If Stackpole can write silly things, why can't I? Translated from Russian.
Dedicated to the memory of Anna Nicole Smith.
Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat.
Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat.
So they sought for a fair damsel throughout all the coasts of Israel, and found Abishag a Shunammite, and brought her to the king.
The Old Testament, Third Book of Kings
Chapter 1 - Denunciation
Grand Admiral Thrawn went to the "Literary café". Sat at the table, running his scarlet eyes over the munching crowd. His gaze stopped for a moment on the writhing onstage mime with an umbrella - but the collector, with whom the aesthete Admiral arranged to meet - and, perhaps, to exchange exhibits - was not here. Thrawn commed him and learned that he wouldn't come - he was detained by traffic cops and pulled to the station.
And then Thrawn noticed this work of art. Dolly girl, languid, bored, painted, sat alone at the table, and in everything about her - in graceful whimsical pose, in a sleepy, languishing look of her outlined eyes, was repleteness.
Waiter in a bow tie approached Thrawn. Thrawn studied the menu and ordered a lunch for himself and for the little friend, and ordered to bring a rose in a glass of wine for that beautiful lady.
The Gungan dragged Thrawn a dish and a bottle, and then, having made brief trip to the kitchen, went to the well-dressed lady and handed her a glass with a rose:
"For you from that blue mister!"
Little thing adjusted the strap on the bare shoulder and slowly began to suck a big elongated grape, not taking her eyes from Grand Admiral.
Thrawn signaled the waiter to move the tray with his already touched lunch, grabbed the little friend in his arms and rushed to the beautiful lady.
"Madam! My ysalamiri likes you!"
"Oh, what a cute little animal!" The beauty held out her hand and stroked Grand Admiral's pet. Ysalamiri moved from Thrawn's lap to hers, stood on his hind legs and began to sniff at her ear, lips and neck.
"Ouch! Where do you climb", the girl laughed.
"Because he's male", said Thrawn, "and what man would not be fascinated by you... May I know your name, madam?"
"Roganda Ismaren", languidly watching from under downcast long eyelashes, the coquette gasped, and Grand Admiral, in turn, identified himself.
From the cafe Thrawn took Roganda to his place - to show her his collection of priceless masterpieces, gathered from all corners of the galaxy, and enthusiastically expatiated, from what planet came here three shapeless color spots in the frame, to which school, to which the era of development this or that particular artist belonged. The girl listened politely, skipping past the ears, and Thrawn smoothly lead to beholding two or three paintings hanging in his bedroom.
After beholding of those Thrawn rose from bed, made an expedition to the bathroom. The ysalamiri, accustomed to the hands, deeply and sincerely convinced that all people are his masters, who saw in his life nothing but love and affection, jumped from his chair, ran to Roganda, stood on his hind legs and offered her his neck - "Touch me!"
"Good boy, good", cooed Roganda, lulling and scratching Admiral's pet. The ysalamiri habitually climbed on her shoulders, curling around her neck, as a boa. Thrawn returned from the bathroom, jealously rescued his pet and said that it's time to say goodbye. Roganda sat on the bed edge, biting her painted lips, and thought she wasn't even offered a drink.
Because she is an ysalamiri. Because she also belongs to someone who feeds her, puts an embroidered collar with sequins on her, and bags her under his blanket in the night. And lots of people, humans and not, are ready to exclaim at the sight of her: "What a cute little animal!" and stretch their hands, pat and cuddle her, but only one is consent to feed, groom and pamper her. And for that ysalamiri must contend with their masters, whoever they are.
X X X
It's hard to tell what was more odious - the new Pestage's budget or "Concept of the Primacy of Human Culture." The only difference was that "The Concept of the Primacy..." was gladly signed by the Emperor (and that was the big and bold reason for attributing fierce racism to the monarch, even though Palpatine himself has never been a xenophobe and willingly put up with such a flaw of his henchmen, as, for example, horns, if they were useful to him), but the budget...
In addition to raising the air tax (very important for Coruscant!), Pestage's government planned to replenish the budget at the expense of several other tax initiatives. The ministry counted the estate tax, which now amount to at least 20 imperial credits per square meter and will pay for construction or purchase of housing area exceeding 300 square meters. m. raised the penalty for late payment of utilities and the tax on the excess area. The rate of excise duty on alcohol is planned to increase this year by 36%. At least double from the current 3 credits per 1 cu. cm engine to increase excise duty on the import of all, absolutely all vehicles. They also discussed the possibility of increasing the value of patents for gas stations. And, of course, the first thing cut back social benefits, retirement pensions and disability benefits, unemployment benefits and salaries to state employees - and reduced funding for health care.
In short, a very unpopular measure.
Vizier Sate Pestage - same old, shrill-gorged, obstinate Nabooian, like his boss - came with folders, reports, and unabashedly proclaimed,
"The expenditure budget goes beyond revenue to 185 billion... The only way out is borrowing 185 billion at 45% from the Vongs!"
His Majesty looked at his vizier like at a Gungan and bellowed,
"I have never borrowed from neighbors!"
"But if you don't, you are bankrupt. You will be then lynched here."
"I'll declare that it was you who stole the money", Emperor fumed.
"Yes", said the impassive Sate, "you can do it, but money will not appear because of this."
"The main thing is I'll turn a blow away from me. And for you the best solution would be to retire... and generally to leave the borders of our galaxy."
"To the Vongs, sire?" Sate asked.
"Well, you have already become friends with them", Palpatine scarily grinned. "They'll not exclude you".
To hear it from the author of The Concept of the Primacy of Human Culture, prescriptively snubbing all non-humans in the Empire, was strange and intolerable. But there was another feature of Pestage, outshining even his fierce, furious hatred to the non-humans: greed. For a penny Pestage was ready to kiss even Vong's boots.
The Vizier bowed and retired - to set out to his pre-prepared shelter on the "Ghost" base on Tatooine.
X X X
Mara Jade was going to the Imperial Red Guard training center, where Force-sensitive agents also trained. Presenting a badge and being let in the yard, on the approach to the building Mara abruptly stopped. Favorite toy of the aged Emperor Palpatine, professional keptie, the kind that leeches off a wealthy lover, was going towards Mara. Translucent purple scarf - two meters, even a two and half - waving around, her heels pounded the flagstones. Over-the-top number of jewelry, purchased with pocket money received for the midnight warming of decrepit imperial body, shone and shimmered. Her savvy face, her tiny lithe body, her seductive walk exuded fragrance gleaming reflections of orgies she passed through. Mara ran across the path of the courtesan and exclaimed:
"Was it interesting with the blue one?"
Thick vulgar paint only emphasized the depraved grin on her cunning and brazen baby face. Mara continued,
"What will you give me lest I tell lord Sidious?"
Oh, Mara would gladly took possession of many damned hussy's toys. Her elite maid DB-3765 - droid with a woman's figure and even with an imitation of hair, or one of her speeders, which she changed along with the color of her dresses. In the name of Darth Bane, agent Jade would not refuse just from concubine's bracelet.
Roganda laughed in her face.
"Mara, let me pass", was only thing she said.
She opened the door and, nodding the guards, headed to the gym. Mara trailed behind.
X X X
Unable to sell the dirt to Roganda – we'll bring it to a person in authority, passionately interested in her discredit in the eyes of Palpatine!
The Director of the Imperial Intelligence, pursing her scarlet, painted in a tune to her tunic, lips, gazed at Mara with a piercing look of scarily varicolored eyes.
"Madame Director - I have a great dirt. Kindly take a look!"
Ysanne took the datapad, which contained dirty little story about branchy cornua of His Majesty.
"How did you get it?" Strictly, but mirthly clarified the boss.
"Bought from one paparazzi. Hung out at the central office. When I came out, he walked up to me - "Would you like cheesecake?" He says he tried to sell his sensation about the adventures of loving Admiral to several newspapers - albeit blue, he is popular among white women! - But the editors refused. Freedom of speech kicked the bucket, along with the republic... I looked over his goods," unable to suppress a broad smile, told agent Jade, "and voila!"
Ysanne was deeply convinced that Force-users don't buy anything: "You want to give it to me for free!" - Or, alternatively, hand three credits and avert seller's eyes, assuring them that this is three hundred. Then, the seller comes to senses - but the buyer is already gone.
Ysanne wanted to look at the laminated, with the monogram of Falleen royal house, invitation to Xizor's birthday, which she'd received this morning, but left in the house. It wasn't befitting to come unchaperoned, but the only gentleman that she was dating will come hand to hand not with her, but with Roganda, and she will, as always, take a confidante with her. Isard looked back at Mara: she had only one evening dress, blue, on one strap, out of fashion three years ago.
"How could you not try to recover the cost of acquiring this datapad", drawled Isard. "At once brought it to me and haven't offered to Roganda?"
"You are perceptive, ma'am!"
"And how much did she pay?" Grinning, Isard added: "If it's not a secret."
In other words: Mara, go snacks! But there was nothing to share!
"She laughed in my face!"
"So?"
"She did not buy!"
"Her confidence in her own indispensability, in unwavering Palpatine's benevolence", Isard said slowly, hands folded on the table, then leaning forward, "should have its grounds, Mara. She is not his wife. She should be interested that dirt wouldn't reach him." Index and middle fingers held a cigarette, Isard flicked a lighter and pulled an ashtray up to her.
"Ma'am", blinking in the smoke, Mara assured her, "she didn't even talk to me. Puts on airs, believes he would forgive her."
"Or does the task Palpatine gave her."
"?"
"Spying for Thrawn, Mara. And then we with this", short red nail tapped the stack of photos, "won't destroy their relationship, but rather make a fool of ourselves."
Mara imagined, how her patroness takes it out on her, being made a fool by her fault. Yet she failed to imagine Palpatine in the role of a pimp.
"But how is it that he will underlay his own mistress to all there... Why should he share? He made a home for her, he had her loaded with money... And it turns out, he keeps her not for himself but for others?"
"How is it! Yes, just as I had been sent to Soontir Fel" thought Isard balefully. Fortunately, Soontir didn't risk to involve with the courtier, and Ysanne's acting skills were tapped out, and to spot her insincerity was easy. When she reported back, the Emperor merely shrugged: "I had no doubt that Fel would refuse." Ysanne then thought that Palpatine decided to knock off her arrogance this way.
"Their child is already eight, Roganda's pretty face lost the charm of newness."
Mara faltered, staring fixedly at the stack of photographs.
"So, find that paparazzi and find out, if he had picked her or she had him."
"Will be done, ma'am. But, even if he did... maybe she used the Force."
"Bewitch, as the ruck says." Isard laughed mirthlessly. "No, Mara. Have you seen Thrawn's pet?"
"Well", the agent responded, puzzled.
"Have you ever come to Thrawn in a blaster shot distance?"
"No, ma'am". Confusion increased.
"And if you had, Mara, you would have felt like ysalamiri neutralizes the Force. With this beast, he is immune against you, Force users. So, for the future, if you meet a person with ysalamiri..." Isard cracked another sad smile, looking in her confidante's widened eyes, and once again became serious. "She couldn't attract him with the Force, Mara. Could not. Go, figure out from whom the initiative came."
Jade didn't run anywhere, took out her comlink.
"Rayfal, it's Mara. I'm about Thrawn and the white woman. Tell me, is it she who wooed him or vice versa?"
After a brief monologue at the end of the channel, Mara sheathed the transmitter and told:
"This is him. He handed her a rose in a glass, imagine what vulgarity!"
"Our Grand Admiral is so aesthetic", Isard almost laughed, hearing the blatant envy in Mara's voice, with whom, obviously, no one has ever acquainted this way. With the last puff she smoked it up to filter and crushed her cigarette in the ashtray.
"So, this is not the task?"
"Just arrogance. Or a sane idea that nobody will prevent you from reproducing these photos, that would still fall to Palpatine. Despite the fact she will pay you or not." Isard scooped the calamitous pictures to a drawer. "Dismsissed".
Towards evening, II Director came with her report before the menacing eyes of His Majesty, asserting that this is the cause of extreme urgency and importance. Ishin-Il-Raz, who was appointed for an audience, had to be kept waiting.
On the threshold of the emperor's scarlet office Ysanne knelt, bent so low that swept the floor with her streaked hair,
"May the Force be with you, Your Majesty, it's pleasure to see you in good health!"
"Stop fawning", Sidious waved his hand, leaning back in his chair and twisting his nervous fingers, studded with rings. His extensive table was littered with reports and denunciations. "To the point".
Ysanne raised her head, not straightening from the pose that expressed extreme respect, and, avoiding the sight of wrinkled and freaked, senile buckwheated, pale face of His Majesty, deadening against crimson walls of the office and heavy, embroidered, multi-layered black robes with a high stiff collar, disguising his flabby neck, - she looked in the panoramic window, at air traffic floating behind his massive chair.
"Your Majesty, information about the betrayal of Grand Admiral Thrawn has come through. In the folder are all details about his machinations with state property, but beyond that... Your Majesty, you are cuckold! And it's Thrawn who cornuted you!"
Palpatine met her statement with absolutely no emotion. Apart from rebels and a hole in the budget, this day brought him yet staffing problems. "Sate has sold out to the Vongs", the monarch was musing. "To fall into debt - which means that in case of delay in payment our warlike neighbors will intervene and loot our possessions..." Amid all these problems, the number of branching antlers didn't touch his soul.
"Since when are you peeping into other people's keyholes?" Palpatine squeaked. "Get down to business, more important for the Empire, and not those backstairs gossips."
Isard put in the patulous denunciation of Grand Admiral Thrawn: that he has not lost its connection with the Chiss, and is planning to sell a couple of state-owned flotillas to his blue tribesmen - however, the data were contradictory: according to other informants, Thrawn planned to give them away for free, to be accepted back to Chiss Ascendancy. The denunciation was supported with interrogation protocols of witnesses, but the holographic recording of negotiations and compromising documentation were missing. In the explanatory memorandum Isard claimed that insidious Admiral made every effort not to leave evidence.
Therefore, there was no reason to go to court without evidence. Only allegations could be drawn from the material, provided by Isard, even with the participation of a couple of dozen competent pettifogger. And Palpatine was not inclined to remove and imprison his own people without an investigation, believing dubious denunciations.
X X X
Leaning on the elbow, jewels glittering in the dim lamplight, Roganda reclined in bed and read an article that an aiwha died in Aiwhary - or was poisoned, or simply from malnutrition. This expensive entertainment was considered yet healthy, and wealthy mommies took their offspring, suffering from imbecility and cerebral palsy, to the aiwhary. Roganda was terribly sorry for the hungry winged creatures, day and night drudging under the saddles of such contingent. How about to build a personal aiwhary, but how many thousands a day costs the feeding of such a large animal?
At this point, her master crossed the threshold. She lifted the heavy hair construction, topping her head, and charmingly smiled, searching for signs of irritation on her patron's wrinkled face.
"My girl", rasped her lover, "I was expecting you to be more careful."
"I'm sorry, master!" dispassionately uttered Roganda, poorly understanding what incurred the displeasure of the lord.
Palpatine threw her a packet of photos.
"You didn't even notice who took photos of you - an agent or a droid."
And if I saw - what, to snatch a blaster and to shoot at a droid in front of everyone? Roganda wasn't that powerful in the Force to, continuing to flirt with Thrawn, both find the outline of the photographer and make him to erase all the pictures.
"Combine business with pleasure," said Palpatine very quietly. "Try to figure out his reliability. I was told that Thrawn is in talks with Chiss Ascendancy and is about to convey our vessels to his motherland. Soon, I expect you to confirm or refute."
And he said with the tone of such finality that Roganda understood: she doesn't have a right to ask: "But how?" How to ingratiate and worm out of him as much as possible about his machinations against the royalty and his plans for the future?
Palpatine didn't pursue this topic. She undressed her sponsor, laid him down, gave him a massage. Painfully pulling at her hair, he took off her frame-like hairpiece with the hoops, and the shower of black strands covered them both. The girl began to lick her master, everything from head to toe, covering him with greedy kisses.
Exhausted Roganda's hands, neck and jaw hurt unbearably. Tongue has refused to obey. Swaying to the rhytme of her movements, small breasts beat on her master's skinny thigh. Wrinkled hook still was hanging limply. Studded with rings, veins bulging over withered spotty skin, most august hand relentlessly controlled her head.
"My child, you have to wait a little while for a clone to grow up, who will be able to provide you the proper attention", Sidious said in uterine voice, clenching her small elastic buttock and slapping painfully.
"Spank me, sire, I'm such a sad sack", Roganda said coyly, knowing full well that even this couldn't help him.
Roganda clearly remembered that morning when she woke up next to the most shabby, disgusting old man she has ever seen, and the first few seconds of pondering, where she had yesterday picked up that Methuselah. At times, immediately after waking up she still felt she should be in her frail cell, but then memories returned - as the stormtroopers raided the Jedi shelter on Belsavis, slaughtering masters and knights and pulling padawans away, as few have ceased to resist, surrendered, promising to carry out whatever they say, and were herded into the hold, as several teenagers with pigtails were sent to the Red Guard training center, as his majesty the emperor himself for his own amusement decided to inspect, how those cadets, who survived basic training on Coruscant and Yinchorr, are fighting on the final massacre trial, and also - how many Force-users were recruited; as, ominously glaring sunken, watery eyes with pouches on acute wrinkled face, overlord rasped: "Why so few?" The Emperor was not that outraged, slightly angry and disappointed: so few Padawans were prudent and remained his faithful servants - and what has changed, except signs, except that he hoisted the crown on his wrinkled balding head? Roganda considered the old man, wrapped in a long-skirted black gown, and sincerely thought that Chancellor Palpatine with traces of former beauty and this shriveled crowned morel must be two different people. This is but a counterpart, Roganda thought, and thirty years older! Replaced! At this moment the master beckoned her with a knotty finger with a large ring. She approached. The carrier of the scepter asked her name, pawed over her cheek, called a lackey and ordered to wash and dress the girl and - in midnight to bring her to his bedroom!
Soon the overlord said that he could not sleep without her, and Roganda finally moved out of the barracks to his crimson apartments. She walked around the apartment in an evening dress and makeup, with hair and heels. He was all day at work, and it might seem to enviers like Mara Jade, that the favored mistress is all day lying on the couch, bored, crying, telling herself that her life is hard and clumsy, and thinks only about the embellishment of her appearance. But in reality Roganda's day was planned through: erotic massage courses - strip dance lessons - gym - holocron and training trance - hard work for lord Sidious' relaxation and entertainment.
Finally he fell asleep.
Roganda went out onto the balcony, leaned on the railing, breathing in unusually fresh air and an exposing herself to whiffles of the night wind that blowed smell of Palpatine's cologne away from her skin.
She stared into the sparkling depths of streets, on the whopper of the rebuilt Temple, illumined by metropolis night lights. The danger seemed to be over - after the altercation with his vizier, the old fart has decided not to throw lightning bolts, despite the hopes and threats of feebleminded Mara. How strange they are, these laymen. They attach disproportionate importance to such nonsense as fidelity and jealousy. The templars never bothered such nonsense. In the Temple the concept of "my boyfriend" did not exist by itself; there was the only current sexual partner - one who is nearby, who fits in size and is also experiencing a similar appeal of the body, as instinct, natural and not worth breaking a lance about it (like laymen do), as the need of food and oxygen. And if he is on a combat mission in the next flash point, then who will wait for him - and still is unknown, whether he returns safe and if he returns at all. If he doesn't come back – no reason for tears. Constancy and love are invented by the laity to justify their greed, and in the Temple, where all thoughts were pure and free from attachments - to personal property - all while living on the full material security - there were no worries about life, housing problems and needs of money, extorted by the laity from more wealthy partners. Would lord Darth Sidious, with his powerful mind and width of views, descend to the level of primitive narrow-minded layman, powerless mediocrity, and would he take revenge on his girl because she dined at a table with another man? Is it a worthy problem, comparable with issues of the budget deficit? For such a hole in the state budget, which was made by the emperor himself, who had taken 180 billion to equip the factory, producing his own clones - according to the imperial constitution, the hearty old man could face impeachment. However, Roganda wasn't too dreaded by the prospect of a possible dethronisation of her patron. He had somehow managed to launder billions that in due - namely Republican - time were borrowed for the clone production on Kamino.
At this point a translucent figure of a gaunt girl with striped montrals and lekku has woven out of thin air before her. In phantom's breast was gaping burnt-through hole.
"Traitor", the ghost hissed. "You're thriving!" The dead woman slammed her transparent disembodied fist on Roganda's head, and her hand freely passed through, down to her shoulders.
"You have refused to perform your own functions, the same work under the guidance of the same person, just under another guise."
"We perished in the fight for the idea we supported", the Jedi hissed.
"For the name and emblem", Roganda corrected, wrapping tighter in her transparent negligee, through which small firm breasts and dark nipples shone in the night lights. "You have refused to obey orders of the authorities, but we - those few who remained faithful to him – it's we who must call you traitors. What was left to him, except punish you."
"We took an oath to the country as a whole, as a democratic state, whose institutions presuppose turnover of officials, not personally to this particular Chancellor." Ahsoka perched on the railing in the lotus position. Lights shone through her, windows and signs and lights of speeders, whizzing past. "Who had sent us to the senseless slaughter - orchestrated by him – us and clone troops, entrusted to us."
Roganda shrugged her shoulders, sat on a bench, on either side of which was a vase with pungent-smelling flowers, and opened the magazine, brought from the room, indicating that she isn't interested in Ahsoka's contentious company. Light from the street was enough. Her mind was back on the heavy and unprepossessing aiwha life, starving in the barbaric exploitation under humans.
Ahsoka overheard the thoughts, something she wasn't able in her lifetime.
"Look, ask your sweetie! Seeing how he dresses you up, I realized that he isn't so stingy as he pretends before the general public, appearing daily in the same black cloak, posing as a poor guardian of national welfare around the clock!"
"How much pathos, Ahsoka!"
"So says master Dooku ghost!"
"Shame on you for communicating with Dooku! You fought with him!"
"Sidious betrayed him. In the same way as all of us."
Roganda settled down with her feet on the bench, and rings on the toes of tiny feet caught and reflected the glare of light. Favored mistress turned the page of tabloid and began to read as COMPNOR members have problems with sitting in the former temple. Scary, they say. Ghosts haunt. And cry out for vengeance. Forceless scientists, interviewed by a reporter, shrugged and insisted that there are no ghosts in nature and there can not be!
"Roganda, who are you talking to?" the awakened usurper crawled out onto the balcony.
"Oh! Chancellor!" Ahsoka waved, wide and toothy smile.
"Get lost!"
"Okay, okay, my lord Sidious! I'll go haunt master Skywalker!"
Dead Ahsoka made a handstand, kicking up her lifted up feet, made the back somersault from the balcony railing and dissolved.