32 BBY
It was a few nights after returning from Coruscant, when Dooku felt a dark presence lurking outside the palace. He could tell almost immediately that it wasn't Sidious, this assassin wasn't nearly as powerful, but a formidable presence nonetheless. After making sure his children were in bed and Athemeene was asleep he left the palace to confront them.
Amidst the thinly spread, narrow trees that dug their roots into the steep, shallow soil of the mountain side, Dooku found the man waiting for him.
A zabrak, bald but for the crown of horns sprouting from his head, his face covered in a swirl of red and black tattoos. His eyes were an off yellow and bloodshot, a sure sign that excessive use of the Dark Side had turned him completely rabid. He was of average height, but with a powerfully athletic build, and a feral surety to his movements as he paced restlessly, treading small half circles into the loam before suddenly changing direction, like he was waiting for a chance to strike Dooku.
"Jedi." He breathed out, drawing the word into a low growl.
"What are you doing here, assassin? Your target is elsewhere."
"Yes. Elsewhere. Sometimes he's in your New Temple, and sometimes… he's here." He shrugged, like the idea of it was amusing. "Strange for a Jedi to have a palace."
Dooku's eyes narrowed, but he didn't yet reach for his lightsaber.
"I could strike Sifo while he's surrounded by your… 'new' Jedi, or I could strike at him here, where he's not nearly so well protected." He glanced past the Count for a moment before making eye contact and smirking. "Strange for a Jedi to have a family. Powerful, isn't she? I can feel all that potential from here."
Heart beating faster and hot blood rushing through his ears, Dooku was on the verge of attacking the man. In that moment the dark side wasn't cold to the touch, but scalding hot, seductive, beckoning Dooku to use it, to revel in it… But Dooku withheld himself. Clearly the Sith apprentice saw Dooku as a potential rival, and was not above any act he thought could give him an edge in seeking his Master's favor. There was no reason for Dooku not to kill him right then and there, and save himself the trouble for later.
Just do it now. This mad animal was threatening his family, and there was only one appropriate response.
With a long, deep breath, Dooku spoke to the intruder in a carefully measured voice. "This house, and everyone and everything under its roof is under my protection. If you dare to step foot across the boundary, your Master will find himself in need of a new pet."
"Is that so?" The man shrugged off his robes, bringing up his lightsaber staff.
Dooku noted the red blades coming from both ends; similar weapons were used by the Sentinels at the Temple on Coruscant. His keen eyes took in the assassin's stance, and well practiced movements.
The two stood motionless for a long moment, on the verge of combat but neither striking the first blow. Seconds ticked by, the wind ruffling Dooku's collar, before finally, the Assassin lowered his weapon.
"Temper, Jedi. I was merely showing courtesy." He returned the lightsaber to his belt in a practiced motion. "I can't attack your old friend at the 'new' Temple, and your family is here. So, you will help me. Send him away, and I will deal with him when he is alone."
Dooku scowled. "It will look suspicious if I order him to leave and he is killed immediately."
"Then what are we to do?"
A fresh wave of contempt for this man, no, beast, washed over Dooku. He made threats to his family just a moment before, yet now he dared to demand assistance? "You're the assassin, not me. Is this not your expertise?"
"Afraid to get your hands dirty? What will our Master think?" He smiled mockingly.
"Sidious," Dooku drawled out, "can think whatever pleases him." He replied. "Now begone."
"...Very well." The assassin pulled the cloak back over his shoulders, before turning and disappearing into the shadows.
Dooku remained long enough to make sure the shadowy scum had truly left, before returning back towards his house. After a long moment, he let his breath out and released his anger and the Dark Side with it. The fire in his veins was gone, leaving him cold and alone atop a mountain.
In the absence of rage, all Dooku felt was fear.
The purchase of the Hammerhead hulls was all but ready to go ahead. Before her master approved the payment, he wanted himself and Tan'ya to go to Raxus Prime to check on their condition first, and speak to the engineer who would be handling the restoration. You always had to be careful when purchasing a used ship, after all.
The morning they were due to leave, she went to the spot in the garden where Tan'ya, her mother and Asajj would practice their lightsaber forms, and was surprised to find her father there. Normally he would be at work around this time of the week, and even when he was home he preferred to practice by himself.
Tan'ya's mother wasn't Force Sensitive, but in the interests of maintaining her fitness she had persisted with her form 1 practice, and had slimmed down considerably. Though Tan'ya doubted her mother would ever hold a real lightsaber, she moved confidently and ably through the simple katas of Shii-Cho.
Asajj had been Dooku's apprentice for four and a half years now, and in that time had blossomed under his teachings. Tall and lithe with an ethereal grace, she had a natural talent for Makashi, which combined with the expert eye of her teacher and her own determination to become an excellent Jedi had resulted in a remarkable growth.
Even though she was only a padawan, Asajj had proven herself more than capable of dueling the knights and masters who occasionally visited the New Temple, and was even a match for Master Narec, no mean feat to Tan'ya's estimation. Even the staunchest of the Orthodox Jedi had to reluctantly concede that Asajj would soon be ready for her Knighthood.
Having practiced with the woman for years now, Tan'ya knew she had a long way to go before she rose to that level. She had mastered Form 1, and had memorized all the Form 2 katas, but had yet to fully integrate them into her movements the way Asajj had. So she persisted in the tedium of repetition of forms and stances in an effort to ingrain them as a habit that would serve her on the battlefields of the future… and to one day match her excellent senior.
After her mother left as usual part way through the morning, Dooku called Tan'ya over to spar.
It was immediately apparent that he was taking it easy on her, but that was to be expected. Tan'ya's father was rumored to be the greatest swordsman in the entire Jedi Order after all, and he certainly wasn't silent about any mistakes she made while practicing with him. Nervous despite herself, Tan'ya did her best to put on a good showing, though his expression gave away not even a hint of pleasure. The entire time they practiced together, the Count's expression was fixed in a cold frown.
Tan'ya must have been doing worse than she thought. Her experience as a mage was of little use, and she still knew too little about the way Jedi fought.
At the end of the practice, Tan'ya was left feeling embarrassed and worried as she watched the back of her Father stride back into the house, plainly unimpressed.
"Hey, you did great." Asajj offered an obvious platitude, and Tan'ya accepted it with grace.
The youngest children had already been fed by Athemeene before they got there, so at breakfast the three ate in silence. Feeling glum about what was a poor performance review, Tan'ya hardly even noticed when her own Master, Sifo, joined them.
"Have you packed your bags yet, Tan'ya?" He asked her, taking his seat.
Tan'ya nodded once. "Yes, Master."
Dooku paused, then looked at his daughter. "Going to the New Temple?"
"We were going to visit Raxus Prime." She said.
Sifo added, "We were going to carry out the final inspection on the Hammerhead hulls."
"...Raxus Prime is a hub of the Dark Side, it's too risky for her to go as she is." Dooku said.
Sifo looked at him for a long moment. "Is that so? I think she's ready." The two stared at each other until finally at last Sifo broke eye contact. "I see. Shall I inspect the ship hulls alone, then?"
"That would be for the best."
The rest of their meal passed in uncomfortable silence, and Tan'ya left the table not feeling quite as hungry as she had when she sat down and not having eaten much at all. On her way up the stairs to her bedroom, suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder.
"Come on, let's meditate together." Asajj said.
They both sat cross legged on Tan'ya's bedroom floor, with their eyes closed. Tan'ya's cheeks started to grow wet, though she was careful to keep her breathing even.
"That's it, let the feelings run through you." Asajj said softly. "Then we let go of them into the Force. The sadness, the disappointment, the frustration. It's okay to feel these things, but don't hold onto them. Just let them flow into the Force."
It was a method of emotional control that Tan'ya had been taught already, but she rarely used it unless instructed to do so. Only an overly emotional weakling would need such a thing, yet even so, Tan'ya occasionally found it valuable. Though amidst other feelings, there was gratitude to Asajj before she let that go as well.
Sitting in his office, Dooku stared blankly at the work on his desk. The stylus in his hands didn't move as he just looked at the tablet in front of him. Outside the Palace, Sidious' pet still lurked. The beast still hadn't crossed the boundary, but lurked and observed. Somehow he had been able to evade the Royal Guards as they patrolled.
Pursing his lips, Dooku decided it would be worth it to train the Guard in how to shield their minds.
There was a knock at the door. When Dooku looked up to find his old friend, he dropped the Dark Side like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Yes?"
"Just dropping this off." Sifo stepped into the office, before setting a crystal blue and gold wire holocron on the Count's desk. "You asked for it, remember?"
"...Right, I did." Dooku reached out for it. "How was it made so fast?"
"I've always had an interest in prophecy. Ever since my one prophecy, I've kept one or two empty holocrons nearby just in case I had another."
"...Right. The prophecy about Tan'ya." Dooku paused in thought.
"The Child of the Twentieth Lost will Tear the Veil of Deception open, and reveal the circling darkness once more." Sifo recited, a distant look in his eye.
It had been so many years since he heard it, and while Dooku had never put much stock in prophecy, hearing it in that moment raised the hairs on the back of his neck. If Sidious ever found out about it, he would demand Tan'ya's death.
"...Are you sure it's about Tan'ya?" Dooku asked at last. "Am I even one of the Lost?"
Sifo considered for a moment, before shrugging. "I mean, I suppose you have other children as well."
Dooku froze, the blood running cold in his veins. "How many copies of that prophecy are there?"
"Just the one. They keep it in the vault on Coruscant." Sifo looked at Dooku, a question in his still-brilliant eyes. "Did you want one for yourself?"
"...I'm fine, thank you."
"Well, I'll see you soon." Sifo said goodbye to Dooku, before turning to leave.
"Wait." The word tumbled from Dooku's lips, and he didn't even know what to say when Sifo turned to look at him. "Perhaps we should delay purchasing the Hammerhead hulls."
Sifo raised an eyebrow. "What brings this up all of a sudden?"
Dooku's mind raced to find an excuse. "Even these few ships are much more expensive than I thought they would be. The Trade Federation fleet is sufficient for our needs, perhaps we should make do with the Royal Guard and the expanded militia."
There was a long pause as Sifo stood there. Eventually he said, "This is your decision and no one else's. Is this what you really want?"
He was out of excuses, he'd backed himself into a corner and there was no easy way out. Dooku couldn't sacrifice his hopes and dreams for a peaceful, ordered galaxy. He couldn't risk the Sith Assassin hurting his family, and couldn't sacrifice his oldest and greatest friend.
Could he tell Sifo the truth now? No, it was far too late. Sidious would still want him dead, and Sifo could never agree to work with a Sith.
Eventually, after a desperate few seconds, Dooku made his choice. "I'm being foolish. Go ahead with the inspection."
When Sifo closed the room behind him, Dooku felt something close within himself as well, and he placed a hand over his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering sigh.
Sifo's boots squelched through the mud, his thick hood made of thin metal foil crinkled with every step as droplets of toxic rain rolled down his back.
Every visit to Raxus Prime was a reminder not to return. The planet stank of mold and rust, when it wasn't coming down with bitter smelling alkaline rain that cleared sinuses and stripped certain kinds of paints from starships. The mixture of old garbage and bleach smell was strong enough to give Sifo a headache. It was also unpleasantly warm and humid, being closer to the sun than Secundus and darker in color resulting in greater heat absorption on the surface. The air turned misty with the water evaporating off of the hot, exposed metal surfaces.
Even night time wouldn't bring respite, only a bone cold chill. Prime had almost no biosphere to keep the heat inside the atmosphere, meaning anyone caught outside without shelter for warmth was likely to freeze to death before the sun rose again.
The population that lived here were either offworlders who found temporary residence in temperature controlled domed cities, or poor locals who constructed their shelters beneath the surface of the world to escape the oppressive cycle. Both groups had an unpleasant reputation, the former for being greedy and exploitative, and the later for being crazy, untrustworthy, and dangerous.
Buried in Prime's endless stacks of rusted trash were countless ancient treasures. The small native population of the planet scraped together a living by collecting metal scrap, and selling it to offworld smelters to be broken down into new bars of durasteel, copper, and even aurodium. Amidst the piles of detritus, small, potentially valuable artifacts would be claimed by eager scavengers, who would sell them to merchants for the nice occasional bonus, that is if they could reach one of the domes before it was stolen from them. It wasn't uncommon to stumble across a dead scrapper among the dunes, his head bashed open or his intestines exposed with a crude shank.
All of this was awful, and made Prime a place to avoid for anyone who had the choice, but it was even worse for Sifo as a Jedi. The Dark Side had formed a nexus around the ruined world, a frigid, nightmarish miasma of bitter, despairing madness that sawed at the edges of his consciousness. It was as if the world knew how it had been defaced, and resented all that laid eyes on it.
It was no wonder that Jedi so rarely came here.
Perhaps Dooku was right. Leaving Tan'ya at home had been the right decision.
"Here they are." The oddly nasal, slightly high pitched accent of Sifo's tour guide shook him out of his reverie. Julgut was an older man, in his fifties with a long scraggly beard that was graying at its roots. He didn't seem to mind or notice that his nose was running, and there were small driblets of snot clinging to the hairs above his lip. "Not real pretty, Prime grime will do that to you. My mate in the archives still digging up the decommission orders, but we're pretty sure they were shuttered here after Ruusan."
The hammerheads were exactly as promised, half a dozen ships of that venerable make and model abandoned in the scrap of Raxus Prime. All six of them were parked neatly next to each other, with crews of local engineers working to dig away the accumulated filth that the hulls were partially buried in. The hammerheads were skeletal, missing computer panels, blasters, hyperdrives and engines.
As a historian, Sifo guessed they probably served as escort ships for the Republic's merchant navy in the New Sith Wars, defending shipments of valuable goods from raiders far from the war front. When peace returned, they were no longer needed, and sold at rock bottom prices to a scrapper here on the planet, who stripped them of anything of value and forgot about them. They then sat here ever since, as the detritus of Prime slowly buried them. It would be far cheaper to just buy a new Hammerhead with modern parts then to pay for these to be refurbished, but then that wasn't really an option for Serenno.
"And you can restore them?" Sifo asked.
"I can, all six." Julgut replied, confidently, resting his thumbs in his pockets. "Gonna take some time, though."
"How long?"
"A year for each hull, without delays, and there will be. There always is."
"Six years at least? Why so long?"
"Can't just fix the buggers up on the ground, we need to get to the underside, you see. Gotta elevate them, and it's one at a time, I'm afraid." He pointed over to the massive, primitive looking land vehicle that his employees were working out of. It was as large as the Palace on Serenno. The thing didn't even hover, it just had a massive set of wheeled tracks. On the top level of the gargantuan vehicle was what looked almost like a space dock, but with cranes and winches to pull a ship out of the muck and hold it in place while it was being worked on.
It was essentially a small, mobile shipyard, but located inside a planet's atmosphere instead of floating in space. Sifo had never seen anything like it before in all his travels across the Galaxy. It was a specialized piece of machinery that could only be used here for this one express purpose.
"Where'd you get that from?" He asked.
"Built it meself. As a young man, I found good money in fixing up a few old speeders in my shed. Collectors and enthusiasts loved them, the older the better. Museums sometimes, too. Kuat of Kuat loves his blasted Den range, has hundreds of garages. Anyway, step-dad had the idea of working on bigger things, and came up with a shed we could put together and take apart easily, and we'd drive it out to old fighters, put up the shed around them and get to work.
"Problem was, there just ain't a market for old fighters. Freighters, too. Just not something a rich guy can show off to his friend, you know? Someone with a freighter's trying to run a business, and he just wants something cheap and available. Trying to restore them just took too long, and was too expensive. The market for vintage cruisers and yachts was going to be when the trillionaires might take an interest, but they were too big and buried. If I could just get 'em above ground, I could work on things that were a lot bigger.
"Then I saw one of those jawa crawlers in a holo vid, and the idea hit me. So I put up the old shed and just started building. Step-dad got involved, and saw the money we could make off of just one good sale, and so we split the work between us. Speeder business did so well we were able to hire and train some people, and well know you see it."
Sifo shook his head, marveling at the scale of the work and its complexity. "Are you self taught?"
Julgut shrugged. "Well, yeah. But I also have qualifications, a Masters from the Kuati Institute of Technology. Didn't learn much, but people care about certification."
"Kuati?" Sifo looked at the scruffy, pot bellied man in his filthy overalls with his long scraggly beard and tried to imagine him in a classroom of engineering students. "How did you qualify for that?"
"Kuat of Kuat is a collector of vintage speeders, right? We got to talking, and he thought it was fair that I get a chance to test into the Institute, so he had a seat on the entrance exams set aside for me."
"You mean to tell me that you're a personal friend of the Kuat? One of the richest men in the Galaxy?" Sifo wasn't sure he believed it.
The man looked embarrassed, blushing under his facial hair. "The point is, you don't have to worry about my qualifications. I promise, I can get the ships running as good as new, and they'll pass any certification you need them too."
Having been around the Galaxy a few times, Sifo knew better than to trust people at their word, but even in the Force there was nothing to indicate this man was trying to be deceptive. As improbable a story as it was, Julgut really believed he was on a first named basis with Kuat of Kuat. That could easily be chalked up to the madness of Raxus Prime, but evidence of his genuine skills as an engineer were right there in the form of the crawler dock in front of him.
The hulls were in the condition that was promised, and the man seemed to have the right tools for the job. After getting confirmation from one of his contacts that Julgut's qualifications were legitimate, Sifo authorized the first payment to be made.
That very afternoon, despite the terrible weather, Julgut's crew got to work, all overseen by the grubby man. He waddled around the dig site, a radio in one hand and a waterproof holopad in the other, organizing the few dozen men who worked for him with his slightly high pitched voice ringing out clearly over the rain storm.
Sifo stayed for another hour to watch the men work before leaving, confident that they would be able to do the job. He would return in a month's time or so, to see how the first hull was coming along, but for now Raxus Prime was becoming difficult for him to handle. Despite the warm, humid weather, Sifo felt a growing chill from the looming Dark Side Nexus, one that only seemed to be growing stronger.
Deciding it wasn't worth it to spend the night here, Sifo kicked his speeder into gear and raced to the landing pad where his ship was parked. The speeder wasn't Sifo's, he rented it from a local kiosk and returned it with a small tip for the scrawny twi'lek boy working the counter.
After paying the parking fee for using the pad, Sifo headed towards his ship when a man in a dark hood stepped out from behind the corner of his ship.
Sifo stopped, taking in the details of the man's features. A red skinned zabrak, hairless, with a perfect crown of horns on his head and shorter than most men, a night brother from Dathomir. His eyes were yellow with the power of the Dark Side, and he had countless black tattoos spread across his face, that Sifo recognised immediately as Sith script.
That cold feeling across Sifo's skin only intensified as they locked eyes, and the assassin drew his lightsaber, no… lightstaff. The blade burned crimson, rain drops sizzling into steam when they touched it.
A sith, and the first Sifo had ever seen in person. Also, not who he expected.
It was a terrible situation to be in, and Sifo knew it. He was old, and definitely not in the shape he used to be, the alcohol he poured into his body with abandon had seen to that. The Force could be used to empower someone who would otherwise be physically frail, but here amidst a Nexus of the Dark Side, Sifo's connection to the Light Side was tenuous at best, and metaphysically distant to boot.
In contrast the Sith was young, and in his physical prime. The Dark Side was known to create powerful and dangerous warriors, and this one was obviously well trained. Even worse still, he would only be more powerful here on Raxus. There was no chance for negotiation either, the assassin's murderous intent was broadcast clearly through the Force.
Sifo knew that he didn't really stand a chance of winning this fight, but drew his lightsaber. "I worried that I might not live to ever see one of your kind."
The assassin smirked. "Playing for time, Jedi?"
Sifo shook his head. "I'm a historian. I've spent countless hours studying your kind, all in preparation for this moment. I have nothing to fear from you."
The sith chuckled at that. "And how many hours do you think I've spent studying your kind, Jedi? Not from some withered away, third hand account scrawled millennia ago, but here, today, now. Alive, until they met me."
"Well, come then. We'll see who the better student is."
The assassin charged, striking forward in the most vicious series of Juuyo movements Sifo had ever seen. When their blades met, it was immediately obvious who held the upper hand. On the defensive, Sifo stuck entirely to Soressu, diverting strikes and protecting his body, while not risking his limbs with exaggerated movements. He was forced back, the two flashing lightsabers screeching whenever they came into contact.
Sifo's backfoot touched the speeder stand, and he nearly tripped. He was so used to seeing with the force that he almost forgot where the obstacles around him were, but here on Prime he was nearly blinded to the future. This mistake nearly cost him his life, as the assassin, guided by the force,saw it coming and drove his lightsaber into the old master's chest.
Or he would have, if it hadn't deflected off something. Sifo was able to back away, burned but not killed. A thin chainmail of ancient cortosis showed under the new rent in his rain proof foil robes, which had just barely saved his life. The gaps between the tiny rings were more than large enough for hot air to pass through, roasting the flesh of his skin.
Sifo's side was in agony, and his breath was ragged from just a few minutes of exchanging blows. He backed away on unsteady feet towards his ship.
Hissing with annoyance, the sith leapt through the air to land between the Jedi and his ship. "Trying to escape, Jedi?"
With one hand holding his lightsaber, and the other reaching under his robe to clutch his injured side, Sifo grimaced. With his luck, the rain on Prime would give him an infection, and he'd be bedridden for weeks.
Assuming he escaped with his life.
Taking his hand away from his injury, Sifo reached for his holocom.
"Oh, please." The sith sneered. "Trying to call for help? Of course I'm jamming the signal, fool. You're trapped here."
Sifo tried dialing, but couldn't connect with anyone. He reviewed his options for a moment, unable to escape, victory seemed impossible. He was doomed.
Despite the pain he was in, and the odds stacked against him, Sifo felt calm, prepared for this.
"This is a trap." Sifo agreed, locking eyes with the sith. "But not for me, I'm just the bait." He dialed a different number on his holocom. Whatever jamming device the Sith had, it would have to be incredibly impressive to block a signal being sent just fifteen meters. Luckily it wasn't.
A holocom on Sifo's ship rang once, before the entire vessel detonated.