What can be said about Roon? In general? Nothing.
A small planet on the edge of the galaxy, hidden behind nebulae and other shit that protects it better than any defense stations and fleets of ships. Not counting the pirates who were lucky enough to get here and us, the sentients who were fed up with gathering the route here bit by bit.
Roon was not bad, many times better than all the Tatooines, Ryloths, and other shitty planets. Quite a few people lived here, and the laws were generally observed. There was its own police and some kind of army. The level of development, truth be told, was a bit low. Here, speeders sometimes coexisted with animals harnessed to carts. And in some places, the people themselves pulled small carts like rickshaws.
There were many freedoms for the population here, and the leader of the planet was chosen through voting. There was no slavery. No corporate oppression either. They didn't even want to hear about tyranny—like, how is that, giving power to one person?
At this news, my belly gave a pleasant itch, so we weren't going to stage any repressions on the planet, and there was no reason to.
Our appearance on Roon, along with the residents rescued from slavery, was perceived as manna from heaven. Even the local oligarchs and the government were generous with various gifts and bonuses.
Only these cunning pig-snouts initially hoped to pay us off with estates and other nonsense that isn't particularly useful to mercenaries from other worlds, so we had to squeeze the bastards for much more significant gifts and discounts.
So now, I officially declare—Roon is in our zone of influence and from now on is dependent on us. I think it's worth leaving our corvette here until the first batches of goods begin to enter the smuggler market.
Of course, everything could have been handled officially... But knowing the current level of corruption and greed in the Senate, I'll probably keep the information about the world to myself. Considering that besides me, only the blessed teacher Tali knows about the hyperspace route, there's no need to worry at all. The main thing is that she just doesn't enter it into the Baobab fleet's files, and there won't be any problems.
***
Half a year—that's exactly how much time was required to prepare and gather the necessary resources.
A stifling and boring chore, having to constantly race across planets. Roon, Mande, Ukio, and Rishi. Constantly flying between them, I wondered if it always happens like this for the heroes of books? Tedious, long, and thankless work, full of paperwork and negotiations that never end?
I'd like to say there were fun days, full of drive, battles, or something similar... But no.
Six months of hard work, and finally—the job is done.
The people are ready, the ships are in orbit, supplies have filled the hangars to the ceiling, and significant money has appeared in our accounts to help in case of need.
Several small mercenary flotillas will set out with us, as well as a couple of captains-agents from the Judicial Forces who are personally interested in the success of our endeavors.
Not to mention that several of Baobab's debtors "quite accidentally" expressed a desire to go with us, and they had almost fifty Mandalorian bastards on board who were hired for one extremely meticulous task. And by the way, they were accompanied by quite real Pursuer-class enforcement ships, which calmly flew beyond the sector... Jerks.
In essence, quite large forces were now gathering in orbit of Rishi, and I think if the Judicial Forces Investigative Bureau weren't involved in all this, a punitive fleet or some monks in brown robes would have already been sent for our asses.
But no. Instead, our entire motley crew was preparing for the campaign, and many players from neighboring sectors froze in anticipation.
I myself was afraid. Afraid that all this wouldn't be enough to execute our plan and all the effort spent would go to waste...
I was also worried by the silence of Kanta and the Weequay sent with him. The people sent to the planet returned with nothing. Only small rumors telling that my dim-witted brother was there a few months ago, but after that, no one had seen him.
Bad suspicions were creeping into my head, but I continued to believe for the best. "Enough reflecting and whining about what didn't happen and wasn't done. It's time to take my balls in my fist."
Slapping my open palm on the table, I rose abruptly to my full height, turning to everyone gathered on the bridge. There were many people here, some trusted by me and some not. Representatives of every group or organization participating in our plan.
There stood one of Jaster Mereel's deputies. Arkam Sula had been with us on Concord Dawn and was clearly dissatisfied with how things were developing on his homeland and what the True Mandalorians were starting to turn into. Exiled due to problems with the leadership, he set to work with a pleasant and surprising enthusiasm for everyone, delving into details and actively participating in discussions.
Dressed in the signature Mandalorian armor, he stroked the bracers with the built-in blade, performing a short personal ritual to calm his frayed nerves.
Standing beside him is a representative of the Merchant Fleet, hands primly tucked behind his back, surveying everyone with a haughty gaze. A wiry, I'd even say gaunt man, with a face and hands covered in scars. I honestly couldn't tell what he had more of: aristocratic arrogance or the disdain of a veteran looking at small fry.
Nearby, a cluster of those same "independent mercenary captains" had gathered—the kind who often successfully work for the Judicial Forces. Giving nothing away, they carried on perfectly mundane conversations about women, loot, employers, and the other charms of being "swords for hire."
And a bit further away from everyone else, simple and solid mercenary warbands had assembled—those who had earned at least a minimum credit of trust with their employers and within their guild. They had decent reputations, and each had been warned in advance that our business was extremely dangerous. I only hoped that when it came to a fight, they wouldn't tuck tail and run.
Well, and in the front rows stood my most trusted and loyal people, whom I relied upon.
Somnia, surrounded by her brothers, who by their very appearance warded off unwanted suitors from the pretty woman. Occasionally she would roll her eyes at their stupid, loud shouts, but overall the girl was pleased with the atmosphere that had formed around her.
She was digging into her wrist-mounted Omni-tool, occasionally glancing around or contacting some of our people on other ships. Her hair was hidden under a red bandana, and she herself was dressed in combat armor modeled after my own, only fitted for a female body.
Nearby, the Shorty had settled in, perched with her feet up on a crate; she was amusingly fussing around a massive Trandoshan machine gun salvaged from a scavenger ship. A magnificent engine of war from my own, far more civilized times.
Ignoring the others, she kept muttering curses under her breath in her native tongue, having turned off her translator beforehand so no one would hear the streams of profanity emanating from under her hood.
Loitering near her were a pair of Zabrak brothers. Two silent types, indistinguishable from one another except for a single prosthetic arm. They were edging closer to the Shorty with interest, trying to get a better look at the unknown type of weapon being assembled literally on her knees.
Noticing my attentive gaze, the pair loyally struck their fists against their chests before returning to the far more interesting activity.
The final participant of the gathering was a Twi'lek girl who had joined us quite recently. A former slave, the fire in whose eyes had seemed completely extinguished, now blazed with righteous fury, occasionally frightening those around her.
She listened to no one but me and desired only one thing—to kill slavers. Even at the cost of her own life, she was ready to take at least a couple of them with her before heading off to rebirth.
Packed into armor, with a pair of blasters on her belt, a vibroblade on her back, and covered from head to toe in detonators and knives—she made an extremely imposing impression. If only it weren't for that fanatically-mad gaze directed at me every time I spoke of Democracy and freedom.
Clearing my throat, I brought a fist to my mouth, drawing the attention of those assembled. Obeying a non-verbal command, everyone looked toward me in a single impulse, silencing their conversations.
In total silence, we stood for a couple of seconds before I looked them all over one last time.
"It is time. Today we take the first step toward destroying the contagion that has latched onto our galaxy like a cancerous tumor." Glancing sternly at Somnia, I nodded to her. My jaw was set and my cheekbones tense, demonstrating the full gravity of the moment.
Bringing the Omni-tool to her mouth, the girl gave a few short commands before settling into the pilot's seat.
"Beginning acceleration. All ships, take your places in formation. Entering hyperspace in forty seconds."
"Gentlemen. Good luck to us all."
Having said the final word, I turned my back to the listeners. I was never good at grand speeches, so I tried to finish with it as quickly as possible. Now, screaming like a maniac and hosing down enemies with a machine gun—that I can do.
"I think my cheeks turned red... Damn, I hope they didn't see."
"Ten seconds. Course set. All ships, stand by." Somnia continued to lead us through the void of space, moving into the necessary position for the jump. We had to leave in a single instant to maintain formation and immediately begin the operation. I suspected they would already be waiting for us on the other side, but there was no other choice. Only a frontal attack, everything just the way I know and love, because playing games and using distracting maneuvers with the Hutts could lead to a far worse scenario. "See you all on Tatooine. Jump!"
***
The dispatcher at Tatoo Four station was snoring softly, waiting for his shift change. Having secured a transfer to this cushy spot, the Rodian Zhugo was happy. He no longer had to put his ass in danger; he just had to meet and direct ships wishing to land on the planet.
Droids and computers would do most of the work, and all he needed to do was be polite and attentive, and correctly read the text from the monitor screens.
Yes, by the rules, Zhugo was obligated to scour the system and constantly monitor the sensors for signs of appearing ships, but man... Seriously? As if there would actually be idiots who would dare to show up at Tatooine for a showdown?!
Not only was there a perfectly respectable fleet gathered here that could bend half the neighboring planets over!
But the planet had also belonged to the Cartel for several years, and everyone knew it. Even in the shitty Republic, they understood that if they showed their fat, rich asses here, the Hutts would give them a hell of a time.
That was why Zhugo didn't worry, continuing in his half-slumber to see dreams of a certain pretty Togruta who had been bought for the cantina in the spaceport. The girl was lovely, still young and completely inexperienced, but Zhugo had almost saved up enough money to teach her everything.
Chuckling lewdly in his sleep, drooling onto his own shirt, the Rodian didn't even react when he heard the system beeping and the grumbling of the droids helping him with his work.
The stupid machines were babbling something incessantly, and Zhugo finally had to take his feet off the desk and crack his sleepy eyes, peering at the flashing screen.
He read the first line and shook his head at first. His sleepy mind couldn't quite snap to, and the Rodian re-read the lines from the monitor several times before lowering his eyes further.
As he read, his already large faceted eyes began to grow in size. Waving his hands, the panicking dispatcher fell off his chair and, in a hurry, scrambled on all fours toward the communications console a couple of meters away.
Collapsing chest-first onto the desk, he feverishly poked his finger at the call button and managed to press it a dozen times before someone answered on the other side.
"Yeah? What's going on with you..."
"ALARM! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"
Glancing at the monitor screen, Zhugo was about to start listing the attackers' ships when the dispatch station erupted in a fireball, blown apart by a well-aimed proton torpedo hit. Having no real armor and protected only against small asteroids, it turned to dust in an instant, notifying the security fleet that they had blinked and missed the attack.
And following that, a hurricane of fire descended upon the Cartel ships, immediately knocking down the shields of many of them and turning a couple into clusters of fire and plasma.
***
"Port side, all shields there, damn you!"
Somnia wanted to swear, but her upbringing and high position stopped her from erupting into the speech of a spaceport loader. Poking at buttons, the girl jerked the ship's yoke, veering away from a collision with an enemy Dreadnought.
A little over an hour had passed since the start of the battle, and everything had already turned into a dogfight.
In a way, this even played into their hands, because unlike the disjointed pirate ships, their group had broken into small teams and acted in concert, helping each other and cooperating simply to avoid colliding. Meanwhile, the space raiders often rammed each other, adding more and more chaos to the battle.
"And it started so well," Somnia thought, while simultaneously giving the order for the fighter squadron to return. Half of her dear-to-heart babies had already been shot down, and the saddest part was that only a few pilots had managed to escape the fire.
The first strike had been terrible for the pirate fleet. Creeping up almost point-blank, they hit with everything they had, generously gifting the enemy with plasma and torpedoes. The missile silos emptied in seconds, and with every minute of the battle, their ammunition—accumulated for this day at the cost of tens of thousands of Credits—melted away like morning snow.
The pirates snapped out of it quickly. Having the advantage in numbers on their side, they easily sacrificed the ships in the front rows. This sacrifice, which burned in flashes of plasma explosions, gave the scum time to re-form.
They met head-on, rhythmically shelling each other and constantly mixing their ranks so that shields wouldn't drain and collapse. Two carousels constantly closed in and moved apart until reinforcements arrived for the pirates.
No one expected this, as all the Cartel ships were supposed to be in orbit now, but apparently, they had badly miscalculated the numbers.
A fleet was coming up behind them, hardly smaller than their own, and they didn't know what to do in such a situation; fortunately, the Baobabs representative had far worse experiences in life. Captain Zack quickly took command and led the ships into a clinch, which led to the current state of the battlefield. In such battles, personal skill and crew training decided more, and so they at least had a chance.
Lost among the first, battered pirate fleet, they began to glide around, preventing the Cartel fighters from breaking distance and forcing the second fleet to enter this wild melee.
The Freedom Rider lurched violently. The belly shields were showing a minimum percentage; a couple more hits and they would cut out, but the ship continued to fly forward toward its goal, followed by two Carrack-class light cruisers covering the rear hemisphere from unwanted presents aimed at the large engines.
Distracted for a moment by memories, Somnia managed to give a series of commands before contacting the captains of the Soul of Justice and Justice, who were following her. The communication took less than ten seconds before all three vessels began a sharp maneuver, diving lower, beyond the limits of the battle, and flying under the pirates' bellies.
"Our task is to land the troops at Jabba's Palace before the worm escapes. Prepare the Kodiak Shuttles and pods."
Pods—there was another piece of foolishness that just wouldn't leave their dear commander's head.
Thinking of the white-haired man in the scarlet cloak, Somnia's cheeks flushed for a moment, but she quickly brought herself back to her senses, especially when pirate fighters began flickering on the radar.
Setting the target designation, she watched with pleasure as a trio of twin small turrets turned the Cartel's Old Machines into space junk. First, second, third...
A series of flashes rolled across the observation screen, and the girl's smile only grew more sinister.
"Roll to the side, starboard side—prepare to fire! Contact Soul of Justice and Justice, tell them to turn their fat-bottoms after us!"
She didn't even wait for answers from her assistants. Executing the maneuver with determination on her face, Somnia gave the command to open fire, after which the bellies of a couple of pirate Dreadnoughts blossomed with explosions. In the chaos of battle, the bastards had completely stopped watching their rears and underbellies... Though, many non-professional ship pilots suffered from this. Unaccustomed to the fact that in space you can fight in all planes, they often left the ship's belly open.
"Entering Tatooine orbit!" A young female voice cut through her ears. Among dozens of reports every second, Somnia fished out the most important one.
"Get ready. Helldivers, forty seconds to readiness!"
***
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