[Republic Commando] - 02(3)

Skirata had worked out fast that Kaminoans despised everything that didn’t fit their intolerant, arrogant society’s ideal of perfection. So . .

. they thought Jango’s genome wasn’t the perfect model for a soldier without a little adjustment, then. Maybe it was his solitary nature; he’d make a rotten infantry soldier. Jango wasn’t a team player.

And maybe they didn’t know that it was often imperfection that gave humans an edge.

The kids’ gaze darted between Skirata and Jango, and the doorway, and all around the room, as if they were checking for an escape or appealing for help.

“Chief Scientist Ko Sai apologizes, as do I,” said Orun Wa. “Six units did not survive incubation, but these developed normally and appeared to meet specifications, so they have undergone some flash-instruction and trials. Unfortunately, psychological testing indicates that they are simply too unreliable and fail to meet the personality profile required!’

“Which is?” said Jango.

“That they can carry out orders:’ Orun Wa blinked rapidly: he seemed embarrassed by error. “I can assure you that we will address these problems in the current Alpha production run. These units will be reconditioned, of course. Is there anything you wish to ask?”

“Yeah,” said Skirata. “What do you mean by reconditioned?”

“In this case, terminated.”

There was a long silence in the bland, peaceful, white-walled room. Evil was supposed to be black, jet black; and it wasn’t supposed to be soft-spoken. Then Skirata registered terminated and his instinct reacted before his brain.

His clenched fist was pressed against Orun Wa’s chest in a second and the vile unfeeling thing jerked his head backward.

“You touch one of those kids, you gray freak, and I’ll skin you alive and feed you to the aiwhas-“

“Steady,” Jango said. He grabbed Skirata’s arm.

Orun Wa stood blinking at Skirata with those awful reptilian yellow eyes. “This is uncalled for. We care only about our customers’ satisfaction.”

Skirata could hear his pulse pounding in his head and all he could care about was ripping Orun Wa apart. Killing someone in combat was one thing, but there was no honor in destroying unarmed kids. He yanked his arm out of Jango’s grip and stepped back in front of the children. They were utterly silent. He dared not look at them. He fixed on Orun Wa.

Jango gripped his shoulder and squeezed hard enough to hurt. Don’t. Leave this to me. It was his warning gesture. But Skirata was too angry and disgusted to fear Jango’s wrath.

“We could do with a few wild cards,” Jango said carefully, moving between Skirata and the Kaminoan. “It’s good to have some surprises up your sleeve for the enemy. What are these kids really like? And how old are they?”

“Nearly two standard years’ growth. Highly intelligent, deviant, disturbed-and uncommandable.”

“Could be ideal for intel work.” It was pure bluff: Skirata could see the little twitch of muscle in Jango’s jaw. He was shocked, too. The bounty hunter couldn’t hide that from his old associate. “I say we keep ‘em?’

Two? The boys looked older. Skirata half turned to check on them, and their gazes were locked on him: it was almost an accusation. He glanced away, but took a step backward and put his hand discreetly behind him to place his palm on the head of the boy defending his brothers, just as a helpless gesture of comfort.

But a small hand closed tightly around his fingers instead. Skirata swallowed hard. Two years old.

“I can train them,” he said. “What are their names?”

“These units are numbered. And I must emphasize that they’re unresponsive to command.” Orun Wa persisted as if talking to a particularly stupid Weequay. “Our quality control designated them Null class and wishes to start-“

“Null? As in no di’kutla use?”

Jango took a discreet but audible breath. “Leave this to me, Kal.”

“No, they’re not units.” The little hand was grasping his for dear life. He reached back with his other hand and another boy pressed up against his leg, clinging to him. It was pitiful. “And I can train them.”

“Unwise,” said Orun Wa.

The Kaminoan took a gliding step forward. They were such graceful creatures, but they were loathsome at a level that Skirata could simply not comprehend.

And then the little lad grasping his leg suddenly snatched the hold-out blaster from Skirata’s boot. Before he could react the kid had tossed it to the one who’d been clinging to his hand in apparent terror.

The boy caught it cleanly and aimed it two-handed at Orun Wa’s chest.