Unsurprisingly, Corvak had a lot of questions to ask about how my Transmute spell worked. He turned the beskar ingot over in his hands again and again while we talked, as if it would eventually return to electrum if he stared hard enough. I understood his trepidation in accepting the new status quo that I was introducing. This was a significant shift, a change in how the world worked that was hard to digest.

I answered his questions as best I could, trying to satisfy hois curiosity and keep him from freaking out at the same time. I even explained where I got my first beskar sample from, with the promise of returning that amount, plus interest, once we got our hands on more precious metals. I would have argued against it or at least downplayed the contribution, but I still remembered the old promise I made to Pola to assuage his guilt for essentially graverobbing ancient Mandolorians.

"I have to admit… a small part of me hates it," Corvak admitted when I finally satisfied his curiosity, the clan leader leaning back from the conference table in the lounge. "Beskar has always been ours, has always been tied to our people. To hear that you are simply turning gold, platinum, and electrum into it with nothing but your…magic? It pulls on my honor, as if I should stop you."

"But you won't," I responded simply.

"Of course not," He said, shaking his head. "This is… it's not our responsibility to police what everyone else is doing. My honor demands that I do my best to keep or return Mandalorian beskar to its rightful Mandalorian owners, but… Since what you are using isn't Mandalorian beskar, then I have no reason to take it back."

I let out a long sigh of relief at the admission, sagging back in my chair.

"That is great news, Corvak," I said truthfully. "I was worried that… well, I was worried."

He nodded in understanding. A fight between his people and mine would not have been fun, especially since we were stuck on the Chariot, in deep space, until we decided where we were jumping out to. Having an all-out battle between us would have likely caused some major issues. Neither of us wanted to handle that, just like neither of us wanted to admit my team would win.

"You realize, however, that other clans or coverts may not agree with my logic," He pointed out. "Once word spreads, which it will, you are going to have other Mandalorians looking for you.

"It has been pointed out," I acknowledged, leaning back heavily in my chair. "It's why I have a proposal for you. I asked a Mandalorian friend for what she thought was the best way to keep from being attacked or targeted. She seemed to think the best way was for me to create a covert or hire a clan to work for me. She believed bringing Mandalorians on board would convince others to leave me alone, or at least change how they approached us."

"It… would most likely help," he admitted, reading between the lines pretty quickly. "You would hire us to work with the Skyforged?"

"I could," I admitted with a nod. "But honestly… I dislike the idea of having a separate group working within mine for very long. It seems to me to be an excellent way to start creating unwelcome power groups and dynamics. I have a different idea. Instead of hiring you, what if you joined us?"

"Is there a difference?" He asked. "Beyond the simple definition?"

"Yes. I don't want you to work for us, I want you to join us. Merge Clan Syr with the Skyforged," I explained. "We have resources, ships, and connections with the Rebellion. Right now, our main priority is growth, but we plan to take the fight to the Empire whenever we can, giving you a chance to pay them back for what they did to your people."

"You want me to dissolve my clan?" He asked, his tone sharp, clearly not liking my idea so far.

"Not dissolve it, but step it back," I explained, raising a hand to hold back his annoyance at my suggestion. "Your clan is family, so pull it back to that level. Rather than the clan being an entity around mercenary work, drag it back to being just your family."

"Why in the name of Mandalore would I do that?" He asked, his rising anger pushed aside by confusion.

"Because your people are dying," I responded. "Every time you fight, every time you take a job, you put your people at risk. It may be slow, but I'm willing to bet you've already lost an unfortunate number of people. As good as you are, as good as anyone is, it's inevitable. The difference between you and everyone else is that Mandalorians are finite and rare. Every loss brings your group closer to falling apart."

"So rather than a slow death, we should give up and disband?"

"Not disband, evolve," I countered. "Your daughter, all of the children of your clan, they have never set foot on Mandalore, have they?"

Silently, he shook his head, seemingly pained to do so. It seemed like I had stumbled into a sore subject, something he regretted immensely.

"Even if you somehow manage to survive, by taking foundlings, training the next generation, slowly replacing those you lose, in five, ten, fifteen years, will any of your warriors have ever set foot on Mandalore? Even if the Rebellion pulls off the miracle they are trying to conjure and the Empire is defeated, what sort of life could you give your children, your people, by returning to Mandalore?"

I stopped, standing from the table and heading over to the bar area. I grabbed a bottle of brandy, made from something fruity I didn't recognize. I grabbed a pair of glasses and returned to my seat, pouring a few fingers of the amber liquid for each of us, before handing the Mandalorian his. I took a small sip of the sweet alcoholic drink, letting the warmth spread through my stomach.

For a moment, I let the silence hang in the room, looking idly at the sealed door to the bridge, where Calima and Racer were likely running calculations for the jump back home. After a long moment, I looked back at Corvak, who was staring at his glass.

"I could never understand the suffering that the Mandalorian people have had to deal with," I admitted. "Perhaps the only people who can these days are the Wookies or the Alderaanians. But as horrific as the Night of a Thousand Tears was, you cannot let it trap you and your people from evolving and changing. I'm not asking you to give up being Mandalorian. I'm asking you to be a part of something new. To look forward to the next stage for your people and consider that holding onto the past may be dooming you to a long, painful, and ultimately fruitless existence."

"And joining a mercenary group would somehow be better?" the leader asked, his gaze sharp as he looked back at me. "That is nothing new to us, it is hardly a change."

"No, my friend, something much bigger," I assured him. "I have access to a planet that doesn't exist on Imperial records. A lush, green world that is both beautiful and primal. We have plans to start a town there and grow into something new. Something you and any Mandalorian willing to join can be a part of."

Now, he looked at least vaguely interested. Human-habitable worlds were actually relatively rare in the grand scheme of things, and finding one that was not only green and alive, but uninhabited and unclaimed was like finding a needle in a haystack. Hearing that the Imperials had no idea it existed was like finding out the needle was made of Aurodium.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"You plan on settling a planet?" he asked. "What for?"

"To eventually act as our base of operations and a safe location for the families of the people we hire," I explained. "Currently, our home is a Clone Wars-era space station in deep space, but eventually, I'm hoping to move that in orbit around the planet."

"...Just how big are you planning on making your mercenary group?" He asked, before adding. "and how big is your group now?"

"Member-wise, we have around a hundred and fifty souls. We have this ship, a C70 retrofit, an IPV, a CR70 with the C20 retrofit, and a L-2783 Recovery Vessel to act as our carrier," I responded. "Plus two flights of V-wings and a couple of freighters. All of that plus the FireStar II station I mentioned earlier."

Each progressive ship I mentioned made his eyes go wider and wider until I mentioned the station. He had clearly underestimated the scale of the Skyforged Vanguard, which made me wonder what sort of intelligence Grakkus had access to, because it clearly wasn't that detailed.

"That is… a lot," He admitted. "We have been working for a while to buy ourselves a clanship to house our people in, but Grakkus wasn't paying us. I suppose I should be thankful he didn't demand we empty our accounts."

"We... have had some good luck," I admitted with a smirk. "Keep in mind, all of those ships were stolen, some from the Imps and some from pirates. It's all about knowing who to take from."

"So you are dedicated to fighting the Imperials? You aren't afraid of the repercussions?"

"The repercussions are going to hit us whether we stand and fight or we don't," I responded, shaking my head. "Palpatine is an insane Sith Lord who needs to be put down. My hope is that we can build ourselves up to the point that we can play a big role in doing just that. Big enough that we can influence what happens next."

For a long moment, he stared at me, trying to analyze my statement. After a while, his face cleared, having clearly worked something out.

"You're… betting on the Rebellion to win so you can enjoy the reward when they succeed?" Corvak asked, sounding a bit impressed. "I suppose it's better than just being a bleeding heart."

"To be fair, we do also believe that the Empire is a blight," I pointed out. "Palpatine is a rabid dog who needs to be put down."

"How do you fund a mercenary crew while also fighting the Empire?"

"In part by taking down pirate bounties, but also… The Skyforged had shown we have a particular talent in asset seizure," I explained. "We pick a bounty or a mission, complete the mission, and basically loot our target to the rivets. We keep whatever is useful, be it ships or supplies, and sell the rest to the Rebellion for a good-sized discount. They get ships, and we make money off of old pirate starfighters and freighters without having to worry about Imperial law. Even better, I don't have to worry about finding a buyer I trust, or the ships I sell ending up in the hands of the Hutts."

"That… what sort of profits do you pull in?"

"It varies, but the last mission my teams took, while we were busy working the early stages of this mission, brought in a few hundred thousand credits, plus a couple of Y-wing bombers and a used freighter," I responded, taking another sip of my drink. "A chunk of that is divided between anyone who saw combat, then the rest is set aside to pay for supplies and pay noncombatants."

As I answered his questions, I could see the clan leader was shocked by what I was describing. He coughed and leaned back, shaking his head.

"If I hadn't witnessed your plan to take down Grakkus, I would have attributed your success to your armor and luck," He admitted. "But clearly know what you're doing. Your success is, honestly, shockingly fast."

"Yeah… Tatnia, my second in command, has to remind me sometimes that other people don't work at our speed," I responded with a smirk.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair and sipping his brandy. For a moment, he looked down into the glass, watching the liquid slide back and forth.

"I won't pretend that I don't fear for my people's future," He admitted after nearly a minute had passed. "That none of our children have stepped on Mandalore is something that weighs heavily on me. But how could I ask my people to simply adjust their way of life? To give up on our past and join you?"

"First, change will come with time," I assured him. "By working beside us and integrating into jobs, as well as our base and eventually the hidden planet, it will happen over time. As long as your people don't purposely avoid meeting and befriending our people, it's almost inevitable."

"Be that as it may… I don't think I can say it would go over very well," He pointed out. "Even if I could convince them, I'm not entirely certain myself."

I let out a long breath and frowned, not exactly liking where this was going. He was clearly beginning to lean harder into not joining us, and pushing him would likely just annoy him. So, instead of trying to speech-check my way into Clan Syr joining us, I decided to settle on a middle ground.

"How about this? Your people need time to recover, and a safe place to do it in," I pointed out. "And I'm willing to bet you could do with some credits as well. So, I'll offer you a job. Come work for us for a few missions, see how we do business, how nice it is to have proper resources at your disposal, and earn some credits while you do. Meanwhile, your people can enjoy some peaceful recovery time."

"What sort of work?"

"Honestly, whatever comes up in the next few weeks," I answered with a shrug. "Might be some basic bounty hunting or pirating raids. Or we might try and steal another nice ship, either for us or for the Rebellion. Depends on what is available and what we can figure out."

"And our pay would reflect the mission?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "I won't walk my people into danger for short credits."

"Tell you what. Stay with us as our guests for now, and when we find something, we can negotiate the actual price," I suggested with a shrug. "Not trying to scam or trick you, Corvak. Just want to show you how we operate."

For a long moment, the Mandalorian focused on me, his eyes analyzing my face and expression. Finally, after what felt like several minutes, he nodded.

"Very well, we will accept your hospitality," He said with a nod. "But do not think you have bought us. We will work with and even for you, but we are not slaves."

"Of course not," I said with a nod, standing up and offering my hand across the table. "I look forward to working with you."

He stood and reached out, shaking my hand with a tight grip. When we both released each other's hands, I raised my glass in a toast.

"A toast, then. To finding friends in the strangest of places," I said, the Mandalorian snorting and laughing at my joke, before tapping his glass against mine.