"...A first arrival at Raxus Secundus invariably leaves a strong impression on those accustomed to the dead stone jungles and endless metal of Coruscant, or the industrial hell of factory worlds..." — So read a paragraph from a short HoloNet article I had decided to skim right before dropping out of hyperspace at my current destination.
"They weren't exaggerating," I murmured, as the blurred streaks of stars in hyperspace gave way to the relative stillness of realspace — and the planet filled most of the viewport ahead of me. I forgot about the article still open on my datapad entirely. This was a genuine antipode of the Republic's capital: instead of kilometers-deep layers of steel, endless streams of airspeeders, and smog, there were vast stretches of green broken by deep blue oceans and cities that, from orbit, appeared as tiny flecks of white — like pearls pressed into the green-and-blue velvet of Raxus.
Even the Force felt different here. On Mandalore or Riflor it had been heavy, saturated with the smell of smoke and the echoes of dying screams — especially after a certain amount of time spent in my company there. Purely coincidental, I assure you. Here it was something else entirely: deceptively light. Like a fresh breeze that nonetheless carries the pollen of poisonous flowers. Beneath the tranquil surface, the naive hopes of local idealists churned alongside the fine-spun, gossamer intrigues of politicians who genuinely believed they were building a better world — while the corporations quietly bled the galaxy dry.
"What a revolting cleanliness," Kem Val said, appearing at the viewport and staring down at the planet with undisguised distaste, completely ignoring the enormous defensive fleet the CIS had stationed to protect it. "It smells of weakness. Master, are you certain this is where we need to be? Give me an hour and I could turn this garden into a proper bloodbath."
"Settle down, Kem. The hunt here is conducted with words, not teeth. Although," I glanced at him, "your presence alone should help certain senators arrive at the right conclusions considerably faster. But only when I ask you to make an appearance. Am I understood?"
Before heading down to the surface, I had to attend to my appearance. The Mandalorian armor Vizsla had given me went into the weapons locker — in this environment it would read as far too aggressive, an unwelcome reminder of the recent carnage. In its place I put on an elegantly tailored senior Confederacy officer's uniform — dark grey with silver trim, made to order. No unnecessary ornamentation, just clean, severe lines that suggested a "soldier-philosopher": someone who had seen the horrors of war and now sought order above all else. My face required some adjustment as well — mostly minor cosmetic touches — along with dyeing my hair, which I had cut down by nearly half, to black. As a final detail, I added a small respirator crafted from some dark alloy, to complete the look. I was not an ordinary being, and that needed to be apparent. The lightsaber contributed to the same effect — clipped to my belt at an angle where it was visible without being ostentatious.
When we touched down on a private platform in Erinia's government quarter, a delegation of protocol droids was already waiting. The MagnaGuards disembarked first, their metal feet ringing off the white marble with a resonant, authoritative echo. I followed, keeping my expression set to one of polite detachment.
"Lord Brute?" one of the secretary droids intoned, bowing. "Your apartments and office in the attaché building have been prepared. Senator Bonteri and the Council look forward to your cooperation in ensuring the security of the upcoming proceedings."
"Please convey to the Senator that order is the foundation upon which freedom is built," I replied, deploying one of the suitably grandiose phrases I had prepared specifically for the new persona. "I will begin reviewing the security protocols immediately."
XXXXXXXXX
The next couple of days dissolved into an endless succession of meetings and walks. I had deliberately chosen a strategy of visible presence: attending receptions, taking meals in the communal dining halls, engaging junior officials in unhurried conversations about history and art before ever touching on matters of security — building the image of a measured, thoughtful officer who was in no particular rush. The MagnaGuards trailing me like shadows lent additional weight to every word, reminding everyone of whose confidence I carried. Inwardly, though, I was constantly checking the clock. The data — supplemented by what I had learned on the ground, including the target's habitual routes — should already have reached the Gray Shadows, along with their advance payment. Their signal that they were ready would be an inconspicuous HoloNet article they were to publish, and despite a flicker of concern that the mercenaries might simply take the money and disappear, they did in fact make contact on schedule. I proceeded with the plan.
When the Raxusan sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in soft lavender, I selected a small park for my "evening walk" — situated along the path between the administrative buildings and the senators' residential quarter. From the perspective of a would-be assassin, it was ideal: open ground, fountains, decorative hedgerows, and a minimal number of security cameras.
Their target was the senator from the Rampori system — one of the "wavering" voices who had recently begun throwing his support behind Bonteri with growing enthusiasm. His near-elimination — or rather, the convincing performance of it — was designed to serve as a catalyst.
I walked along the path with my hands clasped behind my back. The MagnaGuards moved a couple of meters behind me, their electrostaff inactive but their combat systems running at full readiness.
Then, from behind a dense stand of shrubs covered in white flowers, three figures burst out. They wore masks and worn mercenary armor without identifying markings — exactly as agreed. They needed to look like radicals, or simple rabble with a grudge against tax collectors.
"There he is! Death to the bloodsuckers!" one of them shouted — demonstratively loud, but without overplaying it — and raised his blaster.
Shots crackled through the air. The senator, walking a few steps ahead of me with his two B1 guard droids, cried out in fright and scrambled to hide behind the nearest fountain. His escort droids, predictably slow to react, began to turn — but one of the mercenaries put a clean shot through the head of the first one, while the second simply knocked the weapon from the other's grip.
My MagnaGuards raised their staffs instantly — their sensors had registered the threat and they were already tensing to lunge forward and reduce "my" mercenaries to scrap metal.
"Hold!" I said quietly, putting just enough authority into my voice to make the droids freeze for a moment while they processed the priority of the command. "Secure the perimeter. Cover the senator — no one within ten meters of him. I'll handle this myself."
The MagnaGuards obediently reformed into a living shield around the senator, who had pressed himself flat against the marble. That was precisely what I needed — they were recording the engagement, but not actively participating in it.
The next instant my orange-and-black blade hummed to life, sweeping several blaster bolts aside — but I made a deliberate effort to avoid the clichéd image of the rampaging Sith who charges forward throwing lightning. Instead I moved as smoothly as possible, executing clean, classical fencing technique, as though this were a demonstration bout — which in a certain sense it was.
The first mercenary fired at me three more times. I deflected the bolts lazily, letting them burst spectacularly in the canopy of the trees above.
"Leave while I'm still inclined to let you," I said, loudly enough for everyone present to hear.
One of the mercenaries, following the script, rushed me with a vibro-knife. I executed a clean pivot off his line of attack and cracked him across the temple with the hilt of my blade — not lethal, but he would be unconscious for a good while. One of the remaining two opened up with covering fire while the other hauled his fallen partner upright, and while I made a convincing show of deflecting shots aimed toward the senator, all three began falling back toward the drainage access points.
"You'll answer for this!" the apparent leader shouted, hurling a smoke canister.
Thick grey smoke flooded the path. Through the Force I felt them drop into the pre-opened access hatch. I could have caught them in two jumps — instead I simply held my position, in what I had no doubt was a composed and striking silhouette, listening to the sirens that were already wailing somewhere nearby.
When the smoke began to clear, I deactivated the lightsaber and approached the senator. He was trembling from head to toe, staring up at me with an expression split equally between raw terror and overwhelming gratitude.
"You... you saved my life," he managed, grasping the hand I extended. "They were trying to kill me!"
"Easy, Senator. You're safe now." I helped him to his feet, holding the mask of stern compassion in place. "Unfortunately, the attackers have escaped into the drainage system — but my droids recorded their data. We will find them."
At that moment a Senate security team came running down the path, followed closely by several officials. Among them I immediately picked out Mina Bonteri — I had read her file thoroughly before this moment, making her my primary subject of interest. Her presence nearby was no coincidence. The attack had been staged precisely because she was expected to be in the area. Bonteri looked shaken, her eyes moving rapidly from the destroyed droids to the rescued senator, before finally coming to rest on me.
I stood at the center of the ruined park, my immaculate uniform dusted with only a light film of debris — and I knew exactly how I appeared from the outside. I reinforced that impression with a subtle touch of the Force: not as Dooku's agent, sent to intimidate dissenters, but as a protector who had faced "terrorists" alone while Raxus's celebrated security forces were conspicuously absent. It wouldn't earn unconditional trust — but it would accomplish the first and most important step toward establishing a dialogue.
"What happened here?" Mina stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. "Senator, are you injured?"
"If not for— You're Attaché Brute, is that right?" Senator Rampori pointed at me with an unsteady finger, and after I gave a confirming nod, he exhaled. "If not for the Attaché, I would already be dead. He— he fought them alone! His droids were shielding me while he—"
Mina turned her gaze to me. In her eyes I read a full range of emotions — from suspicion to genuine astonishment. She knew who had sent me, and she had clearly been bracing for threats, or an attempt on her own life, or at the very least the sight of me standing by while one of her allies was killed. Instead, she had walked into this.
"Lord Brute, you—" she paused briefly, choosing her words. "Your intervention was exceptionally well timed. Senator Rampori is one of the most important voices on our committee. His death would have been an irreplaceable loss. On behalf of the full Senate, I thank you."
"Think nothing of it. I was simply doing my duty, Senator Bonteri." I inclined my head in a slight, courteous bow. "Though I confess it pains me to see that here in the Confederacy — a body that fights for the freedom and security of its member worlds — we cannot guarantee that security even here, on Raxus itself. But give me time, and I will see to it that changes."
I let the words settle for a moment, and as they did I reached — lightly, almost imperceptibly — into her mind through the Force. Not a coarse intrusion, not an attempt to bend her will. Those techniques always backfire with intelligent beings: when the effect fades, it leaves behind a faint, unpleasant aftertaste and a subconscious distrust that is nearly impossible to overcome. No — I worked with far more care, simply giving a gentle nudge to feelings that were already present in her, resonating with her genuine anxiety and her genuine disillusionment.
What I had said contained certain carefully placed elements — signals that, if she caught them, would suggest to Bonteri that I shared her faction's views. The rescue of her ally would reinforce that I was someone worth dealing with. All conversation, I had long since decided, was something like extreme fishing: an experienced angler knows exactly when to set the hook with a heavy catch, and when to let the line run a little longer. And I considered myself experienced.
In this case, my words had hit their mark — but there was no reason to rush. Ideally, her faction would become my foothold within the CIS. And a lasting alliance required more than simply appearing to be a decent person; it required earned trust.
"You are right," Mina said quietly, and there was weariness in her voice. "Unfortunately, every available resource goes to the war effort, while at home... well. You've seen it for yourself."
"Or the resources go to the wrong places entirely." I lowered my voice, as though sharing something genuinely dangerous. "You see, Senator — I am a soldier, to put it simply. A soldier who witnessed a revolt against the Republic on Riflor, who saw the chaos of the Mandalorian uprising, and who came here believing we were building something better than the rotting Republic so many of us wanted so desperately to leave behind. But sometimes... sometimes the methods certain circles in our leadership choose to employ make me ask myself questions I find difficult to answer."
Bonteri went very still, studying my eyes intently. Through the Force I felt her suspicion — that natural armor she had built against me as Dooku's representative — beginning to develop hairline fractures. The moment to set the hook was nearly here. Not quite yet.
"And which 'leadership methods' are you referring to?" she asked quietly, with a tone that was clearly a test — and more than a little deliberate provocation.
"The ones where it is easier to intimidate the locals than to negotiate with them. Where corporate interests become more important than the lives of living beings." I allowed a note of genuine bitterness into my voice. "You see what the Corporate Council does — what Gunray says, what Tambor says, even what Dooku himself says. And sometimes it seems to me that we are becoming a mirror image of the very evil we claimed to be fleeing. Those attackers who came for Senator Rampori today — they are not simply criminals. They are a symptom. A symptom of the disease of losing connection with the very people this whole endeavor was meant to serve."
Now — now was the moment to set the hook. I pressed through the Force again, carefully amplifying in her a sense of shared purpose and mutual recognition. She needed to see a kindred spirit in me — a person of principle, just as disillusioned with those at the top as she was.
Mina Bonteri was quiet for a long moment, her eyes drifting to a small violet flower growing beside the path, her expression one of genuine inner conflict. On one hand, I had arrived bearing Dooku's authority. On the other, what I had just said reflected thoughts she clearly carried herself.
"Lord Brute, it is rare to encounter someone of your rank who is willing to speak openly about such things. Especially here, where even the flowers have ears." She glanced meaningfully at my MagnaGuards, standing at a respectful distance.
"My droids hear only what I permit them to hear," I replied, holding the half-smile that — hidden by the mask — she couldn't actually see. Bonteri pressed her lips together, turning the answer over in her mind, and through the Force I felt her arrive at the conclusion I had been guiding her toward. The hook was set. Time to bring the catch in.
"We should discuss this somewhere less exposed... My colleagues will arrange a private meeting. If you genuinely care about the Confederacy's future, you are welcome to attend and hear what we have to say." She paused. "But I ask that you come without those." She nodded toward the MagnaGuards. "I hope I haven't misjudged you, Special Agent of Dooku."
I gave her a deeper bow than before, letting none of my amusement at the fact that she knew exactly who I was show through.
"It would be an honor, Senator. I will come alone."
Turning to face my MagnaGuards, standing as motionless as ever behind me, I allowed myself a private smile beneath the mask. Dooku would receive a clean report: an assassination attempt on a dissident senator, successfully prevented, exemplary conduct on my part, and an invitation extended by the opposition faction. He would be pleased — believing I was skillfully working my way into their confidence in order to strike at the decisive moment. Bonteri herself might suspect something similar, yet had chosen to keep a potential enemy visible and within reach, while also testing whether she could turn him. I had no doubt the gathering itself would be ringed with enough security to give any Force user pause — but that was of no consequence whatsoever.
XXXXXXXXXX
After returning to my quarters, the first thing I did was activate the signal jammers and lock the doors. The MagnaGuards remained stationed outside—their programming didn't allow for objections as long as the "protected subject" stayed inside a secured room.
I sat down at the terminal and opened a channel to the "Invisible Hand." It was time for my first official report.
"My lord," I said as Dooku's hologram materialized in the center of the room. He would learn about today's operation sooner or later anyway, so hiding it would have been pointless. "I have a report. Today, an assassination attempt was made on Senator Rampori. I personally prevented it. The attackers escaped, but the display of force was… highly persuasive."
"And what were the consequences of this 'small demonstration,' Brutus?" Dooku asked in his usual calm, emotionless tone.
"The opposition is frightened. More importantly, Senator Bonteri personally thanked me. She invited me to attend their private gathering this evening. I'm entering their inner circle under the guise of a 'disillusioned patriot.' In time, I'll be able to identify every member of the faction and lay the groundwork for their eventual discrediting—or elimination—as you ordered."
Dooku nodded with visible satisfaction. "Well done. Remember, Brutus: Bonteri is intelligent. Do not give her any reason to doubt your loyalty. Use her trust to pull every thread. I expect a more detailed report before you take further action."
"It will be done, my lord."
The hologram vanished, and I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath.
The "spy game" was the perfect cover for now, giving me time to prepare the groundwork—and the allies—for a future strike against my so-called master. Dooku believed I was his spy. Bonteri believed I was her newest ally.
But in truth…
In truth, I was preparing yet another uprising. Same as always.
For now, I still had time, but sooner or later the Count might begin to suspect something. And the price of making a mistake in this "game" was far higher than anything on a battlefield. When I first woke up in this world—carefree, owing nothing to anyone on Tatooine—could I ever have imagined I'd end up doing something like this?
Still, this was no time for reflection.
Shared interests bind allies far more tightly than promises ever could, and Bonteri's idealists and I certainly had common ground. If Dooku decided to eliminate them, they were doomed either way, even if he was handling it quietly for now. And I would be just as dead if my plans for a coup were exposed too early.
That famous "walking the knife's edge"—that was exactly what my current plan had become.
But I felt no fear. Only anticipation. And somewhere deep inside, a voice kept whispering:
The harder the challenge, the better.
"Master," Kem Val drawled as he approached the window, stretching the word with deliberate mockery. "This city reeks of lies and weakness. And now you smell the same. Why bother with all these schemes?"
"One day you're really going to push me too far, Kem…" I snapped, irritated that he'd interrupted my thoughts.
But the Dashade only laughed—and for once, I think he genuinely meant it.
"Hah! I don't like the smell itself, but I do enjoy watching you lie to that worthless fool who thinks you're his servant. Now that smells familiar… the true Dark Side."
This time, I stayed silent, forcing down the surge of emotion.
The dinner at Bonteri's promised to be interesting. I would have to convince a group of idealists that I was their last hope.
And the greatest irony was that, in a way, it was true.
They just didn't yet understand the price they would have to pay for it.
Closing my eyes, I slipped into a restless Sith meditation. Tonight, I would need a perfectly clear mind.
If everything went according to plan, by morning Mina Bonteri's faction would be reborn…
Under my unseen guidance.