Domus Publica
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The Good Old Days
Gracian Pildr’th – his name was an ancient contraction of Pildarieth, which meant “dreamer” in Old Wukkaran – remembered the
old days. Oh, yes. He remembered them well. Things had been good back in the old days, different from the way it was now, with
all this newfangled New Order and its slogans of “Unity, stability, conformity” and all that. Most of it was hogwash. He knew the
leaders of the Party by face and name, and they were no different from the men from the old days. Every one of those gentlemen
had their price. Some might cost a little. Some might cost a lot. But when all was said and done, he knew, they would be bought. It
was just a matter of finding that price, you understand. Not that that bothered him. Things were good now, too. Just not like back
in the good old days.
Oh, yes, Gracian Pildr’th remembered the old days. He’d been a strapping young man back then. The fact that he hadn’t really
been that young for most of what he considered “the old days” didn’t occur to him. It didn’t matter. There he’d been, the dashing
Senator of Wukkar, the public face of an industrial and cultural colossus. One of the foremost of the Core Worlds. He’d delighted in
the game.
“Liberty and freedom!” Chandrila would cry. They believed in it, too, those Chandrilans. Pampered children, really. They had all
they could ever want, money, power, beauty. Easy to talk about liberty and freedom, it didn’t cost them anything. They didn’t
have to work for it.
“Justice and order!” Alderaan would respond. Alderaan had all the liberty and freedom anyone could ever want. So when Chandrila
started spouting its crazytalk about liberating the masses and providing all these newfangled “social rights,” Alderaan snorted. How
about property rights? How about good old fashioned individuality?
Wukkar didn’t give two negl’x about all that. When the roll call came on one of those useless resolutions calling on some aberrant
tin-horn dictator in the Mid Rim to stop oppressing the Whatsits and the Whocareses, Gracian Pildr’th answered for Wukkar.
“Liberty and freedom!” he’d say. Or “Justice and order!” It didn’t matter. Because Wukkar didn’t intend to play along. Wukkar
played its own game.
It was Wukkar that sold the guns and armor and tanks and fighters to those same small-fry dictators. And when some obscure
planet in the Outer Rim hit it big with a load of hyperbarides, it was Wukkar that ponied up the cash to capitalize on it. Wukkar
provided the technical expertise to those backwater worlds that enriched their regimes and made trade happen. Wukkar provided
the military advisors to those worlds that had the cash to pay for a victory in a bush war. And if some uppity Rimworld smashed
a Wukkaran freighter or attacked a Wukkaran colony – and the Great Omega knew there were plenty of Wukkaran colonies – then
it was Wukkar that taught that world what “shock and awe” meant.
Let Muunilinst turn up its nose at Wukkar. Or whatever it had like a nose. Muuns didn’t really have a nose, did they? Anyway,
let them snub Wukkar. What did it matter? Wukkar had solid support in the power elite of Bank of the Core, of Ralltiir, of Aargau.
Let the Muuns look at Wukkar’s enormous bank accounts and fume. Bank of the Core and Bank of Aargau were far richer than the
InterGalactic Banking Clan, no matter what the Muuns and the galaxy at large seemed to think. The Muuns were upstarts, anyway.
Let Corellia turn up its nose, too. Heh. When Garm Bel Iblis sometimes made that face of carefully concealed (but just as carefully
revealed) contempt, it was all Gracian could do not to fall to the ground laughing. It was the face of a married woman trying to snub
her lover at a ball when he had the poor taste to join her and her husband for a chat. “Go away, I’ll make time for you later,” it
seemed to say. Gracian knew that face well, and it was the same face Iblis made, that sneaky devil. Corellia was up to its eyebrows
in Wukkaran contracts. So was Kuat. Wukkar’s fleet was so big and so advanced it embarrassed even Gracian to talk about it.
But they didn’t really turn up their noses, did they? No, sir. Wukkar was a member of the club. Wukkar was a Core World, thank
you very much. The fact that what Wukkar did never quite lined up with what Wukkar said didn’t matter. The fact that the
General Assembly of Wukkar very frequently did the exact same things that Gracian condemned others for doing didn’t matter,
either. That was a part of the game. Politics wasn’t really about truth and beauty and ideals. It was about power and money and
influence. It was about Names and Numbers. Wukkar was good at the game, and so was Gracian Pildr’th.
Oh, those had been the days. Going to the opera with Finis Valorum – that was back when he was just a Senator, before he’d taken
over the Democratic Center and ridden that racket all the way to the Chancellor’s podium. Ha, what a laugh. Valorum’s family had
its share of skeletons in its closet, too. Gracian hadn’t been surprised when that financial scandal broke out. Let’s not even talk
about the nights on the town, wink wink nudge nudge. Going hunting on Hesperidium with Eliza Niriz, that Old Anaxsi fox – he’d
never seen a women shoot like that. She could shoot the ash off a cigarra, he’d seen her do it. Or how about that time he’d seconded
Doman Beruss in that duel? What a lark! Who’d have guessed Doman could handle a blaster? Honestly, officer, Senator k’Nifs died
in a hunting accident. Scout’s honor.
It’d been a good game, back then. He’d been in the Senate for barely two years when Senator Paliver resigned in disgrace, and the
good Doctor and that self-righteous tsharmut from Chandrila joined the Senate. She’d been quite a looker back then, but she spent
most of her time with Dr. Squeaky Clean. Augustus Nero Palpatine was a good chap, no question. He came from one of the Old
Families, the families that had been rich and powerful since time immemorial. The Palpatines were one of the smaller Old Families,
and unlike most they were very private about how much money they really had. Most people saw that the Palpatines lived on
Naboo, in the Mid Rim, and assumed that they must be pretty strapped for cash. No, sir. Gracian knew better.
He’d done some checking into it. He’d met Augie – he hated to be called “Augie,” but he was too polite to ever say so – about ten
years before, at some reception. He didn’t really remember what it was for, he’d been pretty drunk at the time. Still, he
remembered thinking it odd that the Archduke Palpatine lived on Naboo, a planet ruled by a monarch whose pedigree was like
nothing compared to his own. It’d taken about ten years to finally track down the Palpatines’ wealth, too. Gracian had forgotten all
about it by the time his third cousin (twice removed) got back to him about it. No wonder nobody really had any clue, it just took
too much time and hard work to try to figure out.
Turns out the Palpatines were disgustingly, outrageously rich. They owned hundreds of planets, lock, stock, and barrel. They
owned a quarter of the shares in TaggeCo., and had huge interests in Bank of the Core, the Bank of Aargau, the Karflo Corporation,
and even the Corellian Engineering Corporation. They owned huge stretches of prime real estate on Coruscant. Great Omega, it
turns out that the Palpatines actually owned the building Gracian lived in. Nobody had any clue, because all their holdings were in
other names, hidden away in a vast labyrinth of trusts, holding companies, dummy corporations, and who knows what else.
Gracian had decided that Augie Palpatine was a friend worth having. That decision had been confirmed when he saw the way Sanya
Tagge doted on him. Not just her, either. He kept a low profile, but people noticed him. He was smart as all Chaos, too. He had
degrees up the wagyx. He had a huge collection of art, and even a private collection of antique lightsabers. He was a pretty dull
politician, very straightlaced moderate Centrist. A crossbencher, even! Heh. Nobody was a crossbencher if they planned on going
places. But even though he didn’t join a single one of the plethora of caucuses and parties and factions in the Senate, he still got
offers to be on advisory boards and committees and such. Turned them all down, too. That only drew Gracian’s attention all the
more.
“How’re things in the Mid Rim, Augie?” He’d say.
“Er, I suppose things are fine,” Dr. Squeaky Clean would say, in that somewhat self-conscious way he always spoke. “They could
be better, though.”
That was how Augie Palpatine always talked. He was never too specific, and he didn’t really tell you what he thought unless you
pushed for it. Maybe that’s why so many people trusted him, because he didn’t upset you by contradicting you. A lot of Senators
confided in him. What Gracian wouldn’t have given for some of the juicy details he was sure Augie heard on an everyday basis. But
Augie kept it all to himself. Oooh, what Gracian could’ve done with that kind of knowledge.
“So, what’s the deal with you and the Chandrilan dame?” Gracian would ask him about once a day.
“Er, I don’t know what you mean,” would be the reply.
“Are you two an item, or what?” You had to push to get much of anything out of Augie.
“You might be pardoned for thinking so,” he’d answer. It only made Gracian even more curious. That was the kind of doublespeak
you typically heard from thirty-year Senators, not from someone Gracian’s and Augie’s age. At their age, people tended to be a lot
less evasive. Augie was a tricky one, no doubt about it. And Great Omega, could he play cards. He never lost. Not ever. Even in
games it was impossible to cheat in.
There were times that Gracian didn’t win at the game, of course. After Mothma and Augie had their split, Gracian was on her like
fur on a Wookiee. The fact that she’d evidently been involved with Augie only made her more attractive.
“He’s pure evil!” That was generally the extent of the conversation when he asked her why she couldn’t stand to be near him
anymore. She wouldn’t answer his questions about whether or not they’d been an item. She wouldn’t answer his questions about
what kinds of things Augie did in private. No, all she’d do is vent this horrible, all-encompassing hatred she’d developed for him. If
you really pressed her, she’d explain in detail that he was not even really human, just a monstrous thing disguised as a man.
The constant screeds about how evil Augie even when he didn’t ask were really becoming something of a mood-killer when he was
trying to take her out on a date.
But overall, the game was good to Gracian, and he won more than he lost. He’d even managed to weasel his way into Valorum’s
Democratic Center – that alone told you how much good the “Democratic” and “Center” parts of the name really were – and was
positioning himself to challenge Valorum for the party leadership when the scandal broke. Oh, he’d been so close. Just a few more
months, and he’d wrest the leadership from him – Valorum wasn’t a bad chap, just a bit too idealistic, and he didn’t have the
cutthroat instinct you needed to be a good Supreme Chancellor. Well, Gracian did, and once he had Valorum’s job, it’d be a whole
new ball game, yes, sir.
Then the Neimoidians blockaded Naboo.
At the time, Gracian had patted Augie on the shoulder. “Tough break, Augie, but you’ll make it through. If they destroy Naboo,
you can probably just buy a new seat, am I right?” Augie didn’t really see the humor in the situation, though. Poor chap, he really
was concerned about the Naboo suffering from the blockade.
Gracian wondered privately if maybe Wukkar shouldn’t teach the slimy TradeFed a lesson. Give ‘em a good drubbing, smash up
their pithy little blockade. Battleships, keh! Wukkar had real battleships. Wukkar had ships that would turn that fleet of glorified
freighters into cosmic scrap. And it’d look good, too: The noble Core World taking a stand against unjustified aggression by the
greedy Neimoidians. Yes, sir, the idea had potential. He’d discussed it with the Premier back on Wukkar, and the Premier promised
to think about it. But then disaster struck.
That stupid tsharmut, Queen Amidala, moved for a vote of no confidence against Valorum. It was too soon, Gracian hadn’t taken
over the Democratic Center yet, he wasn’t in position to seize power. Akzif, she’d ruined everything! Can you imagine how
Gracian had felt when he wasn’t one of the nominees for the podium? The Democratic Center didn’t even put up a candidate. The
Conservatives put forward Bail Antilles (surprise, surprise), the Rationalists put forward Ainlee Teem, and – mirabile dictu –
Maria Teresa Romodi actually nominated Augie Palpatine.
In retrospect, Gracian wasn’t surprised that Augie won.
After all, Augie didn’t have any enemies. Antilles, that stuffed shirt, had plenty, and so did Teem. They were both big names, and
you don’t get to be big without stepping on a lot of toes throughout your career. Augie, though, he avoided the spotlight like the
plague. He had a solid Centrist voting record, he was a moderate, he was a crossbencher. Sure, he was in favor of reform, but he
was such a timid chap that the more corrupt elements of the Senate didn’t take him seriously. The honest Senators looked at his
integrity and liked what they saw, and the corrupt ones looked at his personality and also liked what they saw. Not to mention the
sympathy vote based on the fact that his planet was being blockaded by the TradeFed. Different people voted for him for different
reasons, but they still voted for him. So Augie Palpatine climbed up to the Chancellor’s podium. Gracian Pildr’th didn’t see that
one coming at all.
It was good to see a friend succeed, sure, there was no question about that. And the nice thing was that, Valorum having resigned
from the Senate altogether in disgrace, Gracian was the new leader of the Democratic Center. Yes, quite a few of the members
resigned from the caucus shortly thereafter, but he still controlled one of the biggest blocs in the Senate. Augie would have to call
on him to form a coalition, maybe with the Conservatives or the White Libertarians. The Progressives and the Rationalists were
right out, for pretty much the same reason. Unfortunately, Augie somehow managed to serve an entire term without forming any
sort of coalition at all.
“What’s the deal, Augie?” He’d asked him. “Why haven’t you called me?”
“I have called you, Gracian,” he’d answer. “We’ve been meeting at least twice a month for years now.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Gracian would reply. “Why haven’t you given me the General Ministry? I’ve got the most votes of any
of the floor leaders, why haven’t you had me put together a coalition?”
“Gracian, didn’t you always say that it made no sense to be a crossbencher?” He’d smile that tired, sad smile of his. “The benefit
is that I don’t owe my Government to any of the floor leaders.”
“So you bring in these nobody technocrats for your portfolios!” Gracian would thunder. “Il-Raz, I can understand, he’s done a
wonderful job with Finance. But who is this Trachta character? Why do we have a borg of all things running the Interior portfolio?”
“Captain General Trachta has done a fine job as Interior Minister, Gracian,” Augie would say. “I intend to give him the General
Ministry now that Hirken is retiring.”
“What?” The word had exploded from Gracian’s mouth before he could form a coherent thought. “You’re going to make a borg the
General Minister? What’s the matter with you, Augie? Why aren’t you going to give me that portfolio?”
“Gracian,” he’d say, “I cannot give you the General Ministry because you’re too controversial to be Head of the Government.
Maybe I can offer you the Defense portfolio in a few years.”
“Augie, you can’t seriously expect me to work under a borg.”
“Gracian, I don’t have to offer you any portfolio at all,” he’d say, ending the conversation. Gracian would fume for days afterward,
complaining bitterly about how his old friend was mistreating him now that he sat at the podium in the middle. Never mind the fact
that he probably wouldn’t have even thought about giving Augie even one of the most useless Government portfolios had he won
the podium.
But Augie Palpatine was a man of his word. Halfway through his second term – he still hadn’t formed a coalition yet – Gracian was
offered and did accept the post of Minister of Defense. Augie was right about one thing, Gracian was controversial, but Wukkar
was one of those worlds – along with Carida, Raithal, Corulag, and Anaxes – that just seemed to naturally produce Defense
Ministers. Gracian practically swooned when he heard about the growing Separatist crisis. Wukkar was making a killing off the
whole racket. And can you imagine his glee – well concealed in public, of course – when he heard about the proposed Military
Creation Act?
“Minister Pildr’th,” Trachta would admonition, “Need I remind you that this Government has no position on the pending Military
Creation Bill?”
“Oh, hogwash,” he would retort, leaning across the table and jabbing at the borg with his hand. “With the amount of money we’re
talking about here, it’s impossible to not have a position! Does that not compute?”
“Look, Pildr’th,” Dangor would interrupt, voicing his own concerns, “It’s all well and good to say that the Republic needs to be
defended, but you’re too gung-ho about this. When you talk about the bill in public, you give the impression that the President
wants it passed, and you’re causing me problems.” Keh. Puffed up functionary, that was Ars Dangor. Thought because he’d been
Augie’s second assistant privy secretary when he was a Senator, that he knew politics. So now he was Assistant to the Supreme
Chancellor for Legislative Affairs, and strutted about, like he could talk to a man who’d been a Senator for decades about how the
Senate worked. Keh.
“Well, Screed talks about it all the time,” he’d respond. “Screed’s openly supporting it, and he’s a part of the Government, too.”
“Screed,” Screed would say, “is obviously in favor of the bill, and nobody would believe him if he said he wasn’t. Nobody really
listens to a bloody word he says anyway.” Or something like that. Nobody really listened to a bloody word he said, anyway.
“As I have said,” Trachta would say, with his unblinking red eyes – visual sensors, whatever you anted to call them, they were
robotic and he wasn’t decent enough to even try to get presentable-looking prosthetics; they didn’t even look like eyes, they were
a pair of stubby cylinders jutting from his pale face, with red lenses. “This Government has no position on the pending bill, and
you will cease to make public statements about it. I am telling you this as Head of the Government, not as a colleague.”
Gracian found himself waking up every morning hoping to hear that the latest assassination attempt on Trachta had succeeded. He
really did seem to get more than his fair share of assassins, didn’t he? Sometimes he wondered what Trachta had done back when
he’d worked in that Mid Rim Security Force that made so many people hate him and want him dead. Finally he decided to have his
third cousin (twice removed) look into it. Maybe there was some blackmail material waiting to be exploited in Trachta’s
background. It seemed like every month he had improbably survived another attempt on his life, showing up to meetings with
another mechanical body part. Why didn’t the bloody fikrmuadhif just die?
Ultimately, Gracian couldn’t stand it anymore, and resigned from the Government. It was only a matter of time before Augie
would realize that he needed him and his connections, and dumped his current crop of nobody technocrats and called in some real
politicians to take over the Government. He was still the leader of the Democratic Center, so when that time came, he would surely
be in position to take over as General Minister. Then he’d show that uppity borg how the game was played, oh, yes.
So when Sanya Tagge – still a fox after all this time – offered him an executive vice presidency in TaggeCo., well, he couldn’t resist.
Why not take a break for a little while? He took a leave of absence from his seat in the Senate – you didn’t have to resign to take
another job, not in those days – why, how d’you think Augie had held that associate professorate of economics at the University
when he was still in the Chommel Sector Assembly? – and put in a lackey as head of the caucus while he reaped the rewards of a
plum job at TaggeCo. Of course, why not? Tapasi was fantastically rich, and had a comfortable relationship with Wukkar, you
understand. And while the game was fun, it didn’t pay nearly as well – at least, not officially – as working for Augie’s on-again, off-
again girlfriend. They spent so much time together, their families were so financially incestuous, sometimes he wondered why they
didn’t just marry and be done with it. Maybe they already had. You never could tell with the Old Families, they did have such a
thing as secret marriages. Yet another to thing to have his third cousin (twice removed) look into.
It’d been hysterical when Augie finagled his way into extending his time in office despite the expiry of his term. He’d always
known that he’d been a clever man, yes, sir. “Tricky Augie,” that’s what he called him. Imagine Gracian’s reaction when he heard
that Augie Palpatine had finally formed a coalition, tying together the Rationalists, the Conservatives, the Mid Rim Independents,
the White Libertarians, and the Association. But Augie’s Coalition didn’t include the Democratic Center. It didn’t include the
Democratic Center. It didn’t include the Democratic Center. And Trachta was still the General Minister and Head of the
Government. Gracian had been so angry he’d had a stroke.
He resigned from TaggeCo. shortly after he recovered, and immediately terminated his leave of absence. The new Premier was glad
to have him back, he still had enormous clout in the Senate and in the backrooms where the real decisions were made. Oh, he’d
show Augie, all right. How dare he try to freeze out Gracian Pildr’th? What kind of an ingrate would do such a thing to his friend?
He went storming into the Senate floor with a vengeance, tearing into Augie with such ferocity that it surprised even Mothma –
she’d barely aged a day since he’d first met her, pity her obsession with Augie made her thoroughly unattractive these days.
“The Republic needs to be defended, and this Supreme Chancellor won’t hear of it!” he’d roar. “I can tell you, fellow Senators, that
he’s afraid to even take a position! That tin can he calls a General Minister won’t even let the matter be discussed in Government
meetings! It’s bloody cowardice, ladies and gentlemen!”
But half of Augie’s Coalition didn’t even support the Military Creation Act. That was made it so infuriating at times. You couldn’t
even count on a knee-jerk reflex of defense for the Government when half the Coalition was for an issue and the other half was
against it. Count on Tricky Augie to muddle the waters just enough to make it difficult to figure out where he was going with this.
It was no surprise that when Augie formed his Loyalist Committee, he didn’t even call Gracian. The Democratic Center still wasn’t
in the Coalition, so why should he try reaching out to it?
“Don’t even talk to me,” Gracian would say to Dangor. “Go tell your boss that when he has something to say to me, he can come
and say it himself.”
Finally, the time came when Augie did just that. “I want Wukkar to stop supplying Separatists in the Rim, Gracian,” he’d said,
lowering himself into a comfortable chair in Gracian’s luxurious apartment. “And I want you to stop attacking me on the floor.”
“Oh, how the tables are turned!” Gracian had replied, quite delighted. He’d long since discarded his plot to take over as General
Minister. Now he was after Augie’s job. If you stab your friend in the back, well, don’t be surprised if he stabs you in the back.
Yes, sir. The podium would be his, yet. “I’m sorry, Augie, but I just can’t do that. Wukkar isn’t supplying Separatists, she
respects the rule of law, you know that. And as for attacking you, Augie, it’s all part of the game. What can you offer me, that I
can’t take for myself?”
“My dear friend,” Augie said, smiling a smile quite unlike anything Gracian had ever seen before. It was the smile of a vicious
carnivore, not the timid, bookish Augie Palpatine. His voice dropped to a lower, more throaty noise, and his eyes seemed to flare.
The room grew ever so much colder, and Gracian found himself involuntarily drawing away. “I don’t think you understand the
situation you find yourself in.”
The room had definitely grown colder by then. Oh, yes. Very cold. Not only that, but it had gotten a whole lot darker, too. It was
like the room had vanished altogether, leaving only him and Augie – or whatever it was – cloaked in blackness. A low rumble filled
the darkness, and for the first time in his life, Gracian Pildr’th felt afraid.
“I have made very delicate arrangements,” Augie said, his voice now very much different from the usual soft tones he used. “And I
do not intend for your foolish sense of pique and your planet’s opportunism to upset them. I will warn you once, and once only,
my friend.” He fixed Gracian with a piercing glare from those yellowed eyes – Wait, yellowed? No, surely not. Augie had blue eyes.
What was this, some kind of hallucination? “If you defy me, you and your world will be destroyed. I can promise you that. Do as
I say, and you will find – “ his lips pulled back to show a grotesque death’s head grin – “that I have such wonderful things to show
you.”
Gracian didn’t talk about that meeting. The truth was that it had left him badly shaken, and he wasn’t sure it had really happened.
He had suffered a stroke recently, after all. So, filled with uncertainty – which was something entirely new for him, he was a master
of the game – he made an appointment with Dangor to see the Supreme Chancellor. Dangor had told him he could only fit him in
with a group of Senators, the leaders of the Democratic Center. He was the leader of the caucus again, so he really should’ve been
part of the meeting, anyway. That had been fine, of course, Gracian only wanted to see him.
The meeting had gone fine. Augie had been his usual mild self. There was nothing at all out of the ordinary. Gracian had even
checked to make sure that his eyes were blue. Then – had Augie just winked at him? Gracian looked around. Nobody else seemed
to respond. No, he’d imagined it. The meeting continued. The others reached the decision to join the Coalition, so that was settled.
Augie was happy that a source of contention was being solved, so close to the vote on the Military Creation Bill. Gracian probably
wouldn’t be offered a portfolio – Trachta was still General Minister, so that was probably not desirable – but he could probably
pick who would get a few portfolios. Yes, it was a satisfactory meeting, all around.
“My friends, it is my sincere hope that we can weather this storm together,” he said, rising to signal the end of the meeting. “And
when the storm has cleared, I am sure we will see such wonderful things. Together.” His eyes darted ever so quickly toward
Gracian. After the meeting, Gracian called the Premier and told him to stop supplying Separatists. He didn’t even bother with the
usual doubletalk or euphemisms.
When the Clone War broke out, Wukkar’s enormous fleets and armies and long experience in bush wars and gunboat diplomacy put
her at the very pinnacle of the Republic. She stood alongside Kuat and a few others as a pillar fo the galactic defense establishment.
Gracian quickly became the Chairman of the Senate Defense Committee, where he found himself coming increasingly into conflict
with Mothma, who accused him of collaborating with Augie against her. He didn’t really think about that chilling meeting with
Augie anymore – he’d convinced himself he’d imagined the whole thing. Nevertheless, he was once again a good friend of Augie
Palpatine. He knew how to deal with Mothma, to foist her off on useless advisory boards and investigative committees. Leader of
the Official Opposition, keh. She was no match for Gracian Pildr’th, the Vorknkx of the Senate Floor. He’d show her who was the
real master of the game. Oh, yes.
The war was won, of course. With Gracian Pildr’th and Wukkar, how could a war ever be lost? It wasn’t long before old Augie
Palpatine, the timid and reserved Archduke Palpatine – he didn’t even use the title, even though he’d inherited it from his sister
decades ago – the bookish historian who’d become His Excellency the Supreme Chancellor, His Excellency the President – well, it
wasn’t long at all before he became His Imperial Majesty the Galactic Emperor. Heh. Who’d have seen that one coming, eh? Well,
aside from Mothma. She was a washed-up has-been, anyway. Nobody listened to her.
It was good to be a friend of the new Emperor. TaggeCo., Kuat Drive Yards, and the others who’d remained loyal during the War
were rewarded generously with fantastically huge contracts for reconstruction and expansion. Pity, but Sanya Tagge didn’t live to
see it. She was dead by then, but there was still her son – whose father remained unknown, with only the traditional certification
that her sons were legitimate, born to a worthy sire – and oh, ho, who could that be? Who in all the stars might have sired five
children by the lovely Baroness Tagge? Who, indeed? Why, it must have been somebody who spent a lot of time with her. Wink
wink, nudge nudge. Yes, it was good to be in the circle of friends, who knew the dirty secrets.
(Actually, he didn’t know too many secrets about Augie. Nobody did, really. Well, maybe Garlan Limoth did; certainly he’d been
all in a fury when he’d come to see Gracian that time. All sputtering about treachery and faithlessness. Stupid man. Had he kept
his mouth shut, he could’ve profited handsomely. Tsk, tsk. Gracian couldn’t let Limoth foul things up, you understand. It wasn’t
the first time he’d arranged for a friend to have an accident. And anyway, he’d sent such lovely flowers to the funeral.)
By then, though, it wasn’t really the old days anymore, was it? Not really. Augie – excuse me, His Imperial Majesty the Galactic
Emperor – wasn’t around much anymore. He was pretty sick these days, and others picked up the slack. Like Dangor. Keh, what a
bfrik. Still thought he knew politics, still just a pretentious second-rate. President of the Ruling Council, keh! Look at him, walking
around in those black robes, pretending he’s like the Emperor. Like he doesn’t crave money and fame. Like he’s happy letting
others reap the glory and honor. Please. Gracian knew plenty of dirty secrets about Dangor. Or how about Trachta? That overrated
tin can was Grand Moff Governor of the Core now, was he? He was still just a worthless rube from the Mid Rim, no matter how
many medals Dangor pinned to his chest. Most of his chest was metal, don’t you know.
Yes, Gracian was content to sit in the Senate, one of the elder statesmen, one of the senior Senators. He ruled the Defense
Committee with an iron fist – rather like Trachta’s, you might say. He brought his Democratic Center into coalition with the New
Order Party and the Rationalists, but for all their prancing around talking of a new order, they were the same old kind of Senator.
They had their prices. He knew, he was paying some of them. If Augie was Emperor of the Galaxy, he, Gracian, was King of the
Senate. Let Mothma rant and rave. He kept her off all the important committees, anyway. Garm wasn’t as game as he used to be,
but who was? Let Gno and Organa talk about how unethical the Wheel was. Gracian would keep their resolutions buried in some
obscure pigeonhole on the Chair’s desk for years. Let Beruss tell him how the CSA was a dirty trick. They both knew Beruss
wasn’t man enough to do anything about it.
What’s that you say? His personal conduct didn’t represent the New Order very well? Well, my boy, you’re new to the Senate,
but be assured that Gracian Pildr’th finds your input very valuable. Did he mention that he’s the new Chairman of the New Order
Coalition Policy Conference? He didn’t? Oh, dear, his degenerate old mind must be degraded by his indecorous and indecent
lifestyle. How does the Senate Investigative Subcommittee on the Sapience of Lz’lrg Moss grab you? Get used to it, son, you’re
never going to see service on another committee in your miserable life. Yes, go complain to the Party. The Chairman of the New
Order Galactic Committee is his brother-in-law. Go ahead, report him to COMPNOR. Yes,sir, Gracian Pildr’th is corrupt. Why
don’t you ask the Marquess Vandron of the Blood Royal who he has dinner with every Thursday? What do you want to bet the
answer isn’t you?
It came as no surprise when Pestage – heh, Grand Vizier of the Galactic Empire, eh? So that’s what they call “Number One
Lackey” these days – indicated that His Imperial Majesty the Galactic Emperor would be pleased to see him elevated to President
of the Senate. Chancellor of the Senate, thank you very much. There might be a higher office now, but the podium was finally his.
Disregard the fact that he was now too corpulent to look dashing while sitting behind it. Gracian Pildr’th finally had the podium, he
had the gavel – there wasn’t really a gavel, actually – and as he stood at that lofty perch, he was truly lord of all he surveyed. After
a couple of years, he received word – from sources unknown, thank you very much – that maybe the Senator from Horatlor needed
to consider shutting his noisehole. That was just fine, as far as Gracian was concerned. Horatlor had been a thorn in Wukkar’s side
for centuries.
Firdan Antilles, that was his name. Reasonably well-connected with Organa’s Conservative Caucus, but he’d made some
questionable decisions lately, and Gracian’s spies told him that Organa was really starting to get tired of Antilles’s own under the
table deals with the Rationalists. Couldn’t resist, eh? Horatlor didn’t have Wukkar’s military/industrial complex, but it did play
host to a pretty big Imperial Navy base. That was something that they didn’t seem to pay attention to as much as they should,
because Antilles had recently made a string of votes apparently designed to annoy Gracian’s friends over in His Imperial Majesty’
s Government. Stupid man.
It didn’t take much effort. Gracian called a handful of Senators into his office, and told them straight up that he didn’t want to see
them associating with a crooked Senator. He didn’t name names, of course, but he dropped hints that maybe Antilles was under
investigation for official corruption. He wasn’t, of course, but they didn’t know that. A lot of investigations were practically
impossible to find, anyway. Next, he had his third cousin (twice removed) do a little searching into Antilles’s background, and it
turned out that there were a few questionable business dealings with Soro Suub Corporation. So maybe there should be an
investigation. A word or two into the right ear during dinner on Thursday, and the whiteshirts of the ISB would be all over that
angle. Let’s see, what else? Ah! Gracian talked to the Chairman of the Defense Committee – a friend from the old days – and had
one of the New Order Senators propose at the last minute moving the Kaldriaab Naval Base from Horatlor to Wukkar, whose
powerful military/industrial complex was a better match for it, anyway. Calling in a few favors, and making a few clever promises,
Gracian got that bill out of committee and onto the floor, and played with the schedule so there were only three days to debate it.
Oops, turns out that the ISB wanted to talk to Antilles on two of those days, and he wasn’t able to attend. Such a pity. The bill
went through. The Navy began making the preparations for the move, and Horatlor’s economy took it pretty hard. It wasn’t really
a crippling blow, but it hurt, nonetheless. So, Gracian decided to rub it in a little and called the President of the Horatlorine
Democratic Republic.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. President,” said he. “I assure you that Wukkar will do everything she can to ameliorate the effects of this
move, and give you my personal assurance that Wukkar certainly did not intend for this to happen to so esteemed a friend,” which
was all hogwash, of course. He’d personally engineered it. “I am sure that Senator Antilles will find such an outpouring of
sympathy that blah, blah, blah.” Something along those lines. The important thing was that he made clear that it was Antilles’s
fault that the planet was suffering. The President got the clue, but his term expired two months later. He was sure to pass the
message along, though, and the incoming President had Antilles recalled. The ISB came calling at his residence shortly after that,
and Gracian stopped caring shortly thereafter. He never did find out what happened to Antilles in the end. He didn’t care, to tell
you the truth.
Oh, he had his way with the Senate, all right. Finally the time came when he was actually bored with it. Well, that was easily
solved. A few more choice words on Thursday night, and soon he was retiring from the Senate in a stately and dignified ceremony,
followed soon after by his elevation to membership among the Lords and Others of His Imperial Majesty’s Most Honorable Privy
Council amidst the pomp and circumstance he so richly deserved. It wasn’t long before the Lord President of the Council
appointed him as the new Minister President of the Galactic Empire; he practically flew through the Senate confirmation process.
Oh, the game was on now, yes, sir. It wasn’t really the old days anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself. It
rankled that when Dangor stepped down, it was Trachta, by now nearly 70% mechanical, that replaced him as President of the
Ruling Council, but he did finally get the satisfaction of waking up one morning to hear that time had finally caught up with the
borg, and Indutiomarus Trachta had been shot and killed. He’d been waiting over twenty years to hear that.
The game was still good to him, but it wasn’t the same anymore. Dangor was out, now assigned to oversee the Core Worlds’
security – not the Ruling Council president anymore, but still a plum job, and he kept his seat on the Council. Trachta was dead,
and so was Bartam – good riddance to the both of them. But still he never got the call to take over the Ruling Council. No, that
went to Pestage, the glorified errand boy who’d started his career as principal privy secretary to Senator Augie Palpatine. And
despite his many years of experience, was it Gracian Pildr’th who became Supreme Commander after Screed stood relieved? No,
sir, it was that quack sorcerer Darth Vader. Men like Dangor, Pestage, Trachta, and Vader weren’t really in the club. They were
nobody technocrats, those common hirelings that you brought in to fix a problem and were supposed to have the common decency
to know they weren’t part of the ruling class, not really. Some of them really believed the Empire was about reshaping the galaxy,
making into something new. That’s not what it was all about, Gracian knew. It was all about Names and Numbers. The Great
Houses and the Old Families, the Core Worlds, the megacorporations. That’s where the real power was.
But then, most of the people from the old days were gone now, weren’t they? Bail Organa was dead, killed along with the rest of
Alderaan. Limoth was dead – those flowers really had been nice, though. Shayla and Sanya were dead, so was the Viscountess
Romodi and her nephew, the latter having died aboard the Death Star along with Shayla’s nephew Slick Willy Tarkin and one of
Sanya’s boys. Come to think of it, two more of Sanya’s boys were dead, and it was little Ulric that was the Baron Tagge now.
Khalid Ozzel and Iskander Bey were long since retired, so was Eliza Niriz. To make things worse, Khalid’s son Kendal wasn’t
worth two wlirz. Trommer, Banjeer, and Holt were too busy shuttling back and forth between Navy Command and Anaxes to talk
very much anymore. But the game was still interesting; he read reports like Dr. Leth’s “Modest Proposal” and Dr. Lemelisk’s
“Hammertong Proposal,” and signed off on them with the satisfaction of knowing that these men couldn’t do anything without the
permission of Gracian Pildr’th.
Can you imagine how Gracian felt when he received word that the Lord Presidency of the Council had changed, and the new Lord
President wanted his own candidate as Minister President? Would it surprise you to know that he laughed? Oh, yes, he laughed.
He laughed because Dangor had just lost his cushy Plenipotentiary for the Security of the Core Worlds job, and was trying to
rebound by ousting Gracian from his. Well, it was about time somebody put Dangor in his place. Every time he lost a job, he
somehow managed to blackmail his way into a new one, always managing to snatch hold of one of the Ruling Council’s seats. Yes,
sir, it was time somebody taught him a lesson. And that somebody would be Gracian Pildr’th, Minister President of the Galactic
Empire.
“I am afraid His Imperial Majesty will not see you today,” Pestage would say. No wonder so many people hated him, he was
always getting in the way. But Gracian was a good sport, and he let it go for a whole week. Finally, he was fed up with Pestage’s
stonewalling.
“Look, Pestage, that’s all well and good for one of his little hirelings, but this is me we’re talking about here,” he growled.
Pestage had fixed him with a look of cool amusement. “My dear fellow,” he’d said, bemused. “You are one of our hirelings.” The
Emperor hadn’t agreed to see him until three months after Dangor put in his own man as Minister President. Dangor won, Gracian
lost. And Augie Palpatine had stood by and let it happen.
“Welcome, my friend,” the Emperor had said, as he slowly made his way toward the balcony where Gracian brooded, staring out
into the vast garden that was the centerpiece of the Emperor’s skyhook. It was the most beautifully furnished skyhook in the
galaxy, and yet the Emperor barely spent two days a year aboard it. Just like his Palace, the most majestic and gorgeous palace in
existence, and yet he spent most of his time in that ascetic little residence of his deep inside it. It was like he was hiding from the
light and the beauty.
“I don’t understand you anymore,” Gracian had said, fighting back the tendency to give his old friend a real piece of his mind. If he
appeared too agitated, the snipers that were hidden in the garden might feel the need to put him down.
“Let us be honest with one another,” the frail old Emperor said, smiling, “You never understood me in the first place.”
Gracian turned to face him, angry. “I’ve been your friend since the very beginning. I’ve supported you throughout your entire rise
to power, and now you’ve turned your back on me. All I’ve got now is a meaningless seat on your Privy Council, while these
party hacks from your New Order get all the benefits.” He jabbed a finger at the man, then calmed down a bit and lowered his hand.
“Names and Numbers, man, don’t you remember that? Who are these people you’re using now? Why are you still using these
nobody technocrats? Why are Pestage and Dangor and Vader running everything? What about people like me and Beruss and Gno,
people who have real names from real families from real worlds?”
“My friend, you think in such four dimensional terms,” the Emperor said, joining him at the banister of the balcony. “Politics is
not the game, politics is only part of the game. You are playing the game, but I am winning it,” he said, closing his eyes and inhaling
deeply. “You can’t hear it, can you? The sounds of life. Not only here, but all throughout the galaxy. I can hear it, feel it, taste it. It
is all mine. While you played your pithy games of politics, I have been doing so much more. Soon, Gracian, the time will come
when all of this will be no more. Only I will remain.”
Gracian listened with a complete lack of understanding. What was he talking about? It was like the Emperor was no longer the man
he’d once known. The Emperor turned to him, and Gracian noticed with a start that he had yellowed eyes. “You are no further use
to me, Gracian Pildr’th. Come no more to see me.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Play your games of politics. Win your useless
offices, flaunt your useless titles. I don’t care.”
Gracian Pildr’th didn’t give up or retire after that, no, sir. No, instead he accepted the position as Chairman of the Board of the
Regency Spires Imperial Trust, on Ralltiir. It was a good job, it let him soak up credits without having to do all that much. He was
mostly the resident expert on Imperial politics, which any bank found terrifically valuable. A man with experience like his could
command top credit from the banks and businesses that wanted connections to the ruling class, and the best part was he didn’t
have to give up his seat on the Privy Council. After about a year with Regency Spires, he accepted an even sweeter deal from the
IBC over on Moneylend. That was ironic, it used to be that the Muuns couldn’t stand Wukkar and its galactic spokesman. Wasn’t
it funny how a decade or two under the New Order changed your tune?
He wasn’t taking care of himself as much as he used to. He drank quite a bit these days, usually at dinner with some of the old
boys from the old days, usually Gno and Beruss. They were the only ones that still spent much time on Imperial Center, so he met
with them most times when he was on planet for a vote on some Moff’s candidacy or renewing some Grand Moff’s term. Gno and
Beruss were also the only ones who ever said anything about his excessive drinking. Well, they always were a bit prudish, weren’t
they? It’s not like it really mattered. And it let him vent his frustration and anger at the way he’d been mistreated by his old
“friend,” that backstabbing son of a motherless tshaj’r. Here he was an overpaid banking consultant where that Nameless nobody
Pestage was President of the Ruling Council.
Did it matter to him that it’d been he, Gracian Pildr’th, that kept Slick Willy’s little pet project out from under the Senate’s radar?
No! Did it matter to him that it’d been he, Gracian Pildr’th, that had presided over that massive expansion of the Navy and the
Army? No! Did it matter to him it’d been he, Gracian Pildr’th, that had found the funding for Leth’s “Modest Proposal”
contraption or Lemelisk’s Hammertong Whatsis? No! Oh, he’d done more than his fair share for Augie’s fight against Mothma’s
hooligans and pirates, but what’d he gotten in return? Was there going to be any gratitude for Gracian Pildr’th when the Rebellion
was crushed? No!
Gno and Beruss were good chaps, that was for sure. Even when the others on Imperial Center stopped calling, they kept coming
around. Well, that was good for them, wasn’t it? Yes, sir. Because one of these days, Gracian Pildr’th was going to get back into
the game. He’d show them who was the Vorknkx of the Senate Floor then, wouldn’t he? Oh, yes. Yes, sir. Wukkar couldn’t be
pushed aside. Never mind the fact that his replacement as the Senator for Wukkar just got appointed Minister President. He was
just a tool in Dangor’s hands, anyway. Yes, once he got back into the game, there’d be Chaos to pay. And the Great Omega help
those bfriks that stood in his way. He’d show them. Yes, he’d show them all.
He remembered there being a knock on his door. The ‘droid was over in another room, looking for more whiskey. Well, he may as
well answer it, he’d thought. Probably Gno and Beruss, it’s about that time in the evening. He remembered opening the door and
seeing Beruss there, with a couple of men he didn’t recognize. He remembered Beruss’s apologetic smile, as he opened his hands
and said, “I want you to know, Gracian, that there is nothing personal in what I am about to do,” and he remembered the men
shoving him to the ground and forcing their way into his apartment. He remembered them dragging him into the living room and
putting binders on him and propping him up on the sofa. He remembered the way they checked some instruments and said
something about how the apartment’s normal surveillance was very definitely diverted. Then they’d injected him with something
and Beruss said, “I want you to tell me again what you said about this Hammertong business.”
Hammertong? Yes, yes, that’s right. He remembered that. Of course he did. Gracian Pildr’th remembered plenty of things. He
remembered all about this whole Hammertong project. Don’t you remember what he’d told you about it, Doman? It was the latest
of Augie’s secret weapons. He’d had a lot of those, ever since he first entered the game, way back in the old days. You remember
the old days, don’t you Doman? He did. Yes, sir. Gracian Pildr’th remembered the old days.
old days. Oh, yes. He remembered them well. Things had been good back in the old days, different from the way it was now, with
all this newfangled New Order and its slogans of “Unity, stability, conformity” and all that. Most of it was hogwash. He knew the
leaders of the Party by face and name, and they were no different from the men from the old days. Every one of those gentlemen
had their price. Some might cost a little. Some might cost a lot. But when all was said and done, he knew, they would be bought. It
was just a matter of finding that price, you understand. Not that that bothered him. Things were good now, too. Just not like back
in the good old days.
Oh, yes, Gracian Pildr’th remembered the old days. He’d been a strapping young man back then. The fact that he hadn’t really
been that young for most of what he considered “the old days” didn’t occur to him. It didn’t matter. There he’d been, the dashing
Senator of Wukkar, the public face of an industrial and cultural colossus. One of the foremost of the Core Worlds. He’d delighted in
the game.
“Liberty and freedom!” Chandrila would cry. They believed in it, too, those Chandrilans. Pampered children, really. They had all
they could ever want, money, power, beauty. Easy to talk about liberty and freedom, it didn’t cost them anything. They didn’t
have to work for it.
“Justice and order!” Alderaan would respond. Alderaan had all the liberty and freedom anyone could ever want. So when Chandrila
started spouting its crazytalk about liberating the masses and providing all these newfangled “social rights,” Alderaan snorted. How
about property rights? How about good old fashioned individuality?
Wukkar didn’t give two negl’x about all that. When the roll call came on one of those useless resolutions calling on some aberrant
tin-horn dictator in the Mid Rim to stop oppressing the Whatsits and the Whocareses, Gracian Pildr’th answered for Wukkar.
“Liberty and freedom!” he’d say. Or “Justice and order!” It didn’t matter. Because Wukkar didn’t intend to play along. Wukkar
played its own game.
It was Wukkar that sold the guns and armor and tanks and fighters to those same small-fry dictators. And when some obscure
planet in the Outer Rim hit it big with a load of hyperbarides, it was Wukkar that ponied up the cash to capitalize on it. Wukkar
provided the technical expertise to those backwater worlds that enriched their regimes and made trade happen. Wukkar provided
the military advisors to those worlds that had the cash to pay for a victory in a bush war. And if some uppity Rimworld smashed
a Wukkaran freighter or attacked a Wukkaran colony – and the Great Omega knew there were plenty of Wukkaran colonies – then
it was Wukkar that taught that world what “shock and awe” meant.
Let Muunilinst turn up its nose at Wukkar. Or whatever it had like a nose. Muuns didn’t really have a nose, did they? Anyway,
let them snub Wukkar. What did it matter? Wukkar had solid support in the power elite of Bank of the Core, of Ralltiir, of Aargau.
Let the Muuns look at Wukkar’s enormous bank accounts and fume. Bank of the Core and Bank of Aargau were far richer than the
InterGalactic Banking Clan, no matter what the Muuns and the galaxy at large seemed to think. The Muuns were upstarts, anyway.
Let Corellia turn up its nose, too. Heh. When Garm Bel Iblis sometimes made that face of carefully concealed (but just as carefully
revealed) contempt, it was all Gracian could do not to fall to the ground laughing. It was the face of a married woman trying to snub
her lover at a ball when he had the poor taste to join her and her husband for a chat. “Go away, I’ll make time for you later,” it
seemed to say. Gracian knew that face well, and it was the same face Iblis made, that sneaky devil. Corellia was up to its eyebrows
in Wukkaran contracts. So was Kuat. Wukkar’s fleet was so big and so advanced it embarrassed even Gracian to talk about it.
But they didn’t really turn up their noses, did they? No, sir. Wukkar was a member of the club. Wukkar was a Core World, thank
you very much. The fact that what Wukkar did never quite lined up with what Wukkar said didn’t matter. The fact that the
General Assembly of Wukkar very frequently did the exact same things that Gracian condemned others for doing didn’t matter,
either. That was a part of the game. Politics wasn’t really about truth and beauty and ideals. It was about power and money and
influence. It was about Names and Numbers. Wukkar was good at the game, and so was Gracian Pildr’th.
Oh, those had been the days. Going to the opera with Finis Valorum – that was back when he was just a Senator, before he’d taken
over the Democratic Center and ridden that racket all the way to the Chancellor’s podium. Ha, what a laugh. Valorum’s family had
its share of skeletons in its closet, too. Gracian hadn’t been surprised when that financial scandal broke out. Let’s not even talk
about the nights on the town, wink wink nudge nudge. Going hunting on Hesperidium with Eliza Niriz, that Old Anaxsi fox – he’d
never seen a women shoot like that. She could shoot the ash off a cigarra, he’d seen her do it. Or how about that time he’d seconded
Doman Beruss in that duel? What a lark! Who’d have guessed Doman could handle a blaster? Honestly, officer, Senator k’Nifs died
in a hunting accident. Scout’s honor.
It’d been a good game, back then. He’d been in the Senate for barely two years when Senator Paliver resigned in disgrace, and the
good Doctor and that self-righteous tsharmut from Chandrila joined the Senate. She’d been quite a looker back then, but she spent
most of her time with Dr. Squeaky Clean. Augustus Nero Palpatine was a good chap, no question. He came from one of the Old
Families, the families that had been rich and powerful since time immemorial. The Palpatines were one of the smaller Old Families,
and unlike most they were very private about how much money they really had. Most people saw that the Palpatines lived on
Naboo, in the Mid Rim, and assumed that they must be pretty strapped for cash. No, sir. Gracian knew better.
He’d done some checking into it. He’d met Augie – he hated to be called “Augie,” but he was too polite to ever say so – about ten
years before, at some reception. He didn’t really remember what it was for, he’d been pretty drunk at the time. Still, he
remembered thinking it odd that the Archduke Palpatine lived on Naboo, a planet ruled by a monarch whose pedigree was like
nothing compared to his own. It’d taken about ten years to finally track down the Palpatines’ wealth, too. Gracian had forgotten all
about it by the time his third cousin (twice removed) got back to him about it. No wonder nobody really had any clue, it just took
too much time and hard work to try to figure out.
Turns out the Palpatines were disgustingly, outrageously rich. They owned hundreds of planets, lock, stock, and barrel. They
owned a quarter of the shares in TaggeCo., and had huge interests in Bank of the Core, the Bank of Aargau, the Karflo Corporation,
and even the Corellian Engineering Corporation. They owned huge stretches of prime real estate on Coruscant. Great Omega, it
turns out that the Palpatines actually owned the building Gracian lived in. Nobody had any clue, because all their holdings were in
other names, hidden away in a vast labyrinth of trusts, holding companies, dummy corporations, and who knows what else.
Gracian had decided that Augie Palpatine was a friend worth having. That decision had been confirmed when he saw the way Sanya
Tagge doted on him. Not just her, either. He kept a low profile, but people noticed him. He was smart as all Chaos, too. He had
degrees up the wagyx. He had a huge collection of art, and even a private collection of antique lightsabers. He was a pretty dull
politician, very straightlaced moderate Centrist. A crossbencher, even! Heh. Nobody was a crossbencher if they planned on going
places. But even though he didn’t join a single one of the plethora of caucuses and parties and factions in the Senate, he still got
offers to be on advisory boards and committees and such. Turned them all down, too. That only drew Gracian’s attention all the
more.
“How’re things in the Mid Rim, Augie?” He’d say.
“Er, I suppose things are fine,” Dr. Squeaky Clean would say, in that somewhat self-conscious way he always spoke. “They could
be better, though.”
That was how Augie Palpatine always talked. He was never too specific, and he didn’t really tell you what he thought unless you
pushed for it. Maybe that’s why so many people trusted him, because he didn’t upset you by contradicting you. A lot of Senators
confided in him. What Gracian wouldn’t have given for some of the juicy details he was sure Augie heard on an everyday basis. But
Augie kept it all to himself. Oooh, what Gracian could’ve done with that kind of knowledge.
“So, what’s the deal with you and the Chandrilan dame?” Gracian would ask him about once a day.
“Er, I don’t know what you mean,” would be the reply.
“Are you two an item, or what?” You had to push to get much of anything out of Augie.
“You might be pardoned for thinking so,” he’d answer. It only made Gracian even more curious. That was the kind of doublespeak
you typically heard from thirty-year Senators, not from someone Gracian’s and Augie’s age. At their age, people tended to be a lot
less evasive. Augie was a tricky one, no doubt about it. And Great Omega, could he play cards. He never lost. Not ever. Even in
games it was impossible to cheat in.
There were times that Gracian didn’t win at the game, of course. After Mothma and Augie had their split, Gracian was on her like
fur on a Wookiee. The fact that she’d evidently been involved with Augie only made her more attractive.
“He’s pure evil!” That was generally the extent of the conversation when he asked her why she couldn’t stand to be near him
anymore. She wouldn’t answer his questions about whether or not they’d been an item. She wouldn’t answer his questions about
what kinds of things Augie did in private. No, all she’d do is vent this horrible, all-encompassing hatred she’d developed for him. If
you really pressed her, she’d explain in detail that he was not even really human, just a monstrous thing disguised as a man.
The constant screeds about how evil Augie even when he didn’t ask were really becoming something of a mood-killer when he was
trying to take her out on a date.
But overall, the game was good to Gracian, and he won more than he lost. He’d even managed to weasel his way into Valorum’s
Democratic Center – that alone told you how much good the “Democratic” and “Center” parts of the name really were – and was
positioning himself to challenge Valorum for the party leadership when the scandal broke. Oh, he’d been so close. Just a few more
months, and he’d wrest the leadership from him – Valorum wasn’t a bad chap, just a bit too idealistic, and he didn’t have the
cutthroat instinct you needed to be a good Supreme Chancellor. Well, Gracian did, and once he had Valorum’s job, it’d be a whole
new ball game, yes, sir.
Then the Neimoidians blockaded Naboo.
At the time, Gracian had patted Augie on the shoulder. “Tough break, Augie, but you’ll make it through. If they destroy Naboo,
you can probably just buy a new seat, am I right?” Augie didn’t really see the humor in the situation, though. Poor chap, he really
was concerned about the Naboo suffering from the blockade.
Gracian wondered privately if maybe Wukkar shouldn’t teach the slimy TradeFed a lesson. Give ‘em a good drubbing, smash up
their pithy little blockade. Battleships, keh! Wukkar had real battleships. Wukkar had ships that would turn that fleet of glorified
freighters into cosmic scrap. And it’d look good, too: The noble Core World taking a stand against unjustified aggression by the
greedy Neimoidians. Yes, sir, the idea had potential. He’d discussed it with the Premier back on Wukkar, and the Premier promised
to think about it. But then disaster struck.
That stupid tsharmut, Queen Amidala, moved for a vote of no confidence against Valorum. It was too soon, Gracian hadn’t taken
over the Democratic Center yet, he wasn’t in position to seize power. Akzif, she’d ruined everything! Can you imagine how
Gracian had felt when he wasn’t one of the nominees for the podium? The Democratic Center didn’t even put up a candidate. The
Conservatives put forward Bail Antilles (surprise, surprise), the Rationalists put forward Ainlee Teem, and – mirabile dictu –
Maria Teresa Romodi actually nominated Augie Palpatine.
In retrospect, Gracian wasn’t surprised that Augie won.
After all, Augie didn’t have any enemies. Antilles, that stuffed shirt, had plenty, and so did Teem. They were both big names, and
you don’t get to be big without stepping on a lot of toes throughout your career. Augie, though, he avoided the spotlight like the
plague. He had a solid Centrist voting record, he was a moderate, he was a crossbencher. Sure, he was in favor of reform, but he
was such a timid chap that the more corrupt elements of the Senate didn’t take him seriously. The honest Senators looked at his
integrity and liked what they saw, and the corrupt ones looked at his personality and also liked what they saw. Not to mention the
sympathy vote based on the fact that his planet was being blockaded by the TradeFed. Different people voted for him for different
reasons, but they still voted for him. So Augie Palpatine climbed up to the Chancellor’s podium. Gracian Pildr’th didn’t see that
one coming at all.
It was good to see a friend succeed, sure, there was no question about that. And the nice thing was that, Valorum having resigned
from the Senate altogether in disgrace, Gracian was the new leader of the Democratic Center. Yes, quite a few of the members
resigned from the caucus shortly thereafter, but he still controlled one of the biggest blocs in the Senate. Augie would have to call
on him to form a coalition, maybe with the Conservatives or the White Libertarians. The Progressives and the Rationalists were
right out, for pretty much the same reason. Unfortunately, Augie somehow managed to serve an entire term without forming any
sort of coalition at all.
“What’s the deal, Augie?” He’d asked him. “Why haven’t you called me?”
“I have called you, Gracian,” he’d answer. “We’ve been meeting at least twice a month for years now.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Gracian would reply. “Why haven’t you given me the General Ministry? I’ve got the most votes of any
of the floor leaders, why haven’t you had me put together a coalition?”
“Gracian, didn’t you always say that it made no sense to be a crossbencher?” He’d smile that tired, sad smile of his. “The benefit
is that I don’t owe my Government to any of the floor leaders.”
“So you bring in these nobody technocrats for your portfolios!” Gracian would thunder. “Il-Raz, I can understand, he’s done a
wonderful job with Finance. But who is this Trachta character? Why do we have a borg of all things running the Interior portfolio?”
“Captain General Trachta has done a fine job as Interior Minister, Gracian,” Augie would say. “I intend to give him the General
Ministry now that Hirken is retiring.”
“What?” The word had exploded from Gracian’s mouth before he could form a coherent thought. “You’re going to make a borg the
General Minister? What’s the matter with you, Augie? Why aren’t you going to give me that portfolio?”
“Gracian,” he’d say, “I cannot give you the General Ministry because you’re too controversial to be Head of the Government.
Maybe I can offer you the Defense portfolio in a few years.”
“Augie, you can’t seriously expect me to work under a borg.”
“Gracian, I don’t have to offer you any portfolio at all,” he’d say, ending the conversation. Gracian would fume for days afterward,
complaining bitterly about how his old friend was mistreating him now that he sat at the podium in the middle. Never mind the fact
that he probably wouldn’t have even thought about giving Augie even one of the most useless Government portfolios had he won
the podium.
But Augie Palpatine was a man of his word. Halfway through his second term – he still hadn’t formed a coalition yet – Gracian was
offered and did accept the post of Minister of Defense. Augie was right about one thing, Gracian was controversial, but Wukkar
was one of those worlds – along with Carida, Raithal, Corulag, and Anaxes – that just seemed to naturally produce Defense
Ministers. Gracian practically swooned when he heard about the growing Separatist crisis. Wukkar was making a killing off the
whole racket. And can you imagine his glee – well concealed in public, of course – when he heard about the proposed Military
Creation Act?
“Minister Pildr’th,” Trachta would admonition, “Need I remind you that this Government has no position on the pending Military
Creation Bill?”
“Oh, hogwash,” he would retort, leaning across the table and jabbing at the borg with his hand. “With the amount of money we’re
talking about here, it’s impossible to not have a position! Does that not compute?”
“Look, Pildr’th,” Dangor would interrupt, voicing his own concerns, “It’s all well and good to say that the Republic needs to be
defended, but you’re too gung-ho about this. When you talk about the bill in public, you give the impression that the President
wants it passed, and you’re causing me problems.” Keh. Puffed up functionary, that was Ars Dangor. Thought because he’d been
Augie’s second assistant privy secretary when he was a Senator, that he knew politics. So now he was Assistant to the Supreme
Chancellor for Legislative Affairs, and strutted about, like he could talk to a man who’d been a Senator for decades about how the
Senate worked. Keh.
“Well, Screed talks about it all the time,” he’d respond. “Screed’s openly supporting it, and he’s a part of the Government, too.”
“Screed,” Screed would say, “is obviously in favor of the bill, and nobody would believe him if he said he wasn’t. Nobody really
listens to a bloody word he says anyway.” Or something like that. Nobody really listened to a bloody word he said, anyway.
“As I have said,” Trachta would say, with his unblinking red eyes – visual sensors, whatever you anted to call them, they were
robotic and he wasn’t decent enough to even try to get presentable-looking prosthetics; they didn’t even look like eyes, they were
a pair of stubby cylinders jutting from his pale face, with red lenses. “This Government has no position on the pending bill, and
you will cease to make public statements about it. I am telling you this as Head of the Government, not as a colleague.”
Gracian found himself waking up every morning hoping to hear that the latest assassination attempt on Trachta had succeeded. He
really did seem to get more than his fair share of assassins, didn’t he? Sometimes he wondered what Trachta had done back when
he’d worked in that Mid Rim Security Force that made so many people hate him and want him dead. Finally he decided to have his
third cousin (twice removed) look into it. Maybe there was some blackmail material waiting to be exploited in Trachta’s
background. It seemed like every month he had improbably survived another attempt on his life, showing up to meetings with
another mechanical body part. Why didn’t the bloody fikrmuadhif just die?
Ultimately, Gracian couldn’t stand it anymore, and resigned from the Government. It was only a matter of time before Augie
would realize that he needed him and his connections, and dumped his current crop of nobody technocrats and called in some real
politicians to take over the Government. He was still the leader of the Democratic Center, so when that time came, he would surely
be in position to take over as General Minister. Then he’d show that uppity borg how the game was played, oh, yes.
So when Sanya Tagge – still a fox after all this time – offered him an executive vice presidency in TaggeCo., well, he couldn’t resist.
Why not take a break for a little while? He took a leave of absence from his seat in the Senate – you didn’t have to resign to take
another job, not in those days – why, how d’you think Augie had held that associate professorate of economics at the University
when he was still in the Chommel Sector Assembly? – and put in a lackey as head of the caucus while he reaped the rewards of a
plum job at TaggeCo. Of course, why not? Tapasi was fantastically rich, and had a comfortable relationship with Wukkar, you
understand. And while the game was fun, it didn’t pay nearly as well – at least, not officially – as working for Augie’s on-again, off-
again girlfriend. They spent so much time together, their families were so financially incestuous, sometimes he wondered why they
didn’t just marry and be done with it. Maybe they already had. You never could tell with the Old Families, they did have such a
thing as secret marriages. Yet another to thing to have his third cousin (twice removed) look into.
It’d been hysterical when Augie finagled his way into extending his time in office despite the expiry of his term. He’d always
known that he’d been a clever man, yes, sir. “Tricky Augie,” that’s what he called him. Imagine Gracian’s reaction when he heard
that Augie Palpatine had finally formed a coalition, tying together the Rationalists, the Conservatives, the Mid Rim Independents,
the White Libertarians, and the Association. But Augie’s Coalition didn’t include the Democratic Center. It didn’t include the
Democratic Center. It didn’t include the Democratic Center. And Trachta was still the General Minister and Head of the
Government. Gracian had been so angry he’d had a stroke.
He resigned from TaggeCo. shortly after he recovered, and immediately terminated his leave of absence. The new Premier was glad
to have him back, he still had enormous clout in the Senate and in the backrooms where the real decisions were made. Oh, he’d
show Augie, all right. How dare he try to freeze out Gracian Pildr’th? What kind of an ingrate would do such a thing to his friend?
He went storming into the Senate floor with a vengeance, tearing into Augie with such ferocity that it surprised even Mothma –
she’d barely aged a day since he’d first met her, pity her obsession with Augie made her thoroughly unattractive these days.
“The Republic needs to be defended, and this Supreme Chancellor won’t hear of it!” he’d roar. “I can tell you, fellow Senators, that
he’s afraid to even take a position! That tin can he calls a General Minister won’t even let the matter be discussed in Government
meetings! It’s bloody cowardice, ladies and gentlemen!”
But half of Augie’s Coalition didn’t even support the Military Creation Act. That was made it so infuriating at times. You couldn’t
even count on a knee-jerk reflex of defense for the Government when half the Coalition was for an issue and the other half was
against it. Count on Tricky Augie to muddle the waters just enough to make it difficult to figure out where he was going with this.
It was no surprise that when Augie formed his Loyalist Committee, he didn’t even call Gracian. The Democratic Center still wasn’t
in the Coalition, so why should he try reaching out to it?
“Don’t even talk to me,” Gracian would say to Dangor. “Go tell your boss that when he has something to say to me, he can come
and say it himself.”
Finally, the time came when Augie did just that. “I want Wukkar to stop supplying Separatists in the Rim, Gracian,” he’d said,
lowering himself into a comfortable chair in Gracian’s luxurious apartment. “And I want you to stop attacking me on the floor.”
“Oh, how the tables are turned!” Gracian had replied, quite delighted. He’d long since discarded his plot to take over as General
Minister. Now he was after Augie’s job. If you stab your friend in the back, well, don’t be surprised if he stabs you in the back.
Yes, sir. The podium would be his, yet. “I’m sorry, Augie, but I just can’t do that. Wukkar isn’t supplying Separatists, she
respects the rule of law, you know that. And as for attacking you, Augie, it’s all part of the game. What can you offer me, that I
can’t take for myself?”
“My dear friend,” Augie said, smiling a smile quite unlike anything Gracian had ever seen before. It was the smile of a vicious
carnivore, not the timid, bookish Augie Palpatine. His voice dropped to a lower, more throaty noise, and his eyes seemed to flare.
The room grew ever so much colder, and Gracian found himself involuntarily drawing away. “I don’t think you understand the
situation you find yourself in.”
The room had definitely grown colder by then. Oh, yes. Very cold. Not only that, but it had gotten a whole lot darker, too. It was
like the room had vanished altogether, leaving only him and Augie – or whatever it was – cloaked in blackness. A low rumble filled
the darkness, and for the first time in his life, Gracian Pildr’th felt afraid.
“I have made very delicate arrangements,” Augie said, his voice now very much different from the usual soft tones he used. “And I
do not intend for your foolish sense of pique and your planet’s opportunism to upset them. I will warn you once, and once only,
my friend.” He fixed Gracian with a piercing glare from those yellowed eyes – Wait, yellowed? No, surely not. Augie had blue eyes.
What was this, some kind of hallucination? “If you defy me, you and your world will be destroyed. I can promise you that. Do as
I say, and you will find – “ his lips pulled back to show a grotesque death’s head grin – “that I have such wonderful things to show
you.”
Gracian didn’t talk about that meeting. The truth was that it had left him badly shaken, and he wasn’t sure it had really happened.
He had suffered a stroke recently, after all. So, filled with uncertainty – which was something entirely new for him, he was a master
of the game – he made an appointment with Dangor to see the Supreme Chancellor. Dangor had told him he could only fit him in
with a group of Senators, the leaders of the Democratic Center. He was the leader of the caucus again, so he really should’ve been
part of the meeting, anyway. That had been fine, of course, Gracian only wanted to see him.
The meeting had gone fine. Augie had been his usual mild self. There was nothing at all out of the ordinary. Gracian had even
checked to make sure that his eyes were blue. Then – had Augie just winked at him? Gracian looked around. Nobody else seemed
to respond. No, he’d imagined it. The meeting continued. The others reached the decision to join the Coalition, so that was settled.
Augie was happy that a source of contention was being solved, so close to the vote on the Military Creation Bill. Gracian probably
wouldn’t be offered a portfolio – Trachta was still General Minister, so that was probably not desirable – but he could probably
pick who would get a few portfolios. Yes, it was a satisfactory meeting, all around.
“My friends, it is my sincere hope that we can weather this storm together,” he said, rising to signal the end of the meeting. “And
when the storm has cleared, I am sure we will see such wonderful things. Together.” His eyes darted ever so quickly toward
Gracian. After the meeting, Gracian called the Premier and told him to stop supplying Separatists. He didn’t even bother with the
usual doubletalk or euphemisms.
When the Clone War broke out, Wukkar’s enormous fleets and armies and long experience in bush wars and gunboat diplomacy put
her at the very pinnacle of the Republic. She stood alongside Kuat and a few others as a pillar fo the galactic defense establishment.
Gracian quickly became the Chairman of the Senate Defense Committee, where he found himself coming increasingly into conflict
with Mothma, who accused him of collaborating with Augie against her. He didn’t really think about that chilling meeting with
Augie anymore – he’d convinced himself he’d imagined the whole thing. Nevertheless, he was once again a good friend of Augie
Palpatine. He knew how to deal with Mothma, to foist her off on useless advisory boards and investigative committees. Leader of
the Official Opposition, keh. She was no match for Gracian Pildr’th, the Vorknkx of the Senate Floor. He’d show her who was the
real master of the game. Oh, yes.
The war was won, of course. With Gracian Pildr’th and Wukkar, how could a war ever be lost? It wasn’t long before old Augie
Palpatine, the timid and reserved Archduke Palpatine – he didn’t even use the title, even though he’d inherited it from his sister
decades ago – the bookish historian who’d become His Excellency the Supreme Chancellor, His Excellency the President – well, it
wasn’t long at all before he became His Imperial Majesty the Galactic Emperor. Heh. Who’d have seen that one coming, eh? Well,
aside from Mothma. She was a washed-up has-been, anyway. Nobody listened to her.
It was good to be a friend of the new Emperor. TaggeCo., Kuat Drive Yards, and the others who’d remained loyal during the War
were rewarded generously with fantastically huge contracts for reconstruction and expansion. Pity, but Sanya Tagge didn’t live to
see it. She was dead by then, but there was still her son – whose father remained unknown, with only the traditional certification
that her sons were legitimate, born to a worthy sire – and oh, ho, who could that be? Who in all the stars might have sired five
children by the lovely Baroness Tagge? Who, indeed? Why, it must have been somebody who spent a lot of time with her. Wink
wink, nudge nudge. Yes, it was good to be in the circle of friends, who knew the dirty secrets.
(Actually, he didn’t know too many secrets about Augie. Nobody did, really. Well, maybe Garlan Limoth did; certainly he’d been
all in a fury when he’d come to see Gracian that time. All sputtering about treachery and faithlessness. Stupid man. Had he kept
his mouth shut, he could’ve profited handsomely. Tsk, tsk. Gracian couldn’t let Limoth foul things up, you understand. It wasn’t
the first time he’d arranged for a friend to have an accident. And anyway, he’d sent such lovely flowers to the funeral.)
By then, though, it wasn’t really the old days anymore, was it? Not really. Augie – excuse me, His Imperial Majesty the Galactic
Emperor – wasn’t around much anymore. He was pretty sick these days, and others picked up the slack. Like Dangor. Keh, what a
bfrik. Still thought he knew politics, still just a pretentious second-rate. President of the Ruling Council, keh! Look at him, walking
around in those black robes, pretending he’s like the Emperor. Like he doesn’t crave money and fame. Like he’s happy letting
others reap the glory and honor. Please. Gracian knew plenty of dirty secrets about Dangor. Or how about Trachta? That overrated
tin can was Grand Moff Governor of the Core now, was he? He was still just a worthless rube from the Mid Rim, no matter how
many medals Dangor pinned to his chest. Most of his chest was metal, don’t you know.
Yes, Gracian was content to sit in the Senate, one of the elder statesmen, one of the senior Senators. He ruled the Defense
Committee with an iron fist – rather like Trachta’s, you might say. He brought his Democratic Center into coalition with the New
Order Party and the Rationalists, but for all their prancing around talking of a new order, they were the same old kind of Senator.
They had their prices. He knew, he was paying some of them. If Augie was Emperor of the Galaxy, he, Gracian, was King of the
Senate. Let Mothma rant and rave. He kept her off all the important committees, anyway. Garm wasn’t as game as he used to be,
but who was? Let Gno and Organa talk about how unethical the Wheel was. Gracian would keep their resolutions buried in some
obscure pigeonhole on the Chair’s desk for years. Let Beruss tell him how the CSA was a dirty trick. They both knew Beruss
wasn’t man enough to do anything about it.
What’s that you say? His personal conduct didn’t represent the New Order very well? Well, my boy, you’re new to the Senate,
but be assured that Gracian Pildr’th finds your input very valuable. Did he mention that he’s the new Chairman of the New Order
Coalition Policy Conference? He didn’t? Oh, dear, his degenerate old mind must be degraded by his indecorous and indecent
lifestyle. How does the Senate Investigative Subcommittee on the Sapience of Lz’lrg Moss grab you? Get used to it, son, you’re
never going to see service on another committee in your miserable life. Yes, go complain to the Party. The Chairman of the New
Order Galactic Committee is his brother-in-law. Go ahead, report him to COMPNOR. Yes,sir, Gracian Pildr’th is corrupt. Why
don’t you ask the Marquess Vandron of the Blood Royal who he has dinner with every Thursday? What do you want to bet the
answer isn’t you?
It came as no surprise when Pestage – heh, Grand Vizier of the Galactic Empire, eh? So that’s what they call “Number One
Lackey” these days – indicated that His Imperial Majesty the Galactic Emperor would be pleased to see him elevated to President
of the Senate. Chancellor of the Senate, thank you very much. There might be a higher office now, but the podium was finally his.
Disregard the fact that he was now too corpulent to look dashing while sitting behind it. Gracian Pildr’th finally had the podium, he
had the gavel – there wasn’t really a gavel, actually – and as he stood at that lofty perch, he was truly lord of all he surveyed. After
a couple of years, he received word – from sources unknown, thank you very much – that maybe the Senator from Horatlor needed
to consider shutting his noisehole. That was just fine, as far as Gracian was concerned. Horatlor had been a thorn in Wukkar’s side
for centuries.
Firdan Antilles, that was his name. Reasonably well-connected with Organa’s Conservative Caucus, but he’d made some
questionable decisions lately, and Gracian’s spies told him that Organa was really starting to get tired of Antilles’s own under the
table deals with the Rationalists. Couldn’t resist, eh? Horatlor didn’t have Wukkar’s military/industrial complex, but it did play
host to a pretty big Imperial Navy base. That was something that they didn’t seem to pay attention to as much as they should,
because Antilles had recently made a string of votes apparently designed to annoy Gracian’s friends over in His Imperial Majesty’
s Government. Stupid man.
It didn’t take much effort. Gracian called a handful of Senators into his office, and told them straight up that he didn’t want to see
them associating with a crooked Senator. He didn’t name names, of course, but he dropped hints that maybe Antilles was under
investigation for official corruption. He wasn’t, of course, but they didn’t know that. A lot of investigations were practically
impossible to find, anyway. Next, he had his third cousin (twice removed) do a little searching into Antilles’s background, and it
turned out that there were a few questionable business dealings with Soro Suub Corporation. So maybe there should be an
investigation. A word or two into the right ear during dinner on Thursday, and the whiteshirts of the ISB would be all over that
angle. Let’s see, what else? Ah! Gracian talked to the Chairman of the Defense Committee – a friend from the old days – and had
one of the New Order Senators propose at the last minute moving the Kaldriaab Naval Base from Horatlor to Wukkar, whose
powerful military/industrial complex was a better match for it, anyway. Calling in a few favors, and making a few clever promises,
Gracian got that bill out of committee and onto the floor, and played with the schedule so there were only three days to debate it.
Oops, turns out that the ISB wanted to talk to Antilles on two of those days, and he wasn’t able to attend. Such a pity. The bill
went through. The Navy began making the preparations for the move, and Horatlor’s economy took it pretty hard. It wasn’t really
a crippling blow, but it hurt, nonetheless. So, Gracian decided to rub it in a little and called the President of the Horatlorine
Democratic Republic.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. President,” said he. “I assure you that Wukkar will do everything she can to ameliorate the effects of this
move, and give you my personal assurance that Wukkar certainly did not intend for this to happen to so esteemed a friend,” which
was all hogwash, of course. He’d personally engineered it. “I am sure that Senator Antilles will find such an outpouring of
sympathy that blah, blah, blah.” Something along those lines. The important thing was that he made clear that it was Antilles’s
fault that the planet was suffering. The President got the clue, but his term expired two months later. He was sure to pass the
message along, though, and the incoming President had Antilles recalled. The ISB came calling at his residence shortly after that,
and Gracian stopped caring shortly thereafter. He never did find out what happened to Antilles in the end. He didn’t care, to tell
you the truth.
Oh, he had his way with the Senate, all right. Finally the time came when he was actually bored with it. Well, that was easily
solved. A few more choice words on Thursday night, and soon he was retiring from the Senate in a stately and dignified ceremony,
followed soon after by his elevation to membership among the Lords and Others of His Imperial Majesty’s Most Honorable Privy
Council amidst the pomp and circumstance he so richly deserved. It wasn’t long before the Lord President of the Council
appointed him as the new Minister President of the Galactic Empire; he practically flew through the Senate confirmation process.
Oh, the game was on now, yes, sir. It wasn’t really the old days anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself. It
rankled that when Dangor stepped down, it was Trachta, by now nearly 70% mechanical, that replaced him as President of the
Ruling Council, but he did finally get the satisfaction of waking up one morning to hear that time had finally caught up with the
borg, and Indutiomarus Trachta had been shot and killed. He’d been waiting over twenty years to hear that.
The game was still good to him, but it wasn’t the same anymore. Dangor was out, now assigned to oversee the Core Worlds’
security – not the Ruling Council president anymore, but still a plum job, and he kept his seat on the Council. Trachta was dead,
and so was Bartam – good riddance to the both of them. But still he never got the call to take over the Ruling Council. No, that
went to Pestage, the glorified errand boy who’d started his career as principal privy secretary to Senator Augie Palpatine. And
despite his many years of experience, was it Gracian Pildr’th who became Supreme Commander after Screed stood relieved? No,
sir, it was that quack sorcerer Darth Vader. Men like Dangor, Pestage, Trachta, and Vader weren’t really in the club. They were
nobody technocrats, those common hirelings that you brought in to fix a problem and were supposed to have the common decency
to know they weren’t part of the ruling class, not really. Some of them really believed the Empire was about reshaping the galaxy,
making into something new. That’s not what it was all about, Gracian knew. It was all about Names and Numbers. The Great
Houses and the Old Families, the Core Worlds, the megacorporations. That’s where the real power was.
But then, most of the people from the old days were gone now, weren’t they? Bail Organa was dead, killed along with the rest of
Alderaan. Limoth was dead – those flowers really had been nice, though. Shayla and Sanya were dead, so was the Viscountess
Romodi and her nephew, the latter having died aboard the Death Star along with Shayla’s nephew Slick Willy Tarkin and one of
Sanya’s boys. Come to think of it, two more of Sanya’s boys were dead, and it was little Ulric that was the Baron Tagge now.
Khalid Ozzel and Iskander Bey were long since retired, so was Eliza Niriz. To make things worse, Khalid’s son Kendal wasn’t
worth two wlirz. Trommer, Banjeer, and Holt were too busy shuttling back and forth between Navy Command and Anaxes to talk
very much anymore. But the game was still interesting; he read reports like Dr. Leth’s “Modest Proposal” and Dr. Lemelisk’s
“Hammertong Proposal,” and signed off on them with the satisfaction of knowing that these men couldn’t do anything without the
permission of Gracian Pildr’th.
Can you imagine how Gracian felt when he received word that the Lord Presidency of the Council had changed, and the new Lord
President wanted his own candidate as Minister President? Would it surprise you to know that he laughed? Oh, yes, he laughed.
He laughed because Dangor had just lost his cushy Plenipotentiary for the Security of the Core Worlds job, and was trying to
rebound by ousting Gracian from his. Well, it was about time somebody put Dangor in his place. Every time he lost a job, he
somehow managed to blackmail his way into a new one, always managing to snatch hold of one of the Ruling Council’s seats. Yes,
sir, it was time somebody taught him a lesson. And that somebody would be Gracian Pildr’th, Minister President of the Galactic
Empire.
“I am afraid His Imperial Majesty will not see you today,” Pestage would say. No wonder so many people hated him, he was
always getting in the way. But Gracian was a good sport, and he let it go for a whole week. Finally, he was fed up with Pestage’s
stonewalling.
“Look, Pestage, that’s all well and good for one of his little hirelings, but this is me we’re talking about here,” he growled.
Pestage had fixed him with a look of cool amusement. “My dear fellow,” he’d said, bemused. “You are one of our hirelings.” The
Emperor hadn’t agreed to see him until three months after Dangor put in his own man as Minister President. Dangor won, Gracian
lost. And Augie Palpatine had stood by and let it happen.
“Welcome, my friend,” the Emperor had said, as he slowly made his way toward the balcony where Gracian brooded, staring out
into the vast garden that was the centerpiece of the Emperor’s skyhook. It was the most beautifully furnished skyhook in the
galaxy, and yet the Emperor barely spent two days a year aboard it. Just like his Palace, the most majestic and gorgeous palace in
existence, and yet he spent most of his time in that ascetic little residence of his deep inside it. It was like he was hiding from the
light and the beauty.
“I don’t understand you anymore,” Gracian had said, fighting back the tendency to give his old friend a real piece of his mind. If he
appeared too agitated, the snipers that were hidden in the garden might feel the need to put him down.
“Let us be honest with one another,” the frail old Emperor said, smiling, “You never understood me in the first place.”
Gracian turned to face him, angry. “I’ve been your friend since the very beginning. I’ve supported you throughout your entire rise
to power, and now you’ve turned your back on me. All I’ve got now is a meaningless seat on your Privy Council, while these
party hacks from your New Order get all the benefits.” He jabbed a finger at the man, then calmed down a bit and lowered his hand.
“Names and Numbers, man, don’t you remember that? Who are these people you’re using now? Why are you still using these
nobody technocrats? Why are Pestage and Dangor and Vader running everything? What about people like me and Beruss and Gno,
people who have real names from real families from real worlds?”
“My friend, you think in such four dimensional terms,” the Emperor said, joining him at the banister of the balcony. “Politics is
not the game, politics is only part of the game. You are playing the game, but I am winning it,” he said, closing his eyes and inhaling
deeply. “You can’t hear it, can you? The sounds of life. Not only here, but all throughout the galaxy. I can hear it, feel it, taste it. It
is all mine. While you played your pithy games of politics, I have been doing so much more. Soon, Gracian, the time will come
when all of this will be no more. Only I will remain.”
Gracian listened with a complete lack of understanding. What was he talking about? It was like the Emperor was no longer the man
he’d once known. The Emperor turned to him, and Gracian noticed with a start that he had yellowed eyes. “You are no further use
to me, Gracian Pildr’th. Come no more to see me.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Play your games of politics. Win your useless
offices, flaunt your useless titles. I don’t care.”
Gracian Pildr’th didn’t give up or retire after that, no, sir. No, instead he accepted the position as Chairman of the Board of the
Regency Spires Imperial Trust, on Ralltiir. It was a good job, it let him soak up credits without having to do all that much. He was
mostly the resident expert on Imperial politics, which any bank found terrifically valuable. A man with experience like his could
command top credit from the banks and businesses that wanted connections to the ruling class, and the best part was he didn’t
have to give up his seat on the Privy Council. After about a year with Regency Spires, he accepted an even sweeter deal from the
IBC over on Moneylend. That was ironic, it used to be that the Muuns couldn’t stand Wukkar and its galactic spokesman. Wasn’t
it funny how a decade or two under the New Order changed your tune?
He wasn’t taking care of himself as much as he used to. He drank quite a bit these days, usually at dinner with some of the old
boys from the old days, usually Gno and Beruss. They were the only ones that still spent much time on Imperial Center, so he met
with them most times when he was on planet for a vote on some Moff’s candidacy or renewing some Grand Moff’s term. Gno and
Beruss were also the only ones who ever said anything about his excessive drinking. Well, they always were a bit prudish, weren’t
they? It’s not like it really mattered. And it let him vent his frustration and anger at the way he’d been mistreated by his old
“friend,” that backstabbing son of a motherless tshaj’r. Here he was an overpaid banking consultant where that Nameless nobody
Pestage was President of the Ruling Council.
Did it matter to him that it’d been he, Gracian Pildr’th, that kept Slick Willy’s little pet project out from under the Senate’s radar?
No! Did it matter to him that it’d been he, Gracian Pildr’th, that had presided over that massive expansion of the Navy and the
Army? No! Did it matter to him it’d been he, Gracian Pildr’th, that had found the funding for Leth’s “Modest Proposal”
contraption or Lemelisk’s Hammertong Whatsis? No! Oh, he’d done more than his fair share for Augie’s fight against Mothma’s
hooligans and pirates, but what’d he gotten in return? Was there going to be any gratitude for Gracian Pildr’th when the Rebellion
was crushed? No!
Gno and Beruss were good chaps, that was for sure. Even when the others on Imperial Center stopped calling, they kept coming
around. Well, that was good for them, wasn’t it? Yes, sir. Because one of these days, Gracian Pildr’th was going to get back into
the game. He’d show them who was the Vorknkx of the Senate Floor then, wouldn’t he? Oh, yes. Yes, sir. Wukkar couldn’t be
pushed aside. Never mind the fact that his replacement as the Senator for Wukkar just got appointed Minister President. He was
just a tool in Dangor’s hands, anyway. Yes, once he got back into the game, there’d be Chaos to pay. And the Great Omega help
those bfriks that stood in his way. He’d show them. Yes, he’d show them all.
He remembered there being a knock on his door. The ‘droid was over in another room, looking for more whiskey. Well, he may as
well answer it, he’d thought. Probably Gno and Beruss, it’s about that time in the evening. He remembered opening the door and
seeing Beruss there, with a couple of men he didn’t recognize. He remembered Beruss’s apologetic smile, as he opened his hands
and said, “I want you to know, Gracian, that there is nothing personal in what I am about to do,” and he remembered the men
shoving him to the ground and forcing their way into his apartment. He remembered them dragging him into the living room and
putting binders on him and propping him up on the sofa. He remembered the way they checked some instruments and said
something about how the apartment’s normal surveillance was very definitely diverted. Then they’d injected him with something
and Beruss said, “I want you to tell me again what you said about this Hammertong business.”
Hammertong? Yes, yes, that’s right. He remembered that. Of course he did. Gracian Pildr’th remembered plenty of things. He
remembered all about this whole Hammertong project. Don’t you remember what he’d told you about it, Doman? It was the latest
of Augie’s secret weapons. He’d had a lot of those, ever since he first entered the game, way back in the old days. You remember
the old days, don’t you Doman? He did. Yes, sir. Gracian Pildr’th remembered the old days.
This short story was originally published in November 2004. It was republished on 26 January 2007.
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