Book 0 - The Dark Lord Trilogy

by James Luceno

  The only aspect of Grievous’s technique that vexed him more was the general’s penchant for using four blades. Two was bad enough—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?

  What was to become of elegance and gallantry if a duelist couldn’t make do with one blade?

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

  Grievous was fast, and so were his IG 100-series sparring partners. They had the advantage of size and brute strength. They executed moves almost faster than the human eye could follow. Their thrusts and lunges demonstrated a singular lack of hesitancy. Once committed to a maneuver, they never faltered. They never stopped to recalculate their actions. Their weapons went exactly where they meant them to go. And they always aimed for points beyond their opponents in order to slice clear through.

  Dooku had taught Grievous well, and Grievous had taught his elite well. Coupled with Dooku’s coaching, their programming in the seven classic forms of lightsaber dueling—in the Jedi arts—made them lethal opponents. But they were not invincible, not even Grievous, because they could be confused by unpredictability, and they had no understanding of finesse. A player of dejarik could memorize all the classic openings and countermoves, and still not be a master of the game. Defeat often came at the hands of less experienced players who knew nothing about the traditional strategies. A professional fighter, a combat artist, could be defeated by a cantina brawler who knew nothing about form but everything about ending a conflict quickly, without a thought to winning gracefully or elegantly.

  Enslavement to form opened one to defeat by the unforeseen.

  This was often the failing of trained duelists, and it would be the failing of the Jedi Order.

  Given that elegance, gallantry, and enchantment were gone from the galaxy, it was only fitting that the Order’s days were numbered; that the fire that had been the Jedi was guttering and dying out. As with the corrupt Republic itself, the Order’s time had come. The noble Jedi, bound to the Force, sworn to uphold peace and justice, were seldom seen as heroes or saviors any longer, but more often as bullies or mobsters.

  Still, it was sad that it had fallen to Dooku to help usher them out.

  The conversation he had had with Yoda on dreary Vjun was never far from his thoughts these days. For all his flair with words, all his Force-given personal power, Yoda was nothing more than an old one, unwilling to embrace anything new, indisposed to see any way but his own. Yet how terrible not simply to fade away but to expire in full knowledge that the galaxy had tipped inexorably and at long last to the dark side, to the Sith, and might remain so for as long as the Jedi themselves had ruled.

  The unforeseen …

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

  An Ataro attack answered by Shii-Cho; Soresu answered by Lus-ma …

  Dooku couldn’t suffer another moment of it.

  “No, no, stop, stop,” he yelled, coming to his feet and striding to the middle of the training circle, his arms extended to both sides. When he was certain that he had their attention, he swung 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 called into hand his courtly, curve-handled lightsaber and drew a rapid X in the air—a Makashi flourish. “Do I need to demonstrate what responses you can expect from Cin Drallig or Obi-Wan Kenobi? From Mace Windu or, stars help you, Yoda?”

  He flicked his blade quickly, ridding two of the guards of their staffs, then placing the glowing tip a millimeter from Grievous’s 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 nodded.

  “I take your meaning, my lord.”

  Dooku withdrew his blade. “Again, then. With some measure of polish, if I’m not asking for too much.”

  Dooku seated himself and watched them go at it.

  Hopeless, he thought.

  But he knew that he was partly to blame. He had made the same mistake with Grievous that he had made with Ventress, by allowing her to fill herself with hate, as if hate could substitute for dispassion. Even the most hateful 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 had once confessed 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.

  The Jedi knew this about the Force: that the best of them were nothing more than instruments.

  Dooku grew troubled.

  Was Sidious thinking the same of him now? Thinking: This is where I failed poor Dooku. Pitiful creature …

  It was entirely possible, considering how wrong things had gone on Naos III. Standard days earlier, Dooku had sent Sidious a coded transmission that was as much apology as explanation, and had yet to hear from him.

  He watched Grievous disarm two of the MagnaGuards.

  In fact, Grievous was all instrument.

  And Dooku. What was Count Dooku of Serenno?

  He glanced at the hold’s holoprojector table a moment before a blue holoimage of Sidious appeared above it.

  My time is at hand, he told himself as he centered himself proudly on the transmission grid, Grievous behind him, down on one knee, with head lowered.

  “My lord,” he said, bowing slightly at the waist. “I’ve been waiting.”

  “There have been matters that warranted my close attention, Lord Tyranus.”

  “Born, no doubt, of my failure at Naos Three. The ones I sent had every opportunity to kill Kenobi, Skywalker, and the Twi’lek pilot. Instead, they decided to attempt their capture, to extract additional funds from me, as well as to bolster their reputations.”

  Sidious was dismissive. “Such is the way of bounty hunters. I should have foreseen this.”

  Dooku blinked. Was this an admission of failure on Sidious’s part? Was Sidious’s upper lip twitching, or was it nothing more than noise in the transmission?

  “The Force is strong in Skywalker,” Sidious went on.

  “Yes, my lord. Very strong. Next time I will deal with the Jedi personally.”

  “Yes, that time is drawing near, Lord Tyranus. But first we need to provide the Jedi with something that distracts them from hunting me.”

  Sidious’s upper lip was definitely twitching. Was this worry? Worry from someone fond of saying that things were going precisely as planned?

  “What has happened, my lord?”

  “The Twi’lek’s information led them to our rendezvous on Coruscant,” Sidious said in a scurrilous voice.

  Dooku was stunned. “Is there a greater danger?”

  “They think they have my scent, Lord Tyranus, and perhaps they do.”

  “Can you leave Coruscant, my lord?”

  From parsecs distant, Sidious stared at him. “Leave Coruscant?”

  “For a time, my lord. Surely we can find some way.”

  Sidious fell silent for a long moment, then said: “Perhaps, Lord Tyranus. Perhaps.”

  “If not, then I will come to you.”

  Sidious shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I told you that their search for me would benefit us before too long, and thanks to you I begin to see a way.”

  “What is thy bidding, Master?” Grievous asked from behind Dooku.

  Sidious turned slightly toward Grievous, but continued to speak to Dooku. “The Jedi have divided their forces. We must do the same. I will deal with the ones on Coruscant. I need you to deal with the rest.”

  “My fleet stands ready, Master,” Grievous said
, still without raising his gaze from the grid.

  “The Republic is monitoring you?” Sidious asked the general.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Can you divide the fleet—judiciously?”

  “It can be done, Master.”

  “Good, good. Then move however many ships are needed to crush and occupy Tythe.”

  Again Dooku was stunned. So, too, was Grievous.

  “Is that wise, Master,” the general asked carefully, “after what happened at Belderone?”

  Sidious adopted a faint grin. “More than wise, General. Inspired.”

  “But Tythe, my lord,” Dooku said with equal care. “Less a world than a corpse.”

  “It has some strategic value, does it not, General?”

  “As a jump point, Master. But a dubious prize, regardless, when far better targets exist.”

  “It may prove costly to us, my lord. The Republic will almost certainly flatten it,” Dooku said.

  “Not if the Jedi are convinced that it must be retaken rather than destroyed.”

  Confusion wrinkled Dooku’s forehead. “How will we convince them?”

  “We won’t have to, Lord Tyranus. Their own investigations will lead them to that conclusion. Moreover, Kenobi and Skywalker will oversee the counterattack.”

  “Indeed, my lord?”

  “They will not pass up an opportunity to capture Count Dooku.”

  Dooku saw Grievous’s armorplast head elevate in surprise. “What leads you to believe that the Republic will not simply flatten me at this point?”

  “The Jedi are predictable, Lord Tyranus. I needn’t tell you this. Look what they risked on Cato Neimoidia in an effort to capture Viceroy Gunray. They are obsessed with bringing their enemies to justice, instead of merely administering justice themselves.”

  “It is their way.”

  “Then you don’t mind serving as bait to lure them there?”

  Dooku inclined his head. “As ever, I am at your disposal, my lord.”

  Sidious grinned once more. “Hold Kenobi and Skywalker, Lord Tyranus. Entertain them. Play to their weakness. Demonstrate your mastery, as you have on previous occasions.”

  Grievous made a meaningful sound. “I will do the same with their warships, Master.”

  “No, General,” Sidious cut in. “I have something else in mind for you and the rest of the fleet. But tell me, can you tuck your charges somewhere safe for the time being?”

  “The planet Utapau comes to mind, Lord Sidious.”

  “I will leave that to you.”

  “And when I have seen to that, Master?”

  “General, I’m certain you recall the plans we discussed some time ago, regarding the final stage of the war.”

  “Regarding Coruscant.”

  “Regarding Coruscant, yes.” Sidious paused, then said: “We must accelerate those plans. Prepare, General, for what will be your finest hour.”

  Fa’ale is doing fine,” Anakin said as he approached Obi-Wan jauntily. “Two more days of bacta and she’ll be on her feet. She says she’s through with Naos Three, though. She might even remain here on Belderone.”

  Obi-Wan looked at him askance. “Your relationship with females is an interesting one. The more jeopardy they’re in, the more you worry about them. And the more you worry about them, the more they worry about you.”

  Anakin frowned. “You’re basing this on, what, exactly?”

  Obi-Wan looked away. “HoloNet gossip.”

  Anakin stepped deliberately into Obi-Wan’s gaze. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  Obi-Wan sighed. “We won’t be returning to Coruscant.”

  They were in a visitors’ lounge in the largest of the MedStars orbiting Belderone. For four standard days they had been awaiting instructions from the Jedi Council and visiting the medical ward to check on Fa’ale’s progress, and the strain of so much inactivity was beginning to show.

  Anakin was staring dumbfounded at Obi-Wan.

  “Hear me out before you go critical. Mace and Shaak Ti were able to locate the building in The Works. Not surprisingly, it turns out to have been the same one where Quinlan Vos met with Dooku last year. Once inside, Mace’s team discovered more than we could have even hoped for—evidence of a more recent visit by Dooku, and of the person he apparently went to Coruscant to see.”

  “Sidious?”

  “Possibly. Even if it wasn’t, it’s likely that Dooku has other confederates on Coruscant, and tracking them down could eventually lead us to Sidious. Other evidence has come to light, as well. Intelligence discovered that the building belonged to a corporation called LiMerge Power, which was believed to have been involved in the manufacture and distribution of prohibited weapons during Finis Valorum’s term as Supreme Chancellor. It was rumored at the time that LiMerge was responsible for funding acts of piracy directed against Trade Federation vessels in the Outer Rim. And it was those acts of piracy that led ultimately to the Trade Federation being granted the right to defend their vessels with battle droids.”

  “Are you telling me that LiMerge might have been in league with the Sith?”

  “Why not? At Naboo, the Trade Federation was in league with Sidious. The entire Confederacy is in league with him now.”

  Anakin shrugged impatiently. “I still don’t understand how this keeps us from returning to Coruscant.”

  “I’ve just been informed that the Separatists have attacked a Republic garrison base on Tythe, and occupied the planet.”

  “Who cares? I mean, I’m sorry for any troopers we lost, but Tythe is a wasteland.”

  “Exactly,” Obi-Wan said. “But before it became a wasteland, it was headquarters for LiMerge Power.”

  Anakin mulled it over for a moment. “Another attempt by Sidious to erase the trail we’ve been following?”

  Obi-Wan ran his hand over his mouth. “The Council was able to convince Palpatine of the need to retake Tythe, and he has authorized a full battle group to divert there. It seems he is finally willing to follow Master Yoda’s advice about concentrating on dismantling the Confederacy leadership.”

  “Grievous is on Tythe?”

  Obi-Wan grinned. “Better: Dooku is there.”

  Anakin turned his back to Obi-Wan. His face was flushed when he finally swung around. “Not good enough.”

  Obi-Wan blinked. “Not good enough?”

  “The search for Sidious began with us. We discovered the first clues. If he’s thought to be on Coruscant, then we’re the ones who should be there to capture him.”

  “Anakin, Mace and Shaak Ti are more than capable of seeing to that—if Sidious is even there.”

  Anakin was shaking his head. “Not as easily as … we could. Sidious is a Sith Lord!”

  Obi-Wan took a moment to respond. “The way I remember it, we didn’t fare all that well against Dooku.”

  “All that’s changed!” Anakin said, becoming angrier as he spoke. “I’m stronger than I was. You’re stronger. Together, we can defeat any Sith.”

  “Anakin, is this really about capturing Sidious?”

  “Of course it is. We deserve the honor.”

  “Honor? Since when did this war become a contest for first place? If you’re thinking that the capture of Sidious will earn you a place on the Council—”

  “I don’t care about the Council! I’m telling you we need to return to Coruscant. People are counting us.”

  “What people?”

  “The … people of Coruscant.”

  Obi-Wan inhaled slowly. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I don’t know, Master? Suppose you tell me?”

  Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t turn this into a game. There’s something else at work here. Have you had a vision I should know about?”

  Anakin started to reply, bit back whatever it was he had in mind to say, and began again. “The truth is … I want to be home. We’ve been out here longer than anyone—trooper or Jedi.”

  “That’s what you get for being
so good at what you do,” Obi-Wan said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “I’m tired of it, Master. I want to be home.”

  Obi-Wan studied him. “You miss the Temple so much? The food? The lights of Coruscant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, to what?”

  “All of it.”

  “Then your protests have nothing to do with capturing Sidious.”

  “No. They do.”

  “Well, which is it—home or Sidious?”

  “Why can’t it be both?”

  Obi-Wan fell silent, as if struck by a sudden suspicion. “Anakin, is it Padmé?”

  Anakin rolled his eyes. “Here you go again.”

  “Well, is it?”

  Anakin compressed his lips, then said, “I won’t lie to you and say that I don’t miss her.”

  Obi-Wan frowned sympathetically. “You can’t afford to miss her in that way.”

  “And exactly why is that, Master?”

  “Because you cannot be married to both.”

  “Who said anything about marriage? She’s a friend. I miss her as a friend!”

  “You would forgo your destiny for Padmé?”

  Anakin’s brows beetled in anger. “I never claimed to be the Chosen One. That was Qui-Gon. Even the Council doesn’t believe it anymore, so why should you?”

  “Because I think you believe it,” Obi-Wan said calmly. “I think you know in your heart that you’re meant for something extraordinary.”

  “And you, Master. What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?”

  “Infinite sadness,” Obi-Wan said, even while smiling.

  Anakin regarded him. “If you believe in destiny, then everything we do becomes part of that destiny—whether we go to Tythe or we return to Coruscant.”

  “You may be right. I don’t have the answer. I wish I did.”

  “Then where does that leave us?”

  Obi-Wan rested his hands on Anakin’s shoulders. “Speak with Palpatine. Maybe he’ll see something in this that I’ve missed.”