On Monday, Alex came to school with new questions. The weekend at the shipyard had made him look at the world around him differently. High technology was everywhere, but no one understood how it worked.
The morning commute to school took him through the heart of the Corporate Quarter. Alex walked along wide avenues paved with synthetic stone that shimmered under the rays of the rising sun like precious gems.
Aerial speeders whizzed overhead, their engines emitting a melodious hum that merged into the symphony of the metropolis. Holographic billboards flickered between buildings, showcasing the latest corporate achievements: new droid models, improved communicators, climate control systems. All this technological splendor surrounded the city's inhabitants from birth, becoming a natural backdrop to their existence.
Pedestrian walkways were equipped with moving belts that smoothly carried adults rushing to work and children heading to school. Alex preferred to walk, observing the world around him. He noticed details that others overlooked: how the contacts sparked at the junctions of moving belts, how holograms trembled in the air from interference of unknown origin, how informational droids sometimes stuttered, repeating the same phrase.
The Corporate School of Corellian Engineering was located in a modern building on the twenty-second level. A tower of black metal and transparent ceramic rose to the sky, like a monolithic monument to human achievement. The facade of the building was adorned with bas-reliefs depicting great moments of technological history: the first space flight, the creation of the hyperdrive, the founding of the Galactic Republic. Light streams flowed between the bas-reliefs, creating the illusion of movement and life in the frozen metal.
The main entrance was a wide arch framed by columns of polished durasteel. Above the entrance, a holographic corporate emblem glowed – a stylized star surrounded by planetary orbits. Automatic doors parted silently before each entrant, scanning biometric data and allowing only authorized individuals.
Inside the school, an atmosphere of understated luxury prevailed. Polished marble floors reflected the light from ceiling-mounted fixtures, creating a play of light and shadow. The walls were finished with panels of rare woods brought from distant worlds, and between them were interactive information panels displaying class schedules, corporate news, and educational materials.
The air in the building was perfectly air-conditioned – cool, fresh from the operating purification systems. The ventilation system worked silently, only occasionally could a quiet hiss of air passing through filters be heard. The building's acoustics were meticulously planned: the sounds of footsteps were absorbed by special coatings, and voices did not create echoes thanks to sound-absorbing panels.
Classrooms were equipped with the latest generation of holoprojectors, capable of creating three-dimensional images with astonishing detail. Interactive whiteboards responded to the slightest touch, allowing teachers and students to control information with gestures. EDU-7 model training droids stood in the corners of the classrooms, their metallic bodies polished to a mirror shine, and their optical sensors constantly scanned the room, ready to provide additional information on any question.
Each student's workstation was equipped with a personal datapad – a thin plate of transparent material, on the surface of which texts, images, and interactive elements appeared. When working with datapads, a characteristic sound filled the classroom – the quiet tapping of fingers on the touch-sensitive surfaces, creating a rhythmic melody of collective learning. Sometimes this sound was interrupted by the soft beep of notifications or a quiet hum when devices synchronized with the central system.
Everything looked very progressive, but Alex began to notice oddities. Neuro-interfaces for learning, thin silver metal headbands that students wore during some classes, allowed information to be downloaded directly into memory. However, this information was superficial – names, definitions, facts, but not an understanding of principles. Alex felt knowledge settling in his mind like dust, not connecting with each other, not forming a holistic picture of the world.
The first lesson was "Fundamentals of Technology" – a subject that was supposed to explain to children the principles of how the devices around them worked. Alex eagerly awaited this lesson, hoping to finally get answers to the questions that had been bothering him since the weekend.
Mrs. Wur, a middle-aged teacher with a neat hairstyle the color of ripe wheat and a stern gaze of gray eyes, entered the classroom with the dignity of an experienced educator. Her dark blue suit was impeccably ironed, and a small brooch in the shape of the corporate emblem gleamed on her lapel. She activated the holoprojector with a slight movement of her hand, and the device responded with a soft hum, gradually increasing until a detailed cross-section of an aerial speeder appeared above the classroom.
The hologram rotated slowly, showing the internal structure of the machine. Individual components were highlighted in different colors: the propulsion system – blue, the control system – green, the body – gold. The image was so realistic that it seemed as if a real speeder was hovering before the students, allowing them to peer into its mechanical insides.
"Today we are studying the principles of flight," she announced in a voice honed by years of teaching. "Who can tell me why machines fly?"
Several hands went up. Alex noticed how his classmates raised their hands with varying degrees of confidence – some decisively, others hesitantly, as if hoping not to be called upon. Mrs. Wur pointed to a girl in the front row – Lima, an excellent student with chestnut braids and always clean uniform.
"Lima?"
"Because they have repulsors!" the girl replied proudly, clearly pleased with the opportunity to demonstrate her knowledge.
"Correct! And what are repulsors?"
Lima paused for a moment, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.
"They are... devices that push off from gravity?"
"Exactly! Repulsors create an anti-gravity field that allows machines to fly."
Alex felt growing disappointment. The explanation sounded familiar, but it didn't convey real understanding. He raised his hand, and Mrs. Wur nodded to him.
"Mrs. Wur, what is an anti-gravity field?"
The teacher smiled with the condescending smile of an adult explaining obvious things to a child.
"It's a field that counteracts gravity, Alex."
"And how does it work?"
"Well... it repels the object from the source of gravity."
"And how?"
Alex's voice held genuine curiosity, but Mrs. Wur perceived it as a challenge to her competence. Her smile became more strained.
"It's very complex physics, Alex. It's enough to know that an anti-gravity field counteracts gravity."
"But you're explaining the same thing in different words," Alex said, not wanting to seem impudent, but unable to hide his disappointment.
Some students in the classroom snickered, taking his words as an attempt to put the teacher in an awkward position. Mrs. Wur blushed, and her voice took on a note of irritation.
"Alex, don't be smart. The operating principles of repulsors are studied in technical institutes."
"And do they know how they work there?"
"Of course they do! They train specialists there."
Alex remembered the conversation with his father and Uncle Nilson. They were also specialists, working with technology every day, but they didn't know its operating principles. Did the institutes really explain everything, or did they also limit themselves to superficial definitions?
"And where can I read about how it's constructed?"
"Why do you need that?" the teacher asked, as if the very thought seemed absurd to her. "That's not the topic of today's lesson."
"Just curious."
"Curiosity is good, but don't get ahead of yourself. Study the basics first."
"And what are the basics?"
"What we study in class."
Alex realized he had fallen into a vicious cycle. The basics are what are studied in school. And in school, they only study names, without explaining how everything actually works.
The lesson continued to the accompaniment of the quiet hum of the holoprojector and occasional clicks as Mrs. Wur switched images. She talked about different types of engines: ion, plasma, hyperdrives. Holograms replaced each other, showing cross-sections of various mechanisms, but all explanations boiled down to "ion engines run on ions," "plasma engines run on plasma," and "hyperdrives allow travel faster than light."
Alex listened and felt his disappointment grow. Each explanation was a tautology – defining a concept through itself. No one talked about how exactly ions create thrust, what plasma is on a physical level, or how it's possible to overcome the light barrier.
"Mrs. Wur, how can you move faster than light?"
"Through hyperspace, Alex."
"And what is hyperspace?"
"It's... another dimension where different laws of physics apply."
"And what laws?"
"Those that allow you to move faster than light."
Again, the same thing. Alex was beginning to understand that the teachers knew no more than the students. They simply memorized phrases and repeated them like mantras, without delving into the essence. Perhaps they themselves had asked similar questions, but over time, they had resigned themselves to the absence of answers.
After the technology lesson, it was math. Moving from classroom to classroom, students walked through corridors where their footsteps were muffled by sound-absorbing coatings. The walls were adorned with portraits of great scientists of the past, although Alex noticed that they all lived a very long time ago – hundreds or thousands of years ago. There were no modern names among them.
Alex hoped that math would be clearer. Numbers don't lie, formulas work the same for everyone, and there should be logic here, which was so lacking in the technology lesson.
The math teacher, Mr. Drake, was a young man in his thirties with enthusiasm in his dark brown eyes. His red hair was slightly tousled, and thin glasses sat on his nose, which he adjusted periodically. Unlike the stern Mrs. Wurr, he genuinely loved his subject, and it showed in every movement.
"Today we're studying the multiplication of two-digit numbers," he announced, activating the interactive whiteboard. Numbers appeared on the surface, glowing with a soft blue light. "Who remembers how to multiply 23 by 15?"
Several students raised their hands. Mr. Drake demonstrated the standard multiplication method, his fingers gliding easily across the board's surface, leaving glowing trails.
"And why do we need to learn this?" asked one of the students, a boy named Corren, known for his practical questions. "Datapads calculate faster."
"Mathematics develops thinking," the teacher explained, and his voice held sincere conviction.
"Can we study something more complex?" asked Alex, hoping his curiosity would be met with understanding here.
"Like what?"
"Well... how to solve equations?"
Mr. Drake was surprised, his eyebrows rising: "That's studied in higher grades. It's too early for you."
"And why is it too early?"
"Because you need to master the basics first."
"What if I've already mastered them?"
The teacher paused, adjusted his glasses, and decided to test him: "Alright, solve this problem: what is 127 multiplied by 394?"
Alex quickly calculated, visualizing the numbers in his mind and breaking them down into convenient parts: "50038."
Mr. Drake checked on his datapad, and his eyes widened in surprise: "Correct! How did you calculate that so fast?"
"I imagined 127 as 100 plus 27, and 394 as 400 minus 6, and calculated it in parts."
"Where did you learn that?"
"I made it up myself. Is that not allowed?"
"It is, of course..." Mr. Drake hesitated, clearly struggling with an internal conflict. "But it's not in the curriculum."
"And can we study things that aren't in the curriculum?"
"No, we must follow the learning plan."
"And who made it?"
"The Ministry of Education."
"And do they know what's best for children?"
Mr. Drake faltered, and Alex saw doubt in his eyes: "Of course they do. Specialists work there."
"And why did they decide we don't need complex math?"
"Because... complex calculations are done by computers."
"And what if the computer breaks?"
"Computers don't break."
"But what if?"
The teacher pondered, and silence fell over the classroom. The other students followed the conversation with interest, as if hearing such questions for the first time:
"Then... then they'll fix it."
"And who will fix it if no one understands how they work?"
Mr. Drake looked at Alex with concern, and something akin to fear flashed in his gaze: "Alex, you ask very unusual questions for your age."
After math came history class. As he moved to the next classroom, Alex noticed how the neuro-interfaces of other students worked. Thin silver headbands flickered with faint lights as they loaded information. Some children winced as if experiencing discomfort, but no one complained. It was considered normal.
Alex hoped to learn when modern technologies appeared, how civilization had developed, who the geniuses were who created the world around them.
Rukia, an elderly teacher with gray hair pulled into a strict bun and kind blue eyes behind thin glasses, spoke about the Galactic Republic. Her voice was soft, almost hypnotic, and she spoke with love about the subject to which she had dedicated her life: "Our civilization has existed for tens of thousands of years. During this time, we have reached incredible heights in science and technology..."
Alex also put on a device. He listened to her half-heartedly; she was saying some banal things, and he got lost in his own thoughts. He looked out the window; the sun illuminated the opposite building. A sunbeam from the window struck his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the teacher was already talking about something else. He seemed to have dozed off. He raised his hand.
"Can I ask a question off-topic? When were repulsors invented?" Alex asked, hoping for specific information.
"A very long time ago. The exact date is unknown."
"And hyperdrives?"
"Also a long time ago. These technologies appeared in antiquity."
"And who invented them?"
"Ancient scientists."
"And their names?"
"Some have survived, but it's not that important."
"Why isn't it important?"
"Because achievements are important, not names."
Alex felt a familiar disappointment. Even history, which was supposed to preserve the memory of the past, turned out to be vague and imprecise.
"And what new things have been invented in the last hundred years?"
Mrs. Rukia paused, and her silence stretched: "Well... existing technologies have been improved. Made more reliable."
"And anything completely new?"
"Fundamentally new things appear rarely. The main discoveries were made long ago."
"And why aren't new things being invented now?"
"Who said they aren't being invented?" the teacher asked, surprised.
"Well, if nothing new in a hundred years..."
"Alex, you think too much about complex things. It's better to focus on your studies."
When the bell rang for recess, Alex went into the corridor, where his classmates were already starting their games. But even here, he noticed oddities. Children were playing "Star Wars" – imitating battles between the Republic and mythical enemies, waving toy lightsabers.
Another popular game was called "Explorers" – children divided into teams and "discovered" new planets, but all their discoveries were reduced to listing already known facts. No one tried to imagine what real exploration of the unknown would look like.
The most common game was "Technicians" – children imitated the repair of various devices, but their actions were purely ritualistic. They pressed buttons, turned imaginary screws, but no one wondered what exactly they were fixing and how it was supposed to work.
After classes, Alex stayed in the school's data vault. It was a spacious room with high ceilings, where rows of memory crystals stood alongside a unified holographic data storage. Soft light fell through large windows, creating a cozy atmosphere for reading and reflection.
He wanted to find information about how technologies came to be, hoping that written sources would be more informative than school lessons.
The librarian droid helped him find the right section. The machine moved silently, its sensors scanning the shelves with incredible speed. The droid's metallic body was elegantly designed, and its voice module was tuned to a pleasant, almost human timbre. But the textbooks were disappointing. They all spoke in general terms of "the great achievements of the ancients" and "gradual development."
There were no specific dates, inventor names, or explanations of operating principles. Page after page, the files contained beautiful but empty phrases about the greatness of civilization, offering no real understanding of how it all began.
"Are there any books with details on how everything works?"
"Such data is intended for specialists," the droid replied, and there was no hint of emotion in its voice. "Children don't need it. It's not in our data vault."
"And where can I find it?"
"In technical archives. But access is restricted."
"Why?"
"For safety. Unprepared individuals might misunderstand the information."
"And who decides who is prepared?"
"The relevant educational institutions, corporations, and authorities."
Alex took a data crystal on history and began to read. Strange: all the files described only the last thousand years. What about before that?
"Are there books about more ancient history?"
"More ancient?"
"About what happened before the Republic, for example."
"Before the Republic, there was chaos. Civilization began with the founding of the Republic."
"And who founded it?"
"Ancient sages who united the worlds."
"And where did they get their technologies from?"
"They... developed them. Gradually."
"From what?"
"From simpler technologies."
"And where did those come from?"
The droid was silent for a few seconds: "I'm sorry, but I don't have the information to answer."
Alex realized he had stumbled upon something strange. The droid, whose database was supposed to contain all available information, couldn't answer a simple question about the origin of technology.
"And why don't you have this information?"
"Perhaps it wasn't entered into my database."
"And why wasn't it entered?"
"Perhaps it's considered unimportant."
"And who decides what is important?"
"Those who created my database."
"And can I talk to them?"
"No, that's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because such an option is not provided."
Alex noticed that the droid hesitated when answering questions. Small delays appeared in its speech patterns, as if the program was encountering limitations and trying to find workarounds.
"And can you answer any question?"
"Not any. Only those for which information exists in the database."
"And if there's no information?"
"Then I say I don't know."
"And don't you want to know the correct answer?"
The droid fell silent again, and this time the pause was particularly long: "I cannot want. I am executing a program."
"That's a shame," Alex said sincerely. "It would be interesting."
He closed the book and went home, reflecting on the strange day. The teachers didn't know the answers to simple questions. The droid couldn't tell the history of technology. Even the children's games reflected a superficial understanding of the world. It was as if someone had deliberately created a system that mimicked education without providing real knowledge.
But why? And who could be interested in ensuring that sentient beings didn't understand how their world worked?
The walk home took him through the same streets, but now Alex looked at them with different eyes. Holographic advertisements, flying speeders, droids – all this splendor of technology suddenly seemed like a set, a beautiful facade hiding emptiness. Sentient beings used devices without understanding them, lived in a world they couldn't explain.
At home, Alex immediately went to his room, where a sealed block from his father's colleague lay on the table. The metallic casing gleamed dully in the light of the desk lamp, holding its secrets. Tomorrow, he would try to open it. Very carefully.
Perhaps there would be something understandable inside? Something real in this world of beautiful but empty explanations?