"This is an outrage!"
Yes. As if you haven't been saying much else for the last half hour...
The disgruntled mind of the General thought, tapping impatient fingers on the surface of rich wood. He and fellow other suffering people forced to observe the slimey fool throw a tantrum, which was almost as insufferable as this typical board meeting between figures of importance atop the Confederacy. Be they those whom have endured the scars of war, or influential people hiding behind their hills of credits.
And doing little else. Bah! Who are the real cannon fodder?
The Neimoidian slammed his fist on the desk... Or at least, tried to with what amazing scarce strength he had, the former Viceroy wincing and rubbing his bruised green hand. From the corner of the General's eye, Durge's metallic chest faintly rumbled in laughter. "To demand a whole battalion, effective immediately... It's ludicrous. Not to mention, a death sentence for our bank vaults!"
"Calm yourself, Gunray." Ah, the Jedi ever trying to keep the peace. Sifo-Dyas raised his palms for a gesture of placate. "I am certain the Count intends to cover any inconveiences by his request."
Certainly, as predicted, that did not lower the well-dressed Neimoidian's ire. "Hah! Speak for yourself Jedi!" Pointing one green finger with laughable fury. "You have no concept in the world of economics, you sword-wielding monks!" He spat, fazing no one. It was so sad the Kaleesh was close to openly yawning, though nothing was truly stopping him. "Your former comrade-in-arms wants to halt all production of the B-One series in favour of more B-Two, which would- No, WILL, cost more than we can possibly spare. It's almost as if he wishes for our corporations to starve. We should-!"
"Our corporations. Our. By goodness, Gunray, you still cling onto whatever power you had left? There is no 'our,' not since you were replaced. The sole purpose behind you even being here is a favour from the Tchno Union, until you have faced judgment by the Naboo parliament." A polite, exaggerate nod to the Naboo Security Officer also attending this meeting. "You have no stake in this."
At that, Gunray visible flustered, tinges of red on sickly green features. Other members of the board meeting either chuckled, smirked, or maintained their indifferent expressions, betraying nothing. Qymean was one of the last, as hopelessly bored as he appeared in his current sat position, yearning for this meeting to finally be over with.
Clearing his throat once after putting the embarrassed Neimoidian in his place, Chairman Hill addressed the current purpose of this gathering at hand. "Regardless, it is a concerning business matter. But the Count has made his reasoning behind it clear prior; efficiency and effectiveness in combat, and greater security for our growing worlds among the Alliance. The B-One battle droids, while cheaper to produce, can be a great asset in quantity and easier to secure the, ahem, less essential worlds."
Many faces darkened by the implication by the greedy Muun, as if any system was no less important by what credits filled their pockets. Few exceptions included Gunray, whom suddenly reanimated to becoming self-righteous yet again and straighten.
"Precisely! This is merely a means of showing off on that Serennian's part; to flaunt his wealth and makes ours expendable-"
Qymaen growled, albeit louder than intended, but it had the desired effect. The slimy toad in fancy dress faltering from the death stare behind the bony marked mask, hesitantly resuming his slouched position. From the side of the large board room, the Jedi Master hid his bearded smile, rather gratified by the intervention from the disgraced Neimoidian's incessent whining too.
Not too subtle himself in concealing his own smug satisfaction, the Chairman of the Banking Clan continued explaining the predicament. "Carrying on, I was going to say that, yes, the first designed battle droids are cheaper and would overwhelm in numbers, the B-Two, while unfinished yet, are designed to be smaller in quantity, but grander in quality. Say Count Dooku's request comes to fruition, we have to consider factors like time costs, gathering the supplies, deployments and-"
"All of which, Chairman, we of the Techno Union are capable of caring for." Foreman Tambor interjected, with just a note of faint irritation behind the metallic voice, waving a dismissive hand. "The Baktoid Combat Automata have the means of fulfilling the Count's orders at the designated time. What really concerns us is, are the Banking Clan capable, and willing, to provide the necessary funds?"
"I... That is to say, we should clear this with perhaps another investment company that would be willing to part their credits, in aid you understand?"
By the Gods, this was droll...
The General of Kalee never understood why he in particular had to attend these bizarre, utterly unfulfilling meetings. It was watching pig-headed, lowlife aristocrats bicker across their seats as though anything they had to screech with their smug, ugly faces held any value. They presumed they held a massive sway over the Alliance by the droids they produce.
Bah! If you ask Qymaen, this was mere time consuming when better, more efficient means of protection were present: Having the people of the worlds learn to defend themselves! There's no honour in relying on unfeeling, useless machines with no sense of pride or accomplishement, be they equipped with emotional chips or not. What cowards rely on fodder?
Oh, yes, the sniveling bearucrats arguing right in front of his gold, serpentine eyes that contemplated strangling the wasted life out of them. No one here looking just as exasperated would really complain. Aside from the moral-code Jedi Master dispatched to observe and quell the meeting if needed.
Observing Sifo-Dyas with a disdainful side-glance, Qymaen repressed a weary sigh as the boardroom meeting kept dissolving into pointless lip-spittle. If the Count wanted more stronger droids to fight for the Alliance, let him. It made more sense; quality over quantity. One Kaleesh can take out a hundred B-One droids with one arm tied behind their back and a wooden staff with no spear at the tip.
The bored General just wished that Dooku was here in his place. What other things had the Count to do when meetings like this were made for the Count?
Probably sipping expensive tea, or reading some holobook on how to be as posh as possible...
"Ani... My little Ani! Please, I'm right here! Your mother's right here... Please...!"
"Ah, Qui-Gon. You always possessed the most impeccable sense of timing."
"It hurts... Mom... My... My hand...!"
"Shh, little Ani... I'm here... I'm here now..."
"What's with all the scream- Whoa!" Pale blue eyes blinked with rapid shock following the Dathomirian's presence to the doorway, into the large room where an, admittedly, one-sided duel had taken place. Asajj glanced from the composed Count with his lightsaber out, lazily to his side. Then to the stern, bearded Jedi intruder with his own emerald blade pointed guardedly between Dooku and Shmi cradling a sniffling, moaning child crying out in agony. The stench of something similar to cooking. "What happened?"
"Something interesting, no doubt." Vosa, having been curious herself following the new Force signatures within the halls of the palace, spoke from behind the fellow apprentice to take in the emotional sight, her own expression of innocent indifference.
Particularly, from the young child curdled in ball by the lap of the knelt Shmi, whom was stroking sand blonde strands as their shared pain was unified in the Force. A mother consoling a distraught son whom suffered than should be allowed, and the Force resonated from the mere strength in such a child. Who WAS that kid?
"Dooku..." The strain in Qui-Gon's regularly firm voice couldn't be anymore evident, prompting his former teacher's raised greying brow. Strong hands gripping tighter on the metallic hilt, suppressing his overwhelming emotions for what had been done to the child laying on his reunited mother's lap. "Why...?"
The Count had the boldness to feign innocence. "Why what, my former pupil? Have you retired from the frank approach? And while you're here, perhaps you could explain the shoddy swordsmanship of your new Padawan. Sloppy, undefined with no sense of grace. Honestly my son, I have taught you better than-"
But the maverick Jedi was in no mood to be chatiszed from his past Master. Far from it. "Why did you do this?" Just a note of despair, mostly deafened by the resolve and composure a Jedi of his status would maintain. Even if his lower lip, obscured slightly, quivered from the agony filling his Force Bond with Anakin. "I felt your ange; your disgust at Anakin... He's just a boy, Master. Why would you do this?"
Just the faintest, barest expression akin to a sneer, and Asajj and Vosa shivered from feeling that brief shade of coldness in the aged Count's signature. His voice cool, and without any hint of malice.
"A child, but a Padawan nonetheless. This is the reality your pupil would be forced to endure eventually; keeping him on Tatooine would have been a mercy compared to the lifestyle of a failed, self-conceited Order." And what was to come much, much later. "You of all people should know, Qui-Gon, or have you been remiss in your recollections by what happened to yourself, as my own student? Nor the horrors that dear Obi-Wan had-"
"Dooku!"
If one had anticipated the stern, commanding voice of an enraged, barely restrained Jedi Master yelling to his former arrogant, vengeful Master in the heat of the moment, one would be very much mistaken. For all eyes turned to the real perpuatrator calling out to the Count, with pain, sadness and desperation borrowed within the former slave's brown eyes, pleading openly to the aged former Jedi (and Sith) tightly holding her moaning little boy, tears threatening to burst.
To Dooku's own suprise, his breath inhaled from the very view inflicted upon one's company he had grown accustomed to over the few years sincer liberating Shmi. Never mind her and young Skywalker's shared despair through the Force.
Struggling to make her voice clear in the moment, soothing her distraught boy protective and caring, Shmi steeled herself enough to request with clear emotion. "Please, my son... My Ani... He needs help, please... Dooku..."
The Count sniffed elegantly, taking one displeasured glance to the sniveling, whiny brat holding onto his mother with one visible hand, his own opinion on such an idea present for anyone to see. The sole purpose why the aged ex-Jedi didn't even advise why the former slave's request would never happen by his hand was from the ripples in the Force, the spiritual energy pleading for Dooku to heed the poor woman's words, and for him to take a proper look. Frowning, Dooku indulged the Force's will regardless, listening.
Like the other timeline, like what felt like long ago, even if the mental scars remained ever present, the Force clunged and cloaked upon the pained boy like a grandparent trying to reassure its legacy. And Anakin heeded the call, burrowing his signature into the warm, comforting energy alongside the warm, loving consideration of a reunited woman. Dooku stayed his hand, not even realizing his lightsaber had turned off from the observation, feeling a moment's apprehension from the repercussions of his own actions.
Carelessness. A thirst for justification of a different universe. But they didn't understand. Qui-Gon didn't understand, and likely never would. It was righteous. The brat was doomed to destroy them all, regardless of his connections to... To...
Qui-Gon and Shmi.
...
Anakin Skywalker was a menace. A walking time bomb, to cut by the fuse and disarm before he could be set off from the the slightest incentive. Dooku had no obligations to ever care or indulge for the child.
But... Times have changed, seeing between both Jedi Master whom Dooku had been so proud of, alive and healthy and regarding his former Master with wary confusion and apprehension, and the former slave woman, whose compassion and empathy for all had been a soothing point for the darkness of his Serrennian palace... And Dooku's own darkened heart.
Qui-Gon Jinn and Shmi Skywalker, two indiviudals closely connected to Anakin AND Dooku. To carry out his own vengeance, to act on petty jealously, anger and disdain for another version of the boy that may never come to be depending on the actions of those whom affect him... Dooku didn't feel triumph as he had a fleeting moment earlier.
Emptiness would be a more apt word.
"Master...?"
Vosa's voice broke out, alerting Dooku to the present and snapping his own brown gaze to both young women regarding him with a sense of unease and concern. Concern for him, and for the knelt former slave both apprentices had come to view as a mother over time together. Wondering through the Force why the darkness suddenly gripped onto the Count's heart eagerly, feeding off lingering emotions for spite and fury.
Dooku could hate Skywalker with everu fibre in his old being - as though it was a challenge to accomplish such - but if allowing himself to succumb, to sink into that hatred and let it fuel his actions. To commit the same fatal errors of the past, and make two people Dooku had grown to care for to distance themselves from him as well, in the old ex-Sith's passion and flirtations with the shadows...
No... He was no Darth Sidious.
He would listen to what the Force pleaded, reverberating in the tongue of Shmi's, and clip his curved lightsaber back onto his belt, inciting his graduated pupil's raised brow os lessened suspense. Dooku merely gave the brat a judging glance, not overall caring for the entitled 'Chosen,' but at least willing to indulge the request of a woman who had done so much for him and asked little in return.
"Pick up your wounded Padawan, Qui-Gon." The Jedi Master stiffened in surprise, made clear through their old bond, but the organized Count spared little time to acknowledge much, giving Asajj a firm eye. "Have the medical bay prepared for an injured child." The Dathomirian hastily nodded, making her retreat, with Vosa next to be addressed as the former criminal stood to attention. "Komari, resume your studies. Sifo-Dyas expects a full report upon his return, after all."
So, a Jedi Master WAS alligned with Dooku. But Qui-Gon stored that tidbit of information for later, focused on wasting zero time and tending to Anakin's side, once trusting the Force's word that Dooku was no longer a plausible threat. For now, at least.
"Anakin..." Gently shaking his Padawan's stiffened shoulder, internally aching from the pain felt through their formed bond. But kept on trying. "Anakin, I need you to focus. Listen on my voice, listen to your mother's. She's here too..."
As Qui-Gon and Shmi continued coddling the distraught boy, Dooku repressed the urge to roll his eyes, something telling the Count today was only just beginning to become a lengthy headache.