Three days passed in constant work after the last conversation with Kreia. Alex oversaw the construction of new modules, coordinated the training of his people, and studied reports on resource extraction. The colony grew slowly but steadily. Each day brought small victories—a new generator came online, another hydroponic farm yielded its first harvest, the defense system passed further tests.
But today, a sentient being was expected, from whom Alex hoped to learn some answers.
He stood on the landing pad, watching the silhouette of a ship emerge from the clouds. A small cargo transport of the "Dynamic" class. It descended smoothly, deployed its landing gear, and froze, hissing with released steam.
The ramp lowered with a metallic clang.
The first to appear was Kardis. His beskar armor gleamed dully in the light of the local sun, his helmet on. A heavy backpack with equipment slung over his shoulders. He stopped at the foot of the ramp, looking around.
And then a second figure appeared beside him.
Tall, thin, mechanical. An IG-88 series assassin droid. Its photoreceptors glowed red. Its movements were fluid, almost organic, but they conveyed deadly efficiency.
Kardis walked up, stopping a few steps away. He removed his helmet, clipping it to his belt. His face was hard, displeased.
"I thought a human would arrive," the Mandalorian said, nodding towards the droid.
Alex met his gaze calmly.
"I don't trust humans much," he replied. "They're too easy to make talk."
Kardis frowned, studying Alex for a few seconds. Then he slowly nodded.
"Understood," something akin to approval sounded in his voice. "Caution is good. Especially for someone hiding an entire colony. But this thing made me nervous."
"Sorry," Alex nodded towards the droid. "Did it bring you without problems?"
"Yes," Kardis glanced back at the droid. "Silent. Efficient. Asked no questions."
"That's what it's for," Alex turned towards the colony. "Welcome to Tersik."
The Mandalorian nodded, surveying the settlement—the modules, the construction cranes in the distance, the people bustling between buildings, the defensive structures.
"What do I need to do?" he asked directly.
"First, I'll show you where you'll live," Alex pointed to one of the residential modules. "Then we'll talk about work."
They walked through the colony. Kardis remained silent, but Alex saw his gaze linger on details—defensive turrets hidden in the building structures, security patrols, disciplined and armed, the energy shield shimmering at the settlement's border.
"Not bad," the Mandalorian finally said. "For a hidden colony."
"We're building something more than just a refuge," Alex replied.
They approached one of the modules—a two-story structure, sturdy and functional. Alex ran his hand over the scanner, and the door opened.
Inside, it was spacious. A living area, a bedroom, a small workshop, a bathroom. Everything necessary, nothing superfluous. The windows overlooked the training ground.
"This is yours," Alex said. "You can furnish it as you wish. If you need equipment, tell me, we'll get it."
Kardis walked around the room, nodding in approval.
"Good." He turned to Alex. "Tell me more. What is this place?"
Alex leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
"I'm building an independent colony here. I control the hyperspace route here. No one can get here without my knowledge. The coordinates are known only to me and a few trusted people." He paused. "I'm gathering sentients here who share my views and my mission."
Kardis crossed his arms over his chest.
"Mission?"
Alex met his gaze directly.
"I want to give the galaxy a chance."
The Mandalorian grunted—a short, almost mocking sound.
"Ambitious," he shook his head. "The galaxy is big. And cruel. One person can't change it."
"Maybe," Alex agreed. "But I'm not alone. And I'm not trying to change everything at once. I'm building a foundation. A place where people can be free. Strong. Ready for what's coming."
"For what's coming?" Kardis squinted.
"For change," Alex didn't go into detail. "The galaxy is changing. New threats are emerging. I want there to be those who can stand against them."
Kardis was silent, studying him. Then he slowly nodded.
"Understood." There was no mockery in his voice. "We'll see what comes of it."
"Let's go," Alex nodded towards the exit. "I'll show you who you'll be working with."
The training ground was located on the outskirts of the colony—a wide area surrounded by protective barriers. Targets, an obstacle course, a hand-to-hand combat zone. Several groups of people were training under the supervision of instructors.
Alex and Kardis stopped on an elevation, observing.
A group of ten people was practicing shooting at moving targets. Another—hand-to-hand combat, one-on-one sparring. Their movements were confident, but Alex saw flaws—reactions not fast enough, poor coordination in some techniques.
Kardis remained silent, studying them for a few minutes. His gaze was professional, evaluative.
"Not bad," he finally said. "But it can be better. Much better."
He turned to Alex, and his gaze sharpened.
"You walk like a warrior," the Mandalorian said. "Not like a merchant or a politician. Where did you learn?"
"Here and there," Alex replied.
"Want to spar?" Kardis offered.
Alex chuckled.
"It won't be entirely fair. I'm gifted."
Kardis froze. His face became harder, his eyes narrowed.
"You didn't say. Jedi? Sith?" his voice held tension.
"Not a Jedi, and not a Sith. I'm on my own, and I didn't say a lot of things," Alex replied calmly.
The Mandalorian was silent for a few seconds, processing the information. Then he slowly nodded.
"If you're on your own, that's perfect," his voice held interest, almost excitement. "Mandalorians have fought the gifted for millennia. We know how to fight them." He grinned. "So, do you want to?"
Alex thought for a moment, then nodded.
"Let's do it."
They descended onto the training ground. The training around them stopped—people froze, watching. Verena, standing at the edge of the area, crossed her arms, her gaze intrigued.
Kardis put on his helmet. A characteristic click of the locks, and his face disappeared behind the T-shaped visor. He picked up a training blaster, checked the charge—stunners, not lethal, but painful.
Alex did the same, weighing the weapon in his hand. Light, comfortable. He activated the Force, reaching out to the probabilities, to the lines of the future that usually showed him his opponent's movements before they happened.
And froze.
Nothing.
Kardis was... empty. Alex felt no probabilities connected to him. No lines, no predictions. As if the Mandalorian existed outside the Force, in a blind spot.
"What, sorcerer?" Kardis's voice was distorted by the helmet's modulator, but the mockery was clear. "Can't see me? Let's see what you can do without your Force."
Alex clenched his jaw and nodded.
"Let's begin."
Kardis moved first—fast, sharp. A blaster shot, precise and deadly if it had been live. Alex read his movement and darted to the side, rolled, fired back. The Mandalorian dodged, his movements economical, precise.
They moved across the training ground, exchanging fire. Alex couldn't predict Kardis's actions, but his body remembered—years of training, lessons from mercenaries, countless skirmishes and battles. He read the body language, micro-movements, weapon positioning.
Shot. Dodge. Counter-attack.
Cardis was fast, but Alex kept up. He used the Force to enhance his reactions, his speed, but not for prediction – that was useless against a Mandalorian.
They closed in for melee. Cardis struck with his rifle butt – Alex blocked, then kicked. The Mandalorian retreated, firing at point-blank range. Alex barely managed to dodge; the stunner bolt passed inches from his shoulder.
Ten, twenty seconds of combat between two professionals – an eternity in a real fight.
Finally, Cardis raised a hand, signaling a stop. Both were breathing heavily. Alex felt sweat trickle down his back, his muscles burning from the strain.
The Mandalorian removed his helmet. A smile was on his face – genuine, without mockery.
"Good," he said approvingly. "Very good. Who taught you?"
"Many people," Alex wiped his forehead. "I lived on Nar Shaddaa for many years. Worked with mercenaries. Took lessons from those who survived long enough to teach something."
Cardis nodded, his gaze becoming respectful.
"I can see that. You don't fight like a Jedi. You fight like a soldier." He paused. "That's good. Jedi rely too much on the Force. You don't."
Alex chuckled.
"I learned from my mistakes." He looked at the Mandalorian. "The Force. How do you shield yourself from it? I couldn't sense you."
Cardis paused, his face turning serious.
"Beskar and the Way," he said slowly. "The Mandalorian Way... it's not just a code. It's a way of life. Discipline. Will. When you live by the Way, you become... whole. The Force can't latch onto you because you know who you are." He gave a bitter smile. "Though I have strayed from it."
"Strayed?" Alex asked.
"Long story," Cardis touched the beskar on his belt. "Couldn't fulfill my vow. For Mandalorians, that means I'm dead." He shrugged. "But the Way... it's still within me. Part of me. Maybe that's why I can still shield myself."
Alex nodded slowly, processing the information.
"Can you teach that?"
Cardis looked at him for a long moment.
"Perhaps," he finally said. "If you're willing to walk the Way. The true Way, not an imitation." He grinned. "But first, I'll teach your people, as per our agreement."
Alex smiled.
"Deal."
They shook hands – firm, military-style. Around them, people began to applaud, having appreciated the duel.
Cardis looked around, then back at Alex.
"You're building something interesting here," he said. "Maybe you really can give the galaxy a chance."
"We'll see," Alex replied. "I doubt I'll see the results myself."
The sun of Tersik was setting, painting the sky in shades of copper and purple. Alex stood on the balcony of the command center, watching the shadows lengthen between the colony modules. Below, people were finishing their day's work – builders returning from sites, technicians checking equipment, guards changing shifts.
The door behind him opened silently. He didn't turn – he knew who it was. He had felt her presence in the Force even before she entered the building.
Verena walked up and stood beside him, her blue skin appearing almost purple in the twilight. Her lekku swayed gently as she leaned on the railing.
"Impressive duel," she said. "People are still talking about it."
Alex chuckled.
"He's good. Very good. Without the Force, I would have lost."
"You barely managed even with the Force," Verena turned to him, her eyes gleaming. "How do you like him? What do you want to learn from him?"
Alex paused, gathering his thoughts. The sunset reflected in his eyes as he looked at the horizon.
"I want to know everything about them," he finally said. "And how he shields himself from the Force. I couldn't predict a single one of his movements, Verena. Not one. He was... a void. A blind spot in the probabilities."
Verena nodded slowly.
"Remember what Kreia said? About why Mandalorians wear helmets?"
"To protect their minds from the Force," Alex turned to her. "Yes, I remember. And that's exactly what I need. People who can't be read. Who can't be controlled through the Force." He clenched the railing. "Those are the ones I need."
"But first, you want to establish trust," it wasn't a question.
"Yes. You can't just walk up and ask to be taught the ancient secrets of their people." Alex stepped away from the railing, beginning to pace the balcony slowly. "I want to attract other Mandalorians. Build relationships with their leaders. But without exposing myself."
Verena frowned.
"Through him? But he's no longer a Mandalorian. He took off his helmet. By their standards, he's not from their clan anymore."
"I know," Alex stopped. "That's a complication. A serious complication. But he's a starting point." He turned to her. "First, I want to know what happened to him. And if it's possible to return to the Way."
"Do you think it's possible?"
"Anything is possible! You know that yourself. I don't think he's the first. There must be some kind of redemption process." Alex moved closer to her. "I need to establish relations with this specific clan. With those who follow the traditional Way. Who wear helmets not for intimidation, but for protection."
Verena touched his hand.
"Probability lines?"
"Intermittent," Alex admitted. "Too many unknowns. But I feel this is the right path. Intuition, if you like."
They were silent for a moment, watching the sunset. The last rays of the sun painted the clouds crimson, and for a moment, the sky looked like a battlefield – red, fierce, beautiful.
"What about Kreia's request?" Verena asked quietly.
Alex sighed. This question had been haunting him for three days.
"I'm thinking about it," he said. "I have ideas, but they're too vague to share yet."
"But?"
"But I feel like the plan is starting to mature." He touched his temple. "Here. Like a seed that hasn't sprouted yet, but has already taken root."
Verena studied his face for a few seconds.
"You've changed since that conversation with her. Since what she showed us in the holocron."
Alex nodded slowly.
"How true battles between the gifted happen..." he shook his head. "We are still very weak, Verena. We haven't even come close to that level."
"We have much to learn," she agreed.
"Much," Alex repeated. "And we have less time than we'd like. I feel events are converging. I'm reviewing future possibilities. Everything will accelerate soon. And that guy, Luke, he's important. I've seen him as both our enemy and our ally. The right future needs to come to pass."
He turned towards the door.
"Let's go. I need to talk to Professor Well."
Professor Well's laboratory was located in the colony's science sector – a complex of three connected modules, surrounded by an additional security perimeter. Alex and Verena passed through scanners, confirmed their identities, and entered.
Inside, there was controlled bustle. Dozens of screens displayed data – neural maps, wave patterns, statistical graphs. Technicians in white coats worked at terminals, conversing quietly. In the center of the room stood a chair, entangled with wires and sensors – a neuro-interface module.
Professor Well noticed them immediately; she moved with the energy of someone half her age. Her eyes were sharp, attentive.
"Alex," she nodded in greeting. "Verena. I was expecting you."
"Professor," Alex shook her hand. "How is the work progressing?"
Well gestured them towards her desk, piled high with datapads and printouts.
"The training program is ready for testing," she said, bringing up a schematic on the screen.
Alex studied the schematic. A complex network of neural pathways, stimulation points, temporal diagrams.
"We can start testing on a trial group," Alex said. "Select volunteers. Begin with simple skills – languages, technical specialties. Let's see the results."
Well nodded, making notes.
"It will be done. Anything else?"
Alex paused, then spoke more quietly:
"Yes. I need you to test the entire population of Tersik for mental implants."
Well froze. Her hand with the stylus stopped over the datapad.
"The entire population?" she asked. "Alex, we already have one hundred and twenty thousand people in the colony. This will be... very difficult."
"I understand," Alex nodded. "So, start with the government and scientists. Everyone who has access to critical information or makes important decisions. The rest – gradually."
Well rubbed her nose bridge.
"This will take years. Even with the priority group – weeks."
"We have to start somewhere," Alex said firmly. "I need to know there are no controlled intelligences here."
The professor looked at him for a long time, then slowly nodded.
"Alright. I'll start tomorrow with your inner circle." She put her glasses back on. "But I warn you – you might not like what we find."
Alex met her gaze.
"I prefer an unpleasant truth to a comfortable lie."
A month later
Rain drummed on the roof of the command center. The city was experiencing a cyclone – three weeks of continuous downpours, turning construction sites into swamps and slowing down work. But inside the buildings, life went on.
Alex sat at his desk in his office, reviewing reports. Production, security, supply – an endless stream of data requiring attention. Outside the window, a gray curtain of rain hid the horizon.
The door opened, and Professor Well entered. Her face was serious, almost grim. In her hands, she held a datapad.
"I have the results," she said without preamble.
Alex put down his datapad and gestured for her to sit.
"Tell me."
Well sat opposite him, placing the datapad on the table between them.
"We checked all the scientists, engineers, and technicians in the colony. Four thousand seven hundred and twenty-three people." She paused. "There are implants in all of them, except the Valorinians."
"In all of them?"
"In all of them," Well confirmed. "Of varying depth and complexity, but present in everyone."
She activated the datapad, and a holographic projection appeared above the table – a brain scan with highlighted areas.
"In the scientists, we found restrictions on studying certain topics. When they approach these areas of knowledge, a block is triggered – loss of interest, distraction, sometimes headaches. They don't even realize something is wrong. They just... lose curiosity. I even found implants in myself, although they were inactive." She lowered her gaze.
Alex clenched his jaw.
"What topics?"
"Various. Some related to the Force and its nature. Others – to specific technologies. Still others – to historical events." Well switched the image. "In engineers, there are blocks on innovation. They can improve existing designs, but creating something fundamentally new causes... resistance. As if the brain refuses to think in certain directions."
Alex understood why the thousand-year plan had failed.
"And the technicians?"
"Technicians have the harshest restrictions." Well's voice became even darker. "Curiosity is almost completely suppressed. They perform their functions, but don't ask questions. They aren't interested in how what they maintain works. They don't try to understand the system as a whole."
Alex leaned back in his chair, processing the information. The rain outside intensified, drumming against the glass with monotonous fury.
"Can these implants be removed?"
Well shook her head.
"Only partially." She zoomed in on the image, showing the intertwining neural pathways. "These implants are not external devices that can be removed. They are integrated into the very structure of thought. They were formed from childhood and became part of the personality."
"Part of the personality," Alex repeated dully. He remembered his father. How Alex had been surprised by his narrow view of things.
"Yes. If we try to remove them..." Well spread her hands. "We risk destroying the personality itself. A person could lose memories, skills, even basic cognitive functions."
Alex clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He thought of the countless intelligent beings in the galaxy – scientists, engineers, technicians. All of them were... programmed. Limited. Deprived of a part of their potential even before they realized they had it. It was no wonder civilization was stagnating. He seemed to know who was behind it.
"Is there anyone free?" he asked.
Well nodded.
"The scientists and engineers from Valorin. Those you rescued from the bombed planet."
"Their educational system was... different. They taught children to think, not to memorize. They encouraged questions, not obedience."
"Another reason why they were destroyed," Alex said quietly.
Well didn't answer.
Alex stood up and walked to the window. The rain continued to pour, gray streams of water running down the glass, blurring the world outside.
"Remove the restrictions that can be removed," he said, not turning around. "Carefully. Gradually. Without risk to personality."
"It will take years," Well warned. "And the results will be... partial."
"I understand..." Alex turned to her. "And launch the training program on the test group."
Well nodded, gathering her datapad.
"It will be done." She stopped at the door. "Alex... thank you for giving me the opportunity to be involved in what we are doing here."
Alex looked at her and nodded.
She left, leaving Alex alone with the rain and his thoughts.
In the evening, as usual, Alex and Verena sat in the meditation room – a small chamber in Alex's living module, specially equipped for Force practices. The walls were covered with sound-absorbing material, the lighting dimmed.
Between them, on a low table, lay kyber crystals.
"Kreia said you need to meditate on your attitude towards the world," Verena said quietly. "The blade depends on it."
Alex nodded.
He took his crystal in his hands. Its cool surface, smooth, almost alive to the touch. He closed his eyes and reached for the Force.
The world around receded. Sounds, smells, sensations – everything dissolved into the silence of meditation. Only he, the crystal, and the infinite space of possibilities remained.
He thought about who he was. What he wanted. Why he was doing what he was doing.
Power? No. Power was a tool, not a goal.
Order? Partly. He wanted to build something that would outlast him. A structure that would function even when he was gone. But not order for order's sake – not a dead system of rules, but a living organism capable of growth and change.
Freedom? Yes. But not anarchy. Freedom to think, to ask questions, to seek answers. Freedom from implants in the mind, from invisible chains that most don't even realize.
He thought of Kreia and her words about the colors of blades. Red – power. Blue – obedience and system. Green – wisdom and control. Purple – balance and a trap.
None of them fit.
He didn't want to be a tool. He didn't want to serve either light or darkness. He wanted to be himself – with all his contradictions, doubts, imperfections.
The crystal in his hands remained cold, silent.
Alex opened his eyes.
"Nothing," he said.
Verena, sitting opposite with her eyes closed, slowly returned from her meditation.
"Me neither."
She looked at her crystal – it lay in her palms, as inert as before.
"Maybe we're doing something wrong?"
Alex shook his head.
"Or we're not ready yet. We haven't decided who we are and what we want."
Verena placed the crystal back on the table.
"I think we just need to keep trying," she replied. "If everything were easy, there would be no need for meditation."
Alex smiled – the first genuine smile of this long day.
"Alright. We'll continue tomorrow. And now – training."
They moved to the training hall – a spacious room with a soft floor and mirrored walls. The lighting was bright, uniform, without shadows that could interfere.
Alex picked up two vibroblades from a rack on the wall. Training ones, with vibration disabled – essentially, just metal sticks in the shape of swords. He threw one to Verena.
"Let's start," he said, taking a combat stance.
"I love tricking you," Verena caught the blade and stood opposite him. "Creating false probabilities. Luring into traps."
"You're not very good at it yet," Alex raised his blade. "We'll start slowly. I'll attack, you try to read my intention."
He concentrated, forming a clear image in his mind – a right-hand strike, horizontal, at rib level. He let this intention become bright, obvious, almost screaming in the Force.
Then he began to move.
Verena retreated to the left, raising her blade for a block – exactly where the strike should have landed.
But at the last moment, Alex changed trajectory. His blade dipped down and struck her leg – lightly, indicating contact.
"You saw my first intention," he said, stepping back. "But I kept the second one hidden."
Verena rubbed her leg, though the blow was very light.
"How? I felt your intention so clearly..."
"That's the point." Alex returned to his starting position. "I made the first intention bright, obvious. So obvious that you didn't look for the second one."
"Now you."
They switched roles. Verena attacked, trying to create a false intention. Alex read her – and saw the deception. Her second intention wasn't hidden enough, not dim enough.
"You're thinking about the second strike too hard," he said after easily blocking her attack. "I see both intentions simultaneously."
"How to make one brighter than the other?"
"Emotions," Alex lowered his blade. "The first intention should be linked to an emotion – anger, fear, determination. Emotions make it bright. The second should be pure calculation, cold and imperceptible."
They continued. Time and again, attack after attack. Verena learned to create emotional "lures" – bright, attention-grabbing intentions, behind which lay the true strikes. Alex learned to see through the deception, to look for dim probability lines behind dazzling flashes of false options.
After an hour, both were drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, but satisfied.
"Better," Alex said, lowering his blade. "Much better."
Verena smiled, wiping her forehead.
"Last time, you didn't see my strike."
"Because you finally learned to truly hide." He placed the blade on the rack. "But this is just the beginning. Kreia showed battles where masters created dozens of false probabilities simultaneously. Whole cascades of deception."
"We'll reach that level," Verena said with confidence. "And surpass it."
Alex looked at her – at her determination, at the fire in her eyes.
"Yes," he agreed. "We will."
They left the training hall. Outside, night had fully taken hold – stars dotted the sky, the unfamiliar constellations of Tersik forming patterns Alex was beginning to recognize.
"Tomorrow, I'll talk to Cardis in more detail," he said, looking at the stars. "I'll learn his story. Why he took off his helmet, what vow he couldn't fulfill."
"Do you think he'll tell?"
"Not right away. But eventually – yes." Alex turned to her. "Mandalorians respect strength and honesty. I showed him both today."
Verena snorted.
"You showed him that you barely managed without your probability tricks."
"Hey! It was a tactical draw."
"Tactical draw," she repeated with a grin. "Is that what it's called now, when you were almost shot point-blank with a stunner?"
They walked towards the living module. The colony slept, only security patrols moving between buildings.
A few minutes later, they were in bed. Verena moved closer.
Alex closed his eyes and reached for the probability lines.
They were hazy, uncertain. Too many paths, too many forks. But somewhere in this chaos, he felt... something. A direction. A purpose.