[Republic Commando] - 03(181)

Sev wasn’t expecting praise. He always felt he was letting someone down-usually Vau-so the comment caught him off guard. He also wasn’t sure what to do with a day off, but sleep and excessive eating were the first things that sprang to mind. He saluted, turned smartly for the door, and then stopped.

“I’m very sorry to hear General Jusik has left us, sir.”

Zey was still staring at the box on his desk. “So am I. It’s always a blow to lose a good man, but it’s worse to lose a good Jedi when we need to keep our focus.”

Sev didn’t have a clue what he meant, but nodded sympathetically. Then he left and put distance between the office and himself as quickly as he could. Boss and the others ambushed him halfway down the corridor.

“Well?” Scorch demanded. “Did he buy it?”

“I think so.”

Fixer snorted. “Not much else he can do, is there?”

“We got a day off out of it,” Sev said. “Which is better than a thrashing from Vau, so shut up and make the most of it.”

Delta took a shortcut across the parade ground to get to their quarters. In the late-afternoon sun, the newly re-formed Omega Squad-no Darman, but with the new guy from EOD who could do really dangerous knife tricks with his prosthetic hands-were playing limmie with Ordo and Mereel. Skirata had joined in. They played it hard, what Vau called the Mando way, shoulder-charging and tackling one another with complete disregard for injury, kicking the spherical ball high into the air. It was about the size of a man’s head-Sev did a double take to be sure it wasn’t actually a real head-and it cannoned against the wall of the barracks to loud whoops and cries of “Oya! Ori’mesh’la!”

None of them, except Skirata, was in armor. They weren’t even in red GAR fatigues, just assorted civilian clothing they must have picked up on the last mission. There were no team colors. If Sev hadn’t recognized them as his clone brothers, he would have taken them for Mandalorians whiling away the time between invasion and pillage rather than fellow commandos letting off steam.

They suddenly struck him as very foreign, and that surprised him: Vau had taught Delta all the Mandalorian customs and language, just as Skirata had taught his commando squads, but somehow at that moment Omega and the Nulls seemed very much more Mandalorian mercs than men of the Grand Army.

“So,” Boss said, as if reading his mind, “if we got in a ruck with a bunch of real Mando’ade, whose side do you reckon they’d be on?”

Sev shrugged. “Who do you think killed the Mand’ade we found in Ko Sai’s hideout?”

“You don’t know who did that,” Fixer said.

“Yeah, and neither do you.”

Scorch put a stop to the speculation. “Vode an. Brothers, all. Okay?”

Delta Squad each managed a casual acknowledgment and Sev expected Skirata to try to talk them into joining the game, but he didn’t. The six men carried on, oblivious, with the occasional shout or comment in Mando’a, and they might as well have been in Keldabe, not Galactic City.

It was … unsettling. It was also oddly tempting in a way that Sev didn’t want to think about.

Commandos were all on the same side. Sev was sure of it. And for the time being, so were the Nulls, although they were a law unto themselves. Whatever eccentricities they had, they were totally loyal, obeying Skirata to the letter.

Skirata paused, trapping the ball under one boot, and seemed to notice Sev for the first time.

“Copaani geroy? ” he asked, totally Mando. Want to play?

“No thanks,” Sev said. “I’ll stick to my embroidery. Looks a bit rough. I bruise easy.”

Delta Squad walked on, leaving behind a scene that for a few moments could easily have been unfolding on Mandalore, and not in the heart of the Republic.

“Just as well they’re on our side,” said Boss.

“Yeah,” said Sev. “It is.”