The second semester began with unexpected news – Associate Professor Well offered Alex a job in her laboratory. But before he could properly consider the offer, events shook the galaxy that changed everything.
At first, it seemed like another political crisis. In the university cafeteria, students were lively discussing separatist sentiments on the outer worlds, but most were confident – everything would work out. Diplomacy, negotiations, maybe a few trade sanctions. At most, local skirmishes somewhere on the border.
"Count Dooku is too smart for a full-scale war," a student from Coruscant declared authoritatively. "This is just pressure on the Senate to get concessions."
But when the first reports from Geonosis arrived, the atmosphere changed instantly. The HoloNet broadcasted footage that chilled the blood: huge armies of battle droids fighting clone soldiers, burning ships falling from the sky, Jedi with lightsabers storming separatist strongholds.
"This is impossible," whispered a Twi'lek student, looking at a holographic projection of the destroyed arena. "Where did they get so many troops?"
The scale of events caused confusion in society. What was supposed to be a political maneuver turned into a galactic catastrophe. Hundreds of worlds announced their accession to the Confederacy of Independent Systems (formerly the Systems Alliance), thousands of ships left their shipyards, heading for the front line. The Republic, caught off guard, frantically mobilized its resources.
In this chaos, the Corellian government made a decision that shocked everyone.
"Attention!" the announcer's voice interrupted regular broadcasts. "The government of Corellia declares neutrality in the conflict between the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Corellia will not participate in military actions on either side."
A dead silence fell over the university cafeteria. Then a chorus of voices erupted.
"This is impossible!" a student from Coruscant jumped up. "Corellia is a founding planet of the Republic! They can't just declare neutrality!"
"We can, and we have," a Corellian student replied coldly. "No one asked us if we wanted to go to war."
"But this is betrayal! A legal absurdity!" the Republican was beside himself. "Founding planets have no right to secede!"
"And who said anything about secession?" another Corellian interjected. "We declared neutrality, not withdrawal from the Republic."
"It's the same thing! Essentially, it's a declaration of independence!"
"No, it's common sense," the voice belonged to a senior Corellian student. "Why should we die in a war we didn't start?"
"Because you are citizens of the Republic!" the Republican was red with indignation. "You have obligations!"
"Our obligations are to Corellia," the Corellian replied calmly. "And we are fulfilling them by protecting our world from senseless slaughter."
Alex silently watched the argument, feeling the tension in the hall rise. The students divided into groups – Corellians kept to themselves, Republicans argued fiercely, and the few representatives from separatist worlds remained sullenly silent.
"Do you think you can sit this one out?" the Republican continued to press. "The war will come to you too!"
"Perhaps," the Corellian shrugged. "But we will meet it as free people, not as cannon fodder for someone else's ambitions."
Kyle, sitting next to Alex, commented quietly:
"I understand the Republican. From a legal standpoint, it's indeed nonsense."
"And how do you feel about it?" Alex asked.
"Honestly? Glad. Very glad," Kyle lowered his voice. "I don't want to fight. Especially in a war where it's unclear who is right and who is wrong."
Most Corellian students shared these sentiments. Despite the controversial nature of the government's decision, the relief was universal. The war seemed like a distant and alien problem.
But the illusions quickly vanished.
Within a week, the HoloNet began broadcasting footage that was impossible to ignore. Destroyed cities on Ryloth, where separatist bombers had wiped entire cities off the face of the planet. Refugees from Kashyyyk fleeing droid armies. Mass graves on Ryloth, where the Confederates had used biological weapons against the civilian population.
"The Separatists are pursuing a policy of genocide," reported a Republican correspondent standing against a backdrop of smoking ruins. "Entire sentient species are being systematically exterminated."
Footage followed one after another: emaciated children in refugee camps, overcrowded hospitals, endless columns of military equipment. The humanitarian catastrophe grew with each passing day.
"The Confederacy has blocked humanitarian convoys heading to Malastare," the announcer continued. "According to preliminary data, more than a billion sentient beings have already died of starvation."
Alex watched this footage with growing concern. Not just because of the human suffering. He understood that a war of this scale would inevitably affect Corellia as well.
The first signs of this appeared in the economy. Prices for all goods began to skyrocket. Food prices increased by thirty percent in a week. Food, medicine, electronics – everything became significantly more expensive.
"It's temporary," Kyle explained when they discussed the situation. "My father says the market is just panicking. Supply disruptions, broken logistics chains – it's normal at the start of any war."
"And then what?" Alex asked.
"Then the economy will reconfigure. Do you realize the number of planets in the galaxy? There are plenty of resources, it's just a matter of price and logistics routes. They'll find new suppliers, lay down bypass routes – and everything will normalize."
Kyle was well-informed thanks to his father, who owned a small but successful company and moved in business circles.
"The main thing is not to panic," he continued. "Corellia has always been a trading center. We have connections, resources, technology. We will survive this war better than many."
But the social changes were more profound than the economic ones. Society began to polarize. Corellians became increasingly hostile towards the Republic, accusing it of starting a senseless war. Students from republican worlds displayed overconfident attitudes, convinced of a swift victory over the separatists.
And the few students from confederate planets made increasingly angry remarks directed at the "republican oppressors" and "Corellian cowards." Soon, they all disappeared – some left voluntarily, others were recalled by their parents, fearing for their children's safety.
Propaganda worked slowly but surely. Republican media told day after day about the atrocities of the Confederates, about the heroism of the clones and Jedi, about the need to defend democracy from tyranny. Even in neutral Corellia, these broadcasts found a response.
Alex watched this process with interest. He noted a phenomenon he called "empathy inflation." At first, any news of war casualties caused shock and heated discussions among students. Then, reports of massacres began to be perceived as commonplace. And soon, even the genocide of entire planets elicited only a shrug and a relieved "good thing it's not happening here."
This was a protective reaction of the psyche. The mind adapted to constant stress, blocking emotional responses to what could not be changed. People simply couldn't constantly worry about billions of suffering beings – it would drive them mad.
But adaptation had other consequences. Various committees and organizations began to appear at the university. "Committee for Support of Corellian Neutrality," "Student Council for Peace in the Galaxy," "Society for Aid to War Refugees." Each group promoted its own agenda, often contradicting others.
Some students took a more active stance. Alex saw several of his classmates drop out of school and volunteer – some for the republican army, some for humanitarian organizations, some for who knows where. Their places were taken by new faces, often refugees from war-torn worlds.
His girlfriend transferred to study on Coruscant. After that, Alex decided to focus entirely on his studies. He broke off all romantic entanglements, limiting his personal life to occasional visits to establishments where he could "blow off steam" once a month. Who knew how much longer he could gain knowledge in a relatively calm environment? He had to take everything he could.
This decision proved wise when Associate Professor Well offered him a job in the laboratory.
"We received an interesting order," she explained, leading him through the corridors of the research building. "A private collector has handed over several old droids to us for study. Officially, it's an archaeological research, but I think there are technical mysteries involved."
The laboratory turned out to be a spacious room filled with analytical equipment. On the central table lay parts of a disassembled droid – clearly a prototype model, but very old.
"This is a precursor to the PO series," Associate Professor Well explained. "According to the documents, it's about three thousand years old. But there are oddities."
Alex moved closer, examining the components. Externally, the droid looked like a typical representative of its series, but the details of the processor architecture were... unusual.
"What's the problem?" he asked, carefully feigning the curiosity of a newcomer.
"Look at these schematics," the associate professor activated a holographic projector. "Officially, the PO series was developed by Cybotek Systems four thousand years ago. But the processor architecture of this specimen differs from all known variants."
Alex studied the schematics carefully. What he saw was unusual. The engineering solutions were too elegant, too perfect for technologies of four thousand years ago. Moreover, some principles of memory organization reminded him of ancient devices he had studied on his own.
"Perhaps it's an experimental modification?" he cautiously suggested.
"Perhaps. But then who created it? The 'Cybotek' archives contain no mention of such experiments."
The following weeks Alex spent in the laboratory, helping Associate Professor Well disassemble the droid. Working on the droid was his element – he understood the principles of many components far better than an ordinary student thanks to his work with Uncle, even if that knowledge wasn't systematic. His strange technical intuition also helped.
"Interesting," the associate professor mused, examining another module, "this language processing system is much more complex than it should be for a droid of that era. As if the creators knew principles that were officially discovered only centuries later."
"What if they really knew?" Alex ventured. "What if some knowledge was lost and then rediscovered?"
The associate professor looked at him intently: "Are you thinking about the cyclical nature of technological progress? An interesting idea, but it contradicts the official history of science."
"But history is full of examples of lost knowledge," Alex insisted. "Take, for instance, some of the ancient construction technologies..."
"Fair enough. But in this case, we're talking about high technology. It's harder to lose and rediscover by accident."
"What if it wasn't an accident? What if there was an advanced civilization that disappeared for some reason, leaving only fragments of knowledge?"
Associate Professor Well fell silent, contemplating his words.
"You know, Mr. Korren, many people who are even slightly interested in the subject come to that conclusion. There are some oddities. Perhaps it's so, but until there's proof, it's just a hypothesis. And without proof, you'll be laughed at. We have only fragmentary information even about the founding of the Republic."
Alex felt a strange form of intellectual shame. It felt as if she had said, "I thought you were smarter." He had gotten too carried away and started blurting out his thoughts.
"I understand that, Professor. It's just... I often think about it, and I wanted to discuss this hypothesis with you," he tried to smooth things over. "And this droid is a perfect opportunity."
"Indeed. But I advise you not to get distracted by these topics. Concentrate on knowledge that has a solid foundation. You can delve into questionable hypotheses when you run out of proven knowledge." She smiled slyly. "And that will never happen. Knowledge is too vast."
Meanwhile, the war continued to affect university life. Some research was classified, military consultants appeared, and there were talks of converting part of production for military needs. Even neutral Corellia could not completely isolate itself from the galactic conflict.
"Our droid research might also fall under restrictions," Associate Professor Well said worriedly. "If we find something interesting, it certainly will. They're afraid the enemy might gain access to something dangerous."
"Can ancient droids be dangerous?"
"Not the droids themselves, but the principles of their operation. Some technological solutions could be applicable in the military sphere."
This spurred Alex to accelerate his research. He began spending more time in the laboratory, studying not only the droid but also the available archives. Seeing his enthusiasm, Associate Professor Well granted him extended access to the databases.
It was then that Alex stumbled upon the first mention of a name that changed his entire understanding.
In an old technical report, dated almost twenty thousand years ago, he found a footnote: "Architectural principles may stem from Rakata technologies, mentioned in fragmentary sources from the period of the Great Hyperspace Collapse."
Rakata. Alex reread the line several times, memorizing every word. Finally, a lead. The name of those who might have been the creators of all these mysterious technologies.
He tried to find more information about it, but the results were meager. A few mentions in historical chronicles, a few references, contradictory dating. It gave the impression that someone had deliberately erased traces from historical records.
Most links led to dead ends – "insufficient clearance," "archive unavailable," "data classified." It wasn't even clear what this name meant. Perhaps the name of a corporation? Or a planet? A race? Technology? There was a catastrophic lack of information.
"Associate Professor Well," he addressed his supervisor, "have you heard anything about the 'Rakata'?"
She looked up, recalling: "I think I've encountered that name in some articles. But it's more in the realm of archaeology than technical history. Why are you interested?"
"I found a mention in one of the reports. It said that some technical principles might stem from the Rakata."
"Interesting. But that's a different specialization. My advice to you is to stick to your own field. He who is everywhere is nowhere."
"So, I'll have to study another field," Alex thought.
An opportunity presented itself unexpectedly. During another lab session, an incident occurred – one of the analyzers overheated and began to smoke. Associate Professor Well tried to shut it down but couldn't reach the switch due to the dense equipment setup.
Alex, without hesitation, quickly moved to the back panel and cut the power. His movements were precise and confident – the result of years of experience working with technology.
"Excellent!" exclaimed the associate professor. "How did you react so quickly?"
"I used to fix all sorts of equipment, I worked at my uncle's droid repair shop," Alex shrugged. "I'm used to non-standard situations."
"Commendable, Mr. Korren. For a young student, you have surprisingly good technical skills."
This incident also had positive consequences. Associate Professor Well began to trust him more and started involving him in more complex tasks. This meant access to additional materials and archives.
It was this way that Alex gained the opportunity to study the full report on the droid. And what he discovered there exceeded all expectations.
The droid wasn't just old. Its architecture was based on principles that modern science considered recent discoveries. Self-diagnostic systems, adaptive learning algorithms, memory organization architecture – all of this should have appeared much later than the droid's official creation date.
Moreover, fragments of data were preserved deep within its memory that did not correspond to any known protocols. It was as if the droid had once had access to information networks built on entirely different principles.
"Very strange," Associate Professor Well muttered, studying another schematic. "Such technologies simply could not have existed three thousand years ago."
"What if they could?" Alex said quietly. "What if our understanding of technological history is incomplete?"
"Are you suggesting we reconsider the entire official chronology of scientific progress?"
"I suggest we consider the possibility that progress was not linear. That there were periods of flourishing and decline, discovery and loss."
The associate professor remained silent for a long time, contemplating his words.
"Perhaps. I'm not sure I want to dig into this. And I advise you to think about it too."
"Why?"
Well looked at Alex carefully.
"To be frank, Alex, do you really think you're the first to notice the oddities? There are forces that do not benefit from too rapid progress; it contradicts their interests."
"Whose interests?"
"I don't know for sure. I only have guesses. All modern industry is built on the assumption that we are at the peak of technological development. That our methods and standards are the result of gradual improvement. If it turns out that we are simply copying ancient technologies without fully understanding them..."
She didn't finish, but Alex understood. It would undermine the foundations of the entire economic system of the galaxy.
Working in the laboratory not only gave Alex access to interesting materials but also allowed him to observe how the war affected the scientific community. Many researchers were mobilized for work on military projects. Funding for civilian programs decreased, and secrecy intensified.
"We're lucky our project hasn't been classified yet," Associate Professor Well said. "But it could happen at any moment."
"And what will happen to the droid then?"
"It will be handed over to military researchers. And all our discoveries will become state secrets."
This forced Alex to act faster. He began secretly copying all the data he had access to. Schematics, analyses, historical notes – everything that could be useful for further research.
He was particularly interested in mentions of the Rakata. Fragmentary information began to form a picture of an ancient organization?... with advanced technologies. He still hadn't found out what it was. An organization that disappeared for unknown reasons, leaving behind only artifacts scattered across the galaxy.
By the end of the semester, their droid research was practically complete. The results were so unexpected that Associate Professor Well decided to write a scientific paper.
"But we will only publish part of the data," she warned Alex. "It's best to keep the most controversial conclusions to ourselves for now."
"Why?"
"Because they might raise too many questions. And in wartime, we don't need extra attention."
Alex understood that even in the scientific community, there were unwritten limitations on certain research topics. Theories that were too radical could harm one's career, and in wartime, even personal safety.
But for him, this was just the beginning. He had received the first leads, the first evidence that modern civilization was built on the ruins of something much older and more perfect. Now he needed to find ways to deepen his research, to gain access to more secret archives.
He already understood that he needed to wait for the right opportunity to access the archives. Someone had to read them, right? Which meant they somehow gained access.
Meanwhile, the war continued to escalate. The HoloNet reported new battles, new casualties, new atrocities on both sides. Society adapted to constant stress, developing immunity to the horrors occurring on distant worlds.
Some students created committees and movements, trying to influence the situation somehow. Others volunteered for various organizations. Still others simply tried not to think about the war, concentrating on their studies and personal lives.
Alex chose the latter path. Not because he didn't care. Simply because there were hundreds of trillions of sentient beings in the galaxy, and he saw no way to rationally influence such a mass. The only thing he could do was become one of the victims of this meat grinder. He respected the choice of those who went to die for their ideals, but he believed in neither the Republic nor the Confederacy. Both were controlled by corporations, directing this bloody spectacle and earning credits on the lives of sentient beings.