Site-Ω-7, Rift Chamber Approach Corridor – 05:48 Local Site Time
The corridor leading to Sublevel 4's primary containment vault smelled of scorched plasteel and ionized air. Emergency strips along the floor cast long, bloody shadows. MTF Bravo-4 held a loose semicircle fifty meters from the rift chamber doors—kneeling behind portable ballistic shields, rifles trained on the widening blue tear at the far end.
Through the gap, shapes moved: white-armored troopers forming defensive lines, taking cover behind crates and structural supports that had materialized with them. A few lay motionless—Foundation tranq darts protruding from armor gaps. Others gestured sharply, voices muffled but urgent over unknown comms.
Closer to the rift itself stood a single clone trooper—CT-5597, though no one here knew his designation. Helmet tilted slightly, as though still listening to the whisper Yoda had sent through the Force. His DC-15 blaster hung low at his side. Around him, his squad hesitated, glancing between their brother and the black-clad Foundation operators thirty meters away.
No one fired.
Captain Mira Voss advanced slowly down the corridor with a four-man element from Alpha team—Null Field emitter still active, reality anchors clipped to belts. She stopped at the edge of the last intersection, raising one hand in a clear hold signal to both sides.
"This is MTF Nu-7 Actual," she transmitted on open channel—Foundation encrypted, but boosted enough that the clones' comms might pick it up if they were scanning. "We are holding fire. Your personnel have ceased aggressive movement following an anomalous pacification signal. We request parley. One representative forward. Unarmed. No sudden moves."
Silence answered first—only the low, oscillating hum from the rift.
Then the clone trooper—5597—took one careful step forward. His free hand rose palm-out in a universal gesture.
"Jedi sent the message," he said, voice filtered and steady through the helmet vocoder. "General Yoda. Said to stand down. Said this isn't a Sep droid factory. Said… we're not where we're supposed to be."
Mira Voss lowered her weapon completely—still within easy draw, but symbolic.
"That's correct. You're in a secure research facility. Different reality. Different rules. We're trying to understand how this happened and how to send you back without more casualties."
The clone glanced back at his squad. Several helmets nodded fractionally.
"Orders are to protect the Jedi," he replied. "If the Generals are contained… we need confirmation they're unharmed."
"Understood," Voss said. "We can arrange visual confirmation. Supervised. Limited personnel. In exchange, your forces hold position and allow our teams to approach the rift without resistance."
Another pause.
5597 keyed his helmet comm—quiet, private exchange with someone out of sight.
After ten seconds he nodded once.
"Agreed. But if this is a trick—"
"It isn't," Voss cut in. "We lose people too. Neither side wants that."
**Holding Cell 4-B – 05:55**
Inside the cell, the atmosphere had shifted—still taut, but no longer on the immediate edge of violence.
Ahsoka stood closer to the door now, eyes on the corridor feed relayed to a small monitor the Foundation had reluctantly provided. Yoda sat again, but his posture was alert, ears forward.
Vader had not moved from his position near the threshold. His mechanical breathing filled the quiet intervals like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
Dr. Elena Voss's voice came through the speakers—calmer now, threaded with cautious optimism.
"We've established limited communication with your clone troopers. They're standing down pending visual confirmation of your safety. We're preparing a secure feed to one of their comm units. You'll be able to speak directly—short range, monitored. Any attempt to transmit coordinates, tactical data, or Force-based influence beyond pacification will terminate the link immediately."
Ahsoka nodded once.
"Thank you."
Yoda's gaze drifted toward Vader.
"Speak you will, to them?"
Vader's helmet turned fractionally toward the small Jedi Master.
"They are tools," he said flatly. "Useful only so long as they serve purpose."
Ahsoka's jaw tightened.
"They're people, Anakin."
The name hung in the air—sharp, deliberate.
Vader did not respond. But the lights in the cell dimmed for half a second, then steadied—as though the facility itself flinched.
**Rift Chamber Perimeter – 06:02**
A portable holo-projector—Foundation issue, hastily re-tuned—was set up on a tripod midway between the two lines. One of the clone troopers approached under raised weapons from both sides, carrying a matching Republic field projector. They met at the center, placed the devices back-to-back, and retreated.
The projectors synced after a tense thirty seconds.
A small, flickering blue image appeared above each unit: live feed from Holding Cell 4-B.
Yoda appeared first—small, seated, calm.
Then Ahsoka stepped into frame beside him.
"CT-5597," she said clearly. "This is Ahsoka Tano. General Yoda is with me. We're unharmed. The people here… they're not the enemy. Not yet. Hold position. Do not engage unless directly attacked. We're working on a way back."
The clone trooper saluted instinctively.
"Yes, Commander. Holding. But… where's the General—Skywalker?"
A long beat.
A black-gloved hand entered the frame from the side—slow, deliberate. The camera adjusted.
Vader's helmet filled the holo for a moment, then pulled back so his full figure was visible.
"I am here," he said. Voice cold. Final. "Obey Commander Tano. Stand ready."
The clone straightened.
"Understood… Lord Vader."
The feed cut—mutual agreement, short transmission.
In the corridor, both sides exhaled—metaphorically, at least.
The rift groaned again—deeper, resonant. A new silhouette began to resolve on the other side: taller, angular, unmistakably mechanical. A walker's leg tested the threshold, metal grinding against concrete as it began to push through.
AT-TE. Or something very like it.
The fragile bridge held.
But the weight on it was growing heavier.
**End of Chapter 7**