[Republic Commando] - 02(157)

“It’s an oblong room,” said Skirata, and slurped his caf. “No scope for anything clever. It’s just going to be a matter of speed, force, and knowing who you’re going to drop as soon as you’re in there.”

“But how are you going to stop them setting off the devices?” asked Dovel.

“By slotting them before they can move,” said Niner. “We’ve done this more than 100 times, and we know how each other thinks. This is probably their first time.”

“And their last.” Ordo dipped the finger of his glove through the shimmering virtual roof space of the customs hall. “I’ll take the roof and keep the hostages still until we get bomb disposal in there to deal with the devices.”

“All the hostages?” said Obrim.

“I realize the Senator is a priority.”

Dovel chewed his lip thoughtfully, clearly a man who no longer wanted primacy in this incident. Fi thought that was a smart change of heart. If anything went wrong, he knew who would get the blame now.

Ordo got up and tidied his rappel line before fastening it to his belt. “I’ll get in position,” he said. “And I’m switching to the general comlink channel. We go in at 1915. Darman counts us down, and Obrim’s men kill all the lights, okay?”

Dovel’s communicator chirped. He answered it and adopted that middle-distance stare that people have when they are trying to concentrate on something that they aren’t expecting to hear.

“It’s Nuriin-Ar,” he said. “He’s asking for buckets, food, and water.”

“Ah, the power of the need for a ‘fresher,” said Obrim. “Looks like our hard men are softening.”

“Even people who plan to kill engage in displacement activity,” said Skirata. “I’ll take the stuff in for you.”

“I think I should be doing that, Sergeant,” said Ordo.

“Yeah, like they’d succumb to your natural charm.” Skirata began checking the pockets in his rumpled jacket. He extracted something that looked like a hearing enhancer-no, it was a hearing enhancer. Fi had always doubted Skirata’s hearing was perfect, and now he knew. “Atin, can you pick up my enhancer’s signal? I hate this thing. But it does come in handy.”

“It’ll do,” said Atin, stabbing his finger into a small receiver in his palm. “Are you really deaf?”

“A bit deaf. Just like you’d be if you hung around live-fire ranges without a helmet for too long.”

“With respect, you’ll just add another complication,” said Ordo.

Skirata sipped his caf without looking up. “If you mean that my boys will have to worry about shooting me by accident, then it’s simple. They won’t worry about it. Acceptable losses.”

There was a complete silence in all their helmet comlinks for a telling and brief moment: no breath, no swallowing, no lick of the lips. Fi had a sudden mental image so awful that he didn’t want to deal with it, not then.

Now it was all down to a well-rehearsed procedure. The charges would detonate, and they would lob in a few flash-bangs so close together that it would feel like the same split second and plunge into reactions so automatic that they wouldn’t pause to think what to do next or even know how much time had elapsed.

It was drilled deep, unthinking second nature. Fi longed for the moment instinct and training took him over again.

“I’ll give you as many clues as I can, so listen hard,” said Skirata. He fidgeted with the enhancer, making the same irritated clicks that Niner had. “And if I’m in the way when you come in, it’s too bad, okay? You drop ‘em all, straight through me if need be.”

“Will do, Sarge,” said Fi, and knew he would never do anything of the kind.

Galactic City terminal, 1855.

The doors parted. Fi, standing well back, stared down the scope of the Deece, not planning to take a shot, but ready anyway. Skirata walked forward a few steps.

“Grilled food board,” he said, arms held away from his sides, a picture of subservience. “And … umm … facilities.”

Fi could see past him into the enclosed corridor: the hostages were still split into two groups. One of the targets stepped up to Skirata and placed the muzzle of his blaster against his forehead. Green Man, Fi thought, and made a mental note of the target’s gait. It was a clean shot he couldn’t take right then. The sound signal was fuzzy but audible enough.

“Put the buckets down and back off.”

Skirata-short, wiry, forgettable, dragging his left leg-looked like a janitor. Fi knew Green wouldn’t see what was really there.