» Trophies and Retirement

~ by

Tex's empty glass thunked against the table.

It seemed to echo in the almost empty cantina, with the quiet murmur of several conversing and the noisy clatter of the band packing up their instruments to leave being the only sounds breaking the silence. The young captain absent mindedly picked at the loose strands of stitching on his jacket that used to hold a CIS insignia just over his breast.

Yes, Captain Brutus H. "Tex" Flint used to serve in the Separatist forces. It seemed like mere minutes ago he had simply torn off the emblem and walked away from it all. He'd seen enough of the damned war. And quite frankly, was just tired.

Some of the things he had willingly took part in... He knew he would have to live with the cold, hard guilt for the rest of his days, hopelessly trying to forget. Wouldn't be surprised at all if some yuppie looking for some revenge murdered me right now... He wearily signaled for an equally dreary-looking waitress to refill his glass. Taking another sip of the bitter liquid, he reached into his pocket to pull out a small disk.

He thumbed it around his fingers with mild interest. The schematics for that new prototype energy canister, he thought. Entrusted to yours truly. Well, I'm not helping the war effort any longer. Anything for the bloodshed to end faster. He slipped it back into his pocket, knowing full well someone would come looking for it sooner or later: Separatist, Republic - didn't matter.

The middle-aged ex-Captain couldn't bring himself to simply destroy the plans. Regardless how dangerous it was to keep them intact, and on his body no less, he took a certain measure of comforting pride keeping it. It was a testament to his courage to leave the Separatists - a trophy.

Was he a coward? Eh, maybe I am. 'Least I don't have to hear those screams...

Tex took a weary glance around the room, scratching his bald head with calloused hands. Besides him, only a young couple at the far end of the room and the bartender remained in the cantina. Suddenly, a coated newcomer walked through the dusty entrance, tipping his hat to the bartender. He took a look around the room and his eyes fell upon Tex, staring down at his half full (half empty?) glass of liquor.

He man strode up next to the table, modestly set against the wall. In a strongly accented voice he spoke. "Anyone sitting here?"

Tex raised an eyebrow, looked at the dozen empty tables in the cantina, then looked back at the stranger. Shrugging, he shook his head. "Go ahead, bud."

The man nodded appreciatively and sat down. Taking off his hat, something disturbingly familiar struck him upon seeing the other man's face. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but before he could try to recall where he'd seen him before, the Stranger spoke again.

"You from around here?"

Hoping not to offend the other man, he assessed why he had ignored all the other empty tables. "Listen, bud, no offense or anything, but I don't swing that way -"

The Stranger chuckled. "Relax, neither do I. Just wanted to make some small talk," he gestured for a drink. "So you from around here?"

Tex didn't look him in the eye. "Nah, not really no."

"Hm," the Stranger gestured to the circle of rough stitches on Tex's jacket. "How'd that happen?"

"Accident."

The waitress came by and placed the drink in front of the Stranger. He didn't drink from the glass, rather, he kept staring at Tex with dark eyes. The ex-Captain took a quick look up to re-scan the Stranger's face.

He had lightly tanned skin and looked oddly serious despite his sociable small talk. He seemed to be forcing himself to be social. And still, there was something familiar about his face, something so strikingly well-known. Maybe I've just had too many damn drinks.

The bartender reached up to increase the volume on a current Holonet News broadcast. Both men looked up to see the news anchor speaking monotonously to the camera.

"...and Republic forces are currently hunting down the lost prototype plans, mysteriously vanishing from a CIS encampment..."

The Stranger smirked. Through his dark, stone-like expression, he again forced out a friendly question. "So, what do you think of the war?"

Only then did Tex notice the Stranger kept glancing to the young couple and the bartender, as if impatiently waiting for them to leave. "It's frellin' madness, man. Can you believe the Republic is inhumane enough to raise an army of clones?" Tex took another sip of his drink. "S'wrong on so many levels."

He may have been mistaken, but Tex could have sworn he saw a small smirk flicker at the edge of the Stranger's lips. "Oh?"

"It just ain't right to grow - no, make - men to fight and kill and die. Those bastards condemned those poor boys to that - that career. What kind of life is that? How do you cope with the fact that you were deprived of natural human rights to protect an ideal you couldn't possibly understand?"

The Stranger looked down at his drink for a moment with an expression of regret. "I see." Then, in barely concealed triumph, the Stranger watched the young couple gather their things to leave, as the bartender and the lone waitress did. Apparently, the bartender didn't find the two men a threat to any valuables he might have had in his rundown cantina.

"Sorry about that rant, bud," Tex said apologetically. He too looked up briefly to watch the people exit the entrance and wander off. "So, what do you do think of the war?"

The Stranger took a deep breath and replied calmly. "It's a living."

Time slowed down as Tex finally realized why he looked so damn familiar. Never thought it'd end like this. He was a clone. He had tried so hard to forget the war he had forgotten the face of his former enemy.

And Tex knew exactly what the clone was here for. The weight of the small disc in jacket pocket suddenly felt as if it was multiplied by hundreds. It was his trophy. It was why he was going to die.

He had just enough time to attempt to pull his blaster out of his thigh holster just as the Clone whipped out his own weapon in a blur of militaristic efficiency. A brilliant flash of blue drove into him from point blank range.

The world blurred and darkened as the Clone reached over and casually plucked the small disc from his jacket. He spoke into his collar. "This is A-51 - objective complete. Mission successful. Heading to extraction now."

The special ops soldier didn't even take another look at the man he left to die alone in a stuffy old cantina.

Tex's empty glass thunked against the table.