Location: Nar Shaddaa
Time: 9 BBY
Alex studied the holographic projection, slowly rotating over the table in his office. Jack sat opposite, sipping caff and watching his boss's reaction with curiosity. Outside the window, the neon lights of the criminal moon flickered, but Alex's attention was completely absorbed by the image.
"And you're saying they just don't know what to do with it?" Alex asked again, zooming in on the image of the ring-shaped structure.
"Drexon is in a panic," Jack nodded, setting down his cup. "He says the workers found this thing eight weeks ago while looking for new asteroid deposits. A huge disc, stuck between three large asteroids. Dead as a stone."
Jack chuckled, recalling a recent conversation:
"At first, he tried to find out indirectly where he could sell something like this. Like, they have 'a certain object,' 'potentially valuable,' but 'requires caution.' He thought I wouldn't understand what he was talking about."
"And you understood?"
"I'm not new to this," Jack snorted. "I've been smuggling for twenty years, seen all sorts of things. When a man is so cautious, it means he's found something serious. I had to twist his arm a bit for him to be frank."
Alex recognized the silhouette immediately—the characteristic open ring with a central sphere. A Lucrehulk-class battleship, flagship of the Trade Federation during the Clone Wars. Three kilometers in diameter, capable of carrying one and a half million tons of cargo.
"Who needs this scrap metal?" Jack shrugged. "Drexon has already tried to sell it through intermediaries, but..."
"But who would want to get involved with a Separatist ship," Alex finished, turning off the projector. "Especially under the current regime."
His mind raced. If the ship was relatively intact, it wasn't just a find—it was a ready-made space station. Huge hangars, developed infrastructure, autonomous life support systems.
"Jack, on your next trip, take a standard cargo to Tersik. I'll go with you—I want to talk personally."
The planet Tersik greeted them with a surprising contrast. On one hand—dreary industrial complexes and dust storms, on the other—green hills and a clear sky. It was a world in transition, slowly healing from decades of intensive mining.
"This used to be one of the most promising mining planets in the sector," the transport pilot explained as they descended towards the spaceport. "Hundreds of mines, millions of tons of ore per year. But then there were problems with hyperspace routes—the old routes became unstable. Delivery costs skyrocketed."
Alex looked out the viewport at the landscape below. Indeed, most of the planet did not resemble an industrial wasteland. Only a small part of it had been developed for mineral extraction. But now, even these areas did not look like an industrial wasteland. Abandoned mines had turned into lakes—groundwater filled the excavations after collapses. Young forests grew around them, and there were noticeably fewer dust storms than in archival images.
"The ecology is recovering," the pilot continued. "The air is cleaner, there's more vegetation every year. It's a shame it hasn't made things easier for the people—there's no work."
Mining complexes stretched across the surface like rusty scars, but most of them stood mothballed. Only one mine was still working—the last of a once-mighty industrial empire.
Karl Drexon met them in his office with his usual nervousness. Over the years of cooperation, Alex had learned his character—a good man, but a weak manager, constantly plagued by financial problems. The office looked bleak: worn furniture, dust-covered walls, and the constant hum of fans.
"Alex!" Drexon exclaimed, rising from his desk. "As always, right on time. Your monthly support has literally saved us from another crisis."
Alex nodded. Alex's regular purchases helped the mines stay afloat, and in return, he received a stable supply of quality ore.
"Jack told me about your find," Alex said, sitting down in a worn-out chair. "I'd like to hear the details."
Drexon's face darkened: "Ah, that cursed piece of iron. They found it eight weeks ago, and I don't know what to do with it anymore. It's huge, terrifying... I tried to find out cautiously through Jack who might need it, but..."
"But Jack is an experienced smuggler and immediately realized you were hiding something," Alex chuckled.
Drexon blushed: "Yes, he got the truth out of me pretty quickly."
Drexon activated the holoprojector, and an image of an asteroid field appeared above the table. Between three large chunks, the familiar ring structure was frozen.
"Our workers discovered this eight weeks ago," Drexon began, pointing to the image. "At first, they thought it was some kind of ancient station. But when they got closer... My God, this thing is enormous! Three kilometers in diameter!"
Alex carefully studied the images. The hull looked intact, without serious damage. The characteristic landing clamps of the open ring, the central control sphere—everything was in place.
"Did you board it?"
"Once," Drexon shivered. "We sent a reconnaissance team. My God, what we saw there... It's dead. No one alive, just deactivated droids everywhere. And... the bodies of Neimoidians."
He fell silent, clearly recalling something unpleasant.
"My people told terrible stories," Drexon finally continued. "In one of the cabins, they found... remains. Neimoidians, judging by their clothes—high-ranking ones. They... they died of starvation, Alex. Can you imagine? The richest lords of the Trade Federation died of starvation on their own ship!"
"How is that possible?"
"My technicians studied the logs," Drexon pulled out a datapad with records. "The ship made an emergency hyperspace jump ten years ago. From Mustafar, according to the latest navigation data. Apparently, they were fleeing from someone. But something went wrong—they got stuck here, in our asteroid field."
Alex frowned. Mustafar... ten years ago... That was the end of the Clone Wars! And if the ship fled Mustafar in a panic...
"Show me the recordings," he demanded.
Drexon activated an audio recording. A familiar voice came from the speakers—nasal, panicked:
"Evacuate! Evacuate immediately! It's all over! Sidious betrayed us!"
Alex went cold. That voice... He had heard it in news reports. Some relative of Nute Gunray. One of the leaders of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
"The ship is not ready for jump! The navigation system is undergoing maintenance!"
"I don't care! Jump anywhere!"
"Yes, my lord."
The recording cut off. Alex sat in silence, processing what he had heard. I wonder who he was fleeing from? He had heard something about Mustafar. An associate of the Emperor had been injured there. He flew to this ship in a panic and ordered an immediate departure, without waiting for the navigation system repairs to be completed.
And paid for it with his life.
"I see," Alex said, and a strange note of satisfaction sounded in his voice. "And what do you want for the location information?"
Drexon's eyes lit up with a greedy glint: "It's a dreadnought! Can you imagine how much it's worth? A billion credits—and that's cheap!"
Alex barely suppressed a laugh: "A billion? For what exactly? For a pile of scrap metal that's been hanging in space for ten years?"
"But it's..."
"It's a ship of the Confederacy of Independent Systems," Alex interrupted harshly. "From the Clone Wars. Dead crew, systems not working. Who needs such a ship now? Especially—if the Empire finds out that someone has been hiding a Separatist warship for eight weeks..."
Drexon turned pale. Alex continued calmly: "Scrapping such an object will require enormous costs. Special equipment, cutting teams, metal transportation... Plus legal risks."
"But... but we need money," Drexon stammered. "The mine is on the verge of closure. It's the last working mine on the planet! If it closes, there will be nothing left here at all."
Alex looked at him intently. A larger idea began to form in his mind. Bankrupt mines could be bought for pennies. And he had something others didn't—direct access to the rich Core markets through the restored Rakatan stations.
"Thirty million," he said finally. "For the exact coordinates and exclusive salvage rights."
"Thirty million?" Drexon looked as if he had been hit. "But that's..."
"That's the real price, considering all the risks," Alex replied firmly. "Think about it, Karl—who else will give you anything for this find?"
Drexon remained silent, nervously fiddling with the edge of his worn jacket. Alex mentally calculated the options. Thirty million would save the mine for a few months, no more. And then... then he could buy the whole company.
"Alright," Drexon finally conceded. "Thirty million. But I want immediate payment."
"Of course."
An hour later, they were sitting in a local branch of the Galactic Bank. Alex was transferring the money, and Drexon was handing him the detailed coordinates of the find and all collected data.
"Officially, you are purchasing the rights to salvage space debris," the bank employee explained. "The object is classified as abandoned property."
Alex nodded, smiling inwardly. After receiving all the documents, he shook Drexon's hand: "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Karl. And remember—complete secrecy."
On board the "Wanderer," Verena studied the schematics and photographs received from Drexon.
"Alex, do you understand what this is?" she asked. "It's a huge machine! Payload of one and a half million tons, hangars the size of a spaceport..."
"I understand," Alex nodded. "And you know what? I don't care about these Separatist scum. Serves them right—to die of starvation in space."
Verena looked at him in surprise: "Did you know them?"
"Not personally," Alex replied grimly. "But at the end of the war, the Separatists raided Corellia. One of their ships fired a turbolaser at a residential complex. My parents died then."
He fell silent, recalling that day. The air raid siren, flashes in the sky, collapsing buildings...
"Perhaps this Gunray participated in that raid," he added. "So let them burn in hell, those Separatist bastards."
R4-K9 signaled readiness for jump. Alex activated the hyperdrive, and the "Wanderer" sped towards Tersik's asteroid field.
The coordinates turned out to be accurate. Between three large asteroids, as if caught in a vise, hung a huge ship. Even from a distance, its size was impressive—a ring structure over three kilometers in diameter with a massive central sphere.
"My God," Verena whispered, looking at the screens. "It's a whole city!"
Alex maneuvered between the asteroids, approaching one of the side docks. Scanners showed weak energy signatures—the reactor was running at minimal power, maintaining emergency systems.
"Docking through the emergency airlock," he said, activating the docking sequence.
The first thing that struck Alex inside was the scale. The corridors were so wide that cargo speeders could drive through them. Emergency lighting barely pierced the darkness, picking out rows of deactivated combat droids from the gloom.
"There's atmosphere, but it's old," Verena reported, checking her scanner. "The organic crew is long dead."
They moved towards the central sphere, where the bridge was located. Along the way, they encountered more and more droids—B1, B2, several droidekas. All deactivated, frozen in their last poses.
In one of the command cabins, they found the mummified remains of Neimoidians in rich robes. Alex stopped by one of the bodies—apparently, it was the one whose voice they had heard.
"Serves you right, scum," he said quietly, looking at the dried remains. "You killed innocent people, and you died like rats."
"R4, connect to the main computer," Alex ordered when they reached the bridge. "We need the logs from the last few days."
The droid signaled consent and rolled up to the central console. A few minutes later, holograms flickered above the bridge.
The first recording showed a panicked escape from Mustafar. A Neimoidian burst onto the bridge, shouting about an immediate departure. The navigation system was undergoing scheduled maintenance after a series of failures, but he wouldn't wait.
The next recordings showed a gradual deterioration of the situation. First—attempts to repair navigation. Then—depletion of fuel supplies. Then—starvation.
The last recording was made four months later. The Neimoidian looked like a skeleton:
"There's no more food... Droids can't synthesize organic food... I don't want to die here..."
The recording cut off. Alex shook his head—serves him right.
"Verena, find the navigation compartment. Let's see what exactly broke."
The problem turned out to be ridiculously simple. The navigation computer was fully functional but could not establish a connection with the hyperspace beacons because the hyperspace station was simply not transmitting a signal.
"Ten years of downtime because the hyperspace station was working unreliably," Alex shook his head, replacing the damaged component. "If they hadn't panicked and waited for the station to start working..."
As soon as he installed the new access codes, the navigation system came to life. The screens lit up, showing star charts and available hyperroutes.
"Now let's deal with the droids," Alex said, returning to the bridge.
He reprogrammed the OOM-7742 command droid, replacing the CIS protocols with new instructions.
"Activate ship systems," he ordered the revived droid.
"Aye, master. Initiating main systems launch."
A hum of awakening mechanisms rolled through the ship. Lights came on, ventilation started working, and hundreds of B1 droids came to life.
For the next few hours, Alex and Verena studied the ship. The scale was astonishing—huge hangars, production facilities, warehouses the size of city blocks.
"This isn't just a ship," Verena said, standing in one of the central hangars. "It's a ready-made spaceport."
Alex nodded, mentally calculating the possibilities. Tersik ores could be stored in some hangars, finished goods in others. Officially—an independent trading terminal. But in reality—the center of a new trading scheme.
"R4, integrate the ship into the Rakatan station network," he ordered the droid.
A few days later, the basic systems were restored. The ship had turned into a functioning space station.
Back on Nar Shaddaa, Alex handled the legal paperwork. "Cargo Hub Corporation" was registered—a company specializing in warehousing services.
A month later, the hub received its first cargo—rare minerals from Tersik. Thanks to secret routes, the cargo was sold with a profit of one hundred and forty percent, earning twelve million.
Three months later, the hub was operating at full capacity. Alex stood on the observation deck, watching the unloading of another merchant. Reports from Tersik confirmed his predictions—Drexon's last mine continued to incur losses.
He remembered Quarion—another mining planet with similar problems. Two planets plus a space hub—a serious trading empire.
Alex felt the thrill of big business awakening within him. Each successful operation brought a strange intoxication.
To Alex's surprise, the hub did indeed become popular with trading ships from outer worlds. Rumors of a reliable and inexpensive storage terminal quickly spread along trade routes. Independent captains, small traders, even representatives of medium-sized corporations—all flocked to the hub.
"Boss, we have a queue for docking," Jack Tolcho reported via comlink. "Seventeen ships are waiting for unloading."
Alex stood in the hub's command center, observing the bustling activity. It had now become much easier for him to hide his own trade volumes among the legal traffic. Cargo from the Tersik mines was lost in the general flow, and profits from secret routes were disguised as income from warehousing services.
The hub began to generate profits comparable to what Tersik provided at this stage. Alex even regretted that he hadn't thought of this before—legal business turned out to be an excellent cover for illegal activities.
Success required serious security measures. Alex bought a dozen used ships and fighters, and hired guys recommended by Jack. Now a small squadron patrolled the territory in several neighboring systems, ensuring the security of trade routes. He could afford it.
Security on the station itself was provided by droids—but not Separatist ones. Alex specifically purchased about thirty modern combat droids to avoid unnecessary questions. The old B1s and B2s were transferred to auxiliary work deep within the station, away from prying eyes.
Jack Tolcho managed the station. It was he who received inspections—including from the Imperial Security Bureau.
"How was the meeting with the Imperials?" Alex asked when Jack reported on the visit of Imperial Security Bureau agents.
"Surprisingly calm," Jack chuckled. "Thanks to the fact that we faked the station's identifier with a less serious history. There were many such stations."
"And what?"
"Nothing. They didn't delve too deep into the affairs. They aren't serious investigators, just petty officials. I greased their palms a little, and they dispersed. They made sure we weren't against the Empire — just a settled smuggler looking to go into legitimate business. Commercial dealings don't interest them, this is the Outer Rim."
Jack pulled out a datapad with official documents:
"They merely secured my commitment to cooperate when necessary. In exchange, the Empire will turn a blind eye to the station's origin. Standard procedure — you help us, we don't bother you."
Alex nodded, feeling relieved. Imperial bureaucracy worked predictably — as long as you didn't cause problems and were willing to cooperate, you were left alone. The galaxy was too vast to send serious individuals to investigate one of many commercial companies.
"Excellent. So, we can develop further in peace."
"They will send one of their employees to the station on a permanent basis. Standard practice."
"Good, Jack. Your task is to create excellent conditions for him. Let him indulge in alcohol, drugs, and women, so he has no time for anything else. Though, I'm not teaching you anything new."
"You wound me. Everything will be handled in the best possible way."