Mizuna, a weary and exhausted wanderer of the endless sands of Tatooine, looked at the rescued boy. The boy was covered in dust, his eyes full of wonder and curiosity as he sat before him, greedily listening to his story of a world full of dangers.
Exhaustion was, of course, a part of life on this planet, but the feeling that this boy knew no fear initially surprised the old hunter.
"How can he not be afraid? At his age... Or is he just simple-minded, like my own?.. Though Kanto is just a pervert and a fool, and this one, it seems, is a complete simpleton," Mizuna thought, rubbing his scarred hands.
His life, full of horrors and betrayal, was shaped under the weight of bitter memories and the ceaseless struggle for survival. Many years ago, he himself hadn't been like this, clearly understanding how dangerous the desert could be. And life on Tatooine had quickly taught him cruel lessons.
Now, every time he looked at the sand, he saw how it seemed to swallow everything that was good and bright.
"I only saved him because there's something in him," he mused while busy around the house and garage, checking the moisture vaporator.
"Maybe I shouldn't have saved him—just hung an extra mouth around my neck for nothing?" Mizuna sighed, leaving thoughts of his own past and memories of those he had lost when he had yielded to such altruism in his youth under the weight of a salt crust of sweat.
Meanwhile, the boy listened impatiently, greedily absorbing his every word.
"On this planet, there are raiders, beasts that want to eat anyone who shows weakness," Mizuna explained while gathering provisions. "The scars you see on my body—each one of them is a memory of a meeting with a monster in the desert. Here, every step could be your last."
There was no fear in his voice, only a sincere desire to warn. But the boy only nodded, his gaze full of admiration. Every mention of the adventures, which he clearly craved, seemed to fill him with energy.
In the process of his thoughts, Mizuna finished his daily chores and sat next to the boy. Watching the way the kid hung on his every word, the old man suddenly realized: perhaps right now, in these sands, a new spark had been ignited—a spark capable of reigniting hope and faith in something greater than just survival. Or conversely—leading them to their final downfall.
"Sometimes," he thought, "to survive on Tatooine, one needs not only a weapon but a dream. Yes, a dream is what will help us get through all the terrible trials, capable of bypassing enemies and sailing across the boundless oceans of stubbornness to become something more." And he smiled.
On this backwater edge of the Universe, where there should be just enough fear to help you survive, this crazy kid with burning eyes reminded him that even in the darkest places, light can break through.
***
"Heh-heh-heh, little Natsuki! Come to me..."
Giggling unpleasantly, Mizuma's son ran through the village, chasing a young neighboring girl who was his age. Young Kanto was a peculiar guy, to put it mildly. Simple and uncomplicated, he was at the same time a notable pervert who would screw a corpse if it had big tits.
Because of this, all the girls in the village were in danger, for this lustful animal didn't shy away from using any methods just to get under their skirts.
The young, naive girl was too attached to one of the few peers who had played with her since childhood, so when they both grew up, she still forgave his antics, constantly returning.
"First love..."
"You talk like an old man, Sam," coughing and spitting out clumps of blood and saliva, Mizuma tried to pretend he was fine, but my ironic look only elicited a cheerful snort from the old man, "you little whelp. You've grown into a big lug and think you can boss me around? You don't even have hair on your balls yet to..."
"Ugh, you've become too grumpy and vulgar. Now it's clear where Kanto got those quirks from."
"Don't compare me to that blockhead. Six years have passed, and he hasn't changed a bit, still the same young fool... Eh," sitting down on the bench next to me, Mizuma smacked his lips, watching his son's stupid games closely, "one fool still can't get a skirt up... The second has hammered nonsense into his head."
"Old man..."
Tucking my pant leg into my boot, I tightly bind my ankle so sand doesn't pour inside. Listening to Mizuma's grumbling, I checked my gear, with which I would set off into the desert.
The beige cloak constantly slipped from my back. Its thick, heavy fabric, which helps keep warm at night and keep cool during the day, kept trying to block my view.
My eyes briefly slid over the metal bench we were sitting on. Covered in womp rat skins, this bench was another of Mizuma's finds that he and I had hauled out of the desert.
Speaking of womp rats. When I first saw those adult beasts, I dreamed of feeling the heavy weight of a light machine gun in my hands again or having a couple of cruisers in orbit to level the entire canyon of their habitat. Two-meter beasts huddling in a pack, with teeth as long as my forearm, jumping with the speed of a cheetah on drugs... Fortunately, the locals had long ago learned how to beat those bastards, so over time, I too managed to master this complex science.
Shuddering from the memories, I switch back to the conversation.
Yes... the old man was a scavenger, as were all the inhabitants of Tatooine, searching the sands for anything useful. That day, six years ago, he happened to be nearby and was the first to reach the crash site of my pod, where he gathered most of the surviving metal and equipment, and afterward headed toward home, which by happy coincidence I was also trudging toward.
Noticing the explosions of sand, the old hunter initially took fright, but then curiosity got the better of him. Logic and reason told the old man not to meddle where a krayt dragon was likely having fun, but he didn't listen... And so, here I am sitting, saved on that hot day, in every sense of the word.
"Pff, enough. I'll say what I want." Stubbornly knitting his brows, the old hunter unexpectedly bolted toward the house. For several minutes, he rustled through something, cursed, and puffed under his nose, after which he returned to me with a rifle wrapped in a rag. "Here, take this. I wanted to give it to you when you turned twenty, but since you can't wait any longer... Honestly! Such talent, such skills, and you waste them on some nonsense."
Tenderly accepting the gift from the man who had become a father to me in this strange world, I suppress any objections and hurtful words that want to escape my lips and only smile warmly, seeing how pleased he is by my sincere gratitude.
"Thank you." One simple word, and Mizuma's grumbling and swearing vanished as if by magic.
"Eh, Sam," pulling his hat from his head, he jammed it onto mine, "take care of yourself... boy. The village won't survive if its favorite disappears into the sands."
"Of course," smiling at his rough tone, I lay the rifle across my knees, carefully pulling back the protective case and removing the cloth, "are you sure you want to give this to me?"
"I've saved my own for Kanto, but this one will do for you." He muttered, turning away; nonetheless, I noticed a flush on his cheeks. "With this little lady, you can bring any nonsense you want—whether it's genocide or democracy to any world. A true savage's weapon for war from destructive times."
I ran my fingertips over the rifle, if it could even be called that. It looked more like a revolving carbine. All that remained was to load my new weapon and prepare a supply...
As if reading my thoughts, Mizuma pulled a couple of boxes of cartridges from his breast.
"Anti-personnel rifle cartridge with an explosive bullet," grimacing with disdain, he spat on the ground, "not like those... bla-a-asters of yours..."
Mimicking, he waved his arms, glancing askance at my belt, where a standard blaster pistol of an outdated model hung. All scuffed, with parts remodeled by local craftsmen, it nonetheless had good specs, but Mizuma didn't recognize such weapons and was right in some ways. The Tibanna gas used for them was becoming scarcer every year. Because of this, village residents had tacitly agreed to dilute the gas with some local equivalent, so as not to accidentally end up with a bare ass at some point.
"This little lady will tear a krayt dragon's face off with one shot," hesitating at my skeptical look, the man coughed, "well, at least the one that tried to snatch you by the heel."
"Powerful..."
Krayt dragons. The local fauna was full of such beasts. As a hunter, Mizuna often crossed paths with all the joys of the desert, and krayt dragons were the local alpha predators. Yes, they too could be dealt with, but for the most part, these huge dinosaur-like monsters dominated the sands, feasting on other inhabitants and travelers.
"Yeah, so if you're going to follow your goals, don't shoot 'people' with it."
With a sneering chuckle, Mizuma turned away, returning to watching his pervert son so he wouldn't do something for which he'd be hung by his balls or put in a cage in the sun.
The old man didn't understand me and in recent years had begun to mock my dream and goal: "to settle conflicts through peace and diplomacy, and to impose democracy only on trash and bastards." He called me an idealist and a fool—after all, how could I know who is actually a bastard and who is a good guy? But I didn't hold it against him. Over the years spent together, we had become good friends and, truth be told, I even began to see him as something more—maybe even a father? A strange feeling, unfamiliar.
Packing the rifle, I carefully tied the straps, checking the reliability of the case. In the desert, a negligent attitude toward equipment always ends the same way. And even if Mizuma's gift could likely shoot in mud, underwater, and in space... it's better not to risk it. Sand is dangerous and treacherous, and after so many years in a moisture-farming settlement, I had learned this rule much better than others.
"Six years have passed... Quick, though; I didn't even have time to notice."
I won't recount my entire life in the village; far too many events managed to happen to me during that time. From meeting the local contingent to scuffles with the Sand People, who turned out to be much more cruel, mysterious, and misunderstood than I thought.
I worked at the well and helped out in the village. I could be seen at a construction site or in the kitchen. Loading the catch from a hunt, and as I grew older, I even led hunting parties for local fauna that provides us with meat a few times.
But most of all, I trained.
From morning till night, according to a Helldiver's schedule—regaining my former skills and reflexes, working myself to exhaustion, forcing my body to get used to the fact that it was no longer weak. I broke the remnants of Sam inside, remolding them into something more—something that could survive on Tatooine.
"Well then, I'm off." Securing the carbine to my backpack, I throw it over my shoulder. Raising my head to the sun, I adjust the simple protective goggles that should keep the sand out of my eyes. "Don't remember me poorly."
Without saying goodbye, I wave a hand in the air, feeling Mizuma's attentive gaze on my back, which accompanied me to the very border of the village.
***
Three days later.
"Shit... maybe it really was a stupid idea?"
Hiding behind a rock, ducking away from a pair of blaster shots at the last moment, I lower my head, escaping the last and most accurate one.
Everything around me had blackened and charred. The stone, heated by plasma, was ready to crack at any second, and the shouts coming from all sides only made the situation worse.
The very first meeting with other settlers...
Well, of course. What would an armed crowd do when they see a lone traveler in the middle of the desert? I didn't even have a chance to say a word before the rounds from a blaster rifle and a local equivalent of a shotgun riddled several rocks.
No, I wasn't a naive idiot, although to some extent maybe...
Well, I understood that I would often run into trash, bastards, monsters, raiders, and others... But the very first meeting!? What an injustice.
Forced to hide, I dodged through the canyon like a rabbit, turning down a narrow chute at the last moment. With a few shots, I managed to drive them off, but then among these individuals driven by a thirst for gain, someone with a couple of brain cells apparently turned up. And having climbed to the top of the canyon, they were now shooting down at me.
The incredible sensations of flashes constantly sparking and buckshot flying in tatters behind my back and over my head are indescribable. It felt like pure nostalgia. All that was missing was for a nuclear charge to hit from orbit, and then it would be perfect. All for the glory of democracy!
Tucking my legs, I lunge sharply to the side, diving behind a pile of rocks that created an excellent natural cover. Protected from most sides, I could only occasionally shoot back toward the canyon peaks, driving off the most persistent pursuers.
Wiping sweat from my face, I allow myself a moment of relaxation, and at that moment, a grenade falls at my feet.
"Oh, come on, no!" Thinking of nothing better, I snatch up the detonator and throw it back, missing the explosion by a couple of seconds, but the effect of it was incredible.
I clearly overdid it, and the explosion didn't occur at the base of the rock ridge, but closer to the peaks, causing a small landslide that was slowly but surely growing into something larger.
"A-a-ah! Run, this psycho blew up the cliff!"
"I blew it up?" At such insolence, I even peeked out, hoping to find that arrogant little shit who thought he could dump all the problems on me. Но instead of horrific hostile faces, I saw only approaching boulders and tons of earth and stone rushing down the slope. "Holy shit!"
The pistol was in its holster with a practiced movement, and I crawled on all fours behind the largest rock, pressing my back against it and praying to gods and spirits that the local elements would leave me alone.
But as it turned out, I wasn't alone behind the rock. A small dwarf in a brown robe, putting my own idea into practice, had pressed his back against the stone, muttering in his native tongue.
"A Jawa? What the hell are you doing here, kid?"
Covering me in what was clearly choice profanity, the Jawa actively waved its arms, squeaking and shrieking... I honestly didn't understand a damn thing, but it looked amusing.
These small creatures were one of the two indigenous races of Tatooine. Little scavenger-traders who haul away any tech they find and then trade it with the locals. I had dealt with them more than once... and it's an extremely difficult business. Jawas communicate through a strange mixture of sounds and smells, so simple black-footed workers like me just can't understand the magnitude of thought they try to convey. There is a special trade language, but it's just a quiet horror if interpreted into simple words: "Me you trade. You me money give."
Settling in next to him, feeling the growing roar, I hold out my hand palm-up, and a moment later the Jawa's small paw latches onto it.
At that moment, a kind of pathetic mood washed over me, and I tried to compose a haiku.
Sitting, hidden behind a rock,
Yelling with two throats.
Complete clusterfuck behind us.
With a roar, shaking the earth, the rockfall crashed down behind us, trying to crush the large rock. It felt as if the landslide were trying to get right to us, so furiously and long did it pound against our boulder-protector.
The roar did not subside. I stopped being able to keep my teeth from chattering. From the shaking, everything around was vibrating, and the vibration lifted us off the ground, threatening to carry us further...
And stones were flying around us, mud was falling on our heads, and the air was filled with sand that covered the area like a fog.
For several long seconds we screamed until grains of sand began to fly into our mouths, after which we continued to cling to life in silence.
A minute? Maybe two?
When the roar stopped, for a while longer I didn't dare open my eyes, fearing to see something unpleasant, but courage won out, and I resolutely snapped my eyelids open.