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Loyalist propagandists often painted the Outer Rim as a lawless, untamed expanse, far removed from the stability and order of the Republic. In their crafted narrative, it was a region where the light of Coruscant barely reached, a frontier on the edge of civilization. The populations of the Outer Rim were depicted as backward, unsophisticated–alien species and outliers who, with their limited grasp of the Republic\'s enlightened values, had been all too easily swayed by the treasonous promises of Count Dooku. To the Core Worlds, they were seen as gullible and primitive, ripe for manipulation by the self-proclaimed leader of the Separatist Alliance.

Even Count Dooku had to acknowledge that the Loyalist propagandists had been remarkably effective. Humanocentrism was reaching unprecedented heights in the Core, with many convinced they embarked on a righteous crusade to deliver civilization to the rebellious spirals of the galaxy. This fervour had only been amplified by a series of prolific Separatist atrocities; the Attack on Coruscant, the so-called Emancipation of Eriadu, and, most notably, Operation Starlance. Such… barbarism could have only been cast from the hands of aliens–if they even had hands–as it was painted. It was all too impressive.

But not exactly true.

For the stronghold of the Separatist Alliance was found in the Tion Hegemony, the gleaming beacon of human civilization in the Outer Rim, rivalled only by the Core Worlds themselves. Human kingdoms and empires ruled here for centuries long before the idea of a unified Republic even took root in the Core, and the Tionese themselves consider this space the very birthplace of human civilization as the galaxy knows it. It was this deep-seated pride that made the Tionese particularly receptive to Separatism. The prospect of reclaiming their ancient glory as the galaxy\'s centre of power was simply too irresistible to turn away from.

Raxus Secundus, the beating heart of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, stood as a defiant contrast to the grey monoliths of Coruscant, with its New Architecture spires and domes. Its cities, sprawling across verdant hills and vast prairies, were a mixture of ancient gothic elegance and brutalist simplicity. The capital, Raxulon, was a jewel in this tapestry, a circular city rising towards the centre like a ziggurat, towards the mighty palace in which the Confederate Parliament took its seat.

Count Dooku loved the place, despite the reasons for which he now paid the world a visit. It reminded him of his homeworld Serenno, and for the man who spent years campaigning and preaching the merits of Separatism on this very world, it felt like a second home.

As his interstellar sloop rested on its landing gear in the House of Parliament’s vast private docking space, Dooku ordered the Punworcca 116’s FA-4 pilot droid to remain in the ball cockpit as he departed the craft to walk some of the stiffness of the long voyage out of his legs. His black trousers were neatly tucked into polished dress boots, and a broad belt of fine leather cinched his similarly black tunic at the waist. Draped over his shoulders, his cape–lined with Serenno armorweave–shimmered with a subtle elegance. He made no attempt to hide his identity on these visits to Raxus, for he had no reason to. The silver hair, carefully styled moustache, beard, and flared eyebrows gave him the unmistakable air of a dignified noble, all meticulously groomed as always.

The staffers that populated the halls of the Parliamentary Palace gave him a wide berth, splitting before him as a river would before a stone, undoubtedly recognising his distinguished features from just a glance. Normally measured, Dooku’s pace was rushed and somewhat haphazard— evidence to anyone who knew him that the Count was troubled. If asked, he might have admitted as much. It would not be a surprise to anybody.

After all, his loyalty to the Confederacy had been called into question–by none other than the Supreme Martial Commander of the reorganised Confederate Armed Forces herself, casting a shadow of disbelief and suspicion over his every move in equal measure.

Count Dooku glanced at his chrono. By now, Sev\'rance Tann was likely entrenched in the proceedings of a Senate hearing. The agenda of the day: the military tribunal of General Horn Ambigene and the fallout from the disastrous Operation Starlance, culminating in the crushing defeat at Rendili. If the Pantoran commander survived the political gauntlet that awaited her, the next item on the docket would be even more perilous—the impeachment of the Head of State, charged with corruption, and whispers of treason hanging in the air over Raxulon like a blade poised to fall.

But there was still time until then yet.

Count Dooku sequestered himself away in the Executive Suite, surveying the pristine condition the staffers had maintained in the room in his prolonged absence with a certain fondness. He ensured all of his effects were in place and expanded his senses to cover every nook and cranny for active devices. After all, this office was to be his base of operations for the coming week, and must be in perfect condition to service him as he navigated the treacherous tides of Tionese politics. Only once he confirmed there was none, did he allow himself to activate his holoemitter-integrated desk.

Dooku dropped to one knee, a blue cone of light emanating from the device as the hooded hologram of Darth Sidious resolved.

“Rise, Lord Tyranus.”

“Lord Sidious,” the Sith Lord rose as beckoned, “I spared no haste in leaving Serenno.”

“And took a great risk you did, my apprentice.”

Whether by nature or design, Sidious’s words came slowly, sibilantly.

“A calculated risk, my lord.”

“Do you believe you can sway the result of the accusations levied against you?”

“There is nothing more to be done in the north, my lord,” Darth Tyranus bowed slightly, “I have contacted my agents and readied those loyal to my government. My presence is required on Raxus to… maintain my legitimacy.”

Count Dooku had shored up his main support base in the northern galaxy–and even beyond that, in systems and worlds not even Sev’rance Tann could predict. His colloquially known ‘Serenno Government’ had secured–by persuasion or force–the allegiances of the Trade Federation, InterGalactic Banking Clan, Commerce Guild, and Retail Caucus. Likewise, the Techno Union, Corporate Alliance, Hyper-Communications League, and Quarren Isolation League had fallen in with the Raxus Government.

At his word, entire star sectors across Separatist space would erupt into arms–most of them corporate worlds–declaring against some fabricated injustice, marshalling their droid armies against the Raxus Government. While there could never be enough preparations, Dooku still had to make his case against his rogue acolyte’s claims on Raxus Secundus in order to maintain some level of authenticity.

“Then my instructions were carried out?”

“They were,” he confirmed, “The preparations are complete, and General Grievous stands poised to strike a most devastating blow to either the Republic or the Confederacy–at your word.”

“And your failure of an apprentice?” Sidious asked with a purposeful slowness, “That… Asajj Ventress?”

Dooku stilled. Lord Sidious had ordered him to kill his most prized assassin in order to reaffirm his loyalty to his Master. It was regretful, but after Shonn Volta’s failure to kill Sev’rance Tann on Bothawui–a failure she was grievously punished for–Dooku had no choice to appease the Sith Lord’s mounting ire. Dooku flirted with the prospect of disobedience, and betraying Sidious, but decided against it–or at least, not yet. He still needed more time. With the Confederacy out of his hands, he no longer had the armies he needed to war against Sidious. Dooku would rather let Sidious create his New Order for him, before slaying him as Sidious slayed Plagueis before him.

To that end, he ordered Ventress into a death trap in the Llon Nebula. The Storm Fleet reported the death of Ventress, but not long before Dooku lost contact with the entire Storm Fleet soon after. It was only later he learned that the Open Circle Fleet had followed Ventress into the Llon Nebula, and engaged in a violent brawl with the Storm Fleet within.

“Regretfully, my lord,” he started, “The Storm Fleet may have failed to act quickly enough, and was destroyed by Anakin Skywalker before it could confirm her death.”

Dooku had been able to count on one hand the number of times he had seen Sidious angry. Suddenly he needed two hands.

“The Storm Fleet survives,” the air grew thick with the Sith Lord’s displeasure, “Anakin Skywalker confirmed it. Have you contact with your own fleet?”

“...No, my lord.”

“Then Ventress has stolen it from under your nose,” Sidious hissed, “You have betrayed her, and now she seeks vengeance. Where is the Storm Fleet?”

The Storm Fleet could be anywhere. And none would be any wiser. It was by design. Who would raise an eyebrow to a convoy of heavily armed merchantmen in this day and age? Dooku, feeling the weight and wroth of the dark side incarnate crash down on him like an avalanche, extended his senses through the Force, searching for connection he had with his erstwhile apprentice.

“Secure Geonosis, Lord Tyranus,” Sidious’ voice boomed terribly.

“You believe Ventress is headed for Geonosis, Master?”

“You must control the Separatist Droid Army,” his Master snarled, “With the CAF in Tann’s hands, the droid armies are your only resource to make war with her. Geonosis must not fall into enemy hands.”

Dooku paused, “Is civil war a foregone conclusion, my lord? I can still–”

“It is,” Sidious eyed Dooku from beneath the hood of his cloak, “With you on Serenno and Tann seeking to make peace with the Republic, it will be a simple matter to convince Yoda to send all available fighting Jedi with their clone armies to Serenno… and deal with all of them in one fell swoop.”

Order 66. The secret order implanted into the inhibitor chip bioengineered into every cloned soldier in the Grand Army of the Republic. The secret order to exterminate the Jedi. I see. Is that the plan? It is a drastic change from the original strategy… but the war evolves, and we must evolve with it. But to exterminate the Jedi at Serenno…

For a moment, Dooku imagined himself as a part of ‘all of them’ Sidious had mentioned. Then he wondered if it was even imagined. He marshalled himself, and looked up into Sidious’ baleful yellow eyes.

“The Jedi mean to expose you, my lord,” Dooku realised. That’s why you now act so drastically.

“And what if they should?” Sidious snapped, “Do you think that would bring an end to what I have set in motion?”

“No, my lord. But this is unexpected.”

“Yes. Yes, it is, as you say, unexpected,” Sidious returned his gaze to somewhere far-off Dooku could not see, “But I will lull the Jedi conspirators into a false sense of security. I will let them believe they have me at my rope’s end. Once they have lured themselves into their own cage, I will be rid of them at last.”

I, not we?

“I understand, Lord Sidious,” Dooku bowed, “But there is still the matter of Sev’rance Tann.”

“It is now our ultimate purpose to ensure our New Order has no rival. See to it that Sev’rance Tann ceases to be an irritant,” Sidious sneered the name.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“She represents such a forceful threat to our plans?”

“General Grievous is still untested,” the Sith Lord made his doubts apparent, “Have him deal with the Loyalist nuisances in the Northern Territories and fortify the Hydian Way from all directions. It would not do for the Serenno Government to fall so quickly.”

Dooku nodded, “It is done.”

The shift in the room was immediate, sharp as the crack of a whip. The very air seemed to thicken, pressing in on Count Dooku\'s chest like an invisible vice. His throat tightened, every breath a struggle, as if the oxygen itself had been drained from the room. It took all his willpower to remain composed, resisting the instinct to swallow or gasp for air, for it was impossible anyway under the Sith Lord’s glare. Sidious did not need to speak; his very presence filled the space with a palpable menace that sent a chill crawling down Dooku\'s spine. Even after years of mastering the dark side, Dooku required nothing more than a stare to remind himself of the precariousness of his own position.

“Do not take this matter lightly, Lord Tyranus,” the Dark Lord of the Sith murmured, “Time and time again, you have failed to prove your worth to me… if you fail to do so again, take it on faith that it will be the last time.”

“And…” Sidious lifted his grip as he continued, “Prepare Geonosis for any unwelcome guests… it always pays to be ready for the unexpected.”

“What… what would you have me do?” Dooku swallowed a choke.

“Nothing more than make arrangements–for you are needed on Raxus. Inform the Geonosians and let them handle the rest.”

“Under… understood, Lord Sidious,” Count Dooku exhaled with purpose, “My lord, may I know who is conducting the search for you?”

Sidious regarded him distantly, “Adi Gallia.”

Adi Gallia. An unmemorable character on the Jedi High Council, if Dooku recalled rightly. It was surprising that her of all Jedi would prove such a threat to Sidious.

“Will she be a problem, Master?”

“Do not trouble yourself with her,” Sidious turned to Dooku, grinning malevolently, “Her single-mindedness will deliver them into my hands, Lord Tyranus. At this moment, she prepares herself to walk into my trap.”

⁂

Coruscant, Coruscant System

Corusca Sector

Barriss Offee returned to that hidden courtyard in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, immersed in the life energy of the Force, brimming and trembling in the air. It didn’t seem all too long ago that she took her first true steps against the Republic, infiltrating a GAR satellite, then engaging in unauthorised talks with the Separatists. Plotting for the downfall of the current government.

The Sith government, she reminded herself.

Iskat had been right, the gardens scattered throughout the Jedi Temple were perfect recluses to sojourn and gather their thoughts, a vibrant scatter of green and plenty in a cold, desolate cityscape. Many of them were hidden places, known to only the perishingly few Jedi who considered them safe spaces, or maintenance staff who tended the grounds. Barriss found it pleasing to stalk through them like a wraith, leaving no trace of her presence save for some freshly weeded flower beds.

At the very least, it would make the rounds of those greenskeepers just a tiny bit more painless.

But of all places Barriss found eager to sojourn herself in her spare time, she wouldn’t consider Iskat’s hidden courtyard in the Room of Thousand Fountains among her top choices. But she was there, not because she was seeking peace of mind–though she desperately needed it–but because she had a job to do. Weeding the flower beds.

She looked around. Willow trees still rustled in the artificial breeze, and distant brooks still gurgled cheerfully with the birds. Little had changed since her last visit, and yet… somehow everything had. It felt like only a week ago all she could hear was fears of the Perlemian Coalition and their rampage through the Core Worlds–and now? The Battle Hydra is dead. Gone to the abyss with all of his dreadful warships.

Barriss could scarcely believe it.

Barriss wasn’t quite sure if she did even now. Even as he fell, their warfleets still him–she’d more likely believe he’s conquering the hell he ended up in with them. She wouldn’t put it past him.

An odd glint of red pulled her eye–an exposed wire, strung from an open panel in the wall. She swept the premises again, and came across a familiar tuft of pale fur. The Selonian techie, Heezo, sleeping under a willow tree with his cap pulled down over his eyes and a mouse droid in his lap.

“Sleeping on the job?” the moment she called out, he startled awake guiltily and then grinned at her, showing his pointy little teeth.

“It’s a tireless, thankless job,” his hands moved instinctively, one reaching for his tool kit and the other flipping the mouse droid around, “If nobody notices me gone, it means I’m doing my job right.”

“I can imagine that,” Barriss made a round of the courtyard, fingers brushing right above the ivy wall-growths, “Iskat was here?”

Heezo bobbed his head, “She was called away for some planetside mission.”

“Oh?”

“Compound raid, from the looks,” he clarified, with a sense of pride, like a father speaking of his child–or a master praising their apprentice, “She’s leading a strike team of clone shock troopers against a Separatist terrorist hideout in the Manarai Uplift.”

Did she tell you that, Barriss wondered, or did you overhear?

“A mission from Master Gallia, I presume.”

The Selonian shrugged, “Maybe.”

Only Master Gallia would know to give Iskat Akaris such bloody work. And the girl’s built for it. Barriss visibly stilled, mulling over the information. Master Gallia must have had a reason for it–to keep her away from the Jedi Temple? Iskat was a liability, and Barriss was still unsure of why Master Gallia allowed her to join the mission to Empress Teta. Maybe sending her planetside was a way to keep Iskat occupied with other matters? Or was there perhaps something the Master needed in the Manarai Uplift?

“Did she say anything else?” Barriss asked bluntly.

Heezo’s fur rippled, “Nothing.”

A lie. She could feel it in the air. A confidant did wonders for the mind and soul–especially if it was a confidant held in trust–but it was also a weakness. There was a reason why Masters were so insistent Knights and Padawans confided in them and only them. Loose lips sink ships, it was told.

Barriss told him as such, “You could do better.”

Heezo gave the soft growl that she recognised as a tired sigh, “Some personal worries. Nothing important.”

“I’m her friend,” Barriss found it easy to sound indignant, “And any friend of hers is a friend of mine. Tell me; it’s something to do with the latest mission, isn’t it?”

A light dawned in his catlike eyes, “She did mention you were with her.”

“Let me guess,” Barriss leaned down and jabbed her fingers into the soil, tearing out a weed, “The Jedi Masters made an agreement with a contact–before betraying them immediately afterwards.”

As soon as she uttered those words, it was as if the artificial climate sensors malfunctioned, the light breeze stealing away and leaving behind a stagnant, suffocating humidity.

“...She had a lot more to say than just that,” Heezo murmured, confirming her suspicions.

Barriss’ expression flattened, away from his view. That girl… Master Gallia put her in my care; I will have to speak to Iskat. As soon as the thought passed, however, the Mirialan plastered an indignant look on her face and swung around, crushing the weeds in a fist.

“Don’t get me started on that,” she growled, letting the crushed weeds fall to the ground, “The Masters preach faith and trust, compassion and sympathy, and yet it seems those rules they enforce don’t apply to themselves. Did Iskat tell you the specifics?”

“Nothing like that,” Heezo said quickly, “Not even the names of the Masters.”

The truth. Barriss wrapped the Force around her fingers, wielding it like invisible threads branching through the space. It seems I underestimated Iskat. A part of her felt bad for thinking the worst of her friend–because Iskat was her friend. Barriss had no ulterior motives about that. It was just that… sometimes, friendship could be a weakness too.

“There were two,” Barriss said easily, and Heezo’s eyes widened when he realised what she was about to do. He did not interrupt her, “One was Master Adi Gallia, the other was Master Plo Koon.”

“Master Plo?” Heezo couldn’t quite conceal the surprise in his voice.

She found a bench opposite him and sat down, huffing, “It was a Loyalist informant in the Perlemian Coalition’s Armada.”

“...So that was how Master Plo was able to track the Hydra to Rendili so quickly,” Heezo whispered, “But that means–”

“We were at Empress Teta,” she confirmed, “And the informant was in the Coalition Armada when Master Plo arrived–and fired upon it without a second thought.”

Heezo paused, then gently set down the mouse droid, “I hate to say this, but that’s not the worst thing I’ve heard. It’s war, and war is messy. These things happen… and I’m sure the informant knew what he was getting into.”

Barriss stared at him, forcing the Selonian to meet her gaze, “Do you believe that? The Masters certainly gave the informant their reassurement.”

“Well–” the Selonian started, “I mean… I’ve been in this Temple for forty years, longer than most Councilmembers have been on their seats. I’ve heard and seen a lot of things. Entire populations die because the Council choses to ‘wait and see,’ because Knights are sent to the planets with the loudest senators instead of the loudest screams. The Jedi Order has always been willing to sacrifice.”

“But they pretend that they’re not,” Barriss retorted, “Until they do, and then that’s alright because ‘it’s for the greater good.’ It’s all so hypocritical, don’t you think? I think so, and I’m sure Iskat does too.”

She looked around. Even though they were alone in the courtyard, protected by high walls and the constant drone of nature all around them, she was still careful about speaking so freely. The Room of a Thousand Fountains were large, and it was easy to get lost in its vastness, but the gardens were still free to all.

Heezo chuckled, “You’re preaching to the choir. You’re no stranger to it either, I’m sure. This war has taken its toll on the galaxy, the Jedi most of all, ever since the start. What about Jabiim, where Obi-Wan Kenobi abandoned our allies the moment that battle was lost. Or Bassadro, where the Empatojayos Brand purposely fired upon a civilian mining settlement to root out an enemy entrenchment. Or Yag’Dhul, where Anakin Skywalker lost the battle by chasing after a personal glory trying to capture Asajj Ventress? Compared to all that–a single informant really isn’t all that big of a deal.”

Barriss stood up measuredly, homing in towards the open wall panel and analysing the neatly arranged wiring inside. There was a control box too, acting as a nexus point for all the cables, gleaming with buttons and inputs. The Force called her to it, but it was useless–she was no techie, and she couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“I wouldn’t touch any of that,” the technician warned, “Wouldn’t want anything to go bad… not that it would be on your head.”

It would be on mine, was left unsaid.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she lied, shaking her head, “Likewise… I hope you keep this conversation under wraps. You don’t report to Mace Windu, do you?”

She glanced back at him, and Heezo met her eyes, nose wrinkling, “That’d be weird, why would I? I report to Jopar Tandil in Tech Management.”

That wasn’t a lie, at least–but not the full truth either. She could sense that in the Force very clearly.

“That’s good to hear,” she traced the outline of the panel with a tattooed finger, “You better finish this up and put all of it back in. Wouldn’t want anyone to see it.”

She heard a grunt as the Selonian stood up, rising to his full two metre height–towering far above her. As he came up behind her, Heezo bent down to pick up the fallen wall panel and fix it back into place.

“So how does all of this work?” she asked suddenly.

The Selonian shot her a side-eye as he carefully aligned the edges, “Most Jedi aren’t interested about this sort of thing.”

“Am I like most Jedi?”

Heezo released a low purr, fur rustling, which she took as amusement, “It’s a whole system, not just in the Room of a Thousand Fountains but the whole Temple. There’s a bunch of parameters imputed in; temperature, humidity, pressure, the like. Hidden sensors work together to read all the variables, and this little box here mashes them together to give staff like me something to work with. It’s just that here in the garden… trying to keep all of these plants and animals alive requires somewhat regular on-site intervention.”

“Huh…” Barriss mused, “Who did you report to again?”

“What?” Heezo pushed the last corner into place, the whole tile fitting into the wall with a satisfying click, “I told you, it’s–”

“Nevermind, I’ll figure it out myself,” Barriss’ hand shot up to his neck.

Heezo attempted to defend himself–perhaps it was some of that former Jedi training kicking in–but he was decades out of practice and Barriss was a young Jedi Knight. The old Selonian had barely lifted his arm when she sent a pulse of the Force into his baroreceptors, dilating his blood vessels and cutting off supply to the brain. In less than a second, the staff technician was limp in her arms.

Gently setting the man on the floor, Barriss looked over to the benches, where she spotted the mouse droid–still deactivated–dormant on the ground. After a moment of thought, she reached out with the Force and crumpled it like a metal can, before pulling it towards her. With the courtyard cleaned up, she fished out her comlink and sent–

‘Found the mole.’

Barriss left the garden, leaving no trace save for some freshly weeded flower beds.