[Republic Commando] - 02(140)
Fi thought of Kal Skirata, as hard and ruthless as anyone he had ever known, making sure his squads were fed and well rested, finding illicit treats for them, teaching them, encouraging them, telling them how proud they made him. It seemed to work pretty well.
“And?” said Fi.
“I opted to take on Vau. He had a real Mando iron saber, and I was unarmed. I just went at him. I never wanted to kill so badly in my life and he just cut me up. And Skirata beat the osik out of Vau when he found out. They never did get on, those two.”
“So … the thing with Sev. You told Skirata.”
“No, Skirata just found out. I didn’t even know he knew me until we met at the spaceport siege.” Atin picked up his plate and started cleaning it again. “So now you know.”
Fi thought that a quick swing at Vau might purge Atin’s hatred. Then it occurred to him that his brother was absolutely literal.
“At’ika, ever thought what’s going to happen to you if you do kill him?”
“I’ve killed people outside my legitimate rules of engagement tonight. One more won’t make a difference. And I’ll die soon enough anyway.”
“Yeah, but there’s Laseema.”
Atin paused, cloth gripped in one hand. “Yes, there is.”
“And how are you going to kill Vau anyway?”
“With a blade.” He picked up his right gauntlet and ejected the blade with a loud shunk. “The Mando way.”
This isn’t bravado. Fi struggled for a moment, wondering what the right thing to do might be. He’s really going to do it.
Fi decided he’d wait near the doors to the landing platform, ready for the moment that Vau walked through them.
Etain found sleep impossible. She sat out on the landing platform With Jusik, meditating. For all the violence of the day she had put behind her, she found a serene core within her that had never been there before, the inner calm she had sought so many years through study and struggle.
All I had to do was have a life beside my own to care for. That is the true detachment we ought to seek, putting another person above ourselves-not denying our emotions. The attachment to self is the path to the dark side.
The intricate silver threads of her child in the Force were more complex now, more interconnected. She sensed purpose and clarity and passion. He would be an extraordinary person. She could hardly wait to get to know him.
And when it was the right time, she would explain what she sensed to Darman. She imagined the joy on his face.
She brought herself out of the trance and Jusik was standing a few meters away, looking out over the ravine of towers in the direction of the Senate.
“Bardan, I have a question I can only ask of you.”
He turned and smiled. “I’ll answer if I can.”
“How do I tell Darman in Mandalorian that I love him?” She waited for Jusik to express some shock or disapproval. He blinked a few times, focusing on a nonexistent spot a few meters ahead. “I don’t think he’s completely fluent in Mando ‘a. The Nulls are, though.”
“I don’t want to declare my love for Ordo, thanks.”
“Okay. Try … ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.”
She repeated it under her breath a few times. “Got it.”
“It’s the same word as ‘to know,’ ‘to hold in the heart,’ kar’taylir. But you add darasuum, forever, and it becomes something rather different.”
“That tells me a great deal about the Mandalorian view of relationships.”
“They believe that complete knowledge of someone is the key to loving them. They don’t like surprises and hidden facets. Warriors tend not to.”
“Pragmatic people.”
“A pity we Jedi weren’t better friends with them, then. We could enjoy being pragmatic together.”
“You haven’t lectured me on attachment. Thank you.”
Jusik turned to her with a broad smile that could only have come from being at complete peace with himself. He indicated his body with a flourish of his hands: dull green Mandalorian armor in the form of body plates and greaves. The matching helmet with its sinister T-shaped slit in the visor stood on the floor beside him.
“You think,” he said, “that I’ll be walking back into the Jedi Temple wearing this? You think this isn’t attachment?”
He really did find it funny. He laughed. The two of them were everything the Jedi Order wouldn’t approve of. “Zey would throw a fit.”
“Kenobi wears trooper armor.”
“General Kenobi does not speak Mandalorian.” She found Jusik’s laughter infectious, and tinged with the exhaustion and frightened relief that was often so evident in Fi. “And his soldiers don’t address him as Little Obi-Wan.”