A month after arriving on Nar Shaddaa, Alex realized that repairing droids was not his path. It was too small, too limited. His knowledge was worth much more. He had already studied the situation enough to begin implementing his plan.
Real money was in ships.
He spent his evenings in his room behind the workshop, developing modernization projects. On the table lay schematics of various types of freighters—from the popular YT series to heavy cargo ships. Each schematic was covered with his notes, calculations, and ideas for improvements.
The "Star Architect" program allowed him to model changes with incredible accuracy. He could calculate how replacing power cells would affect the ship's overall efficiency, how a new configuration of shield generators would change defensive capabilities, and how optimizing the hyperdrive would reduce travel time between systems.
It was both art and science. Each ship had its own individuality, its own peculiarities that needed to be considered during modernization. One couldn't simply apply template solutions—one had to understand how each system worked and how they interacted with each other.
"I want to buy a dock with a landing pad," he told Garrek at breakfast, tearing himself away from another schematic.
His uncle looked up from his mug of caf, his eyes widening in surprise:
"That's serious money, Alex. And serious obligations. Buying a dock costs hundreds of thousands, plus monthly tribute to the Hutts, plus equipment..."
"I have something no one else in this sector has," Alex didn't elaborate on what exactly. The "Star Architect" program was his main secret. "I can upgrade ships so they perform many times better than factory models."
Garrek shook his head skeptically:
"Big words. Everyone here promises miracles."
"Show me on your freighter first," he suggested.
Alex nodded slowly.
Alex nodded, putting the schematics into a folder. It was at that moment that two people entered the workshop—a middle-aged Twi'lek and a young girl of his own race with bluish skin. The smuggler looked quite prosperous—good clothes, confident gait, gold jewelry on his lekku.
"Master Garrek?" the Twi'lek addressed him in good Basic. "My name is Tal Vessra. I heard you're the best droid repair specialist in this sector."
"I try," Garrek smiled. "What happened?"
"The astromechanic is acting up," the girl stepped forward, and her voice held enthusiasm. "R4-K6. The navigation calculations have become inaccurate, and for a pilot, that's critical."
Tal Vessra looked proudly at his daughter:
"My Verena is studying at the flight academy on Corellia. She's the best in her class in astronavigation!"
Alex looked up from the schematics:
"On Corellia? I'm from there too. KTI, engineering faculty."
"Really?" Verena brightened. "Do you know the academy? It's right next to the technical institute!"
"Of course, I know it. I often saw your training flights over the campus," Alex smiled. "How's your studies?"
The girl's eyes literally lit up:
"Amazing! We study all types of ships—from light fighters to heavy transports. Next year, we'll be flying real military fighters! I dream of becoming a freighter pilot, or maybe even a military pilot."
"Verena lives and breathes it," her father said warmly. "Since childhood, all she talks about are stars and ships. At first, I wanted her to follow in my footsteps, into trade, but then I realized—everyone has their own path."
"Trade is good too," Verena said, "but when you're in the cockpit, with the stars around you... it's indescribable! It's freedom in its purest form."
Alex nodded, understanding her feelings. He loved flying himself, though engineering appealed to him more.
"And what about the droid?" Garrek asked, examining R4-K6.
"For the last two flights, it's been giving coordinates with an error," Verena explained. "Small, but critical for precise navigation."
"I see. Most likely, wear and tear in the computational unit. Nothing serious," Garrek patted the droid's casing. "Two days of work, maximum."
"Excellent!" Tal Vessra pulled out a credit chip. "How much will it cost?"
While his uncle discussed the repair details with the father, Alex talked a bit more with Verena about the academy, about Corellia, and about which ships she liked best. It was clear that the girl was truly passionate about her field—she spoke of flying with such fervor that even Alex, accustomed to technical details, caught her enthusiasm.
"Well then," Tal said, finishing negotiations with Garrek, "it's time for us to go. Verena, say goodbye."
"It was nice meeting you," the girl said to Alex. "Good luck with your projects!"
"And good luck with your studies. I'm sure you'll make an excellent pilot."
When the door closed behind them, Garrek shook his head:
"Good sentient beings. The girl practically glows with happiness when she talks about flying."
Alex nodded, putting away the schematics. Verena Vessra was memorable to him precisely for that—her sincere passion for her work, her dreams of the stars, and the joy with which she spoke of the future. Such enthusiasm was rarely encountered on Nar Shaddaa.
"Let's go," Garrek said. "These navigation units won't fix themselves."
The next week, Alex spent on upgrading his own YT-1300. He worked mostly at night, when the workshop was empty and no one could peek at his methods. He applied all the knowledge gained at KTI, all the capabilities of the "Star Architect" program.
First, he completely rewrote the ship's computer software, optimizing the algorithms for controlling all systems. Then, he reconfigured the power distribution, achieving more efficient use of reactor power. He modified the shield generators, increasing their performance by forty percent. He even improved the life support system. Thanks to improved energy consumption, he was able, with the help of his uncle's repair droids, to install more powerful engines, which cost a considerable sum.
The result exceeded expectations—the ship became faster, more maneuverable, more economical. The hyperdrive now worked so smoothly that transitions became almost imperceptible to passengers. He also decided to treat himself and install the best life support and comfort equipment in the ship. He installed an expensive caf machine. In the total cost of the ship, it was pennies.
"Impressive," Garrek admitted after a test flight, his voice filled with genuine admiration. His uncle was an experienced technician and understood the complexity of the work done. "But you'll need a bigger place for serious orders. And the appropriate equipment."
Alex nodded. He had already picked out a suitable dock in industrial sector 7—large enough for various YT-class freighters, with its own landing pad and lifting mechanisms. The place wasn't the most prestigious, but that's precisely what attracted him. Less attention, more freedom of action.
The owner turned out to be a Twi'lek named Bil Secura—the local "overseer" for the industrial sector. Short, wiry, with cunning eyes and gold teeth. A typical representative of the middle stratum of Nar Shaddaa's criminal hierarchy—influential enough to control the territory, but not rich enough to not be interested in additional income.
"The dock is good," Secura said, showing the premises. His Basic had a strong Rylothian accent. "The previous tenant did some contraband modifications there. Some equipment is still there."
Alex inspected the premises. The dock was indeed in decent condition—high ceilings, powerful lifts, ventilation system. True, there was a layer of dust and debris everywhere, and some equipment clearly needed repair.
"How much?" he asked directly.
"Ten thousand credits a month. Or five hundred thousand if you buy it. Plus a monthly percentage of turnover for Gorga."
"What percentage?"
"Fifteen. The standard rate for technical services."
Alex quickly calculated. With his plans for earnings, the amount was acceptable. Besides, there was no real alternative—all the large docks on Nar Shaddaa were controlled by Hutts or their associates.
"Agreed. But I'll need additional equipment."
"What exactly?"
"Repair droids, welding equipment, lifts, diagnostic systems. Plus security droids—safety is critically important."
Secura thought for a moment, scratching one of his lekku:
"You won't find that on Nar Shaddaa. At least, not quality. They only sell used junk at exorbitant prices here. You'll have to go to Coruscant or Corellia."
"I won't go to Corellia," Alex thought. Returning to his home planet would be unpleasant for him. Too many memories. "Coruscant will do."
But first, he needed to sort out the supply issue. Buying equipment on a one-off basis was inefficient—he needed a reliable channel for regular purchases of spare parts and components.
Two days later, he contacted an old acquaintance via a secure channel.
"Jack? It's Alex Corren."
A few seconds of silence, then a familiar hoarse laugh:
"Alex! Damn it, it's been a while since I heard your voice! How are things, pal?"
Jack Tolcho sounded genuinely pleased. They had met a few years ago on Corellia when Alex was still studying at KTI. Tolcho was then a "very free trader"—a euphemism for a smuggler—and sometimes hired Alex for minor technical work and for some operations requiring technical support.
"Not bad, considering the circumstances. How about you? I heard you've settled on Tatooine now?"
"Yeah, sand, heat, Jawas... Romance, damn it," Jack laughed. "But there's enough work. The Hutts are constantly ordering something, plus local farmers need parts for their moisture vaporators. And you, have you settled on Nar Shaddaa?"
"Temporarily. Setting up slowly. By the way, how's your ship? Still flying?"
"It's flying! Although, I had to overhaul the hyperdrive recently—it started acting up. But you know, I treat my ship like a beloved woman."
"I remember, I remember. You polished it for three days before a date with that smuggler from Ri..."
"Hey, hey!" Jack interrupted. "Let's not talk about sad things. Better tell me what you're doing? Are you really fixing droids in your uncle's workshop?"
"Not exactly. I'm planning to get into ship modernization. I have some ideas that might interest the local crowd."
"Oh, that's interesting! You know, I visit various planets in the Empire periodically. I can get components. Maybe we can work together?"
Alex smiled. This was exactly what he was leading up to:
"Actually, that's why I'm calling. I need advice. I'm flying to Coruscant for equipment. How best to get it out without unnecessary questions? I'll pay for advice."
"Ah-ha," Jack drawled, and professional notes appeared in his voice. "Remember my lessons on the 'philosophy of free trade'? Put them into practice."
"Remind me of the main principles," Alex asked, pulling out a datapad.
"First—proper documents. I have a contact in the trade registry, a guy named Ortis. He'll register everything as 'obsolete equipment for disposal.' For a small fee, of course. Second—proper bribes. Customs inspector Vellock, pier 47, takes a standard ten percent of the cargo value. An honest corrupt official, if you can call it that."
Alex wrote down every word. Jack continued:
"Third—proper behavior. You're not a smuggler, you're a law-abiding scrap dealer. A boring, slightly greedy, but absolutely legal businessman."
"Got it. And if something goes wrong?"
"Then remember the fourth principle—proper retreat. Always have a backup plan and a fast ship. And remember—who can you trust if not an old friend?"
"Thanks, Jack. You're a great help. I'm planning to fly to Coruscant myself, but I can entrust the delivery of components from Corellia to you. I'll send you the order a bit later."
"No problem! But listen, Alex," Tolcho's voice became more serious. "Don't trust anyone on Nar Shaddaa. Everyone sells each other for a couple of credits there. If I were you, I'd buy more droids for security. At least they don't betray."
"I'll follow your advice," Alex nodded, though Jack couldn't see him.
"And one more thing—if you need regular delivery of special spare parts or components, get in touch. I have routes across half the galaxy, I can arrange deliveries of almost anything. For a reasonable fee, naturally."
"I'll definitely take you up on that. Thanks for everything, Jack."
"Good luck, pal! And take care of yourself on that dump."
"And good luck to you on yours!"
The old friends laughed.
Alex wrote down the contacts and instructions. Jack had always been a master of "gray" trade—formally legal, but effectively circumventing all restrictions. His connections stretched from the Outer Rim to Coruscant itself.
A week later, Alex was already flying to the capital of the Empire. His YT-1300, modernized and tuned, cut through hyperspace with unprecedented smoothness. A jump that used to take a day and a half now took a little over a day.
Exiting hyperspace near Coruscant was always an impressive sight. The city-planet hung in space like a giant pearl, entirely covered in the lights of civilization. Even from orbit, the grandeur of the imperial capital was visible—perfectly organized traffic flows, massive orbital stations, patrolling Star Destroyers.
But Coruscant truly impressed from within the atmosphere. As Alex guided his ship to the designated landing pad, he couldn't help but admire the view.
On Corellia, skyscrapers were utilitarian—functional, but lacking elegance. On Nar Shaddaa, they resembled fortresses—grim, gloomy, built to defend against a hostile world. But here, on Coruscant, the architecture was majestic and refined.
Buildings rose into the sky for kilometers, their shapes elegant and harmonious. Crystal spires shimmered in the rays of the local star, creating a play of light and shadow. Wide avenues were crossed by snow-white bridges and arches, adorned with glass and holograms of perfect clarity. It was immediately clear that this was the capital—the center of power, wealth, and culture.
Air traffic was organized with mathematical precision. Thousands of speeders of all sizes and types moved along strictly defined routes, their shadows gliding across the crystal-blue sky, occasionally obscuring the bright rays of the local star. The air was fresh and air-conditioned—purification systems worked around the clock, maintaining an ideal atmosphere.
But even here, in the very heart of civilization, Alex felt a familiar sense of fear. After a month on Nar Shaddaa, he had learned to sense this atmosphere, to read the emotional background of a place. True, here it wasn't animalistic terror, like in the moon city, but something else—the cowardly anxiety of an ordinary person for their place as a cog in the mighty mechanism of the galactic state.
People on the streets moved quickly and purposefully, avoiding eye contact. Officials in strict suits hurried about their business, afraid of being late and incurring the displeasure of their superiors. Corporate workers diligently performed their duties, knowing that any mistake could cost them their careers. Even the droids seemed more tense, their movements precise and hurried.
Coruscant's economy was based on three pillars: the state apparatus, corporate offices, and high-tech manufacturing. Millions of officials processed endless streams of documents, coordinating the governance of the galactic empire. Thousands of major corporations had their headquarters here, their skyscrapers competing in height and luxury. Factories produced the most advanced technologies—from Star Destroyers to medical droids.
But even here, a shadow market existed. In the lower levels of the city, where sunlight did not penetrate, smuggling, stolen goods trade, and underground casinos flourished. Alex saw familiar signs—cautious glances, secret deals, people who preferred to remain in the shadows.
However, compared to Nar Shaddaa, it was child's play. Perhaps one percent of the horrors he had seen in the moon city. Here, crime was civilized, almost respectable. No one openly traded slaves, no one held public executions for entertainment.
Jack's contact in the trade registry turned out to be an elderly clerk named Ortis. A short, balding man with kind eyes and gentle manners. His office was located in one of the mid-level administrative buildings—not too prestigious, but not suspicious either.
"Tolcho's friend is my friend," he said, examining the list of equipment Alex wanted to buy. "WED-series repair droids, decommissioned from the fleet. Officially going for recycling. Unofficially—they work like new."
For a pile of credits, he drew up all the necessary documents, turning Alex from a buyer of high-tech equipment into a humble scrap dealer.
"And the welding equipment?" Alex asked.
"Outdated models, replaced with newer ones. Also officially for disposal. The documents will be ready in an hour."
In two days, Alex gathered everything he needed. Fourteen WED-15 repair droids—powerful industrial machines capable of complex welding and assembly work. Two state-of-the-art welding complexes that could work with any metals and alloys. Diagnostic equipment capable of analyzing the condition of ship systems with micron-level accuracy. Lifting mechanisms designed for freighters weighing up to two thousand tons.
Plus three security droids—old, but reliable models. On Nar Shaddaa, security was critically important, and Alex remembered Jack's advice that droids don't betray.
All the equipment was officially decommissioned, outdated, intended for disposal. In reality, most of it was in excellent condition—military and corporations simply regularly updated their equipment, getting rid of "morally obsolete" models.
Customs officer Vellock turned out to be a professional. A middle-aged man with tired eyes and a cynical smile. He looked at the documents, checked the cargo for show—more for formality than suspicion.
"Scrap metal, then?" he asked, peering into the cargo hold.
"Yes, outdated industrial equipment," Alex confirmed. "Buying it for recycling."
"I see. Well, the documents are in order. Only the export duty..." Vellock looked significantly at Alex.
"Of course," Alex pulled out a credit chip with ten percent of the official cargo value. "I hope this is enough?"
"Quite," Vellock slipped the chip into his pocket. "It's a pleasure to deal with civilized traders. Not like those sly smugglers with their eternal problems."
The return journey was uneventful. Alex reflected on how easily laws were circumvented if you knew the system from the inside. Corruption was not a system error, but an integral part of it. Officials received additional income, traders—needed goods, the state—taxes from official deals. Everyone was happy.
The only ones who suffered were those who didn't know the rules of the game or couldn't afford to participate. Small traders ruined by endless duties. Honest entrepreneurs who couldn't compete with those who circumvented the laws. Ordinary citizens who paid taxes and built-in corruption, while the upper classes avoided it.
On Nar Shaddaa, Garrek met him:
"How was the trip?"
"Successful. Now I have everything for serious work," Alex gestured to the cargo hold where the droids and equipment lay covered with tarps.
"How much did it all cost?"
"Less than I expected. Turns out, Coruscant has plenty of 'obsolete' equipment sold for pennies."
The next week, Alex spent on setting up the dock. He worked mostly alone, occasionally involving Garrek for consultations. He installed the equipment, configured the droids, organized workstations. Every tool, every part had its place—order was critically important for efficient work.
The security droids received clear instructions—no one was to be admitted without his permission, patrol the territory around the clock, shoot to kill if unauthorized entry was attempted. Their red optical sensors scanned every corner of the dock, memorizing every detail of the surroundings.
"Why aren't you hiring assistants?" Garrek asked, observing the work. "It will be hard for you to handle large orders alone."
"On Nar Shaddaa, I only trust droids," Alex replied, programming another machine. "People can betray for money. Droids only do what they are ordered to do."
"Wise. But still..."
"I'll manage. I have advantages that competitors don't. In the future, I'll hire assistants, but it's too early for now."
The dock was ready. Modern equipment, reliable security, all necessary tools. Now all that remained was to find the first serious client and show what real engineering thought, backed by advanced technology, was capable of.
Alex stood on the observation deck, admiring the result of his labor. Below, droids were finishing the final preparations, checking systems and calibrating equipment. The red lights of the security machines flickered in the semi-darkness, like the eyes of predators.
This was only the beginning. The real plans were much larger. But every journey begins with the first step, and this step had been taken.