Chapter Text
When the Terrans entered the war, Count Dooku’s master had ordered him not to deviate from the plan. He could use the Terrans to pad the Confederacy’s numbers or to strike fear into the Republic’s heart, but by and large the situation remained the same. Dooku would lead the Confederacy while Sidious ran the Republic into the ground, and once both sides were too broken to fight they would rule over the ashes.
Dooku had never given Sidious reason to doubt his obedience, so Sidious didn’t. He forgot that Dooku was a Count of Serenno with extensive political training. And that he knew that when powerful allies fell into your lap, you’d better make sure they stuck with you. And that treachery was the way of the Sith.
The Terrans were the only soldiers Dooku had who could reckon with Jedi, and he was not about to let that advantage slide. He would do whatever it took to stay in Terran good graces and if that meant fudging his master’s orders, then fudge them he would. It’s not like Sidious had to know everything, after all.
…
The first order of business was finding out what this tight-lipped people stood for. That was more complicated than he’d expected, because Terra turned out to have over two hundred governments and no less than three times that many distinct cultures.
It was no small task to synthesize their planet into a few value statements, but after a horrifying number of talks with Terran leadership and command staff he managed to compose some. By and large, Terrans believed in sentient dignity and that every being was entitled to certain rights. They had a strong sense of justice and were willing to fight to get it. They abhorred chattel slavery. They had great compassion for animals. And to a man, they lived and breathed pride for their home planet.
It was well deserved pride too. Dooku didn’t know what Terra was like, but that planet had honed each Terran into a warrior like no other. He finally got his answer while speaking to a Terran politician at a state dinner.
“To be honest, Count, giving the Confederacy a hand was the only way to stop us from fighting each other,” he said and poured himself a drink.
“You fight each other this severely?” Senator Bonteri, whose planet had been number one on internal conflict five seconds ago, asked in horror.
“Scaled down, this is pretty basic. We’ve done a lot worse.” And then he swigged his drink like he hadn’t just given everyone a heart attack.
Dooku tried to picture the devastation of the Clone Wars confined to a single planet. He couldn’t. How the hell were these people still alive?
“My thanks to you, Mr. Ambassador,” he said while ignoring Bec Lawise mouthing what the kriff three seats away.
So the Terrans were more experienced than anyone else. That sealed it: once the state dinner was over, Dooku cleaned house. He canceled any correspondence with slavers, burned the evidence, and went over his command staff with a fine toothed comb. By the end of the week, he had a list of commanders to fire.
…
The worst commanders in the Confederacy weren’t all fired in the same manner. The less prominent found themselves drummed out or demoted. Those whose absences Dooku’s master was more likely to notice required a little more finesse.
A few days after Wat Tambor suffered a catastrophic suit malfunction, General Grievous went to investigate an incursion on Lola Sayu.
It did not go well.
At all.
And the worst part was, no one could find evidence of the incursion.
“Republic trickery,” he told his master. “Inelegant but effective. Warden Sobeck fell into the lava while trying to retrieve the general’s remains.”
“This is an unprecedented blow to your leadership,” his master said. “How do you plan to recover?”
“We already have, my lord. New leadership is in place as we speak.” Competent, nonsadistic leadership which would appeal to Terran sensibilities, but he didn’t need to say that.
“Ensure their effectiveness.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He didn’t need to do anything. It turned out that when your commanders were more focused on overall strategy instead of how many war crimes they could rack up, your army won more. With their new allies and overhauled methods Dooku watched with satisfaction as the scales of war tipped in the Confederacy’s favor.
As they did, a new plan took shape. Maybe he didn’t have to go along with Sidious’ machinations after all. He could just … win the war and not have to deal with him at all.
Destroy his master and claim his position without having to lift a finger? Now that was the way of the Sith! As of this moment, Dooku was deviating from the plan and covertly striking out on his own.
Maybe the Terrans were rubbing off on him.
…
As the war continued, Dooku maintained close contact with the Terran leadership and tweaked his “Keep the Crazies Happy” plan as needed. It was an easy job: they never asked for much and they handled their internal squabbling, so he was mostly approving Separatist reinforcements.
That meant the day General Gupta announced “We have a problem,” Dooku dropped everything to give the man his full attention.
“We have an MIA,” Gupta explained. “Colonel Nathan Barrick was deployed to Felucia and never came back. We’ve double-checked the injured and can’t find his body. Our best guess is he’s been captured.”
That wasn’t good. Half of Terra’s fear factor was due to the unknown. If the Republic broke this Colonel Barrick then not only would they have access to his tactical information, but the Terrans’ carefully guarded secrets. “What do we need to alter?”
“Nothing. I know Barrick and he’s a tough bird; he won’t talk. I’m more worried about this.”
Gupta handed him a stack of files and Dooku immediately saw why the general was concerned. “Two more missing in action.”
Gupta nodded. “Sergeant Jason Zachary and Master Corporal Dwayne Gilet disappeared from the battlefield. According to our intelligence, Jedi Master Piell was nearby.”
Piell was meticulous. He wouldn’t have wasted the opportunity to capture a Terran, but he wouldn’t do it in the dark either. “If Piell took them into custody, he’ll report it. What do we know about the enlisted men?”
“Not much,” Gupta admitted. “Zachary’s from the United States and Gilet’s Canadian, service records are unremarkable. They’re good guys. But if Barrick knows about them … he cares about his men. He’ll try to protect them.”
“To the extent of revealing secrets?”
Gupta shook his head. “No, but he’ll die trying.”
It might be best if he did. The enlisted men could talk, but they didn’t know half of what a colonel knew.
There wasn’t anything he and Gupta could do about it, even when word came from the Republic that Barrick and Zachary had been incarcerated in Prisoner of War Camp 13. Dooku put it out of his mind as best as he was able until Gupta swept into his office again.
“Two more captured,” he announced. “We just got confirmation of life on Corporal Diaz, and an initial report for Lieutenant Cassandra Beavier.”
Dooku knew about Diaz. The young corporal had been presumed dead when his carrier went down over Saleucamai and the report of his capture had rattled the Terran forces. But the name Beavier was new to him. “Who is she and what happened?”
“She’s a fighter pilot deployed over Ryloth. Her squadron leader says they were escorting a bombing group when Beavier got hit and ejected. No one’s heard from her since, until fourteen hours ago an Admiral Killian asked for her medical file. Apparently she’s wounded and not talking.”
Killian was Windu’s admiral, and there was no way Windu wasn’t involved in something so important. That meant trickery was on the menu. “Are you sure she’s alive as opposed to Killian reading from a corpse’s dog tag?”
From the look on Gupta’s face everyone, prisoner included, would have preferred the second option. “We can hear the lieutenant in the background. The squadron leader says the voice is hers.”
Well that was just great. “Did you tell him anything?”
“Admiral Boyington told him to, and I quote, ‘read the damn dog tag.’ As for a prognosis, Killian says she has two broken arms and is expected to survive. That makes five of my people missing or in enemy hands, and if even one of them talks then Terra itself is compromised. We need to determine a defense plan.”
“I’ll raise Generals Bonteri and Farstar. All of the Confederacy’s resources are at your disposal.”
“General!” A Terran admiral raced into the room with a handheld device. “Incoming radio transmission. It’s Colonel Barrick!”
“What?” Gupta lunged forward just as the radio squawked.
“Papa Bear to Terran fleet command, come in,” a staticky voice ordered.
Gupta whooped and keyed the transmitter. “Barrick, you magnificent bastard! I can’t believe it!”
“General Gupta, glad to hear you sir. I have a team of three who’s ready and willing to make trouble for the Republic behind enemy lines. What do you say?”
Dooku almost passed out.
…
In the tunnel underneath Barracks Two, Colonel Barrick and his team crowded around the newly assembled radio while Gupta briefed them on recent events.
“There might be a fourth coming your way, a pilot,” Gupta reported. “Female, American, wounded. Notify us if she shows up.”
Barrick raised an eyebrow at the barracks door, where the double-slinged Lieutenant Beavier was posted as a lookout. “Lieutenant Beavier is already here, sir. She, Zachary, and Diaz are my team.”
“Three? Where’s Gilet?”
“There’s no one here by that name. Never even heard of him.” He regarded his team. “Any of you?”
Negative from Diaz and Beavier. “There was a guy before I got captured, when our squads were hanging out before the battle,” Zachary said. “But I haven’t seen him since.”
“Command, that is a negative on Gilet.”
A buzz rose over the radio. “You’re sure he isn’t dead?” someone who sounded a lot like General Bonteri asked.
Gupta snapped. “Well we certainly didn’t lose him between the couch cushions.”
“Gentlemen, focus.” Count Dooku sounded exhausted. “Could Master Corporal Gilet have been sent to a different facility?”
“They just put a woman in an all-male camp, sir. They’re keeping all of us together and not even bothering to hide it.”
“Colonel, keep your ear to the ground for any information about Gilet or his whereabouts,” Gupta ordered.
“Guard coming, Colonel,” Beavier reported from the door.
“Stall him. Papa Bear out.” Barrick shut off the radio and slithered out of the tunnel while Diaz and Zachary closed the trapdoor. “Which one is it?”
Beavier squinted against the peephole. “It’s the clone sergeant, and he’s carrying building materials.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t build whatever it is on top of this.” Diaz grunted and pushed the table over the trapdoor.
The gears whirred in Barrick’s mind when the sergeant’s command boomed from outside. “Open the door!”
Beavier summoned a pained croak. “I can’t, my arms are broken. Zachary, can you –?”
“I’m coming, Lieutenant.” Barrick made sure there was no visible trace of the tunnel and opened the door. Sure enough, there stood their regular guard laden down with sheets of plywood and a toolbox.
“Schultz, did they teach you manners on Kamino? We’re supposed to open doors for ladies, not the other way around.”
“My hands were full, Colonel.” Schultz muscled the plywood through the door and set it on the ground. “Colonel Ozzel has ordered me to create a separate bunk space so that we remain compliant with the Convention of Civilized Systems.”
“There anything in that convention about bugging the wounded?” He made a sweeping gesture at his lieutenant. “Beavier here should be resting – we just got her to sit down for goodness’ sake!”
Schultz lifted his gaze from the building supplies and looked at Beavier for the first time. He’d seen her when she arrived at the camp, but observing a beautiful woman from a distance and up close were two very different experiences.
Barrick watched Schultz’s pupils dilate.
“Of course!” He jumped to his feet, the supplies forgotten. “Where were you sitting?”
Beavier didn’t need a hint. “At the table. Colonel Barrick says I need to elevate my arms.”
“Some pillows would help.” Schultz grabbed two off some bunks and ushered Beavier to the table, pulling out her chair and arranging the pillows under her arms. “Is that okay?”
Beavier placed her feet on the closed tunnel entrance. “Fine, thank you.”
“Happy to help, sir.” Schultz blushed. “Ma’am. You’re a ma’am, I’m a sir. It’s easy to forget, especially when –.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never met a girl, Schultz,” Diaz said and Zachary elbowed him.
Barrick waved off his men. “Alright, give the guy a break. Schultz, you’re building a bunk space for the new lieutenant?”
Schultz didn’t take his eyes off Beavier. “I am. Where would you like it?”
…
Colonel Barrick’s team was incredible. If Dooku didn’t know better, he would think their exploits were the work of special forces commandos instead of a slapdash group of prisoners of war. They sabotaged weapons, stole information, and even went toe to toe with Skywalker and Yularen. If the Confederacy had ten teams like this behind enemy lines, the Republic would be doomed.
In order to encourage the Terran troops and bolster their popularity among the Separatist alliance, Dooku worked with General Gupta and some Terran heads of state to arrange for entertainment to be brought from home. After much deliberation from the Terrans, they eventually concurred that music would be okay.
The decision was a smash hit. Terrans, who were inclined to befriend anything with a pulse, had organically begun to share their culture with their comrades. When the music was officially released, it took the Confederacy by storm. Dooku could hardly step in public without hearing Terran music from every direction.
A particular genre called “eighties” proved to be especially popular. Personally, Dooku didn’t understand what all the fuss was about Queen, Madonna, and Duran Duran when Beethoven was available, but everyone else loved it. It was the music of choice for malls and restaurants. He even caught General Farstar humming “Livin’ On a Prayer” when he thought no one was listening.
Palpatine had already banned communication between sides, but when Dooku mentioned how much his army loved the music he doubled down and made Terran music illegal throughout the Republic.
“I have heard how the Terrans have bewitched the Separatists,” he announced. “Our Republic cannot afford to make ourselves vulnerable to our enemies’ trickery.”
“Bad move, Chancellor,” Dooku said to himself. Then he sat back and waited for the carnage.
By the end of the day, the Terrans had started using their music as psychological warfare.
“We do the same thing with pirates back home. It’s very effective,” Admiral Park told him.
And was it ever. When the Terrans rolled onto the battlefield blasting “Welcome to the Jungle,” they gave Jedi Masters a run for their money. They went from skilled warriors to unstoppable berserkers.
In the wake of their string of victories and the deluge of illegal music downloads behind Republic lines, Palpatine found himself in the middle of a PR nightmare. The music clearly didn’t make the Terrans any less effective, so why would the Chancellor keep the public from “Under Pressure” for any reason other than his own ego?
Palpatine tried to recover, but his popularity ratings hit an all-time low. He had to cancel a comm with Dooku in order to meet with an army of fixers in an attempt to rehabilitate himself.
Dooku, Sith that he was, basked in the mayhem.
…
Meanwhile, Colonel Barrick’s crew was going like gangbusters. They stole a tank, tapped a communications relay, siphoned an entire payroll of credits, and dealt out Republic intel like credit chits in a Hutt dance parlor. Dooku didn’t know which he liked better: hearing of their exploits, or trying not to laugh while the Republic floundered over their exploits.
“We have agents implanted all over the Republic, and yet four men bring in eighty percent of the results.” He poured two glasses of brandy for himself and Gupta and raised his in a toast. “Your people are beyond compare.”
“Five,” Gupta announced. “They flipped a clone.”
Now that was a feat. The only clone Dooku knew of who had betrayed the Republic, Sergeant Slick, had approached Ventress on his own. “How did they manage that?”
“Apparently sparks flew between him and Barrick’s second. Unconventional, but you can’t argue with results.”
“Isn’t that fraternizing with the enemy?”
“Not if you flip him first, apparently. That was a hellacious meeting.” Gupta tossed back the rest of his drink.
“I don’t doubt it.” Dooku resisted the urge to pour himself a second. “Has this unexpected romance brought us any further advantages?”
“More than we can count. Sergeant Schultz has become a valuable member of the team.”
“Well then cheers to the happy couple. May their love grow strong, and their efforts bear fruit to end this war.” It was the least Sithlike thing Dooku had ever said, and he didn’t care.
“Hear, hear.” Gupta raised his empty glass. “Have you thought about the end of the war, Count?”
“Every day. I’m sure it won’t be exactly how I picture it, but the chance to see our worlds free from the Republic, to live in peace unburdened by corruption, is worth everything. And we look forward to Terran participation in it. Your people have aided our galaxy at its worst; you deserve to enjoy it at its best.”
“We’ll have to take you up on your offer,” Gupta replied.
“And what would you plan to do in this era of galactic peace?”
“Probably help clean up the Republic’s mess. You have a slavery problem, and we have cops willing to lend a hand.”
Terran law enforcement. Whoever could police a Terran, they had to be a host unto themselves. Dooku couldn’t imagine what they were like.
He found out a few years later when General Gupta brought two men in civilian dress to the office.
“Count, thank you for meeting with us so quickly.” Gupta introduced the civilians. “Agents Saunders and Tucker, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“Gentlemen,” Dooku sat them down. “Tell me, what is it?”
“A scouting party discovered human remains jettisoned into space near Saleucamai. We’ve identified the body as our missing Master Corporal Dwayne Gilet, and his death was clearly not combat-related.” Gupta indicated the agents. “Since Master Corporal Gilet was a Canadian citizen, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police investigated his murder.”
Agent Tucker handed Dooku a file. “Our report.”
Dooku had to put it down after the second page. And he was a Sith lord.
“Gilet was restrained using Republic-issue binders,” Saunders said. “We believe that he was abducted from the battlefield and killed in a secondary location, probably a spacecraft. Whatever it is, it will be absolutely covered in evidence.”
Dooku didn’t need a law enforcement background to know that. “Do you have a lead on this spacecraft?”
“We don’t need one. Gilet fought for his life, and his efforts generated so much evidence that he effectively solved his own murder.” Tucker flipped through the report and pointed out the evidence in question. “The killer didn’t expect the body to be found, so he didn’t bother to clean up. We have fibers, tool marks, and trace evidence that survived the vacuum of space. And most importantly, DNA under Gilet’s fingernails and between his teeth. We ran the DNA through all Confederate systems and got a hit. The DNA on Master Corporal Gilet’s body belongs to a Republic Navy Captain named Wilhuff Tarkin.”
Dooku checked their admittedly outdated file on Tarkin. “He’s Piell’s captain, which places him at the scene of the crime. Do you think this was some kind of interrogation gone wrong?”
Saunders didn’t believe it for a second. “What happened to Master Corporal Gilet was extremely violent. We’ve seen similar behavior in our worst serial killers back home.”
Dooku didn’t even want to think about a Terran serial killer. Nevermind their worst.
“Whoever did this has no regard for sentient life whatsoever. They had no military objective. This was killing for the sake of killing.”
“Agent Saunders is one of the best criminal profilers in the world. There’s no one more qualified to conduct a threat assessment of the perpetrator," Gupta said.
“And the threat assessment is?” Dooku asked.
“Sir, Gilet was not this person’s first victim and he won’t be the last. The killer presents a serious and immediate danger to society and needs to be stopped immediately. A Canadian judge has already signed an arrest warrant and Colonel Barrick’s team has a lead on Tarkin’s current location.”
“Then why are you pleading the case to me?”
“We need permission to execute a warrant outside Canadian jurisdiction.”
Dooku couldn’t sign the document fast enough. “Permission granted. If you gentlemen need somewhere to hold him, I happen to know of a highly secured facility.”
The Terrans executed the warrant the same day and whisked Tarkin, Piell, and any potential witness they could get their hands on to the Citadel to be interviewed by the RCMP.
The Jedi broke them out twelve hours later.
The Terrans lost their minds and the PR department had a field day. If the Jedi were really defenders of peace and purveyors of justice, then what were they doing interfering with a murder investigation? And Tarkin’s statement that they had tortured him for some hyperspace coordinates? Please. The worst the Terrans did was make him listen to Rick Astley.
Senator Bonteri spoke with Agent Saunders live on air and had the profiler describe, in HoloNet-friendly terms, just how serious Tarkin’s suspected crimes were. In a move that would probably see her reelected for the rest of her life, she announced that she was honoring the Canadian arrest warrant and if Tarkin showed his face on Onderon, he wouldn’t breathe free air for long.
At the beginning of the war Dooku thought that Bonteri would be an obstacle, but the senator was really growing on him.
And Palpatine? He did what he did best: deny, deny, deny. Deny any wrongdoing, deny any evidence of a murder, and deny Bonteri and Saunders’ interview to be broadcast on Republic channels.
In reply, the Terrans released a heartfelt tribute to Gilet featuring interviews from his friends, family, and comrades in arms. They couldn’t get it past Republic firewalls, but it spread like wildfire in Separatist and neutral systems. Overnight Tarkin became the face of the Republic’s decadence, and the Jedi of its blindness.
Palpatine probably would’ve been okay with all that, what with the master plan and all, except that the Terrans called him out for his military interfering with a murder investigation, and he was now the face of incompetence.
“Can you keep these people leashed or not?” he demanded during their usual comm.
Dooku bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Leash a Terran, ha. “They’ve agreed to limit their propaganda to Captain Tarkin, my lord.”
“At what cost? Their strength is fearsome, but they are unpredictable and hot-tempered. They’ve become a liability.”
“Liability or not, they’re deeply enmeshed in the war effort. We couldn’t get rid of them even if we wished to.”
“Not yet.”
Well great. His master messing with the Terrans would definitely put a crimp in Dooku’s plans, and he couldn’t risk involving himself with it in any way. No thanks, he chose life.
“Yes, my lord,” he lied and ended the transmission.
He would have preferred to wait a little longer and rack up more victories, but this would do. It was time to win the war and kick Sidious to the curb.
With that, he picked up his comlink and composed a message to General Gupta.
Sidious had a clone army and a gaggle of Jedi he’d spent years running into the ground. Dooku had the droids, the Terrans, and a Confederacy of planets standing behind him. Not the worst odds, all things considered.
Sidious could do his worst. Dooku wasn’t afraid. His plan was just crazy enough to work.
The Terrans were definitely rubbing off on him.