Alex sat in Uncle Garrek's chair, watching him curse at suppliers through the holographic communicator again. The stabilizers for the speeder, ordered three weeks ago, had still not arrived, even though the manufacturer was only two systems away from Corellia.
"What do you mean 'customs delay'?" Garrek roared, his face red with anger, veins on his neck bulging from strain. His uncle's fist hit the metal workbench with a dull thud, making the tools jump. "These are standard parts, not military equipment!"
The holographic image of the Rodian dispatcher nervously twitched his antennae:
"I'm sorry, sir, but the cargo must go through official trade corridors. The direct route through the Corus sector is temporarily closed to civilian vessels."
"Temporarily closed for half a year already!" Garrek exploded, his voice rising to a scream, echoing off the workshop walls. He grabbed the edges of the table with both hands, his knuckles turning white from tension. "And what the hell about official corridors? The cargo used to go directly! Are you mocking me?!"
The Rodian tried to object, but Garrek didn't let him get a word in:
"Listen to me carefully, you son of a bitch!" he hit the table with his fist again, this time so hard that the protective glass of the holoprojector cracked. "I have orders to fulfill! My reputation is at stake! And it's very important to keep promises to my clients! Now I have to call them and humiliate myself! Do you understand what you're doing?!"
His uncle's face was burning with rage, sweat beaded on his forehead. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling like a cornered beast.
"Damn it all!" he yelled into the receiver. "Twenty years I've been working with your company! Twenty years! And there's never been such a mess! Where is your supervisor? Where is someone who can actually make a decision?!"
"Sir, please calm down..."
"Calm down?!" Garrek's voice broke into a hoarse whisper. "I'll show you how to calm down! Do you know how much I'm losing because of your delays? How many clients are going to competitors?!"
He grabbed the first tool he could find – a heavy hydro-wrench – and hurled it with force against the opposite wall. The metallic clang made Alex flinch.
"New safety regulations, sir," the Rodian stammered. "I can't do anything."
"Safety regulations?!" Garrek grabbed his head with his hands, ruffling his graying hair. "What the hell safety in speeder stabilizers?! These are ordinary parts! They're transported by the thousands every day!"
He leaned towards the holoprojector again, his face contorted with fury:
"Listen to me carefully, you damn Rodian face! If my order is not delivered within a week, I will find a way to get to your office! And then you'll learn what real security problems are!"
The connection suddenly broke, leaving the workshop in silence. Garrek stood, breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. He slowly sank into a chair, put his elbows on the table, and covered his face with his hands.
"Fuck them all," he rasped through his fingers. "Fuck this whole system."
For a few minutes, he sat in silence, gradually regaining composure. His breathing became steadier, the color returned to his face. Finally, he raised his head and looked at Alex:
"I've been in this business for a long time, and there's never been such a mess. Parts from a neighboring system are traveling halfway across the galaxy for God knows how long. When I placed the order, the delivery times were different."
An hour later, Alex was sitting in his speeder, heading to the central archive of Coronet. His uncle hadn't completely calmed down – he continued to mutter curses and furiously fix something.
The speeder smoothly rose above the industrial district and merged into the flow of air traffic. Alex set the autopilot and leaned back in his seat, observing the city landscape outside the window.
Coronet spread out below as an endless sea of buildings, factories, and residential complexes. But what attracted the most attention was the flying district – a huge platform the size of a small city, which slowly drifted over the center of the capital at an altitude of three kilometers.
Alex never ceased to be amazed by this engineering marvel. How could such a behemoth hang in the air? The anti-gravity generators must have consumed an incredible amount of energy, and thousands of people lived there – the richest and most influential citizens of Corellia.
The platform was covered with luxurious mansions, parks, and even small lakes. Gleaming towers rose to the sky, their glass facades reflecting sunlight. Landing pads for private yachts and transport ships were located along the edges of the platform.
"I wonder how much an apartment there costs," Alex muttered, watching a luxurious yacht with a gilded hull fly past the Flying District.
His speeder overtook a cargo transport – a massive vessel loaded with containers. The Twi'lek pilot waved friendly from the cockpit. A squadron of police interceptors flashed by, their blue and white paint gleaming in the sun's rays.
Melodious instrumental music flowed from the speeder's speakers – something in the jizz style with soft saxophone parts. Alex turned up the volume, enjoying the rhythm, but after a few minutes, the melody was interrupted:
"And now for an advertisement! New 'Sokor' speeders – the speed you deserve! Only this month, a twenty percent discount on all models!"
Alex winced and switched to another station. More energetic music with electronic beats was playing there, but it too was soon interrupted by a commercial break:
"Hana's Cafe – the best Corellian cuisine in the city center! Try our signature nerf steak!"
"Galactic Transport Company will deliver your cargo anywhere in the Inner Worlds! Fast, reliable, inexpensive!"
Alex was about to switch stations again, but the next commercial caught his attention:
"The Techno Union invites you to serve under contract!" the announcer's voice sounded inspired and solemn. "The Unknown Regions await their explorers! Join expeditions to the edge of the known galaxy! Discover new worlds, study ancient civilizations, participate in the greatest discoveries of our time!"
Heroic music began to play, and the announcer's voice became even more enthusiastic:
"The Techno Union provides full training, modern equipment, and decent pay! A five-year contract – and your life will change forever! The Unknown Regions await! Become part of history!"
Alex frowned thoughtfully. The Techno Union rarely advertised on regular stations – they usually limited themselves to specialized scientific channels. What made them look for recruits among the general public?
The speeder began to descend, approaching the government quarter. The Central Archive of Corellia was located in a massive white stone building built during the Old Republic era. Its classical columns and wide landing pads created an impression of antiquity and solidity.
Alex parked the speeder in a public parking lot and walked to the main entrance. The square in front of the archive was filled with people – students, researchers, journalists, ordinary citizens who came for various certificates.
The tall polished wooden doors opened before him with a quiet hiss. Inside the archive, there was a special atmosphere – muffled voices, soft light, restrained but incredibly expensive finishing materials.
The main hall was striking in its size. The ceiling was lost somewhere high above, supported by rows of dark columns. Along the walls stretched endless rows of shelves with holocrystals. In the center of the hall were dozens of workstations with terminals for accessing electronic archives.
Alex approached the information desk, where an elderly woman was on duty:
"Welcome to the Central Archive. How can I help you?"
"I need access to historical trade maps and documents on the development of hyperspace routes," Alex said.
"Research project?" the archive worker smiled.
"Something like that. I'm interested in how trade routes have changed over the past few decades."
"An excellent topic. You will need a terminal in the economic history section. Booth number forty-seven," she handed him a temporary pass. "If you need access to any special materials, please contact the duty archivist."
Alex walked between rows of tables where other visitors were studying various documents. Some read ancient texts on flimsies, some watched holographic recordings, some took notes in electronic notepads.
Booth number forty-seven turned out to be a convenient workspace with a large holographic projector and a comfortable chair. Alex activated the terminal and began searching by keywords: "trade routes," "hyperspace routes," "commercial corridors."
The system returned thousands of results. Alex started with the most general works – overview articles on the development of galactic trade. Gradually, he delved into details, studying specialized research on individual regions and time periods.
The first few hours yielded little new information. Most publications simply repeated the official version: trade routes are optimized for safety and efficiency, and changes are made based on technical and economic considerations.
But gradually, Alex began to notice oddities. One paper mentioned a "Trade Corridor Optimization Project," but the link to a detailed description led nowhere. Another article spoke of a "comprehensive route safety analysis," but the analysis itself was classified.
A dissertation by a young economist named Drek Calder proved particularly interesting. He researched the impact of changes in trade routes on regional economies and concluded that many new routes were economically inefficient. However, the work was published only as a brief summary – the full text was missing.
Alex requested the full version of the dissertation. The system replied: "Document temporarily unavailable due to technical reasons."
"Interesting," he muttered and tried to find other works by the same author.
Drek Calder had published several more articles on similar topics, but all of them were either heavily abridged or completely inaccessible. The last publication was dated three years ago, after which the author seemed to disappear.
Alex tried to find information about Calder himself. It turned out that he worked at the Institute of Economic Research on Coruscant, but left two years ago "of his own volition." His new place of employment was not indicated.
"Did he quit or was he fired?" Alex wondered.
He decided to look for works by other authors who cited Calder. There were several, and all of them were dedicated to a critical analysis of modern trade policy. They were also either classified or "temporarily unavailable."
Gradually, a picture began to emerge. There was a whole group of researchers who studied anomalies in trade routes and came to inconvenient conclusions. And all their works were systematically removed from public access.
Alex delved into archival records, studying lists of deleted and classified documents. The work was painstaking – he had to analyze thousands of entries, looking for patterns and connections. He even used a special intelligent program for information retrieval and analysis.
By evening, he had a preliminary picture. Over the past ten years, more than two hundred works dedicated to trade routes, economic policy, and related topics had disappeared from the archives. Most of the deletions occurred in the last three years.
But the most interesting discovery came when Alex began to study older records. It turned out that the process of "cleaning" the archives had been going on for a long time. There were gaps in records from thirty years ago as well – works that were mentioned in other sources but had themselves disappeared.
Alex leaned back in his chair, contemplating the discovery. Information had been suppressed not only now – it had been happening for decades, possibly centuries. Someone had systematically removed inconvenient data from historical archives.
"What are they hiding?" he whispered, looking at the list of missing documents.
The answer could be anywhere – in classified archives, in private collections, in the memories of people who preferred to remain silent. But Alex knew that sooner or later, he would find it.
He saved all the collected data to a secure drive and left the archive. It was already getting dark outside, and the city lights were turning on. The Flying District sparkled with lights like a huge star hanging over the city.
On the way home, Alex thought about what he had learned. Someone very influential and very patient had been shaping the information space for decades, removing inconvenient facts and imposing the desired version of events. And this someone clearly had no intention of stopping.