The stars finally stopped stretching into endless streaks and snapped back into their familiar shapes — but I felt no relief at our successful exit from hyperspace. Our ship immediately began to shudder under the gravitational turbulence of this "dead zone," where space itself seemed to boil from the proximity of black holes and other anomalies. I shot a quick glance at the radar and muttered a curse under my breath when I saw a clear contact appear almost simultaneously with us, matching our position without delay. Someone had managed to track us.
"We've got company," Elara said calmly, stating the obvious as she worked at the adjacent console. Her fingers danced across the sensor pads with impressive precision — far better than mine, if I was being honest. "And yes, I suspected relying solely on that 'Force intuition' you told me about was risky, so the moment we dropped into realspace I sent a couple of repair droids to inspect the hull. The Republic found us way too easily last time. And guess what? One of them just reported a Republic tracker stuck to the port stabilizer — noise‑suppressed, too. Hidden well enough that you wouldn't spot it right away."
A sharp spike of cold anger shot through me — mostly at myself — but I forced the emotion down. This was no time for self‑recrimination. The Jedi were already beginning a closing maneuver, clearly intending to pin us between two massive asteroids rotating a few kilometers ahead. Destroying the tracker immediately was the first idea that came to mind, but I dismissed it just as quickly. Doing so would only confirm our presence and give us no tactical advantage. We needed something subtler.
"I hope you didn't tell the droids to destroy it. I've got an idea…" I grabbed an interface cable and connected my terminal to the external sensor grid. "Have the droid bring it in carefully — and hijack the signal. Overlay it with data about a critical engine failure while I prepare the rest of the 'gift' for our pursuers."
We dug up an old waste‑disposal container in the cargo bay, stuffed with scrap metal and spent power cells — perfect for generating a convincing heat signature. While Elara reprogrammed the Republic beacon to broadcast false coordinates, I secured the device to the container's hull with Kem's help. A minute later we depressurized the airlock and ejected the junk, giving it a gentle push toward the nearest gravitational funnel — which appeared on sensors as a safe corridor. We, meanwhile, slipped into a narrow gap between asteroid fragments, using their mass to mask us from the Jedi's scanners aboard the Venator — whenever they'd switched to that ship, I had no idea. Once we confirmed the "bait" was working, we quietly followed the vector projected by the Navigator's Rod.
But when had anything ever been simple with Jedi?
My hope that they'd fall for such a basic trick evaporated the moment I saw their not‑so‑small cruiser abruptly veer off, avoiding the trap entirely.
Apparently the damn Force was guiding its Chosen One — far more precisely than any sensor array. He must have simply felt the "real" target slipping away, and that was enough. Unfair as hell. They ignored the decoy and were now closing in on us with terrifying speed, until a massive black silhouette loomed ahead — some ancient station. It hung in the void without lights or signs of life, its enormous gates sealed shut and unresponsive to the standard Sith Empire access codes I transmitted.
"Looks like this ancient hunk of metal was guiding us here, but… the station's in deep hibernation. It's not responding to anything. And if we don't open those doors in the next thirty seconds, the so‑called 'keepers of peace' — known to the rest of the galaxy as Jedi — will vaporize this bucket of bolts," Elara said, dripping with sarcasm. She'd been skeptical from the moment I diverted us here, and now she was practically seething. She simply didn't know what I'd uncovered about this place — and I wasn't eager to enlighten her yet. Not out of distrust, but because I didn't want to jinx it.
So I ignored her grumbling and focused on the insane plan forming in my mind. It required perfect timing and a massive expenditure of power — more than my body was likely capable of — but…
At that moment, a swarm of smaller ships burst from the Venator, heading straight for us. Expected. I nodded to myself, opened a wide‑band channel — knowing Anakin would hear it — and made my voice as mocking as possible.
"You know, Skywalker, I could never figure out why you're still not a Master. Not very dignified for the Chosen One… Then it hit me: the Council still sees you as that frightened little slave boy from Tatooine. No matter how many droids you cut down, you're always someone's slave — first Watto, now the Order. You're terrified of losing the people you love… but the truth is, you don't even belong to yourself. Just another chained dog barking on Kenobi's command. And deep down you know it — no matter what they call you, you'll never be strong enough to save anyone you care about…"
I hit every nerve I could remember.
The response came instantly — honestly, halfway through my speech. Anakin — and I was certain it was him from the Force signature — snapped and unleashed a full barrage from his starfighter's cannons.
My turn to shine.
The air in the cockpit heated instantly, and the hairs on my arms stood on end as a colossal surge of Force energy gathered in front of me. It was brutally difficult — I felt like Parker in that famous scene where he stops the train — and soon a thin trickle of blood ran from my nose.
Through the Force, the incoming projectiles were bright and clear — which worked in my favor. The plan was risky; if I miscalculated, we were dead. But I trusted myself. Shouting something obscene in Galactic Basic, I caught the first volley in the Force just as it should have slammed into our shields, freezing the shots in place. I held them there for several seconds while Elara pulled us sharply upward. The bolts hung motionless in space, no longer threatening us. Then I released them — and they continued on their path, missing their original target entirely… and flying straight toward the dark mass of the ancient station.
We needed that — the Rod's protocols required it. Elara had found that detail buried in the code earlier.
I had no idea what the hell Anakin had fired, but the explosion was massive. Even we felt the electromagnetic pulse, our instruments flickering. The station, damaged, suddenly "woke up." Its massive gates began to part, and dozens of ancient fighter‑droids shot out of hidden bays, immediately firing at anything that moved.
"Inside! Now!" I rasped, barely staying conscious. "The Rod's signal should act as a pass — those tin cans won't touch us as long as we stay in the designated corridor!"
We slipped through the widening gap just as the Jedi began systematically tearing through the awakened defenses, carving a path through the swarm of still‑functional droids — vaguely reminiscent of Vulture‑droids.
The gates began to close behind us — but the Chosen One himself, driven by vengeance and the Force, managed to land one last impossibly precise shot at our retreating ship. The projectile struck the port engine dead‑on, detonating it instantly and flooding the hangar we'd just entered with blinding light and molten debris. The ship spun out of control, and Elara was forced into what could generously be called an "emergency landing."
For several long minutes we were tossed around like a carnival ride until a final, brutal impact slammed us into something massive. My vision darkened for a moment, and the screech of crumpling metal drowned out Elara's shouting and Kem's growl.
The ship plowed nose‑first across the smooth floor for dozens of meters before crashing into a heavy industrial structure. The smell of burning circuitry and hydraulic fluid filled the cabin. Through the viewport I saw the outer gates seal shut completely, cutting us off from space. The fire still burned — meaning the station's life‑support systems had activated.
But even such a massive blast door wouldn't stop the Jedi for long. We had to move — fast — if I wanted to complete my plan.
"Everyone alive?" I unbuckled with difficulty, asking mostly out of habit. My whole body throbbed with bruises, and a piercing ringing filled my ears. "Elara, grab whatever you can and move. Kem, cover her."
I picked up the Navigator's Rod from the floor — still pulsing with a faint red glow, as if greeting its new master. Ahead, in the darkness of the station's corridors, came the sounds of machinery and heavy footsteps. We had no choice but to go forward.
The Jedi problem wasn't solved — it had simply evolved into a far more dangerous stage, where a single wrong step could be our last in this dead silence.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Getting out of the wrecked cockpit turned out to be far harder than I expected. Elara, even with Kem's help, couldn't manage it — but with a little assistance from the Force, my boots were soon crunching over shattered transparisteel. The ship looked exactly as bad as I feared: the port engine was nothing but a mound of molten slag, and ruptured coolant lines hissed violently, filling the hangar with a pale mist. Kem climbed out after me, landing heavily on the deck and letting out a guttural growl — the kind that made it clear he was sick of this endless space chase and desperately wanted a proper fight.
Elara sprinted ahead of us, rushing to the nearest distribution panel. She hooked her portable terminal into the station's interface — surprisingly functional for something this ancient.
"Brut, we've got serious problems. More than I expected when we jumped into this hole," she said tensely, not even bothering to look back. The usual sarcasm in her voice was gone. "Looks like the Jedi are already inside. They used the lower‑sector maintenance locks — the ones that didn't fully close because the frame's warped. According to the cameras, there are several squads of regular clones, the Jedi themselves, and even clone commandos. Oh — and they're moving through the ventilation shafts, bypassing all the droid defenses this station has. So in about ten minutes, they'll be here without a scratch."
Expected — but no less unpleasant. Time was running out, but thanks to the Rod, at least the station's defenses wouldn't target us, which simplified things considerably. And honestly, I already had a good idea of what I could gain here — otherwise I wouldn't have risked all this. Maybe what I hoped for wasn't here… but still.
"Elara, find protocol 'Isolation' in the system. It's an old Imperial counter‑mutiny measure — should be hard‑wired into the core." I stepped beside her, feeling the faint warmth pulsing from the Rod in my hand. "It should activate the internal geometry‑reconfiguration system. Though I'm not sure how well it'll work on something this old."
Taales's memories were still locked away from me, but that didn't mean I hadn't studied everything else I could get my hands on.
Elara nodded sharply and entered a sequence of commands. A moment later, a deep, vibrating rumble echoed through the station, making the deck plates tremble. Massive steel panels began grinding into place, sealing familiar corridors and opening new ones. I turned to Kem — his eyes glowed a hungry yellow in the hangar's dim light — and pointed toward the nearest passage leading toward the Republic forces.
"Kem, stay linked with Elara and go hunt clones." These particular Jedi wouldn't abandon their men — they'd be forced to split up to cover the retreat. "Make them waste time rescuing the wounded. Bleed them dry. But don't let Skywalker and Kenobi corner you — just keep them from advancing."
With a delighted grin, the Dashiid vanished into the shadows with terrifying silence for someone his size. Elara and I rushed toward the central archive terminal two levels above us. As we ran, I heard the station's internal comms crackle — Elara's voice guiding Kem, blaster fire echoing through the ducts, the unmistakable hum of lightsabers, and the screams of clones unlucky enough to cross paths with my companion. Kem was efficient: dragging soldiers out of formation in tight corridors where Jedi couldn't swing their blades properly, forcing them to slow down and panic — like something out of an ancient horror holofilm. At least his blood wasn't acidic.
We reached the terminal, and Elara immediately got to work, slicing through ancient encrypted partitions while I stood guard, listening to every sound from the corridor. I didn't understand the finer points of slicing, but the look on her face told me the data volume was enormous — and that we needed every second Kem could buy us.
Finally, she exhaled in relief.
"I'm almost done copying everything that was hidden here. I don't know how you knew THIS was stored here, but… whatever. I've got an idea." She gave me a tired, mischievous squint as she kept typing. "I'll leave the Jedi a little 'gift' — a worm virus disguised as Sith Empire navigation charts. They'll definitely try to download it. Once it hits their ship's memory, it'll fry their nav processors and lock down their comms. They won't be able to chase us even if they want to."
At that moment, the station shook again — but this time the sound was different. A shaped charge. The Jedi had blown through one of the sealed bulkheads right next to us. They weren't wasting time — they were cutting straight through, ignoring traps and shifting corridors. I felt the Chosen One's presence immediately: heat washed over me, my breath caught, and sweat beaded on my forehead. Unpleasant didn't begin to cover it.
"Elara, go." I glanced at the map. "Head for the west airlock. Once you get there, you'll understand the plan. I'll stay here a bit longer." I tightened my grip on the Rod, preparing for a fight I really didn't want but knew was inevitable. "And… start the reactor overload protocol. We need this station falling apart, or they'll never stop."
I looked at the main terminal and smirked. I wasn't a master slicer, but even an amateur could manage this much. I triggered a partial detonation of the fuel cells, setting off a chain of controlled explosions in the engineering section. A wave of shock rippled through the station.
When Skywalker burst into the archive hall, his cloak was scorched and his eyes promised a long, painful death — mine, specifically. I stood calmly at the edge of the lift shaft.
"You're too late, oh Chosen One… But I still have something you might need." I raised the Rod meaningfully — implying that it could still control the station. Which was partly true. The Jedi clearly didn't know I'd already set the reactor to blow. And I intended to use that. "If you want to save your precious clones and stop the reactor detonation, you'll need this key. So catch!"
"You're too late, oh Chosen One… But I still have something you might find useful." I raised the Rod theatrically, implying that it could still control the Station. That was only partially true… but the Jedi clearly didn't know I'd already set the reactor to blow. And that ignorance was something I intended to exploit. "If you want to save your precious clones and stop the reactor detonation, you'll need this key. So catch!"
With all my strength, I hurled the Rod toward the collapsing bridge that hung over a bottomless maintenance shaft. Skywalker didn't hesitate — he leapt after it, using the Force to propel himself in an impossible arc. For him, that artifact was the only chance to regain control of the station and save the wounded clones Kem had left scattered below. His attachment to the lives of his subordinates once again played directly into my hands.
While he was still in midair, reaching for the spinning Rod, I dove into an open maintenance hatch and sprinted down the route I'd prepared earlier, feeling the structure collapsing behind me.
The escape was brutal. Twice I nearly ended up crushed beneath falling plates, and the omnipresent dust would've filled my lungs if not for the respirator. Eventually, I hit a dead end — a heavy blast door sealed shut due to power failure. Behind me, I could already hear heavy footsteps and the unmistakable hum of a lightsaber. The Jedi were closing in. I saw their silhouettes in the blue glow of their blades at the far end of the corridor, and for a moment it felt like luck had finally abandoned me.
But just as Skywalker tensed for a final charge, the hangar doors behind me screeched open, flooding the corridor with cold starlight — and revealing something utterly impossible.
There, shrouded in vapor and the glow of ancient, miraculously functioning engines, hovered a Sith Empire auxiliary shuttle — an angular, predatory craft that had been preserved here for nearly three thousand years.
Elara sat in the pilot's chair, holding the shuttle steady with impressive skill, while Kem stood on the open ramp, his massive frame blocking the entrance, ready to tear apart anyone who tried to force their way in.
I didn't waste time on farewells. With a single leap I crossed the distance to the ramp, feeling the ancient machine vibrate beneath my boots — a relic from an age when the true Empire still ruled the stars.
"Go!" I shouted, and the moment the ramp began to rise, the shuttle shot forward, blasting into open space through a breach in the hangar dome.
Behind us, the station — Void Sentinel, as I'd seen in the terminal — was slowly tearing itself apart. Its hull twisted under the chain of internal explosions, and bright flashes from the reactor illuminated the Jedi cruiser hovering above it. Hopefully they'd also received Elara's "gift" and wouldn't be able to pursue us.
The ancient shuttle drifted farther and farther away. I slumped into the cold metal seat, watching Elara expertly navigate through the anomalies, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to truly relax.
Oh yes… if the Jedi only knew what was stored in that archive. It wasn't enough to be a decisive trump card against Sidious — but it would certainly be enough to surprise him. And that alone made all of this worth it.