“I know you’re in here, you sadistic shabuir,’” Skirata yelled. He’d risked leaving his helmet off. He wanted her to see his face, .his loathing, his promised vengeance come to pass. “You going to come out? Or can I have the pleasure of dragging you out? Because I’m not a nice man, and age isn’t mellowing me.”
Mereel opened a pouch on his belt with one hand, taking out data blanks, ready to strip the information out of Ko Sai’s lab right down to the last spreadsheet and shopping list. “Say the word, Kal’buir.”
“Open the hatches.”
The last ten doors made a chunking noise as the locks withdrew. Skirata slipped the set of knuckle-dusters over his left gauntlet and flexed his fingers. Then he walked slowly down the run of rooms, blaster held out level with his shoulder, confident he could fire before she could. He killed for a living.
So did she, in her way.
He drew level with the fifth door and stared in.
Ko Sai didn’t have a weapon. She sat at her desk, her clean white desk, just as she used to in Tipoca City, staring back at him with those disturbing gray eyes. She still wore the thick black cuffs that showed her rank as chief scientist of the en-tire cloning program, even though she’d abandoned Kamino and left her government in the lurch.
There was something repellent about someone who wore a rank to which she was no longer entitled, especially when she worked alone. Her status was her life.
“And who sent you?” she demanded. “Lamu Su? Dooku? That deluded creature Palpatine?”
“I bet it’s nice to be the most popular gal in school,” Skirata said. He’d always shot first and insulted the corpse later. But he couldn’t kill her, not yet. She had work to do. “Can I pick none of the above?”
“It’ll be credits,” she said. There was nothing Skirata could find to like about Kaminoans. Where others heard gentle fluting voices, he heard condescension and arrogance. “How much do you want to go away?”
Skirata couldn’t believe she didn’t remember him. But then he was just another lump of human meat, and maybe she really didn’t know him from Vau or Gilamar, or the Mandalorians dead on her shiny white floor.
“I’d like all your research, please.”
“Oh, Arkanian Micro. Of course.”
“Cut the osik. You know exactly who I am.”
“For a moment I thought you were one of Palpatine’s thugs. Everyone hires Mandalorians. You’re such a cheap people, easily purchased.”
Skirata had wanted to see shock on her face, or at least hatred. He was disappointed. No, he was furious. He beckoned to Mereel.
“Bucket off, son. Say hello to the nice scientist.” Mereel paused for a moment, but when he lifted his helmet off he was smiling, a wonderful artless smile that made him look like a harmless lad who didn’t know the first thing about the weapons he had slung about his armor. He walked forward and leaned against the door frame.
Skirata could see her pupils dilate. Her head jerked back. Oh yes, it’s all flooding back now. Let’s all get nostalgic, shall we?
And Mereel remembered, because he had perfect recall, way, way back to when he was a baby, before Skirata had even met him.
Mereel’s perfect white smile never faltered. He took a short rod from his belt, an electroprod of the type farmers used to herd nerfs.
“Hi, Mama,” he said. “Your little boy’s back.”
Treasury offices, Coruscant, 478 days after Geonosis
Audit trails were the fabric of Besany Wennen’s life. They were like the laws of physics: there was no transaction without an equal and opposite transaction. Where credits were spent, someone received. And when someone poured a great deal of money into a project, then it wasn’t something they did alone.
There was no monopoly on information. If a thing existed, somebody designed it, manufactured it, delivered it, or in some way touched it. And with enough time and effort, then that somebody could be found.
Besany wandered into Jilka Zan Zentis’s office with as casual a manner as she could and perched her backside on the low filing cabinet. “I have to ask you a big favor,” she said. “And you can say no.”
Jilka looked up slowly. “If it involves doubling up on a date, I remember the last time…”
Besany thought of Fi for a moment. “Actually, it doesn’t, but if that would seal the deal, I can introduce you to a very pleasant young man.”
“Let me think about it. What’s the favor?”
“I need to know about a company called Dhannut Logistics. They caught my eye but I can’t find out where they’re based even though they’re an approved Republic contractor.”