At home, Alex went straight to his room, bypassing the living room where the holoprojector was broadcasting the evening news. The announcer's melodious voice could be heard through the thin walls: "...Chancellor Valorum solemnly opened a new medical center on Coruscant, cutting the symbolic ribbon. In his speech, the Chancellor emphasized the importance of developing medical technologies for all worlds of the Republic..."
His parents were busy – his father was studying the specifications of parts for a new project, hunched over holographic blueprints that shimmered with a bluish light above his desk. His mother was preparing dinner with the help of K-7PO, and appetizing aromas of fried meat and spicy seasonings from distant Kashyyyk wafted from the kitchen. The perfect time for research.
Outside the window, the twilight of Corellia deepened, and the city lights began to flash one by one, like stars descending from the heavens. Speeders whizzed by with the characteristic hiss of repulsorlifts, their headlights tracing luminous streaks in the evening air. Somewhere in the distance, the sirens of security patrol ships hummed, and the dull clang of hammers could be heard from the shipyards – the city never slept.
Alex took the lighting control unit from the closet, which his Uncle Nilson had given him. A small part, the size of a child's fist, its casing was hermetically sealed. No screws, connectors, or seams – just a smooth metal surface, pleasantly cool to the touch.
But if you looked closely, you could notice a thin line in the middle, barely visible in the light of the desk lamp. Alex took a thin screwdriver from his modeling kit and carefully pried at the edge, feeling the metal bend slightly under pressure.
The casing gave way with a quiet click that sounded like a blaster shot in the silence of the room.
Inside, it was nothing like what he expected to see. Strange transparent pebbles of various sizes lay inside – from tiny, no bigger than a grain of rice, to large, the size of a walnut. They glowed faintly from within with a bluish light, pulsing in time with some invisible heartbeat, and were connected by thin silver threads that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow when moved.
"What is this?" Alex muttered.
He carefully touched one of the pebbles with his fingertip. The crystal warmed under his touch, like a living creature, its glow intensified, changing from a soft blue to a bright white, and the entire unit hummed quietly. The other crystals also lit up brighter, as if responding to the call, and the silver threads played with all the colors of the rainbow, creating a mesmerizing dance of light.
New news came from the living room: "...a scandal in the upper echelons of Coruscant continues to stir public opinion. The son of Senator Tarpalsa, driving a speeder while intoxicated, crashed into the popular cafe 'Star Dust,' causing damage exceeding one hundred thousand credits. There were no casualties, but the establishment's owners demand a fair investigation..."
Alex quickly removed his finger, but the unit continued to work. Moreover – it worked even better than when closed. The light became more even and pleasant, as if human touch itself had awakened something more than simple functionality in the ancient technology.
"How is this possible?" the boy wondered, inhaling air that now smelled of something vaguely sweet, like flowers from distant Naboo.
He examined the crystals closer, bringing the unit to the desk lamp. Something was moving inside them – tiny sparks of light that moved along complex trajectories. Each crystal was unique: some pulsed with a steady light, others flickered like beacons in the cosmic darkness, and still others shimmered with all shades of blue and green.
In one of the crystals, Alex noticed tiny symbols. They were engraved so finely that they were barely visible even under the magnifying glass from his modeling kit. The symbols looked very old, unlike the basic Galactic Basic language he knew – more like ancient writings he had seen in historical chronicles.
"Who made them? And when?" this question echoed in his mind.
Outside, a heavy cargo speeder rumbled past, likely carrying parts for the night shift at the shipyards. The sound of its engines was deep and bassy, making the windowpanes tremble slightly and creating a sense of the power of industrial civilization.
Alex tried to carefully pull out one crystal, but the silver thread stretched like rubber and didn't break. However, the other crystals began to glow differently – their pulsation became more frequent, as if they were compensating for a disruption in the system, much like a living organism reacts to injury.
"They are connected to each other," he realized, and this discovery made his heart beat faster. "This isn't just parts, it's... a system. A living system."
From the kitchen came the hiss of oil in a pan and the melodious hum of K-7PO's servos.
Alex carefully reassembled the unit, feeling as if the crystals were resisting separation from the air. It worked as if nothing had happened, but now the boy knew that something amazing was happening inside – something that connected him to mysteries as old as the galaxy itself.
He turned on the family computer, and the holographic screen lit up with a soft blue light, reflecting in his eyes. The system loaded with the familiar melodic sound, and Alex tried to find information about crystalline technologies.
In the search engine, he typed: "How do crystals work in technology?"
The results were disappointing. Advertisements for spare parts stores with bright holographic banners, general articles about "revolutionary crystalline computers" without technical details, and numerous links to paid courses for specialists, the cost of which exceeded his father's annual salary.
From the living room came the sounds of channel surfing and a new announcer's voice: "And now our traditional program 'Wonders of the Galaxy.' Today we will travel to the mysterious planet Felucia, inhabited by amazing creatures – Sarlaccs, capable of living for thousands of years..."
Alex tried another query: "Ancient symbols on crystals."
The search engine returned articles about jewelry from Iona, archaeological finds, and advertisements for souvenir shops selling "authentic antiquities" at exorbitant prices. Nothing useful.
"This is annoying," he muttered, inhaling air that smelled of distant spices from the kitchen. "Why isn't there any proper information?"
He tried to find some serious article, but all the serious materials required special access or registration with professional associations, membership in which cost a fortune and required recommendations from practicing specialists.
"K-7PO!" Alex called, and his voice echoed off the room's walls.
The droid appeared in the doorway, its chrome body reflecting the light of the desk lamp, creating bizarre glints on the walls:
"Yes, little master?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," the droid replied, and there was a hint of genuine interest in its voice.
"What are you made of?"
"Of durasteel, plastoid, and crystalline components."
"And what are crystalline components?"
"They are... elements that process information," K-7PO replied.
"And how do they do it?"
K-7PO froze for a moment – just a tiny bit, but Alex noticed it, like noticing a change in a familiar melody.
"They use quantum effects to perform calculations," the droid answered.
"And what are quantum effects?"
"They are... complex physical processes at the atomic level."
Outside the window, a light speeder whizzed by, its engines emitting a high-frequency whistle that gradually faded into the evening air.
"And do you understand how they work?"
Another pause, more noticeable: "I know the result of their work, but not the mechanism."
"And who knows the mechanism?"
"The engineers who created my systems."
"And who are they?"
"Specialists from the 'Sienar Fleet Systems' corporation."
"And do they themselves understand how the crystals work?"
K-7PO hesitated longer than usual, its optical sensors blinking a few times: "I assume so."
"You assume?"
"I... do not have precise information about their level of knowledge."
Alex frowned. The droid clearly knew more than it was saying. Or suspected something it didn't want to talk about. Tension hung in the air, almost palpable.
From the living room came the sounds of a children's show: "...and little Wicket went on a journey through forest bridges, where amazing adventures awaited him..." The holographic sounds and music created a fairy-tale atmosphere, contrasting with the seriousness of their conversation.
"K-7PO, do you know what these symbols mean?"
Alex showed the droid a photograph of the crystal he had taken with his datapad. The image was clear, the symbols easily distinguishable in magnification.
The droid looked at the image and froze. Too long for a simple analysis. Its optical sensors focused, defocused, focused again.
"These are... manufacturing markings," it finally replied, but there was a note of uncertainty in its voice.
"And what do they mean?"
"Batch number and... " K-7PO stumbled, as if internal programs were fighting each other. "Technical information."
"What technical information?"
"I... cannot say for sure. Perhaps manufacturing parameters."
"And why are the symbols so ancient?"
"Ancient?"
"Well, not like modern inscriptions."
"Perhaps it's a traditional marking system," the droid replied. "Some standards haven't changed for centuries."
But Alex noticed: K-7PO clearly knew more than it was saying. There was something... cautious about its behavior. As if it were balancing on the edge between a desire to help and some internal limitations.
"K-7PO, can you read these symbols?"
"I... can recognize some of them."
"And what do they say?"
"Technical codes. Nothing interesting for a regular user."
"And for an unusual one?"
The droid fell silent again, its servos humming softly: "Little master, why do you need this information?"
"Just curious."
"Curiosity is a good quality."
Alex looked out the window. Outside the glass, the technological city sparkled with lights. Cars flew, computers worked, droids bustled. The whole world was built on technologies that no one understood. And everyone was content with that. Except him.
At that moment, his mother's voice came from the kitchen:
"Alex! Dinner!"
"Coming!" he shouted and turned to the droid: "Shall we continue tomorrow?"
"If you wish."
"I will."
Alex went to the kitchen, but his thoughts were occupied by the conversation with K-7PO. The air in the corridor smelled of home comfort – aromas of cooked food, a faint scent of cleaning products, and the barely perceptible metallic tang of city air.
During dinner, his parents discussed work matters.
His mother placed the food on the table. K-7PO, diligently following her, set out the plates with a quiet hum of servos.
His father silently poked at his portion with a spoon, his gaze fixed somewhere in the space beyond the window, where the lights of cargo platforms drifted against the sunset.
"Did something happen again?" Lyra asked, touching his hand.
Keyron sighed, and the sigh was so deep that it seemed to absorb all the weariness of the shift. He ran his palm over his face, leaving a slight sheen of technical lubricant that hadn't been completely wiped off.
"There's a complete collapse on the third assembly line," he finally said, and his voice was unusually flat, devoid of its usual restrained anger. "New hull plating for frigates arrived. They... they don't have standard mounting points for the propulsion modules."
"What do you mean, they don't?" Lyra asked, surprised. "The blueprints should have been approved."
"The blueprints are there. But not on the hulls. The drilling is off by about a centimeter and a half." Keyron took a sip of water, and his fingers gripped the glass so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "We stood idle all shift. The technical inspection said – 'await updated specifications.' Wait. And will they pay for the downtime? As always, they'll deduct it."
In his eyes, usually alight with the spark of a master craftsman, there was now only gray fatigue. He broke off a piece of bread but didn't eat it, just rolled it between his fingers.
"And who made these hulls?" Alex asked.
"An automated complex on the fifth orbital ring," his father replied. "Unmanned. A program that no one checked because 'the system has stood the test of time.' Time itself might have tested it, but whoever last updated it is long retired. Or dead. And finding the source code…" he waved his hand, a gesture conveying more hopelessness than irritation. "Or they don't want to. It's cheaper to fine us than to sort it out."
"Tomorrow we'll have to deal with this again," Kairon said quietly, looking at his plate. "Look at these perfectly straight, useless hulls and wait for a piece of paper to be sent down from above that won't fix anything anyway."
"How are you doing?" Kairon asked, pulling himself away from his thoughts. "Did the cargo at least arrive today?"
Lyra felt as if Kairon had asked the question not to her, but to the piece of bread he was slowly breaking on his plate. She put down her spoon, her fingers instinctively forming the gesture she used when working with the dispatcher's panel.
"They've closed the Grimlis Transit, after all," she said in a level, tired voice, devoid of surprise or protest, only stating a fact. "Since yesterday. Completely."
Kairon looked up at her. "Grimlis Transit" sounded like something abstract, like stellar geometry. But for her, it meant dozens of familiar call signs, schedules she had maintained for years, and a familiar route she had serviced.
"Unprofitable," she continued, as if quoting someone else's alien will. "The volume of transport has fallen below the minimum threshold. Navigation fees do not cover route maintenance."
She paused, watching her glass of water fog up. Somewhere out there in the black vacuum, an entire artery of the galaxy had gone still.
"Route maintenance," she repeated with a slight, bitter irony. "That means they won't be fixing the beacons there anymore."
"Tomorrow the traders will start calling me. I'll have to reallocate the flows," she added quietly, returning to her soup. "It'll be a mess. A collapse in the entire sector. Delays of at least two weeks. And a hundred new reports on 'logistics optimization'."
The conversation died down on its own, neither of them wanting to talk about problems anymore.
"Alex, you're very quiet," his mother noticed, taking a sip of her fragrant tea.
"Thinking."
"About what?"
"About how everything is arranged."
"Don't think too much," his father smiled. "It gives you a headache. You'll have plenty of time to think when you grow up."
Kairon took a sip from his glass, put it down with a dull thud, and looked at his son. Alex sat with his nose buried in his plate, but his father could see that the boy's thoughts were far away – probably about those mysterious crystals again.
"Alex," Kairon began, his voice acquiring that rough but gentle seriousness he used only in important moments. The boy looked at him. "Vur called me from school today, said you argued with her in class. I'm on your side, know that. I see you've been racking your brain over something complicated lately. Thinking a lot. That's good."
He paused, gathering his thoughts like he would gather a loose knot in old wiring.
"You see…" Kairon ran his hand over the table, as if wiping away invisible dust. "Our world is arranged so that some people build, and others use what's built. Your mother and I… we are builders. I tighten nuts according to the diagram I was given. Your mother pilots ships along routes she was given. We pay taxes, apartment bills, for this junk," he nodded towards K-7PO, who stood frozen by the wall. "And for your school."
He paused to let that sink in.
"This school isn't just a building. It's your chance. Your pass to another life. We work hard so you can sit in those clean classrooms, not in the shipyard school like I did at your age. So you can associate with the children of engineers and managers, not with the offspring of dockworkers. This is our contribution, yours and your mother's. The only one we can make."
Kairon leaned across the table, and a firm, almost stern light ignited in his tired eyes.
"Your job now is not to argue with old crones. Not to seek answers to questions that no one needs except you. Your job is to study. And to keep your eyes open. Remember how your classmates communicate, how things really work there. Who decides what, who is responsible for what. Learn to play by their rules."
He leaned back in his chair, his voice becoming quieter, but only more weighty for it.
"Your mother and I are running in a hamster wheel. Loans, fines, new tariffs… There's no jumping out of it. But you… you have a ladder. School. A diploma. Knowledge. Use it. Break free. Become someone who doesn't pay, but who gets paid. Who doesn't wait for orders, but writes them himself. Understand?"
He looked at his son, not expecting an immediate answer. He was pouring into him not just advice, but the legacy of his entire tired, lost life. Hope that their running in circles was not in vain.
"I… understand, Dad," Alex said quietly, and there was more in his eyes than just childish obedience. There was an awareness of the weight placed on his shoulders. Not a burden, but rather a duty.
"Good," Kairon nodded, and the sternness in his features softened into ordinary fatigue. "Then eat. And go to bed early. School tomorrow. That's your job. And do it well."
After dinner, he returned to his room. K-7PO brought him a glass of juice – cold, with a slight tartness of fruit from Naboo – and said quietly:
"Tomorrow you can ask me new questions. Good night, Alex."
"Good night, K-7PO."