“But should you call on the Force, you’re likely to attract the Jedi, as well.”
“The risk may prove worthwhile.”
They spent the afternoon eavesdropping on conversations about the locations of the killings, and determined that Naat Lare, whether he realized it or not, had been following a pattern. In the darkness at the edge of the settlement, at a spot along the bloodsucker-plagued shore of the dark swamp, some six kilometers from the market, Plagueis peeled out of his leggings, tunic, and bonnet, and slipped naked into the murky water. With an aquata breather clamped between his teeth, he propelled himself to the bottom. There, squatting in the muck, he opened himself fully to the Force and summoned the Nautolan, whose Force and olfactory senses might suggest that the mother of all marsh haunts was at hand for killing. A tattooed female Nautolan named Dossa had once been deemed suitable to serve Sith Lord Exar Kun; who knew what gifts Naat Lare might possess?
Surfacing to the riotous stridulations of insects, Plagueis leapt to the muddy shore, dressed, and perched himself in starlight on the slippery roots of a leafy tree. Shortly, he sensed an echo in the Force and saw ripples in the water some distance away. In the dim light, a blue-green nest of head-tresses broke the surface, followed by a pair of lidless maroon eyes. Then the amphibious sentient from Glee Anselm appeared, pulling himself ashore like some devolved beast and fixing his attention on Plagueis.
At the same time, Plagueis heard the sound of a water skimmer approaching rapidly from deeper in the swamp, and sensed the presence of the two Jedi.
“You’re not Venamis,” Naat Lare said in Basic, one hand on the hilt of a vibroblade strapped to his muscular thigh.
“He helped you escape Bedlam and sent you here as part of your training.”
Naat Lare’s hand closed on the hilt. “Who are you?”
Plagueis stood to his full height. “I am Venamis’s Master.”
The Nautolan looked confused, but only momentarily. Then he genuflected in the mud. “Lord,” he said, lowering his head.
The sound of the skimmer was closer now, just around a bend in the swamp. “Two Jedi have tracked you.”
Naat Lare’s tresseled head swung to the sound of the skimmer.
Plagueis began to retreat into the shadows, and into mundane nature. “Prove yourself worthy to me and Venamis by killing them.”
“Yes, my lord.” The Nautolan sprang to his feet and dived into the slime-covered water.
Deep in the leafy trees Plagueis waited. The skimmer’s motor went silent; then water surged and shouts of alarm and sudden flashes of light erupted in the night.
“Master!”
A harsh guttural sound rang out, followed by a scream of pain.
“Stand aside, Padawan.”
“Master, it’s—”
Another scream, higher in pitch.
“Don’t! Don’t!”
The thrum of an angered lightsaber, a howl of pain, and something heavy struck the water.
“Is he alive? Is he alive?”
Someone moaned.
“Wait …”
Waves broke on the rooted shore close to where Plagueis had concealed himself.
“Master?”
“It’s done. He’s dead.”
9: UNTAPPED RESERVES
For more than fifty years Damask Holdings had occupied one of Harnaidan’s most magnificent superspires. If not as soaring or massive as those belonging to the InterGalactic Banking Clan and its numerous subsidiaries, the building had the advantage of being constructed close to the largest of the city’s naturally heated lakes, which had been incorporated into the property as an exclusive spa. The company’s boardroom overlooked the lake and surrounding hot springs from an architectural setback on the two-hundredth floor, where Hego Damask, Larsh Hill, and the chief officers and executives of Damask Holdings convened for twice-weekly meetings. That day a one- quarter-life-sized holopresence stood at the center of the room’s enormous circular holotable, addressing the gathered Muuns in Basic from the far-removed world of Naboo.
A human of medium height, the speaker had dark brown hair combed straight back from a sloping forehead, a thick and lengthy beard and mustache, and bright blue eyes set in a symmetrical if unremarkable face. He was attired in layers of richly colored clothing, which included a vest embroidered with Futhork calligraphy and a brocade overcloak that fell to his knees, revealing tall, shiny, low-heeled leather boots. His name was Ars Veruna, and although he didn’t hold a position in Naboo’s monarchical government, he was speaking for the current pretender to the throne, Bon Tapalo, and was likely to be appointed governor of the city of Theed in the event of Tapalo’s election.
“Our campaign has been stalled by recent allegations from the leaders of some of the royal houses,” Veruna was telling the gathered Muuns. “Something has to be done to recapture momentum — and quickly. Counterallegations made public by an unknown benefactor went a long way toward undoing the initial damage of the nobles’ media releases, but a new wariness has gripped the electorate, strengthening the position of our provincial opponents.” “Audio cancellation,” one of the Muuns said toward the holosystem’s pickups. Secure in the knowledge that conversation around the table had been muted, he went on. “Are all the Naboo as hirsute and elaborately costumed as this Veruna?” Larsh Hill replied. “They are traditionalists — tonsorially as well as politically. The style of dress and facial adornments pay homage to the regalia of Queen Elsinore den Tasia of Grizmallt, who dispatched an expeditionary fleet of humans to the planet some four thousand years ago, and to whom some Naboo claim to be able to trace an unbroken ancestry.” “They are not, after all, as furry as Wookiees,” said another.
Hill grunted affirmatively. “In addition to humans, Naboo supports a hairless amphibious species known as the Gungans. Perhaps indigenous, perhaps not, but in no position to represent the planet in galactic dealings, in either case.” Seated with his back to the scenic view beyond the window wall, Plagueis studied the holoimage of Veruna. Generally he loathed politicians for their pretentions and ill-informed belief that wealth and influence conferred true power. But politicians were a necessary evil, and, if nothing else, Veruna burned with greed and ambition, which meant that he could be manipulated if necessary.
The missions to Lianna, Saleucami, and Abraxin were still fresh in his thoughts. On a philosophical level he understood why the generations of Sith Lords that had preceded him had trained apprentices, to whom they had bequeathed their knowledge of the dark side of the Force in anticipation of an eventual challenge for superiority. But with the Grand Plan culminating, it made no sense to challenge or kill beings of equal power unless they posed a threat to Plagueis’s personal destiny. The Sith line would continue through him or not at all. Thus the need for a partner rather than an underling; a cohort to help put into play the final stages of the imperative. It had long been his belief that the dark side would provide that one when the time was right.
Plagueis hadn’t anticipated having to turn his attention quite so suddenly to Naboo, but with the Trade Federation still grumbling about his support for the Outer Rim free-trade zones, and the Gran worried about losing Podrace revenues to Gardulla the Hutt, there were ample reasons for getting down to business. More important, Plagueis had long sought a planet that Damask Holdings and the steerage committee members could use as a base of operations. The possibility of having a future King at their beck and call was an added bonus, and even such unlikely players as Boss Cabra stood to profit from the Muuns’ securing of Naboo.
It was during his absence from Muunilinst that Larsh Hill and some of the others had made overtures to the group vying for the throne of Naboo. In exchange for financial and logistical support in the upcoming election, Damask Holdings had asked for exclusive rights to transport plasma from the as-yet-untapped reservoir the Subtext Mining Group had recently discovered deep beneath the plateau that supported the capital city of Theed. Not every Naboo, however, was in favor of involving the planet in trade of the sort that would result from making plasma
