[Republic Commando] - 03(100)

“Not for its own sake, no. What’s the purpose of wanton destruction? We just want what we deserve. We are the majority”

“What if they refuse to fit in with that?”

“That,” said Boss Lizard, “would be pointless.”

“What are you going to change when you seize power?”

“Nothing. Except we shall live in the cities and we shall have the majority of the elected posts according to our population.”

Darman could now see the mismatch between Gaftikari humans and their Marit workforce. They weren’t even competing for the same thing, a nice tidy two-sided I-want-what-you’ve-got. The lizards thought differently. The two viewpoints didn’t quite overlap, and the lizards were far more concerned with being proportionally represented than having power.

He didn’t always understand politics and he was glad of it This was the point at which he preferred the order to go then and blow up that.

“We should have made a joint government a condition of building their cities,” Boss Lizard added, almost as an afterthought. “Next time, we’ll remember to do that.”

They were born engineers, all procedure and ratios. Dar-man nodded and walked on, out into the heathland to the south of the settlement. Now he could see across the flat terrain for kilometers: smoke from scattered clusters of huts in the distance threaded its way into the clear sky, and the occasional ancient speeder tracked across his field of vision. throwing up range and speed data onto his HUD.

He thought of the aerial recce images of Eyat, with its modest defense resources preparing for an attack, and wondered how long it would take.

Where do I belong? Where s home?

It sure as shab wasn’t Tipoca City. Most days he didn’t even think it was Coruscant.

Darman stood watching the late-afternoon sun slanting across the heath, wondering what it was like to have a job where you could stop work at the end of the afternoon and do anything you liked, when the audio link came to life in his helmet.

“Niner to Dar, RTB. Seps incoming.”

He activated his HUD displays, expecting to have data patched through to him. The image that rilled his field of view was a chart of the Gaftikar system, way out near the Tingel Arm-so close to Qiilura, close enough that it would have taken only a few hours to reach Etain-and the peppering of red points of light showed Separatist vessels on a course for Gaftikar.

There were a few blue lights, too. They were generated by the transponders of Republic vessels: the Third and Fourth battalions of the 35th Infantry embarked in Leveler, another two companies from the same regiment not far out of Qiiluran space, and a fleet auxiliary converging on the same point at 180 degrees at sublight speeds.

“ETA?” Darman said. Life slipped immediately into acronyms and jargon, the language of the military comlink.

“At those speeds … a day.”

“What’s keeping them?”

“Officer commanding-some nonclone captain called Pellaeon-says it’s brinkmanship.”

“Back in ten …”

“We’re digging in. Surveillance sat shows Eyat’s bringing in fighters from outside.”

“How many?”

“Six. And that might not be a problem for an assault ship but it’s bad news for us, so get back here.”

That, at least, answered Darman’s question about what use Gaftikar was to anyone. Apart from the mining corporation’s interests, it was just another handy place for a fight.

And they were sending in the mongrels now, nonclones, some of the service personnel from the fleet. Pellaeon. Who the shab was he? Darman wondered who the 35th’s Jedi general might be, because it wasn’t Etain.

She said they’d finished on Qiilura.

Whatever it was, wherever they were sending her, she could tell him, couldn’t she? Maybe she didn’t want to worry him. Of course I’m worried. I’m always worried. Ordo … yeah, he’d ask Ordo. Ordo always obliged, always got the messages and letters through somehow.

The rebel camp had taken on a different air by the time Darman got back, and he’d only been gone thirty minutes. The Marits had thinned out, and E-Webs and cannon stood concealed under camo netting. He sprinted for the main building, realizing even as he made for the doors that it was so flimsy he was better off outside.

“Sarge?” Darman clicked through the frequencies on his helmet link. “Sarge?”

“Ops room,” Niner barked.

Darman entered, pulled off his helmet, and stood over the ops table, trying to get a better look at the holochart that

A’den had projected onto it. It showed the whole central region, with the scattered Marit villages and the occasional Gaftikari town, like small planets around suns. When he magnified Eyat and superimposed the latest aerial reconnaissance images on it, the sudden preparations became clear.