Skirata had plenty to occupy him while Omega was away-two datapads’ worth and then some. He took a deep breath and opened his comlink.
“Ordo? Mereel? Let’s go hunt some Kaminoan aiwha bait. We have plans to make. Oya!”
He was a skilled bounty hunter: they were the best intelligence troops in the galaxy.
There was nowhere in the galaxy that Ko Sai could hide from them.
OMEGA SQUAD: TARGETS
KAREN TRAVISS
Headquarters, Special Operations, Coruscant: Arca Company Barracks
“Go on,” said Fi. “Shoot me. Do your worst.”
He held his arms away from his sides, presenting a clear shot to his comrade. Atin raised the Verpine shatter gun and aimed two-handed, left hand steadying the grip.
“You’re all mouth, Fi,” he said.
Atin squeezed the trigger. Fi’s armored breastplate puffed a cloud of coating with a loud crack, and he fell back against the wall of their quarters. Verps were silent except for the impact and the screaming that sometimes followed the blasts. Fi wasn’t screaming. But behind his visor, he had his mouth open in a silent oh of pain.
Atin stood over Fi and checked both the breastplate and the Verp’s chamber before hauling him back to his feet. They took off their helmets and looked around for the spent projectile. Fi picked up a flattened disc of metal whose edges were split and curled back like a flower, and tossed it in the air for Atin to catch.
“Okay, the upgrade worked,” said Atin. “But you can’t blame me for checking. I spent a month in the bacta tank thanks to one of these.”
Fi didn’t trust Procurement any more than Atin did, not when there were more than ten thousand sets of costly equipment to upgrade. They’d griped about the expense, but now everything-from their armor systems to their DC-17 rifles-was hardened against EMP and Verps, the two weaknesses that had almost got them killed on Qiilura.
Fi slipped his helmet back on and rapped his knuckle plate on it. “Well, nothing short of sustained laser cannon is going to give us a headache now.”
The door whispered open. Niner, all grim responsibility, stood in the doorway in his black bodysuit. Darman was behind him, armored up, helmet tucked under one arm.
“What was that noise?” Niner said.
“Testing the new armor, Sarge.”
“Testing my patience more like.” He made an irritated click with his teeth, just like Kal Skirata used to; Fi could see more of their old training sergeant’s habits in Niner with every passing day. He glanced around the room. “You fired a weapon in here?”
“It’s okay, Sarge, we were wearing helmets.” Atin stood his ground. Sensible precautions often placated Niner. “You can’t trust Procurement.”
“Well, game over. We’ve got trade. Armed siege at the GC spaceport.”
“Don’t they have civil police for that sort of stuff?” Fi asked. “We’ll be directing traffic next.”
“Not when there are hostages and one is a Senator.” Niner held out his hand to Atin for the Verpine, studied it, and then handed it back. “They’ve never dealt with anything like this before and they heard we were the boys for the job.”
Fi lifted his backpack from its locker. “I didn’t have anything special planned for this evening anyway.” Atin was right: He was all mouth. He became two men again, as he always did when it was time to roll-the commando who was eager to put his hard-won skills to the test and the scared kid who wasn’t sure he’d be alive tomorrow. He found himself worrying whether he’d signed out the Verpine from the armory. How much trouble could an armed siege be, anyway? He had his Katarn armor and he-and his mates-could take on a small army.
They all knew what the final score would be, more or less. Atin gave him a shove and tucked the Verpine in his belt. “After you.”
Maybe Atin was thinking exactly the same thing.
Holonews Update, 1530: Senator Meena Tills is believed to be among six hostages seized by an armed gang at Galactic City spaceport. Police have sealed off the area and all city traffic and interplanetary flights are being diverted. Expect long delays. More later.
Galactic City, Coruscant, was amazing.
Fi leaned out of the police assault ship’s bay with his DC-1 7 clunking against his breastplate at every swerve and lurch of the vessel. Wind whipped into the hold,. flattening his hair and peppering grit against his armor and his face. He’d never seen so many brilliantly colored lights: the walkways and skylanes stretched as far above him as they did below. No wonder they called this place the Abyss.
“Get your head back in,” yelled the pilot. “What are you, a tourist or something?”