[Republic Commando] - 03(157)

But Corr was RC-5108/8843 now, a member of Omega Squad proper, and not just attached to them. He walked into the barracks recreation room in his new armor-Fi’s rig, helmet under one arm-but didn’t seem comfortable in it.

The whole neat designation system had gone down the tubes with Corr, too. He wasn’t just one of the many troopers now cross-trained in commando skills; he was a shiny boy, a real Republic commando, and Skirata insisted that he have the code to match even if his numbers didn’t fit.

Darman was determined to make him welcome. ” ‘Cuy, vod’ika” He slapped the seat next to him. “Park your shebs there. We’d pour you some of the GAR-issue caf but we like you too much for that. We’re waiting for Sergeant Kal.”

Corr sat down as ordered, and Niner and Atin leaned across to clasp his arm.

“You can slip into something more comfortable,” Niner said, indicating their bodysuits. “That plastoid can crimp the important places after a while.”

Corr started removing plates as if they were burning him. “Any news on Fi?” he asked.

“Waiting to hear what happened at the medcenter.” Niner passed him a carton of warra nut cookies, which was unconditional acceptance as far as Omega were concerned. Dar-man noted that Corr wasn’t wearing the synthflesh coating on his prosthetic hands, so he had some point he needed to make. “Last we heard, Sergeant Kal had sent in the heavy mob.”

“Ordo?”

“Agent Wennen and Captain Obrim.”

“Ah.” Darman winced. Corr had been the object of Besany’s interest until Ordo took his place-literally. If the former trooper felt that the Null captain had muscled in on his girl, he showed no sign of it. She’d been very kind to him while he was recovering on desk duties, he’d said. That was all.

It’d take a lot more than Besany’s kindness to put Fi back on his feet.

Corr was uneasy. It was inevitable. “I just wanted to say something before we go any further.”

“Get it off your chest, ner vod” said Atin. “I won’t be trying to replace Fi.” Corr blurted it out as if he’d been thinking about it for a long time and now wanted to get it over with. “I might wear the armor but I’m not the man, and I’m not going to compete with him. When he’s fit, I’m out again, okay?”

Maybe he was being diplomatic, or he might not have realized how bad things were. Darman didn’t explain.

“It’s okay,” said Atin. “I was one of Vau’s trainees. Joining this bunch was a bit rough.”

“Was not,” Niner muttered. He’d never been one for a good laugh, but he tried hard-painfully hard-because morale was the squad sergeant’s job as far as he was concerned. “It was Daruvvian champagne all the way.”

Darman tried to join in the determined jollity, but Corr still had the dent on his chest plate where Fi had had a disagreement with a grenade, and there was no shared joke to be had about it. It was going to be very hard without Fi.

“So you’ve enjoyed a rich social education with Mereel and Kom’rk, have you?” Darman never felt he could talk about that in front of Fi, because Fi so desperately wanted a nice girl, as he put it, and any talk of relationships got to him. Now he’d never get the chance. “I saw Kom’rk once, but he doesn’t seem as…”

And that was as far as Darman got. Grief ambushed him. He found that all he could do was sit forward with his elbows braced on his knees, both hands to his mouth to stop the searing ache in his throat and eyes from turning into uncontrollable sobbing. He froze, scared to move in case that started him off. Eventually Corr ruffled his hair hard, just like Skirata did, and Darman got his breath under control enough to speak.

“That’s what really gets to me,” he said. “He didn’t get what he really wanted, someone to love him, and now he never will, and I’m angry.”

“Okay, Dar.” Atin joined in the hair ruffling. “Udesii. You can’t do anything about it now.”

“He’s not dead,” said Miner quietly. Darman could feel it hanging over them, the conversation that had seemed fine when they didn’t realize how much damage he’d suffered, but now couldn’t be spoken aloud because it was too awful. What was not-dead? How did the medics know Fi couldn’t sense what was going on around him? Brain-dead people sometimes regained consciousness and then reported what they’d heard during the coma, and Darman could think of nothing more awful at that moment than Fi being trapped in some terrible paralysis but feeling everything. Dead was better. He wanted a cleaner end than Fi.