Valorin
1 DBY, 7th Month
Alex looked at Valorin for the second time in his life, but the sight was no less sad.
The planet hung in space like a white ball, its polar caps having grown to the equator. Once green continents had turned into lifeless deserts, but here and there, young grass was already breaking through at the equator—the first timid signs of returning life.
"My God," Dain whispered, standing next to the pilot's seat. "It's still trying to live."
The oceans had partially thawed after a long winter caused by the ash and smoke of orbital bombardment. The ice caps slowly receded, revealing land riddled with craters. The atmosphere had cleared of ash, but the scars on the planet's surface remained forever.
"The temperature at the equator is plus twenty," Captain Kirneman reported from the pilot's seat. "The air is breathable, but I wouldn't recommend taking off your respirators—there's too much dust and chemical compounds."
"Take us to the northern continent," Alex ordered, studying the sensor readings. "Sector 7-Gamma. There should be underground complexes there."
The ship began its descent through the thin atmosphere. Ghostly landscapes flashed past the portholes—ruins of cities, partially buried in mud and debris. The skeletons of skyscrapers stood out from the gray plains like tombstones of a dead civilization. But green shoots pushed through the ruins—life was slowly but surely returning to the dead land.
"There was New Valo," Dain said quietly, pointing to a particularly large cluster of ruins. "Millions of inhabitants. The most beautiful city in the sector."
Now, only melted skeletons of buildings and craters from turbolaser strikes remained of the city. Wide avenues had turned into ravines filled with meltwater and debris. Parks and squares had become marshy wastelands, where the charred remains of tree trunks occasionally protruded.
"Landing pad two kilometers from the complex entrance," the pilot reported. "Landing."
The "Rebirth" touched down with a dull thud. A gray plain stretched around, covered with puddles of meltwater and piles of debris. The air was still and heavy, filled with the smell of decay and metal.
The first steps on the planet's surface were difficult. The soil was soft, saturated with water. Each step left a deep imprint in the gray silt mixed with ash and debris.
Dain walked ahead, leading the group to a hidden entrance to the underground complex. His face under the transparent visor of his respirator was stone-like, but Alex could see his hands trembling. Returning to his home planet was agonizingly difficult for the man.
"There should be a disguised passage here," Dain said, stopping at a small hill. "An emergency entrance to the tunnel system."
Construction droids quickly cleared the blockage of stones and metal debris. Beneath them, a heavy durasteel hatch was discovered, covered in corrosion, but still intact.
"The power systems are not working," one of the droids reported. "The lock is jammed."
"Cut it," Alex ordered.
The plasma cutter sliced through the lock in a few minutes. The hatch opened with a creak, revealing a descending staircase. A musty, damp air wafted from below. The tunnels were flooded. Fortunately, they had anticipated this. Over the next few weeks, they pumped out the water using special equipment.
The descent into the dungeons was like diving into a grave. The emergency lighting was not working, and they had to rely on flashlights and droid lamps. The tunnel walls were covered with water streaks—the drainage systems had failed many years ago.
"The main complex is a kilometer from here," Dain said, leading the group through a winding corridor. "If we're lucky, the sealed doors held back the water."
They walked in silence, listening to the echo of their own footsteps and the hum of the droids. Occasionally, there were branches—other tunnels leading to different parts of the underground city. All of them were flooded or blocked.
Finally, a wider corridor with massive double doors appeared ahead. The "Valorin-Tech" logo was emblazoned on them.
"The main entrance to the production complex," Dain explained. "Behind these doors are the workshops, warehouses, administrative offices."
The doors were locked, but undamaged. Droids quickly opened the locks, and the leaves slowly parted.
What they saw behind the doors amazed everyone. A huge underground hall stretching into darkness. Rows of production lines covered with protective tarps. Transport conveyors frozen in anticipation. Everything looked as if the workers had gone to lunch and were about to return.
"Incredible," Dain whispered. "Everything is preserved."
They moved slowly between the rows of equipment. Droids scanned each machine, each system. Most of the mechanisms were in working order—only the power systems needed to be started and basic maintenance performed.
"Motivators for civilian ship hyperdrives were produced here," Dain explained, pointing to one of the lines. "And more advanced modifications were made there. With such engines, you can build transports capable of connecting the most distant worlds."
"How much equipment is there in total?" Alex asked.
"A complete production line. It can produce up to a thousand motivators per month at full capacity. This will be enough to ensure the prosperity of Tersik for many generations."
Alex nodded. This was exactly what they needed for the development of their world. Reliable hyperdrives would allow them to create trade routes, connect scattered settlements, and give people the opportunity to travel between stars if the galactic restructuring plan was implemented. But he felt no joy. Around them lay the grave of an entire civilization.
On the second day of work, droids discovered the administrative sector of the complex. Archives were preserved here—huge arrays of data on crystalline media, protected from time and moisture. Among the technical drawings and production reports, there were more personal records.
Alex studied the holographic diaries of the complex's last inhabitants. The faces of people who knew their world was dying, but continued to work, hope, and love.
"Engineer Hector Kaen recording: Today we received reports from orbit. The Imperial fleet is blockading the entire system. No one is allowed in, no one is allowed out. My son, Luthen... I hope he is alive."
The elderly man in the holo-recording looked tired, but carried himself with dignity. Behind him, the same production lines that the droids were now dismantling were visible.
"The planet's government tried to contact Imperial command via hyperspace. They offered surrender on any terms, except one—the complete transfer of production facilities. This is our life, our soul. Without hyperdrive production, Valorin cannot feed itself."
"The Empire rejected our offer. They demand unconditional surrender and the transfer of all technologies. The planetary council votes tomorrow. I fear the decision has already been made."
Alex stopped the recording. So, the Valorinians had indeed tried to surrender, but the Empire had set impossible conditions.
"The council voted to continue resistance. Old General Erskine, damn him, said: 'Better to die as Valorinians than live as slaves.' He decided for all of us, the idiot. The bombing began an hour after the vote. They are targeting cities, industrial centers, spaceports. We are safe in the underground complex for now, but contact with the surface is lost."
The last recordings were fragmented, full of static interference.
"...day unknown... food left for two weeks... trying to contact other shelters... no response... Luthen, if you ever hear this... you made the right choice... we all loved this world..."
Alex turned off the projector. A lump formed in his throat. Doctor Vane, one of the specialized technicians, stood nearby, studying other records.
"There is technical documentation here," she said quietly. "Blueprints for experimental developments. They were trying to create something new until the very end."
She activated another projector. Schematics of an unknown device appeared in the air—something between a hyperdrive and a weapon.
"Project 'Star Jump'," read Doctor Vane. "An attempt to create a motivator capable of moving a ship without calculating hyperspace routes. It allows launching a ship into hyperspace through some object with catastrophic destruction of both. It's a weapon."
"Did they manage to bypass Rakatan security programs?" Alex asked.
"Who knows... We need to figure it out."
Among the blueprints were other projects. An attempt to create shields capable of repelling orbital bombardment. Plans for a network of underground cities that could house the entire planet's population.
All these developments remained unfinished. Time ran out before the Valori could implement their desperate plans.
On the third day, they discovered the coordinates of other complexes. The main computer retained a map of underground facilities across the planet—dozens of production centers, research laboratories, and storage complexes.
"Let's check the other facilities," Alex decided. "Perhaps something has been preserved there too."
They flew around half the continent, exploring coordinates from the archives. But everywhere they were met with disappointment. The complex in the Eastern Mountains was completely flooded with groundwater. The laboratory in Silver Valley was destroyed by a direct hit from an orbital bomb—only a molten crater a hundred meters deep remained.
The warehouses on the Southern Peninsula were buried by a landslide. The production center in New Corina was torn apart by tectonic shifts—the bombardment had disrupted the planet's geological stability.
"We were lucky with the first complex," Dane remarked grimly, looking at another ruin. "Apparently, it was better protected."
"Or it just didn't take a direct hit," Alex replied.
Of the twenty-three facilities on the map, only seven were partially accessible. But they contained no production lines for hyperdrive motivators—only standard equipment, long since rendered inoperable by dampness and time.
The only valuable find was a research laboratory in the Crystal Ridge mountains. Here, samples of Rakatan technology were preserved—fragments of ancient devices that Valori scientists had tried to understand and replicate.
Among the samples were crystals of unknown purpose, metal alloys with impossible properties, and fragments of holographic recordings in their language.
Returning to the main complex, they discovered an entrance to deeper levels. The heavy door was marked with symbols of the highest level of secrecy and warnings in several languages.
"What's there?" Alex asked.
"I don't know," Dane replied, frowning. "This level was classified even for engineers of my level. They said special developments were being conducted there."
Droids picked the locks, and they descended a staircase further underground. The corridor led them to another hall, but this one was completely different.
The equipment here looked... ancient and at the same time incredibly advanced. Smooth lines of an unknown metal, shimmering with iridescent reflections in the lantern light. The surfaces of the machines seemed alive—they pulsed slightly, as if breathing. Crystal control panels, covered with symbols that seemed familiar yet alien.
"What is this?" Dane whispered.
"Rakatan technology," Doctor Vane replied, scanning one of the machines. "But not copies, original devices. The operating principles... incredibly complex, but elegant."
The production lines here worked on entirely different principles. Instead of mechanical processing of materials, they used some kind of energy fields that literally sculpted parts from raw materials at the molecular level.
"Look at this," Doctor Vane called, examining the central console.
Symbols pulsed slowly on the crystal screen. As Alex approached, the screen reacted to his presence—the symbols changed, became brighter.
"It's active," Doctor Vane said in amazement. "After millennia of neglect, this device is still working."
"But where is the energy from?"
"Unknown. Scanners detect no power sources. It's as if these machines draw energy from space itself."
Behind the production lines, they discovered a huge warehouse. Rows of shelves stretching into the darkness, filled with containers of components. But these containers were also unusual—semi-transparent crystalline vessels, inside which parts of complex shape floated in zero gravity.
Crystals the size of a fist, emitting a faint blue light. Metal alloys that felt warm to the touch and vibrated slightly. Energy cells that still glowed after millennia of storage, as if time had stopped for them.
Some components were impossible to even describe. They existed as if in several dimensions simultaneously—looking at them from different angles, one could see completely different shapes and structures.
"How much is here?" Alex asked.
"There are enough components for thousands of years of production," the analysis droid replied after completing the scan. "Perhaps tens of thousands, if only Tersik uses them. Too little for the scale of the galaxy, but for one world—a fortune."
Alex slowly walked between the shelves. Each container held technology that could change the lives of millions. Motivators built on these components would work for centuries without maintenance, opening up new worlds for exploration. The use of this technology somewhat contradicted his worldview, but it all depended on how it was used. He wanted to preserve the ability to fly between the stars if civilization collapsed, not on a mass scale, but such an opportunity should remain.
But the most amazing find was the production schematics, recorded in crystalline matrices.
"Did the Valori understand how it worked?"
"Judging by the records—only partially. They could replicate some devices, but the principles of their operation remained a mystery. Like children playing with the toys of gods."
Among the schematics were more practical developments. Improved Rakatan motivators, which were three times more efficient than standard models. Energy systems of unprecedented power. Materials capable of withstanding the temperature of a star's core.
"We're taking everything," Alex decided. "Every crystal, every part, every schematic."
While the droids worked in the secret complex, Alex explored the residential sections of the underground city. Here, engineers and workers' families once lived—an entire underground settlement with schools, hospitals, and shops.
In one of the residential blocks, he found something that made him stop. Traces of recent human presence. Canned goods with dates showing they were opened only a few years ago. Beds where someone had slept. Personal belongings left in haste.
"Kleya," he called her on the communicator. "Come here. Quickly."
When she arrived, Alex showed her his findings.
"People lived here. Perhaps even after we took you and Luten from the planet."
Kleya studied the room, her face growing darker.
"So, when you sent signals to Valorin... someone was really here?"
"It seems so. But why didn't they respond? Why didn't they let us know they survived?"
"Who knows," Kleya said quietly. "Maybe they were afraid of a trap. Maybe they didn't trust us. Or maybe they just didn't receive the messages."
In the next room, they found the personal diary of one of the last inhabitants. The entries were made on paper—old-fashioned, but reliable.
"Year four after the Catastrophe. Eight hundred people remain. Mark died of lung disease—the air in the tunnels is still poisoned. We are trying to maintain the hydroponic gardens, but the harvest is worse every year. The seeds are degenerating."
"Year six. We caught a signal from space. Someone is looking for survivors on Valorin. But how can we be sure it's not a trap? The Imperials might have left automated stations to lure out those who are hiding."
"Year eight. We decided to leave the complex over time. It's getting warmer on the surface, the air is clearing. Maybe we'll find a place where we can live under the open sky. These tunnels have become a grave."
The last entry was dated only three years ago.
"We leave tomorrow. If anyone ever reads this—we went to the Northern Lakes. Where the nature reserve used to be. We hope nature has already begun to recover."
A week before their departure, Kleya asked for a special favor.
"Alex, can you take us to the mountains?" she asked quietly. "Where our shelter with Luten was. I want to... look at that place one more time."
They took one of the small transports and flew to the mountain range. The mountains looked grim—the snow had melted, revealing gray rocks and scree. There was almost no vegetation, only sparse bushes in the crevices.
The shelter was in a rock. The entrance was as Alex remembered it. Kleya led them along a familiar path, but her face became more and more tense.
Inside the cave, the remnants of their dwelling were preserved. Homemade furniture from debris and scrap metal. Sleeping places, partitioned by curtains. A small workshop where Luten repaired equipment. Everything was covered in dust and mold, filled with the smell of mustiness and death.
Kleya entered, stopped in the middle of the main room, and froze. For a minute, she stood motionless, looking at the remnants of the past. At the dust-covered furniture, at the moldy walls, at the dead screens of the technology.
Her face was like stone. No emotions, no memories. Only emptiness.
Then she turned sharply.
"Let's get out of here," she said hoarsely. "Immediately. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have looked at this place."
They left the cave. Kleya didn't look back, walking to the ship quickly and decisively.
"Everything is dead," she said when they boarded. "The planet is dead. Luten is dead. What was—is gone and will never be again. You can't go back to the past. It was foolish to think this place meant anything."
The ship took off. Kleya didn't look out the window, didn't watch the disappearing mountains.
"The past cannot be returned," she said quietly, more to herself than to Alex. "Everything that was then is dead. There's no need to cling to what is no longer there."
As the droids finished loading the last equipment, Alex made a decision.
"Send a scout ship to the Northern Lakes," he told Doctor Vane. "We need to check what happened to those who left the underground complex."
"Do you think they're still alive?" she asked.
"I don't know. But if there's even the slightest chance... We can't just leave without making sure."
A small scout ship with a team of droids was sent to the northern part of the continent, where a nature reserve used to be. Alex watched the flight via holocomm, studying the transmitted images.
The terrain looked slightly better than the rest of the planet. The radiation background was lower, grass was breaking through in places. Three small lakes, partially covered with ice, but already beginning to thaw. And traces of human activity.
"Master Corren," reported the scout droid. "Artificial structures detected. Coordinates 47.3 degrees North latitude, 112.8 degrees East longitude."
An image of a small settlement appeared on the screen. Primitive buildings made of stone and scrap metal, located in a natural depression between hills. Smoke from bonfires. Enclosed areas where they tried to grow something.
"There are signs of life," the droid continued. "Thermal signatures indicate the presence of people. But they avoid contact. They hide in shelters when the ship approaches."
Alex frowned. An understandable reaction—after everything they had been through, these people trusted no one.
"Land the ship a kilometer from the settlement," he ordered. "Don't approach. Let the droids set up a loudspeaker and broadcast the message on repeat."
"The message is being transmitted. Text: 'We are a research vessel. We are looking for survivors from Valorin. We will not harm you. We want to help.' No reaction yet."
"Continue the transmission," Alex said. "And let the droids leave a box of medicine and food near the ship. Show them that we are leaving."
Another two hours passed before the first people appeared from the settlement. Three men, armed with improvised weapons, cautiously approached the ship. The droids obediently retreated, demonstrating peaceful intentions.
"They took the supplies," reported the observer droid. "One of them is saying something towards the ship."
"Turn on the audio recording."
The voice was hoarse, exhausted, but there was steel in it:
"Who are you? What do you want? If this is an Imperial trap—know that we have nothing to lose!"
Alex took the microphone:
"My name is Alex Corran. I am not an Imperial. We are a research vessel. We found an underground complex where an engineer named Dane Case worked. He is with us. We want to retrieve the equipment from there and offer evacuation to all surviving Valori."
A long pause. Then the same voice:
"Dane Case? He's alive?"
"He is alive. Do you want to talk to him?"
Another pause. Alex saw the three men arguing among themselves.
"Let him speak. But we're staying here. And if this is a deception..."
"Understood," Alex said and handed the microphone to Dane.
"This is Dane Case, senior engineer of production complex number seven," Dane said in a trembling voice. "Who can hear me?"
"Dane?" The voice on the other end of the line changed, becoming more emotional. "It's Marek Torin. We worked in neighboring sectors. We thought you died in the war!"
"Marek!" Dane exclaimed. "My God, you survived! And who else? How many of you are there?"
"Three hundred and twenty-eight," Marek replied. "Engineers, technicians, their families. Those who managed to get here after... after what happened."
Dane covered his face with his hand. Alex saw his shoulders tremble.
"We are offering evacuation," Alex said, taking the microphone. "There is a place where you can start a new life."
"Where?" Marek asked incredulously.
"It's far from here. A world where you can live freely. Where your knowledge and experience will be needed."
A long silence. Then:
"We need to consult. Give us time."
"Of course. We will wait."
Three days of negotiations passed. The Valori were extremely suspicious—they had endured too much to trust strangers easily. Alex had to send Dane to them personally to convince them of the sincerity of their intentions.
When Dane returned, his face glowed with hope.
"They agree," he said. "Alex, you must understand—these are the best engineers of Valorin. They know Rakatan technology better than anyone else. Without them, it will take us years to understand what we have found."
"Tell me more about them."
Dane sat down, his eyes burning:
"When the bombardment began, many engineers and their families tried to reach underground shelters. These people are those who managed to break through to the reserve."
"How many were there initially?"
"Over a thousand. About five hundred reached the reserve. In these years, another hundred and fifty died—from illnesses, from radiation, from hunger. Only the most resilient, the most skilled remained."
Alex nodded. He understood the value of such people.
"They are not broken," Dane continued. "They are hardened, full of determination. But they have the knowledge we need. And they are ready to work, to build, to fight for a new home."
Alex pondered. Three hundred and twenty-eight people—a significant addition to Tersik. Especially since there were many engineers among them familiar with the technology. Their knowledge was invaluable.
But most importantly, these were people ready to fight. People who knew the price of freedom and would not give it up without a fight. These were exactly the kind of people he needed now.
Alex understood the psychology of such people. Their hatred for those who destroyed their world could be channeled in the right direction. To make them fanatical patriots of their new home. People who would defend Tersik as fiercely as they once defended Valorin.
"If we don't take them, what will happen to them?" he asked Dane.
"They will die," he answered honestly. "Maybe not immediately, but inevitably. There are too few of them for a sustainable population. The planet is too damaged to feed even this many people."
"We're taking them," Alex decided. "All of them. Prepare the transports for evacuation."
But first, he needed to meet their leader personally. To set the rules of the game from the very beginning.
Alex flew to the settlement the next day. Marek Torin met him at the improvised landing pad—a middle-aged man with gray temples and a scar across his face. Behind him stood a group of other survivors—emaciated, but not broken people.
"So, you are the one offering us salvation," Marek said, studying Alex with a keen gaze.
"I'm offering you a chance," Alex replied sternly. "No more, no less."
"And what do you want in return?"
"Loyalty. Your knowledge. Your willingness to work for the good of a new home."
Marek smirked:
"You speak like a Corellian. It all comes down to profit."
"I am indeed a Corellian by origin," Alex replied calmly. "But I have nothing to do with the corporation. I am on my own. And I offer you the same—a chance to be yourselves, but on new land."
"And if we don't want to be obedient refugees?" Marek asked defiantly.
"Then I don't need you," Alex replied sharply. "I don't need obedience. But I need loyalty. Where we are flying, there is plenty of space. But you must love your new home and think of its well-being. So that it becomes your new homeland, not a temporary refuge."
Marek studied him with a long gaze. Then he slowly nodded and extended his hand:
"Agreed. But we want to know where we are flying."
Alex shook his outstretched hand, but shook his head:
"You'll know when we arrive. Security above all else."
"Understood," Marek nodded. "So, you've learned something from this galaxy too."
"I have learned," Alex agreed. "And you have learned. Together, we can build something worthwhile."
The evacuation took two days. The Valori gathered their meager belongings—mostly tools, records, family heirlooms. Many cried as they left their last refuge on their home planet. But there was no weakness in their tears—only rage and determination.
Alex personally met each group of evacuees. Emaciated faces, hard eyes, hands accustomed to work and weapons. Children who knew only war and destruction. Women who had lost husbands and sons, but were not broken by grief.
When the last transport with refugees boarded the 'Renaissance', Alex realized he had gotten exactly what he needed. These people could be turned into a valuable asset for Tersik.
They knew the price of freedom. They knew what happened to those who could not defend themselves. And they would never let it happen again.