[Republic Commando] - 02(123)

“I’ll shoot you and cheer you up, then,” Sev said suddenly.

Everyone laughed again. Darman drained his glass and got up to go. Scorch flicked a warra nut at him with impressive accuracy, and it bounced off his head. “Where you going, Dar?”

“I’m off to calibrate my Deece.”

There was more raucous laughter. Darman didn’t look amused. He shrugged and walked off in the direction of the turbolift through a crowd of men from the Forty-first Elite who were shipping out in a few days. At least they’d had something few troopers ever would: two weeks without fighting. They didn’t appear to be enjoying it, though. Kal ‘buir said that was what happened when you let someone out of prison after a long sentence. They didn’t fit in and they didn’t know how to live outside a cell or without a familiar routine.

1 know, though. And Fi wants to know

“Don’t wind him up about Etain, son,” said Skirata. Scorch looked wary. “He’s not breaking any regulation, is he?”

“I don’t think so, but she is.”

The best thing was not to think.

“What happens to us when the war’s over?” Corr asked.

Mereel smiled. “You’ll have the thanks of a grateful Republic. Now, who can guess what this Ubese word means?”

Ordo glanced at Skirata, who raised his glass. Atin came to take Darman’s place at the table with the Twi’lek Laseema on his arm: the man obviously wasn’t as shy as he seemed. Except for Vau and Etain, the entire strike team had gathered here, and there was some sense of an important bond having been accomplished. It also felt very final.

“You and Mereel are up to something,” Skirata said. “I can tell.”

“He has news, Kal’buir,” Ordo said.

“Oh.”

Should he tell him now? He’d thought it might distract him too much. But he didn’t need to provide detail. It would give Kal’buir heart for what was to come.

“He’s traced where our mutual friend fled immediately after the battle.”

There was no need to say that the friend was Kaminoan scientist Ko Sai, the head of the cloning program, or that she had gone missing after the Battle of Kamino. The hunt-and it was a private matter, not Republic business, although the Grand Army footed the bill-was often reduced to just two words: Any news?

And if any of his other brothers-Prudii, A’den, Kom’rk, Jaing-found anything as well, Skirata would be told. They might have been carrying out intelligence missions for the Republic, but their true focus was finding elements of Kaminoan cloning technology that only Ko Sai had access to.

Skirata’s face became luminous. It seemed to erase every crease and scar for a few moments.

“This is what I want to hear,” he said softly. “You will have a future, all of you. I swear it.”

Jusik was watching him with interest. There was no point trying to conceal anything of an emotional nature from Jedi as sensitive to the living Force as Jusik and Etain, but it was unlikely that Skirata had shared that secret with him. He hadn’t even told his commando squads. It was too fragile a mission; it was safer for them all not to know for the time being.

Jusik raised his glass. It was just juice. Nobody would drink before a mission if they had any sense. Alcohol had proved not to be a major preoccupation with commandos anyway: and, whatever had been rumored, Kal’buir’s only concession to alcohol was one glass of fiery colorless tihaar at night to try to get to sleep. He found sleep increasingly elusive as the years of training progressed on Kamino and his conscience tore him apart piece by piece.

He’d sleep well without it tonight, even if it was in a chair.

“This is very, very good news,” Skirata said, a changed man for the moment. “I’d dare to say it bodes well.”

They drank and joked and argued about Hutt curses. And then Skirata’s comlink chirped, and he answered it discreetly, head lowered. Ordo simply heard him say, “Now? Are you serious?”

“What is it?” Ordo said. Mereel paused in midcurse, too, and the table fell silent.

“It’s our customer,” Skirata said, jaw tense again. “They’ve hit a small snag. They need to move tonight. There’s no preparation, ad’ike-we have to roll in three hours.”





20


You know that thing that sergeants are always supposed to yell at new recruits? “I am your mother! I am your father!” Well, what do you do when that’s actually true? Kal Skirata was all they had. And the troopers didn’t have anyone. How can you expect those boys to grow up normal?

-Captain Jailer Obrim, to his wife over dinner

Operational house, Qibbu’s Hut, 1935 hours, 385 days after Geonosis: whole strike team ready to deploy