth comforted him some – but mostly it made him hyperaware every intrusion by the investigative team was deconstructing more and more of its mystery, reducing Sheev Palpatine to cold facts with none of the soul he'd had in life.

Anakin hated that he was in charge of finding those facts. It wasn't the Jedi way to hate anything (even a Jedi who'd known life in chains, who'd known hatreds older than stars and deeper than oceans of sand), but he'd never been a perfect Jedi.

"That Zygerrian woman was the last person from the chancellor's staff left to speak with," Ahsoka said, navigating her way through the morass of people without looking up from her datapad. "Those who live on site in the servants' quarters have cams footage to back them up, and those who don't – like her – have airtight alibis."

"I expected as much."

Ahsoka frowned. "You did?"

Anakin spied a loose thread on his tabard, and crossed his arms to keep from picking at it. It wasn't right to avoid her scrutiny, even when he was distracted by feelings he would not find answers about the chancellor's death here; that they were going about this the wrong way. He sensed there was a deeper enigma behind all this, one that could not be reduced to hard facts that only further distanced it from the truth. It was difficult to project calmness when he was itching to fight his way to whoever or whatever had orchestrated it and demand they return things to normal.

"Listen," he said finally. "I know we're supposed to be impartial in this, or as impartial as we can be, considering how well I know– knew him. But the chancellor was as strong as a man ten years younger; any Jedi who went to see him would've sensed it. I can't believe he died of natural causes. If this was engineered, we won't have it easy finding loose ends like missing alibis to unravel."

"Uh-huh. Meaning you didn't sense anything amiss when you saw him last," Ahsoka quipped, blatantly ignoring his point. "You're going off your own judgment."

"I didn't sense anything, but the last time I saw him was six weeks ago, and–" Anakin smiled as he deciphered her neutral tone and caught the jibe within. "How very un-Padawan-like of you, questioning me so offhandedly!"

"Sorry, Master," Ahsoka said. Across their bond he could tell at least half-meant it, which was a good deal more repentant than usual.

Anakin chuckled. As she matured, Ahsoka had gained an understanding of rank in the Order she'd lacked earlier in her apprenticeship. But the longer they spent together, the less any of it seemed to matter. Now, Anakin saw her much more as a member of his family than a hapless youngling in need of protection: a younger sister he trusted, and a comrade in arms who fought beside him on equal ground.

She'd be ready for Knighting, soon – another two years, if Obi-Wan's estimate was right. Anakin had a feeling Ahsoka would outpace even that projection (and his own notable record) and make full Knight long before she turned nineteen.

"So, tell me about this Zygerrian," he said. He had to focus on the present, as nice as it was to imagine the not-too-distant future.

"Her name is Tanil Vitej, but just as it was for the others, there's not much to tell." Ahsoka's presence in the Force darkened in suspicion, belying her words.