Clone legions arrived on Corellia three days after Alex finished preparing for his diploma defense. White transports filled the sky over Coronet, disembarking Republic soldiers for "restoring order and organizing humanitarian aid," as the news reports announced.
Alex watched the landing from his dorm room window. The clones marched through the streets with mechanical precision, their white armor gleaming in the sun. Officially, they had arrived to help with reconstruction, but their numbers and armament spoke of something else. Tension hung in the air—as if the entire planet held its breath, awaiting something inevitable.
Reports from the capital were broadcast on the HoloNet. Mass solidarity rallies with Corellia were taking place on Coruscant—thousands of people shone flashlights into the sky in squares, holding posters with the inscriptions "We Remember" and "Corellia is Strong." A pointless flash mob that changed nothing and resurrected no one. Politicians delivered pompous speeches about unity, journalists interviewed crying relatives of the victims.
Radio stations endlessly played mournful melodies. Alex irritably switched channels, but everywhere it was the same—sugary ballads about loss, grief, and unity in the face of the enemy. The music oozed with false sympathy, which only intensified his disgust for everything that was happening.
A comm call interrupted his gloomy thoughts.
"Alex?" came the familiar hoarse voice of his Uncle Garrek.
"Yes, Uncle."
"How are you…" Garrek faltered, peering intently at his nephew's face through the holoprojector. "I can see from your eyes that not very well…"
A pause. Garrek nodded—briefly, manfully, without unnecessary questions. Pain flickered across his face, but he didn't ask stupid questions or offer empty words of comfort again.
"What are you going to do?"
"Finish my business here. Diploma and a few debts. Then…"
"Come to Nar Shaddaa," his uncle interrupted. "It's not paradise here either, but there's less mess than in the Republic right now. Though there's plenty of scum too. Do you need help? Money?"
"No. I'm fine with that. I'll manage."
"Good. I'm waiting for you, kid."
The connection broke. Alex leaned back in his chair and looked at the printouts on the table. His thesis was on the history of hyperdrive engines of the Corellian Engineering Corporation. He had an idea for a serious project—a revolutionary approach to designing motivational chambers, but now he just didn't want to. He did the minimum, just enough to get his diploma and be done with this place.
The defense was formal. The commission gave him an "excellent" without asking many questions. Alex didn't object—he just needed the degree to finally close this chapter of his life.
He decided to say goodbye only to Associate Professor Well, who had taught him a lot, and to Kyle.
"Alex," Associate Professor Well smiled sadly when he entered her office. "I heard you're leaving. It's a shame to lose such a talented student."
"There's nothing more for me here."
"I understand. But remember—the institute's doors are always open to you."
They shook hands. Understanding was in her eyes—she knew he wouldn't return.
He met Kyle at the same cafe where they had talked after the raid.
"So, you're flying off?" Kyle asked, studying his friend's face.
"Yes. Apologize to the rest of the guys for me, okay? I just don't have the moral strength to listen to regrets and look at sympathetic glances. They're all good, but…"
"I understand," Kyle nodded. "I'll explain to them. Or I won't, if you don't want me to."
"Whatever."
They hugged goodbye. Kyle was the only one Alex truly considered a friend, and parting was difficult.
The money from Rent's safe, plus his own savings, allowed him to buy a used but reliable YT-1300 light freighter. Not the newest, but with a good hyperdrive and a decent cargo hold. After the purchase, he had about a million credits left—a good starting capital for a new life.
Tolcho advised him to get crystalline processors for the droids.
"They're in demand on Nar Shaddaa," he explained. "The Hutts are under Republic sanctions, such goods are scarce there."
Alex bought the processors and loaded them into the cargo hold. Only the computational cluster remained—expensive equipment that he decided to take with him.
On the day of departure, he arrived at the spaceport hangar early in the morning. Cargo droids were already waiting with a container. The massive metal box with the computational cluster weighed almost a ton.
"Be careful with this," Alex warned, watching the droids maneuver the container towards the cargo hold entrance.
The mechanical grippers of the droids scraped against the metal, the servo motors hummed strained under the load. The container slowly slid down the loading ramp, its edges scratching the ship's hull. One of the droids scanned the cargo and issued confirmation:
"Container number 7743-B loaded. Cargo secured according to safety standards."
Alex nodded and paid the droids. Now all that remained was to wait for clearance to take off and leave this planet forever.
***
But plans changed when an emergency broadcast from the Senate began on all channels.
Alex turned on the holo-screen in the cockpit and froze. Chancellor Palpatine's face appeared on the screen—but something had changed about him. His skin was gaunt, covered in wrinkles. He looked… ancient. Evil.
"Citizens of the civilized galaxy," Palpatine began, his voice sounding solemn and sinister at the same time. "This day is marked by great changes. For over a thousand years, the Republic has stood as the pinnacle of civilized beings' achievements. But there were those who tried to turn us against each other, and we took up arms to defend our vital values from the encroachments of the separatists. But behind this, we failed to see the greatest threat that came from within."
Alex frowned. Something about the Chancellor's speech made him uneasy.
"The shadow of separatism loomed over us thanks to the efforts of the Jedi and some senators who placed their man at the head of the enemy army. They hoped to cast the Republic into the abyss. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever. Eventually, the day came when our enemies showed their true faces."
The camera showed the Senate chamber. Senators applauded, but fear could be read in their eyes.
"The Jedi hoped to destroy the Republic by treacherously killing the head of government and taking control of the clone army. But on the path of these failed tyrants, those who did not possess mystical abilities bravely stood. Our loyal clone soldiers subdued the rebels in the Jedi Temple and suppressed riots on thousands of planets."
"What the…?" Alex muttered.
Strange sounds came from the cargo hold—a metallic screech, as if someone was trying to open the container from the inside.
"The surviving Jedi will be hunted down and destroyed," Palpatine continued. "Any accomplices of the Jedi will face a similar fate. We have lived through an era of trials, and we have passed them with flying colors."
The sounds from the cargo hold intensified. Alex stood up and headed there, his hand on the grip of his blaster.
"The attempt on my life left scars on my body, but I assure you, my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists are defeated, and the Jedi rebellion is suppressed. We stand on the threshold of a new life."
The container with the computational cluster opened. A man in a worn robe emerged from it. Quite young, about thirty, with tired eyes and a scar on his left cheek.
Alex drew his blaster and fired. Now, if something scared him—he shot.
The man seemed to teleport elsewhere; the red beam hit the wall.
"Listen!" he shouted, deflecting a second shot. "Just listen!"
Alex was scared that he couldn't hit the man and kept firing.
"Just listen!" the Jedi patiently parried the attack, not trying to counter. "I'm a Jedi!"
Alex wanted to kill him even more, because they were connected to the separatists. But now he understood that it was pointless to try. If he was a Jedi, he wouldn't succeed anyway. Instead, he said:
"Traitor."
The Jedi frowned.
"Palpatine is lying."
The Emperor's voice continued to sound from the cockpit: "To ensure our security and preserve stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, a strong and secure community that, I assure you, will stand for ten millennia."
"Do you hear?" the Jedi still hadn't drawn his sword, showing he had no intention of fighting. "He declared himself Emperor. This is a coup!"
Alex hesitated, keeping his blaster aimed.
"Who are you?"
"Jedi Roan Shire. Or rather, former Jedi. We were slandered. Palpatine is a Sith."
Alex slowly lowered his blaster. Pieces of the puzzle were fitting into a horrifying picture.
"So, the separatists who killed my parents…"
"Worked for him. Just like the clones who are now killing Jedi across the galaxy."
The new Emperor's speech continued from the cockpit: "We will create an Empire that will obey the will of the majority, an Empire that will live by the laws of a new constitution. Now that all worlds in the galaxy will have a unified legislation, a unified language, a unified enlightened ruler, there will be no more room for corruption…"
"Even if so," Alex finally said, "but I don't like it when someone sneaks onto my ship without asking. I just want to leave here."
"I propose mutually beneficial cooperation. You need a pilot. You won't reach Nar Shaddaa on autopilot."
"Why?"
"First, your cargo won't pass customs. Second, there are pirates on the border of Hutt space who catch inexperienced smugglers on autopilot. You need me—I'm a pilot. And I need to get to Nar Shaddaa."
Alex thought. The logic was ironclad.
"Alright. But if you try anything with me…"
"I won't. I have my own problems."
They went up to the cockpit. Shire took the pilot's seat, and Alex settled into the co-pilot's chair. On the holoscreen, the Emperor was concluding his speech: "The New Order has triumphed over the secret society of vile sorcerers. Our future course is clear. With me at the helm, the Empire will achieve greatness beyond imagination. We have endured trials, becoming only stronger. We will continue our forward movement as one people—as citizens of the first Galactic Empire. We will triumph. From this day forth, ten millennia of peace begin."
The applause of the senators sounded like a funeral march for the Republic.
The engines roared, the ship lifted off from the landing pad and soared into the Corellian sky. Below remained the ruins of "Star Shore," the graves of his parents, the wreckage of his former life.
In space, Alex turned on the radio. First, there were the news:
"...Lord Vader, the Emperor Palpatine's loyal comrade, destroyed the separatist stronghold on Mustafar but sustained severe injuries. Attacks by traitorous Jedi continue, but the Empire will destroy these murderers who plunged the galaxy into chaos and forced billions through the meat grinder of war…"
Then the music started. A saccharine ballad about something lost:
"In the void of stars, I seek my place,
But find only echoes of past days.
Time heals, they say, but the heart
Remembers the light of home fires…
Where are you now, my star?
In what worlds does your light burn?
I will remember what always was,
As long as my heart beats…" *
"Turn off this garbage," Alex rasped, feeling a lump in his throat.
Shire obediently turned off the player.
"Fly already!" Alex added more sharply than he intended, turning to the porthole to hide the tears welling up. As if the iron grip of self-control had softened, and he finally let his emotions flow.
The stars outside the window stretched into lines, and the ship plunged into hyperspace. Corellia was left behind, along with his past life, his dead parents, and his broken dreams.