"...The name I have kept for myself, despite the Empire's ardent desire to erase it with the rest of what I can never reclaim, is Ophelia Vaudelle - though it is also not entirely wrong to say that Chataris is also my name.  I chose it, even if to have to choose it was not, in some senses, my choice.  It was...  Self-defense.  And...  It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Maya Belōs.

"As for my plans...

"The future is always in motion, and I cannot place the time of half the things I See in this far future to decades, let alone years.  Not yet.  But what I do see...

"There is, or there will be, a war.

"The war is a distraction.  The war is a trap.  The war hides the Sith that puppets it, secure in his masquerade of haplessness as he tries to corrupt a child of the Force itself.

"The Jedi will be called upon to fight the war, but they will be no Army of Light; not anymore, not after a millennium of seeming peace.

"Well.  'Seeming peace'," she huffs.  "If you call 'a low simmer of planetary civil wars and tacitly-condoned genocides and slaving bastards taking de facto control of much of the Outer Rim,' peace on the galactic scale.  ...Not to mention the glassing of Mandalore because the Republic thought it was scary.  Will have thought, it was scary.  And this is the government the Jedi will tie themselves to, without visible Sith?  I suppose it was rather the only available option.

"...I couldn't change that future.  I tried.  But I couldn't.  There were little things I could shift - carefully planted time capsules, holocrons left to wash up somewhere they'll find the ones they need to teach - but at a certain scale, if you manipulate one fool away from disaster, or one opportunist away from atrocity, another one will gladly stumble into the newly opened place.

"...But I digress.

"I intend to bring Bane's lineage's so-called Grand Plan, their work of a thousand years, crashing down around their ears by whatever means are expedient - though, unfortunately, just killing them outright would...  Be insufficient proof that I am not the Sith they're looking for.  I intend to teach a grand heresy against both Bane's and the Empire's philosophy of Sithness, given the opportunity, because - though you wouldn't know it, to look at what now is - the Sith Code was born from a slave revolt, no matter how the chains they broke were recast into the Empire's tyranny."

The Force continues to sing.

It sings of ending tyranny, of both the Jedi and what replaces the Sith finding more balance through the heresies Ophelia plans to spread.

It sings of unnecessary bloodshed that could be lessened, of Jedi that die or fall, of a horrible puppeteer walking the entire galaxy toward an empire built on an ocean of blood and misery.

It sings of friendship she could find here, now, with this woman who chooses to stand beside her as they face the distant future.

It sings of hope.

"Ophelia, are you telling me that these missing pieces of my heart, along with the whole galaxy, will face war and massacre and this awful Sith puppet master, and you are choosing to stand beside me in an attempt to change those horrors?"

"...I...  Yes.  Yes, I am.  ...I would stand against this with or without you, if I could."

And her Force presence rings clarion with resolve and this-is-truth.

Maya closes her eyes and lets out a slow sigh.

"I cannot believe I am about to submit myself to a probably-lethal ancient relic as a last-ditch attempt to reach my lost girls in their hour of need, and I am facing this thing alongside a Sith."

"...I can't believe I'm about to do this either, if I'm honest, and I've seen myself do it.  ...Are you - well.  Ready might be asking too much, but are you?"

"No. But I do not think I will get much readier. Nothing for it."

"...Then here we go."

She plays a hand over the controls - a needless somaticism, but it helps.  The panels close, the glow brightens to a blinding white, and Maya feels -

POWER!  UNLIMITED POWER!!!! --

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me --

Second star to the left and straight on til morning --

A brief discontinuity.

The core in the receptacle, a smaller dodecahedron, set into a layer of interface hardware, pulses brightly - the same indigo as Maya's lightsaber.

A holocron already has an impressive amount of input-output capability, as it happens.  They can see, they can hear, they can project.  They can open and shut.  Sometimes different pieces of a holocron can communicate with eachother across large distances; this one can.  And as Maya finds herself inside a holocron, looking out, she finds that this holocron does all those things and more - to wit, she has an almost proprioceptive sense of the cradle of interface ports she's resting in (save for one open face).  There is a sense that those ports would know how to process many forms of data input into a form that a transplanted soul could understand without personally decoding whatever file format it is by hand.

Her Force senses haven't changed at all - save that they are now anchored to the holocron, jointly and separately, instead of a fleshy body, and that they - like every other sense that is not taste nor smell, for which she lacks hardware at present - have sharpened somewhat in the transfer.  (Her sense of elapsed time is very much sharper.  She can count the passing milliseconds, let alone seconds.)

Oh my. She rather expected that to hurt more than it did. The process was just briefly intense, and now she is this.

She gradually feels out her new state: Force, sight, sound, dataports, proprioception of her folds and panels, the ticking of time as it passes. 

After quite the extended pause by her own experience, but what her internal chronometer reports as merely three hundred and twenty-two milliseconds, she projects a form, glaring angrily at Ophelia. 

"I cannot believe this. That experience was—"

"—surprisingly pleasant, actually," she finishes, projected expression warming into a smile. "It feels as though there is more room to think and process and perceive, like this. Every sense that remains — and only scent and taste seem to be missing — seems sharper, as well."

"That's...  That's good.  That's very good.  Let me just plug you in to the holonet, shall I?  And then it will be my turn."

The wreckage of her ship is quite firmly embedded into the ground after that battle ended, but she packed the actually important supplies to survive such a lithobraking maneuver; it takes but minutes to retrieve both the holonet downlink - a rugged piece of gear, with what it sacrifices in bandwidth more than made up for by the fact that it ought to still work a millennium from now - and the second viable upload core that she needs, to make it to the future the long way around.

Maya laughs lightly, smiling, at Ophelia's reaction. "Are we going to become holodrama connoisseurs, over our centuries stuck like this?"

"Quite probably; that, and archivists.  Much that is known will likely be lost in the Empire's collapse, and in other disasters, in the centuries to come - and I would rather preserve such knowledge, as best I can," she almost idly declaims as she connects her own core to the machine and the holonet link - if one fails to note the firm resolve in her Force presence.  "Not only is knowledge worth having for its own sake, it may be needful in the future.

"...I can't actually activate the transference if I am its target, incidentally.  There are safeties set up against it; my Force presence needs to be, physically, localized inside the boundary of the isolation chamber.  Therefore, I will need to ask that of you.  You close it with this control, and this is the button you press to activate it," she projects in the Force as she speaks.

Maya pays careful attention to the instructions, noting which controls she will need, and readying her telekinetic grasp. "Are you ready, Ophelia?"

"I am as ready as I think I can be, Lady Belōs, for all that that is, substantively, a quantity that rounds off to 'not particularly ready at all'."

She makes sure that everything left of Maya's effects that she desires to preserve is carefully packed away, and does much the same with what will remain of hers, before she primes the machine for another transference, and steps inside.

"...I'm ready when you are, Maya."

"I understand precisely what you mean, Ophelia."

With gentle telekinesis and a soft click that somehow feels heavier in the room and the Force than the sound itself should allow, the machine activates once more, powerful energies tearing Ophelia from her body with surprising gentleness and depositing her within the new core.

Within the core, a thousand fragments of attention spread wide - adjusting their default projection from the nothing-but-herself they arrived in the core with, pinging the holonet, running all sorts of self-checks and establishing organizational structures - but that takes mere seconds of time, her body glowing in the colors of sunrise, before she speaks to Maya.

"Well.  Now we wait for a thousand years."