She stepped out into Coruscant’s temperate, climate-controlled early-evening air and gave the small protest a wide berth. A couple of CSF officers in dark blue fatigues were watching the protest from a doorway; one acknowledged her with a nod. She couldn’t recognize him because the white riot helmet obscured too much of his face, but she’d had occasional contact with the Coruscant Security Force during investigations and they obviously found it easy to recognize her. She nodded back and clasped her bag more firmly under one arm.
Life went on in Coruscant despite the war. The protest here was a small rock in a river of normality, and the current of office workers and shoppers parted around it on the concourse and merged again downstream as if nothing had ever interrupted their routine. Besany wondered if they would flow around her in the same oblivious way; she was another isolated outcrop of the war. Eighty-three days ago-she was an audit officer, and exact detail was her job-a Jedi general had shot her with a nonlethal round, and she’d been plunged into a small, close-knit community of special forces troops. It was a window on a world of war without rules, of anonymous heroism, and an extraordinary and totally unexpected affection.
And it was her secret. Not even the Treasury knew about it.
She’d done things that her Treasury bosses wouldn’t have taken at all well. Like giving critical data-passcodes, Treasury security overrides-to a commando sergeant; like falsifying her reports to cover the fact that she’d let special forces move in on her investigation.
It s too late to worry about that now.
Besany worried anyway. She walked briskly, anxious to get home and close the apartment doors behind her, another day when she hadn’t been arrested that she could check off on the calendar.
It s not like me at all. Taking a flier on trust.
She wasn’t even aware of someone walking behind her. But a hand touched her shoulder, and she gasped. Guilt made her spin around to find she was staring into the reflective riot visor of one of the CSF cops.
Her stomach churned. Oh no no no…
“Agent Wennen,” he said. The accent was familiar. “Long time no see.”
But she didn’t know him, she was sure.
“You have the advantage, Officer.” Men hit on her a lot less than most people imagined. She knew she was striking, but she also knew that she was a daunting prospect because of it. Even Ordo-hugely confident, recklessly unafraid-treated her warily. Her good looks were a curse most of the time. “What can I do for you?”
The cop stood with his fists on his hips. He didn’t look like he was going to draw his weapon. “Well, I know I’m not quite as unforgettable as my brother, but I thought you’d at least say, Hi, Mereel, how are things?”
“Oh. Oh.” Mereel: one of Ordo’s five Null ARC brothers, Lieutenant Mereel. Besany’s gut lurched in a different way, and she didn’t bother to hide her relief. “I’m sorry, Mereel. Out of context…”
“So you didn’t recognize me with my clothes on, then?” A couple of passersby turned to stare. He chuckled to himself. “I mean, the armor. Makes a guy look different. Anyway, what kind of covert operator would I be if I was that easy to spot? Come on, can’t stand here getting funny looks all night. Walk this way and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Okay.” And there she was again, just dropping everything and wandering off to do the bidding of a black ops unit. This wasn’t how the Treasury investigation team worked. She had rules. “Can I ask…”
“Ordo’s fine and sends his best wishes. He’s doing a little job with Kal’buir at the moment.” Mereel might have been a clone, but he was as individual as any man. He didn’t walk like Ordo, and he didn’t talk like him. “I’ll try to teach him some social graces when he gets back. He’s got no idea how to treat a lady.”
Besany strode along beside him, working on the basis that looking as if this was routine was the best way to avoid attracting attention. “I just want to know he’s safe.”
“We’re soldiers. We’re never safe.”
“Mereel…”
“Look at it this way.” He headed for a CSF patrol speeder sitting on the public landing platform overlooking the skylane. “The other side’s in a lot more danger than we are.”
Besany slid into the passenger’s seat and didn’t ask how he’d acquired the speeder and the uniform. CSF liked the Special Operations clones. Their anti-terrorism chief, Jailer
Obrim, was very chummy with Sergeant Skirata, Kal’buir-Papa Kal. Favors were done and questions weren’t asked. Besany envied them that wonderful conspiratorial closeness. Kal’buir seemed to get away with murder.