Chapter 8: A Calculated Risk
The air in the Stray Comet's galley no longer tasted of desperation. It tasted of opportunity. They were docked back at the familiar, grimy Port Anteris on Vorlag, but the mood was entirely different. A real meal sat on the table between them—spicy roasted meat and some kind of grilled, savory fungus they had bought with their shared profits. It was a small luxury, but it felt like a feast for a king.
Valerius, looking more relaxed than Jax had ever seen him, wiped his mouth and activated his datapad. He swiped through a few screens, a look of simple satisfaction on his face.
"Alright, partner," he said, turning the datapad around. "Got us a new run. The freight master loves us after that on-time Ryloth delivery. He's got a shipment of refurbished droid parts going to a moisture farm on Tatooine. Simple, safe." He pointed to the bottom line. "Profit looks to be about the same as the last one. Another thousand credits in the bank."
It was good work. Reliable work. The kind of work that could keep them flying for years.
'Safe is slow,' Jax thought, pushing a piece of fungus around his plate. 'Two hundred and fifty points a trip is a godsend compared to where I was. But at this rate, it'll take me more than a lifetime to reach my goal. Time to accelerate.'
He looked up from his plate. "It's a solid run, Captain. Can't argue with that." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But… I think we can do better."
Valerius raised an eyebrow. "Better than a guaranteed thousand credits? Kid, I've been flying these routes for thirty years. You don't turn down guaranteed money."
"You do if you can make five times as much," Jax replied evenly.
He closed his eyes for a moment, accessing the System. 'My biggest advantage isn't just the tools,' he thought, his mind racing through the possibilities. 'It's the access. It's the information.' He had 256 POINTS. It was time to invest again.
He found the entry he had been contemplating on the flight back.
Title: Galactic TradeNet Access (Tier 1 Subscription).
Description: Provides real-time commodity prices, shipping requests, and market analysis for all major ports in the Outer Rim.
Cost: 200 Points.
It was another huge gamble, spending the bulk of his capital. But it was a calculated one. He confirmed the purchase.
PURCHASE CONFIRMED. NEW BALANCE: 56 POINTS.
TRADENET SUBSCRIPTION ACTIVATED.
He opened his eyes and tapped a control on his own datapad, linking it to the ship's main holoprojector in the galley. A shimmering, three-dimensional chart filled with scrolling text and fluctuating graphs appeared over the table.
Valerius stared at the complex data stream, completely bewildered. "What in the…?"
"This is a live feed of cargo contracts and commodity prices across the entire sector," Jax explained, his voice filled with a new energy. "We've been acting like truckers, taking whatever job the dispatcher gives us. It's time we started acting like traders."
He manipulated the holographic display, highlighting two entries. "Look. That droid parts contract to Tatooine nets us a thousand credits. Standard freight." He then pointed to another data stream. "But, according to this, the mining guilds on Bespin are paying a premium for refined Tibanna gas because of a production shortage. And there's a refinery right here on Vorlag selling it for cheap."
He ran the numbers, the display calculating profit margins in real-time. "If we use our own capital to buy a load of Tibanna gas here and fly it to Bespin, we don't just get a shipping fee. We sell the cargo itself. The net profit on a single run…" The final number glowed in the air between them. "…is over five thousand credits."
Valerius leaned back, his mouth hanging slightly open. He stared at the impossible flow of information, then at the young man who had conjured it out of thin air. The kid hadn't just fixed his ship. He had just changed the entire game.
"Kid," Valerius finally managed to say, his voice a quiet, awestruck whisper. "What are you?"
Valerius stared at the impossible stream of data floating above his galley table, then back at the young man who had summoned it. He leaned back, the legs of his chair groaning in protest, and scrubbed his weathered face with his real hand.
"Kid," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Listen to me. I've been flying the Outer Rim since before you were born. And I can tell you one thing for sure: if a deal looks this good, it's because it's a blaster barrel waiting to be shoved in your face." He pointed a stern finger at the holographic display. "There's a reason that gas is still sitting in a refinery on Vorlag and not already on its way to Bespin. Nobody's touching it. The real question isn't 'how much can we make.' It's 'why is this deal still on the table?'"
Jax felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach. 'He's right. There's always a catch. What are we missing?'
He didn't argue. Instead, he turned his full attention to the TradeNet display. "You're right," he admitted. "Let's find the catch."
His fingers danced across his datapad, manipulating the hologram. He filtered the data, no longer looking for profit margins, but for problems. He cross-referenced the Vorlag-Bespin shipping lane with galactic news alerts, insurance claims, and private security advisories. For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the ship and the soft tapping of Jax's fingers. Valerius watched him, his initial shock giving way to a wary curiosity.
Then, Jax found it. A small, almost hidden flag on a recent insurance bulletin. "Here it is," he said, his voice quiet. He expanded the file, and the grim details filled the air between them. "Shipping advisory, issued last week. Multiple cargo ships reported missing on the Vorlag-Bespin run in the last two rotations." He pulled up another linked file. "All of them were hauling refined Tibanna gas."
"Pirates," Valerius breathed, his voice grim.
"A specific crew," Jax confirmed, enlarging a crudely drawn insignia from the bulletin—a snarling, canine-like skull with a void-black star where an eye should be. "They call themselves the Void Hounds. It seems they've decided this route belongs to them. They hit the gas haulers, steal the cargo, and sell it on the black market themselves."
The air in the galley grew heavy. The five-thousand-credit profit margin no longer looked like a brilliant opportunity; it looked like bait in a trap.
Valerius shook his head, a look of vindicated cynicism on his face. "See, kid? Told you. That's why the freight master gives us the 'safe' runs. The other kind get you killed. Shut it down. We'll take the droid parts to Tatooine."
Jax silenced the display, the hologram winking out of existence, leaving them in the dim light of the galley. The safe path was right there, an easy, guaranteed paycheck. But Jax's mind was already running calculations, seeing the pirates not as an impassable wall, but as another variable in the equation.
"Or," Jax said quietly, meeting the captain's gaze, "it's why the profit is so high. The risk is priced in. Most captains aren't willing to fly into a predator's hunting ground."
He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "But we're not most captains. You have me. We have a ship that is faster, more efficient, and more responsive than any other YT-class in this port because we fixed her. We can out-fly them, Captain. We can take the risk no one else will, and we can reap the reward."
The challenge hung in the air. It was a direct question: Are you a simple cargo hauler, or are you something more? Valerius stared at him, the easy path to Tatooine warring with the dangerous, lucrative flight path to Bespin that Jax had just laid before him.
Of course. The argument has been made, the risk laid bare. Now comes the moment of decision, where a partnership is either broken by caution or forged anew in the fires of a shared, dangerous ambition.
Valerius stared at Jax, his cybernetic hand unconsciously clenching and unclenching on the table. He shook his head, the grizzled veteran's caution warring with the undeniable logic in the kid's proposal.
"Outfly them?" he scoffed, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction. "Kid, these aren't amateurs in souped-up racers. The Void Hounds are killers. They hunt in packs. They use ion cannons to disable a ship, then they board and take what they want. The Stray Comet is a freighter, not a warship. We don't have the guns for a straight fight. We don't have the armor to survive it."
Jax leaned forward, his own intensity a palpable force in the small galley. Valerius saw the numbers, the profit and loss. Jax saw something else entirely. 'He doesn't get it,' he thought, his own secret, desperate timetable screaming in his mind. 'A thousand credits is a living. Five thousand is a step. It's the difference between walking and running toward my goal. And I don't have time to walk.'
He translated that burning urgency into words Valerius could understand. "You're right. We're not a warship. So we don't fight. We run." He met the captain's weary gaze. "We're faster than any other ship they've hunted on this route. We're more maneuverable. They'll be expecting another slow, predictable freighter. We will not be predictable."
He lowered his voice, his tone becoming sharp and persuasive. "Look, Captain. You said it yourself—there's no winning out here playing by the old rules. You've been hauling scraps for thirty years. Are you rich? Are you safe?" He gestured around the ship, at the worn bulkheads and patched-up systems. "Or are you one bad repair bill away from losing everything? This is our chance to get ahead. To get a real stake. One big score—just one—could let us upgrade the shields for real. Buy better sensors. Maybe even some decent guns. It's a risk that pays for its own security down the line. The safe runs… they just keep us poor and vulnerable."
Every word was a hammer blow against the wall of Valerius's caution. The old man looked at his cybernetic hand, then around the galley of the only home he had. The kid was right. He had been living on the edge for decades, always one step ahead of bankruptcy, one step behind the big scores. Maybe it was time to stop running from risk and start running toward a real reward.
He finally looked up, his eyes meeting Jax's. He let out a long, slow sigh, the sound of a man who has lived his whole life on a single roll of the dice and has decided to throw them one last time.
"You are going to be the death of me, kid," he said, his voice a low grumble. A grim, determined look settled on his face, chasing away the exhaustion. "Alright. To the seven hells with it. One run. We do this your way."
He held up a finger, laying out the terms of this new, insane wager. "We buy the gas. We fly the route. But if we so much as get a sniff of these Void Hounds, we dump the cargo and run. The ship is worth more than the score. Deal?"
"Deal," Jax said instantly, a surge of adrenaline making his heart pound.
They stood and shook hands over the table. The grip was firm, a seal on a dangerous new pact.
Valerius turned away, already in motion. "Alright, partner," he called out, his voice now filled with a grim purpose they both shared. "Let's go buy some Tibanna gas. And plot a course through hell."