[Republic Commando] - 03(124)

“Understood.”

Ko Sai was getting rattled now. Kal could see it. “How we doing, Mer’ika?”

“Another ten minutes, even with this fast transfer. Then I’ve got to erase all the layers just in case. When this is gone, it’s gone.”

Skirata turned back to Ko Sai and took a set of restraints out of his belt pouch. “Either I’m more deaf than usual, or you didn’t answer me.”

“You can’t make me work for you.”

“I don’t think you can do it.”

“And you can’t manipulate my self-esteem, either.”

“Okay, I’ll leave that to the Chancellor, because one of his personally tasked commando squads is coming for you in a few hours, but my boys’ need is greater than his, whatever it is.” Skirata could see from the head movement that Palpatine had really disturbed her. “Maybe he wants you to front up his secret clone production on Coruscant.” No response: did she even know about it? “Whatever made Tipoca agree to exporting the technology?”

“A grave mistake.”

“Must need Republic creds pretty badly.”

“Using second-generation cloning, the Republic might as well hire Arkanian Micro…”

Mereel cut in. “Yes, they’d have to, with Jango dead. Hasn’t been quite as successful. Has it?”

“No doubt you divined that from the Tipoca database, too,” Ko Sai said. “But I can’t think of anything you could you offer me that would persuade me to cooperate with you.”

“What’s it to you if clones live or die?” Skirata decided to let the Nulls exorcise their demons on her if she proved useless in the end. “You might even learn something from stopping the process.”

Her head stopped that slow swaying. He had her attention for a moment, which suggested it was a challenge that might lure her.

“I don’t have to beat it out of you, of course,” Skirata said slowly. “Plenty of folks around who can extract information by pharmaceutical methods.”

“And if they were expert enough to understand Kaminoan biochemistry, you wouldn’t need me to unlock the aging sequence.”

“Let’s see.” Skirata gestured with the restraints. “Now be a good girl and let me slap these on you, and don’t tempt me to make you wear them.”

She paused for a few moments, then offered her wrists with the grace of a dancer. It wasn’t the time to negotiate with her; there was a mountain of data to assess before he could be certain he needed her at all, and if she was driven to do this research without wanting to make a profit on it, then the prospect of being able to carry on with it might prove to be enough.

But he could test that.

“You done now, Mer’ika?”

Mereel had a small pile of datachips in one hand, jingling them like creds while he waited. “Just waiting for this erase program to run through the whole system. I don’t think any-one’s going to recover the data after we’ve trashed the place, but no point being careless.”

It had always been part of the vague plan-asset denial-but Skirata wasn’t sure if Mereel was playing the psychological game. It was as good a time as any, though. Skirata took a couple of thermal dets out of his belt and examined them, adjusting the controls with his thumbnail.

“Twenty minutes should be enough time to get clear.”

Mereel shook his head. “Make it half an hour. We don’t want to still be on the planet when this blows. It’s going to attract attention.”

“Good point.”

Ko Sai watched them like lab specimens. “You’re bluffing.”

Skirata set the dets for remote detonation, then placed one in the center of the floor and the other by the exit. Ko Sai wouldn’t know the difference between a timing device and a remote trigger. Mereel watched him with faint amusement, then put his helmet back on. “Fierfek, no. I can’t afford to leave anything that Delta could recover. Come on.”

Skirata hauled Ko Sai to her feet-she was more than two meters tall, so it wasn’t an elegant maneuver-and shoved her out ahead of him, blaster in her back. If she reacted now, fine. If she didn’t-they were out of here.

And now he had to pass the bodies of three Mandalorians. Somehow he’d put that out of his mind while shaking down Ko Sai. Now he had to look at them, wonder who they might be, and work out how he would inform their next of kin.

“Hang on to her, Mer’ika,” he said. “I have to do something.”

He squatted down and eased off the helmets, possibly one of the most unpleasant and distressing tasks he’d ever had. No, he didn’t know any of them; and one was a very young woman. That finished something in him. Females were expected to fight, and it was often hard to tell from the armor alone if the wearer was male or female, but it left him feeling hollow. He couldn’t even recall if he’d been the one who killed her. A search of their pockets turned up little, so he took the helmets to trace them via their clan sigils later, and to give their families something for remembrance.