Coups needed planning; she knew because she’d helped Jacen stage one. She’d been seduced a step at a time by what had looked pragmatic, and now she could look back and see how far she had fallen with him. It was time to halt the rot, as best she could.
“It’s the small things, isn’t it, ma’am?” Piris said as he followed her into the launch that would transfer them to Bounty and Ocean. “It’s a snowflake that triggers the avalanche.”
Or a son.
Or a hundred strangers.
Or looking back on who you used to be, before all this began.
“I don’t know how many of the commanders will follow me, “Niathal said.
She didn’t define her destination. Clipping Jacen’s wings would be opportunistic, a risk taken in an instant, and at least that left no conspiracy to be uncovered or others to be implicated if she tried and failed.
Piris ran his hand down over his mouth-tentacles like a human stroking a beard in thought.
“And we’ll never know for sure until the moment it happens, “he said. “But one thing I do know-we won’t be alone.”
‘ ¤_Łň 11
How can I insert troops without decent plans? Even if it all has to change at the last moment, I still need somewhere more solid to start. Solo used to be sharp, knew what we needed, and noiv it’s all vague Force stuff, and I can’t work with that. He’s changed. And what if it’s not the Force guiding him? What if he’s just hearing voices?
-Colonel Pichaff, Rapid Deployment Commander, GA task force at Fondor
MANDALMOTORS, KELDABE
“So the Jedi hasn’t come to buy any Bes’uliike, “said Jir Yomaget. “Too bad. The thousandth export airframe just rolled off the line.”
“She came to learn how to arrest her brother, “Fett said. The hangar was crammed with everything but Bes’uliik fighters; this was the prototype department. Some of the vessels around him were eccentric, to say the least. “I’m being helpful. So’s Beviin.”
“Subtle. I’ll build her a vibro-mallet.”
“She’s handy with machinery. If we’re saddled with her for much longer, she’ll earn her keep here.”
“Do we want a Jedi poking around in our technology?”
“It won’t help her much. She knows how a beskad works, but that doesn’t make her Beviin on a battlefield.”
It was much the same with the export market. The Bes’uliik fighters being sold to other governments-and the occasional wealthy gangster-were de-enriched spec, as Yomaget called it: slower, lighter beskar armoring, fewer Verpine-produced weapons refinements. They still beat an X-wing, so the customers were happy. But even if they’d been allowed to buy a top-of-the-range Bes’uliik reserved solely for Mandalorians, they wouldn’t know how to fly or fight like a Mando pilot.
“It’s like sticking beskar’gam on a bantha, “Yomaget said. “Good for a laugh, and the bantha might feel safer if it understood armor, but it doesn’t turn it into a soldier.”
“So…”
“Oh, yes. The Tra’kad. If you have an opening to field-test one, I’ll grab it.”
“Whole war going on out there. Plenty of room.”
“We’re neutral.”
“It never stopped anyone doing mercenary work…”
“It’s yours if you can find a use for it.”
Fett thought the Bes’uliik was a work of art, but the Tra’kad-there was no other word for it but a brute. He’d seen one test-flying in the last couple of weeks, and grace wasn’t the first word that sprang to mind.
But the slab sides and maneuverability-now, those were handy. Fett could see himself using the vessel to insert troops into high buildings, hatch flat against a window or a hole in a wall, or provide close air cover to troops on the ground. He climbed up on the hull and stood on a turret turntable. The ship was a twenty-meter slab of beskar plate with a cannon turret on each corner, topside, and lower hull, and rotating modular weapon platforms on the top. Fett did a few mental calculations and worked out that the ship had completely overlapping arcs of fire. It had no blind spots. Nobody was going to surprise it.
“And the Verpine didn’t want a joint deal on this?”
“It’s all old tech, “said Yomaget. “No advantage to them, but ideal for us.”
One of the top hatches flipped open and Baltan Carid’s head emerged, plastered with a satisfied grin. “I hope you’re not claustrophobic, Fett. Get in.”
Fett squeezed through the hatch and dropped into a cramped compartment packed with machinery. There were pipes, hatches, and handwheels everywhere, as if the interior had been taken from an old holodrama. On the port side, light spilled from an open inboard hatch along with a faint metallic sound like someone spinning a handle. When Fett stuck his head through the opening, his assessment was spot-on. Ram Zerimar, the sniper he’d first met when Corellia had been keen to hire Fett’s elite Ori’ramikade-supercommandos-was turning gear wheels to aim one of the cannons, winding frantically. He came to a sudden halt as if he’d hit an end-stop and checked a gauge.