by James Luceno
“Not yet, he means,” Corellia’s Senator remarked, causing several others to lift their drink goblets in a kind of toast.
Palpatine pretended to mask embarrassment. Once he would have been acting; now he wore the guise of Naboo’s Senator as effortlessly as he wore his robes and cloak.
“Journalists are more than welcome to visit,” he said.
Valorum cocked a silver eyebrow in doubt.
“Now that you’ve gotten them accustomed to transparency and accessibility,” Palpatine added.
Valorum laughed without mirth. “For all the good it has done me.”
Sei Taria broke an awkward silence. “You certainly make no secret of your favorite color, Senator.” The lids of her oblique eyes were colored to match the burgundy of her septsilk robe; her dark hair was twisted into an elaborate bun behind her head, while in front, bangs bisected her flawless forehead.
“Scarlet figures prominently in the crest of my ancestral house,” Palpatine explained evenly.
“And yet you favor black and blue in everything you wear.”
Palpatine’s thin smile held. “I’m flattered that you notice.”
Taria’s expression turned devious. “Many have taken notice of you, Senator.”
Servants hurried over to take Valorum’s and Taria’s veda cloth cloaks.
“I hired them expressly for the evening,” Palpatine said quietly. “I’m a solitary man at heart.”
Taria spoke before Valorum could. “The title of the latest HoloNet piece about you, if I’m not mistaken. The Senator who turned his back on a vast fortune to devote himself to politics. Who worked his way up from Naboo’s legislative body to the ambassadorship to the Galactic Senate …” She smiled without showing her teeth. “A heartwarming story.”
“And every word of it true,” Palpatine said. “From a certain point of view.”
The three of them shared a laugh, and then Palpatine led them deeper into the press of guests, all of whom were well disposed toward Valorum. There was no one in the suite the Supreme Chancellor didn’t know, and he greeted every one of them by name. The ability to make beings feel as if they mattered to him, personally as well as politically, was one of his few strengths.
A protocol droid delivered drinks on a tray, and Valorum and Taria helped themselves to glasses. When Valorum’s trophy excused herself to make conversation with the wife of Alderaanian Senator Bail Antilles, Palpatine steered Valorum into the suite’s main room.
“How is it that you manage to enjoy the support of both the Core and Rim Factions?” Valorum asked in genuine interest.
“A consequence of Naboo’s location more than anything else. Mine is something of a displaced world — located in the Rim but sharing the sensibilities of many of the Core worlds.”
Valorum gestured to a figurine in a wall niche. “Exquisite.”
“Quite. A gift from Senator Eelen Li.”
“From Triffis.”
Palpatine reoriented the figurine slightly. “A museum piece, actually.”
Valorum continued along the wall, indicating a second piece. “And this?”
“A ceremonial Gran wind drum. Over one thousand years old.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Valorum. “A present from Baskol Yeesrim.”
Valorum nodded. “Senator Ainlee Teem’s aide. I didn’t realize you were on good terms with the Gran Protectorate.”
Palpatine shrugged. “For a time I wasn’t — owing to a long-standing feud over Naboo’s abstention in a Senatorial vote of some significance at the time, but ancient history now.”
Valorum lowered his voice to ask, “Do you think you could bring Malastare over to my side?”
Palpatine swung to look at him. “Regarding the embargo of Yinchorr? Possibly. But not on the matter of taxing the free-trade zones. Both Ainlee Teem and Aks Moe have become allies of the Trade Federation.”
“An even more bewildering reversal.” Valorum sighed. “Friends become enemies; enemies, friends … I suspect I’m going to have to call in every political favor I’m owed to succeed at Yinchorr.” He compressed his lips and shook his head. “I fear my legacy is on the line here, old friend. I’ve only one year left of my term, but I’m determined to see things though.”
Palpatine conjured a compassionate tone. “If it’s any solace, I support the use of a paramilitary force — even at the risk of escalating the crisis — if only to silence those who have accused the Republic of being spineless.”
Valorum clapped Palpatine on the shoulder. “Your support is appreciated.” He looked around the room, then asked even more quietly, “Whom can I count on, Palpatine?”
Palpatine’s eyes scanned the crowd, alighting briefly on two human males, an Anx who wouldn’t have fit in a room with lower ceilings, an Ithorian, and finally a Tarnab.
“Antilles. Com Fordox. Horox Ryyder. Tendau Bendon. Perhaps Mot-Not-Rab …”
Valorum eyed them in turn, then let his gaze settle on a Rodian. “Farr?”
Palpatine laughed to himself; Onaconda Farr thought of politics the way his Rodian brethren thought of bounty hunting: Shoot first; ask questions later.
“He’s a militant, but I may be able to persuade him, as he enjoys close ties with House Naberrie, of Naboo.”
“Tikkes?” Valorum asked, gazing covertly at the Quarren Senator, whose facial tentacles were manipulating snacks into his mouth.
“Tikkes will want something in return, but yes.”
Valorum’s pale blue eyes found Wookiee Senator Yarua.
Palpatine nodded. “Kashyyyk will support you.”
Valorum drained his drink glass and set it aside. “And my opponents?”
“Aside from the obvious ones? The entire Ryloth group — Orn Free Taa, Connus Trell, and Chom Frey Kaa. Also Toonbuck Toora, Edcel Bar Gan, Po Nudo … Do you want me to go on?”
Valorum looked discouraged as they stepped out onto the balcony. A tone sounded, indicating that the noise cancellation feature had been activated. Valorum continued to the railing and stared off into the distance.
“A rare dark night,” he said after a moment.
Palpatine joined him at the railing. “Weather control is brewing a storm.” He turned slightly to adjust the noise cancellation system. “Listen: peals of thunder over The Works. And there,” he added, pointing, “lightning.”
“How unnatural it seems here. If only we might be as easily cleansed as this vast sky and these monumental buildings.”
Palpatine glanced at him. “The Senate has obstructed you, but you’ve brought no dishonor to the office.”
Valorum considered it. “I knew when my first term began that I would face opposition; that events had been spiraling out of control since the Stark Conflict. But since then I’ve sensed a darkness approaching from the outer reaches of the galaxy to shake Coruscant to its foundations. You would think, after a thousand years of peace, that the Republic would be unshakable, but that isn’t the case. I’ve always placed my faith in the Force, believing that if I acted in accordance with its guiding principles, the galaxy would act in kind.”
Palpatine frowned in the dark. “The Republic has grown unwieldy. We are coerced and cajoled into deals that compromise our integrity. We are criticized as much for what we do as what we don’t do. Most beings in the Core couldn’t point to Yinchorr in a star map, and yet the crisis there becomes your problem.”
Valorum nodded in a distracted way. “We can’t stand by and do nothing. The Jedi express as much in private, and yet even they are divided. If Master Dooku becomes any more vocal in his criticisms of the Senate and the Order, the Council may have to restrict him to the Temple.” He fell silent, then said, “Well, I certainly don’t have to tell you. People tell me you’ve become his confidant.”
Instead of responding to that comment, Palpatine said, “And Master Yoda?”
“Inscrutable as ever,” Valorum said. “But troubled, I think.”
Palpatine turned away from him slightly. “The Jedi hav
e faced down darkness in the past.”
“True. But a study of history reveals that they have been defeated by it, as well.”
“Then the outcome is not in our grasp.”
Valorum raised his gaze to the night sky. “Whose, then?”
23: UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN
Just arrived on the Hunters’ Moon, Sidious studied Plagueis as the Sith Lord and his droid, 11-4D, viewed a holorecording of a black-robed Zabrak assassin making short work of combat automata in his home on Coruscant, some hovering, some advancing on two legs, others on treads, and all firing blasters.
Twenty years had added a slight stoop to the Muun’s posture and veins that stood out under his thinning white skin. He wore a dark green utility suit that hugged his delicate frame, a green cloak that fell from his bony shoulders to the fort’s stone floor, and a headpiece that hewed to his large cranium. A triangular breath mask covered his ruined, prognathus lower jaw, his mouth, part of his long neck, and what remained of the craggy nose he’d had before the surprise attack in the Fobosi. A device of his own invention, the alloy mask featured two vertical slits and a pair of thin, stiff conduits that linked it to a transpirator affixed to his upper chest, beneath an armored torso harness. He had learned to ingest and imbibe through feeding tubes, and through his nose.
Seen through the Force, he was a nuclear oval of mottled light, a rotating orb of terrifying energy. If the Maladian attack had weakened him physically, it had also helped to shape his etheric body into a vessel sufficiently strong to contain the full power of the dark side. Determined never again to be caught off guard, he had trained himself to go without sleep, and had devoted two standard decades to day-and-night experimentation with midi-chlorian manipulation and attempts to wrest a few last secrets from the Force, so that he — and presumably his human apprentice — might live forever. His inward turn had enabled him to master the equally powerful energies of order and disorder, creation and entropy, life and death.
“You have made him fearsome,” Plagueis remarked without turning from the recording, as the athletic Zabrak cleaved a Colicoid Eradicator droid down the middle and whirled to cut two others in half. The yellow-eyed humanoid’s hairless head bore a crown of small horns and geometrical patterns of black and red markings.
“Fearless, as well,” Sidious said.
“Still, they are only droids.”
“He’s even more formidable against living beings.”
Plagueis looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed in question. “You’ve fought him in a serious way?” Reconstructed vocal chords and trachea imparted a metallic quality to his voice, as if he were speaking through an enunciator.
“I stranded him on Hypori for a month without food and with only a horde of assassin droids for company. Then I returned to goad and challenge him. All things considered, he fought well, even after I deprived him of his lightsaber. He wanted to kill me, but was prepared to die at my hand.”
Plagueis turned fully to face him. “Rather than punish him for disobedience, you praised his resolve.”
“He was already humbled. I chose to leave his honor intact. I proclaimed him my myrmidon; the embodiment of the violent half of our partnership.”
“Partnership?” Plagueis repeated harshly.
“His and mine; not ours.”
“Regardless, you allowed him to believe that he is more skilled than he actually is.”
“Did you not do the same for me?”
Plagueis’s eyes reflected disappointment. “Never, Sidious. I have always been truthful with you.”
Sidious bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I am not the teacher you are.”
Plagueis spent a long moment observing the holorecording. The Zabrak’s fists and legs were as lethal as his lightsaber, and his speed was astounding. “Who applied the markings?”
“The mother did — in keeping with rituals enacted shortly after birth. An initiation, during which a Dathomirian Zabrak infant is submerged in an oily bath, energized with ichor conjured by the Nightsisters’ use of magicks.”
“A peculiar decision, given her hope to send the child into hiding.”
“The Nightsisters rarely leave Dathomir, but Nightbrothers are sometimes sold into servitude. I believe the mother wished him to be aware of his heritage, wherever he ended up.”
On seeing the Zabrak’s lightsaber produce two blades, Plagueis drew in his breath. “A saber-staff! The weapon of Exar Kun! Did he construct that?”
“The prototype was two lightsabers he had welded pommel-to-pommel in imitation of the Iridonian zhaboka. I furnished the knowledge that allowed him to improve on the original design and construct the one he is using.”
Plagueis watched as droid after droid was impaled on the opposing crimson blades. “It strikes me as unnecessary, but I won’t deny his mastery of the Jar’Kai technique.” Again, he turned to Sidious. “Niman and teräs käsi will never substitute for dun möch, but I appreciate that you have trained him to be a fighting machine rather than a true apprentice.”
“Thank you, Master.”
Plagueis’s eyes wrinkled — in suspicion? In amusement?
“I agree with you that he should bear witness to the Yinchorri attack on the Jedi Temple.”
“I will tell him. He already thinks of the Jedi as abominations. The sight of their sanctuary being violated will quicken his blood.”
“Even so, hold him back. Let his anger and hatred fester.”
Sidious bowed his head.
Plagueis deactivated the holoprojector. “The gift you requested for him is nearly complete. Raith Sienar has agreed to have the vessel delivered to Sojourn, and I will arrange to have it brought to the LiMerge Building.” He made a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Come, Darth Sidious, there is much to discuss.”
The ancient fort had never felt more forlorn. A company of Sun Guards still resided on Sojourn, escorting visitors to the surface and keeping the ground-based turbolasers in good working order. Authentication codes were still required for ships entering Sojourn space, but the moon’s coordinates were no longer the secret they had once been. For the most part Plagueis had lived like a hermit among his droids, seldom venturing offworld, though continuing to use his vast wealth and influence to support those organizations that furthered the Sith cause and crush the plans of those he opposed. For the first year following the attack, rumors swirled that Hego Damask was dead, but word gradually began to circulate that he was merely living in seclusion on Sojourn. Four years later, the annual Gatherings had resumed, but only for five years, and now there hadn’t been a Gathering in more than a decade. Fewer and fewer beings had attended the events in any case, many having distanced themselves from Damask in the wake of the murders on Coruscant.
During the long period between the Gran’s sneak attack and the first Gathering of the new era, Sidious had spoken with Plagueis only by holo. Left to progress on his own, he had trained the Zabrak in secret on Mustafar, Tosste, and Orsis, visited several Sith worlds, and spent considerable time studying the Sith texts and holocrons that remained under guard on Aborah. From the Sun Guards, Sidious heard that Damask had locked himself away in the fort and was scarcely seen. On the few occasions Damask had summoned them, they had found the living quarters in shambles, some of the experimental subjects dead in their cages or cells, and many of the droids malfunctioning. Creatures from the surrounding greel forests had invaded and taken up residence in the place, making nests in the turrets and devouring anything edible. While Damask — unwashed, emaciated, erratic in his behavior — had seemed capable of speech, it was 11-4D who had communicated Damask’s orders and requests to the guards. At one point, the guards had been ordered to install more than two hundred holoprojectors in what had been the fort’s armory, so that Damask could both monitor current events and immerse himself in historical recordings, some of which dated back hundreds of years.
Sidious knew that his own powers had increased tenfold over the decades, but he couldn’
t be certain he had learned all of Plagueis’s secrets—“his sorcerer’s ways,” as the Sun Guards referred to them — including the ability to prevent beings from dying. He sometimes wondered: Was he a level behind? Two levels behind? Such questions were precisely what had driven generations of Sith apprentices ultimately to challenge their Masters. The uncertainty about who was the more powerful. The need to test themselves, to face the definitive trial. The temptation to take the mantle by force, to put one’s own spin on the power of the dark side — as Darth Gravid had attempted, only to set the Sith back countless years …
And so it had been left largely to Sidious to bring the same fervor to the manipulation of events in the mundane world that Plagueis brought to the manipulation of midi-chlorians. Instead of challenging each other, they had both dedicated themselves to executing the Grand Plan. Political mastery and mastery of the Force. Someday soon, the Sith would wield both, with Sidious the face of the former and Plagueis behind the scenes, advising him about the latter. Like Plagueis, Sidious had moved judiciously, for unintended repercussions in the real world could be as damaging to the Sith imperative as blowback from the Force. The fact that the Force had not struck back argued that their partnership was something unique and in accordance with the will of the Force. Plagueis’s self-imposed isolation had taken a toll on some of the plans he and Sidious had engineered for the Trade Federation and other groups. But Plagueis had made what amounted to a full recovery from his injuries, and the dark side was no longer simply on the ascendant but risen and climbing toward the zenith.
The Yinchorri Crisis was the first time that Plagueis had sanctioned Sidious’s direct involvement in galactic events. Until then, events manipulated by the Sith had been accomplished through the use of intermediaries. But when Sidious enlisted the aid of the Devaronian smuggler to instigate the Yinchorri, he had not only made contact by holoprojector — without revealing his Sith identity, of course — but also put him in touch with Pestage and Doriana, who had assisted in the dumping of the bodies of the dead Jedi on Valorum’s threshold and had facilitated the insertion of the Yinchorri warriors tasked with infiltrating the Jedi Temple.
