38-40

*Chapter 38: The Lord of War*

*37. The Lord of War*

That’s just the kind of guy he is.

Unlike the last name that came up, Ventus wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, he was kind of looking forward to what this guy’s arrival might mean for the Fourth Civilization.

But when that name popped up, Ventus couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

See, if he were still thinking with the worldview and values of his old life, there’s no way he’d vibe with someone like this. Yet, standing here as the leader of the Fourth Civilization, he had no choice but to lean on this guy’s strength.

Yeah, even he could feel himself slipping further down that dark path.

Maybe this was just the beginning.

Back on the mothership, Ventus settled into his office chair. He ordered the mainframe to bring a pot of steaming coffee and two cups, setting them on the table as he waited for his guest.

A moment later, a polite knock came at the door. Ventus called for him to enter, and the door slid open. In walked a man in his early thirties.

He was dressed sharp as a vibroblade—black suit, dark red tie, hairline creeping back a bit to show off a broad forehead, but his hair was combed neat as a Coruscant skyline. Those deep-set, melancholic eyes locked onto Ventus the second he stepped into the room.

Ventus smiled at the man. Yuri Orlov—Lord of War.

“Hello, Administrator,” Yuri said with a humble grin. He stepped forward, all deference, shaking Ventus’s hand with both of his while slipping a business card into his palm. “Yuri Orlov. Just a simple businessman.”

Ventus glanced at the card. Yuri Orlov’s name was printed on it, along with a comm number that probably wouldn’t connect in this galaxy.

“I took a look at what you’re after,” Ventus said. “Weapons. Markets. Demand. Three words. Pretty straightforward, right?”

“Simple, but tricky,” Yuri replied, plopping down on the sofa across from Ventus with a grin. “But I like this place, you know? Huge market, desperate need. Imagine a galaxy where every being’s got a blaster in their hand—kriff, that’d be something.”

“Why weapons?” Ventus asked, leaning back. “Why not, you know, spice, starships, or something else?”

Yuri spread his hands. “Demand drives business. People need to eat, so there’s a food trade. But you know what? People are always fighting. Look at history—ours, this galaxy’s, doesn’t matter. Not a single day of pure peace. Even our Fourth Civilization went through three wars with the Celestials before we landed here, right? So, the demand for war? It’s bigger than the demand for food.”

Ventus raised a hand, and the T-850 standing nearby stepped forward. It placed a brand-new Type-21 assault rifle on the table, along with a manual.

Ventus gestured at the gear. “Can you sell me this blaster?”

Yuri didn’t answer right away. He picked up the rifle, handling it like he’d been born with one in his hands. “Nice piece. 5.56mm, gas-operated, rotary bolt, peep sight. No magazine, but judging by the size, a 30-round standard’s the way to go.”

Click. He racked the bolt, aimed it at the T-850 for a moment, then grinned. In a flash, he tossed the rifle back to the droid, grabbed the manual, ripped it in half, and chucked it into the trash.

“We don’t need this stuff,” Yuri said, still smiling. “You don’t care how good this blaster is, how accurate, how tough. You care about how many people are using it. How many die by its bolts. And most importantly…”

“Go on.”

Yuri leaned forward. “If you buy this blaster, I’ll arm you an army.”

“What’s that got to do with the blaster?”

Yuri burst out laughing, leaning closer. “Because… heh, because you really need an army, don’t you?”

He flopped back onto the sofa, cracking up like he’d just heard the best joke in the galaxy. Whether he was laughing at Ventus or himself, who could say?

“War,” Ventus said, the words hitting him like a Force vision. “War never changes.”

“War never changes,” Yuri echoed, shaking his head with a grin. “I like that. You’re gonna be a good leader—at least, the kind I can work with. So, what do you want me to bring you?”

Ventus’s smile turned colder, sharper. “I want every single thing in this galaxy that can kill. And I want to use it to carve out a place for the Fourth Civilization to survive.”

“Ohhh,” Yuri said, nodding like he’d just been let in on a secret. “Then you’re gonna need a lot more bolts.”

“Here’s to a fruitful partnership.” Ventus extended his hand.

Yuri clasped it with both of his, still all humility. “Fruitful indeed, Administrator. Oh, by the way, I’ve got a brother—Vitali Orlov. We always work together. I’d appreciate it if you could wake him up too. He won’t say no. What’s that saying? Brothers in arms?”

“I’ll get you both signed up for a crash course in Galactic Standard,” Ventus said, his grin turning downright sinister.

“Ugh, learning? Kriff that,” Yuri said, laughing. “But who says no to credits? Language class it is. I’ll catch you later, Administrator.” He gave a mock salute, spun on his heel, and strode out of the office.

Ventus watched him go, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “Looks like I just unleashed another dangerous character on this galaxy.” He picked up the coffee pot, poured himself a cup of lukewarm brew, and downed it in one gulp.

Opening the character awakening list, he wasn’t surprised to see Vitali Orlov’s name now listed among the Legends. Staring at it, something clicked. Vitali wasn’t exactly Legendary material on his own, so his presence here meant one thing:

Legendary characters were all pulled from holovids and games. Some might not even stack up to Master or Elite tiers in raw ability, but if they were from a story, they were Legends.

So, what about those last two tiers? Ventus’s eyes lingered on the question marks, his mind racing with possibilities.

---

*{Note 1}: Finally, he’s here—the main character of my favorite holovid, no contest.*

*[Easter Egg Images 1 & 2: Yuri Orlov, Lord of War. Portrayed by Nicolas Cage.]*

*Chapter 39: Master Scientist*

*38. Master Scientist*

Another week had passed, and Ventus had stayed on the planet Dawn, occasionally checking on work progress but mostly finding a scenic spot to sit and meditate.

He wasn’t sure if this meditation thing was doing anything, or what he was even supposed to think about during it. Maybe tomorrow’s construction plans? Nope, tomorrow was when the Public Health Department was launching their first disposable waste-processing ship near the waste collector… Ugh, that thought alone made even the beautiful scenery around him lose its charm.

Lost in a jumble of thoughts, his calm shattered. Ventus opened his eyes, and as usual, his T-850 bodyguard relayed the communications and messages from the past few hours.

Yuri Orlov had finished his crash course in Galactic Standard, and you could tell he’d put in serious effort. His brother Vitaly, though? Not so much. The kid spent most of his classes napping.

Still, the two brothers were getting stir-crazy here. While Ventus was meditating, they’d already hopped aboard the Lancer with Trent to check out Tatooine. Word was, Yuri even brought along over 100 Type-21 assault rifles.

Yuri had tried to comm Ventus to say goodbye, but he was deep in meditation at the time. It wasn’t a big deal, so they left a message and headed out.

The message was straightforward: Trent took Yuri and Vitaly, along with Felasi and Quinto, to Tatooine. Ventus had assigned a T-850 bodyguard to each of Trent, Yuri, and Vitaly, and they went along too.

Trent also mentioned that Felasi and Quinto seemed to be scheming something with their old crew. Taking them on this trip was partly to feel them out.

The mothership’s manufacturing bay could produce T-850s, but using these bots as combat droids felt like overkill to Ventus. They were slow to produce and required rare materials—mainly tantalum alloy, straight out of the Terminator universe.

Back on Earth, tantalum was scarce, with maybe 2,000 tons mined yearly, enough for a few thousand T-850s at best. Even now, mining on a heavy-metal moon near the gas giant Endor, tantalum alloy yields were pitifully low.

So, T-850s were best kept as bodyguards—pricey ones, reserved for legendary figures.

Next was Dr. Guan Yan’s message. Research on basic fusion reactors and shields was done, and they were tweaking the Blade fighter’s production line to include energy shields, more powerful thrusters, and deadlier infrared laser weapons.

The Gemini air-to-air missiles for the Ghost fighter were also coming along nicely, soon ready for deployment on the Blade fighters.

Her team was now burning the midnight oil on the Hammer-class light frigate.

But there was a catch. The Fourth Civilization had only one small space dock, a modular unit from the mothership. It was mostly tied up building transport ships, as the growing mining operations in space demanded more and more of them.

That left no room to build Hammer-class frigates.

Building a new space dock wasn’t easy either—their small engineering ships weren’t cutting it. They needed better ones.

The same issue plagued Dawn’s surface. Once the mothership’s modular buildings were used up, construction slowed to a crawl. They needed to mine and process steel, cement, lime, and gravel.

The ground engineering team’s mechanized exoskeletons were also outdated, unable to handle more complex construction tasks.

Problems were piling up, and every department was a credit-sucking beast with a growing appetite. Even the massive mothership was starting to feel the strain.

They needed an independent industrial system ASAP to wean the colony off the mothership’s factory bays. That was critical.

Next, Graham reported that the large aviation test base outside Dawn City was complete. It was basic—an airstrip, a wind tunnel, and a few lab buildings.

With the test base done, Feng Yongwang’s experienced team in place, and that fancy nature-retreat mansion ready, they’d met all the requirements for their master aerospace scientist.

Feng’s team had hit some technical snags developing the Ghost fighter and was hoping a master expert could guide them through.

The day had finally come!

Master aerospace scientist—Professor Chi Jianjun!

A legend in aviation engines, aerodynamics, mechanical engineering, automation, applied physics, and atomic physics. According to his profile, he was a national treasure in his home country, leading the charge to break through fifth-generation fighter barriers and making them the first to develop sixth-generation fighters!

He’d mentored countless professionals, known for his strict, no-nonsense style—students called him the “Devil Professor.”

Even though it was late, Ventus, Graham, and a gaggle of Dawn City officials headed to the airstrip to greet him. A transport ship touched down smoothly on the tarmac.

The hatch opened slowly, and even Ventus swallowed hard. This was a master-level talent! Someone he was counting on to lead the Fourth Civilization’s research team to perfect the Ghost fighter and develop even more powerful ships.

A key player in the galaxy-spanning war that was coming!

An admin officer stepped out first, said something over his shoulder, and then a timid-looking old man shuffled out.

He looked about 60, his hair nearly gone, with the longer strands combed over the top to hide his baldness—like that fooled anyone. Dressed in a drab gray tunic, he took hesitant steps, glancing back every few paces.

He looked like some poor guy who’d just been rou [cut off, assuming roughed up by street punks]…

But master or not, this was their guy! Ventus hurried forward to greet him. Meanwhile, the transport ship, already tasked with other deliveries, was powering up to leave.

*Chapter 40: Everyone’s Moves*

*39. Everyone’s Moves*

Ventus strolled over just in time to catch the old man muttering to himself. “Man, that girl on the shuttle was quite a looker. Why didn’t she come down with us?”

“Huh?” Ventus rubbed his ears, wondering if he’d misheard.

“Oh! You must be the Administrator! Hey, good to meet you!” The old man spotted Ventus and flashed a grin, shuffling over to shake his hand with enthusiasm.

“Uh, hello, Professor Chi,” Ventus said, recovering. “We’ve done our best to meet your needs. We woke you up hoping your knowledge and wisdom could help us out.”

But the old man just shook his head, his gaze drifting past Ventus to the bustling yet clearly fledgling colony behind him. “Why’d you wake me up so soon? I signed up for this gig thinking I’d retire somewhere new.”

“Uh… what?”

“I’ve been hustling my whole life. Thought I’d finally take it easy. But you know how it is—once you’re used to being busy, you can’t just stop. Even sitting in a garden smoking, my hands start twisting the tobacco into a propeller shape. So I figured, new planet, maybe my brain wouldn’t be so cluttered. I could finally sleep in.” Chi Jianjun sighed, looking deflated.

“Uh…”

“So, fancy mansion? Eh, doesn’t matter much. If you’re building mansions, that means you’ve got the resources and a solid tech team. If you’ve got a big research base up and running, you’re probably churning out results. By then, you don’t really need me, and I can just kick back and nap, right?”

“So… you’re saying don’t bother you with small stuff, and big stuff’s above your pay grade?”

“Hey, sharp kid! No wonder you’re the Administrator. So, uh, where’s my retirement mansion?”

“Didn’t you just say a mansion doesn’t matter?”

“Gotta have somewhere to crash, right?”

Ventus’s shoulders slumped. Where was the legendary professor? The national treasure of aerospace engineering? Instead, he got a cranky old guy obsessed with napping and eyeballing young women?

“Gulahan, take Professor Chi to his quarters,” Ventus said, snapping back to business. “It’s getting late, and he’s had a long trip. Let him rest for the night.”

As Gulahan led Chi Jianjun away, Ventus scratched his head, feeling like his brain had just doubled in size.

“Administrator, is this guy legit?” an aide whispered behind him. “He doesn’t exactly scream ‘genius.’”

“Who says that?” Ventus shot back. “Professor Chi’s a Master-tier expert! You think you can judge someone like that with normal standards? Get back to work, all of you. Scram!”

Dismissing the crowd, Ventus headed to his own quarters, planning to tackle the professor again in the morning.

---

Meanwhile, in the Outer Rim of the galaxy, on the desert planet Tatooine…

The Lancer, a YT-1000 freighter, touched down gently at a docking bay. Inside, Munte powered down the engines and ran a final systems check, glancing back at Yuri Orlov, who looked like he’d just swallowed a rancor. “We’re here, big-time merchant,” Munte said with a smirk.

Yuri couldn’t hold it in anymore. He bolted out of the ship and promptly hurled, splattering vomit all over an engineering droid that had rolled up to service the freighter.

The droid’s sensors were gunked up, and it started flailing like a blind bantha, crashing into another droid carrying a canister of oil. The pump burst, spraying oil everywhere, turning the scene into pure chaos.

“Oh, kriff! FUCK! What is this place?!” Yuri yelled, now drenched in oil.

Munte sauntered over, tossing a rag at Yuri’s face. “Welcome to Tatooine, merchant.”

Yuri wiped his face, looking like a drowned womp rat. “I’m just a regular businessman, Munte. We’re all just here for what we need.”

“Cleaning up this mess is going on your tab, Munte!” barked Trudat, the Nikto who ran the docking bay. Munte had hit it off with him last visit. “Where’s Quinto and the others? They didn’t come?”

“Still inside.” Munte grinned, picking up a metal pipe and banging it against a nearby oil drum. “Let’s go, Quinto! Time for a drink!”

At the noise, Quinto and Felasi stumbled out of the ship’s cabin, Felasi still adjusting her disheveled clothes.

Munte burst out laughing, clapping Quinto on the shoulder. “Whoa, little brother! Couldn’t wait, huh? The Lancer’s cabin ain’t exactly soundproof!”

Quinto flushed. “N-no, it’s not… we were just…”

“Look, I had to sweet-talk the Administrator to let you two tag along,” Munte said, slinging an arm around Quinto with a grin. “You’re not gonna make trouble, right?” As he patted Quinto’s shoulder, his fingers deftly planted a button-sized listening device under Quinto’s collar.

“Let’s go! Drinks! Been too long since I hit a cantina on Tatooine!” Felasi called, now fully composed, striding off like nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Yuri had somehow struck up a chat with Trudat. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one for himself, and offered one to the old Nikto. When Trudat started coughing from his first drag, Yuri laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, old man, what’s the word around here? Anything big going down?”

“Tatooine’s always got fights or murders,” Trudat said, sniffing the cigarette. The nicotine hit him hard, slurring his words. “But, uh… in Mos Eisley… there’s this gang of Bothans stirring up trouble. Leader’s called Broderick Gravel. Just a few days ago, they trashed a ship repair shop run by some Quarren.”

“Damn, that’s rough,” Yuri said, flashing a smile as he handed Trudat another cigarette. “Where they hanging out?”

“Mos Eisley… northwest district…” Trudat mumbled, lighting the new cigarette clumsily. He started swaying to some nearby music, laughing hysterically. “This stuff’s… ha… amazing!”

Yuri’s brother, Vitali Orlov, stepped up, watching the scene. With his curly brown hair, striking blue eyes, and a slightly rough-around-the-edges charm, he was a handsome young guy. “These are aliens? They’re that into cigarettes?”

“Told you before, didn’t I?” Yuri said, patting his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t make a scene. There’s thousands of alien species in this galaxy.”

“No, but… aliens! I’ve only seen them in holovids!” Vitali said, buzzing with excitement. “You sure they’re not just actors in costumes?”

“Listen, Vitali,” Munte cut in. “Keep that up, and you’ll stir up trouble. Some aliens don’t take kindly to gawking.”

“What if we sold cigarettes to them?” Vitali asked, his mind already racing.

“Maybe,” Yuri said, lighting another cigarette. “But Dawn’s environment isn’t great for growing tobacco. You’d need a fully sealed setup, and yields would be low. Plus, I’m not big on pushing stuff that’s bad for you.”

Vitali shook his head. “Guns kill people, Yuri. If we could get a cigarette trade going…”

Yuri exhaled a long plume of smoke, staring at the sky. “An AK-47 doesn’t give you lung cancer. Trust me, Vitali. If the Administrator’s right, and a war’s coming that’ll sweep across countless worlds… cigarettes? They’re nothing.”