Alex dialed Jack Tolcho's number, nervously tapping his fingers on the table. Outside the warehouse window, a drizzle was falling, turning the city lights into blurry spots of light. The dial tone on the communicator seemed to stretch on endlessly, and Alex was beginning to think the smuggler wouldn't answer.
"Corren?" a familiar voice finally said. "Didn't expect a call from you."
"Hi, Jack. Listen, I have a proposition. Remember you mentioned some acquaintances who sometimes need... unconventional solutions?"
A pause hung in the air. Alex could hear background noise—music, voices, the clinking of glasses. Jack was clearly in some establishment.
"Interesting," the smuggler finally said. "And what exactly can you offer?"
"Design. Ship modifications for specific needs. Fast, high-quality, inexpensive."
"Hmm..." Jack was clearly considering the offer. "You know what, kid? I actually have a client. A respected individual who wants to modify his freighter. Tomorrow at two in the afternoon, berth number seven in the industrial district. Star Haven Shipyard. Can you find it?"
"I'll find it."
"Excellent. And Corren..." Jack's voice became more serious. "Delicate matters will be discussed there. I hope you understand what confidentiality means?"
"Of course, I understand."
"Then I'll see you there."
The connection broke, and Alex leaned back in his chair. The first real order. A chance to test the "Star Architect" in action and earn money. But judging by Jack's hints, the order wouldn't be entirely legal.
The next day began with alarming news. Alex was having breakfast, listening to the morning reports:
"...mass demonstrations by supporters of secession from the Republic continue in the capital of Corellia. The leader of the 'Free Corellia' movement, Garm Bel Iblis, issued a statement calling for an immediate referendum..."
The screen showed crowds of people with posters saying "Corellia Above All!" and "Down with the War!" The demonstrators chanted slogans and waved flags with the Corellian coat of arms.
"...at the same time, supporters of maintaining membership in the Republic organized a counter-demonstration. A representative of the Republican Party called the separatists traitors and accomplices of the Confederacy..."
The footage changed—now it showed another crowd with Republican flags. "Unity or Death!" and "Separatists are enemies of freedom!" they shouted, clenching their fists.
Alex turned off the holovision. The planet was splitting apart, and it was becoming increasingly obvious. The question wasn't whether Corellia would leave the Republic, but when it would happen and how much blood would be shed.
He got dressed and left his apartment. There were still a few hours until his meeting with Jack, but he wanted to scout the location beforehand. The industrial district was on the outskirts of Coronet, where the skyscrapers of the center gave way to warehouses, factories, and small businesses.
On the way, Alex drove around areas affected by riots several times. Police cordons blocked entire blocks, forcing traffic to take detours. Tension hung in the air—people spoke louder than usual, gestured more actively, and anxiety was visible in their eyes.
At one intersection, he saw a group of young people hanging huge banners on the skybridges between skyscrapers. "Corellians! Don't let our planet be drawn into someone else's war!" the headline read.
The industrial district greeted him with the smells of welding and the sounds of working machinery. There was none of the polish of the central districts—gray buildings, soot-covered walls, cargo speeders zipping between warehouses. Workers in overalls smoked at the entrances to workshops, discussing the latest news.
Alex found berth number seven without difficulty. "Star Haven"—the sign was simple, without embellishments. A two-story gray concrete building, large hangar doors, a small speeder parking lot. Nothing remarkable—one of thousands of similar docks across the galaxy.
Out of curiosity, he checked the name in the galactic database through his portable terminal. The result was predictable—"Star Haven" turned out to be one of the most popular names for small ship repair businesses. There were about twenty thousand companies with that name across the galaxy. Perfect camouflage—try to find the right one among so many.
Alex stood near the entrance, surveying the surroundings, when suddenly everything around him plunged into shadow. He looked up and froze in amazement.
Above the city, slowly gaining altitude, a Venator-class star destroyer glided by. The huge gray triangle blocked the sun, casting a shadow over several blocks. The ship's engines hummed with a low, almost inaudible bass that could be felt throughout the body.
"What a behemoth!" Alex involuntarily exclaimed.
He had seen star destroyers in holorecordings before, but this was his first time seeing one in person. The scale was breathtaking. Over a kilometer long, a crew of several thousand, firepower capable of wiping entire cities off the face of the planet. And this was just one ship out of thousands participating in the galactic war. Alex remembered what the professor had said about the project's creation time. The project resembled ancient ships from the Old Republic era, but of course, it had been heavily modernized. Alex couldn't imagine how many decades had been spent on this project. Someone had taken care of it in advance.
The shipyard workers also came out to watch the spectacle. Some were filming with holocams, others just stood with their mouths open.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a familiar voice said.
Alex turned. Jack Tolcho was approaching him in his usual leather jacket, a cynical smile on his face.
"Impressive," Alex agreed, not taking his eyes off the star destroyer.
"Just think about how much it costs," Jack continued. "Trillions of credits. And there are hundreds of these ships. Can you imagine the money circulating in this war?"
"Astronomical sums."
"Exactly. And as long as this money brings profit to the right people, the war will continue." Jack took a drag from his cigarette. "But enough philosophy. Let's go, I'll introduce you to Rent."
They walked through a small reception area into the depths of the building. Inside, it smelled of metal and electronics. In the main hangar stood several ships of various classes—from small courier vessels to a medium freighter. Technicians in overalls tinkered with open panels, checking systems.
Captain Rent turned out to be a short, stocky man in his fifties with graying temples and a scar across his left eyebrow. A former military man—it was evident from his posture and bearing.
"So, you're the young engineer Jack told me about?" Rent looked Alex up and down appraisingly. "I hope you understand the specifics of our work?"
"I think so," Alex replied cautiously.
"Excellent. Then let's get down to business." Rent led them to a small ship in the far corner of the hangar. "It's a YT-1300, pretty beat up, but with good potential. The owner wants to do some modifications."
Alex examined the ship. Indeed, it was a vessel that had seen better days—the hull was covered in scratches and dents, several panels had clearly been replaced, and there were signs of welding in some areas. But the main systems appeared to be in working order.
"What are the modification requirements?" he asked.
Rent and Jack exchanged glances.
"Let's just say the owner needs additional... cargo space," the captain said cautiously. "About twenty cubic meters in total. But these compartments should be undetectable by standard scanners."
"Get it?" Jack added with a knowing smile.
Alex nodded. Smuggling compartments—he had suspected as much. But work is work, and he could consider the moral aspects later.
"Understood. And do you have access to the ship's computer?"
"Of course," Rent shook his head.
"What's the ship's name?" he asked out of curiosity.
"Millennium Falcon. It's a standard YT hull. You just need to create a redesign project; the ship's project is publicly available."
He walked closer to the ship and found the factory data plate. "YT-1300 492727ZED. Hull serial number: 11-3-3781." This information should be enough to reconstruct the basic configuration.
Alex walked around the ship, mentally noting the visible modifications and non-standard elements. A visual inspection showed that the engines were clearly not factory-made—more powerful, judging by the size of the nozzles. The shields were reinforced with additional generators. Several antennas and sensors that were not part of the standard configuration.
"How much time do you need for the design?" Rent asked.
"A month," Alex replied, though he knew he could do it in a couple of days with the "Star Architect." But there was no need to rush—working too quickly might arouse suspicion.
"Acceptable. The payment is fifty thousand credits. Half now, half upon project delivery."
Alex nodded. The sum was more than fair—he would recoup his investment in the computing cluster, and it was more than good for a first order.
That evening, Alex sat in his warehouse space, loading data into the "Star Architect." The hull number allowed him to restore the basic schematic of the YT-1300, and the visual inspection provided information about the modifications.
The program quickly built a three-dimensional model of the ship with all its systems and components. Now he needed to find places for hidden compartments totaling twenty cubic meters.
Alex set the search parameters: the compartments should be undetectable by standard scanners, not interfere with the operation of the main systems, and have convenient access for loading and unloading. The "Star Architect" began its calculations.
While the program was working, Alex reflected on what he had learned in recent weeks. The exorbitant prices for automated design programs weren't just corporate greed. They were an element of control. Those who rule the galaxy don't want unpredictable ships appearing.
If any engineer could design a high-tech vessel, the balance of power could shift. Ships with unknown capabilities, new technological solutions, unforeseen threats would emerge. It was much easier to control the situation when all projects were created by a few large corporations under government supervision.
A monopoly on complex engineering solutions is a monopoly on power.
After two hours, the "Star Architect" produced its results. The program found seven different options for placing the hidden compartments. Alex studied each one.
The first option involved using the space between the outer hull and the inner bulkheads. The compartments turned out to be long and narrow but well-camouflaged.
The second option utilized the volume under the cargo bay floor. More convenient access, but a greater risk of detection during detailed scanning.
The third option was the most elegant—the compartments were disguised as additional life support system tanks. On scanners, they would look like reservoirs of water or air.
Alex chose a combination of the second and third options. This provided the required volume with minimal risk of detection.
He spent the next few days refining the project. Many nuances had to be considered—how to ensure the compartments were airtight, how to camouflage the entrances, how to avoid altering the ship's center of gravity.
The "Star Architect" handled all tasks, offering optimal solutions. The program even calculated which materials would be best for shielding against different types of scanners.
Outside the warehouse window, life went on. The news reported on new demonstrations, political debates, and economic problems. Prices continued to rise, people became increasingly nervous, and authorities called for calm.
"...today, heated debates took place in the Corellian parliament regarding the planet's future. Supporters of secession from the Republic insist on an immediate referendum..."
The screen showed a parliamentary session. Deputies shouted at each other, waved documents, and left the hall in protest.
"...the opposition leader stated that Corellia should not participate in a war it doesn't need. 'We are not obliged to shed our children's blood for the ambitions of Coruscant politicians,' he said..."
Alex turned off the news and returned to work. Politics is a dirty and dangerous business. It's better to do what you're good at.
A week later, the project was ready. Detailed blueprints, material specifications, step-by-step installation instructions. Everything looked professional and well-thought-out.
Alex didn't rush to submit the work. He had to wait for the promised month to avoid arousing suspicion. He used this time to explore other capabilities of the "Star Architect."
The program could not only design ships but also analyze existing structures, find weaknesses, and suggest improvements. This opened up broad prospects for future orders.
The first few days after receiving the program's results, Alex was euphoric—it seemed like everything was ready. But when he began to analyze the proposed solutions in detail, problems emerged. The program had placed one of the hidden compartments too close to the main power cable—at full engine power, the temperature could damage the contents of the secret compartment.
The entire scheme had to be revised. Alex moved the compartment to another location, but this necessitated changes in the ventilation system. The new configuration of the air ducts conflicted with the placement of additional shielding.
"Bantha poodoo!" he muttered, redrawing the blueprints for the umpteenth time. "And I thought it would be simple."
Each correction created new problems. The program was a powerful tool, but it didn't account for many practical nuances. Temperature regimes, vibration loads, accessibility for maintenance, compatibility with non-standard modifications of the Millennium Falcon—all of this required human understanding and experience.
He also had to continue his studies at the institute. Lectures, seminars, lab work—he couldn't attract attention with a sharp drop in his academic performance. Alex learned to sleep four to five hours a night, constantly switching between academic assignments and the real project.
"Corren, you look tired," Professor Volin remarked after one lecture. "Don't overwork yourself. Studying is important, but health is more important."
"Everything is fine, professor. Just working a lot on my term project."
"Commendable. But remember—quality is more important than quantity. It's better to do one thing well than ten things poorly."
These words proved prophetic. In the third week of work, Alex discovered that the program had incorrectly calculated the hull loads. The additional compartments altered the mass distribution, which could lead to structural stress during maneuvers.
He had to recalculate all the structural elements, add additional stiffeners, and change the mountings. Work that should have taken two days stretched into weeks.
"Here's the first snag," Alex sighed, looking at another iteration of the blueprints.
Gradually, he realized that he had intuitively chosen the right timeframe of a month. This time was barely enough to create a truly high-quality project. The "Star Architect" was a powerful assistant, but not a magic wand. The program offered basic solutions, but each of them required verification, refinement, and adaptation to specific conditions.
It was difficult to combine studies and work, to constantly feel tired, to see his classmates having fun while he toiled over blueprints. But it was worth it. With each passing day, Alex felt his understanding of shipbuilding grow, his engineering intuition develop.
By the end of the month, he could confidently say that the program was just a tool, albeit a very powerful one. Without a specialist who could understand and correct its decisions, nothing good would come of it. And he already considered himself a specialist, albeit a novice.
A month later, Alex returned to the "Star Haven" shipyard. The political situation in the city had further escalated—on the way, he saw burned-out speeders, broken shop windows, and graffiti on the walls. "Freedom of Corellia!" and "Death to separatists!"—the slogans of the warring factions were side-by-side on neighboring buildings.
Captain Rent met him in the same hangar. The "Millennium Falcon" was in its usual spot, but technicians were bustling around it—apparently, performing routine maintenance.
"So, is the project ready?" Rent asked.
"It's ready," Alex handed him a holocrystal with the blueprints. "All requirements have been met."
Rent inserted the crystal into a portable projector. A three-dimensional schematic of the ship appeared in the air, with the hidden compartments highlighted in color.
"Interesting," the captain muttered, studying the project. "And what are these additional tanks?"
"Camouflage," Alex explained. "On the scanners, they'll look like life support tanks. Access through the cargo bay floor hatches."
"Clever," Rent nodded approvingly. "And the shielding?"
"Multi-layered. A combination of various materials that absorb or scatter scanning beams. Plus false signals mimicking standard equipment."
Rent carefully studied the specifications, nodding occasionally or asking clarifying questions. He switched to detailed view mode, zooming in on individual nodes and connections.
"It's good that you're using the GIM standard," the captain nodded approvingly, manipulating the holographic model. "The Graphical Information Model is exactly what's needed for serious work."
Alex silently watched Rent study the model. Each element contained not only geometric data but also technical specifications, materials, mounting methods, and assembly sequence—all in a single integrated format.
"Many young engineers still send flat blueprints," Rent continued, zooming in on one of the hidden compartment mounting nodes. "And then they wonder why the repair droids can't make sense of their scribbles."
The hologram showed not only the shape of the part but also pop-up information panels with data on the material, permissible loads, and the required tool for installation.
"Your model is high-quality," Rent nodded approvingly. "It's clear you spent time on the details. My droids will be able to work with this directly—optimize the operation sequence, calculate the time, check material availability."
He studied various nodes for a few more minutes, checking complex connections and non-standard solutions.
"The work looks professional," Rent finally said, turning off the projector. "But I need time for my specialists to check everything. Will a week be alright?"
"Of course," Alex agreed, though he tensed inwardly. Additional checks meant risk—what if they found errors?
"Excellent. If everything is in order, you'll receive the rest of the money. Jack knows how to contact you."
The next week passed in anxious anticipation. Alex tried to concentrate on his studies, but his thoughts constantly returned to the project. What if he missed something? What if his calculations turned out to be wrong?
The political situation in the city continued to escalate. Demonstrations became daily occurrences, the police were on high alert, and the news spoke of a possible state of martial law.
Finally, Jack called: "Korren? Come to the shipyard. Rent wants to talk."
Alex rushed to the industrial district, wondering if the news was good or bad.
The captain met him with a satisfied look: "My people checked your project. Impressive work—all calculations are correct, solutions are optimal, no complaints."
He took out a credit card and handed it to Alex: "The remaining twenty-five thousand. Consider it a test you passed."
"A test?"
"Of course. Do you think we immediately entrust large orders to strangers?" Rent chuckled. "But you handled it. I have a few more acquaintances who might need your services."
Alex nodded. The first order was successfully completed, his reputation was starting to form. Now he could count on a steady stream of work.
"By the way," Rent added, "I advise you to hurry with your other projects. It might get quite unstable here soon."
"What do you mean?"
"Corellia is leaving the Republic. It will be officially announced next week. And that means the Republic authorities will try to interfere. Blockades, military actions, all sorts of trouble are possible."
Alex felt a chill run down his spine. He knew it was heading this way, but it was one thing to assume, another to hear it from a reliable source.
"Where did you get the information?"
"I have connections in the government," Rent replied evasively. "Take my word for it—it's better to prepare in advance."
Returning home, Alex pondered the future. Fifty thousand credits was good money, especially under the current circumstances. The investment in the computing cluster had fully paid off, and now "Star Architect" could bring a stable profit.
But most importantly, he had found his niche. Semi-legal orders, specific requirements, clients who needed non-standard solutions. It was risky, but profitable.
At one of the intersections, his speeder was stopped by a police patrol. Officers were checking the documents of everyone passing through—enhanced security measures due to political tension.
"Documents," the policeman demanded.
Alex handed over his identification. The officer carefully examined it, cross-referencing it with the database.
"Student?" he repeated. "And what were you doing in the industrial district?"
"Internship," Alex lied. "Studying the work of private shipyards for a term paper."
The policeman looked at the documents again, then returned them.
"Proceed. And be careful—it's not safe in the city."
Alex nodded and drove on. He needed to be more careful. If the situation worsened, any suspicious contacts could attract the authorities' attention.
At home, he turned on the news. Just as Rent had predicted, the political crisis had reached its peak.
"...the Corellian parliament has passed a resolution to secede from the Galactic Republic. The vote took place amidst stormy protests from the opposition. Supporters of independence are celebrating victory in the capital's streets..."
The screen showed jubilant crowds with Corellian flags. People were singing, dancing, setting off fireworks.
"...however, a Republic representative on Corellia stated that the parliament's decision is illegal and will not be recognized by the Senate. Chancellor Palpatine issued a statement on the unacceptability of separatism during wartime..."
The footage changed—now it showed the grim face of the Chancellor delivering a speech in the Senate.
"...according to unconfirmed reports, a Republic fleet is heading towards the Corellian system. Official authorities refuse to comment on this information..."
Alex turned off the holovision. Rent had been right—it would get very unstable here soon. He needed to prepare for any scenario.
He looked at the credit card with the money he had earned. Fifty thousand credits was a good start. But it was just the first step. An uncertain future lay ahead, full of dangers and opportunities.
Outside, a new day was dawning, and somewhere in the depths of space, Republic Star Destroyers were changing course, heading towards Corellia. War was approaching his home, and Alex understood—everything would change forever soon.