James Luceno - Darth Plagueis

“Rendezvous coordinates are already programmed into the navicomputer,” 11-4D said from behind him. “The comm frequency is also preset.”

Plagueis swung to the navicomputer as concussions rocked the ship. He had placed one hand on the device’s keyboard when the sky seemed to give birth to a sphere of blinding light. Following a moment of absolute stillness, a cascade of infernal energy descended on what remained of the fort and concentric rings of explosive power radiated outward, leveling everything within a twenty-kilometer radius from ground zero. The Infiltrator was lifted like a bird caught in a thermal, and for a moment all its systems failed.

Plagueis sat in enraged disbelief.

Somehow, Veruna and his cohorts — Gardulla, Black Sun, and the Bando Gora — had gotten their hands on a proscribed nuclear device. None of the Sun Guards could have survived the blast; but then they didn’t deserve to. Nuclear weapons were scarce, and the Echani had obviously neglected to check with the few black-market suppliers that had access to them.

A pillar of roiling fire and smoke was clawing into the sky, fanning out in the thinning atmosphere to become a mushroom-shaped cloud. The greel forests were blackened wastelands; the fort was slagged and turned to glass. Deeply moved, Plagueis realized that he hadn’t experienced such powerful emotions since he had bid good-bye to Mygeeto so many decades earlier and placed himself in the care of Darth Tenebrous.

Adhering to course, the Infiltrator rose out of the turmoil. Stars winked into visibility, and the fleet ship was suddenly free of the moon’s gravity and pulled into the powerful embrace of Sojourn’s parent. No sooner had it entered the planet’s night side than the comm board issued an urgent tone.

“Magister Damask, we find no trace of your ship on any of our scanners, but we trust that you’re out there somewhere.”

Plagueis disabled the ship’s cloaking device and swiveled to the board. “ Star Jewel , this is Damask. Your scanners should be able to find us now.”

“Affirmative, Magister Damask. You are clear to proceed to Docking Bay Four.”

A space cruiser of gargantuan size and ostentatious design could be seen hanging in the middle distance. Shaped like an arrowhead, the vessel was heavily armed and large enough to accommodate half a dozen starfighters. While Plagueis was maneuvering toward it, the comm board’s enunciators were rattled by a resonant laugh.

“I hope to persuade you one day to share the secret of your invisible ship, Magister Damask.”

“I appreciate your punctuality, Jabba Desilijic Tiure. As I do the advance intelligence that allowed me to avoid being atomized.”

“Thus are lasting partnerships solidified, Magister. What is our destination?”

“Coruscant,” Plagueis said. “But I’ve one more favor to ask before we arrive.”

“Simply state it, and it will be done.”

“Then arrange for communications with Naboo. King Veruna needs to be informed of what he has brought down on himself and his confederates.”

Jabba guffawed again. “It will be my pleasure.”

Hego Damask didn’t simply keep a penthouse on Coruscant; he owned an entire building. While it wasn’t as grand as 500 Republica, Kaldani Spires was the Galactic Center’s most desired address outside the Senate District. Towering over Monument Plaza, the stately building was as fine an example of Hasennan Period architecture as could be found onworld, and from its uppermost suites residents could see from the peaks of the Manarai Mountains clear to the Western Sea — Coruscant’s only instances of naked rock and surface water. A neighborhood for neither politicians nor the newly arrived, the district catered to solid old-money citizenry: financiers, corporate chiefs, industrialists, and bankers.

Damask’s residence took up the whole of the Kaldani’s summit.

A pair of Sun Guards rode with Palpatine in the private turbolift, only to surrender him to another pair stationed in the penthouse’s light-filled atrium. But it was the droid 11-4D that escorted him into Damask’s study, which was darkened by tall, brocade curtains and filled with masterpieces of galactic art. The masked Muun himself rose from a plush armchair to greet Palpatine as he was shown into the room.

“Master,” Sidious said, interlocking his hands in front of him and bowing his head.

Plagueis lowered his head in a gesture of mutual respect. “Welcome, Darth Sidious. It’s good to see you.”

As the room was the opposite of the one he had often confined himself to on Sojourn, Plagueis no longer looked like the wide-eyed mystic he had seemed only months earlier. Except for having to wear the breathing device, he struck Palpatine as a slightly older version of the Muun who had visited him on Naboo so many decades before.

The two Sith moved to a sunken area of the room and sat across from each other. Plagueis filled two glasses with clear wine and passed one to his apprentice. He made the act of imbibing through his nasal passages seem almost routine.

“After Sojourn, I find it somewhat dislocating to be back in the greater world.”

“Master, I’m sorry I wasn’t the first to warn you of the attack,” Sidious said. “I didn’t think Veruna had the courage to carry out his veiled threats. Perhaps I nudged him too far.”

A long moment of silence passed between them.

“What you did and didn’t do is immaterial,” Plagueis said at last. “Coming when it did, at almost precisely the same time the members of the Trade Federation Directorate were meeting their fates, the attack was the work of the Force, substantiating our ambitions, especially.” He took more wine and set the glass down. “I never would have had the heart to destroy Sojourn, though it needed to be done; and so the Force saw to it. The incident reminds us of the need to be prepared for sudden eventualities, whether harmonious or inimical to our plans, and compliant to circumstance.”

“And now we are justified in striking back,” Sidious said.

“We no longer need to justify our actions to anyone. But bear in mind what I told you long ago: by killing one, we can frighten many.”

Sidious nodded. “We owe Jabba a great debt.”

“I spoke briefly with Veruna from the Hutt’s ship.”

Sidious grinned slightly. “I suspected as much when I learned just prior to the summit that he had abdicated, and that Padmé Naberri had been appointed Queen. He has apparently hidden himself away in Naboo’s Western Reaches.”

“That’s not hiding,” Plagueis said with a note of menace. “All went well on Eriadu?”

“Better than expected, what with the Jedi running in circles and convinced that Valorum was the target. I savored their dismayed incredulity on learning that the droids had emptied their weapons on the members of the directorate. In the end, the leaders of the Nebula Front died, as well, and our friend Wilhuff Tarkin is making matters difficult for Republic investigators. Soon the aurodium stolen from the Trade Federation freighter will be discovered to have been invested in Valorum Shipping and Transport, making it appear that the Supreme Chancellor’s push for taxation was motivated by greed and illegal enrichment. He is brought down. Even his power to deploy the Jedi or Judicials will be stripped from him.”

Plagueis’s eyes narrowed. “And Gunray?”

“Precisely where we want him: leader by default of the Trade Federation, and busy acquiring the droid weapons the Senate will sanction. Where the Neimoidians should be grateful to Senator Palpatine for proposing the summit, they are instead furious. Everything is in place for launching the blockade.”

“Almost everything,” Plagueis said. “First, there is the matter of our revenge.”