by James Luceno
“Here, at Tannik.” He pointed to a nearby dock, where an energetic dark-haired girl was directing an antigrav pallet of foodstuffs into the bay of a waiting freighter. Catching sight of her father, Padmé waved.
“Who is the young man with her?” Palpatine asked.
“Ian Lago,” Jobal said.
Palpatine sharpened his vision. “The son of King Veruna’s counselor?”
Jobal nodded. “He’s become a bit lovesick.”
“And Padmé with him?”
“We hope not,” Ruwee said. “Ian’s a nice boy, but … Well, let’s just say that Kun Lago would not be happy to learn that his son has been fraternizing with the enemy, so to speak.”
Realizing that young Ian was eyeing him with sudden interest, Palpatine returned the look for a moment, then said, “This brings me directly to the point of my visit. As you’re no doubt aware, our King has instructed me to support the Trade Federation on the issue of taxation of the free-trade zones.”
“Of course he would,” Ruwee said with clear disdain. “How otherwise would Veruna continue to line the pockets of his robes with kickbacks.”
Palpatine nodded. “You and I and some of the nobles know as much. But now may be the time to let the rest of Naboo in on his secrets.”
Jobal’s expression soured. “If you’re talking about challenging him in the coming election, you’re facing a lost cause.”
“I beg to disagree, madame,” Palpatine said. “With discretion I have already approached several members of the electorate, and they concur that Veruna can be defeated by the right candidate.”
When he cut his gaze to Padmé, Ruwee’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”
“But I am, Ruwee. A member of the Legislative Youth Program at eight years of age; a full Apprentice Legislator at eleven. Her refugee work on Shadda-Bi-Boran. Plus, she enjoys more popular support in Theed than any governor has enjoyed in generations.”
Jobal blinked and shook her head in disbelief. “Palpatine, she has only just turned thirteen!”
Palpatine spread his hands. “Naboo has elected younger Queens, m’lady. And hers could be a reign that will last fifty years.” He refused to yield to Ruwee or Jobal. “The constitution has a provision that would allow the monarchy to become hereditary for a worthy dynasty. And what more worthy family is there than the Naberries?”
Husband and wife traded looks. “That’s very flattering, Senator—” Jobal started to say when Palpatine cut her off.
“The Naboo are exasperated with monarchs like Tapalo and Veruna. Padmé would allow Naboo to reinvent itself.”
Ruwee mulled it over momentarily. “Even if Padmé were to entertain the idea, I’m not sure she could be persuaded to support taxation of the trade zones, knowing what that might mean for Naboo and other outlying worlds.”
“She wouldn’t have to take a stand,” Palpatine countered. “She need only campaign against corruption and secret deals, and the embarrassing position in which Veruna has placed Naboo.”
Jobal’s eyes narrowed in uncertainly. “At the risk of touching on a sore point, Senator, you helped put Veruna on the throne and have been his advocate ever since.”
Palpatine shook his head. “Never an advocate. I have always considered myself to be a counterbalance, and in the past few years we’ve found ourselves on opposite sides of almost every issue, including the library he built and the credits he lavished on creating a space force for Naboo.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “Trust me, Veruna can be defeated.”
Again, Ruwee and Naberrie exchanged worried looks. “We’re provincial people, Palpatine,” Ruwee said at last. “The world of politics … galactic politics, no less …”
Palpatine compressed his lips. “I understand. But what compelled the two of you to abandon the mountains for Theed, if not for Padmé and Sola, and the opportunities that might be available to them?”
Palpatine held Ruwee’s pensive gaze. He is beginning to waver.
“I wouldn’t want to put Padmé through this only to see her lose, Palpatine.”
Palpatine beamed. “I will work with you to see that that doesn’t happen. I don’t wish to speak out of turn, but I can almost guarantee the support of the Supreme Chancellor, as well.”
“Valorum knows of Padmé?” Jobal asked in delighted surprise.
“Of course he does.” Palpatine paused. “Faced with Padmé as competition, perhaps Veruna will see the light and abdicate.”
Jobal laughed, then showed Palpatine a serious look. “You have come a long way, Senator.”
26: THEIR BASER NATURE
On a clear day, looking northwest across The Works from a debris-strewn room in the circular crown of the LiMerge Building, Maul could just see the elegant centermost spire of the Jedi Temple, poking above the horizon. With his Master en route to Eriadu to attend a trade summit Sidious himself had proposed, the Zabrak had made a habit of climbing to the crown at least once a day and, with electrobinoculars in hand, gazing at the distant spire in the hope of catching sight of a Jedi.
But that hadn’t happened.
If any Jedi were present, they would be sitting in contemplation, as Maul knew he should be doing, as well. Or if not meditating, then completing work on the graciously curved speeder bike he had named Bloodfin or the droid called C-P3X, or perfecting his skill at using the wrist-mounted projectile launcher known as the lanvarok. Devoting himself to those tasks would have met with more approval from Darth Sidious than Maul’s staring at the Temple’s fin-ornamented pinnacle and dreaming of the day he could pit himself against a Jedi Master. But ever since his return from Dorvalla several standard weeks earlier, he had been too restless to sit cross-legged on the floor, immersed in the flow of the dark side, or to pore over the probe droid schematics Darth Sidious had furnished before he’d left.
When Maul reflected on the time he had spent on Dorvalla, his thoughts weren’t focused on the assassinations he had carried out. He had murdered many in his short life, and there was nothing about the deaths of Patch Bruit, Caba’Zan, and the others involved in the business of mining lommite ore that distinguished them from previous killings. In fact, the miners’ carelessness should have condemned them to lingering deaths rather than the quick ends Maul had dispensed. What he remembered instead was the feeling of participation the mission had afforded. Not only had he been able to draw on his talents for stealth, tracking, and combat, but he had used them in a manner that furthered the Sith Grand Plan, as hadn’t been the case during his years of training on Orsis, or during the forays Darth Sidious had allowed him to make to other worlds. On his return to Coruscant, the Dark Lord had praised him, which, Maul supposed, should have been reward enough. And might have been, had the mission led to another. But Darth Sidious had excluded him from participating in the Eriadu operation, and had been vague about future plans.
A direct outcome of what Maul had accomplished on Dorvalla, Lommite Limited and InterGalactic Ore had merged and been taken over by the Trade Federation, which in turn had resulted in Nute Gunray’s promotion to the company’s seven-member directorate. In further conversations with the viceroy, Darth Sidious had demanded that the Neimoidians willingly sacrifice one of their Lucrehulk freighters, along with a shipment of aurodium ingots, as a means of funding an Outer Rim insurgent group known as the Nebula Front. Maul had been nonplussed by his Master’s decision to reveal himself to the group’s leader, as Darth Sidious had done in his initial communication with Gunray; then dismayed to learn that the leader — a human named Havac — had betrayed Darth Sidious by attempting to assassinate Supreme Chancellor Valorum on Coruscant. The realization that his Master could be deceived, that he wasn’t infallible, had had a curious effect on Maul. It had caused him unease, a sudden concern for his Master’s safety that had intruded on his ability to still his mind and find reassurance in the dark side. It was not fear — for fear was something alien to Maul’s makeup — but a troublesome disquiet. Disquiet for the being he ha
d once tried to kill, and was perhaps expected to kill. All these weeks later he would still sometimes spend hours wandering through the LiMerge Building like a house pet picking up on the scent of its owner …
When, though, he had expressed a desire to take part in the Eriadu operation, even if that only meant assisting the Neimoidians in procuring weapons from the hive species or commencing manufacturing operations on Alaris Prime and other remote worlds, his Master had rejected the idea out of hand.
You have no role in this, he had said, without explanation, and in compensation, Maul surmised, had given him the dark eye schematics.
The rejection, too, had prompted questions of a novel sort. Of all the beings in the galaxy, the Dark Lord had chosen him to serve as his apprentice and eventual successor, and yet Darth Sidious had neglected to equip him with the very tools he would need to carry the Sith imperative forward. For all his attempts to familiarize himself with the political landscape and with criminal organizations — some of which were allied to Darth Sidious, others antithetical to his plans — he had a limited understanding of precisely how the galaxy worked. He grasped that the Sith’s war was with the Jedi Order rather than the Republic, but he had no real inkling as to how revenge was to be meted out.
What, then, if — beyond contemplation — something untoward should befall his Master? Was there a contingency plan? Unlike Darth Sidious, who masqueraded as Republic Senator Palpatine and debated complex issues in the Senate, Maul lacked a secret identity. With his yellow eyes and horned head a black-and-red mask of arcane sigils, it was all he could do to prowl the fringes of The Works in the dead of night without instilling fear in nearly every being whose gaze he caught.
Maul had expected his life to change when Darth Sidious had relocated him to Coruscant. But in many ways the move struck him as a return to his days as a combat trainee on Orsis, waiting to be allowed to fight, receiving praise and rewards, only to be commanded to train harder. The occasional visits from his Master had allowed him to endure the isolation and superficiality of his existence. Only when his instruction in the Sith arts had begun, had he felt singular, purposeful …
But he wasn’t entirely without hope.
On occasion Darth Sidious would hint at a mission of utmost importance that they would need to carry out together; one that would call on them to make use of all their powers. He had yet to provide details, even with regard to Maul’s studies. But he continued to imply that the mission was looming. And more and more, Maul sensed that it was somehow linked to his Master’s homeworld, Naboo.
* * *
His presence requested by King Veruna, Palpatine interrupted his journey to the Eriadu summit to stop at Naboo. The spaceport was crowded with ships of unusual design, and Theed was teeming with citizens who had packed the streets and lanes surrounding Palace Plaza to hear young Padmé Naberrie speak. In stark contrast with the joyous enthusiasm demonstrated by the crowds, and seemingly organized as a kind of counterevent, the palace throne room was the scene of an extravagant fete, attended by the most corrupt of Veruna’s supporters in the electorate and several dozen offworlders of dubious character. The announcement of Palpatine’s arrival at the room met with hushed innuendos and malicious laughter that continued while he was ushered to a place at the King’s table, opposite Veruna and sandwiched between Kun Lago and security chief Magneta.
Motioning with his royal baton for decorum, Veruna greeted Palpatine with an exaggerated smile. “Welcome, Palpatine.” Drinking had imparted a slight slur to his speech. Clapping his hands, he added, “Bring wine for Naboo’s celebrated Senator.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Palpatine said, playing along with Veruna’s insincerity. “I’ve gone without blossom wine for too long.”
Veruna pounded a fist on the long wooden table. “Then bring him two goblets, and keep the supply flowing until his thirst is slaked.”
Palpatine sat back as servants hurried in to honor Veruna’s command. Both ends of the table were anchored by beings he knew by reputation rather than acquaintance. Far to Veruna’s right sat Alexi Garyn, head of the Black Sun crime syndicate; and to his left, elevated on durable cushions and drawing smoke from a water pipe, lounged a female Hutt named Gardulla, from Tatooine. Among her retinue of beings were two humanoids whose martial uniforms identified them as members of the Bando Gora terrorist group.
More ammunition for Padmé Naberrie, he thought.
“Tell us, Palpatine,” Veruna said, after wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his gaudy robe, “what prompted you to propose this summit on Eriadu?”
Palpatine ignored the goblets of wine. “The summit will provide an opportunity for everyone involved to air their thoughts and grievances regarding taxation of the trade zones.”
“I’m certain that your friends in the Trade Federation are very appreciative.”
Palpatine waited for the laughter to end, pleased to find that the conversation was headed in the direction he had expected it to go. “Naboo has a great stake in what emerges from the summit, Majesty.”
“Ah, then you arranged this for the sake of Naboo.” Veruna raised his voice so that everyone at the table could hear. “Palpatine did this out of concern for Naboo!” His expression toughened as he leaned forward. “And no doubt you were thinking of Naboo when you approached the Naberries about having their daughter oppose me in the coming election.”
“Think twice before you offer any denials,” Magneta told him quietly.
Lago leaned over to add, “My son was present when you tendered the offer.”
“With Padmé Naberrie, if I’m not mistaken,” Palpatine said in like conspiracy. While Lago was trying to puzzle it out, he looked at Veruna. “We discussed the refugee movement.”
The monarch glared at him, then motioned dismissively with his fingertips. “What’s done is done. And I’m afraid that includes you, Senator.” Gesturing broadly in the direction of Palace Plaza, he said, “Do you really believe that that little political upstart can unseat me? The daughter of mountain peasants?”
Palpatine shrugged. “The crowd she has drawn seems to think so.”
“Idealists,” Veruna said, sneering. “Regressives. They dream of the Naboo of fifty years ago, but they’re not about to have their wish.” His finger jabbed the air in front of Palpatine’s face. “My first official act following my reelection will be to recall you as Senator.” He looked at Lago. “Kun will be Naboo’s new representative.”
Palpatine frowned in mock disappointment. “Janus Greejatus would be a better choice.”
Veruna grew flustered. “A recommendation from you is a condemnation! And I suggest strongly that you remain on Coruscant, because you will no longer be welcome on Naboo.” He lowered his voice. “Keep in mind that I have information that can ruin you, Palpatine, in the same way that you, the Naberries, and the rest are attempting to ruin me.”
The table fell silent as a squadron of N-1 starfighters shot past the arched windows to disrupt the rally in the plaza.
Palpatine conjured a smile. “The Naboo will be pleased to see that your space force is good for something, Majesty.”
Veruna’s bloated face flushed. “More than you know. I told you that I meant to end our partnership with the Trade Federation and Hego Damask, and so I shall.”
Palpatine glanced at the Hutt and her Bando Gora minions. “With the help of your new partners. And what will you do — chase the Trade Federation’s freighters out of the Chommel sector? Challenge Damask openly?”
“Damask has betrayed everyone. Ask Gardulla. Ask Alexi Garyn. The Muun should have learned a lesson thirty years ago from the Gran who targeted him.”
Palpatine took secret pleasure in the remark. And you commit the same egregious blunders they did.
“What makes you think he didn’t?”
Veruna started to speak, but bit back what he had in mind to say and began again. “From this point on, Naboo will manage its own resources. Gardulla and Black Sun will supervise the export o
f plasma and the import of goods, and the Bando Gora will protect our interests in the space lanes. It’s a pity you won’t be a part of it.”
“A pity to be sure,” Palpatine said, rising to his feet. “Until such time as you replace me, Majesty, I will continue to act in Naboo’s best interests, at Eriadu and on Coruscant. Should I see Damask, I’ll be certain to tell him that he underestimated … your ambitions.”
Veruna locked eyes with him. “Don’t concern yourself unduly, Palpatine. You won’t be seeing him again.”
The transpirator affixed to his face, Plagueis moved with agile purpose through the stone-cold rooms that had housed twenty years of experiments. Most of the cages and cells were empty now — the captives they had contained, released. He wondered if Sojourn’s greel forests would become a kind of laboratory, a great scarlet-wood medium for mutant evolution. OneOne-FourDee shuffled past him on the way to the courtyard, alloy storage boxes piled high in its quartet of appendages.
“Be certain that all the data has been permanently deleted,” Plagueis said.
The droid nodded. “I will make certain for the third time, Magister Damask.”
“And FourDee, carry my instructions to the Sun Guards that I will contact them on Thyrsus.”
“I will see to it, Magister.”
Plagueis entered the room that had served as his meditation chamber. Though the high-ceilinged space was already fixed in his memory, he studied the few pieces of furniture in silence, as if searching for some detail that had escaped his notice. His eyes lingered on the small antechamber in which he and Sidious had been sitting when they had brought about the shift, and the strength of that memory was such that he was catapulted into a moment of intense reverie.
For some time he had been aware that Sidious had grown critical of his fixation with unraveling the secrets of life and death. Surely Sidious felt as if Plagueis had made himself too much of a project, often to the neglect of the Grand Plan; that Plagueis had come to place more importance on his own survival than that of the Sith. Meanwhile, to Sidious had fallen the responsibility for arranging and executing the schemes that would place the two of them in power on Coruscant. Sidious directing galactic events in much the same way that Plagueis was overseeing the currents of the dark side. And yet the arrangement was as it should be, for Sidious had a gift for subterfuge that surpassed the talents of any of the Sith Lords who had preceded him, including Bane.
