by James Luceno
“So you’ve heard about Chancellor Valorum’s intentions,” Sidious said.
“Only that he is likely to give his full weight to the proposal,” Gunray said.
Sidious nodded. “Rest assured, Viceroy, Supreme Chancellor Valorum is our strongest ally in the senate.”
“Lord Sidious has some influence in the senate?” Haako asked carefully.
But Sidious was too clever to take the bait.
“You will come to learn that there are many that do my bidding,” he said. “They understand, as you will understand, that they serve themselves best by serving me.”
Haako and Monchar traded quick looks.
“The ruling members of the Trade Federation Directorate are not likely to sanction spending hard-earned profits on droids,” Monchar said. “As it is, they consider us Neimoidians to be unnecessarily suspicious.”
“I am well aware of the opinions of your partners,” Sidious rasped. “Be advised that foolish friends are no better than enemies.”
“Nevertheless, they will oppose this arrangement.”
“Then we will just have to find some way to convince them.”
“He doesn’t mean to sound unappreciative, Lord Sidious,” Gunray apologized. “It’s simply that … It’s simply that we don’t really know who you are, and what you are capable of providing. You could be a powerful Jedi, hoping to entrap us.”
“A Jedi,” Sidious said. “Now you do mock me. But you will see that I am a forgiving master. As to your concerns about my identity—my heritage, let us say—my actions will speak for me.”
The Neimoidians exchanged perplexed looks. “What about the Jedi?” Haako asked. “They won’t simply stand by.”
“The Jedi will do only what the senate bids them to do,” Sidious said. “You are woefully mistaken if you believe they would jeopardize their lofty real estate on Coruscant to challenge the Trade Federation without Senate approval.”
Gunray glanced meaningfully at his advisors before replying. “We place ourselves in your hands, Lord Sidious.”
Sidious almost smiled. “I thought you might see things my way, Viceroy. I know that you will not fail me in the future.”
The apparition vanished as abruptly as it arrived, leaving the three Neimoidians to ponder the nature of the shadowy alliance they had just entered into.
Night was a stranger to Coruscant. The sun set as ever, but so ambient was the light from the cityscape’s forest of skyscraping towers that true darkness was a thing that prowled only the deepest canyons, or was summoned with purpose by those residents who could afford blackout transparisteel. From space, the planet’s dark side sparkled like a finely wrought ornament strung with bioluminescent life-forms, such as might be displayed in an heirloom cabinet or a museum devoted to folk art.
The stars never appeared in the sky, except to those who resided in the tallest buildings. But stars of a different sort turned up nightly at Coruscant’s celebrated entertainment complexes—singers, performers, artists, and politicians. As a rule more faddish than the rest, the latter group had taken lately to attending the opera, following the lead of Supreme Chancellor Valorum, whose renowned family had been patrons of the arts for as long as anyone could remember.
In a galaxy boasting millions of species and a thousand times as many worlds, cultural arts were never in short supply. At any given moment a performance was debuting somewhere on Coruscant. But few companies or troupes of any sort had the privilege of performing at the Coruscant Opera.
The building was a marvel of pre-Republic baroque, all frosting and embellishment, with an old-fashioned orchestra pit, tiered seating, and private balconies in the time-honored design. As a nod to Coruscant’s citizens, there was even a warren of lower-level galleries where common folks could view the performance via real-time hologram and pretend to be hobnobbing with celebrities seated overhead.
The opera of the moment was The Brief Reign of Future Wraiths, a production that had originated on Corellia, but was being performed by a company of Bith, who had been touring the opera world to world for the past twenty standard years.
A bipedal species with large rounded craniums, lidless black eyes, receding noses, and baggy epidermal folds beneath their jaws, Bith were native to the outlying world of Clak’dor VII, and were known to perceive sounds as humans perceived colors.
Considering that it was Finis Valorum’s parents who had underwritten Brief Reign to begin with, it was only fitting that the supreme chancellor be on hand for the opera’s long-awaited return to Coruscant. The mere fact that he would be attending had driven up the price of tickets and made them as difficult to procure as Adegan crystals. As a result, the building was more packed with luminaries than it had been in a long while.
As was customary, Valorum delayed his arrival, so as to ensure that he would be last to be seated. Restless for a glance at him, the audience came to its feet in prolonged applause as he stepped onto the elaborate balcony that had been reserved for Valorum family members for well over five hundred years.
Eschewing his usual surround of blue-caped and helmeted Senate Guards, Valorum was accompanied only by his administrative aide, Sei Taria—in matching burgundy septsilk—a petite young woman half his age, with oblique eyes and skin the color of burrmillet grain.
In true Coruscant manner, rumors began circulating even before Valorum took his seat. But the Supreme Chancellor was inured to innuendo, not merely as an effect of his aristocratic upbringing, but also because of the fact that nearly every sectorial senator—marital status notwithstanding—had made it their practice to appear in public with attractive young consorts.
Valorum waved graciously and inclined his head in a show of benign sufferance. Then, before sitting down, he directed a second bow to a private balcony directly across the amphitheater.
The dozen or so prosperous-looking patrons in the balcony Valorum singled out returned the bow, and remained standing until Sei Taria was also seated—no small feat for the owner of the box, Senator Orn Free Taa, who had grown so corpulent during his tenure on Coruscant that his bulk filled the space of what had once been three separate seats.
Cerulean, with pouty red lips and eyelids, Taa had a huge oval face and a double chin the size of a bantha’s feed bag. He was a Twi’lek of Rutian descent; his lekku head-tails, engorged with fat, hung like sated snakes to his massive chest. His gaudy robe was the size of a tent. Prominently on display was his Lethan Twi’lek consort, nubile and high-cheekboned, her red body draped in bolts of pure shimmersilk.
A member of the Appropriations Committee, Taa was a vocal opponent of Valorum, since his spice-producing homeworld of Ryloth had, time and again, been denied favored-world status.
Taa’s guests in the box included Senators Toonbuck Toora, Passel Argente, Edcel Bar Gane, and Palpatine, along with two of Palpatine’s personal aides, Kinman Doriana and Sate Pestage.
“Do you know why Valorum loves to attend the opera?” Taa asked in Basic, out of the corner of his huge mouth. “Because it’s the only place on Coruscant where an entire audience will applaud him.”
“And he does little more here than he does in the senate,” Toora said. “He merely observes the protocols and feigns interest.”
Fabulously wealthy, she was a hairy biped with a wide mouth, a triple-bearded chin, and beady eyes and a pug nose squeezed onto the bony ridge that capped her squat head.
“Valorum is toothless,” Passel Argente chimed in. A sallow-complexioned humanoid affiliated with the Corporate Alliance, he wore a black turban and bib that revealed only his face and the swirling horn that emerged from the crown of his head. “At a time when we need vigor, direction, unity, Valorum insists on taking the tried-and-true route. The route guaranteed not to upset the status quo.”
“Much to our enjoyment,” Toora murmured.
“But a confidential bow,” Taa said, as he was maneuvering into the chair that had been specially made to conform to his girth. “To what could we possibly owe the
honor?”
Toora gestured in dismissal. “This nonsense about the Trade Federation’s requests. Valorum needs all the support he can muster if he’s to succeed in convincing us to enact taxation of the free trade zones.”
“Then it is even more curious that he should acknowledge us,” Taa remarked. He motioned broadly to other balconies. “There, all but in Valorum’s lap, sit Senators Antilles, Horox Ryyder, Tendau Bendon … Any of them, more than worthy of a bow.”
Taa raised his fat hand in a wave when the group in the box realized that they were being observed.
“Then the gesture must have been solely for Senator Palpatine,” Toora remarked meaningfully. “From what I hear, our delegate from Naboo has the Supreme Chancellor’s ear.”
Taa turned to Palpatine. “Is that so, Senator?”
Palpatine smiled lightly. “Not in the manner you imagine, I can assure you. The Supreme Chancellor met with me to solicit my opinion as to how taxation might be received by the outlying systems. We spoke of little else. In any event, Valorum scarcely needs my support to see the proposal through. He is not as ineffectual as many seem to think.”
“Nonsense,” Taa said. “It will come down to partisanship—a contest between the factions of Bail Antilles, and those who allow Ainlee Teem to speak for them. As ever, the Core worlds will stand with Valorum; the near colonies, against.”
“He’s going to polarize the senate further,” Edcel Bar Gane opined in a sibilant voice. Representing the world of Roona, Bar Gane had a bulbous head and eyes that narrowed and slanted upward at their outer corners.
Toora absorbed the remark without comment. Once more, she eyed Palpatine. “I’m curious, Senator. Just what did you tell Valorum, with regard to the impact of taxation on the outer systems?”
“Activate the balcony’s noise cancellation feature, and I might be inclined to tell you,” Palpatine said.
“Oh, do it, Taa,” Toora enthused. “I so love intrigue.”
Taa flipped a switch on the balcony railing, activating a containment field that effectively sealed the box from audio surveillance. But Palpatine didn’t speak until Sate Pestage—a trim human with pointed features and thinning black hair—had double-checked that the field was indeed functioning.
Pestage’s actions impressed Argente. “Is everyone on Naboo as careful as you are, Senator?”
Palpatine shrugged. “Consider it a personal flaw.”
Argente nodded soberly. “I’ll remember that.”
“So tell us,” Toora said, “is the Supreme Chancellor embarking on a dangerous course by taking on the Trade Federation?”
“The danger is that he sees only half the picture,” Palpatine began. “Though he would be the first to deny it, Valorum is essentially a bureaucrat at heart, just as his ancestors were. He favors rules and procedure over direct action. He lacks judgment. The Valorum dynasty was largely responsible for granting the Trade Federation free rein decades ago. How do you think they accumulated their vast holdings? Certainly not by favoring the outer systems. But by making gainful deals with the InterGalactic Bank Clan and corporations like TaggeCo. That this latest crisis should revolve around the Nebula Front is especially ironic, since Valorum’s father had an opportunity to eradicate the group, and he failed, chastising them rather than disbanding them.”
“You surprise me, Senator,” Toora said. “In a good way, I think. Do go on.”
Palpatine crossed his legs and sat tall in his chair. “The Supreme Chancellor fails to grasp that the future of the Republic very much depends on what occurs in the Mid and Outer Rims. As corrupt as Coruscant has become, the real corrosion—the sort that can eventually eat away at the center—always begins on the edges. It progresses from the outside in.
“Unless Valorum does something to stay the tide, Coruscant itself will someday be a slave to those systems, unable to enact any legislation without their consent. Unless we placate them now, we’ll be forced to bring them under central authority at some later date. They are the key to the survival of the Republic.”
Taa huffed. “Unless I misread you, you’re saying that the Trade Federation is our link with those systems—Coruscant’s ambassador, if you will—and that therefore we can’t afford to alienate the Neimoidians and the rest.”
“You are misreading me,” Palpatine said firmly. “The Trade Federation needs to be brought under control. Valorum is correct to push for taxation, because the Trade Federation already has too much influence in the outlying sectors. Desperate to conduct trade with the Core, hundreds of outer systems have joined the Federation as signatory members, yielding their rights to individual representation in the senate. At the moment, the Neimoidians and their partners lack enough votes to block taxation. But in a year, in two years, they could have adequate backing to overrule the senate at every opportunity.”
“Then you’ll stand with Valorum,” Toora said. “You’ll support taxation.”
“Not yet,” Palpatine said carefully. “He views taxation as a means of punishing the Trade Federation and, at the same time, of enriching Coruscant—an approach that will alienate not only the Trade Federation members, but also the outlying systems. Before I cast Naboo’s support with one side or the other, I want to see how the votes stack up. Just now, those who hold the middle ground stand to reap the most. Those who see all sides clearly will be in the best position to guide the Republic through this critical transition. If Valorum has sufficient support without the backing of my sector, so much the better. But I won’t flinch in my obligation to do what is ultimately best for the general good.”
“Spoken like a future party whip,” Taa said, with a guffaw.
“Indeed,” Argente said, in all seriousness.
Toora appraised Palpatine openly. “A few more questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Palpatine gestured toward the stage. “While I’d be glad to discuss these matters at greater length, the performance is about to begin.”
Outfitted in lackluster tunics and soft boots, the Jedi students stood in two opposing lines, two dozen lightsabers ignited in brilliant cast, raised in twice as many hands.
At a word from the lightsaber Master, the twelve students comprising one line took three backward steps in unison and set themselves in defensive postures—feet planted wide and lightsabers held straight out from their midsections.
Custom-built by each student, to suit hands of varying size and dexterousness, no two of the lightsabers were alike, though they did share some features in common: charging ports, blade projection plates, actuators, diatium power cells, and the rare and remarkable Adegan crystals that gave birth to the blade itself. There were few known materials in the galaxy that a lightsaber could not cut. Fully powered, and in the right hands, a lightsaber could cleave duracrete or burn its way slowly though a starship’s durasteel blast doors.
At the next word from the Master, the second line set themselves in attack stances, giving their shoulders a quarter turn, lowering their center of gravity by bending slightly at the knees, and raising their lightsabers in two-fisted grips, as if to swat a pitched ball.
At the instructor’s final word, the second line advanced in earnest. The students in the first line set their lightsabers to defend and, with choreographed precision, retreated purposefully as they allowed their opponents to hammer repeatedly at their elevated blades. When the defenders had been driven halfway across the room, the lightsaber Master called the exercise to a halt and had the groups reverse positions.
Now it was those who had defended who attacked, the blades of light thrumming and grating riotously against one another, auras merging, filling the air of the training room with blinding flashes of illumination.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan watched from an observation gallery set slightly above the room’s padded floor, deep within the pyramid that was the Jedi Temple’s towering base. The exercise had been going on all morning, but only a few of the students showed signs of fatigue.
“I can remember this lik
e yesterday,” Obi-Wan said.
Qui-Gon quirked a smile. “It’s a good deal of yesterdays for me, Padawan.”
Though separated by more than a score of years, they had both passed their youths in the Temple, as was the case with all Jedi, whether students, Padawans, Jedi Knights, or Masters. The Force revealed itself in infancy, and most potential Jedi were residents of the Temple by the age of six months, either discovered on Coruscant or distant worlds by full-fledged Jedi, or delivered to the Temple by family members. Tests were frequently used to establish the relative vitality of the Force residing in candidates, but those tests didn’t necessarily forecast where a candidate might end up; whether he or she, human or alien, might take up the lightsaber in defense of peace and justice, or pass a lifetime of service in the Agricultural Corps, helping to feed the galaxy’s poor or deprived.
“As often as I trained, I always worried that I lacked the temperament to become a Padawan, let alone a Jedi Knight,” Obi-Wan added. “I fought harder than anyone to mask my self-doubt.”
Qui-Gon glanced at him askance, his arms folded. “If you had fought a bit harder, Padawan, you surely would have remained in the Agricultural Corps. It was when you stopped trying so hard that you found your path.”
“I couldn’t keep my mind in the moment.”
“And you still can’t.”
Twelve years earlier, Obi-Wan had been assigned to the Agricultural Corps on the planet Bandomeer, and it was there that he had formed a connection with Qui-Gon, whose previous Padawan had fallen to the dark side of the Force and left the Jedi Order. But despite the bond he and Qui-Gon had formed, there were times when he wondered if he had the makings of a Jedi Knight.
“How do I know that the Agricultural Corps wasn’t my intended path, Master? Perhaps our meeting on Bandomeer was a fork in the path I shouldn’t have taken.”
