So about quick updates? The snow storms outside makes the internet connection abysmal. Currently finished this and posted this in bed while on medication since I am sick as fuck, if there are some spelling mistakes or incosistency do forive lmao.
Comment, review, like, power stone, kudos or whatever.
Seven days had slipped by in a haze of ledgers, quiet deals, and the constant low hum of a planet that refused to make anything easy.
Kael sat at the governor's desk in the late afternoon light, the viewport behind him showing Havenridge's streets drying out under a pale red sun. The office smelled faintly of dust and overheated datapads.
He scrolled through Harlan's latest summary, fingers tapping the screen with increasing irritation.
Weekly Governance Summary. Skim Total (Week 1): 31,400 credits diverted (Elyria II duranium 18,200; timber under-report 9,300; minor herb trade adjustment 3,900).
After hops/fees: 26,800 routed to Muun vault.
Expenditures: 24,200 (militia blaster power packs, bacta restock, speeder repairs, native relief crates).
Net Gain: +2,600 credits.
Militia: Another 82 volunteers. Torv running basic drills. Gear still mismatched, low morale. Native Relations: Thorn-Root cooperation +22%. Other clans sending observers. Elara's joint patrols running daily no incidents.
Security: Tovik Jarn transmitting daily fake updates ("Governor consolidating, no aggressive moves"). Enemy replies: "Continue observation. Opportunity pending." No escalation yet.
Pirate Activity: Scout skiff not seen since TIE flyby. Sensors quiet.
Kael stared at the net gain line.+2,600 credits.
He leaned back, chair creaking like it shared his exhaustion.
Seven days of skimming, cutting corners, playing 4D chess with a terrified clerk, and I made enough to buy… what? A used speeder bike? A few crates of blaster packs? He pulled up the sector comparison file again old Moff records Harlan had quietly extracted from public archives.
New Manteer: population ~45 million, major trade hub. Mid-level governor skim estimates: 180,000–350,000 credits monthly on docking fees, spice reroutes, black-market permits.
Lothal: rural but subsidized, ~12 million. Governor skimming ~120,000–200,000 per month on grain quotas and fuel contracts.
Even Taanab—mostly farms, no strategic value: ~80,000–150,000 monthly from bulk crop diversions and transport bribes.
Elyria Prime + system: 6 million total, scattered, poor. Weekly personal take averaging 4,000–5,000 credits if he pushed every angle. They're making enough to buy private corvettes and bribe sector Moffs. I'm scraping enough to keep the palace lights on and maybe buy my militia one extra clip per trooper.
He rubbed his eyes.
Wallahi I am finished.
The numbers weren't lying. Elyria was a backwater. Small population. Sparse resources. No trade lanes. No strategic value. Even perfect skimming wouldn't make him rich. It might make him solvent. Eventually.
The door hissed open. Elara stepped in dust on her boots, braid slightly frayed from the morning's patrol. She carried a small data-slate. "Afternoon," she said. "Eastern patrols report quiet. No pirate sightings. Clans are asking about the next market day want to bring more herbs and hides."
Kael nodded. "Tell Mira to clear the eastern plaza. No taxes on native goods this cycle. Call it storm recovery relief."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "You're giving away revenue."
"I'm buying cooperation. Revenue's useless if the clans decide to stop cooperating."
She studied him for a moment. Then: "Smart. They'll remember it."
Kael gestured to the chair. She sat.
" I need to see Elyria II," he said. "Durak's Hold. The mining quotas are the only thing keeping us above water. If the numbers are as bad as they look on paper, I want to see why."
Elara leaned forward. "Past time. The moon clans are ours same blood, harder rock. They mine because it's tradition, but the quotas bleed them dry. Overseer Calen reports yields met, but the workers say the shafts are thinning. Gear breaks. Families go hungry. They don't trust off-worlders, or anyone not from there for that matter."
Kael tapped the desk. "Then I go. Tomorrow. I want to walk the tunnels, talk to the miners, see the ledgers in person."
Maybe find something valuable, please mr (or is it miss?) force I need this. My system is kind of homeless and broke.
Elara's mouth curved just a hint. "You're actually going down there yourself?"
Thats what I just said. I just look at her
She nodded slowly. "Good. They could come to respect you who got dirt on his boots. Just don't expect them to bow."
I will be happy if they dont curse me out.
He looked out the viewport. The mining moon hung low in the afternoon sky gray, pitted.
Tomorrow I find out how little I'm really making.
***
The launch pad at Havenridge's eastern edge was still damp from the night's light rain.
Kael stepped aboard the shuttle a battered old Lambda-class transport, its hull patched in places where age and dust had taken their toll. The ramp hissed shut behind him, sealing out the red-tinged dawn.
Inside, the cabin smelled of recycled air, machine oil, and the faint metallic tang of low-grade fuel.
Rusty was already plugged into an astromech slot, dome lights flickering as he ran pre-flight diagnostics.
Torv sat near the rear hatch, blaster rifle across his knees, eyes scanning every shadow even in the dim cabin light, he needs to chill out sometimes.
Lira had claimed a console seat, diagnostic kit open, fingers dancing across a portable scanner.
Elara was last aboard. She ducked through the hatch in her usual earth-toned tunic and cloak, boots leaving faint mud prints on the deck plating. She gave the interior one quick glance then chose the seat across from Kael without comment.
The pilots two young Imperial navy crewmen who looked barely older than him glanced back from the cockpit.
"Clearance granted, Governor. Lift off in thirty. Elyria II transit time: forty-two minutes."
Kael nodded. "Just get us there."
The shuttle lifted with a low groan, repulsorlifts kicking up dust that swirled against the viewport. Havenridge shrank below prefab buildings, native huts, the shield dome flickering faintly. Then the plains rolled away, and the sky opened up.
Kael stared out the side viewport. Elyria Prime looked almost beautiful from altitude: golden grasslands cut by silver rivers, thorny forests like dark smudges, mountains rising jagged against the horizon. But beauty didn't pay bills, unless it is on a major hyperlane and turned into a resort world, sadly I have jack shit in terms of money or chance of funding.
He pulled up the orbital scan data on his datapad basic readouts he'd requested from the Gozanti cruiser overnight.
Elyria II – Orbital Summary Population: ~350,000 (92% native Elyrian, 8% transient human overseers/traders)
Primary Settlement: Durak's Hold (domed city, ~280,000 residents)
Economy: Duranium mining (primary), trace tibanna gas harvesting (secondary)
Governance: Imperial overseer (Calen) + native clan councils (limited authority)
Uncontrolled Zones: 65% of surface (craters, abandoned shafts, potential pirate/slaver hideouts)
Strategic Note: Low gravity, thin atmosphere, high dust content. Equipment failure rate 3× planetary average.
Great.
Kael mentally fed the summary into the interface.
Database Updated: Elyria II – Basic Overview
Entry Added: Mining Demographics – Native-heavy workforce, clan-based labour structure. Resentment toward Imperial personal due to quotas: high.
Progress: Governance Tree +0.3% Small gains.
Always small. I am going to start being self conscious about sizes.
Elara noticed him staring at the datapad.
Elara leaned forward slightly. "The clans on the moon are the same blood as ours older lines, some say. They mine because the rock is theirs, not because the Empire demands it. But the quotas strip the shafts faster than they can replenish. Gear breaks. Young ones leave for Prime or off-world. Families stay because it's home. But home is bleeding."
Kael looked at her. "And the overseer?"
"Calen? Loyal to the Empire. Not cruel. Just indifferent. He meets quotas, takes his cut for 'maintenance,' sends the rest up the chain. Doesn't care if the workers eat dust for dinner."Kael's jaw tightened, oh great, he is going to be an arrogant prick possibly.
"If the numbers are as bad as they look on paper, we're barely scraping by. I need to see it myself."
Torv grunted from the back. "Moon's a rock. Rocks don't care who owns them."Lira glanced over from her console. "Rocks don't pay taxes either. But people do. And people get tired."
The shuttle banked. Elyria II grew in the viewport gray, pitted, scarred by craters and old mining scars. Durak's Hold appeared as a single glowing dome on the near side, surrounded by a sprawl of abandoned shafts and dust fields. No green. No water. Just rock and metal under a weak sun.
Kael felt the subtle shift as they entered the moon's shallow gravity well. His stomach lifted slightly. Rusty beeped from his slot low, amused.
Kael muttered: "Yeah, yeah. Welcome to the vacation moon. Five stars. Would not recommend."
The shuttle descended toward the dome's main hangar bay. Dust swirled around the landing gear as they touched down.
Kael unbuckled first. "Let's see how little we're really making." He stepped toward the ramp, Elara at his side, Torv and Lira behind.
The airlock cycled. The moon immediately took offence to his presence as a gust of wind blew moon dust straight into his face.
***
The central admin building of Durak's Hold was a squat, windowless duracrete block that looked like it had been dropped from orbit and forgotten.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and the low rumble of distant ore crushers. Harsh white strips lit the main operations room, casting long shadows across a holo-table that flickered with production graphs and worker shift rosters.
Calen stood at the table's edge, uniform still too clean for a place like this. Two native foremen flanked him both reddish-hued, broad-shouldered, wearing reinforced work tunics marked with clan sigils.
Their eyes tracked Kael and his group with the wary calm.
Calen saluted. "Governor. Full ledger access as requested. Current cycle yields are on display."
Kael stepped to the table without returning the salute. The holo-projection spun slowly: columns of numbers in Imperial red and gray.
Elyria II – Cycle 47 Production Summary Duranium Ore Extracted: 1,842 metric tons
Quota Met: 98.4%
Overage: 2.81% (~18,200 credits equivalent at current black-market valuation)
Imperial Tithe Deducted: 22%
Remainder Credited to Sector: ~14,200 credits
Local Maintenance/Overseer Allocation: ~3,000 credits (approved)
Worker Wages & Supplies: ~1,000 credits remaining
Kael stared at the final line.1,000 credits left for wages and supplies after everything else was carved off.He scrolled the holo with a flick of his finger.
Shift logs.
Equipment failure rates (47% higher than standard due to dust ingress).
Worker hours (average 11.8 per day).
Food ration allocations (synth bricks, minimal fresh protein).
Medical incidents (dust lung cases up 14% this quarter).
"So after the tithe, your 'maintenance' cut, and the sector's share… we're left with about a thousand credits for the people who actually pull the ore out of the ground. Per month. For three hundred fifty thousand souls."Calen shifted.
"The quotas are set by sector command, sir. We meet them. Excess is held for-"
"For bonded storage," Kael finished. Fucking sector command.
Which I can requisition. Which means I can skim a piece of it. Which means my personal take from this entire moon, after all the hops and fees, is maybe six thousand credits. Per month. If I'm lucky and no one audits.
He looked up at Calen. The overseer's face was carefully blank.
Kael turned to the native foremen. One of them older, with deep clan tattoos curling up his neck spoke first.
"We pull what the rock gives," he said, voice rough from years of dust. "Shafts thin. Gear jams. Young ones leave for Prime when they can."
Kael met the man's eyes. "I'm not raising quotas. I'm reallocating 10% of next cycle's excess to safety gear and reduced shifts. No forms. No Moff approval needed. Direct to clan councils."
The foreman blinked. Slowly. "You'd do that?"
"I'd do more if I had more," Kael said. "But I don't."
Operation make natives like me so they dont hang me is officially a go.
Elara spoke quietly beside him. "He showed up in the rain on Prime. He's here in the dust now. That matters."
Elara with a beautiful assist.
The older foreman studied Kael for a long moment. Then he nodded once, sharp. "We'll see if it sticks." Calen cleared his throat. "Sir, reallocations require-"
"They require my signature," Kael cut in, his voice is annoying. The less I hear it the better. God he talks with the voice of JarJar if he spoke like a normal person.
"You have it. Make it happen."
Calen saluted, stiffly and moved to adjust the holo-display. Kael turned away from the table.
Database Updated: Elyria II – Labor & Economic Realities
Entry Added: Skim Comparison – Mid-tier systems generate 10–30× higher personal revenue due to population, trade, infrastructure. Current monthly personal take from Elyria II: ~6,000 credits (estimated). Insufficient for system-wide expansion.
Governance Progress: +0.8% toward next milestoneHe closed the entry.
Six thousand. They make six figures in a slow month. I make enough to buy a few crates of blasters and pray the militia doesn't mutiny.
He looked at Elara. "Let's see the shafts. I want to know where the ore actually comes from." She nodded.
They left the admin building. The dome's harsh lights followed them into the tunnels. Moon dust clung to everything and in places it had no business being in.
***
Calen led them out of the admin building and into the main mining corridors.
Workers wore simple filter masks to keep the worst particulates out of their lungs. Kael slipped one on as they walked; the mask felt like a thin layer of gauze across his face. The active shafts came first.
Wide tunnels lit by harsh white strips, conveyor belts groaning under loads of predominately duranium ore with a sprinkle of others mixed in, hydraulic drills whining in rhythmic bursts.
Crews moved with practiced efficiency reddish-hued skin dusted gray, clan tattoos visible on necks and forearms, voices calling instructions in clipped plains dialects. Eyes flicked toward the governor and his group: wary, curious, but not openly hostile. Thank force for small mercies, Kael though.
He then walked slowly, taking it all in. Equipment looked decades old patched Republic-era drills, haulers with mismatched parts, hand tools where droids should have been. Dust coated everything: gear, faces, walls, like the moon was slowly swallowing the intruders whole.
Calen gestured to a side passage. "This level's been stable for three cycles. Yield consistent. Workers rotate every eight hours."Kael watched a crew repairing a jammed conveyor. A younger native woman with clan beads in her hair met his gaze for a moment, then looked away."
How many leave?" he asked. Calen hesitated. "Some. Young ones mostly. Prime offers better wages."
Elara spoke quietly beside him. "They leave because the rock gives less and the Empire asks more."
They moved deeper, past the active zones into the older tunnels beyond the city primary support, where Imperial oversight thinned. The passages here were wider but darker, lit only by portable lamps strung along the walls. Collapsed side shafts were cordoned with hazard tape and warning glyphs.
The air grew noticeably cooler, dust thicker.
Calen stopped at the entrance to one of the largest abandoned shafts, a few kilometers outside the city proper. The opening was massive easily forty meters wide before dropping into blackness. Debris littered the floor: rusted mining droids frozen mid-task, overturned ore carts, scattered tools half-buried.
"This one was the richest vein twenty years ago," Calen said. "Massive collapse fifteen years back. Lost six crews. Too hard and expensive to clear. We sealed it. Now it's just a graveyard for gear and people we couldn't dig out, ever since then its mostly been used by pirates, scavengers and people who wanted to hide."
Kael stepped past the tape. The tunnel mouth yawned wide, darkness swallowing the light beyond the first bend. He crouched near a cluster of abandoned equipment: a toppled drill rig, its power cell long dead; a pile of empty ration wrappers and charred remains of a small fire pit; a broken blaster stock half-buried in dust; a few patched sleeping rolls mouldering in the corner.
He picked up the blaster stock. "Someone's been using this as a hideout, quite recently as well."
Torv knelt beside him, scanning the ground with a handheld sensor. "Tracks. Multiple sets. Boots. Probably pirate scouts. They've been here within the last month."
Its only couple kilometres from the city.
Kael stood. "They're using our abandoned shafts as bases. Watching the city. Waiting for a weak moment."
Calen paled. "We… we didn't know."
"You should have, its your job" Kael said, voice cold. "This is your moon. You're supposed to know what's happening in your own tunnels." He turned to Torv. "Mark the location. We'll send a patrol when we're back on Prime. Quietly."
***
The shuttle lifted off from Elyria II's cracked landing apron with a low rumble, dust swirling in the repulsors' wake as Durak's Hold shrank below. The moon's gray surface fell away.
Craters, abandoned rigs, and the faint glow of the city fading into the black.
Kael sat near the forward viewport, staring at the receding rock. The cabin was quiet as he was deep in thought.
Maybe he should use the ships to blast open the sealed shafts? Maybe use his cruiser to mine some asteroids on the edges of the system? I am sure the crew would be happy to do something besides just sitting in space. But then again if pirates attack with a semblance of cohesion and even 2nd hand gear I am fucked, still maybe smaller shuttles can be repurposed.
I sigh as I look around.
Torv is sat cleaning his blaster rifle with methodical wipes, expression unreadable. Lira had her datapad out, analyzing dust samples from the collapsed shaft basic composition, nothing special, what a shocker. Its just low-grade ore traces and particulate buildup.
Rusty was plugged into a console slot, dome lights flickering as he compiled sensor data from the trip. Elara sat across from Kael again, braid slightly frayed from the day's wind, eyes on the viewport but mind clearly elsewhere.
Torv broke the silence. "Most of the shafts are a mess, even the main ones. Too many collapses and it all looks recent, could be sabotage." Elara nodded. "Clans say the same. Outer zones are lawless. Your promise on reallocations gear, shifts it'll spread. But they need to see it happen first."
Kael rubbed dust from his hands that somehow still has not gotten off him fully.
"It will. Mira's already prepping the orders. 10% excess to clans direct. No middlemen."Lira glanced up from her pad. "Samples confirm the rock's thinning. Yields dropping 4% per cycle. If we don't invest in better drills, quotas fail in six to 14 months."
Kael leaned back, chair creaking. "Add it to the we are short on everything list."
The group fell silent again as the shuttle banked toward Prime. Elyria II hung behind them like a scarred marble. Kael pulled up his datapad, reviewing the day's notes. Numbers again. Always numbers. Moon skim potential: 6,000-8,000 credits/month max. Total system skim after a week: barely 50,000 projected, eaten by deficits. Militia gear upgrades alone would burn half.
He exhaled slowly.
The shuttle touched down on Havenridge's eastern pad as dusk fell. The group dispersed.
Torv to check patrols, Lira to her lab setup in the palace lower levels, Elara to, wait where'd she even go?
Meanwhile Rusty rolled after Kael, beeping a quiet question. Kael muttered. "Yeah. Long day. Go recharge. I'll yell if I need you."
Rusty chirped affirmatively and peeled off toward the maintenance bay.
I might have hated the AI in my past life for driving the RAM prices to the moon but I do love the Star Wars AI's I hum.
Kael walked the corridors alone.
The palace felt empty at night with echoes, flickering lights, and the distant hum of generators, its like when you visit your grandparents and the whole house just makes weird noise all the time that you are not sure is real or just ghosts fucking around with you.
After a while he reached his quarters, door hissing open. The room was the same: narrow bed, small table, viewport showing Prime's binary moons rising over the plains, home sweet home.
He sat at the table, pulling out the datapad again. Numbers waited. Again.
But his mind shifted to the hideout in the collapsed shaft. Pirate tracks. Abandoned gear. Ration wrappers not native make. Blaster stock from a Corellia knockoff, probably will blow up in hands if you use it for too long.
Pirates weren't just a threat. They were an opportunity. He leaned back, chair tilting. Hunt them down. Turn the tables.
First, the basics. Most of the pirates in the Outer Rim operated on slim margins with small ships, hit-and-run raids on mining outposts or trader convoys.
They had ships. Gear. Contacts in the black market, and possibly hideout with all their loot. If he could capture a ship intact... He pulled up a rough plan on the datapad.
Step one: bait. Use the Gozanti's sensors to track patterns. Pirates had watched Elyria II for weeks likely scouting for a big haul. Send a fake ore transport lightly guarded, "vulnerable." Draw them out.
Step two: strike. Use TIEs for air cover, stormtroopers teams for boarding, militia would be useless, they would probably somehow vent themselves into space. No kill shots on ships, disable and capture.
Step three: repurpose. Seized skiffs become "private security" vessels. Paint them neutral. Crew with loyal natives or mercs, preferably natives. Use them to sell excess skim goods on the black market or any goods we do posses duranium overage, herb shipments, timber without Imperial eyes.
Buy back what Elyria needs: better mining gear, medical supplies, even weapons. Cut out the slow trader waits. Turn pirates into profit.
Pros: extra revenue stream. Black market rates 20-30% higher than official. Ships give mobility scout neighbor systems, expand skim ops. Natives get jobs, loyalty.
Cons: risk. If caught, it's treason. Empire doesn't like governors with private fleets, unless they are dick riding the emperor hard or leave enough bribes to get even ol' palps dick hard. Pirates fight back losses. Natives might balk at "pirate" work. Could also potentially piss of a crime syndicate.
Is Crimson Dawn with Maul already a thing or not? Not sure.
He rubbed his eyes. In Earth terms, this is like turning street gangs into my Amazon delivery service. Risky as hell, but better than starving. The interface pinged.
Strategic Opportunity: Pirate Asset Repurposing
Projected Gain: +15,000-25,000 credits/month (depends on the cargo and black market sales/fluctuations) if successful.
Risk: High (Imperial detection, combat loss).
Governance Progress: +0.2% (planning milestone).
Kael closed it.
He stood, stretching sore muscles. The viewport showed the plains dark now, tomorrow we plan the bait. Tonight... blessed sleep.
He stripped off the dusty tunic, took a sonic shower, because of course I cant have a normal shower in the futuristic galaxy, did night routine and collapse onto the bed.
A mimir, to me.