Author: WHY. Why whenever I tried to sit down and write this fucking chapter. Someone, or something needed my attention, gawd damn. Like subscr- I mean review, comment, stones, kudos, kill people mentioned in the files.
I walked into the lower brig at 0600 the next morning with a headache that felt like someone had taken a mining drill to my skull.
The air down here was cold and stale, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and stays there.
Torv waited outside the main holding cell, arms crossed, armour still on from last night's watch.
Lira stood beside him, datapad in hand, looking like she had not slept either.
"Which one?" I yawned as I asked. I did not even get chance to get coffee or caf as its known here before I was basically dragged here
Torv jerked his thumb toward the second cell. "The captain. Broke fastest. Name's Bi'avren. Human. Late thirties. Claims he is just a scout leader. He is lying about half of it, but the half he is telling is somewhat fucking useful." You could feel the contempt and want to shoot him in his voice.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and nodded. "Open it."
The door hissed aside.
Bi'avren sat on the metal bench, wrists cuffed to the table, face bruised from the boarding but not broken. He looked up when I entered.
Damn he looks like Kirk and Obama had a child.
I leaned against the wall and let Torv close the door behind me.
"You have two choices," I said. "You talk. You live. You get a cell instead of a firing line. You lie, you clam up, you waste my time… I will make sure your pirate friends keep finding pieces of you scattered around the system for the next 3 months, I can guarantee you will be alive for at least 2 months of it."
Tork swallowed. "I already told your people everything."
"Bullshit and you, me and the sadistic guy out there also knows it" I said nonchalantly. "I want the everything, or would you rather see how many pieces of yourself you will witness being sent out into galaxy before you die?"
He looked at the floor for a long second. Then he started singing. Not the most beautiful of melodies but a melody non the
The three skiffs were scouts for the loose confederation.
The escaped skiff? Already jumping to a friendly faction rally point withing the confederation, probably stirred up a fuss among his friends, probably get some help from the other factions in the confederation. Retaliation was probably coming.
"How many friends can this guy come back with?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Eight fighters. Three more skiffs like ours. Two small cruisers old Republic surplus, refitted. And one converted cargo hauler they use as troop transport. Overall a total of three hundred including the pilots for the strike group. They will probably hit Durak's Hold or one of the outer outposts or even the main city, I dont know."
Oh for fuck sake.
I resisted to run a hand through my hair, hopefully this guys exaggerating the numbers.
I stared at him, trying to keep a cool facade. "When?"
"I dont know, could be next few days or next few weeks."
I stared at him without blinking. I can feel my eye twitch a bit. Inside my head was screaming. three hundred. Eight fighters. Three skiffs. Two cruisers. One troop hauler.
Against my what?
A fucking Gozanti, thirty-six TIEs a few bombers, five hundred barely-trained militia, five hundred, and two patched pirate skiffs that have to be spread out throughout the system.
We would probably not lose if it came to ground battle, that is if at least half my stormtroopers were in the fight, militia would be kind of worthless and we dont even know if they have any heavy equipment, in space? We would lose badly, the TIE fighters are absolute dogshit, maybe if we can board their ships in decapitation strikes then maybe but I am not too optimistic about it.
I turned around to the closed door and told Torv to get this to Lira. Full transcript. Cross-reference with the navicomputer data.
I heard Torv acknowledge.
I looked back at this rat.
"You just bought yourself a cell instead of a grave. Congratulations."
He did not look relieved. He looked like a man who knew he had just signed his own death warrant anyway but just delayed the date.
I walked out.
The intel was worse than I thought.
And we had anywhere from two days to few weeks to prepare.
God fucking damnit, where is Mossad or CIA to get you real time information or something.
***
An hour or so later.
I sat in the small comm room off the war room. The holo-projector sat on the table in front of me, the encrypted chip from the black-market run already slotted in. Lira had rigged it with an extra layer of scrambling. If anyone intercepted this, they would get static and a headache, at least I hope it works that way.
I tapped the activation sequence.
The projector hummed. A blue hologram flickered to life. The figure that appeared was Mandalorian through and through. Armor dark gray and black, beskar plates scarred and patched but still gleaming in places. T-visor helmet tilted slightly as the connection stabilized. No cape but simple markings.
A low, gravelly voice came through the speaker. "You must be governor Voss. You called. So sspeak."
I kept my voice level. "You left a contact, so I am using it. I need skilled firepower."
The helmet tilted a fraction more. "The price is considerable."
"I know that your price is high," I said. "But I also know you are independent, skilled and well equiped."
Silence for a beat. "How will you pay me and my warriors?" he asked. "You are a governor kid on a backwater rock. You have one cruiser, a handful of TIEs, and two patched pirate skiffs. You are not exactly swimming in credit from what I've seen."
I leaned forward. "Contrary to what you think I do have some credits stashed up, and I have a pirate problem. A slaver problem. A confederation of loose raiders that will only attack me with a fraction of their strength this time. If we take over their ships intact through boarding led by elite Mandalorian warriors supported by my stormtroopers and militia we can then take on the rest of the confederation and take their ships, weapons, supplies and anything else they have stashed up in their bases. Plus all the info they have on others that could lead to more loot or be sold to the others for the right price."
The helmet nodded once. "We are listening. Give me the approximate strength."
I pulled up the intel Lira had decrypted "The strike group they are likely sending in retaliation: eight fighters, three skiffs, two small cruisers, one converted cargo hauler as troop transport. Three hundred bodies included pilots and ship crews."
The Mandalorian did not move. But I could feel the assessment behind the visor.
"That is a lot for a backwater governor with a Gozanti and some TIEs, you must have pissed them off. And that is just a part of this whole confederation?"
"It is, there are probably more that are not affiliated with them in and around the surrounding systems."
He let the silence stretch.
Then: "We are fifty-five. Two Kom'rk-class fighters. Fifty-three additional fighters with pilots. Full squadron. Some Beskar armor. Westar-35 blasters, GALAAR-15 blaster carbines, heavy repeaters, jetpacks and missiles along with flamethrowers and other personal weapons. Training that makes your stormtroopers look like green enough to piss grass."
"Name your price."
"Half a million credits upfront. Half on completion of the contract. Plus a share of black-market profits. Ten percent. " He took a pause.
"However if you can guarantee a base of operations that is somewhere quiet and hidden. Somewhere we can stage from to the surrounding systems and beyond I could consider a discount provided we can buy local supplies at slightly lower market value in exchange for passive patrol as well."
If I could I would hug this beautiful fucking man. I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep me from grinning from ear to ear.
"Done," I said in the most calm voice I could. "Send coordinates for the first payment. I will transfer it withing 2 days since I need to contact the Muunilinst bank from the accounts. There is an old abandoned base we have near enough the city in the mountains on Elyria. It is quiet and defensible. You can stage there and its also close to the city to get supplies easily. If you have any non combatants I can offer them jobs within the city or education for the city."
The helmet tilted again. "You move fast for a kid I can appreciate it and your sentiments."
I nod my head.
A low chuckle came through the speaker. Gruff. Tired. "Once we meet face to face we will discus a plan of action. Who knows. maybe I will see you survive long enough to pay the second half."
The hologram flickered. A set of encrypted coordinates appeared for the payment.
"We will start making our way to Elyria, I trust you can deliver the payment by then. Do not disappoint." The connection cut.
I dropped back into the chair, mentally exhausted even though its just the start of the day. Not to mention getting those long necked bald fucker bankers to not take 7 to 10 business days for the transfer is going to be a annoying.
I rubbed my face.
If this went wrong, I was broke and then possibly dead. If it went right…I might actually have a chance.
I sigh and start calling the bank.
***
Taryn stood on the cramped bridge of the lead skiff as it dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the planet controlled by the black suns.
The viewport was smeared with dust and old carbon scoring, but the lights of the huge city still burned through the haze like a thousand angry stars. He adjusted the mask around his face to hide his identity.
The air here smelled wrong: fuel, spice, sweat, desperation. Nothing like the dry red dust of Elyria.
Beside him, the co-pilot a younger Red-Shadow woman named Lirae kept her hands steady on the controls. "Black sun ships are hailing," Lirae said quietly. "Sending in the bribe" Taryn nodded. "Send it."
The credits were transferred and permission granted. Black Sun did not care who you were as long as the money was good. The two skiffs eased into the lower docking rings. Neutral gray hulls. No markings.
Just another pair of battered smuggler ships looking to offload cargo and disappear.
They docked side by side in a shadowed berth. The ramp dropped with a hiss of equalizing pressure. Taryn stepped out first, followed by the rest of the crews.
All wearing plain tunics, cloaks and masks or face coverings. No weapons beyond concealed hold-out blasters they got from the pirates that got some repairs done so they dont blow up in our hands.
They looked like smugglers. That was the point.
The buyer was waiting at the end of the berth: a Rodian in a dark coat, flanked by two Gamorrean enforcers. Black Sun middleman. Taryn had dealt with him before. No name. No small talk, barley even acknowledging us, who we are or where we came from all he cared for was:
"Cargo?" the Rodian asked.
Taryn gestured. The crews rolled out the crates: spare somewhat fixed up weapons from the pirate haul, excess duranium ingots, bundles of herbs and timber from the plains and other small things like some excess food or even clothing.
From the side I could over hear a Zebrak say that those ships look familliar.
The Rodian paused with scanning the manifest and look up. His snout wrinkled. "Skiffs do look familiar," he said. "Same hull lines as from those small pirates scouts that got hit not too long ago. You salvaging wrecks now?"
Taryn kept his face blank. "Found them drifting. Cheap. Fixed them up. Good for runs.
"The Rodian laughed short, wet, disbelieving. Sounded like a frog and a fish tried to laugh in muddy water honestly.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I expect you and the black suns to pay for the goods," Taryn grunted out. "Not the story behind how I got them." There are so many smugglers, pirates and other scum that black suns deal with that it should not phase them a single bit.
The Rodian narrowed his eyes and stared for a while, before shrugging. "Fine. 34,400 for the weapons and ammo, they look in decent enough condition and have gas. 11,200 for the duranium. 6,800 for the rest. Total 52,400 gross."
Taryn stared for a while. "And after your cut?"
"39,800. Take it or leave." Taryn did not argue, there wasn't a point if he did he took more or they have an 'accident' leaving or when they return.
The credits were transferred and the crews began unloading and some went to buy the things from the list given by the governor.
While the crates moved, Taryn kept his ears open. Black Sun ports were loud. Traders, smugglers, mercenaries, informants. Rumours flowed like cheap spice.
He drifted toward a nearby cantina stall, buying a cup of something hot and bitter to blend in. Two humans and a Twi'lek were talking nearby, voices low but not low enough."…heard those small time pirates are moving on that new kid governor out in Elyria," one human said, laughing. "Some backwater governor with a Gozanti and a few TIEs. They are sending a decent strike group. Heard they are bringing at least 2 cruisers and more. Hes fucked. Kid does not stand a chance."
The Twi'lek snorted. "Pity, almost. Kid probably thought he could play governor. Now he is going to get spaced." The second human laughed harder. "He is too poor to be worth the effort. That is the funniest part. They are only hitting him because he poked them. Otherwise they would have left him alone to starve, probably. Though its only a part of the group not the whole thing."
Taryn kept his face neutral. He sipped the drink. Inside his chest something twisted. Pity from pirates. Scoffing. Laughter.
He walked away before they noticed him listening. Back at the berth, the crews were finishing loading the purchased supplies: better drills, bacta crates, power cells, medicine and other.
Taryn was about to give the order to board when Lirae grabbed his arm."Look," she whispered.
Across the docking ring, near one of the upper berths, a group was loading two Kom'rk-class fighters and a swarm of smaller ships. Mandalorians. Armor dark and scarred. Beskar glinting under the port lights. Around thirty of them moving about, and further back non-combatants. Older men and women. Children. All helping pack crates, secure cargo, move supplies.
One of the children a girl no older than eleven ran past carrying a small crate, laughing as a warrior pretended to chase her. Taryn watched them work.
"They are preparing to leave," Lirae said. "Toward our system." Taryn felt the weight settle in his chest.
The Mandalorians were coming to Elyria. He looked at the skiffs. Loaded. Ready." Get everyone aboard," he said. "We jump as soon as we clear the lanes."
The crews moved fast. As the skiffs lifted off, Taryn looked back at the port one last time.
***
I signed the final approval in my office the next morning. The datapad screen glowed with the delivery manifest: better drills, reinforced safety harnesses, dust filters, power cells, spare parts for the ore crushers, and a small crate of bacta patches.
Everything bought from the black-market run. I tapped "authorize" and slid the pad across the desk to Mira. She took it without comment, already preparing the shuttle manifest.
"Load it on the next supply run," I said. "No delays. Tell the pilots to hand it straight to the clan councils. Not the overseer, he is too cocky and too loyal to the imperium."Mira nodded. "Already scheduled for 1400 today."
I leaned back in the chair. It creaked like it always did.
Next item: shift policy. I pulled up the Durak's Hold worker logs. Average shift length: 11.8 hours. Some days 14. Rest cycles inconsistent. Dust lung cases up 14% this quarter, families going hungry or sick.
Changed the numbers. Shifts capped at 9 hours average. Mandatory rest day every five worked. Rotation increased: more workers per shift to cover the hours without burnout. Overtime only for emergencies. I signed it. Sent it to Harlan for distribution. It was not much. Not enough to fix everything. But it was something.
Elara found me some hours later in the corridor outside the war room. She carried a small data-slate with native reports. "The gear has arrived," she said. "The clans are unloading the crates as we speak." I nodded. "Good."
"They are pleased," she added. "Not loud about it. But the shift changes… that matters more than the drills. Parents get to see their children more often. Hunters get to hunt. Morale is up. More volunteers are stepping forward for militia training. Some clans are sending observers to Havenridge markets. "I exhaled slowly. "They are not cursing my name anymore? "She gave the ghost of a smile and a so-so gesture. "Not today." I looked at her. "Tell them to keep watching. The reallocations are not charity. They are investment. I need them strong, also try and find me an imperial who is friendly with your people so we can replace the current overseer just in case. He seems fishy to me. "She inclined her head. "I'll do it "She turned to leave after saying that.
I sigh when she left and look at my system that is too fucking useless to be fair.
Host: Kael Voss
Biological Age: 15 Standard Years
Mental Age: Inconsistent (Earth adult + teenage Imperial noble)
Location: Elyria Prime: Governor's Palace, Havenridge
Knowledge Database: 432 Entries (Manual Expansion Ongoing) - Most common knowledge tier: Common.
Current Milestones Achieved: Mercenary for Hire (Hiring the Mandalorians). Shady Deals (First Black Market Run). New Lord in Town (Becoming a ruling governor and not dying in the first week) Resource Assessment: 94% Complete Native Labor Policy Implementation: Complete (shorter shifts, increased rotation, direct reallocations). 52.5% of valuable resources found and exploited (system wide). 73% of current eligible population working (Loyalty - 49%. Trust 68%.)
Governance Tree Progress: 34.1% toward next unlock (Intermediate class 3/10 Diplomacy - Intermediate class 4/10 Diplomacy)
Skill Trees Status: Governance: Branch 1 – Intermediate Diplomacy (+5% negotiation success rate, minor intuition in local customs)
Intrigue: Branch 0
Martial: Branch 0
Mystic: LOCKED PARNAMENTALLY
???:0
Active Quests: Expand Black-Market Pipeline (Ongoing)
Objective: Complete 3 successful runs without Imperial detection
Progress: 2/3 runs complete
Reward Pending: +2 Database Entries (Black Sun Operations / Outer Rim Trade Routes), Governance Progress +1.5%, minor Opportunist Perk (improved black-market negotiation)
Secure Mandalorian Contract (In Progress)
Objective: Confirm first payment transfer + establish base agreement
Status: Payment coordinates received, money transferred from the bank account from parents, now users.
Reward Pending: +1 Database Entry (Mandalorian Mercenary Tactics), Governance Progress +0.8%, Strategic Asset Unlock (Mandalorian Contingent – Standby) Strategic Notes (Passive Analysis): Native Relations Index: Cautiously Positive → Moderately Positive (+18% from reallocation delivery and shift changes)
Morale boost detected. Volunteer rate increasing. Risk of unrest temporarily reduced. Resource Strain: Deficit reduced by ~12% from recent black-market net gains. Still critical for large-scale hires (e.g., Mandalorian contract).
Mental Fatigue: Elevated. Recommend rest cycle before Mandalorian arrival and contract finalization.
Status: Functional. Integration Stable.
Next Milestone Suggestion: Confirm Mandalorian integration + deliver third black-market run to unlock Opportunist Perk (improved negotiation in high-risk deals).
I look through my system before spotting the three question marks.
Fuck does that mean? Is it a hidden feature I will unlock down the line? Hopefully its something that will allow me to get some crisp white monster and dino nuggies.
I sigh. Man who could have thought that in such an advanced technological time with uncountable species and cultures no one invented dino nuggies or monster.
***
I stood on the main landing pad of the mountain outpost as the sun dipped behind the peaks, turning the sky a bruised red. Wind whipped across the open space, carrying dust and the faint scent of pine from the lower slopes.
Torv was on my right, full armor, rifle slung low but ready, eyes scanning the horizon like he expected trouble before the ships even arrived. Elara stood on my left, arms folded, cloak snapping in the gusts, a small blaster hidden on the hip. Rusty rolled a little ways behind us, dome swiveling, probably already complaining about the dust in his treads.
The outpost itself was nothing special. A cluster of old duracrete bunkers and cracked pads carved into the foothills. We had cleared it out and patched it up a bit over the few days: power restored, water recyclers patched, basic quarters cleaned.
Its quiet and defensible. Far enough from Havenridge that people would not just 'randomly' stumble upon them.
I had not slept much last night, or any nights for that matter since I came to this world.
The pirate numbers kept running through my head. Three hundred bodies. Cruisers. Troop hauler. Eight decent fighters. Three skiffs. I sigh.
If the Mandalorians did not show, or if they showed and decided I was not worth the credits, I was done.
A low rumble rolled across the valley.
I looked up. The first Kom'rk-class fighter appeared as a dark wedge against the sunset, engines flaring blue as it dropped toward the pad. Then the second. They landed with precise, heavy thuds, dust billowing out in rings.
Then the transports followed. Three medium freighters old Republic-era troop haulers, old even by this republic standard, they must have scavenged it from some old battlefield or scrap yard.
They are patched and scarred, lightly armed but sturdy. They settled on the outer pads, ramps dropping with hydraulic hisses.
Mandalorians stepped out first from the Kom'rks. Fifty-three fighters, armor dark gray and black, pieces of beskar glinting in the dying light.
They moved with purpose: securing perimeters, checking sight lines, weapons low but ready.
Behind them from the freighters came the non-combatants. Thirty-five, maybe forty total that I can see here. Older warriors with gray in their hair, technicians carrying tool crates, a few spouses or partners directing children who ran ahead laughing as they hauled smaller supplies.
Kids twelve, fifteen of them carrying ration packs, water containers, folded cots. Normal life in the middle of a mercenary deployment. It was strangely comforting. If they brought families, they were not planning to burn everything down and leave.
From the ramp of the lead Kom'rk a man stepped out.
Tall, broad-shouldered. Armor dark gray and black, scarred but still unmistakably beskar. T-visor helmet tilted as he scanned the pad. He removed the helmet. - oh so he is not with the armourer and the children of the watch, I think its way to early I guess. He is late forties, short-cropped dark hair streaked with gray face lined with old scars, jaw set hard eyes dark brown, tired but sharp.
He walked down the ramp, his people fanned out behind him, securing the perimeter without a word. Children darted past, laughing as they chased each other across the pad. Non-combatants continued to unloaded crates: rations, medical kits, spare parts norm- is that a anti air repeater blaster?
Damn, shit. They already showed they have better weapons than me.
He stopped three paces from me. "Governor Voss," he said, voice low.
"I am Jaster Mereel. Leader of this clan remnant."
I nodded. "You made good time."
"We do not waste time when credits are promised and a base is promised."
I glanced at the fighters stepping off the transports. The Kom'rks. The people.
"You brought families."
"Non-combatants," he corrected, ah so the clan is one of those all are fighters and the non-combatants are just worst fighters relegated to temporary non fighting roles. Got it.
"Now they are Wives. Husbands. Children. Technicians, but once I give the call they become warriors of Mandalore, this is the way since we lost too much at Mandalore, during the usurper Maul's rule… and the subsequent Republic siege and imperial occupation… we lost a lot, all mandalorians did."
His eyes darkened for a second. Like the memory still sat on his shoulders every day.
He studied me. "You are young for a governor."
No shit. Really?
I gave a small shrug and a so-so gesture. "Bad day. Worse month, this is basically exile dressed up as mercy, at least according to the fuckers up top. I think its just a slow death sentence that they might at any time decide to speed up."
Jaster chuckled gruffly almost surprised. "You speak like a man twice your age who has seen too much."
I just got the does he know meme from batman pop up into my head at this.
He gestured to the outpost behind me. "Base?"
"Yours," I nod my head as I say it. "You wanted quiet, you got it, its also defensible and close enough to Havenridge for supplies. No one will bother you here." He nodded once.
"Good." He paused. Looked at the horizon. Then back at me. "You understand what you are asking."
"I do." He studied me for a long moment. Then he extended a gauntleted hand. I took it. Beskar glove around thrice the size of my own, cold against my palm. "Contract accepted," he said. "We will talk details and strategies tomorrow. Tonight we need to settle in. I will have the pilots patrol in an hour or two at most"
I released his hand, then a girl popped from from behind him. Sixteen, maybe. Dark hair braided tight, armoured with more beskar than most, she wore it like she was born in it. Curious eyes locked on me. Not hostile. Just… interested.
Jaster noticed my glance. "My daughter. Atii. She is curious." Atii stepped closer.
"You are the kid who poked the pirates because he was bored right?," she said, blunt as a fucking hammer. "And now you want to hire us to protect you from their friends poking your eyes out right?."
I met her eyes, well. She's something. "Pretty much. I'm full of bad ideas and worse luck."
She studied me for a second. "What weapons do you use?" What do I say? That the closest weapon I use is the knife during lunch?
I shrugged. "Blaster only, though I mostly miss. I'm not that good at fighting." Atii reached out and patted my shoulder. Hard.
OhFuckOShi-
I staggered half a step, almost falling. The impact was like getting hit by a speeder bike at low throttle thats made out of beskar.
Surrounding Mandalorians chuckled low, amused.
Atii grinned."We can fix that," she said.
Oh dios mio, please no.
"I will teach you. Or at least teach you how to fall properly." More chuckles. Even Jaster's mouth twitched.
I straightened, rubbing my shoulder. "Noted. I will think on your offer."
She snorter "Father does not let me go on missions and I am painfully bored most of the time, so you dont get a choice."
I visibly sigh.
Atii tilted her head. "How do you not break? You are young. Running a system. Dealing with pirates. Mandalorians. How do you not break?"
I gave a small, tired smile. "A copious amount of Caf and sheer and utter spite to the world"
She laughed short, bright. "Honest answer. I like it." She was about to clap me on the shoulder again but I twitch to the side which caused her and others to laugh again.
Jaster put a hand on her shoulder. "Enough," he said. "We need to settle. Talk plans tomorrow, rest, Governor, you look like you need it, especially since Atii will give you a crash course on mandalorian fighting styles in person." Atii gave me one last smirk and an assessing look, curious and amused before turning to help unload.
I watched them work for a bit, before signalling Torv and Elara that its time for me to leave.
***
A droid drove a speeder down the mountain.
The outpost lights faded behind me as we approached toward Havenridge after around an hour.
Torv and Elara had stayed behind to coordinate with Jaster's people perimeter setup, supply sharing, basic comms integration.
The wind was colder at night, the moons hung low and bright, casting long shadows across the plains.
Somewhere in the distance, fires flickered in the native camps, smoke rising steadily. Life went on, families eating dinner, kids playing, people sleeping.
None of them knew a Mandalorian clan remnant had just landed in their backyard. Probably only heard the rumours of the pirates.
After finishing up some matters on the way in the city I reached the palace just before midnight, the corridors were empty except for the soft glow light strips and the distant hum of generators.
I passed the armoury heard the faint clatter of stormtrooper guards cleaning weapons. Passed the native guest wing caught the low murmur of peoples voice speaking to each other in their dialect.
Passed the lower hangar bay saw the two patched skiffs sitting quiet under floodlights, I kept walking.
Finally I reached my quarters, they were the same as always: narrow bed, small table, viewport showing the plains dark and silver under the moons, though I do have a small painting I received from one of the smaller clans depicting the rising sun over the plains.
I dropped into the bed without bothering to turn on the main lights or changing clothes, I have fresh outfit for tomorrow. Just the dim glow from the datapad on the table.
I pulled it closer. Numbers waited.
Black-market run two: 39,800 credits net, but still have to take the credits away that were used to buy the supplies. Gear delivered, shifts shortened, morale up, volunteers increasing. Native trust inching from "cautiously positive" to "moderately positive." Small wins stacking like credits in a vault.
Mandalorians: A clan remnant that had lost almost everything at Mandalore but its better than nothing.
I rubbed my face. Hard.
If this were Earth, I would be sitting in a shitty apartment scrolling job listings, wondering how I ended up twenty-seven with no savings and a caffeine addiction. Instead I was fifteen in a galaxy far, far. FAR away, running a backwater system, skimming on taxes from galactic spanning empire run by a wrinkly old ballsack of an evil wizzard, running black-market ops, hiring Mandalorians, and waiting for a pirate confederation to decide whether I was worth the fuel to kill me.
I chuckled a bit short and bitter.
I pulled up the intel map Lira had decrypted. Red lines spiderwebbed across the sector. Outposts. Rally points. Fleets waiting for fat targets. We were not a fat target thankfully. But we had just made ourselves interesting. I closed the map.
Next steps.
First: third black-market run. Bigger load. Higher risk. Higher reward. Need more credits, need more and better gear, more ammo. More everything.
Second: Mandalorians. Jaster said talk plans tomorrow, well technically later today. I needed to be ready. Give them patrol sectors. Integrate comms with the Gozanti. Make them feel like partners, not hired muscle. Because if they felt like hired muscle, they might decide to take the money and run when things got bad, also talk strategy how to fight the pirates affectively.
Third: scout the outposts. Send a skiff or a working probe if we have one to check the nearest of the confederation rally points or outpost. Get eyes on the enemy, if we could hit one outpost fast and quietly, take supplies, intel, maybe even a ship we could turn the tables.
Fourth: expand skim. Push the numbers harder on Elyria II. Timber. Herbs. Whatever we could under-report without triggering audits. Every credit mattered now, but the skims are not the priority for now.
I leaned back bed creaked.
I was tired. Not just physically but mentally too.
I thought about Atii again. Curious. Blunt. Strong enough to almost knock me over with a pat, I dont know if she is just ridiculously strong or I am just that weak, probably both.
I sigh and look at the time.
At least I am not doom-scrolling forums, complaining about or talking shit and trying to guess if what I am seeing is AI slop.
Man, I wish I could go back to playing For Honor or Hoi4 and pretending the world was not on fire.
Instead I was here.
Running a system. Hiring Mandalorians. Waiting for pirates to attack or for some imperial to send assassins my way.
I sigh again as I drop the datapad beside me as I try and drift off to sleep.