Soldiers of the Stars

Chapter 22: In the Republic We Trust, All Others Pay Credits

GALACTIC CITY, CORUSCANT – GALACTIC CITY SUNRIDER AMPHITHEATER

CAPTAIN GUNNER

     The older clone glowered at me from across the dressing room as we waited for the Director of Republic Affairs to bring us onto the stage. His hair was cropped short. He wore an untrusting scowl and a uniform similar to mine. His rank insignia badge told me he was a Lieutenant, and the patch on his sleeve told me he served under General Malicos' battalion. Judging by his wrinkles, he had to be a first-generation clone. On his chest was a small purple medal outlined in bronze in the shape of a triangle, the Angel's Bronze Heart, awarded to soldiers injured in battle and released from service with an honorable discharge.

     A blown-out speaker in the corner cut in and out, blaring the big band music from the stage above. The horrendous crackling and popping were distracting me from my thoughts, yet the sound appeared to have little to no effect on the Lieutenant, who remained focused on me. I finally got tired of the speaker and was about to get up to turn it off when the older clone drew his blaster and sent a hole into the center of the speaker, putting the thing out of its misery. I gave him a slight nod, thanking him, then I acknowledged him. "The name's Gunner."

     He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he repositioned himself in his seat. That's when I noticed the two mechanical legs under his slacks. They weren't like the newer prosthetics either – these were the old, stiff prototypes dating back to the First Battle of Geonosis. Finally, he spoke. "CT- 7470." His voice was gruff and sharp.

     "You don't have a name?"

     "Don't need one," he replied bluntly. "You young'uns think giving yourselves names makes a difference?" He scoffed. "Doesn't change a damn thing." He reached into a side pocket and pulled a flask out. Drunken memories flooded my mind as my eyes widened. "Relax, mate. It's just water." He let out a mischievous chuckle. "Unless you need something stronger."

     Before I could ask him any more questions, a Pantoran rushed into the dressing room. Her golden markings on her face matched the extravagant gold jewelry hanging from her neck and ears. She wore a short burgundy dress with puffy sleeves and pointy glasses that sat at the edge of her nose. "My name is Fae'lyn. I'm the Director of Republic Affairs. Here are your speeches." Her Pantoran accent was thick. She handed us both small metallic cards with the speeches etched into them. "Once the fanfare ends, I will introduce you both, starting with Lieutenant Seventy-Four, and then followed by Captain Gunner. I want this to run as smoothly as possible. This is your last call, so I suggest you two start making yourselves presentable." She eyed Seventy-Four.

     He blew a kiss to her, which was met with Fae'lyn's narrow golden eyes and flared nostrils. Her attention drifted to the remains of the speaker. "Lieutenant, we talked about this," She scolded. "This is why we can't have nice things."

     I fumbled through the speech imprinted on the small metallic cards in my hand.

THE SEPARATISTS WILL SOON BE KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR UNLESS YOU PAY 25 CREDITS TODAY. SUPPORT THE REPUBLIC. SUPPORT YOUR TROOPS AND HELP DEFEND THE REPUBLIC FROM INFLATION. DO YOUR PART. IN THE REPUBLIC WE TRUST.

     "I can't say this," I said, bewildered.

     Fae'lyn bounced her short silver curls in her hand, struggling to get them to sit right. "Just stick to the cards and you'll be fine, dear."

     "This is terrible writing. No one talks like this." She didn't really expect me to say this, right? This had to be one part of the speech. I frantically flipped to my other two cards, but they didn't say anything different than the first card.