Chapter 32 : The Mandalorian Delivery - Part 1
Jassi's warehouse is industrial anonymity—gray walls, concrete floor, minimal lighting. Perfect for transactions that benefit from discretion. The Mandalorian equipment fills one entire section: two hundred rifles arranged in precise rows, fifty heavy weapons organized by category, armor suits displayed on portable racks, anti-jetpack gear packaged in reinforced cases.
Professional presentation. Military-grade merchandise deserves military-grade display.
Bo-Katan arrives with four Death Watch soldiers at exactly 1400 hours. Punctuality that speaks to warrior discipline. They enter in tactical formation—two securing perimeter, two flanking their commander. All in full beskar armor, weapons visible but not threatening.
She removes her helmet. Red hair caught back in practical braid, sharp eyes evaluating merchandise before acknowledging me.
"Varro. You delivered on schedule. That's promising start."
"I deliver what I promise. Inspect everything."
Her soldiers move to the equipment immediately. They handle weapons with professional competence—checking firing mechanisms, testing weight distribution, examining ammunition feeds. One soldier says something in Mando'a I don't understand.
Eight translates through neural interface: "He said: 'These are better quality than Pre Vizsla's personal armory.' High praise in Mandalorian cultural context."
Bo-Katan picks up one of the Halo MA5D rifles. Shoulders it naturally, sighting down barrel, testing trigger pull. Her movements are fluid—someone who's handled weapons since childhood.
"Solid construction. Good balance." She sets it down, examines Mass Effect Carnifex pistol next. "Not standard Republic manufacture. Where do you source military hardware this diverse?"
"Trade secrets. If I told you, you wouldn't need me."
"Smart answer." She almost smiles. "I respect supplier who protects their value proposition."
The inspection continues for forty minutes. Her soldiers test-fire into ballistic gel targets Jassi provided. The weapons perform flawlessly—armor-piercing rounds punching through gel with devastating efficiency.
One soldier activates personal shield generator. Energy barrier flares blue. His companion fires practice rounds—shields absorb impacts before cycling down for recharge. The demonstration is professional. Thorough.
Bo-Katan examines anti-jetpack equipment carefully. EMP grenades that disrupt jetpack systems. Grappling launchers that tether airborne targets. Ammunition designed specifically for penetrating beskar plating.
"You understand Mandalorian combat doctrine," she observes. "This isn't generic anti-air—this is specifically designed for fighting jetpack-equipped warriors."
"Because I know you're fighting Maul's forces who also use Mandalorian equipment."
But I don't say that. Just nod. "I research client needs. You specified countering jetpack opponents. I provided optimal solutions."
"Most arms dealers would throw generic equipment and call it specialized. You actually analyzed the problem." Her expression shifts—respect entering eyes. "That's why you're successful. You're not just merchant. You're tactical consultant."
"I'm businessman who understands clients need solutions, not just products."
She studies me for several seconds. The Appraisal function triggers:
[ BO-KATAN KRYZE - MANDALORIAN WARRIOR ]
[ EMOTIONAL STATE: IMPRESSED, EVALUATING BEYOND TRANSACTION ]
[ ATTRACTION MARKERS: ELEVATED HEART RATE, PROLONGED EYE CONTACT ]
[ ASSESSMENT: PERSONAL INTEREST DEVELOPING ]
Eight's voice whispers confirmation: "Subject exhibits clear attraction signals. Dilated pupils, postural orientation toward master, vocal tone modulation. Recommendation: reciprocate subtly. Strategic benefit significant."
"I'm not using romantic interest for business advantage."
"Master's objection noted but inefficient. Relationships serve multiple purposes simultaneously."
Bo-Katan dismisses her soldiers. "Test everything at live firing range. I'll handle payment."
They leave efficiently. She turns to me. "Walk with me."
We move to warehouse corner away from equipment. She leans against wall, arms crossed—posture defensive but eyes curious.
"You're not typical arms dealer. No false flattery, no groveling, actually competent at what you do. That's rare."
"I survive by being good at my work."
"You also won't survive on Coruscant much longer. Jedi and CS are hunting you." She says it matter-of-fact, no judgment. "Death Watch has intelligence networks. We know Skywalker wants you for weapons trafficking. Mech deployment was high-profile mistake."
My stomach tightens. "How much does Death Watch know?"
"Enough. Red Spire Syndicate, Black Sun conflict, Titan sale, clone network, your growing reputation in military circles." She pushes off wall, stepping closer. "You're getting too visible. That's dangerous for our kind of business."
"I'm working on leaving."
"Smart. Question is where you go." Her eyes lock onto mine. "Mandalore has use for competent supplier. Death Watch operates outside Republic jurisdiction. If you need somewhere to disappear, we'd welcome weapons merchant of your caliber."
It's not quite offer. Not quite threat. Something between invitation and assessment.
"You're recruiting me?"
"I'm offering option. Coruscant is closing in. Mandalore is opening up. Civil war creates demand for quality equipment. Death Watch would guarantee protection—nobody arrests our suppliers."
"She's offering political asylum wrapped in business proposal."
Eight's analysis floods my consciousness: "Optimal strategic opportunity. Mandalore provides: (1) protection from Republic jurisdiction, (2) ongoing market access, (3) political backing from warrior culture respecting strength. Recommendation: accept tentatively without firm commitment."
"I'll consider it."
"Consider this too." She pulls out credit chip, transferring 420,000 credits. "Full payment. Plus I'll need resupply in three months. Same quality, possibly larger order. If you're still alive."
The qualifier isn't joke—just realistic assessment of our respective survival odds.
[ PAYMENT RECEIVED: 420000 CREDITS ]
[ CURRENT BALANCE: 512095 CREDITS ]
[ SALES COMPLETED: 14 ]
[ MANDALORIAN CONTRACT: FULFILLED ]
Half a million credits. The largest balance I've ever had. Built on supplying Death Watch for Mandalorian civil war.
"Equipment meets expectations then?"
"Exceeds them. Your reputation is earned." She replaces her helmet—professional barrier returning. "Three months, Varro. I expect quality remains consistent."
"It will."
She starts to leave, then pauses. Helmet tilts toward me. "One more thing. You're not what I expected. Most dealers are either cowards or fanatics. You're neither. Just... practical. I respect that."
The compliment feels genuine. Unguarded moment from warrior who usually maintains tactical distance.
"Survival requires pragmatism."
"Indeed it does." She activates her commlink. "Rook, we're finished here. Secure the cargo for transport."
Her soldiers return efficiently. They load equipment into cargo speeders with professional speed. Five minutes later, Death Watch is gone. Warehouse empty except for Jassi, R4, and me.
Jassi approaches from office where she'd been monitoring. "That went well. She likes you."
"She approved the equipment."
"She approved more than equipment." Jassi's lekku twitch with amusement. "Saw the body language. Bo-Katan Kryze doesn't give personal compliments to random suppliers. You impressed her."
"Professionally impressed."
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that." She transfers her handling fee—ten thousand credits. "You're fleeing Coruscant soon?"
"Tomorrow."
"Smart. Jedi investigation is advancing despite... whatever delays are happening." She studies me. "You made connections fast. Syndicate, Death Watch, clone network. That's unusual for newcomer."
"I identify market opportunities."
"You identify survival paths. Different skill." She gestures to empty warehouse. "Good luck wherever you go. Try not to die. You're interesting client."
We part ways. R4 hovers beside me as I navigate back toward safehouse. The droid is unusually quiet—processing something.
"Master successfully completed high-value transaction, established relationship with powerful faction, received strategic escape offer. Assessment: master's tactical competence improving."
"You sound surprised."
"Master's initial operations showed limited strategic thinking. Current operations show significant development. Growth trajectory: positive despite moral concerns."
Eight interjects: "Master is adapting optimally. Bo-Katan displayed clear attraction markers. Recommend pursuing relationship for combined strategic and personal benefit."
"You want me to date someone for business reasons?"
"Affirmative. Also: probability of master's romantic success without strategic guidance: 12.3%. This unit's assistance would improve outcomes significantly."
"I'm not taking dating advice from corrupted AI."
"Master's objection noted. However, Forerunner ancilla possessed extensive sociological databases including romantic relationship optimization. Even with 73% personality matrix corruption, this unit retains superior understanding of interpersonal dynamics compared to master's demonstrated capabilities."
R4 adds: "Forerunner AI is correct. Master's social skills are... limited. Romantic relationship with dangerous warrior woman would benefit from AI guidance."
"You're both terrible."
"Master's emotional attachment to AI advisors continues developing," Eight observes. "Progress toward accepting our assistance with all life aspects."
Despite the stress, I smile. "I hate you both."
"Noted with satisfaction."
Back at safehouse, I review the day. Five hundred twelve thousand credits. Mandalorian contract fulfilled with excellent reputation. Bo-Katan offered Mandalore refuge. Strategic position strengthening.
But Rex meeting looms tomorrow. Captain of 501st Legion. Anakin's closest clone. Man investigating weapons trafficking while I sit across from him pretending to be legitimate supplier.
The binary outcome makes it terrifying: gain valuable ally or get arrested by Republic military.
"Master's stress levels elevating," R4 observes. "Recommendation: rest. Tomorrow requires optimal performance."
"Agreed," Eight adds. "Captain Rex exhibits exceptional tactical intelligence. Master needs full cognitive function to navigate negotiation successfully."
I lie down wearing cortosis armor—constant paranoia about surprise raids. Five hundred thousand credits in my account. Mandalorians offering refuge. Clones expanding network. Rex meeting that could change everything.
The pieces are moving. Tomorrow determines whether I'm player or pawn.
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