The toxic winds of Cyrkon howled beyond the protective dome as two hooded figures moved through the capital city of Motok. Master Dooku and his Padawan, Khan Kage, walked in silence while neon lights flickered against the hazy smog hanging over the streets.
"Master," Khan asked quietly, "do you believe the pirates I encountered with Master Yoda will be here?"
"Indeed, Khan," Dooku replied, his voice calm beneath the hood. "This world lies under Hutt influence. Criminals of all kinds gather here, far from the eyes—and reach—of the Republic."
That answer stirred unease in Khan's mind.
Why are these criminals allowed to thrive? Does the Republic simply not care as long as its core worlds remain untouched?
Questions pressed at him, but he had no time to dwell.
They arrived at a dingy cantina wedged between rusted metal structures.
"Let us enter," Dooku said softly. "But tread carefully. These are not friendly folk."
"Yes, Master," Khan replied.
Inside, the cantina was a mess of noise—drunken shouting, raucous laughter, clattering glasses. The air was thick with the smell of old spice and spilled liquor. Dooku made his way to the counter, Khan following close behind.
The bartender sauntered over, wiping his hands on a grimy towel. "What's it gonna be?"
"I'll take a Koli Cooler. Non-alcoholic," Dooku said. "And blue milk for the boy."
The bartender grunted, took the order, and turned away.
Khan glanced at Dooku. "Master… how do we plan to find the information we're looking for?"
"Patience, my apprentice," Dooku murmured. "If we draw attention to ourselves, we risk alerting the very pirates we seek."
The bartender returned, setting their drinks down. Dooku placed a few credits on the counter.
"Tell me," Dooku said in a low tone, "have you heard of anyone moving large quantities of spice recently?"
The bartender eyed the credits, then pocketed them. "Lot of whispers. A new group's been selling spice in bulk these past few weeks—to some big players on this rock. If you want details, head to Staryl. That place has the nastiest scum on the planet."
Dooku finished his drink with a polite nod. "You've been most helpful."
He rose from his seat and headed for the door. Khan downed the last of his blue milk and hurried after him.
Dooku and Khan left the cantina behind, stepping once more into the dim, grimy streets of Motok. The artificial lights overhead flickered in long, sickly rows, casting dull reflections across the veils of smog swirling under the dome. Even with the toxic atmosphere locked outside, the air inside the city felt heavy—polluted in more ways than one.
Khan's eyes moved constantly, observing the hurried steps of civilians and the hardened stares of criminals who prowled the alleys like they owned them. Spice runners, hired thugs, black-market traders… Motok felt less like a city and more like a marketplace for everything the Republic pretended didn't exist.
"Master," Khan said quietly as they walked, "this planet feels wrong. Like the people here have been abandoned."
Dooku kept his hood low, his voice calm but edged with a truth he'd carried for years. "Many worlds beyond the Core suffer the same neglect, my apprentice. The Republic spreads its influence thin—too thin. The Hutts thrive where the Senate fails to reach."
Khan frowned beneath his hood. "Then why does the Republic allow it?"
"A question the Senate has avoided answering for generations," Dooku replied. "But it is not the focus of our mission."
Two burly thugs passed them, openly trading a crate of spice for a handful of credit chips. No one intervened. No one even cared. The transaction blended seamlessly into the rhythm of cynicism that defined Motok.
Khan's jaw tightened. How does the Republic let this rot continue?
Dooku sensed the rising frustration. "Remember: compassion is a strength, but unchecked emotion can cloud the path before you. We must investigate, not attempt to cleanse an entire world."
Khan took a slow breath. "Understood, Master."
They continued down the cracked walkway until it opened into Motok's vast transit terminal built against the inside of the city's dome. Through the transparent barrier, the violent wasteland of Cyrkon raged—emerald and yellow clouds whipping across the dead horizon. The dome vibrated faintly, as if the world outside constantly tried to claw its way in.
Dooku paused as he looked out across it. "Staryl lies beyond Motok's jurisdiction. It is deeper in Hutt territory, and its criminal networks are… entrenched. If our suspects are selling spice in bulk, they will likely be protected."
Khan nodded, though an uneasy chill settled in his chest. "I'm ready, Master."
"Readiness," Dooku said, giving him a brief, appraising look, "is measured not by confidence, but by clarity. Keep your senses keen. In Staryl, even Jedi must walk in shadow."
They reached their ship—a modest, nondescript transport built to blend in. The loading ramp descended with a hiss, and the lights inside flickered on as the engines began to warm.
Khan paused at the foot of the ramp, taking one last look at Motok. The neon lights buzzing through smog… the unchecked criminal deal happening twenty meters away… a city rotting under Hutt influence with no end in sight.
If the pirates were hiding somewhere worse than this, then the threat they faced was larger than he imagined.
Dooku stood at the top of the ramp and turned back. "Come, my apprentice. The path ahead grows darker. Let us hope we find what we seek before the darkness finds us."
Khan ascended the ramp, and the ship sealed shut behind them as the engines roared to life.
Their investigation was only just beginning.
The city of Staryl appeared even before the ship's landing struts touched the ground—its skyline jagged and broken, like the shattered teeth of some gargantuan beast. Once Khan and Dooku stepped onto the landing platform, any lingering hope that the reports were exaggerated vanished.
Rubble littered the streets. Rusted speeders lay abandoned in gutters. Every alley seemed to breathe menace. And threaded through it all was the sharp, unpredictable crack of blaster fire echoing from somewhere deeper in the city.
Khan pulled his hood down lower as he followed his master onto the main road. The smell of oil, rot, and chemicals stung his nose. Shady figures watched from doorways, their expressions cold, predatory.
Two gangsters stood in the middle of the street, shouting in a harsh tongue Khan didn't recognize. Before he could even process what they were arguing about, one of them drew a blaster and fired point-blank.
The other crumpled instantly.
No screams. No panic. The onlookers barely glanced up before continuing about their business. A vendor even stepped around the body to reopen his stand.
Disgust twisted in Khan's chest. "How could such a place be allowed to exist?" he muttered, unable to keep the anger from his voice.
Dooku's expression did not change. "Do not draw unwanted attention to yourself, Khan. Observe. Learn. But do not reveal who we are."
Khan clenched his jaw but nodded. They moved deeper into Staryl.
If Motok felt corrupt, Staryl felt diseased. Crime wasn't hidden here—it was celebrated. Spice dealers haggled openly with customers. Slavers displayed their captives in cages as if they were livestock. Children, barely old enough to walk, scurried through crowds acting as lookouts or pickpockets. The air felt thick—not just with the pollution from outside the dome, but with something darker. Something that pressed against Khan's senses like an invisible weight.
Every step drove home a painful realization:
This was not the galaxy Khan thought he knew.
"We must focus," Dooku murmured as they walked, his voice low. "The pirate group selling spice in bulk is operating somewhere in this city. If the information we need exists, it will be found here."
Khan nodded, though his gaze lingered on a group of slaves chained behind a merchant stall. Their hollow eyes followed him, desperate and resigned all at once.
He forced himself to look away.
Staryl was a wound on the galaxy—one left open and festering by those sworn to protect it.
And as Khan followed his master deeper into the city, he felt the darkness of this place closing in around them… thick enough to taste.
A small boy brushed past Dooku's robes and darted away before Khan could fully register the movement. The young pickpocket had the look of someone bred on these streets—too quick, too hungry. Khan's hand went to his belt, but he stayed still when he realized what had happened: Dooku's credits were gone.
"Khan," Dooku said softly, without breaking his stride. "Worry not. Follow me."
Khan's brow furrowed. "Master, are you just going to let him take your credits?"
Dooku didn't hurry. He moved through the alleyways with the practiced calm of someone who knew how to read the city like a map. The Force pulled at him subtly—small impressions, the tug of a scent on the wind, the sound of hurried footsteps around the corner. Khan watched, puzzled, as his master followed the invisible thread.
They turned down a narrow passage, and there—half-crouched behind a rusted crate—was the boy. He had ripped open the stolen pouch and was dumping its contents onto the ground, disappointment clouding his face.
"What are these?" the boy muttered aloud, holding up credits. "This isn't real money."
Dooku stepped into the light. Calm and almost gentle, he extended a hand. With the slightest, almost imperceptible motion, he used the Force to tug the credits back into his palm. The coins slid from the boy's fingers as if lifted by a breeze.
"These are Republic credits," Dooku said, voice soft but clear. "They will do you no good here."
The boy started, eyes wide, and instinctively raised his hands. Dooku raised his own hand in a placating gesture. "Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm. I only wish to ask you a few questions."
The boy kept a wary posture but lowered his guard a fraction. "What do you want to know?"
Dooku's gaze was steady, patient. "Have you seen anything—unusual perhaps shipments, new faces, a lot of activity around a warehouse? Locals tend to notice things."
The boy chewed his lip and shuffled his feet. "There've been strange trucks at night. Big crates. Men with tattoos I don't recognize. But I don't tell for free."
Dooku allowed himself the shadow of a smile. He reached into his cloak and produced a small tranche of coin stamped with a Hutt sigil—a currency that would be immediately useful here. "Republic credits mean little on this world. If your information proves true, this will be yours."
The boy's eyes lit at the sight. He glanced from the coin to Dooku, then back again, and for the first time the hardness in his face softened. "Alright," he whispered. "I'll tell you what I know. "… about two months ago, everything changed. The gangs that ran this city got wiped out. Then new faces started showing up—dangerous types. They took over everything. Things have been quiet since, but every week, they get shipments of something… big. I don't know what it is, but it's a lot."
Dooku considered this carefully. "Do you know if their leaders are also here?"
The boy frowned, thinking. "Can't say for sure. But when they first came, there was this hooded guy helping them. Didn't see his face, but… he killed the gang bosses with some kind of light stick thing."
Khan's eyes widened slightly. "A lightsaber."
The boy blinked. "A what?"
"It's a weapon that cuts through almost anything," Khan explained evenly.
Dooku exchanged a grave look with his Padawan. "If that is true," he said slowly, "then this matter may be far greater than we anticipated."
He turned back to the boy. "Do you know where these warehouses are located?"
"Yeah," the boy replied. "I can take you there—if you've got more coin."
Dooku chuckled quietly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "Very well. Republic credits may be useless to you, but I happen to carry Hutt currency as well. If your information proves valuable, it shall be yours."
The boy's eyes lit up with greed. "Deal."
He gestured for them to follow and led the Jedi deeper into the city's underbelly. The further they went, the dimmer the lights became. Steam hissed from cracked vents, and the air grew heavier with the scent of oil and metal. Khan could feel the tension rising with every step.
"Master," he murmured, "do you think he's telling the truth?"
"I believe he's telling what he knows," Dooku replied. "Whether he understands the full scope of it… that remains to be seen."
After weaving through several narrow passages, the boy stopped outside a small, abandoned market stall. "Wait here," he said before disappearing inside.
Khan crossed his arms, watching him go. "You think he's running off?"
Dooku shook his head slightly. "No. The boy values his life more than his profit. He will return."
A few moments later, the boy emerged carrying a small satchel, coins jingling inside. "Alright," he said. "I'll take you there. But stay quiet—if those guys spot strangers near their place, you'll both end up dead."
"Lead on," Dooku said.
They followed him through a maze of old service tunnels and cracked streets until the glow of city lights faded behind them. The hum of engines and machinery grew louder as they neared the docks.
Finally, the boy stopped behind a broken wall overlooking a long stretch of warehouses. From their hiding spot, they could see armed men patrolling the perimeter and droids hauling heavy crates under floodlights. A large transport sat on a landing pad, its engines humming as it prepared for departure.
Khan crouched beside his master, studying the scene. "They're moving something big. That must be the shipment he mentioned."
"Indeed," Dooku murmured. "These men are disciplined. Organized. This is no simple gang—they have leadership, funding, and purpose."
The boy tugged at Dooku's sleeve. "That's the place. The big one with the guards out front. I don't go closer than this."
Dooku nodded and reached into his cloak, handing him a small chip. "You've done well, young one. This is for your trouble—and for your silence."
The boy grinned, his eyes wide. "You got it, old man. I didn't see nothing." Then, with a wave, he vanished back into the night.
Khan watched him disappear into the maze of streets. "What now, Master?"
Dooku's expression turned thoughtful, his eyes narrowing as he observed the activity below. "Now, we watch—and learn. The Force led us here for a reason, Khan. There is more to this operation than simple greed."
He straightened his cloak, his tone calm but edged with steel. "Come. Let us see what secrets this den of thieves is hiding."
The two Jedi slipped into the darkness, their forms dissolving into the night as the capital city of Motok pulsed with unseen danger.