A few surprisingly calm days passed.
Life as a "Special Commissioner" on Raxus turned out to be… dull. If anyone imagines a Sith's routine as endless lightsaber duels and dramatic speeches delivered against exploding planets, I had to disappoint them. Most of it, in reality, involved reading endless reports, signing cargo transfer permits, and trying to determine which senators were lying outright—and which ones told the truth in a way that felt even more suspicious.
I didn't allow any living staff into my new apartment. Fortunately, a service droid was already assigned here, and after a bit of modification, it was left to handle cleaning duties. Elara, whom we had officially "buried" in that server room, had taken up residence in the technical basement of my block, where I'd relocated a fair amount of unnecessary equipment. She had turned out to be an unexpectedly valuable asset—she asked no pointless questions and had a solid grasp of information security (though, by her own admission, her "primary skill set" was in a completely opposite field).
My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden transmission in my earpiece. A bright, energetic voice came through—Elara.
"Take a look, boss. I found another fat little mynock feeding off Confederate resources," she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction, accompanied by the sound of loud crunching—she was clearly snacking on something without the slightest regard for manners. "Our client's name is Settlement Officer Sibb Kanet…"
I stepped over to the holoprojector. On cue—meaning remotely triggered by Elara—it displayed the face of a bug-eyed bureaucrat who looked exactly as she had described.
"And what's his crime? Besides being an eyesore on Raxus?" I asked, scanning the scrolling data.
"Officially, he oversees shipments of medical equipment and pharmaceuticals for Confederate hospitals in this sector," she replied, pulling up a logistics map. One branch was highlighted in an unhealthy shade of red. "Unofficially… let's just say about fifteen percent of bacta and high-end stimulants 'go missing' in the Rishi nebula. They reappear on neutral freighters and eventually end up in Republic Marine medkits. Through a dozen shell companies, of course."
I frowned as I studied the numbers. The scale was absurd.
"Wait," I interrupted, pointing at one of the figures. "Remind me—why does our supposedly unstoppable droid army suddenly need this much medical supply traffic? I thought most CIS units were maintained by mechanics with oil cans and spare servos. Or is Dooku secretly planning therapy sessions for emotionally damaged battle droids?"
The slicer—no, Icebreaker, as they called people like her here—let out a short laugh.
"Boss, droids don't sweat or catch infections, sure. But the people signing the checks do. You'd be surprised how many organic units the Confederacy actually runs. Sector armies, planetary police forces, logistics staff, civilian hospitals on member worlds… The CIS isn't just factories. It's billions of living beings who really don't want to die from untreated injuries. Kanet's stealing the premium stock—the expensive, high-grade meds that cost more than spice on Kessel during wartime."
I drummed my fingers against the edge of the desk, a familiar tension forming in my gut—the kind I'd learned to call "healthy Sith paranoia."
"Clean operation," I said slowly. "But here's the problem. It's been less than a week since Dooku handed me these powers, and suddenly I get a perfect corruption case served on a platter. A Federation official siphoning supplies straight to the Republic…"
"Think it's a setup?" Elara asked, her tone sharpening slightly. "I pulled this from a sealed port archive. The encryption was above average—but nothing I couldn't crack. And I wouldn't even call myself the best in this sector."
"Exactly," I said, glancing again at Kanet's bloated face. "Which means someone wanted me to see it."
The old fox was clearly shifting from passive observation to active manipulation. Dooku was testing me—training me, even. If I ran straight to him with this, I'd be confirming I was nothing more than a compliant instrument. Useful, but predictable.
But if I used it to strengthen my ties with Bonteri while simultaneously "solving" the problem…
That was riskier. Dooku would either appreciate the initiative—or decide I was becoming too independent.
Not the time for open confrontation. So I'd have to play this carefully, making it look like peak efficiency in service of the CIS.
I turned to Khem Val, who was still staring at the hologram of the Neimoidian with a disturbingly analytical interest, as if calculating how much meat was hidden under the robes.
"Alright," I said at last. "If the Count wants me to play investigator, I'll play. But by my rules. Elara, prepare a data packet for Senator Bonteri. Make it look like a leak from… concerned port employees. Let's have the senators do some of the work themselves. Time they learned to act against their own system."
"Got it," she said, chewing loudly again. "But boss… I dug through some of the senators' private traffic while I was at it. Found something else. This isn't just corruption—it's something uglier. And I'd really prefer not to be involved when it explodes. I like my life quiet. Holofilms, snacks, no being vaporized into atoms."
I smirked faintly at her avatar.
"Elara, you already broke into Federation archives and forged Senate-level reports. In Dooku's eyes—or the Republic's—you're not 'just a technician' anymore. You're in this just as deep as I am."
A pause followed, broken only by the steady hum of servers.
"So we're in the same ship," she said finally, "and it's already heading at hyperspeed toward a black hole. Got it. You've got a talent for motivation, boss."
"Try to enjoy the ride," I replied, cutting the connection.
And for the first time in days… I almost meant it.
XXXXXXXX
Senator Mina Bonteri received me in her garden. This time she looked calmer—apparently, the secure communication channel and the absence of new assassination attempts had done their job. Katthu-Nemo was seated beside her again. At my arrival, the Toydarian nearly choked on his nectar (or whatever he was drinking), his wings fluttering twice as fast as usual.
"Lord Brute," Mina said with a slight nod. "Your visit is unexpected. I hope the news isn't as… explosive as last time."
"That depends entirely on how much you value the honesty of your fellow Confederacy allies," I replied, taking a seat without waiting for permission. Khem froze behind me, and both senators visibly tensed, their eyes flicking toward him. But seeing he was with me, they didn't dare object. "I've obtained data suggesting that resources meant to treat our soldiers are being diverted into accounts belonging to Republic pharmaceutical giants."
I activated the projector, and columns of data floated between us. Mina frowned immediately, while Katthu-Nemo let out a startled, indignant squeak.
"Kanet… That slime always felt suspicious to me!" the Toydarian rasped. "But he has Trade Federation protection! If we bring charges without solid proof, Gunray will grind us into dust!"
"That is precisely why we're having this conversation," I said, lowering my voice. "I cannot officially initiate an investigation—the Trade Federation would immediately cry foul over 'abuse of authority.' But you… you are the voice of Raxus. If this information comes from you to the press, and you demand a formal audit afterward… I will provide the necessary protection."
"You want us to start an open conflict with the Trade Federation?" Mina asked, also dropping her voice, her expression wary.
"I want you to show some teeth," I replied. "Understand this, Senator—within R.G.A., we value action over rhetoric. These corporations see Raxus as their personal feeding trough. If you don't stop them now, tomorrow they'll sell your entire planet piece by piece. I'm giving you the tool. Use it to clean your own ranks. It will strengthen your position in Dooku's eyes—he values efficiency far more than the loyalty of those bloated profiteers."
The last statement was a complete fabrication, but it landed exactly as intended. The senators exchanged glances. The idea of becoming "heroes of the people" who exposed corruption clearly appealed to them—especially when their backs were being covered by a Sith with a mandate directly from the Count himself.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The arrest of Sibb Kanet turned into a full-blown spectacle.
The senators acted with surprising coordination. When Raxus security stormed the Settlement Officer's office, I stood lazily in the shadow of the columns, watching it all unfold.
The Neimoidian shrieked about "diplomatic immunity" and "misunderstandings" as they shoved him into something that looked like a repurposed civilian transport—barely better than a cargo crate with engines. Khem, standing beside me, let out an irritated growl.
"Too much noise, Master. You could have just let me rip his head off. It would have saved time and energy."
"And robbed me of the pleasure of watching senators learn to bite the hand that feeds them," I replied with a faint smirk.
At that moment, my commlink gave a sharp chirp—an encrypted transmission from Dooku.
I stepped away into the corridor and activated the link. The Count's hologram appeared: as always, composed, unreadable—but today, there was something different beneath the surface.
"Lord Brute," he began without preamble, "I see your presence on Raxus is already bearing fruit. The Trade Federation is furious, but the evidence presented by Senator Bonteri is indisputable."
"I am merely carrying out my duties in maintaining 'internal stability,' my Lord," I said, bowing my head respectfully. "It appears the instability came from the least expected sources."
"Indeed," Dooku replied, a faint trace of irony in his voice. "A most… timely discovery. You showed commendable initiative in allowing the civilian authorities to handle the matter. It spared us a direct confrontation with Nute Gunray, while preserving appearances."
Through the Force, I felt it—approval. Not warmth, not trust. Something colder. The acknowledgment of a superior seeing a subordinate correctly follow the rules of the game. And beneath it, something else I couldn't quite read.
"Continue in this manner, Brute," Dooku added. "But remember: after purging corruption, one must ensure the replacements are not worse than what came before."
The hologram vanished.
I stood in silence for a moment, feeling a chill creep down my spine.
And then it clicked.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
Kanet wasn't just corruption exposed by chance—he was a breadcrumb. A carefully placed marker to see what path I would take. And today, in Dooku's eyes, I had taken the path of strengthening ties with the opposition under the guise of reform.
He had allowed it. Or worse—he had engineered the entire situation so I would feel like I had won.
So I would relax. Trust the structure. Trust him.
Or maybe… he had already decided I would need to be removed eventually, and this was simply the calm before that order was issued.
"Master?" Khem tilted his head. "Why do you smell strange? As if you've seen a ghost."
"Stop that, Khem," I exhaled slowly, forcing my heartbeat under control. "I've just realized the Count isn't only watching me—he's playing with me. The only question is how much of this is real… and how much I'm imagining. It's getting complicated."
I looked out over night-time Raxus. Lights still burned in the government district. One phase was complete: I had secured the senators' trust and legitimized my information network.
But the uncertainty around Dooku lingered like a blade hovering just out of sight.
And that meant it was time to change the rules.
"Elara," I called through a secure channel.
"Yeah, boss?" she replied. Judging by the muffled sounds, she was—again—eating something. A habit I was beginning to find disturbingly consistent.
"Start on the second list. Look into the abandoned Republic-era shipyards in the data I gave you. And finish the autonomy protocols for our droid systems. It's time we start building a real infrastructure."
"Got it. On it, boss," she said lightly.
I cut the connection and looked down at my hands. Still clean—at least on the surface.
But I knew better.
To outplay someone like Dooku, I would have to become something far worse than a traitor.
An architect.
Of a world where men like him simply had no place left to stand.
"Come on, Khem," I said, turning away from the port. "We've got work to do. And try not to eat Elara in the next few days—we still need her."
"I make no promises," he rumbled. "She is starting to smell… interesting. Like someone who knows too many secrets. Secrets are the best seasoning."
"Oh, Khem…" I chuckled. "Eat Palpatine instead. I guarantee you'd choke on that meal."
XXXXXXXXXXX
Interlude
The Silver Palace of Raxus lay submerged in a tense silence, broken only by the occasional hum of unseen machinery. Beyond the armored panoramic windows, the capital of the Confederacy glittered with countless lights, projecting an illusion of order and prosperity. Yet within the deep shadows of Count Dooku's private chamber, that illusion lost all meaning.
The master of this place stood before the window with his hands clasped behind his back. His posture was straight, unwavering—carved, almost, from the same dark stone as the hall's columns. Suspended in the air before him were three holographic displays, their cold blue glow cutting across his face and sharpening every line, every crease shaped by time and calculation.
The left display showed a dry, procedural report from Raxus Security: Sib Kanet had been arrested, and irrefutable evidence of embezzlement and Republic-linked transactions had been secured.
The central display contained Lord Brutus' report. It described how he had used his granted authority to "stimulate" the local elite—resulting in a self-purging of the administrative structure without direct Confederate intervention. A clean success, in official terms, and one that hinted at potential strategic utility within Mina Bonteri's faction if properly guided.
Dooku allowed himself a faint smile.
The boy plays well…
"You consider yourself quite clever, Brutus," Dooku said quietly into the empty chamber. "And you likely believe that because I removed my droids and granted you autonomy, I have stopped watching you."
With a slow motion of his hand, he dismissed the first two holograms and activated a third—hidden, buried beneath layers of encryption and misdirection. This channel did not belong to Confederate Intelligence. Neither the Separatist Council nor Wat Tambor's ubiquitous surveillance network knew of it. It was Dooku's private shadow system—assets and instruments acquired long before the war began.
A recording appeared.
The image was grainy, silent, captured from a concealed sensor embedded within a decorative bust in Mina Bonteri's reception hall. Even without audio, Dooku needed none; he read intent far more precisely than words ever could.
On the recording, Brutus placed an information crystal on the table. The senators' reactions shifted in sequence—fear, hesitation, then cautious hope… and finally greed, as they understood the value of what had been placed in their hands.
But Dooku was not interested in that.
He watched Brutus himself.
There was no nervousness, no subservience, no theatrical ambition. Only controlled certainty—like a man not participating in a system, but quietly redesigning it while standing inside it.
Dooku changed the feed. Data streams appeared—decoded packets from the so-called "R.G.A." network.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Revolutionary Galactic Alliance…"
The encryption was crude at its foundation, almost disappointingly so. And yet the structure… the relational logic, the distribution of trust nodes, the redundancy of command pathways—it did not match any known military doctrine of this era.
"Where did you find these ideas?" Dooku murmured. "My… accidental visitor from a forgotten age?"
He had been collecting pieces of this puzzle since Ventress first reported a dormant Sith anomaly on Tatooine. Brutus was not simply a rogue Force user. He was a deviation—an irregularity that Lord Sidious would eventually seek to either control or erase.
Dooku, however, saw utility.
Brutus could serve as a pressure point. A controlled disruption. While the boy built his hidden structure on Raxus, Sidious' attention—carefully nudged by Dooku—would remain drawn toward him. A distraction. A blade pointed in the right direction.
A useful fire, burning just out of reach.
Dooku stepped away from the window and seated himself in a high-backed chair. He activated a private channel.
A hologram of Asajj Ventress flickered into existence. She was aboard her vessel, posture tense, impatience barely contained beneath disciplined restraint.
"Master," she said, bowing. "I am ready to depart for Raxus."
"Not yet, Asajj," Dooku replied calmly. "Your arrival must appear… organic. Our 'special envoy' has achieved notable success cleansing Raxus of Trade Federation corruption. That is the official narrative."
Ventress's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Your task is to determine whether he has become too attached to his role as 'savior.'"
"You want me to eliminate him?" she asked, a hint of anticipation sharpening her voice.
"No," Dooku said. "I do not believe you can. Not yet."
A flicker of irritation crossed her face, quickly suppressed.
"Then what is my purpose?"
"Test him," Dooku replied. "Draw blood from those around him. Observe his response. Will he protect his pieces—or sacrifice them to preserve his image before you?"
Ventress smiled faintly.
"I understand."
"Go, Asajj. And remember—Brutus is more dangerous than he appears. Do not underestimate his mind. He is playing a game whose rules you do not yet comprehend."
The transmission ended.
Silence returned.
Dooku closed his eyes.
Brutus appeared in his thoughts—masked, distant, carrying something ancient and unfinished within him. A presence that did not fit neatly into Sith doctrine. His darkness was not monolithic like Sidious'. It was warmer, volatile—like rebellion given shape and will.
That made him unpredictable.
And unpredictability was both a risk… and an opportunity.
Dooku activated another data stream: reports from agents in the Unknown Regions. Ancient facilities had begun to stir—long-dormant industrial echoes of forgotten empires. Brutus and his allies were searching, building, assembling something new from old bones.
It was irrelevant, ultimately. Nothing they constructed could yet challenge the scale of the Republic or the Confederacy.
Still…
Let them build.
The stronger Brutus became, the more useful he would be in the unraveling of Sidious' designs.
After all, there could only ever be one Master and one Apprentice.
And Dooku had no intention of remaining the perpetual second.
If Brutus became the stone that triggered the avalanche—burying Sidious beneath it—then so be it.
Dooku would watch from the peak.
And when the dust settled…
He would deliver the final strike.
The Count deactivated the displays. The chamber fell into absolute darkness.
For a brief moment, his eyes flared red—reflecting the distant lights of Raxus below, already beginning to resemble embers waiting to become fire.