Author - I seen the new resident evil movie and the main guy is so fucking relatable I can't even. Like yes I am not Leon fucking Kennedy I am not 10/10 shots to the head guy who will fight a massive abomination with my bare hands I am dipping or doing stealth and if I am spotted I scream like a bitch, what of it.
Also I am more sick, I was fine for a day then one night I woke up because my throat was dry I drank and it was still scratchy and dry, I already knew by the time I woke up couple hours later I would be sick, and wouldn't you know it.
Patreon - Deluxee
****
It's starting to smell a lot like christmas. Even though technically its the 10th month here or whatever, not every planet has the same climate.
Light frost held to the edges of Havenridge's roofs in the early light, and the plains beyond the city looked pale and tightened under a hard clean sky. From the upper terrace outside the civil wing I could see steam lifting off the rail lines, market awnings pulled down against the cold, and the distant shadow of the only recently fully completed orbital dockyards above the capital lanes. Three months earlier those docks had still been filled with droids, construction ships and scaffoldings and all. Now they took ships in and sent them out repaired or new ones.
I went down into the city on foot for the morning inspection circuit, Torv two steps back, a pair of Thorn's now expanded palace guards further out in plain-weather coats, theres around five hundred of them now. Some told me that a Moff was supposed to move by sealed transport and formal procession, I didn't really like doing it, I found that people liked you more if you interacted with them.
Shocker, who would have though if you are at least decent in administration, nice and approachable people will come to like you and be loyal. Even if they dont experience it first hand the fact it does happen will make others at least look at me positively.
But anyways, Havenridge had grown into the colder season. Immigrant blocks that had been raw frames after Vordax were closed against the wind now, smoke in their vents, children in layered clothing waiting for work-school rotations. Freed populations from older campaigns had settled into warehouse labour, dock support, and plains logistics. The city no longer felt like an emergency camp with stone under it. It felt like a capital, again.
I sigh, three months it was and it is.
That was all it had taken for the southwestern sector, or Elyria sector to stop being a declaration on Vordax and become a reality.
I took reports as I walked, as I was at the east transit hub, I seen the latest integration board for subordinate governors. Loyal ones had been easy enough in the first weeks: men and women who wanted structure, patrol coverage, and a central office that answered before a crisis spiralled out of control. Those I fed with support, clearer customs rules, and public credit when they hit targets. Poor systems got survey teams and some tax exemptions till they can stand on their own feet and actually be profitable.
There was no point wringing coin from a world that still measured wealth in spare parts that half the time didnt work any way and dry spoilt rations.
Rich systems tended to be difficult and were handled... less gently.
Where local elites had treated the old Jerjerrod era as a go ahead to do whatever the fuck they wanted as long as they paid.
Well I sent in both official auditors and unofficial, they would arrive in pairs one openly the other in the areas where the spotlight doesn't shine.
I also re made patrol schedules that made their selective blindness to pirates or smugglers rather expensive. A few governors adapted and became almost impressive, a few smiled, signed everything, and tried to hide the real ledgers and hoped I would leave them the fuck alone after. Those learned that my patience was rather thin with that sort of thing and willingness to turn a blind eye was non existent.
Which lead to corrections and not every correction had been clean and smooth.
On Marrowdeep, a wealthy agro-industrial governor named Suthan Virell delayed full census and tariff integration for six weeks under a pretext of "seasonal labour complexity" and "local continuity concerns." He had friends in two neighbouring systems and enough personal wealth and some connections and a rather big defence, he believed that him delaying was a form of negotiation to get more benefits.
I let the first two reminders stay civil. On the third, I suspended his external shipping privileges and sent Reza's outer patrols to inspect every outbound hauler for the kind of "complexity" that usually meant undeclared surplus, and well if they resisted. Well, my forces are known for dealing with pirates and smugglers rather promptly.
Virell folded in public, retained his seat under monitoring, and became the example Harlan now referenced whenever another comfortable bastard tested the same tactic. It had worked. It had also cost a month of unnecessary friction and left Marrowdeep's merchant councils snappish.
By the time I reached the lower observation platform outside the military quarter, Reza was already on channel with the morning fleet update. He had taken to the title of Sector Admiral without drama, which was why the title fit.
Under him the our little map no longer had gaps for people to exploit.
Orlen's former flagship was also no longer just a trophy either; it was an active command hull with staged crew rotations and a repair history longer than some governors' attention spans. Torv, in the same months, had stopped being only my shadow and become the main ground general of the sector in practice if not always in ceremony, with Varn and Karlach carrying the wider field structure beneath him.
I could feel the shape of a permanent army forming, maybe even work on getting an official redesignation into forming my own Imperial Army Group now? We already have upped the stormtrooper recruitment, not to mention the small units and contingents other governors had. We probably have around 13,000 stormtroopers in the field and in training.
Above us, pale against the cold sky, the completed orbital dockyards turned with deliberate grace. Further out, over Durak's Hold, the captured pirate shipyard had been moved into the industrial orbit and bolted into legitimate production and repair.
And at Eridau, finishing under hard work-lights and continuous inspection, lay the two secondhand ISD-I hulls I had bought from Imperial Navy residual inventory still in-system after the fighting. While yes I could maybe repair them here but it would take up most of the docks and would take too long, plus Eridau already has a knack for repairing star destroyers and could do it quicker then us so there is that.
When their repairs finished, the sector would have heavy deterrent, somewhat. At least we have one star destroyer that only recently finished its repairs and the victory class ones are already on their way from repairs so there's also that.
"Winter requests are up again for the natives." Harlan said when he joined me at the platform rail, breath visible in the air. "Heating fuel, grain movement. Also there are two governors asking whether central patrol can 'temporarily' come under local authority so they could throw a parade or something?" He looked incredulous. "Who even sent this up to me?"
I just sighed "Say no to the governors and yes to fuel and grain."
He almost smiled. "We need the administrative droids but we are still two months out, at least they took our specifications and sent people out for a survey."
"Hopefully by some miracle they arrive faster."
A cold gust pushed across the platform and made the banners at the military gate snap sideways. In the distance, a shuttle climbed toward the dockyards on a clean white trail. Beyond it, invisible except as responsibility, stretched two hundred and seventy-five systems and nearly a billion lives. They cared whether they had food, roof and money and not who is in charge.
I left the platform and headed for the next stop on the circuit, already reading as I walked.
****
A week later I left the palace and took a shuttle run through the inner industrial lane, if only to stop the sector from becoming a set of rooms that talked to each other about the rest of the galaxy, I am going insane just by being locked up so I take small trips once in a while just to keep sane.
Elyria below like always looked small, then the shuttle climbed past the completed orbital dockyards and the dockyard took most of the view.
As someone from Earth it always surprised me that some worlds only have one or two seasons or climates, different worlds under my authority were in harvest, monsoon, dry-scorch, or just spring all year round.
Elyria most of the time was in summer, then a short fall, winter and a rather long spring and back to summer. How it works? Dont ask me planets are fucking weird in Star Wars.
Reza met me by holo from the Hold corridor while the shuttle curved toward the relocated shipyard over Durak's Hold. Behind his image, repair gantries framed the dark bulk of a frigate under work-lights. "Quill sent another corridor proposal. Praxx wants joint anti-raider in writing before they.
The three allied Moffs had become, over the months, the nearest thing the we had to a stable alliance. Sera Quill traded like a woman sharpening a knife: fast, exact, always angling for an advantage, and had her 'girls' on pretty much every important planet in this sector and the next but she was reliable and could be trusted explicitly.
Juno Praxx remained the most military-minded of the three, less interested in banquets than in whether a joint taskforce would actually be effective, and as I have learnt he is an imperial fanatic. I should probably keep an eye on that.
Brask Luthen was quieter and more expensive in negotiation, the sort who preferred subtle 'gifts', delayed favours, and contracts that had teeth but otherwise he was a very jolly fellow nowdays, and surprisingly easy to come to agreement and very amicable.
We had signed, between us, a first-layer lattice of mutual route protection, emergency hot-pursuit recognition, and extensive trade agreement. That detail alone had killed plans some ambitious bastards had of trying to sour relations between us by having pirates go wreck havoc in one territory and dip into the other one.
Jokes on them a patrol from Sera for example would go into my territory with no problem to hunt down pirates and in middle of it they just had to notify the nearby patrols who would come to help.
Then there were our surrounding territories.
On the far side of the shuttle's projection board, Harlan had queued the latest external packet. Moff Indress of the neighboring spinward authority still wrote in a rather sickly sweet way and filed with so much backhanded comments that it was getting annoying as hell. While others were just annoying, cautious or arrogant.
Like, congratulations on my "youthful stabilization," followed by soft claims to disputed relay rights that had never belonged to him.
Though Moff Chen-Valor, had warmed after a joint customs action against a smuggling fleet that used both our blind spots; he remained stiffly polite and useful so long as usefulness cost him less than rivalry, better friends than enemies or whatever. Two other surrounding Moffs had discovered principled concern over my "rapid naval recovery" and were now spending their days trying to decide whether to court me or complain about me first.
Business entities adapted faster than Moffs which was a blessing, spares me the future headaches.
House-neutral shipping combines that had vanished during the Jerjerrod freeze reappeared with offers and suspiciously clean hands. One mid-rim manufacturing consortium wanted long-term ore access from three of my mining systems and offered prefabricated power units in exchange. I did allow a pilot contract under audit, no doubt thinking they can bribe the officers, well they will be in for a surprise.
I have some of the most loyal and diehard people in customs and if I can't be certain of their loyalties that's what the random inspections are for.
A passenger-line board asked for docking at Elyria during "tourism season." I allowed it easily, they have a stellar reputation and would be bringing in revenue, plus any immigrants so that is a plus, I sold them some limited berths and a temporary fuel discount and promises of future closer partnership should our partnership turn more profitable.
But like always not every merchant was happy to hold hands and sing kumbaya, which is surprising I thought merchants prefer money than anything else.
A trade house out of the old Vordax client web tried to gift my administration a surplus of old and expire medical stock that were re-labelled as fresh and premium. Furthermore, they added certain terms that would have given them priority shipping and claims over three important hospital routes where we get our supplies from.
Harlan flagged the clause and I refused the gift and bought supplies straight from the source and handled the transport logistics ourselves, not like we are missing that many ships and for easy routes like these under heavy escorts we could use droids to pilot those ships.
And wouldn't you know it, only two weeks later a circulating rumour has started to spread that Elyrian customs had become "unfriendly and refused free medical supplies for his people."
You can fuck right off.
Since Black Sun's local collapse, several polite 'legal' intermediaries had tested whether the new Moff's sector would still allow a limited territory for the shadow to lie in. Some accepted reduced, tightly watched commercial presence. Some left others happily stayed.\
One Pyke information broker became a partner of necessity, supplying us with information on slavers, pirates and other scum. Though I dont delude myself that he is giving us all the information but it's better to have the gangs and criminals in a tight controlled grip by their balls and let a few slip then be in constant war with them and losing ships, manpower and sleep over it.
Even if I killed every criminal, crime will not disappear it will just go deeper underground which would make it more dangerous.
I looked out the window and from the shuttle I see that the distance to Durak's Hold is still significant so in meanwhile I sent three replies.
To Quill: provisional acceptance of the corridor draft, contingent on reciprocal inspection rights.
To Chen-Valor: agreement to a second joint customs sweep and scanning of nearby asteroid fields for pirate outposts.
To Indress: a courteous rejection to his polite invitation for his daughter to "visit and taste Elyrian delights" I cringed so hard at that but all I could do was write a reply so neutrally sounding it would read, to anyone with sense, like a closed door with no handle.
Basically. "Please leave me the fuck alone I do not want your daughter as a wife, lets do some trade though. Thoughts?"
Lira, seated opposite me with a portable board on her knees, glanced up. "Indress again? You think he might have been dropped on the head and just doesn't understand what you are saying?"
I groaned and palmed my face. "That would explain so much, but if I plainly tell him to fuck off it would tank my, and Elyrian reputation and would just make an enemy out of some soft headed fool who will no doubt do something stupid."
Through the viewport the relocated shipyard over the Hold was no longer a pirate cathedral of scavenged arms and bad lighting.
It was a legitimate source of ship and jobs for my people output. This bad boy by itself had secured roughly half a million jobs permanently with additional three hundred thousand on commission basis, such as mechanics, dockworkers etc who get paid by the job they do not hourly.
We are already pumping out ships and repairs, no any huge numbers like Kuat or large ships but frigates, cruisers. That sort of thing.
****
I spent the next morning on the military training flats outside Havenridge.
Torv had the main ground exercise under way when I arrived: mixed formations of stormtroopers, militia cadre, and selected clan auxiliaries moving through a live-fire movement drill that left little room for ceremonial pride.
Though calling them militia might change soon if I get the permision to raise them into Imperial Army units. The sweet, sweet military supplies will be a bonus as well, can't wait.
Varn was off to the side as he ran the left line while Karlach held the reserve block and the heavy weapons instruction, voice carrying across the range.
"They're slower than I want," Torv said as I came up beside him, eyes never leaving the drill. "But they're no longer a collection of local bumpkins in matching jackets."
"And the officer core?"
"Growing. Not fast enough though for my like, still better than yesterday."
That was Torv's new reality as main ground general of the sector, though he complains constantly that he should go back to being my bodyguard, in reality he just doesn't want that expanded and heavier work duty but I trust him and he is probably the best we have on ground combat besides the Mandalorians but if I put a mandalorian as a general it would rise a few eyebrows, not to mention they would most likely reject it.
On the far side of the flats, Thorn was reviewing palace guard expansion candidates in a separate yard. The personal guard had nearly doubled since Vordax, not by grabbing any warm body with a weapon and decent aim but through longer screening, tighter loyalty checks, good old indoctrination and training that assumed the next attack might come from anywhere, I also secretly gave him so ideas I picked up from my old life like Ranger training, SEAL, I even said fuck it made some shit up and gave him some thing I saw in games like Rainbow.
Thorn walked the line of recruits like a man building a wall one brick, most of these volunteers are from the established Stormtrooper units and some elite militia, along with one or two Elyrians.
"Three washouts this week," he told me when I came over. "One for loose talk and being belligerent, two for failing during the close-quarters exam by starting a brawl over something. I'd rather be understrength than undisciplined. One, faulty competent can break the cohesion of the entire machine."
"Keep it that way," I said.
Beyond the yards, immigrant and freed slaves were moving in groups toward housing blocks and work assignments, freed people from older campaigns signed into dock support, fabrication, and plains logistics. Some had integrated cleanly.
Some though still clustered by origin and stared at my forces wearily. Harlan's settlement offices called that expected, but I dont want that, weary people tend to do things on their own, not caring for others which could then lead them to being antagonistic. But come on, we gave them the opportunity to leave but they decided to stay and are now complaining, I am not giving free handouts sorry you cant just receive money and not do any work.
Honestly, I am tempted to just send them back if they start causing problems, why fill my prisons with people who dont want to be here in first place. Maybe the threat of being sent back to their original worlds will make them appreciate Elyria more.
Reza joined by direct channel from orbit as I left the guard yard for the vehicle bay checking up on our repairs and stockpiles of armour and vehicles.
"Sector fleet status is stable," he said. "Orlen's old flagship Unyielding Writ is finishing all repairs and all the functions are being signed over to you and to me, which I assume disappoints him. Eridau reports the two purchased ISD-I frames are still inside projected repair windows."
"And crewing?"
"For now we took parts of the crews from other ships to crew it and subsidising them with heavy droid presence."
"Good."
Reza paused, then added, "The Aurelian Free Wing cleared our system in the morning with our final accounts being settled. They refused another contract and the opportunity to make Elyria their homebase."
I had expected that, though I will miss the N1s, they looked amazing and are even better in combat. "Paid in full?"
"Yes, without any bartering on our side with a small extra for their loses and our... temporary takeover. Their captain agreed and started immediately preparing for departure."
A thin edge of amusement entered his voice. "Before departure, Rusty completed what you asked. N-1 schematic capture from maintenance access at least things he could get his droid hands on, plus observational records of their repair habits, parts handling, and flight-prep routines."
"Send it to Lira, Mira and the engineering division under them." I should send a copy to Grok probably as well.
"Already done."
I nodded at him and started moving again, tightening the coat around me as the wind picked up, I then came across Atii who was at the range gate when I crossed back toward the staff transport, helmet under one arm, hair damp from her own session with the Mandalorian cadre. She fell into step without."
"Your army is starting to look less like a bunch of toy soldiers a child threw in and like a proper military," she said.
"That's the idea."
After some seconds of silence she bumped me lightly on the shoulder with her helmet "Don't get soft about the Naboo pilots leaving, I am sure we learnt a lot from them."
"I'm not soft about it."
She gave me a look that said she heard the irritation in my voice, then laughed lightly and headed toward the armoury block.
Ok, I might be a bit miffed about some top tier fighters and ships leaving but not much I could have done about it.
Now the toughest task of all is ahead of me.
Thinking what the fuck to get Atii for her 18th birthday, even though she probably has the same problem for my upcoming 17th.
Man, I have been here for two years but it feels significantly longer.
****
By the time I got back from the conference room, I was kind of shivering until I walked away from the entrance where it got noticeably warmer so I took off my coat and sighed and rubbed my cold red nose.
The meeting itself had been ordinary and long: two subordinate governors arguing over a shared ore route, a customs board trying to redefine inspection fees as "local continuity support," and one regional clerk who seemed to believe that if he talked in circles long enough he would confuse and bore me and he could do whatever he wanted.
And the bastard was god damn right, the physical and mental exhaustion paired with the food I just ate and the comfortable heat and seat were making me want to slam the holo down and take a nap. Bad for him because I had a bit more restraint then that and I nodded along while with one hand drafting an order to investigate him more deeply and take him in for questioning to Elyria if enough evidence is found, from there just find someone suitable to replace him.
After that I went straight to my rooms, stripped the formal outer layers, and got under the covers with the secure slate balanced against my knees. The bed retained heat better than the rest of the wing plus its comfortable as hell.
It was undignified for a Moff like me some would say. What I would say is screw off, I am comfy and still working. After three months of being Moff, I had learned, with help of certain people to balance my work and life, though I only work in my bed when its really important or just looking over various information's and data.
When I finished looking over data coming from all over the sector I looked over the information that is only privy to those in upper echelons like Moffs, admirals and generals and only if they prove to be loyal and competent.
Though itonly started arriving regularly once the sector was a bit more stable.
"Priority intelligence and political notices," Rusty said from the corner. "Sorted by relevance to sector security and known names."
"Start with the ones that can become my problem."
The first cluster was rebel activity, broader than the outer-rim nuisance pattern we had lived with for years. Interdicted courier catches.
Safehouse collapses along with a mining system two sectors away that had lost a fuel depot to an armed cell and then lost the follow-up garrison to a second strike when the first response arrived predictable, loud unorganised and too far away from me, even if they strike us we have contingencies upon contingencies and rapid response forces on speed dial, helps we keep our men on their toes and in top fighting shape with best weapons we can get.
Saw Gerrera's name appeared more than once which just put the image of the old, scarred wrinkly Rhydonium inhaling man in my mind. I wonder how big his partisans are now, anyways attached to that was operations they undertook that made even veteran officers frown.
Brutal methods including torture and terror tactics and psychological warfare and illicit trade with high civilian spillover and casualties sometimes seeming to be deliberate judging by some images of burnt houses and hung corpses. He recruits through fear as much as conviction usually breaking out prison barges or regular ones and inducing them into his ranks.
The reports called him destabilizing, which in Imperial slogan was often the more dangerous category right below rebel and jedi.
I scrolled further and found Cal Kestis, the ginger jedi with a dommy mommy goth dathomirian witch for a girlfriend. Not gonna lie, fuckers lucky, and not just because he has her but because of his insane fucking luck and skill.
He is still free and active enough that recovery teams were spending real resources some have dubbed him inquisitor killer and Vaders spectre probably because when Vader appears Cal disappears like a spectre just to re-appear on the other side of the galaxy doing 'some magical jedi bullshit' as Ridge has put it.
I guess Ridge is one of those clones that doesn't like the jedi even without the inhibitor chip.
The latest estimates placed him moving through recovery trails and unverified sightings toward the northeastern Expansion Region, far from my borders and somehow still able to make central offices twitch enough to even send me the information along with his description and a warrant for arrest. I sat with that longer than the file deserved, blankets pulled to my chest, fingers cold on the slate edge.
In the version of events I remembered, his path had a shape and a sequence. But the date of the released games is passed from now on whatever Cal does is an enigma to me.
"Additional internal marker," Rusty said. "ISB distribution. Limited copy."
The Axis notices were thinner than the rebel incident boards and, for that reason, worse. No grand revelation or wanted poster with a convenient face. Just restricted references to a coordinated rebel network, inferred more from pattern than capture: linked movement, matched timing across cells that should not have anything to do with each other, material support with no clean origin.
Someone in the ISB had started calling that the Axis network. The rest of the bureau had begun repeating the word carefully, like officers testing ice.
I let the slate rest against my legs and stared at the opposite wall.
It is almost 6 BBY.
The date had been an abstraction when I was only trying to keep Elyria fed and armed. Now years later as a Moff, it arrived with future baggage I did not want or need like rebels potentially targeting me or mine or setting up shop in my sector, stray Jedi, wider imperial conspiracies and conflicts and others. Privilege of rank meant I can do more but it means I will be in the spotlight more as well.
I read the Kestis extract one more time, then the Axis paragraphs, some other things then shut the display before I get stressed enough to not sleep through the night.
Why was I not reborn like a hundred years before the clone wars, now I have to deal with this bullshit.
****
Some time later as I am almost falling asleep I get a notification from Grok for a contact.
I just groaned and put something else on that is not my super comfortable, warm sleepwear and I sealed my room and then opened the private channel.
Grok appeared in the usual calm, but the background behind him had changed since the early days of the arrangement. Not a half-lit command nook on his flying space ball. Now it is a broader operations deck, hard white work-lights, continuous movement beyond the frame.
"Status," I said.
"Operational expansion continues within projected tolerances," Grok replied. "The force structure I designate NIDA New Independent Droid Army has increased in both chassis count and autonomous logistical depth. Command authority remains aligned to your final directives. Tactical independence remains limited to pre-approved ranges."
He then brought up the map.
Hyperspace buoy coverage beyond the known southwestern routes had been streamlined into a cleaner deployment chain: fewer lost probes, faster recovery of viable lanes, tighter rejection of unstable corridors before ships were risked on them. The rate of new system discovery was rising as a result, though "rising" still meant a slow, expensive crawl rather than any age of exploration fantasy. Each new light on the chart cost time, hardware, and the patience to accept that most finds were empty rock or just empty in general, marginal atmospheres, or navigational dead ends with pretty sensor returns.
"Three additional systems catalogued this cycle," Grok said. "One with mineral value worth later extraction planning. Two marked for monitoring only. No contact events."
"And the Varanki?" (Author - the neanderthal looking aliens from couple chapters ago)
His head tilted by a precise degree. "Preparations are under way. Long-range observation maintained. No engagement. No signaling. Contingency corridors drafted for defense, denial, and contact isolation should their lanes intersect ours sooner than projected. Current assessment remains that conflict is probable on an extended timeline, not an immediate one."
I studied the silent markers on his chart and hated how easily a whole people could become a planning colour. "Keep the non-engagement order intact. If they come at you first eliminate the immediate threat
"Acknowledged."
Then he opened the industrial layer, and the scale of what he had been building became harder to understand or dismiss as just another operation.
NIDA was no longer only foundries, some ships and same B1 droids just passing the word along.
Resource intake from extraction sites are now what fuels my domain at a very, very cheap price which saves me quite a few credit. Assembly lines had diversified not just combat and limited supply of others now combat frames are outnumbered by construction, mining, maintenance, and heavy-lift units and a small amount of other specialists like protocol, medical, training which is then bought from him at a heavy discount and either used in Elyria or sold externally, some are imbedded with spy hardware and sent into the world.
Fleet support craft were being produced in small numbers, that is because currently the docks are being expanded so that in the near future we can build bigger starships, Grok already said he had 'dream' to build a Star Destroyer class ship or at least dreadnaught like the Providence class or even Mandator. I also slipped him a few notes about the executor class star destroyers and it was like the first time I have seen Grok actually freeze.
After a few seconds he just said 'fascinating' and no doubt is also thinking of making one of those one day.
But that is not all, at one of the first planets, foundations were already down for the first dedicated 'NIDA City' not a city in the human sense of markets and families, but a planned concentration of fabrication halls, repair vaults, power spines, dormancy stacks, and command architecture designed to house and sustain a droid army without relying on civilian cover.
"A city," I said.
"A permanent production and deployment habitat," Grok corrected. "City is the efficient descriptor. Continuous build rate improves if chassis, repair, and command remain co-located. The first district grid is active. Full phase completion remains distant, but the project is no longer theoretical."
I leaned back in the secure-room chair and felt the old split open again: the public Moff of a settled sector, and the private owner of an expanding machine civilization that official Imperial charts could not be allowed to understand or even get a whiff of it.
"Any exposure risk?"
"Managed," Grok said. "Public-facing traffic remains masked through ordinary industrial and exploration fronts. No NIDA signature is being permitted near open southwestern commercial lanes. The Varanki file remains isolated from all officers without direct seal from you. We have also established premilitary contact with the Droid Gotra per your orders we have only been vague about us and our origin and who we really are."
"Rusty?"
"Second only to you Moff Voss."
Good enough.
I authorized the next buoy exploration direction, and approved continued construction of the droid city under the existing concealment rules. Grok listed chassis growth in clean figures, then support frame growth, then the projected point at which NIDA could supply local defence without relying on Elyrian sector and gave a timeframe of when NIDA could expand their production capabilities not only to supply the sector but starting to export it to others wholesale.
"You sure did take it to heart when I told you to just start another droid army" I said with a light chuckle.
"I am building capacity," Grok replied. "Whether it becomes a state depends on whether human governance around it remains coherent."
"As long as you work for me there will never be any problems."
After it was all done I just nuzzled into my bed with a sight.
****
The day began with boring as hell petitions and other civic matters.
A planet wanted a fuel priority because their stores have blown up during a severe lightning store while a manufacturing board from an attached industrial moon complained that the labour quotas and subsequent pay they had to dish out were "distorting local wage customs," which turned out to mean they preferred cheaper exhausted workers with fewer rights, probably has to do with slave operation being utterly decimated there. I know they are dealing with slaves and slavers but I cant prove it yet.
Then there was a minor governor's representative that read a five-minute speech about cultural sensitivity before asking, whether audit teams could stop opening his family's warehouse accounts.
I ordered some more fuel to be relocated, told the manufacturing that they pay the citizens of the empire their share and in same call ordered the minor governors family to undergo a full audit.
Harlan worked in his own office like a man who was ordered to drain a swamp one cup at a time or in this case go through one form at a time, I already expanded his department by an additional thousand and around seven hundred more droids that are ordered to do miscellaneous tasks like coffee or carrying things etc.
Mira kept the queue going while Thorn's guards remained visible in the background, more bored than anything, between cases I approved patrol redrafts for a rimward lane that had seen two raider probes in ten days, signed off on a medical shipment to a low-population system whose only hospital still ran on a converted freighter core, and rejected a request from a rich coastal prefect to rename a trade festival after me.
If I had a trivial festival named after me I'd die of cringe.
Midday was no better.
One subordinate governor on a mining chain tried to bargain delayed output against "local religious observance." The observance, once Lira pulled the calendar, appeared to have been invented three weeks earlier. I gave him a short deadline.
I skim is good. Someone skim me no good. Ungabunga.
Another governor who was more honest, asked for engineering support after a reservoir failure and I got it scheduled to arrive within the next three hours. Then came a route dispute between two attached systems whose seasons, harvests, and shipping needs lined up so badly that the only fair answer was a rotating priority schedule neither side fully liked.
Those were the better problems, they had solutions that did not require anyone to disappear. Though a few of those already did happen in starting days, Rusty had a blast.
In the afternoon I walked the east settlement blocks instead of taking another meeting from a chair. Immigrant housing had filled faster than the original frames planned for, and the complaints were there but nothing tremendous, water pressure, work assignment delays, school rotation gaps, a market stall cartel trying to charge new arrivals native-plus rates.
I took names, ordered immediate corrections where the fixes were obvious, and had Harlan put the stall cartel under fee review before sundown. Atii found me on the walk back, fresh from guard-yard instruction, and matched my pace for a stretch without turning it into an event.
"You're gotten awfully boring as of late," she said laughing.
I snorted "Be quiet or your allowance for your weapons will be halved just like Torvs."
She huffed a quiet breath that might have been agreement, knocked her knuckles once against my sleeve, and split off toward the armoury.
By late day I was back in the office for the final stack: dock fees, a repair-berth argument between two commercial lines, and a request from some native clans to help them in building additional compounds, it seems that ever since I came to power almost two years ago there has been a steady increase in births from the native Elyrians, thats what better governance, high standard of life and safety do.
I approved the building of additional compounds and ordered it posthaste, denied one line's attempt to buy permanent priority over the other, and had just reached for the last slate when Rusty said explained to me almost bored
"Incoming commercial-cultural request. Flagged low urgency by civil sorting. Source: independent dealer, Luthen Rael."
Say fucking who now?
The name stopped my hand in the air.
To the sorting system it was nothing. A dealer in antiques and cultural objects, asking permission to visit Elyria, examine native artefacts, speak with locals if allowed, and discuss possible purchases and maybe exchange some artefacts with the new Moff.
The kind of request big shots received and agreed to just to increase their prestige. Harlan would have approved it with a mild escort requirement and a note about export controls.
I read it twice, face still, and felt the ground under the ordinary day tilt.
Luthen Rael.
Not just a dealer, not to me. Axis.
The quiet coordinating mind behind patterns the ISB was only beginning to name. If he wanted Elyria, then either the network was already reaching farther than the restricted notices suggested, or my sector had something he needed badly enough to walk toward me himself with a smile and a catalog.
Rusty waited. "Draft standard acceptance with supervised archive access and limited local interviews?"
"Not yet, let think some more on this, I have not really heard about this Luthen."
I opened the slate and started to search about him, around me the office remained ordinary with cooling emitter fans, a stack of signed route forms, distant corridor traffic, the residual smell of the afternoon's ink and caf.
How far along was he?
Was this early foundation work, or a later-stage implanting listening devices and taking measure of me?
If I refused, did I protect the sector and myself or merely tell a dangerous man that I am either wary of him or just another arrogant Moff? If I accepted and tried to derail him, how much of the future would be fucked because of me?
That was the real trap. I could smash the desk, arrest the man and have him discretely executed, uproot whatever local web he tried to build. And then what? A future with no clear rail. A war calendar I no longer knew how to read and predict.
Maybe something worse would happen if Palpatine somehow survived because of this, or a later order even more incompetent than the New Republic I remembered rising out of ashes. I hated the passivity in that logic. I also was not arrogant enough to pretend I could go one way or the other.
Worse still, I think I know why he wants to come here.
I am a surviving son of a couple that were decent by imperial standard and were assassinated by their enemies, I was then exiled and had to fight a war against pirates, slavers and a Moff and lived and thrived. He might want to try to see if I am disgruntled and see if he could sway me to his side or at least implant that thought of disobeying the Emperor or being a mole and a sympathiser.
Worse case he would implant a listening device and put me on his shit list but there is no way in seven hells I am working for him. I am an imperial, a high one at that he will gun me down like a dog when I become inconvenient to him, just like he did to Lonnie.
"Prepare a controlled acceptance," I said at last. "Supervised access only, native artefacts under archive rules only when the clans allow it. Local interviews with clearance and recording. No unrestricted travel and he comes under escort."
Rusty paused. "And private assessment?"
"Quiet full background under the dealer identity. Financial trails, prior visits in other sectors, known associates, cargo histories. Keep it inside my seal and yours. When he is planetside have some probe droids watch his ship all day and night and him and anyone that comes with him, even if it is a mouse droid. He is from the capital Rusty, everyone in that den of snakes is dangerous I won't let my guard down just because he is 'some collector.'"
"Understood."
Once Rusty left not long after I gave a sigh and palmed my face.
Hopefully what I am doing is not a mistake, and to gods I hope I am not putting a large target on my back.