Author's Notes: This is one of those linking-chapters. I tried to make it longer, but I couldn't, and I couldn't even integrate it into the chapter before or the one after, so it's had to stand alone. I just needed to bridge between the last chapter and the next, so apologies for the brevity of this one.

Eclipse

Part 40 - Countdown to Destruction

The Assassin sauntered into a small dark chamber and lowered himself onto one knee on a circular platform. This emitted a quiet hum and its borders shone with a gentle, white light.

Soon thereafter, a shady hologram formed before him.

The Assassin looked at it; "I have them, Master," he said.

"Excellent," crackled the man in return, his image shimmering, "Hold your position for a little longer. I shall let you know when it is safe to bring them in."

The Assassin bowed. "Yes, my Master."

The first thing Serenn did when he woke up was vomit. Padmé backed up from him as he retched onto the floor, then gave him a moment to gather his senses. He was breathing heavily, and she could tell, as he stared at the metal walls around him, and at the blue force-field across the doorway, that he was also disorientated - he had no idea what was going at first, until the facts of his predicament steadily began to click back into place. He then turned and stared at her.

She licked her lip before she whispered, "I thought you were going to die."

He stared a little longer. "I will one day," he said, before he began to shuffle backward across the floor, stopping only when he felt the cold metal wall of the cell at his back. He then leant upon this hard, his eyes so heavy that he could do nought but let them close.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely, his mind still foggy and unclear.

"We've been taken prisoner," she replied, "We're in a cell, in their ship."

"Whose ship?"

"The Republic's."

The Count smiled darkly, his memory beginning to reform. "Ah, yes…" he murmured, "'The Republic's'."

Suggestion was rife in Dooku's tone, but Padmé didn't question it, she only sighed and moved to sit by his side. "Are you okay?" she asked, arching her head about to look at him as she settled against the wall.

"You shouldn't be concerned about that," he countered, eyes still shut and head angled to the ceiling.

"Why not?"

His dark eyes peered out from beneath their half-closed eyelids and they stared into Padmé's for some time; "You amaze me sometimes," he said at length, before he closed his eyes again and sat completely still. Padmé, meanwhile, leant against him, running her hands up his chest and resting her head upon his shoulder.

From beyond the force-field, the man in black glared coldly, then swept about and disappeared into the corridors of his cruiser.

Back at Toola, with his convoy now in the planet's orbit, Kit Fisto suddenly found himself rushing away from the bridge of his flagship and down into its bowels, for they had been ambushed. No one could quite agree on where this Separatist fleet had come from so suddenly, or how they had gotten there undetected, but the plain fact remained that they were there and were now in the process of taking them out from above, beneath and behind. They had to be dealt with.

Kit had been vaguely aware of many-a curse being shouted at him for 'his ineptitude', and so on and so forth by the Mortal Militia, but he had no time for the prejudice of his 'comrades' right now. He rushed down the corridors of his cruiser, lightsabre hilt in hand, somehow managing to keep his balance as the ship rocked every which way around him. Droids and soldiers were stumbling and falling all over the place, but he used the Force to give him the control and the stability he needed. He didn't even know where he was going yet, he just had the 'urge', the 'impulse', to run this way and to engage the enemy - who, if his calculations were right, would any moment enter the ship.

There was a great crash and the cruiser jerked violently. Glancing out of one of the few portholes along the gallery, Kit just caught sight of one of the great, tubular starships of the Separatists closing in on them, one of those bland, circular beasts that had once been synonymous with the Trade Federation.

He then stopped in his tracks, for he realised that the chaos had subsided into a dreadful calm - this could only mean that the cruiser had been captured and up-righted, and was now in the process of being drawn up into the hull of the Confederate craft.

Kit shook his tentacled head in disbelief before he continued on his journey - it had all been accomplished far too easily, and it baffled him to high heaven.

Pulling up a hatch in the floor, Fisto then dropped down a ladder and, passing rows of soldiers, who were now setting themselves up across from the doorway through which the enemy would have to force their entry, he finally skidded to a halt on the front line and waited.

The doorway before them was quiet, until sparks began to flash across its edges, announcing the breach of the Confederacy. The metal whined and glowed before, with a bang, the door was sent crashing to the floor. A thick smoke and haze covered the threshold, so Kit could not yet make out his enemy, but the Republic soldiers all began shooting anyway - yet all their shots were only deflected back into their chests. The troopers just dropped dead around him.

Kit squinted into the smog, trying to discern the outline of his enemy - meanwhile, more Republic troops dropped to the front and began shooting once more into the unknown. And again, the shots ricocheted back at them, and the they were added to the piles of deceased.

Whilst yet another line of troops marched forward to certain death, Fisto suddenly made out the form of a purple lightsabre over the threshold. His black eyes widened. "Ceasefire!" he yelled, "Ceasefire!"

The Republic troopers hung back, but held their rifles at the ready. The purple lightsabre consequently disappeared back into the mist.

There seemed to be nothing there but silence and smoke. 'What was that?' Kit pondered, rising his green blade a little hesitantly as he paced toward the darkened doorway, 'Could it be…?'

Kit kept stepping forward until he stood on the very edge of the doorway and found, as the clouds settled, that there truly was nothing beyond the smokescreen. He blinked, staring down the deserted deck of the Confederacy's starship beyond - there were no battledroids, and certainly no Jedi through there. The Force told of nothing, either.

The Jedi Knight shook his head, and resigned himself to a state of confusion. It was a shame he hadn't thought to look up, for, suddenly, there was a thud behind him as a pair of metallic feet unhinged their grip from the ceiling and hit the deck. Before Kit could turn back around, there was a slosh, and he looked down to see a purple blade tear through his abdomen. All went dark, and his body dropped to the floor, followed soon by his green lightsabre.

Reaching down, General Grievous added this metal hilt to his collection, and then went on to effortlessly storm the Republic flagship alone.

Back at Kenobi's convoy, relations hadn't improved between the militia and Master Obi-Wan. The Jedi General had kept out of the way of his comrades for the time being, even if it was against his better judgement - he knew it was his responsibility to be up there, on the bridge, sorting matters out and keeping things in line, but he had long ago lost his nerve with these pompous old aristocrats who thought that their ages-old breeding made them better qualified for the task than a simple, devout Jedi Knight.

Breeding… bloodlines… what did they matter? They meant nothing. You could have any father or any mother, it didn't matter - you became who you were because of factors more important than breeding. The best Jedi in the universe had come from the so-called 'lowest' parents, from paupers and from peasants. It just didn't matter.

Obi heaved a deep sigh. He was lying back in the dark on his bunk, hiding from his ungrateful allies. But he knew he could not stay here forever. It was wrong of him, even petty. He felt that burning resentment in his chest that he knew Master Jinn used to harbour, that feeling of injustice and inadequacy. He would soon be rebuked like Master Jinn had been, too, if he didn't get off his backside and return to the bridge.

In fact, he had almost forced himself to do so when, slipping off his bunk onto the floor, his comm' device began bleeping. He paused, and felt all through his robes for the pocket he had left it in. Failing in this, he discovered that he'd left it on a side unit after all, and picked it up, flicking the switch and putting it to his mouth; "General Kenobi," he reported.

It was Ki-Adi Mundi, speaking from Coruscant; "Greetings, Obi-Wan," the Cerean said, "How are things on the Outer Rim?

Obi laughed dryly. "Oh, most unproductive…"

Ki-Adi chuckled lightly in return, despite the circumstances. "Yes, well… we all hit these rough patches."

"I think I've hit one too many at once," Obi retorted, sitting himself back down and glaring at the thin film of light that made its way under the door from the corridor beyond.

"Well, then I am sorry for you," Mundi said, "And I fear that I have another to add to your collection."

"You are too kind, Ki-Adi," Obi murmured.

Mundi continued; "There seem to be problems at Naboo. Yes, roll your eyes, we do seem to be constantly treading this ground, but we cannot ignore it. This is nothing but a ploy to get more of our troops out of the way, we all know this, but if we neglect this problem, we're going to have an even bigger dilemma on our hands. People will die."

Obi nodded glumly from his seat on his bunk. "People are already dying," he whispered, before he said, "I'll do what I can, Master Mundi, but… well, these commanders and generals, they're not exactly inclined to do what I want."

"This is a command, General Kenobi, not an option," Ki-Adi reminded him, "I can assure you of the Chancellor's full support."

"Of course," Obi conceded, hauling himself up off his bed and sliding again onto the floor, "I'll do all that's in my power."

"Of course," Mundi concurred, "And may the Force be with you."

Yes, the Force had better be with me, Obi dryly conjectured.

Chancellor Palpatine was sat behind his desk, fingers steepled. He stared straight ahead, at nothing in particular. Jedi were dropping dead like flies, yet it wasn't quick enough - but he could deal with them later. He had to prioritise.

Beneath him, written out by his hand, was a bill for the Republic to consider, a complete reorganising of the constitution into a more systematic society. Or that was the concept. This entailed a larger army, which it looked like they were going to need anyway, and also more men to lead this army. It also set out plans for greater military training facilities, an overhauled tax system, and perhaps a better health service. The Chancellor rubbed his chin - he may even promise that skybuses would now run on time, as well. People liked to hear such mundane pledges.

He looked down at the bill and read through its many clauses. He could have anything he wanted - he knew he would get it. He was just wondering what to call it, this new constitution. There wasn't going to be a Republic much longer. People were weary of democracy - look what had happened because of it! Disgruntlement, rebellion, outright war! Yes, this is what happened when people ruled themselves. What people needed was leadership, someone telling them what to do. Not a king, though… a king implied some kind of divine right, and no one swallowed that kind of mysticism anymore. They might as well have a Jedi leading them if that were the case. No, not a king... But a leader had to have status - but not merely that of a chancellor, or a president or even a prime minister - these all oozed of democracy and of something too inherently weak to make a good, strong leader. No, what he needed was to make people see they were in for something better, something stronger, something that, like a well-oiled droid, functioned, worked, and went on, round and round, day after day, and did not fail. It had to be something efficient, and cold enough to strike a decent amount of fear into people's hearts - because people could be ruled by nothing but fear. Try ruling people with kindness or generosity - they only turned on you in the end. Nice guys always did finish last.

The Chancellor picked up his pen and, on the final line, wrote 'Galactic Empire'.

Grievous checked his holo-map, ticking off mentally all the planets in his head that were his, then checking the locations of all the Republic's Armies. Eighty percent were either in-between the Mid and Outer Rim, or on the Outer Rim itself. He had plenty of room to manoeuvre in the Core Worlds, therefore, and to organise his ultimate strike.

He walked across the bridge of his control ship and opened a communication channel to Geonosis; "Poggle," he hissed.

After a moment or two, a miniature image of the Geonosian Archduke fizzled into life atop a console. He bowed to Grievous. "What is your pleasure, General?" he asked in his native tongue.

Being part droid was advantageous in many ways - all languages could almost be the same to the General, whose processors did the work; "Where are my strike forces?"

"They are all on their way, General. Do you wish them to converge at any set coordinates?"

Grievous might have grinned if he had had the capacity; "Yes," he nodded, turning back to his holo-map and sticking his claw into its heart. "Zero,zero," he said.

TBC…