Star Wars - Darth Plagueis

likely to win the Trade Federation any new allies,” Damask was saying. “But if nothing else we’ll be able to assess the performance of Gunray’s droid army and make adjustments as necessary.”
    “Through their own carelessness, the Neimoidians managed to compromise their secret foundries on Eos and Alaris Prime,” Palpatine said, letting some of his exasperation show.
    Damask eyed him. “For the moment, they have what they need. The acquisition of Naboo will demonstrate the failings of diplomacy, and prompt a sense of militancy among the Jedi.” Keeping his gaze fixed on Palpatine, he added, “In preparation for the coming war, we will relocate Baktoid Armor to Geonosis. Even then, however, we can’t equip our allies with sufficient weapons to secure a quick victory. A drawn-out conflict will ensure a galaxy pounded to a pulp and eager to embrace us.”
    Palpatine finally sat down. “We still need to raise an army for the Jedi to command. But one that answers ultimately to the Supreme Chancellor.”
    “A grown army could be designed to do just that,” Damask said.
    Palpatine considered it. “It sounds too simple. Jedi are not easily taken by surprise. Honed for warfare, they will be even more difficult to ensnare.”
    “At the end of a long war, perhaps? With victory in sight?”
    “To achieve that, both sides would have to be managed.” Palpatine blew out his breath. “Even if a surprise attack could be launched, not every Jedi would be in the field.”
    “Only those suitable for combat would need concern us.”
    Palpatine broke a long silence. “The Kaminoan cloners failed you once.”
    Damask acknowledged the statement with a nod. “Because I gave them a Yinchorri template. They told me then that your species might be easier to replicate.”
    “You’ll contact them again?”
    “This army must not be traced to us. But there is someone I might be able to persuade to place the initial order.”
    Palpatine waited, but Damask had nothing to add. The fact that he had said as much about the matter as he intended to say brought Palpatinefull-circle to consternation. Abruptly, he stood and paced away from the bench.
    “Instruct the Neimoidians to launch the blockade,” Damask said to his back. “It’s important that events be set in motion before the orbital facility congress.” When Palpatine didn’t respond, Plagueis stood and followed him. “What’s troubling you, Sidious? Perhaps you feel that you’ve become nothing more than a messenger.”
    Palpatine whirled on him. “Yes, at times. But I know my place, and am content with it.”
    “What, then, has whipped you to a froth?”
    “The Neimoidians,” Palpatine said with sudden conviction. “In addition to Gunray, I have been dealing with three others: Haako, Daultay, and Monchar.”
    “I know Monchar slightly,” Damask said. “He maintains a suite in the Kaldani Spires.”
    “He was absent when I last spoke with Gunray.”
    Suspicion bloomed in the Muun’s eyes, and he hissed, “Where were they, then?”
    “Aboard their flagship. Gunray claimed that Monchar had taken ill as a result of rich food.”
    “But you know better.”
    Palpatine nodded. “The sniveling toady knows about the blockade. I suspect that he’s on the loose, and out for profit.”
    Damask’s eyes flashed yellow. “This is what happens when beings are promoted beyond their level of competence!”
    Palpatine tensed in anger.
    “Not you,” Damask said quickly. “Gunray and his ilk! The Force harrows and penalizes us for consorting with those too ignorant to appreciate and execute our designs!”
    Palpatine took comfort in the fact that even Plagueis had his limits. “I failed to heed your words about sudden reversals.”
    Damask frowned at him, then relaxed. “I ignore my own advice. The blockade must wait.”
    “I will recall Maul,” Palpatine said.
* * *
    Two weeks after the Neimoidian’s unannounced disappearance from the flagship Saak’ak , Plagueis and Sidious knew only that Darth Maul had succeeded in tracking down and killing Hath Monchar—though not without wide-ranging collateral damage—and that Maul had piloted the stealth Infiltrator to a docking station linked by a series of zero-g air locks to the Perlemian Orbital Facility’s principal reception dome, a grand enclosure that looked out on a sweep of Coruscant and the stars beyond, and was designed to feel more like a garden in space than a sterile conference hall. Just then the