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To summarize the success of my visit to Endor, we had acquired: 46 chickens, the five guys in charge of the Sanyassan marauders, Charal as a retainer (which will be covered shortly), and being honored guests and/or mistaken spirits of the Ewoks. I had left a beacon in their care, telling them if kind strangers that became trapped on that moon, they'll know how to activate it and it will provide for them a means to get home. 

I had also learned that Simon (though he goes by another name) does indeed exist, but he was a notorious criminal amongst their kind. 

He had left with unsavory lizard-creatures (Probably Trandoshan mercs) bearing a sigil some time ago, about two seasons prior. That sigil they attempted to recreate, and it showed as something similar as the english letter T. 

After some time racking my brain while flying up to the Delivery, I hit upon the answer. The Tenloss Syndicate. Shit. I forgot they existed. What the hell were they doing on Endor? This is a long way from the Bajic sector, and unless they're doing business near Bakura, there's not a lot of benefit to go digging around out here. I'll have to look into the matter another time, as all I recall is that they're an arms manufacturer for the Black Sun, specifically for their disruptors.

- - - -

After finally arriving back aboard the flagship, and having the droids turn one of the cargo holds into a pen for the chickens, I go track down Charal, by means of calling HK-47 on the holocommunicator. 

"HK, where'd you put the Nightsister?"

"Answer: Charal is currently being kept in the holding cells. I am currently maintaining watch on her."

"Good, I'll be there shortly."

I begin briskly walking to the holding cells, which happen to be all the way down two decks. Spectacular. Again, I really need to invest in motor transport for these damned halls.

I arrive to find Charal fascinatedly poking at the ray shielded door to her cell. Great, I forgot she had no damned idea how technology works.

"Charal, I believe I mentioned we'd be discussing your responsibilities with my company." She turns, startled, towards me. 

"My lord, I never had the honor of learning your name." And she's starting the courtier routine, great.

"I go by David Hatton." I take a seat outside her cell. "Now, responsibilities. You'll be given sufficient education to survive in a spacefaring society, you'll be given pay sufficient for an advisor. You'll be working as an advisor on Dathomir culture and magic. I'll note that my company expressely forbids participation in the slave trade, and we'll frequently be fighting slavers as part of our travels. I'll be sending a courier to Dathomir to make the claim that Charal is no more, so that you will not have to deal with bounty hunters hoping to jump on a claim for your head. Your former associates will be dropped off at Mandalore, as they had bounties on their heads."

She nods, clearly understanding the gist of what I am saying. Clearly, she's no fool by any account, she just assumes technology is magical.

"Now, to note. I'm giving you this second chance because I need specialists and advisors. I cannot be everywhere at once, and trust is slow to earn with me. Betray me for selfish goals, and I will send you back to Dathomir. Your education comes first, so I'll be putting together a curriculum for you and another I intend to rescue from the Nightsisters."

"Another? Who do you intend to rescue?"

"Kycina and her children. I intend to reunite her with her son, given the chance."

Recognition flashes across her face, followed by a mournful expression. "Oh, that poor child, I had nearly forgotten about her. I had intended to bring her with me, but the window for escape was too narrow, and it took too long to persuade her."

I note that down, but I don't quite believe all of it.

"You'll be provided with more comfortable lodgings, though you will have an escort at all times. Have a pleasant day." I walk away, and order a pair of HK units to find her an unoccupied room in the crew quarters. HK-47 comes with me as I leave. 

"Interrogation: Why do you intend to keep such a treacherous meatbag in your domain? Nightsisters are notoriously self-serving."

"I believe I've already explained that, HK. I need advisors. She's a powerful specialist in Nightsister force techniques, and she probably picked up some tricks from Morag. It'd be a horrendous waste to just let her rot in the Republic justice system or let her be executed by the Nightsisters."

I then call up the bridge and have the droids start plotting a course to Mandalore.

- - - - 5 months later - - - -

Charal has given me no issues. She seems to just be happy to be treated as an equal for once, and she's dove right into her lessons on how to operate various technologies. She's also been learning from the Iron Knights and teaching them some basic tricks to avoid getting taken in by illusions, though we all know full well she isn't going to be willingly exhausting her knowledge on the matter for a very long time. I've been studying more about engineering of several varieties, as well as serving as a mediator for any disagreements. HK has taken the time to reverse-engineer my Xbox, which means we can now begin manufacturing our own.

Additionally, the chicken population has exploded to the point that we've needed to implement a chicken-based meal every day. I've been experimenting with my old cookbook to figure out how to adapt to what I have access to, and I made a pretty decent impression of oven-fried buttermilk chicken, using blue milk. Still, the damned things looked like they had been doused in food coloring, so that took some getting used to. It was quite popular with the rest of the crew. French toast using blue milk and a seasoning mix I can't pronounce was slightly less successful, but still edible. Toad-in-the-holes were considerably more successful, as the recipe for that remained broadly unchanged. I had tried over a dozen recipes, slowly refining them for meals. HK was surprisingly helpful in this regard, as apparently the programming he has for poisoning people means he knows quite a lot about the taste palette of the galaxy, even if he is a few thousand years out of date.

I've also learned that most worlds simply don't want to, or can't, spend credits on building space stations. Part of the problem is the megacorporations strangling the economy to squeeze every last profitable credit out of their territories, and other parts include constant attempts at corporate sabotage, economic downturn, efforts to maintain monopolies, and a variety of other issues. Thyferra, in fact, seems to do it more out of spite than anything else, despite sitting at the top of the medical care chain due to their monopoly on Bacta. I'll have to start backing reconstruction on Manaan to counter that particular issue. 

- - - -

We had finally ended up at Mandalore after all that time, only to find ourselves looking at a standoff between a Republic Judicial Forces fleet, and the Mandalorian defense fleet.

…They dug an Invincible-class out of mothball for this?! Really? Wow, they are desperate. The most 'modern' model of those have been glorified system monitors for millenia, now. 

Aaaand we're being hailed by the Mandalorians and the Judicial fleet at the same time. I answer both calls. Jaster and Tarkin. Great.

"In the name of the Republic, identify yourself and prepare to be boarded." Wilhuf Tarkin's ever-punchable face was already getting on my nerves, though he's clearly a little nervous looking at my flagship.

"David Hatton, current owner and proprietor of Hatton Logistics, and no, I will not submit to boarding, Captain Tarkin. You're outside your jurisdiction. Mandalore under Jaster Mereel is not a signatory nation to your Republic, as are most of the Outer Rim Territories, and I am a noncitizen of the Galactic Republic. Your authority is baseless here."

Tarkin huffs, slightly offended and confused, but it's clear he won't emulate his cousin today. 

Jaster grins. "Hatton, right on time. These jackbooted thugs were starting to annoy me."

I nod respectfully to Jaster, and turn back to address Tarkin. "So, an Invincible-class? Why haul an antiquated tugboat like that out here? I mean, sure, it was bleeding edge back when the Xim the Despot was still kicking around but c'mon, those things are slow as hell and poorly armed. It's a system monitor, not a heavy cruiser."

Tarkin stiffens. "How do you know that?"

"It's been old news for centuries. Anyone worth a credit in military history academia knows about the Invincible-class. So, I'm guessing Corporate Sector Authority sponsorship for this particular attempt at strong-arming an independent nation?"

Jaster starts laughing uproariously, and I briefly mute him. Tarkin increasingly looks like he's about to blow his lid.

"Tarkin, I heard about your cousin. I agreed with a lot of his ideas, y'know, but it should have been done against pirates for their first outing, not Stark's little breakaway. A rushed response rarely works, you know this."

He goes deathly pale when I mention that. 

"Now, how about we all sit down, have a bit of caff, and talk about this before anybody makes the foolish mistake of shooting at professional soldiers or a very tired businessman with a fleet of military vessels? I'll host. Also, I have some bounties to hand in, since I stumbled across King Terak's little band of misfits a few months ago."

A shuttle from each fleet eventually makes their way to my flagship, and I greet them at the hangar. Tarkin and some of the fleet officers for the Judicial fleet, Jaster and some of his men from the Mandalorian PDF all file off of their respective shuttles, and I also see… god fucking damn it, Palps is here, among a handful of his aides.

I school my expression.

"Welcome to the FSB Laxative Delivery, folks. My sentinel droids will escort the prisoners to your men in the hangar, Captain Tarkin. Please, follow me. I've got fried chicken in the oven, so we'll be doing this in the mess hall. Thankfully, I made a large enough batch for everyone."

- - - -

The meeting at the mess hall was.. Interesting. Palpatine abstained, citing he had lunch already, but everyone else dove right on in, myself included. Jaster and his guys basically plowed through the entire damn selection, aside from what I sent to Charal and Aqinos, the latter of whom was observing from the bridge.

After everyone had their drinks and food, however, the discussion began. Tarkin opened up with trying to bullshit me with the idea that yes, Mandalore under the New Mandalorians was a signatory. 

I rebutted him by pointing out the ongoing Melida/Daan clusterfuck has yet to be addressed, so this is obviously an excuse. 

Palpatine interjected that Jaster's nation is a successor to the polity under the New Mandalorians, and Jaster shot that down by stating that there was no succession, and that the True Mandalorians are a lawful splinter state not subject to that particular mess, and neither the True Mandalorians or the New Mandalorians had actually signed the Ruusan Reformations, the New Mandalorians merely followed it as state policy rather than as an external ruling, and therefore they were not subject to disarmament. 

I really wanted to give him a high-five for that.

Eventually, it became clear that Palpatine's group was outmaneuvered and Tarkin's group was slightly embarrassed. 

During a recess, I approached Tarkin, and we exchanged a handshake and a few words. 

"Tarkin, I don't hate you or the Republic. I just don't agree with the Ruusan Reformations, and I had the… for the lack of a better word, fortune to not be born anywhere near Galactic Republic law. Besides, this gives your party the excuses you need to rearm yourselves. A resurgent Mandalore? Please, you could feed this shit to the senate and they'd lick the scraps off your hand. I have every confidence you'll succeed. Just.. don't trust Palpatine. Use him for everything he's worth, but don't trust him any further than you could throw him. No politician should be that squeaky-clean."

He looks at me suspiciously, but eventually nods. "I've yet to look into his background, but he's very giving. I'll keep an ear open."

"That's all I ask. If you ever need some help, call up Hatton Logistics. Just don't expect us to take on any terror tactics or do anything immoral. I'd rather not end up like the Pinkerton Detective Agency." Before he can ask who the Pinkertons are, I'm cornered by Palpatine. I put on my 'polite society' face.

He speaks. "Mr. Hatton, I haven't had the pleasure. You say you operate a logistics company?"

I put on my most grinch-like grin and exaggerate my midwestern accent. Time to annoy the shit out of Palpatine. "Sure do, Palps. I've been mostly sticking to the Outer Rim, but I've been helping where I can." 

His polite smile fails to reach his eyes, and I see some of the cheek muscles tense. "Interesting, most interesting. However did you manage to acquire these ships, anyways? I don't claim to be a historian, but your ships look far too new to be any collector's pieces, and I don't quite recognize your flagship's model."

"Ah, trade secret, Palps. I will, however, tell ya that my flagship is somewhat unique. D'ya recall the Inexpugnable-class command ships of the Mandalorian Wars?"

"I don't say that I do. I'll have to look into it when I've got time off. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hatton."

He walks away, and my expression fades into something more natural. That's gonna bite me in the ass later, but so very worth it.

Tarkin addresses me again. "Hatton, what were you doing?"

"Introducing you to the art of annoying the living hell out of career politicians, Captain; play up a stereotype, treat them as an equal, and share nothing of value with them." I walk away, and Tarkin's expression turns thoughtful. My Sentinel droids, of course, were keeping a close eye on all guests, and HK-47 was watching over the holocameras with our resident Jedi. 

I end up finding Jaster talking with Jango.

"Jaster, how long has it been since we talked last?"

He turns, and his grin widens. "Oh, too long. I told you that we'd bring you to the Oya'baat to celebrate, and you will have to share that recipe with us. I haven't had a meal that good in a while."

"Good, good, I had actually intended to share it with you once I had adjusted for locally-accessible ingredients. By the way, keep a close eye on the politician, the man reeks of corruption. He's gonna be a problem for later, mark my goddamned words."

Jaster nods, his expression turning serious. Jango at this point commandeers the conversation. "Hatton, your intelligence saved my sister. We've had to spend a few months stripping out the damned brainwashing, but I owe you nonetheless."

I was blindsided by this. I had genuinely forgotten Jango even had a sister, much less that she was working for the Death Watch.

"You owe me nothing, Jango. Jaster's the one who followed up on the sparse intel I had, and honestly, I don't need a reward to make sure those scumbags are six feet under."

He clasps me on the shoulder firmly. "I will have to insist. We are going to have a party, and there will be no excuses to bow out this time."

I sigh, before replying. "On the conditions that, first, do not expect me to drink alcohol, and second, you will put in a good word with Mandal Hypernautics or Mandalmotors, because I want to earn some engineering degrees."

He thinks for a moment, as does Jaster. The currently reigning Mandalore nods. "Acceptable. Once these di'kutla Republicans leave, we'll have that party at the Oyu'baat, and then we'll see about arranging a meeting with one of the two companies you mentioned." He claps me on the back, and at this point, the recess ends and everyone involved returns to the mess hall table.

- - - - 4 hours of debate later - - - -

By the end of it, I have a migraine from social activity, and old Palps doesn't look particularly happy with this turn of events, even if he does manage to maintain appearances.

I get paid roughly 500,000 credits by the Judicial forces for the bounty of King Terak, and Palpatine's brute squad fuck off back to the Core.

I hand off a translated copy of my cookbook to Jaster, and we head down to Mandalore's surface. 

- - - -

The party that ensued was loud, and I mostly stuck to the back corner after making my expected appearance in front of the crowd. I also managed to surprise them by managing to eat their absurdly spicy food correctly without prompting, despite the tradition of not telling people how spicy that shit is. Helps that my family liked spicy food, and I'm not a prissy city boy that hasn't had a dash of flavor in his whole life. Still, not my favorite, since Tiingilar is basically space curry and I still have a rather bland set of preferences for food. 

The proprietor of the Oyu'baat, who preferred to stay unnamed, paid me six thousand credits for a copy of my cookbook, as well as a few hundred credits for some of my chickens. All in all, not a bad deal.

After all was said and done, I retired to my ship for the evening, and in the morning, we went to visit Mandal Hypernautics and MandalMotors. Turns out, they're basically the same company, same office building and all. 

They were very interested in just letting me have a tutor droid that can teach me for the next decade, in exchange for letting them have a close look at both of the ship classes in my collection. I also sold them the blueprints of the HK-51s and the Sentinel Droids, which netted me a cool couple million credits. Makes sense, considering they have integrated shielding and are probably some of the most effective droids in galactic history.

I left the MandalMotors tower a very happy man, and quite a bit richer, too.

- - - -

I send a message to my spare fleet, and within a month, they show up at Mandalore. I leave all of them aside from my Flagship and six of the Hammerheads in Jaster's care, which results in Mandalore having a dedicated fleet and flagship that can asteroid mine to sustain themselves. Of course, the abrupt arrival of another seven fucking warships at their doorstep to be gifted to Mandalore was a wild experience for everyone involved, and I have my fleet begin plotting a course to the Kalee system.