Luthen
Location: Coruscant
Date: 12 BBY - 11 BBY
Coruscant greeted Luthen Rael with a beautiful sunset, metallic gleam, and the noise of millions of speeders. The former scout of the Valorin army stood on a mid-level landing platform, looking at the planet-city with the eyes of a man who had seen worlds burn.
Majestic towers reached for the stars, holographic advertisements promised happiness for credits, and somewhere high above, in the Imperial Palace, sat the same people who ruled during the Republic. The same corrupt officials who had ordered the deployment of clones, and later the burning of Valorin and the deaths of two billion, one hundred million of its inhabitants.
"Uncle Luthen," Kleya said quietly, squeezing his hand, "there are so many people here."
The girl was already fifteen, but her difficult experiences had made her older than her years. She instinctively feared crowds—too many memories of burning streets.
"Everything will be alright," Luthen replied, though he himself felt the familiar tension. Coruscant was the heart of the system that had killed his world. A system that had merely changed its sign but remained the same rotten machine.
The Empire is not something new. It's the same Republic, only without the hypocritical talk of freedom and democracy. The same senators, the same officials, the same industrialists. Only now they don't need to pretend.
This is precisely why he had come here.
The money Alex had given him allowed for no economizing. Two million credits—a substantial sum, enough to establish a solid business. Luthen understood that his partner wasn't just helping him. Corren had his own plans, and the antiquities trade with elite recruitment was just part of something bigger.
Well, everyone has their motives. Luthen wasn't just going to trade in old trinkets either.
He studied the real estate market with the meticulousness of a military analyst. A commercial district on level 1247—prestigious enough to attract wealthy clients, but not so elite that every buyer would be vetted by Imperial security.
"This is the place," said the real estate agent, a plump Durosian with a greasy voice. "Three hundred square meters, display windows facing the main street, spacious interior. The previous owner dealt in jewelry."
Luthen surveyed the space with a professional eye. A good high-traffic location, the downside being no back exit, thick walls—a secure communication room could be installed. The additional spacious area would be suitable not only for storage but also for clandestine meetings.
"How much?"
"Five hundred thousand for a five-year lease, plus a deposit."
"Four hundred. Cash, upfront for 5 years. Today."
The Durosian paused for a moment, calculating percentages. Then he asked for time to call the landlord and stepped away. He returned ten minutes later.
"Agreed."
While the paperwork was being processed, Luthen studied what was to become his new specialty. The antiquities market on Coruscant was vast and diverse. The jaded elite were willing to pay enormous sums for unique items—especially those with historical significance.
"Uncle Luthen," asked Kleya, flipping through an auction house catalog, "why do rich people want old things?"
Luthen put down the datapad with prices and looked at the girl. A smart question. In intelligence school, he had learned to understand people's motives—it helped in recruiting agents and predicting enemy actions.
"You know, little one, wealth isn't just credits. It's also status. And what can give more status than possessing something no one else has?"
"But they're just old things."
"To you and me, yes. But for them, each item is a connection to a great past. They're not buying an object, but a sense of their own importance."
And power over history, Luthen added to himself. These people want to own the past to control the present. The same instincts that drove them to destroy planets they disliked.
Luthen returned to studying the market. The most in-demand items were artifacts from the Old Republic era, items related to the Jedi, and technological marvels of unknown origin. Exactly what Alex could supply.
The prices were impressive. A simple data crystal from the Mandalorian Wars cost from a hundred thousand credits. Functioning ancient devices—from a million to billions. And for truly unique artifacts, collectors were willing to pay any price.
Communication with Alex worked flawlessly. Encrypted messages arrived through channels that even Imperial intelligence couldn't track. The technology his partner used surpassed anything Luthen had seen in years of service.
"First batch ready. Twelve items of varying value. Delivery in three days to the usual location. Additionally, sending interesting information about some potential clients. - A."
Luthen smiled. "Usual location" meant a cargo dock on level 1156, where smuggler ships docked. Alex was cautious even in personal correspondence.
When the crate arrived, it contained not only artifacts but also a secure datapad with additional information. Twelve ancient items, each a work of art, and dossiers on a dozen and a half high-ranking Imperial officials.
A crystalline cube emitting a soft blue glow. A metallic disc engraved in an unknown language. A small statuette made of a material that no tools could penetrate. And nine more items, each worth a fortune.
"Uncle," whispered Kleya, carefully touching one of the crystals, "they're so beautiful."
"And dangerous," Luthen added, but he wasn't thinking about the artifacts, but about the information on the datapad.
Alex had gathered compromising material on senators, governors, high officials, scientists. Photographs from Nar Shaddaa, recorded conversations, financial documents. Vile details of how "worthy citizens of the Empire" spent their leisure time in brothels and drug dens.
Excellent material for recruitment.
The shop opened without fanfare, but with a carefully thought-out presentation. Luthen displayed only three items in the window—the most striking, but not the most valuable. The rest were kept in a secure safe.
The first customers were small collectors and tourists. Reasonably wealthy sentient beings who could afford simple souvenirs. Luthen patiently served them, gradually building a reputation as a knowledgeable and experienced merchant.
"Is this amulet really from Old Corellia?" asked an elderly man in an expensive suit, examining a small medallion.
"Of course," replied Luthen. "The Dicta Dynasty, around the five hundredth year of the Republic's founding. See these symbols? They signify the owner's high social status."
The buyer carefully examined the engraving.
"And how do you know that?"
"Twenty years of studying ancient history, sir. First at university, then on my own. I don't sell what I don't understand."
It was a lie, though not entirely. In recent months, Luthen had indeed studied a vast amount of material on the galaxy's ancient history. The information Alex sent helped him understand the true meaning of the artifacts.
The buyer paid five thousand credits for a medallion that was worth five hundred at most. But he received not just an ornament, but a story, an expertise, a sense of touching a great past.
The reputation grew slowly but surely. A month later, a man in an expensive, hooded cloak entered the shop.
"I need something special," he said quietly. "I heard you have real antiquities."
Luthen studied the visitor. Expensive clothes, but concealed. Cautious movements. A habit of looking around.
"What exactly are you interested in?"
"The times before the Republic."
Luthen nodded and went into the back room. He returned with a small crystalline device—one of Alex's artifacts.
"A navigation computer from Revan's era. About four thousand years old."
The buyer cautiously took the crystal in his hands. The device hummed softly and glowed with a gentle green light.
"It works," he whispered.
"Ancient technology was more reliable than modern," Luthen explained. "This device can last another thousand years."
"How much?"
"Five hundred thousand."
The buyer didn't flinch.
"Agreed. But I need complete confidentiality."
"Of course. That's the essence of my work."
When the man left with his purchase, Kleya emerged from the back room.
"Uncle, who was he?"
"I don't know, little one. And I don't want to know. In our business, it's better to ask fewer questions."
But Luthen was lying. He knew perfectly well who his buyer was. The manners, speech, habits—everything betrayed a high-ranking Imperial official. Possibly even from Palpatine's inner circle.
Well, let the corrupt elite buy antiquities. Their money could also be used against them.
The next step was to establish contacts with academic circles. This was necessary to build a reputation and enhance expertise. Luthen visited several universities, introducing himself as a private researcher and collector.
"Professor Maurel?" he addressed an elderly archaeologist at the Coruscant University. "My name is Luthen Raal. I trade in antiquities and would like to consult with the best expert."
The professor, a gray-haired man with intelligent eyes, studied Luthen carefully.
"You trade in antiquities? It's a profitable business on Coruscant. What exactly interests you?"
"Pre-Republic artifacts. I have a few items I'd like to have properly attributed."
Luthen showed holograms of some artifacts. The professor became interested.
"Interesting. This crystal... I've seen similar ones in descriptions of expeditions to unknown regions. And this disc—it's clearly of Rakatan origin. Where did you find them?"
"Private collections. The owners prefer anonymity."
"I see. You know, Mr. Raal, perhaps we should collaborate. The university always needs sponsors, and you need expertise."
Thus began a mutually beneficial partnership. Luthen financed research, receiving scientific information about artifacts in return. Professor Marek and his colleagues helped attribute the finds without asking too many questions about their origin.
Six months later, "Galactic Antiquities" became known among Coruscant collectors. Luthen had established himself as an honest merchant and a knowledgeable expert. His consultations were valued as much as his goods.
"Mr. Raal," a richly dressed man addressed him, "I'm being offered a holocron from Exar Kun's era. Do you think it's authentic?"
Luthen examined holograms of the offered artifact. The experience gained from working with Alex's finds allowed him to distinguish fakes.
"No," he said confidently. "It's a good imitation, but nothing more. See these symbols on the base? They only appeared three thousand years ago. And Exar Kun lived four thousand years ago."
"And how do you know such details?"
"I've been studying ancient history for many years. I have access to rare archival materials."
The client thanked him for the consultation and left without making a purchase. But a week later, he returned with three friends, each of whom bought something from Luthen's collection.
Reputation worked better than any advertising.
The real breakthrough came eight months after the shop opened. A woman Luthen recognized from holosets—Senator Mon Mothma from Chandrila—entered "Galactic Antiquities."
"Mr. Raal?" Mothma was polite but cautious. "I heard you have an interesting collection."
"Welcome, Madam. How may I be of service?"
"I'm looking for a gift for... a special occasion. Something related to Chandrila's ancient history."
Luthen thought. Chandrila had a rich history, but most artifacts had been destroyed during various wars. However, among the items Alex had sent was one that might be suitable.
"Perhaps you would be interested in this," he said, taking a small statuette made of white stone from the safe.
Mothma examined the figurine carefully.
"What is it?"
"A statuette of the goddess of peace from a temple on Chandrila destroyed seven thousand years ago. It's about nine thousand years old. It was taken during one of the wars and has been in private collections ever since."
This was true—Alex had sent detailed histories of each artifact. Luthen didn't know where his partner got such information, but the accuracy was astonishing.
"How much?" the senator asked quietly.
"For you, Your Excellency," Luthen paused, "a gift. This is Chandrila's national treasure, and it should return home."
Before leaving, she lingered.
"Mr. Raal, have you considered expanding your business? There are many people who value... historical connections."
"Perhaps, Your Excellency. If suitable partners are found."
They understood each other without words. Mothma was looking for allies among those who remembered the times before the sign changed. And Luthen was looking for influential people dissatisfied with the fact that the system remained the same, only it had become even more brutal.
Over the months, Kleya became an indispensable assistant. The smart girl quickly understood the nuances of trade and learned to charm clients.
"Luthen," she said one evening as they counted the proceeds, "that man in the gray cloak was lying."
"What man?"
"The one who bought the amulet from Naboo. He said he was a collector, but I saw him photographing all the other items."
Luthen frowned. He remembered that buyer—a nervous type, asked too many questions.
"You're right. Probably an Imperial agent."
"Is that bad?"
"Not necessarily. Let them photograph. All our artifacts are legal, the documents are in order. And if the authorities become interested in antiquities, it will only increase demand."
But to himself, Luthen noted: he needed to be more careful. The same people who served the Republic's security service now worked for the Empire. The methods hadn't changed.
Gradually, a network of useful contacts formed around the shop. Couriers who delivered goods. Guards from neighboring shops. Cleaners from nearby offices. Waiters from restaurants where clients dined.
Luthen used the skills he had acquired in intelligence. Small favors, generous tips, a willingness to listen—and people began to share information.
"Mr. Raal," a Rodian courier told him, "that man who bought the crystal from you last week works in the Imperial Palace. I saw him in the government sector."
"Thank you, Grik. Here's for the information."
Each such contact was a brick in the construction of an intelligence network. Luthen wasn't in a hurry—he knew that the real work would begin later, when the connections strengthened and truly valuable sources appeared.
A year after opening, Luthen decided it was time to move to active operations. The information from Alex gave him leverage against several high-ranking officials.
The first target was Cornelius Tharn, Deputy Minister of Trade. The dossier contained photos of his visits to Nar Shaddaa, recordings of conversations about bribes, documents about illegal deals.
Luthen acted through intermediaries. He hired a former military man who had been fired for critical remarks about the Empire.
"I need to deliver a confidential message to a high-ranking official," he explained to the detective. "Hand-to-hand, no witnesses."
"What kind of message?"
"A business proposal. Very profitable for both sides."
The detective received a package with photos and a note: "Mr. Tharn, the Empire needs your services. If you are willing to serve the state, come to the turbolift at address... level 100 tomorrow at 15:00. No one will know anything. Imperial Security Service."
Tharn emerged from the turbolift into a technical tunnel. Pale, nervous, but standing straight, as if before superiors.
"Are... are you from the Imperial Security Service?"
"Good day," Luthen said coldly, not answering directly. "We have something to discuss."
Luthen activated the jammers.
"Mr. Tharn, don't worry. We're not going to prosecute you for past... indiscretions."
"What do you want?"
"Cooperation in the name of the Empire. We have reason to believe that corruption is rampant in the Ministry of Trade. We need information about your colleagues—who takes bribes, who has ties to smugglers, who violates Imperial laws."
"And if I refuse?"
Luthen looked at him coldly.
"The ISB is not accustomed to refusals, Mr. Tharn. But I hope your patriotism is stronger than your personal doubts."
Tharn understood: refusing the Imperial Security Service meant signing his own death warrant. The photos from Nar Shaddaa were just a warning.
"What exactly do you need?"
"Nothing for now. But when we require information about your colleagues' suspicious activities, their connections, financial operations—I will let you know. The Empire must know about traitors in its ranks."
Tharn stood at attention.
"I serve the Empire."
"Excellent," Luthen nodded. "You may go. And remember—no one must know about this meeting."
Tharn hastily left, confident that he was now working for the ISB. The first agent had been recruited.
Tharn's success inspired Luthen for new operations. He acted more cautiously afterward, using various intermediaries and no longer appearing personally.
Senator Krass, a lover of gambling and exotic entertainment. A colonel from Imperial security, noted for corruption. The director of a large factory, stealing budget funds and laundering them through black banks on Nar Shaddaa.
Each was recruited separately, through a chain of intermediaries. No one knew about the existence of other agents. Luthen wasn't creating an organization, but a network of autonomous sources.
"Luthen," Kleya asked one evening, "why have strange people started coming to us?"
"What strange people?"
"Well, they don't buy things, they just talk to you. And they always ask to speak with you in private."
A smart girl. Too smart for her own safety.
"Some collectors are embarrassed by their hobbies," Luthen explained. "They're afraid their colleagues will condemn them for spending money on 'useless antiquities'."
"Ah, I see."
Kleya believed the explanation, but Luthen understood: soon he would have to tell her the truth. The girl was growing up and starting to ask inconvenient questions about the intermediaries he sent on assignments.
By the end of the year, "Galactic Antiquities" was generating a stable profit, and the agent network was providing valuable information. Luthen could afford to think about expansion.
"Kleya," he told the girl at dinner, "what do you think, should we open a branch on Chandrila?"
"Are there rich people there?"
"Many. And they love antiquities no less than Coruscantians."
"Then we should. But who will work there?"
A good question. Luthen couldn't leave Coruscant—his main work was here. But it was foolish to miss opportunities on other worlds.
The decision came naturally when a young man looking for work entered the shop.
"My name is Jack Mercer," he introduced himself. "I heard you trade in antiquities. I have experience with antiques."
Luthen studied the applicant. Educated, polite, knows several languages. But most importantly—in his eyes was the same pain as in all those whom the system had deprived of their homes.
"Where are you from, Mr. Mercer?"
"From Lothal. Or rather, I was from Lothal until the harsh exploitation began."
"I see. And what do you know about ancient history?"
"Enough to distinguish an original from a fake. And the rest can be learned."
Luthen made a decision.
"Welcome to the team, Mr. Mercer. I think you'll like Chandrila."
Late at night, when Kleya was asleep and the shop was closed, Luthen often thought about the past. About the war, about his comrades, about the planet that had turned to ash.
He remembered the faces of the fallen. Colonel Morgan, Sergeant Cole, all the partisans who fought under his command. They had finally lost the boundaries of humanity, but before that, they were his friends. But they were all dead, as were all his friends and acquaintances.
Two billion one hundred million people, burned by the order of the same people who now bought antiquities from him.
Back then, Luthen thought they were fighting against the Republic. Then—against the Empire. Now he understood: they were fighting against a system that had simply changed its name.
Republic, Empire—what difference does it make? The same corrupt officials, the same greedy industrialists, the same ruthless military. Only now they didn't need to pretend they served the people.
Palpatine didn't create the Empire. He simply removed the mask from what already existed.
"Luthen," Kleya called from the bedroom, "are you not sleeping?"
"I'm not sleeping. I'm working."
"What are you sighing so heavily about?"
Luthen was silent for a long time. Then he replied quietly:
"About the old home, Kleya."
"But Valorin burned down. No one is left there."
"Those who gave the order to burn it are left. And they are still in power."
She had long known the truth, that "Uncle Luthen" was actually a major in the Valorin army and his role in her fate. And she didn't blame him, which warmed his heart. But she had yet to learn that "Galactic Antiquities" was just a cover for creating a resistance network.
But that would be later. For now, he had to work, build connections, and prepare for the day when it was time to act.
The system thinks it has won. That it has burned everything that could threaten it.
It is mistaken. From the ashes of Valorin rises something more dangerous than armies and fleets. The idea of revolution rises. Not a change of power—but the complete destruction of the old system and the creation of a new one.
And ideas, as any scout knew, were either impossible or very difficult to kill.
Luthen Raal smiled and returned to work. He had a network to build. And a system to destroy.