Star Wars : Tanya

35 BBY

Dooku's mornings began with meditation and practice. He rose before his wife did and quietly slipped out of bed to let her sleep, using the force to send feelings of warmth and protection to both her and his unborn child. Both were dreaming peacefully.

While Athemeene was not force sensitive he sometimes felt as though he could commune with her through the living force. This morning was one of those days as he sat cross legged on the floor next to their bed.

After half an hour, he stood up and made his way to the walk in closet to get changed and collect his lightsaber.

Dooku hated that he had to leave Athemeene's side at this late stage in her pregnancy. Tan'ya had been born without him there. It was only while Kenth was being born that Dooku really began to appreciate just what it was his wife had been through to deliver his daughter. The memory of it brought him no small degree of shame. It was such a small thing to have happened, and compared to his other failures it had no real lasting consequences, but even so it was among his greatest regrets.

It didn't help that Athemeene occasionally liked to tease him about it. 'Imagine a man so caught up in brooding that he'd miss the birth of his own child.' She would occasionally say with a laugh to her parents or other family members. Despite her making light of it, Dooku could feel that trace of lingering regret and hurt in the back of her mind. It was an idea that took some getting used to, but more and more he understood that a husband and a father had important duties that a Count and a Jedi simply did not.

No, Athemeene wasn't due for another two weeks. Dooku knew that delaying the start to Tan'ya's training was a bad idea, not when the force was clearly moving through her so strongly at such a young age.

A Jedi gifted at paperwork?

Strange gifts indeed. Clearly the force intended her for leadership.

Though Sifo's prophecy hadn't mentioned anything about… bureaucracy.

Dooku heaved a sigh before finishing his morning lightsaber practice, and went to retrieve Tan'ya. He was surprised to find her bedroom empty, her sheets and blankets folded up at the end of her bed for the droids to clean later. Reaching out in the force, Dooku located his daughter downstairs in the kitchen. Curious, Dooku silently padded down the dark corridors of his palace to find the kitchen door open and with light beaming out.

Inside, Tan'ya was dressed and ready to go, standing on top of a stool to reach the counter top. With deft movements for a girl so young, she was putting together breakfast and a lunch bag for herself. In the background there was the sound of boiling water, and Dooku could smell the caf beans from the hallway. He watched for a moment as his daughter poured boiling water first into a mug, then into the soup mix she'd prepared in a thermal cup. With a satisfied smirk she screwed the cap closed on her soup cup, before putting it in her backpack.

Then Tan'ya pulled what looked like a plate of fried, smoked gringer to the edge of the table with a serving of warm Kodari-rice in a small bowl, before climbing down off the chair. Once she was on the ground Tan'ya carefully reached up to collect her meal and morning caf, before turning towards the door to find her father looming there.

With a shocked gasp she dropped her plate, and only Dooku's quick reflexes and decades of training in the force saved it before it was wasted on the floor. The mug of steaming caf floated away from her grip and the count gently collected it, before raising a disapproving eyebrow at his daughter.

"Your Mother would not let you have this."

"Father, I…" Her mind raced in the force to find a proper explanation that would let her keep her prize.

"No doubt you made this for me, daughter."

"Yes, father." The crestfallen look on Tan'ya face was so precious that Dooku almost regretted what he'd done. Almost.

Dooku took a sip and appreciated the well made mix of sweet and bitter flavors with a warm frothy texture. "You have been practicing." He gave his daughter a disapproving look.

Tan'ya broke eye contact and looked at the floor, guilt as plain in the force as it was on her face.

His daughter suitably chastened, Dooku turned and walked away. "Come then. You can eat on the ship."

Seeing Tan'ya's stubby little legs struggling to keep up with his longer stride, Dooku slowed his pace to let her catch up to him, his daughter letting out an annoyed little huff as she did so. His Consular-class Light Cruiser, the SCS Posture, was waiting for them on the landing pad. Its droid crew had been notified the night before that they intended to leave early in the morning, and so had carried out all maintenance and prepared for take off.

On board Dooku took his daughter to one of the nicer sleeping quarters. The floors were carpeted, the furniture befitting her station as his heir, and the bathroom even had real plumbing. Dooku was willing to use sonic showers and vacuum toilets only if he had to, and on his personal diplomatic vessel he did not have to.

"The journey will take nine hours. This will be your room from now on." Dooku informed his daughter, before making his way up to the bridge.

The droid pilot only began take off after the Count took his usual seat in the passenger chair of the cockpit. As the ship rose up through the planet's atmosphere, Dooku extended his senses through the force and found Tan'ya by one of the portside windows, watching her homeworld shrink below with mixed feelings of wonder, excitement, and… wistfulness. Was she missing home already?

Her heart would have to be stronger than that. But then she was only four years old. There was time.

The passing light of a trillion stars glimmered barely through his closed eyelids, and Dooku meditated on what was to come. Though he communed with the force, he was aware of where his daughter was on the ship at all times. Tan'ya spent some time watching the hyperspace tunnel out the portside window, then followed her curiosity, wondering about the ship and questioning the droids as she did. Most of them couldn't answer, lacking voice output, and eventually she wandered her way up to the bridge.

Dooku was still meditating when the small form of his daughter climbed up into the passenger seat next to him. She pulled her feet up under her so they wouldn't dangle and sat there silent and cross legged.

Long minutes passed as her mind raced, searching for what to say. He could feel her work up the courage to break their silence.

"What made you choose a Corellian ship?"

Mostly he just liked the ship. The Consular class as a model carried a certain amount of prestige due to its official role as senatorial diplomatic vessel of choice. It also came with a range of optional extras that he appreciated. It wouldn't do for his house to travel in anything but the best, after all.

"I used this model often in my role as a Jedi."

Tanya nodded, and looked at the floor, her mind still racing. "Are you familiar with the idea of resource inefficiency?"

"Enlighten me."

"It's… a situation like ours. One that basically only sells resources to someone else who then takes those resources and turns them into something. But ecause we're so innefficient at gathering and trasnporting those resources, we're actually losing money overall."

It was a dilemma Dooku was familiar with, though he'd heard it described as a 'resource economy' before. He just knew he would be losing money to the damned Galactic Mining Guild.

"So, if we really want to make money off of our Sacanium and Silver, we need to start turning them into something more valuable."

Mostly Dooku was amused that his daughter was trying to explain something that basic to him. It wasn't that what she was saying was wrong, just that the Republic refuted all decency and good sense. A dizzying array of trade regulations were in place to protect the major corporations and manufacturers of the galaxy from any external competition, often passed in the Senate as anti-slavery measures.

A noble goal, slavery was a problem rife throughout the Outer Rim, but so often people failed to read the fine print on these things. It was hard to blame them when legislation was often written in the millions of words by teams of lawyers in the most impenetrable legalese, and senators were expected to read and understand it in just hours.

Being elected officials, most senators were of mediocre intellect and vision, but possessing a passable charisma. Anyone with too much knowledge or vision would be perceived as radical and frightening by the equally mediocre masses, who would much rather elect another, just slightly charming old man from among them.

This Senator or Representative, having no real talents of his own, only had a chance to win the election because they were chosen as one of two potential candidates by special interests, like the bureaucrats and the megacorporations that were the true rulers of the galaxy.

Someone with true willpower, moral fiber and a desire to change things for the better would be kept from office by an array of hit pieces, manufactured scandals, and armies of private investigators backed by the security apparatus of the Republic.

No one was perfect, after all. Everyone had something in their history to hide. If by some miracle, a saintly and visionary politician was elected, his voice would only be one in the Senate, drowned out by the ceaseless cries of those chosen for the role by special interests…

For a moment Dooku thought of sickly yellow eyes shining at him from under hooded black cloak, and felt a small worm of guilt writhe in his stomach.

...

if you want to read ahead of the public release you can join my p atreon :

p atreon.com/Rimanovi