Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 21)
Qui-Gon’s preparation for leaving the Temple had consisted of briefly splashing water on his face. Four days he’d gone with no rest except what he could find in meditation — had it not been for the message from Finis, he would have sought true sleep. Now he could not spare the time; he was too close.
Soon he would find Obi-Wan and bring him back. If he had to beg, or drag him to the Temple by force, he would. Whatever it took, he would not let this be the end of what they had.
Qui-Gon found a transport that would bring him nearest the coordinates Finis had sent him – no simple feat, considering how far down in the lower levels it was. Public transports were unsafe in that part of Coruscant, though a Jedi would have the Force to guide him. Even a Jedi in Qui-Gon’s somewhat deteriorated state would have a distinct advantage in such an environment.
Still, the Force urged him to caution.
The coordinates led him to a seedy little gambling house that Qui-Gon suspected might be a front for an unlicensed brothel. His insides twisted at the thought of finding Obi-Wan in such a place.
As he stepped inside, a Chagrian whom he had seen in the company of Finis on several occasions stepped forward conspicuously, making certain to catch Qui-Gon’s eye before disappearing into the shadows. Qui-Gon followed, as discreetly as he could manage under the circumstances. Even with his face concealed in the shadows of his cloak, he was still a formidable presence.
Unease crept up Qui-Gon’s spine, and he began to wonder why a man like Finis would wish to meet in such a place. Surely it would be unseemly for a man of Finis Valorum’s station to be seen in a lower level gambling house. Perhaps he had other dealings here, contacts of whom Qui-Gon was not aware.
The Chagrian led him through a warren of corridors, finally stepping into a small but tastefully appointed sitting room.
“Please have a seat,” he said to Qui-Gon. “Senator Valorum will be with you shortly.”
Qui-Gon chose a seat with a good view of the door, and tried to get a grip on his anxiety. He had verified Finis’ private comm codes on the message he had received, and he had certainly been in shadier places than this in his service to the Galaxy. Still, all he could think of was how close he might be to finding Obi-Wan.
What could he possibly say or do that would convince his young lover to come back with him? Once he had Obi-Wan in his arms again, he would never let him go; he told himself that would be enough.
His weariness must be catching up with him; he knew better than to focus on his anxieties when he should be living in the Moment.
“You look a bit tired,” The Chagrian commented, eying Qui-Gon sympathetically. “Would you like some tea, perhaps?”
Qui-Gon nodded gratefully and the Chagrian poured two cups and took a seat across from him. The tea smelled delightful, and tasted even better.
He’d taken three sips before he noticed that the room around him had dimmed considerably. His exhaustion must be overcoming him, sitting in the quiet room, letting his thoughts drift. Bringing the Force to bear, he realized that he had been drugged – too late to metabolize enough of it to maintain consciousness.
Bruck sensed the taint of Darkness nearby, something perverted from its natural state. He did not know what it was, exactly, but he knew it was a threat to Xanatos. Knowing he must do something, he began to struggle and claw his way back to full consciousness; it felt like dragging his naked body across broken glass.
Through the red tint of bacta, he saw Xanatos hurl the tainted object. Bruck heard the crash as it shattered, though the bacta and breathing apparatus muffled the sound. He could feel Xanatos’ rage, but he could also sense how he fought the Dark. It closed in around him, but he curled up on the floor, desperate to shut it out. Bruck’s heart flooded with pride. *Fight it, my love. You are stronger than the Darkness.*
Bruck doubted Xanatos could sense his encouragement, but he had to try. Whatever Xanatos might have done, he was still the most courageous Jedi Knight Bruck had ever seen. Few could have endured what Xanatos had been through and still have the strength to fight.
As the machinery around him registered his consciousness, Bruck concentrated all his energy on reaching out to Xanatos through their lover’s bond, realizing it had grown since he last examined it. Touching him through the lines of fate that connected them might be easier, but it might also confuse Xanatos. Later, Bruck could explain, and maybe it would not feel so strange.
Healer Phol and Padawan Li rushed into the room, followed by a med droid. The Healer’s apprentice sported a livid bruise on her face and avoided stepping too close to Xanatos, while Phol went directly to him. Xanatos did not fight her as she helped him into the bed and gave him an injection.
The med droid and the Healer’s apprentice examined the readouts on the bacta tank. When Phol had finished with Xanatos, she came over to the tank and looked Bruck in the eyes.
Unable to communicate otherwise, Bruck held her gaze, pleading to be freed from the tank. He pressed a hand to the glass, and glanced pointedly at Xanatos’ now quiescent form.
Phol took a deep breath, crossed her arms and studied the information given by the med droid and the tank monitors. Finally she looked up at Bruck and nodded.
Bruck relaxed, letting his hand fall to his side in the viscous, healing fluid. He could deny himself the luxury of time to heal in oblivion; he needed to be with Xanatos, to touch him.
Bruck could not see where others’ paths had taken them, but his path was set. Though only the next step seemed clear to him, he was content.
Bail hastily threw on his leggings and shirt, and asked, “Expecting someone?”
“No.” Kenobi’s answer was a soft moan. He sat on the bed, tangled in the sheets, clutching his head in his hands. He moved toward the edge, then doubled over with a sharp intake of breath.
“Are you well?” Bail leaned over to touch him. The steps came closer now, just outside the open bedroom door. Obi-Wan took his hand and sat up again. He looked pained, but hid it quickly as the door slid open.
“Sorry for the interruption, Senator Organa,” Chancellor Palpatine said softly, his courtly demeanor in sharp contrast to his situation, having barged into private rooms unannounced. “I suspected I might find you here. I knew you would not want to be late for the appropriations committee vote.”
“That meeting doesn’t begin for four hours.” Bail’s words were defiant, even as his hands busily put his clothing to rights. “You might have commed.”
The Chancellor opened his hand, revealing several of the counter-surveillance devices Bail had planted around Kenobi’s rooms. He collected another from atop a nearby bureau. “These are made with black market tech. Did you know that, Senator?”
“Yes, of course,” Bail answered. “I also know they are the only ones that are effective against black market surveillance.”
Kenobi glanced warily between the them, seeming almost as disconcerted by Palpatine’s fatherly smile as Bail felt. But when he spoke, there was no trace of anything besides cordiality in his voice. “Good to see you, Chancellor, though the circumstances are a bit... unusual.”
The Chancellor brightened. “Yes, dear boy! I must apologize for this intrusion.”
“If I might ask,” Kenobi said, as polite and cultured as ever, “how did you enter without the proper authorization key?”
It was Bail’s turn to stand mutely guessing what the subtext might be. Was the Chancellor a client of Kenobi’s? Had he been in on Bail’s entrapment all along?
“I have the proper authorization key.” The Chancellor smiled, giving Bail an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “This is one of several properties I’ve recently acquired from Senator Organa’s family.”
Bail’s world tilted at an odd angle, as if the ground had fallen away and he floated in a space where the words up and down had only theoretical meaning. He caught himself on the edge of the sleep couch. The impact of his behind against the cushion was jarring, but more dignified than the floor-sprawl that had threatened.
“What...” Bail couldn’t even form the question. Had the Chancellor used Bail’s indiscretions against his family? Did his father know... “Why was I not informed of this?”
“The transaction only took place a short time ago.” The Chancellor’s false smile deepened the lines around his mouth. Kenobi had gone pale; he held Bail’s glance a little too long.
Thoughts reeling, Bail checked his appearance in the mirror and crossed the room. If Palpatine had threatened his father with the exposure of Bail’s indiscretions, then he had miscalculated horribly. If his father knew the truth, Bail had nothing to lose beyond a political position that he had only taken out of duty. His father would never accept this part of his life. Never. So why should he pursue a political career to please him? Why should he live a lie if all his efforts could not win him what he wanted most – the approval of his father.
If his father knew, then in a way he was free.
Bail fiddled with his cravat, fingers and toes prickling with adrenaline. He tried not to smile as he approached Palpatine, a man so obsessed with political power that he could not imagine what had motivated Bail to take office. He might have meant to pull Bail’s strings, but what he had done was cut the puppet loose.
As the first shock passed, Bail felt more than a little smug, to have thumbed his nose at the Chancellor with the counter-surveillance devices. Clearly, if the old man were disgruntled enough by it to take such action – come here and interfere – then Bail must have hit a nerve. He’d shown Palpatine he had a will of his own, and the Chancellor had acted rashly. The old bastard had a surprise or two coming, but Bail would choose the time carefully. “I suppose we should be going, then, Chancellor.”
“You run along,” Palpatine answered. “You still have to change clothes, and I have a business matter to discuss with Kenobi. We might as well see to it now, hadn’t we?”
Palpatine didn’t seem to notice the way Kenobi’s eyes widened, but Bail did. There was real distress there, he felt certain. Perhaps Kenobi had been part of the plan to blackmail Bail, and was only now coming to understand the nature of dealings with the Chancellor. Bail didn’t really believe it, as he paused indecisively on the threshold of Kenobi’s bedroom, glancing between the two other men.
Kenobi nodded, ever so slightly, telling Bail that he could handle Palpatine. Still, Bail hesitated for a moment before turning to go. As he walked through the rooms toward the covered speeder bay, past two pairs of guards posted inside and outside the main entryway, he wondered whether Kenobi knew what sort of trouble had found him.
The Chagrian, Vasi Lientorv, left the sleeping Jedi Master where he lay. If the man had really been foolish enough to come to this part of Coruscant severely sleep-deprived and without back-up, then he deserved to wake up with a few knots. The potion he’d given the tall Jedi would wear off eventually, but by then he would be well on his way to a slave market on the Rim and Vasi himself would be well out of reach of the Republic.
He’d served Palpatine long enough to suit his tastes; it was time to get out while he still could.
As he left, he changed the coding on the door to the pre-arranged passkey. Around the corner he waited in the bar for the message from his contact that the package had been received. He stayed a bit longer to confirm the transfer of credits to his personal account, and then headed for the nearest spaceport.
At least this last job had not been anything too egregious. Surely slavers couldn’t hold a Jedi for long, if half the rumors about them were true. Even if they could, that wasn’t Vasi’s fault. A lifetime in political circles had taught him the value of plausible deniability. If it ever became an issue, he could claim that he had acted at Valorum’s behest. The statesman had been concerned about this particular Jedi’s mental wellbeing, after all.
He had only seen to it that Jinn got some rest, could claim to know nothing more about it than that. What harm could there be in making one Jedi sleep for a bit? He’d probably be in a much clearer state of mind when he woke, though Vasi had no desire to find out for certain.
Xanatos woke gently from drugged sleep, roused by the sweet scent of flowers. Not the same ones that had bothered him so unreasonably earlier — this was a subtler aroma, light and as pleasing as honey lilies, or the blossoms of a muja tree on a cool spring morning. He yawned hugely and opened his eyes.
He didn’t see flowers, though.
Looking around, he noted that the bacta tank had been replaced by a bed. Two large sun lamps shone down on Bruck where he lay, face ashen against crisp white linen.
“Bruck.” His voice no more than a whisper, Xan stared, wanting to go to him and touch him.
Bacta-crusted lashes fluttered open to reveal eyes as pale and bright as he remembered. Xanatos watched his lover’s lips twist into the familiar Chun smirk. “Xan.”
“Still here,” Xanatos muttered. “Thanks to you.”
Bruck’s eyes swept over him, and the smirk broadened to a smile. “Nothing better to do than watch me sleep, I see.”
Xanatos returned the smile. “Nope.”
Bruck’s answering chuckle turned to a coughing fit. Without thinking, Xan went to him. His legs gave way, but he caught himself on the edge of Bruck’s bed just as the fit passed. What he saw bothered him more than he cared to admit.
“You shouldn’t be out of bacta.”
Bruck shrugged, then winced at the pain the simple movement caused. “I’m tougher than I look, these days.”
Xanatos found Bruck’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Thank the Force. If you had died saving me-”
“Then I would have gone happily into the Force.” Bruck ran his fingers lightly through Xanatos’ hair. “You look like hells, Knight T’Crion.”
“Then it’s just as well you can’t see yourself,” Xan said. “I almost mistook you for kindling.”
That remark brought on a chuckle, but no coughing, which eased Xanatos’ unspoken worry. The silence stretched between them, and Bruck’s eyes slowly closed. Xan released his hand and stroked his lover’s wild, white hair. When he spoke, thinking Bruck would not hear, the words were barely a whisper.
“Am I worth saving?”
“You are to me,” Bruck answered in a voice rough with pain. “Though worlds burn.”
Unable to speak for the tightness in his throat, Xan watched as his lover’s eyes drifted open.
“Not a very Jedi sentiment,” Xan finally managed, trying to smile. His hands shook. Bruck winked at him.
Healer Phol entered looking casually cheerful, just as if Xanatos had not recently bloodied members of her staff. He moved back to sit on the side of his own bed. “Awake, I see!”
She went to Bruck’s side and squinted at the machines that encircled him. “You’re doing much better than I would have expected, Knight Chun al-Leem. Are the lights helping?”
“Yes.” Bruck said. His voice still sounded weak. “But the light tastes... odd.”
“When you’ve knit a bit more, perhaps we can try a stroll in the Temple Gardens.” She turned to Xanatos. “And how are you, Knight T’Crion?”
“I don’t feel particularly inclined to kill anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” The shame of his earlier behavior twisted through him like a cramp, but if Phol was willing to leave it for the moment, so was he. “Including myself.”
“Good to hear.” Phol had been monitoring him closely, so she must already know that much, but she still seemed relieved to hear it from him. “Tand will be coming by later. Try not to frighten him this time – either of you.”
Xan nodded, glancing over at Bruck. Phol caught the look.
“He’s going to be fine.” She patted the back of Xanatos’ left hand. “Having him around seems to be doing wonders for you.”
Xan looked down at his hands, hoping his face betrayed nothing of his feelings. “Where is Qui-Gon? I wanted to thank him.”
“I hope he has gone for some rest, but I’m sure he will be back soon.” She tapped on her data pad for a moment, frowning. “There is something else I need to talk to you about.”
Xanatos’ heart clenched; whatever she wanted to discuss, it didn’t seem likely to be good news.
“I have not been able to synthesize any of the substances we found in your blood after you were rescued. We have the molecular structure, but when we try to build it, the structure collapses before our equipment can complete it.”
Xanatos picked at a thread hanging from his linen bedclothes, and didn’t look up. “Why would you need it?”
“I was hoping that if we understood it better we might be able to synthesize an antidote.” Phol patted his hand again. It took all of his strength not to pull away from the touch. “We’ll keep trying. It’s a delay I had not expected, but I am still certain we can find a way to reverse the effects.”
“If the purpose of such drugs is to taint the Jedi on a larger scale, I suppose you’ll have to, won’t you?” Xanatos looked into her eyes, reading surprise and sadness there. “What, you think I didn’t know that part yet? That I was a lab rat in a larger scheme?”
“All available resources will be dedicated to finding a treatment, Xanatos. You have my word.”
It wasn’t an answer, but Xanatos knew he was right. Still, he believed her compassion for him was genuine.
“Would you tell your Padawan I’m sorry?” Padawan Li’s broken nose was one of several minor injuries on his conscience at the moment; he could not even bear to think of Kenobi.
Phol smiled kindly. “Perhaps you’ll have a chance to tell her yourself, soon.”
Xanatos nodded. They were obviously being careful who had access to him, though Phol seemed to have no concerns for Knight Chun al-Leem’s safety. That pleased Xanatos in ways he could scarcely articulate, even in his own thoughts.
Phol stood, preparing to go. “Master Yoda is outside,” she said. “He would like to speak with you, but if you’d rather-”
“Send him in.” Though the very thought of what the wizened old Jedi Master would have to say about his behavior filled him with dread, Xanatos knew he was in as good a state to face Yoda as he would ever be.
Phol nodded and left. Soon, Yoda floated in on his hovering chair.
“Good to see you looking so well, it is.”
Xanatos stared at him a moment, frowning. This was not what he had expected.
“Thank you, Master Yoda.”
“Been through much in service of the Order, you have.”
“Does that mean the Council-”
“No decision yet, we have made.”
Xanatos nodded, the closest he could come to a bow, while sitting up in bed. “I understand, Master.”
“One thing more to ask of you, we have.” Xanatos waited in silence, wishing the little troll would get to the point. “Testify before a closed Senate committee hearing, you must, or lose Senate approval to pursue the smugglers, we will. A grave threat to the Order, these toxins represent.”
“Yes, Master. I’ve known for some time that my testimony would be needed.”
“Less than three days, we have,” Yoda went on. “Fully recovered, you will not be.”
Xanatos felt a stab of panic in his chest. Less than three days? He’d have to stand before some politicians and speak of his ordeal — perhaps even defend his decisions. He took a shaky breath, filling his lungs with the soothing scent of honey lilies that permeated the room. He released his anxiety to the Force as easily as if his midichlorians had made a full recovery.
“I will be ready, Master,” he said, hoping it was true.
Palpatine gave little thought to Senator Organa’s rapid shift of mood. Being a weak sort by nature, the boy had probably resigned himself to the state of things fairly quickly.
Besides, the Chancellor had more pleasant tasks at hand.
Kenobi sat before him, naked limbs still tangled in his bed sheets. This one had responded quite satisfyingly to his Dark Force probes, just as he had at the gala. Palpatine found him very sensitive to the Dark Side, yet strangely rooted in the Light for one of his background and upbringing.
Palpatine kept the Dark pressure on his mind, but if it still caused Kenobi pain he hid it very well. He looked so fresh with his skin still aglow from his exertions with the Senator from Alderaan. Kenobi smiled at him, no doubt recognizing the way Palpatine’s eyes wandered.
So certain of his charms, Palpatine thought, already anticipating the games to come.
“What may I do for you, Chancellor?” Kenobi’s tone was both cultured and cordial. Lady Essa had taught him well.
“The real question is what can I do for you, dear boy.” Palpatine smiled.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Have you had much success in securing clients? Other than Senator Organa.” Palpatine smiled as he watched the flush creep up Kenobi’s skin.
“As much as can be expected,” Kenobi answered, still keeping emotion from his voice, though it showed in his complexion. “These things take time.”
“The delay on your license to practice on Coruscant is more than routine, I’m afraid.” Palpatine let his smile fade, just to be certain Kenobi didn’t miss the threat. The boy was under a bit of psychic stress at the moment.
“I’ve heard nothing of a delay.” Kenobi seemed cool enough on the outside, but Palpatine could sense his growing unease. “I’ve already been granted a provisional license while my credentials are under review for the more permanent one.”
“Yes, of course.” Palpatine moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. “But what if they found something objectionable in your record?”
Kenobi swallowed before he spoke; Palapatine watched the movement of his throat with satisfaction.
“I’ve always followed the rules, I assure you, Chancellor. There is nothing objectionable to be found.”
“No youthful indescretions?” Palpatine touched him then, fingers lightly brushing Kenobi’s throat, thumb caressing the cleft of his chin. “I find that hard to believe of such an attractive young man.”
“None since I was certified.” Kenobi smiled, turning so his cheek brushed Palpatine’s palm, eyes lowered almost coquettishly.
Oh, he was good.
“Really? No safe sex violations – even on a certain pleasure cruise shortly after you completed your training with Lady Essa?”
Palpatine felt the mixture of shock, fear and shame roil around Kenobi before he spoke. It took a moment – Kenobi seemed to have the wind knocked out of him.
“That was not by choice,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and spoke in a more normal tone, still fighting back the tide of emotion Palpatine could sense around him. “Cragin made sure I would have no control over my clients’ actions – so he would have something to hold over me if I tried to find a better situation with my new credentials.”
“I’ve no doubt that is the truth.” Noting the tension in Kenobi’s fists where he clutched the bed linen, Palpatine placed his own hand comfortingly on Kenobi’s shoulder. The boy shivered. “But the license committee could still revoke your interim license while they investigate the claim.”
Palpatine let his hand slip from Kenobi’s shoulder, down along the curve of his naked back. “That is, if they discover the incident at all.”
Kenobi met his gaze; Palpatine watched understanding dawn in his changeable eyes. “They don’t already know of it?”
“No, dear boy.” Palpatine laughed as if he had never intended for Kenobi to think otherwise. “Of course if they discover it, a word from me could still ease your way.”
“How could I ever repay such a kindness?” The hint of a smile played across Kenobi’s lips, as natural-looking as if he were not being blackmailed. He thought he knew what was coming – a fact that would make the next step all the more pleasant for Palpatine.
“I have a few ideas concerning that very subject,” Palpatine said.
Just as Kenobi leaned in to kiss him, Palpatine stood and walked through the door. Kenobi followed, still decoratively wrapped in the sheet. He hesitated in the doorway as soon as he saw the red-robed guards.
“Come along now,” Palpatine said with mocking cheerfulness. “Don’t be shy. These are merely my bodyguards – I’m never without at least two of them, due to my position.”
“I see.” The smile that twitched across Kenobi’s face didn’t reach his eyes.
“Show me how good you are, Kenobi.” Leaning back against the gaudy sectional seating Bail Organa had so thoughtfully purchased, Palpatine opened his robes, exposing himself below the waist. “No need to bring the linen.”
Kenobi’s grin turned sly and he stalked forward. The sheet fell; Palpatine grinned. Nudity only increased the boy’s confidence if his swagger were any indication. His boldness was impressive as he walked up very close, leaning in as if to kiss Palpatine on the lips. At the last moment he dropped to his knees.
The guards generally affected boredom and disinterest when they chanced a glimpse of Palpatine’s intimate recreation, but he knew their eyes were on Kenobi now.
Kenobi knew it, too. He set about coaxing Palpatine’s flagging member to interest – teasing with warm breaths, soft kisses and licks. His attentions grew gradually more insistent, and Palpatine smiled to himself as he felt Kenobi’s anxiety begin to rise.
He didn’t know – couldn’t know – that Palpatine’s tastes had long since passed beyond the reach of such simple pleasures. He needed to taste the fear, the anguish of his playmates, to violate the sanctity of their very souls with his peculiar talents.
The time would come when he would taste all Kenobi had to offer, but this was not it. Not yet.
Palpatine pulled away just as Kenobi’s anxiety reached the point where it might have weakened his resolve. He closed his robes, enjoying the fear and confusion he saw in Kenobi’s wide eyes and the line appearing between his brows.
“Chancellor, I-”
“That was rather disappointing.” Palpatine cut him off with little effort – didn’t even have to raise his voice. Perhaps he would be more easily broken than he had first thought. “I had such high expectations for a pupil of Aras Essa’s.”
Kenobi sat back on his heels, eyes lowered. Palpatine brought his dark gift to bear on the boy’s mind, only to find him pondering how to help the elderly Chancellor save face.
“I apologize, Chancellor. Please forgive my clumsiness.”
*Impertinent little whore!* Palpatine pushed harder into Kenobi’s mind, only to find a surprisingly strong mental shield in place. Still, his efforts seemed to cause the courtesan pain, for he pressed a hand to the side of his head and winced. Good. Maybe this one would be more of a challenge after all.
“Nonsense, dear boy,” Palpatine said in his most fatherly tones. “As Chancellor of the Galactic Senate, I have many weighty matters on my mind.”
“Would you like some tea?” Kenobi stood and took a single step toward the kitchen, apparently unconcerned by his nudity. “Perhaps I could help you relax, given the opportunity. I am quite proficient in many forms of massage.”
Palpatine smiled. “As lovely as that sounds, I’m a bit pressed for time at the moment.”
Kenobi’s face fell into such a convincing expression of disappointment that Palpatine chuckled, managing at the last moment to make it sound indulgent.
“I really must be going.” Palpatine walked toward the private entrance. “It will likely be some time before I am free to visit you again.”
“But you will come back?” Kenobi followed a few steps behind, a picture of eager attentiveness. “Give me something to look forward to.”
He smiled shyly then, if a nude courtesan can be said to seem shy. What a clever actor this one was turning out to be.
Palpatine stopped as if seized by a thought. “Perhaps there is something you could do for me in the intervening time? Just to make our agreement equitable, you understand. This is a rather expensive place to maintain on a public servant’s compensation.”
Kenobi’s expression had gone sly, and Palpatine knew the courtesan had suspected his motives all along. “What did you have in mind, Chancellor?”
“Government compensation being what it is, I thought perhaps you could see your way clear to entertain my personal bodyguards on occasion — off duty, of course – when I do not require your services.” Palpatine watched the calculating thoughts pass behind Kenobi’s angelic eyes. He had more than enough leverage in place to coerce Kenobi to his will, but the longer Kenobi believed he had a choice in the matter, the more enjoyable his undoing would be when the time came.
“Such an arrangement would more than cover the rent, I believe.” Kenobi seemed to be doing sums in head. “If I am to be at your disposal all the time, for whatever reason, there should be additional compensation.”
Glad to be coming to the heart of the matter at last, Palpatine gave up the pretense of poverty. It hadn’t fooled Kenobi for a moment, but it had served its purpose. Let him think Palpatine an impotent miser for now. “Twenty-five thousand a cycle should cover it, don’t you think? Plus supplies, of course.”
“On a public servant’s compensation?” Kenobi smiled slyly.
Palpatine uttered a self-deprecating laugh. “I do have some private income, as I’m sure you’ve surmised.”
“Then I believe we have an agreement, Chancellor – provided your men keep to the rules.”
Palpatine turned to the two red-clad guards who had moved to stand just behind him. “Barriers every time. No exceptions.”
Palpatine stepped past them and the door to the private speeder bay opened, revealing two guards waiting there for him. He paused on the threshold and turned to speak. “Well then, Kenobi-”
“Obi-Wan,” Kenobi interjected. “Please.”
“Very well. Obi-Wan,” Palpatine said, again with his most disarming smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Palpatine exited then, while two of his bodyguards remained behind. The door closed on the cultured tones of Kenobi’s over-cheerful voice.
“Well, then. Who’s first?”
Palpatine would have to wait for his surveillance feeds to see the look on Kenobi’s face when he heard their answer.
Part 23
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