Darth Plagueis

puddled on the floor by the theater lights, but in truth nowhere to be found in the mundane world. Folded deeply within the Force, instead, indifferent to the meticulous damage 11-4D had done to the Bith’s internal organs, but focused on communicating his will directly to the Force’s intermediaries, the droid monitoring cellular activity for signs that Plagueis’s life-extending manipulations, his thought experiments, were having their intended effect.

A sudden current of intense dark side energy snaked through Plagueis. Stronger than any feeling he had experienced since the death of Darth Tenebrous, replete with flashes of past, present, and perhaps future events, the disturbance was powerful enough to snap him completely out of his trance. A rite performed; a confirmation conferred. Half expecting to find Venamis sitting upright on the table, he opened his eyes to the sight of 11-4D shuffling toward him from the operating theater’s communication console.

Plagueis’s mouth formed a question: “Hill?”

“No. The young human — Palpatine. A deep-space transmission.”

Plagueis hurried to the device. They hadn’t spoken since the reunion on Chandrila, but Plagueis had been waiting, wondering if his manipulations had borne fruit. If not, then he might have to take personal action to solidify the Naboo gambit. Placing himself in view of the holocams, he took a moment to appraise the noisy image onscreen, Palpatine’s face bathed in the flashing lights of an instrument panel, something new in his eyes — color that hadn’t been there previously. A glance at the comm board’s coordinate readout; then:

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure,” Palpatine said in clear distraction, his gaze shifting to something off cam.

“You’re in a starship.”

Palpatine nodded, swallowed, and found his voice. “The family ship.”

“Read aloud the navicomputer coordinates.”

When he had, Plagueis looked to 11-4D for elaboration.

“Rimward of Exodeen along the Hydian Way,” the droid said.

Plagueis absorbed it. “Contact the Sun Guard. Have them ready a ship and prepare yourself to accompany them.”

“Yes, Magister.”

Plagueis swung back to the monitor screen. “Are you capable of maintaining your present course?”

Palpatine leaned to one side. “The autopilot is engaged.”

“Tell me what happened.”

The human took a deep breath. “My father arrived unexpectedly on Chandrila. He had me taken from the youth program vessel and brought to our ship. My mother and siblings were already aboard. After the launch I learned that I was being taken to Chommell Minor. Just as you warned. We fell into an argument … then, I’m not sure what happened—”

“Tell me what happened,” Plagueis demanded.

“I killed them,” Palpatine snarled back. “I killed them — even the guards.”

Plagueis restrained a smile, knowing now that Naboo would be his. Over and done with. Now to reel him in further, and ensure his continued usefulness.

“Did anyone on Chandrila observe you board the family ship?” he asked quickly.

“Only the guard — and he’s dead. Everyone’s dead.”

“We need to return you quietly and covertly to Chandrila. I’m sending help, my droid among them. Offer no explanations of what occurred — even if asked — but follow every command without question.”

“You’re not coming with them?” Palpatine asked, wide-eyed.

“I will see you soon enough, Palpatine.”

“But the ship. The … evidence.”

“I’ll make arrangements for the ship’s disposal. No one will ever learn of this event, do you understand?”

Palpatine nodded. “I trust you.”

Plagueis returned the nod. “And Palpatine: congratulations on becoming an emancipated being.”

Sleek as the deep-sea creature on which it was modeled, the passenger ship Quantum Collosus plied the rarefied currents of hyperspace. One of the finest vessels of its type, the QC made weekly runs between Coruscant and Eriadu, reverting at several worlds along the Hydian Way to take on or discharge passengers. Draped in muted-green shimmersilk, Plagueis had boarded at Corellia, but had waited until the ship made the jump to lightspeed before riding a turbolift to the upper tier and announcing himself at the entryway to the private cabin he had secured for Palpatine.

“You said soon,” Palpatine barked the moment the hatch had pocketed itself in the bulkhead. “A standard week is not soon.”

Plagueis entered, removed his robe, and folded it over the back of a chair. “I had business to attend to.” He glanced over his shoulder at Palpatine. “Was I simply supposed to drop everything in service to the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Speechless for a moment, Palpatine said, “Forgive me for having allowed myself to believe that we were in this together.”

“Together? How so?”

“Am I not your agent on Naboo?”

Plagueis rocked his head from side to side. “You did provide us with some useful information.”

Palpatine studied him uncertainly. “I did more than that, Magister, and you’re well aware of it. You share as much responsibility for what happened as I do.”

Plagueis seated himself and crossed one leg over the other knee. “Has it really been only a week? For you seem greatly changed. Were the Chandrilan and Naboo authorities so rough on you?”

Palpatine continued to stare at him. “As you promised, where there is no evidence, there is no crime. They went so far as to enlist the aid of salvagers and pirates in the search, but came up empty-handed.” His look hardened. “But it’s you who have changed. Despite the fact that you saw this event in the making.”

Plagueis motioned to himself. “Did I suspect that you and your father might reach an impasse? Of course. It would have been obvious to anyone. But you seem to be implying that I somehow divined that the confrontation would end in violence.”

Palpatine considered it, then snorted in derision. “You’re lying. You may as well have forced my hand.”

“What an odd way to put it,” Plagueis said. “But since you’ve grasped the truth of it, I offer a confession. Yes, I deliberately goaded you.”

“You came to Chandrila to make certain that my father’s spies would see us together.”

“Once more, correct. You make me proud of you.”

Palpatine ignored the flattery. “You used me.”

“There was no other way.”

Palpatine shook his head in angry disbelief. “Was any of the story about your siblings true?”

“Some of it. But that scarcely matters now. You asked for my help and I provided it. Your father attempted to thwart you, and you acted of your own free will.”

“And by killing him I’ve rid you of an opponent.” Palpatine paused. “My father was right about you. You are a gangster.”

“And you are free and wealthy,” Plagueis said. “So what now, young human? I continue to have great hopes for you, but before I could tell you everything I needed you to be free.”

“Free from what?”

“From fear of expressing your true nature.”

Palpatine’s expression darkened. “You know nothing of my true nature.” He paced away from Plagueis, then stopped and turned to him. “You never asked about the killings.”

“I’ve never been one for grim details,” Plagueis said. “But if you need to unburden yourself, do so.”

Palpatine raised his clawed hands. “I executed them with these! And with the power of my mind. I became a storm, Magister — a weapon strong enough to warp bulkheads and hurl bodies across cabinspaces. I was death itself!”

Plagueis sat tall in the chair, in genuine astonishment.

He could see Palpatine now in all his dark glory. Anger and murder had pulled down the walls he had raised