BROADCAST: A CLONE WARS SHORT
It was easy credits, and Deen Syla knew it. Better yet, it was a government job. On the short airtaxi ride to her workplace, Deen thought back on how she had been so lucky. She had been approached by a Republic Broadcasting Division rep less than a month ago, and had been offered a great paying job at a tight-band broadcasting station located not half a quadrant from her residence. She looked out as the city whizzed past her; life as she knew it had taken a lucky step down easy street.
Once a day, for an hour each morning, she sat and talked about the Senate meetings, scores for Chin-Bret matches, and other assorted tidbits, then would grab her paychip and run to the bank. Her life hadn't been bad before—better than most female Twi'leks, but it wasn't nearly as easy as this. As the taxi came to a stop in front of the large transmission building, Deen was snapped out of her reverie and paid the Dug driver.
"Who you broadcath-ting to, if you don't mind my ath-king?" the quirky Dug said with an overbearing lisp.
"Oh, some group, or division or something out in the Outer Rim," Deen replied, paying the toll and not caring to start up a long conversation, "But I have to get going. Gotta earn that government paycheck!"
As she entered the station, she flashed the clerk at the register her ID. Having been able to recognize her by now, he simply smiled and allowed her to continue on to the recording room. Switching on the various transmission equipment, and calibrating the sound board, she waited until the chrono hit 5:30, and began with her routine broadcast:
"Up and at 'em soldiers of the 258th! This is DJ Dee broadcasting to you from the Queen of the Core; Coruscant… or Triple Zero for all you military nuts. I know how much you soldiers like your Gammorrean opera, but I'm gonna switch things up a bit and play some Heavy Isotope to get those hearts pumpin'."
When her broadcasting hour was almost up, she faded the music and began her routine sign-off; "Well boys, my time is nearly up. This is goin' out to the fighting men of the 258th, remember to keep those droids on their toes, and look me up next time you're on Trip-Zero, DJ Dee signing off."
Her credchip was already at the front desk, waiting for her. She smiled and uncurled her lekku at the sight of it. The clerk smiled back, and tossed it to her. She thanked him, and went to wave down a taxi near her job. She scoffed at the thought. It was a silly job, really. She doubted anyone actually listened to 'DJ Dee,' or any of her uninteresting babble, let alone this 258th Brigade or Battalion or whatever it was. To tell the truth, she wasn't even sure who the 258th were. Were they even real? For all she knew, this was just another ploy by the Senate to keep the clone rights activists quiet. She pondered about it on the ride home. "Well," she thought, "as long as the credits keep flowing, I wouldn't care if I was broadcasting to a moon full of furry primitives."
After spending the rest of the day out Deen paid the cab driver, a Klatoonian this time, and took a turbolift to her apartment. Her apartment wasn't large, by Coruscant standards, but it had the essentials. She sat down in front of the view screen with a cup of caf, watching the Holonet News. Drowsiness slowly crept in, and Deen finally fell asleep as the host began the "Rim Report."
It was the protocol droid that woke her up the next morning. "Excuse me Miss Syla, but it would appear that you have allowed your sleep cycle to run too long."
Deen cursed, if she didn't hurry, she was going to be late for her job! She didn't know how forgiving they were with tardiness, but she was pretty sure they could just as easily find someone else who would be happy to show up on time every day. She cursed again as she quickly waved down a taxi and dove in. The human behind the controls said in a sleepy voice, "Where to ma'am?" but was quickly awoken by her offer of double credits for a fast ride.
She ran in and flashed her ID to the clerk, but he motioned her to stop, and on closer inspection, he seemed to have a somewhat forlorn look on his face, "Hold up there, friend… I'm afraid you've been reassigned. Your new shift isn't for another 10 minutes."
She gave him an annoyed look, "But I have my broadcast to do for today. I'm already assigned to the Two-fifty—" She stopped, mid-sentence, at the look on his face.
"You didn't hear? It was on the HoloNet News just last night. Oh you poor thing… the 258th Battalion no longer exists. It was wiped out in a battle just yesterday. Those poor boys… I-I'm so sorry Deen."
Deen Syla was speechless. There wasn't much she could say. She simple nodded, then walked off into her broadcasting room. On the desk, there was a sheet of flimsy notifying her that she was now on a tight-band broadcast to the 442nd Siege Battalion. Slowly, methodically, she switched on the various transmission equipments, and calibrated the sound board. Then, she began her transmission as a single tear slid down her cheek.