Kanta looked with doubt at the glass in his hands. The alien booze was a bright blue color, making it look like the blood of a mutated krayt dragon or something worse. Only by closing his eyes could the guy come to terms with its appearance, focusing entirely on the taste.
In the large hall where the usual holiday for these parts was taking place, music was now playing, and dozens of dancers decorated this feast with their naked bodies; he would have gladly enjoyed their enticing forms if he didn't feel a strange sensation in his chest.
On all previous days, he had surrendered to lust and drunkenness without any problems, making full use of the host's hospitality, but today... Today something was clearly wrong.
Accustomed to trusting himself, he scanned the hall with his eyes in search of his comrades and, quickly finding them, began to make his way through the gathered crowd.
It had been four months since he and his loyal Weequay had returned to Tatooine. Their original plan to capture Malovar had ended in a fiasco... And by no means through Kanta's fault.
It was all that cursed girl's fault! It was because of her that everything went south. Both on Malovar and then, almost a lifetime ago, on Tatooine.
Bypassing a group of mercenaries fondling a pair of Twi'lek slaves, the Desert Rat sneered contemptuously.
When he first left the planet, it seemed to him that all aliens would be dangerous, cruel, and warlike, like those who stood in their way back then...
But the reality turned out to be many times more pleasant.
Sentient beings in the galaxy were weak... For the most part.
Soft-bodied, raised in warmth and comfort, they didn't know how to fight for their lives and preferred to become slaves, servants, corporate workers, and so on... Just to save their pathetic lives. Kanta tried to understand them, but listening to thousands of identical stories, he realized that weaklings were destined for their own place in the galaxy. And he was no weakling.
Therefore, when his old acquaintance Shrike turned up on Malovar and messed up all his cards, he decided to leave the weak and go to someone who was obviously stronger. Someone who had already outplayed and defeated them once, even though he didn't even know he was fighting them. That is what real power and might are!
And Sam's stupid fantasies about Democracy, freedoms, and revenge... As they told him in one cantina on Malovar: wish in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster.
And this completely coincided with what his dim-witted brother dreamed of. A naive weakling who could never understand the realities of life. Even if he had changed a bit during his years of wandering Tatooine, it clearly wouldn't be enough to defeat Jabba.
Passing by the throne of the head of the Cartel, Kanta bowed politely to the slug smoking a hookah. The huge alien, weighing almost a ton, languidly closed his eyelids, showing that he had seen him, before returning to his rest, enjoying how four slaves with eight hands massaged his disgusting body.
Yes, Kanta didn't like Jabba. A cursed xeno who had brought many systems to their knees and captured Tatooine. But he was strong, rich, and influential. And as long as those qualities remained with the Hutt, the Desert Rat would work for him.
Rounding the podium where the master of the palace was sprawled, I finally reach my goal.
The silent Weequay, assigned to me as an overseer by my brother. Now, he had become my right hand and loyal assistant, who always executes orders accurately and on time. An incredible sentient, even if he looks a bit creepy.
And opposite him, sprawled with her feet on the table, was the lying Shrike, who constantly cuts him off at the most interesting moment.
"Oh, Desert Dweller! What about you? Not going to chase slaves today?"
"No," Kanta grunted, landing gloomily on the next chair, grabbing some normal booze from a Hubba-gourd that the Weequay had grown fond of, "I'm not at peace, somehow... Like some shit is about to happen."
"Wow, are you a Jedi by any chance?"
"Who?"
"Are you serious? You don't know?"
"No idea, and I don't give a damn about those 'Zhidai'."
"Jedi," Junko said instructively, raising a finger and twisting a sly smile, "Peacekeepers in the Galaxy. They steal children and mate with each other on special holidays of the cursed calendar. Because on ordinary days they are like robots—they don't feel or experience anything, but once every few months..."
"Oh, shut it. I'm serious, actually."
"Pff, you're boring," Shrike said, swirling some yellow sludge in her glass, lowering her feet from the table and moving closer, "so maybe you shouldn't worry about all that and just go..."
Her lips were getting closer to his ear, making the guy blush. Pulling back the edge of her tank top, she swallowed languidly, exhaling almost visible steam from her mouth.
"And choke your snake?"
A second of silence was broken by Junko's provocative laughter and the chuckles of the Weequay, who saluted with his glass in her direction. Despite all his loyalty, he had found a common language with the lying Shrike all too quickly.
"Oh, come on," Kanta said, jumping up from his seat, about to shout something else, but then the music in the room cut off. Looking around, he noticed everyone gathered looking toward Jabba. And there was something to look at. Raising a hand, the slug was listening intently to what his loyal majordomo was telling him, and with every second his face became more and more displeased. "What the..."
Then the Hutt turned toward them and, with an authoritative wave of his hand, called them over. And when Jabba does that, you have to obey, even if your inner pride begs you to put a blaster bolt between the slug's eyes.
"The Honorable Jabba reports that your words turned out to be true, little Shrike," the translator droid stepped forward, trying to fully convey his master's manner of speech, "the stupid birds have flown into the set cage."
"I told you, master," Junko said, smirking maliciously as she stepped forward, demonstrating to all those gathered the transmitter taken from the Desert Dweller's belt, "I just know how to listen, so I told you what I heard."
"Junko, you..."
"What? You said yourself that you hate your brother and wouldn't mind shooting him, hmm?"
His head spun for a moment, but seeing Jabba's narrowed gaze directed at him, Kanta pulled himself together.
"Yes, that's right. But why rob me and lie?"
"To not share the reward?"
At that moment, a servant ran out from a side passage and placed a plump pouch of Credit chips into the girl's hand. At the mere sight, greed woke up in the guy, and just imagining how much might be in there, he was already seriously considering robbing the arrogant girl.
"Ho-ho-ho..."
Slapping his fat belly, Jabba poked it a couple of times with his finger, making many in the hall laugh, but as soon as the Hutt stopped, everyone else went silent too.
"The Great Jabba understands your dissatisfaction. Next time, he will send you along with the others so you can show..."
The translator droid's speech was interrupted in the most insolent manner. With a crash and noise, something slammed into the roof of the palace. Even just by sound, it was clear that a couple of upper floors had been breached.
Barking in displeasure, Jabba pulled his majordomo toward him and threw him with all his might into the nearest wall when he didn't get an answer to his question.
With a wet crunch, the hideous-looking Twi'lek slid down the wall, leaving a wet bloody smear.
Kanta himself had already drawn his favorite weapon, a gift from his father, and followed the others who rushed toward the danger. Most of the mercenaries were high or drunk, so it was worth letting them go first since they were so eager.
Smiling at his own thoughts, the Desert Dweller spotted a couple of his comrades who followed him without a word. The Weequay was already armed with his glaive, and Shrike had managed to put on a helmet and was now rushing after them with a pair of blasters at the ready.
***
"Diving!"
"Straight into Hell!" my boys answered me, in chorus, together with emphasis.
The pod door slammed shut right in front of my face. The mechanisms of the launching apparatus began to move, causing vibration from all sides. Smoothly, without a single extra sound, the pod moved into its proper place, after which it flew out into open space with a loud bang.
A second of disorientation, and the built-in engines kick in, pushing me straight toward the planet, to where my target is hidden.
Excited goosebumps ran across my body. Adrenaline was being injected into my blood in lethal doses, bringing me to some kind of semi-narcotic state.
Tens, hundreds of thousands of times I had seen this picture. Heard these sounds, experienced this...
But every time, it's like the first.
My arms crossed over my chest, and my palms gripped my shoulders. The pod shook, and the walls around me slowly heated up, while a small screen in front of my eyes emitted alarm signals.
The flight speed increased. Small stones hit the hull, reminiscent of rare bullet shots in my past life.
In my ears, I could hear the screams of three more crazy volunteers who had agreed to this method of deployment while the rest would be bruising their asses in the Meteor-class infantry transports. They screamed, swore, and just went wild, trying to hide the horror and fear of their first such landing behind their shouts.
I smiled under my helmet, feeling every segment of the custom-made armor fit tightly.
My lips began to utter words of their own accord, against my will.
Familiar, so dear, those that were forever imprinted in my head, heart, and soul.
The anthem of Super Earth.
"Ten seconds to impact. Nine. Eight..."
A mechanical voice began the countdown to impact. My body tensed, and the ticklish scent of gun grease that had settled on the armor lining reached my nose.
At five seconds, I braced my legs.
A jolt. The pod begins emergency deceleration. The casing groans from such overloads, and the armor systems wailed—warning that this could be very dangerous.
But I don't care... An expectant smile froze on my face. Now I didn't have to lie to myself. I missed this. Missed the roar in my ears. Missed how every second could be the last even before the fight begins...
Missed the diving.
"Three. Two. One."
Impact.
They didn't stop immediately. The fragile surface directly beneath them broke, letting them deeper into the palace, and then another floor, and another, and another... Three floors were cleared in an instant, and after that, the walls of the bent pod fell apart, letting me out.
Taking the Shorty's gift from the rack, I attach the mounts to my shoulder and belt so the machine gun wouldn't be ripped away by recoil, then take the first step forward.
Debris of stone and concrete crunches under my feet. Several pieces of rebar stick out from under the rubble, and in various places, multicolored blood from the crushed inhabitants of the palace is visible.
"There are no innocents here today," I say without turning to the pair of Helldivers who landed next to me. The last one reported that he had been carried toward the entrance and would start first to clear the landing zone for the others. "And today... another victory for the right side of history will be recorded here."
"YES!"
Taking a short run-up, I kick open a door hanging by a thread with my shoulder and immediately find myself in a small hall, and below our feet, a view of the lower floor opens up.
Rich decoration, rare furniture made of wood from distant planets, a heap of jewelry and art objects...
"Burn it all! We will give a signal to the whole world that free people cannot be bought by anything!"
One of the madmen who had been imbued with my speeches and ideas stepped forward. Raising a flamethrower, he began to mercilessly hose everything with fire, laughing joyfully and shouting about the triumph of Democracy.
The second one, without thinking twice, grabbed a blaster rifle and moved on, checking the side branches.
Behind our backs, the flame blazed, and in the airwaves, only the slightly mad laughter of the Helldiver could be heard, who was joyfully executing the order.
"BURN! HA-HA-HA!"
Jumping down to the lower floor, I leave two decent dents in the floor, but I don't even have time to look around properly before the Hutt's mercenaries start running into the hall.
The barrels of the Trandoshan machine gun are aimed instantly. A millisecond of delay, and the not-yet-fully-spun barrel opens fire, punching through part of the floor and the wall, leaving large holes from the heavy caliber.
My shoulder jolts from the impacts. The rate of fire is simply insane; the stream of bullets turns into a thin line. Out of the corner of my eye, I manage to note all this in a fraction of a second.
But now the barrel is aimed at the first mercenary. A small Rodian...
He flies apart the moment the hail of bullets touches his body. A green blot manages to splatter a couple of his comrades, who had managed to open their eyes in fear before being driven back into the passage.
A pair of Mandalorians. Twi'leks. Zabraks. And of course, Gamorreans.
"For Super Earth!"
Squeezing the trigger, I slowly walked forward, turning anyone who dared to cross the doorway into a sieve. A real wall of fire descended on the unfortunate door, of which less and less remained with every second. Bodies piled up around it, and now those who were running in the middle of the formation are standing in front of a pile of scraps and trying to turn back, but nothing works. The crowd is pushing; the mercenaries and pirates are not frightened by the gunfire; besides—then they'll get more...
"Idiots."
To my left, our arsonist runs out and, raising his flamethrower, floods the passage with a burning stream. The screams of dozens of sentients echo through the palace as they burned alive in the flame of freedom.
Stepping over a still-living Zabrak who fell at my feet, I simply ignored the charred alien, continuing my way, while behind my back my loyal Helldivers walked, killing anyone who dared to strike me in the back.
Armed with EE-3 blaster rifles, converted for a two-handed grip, they quickly ran around various obstacles where our enemy tried to take cover and shot them through primitive covers with a hurricane of bolt fire.
On the back of each of us hung a prototype pack that Mandalorians were armed with, only without the idiotic missile in the middle of the fuel tank.
And the heavy armor with reinforced linings didn't allow me to move as fast as I was used to... But it ensured survival.
A pair of small blaster shots, as if confirming my words, ricocheted off the shoulder pad, leaving only small burns. The plates made of durasteel showed themselves perfectly, even if this crap weighed almost forty kilograms.
A return burst tore off the shooter's arm, after which he was thrown deep into the corridor from which he had crawled. Turning the corner, I open fire even before fully turning, starting to hose everyone who had taken cover there with heavy-caliber bullets.
To the roar of shots hitting my ears. To the bright flashes, constantly forcing the helmet's equipment to darken. To the unceasing pain in my arm from the weight and force of the recoil...
I walked forward, squelching my heavy metal boots through the scraps and blood that flowed in rivers through the corridors of Jabba's Palace. Huge holes in the walls remained in my path, and the number of dead could not even be counted, because the Trandoshan toy that had been in the paws of the loyal Shorty had created a real monster out of this magnificent weapon.
We moved further and further. A large-scale battle unfolded outside the palace walls, and from orbit, Somnia broadcasted to me, reporting on losses and victories.
To the shouts of the Helldivers, several corvettes and small frigates began bombing the far walls of the palace, punching new entrances inside, while groups of fighters patrolled the area in case the shitty slug tried to escape.
"No-o-o, you won't get away. And you won't leave."
I knew what I was talking about. Jabba had put too much on Tatooine to just leave and abandon his planet. His palace? His investments and possessions? Oh, no. The disgusting creature would never do that—think of the overhead!
A door swung open sharply to the left. The alien that jumped out from there looked like a huge fly. Aiming a blaster at me, he primarily wanted to get rid of the machine gunner, but forgot about the others.
One of my fighters reacted instantly. A kick with his foot to the blaster squeezed in the palm.
A blow with the butt of the rifle to the cheekbone, knocking the freak to the floor.
A long series of shots at full power to fry him to a crisp.
Following the "fly," the rest poured into the corridor, but I didn't even stop, because the first Helldiver was joined by a second.
Another goal awaited me. More precisely, it had already been waiting for me for the past year.
***
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