Nine years, nine months, and twenty days after the Battle of Yavin… Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty days since the Great Resync
Nine years, nine months, and twenty days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and twenty days since the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and five days since the arrival).
The planet Lorrd, situated in the Kanz Sector, will assume a prominent position among the worlds of the Dominion.
This fact necessitates a partial reassessment of our strategy for containing adversaries in this sector.
A world cloaked in ice, snow, and deserts, Lorrd could boast something rarely valued in the Outer Rim: educational institutions.
The university in Lorrd City was revered across the galaxy as a great repository of academic knowledge. Located at the heart of the city, it comprised numerous educational facilities and a large student dormitory.
Countless branches of diverse disciplines imparted knowledge to hundreds of thousands of students each semester.
Remarkably, the Kanz Sector was not historically the most tranquil region, and even now, during the ongoing purge, not all pirate bands have been eradicated.
Yet, sentients from all corners of the galaxy flock here in droves, eager to obtain a prestigious education.
A curious paradox, indeed.
From the height of the top floor of the tallest building in Lorrd City, everything appears so small, so insignificant.
But that is an illusion.
Lorrd is vital to my plans.
This planet, with its vast population, is a cornerstone of the strategy for preparing for the impending war with the Yuuzhan Vong.
I gazed upon the sprawling capital city at my feet, noting the architectural details and design choices…
It is a magnificent city, a remarkable planet with a substantial population.
And a blood-soaked history.
In the past, this world was conquered by the Argazdan Myrialites from the neighboring Argazda system. The Lorrdians, like other sentient species of the sector, were enslaved. The leader of Argazda transformed the sector into the Argazdan Redoubt, independent of the Galactic Republic, enduring for three hundred years.
If the historical chronicles, currently being processed by a team of clones specially brought to the planet, are to be believed, the Republic attempted to restore order here. But then came the Mandalorian Wars, Revan's rebellion, and the machinations of the Sith Triumvirate…
I could swear that, in the current reality, the history of most galactic worlds is irrelevant.
But not in Lorrd's case.
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon spoke up. "The requested archive has been delivered."
"In that case, I would like to hear the history of the Slave Pits, Captain," I turned on my heels, directing my gaze back to the university rector's office.
The rector himself was present.
As was the planetary governor.
Both Lorrdians exchanged glances, seemingly performing unrelated gestures with their hands and fingers, accompanied by facial expressions…
What they were doing was communication.
During their enslavement by the Argazdans, the Lorrdians developed a system of nonverbal communication, which they mastered more adeptly than speech. Known as "kinetic communication," this sign language was their sole means of interaction during the occupation, used by resistance fighters to coordinate their efforts.
This was because their former masters prohibited slaves from speaking to one another, thereby reducing the likelihood of uprisings.
Nowadays, the Argazdans are ashamed of their past and prefer to live in peace and harmony. But in bygone days, they drenched cities and planets in blood without flinching.
"Your interests are quite specific, Grand Admiral," the university rector remarked.
"Indeed?" I clarified. "I would like to hear your perspective."
"Your people arrived on Lorrd, offering us the chance to join the Dominion, which we gladly accepted. You've cleared the sector of pirates and are maintaining order."
"The taxation and conscription systems for the defense forces are quite lenient compared to the Empire," the governor added. "I would even understand if you stripped us bare and conscripted our population to serve the Dominion."
"But to take an interest in our planet's history, and to personally come to review files nearly four thousand years old," the rector and governor exchanged glances. "Forgive me, but this is somewhat beyond our comprehension."
"Is that so," I said, settling into an ornate chair and sipping caf from a pristine white cup. "I am certain that once the information I seek is presented, you will find satisfactory answers to your questions."
"In that case, allow me to personally access the archives," the rector said. "The chips are old and require careful handling."
Pellaeon, holding several data storage units, met my gaze and wordlessly handed them to the rector.
"The Slave Pits of Lorrd," I specified my primary interest.
"Why does this ancient history interest you?" the governor grimaced.
Of course, though ancient, an archival record detailing the deaths of half a billion Lorrdians in those massacres is not a topic locals are eager to discuss.
But I am different.
"You see, esteemed Governor, among my subordinates is someone who, in their youth, earned a living fighting in the gladiatorial pits of the Hutts. I studied this matter and found references to the Slave Pits of Lorrd as some of the earliest sites of public death matches. While reviewing the tragic pages of your world's history, I came across several intriguing references I wish to verify. Surely, you won't deny me this small request."
"History, of course, teaches us not to repeat its mistakes," the rector stated. "But, I confess, with three dozen academic degrees in various fields, I cannot imagine what could be fascinating in such chronicles. We've been part of the Dominion covertly for a month and openly for a week, yet you've spent more time on our archives than on audits or similar matters…"
"Your archives are distinguished by their truthfulness," I reminded him. "Objective truth, at that. Thus, I will either find what I seek in them or I won't. As for establishing administrative structures… Counterintelligence reviewed everything three weeks ago. Your bureaucratic system functions smoothly and without issue. We have no need to interfere unless officials fail to perform their duties conscientiously. I must admit, the Kanz Sector has pleasantly surprised me in this regard. A bureaucracy that operates independently… Yes, we have no need to teach you how to work as we wish. I prefer to spend my free time studying your art and creativity."
"That may be time wasted," the governor warned.
"Or perhaps a valuable history lesson that will aid me," I countered.
Realizing further objections were futile, the rector began to recount the history of the Slave Pits of Lorrd.
They were constructed on the orders of the Argazdan ruler. The purpose is self-evident: the masters entertained themselves by watching Lorrdians kill each other in the most brutal ways—against one another, against animals, against monsters… The Roman Colosseum pales in comparison to this place.
At least, I don't recall from my studies of ancient history that Colosseum spectators could shoot at gladiators for amusement.
This ended only when the Galactic Republic and the Jedi finally intervened.
"A Republic task force, led by the Lorrdian Jedi Master Mari-Elan Nora, defeated the Argazdan overlords and, after fierce battles, restored Lorrd's independence," the rector concluded his three-hour lecture on his planet's ancient history. "I don't know what you're searching for, Grand Admiral, it's just…"
"Monsters," I explained simply.
The governor visibly tensed, understanding my implication.
"Forgive me, I don't follow, Grand Admiral," the rector said.
"Allow me to refresh your memory," I said. "Art is that part of the subconscious that conveys sentient experiences through music, poetry, or performances. Have you never considered that poems and plays based on legends might have a basis in reality?"
It seemed the governor now realized he, too, was missing something.
A pity.
I had spent considerable time piecing together the facts.
"Are you familiar with the name Pordi Zet Chai?" I asked the Lorrdians present.
"Certainly," the rector replied. "He is a renowned playwright, a fellow Lorrdian."
"He wrote an excellent play," I smiled. "Torphceris. Do you know why it bears that name?"
"That was the name of the Argazdan ruler who ordered the creation of the Slave Pits," the rector said, glancing at the governor. "It's often performed at the Plaza of Performances."
"The play is magnificent," I declared. "Are you familiar with its plot?"
"Of course," the rector frowned.
"As am I," the governor confirmed.
"In that case," I looked at the commander of the Chimaera. "Captain Pellaeon, I will recount the plot of this splendid work."
Pellaeon's expression suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
"The tragedy's plot is based on legends tied to the history of Lorrd's Slave Pits," I began. "The setting is Lorrd, then under the dominion of the Argazdan Redoubt. By that time, three hundred years had passed since the Argazdan Myrialites enslaved the local Lorrdians during the conquest of the Kanz Sector."
Judging by their faces, the Lorrdians were already exchanging subtle signals, which I noted as I spoke.
Pellaeon struggled valiantly against boredom.
Rukh preferred to scan the surroundings, while the guards were indifferent to art.
"The story of Torphceris is quite intriguing," I continued. "However, the play reveals a fascinating aspect of his character. He faced growing resistance to his rule over the Kanz Sector from the Galactic Republic and Lorrdian rebels. According to legend, he struck a deal with a demonic alien, a "craftsman" from another galaxy, who promised him the ability to wield destructive power. As part of harnessing this "terrible" force, Torphceris collaborated with this being to construct the Slave Pits of Lorrd using enslaved Lorrdians."
"So the legends say," the governor stated firmly.
"Indeed," I agreed. "So the legends say. In them, the alien "craftsman" is portrayed as a demonic antagonist, and his Argazdan allies as cowards willing to abandon their principles for power."
"Forgive me, but I still don't understand," the rector said. "What's so significant about a play based on ancient legends?"
"How long have you lived on Lorrd?" I asked him.
"I left my homeworld in my youth and returned only a couple of years ago…"
"And the governor has managed this planet for over two decades," I noted. The official paled, licking his dry lips. "And he has already guessed what I'm referring to."
The rector, frowning even more, looked at his colleague.
"What you seek was destroyed long ago," the governor said.
At that moment, Gilad Pellaeon snapped out of his daze, looking at the official with interest.
"Yes, I know," my affirmative nod made the governor's eyes dart nervously. "An Argazdan scientist and his Imperial assistant, an agent, took an interest in this legend. They began excavations at the site of the Slave Pits. Governor, would you care to add to my account?"
The Lorrdian glared at me.
"Besides the Imperials, there were also Rebel Alliance agents," he explained. "Both factions sought to claim this ancient "superweapon.""
"A superweapon?" the rector exclaimed. "Here? On Lorrd?!"
"At least, that's how the Empire and the Alliance classified the discovered object," I continued. "During a brief confrontation at the bottom of the Pit, the opposing sides encountered a monster that attempted to kill them. However, the beast was slain with a thermal detonator. This allowed the adversaries to escape and destroyed any potential superweapon the Galactic Empire might have used against the Rebel Alliance."
"You want to resurrect this monster?!" the governor demanded, rising from his chair.
"No," I stated firmly. "My intentions are to study the creature and introduce Dominion scientists to how it was created."
"You want to recreate the monster?" the rector gasped.
"No," I countered again. "Based on my information, the creature was created using unknown technologies that could, in the future, be used against the galaxy's population."
"No, no, no, no, no," the governor protested. "That beast was one of a kind."
"You think so?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," the official insisted. "We ensured its remains decomposed as quickly as possible…"
"But you didn't succeed entirely, did you?" I asked.
"How…" the governor faltered. "While we were negotiating our integration, you flooded my planet with spies, didn't you?!"
"Denying that would be foolish," I said. "When we negotiate with a planet, system, or sector, we want to know and see not only the façade but also what happens behind closed doors."
"Forgive me, but I still don't understand," the rector said. "Why study the remains? You have an army and fleet renowned across the galaxy. What's so special about this beast?"
From the looks of the governor, the rector, and Pellaeon himself, I could tell the question intrigued them all.
"My primary interest lies in who created it, as well as the methods and technologies used in the process," I reiterated. "To combat an enemy, one must understand their capabilities and how they operate."
"An enemy?" the governor grimaced. "Grand Admiral, you believe this beast was created by an alien from another galaxy? It's just a legend."
Unfortunately, it is not.
"The monster in Lorrd's Slave Pits was also considered a legend," I reminded him. "Yet it existed. Its creator was also flesh and blood."
"The galaxy's boundaries cannot be crossed," the rector declared. "Gravitational anomalies prevent it…"
"Is that so?" I clarified.
"Yes, gravity cannot be overcome!"
"Then what was the purpose of the Outbound Flight expedition?" I asked.
The scholar opened his mouth to respond but closed it, remaining silent.
"I know you must have data, even superficial, about who this "craftsman" was and what he did on Lorrd," I said. "I need that data. Now."
"It's just a legend," the rector repeated, defeated.
"In that case, I'll spend an entertaining time studying local folklore," I assured him.
No further objections arose.
***
The layout of Lorrd's Slave Pits resembled ancient radiotelescopes.
One Imperial expert once hypothesized that the pits were a system of organic receivers or transmitters.
Functionally, these structures housed bioengineered amphibian monsters intended to serve as living "superweapons." In practice, they efficiently reduced Lorrd's population for the amusement of spectators.
The Slave Pits of Lorrd.
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon, seated beside me on the steps of the ancient arena, spoke up. "Are you suggesting that the creation of this creature is tied to aliens from another galaxy?"
"I'm not suggesting, Captain," I said, watching as massive construction cranes extracted enormous chunks of the creature's body from the arena's depths.
This creature was unknown to science.
It could hardly be called a specific species.
Something grotesque, spiked, scaly, fanged…
"Here," Pellaeon handed me a personal datapad.
"What is this, Captain?" I inquired.
"A brief compilation," he explained. "I recalled who in the galaxy has conducted such experiments. The Arkanians, naturally. The Mandalorians, too, used combat beasts in the past, if I remember correctly… But we can confirm this with the Mandalorians in the neighboring system, what was it called…"
"Kol Atorn," I recalled without error the name of the planet in the Kanz Sector, home to a small community of Mandalorian exiles and outcasts who fled Mandalore long ago. They are a martial group, preferring isolation. Dominion representatives are negotiating their integration as a military asset, though without success so far. No need to despair yet.
"Yes, them."
"The Mandalorians settled Kol Atorn only a couple of thousand years ago, Captain," I noted. "The creature on Lorrd appeared far earlier."
"Then it could be the Langhesi," Pellaeon suggested.
Hearing the familiar name, I grew intrigued.
"The inhabitants of the planet Langhesi in the Meram Sector?" I asked.
"Well, former inhabitants," Pellaeon corrected. "About a hundred and fifty years ago, the Cynimals attacked Langhesi, considering their biotechnology sacrilegious against their gods. As a result, the Langhesi abandoned their homeworld and now wander the galaxy, earning a living by creating exotic creatures for the wealthy using biotechnology…"
Biotechnology.
Creating organisms.
Galactic travel.
Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but it bears a striking resemblance to someone from beyond the galaxy.
"Inform Intelligence that I wish to meet with the Langhesi," I ordered.
"Yes, sir, of course," Pellaeon replied, slightly taken aback, seeing my gaze return to the creature's extraction.
"You misunderstood my response, Captain," I said.
"Which one, sir?" the Chimaera's commander frowned.
"You asked if I assumed the creature's creation was tied to extragalactic aliens," I reminded him.
"Yes, you said you didn't…"
"My response was, 'I'm not assuming,'" I clarified.
"Yes, sir…"
"Because I am certain it was created by aliens from beyond the galaxy," I stated, causing Gilad to shake his head as if dispelling a dream.
"Sir, forgive me, I don't understand…"
"Open the Cavil Corsairs' intelligence report on the MZX33291 star system," I advised.
Gilad complied, diving into the reports…
"Bimmiel?" he looked at me in surprise.
"Yes, that's another name for it," I confirmed. "Named after the Imperial scientist who discovered it. Read the spectral scanning data, air, and ground reconnaissance in grids three, seven, and fifteen."
As Gilad skimmed the report, I processed the same data in my mind.
Bimmiel, a planet orbiting its primary star in an elliptical path within the MZX33291 system. The fifth planet in the system, lifeless.
A team of Dominion scouts and scientists, accompanied by Darth Maul, Aurra Sing, and several regular fleet starships, conducted a thorough investigation of the planet.
And found what they were sent to locate.
Not natives, who could barely be called humanoids, though their use of wooden spears and tools indicated sentience and potential.
The key discovery was something else entirely.
"Jedi artifacts?" Gilad looked at me, puzzled.
"Yes, Jedi were once present on Bimmiel," I agreed.
"Sir, how are Jedi connected to the Lorrdian creature and an extragalactic "craftsman"?"
"Point seven of the report, Captain," I specified.
"A mummified corpse?" it seemed this surprised Pellaeon the least.
A grave mistake.
"Read the description, Captain," I advised.
"Nearly two meters tall, dense gray-purple skin, black hair, multiple fractures, tattoos with unknown symbols, organic implants," Pellaeon muttered. "Sir, how did this person live? They had enough fractures for a dozen people!"
"It's not a person, Captain," I stated. "Scientists reconstructed its appearance. Look at the appendix to that report section…"
A moment later, I heard quiet cursing.
"Who beat them up like that?!"
"They did it themselves, Captain," I explained, watching as the creature's body was loaded onto an Acclamator's ramp.
"They had black blood too?" Pellaeon was astonished by the retrospective modeling and analysis data. "What kind of human subspecies is this?"
"Read the description of the "craftsman" from the play Torphceris and compare it to the historical chronicles from Lorrd University," I said, my eyes fixed on the loading process.
"Is this the same being?" Pellaeon was stunned after a few minutes of reading.
"No, Captain," I countered. "They are different entities, from different times. But they are of the same species, originating far beyond our galaxy. In the Chiss Ascendancy, where I hail from, we called them "Far Outsiders." They use biotechnology, are intolerant of machines, and revel in suffering, believing it honors their gods."
"Sir, this sounds like some horror story," Gilad attempted a joke. "As a child, I was told similar tales about bad Ailonians who'd come punish me if I didn't eat my porridge…"
"This is no fairy tale, Captain," I declared. "According to historical chronicles, the "craftsman" who created the Lorrd creature appeared about four thousand years ago. The corpse found on Bimmiel has been there for just over a century, mummified and buried by someone."
"So, there are more like them out there," Gilad finally realized this was no jest. "And… what do we do, sir?"
"First, we locate the Langhesi and recruit them to work on the "Far Outsiders'" biotechnologies," I said. "Second, we urgently relocate the laboratory studying sentient tree pollen from Ithor to the capital—facilities are already prepared. Third, it's time to spring a few traps and move to the final act of Crimson Dawn."
Pellaeon was silent for a moment, then said:
"Sir, am I correct in understanding that, given your interest in these "Far Outsiders," the resurrected Palpatine is not our greatest concern?"
I looked into the eyes of my flagship's commander.
"Far from it, Captain. And I think it's time we discussed this problem in greater detail."
***
This time, she awoke before hyperspace transitioned to realspace.
Ahsoka, recalling her previous mishap, shifted her legs aside to avoid the pedals.
She stretched with relish, channeling the Force through herself, savoring the sensation of complete control over her body.
The unpleasant tingling from prolonged immobility plagued her every time she used the interceptor for long journeys.
"I need to requisition a more spacious ship," the Togruta muttered, briefly closing her eyes and reaching out to the Force.
The MZX32905 system was a typical star system in the Outer Rim.
Located in the Kanz Sector, quadrant N-4, this backwater galactic point was not far from the Bimmiel and Lorrd systems, already under Dominion control.
An interesting turn of events.
The Cavil Corsairs—former pirates and brigands hired by the Galactic Empire for dirty work—were now thriving, integrated into Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces.
The name, of course, remained unchanged.
As did the sentients serving in the organization.
And they were well-compensated for their services.
They performed admirably.
In a short time, the Kanz Sector was cleared of numerous pirates, smugglers, assassins, and mercenaries who had carved out hideouts here to wait out pursuit by various authorities.
Ahsoka was tasked with coming here as soon as the Cavil Corsairs conducted their initial purge, deploying scouts and striking all pirate bases simultaneously. After all, while the Corsairs wielded relatively modern technology, the local criminals relied on relics barely more advanced than chemical-fueled rockets.
An exaggeration, of course, but the technological disparity was undeniable.
Ahsoka knew that before her orders, Corsair scouts had already visited this nameless "numbered" system.
And they found what Thrawn had sent her to retrieve.
"Connect me to the Chimaera," the Togruta demanded, opening her eyes.
The Force sensed the target, radiating a unique aura unmistakable to her. Its trajectory matched the coordinates provided by the Corsairs.
Grand Admiral Thrawn answered her call within seconds.
Remarkably swift, considering the Outer Rim's notorious communication issues. Cheap, substandard relays plagued the region, degrading transmission quality and speed.
Thus, Ahsoka couldn't hide her surprise when Thrawn's hologram appeared, free of any interference.
"Report, Lady Tano," the Grand Admiral addressed her.
"I've arrived in the MZX32905 system," she stated.
"Have you located your target?" Thrawn inquired.
Ahsoka glanced toward the source of an ancient, chilling cold that sent shivers down her spine.
"Yes," she replied.
"Then proceed," Thrawn ordered, disconnecting the comm.
The Togruta stared at the holographic projector for a moment before muttering:
"Proceed!" she mimicked the blue-skinned admiral. "If you're so clever, you'd come here yourself."
The display translated her astromech's response.
"Yes, yes, yes," Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "Jedi know no fear. But, you see, tin can, I'm no longer a Jedi."
Still, she directed her interceptor, shedding its hyperdrive ring, toward the target.
As she approached the asteroid, she could discern it against the hazy disc of the local star.
She noticed structures on the cosmic rock—clearly inhabited.
She sensed something active in the Force within. Powerful, yet devoid of any living warmth.
There was no life here.
But there was the Force.
A mighty Force.
Ahsoka had encountered such sensations before—places where life once thrived but now lay dead.
Yet, there was another explanation for this emanation.
A powerful Force artifact resided here.
She had felt similar sensations on Ossus.
But she quickly identified differences, dismissing her initial assumption.
The emanation she sensed now did not come from an artifact. Its aura was stronger and, most unsettlingly, bore traces of personality.
This was the residence of a formidable Force adept.
And, as she prepared to land, she realized this inhabitant was anything but a Jedi.
The Force emanating from this place was marked by the Dark Side.
She was landing on a massive asteroid, once a mining site—countless such sites dotted the galaxy.
Yet, someone had gone to great lengths to build not a temporary camp but a true dwelling.
"Minimal gravity, no atmosphere, landing automation failed," Tano noted, clicking her tongue. "No, I definitely need a different ship."
The open maw of the hangar revealed space for a couple of sizable passenger yachts or freighters.
Inside, Ahsoka glimpsed a high ceiling, though she had to use the Force, as even her interceptor's lights couldn't pierce the darkness.
She noted signs of neglect, even on the metal-lined walls.
This place hadn't been used in ages—no hint of recent visitors since its owners departed.
"Waiting for someone to help me avoid suffocating in a vacuum is probably pointless," Tano concluded, unstrapping herself.
Her astromech reminded her she wore a light spacesuit, with oxygen canisters in the cargo hold. It also suggested using a magnetic field to retain atmosphere…
Suddenly, she felt herself pressed into the interceptor's seat.
A familiar sensation—the artificial gravity system had activated.
The hangar's dome began to dispel the darkness as wall and ceiling panels lit up.
"Well, now," she drawled, instinctively gripping her lightsaber. "Either someone's watching us, perfectly cloaked, or something triggered the automation."
The astromech noted that no life forms were detected—at least not by its sensors or the interceptor's systems.
"I've got a brilliant idea," Ahsoka said, noting the hangar's atmosphere was now breathable and the rear hatches had sealed, cutting her off from space. She opened the cockpit canopy. "If this asteroid was a mining site, its metal might be too dense for scanners, right?"
The droid remained silent.
A second later, it beeped that such a possibility existed but was statistically negligible.
"Oh, tin can, with my luck?" Ahsoka assured it, climbing out. "I've got a bad feeling about this. If this is a mining asteroid, where's the cargo terminal?"
The astromech buzzed a reply.
"No, little one, I'm afraid this hangar is strictly for passenger ships."
Locking the controls, she instructed the astromech to remain on standby.
A chilling cold washed over her.
Her breath formed clouds, proof the hangar's systems hadn't operated in a long time.
She spotted a flexible docking sleeve in another part of the hangar—used for larger vessels than her interceptor.
She quickly reached the entrance to the inhabited section.
The computer panel responded to a simple open command, and with a grating screech, the heavy door admitted her into the technical sector.
Clearly, this door was for maintenance staff, while guests or owners used the docking sleeve.
In any case, she could escape if needed—somewhere, the working and master sections must connect.
Worst case, she could use her lightsaber to carve a new passage between levels.
After wandering the technical areas, she began to feel warmth—evidence of active heaters in the residential sections.
It took a few minutes to find an exit to the inhabited complex, where there was at least a hint that droids weren't being disassembled.
The asteroid's interior astonished her with its light turquoise metal, similar to the hangar's lining. Based on the main corridor's geometry, Ahsoka deduced it was a ring with exits to both the asteroid's core and external sections like the hangar.
Not standard decor, clearly.
And the interior suggested this wasn't for workers.
Too pristine. It could be called designer-grade. No one in their right mind would invest in creating such comfort on a mining site destined to be gutted and abandoned once its resources were depleted.
This residential complex wasn't portable—it was a haven carved into a cosmic rock.
And a highly comfortable one, at that.
This pointed to the owner's wealth.
Further inspection confirmed her suspicions.
She found a dozen apartments, some clearly designed for families.
Several banquet halls and entertainment zones.
Dozens of offices, meeting rooms, and relaxation areas.
A recreational zone.
Even a pool, once.
After thoroughly exploring the residential level, Ahsoka concluded this was an archaic version of a mobile command post, once produced by Raith Sienar's company.
Likely built before the creator of TIE fighters was even conceived.
The technology was simple.
An asteroid was chosen—the larger, the better, for gravity. It had to be close enough to the miners' work site for management to conduct inspections and turn things upside down.
But there was a problem—Sienar designed surface-based command posts. Here, they'd burrowed deep into the asteroid.
Either a custom order or someone reworked the concept post-construction.
The design's rounded edges suggested pre-Imperial construction.
Possibly even pre-Clone Wars—before Palpatine became Supreme Chancellor, when galactic design, from architecture to starships and stations, began favoring sharp angles.
Aggression and militarism.
No one understood it at the time.
Whoever built this was clearly wealthy to abandon an asteroid with such investment.
The pervasive Dark Side aura suggested a powerful Sith had resided here for a long time.
Perhaps Thrawn sent her to one of Palpatine's secret lairs to uncover and harness Dark Side knowledge stored here.
As he'd said.
No specifics, no hints.
Use your brain, act on your own.
The question of why someone like Ventress wasn't sent faded— the Dark Side would likely overwhelm them.
If something valuable and destructive was here, it could spark another crisis.
After scouring sector by sector, Ahsoka reached a turbolift in the complex's center and ascended to the upper level.
She found herself in a spacious, circular chamber, twenty meters in diameter, designed as a hemisphere with a curved ceiling of equal height.
Crafted by artisans from thick transparisteel, it offered a view of the starry sky, bathed in the soft hues of the local star.
Time hadn't spared the structure—microasteroid impacts had left visible dents.
Yet, its hermetic seal held.
The station's automation wasn't responsible—asteroids were embedded in the material, their impact sites sealed by cosmic dust over centuries, forming a monolith.
This pushed the asteroid's abandonment to several hundred years.
Palpatine, as a potential owner, was ruled out.
His master?
Possibly.
But it seemed more likely that, if a Sith of the Baneite line owned this, it was the master of the master of the master of Sidious.
The structure was ancient—two to three hundred years in disuse.
And given the unyielding Dark Side aura, a powerful artifact was likely present…
Or perhaps…
Ahsoka licked her dry lips.
Each time she convinced herself the Dark Side source was an artifact, she consciously ignored the fact that she sensed a trace of sentience in it.
This was no lifeless object.
Perhaps a holocron with a Keeper—a snapshot of an ancient Sith's mind.
Or some horrific Sith experiment or creature, waiting to break free and destroy those unprepared to serve it.
Too many theories.
Ahsoka scanned the room, noting numerous ancient manuscripts, scrolls, and data crystals.
All were decayed—flimsi disintegrated, crystals cracked, books so brittle they were dangerous to touch.
Standing in the chamber's center, she focused.
The Dark Side's energy was palpable.
Yet, despite its intensity, she felt she was merely at the bottleneck—the true source of this chilling aura lay deep within the asteroid.
Ahsoka opened her eyes.
"This is such a cliché," she grimaced. "Dealing with Sith? Go as deep as possible. Where it's dark, damp, rocks might fall, and a thousand unknown traps or carnivorous parasites lurk in the shadows."
She sensed a shift in the Dark Side behind her.
Like a breeze through an open window, it was enough to make the Shadow Huntress roll aside, assuming a combat stance and igniting her lightsaber.
Before her stood a figure—tall, cloaked head to toe in fabric so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light.
Even the light panels dimmed.
She couldn't discern a face beneath the cloak, but she sensed the humanoid before her was vastly different from any species she'd encountered.
"Did I frighten you?" it asked.
Ahsoka hadn't yet determined what stood before her, but the cloaked figure clearly lacked the warmth of living flesh.
"You'd need to be alive to do that," she declared. "You're a corpse."
"Perhaps," the shadow replied. "I don't know."
She pondered for a few seconds.
"I've never heard of Sith becoming Force spirits after death."
"Then you're foolish," the spirit, radiating the Dark Side, declared.
"A skit for a comedy theater: a corpse talks to a fool," Ahsoka forced a smile.
"Yes, an amusing performance," she couldn't see its face, but it seemed to laugh. "You're a fun Jedi."
"Not quite a Jedi," she admitted.
"Too old for a Padawan," the spirit noted.
"And you're… whatever you are."
"Oh," it said. "Where are my manners?"
"With your body?" Ahsoka suggested.
"Good joke," the same calm male voice spoke behind her.
Ahsoka executed a dizzying flip, dodging a potential attack and positioning herself to face both adversaries.
Thank the stars for this place's artificial gravity.
Without it, she'd be pirouetting in zero-G.
Now, two figures stood before her.
The familiar "cloak" and a new figure…
A tall human male, clearly athletic, with the commanding posture of a professional sportsman.
Though a slight paunch suggested reduced activity.
Not a fighter.
A neatly trimmed, matte-black beard styled in some outdated fashion.
Stylish, perhaps.
His black attire screamed traditional Sith aesthetics, with a silver lightsaber hilt adorned with glossy black rhomboid stones hanging from his belt.
"Neat trick," Ahsoka said, shifting her lightsaber's tip between the two. "It's a projection, isn't it? Neither of you is physically here."
"Foolish, but a quick learner," the bearded man raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
The "cloak" dissolved, as if it never existed.
Its presence in the Force vanished, lost in the Dark Side's emanations.
"A Force phantom," the man explained. "A Dark Side technique I developed. As deadly as anything I wield. An illusion indistinguishable from reality, capable of doing whatever its master desires. Consider this a demonstration of my neutral stance toward you."
"You know, thirty bodies ago, I'd have been told meeting a Sith technique's creator is bad form," Ahsoka said, spinning her lightsaber and deactivating it. "And a Sith not wanting to kill a Jedi after showing off a deadly trick? That's rare enough for the archives."
The man smiled.
"Judging by your fear and surprise, modern Sith don't know this technique, do they?"
Hanging her weapon on her belt, Ahsoka showed the Force spirit her empty hands.
"I think you took that secret to the grave," she guessed. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Did you come here to learn from me?" the Sith asked. Without waiting, he added:
"It won't be easy, you should know."
Ahsoka grimaced.
"I don't like deception, so let's be honest, alright? I came to find the source of the Dark Side and, if necessary, eliminate any threat."
"Oh," the spirit nodded understandingly. "A worthy cause. Dark Side knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands."
Ahsoka blinked twice.
"You just nearly asked me to be your apprentice, and I'm hardly ideal for Sith teachings."
"Yet the Dark Side has touched you," the spirit declared. "Long ago… and recently."
Ahsoka willed away memories of her apprenticeship under Skywalker and her duel with his son.
"Not proud of it," she admitted. "The kid deserved a thrashing…"
"You didn't kill him," the Sith noted. "I see in your mind you lost friends. But you stopped."
"I was stopped," Ahsoka insisted. "You Sith always poke into heads, manipulating the past."
"Do we now?" the spirit smiled. "Forgive me, but your thoughts are an open book. I see what was and what will be. I know you despise this mission and your judgment of Dark Side adepts."
"Really? You're…"
"Yes, a Sith," the spirit agreed. "I was one in life and remain so in death. But my plans never involved seeking power or subjugating others. I controlled the darkness within me. As you did on Ossus."
"I told you, I was stopped…"
"How could someone barely able to wield the Force stop an experienced fighter with words?" the spirit asked. "If you craved power or revenge, uncontrolled, you'd have ended the fight as it began. No one could have stopped you."
"By the genre's rules, you should now offer me power to prove I'm the best," Ahsoka said sarcastically. "Sorry, not my style."
"I won't offer power to dominate others," the Force spirit stunned her. "Nor power for its own sake. I'll share my knowledge, secrets to control the Dark Side, to strengthen you and your Jensaraai brethren."
"Is this a Sith joke?" Ahsoka shivered. "Sith don't share like that. What was it? "My chains are broken…" and all that?"
"No," the spirit replied calmly. "Chains are always needed. Control is always needed. Responsibility is always needed. Discipline is constant. You're a Jedi; you know this."
"You're a very strange Sith," Ahsoka declared. "You sound like you've snuck into a Jedi lecture… You're not a fallen Jedi who crafted some universal doctrine, are you?"
The spirit laughed.
Quietly, not mockingly—just reacting to the jest.
"No, I am a Sith. Was in life, will be in death."
"Then something doesn't add up," Ahsoka pressed. "Why help me master the Dark Side in some clever way?"
"Because I'm a Sith," the spirit shrugged. "Though I differ from others, some things remain constant."
"Power over the galaxy?" she ventured.
"The desire to pass my knowledge to an apprentice," the spirit laughed again. "I think your master sent you to my asteroid for exactly that purpose."
"You know Thrawn?" Ahsoka was surprised, then nodded. "You're still in my head, aren't you?"
"I saw him in your thoughts," the dead Sith confirmed. "Heard his words, understood his intentions. I'm certain he knew exactly who I am and what I represent when he sent you. We're alike in some ways—pragmatists, keeping ourselves within bounds we set. But he… quite fascinating. He hides from the Force, a distortion within it. A curious anomaly. Were I alive, I'd eagerly join him to study the effects."
"I'm not surprised," Ahsoka thought.
For now, she avoided dwelling on the fact that the Grand Admiral had sent her here to…
Uncover and harness the Dark Side knowledge stored here…
"Fine, I've been used blindly again," she admitted. "What's next?"
"Oh," the Sith spirit raised his hands. "Don't see it as "being used." You were sent here because you can control your emotions and won't cross the line. That's a rare gift; your Thrawn just doesn't share secrets with subordinates. It's the burden of leadership."
"Enough with the lectures, alright?" Ahsoka grimaced. "I have a mission, and you seem willing to help. Let's make a deal—if you're as good as you claim, you'll have plenty of students after me."
"No," the spirit's face became a mask of indifference. "No other students. Only you. And you'll have only one student, worthy of my knowledge."
"I feel like an ungrateful Gamorrean," Ahsoka confessed. "Like I'm using you… Maybe that's how Sith do things, but it doesn't sit right with me…"
"You'll fulfill my request upon completing your training," the spirit said.
"Oh," Ahsoka raised a finger. "That's where we start. What's the request? Kill all Jedi?"
"Jedi hold no more interest for me than Sith or other Force adepts," the spirit declared. "But you're right—when your training is complete, you'll need to kill a Force adept. One."
"I don't like this," Ahsoka shook her head. "Who?"
"Me."
"You're a Baneite," Ahsoka sighed heavily. "The apprentice kills the master. There can only be two, and so on…"
The spirit remained silent, staring at her.
"Fine," Tano declared. "I'll kill you. But there's a problem. You say you're already dead."
"Dead," he agreed. "You'll ensure my spirit goes to the Void."
"You're a very strange Sith," Ahsoka repeated, like a mantra. "I know one who refuses to stay dead, and here you are, dead but not dead, wanting to die…"
She paused, struck by a realization.
"Wait," she said slowly. "Sith can preserve their consciousness after physical death."
"You're speaking to such a consciousness," the spirit confirmed.
"And you want to teach me how to destroy such an entity," Tano licked her lips eagerly.
"Well done," the spirit smiled. "Slow, but you got there."
"You have no idea how much I need to know how to kill something like you," Ahsoka rubbed her hands together. "Alright, silver-tongued, you've convinced me. Let's learn. Where do we start?"
"First, per ancient Sith tradition, the master introduces himself to the apprentice," the spirit declared, straightening with such poise that his figure's flaws vanished. "Ahsoka Tano, I am your teacher. Under my guidance, you will learn the Dark Side, which you will never use to subjugate sentients or cause harm for pleasure. You will gain knowledge many modern Sith believe lost or legendary. I devoted my life to crafting a Dark Side doctrine rooted in strict morality, discipline, and self-control."
"Grandiose, but to the point," Ahsoka nodded, settling into a meditative pose. "Teacher, do you have a name?"
"The name my parents gave me means nothing to you," the Force spirit said. "But you may have heard my Sith name, earned when I became a Sith Master. I am Darth Vectivus."
***
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