A note from the authors:

Welcome to The Skywalker Legend: Fragments, supplemental stories and extras that bridge the gap between the main installments of prequel-trilogy rewrite The Skywalker Legend: Before the Dark Times. Whether they focus on main characters or new players, they're not required reading but will definitely enhance your experience with the main series! Each chapter is a self-contained story focusing on a particular aspect of the galaxy/our cast.

One-shot stories will be posted twice a week, with eight installments total. And now, without further ado, we take you to the first of the lot: a very pivotal election day. . .

The Spoiler Effect

Bail Organa's sigh of exasperation reverberated throughout the Senate Antechamber. He slouched, caf mug in hand, behind the grandiose desk meant for the Chancellor of the Republic. The velvet curtains adorning the curved walls of the circular chamber were meant to invoke calm thoughts, but nothing could relax him today.

Today was the special election.

Three days ago, Bail's Senate colleagues had voted to strip him of his role as Chancellor. Though he still technically held the title, it was functionally useless—his Vice Chair had assumed all his roles and responsibilities until a new Chancellor could be seated. This usually took weeks—weeks of campaigning, of candidates trading political favors and hidden secrets in order to rise to the top of the pack. But there was a war on, and everyone was understandably in a hurry to pick a new, permanent leader.

So here Bail was, three days later, sitting in the room beneath the Senate chamber for the final time. It held three desks at even intervals along the perimeter: one for the Speaker of the Senate, one for the Vice Chair, and one for the Chancellor. In the center sat the platform which would soon carry Bail and his two associates up into the Senate Chamber.

The desks in this room were far more practical than the one Bail had spent most of his term at—the opulent stone-carved behemoth in the Executive Suite. That desk was for ceremony, for signing legislation or meeting dignitaries while photographers looked on. The desk down here was meant for work. On a typical day when the Senate was in session, it was cluttered with flimsiplast notes and datapads and writing styluses and cups of something caffeinated.

Today, it was nearly empty. It had been cleaned out over the weekend, much like his office upstairs—the boxes sat in storage limbo, unable to take up residence in his Senator's office until he'd officially seen out his duty. Every part of being Chancellor, from the fancy residence to the security escorts to the ability to shape galactic policy had been stripped away. All he had left now was the title, meaningless as it was.

"Hello, Bail."

Perhaps they've taken even that, the man from Alderaan thought. He turned his gaze upward, ending his staring contest with his caf mug, to meet the eyes of a Bothan man standing in the chamber's entry archway. The Bothan's cream-colored fur rippled as he stepped into the room, his nose turning upward and his ears twitching as he entered Bail's presence.

"Good morning, Fosc," Bail replied, rising to his feet. "I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised to see you."

"Of course you are," the Bothan hissed. "You kept me out of every other important moment in your time as Chancellor, why change now?"

Bail's eyes narrowed as he stared down the Bothan. "Well well, Mister Vice Chair. Someone's a bit salty. Disappointed that you didn't get to pass any meaningful legislation during your one weekend in power?"

Fosc Fey'lya opened his mouth to fire back, then paused as if to reconsider. The Bothan took a deep breath, nodded slightly, then spoke. "I am honored to serve as Acting Chancellor, if only for a time. The decision to speed up the vote process in light of the war was a wise one." The Bothan strolled confidently over to his own desk opposite Bail's, then shot the human a grim smile. "You should've consulted with me before doing anything about Had Abbadon, Bail. This may have gone differently."

Bail snorted. "Is that so? What would you have done, Fey'lya?" As he waited for an answer, he downed the remaining contents of his caf mug.

"I have many people in this building that owe me," Fosc said. "We could have swayed the Defense Committee vote, perhaps. Gotten the Senate to sign off on some sort of action in the Had system."

"You speak with the benefit of hindsight," Bail said with a shake of his head. "Besides, I know you well enough to know you'd have thrown me under the bus as soon as things went south. 'Consulting with you' wouldn't have changed where I ended up."

"Look, Organa," Fosc spat, slamming a fist on his desk. The fur on the Bothan's arms was visibly raised, and his tone decidedly more hostile. He jabbed a clawed finger in Bail's direction. "I wound up in this Vice Chair job precisely because a sizeable portion of the Senate was worried about you. They feared the husband of a queen might end up ruling like a monarch himself. Making decisions all by himself without bothering to check if it was allowed first. Turns out they were right. It's not my fault you decided to live up to their image of you—"

"Gentlemen!" a new voice boomed. The baritone call of Mas Amedda cut through Bail and Fosc's argument, drawing their attention away from each other and toward the blue-skinned Chagrian standing in the doorway. Amedda was dressed in the ceremonial garb of the Speaker of the Senate, and the horns draping down from each of his shoulders twitched as he spoke. "It would be appreciated if you'd both quit bickering like schoolboys. There is Senate business to conduct."

Sheepishly, Chancellor and Vice Chair alike nodded as Amedda moved across the room towards the central podium, his floor-length robes giving the impression that he was gliding across the tile. As the imposing figure stepped up into the podium platform and took a seat in the leftmost chair, Bail turned to look at Fosc.

"You don't have to do this," the Chancellor offered as he stepped up into the decorated cluster of seats. In response, the Bothan let a puff of air escape his snout.

"Unfortunately, Bail, I do."

"I'm serious," Bail said as he settled into the central chair of the platform. "It's no trouble to just skip over your speaking time in the proceedings. I'll just yield the floor directly back to the Speaker. I don't think anyone would hold it against you if you weren't sitting next to me."

"My constituents would," Fey'lya grumbled as he sat himself down to the right of Bail. "Political cowardice is not valued on Bothawui. Me skipping this ceremony polled only slightly worse than sitting back in my old Senate seat in protest."

Bail raised an eyebrow, almost impressed. "You . . . conducted a poll over this?"

"Some of us have careers to salvage, Organa," Fosc sneered. "As I said: I have to do this."

"Quiet, please," Mas Amedda's voice rumbled as the Speaker leaned over to address Fosc and Bail. The Chagrian turned to the jet black protocol droid seated in a lower section of the podium platform. "Send us up."

As the platform rose and the ceiling of the Antechamber irised open, Bail Organa braced himself for the worst. He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the boos and jeers his Senate colleagues were likely to throw at him. He hadn't been prepared when it had happened during the vote-of-no-confidence session. Bracing himself, he supposed, would make it easier.

It never came.

The Chancellor was instead greeted by a thousand icy stares. As the central podium ascended into the Senate rotunda, Bail found himself wishing he could melt into his chair.

The massive arena Bail was being elevated into was lined with hundreds of toroid repulsorpods. Each pod housed a delegation from a Republic world, and each delegation glared with cool aggression at Bail. He could see the stares of the people in front of him. The stares of those behind him he could feel prickling along the back of his neck. Booing would have felt better.

Even Mon Mothma and her staff from Chandrila looked furious with him. Whether the senator was play-acting for the sake of appearances or was actually upset with him, Bail couldn't be certain—either would be warranted. Either way, it didn't really matter. This time tomorrow, he would merely be the Senator from Alderaan. Hardly a worthy target of the entire Senate's ire. Small mercies.

There were only three repulsorpods whose occupants did not seem to want to kill Bail: the three that hovered in the center of the Senate chamber, having broken off from the walls—the three repulsorpods containing the candidates to replace Bail as Chancellor. It only made sense, Bail supposed, that these three individuals weren't upset with him in this moment. His blunder had given each of them a shot at becoming the leader of the free galaxy.

He eyed the leftmost pod's occupant. Sapir of Kuat stood tall, the feathers of her head-crest a gentle green—a sign of calmness, if Bail remembered correctly. This hue faded away to gray as Sapir turned and met Bail's gaze. The Chancellor offered the avian Fosh woman a gentle nod; her eyes narrowed in response.

A call of "good morning" dragged Bail's attention back towards Mas Amedda. The Speaker's voice, now amplified by microphones within the podium, resonated throughout the Senate Chamber. A mumbled chorus of responses answered Mas his greeting, and any senators that had been standing in their repulsorpods moved to take a seat.

"Mister Chancellor, Mister Vice Chair, esteemed members of the Galactic Senate," Mas Amedda began once everyone was seated, "we have gathered today for a floor vote to select a new Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. This special election will follow the same procedure as a regularly-scheduled election session."

Amedda spread his arms wide, gesturing to the trio of repulsorpods floating before him, the sonorous echoes of his last sentence slowly dying. "Your three candidates for Chancellor are here before you today. Prior to the vote, each candidate will have the floor for a short time so they may address you. Speaking order is determined by poll standings. Senator Sapir of Kuat will speak first, then senators Palpatine and Garm bel Iblis will be offered an opportunity to respond to her and deliver their own thoughts.

"Before we begin, the Chancellor and the Vice Chair will have the opportunity to endorse the candidates of their choice. Chancellor Organa, you have the floor."

Bail stood and cleared his throat, fighting the urge to peer over the edge of the podium. Being held thirty meters in the air was one of the things about addressing the Senate that Bail didn't enjoy—a small part of him was grateful this was his last time having to do so.

"Thank you, Mister Speaker," Bail began, instinctively leaning forward as if he were speaking into a microphone. Old habits, he mentally scolded himself. The central podium was wired in such a way that he could have sat back down, slouched in his chair, and still been heard by the senators in the farthest row of repulsorpods—as unprofessional as that may have looked. Then again, professionalism sort of went out the window when I started a war on my own. Nevertheless, he straightened his posture before continuing.

"This may surprise some of you, but I'm not exactly going to follow protocol here." An uncomfortable chuckle spread throughout the Senate chamber, and Bail breathed a miniscule sigh—any noise was preferable to the stone-faced silence. "I won't be endorsing any of these candidates today. The way things are, I doubt any of them want my endorsement. Instead, I'm here to offer you a much-needed apology.

"It may ring hollow. You may not forgive me, and I understand that. But I acted out of line, and for that I am sorry. I've put us all in a terrible situation: a war with the Galactic Confederacy. I can't say for certain whether or not we'd have ended up here anyway"—not that he meant that, but Mon, had they been speaking, would have advised the attempt at being conciliatory—"but my actions helped nothing. My time as Chancellor has rightly come to an end, and I look forward to serving alongside all of you as Alderaan's senator in this next administration."

Bail scanned the room. Some senators sat with their arms crossed, clearly unimpressed with his statement. Others nodded approvingly. He glanced at Mon Mothma's repulsorpod—the senator seated within met his eyes and shrugged, as if to say "Not bad." Shooting her the briefest nod in return, Bail inhaled and spoke his last words as Chancellor.

"I now yield the floor to your Senate Vice Chair, Fosc Fey'lya of Bothawui," Bail said. With a gentle nod of his head, he sat down as Fosc rose to a standing position. And that, as they say, is that.

"Thank you, Mister Chancellor," Fosc spoke in Bail's direction, offering a slight bow. Bail's eyebrows raised in surprise at being addressed by his proper title—Fosc hadn't been so courteous when they were meeting in the Antechamber. Still, Bail supposed, it wouldn't do to be openly disrespectful in a Senate session. His friends back home might hear about it, Bail thought. Can't have that.

"Fellow delegates of the Senate," Fosc said, his smooth voice purring over the chamber loudspeakers, "our great Galactic Republic stands at the precipice of war. As we select the person who will lead us in this pivotal moment, we representatives are faced with a choice: to run from war"—at this, he gestured to the repulsorpod where Garm bel Iblis sat—"or to rush headlong into it," he finished, gesturing to Sapir and Palpatine. His fur rippled slightly along the scruff of his neck.

"I am not here to make an endorsement this morning," the Vice Chair continued. "I am simply here to ask a question: what if there were another way? What if the solution to this Confederacy problem was not violence or bloodshed, but simply offering these people a seat at the table? Letting them be heard, and working through our differences like the civilized people I know we all are. Aggression has been shown—by both sides—but in neither case was it wholly unwarranted."

What the hell is he playing at? Bail thought to himself. The grandstanding in and of itself was merely obnoxious, but giving a sop to the Confederacy? Handwaving the burning of a planet as a misunderstanding?

"Let us make Had Abbadon the first and last battle of this conflict. Perhaps history can remember us not for the war we won, but for the war we avoided altogether. These are the ideals I cling to in this dark time."

As the Vice Chair spoke, Bail's eyes darted across the room. The senators of the galaxy sat in total silence as Fosc gave his speech. Some shook their heads, others leaned forward with interest, but the typical whispers of a Senate session were nowhere to be found. There were no snide remarks being traded around each repulsorpod, not even errands being given to a staff aide. Nobody was saying a word.

"If you wish to cling to these ideals too," Fosc said, "you should have a voice. I would be honored to be that voice."

Bail inhaled through his nose sharply. No, he thought. He is not about to do what I think he is. He can't.

"That is why I am announcing my candidacy for Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic."

At first, the room was silent. Several seconds seemed to pass without anyone reacting to the news; then, a smattering of hesitant applause began.

As far as Bail could tell, the first people to applaud were some senators seated in the Core Worlds section of the room, but the clapping soon spread throughout the entire Senate chamber. It was polite, devoid of the cheers and shouts one might find at a political rally. Still, it was there, and it echoed through the chamber. They'd had their chance to shut down Fosc's bid for the seat, and they'd missed it.

Dumbfounded, Bail shot another glance at Mon; she looked back at him, her own eyes wide. Across the chamber, they shared the same thought: That devious bastard.

"Order!" Mas Amedda shouted over the chorus of clapping hands as it grew in volume. "Senators, please! Hold your applause." As the clapping began to subside, the speaker rose to his feet and waved his arms in an apparent attempt to instruct the room to settle down. His rumbling voice had quieted much louder disturbances; within a few moments, the chamber had once again fallen silent.

"This announcement is . . . unexpected," the Chagrian continued. "But Vice Chair Fey'lya is technically operating within the rules and procedures of the Senate. As he is currently not on the ballot, we will be transmitting new ballots to the printers at your seats. Please utilize them when voting."

Amedda cleared his throat—the Senate Chamber's public address speakers briefly muted themselves to avoid broadcasting a great rumble throughout the room—then continued. "Mister Vice Chair, in the interest of fairness, your announcement speech will be considered your speaking opportunity as a candidate."

"Of course," Fey'lya offered with a nod. "Thank you, Mister Speaker."

"Senator Sapir?" Mas Amedda said, moving to look at the avian woman from Kuat. As the Speaker addressed her, Sapir's repulsorpod floated upwards, away from the grouping of Chancellor candidates and alongside the central podium. "In light of these new circumstances, we can call a brief recess before your speech. Provided each candidate agrees to it, that is."

The senator's head-crest feathers were now hidden beneath a ceremonial hood, but Bail could see the tips of the feathers poking just out from the hood—they shifted to an orange color as Sapir rose to her feet. "Thank you, Mister Speaker, but that won't be necessary. I'm prepared to speak now."

"Very well," Mas Amedda replied. "Senator Sapir, you have the floor."

"Thank you." Sapir bowed slightly in Amedda's direction. As she turned back to face the crowd, she briefly paused to meet Bail's gaze, her eyes weary.

Seizing the opportunity, Bail locked eyes with Sapir and silently mouthed "Do something," cocking his head in the direction of Fosc Fey'lya. The Fosh's brow furrowed as the tips of her head feathers turned red; before Bail could attempt to elaborate, she whirled around to face the Senate without responding to his request.

"I have always valued our electoral system," Sapir began.

Bail could feel the excessive pauses between each word, as if the senator were making her speech up on the fly. Stalling, I hope, he thought to himself. Buying time to come up with a plan. He tried to catch Mon's eye again, but her attention was fixed on the Fosh, as if she were hanging on every word.

"It affords each and every one of us the same opportunity to become Chancellor," Sapir continued. "To lead this great Republic. Yet today, only three of us came before you to ask for your votes." Pausing, she turned around to face the chamber's central podium. "Chancellor Organa, how many people did you run against last election?"

It took a moment for Bail to absorb the fact that he was once again being dragged into proceedings. Standing up, he cleared his throat, then leaned forward. "Ahh, eight, I believe."

"Eight others. Nine candidates in total. And today we began with three." Sapir nodded ever so slightly in Bail's direction before turning back to face the rest of the Senate. "You can't help but wonder why that is.

"I believe it's because we know better. Now is not the time for a fringe candidate. On any other election day, I would applaud the efforts of a candidate running with little support. Running to make their voice heard. But clearly most of us realize that today is not the day for that. Most of us. But not all of us."

Sapir turned to glance over her shoulder at Fosc Fey'lya, who sat with his arms crossed in his seat on the podium platform. "Vice Chair Fey'lya's goal is a noble one, but he forgets a critical fact: we are already at war. Had Abbadon was the first of many battles. My time on the Defense Committee has shown me what a ruthless force this clone army can be. We will not talk our way out of this one. The ruined surface of Had Abbadon stands as testament to that fact.

"We must defend ourselves. In the interest of the galaxy, and in the interest of the freedom and stability of the Republic, I am going to say something I never thought I'd say. If you came here today planning to vote for me: don't."

A gasp filled the room; a mix of confusion and surprise cascaded down the rows of repulsorpods.

"Rank me second on your ballots, or rank me fourth. I don't care. It is crucial that these two men"—a talon jabbed in the direction of Fosc, then of Garm bel Iblis—"not be left in charge as we are dragged into a war. We must elect a capable Chancellor. A strong Chancellor. A true leader for this difficult time. Members of the Galactic Senate, we must elect Palpatine of Naboo."

The ringing in Bail's ears faded as Mas Amedda's rumbling voice sounded beside him. The Chancellor had been in a dazed state since the conclusion of Sapir's speech, not bothering to listen to Palpatine or Garm bel Iblis share their thoughts with the Senate. He'd practically been on autopilot as he'd filled out his ballot—he'd ignored Sapir's instructions, ranking her first and putting Palpatine last, despite a small part of his brain objecting to the idea of ranking Fosc above the senator from Naboo.

Now, the Senate Speaker was directing everyone to wait while a droid tabulated the vote results. Bail mentally recited the instructions, the voice in his head droning with boredom. At this point in his career, he'd heard them dozens of times. Your printed ballots will be saved in case a manual recount is necessary, blah blah blah.

Sinking lower in his seat, Bail clenched a fist. When he'd tried to tell Sapir to do something, he had not meant to throw things to Palpatine. But what could he do? Stand up and tell the whole Senate that the man had come to his office and . . .

And what? Bail thought. Acted intimidating? That's hardly a real charge to bring against someone.

"Members of the Senate," Mas Amedda said, causing Bail to snap to attention in his seat, "there is no winner after the first round of tabulation. Per the ballot rankings, votes for Senator Garm bel Iblis will be redistributed and the vote count will occur again."

A series of groans and sighs of disappointment sounded throughout the Senate chamber, not coming from one particular section but rather peppered across the rows of repulsorpods. Bail was unable to contain his own whisper of "Dammit!"—he'd hoped Palpatine or Fey'lya might be disqualified first.

A disgruntled-looking bel Iblis flopped into his chair as his repulsorpod floated back to its spot along the chamber wall—amidst the sounds of dissatisfaction echoing about, Mas Amedda called for order.

"Senators, please," the Speaker said. "This is a hall of government, not a stadium. Let us behave ourselves." Holding out his hands to quiet the crowd of representatives, he turned to the droid as it processed the results of the second tabulation round.

"Ah, very good. We now have a victor," the Chagrian boomed.

The Senate chamber fell silent, save for the sounds of senators and aides alike leaning forward in their chairs to hear the news.

Bail could feel his heart rate spike, his palms grow sweaty and his mouth dry out. Across the way, Mon stared back at him, expression somber but not numb with dread. She hadn't been there in his office that day. Didn't know what he knew.

Not him. Please, not him.

"In the interest of promoting effective galactic leadership during this time of war," Mas Amedda said, "we will not be waiting until tomorrow's Senate session to administer the oath of office. The new Chancellor will be sworn in immediately." The Speaker turned to face Bail. "Chancellor Organa, would you do the honors of swearing in your successor?"

"I—" Bail began before his voice became stuck in his dried-out throat. He rose to his feet, swallowed, and continued. "I'd be honored to, Mister Speaker." As long as it's not—

"Senator Palpatine," Mas Amedda spoke outward toward the pair of floating repulsorpods, "please come forward."

Palpatine's pod drifted upwards as Sapir's moved backwards toward the wall. Fosc Fey'lya hissed to himself and sat down in a huff—Bail allowed himself a brief rush of satisfaction at watching the man lose before he returned to the reality: Fosc's defeat didn't erase the fact that Palpatine had won.

The Senator from Naboo was elevated to Bail's eye level by his repulsorpod. The man smiled at Bail—a smile Bail knew looked innocent to any outside observer, but felt all too sinister to him. The two men exchanged polite nods; then Bail spoke.

"Senator Palpatine," he said, suppressing all emotion and delivering the man's name as flatly as a fresh-off-the-line droid, "please read the oath of office as it appears before you."

A projection of text fizzled into existence in the air between Bail and Palpatine, the latter's voice amplified throughout the Senate chamber as he read it.

"I, Palpatine of Naboo, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the Galactic Republic.

"So help me god."