How long should it take to murder seven people?
Nominated for this year's Galactic Peace Prize—for little more than showing the Vice Chair an obscene gesture, at that—the Sith Lord Darth Sidious had booked his suite in the most exclusive hotel on Ord Mantell a couple of days ahead of the awards and their obligatory ultra-formal dinner. His consultant would arrive in her adjoining rooms tomorrow; but for today, he needed the peace and quiet.
He needed time to think.
Unlike Sereiné, he could not leave mountains of handwritten notes and diagrams on a hard copy, or indeed anywhere at all. His long-range planning had to be done entirely within the mind.
Exceeding anything he might have dreamed of even one short year ago, his third year as Chommell Sectorial Senator had been wildly successful. It had made his name, seen him deliver speeches that would be taught in elementary schools and quoted from this point in history on, secured him a King's Commendation, a Monarch's Crest, and the Galactic Amnesty Award, and now this.
Quite a track record upon which to succeed Valorum, when the time came. Oh, but so much remained to be done before then.
So much remained to be arranged. He settled himself cross-legged on his soft hotel bed, wide as a meadow and fitted with the softest, most luxurious sheets—many thousands of credits' worth, no doubt—closed his eyes, touched the dark side, and settled into thought.
Sate Pestage had done a great deal of painstaking research on the Trade Federation Directorate, including setting up some test bribes. The conclusion, unfortunately, was that no one currently serving was going to be willing to blockade a planet over taxes. They did have some particularly unscrupulous souls just beneath the level of Director, however, and it was upon this group that Sidious intended to concentrate all his efforts.
He felt fairly confident that he could win the Chancellor's podium without a Naboo blockade. Oh, but did he want to take that chance?
Of course, his stock had just gone up this year in a very important fashion, and the architect of that would soon be joining him in this bed … but visions of a Separatist movement danced, beckoning, behind his eyes. Whoever a Separatist faction might be, they'd need a reason to declare, and a failed Naboo blockade would fit. It would be so easy to set himself up as a target.
If it weren't for that, he might leave off this aspect of the plans coalescing in his mind. But, in the end, the Trade Federation—and that was the obvious choice—had much more to do than simply elect him Chancellor.
He needed to leave himself a bit of leeway in establishing its Directorate. Whatever he decided to do about the troublesome Finis Valorum, it would not need to happen until sometime late in his seventh year or early in his eighth year in office. Sidious disliked the time frame, but his consultant was so sure he would win a second term, and if she were that certain of it, he needed to plan with that in view.
There was one upside: it would give him a comforting degree of cover. Leaving himself a bit of extra time meant approximately one Trade Federation Director needed to be removed per year, with some degree of overlap. He was giving himself five years to kill seven people, and he wanted to avoid anything dramatic if at all possible.
If he could depose someone in a manner other than death, it would be preferable; but it was risky, and Sidious was playing the long game. He didn't need a discredited Director rising from the ashes to reclaim his seat; yet, the less suspicion aroused, the safer. If it were necessary to stage some shocking and gruesome mass killing, he would do that, but it appeared now that some dramatic act would raise suspicion and cause unnecessary problems at this point.
There was the continuing problem of one Yan Dooku. Though he was off suspension and once again assigned off-planet, Sidious had no doubt the Jedi Master had not forgotten the LiMerge lair and the depths of the dark side that surrounded it. He expected Dooku to keep searching for the owner of the property, and one of these days, Dooku would find him.
What to do then, Sidious was as yet unsure.
"I suspect I am as close to neutral as I have ever been." Dooku had actually said that. If he would slip over the line, he could make a powerful ally.
Oh, but Sidious would have to be careful, careful. Could he deepen his acquaintance as Senator first? Sidious thought it could be advantageous, but he did not want to press that at all.
If the Force brought them together in the political arena again, so be it.
In the meantime, he had made the unpleasant discovery that Plagueis had clearly been capable of time travel, or astral projection at the very least, and had not even so much as breathed this to Sidious, ever. How useful that would be to monitor the troublesome Jedi Master! Yet Sidious had no idea where Plagueis, Force damn him, had even left writings on the subject.
That had to be addressed. Possibly in the records Plagueis had left him at Convergence? Palpatine must clear his schedule to make another trip home as soon as possible.
He had visions, visions of a great Clone Army. But not yet; not yet. Troubling his mind was the fitness of young Maul to lead an opposing army, and that had to be addressed now. He needed to line up affairs on Naboo so he would have a weak leader to advise once he blockaded; and agricultural policy needed to remain as it was, such that foodstuffs were sold and not stored. But Veritine was no longer an avenue he could pursue in that regard. If the former agricultural officer made any more trouble for him in that regard, Sidious's hands were simply tied.
Galling, but true.
His career needed to hum nicely along. With gratitude, Sidious was beginning to see that he could relax about that, and leave that oversight to someone else.
He also needed to set Valorum up to have limited powers. Putting him under investigation somehow would be the most expedient way to do that. Keeping an eye on everything going on with him would be important. Valorum was having serious marital problems, which could only help. If their mutual consultant could keep him up to date on that without sleeping with him herself, it would be one less thing he needed to worry about.
One last thing troubled him, bringing his mind back to the Trade Federation Directorate.
As much as he would have liked to leave these murders to Maul—and, as the apprentice, it was his rightful place—Sidious recognized the need for caution. Historically, as the Master retired from active missions, and sent his apprentice to perform them, the apprentice, with each successful mission, commanded more skill, more power in the dark side. And that would pose a danger to Sidious. Becoming complacent, losing his edge … also a danger.
Still, with a packed schedule and a high public profile, how could he simply disappear for a couple of weeks to kill someone?
Nonetheless, it would have to be done. He could only allow young Maul a certain degree of maturation in the dark side. He wanted his apprentice to have a full set of sharp talents, yes … but none so sharp as his own.
They must divide the murders almost equally.
That galled Sidious no end, but he did not like the alternative. He himself knew how his own power had grown with each successful task.
Especially when it involved murder. Careful as he was to avail himself of the privilege only when absolutely necessary, he knew quite well the difference in the dark currents around him when he had accomplished a necessary kill.
A war. Not for the first time, he allowed himself to contemplate that.
What might he feel in the dark currents of the Force then? And how could it be channeled to help him?
He itched, he ached, to find out.
All these objectives needed to come together at the same time, a process Sidious was all too keenly aware would drive any lesser being toward a nervous breakdown. He himself did not quite know yet how to elegantly solve all these issues. And yet, the dark side whispered around him.
It was with him.
The Force was with him.