[Republic Commando] - 03(109)

“And she doesn’t just mean dinner.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Besany. You asked.”

“Ah. So I did.”

Ordo debated whether to call in advice from Mereel, who was the expert on that sort of thing, and suddenly found that the neon indicators on the shuttle’s console were absolutely riveting at times like this. Eventually he brought the vessel down to sublight velocity to drop out of the Corellian Run, and the galaxy came to a crash stop as the stars snapped back into points of light. However many times he did it, he still felt as if he were falling forward for a few moments afterward. He corrected the course for Dorumaa and took out his comlink.

“Before you ask, Kal’buir” he said, “Etain’s better. No more bleeding or pain.”

Skirata sounded breathless. “Where are you?”

“Not on Qiilura…”

“Did something go wrong?”

“No, but Etain can rest more comfortably on Dorumaa than she can on Qiilura. Levet’s finished up there and you need all the help you can get.”

“You’re a naughty boy, Ord’ika.”

“I’m sorry, Buir.”

“Ahh, c’mon.” There was a loud grunt as if someone had winded Skirata in a fight, then a series of hollow thuds. “You know I’m always happier when you’re around.”

“Mind my asking what you’re doing?”

“Mereel’s got a brand-new toy for hunting kaminiise. It made me throw up. We’re just practicing with it.”

Ordo tried to imagine a weapon that would turn Skirata’s durasteel stomach. “Any news?”

“Oh yes. It’s just a matter of infiltration.”

“She’s there?” The elation made his stomach lurch. “Is that confirmed?”

“High probability. Not certainty.”

“When are we going in?”

“Right now.”

But the shuttle was still a couple of hours away from Dorumaa. Ordo took a moment to register that and felt oddly betrayed, then instantly ashamed at harboring even the slightest resentment. My father’s putting himself on the line again to save us, just like he did when we were kids. I don’t have the right to be annoyed. He summoned up all the acting skills he’d learned while passing himself off as Trooper Corr so as not to ruin Skirata’s moment of triumph.

“Be careful, Kal’buir. She won’t be alone.”

“She’s the one who needs to be careful. I’m the one with the tatsushi recipes.”

“We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“I’m sorry we can’t wait for you, son. Delta’s going be here in less than a day.”

“I understand. Where’s Bard’ika now?”

“On his way to divert Delta when they get here, just in case.”

“Have you identified a place to hold Ko Sai while we persuade her to our way of thinking?”

“Plan is to get her offworld as soon as we can. I was thinking of Mandalore. Rav Bralor owes me one. So does Vhonte Tervho. There are still some Cuy’val Dar around.”

“Better transmit the location and an RV point in case you’ve banged out by the time we land.”

“Will do. I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with the squads. When we get this shabuir, I’m going to take a little time to check in with them all.”

“Tell Mereel to enjoy his toy, whatever it is.”

Ordo hoped his disappointment didn’t show on his face. But Etain was a Jedi, and she didn’t need body language to work out that kind of thing.

“I’ve never hated anyone like that,” she said. “We’re not supposed to have extreme passions, we Jedi.”

“It’s probably better that I’m not there when they find her.” Ko Sai decided which clones met quality control standards and which didn’t. She’d passed a death sentence on him and his brothers, two years into their lives; Mereel would discuss the many ways he wanted to kill her. “Extermination is rather personal.”

“He’s not joking about the recipes, is he?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Mandos.” The borrowed slang sounded odd in that formal little Jedi voice she had. “They-you like your trophies. You keep armor from dead loved ones. I hear some wear scalps and… other things on their belts.”

That was how aruetiise saw Mandalorians, then: savages, but handy when you needed them to fight for you. No wonder clones latched on to that identity so easily. “There was a time when we couldn’t bury our dead-or anyone else’s. But I’m not sure we ever descended into cannibalism. Loud drinking songs, perhaps.” It was always sobering to hear a stereotype of yourself. “I’m told kaminii tastes like jaal flesh, though, a blend of meat and fish.”