Author's Notes: "Eclipse" turned two last January the 25th. It would have been appropriate to commemorate its birthday with a new chapter, but I failed to get one done in time. So how about I make it up to you with a five-chapter-at-once bonanza? Things are hotting up to the beginning of the end now, which I'm partly happy and partly sad about - happy to finish this gargantuan beast, yet unhappy to think that I won't have it to work on some time in the (hopefully) near future. I've decided that my project after "Eclipse" will be my old, almost abandoned "Dark Lady" fic, which is about an OC of mine who becomes Darth Vader's protégée, and which I started writing when I was 13 (eep!). But enough of that… I must again offer my thanks to everyone for their unceasing support - a writer is nothing without readers, and you've all been very helpful, encouraging and inspiring. I'm going to leave the fifth part on a cliff-hanger just to annoy you and am hoping to get the final creases in the plot ironed out before I take that final plunge into the last leg of the journey. This will be able to tag onto Episode IV in its own way, I promise.

I've got a feeling that I'm not gonna have the time to do General Grievous justice either. I love playing with him in my story, but I can't give him a part that will equal whatever he might be getting in RotS.

And I got fed up with reading these next five chapters through in the end, so if there are mistakes and stuff, just let me know nicely. I'll go back to 'em later or else I'll never get finished.

PadawanMage: I made up Veers' dad. I got all his names from past Scandinavian kings. I thought it kinda complemented him having a son called 'Maximilian'. and don't think too hard about my story, or you'll make my brain ache… ;)

Ami: It's funny there's a planet called 'Eclipse' in the EU - I did see that on a SW galactic map, I must confess, though it has nothing to do with my story or its title. Thanks for reading so far, anyway.

Kynstar: The "Moulin Rouge" OST has helped inspire me a lot for this fic (for some bizarre reason…) so there are quite a few references to it. I'm also glad you like my take on Grievous - it's gonna be interesting to compare him with the true, movie one in a few weeks.

Infamous One: Thank you - here are four more 'fat' chapters, and one 'skinny' one.

Turtle Ninja: It's nice to know you find my fic 'compelling' and all - it's just nice to know that I can entertain peeps, and that bizarre formulas can sometimes work.

Audreidi: My thanks again - and it's just my opinion, about Sidious 'pandering' to Dooku. I mean, it's not so much what I write but what you read, so if you read something different into it, by all means go along with that.

Cmdr. GabeE: I think Padmé & Dooku's relationship is a doomed one, but it's so much fun to write. I won't say anymore on that. And Palpatine is really gonna be showing his true colours in the next few instalments, believe me.

Eclipse

Part 37 - Broken Strings

Obi-Wan somehow managed to drag Mace back to his cruiser, whilst tears ran down his dirty visage. As soon as he reached the vehicle, his legs collapsed beneath him, and he just lay there, wincing at the pain in his wrist, and staring down at Mace. Obi's eyes looked set to burst with the emotion he was trying so hard to contain, and Mace recognised it, even as an ever-thickening fog continued to build-up over his vision.

The Jedi Master managed one last smile, though his lips quivered in pain, and he said, "It's too late, Obi-Wan."

Kenobi closed his eyes; Force, didn't he know it was?

He felt Mace's hand tighten over his. "Do not grieve for me."

Obi-Wan looked at him, tears still running down his face - Grieve? How could he not grieve? Was he not human…?

"You must destroy that thing…" Windu insisted, "You must carry on."

Obi clutched onto Mace's hand. "I can't go on alone."

"You're not alone," Mace assured him. The insidious haze of death then finally consumed Master Windu's vision, and his grip fell slack, hand dropping from Obi's wrist.

Obi-Wan shook his head over and over again and leant over Master Windu's body, hoping to discern some remaining sign of life, some slight rise of the chest or flicker of the eyes - but there was none. It took a whole five minutes or so before, the ice breaking, Obi-Wan faced the truth and cried his heart out. No one could tell him not to grieve - what was there left for him now? Where was the hope? He had lost his master, his apprentice, and one of his greatest friends… He was alone.

"Master!" he sobbed, "Master, please, help me!"

Far away on Coruscant, it was Yoda who heard his cry and who felt his agony. And he also now knew what had happened...

Since time immemorial, there have been three distinct classes in society - those who fight, those who pray, and those who work - and, with this, there came a class hierarchy. And the Supreme Chancellor knew that no manner of democracy would ever abolish this, no matter what manifestos they preached.

Today, he was concerned with the "those who fought" caste (or those who at least believed they did all the fighting) and his office was filled with dignitaries, peers, aristocrats, and all other manner of people from the upper and middle-classes of the Republic. They each chatted feverishly with their neighbour whilst the Chancellor waited for silence.

It didn't come.

At length, he made a polite cough. It wasn't a loud cough, but it commanded the quiet that he had wanted. He then smiled at them all; "Greetings ladies and gentlemen. I hope I find you all well?"

They seemed to grumble a concurrence.

"Excellent!" he chirped brightly, "And I thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to join me here today. I assure you, it'll be worth your time."

Another grumble of thanks, and what-not.

He rose from his seat, and stared again at them all. "It has been brought to my attention that the manner in which I am handling this… 'war' is far from satisfying to some folk."

To the left of Palpatine's desk, Magnus Veers allowed his chest to inflate a little; 'yes, it was me who brought it to attention' he insinuated.

"I have the power to make swift changes, people," the Chancellor went on, leaning over his desk and fixing them all with a much darker stare, "I have been voted emergency powers for the good of this realm, to force through measures to aid our Republic whenever necessary. I invite you to help me to do this. I need support and I want to count you all," - a genial smile - "as my friends."

All assembled exchanged glances and whispers.

"It has been suggested," he went on, silence immediately reinstating itself, "That I remove the Jedi from military service. Is this matter of your general view?"

Nods all round.

Palpatine smiled again. "I see. And what would you have me do with my Keepers of the Peace if I remove them from service on the front lines?"

"Who cares? The time of the Jedi is up. They are both obsolete and ineffective. I recommend you remove them from their privileged position in society and make them work for their places. I, for one, am sick of seeing my taxes squandered on an Order which, more often than not, puts nothing back into our galaxy. The fact that the Separatists ever got so far as to wage war is but testament to their ineptitude as our protectors."

There was such a strong, united sense of support for this eloquent speech that it could almost be felt pulsating through the room like the tremors of an earthquake. The Chancellor rose his eyebrows at the speaker; "Thank you for your contribution, Governor Tarkin."

Wilhuff Tarkin nodded his head in return. He was a thin, dark-haired man with a gaunt, stern countenance. He held dominion over a space of territory which bordered on the notorious Outer Rim, so he knew about crime and disorder, and he also knew that he had seen none of it abated by the Jedi Knights. He was not afraid to let the whole universe know about it, either.

"I agree," Magnus concurred, "What good have they ever done? We pay for them, damnit - we need to see evidence of our money doing some good for this galaxy!"

"So, without the Jedi," Palpatine said hypothetically, "Where would you like to see your taxes go?"

"Into a corps that can control this galaxy," a sharp-nosed woman sat in a chair at the front said.

"And what would one call that?" the Chancellor countered.

"An army."

"We have an army."

Several men with particularly haughty laughs made their ill-feeling known, and Palpatine's eyes crossed them all, until one had guts enough to speak; "We mean a proper army," a gentlemen from the Bespin district said, "An organised army."

"I see," Palpatine nodded.

"An army led by our own," Magnus appended, making a point by slapping his son on the shoulder as the young man stood quietly by his side.

"And you would support the… err… 'osmosis' of this new 'string of command' into the current Army of the Republic?" Palpatine added.

Another round of general ascent met this query.

The Chancellor nodded and paced back and forth behind his desk. "And what of the Jedi, I ask you again? They will no doubt have objections to an enforced 'retirement', to drastic changes being made to their age-old tradition."

"Make them obey," Wilhuff Tarkin said unwaveringly, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands over one knee.

The Chancellor and he exchanged a long stare. "That sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me, Governor," Palpatine said.

Tarkin did not blink. "If it works, your Excellency."

Before the discussion could go further, the doors to the Chancellor's office swept open and all heads turned to see who had dared to intrude. They all frowned when they could see no one there.

"Ah, Master Yoda," Palpatine said, and everyone turned down their gazes to see the small, green Jedi Master as he stood in the centre of the doorway.

Tarkin turned his eyes from the Jedi Master and cocked an eyebrow; 'Speak of the devil' he thought, before he steepled his fingers, and tapped them idly together.

Yoda's eyes scoured the aristocrats across the room before him with a sensible amount of distrust - he could see no amiability or good intentions in any of their eyes. "Supreme Chancellor," he said, eyes centring on the figure behind the desk, "A word with you I must have."

"I'm a little preoccupied, Master Jedi," the Chancellor riposted.

"A word with you I need. Now," Yoda insisted.

There was a gravity in his voice that caught the Supreme Chancellor's attention and, with a sigh, he kindly asked the nobility and bourgeoisie to leave the room. Grudgingly, they all gave up their seats and positions and filed out, not one leaving without giving Yoda a nasty passing glance. Yoda didn't have time for their arrogance, however, and ignored them, waiting for the door to close behind them before he made another move.

Making his way over to the Chancellor's desk, he then clambered into a seat and sat staring at Palpatine.

The Chancellor retook his own seat and then slowly said, "And how can I help you, Master Yoda?"

"Help me, you cannot," Yoda countered, "Come to report, I have, about our latest enemy."

Palpatine's brow rose, and Yoda could tell that the man had not been expecting this; "What do you mean 'latest enemy'?" he asked.

"Master Windu. Dead is he."

Palpatine blinked. "'Dead'?" he repeated.

Yoda nodded gravely, a twinkle of sorrow glittering in the corner of his eyes, "Yes, your Excellency."

Things were running through Palpatine's mind fast, and his fingers rapped the table-top as he considered this; "Go on," he eventually said.

"As already said, have I, a new enemy have we."

"Go on," Palpatine said once more, his voice tinged with impatience.

"Fought him, Master Kenobi has. A droid general, is he."

There was no trace of a reaction in the Chancellor at first, but then, slowly, after a tense moment of unfathomable silence, Palpatine's lips evidently pursed and he clenched one of his fists so tight that the knuckles showed white. Yoda watched him with care, but was still unable to account for the source of this kind of reaction, and could not tell whether this came from anger at Mace's death, or anger at the emergence of yet another foe. Or perhaps, even, it was due to something completely different.

The truth was that the strings to one of the Sith Master's puppets had broken… and he was not happy about it.

Grievous watched the battledroids trot out across the forest and disappear into the foliage on Yavin. The Koorivan magistrate, Argente had a base in operation, and now the battledroids were to help with the clean-up. They would need further bases established across the planet thereafter, and, following that, they would safely be able to call it their own.

Grievous suddenly picked up on the sound of small feet crunching through the jungle behind him. Turning about, his yellow eyes settled onto Boba's form as the human child emerged from the trees. Upon seeing the General, the boy halted and offered him a bow.

Grievous inclined his head toward the child and asked, "And are you now content, Fett?"

"Yessir," Boba nodded.

Grievous snorted bluntly and turned his eyes back to his army; "Tell me, boy, what you want out of life."

Taking the General quite by surprise, Boba made a quick reply, almost without thinking. "I want to be a bounty hunter like my father," he said.

Grievous indulged himself with a knowing snicker; "But of course," he murmured.

There was another awkward silence between them, filled by nothing but a desolate gust of wind.

"I have no need for you here," Grievous suddenly said, voice cutting the silence like a knife cuts the flesh, "I wish to release you. But if I should let you go, what will you do?"

Boba looked Grievous up-and-down, then said, "Will Count Dooku let you?"

Grievous didn't turn to look at him. "I am as good as Count Dooku now."

Boba's brow knotted, but he had no intention of trifling with a beast such as this; "Well, I suppose I would return to Geonosis if I had to go, and I'd collect my ship, and carry on my father's training until I am ready. He told me to do that. I must keep training."

The General laughed again; "How sensible you are. How mature," he said as his eyes swivelled onto the child, "You seem like an adult trapped in a boy's body. You are different to your human brethren."

"I am my father's son," the boy said proudly.

Grievous laughed another time, but it was a much more despicable and proud one; "No," he said, "You are your father. That is the point."

Boba looked a bit unsettled by this declaration, by this statement of his lack of uniqueness. He swallowed and took a step back from the droid.

"I shall let you go," Grievous declared, "I am sure Poggle the Lesser could use the company. You shall go to him - I shall tell him to expect you - and you shall treat your benefactor well. If you do not..."

Boba blinked, and dared to put his hands on his hips. "And if I don't…?" he asked.

Grievous's eyes narrowed and, in a flash, he raised his claws before the child and swung them beneath his chin, stopping them at such a point where, had he left it a moment longer, he would have run a hole through the boy's throat; "Would you like to find out?" the droid asked.

Boba couldn't even swallow lest he wanted to pierce his gullet. He settled with a slight shake of his head, feeling the sharp tip of that claw beneath his jaw.

"Good boy," the General nodded, before he patted the child on the shoulder in the most unpleasant way possible.

Boba was still shaking five minutes after Grievous had left…

Padmé could find no sense in Serenn's sudden change of mind, as far as Alderaan went; whatever could have caused it? What was preventing him from going, yet not preventing her? Clearly his thoughts had hinged onto something that endangered the expedition, yet she could not think, for the life of her, what this was. It hardly made sense - between her talk with him the night before, and the morning she next came upon him, he had managed to stumble upon something that was frightfully dangerous to her welfare, yet the danger was in her not going on alone to Alderaan, of all things. And where would he be headed without her? What was he concealing? It was the most perplexing situation she had yet come upon in his presence (and there were many of them to be had).

She still couldn't get anything out of him, either - at least nothing beyond the recurring promise that she would understand about her enforced ignorance when she was no longer ignorant. That was about as satisfying to her as a dinner of bread and cheese, and the Count must have known it. She therefore resolved to be awkward on the way to Alderaan, and sat in a sullen silence for much of the way. Dooku himself had lost his good humour, too, and, though not sullen, seemed most on-edge and fidgety. Their brief period of amiability had dissolved into a rather tenuous period of ceasefire in all areas of discussion. This lasted until when they were but a parsec from Alderaan - and what interrupted their mutual silence was an unwelcome and unexpected jolt of the Solar Sailor: There was a bang, and they were thrown up a little from their seats, before they fell back into them with a gentle 'thump'.

A tense silence followed in which they exchanged uneasy glances, and Padmé saw that all the colour had drained from Dooku's visage; his earlier panic, everything she had seen in his eyes when he had begged her to go on alone, had now cumulated into a realisation of his fears. She tried to make some light of the matter, even now, and conjectured dryly to herself that she would undoubtedly receive the 'I told you so' lecture, followed by the rounds of 'If you had only done as I had asked…', etcetera, etcetera, later on.

There was then another jolt, a much fiercer one, and the Solar Sailor began to wheel to starboard, rolling over and over for several moments. Count Dooku, hands gliding over the control panels and wrenching a lever, finally got it under some form of control, and a final, heavy silence followed.

Catching their breaths, Serenn and Padmé eyed one another once more, ever the more darkly.

"What was that?" Padmé asked.

Serenn gave her one of his long stares. "Yes, ask me, Padmé," he drawled, "for I am certain to know…"

She rose her lip at him before, with a gigantic thud, the craft was hit again, and sent reeling.

"Someone's shooting at us!" she yelled.

"Really?" he snarled, "What makes you think so?"

She would have thrown him another glare if the moment had allowed, but the shots kept coming, and Serenn seemed at a loss to be able to do anything against them. They just came from out of no where - there was no ship in sight, nor any picked up by the scanners.

"Pirates?" Padmé hazarded a guess, almost hopefully, whilst an alarm began to whine on the console.

Dooku shook his head, trying to gain some form of control over his ship. "No, not here… we're too close to Alderaan. Someone knew we were coming. Someone has lay in wait."

"But who would know?"

Serenn didn't look up and wouldn't meet her gaze. He just stared at the control panel in silence whilst the ship careened toward a random planet to the east.

Padmé frowned. "Serenn?"

There was another great shot. They both yelled this time as they were thrown forward. Blood splattered over the control panel, the cockpit lights blinked out, and Padmé fell once again into the horrific pits of unconsciousness…

Obi-Wan lost track of time as he sat there, weeping for his lost friend, and only the familiar tap-tap-tap of a cane broke him free from the sorrowful reverie. He rose himself up and turned in surprise to see Master Yoda emerge from the hovering clouds of dust and smoke.

"Master Kenobi," the small Jedi said gently, setting his eyes first on the unfortunate Jedi, then onto poor Mace. "Oh, Master Kenobi," he murmured again, pacing to his side and placing his tiny, clawed hand over Mace's brow, shutting his eyes to the world, "So much grief. So much pain."

"I'm sorry Master Yoda," Obi-Wan sobbed, "I tried to save him, I tried…"

He broke down under this weight of grief once more and felt Yoda's comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Know this, I do. Oh, know this I do," Yoda hushed him, "The days grow only darker for the Jedi. Head up, Master Kenobi. Yet alive, you are. Yet strong."

"We shouldn't have sent him away!" Obi wept on, "We shouldn't have let them send him away!"

Yoda's brow creased as he realised who Kenobi was talking about.

"We've got to find him - it's not too late!" he continued, "Master Yoda, he was the Chosen One! Master Jinn died for him - and look what I've done! I've gone back on his word, his dying wish! What have I done? We must get him back - it can't be too late, it -"

Yoda placed a firm hand on Obi-Wan's arm, "Too late it is, Master Obi-Wan."

Obi's brow furrowed, "It's never too late."

Yoda's eyes closed beneath the weight of the hour. "Gone he is." He looked straight into Kenobi's eyes. "Lost is he."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"Ambushed he was. And gone he has."

"He's not dead!"

Yoda shook his head. "No, Master Obi-Wan, he is not."

For some reason, the way Yoda said this made Obi-Wan feel awful and unsettled. He got to his feet, giving Mace one final look, before he arched his head back and stared into the grey skies, cradling his broken wrist in his arms.

"Strange things are happening, Master Kenobi. Knows what he is doing, the Sith Lord does."

Obi-Wan sighed and blew his hair out of his eyes.

"Other matters at hand we have right now," Yoda then went on, "Other Jedi we have to aid."

He placed his little hand against Obi-Wan's leg and looked up at him. "Bid Master Windu goodbye, we do tonight," he whispered, glancing sadly at the body of his good friend, "And our remaining friends, begin to help from tomorrow, we do."

Obi sighed and nodded mournfully.

"Padmé."

Her vision swam. She could hear running water. Groaning, she tried to open her eyes. Her body ached, especially her head.

"Steady now."

Her eyelids yielded and she stared into a green canopy, far above. Her vision came into focus and she tried to get up, but her neck was stiff and the rest of her body didn't wish to comply. She felt a helping hand support the back of her head and she was brought up into a sitting position, leaning over onto the shoulder of this other.

"There we go, steady," Dooku went on in a quiet voice.

She didn't argue with him - she tried to recollect what had happened, and stared around her. There was an almost tableau-like scene before her: she was in a forest filled with grand, thick redwoods and thorny bushes. Vines hung between the trees like empty washing lines between tenements, swaying in the unerring stillness of the atmosphere, stirred by some invisible force, whilst, to her left, there was a creek, into which a small waterfall trickled, descending down from a brook above. Unseen birds chirped in the branches, and strange feral calls echoed throughout the woods.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, bringing her hand up to rest on Serenn's chest as he held her whilst she regained her senses; she felt light-headed, which was not surprising, and her temples ached. She didn't have to see her reflection to know that there was a bruised cut on her forehead.

Once she felt sure she could support herself, she pushed the Count away from her and looked at him sheepishly; she hated this, where he always seemed to be aiding her. Why was she always the one to get injured, or to black out? It made her feel inadequate and weak, and she knew she was neither of those things.

He wasn't exactly free of injury himself, though - he sported a fine gash across his forehead and another at his shoulder, whilst his clothes were torn here and there. She looked down at her own body and saw a similar scenario, her garments scuffed and hands filthy, and she finally reached up to touch the focal point of the ache in her head. She felt dried blood and tender contusions across her own scalp and winced at it.

"You've been rather concussed," Serenn said to her, "I was beginning to fear you'd fallen into a coma of some sort."

She looked back to him, his words taking time for her to comprehend, as though she were somewhat intoxicated; "Where are we?" she asked him.

He glanced down to his lap. "I can't tell you, milady, for I don't know."

She felt her stomach drop, as though a leaden weight had just plummeted into it; "'You don't know''?"

"No," he said, as blandly as before, his apparent indifference only serving to set her further at unease.

She looked around for his ship and found no sign; "Where is it? Where's your ship?"

He nodded back over his shoulder. "Some way back there. Or at least, what's left of it."

Padmé's stomach dropped further still, "'What's left'?"

"Please stop echoing me."

She sighed, choosing to ignore him, and laid back down on the ground as the world began to sway about her, like the view of the land does from the deck of a boat; this was all too much to take in.

"Are we stuck here, then?" she murmured.

He cocked his head to one side as he looked at her upon the ground, then nodded once more. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

She rubbed her head, staring up at the sky above through the windows of the canopy, feeling the tears of absolute inability prod at her half-closed lids. "How are we going to get away from here, then?" she asked, pushing her hysteria down; she had to be strong, on the outside if not on the in-.

"I'm open to suggestions," was his non-too-helpful reply, and he lay down himself, keeping a respectable distance.

She closed her eyes, the silent tears rolling down into the earth. "There has to be a way."

He failed to reply at all this time, and she did not like that. The man with all the smart answers, it would seem, was suddenly as clueless as she was…

A change of subject was in order, or she would fall to pieces. "How long have I been out?" she whispered.

"… A while," he eventually rasped.

She glanced up at the sky whilst the dry leaves rustled beneath her as she shifted her body a little, trying to get more comfortable. "What about you?" she asked.

"I, fortunately, was not rendered inert so had ability enough to make a safe landing here. That is about the best I could do."

"Why were we shot down?" she continued, turning her head so she could see him.

"I might tell you if I knew."

"You might?" she spat, sitting up a little too fast and sending a rush of blood to her head. She swayed a little and slowly laid herself back down. Serenn just watched her, a small smile on his lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she eventually continued, her voice more quiet, "Are you saying that if you knew you might not tell me?"

He paused for a moment, admiring her ability to see through the twists and turns of his ambiguous language, before saying simply, "Yes."

"So you do know?" she said.

Again, he didn't say anything.

"You have an idea, though, don't you?" she pushed on.

He still didn't answer.

Her hand absentmindedly sought out his wrist, stretching out across the space between them and taking it in her grasp. "Tell me, Serenn," she whispered.

He watched her again with a look in his eyes Padmé could only call prudent. "I can't," he muttered, "Not now."

She sighed, releasing him. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

His chest broadened as he heaved a great sigh and stared up himself at the leafy canopy; "We have been imprisoned here. And here we shall be held until we are needed. And you would have been quite safe if you had just listened to me and -"

"Spare me…" she groaned, folding her arms and rolling onto her side, back facing him.

He sighed and stopped talking - it would do no good to dwell on 'ifs' and 'buts' now.

"The war's over, then?" Padmé went on after a moment.

"Oh no," Serenn said, shaking his head and watching a spider scuttle up over his chest, then down onto the earth again, "General Grievous is still out there. He'll champion my cause in our absence."

Padmé shuddered. "That doesn't comfort me in the slightest," she grumbled. She curled her knees up into her chest and clutched them into her body, her eyes drooping.

"Sleep," Serenn insisted, "I know you're still tired."

"I can't sleep here."

"You'll be safe."

"It's not that…"

"Isn't it?"

She bit her lip, her mind overflowing with endless thoughts and troubles. "How can I sleep? I can't - I'm in a strange place, trapped here, with…"

He laughed quietly. "Ah yes… with me. I'll go elsewhere if you'd prefer."

She rolled back round to face him and rose up onto her elbow. "No, don't leave me," she said suddenly.

He looked her up and down. "Fine," he said, "I'll stay here."

She looked sheepish again. "I just don't want to be alone… not here."

"Perfectly reasonable. Now just relax."

She gave him a critical look, but didn't move. She was confused by her own feelings, yet she couldn't help but remember how she had let him soothe her into a false sense of security before, and how terribly that episode had cumulated. However, there was something different about the man before her now. "Can I trust you?" she asked.

He waited a moment, allowing her to study his face, before he gave her an affirmative nod.

After staring at him for a while longer, Padmé gave the Count an acquiescing nod of her own, seeming content with this, before she closed her eyes, laid back down flat and soon slumbered easily on the ground.

Serenn sighed, pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to get to sleep himself - he had far too many troubled thoughts brewing in his mind, none of which had any intention of letting him rest - so he just lay back and watched the stars fill the distant sky above, winking at him just through the canopy.

"Well?"

"It is done."

"Excellent. Where are they?"

"Sauria, a wild, uncivilised planet. Like Dagobah, but more dangerous."

"Hmm… Sauria. That's not so far from Alderaan. You cut it a bit too close - they might have made it."

"But they did not."

"No, indeed."

"What are we to do with them now?"

"Do? We aren't to do anything. They are to stay there until I need them again."

"Why did he walk into our trap? He isn't so stupid as to forgo your pleasure without foresight of knowing the consequences... He knew you would punish him for his insolence, didn't he?"

"Yes, of course he did. I'm sure he expected something - he would have sensed something amiss, no doubt - but he might have his reasons for being so blind… Perhaps he has lost his rational to a certain young lady. Who knows?"

A sulky pause from the other. "And now?"

"You rest, my friend. We have much more work to do."

"As you wish, my Master."

The marble pillars and tiled floors of the Nubian palace formed in the hologram before Grievous. The Droid General watched the space with an incredible patience whilst, the pair of Koorivans, Argente and Purple, looked on with curiosity. The magistrate and his aide were now settled in relative comfort in their new base on Yavin, and, being in such a secure position themselves, now sought to find fuel to feed their petty needs, where they revelled in seeing others wallowing in less fortunate circumstances than themselves.

General Grievous soon allowed his mind to wander as he waited; he had recently heard word that he had lost his outpost at Chandrilla before he had even had a chance to establish it. Shu Mai had failed miserably; but it was of no matter. He could always try again. That particular failure was perhaps more down to Master Kenobi than Shu Mai, anyway - that Jedi had a habit of upturning everything.

Grievous permitted himself a snicker - he should have killed young Obi-Wan. The man was still on-planet now, he knew, but he would soon be gone; there was nothing for Kenobi here - except an early death, if his presence persisted. Grievous promised himself, though, that if Dooku did indeed become a casualty of the war, then the Count's precious Jedi friend would soon follow. Warriors as proficient as Obi-Wan would not long be allowed to live under General Grievous's regime. Their existence was too expensive a risk.

Grievous blinked and returned his focus to the present. The Trade Federation, at his Nubian outpost, had apparently received a startling piece of intelligence, courtesy of their spy network - so startling, in fact, that they had had guts enough to contact the Droid General. It was getting to the point, though, that Grievous was actually wondering whether or not he was going to hear this news at all, for he had been stood waiting for almost five minutes now, and the hologram before him remained conspicuously empty; punctuality, he contemplated blackly, would also be enforced on pain of death in his regime.

His catlike pupils constricted and he drew a long breath into his metal-housed chest, indulging himself once again upon the satisfied feeling of his victory here at Yavin. He would soon leave the Corporate Alliance in charge, once he was satisfied this outpost was stable, and he would also soon be free of young Fett, who he knew Poggle the Lesser would be less than happy to take guardianship of - but he wasn't going to give the Geonosian Archduke a choice; a few more years, and Boba would be able to easily fend for himself. The boy was practically at adulthood already. His body just needed to catch up with his mind.

It was several minutes later when the General finally found his thoughts interrupted by a squabble going on, via the transmission, in hushed breaths. The arguers were out of range of the hologram picture, but audible nevertheless:

"You tell him!"

"Me? Send a droid!"

"You can't send droids for everything, Nute…"

There was a scuffle as someone was pushed across the floor; "Then I send you!"

The feet retreated. "You're the viceroy! And you said he needed to know!"

"Yes, I did - but I didn't say I wanted to tell him myself! I didn't sign up for this…"

Grievous would have grinned inwardly if he hadn't found it so pathetic; "What is it, Viceroy?" he asked, his voice reverberating across the room and through the transmission to Theed.

The two Neimoidians, Nute Gunray and his aide, stopped bickering immediately and jumped into the picture of the hologram, as though they feared the General might be able to do something to them, even from that distance; "Well, we have had word…" Gunray dithered, stepping back a little as the Droid General turned his skeletal face on him, "That, er… well…"

"Count Dooku," the aide piped in, "He has left Oovo IX… yet can be found no where! We have lost contact with him."

Grievous blinked once, very slowly, and nodded. "I see."

"What shall we do?" the aide continued whilst Gunray shrank into a quivering blob.

"Do?" Grievous asked, "What can we do?"

The aide looked between Nute and the General, feeling as though he ought to reply. Grievous continued before he could, however; "We shall continue with or without the Count. He has requested this of me."

"He has…?" Nute squeaked.

Grievous gave him another brief glare. "Yes, Viceroy," he growled, sweeping his cloak out behind him and looking hard at the two. "What else?"

Gunray and the aide exchanged glances. "Erm…" the aide muttered, remembering, with little confidence, that there indeed was something else to tell, "It would seem that there are changes being made in the Republic…"

Grievous didn't move. "Yes?"

"Word has it that the Chancellor is planning to institute some new order…"

"Yes."

"Some say he may go as far as… disbanding the Jedi!"

"Indeed?"

The aide quietened. The Droid General seemed to be in the know, or was just very difficult to surprise.

"What shall we do, General?" Gunray muttered in his 'we're doomed' voice.

Grievous turned and gazed away, tapping his clawed feet idly against the ground; "The Chancellor wants rid of the Jedi. That is all too clear now. The people have wanted it for some time; their mistrust and paranoia has led them to make scapegoats of the Jedi Knights. They will have their way. The Chancellor will need men to lead his army thereafter, and he knows that normal men are weaker than the Jedi. They will do as they are told. He will have complete, unchallenged control once the Jedi are gone. And he realises that."

Grievous halted and glared at the two Neimoidians; "The Jedi will not go easily, but the sooner they go, the better. 'Mortal' men are more fallible."

"Do you think so?" Nute asked.

"It doesn't take me long to kill a Jedi, Viceroy, but it takes me even less time to kill a mortal man."

Gunray swallowed, rubbing his throat in a nervous gesture; "Of course…" he muttered.

"We will fight on," Grievous continued, "Whilst the Republic - or whatever the Chancellor will rename his constitution after he has pushed his next bill through - is preoccupied with its own affairs, we shall prepare a strike at the capital. And before they know what has hit them, we shall overthrow them. There will be no negotiations. There will be no one left to negotiate with."

Nute was blubbering now.

Grievous looked at him. "Happy with that, Viceroy?"

Gunray swallowed. "Yes," he squeaked.

"Good. Carry on. I will call for your assistance if I need it."

The hologram went blank, and, as he turned, Grievous noticed that Argente and Purple made to look busy as fast as they could, their tense manner virtually shouting out to him that they had been eavesdropping. The General let them be and skulked off for some solitude - the news had surprised him, in fact; he had had no doubt that Dooku would go missing, but he hadn't believed that it would be quite so soon. Whether or not Dooku was now dead was another thing altogether - he doubted it, personally - but it all begged the question of what was really going on in this war.

The Count watched Padmé's eyelashes flutter a little and her chest slowly rise and fall. She stirred, sighing in her sleep, troubled by uneasy dreams. And who could blame her?

As he reached out and tentatively stroked the skin of her hand, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted. It was a hard sensation to explain, but it felt as though someone had taken a chisel to that most sacred of places - the inner sanctum of his mind - and broken it ruthlessly open with a deafening crack. Serenn ground his teeth together, his head jutting backward and his spine constricting. He clutched his head, pushing himself backward into a nearby tree trunk, whilst his consciousness was torn open and invaded by a cold and angry voice:

/What do you think you are playing at/ it thundered.

The Count breathed heavily, recovering from the painful explosion in his mind - but he did not reply the voice and did his best to ignore it.

/Who is this 'General' you have unleashed? This was not part of our plan/ it went on.

Serenn glared harder and harder into the middle distance, keeping a watch on Padmé as though cautious to protect her from the disembodied voice. He still did not speak.

/Will you not answer me, Tyranus/

His eyes narrowed. He tried to keep ignoring the voice and tried to push it out of his head… but it wasn't that simple.

/So, it is as I feared. You will no longer answer./

He gathered his resolve and shook his head. "No," he whispered.

A short pause.

/Fine./ the voice growled/Have it your way. You will stay there until I take it upon myself to 'discover' you again…/

Finally, the voice left, and Serenn found his mind to be his own once more. He swallowed, burying his head in his hands, his mind throbbing with a sudden migraine. "Just bring it…" he breathed.

TBC…