Star Wars: Light Empire

Chapter 13: The Diplomat's Ledger

Three months later, the command deck of the Pathfinder was the quiet, humming heart of a small, interstellar empire of commerce. The frantic energy of their early days had been replaced by the steady, confident rhythm of a massively profitable enterprise. Valerius, his feet up on a spare console, monitored the progress of their seven-ship fleet on a secondary screen.

"Sev projects Hauler Charlie will clear a seventy-thousand credit profit on that Beryllius run," he said, his tone casual, almost bored. It was a testament to their success that a sum that would have once been a life-changing score was now just another Tuesday.

Jax stood before the main holotank, a cup of caf in his hand, watching the intricate dance of their ships across the sector map. "That's good," he acknowledged. "But Sev, bring up analysis file Omega-9. 'Rejected Contracts, Third Quarter'."

The display shifted. The map of their successful fleet was replaced by a long, scrolling list of new contracts. Each one was incredibly lucrative, with payouts in the high six and even seven figures. And each one was stamped with a bright red ACCESS DENIED.

Valerius swung his feet off the console. "Rejected? I don't remember rejecting any of those. What are they?"

"The AI didn't reject them, Captain," Jax said, his voice grim. "We were rejected." He enlarged one of the listings. "This one: a long-term contract to supply the new orbital construction platform in the Meridian sector. Profit estimate: two million credits." He highlighted the rejection notice. "Reason: Requires Level-5 Corporate Diplomatic Clearance."

He swiped to the next one. "Exclusive transport rights for the Bacta Guild. Profit: incalculable over the long term." He pointed to the reason. "Access Denied to Non-Sentient Negotiators."

He brought up a third. "A request to establish a supply line for a new colonization project. Reason: Human-to-Human Interface Mandatory for all primary contractors." He let the list scroll, dozens of similar opportunities, all locked behind doors their droids could not open.

Valerius slumped back in his chair, the full picture snapping into focus. "So that's it," he said, his voice heavy. "We've hit the glass ceiling. Our droids can haul the cargo, but they can't get us into the room to make the deal in the first place."

The problem was maddeningly simple. They had built a perfect, logical, ruthlessly efficient machine for logistics, but the galaxy's most profitable deals were not made by machines. They were made in quiet back rooms, built on handshakes, personal trust, and the subtle art of human persuasion.

'We've maxed out the algorithm,' Jax thought, a familiar frustration burning within him. 'We've hit a wall that isn't made of pirates or patrols, but of egos and politics. We can't automate our way through this.'

He looked at the list of multi-million credit contracts they couldn't touch, his expression hardening into one of cold calculation.

"Then we stop sending a droid to knock on the door," he said, turning to the AI's console. "Sev. New directive." His fingers flew across the keyboard. "Begin a search of all available intelligence databases—political, corporate, and security. I need a person. Profile: extensive experience in corporate or political negotiation, fluent in galactic trade law, and possesses a personal history that would give them a reason to be loyal to an independent organization that operates in the gray."

He looked over at Valerius, his partner.

"We've built the perfect engine, Captain," Jax said. "Now we need to hire a face."

At Jax's command, the holotank on the Pathfinder's command deck transformed. The star-chart of their fleet was replaced by a swirling vortex of pure data. Encrypted Republic Senate records, Corporate Sector Authority personnel files, and financial dossiers from a dozen syndicates flashed across the display in an incomprehensible storm. The AI, Sev, was casting a galaxy-wide net.

Valerius watched the display, a deep unease settling in his features. "Are you sure about this, kid?" he asked, his voice low. "Peeking into this kind of stuff… this is how you get on a lot of very bad, very permanent lists."

"We're already on those lists, Captain," Jax replied calmly, his eyes never leaving the data stream. "We just don't know it yet. Better to have someone on our side who knows how the lists are made." He spoke to the AI. "Sev, filter out anyone with active, high-level allegiances. I don't want a spy. I want a free agent."

The vortex of data narrowed.

"Cross-reference financial records," Jax continued. "Prioritize individuals with… constrained assets. And filter for psychological profiles indicating a low regard for conventional authority."

The storm of information collapsed, coalescing into a single, stable file that floated in the center of the tank. A holographic portrait materialized above it. It was a human male, perhaps in his late forties, with sharp, intelligent gray eyes that were shadowed by a deep and profound weariness. His dark hair was silvering at the temples, and his face was etched with lines of disappointment.

The AI's text appeared below the portrait.

CANDIDATE FOUND. PROBABILITY MATCH: 98.7%.

NAME: KAELEN ORSO.

"Let's see his story," Jax said.

The file expanded. Kaelen Orso's life spooled out in a series of concise, devastating points.

FORMER STATUS: Senior Attaché, Republic Diplomatic Corps. Specialty: Corporate Trade Negotiation. Commendations: Brokered the Elrood-Firro Treaty, mediated the Ithorian-Corporate Alliance dispute. Considered a future ambassador.

CURRENT STATUS: Persona Non Grata.

"What happened?" Valerius asked, leaning closer.

INCIDENT: Five years ago, Orso was accused of leaking sensitive information during negotiations with the Techno Union, leading to the collapse of a multi-system trade deal. Publicly disgraced, stripped of rank and pension.

Jax frowned. It seemed too simple. "Sev, analyze the data leak. Cross-reference senatorial logs and financial transactions for all involved parties during that period."

The AI processed for a moment. A new line of text appeared, highlighted in red. ANALYSIS: High probability that Orso was a scapegoat. Data indicates the leak originated from the office of Senator Vinta, Orso's superior, who received substantial untraceable payments from a rival corporation two days after the collapse of the deal.

Valerius let out a low whistle. "He took the fall."

"Looks like it," Jax said. He brought up Kaelen's current location.

CURRENT LOCATION: Nar Shaddaa, the Vertical City.

OCCUPATION: Freelance information broker.

FINANCIAL STATUS: Heavily in debt to the Gorm-Hassall crime family.

Valerius shook his head. "A fallen angel. The most dangerous kind. He'll either be the most loyal man you've ever met, or he'll sell us out for a single shot at his old life."

'He's perfect,' Jax thought. 'He's brilliant, he understands the game at a level we can't, and he has no love for the systems that betrayed him. He's looking for a new flag to fly under.'

"He's the one," Jax said, his decision made. He turned to the main console. "Sev, plot a course for Nar Shaddaa. And pull up everything you can find on the Gorm-Hassall family." He looked at Valerius. "We're going to make a job offer."

Nar Shaddaa was a vertical ocean of neon and sin, a moon that never slept because its inhabitants couldn't afford to. The meeting was set for a private booth in a cantina called "The Faded Credit," deep in the Undercity. The air was thick with the smell of un-recycled air, cheap narcotics, and desperation. Valerius sat with his back to the wall, his hand never straying far from the new, unfamiliar pistol hidden beneath his jacket. Jax was calm, his eyes taking in every detail, every shadowy transaction in the corners of the room.

Kaelen Orso arrived exactly on time. He looked older than his holographic portrait, the weariness in his eyes etched more deeply into his face. His clothes were worn but meticulously clean, the last bastion of a man clinging to a former life of discipline and order. He moved with the cautious gait of a man who knows he is being hunted, his gaze sweeping the room before he slid into their booth.

"My contact said you had a business proposition," Kaelen began, his voice a low, cultured baritone that seemed out of place in the grimy cantina. "Given the location, I assume it's either illegal, suicidal, or both. Which is it?"

"It's ambitious," Jax countered smoothly. He decided to bypass the usual pleasantries. "We know who you are, Mr. Orso. We know what happened with Senator Vinta and the Techno Union. We know you were left holding the bag."

The cynical mask on Kaelen's face faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine shock and suspicion. He recovered quickly, but the opening blow had landed. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice now cold.

"We are a private logistics company," Jax explained. "Very successful, and looking to expand into markets that require… a more delicate touch. I'm not here to offer you a freelance job, Mr. Orso. I'm offering you a foundational position in our enterprise. Chief of External Affairs."

He let that sink in. "You would be the face and the mind of our diplomatic and corporate relations. We provide the fleet, the resources, the capital, and the intelligence." Jax leaned forward slightly. "And, as a signing bonus, we can arrange for your outstanding debt to the Gorm-Hassall family to be… permanently settled."

Kaelen stared at him, his sharp mind processing the absurd, impossible offer. It was a lifeline wrapped in a mystery. A chance to use his skills again, a chance at a life beyond looking over his shoulder, and a solution to the debt that would surely kill him within the year. It was too good to be true.

"You run a logistics company?" he asked, his voice skeptical. "And you think you can just erase a debt to the Gorm-Hassall? Are you Republic Intelligence? Some new corporate security division?"

Jax offered a small, knowing smile. "We're independent," he said simply. "And very well-capitalized. We don't want to hire your services for a single job, Mr. Orso. We want to invest in your talent." He chose his final words carefully. "We believe you are a severely undervalued asset."

The phrase hit Kaelen like a physical blow. It wasn't a plea or a job offer; it was a strategic assessment. The language of his old life. For the first time in five years, someone was looking at him and seeing not a disgraced failure, but untapped potential.

He was silent for a long, heavy moment, the roar of the cantina fading into the background. A flicker of the old, calculating diplomat returned to his weary eyes. He leaned back, a flicker of a smile touching his own lips for the first time.

"Tell me more about the compensation package," he said. "…Partner."