Part 2 (1/2)

Watchful, suspicious, a length of old pipe in one hand, she slowly looked them up and down. ”What do you want?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. Humble, b.u.mble. Don't alarm her. ”Help, ” he said, pitching his voice a little high. ”Please, Teeba? My cousin and I need your help. ”

CHAPTER TWO.

Count Dooku stirred out of uneasy sleep, ONE DARK thought reverberating in his mind, in his bones, and through his gently surging blood.

Something is wrong.

He sat up. The s.h.i.+elded window in his cruisers stateroom was uncurtained. Starlight leavened the shadows and picked out the flecks of gold thread in his sumptuous bedcover. Holding out his hand, he admired the silvery wash across his skin. Such a simple, elegant beauty.

Then he commed the bridge. ”Why are we at sublight?”

”My lord Count, an irregularity was detected in the hyper- drive conversion chamber. It is being addressed now. ”

”Address it quickly, ” he said, smiling at the subtle play of light and dark between his fingers. ”Or I will be displeased. ”

”Yes, my lord Count. ”

10.The bridge officer's fear warmed him. Complacency in one's servants was anathema. And then, disconnecting from the comm board, he frowned. So was it this trouble with the hyper- drive that had stirred him from sleep? Or was some other mischief brewing? He closed his eyes to the starlight and let his superbly honed senses unfurl.

Power hummed subliminally through the cruiser's durasteel skeleton as it sailed the astral winds of the galaxy's Mid Rim Territories.

Touched with melancholy, he sighed. This was his life now: no permanent home, no civilized planet to call his own. Coruscant denied him. Well, at least for now. Until the pustuled boil that was the Jedi Order had been lanced and drained and the Republic once and for all set free of the hypocritical tyranny that Yoda and his minions represented... and perpetuated.

Only the clarity of the Sith can save us.

But until that clarity prevailed he was perforce a vagabond, cruelly destined to wander the stars. Chained to the likes of General Grievous and Nute Gunray and the other stunted slime of the Separatist Alliance, every last one of them venal and greedy and corrupt to the core. Breathing the same air as such creatures made him ill. Only because Lord Sidious commanded it could he stomach the task. Only his dreams of the day he would see them slaughtered eased the pain of dealing with them.

”Fret not, ” his exacting Master had told him. ”They serve a purpose, and must live until that purpose is served. You may trust me implicitly, Tyra.n.u.s-when they are no longer useful I shall see them cut down. ”

Cold comfort, perhaps, but comfort nonetheless. Still, even so- Something is wrong.

Wrong, and elusive. Dooku withdrew himself from the Force and opened his eyes. The chrono on his nightstand glowed dim blue. A breath past midnight, s.h.i.+p time. He hadn't been asleep for long. Clad luxuriously in silk, he slid from the bed and crossed to the s.h.i.+elded window. Where were they, exactly? He read the starry void beyond the transparisteel with careless ease, his knowledge of the Republic intimate and instant. Ah, yes. Currently his cruiser was skirting Kothlis, where the natives scrambled like desperate ants to prepare themselves in case of another Separatist attack.

Sad though it was that Grievous had failed to take the Bothan colony and its spynet facility, still... Palpatine had yet again turned the edge of defeat into a thin blade of victory. A brilliant stroke indeed, to ensure that vital Republic resources were diverted to the planet's protection. Played out properly the tactic would sec the faltering Republic's Grand Army sorely weakened in the ongoing Outer Rim Sieges. And with Mace Windu captive to both Kothlis and Bothawui panic, even the Jedi Council had been weakened.

Yoda was weakened, for he relied upon Windu's advice and staunch presence. And a weakened Yoda was a very good thing.

So why then am I certain that something is wrong?

Letting his eyes drift closed again, he sought afresh within the Force for a clue to his disquiet. Within the true Force, the Force of power and majesty. The Jedi called it the dark side, like frightened children cowering under their beds, but of course it was no such thing.

They are merely blinded by the power. Too weak to wield it, or even comprehend.

And so to this brewing mischief. Was it connected to his current mission? His star cruiser Vanquisher was on its way to Umgul, in the Darglum system. With the costs of war escalating daily, Palpatine had just announced a new raft of tax increases to help defray ruinous military expenses. Umgul, with its high tourist turnover, was ripe for plucking-and the pleasure planet's government was not amused. Was so unamused, in fact, that it had reached out to Count Dooku, the political firebrand, the champion of systems' rights, the lambaster of Republic greed, and requested an urgent meeting.

Darth Tyra.n.u.s had been only too happy to oblige.

But did his disquiet mean the Umgul Cabinet was now wavering in its intent to abandon the Republic and side with the Separatist Alliance? He sincerely hoped not. For the loss of hedonistic Umgul, with its famous racetracks and casinos and pleasure palaces and luxury resorts and decadent spas, would deeply distress the Republic's idle wealthy... and many other citizens who sc.r.a.ped and saved and bartered their way to a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with unbridled luxury. And their distress would echo in the Senate chamber, rousing more protests, more disarray, more discord. HoloNet News and Entertainment would faithfully report the unrest, and its ripples would spread... and spread... and spread.

If Umgul is indeed wavering...

He waited for the Force to show him if that was the case, uneasily aware that he must tread lightly and not accept what he was shown on blind faith alone. With so much turmoil in the galaxy, even this far out in the Mid Rim, the Force's eddies were not always reliable.

11.Not even his vast skill and experience could guarantee a clear answer. It was the price he and Sidious paid for stirring the galaxy to war.

But no, the source of his disquiet wasn't Umgul. Could it be Grievous? His loathsome general was slaughtering clones above Eriadu.

The recent reports stated it was going quite nicely. No, the trouble wasn't Grievous. Where else could there be mischief, then? What other little projects did he have on the boil?

Lanteeb.

Of course. Lanteeb... and General Lok Durd. The Neimoidian scientist set his teeth on edge and his skin to crawling. All Neimoidians did, of course, but Durd was the worst. More repellent even than Gunray, and that was quite a feat. At their last meeting, some three days ago, Durd had sworn to him on bended knees that the bioweapon was nearly ready. One last small irregularity to be ironed out.

”A week, a week at must, my lord Count, and I promise you will have it. One week. ” He'd sensed no deception in Durd's desperate promise. Could he have been mistaken? Could he have been deceived?

The thought sent a s.h.i.+ver through him. His Master wanted that weapon completed. Further delay would displease him. And no man in his right mind displeased the Sith Lord Darth Sidious.

Durd, if you have lied to me I shall with my own hands peel you in thin strips and force you to feast on your own slimy hide.

So he bent his thoughts toward Lanteeb, toward Lok Durd and the Corellian scientist, Dr. Fhernan, the Neimoidian's unwilling accomplice. Pushed hard through the roiling Force so he might discover the truth.

And there-there-yes-lay the source of his unease. Lanteeb and Lok Durd. The fear was faint but unmistakable. A different note, a different taste, than the ambient fear of the nothing little planet's irrelevant populace.

Something is wrong.

Lok Durd's bioweapon was the lynchpin in an important tactical dance. If the Neimoidian had somehow bungled his crucial task...

In addition to Vanquisher's standard comm equipment, he of course had his own private holo unit for discreet conversations. Tight with ruthlessly restrained anger, Dooku fetched the unit out of hiding, placed it on his stateroom's table, and commed the Neimoidian.

Durd took too long to answer.

”My lord Count!” the sc.u.m cried, at last. ”An honor. Such an honor. How can I he of service today?”

The Neimoidian wasn't easy to read. Not only because of the vast distance separating them, or because reading anyone via hologram was a distinct challenge in itself, but because his duplicitous species as a whole was a slippery challenge-even for a Sith.

”What progress have you made with the Project, General? By my reckoning you should be four days closer to success. Are you?”

Durd's nict.i.tating membranes flicked across his ugly eyes. ”Closer, my lord Count? Yes, we are certainly closer. Yes, indeed, my lord.

Success is within our grasp. ”

Dooku smiled, being sure to display all his teeth. ”And how many fingers would you say you have laid firmly upon it. General?”