บท 29: Memories of the Past (I)
Nine years, five months and three days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, five months and three days after the Great Resynchronization.
"You're an odd one, you know that?" said the pilot, seated in the makeshift cockpit of the Shieldship, just above Rederick. "Why waste your youth just to earn a few credits?"
Rederick, sitting in the cramped interior of the giant spacecraft—an odd contraption that looked more like an open umbrella with massive engines attached—shrugged.
"I heard the pay's good here," he replied.
"Lando paying well?" the pilot grinned. "But to be fair, Nomadic's salaries are better than most mining operations in this part of the galaxy."
"So, Nomad Mines must produce a lot of metal then," Rederick prodded.
"Not really," the pilot grimaced. "But we do mine rare metals—hfredium, kammris, and dolomite. They're essential for starship construction. Nklonn's crust is rich in them. Calrissian hit the jackpot with this gig. You could make a fortune here, given enough time."
** The Shieldship approaches Nklonn **
"So, neither the Empire nor the New Republic bother you?" Rederick asked, surprised.
"Let them try," the pilot chuckled. "You think this thing," he patted his chair, but clearly meant the entire massive craft, "is here just for show? No, Calrissian keeps a dozen shieldships to make sure nothing gets fried by the star's radiation. Even 'Nomad' only operates on the planet's dark side. On the side exposed to the star, you're dead in a couple of hours. Trust me, that rule's written in blood. Even the 'diggers' work exclusively on the dark side."
"'Diggers'?" Rederick feigned ignorance.
"Plasma drills," the pilot clarified, his tone hinting at his distaste for the official name of the mining equipment. "Those things that bore through rock..."
"I'm a mining administrator by trade," Rederick recalled his cover story. "I know what plasma drills are. I've just never heard them called 'diggers.'"
"Well," the pilot said, sounding bored. "Oh, Hutt's tail, I hate dealing with course calculations for the jump! Lando, that stingy Hutt, could at least spring for decent hyperdrives and nav computers! These ones are ancient, from the early days of the Old Republic."
"Wait," Rederick frowned. "Are hyperdrives actually installed on the shieldship?"
"Of course," the pilot replied with a touch of pride. "Without them, it would take half a day for a one-way trip. With them, I get the access codes for the nav computer, and we're off with a quick jump. Some people are too scared to hand over the codes, so I offer them a ten to fifteen-hour trip at sublight speeds, and they quickly change their minds."
"I see," Rederick nodded. "And here I thought only slow travel was possible..."
"No, that would be pure madness. No one would work here if that were the case," the pilot laughed, slapping the armrest of his seat. "You'd die of boredom before anything else."
"Then shieldships really are a brilliant invention," Rederick agreed. "I just don't understand why Calrissian doesn't invest a few million in better equipment for these ships."
"We'd go bankrupt," the pilot replied. "We have fifteen shieldships, and each costs half a million credits a month in maintenance—they're falling apart as we speak. If we started modernizing or building new ones, we'd be ruined. Do you even know how much Nomadic makes when it sells its mineral reserves?"
"It depends on the production rate, how many drills are in operation, the frequency of transactions, and market prices for the metals," Rederick began listing.
"Yeah, we have about fifty 'diggers,'" the pilot winced. "And the warehouses at Nomadic are small—we sell off stock every six months. Lando doesn't trust the exchanges much, so we do direct deliveries. Lando's net profit is probably around twenty to thirty million."
"What makes you think that?" Rederick asked. "Does he show you his accounts?"
"Accounts are just for dealing with clients," the pilot said conspiratorially. "Lando's old-school. He loves to see his money in person. Hutt, we have a vault the size of a cruiser! But even then, it's still not full," the pilot laughed.
"With that kind of income, it should be," Rederick remarked.
"Not if you're playing sabacc or making risky investments," the pilot chuckled. "Calrissian loves taking risks. Almost as much as he loves making money somewhere he can monopolize. And Nklonn's the only source for hfredium, kammris, and dolomite in the next ten to twenty sectors, at least. So yeah, he's making good money. It's no wonder even the miners here make twice what they do at regular mines."
"You know, if Calrissian hires me, I'll have to think about security," Rederick said thoughtfully. "With production at this scale and that kind of money involved... At least a couple of fighter squadrons and a small ground force wouldn't hurt."
"Ha, you're not the first to think of that," the pilot assured him. "Do you think Calrissian doesn't know how to defend his profits? After he lost Cloud City on Bespin, he's been ready to buy an entire fleet if he has to. But there's never enough money," the pilot laughed again, then grew serious.
"We've got some old fighters, retired from Republic service," he continued. "So, don't waste your energy on that. We've also got about ten to twenty security personnel. You'd be better off thinking of ways to increase production—Lando would definitely reward you with a promotion and a raise for that."
"Well, I've got a probationary period," Rederick said. "I'll scope the place out, see how things run, and then I'll be brimming with ideas. Thanks for filling me in. Now I've got some useful information. I owe you."
"Just get me some Corellian whiskey, and we'll call it even," the pilot bargained.
"Deal," Rederick agreed. "How much longer do we have? Do I have time to catch some sleep?"
"Definitely," the pilot said, unexpectedly frustrated as he tapped the navigation computer's monitor. "Dead systems. We'll have to fly sublight. You've got ten or eleven hours. You can rest for now, and I'll wake you when we reach Nomadic."
"Is the communication system ancient too?" Rederick chuckled.
"Pretty much," the pilot grumbled. "But you can kill time by connecting to the HoloNet. If someone else is flying sublight, I pass the time watching holovids. Want to join?"
"No, I think I'd rather sleep," Rederick stretched, faking a yawn. "There's still a lot of work ahead."
"Alright, then," the pilot pointed to the hatch. "I'll climb up so I don't disturb you. And don't forget—you owe me that whiskey."
"Of course," Rederick assured him.
Satisfied that the pilot had kept his word and sealed the hatch, Lieutenant Rederick, of Grand Admiral Thrawn's Fleet Intelligence, retrieved a compact comm device from a hidden pocket. He prepared a concise report on everything he'd learned from the pilot—the number of 'diggers,' the defense systems, the profitability of the operation, and especially the presence of hyperdrives on the shieldships. He spent a few minutes covertly connecting to the ship's long-range communication system, camouflaging the transmission within the usual data stream the pilot used to watch holovids. Several hours would pass before the message navigated through dozens, possibly hundreds, of HoloNet relays and reached the Chimera. But it would get there.
** Lieutenant Rederick, Imperial Navy Intelligence Operative (undercover) **
This was the mission he and his colleagues had undertaken—to gather everything Grand Admiral Thrawn needed for the Empire's victory over the rebels.
After erasing the device's data logs, making it look like nothing more than an ordinary comlink, the lieutenant returned it to its secret pocket and settled back in his seat.
Now, he could finally sleep.
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