energy available, and a cadre of nobles had thrown their support behind Tapalo’s chief rival for the monarchy.
Reactivating the audio feed, Plagueis asked: “What was the nature of the allegations made by the royal houses?” “First, they leaked word of the mining survey we had performed,” Veruna said, “but the revelation failed to have the intended effect, because several members of the electorate favor opening Naboo to galactic trade. Then, when they learned of our initial talks with Damask Holdings, the nobles accused us of selling Naboo to the highest bidder — to, and I’ll quote—‘a shady, extra-system cartel of ruthless criminals.’ ” The human paused for a moment. “You should understand, Magister, that our world has yet to overcome a long history of forbidding outside influence. The royal houses realize that trade is a sensitive issue and are now advocating for Naboo to oversee the transport of plasma to other worlds. But frankly we lack both the funds and the expertise to make that a reality.” “How were the nobles able to learn of our overtures to you?” Plagueis asked.
“We haven’t been able to determine the source,” Veruna said.
Plagueis muted the audio feed and turned to Hill. “We need to consider that someone close to our organization may be responsible for this ‘leak.’ ” Hill and some of the others nodded in agreement.
“The royal houses need to be informed that a leap into the business of transgalactic shipping is ill advised,” Plagueis said when he had reactivated the audio feed. “Naboo will need funding, logistical support, and perhaps even Republic legislation, and it is precisely in those areas where Damask Holdings can serve as an intermediary. Actual funding would come from the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and other conglomerates would be involved in assisting Naboo in tapping the plasma and in the construction of a spaceport of sufficient size to handle the ships needed to transport it.” Veruna stroked his tapered beard. “Bon Tapalo will certainly want to address these points with the electorate.” Plagueis liked what he was hearing. “You mentioned certain counterallegations released by an unknown party.” “Yes, and I confess that we were as surprised by the information as anyone. It seems that our group is not the first to seek the advice and support of offworld interests. Roughly sixty standard years ago, at the height of a war between the Naboo and the Gungans, our monarch was killed, and it has now emerged that some members of the very same royal houses that oppose Tapalo struck a secret deal with a mercenary group to intervene in the war should the Naboo suffer further setbacks. Fortunately, the conflict was resolved without the need for outside help. In fact, as a result of that conflict, the monarchy has since been an elected rather than hereditary post.” “You say that the information came as a surprise,” Plagueis continued.
Veruna nodded. “The information had to have been provided by a source within the opposition.” It now fell to Larsh Hill to mute the feed.
“Veruna is correct. We were able to trace the release of the information to the young son of one of the nobles. In the hope of avoiding a scandal that could divide the electorate, the head of the royal house has perpetuated a lie that the Tapalo group chanced on the information and made it public, when actually only someone with access to the family archives could have discovered it.” His interest piqued, Plagueis said, “What is the name of the royal family?” “Palpatine.”
“And the son?”
“Just that. He goes by the cognomen alone.”
Plagueis leaned back in the chair to consider this, then said, “We may have found a potential ally — someone willing to keep us informed of the royals’ plans for the election.” “An agent,” Hill said. “An inside man, as it were.”
Plagueis canceled the mute function. “We wish to visit Naboo in order to discuss these matters face-to- face.” Veruna was clearly surprised. “A public appearance by you would allow us to refute any allegations of secret collusion.” “Then all of us have something to gain.”
Veruna bowed at the waist. “It will be our great honor to welcome you, Magister Damask.” Later it would be said by Naboo and Gungan alike that they couldn’t recall a colder winter than the one that followed Hego Damask’s autumnal visit to their world. The rivers and even the falls below Theed froze; the rolling plains and tall forests were blanketed three meters deep with snow; plasmic quakes rocked the Gallo Mountains and the Lake Country, the Holy Places and the undersea city of Otoh Gunga; and many of the egresses of the underwaterways that hollowed the planet were blocked by ice floes.
Tapalo and Veruna had insisted on sending one of Naboo’s signature starships to transport the Muuns from Muunilinst, and the sleek Nubian had set down at Theed spaceport, a small facility that would have to be enlarged twentyfold if Naboo hoped to one day become a player in galactic commerce. The city itself struck Plagueis as the very antithesis of Harnaidan; where the capital of Muunilinst was vertical, angular, and austere, Theed was low, convex, and condensed, dominated by rotundas crowned with verdigris domes or flat roofs and tiered towers supported by round-topped archways. A river and several tributaries ran through the place, spanned by filigreed bridges and plunging in a series of high falls from an escarpment to verdant flatlands below.
A cortege of air skimmers carried the black-robed Muuns through streets better suited to pedestrian traffic to the interior courtyard of an ancient palace, where pretender to the throne Bon Tapalo, Veruna, and several other human advisers and would-be ministers of both sexes were on hand to welcome them. Draped in shimmersilk robes and propped by boots with high heels, the bearded and blond-haired Tapalo already carried himself like a regent — albeit of a second-rate world — remaining seated while Hego Damask and the rest of the Muuns were introduced, and flanked by guards dressed in flare-skirted uniforms and armed with vintage blasters. Veruna, on the other hand, immediately fell into step alongside Damask as the Muuns were being escorted into the central building of the complex.
“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
