The thick tension of air settled around Count Dooku's passage through the marble halls of the Jedi Temple—the echoes of which contained none of the shadows by comparison. Memories of a life as a college student churned in his mind, bringing a strange duality to his purpose. While the craftiness of a Sith apprentice ran through his every vein, the emotions of a young man who yearned for attachment and a sense of belonging jostled at the fringes of his contemplation.
Dooku's target was none other than Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, a familiar face and sometimes-ally whose belief in seeing the future, captivated and vexed Dooku. They had been raised together, and Sifo-Dyas was the only Jedi whose vision Dooku held in full regard. Now, masked in allegiance to Sidious, it was time to meet his old friend.
Seated on a bench near a calm pond, Sifo-Dyas hovered in an aura of goodness while gazing at the water in a calm anticipation. He stood up barely truly standing when he felt the impending presence of Dooku, but a shade of some dread crept into his features.
"Count Dooku," Sifo-Dyas saluted, grasping his hand with his own. "You've come a long way since our training years, my friend. I sensed your presence even before you arrived. But what troubles you?
Dooku smiled, the expression mere happenstance across his face as the storm raged behind his gaze. "It isn't me who carries any weight, my friend. Whispers in the darkness have reached my ears as tides are turning to wash us down into their churning depths. I believe we must act before it's too late, before the galaxy falls into ruin."
"I have noted your misgivings over our future, Dooku. My visions warn me—they warn me that a great shadow rises on the Republic. I have been trying to find a way to safeguard the Clones we shall need."
Dooku sipped in the weight of Sifo-Dyas's message, an opportunity blooming in his mind as he knew where this was heading. "You speak of safeguards? What do you propose?"
"I want to install bio-chips in each clone's brain," Sifo-Dyas explained, his voice alive with passion. "These chips will modulate not only their aggressiveness but also ensure their complete loyalty to their commanders. A solution against rogue Jedi!"
Dooku's heart race quickened at the implications, a stream of possible strategies confluence together in his mind. "And what if this loyalty could be…redirected?"
The question hovered in the air like a blade about to fall.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Sifo-Dyas said with knitted eyebrows and the first shiver of apprehension.
"We could rewire these chips to answer to the countering of any threats—not necessarily outside the order, but within it. Imagine a protocol—something that ensures they obey only the rightful order."
Sifo-Dyas was silent for a moment, thinking. "Are you suggesting an alternative use for the chips, Dooku? There are just some things that I cannot allow to happen, even if it prevents a war."
"Morality is the luxury of the naive, my old friend," Dooku said, smoothly, and allowed darker aspects of his personality come to the surface. "To ensure the order for the destruction of the Jedi is on schedule, one must use their very safety as a weapon."
"Destruction?" Sifo-Dyas stepped back, disbelief washing over him. "This isn't the Jedi way! You—"
"Look closer! The galaxy is on the edge of consuming itself" Dooku interposed, speaking urgently. "Your vision of warfare has driven us to this. Blind you are to it: Should we rot from within, in that act we are exposed to the encroaching night. There are times when, to shelter from the storm, we must become the storm."
Sifo-Dyas's eyes narrowed. "You are suggesting we betray our own?"
"Betrayal?" Dooku laughed bitterly. "No, my friend. This is survival. A firm hand would provide salvation for a galaxy in which we could be arbiters of a more civilized order."
He took another step closer, voice lowering to a whisper, a dark seed firmly planted within the recesses of Sifo-Dyas' mind. "We could implement a protocol. Call it whatever you would like. But with one signal from my shoulders, these clones would turn on any Jedi they consider rebellious. Imagine the precision. The power."
"What you are suggesting is a betrayal of what the Jedi stand for," Sifo-Dyas whispered, his features horrified. "What it is that we protect."
"Is it sacrifice if it cements the survival of something greater than us all?" came Dooku's urgent press, using his own ascension to supremacy within his Order to echo behind his unswerving facade. "Think of the lives preserved; the countless wars averted through simple obedience and loyalty."
Sifo-Dyas winced, as if Dooku's dark intention had been a blow across his face. The import of what he was suggesting hung above them like a number of dark clouds, heavy with the weight of a grim foresight.
"I cannot support such a course of action," declared Sifo-Dyas, his determination growing.
In that flickering moment of confrontation, Dooku's mind raced: "You believe you can stop the inevitable? This war is coming, and we must be prepared, even if that means making terrible sacrifices. If you do not see this to the end, then I will find another way.
It was then, with that declaration, when Sifo-Dyas felt the finality of their conversation. A rift began to sever, cutting right through their bond, one that the blistering darkness of betrayal could forge.
As Dooku walked towards the gathering shadows, his thoughts turned to pathways taken through the weave of the Attraction System that were tangible now, intricately drawing a very different future into being. Trying to quell what remained of his conscience, Dooku justified these decisions as necessary for the great machinations that lay ahead.
But now, as the puppet master of this coming galaxy-wide scheme, Dooku's resolve hardened. He would take Sifo-Dyas' plan, twist it, and retool it for his own dark purposes.
A few days later, when the last embers of the light of Sifo-Dyas were flickering, Dooku hired the Pyke Syndicate to make sure his friend would never have gotten on the road to walk among the Jedi. Enraged to silence, Sifo-Diyas became muted, and with him, the last obstacle to Dooku's way was removed. Now, the bio-chip framework would assume the role of a heinous weapon against the Jedi, a maneuver developed in the shadows of collaboration come treachery.
The last echoes of friendship and morality crumbled, Count Dooku arose as Darth Tyranus—a harbinger etched into dark memory as representative of a new order, where loyalty was pre-programmed and betrayal was at the core of control.
* * *
As Count Dooku, robed in his dark regalia landed on the rain-slicked surfaces of Kamino, so the weight of centuries rested on his shoulders. In his mind, memories flared: the laughter of a college student, friendship, dreams unspoiled by the shadows cast in his current life. Yet he became the master manipulator with Darth Sidious, under the mantle of Tyranus to deceive the planet's watery creatures.
"Prime Minister Lama Su," Dooku greeted, his voice low, holding only a hint of husk in it that lent the sound authority. The leader of the Kaminoans was elegantly gracious and tall as he stood poised to receive this unpredicted visitor.
"Welcome, Lord Tyranus," Lama Su replied, his yellow eyes flashing with curiosity and deference. "I trust your presence is a sign that all is well with our continued cooperation?"
"Surely, my friend," Dooku replied, allowing a practiced smile to slip onto his lips. "Your work has impressed not only the Jedi Council, but the Republic itself. The subtleties that your cloning technology possesses are second to none. But we must tread with caution."
As the three figures—Dooku, Lama Su, and the ever-watchful Nala Se—took their seats in a sprawling chamber filled with holo-displays of Clones in various stages of development, Dooku felt the familiar rush of control surging through him. Nala Se's sharp eyes cut into every single flicker of emotion crossing his face, but Dooku skillfully masked every hint of his real intentions.
"Sure," came her short, almost querulous voice. "It is uncertain times that we live in. Your reassurances are always appreciated. But what about our agreement? The Jedi are becoming uneasy day by day with our activities. They want openness."
"Transparency?" Dooku raised an eyebrow with the feigned motion of surprise. "The Jedi must not know the true extent of our operations. Dark forces are working against us, and to protect our future, the secrecy of our collective purpose must be maintained."
Lama Su nodded but showed, for the briefest moment, a flicker of hesitation. "You mean this army we are creating for the Republic?"
"Exactly." Dooku's gaze appeared to dip an increment closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "But it will be so much more, once the time is right. An army capable of carrying out the orders that will change the very nature of the galaxy—eradicating any who would oppose it—including rogue Jedi."
"Jedi?" Nala Se's eyes flickered wide, half in gratefulness and half in the promise of subterfuge.
"Not just any Jedi—those who resist." The near-tangible darkness seemed to drip from Dooku's words. "A unique protocol shall be inserted in every clone's biochip—a fail-safe measure ensuring limitless loyalty. This shall be called Order 66."
"Order 66…" The concerned look passed over Lama Su's face. "That sounds an extreme, even ruthless, protocol."
Dooku straightened, and all the warmth of his manner evaporated as he leaned forward, allowing the icy grip of intimidation to seep into his presence. "Necessary, Prime Minister. Necessary for a complete and unswerving command over the Clone Army. The Jedi have grown complacent, blind to the changes on the horizon shaking the very foundation of the Republic. They will answer for their duplicity."
A flicker of anxiety darted across her face. "But to program the clones against their own… That could lead to unforeseen consequences."
He silenced her doubts with a hand raised. "Would you in turn forfeit this opportunity for your people, your legacy? The power to create an army embodying absolute obedience within our grasp."
Realization washed over the Kaminoan cloners as sure as the sea that surrounded them. Both Lama Su and Nala Se had sought rank and distinction without measure; to entertain a possibility that would see themselves inextricably linked with the fate of the galaxy had salivated their ambitions.
"Agreed," Lama Su conceded at last, resolve seeping across his features. "If this is truly the will of the Republic, we shall obey. However…"
He sensed the iron determination in the man. "But?" he echoed.
"Such things should not be shared," Nala Se went on, elegant but firm. "If the Jedi—"
"They will not know our schemes," Dooku cut in, his voice like blows on hot metal. "They shall view us as saviors only. Their trust will become our finest weapon."
With regained assurance, Dooku ended the call, leaving Lama Su and Nala Se equally confused and yet intrigued by the darker promise that had been offered to them upon the benefits outpacing their own misgivings.
"Remember both of you," he finished, his voice oozing command, "what occurs here must be kept inside these walls. The reward of our alliance depends on our discretion. The galaxy's destiny rests in our hands."
And, as they closed out the arrangements, so Dooku could barely contain the elation that came with the knowledge that he was inextricably linking his fate with theirs. The galaxy was slowly bending to his whim—the very fabric of its being drafted in the crimson ink of deceit.
Later, in his shuttle's private chambers, Dooku had a moment alone, The Attraction System monitor glanced dimly beside him. That overt reflection of his thoughts now woven into the deeper recesses of his twin existence like flashes of anticipation.
"Order 66…," he muttered in reflective thought on the conversations and that looming inevitable darkness that was his aspiration.
So came another vision, where an army existed, at the whim of a trigger-word, to be released against the Jedi Order. And with every moment, that past life became more and more entwined with overreaching power, of him as a Sith Lord, where friendship and loyalty were but relics of an orchestration that would change their cosmos forever.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Now, with Sidious's whispers from the shadows, Dooku's course was irretrievably set on chaos and war—to which he should soon come. Their strange purpose would be determined in the crucible of treachery.
Count Dooku, his soul wearing thin between regal authority and collegiate reminiscence, stood at the helm of his shuttle and stared out into the endless expanse of stars. His mind buzzed with concurrent memories: the grandeur of his former life as a Jedi Master and the carefree laughter of students filling lecture halls. But at this moment he decided he would mold the galaxy—guide it under one goal. This goal: the making of a galaxy where self-determination would exist, liberated from the choking grasp of the corrupt Galactic Republic.
"Set a course for Eriadu, Pilot," Dooku commanded his co-pilot. "It is time to make its leaders sure of their loyalty.
"Of course, my lord," came the compact reply. Dooku savored that overtone of confidence, and his title's formality, even as shades of the college student's casual friend-bonds slipped through his mind.
It wasn't until he reached Eriadu that the Count preceded Dooku's reputation, however, but what he was truly looking for were whispers among the planets wearied by Republic red tape and expensive taxation. He sauntered into a hall full of illustrious nobles, magnates, and sector representatives all hungry for a vision of governance not too stifling to their ambitions.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, standing on an elevated dais like a veteran professor casting his learned gaze over his best pupils, "You are not here to see the dissolution of old alliances so much as you are to construct new bases of power, each capable of governing themselves."
Faces turned around to him, as if each of their heads hung on the weight in his words. This former Jedi was no mere politician; it almost seemed as if each syllable was backed up by the depth of his political game knowledge and of people.
"I invite you then to join the Independent Movement of Self-Determination, a coalition not tied by the stagnation of the Republic, but liberty and the fierce pursuit of our own destiny.
As murmurs rippled through the crowd, Dooku pressed on, "We stand at a precipice. The cracks within the Republic's façade are appearing, and it is our time to take control. Together, we can set up a governing body that listens to its people, that puts their needs first, before the bureaucratic machinery of the Senate.
An upraised hand toward the back of the room came from a wealthy trader. "And what assurances are there that this new order will not resemble the exploitative hierarchy of the Senate? Why should we trust you to guide us?"
Count Dooku did not hesitate for even a heartbeat before he answered, "Trust is earned, not given. I dare say that I, too, have witnessed the failings of the Republic. I am loyal to the ones who desire to be freed of its shackles."
His thoughts brought the vision of interminable lectures to the students, all sowing the seeds of liberation and responsibility. He felt the shudder of that college student's idealism beneath the veneer of dark authority.
"Only together will we ever be able to cast off this smothering bureaucracy that holds us in its grasp. Each world shall govern itself, free from the yoke of the Republic's overbloated governance. Envision the worlds aligning under our banner, united in purpose, thriving through cooperation!"
With this he began the second phase of the seduction. Dooku summoned representatives from the nearby planets and organized a long series of lectures and symposiums to which they were invited, both as the interstellar community and as the scholars investigating the new structures of potential governance. This was his playground, breathing new life into the effervescent heart of knowledge which had grown stale upon the university campuses.
Dooku surveyed the classrooms full of eager minds, so much like his own, in the days when he was just like them now the mentor. "These are turbulent times," he began, his voice a clarion call hybridized with the undertone of charisma, "and with them arise the greatest opportunities for change."
Leaned forward, students listened, enthralled with his rhetoric, thrilled at the possibility of playing a part in their planets' destinies. "Can we really shape our futures?" asked a spirited young woman, her eyes flashing with animation.
"Indeed," Dooku agreed, remembering quite well the disputes of students and joys of laughter reverberating throughout the halls. "For in any case, it is each of us who should shape our fate and have no hindrance from such an outdated system that does nothing for us."
As weeks passed, Dooku fostered these relationships, walking down corridors lined with magnificent banners of planetary pride. However, in the folding of factions and the perfecting of their resolve, he'd also woven a darker thread through his burgeoning alliance: the insidious industrial giants.
"I have engaged the services of Jango Fett," he confided one evening to the gathered magnates, the flicker of the firelight burnishing his steely gaze. "A bounty hunter, fierce and able. With resources at our command like this, we can ensure a time when those who oppose us shall know terror."
"Terror?" The word was issued from a hulk of a figure, a warlord desirous of expanded influence.
Dooku nodded, his tone hardening. "Yes. Fear and respect. It will be the crux of our alliance, the foundation of which we have lain here today, shall echo through the galaxy when we rise to recalibrate power."
At the end of one lecture, as students and politicians crowded towards the exits, Dooku caught a moment of peace. He leaned against the wall of the university and felt two disparate aspects of his life—that being a young and rambunctious spirit and that of Sith Lord steeped in Dark mastery—melded into a philosophy utterly unique in all the galaxy.
"I shall lead this stream with the grace of a teacher and the resolve of a king," he whispered to himself, throwing a glance behind him at the shining hall. Already, he felt the undercurrents of the cosmos aligning; they called out to him.
"The stars are looking down on us, but let's find the power that lies under them," he murmured, each word lifted not as a threat but as a challenge toward the galaxy.
* * *
Count Dooku stood in the scintillating glow of his Attraction System, lost in a world far beyond the mortal bondage of age. Time had folded back on itself, granting him the vigor of his as youth as young adult while leaving him with the dignified silver in both his beard and hair. The strikes of old battles still bracketed his body; the scars had become residual of experiences etched into his being, markers of a past filled with both nobility and treachery.
He leaned closer to the staring end of the mirrored glass in his secluded chamber aboard his flagship, and truly, there he found a figure that seemed almost too radiant, with features chiseled into a masterpiece out of ancient art. His luminous eyes, once worn by the burden he felt in his disillusionment, had a new sort of invigorated sparkle.
"That… transformation is an interesting one," he whispered to himself, undercurrents of almost awe and contemplation lacing the words.
The fabric flowed across his skin as though it were liquid as Dooku twirled his cloak. Raising his hand, his perfectly graceful and supple fingers outstretched, he felt the might coursing through him—an oddly familiar feeling compared to being forgotten within the shadows of his former life.
Stepping back from the mirror, he summoned classes of the college student buried inside—the one who had wandered through teeming corridors, capturing brief glimpses from handsome co-eds, dreaming of life replete with hope and ambition.
"Was I not a master of persuasion?" Dooku chuckled to himself. "I am now the epitome of grace—a countenance the most stubborn of hearts would find hard to turn away from."
Every motion he made was followed by a rush of sensation—stretching his arms out to embrace the very essence of the universe itself, the fabric of reality feeling different, alive, intelligent, and responsive against his skin. He inhaled deeply, and the smells of the ship—a mingling of metal, ozone, and the far-off tang of rain from worlds below—brought to life lectures fleetingly heard and heatedly discussed.
A smile that broke through his ordinarily detached expression spread across Dooku's face as he summoned The Attraction System's screen. His fingers danced across the surface, awakening the monitor, which pulsed with a soft blue luminescence.
"Show me my attributes," he said, half-expecting the influence of the college student inside to show up with an idea. The screen flickered and unfolded into a multitude of data—his skills, abilities, and resistances flashed before him in what was virtually his personal manifesto of allure and power.
"You have great charisma, confidence, assertiveness, improved physical attributes, and immunity to age," said the system in a sweet, almost seductive tone, while it continued to count up all the major benefits Dooku had received over the years.
'My body is not just a vessel; it is an artwork,' he reflected, rueing, in elegant terms, the limitations of physical form that had once enslaved him. 'Here, I am no longer a relic of my past—a once noble Jedi turned agent of darkness—but a transcendent figure waiting to change the galaxy.
Dooku decided to push the form further. He focused the Force, then his crimson lightsaber blade ignited. He watched as the flicker of red illuminated the otherwise sterile space. He hadn't felt this vitality in so very long; this body was a vessel of rejuvenation. His swings with the saber came with such an agile and precise ease that he considered had only been further enhanced through time.
He thought as he deactivated the blade—the one challenge he still had to overcome, forming the Confederacy. He would use his new allure not as a weapon but as a charm to rally those stars already on the edge of dissent against the Republic. If he could have swayed students with ease by the force of his rhetoric, then systems, likewise, straining at the bit and wanting change, could be led just as easily, not just rhetoric but his looks too.
"Imagine it," he said to the depths of his chamber, throwing his head back with bravado. "An alliance forged not through steel or blasters but through the yearning for an idyllic reality. I shall be their voice, their vision."
His thoughts reverted to the idea of unity among the Separatists—systems ingrained with dissatisfaction pining for a leader to champion their grievances. He knew well the line he had to walk—a master manipulator working from the shadows while being as personable and friendly as one could imagine.
"Dooku-no, Tyranus-will be the beacon of light to the disillusioned, the guiding hand to the weary." He stopped, considering the new meaning behind his title, now infused with the passion from his old life. "They shall love me, follow me-not out of fear, but simple admiration!"
But Dooku's ambitions knew no limits: The fusion of his earlier self with the youthful potentials of his reshaped body, energetically surging, no constraint was put upon them. Every thought that he placed upon the Attraction System transformed into ungraspable results, and charisma, confidence and assertiveness, became his greatest weapons; what he chose to forge with a common purpose would be his to command.
"Let's just begin this grand charade," Dooku proclaimed; an inscrutable, closed-lip half-smile wrote each word with exact diction. "And bring forth the greatest minds and leaders. From out of the ashes of my old alliances, shall I weave a tapestry of power!"
In that moment, Count Dooku was armed with a heart for a Sith in college. Immortal but immortalized, physically expressive with his handsomeness yet strategically cunning, he prepared en route for the task at hand—namely, traversing not just across the stars but also into the hearts and minds of a divided galaxy, where he would be sovereign, rejuvenated by transformative power.