I began my academic career the moment I got off my homeworld at the age of twelve. Andara is a beautiful place and I am proud of my home, but it is not a world that values scholarly pursuits. The system of Marleyvane and the Allied Academy in which I enrolled, certainly did.

The Academy had been an agriculture and trade-school for many generations before the Empire. When Palpatine ruled the galaxy, Marleyvane became a finishing school for officers and spec-ops agents. By the time I applied for enrollment, the Republic had restored Marleyvane's academic splendor and added new life and civilopedic sciences departments. I found my calling within the confluence of these academic concentrations: Xenopsychometry.

It's a mouthful, I know. We shorthand it as "xenopsych," but that can be confusing because the doctorate bears the same name. Xenopsychometry is the science of measuring the capacity for intelligent life in a given environment. A xenopsych determines the minimum and maximum parameters of a society's potential existence, then measures its current progress on that scale against the rest of the galaxy. Easy, right?

It is not a simple science, but the quickest explanation is that we measure a race's evolution against its current environment. All to determine if a species is headed for prosperity or destruction.

I spend a lot of time checking records, working with librarians and data droids, and interviewing learned or revered beings from every corner of the Galaxy. It is mostly a search for patterns; life is full of them. I find them and turn them into data. Religious ceremonies, marriage and progeny celebrations, commitment to education, peace balanced against war, prophets and scourges and their impact on society: these are but a fraction of the things that help a xenopsych formulate a societal profile.

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Findings Log — 11247

Coruscant
Dr Mary Au'Rona

A message signal flashed in the top corner of my console. I suppressed it as I pored over my findings. I spent most of my days this way: compiling, reading and disseminating stories dozens of times over, and ignoring the outside world. The years blurred together into an endless stream of data, interviews and computer programming.

This journal was killing me, but wasn't your life's work supposed to?

BEEP WOOP WIZZ

"Okay Artie, hold on to your vents. I'm coming." I slinked over to the cockpit with my head down. The astromech whistled his discontent at my tardiness and I ignored him. The Converso leaned forward and suddenly the wavy portal of hyperspace disappeared. Little lines of white light elongated into streams, before righting themselves as solitary stars. I looked out the viewport at Coruscant, a glowing orb of orange and slate in the dark void.

"Used to be the heart of the Galaxy," I said while throttling up the sublights. "Now it's a dying appendage, overrun by dueling warlords and criminal factions. The Republic abandoned it as quickly as it rescued it. It's just another relic, a legend."

Artie beeped and churned like a server processing a huge data packet, but seemed to have run out of mean things to say, for now.

I maintained the helm of the light-freighter but he did everything else. Artie, or R3-J9, was so much more than an extension of the Converso. Industrial Automaton series R3, number 00J399NJ0019, was a brilliant data analyst and a war hero from the Clone Wars. He served in the Royal Naboo Navy Corps until his series was phased out of active-duty by the more streamlined R4 and R5 series'.

The modular R3 line was less efficient in combat situations, and were therefore relegated to data processing and mass-scale programming. Artie's the best data processor I've ever worked with in my life, hands down.

Navigational beacons on Coruscant were still fairly up-to-date, so I comfortably weaved the Converso through the nocturnal traffic and around the cold mountains of steel. The dying capital's atmosphere was non-restrictive and finding the sector we needed was not hard either. We headed into a fairly well-known area just south of the Nikto Factory Yards.

It was once a popular neighborhood for housing Old Republic senators. Now it had a reputation for seedy bevstalls and libertine night clubs. The perfect place for an underworld trader to ply his wares.

My stomach turned over during landing procedures and I felt the blood drain from my face in a rush. I leapt from the cockpit and Artie took control for touchdown. The refresher stall barely opened in time for my sick.

Artie whooped from the cockpit after I exited the boot.

"I'll be fine," I tried to convince us both. "Datapad is calibrated, and my tracker is on. If anything happens to me, I'm expecting you to come to my rescue right away."

Artie beeped and gurgled a tirade that made me almost forget my nerves. I clicked my cowl over my coat and pressed a big green button beside the cockpit. The Converso's fuselage lowered to expose its ramp like a bird opening its beak. The stairway descended with a hiss of air and clanked as it kissed the platform.

I took a deep breath before I descended the ramp. Artie whirred as he rolled over to the entryway, chittering last second instructions as he watched me leave. The winds kicked up and sprayed me in the face with oddly warm rain. I tucked my hair back into my hood and hurried across the platform and into the turbolift.

It would be a ten minute descent to the entertainment district in the dank, stuffy elevator. I watched the viewport streak with moisture and jumped at a clap of lightning. Nerves were getting the better of me; I needed to distract my racing mind from worrying or it'd paralyze me. So, I pulled out my datapad and looked over the profile of my contact.

He was a collector and dealer who went by the moniker "AJ." I call him my contact but he was more like a friend of the industry. Explorers, researchers, investigators and yes, criminals, all need dealers if they wanted to get their hands on the good stuff without the hassle of having to discover it.

I tugged at my cowl and some of my hair spilled out again. "Look at these ends," I said to the jagged frays at the tips of my brown locks. "I need a haircut." The turbolift apparently agreed because the door slid wide open at the same time. A blast of artificially hot, damp, foul city air filled the lift chamber and my lungs, and made me want to gag. "Make that a spa visit."

Thick ropes of filthy rain, putrid and splashing every conceivable color, streamed down around the dimly-lit streets. The rain was unable to land naturally here in the lower levels of the city-world. The soggy, dense and putrid-yet-sweet scent that only exists in the most crowded parts of a city: that was everywhere on Coruscant at night. It occurred to me that it was a good thing I purged before I got down here, and that seemed to settle some of my nerves.

I danced around the stinking rain water and followed a series of green glow-rod lit signs that led to the clubs. Were it not for my hood, I would have looked very out of place. My eyes were darting around, trying to see everything all at once and perceiving close to nothing.

It was luck and persistence that brought me to the entrance to Bluffman's Blind. I looked up at the glowing green and white sign and realized I'd been missing signs for the establishment for blocks now.

If you act like a professional, people will treat you like one.

My mother's words of wisdom cropped up in my mind to guard against the weakness rising in my belly. I grit my teeth and pulled out my datapad to be sure this was the place, though I had no doubt it was. Bluffman's Blind was a three-story café, bar and club that housed entertainment and criminal activity of every sort.

AJ would be in there waiting for me, I should not keep him waiting too long, but my feet felt like they were made of magnalead. I stood outside the thumping, strobing building on that neon street corner for longer than I am comfortable recounting.

In my own time, I approached the entrance with my hood still up, and held a hand out to shield my eyes from the glare. A door slid open and the throbbing music became loud and intimidating. I walked into the fairly crowded bar and searched till I found a sign that led to the café level. I kept my head down and ignored everyone and everything on my way to the stairs.

The stairwell was metal, bare, covered in graffiti, and deafening. My instincts told me to keep my head down, but I had to reach up and grab my ears. I was cursing a lot and looking at the ceiling as if that were the source of the music.

Maybe AJ won't show and I can just get out of here. I could not tell if I was thinking that or screamed it out loud.

By the time I reached the door to the second floor, I was so angry at the loud music and my own nerves, that I did not realize this was the wrong level. I shouldered it open and felt the overly-oxygenated atmosphere of the club shock my senses. Blaring lights flashed in every color across a dance floor ringed on three sides by a translucent countertop. Presiding over all from atop his glowing dais, the Codru-Ji emcee used all four arms to operate his array of turntables and synthesizers. It would have been a work of art if the music was not so offensively loud.

A pair of Quarren men shouldered past me and then slurred a proposition I was happy to pretend I did not understand. I hurried back into the stairwell and realized that the music seemed softer by comparison. I climbed quickly to the third level and found renewed strength with every step to the door.

I'm not going to quit. I am an academic not a librarian—a doctoral candidate for goodness sakes! You're here to do a job: get it together, Mary.

I plunged through the door and into the dim, cozy café.

"Okay, just take it easy, Mary," replied an elder Chagrian lady with rose and tan striped skin. In reading her amused facial expression I realized that I had, in fact, been shouting to myself as I climbed the stairs, not just thinking. My cheeks turned the same color as hers. The amused alien lifted her finger to mime a "shushing" motion with her lips.

I did not know what to do, so I bowed my head and looked at the floor. A painful chorus of giggling fits blossomed from all corners of the café. If I could just find a window to leap from, then everything ought to be fine.

"Doctor," a voice called from clear across the room. I fixated on a waving hand, shielded my eyes and carved a straight path through the eatery. There I found a man sitting next to an E-3PO protocol droid in an unlit, recessed booth. He motioned to the open space next to him and said, "Please sit."

"AJ?" I said far too loudly as I slid into the booth.

"This floor is insulated from the music on the lower levels," he said deliberately. "Let's do away with all the shouting, especially shouting names. You do know dealing in artifacts is a tricky area, legally speaking?"

"Yes, thank you," I bumbled, "and I'm sorry."

"Don't be," AJ flashed a grin and I forgot how embarrassed I had just been. "Here," his eyes darted past my shoulder and I followed them to see a server approach with two cocktails on a tray. "Don't ask me what's in it," he said as he collected the drinks and handed one to me. "Just enjoy."

I must have looked as apprehensive as I felt, because he laughed and clinked his glass with my own, then took a sip and held up the glass to eye level as he swallowed. "Oh, yes," he said, overselling it, "that's the stuff."

"Sorry," I said and lifted the glass to my nose. "I've just never been in a place like this before."

"You say that word too much," AJ took another swig and looked very pleased with himself. "And there's no place in the galaxy like Bluffman's. Trust me, I know better than anyone."

"Is that so?" I said, and took a tiny sip. It was sweet and a little sour and made my lips tingle. "Oh, that is the stuff!" I took a bigger sip.

"Told you," AJ raised his glass to me and smiled; I mirrored him and took a gulp this time. "So, Doc, what can I do for you?"

"Order me another one of these, for one," I said and shook around the nearly drained glass. "Secondly, I think I should tell you I'm merely a doctoral candidate, not an actual doctor."

"Potsie," AJ almost snorted.

"Yes master?" replied the silver-plated droid.

"Make sure to update our records to show that Ms. Mary here is a doctoral candidate…"

"Ha, ha, you're so funny…" I stopped to hold back a hiccup. The liquid courage was emboldening, maybe a little too much on an empty stomach. "I'm looking for any records from the Jedi Order before the Great Purge. Anything: data-servers, relics, training materials or even a hand-written scroll if they exist. Any tangible, reference-worthy piece of their history would be invaluable."

"Isn't that Church of the Force territory?" AJ said. "Zealots—I mean, pilgrims, have been searching for that stuff for generations. Skywalker-chasers, Vader cultists and the like. There's no shortage of madness when you're talking about a galactic religion."

"I'm not looking for religious enlightenment."

"Good, you don't strike me as someone that needs it."

"What I need is proof," I said and put down my empty glass. "I believe the Jedi have many lessons to teach the galaxy. Not as religious figureheads or prophets, but as a harbingers. They are the galaxy's warning that all power comes at a cost."

"And how do you prove that, Mary?" He raised his hand and ordered another round and I decided to tell him the truth.

"With science, of course." I traded my empty glass for a fresh one and couldn't get it to my lips quick enough. "I'm going to catalogue and compile every record I can find on their activities. I want to know all there is to know about the Jedi and the Sith and their impact on the galaxy. And then, I want to make it common knowledge."

"And you don't think you're mad?" AJ sounded genuinely interested for the first time since I sat down.

"I'm a xenopsych with the full backing of the Allied Academy of Marleyvane. At the conclusion of my seven year mandate, my findings will be broadcast to every scholarly institution in the known galaxy.

"Don't you see?" I leaned in. "Education on the Force, the Jedi and the Sith—would finally include measurable records of their deeds and the lasting effects of their policies."

"And what does that prove?"

"Everything," I was so enthusiastic I was sweating. I put down my drink so I could talk with my hands. "Go to any school tomorrow morning and the children will tell you the Jedi used magic to save the day until they were betrayed, wiped out by the Empire, and their religion along with them."

"Well that sounds about right, I guess," AJ said, and fidgeted a bit in his seat.

"But what if the whole galaxy, the Old Republic and everything that preceded it, would have been better off if the Jedi never existed?"

"You can't believe that," AJ said, but took pause as though he meant to say more and thought better of it.

"It's not about what I believe," I said and lowered my eyes. "Like I said, it's all about what I can prove. So, do you have what we talked about?"

"Of course I do, but—" and he paused again, scratching his chin as he sized me up. "I am not sure I want to give it to you."

"My money is no good?" I said, unsure if he was joking. "I can't believe I'm the most nefarious client you have ever dealt with."

"Not by a very wide margin, Doc," AJ replied. "But I have never made a deal that could change the galaxy. Not knowingly, willingly, I mean. It's a…" he looked at his droid Potsie and then back at me. "I ought to be the last one saying this to anyone, but I don't know if I can trust you."

"Wait, so you aren't joking?"

"Not in the least bit, mam," he said. His stern look reminded me of my grandfather when he was thinking about something he did not want to talk about. "But a deal is a deal, I suppose. Potsie," he said and flicked a salute toward his partner, "you can fetch the artifact." He said it slowly and with an odd cadence that I almost laughed at.

"Master told me to keep it safe," Potsie replied and I realized they had just exchanged pass phrases.

"I tell you to do lots of things," AJ said, and the droid immediately retrieved something from beneath the table.

It was a metal lock box with a multi-port access lock on its face. The droid opened it and pulled out a metal frame in the shape of a large hourglass. Its top and base were metal disks, and the framework arched from the round surfaces toward an open, central chamber. The whole thing looked like a display case for a missing trophy.

"I don't get it," I said, crossing my arms and sitting back. "It's a piece of junk."

"Excuse me?" AJ pressed a hand to his heart. "I'll have you know this is the cradle that housed the Great Holocron. All the knowledge of the Jedi of Coruscant went through this 'piece of junk'."

"Yes," I did not hide my disappointment, "but where is the holocron it held? I didn't come all this way to get a decoration. AJ, please tell me there's more to this?"

"You know the lengths I went to retrieving this? Onderon is not the safest place in the galaxy for a man in my profession. And it's not just an empty hunk of metal. There's history in this relic. The Force leaves its fingerprints behind on everything it touches. And nothing in the galaxy was touched by more Jedi, more often."

My eyes were widening the more he spoke. It was almost as though it transformed before my very eyes. I knew he was right and it might have been the drinks, but I could almost feel the shadow of an elusive, energetic power surrounding the metal cradle. I said I would take it and he looked pleased.

Potsie returned the relic to its box and placed it beside my feet. The droid handed the key to AJ and then returned to its seat.

"If you wanted to find the Great Holocron—" I asked once the credits were transferred and we toasted another round. "Where would you start looking?"

"Ain't that a query?" AJ elbowed his droid as if it were an old chum. "If anyone knew how to answer that question, they've been dead or missing for decades, at least. There was an old explorer I used to know, a holy man, you wouldn't have liked him—used to say the old holocrons survived the Purge. That some of the Jedi survived and hid them things across the galaxy.

"He was a good man, haven't heard from him in a long time, though. Lor San Tekka, he called himself—the man who called the Galaxy home. He had more faith and good sense than any single being should. Actually, get this, he was the person that gave me routes to the Onderon system, come to think of it. Must have been decades since our first run out that way, eh Pots? Huh, ain't it funny how things work out like that?"

I don't think I said another word to him after that. I tried to act calm as I left because my wounded pride could not afford another foolish public display. And for his part, he seemed genuinely concerned as I made an awkward escape, but thankfully AJ did not pursue me. I couldn't explain myself, and who would believe me anyway? How could he know he was talking to Lor San Tekka's granddaughter?

He couldn't because no one knew.

I made it all the way back to the turbolift before the tears caught up to me, streaming hard down my cheeks like the rains in the Coruscant sky.

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