All the Best Parts
Palpatine served the Senate dutifully. He was unassuming, humble. He performed errands for the Supreme Chancellor and most notably, for Finis Valorum. But Palpatine was by no means an outsider. He instantly made connections, investing capital and trust in organizations like COMPOR—the Committee for the Preservation of the Republic—and an old aide from Naboo. A man named Sate Pestage.
In spite of his beneficence, Palpatine hid things. Fellow Senators on the Committee for Jedi Relations—a body in which Palpatine had insisted membership—viewed the Chommell Senator as cold and aloof. Senators like Orn Free Taa saw Palpatine as politely quiet. And to Senators like Bail Antilles—
Palpatine was a mystery.
The Republic had no room for mystery.
Palpatine had an early breakfast with Sate Pestage. Pestage himself had been an associate of Palpatine's in the days of Praetor Urbanus at Theed. He was a devout believer in Palpatine—quite possibly, the one being that truly understood him. It wasn't something to be announced over the Holonet though; Pestage ingratiated himself with Palpatine not out of loyalty.
But out of a shared philosophy.
Pestage called it "High Human Culture." And Palpatine listened intently while it was explained.
Pestage smiled. Thin lines around an alabaster face creased, and is deep set eyes came alive, if only for a moment. He sipped from a transparisteel goblet of Merlot. "The Republic is not what it once was."
"Yes, I know," Palpatine said.
"If it is meant to continue, it must be put in the hands of beings capable enough of daily administration—of compassionate administration. It must be entrusted to beings that know and have intimate passion for its custody."
Palpatine's eyes narrowed. He cut into the filet before him. And said: "You speak of a new government." It wasn't really a question.
"Yes," Pestage replied mildly. "One unbound by the petty restrictions of graft. A government clean and pure and direct. None of the messy scramble for the favor of the ignorant and the subhuman. The government we shall serve will be one cleansed of those inequities."
One of Palpatine's eyebrows angled sharply. Pestage continued. "The government we serve will be one of authority personified. Human authority."
Hmm, Palpatine thought. This is curious. A being in my very midst who possesses a clinical distaste for those not like himself. Most curious.
"Human beings," Palpatine said. "Ruling the galaxy."
"As we should," Pestage continued. "The only beings proficient enough to do so."
Palpatine finished the filet, reclined in his chair. "Convince me."
Pestage didn't wait. "Think of it. Human beings. We are all part of the great tapestry, my friend, and if we wish to create one of our own…we shall require all the best parts."
Palpatine scoffed. "Are we having this discussion, Pestage? You're beginning to sound like a revolutionary. And history does not smile on its revolutionaries. I would deign to say those cerulean guards outside Kalpana's office would shoot you down on sight."
"Then I apologise," Pestage said. "But my point stands. Dealing in humanity—with human culture as the paradigm by which galactic culture should be gauged—the situation changes."
Pestage leaned in close to the table and spoke to Palpatine almost in a whisper. "Aliens...subhuman beings…we cannot be so certain they are on our side. How are we to trace the complexities of their plots?"
"If any plots they have," Palpatine said. He remained unimpressed.
"That is exactly my point!" Pestage sat up in his chair and threw his arms in the air. "Nature abhors a vacuum, my dear Palpatine, and the unknown nature of their actions is a social and political vacuum. One that must be filled. I'm not obsessed with bringing them down. But with bringing us up."
"And you possess the power to do so?"
"Of course not," Pestage said, frowning and waving a hand expressively. "One small voice is nothing against a current. But if a movement is to be started, my friend, it requires one thing."
"All the best parts," Palpatine said.
"Yes," Pestage said plainly. "I'm merely circulating ideas. It takes another engine entirely to put those ideas in motion."
Palpatine sensed something within Pestage: passion. In the hands of a capable person, passion was quite the virtue. A palpable thing almost as real as the man himself. And if there's passion…there's desire. In Pestage, Palpatine saw it had a suitable host.
Passion.
For a change.
For a new order.
Palpatine smiled. "My dear Pestage...you wouldn't much like the change I seek."
At three that afternoon, Palpatine's presence was required at the Supreme Chancellor's office. Strangely, this was the site where the Jedi Relations Committee most frequently held meetings. Palpatine prepared himself en route. This would be a doubly-perplexing day. In one lane, Palpatine had to associate with and pretend he cared about Senators on the committee. And in the other—
Jedi.
Inside the transport, en route to the Chancellor's Office, Palpatine sighed.
It was only upon entering the Chancellor's office—-bedecked in the same cerulean color of the Guards that Palpatine felt he was truly in the Rancor's Den.
He noticed Kalpana's desk, at the far end of a tiered dais. The holoprojector jutting out from the center of the room like an eyesore. Five seats arranged in a concavity a meter from Kalpana's desk.
Each of them held a Jedi:
Oppo Rancisis, the aged Thisspiasian. Even Piell, the diminutive war-monger from Lannik. Yarael Poof, the Quermian with two brains too many. Yoda—the Grand Master, as Holonet reports had named the tiny green being. Each of them seemed ill at ease—-restless in their seats—-listening to Kalpana prattle on like a schoolgirl.
Palpatine stood silently behind and to the right of Piell, and noticed the fifth Jedi.
A woman, seated serenely between Poof and Rancicis. Dark hair draped motionless around the brown-colored shoulders of a Jedi robe. Eyes focused on Kalpana. On the here and now.
Palpatine felt something stir inside. Perhaps it was his heart growing a size, perhaps something else. This woman was...different.
Palpatine had been ingrained by his master to hate Jedi, irrespective of their species or even gender. But this Jedi—
No. He couldn't reach any further into the matter. Not without letting the rest of them in on the charade. And if that happened, ruin would follow.
The meeting went on. Palpatine volunteered, along with Valorum, to spearhead Kalpana's new Jedi Relations Committee. In said spot, Palpatine and Valorum would have continuous access to and interaction with the most esteemed of the Order. It was an opportunity Palpatine could nigh resist.
And he could nigh resist her.
Three hours later, the meeting let out. Palpatine made a point to catch the woman Jedi before she slipped away with Rancicis. She walked with a sanguine gait—the way most Jedi walked. The way a person could walk when he hadn't a care in the universe. Yes. This woman was calm personified. Her face, motionless and probing, as though she were examining the very souls of everyone she met.
She was strength, and power, and control in one beautiful form.
"Pardon me," he said, stepping in front of her. "I couldn't help but notice during the meeting—you must be new."
She smiled. "Master Rancisis' prerogative, Senator. As you well know."
"I wonder," Palpatine said, following her out of Kalpana's office in perfect lockstep. "If you would permit me?"
"I usually don't."
"Neither do I." Palpatine smiled and pulled the mini holo-com from the folds of his scarlet robes. He flicked a button and an image of a rose coalesced in the center.
"Parlor tricks," she said. "Quaint." She cocked her head. The corners of her mouth angled upward in a slight smirk. Ruby colored lips blended perfectly against olive skin. Palpatine suddenly felt very warm.
"Tell me..."
"Alura."
"Alura," Palpatine corrected himself. "Are you otherwise engaged this evening?"
"No," she said curtly.
"I have a place reserved at the Menarai," Palpatine said. His voice reeked courtesy. "I would be honored…if you would join me."
Alura stopped in her tracks and stared at Palpatine. She seemed to switch gears instantly--pleasure to business, a warm smile and glowing eyes indicating such.
"Certainly," she said.
Palpatine bowed graciously. They parted ways a moment later. Even in the air-taxi ride back to the Senatorial Apartments, Palpatine thought and lied to himself.
This worked well—intentionally, of course, with the teachings and goals Plagueis had instilled in him; fostering an attachment to this woman would give him an impromptu insight to the Jedi Council and their Ivory Tower politicking. And if things were to progress as Master and Apprentice had planned…Palpatine would be the wedge driven between her own life and the life she gave to the Jedi.
It was...a necessary loss.
The voice of his master echoed in Palpatine's head: against the power of the Dark Side...none can resist.
Palpatine was due for his afternoon meeting with Plagueis when he received a Holonet message. Sate Pestage, looking preternaturally worried and about to fall over dead as usual.
"What is it?" Palpatine asked in a grim monotone.
"I thought you might be curious about our native soil, my friend." Pestage's expression said 'I know something you don't know.' Palpatine found it particularly irksome, and wore a brief scowl as evidence.
"And?"
"Veruna has ascended the throne." The holoimage straightened a bit and Palpatine detected a smile; this was Pestage being hideously and unduly pleased with himself. "He wishes to speak to you. At your convenience, of course."
"Then make it so, Pestage. As of this moment, consider yourself my attaché."
The holoimage fizzled and faded.
Continued...
