Reorganization

His master gave him a new assignment. A field trip to Iridonia to uncover what Plagueis called "a vergence."

But Sidious couldn't be bothered to leave the capital. The vergence would announce itself, when the time was right. Palpatine was confident of this.

He sent a drone ahead with pre-recorded images of himself. The images would relay back to Plagueis that Palpatine intended to stay on Iridonia for some time. If Plagueis meant to see progress, he would get it. After a fashion.

Meanwhile, there were more important avenues. Other situations that required Palpatine's focus. Finis Valorum had swamped Kalpana in the election for Supreme Chancellor.

Palpatine meant to capitalize on that.


Palpatine invited Sate Pestage to lunch at his private suite.

"Thank you for having me."

Palpatine bowed and smiled curtly. A wizened, grandfatherly smile that put Pestage immediately at ease. Despite knowing that Palpatine was anywhere but old. He'd never asked about it, but Pestage suspected the Chommell Senator to be quite over the hill. But not golden. Not yet anyway.

"You're quite welcome. Are you hungry?"

"Is the day so long?" Pestage smiled dimly.

Palpatine extended a hand to a transparisteel table and angled seats. Pestage took the hint and sat.

A caterer brought the hor's d'ouerves. Pestage made a small motion and noticed the silk patch on her breast pocket: 500 RepubliCatering. When she left, Pestage stared after her with a thin smile.

Palpatine cleared his throat and Pestage turned back.

"Apologies."

"No need." Palpatine waved a hand expressively. "Not anymore."

One of Pestage's eyebrows angled sharply.

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No," Palpatine said plainly. "Now...report."

"Ah, yes. Glad you asked." Pestage smiled gleefully and bent over in his seat, pulling a handheld comlink from his satchel. "As I've said, Veruna wishes to speak to you, at your convenience. I might point out that you've been holding out on him for weeks."

"And?"

"And he's getting anxious. Restless. He may just refuse whatever it is you have in mind."

Palpatine rolled his eyes. "Veruna is a fool. He won't get anywhere by playing hardball--especially by playing it with me."

Pestage's eyes lowered to his food. He knew well enough not to press Palpatine on certain things--especially matters of the Senate and its leader. And he finished the crab legs in silence.

"And how is Valorum?" Palpatine seemed to ask it almost as an afterthought. Like it wasn't even on his radar. "Has he turned the Chancellor's office into a brothel yet?"

"He's ambitious, but he's easily controlled. Perhaps you can use that." Pestage shrugged irritably.

"You sound upset."

"Almost. He's not right for it."

Palpatine looked up with a scrutinizing gaze.

"And who is...right for it?" he patronized.

Pestage said effortlessly: "You."

Palpatine stood, and went to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood motionless, staring out at the expanse of industry and city. In the distance a latticework of sky traffic ran across darkening skies.

It occurred to Pestage that the view was...odd.

And it struck him as unaccountably sinister that Palpatine's suite was uniformly colored red. It made the whole setting seem like something out of a dream...no. Nightmare.

"Sate." Pestage flinched at the uterance. Palpatine never called anyone by their first name.

"…Yes?" Hehesitated before answering.

"What do you know of the Sith lords, my friend?"

"Only what I remember from grade-school lessons. Why do you ask?" Pestage leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. It was a nervous tic, and this—

Well, this was especially nerve-wracking. Palpatine hadn't been this...this peculiar in months. He'd been energetic. Jovial. Even friendly. Pestage almost wondered what accounted for the change.

"What's going on?"

It came without effort. Palpatine says the words, and Pestage is entirely caught off guard.

"I killed her."

"What?"

"Alura. She's dead."

Pestage's brow furled momentarily. His eyes lit up in sudden realization. "The Jedi?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Pestage let out a single chortle and sat back in his chair, smiling in that smug and worm-like fashion. "I told you she would never help you."

Palpatine turned away from the window, his face shouting hatred.

"How fortunate I am to have an associate who sees fit to lecture me." Each word was forceful and biting. Pestage had overstepped his bounds; he knew it. Part of him was simply waiting for the lightsaber to slice through his chest.

"I'm sorry," Pestage said, bowing his head.

Palpatine sighed. "A casualty of circumstances, my friend. In any event, I've already disposed of the body, and planted a suitable excuse should anything be traced back."

"You've thought of everything?" This was Pestage's incredulity.

Palpatine turned back to him—

"Just everything the Jedi will ever think of."

—and began pacing. In the distance, the sun slipped out of view. Amber and pastel streaks crossed the sky. Pestage gave the sky one last glance, and stood. Made for the door, but stopped short and faced the Chommell Senator again.

"Out of curiosity...and it is not my place to ask, but...why did you kill her?"

Palpatine suddenly wore a scowl.

"She said no to me."


Palpatine put in an appearance to Veruna that afternoon.

Veruna was remarkably...unremarkable. On seeing the bloated and overindulged corpus of Veruna through the void of the Holonet, Palpatine was instantly annoyed. Here was a man who showed no apparent restraint and would likely apply those same practices to Theed. He was a fatter version of Kalpana; just as vapid and clueless and self-important.

Still, Palpatine wore his Dejarik face that day, appealing to what little sense of decorum Veruna had.

"Congratulations on your election, Your Highness." Palpatine spoke affably and relaxed. Despite personal misgivings, he realized Veruna was useful.

Indeed, as he spoke to Naboo's new Sovereign, Palpatine reached into the Force.

And he saw the future.

A future where Veruna didn't matter—a good omen in its way. A future where a young girl…would be his doorway to ascension. Yes. A young girl with a penchant for outlandish garb and impassioned speech. Even to Palpatine she was attractive—beautiful in a clinical sense.

But for now, Palpatine focused on the obese fraud before him, shimmering blue with the distance of light years. He felt nothing around the King. Veruna himself was a non-entity within the Force. But Palpatine sensed fault lines around the man. At the periphery of his being, Veruna glowed dimly. Palpatine's eyes narrowed, and he saw it.

Somehow...Veruna had a role to play.

Palpatine dismissed the possibility and contented himself thinking that Veruna's sole purpose was simply to be used. It was noble, for a man whose sole aspiration was to mediocrity.

"Thanks to you, Senator; your support has rallied for my installation. Together, I feel, we can once again make Naboo prosperous."

Palpatine smiled graciously. "Of course, Your Highness. Now, what was so important that it couldn't wait?"

Bright red circles in Veruna's cheeks curved in a toothy smile. A rather morbid assortment of browned and crooked teeth jutted from behind his stretched lips.

"I wish to speak to you about the Privy Purse--ways we can expand our revenues, in short. Perhaps we could arrange a more suitable meeting? At your convenience, of course."

"My dear King, it may be difficult to secure that." Palpatine wore a false expression of concern; creased brow and downturned mouth. Ashamed without being ashamed. "We've just elected a new Supreme Chancellor, and the corporate interests are beginning to take a renewed interest in political affairs. I fear a certain upheaval is in store for us here on the Capital, and I must be here to di"

The latter was partly true. The Trade Federation, largely quiet since its inception almost two centuries ago, had recently thrown its doors open again to speak of wider profit margins and higher taxes. The Federation and their newest Viceroy, a worm Neimoidian Palpatine didn't care to know, wanted economic courtesies. Handouts. The kind Kalpana had so willingly given to the Hutts, of all beings.

"I understand that, Senator. I'm merely asking for your advice on a few minor issues. You are, after all, our liaison to the Capital, yes?"

"Yes."

"And does that not entail a certain…airing of grievances?"

"Indeed it does, Your Highness. But hardly think of me as a complaint department. That is not my job or my intention."

Veruna's eyes narrowed and the hologram shifted its posture a bit. Palpatine suspected this was Veruna showing discomfort. He made no overtures of hiding it, either. The long and short of it, Palpatine had briefly and correctly surmised, was this: Veruna wanted a punching bag. One he could throw against a wall until the entire Senate would listen to the small backwater Naboo.

The universe was more complicated than that. Palpatine had little respect for those who did not respect him.

Alura. Kalpana. Even Valorum.

And now, this puling fraud flickering before Palpatine wanted something.

He would give them what they deserved. All in good time.


Continued...