Palpatine frowned in the dark. “The Republic has grown unwieldy. We are coerced and cajoled into deals that compromise our integrity. We are criticized as much for what we do as what we don’t do. Most beings in the Core couldn’t point to Yinchorr in a star map, and yet the crisis there becomes your problem.”
Valorum nodded in a distracted way. “We can’t stand by and do nothing. The Jedi express as much in private, and yet even they are divided. If Master Dooku becomes any more vocal in his criticisms of the Senate and the Order, the Council may have to restrict him to the Temple.” He fell silent, then said, “Well, I certainly don’t have to tell you. People tell me you’ve become his confidant.”
Instead of responding to that comment, Palpatine said, “And Master Yoda?”
“Inscrutable as ever,” Valorum said. “But troubled, I think.”
Palpatine turned away from him slightly. “The Jedi have faced down darkness in the past.”
“True. But a study of history reveals that they have been defeated by it, as well.”
“Then the outcome is not in our grasp.”
Valorum raised his gaze to the night sky. “Whose, then?”
23: UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN
Just arrived on the Hunters’ Moon, Sidious studied Plagueis as the Sith Lord and his droid, 11-4D, viewed a holorecording of a black-robed Zabrak assassin making short work of combat automata in his home on Coruscant, some hovering, some advancing on two legs, others on treads, and all firing blasters.
Twenty years had added a slight stoop to the Muun’s posture and veins that stood out under his thinning white skin. He wore a dark green utility suit that hugged his delicate frame, a green cloak that fell from his bony shoulders to the fort’s stone floor, and a headpiece that hewed to his large cranium. A triangular breath mask covered his ruined, prognathus lower jaw, his mouth, part of his long neck, and what remained of the craggy nose he’d had before the surprise attack in the Fobosi. A device of his own invention, the alloy mask featured two vertical slits and a pair of thin, stiff conduits that linked it to a transpirator affixed to his upper chest, beneath an armored torso harness. He had learned to ingest and imbibe through feeding tubes, and through his nose.
Seen through the Force, he was a nuclear oval of mottled light, a rotating orb of terrifying energy. If the Maladian attack had weakened him physically, it had also helped to shape his etheric body into a vessel sufficiently strong to contain the full power of the dark side. Determined never again to be caught off guard, he had trained himself to go without sleep, and had devoted two standard decades to day-and-night experimentation with midi-chlorian manipulation and attempts to wrest a few last secrets from the Force, so that he — and presumably his human apprentice — might live forever. His inward turn had enabled him to master the equally powerful energies of order and disorder, creation and entropy, life and death.
“You have made him fearsome,” Plagueis remarked without turning from the recording, as the athletic Zabrak cleaved a Colicoid Eradicator droid down the middle and whirled to cut two others in half. The yellow-eyed humanoid’s hairless head bore a crown of small horns and geometrical patterns of black and red markings.
“Fearless, as well,” Sidious said.
“Still, they are only droids.”
“He’s even more formidable against living beings.”
Plagueis looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed in question. “You’ve fought him in a serious way?” Reconstructed vocal chords and trachea imparted a metallic quality to his voice, as if he were speaking through an enunciator.
“I stranded him on Hypori for a month without food and with only a horde of assassin droids for company. Then I returned to goad and challenge him. All things considered, he fought well, even after I deprived him of his lightsaber. He wanted to kill me, but was prepared to die at my hand.”
Plagueis turned fully to face him. “Rather than punish him for disobedience, you praised his resolve.”
“He was already humbled. I chose to leave his honor intact. I proclaimed him my myrmidon; the embodiment of the violent half of our partnership.”
“Partnership?” Plagueis repeated harshly.
“His and mine; not ours.”
“Regardless, you allowed him to believe that he is more skilled than he actually is.”
“Did you not do the same for me?”
Plagueis’s eyes reflected disappointment. “Never, Sidious. I have always been truthful with you.”
Sidious bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I am not the teacher you are.”
Plagueis spent a long moment observing the holorecording. The Zabrak’s fists and legs were as lethal as his lightsaber, and his speed was astounding. “Who applied the markings?”
“The mother did — in keeping with rituals enacted shortly after birth. An initiation, during which a Dathomirian Zabrak infant is submerged in an oily bath, energized with ichor conjured by the Nightsisters’ use of magicks.”
“A peculiar decision, given her hope to send the child into hiding.”
“The Nightsisters rarely leave Dathomir, but Nightbrothers are sometimes sold into servitude. I believe the mother wished him to be aware of his heritage, wherever he ended up.”
On seeing the Zabrak’s lightsaber produce two blades, Plagueis drew in his breath. “A saber-staff! The weapon of Exar Kun! Did he construct that?”
“The prototype was two lightsabers he had welded pommel-to-pommel in imitation of the Iridonian zhaboka. I furnished the knowledge that allowed him to improve on the original design and construct the one he is using.”
Plagueis watched as droid after droid was impaled on the opposing crimson blades. “It strikes me as unnecessary, but I won’t deny his mastery of the Jar’Kai technique.” Again, he turned to Sidious. “Niman and teräs käsi will never substitute for dun möch, but I appreciate that you have trained him to be a fighting machine rather than a true apprentice.”
“Thank you, Master.”
Plagueis’s eyes wrinkled — in suspicion? In amusement?
“I agree with you that he should bear witness to the Yinchorri attack on the Jedi Temple.”
“I will tell him. He already thinks of the Jedi as abominations. The sight of their sanctuary being violated will quicken his blood.”
“Even so, hold him back. Let his anger and hatred fester.”
Sidious bowed his head.
Plagueis deactivated the holoprojector. “The gift you requested for him is nearly complete. Raith Sienar has agreed to have the vessel delivered to Sojourn, and I will arrange to have it brought to the LiMerge Building.” He made a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Come, Darth Sidious, there is much to discuss.”
The ancient fort had never felt more forlorn. A company of Sun Guards still resided on Sojourn, escorting visitors to the surface and keeping the ground-based turbolasers in good working order. Authentication codes were still required for ships entering Sojourn space, but the moon’s coordinates were no longer the secret they had once been. For the most part Plagueis had lived like a hermit among his droids, seldom venturing offworld, though continuing to use his vast wealth and influence to support those organizations that furthered the Sith cause and crush the plans of those he opposed. For the first year following the attack, rumors swirled that Hego Damask was dead, but word gradually began to circulate that he was merely living in seclusion on Sojourn. Four years later, the annual Gatherings had resumed, but only for five years, and now there hadn’t been a Gathering in more than a decade. Fewer and fewer beings had attended the events in any case, many having distanced themselves from Damask in the wake of the murders on Coruscant.