I stop my current work at my desk as I ponder the last week’s business. My return to my command occurred with little fanfare, Coruscant had stripped the more enthusiastic officers of their rose tinted glasses and the death of my father had ruined my mood beyond what could have been done to salvage it.

  Instead I had thrown myself back into my work. Supply depots to restock, Agents to order to ground, crumbs hinting at corruption to the ISB agents investigating me while distracting my new Intelligence officer, a Captain within the ISB, with a veritable frigate full of fake contacts, aliases and a few genuine contacts that were willing to go double agent for increased pay on my end.

  This whole thing was getting expensive fast, but thanks to the various bonuses I had accrued alongside some very impressively re-routed cash from Organa it was manageable. At the very least until I had worked out an official way to continue keeping my active Agents on the books.

  It was rather precise work and I felt I was neglecting my duties to the command somewhat by focusing so much on it. And yet, it was vital to the command’s and my own survival once the opportunity to rebel presented itself. Maker knows when I’ll get the chance for it, especially with the ISB breathing down my neck.

  I exhale slightly as I take a look at my chrono. I full on sigh as I see the time. One thing which annoyed me greatly was the fact that Fondor couldn’t work with the galactic standard of a day-night cycle. I was currently on a halfway between the twenty one hours of wakefulness followed by ten hours sleep of my homeworld and the seventeen hours awake followed by seven hours asleep which was Navy standard. I was currently, accidentally, pulling an all-nighter.

  I sigh again, not like I’d be able to get much sleep anyway. Ever since pa’ … falling asleep was hard, staying asleep after dreaming of bloodstained sands and too many a familiar face in my arms … I shake my head and gently slap my cheeks, I should just get back to work.

  Luis was worried about his friend. Thraken was clearly spiraling towards a mental break with the stress he was under and the losses he had suffered so closely together. And though Luis was happy that Thraken hadn’t touched a drop of liquor since his return from Fondor, even during the dinners he hosted for his officers to touch base, throw off the occasional ISB lizardshit he occasionally invited and ensure the conspiracy was growing well, it didn’t mean his friend was doing well.

  Hushed conversations with Adjunct Captain Mi-Kus, Faxe and Commander Hursk had revealed that Thraken was working as hard as he had during the days just before Operation Vengeance. He had almost cracked then and Luis knew if he didn’t manage to tear his friend out of it now someone would die.

  So, despite his better judgment, he knocks on his friend’s door a few evenings since his last dinner, a bottle of his finest Corellian in hand. The door opens to reveal R4 warbling her usual greeting, Luis giving her a small smile as she lets him in.

  Thraken was hunched over his desk, typing away at his datapad, large bags under his eyes and looking like a beat mudpuppy.

  “Luis.” Thraken says absentmindedly, “If I’d’ve known you were coming I would’ve … would’ve prepared somethin’.”

  “Thought it was about time we had a drink just between us two again.” He says, holding up the bottle by its neck.

  Thraken finally looks up with a sad smile: “Sure, it’s been an age.”

  Luis waltzes over and opens the bottle as Thraken pulls out appropriate glasses and some guestfood. The preparation is done with practiced ease as the two friends compliment one another’s actions from having done this dozens upon dozens of times.

  “I’m worried about you.” Luis eventually says after the two had toasted gently.

  “You shouldn’t be.” Thraken says.

  “You’re bottling up your emotions. You’re gonna crack soon.” Luis says knowingly.

  Thraken’s eyes shift away, ashamed. Luis would sigh if he didn’t know better. Thraken was always … difficult when it came to showing his vulnerabilities, something Luis rather blamed his friend’s early schooling for. So it was unsurprising for Thraken to act like Luis was about to be pulling teeth from him without anesthetic.

  “I’m considering establishing a dedicated Recon Section for the 97th and 111th soon.” Thraken sidesteps, “Use a bunch of IPV-1 patrol craft and some MC40a light cruisers for hangarspace and coordination, send an IPV out with a heavy section of ARC-170s for scouting and recon, though it might be pushing the hangar space on the light cruisers a bit. Should at least help with intel gathering. Though I guess we could buy some Marauders or double up on the light cruisers to help with fighter capacity if we’re desperate.”

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  “While that is a decent idea and we should probably double back on it later, that isn’t what we’re talking about Thraken.” Luis says, “Look, I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but bottling it up won’t do you any good. Just … just talk with us.”

  Thraken starts staring at his glass, it takes thirty seconds of silence and Luis staring at him, but he finally gives: “It feels like the weight of the galaxy is on my shoulders. My friends and family were … are the web that was giving me a floor to stand on as I carried the weight. And now? Now my strongest string snapped alongside four others. Another has gone rotten and could snap at any moment. I can feel the ground starting to give and no matter how hard I look for it … I can’t see what could catch my fall.”

  Luis is becoming less and less fond of Thraken’s penchant for metaphors, but takes it up anyways: “You still have hundreds of other strings, sure they may not quite be as sturdy as those lost, but they’ll keep you from falling and even take some of the weight if you just let us. Thraken we had this discussion ages ago, delegate! I know you have trouble letting people in on your personal projects, but unless you want to end up burnt out and dead in a ditch you need to take the help when offered to you, so let us help you dammit!”

  “Fine.” Thraken mutters, “You’ll take over the scout idea I was working on. I’ll ask Mi-Kus to start working on more paperwork for the ISB and have Faxe take on more duties in the 120th, but I still want to meet with Ohnaka next week.”

  “That’s perfectly fine.” Luis says glad his friend was at least making some progress, “Now let’s drink to the fallen, it’s the least they deserve.”

  “Amen.” Thraken mutters as he downs his glass.

  I walk into the private room, R4 beside me and scanning for bugs as she goes. Loosing the ISB tail had been easy enough, though I was getting suspicious of their clear incompetence. Had Solomahal’s bombardment of their headquarters killed off so many of their higher ups that they needed to promote their competent field officers and spies or did they loosen their recruitment requirements? Either way, the current tail was about to end up in a drunken brawl and die by the hand of a former Mon Calamari arms-man from the Merchant Fleet on mine and Chief Ri’s payroll.

  Such an annoyance for the ISB, especially when said Mon Calamari happens to disappear into the edge of the galaxy after his transfer to the Hast shipyards to act as a security chief for one of the retrofitted MC75s. The Profundity would certainly prosper from such a competent man in charge.

  I enter the codes to the private room to find three blasters pointed at my head. I simply roll my eyes and waltz in to sit at the head of the table, blasters trailing me through the room as I speak: “Evenin’ gents. I have come with a business proposal for you all.”

  “This is who you want us to meet Ohnaka?” A scarred Quarren with a cybernetic eye says, “The Black Hussar?”

  “He is the one subsidizing my piracy.” Ohnaka says as the blasters begin being returned to their holsters.

  “Why should we work for an Imperial di’kut?” A man in Mandalorian armor asks.

  “Because I’ll be paying you.” I reply as I look at the quartet of pirates. A representative of the Quarren pirates that operated around the edges of the Sith Worlds Sector, raiding Imperial shipping and with alleged connections to the last Free Dac holdout in the Argai system. A representative from a faction of Mandos that had left their people’s space some time three civil wars ago when they fell out of favor and were now happily raiding the edge of Corporate Sector territory. Ohnaka of course was also present. And finally the First Mate of the Krawg Pirates that had begun making a name for themselves around the northern Triellius Trade Route.

  “And why shouldn’t we just take your credits and continue as we have?” The Quarren presses.

  “Because if any of your raid a world or shipment under my protection, I’ll destroy you root and stem. Hang you all by your necks and sell your ships for scrap.” I threaten.

  “I like how the ne’ta shabuir thinks he can threaten us so easily.” The Mando says to Ohnaka.

  “I always did want some Mando Steel slugs.” I say as I look the Mando up and down, “Probably enough to last me a lifetime in your armor alone.”

  “I dare you to try.”

  “Friends!” Ohnaka interrupts, “This is the deal of a lifetime here, don’t let it go to waste so easily.”

  I suppress a smile and roll my shoulders back as I return my attention to the table in its totality: “Apologies, I let my greed get the better of me, something I hope no one at this table will allow to happen again.”

  “Sneaky.” The First mate of the Krawg praises.

  “Here’s what I propose.” I say simply, “You all stay out of my territory, unless its for repairs done under false transponder codes. You can then raid to your hearts’ content. I’d suggest everything north of the Perlimian and anything south of the Perlimian coreward of Centares.”

  “And what exactly will you be paying us with Hussar?” The Quarren asks.

  “Information, materials, foodstuffs and weapons.” I reply, “I may suggest certain convoys which are poorly defended and whose leaders may be willing to ransom back their crews and ships for a price far better than what you could get at Zygeria. Perhaps an Imperial convoy will come along with something … immoral. Grog, of course, must come from somewhere. Maybe if you behave nice I’ll give you the coordinates for a supply depot that fell through the cracks during my cleanup of Republic and Separatist depots within my command. Any of that sound tempting to you?”

  “The last months have been lean.” The Krawg pirate says.

  “Intel is vital to our work.” The Mando adds.

  “You’re willing to sell out your fellow Imperials like this?” The Quarren asks skeptically.

  “I’ve never been an Imperial.” I spit. All around me eyes widen in shock.

  “That explains so much.” Hondo whispers.

  “Holy kriff, you were gonna join those rebels over Coruscant.” The Mando says.

  I place my spare blaster pistol on the table: “That doesn’t leave this room. If it does, I’ll ensure you’re hunted down like sick mudpuppies.”

  “HA!” The Quarren laughs, “So there’s some honor in you yet, Hussar.”

  “Makes this easier in all honesty.” The Mando says.

  “As long as the intel’s true.” The Krawg says.

  “I only wish you had told me sooner. I would have asked for my letter of Marque to be returned to me.” Ohnaka teases, though I can tell his request is earnest.

  “We’ll need every ship we can get when it comes to it. I’ll be happy to reinstate or issue new letters of Marque once that happens to each of you who cooperates with me now. The terms are rather generous, as Ohnaka will tell you.” I dangle the final carrot in front of their noses.

  “Deal.” Ohnaka jumps, the most powerful pirate among them making the decision easier for the others.

  “Agreed.” The Mando says.

  “We may need to have further discussions with you then, Hussar. However the True Merchantmen will take up your deal.” The Quarren agrees.

  “I’ll need to talk with my Captain, but he will certainly agree.” The Krawg says with an evil glint in its eyes, “And if he doesn’t I’m sure the crew will.”

  “Excellent.” I reply, “A toast then, to letters of Marque and profit.”

  “To profit!” The pirates around me echo.