[Republic Commando] - 02(142)

“Udesii, Mird. I can handle this.”

“Okay, handle this,” Atin said, and swung a punch.

It was hard to fight a man in Mandalorian armor but Atin, true to his name, was going to do it. His blow caught Vau just below the eye and he followed up with a ferocious lunge to slam him against the wall and press his arm across his throat. Vau reverted to animal instinct and brought his knee up in Atin’s gut, driving him far enough back to smash his elbow into his face.

Do I stop this? Can I? Skirata stood ready.

The blow stopped Atin for a few seconds. Then he just came straight back at Vau and charged into him, knocking him flat and pinning him to the floor, pounding away at him with his fists, hitting armor as often as flesh. By this time the noise of bodies and the still’s squeals of protest had woken people and Jusik came running just as Atin ejected his vibroblade with a sickening shunk and had it raised, elbow held high, to punch it into Vau’s exposed neck.

The two men flew apart as if in a silent explosion. Atin cannoned into the table and Vau was rolled back against the wall. There was a stunned moment of silence.

“This stops now!” Jusik yelled at the top of his voice. “That is an order! I am your general and I will not tolerate brawling, do you hear? Not for any reason. Get up, the two of you!”

Vau obeyed as meekly as any new recruit. The two men struggled to their feet and Atin stood to attention out of long habit. Little Jusik-hair sleep-tousled, wearing just a crumpled tunic and rough pants-stood glaring at the two much bigger men.

Skirata had never seen the Force used to break up a fight before. It was as impressive as ripping open that door.

“I want this feud to stop now,” Jusik continued, voice barely a whisper. “We have to have discipline. And I can’t let you harm each other. We have to be united. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Atin said impassively, blood streaked across his face. “Am I on a charge now, General?”

“No. I’m just asking you to put an end to this for all our sakes.”

Atin was calm reason once again. He didn’t even seem out of breath. “Very good, sir.”

Vau looked shaken, or at least as shaken as a man like him could be. “I’m a civilian, General, so I can do as I please, but I apologize to my former trainee for any pain I caused him.”

Skirata winced. It was enough to start the fight again. But it was as good a concession as anyone would ever get out of a man who believed he had done Atin a favor.

“My fault, sir,” Skirata said, doing what a good sergeant should. “I ought to maintain better discipline.”

Jusik gave him a look that said he didn’t believe that, but it was fond rather than censorious. Skirata hoped he never had to show the lad that he wouldn’t obey him, but he suspected Jusik would never want to test that.

The Jedi glanced over his shoulder at the silent audience that had gathered. “We can all get back to bed now.” The commandos shrugged and disappeared back to their rooms. Corr’s expression of total shock was fascinating. There was no sign of Darman. “And you, Fi. It’s been a heavy day.”

Jusik grabbed a bacta spray with an expression of weary exasperation and sat Atin down in a chair to clean up his face. He made no attempt to tend to Vau, who walked off to the refreshers, Mird whining at his heels. Ordo and Mereel vanished to the landing platform with bundles of wrapped explosives.

Skirata waited for Jusik to finish and for Atin to return to his room.

“So, no lightsaber and no armor.” Jusik was even shorter than he was. He prodded the kid in the chest. “I told you that it’s what’s under the armor that makes a man. A few thousand Jedi like you and the Republic wouldn’t be in the osik it is now. You’re a soldier, sir, and a good officer. And I don’t think I’ve ever said that to anyone in my life.”

Skirata meant it at that moment. It didn’t make him love Jedi as a kind any the better, but he was very fond of Bard’ika, and would look after him. Jusik lowered his eyes, a strange blend of embarrassment and delight, and clasped Skirata’s arm.

“I want what’s best for my men, that’s all.”

Skirata waited for him to shut his bedroom doors and went in search of the bottle of tihaar and that rarest of things in Qibbu’s Hut, a clean glass. He wrenched the stopper out of the bottle and slopped a little into a chipped goblet.

He couldn’t identify which fruit it had been distilled from this time, and it didn’t taste that good. It never had, but more often than not it got him to sleep. He let it burn the inside of his mouth before swallowing and sat in the chair, nursing the glass in his cupped hands, eyes closed.