[Republic Commando] - 03(177)

“I’d make a rotten father, wouldn’t I?” Darman said. Skirata looked him straight in the eye, still with that same expression that was somewhere between tears and contentment. “Dar’ika, you’ll make a great dad, believe me. A terrific dad.”

“Yeah, maybe, but not yet.” It was the first thing that came into Darman’s head. The baby scared him, and he wasn’t used to fears he couldn’t come to terms with or remove. “I need to do some growing up first. Here, take him before I drop him.”

Great. What a stupid thing to blurt out. It always upsets him when I talk about getting older.

Skirata just smiled sadly and held out his arms to take Venku. Etain seemed uncomfortable and shot through the door. She was in a hurry to get somewhere, and Skirata jerked his head at Darman to follow her.

“Go and take some time together,” he said, easing his hand into his pocket to take something out. “Just go and do normal couple stuff. Plenty of credits on this chip. Here. Go have some fun for a couple of days. We’ll eat all the food and talk about you when your back’s turned.”

Skirata was a touchingly generous man. Darman took the credits and squeezed his shoulder. This was his family-his sergeant, his brothers-and however much he wanted to be with Etain, he needed them, too. So Niner had his answer.

“Thanks, Kal’buir.”

Skirata smiled. “Ni kyr ‘taylgai sa ‘ad.”

Darman understood what that meant. But it didn’t really need saying, because Skirata had taken on the responsibility of being the commandos’ father a long time ago.

“You know what that means, Dar?”

“You’ve adopted me. Formally, I mean.”

“Yes.” He patted Darman’s cheek with his free hand. “Time I adopted you all.”

“Are you rich, Sarge?” Corr asked. “I always wanted a rich dad.”

“Richest man alive,” Skirata said, half smiling. “You’ll be amazed what I’m going to leave you in my will.”

Skirata sometimes had his little jokes, and the commandos didn’t always understand them. Darman didn’t like to think of his sergeant writing a will. It was all too early for that, but then he was a soldier, and those things had to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

“We’d rather have you, Kal’buir,” Niner said. “Though a country estate on Naboo is a reasonable second choice …”

They found refuge in laughter again. Darman left Skirata with his grandson and went to look for Etain.

He found her waiting in the lobby, sitting on the fat upholstered arm of one of the sofas, arms folded tight against her chest. She looked upset. “What’s wrong?”

Etain shrugged. “It’s just sad, that’s all.”

“He’s happy.” Darman showed her the credit chip. “He loves kids. He’ll be in his element. Look, he gave me this and said to go off and have some fun. Anywhere you want to go?”

Etain had that same expression that he’d just seen on Skirata’s face. He knew he must have said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He unfolded her arms with a little gentle pressure and took her hand.

“The baby’s upset you somehow, hasn’t it?” he said. Of course; being a Jedi, Etain would never have known her parents. “Does it remind you of being taken from your family?”

“No, let’s think about where we can go.” She threw that switch and turned into the little general again, her wavy brown hair bouncing as she walked briskly ahead of him, hauling him by his hand. “Have you seen the botanical gardens at the Skydome? Amazing plants in there, a nice place where you can eat, all kinds of stuff.”

Darman knew all about plants. He had his GAR fieldcraft database of everything he could safely eat if he had to live off the land on a mission, planet by planet. It was a novelty to think of plants as something fascinating to admire. But his mouth felt connected somehow to uncontrolled thoughts that just dug him deeper into this emotional mire. He had to say it. He knew what was bothering her now: she wanted him to have a normal life, and she probably thought he wanted a child now that he’d seen Venku, because Mandalorians loved their families and that was how she saw him.

“If it’s the baby that’s upset you,” he said, “you don’t even have to think about having one for ages. Not during a war. It’s not a good time, is it? Not for cither of us.”

There. He’d said it, and she would feel better now, let off the hook. There was no point dwelling on his shortened life span. Neither of them knew what was around the corner.