Also, numerous sources have made it clear: Count Dooku regards Darth Sidious with an interlace of unabashed awe and fear. There are three sources in particular that address this fear: Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, Labyrinth of Evil, and Revenge of the Sith. Since I only have one of those sources on hand, I have taken the liberty of quoting the relevant source material verbatim.
From Dark Rendezvous:
"Ah, to be young and full of hate!" Dooku chuckled. "You would be a star-great to everyone but me. But I'd have to keep you humble, you realize. I'd have to goad and needle and hurt you, to keep you in your place. Every secret the apprentice learns, he pays for dearly. Oh yes, he pays..."The Count paused, his eyes closing for a moment as if to shut out some terrible memory. Asajj regarded him narrowly.
Physically, the Count's age was rarely a handicap. Deft as he had become with the Force-unimaginably more subtle than the boy who had watched water-skeeters in the Jedi gardens all those years ago-he wore his eighty-three standard years better than most humans half his age. He was still in superb physical shape, senses keen, health undiminished by even the memory of a cold. Only in this situation, stooped before the image of his Master, did he feel his years. Even via hologram, the flickering figure of Darth Sidious, hideous in blue and shadows, seemed to strip his false youth away, leaving his bones brittle, his joints worn thin and knotted with tension."These are the envoys from Troxar," his Master said.
How could he know? Dooku didn't ask. Darth Sidious knew. He always knew.
Dooku reached for the box. He found to his surprise that his hands were shaking. Odd. He had been almost as surprised as Ventress to see himself sparing the gaunt Jedi, Jai Maruk. It had been a sudden whim, sending him back. A hook dropped for Yoda, as he had told Sidious afterward. A hook baited with the pink squirm of an old memory. Darth Sidious had given him a curious look, then, one that passed through him like a flush of fever, a weakness inside."Do you still love him?" his Master said.
Dooku had laughed and braved it out. The idea was ridiculous.
"Ridiculous?" his Master had said, in that soft, terrible voice of his. "I hardly think so."
And then, his voice like honeyed poison, "A good student always loves his teacher."
There was always a risk, talking with Sidious. Sometimes the conversation would go badly, and Dooku would fail to please somehow. It was a terrible thing, failing to please his Master.
He shook his head. These were a boy's weak fears.
No, they had gone their separate ways, and Yoda had newer Jedi to look after. Kenobi and, worse yet, young Skywalker. Oh, yes, and wasn't everyone watching him. Even Darth Sidious, with a gleam in his eye, mentioned the boy as one strong in the Force."Just a little piece in a great game," his Master had said; but a stab of jealousy had gone through Dooku when Sidious lingered over the name. Skywalker, yes... The Force is strong in him.
Outside, the wind picked up another notch, shrieking and groaning among the eleven chimneys, as if to announce the arrival of a hideous guest.Dooku's comm console chimed. He glanced over, expecting the daily report from General Grievous, or perhaps a message from Asajj Ventress. He reached over to open the channel, recognized the digital signature of the incoming transmission, jabbed the channel open, and snapped to his feet.
"You called, my Master?"
The hologrammic projector on his desk sprang to life, and the wavering form of Darth Sidious regarded him. As always the picture was oozy and unclear, as if light itself were uneasy in the presence of the Lord of the Sith. Dark robes, purple shadows-a patch of skin, pale and mottled under his hooded cloak like a fungus growing under a rotten log. From under heavy lids the Master's eyes, snake-cold and serpent-wise, regarded him.
"What would you have from me, Master?"
"From you? Everything, of course." Darth Sidious sounded amused. "There was a time when I wasn't sure if you would be able to overcome that... independent streak of yours. After all, you were born to one of the wealthiest families in the galaxy, with gifts and abilities far, far greater than any amount of wealth could bestow. Your understanding is deep; your will, adamant. Is it any wonder you should be proud? Why, how could it be otherwise?"
Dooku said, "I have always served you well and faithfully, my Master."
"You have. But you must admit, your spirit was not made for fidelity. After all, a man who will not bow to the Jedi Council, or even Master Yoda... I wondered if perhaps loyalty was too mean, too confining a thing to ask from so great a being as yourself."
Dooku tried to smile.
"The war progresses well. Our plans are on schedule. I have dealt out your deaths, your schemes, your betrayals. I have paid for your war with my time, my riches, my friends, and my honor."
"Holding nothing back?" Sidious asked lightly.
"Nothing. I swear it."
"Excellent," Darth Sidious said. "Yoda came to the Chancellor's office this morning. He is going on a very special mission. Top secret."
He laughed, a harsh sound like the bark of a crow. The wind rose again, shrieking around the mansion like a creature in torment.
"When he arrives, Dooku... see that you treat him as he deserves."
Darth Sidious laughed. Dooku wanted to laugh along, but couldn't quite manage it before his Master cut the connection and disappeared.
Dooku sighed. In all reason-and he was a reasonable man-the spill was his own fault. He had been distracted, turning over the progress of the war. Things were going so well in the Outer Rim, the Republic press was urging action there, "before the whole Rim is lost to the Confederacy for good." Really, sometimes it seemed to Dooku that Darth Sidious's plots were needlessly complex. It was beginning to look very much as if Dooku could simply win: march his battle droids into Coruscant and claim the Republic outright. Not that he would ever question the power of Darth Sidious. The dark secrets at his command. But each man to his own devices: give a problem to a soldier, and you will get a military solution; the same question will get you diplomacy from a diplomat, and clothes from a tailor.Darth Sidious had the mind of a schemer, and so he put his faith in schemes. Dooku checked himself. The thought was unfair. Say rather, Darth Sidious, alone in all the galaxy, knew most intimately the dark springs that ran through creatures' hearts. He was an expert in personal disintegration-in the ways one came to betray oneself. It was no wonder, then, that even a clash of empires revealed itself to the Sith as fundamentally a psychological battle, to be won and lost at the level of each being's inner strength or weakness. Dooku himself-though certainly psychologically acute, both naturally and through his Jedi training, and more recently through the wisdom of the Sith-was also born to wealth and power, and had for years now commanded very large groups of followers, both in armies and corporations. It seemed to him that a being's inner nature, whether noble or debased, looked much the same as he or she was crushed under the tread of a tank. When one has sufficient force, there is no need for schemes.
"Uh-oh," Whirry said. She had reached out to dab at the spilled wine with an old rag-stars forbid she should risk a wine stain on the fancy Malreaux linen napkins-but her hand had stopped in midair, hovering over the splotch of burgundy on the table. "You're in trouble."
"Whirry," Dooku began severely, "I have told you before, I don't like-"
The comm console chimed. Glancing over, the Count saw who was calling and cut his sentence off short.
"I'll take this in my study," he said.