With him, Ordo thought, Atin very nearly wasn’t.
“Why didn’t you mention to Zey that we might also have a leak within the Grand Army?” Ordo asked.
“Because,” Skirata said, “I can’t assume I know who it isn’t. The leak might not even know that they’re the one, either. Until then, only the strike team will know we’re looking.”
“What about Obrim? He’s an ally.”
“I hope so. But in the end, who are the only people we can really trust?”
“Ourselves, Kal’buir”
“So we make sure we know who’s watching our back kar ‘tayli ad meg hukaat’kama.”
It was good advice to live by. Ordo knew who always watched his.
RAS Fearless, inbound, to Coruscant Sector Control, 369 days after Geonosis
“I really should make a holo of this,” Commander Gett said. He reached into the assortment of pouches clipped to his belt and took out a small recorder. “It doesn’t happen that often.”
Etain and the commander of the assault ship stood on the gantry that ran around the upper hangar bulkhead and watched the extraordinary spectacle beneath them on the deck. She had heard of this thing, but never seen it. It was the Dha Werda Verda-a Mandalorian ritual battle chant.
Men from the Forty-first Elite and some of the ship’s company-about fifty in all, helmets off-were learning to perform it with some instruction from Fi and Scorch. Sev easy to spot by the blood-red streaks daubed on his helmet, sat on an ammunition crate nearby, cleaning his sniper attachment and looking as if he wasn’t interested in joining in.
He was, of course. Etain could sense it, and she wasn’t even properly attuned to Sev’s presence in the Force.
The Dha Werda looked fearsome. General Bardan Jusik a young man who barely came up to a clone commando’s shoulder-said he loved to see it, and drew so much courage from it that he learned to perform it with his men. It was Kal Skirata’s legacy; Jusik explained that the veteran sergeant wanted his men to know their heritage and taught them the rite along with Mandalorian language and culture.
Taung-sa-rang-bro-ka! Je-tii-se-ka-‘rta!
The commandos were layering rhythm upon rhythm, hammering first on their own armor and then turning to beat the complex tempo on the plates of the man next to them. Timed precisely, it was spectacular: timed wrong, a soldier could break the next man’s jaw.
Dha-Wer-da-Ver-da-aden-tratu!
Cor-u-scan-to-kandosii-adu! Duum-mo-tir-ca-‘tra-nau-tracinya! Gra-‘tua-cuun-hett-su-dralshy’ a!
It was irresistible, ancient, and hypnotic.
The chant rose from the hangar deck in one solid communal voice. She recognized words like Coruscanta and jetiise:
Coruscant, Jedi. That couldn’t have been in the original Mandalorian chant. Even their heritage had been remolded to serve a state in which they had no stake. It was, Etain recalled, something to do with being shadow warriors and forcing traitors to kneel before them.
They were supremely fit warriors displaying their discipline and reflexes: any flesh-and-blood enemy would have been adequately warned of the power of the forces that awaited them.
But droids didn’t have the sense to be scared. That was a pity, really.
Etain winced. The blows looked real. They were putting all their weight behind every one.
Astonishingly, none of the initiates had yet timed the movements badly enough to receive an accidental blow in the face. Fi and Scorch demonstrated another sequence. Armor clashed. Sev abandoned his feigned disinterest, took off his helmet and joined in. Then Darman appeared and they formed a line of four in the front.
It was strange to watch Darman actually enjoying himself, oblivious to his surroundings: she had no idea that he had’ such a powerful voice or that he could-for want of a better word-dance.
“Jusik always talks about this,” said Etain.
“I’ve seen a few squads do it,” Gett said. “It came via Skirata, I hear.”
“Yes.” Etain was wondering how she would ever measure up to that man. Halfway would have been enough. “He taught all the commandos to live up to their Mandalorian heritage. You know-customs, language, ideals.” She was mesmerized by the unconscious precision of men who were all exactly the same height. “It’s very weird. It’s like they have a compulsion to do it.”
“Yes, we do,” Gett said. “It’s very stirring.”
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
“No problem, General. It certainly wasn’t part of our trooper training on Kamino. It gets passed on from man to man now.” He looked restless. She knew what he was thinking. “General-“
“Give me the recorder,” she said, and smiled. “Go ahead.”