What is Right
He couldn't get the image of the Sith'ari out of his head.
Like the worst of nightmares, the nature of his master's scientific tinkering was ever on Palpatine's mind. Plagueis had been exploring the deepest concerns of the Force for months—years, ever since Palpatine had come into his service—and now the fruit of his labors was about to rear its ugly head.
Plagueis meant to supplant Sidious with this Sith'ari. Sidious felt it in his bones.
It was only a matter of time.
But in the meantime, there were other obstacles. Other goals. Palpatine wanted the Holocrons of old which the Jedi had so brazenly coveted.
He would do anything to get them.
He was late for the Budget Committee meeting with Kalpana. It didn't bother him, though. Every time Palpatine saw Kalpana, a slight part of the Chommell Senator died. The Chancellor was powerful, to be sure, but vacillating—weightless. Useless; he was no more than stepping stone.
En route, Palpatine forwarded a message to his master via encoded Holonet channels.
"I am but a step closer to ascertaining our ancient holocrons, Master. I will contact you again when I have them."
And it was true.
Over dinner at the Menarai, Alura had poured out her wealth of knowledge to Palpatine—after a few Devaronian spritzers, of all things. Holocrons, the Jedi Archives, even Masters on the Council. All of them replete with all manner of secrets and techniques of Jedi and Sith from millennia ago. The Archives were not merely a library. They were a society unto themselves.
One the Jedi liked to keep hidden from all but the most dedicated eyes. One to which Palpatine wanted access.
This was the primary function of Alura: to be the inadvertent method by which Sith holocrons could once again be in the hands of those who knew best their secrets.
When the day reached fifteen standard hours in the afternoon, and when the Senate was in full swing—listening to Ask Aak give an impassioned speech about flat-taxation to Malastare's western provinces—Palpatine simply stood from his seat in the Naboo pod and left the Grand Arena.
He slipped a hand inside the folds of his crimson robe and produced a handheld comlink. With a flick of the fingers, he opened a channel to Alura.
Beautiful as ever, the holoimage was of her seated with crossed legs and hands held motionless in her lap.
"Am I interrupting?" Palpatine asked.
"No," the holoimage said. Eyes still closed. "I was just finishing up."
"A meditation?"
"Something like that. You simply must try it sometime; I imagine the Senate is quite taxing." The holoimage stood, the eyes opened, and Alura smiled fondly.
"Sounds intriguing." This was Palpatine patronizing, and doing it without her knowing. Even the best acting kept the Force at bay—after a fashion.
"It is," Alura said. "What do you want, Palpatine?"
"Do you remember what we spoke of last night?"
"The holocrons, yes." Her voice was instantly flat. "Why?"
"I wondered if you would be so accommodating as to--"
"Darling, we've been over this. You know I can't do that. I don't even have the proper clearance to see them. Let alone take them out."
Palpatine hung his head and gave a perturbed look. "You're certain?"
"Quite." She was unflinching.
"All right," Palpatine replied distantly. Are we still on schedule for tonight?"
"Yes," Alura said, smiling. "Galaxies Opera House. I hear they've made a zero-G play of Killik Twilight."
"Excellent," Palpatine said, cracking a thin smile. "See you then."
He switched off the comlink. By the time he arrived at the shipyards, a transport was waiting for him. Alura was of no help at all. If she would not aid his cause, Palpatine would be forced to make his blood and circuses elsewhere.
Time-consuming, but worth every minute if he were to achieve this latest gambit.
The sunset over Galactic City was...inspiring.
Palpatine traveled to the Opera in an open-air taxi, letting the wind wash over him. As the taxi pulled away form 500 Republica, he put in a call to Sate Pestage.
"Palpatine," Pestage smiled. "Left in a hurry, I noticed."
"Did I miss anything?"
"No. They voted down the Malastare extension, as expected. I had to pull some favors from our Neimoidian friends, and Orn Free Taaa won't shut up about you. He wants a meeting."
"Then give him one. Day after tomorrow."
Pestage bowed. "You're on your way to the Opera?"
"Yes. See you soon." Palpatine didn't wait for a response. He pocketed the comm and reclined in his seat, feeling the wind again.
A wind of change.
Two cerulean-clad Senate Guards were waiting outside Palpatine's private box, flanking the threshold on either side—a benefit of the patronage the Opera enjoyed from the Chommell Senator. Alura didn't need to speak; as she approached, one of them extended a welcoming hand toward the threshold, smiled through his helmet, and said "you're expected." The courtesy was striking to Alura.
The small round box held four seats, only two of them occupied. One by Palpatine and the other by a man in a simple cloak and head-dress. Beyond the box, a zero-g opera show was going on. Humans in poorly-contrived Killik mock-ups were performing a rendition of Denta's "Immolation," where the Killik's mythological founder was guided through the netherworld by the most famous bard in the planet's history.
Netherworld, Alura thought with disdain. There is no netherworld. Only the Force.
In the dim trappings of the Killik Twilight, Palpatine sat with his private aid, Sate Pestage; a man introduced to Alura only through Palpatine mentioning the name in passing.
Alura hesitated before stepping forward.
This is a mistake. A mistake. He's not a Jedi and you know it. And even if he were...
"Palpatine," she said, suddenly standing next to him. He turned to see her and smiled warmly.
"Yes, Alura. I'm so pleased you made it. Do come in, have a seat." Palpatine leaned over to Pestage and said grimly, "leave us."
Pestage stood quietly and left. Without a word. Alura took his seat.
Palpatine watched the opera for an interminable time longer. Alura sat and watched him closely; reached through the Force, kept her outward appearance motionless to dispel any suspicion, and searched for Palpatine.
Behind the warm smile, she felt--
Nothing. Not even a speck of Force-sensitivity in the man. As if he were simply...there. Not adept in the least.
"Are you enjoying the Twilight, my dear?"
His voice was sudden and calm, and caught Alura off-guard. She immediately left the Force and focused on the present.
"Yes," she said, trying to hold firm. "Are...you?"
"Quite so," Palpatine said indifferently. "It is a welcome respite from the rigors of a day." He turned to her with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Waiting for a response. "Would you agree?"
"Yes." This was Alura being uncomfortable. Thoroughly.
And even if he were…he'll act on this. And you'll fall for it. You're a fool, Alura, if you think nothing will come of this. The idea of seeing a Senator--even one as curious and interested in the Archives as you--that's something else entirely.
"Do you...remember what we discussed yesterday?" Palpatine asked. As if she didn't know. Of course she did. She knew what they discussed, and she knew what he wanted. And she couldn't allow it.
The Code couldn't allow it.
"Yes," she said, craning her neck to see him. "But I see no purpose in raising the issue again."
Palpatine inhaled deeply. "You're still unwilling to make sacrifices."
"This is no mere sacrifice. You want me to break the Code. And you know I cannot do that." She wanted her point to get through Palpatine's thick skull, even if it took her all night. "I will not sell myself for a momentary gratification. I leave that to you and the rest of the politicians."
Palpatine shifted in his seat, making visible his irritation. Alura registered it as trying to get comfortable. He turned to her with a single eyebrow peaked.
"You don't think much of the Senate, do you?"
"No," she said promptly. And she didn't regret saying it either. "The galaxy is much larger than you and your cohorts pretend it to be, and yet you ignore its problems continuously. You sit in your seats of inscrutable power and pass judgment on those who can't pass it on you. You decide what's best for them without any say from the other side of the aisle."
"But you're a Jedi," Palpatine said thickly. "The type of person who operates outside the law—and the will of the people. Shall we talk about true accountability?"
"Oh come now," she replied. "Neither of us believes that, unless you've been listening to Master C'Baoth lately."
"I haven't," he said. Though…
"You've asked me repeatedly to look at the Holocrons, Palpatine. And I've repeatedly refused. It is a concept of morality, and I'm doing what I believe in."
Alura stood and straightened her robes.
"Sometimes I wonder if you know what that's like."
And without another word, Alura turned and left. Palpatine continued to watch the opera. Sate Pestage returned a minute after Alura left, resuming his old seat. He sighed and looked at Palpatine.
"So," Pestage said. "That went well."
Palpatine snickered and replied; his gaze still locked on the Twilight.
"She will not help us," Palpatine said, with the strange hint of a man who knew better.
"Then she's of no further use. I should think your master would come to a similar conclusion." Pestage spoke without hesitation. With conviction.
Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he said. "You're right."
Continued...
