Darth Plagueis - James Luceno [135]
The abandoned LiMerge Building had become the assassin’s home and training center; The Works and the fringes of the nearby Fobosi district, his nocturnal haunts. Circling him with the cowl of his robe raised over his head, Sidious asked, “The Jedi gained your respect?”
“They might have, had the infiltrators showed any skill. Had I been leading them …”
Sidious stopped. “The mission would have been successful? Jedi Knights and Padawans killed; younglings slaughtered.”
“I’m certain of it, Master.”
“Just you, against the Masters who make up the High Council.”
“By hiding and striking I could have killed many.”
Plagueis was right, Sidious thought. I have made him prideful.
The Yinchorri stratagem had failed, in any case. Additional Jedi had died, but Jedi deaths had never been the primary reason for instigating the crisis. What mattered was that Valorum had triumphed, with some help from Palpatine, it was true, but mostly on his own, by managing to bring Senators Yarua, Tikkes, Farr, and others over to his side and establishing an embargo. But with his political currency spent, Valorum’s position was more tenuous than ever. Even a hint of scandal and the Senate would lose what little confidence they had in him.
“You are formidable,” Sidious said at last, “but you are not a one-being army, and I’ve not spent years training you only to have you sacrifice yourself. When I bestowed upon you the title of Darth, it was not in reward for your having survived dangerous missions, starvation, and assassin droids, but for your obedience and loyalty. No doubt you will have ample opportunities to demonstrate your superior skill to the Jedi, but bringing down the Order is not your mandate, your hatred of them notwithstanding.”
Maul lowered his head, displaying his crown of sharp-tipped horns in their red-and-black field. “Master. As long as those who do derive the joy and satisfaction I would.”
“We shall see, my apprentice. But until then, there are matters we need to attend to.”
He motioned for Maul to stand and follow him to the holoprojector table and transmission grid—the same ones the Gran had left behind decades before, but fully modernized and enhanced.
“Stand out of view of the cams,” Sidious said, indicating a place. “For now, we want to keep you in reserve.”
“But—”
“Be patient. You will have a part to play in this.”
Sidious settled into a high-backed chair that wrapped around him like a throne and had a remote control built into one of the arms, his thoughts set aswirl by what he was about to do. Had Plagueis felt the enormity of the moment on Naboo all those years before when he had revealed his true self; removed, for the first time, the mask he wore in public? As empowering as it might have been, had the moment also been tainted by a kind of nostalgia; the loss of something so personal, so defining? What had been secret would never be secret again …
The comm caught Viceroy Nute Gunray in the midst of eating, and without the ear-flapped tiara and ornate azurestone collar that made him look like a jester. “Greetings, Viceroy,” Sidious said.
The nictitating membranes of the Neimoidian’s crimson eyes went into spasm, and his mottled muzzle twitched. “What? What? This is a secure address. How did you—”
“Don’t bother attempting to trace the origin of this communication,” Sidious said, while Gunray’s tapered gray fingers flew across the keypad of his holotable. “A trace will only lead you in circles and waste what limited time we have.”
“How dare you intrude—”
“Recently, I sent you a gift. A red-spotted pylat.”
Gunray stared. “You? You sent it?”
“I trust you had sense enough to have