will immediately identify you as a Nightbrother.”
Maul scowled. “A Nightsister is not a Sith.”
Sidious’s eyes narrowed. “As you well know. But as on Dorvalla, take care to leave no witnesses.”
Maul showed his sharpened teeth. “It shall be done. And Black Sun will cease to be an impediment.”
Sidious nodded. “Then be on your way, Darth Maul. The dark side is with you.”
Maul bowed his head and hurried up the rear boarding ramp into the cockpit module. Sidious lingered to watch the ship rise and edge out of the hangar, becoming invisible as it flew over The Works. Through the dark side, he continued to track the
Assuming that pride didn’t defeat him first.
Leaving the hangar space, Sidious made his way to the holoprojector in the building’s only refurbished room. What would become of Maul once Palpatine and Damask assumed control of the Republic? he asked himself. As a secret weapon, he would continue to be useful, but could he ever be eased into public life? How would he react to learning that his Master answered to a Master?
With his feet planted on the transmission grid, Sidious sat in the chair that was positioned for the holoprojector’s cams, adjusted the controls built into one of the armrests, and raised the cowl of his cloak over his head. For twenty years he had enjoyed living a double life, but now he felt an urge to be known for who he was, and feared for how powerful he could be. He directed his thoughts forward in time, yearning for a clear vision of the future, but none came. Did the dark side blind even its most devoted advocates to what was looming on the horizon? Plagueis had said that they needed to be prepared for sudden eventualities. Was he withholding knowledge of events he knew were imminent?
The Muun’s renewed vigor had taken Sidious by surprise. The mere fact that he had escaped the devastation on Sojourn made him seem almost omnipotent. Though even when ensconced in his affluent citadel in the Manarai district, he had yet to relax his vigilance or submit to sleep.
Repressing a sudden feeling of envy, Sidious began to wonder if — blinded by the dark side — he had actually failed to divine Veruna’s attack on Sojourn, or if he hadn’t allowed himself to divine it.
A touch of his forefinger activated the holoprojector, and moments later a half-sized eidolon of Nute Gunray resolved in midair. As in recent transmissions, the viceroy’s Neimoidian underlings, chief litigator Rune Haako, Captain Daultay Dofine, and Deputy Viceroy Hath Monchar were hovering in the background.
“Lord Sidious,” Gunray said, with a slight stammer in his voice. “We have been waiting—”
“Do you imagine yourself centermost in my thoughts that I should neglect other matters to communicate with you precisely on time?”
“No, Lord Sidious, I simply meant to say—”
“Are you gratified with your new position, Viceroy?”
“Very gratified. Though I appear to have inherited control of the Trade Federation at a time of crisis.”
“Save your whining for another occasion, Viceroy, for matters are about to become worse.”
Gunray’s nictitating membranes spasmed. “Worse? How can that be?”
“The Republic Senate is on the verge of passing legislation that will enact taxation of the free-trade zones.”
“This is an outrage!”
“To be sure. But I warned you that this was coming. Supreme Chancellor Valorum has lost all credibility, and after what occurred at Eriadu, the Senate is determined to weaken the Trade Federation further. King Veruna may have been able to stall the Senate, but he has abdicated, and young Queen Amidala and Naboo’s Senator are leading the call for taxation. With the Senate preoccupied, the moment is right for you to begin assembling a fleet of armed freighters to impose a blockade.”
“A blockade? Of what system, Lord Sidious?”
“I will inform you in due time.” When Gunray didn’t respond, Sidious said, “What is it, Viceroy? Across the vastness of space, I can perceive the reeling of your feeble brain.”
“Forgive me, Lord Sidious, but, as my advisers have pointed out, the redistribution of our vessels carries with it considerable financial risk. To begin with, there is the cost of fuel. Then, with so many ships allocated to an embargo, a disruption in trade in the Mid and Outer Rims for however long the blockade is maintained. Finally, there is no telling how our investors might react to the news.”
Sidious leaned forward. “So this is about credits, is it?”
Gunray’s muzzle twitched. “We are, after all, Lord Sidious, a commercial enterprise, not a navy.”
Sidious didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice oozed disgust. “Even after all I have engineered on your behalf you fail to grasp that by allying with me you are investing in the future.” He flicked his right hand in dismissal. “But no matter. Does it not occur to you that your most valued investors are in a position to reap great profits from your knowledge of what is about to happen? Would they not profit from learning that the Xi Char, the Geonosians, and other unionized insectoids have turned their pincers and claws to the manufacture of weapons? Might you not balance your precious budget by gaining from other shipping companies what revenue the Trade Federation risks losing?”
Gunray looked uncertain. “We feared that such actions might undermine the element of surprise, Lord Sidious.”
“That is the reason for swift action.”
Gunray nodded. “I will order a fleet assembled.”
Sidious sat back in the chair. “Good. Remember, Viceroy, that what I have delivered to you I can just as easily take away.”
Sidious ended the transmission and lowered the cowl.
Was this a vision of the future? A life of micromanaging the affairs of incompetent beings while he and Plagueis set in motion the final phases of the Grand Plan? Or was there perhaps some other way for him to govern, in malevolent satisfaction?
Even without the drenching rain, the ground would have been soft under Plagueis’s booted feet, composed as it was of eons of decayed organic matter. Water dripped from the transpirator mask and the raised hood of his cloak and splashed in the puddles that had formed beneath him. The castle that had once belonged to Veruna’s ancestor the Earl of Vis crowned a desolate hill, with no road leading to it and a view in all directions of the rolling, sodden, treeless terrain. Through night-vision electrobinoculars Plagueis studied the scanners that studded the castle’s walls and the disposition of the guards, some of whom were keeping dry in the shelter of an arch that crowned an ornate portcullis. Parked near the entrance was a veritable fleet of landspeeders, and off to one side, centered in a circular landing zone, sat a space yacht whose gleaming hull even the torrent couldn’t dull. Illumination arrays glowed behind drifting curtains of rain.
Following a deep, fast-moving rivulet, Plagueis descended the hill he had climbed to where he had set his own starship down among a riot of drooping wildflowers and falconberries. OneOne-FourDee was waiting at the foot of the boarding ramp, raindrops pinging on its alloy shell.
“Their scanners may have picked up the ship,” Plagueis said.
“Given that all countermeasures were enabled, that seems unlikely, Magister.”
“They’ve flooded the area with light.”
“As any vigilant being might on a night such as this.”
“A night fit for neither Muun nor shaak.”
The droid’s photoreceptors tightened their focus on him. “The reference escapes my data bank.”
“Seal the ship and remain in the cockpit. If I comm you, reposition the ship above the castle’s southwest corner and keep the boarding ramp extended.”
“Are you anticipating resistance, Magister?”
