Chapter 14: The Birth of the Fourth Civilization

“Administrator… I can fix it! I’ll get right on it!” Norris-Barry stammered, his voice trembling with fear.

But before he could say more, he froze. A squad of fully armed marines marched in, escorting the rest of the Social Culture Department into the room. The sight of their blasters and battle-ready armor sent a fresh wave of panic through Barry.

“No, no, your work was exceptional,” Ventus said calmly, his faint smile impossible to read. “I was starting to wonder if we’d need to thaw out a master sociologist to guide this project, but you pulled it off. It’s a reminder that those so-called ‘class divisions’ are just a snapshot of someone’s achievements when they boarded this ship. Even those from the common ranks can rise to the level of masters.”

Barry was too terrified to respond. He didn’t even know how to process the praise.

“But…” Ventus’s tone shifted, sharp and deliberate. “You’re being removed from the Social Culture Department. I’ll awaken new personnel to lead and staff the department. As for you, your names will be erased from all records. No one will know you ever existed.”

Barry collapsed to his knees with a thud. “Administrator, we haven’t done anything wrong!”

“You didn’t make any mistakes,” Ventus replied. “In fact, you crafted a perfect history. But with that achievement comes a burden. You will become the ‘Guardians of History,’ tasked with creating and preserving our legacy. In return, you’ll have everything you could ever want—every material comfort, every pleasure of the mind and spirit.” He paused, glancing at the stunned group before him.

Then he continued, his voice firm. “But you will never interact with anyone else again. Anyone who comes into contact with you will be imprisoned indefinitely—or eliminated. I’ll build you a secret sanctuary, as luxurious as I can make it. That’s where you’ll spend the rest of your lives.”

Norris-Barry let out a heavy sigh. “I understand. We’ll be your greatest secret, the ones who carry the weight of this history.”

“Exactly,” Ventus said, standing. “That’s the weight of history.” He stepped forward and embraced Barry, then each of the other ten members of the department. Finally, he stood before them and bowed deeply. “I’m counting on you.”

“It’s our honor, Administrator,” Barry replied, his voice heavy but resolute. He and the other ten returned the bow. “To witness the birth of the Fourth Civilization is the greatest privilege.”

As the eleven ‘Guardians of History’ were escorted away by the marines, Ventus took a deep breath, his gaze sharpening with purpose.

The Fourth Civilization. That was the banner he’d chosen for himself and the people aboard this mothership—a creed to define them. Barry was right: a people’s history shapes their values, their way of thinking. And in the Star Wars galaxy, where war was about to engulf everything, those values couldn’t afford to be peaceful.

Thus, the Fourth Civilization was born.

Ventus’s goal was to instill a bone-deep sense of crisis in every soul under his command. In the history they’d fabricated, Earth’s civilization had endured three catastrophic invasions—by Void Demons, the Purification Protocol, and a Zerg-like swarm. The survivors, led by this mothership, had fled to this corner of the galaxy.

Their mission was to rebuild, to restore their glory. But the agony of those three invasions, each one ending in the near-destruction of their civilization, left a scar on their collective psyche. They yearned to survive, to rise greater than ever before, and to never again fall to a fourth catastrophe.

And the only way to avoid being destroyed by a calamity…

Was to become the calamity.

Yes, they would claim the mantle of the Fourth Catastrophe, the Fourth Civilization forged in the fires of survival. Their path was clear: survive, expand, conquer, dominate. Nothing would stand in their way.

Sure, to an outsider, this was just a story—something you’d write as a novel and toss on a holonet forum for a few credits. But Ventus had the power to turn this story into history, to make it a force that shaped the thoughts and values of everyone under his rule. That was the power of leadership. And with access to technologies, ships, and maybe even heroes from countless civilizations, he had the evidence to back up this fabricated legacy.

He would weave a grand, tragic dream for every person aboard this ship—a dream that would lead them straight into the wars of the Star Wars galaxy. The Clone Wars.

From this day forward, they were the Fourth Civilization, born from Earth’s ashes.

“Mainframe,” Ventus commanded, “upload this document to the database and designate it as the official history for all of us. Begin subliminal conditioning during cryosleep for all hibernating residents, guiding them to accept this history. But fragment the details—make sure no one remembers more than fleeting pieces.”

[Understood. Executing now,] the Mainframe replied.

“And… rebuild the Social Culture Department,” Ventus added. He scrolled through the hibernating resident list, selecting an elite educator and an elite sociologist, along with a few teachers. “Wake them up and have them start compiling historical textbooks. That’s what this department should be doing.”

A short while later, Daphne Clement approached him. “Dubroak Qwento wants to speak with you, Administrator.”

Ventus stood. “Bring him in. It’s about time we had a chat anyway.”

Moments later, Dubroak Qwento and Mars Ferrasi entered. They were dressed in clean, standard-issue clothes provided by the ship, a far cry from the weathered, rugged look of the explorers they’d been when they arrived. Good food and rest had done wonders for their appearance.

The two hesitated before Ventus, only sitting when he gestured for them to take a seat. Qwento spoke cautiously. “Honored Administrator, I don’t know where you folks come from, and I’m not here to pry. But we came to the Endor system on a job, and time’s running out. I’m hoping you’ll let us head back.”

Over the past few days, Qwento and his crew had grown increasingly wary of Ventus’s operation. The massive, kilometers-long superdreadnought they were on wasn’t something a run-of-the-mill faction could field. Add to that the disciplined army and the array of specialized personnel, and it was clear this group was something extraordinary.

“What’s your job?” Ventus asked.

“You know we work for the Hutts out on Tatooine, running smuggling gigs and the like,” Qwento said. “This trip, our cargo’s furs, gems, and some Ewok jerky from Endor—er, I mean, Dawn Planet.” He caught himself, aware that Ventus had renamed the Endor system’s moon.

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