Site-Ω-7, Holding Cell 4-B – 07:38 Local Site Time
The aid crates had been delivered without incident. Two medical kits (standard Foundation issue: trauma gel, broad-spectrum antivenom, pain suppressants, basic surgical tools) and several ration packs now sat unopened on the metal bench beside Yoda. The clones outside had accepted their share through the same cautious handoff—no words beyond clipped acknowledgments, no lingering eye contact.
Inside the cell, the atmosphere had settled into something almost conversational—still guarded, still watched, but no longer balanced exclusively on the edge of violence.
Ahsoka knelt beside one of the medical crates, opening it with careful movements. She removed a small trauma scanner and turned it over in her hands, studying the unfamiliar interface.
"These are… advanced," she said, glancing toward the glass. "Better than Republic field medpacs in some ways. No bacta, though."
Dr. Voss's voice came through the speakers—calm, almost collegial now.
"Bacta?"
"A healing fluid," Ahsoka explained. "Accelerates tissue regeneration. We use it for everything from blaster burns to broken bones. Your gels look chemical—fast-acting, but probably not as comprehensive."
"Noted," Voss replied. "We'll add that to the list of things we'd like to understand better."
Yoda tapped his cane once against the floor—soft, deliberate.
"Questions you have. Answers we give—in measure. Trust builds slowly. Like roots in stone."
A small pause.
Voss took the opening.
"Then let's start simple. The energy field you call the Force. How does it interact with physical matter? We've seen telekinesis, precognition indicators, emotional influence. Is it measurable? Replicable with technology?"
Yoda considered the question for several seconds.
"Measurable… in its effects, yes. In its essence… no. The Force is not a power you wield. It is a living energy. It flows through all living things. It binds the galaxy together."
He lifted one small, clawed hand. Nothing dramatic—no flourish, no strain. A single ration bar from the open crate rose smoothly from the bench and floated toward him. It settled gently into his palm.
"Midichlorians," he continued, "tiny life forms inside cells. They speak the will of the Force. More midichlorians, stronger the connection. But connection alone is not understanding. Understanding comes from balance. From listening."
Ahsoka watched the ration bar with a faint, wistful smile.
"Anakin used to hate that explanation," she said quietly. "Said it sounded like mysticism dressed up as science."
Vader did not react outwardly. His helmet remained fixed forward, breathing cycle unchanged.
Voss pressed gently.
"And the darker applications? The lightning we've seen referenced in your… historical records? The choking? Is that the same energy, just… directed differently?"
Yoda's ears drooped slightly.
"The Force is one. Light and dark are not opposites. They are choices. The dark side is quicker. Easier. More seductive. But it consumes. The user becomes slave to passion, to fear, to anger."
A long silence followed.
Then Vader spoke—voice low, deliberate, carrying none of the mechanical flatness for once.
"The dark side is freedom," he said. "Freedom from weakness. From limitation. From the lies of restraint. The Jedi preach balance, yet they bind themselves with rules. Fear of power. Fear of emotion. Fear of loss."
He turned his helmet toward Yoda for the first time in nearly an hour.
"You taught me that fear leads to anger. Anger to hate. Hate to suffering. Yet you never taught what to do when suffering arrives anyway."
Yoda met the blank visor with steady eyes.
"Suffering comes to all. How we meet it… defines us."
Ahsoka looked between them—old master and fallen apprentice—her expression unreadable.
Outside the cell, in the observation post, the thaumatologist's tablet pinged softly.
"Hume readings just shifted again," he whispered to Voss. "Not violent. Symmetrical this time. Like… harmony. Or tension being acknowledged."
Voss nodded once.
"Let them talk."
**Rift Chamber Perimeter – 07:52**
The AT-TE remained motionless, a patient sentinel. Around its legs, clone troopers had begun small, practical routines: checking power cells, redistributing ration bars from the Foundation crates, tending to minor wounds with the supplied medkits. A few had removed helmets—human faces, tired but disciplined, visible under the rift's blue glow.
ARC-5597 stood apart, speaking quietly into his comm.
"General Kenobi, if you can hear this… we're holding. Supplies accepted. No engagement. Lord Vader and Commander Tano are secure. Situation… stable. Awaiting further guidance."
No reply came.
But on the other side of the rift, something shifted—a faint, metallic clank followed by the low hum of another walker powering up. Not advancing. Just preparing.
In the cell, Ahsoka closed the medical crate.
"We'll answer more questions," she said toward the glass. "But we need something too."
Voss's voice returned immediately.
"Name it."
"Access to your sensors. Real-time data on the rift. If we understand how it opened, maybe we can help close it—or at least keep it from tearing wider. We've seen dimensional breaches before. They don't usually end well."
A brief silence on the Foundation side.
Then:
"Stand by. We'll prepare a sanitized data feed. Limited scope. But shared."
Yoda inclined his head.
"A step," he murmured. "Small. But forward."
Vader said nothing.
But he did not contradict.
The rift's hum deepened fractionally—not a threat, not yet. Just a reminder that time was still passing, and the membrane between galaxies remained thin.
**End of Chapter 11**