“Yes, but not from Maul.”
Damask waited for an explanation.
“It was dropped into my hand by none other than the information broker Maul had been pursuing and thought dead — Lorn Pavan. The fact that Pavan’s right hand had been cleanly and recently amputated told me at once that the two fought in one of the air locks.”
“This Pavan defeated Maul?”
Palpatine shook his head. “But I suspect that Pavan somehow managed to outwit him and take him by surprise.”
“Incredible,” Damask said, astonished that events could become even more convoluted. “Then Pavan must know what the holocron contains.”
“I’m supposed to deliver it to the Jedi,” Palpatine said with obvious amusement; and looking around, added, “Perhaps to Yoda or Windu …”
“Pavan,” Damask snapped.
Palpatine squared his shoulders. “Pestage and Doriana are escorting him downside, where he’ll receive medical attention, maybe even a new hand, and a comfortable hotel suite in which to spend the final day of his life.”
“A reward we should withhold from Maul, but probably won’t.” Damask glanced at Palpatine. “In any event, it wasn’t Pavan who handed you the holocron. It was delivered by the dark side.”
Palpatine thought about it for a moment. “And Sifo-Dyas? Will he do it?”
“Even if he decides against it, there may be a way to place the order in his name. But the Force tells me that he will do it.”
“That will make him a potential danger to us.”
Damask nodded. “But it won’t matter. We have become invincible.”
The view through the large triangular windows was pleasant enough, but the office was far too small. Worse, it felt more like a relic from a bygone age rather than a nerve center for the New Order. No amount of remodeling could transform it into the space Palpatine imagined for himself. Perhaps a new building was required; an annex of sorts or, better still, an executive office building — if only to grant those who would work there the illusion that their pitiful efforts mattered …
“The deeper my lawyers and accountants pursue this matter, the more dead ends they encounter,” Valorum was saying. Dark circles underscored his eyes, and his hands were trembling slightly. “The aurodium ingots the Nebula Front stole from the Trade Federation freighter were converted to credits, which were used to finance their operations on Asmeru and Eriadu. But the ingots themselves moved through a series of specious banks and other financial institutions, and were ultimately invested in Valorum Shipping by unknown parties. I say
“Baffling,” Palpatine said, drawing out the word. “I don’t know what to think.”
A week had passed since the Perlemian political gathering. Lorn Pavan was dead by Maul’s lightsaber, a day before an artificial hand was to have been grafted to the information broker’s stub of forearm.
Valorum was resting his head in his hands. “That someone or some organization engineered this to cripple me is beyond doubt. The question of why anyone — even my most stalwart detractors in the Senate — would essentially discard tens of millions of credits to achieve this in the final months of my term is inexplicable.” He raised his face to Palpatine. “My immediate predecessors were bold, and they knew how to manage the Senate. I believed I could bring something different to the office. A quieter diplomacy; one informed by the Force, and by the ideals of the Jedi Order.”
Palpatine suppressed an urge to leap across the desk and strangle him.
“I realize that I’ve made some poor decisions. But has any chancellor in the past century had to face more challenges than I have? Has any chancellor had to deal with a more corrupt and self-serving Senate, or more megalomaniacal corporations?” Valorum closed his eyes and exhaled. “Whoever is behind this machination wants nothing more than to destroy my legacy entirely; to make the name Valorum seem a stain on history …”
“Then we must double our efforts to exonerate you,” Palpatine said.
Valorum laughed without amusement. “I’m useless to the Republic if we can’t. Until the matter is resolved, I’m prohibited from sanctioning the use of Jedi or Judicials to intervene in disputes. I’m not permitted to convene special sessions without the express consent of this new vice chancellor, Mas Amedda, who blocks my every proposal and venerates procedure as if it were holy text.”
“Deception begins with bureaucracy,” Palpatine said.
Silent for a moment, Valorum adopted an expression of resolve. “I’m not without ideas.”
He tapped a touch screen built into his desk, and a large data display resolved above the holoprojector. Rising from his chair, he indicated a graph on which several dozen corporations were listed.
“One might assume — in light of the accusations stacked against me — that my family’s concern on Eriadu would suffer a sudden decline in the market. But precisely the opposite is happening. Credits have been flowing into Valorum Shipping at an unparalleled rate, and to several other shipping and transport concerns, as well — many of them based in the Outer Rim. And that’s not all.”
His hands returned to the touch screen, and a second graph took shape alongside the first. “Investments in minor suppliers of plasma and alternative energy conglomerates have increased threefold. But most important, a surge has occurred in the military supply sector, with astonishing growth in Baktoid Armor Workshop, Haor Chall Engineering, the Colicoid Creation Nest, and similar providers.”
Palpatine, despite himself, was impressed. “What do these data suggest?”
“That some nefarious business is unfolding under our very noses. That even the scandal in which I’m embroiled may be part of a larger plan.”
Palpatine was about to respond when the voice of Valorum’s personal secretary issued from the intercom.
“Supreme Chancellor, I apologize for interrupting, but we have received an urgent transmission from Queen Amidala, of Naboo.”
“The Queen!” Palpatine said with theatrical surprise.
“Can you direct the transmission to my office?” Valorum said.
“Our comm techs are telling me that the signal is very weak, but that they will do their best.”
Palpatine and Valorum turned to the office holoprojector table and waited. Within moments a noisy, fluctuating 3-D image of Naboo’s pale-faced teenage queen appeared.
“Supreme Chancellor Valorum,” she said. “We bring news of a grave development on our homeworld. Without warning, the Neimoidian faction of the Trade Federation has initiated a blockade. Their massive freighters encircle our world, and no ships are permitted to arrive or depart.”
Palpatine and Valorum exchanged stunned looks.
“Your Highness, have the Neimoidians communicated any demands?” Valorum asked as the blue-tinged image flickered, stabilized, and flickered again.
“Viceroy Gunray states that the blockade has been launched in protest of the Senate’s decision to tax shipping in the free-trade zones. He assures that any attempts to break the embargo will meet with deadly force. Unless the new regulations are rescinded, he is prepared to see everyone on Naboo starve.”
Valorum clenched his hands. “Your Majesty, Senator Palpatine is here with me.”
Neither Amidala’s expression nor her flat tone of voice wavered. “Senator Palpatine, we are pleased that you are able to hear this news firsthand.”
“Your Highness,” Palpatine said, stepping into view of the holoprojector cams and inclining his head. “I will contact the Trade Federation delegates immediately and demand that this blockade be terminated.”
