Y1ofthePlebs

Chapter 34

30 BBY

With everything in place, the Outer Rim Alliance was all but ready to launch its invasion of Phindar. The extra time they had taken to get an agreement from Botajef had allowed them to fully restock and repair all five of Serenno’s cruisers. The Hammerheads and the Corona’s were now crewed and ready to fly, though the crews hadn’t got nearly as much chance to practice with the Corona’s. 

Surveying his small fleet from his office window, Dooku couldn’t keep the scowl from his lips. The ships themselves weren’t anything special, merely standard for their size and class. They could be expected to meet the average, not exceed it, and worse still was their numbers. Five ships. Five! If the Sith had committed the entire Black Sun fleet against Serenno, they would have been almost helpless to stop it. He didn’t know what kind of game Sidious was playing, but Serenno had to grow. The alliance had to grow.

He had to grow as well.

As it was now, he couldn’t defeat the fools on Coruscant, let alone the Sith. 

Botajef would be a serious addition to the Alliance. Its shipyards hadn’t been fully activated in centuries, but they were there and far easier to restore to working order than the ancient ones on Raxus Prime. Unfortunately, Botajef hadn’t fully joined yet. So far, Duke Donner had only agreed to allow the invasion of Phindar if he was allowed to occupy it afterwards. It was an agreement that cost him very little, and promised him much if it succeeded. A shrewd negotiator that Donner, who had intrinsically understood the power he held over the alliance when first approached. 

Still, a foot in the door was something by itself. If Duke Donner wasn’t willing to commit himself fully to the ORA’s cause, then one of his family members might be more amenable. 

Plans to consider later.

Right now, Dooku was confident that he should be able to win the coming battle. Normally, coordinating two fleets across a large distance would be difficult, but he would be commanding one half and Asajj the other. Through the Force, he and his former Padawan would easily be able to converge on the enemy at the same time. Duke Harrad had been able to provide twenty ships, and though Duchess Satine didn’t have a standing defence fleet, she did provide him with contact information for a number of Mandalorian clans who were willing to work as mercenaries.

With the Mandalorian mercenaries on their side, that brought the fleet’s total size to thirty five ships. Meanwhile, the enemy fleet was an estimated thirty ships, at least according to Tanya’s scouts. The members of the House Guard had been able to get surprisingly close to the target, landing on Phindar and talking to pirates who’d gone ashore for a few drinks. They’d even done a flyby of Deep Space Demolitions and Removals, to confirm the number of ships it had docked.

The Space Station itself was the most significant problem. Though not particularly mobile, it had deployed a flight of long range bombers to attack Raxus. Dooku was planning on relying on the New Temple’s Long Range Patrol fighters to neutralise the bombers. Demolitions and Removals didn’t have any serious armaments beyond some basic point defence systems, so once the bombers were dealt with, it would be a non factor.

That left just one threat to be considered before they went ahead with the attack.

“Where did Asajj get this from?” Dooku asked, looking up from his datapad to his daughter. 

She stood in front of his desk, arms folded by her back, and mind shielded. “It was provided to her by Quinlan Vos.”

Dooku’s nose wrinkled with distaste, before he looked back down at the face of the zabrak sith assassin. Neither Asajj or Tanya knew his name yet, or Vos for that matter, but Dooku had already suffered the displeasure of meeting Maul in person once. “Why is she speaking with Vos?”

“She was gathering intelligence about the enemy.” Tanya answered. “Which I see as commendable. Jedi Knight Prialla told her about some minor Black Sun interference in the investigation into Master Sifo’s death, and so she took the initiative to go to Vos for more information. Very prudent given that they are our current foe.”

“And so the Coruscant Temple has advanced much further into the investigation than the New Temple, but never saw fit to tell us.”

“It appears that way, Father.”

With a disgusted sight, Dooku put the Datapad away. If Vos was right, Deep Space Demolitions and Removals was the former headquarters of the Blacksun. It seemed that Maul had completely taken over the organisation, explaining why it was working with the Trade Federation. Both organisations were merely catspaws of the Sith.

“Well, it’s good to have confirmation that all our enemies are working together.” Dooku muttered.

“Being X has been very busy.” Tanya said. “Then she asked. Do you think you’ll be able to handle the Sith?”

“If he wasn’t a match for Padawan Kenobi, I doubt he’ll be much of a threat to me.” Dooku scoffed. “Especially not with a dozen more Jedi at my back.”

Tanya nodded. “Do you plan to capture him?”

Dooku shook his head. “No. A sith is far too dangerous to hold.” Not to mention what he might reveal if given the chance. Dooku didn’t even plan to bring support with him to kill Maul, lest the assassin reveal something he shouldn’t during the fight.

Tanya nodded, not looking displeased.

“Thank you for this, daughter.” Dooku said, at last. “I will let Asajj know she’s done well. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, Father. Two more things. If you’re taking our fleet with you, what will we do if another Pirate fleet attacks in your absence?”

“Botajef has agreed to provide us with a small defence picket to prevent that.”

“How small?”

“Two ships.” Dooku answered.

“Battle Cruisers?”

“Light cruisers.”

“...It seems like they’re getting a lot from this deal and risking almost nothing.”

Dooku nodded in agreement. “We’ll simply have to do our best to not advertise its size. It will simply have to be enough for any potential attackers to know that Serenno will still be defended.”

Tanya nodded, though she looked unhappy with it. 

“And your other concern?” Dooku asked.

“Not a concern, Father. A gift of sorts.”

Dooku blinked at that, surprised. After a moment he couldn’t help the small smile that touched his lips.

She smiled back at him as well. “It’s in the armoury, if you want to see it.”

“We shall go together.” Dooku decided, standing up. Together the two of them passed through the Palace, taking the stairs to the armoury with Tanya leading the way. Amused, Dooku followed behind her to the bottom of the steps where the smell of burnt steel and ozone merged with blaster polish and sweat.

Dooku rarely came down here, trusting his daughter to manage the House Guard. Every Guardsmen they passed stopped to salute the pair, even the ones who were off duty in the break room, standing over their cups of cafstim. 

After the two passed, Dooku heard murmurs starting behind them. He didn’t speak any of the Serennoan languages, or even Outer Rim Basic for that matter, but he recognised one word among the others. It seemed that his real name was difficult for them to pronounce, or perhaps strange in their tongue, so they had named him Rider in their own language. They believed he’d ridden the Tirra’Taka into battle, even though no such thing had ever happened.

A new word was mixed in, one he didn’t recognise. It took him a moment to realise it was probably their name for his daughter, though he couldn’t discern any great meaning from it. Tan’ya had been teaching them to shield their minds in the Force, but from the few who let strong emotion slip through, he felt an overriding sense of awe and reverence. It wasn’t aimed at him, though. Most of it was directed to his daughter.

He supposed that she had spent more time with them then he had, so it made sense they would be loyal to her personally. Though the strength of their emotions seemed strange even for a beloved commanding officer. 

Once inside the armoury, his daughter presented to him an armoured Mandalorian with a hammer at his belt, who turned to regard the Count from behind his mirrored visor, mind caught between curiosity and annoyance at the interruption.

“Father, meet the Armourer. I don’t know what his real name is, but he was willing to craft a dozen sets of sacanium armour for us on short notice.”

“Short notice indeed.” The man muttered. “I have worked from dawn till dusk every day, eating nothing but smoked meat for breakfast and dinner, and drinking nothing but water by the forge. Even with the blundering assistants you provided, there was scarcely time for me to complete my work.”

Tanya gave her father an apologetic look. “Armourer is from a peculiar clan that doesn't remove their helmets for outsiders. He’s been complaining about the quality of our materials with every breath.”

“I will be grateful to return to beskar.” The Armourer spat, turning his head towards Tanya in a motion that looked almost like a glare.

“I see.” Dooku said. “Will the armour work?”

“Of course!” The Armourer then seemed to shoot Dooku with his glare as well. “I wouldn’t craft anything that could not offer protection, even if it's not sacred beskar and your blood is not sacred either.” 

What an unpleasant fellow.

“We’ve done ballistic tests.” Tanya said, turning to her father. “It will stop a blaster bolt, even from a rifle. But multiple direct hits will warp and destroy the metal.”

“It’s too conductive.” The Armourer sniffed. “Each shot is partly deflected, but much of the heat is absorbed. Without a layer of plastoid beneath it, the user would be roasted alive.”

“As a result, the armour is a blend of Saccanium plates and plastoids.” Tan’ya explained. “Future versions will have more sophisticated cooling systems, but as long as the user isn’t shot so repeatedly that the armour turns to slag and melts off of him, it will offer a much greater level of protection then anything available on the market.”

“Your tailor was able to provide correct measurements.” The Armourer said. “It will fit you well.”

So this was his daughter’s gift to him. The sacanium was black, and running his hand over it, he found it had a rough texture, like rust or sandpaper. His particular set had a Chain of Office emblem printed into its neck, made of Serenno Silver, and it had a similar mark around the head. The cape at its back was a dark shade of blue, while the plastoid plating the metal was embedded into was grey.

“This armour isn’t quite as fitting for your station as it could be, Father, but for short notice it will provide excellent protection.”

Dooku was no historian, but he did remember from his time in the academy reading about Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla, whose lightsabers were still on display in the Tower of Knowledge. To the Jedi of today, the last great Jedi Lord surrendering his armour for the robes of a Jedi was a symbolic moment, marking the end of the New Sith Wars and the Dark Age of the Republic. Now it seemed that Dooku was to do the opposite.

He’d always known that launching a full scale invasion of another system would be a provocative act, one that would set the Jedi Council howling with outrage. Somehow, he hadn’t understood quite what it would mean until this exact moment, when he was presented with a set of armour for battle. He was going to fight, so of course he should wear armour. This time it would be clear he wouldn’t be acting as a liberator, but as a conqueror. 

After the silence dragged on for a moment too long, he realised his daughter was looking at him expectantly.

“Thank you, daughter.” He finally said. “It’s a great gift.”

With the help of the Armourer, Dooku stripped off his cape, boots, and belt, before fastening the cuirass on over his shirt. Piece by piece, the Armourer instructed him on how to affix the greaves, the gauntlets, the pauldrons, and many others until finally only the helmet remained. The helmet itself fit perfectly, and had an internal display that could be synced up with his compad. 

“Finally, there’s this.” The Armourer said, presenting to Dooku a leather hip holster. “I have crafted these to go with each set. For you and your daughter, there’s room for a lightsaber and a pistol.” 

“I have no need for a blaster.” Dooku said.

“Which is why your lightsaber will go on the dominant side, and your blaster on the left. This is the way.” Without asking Dooku’s permission or waiting, he reached down to secure the leather buckles around Dooku’s hips. “A very mighty seventy year old.” He murmured, briefly squeezing the Count. “Are all Jedi so blessed?”

Dooku didn’t answer.

“When you have the chance, I recommend finding a form fitting undersuit to replace your civilian clothes. They are of fine make, and such craftsmanship should not be wasted in battle.” At last the Armourer stood up right, surveying his work. He stared for a long moment, obviously dissatisfied in the Force before murmuring. “If I had but more time, perhaps I could have done better.”

Dooku emerged from the armoury, to find most of the House Guard waiting for him, along with Tan’ya, Kai the Mandalorian child, and his wife. There was a pause after he stepped out, before excited murmuring broke out among the House Guard. The Palace servants that surrounded his wife also seemed quite taken aback, but Athemeene just looked worried more than anything. She’d forgotten her mental exercises for the moment, and in her mind she was relieved that he was going armored, but worried that he was going to war at all.

“You look… fiersome.” Athemeene finally said.

Dooku chuckled. “Thank you, Meene.” 

“I know you're busy now, but there’s something I wanted to show you, before you leave.” 

“Very good, father.” Tan’ya said. “I’ll go try on my own now.” She went into the armoury with the Armourer, closing the door behind her.

Dooku followed his wife upstairs to the Palace grounds, and was surprised to see a number of poor, wretched looking people lingering in the garden. Many of them were barefoot, while a few had beastly tattoos and strange spikes lodged in their ears and noses. All of them wore some shade of white, even if the colour had been stained by sweat and mud to a light tan. Athemeene had ordered the servants to bring out sandwiches and fruit juice, and many of the guests had been enjoying the food and drink on the grass until they caught sight of the Count.

They all stood, and came towards him, murmuring, “Rider.” In their own tongue. They crowded around at a distance, waiting for some signal.

None of them seemed to speak any Basic or Standard.

Dooku turned to his wife’s handmaiden. “What are they here for?” He asked her.

She bowed her head respectfully. “They say they are pilgrims, who climbed this mountain to pay their respects to the Master of this world. They thank the Rider for his protection and generosity, and hope that he will accept their visit here. They do not intend any offence, this is their only way to speak to him.”

Dooku considered for a moment, before turning to his wife. “They just came, uninvited?”

She nodded, “I told the House Guard to let them into the Palace grounds while we decided what to do with them.” 

Dooku considered them for a moment, before turning to the handmaiden. “Tell them that their Count can be sought through the advisory. If they’re here as guests, they may enjoy the Palace’s exterior grounds, but should not cause damage or leave a mess. They will be respectful of everyone here, and interrupt no one’s work.”

The handmaiden explained Dooku’s conditions to them, and the Pilgrim’s bowed, before returning to what they were doing.

“Did they really climb the entire mountain?” Athemeene wondered. “It’s twelve kilometres from here to the city, and it’s all uphill.”

“If they cause any trouble, don’t hesitate to get rid of them.” Dooku told her. “If there’s nothing else, I have more work to do.”

“Is Tan’ya going with you?” Athemeene asked, clutching the edge of her dress in obvious worry.

“No.” Dooku answered. “Sending both of us into battle would be courting a potential disaster.”

That didn’t seem to assuage her worries very much. 

“Don’t fear for me.” He told her. “I have every reason to be confident of my victory.”

“She has her own set of armour.” Athemeene said in a low, worried voice. “And she fought up there when those pirates attacked! She’s still a child, you can’t send her into battle again.”

Dooku understood her fears. He would have felt them himself, if he wasn’t so sure that their daughter had such a great destiny ahead of her. Rather than make his wife a promise he had no intention of keeping, he simply told her, “Have faith in her, Meene.” 

---------

A mechanical hand clutched a holocom, barely visible in the unlit room. Only the light of the distant stars in the window offered any illumination, until a button was pressed, and a number was called.

There were a few moments as the device dialled, before finally someone answered. Whoever answered didn’t say anything, and kept their face out of the projection.

“Will you do it?” Maul demanded, his voice almost breaking as the nervousness crept in. “Have you scouted them out?”

“Jedi Temple’s airtight. Hard getting in. Harder getting out.” The voice considered, chewing on something. “And you want a Youngling? Don’t think a Bounty Hunter’s the kind of professional you need.”

“No!” Maul hissed, and the exhalation made him wince as he strained his windpipe. Fighting a cough, he sucked down water to calm his throat, before insisting. “I need it. I need it now. I’m so close, the timing is crucial! I witnessed you work, you’re more than capable of it, Bane! You’re the only one.”

Unimpressed, the Bounty Hunter leaned into the call, his large eyes gleaming dangerously even from the other side of the Galaxy. “No names, or we’re done. Don’t know if someone could be listening.” 

Maul felt his pulse rising, but he forced into down, swallowing his anger. “Can you do it or not?!” He demanded. “I need to know, now!”

Bane didn’t answer right away, chewing on his toothpick as he thought things through. “I’ll take the risk.” He finally decided. “Gonna need an advance, though. Specialty equipment ain’t cheap.”

“You can do it?!” Maul rasped out, excited. “You can do it tonight?!”

“I’ll get you the boy.”

“No!” Maul hissed out before managing to compose himself. “No, don’t bring him to me. Take him here.” His fingers danced across the keypad, and there was a ping as Bane received the coordinates. “You understand? Get the boy from the Temple, and bring him there. I’ll wire you the money now.”

“You better.” Bane warned, leaning back out of the projection again. “Ain’t moving from this spot till it gets here.”

“It’s on its way now.” Maul snarled, then hung up. Once it was done, he looked out the window, eyes narrowing on a small star in the distance. “Just you wait, Jedi. I know you told the old man I was coming, and I will have my revenge.”

(draft) Chapter 34

Tanya was familiar with the usual faces who were all present for the leadership meeting, though there were a few notable additions. Included in Duke Harrad’s entourage was his Minister of Defence, and his Chief Admiral. After being introduced, they faded into the background, occasionally raising their hands to type something out, probably advice for their Lord. Duchess Satine sat with a handful of armored Mandalorians, looking utterly out of place in her Mid Rim styled robes. 

The most significant new addition to the group was Duke Podu Struthend, of Botajef. He was a small man, and quite young compared to the other heads of state. The top of his head only came up to Dooku’s shoulders, but he had a cunning glint in his narrow eyes that combined with the soft smirk on his lips, and his slightly hunched posture gave the impression of an opportunist. He was dressed in Mid Rim styled robes as well, though Tanya could make out the faint crease in his robes where his blaster was kept, no doubt. Compared to Duchess Satine, he gave the impression of a much more dangerous ally.

He wasn’t even here to join the Outer Rim Alliance, but the opening negotiations with Dooku had proceeded smoothly, and clearly offered him something he wanted. If Tan’ya had to guess, his primary interest was the Salin corridor. If he could wrestle some kind of control over Phindar and the Demetras Sector from the pirates that roamed it, the benefits to him would be enormous. It also helped that the Trade Federation was a great threat to Podu. Phindar’s shipyards had been shrinking in relevance for decades as a result of competition with the Corporate Sector, and business was so bad for the planet that half of its orbital stations were apparently mothballed.

He definitely didn’t seem like a trustworthy ally, but at the very least he was motivated to help for this occasion.

Of course, her father stood out among the others. Dooku’s impressive height, the obvious power and control in his movements, the deep rumble of his voice, and aura of regality had him directing the meeting effortlessly. He was a Count addressing mostly Dukes, but none seemed to chaff that he was clearly in charge.

On the table now was Tan’ya and Asajj’s initial plans for the invasion of Phindar, and the scouting report that had informed it. The report bore a mix of good news and bad. 

The obvious good news was that the report came back at all, and that they were able to park their ship on Phindar without any questions asked. The Coruscanti registration drew no attention, and the two pilots were easily able to slip into the local drinking holes to gather information from the pirates berthed there. The scouts even located the enemy base, and were able to get a pretty good idea of the enemy’s numbers and positions, just from doing a few inconspicuous fly overs.

The bad news was that the pirates were obviously operating well beyond the capacity of Serenno and the New Temple to defeat, at this point. According to the report, they had more than thirty warships, utterly dwarfing Phindar’s own pitiful fleet. The pirates were docked at Deep Space Demolition and Removals, which was apparently a registered business. No doubt it was a front for the Black Sun.

Even with the two captured Coronas bolstering her fleet, Tan’ya saw no chance of defeating the enemy with just Serenno’s resources. The New Temple as well didn’t have a fleet of warships of its own, only a wing of long range starfighters thanks to Mr Hego. The only way Serenno was going to defeat this enemy was by calling on the rest of the Outer Rim Reform Alliance, which was now apparently its formal name.

Duchess Satine had been chosen to make the formal announcement, along with providing a list of members. Apparently they were planning to organize an internal leadership election with a citizens vote for member worlds to elect their own representatives. 

This was all well and good, Tan’ya fully agreed that the Republic was in dire need of reform, but it left her feeling slightly underwhelmed as she looked at the list of allies they could currently draw upon. Currently, it seemed that the Duke of Botajef was willing to allow the invasion to happen, but was not willing to commit his own forces to it. That left the Duke of Raxus, the Duchess of Mandalore, the Count of Serenno, and the New Temple. Between them they had a slight edge in numbers over the Black Sun fleet. With five cruisers provided by Serenno, twenty from Raxus, and the long range fighters from the New Temple, they may have a good shot at defeating the enemy in open space, but there were a few wild cards to consider in the situation as well. 

For one, it wasn’t clear which side the Phindar Home Fleet would lean to, or if it would just sit the battle out. With just four battle cruisers to call upon, Phindar wouldn’t be able to fight a war on its own, but by throwing its weight into the battle at a crucial moment, they could decide the victor. 

The second wild card was the Mandalorian mercenaries now seated beside Duchess Satine. Her own government came about as a result of a radical pacifist revolution, and its current ruling class was composed of radical ideologues. They found the idea of any kind of standing army completely repugnant. Officially, Satine had no support to offer. Unofficially, she had security contracts with a handful of outlying Mandalorian clans, who were her planet’s only official security force at this moment in time. These clans didn’t like each other, and none of them were willing to overthrow Satine lest the others attack them next. None of them liked Satine, but none of them were as afraid of her as they were of each other. The whole situation seemed like a powder keg primed to blow, of the kind that only deranged idealistic revolutionaries and an ancient honor-warrior culture could possibly create. For now, the Mandalorian clans had at least provided ten warships to act as a mercenary fleet, though they were a mess of different makes, models. Not to mention that each had their own chain of command, and half of them couldn’t work together because their grandparents stole a piece of beskar from each other, or some such nonsense.

Tan’ya’s temples swelled with the beginnings of a headache from just trying to sort it all out.

The third wildcard was the Sith. Tan’ya stared at the holopad in her hand, thinking about the information Asajj had shared with her. Apparently, she’d persuaded the Jedi Quinlan Vos to talk with her, and according to him the Black Sun leadership had been eliminated completely. The entire crime syndicate had been taken over by the same Sith Assassin that had killed Sifo Dyas. With a press of her thumb, the recording of the assassin was projected, captured from the inside of Naboo’s own royal transport, as he ruthlessly cut down all who stood in his path until he came up against Padawan Kenobi. 

This was the man who killed Sifo Dyas. The details of the event were even more confusing. According to Vos, the most likely explanation was that Sifo had suspected the assassin was coming, and had planted a bomb in his own ship. The Sith had survived the explosion, but was severely injured, and had been in bad shape when he went to assassinate Queen Amidala, which was why Padawan Kenobi had been able to defeat him. The next assassin sent for Amidala had been a known mercenary. 

The obvious conclusion to draw was that the Sith were actually very low on numbers and personnel. That would explain how they were able to evade Jedi detection for so long. Somehow this small faction had been able to convince Chancellor Palpatine to swap sides from the triumvirate of Dooku, Damask and Sifo, though to what ends still weren’t clear. Of course, Tan’ya had her own suspicions. The most simple explanation was that Palpatine had seen the benefits of allying with the serious powers of the Trade Federation and the Hutts as more beneficial then Hego and his collection of minor Outer Rim sectors.

Though Tan’ya still didn’t see how such diverse groups as the Fed, the Hutts, the Sith and the Chancellor wouldn’t have divergent goals. Perhaps they sensed a weakening of the Republic, as Sifo and Hego did, and sought to expand their power into the vacuum. Maybe. Or maybe Being X had offered power to them, uniting a powerful alliance against Tan’ya and her family out of sheer spite.

The latter definitely seemed more likely.

“This is all very interesting.” Duke Podu said aloud, when it came to his turn to discuss the plans. “But military matters are far from my own expertise, I doubt I have much to suggest to someone with your military record, Count.” He nodded respectfully. “But assuming this all goes to plan, I want to know what we intend to do with Phindar afterwards? We’ll need Senate approval to redraw sector boundaries, which of course we will not have. 

A Brief Note On My Method

Hello there. Just wanted to type up a small explanation for my patrons so they understand how my writing method works, and what I'm doing.

Typically, I try write a certain amount each night, around 500 words, sometimes a bit more. Unfortunately, while that keeps the chapters growing, occasionally it results in chapters or sections that are a bit stilted or forced. These 'false starts' can vary in size from a paragraph or two, to multiple chapters that I later decided to completely remove. My overflowing draft folder is full of these false starts, though occasionally I will keep small sections from the draft folder for later use.

Sometimes I will be working, or excercising when I'm hit by a bit of inspiration, and I suddenly have a much better idea for a section or chapter. Even if the part that I've written isn't bad, it might no longer be in line with what I had in mind. Some of you have poked your heads into chapter 34, and seen what I've been working on. The current contents of chapter 34 are going to be moved into the draft folder, because just yesterday I've had a much better idea for where I want the story to go.

This does mean that progress on 34 is going to have to completely restart, but hopefully you'll all find that it results in a better story in the long term.

Thanks for supporting me, everyone. It really means a lot to me.

Chapter 34

Work has begun on the new chapter. Feel free to follow my progress as I get it written over the next week or so. Any feedback or ideas would be appreciated.

CoS Chapter 33

30 BBY

The capital’s space port was abuzz with activity when Dooku landed, so much so that when his landing ramp descended it wasn’t even noticed by the scurrying workers. What looked like canisters of tibanna gas were being wheeled about, being loaded into the parked Hammerheads, while mechanics clambered over their hulls searching for damage. In addition to the Hammerheads, a pair of rounded Coronas were also being worked on. The two ships seemed to take up the bulk of the spaceport staff’s attention.

Amidst all the chaos only Dooku’s daughter Tan’ya and a handful of her own personal guards were there to greet him.

“Father.” She bowed low.

“Daughter.” He greeted, raising his hand to indicate she should rise. He surveyed the organized chaos about him, ignoring the eager gleam in his daughter’s eye as she gazed upon the undignified means he had been forced to fly in. Most of the paint had been scraped off the battered old Correlian freighter at one point, leaving the ship looking like someone had started to sand blast it clean but had given up part way through. There were distinct plasma scores on the ship’s underside as well, indicating someone had tried to shoot it with a hand blaster as it was taking off.

Behind her, the bodyguards bristled. An affront to their lord’s honor was an insult to their own, after all.

“Father, do you intend to use that again?”

Dooku shook his head once, firmly.

“May I have it?” Tan’ya asked, grinning viciously. “For the upcoming operation.”

Perplexed, Dooku nodded once.

Immediately, Tan’ya raised her comms device to her lips, and started issuing orders in Serennoan. It wasn’t long until a handful of men came over in greasy jumpsuits and ascended the loading ramp. Dooku watched the vehicle flying away, glad to be rid of it, as his daughter turned back towards him.

“We were able to retrieve the enemy’s flight computers intact.” Tan’ya explained. “In addition, we’ve sent the captured crews off for interrogation. We’ve identified who’s attacking us and their forward operating base.”

“You’re already planning a counter-attack.” Dooku observed, dryly. If he had taken such actions onto himself as a padawan, Yoda would have been in his ear for days. If he had done such a thing as heir to Count Gora, he probably would have been shot.

“Of course!” Tan’ya smiled brightly, and Dooku felt his lips twitching slightly as well. “Our pirates were Black Sun. The fleets that attacked us and our allies were berthed at a space station called Deep Space Demolition and Removal; it’s currently parked in orbit over Phindar.”

There were more than fifty thousand worlds in the Republic, Dooku didn’t immediately know where planet Phindar was. He took a moment to quickly search that up on his holocom, as Tan’ya continued to talk.

“Launching an invasion of another system would of course be fraught with political risks, so I didn’t give the order yet, but I thought it best to have the option available as soon as possible.” Tan’ya looked up at Dooku, seeking his approval.

“Well done, daughter.” He told her, while quickly reading over planet Phindar.  

Ah, yes, now he remembered. Qui-Gon and Obi-wan Kenobi had a mission there at some point. Essentially, it was a pirate state unfortunately located right in the middle of the Salin Corridor. Until recently, it had been ruled by some criminal syndicate or other, until his former padawan had overthrown them. 

Dooku frowned.

The new government was supposedly republican, and represented the small Demetras sector in the Galactic Senate, but was struggling with deep corruption and was clearly still unable to shake off the influence of the pirates that once dominated it openly. Once upon a time it was a part of Mandalorian Space, but since the decline of that power it had really become nothing but a flyover for anyone traveling the Salin Corridor. Ship captains avoided Phindar, if they had any other choice.

Looking at it, there was an opportunity here, though not one without risks. Securing the Salin Corridor would be invaluable to Dooku’s alliance, whose members were mostly located on the Perlemian and the Hydian. The well charted route that connected the two Great Hyperspace Lanes could allow a much greater bulk of trade to flow between them, without any fear of interference from the Republic.

However, Phindar was merely one world on the Salin Corridor, and a relatively unimportant one at that. If Dooku were to invade it suddenly, it could provoke the greater power of Botajef, who controlled the west entrance to the Corridor. If Dooku wanted to control that hyperlane, an alliance with Botajef would be essential…

“Continue to make preparations for the counter attack.” Dooku informed his daughter. “And continue to gather information on the target. But do not launch unless I give permission.”

“Yes, Father!” Tan’ya hurried away happily.

Butajef was once part of Mandalorian space, and was still trading with Mandalore, though the scales of power had tipped in that relationship over the last thousand years. Though Botajef’s massive shipyards might not be nearly as productive as they once were, they still brought far more wealth to the planet than Mandalore’s blasted, irradiated surface ever could.

Still, perhaps Duchess Satine would be able to help…

Tan’ya surveyed her father’s battered freighter with a deep sense of satisfaction. The grimy, scored surface looked exactly like the kind of vessel a smuggler would operate. In fact, it almost definitely was a smuggler’s vessel in its recent history, given that the mechanics had discovered two transponders aboard, both with a convenient off switch, and both broadcasting different registrations.

Tan’ya didn’t have permission to launch her attack on Deep Space Demolition and Removal yet, but she wanted to be as ready as possible for when her father secured the political coverage they needed. This plausible smuggling vessel would be perfect for scouting out the enemy’s precise location, without drawing the ire of Butajef or the authorities on Phindar.

Obviously, none of her Serrenoans would be suitable for this work, but a pair of sharp eyed Coruscanti with undercity accents wouldn’t look out of place at all.

Tan’ya dispatched the ship with her pair of handpicked Guards as soon as her mechanics confirmed it was spaceworthy and ready to fly.

The next part of her plan involved collaborating with Asajj. Tan’ya’s father had appointed his former apprentice to be the head of the New Temple’s Quick Reaction Team, meaning Asajj had direct control over the New Temple’s shiny new fleet of long range patrol fighters and armored freighters. With the New Temple and Raxus on the Perlemian, and Serenno and Mandalore on the Hydian, they were in a pretty good position to pincer the Black Sun fleet between them.

Of course, that was easier said than done. Intuitively, hitting the Black Sun with the largest possible armada would be most likely to succeed, but in reality the issue was more complicated. Coordinating the movement of two coalition fleets drawn together from navies unused to working together was difficult at the best of times, let alone trying to do so across such vast differences. 

All in all, Tan’ya didn’t quite have enough information to draw up a detailed plan yet. Questions like, how many of her father’s allies she could rely on, and who would be in command of the overall operation had yet to be answered, let alone the relative strength and disposition of the enemy, but for now Tan’ya and Asajj had drawn up a preliminary plan and written down their recommendations.

At first Asajj had seemed a touch overwhelmed, but had quickly seemed to gather her bearings, and listened closely to Tan’ya’s advice. Though obviously a beginner in the field military affairs, Asajj had shown the most important quality of any burgeoning professional, and that was learning as much as she could from those with more experience than her.

Tan’ya finished her day satisfied, looking forwards to what was to come. As she lay in bed, she couldn’t help smiling to herself. At last, she was being given a real chance to do what she was good at. No more being treated like a child or spoken down to. In these matters she had authority, and would soon earn respect.

Finally, after years of frustration, she was taking back control. Ever since the battle over Serenno's orbit, her mind felt sharper, more focused, the annoying buzz of childish emotions of a spoiled princess having grown just a bit fainter, having been drowned out by the aftermath of her first real battle’s adrenaline high.

Tan’ya smirked, the irony of celebrating putting herself in danger having not escaped her. She didn't miss many things about her second life, but the military rigor that gave her complete control over her child self’s body and instincts was one of them. It was almost funny when she thought about it. Throughout her whole life as Tanya von Degurechaff, she was trying to escape from war to enjoy wealth and comfort. Now, with both in abundance, she was crawling back to it, to re-earn the respect she deserves and put an end to the infuriating internal tantrums.

Across from her, the egg started to rattle in its incubator. 

Oh, Tan’ya must have unsettled it with her thoughts. Quickly she tried to reassert peace and put it back to sleep, but in open defiance of her mental suggestion, a crack spread down the surface of the egg. Tan’ya gaped as after months of incubation, the tirra’taka finally began to hatch.

Really? Tan’ya felt a stab of annoyance. Right now, when everything was going on and she was just about to go to bed, the egg finally started to hatch now? With a sigh, Tan’ya hopped out of bed, shoved her toes into a pair of slippers, and quickly brought up the sith’s notes on Tirra’taka ecology.

In the wild, an adult would never help the hatchling leave its egg. If a hatchling wasn’t able to pierce its own shell, then it was too weak to be worth raising, and the sith saw no reason to do anything different. After it was free of the shell, the exhausted hatchling would be fed by its mother, and immediately go to sleep. The Sith had found a simple egg soup that was quite easily digestible for the new births, so Tan’ya got out her communicator and sent the recipe to the kitchen staff along with instructions to bring her a bowl of it.

Once the egg hatched, Tan’ya finally got to see the little menace herself after having to look after it for so long. As a youngling, it looked less like the clawed, spined and black beast  described in the text, but more like a hybrid between a scaly river eel and a piglet. Its face had a protruding snout with two large nostrils that twitched with each breath. The tip of the snout had a small tooth-like point.The only part of it that resembled a traditional dragon at all were the wings that were much larger than the rest of its body, which scattered shards of egg shells across the floor as the hatchling stretched and shook them. It reminded Tan’ya of a house cat as it stretched and yawned, both in size and mannerism.

Once it was cleaned, she fed it the soup, being sure to sip from it first. The Tirra’taka in the wild would be fed from their mother's mouths, so seeing Tan’ya eat first is how it would know she was offering it food. Finally, when it was done eating and happy to go to bed, it would sleep under its mother’s wing. If neglected at this stage, it would die, so even though the old sith despised the weakness of the creature, he still would allow it to sleep with its parent during the first week of its existence. If its mother was unavailable, then another force sensitive would have to serve as substitute.

Tan’ya went to bed with the little reptile curled up next to her, wondering what gender it was, but finding nothing in the sith’s instructions on how to determine that for herself.

With a final bemused sigh at the little creature pulling her arm over it, Tan’ya finally went to bed for that night.

In the morning, Tan’ya made to stand up and go about her business, but paused, worried about the creature's reaction to being abandoned. Reaching out with her mind, she found her younger sister just beginning to wake up, and tried calling to her through the Force.

Tan’ya was pleased when her sister almost immediately rushed over. The two force sensitives seemed to recognise each other immediately when Madalee came through the door. 

With an excitedly shrill cry of, “Eggy!” Madalee rushed over, gaping at the dragon with open mouthed wonderment. “It hatched!” She barely even glanced at Tan’ya, her eyes shining. “You’re so so cute! You hatched!”

Tan’ya didn’t know if she thought the dragon was as cute as her sister claimed, she personally thought it had an ugly little face, but it definitely seemed to recognise Madalee. Rather than being frightened by Madalee’s arrival, it licked her outstretched hand happily, and started to rub itself around her ankles.

Maybe a kind of scent marking?

Either way, with the two of them watching over each other, Tan’ya was free to pursue military matters unhindered. 

With Colonel Gon Seith injured, Tan’ya had to pick up the slack to make sure everything was running smoothly. Thanks to the near miraculous technology of bacta, he was quickly able to return to service after only a few days of recovery.

“Glad to see you’re doing well, Colonel.” Tan’ya said to him. “How’s the hand?” 

“Still a bit stiff.” The man grimaced, showing her the new metal fingers and parts of the palm that replaced his lower hand. “Damned bad luck. If it had been hit cleanly, I’d replace the whole thing. Now it's not as strong as durasteel, nor as flexible as flesh.” 

“You can of course take more time off if you need it-”

But Colonel Seith grimaced and shook his head. “I’d rather be here, ma’am.”

The man was nothing if not a professional, despite his gruff exterior. Tan’ya couldn’t help but feel her admiration for him grow. “Very well. What’s first today?”

“The Mandalorian, ma’am. That armorer you requested is here.”

Ah, that. “I hadn’t expected him to arrive so soon.”

Though Tan’ya would have loved the chance to manufacture armor for her House Guards locally, using local talent and techniques, in this case expedience trumped her desire to develop Serenno’s economy. If the pirate attack had convinced her of anything, it was that her soldiers needed blaster resistant armor now.

If the Mandalorian forgemaster could craft just a dozen sets of armor before the operation on Phindar began, then it would be worth even an exorbitant price. She had spoken briefly with him over the holocom, he was a part of some strange cult that lived on Mandalore’s moon, and refused to ever take off his helmet. Though he and his people were desperate for credits, he refused to forge or sell beskar to Tan’ya. It all seemed like religious nonsense to Tan’ya, but if he was able to produce suits of sacanium armor, she was willing to overlook his cultish nonsense.  

“Well, tell him to get started right away.” Tan’ya said, but paused when Gon didn’t immediately move to comply.

“He’ll have to take your measurements, Your Highness.”

Tan’ya gave him an annoyed look. “I’m still too young, Gon. I’ll outgrow the armor in a year, and having them handmade has been far too expensive.”

Gon gave her a distinctly unimpressed look. “Permission to speak freely?”

Tan’ya raised an eyebrow. Curious, she said, “Go ahead.”

“Your Highness, that’s complete nonsense. The House Guard have carried out two boarding actions so far, and you’ve been at the front of both. I can’t stop you from going into battle, but if you refuse to wear protection I will resign. I’m sure Mr Damask can afford it.”

Tan’ya stared at the man for a few moments, surprised by the apparent strength of his feelings, but also unwilling to argue against him. Replacing her most senior ranking officer would be a serious concern at the best of times, let alone at this particular moment, with a major operation looming on the horizon.

“Very well.” She said finally. It was a waste when she’d be growing out of it in a few years, but if that was the price of keeping him around then so be it.

The measuring didn’t take long. The armorer didn’t say a word to her, using a rod marked with small indentations to get the length of her wrists, upper arms, and various other body parts. He didn’t seem to take notes, but Tan’ya presumed he was recording the information in his helmet.

As the Mandalorain was leaving, Captain Hoves stepped into Tan’ya’s office. Compared to his usual expression, carefully neutral with a hint of a smile, he looked at his commander with something like disbelief.

“Your Highness.” He greeted her after a moment, saluting.

“Is something wrong, Captain?” Tan’ya asked him.

“...No, not wrong your highness.” He glanced at Gon, then back to Tan’ya. “The Palace Staff are swapping rumors with the Guard. They’re saying that… you gave birth to the Tirra’taka’s child?”

Tan’ya stared at the man, befuddled. What kind of rumors were those? Of course she didn’t lay a bloody egg! “I didn’t give birth to it, Hoves. It is a Tirra’taka’s egg that my father decided we should raise.”

Hoves stared at her, like he could scarcely understand her perfectly rational explanation.

“...I know how it sounds.” Tan’ya said. For the last thousand years of Serenno’s history, the Beast That Held the World Together was the singular Tirra’taka of this world. “I believe it is the child of the Tirra’taka of legend.”

Hoves stared at her like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and she couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. To him she must have sounded like she was losing her mind. Back in Japan, Tan’ya would have treated someone similarly if they claimed to have met the real Bamboo Cutter and the Moonchild.

Trying to move the conversation along, Tan’ya said, “If it’s becoming a disciplinary issue, then of course you should correct the rumors at your own discretion.”

“...Yes, Your Highness.” Hoves finally replied, giving a slightly stiff salute. He almost seemed dazed as he left the office.

Poor fellow. Tan’ya wondered what she would have to do to regain his confidence after that embarrassing talk. She turned to see Gon watching the man leave, a worried frown on his face. 

“Is something wrong?” She asked.

“…No, I suppose not ma’am.” Gon replied. 

“Well, let’s get to the rest of the day’s business, then. We’ve got a big event coming, and we must be ready for it.”

Asajj’s favorite place in the entire New Temple was its top floor. With its commanding view of the planet around it, and a garden with fields of soft grass for the Younglings to play on, it was a popular place among all the temple’s residents. Asajj wasn’t the only Jedi who enjoyed heading up there for lunch on a sunny day, though today it was mostly empty. An arctic wind had rolled over, which pushed the already chilly Indinor late autumn into bitterly cold winter conditions.

The garden’s hardy mountain grasses were left with a layer of frost coating them, while the flowers in the garden withered for the season. In the distance, the sun was setting over the farmers down below as they began to filter home for the night. They’d all brought their harvests in by now, leaving only a few small shapes working in the field to repair a fence or track down a missing beast.

Asajj had the garden all to herself, and was bundled up for the occasion in a thick winter parka with a fur lined hood, and cool winter gloves. From where she was sitting on a heated bench, sipping on her pleasantly warm caf stim and sipping on a nice soup of grunter bone broth with bread for dipping, she could feel the headache that had been developing begin to subside.

War was a lot of hard work. Everything had to be considered, everything had to be thought through. Of course, as part of her studies as a Jedi she’d been taught about military tactics and combat, but running a war was an extremely different beast. 

Amateurs talked about tactics and strategy, while professionals discussed logistics. Where was the food, fuel, ammunition and replacement parts for their vessels and weapons coming from? How quickly would it arrive? Was it standardized? Could it be standardized? Were their supply chains reliable? How many tons of food would they need to bring in each day for their soldiers to remain healthy?

These were questions that Asajj had always known were important, but working with Tan’ya made it clear just how much of her time was going to be spent on those issues alone. It was actually possible for an army to sustain itself in the field for a while, if they just lived off the land and were given free reign over procuring their own supplies from local populations, but that was simply untrue for a fleet. Each fleet was crafted to mechanical specifications by a particular manufacturer, and jury rigging replacement parts would only take you so far. 

Each ship couldn’t simply be added to the fleet without consideration, they had to be maintained very carefully or they were worse than dead weight. A ship without the right parts could be unstable, a threat to its crew, or even to the rest of the fleet in the worst case. Simply put, if they couldn’t secure the parts needed to maintain each new addition to their coalition, then they would be better off without them.

There were four fleets that might theoretically be participating in the operation, and they somehow had to coordinate supplies for all of them, while also managing four different chains of command. The same rank in one navy could be completely different in another. Someone who was ranked Commander in one navy would be the equivalent of a Captain in another, while the Commander was merely in charge of the engines or the blaster battery. Even that wasn’t considering the absolute nightmare of politics within and between each realm.

Asajj was beginning to think Tan’ya’s desire to limit their force to just Serenno and the New Temple sounded sensible. Keeping things simple was its own virtue. However, if the Black Sun fleet proved to be larger than expected, of course Asajj’s own fleet would need to bring in more allies to match it.

To Asajj, this had all seemed overwhelming at first. Luckily for her, she was working with Tan’ya of House Serenno, who seemed to take to it like a fish to water. Or maybe not quite like that, given who her teacher had been. 

Asajj shook her head to herself, blowing on her soup, and taking a sip. 

What in the Galaxy had Sifo been teaching that little girl? Tan’ya took to these heady military matters with a skill and confidence that Asajj simply couldn’t match. She’d have to be doing this for a lot longer before she felt half as comfortable with her new responsibilities as Tan’ya seemed to be.

With a warmth in her belly, and the sun just dipping below the horizon, Asajj was starting to feel better about the task ahead of her when her holocom rang.

When she saw the number calling she paused, hesitating to answer for a moment. Hego Damask, the New Temple’s benefactor. The Outer Rim Alliance’s benefactor, too. It wasn’t as though Asajj could simply refuse the call, though she had to admit to some apprehension talking to him. There was something off about the charitable banker, even beyond his unreadable steel trap of a mind.

She quickly answered, not wanting to leave him waiting.

“Jedi Knight Ventress.” Damask greeted her with a respectful tilt of his head, though it wasn’t low enough to be deferential. “Good to see you’re doing well.”

“Thank you Mr Damask.” Asajj returned, politely, smiling as she did, careful to crinkle her eyes so it felt more genuine. When it came to diplomacy, even if the other party knew you weren’t being sincere, you still needed to put in the effort. People didn’t respect openness amongst the ranks of Galactic Politics, though they may respect gamesmanship. “How are you doing? Is your condition improving?”

Damask’s heavily scarred lips barely moved, but his eyes crinkled like he was smiling back at hers. “Yes, though it is a slow process. The procedure, while permanent in results, is time consuming in application, and the lack of… trustworthy subordinates I could delegate the oversight of my more sensitive investments to means I cannot spend as much time applying it as I’d want.”

“That’s good.” Asajj said. The banker did indeed seem to have an easier time speaking compared to when he was visiting her knighting.  “And if there’s anything the New Temple can help with, then of course we’re happy to lessen whatever burdens you.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. ” Damask said, his tone changing from polite corporate speech to something more measured and cautious. “I’m actually calling about another matter though, something that I’m quite concerned about.”

“What is it?”

Damask took a long puff from his respirator. “...I’ve read the reports Tan’ya has sent to me, regarding your planned military operation, against the Black Sun.”

“You're worried about our plan?”

Damask shook his head. “I’m no expert in military affairs, I leave that to the Jedi’s wise hands.” He took another long breath. “However, there is a particular danger to Tan’ya. You see, I’ve read the case files concerning Master Sifo Dyas assassination, and I couldn’t help but notice there was Black Sun involvement there as well.”

Asajj blinked, mind racing back to the events of last year. Sifo Dyas case files had been shared with her by Quinlan Vos, but at the time the Jedi hadn’t proceeded very far in their investigation at all. “I’m sure we can handle some pirates.”

“It may not just be pirates, though. Sifo was a friend and associate of mine, and when he passed I was careful to pay close attention to the case. The Sith who killed Master Dyas is suspected of leading the syndicate, and will no doubt take part in the fight if you bring it to him.” 

“A Sith…” Asajj still couldn't believe they’ve returned, despite what the banker said. “Are you certain your Jedi contacts can be trusted, Mister Damask? If the Coruscant Temple had confirmed the existence of the Sith, surely they would have told us.” 

Would Master Narec really have not told her about the return of the Sith? If that was the case, it would explain the great pulse of the Dark Side that ran through the Force those months ago. For a moment it felt like the whole Galaxy would be consumed by black fire before it passed. Her Master had felt it too…

He took a long breath, coughing softly before he continued, “I’m sure they would have told your Master about it. Perhaps you should mention it to him.”

That was the last thing Asajj thought she wanted to do right now. How had Ky felt the Dark Side? A Coruscant Jedi shouldn’t ever have touched it. Why was he hiding on Rattatak? Was he involved with the Sith somehow?

But then… What was she doing on Rattatak? Had Narec known she was there? Did he come to the planet for her?

That time was so long ago, and she was so young that she struggled to remember anything from before Narec came to her homeworld. Which was odd, because she wasn’t a toddler at the time. She should have been able to remember what happened when she was a child, but she couldn’t.

“I fear these events must be connected.” Damask said.

“What?”

“The Black Sun raids on the New Temple's allies, and the assassination of Master Sifo.” 

Oh, yeah. That’s what they had been talking about.

Hego took a long drag. “The Sith’s involvement with the Black Sun would place Tan’ya in grave danger, were she to face them. Of course, this operation is necessary, but please, keep her from the battle itself. She’s courageous, but here it could be her undoing.”

“Ah, yes, I will. We will.” Asajj confirmed. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t face the Sith.” Definitely not alone.

“Very good.” Damask said, nodding. “Thank you very much for listening.”

After some more pleasantries, they hung up. Asajj stood there in the garden, sickening ropes of anxiety coiling inside her. 

Had Narec known about the Sith? Was he involved? 

Her presence on Rattatak, him knowing the Dark Side, her missing memories, and even Vos had been convinced someone who knew Sifo had helped assassinate him, someone with access to Sifo’s ship.

No, it couldn’t be.

Could it?

Meal forgotten, Asajj headed for her room, drawing eyes from some of the knights in the halls as she passed by. She barely noticed them, not even glancing their way as she turned her shoulders to pass by them, not quite running but not noticing anything else, either. In her room she stepped straight over the straw mat on the floor, pulling the door shut behind her with the force, and falling to her knees before her bed. She began pulling out boxes and unpacked different mementos and keepsakes. From one box she pulled out her signed copies of a Complete History of the Republic, Volumes 1, 2 and 3, before taking out the holocom that was hidden under them. She stared at it reluctantly for a few seconds, hesitating, before plugging it into the wall to start charging it.

She stopped for a minute, running her fingers over the hilt of her lightsaber and breathing out through the Force. On her bed stand was an image of her and Master Ky Narec, wearing matching Robes of the New Temple. Beneath it was a handwritten note from her Master.

To my former student and present friend, 

I know that in the future you will achieve great things. Use this moment to remember how far you’ve come. Please take comfort in that you’ve already made me prouder than I ever thought I could be.

-Your former teacher, present friend, and future admirer.

Asajj stared at the handwritten note, and swallowed. She looked down, seeing that her holocom was at least partially charged, where she unplugged it, and stuffed it in her pocket.

Outside the Temple, Asajj took the steps up to the landing pad two at a time, before climbing into the front seat of her personal starship. Disconnecting from the New Temple’s holonet connection, she activated her ship's relay, and called the only number saved on the holocom.

The Future of My Writing

I've been considering writing a patreon exclusive story for members. Obviously, this wouldn't mean the end of Count of Serenno any time soon, but it would mean dividing my time and attention between two stories. I was thinking the story I write could be chosen by paid members. If the members vote for me to write a new story, I would create a new seperate poll, pitching different ideas for the members to choose from. The story doesn't have to be a Youjo Senki or Star Wars related and could even be an original fiction if that's what the community wants.

CoS 32 (draft)

30 BBY

Coruscant is an abomination that has to be destroyed - Dooku's mind kept coming back to that visceral thought as yet another day passed with him and his retinue trapped in traffic and port regulations. Storming out of the court had looked dramatic for the cameras, and had played well for the audience back on Serenno and across the wider Outer Rim, but in terms of the amount of time it saved him it meant very little. 

When he and his soldiers had gotten back to his ship, he’d found that it had been grounded by the port authorities, who were mysteriously difficult to get in contact with when he wanted to find out why. Everyone there had given him the runaround, nervously insisting they had no idea who made that decision, but were unable to reach their supervisors or section chiefs to find out anything. It had been years since Dooku was so humiliated.

He barely held back his temper when a twi’lek receptionist finally tried to explain to him that the droid which was responsible for the landing clamp being placed had been sent to get its memory wiped immediately afterwards, so there was no way to know who had given the order. No supervisor was willing to answer their comms devices, and anyone who was called via the intercom to the front desk to answer Dooku’s questions either didn’t hear the request or ignored it.

In the end, Dooku decided it would be quicker to simply buy a new ship than to try and untangle the mess. He’d sent one of his bodyguards off with orders to purchase a freighter capable of transporting them all. Somewhat shockingly, purchasing a used ship actually had proven quicker than trying to get his personal diplomatic cruiser freed. 

Dooku and his remaining bodyguards had then departed Coruscant aboard the freighter, only for the Coruscant traffic tower to be mysteriously slow in broadcasting their flight codes. Trying to leave without a route was illegal and dangerous, as the skies of Coruscant were choked with billions of incoming and leaving starships at all hours. They’d been circling in a holding pattern for six hours, before finally they received their flight codes and were able to leave. Dooku would just have to send an aide back to Coruscant to untangle his cruiser from the chains of bureaucracy later.

This began their journey back to Serenno in the tight confines of a grimy old YT-1000. His bodyguards were almost as frustrated by the humiliating circumstances as he was, and in the narrow halls and tiny shared bunk rooms, he heard many muttered curses in their tongues. Their home was under attack, and they were trapped here in the Core because some petty voidkin wanted to spite the Count.

One of them even indulged in particularly vivid fantasies of blasting Grib Siv in his smug slimy face.

Dooku could sympathize, but Grib Siv was just a pawn of a much greater foe. The day would come when Dooku would strike the head from Palpatine’s shoulders, and derive great pleasure from doing so. For now, he needed to calm himself and focus on the task at hand.

Thus, calling from the freighter’s grubby and worn holocom, he set about trying to get a handle on the situation. His task wasn’t made any easier by the holocom’s operating system, its default language appeared to be some dialect of the Under City, and its translation into Galactic Basic was terrible. He had to log into his holoterminal back on Serenno from this damn thing, which demanded a biometric security scan to confirm his identity, but the layer of grime encrusting the thumbprint scanner resulted in a false reading. Dooku had to borrow a cleaning spray from one of his men’s blaster maintenance kits to get the damn thing working.

Even after logging in, it seemed to take an unbearably long lag time to access anything, and the connection kept dropping out. Fuming all the while, he persisted for hours, messaging the minor Counts and Barons that were in his alliance, and restarting every time the damned holocom lost the call or crashed while he was reading a report. Finally, after ten hours, Dooku wasn’t quite satisfied with what he’d accomplished, but was so frustrated that he felt like he’d rather drive his lightsaber through the hull then continue.

Coruscant, Palpatine. The Senate. That damned judge.

Dooku breathed out through his nose, briefly reaching out to the light side to calm himself. He’d been so immersed in the Dark Side for so long that in comparison the peace of the light side felt like nothing, a thin vapor sprayed on raging flame. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but Dooku persisted with his light side meditation until finally he felt drained of his rage. Contrary to the past where meditation helped him feel restful, Dooku almost felt more exhausted than anything. He briefly checked the holoterminal, and saw that Duke Harad wanted to talk with him.

Now that he was feeling more in control of himself, he decided to call his friend.

“We’re not going to let these kriffers get away with this.” Harad insisted. “Let’s string them up, the old fashioned way. I want to see them kick!”

“The pirates themselves can be dealt with, but the men behind them are another matter.” Dooku replied. “The Trade Federation is protected by the Senate.”

“You’re sure it's not the Hutts?”

“They are at most a proxy.” As was the Federation, but Harad didn’t need to know that. “And right now the Trade Federation is untouchable.”

Harad’s lip curled in disgust. “Untouchable, of course they are! The Fed doesn’t pay taxes, but we do. We’re not allowed a large defense fleet, they’re allowed to rule half the Outer Rim. The Republic takes billions of credits from us, hundreds of billions, while the Federation receives constant subsidies. I want to know just how much of my money gets spent on those damned fundraising events for those stim snorting senators.”

Obviously he was exaggerating the fact, but Dooku strongly agreed with the sentiment behind them. “You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset!” Harad snapped, dashing his tobacco on his arm rest by accident with a wild gesticulation. Seeing what he’d done he cursed, before relighting his cigar. “The senate treats us like we’re the problem! We’re nothing but a bunch of petty backwater tyrants. They’re embarrassed about us! Embarrassed! They think we’re all inbred, patricidal monsters! No insult to you, Dooku.”

“It’s fine.” Dooku replied.  

Harad continued. “They see us as a relic from a bygone era, while they’re the height of sophistication, of fashion, of culture, of democracy. They don’t just think they’re better than us, they think we’re evil. The megacorps are just the tool they use to keep their hands clean. They’re civilizing us, don’t you know? And if they happen to get rich enough to own a moon from it, why shouldn’t they get paid for their good work?”

But Harad wasn’t done. “You know they say it's our fault? That we’re the ones holding the Outer Rim back? That’s how they justify it to themselves.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, at something not on the screen. “The ruins of Xim’s summer palace are still here! An hour by speeder, and you can see the old stones, still there! Twenty five thousand years they’ve been there! Twenty five thousand! And those Coruscanti calculators would crush it in a heartbeat just to put up another Correllian coffee chain.”

Harad snorted angrily, smoke billowing from his nose. “Things can’t keep going like this, Dooku. They just can’t.”

Dooku had heard many of the man's angry rants before, but at this particular moment he seemed especially upset. Had he really just called Dooku to rant about this? Thinking about it for a moment, he decided to venture an idea. “The senate will continue to hamstring us for the foreseeable future, unless something changes.”

Harad paused, finally seeming to really look at Dooku instead of just angrily ranting. “So that’s it then. Separatism. That’s the corner we’ve been pushed into. Separatism.”

Ever since the end of the New Sith Wars, Separatism had been a bloody thorn in the sides of every government. Countless radical groups, many of them revolutionary and seeking to overthrow their governments, existed across the Outer Rim. The This or That People’s Liberation Front of some World or another had been a source of violent attacks and public facing anarchy for decades, if not centuries. That word, Separatism, had bad associations.

Harad, and most of the other rulers of the Outer Rim, had no love for the Separatist rabble. 

Dooku wasn’t fond of them either. As a Knight, he’d personally put down a Separatist plot on Jabiim. If he was following Sidious' original plan, aiming to make his alliance as frightening as possible to the people of the Republic, he would have carried the title of Separatist openly. No doubt when the time came, Sidious was still going to tar him with that brush, but if Dooku was going to succeed in his plans to break up the Republic, a more attractive, less tarnished name would be needed.

Harad grimaced. “I never wanted to be a bloody Separatist, but here I am at the end of my rope.”

“We will not be Separatists.” Dooku answered firmly. “We’ll form a new government, with a new constitution. We’ll be a Confederation of the Outer Rim.”

“It’s another word for the same thing, Dooku.” Harad said. “We can’t have a euphemism. What we need is a wedge, something that will force the issue of Separatism, but leaves our hands clean, and won’t scare away the Mid Rim. If we start talking about Separatism openly, you know as well as I do that Duchess Satine and Queen Amidala will be gone in a heartbeat.”

“You propose another way?”

“Yes. We’ll be Reformers, Dooku. We’ll call ourselves the Reformist’s Party. We’ll field candidates for the Senate elections,-” He held up a hand, to forestall Dooku’s protest. “-I know, don’t give me that look, I know, but we’ll have candidates in the elections, it doesn’t matter if they win or lose, they just need to put on a big show. They’ll be the Senate facing wing of our program, and they’ll be there to calm the moderates.”

In the meantime, Dook would be doing what he already was. Interfacing with the big families, talking to power brokers, making deals. He would continue building their strength all along, and channeling his people’s resentment into useful steps. He didn’t know how long it would be until the Reformists would be ready to become Separatists, but after a decade or two of being stymied, insulted, and shut out of the Senate, they would start to become very radicalized. 

Dooku hated the idea of participating in the Senate's elections, the awful, undignified song and dance, but it would be necessary. 

“We can continue with our other programs.” Dooku finally said. “We’ll call it living by our principles, or something.  Because we’re a party, we’ll have our own senate and internal elections on Raxus. When the time comes for us to assert our independence, there will already be a large power structure ready to govern. We’ll continue building up our militaries independently, so that when we’re ready they can join together. We’ll just say it’s part of pursuing planetary independence.”

“Exactly, Dooku. Now you see it.”

Dooku nodded at last, convinced. “I’ll talk to Queen Amidala, and Duchess Satine. They could be an excellent choice for our Senate facing moderates.” He paused, considering. “We also need an overall military commander. Currently, we’re still reeling, trying to respond to the Federation’s pirates. We need to appoint a military commander to focus exclusively on the objective of securing the safety of our alliance, but we also can’t make it clear we have a unified military just yet.”

“The New Temple is perfect for that, already. We simply provide the Jedi with their own soldiers and ships, and task them with surgically targeting pirates.” Harad agreed, finally finishing with his cigar, and now reaching for a glass of spirits. “They can be our proxy to deal with these.”

Dooku agreed. “Yes, an army drawn from our member worlds.”

“Who should we give command to?” Harad asked. “Narec?”

Dooku hesitated. Narec was a Jedi who knew the Dark Side. Even though Narec didn’t seem to have any grand ambitions, entrusting him with personal command of an army could be risky…  “He’s done fine work running the Temple, and I’m reluctant to send him into danger, needlessly, when he’s doing so well where he currently is.”

“Then who?”

“I think that Jedi Knight Asajj, if given the right chance and advisors, would bloom into a fine commander.”

Harad snorted. “Fair enough. Just remember, Dooku, if she’s not up to it, we’ll have to find someone who can do the work.”

“Of course.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before with a final sigh, Harad filled his cup with more spirits. “A drink, then. To bloody Separatism.” He downed it all in a long sip, before hanging up.

“To bloody Separatism.” Dooku agreed, in silence. “And a pile of heads where the Senate once stood.”

Julgut wiped a bead of sweat from the top of his brow with his hat, and tried once again to call his employer. 

The fourth Hammerhead had been lifted from the sucking muck of Secundus, and had been cradled in the crawler ready for cleaning, when screaming over the horizon came a line of SIG-80 long range fighter bombers. A dozen of them unloaded their payload right over his worksite, the only warning being when they dropped altitude to close in on his crawler. Julgut had screamed for his men to run, for all the good it did. Thankfully the attack came in the early morning, so most of his crew hadn’t started work yet, but fifteen good men, friends of his, had been vaporized in an instant. 

The Hammerhead itself had been totally ruined, its superstructure broken in half and white hot fires burning over what was left of its hull, turning durasteel into molten slag. His mobile shipyard, as solidly as he’d built it, was even less able to withstand the bombardment. The machine had toppled over while burning, crushed under its own weight. The fires inside it had burned internally for hours longer, leaving the whole structure too hot to touch, and rocked by the occasional internal detonation.

By the time the flames had died down, Julgut’s life’s work had been reduced to so much blackened, misshapen scrap, trailing a line of black smog to join the skies of Raxus Prime.

After getting all the injured to a good hospital inside one of the planet’s domed cities, and after making sure everyone else got home safely, Julgut had gotten back to his office and cried. He felt pathetic for it, miserable. The Mobile Shipyard was something he’d built with his father, back when the man was still working, and now it was gone. It was his source of income, a machine built of love and with powerful memories tied to it.

He simply cried now that he knew it was gone forever.

Who would even bomb his little business? And why?

Julgut didn’t know. He could only guess that it was an enemy of Count Dooku, who didn’t want the man to expand his navy.

All around him, every piece of furniture in the room was covered with drawings and ideas. Most of them were mere day dreams he knew he was unlikely to ever complete, but he could never bring himself to fully abandon. Now it seemed like he would have no choice.

This office was rented, consisting of just a reception, a work desk, and a bathroom. It was all he could jam into the tiny space inside one of Raxus Prime’s domed cities. Even as small as it was, there’s no way he’d be able to afford it without the business from his mobile shipyard. He had termination notices to issue, and payouts to make to the bereaved widows of employees who died in his service. Without the mobile yard, he might have no choice but to go back to fixing up old speeders.

With nothing left to do, he tried to call his client and explain what happened, but it seemed the Heir Apparent was busy. He made a few attempts to reach her through the Advisory, and was told that she would be with him when she could, but currently was busy, and that was where he left it. He spent a couple days, showering and sleeping in his office, cleaning himself up and getting in contact with his accountant on Secundus, before trying to wrangle a loan out of his bank. Maybe he could get started on a new crawler sooner, if they would invest.

They made no promises, but were willing to arrange an in person meeting. Julgut was just stepping out of the sonic scrubber, giving himself a quick spray of deodorant and running a comb through his beard when his holocom rang. He hurriedly buttoned up his shirt and pulled up his overalls before answering.

He was surprised to see a little girl had called him.

“I am Tan’ya of House Serenno, and Advisor to the Defence.” She introduced herself. “I believe you’ve been trying to contact me regarding the status of the restoration work you’ve been doing for me?”

She spoke in a way that made it clear she wasn’t just some little girl. Julgut didn't know much about her, but knew her father was a Jedi, and so was Sifo Dyas. He had heard rumors that Jedi padawans were made to grow up fast, and so decided to just treat her like an adult until she proved otherwise.

He was still a little shocked at just how young she was, though.

“Hello Milady.” He swallowed, and before an awkward pause derailed him he continued, “How are those Hammerheads I fixed up going? Any issues?”

“There have been no concerns.” She answered, firmly. “Is there a reason you’ve called?”

“Uh, well… I’m sorry, milady, I understand your time is valuable. That is to say, uh, I can’t finish the job anymore.” He froze, trying to think of how to break the news delicately before continuing. “We were hit by some kind of bombardment. My mobile shipyard’s been blasted to pieces, and the hull we were working on is just a wreck now.” He scratched his head, shrugging helplessly. “I won’t be able to complete the work for all six hulls, milady. I can only apologize.” 

She looked angry, but obviously not at him. “No apology necessary, this matter is clearly beyond your control. Several other shipyards under construction across Prime were also raided.”

Julgut paused, this was the first he’d heard of other places being bombed as well. “I see. Someone crippled all the shipyards on Raxus?”

“Yes, quite.” She then added, “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to purchase another mobile shipyard anytime soon? We are committed to building up our defensive fleet.”

Purchase? Julgut hesitated to correct a noble lady, but didn’t want to let her work under false assumptions. “No, Milady, I’m sorry, but no one sells those. I built it myself.”

She nodded, accepting, before a thought seemed to strike her. “You built it yourself? Out of what?”

“Oh, well. Prime is full of all kinds of parts, Milady. There’s always a bit of wrestling and improvising, but me and my father put it together. He was mostly inspired by a Jawa desert crawler he saw in a documentary.”

The Lady Serenno paused at that, looking faintly impressed. “Are you saying you’re largely self taught?”

“Uhh…” He scratched at the back of his head, feeling self conscious. “I have a Masters in astro engineering from Kuati university.” He demurred.

“Does astro-engineering qualify you to build your own shipyard?” She asked, pressing.

“Well. No.” He finally admitted. “I was taught by my father, and he was self taught. No offense to Kuati University, they have a great engineering program, but they just didn’t have much to teach me. I got the accreditation to help the business.”

“Do you have your credentials? Can you show me?”

“Uh…” He looked around the office. “One moment, Milady.” He stood up from his chair, walking over to his desk. It was covered in documents, and had accumulated an unwashed mug or two, but underneath that he took out the framed degree. He took a moment to try and dust the frame off, before taking it back over to the holocom and showing it to the little princess. “I can send a copy to you.”

“No, that’s very good.” She said, smiling. “Tell me, have you ever considered making a regular shipyard? One large enough to produce regular battleships?”

“Uh… Well, yeah, but the cost of land would make it impossible.” He began to explain, though he realized she wasn’t really listening as she began to type something. “You can’t just plonk a shipyard down anywhere. You need either the right geographic features, or you’ll have to do a ton of excavation.”

“That will be no problem.” Tanya replied, smiling as she continued taking notes. “Is your father unharmed?”

“Well, he’s retired.”

“Perfect.” She answered, and all of a sudden Julgut’s com device chimed with a notice that he’d been paid a million credits.

“Uh, Milady, I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. Use that to take care of yourself, and all your remaining employees. I’m sure their experience and training will be quite valuable. And please, send me your father’s contact details. You said he was retired, but would he like to become an educator?” She didn’t even wait for him to answer, barreling ahead with obvious excitement. “Wait right where you are, and start drawing up preliminary plans right away.”

“Plans?” He said. “Plans for what?” But she’d already hung up. Julgut stared at the com unit, wondering if he really had just held that conversation or if he was imagining things. It sounded almost like the young lady was expecting him to build her a shipyard?

He considered that, before looking over to one of his many old abandoned plans. An idea from decades ago, one that he never could bring himself to throw away. It had started out as a kind of new mobile shipyard, but he quickly realized it had been too large to hold its own weight, and wouldn’t be able to function on Prime’s uneven terrain. So he broke it up, reimagining it as a series of smaller mobile shipyards, capable of interlocking and working together on a larger project. Theoretically, enough of them could even lift a dreadnought out of the Raxus muck.

Now that he was looking at it though, a new idea struck him. What if he wasn’t trying to refurbish an old hull? What if he was building a new one from scratch? With his series of smaller crawlers, he could build a ship in a series of pieces, before transporting those to the same location and putting them together there.

He was just starting to sketch on his tablet, when his comm device pinged again.

He glanced at it, then did a double take seeing that the message supposedly came from the Duke of Raxus himself, ruler of both Prime and Secundus, and forty other worlds besides. The contents of the message informed Julgut that he was being moved to the Duke’s palace for his own protection, and asking for information on where the rest of the work crew was.

His jaw hung open, gaping at the words projected there as he tried to understand what was going on. Whoever was really behind all this had a lot of credits, and a lot of influence.

Hego wasn’t quite certain of the extent of the Old Sith Empire under Naga Sadow or Marka Ragnos, but he speculated that through his banks and subsidiaries, he decided the fates of a greater number of sentients than those Emperors did at the height of their power.

Never let it be said that bankers didn’t have an inflated sense of self worth. The chambers where the Core Five met looked less like a tidy office building, and more like a mixture of a glittering royal court and the Galactic Senate. Really, that’s what it was. A royal court where five kings met to decide the fate of the Galaxy.

The other members of the Core Five were much like Hego, in that way. They were wealthy in their own right, ruling vast holdings and controlling an amount of credits that dwarfed entire sectors. But their true power came from the institution they sat atop. Individually, they might have held vast influence, but the InterGalactic Banking Clan as a whole was a titan that decided the fate of the entire Galaxy. Theoretically, the Senate ruled, and if unified in purpose there was nothing the Intergalactic Banking Clan could do publicly to resist it. In reality, that Senate was composed of Senators, who were purchased and sold like slaves on Nal Hutta. Individual senators might be trying to do what they saw as right, but in the end their power depended on getting reelected, and those campaigns were expensive things…

Plagueis’ eyes went over each of his fellow purveyors of senatorial flesh, finally coming to rest on Tahm Sipas. Sponsor of many a reelection campaign, his private interests were deeply intertwined with those of the Republic’s political elite, far more so than any other Chair’s. His ventures made him Hego’s biggest detractor, envious of the political pull his ‘friend’, the charming senator - and now Supreme Chancellor - Palpatine afforded him at a fraction of the investment.

He was also the one to call in the meeting. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Tahm finally broke the silence, his long fingers steepling into a tent in a distinctly human gesture. “As you have probably guessed, I called in this meeting to discuss the recent developments on the Outer Rim, or more specifically, the involvement of one of us in them.” He shot Plagueis a caustic glare which he matched with his own dismissive one.

“If it is the losses I suffered that concern you, rest assured, while the worry is appreciated, it is also completely misplaced.” Hego replied, just a shade on the side of politeness. “The losses incurred in the bombing of Raxus Prime, while unfortunate, are but a drop in the ocean of estimated profits I stand to gain from my Outer Rim investments.”

“A drop at a time bleeds the life support dry,” the man retorted. “But your questionable business ventures are not why we are meeting here today. No, I called the meeting because of what your pet Jedi pulled.” His piece said, Tahm activated the room’s central holoprojector, displaying the recording of Count Dooku storming out of the Senate Courthouse, cape billowing in the wind as he went.

“This flagrant disregard for Republic law already raised a few heads in the Senate.” Tahm continued. “The words ‘Jedi Lord’ are no longer spoken in the Forum in mockery, but in fear, Damask. My ears in the legislature already caught whispers of sanctions aimed at the Outer Rim, and Dooku’s allies in particular. For you, a Chair of the Banking Clans, to be counted among their numbers is unthinkable! Far from just being a member, Damask Holdings is the one funding those hillbillies!”

“Damask Holdings is a private company,” Plagueis hissed from behind his respirator. “Its businesses are of no concern to the Clans. They are certainly of no concern to you.” His cold eyes met Sipas’ incensed gaze. He reached through the Force to pierce the clouds of cold fury of his rival’s mind, to no avail. As loath as he was to admit it, one did not rise to become a Chair of the Banking Clans by being weak-willed.

“They are if the fallout would tarnish the Clans’ reputation.” Brils Los spoke up. Second in seniority only behind Damask and the most entrenched in the organization’s internal politics, he was usually relied on to mediate any dispute that arose during the Five’s meetings. For him to side against Hego spoke of the precarious position he was in. An agreeing humm from Jildia Cinir, the only female member of the Five, only confirmed it.

“The Republic relies on the Clans because we are seen as reliable,” Tahm said, seizing the initiative. “If rumor spreads that one among our highest echelons had been financing a resurgent Jedi Lord that could threaten the Republic peace, this reliability will be called into question. I ask you to cut off investments to this… ‘Outer Rim Alliance’.” His last words might as well have been bile for the disgust behind them. “Otherwise I will have no choice but to petition the Five to remove you as one of the Chairs.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Brils Los raised a placating hand. “No damage has been done yet. I hope I do not have to lecture a businessman of your caliber on the difference between risk prevention and jumping at shadows, Sipas. Not to mention, sacrificing one of our own for the sake of a client is unbecoming of the Clans.”

He turned to Plagueis. “But it is a very lucrative client. It might indeed be wiser for the sake of the Clans’ business to pull out now, Damask. And rest assured, should you do so, I will make a petition for Damask Holdings to be compensated for the losses.” Sipas’ protests at the words died in his throat under Los’s stern gaze.

Plagueis leaned back in his plush chair, taking a long drag from his inhaler as he felt a headache building. Unlike Sidious, he had no patience for politics, and in moments like these he was reminded why he entrusted dealing with them to his apprentice… who ironically enough was the cause of his current predicament.

He didn’t think so little of Palpatine as to presume he held the Trade Federation in anything less than an iron grip. The pirate raid was authorized, if not with his explicit permission, then at least with his acknowledgement. Yet not a word of it reached Plagueis ears, not until his shipyards were bombed.

Had the pirates reached Serenno and destroyed the sacanium mines, Dooku’s alliance would have looked too weak to attract new members. Over time, it would shrivel up and die, the enemy of the Republic gone before it was truly born. The Great Plan would be set back years.

A quiet anger began to boil inside Plagueis. Sidious was willing to sacrifice the Plan and his chancellorship both for a chance to strike at his hated Nemesis. Had Plagueis not felt the wave of insurmountable hatred in the Force and sensed his apprentice’s intentions then, decades of planning would have been squandered. He was not fit to continue the Siths’ great work anymore, and Plagueis will need to do more than just keep his old friend in check.

He will need to replace him.

Hego’s back straightened as his resolve firmed. The wisdom of the parable the Heiress of Serenno treated him to rang truer than ever. The Shogun proved more than just untrustworthy, he had proven treacherous. Only a fool would continue relying on Sidious to provide Dooku with allies for when the time was right. Plagueis’ eyes laid on the four Muuns still awaiting his response. No, he will have to provide them himself.

“Is it?” He finally replied.

“Is it what, Damask?” Tahm Sipas huffed in annoyance.

“Is the Republic truly that lucrative of a client? Or rather, how long will it remain so?” He continued. “I will not insult your intelligence by asking if you know of the recent happenings in the Abaar sector.”

In the Force, he could feel the consternation and anger at the topic. Of course they knew. And they knew what it was a symptom of. “An entire sector, in the Mid Rim might I add, introducing its own currency to be used alongside the credit.” He faced Sipas, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Have your ears caught the whispers regarding that? Mine have. And they tell me more will soon follow in Abaar’s example. The Clans will bleed influence as the Republic weakens, whole star systems and sectors slipping between the fingers of our waning grasp.”

“What do you propose then?” Brils Los asked, urging him to continue.

“An alternative. Or at least a diversification of the Clans’ assets. Dooku’s alliance in the Outer Rim is rich in resources and manpower, but lacks the credits and expertise to tap into it. With my help, that has begun to change, and already I can see the possible returns it could bring. If the Clans as a whole were to invest, they could bring a new powerful ally onto the galactic stage, one that would ensure our continued prosperity once the Republic starts to crumble.”

“You overstep your bounds, Damask,” Tahm growled out. “On the Senate floor, this would be considered sedition talk, and would cost you your office.”

“Fortunate then, that we aren’t meeting in the Forum.” Hego smiled.

“You were always bold Hego, and I admire that about you,” Brils Los sighed. “But here, your boldness oversteps into the realm of arrogance. The Clans’ power lies in much more than just the credit. If the Republic is to crumble, so be it. It would not be the first time the Clans’ witnessed its downfall. We will rebuild it again, and grow only more powerful in doing so. We stand too little to gain by throwing our support behind Dooku, not considering the risks involved.”

Hego nodded. It was always a long shot, and he wasn’t surprised the other members of the Five saw the Count’s burgeoning alliance as too weak and uncertain to invest in. But the seed of doubt was planted.

Of the five, it seemed like Tahm was the only one firmly committed to interfering with Damask. The others were ambivalent, maybe slightly annoyed with him, but for now unwilling to do anything. Apathy was something Damask was happy to use as well.

“Rumors in the Senate are hardly something to be so worked up about, Tahm.” Plagueis gave his most reassuring, grandfatherly tone. The one that seemed to work on very few, and infuriate many. It was having the desired effect on Tahm, the young chairman responding to the condescension with obvious irritation. “Perhaps when the Senate is seriously planning to take action, you should inform me then? For now, I don’t think this has been a productive use of our valuable time.”

Jildia Cinir hummed in agreement with Hego, and now the chairs were all focused on Tahm, waiting for his response. He glared at Damask across the room, before at last nodding, sitting back. “Very well. We will table this discussion for now and return to it, when it becomes a more pressing concern.”

Damask gave him a deliberately patronizing smile and nod, before the meeting was adjourned. 

Count of Serenno Doc Access

This is the completed collection of everything I've worked on with Count of Serenno. It contains 2 complete, yet to be released chapters, more than a dozen deleted drafts/abandoned ideas and the current chapter in progress.

Commission of Tanya the Great Khan

Cover art for my fic, A Young Girl’s Saga on the New Vegas Step.

https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/a-young-girl%E2%80%99s-saga-on-the-new-vegas-step.1184491/