“Very well,” Ordo said. “Have you decided where we need to base the operation?”
“I’ve got a few people who owe me favors. Where would you hide soldiers?”
“Hide hide or conceal hide?”
“Not-taking-much-notice-of-activity hide.”
“Somewhere with a bar. Somewhere you’d get a lot of off-duty traffic.”
“You don’t drink. Never seen a clone drink much at all.” Skirata was suddenly ambushed again by Ordo’s agile brain. For a man who knew little of life beyond warfare, his ability to learn and extrapolate from the smallest scrap of information was breathtaking. “And you never get off duty.”
“You said, Kal’buir, that you might disguise the presence of some hulking big boys in armor by having a lot more of them around. You were going to see Mar Rugeyan about a smokescreen.”
“Sorry?”
“Remember Mar Rugeyan? The man who can talk out of all three corners of his mouth at the same time? The man you grabbed by the-“
Kal remembered, all right. “Yeah, if I’d known then that I’d need him I’d have been a little more careful.”
“I think I can propose an idea he might find attractive.”
“Would that involve leaving bruises?”
“I wasn’t planning to injure him. Just point out that if troopers were actually allowed leave in considerable numbers, it would reassure the public, too. Eventually we become invisible.” Ordo pondered, that tell tale little frown creasing his brow. Sometimes his staggering intellect and perfect recall didn’t help him process the real world one bit, at least not where Skirata was concerned. “Let me try, Karbuir. I promise I’ll be more diplomatic.”
“It was a joke, Ord’ika. I think you’d probably stand as much chance of charming him as I would right now.”
“Have I ever let you down?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical question. Skirata was mortified. It was all too easy to swagger out of the meeting full of aggressive confidence and forget that Ordo-muscular, lethal, the ultimate soldier-was vulnerable to the approval of one person alone: him. It was as if Ordo became that literal, trusting child again, the one who had decided that the only person in the galaxy who would ever look out for him and his brothers was a down-on-his-luck mercenary who didn’t much like Kaminoans.
“I didn’t mean it literally.” Skirata reached up and ruffled his hair just like he’d done when Ordo was a scared little kid, terrified by the lightning on Kamino, except he hadn’t had to reach quite so far in those days. “You’re my pride and joy. You couldn’t be smarter or better or braver, any of you.”
Ordo looked blank for a moment and then managed a smile, but it was the placatory gesture of a child under threat. “I know I have gaps in my knowledge.”
“Oh, son … I’m going to change that. For all of you.”
“I know, Kal’buir” His trust was transparent and absolute.
“You’re our protector and we’ll always serve you.”
Skirata winced. Faith was devastating if you weren’t up to being a god.
But I don’t regret it. No, not a second of it.
Logistics center, Grand Army of the Republic, Coruscant Command HQ, 370 days after Geonosis
“You’re not on the authorized personnel list for this center,” said the security droid at the doors.
Ordo reached past it and tapped a memorized code into the door panel. The sentry was a solid block with four arms, a head shorter than he was. “Well done. You’re right to challenge me.”
“Sir-“
Ordo reached into his belt and took out a stylus probe. The droid was fast, but not fast enough to avoid the probe Ordo slipped silently into the command port in its chest. There was a chack-chack-chack of memory drives and motors stalling for a moment, and then the droid seemed placated.
“You appear to be on the authorized personnel list,” it said. “You have access to all areas including those restricted to staff officers, without on-site security tracking.”
“Excellent,” Ordo said, walking through the doors into the polished white marble lobby. “I’m a very private person.”
And it was easy to be private when you were in armor. Nobody took much notice of a clone inside the GAR complex, not even one wearing an ARC trooper captain’s livery.
It was simply a matter of looking as if you had every right to be going about your business. And the Null squad’s proper business was anything Kal Skirata deemed it to be. Right now that meant identifying a method of inserting covert surveillance into Logistics, the most likely place for a mole who could relay very precise information on transport and contractor movements to the Separatists.