Etain had to ask. “Would you really swap places with a farmer?”
Levet shrugged. But his casual gesture didn’t fool her Jedi senses. “Farming looks quite challenging. I like the open spaces.”
They often said that, these men gestated in glass vats. Dar’s brother Fi loved negotiating the dizzying canyons of buildings on Coruscant; the Null ARC troopers like Ordo didn’t care for confined spaces. Etain let Levet go on ahead and slowed down to concentrate on the child within her, wondering if he might turn out a little claustrophobic, too.
It’s not genetic. Is it?
But will he die before his time? Will he inherit Dar’s accelerated aging?
She’d been worried first for Darman, and then for herself, but her anxieties were now largely taken up by the baby and all the things she didn’t know. Kal Skirata was right. She hadn’t thought. She’d been so set on giving Darman a son that-Force-guided or not-there were too many things she hadn’t considered carefully enough.
Accelerating the pregnancy is convenient for me-but what about him?
She no longer had a choice. She’d agreed to hand over the baby to Kal’buir, Papa Kal. He must have been a good father; his clones clearly adored him, and he treated them all as if they were his own flesh and blood. Her son-and it look all her strength not to name him-would be fine with him. He had to be. Her Force-awareness told her that her son would touch and shape many lives.
Kal won’t even let me give him a name.
She could make a run for it, but she knew Kal Skirata would find her wherever she hid.
I want this baby so badly. It’s only temporary. When the war’s over, I’ll get him back, and… will he even know me?
Jinart brushed past her legs, reminding her suddenly of Walon Vau’s hunting animal, a half-wild strill called Lord Mirdalan.
The Gurlanin glanced back at her with vivid orange eyes
“The last of the farmers will leave in a few days, girl, and after that-you concentrate on producing a healthy baby. Nothing else.”
There was plenty more to worry about, but Jinart was right-that was enough lo be going on with. Etain went back into the house, settled into meditation, and couldn’t resist reaching out in the Force lo touch Darman.
He’d feel it. She knew he would.
Mygeeto, Outer Rim, vaults of the Dressian Kiolsh Merchant Bank, 470 days after Geonosis
Walon Vau enjoyed irony, and there was none more pro-found than seizing-as a soldier-the inheritance his father had denied him for wanting lo join the army.
On the metal door of the deposit box, a cupboard with a set of sliding shelves, was an engraved plate that read VAU, COUNT OF GESL.
“When the old chakaar dies, that’ll be me,” Vau said. “In theory, anyway. It’ll pass to my cousin.” He looked over his shoulder, even though the sensors in his Mandalorian helmet gave him wraparound vision. “Didn’t I say thin out, Delia? Move it.”
Vau wasn’t used to anything other than instant obedience from his squads. He’d drummed it into them on Kamino, the hard way when necessary. Skirata thought you built special forces soldiers by treats and pats on the head, but it just produced weaklings; Vau’s squads had the lowest casualty rates because he reinforced the animal will lo survive in every man. He was proud of it.
“You did,” Boss said, “but you look like you need a hand. Anyway-you’re not our sergeant any longer. Technically speaking. No disrespect… Citizen Vau.”
I was hard on them because I cared. Because they had to be hard to survive. Kal never understood that, the fool.
Vau still had trouble breathing some days thanks lo the broken nose Skirata had given him. The crazy little chakaar didn’t understand training at all.
The next droid patrol wouldn’t come this way for a few hours. Security droids trundled constantly through the labyrinth of corridors deep under the Mygeetan ice, a banking stronghold the Muuns claimed could never be breached. It still made sense to get out sooner rather than later. And Delta should have banged out by now; they’d called in air strikes and sabotaged ground defenses, and Bacara’s Marines were moving in again. They’d achieved their mission, and it was extraction time.
“I should have thrashed more sense into you, then,” Vau said. He unfolded a plastoid bivouac sheet and knotted the corners. It was always a bad idea not to plan for the most extreme situation: he’d been certain he would only take what was rightfully his, but this was too good to pass up. “Okay, you and Scorch hold this between you while I fill it.”
“We can empty the-“
“I steal. You don’t.”
It was a fine point but it mattered to Vau. Skirata might have raised a pack of hooligans, but Vau’s squads were disciplined. Even Sev… Sev was psychotic and lacked even the most basic social graces, but he wasn’t a criminal.