Star Wars - Darth Plagueis

blue sky. The speeder followed a broad river valley into hills lush with foliage, where herds of short-limbed shaaks grazed and frolicked. As the speeder gained altitude, the river narrowed and quickened, fed by waterfalls and crystalline lakes. Pure white clouds were beginning to form at the summits of the higher peaks when the speeder slewed across a vast stretch of meadow and came to a halt in front of a majestic home built in the style of Theed’s fat domes and graceful towers. Two of the guards led him up a wide flight of stone stairs into a cool and dimly lighted foyer. Abandoned there, Plagueis wandered past wall hangingsand plinthed statuary to the opposite end of the foyer, where round-topped, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a veranda and a large lake beyond. Seated at a table were an aristocratic-looking female human of middle age and a sulking male youth of Palpatine’s age or younger, engaged in what appeared to be serious conversation. Touched by a breeze coming down off the slopes of the mountains, the surface of the water sparkled like Mygeeto gemstones. As Plagueis turned his back to the lake, his attention was drawn to a tapestry depicting the same family crest he had observed on the pocket of Palpatine’s jacket, and featuring a trio of creatures: veermok, aiwha, and zalaaca.
    He became aware of someone approaching him from behind, but didn’t budge.
    “Beautiful work, isn’t it?” a basso-voiced human said in Basic.
    Plagueis turned to find a tall man of patrician bearing standing at the threshold to a larger room.
    “As is the view,” Plagueis said, gesturing broadly toward the lake.
    Dressed casually, though in fine taste, the silver-haired man advanced into the foyer. “I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation to visit, Magister Damask.”
    “The presence of armed guards suggested an absence of choice, Cosinga Palpatine.”
    “They were for your protection, Magister.”
    “I never thought of Naboo as a dangerous world.”
    “For some it is,” the elder Palpatine said. “But now that you are here, allow me to show you around.”
    The tour took them through a dozen rooms adorned with plush carpets and works of art. Stonework predominated, but the furniture was constructed of the galaxy’s most prized hardwoods. By the time they stepped down onto the veranda the woman and the youth were nowhere to be seen, but the breeze had picked up and a storm was threatening. Cosinga Palpatine indicated an island in the distance, and the stately house that rose from the shore.
    “That is Varykino,” he explained. “A prize of the Lake Country. Once owned by the poet Omar Berenko, and presently occupied by the Naberrie family.” He glanced at Plagueis. “Are you perhaps familiar with Berenko’s masterwork, The Defense of Naboo ?”
    “Sadly, no.”
    “I’ll arrange for you to be provided with a translation.”
    “A copy in the original text would be fine. I’m fluent in your language.”
    Testing him, Cosinga Palpatine switched to Naboo to say, “Yes, I understand you’ve become quite the expert on Naboo politics.” Before Plagueis could respond, he waved his hand in front of a sensor that summoned three servants onto the veranda, each bearing trays of food and drink.
    Plagueis exhaled in a fatigued way. More food, he thought; more olfactory stimulation for human noses.
    They sat opposite each other at the same table the woman and youth had occupied earlier, and remained silent while the servants laid out the repast.
    “Fresh fruits, vegetables, and farinaceous dishes,” Palpatine said, indicating the spread. “No shaak or other meats.”
    Plagueis forced a smile. “Perhaps you’ll take up a study of the Muun language next.”
    His host frowned, then sat back in his chair to allow the servants to heap food on his plates. He didn’t begin eating until the servants had exited, and stopped after only a few mouthfuls and set his utensils down with finality.
    “Let me tell you a short story about Bon Tapalo and Ars Veruna,” he began, glowering at Plagueis. “Seventy years ago, some two decades after our own conflict with them, the Gungans found themselves embroiled in a war for survival with a mercenary army. Fortunately the Gungans prevailed, though not without many deaths and the loss of some of their swamp cities. Very little was ever made public regarding the cause of the war or the source of the mercenaries, but I’m willing to let you in on one of Naboo’s