Location: Tersik
Time: 7 BBY
Alex stood on the edge of a green valley, studying the holographic map of the area. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, and there was something calming in this sound—a rare sensation for someone accustomed to the hum of spaceports and the noise of industrial stations. It was hard to believe that just a hundred kilometers from here, mechanical workers were methodically gnawing ore from the planet's depths.
The air here was clean, with a light aroma of blooming herbs and the freshness of mountain streams. Alex took a deep breath, enjoying the contrast with the recycled atmosphere of space stations. Tersik was a beautiful planet, and this corner of it had preserved its pristine beauty.
"An ideal location," Verena said, approaching him with a datapad in her hands. Her lekku swayed slightly in the wind, and her eyes showed professional satisfaction. "The river will provide water and energy, the soil is fertile, the forest will provide building materials. And far enough from the farmers not to interfere with each other."
She pointed to a wide bend in the river where the water flowed slowly and calmly:
"We can build a hydroelectric power station here. A small one, but sufficient for a settlement of a thousand people. And upstream—a water intake. The water is clean, no additional purification will be required."
"And what about the climate?"
"Mild, stable. Most standard crops can be grown here year-round." She showed the screen with data. "Average annual temperature is eighteen degrees Celsius, precipitation is evenly distributed throughout the seasons."
Alex nodded, mentally picturing the future settlement. Not a military base with bunkers and turrets, but a normal town. Houses with gardens, schools with playgrounds, workshops with wide windows, farms with green fields. A place where people could live a full life, forgetting the nightmare they had fled.
"Start bringing in the building materials," he said. "Modular houses, generators, tools. Everything needed to create the infrastructure."
"And the people?" Verena asked. "Who will we settle here?"
Alex looked thoughtfully at the stars beginning to appear in the evening sky. The first stars always seemed particularly bright to him—perhaps because the contrast with daylight made them more visible.
"Those who have nowhere else to go. And those we need."
The next two weeks turned into a logistical marathon. Alex coordinated deliveries from a dozen different planets, trying not to draw attention to the scale of the operation. Each batch of goods went through different intermediaries, via different routes.
From Coruscant came modular residential buildings—standard colonial blocks designed for quick assembly and long-term use. Each module was a ready-made apartment: two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom. All utilities—electricity, water, sewage—were connected through standard connectors.
"One hundred and twenty modules," reported the cargo ship captain, watching the unloading. "Plus a central control unit for the engineering systems. Enough for a settlement of three to four hundred people."
Equipment was brought from the industrial worlds of the Mid Rim. Chemical fuel generators—reliable, unpretentious, capable of working for years without maintenance. Compact water treatment plants. Communication equipment for the settlement's internal network.
"Pay special attention to spare parts," Alex instructed Verena. "Each generator must have a full set of consumables for fifty years of operation. Filters for purification stations, batteries, power cables—all in double the quantity."
Verena methodically compiled lists, cross-referencing them with the equipment's technical specifications:
"The fuel cells for the generators are designed for continuous operation for a year. That means a minimum of ten sets per generator. Plus a reserve for unforeseen loads."
"And what about repairs?"
"I've ordered universal repair kits. Welding equipment, lathes, tool sets. Plus technical documentation for all systems. If there are any competent mechanics among the settlers, they'll be able to handle most breakdowns."
Seeds and seedlings were brought from agricultural worlds. High-yield grain varieties, vegetable crops, fruit trees. All adapted to a climate similar to Tersik's.
"A special order," Alex said, browsing the catalog. "Medicinal plants. Anything that can be grown in the local climate."
"Why?" Verena asked, surprised. "It's easier to buy medications ready-made."
"Easier now. But in ten years? The settlement must be as self-sufficient as possible."
He ordered seeds for bota, mirillia, and comlen—the main plants used in the production of basic medications. Plus dozens of other species on which folk medicine on hundreds of worlds depended.
Tools and equipment for workshops were listed separately. Alex understood that the settlers must be able to produce everything they needed themselves.
"Look," he showed Verena the specifications of a machine tool. "Simple, reliable design. Minimal electronics, maximum mechanics. This will last half a century with proper care."
"And spare parts?"
"Most parts can be manufactured on this machine itself. A closed production cycle. We're creating not just a settlement, but a complete production ecosystem. Primitive, perhaps, but independent."
A week later, Alex returned to Nar Shaddaa and immediately contacted Luthen. The Valorian's face on the screen looked tired—coordinating rebel cells had been difficult in recent months. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and his usual energy had been replaced by cautious restraint.
"I have a proposal," Alex said without preamble. "It concerns your people who have been exposed."
"Which people?" Luthen frowned, instinctively lowering his voice, even though the communication channel was secure.
"Those who were discovered by the ISB. Agents whose cover has been blown. Usually, they are either killed, or they hide in basements and slums their whole lives."
Luthen leaned back in his chair, considering his words: "And what do you propose?"
"Evacuation. I have a place where they will be completely safe. However, it's a one-way trip."
"Explain in more detail."
Alex spoke about having a secret colony, but without details that could reveal its location. Luthen listened attentively, asking clarifying questions from time to time. His face gradually changed—from skepticism to interest.
"I understand," he said at the end. "And what do you get out of this?"
"People with the necessary skills. Your agents are not random people. They know how to work under pressure, they understand technology, many have military experience. These are exactly the kind I need."
"All right. I have a few candidates." Luthen activated a secure file. "A slicer from Lothal, who was tracked down three weeks ago. He's hiding in the slums now, but won't last long. A group of technicians from Ryloth—they were recruited a year ago to work in an Imperial factory, but the operation failed. A family from Coruscant—they worked in an Imperial research center, passing us data on military developments."
"Excellent. But there's a condition—I won't meet with them personally. It's too risky."
Luthen nodded in understanding: "Reasonable. How do we arrange contact?"
"I have a droid for such cases."
R4-K9 rolled up to Alex as he was programming a new droid in the workshop. A specially ordered model—externally an ordinary protocol droid of the 3PO series, but with an advanced analytical processor and psychological assessment modules.
The workshop was located in one of the storage bays of the trade hub. Here, Alex could work without fear of prying eyes. The walls were lined with sound-absorbing material, and the ventilation system operated autonomously.
"Designation: HK-PR," Alex said, activating the droid. The machine rose from the repair table, its joints whirring softly, its optical sensors blinking as they calibrated. "Your task is to conduct interviews with potential colonists."
"Understood, master," the droid replied in a melodious voice, characteristic of protocol models. "What are the selection criteria?"
"Professional skills, psychological stability, readiness for isolation. You will present yourself as an agent of the private colonial company 'New Horizons.' No mention of me or the true nature of the project."
Alex uploaded detailed instructions into the droid's memory. HK-PR was to evaluate candidates on a multitude of parameters—from technical knowledge to the ability to work in a team. Special modules analyzed micro-expressions, voice intonations, and gestures.
"And what should I say about the settlement itself?"
"The truth, but not all of it. A mining colony in a remote system. Good living conditions, but no return. A lifetime contract in exchange for safety and stability."
The droid nodded, processing the information: "The cover story is clear. What documents should I use?"
"You have the full package—company registration documents, licenses for colonization activities, promotional materials. Everything looks completely legal."
And it was true. Alex had spent a considerable amount of credits creating a plausible cover. The "New Horizons" company officially existed, had an office on Coruscant, and even a few small projects as an alibi.
HK-PR conducted the first interview three days later. Alex watched through a hidden camera from an adjacent room in the trade hub. The room was decorated as a standard office—a desk, chairs, a holoprojector for presentations. Posters depicting colonial settlements on various planets hung on the walls.
The candidate—a man in his mid-thirties, nervously fiddling with the edges of his worn jacket. A former slicer from Lothal, according to Luthen, one of the best specialists in cracking Imperial systems. He looked tired and tense—three weeks of living underground had taken their toll.
"Welcome," HK-PR greeted him, gesturing for him to sit. "My name is P-R, and I represent the 'New Horizons' company. Tell me about your experience with computer networks."
"I... worked as a system administrator at a local factory," the man replied cautiously. "Maintained networks, updated software."
The droid nodded, making notes on its datapad: "And why did you decide to leave Lothal?"
"The factory was closed. The new Imperial administration decided the production was unprofitable." The man's voice trembled. "And then the... checks began. They were looking for ties to separatists among former employees."
"And did you have such ties?"
A long pause. Alex could see the candidate weighing his options for an answer. Fear and despair were evident in his eyes—the emotions of a cornered man.
"No," he finally said. "But it doesn't matter to the ISB. Suspicion is enough."
HK-PR continued to ask questions—technical, personal, hypothetical. Alex watched the droid's work with interest. The machine meticulously built a psychological profile of the candidate, assessing every reaction.
"Tell me about your programming skills," the droid requested.
The man visibly perked up: "I know most standard languages. I specialize in network protocols and security systems. I can set up a secure network from scratch, organize data backups, optimize server performance."
"And hardware?"
"I'm pretty good with that too. I've assembled computers from components, repaired servers, configured industrial controllers."
This was exactly what the settlement needed. A person capable of maintaining the entire computer infrastructure—from simple terminals to complex production control systems.
"Last question," HK-PR said after an hour. "Are you prepared to leave the known galaxy forever? No contact with your past life, no returns."
The man was silent for a long time, looking at the floor. Alex could see various emotions flash across his face—fear, doubt, hope.
"And what alternative do I have?" he finally asked. "Hide in basements my whole life? Wait to be found?"
"Understood. A decision will be made within twenty-four hours."
After the candidate left, Alex entered the interview room. HK-PR was already processing the data, its processors humming softly.
"Your conclusion?"
"High technical qualification," HK-PR reported. "Above-average stress resistance, despite the current psychological state. Motivation to relocate is very high—the subject is indeed in danger. Psychological profile is stable, no inclination to conflict detected."
"Do you recommend him?"
"Yes. This person will be a valuable addition to the colony."
Alex nodded. The first candidate was approved.
Over the next two weeks, HK-PR conducted a dozen more interviews. Each lasted from one to two hours, depending on the complexity of the case.
A family of biologists from Coruscant—the husband worked in an Imperial research center, the wife taught at a university. Their teenage daughter dreamed of becoming a doctor, but the Imperial education system was becoming increasingly militarized. The family lived in constant fear—the husband was passing data on Imperial biological developments to Luthen's agents, and sooner or later, it could be discovered.
"We study ecosystems," the wife said, nervously adjusting her hair. "How to restore damaged biomes, which plants take root best in different soil types. My husband specializes in microorganisms—bacteria that can purify contaminated water or restore soil fertility."
A group of technicians from Ryloth—all Twi'leks, all with experience in industrial facilities. They had been recruited by the rebels for sabotage at an Imperial factory, but the operation failed. Now, the ISB was searching for them throughout the sector.
"We know how to work with any industrial equipment," said their leader, an elderly Twi'lek with scarred lekku. "Machine tools, conveyors, robotic lines. We can set up production of anything—from simple tools to complex electronics."
"And materials?"
"If there's raw material, we can make anything you need. Metalworking, chemical production, assembly of electronic components. Each of us has twenty years of experience behind us."
A former Republic medic—an elderly man who refused to serve the Empire after the Clone Wars. Years of wandering the fringes of the galaxy, treating smugglers and refugees. Tired of constantly running.
"I've seen enough war," he said, looking somewhere past the droid. "I treated clones, Jedi, civilians. Then the Empire came and said: now you will only treat those we tell you to. The rest are not worthy of medical care."
"And you refused?"
"My oath is above politics. A doctor treats everyone, regardless of race, creed, or political views. The Empire disagrees with that."
HK-PR evaluated each candidate based on the same criteria. Professionalism, psychological stability, motivation. The droid filtered out unsuitable candidates—too unstable, too aggressive, those not ready for complete isolation.
One candidate—a former Imperial officer—was rejected due to excessive aggression. Another—a physicist—failed due to drug addiction.
"Out of fifteen candidates, I recommend eleven," HK-PR reported after the selection process was complete. "The remaining four do not meet the criteria."
Alex studied the dossiers of the selected individuals. A slicer, a family of biologists, five technicians, a medic, a teacher, a construction engineer. A good basic set to start with.
"Arrange their transportation," he said. "Through different carriers, at different times. Let them think they are traveling separately."
The transportation took another week. Each candidate was picked up by a separate ship, following a pre-arranged route. Officially, they were flying for "internship at a colonization company"—a standard procedure for such enterprises.
Alex personally oversaw every stage. The slicer was brought from Lothal on a cargo transport, disguised as a navigation equipment repair technician. The biologist family was transported through a trade hub—they were supposedly flying to consult on terraforming issues. The Twi'lek technicians were transported one by one, under the guise of industrial equipment specialists.
Each flight was meticulously planned. No direct routes, no documents indicating the final destination. First to intermediate stations, then transfers to other ships, and only at the end—a jump to a restricted sector.
"The last transport has arrived," Verena reported, meeting Alex at the spaceport on Tersik. "All eleven people are here. They've been placed in temporary living modules, and we're conducting safety briefings."
Alex nodded, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. The plan was working, but now the most difficult part was beginning—turning a group of strangers into a cohesive community.
A month later, Alex stood again in a green valley on Tersik. But now it looked completely different. Rows of modular houses stretched along the river, with paths of local stone laid between them. Construction equipment worked from morning till evening—people in work clothes installed new modules, laid communications lines, broke ground for gardens.
The air filled with the sounds of creation—the clang of hammers, the whirring of welding machines, the voices of people discussing work plans. The first settlers were making their new home with the enthusiasm of people who had received a second chance.
Verena approached him with a report, a thick datapad with plans and diagrams in her hands: "Living modules installed, power system stable. Medical center is operational, the doctor has already seen the first patients—mostly minor injuries and colds. The school is almost ready, the teacher has started working with the children outdoors. We've started breaking ground for gardens—the biologists have chosen optimal plots and created a crop rotation plan."
"How are the people?"
"Adapting. At first, there were many questions—who is the organizer, why all this, what are the plans. But they are gradually getting used to it. There's enough work for everyone, and that helps them distract from the past."
Alex watched as the former slicer helped an engineer set up the communication system. His thin fingers, accustomed to a keyboard, now skillfully wielded a screwdriver and soldering iron. The biologist family was planning greenhouses with the local teacher—the women bent over blueprints, discussing the optimal orientation of the structures relative to the sun. The Twi'lek technicians were assembling the repair workshop, their experienced hands quickly and precisely installing machine tools and workbenches.
"And the local farmers?"
"They're curious, but they're not interfering. They've come a few times with produce—vegetables, milk, fresh meat. We paid a fair price, even a little above market. I think we'll establish good relations over time."
This was important. Alex didn't want to create tension between the two communities on the planet. Let each live its own life, but help each other when necessary.
"What about production?"
"Only basic workshops for now. Carpentry, metalworking, tailoring. But there's progress—yesterday the technicians manufactured the first batch of simple tools. The quality is good, no worse than factory-made. And the medic has already started growing medicinal plants in the greenhouse, and the biologists are working on improving local vegetable varieties."
Alex nodded. Everything was going according to plan. The settlement was slowly but surely turning into a self-sufficient community.
He walked along the main street of the settlement, observing daily life. Children played near the houses—the biologists' daughter had befriended a few local kids who came from the farming village. Adults worked in the workshops or gardens, discussing plans for tomorrow. The elderly medic was giving a lecture to a group of volunteers—teaching them the basics of first aid.
In the evening, he sat in his temporary residence—a simple modular house on the outskirts of the settlement. Outside, lights glowed in other houses, children played somewhere, adults discussed plans for tomorrow. The sounds of ordinary, peaceful life—so rare in an era of galactic wars.
R4-K9 rolled up with a message from Luthen: "Alex, thank you for your help with the evacuation. Did our people arrive safely? I have a few more candidates—an agent from Coruscant, a group from Onderon. Can you take them?"
Alex pondered. The settlement was growing faster than he had planned. On one hand, more people meant more skills and opportunities. On the other hand, more mouths to feed, more problems, more risk of exposure.
But these people had no alternative. Either death, or a life of constant fear. And here, they could start all over again.
"Tell him—yes," Alex decided. "But no more than five people at a time. And only after thorough vetting."
He stood up and went out onto the porch. The stars above Tersik shone as brightly as they had thousands of years ago. But now, under their light, something new was being born. A community of intelligent beings who had received a second chance.
Perhaps, someday, this experiment would become something more. Just people, creating their lives with their own hands.
But that would be later. For now, it was enough that here, in a forgotten corner of the galaxy, dozens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people could sleep soundly, without fear of seeing stormtroopers at their door in the morning.