Evening found Alex and Verena in their living module. The interior was ascetic, functional, devoid of excesses. The only decoration was a panoramic wall-to-wall window offering a view of the colony and the starry sky above it.
They sat on the floor in the center of the room, immersed in meditation. Alex felt the Force, the threads of probability that passed through him. Beside him, Verena's presence in the Force was warm and bright, like a small sun.
Small metal spheres, which they used for levitation practice, hovered before them. Alex extended his hand, and the spheres obediently moved to him, then smoothly flew to Verena when she made a similar gesture.
"Your control has improved," Alex noted, opening his eyes.
Verena smiled.
He stood up, approaching a small safe in the corner of the room. Opening it, Alex took out several containers and returned to Verena.
"We need to move on," he said, sitting down next to her. "A lightsaber is the necessary next step. It's a focus for the Force, a tool that helps direct and concentrate Force abilities. But I really don't want to risk visiting planets occupied by the Empire. One lesson was enough. Let's see if we can make do with what we already have."
Verena leaned in with interest as Alex opened the first container. Inside lay several crystals of various shades—from pale blue to deep red.
"Crystals," he explained. "I bought them on the black market of Nar Shaddaa many years ago, when I first started trading in antiques... But I didn't dare put them to use."
He picked up one of the crystals—a beautiful ruby-colored stone—and focused on it, trying to establish a connection through the Force. This was a skill he had developed in his youth. The ability to feel crystals, their internal structure, their resonance.
But this crystal was... empty. Dead. Alex felt its physical structure, the perfect crystalline lattice created by technology. But it lacked life, that spark that should be present in a real crystal.
"Not suitable," he said, setting the stone aside.
Verena picked up the crystal, closed her eyes, trying to feel it.
"You're right," she confirmed after a minute. "It's dead. As if it lacks... essence."
Alex opened the second container. These crystals were from Count Dooku's base, found during one of their expeditions. They looked more alive, their facets shimmering in the lamplight.
But when Alex tried to attune himself to them, the result was the same. These crystals were once alive, he could feel it. But something had changed them, distorted their nature. The Dark Side? He couldn't say for sure.
"Also not suitable," he stated with disappointment.
Verena sighed, leaning back.
"All known deposits are either depleted or guarded by Imperial troops."
"I know," Alex rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "We need natural crystals, grown by the Force over millennia."
"And where will we find them?" Verena asked, though there was no hope for an answer in her voice.
Alex looked at the scattering of useless crystals before him and found nothing to say.
In the evening, they stood by the "Ringing Blade" in a special hangar, watching cargo droids perform the final installation of equipment. The ship was being prepared for a long journey—supplies of food, water, fuel, spare parts. The latest versions of various systems were being installed. Everything that might be needed in the remote regions of the galaxy.
"Do you think we'll find what we're looking for?" Verena asked, leaning against the ship's hull.
"I don't know," Alex answered honestly.
He returned to his laboratory. The room was filled with holographic projectors, computer terminals, and shelves of datapads.
Alex activated the main computer and began loading data arrays collected over years of research. Information from various Rakatan bases, ancient records, fragments of texts, maps of long-forgotten worlds. A vast amount of information that he had painstakingly collected, analyzed, and cataloged his entire life.
He set the search parameters: "crystal," "focusing stone," "energy resonator." The computer began to work, sifting through vast amounts of data for matches.
Hours passed. He sat, staring at the screen where lines of text in different languages flashed by. Most mentions were useless—technical specifications of long-destroyed equipment, inventory lists, supply logs.
Verena brought him food—a simple sandwich and a cup of caf. Alex barely noticed her presence, mechanically took the food, and continued his work.
"You should rest," she said softly.
"Later," he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen.
She sighed but didn't insist. She knew that when Alex got absorbed in research, it was almost impossible to tear him away.
Several more hours passed. The caf in the cup had long gone cold, the sandwich remained untouched. Alex's eyes were heavy with fatigue, but he continued to work.
And then—a match.
Alex straightened up, pushing away the cup of cold caf. A fragment of text from a database found on one of the Rakatan stations lit up on the screen.
"...ocean planet, rich deposits of focusing crystals... high energy concentration... promising source for extraction..."
He enlarged the fragment, launched a cross-referencing program. The computer began to compare the mention with other records.
Second match. From the Rakatan archive world:
"...world J-19-447... water surface, rocky islands... natural crystalline formations... expansion of the relay network planned to ensure access..."
Alex opened another file—an archive he had copied more than twenty years ago in the library of the Coruscant Technological Institute. An extensive directory of coordinates and system names, compiled by someone unknown and at an unknown time. Much of the data was damaged or intentionally erased, but some fragments remained.
He entered the partial coordinates from the Rakatan base into the search bar.
Match.
"System: [DATA DELETED]
Planet: Ahch-To
Coordinates: Sector J-19, [PARTIALLY ERASED]"
Alex compared the coordinates. The partial data from the institute matched the Rakatan records. The missing fragments could be restored using both databases.
"Verena," he called.
She appeared in the doorway.
"What happened?"
"Found a match," Alex pointed to the holographic projection where a three-dimensional map was forming. "A planet in the Unknown Regions. Rakatan records mention deposits of focusing crystals. They planned to organize mining there."
Verena came closer, examining the data.
"Are the coordinates complete?"
"Yes. Restored from two sources," Alex pieced together fragments from the Rakatan base and the institute. "The planet's name is partially damaged. Possibly Ahch-To. In the institute's database, the coordinates of this system were intentionally erased. Someone didn't want it known."
He activated another layer of the map—the Rakatan hyperspace station network. Numerous nodes in the central regions glowed green—functioning stations. Yellow dots indicated partially working systems. Red—destroyed or inaccessible.
In the Unknown Regions, the map was almost entirely red.
"I can plot a route," Alex ran his finger over the hologram, creating a chain of jumps. "Using the preserved stations. But the last section..."
He zoomed in on the final leg of the journey. From the last functioning station to the target planet—empty space without a single green or yellow dot.
"No working hyperspace stations," Verena stated.
"Correct," Alex quickly calculated the distance. "The last jump—approximately eight thousand light-years. Without hyperspace data, the navicomputer cannot build a safe route."
"We need to prepare," he said. "Plot a route to the last working station. Calculate fuel and supplies. Study all available data on this region."
He saved the information, created backups. Then he began detailed planning. Each jump was calculated with maximum precision. Each stop—in a system with a functioning station where updated data could be obtained.
The work took several hours. By the end, he had a route leading to the last working station on the edge of the Unknown Regions. Beyond that, the final stretch remained—eight thousand light-years without navigational support.
Alex leaned back in his chair, looking at the map. Technically, the task was solved as much as possible. Only one question remained—could he use the Force for navigation again.
"When do we leave?" Verena asked.
"Tomorrow morning," Alex replied, closing the hologram. "We need to load the data into the navicomputer and perform a final check of the ship's systems."
Verena nodded and left. Alex remained alone, looking at the dark screen. Planet Ahch-To. If they were right, there should be crystals there. Natural ones, grown by the Force.
All that remained was to get there.
Alex stood in the hangar, gazing at the "Chiming Blade." It wasn't just a transport—it was the embodiment of decades of planning, accumulated knowledge, and meticulous preparation.
The project had begun almost twenty years ago, when he had first moved to Nar Shaddaa. Back then, he had only been upgrading his previous ship—reliable, inconspicuous, but limited in its capabilities. Although, for its time, it had seemed like an excellent vessel. But even then, he had begun to think about a ship that would be perfect for him.
Rare components were bought on the black markets of Nar Shaddaa. Military systems were acquired through intermediaries from corrupt Imperial officers. Every part was carefully selected, every system planned with specific requirements in mind.
All of this was integrated into his "Star Architect" program—a complex ship design simulator that he had modified over the years. The virtual model of the "Chiming Blade" had existed long before the first structural element was laid. Alex ran thousands of simulations, optimizing every compartment, every system, achieving a perfect balance between speed, stealth, and autonomy.
But the actual construction only began on Tersic. Before that, there had been no safe place to build a ship of this caliber.
When Verena evacuated him from Korriban two years ago, the ship was still raw—a new hull, minimal life support systems, a hastily installed temporary hyperdrive that was only needed for testing.
In the two years since then, the ship had transformed into a true masterpiece of engineering.
A Class 0.3 hyperdrive—a Valorian military development. One of the fastest engines in the galaxy, capable of outrunning almost any Imperial interceptor. The fuel tanks for in-system flights and the power cells for the hyperdrive were tripled compared to standard ships of this class, giving it a range of over forty thousand light-years without refueling.
The computational cluster occupied an entire compartment, packed with a wide variety of software: analytical programs, decryptors, language analyzers, and much more. This had long been a standard for him. It was necessary for analyzing archaeological finds, deciphering ancient texts, and, most importantly, for working with Rakatan navigation data.
Hidden niches along the internal bulkheads housed ten IG-88 series droids—his favorite model of combat droids. Deadly, efficient, devoid of unnecessary emotional protocols. In case of boarding or ground operations, they represented a formidable force. So formidable, in fact, that they could take control of a medium-sized space station if needed. They were currently in standby mode, their optical sensors dark, but their systems were ready for activation at any moment.
The cargo hold was compact—only twenty cubic meters. On the "Wanderer," he had three times as much space, but Alex realized he had only used it fully once in all the years they evacuated from Nar Shaddaa. For archaeological artifacts and personal equipment, this was more than enough. The freed-up space went to more important systems.
But Alex's true pride was the holographic projector—another Valorian development. A system of forty-eight emitters, placed throughout the hull, created a three-dimensional holographic shell that distorted the ship's visual appearance. The "Chiming Blade" could look like a battered cargo shuttle, a luxurious yacht, or even an Imperial courier. The projection couldn't withstand close-range scanning, but for initial identification, it worked flawlessly.
Added to this was a set of twelve forged transponders, each with a full package of registration data. Alex could change the ship's "identity" depending on the system they were arriving in. Today, they were the independent small cargo vessel "Harsh Prospector." Tomorrow, they could become the trading frigate "Corellia's Luck." The day after, a private yacht, the "Sapphire Dream."
The ship was optimized for long and stealthy expeditions. Everything needed for months of autonomous existence far from civilization. Everything required for penetrating forbidden zones and making a swift retreat. Everything necessary for survival in the most dangerous corners of the galaxy.
Morning found them already in the cockpit of the "Chiming Blade." Alex sat at the helm, checking the ship's systems before departure. Verena settled into the co-pilot's seat, her fingers dancing across the control panel, activating various subsystems.
They worked in sync, like a single organism. Years of joint flights had taught them to understand each other without words.
The ship smoothly lifted on its repulsors, detaching from the landing platform. Tersic slowly receded below them, transforming from a detailed landscape into an abstract map, and then into a blue pearl against the blackness of space.
"Course plotted," Alex announced, entering the coordinates into the navicomputer. "Ready for the jump?"
Verena leaned back in her seat, running her hands through her lekku with a playful smile.
He activated the hyperdrive, and the stars outside the viewport stretched into lines. The ship plunged into hyperspace, heading for a distant world.
Verena stretched in her seat, her movements graceful and relaxed.
"A month's journey," she mused. "What will we do?"
"Training," Alex replied. "We need to improve our control over the Force. Especially your combat precognition."
"Always so serious," Verena sighed, but there was warmth in her voice. "Alright, Mr. Diligent Student. But the evenings are mine."
"Agreed," Alex smiled.
"Is the route ready?" she asked, not looking away from the control panel.
"Yes," Alex settled into the pilot's seat and activated the navigation hologram. "But we won't be taking the direct route."
Verena turned to him, raising an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Precaution," Alex enlarged the map, showing their current position and the intended route. "The direct path lies through the Mid and Inner Rim. Too many active systems, too many Imperial patrols. I don't want to run from Inquisitors anymore. Even with our forged transponders, the risk of inspection is too high."
He traced a finger over the hologram, outlining an alternative route.
"We'll take the long way around. Through the Outer Rim. Longer distance, but less Imperial presence. Independent systems, pirate enclaves, forgotten colonies."
Verena studied the map, her gaze sliding over the chain of systems.
"How many jumps?"
"Twenty to the last stop," Alex replied. "We'll make only one significant stop before the final push. The Spelex system—an independent trading station on the edge of the Outer Rim. There we'll resupply, check the ship's systems, and get the latest news from civilized space."
He zoomed in on the next section of the route.
"After Spelex, we'll head through the Jedha hyperspace corridor. But we won't exit into the system—too much Imperial presence. There, we'll try to plot a course through the Force into the Unknown Regions."
"The Jedha system has a strong Force resonance, even after its destruction. That should help me tune into the right course. Like... like a reference point."
The flight proceeded without incident. They passed through sparsely populated systems of the Outer Rim, where Imperial presence was minimal. Erianus, Fornax, Tetrion Prime—forgotten worlds on the periphery of civilization.
Alex used the time in hyperspace for preparation. He studied data about the Jedha system, analyzed Rakatan records on Force navigation, meditated, trying to strengthen his connection. Sometimes, he and Verena would tune the hyperdrive together.
Verena spent most of her time training in the cargo hold, practicing lightsaber forms with a training staff. Alex sometimes joined her, and they would spar—slow, controlled duels where precision and foresight were more important than speed.
In the evenings, they sat in the cockpit, watching the hypnotic glow of hyperspace through the viewports. They talked about the future, about what had been, reminisced about incidents from past expeditions.
On the fifth day, they reached Spelex.
The system was located in a desolate region of space, far from major trade routes. The only inhabited object was a massive space station, built from the interconnected hulls of old ships. Spelex was an enclave for smugglers, arms dealers, and those who preferred to stay out of the Empire's sight.
"Harsh Prospector, you are entering Spelex space," the dispatcher's voice crackled. "Present your registration and purpose of visit."
"Spelex Control, this is Harsh Prospector," Alex replied in a calm voice. "Cargo vessel, carrying ore. Requesting docking permission for resupply."
A pause. Alex felt them scanning—a superficial check of the transponder and visual identification. The holographic projector worked flawlessly, creating the illusion of a battered but reliable cargo ship.
"Permission granted, Harsh Prospector. Dock seventeen. Docking fee is five hundred credits per day."
"Understood, Dock Seventeen. Thank you, Control."
Alex guided the ship towards the designated docking bay. The station looked even more chaotic up close—a labyrinth of corridors, modules, antennas, and weapon platforms. A typical haven for those living on the edge of the law.
Dock seventeen was plunged into silence and darkness. The "Chiming Blade," disguised as another ship, sat on the landing platform, its hull faintly gleaming in the light of the station lamps. Alex and Verena had left the ship an hour ago, heading to the station's trading sector for supplies.
A group of sentient beings approached the hangar with the ship.
"There it is," rasped Grak, a massive Weequay with a scar across his face. "Told you, easy prey. We'll set up in the hangar. When they return, we'll get the access codes for the ship."
Beside him stood five other sentient beings—a rabble from different corners of the galaxy, united by greed and a lack of moral principles. The scrawny Rodian Skitch nervously rubbed his hands, his large eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness. Two humans, brothers Cale and Jorus, checked their blasters. "Nikto," a hunched Zabrak with a scorched face, watched silently. Rounding out the group was Vexor, a Twi'lek with peeling skin and rotten teeth.
"According to the documents, there's ore in the cargo hold," Skitch activated his datapad, showing the scan results. "Rare earth metals. At least two hundred thousand credits on the black market."
"And the ship itself?" Cale licked his lips.
"Another three hundred, if we find a buyer," Grak grinned, revealing yellow fangs. "I know a guy on Nar Shaddaa."
"And this pair?" Jorus asked. "Saw them when they left. A man and a Twi'lek girl. What do we do with them once we get the access codes?"
Grak shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Get rid of them. Quick and quiet. No one on Spelex will ask questions about a couple of missing ore haulers."
"Wait," Vexor licked his lips, his gaze becoming hazy. "Let's keep the Twi'lek girl for a couple of days. She was quite something."
Grak snorted but didn't object.
"Do as you wish. Just make sure there are no traces afterward."
Skitch approached the hangar entrance control panel, pulled a small device with blinking LEDs from his pocket—a bypass tool. He attached it to the lock, and the device began cycling through combinations.
"How long?" Nikto asked impatiently.
"A minute, maybe two," Skitch didn't take his eyes off the display. "Standard lock, nothing complicated."
They waited. Grak glanced at his chronometer, the brothers shifted from foot to foot. Vexor giggled softly, clearly imagining something unpleasant.
The bypass tool emitted a satisfied beep. The lock clicked, and the airlock door began to slowly rise.
"Done," Skitch put away the device and pulled out his blaster. "Enter quietly."
They entered the hangar. The internal lighting was dim—standby mode. The ship stood in the distance. In front of it were some crates.
"The cargo hold should be here," Skitch whispered, consulting the schematic on his datapad. "Standard layout for ships of this class."
They moved forward, blasters at the ready. Grak led the way, his massive figure filling the narrow corridor between the containers. Behind him were Cale and Jorus, then the rest.
"It's quiet here," Jorus muttered.
"The ship is in standby mode," Skitch explained. "All systems at minimum. Normal."
"What the..." Skitch began.
Behind the crates stood a figure. Tall, thin, metallic. The optical sensors were dark, but even in its inactive state, they exuded threat.
"A droid," Cale breathed.
"IG-88," Skitch paled. "Combat model. Let's slowly retreat while it's in standby."
But the droid was already turning its head. Slowly, smoothly, with mechanical precision. Its optical sensor flashed red.
"Intruders detected."
The voice was cold, devoid of emotion. Synthesized, but no less terrifying for it. Red sensors glowed in the semi-darkness.
"Run!" Grak roared.
The first shot caught Skitch by surprise. A blaster bolt pierced his chest, and the Rodian collapsed with a short gasp. The droid emerged from the niche, its movements swift and precise.
"Nikto" tried to shoot, but his hand exploded from a targeted hit. The Zabrak screamed, and a second shot ended the scream forever.
"Back, back!" Jorus backed towards the exit, firing his blaster wildly.
The droid wasn't rushing. It moved forward methodically, its built-in weapon spitting precise, deadly volleys. Cutting off escape routes in the open. Cale tried to take cover behind another container, but a blaster bolt found him even there. He fell with a smoking hole in his head.
Vexor ran towards the hangar exit, his breathing ragged with terror. Behind him, he could hear mechanical footsteps—steady, inexorable, approaching. He turned and saw the droid emerging from behind a container.
"No, no, no!" he fired blindly. The blaster bolt simply ricocheted off the droid.
The droid raised its manipulator. The built-in blaster fired. Vexor felt a burning pain in his leg and collapsed. He tried to crawl, leaving a bloody trail behind him.
"Please..." he croaked.
The droid stopped over him. The last thing Vexor saw was a red sensor looking at him without the slightest hint of pity.
Grak was the fastest. He was making his way towards the ship, not the exit. His massive body moved with a speed unexpected for a Weequay.
Behind him, shots and screams could be heard. Jorus was still alive, but not for long. Grak didn't look back. He ran to the ship, hoping the ramp was open, because where else would the droid have come from?
He stopped.
The ramp was open. A faint spark of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe he could escape the droid in this ship? Maybe he could close the ramp and fly away from here?
He ran inside.
And saw them.
From the walls of the compartment, from the niches he hadn't noticed upon entering, figures emerged. Nine IG-88 droids. They stood in a row, their optical sensors glowing red.
"No..." Grak exhaled.
A tenth droid appeared from the corridor behind him. Grak turned, raised his blaster, but his hand trembled. He was surrounded.
"Defense protocol complete," one of the droids announced. "Intruder elimination complete."
But Grak no longer heard this, lying with a scorched head.
Alex and Verena returned two hours later. They were carrying containers of supplies on a large grav-platform—food, air tanks, water containers. Their conversation was light, unforced.
"...and he said the Empire has increased patrols in the Corellia sector," Verena was saying. "Looking for rebels."
"Good thing we chose the long route," Alex nodded. "We're here. Let's see what happened in the hangar. IG reported some security perimeter breach."
He drew his blaster, activated his shield, and entered the hangar. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air.
"Alex..." Verena stopped, looking at the floor of the corridor.
Blood. Trails leading deeper into the ship.
The ramp opened, and IG-88 emerged from the shadows.
"Master Alex, intruders eliminated."
The cargo hold opened before them.
Six bodies lay in a heap on the floor. Some were intact, others... not so much. Blood, blaster burns, frozen grimaces of horror on their faces. Ten IG-88 droids stood along the walls, returned to their niches. Their optical sensors were dark; they were once again motionless statues.
"What is this?" Verena asked quietly.
Alex walked to the nearest body, crouched down. A Weequay, by the looks of it—the leader. A blaster was still clutched in his hand. He examined the others—typical pirates, cutthroats.
"Intruders," he said in a level voice, standing up. "Tried to infiltrate the ship."
He activated his datapad, connected to the ship's systems. The security log showed everything: hangar lock bypassed two hours ago, six subjects infiltrated, defense protocol activated, threat neutralized. It all took four minutes and thirty-two seconds, of which twenty-five seconds were for neutralizing the threat.
Verena walked around the bodies, her face impassive.
"They wanted to steal the ship?"
"And the cargo," Alex closed the datapad. "Standard practice for places like this. Saw a lone ship, decided to profit. Then they'd sell it to Hutts or someone else."
He looked at the droids. They had performed their function perfectly. No damage to the ship, no witnesses, swift and efficient neutralization of the threat. They had only dirtied the cargo bay, but there was a cleaning droid for that.
Alex was displeased. Not with the droids—they acted according to instructions. Displeased with the situation. He didn't want deaths, not even the deaths of robbers. But what could he say? The protocol was clear: any unauthorized infiltration of the ship—immediate liquidation. He had long understood how to deal with enemies.
"Everything according to instructions," he finally said.
Verena nodded. She understood. There was no room for sentimentality in their world. These people had come to kill them, steal the ship, and... she had listened to the recording one of the droids had played. "Let's keep the Twi'lek girl for a couple of days. She was quite something."
Her hand clenched on the blaster grip. Of course, he wouldn't have stood a chance even without the droids, but still. No, she wouldn't regret them.
"What do we do with the bodies?" she asked.
"What we usually do in such cases," Alex was already moving towards the cargo bay control panel. "Activate the droids, they'll load the bodies into containers. We'll take them outside the station and dump them into space. Tolcho did that when he didn't want to explain."
He activated two droids. They emerged from their niches and began methodically collecting the bodies, placing them in sealed containers. The work took less than a minute.
Alex returned to the cockpit, requested permission to undock.
"Spelex Control, this is Harsh Prospector. Requesting permission to depart."
"Permission granted, Harsh Prospector. Have a good journey."
The ship detached from the station, smoothly moving away to a safe distance. When they were far enough, Alex activated the cargo ejection system. The containers with the bodies shot into the void of space, quickly disappearing into the darkness.
Verena stood beside him, looking at the receding Spelex.
"Do you think anyone will miss them?"
"No," Alex entered the coordinates for the next jump. "People disappear constantly on stations like these. No one will investigate."
He finished entering the data and turned to her.
"Ready?"
Verena nodded.
Alex pulled the hyperdrive lever. The stars stretched into lines, and the "Chiming Blade" plunged into hyperspace, leaving behind the Spelex station and six bodies, compactly packed in a container, slowly drifting in the indifferent abyss.