James Luceno - Darth Plagueis

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.

“Why did you order him to come here, of all places?” Damask asked Palpatine during a respite from the handshaking, casual conversation, and forced conviviality. Dressed in their finest robes, they were standing near a back-lighted waterfall, nodding to passing beings, even as the two of them conspired. “He has cut a swath of destruction through the Crimson Corridor and killed two Jedi, along with beings of a dozen species, including a Hutt. We can’t trust that someone isn’t on his scent — if not Jedi then perhaps law enforcement personnel. If by some fluke he were to be apprehended, he has the skill to scramble the minds of ordinary beings, but not to cloak himself from a Jedi. Both our existence and our plans for the blockade could be endangered.”

“Jedi were on his scent,” Palpatine explained. “That’s precisely why I ordered him offworld.”

Damask started to respond, but stopped himself and began again. “He is in possession of this holocron Monchar recorded?”

Palpatine nodded. “I instructed Pestage to clear a route through a seldom-used docking bay. I merely have to rendezvous with Maul at the prearranged time and place.”

Damask still wasn’t convinced. The Monchar affair had almost ended in catastrophe. It was as if the Force, so often compared to a current, had been diverted into a sheer canyon and twisted back on itself to generate treacherous eddies and hydraulics. “Why not simply have him surrender the crystal to Pestage?” he asked at last.

“We don’t know what other sensitive data the holocron might contain.”

Damask exhaled forcefully through the mask. “I trust that at least you instructed him not to be seen.” He glanced around him. “A tattooed Zabrak enrobed in head-to-toe black would certainly stand out among this crowd.”

Palpatine couldn’t argue the point. Off to one side of them stood Senator Bail Antilles and his aides. A Prince on his homeworld of Alderaan and chair of the Senate’s Internal Activities Committee, the handsome, dark-haired Antilles was surrounded by a crowd that included Core World Senators and businessbeings, all of whom had pledged to support him in the coming election, and Jedi Master Jorus C’baoth, who had been enlisted to arbitrate a dispute among some of Alderaan’s royal houses. An arrogant, wild-eyed human, C’baoth was cut from the same cloth as Dooku, whose absence from the political gathering had been noted by many. Antilles had been the Sith’s pawn in bringing to the fore accusations of wrongdoing on the part of Valorum during the Eriadu crisis, but the notoriety he had gained as a result — in the Senate and in the media — had bolstered his campaign and made him the current top candidate for the chancellorship.

No Jedi had attached themselves to Ainlee Teem, who was also within view. But the Malastare Gran was widely popular on many Mid and Outer Rim worlds, and enjoyed the support of Senator Lott Dod, of the Trade Federation, and Shu Mai, of the Commerce Guild.

At the center of the domed hall stood Valorum and Sei Taria, who was as media-savvy as she was lovely. Though ineligible for reelection, recently stripped of some of his Senatorial powers, and frequently engaged in defending himself against accusations by the Ethics Committee, Valorum had managed to make himself the center of attention, due to the presence of Masters Yoda, Mace Windu, and Adi Gallia among his followers. Merely by standing with the Supreme Chancellor, the Jedi were sending a message that they would continue to support him for the remainder of his term of office, the calumny of illegal enrichment notwithstanding.

With the Trade Federation fleet still holding in the Chommell sector, and without a besieged world to generate sympathy and support for his nomination, Palpatine might have been just one more potential nominee — but for the company of Hego Damask; Banking Clan co-chairman San Hill; recently appointed Senate Vice Chairman Mas Amedda; and Senator Orn Free Taa, a moving target for Antilles’s investigation into corruption and now ostracized by the Rim Faction for backing Palpatine.

“It’s almost time,” Palpatine said. He indicated a gardened area of dwarf trees and shrubs close to where Ainlee Teem was conferring with a handful of Senators. “I’ll trade quips with the Gran, then find some pretext to excuse myself.”

Damask grunted noncommittally. “My own target is in sight, in any case.”

Without further word the two separated, Damask weaving his way through the crowd toward a grim-faced, bearded human Jedi who was standing apart from everyone, observing the scene.

“Master Sifo-Dyas,” he called.

The topknotted Jedi turned and, recognizing him, nodded in greeting. “Magister Damask.”

“I hope I’m not intruding.”

Sifo-Dyas shook his head, his gaze fixed on the breath mask. “No, I was …” He exhaled and began again, adjusting his stance. “Until your recent arrival on Coruscant, I was under the impression that you had retired.”

Damask loosed an exaggerated sigh. “It is not in a Muun’s blood to retire. I work now with only a few powerful but largely invisible clients.”

The Jedi lifted a graying eyebrow. “It seems I can’t view a news holo that doesn’t feature you and Senator Palpatine, who is anything but invisible.”

“To my thinking, he is the only one capable of rescuing the Republic from the brink.”

Sifo-Dyas grunted. “To remain untouched by scandal for twenty years is in itself extraordinary. So perhaps you’re right.”

Damask waited a moment, then said, “I have never forgotten our discussion on Serenno.”

“What discussion was that, Magister?”

“We spoke at some length of threats that were assailing the Republic even then.”

Sifo-Dyas grew pensive. “I have some vague recollection.”

“Well, what with assassinations, taxation of the free-trade zones, posturing by the Trade Federation, and accusations of political impropriety, the conversation has been much on my mind of late. Fractiousness, factionalism, intersystem conflicts … Even in this hall the Jedi appear to be divided in their loyalties. Master C’baoth here, Masters Yoda and Gallia there, and yet no sign of Master Dooku.”

Sifo-Dyas said nothing.

“Master Jedi, I want to share with you a suspicion I’ve been carrying like a burden.” Damask paused. “I have reason to suspect that the Trade Federation has secretly been procuring more weapons than anyone realizes.”