Star Wars: Light Empire

Chapter 10: The First Treasury

Six months.

Six months had passed since their first, desperate run through the Void Hounds' territory. The Stray Comet was still the same old YT-1250 on the outside, bearing the same scuffs and scars, but on the inside, she was a different beast entirely. The cockpit no longer flickered; its light was a steady, professional glow. The constant, low-level hum of failing systems had been replaced by the quiet, confident thrum of a well-maintained machine. A military-grade shield generator, purchased with the profits of their third run, occupied a space where old storage lockers once rusted. And nestled discreetly on the dorsal hull was a retractable, rapid-fire laser cannon turret. The Stray Comet was no longer just a freighter. She was a survivor.

So were her crew. The partnership between the old veteran and the young ghost from another world had solidified into a seamless, well-oiled machine.

"Got a ping," Valerius said, his voice calm as he sipped his caf. They were currently hauling sensitive medical supplies through a notoriously patrolled trade lane. "Two patrol ships, trying to be sneaky in that debris field up ahead."

Jax didn't even look up from the console where he was monitoring their new AI's route analysis. "Let them," he replied, his tone relaxed. "The AI already plotted a course through that gravity well to the south. We'll use it to slingshot. They won't get a clean sensor lock until we're already spooling up the hyperdrive. They're too slow and their ships are too heavy for a pursuit."

"Good," Valerius grunted, taking another sip. There was no panic, no tension. This was just another Tuesday.

This had become their new routine. They had taken the profits from that first Tibanna run and reinvested, becoming the go-to crew for the kind of high-risk, high-reward jobs that other haulers wouldn't touch. With the AI, which Jax had explained away as an expensive piece of "black market predictive software," they stayed one step ahead of every pirate, rival, and customs patrol in the sector. They were fast, efficient, and discreet. They were making a name for themselves. And they were making money.

Later, during a long, quiet stretch in hyperspace, Jax allowed himself a moment to check his own progress. He focused his mind, and the System interface bloomed in his vision.

BALANCE: 52,112 POINTS.

He stared at the number, the sheer scale of it almost hard to comprehend. 'Six months ago,' he thought, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, 'I was fighting rats for garbage scraps to save up twenty-five points. Now…'

The chime of a completed transfer from Valerius brought him back to the present. Their payment for the medical supplies had just cleared.

"Another clean run, another fat paycheck," Valerius said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. "We're living the dream, kid."

Jax looked at the new profit report, then at the larger strategic map projected by their AI. He saw the routes they were running, the profits they were making, and he felt a familiar, gnawing sense of dissatisfaction. The feeling of a man who knows he is meant for more.

'No, we're not,' he thought, his eyes tracing the limits of their current operation. 'We're still just one ship. We're reacting to the market, not shaping it. We've hit a wall.' He frowned. 'To go further… we need to get bigger.'

Valerius chuckled, leaning back in his chair in the galley, a rare, genuine smile on his face as he looked over their company's credit account. "Look at that, kid. Another clean run, another fat paycheck," he said with a satisfied chuckle. "We're living the dream."

Jax nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the shimmering holographic display from the AI, a thoughtful frown on his face. "We are. It's great," he agreed. "But… it's fragile."

"Fragile?" Valerius's good mood faltered. "What are you talking about? We're more successful than I've been in a decade."

"Our entire operation rests on this one ship," Jax explained, turning from the display. "It rests on you and me not having one bad day. What happens if the Comet needs a new hyperdrive motivator that takes a month to install? Our income drops to zero overnight."

'This is a good job,' Jax thought, the logic solidifying in his mind. 'But it's not a business. A real business has systems. It has redundancy. It doesn't die if one gear breaks.'

Valerius shrugged, the fatalism of a lifelong freighter pilot showing through. "That's the life of a two-man crew. It's always a high-wire act."

"But what if we could be more than just a crew?" Jax asked, his voice quiet but intense. "What if we could be a company?"

Before the captain could respond, Jax accessed the System and projected a 3D model into the air between them. It was a blocky, brutally utilitarian ship that looked nothing like the flowing designs of the Corellian freighters he was used to.

"What in the stars is that ugly thing?" Valerius asked.

"That, Captain, is our growth strategy," Jax said. "It's an unmanned industrial hauler. You give it a destination and a flight plan, and it goes. No crew, no life support, just a cargo bay and an engine." He laid out the business plan he had been forming. "We buy two of these. We use our AI to find those safe, bulk-hauling contracts we've been ignoring. They become a steady, reliable source of income. A foundation. It diversifies our risk. If we get into trouble, these haulers are still out there, earning for the company."

Valerius stared at the impossible ship, then at Jax, his mind reeling. "Ships that fly themselves… where do you even find something like that?"

Jax decided to show him the final piece of the puzzle. He added a price tag to the display, manually typing in the number. To Valerius, it was just text on a screen. To Jax, it represented a monumental choice. In his mind, he saw the System's price: Cost: 15,000 Points. He translated it for his partner.

"They're fifteen thousand credits apiece," he said.

Valerius stared at the price tag floating in the air next to the alien ship models. He let out a choked sound that was half laugh, half groan.

"Fifteen thousand credits apiece? That's thirty thousand credits for two ugly boxes that fly themselves! Are you out of your mind?" He gestured wildly with his cybernetic hand. "We could almost buy another used freighter for that much! A real one, with a cockpit and a proper engine you can kick when it acts up!"

"A real freighter needs a real crew, Captain," Jax countered calmly, not fazed by the outburst. "That means salaries, life support, food, medical supplies... and hiring people in a place like Port Anteris means trusting people you can't trust. These," he nodded to the holograms, "are a one-time capital expense. They are pure, loyal assets. Their only job is to make money for the company, twenty-four hours a cycle. They don't sleep, they don't complain, and they don't steal."

He held up a hand before Valerius could argue again. "And they won't be entirely on their own." He brought up a new image: a slender, bipedal droid, built for utility. "We station one of these with each hauler. A T-Series Logistical Droid. They'll manage the physical loading and unloading at each port, file the manifests, and handle any on-site issues. They're the ground crew." He added their cost to the total. "Two thousand five hundred credits each. Total investment: thirty-five thousand credits."

Valerius sank back into his chair, overwhelmed. He looked from the impossible ships to the droids, then to the calm, determined face of the young man who was proposing this insanity. He ran his hand over his tired face.

"This is crazy. You know that, right?" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Completely, certifiably insane." He looked around the familiar, worn galley of his ship, the only stable thing in his life. "This is the kind of move that either makes you a king or gets you spaced."

'This is the moment,' Jax thought. 'The point of no return.' His own heart was hammering, but his voice was steady. "The way we're going, we'll be comfortable. We'll be fine. But we'll always be small-time. This… this is how we get ahead of the game instead of just playing it."

The old captain was silent for a long time. Finally, he looked up, and a strange, wild light sparked in his eyes—the light of a gambler who has been convinced to push all his chips to the center of the table.

"You are going to be the death of me, kid," he sighed. "Alright. Do it. Buy your magic ships. Before I come to my senses."

A wave of relief and terrifying purpose washed over Jax. 'Balance: 52,112 Points. Total cost: 35,000 Points.' He took a deep breath. 'Confirm purchase.'

PURCHASE CONFIRMED. NEW BALANCE: 17,112 POINTS.

Jax stood up. "Alright. I've 'placed the order'," he said, the words feeling heavy and momentous. "The delivery is… immediate. I rented out Hangar Bay 12 for the next hour. You need to see this."

Minutes later, they stood together in the cavernous, empty space of Hangar Bay 12.

"Designate materialization points," Jax commanded, his voice echoing slightly in the huge bay.

He pictured two large areas on the hangar floor, and a smaller spot beside each. The air in those spots began to shimmer, wavering like an intense heat haze. A low hum filled the hangar, a sound that seemed to vibrate in their very bones. Valerius took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Slowly, two massive, blocky, utterly alien shapes faded into existence, resolving from translucent light into solid, gray metal. Beside each one, a slender logistical droid solidified, its metallic finish gleaming under the hangar lights.

They were real. They were theirs.

Valerius stared, his jaw slack, at the impossible sight. He looked from the two new, silent ships to the man beside him.

'It's done,' Jax thought, a universe of possibility opening up before him. He looked at Valerius's stunned face. 'We're not just a crew anymore.'

"Welcome to the company, Captain."