Bandomir. First Steps

 The Outer Ring. Bandomir.

 752 DBY.

 14 years before the Mandalorian Purge.

 Victor von Doom.

 It would seem, how is it possible to take control of such a disparate yet unified people as the Mandalorians?

 Capture their Mand'alor, the supreme Mandalorian, using the Force? It would seem the most logical conclusion given the military, or rather military dictatorship, that existed in their society.

 However, in reality, this society of warlike mercenaries, which in the past had nearly conquered the absolute hegemony of the Galactic Republic, was quite... free? Despite their Code, over thousands of years of decline, the Mandalorians' power had waned, and numerous clans had seized power. If they disagreed with the supreme leader's policies, they could simply refuse to participate in his plans and stop recognising the Mand'alor.

 And if the clan leaders were subjugated, then even ordinary warriors could decide that they were not satisfied... And simply leave to become mercenaries on the other side of the galaxy.

 Alas, for all their virtues, they were not a full-fledged army.

 However, against the backdrop of the demilitarised Republic, even they were a formidable force.

 When I learned about the Rusan Reform... I laughed with the most hearty laughter in my arsenal! Just think, the state gave up its full-fledged army and navy — the only allies of a real state! The Jedi were not far behind in idiocy, transforming themselves from capable warriors who had defeated the Sith for many millennia and bringing the situation to the point where so few of their ancient enemies remained... They voluntarily stripped themselves of their military and combat attributes, becoming... Guardians of the Peace!

 How, how can you protect the world without military power?!

 This didn't fit into any logical framework, and that's why I became completely convinced that my future enemies were complete idiots, worthy only of contempt and oblivion. They must be destroyed, not only for the sake of my ambitions, but also for the sake of the ordinary inhabitants of the Galaxy. Who could such Guardians protect themselves from?!

 ... Sighing, I gathered my thoughts.

 I had strayed too far from the Mandalorian theme.

 Instead of directly submitting them to my will, which could have led to the discovery of the Sith and the Rule of Two in particular, my self-appointed teacher decided to act indirectly.

 An army must be supplied. It doesn't matter what kind, organic or mechanical. It must have a suitable material base to support it.

 And while the Mandalorians themselves can provide for themselves for a while, since they are all mercenaries and have some reserves of cash and equipment... But technology and ships require constant support, updating, and a myriad of different things to keep them in combat readiness.

 It becomes clear that most of the necessary supplies for the Mandalorians come from other sectors of the Galaxy. So far, they have not gathered enough strength and resources to organise their own production and achieve autarky. And this is where Darth Varborus came into play.

 Using all sorts of schemes and the Force, he set about subjugating those companies and governments that were willing to trade with the Mandalorians, who were not part of the Galactic Republic. There weren't many of them, so the Sith plan had a chance of success. I would undoubtedly have combined this with direct subjugation, which I am sure I could have made invisible to everyone...

 But not everyone, again, is destined to possess such magnificent intellect as mine.

 I looked at the planet before me through the porthole with interest... Bandomir was similar in atmosphere to Earth, except that the division between land and water was radical. Half of it was one, half the other.

 "Agricultural... Industrial... Extractive..." — I said with obvious contempt, not sharing the locals' desire for such... division. Your world should strive for autarky and complete self-sufficiency.

 Otherwise, it's worth cutting off the supply routes... And that's it, the end.

 My Latveria was just such a country, unafraid of any sanctions from the United States and its satellites, who loved to impose restrictions after my latest confrontation with self-proclaimed heroes.

 I can understand some dependence on rare ores, which are definitely not found in your world... But complete division into types? Relying entirely on one thing? That's utter nonsense.

 But that works to my advantage. After all, Bandomir was one of the few agricultural worlds in the galaxy capable of and willing to supply food to the Mandalorians. And if I take control of it, I will be able to manipulate the Mand'Ade through food, since they themselves rarely engaged in this profession. This was enough to feed the children, the elderly, and the disabled who were always on their home planets, but when the bulk of the physically developed, intelligent mercenaries returned, requiring abundant food... Food had to be purchased from planets such as Bandomir.

 The self-proclaimed teacher tried to explain all this to me for some reason, although I myself understood perfectly well all the goals and motives behind his plans.

 Varborus himself could not come here because he was extremely busy preparing to transfer his assets to me. After all, the preparations he had made for his previous student, Kvart Gassa, were now completely obsolete.

 After his death, I will review many of these plans, and I have already begun to do so, knowing that the madman will not like my plans at all. What can I do? A limited mind is incapable of understanding the genius of what I am planning to achieve my goals while fulfilling the terms of the contract. Let those around me consider me a Sith, what do I care if my name will still resound throughout the Galaxy, which will be subject to me?

 "Ahem..." — The voice of the spaceport dispatcher sounded in the cabin, judging by the voice, he was a former human being. " — Victor von Doom... Licensed mercenary... Permission granted..." — He muttered sleepily. " — You may land on platform twenty-four.

 Entering the necessary coordinates into the ship's autopilot, I directed it downwards, scrolling through the legend I had created.

 A mercenary who will become famous and rich, who will one day help the inhabitants of a remote principality rise up against a cruel tyrant and take the throne for himself. A wonderful story that could be turned into a legend and believed by those around him. And one that would not arouse any suspicion among the monks and politicians of Coruscant, the Galactic Capital.

 After all, I'm not going to hide from the Jedi forever, and under the guise of an ordinary person, I will develop my own state, my own material base for achieving my future goals. Depending on the situation, I will decide whether it is worth taking the Galactic Republic by force... Or whether to join it with my future state and seize hegemony from within. Fortunately, the democratic system allows for the second plan.

 Hiding my Force was quite annoying, but I had to put up with it. For the sake of bringing my mother back, I made a deal with her killer, and these inconveniences... Such trifles!

 Two prototype Dumbots, acting as my guards, followed me out of the ship. After all, dangerous situations could arise in which my armour and portable weapons alone would not be enough, and it would be impossible to eliminate all witnesses to the use of the Force. In such a situation, even such imperfect droids would help preserve my legend and prevent the Jedi from thinking about the Sith, whom these fools would consider me to be anyway.

 Some people glanced at the unusual, very human-like design of my hand-made metal assistants, but I paid no attention and headed straight for the local cantina.

 I needed to find some work to do so that I could carry out my real mission under cover. No one would suspect an intelligent being wandering around if he was simply carrying out an order. Plus, this way I would start to build a reputation as a mercenary.

 Two birds with one stone, just the way I like it.

 The shabbiness of Ergel the Destroyer's establishment didn't bother me. I'd been to worse places, and unlike most monarchs of the past and present, I wasn't used to living in luxury.

 "What's it going to be, steel?" — grinned another representative of the human race, which, to my surprise, is the most numerous in the galaxy.

 Worlds change, but people continue to multiply. This once again leads me to believe that this galaxy is part of my home universe... Just isolated by something from within. This theory is supported by the fact that the locals know of a barrier that prevents them from leaving the Galaxy through hyperspace, i.e. faster-than-light travel.

 I glanced at the squat owner of the cantina, once a famous bounty hunter. Not a very successful one, though, which is why he ended up in such an unpresentable place. He loved smashing his targets' heads with his power hammer.

 That's where his nickname came from.

 "Information. And local wine." — The drink I ordered was a rarity in cantinas, but the agricultural focus of the world guaranteed that there would be good and extensive vineyards or their equivalents here.

 "Hmm. It's rare for our kind to be generous." — Raising his thick eyebrows, the bartender assessed the amount of credits I had laid out with respect in his voice.

 "I am unknown. Reputation must be earned, and I will earn the money later. There is no need to be greedy now." — I decided to reveal my motives, wanting to please this intelligent man who was respected among "our kind." By establishing contacts, it would be easier to make my public persona known and respected.

 The sooner I became influential enough in the eyes of the wise to carry out my ambitious plan to conquer my home world and the principality of this body, the sooner I could move on to the second phase of my plan for this galaxy.

 "Reasonable." — The stocky man nodded with carefully concealed approval. " — I won't ask what kind of information — you're not an idiot, are you?" — He grinned into his thick moustache and equally thick beard. "So, you seem to have some good support..." — He nodded at my droids, which were now attracting the curious glances of the other patrons of the cantina.

 I even noticed a few greedy glances.

 Well, fools. Try attacking me. Your bodies will become another brick in the wall of my plans.

 "Exactly. That's why I don't want something completely... childish." — One of the properties of the armour mask was that it changed the voice when the lips were covered by a steel plate with a corresponding speaker. So no one would mistake me for a sixteen-year-old teenager. " — But not too complicated either." — I added, because in the mercenary business, those who take risks don't live long.

 Ergel, who had successfully retired, should understand this and respect those like him.

 "Such things are always rare." — he grunted, and I, instantly recognising the hint, put down a few more credits, which the man slowly took and hid under the counter.

 Only fools think that cantina owners would hide in such a business. All visitors to such places know perfectly well what the bartenders are paid for. And attacking them is considered taboo for most mercenaries, because such intelligent individuals are part of a huge scheme that allows mercenaries to thrive. Even those who are not part of official structures such as the Headhunters' Guild.

 Those who break the chain of receiving and delivering orders are severely punished by their own kind.

 "So?" — I hurried the bartender, who had been distracted by loud shouts coming from somewhere in the cantina.

 "Um. Sorry. Yes... For someone so smart and cautious..." — Ergel clearly smiled. "There's a job for someone smart with a dangerous look. If you were alone, I wouldn't suggest it, but with the droids... It could work out. Anyway, here's the contact details of a rich gentleman who's having problems with a criminal authority figure who's annoying everyone, ha ha ha. Anticipating the questions you're about to ask me, I'll explain right away... The rich gentleman's friends and competitors won't allow him to expand his security staff to resolve this issue on his own... And so he'd rather pay a one-time fee to someone outside his circle than fight the smart guys in his circle.

 "And he won't let me down because if the same problem arises again, no one else will sign up for the job." — I guessed instantly, using terms characteristic of a mercenary in conversation.

 "You're quick on the uptake, as they say on Coruscant." — The man snapped his bony fingers, handing me the local equivalent of reusable paperboard — flimsy. "Talk to him in private, rookie. Or old-timer, although I can't remember anyone with your style of work. Two droids, two droids... No, no one.

 "I'm new here." — I admitted, still following my plan to establish connections in this sector of society. "But thank you for the compliment." — The expression of gratitude did not cause me any strong rejection. After all, this man was a real warrior, and not an idiot, because he risked his life not for stupid ideals and ideas, like heroes, but for something mundane — money. Besides, my words were a lie anyway.

 "And you're not offended... Maybe you'll make something of yourself. Oh, how many newbies raged and rattled their weapons when they were considered greenhorns..." — The seasoned mercenary shook his head with hidden sadness in his small eyes.

 "They belong in the next world." — I said quite sincerely, getting up and glancing at a girl with long hair sitting nearby.

 "That's true, and I won't argue with that... See you around." — The bartender waved at me good-naturedly and immediately turned his attention to other intelligent-looking people who had approached the bar, whom he had previously ignored because of my large payment, which, in the eyes of the others, allowed me to take up more time chatting.

 However, I hadn't gone more than a couple of hundred metres through the lower levels of the planet's capital when I was surrounded in a very unprofessional manner.

 Humans, Twi'leks, Duros — blue-skinned and red-eyed exotics, Rodians — reptilian humanoids... A typical composition of the billions of gangs in this galaxy, which is the largest Augean stable I have ever seen.

 "Let's not have any surprises, steel man." — said a green-skinned exotic creature with large eyes, stepping forward. "You give us your armour and droids, and we'll give you your life. It's a good deal. And I'm not bargaining." — clearly confident due to their fivefold superiority in numbers.

 "You think I'm going to talk to you, you fools?" — I said contemptuously, looking down on the petty criminal from above thanks to my armour. A second later, the only vulnerable parts of my body, my mouth and eyes, were covered by protective shields. "Kill them all. Catch the girl." I ordered the droids, speaking only for show and to deceive some of the observers in the area.

 Let them believe that my droids only work on voice commands.

 While my killer robots easily carried out execution after execution, I tested my armour against the most common laser... I mean, blaster pistols in the Galaxy. Everything worked perfectly, I didn't even feel a blaster rifle.

 It's a pity that droids can't be made as durable as Force Forging. I can hide the fact that my armour was transformed by the Force, but the droids would immediately tell the Jedi that the Gifted One had been working on them. I don't need such traces.

 When the whole gang had been shot, and one of the droids was firing warning shots and searching the dead, I dared to look down at the human girl who had been caught and beaten by the second droid. The one I had seen earlier in the cantina, who had clearly been eavesdropping on our conversation.

 "So." — I began, further frightening the bloodied creature. " — I have a proposal for you. Refusal is not an option." — The droid took a thin hoop from a secret compartment and, with some effort, placed it around the girl's neck. " — This is an explosive device." "I explained, folding my arms behind my back and spreading my legs shoulder-width apart. "Listen to me carefully, you pathetic worm. From now on, your life belongs to me. If you don't obey my orders, you'll be blown up. If you leave the planet without notifying me, you'll be blown up. Am I clear?"

 "Y-yes..." — Realising the situation in an instant, the bandit lowered her gaze.

 "Here are my contacts." — The droid threw her a piece of flimsy paper, similar to the one I had been given earlier. "We'll be in touch. And yes, one last piece of advice — don't try to find a master who can remove the hoop. The one who can, you can't afford, and the rest... You know what will happen to you." — Receiving a convulsive nod in response, I continued on my way.

 Thus, my first conditionally voluntary subordinate was recruited. I could easily craft hoops similar to this device, and soon they would be mass-produced for various consumables that needed to be used and then discarded. Unfortunately, you can't put these on anyone important. It would quickly be noticed that all of my public subordinates had such accessories, and that would lead to trouble and confrontation with the Jedi. They don't approve of such methods.

 They're fools, what can you expect?

 At the same time, the intelligent ones obtained in this way are not part of my self-proclaimed teacher's spy network, and I can act in secret from him. Of course, he's not lying when he says he wants to die by my hand and pass on the Rule of Two... But he's still a madman. And you can expect anything from them...

 Finally reaching a secluded spot away from prying eyes, I took the holoprojector out of a secret compartment in my armour and soon contacted my first employer... An interesting stage in my life, though.

 "Greetings, Mr..." — said a rational being of an unknown race, but clearly male, sitting in a tall chair turned away from the holoprojector. If this was the rich gentleman himself.

 "You can call me Doom," I replied, folding my arms across my chest.

 "Keep it short. All right, Mr. Doom. I don't have much time, so I'll be quick. You must kill Naato Voras. A man, thirty-seven years old. The leader of a criminal gang... Kill him. It doesn't matter how many of his men survive. Naturally, not a word about who ordered this. Not even his social status. I'll find out about the murder myself and contact you within two days. Then we'll discuss the reward. And yes, no advance payment, is that clear?" — They told me quite succinctly and to the point, so I was quite amenable to this reasonable man.

 "Not necessary. Time frame?" — I asked in a neutral tone how long my cover for the real job would last.

 "Until the end of the month. Then... I'll decide for myself. And yes, don't mention this to Naato. Not even for money. It won't help him, but it will complicate your life, mercenary." — My interlocutor continued, and I was becoming more and more convinced that I was talking to the person who had hired me.

 In such matters, as few intermediaries as possible are required, and he really thinks like an experienced businessman. Not that it helped them back when they tried to deceive me... But still.

 "I see." — I said laconically, disconnecting myself.

 Excellent. I had a cover for thirteen days, so it was time to get down to some really important business. For example, breaking into President Bandomir's ultra-secure villa and downloading all the data from his personal computers for further blackmail. Ordinary people can't get in there, only by storming the place, but a user of the Force, and especially one with such a brilliant mind as mine... * * *

 A week later.

 After waiting seven days — when my arrival on the planet could no longer be linked to what was about to happen — I set off for my target.

 The villa was, of course, located far from any settlements.

 Thanks to the droid scanning systems and those built into my armour, I discovered numerous defence systems that the planet's ruler had installed. Since agricultural worlds were quite rich, given the large population of the Galaxy that needed to be fed, the president did not skimp on his defences.

 However, this was unlikely to help him.

 Clad in adaptive camouflage suits, the droids and I calmly bypassed most of the detection systems, while others... were provoked at that very moment by a crowd of local animals, which, apparently, had been left alive to add to the atmosphere of a living forest. Against their backdrop, our presence went unnoticed.

 I had to use the Force a little, because I didn't want to mess with the controller chips and some particularly complex detection systems. I cast a light Force illusion, learned from the mad old man at the Adepts of the Force on the moon Dispatch — the Apostles of Twilight.

 However, even I can only detect such a small amount of mystical energy from a few dozen metres away, let alone the others. Besides, any trace of the Force technique used would disappear after the release of the Force due to the deaths of living beings.

 The automatic turrets did not bother to figure out what was going on and simply destroyed the aggressive animals.

 Once I reached the building itself, it was no problem for me to break into one of the entrances. After all, my genius can already be considered one of the best hackers in the Galaxy, or icebreakers, as they are commonly called here.

 Hmm. Apparently, Varborus was wrong.

 Even an ordinary intelligent person without the Force could rob this president. It's difficult, but possible with the right equipment and skills.

 Although, yes, there are literally dozens of such masters, and the loss of even one of them (the old man is crazy, but not so crazy as to leave the perpetrator alive) would cause unrest and unnecessary suspicion. So, what conclusion do I draw? I need to train my own specialists who are absolutely loyal to me.

 In the endless confrontation with the heroes and their hangers-on, I didn't have time, but here... I can try. Besides, the Force, it must be admitted, is more effective than Dark Magic in mind control.

 Walking down the corridor as if I were at home, I reached the president's private office, which overlooked the lake on the other side of the villa. I was intrigued by a secret niche in one of the walls, which I quickly pried open and took out a small computer.

 The villa's systems continued to recognise us as friendly entities with full access — that is, the president himself and his droids. So I quickly downloaded all the data and left a carefully worded message on the computer. It should prevent the president from panicking and ruining the whole plan, even if it costs him his life.

 That way, he would sit tight, afraid that his corrupt schemes would simply be drowned out by his competitors. Literally drowned.

 The ocean off Bandomir is vast.

 After erasing all traces of our presence and hacking, both physical and in the Force, I immediately left the place.

 The next day.

 Alkis Valtas.

 The president of an agricultural planet has to know a lot of things.

 And knowledge of how agriculture works ranks somewhere around tenth place. At best. Naive idiots who believe that there can be experts in politics have long since been kicked out of it. Again, at best.

 That's why a forty-nine-year-old man of the human race frowned in confusion when he woke up in his villa and found a very... very interesting message.

 Some intelligent person had managed to get through all the security systems completely unnoticed, find a hidden niche where a computer disconnected from all external systems was located... Hack all its systems without leaving a trace... And honestly admit that he was a blackmailer on whom Mr. Valtas' political career now depended.

 Such honesty and such capabilities could only mean one thing.

 Swallowing hard, the middle-aged man downed a third of a bottle of incredibly expensive Corellian whisky in one gulp.

 Those who had come to him were very, very serious and intelligent. Much more powerful than the ruler of a single planet. Specialists of this calibre were worth their weight in aurodium, and were hardly available to the general public. But who could be interested in such a pathetic agricultural planet? There were hundreds and thousands like it in the galaxy!

 After more than twenty-five years in politics, Alkis quickly found the only possible clue.

 The Mandalorians. The Mandalorians, who were gaining strength.

 Bandomir was one of the few planets that supplied food to this sector of warlike mercenaries outside the Republic.

 Was it the Mandalorians themselves who decided to expand and strengthen their, ha ha, cooperation in this way... Or was it their enemies, who did not like the strengthening of such a militarised people, who had become even more dangerous after the reforms of Rusan... Even for the Republic itself.

 "It's not clear at all..." — the man sighed doomfully, staring at the ceiling. "There's no proof either way... But I'm the patriarch of the glorious Valtas family, or what? No, gentlemen... No. I'm not going to give up that easily... No way! When my father was young, he had an unofficial contact with some Jedi master... What was his name? Voonas Kapilar, I think?

***

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