[Republic Commando] - 03(143)

“No,” Etain said, but wasn’t sure that she wanted to be depressed any further by the size of the task. It would have been daunting enough even before Ordo destroyed the datachips. “But I suppose if it was easy, Arkanian Micro would be doing this, too, and Kamino wouldn’t be able to charge top price.”

“She can’t be the only one in the galaxy who can do this kind of work,” Skirata said. “There have to be others.”

“Best bet is to look for a gerontologist and an embryologist with an interest in genetics. But it’ll cost.”

Skirata shrugged. “If I invest the fund right, we’ll be able to buy as many scientists as we need.”

The word fund worried Etain. “Zey’s going to spot the black hole in the budget sooner or later, Kal.”

“It’s not from the GAR budget, ad’ika.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Okay, it’s sabacc-on-the-table time. I have a slush fund. Creds from my Cuy’val Dar payoff, invested sensibly. Creds the Jabiimi terror cell paid me in that explosives sting. And now upward of forty million from a little expedition of Vau’s, which I need to convert to cash creds and launder fast so it can earn interest and get invested again.”

Etain wasn’t an accountant, but it didn’t sound like a lot of credits compared with the many trillions needed to run an army. The word launder registered on her but failed to shock any longer. “Is that going to be enough?”

“To establish a safehouse here and an escape route? Yes. To develop a gene therapy to counter the aging? I don’t know. Possibly not. So I’ll build up as much in the coffers as I can.”

Etain had to admire his determination. She’d had no idea that he’d moved from anger and I-wish to calculation and action. The Force hadn’t shown her the entirety of the man, just his headlines.

Venku kicked again, and she put her hand on her belly. “You okay?” Skirata asked, all instant concern. “He’s kicking,” she said.

“Ah, he’ll be a limmie player. Meshgeroya. The beautiful game.”

“I think he’s permanently angry that I’m putting him through so much, actually.”

She thought of the way Ko Sai looked at her, that clinical curiosity, and understood Skirata’s initial anger. It scared her, too.

Ordo and Mereel took turns to pat Skirata on the shoulder before returning to Aay’han for the night-maybe because it was more comfortable, or they might have been guarding his valuables-and Skirata settled down in one of the chairs with his weapons laid out on a small table right beside him. He didn’t use a bed, Etain had found, not since his first days on Kamino. It couldn’t have been good for him. No wonder his ankle played up so much.

“I’m going to wander around the place,” Etain said, regretting wolfing down so much food on an increasingly cramped stomach. “Give my meal time to settle.”

“You should be doing plenty more of that now. Eating and resting.” He opened one eye. “Give the baby the best chance.”

She decided to risk it. “I just wanted to say that I’m learning a lot from you about being a parent. You’re so patient with Ordo.”

“He’s my boy. I love him, even those times when he turns into a stranger. You’ll understand when you hold yours for the first time.”

“Your favorite.”

“You can’t have favorites. But he’s probably the one I overprotect most, yes.”

“What are you going to do if you succeed with this scheme and they … well, leave home?”

“I have no idea, ad’ika.” Skirata rubbed his face wearily with both hands. “I forgot how to be Kal Skirata a long time ago. It’s probably better that he never comes back.”

Redemption came from the strangest sources; perhaps it was easier to find in the dark, extreme places that forced a man to sink or swim. Etain walked around the homestead, which was even bigger than she’d first thought-more a chain of connected redoubts than a farmhouse-and when she pressed her face to the transparisteel insets in one of the walls, she could make out the faint boundaries of fields backing onto the complex.

It was the perfect spot for vanishing without a trace. It was exactly what the Cuy’val Dar, soldiers so disconnected from normal life that they could step out of it indefinitely at a moment’s notice, would think of as a safe haven. It was a remote, well-defended spot on a remote planet with a population smaller than most Core world neighborhoods, let alone cities.

It struck her then that this wasn’t Rav Bralor’s home. It was Skirata’s. This was the retirement property Mereel had alluded to. Bralor was looking after it for him. If she’d lived there, it would have had all the trappings of a real home-yaim’la, that was the word. Lived-in, warm, familiar. This was a construction site.