Darth Plagueis

14: THE SHAPE OF HIS SHADOW




“You appear to be enjoying the steak, Ambassador Palpatine.”

“Exquisite,” he said, holding her gaze for a fraction longer than might have been called for.

Working on her third glass of wine since dinner began, she interpreted his ready smile as permission to turn fully toward him. “Not too gamy?”

“Scarcely a trace of the wild.”

A dark-haired human beauty with big blue eyes, she was attached in some way to the Eriaduan consulate on Malastare—host of the gala at which the Dug winners of the Vinta Harvest Classic were being feted.

“Are you on Malastare for business or pleasure?”

“As luck would have it, both,” Palpatine said, patting his lips with a napkin. “Kinman Doriana and I are members of Senator Kim’s party.”

He indicated the clean-shaven, slightly balding young man in the adjacent seat.

“Charmed,” the woman said.

Doriana smiled broadly. “You’re not kidding.”

Her gaze moved to the neighboring table, where Vidar Kim sat with members of the Gran Protectorate and politicians from nearby Sullust, Darknell, and Sluis Van.

“Senator Kim is the tall one with the quaint beard?”

“No, he’s the one with the three eyestalks,” Doriana said.

The woman blinked, then laughed with him. “A friend of mine was asking about Senator Kim earlier. Is he married?”

“For many years, and happily,” Palpatine told her.

“And you?” she said, turning to him again.

“Frequent travel forbids it.”

She watched him over the rim of the wineglass. “Married to politics, is that it?”

“To the work,” he said.

“To the work,” Doriana said, raising his glass in a toast.

Just twenty-eight, Palpatine wore his reddish hair long, in the tradition of Naboo statesmen, and dressed impeccably. Many who encountered the ambassador described him as an articulate, charismatic young man of refined taste and quiet strength. A good listener, even-tempered, politically astute, astonishingly well informed for someone who had only been in the game for seven years. A patrician at a time when few could claim the title, and destined to go far. Well traveled, too, courtesy of his position as Naboo’s ambassador-at-large but also as the sole surviving heir to the wealth of House Palpatine. Long recovered from the tragedy that had struck his family more than a decade earlier, but perhaps as a result of being orphaned at seventeen, something of a loner. A man whose love of periodic solitude hinted at a hidden side to his personality.

“Tell me, Ambassador,” she said, as she set her glass down, “are you one of those men with a friend in every spaceport?”

“I’m always eager to make friends,” Palpatine said in a low monotone that brought sudden color to her face. “We’re alike in that way.”

Taking her glossy lower lip between her teeth, she reached for her wineglass once more. “Are you perhaps a Jedi mind reader disguised in ambassadorial robes?”

“Anything but.”

“I’ve often wondered whether they have secret relationships,” she said in a conspiratorial voice. “Gallivanting around the galaxy, using the Force to seduce innocent beings.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I sincerely doubt it,” Palpatine said.

She looked at him in a calculating way, and raised her hand to caress his chin with a manicured forefinger. “On Eriadu some believe that a cleft chin identifies someone the Force has pushed away.”

“Just my luck,” he said in mock seriousness.

“Just your luck, indeed,” she said, sliding a flimsi-card across the table toward him. “I have hostess duties to attend to, Ambassador. But I’m free after midnight.”

Palpatine and Doriana watched her walk away from the table, teetering slightly on high heels.

“Nicely played,” Doriana said. “I’m taking notes.”

Palpatine slid the flimsi-card toward him. “A gift.”

“When you earned it?” Doriana shook his head. “I’m not that desperate. Yet, anyway.”

The two of them laughed. Doriana’s engaging smile and innocent good looks belied a sinister personality that had brought him to Palpatine’s notice several years earlier. A Naboo, he had a troubled past and, perhaps as a consequence, talents that made him useful. So Palpatine had befriended him and clandestinely drawn him into his web, in accordance with Plagueis’s instructions that he always keep an eye out for allies and would-be co-conspirators. That Doriana wasn’t strong in the Force made no difference. In eleven years of Sith apprenticeship and of traveling far and wide in the galaxy, Palpatine had yet to encounter a single being whose strength in the Force had gone unrecognized or unexploited.

At the neighboring table, Vidar Kim and the rest were enjoying themselves, their privacy ensured by the table’s transparent sound-muting umbrella. Envy gnawed at Palpatine while he watched Kim … the position he enjoyed in the Galactic Senate, the posting on Coruscant, easy access to the galaxy’s elite. But he knew that he needed to bide his time; that Plagueis would move him to the galactic capital only when there was some good reason to do so.

As often as Plagueis maintained that the Rule of Two had ended with their partnership, the Muun remained the powerful one, and Palpatine the covetous one. Bane’s dictum notwithstanding, denial was still a key factor in Sith training; a key factor in being “broken,” as Plagueis put it—of being shaped by the dark side of the Force. Cruelly, at times, and painfully. But Palpatine was grateful, for the Force had slowly groomed him into a being of dark power and granted him a secret identity, as well. The life he had been leading—as the noble head of House Palpatine, legislator, and most recently ambassador-at-large—was nothing more than the trappings of an alter ego; his wealth, a subterfuge; his handsome face, a mask. In the realm of the Force his thoughts ordered reality, and his dreams prepared the galaxy for monumental change. He was a manifestation of dark purpose, helping to advance the Sith Grand Plan and gradually gaining power over himself so that he might one day—in the words of his Master—be able to gain control over another, then a group of others, then an order, a world, a species, the Republic itself.

Doriana’s elbow nudged him out of his reverie.

“Kim’s coming.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” the Senator said when he reached Palpatine.

Palpatine let his bafflement show.

“The flimsi-card that woman slipped you,” Vidar said. “I suppose you entertained her with the usual tall tales.”

Palpatine shrugged in a guileless manner. “I may have said something about getting to know the galaxy.”

“Getting to know the galaxy’s women, he means,” Doriana interjected.

Kim laughed heartily. “How is it that I come to have assistants who leave trails of conquests, and a son who meditates on the Force in the Jedi Temple?”

“That’s what makes you so well rounded,” Doriana said.

More than even Plagueis, Kim had been Palpatine’s mentor in the sphere of mundane politics. Their relationship went back fifteen years, to when Palpatine had been forcibly enrolled in a private school in Theed, and Kim had just completed his stint in the Apprentice Legislator program. In the time since, Palpatine had watched Kim’s family grow to include three sons, one of whom—Ronhar, six years Palpatine’s junior—had been turned over to the Jedi Order as an infant. When Plagueis had learned of this, he had encouraged Palpatine to allow his friendship with Kim to deepen, in the expectation that sooner or later his and Jedi Ronhar’s paths would cross.

Give order to the future by attending to it with your thoughts, his Master frequently told him.

“Come and join us at the table,” Kim was saying.

Palpatine stood and fell into step beside Kim as he headed back to the larger table.

“One day you’ll be replacing me at this job,” the Senator said quietly, “and the sooner you grow accustomed to what goes on, the better.” He sighed with purpose. “Who knows, a few hours of senatorial gossip might even be enough to deter you from going into galactic politics altogether.”

Some dozen beings were grouped in a circle, all of them male but not all of them human. The prominent chairs were occupied by Gran Protectorate Senator Pax Teem and his aide, Aks Moe. To both sides of them sat Sullustan and Sluissi Senators. Also present were Eriaduan Senator Ranulph Tarkin and his aide, Bor Gracus; the Darknell ambassador; and Dugs, Boss Cabra—a Black Sun Vigo—and his son, Darnada, guests of the Podrace winners and attendees of the most recent Gathering on Sojourn.

By then Palpatine had made three visits to the Hunters’ Moon, but only to observe and to familiarize himself with some of the galaxy’s key players. Plagueis, as Hego Damask, had gone to great lengths to avoid being identified as Palpatine’s benefactor. Only King Tapalo’s chief minister, Ars Veruna, knew that Damask was grooming him for a career in galactic politics, and, as a personal favor to the Muun, had appointed Palpatine Naboo’s ambassador.

“Ah, new blood,” Pax Teem remarked after Kim had introduced Palpatine to everyone.

“I quite enjoyed the Podraces,” Palpatine said as he sat down.

Teem’s leaf-like ears twitched. “You’re too young to have witnessed them in their glory days, Ambassador. Before Tatooine succeeded in capturing the fancy of race enthusiasts.” The Gran pronounced Tatooine as if an execration.

Palpatine knew that Plagueis had been responsible for Tatooine’s rise, as well for weakening Malastare’s once-lucrative trade in fuel, by helping to make Naboo’s plasma resources available to many worlds.

“Have your duties taken you to that horrible place?” Aks Moe asked.

Palpatine nodded as he sat. “Just two months ago.”

“And how did you find it?” Cabra said.

Palpatine turned to the Dug crime boss. “Contentious. What with the Desilijic and Besadii Hutts vying for control.”

The statement met with murmurs of concurrence.

Teem spoke to it. “Perhaps Gardulla’s rivalry with Jabba Tiure will one day result in Malastare’s resurgence.” His eyestalks twisted toward the Dugs. “Though I’m certain Boss Cabra favors Gardulla, out of respect for the help she provided on Nar Shaddaa.”

Young Darnada bristled at the remark. “Whatever mark we’ve made on Nar Shaddaa, we made on our own. Ask any Black Sun—”

Stopping him before he could go on, Cabra said, “We will always be indebted to Gardulla for her efforts on our behalf.”

Kim watched the Dugs, then gestured negligently. “Tatooine is too remote and lawless to have an impact on galactic events, in any case. It’s the activities of the Trade Federation that should concern the Republic. Look what the Federation has done to our own Naboo.”

Kim became the object of everyone’s gaze. An outspoken critic of King Tapalo and Ars Veruna, he continued to serve in the Senate only as an appeasement to those noble houses that were aligned against the regent.

“It is my understanding that Naboo embraced the arrangement,” Ranulph Tarkin said.

“Some did.”

“No can one deny that your world has prospered as a result,” Teem interjected.

“Prospered, yes,” Kim said, “but not nearly to the extent it should have. If not for the deals Hego Damask brokered with the Banking Clan, the Trade Federation, and—” He glanced at Cabra. “—Outer Rim Construction, Naboo would be as wealthy as Kuat or Chandrila.”

The Dug remained silent while Kim continued. “Naboo’s plasma is being sold for ten, sometimes twenty times what the Federation pays for it.”

“A monster of our own creation,” Tarkin muttered. “The Trade Federation didn’t become powerful by exploiting the Outer Rim. It was supported by Eriadu’s own House Valorum, and supported by Tagge and others.”

“Then perhaps the time has come for us to make our dissatisfaction public,” Kim said, glancing around the table. “The Muuns are merely avaricious, but the Trade Federation has the potential to become dangerous.”

“I agree with the good Senator from Naboo,” the Sullustan delegate said. “Even now the Trade Federation seeks to seat its client worlds in the Senate, as a means of fortifying its voting block. Mechis, Murkhana, Felucia, Kol Horo, Ord Cestus, Yinchorr … the list goes on and on.”

The Sluissi Senator made a sound of disapproval, and a tremor seemed to snake through his humanoid upper torso. “Don’t dismiss too lightly the part the Muuns play in all this. Yinchorr’s Senate seat was Damask Holdings’ doing.” He looked at Cabra. “Is that not the case?”

The Dug’s powerful shoulders heaved. “I’m not in a position to know.”

Laughter from the others prompted Darnada to part his muzzle just enough to reveal the tips of his fangs.

The Sluissi looked at Kim and Palpatine. “Perhaps Black Sun is unaware that the son of Hego Damask’s operating officer—Larsh Hill—is in line to replace Tonith as chairman of the Banking Clan.”

Tarkin put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’ve heard the rumors to the effect that Damask has been meeting with the heads of the guilds, the Corporate Alliance, and the Techno Union. What might become of trade—of any sort—if he brokered a deal between them and the Trade Federation?”

“Here’s the point,” Kim said. “If we’re going to prevent the Trade Federation—and the Muuns—from tightening their hold on the Senate, we need to band together and vote to defeat the proposed legislation.”

Before Kim could add anything, Tarkin said to Palpatine, “Do you agree that the Trade Federation needs to be taken down a notch, Ambassador?”

Palpatine glanced at Kim, who said, “Speak freely.”

“Senator Kim and I are in complete accord on the issue, and have been for some time. No single corporate entity can be allowed to grow too powerful—especially at the expense of developing worlds. Naboo must safeguard its interests, just as Eriadu and Sullust and Sluis Van have safeguarded theirs.”

Tarkin watched him closely. “Is Naboo prepared to assume control of transporting its plasma? Aren’t you in danger of biting the proverbial hand that feeds you?”

“Naboo has no intentions of planetizing the Trade Federation’s facilities. We’re simply pressing for a renegotiation of the original contracts.”

Tarkin thought about it. “So you feel that a defeat in the Senate might make the Trade Federation more … pliable, as it were.”

Palpatine vouchsafed a thin smile. “Only those bills that support well-reasoned regulation should win approval in the Senate.”

“Well put,” Tarkin said.

Palpatine waited for someone to point out that he had offered nothing of substance, but no one did. Even Kim failed to grasp that he was being undermined.

Pax Teem was about to speak when a Gran messenger intruded on the privacy canopy.

“Senator Kim, we are in receipt of an urgent communiqué from Naboo.”

While Kim was excusing himself, Palpatine dropped into the Force. Conversation at the table grew faint, and the physical forms of Pax Teem and the others became indistinct—more like blurs of lambent energy. He kept himself still as a disturbing echo reached him. By the time an ashen Kim was returning to the table, Palpatine was already out of his seat and hurrying to meet him.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Kim stared at him as if from another world. “They’re dead. Everyone. My wife, my sons …”

And he collapsed sobbing against Palpatine’s shoulder.


The funeral for the Kim family was everything it hadn’t been for the Palpatines. In keeping with tradition, the bodies of Kim’s wife, two sons, and the ship’s pilot and copilot had been returned to Theed from the crash site in seaside Kaadara and cremated in the Funeral Temple. A procession hundreds-strong led by King Tapalo and his chief advisers proceeded on foot from the Temple to the nearby Livet Tower, where everyone spent a moment gathered around the Eternal Flame, contemplating transience and the importance of living a harmonious life; then moved in solemn precision to the banks of the Solleu River, where the grief-stricken Senator scattered the ashes and wept openly as the current carried them over the Verdugo Plunge to the flatlands beyond.

Following the ceremony, mourners gathered to express their condolences to Vidar Kim, who wore a robe of deep green over a black tunic. When Palpatine’s turn came, the two men embraced.

“I have only one hope for a family, Palpatine, one hope.” Kim’s eyes were red-rimmed and brimming with tears. “Ronhar.”

Palpatine compressed his lips in uncertainty. “He is a Jedi Knight, Vidar. His family is the Order.”

Kim was insistent. “I need him more than the Order needs him. Only he can carry the Kim line forward—just as you will someday carry on the Palpatine line.”

Palpatine said nothing.

With vehicular traffic banned from Theed’s narrow streets, the city seemed almost as it had a decade earlier, before antiquated laws had been repealed and wealth had worked its dubious magic; before Flash speeders and R2 astromech droids had become the rage, and fads and fashions—in dress, transport, and food—had poured in from the Core.

The murders of Cosinga and the others had left Palpatine emancipated and wealthy. Though interrogated by numerous officials, he had been absolved; his story, his alibi, accepted. Some of the influential nobles had their suspicions that Palpatine had furnished intelligence to Damask Holdings to secure the election of Bon Tapalo, but most Naboo had offered sympathy and support. On the heels of Tapalo’s ascension to the throne, Palpatine had sold the Lake Country estate and taken an apartment in Theed, stocking it with extra-system art that had found its way to Naboo from Core and Mid Rim worlds. In the early years of his apprenticeship to Darth Plagueis he had remained in mandatory public service; he then spent five years in the Apprentice Legislator program before being appointed ambassador, following Tapalo’s reelection.

Palpatine supposed he could have lobbied for a more prestigious position, but only at the risk of undermining Plagueis. Equally important, a high-status post might have interfered with his ability to rendezvous with his Sith Master on remote worlds, where they had been able to be observed together without consequence.

As he left Kim to the next mourner in line, he noticed Ars Veruna separating himself from a group that included Palpatine’s allies Kinman Doriana and Janus Greejatus.

“A word, Ambassador,” Veruna said when he drew near.

Palpatine allowed himself to be steered by the elbow into an unoccupied viewing area near the Solleu Bridge.

“My heart goes out to poor Vidar,” Veruna began. Roughly the same height as Palpatine, he wore a brocaded cloak and tall headpiece. “A starship crash, of all things. One would have thought that a tragedy of such nature might have compelled him to retire from politics, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.” He rested his elbows on the stone balustrade and gazed at the fast-moving river. “Well, you of all people would know better than most the effect of such unforeseen developments.”

“Vidar is planning to return to Coruscant before the month is out.”

“On Senate business?”

“Personal, I suspect.”

Veruna grew pensive, then said, “The last time you and I stood together was at the inaugural ceremony for the plasma generator.” He turned to regard Palpatine. “You look well. Changed, I think. From your travels.”

“Broadened,” Palpatine said.

“The very word I was searching for.” Veruna paused briefly. “It has reached my ear that you made quite an impression on Seswenna sector Senator Ranulph Tarkin when you were on Malastare recently.”

Palpatine shrugged. “I wasn’t aware.”

“He enjoyed hearing your views regarding the Trade Federation’s plan to seat some of its client worlds in the Senate. Would you care to elaborate on what you told him?”

Palpatine smiled lightly. “I offered nothing substantive. In fact, I was merely playing politics.”

Veruna nodded knowingly. “I am greatly relieved to hear that.” He glanced around before continuing. “As you well know, the King and I have our separate arrangements with the Trade Federation. Now, however, we’re forced to take into account the discontent of our constituents. Unfortunately, the person largely responsible for Tapalo’s election and our party’s continued popularity is not going to take kindly to hearing that Naboo plans to vote against the very legislation Damask Holdings has been lobbying to see enacted.”

“I can appreciate your predicament,” Palpatine said. “Why not order Senator Kim to vote in favor of the Trade Federation?”

Veruna laughed shortly. “Would that it were as simple as that. The problem is that Kim knows about our separate arrangements, and intends to use this opportunity to send a message to the Trade Federation—as well as to Tapalo’s detractors—that Naboo will no longer allow itself to be exploited.” He inhaled deeply. “Recalling him from Coruscant would be tantamount to admitting that Naboo remains at the mercy of the Trade Federation, and might jeopardize our standing with many of the trade worlds on whom we have come to depend.”

Palpatine pretended to consider it. “Perhaps it will be worth the risk to vote against the Trade Federation.”

Veruna studied him with sudden interest. “Go on.”

“Whether the legislation is enacted or becomes embroiled in procedure, Naboo’s contracts with the Trade Federation will remain binding and inalterable. The Federation will continue procuring our plasma for meager credits and marketing it for inflated prices. But Naboo will at least be on the public record as having stood up to the galactic conglomerates.”

“More playing politics, is that it?”

Palpatine rocked his head from side to side but said nothing.

“And what about Magister Damask?”

“Apprise him of the plan beforehand. He’s not unreasonable.”

Veruna stroked his beard in thought. “That just might work.” He smiled slyly. “It’s a pity Naboo already has a voice in the Senate.”

Palpatine sniffed. “Should the opportunity ever arise, I would, of course, accept. But until then, I’m content to serve in my own way.”

“Serve Naboo.”

“Who or what else?”

Veruna rubbed his hands together. “One day, if I have my way, our Space Corps will include a fleet of swift Nubian fighters capable of chasing the Trade Federation from our system.”

“I, too, foresee the day,” Palpatine said.

Veruna laughed again. “Ah, but when? How long will we have to wait, Palpatine?”

“Only until Hego Damask awards you the throne.”