The Senate passed the Corporate Security Modernization Act with a slim majority thanks to fervent lobbying by Senator Palpatine. The law granted corporations like the Trade Federation permission to militarize their fleets under "strict oversight." In reality, it was a smokescreen, and one man saw the opening clearer than most.
Cassian Voss, now director of Cassian Spaceyards, stood aboard a refurbished Lucrehulk-class battleship, orbiting Neimoidia.
"This is where they store their precious battle droids?" he muttered, watching spindly metal soldiers file into racks.
"Primitive," EVA noted dryly, appearing beside him as a hard-light avatar. "But scalable."
Cassian paced the control deck, inputting commands into a holo-terminal. The Federation had signed a lucrative contract for fleet modernization his yard would refit over fifty cargo-core battleships into true battlecruisers.
He had agreed, on one condition: autonomy of design.
And while he gave them stronger shields, advanced targeting arrays, and an entirely new hyperwave matrix, Cassian also embedded subtle subroutines—hidden weak points, overridden fail-safes, manipulatable drone frequencies. Not enough to be noticed during scans, but enough to be exploited by him, or by someone with the right encryption key.
"They'll think they're safe," Cassian said, fingers flying over the controls. "But the first time they overstep boom. I own their fleet."
"Palpatine will suspect eventually," EVA warned.
"He already does," Cassian replied, "but he needs me more than he fears me."
The next day, as the last inspection was concluded, Cassian received a personal holo transmission—from Queen Padmé Amidala.
She stood in the throne room of Theed Palace, regally dressed but clearly alone.
"Master Voss," she began, then faltered slightly. "Cassian. I have a personal request."
Cassian raised an eyebrow.
"I want a diplomatic cruiser. Lightly armed, heavily shielded, elegant… but capable of escaping a blockade if necessary. Designed not for war, but for presence."
Cassian tilted his head. "You're anticipating an attack?"
Her eyes hardened. "I'm preparing for one."
He nodded. "Send me your desired specifications. I'll bring the prototype to Naboo myself."
Padmé hesitated, then smiled. "I'd like that."
—
A week later, the newly christened Radiant Heart descended into Theed's main hangar. It was unlike any Naboo ship—sleek, matte silver with violet accents, powered by a fusion core hybridized from Halo tech and Naboo ion engines. Elegant, yet practical. Fast, yet silent.
Padmé ran a hand along its side. "It's beautiful."
"I took inspiration from your words," Cassian said. "Presence, not posturing. But if needed, it could outpace most Republic escorts."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, politics and war vanished. There was only mutual respect—muted, uncertain affection beneath the surface.
Padmé turned. "You could have charged me triple, but you didn't."
"I don't need credits from Naboo," he said. "I need allies."
She smiled softly. "Then perhaps you have one."
But before more could be said, a silent ripple passed through the Force—unseen by most. It came from the Core Worlds.
Beneath the financial district of Coruscant, in a hidden chamber carved into bedrock, Darth Plagueis sat surrounded by concentric spheres of dark side energy. Cloaked in shadow, his breath was slow, deep, deliberate.
Across from him, Darth Sidious—Palpatine—knelt.
"The Trade Federation is ours," Sidious reported. "Their fleet modernized, their allegiance tied to my voice. The Queen of Naboo is politically isolated. Within a standard year, I can orchestrate the blockade."
"Good," Plagueis rasped. "But I sense… another influence. Voss."
Palpatine's expression hardened. "He's dangerous, but useful. He obscures the Jedi's attention."
"He obscures yours," the Muun Sith growled. "He walks among two realms the world of machines and the world of destiny. Already, he gathers tools even we once feared."
Palpatine frowned. "Do you suggest we eliminate him?"
"No," Plagueis said, voice deep and slow. "Watch him. Let him build. All architects eventually trap themselves in their own creations."
Sidious bowed again, though his mind raced. He didn't like loose ends. And Cassian Voss was more than a loose end—he was a competitor.
Later that night, aboard his private orbital lab above Corellia, Cassian stood before a transparisteel window, gazing into the void.
Padmé's words echoed in his mind. Presence, not posturing.
He had given her a symbol. Something no one else in the galaxy could duplicate.
"She trusts you," EVA said, now projecting from a small drone.
"That's dangerous," Cassian replied, arms folded.
"So is being alone."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he turned to the center of the lab, where the Spartan chamber was finally active. Inside, the first clone—based on a fusion of Jango Fett's genetics and John-117's neural template—floated in stasis.
Cassian tapped the console. "Time to bring a new kind of warrior into the galaxy."
His tools were in place: Halo, Star Wars, Rick and Morty—merged into one future.
And the galaxy had no idea.