The morning after a productive night was disgustingly beautiful. One of those sunrises artists paint on the covers of luxury travel guides: the sky shimmering from soft peach to deep azure, the air so clean you almost want to bottle it and sell it on Coruscant (they clearly need it there), and birds chirping so melodically that your hand instinctively reaches either for a blaster—or, failing that, a pillow—to throw at the persistent feathered pests ruining your well-earned post-sleeplessness sleep.
No luck, unfortunately. That's why, ten minutes of unsuccessful attempts to drown the noise with the remaining pillow later, I was standing on the terrace of my apartment anyway, leaning on the white marble railing, grimacing as I chewed on some local berry that tasted like Earth melon crossed with mint.
The view from the Bonteri estate garden, streamed to my datapad via a hidden camera in one of the surviving MagnaGuards, was far less peaceful. There, among trampled rare flowers and shattered decorative fountains, technical droids were moving about. They were efficiently loading into containers what was left of the "cleanup team" — charred BX commando limbs, fragments of black armor, and melted servos.
"Damn it all," I muttered, watching a manipulator pick up a severed droid head bearing the Baktoid factory stamp. "Who told them to start improvising?"
Honestly, last night had come very close to turning into a complete disaster. The damn corporate xenocrats from the Corporate Council turned out to have a temperament. Typical psychology of fearless profiteers: if someone interferes with profit or talks too loudly about reforms, they need to be "disposed of" quickly. And it didn't matter that I was currently working on this planet as Count Dooku's personal agent, with my own delicate infiltration plan. These idiots decided to act fast, clumsily, and—most offensively—completely tastelessly.
But as they say, if life gives you a lemon—squeeze it into your enemy's eye. The fact that the cleanup had been carried out by the Techno Union rather than my own mercenaries gave me excellent leverage over Dooku. Now I could present myself not just as an operative, but as the only "adult in the room full of idiots with grenades."
At that moment, the Darkness inside me stirred again. I had been feeling it more and more often… Oh yes, I was truly angry. Not because of the attempt on Bonteri's life—frankly, I didn't care about her survival until she served her role—but because a bunch of bloated corporate fools had almost burned down my chessboard along with all the pieces. Everything had been calculated. And even though I ultimately turned it to my advantage, it was a lesson worth remembering: no matter how perfectly you plan, there is always some idiot ready to interfere at the worst possible moment.
I decided not to suppress that anger. Genuine emotion is the best seasoning for lies. If Dooku sensed fury, he would interpret it as loyalty to the cause, not frustration over a disrupted personal scheme.
"Khem, I'm going to the office. Set up the jammers and make sure I'm not disturbed—even if the entire Separatist Council shows up," I said over my shoulder.
"As you wish, Master," came the voice from somewhere in the next room. "Your anger smells especially delicious today. Don't forget to share it with that old man on the hologram."
I entered the office, locked the door, and activated the secure communication terminal. A blue light filled the room, forming a full-scale hologram of Dooku. He stood with his hands behind his back, his face carrying that refined aristocratic calm—something like "the calm before the storm." Or perhaps better described as "cold fury."
"Lord Brute," his voice sounded exactly like he looked—no open threat, but something quietly dangerous beneath the surface. "I've heard reports of… disturbances in the government district. I expected your report hours ago."
Attack is the best defense. That rule applies to fencing and diplomacy alike. I didn't bow. Instead, I stepped forward into the projector light, letting Dooku see the part of my face not hidden by the respirator mask, distorted—quite naturally—by anger.
"My lord," I began, my voice vibrating with suppressed rage that even the built-in vocoder couldn't fully conceal. "I must report a blatant, borderline treasonous display of incompetence from our so-called 'valued partners' in the Techno Union. Their amateurish interference nearly destroyed my entire operation in a single moment!"
Dooku raised a slight eyebrow. That gesture likely meant the highest level of interest.
"Explain."
"A BX commando unit, clearly belonging to Techno Union structures, attacked the Bonteri estate during my informal meeting with opposition leaders, which you are already aware of," I stated sharply. "This wasn't just an assassination attempt—it was so clumsy that even a blind Gungan could identify its origin. If I hadn't intervened personally, Raxus would have been engulfed in a popular uprising organized by remaining faction members."
I paused briefly, letting Dooku process it.
"These idiots think they can play politics behind my back. They don't understand that Bonteri is currently our only channel of influence over moderate worlds. Her death at the hands of 'Separatist droids' right here in the capital of the Confederacy… would have been a propaganda gift for the Republic that even Palpatine would envy."
"And the result of your intervention?" Dooku asked slowly. I could see understanding flicker in his eyes. I knew he also despised when corporations interfered with his strategic designs using crude methods.
"I personally destroyed six elite droids and lost two of your MagnaGuards to prevent the situation from turning into a bloodbath. I saved Bonteri and her closest supporters. But the situation has changed. They are now frightened and no longer trust the Confederacy's official security apparatus provided by those 'buffoons' from the Corporate Council."
I stepped closer to the hologram, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial whisper filled with poisonous irony:
"You know what's most amusing, my lord? Thanks to the Techno Union's stupidity, Bonteri now sees me as her only protector. She believes I am a 'honest soldier' who risked his life for justice, exactly as I intended. She is willing to cooperate. But that thread of trust is extremely fragile. And if another 'director' decides to send more metal brutes without my authorization, I will have to abandon diplomacy and carry out significant purges within our own allies before even identifying the rest of the conspiracy participants—which would obviously not benefit the Confederacy."
Dooku remained silent for a long time.
Through the Force, I could feel him calculating.
Then—
"You claim you have turned this… incident to our advantage?"
This was it.
"The reason I am here, my lord," I said, standing directly before the hologram, forcing absolute conviction into my voice. "Conventional surveillance is ineffective. After yesterday, Bonteri and her circle have become extremely suspicious. They will sweep every room for bugs, encrypt communications, and hide in fear. If your agents continue breathing down their necks, they will shut down completely. And then we will never learn who else shares their ideas or what their real plans are."
I sighed heavily, pretending concern.
"To break her resistance, to expose the entire network down to the last courier, I must become part of it. I must arrive without escort, speak without witnesses, attend their 'secret' meetings as a trusted figure. But this is impossible while your intelligence services track every step I take, producing reports that could end up on the desks of those same corporations. I need freedom of action. Complete freedom."
Dooku was silent again. I could feel him weighing the risks. On one hand, an uncontrolled agent in the heart of opposition territory was like letting a nexu guard the meat locker. On the other hand, Dooku despised Wat Tambor and Nute Gunray. The idea of outmaneuvering them using a hidden instrument even his own intelligence couldn't see clearly would likely appeal to his aristocratic pride.
"You are asking too much, Brute," he finally said—but his tone had changed. No threat. Only cold calculation.
"Risk is losing Raxus because some Techno Union clerk decides to send another assassin," I countered. "Grant me authority, my lord. Let me decide what is part of the operation and what is not. Make me invisible to your internal reports."
Dooku straightened slowly. His holographic figure looked like stone carved into authority.
"Very well…"
And he gave me the mandate.
I barely suppressed a victorious reaction.
It worked.
But then the thought came—cold and immediate:
Was he really giving this to me… or setting the stage for something else?
I barely managed not to raise my fist in a victorious gesture.
It worked.
Damn it, I had just received official permission to betray my master under his own protection. And somehow, that was even better than I had planned.
On the other hand… Dooku was a crafty old fox. He was clearly planning something too, and if he was handing me this kind of opportunity… was he deliberately pushing me into action?
"Thank you, my lord. I won't disappoint you," I said, bowing my head in a deep, respectful gesture.
"I have no doubt," Dooku's voice turned even colder, cutting like frost. "But remember, Brute. I am not granting you this carte blanche so you can drink wine with senators. If, within a month, I do not have complete dossiers on every member of the 'Dawn Faction' on my desk—and guarantees of their loyalty, or their complete elimination—your head will decorate the gates of the Bonteri estate. And the one carrying out the sentence will be an agent far more competent than the droids of the Techno Union."
The hologram flickered and vanished.
Silence settled in the office, thick and ringing.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the empty space where Dooku had been, feeling a cold bead of sweat slowly crawl down my back. The old man really knew how to intimidate someone. There was no theatrics in his words—if I failed, he would truly have me eliminated without hesitation.
But damn it… it was worth it.
I walked over to the bar, pulled out a bottle of something local and strong, and poured myself a glass. To my surprise, my hands barely shook. The adrenaline from the conversation was fading, leaving behind a heavy, almost pleasant emptiness in my mind.
"Well then, Khem, you can come out," I said without turning around. "The show's over. The audience is satisfied."
From the dark corner, where the shadows seemed thicker than they should have been, a massive figure slowly materialized. The Dashade moved silently despite his size, which always unsettled me a little. There was something predatory in the way he walked—something that made you instinctively tense up, expecting a strike at any moment.
"Your lies are becoming more complex, Master," the Dashade said, his yellow eyes glowing faintly. "You are building a house of deception on a foundation of betrayal. Be careful it does not collapse on you when the roof begins to shift."
"Oh look who's learned to make jokes," I smirked, glancing toward the rising sun over Raxus. "Don't worry, Khem. I'll be the one who lures my enemies inside—and brings the whole structure down on their heads."
I just make sure I'm standing outside when it happens.
I walked to the panoramic window and looked down at my hands. Ordinary human hands. The same ones that, only hours ago, had held a lightsaber deflecting assassin fire. And now, those same hands held a glass of wine in the heart of the Confederacy, carrying authority most Republic spies would kill for.
I had become a true ghost.
For Dooku, I was a loyal agent infiltrating the opposition. For Bonteri, I was a noble protector risking everything for truth. And for official intelligence services, I was a phantom whose actions couldn't be tracked and whose reports couldn't be trusted.
That, in essence, was my most powerful weapon.
The official right to lie.
I could meet anyone, transmit anything, form any alliance—and all of it under the protection of the Confederacy's own leader.
But one thought still lingered in the back of my mind.
Dooku couldn't possibly trust someone like me this much.
Something wasn't right.
After all, as they say… healthy paranoia keeps you alive.
"You know, Khem," I muttered into my glass, watching his reflection in the window, "I always thought only the strong or the clever survived in this galaxy. But now I realize there's a third way. You just have to become the one who writes the rules while everyone else still thinks they're playing the game."
"You are starting to sound like a true Lord, Master," Khem Val said quietly, stepping closer. His heavy hand rested on my shoulder—and for once, the word "Master" didn't sound like mockery.
"Yeah… thanks," I said softly, almost amused. "But first, we prepare a report for our dear senator. She's waiting for news from her 'protector.' We need to make her believe we are her only hope."
I finished the wine and set the glass on the windowsill.
A long, difficult day lay ahead—but for the first time since I had awakened in this world, I felt that things were truly in my hands.
I was no longer a fugitive Sith, no longer a random survivor, and no longer just a disposable hound sent into the thick of battle.
"Let's go, Khem," I ordered, heading for the exit. "We're going to visit the Bonteri estate. And this time, we go as full-fledged allies—or at least, we make them think we are."
The Dashade let out a short, rough chuckle, like the cracking of bones, and that sound followed me all the way to the door.
The game had leveled up.
And the stakes were higher than ever.
But in the end… that was exactly what this was all for, wasn't it?
Before leaving, I paused by the safe. I couldn't show up empty-handed.
Fear was a good motivator—but gratitude was a far more durable adhesive for political alliances.
After rummaging through its contents, I finally pulled out a small data crystal, "borrowed" from the memory core of one of the destroyed BX commandos. It contained enough information to implicate the Techno Union in the attack, along with a recording of the idiot who had ordered it—bragging about his "brilliant plan" right in front of the droids. Including, incidentally, a few mentions of me.
"We'll feed them this bone," I said, turning the crystal between my fingers. "Let Mina see that the corporates weren't just hunting her—they also tried to frame me as her killer. It'll create the illusion that we're in the same boat. Both of us victims of the system. Inconvenient pieces for bloated profiteers."
I checked my lightsaber, adjusted my cloak, and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
A man who looked like a hero.
Felt like a traitor.
And acted like the true heir to traditions Dooku had long since forgotten—or perhaps never truly understood since his fall.