8 years before the proclamation of the empire
Alex put down the soldering iron and rubbed his tired eyes. The chronometer on the wall showed almost midnight – he had stayed in the workshop longer than usual, working on improving the energy modulator. The delicate work required absolute concentration, and only now did he notice how stiff his shoulders were from sitting in one position for so long. The device finally worked as it should – the indicators pulsed softly with green light, indicating stable system operation. But it was time to go home.
Outside the windows of the abandoned complex, a deep silence reigned, broken only by the distant hum of city transport somewhere far away.
He began to put away his tools, carefully placing each one in its proper place. Order in the laboratory was almost sacred to him – there should be nothing random or chaotic here. Every device had its purpose, every component its function.
Suddenly, a strange sound came from below – a dull thud, as if something heavy had fallen on the metal floor. The sound echoed through the empty corridors of the complex, breaking the usual silence. Then another thud. And voices – muffled by distance, but clearly human.
Alex froze, holding an energy analyzer in his hands. His heart skipped a beat. In all the months he had worked in the abandoned complex, he had never encountered any other sentient beings here. The area was considered dead – too far from residential areas, too close to industrial waste. Security didn't patrol here, and vagrants had no reason to be here either, as sources of profit were too far away; even teenage explorers preferred more accessible ruins.
Who could be here at this hour? And why?
The instinct for self-preservation, sharpened by months of secret life, suggested it would be better to stay in the laboratory and wait it out. Curiosity, as always, proved stronger than caution.
Alex turned off the light in the workshop, plunging the room into soft darkness, broken only by the faint glow of emergency lighting in the corridor. He carefully crept out of the laboratory, trying not to make a sound. The metal floor panels were cold under his feet, and each step echoed dully in the empty corridors.
The sounds came from the lower levels – where the cargo docks and storage areas used to be. Alex had never descended so deep – these levels seemed too dark and depressing to him. But now, he quietly headed towards the emergency staircase, feeling adrenaline begin to pump into his blood.
Each step creaked under his weight, and Alex froze after each step, listening. But the voices from below continued to sound, drowning out his cautious movements. As he descended, they became clearer – rough male voices speaking in Galactic Basic with accents from different worlds. Corellian, Rodian, something else he couldn't identify.
After descending three levels, Alex saw a strip of bright light under one of the massive cargo bay doors. The light was unnaturally white – clearly from portable spotlights, not the complex's stationary lighting. The voices became clearer, and now he could make out individual words.
His heart pounded so loudly that Alex feared he would be heard. He pressed himself against the cold metal wall and cautiously crept towards the door. At the bottom of the door, there was a small technical gap – apparently for ventilation. Alex crouched down and carefully peered inside.
The large cargo bay was brightly lit by several portable spotlights mounted on tripods. Their white light cast sharp shadows and gave everything that was happening a theatrical, almost unreal atmosphere. Along the walls were stacked metal boxes – standard military containers that Alex recognized from archival records. Such were used for transporting weapons and ammunition.
In the center of the room stood several figures, and even through the gap, Alex could feel the tension hanging in the air.
"The merchandise is high quality," said a tall man in a worn leather jacket. His voice sounded confident, but there was a hint of barely suppressed aggression in it. "Military blasters, fresh from the factory on Sluis Van. Power cells, spare parts, even a couple of heavy riot control rifles."
His interlocutor was a short Rodian with greenish skin and large faceted eyes that nervously glinted in the spotlight. The characteristic antennae on his head twitched – a sure sign of stress in representatives of this race. The Rodian was dressed in a cheap synthetic suit that had seen better days.
"The price is too high," hissed the Rodian in broken Galactic Basic, his accent making the words almost unintelligible. "We agreed on a different sum. You're cheating me, human."
"That was before the Republic patrol increased checks in the sector," the man shrugged, and the leather jacket creaked. "The risk has increased, so has the price. That's life, buddy."
Alex felt his heart rate quicken. Blood rushed to his face, and a metallic taste appeared in his mouth – sure signs of an adrenaline surge. Arms smugglers. He had accidentally stumbled upon a real criminal deal, the very criminal world he had read about in news reports, but had never encountered personally.
Next to the Rodian stood a young man – almost a boy, perhaps sixteen years old. His light hair was unevenly cut, his nervous movements betrayed inexperience, and his cheap clothes spoke of poverty. He was clearly not in charge of this operation, more like an assistant or a courier. Fear could be read in his eyes, poorly hidden by attempts to appear adult and dangerous.
"Do you have the credits or not?" the merchant continued, and Alex noticed his hand resting carelessly on the grip of the blaster attached to his belt. The gesture seemed casual, but the threat was clear.
"Yes," the Rodian nodded to his young companion, and his antennae twitched even more.
The guy nervously reached into a worn bag and pulled out a credit chip – a small device that stored electronic money. His hands trembled slightly as he handed the chip to the merchant. Alex saw sweat appear on the young man's forehead, despite the coolness in the underground room.
The merchant took the chip and inserted it into a portable scanner – a small device that immediately displayed information about its contents. The man's face instantly darkened, and his eyes narrowed.
"There's only half the amount here," his voice became dangerously quiet.
"You'll get the rest after delivery," the Rodian backed away, and his voice took on pleading tones. "We agreed on installments..."
"We didn't agree on that!" the merchant snatched out his blaster in one smooth motion. The weapon was a heavy military model, clearly not for self-defense. "Full payment now, or the deal is off!"
Alex felt a chill run down his spine. The situation was escalating with every second. He wanted to leave, but couldn't tear himself away from what was happening – as if enchanted, he continued to watch through the gap.
"We can't..." the young man began, clearly trying to defuse the situation, but the Rodian waved his hands sharply.
"Shut up, idiot!" he hissed in his native language, then switched to Galactic Basic. "Don't say anything!"
But it was too late. The merchant's face turned to stone, and Alex saw his finger rest on the trigger.
"So, no money," he said with cold calmness. "A pity. A great pity."
Time seemed to slow down. Alex saw the merchant raise the blaster, the young man's eyes widen, the Rodian try to shout a warning.
BZZZT!
The shot sounded deafening in the enclosed space, the echo rolling off the metal walls. A red energy beam pierced the young man's chest, burning a smoking hole through fabric and flesh. The smell of burnt meat instantly filled the air – a nauseating, sweetish aroma that immediately made Alex feel sick.
The guy collapsed to the floor as if shot, his eyes wide with surprise and horror. In the center of his chest, a disgusting charred hole gaped, its edges still smoking. Blood didn't flow – the energy beam had cauterized the wound, but this made the sight even more gruesome.
Alex covered his mouth, suppressing a scream of horror. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would leap out of his chest. His hands trembled, his breathing became shallow and rapid. Adrenaline surged through his blood with such force that black spots danced before his eyes. He had just witnessed a man being murdered. Just like that. Cold-bloodedly. For money.
The reality of what was happening crashed down on him with full force. This was not a holofilm, not a news report, not a story from the archives. This was real death, real blood, a real corpse a few meters away from him. And if he were discovered...
"Why did you do that?!" the Rodian yelled, his voice breaking with terror. "He was just a courier! Just a boy!"
"A lesson for you," the merchant replied coldly, holstering his blaster with the same carelessness with which others put away a stylus after signing documents. "Next time, you'll know not to mess with me."
He nodded to his men – Alex had only just noticed that two more stood in the shadows, also armed. One of them, a massive Zabrak with traditional tattoos on his bald head, approached the body. His face showed no emotion – as if he were looking at a broken mechanism, not a murdered man.
"What do we do with him, boss?" the Zabrak asked, nudging the lifeless body with the toe of his boot.
"Standard procedure," the merchant shrugged. "Down to the waste processing level. Let the disposers handle it."
Alex realized with horror what they were going to do. On the lower levels of Coronet, automatic waste processing systems operated – huge crushers and melting furnaces that turned city waste into raw materials for reuse. All sorts of junk from the upper levels were regularly dumped there – from broken equipment to organic waste.
And apparently, inconvenient corpses ended up there too.
The Zabrak grabbed the body by the legs, his partner – a Twi'lek with blue skin and characteristic head crests – took it by the arms. The dead guy dangled between them like a rag doll, his head thrown back, exposing his neck.
They carried the body to a cargo hatch in the floor, and Alex watched with disgust as the killed man's head bumped against protruding parts of the equipment – first against the edge of a container, then against the leg of a spotlight. With each impact, it bounced and jumped like a ball, and the dead eyes looked indifferently at the ceiling.
"Wait," the merchant stopped them. "Check his pockets. Maybe there's something useful."
They dropped the body on the floor, and it fell with a dull thud. The Zabrak crouched down and began methodically searching the pockets. Documents, a few credit chips, a communicator – everything went into a special container.
"Clear," the Zabrak reported, standing up. "Regular courier, nothing interesting."
"Then let's go."
The hatch opened with a metallic screech, revealing a black abyss. Below yawned a dark shaft – a transport system leading to the deepest depths of the city, where giant machines ground everything that entered them. The distant hum of machinery and the smell of chemical reagents wafted from there.
They picked up the body again and unceremoniously dumped it into the hatch. Alex heard it hit the shaft walls several times as it fell, and then silence fell.
The body disappeared into the darkness without a trace, as if this person had never existed.
Fear washed over him with renewed force. His hands trembled so violently that he could barely hold onto the wall. His breathing became shallow, his heart pounded like a madman. If he were discovered, if they realized he had seen everything... He would end up the same way. A smoking hole in his chest, a flight into the disposal unit, transformation into an anonymous mass of recycled raw materials.
"Alright," the merchant turned to the Rodian, who stood pale green with terror, his antennae trembling slightly. "Now let's talk about your debt."
"I... I'll bring the rest of the money tomorrow," he stammered, his voice breaking. "I swear, I'll bring it!"
"Tomorrow?" the merchant sneered, and that smile was more terrifying than any threat. "And what guarantees me that you won't run away? That you won't go to the authorities?"
"I won't run! I swear by all the gods of Rodia! I won't tell anyone!"
"Oaths are cheap," the merchant shook his head. "I need guarantees. Though what guarantees can I get from you?"
He nodded to the Zabrak, and the latter grabbed the Rodian by one of his antennae. The alien shrieked in pain – these organs were extremely sensitive for Rodians, and any contact with them caused excruciating pain.
"Here's what we'll do," the merchant continued calmly, as if discussing the weather forecast. "You'll bring the money in two days. Exactly two days from now, at this time, in this place. If you're late or try to cheat me again..."
He didn't finish, but looked meaningfully at the open hatch where the corpse had disappeared moments before. The meaning was crystal clear.
"Understood, understood!" the Rodian nodded so vigorously that his antennae flapped like flags in the wind. "Two days! Exactly two days!"
"Excellent," the trader smiled. "Now get out before I change my mind and send you after your friend."
The Rodian scrambled for the exit, not even glancing back at the spot where his companion had just lain. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing fainter.
The trader and his men began putting their weapons back into their crates, working quickly and efficiently. Alex realized he needed to leave before they decided to search the entire complex.
He carefully crawled away from the door, trying not to make a sound. Every movement was a struggle – his legs felt like they were filled with lead, his arms wouldn't obey. Adrenaline still coursed through his blood, making his heart pound at a frantic pace.
The stairs leading up seemed endless. Every step creaked under his weight, and Alex froze after each one, listening for sounds from below. But the criminals were busy with their own affairs and paid no attention to the faint noises from above.
Only when he reached his laboratory did Alex allow himself to breathe. He leaned against the door and slowly slid down it to the floor. His hands trembled so much that he couldn't hold the tools when he tried to gather them. The image of the falling body wouldn't leave his mind – again and again, he saw the surprised eyes, the smoking hole in the chest, the lifeless face.
The fear was almost physically palpable. It sat in his chest like a heavy lump, making it hard to breathe, causing him to flinch at every sound. Alex understood that he had witnessed a murder, that he knew something he shouldn't.
If they found out about him, if they realized there was a witness in the complex... He would end up in the same incinerator, turned into the same anonymous mass of recycled raw material.
The journey home seemed endless. Alex rode a public speeder, looking out the window at the lights of the night city, but not seeing them.
Corellia lived its usual life – wealthy families dined in cafes on the upper levels, private transports glided through the sky corridors, music played in entertainment centers. People laughed, talked, made plans for tomorrow. No one knew that a few levels below, a man had just been murdered and his body discarded like trash.
Alex looked at these people and felt separated from them by an invisible wall. They lived in a world of illusions, where death was an abstraction, where violence existed only in holofilms. He, however, had seen reality – cruel, bloody, merciless.
All his knowledge, all his inventions, all his plans for the future – what did they mean against a blaster in the hands of a ruthless killer? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Intelligence couldn't stop an energy beam. Education didn't protect against a bullet. Dreams of great discoveries turned to dust in the face of brute force.
At home, Alex managed to fall asleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events in his head. Again and again, he saw the flash of the shot, the falling body, the indifferent faces of the killers. He heard the sound of the dead man's head hitting metal objects. He smelled the scent of burnt meat.
At school, he was taught that knowledge was power. In the archives, he read about great scientists and inventors who changed the galaxy with their discoveries. He himself dreamed of becoming one of them, of entering history as the man who unlocked the secrets of ancient technologies.
But today, he understood that in the real world, there was another kind of power. More primitive, but more immediate. The power of weapons. The power of fear. The power of those who were ready to kill for money, for power, or simply because they could.
And if he wanted to survive in this world, if he wanted to protect his discoveries and achieve his goals, he had to be ready to confront this power. He had to learn to defend himself not only with knowledge but with something more tangible.
Alex got up and walked to the window. Below him stretched the night city of Coronet – an endless labyrinth of lights and shadows. Somewhere there, in the depths of the city, machines worked, grinding garbage. And among that garbage, the traces of those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time disappeared.
He didn't want to become one of them. He didn't want his dreams and discoveries to vanish with him into the maw of the incinerator.
"Tomorrow," Alex muttered, feeling a new resolve strengthen within him, "tomorrow, I'll start learning to defend myself."
Knowledge was important. But without the power to protect it, it could prove useless. And at fourteen, Alex Korren already understood: in this galaxy, only those who were ready to fight for their lives survived.
He returned to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. All night, the face of that guy stood before his eyes – surprised, scared, dead. And Alex swore to himself that he would never end up in his place.
Never.