Star Wars - Darth Plagueis

instincts hold sway over us. I have been sent to counsel you that the Force itself will become as if it had been but a passing fancy among the self-deceived—an antiquated illusion that will turn to smoke on the cleansing fires of the new age.”
    She paused once more, and when she next spoke some of the edge had left her voice.
    “What this reordered galaxy will need is beings who are fearless tobe arrogant, self-serving, and driven to survive at all costs. Here, under my guidance, you will learn to let go of your old selves and find the strength to recast yourselves as beings of durasteel, through actions you might never have believed yourselves possible of performing.
    “I am the pilot of your future.”
    She opened her arms to the crowd. “Look, each of you, to the ones to your left and right, and to those in front and behind …”
    Plagueis did as instructed, meeting innocent gazes and angry ones, frightened looks and expressions of loss.
    “… and think of them as stepping-stones to your eventual escalation,” the Iktotchi said. She showed her hands. “The touch from my hands will set the current flowing through you; it will trip the switch that will start your journey to transformation. Come to me if you wish to be selected.”
    Many in the crowd stood and began to press toward the stage, pushing others out of the way, fighting to be first to reach her. Plagueis took his time, finding a place at the end of a meandering line. While the notion of having a ready-made army of dark siders available to him was not without a certain appeal, the Iktotchi was spreading a message that had doomed the Sith of old, the Sith who preceded Bane’s reformation, and had allowed internecine fighting to propel the Order into oblivion. The appropriate message should have been that they relinquish their need to feel in control of their own destinies and accept the enlightened leadership of a select few.
    Saleucami’s primary was low in the sky by the time Plagueis reached the stone slab and stood facing the Iktotchi. Her broad hands took hold of his, and she tightened her thick fingers around his narrow palms.
    “A Muun of wealth and taste—the first who has come in search of me,” she said.
    “You were selected,” Plagueis told her.
    She held his gaze, and a sudden look of uncertainty came into her eyes, as if Plagueis had locked horns with her. “What?”
    “You were selected—though without your knowledge. And so I needed to meet you in person.”
    She continued to stare at him. “That’s not why you are here.”
    “Oh, but it is,” Plagueis said.
    She tried to withdraw her hands, but Plagueis now had firm holdof them. “That’s not why you are here,” she said, altering the emphasis. “You wear the darkness of the future. It is I who have sought you; I who should be your handmaiden.”
    “Unfortunately not,” Plagueis whispered. “Your message is premature and dangerous to my cause.”
    “Then let me undo it! Let me do your bidding.”
    “You are about to.”
    A fire ignited in her eyes and her body went rigid as Plagueis began to trickle lightning into her. Her limbs trembled and her blood began to boil. Her hands grew hot and were close to being set aflame when he finally felt the light go out of her and she crumpled in his grasp. Askance, he saw one of the Iktotchi’s Twi’lek disciples racing toward him, and he abruptly let go of her hands and stepped away from her spasming body.
    “What happened?” the Twi’lek demanded as other disciples were rushing to the Iktotchi’s aid. “What did you do to her?”
    Plagueis made a calming gesture. “I did nothing,” he said in a deep monotone. “She fainted.”
    The Twi’lek blinked and turned to his comrades. “He did nothing. She fainted.”
    “She’s not breathing!” one of them said.
    “Help her,” Plagueis said in the same monotone.
    “Help her,” the Twi’lek said. “Help her!”
    Plagueis stepped from the slab and began to walk against a sudden tide of frenzied beings toward one of the waiting speeder buses. Night was falling quickly. Behind him, shouts of disbelief rang out, echoing in the amphitheater. Panic was building. Beings were wringing their hands, jiggling their antennae and other appendages, walking in circles, mumbling to themselves.
    He was the only one to board the speeder bus. Those he had arrived with and the Selected who had built shelters above the lakes were running into the dark, as if determined to lose