Darth Plagueis

by James Luceno

  The silence attenuated. “I want you to leave Coruscant for the time being.”

  Maul looked up in alarm.

  “Take the Infiltrator and your combat droids and return to your former home. There, train and meditate until I recall you.”

  “My lord, I beg—”

  Sidious held up his hands. “Enough! You executed the mission well, and I am pleased. Now learn from your mistake.”

  Maul rose slowly, bowed his head once, and headed for the hangar. Watching him leave, Sidious examined the nature of his unease.

  Might he, in a similar situation, have given in to an urge to gloat and reveal his true identity?

  Had Plagueis done so before killing Veruna? Had he felt compelled to come out from behind his mask? To be honest?

  Or was Maul’s revelation to Garyn nothing more than a symptom of the dark side’s growing impatience, and its demand for full disclosure?

  “Black Sun is in utter disorder,” Palpatine told Hego Damask as they strolled among the sightseers that crowded Monument Plaza. Hundreds were clustered around the summit of Umate, which jutted from the center of the bowl-shaped park, and mixed-being groups of others were trailing tour guides toward the old Senate agora or the Galactic Museum. “Prince Xixor and Sise Fromm will inherit the dregs.”

  “Again, the Zabrak proves his value,” Damask said. “You trained him well.”

  “Perhaps not well enough,” Palpatine said after a moment. “While I was questioning him about a wound he received, he confessed to having divulged his identity to Alexi Garyn.”

  Angling his masked face away from Palpatine, Damask said, “Garyn is dead. What does it matter now?”

  The Muun’s flippant tone put Palpatine further on edge, but his composure held.

  “This may be the last time I’m permitted to appear in public without armed escort,” he said in a casual way. “When Queen Amidala informed me of Veruna’s unexpected death, she mentioned that her new chief of security — a man named Panaka — will be taking unprecedented steps to ensure the safety of all Naboo diplomats. The Queen, for example, is to be surrounded by a clutch of handmaidens, all of whom resemble her to some extent.”

  “And you’re be to chaperoned at all times?” Damask asked. “That won’t do.”

  “I’ll convince Panaka otherwise.”

  They stopped to watch a group of younglings at play under one of the plaza’s banners. Plagueis indicated a nearby bench, but Palpatine’s disquiet wouldn’t allow him to sit.

  “Did the Queen express any concern about the presence of so many Trade Federation freighters?”

  Palpatine shook his head. “The fleet is holding at the edge of the system, awaiting word from me to jump to Naboo. As angry as Gunray is about the taxation legislation, I had to convince him that Naboo is significant enough to ensure galactic interest in the blockade. I assured him that Amidala will not allow her people to suffer, and that before a month has elapsed she will sign a treaty that will make Naboo and Naboo’s plasma property of the Trade Federation.”

  The transpirator concealed Damask’s smile, but it was clear that he liked what he heard. “While Valorum dithers, Senator Palpatine garners the sympathy of the electorate.” He tracked Palpatine. “Is it not a measure of our success that we can award worlds as if they were mere business contracts?”

  A group of well-dressed Twi’leks sauntered by, gaping at Palpatine in recognition. That he should openly fraternize with a Muun was an indication of the power and influence of both beings.

  It was Damask who had stressed the importance of their being seen together in public; and so, in the weeks since the Muun had arrived on Coruscant, they had dined on several occasions at the Manarai and other exclusive restaurants, and had attended recitals at both the Coruscant and Galaxies operas. Most recently they had been present at an elite gathering in 500 Republica, hosted by Senator Orn Free Taa, at which Plagueis had overheard the Rutian Twi’lek discussing plans to nominate Palpatine for the chancellorship. Next on their busy agenda was a political rally scheduled to take place on Coruscant’s Perlemian Orbital Facility, where potential candidates for the office of Supreme Chancellor would have a chance to mingle with corporation executives, lobbyists, campaigners, and even some Jedi Masters.

  “A blockade followed by an actual invasion isn’t likely to win the Trade Federation any new allies,” Damask was saying. “But if nothing else we’ll be able to assess the performance of Gunray’s droid army and make adjustments as necessary.”

  “Through their own carelessness, the Neimoidians managed to compromise their secret foundries on Eos and Alaris Prime,” Palpatine said, letting some of his exasperation show.

  Damask eyed him. “For the moment, they have what they need. The acquisition of Naboo will demonstrate the failings of diplomacy, and prompt a sense of militancy among the Jedi.” Keeping his gaze fixed on Palpatine, he added, “In preparation for the coming war, we will relocate Baktoid Armor to Geonosis. Even then, however, we can’t equip our allies with sufficient weapons to secure a quick victory. A drawn-out conflict will ensure a galaxy pounded to a pulp and eager to embrace us.”

  Palpatine finally sat down. “We still need to raise an army for the Jedi to command. But one that answers ultimately to the Supreme Chancellor.”

  “A grown army could be designed to do just that,” Damask said.

  Palpatine considered it. “It sounds too simple. Jedi are not easily taken by surprise. Honed for warfare, they will be even more difficult to ensnare.”

  “At the end of a long war, perhaps? With victory in sight?”

  “To achieve that, both sides would have to be managed.” Palpatine blew out his breath. “Even if a surprise attack could be launched, not every Jedi would be in the field.”

  “Only those suitable for combat would need concern us.”

  Palpatine broke a long silence. “The Kaminoan cloners failed you once.”

  Damask acknowledged the statement with a nod. “Because I gave them a Yinchorri template. They told me then that your species might be easier to replicate.”

  “You’ll contact them again?”

  “This army must not be traced to us. But there is someone I might be able to persuade to place the initial order.”

  Palpatine waited, but Damask had nothing to add. The fact that he had said as much about the matter as he intended to say brought Palpatine full-circle to consternation. Abruptly, he stood and paced away from the bench.

  “Instruct the Neimoidians to launch the blockade,” Damask said to his back. “It’s important that events be set in motion before the orbital facility congress.” When Palpatine didn’t respond, Plagueis stood and followed him. “What’s troubling you, Sidious? Perhaps you feel that you’ve become nothing more than a messenger.”

  Palpatine whirled on him. “Yes, at times. But I know my place, and am content with it.”

  “What, then, has whipped you to a froth?”

  “The Neimoidians,” Palpatine said with sudden conviction. “In addition to Gunray, I have been dealing with three others: Haako, Daultay, and Monchar.”

  “I know Monchar slightly,” Damask said. “He maintains a suite in the Kaldani Spires.”

  “He was absent when I last spoke with Gunray.”

  Suspicion bloomed in the Muun’s eyes, and he hissed, “Where were they, then?”

  “Aboard their flagship. Gunray claimed that Monchar had taken ill as a result of rich food.”

  “But you know better.”

  Palpatine nodded. “The sniveling toady knows about the blockade. I suspect that he’s on the loose, and out for profit.”

  Damask’s eyes flashed yellow. “This is what happens when beings are promoted beyond their level of competence!”

  Palpatine tensed in anger.

  “Not you,” Damask said quickly. “Gunray and his ilk! The Force harrows and penalizes us for consorting with those too ignorant to appreciate and execute our designs!”

  Palpatine too
k comfort in the fact that even Plagueis had his limits. “I failed to heed your words about sudden reversals.”

  Damask frowned at him, then relaxed. “I ignore my own advice. The blockade must wait.”

  “I will recall Maul,” Palpatine said.

  * * *

  Two weeks after the Neimoidian’s unannounced disappearance from the flagship Saak’ak, Plagueis and Sidious knew only that Darth Maul had succeeded in tracking down and killing Hath Monchar — though not without wide-ranging collateral damage — and that Maul had piloted the stealth Infiltrator to a docking station linked by a series of zero-g air locks to the Perlemian Orbital Facility’s principal reception dome, a grand enclosure that looked out on a sweep of Coruscant and the stars beyond, and was designed to feel more like a garden in space than a sterile conference hall. Just then the dome was filled with Senators and judges, corporate leaders and ambassadors, power brokers and media pundits, and contingents of Senate Guards and Jedi.

  “Why did you order him to come here, of all places?” Damask asked Palpatine during a respite from the handshaking, casual conversation, and forced conviviality. Dressed in their finest robes, they were standing near a back-lighted waterfall, nodding to passing beings, even as the two of them conspired. “He has cut a swath of destruction through the Crimson Corridor and killed two Jedi, along with beings of a dozen species, including a Hutt. We can’t trust that someone isn’t on his scent — if not Jedi then perhaps law enforcement personnel. If by some fluke he were to be apprehended, he has the skill to scramble the minds of ordinary beings, but not to cloak himself from a Jedi. Both our existence and our plans for the blockade could be endangered.”

  “Jedi were on his scent,” Palpatine explained. “That’s precisely why I ordered him offworld.”

  Damask started to respond, but stopped himself and began again. “He is in possession of this holocron Monchar recorded?”

  Palpatine nodded. “I instructed Pestage to clear a route through a seldom-used docking bay. I merely have to rendezvous with Maul at the prearranged time and place.”

  Damask still wasn’t convinced. The Monchar affair had almost ended in catastrophe. It was as if the Force, so often compared to a current, had been diverted into a sheer canyon and twisted back on itself to generate treacherous eddies and hydraulics. “Why not simply have him surrender the crystal to Pestage?” he asked at last.

  “We don’t know what other sensitive data the holocron might contain.”

  Damask exhaled forcefully through the mask. “I trust that at least you instructed him not to be seen.” He glanced around him. “A tattooed Zabrak enrobed in head-to-toe black would certainly stand out among this crowd.”

  Palpatine couldn’t argue the point. Off to one side of them stood Senator Bail Antilles and his aides. A Prince on his homeworld of Alderaan and chair of the Senate’s Internal Activities Committee, the handsome, dark-haired Antilles was surrounded by a crowd that included Core World Senators and businessbeings, all of whom had pledged to support him in the coming election, and Jedi Master Jorus C’baoth, who had been enlisted to arbitrate a dispute among some of Alderaan’s royal houses. An arrogant, wild-eyed human, C’baoth was cut from the same cloth as Dooku, whose absence from the political gathering had been noted by many. Antilles had been the Sith’s pawn in bringing to the fore accusations of wrongdoing on the part of Valorum during the Eriadu crisis, but the notoriety he had gained as a result — in the Senate and in the media — had bolstered his campaign and made him the current top candidate for the chancellorship.

  No Jedi had attached themselves to Ainlee Teem, who was also within view. But the Malastare Gran was widely popular on many Mid and Outer Rim worlds, and enjoyed the support of Senator Lott Dod, of the Trade Federation, and Shu Mai, of the Commerce Guild.

  At the center of the domed hall stood Valorum and Sei Taria, who was as media-savvy as she was lovely. Though ineligible for reelection, recently stripped of some of his Senatorial powers, and frequently engaged in defending himself against accusations by the Ethics Committee, Valorum had managed to make himself the center of attention, due to the presence of Masters Yoda, Mace Windu, and Adi Gallia among his followers. Merely by standing with the Supreme Chancellor, the Jedi were sending a message that they would continue to support him for the remainder of his term of office, the calumny of illegal enrichment notwithstanding.

  With the Trade Federation fleet still holding in the Chommell sector, and without a besieged world to generate sympathy and support for his nomination, Palpatine might have been just one more potential nominee — but for the company of Hego Damask; Banking Clan co-chairman San Hill; recently appointed Senate Vice Chairman Mas Amedda; and Senator Orn Free Taa, a moving target for Antilles’s investigation into corruption and now ostracized by the Rim Faction for backing Palpatine.

  “It’s almost time,” Palpatine said. He indicated a gardened area of dwarf trees and shrubs close to where Ainlee Teem was conferring with a handful of Senators. “I’ll trade quips with the Gran, then find some pretext to excuse myself.”

  Damask grunted noncommittally. “My own target is in sight, in any case.”

  Without further word the two separated, Damask weaving his way through the crowd toward a grim-faced, bearded human Jedi who was standing apart from everyone, observing the scene.

  “Master Sifo-Dyas,” he called.

  The topknotted Jedi turned and, recognizing him, nodded in greeting. “Magister Damask.”

  “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Sifo-Dyas shook his head, his gaze fixed on the breath mask. “No, I was …” He exhaled and began again, adjusting his stance. “Until your recent arrival on Coruscant, I was under the impression that you had retired.”

  Damask loosed an exaggerated sigh. “It is not in a Muun’s blood to retire. I work now with only a few powerful but largely invisible clients.”

  The Jedi lifted a graying eyebrow. “It seems I can’t view a news holo that doesn’t feature you and Senator Palpatine, who is anything but invisible.”

  “To my thinking, he is the only one capable of rescuing the Republic from the brink.”

  Sifo-Dyas grunted. “To remain untouched by scandal for twenty years is in itself extraordinary. So perhaps you’re right.”

  Damask waited a moment, then said, “I have never forgotten our discussion on Serenno.”

  “What discussion was that, Magister?”

  “We spoke at some length of threats that were assailing the Republic even then.”

  Sifo-Dyas grew pensive. “I have some vague recollection.”

  “Well, what with assassinations, taxation of the free-trade zones, posturing by the Trade Federation, and accusations of political impropriety, the conversation has been much on my mind of late. Fractiousness, factionalism, intersystem conflicts … Even in this hall the Jedi appear to be divided in their loyalties. Master C’baoth here, Masters Yoda and Gallia there, and yet no sign of Master Dooku.”

  Sifo-Dyas said nothing.

  “Master Jedi, I want to share with you a suspicion I’ve been carrying like a burden.” Damask paused. “I have reason to suspect that the Trade Federation has secretly been procuring more weapons than anyone realizes.”

  Sifo-Dyas’s forehead furrowed. “Do you have evidence of this?”

  “No hard evidence. But my business demands a thorough knowledge of the investment markets. Also, my clients sometimes reveal information to me in private.”

  “Then you’re breaking confidentiality by coming to me with this.”

  “I am. But only because I believe so strongly that what was once speculation is now fact. To go further, I predict that a civil war is brewing. I give the Republic fifteen years at the most. Soon we’ll see disgruntled star systems begin to secede. They will lack only a strong, charismatic leader to unite them.” He fell briefly silent before adding: “I will be blunt with you, Master Sifo-Dyas: the Republic will be vulnerable. The Jedi will be too few to turn the tide. A mili
tary needs to be created now, while there’s still a chance.”

  Sifo-Dyas folded his arms across his chest. “I encourage you to share this with Supreme Chancellor Valorum, or even Senator Palpatine, Magister.”

  “I intend to. But even under Chancellor Valorum’s watch this Senate will not overturn the Reformation Act. Too many Senators have a financial stake in galactic war. They are heavily invested in corporations that will grow fat on profits from weapons and reconstruction. War will be beneficial for an economy they now view as stagnant.”

  “Are you willing to state this in front of an investigatory committee?”

  Damask frowned with his eyes. “You have to understand that many of these corporations are owned and operated by my clients.”

  A dark look came over the Jedi’s face. “You have read my thoughts, Magister. I have also sensed that war is imminent. I’ve confessed as much to Master Yoda and others, but to no avail. They give all appearances of being unconcerned. Or preoccupied. I’m no longer sure.”

  “Master Dooku, as well?”

  Sifo-Dyas sniffed. “Unfortunately, Magister, Dooku’s recent statements about Republic discord and our Order’s ‘self-righteousness’ have only added to my concern.”

  “You said that you have some vague recall of our conversation on Serenno. Do you remember my mentioning a group of gifted cloners?”

  “I’m sorry, I do not.”

  “They are native to an extragalactic world called Kamino. I have on occasion done business with them on behalf of clients who desire cloned creatures, or require cloned laborers capable of working in harsh environments.”

  The Jedi shook his head in uncertainty. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “I believe that the Kaminoans could be induced to grow and train a cloned army.”

  Sifo-Dyas took a long moment to reply. “You said yourself that the Republic would never sanction an army.”

  “The Republic needn’t know,” Damask said cautiously. “Neither would the Jedi Order have to know. It would be an army that might never have to be used, and yet be available in reserve should need ever arise.”