For better or worse, I stayed on Muunilinst for almost two weeks. Despite the fact that Talia flew out almost immediately after my message, drafting the contract itself consumed a great deal of legal effort.
Despite his hidden dislike for me, Damask turned out to be a decent fellow. Yes, he has his own interests; yes, he doesn't shy away from any means whatsoever. Yes, he loves and knows how to use everyone and anyone, myself included. But he can hold a conversation, doesn't foam at the mouth, doesn't flaunt his ego, and is always polite and courteous. Most importantly—he knows how to relax...
"What's biting?" I asked Damask.
"Laminas. Beauties like this," the Muun showed me the size of the fish with his hands. "Very tasty and expensive fish."
"I see."
Yes, now I can brag that I chilled while fishing with a Sith Lord at his country house. And while we rested, our lawyers did all the work for us, occasionally running over to clarify details and preferences.
"Shade, when do you intend to reorganize the company?"
"In what sense?"
"In the literal sense."
"Actually, I've already redone it..."
"How?!"
"Damask, I don't follow you. Please clarify your thought."
"Currently, you have everything under one roof. Although legally you are an independent state, your account is in our bank, and we—are accountable to Republican legislation. And your transports will move through Republic space. Then there are the representative offices, the people working for you whose finances are often also within the Republic, and furthermore, real estate. Well, imagine some influential senator or any other person facilitates a situation where, during a routine inspection, a shipment of spice is 'accidentally' found on one of your ore freighters. Or some other nasty substance. After that—an appropriately stimulated government representative will quickly issue an order for the temporary freezing of your company's accounts and assets."
"Right, that would be unpleasant."
"Exactly. But if the ore freighter belonged to a separate independent," the Muun used his fingers to make air quotes, "firm, then the order would affect only that firm, without touching your other spheres of activity. Therefore, I strongly advise you to break the firm into parts."
"Hm... Breaking it up is unlikely to work; TNC is not the kind of firm that should be divided," I thoughtfully weighed the options in my mind. Just then, the fishing rod nearly jumped out of my hands, and I had to quickly pull in the catch.
The catch turned out to be a half-meter fish with a large head and a total lack of scales.
"Oh! There's the first catch," Damask rejoiced. "And judging by the looks of it, with caviar. You are definitely lucky, Shade!"
"Thanks," handing the catch to the servants, I cast the line again and returned to my spot. "Returning to the company. I think, since that's the case, it's worth opening a new company. Let's say—an investment fund with a controlling stake in the company. That way, TNC won't have to be redone; on the contrary, it will allow them to focus on a specific task."
"An investment fund... I like that thought. What will you call the new enterprise? Only, please, be more original. There are plenty of TNCs and CNCs on every planet."
"Original? We-e-ell... maybe HIT?"
"HIT? Sounds interesting. And what does it stand for?"
"Helpful, Intelligent, Trustworthy."
"But in Russian, you said 'Good And Cheap'."
"But HIT sounds better!"
"Any other options?"
"Cunning, Intrigue, Trade."
Damask laughed loudly, nearly dropping his rod.
"Ha-ha-ha, you certainly have a sense of humor!"
"I'm not without it."
"But seriously?"
"Seriously, then—Hadian Imperial Technology," and to myself I added, "Only not Technology, but Terran, but you don't need to know that, otherwise it would be too obvious."
"Mmm... What a catchy name. I like it."
"Yeah..."
"Why have you suddenly turned so somber, partner?"
"Just the thought of having to file all those papers again—it brings on a wave of melancholy."
"I understand. But it's not as terrible as it could be. Do you trust your lawyer?"
"Yes."
"Then transfer her from TNC to HIT and let her handle the registration."
"But won't I have to go to the government offices anyway?"
"There is no need to go anywhere; we have everything here. You can finalize everything without leaving the planet."
"Really? Oh, how wonderful."
I didn't put it off. Before the day was out, Talia had been enlightened.
"Chief..." I was looked at with such kitten-like piteousness that my heart actually twinged.
"Steady, Sun! You aren't alone in this trouble; I'll be with you! So, tail up, and forward to the barricades of bureaucracy."
In the process of the war with the bureaucratic beast, I unexpectedly learned that creating a new organization is many times easier than reorganizing an old one. A few funds directed where needed through Damask's connections, a little fuss, and voila—I am the manager of the brand-new company, HIT. And now I have to recruit staff all over again... Ugh...
I declined Damask's offer; I'd rather recruit people for such roles myself, as vague doubts are gnawing at me... Along the way, I enlightened Derick about the changes. I began the speech with the fact that the man was suddenly receiving a promotion. It's worth noting the shock and misunderstanding readable on his face. Then joy, because he was no longer a deputy, but a full-fledged director. But when I outlined the future specs and the amount of funds being poured in, the man suddenly felt ill. Well, yeah—essentially, it looks as if I'm dumping my post on him, and with it, the headache. And why didn't I do this sooner?!
On the other hand, it will be a bit easier for Derick; he won't have to spread himself too thin. For instance, I took the defense station off his hands, luckily, he managed to pick out a couple of good companies. The merchant fleet, for now, will stay with him, but only for now.
That's where the good news ends and the crap news begins. First and foremost, it's the personnel. The main snag is that competent specialists were snatched up long ago and are being held onto with all their might. Collecting graduates isn't an option either; they are "bought up" in advance and the kids' futures are predetermined. I could take less qualified staff, but not for leadership positions. Right now, I need qualified and, most importantly—loyal followers. Talia is a smart girl and won't do anything stupid; to be honest—I got lucky with her, just like with her mother.
But where to get the others? There is only one ideal option—to grow them myself. Contacting Derick, I had him put out an announcement on Tatooine for the youth with a list of professions. Fully paid education in prestigious institutes on Alderaan, Naboo, and Coruscant, maintenance, and a stipend from the company, but in return—a mandatory contract signing for at least twenty-five, or even thirty years.
With that, the business on Muunilinst was finished; the contract was finally signed and I could fly away. Despite the fact that the Jedi were still waiting for me on Corellia, the next stop was MandalMotors. I needed droids. Many droids. A WHOLE LOT of droids. And I needed them yesterday. And while we fly, I can think about the future station and estimate the price tag from the future builders.
Kuat Drive Yards was not just a huge company; they were a true megalodon in the industry. These unique individuals specialized in large and giant structures, be it a ship or a station. Finding someone more suitable for building a defensive space station is very difficult.
According to my idea, the station should become the headquarters for our future small PMC. Approximately, the price of the station tripled; I don't even want to know how much the maintenance will cost, but to crack such a nut—it will definitely take a lot of effort.
Ideally, though, the station should be made as automated as possible...
"Tr-r-r."
"Incoming call from Tatooine. Warren Stick," Zero reported.
"Apparently, I won't make it to Mandalore," I sighed. "Connect."
"Shade."
"What happened, Warren?"
"Someone wants to talk to you."
"And who needs me this time?"
"Pirates. We have a heavy cruiser hanging in our orbit," Warren shrugged, and my eye twitched.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Some guys with big guns flew in and are demanding protection money."
"And they have a heavy cruiser?"
"Yeah."
"Hm... What model?"
"Hammerhead. The ship, if anything, is from the days of the Old Republic."
"And it still flies?"
"Why wouldn't it fly? It's a good and popular machine; they still produce spare parts for it, not to mention the ones you can find at scrapyards. It has its own wing, flies fast, and with good maintenance—it won't cause complaints or problems."
"How interesting. You know, Worr, I'll be there soon. Ask them to stay and tell them that I want to offer them the most profitable deal of their lives!"
Warren raised a suspicious eyebrow and, after drilling me with a look, nodded.
"Alright. I'll tell them..."
The connection cut off, and I looked at the map.
"Bridge, how long to Mandalore?"
"Sixteen hours."
"Excellent. Zero, dial Raiden Stick."
***
Upon arrival at Mandalore, right in the spaceport, a whole delegation was waiting for me. Thirty Mandalorians armed to the teeth, and seventy more arriving soon.
"Gentlemen. I am very glad you responded so quickly. We have a difficult job ahead of us to capture a ship."
"And why so many people then?"
"Because there will be work afterward too!"
"What kind of ship?"
"A Hammerhead-class cruiser. Pirate. We need to hit fast, hit very hard, but carefully. I'll explain the plan on board," I nodded toward the cruiser. "I'm paying top dollar."
"Is there an option to join the Black Mandalorians instead of payment?" a female Zabrak exclaimed.
"No. That right still needs to be earned. After all, the Black Mandalorians are not just mercenaries; they are bound by a specific goal. Show what you're worth, then we'll talk."
"Consider the ship ours already."
"Splendid. Then everyone on board, please."
"And where are you going?!"
"I need to go to MandalMotors. I've wanted to order Basilisks for a long time."
"Basilisks?!"
"Exactly."
"The original ones?"
"No, new ones. Taking modern technology into account. Every Black Mandalorian is entitled to a personal Basilisk, in case you didn't know."
"But they're illegal..."
"To hell with that. Currently, they work for TNC, and TNC is part of Hadian Imperial Technology and is not part of the Republic. Alright, I'll be quick," I waved them off and, before the people could recover, left the pad.
Heh-heh-heh, so this is how the serpent-tempter feels? Pleasant, pleasant. At this rate, I'll collect a couple of hundred, and then we'll reach a thousand. If only I could dilute them with other mercenaries and put someone not from Mandalore as the leader—then we could start an official separate PMC.
The thought of where to get enough qualified outside types for the PMC's rank and file occupied me all the way to the MandalMotors office. Not having reached a final decision, I set the thought aside and switched to the new task.
The company manager met me quite cordially, if not warmly. It was clear as day that the firm's affairs were not going the best way and they were clinging to any client. Well then... let's give them a chance to rise.
"Alright. I have a series of large orders for you."
"How large?"
"About three to four hundred million," the manager's eyes slowly crawled up his forehead.
"Are you writing this down?"
"Y-yes. I mean, no, could you please wait? Such large orders require the director's presence."
"Of course."
After a few minutes of idling and waiting for the arrival of a person holding a higher position, I repeated the same words.
"I am listening to you carefully."
"For starters, I need droids. The B1 model has proven itself well, but it has a number of drawbacks that I would like to eliminate."
"It can be done. But an extra payment will be required to obtain a license from Baktoid to work with these droids."
"It will be provided."
"What do you want to see in the droids?"
"First—autonomy. The droids must be able to work without being told what to do by a central command module." The man nodded. "Second—reliability. I am not satisfied with the fragility and the movement of the models. I don't need assassin droids, or anything like that," I rotated my hand, "but at the same time, they should lock onto a target faster and be able to assess the situation. Suppose there is a squad of five models, where the group leader assesses the situation and gives instructions to the others. No additional armor or special alloys are needed. If possible, it is desirable to simplify the design for quick and easy replacement of parts."
"According to preliminary estimates, the cost of one model will increase from nine hundred to approximately three thousand credits."
"That suits me. And I need ten thousand such machines. Plus spare parts, consumables, and the rest."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. I need cruisers. What can you offer?"
"That is... a difficult question. We haven't had orders for such machines in a long time. Do you want development from scratch, or..."
"Or. Ready-made models, with modifications. Is that possible?"
"Yes. There are several old machines that proved themselves well, but in modern realities, they need modification. In particular, thirty years ago, Rendili StarDrive released the Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser. It was designed based on our Kandisii-type dreadnaught. According to the official version."
"And the unofficial one?"
"I want to present to your attention the Raskol-type gunship," I was shown an image of the ship. Three hundred meters long, five hundred in height and width. Seven turrets with main caliber, another five turrets with two pairs of blaster cannons in each turret. Two torpedo tubes and twelve missile launchers. Not tubes, but launchers! In one volley, this thing can pump out seventy-two medium-class missiles, or one hundred and forty-four small ones. Heavy armor is compensated by two main and four maneuvering engines, plus three shield generators for the upper, lower, and rear hemispheres. The first two are located such that they equally cover the bow.
The cherry on top—the ability to build in a hidden hangar in the chest for one wing of starfighters, or a company of infantry.
"Excuse me, but is this definitely a 'gunship'?"
"Yes. It's a breakthrough ship, that's correct. Built based on the Jehavey'ir-type assault ship, and that, in turn, was built from the Kandisii-type dreadnaught. For a time, we worked in tandem with Rendili, but... we had to part ways and go our separate ways. Alas, shortly after that, we lost the patent; Rendili won and their Dreadnaught-class heavy cruiser was released."
"And what's the price difference?"
"The Dreadnaught is seven million one hundred thousand. The Raskol—forty million."
"And why is that?"
"Because of the high level of automation. While the Dreadnaught requires at least five thousand crew members, and ideally seven or even nine, the Raskol only needs ten to operate."
"Ten thousand?"
"Ten people. Ideally—one hundred and twenty."
"I take it the crew's salary was not taken into account when buying the ship..."
"Who knows," the manager shrugged. "The Republican Katana fleet is being designed now. Rendili simply returned the former level of automation, raised the price, and the crew count was reduced to two thousand. That's provided the ship is thicker, has more guns, and carries both fighters and marines. We tried to push the ship, for I think you understand how much was invested in it, but nothing came of it. Even the Corporate Sector preferred to abstain."
"I can even guess why," I hummed. "I have only one question: how did you manage to cram all that in?!"
"It was not easy," the man smiled. "Unfortunately, the project never passed the final stage, though little remained. The main problem of the Raskol is its power plant. The ship cannot engage all systems simultaneously. Either shields, or engines, or weaponry. This could be solved with a more powerful reactor, but then the price of the ship would jump another twenty million, because following the power plant, the ship's power grid and substations would need to be redone."
"And does this thing comply with the Ruusan Reformation?"
"M... sort of, ye-e-es..."
"'Sort of'?"
"In calculations, a Class 2 hyperdrive; in practice, Class 6. Cut-down Rendili guns, although heavy Kuat ones were planned. The machine has undergone many changes and formally fits the laws."
"But that can be easily fixed?"
"And why would you need that?"
"Yes, or no?"
"Yes."
"Excellent, simply superb! And how much does it cost to bring the machine to the final stage?"
"One billion, two hundred million."
"Ahem..."
"When nine billion had already been spent."
"Indeed, 'just a bit.' Alright, suppose... Suppose yes. What would you say if we replaced the turbolasers with mass drivers of the same caliber?"
"Well, such weapons still need to be found or made, for starters. Secondly, high-quality magnetic ore would be required."
"Would the metal 'tantalum' work?"
"It would, but where would you get it?"
"A firm is opening on Tatooine; that's exactly the metal they intend to mine."
"Really?"
"Absolutely! And at good prices."
"Alright, I'll notify our purchasing department. But regarding the guns, a much greater reactor power would be required. There simply aren't any. They can be built, but no one produces them, as they are simply unprofitable. Too expensive."
"Then think about it. I'll talk to my partner regarding this ship and, I think, we'll return to it."
"Of course."
"Returning to my question. Are there any ships that could be released in the near future?"
"Alas, currently there are none."
"Pity. Well, and the last question—can you set up production of Basilisks?"
"Cough-cough-cough-cough... Is this a joke?" I remained silent, sitting with my arms crossed over my chest, smirking. "They are illegal!"
"I represent an entire planet that is not part of the Republic and a firm on it—TNC."
"Hm... It's still impossible. We cannot set up production of Basilisks because Mandalore is part of the Republic."
"And if it's only components with subsequent sale? Let's say, as scrap."
"As scrap—unlikely, but parts—quite possible," the man nodded. "Only what do you need them for?"
"I need unmanned aerial vehicles capable of fighting both in space and on the ground."
"And in whose service will they be?"
"Is that important to you?" I leaned forward.
"Yes."
"Mandalorians. All the equipment is being purchased for Mandalorians."
"All of it?" the director emphasized the question with his tone.
"All of it."
"That... that's where we should have started. Wait! TNC... That's the company building relations with the clans on Concord Dawn."
"Precisely."
"What kind of droids do you need?"
"Fully unmanned, for battles in space. Piloted, for ground-to-space battles. I also thought about piloted fighters based on the Basilisk, but we don't have enough funds yet to sponsor their development."
"No matter. In principle, we can independently bring the first two models to fruition; the developments are there, everything was done before us, we just need to touch it up a bit. The approximate price of the first machines is thirty thousand. For the second—ninety."
"I take it you're quoting prices with a discount?" the Mandalorian nodded. "Thank you. Regarding the quantity... I need a thousand drones, and another hundred piloted ones. After all, I hoped you could still provide ships, but never mind."
Having reached an agreement, I signed the contract, transferred the funds, and headed back to the spaceport. Under the contract, I will receive the B1+ in just a month, but the Basilisks will take a bit longer, but oh well. Now for the pirates.
***
Gathered in a heap in the lounge, I ordered Zero to turn on the projector and drew everyone's attention. Despite the fact that the people were distributed between three ships, thanks to the cameras, everyone could hear and even participate in the discussion.
"Listen up. The target is fixed in orbit at an altitude of two hundred kilometers. We calculate the moment when the ship will be on the line of the spaceport and, without attracting attention, under the guise of an approach for landing, we close in. At a distance of a couple of kilometers—if we can get closer, we will—I'll give the command to storm. At that moment, we fly out and charge the ship. We have three objectives, so we split into three groups. Group Alpha—mine. Our objective—the bridge; we enter from the cockpit side and go through the window."
"Um... May I?"
"Well?"
"We won't have explosives that can breach the bridge."
"Bad! A mark against you, for you must be prepared for anything! But I've provided for this and I'll take the transparisteel of the viewport upon myself. Further, Group Beta enters through the port airlock. Reach the reactor and take it under control. Group Gamma—the engines are on you. God forbid they initiate a jump; I'll throw you all into space!"
"That won't happen," I was assured over the comms.
"I hope so. Remember, there are three to eight hundred of these bastards; the exact number is unknown. Heavy weaponry is permitted, but only if necessary; take prisoners if possible. If not—wipe them f*cking out!"
"Accepted."
"After capturing the priority targets, we take the following: Alpha—gunnery control center, Beta—communications hub, Gamma—engineering block. The final point—capture of the entire ship. Questions?"
"No/No/No."
"Then prepare."
The following time only I prepared, as the others were already ready and straining at the leash like hounds. It was almost invisible, but well-felt in their emotions. The people went over the sequence of actions again and again. They had wound themselves up to the point where everything must be strictly by the clock; they must not lose face. The rumor that I was getting Basilisks for the Black Mandalorians had spread through the ships faster than the wind and would soon go further, to Concord Dawn. Initially, I didn't think to lay a hand on them—expensive machines—but I'll have to, as I need Mandalorians, I need troops. Some are already f*cking meddling...
When the ship exited hyperspace and raced toward the target, we were already standing at the main exit.
"One minute," the pilots reported.
"What's the distance?" I asked over the internal comms.
"We'll pass at ninety kilometers, but we'll adjust the route to thirty. They shouldn't suspect anything."
"Accepted."
Standing up first, I looked back. Not a shadow of fear; everyone had only one desire—to burst into battle as quickly as possible and complete the task. Someone was stroking a rifle, someone stood with arms crossed over their chest, thereby demonstrating their toughness. Someone was laughing quietly, and someone was slightly tapping their feet in impatience. Maniacs, honestly. No one was concerned about anti-aircraft guns or surprises... they have a task and no obstacles. Period.
And then the green light comes on. Jumping out first, I immediately engaged the jetpack and, correcting the flight, launched the countdown. Boarding pods? No, never heard of them. They are expensive and rare, which is why many pirates have to manage on their own.
Turning around, I saw the second and third ships race past, ejecting the landing force. Like mosquitoes, the Mandalorians jumped out of the ships and rushed toward their target. The system signaled G-forces, the sensors went crazy; our group was racing through space at an incredible speed.
Turning around, I began to brake ten kilometers before the ship. The electronics wailed piteously; the jetpack system is not designed for such abuse, but the power reserve and strength did their job. The poor kama actually blackened from the exhaust stream.
Having braked, I landed quite hard on the hull and, pushing off from it, flew along the hull to the cockpit. This weightlessness thing is funny; I've spent so much time with space as my second home, but I only found myself in weightlessness by whim, and not that often. Thanks to the Force, it never leaves me and always helps, pushing me toward the right movements by intuition.
Listening to the Force, I briefly scanned the Mandalorians. The guys handled it fine and, despite the difficulties and G-forces, held steady behind me. Reaching the bridge, I flew around and stood right on the glass, looking at the scurrying crew members. With my appearance, everyone somehow abruptly froze and just stared at the object behind the glass.
"Five ready."
"Three ready."
"Ten ready," Group Alpha members reported as they were ready, taking positions near the bridge.
In parallel, I saw through the Force how three Mandalorians were breaking off the antenna, and another group was jamming the guns. Without delay, I placed my hand on the glass and searched for the weak point. Not a second passed before the glass was covered in a web of cracks in the blink of an eye, and was then held solely by the Force. The crew on the bridge understood everything correctly and, pushing each other, retreated, not forgetting to slam the door. The glass flew out, air rushed out. Flying inside first, I landed on the ceiling, gripping with magnetic clamps. It's funny how the artificial gravity system works in local ships. Special installations, like cables, are laid in the floor throughout the ship and, if a module is depressurized, the gravity in it immediately turns off.
Looking around briefly, I crumpled a pair of unfortunate security droids with the Force and ripped an activated turret from the ceiling.
While I was distracted by the security system, Zero detached from me, helping the Mandalorians gain access to the ship.
"Ship under our control," the report came.
"Second bridge?"
"None."
"How many people here?"
"Calculating," Zero reported immediately. "Two hundred and twenty-one beings."
"Apparently, the rest are on the planet. That's for the best. Isolate them, and block remote control. Set up a perimeter and move to the next point. Zero, to me! Let's take a walk through the ship."
"Accepted."
The walk was exactly that—a walk. I strolled through the corridors without straining, knocking out crew members. Where possible, we tried to take the locals alive, as they represented informational and financial interest. In the worst case—they can be sold; just the reason to drop by Zygerria will appear.
On the way, I bumped into the third group. The guys were working professionally and didn't kick those who were down. In the sense—not killing outright, aiming for legs and arms if they resisted. The locals simply, physically, could not oppose anything; the capture went quickly and everywhere, not giving time to entrench themselves anywhere.
When two-thirds of the ship was under our control, an offer to surrender went out over the comms. Many preferred to lay down their weapons; those who were leading the direct battle made the decision especially quickly.
Right in front of me, a Weequay threw his weapon at his feet and, taking a step back, raised his hands to the ceiling. Glancing at the time out of the corner of my eye, I smirked. Not five minutes had passed, and it was all over.
"Everyone, new order. Living in shackles and into the corners, finish off the seriously wounded, help the rest."
"Accepted/Yes/Copy..." the answers poured in. Right, I'll have to work on the command structure.
Contacting Warren, I reported the good news and learned that on the planet right now another three hundred of these bastards are lording it over. And these are already real fighters.
"Alright... Rogozis."
"Yes?"
"This is your chance to show yourselves. There are just over fifty of us in total, three hundred of them. The task—wipe out all the pests. Only there are many civilians there; heavy weaponry is prohibited. Moreover, before they recover and take hostages, you must act very quickly and individually. Coordinate actions; a minimal group should remain on the ship just to keep an eye, the rest distribute among the ships and to the planet. We drop all at once and everywhere."
"Copy. Give me five minutes."
***
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