6 years before the proclamation of the empire
The Corellian spaceport never slept. Even in the pre-dawn hours, its metal arteries pulsed with life – the hum of departing ships mixed with the hiss of grav-platforms and cargo cranes transferring containers from ships to cargo speeders. This bustle was an integral part of any spaceport.
The hundredth level of the commercial complex towered over the bustle of the landing pads, like a calm island in an ocean of mechanical chaos. Here, on the open balcony of the "Star Harbor" cafe, time flowed more measuredly. A warm breeze, saturated with the aromas of exotic spices from the restaurant kitchens of neighboring levels, played with the visitors' hair, and panoramic windows offered a breathtaking view of the endless expanses.
Uncle Garrek slowly sipped his morning caf, watching the dance of cargo ships in the morning mist. His fingers, calloused from years of working with tools, gently clasped the ceramic cup, and his eyes – those same discerning eyes of a master who could spot a malfunction in any mechanism – looked at his nephew with paternal tenderness.
Alex sat opposite, studying the holographic menu, but his attention was repeatedly drawn to the majestic scene outside the window. The fifteen-year-old young man was no longer the eight-year-old boy who asked naive questions about droids. Two years of working in the workshop had given him understanding, and constant study of various literature, which he primarily borrowed from the city archive, had sharpened his mind. His movements had acquired the confidence of a young man, but his eyes still burned with the same curiosity about the world around him.
"Look," Uncle Garrek nodded towards the entrance, "our regular client has arrived."
A tall young man in the neat blue uniform of the Corellian Military Academy was slowly approaching their table. Rick Valdez looked tired after night exercises, but his face lit up with a smile at the sight of familiar faces.
"Master Korren, Alex!" he nodded respectfully to his uncle and waved friendly to his nephew. "I didn't expect to see you here so early."
"Sit down, boy," Garrek indicated an empty chair. "Alex convinced me to have breakfast with a view of the spaceport. He says it inspires new ideas."
Rick gratefully sat down, his uniform slightly creased from a long shift. The morning light, filtering through the transparent roof of the balcony, played on the polished buttons and cadet insignia of the second-year student.
"How are things at the academy?" Alex asked, noting the new calluses on his friend's hands. "Judging by your appearance, the night was tough."
"Admiral Tarn's inspection," Rick winced and rubbed the back of his head. "We had drills all night. You know how it is – one admiral decided to show another admiral how disciplined his cadets are."
Uncle Garrek grunted sympathetically. In his youth, military service had also not been a picnic.
Their conversation was interrupted by a droid waiter, who smoothly rolled up to the table on silent repulsors. His polished body reflected the morning rays, and his voice module was set to a pleasant baritone.
"Good morning, gentlemen. What will you be ordering?"
"I'll have the full Corellian breakfast," Uncle Garrek said. "And another cup of caf."
"Ne'tan pancakes with honey syrup," Alex added. "And Alderaanian fruit juice."
"And something light for me," Rick ran his hand over his face. "And strong tea, please. After a night like this, my stomach requires delicate treatment."
The droid took the order and left, and melodious music began to play from hidden speakers above the balcony. The cafe's entertainment system was tuned to morning hours – nothing loud or intrusive, just a light background for leisurely conversations.
"By the way, Rick," Alex leaned forward, lowering his voice, "remember that project with the training blasters? How's it going?"
The cadet's face lit up. A month ago, Alex had proposed several technical solutions to improve the accuracy of the training weapons, and the results had exceeded all expectations.
"Fantastic!" Rick looked around, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "The shooting accuracy in our group has increased by twenty percent. The instructors can't figure out what's going on. Sergeant Korvus even suggested we're training secretly at night."
Uncle Garrek looked at his nephew with pride. The boy's technical abilities grew every day, and sometimes even the experienced master was surprised by the depth of his knowledge. Alex had tweaked something in the settings of the training blasters.
"And where do you even know all this stuff from?" Rick shook his head.
"I read a lot," Alex shrugged, trying to look modest. "And Uncle Garrek sometimes explains interesting points."
"Sometimes," Garrek chuckled. "The kid absorbs technical literature like a sponge. I can barely keep up with all his questions."
At that moment, the waiter droid returned, carrying their orders on a built-in tray. The aroma of freshly prepared food mingled with the morning air, creating a cozy atmosphere of a home breakfast. Alex's Corellian pancakes exuded a sweet scent of honey syrup, and Uncle Garrek's full breakfast was an impressive composition of fried eggs, local sausages, and crispy toast.
"Enjoy your meal, gentlemen," the droid said and rolled away to other tables.
They began to eat, enjoying the rare opportunity for a quiet breakfast away from the hustle and bustle of the workshop. At neighboring tables sat other breakfast-goers – merchants discussing cargo manifests, pilots planning routes, tourists admiring the view of the spaceport.
Suddenly, cheerful music played from the speakers, and a male voice began a comical song:
"There once was a young man,
Who dreamed of a golden life,
He wanted to fly to a resort,
Where he could sunbathe and sing!
Oh, the resorts of Tatooine, it's warm there!
Wonderful sand and always summer!
Oh, the resorts of Tatooine, it's bright there!
Only there's no water anywhere!"
All three couldn't help but laugh. The song was one of those folk humorous compositions about a swindler selling a tour to Tatooine to a gullible provincial.
"A classic of the genre," Uncle Garrek chuckled, cutting a piece of sausage. "I've heard so many such stories in my life. People are willing to believe anything, as long as it sounds tempting."
"But Tatooine really exists," Rick remarked. "We studied it in the galactic geography course. A desert planet in the Outer Rim."
"It exists," Alex nodded. "But it's hardly a resort. Double suns, lack of water, sandstorms... Although, perhaps for some, even such conditions might seem attractive."
The song continued, telling about the misfortunes of the unfortunate hero who, instead of a tropical paradise, ended up in a scorched desert. The light humor created a pleasant atmosphere, and even the tired Rick visibly cheered up.
"You know," he said when the music faded, "there are also jokes about resorts at the academy. Especially popular are stories about 'secret recreation bases' in asteroid fields."
"And aren't there such bases?" Alex asked with innocent curiosity and pushed a credit chip towards Rick.
"Well, technically there might be," Rick lowered his voice. "But not for resort vacations."
Uncle Garrek looked closely at the cadet. Over the years of traveling the galaxy, he had learned to read people and more, and now he felt that the young man wanted to share some information.
"Is there anything specific on your mind?" he asked gently.
Rick hesitated, turning the teacup in his hands. Steam rose from the hot drink, creating whimsical patterns in the morning air.
"Well... it's not exactly a secret, but it's not for public consumption," he glanced around. "There are rumors at the academy about some special operation. An archaeological expedition under the Senate's auspices."
Alex felt his pulse quicken, but he managed to maintain an unperturbed expression.
"Archaeology?" he feigned mild surprise. "Sounds rather peaceful for a military operation."
"Exactly!" Rick leaned closer. "But they've assigned an escort of three cruisers for this 'peaceful archaeology.' And they're recruiting specialists in archaeo-technologies with very high pay."
"Interesting," Uncle Garrek muttered. "And where are these excavations taking place?"
"Officially, it's classified. But some of the guys have heard mentions of the Unknown Regions."
Alex and his uncle exchanged glances. The Unknown Regions were one of the most mysterious parts of the galaxy—an area where standard navigation failed due to gravitational anomalies and space storms.
"And what are they looking for?" Alex inquired cautiously.
"Nobody knows," Rick shrugged. "But they say they need specialists in energy systems, crystallography, and... " he faltered, "and in weapons technologies."
Silence hung over the table. Each person was lost in their own thoughts, but the general direction of their thinking was clear. An archaeological expedition with a military escort and the search for ancient weapons sounded alarming.
"Perhaps it's related to those artifacts found on old battlefields?" Uncle Garrek suggested. "The ancient wars left many remnants scattered across the galaxy."
"Possibly," Rick agreed. "But why the Unknown Regions then? The main battles took place in settled systems."
Alex silently drank his juice, contemplating what he had heard. The information fit into the larger picture of his own research into ancient technologies. If some corporation, or even the Republic itself, was truly searching for old artifacts, it could explain many recent events.
"By the way," Rick suddenly brightened, "have you thought about trying your hand at something more serious than repairing academy equipment?"
"What do you mean?" Alex looked up from his cup.
"Well, I have an acquaintance. A trader, Jaren Cole. He's looking for a specialist in navigation systems. Problems with routing in asteroid fields."
Uncle Garrek raised an eyebrow.
"Rick, the boy is fifteen. Commercial navigation systems aren't toys."
"I know, Master Korren," Rick raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "But Alex has already proven he understands technology better than many adults. And Jaren is a good person; he won't exploit a teenager."
Alex pondered. Working with a trader could open new opportunities—access to rare materials, information about different worlds, connections with other specialists.
"And what kind of navigation problems are they?" he asked.
"The Corellian Belt," Rick explained. "Rich deposits of rare metals, but standard systems glitch due to electromagnetic interference from the asteroids. They fly very densely there."
"An interesting challenge," Alex admitted. "Theoretically, predictive algorithms could be used instead of static navigation..."
"See!" Rick turned to Uncle Garrek. "He's already thinking of a solution!"
Garrek shook his head, but pride was evident in his eyes.
"Alright," he finally said. "But I want to meet this trader personally. And no experiments without my presence."
"Of course, Uncle," Alex smiled. "I'm not going to risk someone else's property."
"Excellent!" Rick finished his tea and stood up. "Jaren usually sits at the 'Star Wind' cafe on the second level. That's where he meets his partners. I can introduce you today."
"Why not," Uncle Garrek agreed. "We don't have any urgent orders today."
They finished breakfast, enjoying the morning calm and the view of the awakening spaceport. The sun rose higher, dispelling the fog and revealing the panorama of the landing pads in all their glory. Cargo cranes worked at a measured pace, moving containers between ships and warehouses. Passenger liners prepared for departure, their hulls gleaming in the rays of the morning light.
"You know," Alex said, observing the scene, "sometimes I feel like the spaceport is a living organism. Ships are like blood cells, cargo is like nutrients, and we are all part of a big system."
"A poetic comparison," Uncle Garrek smiled. "But there's a grain of truth in it. A spaceport truly connects different worlds, just as the circulatory system connects organs."
"And we, the technicians," Alex added, "are like doctors who monitor the health of this system."
Rick listened to their conversation with interest. At the academy, he was taught to perceive space as a battlefield, but here, in the company of peaceful technicians, he saw another side of the galaxy—creative, unifying.
"I have to go," he said, glancing at his chronometer. "Tactics class starts in an hour. But I'm free in the evening if you want to meet Jaren."
"Agreed," Alex nodded. "And could you find out anything else about this archaeological expedition? Just out of curiosity."
"I'll try," Rick shrugged. "But military information isn't easily obtained."
"I understand. Just... if you hear anything interesting, let me know. I'll give you a bonus."
The cadet said goodbye and headed for the exit, his figure in a neat uniform quickly disappearing into the morning crowd of cafe visitors.
"He seems like a good kid," Uncle Garrek remarked, watching him go. "But a chatterbox. Keep your secrets away from him."
"Yes," Alex agreed. "But he's a useful source of information."
"He's an example of what not to be," his uncle gently warned. "Rick will end up badly, be sure of that."
"Yeah," Alex shook his head. "But he's useful."
They sat in the cafe for a while longer, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Uncle Garrek told stories from his youth, when he was just starting out, and Alex shared his ideas for improving various mechanisms.
"You know," Garrek said as they prepared to leave, "I'm proud of you, kid. You're growing not only as a technician but also starting to learn how to conduct business."
"Thank you, Uncle," Alex felt a warmth in his chest. "That means a lot to me."
"Just remember—you can get carried away. Rein yourself in from time to time. What you're studying can be dangerous."
"I understand," Alex nodded seriously. "And I'll be careful."
They left the cafe and headed down towards the workshop. The day promised to be interesting—a meeting with a trader, new technical tasks, possibly additional information about the mysterious expedition. Alex hoped to get something out of this information.
Alex walked beside his uncle, reflecting on what he had heard. Every conversation, every meeting brought new pieces to the grand puzzle. Archaeological expeditions, ancient technologies, military secrets—all of it formed a picture of a galaxy full of mysteries and opportunities.
The main thing was not to rush and not to attract unnecessary attention. For now, he was just a curious teenager helping his uncle in the workshop. But with each passing day, his knowledge and connections grew, bringing him closer to the moment when he could act more decisively.
For now, one step at a time. Meeting the trader, solving the navigation problem, strengthening his "friendship" with Rick. Each action brought him closer to a goal he hadn't fully realized yet, but already felt with all his heart.
***
The "Star Wind" cafe on the second level of the spaceport was strikingly different from the elegant "Star Haven." A working atmosphere prevailed here—pilots in worn jackets, mechanics with oil stains on their overalls, and traders studying holographic price lists sat at tables. The air was thicker, permeated with the aromas of roasted meat and strong kaff, and muffled instrumental music drifted from the speakers.
Jaren Cole sat at a corner table near a large window, through which the cargo terminal was visible. He was a man of about forty-five, with graying temples and attentive brown eyes. His clothing—a dark blue jacket over a simple shirt—was of good quality but understated. The typical style of a successful but cautious trader who preferred not to draw undue attention to his wealth.
On the table before him lay a portable holoprojector, displaying a three-dimensional map of the Corellian asteroid belt. Jaren frowned, studying the winding trade routes marked with red and green lines.
"Jaren," Rick approached the table first, "allow me to introduce Alex Korren and his uncle, Master Garrek."
The trader looked up from the holomap and cast an assessing glance over the newcomers. His eyes lingered on Alex—too young for a serious technician, but his posture and gaze conveyed a confidence unusual for a teenager.
"Alex Korren," he extended his hand for a handshake. "Rick said you're interested in navigation systems."
Alex accepted the handshake—firm, with the calluses of a trader who wasn't afraid of physical work.
"That's right, Mr. Cole. I'm studying route optimization algorithms," his voice sounded calm and professional. "Rick mentioned you have navigation problems in asteroid fields."
"Sit down," Jaren indicated the empty chairs. "Although I must say right away—you look quite young for this job."
Uncle Garrek took a seat next to his nephew, his presence immediately adding gravitas to the meeting. The experienced master exuded that special aura of professionalism that couldn't be faked.
"Age isn't always an indicator of competence," Garrek remarked gently. "My nephew has an unusual talent for technical systems. But I'm here precisely to ensure he doesn't take on a task beyond his capabilities."
Jaren nodded understandingly. Caution in business was familiar to him.
"All right. Then allow me to explain the problem," he activated the holoprojector to full power. A detailed three-dimensional model of the asteroid belt appeared above the table—thousands of chunks of various sizes, slowly rotating in the cosmic void.
"The Corellian Belt," Jaren pointed to a cluster of particularly large asteroids. "Richest deposits of rare metals. Cortosis, neutronium. But getting to them is a real nightmare."
Alex carefully studied the hologram, noting the density of the asteroid field and the nature of their movement.
"What specific problems are you having with navigation?" he asked.
"Unpredictable trajectories," Jaren highlighted several asteroids in red. "Asteroids sometimes collide. Standard navigation systems glitch, sensors show false targets."
"And these are your current routes?" Alex pointed to the green and red lines crossing the field.
"Exactly. Green is the safe path. It takes eight hours, but practically eliminates the risk of collision. Red is the fast route, only three hours, but the probability of an accident is about thirty percent."
Uncle Garrek whistled.
"Thirty percent? That's Russian roulette."
"That's why I only use it in extreme cases," Jaren agreed. "But competitors are finding ways to pass through the field faster and safer. I'm losing money."
Alex silently studied the data, the outlines of a solution already forming in his mind. In the archives, he had found a predictive model for trajectory calculation. A complex neural network used in a study a thousand years ago. Someone was looking for a solution to the three-body problem. The point was, it wasn't a mathematical solution. The network was trained on data from various scanners and made predictions based on movement patterns. It didn't find widespread use because someone bought the patent and then simply didn't release the technology to the masses. So it was forgotten.
"We can try one solution," he finally said. "I know a model that predicts asteroid movement. I'll need scanner data recordings from the last year. This is necessary for calibrating the model."
Jaren frowned.
"Explain in more detail."
Alex took a stylus and began drawing a diagram over the hologram.
"Look. Your current algorithm calculates the route based on static data—where the asteroid is now. But they move along unpredictable orbits. If we build a dynamic model of their trajectories..."
Jaren carefully followed the explanation, his eyes lighting up with understanding.
"An interesting theory. But how can it be implemented in practice?"
"We need to modify the navigation computer," Alex spoke with increasing confidence, feeling that the trader was listening. "Add a predictive analysis module and expand the orbital mechanics database. Technically, it's not difficult—most modern systems have sufficient processing power."
"Not difficult for whom?" Jaren chuckled. "I've consulted with the best navigation technicians in the sector. No one has offered such solutions."
Uncle Garrek leaned forward.
"My nephew studies historical approaches to navigation," he said weightily. "Some old methods were more effective than modern ones; they were simply forgotten in the pursuit of standardization."
"Exactly," Alex confirmed. "In the Old Republic era, explorers often encountered similar problems. They developed algorithms that are now considered obsolete, but in reality, they just need to be adapted to modern technologies."
Jaren leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. Life went on around them in the cafe—waiters brought orders, and at neighboring tables, they discussed cargo manifests and fuel prices.
"Let's assume you're right," he said finally. "How long will the modification take?"
"A week for programming the basic algorithms, another week for calibration to your specific ship and testing," Alex tried to speak professionally. "But I'll need full access to the navigation system and technical specifications."
"And how much will it cost?"
Alex paused for a moment. He wasn't used to setting prices for his work—at his uncle's workshop, Garrek evaluated all orders.
"Five thousand credits," his uncle said, seeing his nephew's hesitation. "Half upfront, half after successful testing."
Jaren raised an eyebrow.
"Not a small amount for an experiment."
"It's not an experiment," Garrek replied firmly. "It's professional work by a qualified specialist. If the result doesn't meet expectations, we'll refund the advance in full."
"And we'll restore the system to its original state for free," Alex added.
He was almost certain of success; he wanted to test his idea.
The trader looked at them for a long time, assessing. Doubts were evident in his eyes, but so was hope. The navigation problem was seriously affecting his business.
"All right," he finally said. "We'll try. But with one condition—if you break my navigation computer, you'll pay for a new one."
"Fair enough," Alex nodded, extending his hand. "Agreed."
The handshake was firm and confident. Jaren took a credit card from his pocket and transferred the advance to Garrek's workshop account.
"My ship is on platform 94-B," he said. "The 'Corellian Falcon,' a modified YT-1300 freighter. You can start tomorrow morning."
"Excellent," Alex felt a surge of enthusiasm. "I'll study the technical documentation this evening."
"And I'll oversee the process," Uncle Garrek added. "To ensure everything goes according to plan."
Jaren nodded and stood up from the table.
"Then see you tomorrow. And, Alex..." he paused, "if your system really works, I have a few colleagues who have encountered similar problems."
"I'll be happy to help," Alex smiled.
After the trader left, Rick shook his head in admiration.
"Five thousand credits! For two weeks of work! At the academy, cadets get a stipend of five hundred credits a month."
"Qualified labor is well-paid," Uncle Garrek remarked. "But remember, Alex—now you bear responsibility. Jaren is risking not only money but also his reputation."
"I understand, Uncle," Alex nodded seriously. "And I won't let him down."
They left the cafe and headed back to the workshop. On the way, Uncle Garrek talked about the intricacies of working with clients, the importance of fulfilling promises precisely, and how to build long-term business relationships.
"You see," he said, "it's not just about technical knowledge. It's important to be able to explain the problem and its solution to the client, instill confidence in them, show professionalism."
"You supported me greatly," Alex admitted. "When he asked about the price, I was flustered."
"That's normal," Garrek smiled. "Experience comes with time. But the main thing is—you truly know what you're talking about. I've seen your orbital mechanics calculations. They impress even me."
At the workshop, Alex immediately began studying the technical documentation for YT-1300 series ships. The most common freighter. Uncle Garrek helped, explaining the specifics of various modifications and sharing his experience working with similar systems.
"Good ships," he said, flipping through the schematics. "Reliable, but outdated. Navigation systems from twenty years ago. Your algorithms should significantly improve their performance."
"I already see a few bottlenecks," Alex pointed to the navigation computer's processor schematic. "The processing power is limited, but it should be enough for basic predictive calculations."
In the evening, after the workshop closed, Alex went down to his secret laboratory. Here, among ancient technologies and modern equipment, he could work on adapting algorithms from the R4-K9 archives. Alex found much of interest in them. What was hidden in the closed section?
The droid activated upon his appearance, holographic displays glowing with a soft blue light.
"Welcome, Alex," R4 said in his mechanical voice. "I overheard your conversation upstairs. An interesting project."
"Yes," Alex nodded, sitting down at the workstation. "I need the predictive navigation algorithms from Captain Kord's archives. The ones used for navigating asteroid fields."
"Loading data," R4 projected complex mathematical formulas and diagrams. "These algorithms were developed for navigation in the Kessel system. Very effective, but require significant adaptation for modern systems."
Alex delved into the work, adapting ancient knowledge to the technologies of his time. It was like translating from one language to another—the principles remained the same, but the methods of their implementation were drastically different.
Hours flew by unnoticed. When Alex finally lifted his head from the holographic schematics, dawn was already breaking outside the window.
"The basic structure is ready," he told R4. "Tomorrow, I'll start integrating it with the ship's navigation system."
"Good luck, Alex," the droid replied. "This project could be the beginning of your independent career."
Alex smiled, feeling a mixture of excitement and pride. For the first time in his life, he was working not as his uncle's assistant, but as an independent specialist. Five thousand credits—this was his money, earned by his knowledge and skills.
But the main thing wasn't the money. Jaren Cole could become the first in the network of independent contacts that Alex planned to build. Traders knew a lot about the galaxy—about rare materials, distant worlds, secret routes. Through them, he could gain access to information unavailable through official channels.
And if the project was successful, Jaren promised to recommend him to other traders. Word-of-mouth in trading circles worked quickly and effectively. A good reputation could open many doors.
Alex went upstairs to his room. A few hours of sleep, and then—the first day of his new career. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, anticipating the upcoming challenges and opportunities.