"Oh, it's you..."
Scratching his backside, Kanta sprawled in his chair. He first tried to throw his feet up on the table, but Mizuna's son was small; I'd even say he wasn't much taller than Shorty.
The guy reeked. The stench was enough to knock out an unprepared person. The white tank top he'd been wearing for about six years now stank of oil, gunpowder, and sweat, and had acquired yellow stains and food marks along the way.
His camouflage pants were greasy, and his father's old boots gaped with rivets, chips, scratches, and other joys of a hard life.
He himself had grown thin, making him seem even smaller than during our last meeting.
Ruffling his greasy hair, from which sand and dandruff tumbled to the floor, Kanta followed a passing waitress with a lecherous gaze, practically drooling over the cantina worker.
The blue-skinned girl only grimaced in contempt, tilting her nose toward the ceiling and walking away from us with a proud, hip-swaying stride.
"Trash."
"Mda... You're well-respected here," I drawled, surprised by the reaction. "Already managed to make a name for yourself?"
"Hm?" Without stopping his scratching and poking into various orifices of his body, Mizuna's son looked up at me with a surprised gaze. "What's with you, old man? I've been here for a year and a half!"
Spreading his arms wide, nearly knocking over some alien, Kanta didn't even notice, though the hulking Weequay clearly didn't appreciate the performance. Only the fact that I silently ordered the alien a drink stopped him from starting a brawl in broad daylight.
"I'm a local celebrity, actually. Defender of the destitute, comforter of widows and daughters, the magnificent Kanta—the Desert Demon!"
After his shout, the only thing missing was the sound of chirping crickets. The cantina was already quiet, but after his statement, I heard a pair of Jawas arguing outside.
"I see... Congratulations. And how does the old man feel about this?"
Leaning back in his chair, Kanta shoved his index finger into his nose, a full knuckle deep, then looked away.
"He doesn't... He died. Last year. So I headed here."
My heart skipped a beat, but to my own surprise, I felt only an echo of old pain.
"I see..."
"Yeah. Or did you think that old prick would've let me go if he was still smoking under the suns?"
"Hm... Indeed," I didn't really want to talk much more. Mizuna's death was an unpleasant discovery. And although during our last meeting, we both understood we were likely seeing each other for the last time... it didn't make it any easier. The old hunter had been a father figure to me, raised me, and taught me so much, and to learn of his death like this... "Alright, if there are problems—come find me..."
Getting up from the table, under the surprised gazes of Kanta and Shorty, I walked calmly toward the exit, only stopping at the bar to grab a bottle of the strongest swill to toast the old man in solitude.
***
Watching Sam walk to the door, Kanta was only able to relax and exhale once the door closed behind him.
The heavy sensation and a sort of moral pressure he felt in the other's presence—he didn't like it, not one bit. This so-called "brother," as his father kept insisting, especially in his final weeks of life, made his sense of danger ring like a bell.
And the rumors gathered about him that had spread across their side of the planet only confirmed the obvious—it wasn't just Mizuna's younger son who had changed.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, the boy took a swig from a mug of cool drink, simultaneously shoving his other hand into his pocket where he kept a flash-bang grenade. The habit of always being ready for trouble almost played a cruel joke on him.
The moment he told his "brother" about his father's death, Kanta had struggled with all his might to keep himself from pulling the pin. Sam had made such a terrifying face.
"Damn psycho..."
"But a dangerous psycho."
A pleasant weight of fleshy mounds leaned onto his neck from behind. By sensation alone, without even turning around, Kanta could tell exactly who it was. The only girl for hundreds of kilometers around who could boss him around without issue—using her provocative body.
Junko Asagiri—a mercenary and fortune hunter just like him. More than once or twice, Mizuna's son had run into her, both on the same side of the barricades and on opposite ones, and to his regret, most of the time, the girl managed to outsmart him.
"Cursed tits! If only she'd let me feel them once, since she's always making a fool of me!".
"What are you here for, Fox?" Despite the disgruntled tone, Kanta was in no hurry to move his head, enjoying the girl's firm chest with a face full of happiness, but Junko herself didn't feel the same and deftly twisted away, forcing the "Desert Demon" to balance on his chair to keep from crashing to the ground. "Bitch! Have you lost your mind?"
"Yes, yes," waving her hand dismissively, she plopped her voluminous backside, encased in a tight suit, onto the spot where Sam had been sitting, "you didn't tell me you knew 'The Destroyer.'"
"Shit... Why is it always like this?! All through childhood, girls chased him, and the moment he shows up here, she does too. Annoying!".
"I didn't know The Destroyer," spitting on the cantina floor, earning another venomous look from the luscious waitress, Kanta leaned back on the rear legs of his chair again, folding his arms across his chest, "I knew Sam, and as for what they call him in the desert..."
"Oh, don't lie to me. Your face always scrunches up when you lie poorly." Pointing an accusatory finger at him, Junko leaned her huge bust onto the table, pinning Kanta's eyes to it. The girl knew perfectly well how to use her body, and she knew even better how to boss around the "Desert Demon"... It was too easy. "We could use a shooter like that. The job coming up is a dangerous one..."
"Pff. Why the hell do we need him," staring intently at the shifting mounds of flesh, Kanta sat as if hypnotized while the girl poured the necessary words into his ears, "I can handle everything myself..."
"Of course you can, but..." Moving closer, causing the suit over her chest to stretch with incredible force, Junko rubbed her chest against the table. "Better to have The Destroyer and not need him than to lament it later. Besides... He can take the hardest fight for us..."
"Well, I don't know... He'll definitely suspect something."
The girl even raised her eyebrows in surprise. Usually, this was enough for any venture she frequently dragged her little friend into, but now he continued to resist, forcing her to take much more serious measures.
"Phew, it's getting hot in here... You mind?" Without listening for an answer, the girl picked up a glass of drink, simultaneously pulling the zipper at her neck and opening a view of her assets. "Oh, how clumsy of me..."
Spilling a few drops, she watched Kanta's reaction closely, and as soon as she noticed her companion wavering, her eyes flashed victoriously.
"Easy as pie!".
"So what do you think? Shall we call him?"
"A-a-h-ye-a-h..."
Like a simpleton, the famous Desert Demon drooled onto the table, staring intently at the droplets trickling down her snow-white skin.
"Oh, Kanta, what a stupid little boy you still are."
In one motion, Junko zipped up, stood from the table, stepped around it, and leaned close to her companion's ear.
"Excellent, then you take care of that, and I'll go give the client the good news."
Satisfied with her work, the girl flitted out of the cantina, under the knowing smile of the waitress who had watched the performance from start to finish.
The disgruntled cry of the deceived teenager echoed through the city once he came to his senses and realized he'd been tricked by a treacherous woman yet again.
***
"I don't remember you drinking. Much."
"I don't particularly like it," swirling the contents of the bottle, I downed it in one gulp. My mood was lousy, but overall I understood that nothing truly horrific had happened. Mizuna was old, sick, and suffering from wounds sustained in his youth. His time was inevitably approaching, so there was nothing unusual about him meeting his end. It was only a shame that I couldn't see him off on his new journey and tell him that death is not the end. "And besides, the local alcohol tastes like complete shit. Once we fly off Tatooine, then we'll try something tasty, but until then..."
"Do you think we can? Fly away?"
"Why not?"
"I thought. You were doubting. Wavering."
"The old man was one of the reasons... But generally, I realized that one man can't change an entire planet—can't fix the mountain of Bantha crap the locals create every moment."
"Perhaps you are ill?! Should I start worrying? Reason is appearing."
"Very funny," waving off the giggling Shorty, I joined in her laughter, feeling the dark and unpleasant feelings recede from this simple and silly joke. "Thanks."
"Friends."
I liked her brevity. Even now—just one word and a simple shrug of the shoulders meant much more than any boastful speeches about friendship.
"We still haven't rented a room. We should go back... Or pick another place."
"Cantinas are all the same. No difference."
"True enough... Alright, let's go. No point sitting on the cooling sand. Night will soon claim its rights."
"Now you are a poet too?"
"Oh, knock it off..."
Brushing off the sand, I pulled Shorty up by her outstretched hand, and then we headed back together, hoping that not all the rooms were taken yet. And there were reasons for that.
I stepped onto the hot sand of Tatooine, and immediately a scorching wind hit me, bringing the smell of soot and salt. Two suns set the sky ablaze, creating a searing light that turned everything into grim shadowy silhouettes. But that didn't scare me.
The reputation I'd built, as sad as it was to admit, hadn't been created out of thin air.
Abandoned buildings, sagging roofs, and cracked walls surrounded a small square where several people stood: soldiers, smugglers, fortune hunters. Each of them had their own unique style, from old rags to shiny new equipment polished by the endless winds of Tatooine. Each of them had their own story, which already sounded like a warning in this danger-riddled city.
I sat down on a stone parapet, letting Shorty go ahead to negotiate for rooms in the cantina. I decided to stay here and watch the movement of people around me.
The smell of roasted meat and cursed Hubba-gourd wafted through the air. A mixture of scents from gunpowder, the stench of unwashed bodies, sour sweat, unlaundered footwraps, and other common shit in large towns immediately drew me in.
But before satisfying my hunger for information, I had to understand exactly what was happening here. They said that in this border town, mercenary squads were gathering, preparing for something bigger than just raids. The winds whispered of plans hidden in the shadows.
I had come here to verify this and either nip it in the bud or participate if the goal of this whole crowd didn't contradict my principles. At the same time, I hoped to learn something about the "Desert Rules," the contract for which I'd accepted a long two years ago.
Among the crowd, I noticed several Marauders exchanging opinions, loudly cursing and arguing. Beside them stood a treasure hunter from ancient ruins and ships that had sunk under tons of sand, keeping their secrets much more securely than any guard.
Besides them, in one corner of an abandoned tavern hidden from the sun's rays, sat a militiaman, clearly gathering a team for an upcoming operation. A line had formed at his table—ordinary people, former farmers, or boys hoping to catch luck by the tail.
I wondered if this would be what I needed. It seemed that people ready to risk everything for profit had gathered here.
"Or risk everything for survival..."
"Talking to yourself? You know that's a sign of being crazy?"
"Kanta..."
Mizuna's son stood not far from me, leaning against a wall and folding his arms across his chest. He pointedly didn't look in my direction, continuing to disdainfully watch those gathered in the city, especially the militiamen.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, I just came over..."
"Don't lie to me," glancing at him sternly, causing the boy to flinch, habitually pursing his lips and looking even further away like he did as a child, "your face scrunches up when you lie so blatantly. Has it been a while since you got a smack?"
"Tch... Unbelievable how insightful everyone's become." Grumbling under his breath, Kanta pushed off the wall and came closer, sitting down next to me. "Alright, alright... I need help..."
"Kanta."
I drawled disapprovingly, though in reality, I felt a nostalgic amusement. Mizuna's son had always evoked more positive feelings in me... though I won't lie, disgust at his behavior and manners was also present, but I turned a blind eye to it. We grew up together, after all, and the fact that he might smear a booger on his shirt isn't the worst sin encountered on Tatooine.
"Eh... And I told her."
"Told who?"
"Just an acquaintance... I mean, my future wife."
"Does she know about that herself?"
"Well-l-l," Kanta drawled evasively, quickly jumping off the uncomfortable topic, "anyway... I need help. As you can see, impressive forces are gathering in the city, and most likely the scuffle won't be easy."
"And who are you going to fight?"
"We don't know."
"What?!" I even looked away from the strangers wandering chaotically across the square and stared at my "brother." "What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean exactly that! Why are you pestering me?! If I knew, I'd tell you, but as it is... It's some newcomers. Reckless and daring bastards who have reasons to be that way."
"Are they desert-dwellers? Raiders or some kind of bandits? Rumors say 'Desert Rules'..."
"There are no more 'Rules.' Everyone who disagreed was slaughtered and hung on the cliffs as a warning, and the rest joined these newcomers." As if diving into the deep end, Kanta exhaled tiredly. "I didn't want to call you... Honestly, I have absolutely no desire to have you hanging around again. But I've heard rumors about you, and in a fight against these shits, we'll need your skills... God, you annoy me so much..."
"Candid..."
"But logically I understand that it's better to have a shooter of your level nearby," ignoring my comment, Mizuna's son stood up to his full height, trying not to look at me again, "they're dangerous and there are many of them. We need every barrel we can get here, even if those barrels are..."
Another look at the militiamen ended with a contemptuous spit on the sand.
"Unlike those, you'll actually be of some use."
If I hadn't known Kanta for so many years, I could easily have taken offense at such words, but what can you expect from a teenager angry at the whole world, raised in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, and without a mother to boot.
You won't get a single kind word out of him in the next couple of years. Unless, of course, you're a girl with a size five chest.
"Why don't you sing me a serenade while you're at it," standing up beside him, I slapped the little "brother" on the shoulder, nearly making him plow the ground with his nose. An annoyed Kanta tossed his fringe of dirty hair. "Was it that hard to say? What did this Junko promise you for such revelations?"
"Something that definitely won't be going to you!"
"Ha-ha-ha." Watching the tense back of the embarrassed kid, I didn't even hide my laughter, guffawing for the whole street to hear. "Make sure your balls don't rot off from her 'gifts' later."
Hearing my parting words, the enraged boy stood his feet childishly, putting all his anger into every step, causing the sand under his feet to fly in different directions while the laughing mercenaries stepped aside, clearing a path for the boy.
"I hope you have good news?" Without turning around, I sensed Shorty's approach. No matter how I felt about this little thorn, the first thing I'd do once we reached a normal bath was throw her in with a running start. "Did you manage to get a room?"
"Both yes. And no. Much news. The 'Rules' are dead..."
"I heard that. What about the room?"
"Many people. Few dwellings." Waving her hand, the Jawa beckoned me to follow, leading me off the square and through back alleys between houses and cantinas. "Found a landlord. We will live with him. A night. Two."
"Well, at least that's something. Was it expensive?"
"Almost everything we had." Exhaling sadly, Shorty showed the thin pouch where our rainy-day supplies were kept.
"Mda-a-a, looks like I'll have to agree to the job with the brother."
"The Desert Demon is your brother?"
"What? Demon? That little shi..."
"Exactly. A threatening reputation."
"How interesting," I said, scratching my chin as I turned toward an inconspicuous house behind Shorty, where an elderly owner was already waiting for us on the veranda, "I'll have to find out more rumors about him."
***
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