We flew away from Concord Dawn only after hearing an apology addressed to Clan Stick. And if until that moment the Black Mandalorians were spoken of as a joke, a whim, or a new unknown clan, now the people were impressed and they began to look at us with respect.
Moreover, my story about the roots of the uniform went to the masses, but in the end, we got a double-edged sword. On one hand, recognition, well-deserved recognition for our small group barging into the second strongest clan on Concord Dawn. This gave us the right to establish the right of the best. Though shaky, nonetheless.
The flip side—to show yourself, the easiest way is to challenge the best fighter. So, in those few days, each of us managed to get at least two challenges to a fight, and I gathered about five of them. So that my fighters wouldn't shame the newborn honor, I had to secretly help them with the Force. Yes, cheating. Yes, mine realized it immediately. And even scolded me. But instead of repentance on my part—they got a kick in the ass toward the clan training hall, because you shouldn't f*ck around when the boss is working for everyone! Yes, I'm an angry and aggressive fearsome alien, where is my "Sweet Joy"?! A-a-a-a-a!!!
And I also had to take several Black Mandalorians. Simply so that Raiden wouldn't lose face before others; the payment had arrived, after all. However, they didn't just give anyone—a small tournament was held within the clan. One has to match the status, for f*ck's sake!
So I waited for the apology from Vizsla like some holiday. Khan hadn't even finished his speech before we packed our things and cleared out toward Tatooine, so as not to tempt fate and not answer inconvenient questions.
And the observers bother me too. And I don't even understand who's watching. There's just a clear understanding that someone is watching us. And it's not a Force-user; for two days I haven't crossed paths with Force-sensitives anywhere else, at most—I met a couple of untrained Mandalorians. Could the Darks have fussed? I don't understand...
Be that as it may, this problem remained behind and now the agenda was a planned inspection of construction work and the study of the obtained samples. Then we need to buy combat droids, hire security, order a defense station and a wing. And then...
What "Then," I didn't think anymore. I just looked at the list of cases opened by Zero, and somehow I felt a bit down.
Upon returning to Tatooine, my mood went up rapidly. To start with, everything was ahead of schedule. Drilling stations were being installed, the builders had already taken on Mos Eisley and even provided me with an approximate work plan. Work droids were ready to start work right now; I was provided with samples obtained from the depths.
What can I say? At a depth of up to three kilometers, there was one continuous slag, which is truly unprofitable to mine and process, even if you stretch the owl on the globe. Down to six kilometers, there's a kind of transition crust, which my predecessors could and even intended to work with. But no one dug deeper, and a pity. At a depth of ten km plus, there are deposits of the purest ores. Due to interference, they are difficult to detect and if not for the expensive equipment, we wouldn't have gotten samples from there.
The samples themselves pleased me like a child with a toy on New Year's. First of all, it's "tantalum," that very magnetic metal contained in the ore in indecent volumes. In my sensations, with the help of the Force, it felt like something sour and soft with a slight smell of rust mixed with molten liquid metal. Not a great sensation, I admit honestly, but I understood the main thing—these are VERY powerful magnets. F*cking powerful.
I changed the samples right before my miners' eyes, made a kind of small washer, fixed the molecular structure and, to my own detriment, hit the resulting sh*t with Force Lightning. Vainly, oh vainly I did that; the magnet came out such that even I couldn't tear it off the chest plate without tearing the plate itself off. I had to suffer a bit before separating it. But it was an excellent visual demonstration of the capabilities of our find.
Describing in detail exactly what I did, I hand over the metal samples found by Tinnar to the metallurgists; let them have the headache now, I've done my job. Other metals didn't stand out in any special way, the most ordinary elements for creating durasteel, durasteel, and a number of other alloys. Yes, their ratio in the ore is relatively small, against "tantalum," but it's there, and the deeper—the better.
Collecting all this data in a heap, we sent it to Derick; let him be happy. The man didn't believe in my venture until the last; now every time I'll tell him: "I told you so!", heh-heh-heh.
But when it came to the Jawas, I clutched my head. Because those little devils had managed to assemble a whole conglomerate of crawlers right under Mos Eisley. There were about thirty "desert ships" there, and that wasn't the limit! As it turned out, entire clans from all over the desert continued to flock to us.
"Alright..." rubbing the bridge of my nose, eyes closed, sitting in the lounge, at the common meeting. "Derick, expand the staff of assistants, or hang it on someone: we need to remove the enrichers from the crawlers, put normal scanners and cranes. And also issue an advance in the form of food and water, but a small one, just to stimulate."
"M... Trik?" the man's hologram looked at the Squib.
"I'll handle it. Boss, how many machines to remake?"
"Thirty-one in stock, another six on the way. Hm..."
"Maybe it's better to remake all of them, and connect the factories with a normal train?"
"Agh, fine. Do it," I waved it off. "Just negotiate acceptable prices; maglev trains aren't cheap on their own, and we also have specific operating conditions."
"Everything will be in the best possible way!" Trik assured me.
"Do it. Derick, have you already had time to familiarize yourself with the materials?"
"Halfway."
"I need to know your opinion regarding the mining. How many foundries can we provide with raw materials?"
"A difficult question. The drilling stations we acquired may dig deep, but the speed of mining leaves much to be desired. In our conditions... Well, one large factory we can, I think, provide."
After a short meeting, I updated the funds in the company's account. Then the question of ensuring the security of the sector stood. I think MandalMotors can help us and make something more interesting out of the B1. If not, we'll go to Baktoid. Well, and if it doesn't work out with them either, we'll have to buy what's available.
Alas, the good mood didn't last long. I completely forgot about the smugglers, and that Tatooine is, actually, a good transit point. And va-a-ainly, very vainly. Because funds and resources flowed to Tatooine. With my permission, several humanitarian ships were registered, with clothes, food, electronics, and other household trifles intended for TNC employees. Those who initially didn't want to join immediately changed their minds and post-factum the entire civilized population of Tatooine, not counting Jawas and Tuskens, became part of the company.
Funds were also allocated to them as an advance. Textbooks, instructions, special equipment for training were bought, all so that the population would return to normal life. Those who knew something restored their skills and taught others. Tinnar even formed a kind of school for the others from the most experienced workers.
And everything would be fine, but it turned out that some clever smuggler decided to profit from the suddenly rising population. The man bought some drugs, brought them here, and started trading freely both to locals and to visiting workers-builders. Since the security service wasn't there yet, and we were wandering somewhere all this time, the problem didn't surface immediately, despite the closed collective.
So, when this reached me, I first was stunned, then I gave a scolding to Warren and sent the Mandalorian to do good and deliver justice in the company of his comrades.
***
One very insulted mercenary
Right. I've seen Shade in many ways—angry, upset, excited... He doesn't even try to hide his emotions, at least—in our environment. But now...
"Warren, f*cker!" Shade greeted me, appearing in the passage.
"?!"
"I don't understand, why the hell are they trading drugs on my territory?!"
"Who?"
"What difference does it make 'who'?! Everyone..."
"Got it. I'll deal with it now."
"And another thing, the 'Gray Arrows' gang appeared in Mos Espa. The guys decided it's a free territory."
"That was their mistake," Dis smirked. "Silent..." he added under Shade's gaze.
For a few seconds, silence reigned.
"And why are we sitting?"
The lull was momentarily replaced by movement.
"Dis, Kaut, Zer, you're with me. Nerra, take the others and find the gang," I gave the command right away, securing the weapon belt.
"Got it. Need them alive?"
"Find out who and from where—that's all that's needed."
At the exit of the ship, right in the dock, stood the speeder bikes and a speeder left over from the Tusken hunt. Taking six bikes, Nerra's group one by one popped out through the open gates.
We went to the lead Shade left about a shop. No, really, such insolence! We regularly walk through the city, look after order, but we didn't touch the spaceport. I wonder who had the mind to open a spot right under our noses...
While we walked, I noticed a peculiarity. If usually they shy away from Mandalorians and prefer to hide from sight, now it was the opposite. The spaceport employees looked without fear, no one scattered, and some girls tried to flirt openly.
To think, just a little time has passed, and already such changes. A year hasn't passed, and the locals have been replaced, as it were.
"Alright... And where?" Dis asked when we stood at the crossroads.
"Uncle!" suddenly a small Twi'lek came to my leg.
"Hello kid," I patted his head.
"Sorry, he liked your armor," running up, the woman immediately took the child in her arms.
"It's alright. Tell me, they opened a shop with a special product here somewhere, can you tell me where exactly?"
"Yes, it's right there, around the corner."
Nodding, I head in the indicated direction first.
"Cute kid," Dis said finally, taking up the rear.
Turning the corner, I encounter unprecedented insolence that I hadn't seen even on Nar Shaddaa. But now it's clear why Shade got so worked up.
In any more or less developed spaceport, there are their own provided shops. Well, in one of these, our newly minted "entrepreneur" had settled. The Toydarian was sitting right on the counter and offering to buy some "sand" to everyone passing by.
But noticing us, he immediately paled. A Rodian stood nearby, propping up the wall. Turning his head to us, he blinked his eyes and, detaching from the wall, slowly turned around and disappeared into the shop.
Smiling forcedly, the Toydarian flew to meet us and, spreading his paws friendly, shouted:
"Ay, d-e-e-ear gentlemen, you also decided to buy some 'sand' from the o-o-old... ahem," the alien's speech was interrupted by a muffled squeak. Grabbing the trader by the neck, I nod to Dis and Zer toward the shop.
Bypassing us, Zer threw a fragmentation grenade right over the counter. As soon as the explosion boomed, Dis jumped over the counter.
"Clear."
"Burn the goods, and check the ship," I say over the internal comms. "Zer, help them."
"Wh-what are you d-doing?!"
"Restoring order."
Dragging the Toydarian to the side where the nearest poster hung, I point my finger.
"What's written?"
"D-distribution of d-drugs is p-prohibited..."
"And now, get it, get it, get it!" each order was marked by the contact of the Toydarian mug with the poster, to the state of a broken face. "What's not clear?!"
"Cough-cough, ptooie!" spitting blood, the Toydarian looked at me. "I... didn't distribute. I honestly rented the territory and sold on it. You should punish those who took it outside the territory and consumed it. All by contract!" at this, the Toydarian pulled out a small tablet. Taking it, I read the open contract. Indeed, there is a fact of renting a plot on the spaceport territory. "Everything is spelled out, everything is by law! This territory is mine, on your territory I didn't p-p-p-p... crunch!"
the clever trader's speech was interrupted by a tablet inserted into his mouth and a subsequent blow of a crushgaunt to the nose.
"Overdid it a bit," I noted, looking at the crushed, almost detached nose and dislocated jaw.
"What now?"
"Let's drop by Chalmun's. We need to remind the others who's the boss here."
Tossing the unconscious Toydarian over my shoulder, I step after Kaut. Chalmun's Cantina—an establishment where all or almost all visiting criminal faces gather. Locals stay away from there, and it's profitable for us for this contingent to huddle in one place, but until now there had been no incidents. Or, at least, we hadn't heard of them.
With our appearance in the cantina, the sounds began to die down, and my look at the musicians forced them to stop.
"We have a small announcement. For those who have forgotten—I remind you that there is a new authority on Tatooine. For any manifestation of lawlessness, punishment will follow. Also, remember—distribution of illegal goods among the population—is harmful to your health. And to find out what is legal and what isn't, contact the spaceport administration. What will happen in case of violation—our new enterprising friend can tell you," I shake the Toydarian off my shoulder and throw him on the floor. "Is that all?" I look at Kaut.
"You forgot about politeness."
"Ah yes, thanks for the attention!"
And, already having turned around, I hear an exclamation behind my back:
"Seems the Mandalorians have completely lost their bearings..."
"What?" I turn around. "Someone said something?"
"I say you're looking for trouble. This is a neutral planet," a Zabrak said at one of the tables. Looks like a mercenary or a pirate. In light armor himself, a carbine lies nearby.
Approaching him, I see how the whole trio tensed up, but instead of words, I take out a fragmentation grenade. Now the whole bar tensed up. Taking the Zabrak by the hand, I put a grenade in his palm with the timer at zero, and immediately activate it, pressing the button with his thumb.
"You're psychos!" the neighbor opposite shouted, recoiling from his partner, who was looking mesmerized at the flashing indicator in his hands. Pale, trembling, with bulging eyes. Grabbing him by the cheeks, I turn him toward me.
"Once more. This planet has masters and laws. The fact that you don't know them—is your problem, for they are in free access. My advice to you—familiarize yourselves." I slap him on the shoulder and turn around. "This applies to everyone. Pleasant evening."
***
Shade Aero
"Right... The rules will have to be refined," I thoughtfully turn the Forcesaber in my hand, reading Warren's report. To think, such insolence—hiding behind a contract for their deeds. And the administration will have to be given a good slap for such an oversight and for being so late to catch on.
The matter didn't end with one trader. In the TNC contract, it's written in black and white—acquisition or consumption of drugs is strictly prohibited and punishable by dismissal. For distribution—death.
So those few buyers have already been kicked out of the company. In this way, they got rid of the fools and gave an admonition to others. The people didn't want to lose all the just-received goodies at all, and dismissal from today is mostly regarded as a sentence.
The next day, leaving the Mandalorians on Tatooine to watch over order, I directed the CIM to Mandalore.
"Tr-r-r-r..."
"A call from the TNC office," Zero suddenly beeped, distracting me from work.
"Connect."
"Boss?"
"Hello Derick," coming out of meditation, I turn to the hologram. "I'm listening."
"Here, this... they came to see you."
"Who?!"
"Is it really this fast?!" the thought flashes.
"Jedi."
"Ah, ptooie. Je-e-e-edi..."
"And what do they want?"
"I don't know. They say they want to see you. Very much."
"They can wait. I have better things f*cking to do..."
"Tell them I won't be on Corellia for at least two weeks. Want a meeting? Let them wait. I have enough of my own affairs to be distracted by them."
"E-e-eh, Boss, I don't think they'll be happy..." Derick trailed off, looking at my face. "Everything, got it. I'll tell them."
"And another thing, Derick. Find a construction firm that knows how to build space stations and put me in touch with them. Normal combat space stations, I don't want to see a palace in space!"
"Boss," he made a face as if I had insulted him.
"I'm going to be reminding you of the palace in the desert for a long time."
"What amount to count on?"
"How much did Tatu 3 cost?"
"Relatively inexpensive, twenty-three million."
"Inexpensive?"
"For a space station."
"Hm... Count on sixty. The station is combat, not for transshipping cargo."
"Got it."
"Get to work."
Disconnecting, I lean back in the chair. Jedi... What did they want from me? By the way, about the Jedi, I haven't heard from our dark friends for a long time. Even suspiciously so, for them to just leave me alone... I'll have to find time later and visit...
"Tr-r-r..."
"Nome..." I finish, glancing at Zero.
"A call from Hego Damask," the droid obediently reported.
"Speak of the Sith," I look up at the ceiling. "Connect."
"Hello, Shade!"
"Hello, Hego. Haven't heard from you in a while."
"You of all people should know how busy people in high positions are."
"Indeed. For what reason are you calling?"
"You see, rumors of some recent events related to you have reached even me. And we also received a request from the Judicial Department regarding the credit line. We, of course, look after promising clients, and I warned you about Mandalore, but the interest in your person makes me worry. Do you, by any chance, need help?"
"Not really," I smirked. "I'm managing. Where does such interest come from, Hego?"
"As I said, we look after promising clients. I am especially interested in your new company, and I would gladly hear your ideas for its development. Но that is secondary. First is my concern about the attention to your person. And, I emphasize, Shade, you wouldn't be hurt by my help right now. If you don't want very big problems in the near future."
"Is that... a threat?"
"What, on the contrary! A friendly warning. Fly to Muunilinst, and you'll find out everything personally."
"Alright. I'll be there soon."
"Excellent! I'll arrange everything; you'll be expected. Talk to you soon."
"Talk soon, Damask."
The connection disconnected, and a heavy tired sigh sounded in the cabin.
"Seems the second act of the Coruscant ballet is beginning... Zero, connect with the pilot."
"Accepted."
"Boss?"
"Turn around. We're flying to Muunilinst."
***
Muunilinst. Outwardly an insignificant distant planet in its own personal individual sector. It's not very rich in resources, but it has something else—minerals. The planet is very rich in rare and valuable minerals, the price of which sometimes reaches hundreds of millions.
And also, the planet has some of the smartest aliens in the galaxy, who were able to make their home the main Intergalactic Bank. All you need to know about the mind and foresight of the local population is the presence of an entire state in their debt, or more precisely—the Republic. I'm silent about the rest.
Funny, but unlike most other worlds of the Outer Rim, Muunilinst was not colonized, but developed independently, from beginning to end. At first it was an underdeveloped world whose inhabitants were engaged only in fishing and farming. Но the spread of the practice of traveling at the speed of light gave an impetus to rapid development.
Realizing how rich their planet was, the Muuns began to treat it very carefully. This care reached such edges that the locals even built the most expensive space lift in the galaxy, the "High Port," connecting the upper Port with one of the cities. And all so as not to poison the atmosphere with exhaust from engines. These measures bore fruit; many who visited Muunilinst admitted that this planet has the most beautiful sky in the galaxy.
History doesn't remember the turning point when specifically the Muuns entered the big game; it happened quietly and unnoticed. And from that moment the Banking Clan firmly took its place and holds it to this day, possessing a many times more powerful fleet than the one the Republic has.
And the security level of the bankers is top-notch. Just flying into the system, we counted a couple of dozen frigates, plus a defense station, and I won't take on counting how many fighters are hanging around here.
As soon as we entered the system, the CIM was immediately turned around and sent to a dedicated area in the space port. Literally a space port, the very one in which there is a lift connected to the planet.
Inside, the station was guarded by anyone but Muuns. There were as many mercenaries here as gnats on a swamp, but calling them a rabble wouldn't be right. Everyone has good weapons and armor, a uniform, and military bearing. There's no of that wandering or sloppiness; everyone is in their places, everyone is performing their assigned duties. The people looked at me as another client, no more, no less.
And that's the first half of the guard; for the second—the station was guarded by droids, and B1s, but they were tin cans of a modification unfamiliar to me. Passing all the fences, I go down in the lift, where a car is already waiting for me. The transport delivered my humble self directly to Damask's palace. Hego had built himself a house as needed, a hundred meters high, and as much in diameter. Somehow this structure reminded me of an elongated egg, or a cut sausage.
"Or a Muun's head," I finish, looking at Damask coming to meet me.
"Damask," I greet the Muun in the company of a couple of guards.
"Shade. And where are your companions?" Damask looked behind my back in surprise.
"Stayed to look after order on Tatooine. Some problems in that regard are being observed there now."
"I understand. Not the safest world you chose for investing funds, but that's your business. Come."
Falling in beside him, I walked behind the Muun toward his fortress. While we walked, Hego spoke about the mood, about how I prefer to entertain myself, shared a good way to relieve stress himself, namely—to have a good time with Twi'lek slaves.
"I prefer tearing off heads; it immediately makes things easier."
"M... A good way," Damask nodded seriously. "I approve. Но, I hope not female slaves? They are not for that after all..."
"I can do them too."
"How?!"
"I dislike slaves."
"Oh! And why?"
"It's personal."
"Were you in slavery?" Damask showed interest. Both explicit and internal. What a beetle, even in a conversation about "nothing" he tries to find out more.
"No. Но slaves f*cked up something for me... Anyway, affairs long past," I wave it off.
"M... Then understandable. And yet, I would ask you to be softer in that regard. After all, it's very convenient to have your own staff of servants. Especially, personally trained. I know a couple of good Zygerrian specialists; they are engaged in breeding very high-quality slaves. Obedient, and very professional; I can recommend them. They have slaves for absolutely any purpose, including military ones."
"An interesting proposal, I'll think about it."
Talking about nothing and everything, we reached his reception office. A spacious comfortable room, two sofas, a small table. A human girl, about twenty years old, in neat but quite open clothes, without any chains or collars, stood in the corner. Even her look wasn't empty; she fully understood—both who she was and where she was.
"Slave?" I glance at the Muun.
"Naturally. A very expensive slave, but very obedient, and most importantly—loyal. Rada, tell me, what is the meaning of your life?"
"In serving my master," the girl answered clearly and loudly, bowing her head. There were no psychotropic substances or chips in her; for her, it was life and everyday reality. Yes... Looking at her, I involuntarily began to respect the slaver; such ideological processing—is simply remarkable.
"You still think slaves deserve only death?"
"Hm..." taking a glass with a drink from a tray, I sit on the sofa. "Maybe, straight to business?"
"Of course," Damask sat opposite. "So, I want to start with a question. Do you know what is happening on Concord Dawn now? And in general, in the Mandalorian sector?"
"Vaguely, I admit. I have plenty of my own concerns around the company right now to also pay attention to the Mandalorians."
"And a pity. Very a pity. Because right under your nose, affairs are happening that could bring down all your plans."
"I'm listening," frowning, I lean forward.
"The Mandalorians are rising, Shade. Rising with the help of the clans. The clans themselves are gaining strength, and gradually returning their own. Now pacifists rule on Mandalore, but that's a shaky power. Many do not agree; their dissatisfaction is due to living conditions. The pacifists are simply unable to secure Mandalore, for if not for the clans, which now make up the official Mandalore army, pirates would feel right at home there."
"I know they are rising, but I don't understand what you're getting at?"
"Doesn't it bother you that right now a split is happening within the clans?" Damask asked directly. "Exactly in that very transition period when the planets recovered, the numbers went up, new funds flowed..."
"It does, and I even had a conflict with the radicals."
"There! Clan Vizsla, one of the strongest clans, shouts about war, about gatherings, about capturing the Republic... Well isn't that funny?"
"Funny."
"But actually, someone stands behind them. Someone who benefits from this war. It's beneficial for the Mandalorians to take up arms against the Republic again, to deal with their threat once and for all. Well or a civil war will start, and they'll just kill each other," Damask spread his arms. "This variant is even better."
"Someone is egging on Vizsla?"
"Precisely! Someone smart and influential enough has made a multi-move play, which an unaccounted factor intervened in—you!" Damask cheered up, both outwardly and internally. He sincerely liked playing with me, and feeling superior. "Look for yourself: Vizsla gathers forces, has long been heating up relations within the clans, and here such a chic reason to remove competitors appears. You, Shade, yourself gave this reason by showing a tasty morsel. Но they didn't think that you yourself would fly to deal with this problem. And clearly make it understood that you are personally interested in the affected clan. Just a little time passes, and a request comes to us from the Judicial Department regarding your contracts, the Jedi are knocking on your door, and completely random individuals are trying to gain access to your firm's accounts. What a coincidence of circumstances, don't you find?"
"I do. And what, you want to say that someone from the Republic wants to unleash a civil war among the Mandalorians?"
"Not just 'someone,' Shade. I wouldn't have called you here, Shade, not having serious evidence. We tracked the requests—and all traces led to the Jedi Order."
"That's nonsense... Jedi helping Vizsla so they unleash a war?!"
"Vizsla is just a pawn, imagining himself not even a figure, but a player. All this time he received financing from the outside. Unofficial, and inexplicable," the Muun folded his hands before him, fingertips to fingertips. "Someone named Reynar made transfers to a third party, the money lingered there a bit, was filtered, then there was another transfer. And only after that did the funds reach Clan Vizsla. All funds passed through our bank; I made a request among my colleagues and everything is confirmed."
"Fcking 'peacekeepers'," I apply my hand to the bridge of my nose, forgetting and levitating the glass onto the table. "Fck."
"Hm... Unexpected. But everyone has their secrets," the Muun shrugged. "In any case, someone wants to find out from you what you've forgotten among the Mandalorians and what you're doing on Tatooine."
"Right. Damask, tell me—why are you doing this?" I change the subject.
"Doing what?"
"Why are you helping?"
"As I said before, we value the Mandalorians. They are good warriors, with whom it is profitable to work. And also, we don't like the Jedi. They... managed to create many problems, and the news that they were left in the fools—will bring me and my colleagues much, much joy!"
"And also, I'll be in debt," I finish.
"Now, now, this is exclusively a gesture of friendship!" Damask threw up his hands. "I just hope you don't forget it and, when the time comes, if anything suddenly happens, you'll help me. Me personally, not the Banking Clan."
"Don't worry, Hego. I don't forget things like that."
"Very glad for you. So shall we drink to friendship?" Hego raised his glass. And for some reason it seemed to me that I was just concluding a deal with the devil. Although... why not? If there's no God, then we'll make friends with the devil too.
"Let's drink," I lightly clink my glass against his and take a sip. Not a bad drink. Quite bracing.
"Shade, since we're at it, then maybe I'll help you in another matter too? But already as a partner."
"I'm already starting to feel uneasy about your friendliness."
"A pity. While they're giving, you should take."
"Hinting at the TNC?"
"Yes. Your company. I've familiarized myself with some information, your sphere of activity, and even sketched a plan for its development, relying on the available information. You'll forgive me, but the HoloNet—is not the safest way to transmit information. Better the good old courier."
"Or like you, distribute your own buoys and communications ships throughout the galaxy."
"Or that," the Muun nodded. "Nevertheless, I want to find out more, what do you want to do with Tatooine? I've already realized the planet is not as useless as it's considered. But what are your plans?"
"Establish ore mining, then reactor production. Tatooine has a unique and very specific metal from which you can make wonderful technologies based on magnetic fields. These are maglev trains, plasma reactors, railguns, and many other things. I initially thought of something like this, but the results of the research group exceeded my expectations."
"Hm..."
"The other ores on Tatooine will be enough for self-sufficiency. Clean production. Yes, a bit problematic, conditions on the planet leave much to be desired, but, nevertheless, independence from the Republic is worth it."
"Shade, you realize that with your budget, this is, of course, realizable, but it will take—decades? Developing new reactors—is not a momentary affair, and also very expensive. Billions will go into the work; you simply physically don't have such funds. Moreover, large companies build mining shafts like yours by the hundreds, and open dozens of factories. I even doubt you'll be able to somehow establish yourself on the market."
"Slowly, gradually, but we'll manage," I assure. "Don't forget, if you equip the system, you can get decent money from transit ships. The same Trade Federation quite often uses this route."
"You're right. The place is good, and now it turns out it's not deprived of resources. How soon do you think they'll come to you with 'business proposals'?"
"I have no idea."
"As soon as you show what you possess," the Muun answered. "And since that's the case, I want to be the first to offer you cooperation. I am ready to act as an investor in your project," Damask said seriously, holding out his glass to the girl. She immediately refilled the container, and with my nod topped up mine.
"An investor?"
"Let's say... For twenty percent of your shares, I'll provide serious support."
"How serious?"
"Serious enough to be able to build your own institute, hire specialists, start developing technology, seriously take the sector under your own control, and also increase production... Well, say, by five times. With such a beginning—you'll be able to enter the market and not fold before more serious enterprises. I emphasize, I'm offering not a credit, but specifically personal investments."
"Hm... That is a very serious statement. But aren't you afraid of going bust?"
"We," he emphasized with his voice, "will not go bust. At least in the economic sense. But physically you'll have to defend yourself independently. Many will want to encroach on such a tasty pie. On my part I'll do what I can, but the Hutts, the syndicate, and other not particularly law-abiding individuals... You'll have to solve that issue independently," he looked pointedly at the hilts of my Forcesabers.
"Heh-heh-heh-heh, don't worry about that, Damask," I lean back and take a sip. "We'll be able to give whoever needs it a thrashing."
"Including the Jedi?" the Muun arched an eyebrow. And there was a certain subtext in that question...
"Including them," I nod.
"Splendid. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes."
"Rada, bring my tablet."
The girl immediately disappeared behind the door.
"Now let's draft a letter of intent."
"Aha."
"By the way Shade, you..."
The conversation temporarily went into the "nothing" section and returned to the previous tracks with Rada's arrival. As a basis, Damask had already chosen some contract, after which he remade it with me. When I saw the investment amount, I was a bit stunned...
"Three billion?!"
"I understand-understand, it's not much, but currently my finances are somewhat limited by other projects. Но don't you worry, this is only the initial investment."
"Where to put so much?!"
"It's immediately clear that you've never conducted developments of something new. It's a very, very expensive business, believe me. I've been financing Nome for ten years now. Just one of his projects ate over seven billion!"
"Did it even pay off?"
"Naturally," the Muun answered in such a tone as if it couldn't be otherwise. "And you need not a weak gasping institute that tries to do everything at once, but a normal research and development complex where each element will specialize in its own. Well, there, ships, fighters, walkers... And it would also be good to get a profit from transit ships. For example, deploy a refueling station near a gas giant."
"I hate business..." I rub the bridge of my nose.
"You're the first from whom I've heard such words," Damask was sincerely surprised.
"What can you do, I'm a simple being," I spread my arms.
"But then how did you get involved in all this?"
"Ah, just wanted to beat faces and play cards."
"And for that, is there a need to create an entire company?"
"Exactly. It's more fun in a company," I wink. Yes, Damask, not only you know how to fray nerves, heh. When it reached him, the Muun changed the subject to a more neutral one.
In the end, we parted quite satisfied with the new agreement. All that was left was to wait for Talia to help with drafting the official contract, sign—and we can fly.
And I also took the Zygerrian's contact from Damask. I'm very interested in how he processes; I could use such technology...
"Zero, make a new entry in the notes about visiting Zygerria."
"Accepted."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan