Chiefly because of its location at the confluence of the Hydian Way and the Rimma Trade Route, Eriadu became something of a contested world early on, and as adjacent and neighboring sectors seceded or joined the Separatists, Tarkin found himself pressured by both sides to declare his loyalties. Dooku went out of his way to meet with Tarkin on several occasions, as if to demonstrate that he had taken a personal interest in Eriadu’s future. In fact, having already laid the groundwork for the creation of a southern Separatist sphere by bringing Yag’Dhul and Sluis Van over to his side, he needed Eriadu to seal the deal. If Dooku could achieve in the Greater Seswenna what he had achieved elsewhere, he could effectively collapse the Core back into itself, reversing the expansion that had resulted from millennia of space exploration, conquest, and colonization.
At each meeting Dooku had emphasized that for most of its history Eriadu had either been ignored by or been at the economic mercy of the Core. Having forged its own destiny, it owed no allegiance to Coruscant. But on the occasion of their final meeting, threat replaced persuasion. Recent turmoil at Ando and Ansion had left the galaxy staggered, and Dooku seemed caught up in the feverish rush of events. Still, he had arrived on Eriadu in his usual caped finery, elegant and urbane. At Tarkin’s residence overlooking the bay and the glittering lights of the distant shore, they dined on foods prepared by Tarkin family chefs and rare wines provided by the gray-bearded count. Even so, Dooku was restless throughout, ultimately dropping his guise to storm from the long table to the balcony railing, where he whirled on Tarkin.
“I need an answer, Governor,” he began. “This is a pleasant evening and I have always enjoyed your company, but circumstances demand that we conclude the matter of Eriadu’s commitment.”
Tarkin set his napkin and wineglass down and joined him at the balcony. “What has happened to bring this to a head?”
“An imminent crisis,” Dooku allowed. “I can’t say more.”
“But I can. I suspect that you are now close to persuading your secret allies to initiate an economic catastrophe.”
Dooku’s response was limited to a faint smile, so Tarkin continued.
“Eriadu’s friendships are wide ranging. Nothing happens in this or any other sector without our knowledge.”
“Which is precisely why your world is so important to our cause,” Dooku said. “But sometimes economic pressures are not enough to guarantee success — as you well know, Governor. Or do you believe you could simply have bought off the pirates who harassed this sector for so long? Of course not. Eriadu established the Outland Regions Security Force to deal with them. You went to war.”
“Is war what you have in the works?”
Instead of answering the question directly, Dooku said, “Consider Eriadu’s current situation. I realize that you have been successful in shipping lommite through Malastare, and circling around Bestine to reach Fondor and the Core. But where will Eriadu be when Fondor opts to join the Confederacy?”
“Opts to join, or falls to you?”
“Join us and you can continue to transact business in Confederacy spheres — through Falleen, Ruusan, all the way to the Tion sectors.” He paused. “Is your friend and benefactor on Coruscant in any position to offer you a similar guarantee, with the Core contracting around him?”
“The Supreme Chancellor is not required to bribe me into remaining loyal to him.”
“As a complement to previous bribes, you mean. In allowing your illegal actions in the Seswenna to go completely unchecked since you abetted in the undermining of Finis Valorum.” Dooku snorted in scorn. “A strong leader would never have allowed galactic events to reach a point of crisis. He is weak and inadequate.”
Tarkin shook his head negatively. “He is hemmed in by a corrupt and incompetent Senate. Otherwise the Republic would have already raised a military to oppose you.”
“Ah, but the end of his second term is upon him, Governor, with no one of any merit to succeed him. Unless, of course … some crisis results in his term being extended.”
Tarkin tried to decipher the count’s inference. “One might almost conclude that you’re positing an advantage to going to war. But how would that work? The volunteer security forces of the Confederate worlds against — what, Judicials and ten thousand of your former Jedi brethren?”
Dooku adopted an arrogant expression. “Don’t be too surprised, Governor, if the Republic has access to secret forces.”
Tarkin regarded him in open astonishment. “Mercenaries?”
“Proxies is perhaps a more accurate term.”
“Then you have already committed to war.”
“I am committed to the idea of a galaxy ruled by an enlightened leader, with laws that apply universally — not one set for the Core Worlds, another for the Outer Rim worlds.”
“An autocracy,” Tarkin said. “Guided by the count of Serenno.”
Dooku gestured in dismissal. “I am ambitious, but not to that degree.”
“Who, then?” Tarkin pressed.
“We’ll leave that for another day. I’m simply trying to keep you from finding yourself on the losing side.”
Tarkin studied him. “Will there actually be a losing side for men like you and me? I sometimes suspect that this crisis is a mere charade.”
Dooku appraised him. “Would you be opposed to being part of a charade if it meant that the galaxy could be brought under the rule of one?”
Tarkin regarded him for a long moment. “I wonder what you mean, Dooku.”
The count nodded in assessment. “I may not be able to forestall repercussions, Governor, but should this situation escalate to war between the Confederacy and the Republic, I will do my best to see that no lasting harm comes to your homeworld.”
Tarkin’s brows beetled. “Why would you?”
“Because in the end, you and I are likely to find ourselves under the same roof.”
Tarkin had long wondered why Dooku’s prophecy had never come to pass. It was the Separatists who had wound up on the losing side, along with Dooku and, most unexpectedly, the entire Jedi Order, and the Emperor and Tarkin who had found themselves under the same roof.
“The Carrion Spike has launched, Your Majesty,” 11-4D told Darth Sidious.
The droid resembled a protocol model, except for its several arms, only two of which terminated in what might be considered hands; the rest were devoted to tools of varied purpose, including computer interface and power charge extensions. The droid had once been the property of Sidious’s tutor, Plagueis, and had been in Sidious’s possession since his former master’s death, though in several different guises.
The announcement roused Sidious from meditation, and he took a moment to reach out to Vader, his perturbed apprentice.
“Alert me when the ship makes planetfall on Murkhana,” Sidious said.
The droid bowed its head. “I will, Your Majesty.”
The two of them were in Sidious’s lair, a small rock-walled enclosure beneath the deepest of the Palace’s several sublevels that had once been an ancient Sith shrine. That the Jedi had raised their Temple over the shrine had for a thousand years been one of the most closely guarded secrets of those Sith Lords who had perpetuated and implemented the revenge strategy of the Jedi Order’s founders. Even the most powerful of Dark Side Adepts believed that shrines of the sort existed only on Sith worlds remote from Coruscant, and even the most powerful of the Jedi believed that the power inherent in the shrine had been neutralized and successfully capped. In truth, that power had seeped upward and outward since its entombment, infiltrating the hallways and rooms above, and weakening the Jedi Order much as the Sith Masters themselves had secretly infiltrated the corridors of political power and toppled the Republic.