Author here - Is this good, is this bad no idea but kind of having fun. Also I did some lore diving into the star wars wiki and holy, I did not realise even a comparably small shitty cruiser like Gozanti costs 200,000 credits. While my boy here making literal beggar change so I did some more digging and found out that governors/moffs of relatively well of systems can afford personal fleets AND bribing the ISB, so I am sorry if the money/price things will be wrong or off compared to lore and if I fumble or keep the pricing vague dont crucify me. (Though tbf I seen good and popular stories where the pricing is always vague or just said "bought with credits" leave reviews, comments, stones, kudos, a steam giftcard Idk)
I stood at the head of the long table in the palace's converted war room, feeling every eye on me like a targeting laser.
The room used to be some fancy ceremonial hall back in Republic days. High ceilings, faded banners still clinging to the walls like they refused to fucking die.
Now it was just a stripped-down grey box with a holo-table in the center, mismatched chairs, and lights that flickered every so often like they were mocking who ever dared to use this room.
I had called them here at dusk. No official summons.
Just quiet word passed through people I could afford to trust.
The faces around the table were the only ones I could risk with this kind of plan.
Torv sat to my right, arms crossed, blaster rifle leaning against his chair, I think he even showers with it.
Lira was beside him, roleplaying as an Ipad kid with that diagnostic kit she always has open, if she could she would be watching Cocomelon right about now.
Rusty rolled in the corner, dome swiveling between everyone like he was judging their life choices and rightfully so, he is my day 1. My Clanka.
Elara sat opposite me, hands folded, expression calm but sharp, she could do with a little bit of relax and a good anti wrinkle cream with how much she always scowls.
Harlan stood near the door, datapad ready to take notes or burn them if needed. Meanwhile Mira hovered at the back wall, clutching her own pad, eyes wide but steady.
I had added three more tonight: Captain Reza from the Gozanti, mid-30s, loyal but not stupid, I hope.
Lieutenant Varn, stormtrooper captain, scarred face and no-nonsense stare while his voice sounds like he is Commander Appo during operation knightfall mission in battlefront 2.
There was also Chieftain Rekk from Thorn-Root, brought in by Elara as a test. Reddish skin, clan tattoos curling up his neck, watching me like I was one wrong word from being a problem, apparently he was elected by the natives to speak on behalf of their militia.
I cleared my throat. The room went still.
"I'm saying this once," I started. "What we discuss here stays here. If it leaves this room, people die. Including me. Including you." I let that sink in for a second.
Then I activated the holo-table. A simple schematic appeared: Elyria II orbit, a small freighter route, pirate skiff icons in red.
"Pirates are circling our moon," I said. "They've been watching Durak's Hold for weeks. Small-time raiders. A couple of skiffs, probably no more than three ships in this sector that we know of, possibly more in neighbouring ones. They hit miners, traders, anyone who looks weak. So far they've only probed. They haven't committed because they think the risk to reward is not worth the effort." After all we are quite poor after all. I think with some bitterness.
I tapped the table. The schematic zoomed in on the projected route.
"We're going to change their minds. We send a fake ore transport. Lightly guarded. High-value manifest. Vulnerable path from Elyria II to Prime. They bite. We spring the trap: Gozanti hidden behind the moon, TIEs on standby, boarding team ready. We capture at least one ship intact. Disable, board, secure. Then we repurpose it."
I looked around the table. Some faces skeptical. Some intrigued. Some calculating.
"Here are the pros," I continued. "One: we gain a ship. Even a small extra freighter gives us mobility we don't have now. Two: black-market access. We sell excess skim goods. Duranium overage, herbs, timber. 20 to 30 percent higher rates than official channels. We buy back what we need: drills, bacta, weapons, fuel. No waiting eleven days for the next trader. Three: crew jobs. Loyal natives or militia get paid to fly, not just mine or stand guard. That buys more trust. Four: deterrence. Pirates learn this system bites back. Fewer raids. More breathing room, also we get connections to procure things a standard channel doesn't." I pause.
"Now the cons. One: if we get caught, it's treason. Private fleet, black-market ops. Empire doesn't care about 'self-defense.' We hang, or worse. Two: pirates fight. Boarding is messy. We lose people. Three: the captured crew talks. They'll threaten revenge, sell our names to bigger syndicates. Four: attention. If a Moff or ISB notices unusual activity, they start asking questions. Five: natives might see it as 'becoming pirates.' trust could break."
I leaned forward, palms flat on the table.
"I'm not asking for blind faith. I'm asking for a vote. If anyone says no, we scrap it. No hard feelings. But if we do this, we do it clean."
Silence.
Torv spoke first. "I can lead the boarding. We'll take losses, but we can minimize them, we could also find any hidden stash they have, personally I could use a better blaster. So I say yes."
Of course, Torv and his fucking guns, wait they are blasters here. Guns are seen as uncivilised and barbaric. Honestly, I should invest in a shotgun in case I go head to head with a lightsaber user
Parry this lead buckshot from a pump action shotgun from a point blank range fucking space wizard. Even if they somehow block ALL the buckshot that shit will just melt and hit them anyway. This aint blaster territory.
While I was fantasising about putting lead holes in space wizards the rest started also talking.
Lira nodded and said."I can rig disablement charges. Non-lethal if possible. The ship's worth more intact. Yes."
Elara looked at Rekk, then back to me. "My people are tired of being bled dry. If this means better gear and real wages… and if you keep your word on the reallocations… yes."
Rekk grunted. "We fly. We fight. We get paid. Yes."
Captain Reza spoke and nodded his head. "My ship can hide behind the moon. TIEs can cover. Risky, but doable. Yes."
Lieutenant Varn nodded once. "Stormtroopers core ready sir."
Harlan cleared his throat. "Logistics can handle the cover story. Fake manifest, delayed reports. Yes." Mira just nodded, small but firm.
I exhaled. "Then we start tomorrow. Prep begins at dawn." I looked around the table one more time."No one leaves this room until we have a plan everyone can live with." The holo-table glowed brighter as they began.
***
I stood at the head of the war room table the next morning, feeling the weight of too little sleep and too many eyes on me. Dawn light came through the high windows, turning dust particles into tiny floating sparks. The holo-table glowed blue in the centre of the room, projecting the orbital map of Elyria II and the surrounding space. Pirate patrol patterns blinked in red. The bait route curved in green.
The room held more people than last night. I had expanded the circle carefully, only bringing in those I could not afford to leave out.Torv sat to my right, Lira sat beside him, Elara sat opposite me, hands folded. Chieftain Rekk sat next to her, Captain Reza leaned against the wall, arms folded, cruiser commander uniform still crisp despite the early hour. Lieutenant Varn stood near the door.
Sergeant Korran sat beside him, native militia leader from Thorn-Root, reddish skin and clan markings visible on his neck. Pilot Jessa rounded out the group, one of Reza's shuttle captains, young but sharp-eyed, already tapping notes on her own pad.
I tapped the table. The map zoomed in on the bait route.
"Listen up," I said. "We do this once."
I pointed to the projected freighter icon. "Bait ship: one of our small ore shuttles. Modified manifest shows high-value duranium load, lightly guarded. Route: standard transfer from Durak's Hold to Prime. Pirates have watched this path for weeks. They will bite."
Captain Reza nodded. "My crew can rig the shuttle's transponder to broadcast 'vulnerable' status. Make it look like a routine run with minimal escort." I continued. "Trap: Gozanti hides behind Elyria II's far side. TIEs stay cold until the pirates commit. Boarding team launches when the skiffs are close."Torv leaned forward. "Boarding team: twenty troopers plus militia. We hit the lead skiff first. Disable engines, breach, secure bridge. No unnecessary kills. We want the ship intact."
Lieutenant Varn spoke. "Stormtroopers can handle zero-g boarding. Militia enters later as back up and covers the corridors."
Sergeant Korran grunted. "My people know the shuttles. We can crew the bait if needed. But we want guarantees. No one left behind." Elara looked at me. "The clans will volunteer. But they need to see profit. Not just risk." I met her eyes. "They will. Captured ship becomes ours. We repaint it neutral. Crew it with loyal natives and militia. Use it for black-market runs: sell goods, buy what we need. Faster than waiting on traders. Higher rates. Jobs. Credits."
Chieftain Rekk spoke. "You turn pirates into profit. How do we know you won't turn on us next?"
I did not flinch. "Because I am not stupid enough to burn the only people keeping this system running. You get paid. You get gear. You get a stake. I get breathing room and some credits to improve this system. Everyone wins."
Pilot Jessa raised a hand. "Shuttle can carry decoy cargo. Fake crates. Looks real on scans. Pirates won't know until they are on board, the shuttle should also carry more personnel."
Lira tapped her datapad. "I can rig disablement charges on the engines. Non-lethal EMP burst. Shuts them down without wrecking the hull. We board while they are blind."
I nodded. "Timeline: prep today and tomorrow. Bait launches day after. Tovik sends the controlled leak tonight. 'Governor sending lightly guarded shipment.' Pirates should bite within hours."
Torv grunted. "Risks?"I listed them without hesitation. "Pirates might bring more or bigger ships we dont know of. We lose the bait crew. We lose troopers. We get spotted by Imperial patrol. Someone talks. Tovik's channel gets burned. Bigger syndicates notice. We hang for treason if a Moff looks too close."
Silence settled.
I looked around the table. "Anyone out?"
No one moved."
Then we start." I tapped the holo-table again. The map brightened with new markers.
***
I spent the rest of the morning in the hangar bay watching the prep work turn into something resembling a plan. The place smelled of fuel, scorched metal, and the faint ozone tang of charging power cells.
Mechanics swarmed the bait shuttle like insects on a carcass, welding panels, swapping transponders, loading fake duranium crates stamped with convincing Imperial seals.
Torv had taken over a corner of the bay for boarding drills. Stormtroopers and militia ran through zero-g breach simulations on a marked-off section of floor. They wore mismatched gear: stormtrooper armour mixed with patched native leather and scavenged plastoid.
Torv barked orders in a low growl, correcting stances, timing, entry angles. I watched one recruit fumble a mag-grapple line and nearly faceplant. Torv hauled him up without comment.
"Again," Torv growled in that drill sergant voice from the military movies. "Faster this time. Pirates won't wait for you to find your footing."
I walked over. "How long until they are ready?"
Torv wiped sweat from his brow. "Ideally a few weeks but we dont have enough time so around 36 hours. They are green enough to piss a shade of Alderaan grass, but they make it up with their eagerness. We will make do."
I nodded. "Disable and board. I want the ship flyable, not a fireball." Torv grunted. "Understood." before he went back in to torturing the stromtroopers and militia alike.
Lira was in the shuttle's cargo bay, kneeling next to an open panel. Wires snaked out like guts. She had a small EMP charge in her hand, delicate circuitry glowing under her scanner light.
"Non-lethal burst," she said without looking up. "Engines shut down for thirty minutes. No hull damage. Bridge systems stay online so we can board without fighting through locked doors."I crouched beside her. "Can you make it remote-triggered?"
She nodded. "Already is. I linked it to Rusty's feed. One command, they go dark."
Rusty rolled up behind us, beeping smugly. I translated in my head: I am the best hacker in this system. Worship me, meatbag.
I snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."
Elara found me near the shuttle ramp an hour later. She carried a small crate of native-made filter masks and water packs. Her boots left faint dust prints on the deck."Volunteers," she said. "They will crew the bait. They know the route. They know the risks."I looked at the crate, then at her. "You trust them with this?"She met my eyes. "They trust you enough to step on that shuttle. After the reallocations promise, after you walked the shafts on the moon. That is more than most off-worlders get."I exhaled. "Tell them the truth. If it goes wrong, they die first."
She nodded. "They know. They still volunteered."
I watched her walk away, crate balanced on one hip. Something in my chest loosened a fraction.
Captain Reza approached next. "Gozanti is fueled and ready. We can hide behind the moon's shadow. TIEs will stay cold until you give the word. Two flights on standby." I nodded. "Launch window?"
"Day after tomorrow. Dawn local time. Pirates like low-visibility approaches."
"Good. Keep the crew on rotation. No chatter outside this group."
Reza saluted and left.
Tovik's message went out that night. I stood in the comm room watching Lira send it through the relay. The text scrolled across the screen: "Governor sending lightly guarded ore shipment tomorrow. High-value load. Minimal escort."
I stared at the words until they blurred.
I walked back to my quarters alone. The palace corridors were dark, only emergency strips glowing along the floor. I passed the armoury, heard the faint clatter of militia cleaning weapons. Passed the native guest wing, caught the low murmur of Elara speaking to her people in their dialect.
I reached my room. Door hissed shut behind me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the fucking dust still clinging to my boots from the hangar. The moon hung outside the viewport, cold and indifferent.
I rubbed my face. "I feel like im running a GTA casino heist run" I muttered to the empty room, "Difference being the casino heist pays a fuck ton, I will be happy if I get more than a 100,000 credits, half the price of the gozanti. " I sigh as I lay back. Sleep did not come easy. But it did come.
***
I stood on the bridge of the Gozanti, arms folded, staring at the main holo-table as the bait shuttle drifted into position.
The command deck was quiet except for the low hum of consoles and the occasional beep from Rusty's station. Captain Reza manned the helm, hands steady on the controls. Lieutenant Varn stood beside me, helmet under his arm, eyes locked on the tactical display.
A small team of bridge officers monitored comms and sensors. The holo-table showed the scene in clean blue and red overlays. The bait shuttle, a modified ore hauler loaded with fake duranium crates floated along the predicted route from Elyria II to Prime.
Two TIEs trailed at extreme range, cold and silent. The Gozanti sat hidden behind the moon's bulk, engines dark, signature masked by emergency jamming, a few TIEs attched to it.
I checked the timer. Three minutes until predicted intercept zone.
Rusty beeped from his console slot. I glanced at the translation on my pad: Enemy signatures detected. Three skiffs. Closing fast. Probability of bite: 94%. They look hungry.
I nodded, "Good," I muttered. "Let them get greedy."
Reza's voice cut through the bridge. "Shuttle reports visual contact. Three light freighters, light armament. They are hailing. Demanding surrender. "
I nodded. "Tell the bait crew to play scared. Stall. Give us time to close." The bridge officer relayed the order. On the holo, the bait shuttle's icon slowed, broadcasting a panicked distress ping. The pirate skiffs accelerated, fanning out to encircle." Thirty seconds to optimal range," Reza said.
I watched the display. My pulse stayed steady. If we lost the shuttle, we lost credits and time. If we lost the boarding team, we lost people. If we lost the Gozanti, we lost everything, but if we somehow lose the Gozanti that means I am just god awful and deserve it.
"Launch TIEs," I ordered. "Flank pattern. Do not engage until they commit to boarding."Two flights of TIEs detached from the Gozanti's bays. They streaked out, engines flaring, curving wide to hit the pirates from the sides.
The skiffs hesitated. Then one broke off toward the bait shuttle, docking clamps extending, probably hoping to get them as hostages. The other two turned to face the incoming TIEs while retreating to jump points.
"Boarding team away," Varn reported. "Torv's shuttle launching now."
On the holo, small assault crafts detached from around the Gozanti and burned toward the pirate skiffs. I switched feeds to Torv's helmet cam. Grainy, shaky footage: troopers and militia in zero-g, mag-grapples firing, breaching the enemy hull.
Blaster fire erupted. Red and blue bolts crisscrossed the feed. I saw Torv kick through a hatch, rifle up, dropping two pirates in the corridor. Militia followed, moving in tight if a bit uncoordinated formation unlike the professional stormtroopers.
A scream cut across comms, one of ours hit. Then silence as they pushed forward.
The bridge crew held their breath.
"Bridge secured," Torv's voice crackled. "Engines disabled. Pirates surrendering. One skiff down."I exhaled. "Good. Secure the prisoners. Check for self-destruct. I want that ship flyable."
The second pirate skiff broke away before the other shuttle could reach it and ran, putting all the remaining power into their shields and engines, their engines flaring as it tried to jump. However, TIEs pursued, disabling one engine with precise fire. It drifted, dead in space.
"Second skiff disabled, shuttle approaching to board" Reza reported.
The third skiff turned out to have better weapons and shot the shuttle with the boarding party causing it to drift in space due to it having poor and outdated shielding.
Thankfully it did not try and finish the job it only turned to flee. TIEs tried to chased it down, but it jumped to hyperspace before they could close. I stared at the holo. One captured. One crippled and in process of being borded. One escaped.
Not good but not bad.
"Bring the captured skiff in," I said. "Tow the other one to the hidden pad outside Havenridge. Secure the prisoners. Interrogate later for possible location of their base and thier possible allies.
"Reza nodded. "Aye, sir."
I watched the holo as the assault craft docked with the pirate ship. Troopers moved in. Pirates were cuffed, stripped of weapons. I then look at the other feeds, the feed from Torv's helmet showed the bridge: consoles smoking, bodies on the floor, but the ship intact.
The other one showed the onboard technicians trying to jumpstart the engines in the drifting shuttle and the other feed showed how the boarding team is going through the 2nd ship.
I turned away from the table.
"Get me a damage report on our side," I said. "And tell Torv good work." The bridge crew moved. I stood alone for a moment, staring at the receding moon.
I could do with a cold crisp white monster and a zyn pack right about now I sigh.
***
I watched from the Gozanti's bridge as the tow cables locked onto the two pirate skiffs. The first one Torv's prize floated clean and mostly intact, hull scorched black in places but engines still humming at low idle.
The second looked rougher: one engine pod missing, hull plating buckled like someone had taken a vibro-ax to it, but the frame held. Both ships were smaller than the Gozanti, light freighters patched together from whatever scrap the pirates could steal. Sloppy work. Cheap.
No one on my side died.
That hit me harder than it should have. Torv's after-action report came in crisp over comms: pirates had worse armor mismatched plastoid and leather scraps that cracked under even a glancing blow from a blaster, worse training, and weapons that misfired half the time. Blasters jammed. Vibroblades were dull. Aim was wild.
Our people had better gear, which is hard to believe looking at what we have but goes to show how poor some others have it we also were better trained pirates are mostly used to attacking defenceless farmers in some forgotten planets.
They took the bridges with minimal effort, a few bruises, some blaster burns that would heal in a week, one broken arm from a bad mag-grapple landing some got shot in the leg from a particularly strong blaster.
That was it. No deaths, the biggest loss was one of the shuttles getting disabled.
I exhaled slowly. Thank the force or whatever for small mercies. I tilt my head a bit and think. Should I pray to the force or the trio of Father, Son, Daughter, because as much as clone wars showed that they died or something they probably just died for a day and came back. Before I could think of *The Mother* it was as if a psychic bucket of cold water was thrown on me and 3 distinctive old gazes locked onto me.
Fuck.
Note to self, dont fucking do that.
After a bit the gazes went away. One of old wisdom and balance, one of pure hatred and lust for power and the other of light, love and serenity. I liked the last one the most, could use some serenity in my stupid life.
I sigh as I am consoled that I have no force ability meaning no Vader chasing my ass.
New entry available:
Celestials: (Race)
Population: 3 (4) known. Possible for more or offshoots, Bendu being one is a possibility.
Attributes: Living force
Lore: ???
Powers: ???
Descriptions: Unavailable
Later.
The hangar bay on Prime felt crowded once the skiffs were towed in. The hidden pad outside Havenridge was too exposed for something this sensitive, so we brought them straight to the palace's lower bay a cavernous space usually used for maintenance.
Floodlights glared down on the ships. Stormroopers and militia swarmed them like ants on carrion, stripping anything loose: weapons, power cells, comm gear, even the navicomputer cores.
Torv walked over, armour still on but helmet off. Sweat streaked his face. "Clean sweep. Thirty-two pirates total. Twenty-one surrendered or injured, eleven killed. No fatalities on our side. They fought like drunks with blasters."
"Good," I said. "Prisoners?"
"Secured in the lower brig. Interrogation starts tomorrow. They are talking already. Scared."
Lira approached next, datapad in hand, face smudged with grease and dust. "Loot inventory preliminary. Small haul, but useful."
She tapped the screen. A list scrolled up in front of me.
Weapons: 28 blasters (mostly knockoffs, 14 functional), 9 vibroblades, 3 thermal detonators (unstable, marked for disposal)
Gear: 15 patched vac-suits, 4 portable power cells, 2 crates of ration packs (stale but edible)
Fuel: 1,800 liters of hypermatter (enough for one jump per skiff)
Data: 3 encrypted datapads, 1 navicomputer core, partial comm logs
I skimmed it. Not much in credits. Maybe 12,000 to 15,000 if sold quietly on the black market. But the data..."Pull the comm logs," I said. "And the navicomputer. I want everything decrypted."
Lira nodded and moved off.
Elara came over a minute later. "My people helped unload," she said. "They are not happy about the risk, but no one died."
I looked at the crate she is holding, then at her. "Tell them the reallocations are already in motion. Gear ships tomorrow. Shifts drop next cycle."
She gave a small nod, a ghost of a smile on her face. "They will hear it from me."
I turned back to the skiffs. Something felt off. The haul was too small. Pirates did not operate like this unless they were desperate. Or part of something bigger.
Lira returned twenty minutes later, expression tight. "Decryption complete. Partial. But enough."
She projected a holo-map from her pad. A web of red lines spread across the system and into neighbouring sectors. "Comm logs show these skiffs were part of a loose confederation. At least three groups that we know of so far that are operating in this sector and more than ten in adjacent ones. Outposts marked here, here, and here." She pointed. "Some have bigger ships. One has a corvette-class vessel. Another has two heavily armed freighters, others have multitude of fighters."
I stared at the map. The red lines spiderwebbed outward. Too many. Too spread out."Total pirate strength?" I asked. "Unknown, estimates vary from around thirty to around seventy ships big and small and around four hundred pirates. But these three skiffs were scouts. The logs mention 'main fleet' waiting for high-value targets. They ignored us until now because Elyria is poor. Not worth the effort."
Torv grunted from behind me. "We were too small to be prey."
"Exactly," I said. "Safe because we are not worth attacking."
Well, talk about luck in misfortune.
Reza stared at the map. Varn's jaw tightened. Even Rusty's dome lights dimmed for a second.
I felt the weight settle heavier. Multiple groups in a loose confederation with: Corvettes. Armed freighters, star fighers, outposts, fighters.
We have one Gozanti, thirty-six TIEs, five hundred barely-trained troops, and a handful of militia a few shuttles one of which is disabled and 2 pirate skiffs that are essentially flying welded bins.
We had been safe because we were insignificant. Now we had just poked the nest.
I rubbed my face. "Secure the ships. Strip anything sellable that does not compromise the ship and fix them up. Get the prisoners talking. I want names, bases, fleet sizes."
Lira nodded. "Already started." I looked at the map one more time. Red lines everywhere." Double patrols," I said.
***
Two weeks.
Two weeks of dust, swearing, late nights, and the constant feeling that I was one bad decision away from the Empire deciding I was more trouble than I was worth.
The two captured skiffs sat in the palace's lower hangar bay like trophies nobody really wanted to claim. We stripped them down to bare frames in the first three days: every weapon, every power cell, every scrap of usable plating. What we could not sell or repurpose, we melted down for parts. What we could use, we kept.
By day eight, both ships were flying again. Not pretty. Definitely not clean. But flyable.
The first skiff the one Torv took got the better treatment. We replaced the burned-out engine nacelles with spares from the Gozanti's inventory (Reza grumbled but handed them over). Lira and her team patched the hull, recalibrated the navicomputer, and rewired the weapons so they would not blow up in our faces.
We painted it neutral gray with no markings. Just a nondescript light freighter that could blend into any Outer Rim traffic lane.
The second skiff was rougher. One engine pod was gone for good. We jury-rigged a mismatched replacement from the palace scrap yard. Shields were at 60% capacity. Hyperdrive was twitchy. But it flew. Barely.
Crewing them was the harder part.
I did not want stormtroopers on these runs. Too obvious. Too precious to waste, their training is too useful.
I wanted natives. People who knew the system, who had skin in the game, who would not sell me out to the first Moff who waved credits.
Elara brought me the volunteers. Eight from Thorn-Root and around four from two smaller clans. All young, all restless, all tired of scraping by on mining wages. I sat them down in the war room and laid it out plain.
"This is not piracy," I told them. "This is trade. We sell what the Empire does not need. We buy what we do need. You get paid. I get paid. You get to keep your people fed. I get to keep the lights on the planet. But if you get caught, the Empire will hang you. And if you betray me, I will do it myself."
They stared at me wide eyed but still restless, they dont want to sit still dont they.
We launched the first run on day fourteen.
The two skiffs slipped out of orbit at 0300 local time.
A quiet vector toward the nearest major black-market hub in the sector: Kessel's shadow-port on the edge of the Kessel Run. Black Sun territory. They paid well and asked few questions.
I stayed on Prime. Watched from the Gozanti bridge via encrypted feed from time to time. Reza stood beside me, arms folded.
The run took thirty-six hours round-trip. When the skiffs returned, they were intact. No pursuit. No damage beyond normal wear or even tracking beacons.
The cargo report came in while I was still in my quarters trying to sleep. Lira met me in the hangar. She looked tired but satisfied. "We sold everything," she said. "Spare weapons from the pirate haul: 34,400 credits. We bought what we needed. Better drills for Durak's Hold. Bacta restock. Power cells. Ammo. Fuel."
I exhaled. "Good."
"There is more," she said. "The port was crawling with mercenaries. Mandalorians. Two Kom'rk-class fighters and fifty-three additional fighters including pilots. Full squadron strength. They are for hire. Independent. No syndicate ties we could find."
I stared at her. "Contact?"
She handed me a small encrypted chip. "They gave this to our crew. Said if we need muscle that can actually fight, call them. No questions asked." I took the chip. Turned it over in my hand.
Fifty-five Mandalorians. Kom'rk-class ships. Real experienced fighters with top grade weapons, armour and training. What worried me is the price of hiring them.
I looked out at the two skiffs. Patched. Repainted. Already being unloaded. Thousands of credits. A working black-market pipeline. A contact for Mandalorians.
Two weeks ago I had been scraping 2,600 a week and praying the power stayed on after some technicians kicked it back on.
Now I had some ships a little bit of a flow that let me expand my options and a map full of red lines showing pirate and slaver groups that could crush us if they ever decided we were worth the effort. I slipped the chip into my pocket. "Get the ships refuelled," I said. "Prep for another run in five days. And tell Elara I want to meet with the native crews tomorrow."