Corellia is... a rather peculiar planet. In every sense. For starters, there are five inhabited planets in the Corellian system; they're known as the "Five Brothers" in common parlance. There's an official theory that the planets were gathered into a cluster by artificial means, and I even know who gathered them like that. Corellia is the main and largest planet in the system, otherwise known as "Big Brother."
The planet's landscape is not simple and even reminds me of my long-forgotten Earth. On one hand, it's made up of hills and forests with ancient trees. On the other—fields and pastures. There's room for golden sandy beaches and resorts... And this—on an industrial planet!
The planet's cities somewhat resemble Alderaan, because they are built with scale, beauty, and refinement. Parks, squares, various entertainment centers, shopping halls... It felt like a tourist planet.
But no. It's a developed industrial world—similar to Nox, but significantly cleaner. It has factory-cities, but they are designed in the form of domes or hives, with minimal harm to the environment. Everyone makes domes to live in them, but the Corellians made industrial centers in them. Everything for the planet, everything for the sake of nature!
Some of the best pilots come from Corellia; they build excellent ships here... Because of the combination of these two facts, the planet is a breeding ground for pirates and smugglers. And yet, social security here is top-notch; the government seems to truly care about the population... supposedly. They should, at least. But the facts speak for themselves: there are a hell of a lot of Corellian smugglers in the galaxy.
Then again, it's understandable. You know how to fly, and fly well. And modular ships allow you to build what you need, while providing for smuggling compartments. So why not take the risk?
Because of this, Corellia has a huge fleet aimed at fighting small craft. Unlike Kuat, which builds battleship after battleship, these guys churn out corvettes and small frigates, which are so convenient for swatting starfighters or intercepting smuggler freighters. They suffer from them themselves, yes...
So, in fact, we have a paradise resort with huge factory-cities, a breeding ground for pirates and smugglers who feel right at home here, alongside high security standards, because CorSec (Corellian Security Force) really hits that lot hard and earns its keep; there are just too many of the former, and you can't catch them all.
Oh yes, there are also the so-called "Underground Cities" on the planet. Again, what would you think hearing those two words? Crime, lawlessness, and so on, right? Well, Corellians don't think so. This isn't Coruscant—and the Underground Cities are the SAFEST places on the planet.
There are only three peoples on the planet. Humans, Selonians, and Drall. These are the three indigenous peoples. The latter are peace-loving and shrewd anthropomorphic hamsters; the former are ground squirrels. And it was the Selonians who dug these underground cities, which are divided into several sub-levels. They live on the lowest floors themselves, but they let outsiders onto the middle ones. Security there is high, simply because they won't let you misbehave. Stepping into the underground, you find yourself in a new world, an alien world, where the walls have ears and hands that can grab you if you misbehave. Because of this, entire smuggler factions make contact to "legally" set up their centers and avoid problems with what is essentially the planet's second government.
Never mind that Corellia has been fighting Coruscant for the right to be the Republic's capital for millennia. The guys aren't just tilting at windmills; they have every chance, however small.
And against all this, I'm genuinely interested—how did the Corellians come to this?! They sit in the center of the Republic, have two governments, two diametrically opposed reputations, a huge company, a massive fleet that violates half the points of the Ruusan Reformation, officially there's a democracy on the planet, but in the underground city, it's some kind of communism among the ground squirrels...
"Great Force, put me back to sleep, I can't even imagine what will surprise me now," I thought to myself, leaving the ship. And I was wrong to think that! Because, expecting to see a ground squirrel, I assumed I'd see a creature at most a meter tall... At least, they seemed that way to me. But definitely not a two-meter elongated thin body encased in light armor. The security for this "body" was another head taller than the owner.
"Hm... Well, let's see what the Force brings," I noted phlegmatically, stepping forward.
"Greetings, I am Shade Aero."
"Rik-k-k'T'kak'Ruk," the contact introduced himself in a squeaky voice. "Director of TRC."
"Nice to meet you... Um..." I even hesitated, trying to repeat that name. Despite the fact that I can growl and click—I know Togruti, after all—but also squeaking and clacking?! My tongue was trying hard to hang itself.
"Just Ruk," the ground squirrel correctly understood my hesitation, twitching an ear.
"Thank you."
"The Mandalorians, they..." Ruk looked meaningfully at my escort.
"Just my security. If you wish, they will stay on the ship."
"Could there be trouble from them?"
"No."
"Then everything is in order. Please, follow me."
A pair of Selonian security guards accompanying the director stepped aside, letting the director and me into the corridor, then fell in right behind us.
The place we flew to was a spaceport at the junction of the upper and lower city in Corellia's capital—Coronet. The differences in the architecture of the upper and lower city were immediately apparent. On one side was the familiar city, and on the other—the entrances to the underground began quite abruptly. While we were landing, I could even see an underground hangar opening and a Corellian freighter, built on the base of a CR-70 corvette, flying out of it.
Entering the elevator, we began to descend. Judging by the sensations, we were descending quite quickly, so, unable to resist, I activated my wrist-link to check the depth we had reached. It turned out to be at least four hundred meters underground.
"Welcome to Lower Coronet," the ground squirrel squeaked, being the first to exit the elevator.
"Yes... This is serious..." I admitted, looking at the views that opened up. And the views were... about ten meters of visibility, hitting a ceiling sign, a road marker, and several passages.
"I take it you don't care for open spaces?"
"Exactly. We are used to such cramped and cozy caves. What were you expecting to see, a city hanging from the ceiling?"
"No... But I didn't expect this either."
"The streets of Lower Coronet are tunnels. The houses are branches."
"And what about vehicles? Well... Cars, speeders?"
"There are 'spid'tal'k-kir'ki'," he nodded toward the parked... scooters?! I even wiped my visor, but no, they were really scooters on a gravity cushion.
"Amusing... Wouldn't it be easier to lay a monorail?"
"We thought about it. It's not needed inside the city. Too bulky. There are other analogs."
"I see."
Right. Lower Coronet's city of ground squirrels was able to amaze me because it was unlike anything else. There were neat transitions and rough caves. Sometimes paved paths, lit by bluish-cyan lights, ran into underground rivers and bridges... Which were definitely not for the faint of heart. Because an underground bridge was a meter and a half wide and had no railings. But—it had special ledges on the sides for the locals, because ground squirrels, in fact, don't care which side of a surface they move on, be it the ceiling or the wall. (I wonder, are they really "ground squirrels"?)
I laughed to myself when I saw the local version of a store. We're walking along a cave, we see a branch, we look in as we pass, and there it widens out and right inside the cave are refrigerators, shelves with groceries and household goods. And the seller is sitting at a massive computer, an analog of which I could see in Nome's office on Alderaan. What can I say? Ground squirrels...
Winding through these shafts, I generally got the impression we were in some kind of anthill. Work is going on somewhere, soil is being moved or carried, someone is constantly crawling along the ceiling, sometimes crossing paths with other "visitors."
"Warren, are we definitely on Corellia?"
"Not sure..." the Mandalorian replied in kind. "I've heard a lot, including about the underground cities on Corellia, but we've never been brought here before."
"Right." and to the guide: "Ruk, how do you deliver cargo? Not through these passages?"
"No. There are industrial passages. Large-scale machinery moves through them; cargo delivery throughout the inner city is carried out through them. We almost never go to the surface, and we spend most of our time in our places, so it's difficult for an outsider... to adapt to our city's layout."
"I see."
We're walking, I'm looking around and I don't get one single thing...
"Ruk, tell me please..."
"Yes?"
"How does air circulate here? You have such labyrinths that it's mind-boggling."
"No one has canceled ventilation. Besides—a construction scheme refined over generations. Well, also the mold that processes carbon dioxide," the ground squirrel ran his hand over the mold on the wall, which I'd be afraid to touch even while drunk—because although it looks harmless, it moves, creating a certain amount of disgust. Good thing it doesn't run. (Moving mold... Somewhere a botanist is twitching in convulsions...)
Exchanging glances with the Mandalorians, we moved on. The TRC office our group was led to was something like a honeycomb, arranged horizontally, with corridors laid between them. Each cell was someone's office, hall, or warehouse. There was also a canteen. Passing by the latter, Dis froze mid-step, watching the ground squirrels dining on some goo, for which he received a light smack on the helmet from Kaut.
"Jelly."
"Pardon?" I turned to Ruk.
"It's jelly. Tasty. Would you like to try some?"
"Won't we get sick?"
"No. On the surface, it's a delicacy."
"Hm... Well, let's go," Dis stepped forward.
Ruk squeaked something to someone from the canteen, and a black ground squirrel went to a locker... or a refrigerator, who knows. Then, opening the door, he pulled out a blue larva, held out a plate, and squeezed "jelly" out of it, then put the live larva back and approached Dis, holding out the plate.
"I think I've changed my mind..."
"Heh-heh-heh-heh..." Warren and Kaut were laughing on the side.
"Do the buyers know what kind of delicacy they're eating?" I glanced at Ruk.
"No."
"I thought so."
"Hm..." Zer took off his helmet and, taking the plate, took a sample. "M... Strange taste. A bit viscous, moderately sweet, but, in principle, quite tasty."
"Enjoy your meal," Dis grumbled.
"Thanks. Hey, how much does this cost?" Zer asked the ground squirrel standing and staring at us, but he only blinked.
"You are not understood. Few of our kind know your language."
"Ah... Got it."
"Eight to nine hundred credits per kilogram."
"HOW MUCH?!"
"A delicacy," the ground squirrel shrugged.
"And you just eat it like this?"
"The delicacy is up there," Ruk pointed a finger at the ceiling. "Here it's regular food. Come, this way."
Going up higher, we found ourselves in some more or less spacious, comfortably furnished hall. The Mandalorians and security were placed in it for waiting, while Ruk and I went to the next hall. And there we set about discussing business.
First and foremost, I clarified why they decided to go to Tatooine at all, because as I understood it, Selonians don't like leaving their home nest. As it turned out, it was very simple. They didn't leave the nest, acting through third parties.
Furthermore, their interest was piqued by the ore, because it has magnetic properties and, despite all the downsides, can bring in good money if used correctly. But! It's not that easy to mine.
To start with, Tatooine has excessive heat and open spaces. Ground squirrels like neither the first nor the second, so they hired humans for the work, which is already, in their understanding, expensive. Next, there was the problem with sandstorms and Tuskens. They solved it, but even here not everything was smooth. The ore turned out not just bad, but very bad in the ground squirrels' understanding, because it's significantly susceptible to corrosion. Selonians are good technicians, drillers—but not metallurgists. They had to go to allies so they could correctly alloy the metals. After that, there was another problem: after all that, the metals lost their basic magnetic properties and were no longer suitable for their primary purpose.
Here I even felt sorry for the poor fellows; they suffered so much f*cking... suffered so much with this ore, and then such a setback. But they didn't give up and even then were able to adapt. For a short while. Tatu 3, the station built for transshipping ore onto large freighters, played a cruel joke, and with its destruction, the ground squirrels said: "Enough. That's it." And they put it up for sale. And the guys had started so vigorously!
The next item for discussion was the list of abandoned equipment and the company's property on the planet in general. To my surprise, there wasn't that much of it. A few dozen crawlers, a couple of small drilling rigs, and some other odds and ends. Those bastards had sold the ships separately, as well as the large expensive drilling rigs. No one gave a damn about the crawlers, so they were herded into a pile and left to gather dust. Unless the Jawas have already scavenged them.
But none of that was important, because I didn't even need the company, but the documents. Ruk never once clarified—neither why I needed the company, nor what I would do... He just told me almost everything I asked, sometimes avoiding an answer or staying silent.
Be that as it may, after three hours of joint effort, we finally drafted a contract that satisfied us, and I even managed to knock the price down by another two million. And all it took was a little wordplay, a bit of the Force, and voila! Irbis, may the Force be with you, I will always remember your lessons.
And then, once the main issue was settled, we moved on to the additional one:
"Excuse me, Ruk, may I clarify the question regarding the company's personnel?"
"What interests you?"
"Could you provide me with a brief summary regarding the staff? Those who are still listed in the company. I understand it's all in the documents, but I mean orally."
"At the moment, the company's personnel total five beings. I was the sixth."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
"Not much. And who are they?"
"My deputy; he oversaw the work on Tatooine since I did not leave Corellia. A couple of his assistants, the director of the recruitment department, and the sales manager."
"And where did everyone else go?"
"Many resigned. At least half of the regular workers, having no funds, remained on Tatooine."
"Can I speak with the remaining staff?"
"Of course. Their contact details are listed in the personnel files; you will have no trouble contacting them."
"I see. And do you know why they didn't leave the company themselves?"
"The sales manager was and is engaged in the sale of the company's existing equipment. Since there is no rush, we did not drop the prices. The director of the recruitment department is a rather idealistic person. She arranged other jobs for the staff and tried to support them in every way. She allocated funds from her own pocket to support former colleagues who remained on Tatooine. She also maintains contact with the settlements, providing them with certain support."
"I see... What an interesting character," I smirked.
"My deputy and his assistants were cleaning up loose ends, filing papers; the bookkeeping fell on them. Also, I registered some of the company's property in my deputy's name, so he won't be able to just quit."
"If it's all so dire, why didn't you close the company?"
"Try closing it in the Republic, and you'll understand everything immediately. It's easier to reclassify it than to shut it down; there's less hassle."
"Terrible. And where is the lawyer who handled your affairs?"
"The lawyer was from a private enterprise. Upon expiration of the contract, we stopped dealing with them, and there is no longer such a need. The services are not cheap."
"I see..." thoughtfully leaning back in my chair, tapping my mask. "And who were you planning to sell the ore to?"
"Part was supposed to cover our costs. It does have good magnetic properties. Another part was for sale, but to whom—I cannot say. Better ask the sales manager; that is his sphere of activity."
"I certainly will. But tell me, Ruk. Don't you feel ashamed to abandon so many people to their fate? You were essentially the one who brought them there, families and all."
"No. They are workers. They come and go, the burrow lives on."
"Everything is clear with you."
Having finished the communication on that note, we returned to the bored security. Also, accompanied by Ruk, we left the underground city and returned to the ship. Zer didn't forget to bring a container of frozen "jelly." What a gourmet...
"How did everything go?" Warren asked immediately.
"Great. I'm now the full owner of TRC; I didn't even have to increase the account on the card; there was enough and some left over."
"That's good..."
"What are we doing next?" Dis climbed onto the table.
"I need to gather the old staff. I want to look at them and talk. And after that, we'll think about the next steps. By the way! I happen to have the number of an acquaintance here..." I reached for the communicator.
"Acquaintance? When did you have time?"
"Crossed paths on the way," taking out the device, I selected the right contact from a small list.
A trill sounded, signaling a call, and the device was laid on the table.
"I'll ask you to keep quiet," I warned the Mandalorians. Dis shrugged and, jumping off the table, went to the refrigerator, while Kaut and Zerronis headed to the workshop.
A minute doesn't pass before an image of a Togruta appears before me.
"Shade..." Riasha crossed her arms over her chest, frowning.
"Hello, Riasha."
"And I thought you wouldn't call."
"Why?"
"Why would you?"
"Well, maybe at least to invite you for a cup of vork?"
"A what?"
"A very, very tasty and aromatic drink that was made back in my homeland."
"Hm... Interesting. But did you really dial my number just for that?"
"You're absolutely right! Not just for that. As it happens, I want to start my own business, and I really need a lawyer. And you, if my memory serves me, are a private lawyer who handles the affairs of various companies. Am I wrong?"
"Hm... From mercenary to entrepreneur?"
"Actually, I'm not just any mercenary, for one. And two—is it so bad that I want to start my own business?"
"And what kind of business is it?"
"Oh, just ore mining and enrichment, some production lines..."
"Scale?"
"Planetary."
"You don't think small."
"Heh."
"What is required of the lawyer?"
"For starters, to help with the transformation of the company, then to represent its interests before the Republic's bureaucratic machine."
"Hm... I'm actually busy, and the most I can do is recommend my colleague."
"Busy? Riasha, you're wounding my heart... I had already imagined how I'd reserve a table for us in some cozy restaurant and brighten your time with my charming company while discussing another important work moment!"
"Is a reason really needed to go to a restaurant?"
"You're right. No reason is needed at all!" the girl smiled, shaking her head.
"You're definitely not from our world."
"And you're absolutely right again," Dis, listening to the conversation while sipping a cold beer, chuckled quietly.
"How much do you pay?"
"And how much do you ask? We're not stingy; for good legal help, we can pay a little extra... You know, for a quicker resolution of bureaucratic formalities. We don't have our own lawyers, and my workers are unlikely to withstand a real battle with the bureaucratic beast."
"And you?"
"And I certainly won't withstand it; I have, you know... radical methods of solving problems."
"Radical methods, you say?" the Togruta drawled slowly, as if to herself.
Riasha thoughtfully drummed her fingers, drilling me with a look, then, making some decision, said:
"Shade..."
"Yes?"
"Tell me, how much do your services as a mercenary cost?"
"Oh! Interesting. Such a lovely girl has developed problems?"
"Problems have indeed developed, but not for me. My colleagues and I organized a company on our own. Since we represent a private law firm, we sometimes have to work with special organizations. One organization paid good money to get out of trouble within our profile. But the trouble is that my friend got into something he shouldn't have and ultimately disappeared. We tried to act through official channels, but..." the girl grimaced.
"I see. What organization?"
"Mining. On Kessel," Riasha said, as if that said it all.
"Um... What's there?"
"That's not a funny joke."
"I'm serious."
"One of the largest spice deposits in the galaxy is on Kessel."
"And what is spice?"
I was looked at as if I'd asked how to use a refresher. Dis was quietly choking on his beer, and Warren was looking at the ceiling as if it were something very, very interesting, and as for his emotions...
"Riasha, please don't look at me like that, I'm very ashamed..."
"You're definitely not from our world..."
"I never denied that!"
"Spice is a general name for a large group of drugs. Spice mining is under Republic control, as it's used in many medical applications, but not everything is smooth. To be blunt, one outfit got caught selling product on the side, so they turned to us for legal help. They paid well, and we've handled similar problems before. I don't know exactly what my friend found, but he vanished, and the authorities can't do anything; we ourselves got the outfit off. Trying to find out what happened to our man on our own didn't work; they just shrug and say the lawyer left the planet long ago."
"Neat, what else can I say," I smirked. "And what, has nothing like this happened before?"
"There have been cases, and worse, and we've hired people."
"What changed?"
"The mercenaries disappeared too," she shrugged.
"And you're suggesting I take this on?"
"Exactly. I'm proposing a deal—help find him and bring him back, and I'll provide you with a high-quality specialist and a discount on their services."
"If it works? Fine, you won't have to pay. If not—it's our own fault. Right?" I smirked.
"Precisely."
"You're not so simple, Riasha."
"What can you do, that's life," she spread her arms. "But a Force-sensitive mercenary is better than a regular one anyway."
"Force-sensitive?"
"Don't you remember? You were opening doors in a non-contact way in front of me, levitating mugs, spinning a fork..."
"Damn... I don't even notice it. I'm a terrible conspirator, what else can I say?"
"Heh. So what do you say?"
I silently looked at Warren, but he just shrugged. Meaning: "Decide for yourself, we don't care."
"Hm... We need a lawyer like we need air. Only, can we make it so that specialist is you?"
"What's the difference? And why exactly me? Seriously."
"At least because I'll be sure about you."
"Scared of plants?"
"Very. I'll have to let the lawyer in on some secrets, and I know you're not an interested party. Plus, I truly enjoy your company."
"Alright... I'm not promising, but I'll think about it."
"What should I do?"
"Where are you?"
"On Corellia."
"I'll fly out tomorrow morning. I'll pass on everything necessary about the target and tell you the details."
"Got it. I'll be waiting."
The connection went dark and I turned my gaze to the Mandalorians.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Well, you have a happy face..."
"For your information, the company of this lovely lady was my best rest in recent times!"
"I can guess what kind of rest you mean," Dis laughed.
"Now, now! Everything was decent. Togruta traditions don't lend themselves to casual sexual relations. And, unlike you, I don't indulge in such trifles."
"You know, Shade, that sounded very double-edged."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha... Maybe you should see a doctor? Eh... E-e-eh!" Warren protested as he lifted off the floor.
"Seems someone talks too much..."
"I'm just... I'm just concerned for you!"
"Tch."
Smack—the flattened Mandalorian hugged the floor.
"Ooh... And they say we don't have a sense of humor..."
Taking the communicator, I left the cabin. Work doesn't wait...
Derick Lars
A fairly young man, in his prime, was lounging in bed after a wild night. Light brown short hair, a kind, slightly gaunt face with a week's stubble. With reluctance, barely prying his eyes open, he looked at the ceiling. The damned beeping of the communicator was annoyingly chirping, chirping, and chirping, driving the man out of such pleasant dreams. The hangover after the bar visit did not add joy to the awakened man.
"Mmm... Derick, turn it off..." a dissatisfied female groan came from nearby, and the blanket was pulled from the man as she wrapped herself in it over her head.
"Yeah," the man grunted, sat up, and, reaching for the nightstand, took the communicator from it. A practiced movement turned the device off. He could sleep a bit more...
But not for long. The beep woke the sleeper again; again the communicator was turned off. But when the beep repeated a third time, the man, with a quiet mutter of swearing, remembering all those who suddenly needed him, activated the communicator.
Prying his stubbornly sticky eyes open, the man focused his gaze on the text, read it, then turned it off and fell face-first into the pillow. A second passed... a second... a third... then the information finally reached the sleeping brain. Jerking, the man turned the communicator on again and, with a more conscious look, frowning, re-read the message:
"TRC has been successfully sold. Your new supervisor will contact you shortly. It was a pleasure doing business. Ruk," read the first message, which had arrived several hours ago.
No, Ruk had warned his man that a buyer had supposedly been found, but Derick hadn't believed it until the last. Well, who, what idiot would need such a company? There was almost nothing left of it! If not for obligations and good acquaintances, he would have left this dying enterprise long ago, but he couldn't.
Derick re-read the text several times, but it didn't disappear. Closing the message, he looked at the next one. It was a notice of the sale and the new owner of the company. Nothing special, just confirmation of the deal. And then he opened the third, last one, from some Shade Aero:
"Today, by fourteen hundred hours, I am waiting for you at the PhilDar docks, seventh landing bay. New TRC Director."
As Derick re-read the messages, his sleepiness vanished almost faster than his hangover, and when he finished the last message, he nearly fell out of bed with his mouth open. It turns out that someone actually found who bought their company! And it wasn't a joke.
Questions swirled in the man's head, but they all vanished once he looked at the time. It was already twelve, the meeting was in two hours, and he had to hurry!
Swearing, Derick jumped off the bunk as if stung. He didn't even notice how he managed to shave, quickly iron a suit that had been gathering dust on a hanger for a long time, tidy himself up, and, grabbing a bag, run to the car. For him, it was a matter of moments from the time he woke up to the time he sat in the car.
While he was flying to the spaceport, he managed to call his colleagues. Everyone was on their way, or someone was already there waiting for the comrades. Not even a day had passed before the new boss arranged a gathering for everyone, and who knows where. Previously, the company's central office was in the Underground City, and all gatherings, if necessary, took place there. What would happen now was completely unclear.
Questions tortured the man, interest tortured him, the unknown tortured him. Yes, on one hand, it's not good that the new boss gathers everyone like this right away, without prior warning, but, on the other hand, it's for the better. No need to guess; everything will be decided very soon.
And who would have thought? No one. No one believed that a buyer would be found. There were rumors that the Hutts were looking at Tatooine, but those were just rumors.
When Derick reached the spaceport, it was five minutes to fourteen hundred hours. Finding out where the necessary pad was, he almost ran through the spaceport corridors. Being late for such a meeting was categorically forbidden!
But when he saw the ship waiting for him... he fell into a bit of confusion. Derick expected to see many things: a yacht, a rich corvette, something else like that, but definitely not a simple Corellian research vessel. But never mind, who was he to judge what the new owner flies on?
The only thing that tense him up was the two Mandalorians standing near the ramp. While one was doing something to the ship, the second, arms folded, watched.
"Hutts, probably," a grim thought flashed through his mind.
Exchanging a glance with the one in dark armor for a second, Derick boarded. The rest of his team was already inside...
"Good morning," the words slipped from the man's lips faster than he realized them. At a fairly large table, on the opposite side, sat a strange representative of an alien life form. Wearing only a gray unbuttoned sleeveless shirt with red patterns over a bare torso. Long black hair pulled into a ponytail. An orange face with white pointed pigments.
Folding his hands in a lock before him, he looked at Derick with his gray eyes and seemed to see right through him. That look made the man uneasy, and the visible scars only added color to this unknown alien.
"Good afternoon," the employer's slightly growling voice rang out. A sharp ear immediately caught that the Basic language was at least unfamiliar to the half-breed. "Derick Lars?"
"Y-yes..."
Strangely, goosebumps ran down his back. The man wasn't doing anything; he didn't look scary or disgusting, he didn't even growl or get angry, just spoke, but nonetheless, it made a certain impression.
"Sit down, there's no truth in the legs."
Greeting the others with a nod, Derick took an empty chair at the edge. Everyone had gathered at the table. Arina, a human girl who held the position of recruitment director. Always neatly groomed, from a wealthy Corellian family, she had a calm, kind character. Derick never understood how she ended up in their company at all, because the girl had a good education and could have occupied much more advantageous positions in other companies. Arina herself never expanded on this.
Next to her sat her close friend—Trik. A small creature of the Squib race. A meter tall, with dark red fur, an elongated dog-like snout, ears standing upright, and a keen look in his gray eyes. Trik got into the company thanks to Arina; it's difficult for a representative of his people to get into a large company. A fast metabolism turns them into a bundle of energy, and other races always consider Squibs restless and fidgety. Few take them seriously, considering them, at most, small-time traders. Trik was no exception; he was a typical representative of his people. Talkative, curious, fussy... It's hard to trust such a person with anything; they'll blab. But, as practice showed, although Trik spoke quickly and a lot, he thought even faster and more about what he would say, and during his time at the company, this wheeler-dealer managed to reach the director's chair.
Again, since he and Arina were old friends, Trik managed to sell the company's equipment slightly more expensively and pass the markup to Arina. Trik himself, in Derick's eyes, was very strange. Neither money nor power interested the alien. Trade! Deals! Many deals! New discoveries, new horizons... Trik simply lived for his own pleasure, as he himself said: "I like closing deals. And if they favor my pack, it's twice as nice!"
Next was Ordo. A Rodian, temporarily handling the bookkeeping. Derick was against such an appointment, as Ordo and money are almost synonyms, but there was nowhere to go. One good thing: you can't steal anything from an empty account.
And right behind him sat Tinnar. An Outer Rim native whom Derick had managed to lure to his side. The man knew a lot about the mining industry, which Derick had personally seen. And what efforts it took to keep the man from resigning was known only to gods and demons.
And yet the staff used to be much thicker. Security director, Tatu 3 station director, logistics service, warehouse services... Out of all that, only five remained. It's not even funny, and so Derick was more interested than ever in what their new boss would do.
"So, everyone is here. I'll introduce myself again, Shade Aero. Your new boss," he looked over us. "I won't gather you individually or talk about interests or desires. If you have remained in this company for one reason or another and come here, I can assume you still believe in its viability," Aero paused, but no one was going to cut in. "Alas, I will disappoint you. Tatooine Mining Company is dead. That's a fact. And I don't intend to engage in restoring the old," excitement seized the xenos. They tried not to show it, but the glances and slight nervousness spoke for themselves. "My plans are not limited to just mining, and I need a more diverse firm. But we will start with mining and specifically on Tatooine."
"Boss, boss, may I?" the Squib waved his hand.
"Yes?"
"Are you connected to the Hutts in any way?"
"Why the question?"
"There were rumors the Hutts were looking at Tatooine."
"Really? How interesting... No, I am not connected to the Hutts in any way."
"Pity."
"And why?"
"Many drifters in the sector. Too many. Dangerous to carry cargo. Some deals were ruined," the Squib replied with quick, clipped phrases.
"Thank you for the warning, Trik. Но that is not your headache, so—do not worry."
"Got it. Thanks."
"Trik, why did you even think I might be connected to the Hutt Cartel? It's not written on me."
"How to say. No offense, but your appearance would better suit a mercenary, a bounty hunter, or some retired military man than the general director of some company."
"Heh," the half-breed smiled. "I am not military, Trik, but I have had very close relations with them. But let's get back to work and plans. From now on, the company is called—TechNatCom, Technical National Company, or TNC."
"National?" Derick was surprised. "And... what nation does it represent?"
"My nation, Lars," Aero replied quite sharply. "And you will learn the details later. As for the plan... I have familiarized myself with the company's past experience and, as I understand, you supplied raw ore for further processing, correct?"
"Yes."
"Right. For starters—I want to establish the mining and enrichment of ore right on site," at these words, Derick made a note in his tablet. "Ideally, I don't intend to trade in raw materials, or even metals. I want to try to establish our own production lines. Tinnar, you conducted geological survey work; tell me, is it possible?"
"In principle... yes. Tatooine is rich in magnetic ore; it's honestly crap and susceptible to corrosion, but even from it, something can come out. Besides, other metals are also present, though in smaller quantities and at greater depth, so yes, it's possible. But it will require more costs."
"I heard the main thing," Aero nodded. "About the broken ships, are there many?"
"There are very many; ships can be found absolutely everywhere."
"Can anything be done with them?"
"Well... The desert preserves well, so there's a chance to find something useful. Some can be assembled for resale, some sent for recycling or smelting, some sold to collectors. In any case, it all requires costs."
"The possibility is the main thing, Tinnar."
"Boss, may I?"
"Yes, Trik."
"And what exactly do you want to produce?"
"Haven't decided yet. We can think in the direction where magnetic ore is used... What is it, Arina?"
"May I immediately clarify the personnel issue?" Aero nodded. "Many qualified workers remained on Tatooine who couldn't fly away from it."
"We'll offer a contract; it's not right to leave so many hands idle," the employer shrugged. "And also, we'll need to think about how to fundamentally improve the living conditions of the workers on the planet."
"Shade Aero, I... May I ask how much funds you want to invest in this business?" the Rodian raised his hand.
"A lot, Ordo, a lot. I won't say exact figures yet, still thinking, but the sum is large. Now tell me, what about the crawlers?"
"They're gone," Trik lowered his ears.
"M?"
"Jawas scavenged them. I didn't have time to sell them..." the Squib said with such universal sadness as if it were his greatest mistake.
"Hm... This issue is easily solvable; we'll discuss it a bit later. Now, regarding the drilling rigs. How did you work?"
"There were only a few large drilling stations on the planet; settlements were built around them. Otherwise, we used crawlers. We'd find a small vein closer to the surface and start development."
"So, now—look for the largest deposits and put drilling rigs on them."
"But... Such stations will be too expensive."
"How much?"
"We found several good deposits, but the drilling station required for mining would cost two million each. The company couldn't afford something like that..."
"Now it can."
"But boss! The ore has questionable qualities; it's unlikely a buyer will be found who will purchase it at a profitable price for us after such costs. And even if we process it into ingots... It's good if we break even, but what if not?"
Aero just looked at the Squib. Trik pressed his ears, expressing regret with his face alone that he had opened his mouth out of place again. But what can you do, that's all Squibs. Fussy and curious, always sticking their noses where they can be stuck.
"Calm down, Trik. For starters, the ore mining problem needs to be solved. As far as I know, it's impossible to live with comfort in the equator area. If rich deposits are found there, this problem will need to be solved. For example, by small closed isolated settlements... Or suits... In general, we'll think more. And yes, regarding the drilling rigs. I'm not talking about one or two. You can count on at least four such rigs."
"..."
"I see you slightly underestimated the scales," Aero looked at the long faces of the listeners and hummed. His tone of voice changed, becoming commanding: "We'll proceed differently. I need a headquarters near Mos Eisley. One. I need large, I emphasize your attention, large mining shafts... or even quarries, see for yourselves according to the situation. Count on four or five serious drilling rigs, just not all at once. Next to them, necessarily, a processing plant, doesn't matter if chemical or thermal. Warehouses and temporary communication systems for residents are implied, they don't need to be discussed separately, as well as a power station. Regarding production... For starters, we'll establish mining and processing. The task is to conduct a calculation and provide me with an estimate with detailed records—what, where, how, and for what. And don't forget to include cargo ships in the list; I don't intend to use third parties," as he spoke, the staff thoroughly and quickly made notes for themselves. It finally dawned on them that before them was far from a simple xenos and not even a crude military man, but at least someone who understood business and knew what he wanted to do, a sentient. "Arina."
"Yes!" the girl responded immediately.
"Cooperate with Derick and estimate what there is in terms of personnel for all this. The only thing is, I have my own security chief in mind, so leave the vacancy open for now. Yes. Almost forgot, include combat, cargo, and mining droids in the estimate. Number—at your discretion, I'll decide specifically upon receiving the estimate. Tinnar."
"Me?"
"Pick yourself people and a ship. As soon as the firm's account is finalized, I'll allocate funds so you can find normal extensive deposits. And yes, look for qualified metallurgists; I still want to try to do something with the ore."
"Will be done."
"Ordo," the Rodian silently blinked. "For now, stay in your place, I'll assign the firm's bookkeeping to you..." despite the fact that Derick didn't like Ordo, he sincerely sympathized with him. Judging by the tone, the new employer would very carefully monitor the company's finances. "We will work directly with the IBC."
"Intergalactic Banking Clan?!" Ordo whispered quietly. Well, yeah, before they worked with the Republic State Bank, but if it came to the IBC, it means—their new employer stands even higher than Derick thought.
"Yes. I have an account there, and it's easier for me to open an account for the firm there. Trik."
"Yes, Chief?" the Squib asked cheerfully, sensing much interesting stuff.
"Assess the market, see what's required in the nearest sectors that we could provide, see where it might be possible to place finished metals."
"Okay, Boss."
"And, while we're not trading, will you take on the duties of a buyer?"
"With pleasure!"
"Good. Questions?"
"Buy construction equipment? Or turn to a firm?"
"First turn, then buy. I want to ultimately reach self-sufficiency. Next."
"Boss, is it possible..."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan