Professor Well flinched at the insistent ringing of the doorbell. The chronometer showed early morning – too early for usual visits.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and was in no hurry to get up. In recent years, such early visits had become a source of anxiety for her. The ISB could come at any time, and she knew that when they finally came, it would be exactly like this. Early in the morning, when the neighbors were still asleep.
The ringing repeated, more insistent.
Well slowly got out of bed, feeling the familiar heaviness in her chest. For five years now, she had woken up with this feeling – as if each new day could be her last. After being fired from KTI, her life had become an expectation. An expectation of being summoned for questioning, an expectation of arrest, an expectation of the moment when someone decided that the former professor knew too much and had become a burden.
She walked to the window and looked out at the street. A normal morning on Corellia – a few rare passers-by, automatic cleaners gliding along the building walls and skybridges. Nothing suspicious. But would ISB agents draw attention to themselves?
Yesterday's meeting with Alex had stirred something long forgotten within her. Not just memories of better times – hope. For the first time in months, she felt that she might have a choice. Not just passive waiting for events to unfold, but a real alternative.
She thought about it all night, tossing and turning in bed. About how her life had reached a dead end. About how on Corellia, only a slow fading awaited her – if she was lucky – or a sudden death, if she wasn't. The ISB kept her on a short leash, but that leash was getting shorter every day. Sooner or later, someone would decide that the risk outweighed the benefit.
Alex's offer seemed like a way out. Dangerous, unpredictable, but a way out. At least it was an action, not passive waiting for the end.
The doorbell rang for the third time. Throwing on a robe, she walked to the door and activated the video link.
Two men in inconspicuous clothing stood at the threshold. One was a tall brunette about thirty-five, the second a stocky blond a little older. Both looked calm and professional. Not like ISB agents – they were usually more official. These two looked more like private security guards or mercenaries.
"Professor Well?" the tall one asked. "We're from Corran. It's time to get ready."
Well was momentarily taken aback. She had sent her agreement last night, but hadn't expected such a quick reaction. Deep down, she hoped she would have more time to think, to prepare. But apparently, Alex wasn't used to postponing things.
"Give me a few minutes," she said, opening the door.
The men entered the apartment, quickly assessing the situation. Professionally, but without being intrusive. Well noticed how their gazes swept over the windows, doors, and possible escape routes. Definitely not ordinary couriers.
"You need to pack everything you need," the blond informed her. "But remember – you're not coming back here."
The words sounded final. There would be no turning back. Well felt a strange mixture of relief and anxiety. Relief – because the decision had been made and there was nowhere to retreat. Anxiety – because she still didn't know what she was heading into.
"Why such precautions?" Well asked, heading to the bedroom for her things.
Although deep down, she understood the answer perfectly. The ISB would not forgive her disappearance. They would search, and if they found her, they would kill not only her but everyone who helped her.
"Madam Well," the tall agent spoke respectfully, but with a slight smirk, "you've already figured out a lot, haven't you? Why ask? Alex will tell you everything."
She stopped, studying their faces. There was no threat in their tone, rather – an understanding of the situation. They knew who they were dealing with and treated her as an equal, not as valuable cargo.
Well began to pack things into a travel bag. She didn't have much – after being fired, she had sold almost everything valuable to make ends meet. A few sets of clothes, personal items, old photographs. A life that fit into two bags.
"Wait," Well said, packing things into the travel bag. "Do you understand that they won't let me off the planet just like that? I'm under ISB surveillance. The non-disclosure agreements I signed are still valid. They'll find me anywhere in the galaxy."
This was not a question, but a statement of fact. The ISB had long arms, and their file on her was thick. Too much classified information in her head.
"Not anywhere," the blond replied calmly. "We are aware of your problems and will solve them. You won't be searched for. We'll arrange everything. Don't worry."
"If you want my opinion," the tall one added, "you've made the right choice. I'm sure you won't regret it. And as for the ISB... " he smirked. "We know how they work and we're taking that into account."
"I hope so," Well said bitterly. "I'm just tired of it."
And it was true. The ISB allowed her to give private lessons, but only in general subjects. Everything related to her actual specialization was forbidden.
She thought about it every day. About how her life had gone nowhere. In her youth, she dreamed of great discoveries, of deciphering the secrets of ancient civilizations. Instead, she got a few years of work on secret projects, the results of which were used for purposes she preferred not to think about, and then – exile and slow fading.
She spent yesterday evening in agonizing reflection. The meeting with Alex had stirred memories of the past and made her seriously consider the future.
She remembered him as a student – a smart boy, stubborn and determined, not very emotional, but kind. That Alex could spend hours poring over a complex task, oblivious to the world around him. He could be genuinely upset by a failed experiment. He asked questions that stumped her and found solutions where she didn't even see a problem.
She remembered him defending his thesis. Most professors were skeptical of his work, but Well saw potential in it. Alex wasn't just studying archaeotechnology – he understood it on an intuitive level.
After the defense, he approached her, thanked her for her support, and said goodbye. And since then, she hadn't seen him or heard anything about him.
Yesterday's Alex was different. Hard. Creepy? No, not creepy... She didn't feel danger from him, at least not for herself. What had changed in him?
Power, she realized. Yes, exactly.
Not ostentatious, not forced – the natural power of a person accustomed to making decisions and bearing responsibility for their consequences. A person who is obeyed, and he is used to it. In his movements, in his tone of voice, in the way he looked at the world – everything indicated that he had been through a lot over the years.
But what kind of leader? And leader of what?
She understood that she simply had no choice. Staying on Corellia meant a slow death – if not physical, then professional and spiritual. The ISB was not going to let her return to work. They kept her as insurance, as a source of information that could be used when needed.
I'm curious, she honestly admitted to herself. And what do I have to lose? A life of poverty on Corellia? Occasional lessons for pennies? If he puts me in some kind of backwater – I'm used to it. I love my work.
And she was also interested to know who her former student had become. What had he been doing all these years? And most importantly – what did he plan to do with the knowledge she could give him?
"Ready," she said, coming out of the bedroom with two bags.
"Is that all?" the tall agent asked in surprise.
"I'm not used to excesses."
It was true. After being fired, she had to learn to live modestly. She spent most of her savings in the first few months, hoping the situation would change. Then she realized she had to save every credit.
"Documents? Scientific notes?"
"Everything important is here," Well tapped her temple with her finger. "And the notes... after I was fired, I wasn't allowed to take anything from the institute."
This was one of the most painful losses. Years of research, theories, observations – all remained in the KTI archives under "secret" classification. She could reproduce the main conclusions from memory, but the details, nuances, intermediate results – all of it was lost.
The agents exchanged glances.
"Alright. Let's go then."
They went down to the underground garage, where an inconspicuous speeder was waiting for them. Well sat in the back seat, the agents in the front. The car smoothly exited the garage, and Well looked one last time at the building that had been her home for many years.
Strangely, she felt no regret. Only relief that the uncertainty was finally over.
"What's next?" she asked as they drove onto the street.
"Here's how it will look. In an hour, there will be an unfortunate incident," the blond replied, driving the speeder through the morning streets. "Some reckless driver will disable the autopilot of his speeder and crash into your old transport. You'll try to swerve, heroically guiding the car into an abandoned industrial building to avoid hitting pedestrians. Unfortunately, the power cell will explode."
"The body won't be found?"
"Completely destroyed by the explosion. A very sad story. Local news might report on the bravery of the former KTI lecturer."
Well nodded.
"And what if the ISB suspects something?"
"They'll check, of course," the tall agent replied. "But the evidence will point to an accident. Besides, you're not important enough to them to launch a large-scale investigation. They'll most likely just close your case and forget about it."
The spaceport greeted them with its usual bustle. The private terminal was quieter and calmer, but the agents still chose a route through service corridors. No unnecessary contacts, no surveillance cameras.
Well followed them, feeling a growing excitement. For the first time in months, she was heading towards something new, unknown. It didn't matter what awaited her – it was better than slowly fading on Corellia.
Hangar 94 turned out to be a spacious room where a modest intra-system transport stood. Nothing special – an ordinary cargo-passenger ship, thousands of which plied the space routes of the Corellian system.
"Professor Well?" a man in a pilot's uniform emerged from the ship. "Welcome aboard. We'll take you to Corran. He's waiting for you at the edge of the system."
Well settled into a small passenger cabin, watching through the porthole as Corellia slowly receded astern. The ship smoothly left the planet's atmosphere, gaining altitude above the gravity well.
She looked at the receding planet and thought about what she was leaving behind. Not much, to be honest. A few acquaintances who had long stopped communicating with her for fear of the ISB. The ashes of her parents in the columbarium, which she visited once a year. Memories of better times when she was a respected professor, not an outcast.
When they had moved far enough away, the pilot activated a microjump.
The twelve light-hours to the edge of the system passed quickly. Well dozed in her chair, contemplating what lay ahead. When the ship began to slow down, she woke up and saw the familiar outline of a YT-1300 in the porthole.
The docking was smooth – the airlocks connected with the characteristic hiss of pressure equalization. Well passed through the transition tunnel and found herself aboard Alex's ship.
Alex met her in a small lounge equipped with comfortable chairs and a holographic display. He was dressed in simple dark clothing, but Well noticed the quality of the materials, the fine tailoring. Not ostentatious luxury, but definitely expensive items.
"Professor Well, thank you for deciding," he said, standing up. "Please, have a seat. We have a long conversation ahead of us."
She noted that he addressed her formally, with respect.
"Where are we flying?" Well asked, settling into a chair.
"To Tersik. My... base of operations."
"Base of operations?" She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds intriguing."
Alex smiled – the first time in their acquaintance she had seen a genuine smile on his face. For a moment, she glimpsed the student she remembered.
"Professor Well, you are an intelligent woman. You've already realized that I'm not just a tech dealer. And what I'm offering you isn't ordinary scientific work."
"Then what exactly are you offering?"
The ship shuddered – they were leaving the system. Alex waited until the ship entered hyperspace and leaned back in his chair.
"The opportunity to do what truly interests you. Without limitations, without imperial standards, without regard for political expediency."
"And what should interest me?"
"Tell me, Professor Well," Alex leaned forward, "do you know that neurointerfaces are used to manipulate public consciousness?"
Well thought about it. She had asked herself this question more than once, especially after working on projects for the Chancellor, and then the Emperor.
"I don't know for sure. But there are sources in the archives about it, though without specifics. Such a possibility might have existed once, but the access keys to the system were lost many millennia ago." She paused, then added, "Although... after the incident with Mara Sinn, I learned something else."
"What exactly?"
"I was removed from leading the project, but they involved me as a consultant. That's how I learned that the order for the research was carried out by Chancellor Palpatine's administration." Well activated the holographic display on the table. "Remember our 'Chair,' combined with a neurointerface?"
"Of course. We thought we were creating a ship control system."
"I saw such chairs in the Coruscant Opera at the end of the Clone Wars. They were exactly like that in the VIP boxes. I suspect that when senators, military personnel, and industrialists came to it, they were subjected to subtle subconscious influence. It's possible."
Alex thought about it.
"How did it work at a distance? The person wasn't physically connected to the interface."
"Through the Force," Well replied calmly.
"The Force?" Alex raised an eyebrow.
"And how do you think they influence consciousness? Neurointerfaces work on the Force, which is why we can't replicate them. We don't advertise it, but they are made by an automated line at a secret facility. We can only study and adapt finished devices."
"I see." Alex leaned back in his chair. "And why were you removed from work? Did you ask questions about ethics?"
Well gave a bitter smile.
"No. It's not about that. They didn't want me to teach students how to work with neurointerfaces and archaeotechnology. That's forbidden now." She shrugged. "They gave me a pension and banned me from working. But they didn't want to eliminate me yet – after all, I could be useful."
"Is that all?"
Well paused, as if deciding whether to continue.
"There was another device. Something like a life support system with an integrated neurointerface for controlling a Force-sensitive. But I don't know the details – I wasn't allowed access to that project."
"Interesting," he made a note on his datapad.
Alex activated his own holographic display. It showed an image of a complex device – clearly ancient, but in excellent condition.
"I have an interface with access rights. An original Rakatan one, with access to collective programs. No right to modify, but with the right to read."
Well's eyes lit up.
"The Force..." she leaned towards the hologram. "This is... this is a real artifact of the Infinite Empire!"
"Exactly. And it's functional."
"Then why do you need me?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the image.
"I want to understand its capabilities. I have access to the data, but I need a specialist to help interpret it."
Well leaned back in her chair, processing the information. What Alex was offering was the dream of any neurointerface researcher.
"This is incredible," she whispered. "The opportunity to study original technologies..."
"Alex," she said after a long pause, "may I ask a personal question?"
"I'm listening."
"Are you a rebel?"
Alex paused, considering his answer.
"In a way. I am closely associated with the Rebel Alliance. Some of our goals coincide. But I act more independently."
"Meaning?"
"The rebels have noble goals, but limited vision. They want to overthrow the Empire and restore the Republic. I believe the problem is deeper."
"How much deeper?"
"Professor Well, the control system has existed for thousands of years. The Empire is only its latest incarnation. Before it was the Republic, before the Republic – other states."
Well pondered his words.
"And what do you want to do with this knowledge now?"
Alex shrugged.
"I don't know yet. I stumbled upon the fact that the control system has existed and been operational for thousands of years. Fight it? If I decide it's for the best, then yes. But for now, I don't have enough knowledge about what will change if the system is disabled. What if it leads to a war of all against all?"
"What's the difference?" Vell gestured towards the galaxy. "Isn't there already a war going on?"
"It can always be worse, Professor…"
"And how do you plan to find out?"
"By studying. By researching. For now, I have more modest goals, even personal ones. But I'm very curious."
Vell nodded. It sounded honest. And very much like the student she remembered—always asking questions that had no easy answers.
"Is Tersik your research base?"
"Tersik is an entire planet. A colony I founded a few years ago."
"How many people are there?"
"Not many yet. About a hundred thousand people. About forty percent of them we brought in last year. Many engineers, scientists—you'll like the company."
"And what do you want from me?"
Alex chuckled.
"Nothing special from you. What you've been doing your whole life. Studying neurointerfaces, their operating principles, application possibilities. Perhaps you'd like to train a couple of promising students." He paused and added with a touch of irony, "I heard a certain Alex Korren would like to work under your tutelage."
Vell couldn't help but smile.
"Is that cocky student still interested in archaeotechnology?"
"Something like that."
"And if I refuse? Now that I know all this?"
Alex was silent for a moment, his expression turning serious.
"I can't just let you go anymore. The safety of many sentient beings depends on this. But I can leave you in peace. Only on my planet. In any case, you will be provided with everything necessary for life and, if you wish, for work."
Vell studied his face, trying to understand if he was telling the truth. In his eyes, she saw weariness—the weariness of a person carrying a heavy burden of responsibility. But not cruelty.
"Alright," she said finally. "I agree. But I have conditions."
"I'm listening."
"Complete freedom of research."
"Agreed. Anything else?"
"Tell me the truth about what you've been doing all these years. The whole truth."
Alex chuckled.
"It's a long story, Professor Vell. And not always a pleasant one."
"We have time."
"Alright. But first, let me show you something."
He activated another hologram. This time, it was a planet—green continents, blue oceans, white clouds.
"Tersik. Your new home."
Vell looked at the image and felt a long-forgotten feeling ignite in her chest—anticipation of new discoveries, new possibilities. For the first time in many months, the future didn't seem gray and hopeless.
"Yes, to hell with it," she thought. "I'll try."
Behind her lay Corellia, where news reports were already announcing the tragic death of a former KTI professor.