Home>>read [Republic Commando] - 02 free online

[Republic Commando] - 02(81)

By:Karen Traviss


“We’re not supposed to. But we sometimes do. I do.”

“You’re serious about him, then.”

“I never stopped thinking about him after Qiilura.”

“Have you really worked this out?”

“That I’ll outlive him? Women outlive their men all the time. That I might be thrown out of the Jedi Order? As prices go, that’s worth paying.”

“Etain, he’s more vulnerable than you think. He’s a grown man and he’s a killing machine, but he’s a kid, too. Crying over girlfriends can be dangerously distracting for him and the whole squad.”

“I know that.”

“I’d hate to see him used. If you’re going to carry on with this, you’d better mean it.” He paused to make sure she understood what he was saying. “You know I’ll protect him come what may, don’t you?”

Etain’s lips parted slightly and her cheeks looked suddenly pink. Her gaze flickered slightly. “I want him to be happy, Kal. I’d never use him.”

“I’m glad we agree,” he said.

Threatening a Jedi general was probably a court-martial offense. Skirata didn’t care. Darman and his last remaining sons came before everything, before the needs of a likable young Jedi, before even his own life-and certainly before the interests of the Republic’s politics.

It was a matter of honor, and love.

But Etain would give Darman a little comfort and tenderness in his life that would tide him through the dark and inevitable days ahead, days that for him and his brothers were already destined to be limited.

Skirata would just have to keep an eye on the situation. “Make him happy, then, ad’ika,” he said. “Just make him happy.”

Qibbu’s Hut, 2100

The sign above the ‘freshers read PATRONS PLEASE OBSERVE THE NO WEAPONS RULE. But although it was written in five languages as well as Basic, most of the patrons appeared not to understand it.

Ordo slipped among the motley assortment of drinkers and gamblers, now diluted considerably by a sea of dark red GAR fatigues, and hoped none of the species here were scent-followers. That was the trouble with some explosives. They had a distinctive smell. He’d scrubbed himself as thoroughly as he could and changed into the ubiquitous red fatigues as well.

Laseema, the Twi’lek female who had fled from the kitchens when he found her cowering behind a table, smiled nervously at him across the bar. By the time he reached it, she had his favorite muja juice waiting for him without the prompt of his distinctive armor.

“How do you know I’m me?” he said, puzzled. “I could be any clone.”

“The way you hold yourself.” She had a very soft voice, and he had to strain to hear her in the noisy bar. “You stand as if you’re still wearing that skirt.”

“Kama,” he said patiently. “Belt-spat. It’s based on a traditional Mandalorian hunting kama. It was designed to protect your legs.” Yes, the pauldron and kama did tend to make him stand more upright out of habit, his back a little arched. He’d have to watch that if he wanted to pass for an ordinary clone trooper. “But it’s just for show now.”

“Ah,” she said. “It’s certainly very showy.”

Ordo was getting used to the attention of Twi’lek females, and he rather liked it. “Is Qibbu treating you properly?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Laseema sounded as if she really was grateful. She leaned forward a little. He was still taken aback by the vivid blue of her skin, but he was willing to get used to it. She had a little scar on the point of her chin that was turquoise and more decorative than disfiguring. “Is your friend a captain?”

She glanced sideways and Ordo followed her gaze to Omega Squad and Skirata, who were eating something unidentifiable and occasionally lifting a lump of it on a fork to inspect it communally with worried frowns. “The one with the scar. He’s nice.”

“That’s Atin,” Ordo said, crushed. Oh. “He’s … not a captain. He’s a private.” The vast majority of the army was made up of privates: it wasn’t restricted information. Atin glanced up with that unerring soldier’s sense of knowing when someone was targeting you. He managed a shy smile. “Yes, he’s very reliable.”

“He’s got a lot of scars. Has he been in many battles?”

Oh, she really had been studying Atin carefully: apart from the thin diagonal scar across his face, the rest were harder to spot, just a couple on his hands and one telltale line that was visible above the neckline of his red tunic.

“Yes,” Ordo said. “They’ve all been in quite a few battles.”