-Than-
The Creaky Caboose was the best bar and grill on the Ascension. Hands down, the absolute best. The place was owned and run by a squeaky, energetic little man named Phil, who more often than not could be found working the bar, serving drinks, and chatting with his customers. He had a fantastic memory for faces, and could remember most anything you said to him. He was also a huge sports fan, and you could see this in how he designed the location. The plain black walls that matched the rest of the ship were adorned with vintage jerseys, news headlines of great athletic moments, autographed balls, and tons more. It was a collectors dream.
Above the memorabilia were countless holovisions, each playing a different sport, and each able to be switched to a different channel upon request, but only if it was another sport. It had to be a sport. If you asked, he would switch, whether it's Fathier racing or futbol. And if there was a big playoff game going on, you could bet he would have half the holovisions turned to that game.
When I opened the doors to the Creak, I was hit with the sound of raucous laughter and the smell of fried food. Most of the tables in the dining section were packed with groups of families or friends. I could see Seyley, Humans, Junel, Burhaj, Kiar, and many more species sitting at the tables while waitresses scurried about taking orders, getting drinks, and serving meals.
I skirted around the edge of the dining section to get to the bar in the back of the place and took the open seat closest to me. Behind the bar was a large collection of different alcohols from around the galaxy and naturally, more holovisions. The one closest to me was turned to a playoff game of grav-ball. I watched lazily as the Lancers kicked it through the raised goalposts from 20 meters away, putting them ahead of the Raiders by one point. The clock stopped as the teams switched sides, and it went to commercial break. On the other screens I could see a game of hoops, podracing, baseball, boxing, khokey, and even a professional dyeballing match.
An excited squeaky voice cried "Vindicator!", and I turned to see Phil rush my way. Phil's loud announcement of my title brought many stares my way, which I ignored as I nodded at the bartender and smiled. The person who was sitting next to me got up and moved farther down the bar to another open seat. Now both seats around me were unoccupied.
Phil watched the man move, then said "Been a while since you last stopped by. How've ya been?"
"Alright. How's business been?"
His face brightened as he excitedly said "Fantastic! Guess who Lord Terrias chose to cater for his meeting with the Senator of Exodeen?"
"That's incredible. Congratulations," I said with a grin, genuinely happy for him.
"Thanks! Now, enough about me, how's work been?"
I shrugged and said "Meh. Work is work."
"That's all you got, huh? Well, let's get some alcohol in you, loosen that tongue of yours. What can I do you for?"
"A shot of Shesharilian vodka."
"That bad, huh? Maybe I don't want to know." He grabbed a bottle from the back and a cup from under the bar, poured a shot, and slid it to me. "Cheers."
"Cheers." I downed the drink and ordered two more and a nerfburger with Ojomian onion rings. He quickly sent the order to the kitchen, took out two more shot glasses, filled them, then refilled the one I just finished and quietly said "It's on the house." Someone called his name, and he was off chatting with someone else and I was alone in my little bubble of isolation. I chugged each shot and waited for the burger to arrive. I started to feel that familiar buzz as the drink hit my stomach and was absorbed into my bloodstream.
I heard someone sit next to me, and I heard Phil exclaim "Ster! What can I get for you?"
"Correllian rum."
"Coming right up. You want anything else, Vindicator?"
I stared at the shot glasses, debating on whether to get more or not, but decided against it. "I'll have what he's having," I said, motioning at Ster. Phil nodded and disappeared in the back, quickly returning with the easily distinguishable bottle of high quality Correllian rum. He grabbed two glasses from below the bar and placed them on the bar.
"I ran out, so I grabbed a new bottle for y'all. This ones at a higher proof. Y'all want ice or a splash of water?"
"Ice," we both said simultaneously. He nodded and quickly got the drinks together before sliding them our way.
After a few sips, I noticed Ster glance over at the collection of shot glasses. "Rough day?"
"That's one way to put it," I said glumly. "You?"
He swirled his glass around and watched the ice spin around. "I was at a funeral all day for my men that died on Lothal," he said, almost as if in a trance.
I nodded and said "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." He took a swig of the rum and stared at the nicely finished wood countertop. Phil came by and dropped off a plate of food in front of me, then darted off to handle more customers. Happy hour was starting, and the place was filling up fast. I slid the side of the plate with the onion rings to Ster, who looked at me curiously before grabbing one.
"They were enamored by you, you know," he said, and it was my turn to glance curiously at him. "You wouldn't believe their excitement when word got to us that we were working with the Vindicator. As children, they heard stories of the great deeds of past Vindicators. Legends. Kids will take paper, or cardboard, and try to make the armor you wear. They'll paint it dark gray, try to draw those little designs, you know? Trying to mimic the minimalist beauty of your armor. Pretending to be the hero. Then there are the movies, showing the escapades of a legend, fighting bad guys, saving damsels in distress, and always winning in the end. They grow up hearing these amazing things, but then to see a real life Vindicator..." His voice got noticeably softer. "At least they died living a dream."
"It was an honor working with them."
"They would have loved hearing that. You know Stroh wanted to get your autograph?"
"Why didn't he ask? I would have gladly given it."
He sighed. "I made him hold his tongue. He's a Burhaj, you know, and the stories are told almost exclusively by the Seyley. And you know how the dynamic usually goes between the two. I was afraid you'd think he was being insulting or something." He finished the rum and called Phil for another.
I understood what he was talking about. Burhaj were at the very bottom of the social hierarchy, with all other races treating them as second-rate citizens. They were stereotyped as being unintelligent and cowardly, and they were treated as such. I learned long ago that this was the result of a racial bias and had nothing to do with their abilities. The unfortunate irony was that their introduction into the Alliance was the very thing that kept their species from extinction, allowing for them to have a stable food source and to escape the dramatic toll that the winters on their home planet had.
"I don't see them as inferior, you know."
Ster looked at me, surprised.
"Yea. I've worked with plenty who have impressed me. I also know that Lord Terrias isn't too fond of them."
"Figures. If he doesn't like them, nobody else will."
"You do."
He sighed. "I care about all who I command. Seyley, Burhaj, hell, I'd even care about a Junel. I don't get all the fancy stuff the other elite forces do. I actually get less than even some basic militias. So I try to make up for it. Every life is precious. I spend time with them, train with them, laugh with them, grow with them. They're my family. And I hold their lives in my hands, more or less. They die, it's on me. Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth caring."
"It is. Compassion, concern, empathy, they're the most powerful thing you have. You care, so when they're injured, you become a better warrior in order to protect them. I saw it on Lothal with Stroh. You force them to become better soldiers, protect one another. And when you care for your team, they care for you. One person goes down, everyone gets into this supersoldier phase. And as you get to know them, you can communicate without even speaking because you know each other's movements. It's what makes you a good commander who's won countless battles that he never should have. And the ones you lost were a hell of a lot closer than they ever should have been. I read your file before working with you."
"You get all that from my file?"
I lifted the rum and smiled. "This helped a bit."
He laughed. "You know, you aren't at all what I expected."
"What'd you expect? A cold, unfeeling monster?"
"Honestly, yeah. Your file, which by the way is a pain in the ass to access, is basically a massive list of battles, kills, and accomplishments, most of them alone. You have a hyper lethal rating. You're basically a killing machine. We saw you fighting Gayne as we approached in that freighter. He rammed into you, stabbed you, kicked you to the ground, and was about to kill you before you could react. But he couldn't finish the job. He had the element of surprise, had you bleeding out, and you had a massive concussion, and it still wasn't enough."
"I've never had somebody throw their helmet to mess with the tracker. That was a first."
"Yea, that's not something I ever would have thought of either. It's ingenious."
A loud cheer went up from a few people at the bar, and I looked up to see that the Raiders, who had managed to fall behind even farther, just scored, then turned the ball over, and scored again, tying the game.
The next few hours flew by before we knew it. Ster and I moved away from missions, work, Lothal, and all of that stuff and on to less serious things. I learned that he shared my love of classical rock music and rap, that we both enjoyed reading legal thrillers, and that we both loved ships made by MandalMotors.
"Woah. Check her out," I heard him mutter. I looked over to see that he was staring at the entrance. I looked over and spotted Sylvia, wearing faded blue denim jeans and a red shirt.
"Don't bother. It's the alcohol," I said unconvincingly. With great effort, I tore my eyes from her and stared at the holovision above the bar. I heard the chair to my right move, and she sat down. Great. I was not in the mood for this.
"Mandalorian ale, please," she said to Phil.
I leaned over to Ster and quietly whispered "Quit staring."
This seemed to bring him back to reality, and he peeled his eyes away from her. We were watching the game when to my horror, Phil came to us after giving her her drink and asked us if we wanted anything, and she glanced over at us. I almost winced as I said "not right now", sure that any doubt she had would immediately dissipate. I tried to ignore her as Phil walked away.
"Didn't expect to see you here," I heard her say. Dammit. Now I couldn't ignore her.
"I'm not in the mood," I said, well aware of Ster's shocked expression as he realized that we knew each other.
"Hold on. You two were…" Ster waved his hand. The end of the sentence was rather clear.
"No," I said sternly, and at the same time she said "Almost."
"How do you two know each other?"
"Terry made us partners," she chirped, and Ster's eyes widened.
"Lord Terrias is making us work together on a case," I clarified. The last onion ring floated off my plate to her and she ate it.
"Really?"
She just stuck her nose out and said "Sue me."
"So why don't you like her?" Ster asked.
She said "He does."
I said "She was using the Force to mess with my mind. False emotions, false thoughts, you know."
"That's not true. They were already there. I just made them stand out more, become a lot more powerful."
"It's still false."
"It's an exaggeration."
"Which is false!"
She looked at Ster. "You. Than's friend. Is there a difference between falsification and exaggeration?"
"Well, kinda."
"Great. You're no help."
She took the bottle of Mandalorian ale and drank the whole thing in one go as we watched in awe.
"Horrible day, huh?" I asked.
"The worst."
"Welcome to the club."