As Tenebrous explained it, the Jedi had emerged strong from the war of a millennium earlier, and while Darth Bane and subsequent Sith Lords had done their best to disrupt the reborn Republic, they labored at a disadvantage. So eventually it was decided that the Sith should hide in plain sight, amassing wealth and knowledge, and securing contacts and alliances with groups that would one day form the basis of a galaxywide opposition to both the Republic and the revered Order that served it. By all accounts those early centuries had been challenging, watching the Jedi return to their eminent position. But the Sith had had the luxury of studying the Order from afar without the Jedi ever being aware that they had adversaries.
The rend that Tenebrous’s Twi’lek Master had opened in the fabric of the Force had been felt by the Jedi, and already the Order was beginning to show signs of circumspection and languor. The Republic, too, had been similarly undermined, by encouraging corruption in the Senate and lawlessness in the Outer Rim systems, which had become the dumping grounds for the Core.
With the wretched of the galaxy being converted to the cause, the powerful would now need to be brought together, with Darth Plagueis as their leader, manipulating the actions of an important few to control the behavior of countless trillions.
8: VICTIMS OF THEIR OWN DEVICE
In training Venamis, Tenebrous had obviously believed that he was protecting the Grand Plan; Venamis, too, by keeping an eye on a handful of Forceful candidates he, or perhaps Tenebrous, had discovered. But now it fell to Plagueis to do something about those potential competitors, if for no other reason than to eliminate the possibility of another surprise attack.
Venamis’s ship data banks contained information on six beings, but subsequent investigation by 11-4D revealed that one had died of natural causes, another was executed, and a third was killed in a cantina brawl. Two of the remaining three were unnamed, but Plagueis and 11-4D had succeeded in learning as much about them as Venamis knew, after cracking the complex code the Bith had used to safeguard the entries. How Venamis’s candidates had escaped notice by the Jedi was something of a mystery, but one scarcely worth solving. Plagueis simply had to determine whether they posed a threat — to him or to the Grand Plan.
Muuns were seldom glimpsed quaffing Rywen’s Reserve in exclusive tapcafs, sampling refined spice in members-only clubs, or challenging the house in marathon sabacc tournaments. HoloNet celebrity programs never showed them with Twi’lek dancers on their slender arms, or venturing into forests, seas or mountain ranges purely for sport or adventure.
But Plagueis was about to break with tradition, now that the first of Venamis’s potential candidates had been traced to a casino in Lianna City, in the heart of the remote Tion Cluster.
Jowls quivering, limpid eyes reflecting concern, and flanked by Nikto security personnel, the pudgy Sullustan manager of Colliders Casino hurried across the carpeted lobby toward the concierge desk where Plagueis and 11-4D were waiting. A pair of broad-purpose utility arms — one of which concealed a laser weapon — substituted for the droid’s normal surgical appendages, and Plagueis was attired in what most beings would assume was Banking Clan garb, though differently cut and paler green in color.
“Welcome, sir, welcome,” the manager began in a flustered voice. “Colliders is honored to have you as a guest, though may I say that you are the first being from Muunilinst to have used the casino’s public entrance. The private entrance—”
Plagueis raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m not here on bank business.”
The Sullustan stared. “Then this isn’t an impromptu audit?”
“I’m here regarding a private matter.”
The manager cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “Then perhaps we could begin with your name.”
“I am Hego Damask.”
The Sullustan’s jowls began to quiver again. “Magister Damask? Of Damask Holdings?”
Plagueis nodded.
“Forgive me for not recognizing you, sir. Were it not for your munificence, Colliders would be in bankruptcy. More to the point, Lianna City wouldn’t be the hub it is today, and the pride of the Tion Cluster.”
Plagueis smiled pleasantly. “Then if we might adjourn to your office …”
“Of course, of course.” The Sullustan signaled the guards to form a phalanx, then waved courteously for Plagueis and 11-4D to follow. “After you, sir. Please.”
A turbolift carried them directly into a large office that overlooked the casino’s main gaming room, which was crowded with Mid and Outer Rim species patrons seated at tables and individual machines, or huddled around ovide and jubilee wheels and other gambling devices. The manager gestured Plagueis into an overstuffed chair and settled himself at a reflective desk. OneOne-FourDee stood quietly at Plagueis’s side.
“You said something about a private matter, Magister Damask?”
Plagueis interlocked his hands. “It’s my understanding that Colliders played host to a big winner a week ago.”
The Sullustan gave his head a mournful shake. “Bad news travels fast, I see. But, yes, he nearly wiped us out. An uncanny run of luck.”
“Are you certain it was luck?”
The Sullustan considered the question. “I think I understand what you’re getting at, so allow me to explain. Species known to have telepathic abilities are barred from gambling at Colliders, as is the case at most casinos. In addition, we have always operated under the assumption that ninety-nine percent of beings strong in the Force belong to the Jedi Order, and that Jedi don’t gamble. As regards the remaining one percent — those who may have fallen between the cracks, as it were — well, most of them are probably off somewhere doing good deeds or locked away in monasteries contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”
“And the remainder?”
The Sullustan planted his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “On those rare occasions — and I emphasize rare — when we have suspected beings might be using the Force, we have demanded that they subject themselves to a blood test.”
“Have you ever unmasked a Force-user?”
“Not in the twenty years I’ve been the administrator of this facility. Of course, in this business you hear stories. For example, there’s one about a casino on Denon that employed a Forceful Iktotchi as a cooler — someone capable of breaking a gambler’s winning streak. But I suspect the story is apocryphal. Here at Colliders we rely on the standard methods of making certain that the odds are always in our favor. Regardless, from time to time, someone proves an exception to the rule.” He paused for a moment. “But I’ll admit that I haven’t seen a winning streak like this last one in years. It could take us months to recuperate.”
“Did you demand a blood test?”
“As a matter of fact we did, Magister Damask. But our resident analyst said that the winner’s blood didn’t contain … well, whatever it would have contained if the player was a Force-user. I confess to having a poor understanding of the chemistry involved.”
“I myself wish I understood more,” Plagueis said. “Would you happen to have an image of the winner?”
The manager frowned. “I don’t want to pry, but may I ask why this is of personal interest?”
Plagueis sniffed. “It’s a tax matter.”
The Sullustan cheered up. “Then by all means.” His small fingers flew across the desk input pad, and in seconds the image of a Weequay appeared on a wall screen.
Plagueis was both disappointed and mystified. Data aboard Venamis’s ship had identified the potential candidate as a Quarren. The being from Mon Calamari had been using the Force to break the banks of casinos on a dozen worlds, from Coruscant to Taris, from Nar Shaddaa to Carratos. Apparently the Weequay who had won big at Colliders had simply been lucky. Plagueis was about to say as much to 11-4D when an intercom chimed and the manager inserted a transceiver into his large ear.
