Location: Nar Shaddaa, Alex's Office
Time: 8 BBY
Alex delved into the archival data about Tarsik. The planet's history unfolded on the screen layer by layer — eight hundred years of colonization attempts, each ending in failure.
R4-K9 displayed the astronomical characteristics: the third planet from a yellow dwarf star with a large moon stabilizing its climate. Standard surface gravity, oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, and oceans covering seventy percent of the surface. A temperate climate, four seasons thanks to axial tilt — practically ideal conditions for life.
Alex studied the data with bewilderment. A rich biosphere, fertile soils, a stable ecosystem. A planet like this should have supported a multi-billion-strong colony, but instead, there was a string of colonization failures, ultimately turning it into a run-down mining world.
The answer lay in logistics. Tarsik was located in a dead-end branch of the hyperspace routes, far from the main trade lanes. Delivering goods took weeks, and transportation costs ate up all profits from agriculture and industry. The only profitable activity turned out to be the extraction of rare earth metals — a compact, expensive cargo that could withstand high transportation costs.
But even industrial activity was conducted locally. The map showed small mining complexes against a backdrop of vast untouched territories. The main part of the planet remained pristine — simply because no one needed it.
Now, even the mines were closing. Not due to depletion of deposits, but due to rising transportation costs. The Corporation had found more profitable sources closer to the central worlds.
Alex leaned back in his chair, contemplating the paradox. A planet with ideal living conditions, rich resources, and untouched nature — yet utterly incapable of becoming anything more than a desolate backwater. Only one thing was missing — a fast route to civilized worlds.
Alex studied the financial documents laid out on the holotable. The numbers told a sad story of the slow agony of corporate business on this planet. Tarsik mines had been operating at a loss for three consecutive quarters, and projections for the next year looked even worse.
"Fifty thousand miners working on a rotational basis, compared to two million colonists during its peak," he muttered, flipping through demographic summaries.
At the next table, Verena studied catalogs of mining equipment, occasionally making notes on her datapad. For the past few months, she had been engrossed in the study of mining technologies — an unexpected passion for a pilot. But considering she grew up on Ryloth, one of the largest mining worlds in the Outer Rim, it made sense.
"New Cybotek drilling droids are thirty percent more efficient than previous models," she said, not looking up from her screen. "And their autonomy is higher — they can work for six months without maintenance."
Alex nodded, continuing to study the reports. Information about current planetary asset prices appeared on the screen.
"Officially, Tarsik is valued at one hundred and forty million credits," Alex read. "That's very little for a planet. But that's assuming a functioning economy and profitable extraction. No one will buy it now, as it's a complete loss."
He leaned back in his chair, thinking. A planet with unstable hyperspace lanes, social problems, and no prospects for corporations. But he had capabilities that the corporation didn't — direct access to rich markets through secret routes. He thought about what a treasure his hyperspace station map was. If the corporation had one, perhaps they would have found the crystalline heart to power it.
On the other hand, buying it meant official ownership, taxes, and reporting to the Imperial bureaucracy. And most importantly — why pay for something that could be obtained for free soon?
He zoomed in on the map, showing the entire Outer Rim region. Tarsik was not an exception. Kvarion, Maltara, Drexel, Kenari — dozens of similar systems, former mining worlds, now dying.
He began marking such systems with red dots. With each new mark, the picture became clearer. Before, he thought it was the frontier, a place for colonizing new worlds. But in reality, it was the opposite. It was a graveyard of civilization. Worlds that were slowly, almost imperceptibly, being abandoned.
Formally, they were listed as inhabited in Imperial archives, designated as active colonies. But in fact, they were turning into empty rocks with automatic beacons.
The decision made itself. Buying Tarsik was foolish. In a year or two, the Corporation would simply abandon it, just as they had abandoned hundreds of other unprofitable assets. And then he could redirect the hyperspace station to himself, blocking navigation data for outsiders. It would become a pocket of space accessible only to him.
A few months later, the expected message arrived, sooner than he anticipated. Karl Drexson contacted him via a secure channel, his face on the screen expressing his usual resignation.
"Alex, I have bad news," he began without preamble. "The Corporation has made a final decision. In a month, we will cease operations on Tarsik."
"Understood," Alex replied calmly. "What about the personnel?"
"Some will be transferred to other corporate facilities, some will leave on their own." Drexson paused. "Sorry it turned out this way. I know you were counting on our supplies."
"No problem, Karl. It's a natural process."
After disconnecting the call, Alex looked thoughtfully out the window. He felt no pangs of conscience. Economic logic was relentless — unprofitable assets eventually closed. And he had plans for these assets.
Over the past months, trading operations through the space hub had brought in increasing profits. Buyers from the Outer Rim worlds regularly arrived for goods, and thanks to secret hyperspace routes, delivery to the rich Core markets took days instead of weeks. Ore from abandoned planets could be an excellent addition to the assortment.
In the evening, he contacted Luten on Coruscant. The Varlorian's face on the screen looked inspired.
"Alex! Excellent news. We're moving to the next stage."
"Which one?"
"Uniting scattered rebel groups into a single network," Luten activated a diagram on his end. "Look — cells on Ryloth, the resistance group on Lothal, So Herrera's partisans. They all operate independently, often hindering each other."
A complex diagram of connections between various factions appeared on the screen.
"I propose creating a coordination center. Unified operation planning, intelligence sharing, coordination of arms supplies."
Alex shook his head skeptically: "Luten, there are worthy people among these groups. But look realistically — half of them are ordinary terrorists. What can you possibly agree on with them?"
"Not all are like that..."
"Not all, but many. Herrera, for example, is a fanatic ready to make any sacrifice for his goals. And the Ryloth separatists are xenophobes."
Luten frowned: "Then what do you propose? Sit idly by?"
"I propose you handle this. Political coordination is not my area. That's your responsibility. I have the money for financing, you have the connections and experience. But I won't interfere in operational matters."
"Alright," Luten agreed. "But I'll need more funds. Coordination is expensive."
"You'll get it."
A month later, Alex and Verena were flying to Tarsik on the "Wanderer." Behind them flew a cargo ship with Jack Tolcho. Its cargo hold contained two thousand of the latest model mining droids — autonomous extractors capable of working for years without maintenance.
"The last corporate transport left yesterday," R4-K9 reported. "The planet is officially abandoned."
Verena checked the droid manifests on her datapad: "Drilling rigs, transport platforms, sorting complexes — a complete automated mining cycle. They can work for five years without maintenance."
Over months of studying mining, she had become a true expert. Alex watched with pleasure as she enthusiastically delved into technical details and drew up plans for optimal equipment placement. In the evenings, when work was done, they spent time together — dining in his apartment, discussing plans, sharing thoughts about the future.
Tarsik greeted them with dead silence. The spaceport was empty, automatic systems were in conservation mode. Alex landed the ship near the main mine and began unloading the droids.
"Programming for autonomous extraction," he said, connecting to the command unit. "They will work in the background."
Droids streamed down the mine shafts. Two thousand units — an entire army of mechanical workers. Their optical sensors flickered in the darkness, illuminating the path into the planet's depths.
Verena observed the process with professional interest: "At this extraction intensity, the reserves of primary deposits will be depleted in three years. But there are deep deposits — the droids will reach them by the fifth year of operation."
"Excellent. And what about the logistics of export?"
"Once every six months, we can send a cargo convoy to the hub. Twenty transporters will handle the semi-annual extraction volume."
They inspected the abandoned city. Empty houses, streetlights turned off, shop windows covered in dust. The wind blew scraps of plastic and old advertising posters down the streets.
"And what's beyond those mountains?" Verena asked, pointing to the green hills outside the industrial zone.
Alex checked the maps: "Former agricultural zone. They used to grow food for the miners here. Want to take a look?"
The "Wanderer" took to the air and headed towards the green part of the planet. The contrast was striking — instead of rusty mining complexes, fields and forests stretched out below. The air here was cleaner, the sky bluer.
"Look," Verena pointed to a campfire's smoke. "Someone's there."
They landed at the edge of the forest. A group of people emerged to meet them — men and women in simple clothes, with tanned faces and calloused hands.
"Welcome," said an elderly man with a gray beard. "We haven't had guests in a long time."
Alex looked around. A small village of wooden houses, vegetable gardens, grazing livestock. An idyllic picture of rural life.
"Have you been here long?" he asked.
"My ancestors settled here two hundred years ago," the old man replied. "When the mines prospered, we supplied them with food. And then... then the mines started closing, fewer people came. But we stayed."
"And how do you live?"
"Subsistence farming. We grow what we need, raise livestock. Sometimes miners bought vegetables and milk from us. But now, they're gone too."
Alex understood the situation. These people were descendants of the first colonists who couldn't or wouldn't leave. They had returned to a pre-industrial way of life but retained basic technologies and knowledge.
"And what can you offer... the outside world?" he asked cautiously.
The old man spread his hands: "Nothing. We have no factories, no commodity production. We live for ourselves. And to buy... well, we don't have much to buy. We make everything we need ourselves."
Back on the "Wanderer," Alex contacted Jack Tolcho.
"Jack, I have a question. What usually happens to the population of abandoned planets?"
The pilot's face darkened: "Depends on the planet. Some leave on their own, some die out. And some... some are taken by slavers."
"Slavers?"
"Of course. It's easiest to take slaves from planets like these. No one will notice, no one will look for them. Formally, the planet is uninhabited, and the people... people just disappear."
Alex felt a chill in his stomach. So, those peaceful farmers might end up in slavery in a few years.
"Doesn't the Empire control such places?"
"What Empire?" Jack scoffed. "They have enough to deal with in the central worlds. And the outskirts... the outskirts are on their own. The strongest prevails."
Six months later, a message arrived about the closure of Quarion. Alex repeated the operation — unloaded two thousand mining droids into the abandoned crystal mines, setting up automated extraction under Verena's supervision.
"Crystals require more delicate handling," she explained, programming specialized droids. "Improper extraction can damage the crystal lattice."
Now he had two abandoned planets at his disposal with four thousand working droids and an unknown number of natives.
The final act was taking control of another hyperspace station. Alex connected to an ancient, functioning hyperspace station system and blocked navigation data for all but authorized ships.
"Done," he said, watching the beacon indicators on the screen go out. "This sector is now closed. Access is only possible with special codes."
He looked thoughtfully at the stars outside the viewport. He had two planets full of resources. A closed sector of space. A trade hub bringing in tens of millions in profit monthly. Secret hyperspace routes providing an incredible speed advantage for deliveries.
Alex remembered the Outer Rim map with hundreds of red dots — abandoned worlds. How many more such sectors could be closed? How much resource was just lying idle, waiting for someone to take it?
The Empire was shrinking towards the center, leaving the outskirts. And he could fill this void unnoticed.
From repairing droids on Nar Shaddaa to controlling star systems — a journey of eleven years. He was pleased with himself.
Alex thoughtfully examined the planet's map, but he wasn't thinking about the mining droids or ore storage. He was thinking about that small village on Tarsik, about the elderly farmer with calloused hands. About the people who remained on the abandoned planet and continued to live, despite everything.
Formally, he had closed the system for resource control. But there was another reason — to protect these people. Slavers would no longer find their way here. Imperial tax inspectors wouldn't demand payments on non-existent income. Criminal syndicates wouldn't extort defenseless settlements.
"Verena," he called to the Twi'lek, who was studying geological maps. "What do you think we can do for the local inhabitants?"
She looked up from her screen: "In what sense?"
"Well, they live practically in the Stone Age. No modern technology, no connection to the outside world. Maybe we should help them?"
Verena pondered: "We could supply essential goods. Medicine, tools, equipment. We have trade connections, getting all this won't be difficult."
Alex nodded, but something bothered him. He activated the holoprojector and brought up an image of the village on Tarsik. Simple wooden houses, vegetable gardens, pastures. People in homespun clothes, working with homemade tools.
"Look," he said, pointing to the hologram. "They are self-sufficient. Poor, but independent. They grow food, make clothes, build houses. All by themselves."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"And now imagine we start supplying them with finished tools. Metal shovels instead of wooden ones, factory-made fabrics instead of homespun, canned food instead of fresh vegetables."
Verena shrugged: "Their lives would become easier."
"But they would become dependent," Alex zoomed in on the image of the blacksmith in the village. "See this blacksmith? He makes simple tools from scrap metal. Poor quality, but he makes them himself. And if we give him finished tools?"
"He'll stop making them."
"Exactly. And he'll never learn to make good ones. And his children won't even know how to work with metal. In a generation, they'll completely lose these skills."
Alex walked thoughtfully around the bridge. The situation reminded him of something familiar. Suddenly, he understood — it was galactic civilization in miniature.
"You know what the problem with the entire galaxy is?" he said. "Everyone depends on Rakatan technology. Hyperdrives, repulsorlift engines, shields — all based on their developments. We're like children playing with adult toys."
"But these technologies have been working for thousands of years."
"They work, but we don't understand them. We can't improve them, can't create anything fundamentally new. We just copy and adapt ancient samples."
He stopped at the viewport, looking at the stars: "And these farmers on Tarsik... in some ways, they are on the right path. The path of self-reliance. Yes, their technology is primitive. Yes, life is hard. But they are developing themselves, with their own minds. And their descendants have a chance to go further, to create something new. They might have a future, but our civilization doesn't."
"Are you suggesting we leave them in the Stone Age?"
"No," Alex shook his head, and there was no idealism in his eyes, only cold calculation. "The path back to the Stone Age for them closed the moment we appeared here. We are a factor of change."
"Look. We have a closed sector, resources, production. But it all relies on galactic logistics. On spare parts from Corellia, fuel from Ryloth, droids from Coruscant. What happens if the Empire tightens its grip on us? Or if Black Sun blocks the routes? Or if a full-scale war breaks out and supplies stop?"
He ran his hand over the map, encompassing both worlds.
"We need a rear. A place where we can weather the storm, produce weapons, repair ships without being visible on the galactic market. I will give these people a minimal production base. Simple, repairable machines that can be copied with their help. Methods of selection, not sacks of grain. Basic medicine, not boxes of expensive stimpacks."
"You want to create a state," Verena realized.
"I want to create a tool," Alex corrected sharply. "A viable, self-developing tool that will produce food, fabrics, simple parts, and even soldiers, if it comes to that."
"And is this your plan? To collect worlds like maps?"
Alex looked at the stars again.
"My plan is not to depend on anyone for the absolute essentials. Coruscant can burn in the flames of war, the banks of Muunilinst can collapse, hyperspace routes can become impassable. And we will have our own bread, our own metal, our own ships here. Primitive? Yes. But ours."
He returned to the holoprojector and began making notes:
"Look — instead of finished shovels, we can provide quality steel and show them how to process it. Instead of finished clothing, give them good weaving looms and teach them how to use them. Instead of canned food, new varieties of plants and modern agricultural methods."
Verena leaned interestedly towards the screen: "Technology instead of goods?"
"Exactly. Let them produce everything themselves, but with better quality and in larger quantities."
Alex began to compile a list. Simple metallurgical furnaces. Weaving looms. Carpentry tools. Seeds of high-yield varieties. Purebred livestock. Medical equipment that can be serviced without specialists.
"But this will take time," Verena noted. "We'll need to train people, explain the principles of operation."
"We have time. And training... " Alex smiled. "You are excellent at technology. You could be a good teacher. We'll buy protocol droids to help."
An hour later, he had a plan ready. Not charity, but an investment in the future. Creating a minimal, but independent, production ecosystem.
"We'll start with the essentials," he said, showing the list to Verena. "A production complex with modern equipment, but simple to maintain. A mill with metal grinding stones. A sawmill with good saws. A weaving workshop."
"And energy?"
"Windmills and watermills. No dependence on external fuel or spare parts."
R4-K9 signaled and displayed calculations on the screen: "The cost of the basic equipment package is five hundred thousand credits. Transportation costs — another hundred thousand."
Alex chuckled. Less than one percent of the trade hub's monthly profit. Practically free.
"But there's another problem," he said, bringing up Tarsik's ecological maps. "This is a former mining world. The biosphere is severely damaged. Soils are depleted, many animal and plant species have disappeared."
The screen displayed lifeless wastelands around abandoned mines, polluted rivers, logged forests.
"Analytical cluster," he addressed the ship's computer. "Analyze Tarsik's ecological state. Create a biosphere restoration project."
"Analysis will take six hours," the synthesized voice replied. "Additional information about the planet's original ecosystem is required."
"Use the Techno Union archives. They should have data from hundreds of years of operation."
He leaned back in his chair. Restoring the ecology is a task for decades. But one can start small. Introduce new plant species resistant to soil pollution. Stock the waters with fish capable of purifying water. Plant fast-growing trees to restore forests.
"We'll start with cultivated plants," he told Verena. "New vegetable varieties, fruit trees, grain crops. We'll give them to the farmers and see what happens."
"And wild species?"
"Later. We can mess things up badly here."
Six hours later, the analytical cluster produced results. A three-dimensional model of the planet, showing its current state and a restoration project.
"Critical contamination within a fifty-kilometer radius of the major mines," Alex read from the report. "Medium contamination levels in industrial zones. Relatively clean areas in agricultural regions."
"Recommendations?"
"Phased restoration over twenty years. The first phase is soil bioremediation using special plants. The second phase is the restoration of aquatic ecosystems. The third phase is the reintroduction of extinct species."
Alex nodded. An ambitious plan, but achievable. And most importantly, it would provide jobs for the local population for many years to come. Not just survival, but meaningful activity to restore their home planet.
"Verena, prepare a list of equipment and materials," he said. "We're flying to Nar Shaddaa for shopping. And then we'll come back and start building the future."