"Master." Kneeling, the Senator from the Chommell sector, Sheev Palpatine, put on his friendliest smile, hoping to smooth over the bad news with his own confidence and bravado. "I have unpleasant tidings..."
"I can imagine," Darth Plagueis—known to the world as Hego Damask—said, nodding toward a holoscreen hanging on the nearest wall as he poured two glasses of expensive Kuat liqueur. "I have been watching the news..."
Levitating a glass to Palpatine, the Muun sat in his chair at the back of the room, from where he watched his apprentice with a careful gaze, following every detail of his appearance with a long stare.
The Dark Lord looked serene, and even the trademark sign of rage—the golden eyes of a powerful Dark Side of the Force user—now only had a slight yellow tint... And that was unsettling.
Sheev swallowed thick saliva unnoticed, already imagining the list of tortures and humiliations he would have to endure after his report. This false calm told him much more than any words, shouts, or blows...
Plagueis was in a rage. A true fury that he managed to restrain only thanks to his mastery of meditation and experience in using the Force on his own body.
Palpatine had witnessed this once before, and he did not want to experience that whole parade of pain again.
"Several of our supporters and allies in the Senate have been imprisoned." Hiding his palms in his sleeves, where he immediately gripped the hilt of his saber, Sheev began his tale. "A true avalanche of accusations and arrests has swept through the structures of our allied forces. Many of those who shared our ideas and views on the future of the galaxy have found themselves behind bars or killed while resisting arrest..."
Without taking his eyes off the glass in his hand, Sheev continued to speak; nevertheless, all his attention was focused on his surroundings, for the Nabooian expected an attack at any moment.
"...An entire network of our informants in the Outer Rim has been exposed, and now the Jedi are striking blow after blow, pursuing every agent or contact as if possessed." Finally deciding to take a sip of the liqueur, Palpatine exhaled with pleasure. The amazing smooth taste, coupled with the warming effect, rolled down his esophagus, giving him a boost of vigor and endorphins. Out of the corner of his eye, the Senator from Naboo noted an understanding nod from his master, who apparently approved of his emotions regarding the drink. "Jedi Shadows are racing across the entire Outer Rim and Mid Rim, cutting down without question anyone tainted by association with Dark Side users or the criminal underworld. Pirate Barons, senators, diplomats, corporate directors, military officers..."
"Given the abundance of filth that has been dumped into the HoloNet, the Senate will now turn a blind eye to any of the Jedi's antics." Swirling the drink in his glass, Darth Plagueis turned a thoughtful gaze toward the window. A vein in his neck bulged for a moment, but a second later, the Sith regained control and spoke again in a calm and chilling tone. "This is a failure, apprentice. We have been dealt a blow we could not contain or prevent."
The glass in the Muun's hands cracked, shattering into pieces. The dark, brownish blood of the xeno mixed with the drink, but he didn't even pay attention to it, continuing to look into the distance, beyond the horizon.
"Long years of preparation... The Great Plan... The dream and goal of many generations of Bane's teachings. All of this is now under threat." A soul-chilling whisper drifted through the room. The Dark Side thickened around them, rustling with thousands of voices at the edge of consciousness. It mocked, provoked, raged, offered, and promised... everything at once and nothing at all. If only the old Muun would let his emotions take over, but the terrible thing did not happen, and Darth Plagueis spoke again after agonizing minutes of silence. "Someone in the shadows... Hiding behind the silhouettes of others... I know our enemy is out there... And it is not the naive and stupid Jedi, not the Senate with its rotten Republic, or anyone else... No. This is an enemy, a player, just like us."
Gripping his long, elegant fingers to his chin, the Muun paced the room, speaking his thoughts aloud. Ignoring the confusion and raised eyebrows of his apprentice, Hego Damask withdrew completely into himself.
"He knows about us. He knew exactly where to strike hardest to force us to go to ground. To stall our affairs and halt the Great Plan..." A new glass flew out of the sideboard. Carved from a single piece of crystal, it descended smoothly into the Muun's hand, only to be half-filled a second later. "Months, years, perhaps decades, we will be forced to wait and postpone our designs until the Jedi and the Republic settle down in their search for enemies."
"Perhaps then we should focus on other directions." Modestly speaking up, Sheev broke into his best smile. "Politics, capital, legislation..."
"Hm, indeed." Pausing, Darth Plagueis cast a look at his apprentice full of a mixture of emotions. There was so much there that even a politician as experienced and seasoned as Palpatine did not understand half of it. "You are good at that, apprentice, so occupy yourself with it... For now. As for me, since we have so much free time, I shall immerse myself in my research. I am on the verge of a breakthrough..."
"And what about our little Arkanian pet? It seems to me he took a direct part in all this chaos."
"Pff, of course." Snorting plebeian-style, Hego took a sip from the glass, and for the first time, a smile appeared on his face. "Zeta Magnus fancies himself a great player and a creator of the new... But he doesn't even have the brains to understand his own role in this global game."
"Do you think our new opponent is behind him?"
"Absolutely certain. That situation with the Katana Fleet, the escalation of the situation in the Outer Rim, the small wars with Assassins and planetary unions... And now this. An information bomb which, under the pressure of the arguments listed above, forced the Order to act decisively and send many of its knights to all corners of the Republic." Cracking his fingers, which had already managed to heal after the glass cuts, the Muun fastidiously examined his hand and, after a satisfied grunt, continued speaking. "But Magnus is too stupid, aggressive, naive, and sincerely believes himself a genius... His meager brains are not enough to pull off something like this."
"Then, we should set someone on Zeta to force him to reveal himself, and then capture and interrogate him. Assassins, the Order, Judicial Forces." Listing the options, Sheev saw doubt in his master's eyes and quickly fell silent. "Without a push, they won't manage, and we need to attract as little attention as possible..."
"True." Nodding approvingly, the Muun seemed to be slowly regaining his good spirits. "But I have one option..."
Pressing a few buttons on a touch keyboard, Hego opened a news feed showing ships of the Trade Federation, which now ruled over most of the galaxy's trade routes, except for the east and south of the Republic.
A few seconds of reflection, and an understanding smile lit up Palpatine's face.
"You suggest setting the Traders on the Baobab Clan?" Walking closer, Sheev thoughtfully rubbed his palms in the sleeves of his ceremonial suit. "Zeta has some kind of fierce conflict with the Assassins who cooperate with that clan."
"True, his impulsivity will play right into our hands. While the Traders settle scores among themselves, he won't be able to resist and will certainly try to strike at..." Reading the name closely, Plagueis recalled that he had heard the name of this organization, which ruled the east of the Outer Rim, more than once. "... the Helldivers. That's where we'll catch him."
"We can also drag the Order into it; let the Jedi seekers prowl there, distracting themselves from us and the Grand Plan."
"Good idea." Saluting with his glass, Plagueis discussed the nuances and details with his apprentice for a while longer. But after half an hour of conversation, he gradually fell silent and became immersed in his own thoughts.
Tired of waiting, Palpatine spoke up, hoping he hadn't made things worse.
"I will handle everything perfectly, master." Bowing, Sheev waited until his teacher dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Only when he was outside the house, in the passenger seat of his yacht, did he allow himself to exhale tiredly and smile. "That went better than I feared."
Yes, the Grand Plan had been pushed back indefinitely. Many of their assistants, informants, militants, research centers, investors, and political allies were under threat... But all these were trifles. The fate of the galaxy is decided here, in the colorful and bright halls of the Senate. At banquets where every dish could easily be exchanged for a good model corvette. At balls and in theaters, in the dark corridors where greedy, lewd, and vile Senators dispose of the fates of trillions. Since the chance had arisen, Sheev would devote himself entirely to politics, and everything else... he would deal with that somehow later.
Still feeling the taste of Kuat liqueur in his mouth, Sheev realized belatedly that it had been a mocking hint regarding his spying talents.
For besides the pile of filth about the Senate, rulers, and major dealers, the Republic was going crazy over other news as well.
For example, a bright and colorful announcement that Kuat Drive Yards was currently flooding the HoloNet with, inviting everyone to visit their open exhibition where they would present a new warship...
***
"And why the hell were we invited here? I'd rather be training my Pilots so they can kick ass at least half as well as I do."
Grumbling under my breath, I fall silent under the displeased gaze of Somnia, who is dressed in a rather exquisite mix of a dress uniform, a gown, and military attire. Holding my hand, she shot me a promising look, as if saying that if I didn't stop whining, my backside would be in danger and no Titan would save it.
Grimacing as if from a toothache, I still tried to pull myself together. Even if tonight was one of those evenings when you'd rather tell someone to screw off and collapse on the couch, but...
My lovely deputy looked so happy that I simply couldn't bring myself to refuse. Considering how much she had endured during my absence... plus the constant antics with other ladies... and then our ship getting shot down...
"Fine, I'll be a good cavalier today or whatever this crap is called..."
But before I could finish the thought, someone from our brave team behind us whispered quite loudly:
"Whipped."
Clenching my teeth in anger, I felt my back tense up. My dress uniform creaked dangerously, promising to burst at the seams at any moment if I started moving like a normal human being instead of a doll with a stick up its ass.
"Let's go already... jokers." The grinding of my teeth and the laughter erupting behind me were clearly audible to everyone within a couple of meters, but fortunately, the local bigwigs, aristos, and other riffraff considered us common trash and steadfastly ignored our company. At least those of them who could hire all the Helldivers at once with their monthly income. "Damn, again."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another crowd of weaklings from the Mid Rim worlds. Dressed in silks and gold, these plump, wealthy, and clearly living-beyond-their-means sentients joyfully surrounded me and my companion from all sides, showering us with compliments and inquiring about our opinions on numerous issues.
Representatives of the poor worlds from the Mid Rim are a special layer of society that cannot fit into either category. The high society doesn't accept them, just as is happening with us now... but the poor from the Outer Rim and beyond usually tell them to screw off, sometimes seasoning it with a blaster shot or a good kick in the ass just to teach them a lesson.
They couldn't afford their own decent-level armed forces, but at the same time, they didn't want to go into debt bondage to the giants and corporations, for they had pride and some semblance of income.
Therefore, the Helldivers were the ideal option for them.
Strong enough, proven, in good standing with the Judicial Forces—many pros, and the only con was that you had to get in before your colleagues. Because my people aren't infinite, and only a few lucky ones would end up under the reliable protection of my gang of thugs and killers under slogans of democracy and freedom.
They spun yarns, winked, hinted... but in fact, it could all be boiled down to one simple sentence:
"Boss, choose me as your favorite wife, I'm better than the others."
But help came from an unexpected quarter.
Like an icebreaker moving through the crowd, a young girl of quite pleasant appearance stopped in front of us, her mere appearance dispersing the gulls gathered around me. Graceful and thin as a reed, she was dressed in so much jewelry that the dress was simply lost against their background.
"Bitch, you could build a whole Adjudicator with those sparklers!"
"Mr. Sam Altman, I presume." Extending her hand to me, back-side up, the girl clearly took pleasure in watching Somnia's and my reaction. My confusion and my deputy's anger gave her sincere pleasure, but the bitch had picked the wrong targets. I squeezed her hand in a firm, soldierly grip. I jutted my jaw forward slightly and spoke in the dumbest veteran soldier voice possible.
"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Allow me to introduce my companion..."
"Um..." the stranger uttered quite un-aristocratically, after which it took her a good couple of seconds to recover and look me up and down with a new, much more frightened and confused gaze. "I... well... um, allow me to escort you, Mr. Sam Altman, you are expected at a meeting in the main hall. Alone."
"Of course, ma'am. A couple of seconds, ma'am." Shielding Somnia with my body, I put on a normal face and met the gaze of my deputy, who was steadfastly suppressing a smile. "I'll be stepping away, you're in charge. And prepare the shuttle just in case..."
"Do you think trouble is expected?"
"This is a spider's nest where people like us are a tasty snack for an appetizer." Glancing around, I notice dozens of gazes brushing over us and our wealthy companion. "There's clearly some corporate crap going on here, so it's better to be ready to get the hell out of here at the first opportunity."
"Alright, I understand." Giving me a final hug, Somnia whispered in my ear, her hot breath scorching me. "Be careful."
"Of course."
The walk with the silent and focused rich girl was a solid three out of ten. She was a terrible conversationalist, offered no snacks, didn't even give me any juice to drink. She just led the way straight to the goal, trying not to meet my eyes at all. But I was able to get a better look at her, and you know what? She's a minor brat. Behind the ton of makeup and trinkets, I hadn't noticed at first that my companion had barely hit sixteen.
"Probably where all the inexperience comes from. If this madam were the age of Stifler's mom, she would have easily shut me up with a few words and covered me in so much shit I'd only realize it on the way home."
"We have arrived." The girl's quiet voice brought me out of my thoughts. Displeasedly pursing her lips, she proudly tilted her chin up; she must have realized I was just mocking her. Without uttering another word, she walked away into the nearest corridor with a proud gait, while the gates to Paradise dissolved before me!
Just kidding. But everything looked so expensive, pompous, and wealthy that I was simply afraid to touch the things in the small hall with a couple of couches where all sorts of important people were seated.
I recognized a couple of senators I had seen in the news. Important and bloated, they were shamelessly consuming Glitzerstim. Standing near them was a human waitress with the most powerful poker face I had ever seen.
A representative of the Techno Union sat nearby, chatting gaily with a couple of frivolously dressed escorts who were practically hanging all over him. The man glanced at me but quickly returned to his business, enjoying his rest and good company.
Walking further, I noticed normal tables with sensible guests who were isolated from the others by movable hollow walls with a small barrier inside.
At one of the tables, to my shock and delight, I found Rick Dicker, who, noticing my stunned face, saluted me with his glass, which served as a signal for a bunch of welcoming nods and a rustle of greeting voices.
"Glad you responded after all, Sam." Shaking my hand, Rick put an arm around my shoulder, completely disregarding manners, to which all the guests reacted quite normally and simply continued about their business, though they occasionally looked our way with undisguised interest. "I was afraid such events were beneath you..."
"A coincidence, you could say I lost a bet..." A crooked smile crawled onto my face. I didn't want to tell Rick that I'd rather be in a coffin than at this kind of party, where for any careless word they'd cut out your whole family or destroy your life's work. "So it's you I should 'thank' for this..."
"Well," Dicker even looked a bit embarrassed, which was extremely unusual and suspicious, "I only suggested inviting you, and how it turns out from there..."
"I see. And who was so desperate for my attention that they invited a ragtag mercenary from the Outer Rim all the way to Kuat?"
"The biggest spider in this jar, Mr. Appetizer." A stately man approached us from behind, whose appearance clearly said this prick had never counted money in his life. Or he did count it, but in sums whose names are usually used as insults. "Dorian Kuat, at your service."
Smiling slyly with his jaunty mustache, a member of one of the most influential families in the galaxy stepped closer, involuntarily invading my personal space.
"I have a proposal for you... one you won't be able to refuse."
***
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