"Tatooine? Are you serious?!" Warren exclaimed when he heard the conclusions I had reached through my reflections.
"Exactly, Warren," I snapped my fingers, sitting at the common table in the lounge surrounded by Mandalorians. We still hadn't left Alderaan, but we had moved the ship to Nome's official office.
"I think we agreed to this idea in vain..."
"Wait, Kaut. Shade, explain, why do you need that hole?"
"Heh-heh-heh, it's actually not such a hole. A satellite blew up over the planet yesterday; the company developing the deposits abandoned their equipment and preferred to run. What does that mean? It means we can cheaply buy the mining rights along with all the equipment, and bring in our own. There are workers there—workers who are in a desperate situation. The planet itself has a strategic location, being between the Corellian Run and the Triellus Trade Route. Put a base for smugglers there—and there will be plenty of demand."
"Shade, that's criminal."
"And?"
"Do you really need to get involved with that scum?"
"Well, not all crime is the same. The Hutts, for example, don't consider themselves bandits, if you must know."
"My point is that the level of order there will be on par with Nar Shaddaa."
"M... I know it's a Hutt planet, and that's it."
"Yes, only there you can get killed right on the street just for a sideways glance. I'm not talking about a Mandalorian, but about a regular person. And then, if you try to squeeze into that niche, people will definitely come to you wanting a cut for protection."
"What are you guys for? You and your lot will be the protection."
"And how are you going to legalize that?"
"Why legalize? There's no need to legalize anything. Formally, there are two enterprises on Tatooine, for ore mining and metal processing. By the way, we could build something else, like a droid factory for self-sufficiency, but that's not the point. The truth is that for your people, it'll be another waypoint where they can rest. Permanent security can be hired for show, but in fact, in case of trouble, heh, special forces will always be at hand."
"Clever..."
"And most importantly—no one will suspect a thing when we purchase hydroponic equipment and dome-city apparatus in industrial volumes. Who knows what idiot decided to turn Tatooine into a blooming paradise?"
"Well, yeah..."
"Lastly, we'll have constant contact with the criminal underworld. We need them, Warren. We really do. Those same smugglers."
"And what do you need the latter for?"
"So that no one asks inconvenient questions when something needs to be delivered quietly to Mandalore. Though... for that, it's better to have our own ships."
"But if something bulky needs to be delivered?"
"In that case, we'll definitely have our own freighters by then anyway, but that's a long way off. First, we need to buy the rights from the Corellian Engineering Corporation. They were the ones doing the mining, and they hold the rights to the planet."
"Right, I see you know what you're doing."
"Heh."
So we sat on Alderaan. I worked through the plans, the guys goofed off, Damask fussed with the credit line and the sale of artifacts for a small commission for his dear self. Nome had vanished with the reactor into unknown distances and we hadn't seen him since.
While we sat, I looked over potential personnel for hire. It turned out that either they were too expensive to maintain, or they were all already bought up by other companies. Therefore, I'd have to hire staff from other sources. No, I could of course take a couple of young ones and distribute them among academies on a long-term basis, paying for their education, but for now, that's not something worth messing with.
Besides personnel, I clarified the details of buying and selling the TRC (Tatooine Mining Company). Corellian Engineering Corporation had been putting TRC up for auction for six months, and in those six months, the price had dropped almost threefold. Well, yeah—finding a buyer for such a backwater, especially after all the troubles—takes some effort. (Or maybe it's something else? Hm...)
Interestingly, TRC has the rights not only for ore mining; it basically has all the rights to own the planet. And that package is being sold for ten million, which is a laughable price for a planet. For comparison—a Banking Clan "Munificent" frigate costs fifteen. On the other hand, where's the guarantee that the invested money will pay off? TRC worked for a year or two, realized how hopeless it was, especially after the space station explosion, and preferred to bail. The "Munificent," however, will earn its money back with a guarantee, and then some. By the way, a funny quirk: by Republican classification, the "Munificent" is considered a cruiser, but the bankers somehow pushed it into the frigate class, and a cargo type at that. Did I mention I'm amazed by this world?
When everything was ready, the documents filed, and we finally received our pay, then... no, we didn't head to Corellia to close the deal. First and foremost, I checked online stores to look for some new gear for myself. Since I had managed to pretty much ruin my armor, I needed to remake it, and for that, I needed kyber crystals, and preferably high-quality materials to go with them.
However, after looking at the prices in those stores, I realized that Mandalorians really do give discounts to their own. And after flipping through the price lists, I decided to hell with it, better to buy the minimum and return to Concord Dawn for the full set. And it wasn't just the prices, but the goods themselves. Alderaan made good, expensive things, yes—but they didn't make armor. At least, nothing close to what the children of Mandalore wear. I could put together something decent, but in quality, it would be nothing like what I needed.
The only thing Alderaan could really give me that was useful and valuable was Force crystals. Wandering into a shop selling such things, I was, first of all, no longer surprised by the prices, and second—I giggled mischievously because the choice was truly wide. But I didn't get greedy and choose something completely rare and useless; the stones were really expensive, one stone was like a whole new starfighter.
The stones I bought were called "Bondar," a subspecies of kyber crystals. They were mined right here, on one of Alderaan's asteroids, so the price was relatively low. After that, I bought myself a set of clothes for going out into the city. After all, it would be a bit suspicious to walk around Alderaan in Mandalorian hardsuit, and they wouldn't let me into some shopping center in it.
When everything I bought was delivered by couriers to our little ship, we headed for Concord Dawn. The guys wanted to take the reward from the artifacts and rest in a home environment; I needed to work on my own appearance and equipment. And at the same time, visit my mother...
***
The arrival at Concord Dawn turned out a bit different than I expected. No, we landed fine, but the fact that I had left the clan hit my reputation a bit, so Warren had to explain to his people why and for what reason it was done. Otherwise, we fly in all pretty, and I'm met with a muzzle in my mask's visor. Unpleasant, but effective; luckily, the matter was settled. Though, a bad taste remained. Right...
When everything was resolved and we parted ways, I returned to the temporary house. Stepping over the threshold of the room allocated to me, I exhaled in relief and glanced at the mask sitting on the table. One didn't need to be a genius to understand that news was expected of me.
"Hey, Mom," dropping my things by the entrance, I unbuckled my armor. "I won't beat around the bush... I flew back home, anyway," a slight wind blew at my back. "I see you're very interested, but I won't go into details. I'll just say that not much is left of Tython, nor of Shikaakwa. I didn't fly to other planets, but I don't think the views are any better there. After all, the Hadian Empire was hit with everything they had."
Stripping off all the extras, I took my purchases out of the bag.
"You know, Mom, when I got there, I didn't believe where I'd ended up at first. And then... when the realization hit, I felt so bad for Hadiya, for my children and grandchildren. They did so much, and all for nothing... Damn, Mom, even our foray was devalued, you know? For the sake of our world, we sacrificed everything, and—some jerks threw it all away. I thought I'd explode from anger right there, and the worst part is we don't even have anyone to take revenge on. Too much time has passed since then," the air stirred, and I felt irritation and agreement with my words. "Anyway, here's what I was thinking... Maybe try to rebuild it all again?"
This time, a kind of vacuum of sound formed in the room.
"Yes, yes, I know, you're in shock. Me, getting into politics, into power, brrr... Terrifying. But... I can't do otherwise. I don't want everything we worked for to be in vain. I want Tython to be remembered, I want there to be those who continue what was started back then; I want the return of the Hadian Empire. I want to destroy the Jedi and the Sith; this division pisses me off, it pisses me off that this f*cking bickering has been going on for twenty-five thousand years, since the moment the Je'daii Order collapsed. And not even over interests, but simply because some consider others enemies and can't live in peace. Damn! If you read history, almost all global conflicts are somehow connected to Force-users and their ideology. Probably a good thing you and I are the last ones... If Uval were in your place, he'd have had a stroke from the mess here. Eh... What can you do, I'll have to bring order. At least in one specific corner. By the way, I've drafted a business plan; want to take a look?" the candles flickered. "No? Well, fine. Hadiya would have definitely appreciated it; I learned from her after all. That's why I'm getting into crime, in the Outer Rim. Heh, home atmosphere, so to speak, just like on Shikaakwa before certain days. By the way," I froze, remembering something important. "Mom, I was thinking, maybe move you closer to a Force point? You know, so we can talk properly. After all, this isn't Tython; the Force background is much lower here for a ghost to wander freely. No? Well, as you wish."
So, talking to my mother, I sorted through my things. Later, after taking some cash from the bank account (only about a hundred thousand), I went shopping. Having bought the necessary materials, I didn't deny myself the pleasure of acquiring crushgaunts on top of everything else.
Upon returning home—I got to work. Embedding crystals into metal, shaping them, then processing them on a machine. Prying open the old helmet, extracting the mask, remaking it, redoing the electronics in the new helmet, casting two sets of plates for civilian and combat forms. Since it was assumed I'd have to walk around the city, I literally sewed the armor into the cloak, pants, and boots. A jumpsuit went underneath. Well, I don't like walking around without armor. I don't like it, and that's it.
I decided not to splurge on beskar; it's too expensive, and there's no need; properly processed protective plates made of modern alloys can serve as an excellent replacement.
While I was working, Warren and the guys had gone off to their home clans, so there was physically no one to disturb my solitude. Also, as the work progressed, I thought about my own ship. Warren, of course, is a good guy and will take me where I need to go, but I want my own vessel.
Only, I have no idea what it should be like. Take a light research ship, like the one Warren has? Or a small freighter? Maybe better to aim for a corvette right away, if it comes to that? And why do I need a corvette? Well... to fight off the particularly persistent, if there are any. Hm... Yes, better to take a corvette right away, but later, when the company is already established. Right now, there's no need for it, other than a waste of funds.
"Knock-knock-knock!" a knock at the door suddenly echoed through the house. Stopping the work at the workbench, I listened to the sounds and the Force. "Knock-knock-knock!"
Strange. Who could that be? Wiping my hands with a rag, I went down to the front door. Listening to the Force, I felt a familiar energy behind the door... Wait... Nerra? What is she doing here?! Opening the door with the Force, I met the girl's gaze.
"Su cuy'gar, Nerra. Your brother isn't here; he's with the clan."
"I know. Su cuy'gar, Shade. I came to see you."
"And why is that?"
"May I?"
"Of course..." I stepped aside and closed the door behind the girl.
"Right... Three years, and my brother still hasn't furnished the house," she looked around the room. Sitting on a packed box with a folded sofa, she looked at me.
"And to what do I owe this honor?"
"I'm here from the clan leader."
"Oh! And I thought my humble person had caught your eye," I put on a disappointed face—and felt the girl, who was set for a serious talk, cheer up a bit. "What luck that it's not so!"
"What, are you really afraid?"
"I'm practically fainting. You Mandalorians are so scary, it's a nightmare. What if you start huffing at me?"
"Pfft!"
"Not a huff, but it'll do. So?"
"I'm here about your decision. The clan is concerned about the movements around you, Shade. First, Warren pulls you from nowhere, then hits three jackpots in a row, beats his chest to get you accepted into the clan, and now all that is going to the abyss, and Warren is scrubbing your data. We need to know what's happening, how it will affect the clan, and why you suddenly decided not to be a Mandalorian."
"Hm..."
Sizing up the girl with a look, I noted the working crushgaunts and the activated dart-shooter. At the same time, there was no threat coming from her. Amusing...
"You know, Ner... I kind of get the feeling the clan didn't give a damn about me, being an outsider and all."
"Even if so, what does that change?" the girl tilted her nose up, crossing one leg over the other and leaning her hands on the unopened box. "The question remains the same."
"Relax. We just had a change of plans. I thought about joining you, and it will happen—just later."
"Why?"
"Because you have problems, and while I'm not with you, they're much easier to solve. Warren, Dis, Kaut, and Zerronis are in on my plans and fully approve of them."
"What kind of problem is it that we don't even know about?"
"A big problem, Ner. Big. The time will come, and you'll all find out; until then, let it be. The main thing is that you don't have a civil war, because..." I hummed, "I heard you have some lunatics running around here, advocating for war. Can you tell me who they are?" I changed the subject and, with a light Force pulse, nudged the girl toward the right answer.
"Clan Vizsla," she shrugged, not even noticing the slight shift in the conversation.
"Oh, really? Tell me more."
So, by talking Nerra's head off and steering her away from the slippery subject, I learned about the idiots who were stirring the waters. And after moving to the workshop, the conversation continued in a more friendly tone. I asked Nerra about affairs on Concord Dawn, asked about local realities. The girl, unlike her brother, rarely left Concord Dawn and was therefore able to more accurately describe the state of affairs.
Clan Vizsla was one of the strongest on Concordia, not only financially but in raw power. Numerous, serious, and prepared. As it happened, they contributed five percent of the total dues among all clans, and that—is a lot. Simply because there are very, very many clans on Concord Dawn. There are numerous clans, like Clan Stick to which Warren and Nerra belong, as well as small ones, with two or three people.
And now Vizsla is actively pushing for the restoration of Mandalore's teeth and the return of its greatness. The goals seem normal, the guys are looking out for their own... But damn it all, the continuation "Let's hit the whole galaxy" even gives me a nervous twitch, and I'm the one who has the right to run around shouting: "Blood for the blood god, let it all burn."
Taking out a notebook, I made a note that I definitely need to visit these gentlemen and conduct a sermon on the falsity of such views. More war is the last thing I need for complete happiness...
"What's that?" Nerra peered in.
"A notebook for records. My head isn't made of rubber; I can't remember everything, and even the Force won't help here," I said while flipping through the notebook... geez... how many notes are there already? When did I even have time to make them?
"But there are special droids for that."
"M?" I glanced at her.
"Get yourself a clerical droid."
"Clerical?"
"Well, they're also called protocol droids. They'll be your secretaries, translators, and assistants, all in one package."
"Hm..."
Thinking it over, I drummed my fingers on the disassembled helmet on the table. That's actually a good idea. Only a standard droid won't suit me; such a thing wouldn't last long. I need a combat model, and those aren't just produced by anyone. Ideally—find a non-standard model, or better yet, make it myself... No, I won't write that in the notebook; it's already starting to grow like weeds.
"Alright. Do you guys have anything to eat, or is the wind whistling in the fridge as usual?"
"Will a ration pack do?"
"Bring it."
***
As soon as the uniform was perfected, I contacted the TRC seller. Judging by the strange squeaky voice, the Corellian was very happy to be rid of the burden, and they are waiting for me on Corellia with open arms. So, when the guys returned, we didn't put the matter on the back burner and set off almost immediately.
"You know, Shade..."
"What, Dis?"
"You look much more peace-loving in our armor," the Mandalorian assessed when he saw me in "civilian" clothes.
"Why? Am I that fearsome?" I demonstratively spread my arms.
"You look like some smuggler leader with an unimaginably inflated ego."
"Hm. I'll keep that in mind. By the way, Dis, I came across something when I was shopping. Do you guys supply armor for sale to outsiders? Weapons—yes, I know that, saw several samples on Alderaan at a tripled price, but for some reason, I haven't heard about armor."
"That's because we don't supply it. Finding Mandalorian armor on the black market is practically impossible."
"Why?"
"Because it can only be taken from a dead Mandalorian. Our armor is part of our culture; it's passed down from generation to generation. And if a sale surfaces somewhere, the nearest squad flies out to return our treasure home to the clan it was taken from. It's a well-known fact, so people try not to advertise the buying and selling of Mandalorian armor to avoid trouble. Or, sometimes, someone sells us found armor themselves. By the way, a funny fact: almost all armor with a thousand-year history isn't just covered in beskar but actually has segments cast from it. Of course, there aren't many such suits, but they exist, and they're usually worn by the heads of major clans."
"Now that's what I call traditions. Perfect preservation of family heirlooms."
"You bet."
"Dis, do you know where one can get a Basilisk? It's also a relic, essentially... in a certain way."
"You'd have to go through the clans; they should have preserved working hidden models and blueprints. Но building a Basilisk is very difficult, even with ready blueprints. You need a whole staff of specialists, from metallurgists to programmers and engineers. Each droid is unique; there was never industrial stamping, they made them all themselves. Now, with all the bans and problems, building a new Basilisk is very, very hard. It would take a whole clan... or even several, to pool their specialists for joint work, and allocate resources to them. And in our day? Pfft."
"But I'll make a note of it," I scribbled another note in the notebook. "I liked the Basilisks, at least their reputation and history, so we'll try to figure something out."
Pshhh—the airlock opened, and Zerronis came out of the cockpit, stretching his neck.
"Zer, you tell me. Am I really that scary in this outfit?"
"Hm... Hm... Good outfit, but you should hide your face."
"And why's that?"
"So it's not embarrassing to perform for girls on a pole."
"Pha-ha-ha-ha..." Dis burst out laughing, leaning his forehead against the table.
"Well, tha-a-anks!"
"Anytime," Zerronis yawned, swiped a bottle of light beer from the table, and, shuffling his feet, trudged into his cabin.
"You guys are mean. I'm leaving you," I grumbled, turning around.
"Where are you going? There's open space outside!"
"Where, where... To Warren."
Moving into the pilot's cabin, I dropped into the second seat next to the ship's owner.
"Am I disturbing you?"
"No," Warren replied. With his feet up on the instrument panel, the Mandalorian leaned back in his seat and, watching the instruments with half an eye, flipped through a datapad.
"Do we have much further to fly?"
"Not very. We'll change hyperlanes through the Palava system now, and from there it's a straight path to Corellia."
"M..."
мы сидим, молчим. Warren continued to poke at his tablet, while I, with my hands behind my head, watched the hyperlane outside the viewport. A beautiful sight. And a dangerous one. To think that in my time, people could only dream of this. We flew between planets in takedu, and now it takes you longer to plot a course than to fly for the same distances. How everything has changed...
"Listen, Warren. I'm looking at all these changes, technology has flown far ahead..."
"And?"
"Why isn't there a single droid on board?!" I glanced at my partner.
"It just didn't work out. Either there was no money, or no time. If there's both, then there are no droids that we need. On the other hand, why do we need them? We've managed somehow."
"Well, they're useful. Even just an astromech. If anything, it can fix things, or work as a pilot temporarily. Hm?"
"I don't know. Our autopilot is good enough as it is; I specifically got a better one. And we know how to do repairs ourselves, and no worse, for that matter. It's on big ships, with hundreds of souls, where you need droids. But for us? Where would we put them, when the ship only has a few cabins?"
"Well, they cram them onto yachts."
"Have you already been looking at yachts for yourself?"
"Well, I've had a look. Gotta have a personal ship. Now, it seems, it's not me with you, but you with me who should fly, if anything."
"Right. Anyone flies on yachts, but not engineers who can, if anything, patch up the ship. That's why they almost always cram a couple of astromechs in there, so the dear rich folks don't die in case of some breakdown..."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan