"So you're unique even among them," Rex translates, the barest hint of surprise on the tip of his tongue. No wonder it had been so easy for her to leave. Rex wishes that he'd had her courage, that he left the GAR before Order 66 to properly examine the chip conspiracy, to rescue as many brothers as were willing to be rescued. But the very thing that brought him strength is what cast him down. There are no clean breaks for a clone.
Perhaps it was easier for Anderson, but it seems a desperately lonely way to live. He gets up to shed the last of the stolen armour, unlatching a storage container above his head to take out an extra set of clothing, plain and dark and worn, and slips it on. They look better to sleep in than to fight in. He then piles the stolen armour neatly, one on top of the other, with quick, practiced movements. It'll come in handy for undercover work at some point.
"I know a thing or two about that," he admits. "I don't know anything other than soldiering. But I wasn't about to soldier for that."
He looks her over. She's smaller than him, naturally, but she's got a decent physique. It's good to note that she's more than just a walking armoury. Less likely to get the both of them killed.
"Even with the galaxy the way it is, you've got options. There are plenty of towns for you to lay low in. Figure out a new line of work. You may be able to get an apprenticeship underneath some sort of tradesperson, or go into farming. No matter who's in charge, there's always a need for that."
Rex had considered it and had dismissed the idea just as quickly. But he needs to at least offer it as an idea.
"Me, I pick up mercenary work and odd jobs at the ports here and there. Enough to keep fuel in the tank and food in the larders." He eyes Anderson curiously. "Do you know what you'd want to do?"
no subject
Perhaps it was easier for Anderson, but it seems a desperately lonely way to live. He gets up to shed the last of the stolen armour, unlatching a storage container above his head to take out an extra set of clothing, plain and dark and worn, and slips it on. They look better to sleep in than to fight in. He then piles the stolen armour neatly, one on top of the other, with quick, practiced movements. It'll come in handy for undercover work at some point.
"I know a thing or two about that," he admits. "I don't know anything other than soldiering. But I wasn't about to soldier for that."
He looks her over. She's smaller than him, naturally, but she's got a decent physique. It's good to note that she's more than just a walking armoury. Less likely to get the both of them killed.
"Even with the galaxy the way it is, you've got options. There are plenty of towns for you to lay low in. Figure out a new line of work. You may be able to get an apprenticeship underneath some sort of tradesperson, or go into farming. No matter who's in charge, there's always a need for that."
Rex had considered it and had dismissed the idea just as quickly. But he needs to at least offer it as an idea.
"Me, I pick up mercenary work and odd jobs at the ports here and there. Enough to keep fuel in the tank and food in the larders." He eyes Anderson curiously. "Do you know what you'd want to do?"