James Luceno - Darth Plagueis

Veruna nodded. “The information had to have been provided by a source within the opposition.” It now fell to Larsh Hill to mute the feed.

“Veruna is correct. We were able to trace the release of the information to the young son of one of the nobles. In the hope of avoiding a scandal that could divide the electorate, the head of the royal house has perpetuated a lie that the Tapalo group chanced on the information and made it public, when actually only someone with access to the family archives could have discovered it.” His interest piqued, Plagueis said, “What is the name of the royal family?” “Palpatine.”

“And the son?”

“Just that. He goes by the cognomen alone.”

Plagueis leaned back in the chair to consider this, then said, “We may have found a potential ally — someone willing to keep us informed of the royals’ plans for the election.” “An agent,” Hill said. “An inside man, as it were.”

Plagueis canceled the mute function. “We wish to visit Naboo in order to discuss these matters face-to-face.” Veruna was clearly surprised. “A public appearance by you would allow us to refute any allegations of secret collusion.” “Then all of us have something to gain.”

Veruna bowed at the waist. “It will be our great honor to welcome you, Magister Damask.” Later it would be said by Naboo and Gungan alike that they couldn’t recall a colder winter than the one that followed Hego Damask’s autumnal visit to their world. The rivers and even the falls below Theed froze; the rolling plains and tall forests were blanketed three meters deep with snow; plasmic quakes rocked the Gallo Mountains and the Lake Country, the Holy Places and the undersea city of Otoh Gunga; and many of the egresses of the underwaterways that hollowed the planet were blocked by ice floes.

Tapalo and Veruna had insisted on sending one of Naboo’s signature starships to transport the Muuns from Muunilinst, and the sleek Nubian had set down at Theed spaceport, a small facility that would have to be enlarged twentyfold if Naboo hoped to one day become a player in galactic commerce. The city itself struck Plagueis as the very antithesis of Harnaidan; where the capital of Muunilinst was vertical, angular, and austere, Theed was low, convex, and condensed, dominated by rotundas crowned with verdigris domes or flat roofs and tiered towers supported by round-topped archways. A river and several tributaries ran through the place, spanned by filigreed bridges and plunging in a series of high falls from an escarpment to verdant flatlands below.

A cortège of air skimmers carried the black-robed Muuns through streets better suited to pedestrian traffic to the interior courtyard of an ancient palace, where pretender to the throne Bon Tapalo, Veruna, and several other human advisers and would-be ministers of both sexes were on hand to welcome them. Draped in shimmersilk robes and propped by boots with high heels, the bearded and blond-haired Tapalo already carried himself like a regent — albeit of a second-rate world — remaining seated while Hego Damask and the rest of the Muuns were introduced, and flanked by guards dressed in flare-skirted uniforms and armed with vintage blasters. Veruna, on the other hand, immediately fell into step alongside Damask as the Muuns were being escorted into the central building of the complex.

“As I said when we spoke weeks back, Magister Damask, we are honored by your visit.” “And as I told you then, we all have something to gain.” Damask turned slightly to look down at him. “Especially you, I suspect.” Veruna gestured to himself in question. “I—”

“Not now,” Damask said softly. “When the time is right, you and I will confer privately.” Under a broad arch and through a lobby of polished stone they moved as a group, ultimately arriving at a second small courtyard where several tables had been set up, some overflowing with food and drink, and the largest reserved for the Muuns. No sooner were they seated than servants appeared and began serving food, including various meats that the Muuns politely declined. The practice of consuming food while conducting business was one that Damask had grown to tolerate in his dealings with humans, but in secret he detested it.

For many years he had detested the company of humans, as well. Barbaric meat eaters that they were, humans were a highly evolved species. Given their native intelligence and shrewd faculties, they deserved to be treated with the same deference Muuns were afforded. And yet many of the galaxy’s sapient species considered themselves to be equal to humans, who had only themselves to blame. Unlike Muuns, humans had no compunctions about lowering themselves to the level of less advanced beings — the slow-witted, disadvantaged, needy, and pitiful — making a pretense of equality and demonstrating a willingness to work and sweat cheek-by-dewlaps alongside them. Instead of celebrating their superiority, they frequently allowed themselves to be dragged down into mediocrity. A Muun would no sooner accept a position as a starship pilot or a smuggler than he would a career diplomat or politician unless required to do so for the greater good of Muuns everywhere. Humans, though, could be found in every occupation. But what made them especially intriguing was their seeming intent to spread themselves to the far reaches of the galaxy, without any sense of control or planning, at whatever cost, and using up world after world in their insatiable quest, as if their diaspora from the Core reflected some sort of species imperative. More important, the Force seemed not only to allow their unchecked dissemination but to support it. In human hands, Damask suspected, rested the profane future of the galaxy.

Naboo blossom wine was still being poured when the Muuns made their pitch to the Tapalo group, employing the courtyard’s holoprojector to provide a virtual portrait of what Theed and other nearby cities might look like ten years on. Funding by the IBC would be allocated to tapping the plasma reservoir beneath the plateau. At the same time, Outer Rim Construction and Assembly — one of Cabra’s companies — would build an enormous refinery on the site of what was currently parkland, overlooking the Verdugo Plunge, housing the technology inside a triple-domed structure of Neo-Classical design. The Muuns detailed how the cliff walls could be stabilized and the tributaries of the Solleu River rerouted without disturbing the existing architecture or Theed’s network of underground tunnels. Below the cliffs, the Trade Federation would enlarge Theed’s spaceport, constructing a massive landing platform that would follow the natural curve of the escarpment, and open a second commercial port at Spinnaker.

By the time the pitch concluded, Tapalo looked stricken.

“Clearly you’ve put a good deal of thought into this,” he said to Larsh Hill, “but is there no room in your plans for Naboo firms?” “The last thing we want is to have these construction projects be seen as signs of foreign occupation,” Hill said. “Our partners wish to work closely with Naboo’s own Plasma Energy Engineering and the Theed Space Vessel Engineering Corporation to make certain that the improvements are viewed as a cooperative effort. When the construction phases are completed, the refinery and the spaceports will be under your full control.” Some of the color returned to Tapalo’s face. “The opposition contends that Naboo will be forever indebted to the Banking Clan and the Trade Federation.” “Only until the plasma begins to flow,” Damask said. “I understand your trepidation. But the question you need to ask yourselves is whether you can win the crown without our help.” Separate conversations erupted at every table.

“I suppose so, Magister,” Tapalo said, signaling for quiet. “But perhaps it’s better to run the risk of defeat rather than ascend to the throne in dishonor.” “Dishonor?” Hill repeated in aggrieved disbelief. “Have we crossed the galaxy to be insulted?” “Wait,” Veruna said, coming to his feet and gesturing for calm. “We meant no insult to Damask Holdings.” He turned to face Tapalo and his handpicked team of ministers and advisers. “Yes, we must be mindful of the concerns of the present electorate, but we shouldn’t allow the fearful voices of a few to cripple our chance of joining the galactic community and raising the profile of the entire Chommell sector. I suggest we act boldly. To avoid being perceived as having bowed to pressure, I say we use this unprecedented visit by Damask Holdings to announce publicly that we and we alone are capable of entering into an arrangement with the Banking Clan and others that will allow Naboo to restructure its debt, achieve favored-world status with the Core, and provide for tax cuts, lower interest rates, and endless opportunities for employment, both on-and offworld.” He clenched his fist for emphasis. “We must seize this moment before it disappears.” Slowly, Tapalo and the others began to nod in agreement.