Pressing a button on the remote, one of the masters of the Jedi Order settled more comfortably in his favorite chair. Outwardly calm and focused, he was nonetheless experiencing anxiety over the events unfolding on the screen.
Having received reports from his subordinates, he at first gave the news no weight, but as soon as the publicized event was broadcast to all sectors near Tatooine, he was forced to take the matter under personal control as a matter of urgency. The Grand Master had hinted none too subtly that this was exactly what should have been done from the start, rather than letting it reach extremes... but what could be done now?
Besides, in his defense, the member of the Council of First Knowledge could say that gangs wage wars on the edge of the galaxy every day...
Only none of them act so brazenly and boldly.
A grim sight appears on the screen: the ruined Jabba's Palace. A monumental structure that long ago was used as a temple—now turned into forever-lost ruins, of which barely a couple of rooms remained.
In the foreground stood a soldier in armor unfamiliar to the master—a Helldiver in full combat gear, as they called themselves. Local Assassins making a reputation in the Outer Rim... hundreds of such formations constantly appear and disappear, but these specifically had made the most noise in recent years.
The soldier stood with his chest puffed out, as if he were not just a soldier, but a true hero at a parade in his own honor.
In the crook of his elbow, he held a helmet covered in someone's blood, and his hand kept reaching for his hip, where a rapid-fire Blaster of a familiar model hung.
His confident gaze left no doubt that he was ready to answer any questions, although in reality, this kid seemed not to quite understand what was being discussed.
Press representatives surrounded him from different sides, clearly not quite understanding why so much importance was being given to such an event, but the money for the PR had been paid, and the Judicial Forces, zealously supporting the entire event, clearly hinted that the set tasks should be fulfilled.
A journalist from the Galactic Republic, with an electronic notepad in hand, finally decides to ask his first question:
"Um... sir, you have just completed an operation to destroy a most dangerous criminal and member of a major gang—Jabba the Hutt. How do you evaluate the success of this mission?"
The Helldiver, without hesitation, answers:
"Perfectly. We have sown the seeds of liberty in his stinking fortress." Thrusting a fist up, the soldier was ready to literally ignite, so strongly did he believe in his own words. "We, the Helldivers, fight the forces of evil like this monster! We destroy the enemies of the Republic, and no creatures will stop us! We are the chosen warriors of democracy, appointed to protect our great state!"
Absolutely everyone was floored by this performance. Even the locals wandering in the background, called in to clear the ruins, barely restrained themselves from twirling a finger at their temples.
The reporters were also clearly taken aback... what is there to say, even he—a Jedi Master!—caricature-like, bulged his eyes, seeing the expression on the face and hearing the words spoken. The kid on the screen spoke so sincerely and fanatically that no doubt remained as to the truth of what was said.
The journalists exchange glances, realizing they are unlikely to get any clarification. But one of them, trying to delve deeper into the topic, asks the next question:
"Some sources claim that the operation was conducted in violation of a number of Republic laws. How can you comment on this?"
The Helldiver, looking exaggeratedly patriotic, merely waves it off. In the background of the palace, the even ranks of the rest of the unit's soldiers began to form... at least most of them.
"Laws are written to be protected! We came here to put an end to crime! Jabba is a disgrace, and we will remove him—like trash from your yard, if necessary! We protect true liberty!"
Meanwhile, behind his back, several Helldivers were struggling to lift Jabba's heavy body. Cursing and grumbling, the soldiers were dragging the flattened corpse off the platform, which the censors immediately blurred with pixels, leaving only a blue face covered in green blood splatters.
The Helldivers dragged him past the journalists, waving them off and talking more among themselves.
They step on one journalist's foot, but he doesn't notice, continuing to record the Helldiver's words and film the process of moving the body of one of the heads of the Hutt Cartel. It didn't fit in anyone's head that such idiots just went and killed one of the most influential gangsters in the galaxy. The situation looks completely absurd.
"Helldiver, sir." Checking his notepad, another journalist continues, "did you not think about how your brutal tactics might affect public opinion of your operation?"
The young man merely flashed his eyes in response, revealing a white-toothed smile. Proudly lifting his chin, his voice became only louder and more grandiloquent. At that moment, in the background, "entirely by chance," they carry past the unit's flag, depicting a schematic galaxy with the Republic's coat of arms in the middle.
A wind that came out of nowhere began to flutter it, adding to the madness of this interview and completely turning it into a propaganda clip.
"Public opinion? For true heroes, that is merely the noise of a soap bubble! Only action matters! If it is necessary to blow a few villains to pieces to create peace, then in the name of the Galaxy, we will do it! They will remember us as saviors, not as destroyers! True heroes make sacrifices for a great cause. We fight to restore order in this mad galaxy, and no complaints can change that fact! Holy liberty has its price, and 'brutal' tactics are but a small price to pay!"
The journalists whisper, trying to figure out what reaction they will get to the next provocation. One of them raises a hand to ask another question:
"But how do you deal with the civilians who might suffer as a result of your military strategy? What precautions are taken for their protection?"
The Helldiver sighs, rolling his eyes. The kid clearly doesn't realize he's being led into a trap, although given his sincerity and openness, one could still place bets on how the Republic's population will react.
"We always try to act with the population in mind, but in war, casualties sometimes happen. It is sad, but we cannot afford to fear losing a few honest democrats when it comes to saving thousands... If they are unable to evacuate, that is no longer our problem! Military actions require decisive decisions!"
The journalists exchange looks in bewilderment—it is obvious that the mercenary cannot understand the subtleties of his activity. They ask one more question, trying to find out his personal motives.
"But tell us, sir, what prompted you to choose such a dangerous and cruel career? Is it a desire for revenge? Or perhaps you simply enjoy combat?"
For a moment, the Helldiver freezes, his eyes becoming sharp like a predator's. He looks into the camera as if trying to hook the viewers to the quick.
"Oh, you journalists are always looking for an answer concerning 'psychological trauma' or 'inner demons.' In fact, it is a much simpler thing. I act for those who cannot protect themselves! For liberty... for democracy... for the Republic! I see the suffering of peaceful people and I know that only by destroying evil can I return hope to them!"
He leans forward, and a powerful, almost mesmerizing rhythm appears in his voice:
"Yes, hell and horror are part of life on the battlefield. But we have a goal, and that goal is to create a better world! For that, sacrifices are needed! And if it falls to me to be that example so that others can see the truth, so be it!"
The journalists hurl questions, trying to catch even a drop of vulnerability, but each time the Helldiver seems only to strengthen in his convictions. He concludes his speech, clasping his hands behind his back as if to give himself even more importance.
"Remember, as long as enemies exist, we will fight! We cannot afford to retreat! I am not here to be a public favorite. I am here to do what is necessary, even if it harms my position in society. And if you do not like it, that is merely your right! I am doing my duty, and that is what matters!"
Watching his determination, the journalists realize they might not ask any more questions—there are clearly fewer brains in this skull than in a rancor's, considering the mercenary is broadcasting to millions of screens. Soon his words will appear on the television airwaves like an aggressive sermon, inspiring some to jubilation and terrifying others to the core.
Against the backdrop of Jabba's dying, once-magnificent palace, his final challenge sounds.
"No one but us! If you are ready to protect the ideals of democracy—join the Helldivers!"
Turning off the projector, Master Rogan rubbed his tired eyelids, feeling that fatigue, age, and the madness of the galaxy were finally taking their toll. Only after seeing these guys "live" did he realize that they would be nothing but trouble, and having heard such a speech...
"I need to speak with the Grand Master."
***
"We are so fucked..."
Turning off the projector, Somnia leaned back, but the sudden movement led to pain in her broken arm. Already covered in Bacta patches from head to toe, she had still refused to climb into a tank of healing paste entirely, as there was too much work ahead...
And given their commander's performance on the HoloNet... a most zealous and tender welcome awaited them from everyone imaginable.
"Don't exaggerate," propping my feet on the table, I lace my hands behind my head, whistling at the ceiling with relish, "it's better to present ourselves this way right away than to have naive fools flocking to us later and burying us with questions..."
"This is madness, Sam." Waving her healthy hand at me, the girl rose to her feet anxiously. "There are too few of us to openly insult journalists, Hutts, and provoke the Senate..."
"Pff, stop it. Which of these high lords cares about what the rabble is doing on the fringes? Hm? Do you seriously think that beings controlling the fates of tens of thousands of planets and trillions of lives will give a damn about us? Seriously?"
"I... Hm... Maybe you're right..."
Seeing her doubts and how she stopped gnawing her knuckles as a way to calm down, I stood up from the chair and approached, gently putting my hands on her shoulders.
"We only have one thing to fear right now, and that's where we should focus our attention."
"Pff," relaxing, she stepped closer, resting her forehead against my chest. Mumbling weakly under her breath, Somnia seemed to let go of all her doubts, "easy for you to say... I wish I had your confidence."
"Don't overact," warmly embracing my friend, I stroke her head, feeling the tremor in her body vanish, "I've heard how you and the Baobab Captain made a stir in orbit..."
"Pff," her cheeks flushing, Somnia wriggled out of my embrace and, fixing her hair, returned to her seat, "so just the Cartel?"
"More like the Hutts in general..."
"And that's it?" Ironically raising an eyebrow, I realized she was now more amused than truly worried. The first burst of hysteria had faded, and now my brave assistant was once again ready to perform follies and feats beyond the reach of others.
"Probably pirates and slavers..."
"And?"
"A couple of senators who won't be getting their kickbacks from the Hutt anymore..."
An apologetic smile spread across my face, and my hands spread awkwardly. As my face grew numb from the strained smile, the girl's eyebrows drew together in displeasure, and her face grew grimmer.
At one point, her eyes began to dart across the table, clearly looking for something heavy, but fortunately, nothing of the sort was within reach.
"I'm going to hit you just because," as if reading my thoughts like a damn Jedi, Somnia leaned back again, starting to rock on two legs of the chair, "just once... damn you."
"Hey, nothing happened. We'll fend off the small fry, butt heads with the Hutts, and the senators will throw their tantrums and calm down when the taxes from Tatooine start flowing into the Republic treasury."
"That sounds too optimistic... I'm afraid we'll have to give up most of the income at first until we get on our feet."
"Maybe so, but it won't be for long."
Catching my gaze, the girl looked away again, nodding submissively and conceding defeat.
"Fine, if you're so sure... I'll keep following you in this madness."
"Thanks."
For another half hour, we chatted about trifles, mostly familiarizing ourselves with the constantly changing reports on losses, expenses, finds, prisoners, and so on.
The lists were gigantic, so notifications of changes arrived every hour, and to avoid missing anything important, we had to stay in constant contact.
Watching the girl leave my room, I push away all the positivity and indifference. The smile quickly vanished from my face.
No matter how much Somnia escalated things and no matter how much I understood the danger hanging over us after the Hutt's murder, something else concerned me much more right now.
Memories of recent events flashed in my head. Immediately after the battle, literally within hours, a combined fleet of the Judicial Forces had dropped onto Tatooine to take control and not allow some bandits to divide a Republic planet among themselves.
As Rick Dicker explained to me in a brief conversation, the SBR had managed to secure the support of those senators who weren't being paid off by the Hutt. These greedy politicians gladly agreed to screw over their competitors and not be left out themselves. As Dicker hinted, I would have to negotiate with them myself, but I shouldn't get too arrogant; after all, just as they sent the Justicars "to help," they could just as easily set them on us.
But that was only the prelude to the events, for it was the Judicial Forces soldiers who had captured my wayward brother. Their crazy trio had tried to steal a Consular ship and, in the course of the shootout, killed three operatives, wounded eight, and destroyed a couple of speeders...
Hearing the news, I was fuming, but overcoming my own feelings, I managed to ask Dicker for a small favor, so that the price for this service wouldn't bite too hard.
***
"Thanks, Rick."
"Hm," huffing, Dicker pursed his lips, then stood up steadily from his chair, demonstratively tapping a folder of cases on the table. Tucking the documents under his arm, the man nodded to me, then glanced at the antique watch adorning his hand and held up five fingers. "Don't take too long."
As soon as the door closed behind the investigator, I was left alone with a pair of criminals sitting on the other side of the table. Handcuffed, unable to move more than the necessary minimum.
Sitting in Rick's place, I look into the faces of my interlocutors. I would have liked to let one of them stew longer, but time was short. And I had already made my decision; now, having calmed down and not acting in the heat of the moment, it was time to ask the questions that had interested me for the last two days.
"And why the hell did you do that?"
Silence was my answer. Like a dim-witted child who doesn't understand the consequences, he crossed his arms over his chest, pouted, and looked away, ignoring my gaze.
"And you, why did you help him?"
"You said to help. I helped," the Weequay answered impassively, his face not changing a bit.
"I asked you to look after him and report to me if there were problems, not to jerk him off with a napkin while he does stupid shit."
The xenos's stern face twitched, and he closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. A few seconds of silence, and the Weequay opened his lids again, looking straight at me.
"Yes, you are right."
Realizing that getting the whole story out of him wasn't in the cards right now, I switch back to Kanta.
"And you? Are you some underage moron? What would the old man say if..."
"Oh, just shut it. Dad's dead, so don't go disturbing his afterlife," spitting on the floor, Kanta looked at me defiantly in return, "why are you even bothering me?"
"You are so stupid." Ignoring my bristling brother, I just look at the table. I don't know what I was hoping for. Maybe it's the remnants of that naive dream that conflicts can sometimes be resolved peacefully? I hope so... "Apparently, the conversation was useless from the start."
Getting up from the table, I simply head for the door, lost in my thoughts. Until my hand grabs the handles and my brother's voice, slightly frightened but still self-assured, catches up to me from behind.
"And that's it? You're just leaving? I thought you'd at least hit me once..."
A pathetic provocation, but what else to expect from a little prick who cares about tits more than anything else in the world.
"Yes. When you betrayed us, I thought about handing you over to Einz and Zwei; they would have beaten all the shit out of you in our boot camp... But I was too naive... Do you feel even the slightest bit of regret for betraying us? Your friends? Your brother..."
"Yes." Kantu's instantaneous reply caught me off guard, but turning around, I saw only a crooked smirk. "If I'd known Jabba was such a loser, I never would've worked for him in my life..."
"I see."
Finally opening the door, I step outside, ignoring the disgruntled shouts trailing behind me. My brother was still yelling something, asking questions, clearly not expecting such a reaction, but I didn't look back again.
Reaching Rick, who was waiting for me in the corridor, I stop beside him, inhaling the scent of the fruit cigarettes the investigator loves so much.
"So, what did you decide?"
"He betrayed us. And he killed members of the Judicial Forces. Warriors of Democracy. No one would understand if I pulled him out."
"You're lying to yourself... Well, fine. If that's what you've decided."
Pulling a couple of sheets from the folder, Rick Dicker crumpled them up and tucked them into his pocket. On one of them, I even managed to glimpse a house arrest order...
"Corruption, you all-powerful bitch."
With a wry grin at the investigator's questioning look, I shove my hands into the pockets of my scarlet cloak, which had finally replaced my sweat-soaked armor.
Leaving the temporary headquarters of the Judicial Forces on the planet, I was descending the steps when a small Kodiak Shuttle soared overhead—carrying my brother to one of the dreadnoughts. The mighty ship with its massive crew would deliver him and hundreds of others to where they would spend the rest of their lives.
***
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