Authors: James Luceno
“I know the name.”
“Yes, but his true name was Darth Tenebrous, and he wore the mantle of the Dark Lord of the Sith. I was at one time his apprentice.”
“Sith,” Veruna said, as if weakened by the very word.
“Had you known, would you have allied with me?”
Veruna marshaled the strength to shake his head. “Political power is one thing, but what you represent …”
Plagueis made his lips a thin line. “I appreciate your honesty, Veruna. Are you beginning to tire of my presence?”
“Not … of you,” Veruna said, with eyes half closed.
“Let me explain what is happening to you,” Plagueis said. “The cells that make up all living things contain within them organelles known as midi-chlorians. They are, in addition to being the basis for life, the elements that enable beings like me to perceive and use the Force. As the result of a lifetime of study, I have learned how to manipulate midi-chlorians, and I have instructed the limited number you possess to return to their source. In plain Basic, Veruna, I am killing you.”
Veruna’s face was losing color, and his breathing had slowed. “Bring … me back. I can still be … of service … to you …”
“But you are, Your Majesty. A celebrated ancient poet once said that every death lessened him, for he considered himself to be a brother to every living being. I, on the other hand, have come to understand that every death I oversee nourishes and
empowers
me, for I am a true Sith.”
“No … better than … an Anzati.”
“The brain eaters? What does
better than
mean to those of us who have passed beyond notions of good and evil? Are you better than Bon Tapalo? Are you better than Queen Padmé Amidala? I am the only one fit to answer the question.
Better
are those who do my bidding.” Plagueis placed his hand atop Veruna’s. “I’ll remain with you for a while as you meld with the Force. But at some point, I will have to leave you at the threshold to continue on your own.”
“Don’t do this … Damask. Please …”
“I am Darth Plagueis, Veruna. Your shepherd.”
As life left Veruna’s body, the path he and Plagueis followed wound deeper into darkness and absence. Then Plagueis stopped, overcome by a sudden sense that he had already seen and traveled this path.
Had he? he wondered as Veruna breathed his last.
Or had the Force afforded him a glimpse of the future?
28: CHAIN OF COMMAND
Returned from Ralltiir, Maul sat cross-legged on the floor in the LiMerge Building while Sidious debriefed him. Having just terminated an irritating communication with the Neimoidians, Sidious was in no mood for games.
“The way you make it sound, my apprentice, it seems almost an indignity that none survived to spread the word of your massacre.”
“You orders were that none should, Master.”
“Yes,” Sidious said, continuing to circle him. “And not one of them proved a challenge?”
“No, Master.”
“Not Sinya?”
“I decapitated the Twi’lek.”
“Not Mighella?”
“My blade halved the Nightsister after she tried to defeat me with summoned Force-lightning.”
Sidious paused for a moment. “Not even Garyn?”
“No.”
Sidious detected a note of hesitation. “No, what, Darth Maul?”
“I drowned him.”
Touching his chin, Sidious stood where the Zabrak could see him.
“Well, someone had to have dealt the wound you suffered to your left hand. Unless, of course, you gave it to yourself.”
Maul clenched the black-gloved hand. “There is no pain where strength lies.”
“I didn’t inquire if the wound hurt. I asked who was responsible.”
“Garyn,” Maul said quietly.
Sidious feigned surprise. “So he
was
something of a challenge. Being slightly Force-sensitive.”
“He was nothing compared with the power of the dark side.”
Sidious studied him. “Did you tell him as much, my apprentice? Answer honestly.”
“He came to the conclusion.”
“He identified you as a Sith. Did he assume, then, that you were a Sith Lord?”
Maul stared at the floor. “I—”
“You revealed that you answer to a Master. Am I correct?”
Maul forced himself to respond. “Yes, Master.”
“And perhaps you went so far as to say something about the revenge of the Sith.”
“I did, Master.”
Sidious approached him, his face contorted in anger. “And if by some marvel Garyn had managed to escape, or even defeat the one-being army that is Darth Maul, what repercussions might we be facing, apprentice?”
“I beg your forgiveness, Master.”
“Perhaps you’re not worthy of the Infiltrator, after all. The moment you allowed yourself to become distracted, the Black Sun leader cut open your hand.”
Maul remained silent.
“I hope you thanked him before you killed him,” Sidious went on, “because he taught you a valuable lesson. When you face someone strong in the Force you must remain focused—even when you’re convinced that your opponent is incapacitated. Then is not the time to bask in the glory of your victory or draw out the moment. You must deliver a killing strike and be done with it. Reserve your self-praise for after the fact, or you will suffer more than a hand wound.”
“I will remember, Master.”
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 took 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.