Site-Ω-7, Holding Cell 4-B – 06:45 Local Site Time
The cell lights had been dimmed slightly at Yoda's quiet request—nothing dramatic, just enough to ease the clinical glare that made every shadow feel like an accusation. The monitor showing the rift chamber perimeter remained active, now split into three feeds: one on the stationary AT-TE, one on the clone troopers maintaining disciplined watch, and a third cycling through corridor cameras where small teams of Foundation personnel and clone squads stood in uneasy parallel lines, weapons lowered but never holstered.
Inside the cell, the three figures had arranged themselves in an unspoken triangle.
Ahsoka sat cross-legged on the floor near the center, facing the one-way glass as though addressing an invisible council. Yoda remained on the bench, small frame almost swallowed by the metal, eyes half-lidded in what might have been meditation or simple weariness. Vader stood apart—closer to the door than before—back straight, cape motionless despite the faint air circulation.
For several long minutes no one spoke.
Then Ahsoka broke the quiet, voice low enough that the pickup mics had to strain to catch it.
"Echo called you General Skywalker," she said. Not a question. A statement laid carefully between them like a live wire.
Vader did not turn.
"The clones remember what they were programmed to remember," he replied. Flat. Mechanical. "Names are designations. Nothing more."
Ahsoka's lekku shifted—slow, deliberate tension.
"They remember because they fought beside him. Beside you. They don't forget faces or voices just because someone changed the armor."
Silence returned, heavier now.
Yoda opened his eyes fully.
"Echoes linger," he murmured. "Even when we try to silence them. The Force… does not forget."
Vader's gloved fingers flexed once—almost imperceptibly.
"The Force is a tool," he said. "Nothing more. It serves. Or it is discarded."
Ahsoka looked up at him then—really looked.
"Is that what you tell yourself every time you hear that name?" she asked quietly. "That it was discarded?"
The mechanical breathing hitched—just once. A tiny irregularity the microphones caught and the observation post analysts would later flag in red.
Vader turned his helmet toward her slowly.
"You presume much, Tano."
"I know you," she answered simply. "I've always known you."
Another tremor rolled through the facility—gentler than before, but accompanied by a new sound: the low whine of repulsorlifts spooling up on the other side of the rift. More vehicles preparing. More weight pressing against an already straining membrane between worlds.
**Observation Post – Adjacent Corridor**
Dr. Elena Voss watched the cell feed with the sound muted. Beside her, the thaumatologist pointed at a secondary graph.
"Hume differential inside the cell is… dancing," he said. "Not spiking violently—just rippling. Every time the armored one speaks, the curve bends. When the small one interjects, it flattens. The Togruta… she's the variable. Emotional resonance seems to pull harder than either of the others."
Voss nodded without looking away from the screen.
"They're talking to each other," she murmured. "Not us. Not yet."
Director Harlan stepped up behind them, arms folded.
"Rift expansion rate has slowed—marginally. The clones are holding discipline. But we've got sensor ghosts now: multiple small craft signatures phasing in and out on their side. Gunships, probably. If they decide to push through en masse…"
"We lose the site," Voss finished. "And possibly more than that."
She glanced at the red phone on the console—the direct line to O5-7.
"We need more time," she said. "Real dialogue. Not just posturing."
Harlan's jaw tightened.
"O5 wants containment metrics. Not therapy sessions."
"They're not containing an object," Voss replied. "They're containing three people who happen to be walking geopolitical landmines. If we treat them like SCP objects instead of sentient beings with their own chain of command, this truce collapses in the next ten minutes."
Harlan studied her for a long moment.
"You want permission to open a direct audio-visual link. No filters. No kill-switch on the conversation."
"I want to let them talk—really talk. With oversight. If we keep interrupting, we keep escalating."
He exhaled through his nose.
"I'll make the request. But if this goes sideways, it's your name on the incident report."
Voss gave a small, tired nod.
"It already is."
**Holding Cell 4-B – 06:58**
The cell speakers clicked—different tone this time. Clearer. Less clinical.
"This is Dr. Voss," the voice came through. "We're adjusting protocol. The audio-visual feed to your forces will remain open for the next twenty minutes. You may speak freely—within reason. We will monitor. But we will not interrupt unless safety thresholds are breached. Consider this… a gesture of good faith."
Ahsoka looked toward the glass.
"Thank you," she said. Then, softer: "Echo? You still there?"
The monitor flickered. The ARC trooper's helmet filled the frame again.
"Here, Commander."
Ahsoka offered a small, genuine smile—the first since they'd arrived.
"Tell the men to breathe. We're okay. We're talking. No one's shooting anyone… yet."
"Copy that." A pause. "Lord Vader, sir?"
Vader stepped closer to the camera pickup.
"Maintain current posture," he ordered. "No advances. No retreats. Protect the position until further notice."
"Yes, my lord."
The feed pulled back slightly—showing more clones relaxing fractionally, shoulders dropping, blasters dipping another inch.
In the cell, Yoda spoke next—voice gentle, directed at no one and everyone.
"Names… heavy they are. But necessary. To carry them, or to lay them down… choice it remains."
Vader did not answer.
But he did not move away from the monitor either.
Outside, through the rift, the whine of repulsorlifts steadied—not powering down, but holding. Waiting.
The bridge between worlds had acquired another layer of tension—not violence, not yet, but something older, deeper, more personal.
Names.
And the people who once carried them.
**End of Chapter 9**