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“Let’s start with the citadel,” Luke said, and strode across the hard-baked sand toward it. Ben supposed he preferred a place that was intended for the living to dwell rather than a place for the dead, but truth be told, it was all unpleasant.

The complex, an ancient cloister, was encased by a high stone wall. The domes of the towers within were visible over the enclosure. The wall had seen better days. Once, it had been covered in blue tiles, a sort of mosaic. The few tiles that remained depicted unsettling images—fangs, eyes, claws.

Detritus that looked to be decades old was propped up beside the wall, and these pieces of odds and ends—depleted power core casings, portable deflector shields—had also seen better days. All of it was covered in a thick layer of sand, and none of it looked like it had been touched for years.

“I usually don’t think of the Sith as being messy,” Ben said.

“Our homes are meticulous,” said Vestara absently, frowning in concentration. She reached out a foot and nudged a rusted piece of something that once might have come out a landspeeder. A forty-year-old landspeeder.

“It certainly doesn’t look like anyone has been here for a while,” Luke said. “But looks can be deceiving.”

He followed the wall down to the gate, a four-meter slab of durasteel. This, too, showed red flakes of corrosion.

“What are we going to do, ring the doorbell?” Jaina asked.

“Let ourselves in,” Luke said. He lifted his hands slightly and concentrated; the others imitated him. At first the massive door resisted, then slowly, centimeter by centimeter, it began to rise.

Ben felt sweat bead on his forehead, and his muscles were quivering with the mental strain. Even Luke’s brow was deeply furrowed. They were able to lift the door only about six centimeters before it dropped down again with a definitive thud on the hard sand.

Ben dragged a hand over his forehead. “That shouldn’t have been that hard,” he said.

“No,” Luke said. “It’s been altered somehow. Perhaps in its creation the Sith used some of their alchemies. It can resist Force manipulation.”

“What about a good old-fashioned lightsaber?” suggested Jaina. “Durasteel is durasteel, isn’t it?”

Luke chuckled. Ben stared at him. Here in this forsaken, and—Ben had to be realistic—evil world, his father had chuckled.

“Let’s give it a shot,” Luke said.

All of them reactivated their lightsabers and began working together to cut a square hole, each taking one line. To Ben’s surprise, though it was slow going, it worked. Sometimes, it would seem, the more pragmatic solution was the simplest.

They put their shoulders to the square and pushed. Groaning in protest, it eventually, sullenly yielded, and there was a loud, echoing bang as it fell inward.

“And that’s definitely rung the doorbell,” Jaina murmured.

They moved inside quickly, their lightsabers providing more than enough illumination. Ben extended his senses, but found nothing more sinister than vermin lurking inside. They moved slowly through an archway; a few cautious steps forward brought them into a central courtyard. Balconies glowered down at them, and doorways, any doors long since gone, seemed like empty staring eyes. The sand beneath their feet had changed to black cobblestones. Their backs to one another, their lightsabers at the ready, they slowly looked around. It didn’t take much imagination to envision the balconies filled with dark-cloaked, hooded figures, or the yawning doorways opening onto terrors within.

But the reek of the dark side was old here. Not ancient, but certainly not fresh.

“There’s no one here,” Jaina said. The echoing effect of this place distorted her voice.

Vestara slowly nodded agreement. “It’s deserted.”

But could they really be sure? Ben wondered. “Do … should we search it?” This was a large place. Searching would take hours. And every minute they lingered here, the dark side had a chance to work its will upon them.

Luke focused a little longer, then shook his head. “No. We walked right