Chapter 1: Lord of the Sun-Lamas

49 BBY

Jedi Master Dooku piloted his Jedi Starfighter into the atmosphere of Polyneus, a jungle and mountainous world at the edge of the Inner Rim Territories. As he dropped out of deep space, he could see the neighboring planet of Ephemera orbiting less than a parsec to the east.

The landing thrusters engaged and the middle-aged Jedi Master took his ship down in an easy, vertical descent. Powering down, Dooku then engaged the landing platform, though he didn't leave the cockpit right away.

Just outside his domed seat, his trusty astromech droid, R7-C6, twittered out a flurry of questions in the form of beeps and whistles.

"Patience, my little friend," Dooku chided, without looking up from where he now had his head bowed, almost as if in silent prayer. The Force had called him here to this place, and so he must listen – which required complete and total silence. Nothing, not even the badgering, if also well-meaning queries from his faithful droid companion, could break his concentration.

To receive what was known as a Call through the Force was viewed as a matter of prestige among many of the Knights and Masters. Padawans and even the Younglings spoke of it as reverently as they did their dreams of one day taking down a bounty hunter, or even (though this was always delivered in hushed whispers)… a Sith Lord. The latter ambition always made Dooku chuckle. The Sith had been extinct for a millennium! The chances of a Jedi ever engaging with the Dark Side in battle again were about as good as a Dactillion falling from the sky!

The Call was revered as an honor, for it meant that the Force was pointing a Knight or Master in the direction of a new recruit. A Force-Sensitive. Future Younglings. Potential Padawans. The next generation of Jedi.

Dooku, however, was wise enough to understand that there were two sides to every credit. Receiving The Call might be an honor, yet it was also in some ways a chore, for it was always the duty and responsibility of the Jedi who had received The Call to go to the planet in question and find the Force-sensitive. While gathering new recruits to the Order was necessary, Dooku was beginning to agree less and less with the Jedi's practice that foundlings be taken from their mothers' arms. The children who were being brought back to the Temple on Coruscant were toddlers – babies, even! In his entire career, Dooku had never seen any of his colleagues bring back a potential Padawan learner who was aged any more than four cycles old.

… He wondered what his former apprentice, Qui-Gon Jinn, would have to say about this. Bringing the young man up until Qui-Gon had successfully passed the Trials, Dooku had enjoyed their debates. Qui-Gon was a fine Knight and a cunning warrior, who followed his heart, rather than his head as many other Jedi did. At only just past 30, Dooku's former Padawan had now taken on an apprentice himself – Feemor, Dooku had heard his name was – and was coming into his own, and Dooku liked to think that was in no small part due to his own influence. From him, Qui-Gon had learned to listen to the Force – not the Council, and in some cases, not even his own Master. The Force was the final arbiter between right and wrong. Its path and its wisdom were infallible, because the Force is life itself. Creation. And creation is not in the least bit fallible.

Rising from the cockpit seat, Dooku threw his Jedi hood over his head and strode confidently down the gangplank. The thrusters were still billowing the last bit of steam from the exhaust ports of the rapidly cooling ship.

At the bottom of the gangplank, Dooku again willed himself to be still, and listen to the Force's will. It would tell him where he needed to go. Centering himself, he could feel the jungle foliage popping up through the soil, could hear the sounds of a small avalanche thundering down from the tops of one of the mountain peaks. The caw of a Sur-avka taking wing from at least twenty clicks away.

…. There! Like a homing beacon, the Force was beckoning Dooku through one of the villages a half-kilometer away, then into the port city of Moanatinui on a path to the palace itself.

It would be a distance. Time almost demanded that Dooku rent a speeder bike for the journey, and perhaps he would borrow one for a few credits once he entered the village. Or perhaps he would embark upon a pleasant walk and better appreciate the journey. The Force might have given him its orders, but even the Force could wait, for it was patient. The Council could surely wait, and in Dooku's experience, they were far less patient.

Dooku kept an ambling pace as he entered the village. His Jedi robes drew the attention of more than a few curious onlookers. Polyneus was on the edge of the Inner Rim Territories – a few more parsecs, barely a jump in hyperspace, would take you to the planet of Genetia, on the outskirts of what was called the Mid-Rim. Upon receiving his Call, Dooku had done some cursory research in the Temple Archives: Polyneus was ruled by a group of trusted elders known as the Sun-Lamas. Similar in structure to the Jedi High Council, theirs was a confederation type government, the best that Dooku could discern. The elders were traditionally given the title of Lord: a mark of high birth that Dooku, being born a Count on his native Serreno, could appreciate. Though unlike on Serreno, the Sun-Lamas did not seem to elevate themselves above their people by virtue of high birth. Their status was earned and conferred based on their wisdom. While the people did not elect the Sun-Lamas, these elders could and did voluntarily retire, prompting their brethren to pick a new replacement from the people.

Dooku reached the outskirts of the main city of Moanatinui before he decided he would rent that speeder bike after all. He found an artisan specializing in such transport and kicking the stand, the Jedi Master sped away on a path towards the palace – the government seat of the Sun-Lamas.

The sentries on duty viewed Dooku with leery puzzlement as he approached, but he assured them in his smooth, silky voice:

"I am a Jedi Master from Coruscant, and I must make an inquiry of your council of elders straightaway. It is a matter of galactic security and the future of the Republic. I think they and you will find it a great honor, when you hear what I have to say."

The sentries admitted him. Entering the chambers of the Sun-Lamas, Dooku found a group of elders, ranging from prime of life to middle-aged to elderly, seated in a semi-circle.

It almost reminded him of walking into the chambers of the Jedi High Council, except for one thing: the stunning lack of diversity. While the Jedi Council featured voices from species and planets of all sorts, the Sun-Lamas were uniformly, to a man and woman, Human.

Dooku bowed low. "Oh, most exalted and wise elders of the Sun-Lamas, I have been called to your auspicious planet by the Force itself. That which creates all life in our galaxy has foretold to me that one of your foundlings has the ability to wield its power." He glanced at each of the Sun-Lamas in turn. "One of your progeny has the potential to become a Jedi and be trained in our ways. May I be permitted to see this child?"

The Sun-Lamas glanced at each other, before finally beckoning one of their own forward. A statuesque woman with red hair and piercing green eyes rose from her place on the council.

She was clearly a young mother, not much older than Dooku's old Padawan. Gesturing to the shadows of the council chambers, a man whom Dooku took to be her mate, stepped into the light, holding a baby bundle in his arms.

Drifting together, the parents held out the little bundle for the Jedi Master's inspection.

Their youngling was just a babe, a boy – nary more than a year cycle old. And yet, reaching out a hand and summoning a tendril of the Force, Dooku could feel the boy's power. He was strong in the Force, this young one – and Dooku was further struck by the flashes of imagery zipping through his mind, like a holovid in fast forward: a handsome young man with a crew cut, at the head of a battalion of clones. An older bearded man with a dark hood, standing alongside… a Witch of Dathomir? Impossible! A lightsaber blade, not red like the Sith, but more of a bloody orange hue.

Much power…. and also some darkness, not too much to frighten the middle-aged Jedi, but also not so insignificant enough to be dismissed out of hand. This baby would be trained, and he would be a great Jedi…. and, if the Force spoke true, which Dooku trusted implicitly that it did, this boy would one day be something greater than any Jedi.

Balance. Or perhaps even something else that left the hairs on the back of Dooku's neck stand up, not in terror, but in a kind of thrilling excitement. He had to admire, even be in awe of, the potential this youngling wielded. He would display much, especially with training.

"Young Baylan Skoll is to one day be a Lord," one of the Sun-Lamas intoned.

"A fine title," Dooku drolled sympathetically. "And he shall still be, I'm sure, while also being something even greater: a Jedi. A Master of our ways. The ways of the Force."

The young mother's expression appeared conflicted: reluctant to give her baby up, yet her eyes betrayed the understanding and awe of her son's potential and ability to lead an even greater life of consequence. A life of consequence even more far-reaching than rising to the title of Lord, an elder on a council ruling an Inner Rim planet.

It was this awe, even hope, that finally prevailed, convincing the mother to gently place her infant son in the arms and the care of this wise Jedi Master.

Dooku, pleased, gave the parents of young Baylan Skoll as well as the elders of the Sun-Lamas a sweeping bow of gratitude. Then he swept from the palace, piloted his loaned speeder bike out of the city and back to the outlands where his Jedi starfighter was parked.

With the baby safely in his care, Dooku took to the skies, leaving Polyneus far behind.