[Republic Commando] - 02(67)

They opened and Vau wandered out, rubbing his eyes. There was a distinctive tang of ozone clinging to him, like a discharged blaster.

“Retail zone, Quadrant B-Eighty-five,” said Vau simply. He held out his datapad with coordinates. “But he hasn’t given me a date, if he knows one. He was supposed to drop the explosives off in the warehouse, and someone would be along to collect it. He never knew who.”

Skirata sniffed the ozonic scent again and switched to Mando ‘a, although he was sure Etain had flinched because she had sensed what had happened.

“Gar ru kyrattut kaysh, di’kut: tion’tneh kaysh rujehaati?” You killed him, you moron: what if he was lying?

Vau made an irritated pfft sound. “Ni ru kyratnu Niktose. Meh Orjul jehaati, kaysh kar’tayli me ‘ni yen kyrannt kaysh.” I killed the Nikto. If Orjul’s lying, he knows I’ll kill him.

Orjul would be dead sooner or later anyway. No prisoners: not on this run. It was amazing how many people overlooked the inevitable while hoping for a way out.

Etain said nothing. She almost bolted for the speeder when Ordo settled it down on the platform. Skirata settled beside her. She simply seemed subdued.

“Result?” Ordo said calmly, helmet on the seat beside him, eyes straight ahead.

“Potential drop-off location,” said Skirata. “Someone might be expecting to collect a stash of explosives. So we’d better have something ready for them to collect.”

“Intel doesn’t suggest they’ve noticed the loss of the consignment yet.”

“Well, if the cells are as isolated for security reasons as we think, then there’s nobody to notice for a while, is there?”

“There’s the small matter of getting hold of a cache of explosives, but we could make this work for us.”

“I can hear the cogs working, son.” Skirata patted Etain’s hand. “And you did fine, ad’ika.” Ordo glanced over his shoulder and then appeared to realize that Skirata meant Etain, not him, this time. There was no gender in Mando ‘a. “It’s never easy.”

She accepted his touch without reaction, and then seized to his hand so tightly that he thought she was going to burst into tears or protest. But she maintained the facade of calm, except for that desperate grip on his hand. He had always been a soft touch for a desperate child’s grasp.

“Sowing doubt is a very corrosive thing when you’re dealing with people who believe in causes,” said Etain.

Skirata decided he’d have no trouble treating her as his daughter. He forgot his real, estranged daughter all too often.

He’d enjoyed returning to little Ruusaan’s excited welcome, but each time he came home from a war, wherever home happened to be, she was unrecognizably older and less excited to see him, as if she didn’t know him at all.

But I have sons.

“That’s why I stick to causes nobody can take from me,” Skirata said.

A Mandalorian’s identity and soul depended only on what lived within him. And he relied only on his brother warriors-or his sons.





10


Clone troopers are well disciplined. Even the Alpha-batch ARC troopers-surly though they are-are predictable, in the sense that Fett gave them precise orders that they continue to obey. But the commando batches are almost as unpredictable as the Nulls, and the Nulls are as good as being Skirata private army. That ‘s the problem with having intelligent clones trained by a ragbag of undisciplined thugs-they’ve turned out at best idiosyncratic, at worst disobedient. But they’ll probably win the war for us. Tolerate them.

-Assessment of Republic Commando cadre by Director of Special Forces general Arligan Zey, explaining discrepancies in stores and armory inventory to General Iri Camas

Qibbu’s Hut, entertainment sector-strike team operational house-early evening, 371 days after Geonosis

“This is plain unnatural,” Boss said. He stood in front of the mirror. “I can’t help noticing what this body armor doesn’t cover.”

“It covers your torso and thighs, and that’s where your major blood vessels and organs are.” Atin tugged at his tunic. They had all defaulted to GAR-issue fatigues, the standard red tunic and pants. Outside the barracks, the casual rig made Fi feel ludicrously naked. “That’s all you need. See? Doesn’t show under fabric.”

“You can live without an arm,” Fi said. “They can always bolt on a new one.”

“What about my head?”

“Like I said, they can always replace nonessential parts.”

Boss didn’t even look up from the inspection of his tunic. “I love this guy. He’ll make such great target practice.”