FicWad

Additional Author's Note: Lengthy pieces in italics denote information being passed on directly through the Force via memory-impressions. Some memories will, necessarily, be a bit repetitive, so bear with me, please, okay?




Coruscant contains many places where one simply cannot persuade a droid air taxi drive to carry one, not even with a promise of a free year of lubrication baths at Industrial Automaton.

There's the labyrinth of dark back streets south of Corusca Circus, for one.

Daring Way, where it crosses Vos Gesal in upper Uscru, for another.

Hazard's Skytunnel in the Manarai Uplift.

And also just about anywhere in the sector known colloquially as "The Works."

Foot mat to the Senate District, with its New Architecture spires and domes, its blade-thin obelisks that resemble oft-used candles dipped in gleaming alloy, The Works had been a booming manufacturing area, once upon a time, until escalating costs had finally driven the production of spacecraft parts, labor droids, and construction materials offworld. Kilometer after cheerless kilometer of flat-roofed factories and assembly plants; towering cranes and enormous gantries; endless stretches of pitted mag-lev tracks that might have been overgrown with weeds if any weeds actually willingly grew on Coruscant; skyscraping clusters of vacant corporate buildings with rocket-fin buttresses . . . For standard centuries, the sector had been the destination for billions of hardworking immigrants from the Inner Rim and the Colonies, seeking employment and new lives in the Core. Now, The Works is a destination for fugitives from Nar Shaddaa who need a hole to crawl into. A Coruscanti might possibly risk a visit to The Works if he has just been laid off by the Bank of Aargau and is looking for someone to disintegrate his former boss. Or perhaps when death sticks no longer satisfy and a capsule of Crude is in order . . .

It is the gritty, toxic smoke that still belches from the stacks of factories closed for generations that make for the crimson-and-gold splendor of Coruscant's sunsets, which are gawked at by the affluent habitués of the Senate District's Skysitter Restaurant. The entire sector might have been demolished if it could only have been determined with any certainty just who owned what. Rumors persist that hired assassins and crime syndicates have buried so many bodies in The Works that it should be considered a cemetery.

Yet, surprisingly, Dooku loves the place.

Though it is the antithesis of his native Serenno, The Works is very much a home away from home for the human who has earned the title Darth Tyranus. There is one structure in particular - columnar in shape, round-topped, propped by angular ramparts - rising from the defiled core of The Works, like a stake driven into its heart, that Dooku adores. Strong in the Dark Side of the Force - made so by Darth Sidious - this particular building was the place of Dooku's apprenticeship, just as it had served as a training ground for Darth Maul before Dooku, and who knew who or how many other Sith disciples before Maul. During the ten years preceding the outbreak of the war proper - when Count Dooku of Serenno is believed to have been peddling his Separatist agenda to disenfranchised worlds in the Mid and Outer Rims - he had, in fact, spent long periods of time in The Works, coming and going at will, or as required of him by his Master, Darth Sidious. Even in the three years since the war began, he has been able to visit Coruscant without fear of detection, thanks in part to unique countermeasures the Geonosians have engineered into his interstellar sloop.

The modified Punworcca 116 even now rests on its slight landing gear in the building's vast docking space. With its needle-tipped bow carapaces and the spherical cockpit module they grip, the sloop is typically Geonosian in design. However, its signature sail had been obtained with Sidious' help from a dealer in pre-Republic antiquities in the Gree Enclave. Furled into the ventral carapace now - seldom used any longer, though in perfect working order - it had been created by an ancient spacefaring race that had taken to the grave the secrets of supralight emission propulsion. Having ordered the sloop's FA-4 pilot droid to remain the ball cockpit, Dooku would, normally, be walking some of the stiffness of the long voyage out of his long legs and surveying the docking bay with a certain nostalgic fondness, recalling the years he had spent under Sidious' tutelage, learning the ways of the Sith, practicing the arts of the Dark Side, giving himself over to the Dark Side and perfecting himself in the Force. Learning such things as how to become as a force of nature itself, paranormally strong and quick, capable of conjuring Sith lightning, of exteriorizing rage, and all without the need for those ridiculous hand passes - so reminiscent of the meaningless conjuring motions of a street magician - that the Jedi are always so fond of employing.

At the moment, though, Dooku is hurrying towards Sidious and trying not to dwell on the troublesomely recurrent thoughts of his old Jedi mentor, Master Yoda, who had admitted to him on Vjun, only months ago, Carry a darkness within me, I do, before going on to hint that Dooku himself, despite his recent deep delving into the Dark arts, would still be welcome at the Jedi Temple, were he so inclined to return . . .

Shaking his head, Dooku forces himself to focus on Sidious, who is clearly unhappy with recent events, since the loss of that infernal mechno-chair by Nute Gunray - and the growing threat of the Jedi Order's attempts to expose the Sith Lord. Before this moment, Dooku had been able to count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen Sidious genuinely angry. Now he suddenly finds himself needing both hands, and the thought that Kenobi and Skywalker have accomplished this fills Dooku with a strange combination of pride and fear.

Once Master and Padawan and now, strangely, apparently inseparable partners in the Force, Kenobi and Skywalker have become the scourge of Dooku's existence. On Geonosis he had obeyed Sidious' instructions and deliberately allowed them to pursue him, despite an oddly persistent bad feeling about doing such a thing. Also as instructed - if not precisely within the context that Sidious would have wished - Dooku had made Kenobi aware of the existence of Darth Sidious, as a means of confusing the Jedi Order by telling them the truth. In the sloop's docking bay, he had also demonstrated his mastery to Kenobi and Skywalker - though Skywalker hadn't nearly been so easily defeated the second time they had dueled there, fiercely protective of his fallen Master. Clearly enraged, the young Jedi had proved to be a truly powerful opponent, and Dooku rather suspects that the Knight has only continued to grow steadily more powerful since Geonosis. Although Dooku is, in the main, unimpressed with Anakin Skywalker - given that the boy is obviously no real Jedi, despite his increasingly enormous potential in the Force - Dooku is increasingly proud of Obi-Wan Kenobi for having raised up such a tirelessly dedicated and powerful warrior, even if the boy is far too emotional and unrestrained to ever truly fit the Jedi mold. It bothers Dooku that Sidious continuously overlooks Obi-Wan in favor of Skywalker.

Long have I watched young Skywalker, Sidious had once admitted to him.

And all the more so of late.

"I want you to see to it that Obi-Wan Kenobi ceases to be an irritant," Sidious is saying to him now, sneering at the name.

"He represents so forceful a threat to our plans?" Dooku cannot help but to raise an eyebrow at that, intrigued, wondering if Sidious has finally recognized Obi-Wan's potential.

But Sidious only shakes his head. "Hardly. But Skywalker does. And Kenobi . . . Kenobi has been as a father to him. Orphan Skywalker once and for all, and he will shift."

"Shift?" Both eyebrows rise at that. There is something . . . off about Sidious' assessment of the relationship between the two Jedi, which Dooku finds rather amusing, given how much time the man spends with young Skywalker in his public persona. If Sidious cannot sense it, though, Dooku is certainly not going to volunteer the information.

"To the Dark Side."

"As an apprentice?" Dooku's eyebrows all but disappear into his hairline at that - or they would, at least, if his eyebrows and eyelashes were not still as black as on the day he was born, unlike the silver-tinged white purity of the rest of his hair.

Sidious merely smiles mysteriously and promises, "In good time, Lord Tyranus. All in good time."

As Dooku reviews his instructions, returning to his ship, he bites back a frustrated snarl.

That infernal bad feeling/ is back again./

***

In a forward hold of Grievous' flagship, Dooku watches the cyborg general duel with his elite MagnaGuards, three of his trophy lightsabers in constant motion, parrying thrusts of the guards' pulse-weaponed staffs, slicing the recycled air a hairbreadth from the expressionless faces of his opponents, incapacitating arm and leg servos when he could. Grievous is a force to be reckoned with, to be sure, but Dooku deplores his habit of collecting lightsabers, and he finds that it bothers him more and more, the longer he has to deal with Grievous. It had only irritated him when Ventress and lesser combatants such as the bounty hunter Aurra Sing had adopted the foul practice. Yet, for some reason, Grievous' habit strikes Dooku as the very worst sort of profanation. Even so, he knows that he is not about to discourage the practice, however much he may personally loathe it. The more Jedi that can be dispatched now, the better and the easier it will be for him, later. Still . . . more and more, Dooku finds himself gritting his teeth and biting his tongue, to keep himself from snapping at Grievous. The only aspect of Grievous' technique that vexes him more is the General's penchant for using four blades at once. Two is bad enough - as in the form they had been used by Darth Maul, or in Anakin Skywalker's sad attempt to employ the technique on Geonosis. But /three and even /four at a time?

What is to become of elegance and gallantry if a duelist cannot make do with one blade?

Well, what has become of elegance and gallantry in general, in any case?

Dooku sighs. Grievous is certainly fast, and so are his IG 100-series sparring partners. They have the advantage of size and brute strength. They execute moves almost faster than the human eye alone can follow. Their thrusts and lunges demonstrate a singular lack of hesitancy. Once committed to a maneuver, they never falter. They never stop to recalculate their actions. Their weapons go exactly where they have meant for them to go. And they always aim for points beyond their opponents in order to slice clear through them with their blows. Dooku taught Grievous well and so Grievous has taught his elite well. Coupled with Dooku's coaching in the seven classic forms of lightsaber dueling in the Jedi arts - in Shii-Cho, Makashi, Soresu, Ataru, Shien and Djem So, and Niman - and the basics of the unfinished fighting form of Juyo, which Mace Windu has recently perfected into Vaapad, their programming make them lethal opponents. But they are not invincible, not even Grievous, because they can be confused by unpredictability, and they have no true understanding of finesse. A player of dejarik can memorize all the classic openings and countermoves and yet still not be a master of the game. Defeat often comes at the hands of less experienced players who know nothing about the traditional strategies. A professional fighter, a combat artist, can be defeated by a cantina brawler who knows nothing about form but everything about ending a conflict quickly, without a thought to winning gracefully or elegantly.

Enslavement to form opens one to defeat by the unforseen.

This is often the failing of trained duelists, and it will also eventually, inevitably, be the failing of the Jedi Order.

Given that elegance, gallantry, and enchantment are gone from the galaxy, it is only fitting that the Order's days are numbered - that the fire that has been the Jedi is guttering and dying out. As with the corrupt Republic itself, the Order's time has come. The noble Jedi, bound to the Force, sworn to uphold peace and justice, are seldom seen as heroes or saviors any longer, more often being thought of as bullies or meddlesome members of an elitist but corrupt and sometimes brutal police force of a bloated and failing government.

Still, Dooku finds it increasingly sad that it has fallen to him to help usher them out.

The conversation he'd had with Yoda on dreary Vjun is never far from his thoughts these days. For all his flair with words, all his Force-given personal power, and all the qualities that he has in common with Sidious - principally, that neither is entirely what he appears to be, which is to say made frail by age, or by the intensity required to master the Sith or Jedi arts - Yoda is essentially nothing more than a fossil, unwilling to embrace anything new and indisposed to see any way but his own. Archaic and entirely obsolete. Yet, how terrible not simply to fade away but to expire in the full knowledge that the galaxy has tipped inexorably and at long last to the Dark Side, to the Sith, and might remain so for as long as the Jedi themselves have ruled.

The unforseen . . .

Grievous and his guards are dancing. Going through their programmed motions.

An Ataro attack is answered by Shii-Cho; Soresu is countered with Shien . . .

Dooku simply cannot suffer another moment of it.

"No, no, stop, stop!" he yells, coming to his feet and striding to the middle of the training circle, his arms extended to both sides. When he is certain that he has their attention, he swings to Grievous. "Power moves served you well on Hypori against Jedi such as Daakman Barrek and Tarr Seir. But I pity you should you have to face off against any of the Council Masters." He calls into hand his courtly, curve-handled lightsaber and draws a rapid X in the air - a Makashi flourish. "Do I need to demonstrate what responses you can expect to face from Cin Drallig or Obi-Wan Kenobi? From Mace Windu or, stars help you, Yoda?" He flicks his blade quickly, ridding two of the guards of their staffs and then placing the glowing tip a millimeter from Grievous' death-helmeted visage. "Finesse. Artfulness. Economy. Otherwise, my friend, I fear that you will end up beyond the repair of even the Geonosians. Do you take my meaning?"

His vertically slit eyes unfathomable, Grievous nods. "I take your meaning, my lord."

Dooku withdraws his lightsaber blade. "Again, then. With some measure of polish, if I'm not asking for too much."

Dooku seats himself and watches them go at it.

Hopeless, he thinks.

He knows that he is at least partially to blame for this. In allowing the Geonosians their tampering, he had inadvertently made the same mistake with Grievous that he would only later discover he had already made with Ventress, by allowing her to fill herself with hate, as if hate could substitute for dispassion. Even the most hateful, the most hate-filled, could be defeated. Even the most angry. There should be no emotion in killing, no self, only the act. When he should have been helping Ventress rid herself of self, he had instead permitted her to grow impassioned. Sidious once confessed to him that he had erred similarly in his training of Darth Maul. Ventress and Maul had been driven by a desire to excel - to be the best - instead of merely allowing themselves to be pure instruments of the Dark Side. That is why they had been defeated, in the end. And it is why Grievous himself will eventually fall, very likely to the first Jedi he meets who manages to face him with the truly dispassionate tranquility that inevitably comes when one has accepted, with serenity, that death might be imminent, and yet has still calmly, thoroughly, immersed oneself so far within the Force that the self falls away and all that remains is an empty, pure vessel of the Force, yielding to its will, its every command.

The Jedi know this about the Force: the best of them are nothing more than instruments.

It is why Dooku wants Obi-Wan Kenobi for his apprentice. He knows that Obi-Wan understands this, unlike the young Master's former Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, who is obviously driven by that same need to excel, to prove himself - a need, Dooku understands, that has ironically been instilled in the boy not by Sidious but by the Jedi themselves, with their strangely largely unaccepting attitude towards the apparently emotionally unstable boy they nevertheless compassionately insisted on allowing into their Order and persist in believing is their Chosen One, the one who will bring balance to the Force.

It is why Dooku knows that Sidious and the Sith, for all their greater adaptability, will not triumph, in the end. Sidious is as blind, in his own way, as the Jedi Masters who sit upon the High Council and refuse to see that the galaxy has changed since the time of the last great Jedi-Sith conflict. Neither side has sense enough to realize that they must learn from their mistakes if they do not wish to fall victim to them again. Neither side has sense enough to realize that it is their emotionality - the Jedi with their compassion and love and loyalty to one another and the Sith with their insistence on focusing solely on anger and hatred when coldly detached dispassion would logically serve them much better - that continuously leads them to fall victim to those same mistakes over and over again.

It is why Dooku is unwavering in his belief that both the Jedi and the Sith must be eradicated and an entirely new order created in their place.

All he needs to do is convince Obi-Wan Kenobi of this, and then Dooku can deal with Sidious - repaying him in kind for the treachery the Sith Lord has sown - himself.

***

Dooku has ordered the droid pilot of his sloop to revert from hyperspace for a brief time at the planet Nelvaan. Thus, if any ships from among the Republic battle group at Tythe should, by some remote chance, actually manage to plot his escape course, it will appear as though Nelvaan is his actual destination. The sloop's Geonosian technology will mask the fact that he has jumped almost immediately to Coruscant to join Grievous and to play out the final act of the drama Sidious has so carefully arranged. Just as Sidious has foreseen it would, the abduction of Palpatine has not only abbreviated the search for him, it has also allowed Sidious to escape from Coruscant undetected. But these events are only minor acts. Sidious would have never allowed the Jedi to expose him. And Palpatine is hardly the prize he appears to be, as Dooku well knows. The greatest prize, as Sidious had gloatingly told Dooku during their most recent communication, will be theirs, in the form of Anakin Skywalker.

"Long have you watched him," Dooku had said, once again repeating the words that Sidious has himself so often spoken.

"Longer than you know, Lord Tyranus. Longer than you know. And the time has come to test him again."

"His skills, my lord?"

"The depth of his anger and the power that anger might give to him. His willingness to go beyond the Force as the Jedi know it and to call on the power of the Dark Side. General Grievous will activate a special beacon that will call Skywalker and Kenobi back to Coruscant and onto the stage that we will set for them."

But not to capture them, according to Sidious' great plan.

"You will duel them," Sidious had instead ordered. "Kill Kenobi. His only purpose is to die and, in so doing, ignite young Skywalker to tap the depths of his fear and rage. Should you defeat Skywalker easily, then we will know that he is not prepared to serve us. Perhaps he never will be prepared. Should he by some fluke best you, however, I will control the outcome to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment, and we will have gained a powerful ally. But above all you must make the contest appear real, Lord Tyranus."

"I will treat it as if it were my crowning achievement," Dooku had promised, only with great effort managing to restrain a slow, satisfied smile, seeing, at last, the opportunity he has been waiting for to turn the tables on his Dark Master. After all, once the duel has begun, Sidious will no longer be able to orchestrate everything that happens . . .

Hyperspace - and his revenge for Qui-Gon, if he finesses this properly - awaits him now.

"To Coruscant," Dooku tells his FA-4 from his comfortable chair in the sloop's main hold, not bothering to hold back his anticipating smile.

And with that, the ship jumps.

***

The vast semisphere of the flagship's view wall blooms with battle. Sophisticated sensor algorithms compress the combat that sprawls all throughout the orbit of the Galactic Republic's capital world to a view that the naked eye can understand and enjoy: cruisers hundreds of kilometers apart, exchanging fire at near lightspeed, appear to be practically hull-to-hull, joined by pulsing cables of flame. Turbolaser blasts become swift shafts of light that either shatter into prismatic splinters against shields or bloom into miniature supernovae that swallow ships whole. The invisible gnat-clouds of starfighter dogfights becomes a gleaming dance of shadowmoths at the end of Coruscant's brief spring. Within this immense curve of computer-filtered carnage, the only furnishing is one oversized chair, centered in an expanse of empty floor. This high-backed, almost throne-like black monstrosity is called the General's Chair, just as this apartment atop the flagship's conning spire is called the General's Quarters. With his back turned to that enormous chair and to the man who is shackled within it, arms and hands folded calmly, precisely, behind him beneath his cloak of silken armor-weave, stands Count Dooku - Darth Tyranus, Dark Lord of the Sith. He looks upon his Master's handiwork, and sees that it is good. No, it is /more than good. It is /magnificent. Even the increasing number of occasional tremors of the deck beneath his boots, as the entire enormous ship shudders under enemy torpedo and turbolaser blasts, feels, to him, like applause. Dooku is basking in that applause when the initiating hum of the intraship holocomm sounds behind him and then crackles into a voice that is both electronic and oddly expressive, rather as if a man is speaking through a droid's electrosonic vocabulator.

"Lord Tyranus, Kenobi and Skywalker have arrived."

"Yes." Dooku has already felt them both in the Force. "Drive them towards me."

"My lord, I must express once more my objections - "

Dooku turns. From his commanding height, he stares down at the blue-scanned holoimage of the commander of the Invisible Hand. "Your objections have been noted already, General. Leave the Jedi to me."

"But driving them to you also sends them directly toward the Chancellor himself. Why does he remain on this ship at all? He should be hidden. He should be guarded. We should have had him outsystem hours ago!"

"Matters are so," Count Dooku merely calmly reiterates, "because Lord Sidious wishes them so, General. Should you desire to press your objections, then please, feel at liberty to take them up with him."

"I, ah, don't believe that will be necessary . . . "

"Very well, then. Confine your efforts to preventing support troops from boarding. Without their pet clones to back them up, no mere Jedi is a danger to me." The deck shudders again then, more sharply, and that tremor is followed by a sudden shift in the vector of the cruiser's artificial gravity that would have sent a lesser man stumbling, With the Force to
maintain the dignified solidity of his posture, though, the effect on Dooku is confined to the lift of one eyebrow. "And may I suggest that you devote some attention to protecting this ship? Having it destroyed with both you and me aboard might put something of a cramp in the war effort, don't you think?"

"It is already being done, my lord. Does my lord wish to observe the progress of the Jedi? I can feed the security monitors onto this channel."

"Thank you, General. That would be most welcome."

"Gracious as ever, my lord. Grievous out."

Count Dooku allows himself a near-invisible smile. His inviolable courtesy - the hallmark of a true aristocrat - is effortless, and yet somehow it always seems to impress both the common rabble as well as those with the intellect of common rabble, regardless of their accomplishment or station - such as, for example, the repulsive cyborg Grievous. Dooku sighs. Despite all of his many failings and limitations, Grievous does have his uses. Not only is the General an able field commander, but he will soon make a marvelous scapegoat upon whom to hang every atrocity of this sadly necessary war. After all, someone has to take that particular fall, and Grievous is just the creature for the job. Force knows it certainly will not be Dooku who shoulders that particular responsibility. Reassigning blame for the shocking brutality of this war is, in fact, one purpose of the cataclysmic battle outside.

But not, by far, the only one.

The blue-scanned image before him blossoms into miniatures of Kenobi and Skywalker as he has seen them so many times before: shoulder-to-shoulder, lightsabers whirling as they enthusiastically dismantle droid after droid after droid, obviously feeling as if they are winning when in truth they are instead being chivvied exactly where the Lords of the Sith want them to go.

Such children, they are!/ Dooku shakes his head, almost regretfully. /It is almost too easy.

Regretting an enemy's flaw might seem quixotic, to others, but it is merely a part of who Dooku, Darth Tyranus and Count of Serenno, once a colossally powerful Jedi Master and now an even more powerful Dark Lord of the Sith, is.

Dooku is . . . different.

He does not remember quite when he discovered this; it may have been when he was a young Padawan in the Jedi Temple, betrayed by another learner who had claimed to be his friend. Lorian Nod had said it to his face: "You don't know what friendship is." Well, actually, the young boy had snarled it. But the sentiment remained unchanged, regardless of the tone of voice in which it was stated. And the simple truth of the matter was that Dooku hadn't. And he still doesn't, not quite.

Dooku had been angry, certainly; furious that his reputation had been put at risk by this so-called "friend" of his. And he had been even more angry at himself, for his error in judgment: trusting as an ally one who was in fact an enemy. The most astonishing part of the whole affair had been that, even after turning on him before the Jedi, the other boy had continuously expected Dooku to participate in a lie, all in the name of their "friendship."

It had all been so preposterous that Dooku simply hadn't known how to reply. In fact, he has never been entirely sure what beings mean when they speak of "friendship." Love, hate, joy, anger: even when Dooku can feel the energy of these emotions in others, they translate in his perception to other kinds of feelings. The kinds of emotions that make sense to Dooku. Jealousy, for example, he comprehends quite well, as well as he understands possessiveness: he does not share his possessions and is implacably fierce when any being encroaches on what is rightfully his. Intolerance, at the intractability of the universe and at the undisciplined lives of a majority its inhabitants: this is Dooku's normal state. Spite is recreation for Dooku: he takes considerable pleasure from the suffering of his enemies. Pride is as obviously a virtue in an aristocrat as indignation is his inalienable right: both are automatic, involuntary reactions when any dare to impugn his integrity, his honor, or his rightful place atop the natural hierarchy of authority. And moral outrage makes perfect sense to Dooku: when the incorrigibly untidy affairs of ordinary beings refuse to conform to the plainly obvious structure of How Society - And The Galaxy - Ought To Be, how else should any sensible sentient being respond but with moral outrage?

Dooku is entirely incapable of caring what any given creature might feel for/about him. He cares only what that creature might do for him. Or to him. Very possibly, he is what he is because other beings just aren't very . . . interesting. Or even, in a sense, entirely real. For Dooku, the hereditary Lord of Serenno, other beings are mostly abstractions, simple schematic sketches who fall into two essential categories. The first category is Assets:/ beings who can be used to serve Dooku's various interests. Such as - for most of his life and, to some extent, even now - the Jedi, particularly Mace Windu and Yoda, both of whom had regarded him as their friend for so long that it had effectively blinded them to the truth of his activities. And of course - for the moment - the Trade Federation, the InterGalactic Banking Clan, the Techno Union, the Corporate Alliance, and the weapon lords of Geonosis. And even the common rabble of the galaxy, who exist largely to provide an audience of sufficient size to do justice to his grandeur. The other category is Threats. In this second set, he numbers every sentient being - and indeed, most nonsentient beings, simply as a rule - that he cannot include in the first category. Quite often, beings who once fell safely within the first category lose their usefulness and tumble suddenly into the second. It is entirely possible, though, that if Dooku has his way and the galaxy at last submits to his will, one day there will no longer be a second category. Being considered a /Threat by Count Dooku is an inevitable death sentence. It is a death sentence that he plans to pronounce, for example, on most of his current allies: the heads of the aforementioned Trade Federation, Corporate Alliance, Techno Union, InterGalactic Banking Clan, and Geonosian weaponeers. Treachery is, after all, the way of the Sith, and Dooku is enough of a Sith - when it suits his needs - to understand the potential applicability of this rule for the motivations that inspire most of his activities.

There is no third category. Not truly. Those incredibly few beings who do not patently fall into one category or the other are the highly rare and invaluable individuals Dooku considers simply to be his. Qui-Gon Jinn had been one such being. Obi-Wan Kenobi is another. Anakin Skywalker is an exceedingly rare conundrum who vacillates between falling into one of the two common categories while somehow retaining the potential of one day simply becoming Dooku's.

Therefore, Count Dooku watches with a coldly fascinated clinical detachment as the blue-scanned images of Kenobi and Skywalker - one whom he thinks of as a rightful possession whose assumption of his rightful place at Dooku's side has already been delayed for far too long, and the other of whom he thinks of as largely superfluous but perhaps harmful to his plans, though he is also perhaps potentially an asset and certainly quite possibly a possession by proxy, given the boy's status as the apparently unshakeable Force-partner and former Padawan learner of the former Padawan learner of Dooku's own former Padawan learner - engage in a preposterous farce-chase, pursued by destroyer droids into and out of various turbolift pods that shoot upward and downward and even sideways, their movements so erratic that Dooku suspects Grievous has something to do with it.

At length, Dooku gives voice to a single observation. "It will be," he offers slowly, meditatively, and oh so carefully as planned, as though he speaks only to himself, "an embarrassment to be captured by him."

The voice that answers Dooku is so familiar that sometimes his very thoughts speak in its tones, instead of in his own. "An embarrassment that you can survive, Lord Tyranus. After all, he is the greatest Jedi alive, is he not? And have we not ensured that the entire galaxy shares this opinion?"

"Quite so, my Master. Quite so." Again, Dooku sighs. Today, he feels every hour of his eighty-three years. "It is . . . fatiguing, to play the villain for so long, Master. I find myself looking forward to an honorable captivity."

This is Lord Sidious' stated purpose for this farce: an honorable capture for Lord Dooku and a captivity that will allow him to sit out the rest of the war in comfort; a captivity that will allow him to forswear his former allegiances - when he will conveniently appear to finally discover the true extent of the Separatists' crimes against civilization - and bind himself to the new government with his reputation for integrity and idealism fully intact. The new government that has been their star of destiny for lo, these many years. A government clean, pure, direct: no messy scrambling for the favor of the ignorant rabble and subhuman creatures that by and large make up the Republic Dooku so despises for its many failures to live up to expectations. The new government that Dooku will serve will be Authority personified. Human/ authority. For it is, of course, no accident that the primary powers of the Confederacy of Independent Systems are Neimoidian, Skakoan, Quarren and Aqualish, Muun and Gossam, Sy Myrthian and Koorivar and Geonosian. At war's end, the aliens will be crushed, stripped of all they possess, and their systems and their wealth will be given into the hands of the only beings who can be trusted with them. /Human beings. Dooku will serve an Empire of Man and he will serve it as only he can, as he has patently been born to. He will smash the outdated and ineffectual Jedi Order to create it anew, to create an order that is not shackled by the corrupt, narcissistic, shabby little beings who call themselves politicians, but instead free to bring true authority and true peace to a galaxy that so badly needs both. An Order that will not negotiate and will not mediate. An Order that will enforce order. The survivors of the Jedi Order will become the Sith Army. The Fist of the Empire. And that Fist will become a power beyond any Jedi's darkest dreams. The Jedi are not the only users of the Force in the galaxy: from Hapes to Haruun Kal and from Kiffu to Dathomir, many powerful Force-capable humans and near-humans have long refused to surrender their children to lifelong bound servitude in the Jedi Order. They will not so refuse the Sith Army. They will not have the choice.

Or so Sidious believes that Dooku believes, hateful and hate-filled creature that the Sith Lord is. Dooku's actual beliefs and intentions are a bit more . . . complicated.

When Dooku first thought of seeking out the Sith Lord, he was motivated primarily by the need to revenge Qui-Gon Jinn's murder. He was also motivated by a need to act when others would not to halt and reverse or, failing that, to at least direct the growing darkness that, with increasing obviousness, seemed a fulfillment of the prophesied "dark times" said to presage and coincide with the coming of the Chosen One, who would bring balance to the Force. He wanted to find the Sith Lord in order to destroy him. Yet, his motivation had faltered and his goal began to change when Dooku had begun to wonder if killing the Sith Lord would actually do any good, given the specifics of the various prophecies involving the Chosen One and the dark times. Dooku was still determined to avenge Qui-Gon, but he also began to wonder if the Sith Lord might not be better put to use in directing the growing darkness. Thus, Dooku had listened to Sidious when the Sith Lord had sought Dooku out rather than simply striking him down out of hand. Dooku had also become first Sidious' apprentice and then a Sith Lord himself in order to gain control over that darkness for himself. And because he had become a Sith Lord and yet was still coldly determined to avenge Qui-Gon, Dooku had arrived upon the plan of going along with Sidious' plans and obeying his commands while patiently biding his time and working to bring Obi-Wan Kenobi under his own influence so that together they would be able to destroy Sidious, thereby revenging Qui-Gon Jinn, and yet also be solely in position to reap the full benefits of Sidious' genius and bend the galaxy to their will, to Dooku's will. Not Sidious' will and not the will of the High Council of the Jedi Order.

While there would indeed be a new galactic government and a new organization of Force-users, who would by all means act as the ultimate enforcers of that new government, there would also be a few crucial differences between Sidious' vision of the future and the reality that Dooku and Obi-Wan would bring about - the most obvious, of course, being that both the Jedi and the Sith would be completely extinct within that future, with a new Order of Force-users devoted dispassionately to all aspects of the Force, Living as well as Unifying and the Light as well as the Dark Side of the Force, rising out of the ashes of the Jedi and the Sith to take their places. This new Order will not only maintain a balanced approach to the Force, it will inevitably also help to bring balance to the Force, Chosen One or no, though Dooku would prefer to have the Chosen One as one of his, given the boy's relationship with Obi-Wan.

More importantly, however, even though Dooku does admire the notion of an Empire of Man, he is also intelligent enough to realize how inherently unbalanced and flawed such a form of government is, given that it would automatically foment resentment and rebellion among the various other sentient races of the galaxy. Thus, while Dooku's new government will be above the endless petty squabbling of the rabble as well as the power-mongering of the so-called politicians and will also be clearly in favor of pure biologicals rather than droids and cyborg monstrosities, his Empire - an Empire of the Force - will also be a place where actual proven ability and intelligence determines merit far more than a being's mere species. And Dooku is determined that grace and nobility and elegance will flourish within his Empire of the Force. The more Dooku has had to deal with the allies Sidious' plotting have gained him, the more determined he has grown that elegance and gallantry will be both the hallmarks and cornerstones of his Empire of the Force. Obi-Wan's unquestionable integrity and poise certainly embodies a classical refinement that is at most only half a step removed from the aristocratic elegance that Dooku himself embodies and continually refines. Between the two of them, they should be enough to overwhelm any of the more vulgar influences that Anakin Skywalker, with his unmitigated zeal to excel and the unthinking haste this causes him to exhibit in all areas, might bring to the table, Chosen One or not. And they will be the template of both the new Order and the Empire of the Force. Dooku is certain of this. In fact, he is so certain of this that it has only, of late, occurred to him that in order to accomplish these goals, Dooku must not only win Obi-Wan Kenobi and most likely also Anakin Skywalker to his side, and soon - before Sidious' plans can advance too far - he must also free himself so utterly of any lingering taint from Sidious and the Separatists that the galaxy will willingly embrace Dooku and his vision after Sidious' death and the consequent fall of the Republic.

It is this realization and the accompanying unshakable bad feeling/ that he cannot seem to find a way around that, in the main, account for Dooku's recent troublesome preoccupation with Master Yoda and the Jedi Order and the part that Dooku has played not only in the destruction of the Order but also in the enchantment and gallantry that the Order has always embodied. It is this niggling worry and that troublesome /bad feeling that has, of late, caused Dooku to start questioning not only his Sith Master's intentions for him but also the use that Sidious has gotten out of him, while Dooku has essentially been little more than his willing tool. These things disturb Dooku because he is well aware of the fact that Sidious, as a Sith, is a being of treachery, and yet the Sith Lord expounds upon long-range plans yielding enormous power to Dooku while seeming entirely ignorant of the possibility that Dooku, as Darth Tyranus, might also have long been planning a treacherous end for Sidious. Dooku cannot quite see how Sidious' covetous interest in young Skywalker and his stated intentions for Dooku can coincide, even if Dooku would ever be so foolish enough as to kill Obi-Wan and then submit himself to the mercy of the Republic under Anakin's care. In fact, he cannot quite see how even the control that Sidious' alter ego enjoys over the boy could ever be enough to keep the young man from simply murdering Dooku in cold blood, the instant he surrenders. And this worries Dooku to no end, for Sidious seems quite sincere about wanting Dooku to kill Obi-Wan and then surrender to Anakin, and he knows that Sidious is intelligent enough to realize how little chance Dooku would honestly have of surviving such a chain of events. And if Sidious does not mean for Dooku to be able to survive surrendering to Skywalker, if this means that Sidious is, in fact, planning some treachery of his own, then does it mean that Sidious has divined Dooku's plans or does it only go to prove how utterly treacherous and without honor Sidious actually is?

Dooku would not concern himself about this nearly so much if only he could honestly bring himself to believe that it will be as easy to kill Sidious as it would potentially be easy to simply undo all of Sidious' plans simply by revealing the man for what and who he is. Dooku is sure that he could sway Obi-Wan - and, with him, Anakin - to his side merely by revealing the Sith Lord's alter ego. However, trying to do so while the man is in the same room is certainly out of the question. Even in restraints, Sidious is more than powerful enough to summon Sith lighting, and the Sith Lord has been so reticent to speak of himself and his own apprenticeship under the Sith Lord who preceded him that Dooku is almost certain that the man has access to at least a few powerful tricks that Dooku simply knows nothing about. This concerns Dooku greatly, as Sidious wants Obi-Wan dead and Dooku cannot allow the Sith to harm Obi-Wan or even Anakin, not if Dooku's revenge against Sidious is to have any real meaning. Dooku wants to avenge Qui-Gon, yes, but not at Obi-Wan's expense. It is a problem for which Dooku as yet has no viable solution, aside from the possibility of simply surrendering when the two Jedi finally make their way to the room and blindly hoping that Sidious doesn't simply reveal himself then and there in order to strike down both Obi-Wan and Dooku and incapacitate Anakin in order to steal the boy away for himself. And Dooku is rapidly running out of time.

If Dooku didn't know better, he might almost suspect that Sidious has prepared this trap not so much for the two Jedi as he has for Dooku himself . . .

Increasingly preoccupied with these troublesome thoughts, Dooku frowns down at the blue-toned holoimage. Kenobi and Skywalker are going through more low-comedy business with another balky turbolift - quite possibly a sign of Grievous having some fun with the shaft controls - while more hapless battle droids attempt (and fail spectacularly) to pursue and neutralize them. Really, it's all so . . . undignified. Restraining himself greatly in refraining from revealing his disfavor with this entire farce, Dooku nonchalantly offers the following suggestion. "Might I propose, Master, that we give Kenobi one last chance? The support of a Jedi of his integrity would be invaluable in establishing the political legitimacy of our Empire."

"Ah, yes. Kenobi." His Master's voice is smooth as silk. "You have long been interested in Kenobi, haven't you?"

Dooku shrugs magnanimously. "Of course, my Master. His Master was my Padawan; in a sense, he's practically my grandson - "

"He is too old. Too indoctrinated. Irretrievably poisoned by Jedi fables. You established that on Geonosis, did you not? You related to him the truths I informed you to tell him, and yet he was too close-minded to even consider them. In his mind, he serves the Force itself; reality is nothing in the face of such conviction."

Dooku masterfully refrains from sighing or from frowning to show his exasperation with Sidious' short-sightedness. "That is true enough, I suppose; how fortunate we are that I never labored under any such illusions."

"Kenobi must die. Today. At your hand. His death may be the code key of the final lock that will seal Skywalker to us forever."

Dooku understands why Sidious wants this: not only would the death of Obi-Wan tip the boy's already unstable emotional balance down the darkest of slopes, but it would also remove the greatest obstacle to Skywalker's successful conversion. As long as Obi-Wan is alive, Anakin Skywalker will never be entirely converted or fall solidly within the camp of the Sith; Obi-Wan's unshakable faith in the values of the Jedi would keep the Jedi blindfold on Skywalker's eyes and the Jedi shackles on the young man's potential power. The loss of Obi-Wan will not only remove Anakin's best defense against Sidious, it will make him the perfect pawn for Sidious' ultimate master plan. With an heroic defeat and honorable capture of Count Dooku, Anakin Skywalker will become the ultimate hero: the greatest hero in the history of he Republic, perhaps of the Jedi Order itself. The loss of his beloved partner will add just exactly the correct spice of tragedy to give melancholy weight to his every word, when he gives his HoloNet interviews denouncing the Senate's corruption as impeding the war effort, and when he delicately - oh, so delicately, not to mention reluctantly - insinuates that corruption in the Jedi Order has prolonged the war as well. When he announces the creation of a new order of Force-using warriors, others will listen and they will believe it the necessary and right thing to do. Skywalker will be the perfect commanding general for the Sith Army of the Empire of Man. With a single brilliant stroke, Sidious will have turned the Jedi Order back upon itself like an Ethrani ouroboros devouring its own tail. The Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic would both be demonized and dissolved to the sound of thunderous applause. Yet, Dooku still finds himself shaking his head. The problem isn't in understanding the brilliance of the plan or what it is that Sidious wants and why. The problem is that Dooku understands all too well the true implications of just such a chain of events. Anakin Skywalker is nothing if he is not loyal. All Sidious' talk of an honorable capture and captivity aside, Dooku knows that he would never survive Obi-Wan's death, even if he were truly willing to kill the young Jedi Master. Which he is not. "But I must ask, my Master: is Skywalker truly the man we want?"

"He is powerful. Potentially more powerful than even myself."

"Which is precisely," Dooku offers meditatively, "why it might be best if I were to kill him, instead."

"Are you so certain that you can?"

"Please. Of what use is power unstructured by discipline? The boy is as much a danger to himself as he is to his enemies. And that mechanical arm - " Dooku allows his lip to curl with cultivated distaste. "Revolting."

"Then perhaps you should have spared his real arm."

"Humph. A true gentleman would have learned to fight one-handed." Dooku flicks a dismissive wave. "He's no longer even entirely human. With Grievous, the use of such bio-droid devices is almost forgivable; he was such a disgusting creature already that his mechanical parts are clearly an improvement. But a blend of droid and human? Appalling. The depths of bad taste. How are we to justify associating with him?"

"How fortunate I am," the silk in his Master's voice somehow softens even further, "to have an apprentice who feels that it is appropriate to lecture me."

Dooku merely lifts one ebony-dark eyebrow. "I have overstepped, my Master." He shrugs off Sidious' ill-humor with his customary grace, carefully backing away from appearing overly argumentative. "I am only observing, not arguing. Not at all."

"Skywalker's arm makes him, for our purposes, even better. It is the permanent symbol of the many sacrifices he has made in the name of peace and justice. It is a badge of heroism that he must publicly wear for the rest of his life; no one can ever look at him and doubt his honor, his courage, his integrity. He is perfect, just as he is. Perfect. The only question that remains is whether or not he is capable of transcending the artificial limitations of his Jedi indoctrination. And that, my lord Count, is precisely what today's operation is designed to discover."

Unfortunately, Dooku cannot argue with this. Sidious is much more knowledgeable about and experienced with such things. Not only has the Dark Lord introduced Dooku to realms of power beyond his most spectacular fantasies, but Sidious is also a political manipulator so subtle that his abilities might be considered to dwarf even the power of the Dark Side itself. It is said that whenever the Force closes a hatch, it opens a viewport . . . and every viewport that has so much as cracked in these past thirteen standard years has found this Dark Lord of the Sith already at the rim, peering in, calculating how best to slip through. Improving upon his Master's plan without revealing the fact that Dooku understands how little he is likely to survive this operation is near to impossible; his own idea, of convincing Sidious to retain Kenobi as a viable alternate for Skywalker, seems like the unfortunate product of a certain misplaced sentimentality when held up against Sidious' intricate dark logic. Skywalker is almost certainly the man for the job that Sidious has in mind. He certainly ought to be; Darth Sidious has, over a number of years, spent a considerable amount of time and personal effort in making him so. And today's test would just as certainly remove that almost: Dooku has not a single doubt in his mind that Skywalker would fall, were he to actually lose Obi-Wan today. It is with Sidious' opinion of Obi-Wan, not of Skywalker, that the actual problem lies. "Yet - forgive me, Master. But Kenobi having fallen to my blade, are you certain that Skywalker will ever accept my orders? You must admit that his biography offers little confidence that he is capable of obedience at all."

"Skywalker's power brings with it more than mere obedience. It brings creativity and luck; we need never concern ourselves with the sort of instruction that Grievous, for example, requires. Even the blind fools on the Jedi High Council see clearly enough to understand this; even they no longer try to tell him how, they merely tell him what. And he finds a way. He always has. He always will."

Indeed. Dooku nods helplessly. This would be the day. The very hour. The fulfillment of Sidious' plan - the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi - would be the death of both the Republic and the Jedi Order. And it would mark the birth of Sidious' Empire of Man.

"Tyranus? Are you well, my apprentice?"

"Am I . . . ?" Dooku realizes that his eyes have misted over. "Yes, my Master. I am beyond well. Today, the climax, the grand finale, the culmination of all your decades of work . . . I fear that I find myself somewhat overcome."

"Compose yourself, Tyranus. Kenobi and Skywalker are nearly at the door. Play your part, my apprentice, and the galaxy is ours."

Dooku straightens and, for the first time, looks his Master in the eyes.

Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, sits in the General's Chair, shackled to it at the wrist and ankle.

Dooku bows to him gracefully. "Thank you, Chancellor."

Palpatine of Naboo, Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, replies with an order. "Withdraw. They are here."

***

Inside a turbolift pod, Dooku watches hologrammic images of Kenobi and Skywalker pause to speak to each other - apparently in some way reaffirming their curious bond, making Dooku regret the lack of sound that prevents him from knowing their words - before cautiously continuing on their way, picking their way down the curving stairs from the entrance balcony to the main level of the General's Quarters, moving slowly to stay braced against the pitching of the cruiser. The ship shudders and bucks with multiple torpedo bursts, and the lights go out again; lighting is always the first to fail as power is diverted from life support to damage control.

"My lord." On the intraship comm, Grievous sounds actively concerned. "Damage to this ship is becoming severe. Thirty percent of automated weapons systems are down, and we may soon lose hyperspace capability."

Dooku nods judiciously to himself, frowning down at the translucent blue ghosts slinking gracefully, inexorably, towards Palpatine. "Sound the retreat for the entire strike force, General, and prepare the ship for jump. Once the Jedi have been dealt with, I will join you on the bridge."

"As my lord commands. Grievous out."

"Indeed you are, you vile pathetic creature," Dooku mutters to the dead comlink. "Out of luck and, soon, out of time as well, regardless of how this meeting ultimately plays out." He casts the comlink aside and ignores its clatter across the deck. He has no further use for it. Let it be destroyed along with General Grievous, his repulsive bodyguards, and the rest of the cruiser as well, once he and the two Jedi are safely away. He nods to the two hulking super battle droids that flank him. One opens the lift door and they march through, pivoting to take positions on either side. Dooku straightens his cloak of shimmering armorweave and strides grandly into the half-dark lift lobby. In the pale emergency lighting, the door to the General's Quarters still smolders where those two impatient children have lightsabered it; to pick his way through the hole will risk getting his trousers scorched. Dooku sighs and gestures, and the opalescent wreckage of the door silently slides itself out of his way.

He certainly does not intend to fight two Jedi with his pants on fire, no matter what else might occur.

The entrance balcony provides an appropriate angle - far above the Jedi, looking down upon them - for Dooku to make a few final assessments before the farce truly begins. Like all true farce, the coming denouement will proceed with remorseless logic from its ridiculous premise: that Dooku could ever be overcome by mere Jedi. Any Jedi. Even the legendary team of Kenobi and Skywalker. Dooku sighs soundlessly. It is a pity that his old colleague, Mace Windu, couldn't have joined them here today; he has no doubt that the Korun Master would have appreciated and enjoyed the coming show. Personally, Dooku has always preferred a highly educated audience. Certainly, Skywalker will never understand how much thought and planning, how much work, Lord Sidious has invested in so hastily orchestrating his sham victory. Nor will he likely ever understand the artistry, the true mastery, that Dooku will wield in his own defeat. But thus is life. Sacrifices must be made, for the greater good. There is a war on, after all.

Ah, well. However much melancholy satisfaction Dooku might derive from a pleasurably lonely contemplation of his own unrecognized greatness, he must admit that there are at least two formidable minds within the scene below. Palpatine is there, for one thing, shackled in the great chair at the far end of the room, the ongoing space battle whirling upon the view wall behind him as though his stark silhouette spreads great wings of war. And there is also Obi-Wan Kenobi. A vision of true beauty, a perfect example of the highest form of the most refined classic of a Jedi paragon, however outdated and obsolete the Jedi may have now become. Obi-Wan Kenobi simply stands calmly, hands open, utterly relaxed, on his face only an expression of mild interest. The young Jedi Master is an opponent quite worthy of Dooku's respect. His young partner and former Padawan learner, on the other hand, who has his back turned to Dooku and his lightsaber out and already ignited, his tall, lean frame standing frozen with anticipation in front of Palpatine, so utterly motionless that he almost seems to shiver . . . Pathetic. Obi-Wan's mark is upon the boy, but so is the shadow of the Council, and the High Council has utterly ruined the young man. It is an insult to the likes of Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi to call this wretched boy a Jedi at all!

Again, Dooku sighs. And then, as he gazes sorrowfully upon the tableau unfolding below him, he knows, with a sudden clarity that strikes him down to the depths of his soul, what it is that he must do.

His Master wants him to believe that he is supposed to kill Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He knows that Sidious instead intends for Anakin Skywalker to kill Dooku in cold blood.

Therefore, what he must do now is to find a way of preserving Obi-Wan Kenobi's life and passing on to these young Jedi enough information for them to inevitably discover the true nature of the man they are now attempting to "rescue" - and all without first being struck down by that same man. Or allowing the very angry, very powerful young Anakin Skywalker to simply murder him where he stands.

If his situation were not so desperate, Dooku might be tempted to laugh.

Instead, as Kenobi and Skywalker continue their careful approach to the enormous chair that holds the shape of the man they know only as Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, Dooku recalls the teachings of his past, and he impresses half a dozen vastly important thoughts with desperate haste and power onto the small personal object currently cradled in his left hand, an object that he will, with any luck, be able to slip to Obi-Wan without the young Jedi Master or his former Padawan or Dooku's own Dark Master being the wiser. Afterwards, he simply stands for another handful of heartbeats, looking down from the balcony into the room below, there the motions of the play Sidious has so carefully orchestrated are beginning to unfold in earnest . . . and are about to be severely edited, one way or another, regardless of how the desperate wager that Dooku is about to make turns out.

There is no other hope for it. Very well, then. Time to move this little comedy along.

The voice that sounds from the entrance balcony is an elegant basso with undernotes of oily resonance like a kriin-oak cavernhorn. "General Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker. Gentlemen - a term I use in its loosest possible sense - you are my prisoners now."

***