The vista from the roof of the Kyzeron Royal Auction House was an appealing one – or as appealing as anything could be in a city that reeked of fear. Looking down over Kyzeron to the temporary outer wall and the killing field beyond – a cleared patch of land to protect the city's ever-changing border from roving jungle creatures – one could almost forget the agony and exhaustion pressed into the foundations of every stately building.

As usual, though, Darth Vader barely saw it. Situating himself this way merely gave his body something to do that wouldn't make his subordinates ask questions. Beneath his mask, beneath his suit, beneath his carefully measured breaths, he was too busy seething to focus on something as pedestrian as a view.

It had been three weeks since his arrival. Rigorous search protocols and the suffering of innocents should've drawn the instigator of the riot into the open – the same tactic had always worked well enough on Anakin Skywalker – but Vader's mystery Jedi refused to be found. He was starting to think they had fled the system altogether just after the incident.

That, or they'd chosen their friends very, very carefully, because it wasn't like his plans weren't having an effect; even after a short three weeks, the tension was mounting. He'd read dozens of Elite reports of hoaxed Jedi powers with holograms and antigrav tech, and desperate ambushes to ransom Imperial personnel for food stamps or credits. A few of the more insightful conspirators had even tried to banish Vader from the system entirely in exchange for the safe return of the officers.

A bold ploy, he had to admit, but a foolhardy one. It lacked incentive. In his mind, anyone short of the rank of general was easily replaced.

So where had the Jedi gone? Somehow they kept themself just beyond Vader's line of sight in the Force. His senses scraped at a bright, fluctuating barrier every time he meditated on his quarry, but he did not know if that was the product of a lengthening distance in time and space – or if it was somehow the Jedi's doing.

The more Vader turned it over in his mind, the more the auction house riot felt... improvised. But it didn't feel like a hit and run, either; it was still wholly possible the Jedi's silence meant they were gearing up for another assault. This first attack was the product of an emotional response, not a comprehensive battle plan; he was certain of little else, but that piece of the puzzle was solid and real to him.

There was much here that Vader didn't understand, and the Force refused to bow to his will and provide answers. Sith Lords were the epitome of the dark side's might, carefully selected so their teachings could only pass from one wise Master to one powerful student and keep the lineage strong. What did this failure make him, then, he who had once been called the Chosen One? An impotent apprentice who would be discarded before he could take his rightful place as Dark Lord of the Sith?

The Force became a storm around him, sucking passing breezes into the fray and leaving impressions of where they'd been. One thrashing current whispered of a familiar presence that was fast approaching, and as Zakhan Noreino walked up the last few steps to the roof of the auction house, Vader turned to meet him.

"Lord Vader, I would speak with you," Zakhan said once he was close enough. He crossed his arms resolutely behind him, but Vader could sense he was nervous.

Good. Vader could probably scare him into leaving quickly, then. Hate it as he did, dwelling on his frustration gave him strength, made the heat of the desert grow stronger in his bones. Perhaps if he mustered enough anger, at last he could stretch far enough to find a doorway through the barrier – or, if not, find a way to break it.

"I do not remember summoning you, Lord Imperator."

Zakhan was not intimidated by his brusqueness. "I have the right to travel freely within my own city, at least, Lord Vader, no matter what lockdown protocols you insist on hobbling us with."

Vader sensed the 'us' he spoke of didn't consist of the city's entire population. "The potential remains that a member of your precious nobility is aiding the Jedi."

"All the Houses that matter are loyal to me! It was only thanks to my standing in government the laws they now benefit from were passed in the first place."

"And you only achieved that standing through Separatist and Imperial backing – the same as Sanjay Rash," Vader shot back. "The Emperor found him to be an ineffective tool. His fall was engineered so that you could one day take his place."

Zakhan opened his mouth to retort and then shut it – a wise move. Taking advantage of his silence, Vader decided to cut to the chase. The sooner Zakhan had said his piece and Vader had shut him down, the sooner he would be alone again. "What did you feel was important enough bring to my attention?"

"We can't afford to keep the auction house closed for the investigation much longer," Zakhan said after a moment's hesitation. "I have powerful investors who need to see that this place is bringing in the necessary returns."

That smelled of politics. Thankfully, Zakhan also had a military background, the same as Vader. The advent of the Empire had given them both comprehensive lessons in intrigue, but they still spoke similar enough dialects for Vader to connect the dots between delivery and meaning. "Investors among the other Great Houses?"

"Not... entirely."

Vader wet his lips, thoughtful. It seemed Zakhan's friends weren't altogether satisfied with the privileges he had granted them thus far. Vader could relate to wanting more than he was given, but his Master always preached the value of understanding one's enemies as intimately as one's friends. Understanding Zakhan would make him easier to manipulate – and not only allow Vader to send more detailed reports back to his Master, but also to devote more time to finding the Jedi.

Perhaps Vader could find himself a mole in the nobility to keep an eye on Zakhan the way he'd found himself one at the garrison. Vader was blunt, and his man Rehin was timid, but subtler – useful traits in a lackey. Vader would have him make inquiries while he looked into Major General Acesto's affairs. He could always offer Rehin a promotion or something of the like in exchange for the added work.

"The auction house stays closed until we have answers. This remains an active crime scene. Or have you forgotten that, Prime?"

The slip was unintentional, but Zakhan had no way to know that. Fear spiked through him, and inexplicably it made him brave enough to take a hurried step closer to Vader instead of retreating back. "Don't speak that name here. There's no way to know who might be listening!"

Vader frowned. The Emperor wouldn't like this. "Have you made anyone beyond your inner circle aware of Project Archetype?"

"No, but my son..."

"What of him? You weren't to involve him until he had been sufficiently sculpted for his role in the next phase of the project."

"He has a tendency to meddle in things that don't concern him. I discourage him as best I can, but I can never be certain how much he knows of my affairs."

Like father, like son, Vader thought, rolling his eyes in the privacy of his mask. "You've already been informed of the contingencies available to you. You have other children." Before Zakhan could interject with the obvious retort to that argument, he continued, "And the auction house will stay closed until the Emperor has answers, or you and your 'investors' will feel the full wrath of the Imperial–"

Vader's helmet comm – a system built obnoxiously close to his right temple – began to beep. He made a mental note to disable it again as soon as he got the chance, but for now, he had to answer the call. Only one person had its code, and Vader could not afford to try his patience with tardy replies.

"The Emperor wishes to make contact with me. You will leave."

"Perhaps I could also speak with–"

"You," Vader said, lifting a hand and putting just the slightest pressure around Zakhan's throat, "will leave. Now."

Vader let him go, and Zakhan scrambled away without looking back.

Once Zakhan was far enough down the stairs that he wouldn't overhear any of what transpired, Vader redirected the call to his external system and answered it. Darth Tyranus appeared a second later, projected by Vader's wrist comm to take the form of a tall man standing on the roof before him.

Vader swept his cape aside and dropped to one knee. The tough exoskeleton of his suit made the gesture disconcertingly clumsy. "What is your bidding, my Master?" he asked solemnly, hoping to scrape his dignity back together.

"Lord Vader, I wish to hear your report on your progress."

"I spoke to you a week ago about the lack of resources at my disposal here," Vader began. "The Elites are stretched thin, and political factions are vying for–"

"I asked for your report, apprentice. Not your paltry excuses."

Vader winced and bowed lower. Apparently his Master wasn't interested in the broader details of his report today – only bare facts. "Forgive me."

He waited for leave to speak, projecting as much subservience into the Force as he dared without stooping to Rehin's level. (He was still entitled to some pride, after all.) Dooku motioned vaguely with his hand, and Vader continued.

"The Jedi continues to elude us. I've had Prime make every effort to push the local populace into giving the instigator up, to notable effect," he said. "My Elites have received word of several hoaxes to lure our forces out of Kyzeron. A handful of individuals have even handed themselves in, calling themselves the Jedi, but none had any sensitivity to the Force to speak of. At this point, I believe the Jedi has either left the system, or they are impervious to the suffering of the people."

Tyranus' frown deepened, and he fixated Vader for a long moment before speaking. "Your lack of progress is most disappointing. Do you expect me to reward such failure with the grace of my teachings, Lord Vader?"

Vader felt a flash of fear, and fought to tamp it back down again. He knew just how valuable he was to his Master, but if he lost the power he had been given... The dark side filled a cavernous void in his heart, made him whole. With every secret technique he learned and every new chance he was given to let his anger loose, he felt less like the person he was trying to leave behind.

That person had wounds deeper than any lightsaber could ever pierce. That person had baggage that had threatened to drag him to depths no one could ever return from. He couldn't lose his lifeline to everything that allowed him to function – even if in the back of his mind, he still associated the one proffering it to him with a long-hated enemy.

"No, my Master," he said, resigning himself to groveling fully before Tyranus out of desperation. "I'll do better. I promise."

"See that you do. You are not my only source of information in the Japrael system, Lord Vader. My other informants' findings align with yours, and though I cannot pinpoint the Jedi's motive, I sense they will not act in such a fashion again.

"It is a shame, apprentice," Tyranus went on, his tone almost conversational. "A powerful Jedi unstable and impulsive enough to be turned would have been a valuable addition to our forces. But we are not without patience, you and I. Until they reappear, I am sending you to deal with a more critical threat. Your Elites will stay behind to ensure your protocols are respected."

Vader breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Never before had he wandered so close to the knife's edge of total failure, but now he was forgiven. He would keep his power and his Master's favor, and all would be well.

"It will be done, Master," he said, remembering his manners.

"Now, to business. I am sending you to the Geonosis system."

"Poggle the Lesser's stronghold?" Vader asked, surprised. "It's one of the Empire's most critical manufacturing plants. I know there have been some... issues recently with workers' rights movements, but last I heard they had been dealt with."

"The planet itself is securely in hand. What concerns me is a recent addition to the balance of power in orbit: Project Stardust."

Instantly Vader was on alert. Project Stardust wasn't something he knew much about, save that it had been founded by Tyranus' old Master Darth Sidious, but he did know it was under the jurisdiction of Agent Kallus. And Vader hated Kallus.

Vader checked his hatred with cold facts before it could grow hot enough to draw his Master's attention. Kallus was a simpering fool with only a modicum more backbone than Rehin, but Vader had to acknowledge the Emperor had trained him to be a highly capable intelligence officer. He was useful, and difficult to replace.

If Vader was the Empire's fist, Kallus was its eyes and ears. Fists sometimes worked on reflex before logical thought had a chance to temper them, doing things the eyes and ears, too closely interlinked with the brain, did not approve of. As such, Vader was generally kept away from operations as delicate as Project Stardust.

That probably meant Vader's task was to become a physical reminder of his Master's retribution, frightening Imperial officers into submission with his presence alone rather than outright discipline. Stars, he hoped Kallus would be one of them.

Tyranus flattened a fold in his cape, an elegant brown piece similar to the ones he'd worn during the war, and spoke with deceptive lightness. "Your abilities as a mechanic and slicer have not escaped my notice. You are to work alongside Agent Kallus to find the source of a series of unexplained coded transmissions. He has reason to believe the Rebellion has an agent among the station's personnel."

Vader nearly recoiled at the smile on Tyranus' lips. He knew Vader hated Kallus. He knew no official demotion could be clearer than forcing Vader to work with him. This was a punishment, a battle of wills, and Vader was going to lose.

The sandstorm in Vader's soul swirled, and he gritted his teeth, pushing past the desert in search of the right storm. He couldn't see feel any trace of it through the thick beige inferno of grit and dust.

Depur, his conscience spat, and Vader was powerless to silence it. He is depur, the cruel slave master who bewitches the slave into doing his bidding. He strips away your power until you know no other way of living. Remember who you are, child of–

The edges of Vader's vision – mental and physical both – went red. The dark side flowed into him, cutting through the desert storm with the undeniable passion of a lava flow. Tyranus' smile grew, and a sliver of frigid realization mingled with his rage. His Master was toying with him.

"I will find this infiltrator and kill them myself," Vader gritted out.

"Good," his Master said, satisfied. "Leave as soon as the necessary farewells can be given to the Lord Imperator; I will send you the coordinates and necessary clearance codes once you're en route. I made Noreino, and he is my creature, but his continued support is a critical piece in the future of the galaxy."

"As you wish, my Master." In the space between one eye-blink and the next, the hologram before him had dissipated into empty photons.

Vader rose creakily to his feet, and made a note to oil the knee joints of the suit's exoskeleton later. Still, as bothersome as it was, the soft glimpse of mundanity calmed him. Looking out over the city again, the buildings and slums became a backdrop for his thoughts, one structure or another coming into focus briefly as he put the situation together in his mind.

Noreino House. The Emperor's will was like the shimmering blue iron the Onderonian mines were so proud of, and Vader could no sooner expect one to break than the other. The slums. But Vader also knew he couldn't curse his Master as his depur when he was not a slave. The garrison. He hadn't devoted himself to the Emperor's teachings of his own choosing, but he didn't wish it had happened differently, either. He'd needed something to fill the void, and to protect...

Vader shook himself. He couldn't afford to think of such things anymore.

The old grandmothers and keepers of wisdom on Tatooine had always told Anakin Skywalker that what was sacred was kept secret, and thus what was secret was sacred. Perhaps there was still some value to the old teachings. After all, his shields were strong enough to keep out the Elites, but his Master's reach was great.

He never knew who else might be listening in on his private thoughts, and no one could know the truth of why he'd really turned – especially not the Emperor.

Vader whirled, cloak flapping behind him, and crossed the roof to descend into the auction house. The Force stopped him seconds before he struck someone coming up the steps to meet him: a young woman with a heart-shaped face mottled by pink splotches. If the sharpness in her eyes was anything to go by, the innocent aura her soft facial features cultivated was far from the truth.

"Forgive my intrusion, Lord Vader," she said, dropping into a deep bow. "I am Lady Noronessa Taevarion. I've been meaning to speak with you for some time."

At his Master's behest, Darth Vader has set his sights on new (and hopefully more successful) horizons: Project Stardust. But first, he must confront one final surprise the planet Onderon has to offer him. What does Lady Noronessa want from Vader, and what will it mean for Ahsoka and Lux? Even more importantly, why exactly did Vader turn? And why does the past keep coming back to him so strongly? Only time will tell...

Despite that, writing Zakhan and Vader is a delight. Zakhan is one of the major antagonists in the story who's actually present enough to do some damage, but for all his posturing and efforts to demean Lux, if I may quote another another prequel movie,

The two are parallel, though, as far as I'm concerned. Both are military men who turned to politics to adapt to a changing galaxy after losing a wife who worked in the same field, and though they've advanced significantly, they still struggle with wrapping their heads around some intrigues. In another universe, they might've been allies. But here... well, in an effort to bury the person he once was, Vader's developed a superiority complex light years wide.

Wonder if he's compensating for something...

I'd like to give another BIG shoutout to Fialleril on AO3 and Tumblr for their amazing Tatooine slave culture narratives! The word 'depur', meaning master or owner, is taken directly from there.

I also have a bit of unfortunate news: I'm going to skip next week's update and only post again on Nov 25th. I've recently been initiated into Brandon Sanderson's The Stormlight Archive (which I highly recommend), and the next 1200-page installment is coming next Tuesday. I know myself – I'll be too distracted to do much writing or pre-posting editing while I'm wrapped up in new content from a whole other universe. 

But, to make up for it, have a sneak peak of the next chapter (edited for major spoilers) where we'll see the outcome of Ahsoka's comm call last chapter!

"Commander, I hate to speak so coldly, but we really must order our goals so we're putting the most urgent matters first! Onderon may have a democratically elected king, but what I've heard about Zakhan Noreino's ambitions to rule isn't good. If the planet falls to a totalitarian regime, it may be a lost cause."

"I can't believe that's true," Ahsoka fired back hotly. "Sir, you're mistaken."

"Commander," Spike growled, indignant enough to break back into the conversation, "I must remind you that you are speaking to your commanding officer, and someone who deserves the proper respect."

"Last I heard," Ahsoka growled back, "the Jedi had been declared enemies of the state, and the Grand Army of the Republic disbanded. Any ties linking the Order to the Senate were rendered null and void under the new Imperial constitution. I challenge you to find me anyone who'll openly put Republic law before an Imperial mandate these days."

Spike's eyes widened. "Commander, I only meant–"

Ahsoka wasn't done. "The Jedi serve the Rebellion out of loyalty and hope for a better future, not under oath – just like any other recruit. Invaluable though our experience may be, I demand we be treated the same way. I won't blindly serve another master just because everyone else expects me to do it!"

Talk to you guys in two weeks!