[Republic Commando] - 03(24)

“I hear a but coming,” said Niner. “We’re specially trained to hear that coming at a hundred klicks.”

“But.” A’den slopped the stew into their waiting mess tins. When Darman was this hungry, he’d eat flimsi packing cases. “Yes, the but is that this is going to end in tears. Eyat-human city. All the cities are human settlements. But… scruffy little villages-lizard land.”

“So who are the Gaftikari?”

“They all are. Neither species is native. The human colonists brought in the lizard lads to build the place, and now the lizards want to run the show, on account of their numbers. Actually, the lizards are Marits.”

“Why are the Seps supporting the humans, then?”

“Because the Republic wants the kelerium and norax deposits here, or at least Shenio Mining does, and the humans are happier without Shenio moving in.”

“I’m lost,” said Niner.

“The Seps have offered to save Gaftikar from us.”

“So we’re going to give them something to object to?”

“I don’t make the policy. I just train guerrillas and slot bad guys.”

They lapsed into silence and ate the stew, which was actually remarkably tasty. The rebels-the Marits-had started assembling an E-Web without the manual, and the way a group of them clustered around the heavy blaster and handled the components gave Darman the impression that they swarmed over their enemies. There was something about the rapid and coordinated movements that reminded him of insects and unnerved him.

“Why are you a sergeant and the rest of the Nulls are officers?” Fi asked. “Didn’t you pass your promotion board?”

A’den didn’t seem offended. It was hard to tell what would provoke a Null; sometimes it took nothing at all. “I preferred to be an NCO. If it’s good enough for Kal’buir, it’s good enough for me.”

Fi seemed satisfied with the explanation. Atin was concentrating on his stew, and Niner was watching the Marits getting to grips with the large artillery piece.

“They’re good at assembling things,” A’den said. “Good visuospatial ability.”

It was the first time any of them had met A’den, and Dar-man was always keen to get the measure of another of Skirata’s Nulls. How had he managed to keep them apart from the commandos during training for so many years? The young Nulls terrified the Kaminoans by running wild around Tipoca City, and that was about the only time the commando squads saw them: stealing equipment, sabotaging systems, and-Darman had never forgotten this-even scaling the supports of the huge domed ceilings, swinging around hundreds of meters above the floor and placing blasterfire to within centimeters of the Kaminoan technicians. The Nulls never cared, never seemed afraid: even then, they answered only to Kal Skirata, and the Kaminoans wouldn’t dare cross Kal’buir.

Kal’buir said the Kaminoans had messed up the Nulls, and so they deserved what they got. If the Kaminoans complained, he said, he’d sort them. Skirata used sort as a euphemism for any form of violence, his specialist subject.

A Marit trotted over and peered into the stew, head jerking slightly like a droid. “You like it?”

Atin, kneeling down to help himself to another portion, looked up innocently. The scar across his face-the one that Vau had given him-was a thin white line now. “It’s very tasty.”

“My great-grandmother!” the Marit beamed. It was weird to watch a lizard smile like a human. They seemed to have a double row of small triangular teeth. “She’ll be happy.”

Darman noticed A’den slide forward a little and try to interrupt the exchange. “Atin…”

But Atin was off, being polite to the locals and taking his hearts-and-minds role seriously. “Is it her recipe, then?”

“Atin…”

“It’s her,” said the Marit, and wandered off. Atin stared into the bowl. There was a moment of complete silence, and A’den sighed. Fi put his knuckles to his mouth to stifle nervous laughter, but it didn’t work. Niner chewed to a halt. Darman tried to be culturally sensitive and all that, but he was hungry, and the Marit seemed pleased they were enjoying the meal.

“Oh fierfek…” Atin put his mess tin down on the ground and sat back on his heels. He screwed his eyes shut tight, and judging by the way his lips compressed he was in serious digestive crisis, as Ordo called it. Then he rocked back on his heels, stood up, and bolted for the nearest bushes.

“He’s throwing up,” Niner said, and went on eating. The faint sound of retching confirmed his diagnosis.

A’den shrugged. “It’s not like they killed her to eat her. It’s how they dispose of their dead. They like to think they do their families some good after they’re gone. It’s rude not to tuck in.”