Darth Plagueis (17 page)

“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.

“Do you have anything to add, Magister Damask?” Tapalo said at last.

Damask spread his hands. “Only that we couldn’t have stated our case any better than Theed’s future governor already has.”

“Hear, hear,” one of Tapalo’s advisers said, lifting his goblet of wine in a toast to Veruna.

The rest followed suit, and drank.

And Damask thought:
One day soon, Veruna will be the King of Naboo
.

The plan called for the Muuns to spend the night in Theed and resume talks in the morning. With Hill and the others being shown to accommodations, Plagueis excused himself and struck out on foot for the university building on the opposite side of the city. His route took him through leafy parks, over two bridges, past towers and obelisks, and through the heart of Palace Plaza, with its pair of triumphal arches. Crowned by a statue of a human figure, the university’s central rotunda was set back from one of the Solleu tributaries, dominating a precinct of stately buildings and public places. Plagueis located the student center and went to the registration desk, which was staffed by a young fair-haired female who stared openly at him as he approached.

“I’m looking for a student named Palpatine,” he said in Basic.

“I know him,” she said, nodding.

“Do you know where I might find him just now? Is he perhaps attending a class?”

She blew out her breath. “He comes and goes. Maybe I saw him at the Youth Program Building.”

“Maybe.”

“I think it was him.”

Humans
, Plagueis thought. “Can you direct me there?”

Her answer was a flimsi map, which Plagueis used to weave his way across campus to the headquarters of the Legislative Youth Program—an organization that oversaw Naboo’s mandatory public service curricula. Young people of both sexes buzzed about him, some scarcely noticing him, others going out of their way to get a closer look. At various times he asked after Palpatine, and was able to narrow his search to a square that fronted the columned library, where he eventually recognized Palpatine from holos Hill had provided, walking briskly through the square in the company of a human male nearly twice his age, black-haired and wearing more formal attire. Palpatine himself was dressed in slacks, short boots, and a loose-fitting shirt that was closed at the collar. Of average height, he had wavy red hair, a prominent nose, and a narrow face that humans would probably have found friendly. His back
was straight, his arms were long relative to the length of his torso, and he moved with an easy grace.

For some time Plagueis observed him from a distance, approaching only after Palpatine had parted company with the older man. Palpatine didn’t spy him until Plagueis was only steps away, and when he did he turned sharply and began to walk in the opposite direction.

“Young human,” Plagueis said, hastening his own pace. “A moment of your time.” When Palpatine failed to acknowledge him, he lengthened his stride and called: “Palpatine.”

Slowing to a reluctant halt, Palpatine looked over his shoulder. “How do you know my name?”

“I know more about you than just your name,” Plagueis said, coming abreast of him.

Interest and caution mingled in Palpatine’s blue eyes. “Normally I take exception to people claiming to know something about me, but since I know something about you, as well, I’ll restrain myself.”

From doing what
? Plagueis wondered. “What is it you know about me?”

Palpatine exhaled in mild impatience. “You’re Hego Damask. The president—no, the ‘Magister’—of Damask Holdings. My father said that you were coming to Naboo to meet with Bon Tapalo. Your group is shoring up his bid for the throne.”

“Did your father say that I might be coming to meet with you also?”

“Why would he? And what exactly is it you want with me?”

“I believe we have something in common.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“Perhaps all the more reason to become acquainted, then.”

Palpatine glanced around him, as if searching for an escape.

“Who was the man you were speaking with earlier?” Plagueis asked.

Palpatine started to say something, then cut himself off and began again. “My mentor in the youth program. His name is Vidar Kim. He’s an aide to Naboo’s Republic Senator, and will likely succeed her.” He looked hard at Plagueis. “And not a supporter of Tapalo.”

Plagueis weighed the response. “Are you interested in politics beyond your participation in the Legislative Youth Program?”

“I’m not sure what I want to do after university.”

“But you’ve some interest in politics.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I wasn’t sure.”

Plagueis nodded and looked up at the library building. “I’m a stranger to Theed. Would you consider showing me around?”

Palpatine’s jaw dropped a bit. “Listen, I’m—”

“Just a short tour.”

Engaging in small talk, they walked along the river in the direction of the concert hall and Queen Yram’s Needle, then crossed a footbridge and began to angle toward the palace complex. Aside from providing Plagueis with holos of Palpatine, Larsh Hill hadn’t been able offer much information regarding the youth’s background. Though he lacked an appellation, Palpatine’s father was a wealthy, influential royal, with a reputation for advocating for Naboo’s continued independence and isolation. The family name was thought to be an ancient name of state among hereditary noble families, or perhaps a name borrowed from an ancient region of Naboo.

“Theed is a beautiful city,” Plagueis remarked as they emerged from a narrow lane into the Palace Plaza.

“If you like museums,” Palpatine said offhandedly.

“You’ve no interest in art?”

Palpatine looked at him sideways. “I enjoy art. But I’m more of a minimalist.”

“In all things?”

“I wish Theed weren’t so crowded. I wish the winters were milder. I wish our King had fewer advisers and ministers.”

“That sounds like a political statement.”

“It’s simply my personal opinion.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Palpatine stopped short. “What are you attempting to draw out of me?”

Plagueis indicated a nearby bench. When Palpatine finally relented and sat down, Plagueis said, “It has come to my attention that you were responsible for the release of some information that has aided Tapalo’s campaign.”

Genuine surprise blossomed on Palpatine’s face. “How—”

Plagueis held up a hand. “That isn’t important right now. What
is
is
that you did so against what would have been the wishes of your father, your mentor, and some of the other royals.”

“Are you planning to divulge this?”

Plagueis searched Palpatine’s face. “What might happen if I did?”

“To begin with, my father would murder me.”

“Literally?”

Palpatine exhaled forcefully. “He would disown me.”

“It’s true, then. You and your father find yourselves on opposite sides of the issues that animate the coming election.”

Palpatine lowered his gaze to the ground. “It would be far stranger to find ourselves on the same side of any issue.” He looked up again at Plagueis. “I want to see Naboo break with the past. I want us to belong to the greater galaxy. Is it wrong to want to play an important role in the history of the Republic?”

Plagueis rocked his head. “Governments rise and fall.”

“You have a better idea of how to govern the galaxy?”

Plagueis allowed a laugh. “I’m just an old Muun who wouldn’t know about that.”

Seeing through him, Palpatine snorted. “Just how old are you?”

“In human years I would be well over one hundred.”

Palpatine whistled. “I envy you that.”

“Why?”

“All the things you’ve done and can still do.”

“What would you do?”

“Everything,” Palpatine said.

They got up from the bench and began to amble back toward the university complex. Plagueis submerged himself deeply in the Force to study Palpatine, but he was unable to glean very much. Humans were difficult to read in the easiest of cases, and Palpatine’s mind was awash in conflict.
So much going on in that small brain
, Plagueis told himself. So much emotional current and self-interest. So unlike the predictable, focused intellects of the Outer Rim sentients, especially the hive-minded among them.

Palpatine stopped alongside a brightly colored, triple-finned landspeeder with a pointed nose and a repulsorlift engine that looked powerful enough to raise a loadlifter droid.

“This vehicle is yours?” Plagueis asked.

Pride shone in Palpatine’s eyes. “A prototype patrol-grade Flash. I race competitively.”