Star Wars: Light Empire

Chapter 12: The Half-Million Credit Question

The next morning, the celebratory mood had evaporated, replaced by the cold, stark light of reality. Jax found Valerius in the cockpit, staring at the blank holoprojector where the image of the Constellation had been displayed hours before. The old captain hadn't slept; the dark circles under his eyes were a testament to a long night spent wrestling with the sheer, audacious scale of Jax's ambition.

"I was up all night, running the numbers on your new dream ship," Valerius began without preamble, his voice low and tired. He turned from the projector to face Jax, his expression grim. "It doesn't work, kid."

Jax remained silent, leaning against the doorframe, letting his partner speak. This was not the shocked outburst of the previous night; this was a sober, reasoned argument, which made it far more powerful.

"It's not just the half-a-million-credit price tag, though the seven hells know that's bad enough," Valerius continued, counting the points on his cybernetic fingers. "It's the operational costs. The logistics. A ship that size needs a crew of at least six. A pilot, a co-pilot, two engineers in the bay, and two gunners for the turrets. That's six salaries. Six mouths to feed. Six bunks to fill."

He stood up and began to pace the small cockpit, his frustration a palpable force in the confined space. "And where do we find these people, Jax? We can't poach a loyal crew from a Core World navy. We'd have to hire from ports like this one. We'd be recruiting ex-syndicate muscle and washed-up mercenaries who would slit our throats for a payday half the size of what's in the cargo hold. I've seen it happen a dozen times."

He stopped and looked Jax square in the eye, his argument reaching its peak. "That ship isn't an asset; it's a liability. It's too big, too expensive, and too tempting. We'd be painting a target on our own backs. It's a beautiful idea, but it's a fantasy. It's not practical."

Valerius finished his speech, his case laid out with the cold, hard logic of thirty years of bitter experience. He had presented a seemingly insurmountable obstacle.

Jax listened patiently to the entire, well-reasoned argument. He gave a slow, deliberate nod of agreement.

"You're right," he said, his voice perfectly calm. "Hiring a crew would be a disaster."

He let the admission hang in the air for a moment, watching the flicker of confusion in the captain's eyes.

"So we don't."

Valerius stared at Jax as if he'd just grown a second head. "So we don't?" he repeated, his voice laced with incredulous frustration. "What does that even mean? You plan on flying a capital freighter by yourself? That ship's got more systems than a small city. It's not the Comet, kid. You can't just 'will' it to fly while you're also in the engine room and manning the guns."

"You're right. I can't," Jax agreed, his calmness a stark contrast to the captain's agitation. "And you're right that hiring a living crew is too much of a risk." He let the silence stretch for a moment before delivering the solution that had been forming in his mind. "That's why our crew won't have ambition. They won't have greed. They won't get tired, and they can't be bribed."

He turned back to the holoprojector, his eyes distant as he accessed the System. "Because we're not going to hire them," he said. "We're going to buy them."

The image of the Constellation freighter slid to one side of the display, replaced by the rotating model of a new figure. It was not a sleek protocol droid or a simple logistical unit. This was a machine built for pure function. It had a robust, armored chassis designed to withstand vacuum and radiation, multiple articulated arms tipped with a variety of tools—plasma welders, magnetic manipulators, hydraulic cutters—and a single, impassive optical sensor that glowed with a soft blue light.

"What is that?" Valerius asked, his frustration giving way to curiosity.

"A Hephaestus-model Engineering Droid," Jax explained. "They're specialists. Not truly sentient, not creative. They're walking toolkits programmed for one purpose: starship engineering and defense. They can run the engine room, manage power distribution, patch hull breaches under fire, and operate the defensive turrets with near-perfect, computer-assisted accuracy."

Valerius's eyes widened. "An all-droid crew… I've heard of corporations trying it. It's incredibly expensive. And droids can be sliced, their programming corrupted…"

"Not these," Jax said with a certainty that left no room for doubt. "Their programming is… very secure. My contacts can provide a full crew complement for a ship this size. Four units."

He manipulated the display, adding a new line item below the cost of the ship. The numbers glowed in the dim cockpit, stark and immense.

Constellation-class Freighter: 500,000 Credits Hephaestus Crew (4 Units): 60,000 Credits

TOTAL ACQUISITION COST: 560,000 Credits

Valerius sank back into his chair, the number seeming to suck the air out of the room. The practical, insurmountable problem of hiring a loyal crew had been solved, but it had been replaced by an even more terrifying financial mountain. He looked at the hologram of the silent, powerful droids, then at the impossible ship they were meant to crew. He was a simple freighter captain who had stumbled into a world of impossible logistics and phantom contacts who could procure things that shouldn't exist.

He finally looked at Jax, his expression a mixture of awe and profound unease.

"Five hundred and sixty thousand credits," he whispered. "For a ghost ship and a crew of metal men." He shook his head slowly. "Every time I think I understand the game we're playing, you reveal a new piece on the board I've never even seen before."

Valerius stood motionless for a long time, his eyes fixed on the hologram of the impossible ship and its impossible crew. The galley was silent, save for the low hum of the ship's recycler. He was a man standing on a precipice, staring down at a fall that would either end in ruin or grant him the ability to fly. He paced the length of the small room once, then again, his cybernetic hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

Jax waited patiently. He had made his case. He had presented the facts as his AI and his own logic had laid them out. The rest was up to Valerius. It had to be a partnership, or it was nothing.

Finally, the old captain stopped pacing. He looked exhausted, as if he'd aged another decade in the last ten minutes. But beneath the exhaustion, there was a flicker of the same wild light Jax had seen in his eyes before their first run against the Void Hounds. The light of a gambler who couldn't resist one more throw of the dice.

He let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his entire life. "Alright, kid," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Alright." He looked at Jax, a grim smile touching his lips. "Burn the credits. Let's see what kind of trouble half a million credits can actually buy us."

A surge of triumph, cool and potent, washed over Jax. He kept his expression neutral, nodding once. "Okay. My 'contact' needs the funds transferred to a secure, untraceable account first. Then they'll arrange the delivery."

Valerius grimaced at the sheer size of the number but walked to the company's financial terminal. With a few keystrokes, he authorized the transfer of 560,000 credits. On the screen, their massive savings, the fruit of months of labor and risk, vanished into the digital ether.

As the transfer completed, Jax privately spoke to the System in his mind. 'Facilitate acquisition, order Epsilon-7. Payment source: external corporate account.'

A simple, clean confirmation appeared in his vision. TRANSACTION COMPLETE.

"It's done," Jax said aloud. "The delivery is… immediate. I rented out Hangar Bay 12 for the next hour."

Minutes later, they stood in the cavernous, empty space of the largest hangar in Port Anteris. The silence was immense, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of the port.

"Designate materialization points," Jax whispered, more to himself than to Valerius.

He pictured the layout in his mind: the massive ship in the center, its crew at the ramp. The air in the hangar began to hum, a low-frequency vibration that resonated deep in their chests. The empty space before them started to shimmer, warping like an intense heat haze.

Valerius took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide.

Slowly, like a ghost fading into reality, the impossible began to happen. The immense, blocky form of the Constellation-class freighter bled into existence, its dark, rugged hull resolving from translucent light into solid matter. It settled onto the hangar floor with a deep, resonant groan of immense weight.

Then, at the base of its ramp, four more shimmers appeared. They solidified into the sleek, armored forms of the Hephaestus droids, who stood in a silent, perfect line, their single blue optical sensors activating in unison with a soft, synchronized chime.

It wasn't just a ship. It was a fully operational enterprise, delivered from another reality.

Valerius stared, his jaw slack, the ever-present mug of caf in his hand completely forgotten. He looked from the massive freighter to its silent, imposing crew of metal men, then back to the young man standing calmly beside him.

"An automated crew… a ghost ship from nowhere…" he finally breathed, his voice filled with a new level of awe that bordered on reverence. He turned to Jax. "Kid… you're not just changing the game. You're playing a different one entirely."