Chapter 39 : Mandalore Operations Begin - Part 1
The quartermaster is Mandalorian female named Rook—not to be confused with Bo-Katan's lieutenant who shares the name. She arrives at 0700 hours with datapad and aggressive demeanor.
"You're the supplier?" She circles me like predator evaluating prey. "Expected someone more... military."
"I'm merchant. Effective weapons don't require military aesthetics."
"Hmph. We'll see." She activates datapad, projecting holographic inventory list. "Death Watch needs: 500 blaster rifles, 200 heavy weapons, 100 jetpack upgrades, personal armor for 300 warriors, ammunition sufficient for six months of sustained operations. Can you supply this?"
The scope hits immediately. This isn't single order—this is Death Watch's entire equipment overhaul.
I calculate rapidly through System catalog: 500 rifles at 1,400 each is 700,000 credits. 200 heavy weapons averaging 1,700 each is 340,000. Jetpack upgrades at 2,500 each is 250,000. Personal armor at 1,800 per warrior is 540,000. Ammunition... maybe 20,000 for bulk.
Total: 1,850,000 credits.
"That's the largest single contract in my career. Three times the Mandalorian delivery to Bo-Katan. This is industrial-scale arms dealing."
Eight's analysis floods neural interface: "Optimal transaction. Order value: 1.85M credits. Master's current total revenue: approximately 2.2M. This order brings master to 4.05M total revenue—approaching Store Level 2 threshold (5M required). Additionally, establishes Death Watch dependency on master's supply chain."
"Payment terms?" I ask.
"Death Watch doesn't operate like Coruscant criminals. We liquidate assets for payment." Rook transfers account information. "500,000 credits upfront. Remaining 1.35 million paid over three months as we convert territorial holdings to liquid capital. Non-negotiable."
"Acceptable. Delivery timeline?"
"As fast as possible. We're preparing major operation against Shadow Collective positions. Need equipment within sixty days."
Sixty days to materialize over 1,000 items from Smuggler's Hold. That's roughly 17 items daily—manageable with rest periods to prevent neural damage.
"I can deliver in fifty days. Staged deliveries as production completes."
Rook nods sharply. "Acceptable. Quality must match Bo-Katan's last shipment. Any defects, you answer to Pre Vizsla personally."
The threat is implicit but clear. Defective equipment in combat situation means warrior deaths. Warrior deaths mean Mandalorian vengeance.
She transfers 500,000 credits before leaving. "Work begins now. Death Watch is counting on you."
[ DEATH WATCH MAJOR CONTRACT CONFIRMED ]
[ TOTAL VALUE: 1850000 CREDITS ]
[ PAYMENT RECEIVED: 500000 CREDITS ]
[ BALANCE PENDING: 1350000 OVER 3 MONTHS ]
[ CURRENT BALANCE: 1011245 CREDITS ]
[ SALES COMPLETED: 16 ]
[ TOTAL REVENUE: 3.7M CREDITS ]
One million credits. For the first time since transmigration, I have seven-figure balance. The number feels surreal—six weeks ago, I had 900 credits and broken ribs from Grax's warehouse. Now I'm millionaire arms dealer embedded in Mandalorian civil war.
R4's sensors focus on me. "Master's financial position: strongest since transmigration. However, neural strain from production requirements will be severe. 1,000+ items across 50 days requires sustained System usage beyond previous maximums."
"I'll pace myself. Rest days. Medical monitoring."
"Master stated similar intentions previously. Actual behavior showed continued overuse until physical collapse. Recommendation: enforce mandatory rest schedule rather than relying on master's judgment."
Eight disagrees: "Master's production schedule is manageable with proper planning. Chemical assistance, optimized rest periods, strategic materialization sequencing. This unit will help master maximize efficiency."
"This unit will help master avoid brain damage," R4 counters. "Forerunner AI's 'optimization' ignores biological costs."
They start arguing in binary. I tune them out and begin planning production schedule.
Fifty days. Twenty items daily average. That's 2-3 items per hour across eight-hour workdays. Each materialization causes brief neural strain—headache, momentary disorientation, minor pain. Accumulated over hundreds of materializations, that becomes dangerous.
The solution is military discipline I've never had to maintain: strict schedule, mandatory breaks, pharmaceutical support, constant medical monitoring.
I start immediately. First rifle materializes with familiar sensation—reaching into dimensional pocket, feeling weight coalesce, pulling it through reality. Brief headache spikes, fades. Set rifle aside, wait three minutes, pull second.
By the tenth rifle, the pattern is established. Materialize. Rest. Materialize. Rest. Mechanical repetition that becomes meditation. The warehouse level fills gradually with equipment.
After fifty rifles across eight hours, I'm exhausted but functional. Neural strain is present but manageable—nothing like the collapse that happened during Mandalorian preparation on Coruscant. Pacing works.
R4 scans my neural activity. "Master's temperature elevated but within safe parameters. Production rate is sustainable if maintained consistently. Recommendation: continue current pace with mandatory 24-hour rest every seven days."
"Agreed."
Eight projects updated timeline: "At current pace, master completes contract in 47 days. Leaves buffer for quality control and unexpected complications. Additionally, contract payment brings master to 4.05M total revenue. Master is 950,000 credits from Store Level 2 threshold."
Less than one million from Store Level 2. The progression that seemed impossible on Coruscant is suddenly achievable. Fifty sales required, but revenue threshold approaching faster through large contracts.
Days blur into routine. Wake at 0600. Eight hours of production. Brief interaction with Death Watch warriors collecting completed equipment. Evening reviewing orders and planning next day. Sleep by 2200.
The warriors who visit base are diverse—some professional, some aggressive, all evaluating me constantly. Word spreads through Death Watch network: "Off-world supplier. Strange operation but delivers quality."
On day seven, Bo-Katan visits during production. I'm materializing twentieth rifle of the day when she enters warehouse level.
"Still alive?" Her voice carries amusement. "Thought you might have died from overwork by now."
I set rifle aside, waiting for neural strain to fade. "Not dead. Just tired."
She approaches, studying equipment arranged in organized rows. "This is impressive scale. You're outfitting entire battalion single-handedly."
"Eventually. Current pace is fifty items daily."
"That's... how are you managing that? Most suppliers need teams, facilities, supply chains. You're operating alone with droid."
"Because I'm pulling weapons from interdimensional storage using neural interface to alien System. But can't explain that."
"Efficient processes. Streamlined logistics. Trade secrets."
She accepts the deflection, examining MA5D rifle. "Quality matches Bo-Katan's shipment. Warriors are pleased."
"That's priority. Defective equipment causes deaths. Deaths cause problems."
"Problems meaning angry Mandalorians hunting you across galaxy." She sets rifle down, turning to me. "You're pushing yourself too hard. Can see it—exhaustion, stress, neural strain from... whatever process you're using. Take break."
"Can't. Production schedule is tight."
"One day won't derail timeline. You're no use to Death Watch if you collapse from overwork." It's not request. "Tomorrow, no production. That's order from Death Watch command."
"You're not my commanding officer."
"No, but I'm liaison between you and organization paying 1.85 million credits. Maintain your health or I report to Vizsla that supplier is damaging operational capacity through overwork."
Eight whispers: "Subject's concern is genuine. Recommendation: accept rest day. Master's neural pathways require recovery time. Short-term efficiency loss prevents long-term catastrophic failure."
"Fine. Tomorrow, rest day."
Bo-Katan's expression softens. "Good. Because watching you kill yourself for our weapons is uncomfortable."
"Pragmatic concern about supply chain?"
"That and..." She hesitates—rare for someone usually direct. "You're interesting. Would prefer you alive and functional rather than dead from brain damage caused by supplying our war."
The honesty is refreshing and terrifying. She cares. Not just about supplier access but about me specifically. The realization creates complications I'm not prepared to address.
"Appreciate the concern."
"Tomorrow, I'll show you Concordia. Get you out of this warehouse. Clear your head." She moves toward exit. "Be ready at 0800. Wear civilian clothes—we're not visiting military installations."
She leaves before I can protest. R4 hovers close.
"Master's cardiovascular activity elevated. Subject's expressed interest creates relationship complication. Recommendation: maintain professional boundaries."
"Agreed," Eight counters unexpectedly. "However, relationship complications with powerful ally provide strategic benefits. Master should explore connection while monitoring for manipulation or exploitation."
"You two just agreed on something. That's concerning."
"Common cause: master's survival. Different methodology but aligned objective," R4 explains. "Recommend accepting rest day and social interaction. Master's psychological health deteriorating from isolation and stress."
That night, I review progress. 350 rifles complete. 1,011,245 credits liquid. 3.7M total revenue. 34 sales remaining for Level 2, or 1.3M more revenue—whichever comes first.
The numbers look good. Clean. Professional documentation of transformation from desperate survivor to successful arms dealer embedded in warrior culture.
"Is this success? Financial security built on supplying civil war?"
The question doesn't have answer I'm comfortable with. Just pragmatic assessment that I'm alive, solvent, and positioned for continued operations.
Eight projects final analysis: "Master's Mandalore integration: successful. Financial position: optimal. Production capacity: sustainable. Relationship development with Bo-Katan Kryze: promising. Assessment: master's strategic decisions continue improving despite psychological deterioration."
"That's backhanded compliment."
"Accurate assessment. Master is simultaneously more competent and more morally compromised than at transmigration. Contradiction defines current state."
R4 adds: "Master should note: tomorrow's rest day with Bo-Katan represents inflection point. Relationship could develop romantically, remain professional, or deteriorate into complication. Master's social skills remain... underdeveloped."
"Thanks for the confidence."
"Realistic assessment is primary function. Master has successfully navigated: gang warfare, Jedi investigation, military negotiations, criminal alliances. Romance is unexplored territory where master's competence is unknown."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the stress, the accumulated moral weight—I smile. "You're saying I can survive Jedi hunting me but might fail at dating?"
"Essentially correct. Probability assessment supports this conclusion."
"Noted. I'll try not to catastrophically fail at basic human interaction."
"Master's sarcasm suggests psychological resilience despite circumstances. Positive indicator."
Sleep comes easier that night. Tomorrow is rest day. Tomorrow Bo-Katan shows me Concordia. Tomorrow is first day since transmigration where survival isn't immediate concern.
Progress. In some definition that includes seven-figure bank balance, embedded warrior culture position, and potential romantic complication with dangerous woman who casually fights CS patrols for my extraction.
Whether that's success or madness depends entirely on perspective I've lost somewhere between Grax's warehouse and Mandalore's orbit.
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