"Meaning what? Repeat it."
"That is Sandy Grimm... well, the real one. He's a cousin," Jester Stormpetrel answered in a trembling voice, soiling his trousers and stinking up the whole area. He nodded toward the body of the redhead whose neck I had snapped in the alley. The guy was shaking with fear of me; overall, I couldn't blame him for that. Especially considering that the slaves I'd freed were dumping the bandits' corpses into an overflowing pit for waste not far from us. And the Zabrak brothers standing on either side added authority. "The other captains overthrew him on the Fat Man's orders..."
"And this one?"
"Another captain, the most influential after Grimm..."
"Then who is the one walking around in the armor?"
"A droid."
"Seriously? What kind of droid is it?"
"I don't know; the Fat Man brought it. Said he found a much more authoritative boss who gave him this droid," almost crying, Jester hit his head against the sand, bowing his chest to the ground. Apparently, he was ready to sprawl right there, but I didn't need that. So I poked him with the gun, making him lift his head and look at me. "Yes?"
"Stand up. I don't like that." Even if Stormpetrel wasn't human in my eyes, especially after everything he'd confessed to, the prostration was disgusting to my entire being. "Do you know who this new boss of the Fat Man is?"
"No, sorry, sir! No, I don't know."
"Fine, don't cry... Eh, now I have to deal with this too; why is all this happening to me?"
Thoughtfully lifting my head to the sky, I addressed the higher power—freedom—hoping to get an answer from it. But it was silent, just as it always is when its rights aren't being oppressed.
"Alright... Where is the Fat Man now?"
"Left for the west, took the Dujnik and Loser gangs with him immediately after getting rid of Grimm, and cleared out..."
"So you were just left here alone? And you were pretending everything was as before?"
"Ye-es," stammering, the bandit huddled with his whole body, fearing punishment, "please don't kill me."
"Oh, don't worry about that." Rising from my spot, I brush off the new grey cloak with light movements, trying not to look toward the overjoyed fat man. "I've done my job; from here on, you'll answer to them."
Stepping aside, I revealed to him the crowd of former slaves, once subordinate to him, who had finished their work.
The embittered people were waiting with anticipation for me to leave their line of sight, so they could pounce on the defenseless bastard like a pack of jackals.
"Was it worth it..."
"Yes. It is a wonderful feeling, the freedom of choice, and they have made it. Alright, we'll do as we agreed. You lot keep an eye on them; I have to continue my journey." Waving off the Zabracks who had begun to argue, I headed for the exit of the ruined village, where they had already begun gathering the surviving vehicles and riding animals. Passing through the diverse menagerie, I simply headed toward the desert on foot. Next to me, unnoticed by me, was the angry shorty, who had been looking at me disapprovingly all this time, condemning me for killing everyone in the settlement. "I know, I know... I didn't need to hold a celebration of democracy here... but was there another choice?"
"!%":;?!№
"Easy for you to say. But I couldn't do it any other way," here my eyes met that bloated clerk from the mining town. The portly man was sitting on a rock at a distance from the others, paying no attention to what was happening. Approaching him, I squeezed his shoulder in a friendly way, making him start and turn a frightened gaze toward me. "Hey, everything's fine. You don't have to fear them anymore. Grimm and his gang aren't here, and I'm going to go and finish what I started with those who fled west..."
"Huh? And what does Grimm have to do with this?"
For the first time in our entire acquaintance, he spoke up, and it intrigued me. Dropping to my haunches, I stared into the miner's eyes, which had cleared for a moment, trying to reach his mangled mind.
"Wasn't it Grimm who sacked your village, or one of his cronies?"
Why did I feel it was extremely important for me to hear his answer? Patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, I exchanged glances with the shorty, who shrugged in bewilderment, not knowing what to expect.
"No," the man finally answered, and then his pupils dilated and true horror settled there, "it wasn't him... Ships. Ships arrived, descended from the sky. We thought they were from the company, coming to pick us up... We went out into the street, the whole town... They were transmitting our signals, I remember exactly, for I was the one who received them. I deactivated the air defense and allowed the ships to land..."
His lips began to tremble, and he instantly broke into a sweat. The fat man's breathing accelerated, and despite the frequent gasps, he began to suffocate.
"I let them in... I accepted the access codes and let them in," glancing at the shorty once more, I gripped the man by the shoulders, shaking him slightly to focus all his attention on me, "they killed all the defenders and took the rest... Took the weapons... The equipment... Everything. He took everything."
"Who is 'he'?"
"..."
The man looked directly at me in terror. His eyes grew glassy, and he muttered something, drooling. Apparently, the memories for this sentient, unaccustomed to survival, were too overwhelming.
"Hmph, and I was just like that once."
Releasing the poor wretch, who continued to sit in place, staring into the void, I step back a couple of paces, standing next to the shorty.
The little Jawa emitted a sad and quiet sound that I understood perfectly despite all the translation difficulties.
"Not everyone is meant to survive in a world like this..."
Smirking ironically, I pick up the backpack taken from my back and, throwing it over my shoulder, set off, trying not to look back at the man who had suddenly lost his mind.
***
In the evening, having traveled a sufficient distance, the shorty and I were able to set up camp between a couple of rocks that shielded us from the gut-piercing winds.
Two cliffs, resembling massive teeth, provided reliable shelter, allowing us to relax a bit.
The shorty was rummaging through the supplies, constantly grumbling about something and sorting through the junk taken from the raiders' village, while I was staring into the dancing tongues of the campfire, in which I sometimes saw the enemies of democracy.
Inopportunely, the operation on the planet Navi 7 came to mind.
Inhabited by Terminids that had multiplied into a literal living sea and riddled every damn corner of that little planet with their stinking tunnels.
Back then, I had only just come to terms with the fact that I couldn't blow up my own cruiser and would have to fight under the incomprehensible flag of a shady state for the rest of my life.
The first deployment after accepting all the realities. The first battle. And the first feeling of delight I experienced when I simply threw away all those principles remaining from my past life.
I remember how napalm rockets hit from the sky, setting everything on fire for hundreds of kilometers around, literally turning the planet's surface into ash.
The ground beneath our feet turned black, and the filters became clogged. We constantly had to wipe the glass to remove the soot, but we continued to fight nonetheless.
"I think we were still talking then... I'm not sure."
We were defending the flag of Super Earth, which was being raised on an enemy planet on live broadcast. A camera drone was flying around, filming us from different angles, while we fired incessantly in all directions, holding back the waves of advancing bugs that were beyond count.
An itch on my sleeve drew my eyes. Lifting my left hand to my eyes, I lower my protective goggles, staring at a little bug that was calmly crawling toward my fingers.
"The local bugs are much more harmless," lowering my hand to the ground, I allow the bug to crawl off and head about its important business, following its path through the sand with my gaze. It left a tiny trail that was swept away by a single gust of wind. "Funny..."
This isn't Super Earth, after all, so I did the right thing when I decided to change.
"Changed well... chopped up a couple of dozen people for kebabs," an ironic chuckle escaped my mouth, "it was simpler there..."
"!№%!№!%
Anxiously sitting down next to me, the shorty patted my shoulder, throwing various trash and junk into the fire that could no longer be used.
"Yeah, just... thinking to myself."
";%!:%?!№%
"You do realize I don't understand your language and answer as it's convenient for me?"
Throwing up her hands, the shorty snatched a small screwdriver from her breast and began to draw quickly in the sand. Two crooked figures, clearly depicting me and her, with an equals sign between them.
"You're saying we're similar?"
Nodding her head actively, the Jawa jumped up from her spot, expressively waving her arms and squeaking something.
"Mmm-a-a-an..." Scratching the back of my head, I looked at the shorty doubtfully. "In some ways, you're right, of course... but overall."
And I wasn't being untruthful just to avoid offending the little one. Like me in this life, the Jawas avoided battles and wars, but those things constantly found them anyway. The little scavengers of Tatooine were a tasty morsel for everyone who lived in these harsh parts, be they desert dwellers, raiders, bandits, predators, or even "peaceful" settlers. Though that word is literally impossible to imagine in the context of describing Tatooine.
The only thing is, Jawas—unlike me—avoid battle because of their physical weakness. Their small, light, and frail bodies do not make them harsh warriors.
"But they make one out of me," I explained all this to the shorty with my fingers, and she seemed to understand. "Though... a hell of a harsh warrior, slaughtering a bunch of barf-bags while holding an 'automatic cannon.' Super Democracy in action..."
Laughing at my own words, I inhale the night air through my nose. The aroma of the campfire wasn't the best, as it had been lit from some compressed briquettes whose composition I didn't even want to sort out—they smelled far too strongly.
But the smell of the desert itself was pleasant. I had grown used to it over six years.
"I wonder how the old man and that little shit are doing?"
Pulling Mizuma's gift from the case, I run my fingers over the rifle, checking for chips and scratches, but fortunately, the old man had created a reliable tool that wouldn't just break.
I've seen such contraptions among the locals that are held together only by tape and a prayer.
I suddenly felt like returning back to the moisture farm station. Perhaps living there for a while or even staying forever...
"Heh, no. That's definitely not for me." Leaning closer to the fire, feeling its unbearable heat, I imagined how good it would be if I could start a family on the station. There were options, and a part of me clearly wanted that very much... "A part, but not all."
The recent incident in "Four" showed that I still like fighting for freedom just as much. The recoil from the shots, the war against evil that is against freedom and democracy...
"And maybe even more." Grabbing the rifle, I press the stock into my shoulder, aiming somewhere into the darkness of the desert. The front sight slid smoothly over the dunes until I found my target. "Eat this..."
A small pack of womp rats was slowly creeping toward the light source, wanting to feast on the naive travelers who had dared to light a fire in these mad lands.
The roar of the shot knocked the shorty onto her back. Wriggling on the sand, she cursed me for all she was worth until she finally managed to sit on her ass.
Burning me with a dissatisfied look, the little Jawa scooped up a handful of sand and threw it in my direction.
"№%:№?;
"Sorry, sorry. I just saw a rat, that's all," rising from my spot, I throw the rifle over my shoulder. "I'll take a short walk outside the campfire light to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and then survey the area again. I'll take a little walk; you'd better get some sleep."
Without listening to the usual grumbling, I vanish into the darkness of the desert, constantly keeping the campsite in the corner of my eye.
Stepping on the soft, cooled sand, I reflected on my new life and how it had knocked me on my ass once again.
"I will become the kindest person and solve all issues with words, not fists."
I was clearly too naive to actually believe that.
Thinking that Super Earth was a true horror and a dystopia, I'd somehow forgotten that the world is full of other dangers that ordinary people have to face.
And the quiet and safe life of Sam, the previous owner of the body, had only convinced me of these thoughts. But the world, or the Force as the locals call it, decided to show me that everything here is not so simple, and through my fault, several hundred people died, burned in the explosion of a spaceship when I decided to play the hero.
Honestly, as if that had taught me anything.
That incident hadn't even registered in my memory. As soon as a new quiet life under Mizuma's patronage began, I'd plunged into my own dreams again.
You could blame my attitude toward death, or the fact that having died so many times in the past world, I treat it with indifference... though, as it seems to me, I'm simply dazed by too much sudden freedom and permissiveness.
Super Earth was no longer standing behind me, clutching the biggest stick and threatening that in case of deviation from the norms, I'd get it over the head.
Here I was all alone. Essentially, on my own, and I could quietly decide what I wanted to do.
"I've made my choice, what can you say." I'd never smoked in previous lives, but for some reason, I felt like it now. "And that thing with the ship really didn't turn out well..."
Remembering how I'd started running away from the enraged fat man, a flashback of memories immediately exploded in my head.
The planet Pandion 24, a world like many others. Just as empty and not giving a damn to anyone except Super Earth.
Spitting on the sand, I continue my journey, recalling how I first met the large bugs then. Not those small and harmless creatures the size of a dog or a horse. No, I'm talking about huge armored freaks the size of a local starfighter.
A carcass weighing several tons. Gaining momentum from a standstill and easily taking corners.
If you didn't kill it on the first try, then only a stupid moron would stay in place and change weapon settings, reload, or pull out a spare—time is measured in seconds there, and any delay means one thing: your death.
"Ha-ha-ha, I know that better than anyone," my hand lay against my chest against my will, on the spot where the bug's bone horn had first struck, crushing most of the bones in my body. "Eh, I remember having nightmares for almost a month afterward... And now it's nothing, even amusing."
Helldivers never retreat, but we can perform tactical maneuvers in the opposite direction from an advance.
How many times have I watched my comrades run with their heels flying while a literal horde of snapping jaws, claws, mechanisms, and so on gathers behind them...
And I myself acted the same way until I found a sufficiently sturdy rock to hide behind while calling an airstrike on myself... or a nuclear strike... or an orbital bombardment...
The choice was vast.
"Yeah... but there's no faithful cruiser here anymore, and the Soul of Justice won't cover your ass in a difficult moment," patting my thigh, I feel the old blaster on my belt. "And the weapons here are complete shit."
After walking for another couple of minutes, I return to the fire, by which the shorty was already sleeping soundly. Tucking her legs under her, she had opened her backpack and covered herself with part of it like a blanket.
"Clever; I'll have to try that too... but another time."
Sprawling on the ground, I tuck my hand under my head, once again making sense of my life, both new and old.
"Too problematic... why wasn't I reborn on Naboo or something? I'd be living in a garden-world now, eating grouse and peeking at queens... or whoever they have in charge there?" A memory flashed in my head. "Oh wait, there are Sith there, or one Sith... I don't remember well anymore. There'd be nothing but problems and 'adventures' waiting for me there too. Maybe Alderaan then? It won't be blown up for quite a while, and by then I'll have kicked the bucket already... probably—ow!"
A small pebble hit me in the head then. Squeaking indignantly, the shorty turned away from me onto her other side.
"Fine, fine... quite the sensitive one, aren't you."
Without noticing it myself, I was holding Mizuma's gift firmly with my other hand, literally pressing it to my chest, and because of that, my sleep was light and pleasant.