But they were his life. He’d raised them as his sons. The Kaminoans had wanted to terminate them as a failed experiment, and just thinking about that still made Skirata long for revenge. All Kaminoans were sadistic vermin as far as he was concerned, and he counted their lives as cheaply as they counted the clones they bred. Ko Sai would be one of the lucky ones: he needed her alive-for a while, at least.
So my boys were surplus to requirements, were they? So will you be, sweetheart.
Ordo slid open the throttle and the Deep Water was under way, churning foam. The Rodian dwindled to a doll, then a speck on a receding jetty, and they were in open sea beyond the harbor limits.
“Let’s go catch some aiwha-bait, then.” Skirata wondered why he was worried about diving in a sub when he was perfectly happy to fly in cold hard space. He’d done enough maritime exercises on Kamino, after all. “Heard from Mereel yet?”
“Yes, he’s on his way, yes, he got Agent Wennen to do the job, and yes, he gave her the blaster.”
Agent Wennen? Come on, son. You’ve got a short enough life as it is. Go for it. “She’s a tough one. Or’atin’la.”
Ordo didn’t take the bait. “Mer’ika says she’s sent me a cheffa cake.”
Ordo was touchingly clueless about women. Skirata knew he’d failed him on the emotional education front. “You’re well in there, son. Smart, tough girl.” She was a striking leggy blonde, too, but that was farther down the list for Mandalorians, after capability and endurance. She was actually too beautiful for people to feel comfortable around her, and so Skirata counted the poor kid among his growing collection of outsiders and social rejects. “You deserve the best.”
“If only there were a manual for females, Kal’buir.”
“If there is, I never got my copy.”
Ordo turned his head and gave Skirata a look that said it was no comfort to hear that. Ordo now knew what Skirata had kept from the clones for so long: that his marriage had foundered, and his two sons had eventually declared him dar’buir, no longer a father-the divorce of a parent, possibly the greatest shame in Mandalorian society. It was the only thing he’d ever kept from the Nulls, apart from Etain Tur-Mukan’s pregnancy.
Does that worry Ordo? Does he believe me? I had to disappear. We all had to, to train our clones in secret. My kids were grown men. I left them every last credit I had, didn’t I? Shab, my clones needed me more than they did. They needed me just to stay alive.
He had a daughter, too, and her name hadn’t been on the edict. He hadn’t heard from her in years. One day … one day, he might find the courage to go and look for her. But now he had more pressing business.
“It’ll be okay, son,” Skirata said. “If it’s the last thing I do, you’ll have a full life span. Even if I have to beat that information out of Ko Sai a line at a time.”
Especially if I have to.
Ordo seemed to take a sudden and intense interest in the throttle controls. “The only reason we’re alive at all is because you stopped the gihaal from putting us down like animals.” For a moment Skirata thought he was working up to saying something else, but he changed tack. “Okay, let’s see if I can at least follow the manual for this one …”
Ordo pushed the throttle lever hard forward. The Deep Water’s nose lifted slightly, and the acceleration as she burned across the surface of the waves slapped Skirata back in the seat. In the aft view from the hull-mounted safety cam, a wake of white spray and foam churned like a blizzard. The red status bar on the console showed that the speed was moving steadily closer to the flashing blue cursor labeled OPTIMUM THRUST. The airframe vibrated, the drives screamed, and then Skirata’s gut plummeted as the Deep Water parted company with the surface of the sea.
“Oya!” Ordo grinned. The ship soared and he was suddenly as excited as a little boy. Novelty always delighted him. “Kandosii!”
Behind them, the blizzard on the monitor gave way to gray-blue sea. Skirata admitted mild relief to himself and watched Ordo laying in a course for the RV point, marveling at his instant proficiency.
“You put a lot of trust in me, Kal’buir,” he said. “I’ve never piloted a hybrid like this before.”
“I look at it this way, son. If you can’t do it, nobody can.” He patted Ordo’s hand, which was still gripping the throttle lever. “I name this ship … okay, any ideas?”
Ordo paused, staring ahead. “Aay’han.”
“Okay … Aay’han it is.” It was a telling choice: there was no Basic translation of the word, because it was a peculiarly