by James Luceno
Color rose in Plagueis’s cheeks. “The Jedi have long known that the dark side has been reawakened and cannot be checked by them. Now they have felt it on their own Coruscant.”
“Even so, we can’t continue to risk exposure,” Sidious said carefully.
Plagueis studied him. “You have more to say about this.”
“Master, would you consider training someone in the Sith arts to execute whatever missions are required?”
“Another Venamis? In defiance of our partnership?”
Sidious shook his head. “Not an apprentice; not someone who could ever aspire to become a true Sith Lord. But someone skilled in stealth and combat, who could be eliminated when no longer needed.”
Surprise shone in Plagueis’s eyes. “You already have someone in mind.”
“You instructed me to keep an eye out for beings who might prove helpful. I found such a one on Dathomir not a year ago. A male Dathomiri Zabrak infant.”
“Many Zabrak demonstrate strength in the Force. By nature, it would seem.”
“This infant does. The mother birthed two and sought to save one from the clutches of the Nightsisters, especially from one known as Talzin.”
“You purchased him?”
“Accepted him.”
“Where is he?”
“I brought him to the accounting facility that Damask Holdings maintains on Mustafar, and left him in the care of the custodial droids.”
Plagueis closed his eyes briefly. Mustafar had served as a place to dispose of enemies and evidence long before Boss Cabra’s reclamation station had been made available to Hego Damask and others.
“And the mother?” he asked.
“Alive — for now.”
“Might not this Talzin pursue the infant?”
Sidious looked inward. “She may.”
Plagueis growled in irritation. “Then it will be your business if she does.”
Sidious bowed his head in acceptance.
“Leave the infant on Mustafar in the care of the droids,” Plagueis added at last, “but begin to train him. Inure him to pain, Lord Sidious, so that he will be able to serve us fully. Should his Force talents fail to mature, eliminate him. But if he measures up, relocate him at your discretion to Orsis. There you will find an elite training center operated by a Falleen combat specialist named Trezza. He and I have had dealings. Trezza will raise the Zabrak to be fierce but steadfast in his loyalty. You, however, will supervise his training in the dark side. Do not speak of the Sith or our plans until he has proven himself. And do not deploy him against any of our salient enemies until I have had a chance to evaluate him.”
Sidious inclined his head. “I understand, Master.”
“The Force provides, Sidious,” Plagueis said after a moment. “As nature provides more male beings in the aftermath of war, the Force, ever mindful of balance, provides beings strong in the dark side when light has ruled for too long. This Zabrak bodes well.”
“The Sith Lords who follow us will pay tribute to your wisdom, Master,” Sidious said in earnestness.
Plagueis stood and touched him on the shoulder. “No, Lord Sidious. Because we are the end of the line.” He gestured broadly. “Everything done here has been for a single purpose: to extend our reign indefinitely.”
PART THREE: Mastery. 34–32 BBY
22: ORDINARY BEINGS
The crepuscular chill of the Senate Rotunda had a way of lulling many to sleep. Sharpening his senses, Palpatine could hear the gentle snoring of human and nonhuman Senators seated in hover platforms adjacent to his station; more clearly, Sate Pestage and Kinman Doriana, opposite him on the platform’s circular seat, gossiping maliciously. For twenty years now Naboo and the Chommell sector had occupied the same place in the same tier in that immense mushroom of a building, though platforms had been added above and below and to both sides over those two decades to accommodate representatives of worlds newly welcomed to the Republic. Also in those twenty years, Palpatine had sat — and admittedly napped — through the orations, diatribes, and filibusters of countless beings, as well as State of the Republic addresses by four Supreme Chancellors: Darus, Frix, Kalpana, and Finis Valorum. The last was nearing completion of a second term of office that had been beset with challenges, most of which could be traced — but wouldn’t be for decades to come — to the machinations of Hego Damask and his secret conspirator, Palpatine, in their guises as Sith Lords Plagueis and Sidious. But in fact, half the Senators in the Rotunda were leading double lives of one sort or another: pledging themselves to preserve the Republic while at the same time accepting bribes from the Trade Federation, facilitating slavery and the smuggling of spice and death sticks, or abetting the operations of pirates.
The words of the ancient Republic philosopher Shassium drifted into Palpatine’s mind: We are all two-faced beings, divided by the Force and fated for eternity to search out our hidden identities.
From the Rotunda’s tall pulpit, Supreme Chancellor Valorum was saying, “The crisis unfolding in the Yinchorr system offers further proof that, in our determination to maintain an era of prosperity in the Core, we have allowed the outer systems to become lawless realms, with pirates, slavers, smugglers, and arms merchants operating with impunity. Proscribed matériel and technologies find their way to species whose appeals for Republic aid have gone unanswered, and the outcome is antagonism and intersystem conflict. Brought together by mutual need, alliances of forgotten worlds turn to the galactic cartels to furnish what we have denied them: growth, protection, and security — along with weapons and combat training.” He gestured broadly to near and distant Senatorial platforms. “While we sit in cool comfort, a confederacy of the disenfranchised expands in the Outer Rim.”
Close by, someone yawned with theatrical exaggeration, eliciting a chorus of laughter from beings seated within earshot. The Senate should have been on vacation, but the crisis in the Expansion Region had forced Valorum to convene the governing body in special session.
Across the Rotunda from Naboo’s station, Yinchorr’s platform stood vacant — the result of the Yinchorri severing ties with the Republic six months earlier and recalling their diplomatic staff. Six months before that, and armed with weapons Darth Sidious had helped them procure, the Yinchorri had launched attacks on several worlds in neighboring systems. Supplied by a Devaronian smuggler, the clandestine shipments had included a cortosis shield from a secret mining operation on the planet Bal’demnic, and had factored into the deaths of a pair of unsuspecting Jedi. Plagueis had said that the Yinchorri could be incited with minimal provocation, but even Sidious had been surprised by their ferocity.
“Since Yinchorr became a member world twenty-five years ago,” Valorum continued, “and notwithstanding the sanctions we attempted to impose, we have allowed the Yinchorri to transform themselves into a militaristic force that now threatens a vast region of Republic space. Just six months ago, when they augmented their navy with vessels commandeered from the Golden Nyss shipyards, we voted to censure them rather than intercede, in adherence to an antiquated belief that responsibility for policing the outer systems rests with the worlds that make up those systems. Ultimately, following Yinchorr’s most recent attack on the Chalenor system, the Jedi were persuaded to intervene, but with grievous results.”
Valorum halted briefly.
“As some of you already know, the mutilated bodies of Jedi Knight Naeshahn and her Padawan, Ebor Taulk, were transported to Coruscant and somehow delivered to my office in the chancellery building.” He balled his fist for everyone to see. “This is when I say that enough is enough!”
Palpatine steepled his fingers. Valorum was trying hard to be stirring, but the sudden edge in his voice was blunted by the reaction of his audience, which was rote outrage at best.
A call for quiet by the Bothan vice chancellor was scarcely necessary.
Valorum composed himself for the hovercams, his flushed expression meant to convey indignation rather than embarrassment.
“The Jedi have since dispatched a larger force to bring to justice those responsible for this barbaric act, and to drive the Yinchorri back onto their own world. But I fear that their efforts won’t be enough. Since we can’t very well station Jedi or Judicials there as an occupying force, I am asking this body to sanction the use of private paramilitaries to enforce a technological blockade of Yinchorr that will prevent the Yinchorri from rearming and renewing their nefarious dreams of conquest.”
The shouts of assent and condemnation that met Valorum’s request were genuine, as were the Bothan vice chancellor’s calls for order. Finally, Valorum raised his voice to be heard.
“Militant expansionism cannot be tolerated! Precedent for the use of paramilitaries was established under Supreme Chancellor Kalpana during the Stark Combine Conflict, as well as in the more recent Yam’rii crisis. In both cases, diplomatic solutions followed, and it is my belief that diplomacy will succeed in the Yinchorr system.”
Valorum’s political career had been forged during the Stark Hyperspace War. Now, Palpatine thought, he begins to sound like his onetime rival Ranulph Tarkin.
He waited for the Rotunda to quiet. “The events at Yinchorr speak to the greater challenge we now face. The Cularin system — our newest member — finds itself plagued by pirate attacks. The same is true at Dorvalla, in the Videnda sector. The so-called free-trade zones have become battlegrounds between defenseless worlds and corporate giants like the Trade Federation, or criminal cartels like Black Sun, which are squeezing these outlying systems dry.”
In an act of what some deemed fair play and others political guile, the vice chancellor took that moment to allow the Trade Federation’s platform to leave its docking station and hover into the dark chill of the Rotunda.
“With the Bothan’s customary impeccable timing,” Pestage remarked to Doriana.
The Trade Federation’s Senator was an unctuous Neimoidian named Lott Dod, whose sussurant, snake charmer’s voice wafted through the hall’s enunciators. “I must protest the Supreme Chancellor’s accusations.” His words didn’t convey anger so much as the arrogance of wealth — a strategy he had learned from his predecessor, Nute Gunray. “Should the Trade Federation be expected to absorb the losses it has sustained because of pirate attacks? The Republic refuses to create a military to police those sectors while at the same time prohibiting us from protecting our cargoes with defensive weapons or droid soldiers.”
“Now is not the time for this argument, Senator,” Valorum said, showing the palms of his soft hands.
But a hundred voices overruled him.
“If not now, then when, Supreme Chancellor?” The question came from the wheedling, cranial-horned humanoid magistrate of the Corporate Alliance, Passel Argente. “How many cargoes will the Trade Federation or the Commerce Guild have to lose before we arrive at the proper moment to air this debate. If the Republic cannot protect us, then we have no recourse but to protect ourselves.”
Again Valorum’s face flushed. “In every crisis we have dispatched paramilitary forces—”
“With impressive results.” The interruption came from Lavina Durada-Vashne Wren, the human female representative of the newly admitted Cularin system. “The Thaereian military made quick work of the pirates who were raiding our transports.”
Raucous laughter drowned out the rest of her words.
“The only thing Colonel Tramsig did at Cularin was make himself more contemptible!” Twi’lek Senator Orn Free Taa bellowed from his platform. “The good Senator from Cularin was merely deceived by his dubious charms.”
Argente spoke once more. “Does the Supreme Chancellor advocate that each system have a paramilitary force at its command? If so, then why not a pan-galactic military?”
Palpatine’s eyes sparkled in sadistic delight. Valorum was getting everything he deserved. He had demonstrated some diplomatic skill during the Stark Hyperspace War, but his election to the chancellorship had more to do with a pedigree that included three Supreme Chancellors and deals he had cut with influential families like the Kalpanas and the Tarkins of Eriadu. His adulation of the Jedi Order was well known; less so his hypocrisy — much of his family wealth derived from lucrative contracts his ancestors had entered into with the Trade Federation. His election seven years earlier had been one of the signs Plagueis had been waiting for — the return to power of a Valorum — and had followed on the heels of a remarkable breakthrough Plagueis and Sidious had engineered in manipulating midi-chlorians. A breakthrough the Muun had described as “galactonic.” Both of them suspected that the Jedi had sensed it as well, light-years distant on Coruscant.
“There will be no Republic military,” Valorum was saying, having taken Argente’s bait. “The Ruusan Reformations must be upheld. A military force has to be financed. Taxes imposed on the outlying systems would only add to their burden and lead to talk of secession.”
“Then let the Core Worlds pay!” someone seated below Palpatine shouted.
“The Core has no need of a military force!” the Kuati Senator responded. “We know how to live in peace with one another!”
“Why are the Jedi unable to serve as a military?” the Senator from Ord Mantell asked.
Valorum turned to look at him. “The Jedi are not an army, and they number too few, in any case. They intercede at our request, but also at their own discretion. Furthermore, the Order has seen more deaths in the past twelve years than it saw in the previous fifty. Yinchorr is fast shaping up to be another Galidraan.”
Palpatine took secret pleasure in Valorum’s reference, since what had occurred at Galidraan had been clear evidence of the dark side acting in concert with his and Plagueis’s subterfuges. Most important, for Plagueis the provincial conflict had had a devastating effect on Jedi Master Dooku, deepening his schism with the High Council regarding its decisions to deploy the Jedi as warriors.
“Once again we come full circle.” Orn Free Taa’s voice boomed through the Rotunda. “The Republic can find the credits to contract with private militaries but not to raise a military of its own. And yet the Supreme Chancellor sees fit to lecture us on antiquated thinking. Why not simply turn those credits over to the outlying systems and let them do their own contracting?”
“Perhaps the Senator from Ryloth has touched on something,” Valorum said when the applause died down. “Better still, perhaps the time has come to impose a tax on the free-trade zones to supply the outlying systems with the funds they require.”
Palpatine reclined in the platform’s padded seat as angry rebuttals spewed from the stations of the Rim Faction worlds, as well as from those belonging to the Trade Federation, the Commerce Guild, the Techno Union, and the Corporate Alliance. How wonderfully and predictably the Senate had deteriorated over the course of twenty years. As had so many ordinary and extraordinary sessions, this one would end in chaos, with nothing resolved.
For the screens that filled the Rotunda, hovercams captured Valorum’s sad expression of impotence.
Soon, very soon, it would fall to Palpatine to impose order on everyone.
Outside the curved walls of the Senate, the crises in the outlying systems had little effect on the lives of the billions who resided on Coruscant. Beings living in the lower levels continued to do their best to survive, while those living closer to the sky continued to spend lavishly on food, fine cloaks, and tickets to the opera, which Valorum had returned to fashion. Palpatine was an exception to the rule. In what sometimes seemed to him like perpetual motion, he met frequently with his peers in the Senate, listening carefully to what each had to say about galactic events, but not so carefully that any had reason to suspect him of being anything other than a career politician, fixed on enhancing his profile. If there was anything that set him apart, it was an impression he gave of taking his job perhaps too seriously. With just over a year remaining in Valorum’s second term of office, the chancellorship was up for grabs, and those who knew Palpatine best suspected that he might actually pursue the po
sition if asked. His equivocations on the matter only made him more desirable to those who thought he could bring something new to the mix — an authentic centrist viewpoint. Others questioned why, given the unprecedented challenges of the times, he or anyone else would aspire to the position.
Several days after the Senate met in special session, Palpatine violated the privacy he so valued to host an informal gathering in his suite in 500 Republica. The move to Coruscant’s most exclusive address had coincided with Ars Veruna’s ascent to the Naboo monarchy twelve years earlier. Veruna’s victory had hinged on a renegotiated contract with the Trade Federation for Naboo’s plasma, although it was widely believed that the King and his cronies had fared better from the deal than the citizens of Naboo. Unlike the apartment Palpatine had occupied when he first arrived on the capital world, this one had a dozen rooms and views of the government district surpassed only by those from the building’s spacious penthouses. The neuranium-and-bronzium statue of Sistros — which still concealed the lightsaber he had constructed early in his apprenticeship — shared space with antiquities that had been procured from remote worlds.
Fashionably late, Finis Valorum was one of the last guests to arrive. Palpatine welcomed him at the door, while a contingent of cloaked and helmeted Republic guards took up positions in the corridor. The Supreme Chancellor’s round face looked drawn, and perspiration beaded his clean-shaven upper lip. Clinging to his arm like an adornment was Sei Taria, ostensibly his administrative aide but also his lover. Just inside the threshold, Valorum hooked his thumbs in the wide blue cummerbund that cinched his robe and stopped to take in the suite and nod in appreciation.
“What the HoloNet newshounds would give to see this.”
“It’s hardly a penthouse,” Palpatine said dismissively.
