The droid performed a variation of Cale's own tactic; it switched off its left lightsaber, causing the former Jedi's blade inevitably to veer to his far right (considering the pressure that he was applying to the droid's lightsaber at the time). IG-110 then simply angled its left wrist so that the lightsaber hilt now pointed directly between and just above Cale's eyes, and within striking distance. The droid then had simply to ignite the blade once more and—

—it had miscalculated. Cale accomplished his maneuver or, rather, had accomplished enough of it to render the droid inoperable in 2.333333 seconds. Even as the droid began to depress the activation switch on its lightsaber, it felt the power, nay, the life drain from it as the generator housed beneath its breast plate was eviscerated by Cale's own blade. Its fiendish yellow photoreceptors went out an instant later, as its torso was bisected and its free hand sliced free of its arm. It stood for another moment, its left hand still pointing stubbornly at Cale with lightsaber hilt in grip; almost as if it were accusing him. Then, it clattered to the floor in several pieces, joining the other, anonymous droid debris.

Cale would likely notice, in the silence that ensued, that the echo from this event stretched rather far behind him but not far before him. Indeed, he was almost at the end of the corridor. To his dismay, however, it would seem, at first, to be a dead end; where one might expect a door, there was simply another wall of stone. As it happened, though, it was a door—a door designed for only Count Dooku himself, a Force user, to open. Behind the stones there were a number of simple locking mechanisms, impossible to budge from the outside but rather a simple task with the Force. If it occurred to Cale to try. Other intruders might have simply assumed, from the seeming dead end, that Count Dooku had a morbid sense of humor.

The former Jedi would be surprised to find, as he set the locking mechanisms in place, that the rumbling of a generator could be heard somewhere before him. The "door" began to grind open amid a small cloud of dust and particulate rock, and the dim corridor was suddenly illuminated with a bright, flourescent white light from inside that flickered for a moment as it was aroused from its long slumber, then became steady. Through the doors, Cale would see a large, circular storeroom with white, sterile walls. Shelves were arrayed on all sides and reached as far as the ceiling, with ladders ascending them. At first glance, the shelves would appear empty. There was a cool draft as air from the corridor flooded the chamber, cycled through the room's still operable filters.

"Welcome, Count Dooku," echoed a pleasant, artificial female voice throughout the room. Then, Cale's sense of peril would undoubtedly kick in again as, a moment later, the thundering of a blaster carbine sent a bolt directly at the former Jedi from his right side. It was from one of two BCA-11/X lightsaber training droids across the room to Cale's right, each armed with a carbine and each opening fire upon him in an indiscriminate fashion. Older even than the IG droid had been, these had been appropriated from Dooku's tenure in the Jedi Order and still bore the old Jedi insignia. "Difficulty set at level 10," the pleasant voice said again.

While it was true that the BCA-11/X was more challenging than most battle droids, they were still, like most battles droids, stronger in numbers. It wouldn't be terribly difficult to dispatch these two, not for Cale, and not for Dooku for that matter. The Count must have known that these would not be a realistic deterrent to Jedi intruders. More likely they were for Dooku's personal use, for the purpose they were designed—practice. This was good and bad, but it was good insofar as it meant there'd be no more traps. Once these droids were dispatched, Cale could, likely, peruse the room unimpeded.

Bad news, to be sure. But not as bad as the "news" that would await Cale as he, eventually, neared the entrance of the long corridor through which he'd come. For as he would draw near, he would hear an unusual whine and see, before him, an angry, red burst of flame propelling itself directly toward him—a small, portable rocket without much destructive yield, but enough to blow a limb off or, more importantly, enough to potentially do serious damage to the corridor around him.

"No local results for 'Belia Darzu,' 'Freedon Nadd,' 'Nanogene,' 'Orbalisk,'" the voice reported, "Displaying 1 through 10 of 18,240,170 holonet results." Sure enough, the results were projected beside the image of Cato Neimoidia. These, unfortunately, would not be of much use to Cale. He probably already had more knowledge of these subjects than what was commonly known on the holonet. It would appear that Dooku had acquired Darth Andeddu's holocron from wherever Darth Bane had it hidden away on Korriban but, for whatever reason, had not recovered the other, famed holocrons of Darzu and Nadd. They were believed to be on Korriban somewhere, but not even the best efforts of the Sith and the Jedi had found them.

If he hadn't had a running start, he might well have been killed. As it was, it would be a feat unto itself if he managed not to lose either of his lightsabers on the way out.

But, of course, he had a more immediate concern. Even before he'd be likely to regain his wits, two armored boots landed on the dirt about 3 meters before him. As Cale had no doubt suspected, he was a Mandalorian, clad in black armor with red trim and cradling a blaster carbine in both arms, his jetpack and, for that matter, the gauntlet on his wrist still smoking from the rocket he'd fired a moment ago. "Jet'ii," he said, with disgust detectable in his voice even through its raspy, metallic filter. A click could be heard as he switched his carbine to stun. "You're trespassing on Mandalorian property."

A man as attuned to galactic events as Cale was would likely recall that the Mandalorians had gained control of Null some years ago as part of Zuthus Bralor's ill fated "Mandalorian Empire." The Mandalorians had since abandoned many of their, shall we say, grander ambitions, and it was surprising to find any of them actually on Null, much less defending it. Except that they knew, as Cale did, that there was something valuable down there, and clearly a number of Mandalorians had died trying, unsuccessfully, to get inside. They wouldn't much care for a Jedi snooping about.

They wouldn't much care for Jedi at all, for that matter.

"Toss your weapons toward me, Your Grace, and spread your arms." A dozen possible ways that the Jedi could lash out at him with the Force entered the Mandalorian's mind, as his gaze darted about attentively through his impenetrable visor. He had his right leg braced behind him with some slack in the knee, ready to leap off his other, bended leg at a moment's notice. He was especially wary of things being thrown at him—the lightsaber, perhaps, or a piece of debris as he'd seen done to the L2 labor droid earlier. Yes, he had been the one directing the labor droids, but only the labor droids; the rest of the defenses had been devised by Count Dooku himself and had caused the Mandalorians, as well as Cale, quite a bit of trouble.

The explosion had once again agitated the whisper birds, which had taken flight above them in not insignificant numbers and circled noisily above them, around the excavation site.