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Chapter 7: Falling shadows
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Part 3
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The Invisible Hand
Providence Class Dreadnought
Pammant
Calamari Sector
Outer Rim Teritorries
Rhythmic metal thumps echoed throughout the empty bridge. Occasionally, a loud clang pierced the air, and a kicked piece of metal skipped off the bulkheads. General Grievous paced like a caged animal, cursing the hurry-up and wait, orders he recently got from Dooku. The old human gave him just enough time to get a plan in place, before demanding a meeting in person, away from prying eyes. Didn't he know what a priceless opportunity they had?!
The General grumbled in frustration. Of course, Dooku knew! It was the Sith's cunning that created this opportunity in the first place! Yet, instead of unleashing him upon the Jedi, Dooku wanted him back here, far away from the fighting.
He kept pacing and kicking pieces of metal meant of the bridge, which was still under construction. It was Grievous' suggestion to meet here under the guise of inspection – the odds of active listening devices at this point of time were remote. Whatever Dooku wanted to speak about had to be important. Say what you will about the former Jedi, Grievous, paused to seethe in hatred at the thought of the Jedi in general who turned him into a cybernetic horror! He had to push through a veil of hate and phantom pains to focus. Dooku wouldn't waste their time at a time like this.
Grievous repeated that thought like a mantra and went to the bridge's windows. Thousands of droids crawled over the partially finished super-structure of the dreadnought. Far in the distance, Grievous could see the massive form of his future flagship – the Malevolence. It swarmed with droids working upon it, and it was only clearly visible due to the countless lights coming from the work crews.
The construction of both ships was somewhat behind schedule, despite the eager participation of the local volunteer engineer corps and the hordes of droids they had to do the heavy lifting. The same was true about to a lesser extent for many of the Confederacy-aligned shipyards now. It could be no other way. Not after that damn Jedi prodigy, Skywalker, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that recent advances in small craft design made them an unexpectedly dangerous threat. As a consequence, Grievous and his fellow commanders pushed for increased point defense weaponry upon all ships, as long as the overhaul wouldn't delay their construction too much. In practice, that meant a third of the hulls under construction would benefit from the upgrade. Currently, deployed ships would need to wait for dock time after suffering severe enough combat damage to warrant the overhaul. Until then, prudent use of available assets would have to do.
That covered defensive tactics against the new paradigm. What the galaxy now knew as the Skywalker Maneuver, should be less of a threat now. Offensively speaking, Grievous and several of his colleagues, like Trench, commissioned new strike fighters and bombers with integrated hyperdrives. They were all eager to repay the enemy in kind. The only stumbling block there was the credit-pinching politicians. They still believed that they could fight the war on the cheap and get their freedom from the Republic anyway, the fools!
The bridge's doors opened with a hiss. Grievous' head snapped in that direction, and he saw Dooku walk in and briskly head his way.
"General Grievous, we need to talk. I'm afraid, I'm the bearer of grave news. We were set up and betrayed." Dooku began. The human's severe bearing and expression told Grievous enough – this was no joke.
"Elaborate!" The General growled.
"After Geonosis, I went to speak with my Master. He was extremely happy at the way the war began. So happy, in fact, that he let slip his true plans for the Confederacy. We're mere pawns meant to give him control of the galaxy. If he is ever exposed, then we deliver him to the Republic through military conquest. If not, he will use us to gain absolute power and turn the Republic into an Empire." Dooku began, and for once, he didn't bother to keep his seething fury contained, much less hidden. "In either case, our just reward for success is death. Another purpose of this war is to expose those willing and able to fight against the galactic order. Then remove them, so we would no longer be potential threats in the future."
Grievous wanted to rage at the betrayal, to scream in righteous fury at the very idea of it. Yet, in his pain and ever-present rage, the General found out that he wasn't surprised, not really. After all, what else could you expect from treacherous politicians, especially those raised in the Core?
"What was your part in this betrayal, Count Dooku? How much did you already know? How much did you suspect?" Grievous asked, while focusing all his senses – natural and augmented alike, on the Sith.
"When I fell and became a Sith, I should have known that only treachery awaits me. I was a fool, General. I saw what I wanted to see, and I heard what I needed to hear. I saw how the Jedi Order lost its way. Later, as a Count, I had a front-row seat to the corrupt mess that is the Republic, and I understood that the system that exists today is beyond salvation. Sidious offered all the answers I needed, and to my everlasting shame, I didn't look too closely at where his path led to, or the implications." Dooku admitted. "It was very convenient that I was in a position to rescue you, General. I was there only because my Master foresaw the need. I'm not sure if he directly arranged your bombing, or merely used the Jedi and the Republic intelligence services to do it."
Grievous stood rigid, while rage howled for blood in his mind. His synthetic heart twitched painfully, and he saw red. Grievous moved before his stricken mind could consciously process what he was doing. It was all rage-fueled training and instincts.
He never got close to touching Dooku. The old human merely raised an eyebrow, and the General found himself pinned in the air, flailing helplessly.
"San Hill is one of Sidious' creatures. The same is true about Poggle the Lesser." Dooku had the gall to frown at him. "If I'm to make an educated guess, my friend, you were meant to be the Confederacy's attack dog. Rage at what the Jedi did to you, rage at the Republic siding with the slavers, and perhaps a little extra, driving you to become a monster. I would recommend that you find trusted doctors to go over all your implants and look for alternations that should not be there."
Grievous kept flailing impotently in the air. Even as Dooku's words entered his mind through the red-hot rage consuming him, the General could do little but strugggle with the fury gripping every fiber of his body – organic and synthetic alike. Could Dooku be right? What did those Huttspawned bastard do to him?!
"Your rage is potent, General. I wouldn't say it's misplaced, yet it tastes odd…" Dooku gazed at him with a contemplative expression on his face. "All I see right now is my former Master's attack dog, just a weapon to discard when it outlives its use. Just like I was meant to be." Dooku walked around him, while Grievous did his best to get his fury under control, to no effect.
"Are you the famous Kaleesh General who did the impossible to help his people? Or are you a broken attack dog? Will you help me to reshape the galaxy and get our vengeance on Sidious? Or are you going to die forgotten, just one more monster created by my Master?"
"My name is Qymaen jai Sheelal!" Grievous hissed. His mind was on fire, and all he could see was a blood-red sheen. "I… am… no… one's… hound!" The Kaleesh rasped.
Dooku nodded in understanding, and the General knew no more.
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Part 4
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Selsuin Medical Centre
Pammant
Calamari Sector
Outer Rim Teritorries
He was warm, wet, and floating. Those were painfully familiar sensations. Grievous spent too much time stuck into a Bacta tank since the Jedi, Sith, or whoever was responsible for blowing him up.
It was a limited sensation, with much of his cybernetics detached for maintenance or replacement. There wasn't much flesh and bone that survived the bomb, and virtually all of it needed either cybernetic support or synthetic replacement to keep him alive. In many respects, the General's current existence was an anathema to the warrior he used to be.
All he had left was rage and constant phantom pain from seared flesh and shattered bones that no longer existed. The way, Grievous recalled acting in front of the human Count, was conduct unbecoming a veteran warrior, much less a General. It was inexcusable.
Nevertheless, the rage made it impossible to think clearly. It was succor. His rage was the only balm for his wounds that worked every time. It was one of the greatest painkillers in the known galaxy. It was his shield against everything he lost.
Yet, Grievous could no longer muster it. The familiar rapid pumping of his heart, the almost blissful tint over his perception making his existence bearable, they were gone. Oh, there was anger, and it still burned hot, that much the General could muster, yet it was a far cry from the familiar rage. The anger didn't wrap around his whole being like a blanket. He couldn't hide in it.
Instead, it was a cold thing, a precise and familiar, this anger of his. It was an old companion, and Grievous knew how to wield it like the keenest of blades.
Grievous cracked his eyes open, prepared for the stinging sensation of the Bacta. It quickly passed away, allowing him to see the blue-tinted world, distorted by the curve of the tank holding him. A familiar, yet alien sight greeted his weary eyes. Was this purgatory, the General wondered? He had seen countless medical bays by now, and no two were quite alike, even on warships of the same class. This one was dark, much larger than you would find on anything but a dedicated hospital ship. Muted lights illuminated just enough to show a cavernous expanse dedicated to healing. The lack of much smaller rooms was a bit disorienting at first, more because now, he was helpless and exposed, instead of any medical reason.
What got Grievous' undivided attention was his guards. He could see a handful of the caped Magna-Guard droids he commissioned to become part of his retinue. Those were few and far between. It was the stout, tall figures clad from head to claw in heavy modern armor that got his attention. Even when standing at parade rest, hidden by layers of composites, Grievous knew his people. The distinct three-fingered hands and modified gloves for their claws, the practiced ease with which the warriors held their heavy blasters… The sight harkened back to better days when he was whole, and his Izvoshra were still alive.
"Commander, the General is alive!" A woman exclaimed in a familiar, painfully accented voice.
Grievous would always recognize his people's language. He stirred in his liquid prison, looking wildly around. What new torture was this?!
A large armored form all but ran into view. The Kaleesh wore a large helmet carefully shaped like a traditional bone mask. He quickly removed it with a loud hiss, pointing at excellent environmental protection, and grinned at Grievous.
The scarred face of a dead man stared at the General with a smirk revealing several metal teeth.
"When your human friend contacted us, I didn't believe it at first. I knew how lucky I was, that no one else could have survived!" The smirk vanished, replaced by a look of abject sorrow. "What those honor-less curs did to you, General…" Bentilais san Sk'ar grimaced. "I'm not sure how much you recall?"
"Bentilais?" Grievous gurgled, cursing the Bacta and the inability to speak underwater.
"We're here, General! We won't leave you alone!" Sk'ar slammed a fist over his heart in a warrior's salute. "We'll get you back up and whole soon."
Grievous simply stared at the dead man walking, wondering if his sanity finally snapped.
"Sir, perhaps it would be for the best that you explain the situation to the general?" The female voice pipped up again.
"According to Dooku, our dubious benefactors had kept an eye on me after the bombing," Sk'ar grimaced and put his helmet back on. "Undoubtedly, in case, they either needed a spare weapon or yet another way to keep you on a leash, General. An in-depth analysis of your cybernetics revealed several, shall we say, dubious decisions and fail-saves." The Kaleesh warrior waved a hand at the female, who finally made herself visible.
She was tall and lite, obviously one of their kind. Instead of armor, she wore a sealed white medic outfit, complete with a mask hiding her face.
"Healer K'mar here verified what our host's healers dug out of you, General."
The woman walked tall and proud in front of the Bacta tank and showed a small glass vial. Grievous had to squint to see the tiny piece of cybernetics floating within a liquid medium.
"There is a neural chip, in here, Sir. Preliminary examination reveals that it was meant to increase aggression and anger while decreasing impulse control. It was well masked as a part of the hormone regulatory system you need, General. If we weren't especially looking for such things, we wouldn't have found it."
"We're pretty sure that there was a fail-safe meant to short out your cybernetics if you ever received the right coded transmission." Sk'ar unhappily explained. "From what we gathered so far, you were meant to be someone's attack hound, General."
The Healer looked between the two of them, and Bentilais nodded.
"There's the issue with your cybernetics as well. From what little your human told us, you were supposed to be a Jedi killer. While your cybernetics would allow you to remain a formidable warrior, they are less than ideal for the task at hand." The grim amusement in Sk'ar's voice was unmistakable. "I've spent a few years now researching how to kill Jedi and how to alter my cybernetics to suit the task better. For people with the resources of the Confederacy behind them, our benefactors did a hack job with you, my General. Even something as 'basic' as cortosis weave all over your cybernetic chassis, with additional protection for vital areas, is missing. Implanted sonic weapons? Adrenal boosters? Bacta solution to better keep you alive in the field?" Sk'ar nodded at the Healer. "We could think of all that and more, years ago, we just didn't have the resources for most of the good stuff. Our benefactors, on the other hand?" He shrugged.
"The good news is that we've gone over your cybernetics and are now sure there are no more unpleasant surprises. We should be able to put you back together soon, Sir." The Healer explained. "We've also had various upgrade options ready for you to pursue at your convenience, General." She sounded particularly eager at that.
The Healer vanished out of sight for a few seconds, before coming back without the accursed chip. Instead, she had a data-pad in hand and was busy tapping on it.
"You should be ready for operation within the next six to twelve hours, General. I would prefer a bit more time, so your brain could rest. You nearly stroked out from a combination of stress and the effects of that abomination."
Grievous' eyes twitched in impotent fury. How could he rest now? The depth of this betrayal almost rivaled what the Republic did to its people!
"Perhaps a few good news might cheer you up, General?" Sk'ar tried his best to offer some distraction. "It's all over the news now. Yesterday, your human began a purge within the Confederate leadership. That Neimoidian toad is dead. The same goes for our unlamented benefactor Hill. Members of the Techno Union and the Commerce Guild are under arrest, awaiting interrogation and trial for treason…"
Grievous seethed at that. The General wanted to get his talons into Hill. That being impossible, then his cybernetic hands would have to do, yet it was not meant to be! If Grievous wasn't up and running before Dooku finished the purge, then the Jedi and the Republic would have to do!
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