The Department of Truth of the Helldivers squad warns:
Only the official news site and the federal channels of your planets—
Bring you the truth and the latest news.
Consider all other sources of information deliberately false.
They spread panic and work for the benefit of the enemies and opponents of the Republic, Liberty, and the entire Outer Rim!
As soon as the blue screen faded, with the familiar white lettering in a strict font, solemnly pathetic music began to play, slowly lowering in tone and becoming darker with every second.
"The Outer Rim is our home. A distant part of the Republic where only faith in Liberty and Democracy helps us survive in the vast expanses of the galaxy."
A pathetic male voice rang out from the holo-screens. Penetrating the very hearts of his numerous listeners, the announcer conveyed the same wave of emotion he felt himself.
A peaceful quiet town, like many others. Identical houses stand in even rows while the last rays of the setting sun illuminate the roofs of the gray buildings. Several signs and posters featuring Helldivers attract the eye with bright colors.
Humans and aliens, strolling peacefully through the streets, chat about their usual business, paying no attention to the Second Echelon soldiers patrolling the streets. Quiet life beats with a stable, calm rhythm...
"But even in this beautiful Paradise that we have built, there will always be someone who does not like our sweet corner."
A sharp change in tone from a soulful baritone to a rough bass acted like the flick of a switch.
In place of the quiet town against the sunset, a picture of grim ruins appeared on the screens, bathed in the dim, pale light of cooling embers. Human bodies were scattered across the streets in chaotic order. Traces of blood adorned the miraculously surviving houses and the broken statues of Helldivers.
Numerous posters were torn down or soaked in the blood of residents who fought to the last against a superior enemy.
In the night silence, a binary language was heard. First one speaker, and then dozens and hundreds of droids spoke at once, chirping in their terrible machine language.
With glowing red eyes in the darkness of the night, thousands of Trade Federation battle droids flooded the village. Even columns of robots marched over corpses and debris, ruthlessly crushing bodies into the ground. They walked straight toward the camera, walking with heads held high, shaking their weapons and preparing to use them again on the defenseless residents of the Outer Rim.
"Monsters, creatures..." The announcer's voice was steeped in bitterness. The man had clearly shed a sparse, lonely tear, and even without seeing his face, every listener understood that what they saw had struck him to the depths of his soul. "They took not only our homes and lives... They took something more... Our Holy Liberty!"
The camera swirled, slowly pulling back and showing actual legions of battle droids that, with heavy steps, were crushing the planet's defenses, slowly grinding down the defenders.
Hundreds of warships rained down on the defenseless world. Every moment, combat shuttles lowered more machines, and it seemed there was no end to them, but then...
Through the blackness of space, bursting through a hyper-tunnel, a black-and-gold fleet came to the planet's aid. Shining with fresh paint, boasting combat weapons, the Helldiver ships entered the fray without hesitation, crushing the enemy.
"And when our Liberty is encroached upon, there will always be heroes who want to protect it..."
"This is outrageous! A blatant lie!"
Stopping the frame, the Trade Federation representative practically jumped from his seat, pointing an accusatory finger at his interlocutors. Finding no more words, the Neimoidian was simply beside himself with indignation, hatred, and even some hidden delight at such a bold slander from the opponent... The latter, of course, he would never admit.
Feeling his heart pounding wildly and the veins bulging on his neck, the noseless alien returned to his chair, trying not to stare at the Helldiver representative. The ordinary middle-aged man didn't evoke a single positive emotion in him, especially the bastard's mocking eyes, in the depths of which a ton of contempt was frozen.
If the Neimoidian had the chance, he would have ordered the Droidekas to pump a dozen laser bolts into that jerk's face, but...
"I understand the reasons for your dissatisfaction, esteemed Hk'Fen, but please, try to keep yourself in check, or I will have to remove you from the negotiations." With a polite tilt of his head, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn hid his palms in the sleeves of his robe. "This is already the third warning, and I am forced to insist that your behavior is inappropriate..."
"But how! But! He's lying! This video clip is just... Just... Like all their footage! It's just..."
On a wave of indignation, choking on the hatred shaking him, the Neimoidian even began to speak normally—not mangling words or swallowing soft sounds. Not knowing what to grab onto, the alien returned to the table, continuing to bulge his eyes and barely restraining himself from simply lunging at his interlocutors with his fists. Given the nature of Neimoidians, one had to try very hard to bring him to such a state.
"We would be happy to study your materials. Invite independent specialists and let them film how the combat operations are progressing." The Helldiver representative began to pour oil on the fire again. With a sweet smile, he locked his fingers over his chest and was now clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Because your recordings from the droid-commander cameras... Um, how to put it mildly... show a very absurd and unbelievable sight. And they're easy to fake; the materials and brains there cost pennies. We can provide you with the contacts of our directors and cameramen; I'm sure they'd be happy to work with you..."
"I will kill you!" Lunging across the table, the Neimoidian was intercepted by Jinn's Padawan. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi briskly caught the Neimoidian before he could make an irreparable mistake at the negotiations... Although what was said with shown intent was more than enough. "Let me go! Let me go! I'll show this upstart. Monsters? Creatures? I'll show you a monster, you cursed beast! I saw this battle with my own eyes, what you did..."
Thrashing in the Jedi apprentice's steel grip, the alien raged and cursed. Holding him, Obi-Wan looked silently at the wall with a stony expression, trying not to think too much about what a farce was happening instead of negotiations.
The Helldiver representative was openly baring his teeth, egging the noseless alien to act even more aggressively.
And Qui-Gon Jinn sat. He sat and silently processed what was happening, periodically rubbing his aching temples.
"Let's watch the other recordings. We have some here provided by third-party witnesses to the conflict." Quickly pulling himself together, the Jedi tried to return the dialogue to a constructive channel. "The Senate sent us to resolve the problem. The Republic will not tolerate an escalating conflict involving hundreds of warships and tens of thousands of soldiers."
Sternly measuring both representatives with a glance, Jinn gained attention for himself. Stroking his beard, the Jedi Master was pleased with himself.
Even if he didn't believe the tall tales told by both negotiators, as a representative of the Republic, he was obliged to listen to them and view the evidence.
Yes, even if on some video sequences the Helldivers were portrayed as crazy vigilantes, pirates, and psychopaths who went through all neighboring territories with fire and sword where Trade Federation ships or their "allies" were spotted.
And on the opposing frames, the Trade Federation was portrayed as an army of evil that wants to destroy the very foundations of Republican society with even ranks of battle droids...
But Jinn hoped that among all this trash, he could find grains of truth. That's why, when the next recording was turned on, he was not prepared for what he saw.
***
"Got it, got it..." Bobbing the head of a dummy, Billy Booker squatted down and, putting the broken droids on all fours, attached a dead Droideka to them that was stuck in one position. The charred war machine barely held on its small legs but seemed to stand firmly. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Move your joints, baby... Clear, clear?"
"I don't think they put joints in their asses," the cameraman of this glorious video said loudly, "it's more like nuts and bolts. It's logical..."
"You stupid head, Shrike. The joints are in the legs and it's like a phrase to make the Droideka move its legs and thrust more actively!"
"A-a-h, now I get it..."
"You two morons, what the hell are you doing?" A new character appeared in the frame. Dressed in slightly different armor with a prominent sign on the shoulder, the man slung his rifle over his shoulder and sat down next to the "work of arthouse art" on the knocked-out hull of a Trade Federation tank. "Damn, okay this guy, but what about you, Bill?"
Waving a hand at the cameraman, the squad leader glanced somewhere back, then without saying a word, picked up a blaster and fired a burst into the horizon. In the background, a painful, creaky robot voice was heard, followed by a pop of an explosion. "Ha, look, his head flew off!"
Pointing outside the frame, Booker stood up from his spot, and as soon as he rose, the construction of droids collapsed, causing laughter from a large part of the team.
"Stupid clankers, you can't even do that..."
"They can't do a damn thing," Shrike shrugged, shaking the camera as he walked closer, filming the construction from different sides, but he quickly got tired of it and switched to his comrades, simultaneously opening a new view for the viewers, "stupid droids... The worst enemies we've ever had."
"Well, don't be so hard on them."
"Agreed, sometimes pirates are even worse, or slavers... All they know is how to hit civilians, but as soon as you fight back, they scatter. Droids at least aren't afraid to fight to the end." The squad leader, Salco, tapped his fingers on his helmet, evidently contacting someone via internal comms. After sitting in silence for a few seconds, the man rose from his spot. "Alright girls, we've got work. One of the Lucrehulk-class Core Ships survived the crash, so we need to go there and clear everything out."
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Almost jumping in place, the cameraman hopped around his commander, radiating tons of positivity and delight. "Are we going alone or..."
"Or, three more squads from the area have been gathered so we can get rid of this problem faster."
Without listening to the disgruntled groan full of pain and disappointment, Salco was the first to leave the small hill where the Helldivers were resting. The others followed him, as did a fourth member of the squad who appeared from nowhere.
Bypassing tank wreckage, downed shuttles belching smoke, and the piled-up bodies of B1 battle droids underfoot, the Helldivers reached an open space, and it was then that everyone watching this video felt their mouths drop in surprise and genuine cultural shock.
A huge valley, once adorned with sparse woods and hills, had now turned into a crater-covered hollow, in the center of which the outer ring of a Trade Federation transport was burning out. Broken into pieces, it illuminated hundreds of mangled droid bodies, among which a few Helldivers wandered, performing checks on surviving machines.
Knocked-out tanks were being dragged into a pile by sophisticated humanoid exoskeletons, and next to them rose a mountain of downed droid fighters, most of which were simply hard to identify.
The ground, green with meadow grasses in the past, had now turned into a black void of ash and spilled oil. Mangled, trampled by thousands of feet.
Also, huge, spacious pits from orbital gun shots were visible everywhere.
This whole picture was unsettling and made one think about many things. Everyone... except the Helldivers.
"Well, let's go, boys."
Stepping slightly forward, Shrike pointed the camera at his squad, which was walking down the slope, descending between the wreckage of the enemy's combat equipment. And high in the sky above them, dozens of Helldiver ships drifted slowly, their very appearance adorning the gloomy sky of this unfortunate world—now a battlefield.
***
"What, he said exactly that?"
"Correct, sir." Striking his fist against his chest, our negotiator nodded importantly, trying to spend more time looking at the ceiling than at my studying gaze. "'I will personally speak with Mr. Altman.' Word for word, sir."
"Good, you may go. Excellent work."
Dismissing the subordinate, who left the deck with a brave stride, I returned to my own reflections, trying not to be distracted by the ship's guns thundering in the background.
Rare hits on our hull sometimes broke my train of thought, but these interruptions were so insignificant and fleeting that I calmly remained on my own wavelength.
"So, Jedi again, and they're flying in to talk to me again. Well, at least they decided to jerk the Trade Federation around first instead of starting with us..."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another Lucrehulk-class beginning to fall apart as its central sphere collapsed into itself, after which the monstrous transport's reactor detonated, blowing the ship's outer ring to pieces and simultaneously scattering millions of fragments in all directions.
"What morons. An hour ago it was clear the ship was a goner... Even the stupidest armchair officer of the Judicial Forces could have understood it should be left alone somewhere. But no! And now the entire upper flank has crumbled—congratulations."
Without saying a word aloud, I tracked the ship Captain's reaction, and judging by the satisfied and slightly contemptuous smile, this guy understood even more than I did. Or he was just an arrogant ass. Though there wasn't much difference; the main thing was that he did his job.
"What do you think?"
"A pathetic sight," distracting herself from the battle, Somnia moved her chair closer to me. Rolling on the wheels, the girl for a moment dropped her mask of seriousness, causing a smile she noticed to flash across my face, which immediately made her blush. "Sometimes you have to give in to emotions; I'm not a droid."
"Heh, true enough..."
"And regarding your question... The Trade Federation seems to want to cover its tracks. All these games with negotiations, inviting Jedi, searching for evidence for a Senate investigation... Most likely the board of directors wants to end all this before the Viceroy's falling reputation affects the whole company." Pressing the screen a couple of times, Somnia brought up a simple page with requests for the latest news about the Trade Federation. And the list was not small, because the longer this losing conflict for them lasts, the more often people will ask questions. "They are clearly preparing to conclude a truce and are warning about it in advance, metaphorically. Perhaps they are preparing arguments for negotiations..."
Nodding her head, the girl shook her bangs and froze for a moment, listening to the ship officers' commands. It looked very cute, especially considering that behind Somnia were screens showing the space battle, where another fleet of rabble and transport conversions of the traders was currently dying.
"I think this battle will be the last. The Viceroy no longer has personal forces or resources, and the Neimoidians from the home planet supporting him know how to count money, so they won't help, nor will the Trade Federation Board of Directors." Giving a couple of orders, Somnia crossed one leg over the other and, spinning in her chair, bit her lip in thought. "Yes, most likely that's how it will be. We'll finish off the troops on this planet and then we can negotiate. At the same time, we'll finally get rid of the bastards who've been sitting here for a long time..."
With Somnia's last words, the massive pirate station hanging in orbit of the planet Lok was covered in a web of cracks. Bulging from internal explosions, the behemoth—which had caused us the most trouble in today's battle—began to fall apart, slowly falling toward the planet, pulled down by its gravity.
"And here is the final touch in the space battle." Smiling, the girl gave the order to pursue the retreating enemy forces. Our fleet split into several parts to tightly blockade the planet and prevent anyone from escaping, while the swiftest, high-speed ships dashed into the chase, generously pelting the fleeing pirates with missiles and tibanna. While all this was happening, I managed to stand up and pull the helmet lying on the table over my head. When Somnia gave the final order, she turned to me, offering a warm smile. "The rest is up to you, Commander."
"Yeah, let's bring a little managed democracy to this planet."
***
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