The testing center of the Corellian Technical Institute occupied an entire block in the capital, Coronet City. Alex stood before the entrance to the massive polished metal building, holding his identification chip. Seventeen years old—that's what his documents stated, although sometimes he felt much older.
The institute building was striking in its grandeur and the history that literally permeated every stone. Built thousands of years ago, it was a magnificent structure of dark gray Corellian stone and polished durasteel. The main building rose a thousand levels, its facade adorned with bas-reliefs depicting the great engineers and inventors of the past. Holographic panels were embedded between the columns, showcasing the achievements of the institute's graduates—from the first interstellar ships to modern dreadnoughts.
Legends said that the first hyperdrive was developed right here. Not in this building, but its predecessor. Of course, no exact data survived—those times were lost in deep antiquity when humanity was just taking its first steps into space. But the atmosphere of the place was imbued with the spirit of great discoveries. In the central hall stood a display case with a fragment of the first experimental hyperdrive—at least, that's what the plaque claimed. Whether it was a real artifact or an elaborate fake, no one knew anymore, but students and teachers treated it with reverence.
"Applicant Korren?" the administrator's voice sounded from a speaker built into the wall. "Proceed to terminal number seven."
Alex headed for the indicated terminal, passing groups of other applicants. Most looked nervous, some were reciting formulas, others were frantically flipping through something on their datapad. He, however, felt calm—months of preparation had not been in vain.
The examination hall was located on one of the underground levels, where, according to legends, secret research had once been conducted. The ceilings here were high, and the walls were covered with complex technical diagrams and formulas engraved directly into the stone. The terminal was a chair with numerous sensors and a state-of-the-art neurointerface. The massive chrome metal structure was surrounded by monitors, processor units, and bioscaners. Thin fiber-optic cables snaked from the main unit to the chair, creating the impression of a living organism.
Alex cautiously put on the helmet, feeling the thin tendrils of the device touch his temples. The neurointerface was surprisingly sophisticated—not just a set of electrodes, but a complex system of microscopic sensors capable of reading the slightest changes in brain activity. The system activated instantly, and his consciousness plunged into the virtual space of the exam.
The first block—standard knowledge. Alex expected the usual questions on mathematics, physics, and engineering disciplines, and the system indeed offered them. Integrals, differential equations, fundamentals of quantum mechanics, principles of repulsorlift engines—all of this was familiar and did not cause difficulties. But even here, he noticed a strangeness: the system did not require detailed calculations or explanations; it was enough to mentally visualize the correct answer.
The second block turned out to be more interesting. The problems appeared in his consciousness as three-dimensional structures that needed to be mentally transformed. This was no longer a simple test of knowledge—the system checked spatial reasoning ability, intuitive understanding of technical principles. Alex was surprised to find that he could solve problems he had never studied, relying solely on some inner intuition.
The third block—technical intuition. Schemes of unknown devices appeared before him, and he had to determine their purpose, find malfunctions, and suggest improvements. Here, Alex felt like a fish in water. Years of observing his uncle's work, studying the principles of various mechanisms—all of it came in handy.
The fourth block was the most unusual. The system offered to interact with virtual objects directly, without using traditional interfaces. It was necessary to "feel" the state of complex systems, predict their behavior, and find hidden connections between elements. Alex closed his eyes even in the virtual space and tried to relax. Strangely, he really began to feel something like the "mood" of virtual mechanisms.
When the testing ended, Alex removed the helmet and found that almost four hours had passed. He felt surprisingly energetic, as if he had rested well, not strained himself during an exam.
"The results will be ready in an hour," the administrator said. "You can proceed to the waiting room."
In the waiting room, Alex reflected on what he had just experienced. The exam was unlike anything he had encountered before. It gave the impression that the system was testing not so much knowledge as innate abilities, some deep-seated peculiarities of thinking.
"Applicant Korren," a voice sounded from the speaker. "Proceed to the results выдачи window."
Alex approached the indicated window, where an elderly man with perceptive eyes awaited him. A senior examiner's badge adorned his lapel.
"Congratulations," he said, handing over a sealed envelope. "You have been accepted into the Faculty of Space Engineering. Top score in technical disciplines, excellent results in mathematics and physics. Especially impressive indicators in the block of intuitive interaction with technology."
"Thank you," Alex took the envelope, but curiosity got the better of him. "May I ask what exactly was tested in the last blocks? It wasn't like a regular knowledge test."
The examiner looked at him intently, as if assessing whether to answer this question.
"The presence of certain neural connections," he finally said. "You see, there are intelligent beings who are useless to teach certain knowledge. They simply don't have the necessary neural connections; they are incapable of understanding some concepts on a physiological level. Many intelligent species are like that, which is why humans dominate science and technology, although there are exceptions."
Alex frowned: "But that sounds like xenophobia..."
"We are not xenophobes," the examiner shook his head. "We are simply very practical. Humans have a unique characteristic—we are born as a blank slate. Our brains are maximally plastic, capable of adapting to any task. Many species, however, have pre-set programs, instincts, rigidly hardwired into their genetic code. This is both their misfortune and their advantage."
He looked around, making sure no one was listening: "Take the Rodians—they are natural hunters, their brains are tuned to tracking prey. Or the Botans—magnificent spies and diplomats, but their thinking is too cunning for straightforward engineering. Twi'leks have amazing spatial memory, but they find it difficult to abstract from specific examples."
"And humans?"
"Humans are versatile. We can learn anything because our brains have no rigid limitations. Of course, for this, we pay with the absence of the innate talents of other races, but our potential is practically limitless."
The examiner suddenly faltered, as if realizing something: "I hope this conversation remains between us? Officially, the institute adheres to a policy of racial equality. But in practice... well, you understand. Statistics don't lie."
Alex nodded, not understanding why the examiner was so candid. Perhaps his own results had made an impression, or the old man was simply tired of having to hide obvious facts behind political correctness.
Leaving the institute, Alex headed home with heavy thoughts. Not only because of the conversation with the examiner, but also because of the news that increasingly appeared in the reports. On the way, he stopped at a cafe and turned on the news channel on his datapad.
"...popular protests on Onderon have escalated into open clashes with security forces. Demonstrators demand greater autonomy from the central government..."
"...a terrorist act on Malachor claimed the lives of twenty-three people. The 'Free Worlds' group claimed responsibility..."
"...the Senate of the Republic has tightened bureaucratic control over planetary governments. New decrees require the approval of any significant decisions with Coruscant..."
Alex turned off the datapad with a heavy feeling. The galaxy was changing, and not for the better.
And what about Corellia? Is everything really that bad? Popular protests, terrorist attacks, increased control from Coruscant. Many planets want to secede from the Republic, but the central government is not willing to let them go. It seems like things will get heated soon.
He noticed changes in society—more checks, more bureaucracy, more discontent. Corellians had always valued their independence, and increased control from Coruscant caused growing irritation.
Alex returned home.
"How was the exam?" his father asked.
"I got in. Space engineering."
"Your mother and I are proud of you," his father smiled. "A good specialty, you'll always be busy."
"Congratulations!" his mother joined in. "That's a good, serious step. May your studies be easy, and may your knowledge be useful."
"Thank you!" Alex smiled slightly embarrassed, clinking their glasses.
"We are very happy for you," his mother added. "Now you'll have a real profession, a prospect. That's important."
They began dinner, and the conversation briefly shifted to the schedule, academic disciplines, and necessary materials. But the world outside their apartment reminded them of itself even here.
From the speaker on the wall, set to background mode, snippets of the evening news could be heard: "...The Senate continued to discuss the package of bills on strengthening control over intersystem trade... Chancellor Palpatine called for calm and dialogue..."
Kairen, putting down his fork, frowned.
"These new laws again. They keep pushing and pushing. It's all because of this Systems Alliance, that's what I think. Because of Dooku and his supporters, who are making a racket in the Senate."
Lyra sighed, but not in irritation, rather with a desire to calm him.
"Kairen, don't dramatize. They're not crazy. They just want to force the Senate to give them more autonomy in local matters—taxes, trade. No one seriously wants to secede. It's pure political bargaining. They'll reach an agreement, you'll see. War is unprofitable for anyone these days—too expensive, too destructive."
"You think so?" his father looked at her skeptically. "In my opinion, they've gone too far with their demands and these provocations."
"Recently, I watched a show on the holovision, there was an expert, a political scientist from Coruscant," Lyra insisted, waving away grim predictions with her hand. "He explained everything very clearly and calmly. Economic interdependence, the complexity of mobilization... War is a collapse for everyone. Both the separatists and the Republic understand this. It's just a game to get more concessions."
She picked up her fork again, her tone convincing and almost reassured.
"I hope you're right, Lyra," Kairen shook his head, but a concession sounded in his voice. "And that Dooku is really just scaring everyone so he can triumphantly 'save' the situation on his own terms."
Alex listened, chewing his food and exchanging glances with his parents. He didn't know who was right—his father with his cautious pessimism, hard-won in the world of semi-legal deals, or his mother with her rational, almost mundane optimism and faith in experts from the holoscreens. But deep down, looking at his mother's calm face, he desperately wanted her to be right. The thought of a real, large-scale war that could reach Corellia was too alien and frightening. He preferred to believe in boring trade agreements and political maneuvers.
Alex didn't talk about his true plans. Space engineering was indeed the right choice, but not for the reasons his father might have assumed.
The more he thought about the future, the clearer he understood his strategy. Working in a large corporation would be a logical path—stable salary, access to advanced technologies, the opportunity to study modern developments. But this path had a serious drawback: limitations.
In corporations, there was a strict hierarchy, and the highest positions were held by "insiders"—those with connections, origin, or political influence. A talented engineer from an ordinary family could expect a good, but not outstanding, career. But Alex needed more than just a career—he needed freedom.
Freedom to explore the technologies that interested him. Freedom to travel the galaxy in search of unusual technologies. Freedom to experiment with ideas that corporate bosses would deem too risky or unprofitable.
For this, he needed to work for himself. First money and independence, then everything else. Without financial freedom, he would not be able to realize his plans. And designing and building ships was one of the few areas where a talented specialist could quickly earn a reputation and capital.
Spaceships were not just a means of transportation—they were the embodiment of the galaxy's most advanced technologies. Hyperdrives, shields, life support systems, weaponry—all of this required a deep understanding of physics, engineering, and dozens of related disciplines. By mastering ship design, he would gain access to knowledge that would be useful in his research of ancient technologies.
Moreover, his own ship was necessary to carry out his plans. Maps of unknown worlds from the R4-K9 archives, coordinates of ancient civilizations, secret bases, and storage facilities—all of this was located in remote corners of the galaxy where regular transports did not go. He needed not just a ship, but a specially designed vessel capable of long flights, equipped with research equipment, and protected from unforeseen dangers.
Late in the evening, Alex descended into his secret workshop. Here, among schematics and blueprints, he felt in his element. Activating the holoprojector, he brought up an image of the galaxy and began to study the routes he planned to travel someday.
Thousands of star systems, millions of worlds, countless mysteries. Somewhere out there, in the unknown regions, lay the answers to the questions that had tormented him since childhood. Who built those ancient structures that archaeologists had found? What happened to the civilizations that suddenly disappeared, leaving behind only ruins?
But first, he needed to get an education, create a technological base, accumulate resources. Space engineering was not a goal, but a tool. A means to achieve more important tasks.
News from other planets became increasingly alarming, but Alex knew he had chosen the right path. The galaxy was changing, the old order was collapsing, but this also meant new opportunities for those who were ready to seize them.
The choice was made, the path was determined. Years of hard work lay ahead, but Alex knew it was worth it. Somewhere in the depths of the galaxy, answers awaited him, and he would find them. Even if the galaxy plunged into chaos, even if he had to search for them alone.