Chapter 88

Serenno Approach, Serenno System

D’Astan Sector

“Stars aligned,” Ahsoka murmured, “Master Plo was right–we’re here.”

Here. Serenno. An idyllic garden world, fostered and grown by Count Dooku himself. Lush rainforests and mountain ranges visible from orbit, as well as savannas, which gave way to mighty rivers that spilled into vast oceans. The gleaming silver pearl of the Confederacy.

And the end of the war.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. Oh how I wish that to be true.

Chancellor Palpatine, a Sith Lord? Not even that, the Sith Lord. On impulse, the Jedi Master could’ve immediately thought the idea utterly preposterous. The Chancellor was an old, fatherly man who championed the Jedi Order at every hurdle, even as he single-handedly kept the bickering Senate from falling apart at the seams, and holding on to the many pieces of the crumbling Galactic Republic.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi was also absent from Coruscant more often than not, fighting the Chancellor’s war on the frontlines. For every acclaim the Chancellor lauded on the Jedi Order in public, he disparaged their characters in private. For every Senate convention he prevented from devolving into the squabbling mess, the more corrupted caucuses he folded into his vast pockets. For every facet of the teetering Republic he kept from collapsing, there was another constitutional wall he eroded for his own means.

The Supreme Chancellor was the single most powerful man in the galaxy, having just completed his third four-year term in office–in an office that limits its chancellors to only two terms–and he had no intention of letting go.

As a bloody war of lasers and steel was being fought in the galactic rim by brave troopers and heroic knights, a shadow war of secrets and credits was being fought in the capital of the galaxy, by spies and politicians.

And all of it was culminating on two fronts.

One was here, at Serenno, to dismantle the Sith Apprentice. The other was on Coruscant, to undo the Sith Master.

It didn’t matter that they only won one battle–they had to triumph in both. Completely and utterly. The Sith were insidious; any victory over them that wasn’t complete gave them ample room to escape, scheme, and return.

Obi-Wan Kenobi closed his eyes and clenched his fists, feeling the linger of the dark side swirl around him like silken brocade. He felt stupid. Stupid and guilty.

Because he knew the truth from the start.

The Truth.

What if I told you the Republic was now under the control of the Dark Lord of the Sith?

Hundreds of senators are now under the influence of a Sith Lord, called Darth Sidious.

And now the Sith waged a proxy war to bring the galaxy to its knees, and hundreds of senators have ballooned into thousands. Obi-Wan Kenobi ignored the truth, even when it was spoken right to his face, to the galaxy’s peril.

“Master?” Ahsoka’s chip voice shook him from his reverie.

Far from the youthful energy and confidence the young Togruta had presented to him at the start, his second Padawan had been tempered by years of constant battle, lurching from one front to another. Anxiety laced Ahsoka’s tone, as if she was unsure whether they should be facing forwards or backwards, and Obi-Wan knew as a Jedi Master he must not let his doubts infect her too.

“Yes, my young Padawan?”

“Shouldn’t we start sending out the beacons?”

Obi-Wan blankly nodded. Ahead of them–spearhead to groups of needle-nosed pickets that were screening the capital ships–slued hundreds of enemy craft. Some were thirteen year-old Vulture fighters with paired wings that resembled seedpods; others were compact tri-fighter droids; and still others were space-capable Geonosian twinbeaked Nantex-class starfighters.

The tactical holos displayed the signatures and deployment of the Separatist capital vessels: Trade Federation Lucrehulks and core ships; Techno Union Hardcells, with their columnar thruster packages and egg-shaped fuselages; Commerce Guild Diamond-class cruisers and Corporate Alliance Fantails; frigates, gunboats, and Banking Clan communications ships featuring huge circular transponders.

The whole Separatist parade.

Thousands of warships, all gathered to defend the jewel of the Separatist Alliance, and the seat of their master. He eyed the Techno Union and Corporate Alliance warships within the gathered Serenno Defense Fleet. Not even the Separatist Schism could prevent Count Dooku from calling upon their forces, it seems.

The Open Circle Fleet was massively outnumbered, and outgunned.

But not for long.

“Send it out, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan ordered.

Ahsoka grinned, a rare sight after the revelations at Botajef, “Don’t have to tell me twice, Master.”

The metaphorical flares were released, and within moments the first battle groups of the Expeditionary Fleet warped into the Serenno Star System, having been waiting for precisely this all-clear signal just up the Hydian Way.

“Albedo Brave reporting in,” first came the imposing voice of Jedi Master Jaro Tapal, “The rest of the Expeditionary Fleet in en route.”

“Battle Group Selfless, reporting,” then came the stern and blunt tone of Jedi Master Keelyvine Reus.

Despite his seniority, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but tense at the recognition of Master Keelyvine. She was a… harsh Jedi, to speak lightly. Having been recently made a Jedi Master to fill in the gaping holes of the Order’s ranks, Keelyvine Reus was a difficult person to work with. Having apprenticed under Count Dooku himself, she inherited every bit of his lightsaber mastery, and perfectionist tendencies.

Needless to say, her character ran completely counter to Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s during a cooperative assignment to the Valdesian System two years ago, and she levied constant grievance at their constant… well let’s say banter. Still, she was an immensely skilled blademaster, albeit of singular focus at times, and had done them a great favour by imparting her teachings unto Ahsoka and Scout–even if her exacting methods did temper the two excited Padawans by quite a bit.

“Task Force Anvil, reporting!”

“Battle Group Majestic, reporting in.”

“Battle Group Demolisher, present.”

More and more fleets leapt into the system, the volume of which soon grew into a constant influx of warships, dissuading any notion of a pre-emptive strike from the Separatist defenders.

“Battle Group Integrity, reporting.”

“Task Force Dominance, present!”

“Battle Group Endurance, reporting to the AO.”

Obi-Wan’s attention was seized by the Endurance, Master Mace Windu’s flagship.

“Admiral Kilian, this is General Kenobi of the Open Circle Fleet,” he recognised the Admiral’s voice, “TF Hyperion should be joining us shortly.”

“Indeed, General,” Admiral Shoan Kilian replied, “General Plo Koon is currently clearing the Toprawa Star System. He has, however, already imparted on us the intended battle order. Standby for the formation package.”

Plo Koon is late, to his own battle? Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel a nervous energy, and an unnatural urge to look over his shoulder. Both Admiral Trench and General Grievous remained at large as well, with the former located somewhere on this side of the Salin Corridor but completely at large, and the only signs of the latter being a mass debris field around Taris.

The wreckage of the Insolent was recovered, having suffered from a cataclysmic reactor detonation. No hands aboard survived the explosion. It could only be concluded that General Grievous had crossed another Jedi off his hit list, despite the completely absent Task Force Garland. Obi-Wan could only hope Luminara had escaped that grisly fate.

Nevertheless, before he could take a look at the formation package, Endurance reemerged on the comms–with Admiral Kilian’s voice replaced by the grim delivery of Mace Windu.

“Count Dooku,” the Master of the High Council declared with his unmistakable cadence, “This is your final chance to surrender. Turn yourself in, and you will be treated with all the respect and dignity you deserve. And to the spacers of the Serenno Defense Fleet–lay down your arms and I guarantee on behalf of the Republic that all of you will be treated in accordance to the Rights of Sentience clause of the Galactic Constitution.”

Not a single Separatist warship, from the largest battleship to the smallest torpedo boat, made any signs of standing down.

“Master Windu…” Count Dooku’s polished tongue tutted chidingly, “That offer would have been more convincing two years ago. What has the Republic done to convince these brave men and women of your benevolence? You have burned down every world from Salvara to Centares, reduced Metalorn to slag, turned Mimban into a muddy hell, slaughtered the cities of Cyrillia, and now you destroy their homes. You crush Bandomeer under your heel, and tear down the skyhooks of Botajef–”

“Lies!” Mace Windu swore, “All lies! Dooku, even when we offer you quarter you reply to our goodwill with lies! You entrench your unbelievable claims, you stubbornly dig in your heels, you further immerse yourself in the dark side of the Force! Time and time again we have given you every chance at peace, at salvation, and this is how you respond? Misleading the people of this galaxy, feeding them lies, turning them against each other! When will this end? When will you have enough?”

“How defensive of you, Master,” Count Dooku chuckled lightly, so breezily Obi-Wan could have almost forgotten he was a man with nowhere left to go. Serenno was at the end of the road, and there was no way out. Count Dooku was trapped, and yet it was… it was as if Count Dooku thought himself free. Freer than he has ever been, like there was a weight lifted off his shoulders, “Or is that what you truly believe? That your precious Republic could do no wrong? That our Separatist Alliance is the source of all evil in the galaxy?”

The Force trembled. If one was to ask that very question–or is that what you truly believe?–to every member of the Jedi Order, it may as well cause the Third Great Schism. And all Jedi knew which side of this schism Mace Windu would fall on. There were Jedi aware of the faults and corruption of the Republic–those who have exchanged words in the labyrinthine halls of politics; and there were Jedi who were blind to it, willingly or not so–mostly those often absent with off-world assignments.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was once the latter. He was a man who would love nothing more than to distance himself from the complexities of the Republic and sit alone in a cave and meditate. Jedi Master. General of the Grand Army of the Republic. Member of the Jedi Council. Inside, he feels like he’s none of these things.

Back when he was learning to be Anakin’s master, the two of them were dispatched off-world to faraway missions often enough to miss the intricacies of domestic politics. Back then, Obi-Wan was still learning how to be a Jedi; because it is a simple truth of the Jedi Order that a Jedi Knight’s education truly begins only when he becomes a Master, that everything important about being a Master is learned from one’s student.

Despite then Obi-Wan’s constant headaches and exasperations about a young and rowdy Anakin Skywalker… looking back on it, it was a peaceful time. A peaceful time that made them ignorant to the growing darkness in the heart of the galaxy.

Now? Obi-Wan Kenobi was no longer the latter.

He was not Adi Gallia, who could only describe the Republic as a rotten, stinking corpse shrouded in satin, but nor was he a man who loved the Republic as if it were his parent. He valued peace above all, and for time immemorial the Republic was the symbol of it. No longer.

Alas, there were Jedi who truly loved the Republic. There were Jedi who believed they owed the Republic their lives. There were Jedi who loved the Republic as if it were their parent. There were Jedi who felt the filial obligation to protect the Republic and its Constitution. Or as Master Gallia would describe it: there were Jedi who felt duty-bound to guard a morgue, even as the world burned down around them.

Unfortunately, Master Mace Windu could be described as one of those Jedi.

Even now, Obi-Wan could sense the growing rift in the Expeditionary Fleet. The confidence they shared at the start of the Hydian Campaign, that eagerness to end the war. It was gone; eroded, grinded down to dust. Now, the Jedi looked over their shoulders at enemies imaginary and real. They look at their soldiers, who have fought alongside them for years, with suspicion. They look to each other with uncertain eyes, wondering who to trust, wondering if they were on the same side.

Wondering if they were in the know.

The Jedi Expeditionary Fleet was a tapestry unravelling at the seams. And Master Plo Koon needed this tapestry to just hold together long enough to smother Count Dooku with it.

“When will you see?” Dooku took on a tone of grandfatherly disappointment, “When will you see that we are not evil? When will you see that you have torn the galaxy apart to protect a Republic that does not protect you? I ask the same to you; how many people must you kill? How many planets must you burn? How many more years must the galaxy suffer before you realise you are fighting the wrong war?”

The Force trembled again. Uncertainty hung in the air over every warship. Every word Dooku spoke, the Expeditionary Fleet grew more uncertain, and the Serenno Defense Fleet grew more confident.

Before Master Windu could make another diplomatic blunder in his blunt, admittedly brusque way, Obi-Wan decided to step in.

“Count Dooku,” he announced himself to the captive audience of well over three-thousand warships, “Let us not engage in this war of words and settle this conflict simply; what would you have us do for you to surrender?”

There was a period of long silence from the normally savvy Dooku. Ahsoka was staring at him with wide eyes. Admiral Block was tensed on the deck, clenching and unclenching his fists.

And finally–

“Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan…” Count Dooku mused, with a certain lilt that told Obi-Wan exactly what he was thinking of right then.

“I would presume,” he started carefully, pushing down the guilt creeped into his throat, “That your intention is not to gloat.”

“I prefer to think myself above such things,” Dooku replied loftily.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Naturally,” Obi-Wan agreed.

A beat of deafening silence passed between the two fleets.

“That said–” Obi-Wan could sense Dooku’s bitter smile behind the transmission, “–I told you so.”

The silence returned, somehow louder than before. In that silence, the two men shared a conversation longer than a thousand words, unbeknownst to all but those who had learned of the truth.

“It’s not too late to fix things, Dooku,” Obi-Wan pleaded, “The Republic–”

“The Republic can no longer be repaired,” the Count of Serenno declared preemptively, “It is far too late for that. The only way to save the galaxy now is to tear down the Republic, and build it anew from the ground up. Alas, that will never happen. As such, this Confederacy is our only means to protect our slice of this galaxy we love.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. If only you knew.

If only you knew just how true and real that is. If only you knew that we have every intention of tearing down the galaxy and building it anew.

“…You are pleased,” the Jedi Master spoke to their fallen member, “Is there a reason for that?”

“Know that the Confederacy will not end with me,” Count Dooku said, “Know that this Confederacy has carved its existence into the stone of this galaxy. Know that we will fight here for this existence, and we will continue to fight–until the light at the end of the tunnel of this dark age emerges to us in its good time.”

How much of it was the truth, and how much of it was posturing to raise the morale of his spacers and soldiers? Obi-Wan Kenobi honestly could not know. He swallowed thickly.

“Then I believe there is nothing more to be said.”

⁂

Toprawa Orbit, Toprawa System

Kalamith Sector

Rear Admiral Diedrich Greyshade observed Task Force Hyperion through his flagship’s scopes as they departed to join the looming battle at Serenno. In Kronprinz’s receiving databanks laid what the 28th Mobile Fleet came to Toprawa for; the battle order of the Jedi Expeditionary Fleet.

He slowly pulled away from the scopes, “Get me a tightbeam to Admiral Trench.”