by James Luceno
Nursing an injured shoulder, Cosinga looked suddenly like a trapped animal, his eyes wide with surprise and fear. He made a move to strike the handplate that opened the hatch, but Palpatine thwarted his effort without raising a finger. Twisting violently around, Cosinga fell over one of the acceleration chairs, bloodying his face as it struck the armrest.
A pounding began on the hatch.
“Guards!” Cosinga shouted, but the word had barely left his lips when the bulkhead against which he was slouched buckled inward, heaving him face-first to the floor and driving the breath from him.
Palpatine stood rooted in place, his hands trembling in front of him and his face stricken. Something stirred behind his incandescent eyes. He heard the pounding on the hatch and whirled.
“Don’t come in! Stay away from me!”
“What have you done?” It was his mother’s voice, panicked. “What have you done?”
Cosinga pushed himself to his knees and began a terrified retreat, leaving smears of blood on the deck. But Palpatine was advancing on him now.
“If the Force birthed you, then I curse it!” Cosinga rasped. “I curse it!”
“As I do,” Palpatine growled.
The hatch began to slide to, and he heard the voice of the guard who had escorted him from the Jafan III. “Stop!”
“Cosinga!” his mother screamed.
Palpatine pressed the palms of his hands to his head, then in eerie calm streaked to the hatch, pulled the surprised guard through the threshold, and tossed him clear across the cabin.
Raising his face to the ceiling, he shouted, “We’re all in this now!”
They could have been torturers: Plagueis and 11-4D, leaning over an operating table on Aborah that supported Venamis, still in an induced coma and now anesthetized, as well; the droid’s appendages holding bloodied scalpels, retractors, hemostats, and Plagueis, gowned and masked and with eyes closed, his shadow puddled on the floor by the theater lights, but in truth nowhere to be found in the mundane world. Folded deeply within the Force, instead, indifferent to the meticulous damage 11-4D had done to the Bith’s internal organs, but focused on communicating his will directly to the Force’s intermediaries, the droid monitoring cellular activity for signs that Plagueis’s life-extending manipulations, his thought experiments, were having their intended effect.
A sudden current of intense dark side energy snaked through Plagueis. Stronger than any feeling he had experienced since the death of Darth Tenebrous, replete with flashes of past, present, and perhaps future events, the disturbance was powerful enough to snap him completely out of his trance. A rite performed; a confirmation conferred. Half expecting to find Venamis sitting upright on the table, he opened his eyes to the sight of 11-4D shuffling toward him from the operating theater’s communication console.
Plagueis’s mouth formed a question: “Hill?”
“No. The young human — Palpatine. A deep-space transmission.”
Plagueis hurried to the device. They hadn’t spoken since the reunion on Chandrila, but Plagueis had been waiting, wondering if his manipulations had borne fruit. If not, then he might have to take personal action to solidify the Naboo gambit. Placing himself in view of the holocams, he took a moment to appraise the noisy image onscreen, Palpatine’s face bathed in the flashing lights of an instrument panel, something new in his eyes — color that hadn’t been there previously. A glance at the comm board’s coordinate readout; then:
“Where are you?”
“I’m not sure,” Palpatine said in clear distraction, his gaze shifting to something off cam.
“You’re in a starship.”
Palpatine nodded, swallowed, and found his voice. “The family ship.”
“Read aloud the navicomputer coordinates.”
When he had, Plagueis looked to 11-4D for elaboration.
“Rimward of Exodeen along the Hydian Way,” the droid said.
Plagueis absorbed it. “Contact the Sun Guard. Have them ready a ship and prepare yourself to accompany them.”
“Yes, Magister.”
Plagueis swung back to the monitor screen. “Are you capable of maintaining your present course?”
Palpatine leaned to one side. “The autopilot is engaged.”
“Tell me what happened.”
The human took a deep breath. “My father arrived unexpectedly on Chandrila. He had me taken from the youth program vessel and brought to our ship. My mother and siblings were already aboard. After the launch I learned that I was being taken to Chommell Minor. Just as you warned. We fell into an argument … then, I’m not sure what happened—”
“Tell me what happened,” Plagueis demanded.
“I killed them,” Palpatine snarled back. “I killed them — even the guards.”
Plagueis restrained a smile, knowing now that Naboo would be his. Over and done with. Now to reel him in further, and ensure his continued usefulness.
“Did anyone on Chandrila observe you board the family ship?” he asked quickly.
“Only the guard — and he’s dead. Everyone’s dead.”
“We need to return you quietly and covertly to Chandrila. I’m sending help, my droid among them. Offer no explanations of what occurred — even if asked — but follow every command without question.”
“You’re not coming with them?” Palpatine asked, wide-eyed.
“I will see you soon enough, Palpatine.”
“But the ship. The … evidence.”
“I’ll make arrangements for the ship’s disposal. No one will ever learn of this event, do you understand?”
Palpatine nodded. “I trust you.”
Plagueis returned the nod. “And Palpatine: congratulations on becoming an emancipated being.”
Sleek as the deep-sea creature on which it was modeled, the passenger ship Quantum Collosus plied the rarefied currents of hyperspace. One of the finest vessels of its type, the QC made weekly runs between Coruscant and Eriadu, reverting at several worlds along the Hydian Way to take on or discharge passengers. Draped in muted-green shimmersilk, Plagueis had boarded at Corellia, but had waited until the ship made the jump to lightspeed before riding a turbolift to the upper tier and announcing himself at the entryway to the private cabin he had secured for Palpatine.
“You said soon,” Palpatine barked the moment the hatch had pocketed itself in the bulkhead. “A standard week is not soon.”
Plagueis entered, removed his robe, and folded it over the back of a chair. “I had business to attend to.” He glanced over his shoulder at Palpatine. “Was I simply supposed to drop everything in service to the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into?”
Speechless for a moment, Palpatine said, “Forgive me for having allowed myself to believe that we were in this together.”
“Together? How so?”
“Am I not your agent on Naboo?”
Plagueis rocked his head from side to side. “You did provide us with some useful information.”
Palpatine studied him uncertainly. “I did more than that, Magister, and you’re well aware of it. You share as much responsibility for what happened as I do.”
Plagueis seated himself and crossed one leg over the other knee. “Has it really been only a week? For you seem greatly changed. Were the Chandrilan and Naboo authorities so rough on you?”
Palpatine continued to stare at him. “As you promised, where there is no evidence, there is no crime. They went so far as to enlist the aid of salvagers and pirates in the search, but came up empty-handed.” His look hardened. “But it’s you who have changed. Despite the fact that you saw this event in the making.”
Plagueis motioned to himself. “Did I suspect that you and your father might reach an impasse? Of course. It would have been obvious to anyone. But you seem to be implying that I somehow divined that the confrontation would end in violence.”
Palpatine considered it, then snorted in derision. “You’re lying. You may as well have forced my hand.”
“
What an odd way to put it,” Plagueis said. “But since you’ve grasped the truth of it, I offer a confession. Yes, I deliberately goaded you.”
“You came to Chandrila to make certain that my father’s spies would see us together.”
“Once more, correct. You make me proud of you.”
Palpatine ignored the flattery. “You used me.”
“There was no other way.”
Palpatine shook his head in angry disbelief. “Was any of the story about your siblings true?”
“Some of it. But that scarcely matters now. You asked for my help and I provided it. Your father attempted to thwart you, and you acted of your own free will.”
“And by killing him I’ve rid you of an opponent.” Palpatine paused. “My father was right about you. You are a gangster.”
“And you are free and wealthy,” Plagueis said. “So what now, young human? I continue to have great hopes for you, but before I could tell you everything I needed you to be free.”
“Free from what?”
“From fear of expressing your true nature.”
Palpatine’s expression darkened. “You know nothing of my true nature.” He paced away from Plagueis, then stopped and turned to him. “You never asked about the killings.”
“I’ve never been one for grim details,” Plagueis said. “But if you need to unburden yourself, do so.”
Palpatine raised his clawed hands. “I executed them with these! And with the power of my mind. I became a storm, Magister — a weapon strong enough to warp bulkheads and hurl bodies across cabinspaces. I was death itself!”
Plagueis sat tall in the chair, in genuine astonishment.
He could see Palpatine now in all his dark glory. Anger and murder had pulled down the walls he had raised perhaps since infancy to safeguard his secret. But there was no concealing it now: the Force was powerful in him! Bottled up for seventeen standard years, his innate power had finally burst forth and could never again be stoppered. All the years of repression, guiltless crimes, raw emotion bubbling forth, toxic to any who dared touch or taste it. But beneath his anger lurked a subtle enemy: apprehension. Newly reborn, he was at great risk. But only because he didn’t realize just how powerful he was or how extraordinarily powerful he could become. He would need help to complete his self-destruction. He would need help rebuilding those walls, to keep from being discovered.
Oh, what a cautious taming he would require! Plagueis thought. But what an ally he might make. What an ally!
“I’m not sure I know what to think of this, Palpatine,” he said at last. “Have you always had such powers?”
Color had drained from Palpatine’s face, and his legs were shaking. “I’ve always known I was capable of summoning them.”
Plagueis rose from the chair and approached him warily. “Here is where the path bifurcates, young human. Here and now you need to decide whether to disavow your power or to venture courageously and scrupulously into the depths of truth — no matter the consequences.”
He resisted an urge to grasp Palpatine by the shoulder, and instead paced away from him. “You could devote the rest of your life to trying to make sense of this power, this gift,” he said, without looking back. “Or you could consider a different option.” He swung to face Palpatine. “It’s a dark path into a trackless wilderness from which few return. Not without a guide, at any rate. But it is also the shortest, quickest route between today and tomorrow.”
Plagueis realized that he was taking a great gamble, but there was no turning back from it. The dark side had brought them together, and it would be the will of the dark side that decided whether Palpatine became his apprentice.
“In your studies,” he said carefully, “have you ever learned of the Sith?”
Palpatine blinked, as if preoccupied. “A Jedi sect, weren’t they? The result of a kind of family feud.”
“Yes, yes, in some ways just that. But more: the Sith are the prodigal offspring, destined to return and overthrow the Jedi.”
Palpatine cut his eyes to Plagueis. “The Sith are considered to be evil.”
“Evil?” Plagueis repeated. “What is that? Moments ago you defined yourself as a storm. You said you were death itself. Are you evil, then, or are you simply stronger and more awake than others? Who gives more shape to sentient history: the good, who adhere to the tried and true, or those who seek to rouse beings from their stupor and lead them to glory? A storm you are, but a much-needed one, to wash away the old and complacent and prune the galaxy of deadweight.”
Palpatine’s lip curled in anger and menace. “Is this the wisdom you offer — the tenets of some arcane cult?”
“The test of its value is whether you can live by it, Palpatine.”
“If I had wanted that I would have forced my parents years ago to surrender me to the Jedi Order instead of transferring me from school to private school.”
Plagueis planted his hands on his hips and laughed without mirth. “And of what possible use do you think a person of your nature would be to the Jedi Order? You’re heartless, ambitious, arrogant, insidious, and without shame or empathy. More, you’re a murderer.” He held Palpatine’s hooded gaze and watched the youth’s hands clench in fists of rage. “Careful, boy,” he said after a moment. “You are not the only being in this plush stateroom with the power to kill.”
Palpatine’s eyes opened wide and he took a step back. “I can sense it …”
Plagueis grew deliberately haughty. “What you sense is a fraction of what I can bring to bear.”
Palpatine appeared suitably chastened. “Might I be of some use to the Sith?”
“Possibly,” Plagueis said. “Perhaps even likely. But we would have to wait and see.”
“Where are the Sith?”
Plagueis allowed a smile. “Just now there is only one. Unless, of course, it is your will to join me.”
Palpatine nodded. “I do wish to join you.”
“Then kneel before me and pledge that it is your will to join your destiny forever with the Order of the Sith Lords.”
Palpatine stared at the floor, then genuflected, uttering, “It is my will to join my destiny forever with the Order of the Sith Lords.”
Plagueis extended his left hand to touch him on the crown of the head. “Then it is done. From this day forward, the truth of you, now and forever more, will be Sidious.”
When Palpatine stood, Plagueis took him by the shoulders.
“In time you will come to understand that you are one with the dark side of the Force, and that your power is beyond contradiction. But just now, and until I tell you differently, abiding submission is your only road to salvation.”
12: SEDUCED BY THE DARK SIDE OF THE FORCE
The obedient orphan stood shivering in swirling snow. Around him rose ice pinnacles shaped like jagged teeth; a glacial wind howled through them. Plagueis stood nearby, flakes of snow and ice gyrating around him but never lighting on him, melting before they reached him. Unlike Sidious, who was outfitted in a thin enviro-suit, the Sith Lord was wearing only a cloak, narrow trousers, and a skullcap.
“It was on this world that I first became aware of my Force powers and dark impulses,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the wind. “Compared with temperate Muunilinst, Mygeeto is ruthless and uncompromising, but I learned to adapt to its harsh conditions, and before the age of eight I could venture out into the most violent storm dressed in less than you wear now. But I haven’t brought you here to acquaint you with my past, Sidious. If you were of a species acclimatized to these conditions, I would have brought you instead to a desert world. If you were an aquatic being, I would have stranded you on dry land. The divide between the ways of the Force as practiced by the Sith and the Jedi has less to do with the distinction between darkness or the presence of light than between — in your case — naked cold and the presence of warmth. Between distress and comfort, entropy and predictability.”
Plagueis paused to regard Sidious. “Your blood is close to f
rozen. Too much time here and you will die. That is what you will think at the beginning, when the dark side has sniffed you out and sidled up to you. You will think: I will die; the dark side will kill me. And it’s true, you will die, but only to be reborn. You must take deeply into yourself the knowledge of what it means to be removed; you must feel it in the marrow of your bones, because it will ever be thus.”
Plagueis laughed shortly. “Perhaps I sound like some professor of philosophy in that fine college of yours in Theed. But this isn’t a lecture, nor should you think of it as physical conditioning. We need instead to prepare you for what awaits you should the dark side opt to take an interest in you. The comingling of fear and joy; of being humbled and empowered; of being escalated while at the same time used, as if an instrument. To be singled out and yet subsumed by an overarching grandness.”
A predatory look came to his wan face as he advanced on Sidious.
“Now tell me again, apprentice. And in greater detail.”
Once more Sidious allowed his memories to unfold, and he relived the crime — the event, as he had at last come to think of it. His father’s limp and bloodied body. The smashed skulls of the bodyguards. His hands clenched around his mother’s slender throat — but not really, only in his mind, strangling her with his thoughts. The lifeless forms of his siblings, slumped here and there … In telling and retelling it, in reliving it, he had finally gained a kind of authority over it, the ability to see the event merely for what it was, without emotion, without judgment. It was as if the event had occurred years rather than months earlier, and as if someone else had authored the crime. When that defining moment had come, a transforming power had curled up inside him, as dark as space without stars, born of hated and fear but one he could now draw upon.
“Very good,” Plagueis said, after the recounted tale had forced itself between Sidious’s blue and trembling lips. “I can feel your remove, and sense your increasing power.” He continued to appraise Sidious while the snow whirled between them. “I can’t have your will tempered by feelings of regret or compassion. You were brought into being to lead. Therefore you must see every living thing as nothing more than a tool to elevate you, to move you to your destined place. This is our galaxy, Sidious, our reality.
