Everyone say thanks to Firehawk1100 and Kuiil for their assistance with this chapter.
The Ones That Are Left Behind: Part Three
Failure deserved punishment.
"Please, stop."
The more disappointing the failure was, the more severe the punishment should be.
"Mercy, Master."
Especially if the failure occurred so close after another.
Dooku ignored the crying pleas of the pathetic, waste of space apprentice of his. Ventress dared to return to his presence without the head of Senator Grebleips in her hand. The Asogian's death was supposed to pave the way for his pro-war successor in taking the mantle, further spreading anti-Separatist sentiments in the Galactic Senate. Discord must continue if the Grand Plan was to be achieve.
It was supposed to be a simple assassination. So simple that even a child with a blaster could do it. He could have hired a bounty hunter to accomplish the deed, but his apprentice earned his ire when failing to capture the child of Jabba the Hutt. It was a chance for her to get back in his good graces. A chance she completely wasted.
"Forgive me," Ventress cried out, convulsing on the floor in agony.
Forgive? Forgiveness was not the Sith way.
Dooku snarled as he thrust his other hand out, applying more power to his Sith lightning. His pitiful apprentice twisted and squirmed, her face wrinkled in pain, tears on full display. Her cries of agony and the crackle of his lightning reverberated between the gray walls.
"You have failed me for the last time, Ventress."
It was disappointing, but he could find another apprentice. He already had one in mind, an Iridonian in the Jedi Order who had inherited a bit too much rage and pride that her species was known for. It would be easy to convert her. A little promise of power and a poor fool for her to direct her anger to and she would be good as his.
There was also the favor Mother Talzin owed him. Her dark arts could produce a fine apprentice for him. Those of Dathomir had an easier time accepting the dark side than those born on Iridonia due to the environment they were raised in. It was also the home of his predecessor, Darth Maul, and soon-to-be dead apprentice, both of whom were highly talented in their own regard.
"I won't fail you again, Master," she gritted through clenched teeth, baring through the pain. "Please."
Dooku arched an eyebrow, quite impressed with Ventress's tenacity to live. Most would have died by now, let alone being able to talk, from the destructive potency of his Sith lighting. Truly the woman had potential, but that alone won't save her from his wrath. Only results would.
"Then prove it to me." He walked to her convulsing form, not once letting up with the ferocity of his Sith lightning. "Prove to me that you are still worthy of being my apprentice."
Pain. Anger. Suffering.
Dooku sensed it all from the woman. Festering inside, fueling her. Granting her strength that only the dark side could provide.
Good.
Ventresss's shrill cries morphed into feral growls. Trembling hands became steady, bracing herself as she attempted to stand.
"I. Am. Worthy," husked Ventress.
A grin found its way on his lips. Ventress stood rigid and stiff, her jaw clenched. The glare she directed his way could only be described as deadly and filled with hate. He saw her sharp blue eyes shimmered a sickly yellow for a brief second.
Yes, my apprentice. Let the dark side flow through you.
Dooku could taste the dark side that was oozing out of her. It was delicious, intoxicating even. But he knew she could do more, be more if she forsaken the last tether she had with the pathetic dead Jedi, Ky.
It would seem she would need another boost.
"Impressive, my dear, but—" He flexed his fingers, unleashing more of his strength unto her, forcing her back to her knees. "—I need more than that to prove your worth. Do you not want revenge on the Jedi for letting Ky Narec die, or was this all a game to you?"
A wave of emotion, all twisted and vile, washing over him was his reply.
There it is, the last of Ky's blasted barriers finally crumbling.
Ventress struggled, whimpering a cry from the cackling lightning that was coursing through her veins. Dooku was still not using his full strength, using a measly third of the power the dark side had graced to him. If the woman could withstand this, then she would earn the right of being his apprentice once more.
"I. Will."
Ventress slowly rose to her feet, her legs wobbling. Her teeth bared and clenched shut. Her fists trembled, splattering specks of her blood on the floor. Her knees buckled, almost giving out but she caught herself at the last second.
"Kill. All."
She stood upright, her legs no longer shaking, but firm and unyielding. Her brows furrowed and her eyes narrowed at him. He could see how much she despised him. How she desired nothing more than to strike him down where he stood.
"Jedi!" she roared, sending a pulse of the Force, disrupting Dooku's lightning.
Dooku chuckled, pleased that her chain was finally broken. The insufferable light that Ky had tried so hard to keep alive, had at last been snuffed out. No longer would it keep the alluring calls of the dark side at bay, whispering to the woman the honey coated words of repent and salvation. The dark side was now her ally, and with it, a powerful apprentice Dooku had gained.
He folded his hands behind the small part of his back, breathing in the smell of burnt flesh and delectable aroma of the dark side. "It seems you have warded off your own death, my dear. Perhaps you are worthy of being my apprentice."
"I am worthy." Ventress took two heavy breaths, her hands twitching from the discipline he had brought upon her. "I am Sith."
Confidence. Pride. Strength.
They were great pillars for a Sith to stand upon as they ascended to their full potential. Ventress had grown much in the five months under his teachings, in both with her skills with a lightsaber and that of the Force. Defeating his former Padawan, Rael, was no easy feat, and he had noticed the new addition of scars that was engraved on her body when she had returned to him victorious.
Dooku still had the dead Jedi's lightsaber that his apprentice presented him in the drawer of his desk, waiting for the day of Ventress's accession from apprentice to true Sith. Once the Dathomirian finished her training, she could take the last step to enter the ranks of the Order of Sith Lords—bleeding a kyber crystal.
"Not fully." Dooku turned, and walked to his desk. "But you will in time."
And when the time came, the hell he would rain on Sidious would be biblical in all senses of the word. The old Sith Rule of One would be reestablished under his reign, with Ventress and other dark side Acolytes he would train, enforcing his will upon the galaxy.
His family would have peace, and Zen her revenge.
She smiled at him, toothy and wide as always when she gazed upon him. Dooku refused to meet her eyes, gravitating to the bloodied handkerchief in her hand. Their son was sleeping at her side on the bed, snuggling against her with a bit of drool running down the corner of his mouth.
"It's okay, dear."
It wasn't. It was infuriating how he couldn't prevent the inevitable from occurring.
Dooku mustered up the courage to look at his wife, his expression tight. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
Zen chuckled, then it quickly turned to harsh coughs. She brought the handkerchief to her mouth, dying it scarlet. The guttural sound she made roused up their son from his slumber. Their child looked up at her, his eyes drowsy but still carried the shade of worry he held for the woman that brought him into the world.
"Mommy?" their son drawled. "Are you okay?"
The coughing gradually ceased. Zen gazed at their boy, a speck of blood lingered on her lips. She shushed him gently, running a tender hand through his brown hair. "Everything is okay, Addy. Go back to sleep, hmm?"
Their son nodded and quickly drifted back to the land of dreams. Zen gave their son a chaste kiss on top of his head, gazing lovingly at him.
"It's okay, Dooku," she said in a hush tone, trying not to wake up their child. "There's nothing to be sorry about."
She looked up at him, smiling brilliantly despite the visible sign of fatigue on her face. "It's not like you are the reason why I'm sick."
Dooku shook his head, ridding himself of the past that always crawled its ugly head back. Zen was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. All that mattered was his son and the death of Sidious. Until such goals could be met, he needed to play the obedient apprentice he despised.
"This will be your first step towards being what you desired."
He pressed a button on the desk, activating the holoprojector that was built in it. A planet appeared before the two. It was large and gray, lacking any indications of life with its absence of vegetation or water.
"This Malachor V," Dooku informed. "Far beneath the surface, you will find an ancient Sith academy. Watcher had come across some information of a Sith holocron belonging to a Sith known as the Lord of Betrayal, which contained knowledge that would prove advantageous to our cause in eradicating the Jedi. They want it found and delivered to Sidious immediately."
Ventress grimaced as she bowed. "I will get it done, Master," she rasped.
"See that you do." He deactivated the projection. "I won't be as forbearing if you fail me again."
She stilled at the prospect of death looming over her, waiting for the tiniest slip to engulf her whole. "I—I won't."
Dooku waved her off, now finished with the conversation. She bowed her head, turned and walked away, trying hard to hide the limp she now gained.
Now that discipline had been served, he could focus his attention on more important matters, like the headache his son was causing.
Dooku took the seat behind his desk. He activated his terminal, shifting through the many reports Grievous and many other military officers, had sent his way. The subject of each were about his son, demanding his immediate removal from the War Council as well as the Confederate Navy. Either logistically or by death, they didn't care, with the exception of Grievous craving the latter option and to conduct the execution personally.
He sighed, running a hand down his trimmed gray beard. Coquer was not making life easy for him as of late. When the war first started, he silenced all opposition about his son's role in the military, using his stellar victories as an example of the boy's worth. Only Grievous and a few others could have achieve the same results as he did, proving to the masses that the young tactician was indeed a prodigy in all senses of the word.
Then the Battle of Mygetto happened, where Coquer successfully warded off the Republic invaders in claiming a planet to add to their territory, and the beginning of his failures. Since that day, battles and skirmishes—both in the trenches and far above the clouds— his son was a part of, ended in a Republic victory.
A loss or two, even ten was not worthy of his ire. Even he was humble enough to admit the failures he had succumbed to. But a month and a half of constant defeats? That was something Dooku could not accept, nor tolerate. It was no longer innocent mistakes, but reckless incompetence.
He wondered what caused his son to eschew these black marks. Everything seemed well and good with the young man from the last time he saw him. Dooku's hand stilled at the thought.
When was the last time I saw him?
He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his son's face, or heard his voice. Just like when he saw the boy for the first time in seven years in the Horox system.
Dooku closed his eyes, rubbing them in mild frustration. He wished to drop the charade he and his son had been playing, revealing to the galaxy the heir of Great House Serenno lives. He yearned to be the father he promised himself to be when news of Zen's pregnancy reached his ears.
But he couldn't—Count Dooku couldn't. He was no longer just a father, but a Sith Lord, apprenticed to the most powerful man in the galaxy. Those under his command knew how shrewd and ruthless he was, accepting success and nothing less. If Coquer was anyone else, he would have already dispatched them without a second thought.
And that was the mentality he had to maintain—brave through the ache in his heart for the prize he sought, using the pain to further attune himself to the dark side.
Now that brought him back to his original thought. What should he do with his son? Admirals and generals of the Confederacy wanted assurance that such things won't be accepted.
An idea came to him.
Perhaps a change was needed, a new addition to the fleet that belonged to his son. One final chance at redemption.
A perfect individual flashed in his mind. He began typing on the terminal, drafting the orders for the individual's transfer to his son's fleet.
The dim orange glow of the lit candles gave the dining room a calm and light atmosphere. Music, classical in nature, played softly in the background. The sole two occupants talked to one another, with a giggle or a laugh popping in every so often in their conversation.
Moments like these were rare and few in between. The hectic and unpredictable nature of war added another layer of challenge for the two to overcome just to have a night solely for themselves. Thankfully their teenage son could read the hints he sent his way, having spent the night with a friend from the academy.
He would make sure to make it up to the boy tomorrow. He still had seven days left from the leave he requested. Tonight, though. Tonight was for his wife, and wife only.
"I must say, dear. You have truly outdid yourself tonight." His wife took a sip from her glass of wine, smiling behind the rim. A faint mark of her lipstick was left on the glass. "You even got my favorite wine."
He grinned at the compliment. The perks of having cooking as a hobby. "Well, it's not every day we have a night to ourselves."
Her smile faltered. "True…" Her gray eyes gazed at the little bit of wine left in her glass, swirling it gently.
His heart ached at the pained expression of hers. He didn't mean to bring up the subject that always seemed to drift them apart.
Politician and soldier, the two directions in the fork in the road that led to the same destination of where their goal lied. They both chose the trail they deemed right to trek through to battle the ever expanding corruption of the Republic and the corporations that pulled its strings. Their marriage was an acceptable sacrifice in their eyes so that systems could gain independence from tyranny of an unjust government.
His wife reached out, intertwining her left hand with his own. Their golden wedding bands glimmered from under the gentle flame of the candle.
He gazed into her eyes, getting lost in the beauty of the gray clouds that drift in them. His heart quickened in pace from the smile she directed his way, feeling like the teenager all those years ago that discovered the diamond that was by his side since childhood.
She gave his hand a small squeeze, like she was scared of what would happen if she let go. "That is why, we shall make this night one to remember, my love."
Emotions raged within. Frustration and desire won, taking control of his body with their seductive voice. He stood from his seat, guiding the woman who took his heart to join him. He brought her close, embracing her with his arms tightly around her. She leaned her head against his chest, sighing in content.
The smell of cinnamon and pine trees wafted their way into his nose. The scent reminded him much of their homeworld of Onderon, drifting his mind to simpler times.
Him in the kitchen, cutting the vegetables to prepare for the large dinner he would be making for his wife's associates in the Senate. Their son, being the impressionable age of twelve, helped him with small tasks and supervising the droids that were preparing the house for the event.
His wife popped her head in every so often, making sure if everything was going as planned and if they needed her help. He always pushed her away, telling her the kitchen was his domain and didn't need someone with two left hands to assist him. She would roll her eyes, laughing, before boldly strolling in, planting a kiss on his lips and helping him anyway.
Sensation of hair tickling his chin brought back to the present. How he missed those days, craving for them to happen once more.
He kissed the top of her head, whispering, "I love you."
Her hold tightened. "I love you too, Alarik."
Once the war was over, and they won their sovereignty from grips of the Republic, they could return to the life they once had.
His wife moved her head, staring up into his eyes. She raised her hand, placing it on the side of his cheek, rubbing her thumb against the stubbles of his shaved face. He closed her eyes, enjoying the touch.
Her touch was warm, and her skin soft and supple. So much unlike his hands, rough like sandpaper and riddled with callouses from the time on the battlefield. Perfect hands of a killer—a soldier.
May his son, Lux, never had hands like his.
She pulled him down, gently guiding his lips to hers. The roasted taste of wine lingered on her lips. She parted first, too quickly for his liking. He was already craving for more.
His wife smiled, her eyes twinkling with a glint Alarik had not seen for quite some time.
"Let's retire for the night." Her hand ran down from his cheek to his chest, her fingers playing with the black button of his top. "The wine had left me quite—" She popped the button. "—the desire for some rest."
Alarik chuckled with a grin. He could recall similar words spoken to him a little under two decades ago, coincidentally the same age of their son.
"Then let's get some rest, shall we?" He leaned for another kiss, a preamble for what was to come.
A sharp knock echoed in the empty mansion, interrupting him. He closed his eyes, grumbling about the intrusion.
"Who could that be at this hour?" His wife voiced the question that was on both of their minds.
He huffed, separating from the love of his life. "I'll be right back. I'll tell them to return tomorrow."
Alarik exited the dining room, making his way to the door that led to the uninvited guest. It was most likely an associate of his wife from the Parliament. They always came at unfortunate times.
He reached the door and opened it. His eyes widened at the two individuals on his doorstep.
Why are there battle droids here?
"Are you," the droid on the left glanced at the datapad it was holding. "Lieutenant Alarik Bonteri?"
"Y—yes," he stuttered, nodding. "What is this about? Did something happen?"
"Lieutenant Bonteri, you are to report to the Alacrity, effective immediately," the droid on the right explained. "We were ordered to escort you to the spaceport in the morning to be shipped out."
"What?" Confusion crossed his face. He was still under orders to serve as one of the officers to defend the hyperlanes that the Republic might use to circumvent the front lines and attack other possible targets. "Who gave this order?"
"Head of State, Dooku of Serenno." The droid on the left handed him the datapad.
Alarik skimmed through the contents of the device, his frown deepening with each line of text he read. The droids were indeed telling the truth. Dooku wanted him to ship out, serving as executive officer to Commander Coquer and his fleet.
He had heard some rumors about the young officer, but never personally met with him. His fellows in the military had voiced their dislike of the boy, due to his arrogance and lack of respect.
Truly a troublesome assignment. Why would Dooku assign him with this commander? He never heard of anyone in the military, army or navy, receiving orders directly from the Head of State. Supreme Commander Grievous was probably the only person he could think of who might receive direct orders from the Serennian.
Alarik sighed. He couldn't refuse the order, no matter how much he wished he could. One of the many sacrifices he accepted when picking up the call to arms.
"I see…" Barely a day with his family, and he was already being sent back to the fray. "Thank you for the delivery. I will report as ordered in the datapad."
"We will arrive at 0700 to pick you up."
The droids saluted him and he waved them off. He closed the door, tossing the datapad to the ground, not caring about the crunch he heard. How would he break the news to his wife?
Alarik turned around, frozen in his tracks. His wife was standing a few inches away from him, her bottom lip quivering and a tear running down her cheek.
"Mina…"
She shuddered a shaky breath. "I—" She paused, taking a long breath. "I guess you should start packing. I'm going to go to bed. Night, Alarik."
"Mina." But she was already gone.
Alarik wanted to say more, promising her he would be back soon, but he couldn't do that to her. Such promises would only hurt her if the unthinkable happened, crushing her.
His hands clenched into fists, trembling in frustration. "Damn it."
Author's Note: Coquer was not the only one who lost something in this war. One of my biggest goal in this story is to humanize Dooku and the Separatist faction in general, like that Clone Wars episode, Heroes on Both Sides. Plus, I want to give Mina Bonteri husband the justice he deserve, other than being a person who died in a random battle. A lot of tidbits added in this chapter that will evolve into a bigger part of the story down the road.
Till Next Time