"You know, usually stories like this are told to children at bedtime, or drunk asteroid miners spin yarns for their friends." Closing the folder with my personal file, Lieutenant Colonel of the JFIB, Rick Dicker, looked me over carefully from head to toe. "But... considering that I saw part of these events with my own eyes, and know about the rest from reliable sources... I believe you."
Smiling thinly at my sigh of relief, this elderly man, around fifty years old, tapped a simple rhythm with his fingers on the folder of my case.
We were sitting in one of the Academy's meeting rooms, and on the table between us stood an extremely interesting device that created interference for technology... all technology except for the Lieutenant Colonel's handheld PDA.
He looked extremely striking, especially in his Republic officer's uniform.
Neat gray hair, smoothed at the sides and brushed back. A large potato nose immediately caught the eye, but against the rest of his face, it didn't stand out much. Bushy gray eyebrows were constantly drawn together, and his forehead was always etched with wrinkles.
Coupled with a powerful square jaw—it created a perpetually frowning, I would even say, dissatisfied image. And the attentive gaze of his dull blue eyes could frighten many...
Though considering his job, I wasn't surprised. Surely, this old soldier had seen piles of shit in his time, so being surprised by such an appearance and behavior was unnecessary.
"Listen, Sam," pushing the folder aside, Rick had clearly come to some conclusions of his own, for before speaking, he gave a faint nod. A barely noticeable movement that he likely wanted to hide from my eyes, "you said you have a registered team under your command? Helldivers, right?"
"Exactly."
"I see. And all of them," snapping his fingers in the air, Lieutenant Colonel Dicker played his role of the good-natured intellectual wanting to make a close acquaintance perfectly, "possess similar talents?"
"Depends on what you mean." Smiling, my eyes looked directly into his, and I saw for sure that he realized that I realized...
"Eh, fine. I'm talking about whether there are many among you capable of killing a representative of," glancing at the documents in the folder, Dicker read the name of the race, "the Yam'rii, with your bare hands?"
"Not many, but there are a couple. And with weapons and the blessing of the Republic, there won't be any problems at all."
"I see..."
Lost in thought, the Lieutenant Colonel gripped his chin, softly massaging it. Closing his eyes, he began tapping the rhythm unknown to me again.
"Mr. Dicker," drawing the old investigator's attention, I met his surprised gaze, but Rick quickly composed himself, though I wouldn't be surprised if these emotions were feigned and false from start to finish, "could you tell me about these mantises?"
"The Yam'rii?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, there's not much to say; my colleagues work in that part of the galaxy, so I don't know much about them myself." Opening the folder and finding the right page, Dicker read something and for a moment raised his eyebrows. "An aggressive race. They eat everything but prefer flesh and eggs... Nothing was heard of them before, but for the last couple of years, they've been popping up here and there. I think any Trader from those parts will tell you more."
"I see." Pity, the old man didn't want to share information, and I had been hoping.
For several minutes we sat in silence, and occasionally the old man cast searching glances at me. It was extremely interesting to know what kind of schemes were turning in his head right now, and the investigator did not disappoint me.
"Tell me, Sam. Would you like to serve the righteous cause of the Republic and Democracy?"
Bracing myself like a krayt dragon before a strike, my eyes bored into the face of the satisfied old man, who clearly appreciated my reaction.
"Depends on what needs to be done."
"And I thought it depended on how much we pay."
-I don't need money; I'll have plenty of it soon enough anyway...
"Hmm?" A datapad was now in his hands. After tapping at it for about ten seconds, he smirked knowingly. "You want to take over the smugglers' port... And here, you asked Miss Tali'Zorah nar Rayya vas Apollo for hyperspace route maps... Robbery? No. Drug trafficking? Also unlikely... Roon. Correct?"
"That was impressive."
"I'll tell you right now, you're far from the first to dream of that. And thank you for such a flattering assessment," he said, yet his face, even his eyes, didn't change for a second. "Since you don't need money, what can the Judicial Forces pay you with then?"
You can't get much out of the Judicial Forces, especially on an official level, so it was worth casting the line a bit further.
"And will the payment come from the corps itself, or..."
Glancing first at Rick Dicker with a hint, I decided to take a risk and shifted my gaze to the massive Baobab Clan crest painted on the wall.
"You've already received your reward for helping the academy..."
"Pity."
But before I could get disappointed, Rick smiled warmly and laughed, looking at me. Interlocking his fingers, he rested his hands on the table, leaning closer.
"Politics and negotiations aren't your strongest suit, are they, Sam?"
"It's obvious," I said, spreading my arms and smiling sheepishly. "I'm good at throwing punches and giving pretty speeches, but reading people..."
"I see. Well then..." His fingers began drumming on the table again. "If you agree to work for us, I'll organize an official contract for you through the guild."
"With the Traders' clan?"
"Exactly."
"I need ships."
"A ship."
"Ships," I pressed, sitting up straighter to face my interlocutor head-on. "I'll have money soon. I have people and food, but... a fleet plays a massive role. And without it, all other achievements..."
"True," Rick interrupted with a soft wave of his hand. He reflected for a long time before his face lit up with an idea. "I see you'll stand your ground to the end. But I have something to offer you."
Another tapping of dry fingers on the datapad.
"After your games on Ukio, we had to work very hard to ensure the new democratic government," Rick emphasized the word with his tone and gave an ambiguous grunt, "didn't impale all the aristocrats on stakes. We had to do a lot of work, if you understand..."
"Perfectly."
"Hmm, I doubt it... During the arrests, we seized many items, including ships." Taking a drag of his cigarette, Rick Dicker stretched, squaring his shoulders. "The Baobab fleet bought them all up, but I'm sure they'd be happy to sell them to you at reduced prices."
"But..."
"Very reduced."
"I need to know which ships."
Raising an eyebrow, the lieutenant colonel gave a sharp smile, clearly hinting that my future employment would be well-compensated.
"Two Carrack-class light cruisers."
***
"Do you even realize how this sounds? You're heading off to who-knows-where, taking all the men and the ship!"
"Don't get worked up, Somnia, I'm not leaving you with nothing..."
Pursing her lips, the girl crossly folded her arms over her chest, demonstrating the full extent of her anger.
"Everything was just starting to work out for me, and if you take the boys, I'll have to start all over again..." Raising a sad and stubborn gaze to me, my companion was determined to fight to the end. "At least leave me my brothers! Without them, I'll be blind and deaf instantly. This isn't some sheltered little planet with a bunch of mean teachers. Pirate gangs dock here..."
"Alright, calm down, just calm down. I hear you." Leaning back, I spun in my chair, throwing my hands behind my head. The decision had already been made, but it was annoying to change plans. "Fine. Let your 'a-a-ah brothers' stay with you..."
In the background on the girl's side, the indignant shouts of the three brothers could be heard. But neither she nor I paid any attention to it, used to such reactions. And besides...
Somnia's satisfied smile was my answer; how could I refuse her? She nodded quickly, silently waiting for more, as if afraid I might change my mind.
But what was the point? After what happened on Tatooine, she feared for every one of us, and for her family especially. I was sure that on Rishi, she held everyone who needed holding by the balls and could easily handle things herself... She just wanted her family to be safe.
"Then I have a request..."
"I'll do it."
"Don't rush." Interrupting her with a wave of my hand, I suppressed a smile; right now she looked like a child who had been promised something by a parent and was now ready to do anything. "I've arranged to receive two ships for the hire. We'll need money to buy them and specialists to operate and repair them. Contact the brothers, pick the right people, and send them to learn flight operations. My new acquaintance from Mende can arrange a short course for them at the academy."
"Understood." After thinking for a few seconds, she typed something into her wrist-comp, then returned her attention to me. "I'll prepare the money and take care of Roon while you're..."
"Don't. Rush." I spoke to Somnia syllable by syllable, and she looked embarrassed by my tone. "Talia, again, promised to help us. Her contacts at the academy won't hurt, especially after the shake-up in the teaching staff, so discuss everything yourselves... She's an extremely expressive and active individual, but she knows her business."
"Alright. You certainly have a knack for finding useful people."
"Luck is on my side in these matters." Shrugging, I scratched the back of my head, running my fingers through my hair. "In general, that's all for now. I'm departing for the other side of the galaxy, so all management is on you. I'll write to the brothers, don't worry about that, and I'll warn the Weequay."
"Thank you," the girl smiled warmly, looking away. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on everything..."
"That's why I'm not worried. Alright, if there are serious problems—write, call, but until then... you're the boss."
Waving goodbye, I cut the connection. The girl, who had started to perk up, barely had time to open her mouth before the link broke, and I was already giving the command to jump to hyperspace.
"Well then... let's see this Mandalore of yours."
***
Damn ships... why the hell are they so slow. In the Helldivers, we could reach a target in minutes, but here?!
It's just a nightmare, and that's with us flying through two of the largest hyper-routes—well-mapped, fast, and supposedly the best of the best.
First, we took the Corellian Run to the planet Denon—a massive Ecumenopolis, the second largest in the galaxy after the capital of the Galactic Republic, Coruscant.
And then we flew along the Hydian Way, getting as close as possible to Mandalore. A grueling two weeks, I tell you, and that was considering we were on a fairly large ship; how do people move around here in fighters or tiny two-by-two-meter boxes? I have no idea.
But grumbling aside, we finally reached our destination, and it looked extremely inviting.
The planet Mandalore in the sector of the same name. For a long time, this place was a massive thorn in the side of the Galactic Republic and all its neighbors, but those days were long gone.
There are no more great raiders, warriors, and crusaders putting the galaxy on its knees. Now it's more of a respawn point for high-quality lone assassins and, at most, small squads that rarely gather together.
And everyone was fine with this situation.
The Mandalorians are degrading and sitting quietly on their planets in isolation from the rest of the world. They pay taxes to the Galactic Republic, becoming increasingly dependent on it, and are afraid to poke their noses out. Let them call themselves super-warriors and so on... they didn't pose any particular danger, especially on a galactic scale.
The new government of Mandalore—truly democratic and free from stale savage traditions, and that's what they called themselves, the New Mandalorians—was moving toward strengthening relations with the Galactic Republic. Although they kept insisting their sector would develop independently, without massive external cash injections, such talk was empty fantasy.
But then, as always happens, those appeared who didn't like this one bit. Generally, there were four main factions in the sector, and three of them were the most politically active.
The New Mandalorians, who want to live in peace and cooperate with other races. They advocate for Democracy and the rights of citizens, trying to integrate into the broader galactic society. You could say they strive for stability and peace, and traditions are important to them, but they are also open to new ideas.
On the other hand, the True Mandalorians adhere to a tougher philosophy. They focus on warrior traditions and believe in the strength and superiority of their people. Parallels can be drawn with militaristic ideas where the main values are strength, honor, and readiness to fight for one's culture.
Death Watch is another group of Mandalorians that is more radical and often uses violence to achieve its goals. They believe traditional Mandalorian values must be restored at any cost, even through brutal actions. Their ideology can be perceived as extremist, as they do not accept compromises and want to dominate completely.
In general, I think everyone already understands which group the Judicial Forces and the Galactic Republic are most interested in... and me, of course.
Exactly. Our task is to help the government of the New Mandalorians defeat the other two rivals and bring the wonders of freedom and Democracy to their backward heads. We will sow the seeds of liberty on their desert planets...
At that moment, I remembered the little gifts Somnia had added to the ship. The entire cargo bay was packed with them. But back to business.
I forgot to mention the last and largest ideological group in the sector—the neutrals. Those who just live as they want, ignoring the shouts of the loudest. If they want to mercenary, they mercenary; if they want to work in the fields, they work... The vast majority of Mandalorians live exactly like that, and it's for them—not just for a pair of Carracks—that I'm flying to this god-forsaken world.
Even if the current boogeymen of the galaxy aren't what they used to be. They are physically strong, loyal, and stu... proud. If they swear an oath, they'll fulfill their obligations. And they are skilled with weapons, which almost every resident of the sector possesses.
"Commander, we've entered Mandalore's orbit. They're... asking who we are."
"Right, thanks. Get to the barracks, tell the boys to get into the new gear."
"Heh-heh... Yes, Commander." Flashing a happy smile, Sergeant Beboc dashed to the deck with the soldiers, likely already imagining the coolest way to line them up to impress everyone. Let him have his fun... the main thing is he knows his job.
A few Pursuer-class enforcement ships zipped past us. Small, only thirty meters long, but these glorious machines were excellently designed and could easily contend with various fighters and even small frigates and corvettes.
Helldivers never won by numbers; we always won by quality... and tons of bombs with the aftertaste of liberty that Cruisers dropped on our enemies' heads!
The Pursuer was an excellent option. And I planned to negotiate with the Mandalorian government for their supply after the contract was finished.
"Freedom Rider, you are being hailed by the patrol squadron, Echelon One on comms. Respond or we will open fire."
"Freedom Rider here, Echelon One."
"We have received your landing codes and purpose of arrival. A message came from the capital, so follow us. If you attempt to deviate from the course, we will open fire."
"I got it, Echelon One. No sudden moves and follow orders."
"Glad for your understanding, out."
What tedious fellows these Mandalorians are. I hope we don't get shot upon arrival. With a grim chuckle, I passed all commands to the pilot droid, then headed to the barracks myself, where our armor should have been prepared.
***
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