To learn more about the ancient control system, Alex decided to meet the person who knew more about it than anyone else. Associate Professor Well.
Corellia greeted him with gray rain clouds and the anticipation of a storm that refused to break. The spaceport of Coronet City looked almost the same as many years ago, but the atmosphere had changed drastically. Where the usual Corellian chaos once reigned—merchants, smugglers, and pilots loudly discussing business, laughing, and cursing—there was now silence, broken only by the crisp commands of Imperial officers.
Stormtroopers patrolled the terminals in pairs, their white armor seeming unnaturally bright against the faded walls. Passengers moved quickly and silently, avoiding unnecessary conversation. Even the lines at customs were quieter than usual—people studied documents, checked seals, but didn't chat with neighbors as they used to.
Alex passed through passport control under the name of Jack Antilles, an electronics merchant. The documents held up—his agents had worked flawlessly. The Imperial officer barely glanced at the holographic ID, stamped it, and waved him on. Routine.
Exiting the spaceport, Alex caught an aerotaxi to the central district. The pilot droid didn't require conversation, which was a good thing—Alex wasn't sure he could maintain a casual conversation about how his home planet had changed. It was better to just look out the window and analyze.
The aerotaxi smoothly rose above the terminals, and Alex involuntarily turned his head towards the district where their home once stood. Where a new giant of glass and metal now soared into the sky, where twenty years ago stood an old residential skyscraper—one of thousands of similar towers reaching into the clouds. Ultra-modern Imperial architecture—strict, functional, devoid of the warmth that old Corellian buildings possessed.
Alex looked at this tower and tried to remember what their windows looked like. A panoramic view of the endless cityscape, sky-lanes where streams of transport flowed day and night. His father loved to stand by the window with a cup of caf, watching this movement—he said it calmed him, reminded him that life went on.
Something pricked him slightly somewhere inside—not pain, more like a gentle sadness. Many years had passed, and the sharp pain of loss had long since dulled, turning into a quiet sorrow for a time when the world was simpler and more understandable.
A Separatist cruiser broke through the planetary defenses at the very end of the war—a desperate attempt to strike before inevitable defeat. A turbo-laser salvo from orbit turned their skyscraper into a pile of rubble in seconds. His parents were home.
He remembered trying to get there right during the attack. He remembered the hunter droid that almost killed him—only a miracle and luck allowed him to survive. He remembered standing among the wreckage of what was once his home, realizing there was nothing left to search for.
Now, in place of the destruction, stood a symbol of a new era—a soulless Imperial skyscraper, inhabited and worked in by people for whom the Clone Wars were already history. Children born after the Proclamation of the Empire rode elevators where his room and kitchen once were, where they spent time with family.
Life went on. Cities were rebuilt. Wounds healed.
But the place that was once home had disappeared forever. Not just physically—it had dissolved into time, remaining only in memory. And even if the old skyscraper had miraculously survived, Alex understood he couldn't return there. Too much had changed. He had gone too far from the young man who once lived in an apartment overlooking endless sky-lanes before the spaceport.
Alex averted his gaze from the new skyscraper and looked at the panorama of Coronet City. The city was still beautiful, but it was no longer the Corellia he grew up on. Not better or worse—just different. As if he had arrived not home, but in a place that was once home to a man named Alex Corren.
That Alex no longer existed. Just as the old skyscraper with windows overlooking the flow of life was no longer there.
"Star Haven Hotel," the pilot droid announced, beginning its descent.
"Thank you," Alex nodded, returning to the present.
Coronet City remained a beautiful city. Tall spires reached for the clouds, transport streams flowed along sky-lanes, holographic signs advertised goods and services. But something subtle had changed. Perhaps there were fewer bright colors? Or had the traditional Corellian ornaments disappeared from the building facades? Alex couldn't say for sure, but he felt the difference.
The Star Haven Hotel was located in a quiet area not far from the business center. An inexpensive establishment, unremarkable—exactly what was needed for an inconspicuous stay. The porter at the counter was an elderly Corellian with a gray mustache; once, he would have definitely inquired about the purpose of the visit, wanting to sell a tour to a tourist, tell a few local news items or anecdotes. Now, he silently took the documents, processed the room in the system, and handed over the key card.
"Breakfast from seven to ten," the porter said dryly. "If you need help with transport or excursions, contact the concierge."
"Thank you," Alex nodded and headed for the elevators.
The room was standard: a double bed, a desk, an armchair, a small bathroom. The walls were adorned with typical Imperial landscape holographs instead of traditional Corellian motifs. Alex turned on the wall screen and switched to local news.
"...production at the Corellian shipyards has increased by twelve percent compared to the previous quarter," the announcer reported. "Governor Flynn noted the successful integration of Corellian enterprises with the Ministry of Defense. Production will now be more efficient..."
Alex turned off the sound and opened the window. The city buzzed below, but even this noise had changed. There were fewer horns—had the drivers become more disciplined? Or were they simply afraid of attracting the attention of patrols? He couldn't say for sure.
The next morning, Alex set out to explore the city. First, he walked along the central streets, then turned into familiar alleys. At the "Double Star" cafe, where he decided to have breakfast, Alex sat at a window table and ordered a caf with pastries. At the next table sat two middle-aged men—engineers or technicians by the look of them.
"Heard they're cutting back at shipyard number three again," one said quietly.
"Quiet," his companion interrupted, quickly looking around. "Not here."
"Oh, come on, what's the big deal? Just work matters..."
"Work matters are discussed at work. Here, it's better to talk about the weather."
The first man fell silent and stared into his cup. Corellians had never hesitated to express opinions about employers, authorities, or politics before.
Alex finished his caf and went outside. He needed to survey a few more districts before starting his main objective.
The university district greeted him with the familiar buildings of the Corellian Institute of Technology. Alex stopped at the main entrance, remembering his student years. Here he studied the basics of engineering, here he met Professor Well, here he participated in that fateful project with neuro-interfaces...
Students entered and exited the buildings, but their behavior had also changed. Less laughter, fewer loud discussions. The groups were smaller, the conversations quieter. The Imperial education system had clearly left its mark on the academic environment.
Alex turned into an alley and took out his communicator. Communication with agents was encrypted and routed through several relays.
"Report on the subject," he said briefly.
"The subject resides at the address we provided," a familiar voice replied. "Fired from the institute five years ago. Official reason: non-compliance with new educational standards. Works part-time as a private tutor, financial situation is difficult. Visits the 'Star Wind' cafe on Academic Street daily, usually between two and four o'clock. Reads, works with a tablet. Minimal social contacts."
"Observation of connections?"
"No suspicious contacts. Ordinary household matters, grocery store, library. Lives alone, virtually no visitors."
"Understood. Continue surveillance without interference."
Alex disconnected and headed for the "Star Wind" cafe. It was already half past one—the perfect time for reconnaissance.
The cafe turned out to be a small, cozy establishment two blocks from the institute. The interior was in the traditional Corellian style—wooden panels, soft lighting, comfortable armchairs. Imperial standardization hadn't reached the details here yet. At the tables sat mostly teachers and students, quietly conversing or working with tablets.
Alex ordered a caf and took a table with a good view. Professor Well wasn't there yet, but he wasn't in a hurry. It was better to study the environment, understand the rhythm of the establishment.
Half an hour later, she appeared. Alex recognized her immediately, although years had left their mark. Gray hair tied in a simple bun, tired lines around her eyes, inexpensive clothes. But her posture remained straight, and her gaze—sharp and attentive. She walked to a corner table, which was clearly "her" spot, ordered a caf, and took out her tablet.
Alex watched her, hesitating to approach. Professor Well was reading some technical article, occasionally making notes with a stylus. Even without an official position, she continued to work, continued to learn. It was very much in her character.
The next day, he came at the same time. And the day after that. He studied her habits, routes, and mannerisms. Well was cautious, but not paranoid. An ordinary woman trying to live in a changed world.
On the fourth day, Alex decided to make contact.
He entered the cafe a little earlier than Professor's usual time and took a table not far from her usual spot. When she appeared, he stood up and approached her.
"Professor Well?" he tried to make his voice sound surprised and joyful. "Alex Corren, your former student."
The woman looked up and studied him intently. She studied his face for a few seconds, trying to remember.
"Alex?" Her voice held genuine surprise. "My goodness, how you've changed... Please, sit down."
He sat opposite, trying to appear natural.
"I didn't expect to meet you here," Well said. "How many years has it been? Seventeen?"
"Nineteen," Alex corrected. "I came on business, decided to take a walk down memory lane. I noticed you yesterday, but didn't approach. I wasn't sure it was you. But today I decided to. And you... still at the institute?"
The professor's face darkened.
"No. I haven't taught for many years." She gave a bitter chuckle. "Imperial educational standards, you know."
"I'm very sorry," Alex said sincerely.
"It's nothing, I'm adapting. Private lessons, consultations..." Well shrugged. "And what are you doing? I remember you had big plans after graduation."
"I had a ship repair company. Now, mostly trading. Equipment, spare parts," Alex stuck to his prepared legend. "I travel a lot in the Outer Rim."
"Interesting." The professor beckoned the waiter and ordered a caf for herself and Alex. "Tell me, how are things there? The news only talks about stabilization and prosperity."
"Bad," Alex replied briefly. "And it will get worse."
Well raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"I don't want to go into details," he took a sip of his caf, "but some places are going too far with control. What they show in the news... it's very far from reality."
They were silent for a moment, sipping their caf. Alex studied his former teacher's face, remembering his student years. Then he demonstratively placed a protective field generator, which muffled sounds, and activated it.
"This is a 'jammer,' we can talk freely. I have a strange question. Do you remember our project with neuro-interfaces?" he asked cautiously. "During the war?"
Well's face changed instantly. Her eyes became wary, her lips tightened into a thin line.
"I remember," she answered curtly.
"And... the incident with Mara Sinn?"
"How could I forget such a thing?" Well averted her gaze. "Poor girl... I still blame myself."
"It's not your fault, Professor. No one could have predicted..."
"I could have. I should have." She looked at him again. "Why are you asking about it, Alex?"
He hesitated with his answer, choosing his words.
"I've encountered similar technologies in my... travels. I know their origin. I need to understand their practical application in the last couple of decades."
Well studied his face for a long time.
"What exactly do you want to know?"
"What were we actually studying then? Whose order was it? I'm willing to give you twenty thousand credits right now for this information."
The professor leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
"Why do you need to know, Alex?" she asked quietly.
"Because these technologies are still being used. And it intersects with my interests."
A long pause. Well opened her eyes, looked out the window where a patrol of stormtroopers was passing, and sighed.
"I don't care anymore what happens," she finally said. "The client was Chancellor Palpatine's Office. We were trying to integrate a neuro-interface into a chair. Officially a pilot's chair."
Alex felt his muscles tense. He had expected something similar, but hearing confirmation was still a shock.
"Palpatine's?"
"Yes." Well shook her head. "His people financed dozens of similar projects across the galaxy. We were just one of the teams. I recommend not getting involved in this, they'll just kill you."
Alex was silent, processing the information.
"After the incident with Mara, I began to suspect the project's true goals," the professor continued. "I tried to raise ethical questions, demanded additional security measures. I was removed from the project and forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement, just like you. Thank you for not eliminating me."
"And the project continued?"
"Of course. Under strict military control, as they said." Well gave a bitter chuckle.
They were silent again. Alex pondered what he had heard, and Well looked into her cup.
"Professor," he finally said. "I have a proposal."
"What kind?"
"Neuro-interface research. Excellent conditions, complete freedom for scientific inquiry."
Well looked at him suspiciously.
"Where? And at what cost?"
"The location is safe, far from Imperial 'standards.' The price is only your knowledge and experience."
"Alex, are you sure you're just an equipment merchant?" There was irony in her voice.
"Among other things," Alex replied evasively.
The professor was silent for a long time, studying his face.
"I need to think," she finally said.
"Of course." Alex took out a small card with an encrypted communication code. "Here's my contact. The offer still stands."
Well took the card and hid it in her bag.
"Thank you for taking the time to talk," Alex said, standing up. "You meant a lot to me as a teacher."
"And you were one of my best students." There was warmth in her voice. "It's a shame the world has become so complicated."
"The world has always been complicated, Professor. We just see it better now."
Alex said goodbye and left the cafe. Outside, he walked slowly through the evening Coronet City, reflecting on the conversation. Professor Well was a smart woman—she understood that his offer meant more than just an ordinary scientific position.
Back at the hotel, Alex felt the fatigue of a long day. The meeting with the professor had gone better than he expected, but now all he could do was wait for her decision.
***
Alex sat in the armchair by the window and tried to calm his mind. In recent weeks, he had been practicing meditation more and more—it helped him cope with the strange new sensations that had appeared after working with the holocron.
He closed his eyes and sank into a state of peace, as the holocron of Kreia had taught him. His breathing deepened, his muscles relaxed. And then he felt them—thin threads of possibilities, stretching into the future. The meeting with Professor Well tomorrow, various conversational outcomes, her possible reactions to the offer...
Suddenly, Alex felt like a bright firefly in the darkness. As if he had lit a signal flare, visible from a great distance. Panic pierced his consciousness—he immediately broke off the meditation and sharply opened his eyes.
What was that?
His heart pounded, and an anxious premonition spread through his chest. Something had gone wrong. Something had noticed him.
Alex got up from his chair and walked to the window. The city looked calm, with no signs of alarm. But the feeling of danger persisted. His intuition, which had saved his life more than once, screamed that he needed to leave the planet immediately.
"I've finished my business here," he told the porter a few minutes later. "Can you prepare the bill?"
"Of course, sir. Did something happen?"
"Plans have changed."
While the documents were being processed, the sense of unease only intensified. It was as if invisible nets were beginning to tighten around the city, and he needed to leave while there was still time.
Half an hour later, Alex was already on his way to the spaceport. Perhaps it was just paranoid caution. But he wouldn't have lived to be forty in his dangerous line of work if he ignored his intuition.
His ship left the atmosphere an hour after he made the decision. Alex took the vessel to the edge of the system and hovered in the shadow of one of the asteroids. From here, he could monitor traffic and quickly jump to hyperspace if necessary.
"Observation status," he contacted the agents.
"The object returned home an hour ago," a familiar voice reported. "No suspicious activity. Reading, drinking coffee, behaving normally."
"Continue monitoring. If she tries to contact the ISB or any official services, report immediately and cease observation."
"Understood."
Alex leaned back in the pilot's chair and began to wait. The feeling of danger gradually receded as the ship moved away from the planet. Whatever was causing these premonitions, its source was on Corellia.
The hours dragged on slowly. Alex read reports from other operations, analyzed economic summaries, and planned the further development of Tersik's production facilities. But his thoughts constantly returned to Professor Well and her possible decision.
The answer came after six hours of waiting.
"The object activated the communicator," the agent reported. "Dialing your code."
"Accepting," Alex switched to the encrypted channel.
"I agree," Professor Well's familiar voice said. "When?"
Alex listened to himself. His intuition told him that his recent anxiety was not related to Well.
"Alright, I'll send my assistant to you, he'll escort you to the ship."
The connection broke, and Alex felt a sense of relief.
He relayed instructions to the agents to escort Professor Well to the meeting point, and then prepared for another night of waiting on the edge of the system. Tomorrow they would fly to Tersik, and a new phase of work would begin.
A few hours earlier.
Inquisitor Castus interrupted his meditation and sharply opened his eyes. Something had just happened – a bright flash in the Force, as if someone had momentarily lit a signal beacon and then immediately extinguished it.
He rose from his meditation mat and walked to the panoramic window of his chambers. Nighttime Coronet-City stretched out below, millions of lights twinkling in the darkness. Somewhere there, amidst this sea of light, was the source of the disturbance.
Castus closed his eyes and tried to find a trace. But the flash was too brief, and he himself was not experienced enough in such searches. Senior Inquisitors could have determined the exact location, but his abilities had not yet reached that level.
An untrained adept, he realized. Someone who had recently acquired abilities and didn't know how to control them. A trained Force-sensitive would never make such a mistake.
Castus activated the communicator on his desk.
"ISB Duty Officer," a voice responded.
"Inquisitor Castus speaking. I need a full report on all arrivals in the system for the last three days. Pay special attention to solo travelers."
"Are we looking for anything specific, my lord?"
"A possible Force-sensitive. Compile a list and give it to me within an hour."
"Yes, sir!"
Castus disconnected and walked back to the window. The flash had been so bright that it was impossible to miss. But now there was only ordinary silence in the Force – no traces, no disturbances.
He figured it out, the Inquisitor thought. He understood his mistake and wouldn't repeat it.
He sat down at his desk and began to compile a report for the Inquisitorium. Even if he couldn't find the source of the disturbances himself, his senior colleagues should know about what happened. Perhaps it was part of a larger picture.
"A brief flash of Force activity was recorded on Corellia," he typed. "Presumably an untrained Force-sensitive who recently acquired abilities. Attempts to locate it were unsuccessful due to the brevity of the manifestation. Requesting instructions for further action."
An hour later, the list of arrivals arrived. Millions of names, tens of thousands of ships. Too many options for an effective search. Castus reviewed the data, highlighting the most suspicious cases – solo travelers with minimally verifiable documents, ships with unusual routes.
But without further manifestations, it was a guessing game.
The response from the Inquisitorium came ten minutes later.
"Inquisitor Castus. Your report has been accepted for review. Given the strategic importance of Corellia, we are dispatching additional resources. Senior Inquisitor Trema will arrive in two days to coordinate search operations. Continue monitoring until her arrival. Report any new manifestations immediately."
Castus leaned back in his chair. Senior Inquisitor Trema was known for her ability to track Force-sensitives. If anyone could find the elusive adept, it was her.
The Inquisitor looked again at the starry sky outside the window. A new Force-sensitive was hidden out there. Possibly a potential threat. Or perhaps a future ally, if approached correctly. He felt that he wouldn't be able to find him this time, but this was just the beginning.