Chapter Text
CHAPTER THREE:
THE PAWNS
So.
General Kenobi wishes to declare war on slavery.
Very well.
He, Count Dooku, will oblige him.
But where best to start…
Ryloth holds promise, certainly (as Obi-wan has so gracefully pointed out). But the effort required and the potential to backfire are both inordinately high. A certain level of...delicacy, will be required. Delicacy, and patience. Two things the Dark Side seems to be less and less tolerant of as the days march ever onwards.
No doubt the result of his time spent in his secret study on Serenno, seeking a solution to his current imbalance. A true paradox; the more he delves into his accumulated lore, the more the problem grows. A truly untenable situation.
He still fights it, of course. Dooku has never been one to submit to anything; not as a Jedi, and certainly not as a Count. Sidious had only encouraged the behavior; saying it was the right of the Apprentice to defy the Master. No doubt knowing all the while Dooku's inner fire would be what drove him out of control.
Unacceptable.
Yet, for the moment, also unavoidable. He will have to plan around the problem until such time as he can be rid of it. Which means Ryloth will require significant mediation if he wishes to formulate a suitable plan of attack, then bring it before the Alliance Council for consideration. Meditation which will require time. Time which he is running short on. The matter of Ryloth will have to wait.
The other possibility Kenobi had raised, however...well, it just so happens that there is a plot well underfoot in the mentioned region already. One which he has barely had to lift a finger to twist to his purposes. And one which he may now twist again, to better suit his new purpose.
The comm call connects.
Former Jedi Knight Tol Skorr and Master Kadrian Sey both sink in a bow before him, wreathed in flickering cerulean light.
Asajj Ventress is not the only Acolyte in Dooku's service. She is merely the one with the most potential. The two former Jedi currently before him have their own areas of expertise.
Tol Skorr, a rather gruff and rugged man indeed, had come to Dooku in a vision - literally, and figuratively. Dooku had been on Korriban, performing one of the first calculated steps in his Fall to the Dark Side when in the midst of his preparations, a spirit had appeared. The ghost of a Sith, entombed within Korriban’s ruins for countless millennia.
The ghost had spoken not a word to Dooku. Merely raised its arm, and pointed off in a certain direction. When Dooku’s eyes had flickered back from the indicated horizon, the ghost was gone.
(Later, when recognition had flashed in the same hues as the illuminated manuscript in front of him, he’d wondered how he could have ever mistaken the specter as anything other than the ominous figure of Darth Malak.)
The spirit’s instructions had directed him slowly but surely to the only other sign of intelligent life on the planet: a downed Jedi fighter, still and smoking, with bloodied footprints leading away from the wreck. Naturally, Dooku had followed the trail. And at the end what should he find but Jedi Knight Tol Skorr, three days marooned on Korriban and stark raving mad from the tortures of the Dark.
There was no mistaking the will of the Force. And so Dooku had taken the man back to his ship, and then onwards to Serenno, where he had painstakingly nursed the Jedi back to health (if not complete sanity). The Dark had remained entrenched in Skorr’s very being, like a splinter with no relief. It was only once Dooku instructed the young men in the manner to hide his affliction from his fellow Jedi that the man regained any semblance of calm at all.
Afterwards, when Skorr had departed to rejoin the Order on Coruscant, Dooku had realized his own Fall had been delayed by the desire to see the Light resurgent in the grizzled spacer. Looking back, that should have been his first clue that perhaps Palpatine’s plan was not as perfectly-crafted as the man purported. If even the generations of Sith that came before felt it wise to interfere in the Fall of two Jedi…
But Geonosis had come and gone, and when the call to arms had rung throughout the Temple, Skorr had refused to answer on behalf of the Republic. The Dark still lay within him, hungry. And the slaughter of droids would not be enough to quench it.
It was a fire Dooku would once have been ecstatic to unleash upon his foes, but now… Now, the need for a Jedi Sentinel-turned-assassin was very small indeed. Ventress, at least, was meant to be a true Apprentice. Not Skorr. No matter how fanatically loyal the man was.
But now perhaps, Skorr could at last potentially be of some use.
Master Sey, on the other hand… Her, he could think of at least a thousand different uses for. The former Zabrak Padawan of Master Eeth Koth, a scholar by vocation and an archaeologist by calling, finder of a dozen treasures and seeker of a hundred more - truly an illustrious individual. Despite her dealings with the more disreputable characters to be found on archaeological digs, she abhorred violence, and would ignite her lightsaber only as a very last resort. An attitude Dooku had respected (if not agreed with) once upon a time.
Oh yes, he knew Master Sey fairly well. They had first met on one of the few authorized expeditions to the ruins of Rhen Var. Only a few Jedi were allowed at any given time, and both Sey and he had been quite fortunate to obtain permission. Their second meeting had been on Dantooine, when a lost section of the temple there was rediscovered. Their shared enthusiasm over the find had quite exasperated the Wayseeker in charge. And yet again they met on Jedha, deep within the catacomb Archives. He with a new Padawan Learner by the name of Qui-Gon Jinn, and she with one of her own by the name of Stass Allie.
Unfortunately, while he and Master Sey had gotten on tolerably well, their respective Padawans had not. The resulting incident involving a fire, a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, and a runaway dewback, had culminated in a lifetime ban for both sets of Jedi from the Halls of the Whills. Most unfortunate indeed. The Council had not seen fit to assign them to the same location ever again.
He had neither seen nor heard from Master Sey for many years afterward. Yet when the inevitable inevitably occurred and the Jedi were made Generals in the Grand Army of the Republic, Master Sey had not answered the Order's summons back to Coruscant. Instead, she had turned up on his front doorstep on Serenno, offering her services.
At first, he had suspected her of being a spy sent by the Order, but all his security had managed to find on her was her lightsaber and a thoroughly unencrypted comm (which had been immediately destroyed). Once his security had begrudgingly given their all clear, he had spirited her away to the depths of his palace on Serenno. For surely an encounter with the Darkness abiding there would show the true colors of any Jedi claiming to be a turncoat. But joy of joys, her glee at the revelation of his secret Sith library had been too genuine to be affected. Knowledge had always been her passion: no matter where it originated. It seemed the Dark was no different.
Her forays into his collection of Dark artifacts in search of knowledge are already beginning to show their effects. Her lightsaber form, once the epitome of defense, is beginning to grow slightly more aggressive. Her posture, slightly more militaristic. Her cadence, slightly more clipped. She has not Fallen yet. But she is close.
Yet Dooku can no longer find the heart to push her.
Time away from his archives will do her some good. Provide some perspective she may currently lack. If she Falls, it must be of her own volition. She must learn from his mistakes.
"Rise, my friends." He gracefully intones. "There are no Padawans here."
For once, the look the two exchanged is one of confusion; not their usual sneering distaste. As potential Acolytes, their rivalry has been encouraged as a matter of course by Dooku. And while it has certainly driven them to improve, it has also driven them apart. Apart, when they might have been some of the only beings capable of strengthening each other.
Their assignments would be good for their relationship. Distance to cool their distaste. And when they returned, perhaps a fresh start might be achievable. Or at least a detente.
"Tol."
The Knight in question lets out a grunt of acknowledgment.
"Rejoice, my friend. You need no longer bemoan the waste of your talents. A need has arisen on Tatooine for one such as yourself."
"Kriffing finally." Skorr grumbles.
" Hush. " snaps Sey.
Dooku, as ever, ignores the by-play. "Gardulla and Jabba the Hutt will soon be players upon our board. Pawns in all but name. And what must one occasionally do with pawns?"
Predictably, it is Sey who grins in response. "Sacrifice them."
"Precisely. Infiltration of Gardulla's organization is required. I wish to know all the worm's moves well in advance. And when the time comes, framing the Jedi for her murder should be most simplistic."
"A piece of uj cake." nods Skorr in agreement. "After all, it's not like the Jedi can say they regret the death of a slaver without making the rest of the galaxy livid. And she won't be the first Hutt in recent memory to die under suspiciously unlucky circumstances. I presume you mean to force the Hutts into an alliance with us against the Jedi?"
Sey gasps theatrically. "Miracle of miracles, the thing can think!"
Skorr growls. It should probably be menacing. It is not.
Dooku hides a smile of his own as he moves to the next topic of discussion. "Master Sey, kindly do not bait Knight Skorr. You too shall soon be departing for much improved surroundings; more tasteful to your discerning palette."
"Oh? Does this mean I'm finally clear to leave this …" Sey heaves a squirming basket into view, "waste of a crustacean behind then?"
"My dear Master Sey," Dooku sighs, "I am fairly certain that an infant Hutt is not, in fact, a crustacean. And no; no, you are not leaving it behind. Merely delivering it to better hands. Are your appropriated thugs still around?"
"You mean Ziro's men? Yes, they're here."
"Good. Their cover as Black Sun employees will be most useful. Since I trust you have not revealed your true nature to them…"
"Of course not!"
"...then you are clear to utilize them once again as your escort to Zygerrian territory."
"Zygerrians? Why would ohhhhhh…" Sey's eyes alight with intrigue, " oh that's marvelous. You want to frame the Zygerrians as Ziro's accomplices in Rotta's kidnapping."
"Ziro and the Black Sun in general, but yes."
"Wait, wait, wait, hold up," Skorr waves his hands in a gesture of pause, "we want the Hutts going to war with the Jedi and the Zygerrians? What gives? I thought the Zygerrians and us were chill with each other."
Sey opens her mouth, no doubt to offer some scathing remark on Skorr's lack of correct grammar, when his question actually registers; leading to a somewhat more pleasant commentary. "Yes; yes, we were. The Jedi, I can understand, but...why exactly are we setting our allies against the Hutts? If anything, I expected us to be doing all within our power to earn the Hutts' favor."
"That," Dooku drawls before they can begin speculating, "is strictly need-to-know information. For the purposes of plausible deniability, if nothing else. All I will say is this: there is a difference between an ally, and the enemy of my enemy. One is worth keeping around; the other is not. Understood?"
Skorr shrugs. "No, but I get the feeling I will later."
Sey however, her mind far away in contemplation, merely nods absently.
Not good. He needs her full attention for this assignment. "Master Sey, I trust you to handle this situation delicately. The Zygerrians must have no hint that the Huttling does not come directly from the Black Sun. And above all, no harm must come to the child. It may become necessary to frame the Jedi for both the murder of the Zygerrian court and the second abduction of young Rotta as well."
The ice in his tone draws Sey back with a start. "Yes my Lord," she replies with her eyes adroop.
Dooku sighs. "Thank you. Now, Tol; I trust you know where to acquire the correct credentials?"
"Bounty Hunter Guild identity already set and ready to go, boss."
"Marvelous. Then may the Force be with you both."
The two figures bow once more, then begin to move out of sight.
Wait. "Wait."
They pause.
"Tol."
"Yes boss?"
"I never did ask: just what exactly was it that caused you to crash on Korriban?"
"Oh, that? Pfff. Faulty R4 unit punched in a bad hyperspace route. Just bad luck; pure and simple."
Bad luck.
Sey and Skorr take Dooku's sudden silence as dismissal and vanish again; this time for good.
Bad luck.
The room is suddenly very cold.
It had been a reprogrammed R4 which had delivered Sifo-Dyas to the Pykes. An R4 programmed on the orders of Dooku's Master.
Bad luck.
Chilling laughter long since past echoed within his mind.
Bad luck indeed.
Dooku knows things. He knows that he knows things. And he also knows that he knows not as much as he sometimes thinks he knows.
Which is a very long way of saying he is a paranoid son of a gundark and fully aware of it, thank you very much.
So if his next comm call is conducted over a line even more thoroughly secure than the one used moments before to contact his operatives, well...who could blame him? The only person who might notice his increased paranoia is well on her way back to Christophsis.
Normally, it takes time to arrange a meeting with someone as highly placed as the Neimoidian Viceroy of Trade. With heavy emphasis on the word normally. As Lord Tyrannus, Dooku is afforded certain... privileges.
It is mere moments before the cowering visage of Gunray makes its appearance. "My Lord; how may the Trade Federation be of service?"
Dooku allows himself a condescending smile. "Service? I am afraid you are mistaken, my friend; what I am offering you today is payment for services already rendered."
The Viceroy visibly relaxes. "I see; you are most gracious, Count."
"Yes. Tell me, Minister: have you maintained your contacts among certain unpopular factions in our galaxy?"
" What ?" Gunray splutters. "How dare you cast such aspersions against…!"
Dooku holds up a placating hand. "At ease, Viceroy. I meant no offense. I merely meant to imply it would be most profitable indeed for such connections to have remained in place."
"Profitable? Well why didn't you say so? Of course the Trade Federation is always interested in profit. No matter the source."
"Naturally. But confirmation of such interest is always appreciated.” Dooku waves his hand, and a holo-map of the galaxy flares into being. “Now then, down to business: what is the extent of your knowledge of the Krios sector?”
Gunray scoffs. “A backwater of the highest degree. Barely survivable, much less livable.”
Typical Neimodian need for extravagance and comfort. “I would agree with you Viceroy, had a settlement of Togrutans not recently taken up residence on the sector’s largest planet.”
“Oh? I was not aware of such a venture.”
“Not a venture, my friend; this enterprise was privately and independently funded. Not even the Republic is directly aware of its existence. I myself only learned of it from my contacts in the Zygerrian Empire.”
The Neimoidan’s eyes light up with greed. “I see; I begin to divine your purpose, Count. You suspect that the Zygerrians will mount a slave raid on the world. And you wish for our good friends the Hutts to be there to… rescue the poor unfortunate beings from such a fate.”
“A pleasure to see you have not lost your head for business, Viceroy. The Zygerrian raid is due to take place in two months’ time. If the Hutts were to make their move on the operation at the appropriate moment, they could potentially double the number of slaves gained from it.”
“Double?”
“If one counts the captured Zygerrians, of course.”
The Neimodian pales. “You expect the Hutts to move against the Zygerrians directly? No; Gardulla will never hear of it. Much less Jabba.”
“Oh, but they will, my friend; when you cast certain aspersions against the Zygerrians in regards to the sudden disappearance of Jabba’s offspring.”
“When I what?!!!”
Dooku arches an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself, Minister?”
Gunray, realizing his misstep, attempts to weasel his way back onto safer ground. “Ah; no, of course not, my Lord. I am…merely…failing to see how such aspersions can be cast with no proof.”
“Is not this planned raid proof enough? Krios is far closer to Hutt Territory than the Zygerrians; for such a bold move to even be contemplated, surely the Zygerrians must feel they have some sort of…” he searches for the right word, “ leverage to use against the Hutts. And what better leverage than the ultimate hostage?”
“Yesssss,” Gunray rubs his chin, “yes, I see. I see…truly, what other explanation could there be?” The slime straightens in anticipation. “It will be done, Lord Tyranus. Your most gracious gift of information shall be passed along to Gardulla directly.”
“Excellent. Oh and Viceroy?”
“Yes my Lord?”
“You did not hear this information from me.”
“...I understand, my Lord. May your vaults overflow with credits.” comes the traditional Neimodian farewell.
“And may your enemies rend themselves in fear.” answers Dooku.
The lights flicker, then fade, leaving Dooku alone in the darkened room. His only companionship, the whirr of databanks.
The sigh that leaves his mouth is one of half exasperation, half exhaustion. Even thinking of affairs in terms of only one intermediary is beginning to grate on his control of the Dark. It should be he, personally, dealing with Hutts and Zygerrians - reminding them of the true strength in the universe. But no; no. Instead, he is forced to use the likes of Nute Gunray as tools. Tools that will forever remain his Master's will first, and his second.
Oh yes he is well aware of where Gunray's loyalties truly lie. And while it would be a relatively simple affair to twist Gunray's resentment of Sidious' betrayal on Naboo to his own benefit, the effort would not grant Dooku the kind of ally he truly has need of. No, Dooku needs allies he can trust. Tools of his will; not his Master's. Ventress is one. Sey and Skorr are two more. But Kenobi is his only true confidant in the realm of diplomacy. And that pains him more than he cares to admit.
Senator Bonteri bears promise. She reminds him of his sister, Jenza; full of vigor and verve. The way she was before... Well, before. Perhaps someday...
But there are other possibilities to consider as well. He cannot afford to, as the tacticians say, "tunnel vision" on one theater alone. There are too many stages to this war, with too many plays upon them, to afford it.
And so, after a brief moment spent once more wresting his control back in place, he moves back to the communicator used in his first conversation, and places the fourth comm call of the day.
Unlike the first, this one takes quite a bit longer to connect. No doubt in part due to the sheer shock he can imagine on the other end when the comm code finally registers. There are not many in the galaxy who remember his communicator number from his days as a Jedi; and there are even fewer still who will answer it. Kenobi has it, but does not know it was once Dooku’s private Temple line. Sey and Skorr have it, and do know. The only other people still alive who could possibly recall it are Grandmaster Yoda, Madame Nu…and the mountainous being who has just answered his call.
He bows. "King Attichuck."
King Attichuck, ruler of the planet Kashyyk and leader of the Wookie people, does not bow back.
The pain is brief, but manageable. Forcing a smile onto his face, Dooku does his best to feign ignorance of the slight. "I must confess I am grateful you answered my call. It has been some time since we last spoke, and I feared I had lost what little respect I had among your people."
*You have.* growls Attichuck. *You have disgraced Master Yoda, and in doing so disgraced yourself. The only reason this call was allowed was to grant the Republic time to try and trace your signal. So by all means, keep talking.*
Why that cretinous little…
Control. He must retain control. After all, it's not as if he hadn't considered this as a possible outcome.
"I thank you for your honesty, if nothing else." is his scathing rejoinder (not nearly scathing enough). "However, I will accept your offer to speak freely. To begin, I would draw your attention to the nature of this transmission. Namely, that it is private. And by no means an official Separatist channel."
*We had noticed. And I suppose you would claim that as a reason to trust you?*
Yes . "Of course not, King Attichuck. I would merely seek to underline the point that I and I alone have made it a point to contact you today. In spite of the many wishes of the Separatist Council, who wished for this information to be suppressed."
A flicker of interest. *And what information is that?*
Hook . "A raid, your Highness. A slave raid, beyond the scope of any seen by the Republic in the last century."
A snarl of rage. *WHAT? HOW DARE YOU! YOU AND YOUR PUSILLANIMOUS FEDERATION! I SHALL HAVE YOU DRAWN AND QUARTERED!*
Line . "King Attichuck, please! It is the plan of the Zygerrians; please, you must believe me!"
For once, Dooku allows his control of the Dark to slip just a little. He is not his Master; he cannot yet directly affect those on the end of a holo-call thousands of lightyears away. At any rate, a Wookie's mental fortitude is great indeed. Too great to be directly influenced. What he can do, however, is make himself look as desperate as possible. Fear is just as much of the Dark as anger, after all.
The effect is dramatic. As intended; Attichuck doubtlessly recalls the way Dooku had begged this way once before in ages past. On one of Kashyyk's moon's...and, ironically enough, on behalf of the then-captured Wookies to the leaders of the Federation.
Attichuck halts in his wrath, eyes wide with memory. Then, they narrow. *Explain." He growls.
Sinker . Dooku clears his throat, and composes himself. "The Federation would see this raid halted for no other reason than to deprive their business partners of rivals, but neither they nor I have the resources necessary. The Separatist Council has deemed it not the Confederacy's primary concern, and so our hands are tied. But," he points dramatically, "not so the Republic's. Not yours. "
Understanding, limited but there, dawns on the King's face. *You wish for the Wookies to disrupt the raid.*
"The Wookies, the Republic, the whole damned Hapes Consortium if they will listen to you. Because Force knows they won't listen to me. So by all means, verify and re-verify my information. And when you have your proof...well." His grin is cruel and Dark. "The Zygerrians are citizens of neither the Republic nor the Confederacy. There shall be no mercy begged on their behalf."
*...I see. It appears you have some honor left after all, Count. That is, if your information is indeed correct. But if it is not...you may be sure there will be no mercy begged for on your behalf either.* Attichuck appears ready to say more, but is halted by some distraction unseen in the hologram. When the King's attention returns to the feed, his smile is full of teeth. *Until we meet again, Count. May the Force follow you.*
Unheard is the silent ending: 'and never quite catch up with you'. Quite the difference from the traditional Jedi farewell.
He doesn't care. He is no Jedi. He is a Sith, made and true. It is only fitting the Force should indeed follow its Master. And for its wrath to ever be a step behind him.
Gunray will run to Sidious with the news of the raid. The Hutts will run to their business partners the Pykes. The Wookies will run to the Jedi. Yes, things are coming together quite marvelously. He has only the one call left to place, and then the plan will be complete.
With a smile on his face, he keys in the code for the Ambassador of the colony on Krios.
Meditation in the Dark differs not altogether greatly from how it is done in the Dark. True, there are superficial differences, but the end result is the same: an opening of one's mind to the harmony that surrounds them in the Force. Really the only large deviation is in the source of the underlying melody. A Jedi will typically find it within themselves when perfectly at peace. A Sith, however, creates their own melody.
Peace is a lie; there is only passion.
Unfortunately, the same drawbacks of Light meditation also apply to meditation in the Dark. Namely, an opening of oneself to all that one is connected to within the Force. In Dooku's case, his connection to the artifacts slumbering within his care.
Scrolls, tomes, holocrons, and crystals; all combine to form a symphonic mixture of voices, blending to create the buzzing static of chaos. Perfect for dissociation. Not so much for contemplation.
There are quarters on Raxus Secundus being prepared for him; quarters far away from the troves he has hidden away on Serenno. But for now, he is availing himself of Senator Bonteri's hospitality and meditating within one of Onderon's hastily constructed Beskar-reinforced cells. While some of his more volatile (and valuable) Dark artifacts remain stored permanently aboard his ship - and therefore close by - the metaphysical distance between him and them grants him at least some relief and clarity of vision. Clarity with which to plan his next moves.
Ryloth...is a tricky proposition. Orn Free Taa has been in power for far too long to ever willingly give it up. And that is exactly what he would be forced to do, were Ryloth to join the Separatists.
On the other hand, Cham Syndulla and his so-called "Free Twi'leks" are a terrorist organization in all but name. True, the Confederacy supports such efforts elsewhere (Mon Calamari and Vanqor come to mind), but they cannot afford for Ryloth to become yet another such theater. There is a reason that funding and funding alone has thus far been diverted to the likes of Alto Stratus and his partisans on Jabiim. Were the Confederacy's direct involvement to become known, the resulting publicity would be no doubt... embarrassing .
In order to avoid any inflammatory accusations, his overtures to both sides must be carefully measured. Conservative. And above all else, equal. His opinion on their internal affairs must first and foremost be perceived as the very image of neutrality.
Neutrality. Yes; yes, that will work. Already he is mentally composing the necessary correspondence. Mandalore may yet be of further use to him; in more ways than one.
With that matter settled, he turns his attention to the next: clawing his way out of the pit of Dark he has somehow managed to slip into.
Surely there must be those out in the wider galaxy who can rid him of this problem. Not the Guardians of the Whills, certainly, but others of the same nature. The Witches of Dathomir would perhaps be grateful for reacquainting them with a long-lost daughter; the Benda'ii and what remained of their Order will undoubtedly be interested in restoring his Balance in the Force. The Matukai, the Zeison Sha, the Jal Shey… He is not bereft of leads; merely the time in which to pursue them.
The next session of Parliament is due to begin soon. Perhaps he may be able to allot an appropriate amount of time afterwards to a proper investigation. Provided there are no unforeseen circumstances, of course.
The Decimator campaign will have to be scrapped; likewise his plans for the Harvester. The Sarapin raid can be retooled with minimal fuss, although it will require one major redeployment. Haruun Kal...is a tableable discussion. The Federation will be most anxious to resume the Summertime War, but the impending storm of Brentaal IV and the affairs of the Mon Calamari and Quarren are far more important at the moment.
So many things to do, and so little time to do them.
If the affair on Krios goes well, perhaps similar subterfuge against the Trandoshans and their backers the Pykes will follow. His revenge for the murder of Sifo-Dyas has waited long enough; all he needs is an excuse…
NO!
With a shuddering breath, he draws back control. This is torture; torture of the subtlest variety. To know that he is coming ever closer to relinquishing his ethics one by one, all for the sake of the "Greater Good", and remain unable to do anything about it…
Truly insidious. His Master has earned his name well.
And speaking of Sidious…
He has thought long and hard about how best to deal with his former Master. Sidious' attempts to communicate with him have become increasingly more and more demanding. It is only a matter of time before the other Sith resorts to something as dramatic as an assassination attempt to force Dooku's hand. The intelligent thing to do would be to force Sidious' hand first. Unfortunately, until Dooku' preparations on Raxus Secundus are complete, he must continue his dance across the galaxy.
There are matters he must attend to on Serenno, but once complete he plans to immediately leave once more. The temptation to immerse himself once more in his study is too high. Several non-cancelable appointments will serve well to keep him distracted.
His communicator chirps. The tone is that of an incoming call from his pilot.
He releases the tension in his chest with a sigh, and answers.
"What is it, T2?"
T2 (full designation T-2C, for Tactical Droid 2nd-in-Command) replies in his signature buzzing monotone. #Incoming transmission on your shipboard comm, my Lord.#
His shipboard comm. His second-most secure line, meant only for those whose information is too valuable to share with the entire Separatist movement. At least immediately.
The very deliberate omission by T2 of just who exactly is calling him is very telling indeed.
"Tell them I shall be there shortly."
#As you wish.#
Whatever the information was, it had better be well worth the interruption.
The information is indeed well worth the trouble.
Sullist has seceded from the Galactic Republic.
Dooku departs for Serenno immediately. Everything must be prepared before the next session of Parliament convenes. With that in mind, he makes a slight detour to Obroa-skai on his way through the system. The Sullustans have no standing army to speak of, and the Confederacy has no Emergency Services. Outsourcing must be swift and persuasive. The amount of credits he funnels into the accounts of Obroan medical centers ensure that his efforts are extremely successful in both regards.
A Neimoidian detachment is also dispatched immediately from the nearest friendly outpost, with reinforcements due to arrive not long after. (The deployment costs him a favor with the Trade Federation; a similar venture allowed in the Argul sector. But the cost is well worth it.)
Will it be enough time to prepare against the might of the Republic? Probably not. Eriadu is right next door, and Tarkin holds a grudge.
He orders T2 to increase the ship's speed to dangerous levels.
He finishes his affairs on Serenno in record time (at nowhere near the level of competence he would prefer, but needs must), and sets out immediately again for Raxus Secundus.
They are just over halfway to the Separatist capital world when Dooku's Jedi comm line begins blinking.
It is not Skorr. Nor Sey, nor Yoda, nor Nu. Not even King Attichuck awaits him on the line.
Instead, it is the face of Jedi Master and High Council Member Ki-Adi Mundi which greets him.
"Count."
"Master Jedi. Dare I ask how you came by this number, or why you felt the need to memorize it?"
Mundi fixes him with a look. "We fought together in the Stark War, Dooku. It would have been remiss of me not to recall a fellow team leader's contact information."
An unwilling smile twitches at the corner of Dooku's mouth. "Still the consummate professional, I see. I do wonder though, if said professionalism also extends to the good Moff Tarkin's comm number."
To his surprise, Mundi frowns in distaste. "As if I would ever consent to initiate contact with that buffoon."
Dooku deliberately quirks an eyebrow. "I do recall a certain amount of…friction, between the pair of you - but I had no idea it was such that even two decades could not smooth it over."
"It might have. Were it not for the fact I have just learned exactly what the 'good Moff', as you call him, is currently doing."
"Let me guess," Dooku drawls as he fingers his beard, "invading the planet of Sullust?"
Surprise is short-lived on the Cerean's face. "I should have guessed you were already aware. Yes, he intends to extradite the entirety of the planet's government…and then have them tried for treason."
Dooku hums noncommittally. "As expected. I do however fail to see why you should use your one daily comm-call to bring this matter to my attention."
"Then allow me to enlighten you." Master Mundi takes in a deep breath, then releases it. "I have been given the access codes for the entirety of Tarkin's fleet. Should you decide to review the last message transmitted to me, you will find the knowledge to be genuine. All I ask, old friend, is that you continue to follow the code of conduct General Kenobi has adopted. Let no more blood be shed on Tarkin's account."
…
For the first time since he can't remember when, Dooku finds himself utterly at a loss for words.
"And no," Mundi chuckles (!), "I've not completely lost my mind. Let us just say…while the Jedi are not allowed to hate, we are allowed to intensely dislike. And as altruistic as we are rumored to be…you and I both know better. Please make Tarkin's ransom as high as you possibly can."
"I…" words continue to fail him. "It seems…"
Dooku snorts. Then laughs. Then smiles. "It seems I was incredibly unobservant in my younger days, wasn't I?"
Mundi just smiles back. "No more than any of us. You were just better at playing the game the way politicians liked."
And with that, regret sets in. "Yes…yes, I suppose you are right. A skill I seem to be increasingly deficient in."
"It comes with the cynicism, I'm afraid."
"I'll try to remember that."
And for a small moment, in this brief corner of the universe, there are no Sith. There are no Jedi. There are no Separatists, no Republicans, no war. There are only two passing acquaintances, remorseful for what once might have been.
"May the Force be with you."
"And also with you."
Sometimes, it is nice to be brutally honest.
For all its inefficiencies, the sight of Parliament in session still fills him with pride. The golden beams of light, refracting beautifully around the inlaid podium of the Speaker. The nodding of heads together over one point, and the unanimous shaking over another. The echoing rumbles of change.
This... this is why he fell. To see those tired of oppression, tired of corruption, tired of recession , come together in, if not harmony, at least unity. With him at the helm, of course.
He knows his arrogance is born of the Dark. But at this particular moment, he just cannot bring himself to care.
Their recent rousing success on the battlefield has done much for morale. Bonteri from Onderon; Shogar Tok from Brentaal; Nossor Ri from the Quarren Isolation League. These and more, all standing in ovation for the new Senator from Sullust.
It is a more than welcome sight after the conversation he has just had with the Chairman of the Inter-Galactic Banking Clan.
Chairman San Hill is…not happy with the appointment of Whorm Loathsom as the General in charge of Muunilinst's defense. Not happy at all.
The Keikoidian is not a bad General, per say…
He is just not Kenobi. Kenobi, whom the Chairman desires with a burning passion.
Dooku does not know why. Truthfully, he is afraid to ask. There is more at stake than the Chairman's own paranoia, that much is certain. And if it is enough to convince the Muun that not even his own Grievous creation will suffice…
Then Dooku has great reason to worry indeed.
He sighs. Look at that. Less than two minutes, and he's already depressed himself out of his good mood. Must be a new record.
His communicator blinks.
"Go ahead."
#Incoming transmission on your shipboard comm, my Lord.#
The sigh he gives is a silent one. "I shall be right there." It's not as if he's due to speak for another half an hour. And maybe it will be good news. He could use a mood lift.
Dooku regrets not asking T2 who the contacting party was.
He regrets it severely.
The sneering visage of Darth Sidious leers down at him.
Many times, Dooku has considered what to say when confronted with a situation such as this.
" Tyrannusssss…"
Many times he has contemplated just exactly what to say to the man who has ruined his life forever.
" Why, may I ask…"
Every option, every permutation, every possibility.
"Have you elected…"
And in this moment…
"To deviate from the plan?"
Dooku decides to say none of them.
"The plan can get karked."
Sidious freezes.
"And so can you. End transmission."
Sidious fades away with a snarl. A light touch lingering upon Dooku's neck is all the proof he needs that his choice was the correct one.
Kriff, but that had felt good. Granted, it hadn't been good news. And he was probably going to have to get a new ship. And a new droid. And the assassination attempts would most assuredly start now. But he couldn't deny his mood hadn't improved.
Now, it was back to Parliament. Where a certain proposal was due to be ramrodded through in exchange for a Kenobi-deployed trap on Muunilinst. What a day it had been already. And it was only half-done growing.
What might it grow to in the afternoon?
Well…
There's one thing he can do before scrapping everything around him. "T2."
#Yes my Lord."
"Place a bounty on the Supreme Chancellor. Inform the galaxy that I am prepared to release every prisoner we have…if they give me Sheev Palpatine. Alive. Unharmed. And with no casualties."
#As you wish.#
Ohhhhh, he does wish. He wishes indeed. He wishes for it very, very, very much.
In retaliation for the bounty on the Supreme Chancellor's body, Muunilinst, Mon Calamari, Sullust, and Brentaal IV are all blockaded simultaneously. Muunilinst is the only one able to repel the initial attack; the Banking Clan fleet in orbit holds the line. Clones make it through to the surface of the other worlds. Worlds which the Separatists can now add to the weight of their Moral War.
It is a masterful stroke in some ways, and a suicide note in others. The Republic has given the Confederacy more verbal ammunition, true - but they have also spread Separatist forces thinly. Too thin for any true attempt on the Corellian Run as Kenobi had planned.
It is time to begin spreading the Republic's attention in turn.
"TR."
#Yes, my lord?"
"Contact Commander Sev'rance Tann. Inform her… I have a little gift she will appreciate."
# As you wish.#
Not very original, his Tactical Droids. Oh well. He has replacements coming. Replacements Sidious knows nothing about. Ah, but it paid to be rich. "And fetch me Artel Darc."
# As you wish.#
There is a message he needs to deliver to both Kenobi and Ventress. One with a… delicate proposition. A prisoner exchange has already been arranged for Tarkin, and with the precedent set, the Jedi are in discussions for the return of a few of their own. Dooku wants Kenobi and Ventress to be there. Kenobi, so he and Dooku can plan Chairman Hill's 'trap' away from prying eyes . And Ventress, so he can offer the chance of further sharpening her other set of skills. And Artel Darc will be just the person to make the delivery.
Darc is not an Acolyte; not really. Granted, the man has some skill with the Force, but focused more towards insight than combat. It is Darc who has been overseeing the preparations of Dooku's new lodgings on Raxus. Why? Well, to put it bluntly - Darc is a spymaster. Dooku's spymaster. And currently the best spymaster in the entire Confederacy. When 'certain individuals' had elected to question former Jedi Knight Alrix's motives in deserting, Darc had been the chords in their throat forming the words. Not on any orders from Dooku, mind; the man was just that paranoid. It came from a long life of being employed solely by the Corporate Alliance in the field of business espionage. Up until the war kicked off anyway. Now he works for Dooku. And if anyone can slip through the blockade of Christophsis, it will be him. The man stole Darth Andeddu's holocron for Dooku from Sidious after all.
Afterwards, the man will be reassigned. Kadrian Sey will be returning to keep watch over Dooku's treasures, and Darc will have his pick of assignments. Living in one place for so long has certainly grated severely on the man's nerves.
Speaking of grating, Gunray is beginning to test the limits of his patience. The time for the raid on Krios is growing closer, and with it Gunray's anxiety also grows. If Krios is not the end of Gunray, he will have to arrange a finishing blow. He had planned to send Bonteri to Rodia with the relief effort, as good public relations, but he is now recalling that the Rodian Senator Onaconda Farr was also once good friends with a certain former Naboo Queen. If Gunray can be maneuvered into shooting himself in the foot for the sake of revenge...there are others in the Federation who will take his place. Others who are far more loyal to him than Sidious.
Now, how best to arrange it…
DANGER.
There is a puff of air, and then a stinging pain in his neck.
A dart. He's been poisoned.
Already his anger is working to purge the substance from his body. But for now, the poison has rendered his vision dim and blurry. A meager disadvantage, but a disadvantage nonetheless.
Three lightsabers ignite, one after the other. Their hissing fury is unmistakable. The Jedi have dispatched an assassination team.
Has Master Yoda's opinion of him really sunk so low that he should warrant this method of execution? And worse, the Grandmaster's very morals themselves to permit it?
His rage against the blatant hypocrisy ignites his blood. He growls. "I do not need my eyes to see you, Jedi." His own lightsaber ignites in challenge, a comforting thrum beneath his skin. This will be a fight to remember.
The presence to his left is the first to lunge. From then on, there is only the duel.
Thrust.
Parry.
Lunge.
Riposte.
Duck.
Duck?
VWOOM.
Yes, duck. One of his opponents is utilizing a saber staff. The one that attacked first, if he is not mistaken. How very odd. Usually only the Temple Guards are trained in the archaic use of a saberstaff; and the reach of his opponent's weapon is far greater than theirs.
How very odd indeed.
A series of Force leaps away buys him time to further study his opponents. If he has missed the presence of a saberstaff, what else may he have missed?
Marble disintegrates as a blade slices through the floor he had just recently occupied. Apparently, what he may have missed is yet another saberstaff.
Thankfully, no third appears to be forthcoming. His last assailant is a wielder of a single blade only. A shoto, if he is not mistaken. A wise choice; with four blades already present, a longer blade runs the risk of interfering with its brothers. And should one of the staff wielders fall, shotos are typically designed to be dual-wielded. If his opponent possesses another, they will be more than able to make up for the loss of their partner. Curse his limited senses; could he but see clearly, he would be able to discern another hilt clipped to his opponent's belt.
Irrelevant. To wish is to admit defeat. He is a Sith. Such things are beneath him.
Back to the matter at hand.
Twist.
Somersault.
Dodge.
Attack.
Defend.
Strike.
A glancing blow to the Jedi on the left; distracting, but not devastating. For once he regrets his choice of lightsaber Form. A similar blow from Juyo instead of Makashi would have separated his opponent's limb entirely. But alas, he is old, and has not the required impetus for such a brutal Form. His precision must carry the day.
Yessss… the Dark around him seems to whisper, wait for the opportune moment. And then punish them for it.
He smirks to himself, and resumes the attack.
The Jedi on the right is well-trained. Headstrong, but not overly arrogant. Their singular blade is a veritable wall against his offenses; their Shien almost textbook in its application.
Unfortunately for them, Dooku had been around when that particular textbook was written.
Said Jedi is the next to be wounded: a brutal shove with the Force into a particularly solid pillar. The duel is moving outside of his quarters now. Good. He would hate to see any more damage inflicted on his new lodgings by the errant swipe of a rank amateur.
The middle Jedi lacks both the confidence and ability of their peers. What they do possess is an utter lockstep with their partner on the left. The sort learned after a lifetime of experience. A senior Padawan perhaps? Strange, for one to be assigned to a fight such as this.
The oddities in this fight are ever increasing in both number and scope.
Still, the addition of their efforts stymies his advance. Were they in sync with the Jedi on the right, things would be much simpler. Instead, when combined with the raging unpredictability that is his other opponent, Dooku finds himself unable to pierce the wall of their assault. No, it is on their partner that he must focus his attentions.
The Force push has apparently not done as much damage as hoped, judging by the recipient's quick recovery. So; brute Force is an unfavorable avenue of attack. Good to know.
His senses are beginning to return. With them, comes realization. The two Jedi on the left; they are most definitely male. The one on the right, however, appears to be female in size and fluidity. And while his vision may still be less than optimal, his feel for the Force is now recovered enough to inform him that there is indeed a second Kyber crystal hanging from her belt. Albeit one with a strangely… murky presence. Almost as if being deliberately concealed.
Yet another oddity to add to the list.
Jump.
Deflect.
Ricochet.
Twirl.
Sweep.
Backhand.
Miss.
A boot to the gut from the wild one disrupts his rhythm long enough for their Apprentice to land a blow. But like the rest of their attacks, the execution is barely adequate. His thigh is merely singed, not pierced. He utilizes the momentum of the kick to launch himself into a moment's reprieve.
That kick...the foot had felt suspiciously metal. Prosthetic. Finally: a weakness to be exploited.
He gathers his anger...he waits for the opportune moment...and at the correct moment…
He strikes.
Hatred, as pure and as potent as sunshine, surges forth from his fingertips. And just as sure as lightning, it hits directly what it is aimed at.
The Jedi on the left howls as he writhes on the floor in pain.
Dooku smiles to himself in dark satisfaction. He shoves the two others away, and moves to finish their friend.
He raises his lightsaber…
PAIN.
Pain, brutal and unforgiving, besieges his mind. The Force is no longer his to control.
It is his Dark's.
Of course, the sole remaining piece of his reason whispers in his mind beneath the screaming. Of course. This was never a Jedi assasination.
It was a Sith one.
Who else knew every detail of his personal security? Who else in the Republic would dare attempt such a thing? Who else would know to strike at the precise moment when his guard was at its lowest?
Who else, but Sidious.
A galaxy away, his Master has waited for his pawns to move into the correct position. He has deliberately assigned an opponent meant to draw out Dooku's control with the temptation of Lightning. And when said control inevitably slipped...Sidious' pawns were ready. His own lightning has been turned against him; the reaction fully activating the poison in his body. Sith Alchemy.
The pain purges the last of the poison from his system. His vision finally clears completely, granting him the clarity he should have possessed all along:
His opponents' lightsabers are red. As crimson as his own, screaming.
And they are wielded by a trio of Zabraks. A trio with distinctive markings Dooku has not seen since the day that accursed hologram footage from a Nabooan reactor had first played on his screen.
Dathomirian markings.
Prosthetic legs…
Maul. Maul has survived. Qui-Gon is dead , and Maul SURVIVES.
Through passion, I gain strength.
With a roar of rage, he forces his blade around to catch the sizzling assault of his remaining assailants. They will pay for their insolence; they will all of them pay.
The Nightsister (for it is a Nightsister he now faces, with her pair of shotos united in offense) sneers at him across their locked blades. "Only a fool tells a Lord of the Sith to get karked."
"Those who do not admit their foolishness," Dooku sneers back, "are the greatest fools of all."
"I am no fool!" Hisses the Nightsister.
"Are you not?"
Stun blasts pepper the room. It seems T2R has finally found his contingency plan.
The two Sith between T2R and Dooku immediately begin to deflect fire. The shots of course do nothing to the droid; Dooku has at least made sure of that. And slowly but surely, T2R's fire begins to drive the Zabraks back.
The fight would already be over were Dooku not as incapacitated. Pain can make for an excellent motivator, but not when there is no lesson to absorb. Only more pain.
The Nightsister is holding her own. "One old man and a droid," she chuckles between clashes, "hardly a suitable response force."
Dooku just grits his teeth and smiles. "You should really know by now," a particularly vicious strike knocks away one of the Sister's blades, "not to tempt the Force like that."
The Nightsister frowns in confusion.
Then gasps in pain as the sound of an igniting lightsaber rends the air.
Dooku watches in profound satisfaction as the would-be-assassin slides wetly off of the crimson blade. "It certainly took you long enough." is his only comment to his rescuer.
Artel Darc just shrugs. "There was a line in the cantina. One measly Acolyte give you this much trouble, boss?"
The word one is barely out of Darc's mouth before Dooku is whirling, ribs shrieking in pain. The Night brothers are gone. Their wake of destruction is all that's left of them. And at the end of that wreckage…
A single battered, broken droid frame.
"I want that droid," he points forcibly at the remains of T2R, "honored with a state funeral, Darc."
"Whatever you say, boss."
"Now if you will excuse me, I believe I am about to-"
He passes out.