"Of course, as soon as the opportunity arises, I will talk to him." Finishing the call, a sturdy Ukian man threw his head back to the ceiling, rubbing his face with his palms. "Gods... Sister, why do you need this?"
Having finished the communication session, the chief quartermaster, technician, rear officer, supplier, and many others—leaned back in his chair. The conversation with his last living relative had been hard for him. After the revolution, his little sister had become a staunch advocate of Democracy and had fully succumbed to the propaganda speeches and videos constantly flickering on screens or posters.
It was unclear how she found out that her brother had made it to the top of the Helldivers...
It was as if she had lost her brakes. And it would be one thing if she asked to follow in their family's footsteps. For ten generations now, the entire Fesat family in its entirety had worked at a tractor plant, repairing and supplying agricultural machinery to millions of Ukians.
Excellent education, well-trained employees, superb skills, and rare experience. If he put in a word, with such a personal file, his sister would be taken anywhere, especially on Ukio... where members of the Helldivers were treated with piety and respect.
But the stubborn girl didn't want to stand at a machine again or strain her brains with calculations...
His little sister dreamed of sowing "seeds of freedom," as they like to say at his new place of work—meaning when hundreds of drop pods fall on the enemies of that very freedom.
"How problematic..."
Rising from his chair, the slightly stout Ukian wandered around the office before returning to his place. Thoughts were colorful in his head, but the longer he did this, the more he realized that he would not indulge his sister in this matter, but rather the opposite—he would do everything to ensure his last living relative remained safe on Ukio.
And although he didn't use it himself, the man realized that his current power and influence were sufficient for such a thing.
Brag Fesat, a native of the planet Ukio—a huge agri-world supplying food to hundreds of planets and directly to Coruscant itself with the nearby worlds of the Core.
Reddish skin, slightly slumped shoulders—and it was unclear from what more: the abundance of work or from nature.
Eyes slightly bulging and a massive wide forehead that could easily take a punch.
A stereotypical appearance for any of his kin...
Because of that, Brag still couldn't understand by what mystical way—he ended up here. Surveying the spacious, technologically furnished room, the Ukian probably pinched his leg for the hundredth time, just in case, making sure it wasn't a dream.
A little over a year ago, when he made a fateful decision for himself, Brag, like thousands of other Ukians—went to the recruitment point. As soon as the fire of the revolution died down, young guys, laborers without prospects, or those for whom war turned out to be closer than peaceful life—all of them rushed to the Helldiver outposts, organizing kilometer-long queues in hopes of signing up for a promising mercenary squad.
Thousands of young guys and girls with burning eyes. They joyfully discussed how their lives would change after joining the squad. They took photos against the background of Helldivers posters, posted short videos on the HoloNet, and posted thousands of entries every minute, adding fuel to the fire of propaganda that didn't stop for a second.
With a crooked smirk, Fesat recalled how he himself had fallen for the promotional and propaganda video running on TV every twelve hours. Bright, colorful, memorable... It was like a fairy tale, and anyone with even a grain of brain would have realized that everything in this video sequence sounded too good. Besides, after losing all his relatives... he didn't really have anywhere else to go.
But even realizing all this, Brag, nevertheless, went to the point.
As he approached the small converted mansion, which before the revolution had belonged to one of the aristocrats, the Ukian met hundreds of kinsmen on the way, talking zealously and hurrying forward.
Overhearing the conversation of a couple of guys walking in front of him, Fesat only became convinced of his assumptions.
"Marki signed up yesterday. He passed the selection, can you imagine!" A joyful, boyish voice cut through the ears.
"And? What? What?! Where was he taken?" His comrade answered him no less actively, literally drooling with joy from delight.
"Into the Helldivers! Can you imagine?!"
Not giving it any importance, Brag then just shrugged his shoulders, but as soon as he stepped onto the same street as the point, the reason for such wild delight became clear.
A huge queue, the end of which went toward the kilometer-long avenue. Dense rows of volunteers hoping to change their fate. Noise, hubbub, and full-blown chaos.
Young, strong, beautiful. All as if hand-picked... There seemed to be so many of them, but it was only a drop in the ocean, considering how many young farmers from the periphery were rushing toward the capital of Ukio.
Looking at this picture, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his competitors, Brag smoothed his growing belly. Flabby arms, a weak back, shortness of breath... He was a laborer to the bone, but his labor always had an intellectual component.
Competing with young, strong, and crazy kids... No thanks, forget it.
But nevertheless, he sent his personal file to the mailbox on the HoloNet. Not building illusions, the Ukian began to look for a new job, which in the new conditions, post-revolutionary moods—was a dime a dozen, so one could be picky.
But before he even had time to attend the first interview, a message came to his mail... A message that drastically changed his life.
An extremely patriotic coat of arms in the header of the letter. Dry lines with congratulations and the date of the interview for the position... But not of a simple fighter, but of someone else.
The first thought was offensive, but as soon as he emerged a bit from wet fantasies and thought everything through well, Brag began to literally jump for joy around the apartment. After all, besides honor, respect, and extremely patriotic and combat moods on Ukio—the Helldivers offered good money...
And here he is sitting now. In his own office, buried under mountains of reports, with dozens of monitors, with a bunch of assistants who will soon flood the next cabin.
Under his control are huge sums and responsibility for thousands of lives... A steep career growth, considering that he expected to become one of the technicians. But here luck was on his side. While everyone was rushing to the front line, hoping to become one of those who solve the problems of entire worlds with weapons in their hands...
Brag Fesat, like a rare few others—went a different way. And instead of crawling at the bottom of the career chain—he flew almost to the very top. And he didn't perform any great feats, didn't commit madness like Commander Sam...
No. Brag just did his job. And he did it well.
"By the way... Time to get to work." Emerging from memories, the Ukian ran his eyes over the blinking emails, papers on the desk, the vibrating PDA, screaming from messages... "Oh, Madam Deputy is, as always, merciless to me."
****
Stepping over the mutilated bodies, a young Twi'lek with a graceful gait bypassed the last survivor in this part of the ship. Dressed in thick clothes made of armor-fabric with metal linings, the former slave surveyed the mess she had made.
Just a couple of vials of narcotic mixtures and most of the bastards killed each other, after which she only had to finish off the remaining ones.
The semi-darkness didn't allow for a full view of the girl, but now and then a huge painted spider flashed on her back, which looked different depending on the angle.
Left without legs, an old Zabrak crookedly bared his knocked-out teeth, trying to hide his fear behind a confident and bold smile...
"Go ahead, blue slut... Just do it already. Stop dragging it out."
But Mira saw right through him.
Smiling contentedly, the girl continued to walk in circles, forcing her prey to constantly turn his head, following her with his gaze.
Thick blood flowed in pulses from the cauterized wounds, breaking through the black crust. Every movement brought the Zabrak tons of pain, forcing him to clench his teeth so as not to break into a death scream.
Excitedly licking her lips, Miranda pulled out a needle pistol. A difficult to use, dangerous, and expensive weapon, not particularly effective against armor and shields. But for quiet work... For a small drop of poison, against bastards unprepared for such a thing—it was perfect.
Pressing the Needler to her chest, the girl ran her fingers along the barrel, smiling predatorily and insanely. Vulgar and inadequate thoughts rushed through her head, to which she gave vent in such moments.
The silhouette of the person who gave her this exotic weapon and not only it... but also freedom, rose before her eyes. Freedom in all its manifestations.
Biting her lip, Mira suppressed a languid sigh and rolling her eyes, stopped.
But the moment of pleasure was interrupted by an attempt of a stupid animal that could not understand its place. The jerking captain of the slave traders tried to grab her by the ankle and pull her under him, surely confident that he could easily beat her with his bare hands...
Oh, how the former slave wanted to disabuse him of this. To show everything she had learned from desperate thugs, mercenaries, and veterans of the Judicial Forces. But the surge of irritation from the interrupted moment was stronger.
Throwing up her hand faster than the Zabrak had time to realize, she drove a poisonous needle right into the fool's eye, forever destroying the organ of vision.
The vile plant poison instantly spread through the blood, penetrating every muscle, every nerve, and bringing pain along with helplessness. The desert spider poison from Molavar—was a truly terrible weapon, and every time Mira saw the suffering of slave traders, she mentally thanked Sam for such a wonderful gift.
"Wha-a-a-at... E-a-e-e..."
A half-groan of pain and surprise—escaped from the slave trader's mouth.
"Though, I doubt he wanted exactly this," squatting in front of the Zabrak foaming at the mouth, Mira watched her victim with the interest of an entomologist, "I'll have to get Somnia a bottle for such high-quality poison."
One and the same face always rose before Miranda's eyes as soon as she killed another creature that encroached on the freedom of sentient beings. Every time, after dozens, hundreds of bastards, she nevertheless saw the cursed Trandoshan who had done all sorts of shit to her.
"Kill me... Insensitive scum..."
The Zabrak's weak fingers wrapped around her hand, to which Mira responded only with a look full of polite interest. Continuing to squat, the Twi'lek leaned closer, with disgust running her fingers over the lips with foam. Fastidiously wiping her hand on the Zabrak's shirt, she rummaged in a pouch, pulling out a new ampoule.
Starting to load it into the Needler, she nevertheless decided to respond to the words of the ship's captain.
"You know... as a child I was afraid of spiders." The girl's nostrils quivered as soon as she caught the light floral scent of the poison coming from the new ampoule. "I was told they have no feelings, that their hearts don't beat."
Two fingers pressed against the forehead of the Zabrak, exhausted from the struggle with the poison. Lazily pushing the man away, Mira rose to her full height, looking down with superiority at the pirate lying at her feet.
"For a time, I believed those words with all my heart." Turning at a noise, the girl met the gaze of a mask's visor. Black armor with blue inclusions wrapped its owner entirely. The Helldiver who stepped out of the opening pointed his fingers at his watch. Receiving a confident nod from the girl, the fighter disappeared into the darkness, this time completely silently. "Until I stabbed a creature just like you."
Taking the goggles-helmet with many eyepieces from her belt, the Twi'lek put them on her head, gathering the lekku hanging on the sides to the back of her head. Carefully securing them, she inhaled the air, then aimed the Needler at the face of the slave trader crying in pain.
"Now I know the truth: only by killing do spiders feel that they are alive."
***
"Um, well yeah. Something like that. But you'd better to talk this out with sister or Sam."
"Yeah, dude. We break skulls and plant Democracy, we don't talk..."
"Forgive them, Master Falip," poking the brothers in the back of their heads, the eldest—Seth, bowed with them in an apologetic bow, "they talk without thinking."
"Hu-hu-hu, it's nothing, nothing. As long as you fulfill your obligations well, then it's nothing terrible." Covering himself with a fan, the fat representative of a trading company producing helmets for miners winked playfully, giggling—which made shivers run down the backs of all three. "I hope next time they send you to us again."
Already sensing what his younger ones might say, Seth only pressed his palms harder into the backs of their heads, not giving them the opportunity to straighten up.
"Of course, Master Falip. We will pass on your recommendation and will be honored to work with such a respected and generous employer again."
Contentedly narrowing his eyes, the company representative nodded to his thoughts and whistling an unfamiliar tune—retired to his office, leaving them alone in the hall.
"Phew... Damn you..."
"Damn, brother! Did you mix something up?"
"Yeah, Seth! Next time you want to put a couple of guys on all fours—go to your gay squad..."
"Idiots," giving each a slap on the back of the head, the eldest of the brothers overcame a tired, resigned sigh. It's been so many years, and why is it that of the three of them, only he has acquired the rudiments of reason... Sometimes remembering that he used to be just as much of an idiot, Seth sincerely asked for forgiveness from their calm and responsible sister, "you would have blurted something out just now, and then Sam would already be cleaning your chimneys, with a follow-through."
"Pff, he probably doesn't even clean chimneys. It seems to me he doesn't even get it up for anything." The middle brother, Matt, folded his arms over his chest, still making a dissatisfied face, but turned away from the uncomfortable topic, realizing that they could have messed up, and how! "And what did sister even see in him..."
"Yeah, yeah," the youngest of the brothers, Jun, nodded in agreement, "I once showed him the tits of a couple of girls I photographed in the shower. He just shrugged and walked on, didn't react at all..."
"Holy mother of God... What did I do to deserve all this?"
It's not necessary to specify which of the three asked this rhetorical question.
But Seth's brothers didn't pay attention to this and continued to dig their own graves.
"I remember, on Runa. There were a couple of mischievous girls trying to get higher, hoping to become ship pilots for us." Scratching the back of his head, the younger brother stood next to the middle one and together they continued to gossip about the commander, while the subordinates frozen in the distance pretended that the squad's internal communication was turned off. "And so they come and start shaking their tits in front of him..."
"Oh! Oh! Oh! I remember that! The blonde with the redhead..."
"Yeah! I still remember everything, down to the smallest detail... And Sam didn't give a damn. Looked at them, was silent for a couple of minutes, making two beautiful little flowers break out in a sweat, after which he just asked: 'Is that all?'."
"Cursed hypocrite! How could he act like that?"
"That's what I'm saying."
Listening to the intellectual duel of this pair, Seth for the umpteenth time asked for forgiveness from his merciful and beautiful sister for long years of patience and torment. In his prayer, the eldest of the brothers wished his relative happiness and success in conquering such a blockhead as Sam.
Even if the young man didn't say it out loud, he agreed with the commander's oddities, but as a subordinate who had grown wiser, he tried not to talk about it out loud.
After all, all gossip sooner or later ends up on Somnia's desk, and sister, with all this load and duties—is not getting any kinder. Especially considering the problems on the personal front.
"Okay, stop the chatter. You'll have time to talk yourselves into a duty later."
"What? Are you crazy? What duty? We're commanders, after all."
"Blockhead. I'm the commander here, and you're a pair of raw recruits whose asses I wipe."
"What did you say?"
Without wasting words, Seth simply brought up the data on the brothers' personal files on the PDA screen, where their ranks were clearly indicated, and Sam's and his sister's signatures loomed on the side, which immediately cut off any objections.
"Is it clear now?" Without listening to the answers from the stunned brothers, Seth turned to the Helldivers waiting for them. The informality of the atmosphere took its toll, but nevertheless, the fighters reacted promptly to his attention. Lining up in three ranks, fifty thugs stood at attention, devouring him with their gaze through the visors of their helmets. "Unit, listen carefully, I won't repeat! Right now, we will finally clear the pirate scum from this side of the planet. Spare no one, take no prisoners, show no mercy... You are the Helldivers, which means you'll manage in an hour so we can get home sooner. Now, to the vehicles!"
"HUA!"
***
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