"Faster!"
Sweat blurred his eyes. Running down his forehead, those vile salty drops left trails on his face, making his cheeks burn with irritation and his skin feel like it was on fire.
"Stronger!"
His arms cramped with pain that ran through his body in flashes. His muscles turned to wood, and he couldn't feel his fingers at all. Every second, he felt his strength leaving him, but he continued to do what was demanded of him.
His temples throbbed. His mouth produced gasps rather than breaths. His ragged breathing echoed in every moment, but Alto continued to do what he was ordered.
"One more time!"
His fingers treacherously refused to bend, and he didn't have time to catch the mock rifle, receiving a blow to the jaw from his opponent. Blood from a split lip filled his mouth. A couple of teeth protested with a howl and wobbled, making him get distracted every time his tongue touched them.
His hair slid from his sweaty forehead over his eyes, slightly obscuring his vision, but that was enough for his opponent to land a new successful attack.
His left leg exploded in pain, and Stratus dropped to one knee, clutching the mock rifle braced against the floor like a drowning man. His palms were slipping, and with every second, he was closer to the cold floor.
His vision was doubling, and besides his own breathing, he heard only the demanding shouts of the Mandalorian instructor standing slightly to the side. His resonant command voice broke through even the veil of fatigue and pain, forcing him to take steps to continue the fight.
"Get up, Stratus! Even your sister fights better!"
The mention of the little girl, who had only just begun learning the sciences in their improvised camp and hadn't even reached sparring—made Alto literally growl.
Spitting out thick crimson saliva, he rolled to the side, avoiding a new blow to the head. The crack of the rifle hitting the floor served as a trigger. Twisting, using the rifle as a support, he pushed off the floor with both feet, then flew headfirst into his opponent's chest—knocking the wind out of him.
Tumbling and rolling, the two boys began kicking, growling, and fighting like two natural little beasts. Trained to fight to the very end, they didn't even think of retreating.
Both were in bad shape, both barely remained conscious, but the fight continued. Feeble, pathetic, with every second looking more like a parody than a battle...
And so, when both were dragged aside by the scruff of their necks by the mentor, the two boys hung unconscious in his outstretched arms.
"Good material, we can work with this. Another couple of years and I'll make real warriors out of them." Nodding to his thoughts, one of Arkam Sula's subordinate instructors waved to a couple of Helldivers holding the boys. "Bring in the next ones..."
Watching the departing guards of the recruitment point, the Mandalorian replayed the last fight in his head once more.
"Damn Jabiimites, ready for anything to get out of here... Even their children are like animals." Cracking his neck, the Mandalorian nodded and waved invitingly to the next pair of recruits, who stepped forward aggressively, showing absolutely no fear.
***
Reading through reports out of the corner of my eye, I came across a mention of Jabiim, a small backwater planet that provided us with our most zealous and frantic recruits. Devoted to our cause, young and daring, ready to listen and follow orders—excellent soldiers and subordinates.
Five years had passed since I accidentally ended up in that God-forsaken place...
"Unfortunately, not just God-forsaken."
Sadness crept onto my face against my will. Our arrival on Jabiim and the rescue of a couple of settlements was only the beginning of the pile of shit and problems that had to be solved on the rainy planet.
Corruption. Slaver trade. Violation of human rights. Neglect of their Liberty...
Pirate attacks of all kinds, dangerous diseases, a corrupt government—wallowing in luxury and considering itself above everyone. Constant shortages of everything. A life that only the dead would envy...
And much, much other crap that was thrown at the fan as soon as we stayed there for a couple of months. Back then, I was so heated and angry that I acted exactly as was expected of me. With the steel fist of Holy Liberty, I went through everyone who violated that very Liberty.
Disregarding my own order, I summoned several ships to the planet, packed to the brim with Helldivers, and together with them, Rick Dicker, and a Dooku who had easily tracked me down—we began to restore order on the planet.
At first, the Jedi thought about just dragging me to Coruscant, because at that moment he was extremely dissatisfied with being forced to wander like a nomad through all the planets of the Outer Rim and Mid Rim—looking for a beautiful me.
Only when we talked him into speaking with a dozen local settlements did Dooku agree to stay on Jabiim for a couple of months... Which, admittedly, turned into a full year of constant work. Hard, unpleasant, and unusual for all of us except Rick, who swam in all this guano like a fish in water.
Arrests. Secret executions. Armed clashes. Punitive operations on the neighboring moon, where pirates had quite comfortably established themselves. Constant battles, rescuing locals, building camps and houses. Quarantine, diplomatic meetings, organizing settlements...
"So much... And how long ago it was." Scrolling through the report, finding the familiar face of the boy who first met me on the planet, I suppress a smile. The kid was growing into a worthy Helldiver. Trained practically since childhood, he promised to grow into a real death machine protecting our beautiful Democracy.
Jabiim was only the beginning, because this tiny rainy ball was of no use to anyone, and with a light hand and a large bribe—we were allowed to change a lot in this unfortunate sector.
To kill off many pirates, outcasts, slavers, and other scum, even one small Force cult that liked copulating with untrained neophytes because the sensations were much finer and brighter that way.
We constantly had to travel through systems and worlds. Making Jabiim our operational base in the sector, we brought Liberty from under its rainy skies to all its neighbors. And we did it openly, not hiding, but rather demonstrating our own successes. And people saw it. The Jabiimites themselves saw it.
Which is why the tiny rainy ball is now the third world in terms of the number of recruits supplied to us.
Strings of young people, widowers, old men, and all those who lost loved ones, relatives, and favorites—all of them were ready to carry Managed Democracy to any part of the world, if only to eradicate the blight that had tormented their home planet for long years.
Raised in harsh conditions, immune to many diseases, resilient and strong, the Jabiimites turned out to be an excellent Resupply for the Helldivers, making it more profitable to place a training base right on the planet so as not to run ships across half the galaxy, while also moving part of our supplies and resources there for a rainy day.
But the most wonderful thing awaited us a couple of years ago, when a more accurate geological survey, during the construction of a network of bunkers and small fortresses, allowed for the discovery of large deposits of rare minerals. A pleasant bonus that helped recoup all the expenses for installing a powerful strongpoint and anti-aircraft defense systems.
As I said, about five years had passed since then, and the nine hundred and forty-eighth year since the Ruusan Reformation (52 BBY) was beginning.
A lot had happened during this time.
Successes followed the Helldivers at their heels, bringing us more and more worlds from the Outer Rim wishing to enter into a lucrative contract. Our influence grew slowly, and although in terms of raw power we couldn't compete with the Republican Judicial Forces (SBR) of Individual Regions, who were doing roughly the same thing...
But the Helldivers were first and foremost Assassins, plus the abundant lubrication of the Senate with bribes helped us act much more freely than a military formation on the edge of the galaxy.
The SBR, assembled by Ranulf Tarkin from the planet Eriadu—were powerful guys. But these were official forces that belonged to several systems that had united to fight lawlessness and piracy in their sector. Only, unlike us, Mr. Tarkin wanted official integration into the armed forces of the Galactic Republic, and for every rustle he had to answer and, as I heard, write thousands of paper reports that were sent to Coruscant.
But back to the point. Besides successes, we also had defeats. Not always and not everywhere did the seeds of Liberty sprout over the oppressed and grant planets Democracy.
We were killed, ships were shot down, slavers and pirates literally hunted us, causing small worlds to refuse cooperation—breaking contracts. The biggest failure was the defeat on the planet Vina, where a civil war began. We lost almost six hundred Helldivers due to a stupid misunderstanding and strife. Retreating and breaking the contract, we left the planet, where a bloody war continues to this day, with both sides being right in their own way.
The Isolationists—simple people and workers dreaming of Democracy, real and fair. And the Baron and Baroness—rulers, ambitious and bold, wanting to join the Galactic Republic.
Although this served as an excellent flick to the nose, showing that you can't always choose the right side, the Helldivers continued to gain strength, gradually becoming a prominent and noticeable organization.
Cover from the Baobab fleet was no longer required, but we continued to cooperate, honestly guarding their ships and enterprises, recruiting from their academy, and supplying capable people there from many worlds.
From reflections on the past years, I was distracted by a live broadcast from the great capital planet of the Galactic Republic.
"And now to the main event of this day."
The shot showed a huge procession gathered at the ramp of an official ship from the planet Naboo. Hundreds of people, among whom many were senators—expressed fake grief for a recently deceased man. Many were dressed in expensive outfits, the cost of which would easily feed the population of Jabiim for a year, while others, on the contrary, wore ceremonial clothes of their home worlds, making them look not particularly happy.
Turning the sound up, I enlarge the screen, opening it to full monitor, then become all ears.
***
"...We are standing near the Senate building, where the farewell ceremony for the tragically deceased senator Vidar Kim is taking place. A wonderful politician, a kind mentor, a loyal friend, and a devoted family man—all this was combined in one person who did much for the Galactic Republic and Naboo in particular. Working on the security of our state, Senator Kim authored many changes in laws and personally took part in several charitable actions and conflict reconciliations..."
The presenter paused for a moment, then began to push through the crowd like a professional rugby player, shoving her colleagues, stepping on feet, and once even yanking some Twi'lek by her lekku.
Breaking through the crowd, she was one of the first to hold out a microphone. The brazen representative of the yellow press didn't even wait for the full end of the procession, catching the new senator from the Naboo sector and immediately showering him with questions.
"Mr. Palpatine, you were the senator's assistant for many years and, as they say, it was you he was preparing to replace him." Seeing the shocked face of the young red-haired man, the girl grinned and increased the pressure. "Tell me, do you agree that Senator Kim was killed by his political opponents from his home planet? Many believe that representatives of the reformist aristocracy are behind this murder."
The journalist, with distrust in her voice and a wary expression on her face, decided to ask the question that seemed to hang in the air.
"How exactly do you feel about the death of the previous senator? There are many rumors and speculations, and people say it wasn't quite... ordinary," she said again, looking into the future senator's eyes.
Sheev involuntarily swallowed, beads of sweat froze on his temples, and he took a deep breath to meet her gaze. Before him stood an uncertain situation that was so hard to bypass.
"Well, you know..." He began, pausing for a moment and trying to show the naivety he was sincerely trying to portray. "I don't want... I don't want to make any hasty conclusions. We all understand that politics is such a complicated business, and sometimes news develops at such a speed that you just have to try to keep up with it all!"
A light chuckle appeared on his face, as if this very moment were part of a funny joke he had been told in one of the old clubs.
"So much talk... So many opinions! I'm just an ordinary person, and it seems to me that it's important to look at all the facts first before making any assumptions." Looking around for help, Palpatine encountered only curious glances from his colleagues, most of whom watched the scene with poorly hidden amusement. "In the end, every event has its circumstances, a mystery that must be preserved. Who knows, maybe it's just an unfortunate coincidence?"
The journalist couldn't help but notice the slight uncertainty in his voice; however, the future senator continued, and she didn't interrupt him, especially since Senate guards were already moving toward her, so she had to squeeze more out of the naive fool.
"And if people talk about it a lot, it means it attracts attention. But I would prefer to focus on the future, on what we can do to improve the lives of people in our dearly beloved Galactic Republic!" Pathetically waving his hands at the very end, Sheev seemed to be embarrassed by his own words. "Maybe... uh, just, all these rumors... it's all not for me!"
His words sounded like an elegant maneuver between truth and delusion, leaving many questions unanswered but presenting himself as too naive to understand the complex intrigues of politics.
***
"Good acting," clicking my tongue, I lean back in my chair, simultaneously tossing a couple of nuts from a planet in the Mid Rim into my mouth. A pleasant meaty taste spread in my mouth, making me squint my eyes with pleasure, "the devil..."
Giving myself a couple of minutes to delight in the unusual taste, I regretfully opened my eyes when the PDA beeped again with a message.
Lazily rising, I pull the tiresome machine closer, but as soon as I saw the sender, the sleepiness and contentment with life vanished from my eyes, returning my spirit's alertness.
Reading through the lines of the message, I tiredly roll my eyes, realizing that I definitely won't be able to refuse. Considering how my old friend Rick Dicker had risen in recent years...
"Fine, this doesn't contradict our glorious Managed Democracy." Chuckling at the last lines where the name of the planet was written, I send a reply with my consent. "I'd even say it's quite the opposite—completely in our style."
A second letter from the same sender arrived instantly. Only, as I read it, my teeth began to ache. A small postscript at the end ruined the whole mood.
"...'You'll have to bear it, Sam. I know you don't like contacting Jedi, and there are many Mandalorians among yours, but there's no choice; they've taken an interest in this matter, so you understand yourself...'"
If emojis were popular in a Galaxy Far, Far Away, I'm certain Rick Dicker would have used that asshole smiley with the moronic grin and the tongue sticking out.
"Jedi... Just what I needed."
Recalling my trip to Coruscant, when Count Dooku—enraged by the delays on Jabiim and the long pursuit—practically dragged me by the scruff of my neck to his hospitable Order...
It wasn't great. Monks are monks, even in another world. Except these ones can actually kick your ass. Lethally. That's why I was constantly on edge, being in the den of potentially hostile Force users.
And when Yan finally hauled me to the office of the little green Shorty, where that old fart was meditating, I was ready to start shooting and brawling against everyone, my nerves were stretched that thin.
***
***
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