Chapter Text
"If a kid barely past their verd'goten can behead Vizsla, then my clan will no longer stay neutral. You have Clan Wren's full support, Alor Mereel."
The line cut.
Dooku bowed his head, trying not to laugh hysterically because calling Obi-Wan barely of age was ridiculous, and the Mandalorians were just as bad as the Jedi at keeping information. How did someone without a representative on the planet get the footage of his padawan was just beyond him. He could only hope it wasn't going to blow up to Jedi's face.
At least one party gained something, he concluded. But the priority wasn't gaining allies. The Watch had targeted the essentials first, and even his padawan drove the heaviest wave out (he did watch the footage. Yet it was still hard to believe) there was simply too much to fix.
"Do you have enough funds for the repairs?" He asked. He didn't mean to pry, but perhaps this could be a good opportunity to build ties with Jedi.
Mereel stared at him for a moment before turning to his council— or at least advisors of sort, Dooku couldn’t be sure. The hierarchy was hard to grasp.
Emotions caused waves in the force, muffled. But nods came one by one.
At least they were efficent. Surprisingly decent, too, even if that surprise was coming from his prejudice. This place had a flow he was starting to get jealous of.
"We have enough manpower, but we lack funds as now."
"I might have a solution for that," Dooku offered, his tone even. He needed open minds, not arguments. And so far, Mandos were doing good, considering everything happened between them and the Jedi.
"We don't want Republic help," Mereel retorted.
No compromise on that part. A fair wish, even if it made Dooku's offer a little risky to voice. But perhaps Mandos would like to rub it to the Republic's face afterwards.
"Do you accept jobs from outer rim planets?"
"It depends."
"May I make a call? Perhaps then you can decide."
The Force waved again. The helmets had to have built-in communication lines, and Doolu was happy he wasn’t part of this tense conversation. It took a good ten minutes for nods to come again. Dooku dialled the frequency as Mandos watched him.
The holoprojector buzzed a few times before it stabilised the image.
"Jenza," Dooku greeted.
"From which jungle planet do I have to pick you up now, Yan? You know I can't always have a spare ship ready." His sister almost scoffed, just as tired as usual. Seeing her again always made Dooku remember how lucky he was to be a Jedi instead of a count. Force forbid. He was a diplomat for sure, but politics were just...
Dooku shook his head, offering a subtle smile. "Now, dear, I don't only call when I'm in trouble. Besides, it's hardly my fault that both Jedi and Sith prefer thick fauna to build archives."
To hide Force imbalances, most likely. But his sister just wasn't interested. Dooku couldn't fault her.
"Just tell me what you did this time," Jenza sighed.
"Are you still having trouble with the pirates?"
"Did the Republic finally decide to do something about it?" She lit up. "If so, I want you to come. Until I get the title, at least. You know I need to keep up appearances."
"I couldn’t find a way to make Senate reconsider, even though I did manage to put a watchbeing position to a nearby system." He hated breaking that hope building up slowly, but Republic was too drowned in bureaucracy to scratch its own head. "However, one Jedi can only do too much. But I might have a more effective solution if you have any spare credits."
"I'd hate to leave you in crossfire again, brother," Jenza, Force bless her soul, still didn’t want to use Dooku's resources fully, be it connections or blackmail. She was just too good for politics.
But Dooku, too, didn't buy his sibling's excuses. She had to play a bigger role eventually if she wanted the throne. Solving this matter would put her ahead of their brother.
"None of that, dear. Just draft out a contract and send it over this frequency."
"Will do. Thank you."
Talking openly in front of strangers left a sour taste behind, but it was necessary. He could only be grateful she didn't call him Doo.
"Pirate watch, really?"
"I'd prefer the term planetary defence," Dooku muttered. And Jenza never disappointed him. She would put up a nice paper wirh a generous pay.
Before anyone can ask further questions, her offer was brodcasting on the holotable. But at the same time, an encrypted message was too displayed. A few sets of coordinates, seemingly on the planet by the look of the separation.
Signed as Ben.
'Ben' as the temple's little guests called his padawan when he first got back. Just perfect.
Mereel closed that tab quickly, and some of the room went out as if they had orders.
"Oh Obi-Wan," Dooku muttered to himself, unable to keep his groan. What was Dooku going to do with him?
Luckily, his remark went unnoticed. But the conversation in closed channels must have been going ok around, since Dooku soon found out he overstayed his welcome. He did his job as a witness, he made steps to fix the rooted misunderstandings, and he gained trust in the right places.
Now, this side was done. It was time to go home, cause some headache to his colleagues, annoy the senate, and deal with his wayward padawan.
After being - surprisingly - kindly kicked out, Dooku paced to his ship. His lightsaber - returned with respect along with his padawan's - drummed against his tight regularly, calming his thoughts. He needed to order his thoughts before his initial report.
Dooku went inside the shuttle, spreading his presence until he met with his padawan and... and another one. A strange, dulled presence that wasn't supposed to belong to the living.
He entered the small commom area, two sets of eyes already staring at him. Dooku opened his mouth to say something, even if he didn't know what to say, but still—
"You're a masochist," the armoured figure almost barked.
"Why would you say that, Master Vizsla?"
"Could you be kind enough to grant me some explanation, padawan?" Dooku pinched his nose, purposefully ignoring the dead figure in the room and its identity. Jo could have this one.
"So you do see him. I didn't go insane," Obi-Wan let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Padawan," Dooku warned.
"Apparently," Obi-Wan began, "the Darksaber is a holocron."
"This is not—"
"A very opinionated one, I see." Dooku cut in just to get some information. The banter didn’t seem to end. "And what did I miss, besides you having personal comm frequency of planetary leaders?"
"I have a lead on who's funding Death Watch, and the council might eant to look into it."
"You— when?"
Master Che was going to kill them.
"Is it still counted as a raid if i have their ancestor's permission?" His padawan dared to pull tooka eyes on him.
"It isn't a raid, Obi'ka. You blew them up."
"I might have."
"Padawan," Dooku sighed.
"I didn’t mean to. It's not my fault that everything is set to self-destruction!"
"I warned you."
"You only said it has a protection mechanism. Anyway, master, we should stop by Rattatak."
"Do I want to know what's on there?" Dooku gave up. This wasn't worth the trouble. He wanted a refund. In the form of sanity.