James Luceno - Darth Plagueis

Sifo-Dyas’s forehead furrowed. “Do you have evidence of this?”

“No hard evidence. But my business demands a thorough knowledge of the investment markets. Also, my clients sometimes reveal information to me in private.”

“Then you’re breaking confidentiality by coming to me with this.”

“I am. But only because I believe so strongly that what was once speculation is now fact. To go further, I predict that a civil war is brewing. I give the Republic fifteen years at the most. Soon we’ll see disgruntled star systems begin to secede. They will lack only a strong, charismatic leader to unite them.” He fell briefly silent before adding: “I will be blunt with you, Master Sifo-Dyas: the Republic will be vulnerable. The Jedi will be too few to turn the tide. A military needs to be created now, while there’s still a chance.”

Sifo-Dyas folded his arms across his chest. “I encourage you to share this with Supreme Chancellor Valorum, or even Senator Palpatine, Magister.”

“I intend to. But even under Chancellor Valorum’s watch this Senate will not overturn the Reformation Act. Too many Senators have a financial stake in galactic war. They are heavily invested in corporations that will grow fat on profits from weapons and reconstruction. War will be beneficial for an economy they now view as stagnant.”

“Are you willing to state this in front of an investigatory committee?”

Damask frowned with his eyes. “You have to understand that many of these corporations are owned and operated by my clients.”

A dark look came over the Jedi’s face. “You have read my thoughts, Magister. I have also sensed that war is imminent. I’ve confessed as much to Master Yoda and others, but to no avail. They give all appearances of being unconcerned. Or preoccupied. I’m no longer sure.”

“Master Dooku, as well?”

Sifo-Dyas sniffed. “Unfortunately, Magister, Dooku’s recent statements about Republic discord and our Order’s ‘self-righteousness’ have only added to my concern.”

“You said that you have some vague recall of our conversation on Serenno. Do you remember my mentioning a group of gifted cloners?”

“I’m sorry, I do not.”

“They are native to an extragalactic world called Kamino. I have on occasion done business with them on behalf of clients who desire cloned creatures, or require cloned laborers capable of working in harsh environments.”

The Jedi shook his head in uncertainty. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“I believe that the Kaminoans could be induced to grow and train a cloned army.”

Sifo-Dyas took a long moment to reply. “You said yourself that the Republic would never sanction an army.”

“The Republic needn’t know,” Damask said cautiously. “Neither would the Jedi Order have to know. It would be an army that might never have to be used, and yet be available in reserve should need ever arise.”

“Who in their right mind would fund an army that might never be used?”

“I would,” Damask said. “Along with some of my associates in the Banking Clan — and in conjunction with contacts in Rothana Heavy Engineering, which would supply the ships, armaments, and other matériel.”

Sifo-Dyas fixed him with a look. “Come to the point, Magister.”

“The Kaminoans will not create an army for me, but they would do so for the Jedi Order. They have been fascinated by the Jedi for millennia.”

Sifo-Dyas’s dark brown eyes widened. “You’re not proposing cloning Jedi—”

“No. I have been assured that such a thing is impossible, in any case. But I have also been assured that a human army a million strong could be ready for deployment in as few as ten years.”

“You’re suggesting that I circumvent the High Council.”

“I suppose I am. The Kaminoans need only a modest down payment, which I could provide to you through untraceable accounts I maintain in Outer Rim banks.”

Again, the Jedi remained silent for a long moment. “I need time to consider this.”

“Of course you do,” Damask said. “And when you’ve reached a decision, you can contact me at my residence downside.”

Sifo-Dyas nodded in glum introspection, and Damask spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. Palpatine was just returning to the place where they had been standing earlier, his eyes and his movements suggesting unusual excitement.

“You have the holocron?” Damask said as he approached.

“Yes, but not from Maul.”

Damask waited for an explanation.

“It was dropped into my hand by none other than the information broker Maul had been pursuing and thought dead — Lorn Pavan. The fact that Pavan’s right hand had been cleanly and recently amputated told me at once that the two fought in one of the air locks.”

“This Pavan defeated Maul?”

Palpatine shook his head. “But I suspect that Pavan somehow managed to outwit him and take him by surprise.”

“Incredible,” Damask said, astonished that events could become even more convoluted. “Then Pavan must know what the holocron contains.”

“I’m supposed to deliver it to the Jedi,” Palpatine said with obvious amusement; and looking around, added, “Perhaps to Yoda or Windu …”

“Pavan,” Damask snapped.

Palpatine squared his shoulders. “Pestage and Doriana are escorting him downside, where he’ll receive medical attention, maybe even a new hand, and a comfortable hotel suite in which to spend the final day of his life.”

“A reward we should withhold from Maul, but probably won’t.” Damask glanced at Palpatine. “In any event, it wasn’t Pavan who handed you the holocron. It was delivered by the dark side.”

Palpatine thought about it for a moment. “And Sifo-Dyas? Will he do it?”

“Even if he decides against it, there may be a way to place the order in his name. But the Force tells me that he will do it.”

“That will make him a potential danger to us.”

Damask nodded. “But it won’t matter. We have become invincible.”

This will never do , Palpatine thought as he sat opposite Valorum in the Supreme Chancellor’s cloudcutting office in the Senate Building, listening to him drone on about his troubles with the Ethics Committee.

The view through the large triangular windows was pleasant enough, but the office was far too small. Worse, it felt more like a relic from a bygone age rather than a nerve center for the New Order. No amount of remodeling could transform it into the space Palpatine imagined for himself. Perhaps a new building was required; an annex of sorts or, better still, an executive office building — if only to grant those who would work there the illusion that their pitiful efforts mattered …

“The deeper my lawyers and accountants pursue this matter, the more dead ends they encounter,” Valorum was saying. Dark circles underscored his eyes, and his hands were trembling slightly. “The aurodium ingots the Nebula Front stole from the Trade Federation freighter were converted to credits, which were used to finance their operations on Asmeru and Eriadu. But the ingots themselves moved through a series of specious banks and other financial institutions, and were ultimately invested in Valorum Shipping by unknown parties. I say unknown because the beings listed as investors appear never to have existed.”

“Baffling,” Palpatine said, drawing out the word. “I don’t know what to think.”

A week had passed since the Perlemian political gathering. Lorn Pavan was dead by Maul’s lightsaber, a day before an artificial hand was to have been grafted to the information broker’s stub of forearm. Cost cutting , Plagueis had remarked at the time.

Valorum was resting his head in his hands. “That someone or some organization engineered this to cripple me is beyond doubt. The question of why anyone — even my most stalwart detractors in the Senate — would essentially discard tens of millions of credits to achieve this in the final months of my term is inexplicable.” He raised his face to Palpatine. “My immediate predecessors were bold, and they knew how to manage the Senate. I believed I could bring something different to the office. A quieter diplomacy; one informed by the Force, and by the ideals of the Jedi Order.”