Star Wars - Darth Plagueis

mugs on a table that enjoyed a pool of shade.
    “Join us, please,” the Cerean said, nodding his tall conical head toward the table’s spare chair.
    Plagueis stepped toward the table but declined the chair.
    “A locally produced beer,” the Zabrak said, pouring from the flagon. “But I saw a bottle of Abraxin Brandy inside, if that’s more to your liking.”
    “Thank you, but neither at the moment,” Plagueis said. “Perhaps after working hours.”
    The Cerean motioned to himself. “I am Master Ni-Cada. And this is Padawan Lo Bukk. What brings you to Abraxin, citizen—”
    “Micro-loans,” Plagueis cut in before having to provide a name. “The Banking Clan is considering opening a branch of the Bank of Aargau here as a means of shoring up the local economy.”
    The Jedi traded enigmatic looks over the rims of the mugs.
    “And what brings the Jedi to Abraxin, Master Ni-Cada? Not the shellfish, I take it.”
    “We’re investigating the recent killings of marsh haunts,” the Zabrak said, perhaps before his Master could prevent him.
    “Ah, of course. My droid and I saw the bodies of four of the pitiful creatures when we entered the settlement.”
    The Cerean nodded gravely. “This so-called Blight will be over by tomorrow.”
    Plagueis adopted a look of pleasant surprise. “Wonderful news. There’s nothing worse than superstition to cripple an economy. Enjoy your drinks, citizens.”
    OneOne-FourDee waited until he and Plagueis were well out of earshot of the Jedi to say: “Are we departing Abraxin, Magister?”
    Plagueis shook his head. “Not before I find the Nautolan. I’ve no choice but to attempt to draw him out of hiding.”
    “But should you call on the Force, you’re likely to attract the Jedi, as well.”
    “The risk may prove worthwhile.”
    They spent the afternoon eavesdropping on conversations about the locations of the killings, and determined that Naat Lare, whether he realized it or not, had been following a pattern. In the darkness at the edge of the settlement, at a spot along the bloodsucker-plaguedshore of the dark swamp, some six kilometers from the market, Plagueis peeled out of his leggings, tunic, and bonnet, and slipped naked into the murky water. With an aquata breather clamped between his teeth, he propelled himself to the bottom. There, squatting in the muck, he opened himself fully to the Force and summoned the Nautolan, whose Force and olfactory senses might suggest that the mother of all marsh haunts was at hand for killing. A tattooed female Nautolan named Dossa had once been deemed suitable to serve Sith Lord Exar Kun; who knew what gifts Naat Lare might possess?
    Surfacing to the riotous stridulations of insects, Plagueis leapt to the muddy shore, dressed, and perched himself in starlight on the slippery roots of a leafy tree. Shortly, he sensed an echo in the Force and saw ripples in the water some distance away. In the dim light, a blue-green nest of head-tresses broke the surface, followed by a pair of lidless maroon eyes. Then the amphibious sentient from Glee Anselm appeared, pulling himself ashore like some devolved beast and fixing his attention on Plagueis.
    At the same time, Plagueis heard the sound of a water skimmer approaching rapidly from deeper in the swamp, and sensed the presence of the two Jedi.
    “You’re not Venamis,” Naat Lare said in Basic, one hand on the hilt of a vibroblade strapped to his muscular thigh.
    “He helped you escape Bedlam and sent you here as part of your training.”
    Naat Lare’s hand closed on the hilt. “Who are you?”
    Plagueis stood to his full height. “I am Venamis’s Master.”
    The Nautolan looked confused, but only momentarily. Then he genuflected in the mud. “Lord,” he said, lowering his head.
    The sound of the skimmer was closer now, just around a bend in the swamp. “Two Jedi have tracked you.”
    Naat Lare’s tresseled head swung to the sound of the skimmer.
    Plagueis began to retreat into the shadows, and into mundane nature. “Prove yourself worthy to me and Venamis by killing them.”
    “Yes, my lord.” The Nautolan sprang to his feet and dived into the slime-covered water.
    Deep in the leafy trees Plagueis waited. The skimmer’s motor wentsilent; then water surged and shouts of alarm and sudden flashes of light erupted in the night.
    “Master!”
    A harsh guttural sound rang out, followed by a scream of pain.
    “Stand aside, Padawan.”
    “Master, it’s—”
    Another scream,