**Chapter 421**
**CIS Council Meeting**
**Castle Serenno**
The evening winds howled across the cliffs of Serenno as the Confederacy of Independent Systems council gathered once more. Castle Serenno stood defiant at the edge of a sheer precipice, its silhouette cutting an imposing figure against the blood-red sunset. Three meticulously manicured ornamental gardens flanked the long approach pathway, their exotic flowers and sculpted hedges masking the heavy defensive emplacements hidden beneath. At the end of this path rose the 120-meter-high main tower where Count Dooku conducted the grim business of war. Ten relay buildings flanked the tower, their architecture elegant yet functional. The tower's great 22-meter stained-glass window overlooked a vast city sparkling in the valley far below. Other structures and defense outposts clung precariously to the cliff face like barnacles on ancient stone.
Legions of battle droids patrolled every corridor and landing pad. B1s and B2 super battle droids stood in rigid formation, while droidekas rolled silently through the shadows. Inside, the palace reflected Dooku's refined tastes—luxurious furnishings, priceless artworks from a hundred worlds, and ancient statues that watched with cold, silent judgment. Yet beneath the opulence, deep within the cliff, lay interrogation cells and torture chambers where screams rarely reached the elegant halls above.
This was the first full CIS Council meeting since the ambitious strike on Coruscant had been scrapped and redirected into the disastrous Battle of the Dentaal system. The mood inside the grand council chamber was poisonous.
Count Dooku sat at the head of the long obsidian table, fingers steepled, his expression cold and imperious. Around him sat the leaders of the Confederacy's most powerful factions.
San Hill of the InterGalactic Banking Clan slammed a data pad onto the table, his elongated Muun features twisted with fury.
"Dooku, what happened?!" he demanded. "You assured us this offensive would cripple the Republic! Instead, we are retreating across half our sectors. Our attempted counterattack has failed spectacularly. We lost the *Malevolence*, the *Malice* is critically damaged, and over three hundred warships destroyed in that rescue attempt. Three hundred! And all because of one Jedi General—Dagon Marek!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. Wat Tambor, foreman of the Techno Union, shifted uncomfortably in his armored seat, his mechanical vocoder clicking.
San Hill rounded on him next, pointing a long finger. "And you! Your gracious idea to ally with the Zygerrians has failed even more spectacularly. The Republic is out for blood. Enlistment centers on Coruscant and Core worlds are overflowing. Our own planets are questioning their loyalty to the CIS. You couldn't satisfy your greed, could you? Zygerria is nothing but ash now, and the Republic is coming for vengeance. It took you *two attempts* just to capture the planet the first time!"
Wat Tambor's masked face tilted, his voice emerging with mechanical irritation. "The Zygerrian alliance provided us with critical slave labor and new markets. The Republic's response was… unexpectedly aggressive. But losses are temporary. As I speak, the treasures of Ryloth are being loaded onto our ships. Those resources will fund a new offensive that will shatter the Republic-Hutt relationship once and for all."
Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with resentment. "Easy for you to say, Tambor. You sit behind your droid factories while my fleets burn. It was *my* ships destroyed over Rodia. The pirates we hired were annihilated. Do not lecture me about failure when your so-called 'treasures of Ryloth' are still sitting on a planet we do not fully control!"
"You dare?" Tambor snapped. "It was your incompetence at Rodia that allowed the Republic to rally. If your blockade had held—"
"Enough!" Dooku's voice cut through the rising shouts like a vibroblade. The room fell into tense silence. "Blaming one another will not restore our momentum. The Battle of Dentaal exposed weaknesses we must correct. General Dagon Marek has proven himself a dangerous anomaly. His fleet grows stronger, and his tactics are unlike anything the Jedi have employed before."
Poggle the Lesser, Archduke of the Geonosians, clicked his mandibles and rose slightly on buzzing wings. "The Geonosian shipyards hidden beneath our rings have completed the first batch of new vessels. We are ready to construct the new class of Subjugator-class heavy cruisers. Count Dooku, have you decided on the configuration?"
Dooku nodded. "Thanks to Tactical Droid TX-01's analysis, we have selected the *Malice* variant. An additional five hundred heavy cannons will be installed during final repairs. Once the *Malice* finishes its five-month refit, ten more ships will launch from Pammant, and another ten from Geonosis. These vessels will form the spearhead of our next major push."
The representative from the Commerce Guild cleared his throat nervously. "Pammant lies dangerously close to the operational zone of that new Jedi, Dagon Marek. What is to stop him from launching a preemptive strike on our shipyards?"
Dooku's eyes narrowed. "My Master has decided to keep certain reins on General Dagon for the time being. Darth Sidious cannot openly support our movements again until next year. In the meantime, we must rely on our own strength. The Sector 11 Fleet will be reassigned to protect the vital shipyards."
He activated a large holoprojector. Blue schematics of massive fleets materialized above the table.
"Two thousand Munificent-class star frigates. One thousand Recusant-class light destroyers. Eight hundred Providence-class carrier/destroyers. Five hundred Lucrehulk-class battleships. Forty Lucrehulk-class Droid Control Ships. Four hundred Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers. One thousand Techno Union frigates. Three hundred CIS Droid Carriers and three hundred Separatist Supply Ships. This armada will shield Pammant and the surrounding hyperspace lanes."
Poggle clicked approvingly. "For Geonosis itself, we have prepared a formidable defense fleet: two hundred Sabaoth Destroyers, one hundred Golan Mark I defense platforms, five hundred Lucrehulk-class freighters, two hundred Providence-class Dreadnoughts at two kilometers in length, three hundred Pinnace Cruisers, and fifty Geonosian Dreadnoughts of the Penance class. Our homeworld will not fall easily."
Dooku continued, sweeping his hand across the display. "For Gwori and our various secondary shipyards, a screening force of fifty mixed warships should suffice until the new Subjugators come online. We cannot afford to stretch ourselves too thin."
One of the lesser representatives, a nervous Neimoidian aide, spoke up. "My lord, the 12th Sector still holds significant portions of the Outer Rim and Wild Space routes critical for resource shipments. Attacking there could secure much-needed materials."
"Attacking the 12th Sector right now would be suicide," Dooku replied flatly. "General Dagon is too strong there. His fleet composition—multiple Resurgent-class Star Destroyers, Allegiance-class battlescruisers, and those new Valiant-class vessels—gives him overwhelming local superiority. We must play a longer game. Each of you has your own task. There are still thousands of neutral systems wavering. Turn them to our cause. Promise them freedom from Republic taxation. Offer them protection. Use bribery, coercion, or force where necessary."
San Hill leaned back, still scowling. "And while we beg for neutrals, Dagon continues carving through our territory. The man destroyed a Subjugator-class dreadnought practically single-handedly. His forces are using advanced armor, beskar salvaged from Malachor, and some new Spartan-style kit on his clones. We need more than promises."
"Then give me results, not complaints," Dooku snapped. "Wat Tambor—accelerate Ryloth operations. Strip the planet of everything valuable. If the Twi'leks resist, make examples. Nute Gunray—rebuild your lost fleets and secure the trade routes we still hold. Poggle—ensure those Subjugators launch on schedule. I want the next ten vessels armed heavier than the *Malice* prototype."
The chamber filled with overlapping arguments again.
"We are bleeding resources!" San Hill insisted. "The Banking Clan cannot continue financing failures."
"Our droid production is already at maximum!" Tambor countered. "But without secure hyperspace lanes, the materials do not reach the factories."
Gunray's voice rose shrilly. "My profits are evaporating while you all point fingers. Rodia was a disaster, yes, but Dagon's intervention was unforeseeable!"
Dooku rose slowly to his full height. The dark side rippled outward, silencing the room instantly.
"This bickering ends now. We are the Confederacy. We represent the future of a galaxy free from Jedi and Republic hypocrisy. Setbacks at Dentaal and Zygerria are painful, but not fatal. We adapt. We build stronger fleets. We strike where they least expect it. While Sidious maneuvers in the shadows, we consolidate. The Republic grows arrogant with every victory. That arrogance will be their undoing."
He deactivated the holoprojector with a sharp gesture.
"Return to your posts. Strengthen your defenses. Prepare the new warships. And remember—failure is no longer an option. General Dagon Marek may be formidable, but even he cannot be everywhere at once. We will stretch him thin, bleed his forces, and when the time is right, we will crush the Republic once and for all."
The council members rose, bowing stiffly before filing out under the watchful eyes of Dooku's Magnaguards. As the grand doors sealed behind them, Dooku remained standing at the head of the table, staring out through the towering stained-glass window at the city lights far below.
The war had grown far more complicated than even he had anticipated. Dagon Marek was no ordinary Jedi. He was something darker. Something dangerous.
And yet, the long game continued.