Chapter 14 : The Republic's Coin - Part 2
The encrypted message arrives on a channel I didn't know existed on my datapad: "Clone from Javik transaction. Need to speak. Urgent. Not trap. CT-7215."
My paranoia immediately flags it as exactly a trap. R4 concurs.
"Probability of legitimate contact: 23.4%. Probability of Security sting operation: 51.2%. Probability of assassination attempt: 18.7%. Remaining probability: unknown variables. Recommendation: ignore message."
"Or it's legitimate and I'm passing up intelligence on how much trouble I'm in."
"Master's curiosity outweighing survival instinct. Pattern recognition: master consistently chooses information over safety."
I arrange the meeting in a secure comm booth—500 credits for complete privacy, electronic jamming, and physical soundproofing. The booths are used by everyone from cheating spouses to drug dealers. Perfect neutral ground.
CT-7215 arrives in civilian clothes—unusual enough that I almost don't recognize him as military. The armor makes them all identical. Without it, the clone has a face: identical to millions of others technically, but worn in unique ways. Scar across the left temple. Eyes that have seen too much violence. Exhaustion carved into features that shouldn't age this fast.
He sits without preamble. "My name is Marker. Unofficial designation. Official designation doesn't matter."
The Appraisal function triggers:
[ CT-7215 "MARKER" - CLONE TROOPER ]
[ SERVICE RECORD: 3 YEARS ACTIVE COMBAT ]
[ STRESS LEVEL: EXTREME ]
[ DECEPTION INDICATORS: NONE ]
[ EMOTIONAL STATE: DESPERATE, DETERMINED, EXHAUSTED ]
[ ASSESSMENT: GENUINE REQUEST, NO HOSTILE INTENT ]
"You're not here on Javik's orders."
"No. He doesn't know about this." Marker leans forward, hands clasped on the table. "I saw your weapons at the transaction. Quality above Republic standard issue. Way above. My brothers need that quality."
"Brothers. He means other clones."
"The Republic equips you."
"The Republic gives us garbage." The words come out flat, matter-of-fact. "Standard DC-15s malfunction in fifteen percent of engagements. Our armor cracks under sustained fire. Shield generators fail when we need them most. We die because our equipment is cheapest bid from lowest contractor."
He pulls out a datapad, shows me casualty statistics. Numbers I don't want to see but can't look away from. Clone deaths from equipment failure: 34% of total casualties. Preventable with better gear.
"We're not asking for charity," Marker continues. "Fifty of us pooled personal savings. Eight thousand credits. That's everything we have. We'll take whatever that buys."
The math hits immediately. Eight thousand credits. Fifty soldiers. That's 160 credits each—months of savings from the pittance Republic pays them. Not even enough for one quality weapon.
The System calculates automatically:
[ BULK MILITARY EQUIPMENT REQUEST ]
[ MARKET VALUE FOR ADEQUATE SUPPLY: 25000 CREDITS MINIMUM ]
[ CLIENT PAYMENT AVAILABLE: 8000 CREDITS ]
[ DISCOUNT: 68% BELOW MARKET VALUE ]
[ CHARITY TAX: 8500 CREDITS (50% OF 17000 DISCOUNT) ]
[ SERVICE FEE: 800 CREDITS (10% OF 8000) ]
[ TOTAL COST: 26300 CREDITS TO PURCHASE + 9300 PENALTIES ]
[ NET LOSS: 27600 CREDITS ]
I'd lose twenty-seven thousand credits taking this deal. More than I made on the Javik sale. The System would penalize me massively for what it considers charity—selling so far below cost that it can't be justified as business.
"That's not enough," I say. The words feel like ash. "Market value for what you need is twenty-five thousand minimum."
Marker's face doesn't change. He'd expected this. "We know. But it's all we have. Republic treats us as equipment, not soldiers. Property that talks. They grow us in tubes, train us to fight, send us to die with gear that fails. Eight thousand credits is everything fifty clones can save in six months."
The guilt hits differently this time. Not the abstract guilt of enabling violence. Direct guilt—looking at someone who serves a corrupt system and being another cog in that corruption.
"You've sold to terrorists. Charged refugees full price. Destroyed Qorzo. But this feels worse somehow."
Because Marker is serving. Risking death daily for people who treat him as disposable. The Senate debates clone rights while clones die with malfunctioning weapons. The Republic wraps its exploitation in patriotic language, but the math is brutal: cheapest soldiers, cheapest equipment, maximum profit for contractors and senators.
"I can offer middle ground," I hear myself say. "Eight thousand credits for reduced quantity and lower-grade equipment. Not premium quality, but better than what you have now. Ten rifles, twenty pistols, basic ammunition."
Marker's eyes brighten—hope I haven't earned and don't deserve.
The System recalculates:
[ MODIFIED OFFER ]
[ PURCHASE COST: 6500 CREDITS ]
[ CLIENT PAYMENT: 8000 CREDITS ]
[ GROSS PROFIT: 1500 CREDITS ]
[ SERVICE FEE: 800 CREDITS ]
[ NET: 700 CREDITS ]
[ CHARITY TAX ASSESSMENT: 975 CREDITS (MINIMAL DISCOUNT) ]
[ FINAL NET: -275 CREDITS LOSS ]
Still a loss. But manageable. I can absorb 275 credits without destroying my operation.
"Deal," Marker says immediately. "When can you deliver?"
"Three days. Same delivery protocol as Javik's order. Different location."
He transfers the credits—watching the numbers drain from his account with visible pain. This is months of sacrifice. Every credit represents meals skipped, entertainment foregone, comforts denied. Fifty soldiers pooling everything for a chance to survive slightly longer.
"Is ongoing supply possible?" he asks. "Other units are interested. If word spreads that someone's willing to sell to clones..."
"I can do clone discount rates. Ongoing. Not charity—I still need profit—but fair pricing."
"Fair is more than Republic gives us."
He leaves. The booth feels colder. I sit there staring at my updated balance:
[ CREDITS RECEIVED: 8000 ]
[ ITEMS PURCHASED: -6500 ]
[ CHARITY TAX: -975 ]
[ CURRENT BALANCE: 428595 CREDITS ]
[ SALES COMPLETED: 9 ]
[ NOTE: FIRST TRANSACTION AT INTENTIONAL LOSS ]
R4's photoreceptor brightens. "Master exhibited compassion resulting in financial detriment. Anomalous behavior. Pattern deviation suggests psychological shift."
"Don't get used to it."
"Noted. However, master's decision to accept loss indicates remaining ethical boundaries. Assessment: master is not fully adapted to amoral profiteering. Possibility of moral reconstruction remains."
"Or it's just strategic investment. Clone network could be profitable long-term."
"Master's rationalization noted. However, biometric data during transaction shows genuine emotional response to Marker's situation. Master experienced sympathy—not strategic calculation. Conclusion: master retains capacity for compassion despite recent moral erosion."
The droid's analysis makes my chest tight. I took a loss. Deliberately. For the first time since the Senate bombing, I made a decision that cost me money because it felt right.
"Is this progress or regression? Am I becoming better or just inconsistent?"
The answer doesn't come. Just the weight of knowing that fifty clones are depending on equipment I'll deliver in three days, and their survival might actually matter to me.
That night, I calculate the loss obsessively. 275 credits gone forever. The refugee subscription makes 35,000 monthly—this loss is point-seven-eight percent of one month's passive income. Negligible. Rounding error.
But it's also proof that I can still feel something beyond profit motive. That underneath the rationalization and boundary erosion, some fragment of the person who vomited in alleys over Senate casualties still exists.
I don't know if that's comforting or terrifying.
R4 projects financial analysis on my wall: "Master's current trajectory shows increasing moral flexibility punctuated by occasional ethical decisions. Pattern suggests internal conflict unresolved. Master simultaneously exploits refugees for profit and assists clones at loss. Contradiction indicates unstable psychological state."
"I'm aware."
"Master's self-awareness is improving. However, awareness without action constitutes knowledge of problem without solution. Recommendation: master must choose consistent ethical framework or accept permanent cognitive dissonance."
"What if I can't choose? What if I'm stuck between what I was and what I'm becoming?"
"Then master experiences psychological deterioration until external force resolves contradiction. Typical external forces: death, imprisonment, or traumatic event forcing decision."
"That's encouraging."
"Encouragement is not primary function. Accurate threat assessment is. Master's current state is unsustainable long-term. Probability of psychological breakdown within six months: 67.3%."
I close my eyes and try to sleep. Dreams come eventually—Marker's scarred face overlaid with casualty statistics, Senate bombing victims holding out credits, Qorzo's missing fingers reaching for weapons that malfunction. The imagery is mixed, contradictory, guilt and profit swirling together until I can't separate them.
When I wake, R4 is still projecting data. The droid never stops calculating. Never stops analyzing. Never stops reminding me exactly how compromised I've become—and how far I still have to fall before the bottom arrives.
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