After God's know how long, the band of hired guns in which Vindril was traveling with emerged from the tallest dune of the desert hell they were traveling on. The sand underneath his feet had been a pain to walk on without losing his balance, but right, none of that mattered. The person that was supposed to be their guide was standing right at the head of the entire column of people, always maintaining a respectful silence as they were inside a holy place. Whatever was the object of said respect, was something Vindril didn't know. But, if he had to take an educated guess, he would have said it was directed at the desert.
It was said, though Vindril had never got the chance to see it with his own eyes, that the people who still lived near the harshest zones of Keelo Prime maintained an almost reverent attitude towards the endless seas of sand and rock. He didn't know the reason why such a senseless thing had started to spread around; and to be perfectly honest, he had always reputed such claims as mere fantasies to be forgotten the time he heard them. But now that he had such a blatant example in front of his eyes…well, he had to reconsider.
To him, that attitude was just plain bullshit. How does showing respect to the area around you assure your survival no matter what you might be facing? It was preposterous to even think that such a thing could even be believed. No. If Vindril was to survive, no matter where or what he was going to face, he had to rely solely and exclusively to his capabilities. That attitude had always served him well. There was no reason to doubt that wasn't going to be the case anymore.
Suddenly, as Vindril was lost in those considerations, the guide stopped walking. With a single, swift motion, that almost seemed out of character for a person of their size, the guide took something from the pouch they were carrying around strapped around his shoulders. It was without the shadow of a doubt a pair of metallic binoculars, with a couple of lenses that could see from miles and mile away. Whatever they wanted to observe, was surely going to be seen with such a powerful object at their disposal.
"…From this point on, keep silent, no matter what happens." finally said the person as they took one last glance towards where the village was supposed to be. Even if the Academy's Instructors had shown them a digital reconstruction of the exact location they believed the village was located, it was just a random guess. Nothing more, nothing less. The real thing was going to be much different. "Also, trace my steps when we reach the terrain down there."
"Why should I do that?" asked someone.
"…If you must know, you stupid assholes, there's a minefield. If you step into the wrong spot, you're quickly going to find out how it feels to be blown into thousand little pieces. Well, unless you step on a heat mine. Those are simply going to incinerate you. But, hey, if you think you can manage without my help, than be my guest. I've already been paid. You can blow yourself up if you like."
Shit. Now that was a problem. If only he had bought that micro visor he had seen three, or maybe four travels ago. Well, no point in crying over spilled milk. Better keep a watchful gaze and his feet carefully planted on solid, safe ground.
Ar instead looked completely calm and unfazed by that shocking news, as if it wasn't anything dangerous, or even worth reacting to. At least, that was what was transpiring out of his behaviour. In reality, now that Vindril had learned to…decipher the little gestures that they unconsciously did sometimes, he could clearly tell how agitated and preoccupied they were. Maybe it was batter to say something after all.
"…All good?" he asked. His tone was gentle, almost reassuring. He didn't know why, but such an approach seemed to make him cringe.
"…What?"
"Are you feeling good? Are you worried about-"
He didn't even need to finish that sentence before Ar sharply snapped their head towards him. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would I feel like that?"
And yet, at least to Vindril, it was as evident as the sun beating over their heads that they it wasn't all good. As to why they were lying about it, maybe it was to hide their brief moment of vulnerability from those very people all around them, who very ready exploit it. Too bad they didn't know how strong Ar was.
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"Well, you're just wasting time. Time that would be better spent planning your next move. In this kind of situation, we have to make sure to have the upper hand if we want to even reach that...death trap of yours."
Vindril smiled, allowing himself to feel a little bit victorious. It seemed that Ar was going to travel with him and his little gang after all. Good…
The small bubble of illusion he had just built came crushing down hard when his ears picked up some words spoken with the weakest voice possible. Thankfully, his hearing had always been good to him. It was mainly due to it that he had been able to avoid trouble, or to obtain some knowledge that led to him being victorious when the fighting was unavoidable. It was also thanks to it that he was now glancing around, without making it obvious that he was doing it.
Even if he had clearly not understood in a verbatim manner what that person had said in such a soft-spoken way, Vindril had gotten more or less the gist of it. Whoever they were, they were discussing how to deal with him, and by obvious extension, Ar. Well, nothing new there. They were already aware that a difficult fight was ahead of them, with the odds carefully stacked against them. What they didn't know however, was how exactly they were going to get dealt with. There were many, many ways to leave behind the world of the leaving; and to Vindril's personal opinion., some were better than others.
Now, some people, clearly unaware of how cruel and cold space could be out there, stated that there was no better way to die than another. To them, all deaths were equal. To Vindril instead, they were just out of their fucking minds. Or maybe they were simply ignorant of how the galaxy really worked. The fact remained that he hated them with passion. How could dying shot in the head be equal to dying liquefied engulfed in a sea of lava? It just wasn't the fucking same!
Vindril took a calming breath, trying his best to forget such maddening topic. Then, after a short while, he focused back at the task at hand.
Sometime later, perhaps half an hour if he had to guess, they reached a point where the village was now clearly visible even to the naked eye. In order to reach it, they had to cross a minefield, some dangerous sand traps, and all sort of thing in between. So, in order to enter the village combat ready, the whole group took a short rest behind a giant rock that was hiding them from the lookouts that were surely surveying the area.
Vindril didn't have a single report, or information, or piece of file that pointed out that such a thing. However, even to him, who clearly wasn't that well versed in those militaristic topics, that seemed like the most likely scenario. One doesn't simply steal something from the Empire (to be honest, he couldn't even phantom how in the hell had a bunch of space pirates been able to accomplish something so…dangerously stupid.) only to be careless with it. It simply was impossible. So that's why he was sure there were lookouts out there. Just like the rest of group. Problem was, how were they going to deal with them?
The obvious solution was to somehow locate them, perhaps by using the same pair of binoculars the guide had inside his satchel. With correct positioning and fairly amount of luck, they could locate those lookouts before anyone could notice them. From there, it was just a matter of dealing with them as quickly as possible, before they even had a chance to alert anyone.
Another solution was to ignore all of that and simply storm inside by attempting a frontal assault that would unleashed a blaze of fire and death upon everyone. The obvious downside of said tactic was the high risk of dying. And mercenaries and freelancers weren't exactly amongst those who simply charge forward because the mission demanded such a thing. To them, and…well, Vindril, money was why they risked their necks constantly. What was the point of earning many piles of credits if they couldn't spend them because they died?
After a quick, wordless debate, it was quickly decided that the group was going to proceed with the first option.
Vindril watched as the entire group ventured forward, trying to hide their presence by sticking close to the few shadows available. Something was definitely going to go wrong. He didn't know how, but he just knew it.
Ahhhh…How much he hated being right.
/////
If Vindril had to describe how a scalding hot piece of metal shot at a high-speed smelt, he would have said he reminded him of…everything and nothing at the same time. It was a strange mix between metal and wires that was simple so distinctive that it couldn't be confused for something else. Maybe if the one responsible for fabricating those heat mags had used some more carbon-
Vindril cursed out loud, ducking just in time to avoid being hit.
A bullet, a heated one like the ones he was shooting like crazy out of his beloved Mary's modified barrel, had almost hit him on the head. Things had clearly gone wrong. That much was as blatantly obvious as the torrid heat that was enveloping everything under that damned sun. But, no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't exactly point out a set place of time when everything had gone down the drain. When t-
Another bullet almost hit him, this time missing him by mere inches. As he took cover by crouching down practically to the ground, pressing his back against a thick wall he just hoped would resist against those lethal use of force, his eyes landed on the nearby metal canister that must have once contained some kind of liquid. His hope came crushing down as he stared unmoving at the molten boards of the hole that was in it. That, without the shadow of a doubt, was where the bullet had hit. He groaned at the thought that it could have been his arm. Or worse yet, his head.
In a sudden fit of anger, Vindril changed the empty mag with a new one. He didn't simply throw away the depleted one, though. Heat magazines, even empty ones, were expensive; perhaps it was the metal they were made with that fetched such high prices, but he didn't have a clue. Anyway, it made more sense to simply store them away and refill them at the soonest opportunity. So much money was saved by doing such a basic caution.
A voice coming behind him made him turn his attention to more pressing matters.
"We should locate and secure the crate. Now is the perfect time to act. The others are too busy fighting to mind us."
"You don't say!"
Another bullet hit the metal canister again, making another hole appear. Vindril slightly leaned over and shot a couple of rounds in the general directions the shots were coming from.
"Well, yes. I'm not going to waste this opportunity after all the trouble I went through to create it."
As the ringing in his ears came to a halt, Vindril stopped, realizing what Ar had just said.
"Did you just say you're responsible for all of this…?"
"Yes. Now stop wasting time and try to help me. We've a crate to locate."
"Wha-Wait! What the fu-"
Now Vindril really wanted to kill them. What the fuck were they thinking?! He could understand the desire and thought process behind such reckless acting. After all, now it was just a matter of finding the crate, secure it, and disappear before anyone noticed anything. However! It was also his belief that they had just crated a hell hole unnecessary. There were better ways than that to achieve their objectives. But he also guessed Ar wasn't the type to sneak around when the stakes were so high. Hard to topple one's survival after all.
He shook his head and trailed after them, entering inside a building that was nearby. Luckily no pirate managed to hit them, even if Vindril heard some shots whistle way too close to his liking. Way too much close.
By the look of desolation that reigned in that small confined space, that looked like some sort of back storage if the few intact objects scattered around were to be of any sort of indication, nobody had been in there since long ago. The absence of footprints in the dust covered ground proved to be a further confirmation that was the case.
By placing a foot after the other, they slowly ventured in there, pointing their weapons right in front of them. One hand, usually the right one, was firmly holding the metal trigger, ready to blast into oblivion anyone dumb enough to attack frontally. The left hand instead was placed right under the other to serve as a sort of damper. Heat guns, unlike conventional weapons, were indeed more powerful and deadly than laser guns. The downside was that the recoil was nothing to joke about. Good thing that Vindril had tampered with his Mary, or he wouldn't have been able to fire even a good shot, let alone hit something.
After a couple of minutes they arrived at the other side of the building without having encountered any sort of armed resistance. Vindril found it all a little bit too suspicious to be honest. Even if pirates were renowned to be more…permitting with their overall tactics (honestly, it was just a polite way to call them dumb.), leaving a building completely devoid of any kind of surveillance was something so dangerous and unthinkable that Vindril couldn't believe it. Not that he was complaining about it. If there was indeed a way to avoid a frontal confrontation, or to leave that bothering part to their would-be killers, than he was more than happy to do so.
Maybe luck was on his for once.
With that said, they ventured inside the next building, which seemed to be currently empty. Then, after a couple of minutes, into the next one. And the next one. Until they reached a normal looking one that seemed to be adapted as a living quarter. Inside it, they reached a corridor. And in there, all hell broke loose.