Chương 4: Pestering Dooku

62 BBY – 938 ARR – Coruscant Zucul passed the near-twins arguing.

"You shouldn't sneak into the Archives."

"I'm not hurting anything."

"It is against the rules."

"The rules are boring."

"Breaking them isn't." Zucul left them to it. ~*~*~*~ As the new year cycled over, those Knights and Masters looking for a new padawan in the next couple years were now beginning to look into Rann and Mace's class. It was a bit early as Padawans were normally 15-16 when selected, but it was well-known within the Order that there was some exceptional talent within this youngling clan. Upon review, some things became obvious.

There were three distinct categories in the clan: Mace Windu, a trailing Rann Crys, and everyone else. The generational talent, the best friend who worked his hardest to keep up, and the other children. Those who looked more deeply at the Salles would note that Mace Windu stood head-and-shoulders above the rest of his class, though if Force abilities were allowed Rann Crys won three out of ten times.

If a prospective Master reviewed their academics, they would find Mace Windu wrote excellent but unimaginative papers, able to synthesize the information his classes gave him well. Rann Crys wrote papers which took the information from the class but applied it in unique ways or to situations the class didn't explore. They were both taking classes normally only offered to Padawans and were finishing up some of the mandatory Initiate-level coursework that couldn't be skipped, like Lightsaber Construction.

The bells gently chimed, signaling the end of the class. There was a swelling of energy in the Force as over twenty Padawans and one youngling made to leave. Rann almost missed the subtle tug of Master Barina requesting his attention in the Force. He stayed back to speak with her. That was one of the quirks of the Temple that still struck him as odd but convenient. To an outsider, the Temple often looked like halls of stone-faced sentients, silently swishing about in their robes and tabards.

But in the Force, it was a glorious interplay of Light. Many conversations were carried out in the Force. Even though it was exceptionally difficult to communicate words, it was easy enough to send basic emotion and concepts through the Force. Thus, words and even facial expressions were used much more rarely and often for emphasis or to communicate exceptionally complicated ideas. Simple greetings, joy, displeasure, and more all flashed through the halls while they remained largely silent and faces unchanged.

In fact, Initiates had to take a mandatory public speaking course, where they were trained on how to talk like a "normal" person, with a full vocabulary and without relying on the Force for cues. Their homework was to talk to one of the temple's protocol droids for thirty minutes, which Rann thought was decent enough but couldn't reflect a human or most other sentient's emotional range in its face or body cues.

He had a huge leg up on the other Initiates due to his other life, here, as he knew how a Force-insensitive person acted. All thoughts of other classes were quickly chased out of Rann's mind.

"Initiate Crys, you don't belong here," said Master Barina with finality. He blinked.

"Beg pardon, Master?"

"You do not belong in this class, Initiate. Your paper was over twenty pages."

"You asked us to write a paper about what we were interested in, so I chose Mandalorians," he said, sounding defensive even to himself.

"Yes, and you turned in a cogent analysis on the fractionalization of the Mandalore system and its potential outcomes. This is the kind of paper I expect out of Padawans or Knights taking the third or potentially fourth level class, not the second."

"Ah." Rann took a moment to calm himself.

"I thought you were saying…" Rann's initial panic had been bone-deep. You don't belong here. He didn't say that of course. It was now the Master's turn to blink. She signaled confusion in the Force.

"I thought you were saying I wasn't qualified for the class." She huffed.

"No. I am telling you that you are overqualified and will be moved to the third level. Your intellect is wasted here. Don't think I don't notice you woolgathering in the back." Rann had the good grace to look abashed.

"Thank you, Master."

"I do have some questions about your paper, however. Are you free?" This was polite fiction. Rann was of course always 'free' when a Master asked, especially when they both knew she taught this class in the last block of the day. Still, Rann had agreed to meet Mace.

"I have an appointment in the Salles in an hour."

"Then we shall talk." She nodded decisively and gestured for him to sit. He climbed back into the desk, which was too large for his eight-year-old body.

"How did you first identify the growing factionalism within Mandalore?" He squirmed oddly.

"Ahh… holonet forums, Master."

"Holonet forums?"

"Yes, Master. Chatrooms on the holonet. I was poking around looking for a tutor in Mandalorian when I ran across a chatroom where a Mandalorian kid born here on Coruscant was asking the same kinds of questions. They got a lot of responses from other users basically telling them that it was a waste of time since Mandalore is a backwater system. I dug some more-" Rann very carefully did not mention that his 'digging around' involved slicing into secure servers.

"-and it turned out that many of those users were part of an online chat group that called themselves the 'Core-born.' They're mainly second or third-generation people whose heritage is from Mandalore, but their families left, normally due to hardship. This group proudly don't speak Mandalorian and regard Mandalorians from Mandalore as gun-toting savages." Rann slowed down, realizing that he had just ranted at the Master. She simply gestured for him to continue.

"Anyway, it made me look around for more fracture points around Mandalore. It looks like there's three different blocs forming. There's the Evar-aade – New Mandalorians, who are essentially core-worlders in outlook, and the Old Clans who are traditionalists. The Old Clans look like they are about to split, as well. The hardliners and those willing to change and modernize to a degree. They're three different trauma responses.

One of the biggest problems facing Mandalore is of course that it is very poor, but also that its entire economy is incredibly distorted by mercenary work; it's the largest export of the system by far. It generates tons of money for the system but also hinders labor availability for industry at-scale due to the loss of manpower, not to mention lack of cultural prestige for anything that isn't producing arms or armor.

Much of the industry in Mandalore is actually secondary to the mercenary work, like armor and weapons-forging. These three blocs are forming in response to this pressure. The New Mandalorians want to cease this work altogether and try to build other industries. The Old Clans are splitting, with traditionalists wanting to continue as-is but lose the image Mandalorians have gained as being guns-for-hire for anybody with the credits.

Reactionaries think that mercenary work is a perversion of the true Mandalorian purpose: conquest. These are three major social and political blocs forming in reaction to the economic and social reality of Mandalore." She sat back.

"That is an excellent summation of your paper. I'm glad to know that you wrote it without assistance." Ah. That's what that was about. That was what it was about, but it was also something deeper. Master Barina would have expected a paper of this quality to have come from a Senior Padawan at least, if not a Knight writing up a dossier. It went into great depth and had managed to cut through the morass of contradictory sources to make a cogent analysis of a topic very few people in the Republic even cared to study.

Mandalore was an insular system, so most simply knew that it was a place where competent mercenaries came from and little else. Hels, his paper had taught her many things about the system, and she'd even had to look up some things the paper assumed as implicit knowledge! She had, of course, noted this down on his paper; it wouldn't do for a youth of his age to think his writing flawless or his audience omniscient. Rann had a different concern.

He always had a subtle fear that the sources of his knowledge would be revealed. The Jedi Order wasn't safe for Seers like himself. If he'd been able to, he would have hidden his precognition altogether, but the intensity prevented that. So instead, he disguised those moments and dreams in which the Force hit him with visions of the distant Future or Past as simply bouts of the immediate future overwhelming him, something which was mildly more acceptable.

He didn't reveal his previous life for reasons both deeply personal and pragmatic. For one, if the Sith Lords (or was it Lord at this point? Darth Plagueis was killed in 67 BBY and Sidious wouldn't take another apprentice for decades) who surely had spies within the Order, knew he would be dead or enslaved within the week. It also didn't guarantee success.

For all that he loved it, the Order had ignored at least a thousand years of continuous decline and the warnings of Seers like Sifo-Dyas and visionaries like Dooku and Qui-Gon Jinn. So even when doing things as simple as homework assignments, he had to be very careful to make sure and backtrack his work, to make sure his cover was perfect.

"Thank you, Master. Am I free to go?"

"Of course, be along now." He slipped out of the classroom, both dreading and looking forward to yet another sparring session with Mace. ~*~*~ This was going to be an intense session, Rann knew. All sparring with Mace was. He threw himself wholly into something or not at all. That intensity drew others to him, a flame too bright to ignore. It gave him strength, but it also pressed him toward absolutes.

To keep from slipping into anger, he learned to shape his world into binaries, and in that rigid clarity he found a channel for the fire within. So Rann let his blade fall into a Fool's Guard, point facing the ground. Mace hated when he did this. A Fool's Guard traditionally left the user with the least offensive or defensive options and practically baited an attack.

It also allowed the user to whip their 'saber up quickly and score a hit if their opponent committed to an attack, especially in lightsaber combat, where there wasn't a cutting edge and allowed him to strike from any angle. It muddied the decision-making. Rann salted the wound by closing his eyes, signaling he would rely solely on the Force. He focused everything on the opponent before him. Mace probed with a jab. Rann stepped back. Again. Another shuffle.

Then, on the third, a quick parry to knock Mace off balance. He stepped into Mace's guard, grabbing Mace's forearm to guide his blade away, trying to twist his own wrist enough to score a hit. Mace elbowed him in the gut and leapt back to make space. Rann fell back into a Shii-Cho neutral stance to give him time to catch his breath. He slowly let his blade fall back into a Fool's Guard. Mace huffed.

He felt the currents of the Force flow and then- The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Initiate, what are you doing?" asked a sonorous voice as his eyes flew upon.

"Training, Master." He heard a snort. He turned to look at who had addressed him to see their growing consternation. Ah. He'd just accidentally sassed one of the prickliest Masters of the Order, Dooku.

"Is that what they call it these days? Closing your eyes and flailing about with a blade is training, Initiate?" Rann shrugged. He was committed now.

"If it works, Master." Another snort. Behind Master Dooku stood his padawan; a young, gangly Qui-Gon Jinn. Still a teenager, he had yet to fill out that large frame of his and instead resembled a stork. He had a growing smirk as he listened to Rann send his Master into apoplexy.

"I tell him the same thing all the time…" said Qui-Gon.

"Rann Crys."

"Initiate Rann. I try and tell him that I rely on the Force and it tells me where to be. All this emphasis on forms and technique is a bit much when the Force is our guide." Dooku's face had now settled into a grim repose which promised anguish to his foes, currently one recalcitrant Padawan and a bratty Initiate. Mace was openly gaping. The attention of a Master as legendary as Dooku was something that he would normally bask in. To be given a tongue-lashing, even second-hand, was something he was unused to.

Fuck, was all Rann had time to think.

"Enough," snapped Dooku.

"The Force may favor fools and small children, but it cannot guide the blade past the ability of the wielder. Between the both of you, I have just enough ability to fill my boot." Dooku turned to him. Fuck, he thought again. Rann Saw many ways in which the next moment in his life could go. None of them seemed particularly pleasant.

"You, boy. Since you seem to think the Force will guide you, we will test that theory. Qui-Gon, you will join him. Prepare yourselves." Twenty minutes later, Rann was too tired and sore to even think, much less mentally curse. He was left panting, barely standing. The rest of the Salles had been filled with people either pretending to practice or outright rubbernecking the beatdown Master Dooku had decided to hand out. I just had to get between the two of them, thought Rann. He shot a glare at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon didn't need to open his big mouth. Rann knew he'd been used as an object lesson on how using the guidance of the Force wasn't adequate, especially when faced with a more skilled opponent. Qui-Gon shrugged and gave him a guilty look.

"You have five minutes. Then you will drill your forms. Don't worry Padawan mine, you will join Initiate Crys." Only then did he acknowledge the growing crowd.

"In fact, all of the Initiates present may join. It is clear that you need the drilling and if you have time to gawk, you can learn." An hour and a half later, after wringing every last bit of effort out of them and not a few shed tears, Master Dooku released them. Two dozen younglings and Qui-Gon Jinn stumbled, limped, and dragged themselves and each other to the showers. The bedraggled crowd drew a few stares, but none of them could manage to care. Once out, Qui-Gon caught his arm and apologized.

Rann just nodded along and waved him off, too tired to reply properly. Despite how grueling that workout was, he still had more to do. ~*~*~"Initiate Rann, the Archives are not an appropriate napping place, especially with one of its holocrons." Rann woke up to see Master Nu standing over him, an imperious expression on her face. He sat up and surreptitiously rubbed the drool off his face.

"Sorry Master Nu. I had a particularly intense training session in the Salles."

"Doing what, might I ask?"

"Master Dooku decided I needed an object lesson in over-reliance on the Force when sparring, Master Nu."

"Is that why you're in such a state?" Rann knew from looking in the bathroom mirror earlier that his robe was discolored and his skin had raised welts from where Dooku's saber had managed to hit him. Even at their lower settings, multi-crystal lightsabers still hurt. And all he had was a practice saber. Rann shrugged.

"Don't shrug at me, boy. What did Master Dooku do?" Rann hesitated, not liking her tone. It spelled trouble, and he didn't want for more to land in his lap. He got into enough on his own. But she just stood there, waiting for an answer.

"Me and Mace were practicing in the Salles. I decided to test something out and closed my eyes to let the Force guide me. Master Dooku saw and said I was 'flailing about with my blade' or something like that. I told him I was relying on the Force. Then his Padawan agreed with me, which he didn't seem to like. So we sparred for a bit. He beat the stuffing out of me and Padawan Jinn at the same time. Then we drilled for a while."

"Master Dooku sparred with you?" Rann silently nodded but offered no further explanation. She appeared willing to let the topic drop when she instead asked, "And what is your current topic of research?"

"Indigenous Force users, Master Nu."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Master Nu. I was looking at the various ways they use and think about the Force. Groups like the Korun, the Baran Do Sages, the Guardians of the Whills, the Dagoyan Order, and the Voss Mystics. Seeing their differing approaches to the Force is very enlightening."

"Very interesting, Initiate. I think you should continue this tomorrow and go rest for the rest of the day." He opened his mouth but closed it when he felt her resolve in the Force. He instead flashed his own acceptance and went to put the holocron away. ~*~*~ A few days later, Rann Crys was called before the High Council. The ass-chewing that Master Nu had given Master Dooku had reached legendary status within hours, and the quote ' Out! Out!'

from when she had sent the illustrious Master away from the Archives had become a way to garner a quick chuckle within the temple. Rann wasn't sure if he was here more to address a Master beating the stuffing out of him or to keep the peace between two important Masters of the Order, but either way, he was in the hot seat and wanted out. Of course, before being seen by the Council, Rann had to wait outside its chamber for half an hour because the previous session ran long.

He'd sat there twiddling his thumbs, feeling the building anxiety. What if the Council had somehow discovered him? What if they reviewed his record and decided he didn't belong after all? This and more swirled in his brain until the doors opened and he was called in. Taking a deep breath and trying to banish his fears, he stepped into the Council's Chambers. The first thing he noticed was that he was the only one standing.

All the Masters present sat in old chairs which had fallen out of style some 400 years ago and looked like their barely more modern upholstery couldn't possibly be comfortable. Jedi asceticism at its finest. The second thing he noticed was that Yoda's presence wasn't the same here as it was in the Crèche. It seemed that in these chambers, he chose to shield himself more.

Between that and the presence of some of the other strongest Force-wielders, it wasn't quite as overwhelming, but it was still quite intimidating to be in the same room as these sentients. He could quite literally feel the difference between them and himself. It was like a pebble before a council of boulders, with a mountain at its head. Yoda tapped on the floor with his gimer stick and probed at him in the Force at the same time.

"In trouble, you are not, young Crys."

"Indeed. We are here to discuss the incident in the Salles with Master Dooku the other day," chimed Master Poli Dapatian. He had a Padawan from Qui-Gon Jinn's Crèche clan. Rann wondered if that affected his decision-making. He had no way of knowing. He stayed silent, deciding to wait until asked a direct question.

"Erred, my padawan has. Harmed you, he did." Rann stayed silent, not having much to add. The council seemed to wait for him to speak. They broke first.

"In instances like this, it is normal to ask the offended party what they think should happen," said Master Dapatian. Rann started at that. It may be typical for two feuding Knights to be consulted, but it was certainly odd to imagine the Council would give an Initiate any degree of authority over a Master. Maybe Master Nu had been even more mad than a simple temporary ban. Maybe this was a test. He still didn't know. He still decided to think.

"Well, Initiate Crys," prompted Master Dapatian.

"What do you think should happen? How should Master Dooku be punished?"

"…I think he should give me sparring lessons." Not even this august body could hide their shock in the Force. He felt their querying without verbal confirmation.

"Master Dooku was right. I rely a lot on my Force abilities when sparring."

"How is this a punishment?"

"I want to learn from a Master of the Seven Forms" Rann began slowly. He then smiled impishly.

"And I'm not very good." Yoda saw it first. He threw back his head and began hooting with laughter, beating his gimer stick against the floor.

"Yes, yes. A good plan this is. Teach patience, this will. Great, not all students begin. Learn to teach them, Dooku must." The rest of the Council caught on, and there were a few chuckles and stifled grins. Saddling Dooku, a perfectionist to the extreme when it came to most things and a level beyond when it came to dueling with a subpar student would be a far more torturous punishment than anything the Council could inflict.

"Then sparring lessons you shall have, Initiate Crys." The next morning, he was up bright and early. In the Salles he met a bleary-eyed Qui-Gon Jinn and not-exactly thrilled Master Dooku. He'd of course told Mace, and his over serious nature couldn't abide there being training he wasn't at, so he followed along.

"Why are we here, Initiate Crys?" asked Master Dooku.

"Did the Council not tell you? I asked for sparring lessons."

"Yes, but why." Dooku had a wonderful way of making questions sound like statements.

"Last time I trained, you said it looked like I was 'flailing around.' I want that to change."

"So you chose sparring lessons?"

"I wish to learn from the best, Master." Dooku didn't deign to respond. He gestured for Rann and Mace to join as the four of them began to stretch and warm up. Once they were done, he turned to Rann again. He was ignoring Mace entirely.

"What do you wish to learn, Initiate."

"Shii-Cho, Master."

"Shii-Cho," repeatedly Dooku disbelievingly. Rann just nodded.

"It at least matches your level of ability," he finally said, frostily. Rann internally marveled that he'd managed to make a middle-aged man so irritated that he would snipe at a ten-year-old.

"Padawan, you may join him. Might as well gain something from the time." The next few minutes were spent going through the first, basic katas of Form I, Shii-Cho. Dooku would occasionally correct his stance, swing, grip, or another aspect of the motion. When Dooku finally indicated that they could move on, Rann interjected.

"I'm sorry Master Dooku, I don't think I fully understood that set. Could you explain it and we do it again?"

"Do it again? Do the most basic set, the set of katas taught to the youngest younglings in the Crèche? You don't understand them?"

"No, Master Dooku." Rann was very, very careful not to let his amusement bleed into his expression or into the Force. Never let it be said he couldn't be petty. He would make a Master among Masters drill the most basic sword movements that existed. An hour later he was sweaty and exhausted. Dooku had decided to repeat the first ten katas until Rann relented and admitted he understood them. Rann didn't. It was only after their time was up that Dooku called an end to the lesson.

In spite of how grueling the lesson had become, Rann could honestly say that spending an hour having Dooku point out every minor imperfection with his bladework had led to improvement. As they headed to the showers, Qui-Gon Jinn lightly bumped him.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"What were you doing back there? Why didn't you just say you understood them so we could move on?"

"Rann would never," said Mace tiredly. Qui-Gon queried them in the Force.

"Never give Master Dooku the satisfaction. He's as stubborn as a Gundark." Rann nodded along.

"And half as smart."

"Hey!" He'd managed to con sparring lessons out of Count Dooku. That had to count for something!

"You managed to piss off a Master so bad he got the Council called down on him. Then, you make him give you sparring lessons and do everything you can to irritate him," Mace said, half-shouting by the end. Rann paused and shrugged sheepishly.

"Guys, I'm not exactly a genius with the lightsaber. Master Dooku's never going to be impressed with my skills there. I'll at least make him respect my grit." The other two just looked at him in disbelief. They had fully stopped outside of the freshers to let their conversation continue. Life flowed on around them as Qui-Gon and Mace just stared at him.

"The next six months are going to be hell," Qui-Gon decided. It turns out, Qui-Gon didn't need to be a Seer to see the future. Dooku worked the three of them hard. He seemed determined to have Rann learn Shii-Cho perfectly, citing his record as a Master having never taught less than excellence. Mace and Qui-Gon quickly grew to understand every intimate detail of the form, moving through its katas with ease.

In spars, they understood the form's strengths and limitations near perfectly, and their bouts were more like dances that could be used as instructional film for classes. Rann was nothing like that. It took time for things to slot into place, a hundred saber swings before he grasped its purpose. In spars where he limited his precognition, he looked a lot like a ten-year-old swinging a sword around. But he didn't give up. He bumped his usual hour and a half in the salle up to two, then three, and then five a day.

By the time Dooku's punishment was over, the man had even declared him "barely proficient." While Dooku had never said it, Rann knew he'd been impressed with his sheer determination to figure out Shii-Cho, he'd still called him near-hopeless by the end of their time together. They had also not warmed up to each other. Dooku never liked being questioned, and didn't have much time to spare for those he considered his inferiors.

On Rann's end, he grew to appreciate Dooku's perfectionist nature, but understand the man as deeply, deeply flawed. No slight was too small to be ignored, all were judged by their social rank first and competency second, and several other minor defects took a picture of a man who while fundamentally decent, could easily be drawn to the Dark with the right tugs.