Despite the obvious progress, Vokara Che refused to "discharge" me. The Twi'lek pretentiously stated that the healers needed to run several more studies, and only then would I finally be "released."
Once again I went through several scans, handed over a few bits of myself for tests, and then received strict orders to remain in the Temple until Kiala contacted me. She promised everything would be over in just two or three weeks.
I didn't dare object—I didn't want to quarrel with the healers, and besides, during the waiting period before discharge I planned to carry out the Emperor's will.
I didn't have the spirit to contest Vitiate's will and ignore his order: go to Yavin 4. And despite the fact that I didn't have a personal ship or an astromech droid, I didn't want to voice those problems to my teacher.
After all, if I couldn't solve my own problems, what use would I be to him as an apprentice?
Fortunately, the Temple had unlimited access to the Holonet—the galaxy-wide information network.
In my room, I "surfed" the network in search of ways to get to Yavin 4.
Unfortunately, after the first searches I realized a flight to the future Rebel base would be harder than it seemed at first.
And it wasn't even that there were no regular space routes to the planet.
The Yavin system wasn't present in the available databases at all. As if it had never existed. The route's destination was missing entirely. I couldn't find any mention of the planet on the Holonet, which left me at a loss.
Making a note to visit the Archives and look for information there, I started seeking transport options.
For a couple dozen Republic credits, private haulers were willing to take a customer anywhere in the galaxy. But most required payment up front. Such offers reeked of fraud—and besides, I didn't have money.
Of course, there was the option of using Order ships, but the dispatchers refused to issue a ship because I had no assignment from the Council. And taking a hyperdrive-equipped ship "for a joyride" wasn't welcomed in the Temple and threatened trouble with the Council and Temple Security. The option of getting money off the books nearly ended in a scandal as well.
The longer I thought about carrying out Valkorion's assignment, the more irritated I became.
Reading books and watching films and cartoons set in Star Wars, it always seemed to me that the Force accompanied Force-users and always helped them in difficult situations. But in my case, the Force wasn't rushing to hand me solutions.
The decision to go to Yavin immediately had to be postponed. And I'd spent a couple of days trying to solve this snag!
In the end I concluded you have to eat an elephant in pieces. First and foremost, I needed to restore my abilities in the Force and in lightsaber combat. After all, very soon I would have to lead one of the clone legions. But more on that later.
I didn't fear wars. I had gained Dougan's knowledge—maybe not fully, but enough not to be dead weight on the battlefield.
My predecessor, like many who died on Geonosis, was a practitioner of Form VI—the "Diplomat's Form." Balanced, without significant advantages, but not glaring with disadvantages either, it fit the image of peacekeepers perfectly.
Niman could provide decent defense against blaster weapons, but in a fight against an army of droids it hadn't helped the previous owner of my body. It hadn't helped Master Abhir against Valkorion either.
In short, not the most suitable form of lightsaber combat.
I considered adopting Soresu, which Obi-Wan Kenobi wielded masterfully. But I set that thought aside for later—when I acquired a lightsaber.
I had lost mine on Geonosis. As it turned out, during the fighting a droid had shot through the hilt. So the saber I'd assembled at fourteen was now worthless to me. Even the crystal hadn't survived.
At Aayla's suggestion, I decided to visit the storerooms.
"With the quartermaster, Tasi Gri, you can find anything," she assured me.
We were standing in the Temple District's docking complex, waiting for the units under her command to load aboard Acclamators. Secura didn't talk about her mission, and I didn't ask.
"He should have Ilum crystal stockpiles," she recalled. "And many Padawans take lightsaber components from the storerooms." With a smirk, she patted her lightsaber hilt.
"Thank you for the advice, Aayla," I nodded. "Take care of yourself!"
"Get well, Rik!"
After parting warmly with the Twi'lek, I headed toward the quartermaster's office.
As I wandered the Temple corridors, a rough list formed in my mind of what I wanted from Tasi Gri.
The quartermaster turned out to be an elderly Nautolan with a scar from forehead to chin. He listened to me with mild laziness, then scratched the tentacles at the back of his head.
Behind him, from floor to ceiling, massive racks stood in neat rows, their countless shelves literally sagging under the weight of excess goods. Tools, comlinks, datapads, blasters, melee weapons, speeders, droids… even ingots of precious metals! I'd wager the storerooms weren't just one massive hangar in the Temple District where I was standing now.
"Not bad." He tapped a few keys on his terminal and said, "Lightsaber parts are available, but don't blame me—find them yourself. Armor… no idea why you need it, it only restricts movement, but it's your business. That's available too—though the freshest is a thousand years old. The Order hasn't ordered armor since Ruusan. A backpack, a couple blasters, a set of plasma and ion grenades, cable, grappling hooks, a pair of vibroknives, a couple robes and cloaks, a week of rations, power packs, lights… You need a ship to haul all this out. Already brought an Acclamator up to the berth?"
Looking into the laughing eyes of the Nautolan—eyes without whites—I couldn't help smiling back.
"No, I'm still in the healers' hands, so I'll bring an assault ship later."
The Nautolan smirked with satisfaction.
"Where do I deliver it?"
Here, I admit, I stalled a bit. The Force, which had been pleasantly enveloping me until then, suddenly seemed to reach somewhere deep into the endless racks. I wouldn't say it yanked me off my feet, but a gnawing feeling appeared in my stomach, like an old wound had opened.
"Dougan!" the Nautolan called. "You fall asleep or something?"
"What?" I asked. "No, not asleep, it's just something in the Force…"
The quartermaster waved a hand, making a face. The storerooms belonged to the Service Corps, and there weren't many Force-sensitives among its members. Maybe among the researchers… So all my talk about the Force meant nothing to Gri. I'd heard stories about him. Weakly sensitive to the Force, he had found his calling in supply. A true warrant officer out of army jokes. He had everything—just ask…
"I'm asking where to send the shipment. Do you have apartments in the city? Or a ship in the hangars?"
"To my room," I said, lowering my eyes. "I only returned to the Temple recently—I have neither apartments nor, especially, a ship."
"Yeah, that's rough," Gri snorted. "You'll pack your whole room. You just become a Knight or what?"
I nodded.
"Not long before Geonosis. My Master died in Wild Space, and I returned to the Temple. And then I went straight to Geonosis…"
"My condolences," a shadow of sadness flashed across Gri's face. "Heard it all went off the rails there…"
We talked about the Geonosis battle for a few more minutes, then a pair of droids arrived with repulsor carts meant to carry out the items I'd requested.
"Let's split up," the Nautolan suggested. "You look for lightsaber parts and check the armor—look in sectors 6, 14, and 22. I'll handle the rest." After rummaging in his pockets, he handed me a comlink cylinder. "Call me when you're done."
"Well, I'm off," I waved to him. The Nautolan handed me a datapad so I wouldn't get lost among the endless racks, then, together with one of the droids, disappeared into the storeroom depths in the opposite direction.
Smirking, I pushed the platform in front of me and, motioning the droid to follow, went deeper into the search.
***
Compared to the Jedi Temple storerooms, Ali Baba's cave, the Count of Monte Cristo's treasures, or any other analogs were nothing at all.
Like a customer in a supermarket, I wandered between hundreds of racks, using the section map and notes on the datapad as a navigator.
Almost immediately, upon entering sector 6, I ran into lightsaber parts.
Hilts, emitters, lenses, power cells, wiring, buttons and regulators… By my estimate, you could assemble several hundred—if not thousands—of sabers out of all that.
One of the key points in assembling a saber is precisely fitted parts. Make one small mistake—boom, and your brains are on the nearest wall. Dying didn't appeal to me, so I decided to take spare parts—just in case I had to replace something during assembly.
After loading a couple boxes of mechanisms onto the platform, I started searching for armor.
In sector 14, I found nothing suitable. Jedi cloaks with light armor elements on the chest and abdomen. Justice Corps cuirasses. Police gear. Several sets of armor from unfamiliar parts of space. Nothing that would interest a Jedi about to go to war.
But in sector 22, I found a couple interesting examples.
Like clone armor, the Jedi armor I found from the Ruusan era was based on a reinforced-fabric bodysuit. The bodysuit itself could take several blaster shots. And the additional armor plates—breastplate and backplate, greaves, bracers, gauntlets, thigh plates… together, the full set provided solid protection to the wearer.
But after a thousand years, most of the electronics had already degraded, so it would need replacement.
Sweeping my eyes over the countless racks, I dismissed the fleeting doubt that I wouldn't be able to find suitable parts to repair the armor.
The next item on my list, and the last, was crystals.
I left the rarest—yet at the same time most accessible in the Temple—part of a lightsaber for last.
I found the crystals in a special storage area after returning to sector 6.
In several huge metal boxes, like multicolored candy, crystals mined generations ago lay before my eyes. Jedi from across the galaxy brought them back from their travels. Especially valuable and rare specimens were kept in the Temple's living quarters. But before me lay crystals that were not so rare—yet still enormously valuable on the black market—crystals from Ilum, Adega, Dantooine…
Focusing the Force on them, I felt only a weak response. Crystals have no inherent might in the Force, and they were unlikely to pass any useful properties to my lightsaber blade.
I scooped up a handful, let them cascade back into the box, admiring the play of light. However…
I oriented myself on the map and headed for sector 14. According to the codifier, it held equipment and gear for light excursions. Finding a sealed metal-plast backpack, I returned to the boxes and filled it with several handfuls of crystals.
Even if these crystals were of little value to Jedi and lay here for the needs of the weakest—those who didn't even fly to the caves themselves—these multicolored stones would bring me far more profit than they ever would to Order members.
"Dougan, you still there?" the comlink suddenly crackled to life.
"That's right," I confirmed, setting the backpack on the repulsor platform.
"Great," the Nautolan's voice made it clear he was smiling. "I think I solved your ship problem. Head to sector 24—we'll meet there. Give the platform to the droid—have it roll it back to my office."
I admit, Gri's words got me genuinely interested. Solving the ship problem would simplify my life enormously. And I wanted my own ship…
After getting lost twice among the endless racks, I finally reached the sector in question. Comparing the layout to the Temple's plan, I realized we were practically on the border between the ziggurat and the Temple District.
The Nautolan was waiting for me impatiently near the shaft of a cargo turbolift. The platform, which could easily fit a small speeder, had an enclosed cabin with several fogged windows.
"Come on." The quartermaster waved me over and stepped into the doors that opened as he approached. Without a word, I followed. The cabin lurched away with a soft hum.
It was obvious it hadn't been used in a long time. A nasty, whistling sound of high-speed travel invaded my ears.
"The Docking Complex is planning to expand," the Nautolan declared without preamble, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. "They're reopening old facilities—back from the wars with the Sith. Some of it is storerooms, so all the relics in there fall under my authority…"
I only caught Tasi's words with half an ear, listening instead to sensations in the Force. The unsteady call that had vanished the moment I entered the zone saturated with Force-noisy crystals returned. And judging by everything, we were traveling toward its source.
"…The workers opened a few old storerooms, and there's ancient tech in there," Gri continued. "I checked the archives—they mothballed ships that are about four thousand years old. There are newer ones too, but still—all of them are being scrapped."
"And why are we going there?" I didn't understand.
Gri blinked his huge eyes—eyes without whites—for a few seconds in silence.
"All the ships there—and there are at least a couple hundred—are going to auction. Maybe some neutrals or remote systems will want to buy discounted Order ships. The money, as I understand it, will go toward buying new ships from the Rendili yards."
"You think they'll all sell?" I asked skeptically.
"I think they wouldn't take them even for free." The Nautolan waved it off. "Their only path is the smelter—disposal program." He started explaining. "You can't find old inventory lists for love or money, so they'll have to build new ones based on what's actually found…"
"Aaaah," I drawled. "Now I get it… That's a great offer, Gri!"
"Well, what did you think?" the quartermaster smirked. "Only this stays between us, all right? And I'm hoping for a worthy gratitude from you."
"Without a doubt, friend!" I extended my hand for a handshake. Tasi looked at it in confusion and didn't move.
"You need to shake my hand," I explained. "On my planet, a handshake is a symbol that we have no hostile intent toward each other."
"Sounds like barbarism," he said, and shook my hand with his left.
***
Ten minutes of travel, and we were in the heart of the Temple District.
Once, when the Jedi Temple was first created, the Republic leadership had transferred an entire nearby district into the Order's ownership. For technical and other necessary purposes.
The district had many names—the Jedi Temple District, the Temple Quarter, the Temple District. Same thing.
After the Great Hyperspace War, the Republic granted the Order the Sacred Spire on Coruscant, north of the Senate District. The Republic expected the Jedi would build a fortress on that mountain, similar to the one they had on Ossus and in a number of other places across the galaxy.
But instead, the Jedi first built only small buildings for meditation. Later, however, the Four Masters—whose figures now adorn the main entrance to the Temple—took measures to build a full academy on the planet. The territory around the Sacred Spire passed to the Jedi. I don't remember how many years they built it, but I remember well that in the district it was forbidden to build buildings higher than the Temple itself, except for docking spires.
Then came the Sith invasion of Coruscant. The Temple was looted and catastrophically damaged. After the peace treaty was signed, the Republic had no funds to reconstruct the Temple, and the Jedi left for Tython. Closer to the New Sith Wars, the Jedi returned to Coruscant and restored the Temple.
The Temple District became a place where the Jedi concentrated their docking complex, hangars, and logistics bases. The constructed docking tower made it possible for large starships to land and take off.
Since the last wars, most of the district had been neglected. The number of Jedi decreased, wars no longer shook the galaxy, and so the district's vast storerooms filled with the Jedi's numerous machines—machines belonging to those who had laid down the role of warriors.
But now that war had returned to the galaxy, there was no choice but to reopen old facilities.
"Probably a thousand years since a Jedi set foot here," Tasi said, watching the massive doors of the mothballed hangar-storeroom slowly creep open.
"Imagine how many relics are in there," I said dreamily. "If only we could take all of them…"
"Who needs that junk?" Kodos Pipe, the foreman of the hangar workers team that was to clear out the old hangar and repair it, said through clenched teeth. "They build ships way better now than they used to. Engines, hyperdrives, electronics—everything is better and more efficient. Just repairing all this junk"—he gestured negligently at the massive hulls lit up by the beams of numerous portable lights—"would cost a fortune."
"Get the lighting on in here," Tasi said with a grimace to Kodos. "We'll take a walk for now…"
I don't know how to describe my feelings… A plunge into history? A ship graveyard?
Dozens of ships of all shapes and makes stood permanently grounded. Freighters, speeders, fighters, frigates, landing craft… They'd all seen better days, but they'd found shelter in this mass grave…
"Just look," Gri pointed at several rows of compact, wedge-shaped fighters. "Those are Aurek fighters! Strike craft the Jedi flew before the Ruusan Reformation! And this? That's a corvette! A whole corvette…"
But I had already stopped listening to him.
The call had become almost tangible. I could practically see a thin thread stretching from me into the unlit depths of the hangar… Led by the Force, I grabbed one of the handheld lights and headed that way.
The hangar Gri needed to clear—scrapping old machinery—could easily fit a small town in Russia. Stretching for dozens of kilometers, it was packed to the ceiling with numerous ships, some even without visible damage, most of which I'd seen in games set in the Old Republic era.
After half an hour of wandering between massive starship hulls, I finally reached the source of the call. A massive shadow, faintly lit by the single light, had painfully familiar shapes—
a hammerhead bow with five forward viewports…
"Defender," I whispered.
A Corellian Defender-class light corvette. A ship intended for Jedi Guardians and Jedi Consulars in that memorable game about the confrontation between Vitiate's Reconstituted Sith Empire and the Old Republic.
These ships were developed by the Corellian Engineering Corporation specifically at the Order's request as baseline vessels for Jedi special missions. Besides being built for a small crew—though it could be flown by a single pilot—the ship carried several rapid-fire cannons, missile launchers, and proton torpedoes. For crew comfort, it had its own rest section—a common room, a conference hall, a room with a large holoprojector…
The ship's ramp was, as expected, lowered. But the hatch was sealed. In one breath I rose upward, placed my hand to the control panel. With a soft click, the hatch locks disengaged, and with reverent awe I watched the massive armored door slide aside with a hiss, letting me aboard.
So familiar to me from many hours of gameplay, the corvette gaped at me in black invitation. The Force screamed, physically dragging me onto the ship. But in my mind one thought pounded: something was wrong. Like I was being lured here. I could practically feel the emanations of the dark side.
Without a lightsaber—and without any weapon at all—I was an easy target. But on the other hand, my mind insisted, something that threatened Jedi couldn't have been hiding for a thousand years in plain sight of the entire Order.
I called the Force to me, wrapping it around myself like a cocoon. Calming my mind, I opened myself to the Force again, letting it flood the ship's compartments.
I found the dark side source in a far compartment where, as my memory suggested, there was a storage room. In the game I used it to stash things I didn't need but my inner hoarder refused to sell.
Carefully, meter by meter, I moved through the corvette's compartments toward my goal, not forgetting to turn my head and scan my surroundings.
There had clearly been a fight aboard—the walls had blaster scorches in places. Several chairs on the bridge had been ripped out by the roots and tossed right there. Dust-covered instrument panels showed no damage. I didn't wander through the cabins—there would be time for that later.
I understood that this ship, and no other, would be mine. The Force had led me onto its deck. I didn't think that could be called coincidence. Not in this universe.
The storage room met me with a soft radiation of the Force. Muted, like light under water, it seemed to emanate from the entire space. It felt as if the Force had soaked into the place.
Along the storage room's walls, numerous cabinets with locked doors piled up. In front of them, a meter away, closer to the center of the room, stood footlockers—floor chests that served as storage…
The thread of the call came from one of the central cabinets. I approached it, listening to my sensations. Without a doubt, dark side Force emanated from behind the cabinet doors. But I felt it as dull, as if time had thinned it. Not dangerous.
When I opened the doors, I lost the power of speech for a moment.
Dozens of small transparent cases, firmly fixed into the cabinet walls, held nearly a hundred crystals of varied colors and shapes. The Force in them seemed asleep, but the moment I took one case—containing a Tatooine krayt dragon pearl—and opened it, I felt concentrated light side Force emanating from it. Closing the case, I returned it to its place. A real trove of lightsaber crystals! You could buy several capital ships for just a couple of them—and that was only a rough estimate.
In the main body of the cabinet, on mounts in the same transparent Force-shielding tubes, lay numerous lightsaber hilts. Dozens of lightsaber hilts—single-bladed and double-bladed, lightsaber staffs. There were even a couple bulky lightsaber pikes!
Some of them seemed vaguely familiar. Others were utterly unremarkable.
But only one hilt drew my attention.
About thirty centimeters long, black matte metal—phrik, as my memory prompted—decorated with fused threads and elements of aurodium at the top and bottom. A small clip-like latch near the emitter prevented hands from sliding along the hilt, and a pair of buttons hinted at the ability to change the blade's length.
As if in a trance, I drew the hilt from its container and settled it into my right hand. The hilt seemed to resonate with my Force, both focusing me and relaxing me at the same time. The effect made me think that specific crystals were set into the hilt's slots.
Finally, the pad of my thumb rested on the activation switch.
With a characteristic hiss, a yellow blade filled with sunlight sprang from the hilt. Under the blade's steady hum, an image from the game's expansion trailer appeared before my eyes: Arcann, one of Valkorion's twin sons, killing the other, Thexan. Cut in half, Thexan drops his saber—identical to the one in my hand like two drops of water—and falls to his knees, struck down by his brother's blade that slashed across Thexan's torso.
My entire being filled with power that my body barely contained. Yellowish lightning crawled over my hands, sparking as it touched the blade.
I was holding the blade of Thexan—the slain son of Valkorion, the Immortal Emperor.
I felt the resonance of the Force imprint within the saber's crystals with my own. The blade, like an extension of my arm, obeyed me without the slightest effort. With calm determination I could charge into an attack right now and emerge victorious. The resonance refreshed in my memory the techniques and rituals Valkorion had awakened in me. Dark and light, they intertwined into a threatening knot I hoped to use in the future.
Suddenly, it was as if I plunged into my own memories. My life on Earth rewound backward, from my youth to my childhood. I'm fifteen, then ten, five, three, one…
Then I slammed, as if at full speed, into a blue-violet wall that appeared in my path. The vision scattered instantly, but I seemed to see—with infant eyes—the ghostly figure of Valkorion standing beside a midwife holding me.
***
"You all right?" Gri looked at me doubtfully. "This wreck is more than a thousand years old!"
"Actually, more than three thousand," Kodos grumbled. "Everything that can be broken in there is already broken. Better take any 'Tatra'—better armed, more respectable, and clearly in better condition. You're a Jedi—you could even register a Hammerhead in your name."
"No," I shook my head. "The Defender."
"Your business," Gri shrugged. He bent over the terminal and quickly entered my name into the ship's records. "There. All done. Your Defender is officially registered in the registries. You can own it."
"Thanks, Gri," I smiled. "Pick anything for yourself?"
"The guys and I from Kodos's crew will take one of the ten Tranta-type corvettes." Gri pointed at a luxurious corvette, gathering dust alongside its sister ships in one of the neighboring hangars. "Unlikely there'll be demand, but still better than nothing." With that, the Nautolan winked.
Meanwhile, with the datapad containing the Defender's registration documents in hand, I looked involuntarily at the proud corvette being raised by a loader from the hangar depths.
"My guys will check it," Pipe offered. "Might not even fly."
Together with his crew, the man headed toward the dusty corvette.
I looked around. We were standing on the enormous surface of the Far Storerooms—what they called two dozen vast storerooms like the one where we'd found the Defender. Rectangular metal boxes, each with many cargo lifts that brought stored equipment up and out. And judging by the many ships being raised from the depths of the storerooms, there was plenty of hardware down there.
Mostly Republic. I couldn't find a single large Sith ship.
"And there's a lot of hardware?" I asked Gri. The Nautolan checked the list.
"Pretty much a whole squadron. We've only started, and we've already found five Hammerheads, ten—correction, nine—Tatra corvettes." The Nautolan smiled predatorily. "A hundred Aurek fighters, old shuttles, frigates. The sixth hangar is completely packed with ancient ground vehicles—they can't even identify it, straight to smelting—nothing intact. Looks like they gathered up all the junk when restoring the Temple after the Sith attack on Coruscant and shoved it all in there. Scrap metal, basically. But we've only opened a third of the hangars so far while you were crawling over the Defender from top to bottom. How much good stuff is in the rest—I don't even know."
"Well, that's going to be a lot of money," I fished.
"Hardly," Gri grimaced. "Who needs them in such pathetic condition? They'll patch them just enough to lift off the platforms, then it's onward to the orbital boneyard. In their current state, I'd price what we have now at fifty million credits."
"Still not small," I whistled.
"That's peanuts," the Nautolan snorted. "The Temple's budget for a couple months. The point isn't profit—it's freeing space as fast as possible." He nodded toward the Temple Docking Complex, where another group of Acclamators was being loaded.
The triangular hulls of the assault ships stood out as strange protrusions over the technogenic zone around the Temple.
I stood there, watching another trio of ships soar into the sky, carrying thousands of clones off to war against the Confederacy's droids.
Somewhere out there, the first battles were already flaring—and the first Jedi were already dying. Just during the time I'd been in the Temple, they had brought in around a dozen Knights, Masters, and Padawans. Burned by blaster fire, maimed by munitions explosions—they steadily filled the Halls of Healing's beds and the funeral pyres.
Strangely enough, my conscience didn't torment me for not telling the Council what I knew about the galaxy's future. I owed the Order nothing, and I wasn't exactly overflowing with altruism…
If anything, I had a debt to Valkorion, and I shouldn't delay repaying it.
Gri promised to deliver my belongings to the corvette and let me know when it was ready. He didn't forget to hint that he had contacts at the local Corellian Engineering Corporation office. I said I wouldn't forget, and headed back to the Temple.
Upgrading the corvette would be desirable, but not necessary right now.
On board, I ran the ship's diagnostics, which spilled all the Corellian product's secrets to me. Since the last activation, some circuits had suffered—those responsible for lighting and power to a number of noncritical systems, like the holoprojector in the conference hall and the crew showers. None of that affected piloting or the ship's ability to fly to Yavin 4.
The navigation computer, which hadn't crumbled to dust over thousands of years, surprisingly worked fine and was ready to take me anywhere. Just pick coordinates.
And it was the navcomputer I had to deal with in the near future.
The thing was, its memory held all data on the previous owner's travels through the galaxy. Including in Sith Empire space. And even in Wild Space. Only the navcomputer's data lagged behind the galaxy's current data by three thousand years.
Celestial bodies have a habit of changing their positions in space. So Yavin 4's coordinates—nearly four thousand years old—would, at best, take me into empty space. At worst—into the heart of a star, or somewhere equally bad.
The simplest way out would be to buy a new navicomputer or update the data on this one. Such a procedure cost only a couple hundred credits—money I even had lying around in my pockets. But it would lead to a complete wipe of the old database preserved in the computer's depths. Like saving over one file with another of the same name. One replaces the other. The first is gone.
That didn't suit me at all.
As I had already realized, many planets in this galaxy by this time were either forgotten or deliberately removed from most databases. Yavin 4 was missing even from the Temple Archives. Not to mention the coordinates of Zakuul, Nathema, Tython, and many, many others. As if the Jedi had painstakingly deleted information about these worlds, trying to forget the sad pages of their Order's history tied to them.
A Jedi, oddly enough, helped me solve this dilemma.
While the corvette was being inspected and lightly repaired, I used the chance to visit the so-called Archives.