Chapter 6: The New Covenant
The Stray Comet was docked in a docking bay carved from the sheer, sun-baked wall of a canyon. Through the cockpit's viewport, Jax could see the city of Lessu, a marvel of architecture built downwards into the stone to escape the relentless glare of a sun that never set. The light on this side of Ryloth was a constant, flat white, reflecting off the pale rock in a way that made the air itself seem to hum. Twi'lek ground crews moved with a languid grace, their flowing robes a stark contrast to the utilitarian hustle of Port Anteris.
'Two planets in, and they both feel like Phoenix in August,' Jax thought, a flicker of a memory of home. 'At least there's no humidity here, either.'
"Jax. Galley." Valerius's voice crackled over the ship's internal comm.
Jax found the captain at the small table, a pot of dark, fragrant liquid steaming between them. Valerius filled two mugs. It wasn't the usual gray sludge from the ship's dispenser; this was the real thing.
"You earned it, kid," Valerius said, pushing a mug toward him. "My private stash. Don't tell anyone."
"My secret's safe," Jax replied, taking a grateful sip. The rich, bitter taste was a welcome shock.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Valerius spoke again. "Ship hasn't flown that smooth since the day I bought her," he admitted, staring into his mug. "So, I'm only gonna ask this once. That flight… that wasn't just good observation. That was years of training. Who are you?"
Jax knew this question was coming. He'd prepared for it. 'Give him something real,' he told himself. 'The truth, just… edited.'
"You're right. It was training," Jax said, his voice quiet. "Back where I'm from, I was a pilot. Flew for the military." He looked down at his own hands, calloused from the hangar work. "Things went sideways. There was a bad situation. I needed a fresh start. A place where my last name didn't mean anything to anyone."
Valerius nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. He was a man of the Outer Rim; he knew what it was to have a past you didn't talk about. He accepted it.
"Alright, 'starting over'," the captain said, his tone shifting to business. "I can respect that. The Rim's full of it." He looked Jax square in the eye. "The deal was for one hundred credits to get us here. A deal's a deal." He gestured around the ship. "I'll give you the same for the return trip to Vorlag. One hundred credits. We unload this cargo, pick up the new manifest, and we're gone."
It was a good offer. A safe offer. More money than he could have imagined earning in a hundred days of hauling crates. He could build a small nest egg, save up, be careful. It was the sensible path.
And it was too slow.
Jax took another sip of the fine caf, letting the warmth spread through him. He carefully placed the mug back on the table, the ceramic making a soft click in the quiet galley. He met the captain's gaze, his own eyes clear and resolved.
"No," he said.
Jax didn't wait for Valerius's sputtering reply. He stood, gave the captain a single, firm nod, and walked out of the galley. The old man's astonished face, caught between anger and confusion, was an image he savored. He walked the narrow corridors of the Stray Comet, his footsteps echoing on the metal deck plates, and found himself standing in the cargo hold.
It was empty now, save for a few stray packing straps and the lingering smell of the industrial lubricants they'd hauled from Vorlag. This space was a potent reminder of his first weeks in this universe—a place of mindless, back-breaking labor. He was determined to never be that powerless again.
'He thinks I'm crazy,' Jax thought, leaning against the cool wall of the hold. 'Or arrogant. Let him.' He looked at his own calloused hands. 'A hundred points is a paycheck. It's safe. But it's not a future. I can't be an employee in this universe, working for wages until I die. I need a stake. I need leverage.'
His mind turned to the ship itself. 'What's Valerius's biggest problem? It's not a lack of work. It's this ship. She's a money pit, bleeding him dry with every flight. If I can solve that problem…' The plan crystallized, sharp and clear. 'Then I'm not just a pilot he can hire. I'm an asset he can't afford to lose.'
He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. The familiar blue interface of the System bloomed in his mind.
BALANCE: 101 POINTS.
He went to the Shop, his purpose clear. He bypassed the weapons, the armor, the exotic artifacts. His fingers traced imaginary lines as he navigated the menus, inputting search terms into the interface. Diagnostic tools. Ship repair. Plasma welder.
The list populated, and he scrolled until he found the entry he'd spotted before.
Title: Journeyman's Starship Diagnostic and Repair Toolkit.
Contents: Micro-Scanner, Plasma Welder, Hydraulic Sealant Applicator, Circuit Bypass Kit, Bond-Breaker, assorted precision hand-tools.
Description: A comprehensive mobile kit for basic-to-intermediate starship repair and maintenance.
The price stared back at him, stark and absolute. Cost: 100 Points.
He thought of the twenty-four days of labor, of the humiliating nights scavenging for food behind a cantina. All of that struggle, all of that pain and shame, distilled into this single moment, this one choice.
'Go big or go home, right?' he thought, a grim smile touching his lips. 'Well, home's a different dimension. So I guess it's go big.'
He focused on the purchase confirmation, his will a physical force. 'Do it.'
PURCHASE CONFIRMED. NEW BALANCE: 1 POINT.
ITEM WILL BE MATERIALIZED AT YOUR DESIGNATED LOCATION.
Jax opened his eyes and stared at the empty patch of floor in front of him. He designated that spot. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the air shimmered, wavering like a heat haze on a Phoenix runway. A sturdy, dark gray case, about the size of a suitcase, silently faded into existence, its form resolving from translucent light into solid matter with a soft, final hum.
It was real. He reached out and touched its cool, metallic surface. He unlatched it, revealing the pristine tools nestled in their foam cutouts. He picked up the micro-scanner, its weight solid and full of promise. He closed the case, stood up, and walked back to the galley.
Valerius was still sitting there, nursing his caf, a thunderous expression on his face. Jax walked up to the table and placed the toolkit on its surface with a solid, definitive thud.
The captain stared at the impossible object, a piece of advanced, military-grade equipment that simply hadn't been on his ship two minutes ago. His angry confusion melted into utter bewilderment.
"Where in the seven hells," Valerius breathed, "did you get that?"
Jax didn't answer Valerius's bewildered question with words. He answered with action. "I told you I could solve your problems, Captain," he said, his voice quiet and confident. He opened the new toolkit on the galley table, its pristine instruments gleaming under the ship's dim lights. He selected the micro-scanner, a device that looked far too advanced for a ship this old.
He led the way back to the cockpit and knelt by the power converter access panel he had diagnosed earlier. With a practiced move, he popped it open, revealing the messy tangle of conduits and energy cells within. He powered on the scanner, and a soft, blue light bathed the components. He angled the device's small screen so Valerius could see.
"There," Jax said, pointing to a specific data stream on the screen. "Relay four. The energy cell has a micro-fracture. It's bleeding about twenty-two percent of its power as ambient heat. It's unstable." He put down the scanner and selected a sleek, multi-headed tool from the kit. "With this, I can bypass the faulty cell and patch the conduit in about an hour. It's not a factory-new fix, but it'll be stable. No more flickering lights. No more paying a shipyard a thousand credits just for a diagnostic."
Valerius stared, his one good eye wide. The kid wasn't just a pilot. He was a miracle worker with a magic box of tools. He was salvation.
Jax stood up, wiping a smudge of grease from his fingers. He looked the captain square in the eye, the power dynamic between them now irrevocably altered.
'This is it,' Jax thought, steeling his resolve. 'Don't blink. You're not an employee asking for a raise. You're a partner proposing a merger.'
"I don't want one hundred credits a trip, Valerius," he said, using the captain's name without the title for the first time. "I'm not for hire." He let that sink in. "I want a partnership."
Valerius's eyes narrowed. "A partnership?"
"Make me your partner," Jax laid out, his voice unwavering. "A twenty-five percent share of all net profits. After we cover fuel, docking fees, and cargo insurance. Twenty-five percent."
He saw the captain's immediate, instinctual refusal forming and cut it off by justifying the price. "In exchange, you don't just get a co-pilot who can fly you out of an asteroid field. You get a full-time engineer who can keep this ship from falling apart around you. I'll handle the maintenance. I'll use my own tools. Your biggest expense—repairs—becomes my problem, and it costs you almost nothing. Your ship gets more reliable, which means we can take on better, more lucrative contracts." He leaned in slightly. "It's a win-win, and you know it."
The old captain was cornered, and the defiant look in his eyes slowly gave way to the hard realism of a man who understood numbers. He looked at the expensive repair bills still displayed on his datapad, then at the impossible toolkit, then back at Jax.
"Twenty-five percent?!" he finally sputtered, the old bargainer in him making one last stand. "You've got a hell of a nerve, kid. I own this ship! Twenty percent. And you're on probation."
Jax didn't even consider it. He gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. "You own a ship that's bleeding money and one critical failure away from becoming scrap. I'm the one who can keep her heart beating," he said, his voice soft but unyielding. "Twenty-five percent, Captain. I'm worth it."
Valerius stared at him for a long, heavy moment. He let out a great, shuddering sigh—a sound of profound defeat, but also of profound relief. A slow, crooked smile finally cracked his weathered face.
"Alright, pilot," he sighed. "Damn you. Twenty-five percent." He stood and extended his cybernetic hand. "Partner."
Jax took it. The handshake was firm, the metal cool but the intent behind it solid. A new covenant had been forged.
Later, as he prepared to work on the converter, Jax checked his System balance. 1 POINT. He was, by all accounts, broke again. But as he looked around the cockpit of the Stray Comet, at the ship that was now, in a very real sense, partly his, he felt a sense of ownership he had never known.
'One point,' he thought. 'And twenty-five percent of a starship. A good start.'