James Luceno - Darth Plagueis

“We are not without allies and cronies in the Senate,” Teem was saying in a huff. “We can crush any legislation you wish to see passed, or arrange for your bills and no-bid contracts to languish in procedure for years. We’ll put one of our own into the chancellorship. We’ll deny the Trade Federation shipping rights on Kinyen and along the Trade Spine. We’ll turn the Dugs loose on the Muuns.” He glared at Plagueis. “You’ll never get what you want, Magister. ”

“On the contrary,” Plagueis said, as he and the other Muuns were rising. “I already have what I want.”

A rousing cheer went up from the stands as a Toong pilot overtook the favored Dug.

Plagueis turned to Hill as they were exiting the private box. “Order the Sun Guard to retrieve the miners we marooned in the Tingel Arm. Execute them and have their bodies dumped at the gates of Subtext Mining’s corporate headquarters on Corellia.”

A freshly minted Capital -class starship returned Plagueis and Hill to Naboo. Manufactured by Hoersch-Kessel and Gwori, the vessel was shaped like an elongated pod with a flat underbelly. A lateral wing transected the convex hull aft, in which were housed arrays of powerful hyperwave transceivers. On board along with the chief executives of Damask Holdings were several high-ranking members of the Banking Clan, including the nephew of Chairman Tonith, all of them dressed in full IBC regalia.

A month had passed since Plagueis’s initial visit, and in the interim he and Palpatine had spoken by holo on many occasions. The intelligence the human provided, though scant, had allowed Plagueis and Hill to keep one step ahead of Bon Tapalo’s detractors, and as a result he continued to enjoy a slight margin with the electorate.

The Muun groups were approaching Naboo’s spaceport immigration stations when they were intercepted by a contingent of armed security personal wearing leather jerkins, tall boots, and brimmed hats. Ushered into a glass-walled holding area equipped with not much more than benches and refresher units, the Muuns waited for over an hour until two Palace Guards entered, demanding to know which of them was Hego Damask.

After identifying himself and assuring Larsh Hill that he needn’t worry, Plagueis followed the guards outside the terminal to a waiting round-nosed Gian speeder. A uniformed guard seated at the controls ordered Plagueis into the open-topped speeder’s rear bench seat, where one of the escort personnel joined him. He didn’t have a clue as to where he was being taken, but refused to give the guards the satisfaction of telling him that he would soon find out, or words to that effect. Instead he sat silently in the cushioned seat, careful not to register even the slightest surprise when the pilot began to steer the speeder away from Theed and out across the rolling verdant terrain Palpatine had taken him through.

“You may as well make yourself comfortable,” his seatmate said at last. “We’ll be traveling for about two hours.”

Plagueis nodded in response and allowed himself to drift into a light trance, in preparation for whatever lay in wait for him at their destination. Gradually the undulating plains began to rise and a ridge of mountains came into view, limned against Naboo’s brilliant blue sky. The speeder followed a broad river valley into hills lush with foliage, where herds of short-limbed shaaks grazed and frolicked. As the speeder gained altitude, the river narrowed and quickened, fed by waterfalls and crystalline lakes. Pure white clouds were beginning to form at the summits of the higher peaks when the speeder slewed across a vast stretch of meadow and came to a halt in front of a majestic home built in the style of Theed’s fat domes and graceful towers. Two of the guards led him up a wide flight of stone stairs into a cool and dimly lighted foyer. Abandoned there, Plagueis wandered past wall hangings and plinthed statuary to the opposite end of the foyer, where round-topped, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a veranda and a large lake beyond. Seated at a table were an aristocratic-looking female human of middle age and a sulking male youth of Palpatine’s age or younger, engaged in what appeared to be serious conversation. Touched by a breeze coming down off the slopes of the mountains, the surface of the water sparkled like Mygeeto gemstones. As Plagueis turned his back to the lake, his attention was drawn to a tapestry depicting the same family crest he had observed on the pocket of Palpatine’s jacket, and featuring a trio of creatures: veermok, aiwha, and zalaaca.

He became aware of someone approaching him from behind, but didn’t budge.

“Beautiful work, isn’t it?” a basso-voiced human said in Basic.

Plagueis turned to find a tall man of patrician bearing standing at the threshold to a larger room.

“As is the view,” Plagueis said, gesturing broadly toward the lake.

Dressed casually, though in fine taste, the silver-haired man advanced into the foyer. “I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation to visit, Magister Damask.”

“The presence of armed guards suggested an absence of choice, Cosinga Palpatine.”

“They were for your protection, Magister.”

“I never thought of Naboo as a dangerous world.”

“For some it is,” the elder Palpatine said. “But now that you are here, allow me to show you around.”

The tour took them through a dozen rooms adorned with plush carpets and works of art. Stonework predominated, but the furniture was constructed of the galaxy’s most prized hardwoods. By the time they stepped down onto the veranda the woman and the youth were nowhere to be seen, but the breeze had picked up and a storm was threatening. Cosinga Palpatine indicated an island in the distance, and the stately house that rose from the shore.

“That is Varykino,” he explained. “A prize of the Lake Country. Once owned by the poet Omar Berenko, and presently occupied by the Naberrie family.” He glanced at Plagueis. “Are you perhaps familiar with Berenko’s masterwork, The Defense of Naboo ?”

“Sadly, no.”

“I’ll arrange for you to be provided with a translation.”

“A copy in the original text would be fine. I’m fluent in your language.”

Testing him, Cosinga Palpatine switched to Naboo to say, “Yes, I understand you’ve become quite the expert on Naboo politics.” Before Plagueis could respond, he waved his hand in front of a sensor that summoned three servants onto the veranda, each bearing trays of food and drink.

Plagueis exhaled in a fatigued way. More food, he thought; more olfactory stimulation for human noses.

They sat opposite each other at the same table the woman and youth had occupied earlier, and remained silent while the servants laid out the repast.

“Fresh fruits, vegetables, and farinaceous dishes,” Palpatine said, indicating the spread. “No shaak or other meats.”

Plagueis forced a smile. “Perhaps you’ll take up a study of the Muun language next.”

His host frowned, then sat back in his chair to allow the servants to heap food on his plates. He didn’t begin eating until the servants had exited, and stopped after only a few mouthfuls and set his utensils down with finality.

“Let me tell you a short story about Bon Tapalo and Ars Veruna,” he began, glowering at Plagueis. “Seventy years ago, some two decades after our own conflict with them, the Gungans found themselves embroiled in a war for survival with a mercenary army. Fortunately the Gungans prevailed, though not without many deaths and the loss of some of their swamp cities. Very little was ever made public regarding the cause of the war or the source of the mercenaries, but I’m willing to let you in on one of Naboo’s darker secrets, in the hope that you’ll learn something from it. The reason for the war was plasma, and the Houses that contributed most to funding the mercenary army were House Tapalo and House Veruna. When my grandfather learned of this he challenged Tapalo’s father to a duel of honor, and eventually succumbed to the injuries Tapalo’s blade inflicted.” He gestured to a lawn that bordered the veranda. “The duel took place just there.”