by James Luceno
There it was again, Plagueis thought: the deceptive cadence; the use of flattery, charm, and self-effacement as if rapier feints in a duel. The need to be seen as guileless, unassuming, empathetic. A youth with no desire to enter politics, and yet born for it.
Tenebrous had told him from the start that the Republic, with help from the Sith, would continue to descend into corruption and disorder, and that a time would come when it would have to rely on the strengths of an enlightened leader, capable of saving the lesser masses from being ruled by their unruly passions, jealousies, and desires. In the face of a common enemy, real or manufactured, they would set aside all their differences and embrace the leadership of anyone who promised a brighter future. Could this Palpatine, with Plagueis’s help, be the one to bring about such a transformation?
Again he tried to see deeper into Palpatine, but without success. The psychic walls the youth had raised were impenetrable, which made the young human something rare indeed. Had Palpatine somehow learned to corral the Force within himself, as Plagueis had concealed his own powers as a youth?
“Of course I understand,” he said finally.
“But … when you were young, did you question your motivations, especially when they ran counter to everyone else’s?”
Plagueis held his challenging gaze. “I never asked why this or why that, what if this or what if that. I simply responded to my own determination.”
Palpatine sat back in the speeder seat as if a great weight had been lifted from him.
“Some of us are required to do what others cannot,” Plagueis added in a conspiratorial way.
Without a word, Palpatine nodded.
Plagueis had no need to delve any further into whatever traumas had given rise to Palpatine’s cunning, secretive nature. He simply needed to know: Does this young human have the Force?
Two standard days later, on Malastare — a world of varied terrain that occupied a prime position on the Hydian Way — even the deafening clatter and nauseating odor of speeding Podracers wasn’t enough to distract Plagueis from thinking about Palpatine. Damask Holdings had requested a meeting with Senator Pax Teem, and the leader of the Gran Protectorate had provided the Muuns with box seats for the Phoebos Memorial Run. They had arrived directly from Naboo in the expectation of discussing business matters, but the Gran, Dugs, Xi Charrians, and nearly everyone else in the city of Pixelito were more interested in sport and betting.
“Have you picked a winner, Magister?” Pax Teem asked after two Podracers ripped past the viewing stands.
Lost in his thoughts about Naboo, Plagueis said, “I believe I have.”
His conversations with Palpatine seemed to have opened some sort of emotional floodgates in the human. The Muuns had scarcely left Naboo behind when the first of several holocommuniqués was received from Palpatine, regarding the royals’ latest plans for undermining Bon Tapalo’s bid for the monarchy. Plagueis had listened attentively, but, in fact, Palpatine had precious little to offer. Since the release of the information about the royals’ actions during the Gungan conflict, Palpatine’s father had been conducting his meetings behind closed doors at the family estate, and had forbidden his son from so much as discussing the coming election. Tapalo’s campaign, by contrast, was on the upswing, as a result of having announced a pending deal with the InterGalactic Banking Clan. The urgency of Palpatine’s transmissions suggested that he had formed an attachment to Plagueis and was reaching out to him not only as a secret employer but also as a potential adviser. In Hego Damask, Palpatine saw the wealth and power he had long sought for House Palpatine. Confident that the young human would continue to be useful long after Damask Holdings’ plans for Naboo had been realized, Plagueis did nothing to discourage the attachment.
“Why is it that we never see humans competing in the races?” he asked Teem after a moment.
The Gran waved his six-fingered hand in dismissal. “They haven’t the talent for it. The favorite to win today is the Dug at the controls of the blue racer.”
Plagueis tracked the Podracer for a moment. In the stands below him, thousands of Dugs — standing on all four appendages, on hind legs, or supported on arms only — were barking encouragement.
Plagueis found Malastare’s high gravity oppressive, and the Gran more so. They had arrived on the planet a thousand years earlier as colonists, and had proceeded to beat the native Dugs into submission. The protectorate had since grown to overshadow the Gran homeworld, Kinyen, and was a powerful force within the Republic Senate, with wide-ranging influence in the Mid and Outer Rims.
Seated alongside Plagueis, Larsh Hill leaned forward to address Pax Teem. “Perhaps Gardulla will be able to entice humans to pilot Podracers in the course she is refurbishing on Tatooine.”
Teem honked in irritation. “So it’s true: you support the Hutt.”
“It’s simply business,” Hill said.
But Teem was not appeased. “Is this the purpose of your visit — to reopen wounds that have not yet healed?”
“Yes,” Plagueis said flatly.
Teem’s trio of eyestalks swung to him. “I don’t—”
“Don’t compound the offense,” Hill interrupted.
Teem feigned incomprehension.
“From whom did you learn of our interests on Naboo?” Plagueis asked.
The Gran looked to his comrades, but found no support in their abrupt silence.
“From whom?” Plagueis repeated.
A low of resignation escaped Teem. “We were approached by Subtext Mining, following the unexplained disappearance of some of its members — the ones I encountered on Sojourn, I suspect.”
“They were in fine health when they left the Gathering,” Hill said.
Teem nodded. “I’m certain they were.”
“Why did Subtext approach you?” Plagueis said.
Teem hesitated, then said, “To inform us that you are involved in a deal for the plasma.”
“Trusting that you would try to subvert our efforts by making them public,” Hill said.
The Gran snorted. “First you strike a deal with Gardulla that favors Tatooine over Malastare, and now Naboo’s plasma captures your attention, despite your offer to increase the cost of Malastare’s energy exports. So why shouldn’t we have alerted your opponents on Naboo, when you would have done the same?”
Plagueis waited for him to finish, and for a group of Podracers to pass; then he fixed his gaze on the assembled Gran. “You harm yourselves by attempting to sabotage us. The Protectorate could have profited from Naboo, as the Trade Federation will, but no longer.”
Pax Teem’s huge feet slapped the floor of the private box. “We refuse to be demeaned! Again I remind you, Magister, that promises were made.”
Plagueis smiled inwardly. It was true that Tenebrous had had plans for the Gran. At one time Pax Teem had been put forth as someone the Sith could move into the chancellorship and manipulate from a distance into making mistakes that would bring the Republic to its knees. But Plagueis had now begun to explore other options.
“We are not without allies and cronies in the Senate,” Teem was saying in a huff. “We can crush any legislation you wish to see passed, or arrange for your bills and no-bid contracts to languish in procedure for years. We’ll put one of our own into the chancellorship. We’ll deny the Trade Federation shipping rights on Kinyen and along the Trade Spine. We’ll turn the Dugs loose on the Muuns.” He glared at Plagueis. “You’ll never get what you want, Magister.”
“On the contrary,” Plagueis said, as he and the other Muuns were rising. “I already have what I want.”
A rousing cheer went up from the stands as a Toong pilot overtook the favored Dug.
Plagueis turned to Hill as they were exiting the private box. “Order the Sun Guard to retrieve the miners we marooned in the Tingel Arm. Execute them and have their bodies dumped at the gates of Subtext Mining’s corporate headquarters on Corellia.”
A freshly minted Capital-class starship returne
d Plagueis and Hill to Naboo. Manufactured by Hoersch-Kessel and Gwori, the vessel was shaped like an elongated pod with a flat underbelly. A lateral wing transected the convex hull aft, in which were housed arrays of powerful hyperwave transceivers. On board along with the chief executives of Damask Holdings were several high-ranking members of the Banking Clan, including the nephew of Chairman Tonith, all of them dressed in full IBC regalia.
A month had passed since Plagueis’s initial visit, and in the interim he and Palpatine had spoken by holo on many occasions. The intelligence the human provided, though scant, had allowed Plagueis and Hill to keep one step ahead of Bon Tapalo’s detractors, and as a result he continued to enjoy a slight margin with the electorate.
The Muun groups were approaching Naboo’s spaceport immigration stations when they were intercepted by a contingent of armed security personal wearing leather jerkins, tall boots, and brimmed hats. Ushered into a glass-walled holding area equipped with not much more than benches and refresher units, the Muuns waited for over an hour until two Palace Guards entered, demanding to know which of them was Hego Damask.
After identifying himself and assuring Larsh Hill that he needn’t worry, Plagueis followed the guards outside the terminal to a waiting round-nosed Gian speeder. A uniformed guard seated at the controls ordered Plagueis into the open-topped speeder’s rear bench seat, where one of the escort personnel joined him. He didn’t have a clue as to where he was being taken, but refused to give the guards the satisfaction of telling him that he would soon find out, or words to that effect. Instead he sat silently in the cushioned seat, careful not to register even the slightest surprise when the pilot began to steer the speeder away from Theed and out across the rolling verdant terrain Palpatine had taken him through.
“You may as well make yourself comfortable,” his seatmate said at last. “We’ll be traveling for about two hours.”
Plagueis nodded in response and allowed himself to drift into a light trance, in preparation for whatever lay in wait for him at their destination. Gradually the undulating plains began to rise and a ridge of mountains came into view, limned against Naboo’s brilliant blue sky. The speeder followed a broad river valley into hills lush with foliage, where herds of short-limbed shaaks grazed and frolicked. As the speeder gained altitude, the river narrowed and quickened, fed by waterfalls and crystalline lakes. Pure white clouds were beginning to form at the summits of the higher peaks when the speeder slewed across a vast stretch of meadow and came to a halt in front of a majestic home built in the style of Theed’s fat domes and graceful towers. Two of the guards led him up a wide flight of stone stairs into a cool and dimly lighted foyer. Abandoned there, Plagueis wandered past wall hangings and plinthed statuary to the opposite end of the foyer, where round-topped, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a veranda and a large lake beyond. Seated at a table were an aristocratic-looking female human of middle age and a sulking male youth of Palpatine’s age or younger, engaged in what appeared to be serious conversation. Touched by a breeze coming down off the slopes of the mountains, the surface of the water sparkled like Mygeeto gemstones. As Plagueis turned his back to the lake, his attention was drawn to a tapestry depicting the same family crest he had observed on the pocket of Palpatine’s jacket, and featuring a trio of creatures: veermok, aiwha, and zalaaca.
He became aware of someone approaching him from behind, but didn’t budge.
“Beautiful work, isn’t it?” a basso-voiced human said in Basic.
Plagueis turned to find a tall man of patrician bearing standing at the threshold to a larger room.
“As is the view,” Plagueis said, gesturing broadly toward the lake.
Dressed casually, though in fine taste, the silver-haired man advanced into the foyer. “I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation to visit, Magister Damask.”
“The presence of armed guards suggested an absence of choice, Cosinga Palpatine.”
“They were for your protection, Magister.”
“I never thought of Naboo as a dangerous world.”
“For some it is,” the elder Palpatine said. “But now that you are here, allow me to show you around.”
The tour took them through a dozen rooms adorned with plush carpets and works of art. Stonework predominated, but the furniture was constructed of the galaxy’s most prized hardwoods. By the time they stepped down onto the veranda the woman and the youth were nowhere to be seen, but the breeze had picked up and a storm was threatening. Cosinga Palpatine indicated an island in the distance, and the stately house that rose from the shore.
“That is Varykino,” he explained. “A prize of the Lake Country. Once owned by the poet Omar Berenko, and presently occupied by the Naberrie family.” He glanced at Plagueis. “Are you perhaps familiar with Berenko’s masterwork, The Defense of Naboo?”
“Sadly, no.”
“I’ll arrange for you to be provided with a translation.”
“A copy in the original text would be fine. I’m fluent in your language.”
Testing him, Cosinga Palpatine switched to Naboo to say, “Yes, I understand you’ve become quite the expert on Naboo politics.” Before Plagueis could respond, he waved his hand in front of a sensor that summoned three servants onto the veranda, each bearing trays of food and drink.
Plagueis exhaled in a fatigued way. More food, he thought; more olfactory stimulation for human noses.
They sat opposite each other at the same table the woman and youth had occupied earlier, and remained silent while the servants laid out the repast.
“Fresh fruits, vegetables, and farinaceous dishes,” Palpatine said, indicating the spread. “No shaak or other meats.”
Plagueis forced a smile. “Perhaps you’ll take up a study of the Muun language next.”
His host frowned, then sat back in his chair to allow the servants to heap food on his plates. He didn’t begin eating until the servants had exited, and stopped after only a few mouthfuls and set his utensils down with finality.
“Let me tell you a short story about Bon Tapalo and Ars Veruna,” he began, glowering at Plagueis. “Seventy years ago, some two decades after our own conflict with them, the Gungans found themselves embroiled in a war for survival with a mercenary army. Fortunately the Gungans prevailed, though not without many deaths and the loss of some of their swamp cities. Very little was ever made public regarding the cause of the war or the source of the mercenaries, but I’m willing to let you in on one of Naboo’s darker secrets, in the hope that you’ll learn something from it. The reason for the war was plasma, and the Houses that contributed most to funding the mercenary army were House Tapalo and House Veruna. When my grandfather learned of this he challenged Tapalo’s father to a duel of honor, and eventually succumbed to the injuries Tapalo’s blade inflicted.” He gestured to a lawn that bordered the veranda. “The duel took place just there.”
Plagueis glanced at the spot. “How utterly romantic and human.”
Cosinga Palpatine’s handsome face took on color. “Perhaps you fail to grasp the point of the story, Magister. Tapalo, Veruna, and the rest of that group of thugs are interested only in power and wealth, at whatever cost to Naboo. The discovery of a plasma reservoir below Theed was the worst thing that could have happened. And now they mean to exploit it for all it’s worth, with the aid of influential beings like yourself. This is why Tapalo must never be king.”
Plagueis pretended to consider it, then said, “It would appear that the electorate disagrees with you.”
Palpatine nodded. “For now, yes. But we have plans for bringing the electorate back into line. Beginning with an announcement that the deal Tapalo struck with the Banking Clan has fallen through.”
“I wasn’t aware that it had,” Plagueis said evenly.
Palpatine became angrier as he spoke. “Why do you think we stopped your party from entering Theed? We still wield enough power to keep you from setting foot on Naboo. And you may as well hear the rest of it, Magister. The Republi
c Senate has been apprised of Muunilinst’s attempt to meddle with and destabilize the sovereignty of our world.” When Plagueis didn’t respond, he added, “The Naboo have a legend about six impenetrable gates that hold back chaos. House Palpatine is one of those gates, Damask.”
“And we Muuns represent chaos,” Plagueis said, without making it sound like a question.
Palpatine leaned forward and spoke in a calmer voice. “We are not opposed to having Naboo join the galactic community when the time is right. But not now, and not like this. Tapalo’s promise of tax cuts and trade with the Core … Those are the very tactics the Republic deploys to seduce primitive worlds into surrendering their resources.” He shook his head as anger took hold of him once more. “The Naboo admire philosophers, not bankers and deal brokers. Tapalo’s election to the throne would lead to catastrophe.”
“The Defense of Naboo,” Plagueis said. “The poem you mentioned.”
“What about it?”
“What ever became of the author — Berenko?”
Cosinga Palpatine’s eyes narrowed to slits. “He was abducted by assailants and never found.” He rose halfway out of his chair to add, “Are you threatening me — here, in my own home?”
Plagueis made a placating gesture. “I thought we were discussing history. I only meant to ask what might happen if you are unsuccessful in … restraining chaos, and Tapalo wins despite your best efforts?”
“I’ve already told you that that will not happen. And here is why: because you’re going to tell your friends in the Banking Clan and the Trade Federation that you’ve lost interest in Naboo. That you’ve found better company among the Hutts, slavers, and spicerunners of the Outer Rim.” He paused momentarily. “You’re a very long way from Muunilinst, Magister Damask. I strongly suggest that you reboard your ship and leave the Chommell sector as quickly and as quietly as possible, lest anyone fall victim to an untoward event.”
Plagueis stared at the lake. “I take your meaning, Cosinga Palpatine,” he said, without looking at him.
