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Plagueis had been lost in contemplation when the holocommunication came in, the insistent bleeping of the device dragging him from his thoughts into reality. He sighed deeply, glancing down at it with the intention of dismissing the call, and returning it later, only to be confronted with the callsign he’d been studiously avoiding for some weeks now: Sheev Palpatine.
He sighed deeply. Since their last meeting on Naboo, he had, unfortunately, been unable to allow himself to communicate with Sheev, not least due to the travel ban, and the machinations of Palpatine’s father. The situation, he thought to himself, was somewhat unsatisfactory. More than unsatisfactory, in fact. He’d found himself growing quite fond of the young man, and he had proven useful enough thus far. Useful enough, and he could be more useful still, especially if his suspicions proved correct, if Sheev had the Force .
With this in mind, he pressed to accept the call, and in a quick flash, a lightly-flickering blue-toned image of the Naboo appeared before him, peering down his long nose at his own device, dressed elaborately in what appeared to be some form of shimmersilken confection.
“Magister Damask!” There was an element of agitation, and no small amount of petulance to Sheev this evening, more so than usual. “I was beginning to think you had abandoned me.”
It seemed that the young man hadn’t lost his flair for the slightly melodramatic, at least. Plagueis took a moment to survey his little spy, noting what appeared to be kohl around those calculating eyes, somewhat smudged, as though a half-hearted attempt to remove it had been made. Ah, he remembered now, he’d heard whispers of a grand soirée, the likes of which Naboo was famed for, he should have expected Palpatine to have be in attendance.
“Good evening to you too, Palpatine.” He replied, deciding it was best not to aggravate the young man in this current state. With the travel ban in place, it was more vital than ever that he have his little spy on the ground and remained in said spy’s good graces. “I can assure you that you have not been abandoned. I am a busy Muun, that is all, no more to it than that. There have been many matters requiring my attention, as there have been many requiring yours.”
“Matters on which I dispatched to you, and you did not respond.”
The haughty reproach should have irritated him. Indeed, had it come from any other being, he would most likely have ended the communication then and there, and set about finding a new spy. But there was something about Palpatine, something he had not yet placed his finger on, something which rendered this insolence endearing rather than insulting.
“Of course,” he placated, holding up a hand in what he hoped would be taken as a soothing gesture, “You must forgive me, Palpatine. How terribly rude of me.”
The conversation continued in such a vein for some time, Palpatine alternating between feeding him information about the elections and reprimanding him for his absence. He could, of course, have deflected the young man’s rage by revealing the true reason for his recent lack of contact, but much as it would amuse him to see Palpatine rail against his father, that particular knowledge was better saved for a more opportune moment.
“And what of this soirée itself? You do not exactly seem enthused. Was something not to your liking?”
“Attending such an event is an honour, it’s just...” Sheev trailed off, as though uncertain whether he should say any more, as if he was afraid the Muun would judge him harshly for what he wished to say.
“Just what? Go ahead, I won’t judge.”
“It is unfortunately expected that I dance.” Palpatine spat the final word with such clear disdain that Hego could barely hold back his laughter. Such a volatile thing, this little human. And so peculiar. There was something more to this, he was certain, something more than meets the eye.
“And do you not like dancing?” He found himself pressing, the scientist in him searching for the answers. Perhaps this would offer him a clue into young Palpatine’s mind, what made him tick, wanting to find a way in. For what purpose, he was not yet sure. “Do you, perhaps, find it difficult? The traditional dance of Naboo is somewhat complicated, I believe.”
“It’s not that, Magister.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t care about the dance itself. I care who I must dance with.” The force of the rage with which Palpatine responded would have unnerved any other being, but not Hego Damask. “Certain members of the houses make requests, and so, despite his wish to keep me away from the public eye, Father insists. I would perhaps care more for dancing did I not feel I was being...”
He trailed off, gnawing this thin lower lip, clearly unwilling to explain further. Still, the implication remained, both knowing the truth of what Palpatine wished to say, that his father would happily attempt to whore him out to the predators that stalked the halls of Naboo’s great houses, for the sake of retaining powerful connections.
“I assume you take some comfort, then, in the fact that the traditional dance of Naboo involves so little contact…” He would have continued with these musings, perhaps speculating on the lack of physical contact in Naboo’s dance culture and its possible necessity at the hands of the planet’s distinctive fashion, had Palpatine not chosen that moment to complete his sentence.
“I would perhaps care more for dancing if I did not think it beneath my dignity!"
Plagueis was momentarily taken aback, although he supposed he should not have been by now, used to the young man’s lofty turns of phrase. And what a phrase that was! Beneath his dignity, indeed!
“And what would you consider more suited to your dignity, hmm?” He should know better than to pursue this line of conversation, feeding Palpatine’s already quietly inflated ego was not conducive to his plans for the youth. But, in the interests of scientific analysis...
The young man cocked his head curiously, fiddling with one of the elaborate braids woven into the curls that had fascinated him so much during their tour of Theed. He appeared to be contemplating something, perhaps even whether or not to answer the question at all. When he finally spoke, it was slower, as though he was carefully considering his every word, keeping a careful eye on the Muun all the while.
“I would, perhaps, prefer my own choice of dancing partner.”
“A preference most of the galaxy shares, I would expect. But tell me, what does Sheev Palpatine seek in a dance partner? Is it, perhaps, someone who does not tread on his toes, or smell of mothballs, or whose hands lack a certain wandering quality?” The tense mood of before slightly abated, Plagueis found himself in the mood to tease, to draw further, ever more fascinating personal revelations from this one small being.
“All of that, and more. I would wish for...” The young noble hesitated, then continued, a touch more forcefully. “No, I would demand a greater class of partner. An equal, in intelligence, and in all things. I’m certain you understand such a desire.”
“In dance only, or in life?” Palpatine didn’t answer, frowning slightly, and Hego began to wonder what exactly it was that he’d sought from the conversation. “The desire for companionship is, I believe, something most beings experience at some point or another.”
“Do you feel such a desire?” The sudden question momentarily threw him, hardly expecting such a line of enquiry. Palpatine’s gaze grew ever more intense, those keen eyes assuming to study him, though Plagueis knew that as with all things, his carefully constructed façade revealed little of his true emotions, even to such a shrewd investigator as this. “Have you, magister, having desired something greatly, ever acted on that it? Even if you knew such a thing was impossible?”
What a thing to ask! Perhaps Palpatine wished him to be shocked or sought to test him. If that was the case, then he had certainly partly achieved his wish. He was shocked, but not by the young man’s words themselves, but what they implied. Surely, Palpatine could not be insinuating something. Surely, Palpatine did not mean that he considered him as a potential equal in intelligence and in all things. The arrogance of the youth was astounding, to presume himself a Sith Lord’s equal, even unknowingly. Astounding and amusing.
“I find it difficult to imagine that anything could be impossible should you put your mind to it, Palpatine.”
“Not so, Magister. Such are the laws of Naboo, all that I desire remains out of my reach and, unfortunately, shall remain so until the day I turn twenty-one. Unless…” A sly smirk then, as though there was a joke in this that Hego didn’t understand.
“Unless?”
“Unless the Gods see fit to liberate me sooner.” This answer, and all that it implied, hung in the air, heavy despite the great distance. Could it truly be? Had this human, despite his clear disdain for non-humans, come to see him not only in the role of co-conspirator, of mentor, but of potential liberator - potential lover - too? Surely not. And yet it seemed so.
“It does not do to discuss such things over these channels. Perhaps, at some point in the future, should the travel ban be lifted, it would be possible for me to find some time in my schedule to visit and we shall discuss it then.”
“You must! Only you must be cautious. Father wouldn't like it if he knew of this.” Once again, he found himself having to swallow his laughter. No, indeed, little Palpatine.
“And do you care what your father likes? What he thinks?”
“If only to do the exact opposite of what the wretched old sponge wishes.” The sparkle in those heavy-lidded blue eyes had become almost... post-coital. He could not help but suspect that Palpatine was not entirely unaware of the connotations behind this conversation. In fact, he suspected that the little monster was fully aware of them. “Otherwise, not at all.”
There could be little doubt now, and yet he could still barely begin to comprehend it. Now this was an unexpected development, and in a not inconsiderable quantity appealing, if the interested twitch beneath his robes was any evidence.
It wouldn’t do to pursue such a thing, of course. Palpatine was much too young and would remain subject to his father’s ham-fisted attempts at control for years to come should he not - to use his own phrasing - be liberated. Allowing such an attachment simply would not do, nor would the scandal that would inevitably ensue. But on the other hand, why should he not have him? He sought to own this little human, did he not?
The moment was shattered then, by a hammering sound, somewhere outside of the holocam’s line of vision, then a loud voice shouting something aggressive in dialectal Naboo, speaking too fast and too distantly for Hego to quite register the words spoken. Sheev visibly paled, glancing between the door and the Muun in obvious agitation.
“It’s Father. I should go. I must go.”
“I understand. Be safe, but think on what I’ve said, won’t you? There is nothing beyond your grasp, not for one who truly seeks it.” He allowed himself to smile sympathetically, watching as the young man nodded hurriedly. “Goodnight, Palpatine.”
“Goodnight, Magister.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Hego with a profound sense of apprehension. There was more to this than met the eye, of this he was certain. Not for the first time since meeting Palpatine, he cursed his inability to foresee what was to come, whether his dealings with the human would bring him great successes, or end in disaster.
He would have to keep a close eye on this one. A very close eye. Palpatine’s clear - and growing - attachment to him would surely in time be of great use to him, despite its unorthodox nature. But, for the time being, there were certain matters to attend to.