Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 01_ Betrayal - Aaron Allston [189]
Cuis had a totally benign face and a drab charcoal tunic that made him look like a harmless but well-built accountant. It was another elegant camouflage. Palpatine respected a man so secure in his own strength that he needed no external displays of menace.
“My lord, I don’t fully understand this mission, and you know that I need to if I’m to complete it.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable question, even for a Dark Jedi. “There’s nothing complex in it. Follow Lord Vader to the Parmel sector and, with colleagues of your choosing, kill him.”
“There are so many questions I must—”
“Kill him. He needs this.”
“He’s your apprentice. You invested so much in him.” Cuis had very dark eyes, almost perfectly black, and for a moment Palpatine wondered if he had more than human blood in him. He had stopped blinking and now focused slightly to one side of the Emperor. An idea had apparently occurred to him; he seemed relieved.
“You mean give him a test, my lord? A run for his credits, sharpen him up—”
“No, I mean kill him. I mean no quarter. Not a feint. A genuine assassination.”
Yes, Cuis had gotten the idea. Palpatine needed none of his Force skills to see that. The assassin was now swallowing frequently. “What if I don’t succeed?”
“I doubt you will succeed. And he’ll kill you—probably.”
Not a pause, not a flicker. A good man, Cuis. “A team would—”
“You will need a team, trust me. Lord Vader is not as strong as I had hoped he might be at this stage, but he remains a formidable opponent.”
Cuis took out a lightsaber and held the hilt in both hands. “I know. I have acquired a more suitable weapon.” With one snap he separated the hilt into two sections; energy streamed straight and vivid from each, one blade red, the other white. He swept slow, careful arcs with both weapons, shafts almost touching, and then shut them down and pressed the hilts back into one again. “This might be enough.”
Palpatine probed discreetly at the Dark Jedi’s mood. Yes, worried, but determined. Professional pride and a little healthy, welcome fear. Death was an occupational hazard for his kind. “I hope not.”
“But what if Lord Vader finds that you’re behind this?” asked Cuis, concern for his own chances of survival apparently set aside.
“He will,” said Palpatine. Oh yes, he would, and that was what Vader needed. “I hope he does.”
A Sith could pass beyond hatred and anger too quickly. Vader needed to become stronger, and fast. Betrayal would not surprise his apprentice, but there was a world of therapeutic difference between waiting for it and experiencing it.
If Palpatine had still been able to experience regret, it would have pained him at that moment.
PARMEL SECTOR, THE OUTER RIM
Vohai sprawled beneath the Lambda-class shuttle, a quilt of grim industrial sites interspersed with parkland and incongruously attractive residential towers. From the view port, Vader watched a single gleaming carriage zip along the unirail that hung two kilometers above the planet’s surface, reflected sunlight forming a burning pinpoint.
“We’ll dock very soon, Lord Vader,” said his aide-decamp, clearly interpreting his head movements as impatience. “My apologies for the delay.”
Delay? Vader hadn’t noticed. He was simply testing his focus again. It was interesting how much he could intimidate without even intending to now. This, he learned, was the value of sheer presence: the art of illusion. And to think he had once resented this grim black suit and longed for his whole body again.
“I expect our clonemaster at Arkanian Micro not to be late, though, Lekauf.”
The officer twitched. He made as if to put his hand to his chest—a self-comforting gesture—and appeared to think better of it. “He’s waiting, my lord. He’s at the facility, ready to run the demonstration.”
So easy: Vader was comfortable with himself now. Entirely comfortable.
The ship docked in a cool, cavernous