Authors: James Luceno
Dooku thought about it. “I blame the Senate for encouraging the galaxy to turn on credit.”
Plagueis glanced from Dooku to Qui-Gon. “I’m willing to concede Master Jinn’s point that the Muuns have cornered the market on finance, if he is willing to concede that the Jedi have cornered the market on ethics.”
Qui-Gon granted Plagueis a dignified bow. “And so we find ourselves on different sides, Magister.”
“Not necessarily. Perhaps we are after the same thing.”
“Different paths to the same destination? It’s a clever rationalization, but I refuse to accept it.” Qui-Gon placed his hands in the opposite sleeves of his robe. “If you’ll excuse me …”
Dooku smiled lightly as the tall Jedi sauntered off. “My former apprentice does not mince words.”
“Frank talk is a rarity these days,” Plagueis said. “The Senate could learn from beings like Qui-Gon Jinn.”
Dooku made a glum face. “The Senate listens only to itself. Endlessly, and without purpose. If it and Supreme Chancellor Darus are going to perpetuate a climate where injustice can advance, then it will.”
Sifo-Dyas grew uneasy. “The Rotunda is an arena even we don’t enter,” he said in a level voice, “except as spectators.”
Plagueis could not restrain a smile. “But you have, from time to time, been known to lobby.” He continued before Sifo-Dyas or Dooku could answer. “It can be a circus. One thing is certain, however: the Core is not holding. New leadership is needed.”
“Darus will undoubtedly be elected to another term,” Dooku said.
Plagueis pretended concern. “Is there no one who can defeat him, Master Dooku?”
“Frix, possibly. Kalpana—eventually. At present he isn’t strong enough to overcome the special-interest lobbies.”
Sifo-Dyas’s unease increased. “We are sworn not to take an active role, in any case.”
“Kalpana would certainly set a different tone,” Plagueis said, “but perhaps an equally risky one. His stance against piratism, smuggling, even slavery is well known. Unfortunately, many of the outer systems survive only because of such practices.”
“Then those worlds will have to find alternative means,” Sifo-Dyas said.
Plagueis turned to him. “Without assistance from the Republic? It begins to sound to me as if the Jedi will have their work cut out for them.”
Sifo-Dyas compressed his lips. “The Judicials and the Jedi will maintain peace.”
“There’s certainty in your voice,” Plagueis said. “But let me pose a question: If discontent spreads and intersystem conflict breaks out—if member worlds threaten secession, as Serenno threatened in times past—would your loyalties not be divided?”
“The Republic will be preserved.”
Plagueis grinned. “Again, that comforting confidence. But suppose the Republic’s goals were not in keeping with the greater good? Suppose conflict grew to become actual schism?”
The two Jedi traded looks. “In the absence of armies there can be no war,” Dooku said.
“Are the Jedi not an army—or at least capable of becoming one should the need arise?”
“We were an army at one time, but our enemies were vanquished,” Sifo-Dyas said with deliberate vagueness. “No matter the extent of the conflict, we would attempt to forge a peace—and without becoming the ruling body you seem to fear.”
Plagueis didn’t reply immediately. Sifo-Dyas was proving to be even more interesting than Dooku, though in a different way. Only a misguided sense of loyalty to the Jedi Order kept him from giving voice to the real extent of his apprenhensions.
“And yet you say
forge
a peace. That has the ring of semantics to it, Master Sifo-Dyas. But for the sake of argument, what if the disaffected systems raised an army? Wouldn’t the Jedi be obligated to serve and protect the Republic?”
Sifo-Dyas forced an exhale. “From where would these hypothetical armies arise? The outlying systems lack the resources …” Realizing his error, he trailed off.
Plagueis waited a moment, his satisfaction concealed. “I didn’t mean to suggest that the Republic is
purposely
depriving the outlying systems
of the right to self-determination. I’m merely speculating, because I do see a growing threat.”
Dooku regarded him. “You are not alone in seeing it, Magister.”
“Then one final question, if I may: If attacked, would you counterattack?”
“The Republic has pledged to remain demilitarized,” Dooku said. “It would militarize only in the instance of a perceived threat.”
“Once more, you’ve reframed your initial question, Magister Damask,” Sifo-Dyas interrupted, a new fire in his eyes. “You’re hypothesizing an attack on the Jedi Order itself.”
“I suppose I am,” Plagueis said self-deprecatingly. “I suppose I was thinking of the recent assassination of Senator Vidar Kim. A Jedi was involved, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That matter is being looked into,” Sifo-Dyas said in a controlled voice. “There’s no evidence to suggest that the Jedi in question was targeted.”
The silence that followed was broken by the voice of Jocasta Nu, who was summoning the Jedi to the far side of the conference room. Plagueis studied Sifo-Dyas peripherally. While Nu and the others conferred, he thought back to the conversation he’d had with Sidious on Sojourn.
We will have to exploit their self-righteousness and blind obedience to the Republic
, Sidious had said at one point.
The Jedi must be made to appear the enemies of peace and justice, rather than the guardians
.
Mulling it over anew, Plagueis began to wonder whether he had taken the wrong approach on Kamino. Perhaps, he thought, it would be better to have the Kaminoans create an army capable of fighting
alongside
the Jedi rather than against them …
Sifo-Dyas was the first to return to Plagueis’s corner of the room, as if eager to continue the conversation.
“Lest you’re thinking of investing in military enterprises, Magister, I can assure you that the Republic will not reverse its stance on demilitarization.” His words were forceful, but lacked certainty. “The Ruusan Reformations will not be repealed.”
Plagueis showed the palms of his hands. “And I can assure you, Master Jedi, that my questions were in no means motivated by thoughts of profit. We—that is, I—don’t wish to see the Republic caught off guard.
For now I’ll place my faith in the Jedi, and in the belief that an army could be raised if necessary.”
Sifo-Dyas’s gaze faltered. “Out of thin air? Unlikely, Magister.”
“Grown, then.”
“Manufactured, you mean.”
“No, I was being literal,” Plagueis said. “But I know of only one group that might be up to the task. The group who grew laborers to work the mines of Subterrel.”
Puzzlement wrinkled Sifo-Dyas’s face. “I’m not familiar with Subterrel.”
Plagueis was about to mention Kamino when he spied Jocasta Nu approaching, and a feeling from deep in the dark side rose up inside him, strangling his voice box, as if refusing to let the word escape.
“I apologize, Master Jedi,” he said when he could. “The name of the group was on the tip of my tongue, but I seem to have swallowed it.”
18: ARTFUL DODGING
Palpatine had been on Coruscant for just over two standard months when the Senate convened to vote on whether or not to seat Felucia, Murkhana, and half a dozen other planets considered by many to be client worlds of the Trade Federation. In the hope of generating public interest, Coruscant climate control had promised to provide perfect weather over the government district. Clouds had been swept aside and orbital mirrors had been positioned to provide maximum daylight. Maintenance droids had refreshed the paving stones of Senate Plaza and polished the thirty-meter-tall statues that lined the Avenue of the Core Founders. Police had cordoned off large areas of the district between levels 55 and 106, and deployed sniper units, squads of bomb detector automata, and three times the usual number of security hovercams. Reporters, documentarians, freelance journalists, and op-ed columnists were out in force, calling in favors in an effort to be as close to the action as possible. Limousine services were working overtime, and taxis were nearly impossible to find, which left aides and assistants to fend for themselves, arriving on foot or by mag-lev, ensembles freshly laundered, headpieces blocked, fur coiffed, boots buffed. Even the Jedi Knights and Padawans stationed throughout the plaza as a show of force appeared to be sporting their cleanest robes and tunics.
Analysts were touting the vote as landmark, though it had been an admittedly slow news week on Coruscant. More to the point, a vast majority of the capital’s residents couldn’t have cared less about the outcome, since most only knew of the Trade Federation through self-serving
advertisements that streamed on the HoloNet. Local gossip was always more interesting than politics, in any case.
For weeks, however, opponents and supporters of the amendments that would revise the rules regarding member status in the Republic had been giving voice to their arguments in the great Rotunda, often vociferously enough to shake their repulsorlift platforms, jabbing fingers and other appendages in the air for emphasis or accusation, in defiance of calls by the vice chancellor for order and decorum.
Standing with Sate Pestage and Kinman Doriana beneath the abstract statue of Core Founder Tyler Sapius Praji, Palpatine felt one step closer to his destined place, even if the scene in the plaza struck him as more vanity fair than Senatorial assembly. Like many of the others, he had been out half the night, drinking and dining with lobbyists eager to win his favor. At tapcafs, cantinas, restaurants, and nightclubs throughout the entertainment districts, credits had flowed freely, whispered bribes had been proffered, promises made, deals struck. Now some of the players he had encountered during the long evening were shuffling bleary-eyed through the gaping entrances of the umbrella-shaped Senate Building: Senators and their top aides; commissioners of the investment sector and securities exchange; members of the Trade Federation delegation and the board of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.
Elsewhere on the broad avenue—at key intersections, taxi stops, and mag-lev exits—stood groups of Jedi, a few with the hilts of their lightsabers conspicuously visible. For Palpatine the sight of so many of them in one place was at once exhilarating and sobering. Though thoroughly cloaked in the everyday, he could feel their collective pride trickle into him through the Force. Only the baseness of Coruscant’s populace, the almost sheer absence of anything natural, kept the world from being as strong in the light as Korriban was in the dark. While he accepted that he and Plagueis were more than equal to the most powerful of the Jedi Order, he understood that they were no match for their combined strength—the Sith imperative notwithstanding. The Jedi would fall only with the full collaboration of the dark side; that was, only when the dark side of the Force was ready and willing to conspire in their downfall.
His musings were interrupted by a sudden gust of wind, whipped up by a luxurious landspeeder that was alighting in the center of the
avenue. Preceded by a vanguard of ceremonial guards wearing floor-length blue robes, Supreme Chancellor Darus emerged, waving to the crowd and for the hovercams that rushed in to immortalize his every expression. Palpatine studied him as the guards began to maneuver him through the throng, a train of handpicked journalists following dutifully in his wake: the easy way he carried himself; the way he made a point to stop and greet some while ignoring others; the way he laughed on cue …
He recalled the two coronations he and his father had attended in Theed, and could remember as if yesterday the envy that had wafted from Cosinga like sour sweat. How cravenly his inept father had desired to wield such power! And would that Cosinga could see his son now, standing so close to the center, surveying the Senate as Cosinga might have the Palpatine lands in the Lake Country, thinking:
Everything my gaze falls on will be mine: these buildings, these monads, these statues I will have slagged, this airspace whose use I will restrict to the powerful, that penthouse in 500 Republica, this
Senate
…
Again his musings were interrupted, this time by the Gran Protectorate Senator Pax Teem, who was waddling briskly toward him, followed closely by the Senators from Lianna, Eriadu, and Sullust.
“Are you ready to make history, Senator?” Teem said, his eyestalks quivering in excitement.
“Rather than be a casualty of it,” Palpatine told him.
The Gran grunted in amusement. “Well said, young sir. Needless to say, many are counting on you.”
“Better many than all, because we cannot please everyone.”
Teem grew serious. “Perhaps not. But we can strike a blow for utilitarianism. The greatest good for the greatest number.”
Palpatine smiled in the way he had seen Darus smile. “And strike a blow we shall, Senator.”
“Good, good,” Teem chortled. “Then we’ll see you inside where the galaxy’s business is done.”
Pestage snorted a laugh as Teem was moving away. “The greatest good for the greatest Gran.”
It was true. Teem harbored no ill will toward the Trade Federation. He merely wanted to see Naboo blunder, Hego Damask cut down to size, and Malastare returned to its quondam grandeur.
The contingent of Senators had scarcely left when Palpatine heard his name called; turning, he saw Ronhar Kim in the company of two older human Jedi. Quietly he pulled his powers deeper into himself and adopted a mask of cordiality.
“Jedi Ronhar,” he said, inclining his head in greeting.
The black-haired Jedi returned the nod. “Senator Palpatine, may I introduce Masters Dooku and Sifo-Dyas.”
Palpatine was familiar with the former, but only by reputation. “A great honor, Masters.”
Dooku appraised him openly, then arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me for staring, Senator, but Ronhar’s descriptions of you led me to expect someone older.”
“I disguise myself well, Master Dooku. My age, that is.”
“Either way,” Sifo-Dyas remarked, “a talent required by your position.”
“An ignoble truth, Master Sifo-Dyas. But we strive to remain faithful to our conscience.”