Y1ofthePlebs
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CoS 32 (draft)
🕑 Added 2024-11-02 07:27:54 +0000 UTC30 BBY
Coruscant is an abomination that has to be destroyed - Dooku's mind kept coming back to that visceral thought as yet another day passed with him and his retinue trapped in traffic and port regulations. Storming out of the court had looked dramatic for the cameras, and had played well for the audience back on Serenno and across the wider Outer Rim, but in terms of the amount of time it saved him it meant very little.
When he and his soldiers had gotten back to his ship, he’d found that it had been grounded by the port authorities, who were mysteriously difficult to get in contact with when he wanted to find out why. Everyone there had given him the runaround, nervously insisting they had no idea who made that decision, but were unable to reach their supervisors or section chiefs to find out anything. It had been years since Dooku was so humiliated.
He barely held back his temper when a twi’lek receptionist finally tried to explain to him that the droid which was responsible for the landing clamp being placed had been sent to get its memory wiped immediately afterwards, so there was no way to know who had given the order. No supervisor was willing to answer their comms devices, and anyone who was called via the intercom to the front desk to answer Dooku’s questions either didn’t hear the request or ignored it.
In the end, Dooku decided it would be quicker to simply buy a new ship than to try and untangle the mess. He’d sent one of his bodyguards off with orders to purchase a freighter capable of transporting them all. Somewhat shockingly, purchasing a used ship actually had proven quicker than trying to get his personal diplomatic cruiser freed.
Dooku and his remaining bodyguards had then departed Coruscant aboard the freighter, only for the Coruscant traffic tower to be mysteriously slow in broadcasting their flight codes. Trying to leave without a route was illegal and dangerous, as the skies of Coruscant were choked with billions of incoming and leaving starships at all hours. They’d been circling in a holding pattern for six hours, before finally they received their flight codes and were able to leave. Dooku would just have to send an aide back to Coruscant to untangle his cruiser from the chains of bureaucracy later.
This began their journey back to Serenno in the tight confines of a grimy old YT-1000. His bodyguards were almost as frustrated by the humiliating circumstances as he was, and in the narrow halls and tiny shared bunk rooms, he heard many muttered curses in their tongues. Their home was under attack, and they were trapped here in the Core because some petty voidkin wanted to spite the Count.
One of them even indulged in particularly vivid fantasies of blasting Grib Siv in his smug slimy face.
Dooku could sympathize, but Grib Siv was just a pawn of a much greater foe. The day would come when Dooku would strike the head from Palpatine’s shoulders, and derive great pleasure from doing so. For now, he needed to calm himself and focus on the task at hand.
Thus, calling from the freighter’s grubby and worn holocom, he set about trying to get a handle on the situation. His task wasn’t made any easier by the holocom’s operating system, its default language appeared to be some dialect of the Under City, and its translation into Galactic Basic was terrible. He had to log into his holoterminal back on Serenno from this damn thing, which demanded a biometric security scan to confirm his identity, but the layer of grime encrusting the thumbprint scanner resulted in a false reading. Dooku had to borrow a cleaning spray from one of his men’s blaster maintenance kits to get the damn thing working.
Even after logging in, it seemed to take an unbearably long lag time to access anything, and the connection kept dropping out. Fuming all the while, he persisted for hours, messaging the minor Counts and Barons that were in his alliance, and restarting every time the damned holocom lost the call or crashed while he was reading a report. Finally, after ten hours, Dooku wasn’t quite satisfied with what he’d accomplished, but was so frustrated that he felt like he’d rather drive his lightsaber through the hull then continue.
Coruscant, Palpatine. The Senate. That damned judge.
Dooku breathed out through his nose, briefly reaching out to the light side to calm himself. He’d been so immersed in the Dark Side for so long that in comparison the peace of the light side felt like nothing, a thin vapor sprayed on raging flame. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but Dooku persisted with his light side meditation until finally he felt drained of his rage. Contrary to the past where meditation helped him feel restful, Dooku almost felt more exhausted than anything. He briefly checked the holoterminal, and saw that Duke Harad wanted to talk with him.
Now that he was feeling more in control of himself, he decided to call his friend.
“We’re not going to let these kriffers get away with this.” Harad insisted. “Let’s string them up, the old fashioned way. I want to see them kick!”
“The pirates themselves can be dealt with, but the men behind them are another matter.” Dooku replied. “The Trade Federation is protected by the Senate.”
“You’re sure it's not the Hutts?”
“They are at most a proxy.” As was the Federation, but Harad didn’t need to know that. “And right now the Trade Federation is untouchable.”
Harad’s lip curled in disgust. “Untouchable, of course they are! The Fed doesn’t pay taxes, but we do. We’re not allowed a large defense fleet, they’re allowed to rule half the Outer Rim. The Republic takes billions of credits from us, hundreds of billions, while the Federation receives constant subsidies. I want to know just how much of my money gets spent on those damned fundraising events for those stim snorting senators.”
Obviously he was exaggerating the fact, but Dooku strongly agreed with the sentiment behind them. “You’re upset.”
“Of course I’m upset!” Harad snapped, dashing his tobacco on his arm rest by accident with a wild gesticulation. Seeing what he’d done he cursed, before relighting his cigar. “The senate treats us like we’re the problem! We’re nothing but a bunch of petty backwater tyrants. They’re embarrassed about us! Embarrassed! They think we’re all inbred, patricidal monsters! No insult to you, Dooku.”
“It’s fine.” Dooku replied.
Harad continued. “They see us as a relic from a bygone era, while they’re the height of sophistication, of fashion, of culture, of democracy. They don’t just think they’re better than us, they think we’re evil. The megacorps are just the tool they use to keep their hands clean. They’re civilizing us, don’t you know? And if they happen to get rich enough to own a moon from it, why shouldn’t they get paid for their good work?”
But Harad wasn’t done. “You know they say it's our fault? That we’re the ones holding the Outer Rim back? That’s how they justify it to themselves.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, at something not on the screen. “The ruins of Xim’s summer palace are still here! An hour by speeder, and you can see the old stones, still there! Twenty five thousand years they’ve been there! Twenty five thousand! And those Coruscanti calculators would crush it in a heartbeat just to put up another Correllian coffee chain.”
Harad snorted angrily, smoke billowing from his nose. “Things can’t keep going like this, Dooku. They just can’t.”
Dooku had heard many of the man's angry rants before, but at this particular moment he seemed especially upset. Had he really just called Dooku to rant about this? Thinking about it for a moment, he decided to venture an idea. “The senate will continue to hamstring us for the foreseeable future, unless something changes.”
Harad paused, finally seeming to really look at Dooku instead of just angrily ranting. “So that’s it then. Separatism. That’s the corner we’ve been pushed into. Separatism.”
Ever since the end of the New Sith Wars, Separatism had been a bloody thorn in the sides of every government. Countless radical groups, many of them revolutionary and seeking to overthrow their governments, existed across the Outer Rim. The This or That People’s Liberation Front of some World or another had been a source of violent attacks and public facing anarchy for decades, if not centuries. That word, Separatism, had bad associations.
Harad, and most of the other rulers of the Outer Rim, had no love for the Separatist rabble.
Dooku wasn’t fond of them either. As a Knight, he’d personally put down a Separatist plot on Jabiim. If he was following Sidious' original plan, aiming to make his alliance as frightening as possible to the people of the Republic, he would have carried the title of Separatist openly. No doubt when the time came, Sidious was still going to tar him with that brush, but if Dooku was going to succeed in his plans to break up the Republic, a more attractive, less tarnished name would be needed.
Harad grimaced. “I never wanted to be a bloody Separatist, but here I am at the end of my rope.”
“We will not be Separatists.” Dooku answered firmly. “We’ll form a new government, with a new constitution. We’ll be a Confederation of the Outer Rim.”
“It’s another word for the same thing, Dooku.” Harad said. “We can’t have a euphemism. What we need is a wedge, something that will force the issue of Separatism, but leaves our hands clean, and won’t scare away the Mid Rim. If we start talking about Separatism openly, you know as well as I do that Duchess Satine and Queen Amidala will be gone in a heartbeat.”
“You propose another way?”
“Yes. We’ll be Reformers, Dooku. We’ll call ourselves the Reformist’s Party. We’ll field candidates for the Senate elections,-” He held up a hand, to forestall Dooku’s protest. “-I know, don’t give me that look, I know, but we’ll have candidates in the elections, it doesn’t matter if they win or lose, they just need to put on a big show. They’ll be the Senate facing wing of our program, and they’ll be there to calm the moderates.”
In the meantime, Dook would be doing what he already was. Interfacing with the big families, talking to power brokers, making deals. He would continue building their strength all along, and channeling his people’s resentment into useful steps. He didn’t know how long it would be until the Reformists would be ready to become Separatists, but after a decade or two of being stymied, insulted, and shut out of the Senate, they would start to become very radicalized.
Dooku hated the idea of participating in the Senate's elections, the awful, undignified song and dance, but it would be necessary.
“We can continue with our other programs.” Dooku finally said. “We’ll call it living by our principles, or something. Because we’re a party, we’ll have our own senate and internal elections on Raxus. When the time comes for us to assert our independence, there will already be a large power structure ready to govern. We’ll continue building up our militaries independently, so that when we’re ready they can join together. We’ll just say it’s part of pursuing planetary independence.”
“Exactly, Dooku. Now you see it.”
Dooku nodded at last, convinced. “I’ll talk to Queen Amidala, and Duchess Satine. They could be an excellent choice for our Senate facing moderates.” He paused, considering. “We also need an overall military commander. Currently, we’re still reeling, trying to respond to the Federation’s pirates. We need to appoint a military commander to focus exclusively on the objective of securing the safety of our alliance, but we also can’t make it clear we have a unified military just yet.”
“The New Temple is perfect for that, already. We simply provide the Jedi with their own soldiers and ships, and task them with surgically targeting pirates.” Harad agreed, finally finishing with his cigar, and now reaching for a glass of spirits. “They can be our proxy to deal with these.”
Dooku agreed. “Yes, an army drawn from our member worlds.”
“Who should we give command to?” Harad asked. “Narec?”
Dooku hesitated. Narec was a Jedi who knew the Dark Side. Even though Narec didn’t seem to have any grand ambitions, entrusting him with personal command of an army could be risky… “He’s done fine work running the Temple, and I’m reluctant to send him into danger, needlessly, when he’s doing so well where he currently is.”
“Then who?”
“I think that Jedi Knight Asajj, if given the right chance and advisors, would bloom into a fine commander.”
Harad snorted. “Fair enough. Just remember, Dooku, if she’s not up to it, we’ll have to find someone who can do the work.”
“Of course.”
They sat in silence for a moment, before with a final sigh, Harad filled his cup with more spirits. “A drink, then. To bloody Separatism.” He downed it all in a long sip, before hanging up.
“To bloody Separatism.” Dooku agreed, in silence. “And a pile of heads where the Senate once stood.”
Julgut wiped a bead of sweat from the top of his brow with his hat, and tried once again to call his employer.
The fourth Hammerhead had been lifted from the sucking muck of Secundus, and had been cradled in the crawler ready for cleaning, when screaming over the horizon came a line of SIG-80 long range fighter bombers. A dozen of them unloaded their payload right over his worksite, the only warning being when they dropped altitude to close in on his crawler. Julgut had screamed for his men to run, for all the good it did. Thankfully the attack came in the early morning, so most of his crew hadn’t started work yet, but fifteen good men, friends of his, had been vaporized in an instant.
The Hammerhead itself had been totally ruined, its superstructure broken in half and white hot fires burning over what was left of its hull, turning durasteel into molten slag. His mobile shipyard, as solidly as he’d built it, was even less able to withstand the bombardment. The machine had toppled over while burning, crushed under its own weight. The fires inside it had burned internally for hours longer, leaving the whole structure too hot to touch, and rocked by the occasional internal detonation.
By the time the flames had died down, Julgut’s life’s work had been reduced to so much blackened, misshapen scrap, trailing a line of black smog to join the skies of Raxus Prime.
After getting all the injured to a good hospital inside one of the planet’s domed cities, and after making sure everyone else got home safely, Julgut had gotten back to his office and cried. He felt pathetic for it, miserable. The Mobile Shipyard was something he’d built with his father, back when the man was still working, and now it was gone. It was his source of income, a machine built of love and with powerful memories tied to it.
He simply cried now that he knew it was gone forever.
Who would even bomb his little business? And why?
Julgut didn’t know. He could only guess that it was an enemy of Count Dooku, who didn’t want the man to expand his navy.
All around him, every piece of furniture in the room was covered with drawings and ideas. Most of them were mere day dreams he knew he was unlikely to ever complete, but he could never bring himself to fully abandon. Now it seemed like he would have no choice.
This office was rented, consisting of just a reception, a work desk, and a bathroom. It was all he could jam into the tiny space inside one of Raxus Prime’s domed cities. Even as small as it was, there’s no way he’d be able to afford it without the business from his mobile shipyard. He had termination notices to issue, and payouts to make to the bereaved widows of employees who died in his service. Without the mobile yard, he might have no choice but to go back to fixing up old speeders.
With nothing left to do, he tried to call his client and explain what happened, but it seemed the Heir Apparent was busy. He made a few attempts to reach her through the Advisory, and was told that she would be with him when she could, but currently was busy, and that was where he left it. He spent a couple days, showering and sleeping in his office, cleaning himself up and getting in contact with his accountant on Secundus, before trying to wrangle a loan out of his bank. Maybe he could get started on a new crawler sooner, if they would invest.
They made no promises, but were willing to arrange an in person meeting. Julgut was just stepping out of the sonic scrubber, giving himself a quick spray of deodorant and running a comb through his beard when his holocom rang. He hurriedly buttoned up his shirt and pulled up his overalls before answering.
He was surprised to see a little girl had called him.
“I am Tan’ya of House Serenno, and Advisor to the Defence.” She introduced herself. “I believe you’ve been trying to contact me regarding the status of the restoration work you’ve been doing for me?”
She spoke in a way that made it clear she wasn’t just some little girl. Julgut didn't know much about her, but knew her father was a Jedi, and so was Sifo Dyas. He had heard rumors that Jedi padawans were made to grow up fast, and so decided to just treat her like an adult until she proved otherwise.
He was still a little shocked at just how young she was, though.
“Hello Milady.” He swallowed, and before an awkward pause derailed him he continued, “How are those Hammerheads I fixed up going? Any issues?”
“There have been no concerns.” She answered, firmly. “Is there a reason you’ve called?”
“Uh, well… I’m sorry, milady, I understand your time is valuable. That is to say, uh, I can’t finish the job anymore.” He froze, trying to think of how to break the news delicately before continuing. “We were hit by some kind of bombardment. My mobile shipyard’s been blasted to pieces, and the hull we were working on is just a wreck now.” He scratched his head, shrugging helplessly. “I won’t be able to complete the work for all six hulls, milady. I can only apologize.”
She looked angry, but obviously not at him. “No apology necessary, this matter is clearly beyond your control. Several other shipyards under construction across Prime were also raided.”
Julgut paused, this was the first he’d heard of other places being bombed as well. “I see. Someone crippled all the shipyards on Raxus?”
“Yes, quite.” She then added, “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to purchase another mobile shipyard anytime soon? We are committed to building up our defensive fleet.”
Purchase? Julgut hesitated to correct a noble lady, but didn’t want to let her work under false assumptions. “No, Milady, I’m sorry, but no one sells those. I built it myself.”
She nodded, accepting, before a thought seemed to strike her. “You built it yourself? Out of what?”
“Oh, well. Prime is full of all kinds of parts, Milady. There’s always a bit of wrestling and improvising, but me and my father put it together. He was mostly inspired by a Jawa desert crawler he saw in a documentary.”
The Lady Serenno paused at that, looking faintly impressed. “Are you saying you’re largely self taught?”
“Uhh…” He scratched at the back of his head, feeling self conscious. “I have a Masters in astro engineering from Kuati university.” He demurred.
“Does astro-engineering qualify you to build your own shipyard?” She asked, pressing.
“Well. No.” He finally admitted. “I was taught by my father, and he was self taught. No offense to Kuati University, they have a great engineering program, but they just didn’t have much to teach me. I got the accreditation to help the business.”
“Do you have your credentials? Can you show me?”
“Uh…” He looked around the office. “One moment, Milady.” He stood up from his chair, walking over to his desk. It was covered in documents, and had accumulated an unwashed mug or two, but underneath that he took out the framed degree. He took a moment to try and dust the frame off, before taking it back over to the holocom and showing it to the little princess. “I can send a copy to you.”
“No, that’s very good.” She said, smiling. “Tell me, have you ever considered making a regular shipyard? One large enough to produce regular battleships?”
“Uh… Well, yeah, but the cost of land would make it impossible.” He began to explain, though he realized she wasn’t really listening as she began to type something. “You can’t just plonk a shipyard down anywhere. You need either the right geographic features, or you’ll have to do a ton of excavation.”
“That will be no problem.” Tanya replied, smiling as she continued taking notes. “Is your father unharmed?”
“Well, he’s retired.”
“Perfect.” She answered, and all of a sudden Julgut’s com device chimed with a notice that he’d been paid a million credits.
“Uh, Milady, I can’t accept this.”
“Of course you can. Use that to take care of yourself, and all your remaining employees. I’m sure their experience and training will be quite valuable. And please, send me your father’s contact details. You said he was retired, but would he like to become an educator?” She didn’t even wait for him to answer, barreling ahead with obvious excitement. “Wait right where you are, and start drawing up preliminary plans right away.”
“Plans?” He said. “Plans for what?” But she’d already hung up. Julgut stared at the com unit, wondering if he really had just held that conversation or if he was imagining things. It sounded almost like the young lady was expecting him to build her a shipyard?
He considered that, before looking over to one of his many old abandoned plans. An idea from decades ago, one that he never could bring himself to throw away. It had started out as a kind of new mobile shipyard, but he quickly realized it had been too large to hold its own weight, and wouldn’t be able to function on Prime’s uneven terrain. So he broke it up, reimagining it as a series of smaller mobile shipyards, capable of interlocking and working together on a larger project. Theoretically, enough of them could even lift a dreadnought out of the Raxus muck.
Now that he was looking at it though, a new idea struck him. What if he wasn’t trying to refurbish an old hull? What if he was building a new one from scratch? With his series of smaller crawlers, he could build a ship in a series of pieces, before transporting those to the same location and putting them together there.
He was just starting to sketch on his tablet, when his comm device pinged again.
He glanced at it, then did a double take seeing that the message supposedly came from the Duke of Raxus himself, ruler of both Prime and Secundus, and forty other worlds besides. The contents of the message informed Julgut that he was being moved to the Duke’s palace for his own protection, and asking for information on where the rest of the work crew was.
His jaw hung open, gaping at the words projected there as he tried to understand what was going on. Whoever was really behind all this had a lot of credits, and a lot of influence.
Hego wasn’t quite certain of the extent of the Old Sith Empire under Naga Sadow or Marka Ragnos, but he speculated that through his banks and subsidiaries, he decided the fates of a greater number of sentients than those Emperors did at the height of their power.
Never let it be said that bankers didn’t have an inflated sense of self worth. The chambers where the Core Five met looked less like a tidy office building, and more like a mixture of a glittering royal court and the Galactic Senate. Really, that’s what it was. A royal court where five kings met to decide the fate of the Galaxy.
The other members of the Core Five were much like Hego, in that way. They were wealthy in their own right, ruling vast holdings and controlling an amount of credits that dwarfed entire sectors. But their true power came from the institution they sat atop. Individually, they might have held vast influence, but the InterGalactic Banking Clan as a whole was a titan that decided the fate of the entire Galaxy. Theoretically, the Senate ruled, and if unified in purpose there was nothing the Intergalactic Banking Clan could do publicly to resist it. In reality, that Senate was composed of Senators, who were purchased and sold like slaves on Nal Hutta. Individual senators might be trying to do what they saw as right, but in the end their power depended on getting reelected, and those campaigns were expensive things…
Plagueis’ eyes went over each of his fellow purveyors of senatorial flesh, finally coming to rest on Tahm Sipas. Sponsor of many a reelection campaign, his private interests were deeply intertwined with those of the Republic’s political elite, far more so than any other Chair’s. His ventures made him Hego’s biggest detractor, envious of the political pull his ‘friend’, the charming senator - and now Supreme Chancellor - Palpatine afforded him at a fraction of the investment.
He was also the one to call in the meeting.
“Thank you all for coming,” Tahm finally broke the silence, his long fingers steepling into a tent in a distinctly human gesture. “As you have probably guessed, I called in this meeting to discuss the recent developments on the Outer Rim, or more specifically, the involvement of one of us in them.” He shot Plagueis a caustic glare which he matched with his own dismissive one.
“If it is the losses I suffered that concern you, rest assured, while the worry is appreciated, it is also completely misplaced.” Hego replied, just a shade on the side of politeness. “The losses incurred in the bombing of Raxus Prime, while unfortunate, are but a drop in the ocean of estimated profits I stand to gain from my Outer Rim investments.”
“A drop at a time bleeds the life support dry,” the man retorted. “But your questionable business ventures are not why we are meeting here today. No, I called the meeting because of what your pet Jedi pulled.” His piece said, Tahm activated the room’s central holoprojector, displaying the recording of Count Dooku storming out of the Senate Courthouse, cape billowing in the wind as he went.
“This flagrant disregard for Republic law already raised a few heads in the Senate.” Tahm continued. “The words ‘Jedi Lord’ are no longer spoken in the Forum in mockery, but in fear, Damask. My ears in the legislature already caught whispers of sanctions aimed at the Outer Rim, and Dooku’s allies in particular. For you, a Chair of the Banking Clans, to be counted among their numbers is unthinkable! Far from just being a member, Damask Holdings is the one funding those hillbillies!”
“Damask Holdings is a private company,” Plagueis hissed from behind his respirator. “Its businesses are of no concern to the Clans. They are certainly of no concern to you.” His cold eyes met Sipas’ incensed gaze. He reached through the Force to pierce the clouds of cold fury of his rival’s mind, to no avail. As loath as he was to admit it, one did not rise to become a Chair of the Banking Clans by being weak-willed.
“They are if the fallout would tarnish the Clans’ reputation.” Brils Los spoke up. Second in seniority only behind Damask and the most entrenched in the organization’s internal politics, he was usually relied on to mediate any dispute that arose during the Five’s meetings. For him to side against Hego spoke of the precarious position he was in. An agreeing humm from Jildia Cinir, the only female member of the Five, only confirmed it.
“The Republic relies on the Clans because we are seen as reliable,” Tahm said, seizing the initiative. “If rumor spreads that one among our highest echelons had been financing a resurgent Jedi Lord that could threaten the Republic peace, this reliability will be called into question. I ask you to cut off investments to this… ‘Outer Rim Alliance’.” His last words might as well have been bile for the disgust behind them. “Otherwise I will have no choice but to petition the Five to remove you as one of the Chairs.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Brils Los raised a placating hand. “No damage has been done yet. I hope I do not have to lecture a businessman of your caliber on the difference between risk prevention and jumping at shadows, Sipas. Not to mention, sacrificing one of our own for the sake of a client is unbecoming of the Clans.”
He turned to Plagueis. “But it is a very lucrative client. It might indeed be wiser for the sake of the Clans’ business to pull out now, Damask. And rest assured, should you do so, I will make a petition for Damask Holdings to be compensated for the losses.” Sipas’ protests at the words died in his throat under Los’s stern gaze.
Plagueis leaned back in his plush chair, taking a long drag from his inhaler as he felt a headache building. Unlike Sidious, he had no patience for politics, and in moments like these he was reminded why he entrusted dealing with them to his apprentice… who ironically enough was the cause of his current predicament.
He didn’t think so little of Palpatine as to presume he held the Trade Federation in anything less than an iron grip. The pirate raid was authorized, if not with his explicit permission, then at least with his acknowledgement. Yet not a word of it reached Plagueis ears, not until his shipyards were bombed.
Had the pirates reached Serenno and destroyed the sacanium mines, Dooku’s alliance would have looked too weak to attract new members. Over time, it would shrivel up and die, the enemy of the Republic gone before it was truly born. The Great Plan would be set back years.
A quiet anger began to boil inside Plagueis. Sidious was willing to sacrifice the Plan and his chancellorship both for a chance to strike at his hated Nemesis. Had Plagueis not felt the wave of insurmountable hatred in the Force and sensed his apprentice’s intentions then, decades of planning would have been squandered. He was not fit to continue the Siths’ great work anymore, and Plagueis will need to do more than just keep his old friend in check.
He will need to replace him.
Hego’s back straightened as his resolve firmed. The wisdom of the parable the Heiress of Serenno treated him to rang truer than ever. The Shogun proved more than just untrustworthy, he had proven treacherous. Only a fool would continue relying on Sidious to provide Dooku with allies for when the time was right. Plagueis’ eyes laid on the four Muuns still awaiting his response. No, he will have to provide them himself.
“Is it?” He finally replied.
“Is it what, Damask?” Tahm Sipas huffed in annoyance.
“Is the Republic truly that lucrative of a client? Or rather, how long will it remain so?” He continued. “I will not insult your intelligence by asking if you know of the recent happenings in the Abaar sector.”
In the Force, he could feel the consternation and anger at the topic. Of course they knew. And they knew what it was a symptom of. “An entire sector, in the Mid Rim might I add, introducing its own currency to be used alongside the credit.” He faced Sipas, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Have your ears caught the whispers regarding that? Mine have. And they tell me more will soon follow in Abaar’s example. The Clans will bleed influence as the Republic weakens, whole star systems and sectors slipping between the fingers of our waning grasp.”
“What do you propose then?” Brils Los asked, urging him to continue.
“An alternative. Or at least a diversification of the Clans’ assets. Dooku’s alliance in the Outer Rim is rich in resources and manpower, but lacks the credits and expertise to tap into it. With my help, that has begun to change, and already I can see the possible returns it could bring. If the Clans as a whole were to invest, they could bring a new powerful ally onto the galactic stage, one that would ensure our continued prosperity once the Republic starts to crumble.”
“You overstep your bounds, Damask,” Tahm growled out. “On the Senate floor, this would be considered sedition talk, and would cost you your office.”
“Fortunate then, that we aren’t meeting in the Forum.” Hego smiled.
“You were always bold Hego, and I admire that about you,” Brils Los sighed. “But here, your boldness oversteps into the realm of arrogance. The Clans’ power lies in much more than just the credit. If the Republic is to crumble, so be it. It would not be the first time the Clans’ witnessed its downfall. We will rebuild it again, and grow only more powerful in doing so. We stand too little to gain by throwing our support behind Dooku, not considering the risks involved.”
Hego nodded. It was always a long shot, and he wasn’t surprised the other members of the Five saw the Count’s burgeoning alliance as too weak and uncertain to invest in. But the seed of doubt was planted.
Of the five, it seemed like Tahm was the only one firmly committed to interfering with Damask. The others were ambivalent, maybe slightly annoyed with him, but for now unwilling to do anything. Apathy was something Damask was happy to use as well.
“Rumors in the Senate are hardly something to be so worked up about, Tahm.” Plagueis gave his most reassuring, grandfatherly tone. The one that seemed to work on very few, and infuriate many. It was having the desired effect on Tahm, the young chairman responding to the condescension with obvious irritation. “Perhaps when the Senate is seriously planning to take action, you should inform me then? For now, I don’t think this has been a productive use of our valuable time.”
Jildia Cinir hummed in agreement with Hego, and now the chairs were all focused on Tahm, waiting for his response. He glared at Damask across the room, before at last nodding, sitting back. “Very well. We will table this discussion for now and return to it, when it becomes a more pressing concern.”
Damask gave him a deliberately patronizing smile and nod, before the meeting was adjourned.
