Hugo Damask looked out from the tip of Mammon Spire, headquarters of the IGBC across to the Senate Building, or as he thought of them, his top customers. Almost half of them were his, bought and paid for. They may not know it, think themselves free of corruption or be beholden to someone else entirely but all led back to him. Of the others, a third were deliberately being blocked, stymied and ignored. When the time came, they too would play their part. It was the last sixth that was giving him trouble. They were supposedly incorruptible, dogmatic or overly idealistic. Still, everyone had their price and if not the senator then maybe their support staff could be turned one way or the other. It was the greatest game board in the Galaxy and Darth Plagius wanted every single piece in the absolutely correct place.
The Grand Plan demanded nothing short of perfection after all.
Sanco Bors was hurrying along Celestia from the Mammon hoping to make it to the maglev station to beat the weather when a sight accosted him. A native of Coruscant, there was little that could surprise him. Nonetheless, he stopped and stared at the sight before him. A crowd was mobbing a store, struggling to get in. The store was new, nothing of note in this district. Nor was the lurid holobanner advertising its wares, all stores sported such. The extraordinary part was the announcement.
'Millicents 50 g Milk chocolate for 1 cred' it read accompanied by an image of a block of chocolate. All in gold and purple.
Sanco couldn't believe it. Chocolate was rare and valuable, used as an extravagant garnish. A cup of chocolate was an act of conspicuous consumption with a price tag equal to a fine meal. Even if the supposed bar contained only a trace of the magical spice it's price would still be a dozen creds. This was merely some gimmick, some synth flavouring. News today, gone tomorrow.
Then the smell wafting from the store hit him. Memories of an opulent banquet thrown by his work returned. He accosted a Latra exiting with a small bag and raising a bar to bite it.
"Is that really chocolate?" he asked.
The being did not pause and took a bite, "Why yes, you should hurry before they run out," the Latra said possibly. With it's mouth full, it was hard to tell. The being swallowed, "Well, they pad it out with milk and sugar, but that only makes it delicious," it said clearly before taking another bite.
Sanco decided he could risk a little toxic rain just in case the claims were true.
Palpatine looked up and rubbed his chin as he regarded Millicent, all red-faced and flustered waving a sheaf of flimsies.
"What exactly is the problem?" he said mildly.
"We're running out of chocolate?"
Palpatine rubbed his chin again, "Running out my dear?"
Millicent paused and took a breath, "We can't get the cocoa from Dagobah to Corruscant fast enough. We'll be out in three weeks!"
Palpatine looked at the flimsies still being waved about, "May I?" he said holding out a hand.
Millicent handed over the flimsies and Palpatine began to read them. "Well, no big problem. Buy some bulk freighters and crews.
"I can't do that?" protested Millicent.
Palpatine smiled, "Why not? We, or rather you have sold some one hundred and fifty tonnes of chocolate in ten days. You could buy a small fleet out of the petty cash." he said mildly and pointed to the number at the bottom of one of the flimsies. A very large number.
MIllicent read the figure. It was a delight to Palpatine to see the realisation dawn on the young woman's face. Yes dear, you did that. He thought well, you and the small army of Orga Lorgas, droids, chemists, and a resident engineering genius.
"But, I don't know anything about starships and we cannot wait for them to be built." she protested.
"Hmm, good point, neither do I," said Palpatine, he steepled his hands. "But we do know someone who does," he said with another smile.
"Anakin?"
"Anakin."
Anakin waved at the docking bay packed with light freighters hastily being painted in purple trim. "This should get everything moving," he said.
Millicent looked them over and suppressed an internal scream as she protested that she couldn't be the owner of a fleet of starships. She was a classics major! "Aren't they a bit, small?" she hazarded.
Anakin grinned, "Size does not matter," he said which evoked a snort from Millicent, "What?"
"Oh, never mind Anakin. You'll find out, but aren't transports normally, uh, bigger?" said Millicent.
"These are faster though. Both in real and hyper. See that Correllian there?" Anakin said pointing out one freighter indistinguishable from the others to Millicent's eye, "It can do the run to Dagobah, get back and be halfway along again before a Bulkie makes the Coruscant transfer point. They're also armed and fast meaning pirates won't be so big a problem. Um, have you thought of getting some light escorts? That'll make the route even safer if you patrol it." said Anakin.
"Escorts?" said Millicent.
"Well, they're even faster. Something to think about," said Anakin.
"Maybe? I think I'll stick with merchant shipping for now, This all feels so rushed," said Millicent.
"Oh that's usually the best way to do things, trust in the Force, and yourself of course," said Anakin.
Palpatine's face fell as he saw the Jedi enter. It was the Stewjonian, Kenobi. He mentally braced himself for a request that even a regular stoic aesthete would consider bland. So it was quite surprising when the man walked straight to the bar and ordered a double whiskey.
The Jedi looked at the drink. The Jedi grimaced and downed the drink.
"Another," he said.
The barkeep quickly poured another and set it down.
The Jedi looked at the drink, then again downed the drink.
"Another," he said.
Palpatine decided this warranted further investigation, if only for the sake of his stock of Goldian single malts. He moved over.
"Something the matter, master Jedi?" he said.
Kenobi looked at him, then waved at the barkeep who refilled his glass. He then turned back to Palpatine.
"You ever feel like there was some great decision in your life? One that would change everything?" he said.
"The Luminous Order wanted to take over the Galaxy. I chose otherwise," said Palpatine with a smile.
Kenobi looked back at his drink. He drank the drink.
"A good choice. Myself, I chose to become a Jedi Knight. A life dedicated to maintaining peace and justice in the Galaxy. There is no higher calling. Another," he said.
The barkeep poured the drink. Palpatine waved for one too.
"Indeed Master Kenobi. It must be an honour to receive and be able to heed such a call."
"It is. It is. On every day, except this one," said Kenobi. He looked at the drink. He drank the drink.
"So, what was, her name?"
"Satine Kryze. This is the anniversary of our falling out. We both, said things we regretted. Now, when our paths cross the old wounds and words come out. Not exactly Valen reborn is it?"
"Have you considered communicating your regret perhaps in culinary form? If both of you have your mouths full there is less opportunity for the wrong words."
Kenobi looked forlornly at Palpatine. "I know little of your arts,"
Palpatine smiled, "Then I shall instruct you. I do so love a challenge."
For to teach a Jedi from Stewjon how to craft the perfect apology as a meal would be a challenge indeed.
Two weeks later Palpatine regarded his project's latest attempt. He carefully prodded the mash. It squelched. The largo roots were unevenly cut and the lorso was now fit only as being used for shoes. As for the leps?
"Grey. How curious. Traditionally a boiled lep retains the underlying purple. To remove even that is astonishing," said Palpatine.
"Not in a good way though. I am sorry, Palpatine. This is a waste of time for both of us," said Kenobi
"Nonsense, the greater the challenge the greater the victory. I also doubt you were so quickly skilled in the Jedi arts either," said Palpatine.
"Oh no, I was lifting massive rocks and sitting on the council only a day after arriving," said Kenobi with a chuckle.
"Well, cooking is a little trickier. Let's try slicing, but this time treat the knife as if it were your laser sword," instructed Palpatine.
The results were, if not encouraging a marked improvement and did not resemble the actions of a deranged assailant with a grievance against vegetables.
This was going to take time.
Shmi watched as the Jedi removed what had been intended to be a cake from the oven. As the container was upended a blackened mass fell onto the table with a heavy thud. The Jedi shook his head ruefully.
"I guess I am just not cut out to be a cook," he said.
"What was it intended to be?" asked Shmi.
'A sponge,"
"Oh, dear. Palpatine tells me you are doing this to impress a woman. That's rather unusual for a Jedi." said Shmi.
"It is. I chose the Order over her and things have been awkward ever since. Since words have failed me I thought maybe cooking."
"A good way. Say, where is she from?"
"Mandalore."
"Well, that's where you're going wrong. No Mandalorian's heart was ever won over by sponges. Sheev is also over ambitious at times." said Shmi and she began collecting ingredients. "Here try this. Rolled oats, honey, spice, brown sugar, some butter and flour to hold it all together," she added the contents to a bowl as she spoke. "Now combine them with this spoon and then make them into small balls which you flatten by pressing them with a finger."
Kenobi did as instructed. Soon he had a tray of the small sticky discs.
"Now we bake them for oh, fifteen minutes," said Shmi.
The third batch actually resembled biscuits.
Satine regarded the container and contents with suspicion. While security had scanned them and could find no trace of poisons, she knew such devices were not foolproof. Still, they were Mandoa trail biscuits. She remembered taking them with her on hikes and camping when younger. No true Mandalorian could resist them. She picked one up and bit into it. Delicious!
It was then that she noticed the card. On it was a handwritten message, such an oddity in the Galaxy. She read it and then took another bite.
"Apology accepted."