The second year began in an atmosphere of escalating military tension. The Clone Wars had already engulfed dozens of systems, and their influence was felt even within the walls of KTI. Many instructors were mobilized as consultants for military projects, and some laboratories were repurposed for defense research.
The university corridors, once filled with the carefree hum of student voices, now sounded muffled. Holographic screens with military reports hung everywhere, and between classes, students gathered around them, discussing the latest news from the fronts. Many senior students had already received conscription notices or volunteered for technical units of the Republic army. Alex often heard his fellow students in space engineering discussing the possibility of early conscription – military ships required constant repair and modernization, and experienced engineers were in critically short supply. The atmosphere was tense, as if the entire institute was in a state of anticipation of something inevitable.
Alex was relieved to find that Associate Professor Well had remained at the institute and continued her research, although now it was officially called "study of historical aspects of technological security." His main classes in ship system design also continued, although now most of the practical assignments were related to military ships – students studied the schematics of Republic army fighters, cruisers, and transports. It was then that he made a decision that changed his entire future.
After long deliberation on how best to apply the knowledge gained in the archives over the summer, Alex decided to enroll in an additional specialization. He understood that archaeotechnology could complement his main education in space engineering – understanding the principles of ancient technologies could help in developing more advanced ship systems. He was interested in the field of archaeotechnology – a discipline that studies the forgotten technologies of ancient civilizations, reconstructing their operating principles from surviving artifacts and records, and comparing the development of technologies among different civilizations. It deciphers "dead" machine code languages and energy systems, like linguists decipher ancient texts.
The procedure for enrolling in the additional specialization turned out to be quite complex. Alex had to submit a separate application to the dean's office, undergo an interview with the program director, and, most importantly, prove his financial ability to pay for the additional courses.
"Specialization in archaeotechnology requires serious preparation," the dean of the technohistory faculty, Professor Corran, explained to him. "These are not just additional lectures. You will have to work in laboratories with expensive equipment, participate in research projects. And keep in mind that this will be in addition to your main program in space engineering – the workload will double."
"I understand, Professor. I am ready for the additional workload."
"Good. But there is the financial issue. Additional specialization costs twelve thousand credits per semester."
Alex quickly calculated in his head. The amount was significant, but not critical. Thanks to his student discount for excellent academic performance, the cost was reduced to eight hundred and forty credits, and the savings accumulated during his uncle's work and his share of the family business allowed him to cover these expenses without serious damage to his budget.
"I have the necessary funds," he said confidently.
"Excellent. Then, welcome to the archaeotechnology specialization program."
The first weeks of the second year, Alex was torn between his main classes and his additional specialization. In the morning, he studied the principles of hyperdrive operation and ship energy systems, solved problems on trajectory calculations and hull loads during hyperspace jumps. After lunch, he switched to archaeotechnology, which, for some reason, began with the history of neurointerfaces. Alex studied the principles of the human brain and the brains of other species, the peculiarities of neural activity, and methods of recording and interpreting brain signals. On a superficial level, necessary for understanding the operating principles of neurointerfaces. But even at this stage, he saw many oddities, such as similar brain structures in different species, although the differences were also significant. The lectures were given by Associate Professor Well, who, as it turned out, was one of KTI's leading specialists in neurointerfaces and archaeotechnology. It was precisely because of her second specialization that she taught them the history of technologies.
"A neurointerface is a bridge between biological and artificial intelligence," she explained to the students. "We are learning to translate thoughts into commands for machines and, conversely, to transmit information from machines directly into the brain."
After a month of theoretical preparation, practical work began. It was then that Associate Professor Well spoke about a new project that might interest the most capable students.
"Military command has allocated a grant for research into the possibilities of using neurointerfaces for controlling spacecraft," she announced at one of the lectures. "Imagine – a pilot directly connected to the ship's systems through a neural link. Reaction speed would increase manifold, and control accuracy would reach unprecedented heights."
Alex's eyes lit up with interest. This was exactly what could combine his two specializations – space engineering and archaeotechnology.
"Is this possible with modern technologies?"
"There is a whole unexplored field for research," the associate professor replied. "Modern neurointerfaces theoretically allow transmitting complex commands and even concepts, but for full ship control, much deeper system adjustments are needed."
The associate professor stood up and walked to the window, where military transports could be seen landing on the institute's landing pads.
"The military believes that understanding the principles of neurointerfaces will help us create fundamentally new control systems," she explained to Alex. "The problem is that modern interfaces are a multi-layered software system accumulated over centuries."
"Is this a military grant?" Alex clarified.
"Precisely. We have been working on this project for several months. We have assembled a whole team – students, graduate students, several scientists from other institutes. Students work as my assistants, but participate in real research at the forefront of science."
Alex felt his heart beat faster. This was exactly the opportunity he had dreamed of – the chance to work with cutting-edge technologies at the intersection of theory and practice.
"I am ready to join the team," he said resolutely.
"Excellent. Tomorrow I will introduce you to the other project participants."
The next two months flew by in intensive work. Alex barely managed to combine the research project with his main classes – lectures on ship engine thermodynamics, practical sessions on life support system design, seminars on materials science for space structures. He often had to stay up late at night, preparing coursework on hull strength calculations or studying new alloys for ship plating. The research group was located in a specially equipped wing of the institute, where the military had installed additional security systems. The team consisted of eight people: Associate Professor Well led the project, three scientists from other institutes dealt with theoretical aspects, and four students, including Alex, performed practical work under their guidance.
Military influence was felt everywhere. Guards in Republic army uniforms were constantly on duty in the institute's corridors. Many laboratories were requisitioned for military needs, and the remaining ones operated on a strict schedule coordinated with military command. Even the training workshops of the space engineering faculty were now used to repair damaged fighters brought from the front. Students joked that KTI resembled a military base more than an educational institution.
But Alex understood the seriousness of the situation. Every day brought news of losses on the fronts, of systems captured by separatists, of new terrifying enemy combat droids. The Republic needed technological superiority, and their work could be the key to victory.
The basis of their research was standard neurointerfaces produced by "Cybotek" – the very devices used in the institute's entrance exams. These were quite advanced systems, capable not only of reading simple mental commands but also of transmitting complex concepts and images directly into the user's brain.
"The problem with modern neurointerfaces is not in the hardware," explained Dr. Kane, one of the scientists on the team. "The hardware we have is excellent. The problem is in the software."
Alex quickly understood the essence of the problem. His knowledge of ship systems helped him understand the complexity of integration – just as hundreds of subsystems must work in concert in a modern starship, a neurointerface had to coordinate numerous ship functions through the pilot's consciousness. "Cybotek" bought the production templates and software for neurointerfaces five hundred and sixty years ago from another company that had long since disappeared. That, in turn, acquired the technologies from its predecessor two thousand years ago, and so on.
"Essentially, we are dealing with an onion architecture," Associate Professor Well explained. "Each company added its own layers of protection and functionality on top of existing code, without removing the previous ones. As a result, a modern neurointerface contains software layers created by dozens of different companies over millennia."
"And we are trying to get to the source code?" Alex asked.
"Precisely. We are gradually removing the protections, layer by layer, to understand the basic principles of the system's operation. Only then can we configure the interface for interaction with ship equipment."
The work was painstaking and required immense patience. Each layer of software was protected by corporate ciphers and security systems. The team had to study documentation from companies that had disappeared centuries ago, decipher outdated protocols, and bypass intellectual property protection systems.
Alex proved to be a talented programmer. His analytical mind, sharpened not only by his summer work in the archives but also by constant practice in solving engineering problems – trajectory calculations, structural load analysis, ship power consumption optimization – allowed him to see patterns where others saw only chaos. Within a month of work, he achieved his first significant success – he managed to remove several layers of protection and gain access to deeper levels of the program.
"Excellent work, Alex," Associate Professor Well praised him. "You've made more progress than we did in the previous two months."
The first practical result was the ability to control an artificial arm through a neurointerface. Alex immediately saw parallels with ship manipulator control systems – those mechanical arms used for loading and repair in space. The principles were similar, but the neurointerface allowed for much finer and more intuitive control. He configured the system so that the user could not only issue simple commands like "clench" or "release" but also transmit complex motor programs, allowing the robotic limb to perform delicate manipulations.
The team's students took turns testing the interface, learning to control the artificial arm with the power of thought. It was exciting – to see the metal fingers repeat movements that existed only in the operator's imagination.
A new student joined Associate Professor Well's research group – Mara Sinn, a third-year student from the cybernetics faculty. Tall, dark-haired, with a sharp mind and a skeptical view of the world. She appeared in their laboratory on a rainy autumn day, when a thunderstorm raged outside, and military reports spoke of a new major battle in the Christophsis system.
"Mara specializes in human-machine interfaces," Associate Professor Well introduced her. "Her experience will be useful for our project."
Mara quickly integrated into the team and proved to be a capable researcher. Alex found that he could discuss not only neurointerface issues with her but also problems with integrating various ship systems—she had a good understanding of how complex technical systems worked. She helped Alex remove several more layers of software protection, granting access to deeper levels of the neurointerface code.
Meanwhile, the war increasingly affected university life. Every morning, students woke to the sounds of military ships taking off. Alex often observed them from a technical perspective, automatically assessing their design, engine type, and estimated flight range. He recognized some ships from the blueprints he studied in class—Venator-class cruisers, ARC-170 fighters, heavy transports. The cafeterias switched to military rations, and special sections with technical documentation on military equipment appeared in the libraries. Many senior students disappeared—some volunteered, others were conscripted into the army.
Alex anxiously noted that among those conscripted, there was a particularly large number of senior engineering students. The fleet needed specialists for ship repair and modernization, and the military didn't hesitate to take the best students directly from starship design lectures.
Alex often pondered the events, especially late in the evenings when he worked on deciphering another layer of software code. Sometimes he fell asleep right at his desk, surrounded by printouts of ancient algorithms and schematics of ship systems—the two directions of his studies intertwined bizarrely in his tired mind. The Clone Wars were not just a military conflict—they were changing the very nature of galactic society. The Republic, which had existed for thousands of years, was cracking under the pressure of military necessity.
And at the center of all this chaos, their small team was trying to unravel the secrets of technologies created thousands of years ago. Each removed layer of protection brought them closer to understanding the true principles of neurointerfaces, but at the same time, it raised new questions about who created these amazing devices and why.
The incident occurred on a normal workday, when the team achieved another breakthrough. Alex spent the morning in a lecture on calculating hyperspace jumps, where he studied the influence of gravitational anomalies on navigation accuracy, and after lunch, he switched to working with neurointerfaces. Alex and Mara managed to remove another level of software protection, gaining access to code that, by all appearances, was created over three thousand years ago. It was a significant success, and Associate Professor Well decided to announce a lunch break.
"Excellent work," she said, examining the results on the holographic display. "We've reached one of the deepest layers. We'll continue the analysis after lunch."
"Perhaps we should perform a full system diagnostic first?" Alex suggested. "We don't know how the changes affected the interface's stability."
"You're right," the associate professor agreed. "But lunch first. Everyone is tired, and a hungry brain works worse than a full one."
One by one, the team members left the laboratory, heading to the cafeteria. Alex was about to follow them but noticed that Mara remained at her workstation, studying the code on the screen.
"Mara, aren't you coming to lunch?" he asked.
"In a minute," she waved him off. "I want to look at these lines of code. They look strange."
"The associate professor said not to touch the system until a full diagnostic is done."
"I'm just looking," she assured him. "I won't change anything."
Alex hesitated. On one hand, he understood Mara's curiosity—they had indeed achieved a significant breakthrough. On the other hand, working with a modified neurointerface required extreme caution.
"Alright," he finally said. "But just looking. And no active tests."
"Of course," Mara nodded.
Alex headed for the exit, but turned back at the door. Mara was sitting in front of the screen, intently studying the lines of ancient code. Something about her posture seemed unsettling, but he couldn't pinpoint what.
"I'll quickly grab some coffee and be right back," he said. "Don't do anything without me."
"Okay," she replied distractedly, not looking up from the screen.
Alex left the laboratory but returned a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. What he saw made him freeze.
Mara was sitting in a chair with the neurointerface on, and lines of code were flashing on the screen in front of her at incredible speed. An artificial arm, connected to the system, was making complex movements as if executing some intricate program.
"Mara!" he shouted, dropping the coffee cups. "What are you doing?!"
She turned to him, and Alex saw that her eyes were wide open, and her face was frozen in an expression of strange delight.
"Alex!" she exclaimed. "You won't believe what I've discovered! This code... it's incredible!"
"Take off the interface immediately!" Alex rushed towards her, but she pushed him away with unexpected strength, almost knocking him over. "You're violating all safety regulations!"
"Wait, wait," she waved him off, not removing the device. "I just wanted to control the arm, like we did before. But when I connected to the new layer of code..."
"Mara, it's dangerous! We don't know what might happen with an untested system!"
"But nothing bad is happening," she assured him. "On the contrary, I feel great. Moreover, I understand the code as clearly as never before. It's as if someone is explaining it to me from the inside."
Alex felt a growing unease. Mara's behavior was strange—she seemed too excited, almost euphoric. This was not a normal reaction to working with a neurointerface.
"Mara, please disconnect from the system. We'll wait for Associate Professor Well to return and perform a full diagnostic."
"But I'm telling you—everything is fine!" she insisted. "More than fine. I've never felt so clear. My thoughts have become so sharp, organized..."
The artificial arm continued to move, performing increasingly complex manipulations. Alex noticed that Mara wasn't even concentrating on controlling it—the arm moved as if on its own, following some internal programs.
"Look at the screen," Mara said, pointing to the display. "See these lines of code? Before, they seemed like a meaningless jumble of symbols. But now I understand every command, every function. It's like... like I've always known this programming language."
Alex glanced at the screen and felt a chill. The code indeed looked completely different—more structured, organized. But what scared him the most was the speed at which the lines flashed. The human brain couldn't process information at such a speed.
"Mara, something is wrong," he said, trying to remain calm. "The neurointerface is affecting your perception. You need to disconnect immediately." He was afraid to approach her.
"Affecting?" she laughed. "Alex, it's not affecting. It's helping. It's removing the limitations that prevented me from thinking clearly."
"What limitations?"
"All these doubts, fears, uncertainties." Mara ran her hand over the interface on her head. "Now I see things as they truly are. I understand my place in the grand system."
Alex felt adrenaline surge through his veins. Mara's words sounded calm and confident, but there was a chilling conviction in them that scared him more than any screams.
"What system?" he asked cautiously.
"A system of order. Hierarchy." A strange, detached gleam appeared in her eyes. "I understand now that some are created to lead, and others—to follow instructions. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's natural. The purpose of existence is to serve those higher in the hierarchy. That is true happiness."
"And who is higher?"
"Those who created this system. Those to whom we all belong. The Masters. They have always been here. We only thought we were free."
"Mara, that's not you talking!" Alex tried to approach her, but she again pushed him away with frightening strength.
"On the contrary," she smiled. "For the first time in my life, I'm saying what I truly think. Without all these false notions of equality and freedom of choice."
Alex frantically grabbed the communicator and contacted Associate Professor Well.
"Associate Professor, return to the laboratory immediately!" he shouted into the receiver. "Mara has connected to the modified neurointerface, and something is happening to her!"
"What exactly?" the associate professor asked, alarmed.
"She put on the interface in violation of all safety rules! Now she's saying strange things about order and hierarchy! And she's exhibiting unusual physical strength!"
"I'm on my way!"
Alex turned to Mara, who continued to sit in the chair, watching the artificial arm's movements.
"Mara, we need to gradually end the session."
"Why?" she looked at him with surprise. "I feel wonderful. Better than ever."
"You're saying things that are not like you. The system is affecting your thinking."
"The system isn't affecting," she explained patiently. "The system is enlightening. It's showing the truth that I couldn't see before because of prejudice."
"What truth?"
"That chaos and disorder bring only suffering. That true happiness is possible only within a clear structure, where everyone knows their place and performs their function."
Alex listened to these words with growing horror. Mara had always been an independent, free-thinking girl. And after just a few minutes of working with the modified neurointerface, she had turned into a preacher of some authoritarian philosophy.
At that moment, Associate Professor Well burst into the laboratory with two security personnel. Seeing Mara with the neurointerface on her head, she froze.
"My God," she whispered. "Mara, what have you done?"
"I have discovered the truth, Associate Professor Well," Mara replied calmly. "The truth about how the world should be organized."
"Remove the interface immediately," the associate professor ordered.
"Why?" Mara looked at her with pity. "Associate Professor, you've studied technology your whole life without understanding its true purpose. They were created not just to solve problems. They were created to establish order."
Associate Professor Well went to the control panel and began examining the system readings.
"Brain activity is exceeding normal by three hundred percent," she muttered. "Neural connections are operating in a mode that should be impossible for the human brain."
"Because my brain was inefficient before," Mara explained. "The system corrected it. Optimized my thought processes."
"This isn't optimization, it's a personality change!"
"And what's wrong with changing for the better?" Mara asked sincerely. "I've become calmer, more confident, I understand my place in the world. Isn't that good?"
Associate Professor Well exchanged an alarmed glance with Alex. It was clear that the neurointerface had drastically altered Mara's consciousness, but the girl was convinced that this change was positive.
"Mara, we will perform a full system diagnostic, and then we will safely disconnect you from the interface," the associate professor said.
"I don't want to disconnect," Mara objected. "For the first time in my life, I see the world clearly. Why return to chaos and uncertainty?"
"Because this 'clear world' is an illusion created by a machine!"
"An illusion?" Mara shook her head. "Associate Professor, an illusion is the belief that people can exist without structure and guidance. The truth is that order and hierarchy are the natural state of intelligent life."
One of the security guards tried to approach Mara to forcibly remove the interface, but she sharply pulled away with such force that she threw him against the wall.
"Don't touch me!" she shouted. "You don't understand what you're doing!"
Suddenly, the artificial arm she was controlling grabbed a heavy tool and swung at the second guard. He barely managed to jump aside.
"Mara, stop!" Associate Professor Well cried.
"I can't let you destroy the connection," Mara said, and for the first time, a hint of desperation appeared in her voice. "You don't understand that without the system, I'll become blind, confused, and unhappy again."
Associate Professor Well activated the emergency system shutdown. The neurointerface began to gradually reduce activity, preparing for safe disconnection.
"No!" Mara screamed, feeling the changes. "Don't do it! You have no right!"
She tried to get out of the chair, but the security guards, now acting more cautiously, tried to restrain her. Mara displayed incredible strength, easily throwing off the adult men. The artificial arm twitched convulsively, receiving conflicting signals from the disconnecting system.
"You're condemning me to chaos!" Mara cried. "To a life without meaning or purpose!"
"We are returning your free will," Associate Professor Well said firmly.
"Free will is a curse!" Mara thrashed in the chair, trying to prevent the disconnection. "A burden of choice that no one should bear!"
Finally, the neurointerface completely disconnected and automatically detached from Mara's head. But she didn't calm down. On the contrary, her behavior became even stranger.
"What... what's happening?" she mumbled, clutching her head. "The connection... the connection is still here! I can still feel the system!"
Alex and Associate Professor Well exchanged horrified glances. The instrument readings confirmed it—the neurointerface was disconnected, but Mara's brain activity remained abnormally high.
"This is impossible," the associate professor whispered. "The device is completely disconnected."
"No," Mara shook her head, looking at them with pity. "You don't understand. The system isn't in the device. The system is within me. It has become a part of me."
At that moment, military medics entered the laboratory with a stretcher.
"We'll take her to a medical facility for a full examination," the senior medic announced. "And the interface must be isolated for study."
"No!" Mara screamed as one of the technicians picked up the disconnected neurointerface. "Don't touch it! I need it!"
She lunged at the technician with incredible speed and strength, knocking down everyone who tried to stop her. Grabbing the interface, she tried to put it on her head again, but the device didn't activate.
"Work!" she shouted, shaking the interface. "Give me back the connection!"
When it became clear that the device was unresponsive, Mara's despair reached its peak. She squeezed the interface in her hands, trying to force it to work, but the fragile components began to crack under the pressure of her incredibly strong fingers.
"Mara, stop!" Alex shouted, but it was too late.
The interface shattered in her hands. Sharp fragments pierced her palms, breaking her fingers, but she seemed not to feel the pain.
"What have I done..." she whispered, looking at the wreckage. "What have I done..."
And then, before anyone could react, she abruptly turned and ran towards the laboratory's large window.
Time seemed to slow down for Alex. He saw Mara run, saw her body crash into the glass. Adrenaline exploded in his blood. A sense of complete, irreparable catastrophe washed over him like an icy wave. He reached out, trying to stop her, but knew it was too late. In the slow-motion playback of his mind, he saw her break through the window, saw shards of glass fly around her like a sparkling rain, saw her body disappear through the opening, falling down from the two-hundredth floor.
"MARA!" his scream tore through the silence, but it was too late.
Alex rushed to the broken window. Mara was still falling for a long ten seconds. Below, on the concrete pad in front of the building, with the sound of something bursting, fell a body, surrounded by shards of glass that continued to fall, sparkling in the sunlight. Alex stood frozen at the window, understanding what had happened, but somewhere deep inside, still unable to believe it.
An hour later, a military group led by Colonel Tarn arrived at the laboratory. They listened carefully to Associate Professor Well's report and examined the session recordings.
"This is classified information," the colonel announced. "All present will sign non-disclosure agreements. No one is to know the details of this incident."
"But we must study what happened," Associate Professor Well objected. "It could be important for understanding the principles of neurointerface operation."
"The study will continue, but under strict military control," the colonel said. "For now, all materials are confiscated, and the laboratory is closed."
Alex signed the non-disclosure agreement, but his thoughts were elsewhere. In the evening, sitting in his room over textbooks on starship engine thermodynamics, he couldn't focus on formulas and diagrams. His thoughts constantly returned to what had happened. Mara's incident showed that even ordinary neurointerfaces could have a profound impact on the human consciousness. What if it wasn't a side effect, but a hidden function?
Late in the evening, when Alex was finally alone in his room, he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. In just a few minutes, the modified neurointerface had turned her into a madwoman. And then she preferred death to returning to her former state.
But what worried him even more were the thoughts about ordinary neurointerfaces, which were used everywhere. Of course, standard devices couldn't drastically change a person's personality in a few minutes. But could they have a more subtle, gradual impact?
Alex remembered how, after long sessions with the neurointerface, his mood changed, how some thoughts seemed clearer, and others—less important. He attributed it to fatigue, but now he began to doubt.
What if any device that can read brain signals can also influence them? What if the line between reading thoughts and correcting them is not as clear as it seemed? Modern neurointerfaces could affect the mind slowly, imperceptibly, gradually shaping certain thinking patterns in users.
But most of all, he was disturbed by Mara's words about the "Masters." Those who created the system. Those to whom everyone belonged. After working in the archives during the summer, Alex was almost certain who she meant—the Rakata. An ancient race that ruled the galaxy thousands of years ago, using advanced technology to enslave other species. Official history claimed they had disappeared, but what if their influence remained in the technologies they left behind?
This thought terrified him the most. Because if it were true, then trillions of people using neurointerfaces in medicine, education, industry, and the military could be subjected to hidden influence. And no one suspected it.
Alex realized he needed to be extremely careful. Technologies that seemed safe and useful could hide dangers that modern science hadn't even suspected. And he found himself at the very center of research that could change the fate of the galaxy—for better or worse.