As it usually happens, we couldn't fly to Concord Dawn immediately. Since turning to the Trade Federation or any other transport company was not an option, we needed to transport all this gear ourselves. Fortunately, the documents for our transport company were already registered, and the ships were ordered; all that remained was to wait.
We didn't get fancy with the freighters, taking them on the principle: cheaper and more capacious. These parameters were fully met by the Corellian YT series freighters, specifically the YT-1300. The model had only just, essentially a couple of years ago, come off the slips and gone on sale. A relatively inexpensive and good freighter with an off-the-charts tonnage.
When Dis showed me this beauty, I rubbed my eyes. For this was the very ship the main characters from the movie flew! That one, what was it... some Falcon or other. Interestingly, the pair of teeth on the nose are container mounting points. They slotted in and were reliably fixed. Because of this, the ship's cockpit was moved to the side, and the engine occupied a good third of the ship's total volume. So, essentially, it's a cockpit with an engine and living space for a small crew. This little guy could carry an indecently large amount—up to sixteen containers, against which the ship itself looks very amusing. Interestingly, it could even enter the atmosphere with those containers.
An antigrav unit is built into the support structure on which the containers are hung, allowing for the safe descent of cargo that weighs dozens of times more than the ship pushing it. These guys cost quite little, given such capabilities—one hundred thousand credits, but it's understandable, as there's essentially nothing in it but a reactor and an engine. We bought thirty of them at once, plus hired free pilots there on Corellia remotely.
While the trucks were coming to us, I was given the results of the expert examination of the ships brought by the Jawas. These small, nasty, vile... devils had pulled everything they could from the ships for additional sale! For such a scam, I sent a squad of Mandalorians of two Zabraks after them, because screw that.
Despite the act of vandalism by the Jawas toward the already battered ships, two-thirds of the ships were quite repairable, with half of them still flying in the galaxy. In the sense, the models.
So, the ships were divided into three groups. First—repairable and useful to us. Second—repairable and useless for us. And third—complete junk. Given that we have a criminal type about to settle here, all of the above can be pushed through him. Though... to return functional status to the ships, slips are needed, and that's additional expenses, people, time... in short, let it lie for now, especially since it doesn't ask for food. The parts will collect.
I distracted myself from work with Talia. The girl was slowly and gradually becoming imbued with feelings for me. If at first she wanted just affection and a good stable position, now it had grown into something personal. Of course, neither has much time, but I found some to squeeze the cutie, and Talia to brew me a mug of vork. Amusingly, I hadn't even thought that this drink was brewed using the technology: "Aaaaah, something like that!" Truly, someone was holding a secret to themselves, heh.
Recalling that the girl began to reveal herself from a new side after the incident on Vendaxa, I started looking askance at my mother's mask, but the ghost appearing from time to time only smiled enigmatically and shrugged her shoulders. Mom herself began to manifest more actively. Not wandering as a poltergeist, of course, but nevertheless I periodically see her sitting on the pedestal near her mask. As she admits herself, she wants to take part in all this, relax a bit, simply feel alive and help me.
But alas. For now it's impossible. Later, when everything returns to its normal tracks, we will definitely return to this. Now we need to open mines on Mandalore, organize provisions, reach an agreement with the authorities... a nightmare, basically.
By the way, regarding the agreements...
Gathering the data on neighboring sectors into a heap, I tried to analyze the current state of affairs. In particular, I was concerned about the security of hyperroutes, as well as the presence of inhabited planets with a small population. Having gained access to the Hutt markets, looking at who trades what in these regions was no trouble. I'm especially concerned about some militarized groups that trade in provisions, rare herbs, special rare-earth minerals or metals. Yeah, I'll just go and believe that they mine it themselves, uh-huh. Right, I should write dooooown the addresses.
"Shade!" suddenly the doors flew open and a panting man appeared in them.
"Derick? What happened?" I look up from work.
"We have problems!"
"The Hutts started stirring?" I ask melancholically, returning to the tablet. Right, now this is interesting, felicium. A special expensive and fastidious plant, well, well, who's trading it?
"Hardly. We're being accused of transporting drugs under the guise of cargo."
Freezing, I turn my gaze to Derick.
"What?"
"The last batch with ore was intercepted by Republic patrol organs on the approach to Kashyyyk. Half a ton of spice was found on board."
"Half a ton?" a nod. "They've taken us seriously," I jerk my head and set the tablet aside. "Who knows about this?"
"Only us for now."
"Hm..."
"Chief, maybe you... shouldn't have done that to Gardulla?"
"It's not the Hutts," I cut him off, tapping my fingers gloomily on the desk. "They'd rather choke than waste half a ton of spice on something like that, especially as I stepped on the tail of only one kajidic, not the whole Council. And even if it were the Council, Jabba would have warned me... or already cleared out.
"Then who?!"
"And who is our main spice supplier?"
"The Pykes?"
"Looks like it. Apparently the guys got tired of waiting and decided to act. But I have doubts that it's them."
"Why?"
"Yuri hasn't sent the report of his investigation yet, and there are high-ranking individuals set against me. It's quite possible it could be them. In any case, we have to sort it out."
"Yes, but what should we do? The ship is impounded, and because of the accusation our license is hanging in the air."
"Return to work, ignore this quirk. Just give the pilots support, and give me their coordinates, I'll handle it."
"Alright."
Watching Derick leave, I tap thoughtfully on the desk and look askance at the appearing ghost of my mother.
"What do you think?"
"Have to sort it out."
"Have to... but I also have to fly to Concord Dawn."
"What's more important?"
"The incident with the drugs," I rub the bridge of my nose. "Before the bureaucratic machine has moved, it has to be resolved. Later will be too late."
"Well there you go."
"Let's think. A bounty has been placed on my head. To avoid problems and further nastiness that could at least eat up time, we need to make it so that Shade Aero sets out, as planned, for Concord Dawn, while his anonymous assistant in Mandalorian armor in the company of other Mandalorians goes to deal with the pests. Hm?"
"Fine."
"Then we'll do just that. Zero, call Warren Stick to me."
"Accepted."
While the Mandalorian was coming, I hastily closed the gestalts, giving orders, leaving notes, and closing the work.
"Shade?"
"Come in."
"Did something happen?" the Mandalorian noticed my bustle.
"You could say that. What about the loading?"
"We'll finish tomorrow."
"Excellent. Now listen up, someone is trying to frame us. I have to fly and sort it out, but! A Black Mandalorian will fly, while Shade Aero will fly tomorrow with you to Concord Dawn."
"I understand."
"Allocate me a squad of guys from the repainted ones, they'll fly with me, leave part of the guys here for security, take everyone else with you. Tell me, what's with your clans' fleet?"
"It's non-existent, to be honest."
"But all of yours have ships, do I understand correctly?"
"Well almost. Every clan, you could say, has its own park of ships for various needs."
"Aha... Listen, can you get through to the other clans through your father so yours gather?"
"What do you want to do?" the Mandalorian arched an eyebrow.
"I thought it was time to return to our roots and go on a raid after some f*ggots."
"Is that... a joke?" but looking at my face, Warren continued in an already more joyful tone: "Heh, that'll be interesting. Alright, I understand you, I'll do everything needed."
"Good. Go."
After Warren's departure, I pack my things and head to the ship. Along the way I dropped in on Talia; the girl lived and worked right here. No, she lived in my room, but worked a couple of rooms away.
"Sun, hi!"
"Shade?" the girl arched her brows in surprise. Right, for the whole time I hadn't appeared in her office once.
"A sudden matter has appeared here, I have to leave," I say, walking through the small room.
"What is it?"
"A ship was intercepted, allegedly we're carrying drugs..."
"?!"
"No, it won't affect you. A lawyer has nothing to do there, it'll be resolved differently. I just came to warn you."
"Oh really?"
"Yes... because later I'll have to drop by Concord Dawn... anyway, I don't know when I'll show up on Tatooine."
"I see."
"And for some reason it seems to me that we won't see each other soon now," I add thoughtfully, looking at this wonder.
"It's not hard for me to fly there myself."
"That's not the point... anyway, doesn't matter."
Leaning over, I kiss my Sun.
"Be careful here; if anything happens, contact me immediately."
"Definitely," the girl smiled. "And Shade!" she called to me in the passage.
"Hm?"
"When you return, I think you'll like another surprise. Return soon."
"Hm... I'll try."
Saying goodbye to the girl, I leave the fortress. A surprise? I hate surprises... though Talia hasn't let me down yet and whatever news comes from her, it's always good. Alright, we'll trust the Force, as it remains silent.
In the spaceport the fighters allocated by Warren were already waiting for me. Ten Mandalorians waited silently at the ramp led by Tron.
Loading up, we set out for Randon. The planet near which our pilots were arrested is located in the system of the same name in the Mid Rim neighboring Kashyyyk. Randon is a major trade world, literally overflowing with markets. This happened because the planet is at the intersection of five trade routes in the Mid Rim, having roughly equal distance from the main galactic hyperroutes. You could say it's its own king in a microworld.
The architecture there isn't like on Coruscant, of course, but it's also heavily built up, which is an unusual phenomenon for the Mid Rim. Good thing they aren't sitting on each other's heads.
At various times the planet belonged to several interstellar states, and battles constantly raged in its system. Well, they still happen periodically. Despite the high degree of protection, pirates have literally occupied this world. No matter where you spit, no matter which hyperroute you look at, on the approaches there is a probability of meeting merry guys eager for someone else's goods. It was near this planet that the Trade Federation suffered losses of six billion credits, and it's near this planet that the TF drives its military fleets, because they're annoying.
Therefore, primary security is provided specifically by corporate troops. Against this background, the arrest by official organs of a transit truck that didn't even intend to enter the port looks very... well, very suspicious.
Upon approaching the planet, I gathered all the Mandalorians in the lounge for a briefing. Only six fit at the table; a Wookiee occupied a whole sofa by himself, another two Twi'lek sisters propped up the doorframes, and a Nautolan settled right on the table.
"Listen up. A few days ago a truck with cargo was arrested on charges of drug transport. The task—find the one who conducted the arrest and shake them thoroughly. In case of resistance—protection is needed, as well as in case someone tries to clear out. Tron, Hanharr, you come with me. The rest—split up."
"Are we storming the police station in the spaceport?" one of the sisters cheered up.
"No, Yuana. We aren't going to war, but to restore justice. In this case, we need to show tact. And respect. And a fair amount of charm. That's why I'll be doing the talking, and you guys act as if you've gone for a walk. All clear?"
"Rrrrraaaa!"
"And if it starts to smell burnt?" the Nautolan raised a hand.
"Do you have stunners?"
"Yes."
"Work with them; kill only as a last resort. This is a spaceport."
Putting a point on that, we equip ourselves. Right, seeing our group from the side, a peaceful intent is the last thing you'd think of. Given that our company is going to a police station... we should warn them in advance!
Said—done. Calling the spaceport service, I asked to connect us with the police department.
"Hello, police speaking," a melodic female voice sounded in the speakers in the lounge.
"Mirialan," one of the guys whispered immediately, nudging his partner. At my look he immediately explained in a whisper: "they have a special voice timbre, it's especially visible when they shout."
"..."
"Hello?"
"Yes, yes, sorry. This is the security service of the TNC company. Could you please connect us with the operative who is leading the case of a large intercepted shipment of drugs from our firm?"
"Um... alright."
A small pause, and a male voice sounds.
"Speaking."
"Rodian," that same Mandalorian whispered.
"Tch. Hello. This is the TNC security service."
"Security... service?" the interlocutor was clearly surprised.
"Yes. We want to talk about this... incident. For our firm really doesn't engage in the trade or especially the transport of drugs. Perhaps you've encountered a single case tarnishing the company's name, and perhaps everything isn't clean here. In any case, we are obliged to check everything."
"Of course... And what do you want from me?"
"At the moment, could you please warn your colleagues of our arrival, or better—if you ask one of yours to meet and accompany us. I don't want a conflict, but after the incident we might be considered a threat... Well, or they might think we've come for the confiscated goods."
"I'll arrange it."
"Thank you. See you."
Hanging up, I look at the Mandalorians.
"Why are we sitting? Pack up! And remember, no victims, and if you hit, don't hit hard. All clear?"
"Yes/Yes/Uh-huh."
Upon landing, as promised, we were met. Three policemen waited below. Serious faces, fit, uniforms from a needle—M! Beauties! You could clearly see the valiant servants of the law. And it was all the more fun for me to watch them begin to wither.
Descending the ramp first, I savored the emotions reaching me. How pride and confidence were replaced by fear, mmm! Not that I exactly enjoyed this, but when someone wants to put you in your place and fails—I love that feeling. Hanharr followed me, then the others. To seal the effect, I hang a frightening aura around us. Well, just a little bit, so they don't kick if they suddenly decide to assert their rights.
Upon closing with the pale captain, for a moment I even feel sorry for him. This is no longer a seasoned wolf meeting a victim, but some beaten dogs. Standing like a soldier and holding a tablet with trembling hands, the captain watched my approach like a rabbit a boa constrictor. Approaching, I take his tablet, stopping the shaking.
"Good day. We contacted one of yours and asked for a meeting. Are you the one meeting us?"
Thud! An unconscious body fell. Turning my head, I see my mother enjoying herself. Right... apparently I wasn't the only one who created an aura of fear.
The human standing nearby thought I was looking at him and immediately pointed with his hand toward the entrance.
"Th-there. F-fourth floor, our department, office one hundred thirty-seven, ask there, they'll direct you."
"Thank you."
"Magnificent accompaniment," the Twi'lek grumbled over the internal comms.
"Leave the poor ones, sister."
Passing the policemen, we enter the spaceport building. The scanner at the entrance beeped furiously and a pair of policemen came out to meet us.
"S-sorry, but with weapons... you can't..." a servant of the law said somewhat uncertainly, backing away. Ignoring the human, we pass further. As agreed, I in the company of Tron and Hanharr head in the elevator straight to the floor with the police station, bypassing the common zone. The others remain for cover.
With the opening of the elevator doors, I meet the gaze of a pair of policemen chatting over a mug of something aromatic. The men turned to us and just stood there.
To the left was a spacious corridor with chairs and sofas where visitors sat, and directly opposite was a window with glass. Passing the pair of policemen, I knock with a deactivated crushgaunt on the window.
"Good day. Could you please tell me where office number one hundred thirty-seven is?"
"A-a-a y-y-you..."
"We are expected there."
"S-straight down the corridor and to the left, th-there's a staircase to the second sub-level."
"Thanks."
Receiving the answer, I pass further, while the other policemen fall in behind us.
Reaching the stairs, shocking and scaring the locals, we go up and in exactly the same way reach the office.
Knock-knock!
"Can I come in?"
"What? What the..."
"Hello," I interrupt the policeman. A young Rodian sat in a quite small office. "And we're here to see you."
"You?!"
"Yes, yes, us," I nod, and having entered, drop onto a chair opposite him. "You want to answer our questions, don't you?" I wave my hand, suppressing his will.
"Certainly."
"You arrested a TNC truck the other day. What was in it?"
"Half a ton of narcotics."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes."
"Are you involved in this?"
"No."
"Hm..." snapping my fingers, I clear the delusion. "And hello once more. I'll introduce myself, we are from the TNC security service. We've arrived to investigate the case of narcotics on our ship."
"And... what interests you?" the Rodian looked over us, nervously adjusting his collar.
"I'll start with the fact that it can't be. In principle it can't be, because our company doesn't engage in such things. You believe me, don't you?" with that, I move my fingers.
"Yes... I believe you."
"Well there you go. And who conducted the arrest?"
"Captain Marcus Hengel."
"What does he look like?"
"A short Duros, on the back of his head is a tattoo in the form of a beetle's jaws, thin."
"Please call him here, let's ask him?"
"Let's. Marcus, come in to see me," the Rodian immediately spoke over the internal comms.
"And while we wait, could you please provide me with the case materials for familiarization? How did the detention happen?"
"Certainly."
While a certain "Marcus" was coming, I read his report on the arrest, or whatever this thing is called. Right, what do we have here? Aha, routine patrol, noticed a suspicious ship, ordered it to stop. The crew was nervous, began the inspection, blah-blah-blah. Op-pa! Upon search, raw spice in a particularly large volume was found, hidden under the ore.
"Ask for the report of those who were seizing the drugs," Mom suddenly advised me. Duplicating the request, I receive another report.
Right, now this is more interesting. The packages were lying not in the ore, but on it, and only in one container. That means someone somewhere is f*cking lying.
I was distracted from the report by the opening door.
"You call... ed," the Duros freezes, looking at us. An attempt to clear out was thwarted by the Wookiee's paw descending on the alien's shoulder. Dragging the resisting body into the office, I look at the Duros.
"What the Sith, who are you and what are you doing here?! Commander, what's happening?!"
"Marcus, these are the TNC security service," the Rodian introduced us. Amusing they are, such flexible will—don't even have to apply effort. "They are investigating the case of finding drugs on their ship."
"Them?! Chief, have you gone mad?"
"Calm down, Marcus, and answer the questions."
"..."
"Shall we begin?" I ask, while Hanharr seats the Duros in a chair.
"..." the Duros looked at me from under his brows, and then at his boss.
"Question one, the main one. Is the drug on our ship your doing?"
"..."
"Yes, or no?"
"No."
That was enough. Yes, I can't influence his mind, but to determine a lie...
"Wrong answer."
Taking out a needle, I prick the skin.
"Ow! What are you doing?! Chief..."
"Marcus," taking the alien by the cheeks, I turn him toward me. "This needle is smeared with a special poison. Now you'll feel a slight itching and discomfort at the puncture site. Then general weakness will appear, vomiting, fever, delirium, and then you'll die. You have about a minute to tell everything and take the antidote. But if you're late, you'll be dying for about ten minutes, but the antidote won't help anymore. Oh, and I forgot about the paralysis." with that, for a demonstration of the "antidote," I show a tube of bacta ointment. Rather, I'm the one who knows it's bacta ointment; the tube itself is red and in Mando'a.
"Y-y-you're lying!"
"Let's wait?" I turn on the timer on the Rodian's desk. "We know the truth, after all."
"I-I-I-I, it was me! The Pykes paid me big money and gave me half a ton of spice to frame your ship!" the whitening Duros blurted out with the speed of a machine gun, nervously scratching the puncture site, "we knew the exit point, stopped took on board conducted the arrest everything went like clockwork!!!"
"Steady, steady, calm down, here," I hold out the tube.
He feverishly uncapped the lid and took a mouthful of bacta ointment.
"Eh... cough-cough-cough, what crap!"
My companions couldn't hold back and laughed.
"What... what is this?"
"Forget it, sparky," I slapped his cheek. "There, we've solved this story," I addressed the Rodian.
"Yes. Radically..."
"We don't have time to be mushy. Are our pilots free to go?"
"Yes, I'll give the order, they'll be released."
"Splendid. Then all the best. Oh, right! Could you please warn your subordinates not to obstruct our departure?"
"Certainly."
"Thank you."
Lastly, disarming the Duros, I put on handcuffs, just in case he starts acting up.
Leaving the office, we return by exactly the same route to the ship without problems, not forgetting to give the others the stand-down.
"Tact? Sympathy?" I hear Tron over the link.
"Well yeah. Why? You going to say I wasn't tactful?"
"Oooooh nooo, Chief, you were the height of tact and politeness," the Mandalorian laughed. Someone immediately inquired about the details of the negotiations in the air. Well, let them discuss.
***
Arrival on Concord Dawn was... noisy and unusual. Upon making contact with our people on the planet, I was warned that the Council of Clans was ready to gather. Answering to let them gather, Tron volunteered to accompany me to the council house where they arrange gatherings.
Also, at Tron's request, I didn't change into "civilian" clothes but left my combat uniform on. Why and for what reason I didn't understand, but when the voices of the others joined him, I decided to listen. Though I mentally set a checkmark: that "buzzing" is for a reason.
As soon as we landed, my paranoia only strengthened, because Kero'Tus resembled a stirred-up anthill. Starting with the spaceport—absolutely all parking pads were occupied, although during my last visit ships occupied barely a fifth part. Further—the city. Everyone was bustling; there were many more armed Mandalorians on the streets than usual. At our appearance the people stepped aside, clearing the way. It felt as if I were a torch in the night, attracting so much attention.
The building I was invited to resembled either a temple or a fortress. Large, reinforced with beskar, and apparently reaching deep underground. Warren was waiting for us near it in the company of his sister, Kaut, and Zer. Dis remained on Tatooine, covering the rear.
"Warren, maybe you can explain to me what kind of fuss yours have made?"
"Hello Shade. This is the result of your action," the Mandalorian smirked. "There were ambivalent looks at TNC here anyway, and now discussions are seriously going on around you. Because of that, all I had to do was say you wanted a meeting, and everyone gathered," a nod to the house.
"Everyone? Already?!"
"Yes. They're just waiting for you."
"Alright, let's go."
My escort changed. Tron remained at the passage; Warren led me into the building. A wide hall equipped with points for holding defense. At the end another gate was visible. On the walls were drawings of ancient warriors fighting on Basilisks against... well, as I can judge—Jedi and the Republic.
Passing through the second doors, we found ourselves at a crossroads. There was a massive staircase here, leading both up and down, and a pair of elevators. Instead of guards, there were Mandalorians from various clans in the hall we passed.
Descending in the elevator, Warren led me into another hall, and here I was already being waited for. A rectangular spacious room, in the center of which stands an elongated table with chairs along the edges. Sixteen seats, fifteen of which were occupied. Also along the hall stood more Mandalorians, all without helmets, and all, as I can judge, heads of minor clans.
Cameras hung in the corners, monitors stood on two sides, apparently for those who weren't present personally but could connect remotely.
With my appearance, gazes were pinned to me.
"Su cuy'gar, ya Manda'yaim," (Hello, children of Mandalore), I greet the assembled, accompanying the words with a nod of the head.
"Su cuy'gar, rag'a vod," (Hello, named brother), the head of Clan Stick said, while the others were acknowledged with a nod.
Going to a free chair, I sit down. Goosebumps ran down my back; the environment was extremely unusual for me. I don't recall such gatherings in my memory, and as for the emotions... some looked with interest, some with respect, others with distrust. There were those who felt contempt for me, but they were the minority; the head of Clan Vizsla stood out especially—it somehow turned out that all the negativity came from that side. Sizing up the clan representatives briefly, the hierarchy dawned on me. Humans and non-humans weren't lined up like that for nothing. There are main clans, and there are those who stand behind them, minor ones. And so the minor ones stand behind their seniors. That means there is some kind of hierarchy in the society.
Interestingly, Warren settled in specifically behind me. In the man's emotions was pride and a modicum of vanity.
"Many of you already know who I am, others have heard, but I'll introduce myself anyway; my name is Shade Aero," with those words I take off my helmet and place it on the table following the others' example. "I am a Tythonian. Unfortunately, the last living Tythonian. In ancient times my people fought side by side with yours. Now only you remain, all thanks to your culture, but even it is not a panacea. Yes, you resist, but you are being crushed. Politics, trade, frame-ups, you are being poisoned wherever they can. No one needs a strong Mandalore except yourselves. And against this background, there is discord among you."
"What nonsense!" a shout rang out.
"It is not for an outsider to tell us how to live," the head of Clan Vizsla said more quietly. "You are merely traders who use us for your own purposes, like others. No more, no less."
"Those 'traders' have already put you in your place once, and it's not hard for them to repeat it," the head of Clan Skirata interjected. "You've already made a mistake, Khan; moreover, you still owe Clan Stick! Aero has the right to speak; we gave him that right ourselves, and it's not for you now to speak of who owes what to whom, so shut up!"
"Gentlemen," I interject, "And Lady. Please, let me finish," I look at Vizsla, "and there's no need for squabbles," now a look at Skirata. "As I said, a root of discord is brewing among your society. Some of you consider the Mandalorian way to be the way of mercenaries. Others consider it in their power to return former greatness with the help of weapons. But you are all mistaken. All of you. Mandalorians are not mercenaries selling their lives for a piece of metal. This is not a horde that, like locusts, goes from world to world, taking everything they need. Mandalorians are noble warriors, the best and strongest in the galaxy. You have a code, a culture, and values. You are those who fought side by side with my children. Those who haven't rotted in this world. I see that, and I believe in it. I don't blame you for anything; currently you are surviving as you can, and I have no other words than those to express my admiration. To this day you stand. To this day Mandalore lives. And I want it to live and develop further."
A small pause fell in the room. I listened to the emotions, picked words, but, realizing no one was going to interject, I continue:
"Currently far from the best days are coming for your people. You are rising again. But you won't be allowed to rise. That's a fact. Why and how, I tried to explain to the head of Clan Stick," Warren's father nodded in agreement at this, "and with their help I began to act in bypassing all prohibitions. I sincerely don't want you to repeat the fate of my world and will try to do everything so that doesn't happen. So I have a plan. As you've noticed, the TNC company, despite its specialization, has begun supplying medical supplies here in particularly large batches. Recently seed materials arrived, residential modules, equipment for ore mining. All this became possible thanks to an outside company that allegedly profits from your troubles, as others do. I am striving with all my strength to help you by bypassing the system, to return to your people that glory, influence, and wealth that are rightfully yours. And now I need your support."
"What kind?" the head of Clan Fett asked. Not a shadow of hesitation or confusion. A clear question requiring an equally clear answer.
"I want you to go on a raid with me."
The silence that reigned after those words seemed palpable. And then thunder struck. The Mandalorians didn't interrupt each other, but each spoke quite sharply and in raised tones. Khan Vizsla surprised me especially; he just sat and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"This will undermine the already shaky position of the Mandalorians!"
"Yes. We have no trust; the way our ancestors went is not ours; currently we have one road—to be mercenaries."
"Mercenaries?! You're just afraid to get your hands dirty! YOU aren't Mandalorians, you're..."
"Steady." the head of Clan Fett interjected. "Shade?"
"Thank you. This isn't just a raid, as you might have thought. Since Mandalore is, let's speak plainly, blacklisted, we'll act differently. I've already laid the groundwork for this; no one will be able to claim anything. The point is that not even Mandalore goes on the raid, but the RAVEN PMC, which works for TNC. I take all responsibility for the operation upon myself and formally—simply hire you, as I did with your brothers and sisters. No one will prove anything; moreover, some will turn to us to hire the PMC for their own purposes. If those purposes are beneficial to us, then why not agree, right?"
The people buzzed approvingly; even the mercenary side looked at this very positively.
"Who is the target?"
"Oba Diah."
"The Pykes?!"
"They are framing the company, robbing me, and striving with all their strength to get rid of me. If we don't deal with them now, it threatens all my plans and TNC in principle," I overdo it a bit, adding the Force. "I am not a Mandalorian. But I am the one who wants you well like no one else. And I ask you to help me protect our common interests, help protect your future."
"But didn't you say that RAVEN only recruits the best of the best?"
"And I'm not calling on you to join its ranks. I'm only saying that at the current moment we lack the strength to deal with some problems."
"What exactly do we do with the Pykes?"
"With the Pykes—nothing. But with the Pyke Syndicate—we hit everyone the fist can reach. In short—the task is to capture the syndicate's citadel, take the faction leader prisoner, and force him to accept our terms of surrender, plus payment of compensation. RAVEN—does not forgive insults. Mandalore does not forgive insults."
"Isn't it easier to wipe them out?"
"Not easier," I shake my head.
"A holy place is never empty," someone answered.
"No, that's not even it," I deny again. "The Syndicate has serious influence; it's a large and ramified organization, to decapitate which—doesn't mean to destroy. Moreover, if we destroy it on Oba Diah, Black Sun might intervene, and a number of less influential criminal gangs won't stay on the sidelines. Say what you will, the Pykes are very convenient for them."
"If so, why wouldn't they immediately stand up for those who feed them?"
"They won't have time. As I said, the Pykes know how to share. Now we need resources, many resources. By striking the Syndicate, we can find out who they share with and make it so that the lion's share goes to us. As for the others... why shouldn't we continue the raid? I propose to go through the outer sectors and thoroughly clean up some planets, especially near Tatooine. I'll answer your question in advance—we'll take everything we can carry, with one single condition—don't touch civilians."
"Shade... you want to declare war on crime?"
"I want to clean the place near my territories. It's good, after all, when grateful residents pay you, and not some riff-raff, hm?"
As soon as I finished speaking, a second's pause hung. Everyone exchanged looks, while I mentally smirked. Had Irbis been here, he'd have given me a passing grade in conducting negotiations. As the boiling emotions show, I managed to bring the Mandalorians to the line, fire them up, and now remains only to pull the trigger. But it's not for me to pull it; it has to be one of their own. And Stick didn't let me down.
"You know, Shade." Warren's father stood up from his chair. "You could have just invited us; we wouldn't have refused a good fight," the man laughed, leaning on his helmet.
"Clan Fett also decides to support the RAVEN PMC," the head of Clan Fett rose next. "It's long past time to stretch properly."
"Clan Skirata will stand under arms in full force," leaning on the table, the head of Clan Skirata rose.
The other clans rose. To the surprise of many, the one who advocated for war, the one who shouted loudest of all that they should go and hit everyone around, rose last. Vizsla drilled me with a look; he was very much dissatisfied and looked at me as a sworn enemy. Nevertheless, he won't go against the others. The heads of the minor clans also expressed a desire to participate in the fight. Some laughed, some joked that it was time to shake off the old days and show the galaxy their teeth.
"I am grateful to you for your support. But we must act urgently, before those bastards realize what's coming and manage to undertake anything."
"Do you have something to propose?" Fett asked businesslike.
"Yes. Send part of the ships with Mandalorians on board to Oba Diah right now. They must land on the planet unhindered, scatter, and gather intelligence. When the main core approaches," those who are already on the planet will disable the defense systems, destroy the ships, and turn off the shields, if there are any. The invasion must be fast and fatal for the Pykes from two sides at once."
"Do we take the cities too?"
"No. We don't need anything from the cities; as I said—the main goal is the citadel. In the cities it is only necessary to suppress defensive structures. Anti-aircraft systems, barracks, hangars for equipment, communication means, any military objects. I don't want their reinforcements to come into our rear at the height of the battle. Who will take on the role of saboteurs?"
"Clan Shenshen will do everything needed," a Mandalorian nodded.
"Ranohnar is with you."
"Two clans is too few... need more," I look at the others and hands immediately went up. I could choose anyone, which I did. "Right, sorted that out. The rest, gather our forces into a fist and fly by different paths, designating the point and time of arrival. Act carefully so as not to alert the target. Мои fighters on Basilisks will break through the first line of defense, if there's even anything to break. The drop troops will follow. Act as you're used to—split into groups and shoot everyone. During the operation no one must leave the planet; shoot down everything that tries to take off. Also, there aren't that many cities; we have enough strength to cover the whole territory. When everything is over, we take the trophies and move on. Only... where are we going to load them?"
"We have a Lucrehulk," the head of Clan Ordo raised a hand.
"Where from?!"
"Privatized it," the Mandalorian smirked.
"Is that the one the Trade Federation was transporting aurodium ingots on?"
"That's the one," a nod.
"I see. Is it at least with documents?"
"Yes. The documents were taken from a wrecked machine; there are no problems with them, though selling such a thing is very difficult. The ship itself is in full working condition."
"Then we'll use it. By the way..." I snap my fingers. "And do you have the TF identification codes preserved?"
"Yes."
"Try to preserve the ship; we'll need it later."
"Alright."
"Right, now let's move to the details. As soon as we receive the intelligence, we distribute the targets. Now," I launch a hologram of the planet with official data, "we'll distribute the sectors for the strike. Do we have bombers?"
"They'll be found."
"How many?"
"Three squadrons, twelve machines each."
"Wow."
"And those are OUR bombers," the head of Clan Ordo emphasized. "Plus there are five squadrons of fighters, again, ours."
"Patrol ones?"
"No. From personal reserves."
"Good. And what else do you have left from 'personal reserves'?" I inquire, scanning those eking Mandalorian mugs.
***
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