227Count Dooku, his elegant robes billowing in the hot Tatooine wind, landed his sleek solar sailer on the outskirts of Mos Espa. His mission, as dictated by Darth Sidious, was a cruel one: ensure the capture and suffering of Shmi Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker's mother, by the Tusken Raiders. It was a task that left a bitter taste in Dooku's mouth, a reminder of the darkness he had embraced in his quest to save the Galaxy. Yet, he was now trapped to Sidious's will, a pawn in the Sith Lord's grand scheme. As he disembarked, a wave of unease washed over him, a subtle tug in the Force drawing his attention towards the bustling marketplace. A crowd had gathered, and at the center of it all stood a weathered farmer, his eyes red-rimmed with worry, his voice cracking as he addressed the crowd. "My wife, Shmi, she's been taken! Tusken Raiders ambushed her while she was tending the crops. I need help!"
The revelation jolted Dooku. Sidious's plan, it seemed, was already in motion. The Force had intervened, rendering his task redundant, yet within this unexpected turn of events, Dooku saw a glimmer of opportunity. He could usurp Sidious's plan, and seize control of the situation using it to his own advantage. Possessing the power to save her, he could gain Anakin Skywalker's trust, swaying him away from the Jedi Order, and keeping him from the insidious Sith Lord who pulled the strings from the shadows. It was a dangerous gamble, a move that could incur Sidious's wrath, but the potential reward was too great to ignore. Dooku approached the distraught farmer, his demeanor a blend of concern and authority. "Tell me," he inquired, his voice a soothing baritone that cut through the murmuring of the crowd, "Is Shmi Skywalker, by any chance, the mother of Anakin Skywalker?"
The farmer, his eyes widening in surprise, nodded grimly. "Aye, she is. Anakin, he was taken by the Jedi ten years ago. Never met him though."
"I believe I can help you," Dooku offered, his tone laced with a quiet confidence that instilled a flicker of hope within the farmer's weary eyes.
"What are you, some kind of Jedi?" the farmer scoffed, his laughter echoing the cynicism of those who had long abandoned hope for justice or compassion in this desolate corner of the galaxy. "They offer no aid in these parts." A chorus of bitter chuckles rippled through the crowd, a testament to their shared experiences, their disillusionment with those who claimed to uphold peace and order.
"I once was a Jedi," Dooku revealed, his gaze sweeping across the man's face, meeting his skepticism with an unwavering intensity.
The farmer's face contorted with a mix of anger and amusement. "So, you intend to waltz into their camp and rescue her single-handedly? You and what army?" His words dripped with sarcasm, a reflection of the despair that gnawed at his hope.
Dooku, ignoring the man's mocking tone, met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Precisely," he responded, his voice a low, resonant baritone that commanded attention. "Never underestimate a Jedi, even a former one." He paused, his eyes settling on the distraught farmer, a subtle gesture of respect. "Forgive me, in my haste to offer assistance, I failed to inquire as to your name."
"Cliegg Lars," the farmer replied, his voice thick with emotion.
"Cliegg, I'm Count Dooku," Dooku acknowledged with a slight nod, "do you know where the Tusken Raiders took her? Every second is precious."
Cliegg's eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening with a steely determination that mirrored Dooku's own resolve. "Aye, I do. I was about to set out after them myself. But the Tuskens, they're a formidable threat. Even for a group of armed men."
"Then we must not waste time," Dooku urged, sensing the urgency of the situation, the precious window of opportunity that was quickly closing. "The desert wind can erase their tracks, and every moment wasted diminishes Shmi's chance of survival."
Cliegg hesitated, his gaze flickering between Dooku and the group of farmers who stood behind him, their expressions a mix of skepticism and begrudging hope. "The Tuskens are too dangerous," he conceded, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. "We need more than just you."
"I can infiltrate and escape their camp undetected," Dooku assured him, his voice laced with a quiet confidence that stemmed from his mastery of the Force. "My skills are far beyond those of a typical Jedi. I will bring her back, Cliegg. I give you my word."
Cliegg, his gaze locked with Dooku's, saw the unwavering resolve in the Count's eyes, a glimmer of hope amidst the despair that had threatened to consume him. He nodded curtly, his voice regaining a measure of strength. "Very well. I'll guide you to their encampment. But be warned, Count Dooku, the Tuskens show no mercy."
With a shared sense of purpose, they left the crowd behind, their footsteps echoing on the dusty streets of Mos Espa as they made their way towards Cliegg's speeder. The twin suns of Tatooine blazed overhead, casting long shadows that stretched across the desolate landscape, a reminder of the harsh realities that awaited them in the unforgiving desert. Their journey, Dooku knew, was not merely about rescuing a captive woman. It was about defying the will of a Sith Lord, about seizing control of his own destiny, and about planting the seeds of hope in a galaxy slowly losing it.
As the twin suns dipped below the horizon, painting the Tatooine sky in fiery hues of orange and purple, Cliegg's speeder approached a humble moisture farm, its white walls a beacon of civilization amidst the encroaching darkness of the desert. A young couple stood silhouetted in the doorway, their faces etched with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. The man, his features bearing a striking resemblance to a younger Cliegg, stepped forward as the speeder sputtered to a halt, kicking up a cloud of red dust that momentarily obscured the newcomers. "Is this all the help you could find?" the man questioned, his gaze fixed on Dooku with a skepticism born from years of hardship and broken promises.
"Owen," Cliegg interjected, his voice weary but laced with a newfound hope. "This is Count Dooku. He claims to be an acquaintance of Anakin's and offered to help."
"I was once a Jedi," Dooku added, sensing the young man's distrust. He kept his tone neutral, his expression carefully controlled. He had to tread carefully to win their trust.
Owen's skepticism deepened, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, the Jedi finally grace us with their presence? It's about time after they took Shmi's son." His words were laced with bitterness, a reflection of the resentment many on Tatooine harbored towards the Republic and its seemingly indifferent peacekeepers.
"I am not here on behalf of the Jedi Order," Dooku clarified, his voice gaining a steely edge. "I come alone. The Jedi, in their wisdom, likely forbade Anakin from ever returning to his mother, lest he form an attachment." His words held a calculated truth, designed to stoke Owen's resentment towards the Jedi, to subtly align himself with their shared frustration.
"But, aren't you a Jedi yourself?" Owen countered, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"A former Jedi," Dooku corrected, his gaze meeting Owen's with an intensity that brooked no further argument. "Now," he continued, his voice regaining its calm composure, "we are wasting precious time. Do you have a speeder I can borrow? We need to follow the Tusken Raiders's tracks before the desert wind erases them completely."
"We can use the one we arrived in," Cliegg offered, gesturing towards the speeder they had just disembarked from.
"Excellent. Then let us hasten," Dooku urged, his mind already racing ahead. He was acutely aware of the urgency. Cliegg nodded curtly, his gaze hardening with a steely determination. He climbed back into the speeder, his movements stiff with a mix of worry and hope. Dooku followed suit, settling into the seat beside him. With a roar of the engine, they sped off into the gathering darkness, leaving behind the flickering lights of the moisture farm.
Darkness had completely enveloped the Tatooine landscape by the time they reached the Tusken Raider encampment, its crude tents and makeshift shelters barely visible in the starlight. A chilling silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of the desert wind and the distant howl of a bantha. Cliegg, his face etched with a mix of fear and determination, turned to Dooku, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you certain about this? Rescuing her at night? It's madness."
"Madness, perhaps," Dooku countered, his voice a soothing baritone that belied the tension simmering within him. "But nightfall will prove advantageous. I can infiltrate their camp undetected, and we can be gone before they realize what happened." He knew that speed and stealth were their best allies in this dangerous endeavor. Dooku disembarked from the speeder, his movements as fluid and silent as a desert wraith. He had to create a diversion, something to draw the Tuskens away from the area where Shmi was likely being held. His gaze settled on the bantha pen, its crude fencing barely containing the massive creatures within. Stealthily, he approached the pen, his senses alert to any sign of movement. With a flick of his wrist, he unlatched the gate, a barely audible click breaking the eerie silence. Then, focusing his will, he reached out with the Force, sending a wave of fear and confusion into the banthas's minds. The creatures, startled by the sudden influx of panic, stampeded out of the pen, their bellows echoing through the night. The commotion was immediate and chaotic, the Tuskens, caught off guard by the unexpected stampede, scrambling to regain control of their beasts. It was the distraction Dooku needed.
He moved swiftly through the shadows, his dark robes blending seamlessly with the night, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hard-packed sand. He reached a small hut, a crude structure of animal hides stretched over a framework of scavenged wood. The guard, distracted by the chaos of the stampede, had left his post. Dooku didn't hesitate. He ignited his lightsaber, its crimson blade a silent whisper of death in the darkness. The blade sliced through the hide entrance with a quiet hum, the sound masked by the distant shouts of the Tuskens as they herded their panicking banthas. Faint groans, the whimpers of a woman in pain, emanated from within. Dooku stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior. A single oil lamp flickered on a makeshift table, casting long shadows that danced across the rough walls. In the center of the hut, tied to a wooden post, he saw her. Shmi Skywalker. Her clothing was torn, her face bruised and bloodied, her body slumped against the rough wood. Dooku deactivated his lightsaber, its crimson glow fading into nothingness, and approached her cautiously. He took a moment to capture a holo-image of her, a grim record of Sidious's cruelty, a piece of evidence to be used later, evidence of Sidious's plan. The irony wasn't lost on him. Sidious's goal was already accomplished; Shmi had suffered at the hands of the Tuskens. He reached out with the Force, gently probing Shmi's physical condition. She was weak, dehydrated, her body wracked with pain, but she was alive. Stable enough to survive the journey back home. He knelt beside her, his fingers deftly untying the rough ropes that bound her wrists. Her head lolled forward, her eyes fluttering open, their brown depths clouded with pain and confusion. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice raspy, barely audible.
"Count Dooku," he replied softly, his voice a soothing balm in the darkness.
Her gaze drifted towards his belt, lingering on the curved hilt of his lightsaber. "Are you a Jedi?" she asked, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes.
He smiled, a bittersweet expression that reflected the complexity of his situation. "I once was," he confirmed, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of sympathy and determination.
Her face brightened, a spark of recognition momentarily erasing the pain that etched her features. "Do you know Anakin? Did he send you?"
Dooku finished untying the ropes that bound her ankles, gently supporting her weight as she slumped against him. "We can talk later," he said, his voice laced with urgency. "Let's get you out of here first. Cliegg is waiting."
Shmi, drawing strength from his presence, straightened, her voice gaining a measure of firmness. "I can walk," she insisted, pushing herself away from him. He knew she wouldn't relent, that stubborn resilience a quality he had seen in many.
Cliegg, his face etched with worry, was pacing anxiously beside the speeder when they emerged from the shadows. "You got her out!" he exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. "That was quick."
"Like I said, Cliegg, infiltrating and escaping a Tusken Raider camp is a simple matter for a Jedi," Dooku replied, his tone laced with a hint of pride. "The faster you get in the easier."
As they settled into the speeder, the engine's rumble a reassuring counterpoint to the haunting silence of the desert, Shmi turned to Dooku, her voice laced with a mix of gratitude and curiosity. "Now," she began, her gaze meeting his, "can you tell me about Anakin? Is he well?"
"To tell you the truth I have never met him personally," Dooku confessed, choosing his words carefully. "I left the Order right around when he began training."
Cliegg, his brow furrowed in confusion, interjected, "But you said you were his friend. You said you knew him."
"Never mind that," Shmi interrupted, her voice gaining a motherly firmness. "Qui-Gon Jinn. Did he train him as a Jedi?"
"No", Dooku responded a flicker of sadness crossing his face. "He was a dear friend to me. But, sadly, he died before Anakin could start training."
"Then what happened to my Ani?" Shmi asked, panic edging into her voice. "Is he still with the Jedi?"
"He was taken as a Padawan by Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon's apprentice," Dooku explained. "If I recall correctly, Anakin is still under his tutelage."
Relief washed over Shmi, her shoulders slumping with a sigh of gratitude. "Thank goodness. He's still a Jedi." She turned to Dooku, her gaze searching his face, seeking further reassurance. "Anything else you know about him?"
"Before you answer that," Cliegg interjected, his voice laced with suspicion. "Why did you come here, Count? If you're not a friend of Anakin's, why risk your life for his mother?"
"In a way," Dooku began, choosing his words carefully, "Anakin is part of my Jedi family. Qui-Gon Jinn was my Padawan. That makes Anakin… my great-grand Padawan." It was a stretch, a distortion of the truth, but it served his purpose. It subtly reinforced the connection he was trying to forge, to subtly weave a tapestry of shared history.
"Does Anakin know you're here?" Shmi asked, hope flickering in her eyes. "Could you ask him if he can visit?"
Dooku's heart ached in sympathy for her, and the yearning to see her son. It reminded him of his own lost connections, the sacrifices he had made in his pursuit of a better world. "I'm sorry, Shmi," he replied gently, his voice laced with regret. "He doesn't know I'm here. And Jedi are forbidden from attachments. He wouldn't be allowed to visit you, even if he knew." For her sake he hoped that Anakin would find his way to Tatooine. Sidious had mentioned nightmares that would lead Anakin here.
They reached the moisture farm, its warm lights a welcoming beacon in the darkness. Owen, his skepticism seemingly forgotten, rushed forward to help Shmi from the speeder. "Beru!" he called, his voice laced with urgency. "She's back!" A young woman, her face etched with concern, emerged from the farmhouse, her arms laden with bandages and medical supplies. As Shmi was gently led inside, Beru, with a mix of tenderness and efficiency, began to tend to her injuries, her hands moving with a practiced grace.
Cliegg, his gaze lingering on his wife as she was ushered into the house, turned to Dooku, his expression a mixture of gratitude and weariness. "Count, I owe you a debt I can never repay," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "You're welcome to stay the night. It's the least I can do."
Dooku, his mind still racing, contemplating the next move in his dangerous game, accepted the offer with a gracious nod. He watched as Shmi was led into the farmhouse, and joined them inside for a nights rest.
The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Lars family's modest kitchen, casting a warm glow upon the gathering. Shmi, her face still bearing the marks of her ordeal but her eyes sparkling with a newfound vitality, sat at the head of the table, her gaze lingering on Dooku with a mix of gratitude and curiosity. Cliegg, his weathered face etched with a deep contentment at having his wife back safe and sound, busied himself with pouring blue milk out for everyone. Owen and Beru, their initial skepticism towards the Count seemingly forgotten, exchanged quiet smiles with each other, their faces radiating a youthful hope that contrasted sharply with the harsh realities of their desert home.
As they settled into their breakfast, a comfortable silence descended upon the group, the clinking of utensils and the soft murmur of conversation. Dooku, his mind still grappling with the complexities of his situation, broke the silence, his voice a soothing baritone that commanded attention. "Anakin is currently on a mission for the Jedi Order," he began, choosing his words carefully, his gaze settling on Shmi. "I do not know his whereabouts, but I believe he might sense your distress, and seek you out. If he should arrive, I have something for him." He reached into the folds of his robes, retrieving a small, silver holo-projector, its surface gleaming in the morning light. He handed it to Shmi, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of sincerity and determination. "This contains a message for Anakin," he explained. "I would very much like to speak with him." Sidious, Dooku recalled, had mentioned nightmares, vivid visions that would plague Anakin, driving him to seek out his mother. Perhaps, despite her rescue, those dreams would persist, guiding him to Tatooine. And if he did arrive, Shmi could put in a good word for Dooku.
She carefully tucked the holo-projector into the folds of her dress. "When he shows up," she promised, her voice laced with a quiet determination, "I'll give this to him."
Dooku nodded, his gaze shifting to encompass the entire Lars family, his expression turning serious. "There is one more matter I must address," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I would prefer that you keep my involvement in Shmi's rescue a secret, for now." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, his eyes meeting theirs with a mix of urgency and trust.
"We understand, Count," Cliegg assured him, his voice firm, his gaze unwavering. "Your involvement will be kept a secret."
Dooku nodded, a sense of gratitude washing over him. He rose from the table, his breakfast finished, the weight of his unspoken burdens pressing down on his shoulders. Cliegg followed suit, extending his hand in a gesture of farewell. "Thank you again, Count, for saving my wife," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
"It was my privilege, Cliegg," Dooku responded, clasping the farmer's hand. He had done more than rescue a woman. He had defied a Sith Lord, and taken the first step towards forging a path of his own.
They exited the farmhouse, the twin suns casting a blinding glare across the sandy expanse that surrounded the homestead. Dooku settled into the speeder, the engine roaring to life as Cliegg expertly maneuvered the vehicle through the treacherous dunes. They sped towards Mos Espa, leaving behind a trail of swirling sand, the dust a symbolic veil obscuring the secrets they shared. Arriving back in Mos Espa, they found a group of farmers gathered near the cantina, their faces etched with a mix of anticipation and concern. As Cliegg stepped out of the speeder, a chorus of voices erupted, their questions echoing through the bustling marketplace. "Did you find her? Is she alive? Did you bring her back?"
Cliegg, a broad smile spreading across his face, raised his hand to silence the eager crowd. "Yes," he announced, his voice booming with pride and relief. "Shmi is safe. She's back home." He left out Dooku's involvment, and Dooku hoped that the farmers had already forgotten about him.
A cheer erupted from the crowd, a wave of joy and gratitude that momentarily washed away the anxieties of their harsh lives. "Come on, Cliegg, we have to celebrate!" one of the farmers exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "Drinks are on us!" The rest of the group echoed his sentiments, eager to share in Cliegg's happiness, to find solace in the camaraderie that bound them together in this unforgiving corner of the galaxy.
With a final nod of farewell, Dooku turned and walked away, his elegant robes billowing in the desert wind. He made his way towards his solar sailer, its sleek form a stark contrast to the rough-hewn buildings that surrounded it. As he boarded his ship, the sounds of celebration fading behind him, a profound sense of irony washed over him. He had arrived on Tatooine with the intent to orchestrate suffering, to manipulate a mother's love to serve a Sith Lord's twisted agenda. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. He had defied his master, choosing compassion over cruelty, and in doing so, he had taken the first step towards a different kind of victory, a victory that might, in the end, save the galaxy from the darkness that threatened to consume it.