Authors: James Luceno
In an act of what some deemed fair play and others political guile, the vice chancellor took that moment to allow the Trade Federation’s platform to leave its docking station and hover into the dark chill of the Rotunda.
“With the Bothan’s customary impeccable timing,” Pestage remarked to Doriana.
The Trade Federation’s Senator was an unctuous Neimoidian named Lott Dod, whose sussurant, snake charmer’s voice wafted through the hall’s enunciators. “I must protest the Supreme Chancellor’s accusations.” His words didn’t convey anger so much as the arrogance of wealth—a strategy he had learned from his predecessor, Nute Gunray. “Should the Trade Federation be expected to absorb the losses it has sustained because of pirate attacks? The Republic refuses to create a military to police those sectors while at the same time prohibiting us from protecting our cargoes with defensive weapons or droid soldiers.”
“Now is not the time for this argument, Senator,” Valorum said, showing the palms of his soft hands.
But a hundred voices overruled him.
“If not now, then
when
, Supreme Chancellor?” The question came from the wheedling, cranial-horned humanoid magistrate of the Corporate Alliance, Passel Argente. “How many cargoes will the Trade Federation or the Commerce Guild have to lose before we arrive at the proper moment to air this debate. If the Republic cannot protect us, then we have no recourse but to protect ourselves.”
Again Valorum’s face flushed. “In every crisis we have dispatched paramilitary forces—”
“With impressive results.” The interruption came from Lavina Durada-Vashne Wren, the human female representative of the newly admitted Cularin system. “The Thaereian military made quick work of the pirates who were raiding our transports.”
Raucous laughter drowned out the rest of her words.
“The only thing Colonel Tramsig did at Cularin was make himself
more contemptible!” Twi’lek Senator Orn Free Taa bellowed from his platform. “The good Senator from Cularin was merely deceived by his dubious charms.”
Argente spoke once more. “Does the Supreme Chancellor advocate that each system have a paramilitary force at its command? If so, then why not a pan-galactic military?”
Palpatine’s eyes sparkled in sadistic delight. Valorum was getting everything he deserved. He had demonstrated some diplomatic skill during the Stark Hyperspace War, but his election to the chancellorship had more to do with a pedigree that included three Supreme Chancellors and deals he had cut with influential families like the Kalpanas and the Tarkins of Eriadu. His adulation of the Jedi Order was well known; less so his hypocrisy—much of his family wealth derived from lucrative contracts his ancestors had entered into with the Trade Federation. His election seven years earlier had been one of the signs Plagueis had been waiting for—the return to power of a Valorum—and had followed on the heels of a remarkable breakthrough Plagueis and Sidious had engineered in manipulating midi-chlorians. A breakthrough the Muun had described as “galactonic.” Both of them suspected that the Jedi had sensed it as well, light-years distant on Coruscant.
“There will be no Republic military,” Valorum was saying, having taken Argente’s bait. “The Ruusan Reformations
must
be upheld. A military force has to be financed. Taxes imposed on the outlying systems would only add to their burden and lead to talk of secession.”
“Then let the Core Worlds pay!” someone seated below Palpatine shouted.
“The Core has no need of a military force!” the Kuati Senator responded. “We know how to live in peace with one another!”
“Why are the Jedi unable to serve as a military?” the Senator from Ord Mantell asked.
Valorum turned to look at him. “The Jedi are not an army, and they number too few, in any case. They intercede at our request, but also at their own discretion. Furthermore, the Order has seen more deaths in the past twelve years than it saw in the previous fifty. Yinchorr is fast shaping up to be another Galidraan.”
Palpatine took secret pleasure in Valorum’s reference, since what had occurred at Galidraan had been clear evidence of the dark side acting
in concert with his and Plagueis’s subterfuges. Most important, for Plagueis the provincial conflict had had a devastating effect on Jedi Master Dooku, deepening his schism with the High Council regarding its decisions to deploy the Jedi as warriors.
“Once again we come full circle.” Orn Free Taa’s voice boomed through the Rotunda. “The Republic can find the credits to contract with private militaries but not to raise a military of its own. And yet the Supreme Chancellor sees fit to lecture
us
on antiquated thinking. Why not simply turn those credits over to the outlying systems and let them do their own contracting?”
“Perhaps the Senator from Ryloth has touched on something,” Valorum said when the applause died down. “Better still, perhaps the time has come to impose a tax on the
free-trade zones
to supply the outlying systems with the funds they require.”
Palpatine reclined in the platform’s padded seat as angry rebuttals spewed from the stations of the Rim Faction worlds, as well as from those belonging to the Trade Federation, the Commerce Guild, the Techno Union, and the Corporate Alliance. How wonderfully and predictably the Senate had deteriorated over the course of twenty years. As had so many ordinary and extraordinary sessions, this one would end in chaos, with nothing resolved.
For the screens that filled the Rotunda, hovercams captured Valorum’s sad expression of impotence.
Soon, very soon, it would fall to Palpatine to impose order on everyone.
Outside the curved walls of the Senate, the crises in the outlying systems had little effect on the lives of the billions who resided on Coruscant. Beings living in the lower levels continued to do their best to survive, while those living closer to the sky continued to spend lavishly on food, fine cloaks, and tickets to the opera, which Valorum had returned to fashion. Palpatine was an exception to the rule. In what sometimes seemed to him like perpetual motion, he met frequently with his peers in the Senate, listening carefully to what each had to say about galactic events, but not so carefully that any had reason to suspect him of being anything other than a career politician, fixed on enhancing
his profile. If there was anything that set him apart, it was an impression he gave of taking his job perhaps too seriously. With just over a year remaining in Valorum’s second term of office, the chancellorship was up for grabs, and those who knew Palpatine best suspected that he might actually pursue the position if asked. His equivocations on the matter only made him more desirable to those who thought he could bring something new to the mix—an authentic centrist viewpoint. Others questioned why, given the unprecedented challenges of the times, he or anyone else would aspire to the position.
Several days after the Senate met in special session, Palpatine violated the privacy he so valued to host an informal gathering in his suite in 500 Republica. The move to Coruscant’s most exclusive address had coincided with Ars Veruna’s ascent to the Naboo monarchy twelve years earlier. Veruna’s victory had hinged on a renegotiated contract with the Trade Federation for Naboo’s plasma, although it was widely believed that the King and his cronies had fared better from the deal than the citizens of Naboo. Unlike the apartment Palpatine had occupied when he first arrived on the capital world, this one had a dozen rooms and views of the government district surpassed only by those from the building’s spacious penthouses. The neuranium-and-bronzium statue of Sistros—which still concealed the lightsaber he had constructed early in his apprenticeship—shared space with antiquities that had been procured from remote worlds.
Fashionably late, Finis Valorum was one of the last guests to arrive. Palpatine welcomed him at the door, while a contingent of cloaked and helmeted Republic guards took up positions in the corridor. The Supreme Chancellor’s round face looked drawn, and perspiration beaded his clean-shaven upper lip. Clinging to his arm like an adornment was Sei Taria, ostensibly his administrative aide but also his lover. Just inside the threshold, Valorum hooked his thumbs in the wide blue cummerbund that cinched his robe and stopped to take in the suite and nod in appreciation.
“What the HoloNet newshounds would give to see this.”
“It’s hardly a penthouse,” Palpatine said dismissively.
“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.