Reborn as Anakin

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***

 Hyperspace, Anakin Skywalker.

 * * * * * * * * *

 I sat over my sword and meditated. It was a good way to kill some time, sitting and meditating. It was a good way to do some thinking, or take the sword apart, or something like that. Of course, the ship offered plenty of entertainment in hyperspace, but that wasn't it. Besides, polluting my brain with local information wasn't the best thing to do. So I spent almost all my time in meditation, during which I had time to think over the upcoming events. It was impossible for me to predict them, but there was still a sure way to think over the information I already had. Metals, especially precious metals, were consumed by Corellia's shipyards in huge quantities - hyperdrives, electronics, blaster cannons.... none of it was without them, and they'll definitely find a use for the beskar. The price of five hundred a kilo should justify the expense of extracting it. Erdva had taken up residence in the control room - it was he who had to steer the ship through hyperspace, along with the shitty navigation computer.

 In general, the ship was quite spacious inside - like a big bunk flat - wide corridors, large rooms, like the cargo room, where my belongings and speedybike were dumped. Even the deckhouse takes up a lot of space, though it looks very unassuming. So, slowly, I reached the goal of my journey.

 There's not much to tell about the journey - there's no holonet here, no one to talk to but Erdv, so I made good use of the droid-teacher and slowly began the programme for the next course.

* * *

 Corellia. Three days later.

* * *

 - Your terms are unacceptable to us. - said the elderly Corellian, sitting in his chair, "so if you want to sell....

 - I'll find someone who will," I smiled. - Beskar is one of the rarest metals in the galaxy, unlike the others," I got up from my chair and, cursing the Corellian bureaucrats to myself, turned around and headed for the exit. The bureaucrat was worried - even without force sensitivity, it was obvious to the naked eye that he was determined to screw me over like a little kid. It wouldn't work, it was silly to even hope for that. I quickly left the conference room of the Corellian Machine Corporation. And, not at all surprised, when the bureaucrat's excitement peaked, he called out to me:

 - Wait! Skywalker!

 - Yes?" I stopped and turned half-turned to look at him as if he were an idiot who didn't honestly want to make a profit on the deal.

 - 'Don't make such hasty judgements....' - he found himself. We've been taught to talk a lot, and taught well:

 - Why not? You made the decision, so I'm not to blame. If you don't want to buy, your competitors will.

 - There's no need to rush, I didn't say we couldn't make a deal, did I?

 - In case you didn't realise, we don't negotiate at all. I have the goods and their cost, if you are not satisfied with something, do not take up my time, - I cut off. The official flared up, but did not show it.

 - No, no, it's just that the cost you're talking about....

 - It's a cost. What's not clear? You either take the goods or you don't prevent others from buying them, - I was sure that there would be other consumers besides the KMC, but there would be no other markets, so I dictated my prices. They needed beskar, they needed it badly, as a particularly rare metal, ideal for passive armour, for shielding hyperdrives, for starships of almost every class and purpose. The forms of beskar were varied - metal pellets, aerosol, foil...

I cut the official to pieces - the cost of five hundred credits per kilogram, and even provided that the development and extraction are engaged in them, was clearly not in their favour, but not everything can have a three hundred percent profit.

 - No, everything is understandable and available, but the price you are asking, clearly does not correspond to the value of the metal and....

 - Again, in case you haven't heard, are you willing to make a deal?

 The official, pressed on the one hand by the fear of competition, and on the other by my requests, immediately backtracked:

 - I need to consult with the management, if you'll wait....

 - I'll wait. I can wait ten minutes," I nodded and returned to the negotiating table. Erdva watched our altercation not without interest.

 I stood my ground, for I had a monopoly over the beskar. Beskar owned by Mandalmotors and through them by the Mandalorian government would certainly not be sold on the foreign market, so I had a monopoly and, as a consequence, the ability to dictate my prices. The official was well aware of this and saw that I was not willing to concede an inch. With officials and businessmen you do not need politeness and intelligence, you need firmness and rigidity. If you give in once, you will always have to give in.

 The official was silent for a while and went to the datapad, but quickly came back out and immediately said:

 - We can make a preliminary contract ...

 - A preliminary contract does not suit me. Firstly, I won't be able to come to you every time, and secondly, I need guarantees.

 - We also need assurances that you have the deposits in question.

 - Well, then send a scout! - I exclaimed. - Check everything yourself. I gave you a sample of ore, is that not enough?

 - No, no, not at all.

 - I told you that the deposits are deep beneath the rock stratum, as well as the coordinates....

 - Yes, yes, of course, - nodded the Korelian, - we will immediately check all the information.

 - That's better. I'm counting on you. I can conclude the contract in a fortnight at the latest, I have more work to do, so don't delay. When you're ready to make a deal, contact me. - I stood up and with a polite nod to the official, walked out, leaving the last word to myself. No, Erdva had the last word, squeaking "greedy clerk" in the official's direction. He, understandably, didn't know the binary and paid no attention to the droid at all.

 I returned to my ship, which stood in the hangar. The hangar was located in the city of Koronet, the capital of Corellia. I liked it here, even a lot - the architecture of the city, which combined buildings of the most futuristic kind, fountains, the abundance of transport and people on the streets of the metropolis.... the city was not a sundered giant like the cities of earth and other backward worlds, it had its own zest and its own uniqueness. Corellia. Coronet. Home to smugglers and pirates from all over the galaxy. The locals were indistinguishable from Europeans, and it was quite realistic to meet a face like Harrison Ford, the incarnation of Han OWLs, on a street full of people or a square with fountains.

 Another detail is that the locals were not exactly like the actors who played them, but there was a resemblance. Qui-Gon, for example, was a little more... alive, you know? I'll say nothing about Obi-Wan - he was a young guy, but he didn't remind me of that Jedi fanatic from the film. Padme is Padme - a fourteen-year-old girl who clearly did not correspond to her age. But the scale of local intrigue and the sheer pacifism of her planet kept her from becoming the calculating bitch you find in politics. Especially when she thought she was playing the role of maid well, one could spot a very young girl.

 Deciding not to do bullshit, I went to the cargo area where I kept my stuff and grabbed my Vestar-34 blaster, a light saber and my bike and rode through the open cargo hatch into the hangar. The reason for this was simple and straightforward - Corellia was still a free-for-all of smugglers and pirates, and Tortuga and Port Royal in one. There were plenty of resellers, hirers, and the like - Tatooine wasn't even close! However, according to information from the network, they were clustered in a separate area of the city, which was considered a dysfunctional neighbourhood. Now, that's where their dysfunctional neighbourhoods were nowhere near my home planet. A planet. Where you could get slapped on the street and the ends in the sand.

 Having flown out of the hangar (not to call hovering thirty centimetres above the surface a trip?) I went to that very district. It had no official name as such, as the city was divided into districts very conditionally - in the centre there were state institutions, cultural places, statues-fountains-parks. Further, in a ring around the centre, without any sharp transition, there were "middle class" houses, shops, the main part of them, offices, almost a whole office city, several entertainment establishments. Then came the largest neighbourhood, the regular town, offices of small companies, basic housing, apartment buildings. Very apartment blocks, shops, supermarkets, a spaceport, establishments like brothels and casinos. The last two were a gentle transition into the last neighbourhood of Coronet. Here the police don't visit often, prostitution and gambling flourish, and there are plenty of bars for all categories of visitors - from local oligarchs to Urkagan scum.

 In general, I felt the closest affinity to Corellians - I was absolutely indistinguishable from other representatives of this planet, both before and after the metamorphosis with appearance. I thought to ask my mother about the fascinating history of my ancestors on her line - maybe she is Corellian? Who knows... It's almost impossible to tell from genes, unless I run into a close relative, but it's so fantastic that it's easier to believe in a little green man ruling a horde of Buddhist fanatics with light sabers.... Shit.

 The bike flew through the districts like a kaleidoscope - from the cosy and well-appointed business centre to the most beloved, native, criminal. It was here that I, armed to the teeth, felt in my element. I parked the bike outside one of the bars. The neighbourhood was generally fine - dark streets, not much advertising, a couple of brothels as the neatest buildings, a few bars with speeders like mine parked in front of them.... the alleys are obviously very dark, the dirt, the presence on the streets of scumbags looking for an easy meal.... it's heaven on earth! Corellian paradise, to be exact.

 With such thoughts I went into the bar. It was quite cosy - dark, minimalist design, but cosy enough. I didn't come here for work, just to look at the locals. I ordered a couple of dishes, though the menu wasn't great in a diner like this, but it wasn't Tatooine either.

 They demanded money up front, so I had to pay the waiter.

 They paid no more attention to me than to the empty space - there were smugglers among the local visitors, and they were quite recognisable to me - they were distinguished by a few small features that you would not notice at once - the gait of a man, obviously used to the standard gravity of ships, a little twitchy, but neat movements - a smuggler must be good at self-control. The look is searching and estimating - in work constantly it is necessary to estimate a situation and to look for ways out of difficult situations, and it is so ingrained in a subcortex of a brain, that even a smuggler chooses a place in a bar, slightly thinking and having examined all hall, instead of rushes at the first free table. They don't get drunk - it can lead to big problems, so if a smuggler gets drunk, it's not in a bar, but on his ship... so you won't notice it right away, but you can't see it. You wouldn't notice it at once, but all together it easily distinguishes a person from the locals who came here to relax once again.

 It was relatively noisy in the hall - people were talking, of course, not in their voices, but they were talking softly, which was quite loud when performed by fifty humans and non-humans. The smugglers' mecca was quite an interesting place. Although it was only one bar, I couldn't see everything. I left the dish I had ordered, took a sip of the local, one could say, national drink and, having tipped the waiter, left. Immediately on the way out I felt someone's attention on me. Insistent. Covering my eyes, I looked round - it was some urchin, who was obviously following me. I didn't disappoint him and got on the bike, but walked down the street, which pleased him, and he followed me. The street wasn't crowded, but I didn't want to get into a scuffle, so I made a quick turn into a back alley between a casino and some house that apparently housed the local prostitutes... a public one at that. a public house.

 The location was well chosen - no windows or witnesses. The Urka went to work, Rabinovich... I stopped and fumbled for my lightsaber on my belt, pulled it out, without stopping my "advanced vision". Urka pulled out a blaster. I fumbled for the lightsaber button, and a second later I heard the sound of a gunshot. Shots were fired here exclusively in the back. In fact, the blaster shot wasn't as sluggish as the films tried to make it seem. The velocity of the charge is such that it is problematic to dodge, but it is not the same as a bullet - it was quite realistic to parry it with a light saber, especially if you knew where the charge would be. That's what I did - at the same time as the urchin, a man in his thirties or forties, unshaven and angry-looking, pulled the trigger, I pressed the button to activate my sword. In a quarter of a second, a silver-white blade appeared in the air, which beat off the charge in flight, and I turned sharply. Urka staggered back, either from recognising the weapon or from not recognising it. He did, but he fired again with the same success - I easily repelled one shot after another and came closer to him. He backed up, and when we were about four metres apart, he darted away. In fact, fending off a blaster shot is already a very demoralising factor, and here I was approaching him with a bloodthirsty grin.... But I had to teach the bastard a lesson - from the looks of it, he was a local junkie. I pulled out a Westar and shot him in the left leg. The shot from this pocket blaster was not particularly lethal, if you shoot at the legs - the leg will not tear off, but it pierced through and he, already accelerated, fell to the dirty asphalt and now whimpered, holding on to the wound. To avoid surprises, I covered my eyes and approached him:

 - Well, my dear, no dosage, decided to kill the suckers? You could have chosen a drunken girl, but you didn't, you went for me.

 - Suuuka... - he moaned.

 - But you don't need to swear, this is a cultured society, - I smiled, - so run away from here, quickly and far away.... - I kicked the "body" and walked past him back to the bar where my bike was parked. Nothing like winning a gunfight to lift my spirits!

 Strange attraction to criminal elements, yes, strange. Come to think of it, the hothouse conditions created for the students of Alderaan Academy were getting to me. The local hierarchy, with its leaders and outcasts, local hobbies, all of it was annoying. What do I care if some pepper, for example, is the son of a senator? He walks around like the planet's spinning around him. He drives the most expensive speeder and gets the prettiest girls... and he's almost in full view of everyone, pleasuring them. it's annoying. I could turn him into a piece of meat with one stroke of my lightsaber, so I don't care about their hierarchy or their student society. I only hung out with Alessia and a couple of other guys, simple, working-class kids who were just trying to get ahead in life. No arrogance, but a realistic outlook on life. It is more pleasant to talk to such people than to those who occupy a de jure high position. "Golden Youth" and the student hierarchy frankly made me nervous and make me nervous with their meaninglessness. What is the value of an unviable individual? A place in the group can be bought with money - for expensive bling, for small problems that daddy will solve, but how can you buy a place in life? You can't. So it was the fact that here, in the most disadvantaged area of Corellia, my place was determined not by the amount of credits in my pocket, but by my ability to stand up for myself and only my personal abilities, regardless of money, that made this filthy neighbourhood, full of boozers, junkies, prostitutes and urkagans, much higher in my eyes than the Academy, where I study. Next time I'll have to go on holiday to the Hatta sector, where they say the situation is as bad as a saint. I'll take a break from boys and girls with glued smiles, from empty ponces and aristocrats and those who actively pretend to be them.

 With such thoughts I flew back to the ship and, having checked my weapons, went to sleep. Contrary to my expectations, it was not Erdva who woke me up, but a comlink call. Switching on the holomonitor, I looked at the time displayed above it - it was early morning according to the ship's time, but on Corellia the office plankton had already started their working day. An unknown caller was paging me.

 - Yes?" I answered, standing up. My sleepy voice sounded rather rough, even for my short age.

 - Mr Skywalker? The manager of the Corellian Mining Company is here to see you. You were with us yesterday.

 - Yes, yes... - I nodded, shaking off the remnants of sleep, - did you want something?

 - Yes, I would like to summon you for a contract. Is that possible?

 - Sure, where can I come?

 - Our office you were in yesterday. The droid will tell you where my office is...'' - the voice replied.

 - In that case, I'll be there in an hour," I said and looked at my watch again. I'll be there in time.

 - I'm waiting, - the manager replied in the tone of the well-known dentist Shpak and switched off. I jumped out of bed and ran to make myself look decent - in words it is easy, but in an hour to have time to wash, arrange hair, dress decently, collect documents ... it's not a trifle... it's no small thing. And also to get to the office, although my bike was quite fast, and I could fly on it masterfully. What can you do, the cost of using the power....

 Half an hour later I got out of the ship, stuffed my documents into the boot of the speedbike, and headed towards the KMC building. The corporation occupied a small neighbourhood by galactic standards, consisting of four buildings and a small garden between them. All in all, a rather cosy office. It took me another ten minutes to get there. After parking my bike, I entered the entrance hall. Inside. the usual bedlam - employees and customers, so many people and non-humans that you could get lost between them. It wasn't crowded, of course, but the main office of one of the galaxy's largest corporations wasn't exactly uninhabited.

 Secretarial droids stood along the wall in a slim line, like soldiers on parade. They were called upon to advise visitors on any questions they might have. I walked up to one of them and asked:

 - I'm Anakin Skywalker, I have an appointment. How do I get through to the manager?

 - Just a second," replied a squeaky voice droid that looked like a Threepio, only silver in colour, "You should go to the fourteenth floor, office A-28. Go to the lifts, go to the fourteenth floor, after the exit to the right - sector a. The numbering of the offices is on the side of the sector entrance.

 - Thank you, - I nodded to the droid and went to the lifts. But first I was inspected from head to toe, checked for hazards, explosives, and other niceties. The neuranium network in the sword shielded it from the radiation of all kinds of scanners, it was simply invisible, while metals, especially weapon metals, were terribly phoned. There were also stealth technologies that hid weapons from scanners, but none of them could overcome the defence that is put on such scanners - there are at least fifty different types of scanning.... and a neuranium network is almost impossible to make - so far it leads the list of the most difficult metals to work with, so creating a dense network of forty thousand threads several hundred molecules thick is out of the question. The scanner let me through and I entered the building. An office building in the galaxy and on Earth is practically the same - the differences I find are minimal, and those are more technical.

 I found the office without difficulty, and after another glance at the comlink clock, which showed that it was five minutes to go, I got ready. The door slid aside as I approached, and I entered. Inside was a rather cosy office, apparently the only one in charge.

 A Corellian, about fifty years old, with a rather tenacious gaze and pleasant features.... that's who I saw in the office.

 - I thought my subordinate was playing a practical joke on me," he smiled professionally, "are you Anakin Skywalker?

 - That's right, Mr...

 - Lort, just Lort," the man introduced himself, "come in, have a seat... - he said politely, and nodded to the chair next to his desk and waited for me to sit on it.

 - You are acquainted with my terms... - I began, but he interrupted:

 - Yes, Mr Skywalker, I am, and I agree. Of course, it's a pity that you don't want to give us a little, if only because the extraction will involve some difficulties....

 - Oh, don't give me that," I grumbled, "you know very well how much profit you'll get from the beskar, and I know where and how it can be used and what it will lead to, so everything is within the bounds of decency. I won't talk about the five hundred per cent profit on the final sale.

 - Three hundred per cent. Beskar is a rather... capricious metal," the manager clarified.

 - Still," I didn't give up, "let's get down to business.

 - Let's, - the manager easily agreed, - you want, as far as I understand, to give us the opportunity to mine on your territory beskar, with payment by weight of the extracted metal ... Intelligence says that your ore reserves are...

 - More than large," I finished for him.

 - Exactly, - nodded the manager, - penalties of the parties for non-fulfilment of obligations ... - he started, but I interrupted him:

 - They are excluded, because the contract I have proposed strictly establishes the rights and obligations of the parties. You pay the specified sum for each tonne of extracted metal, in turn I do not interfere with you and do not interfere in your affairs at all. Since the territory is subject to the laws of the republic, everything is quite simple. The only penalty is the cancellation of the contract if anyone tries to cheat or take advantage of anyone.

 - Yes, yes, I understand," he nodded. The situation was clearly and unambiguously not in the company's favour. However, I made that point clear:

 - Unless you try to deceive me, then the situation will be one hundred per cent under your control. I won't even turn my nose up at Mandalore. You will handle all your matters yourself, except those that require my presence as the owner of the territory. So unless you have plans to deceive me, which believe me, is a bad idea, I will never see you again. You mine, smelt, buy, haul. No hassle.

 The manager was not so much displeased, but rather irritated by my unappealing stance.

 - All right," he nodded, "have it your way," he took several sheets of contracts from the table and put one stack in front of me. - This contract was drawn up by the lawyers today according to your requirements. Let's move on to the signing... - he jabbed at his copy and didn't stop me from reading mine.

 The contract says everything I demanded - mining on my land and then buying it. And there were no penalties - if someone cheated, the contract would be automatically cancelled. And the manager still wanted to bargain.... The price per tonne of smelted metal was specified correctly, in full compliance with republican standards, and I left my signature and a drop of blood, i.e. DNA, in the right place in the contract. The manager did the same and we, having read each other's copies - in case there were any discrepancies, figuratively speaking, struck hands. Before the contract came into force, it was necessary to register it - to present all the necessary documents, the details of which were specified in the contract, to enter them into the database and attach copies, electronic or physical, to the contract, to sign that the parties are familiar with the documents. This paperwork took another five minutes - the package of documents was frankly small - my documents, the property certificate and the sales contract.... some of which had been automatically generated and I'd only glanced at them.

 When it was all finalised, Lort informed me:

 - I think it's time for us to get to work. Your metal will save our company from another disgrace from the board of directors.

 - That's just the way the top brass is.... - I shrugged my shoulders, demanding indicators without going into details. - I think I should go, I don't like to sit still, although circumstances sometimes force me to....

 - I understand," he nodded, relaxing a little and becoming more... human, or something like that, "I didn't like to sit still when I was young either.

 The conversation ended with a very friendly exchange of small bits of information about himself. When that topic was exhausted too, we said our goodbyes. The credit card to which they should transfer the money was in my pocket, and the receipts would not come until a few months later. I think they will still try to screw me over, but in that case I will prepare the ground for renegotiating the same contract with another company, like Kuata Shipyards. Although it's KMC that needs such metals the most - their market is small but high-tech ships, so they need advanced technology and materials to keep up with the market and provide high performance for a wide range of products.

 There was a month left till the end of the holidays, and I had only a few hours to fly to Alderaan, so I decided to finally relax, allow myself some carefree time and carelessly spend some money in the casino. It's too early to go to the brothel - there's no physical ability or desire to cheat on Alessia....