Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 33)
Bruck came to consciousness as someone flung him face down on a cold metal table. He kept still, trying to assess his situation. He’d been in the bright, white-walled atrium of Lady Navil Rubia’s complex. His escort had directed him to refreshment along the side corridors, separated from the main atrium by rows of columns. The guard had wandered off, and Bruck set about exploring the place,
building a schematic of it in his mind as his training told him was prudent. It never hurt to have a lay of the land, after all.
Force dampened as he was, Bruck had no warning of the attack. Someone grabbed him from behind. He kicked and fought as he was trained to do, landing a few decent blows on his two attackers. They did not hit him back. He felt the prick of a needle on his exposed shoulder, and that was it.
He remembered trying to metabolize the toxin, but the collar made him slow. He was wrapped in cloth and hoisted to someone’s shoulders, but by then the world had dimmed completely.
The cloth was off him now; the cold metal against his flesh was evidence enough of that. He opened his eyes just a crack, seeing only metal and a dim light. Footsteps rang hollow on metal deck plates. He was on a ship, but the lack of vibration meant they were not underway. He heard the sound of a ramp closing and
tried to push himself up, to bolt for freedom. His body was heavy, sluggish, and
he only managed to fall, bruising his knees. Still drugged. His mind raced.
“Easy there, pretty.” Rough voice, accented Basic. Heavy hands lifted him to his
feet, and he found himself wrapped in four meaty blue arms, his back pressed against a rounded, warm body. Thick fingers caressed him, tugging at his piercings and kneading his groin. His struggles didn’t amount to much.
“That’s enough messing with the merchandise, Akondi.” A slim Twi'lek male glanced over at them from near the ramp console. “We need to get underway.”
Bruck tried to concentrate on the drug in his system, to purge it; without full access to the Force, it was difficult. The hands hadn’t stopped their stroking; Bruck bit the inside of his cheek and endured.
“This one’s no virgin, Itar. You saw him with his master in the tavern.” One hand wormed its way between their bodies, stroking along the cloth splitting Bruck’s backside. He knew it would be best to be passive – Akondi seemed the type to be turned on by resistance – but Bruck couldn’t help himself. When a large finger insinuated itself into his crack, questing for entrance, he struggled as hard as he could, groping for a grip on one of the being’s fingers,
anything he could reach, anyway he could hurt him. The finger probed his opening
and withdrew. “He’s already oiled and ready, boss. We got away clean.”
The Twi’lek considered this, then smiled and began removing his weapons belt. “He is a rare beauty.”
Just when Akondi began to drag him toward the table again, Bruck got a good grip
on one of his smaller fingers and wrenched it with all his might. Had he been at
full strength, he might have torn it irreparably. The best he could manage now was a bad dislocation, but it seemed to be enough. Akondi howled in pain and dropped Bruck, who maneuvered himself into a ready crouch and kept the wall at his back. The big one was going for his sidearm.
“No blasters, you idiot!” The Twi’lek looked Bruck in the eyes, cold and predatory. He raised a blowgun to his lips. Bruck tried to dodge, but the dart caught him in the ear, just above one of his piercings, where it went clean through. The toxin was fast-acting, but he hadn’t got a full dose of it this time; Bruck fought it to stay conscious even as he collapsed.
The Twi'lek plucked out the dart and the two of them lifted him. “Not the table,
the edge might leave a bruise. Careful with his hair. We can have him, but we need to keep him pretty for the block. Got it?”
Akondi grunted. Bruck tried to still his panic, to concentrate on the toxin, to fight the paralysis. He had to let go of his fear if he was going to get out of this. They settled him onto a curved cushion on his belly. Itar lifted his head,
rubbing a thumb over Bruck’s lips. “You can have his rump first, on account of he owes you for the finger. But wear a barrier. We don’t need the reputation for
selling infected goods. I’ll take his mouth while his jaw’s good and slack.”
Bruck closed his eyes and tried not to let what was happening distract him from the task at hand. The sounds of breeches opening and the congenial laughter of his captors fell away. There was nothing but the toxin, and what little access he had to the Force. It seemed to happen with painful slowness, but he could feel the strength returning to his body. He felt Itar prying his mouth open and heard the cooing of his voice, but not the words. Akondi seemed to still be struggling with the barrier, but pressing close. Something hard scraped across Bruck’s thigh, and he realized that Akondi had not removed his weapons belt.
Bruck felt the use of his arms returning and redoubled his concentration, doing his best to ignore the rigid flesh now filling his mouth, pressing into his throat. He fought back the panic when he realized he couldn’t breathe. He must have moved his arms a little, because someone forced them together behind his back, locking the cuffs above his elbows together.
Oh, Force, help me.
Rasmir felt the bed beside him dip and knew that his lover Adane was sitting
beside him – holding two cups of hot caff, by the smell. He opened his eyes.
“Here.” Adane handed him a mug of caff, smiling indulgently. “I have a feeling you’re going need it.”
Rasmir took it and sat up. He could tell by the way Adane’s attention was divided that something new was on the feeds. “What’s happened?”
A wry look on his face, Adane clicked the remote for the video monitor mounted on the wall, and a news feed appeared. It showed Chancellor Palpatine and a relaxed if somewhat formal-seeming Kenobi seated together behind a table at a press conference. Kenobi seemed to be responding to a question.
“I have nothing but gratitude for Senator Organa’s assistance – his reputation for heroism is well-earned – I only mean to dispute the mistaken impression that you good people have developed regarding Chancellor Palpatine and the incident yesterday. I am certain that he had nothing to do with the attack on me. In fact, I believe Larkin acted as he did in order to hurt the Chancellor, who had fired him for dereliction of his duties.”
Another question was shouted out as soon as Kenobi paused. “Is the Chancellor one of your clients?”
“I never reveal the names of my clients, but I will say that the Chancellor has been most kind to me since my arrival on Coruscant.”
“Bloody hell,” Rasmir whispered. At a loss for anything else to say, he drank his caff at a gulp, and handed the cup back to his lover.
“Told you,” Adane said. When Rasmir bolted for the fresher to shower, Adane shouted after him, “Scalp our concert tickets for tonight, shall I?”
Rasmir knew he needn’t answer. He hoped Adane would understand that things were going to be difficult for the next few days. Until Bail Organa’s fate was decided, his time was not his own. They would have to catch a performance of Adane’s latest musical obsession some other time.
As he washed and dressed, Rasmir could not help but wonder what had possessed Kenobi to side with Palpatine; more puzzling was the question of why, once he had made the decision to throw his lot in with the corrupt Chancellor, had Kenobi bothered to warn him to keep the Senator away? Surely it could not have been a matter of discretion, for half the galaxy had already guessed the nature of their relationship.
When he emerged into the common room fully dressed, he caught the disappointment on Adane’s face. “It won’t be this hectic forever. I have to see this through.”
“I know,” Adane sighed as he straightened Rasmir’s collar. “I know how much it means to you to help a fellow Alderaani, especially one who just came out of the closet like he’d been shot out of a cannon. And a prince, to boot.”
Rasmir caught his lover’s nimble fingers in his grasp. “That’s not jealousy,
I hope.” He leaned in and claimed a kiss, putting his heart into it.
Adane smiled, breathless as the kiss ended. “Not as long as you save those for me.”
“Done.” Rasmir smiled, hoping he gave it just the right amount of rakish charm. “You know the prince isn’t really my type, don’t you?”
“Don’t push it,” Adane said with a chuckle. “Anyone that rich and handsome is three quarters of the way to being everybody’s type.”
“Maybe so, but he doesn’t stand a chance against you.” It was true; Adane was strongly built where Bail was thin, and pale as alabaster where Bail was dark. His hair spilled in reddish curls around his ears, and Rasmir could not imagine anyone more beautiful.
“Good. Then I won’t have to do anything drastic.” Adane pulled away, looking
wistfully at the tickets to the concert he’d been so excited to attend. Rasmir took one of the tickets, a hard plastic disc with a holo of the artist on its surface.
“Drastic like asking that boy Haba to see the Sex Parasite from Planet Fierce performance with you, since I can’t go?”
Adane smiled, and Oh, gods, what he could do to Rasmir with just a look. “I was thinking drastic as in standing next to your venerable employer in a strong light.”
Uh-oh. Adane must be feeling more neglected than he’d supposed – such catty remarks were not like him. Rasmir pulled him close. “Don’t be so mean. He’s having a difficult time just now – and you know I’ll be coming home to you.”
Adane pressed against him, strong hands gripping the back of Rasmir’s neck, their foreheads touching. “Just be sure your loyalty to Organa doesn’t put you in the cross hairs when his replacement is chosen.”
Rasmir took a deep breath, savoring the scent of his lover. Before he could form a response, the door chimed. Adane pulled himself away and looked at their guest on the screen by the door. His jaw fell open.
“Who is it?” Rasmir stepped closer, disconcerted by his lover’s speechlessness.
Adane held up the concert tickets, and palmed the door control. It slid open
to reveal between six and ten beings standing in the hall. The central figure was a tall, broad-shouldered human with unnaturally blue-black hair, excessive eye make-up who was wearing a suit made of glimmering, multi-directional holographic fabric. A silver cravat and platform boots completed the look. The effect was outlandish, but distinctly familiar. Rasmir glanced at the holo on the ticket; Adane gaped openly.
The unlikely creature stepped through the door while the rest of the entourage hung back, scowling around the corridor.
“Is either of you Dolchen Rasmir?” Rasmir raised a hand to indicate it was him, but found he couldn’t quite think of anything to say. Their guest continued. “I was told I might find you here. I need to speak with Bail Organa, and my sources tell you’re the man who can make that happen.”
Xanatos rushed through the compound, Navil at his heels, shouting at the guards to get out of their way and follow. He could feel Bruck’s presence, muted but close. Their other bond felt much stronger than their Force bond, now. He could feel that Bruck wasn’t conscious, but still had a sense of where he was. He was following the bond, as Bruck had done to find him when Durante held him captive.
He was glad of Navil by his side and glad of her security force once they got outside her private compound. This was not a place to wander idly through, taking in the sights. The bond led him to a seedy part of the port, past many suspicious and disreputable looking ships.
When they reached the end of the hangar, Xanatos felt Bruck wake, felt him struggling against a drug, trying to metabolize it without the aid of the Force.
It was more than that; Xanatos could feel someone touching Bruck, threatening him.
Oh Force. Had this been what it was like for Bruck when Xanatos had been in Durante’s power? The feel of others’ hands on Bruck sickened him, but he followed the bond with renewed strength. It was his fault Bruck was in this situation – their cover had only made him vulnerable.
Recriminations could wait; he had to get to Bruck. The bond was leading him past
all the ships, to the hangar wall. He circled around until he found a door, wishing he hadn’t had to leave his ‘saber on the ship as a part of his useless cover. The door led to a seedy, poorly-lit private hangar, open to the sky but otherwise quite secluded. Had he not had the bond to guide him, he never would have found it.
Xanatos could sense the darkness and desperation of the place and silently thanked the Force for Navil’s security team. He could sense hidden beings observing them with benign interest, but through the Force he felt they were not
likely to intervene.
Through the bond, he could feel Bruck fighting, and when the dart hit him, Xanatos felt the sting of it in his own earlobe. Navil and her guards had fallen a little behind him, but had nearly caught up when he found the ship. A nasty little cargo hauler oozing with the darkness of trafficking in living beings. The engines were cold.
“He’s in there.”
Navil nodded to her guards, who began surrounding the ship. How were they going to get in? Once again Xanatos wished for his ‘saber, hand going to his belt, grasping nothing. One of Navil’s guards worked on a panel near the ship’s closed
ramp. He signaled to them, and Xanatos got into position. He jumped onto the ramp before it was fully lowered and ran into the ship, recklessly leaving the guards behind. He followed the bond into a back room, dread building in him from
what he felt of his lover’s presence: fear, anger and desperation dancing on the
edge of darkness.
The sight that met him chilled his heart and withered the words forming in his throat. Bruck stood in a crouch, hair wild, clothing and ornamental chains in disarray.
His elbows were once again cuffed together; in one hand he held a gore-spattered
vibroblade, his knees soft, ready to spring, to attack. He lowered the blade a little when he saw Xanatos.
On the deck behind him lay a large, four-armed humanoid, with his breeches down,
guts spilled across his body, but still breathing. Bruck’s back was splashed with green blood, his displaced loincloth dripping with it.
The worst part for Xanatos was Bruck’s face: wild eyes, teeth clenched in a feral snarl, smeared with blue blood running down his chin. Xanatos heard weeping from behind a wide sleep couch.
Bruck relaxed his stance and spat out something dark that landed with a meaty slap against the deck. He dropped the vibroblade and his hand began to shake. He staggered toward Xanatos, his sandals still tethered to his ankles but no longer covering the bottoms of his feet. Navil’s guards poured in, instinctively pointing their weapons at the wild creature in the center of the room. Xanatos signaled for them to stay back and approached Bruck slowly, reaching out with open hands.
Bruck regarded him as he might a stranger, with a cold, mistrustful panic. Then his eyes softened and the wild look eased away. Xanatos could feel Bruck’s struggle, as he shrugged, jangling the ornaments linked to the Force collar. When he spoke his voice was rough and shaky.
“Get this fucking thing off me.”
The press conference went on for longer than Palpatine would have liked, but
it got the job done. Kenobi was as good as his word, and had even seen to it that his bruises were inexpertly covered, giving the cameras just enough to capture the fact that he was still healing without veering too far into the realm of unsightliness.
Even Palpatine had to admit that the boy was good. He doubted that any but the most skilled students of deception could have discerned any hint of a lie in
what he said. Even when he hedged, he appeared to only be exercising discretion regarding his clients’ privacy.
He could not have hoped for a better performance from anyone in the Galaxy. Himself excluded, of course.
When every prying question had been asked and evaded multiple times, they finally called an end to the thing and made their way to private transport. Once
they were out of sight of the cameras, Kenobi neither spoke to him nor looked in
his direction. The speeder pilot took them to the Senate Complex, effectively losing the more persistent of the press who followed the speeder.
Before leaving the speeder, Palpatine smiled at Kenobi’s cold profile. Still
so haughty. “My driver will take you to your new rooms. You will no doubt wish to verify that they meet your specifications. I will be along later for our appointment. I trust that will not be a problem?”
“Not at all, Chancellor.” Kenobi’s tone was neither warm nor overly formal, which pleased Palpatine even more than he would have expected.
Xanatos rushed forward to release Bruck’s restraints and deactivate the Force collar while Navil’s men checked the two beings who had abducted him. “Are
there others?”
Bruck blinked twice before shaking his head. “Not that I am aware of.” He pulled the collar off as soon as Xan released the lock.
As his full contact with the Force returned, he clutched his head and staggered, pulling away when Xanatos made to steady him. Navil’s men had spread out over the ship, and soon called the all-clear. There were half a dozen terrified beings locked in the hold; Navil sent for medics, though the ones most
in need of medical attention were Bruck’s the kidnappers. Xanatos suspected that
they would live to find a better line of work, and wondered if they had any idea
how Force-blessed lucky that made them.
Bruck was staring at the unconscious one, the one he’d half gutted with a vibroblade, as medics came into the room.
“They’ll both live,” Xanatos whispered, hoping the news would be a comfort to his lover, but the pale eyes that turned to him were raw and full of anger.
“I don’t care what happens to them,” Bruck said through clenched teeth. “They are what they are. They do what they do.”
Bruck took a step away from him and wobbled; this time Xanatos caught hold of him, and wouldn’t let go. Bruck bore his touch indifferently, and his words came cold, flat and emotionless. “I didn’t deserve this,” he said. “No matter what my father did to you, I didn’t deserve this.”
“No,” Xanatos whispered. “No one deserves this. And you never deserved any of it. Even from me.” He felt tears pricking in his eyes and didn’t trust himself to say more. Bruck looked away. “I only wanted you to realize that. To be my lover, not some guilt-drenched supplicant. You deserve better than that from me.”
Bruck said nothing, and a moment passed in which Xanatos stood transfixed, waiting. Bruck’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
Navil, who had kept her distance at first, approached them. “I have the information you need, and I assume we have an understanding?”
Xanatos nodded. Bruck looked between them; Xanatos felt him exploring their bond before he spoke.
“She knew?”
Xanatos nodded, letting Bruck feel his shame and regret. Their cover was what put Bruck at risk, and Navil had seen through it almost from the beginning.
“I didn’t know that, though. I thought this was the best approach-”
“It was,” Navil said. “We can both benefit from our relationship, but I would rather it not be known that I have ties to… people like you. I will do what I can to restore the reputation of Lairso Meenk, but first we must deal with our other business. Or am I mistaken in believing that time is of the essence?”
“No,” Xanatos said. “Lead the way.”
Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan through their bond. He didn’t want Tand and Phol to know this, but it was unmistakable. His lover was calm, determined to accomplish
the task set before him. Even as Obi-Wan went about the business that the Council had sent him to do, Qui-Gon could feel the love in him, the ache for what they shared. Obi-Wan believed it was hopeless, that their love must be sacrificed on the altar of the greater good.
Qui-Gon knew differently.
There had been many instances in Qui-Gon’s long and colorful service to the Force when he had disregarded the wisdom of the Council and followed the path that he felt the Force had set for him. In all that time, he had never felt as certain of his true path as he did now. The Council could not understand his certainty, perhaps, but there it was.
The love he had for Obi-Wan had awakened something inside him which had taken root and grown. The Council could only see how it had threatened to destroy him, but he knew the truth of it. Every moment of his life before now had been leading up to this moment. The Force had given him the gift of this love, and although it had nearly driven him to murder and darkness, he knew that
the Force had a purpose in it.
He had spent his whole life in blindness, but now he could see. Even though his separation from Obi-Wan and the uncertainty of their circumstances filled him with pain, still he pitied the Council, pitied anyone who had never known such attachment.
Tand and Phol did not understand this, though they had themselves begun to form an attachment to which they were blind. Qui-Gon could see it, and it warmed
him. The Council was blind. The Code forbade attachments to protect Jedi from manipulation, to keep them safe from the Dark side, but the unilateral enforcement of it only served to cripple Jedi like himself – those who could only find the fullest expression of their powers, of their souls, through loving
attachment. They would think him completely insane if they knew how deeply he believed this, how calmly he had accepted it as fact. Which was why he didn’t tell them.
He would follow his path faithfully. Perhaps it would not be exactly the one
the Council had set for him, after all.
So be it.
Once his decision was made, Qui-Gon began to emerge from deep meditation. He
lay still, and neither Tand nor Phol appeared to cajole him. Obi-Wan didn’t need
him yet, but when he did, Qui-Gon would be there. No power in existence would stop him.
Not even the Jedi.
Bruck could feel Xanatos through their bond, his concern. His love. But this
was not the only gift the removal of the Force-inhibiting collar had given him. He could hear the Force screaming with the pain of the beings he had injured, their confusion and their rage. Neither would ever be physically whole again, in
ways that had perhaps mattered over much to them.
He doubted either would be capable of abusing another being as they had done
him, and countless others who had not been as fortunate as he. As a Jedi, Bruck should have been able to feel compassion for them, but to wish them enlightenment and growth from their circumstances was beyond him at the moment.
He felt the Darkness close beside him, in a way he had not experienced since
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had helped him exorcise the Sith.
Xanatos wrapped him in a cloak and led him back through the city to Lady Navil’s stronghold, steadying him when he needed it, but otherwise keeping his touch to a minimum. He knew that Xan was only trying to be kind, to give him space to deal with the assault he had just suffered. But Bruck didn’t want space. He wanted Xanatos to hold him, to fill their bond with his love. He wanted a chance to be alone with his lover.
He wanted a bath.
Once they were inside Navil’s base, she instructed the guards to show the Jedi to a guest room. Bruck worried that time was short, but Xan reassured him.
“Our ship is being prepared, but I’m not taking you back there until you’ve had a chance to clean up.” His wry smile was almost playful. “Whatever cataclysmic confrontation awaits us, I promise we won’t be late for it.”
Bruck didn’t know what to say, so he let his gratitude pour into their bond.
Xanatos grinned at him a little sadly as they entered the guest quarters. Xanatos found the bath and began filling it. Bruck let him lead him into the bath chamber and begin stripping off his clothes. The cloak was relatively clean, but the finery he had been wearing was stiff and heavy with drying blood.
He felt like layers of muck were being peeled off him.
“I cannot even imagine what it was like for you, Xan,” he said quietly. “Even after this, I can’t begin to touch it.”
Xanatos filled a glass with water and brought it to Bruck’s lips. “Here,” he
said. “Just rinse.”
Bruck took the cup and obeyed, spitting blue-tinged water into the waste receptacle. He refilled the cup himself and repeated the process several times, until the taste of Twilek flesh and blood was the barest hint of a memory. A touch on the shoulder and he put down the cup, allowing Xanatos to lead him to the tub. “All will be well, my love,” he said. “I promise you.”
Bruck looked into his lover’s eyes for the first time since his ordeal. Wordlessly he stepped into the bath, letting the warm water close around him. Through their bond he realized that Xanatos had not intended his cover to be punishment, only a means to an end. He tried to hide his anguish, but Bruck knew.
Xanatos held up a cleansing sponge and Bruck leaned forward, exposing his back. He began to relax, allowing Xanatos to wash him as if he were a child.
“Thank you.” Though Bruck’s voice was barely a whisper, Xanatos heard. The silence stretched between them. Bruck heard the sound of Xanatos breathing, hesitating as if he would speak. Sighing at last, he put down the sponge.
“Do you need a healer? I’m sure Lady Navil-”
Bruck hushed him, wet fingers pressed against his lover’s lips. “I stopped him before… I stopped him.” The words hung between them; Bruck let his hand drop, but Xanatos caught it, holding it lightly.
Grinning, his face full of what Bruck guessed was pride, he said, “You’re a fierce one, Knight Chun-al-Leem.”
“Perhaps.” Bruck remembered his weakness, the feel of darkness throbbing around him as he fought. His eyes itched unbearably. “I’m not as strong as you. I don’t know how…” The words clotted in his throat. The last hour of his life was the merest taste of what Xanatos had suffered as his father’s captive. In that slaver’s ship he had teetered on the edge of the abyss, and Xanatos had pulled him back. He didn’t know how to voice his gratitude, his awe of his lover’s strength, withstanding the darkness inside. Xanatos filled their bond with love,
silently assuring Bruck that he understood.
After all that had passed between them, words were not the greatest currency of their love. Still, there was one thing that Bruck knew must be said. “I do not blame you for this.”
Xanatos stared, wide-eyed, grasping Bruck’s wrist, then he kissed Bruck’s fingers with such naked affection that it almost hurt to see it. Xan opened his mouth to speak, but it was his turn to be speechless. Bruck didn’t mind. Their bond sang of everything inexpressible between them.
“You’re stronger than I could ever be, Xanatos T’Crion.” Breathless, the words came, flowing over his bruised lips in a rush of passionate whispers. “I will not live for another moment as a slave to guilt, and you must not, either.”
The dark head wagged, a clearer, more joyous smile on his face than Bruck had ever seen there. “The past is over, love. There is only one moment that counts: This one.” He leaned over the tub and claimed a kiss. Bruck returned it with an eagerness that surprised him. The taste of his lover was sweet on his tongue.
A knock on the door reminded them of their surroundings, the urgency of their mission. There was no time to sit in a tub and kiss his lover, no matter how his battered nerves longed for more of this closeness. They had a shipment of Force poison to intercept.
“We leave in ten,” said Lady Navil’s voice through the door comm.
Bruck grabbed a towel and cast an inquiring look at Xan. “Did she just say ‘we’?”
Palpatine pulled his hood down low over his face and turned on the comm. It was easy enough to disguise his transmissions now that he could use the familiar
comms in his own office. Nollad Tolla’s weathered, thuggish face appeared before him almost instantly.
“All is ready, My Lord.”
Palpatine suppressed a smile. This one might not have the experience of Durante, but at least he understood his place and never made excuses. Never had to make excuses, because Tolla always managed to do what he was told, even
when details didn’t go according to plan.
“Good. Proceed as planned immediately. We must strike before the Jedi discover the weakness in their Temple’s defenses.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Tolla’s holographic image disappeared. Palpatine sat back, more pleased with himself than usual. The setbacks of the past few days had not disrupted the main thrust of his plan. True, the inexplicable loss of Knight T’Crion as a potential apprentice had been something of a disappointment; he’d been certain that the confrontation with Durante would have brought him to the tipping point. Even that loss had been minor, in the scheme of things. In less than twenty-four hours, every Jedi in the Temple, from crčcheling to Master, would be Force-crippled and at his mercy. Among them he would surely find a suitable substitute.
The rest was in Tolla’s large, capable hands.
The Chancellor pulled back his hood and set himself to work on the day’s business. He had plenty of time to deal with everything that needed his attention, now that his reputation had been restored, possibly even enhanced by that pretty young fool, Kenobi.
During the press conference, Palpatine had finally seen through Kenobi’s careful deception to the trap that the Jedi had laid for him. When he got a good
look at the erstwhile courtesan’s bracelets, he had understood. Did the Council really believe he wouldn’t recognize an assassin’s tool when he saw them?
Still, he had to admit that the Jedi plan had surprised him. He would not have given them credit for a plan that included both murder and the sacrifice of
an innocent. Smiling wickedly at the irony of calling the whore an innocent, he
had to give the Jedi credit for cunning. They knew that he was the Sith Master –
thanks to Durante, no doubt – but they also knew that they could not hope to unseat him from his place of power, sex scandal or no.
So they sent their pretty pawn to his side – to his bed – in hopes of a quieter, more permanent solution. Palpatine wondered what they had promised Kenobi to secure his cooperation. Or had they merely told him the poison, whatever it was, would be untraceable, that he would be free to go when Palpatine was dead? He might have agreed merely for the sake of revenge, which would make his suffering and humiliation all the more enjoyable when Palpatine showed him how badly the Jedi plot had failed.
Oh, yes. Palpatine had a lot to look forward to at their appointment this evening.
To Be Continued
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