Authors: James Luceno
Maul bowed his head and hurried up the rear boarding ramp into the cockpit module. Sidious lingered to watch the ship rise and edge out of the hangar, becoming invisible as it flew over The Works. Through the dark side, he continued to track the
Scimitar
as it angled north toward the Jedi Temple rather than south, and away from the Senate District. Sidious recalled the voyages he had taken ten years earlier to watch Maul fight in gladiatorial matches on Orsis and nearby worlds. Driven to win against all odds, unaffected by pain, daring, and terrifying. An up-and-coming contender at ten years of age and a champion at twelve. Under the markings that masked his face, sleeved his arms, and twisted around his legs and torso, the scars of those battles to the death.
But this one will not be content until he has killed a Jedi Master
, Sidious thought.
Assuming that pride didn’t defeat him first.
Leaving the hangar space, Sidious made his way to the holoprojector in the building’s only refurbished room. What would become of Maul once Palpatine and Damask assumed control of the Republic? he asked himself. As a secret weapon, he would continue to be useful, but could he ever be eased into public life? How would he react to learning that his Master answered to a Master?
With his feet planted on the transmission grid, Sidious sat in the chair that was positioned for the holoprojector’s cams, adjusted the controls built into one of the armrests, and raised the cowl of his cloak over his head. For twenty years he had enjoyed living a double life, but now he felt an urge to be known for who he was, and feared for how powerful he could be. He directed his thoughts forward in time, yearning for a clear vision of the future, but none came. Did the dark side blind even its most devoted advocates to what was looming on the horizon? Plagueis had said that they needed to be prepared for sudden
eventualities. Was he withholding knowledge of events he knew were imminent?
The Muun’s renewed vigor had taken Sidious by surprise. The mere fact that he had escaped the devastation on Sojourn made him seem almost omnipotent. Though even when ensconced in his affluent citadel in the Manarai district, he had yet to relax his vigilance or submit to sleep.
Repressing a sudden feeling of envy, Sidious began to wonder if—blinded by the dark side—he had actually failed to divine Veruna’s attack on Sojourn, or if he hadn’t allowed himself to divine it.
A touch of his forefinger activated the holoprojector, and moments later a half-sized eidolon of Nute Gunray resolved in midair. As in recent transmissions, the viceroy’s Neimoidian underlings, chief litigator Rune Haako, Captain Daultay Dofine, and Deputy Viceroy Hath Monchar were hovering in the background.
“Lord Sidious,” Gunray said, with a slight stammer in his voice. “We have been waiting—”
“Do you imagine yourself centermost in my thoughts that I should neglect other matters to communicate with you precisely on time?”
“No, Lord Sidious, I simply meant to say—”
“Are you gratified with your new position, Viceroy?”
“Very gratified. Though I appear to have inherited control of the Trade Federation at a time of crisis.”
“Save your whining for another occasion, Viceroy, for matters are about to become worse.”
Gunray’s nictitating membranes spasmed. “Worse? How can that be?”
“The Republic Senate is on the verge of passing legislation that will enact taxation of the free-trade zones.”
“This is an outrage!”
“To be sure. But I warned you that this was coming. Supreme Chancellor Valorum has lost all credibility, and after what occurred at Eriadu, the Senate is determined to weaken the Trade Federation further. King Veruna may have been able to stall the Senate, but he has abdicated, and young Queen Amidala and Naboo’s Senator are leading the call for taxation. With the Senate preoccupied, the moment is right for you to begin assembling a fleet of armed freighters to impose a blockade.”
“A blockade? Of what system, Lord Sidious?”
“I will inform you in due time.” When Gunray didn’t respond, Sidious said, “What is it, Viceroy? Across the vastness of space, I can perceive the reeling of your feeble brain.”
“Forgive me, Lord Sidious, but, as my advisers have pointed out, the redistribution of our vessels carries with it considerable financial risk. To begin with, there is the cost of fuel. Then, with so many ships allocated to an embargo, a disruption in trade in the Mid and Outer Rims for however long the blockade is maintained. Finally, there is no telling how our investors might react to the news.”
Sidious leaned forward. “So this is about credits, is it?”
Gunray’s muzzle twitched. “We are, after all, Lord Sidious, a commercial enterprise, not a navy.”
Sidious didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice oozed disgust. “Even after all I have engineered on your behalf you fail to grasp that by allying with me you are investing in the future.” He flicked his right hand in dismissal. “But no matter. Does it not occur to you that your most valued investors are in a position to reap great profits from your knowledge of what is about to happen? Would they not profit from learning that the Xi Char, the Geonosians, and other unionized insectoids have turned their pincers and claws to the manufacture of weapons? Might you not balance your precious budget by gaining from other shipping companies what revenue the Trade Federation risks losing?”
Gunray looked uncertain. “We feared that such actions might undermine the element of surprise, Lord Sidious.”
“That is the reason for swift action.”
Gunray nodded. “I will order a fleet assembled.”
Sidious sat back in the chair. “Good. Remember, Viceroy, that what I have delivered to you I can just as easily take away.”
Sidious ended the transmission and lowered the cowl.
Was this a vision of the future? A life of micromanaging the affairs of incompetent beings while he and Plagueis set in motion the final phases of the Grand Plan? Or was there perhaps some other way for him to govern, in malevolent satisfaction?
* * *
Even without the drenching rain, the ground would have been soft under Plagueis’s booted feet, composed as it was of eons of decayed organic matter. Water dripped from the transpirator mask and the raised hood of his cloak and splashed in the puddles that had formed beneath him. The castle that had once belonged to Veruna’s ancestor the Earl of Vis crowned a desolate hill, with no road leading to it and a view in all directions of the rolling, sodden, treeless terrain. Through night-vision electrobinoculars Plagueis studied the scanners that studded the castle’s walls and the disposition of the guards, some of whom were keeping dry in the shelter of an arch that crowned an ornate portcullis. Parked near the entrance was a veritable fleet of landspeeders, and off to one side, centered in a circular landing zone, sat a space yacht whose gleaming hull even the torrent couldn’t dull. Illumination arrays glowed behind drifting curtains of rain.
Following a deep, fast-moving rivulet, Plagueis descended the hill he had climbed to where he had set his own starship down among a riot of drooping wildflowers and falconberries. OneOne-FourDee was waiting at the foot of the boarding ramp, raindrops pinging on its alloy shell.
“Their scanners may have picked up the ship,” Plagueis said.
“Given that all countermeasures were enabled, that seems unlikely, Magister.”
“They’ve flooded the area with light.”
“As any vigilant being might on a night such as this.”
“A night fit for neither Muun nor shaak.”
The droid’s photoreceptors tightened their focus on him. “The reference escapes my data bank.”
“Seal the ship and remain in the cockpit. If I comm you, reposition the ship above the castle’s southwest corner and keep the boarding ramp extended.”
“Are you anticipating resistance, Magister?”
“Merely anticipating, FourDee.”
“I understand. I would do the same.”
“That’s comforting to know.”
Plagueis fixed the lightsaber hilt to his hip and set out at a fast clip, all but outracing the rain. If the scanners and motion detectors were as precise as they appeared to be, they would find him, though his speed
might cause whoever was monitoring the security devices to mistake him for one of the wild, bushy-tailed quadrupeds that inhabited the landscape. He paused at the nebulous edge of the illuminated area to confirm his bearings, then made straight for the castle’s ten-meter-high southern wall and leapt to the top without breaking stride. Just as quickly and as effortlessly he dropped into the garden below and sprinted into the shadows cast by an ornamental shrub trimmed to resemble some whimsical beast. Plagueis reasoned that security would be lax inside the manse, but that Veruna’s wing of rooms would be outfitted with redundant monitoring devices and perhaps pressure-sensitive floors.
That he hadn’t been able to procure an interior plan of the castle was a testament to the self-exiled regent’s hypervigilance.
Plagueis moved to a stained-glass window just as two humans were hurrying through a hallway beyond. With rain overflowing a gutter high overhead, he felt as if he were standing behind a waterfall.
“Check on him and report back to me,” the female was saying.
Plagueis recognized the voice of security chief Magneta. Sticking close to the outer wall, he paralleled the movement of Magneta’s subordinate to the end of the hallway, then through a right-angled turn into a broader hall that led to a control room tucked beneath the sweep of a grand staircase. Plagueis sharpened his auditory senses to hear Magneta’s man ask after Veruna, and a human female reply, “Sleeping like a baby.”
“Good for him. While the rest of us drown.”
“If you’re so miserable, Chary,” the woman said, “you should consider returning to Theed.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Just don’t expect me to follow you.”
Plagueis stepped away from the wall to glance at the upper-story windows, all of which were dark, save for an arched opening near the end of the wall. Crouching, he maneuvered through bushes under a series of wide windows, then began to scale the wall, fastened to it like an insect. The tall and narrow target opening turned out to be a fixed pane of thick glass; the source of the light, a pair of photonic sconces that flanked a set of elaborately carved wooden double doors. Peering through the glass, he flicked his fingers at a security cam mounted high
on the inner wall and aimed at the doorway, dazzling the mechanism and freezing the image of an unoccupied antechamber. Then, placing his left hand at the center of the glass, he called on the Force, pushing inward on the pane until it broke free of the adhesive weatherseal that held it in place. Telekinetically, he manipulated the intact pane to rest atop a table snugged to the opposite wall of the antechamber, and slipped through the opening. For a long moment he remained on the inner windowsill, waiting for his cloak and boots to dry and studying the patterned floor and double doors for evidence of additional security devices. Satisfied that the stunned cam was all there was, he planted his feet on the floor and walked to the doors, using the Force to trick them into opening just enough to accommodate his passing between them.
The only light in Veruna’s enormous bedroom came from a cam similar to the one in the antechamber, and just as easily foiled. The former King himself was sleeping on his back under shimmersilk sheets in the center of a canopied bed large enough to fit half a dozen humans of average size. Plagueis disabled a bedside panel of security alarms, moved an antique chair to the foot of the bed, and switched on a table lamp that supplied dim, yellowish light. Then, sitting down, he roused Veruna from sleep.
The old man woke with a start, blinking in response to the light, then propping himself up against a gathering of pillows to scan the room. His eyes widened in thunderstruck surprise when they found Plagueis seated at the edge of the light’s reach.
“Who—”
“Hego Damask, Your Majesty. Beneath this mask my former enemies may as well have fashioned for me.”
Since Veruna’s eyes couldn’t open any wider, his jaw dropped and he flailed for the security control panels, slamming his hand down on the buttons when they didn’t respond.
“I’ve rendered them inoperative,” Plagueis explained, “along with the security cams. Just so that you and I could converse without being interrupted.”
Veruna swallowed and found his voice. “How did you get past my guards, Damask?”
“We’ll come to that in a moment.”
“Magne—” Veruna attempted to scream until his voice went mute and he clutched at his throat.
“There will be none of that,” Plagueis warned.
“What do you want with me, Damask?” Veruna asked when he could, breathing hard.
“Closure.”
Veruna stared at him in disbelief. “You got what you wanted. Isn’t it enough that I abdicated?”
“Your abdication would have been enough, had you not tried first to have me killed.”
Veruna gritted his teeth. “Everything I built was in jeopardy of being taken from me—even the monarchy! You left me no choice!”
Plagueis stood and reseated himself on the edge of the bed, like some macabre confessor. “I understand. Faced with a similar choice, I might have done the same. The difference is that I would have succeeded where you failed.”
“I’ll remain here,” Veruna said in a grasping way. “I won’t cause you or Palpatine any more trouble.”
“That’s true.” Plagueis paused, then said, “Perhaps I should have been more honest with you from the start. I delivered the Trade Federation to you; I put Tapalo, then you on the throne. How did you imagine I came by such power?”
Veruna ran a trembling hand over his thinning hair. “You were born the son of a wealthy Muun, and transformed that wealth into power.”
Plagueis made a sound of disappointment. “Have you not yet learned that the galaxy isn’t moved by credits alone?”
Veruna gulped and found his voice. “How did you come by such power, Damask?” he asked in a whisper of genuine interest.
“I was shown the way to power by a Bith named Rugess Nome.”