[Republic Commando] - 02(35)

“Splash one,” said a trooper at another station. “Visual confirmation. Target destroyed.”

“And who else?” Commander Gett asked.

“Whoaaaa .. !”

Fi wasn’t certain if it was his own cry of shock or Scorch’s voice in his comlink, but he saw the ball of white-and-gold flame expanding toward them, silhouetting the section of Neimie ship that partly obscured the shield, and he ducked instinctively.

A hailstorm of debris rained on the screen. Something large and metallic skidded along the casing of the freighter with a long dull screech. Fi straightened up as the hammering faded to the occasional rattle, like stones being tossed onto a roof. Then it stopped completely.

“Fierfek,” Scorch said. “Now, if they’d only added a spot of maranium to the warhead, it would have burned a really pretty purple.”

“Fearless Fearless Fearless calling Delta. Are you clear, repeat, are you clear, respond.”

A large rectangle of hot softened glass peeled slowly away from the screen, helped by Scorch’s fist, and drifted off serenely into a silent, slow-motion collision with the headrest of the pilot’s seat.

“Delta here, Fearless. Just extracting Omega and cargo now.”

Fi fought to stop himself from sounding breathless and shaky. It would let the squad down. “I’m glad the navy’s here,” he said. “Because if it had been down to you, Greased Lightning, we’d be an asteroid belt by now.”

Scorch’s visor poked through the aperture at last, followed by his arm, and he made an unmistakable gesture of displeasure.

Fi felt his mouth take over, fueled by shock. “My hero! You finally made it!”

“You want to walk back to base?”

Niner lifted the plastifoil-wrapped Orjul with one hand and lined him up with the opening. “Fi’s going to give his mouth a nice rest now and help me cross-deck the garbage.”

“Gift-wrapped? Aww, you shouldn’t have.” Scorch hauled himself a little farther down the access tube and hung motionless at 135 degrees, assessing the three bound prisoners. “Feet first, please. Then if the di’kut tries to kick out I can break his legs. Don’t want this tubing breached.”

It proved harder than expected. But by the time the second Nikto had been rammed up into the connecting tube like a torpedo, the warm air from the hijacked Neimoidian vessel had worked its way into the freighter cockpit and made Fi feel a lot more comfortable. He stood back to let Atin then Darman make their way up the tube.

Scorch hauled Darman inboard by his webbing. Fi waited for his boots to disappear and then rolled to peer up the aperture into a circle of dim light.

“Next!”

Fi lined up and then pushed off with one boot. As he passed through the open hatch at the other end, he felt artificial gravity seize him, and he rolled onto the deck with a clatter of armor plates. It took him a few seconds to get to his feet. Niner collided with him from behind. It wasn’t a very big ship.

Boss-his armor daubed with chipped and peeling orange paint-slammed the hatch behind Niner and sealed it. Niner stared at him as if he wasn’t sure what should happen next and then the two men simply shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

“Like what we’ve done with the place?” Boss said, taking off his helmet. The flight deck looked as if someone had been dismantling it the hard way: panels had been ripped out, wires hung from the deckhead, and there were empty slots in the console where units had either been removed or not installed in the first place. “Okay, perhaps it’s a little basic, but we call it home.”

“You nicked this?”

“No, they let us take it on a test drive.” Boss gestured at the rest of his brightly painted squad. “Fixer, Sev, and you already know Scorch. Say hello to the boys in boring black.”

“Thanks, vode,” Fi said. He wondered why Atin wasn’t joining in; he had turned away and seemed to be taking a technical interest in a run of conduit. “Any word on Sicko?”

“If that’s your pilot, Majestic’s been diverted now. They picked up his beacon and that’s all we know.” Boss looked down at the three prisoners, lined up on the deck like corpses. He gave each of them a nudge with his boot. “You’d better be worth everyone’s effort.”

Fi eased off his helmet and inhaled almost fresh air. Except for Scorch, they had all taken off their helmets. Delta was one of fewer than a dozen squads that had survived intact since decanting, a true pod as the Kaminoans had called it, and they seemed to think that made them an elite within an elite. They had been raised and trained together, and they had never fought with anyone but their brothers. It was a luxury few squads now enjoyed.