Chapter Twenty

The Falleen homeworld was pretty enough, he supposed. A greenish ball, perched in empty space with a pair of small moons hovering around it and countless orbital stations dotting the sky all around it.

The aliens of the world were a strange lot, at once ready to kneel to their kings and queens but also fiercely liberal and open. They were not as numerous as some other species, and were distrusted in many sectors for their penchants towards social manipulations, but they were nonetheless useful allies.

Their home system alone was in the perfect position to act as a bulwark against future Republic advances. Advances that he knew would be coming soon. War was on the horizon and coming fast, the Force sang about the inevitable conflict and escalation, a constant thrum to anyone with the wits to listen that the entire Galaxy was about to be pitched into a conflict unlike any it had seen before.

“Count Dooku?”

The Count turned, arms still folded in the small of his back and posture straight. The Neimoidian that had addressed him was a well placed member of the Trade Federation, the sort of person used to a certain level of subservience, and yet here he was, bowing to Dooku.

“Yes?” the Count asked.

“The Profits of Merchandising has arrived in-system, as well as another ship. It is Republic, my lord.”

The Count raised one eyebrow.

“Ah, it is a smaller vessel, merely a patrol craft. Its identification marks it as being stolen some small time ago, my lord.”

Dooku nodded slowly and moved away from the screen overlooking Falleen. “Very well. Have both ships dock. Raise the alert level and inform my guards to be on stand-by. When will the diplomats be arriving?” he asked.

“They are on their way already. They should be here within minutes. I shall also inform the medical staff, the slaves will need tending before they can be returned to the Falleen government.”

Dooku nodded and waved the attendant away.

By all rights he should not have been here. The folding of the Falleen kingdom into the Confederacy was a sure thing already. Any number of functionaries could have signed the proper papers and shook the right hands to get everything moving.

But he was here himself nonetheless.

Darth Khepri.

The human girl was either ignorant, misappropriating such a name, or a fool to take a Sith title which she did not deserve. Either way he would learn soon enough.

He moved with the patience of a man that knew he would arrive at his destination neither too early nor too late.

The capital ship he was aboard was a huge, ostentatious affair, one of the larger variants of the Confederacy’s prized Lucrehulks. A vessel large enough to hold half a dozen smaller capital scale ships, as evidenced by the lumbering form of the Profits of Merchandising slipping into a berth with the jerky, precise motions of a ship under robotic control.

He rather loathed the reliance on machinery of his Separatists, but it fulfilled a need that organics could not.

A twinge in the Force had him looking up as a second ship slid through the forcefields, narrowly avoided a gantry crane, then spun around to point its nose back out of the exit with a speed that was just a hair short of being reckless.

A slight twist of the Force kept the worst of the dust being kicked his way away from him and his pristine outfit. It wouldn't do to appear dirty in front of his lessers.

Diplomats, journalists and dozens of hangers on moved behind him, held back by a cordon of battle droids in resplendent armour. This entire venture was a farce, of course. A show for the masses of the planet below to show them that the Confederacy was on their side, that they were willing to help the poor souls who found themselves in dire straits.

A few of them approached him, but a nudge with the Force was enough to have them leave him alone. Something was coming, not just a threat, but a moment that could change things. What Master Windu would have called a vergence, though perhaps not a large one.

His narrowed eyes focused on the Republic ship even as the Profits of Merchandising started to empty its cargo.

Dozens of slaves, escorted by a few well-worn battledroids, walked out of a lowered ramp and moved towards the waiting medical professionals. Some had signs of injuries, recent injury. Others though looked to be in good health.

It was unfortunate that not all of them were Falleen, though there were enough that green skin was in the majority. It would have made a nicer message for the populace of the system had every slave been of their race, but this was fine too, it showed that they were not below saving everyone.

A Neimoidian with an escort of assistants and a single Trandoshan moved with alacrity next to the free slaves, his robes swirling around him as he moved first towards the crowd near Dooku, then after a pause, turned towards the Republic patrol craft.

His attention snapped that way too, and he wasn’t the only one.

A girl was walking down the ramp of the Republic ship. She wore a simple, Republic issue officer’s uniform with a heavy pilot’s jacket tossed over it. It was almost enough to hide the crude mechanical arm held by her side. Next to her was a rusting wreck of a robot, a protocol droid at first glance, but one carrying half its weight in blasters, pistols and what looked like a starfighter canon.

Two pistols on hips holsters, another tucked into a shoulder holster under her arm, and if he had to guess a holdout near the small of her back. No lightsaber that he could see, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to see one.

She looked, to the untrained eyes of those around him, like a bounty hunter. And yet the Force rippled around her, teasing and testing and cautiously prodding as if the very essence of the universe was curious about this child. He had never quite seen or sensed anything like it.

The girl paused by the entrance of the stolen ship, looked around carefully, then nodded to something her robot companion said.

Twin rows of Republic soldiers and navy personnel walked out of the ship, all of them walking in step with each other, their hands tied together before their waists with ship repair tape. The entire group moved at a slow, relaxed pace across the floor of the hanger towards the gathered crowds.

“We need battledroids to secure those prisoners,” Dooku said. Having captured Republic personnel would be an issue, but they could be returned as a show of good faith. After they had been asked a few pointed questions.

He didn’t wait for his orders to be followed. With a twitch of his shoulder to loosen his cape he moved forwards, two magnaguard droids following right behind him.

Dooku was nearing the girl when the Force warned him of danger. He paused, but saw nothing. The girl had stopped, hands, both organic and robotic still empty. Her droid was still armed, but not aiming anything his way. He began to move again when he was warned once more.

It seemed that approaching her was dangerous, greatly so. Interesting.

“Hello,” he began. “I am Count Dooku of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. You must be Darth Khepri, I presume.”

The droid turned towards the girl and spoke a few lines, his name and the name of the Confederacy among them. So she didn’t speak Basic or was pretending to be ignorant.

“Greetings: My master salutes you, Count Dooku of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. She also wishes to extend her gratitude for your warm welcome. It is almost enjoyable to not be greeted by blaster fire.”

Dooku had the impression that the last comment wasn’t from the girl.

“Indeed,” he said. “There are certain formalities that I should follow, but before that, does your master wish to rid herself of these prisoners?”

The droid conferred with his master again. “Statement: This is acceptable. Once they are removed from my Master’s surroundings they will regain control of their feeble meat-based nervous systems.”

Dooku raised one eyebrow, but he still gestured a contingent of battledroids forwards. There were protocols in place for taking care of prisoners and pirates, and a few members of his staff had good heads on their shoulders. They would care for the Republicans.

He watched, carefully, as the soldiers stumbled and tripped, all of them at exactly the same place. Some of them took the opportunity to start fighting, and others hunched forwards or began limping from that point on.

Dooku was always going to be quick to admit that, with the Force being such a limitless and powerful thing, there were probably decades worth of learning that he had missed over his long career. But complete nervous system control of another, or of so many organics, was entire new to him. “Interesting,” he said.

“Statement: Darth Khepri is a master with many interesting quirks and talents, most of them hideously violent.” The droid shifted, then paused. “Addendum: Most of them can be used for the purposes of creating or ending conflicts. She occasionally chooses the less optimal route of negotiating and suing for peace. I prefer permanent solutions to temporary problems.”

“Is that so?” Count Dooku asked. He felt at the droid and... almost raised an eyebrow at how the Force caressed the old thing. The machine was at once ancient and not, a strange echo following it in the Force. A dark echo.

And to think that such an interesting specimen would find its way to the side of another, equally interesting person. “Shall we adjourn to a conference room? I am quite certain that there is much your master and I should discuss.”

***