“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Darman said. It was the ritual remembrance of those who’d passed on, recited daily with the names of all the people the mourner committed himself to immortalizing: I’m still alive, you’re dead, I’ll remember you, so you’re eternal. Sergeant Kal said that Mando’ade got straight to the point, even in spiritual matters. “Moz and Olun.”
Fi threw a few handfuls of dirt into the pit, then picked up his shovel. “You know you’ve got to recite that every day for the rest of your life now, don’t you?”
“I know,” said Darman, pitching loose soil back into the grave.
And how many more names by the time this war is over?
It wasn’t going to be hard to remember them. It was going to be much, much harder to forget.
Ore terminal, Kerif City, Bogg V, 478 days after Geonosis
Twi’leks were much heavier than they looked. Maybe it was the lekku, because that tissue had to be pretty dense; or maybe they were all muscle. Either way, it took a little more effort than Sev expected to restrain one.
“My, my,” he said, grabbing Leb Chura in a headlock and slamming him into the warehouse wall. “You get around, don’t you, delivery boy?”
The Twi’lek hit the permacrete slabs with a loud wet grunt, and Sev was sure he had a good grip on him until the pilot struggled free and made a run for it across the pitch-black landing strip.
It was always a challenge when you couldn’t immobilize targets the quick way. But Delta needed this one alive and talking. Sev tracked him in his night-vision visor, a speed-blurred green figure with head-tails flapping as he ran.
“Coming your way, Fixer …”
Leb ran full-tilt toward his ship on the freight pad, and Sev raced after him. One downside of Katarn armor was that it was heavy-okay for short panicky sprints, but over any distance it slowed a man down-and Leb was opening the gap between them.
No problem. Fixer and Scorch were waiting.
The Twi’lek cannoned into a solid wall of commando, plastoid, and Deece as the two men intercepted him the hard way. Sev heard the ooof of air expelled from his lungs. Leb was knocked flat on his back before being hauled upright and pinned between Fixer and Scorch.
“I know Sev’s weird, pal, but it’s rude to run away when he tries to be sociable.” Scorch could put a charmingly menacing leer into his voice that Sev couldn’t emulate. His gloved fingers tightened slowly on the Twi’lek’s neck. “He doesn’t mean to bite. He’s just being playful.”
“What do you want?” Leb gasped, getting his breath back. “I’ve done nothing. I’m all legit. Who are you, anyway? Mandalorians? ‘Cos I’ve-“
Boss ambled across the landing strip. “Don’t break anything. General on deck.” He tilted his head to indicate that Sev should look behind him. “Bard’ika on your six … very anxious to do some interrogating.”
“Leb, now’s the time to enjoy the hospitality of the Republic,” Scorch said, hauling the Twi’lek bodily toward Delta’s traffic interdiction vessel. “We just want to ask you a few harmless questions about your itinerary.”
“Yeah, the questions might be harmless, but you’re not…” Leb now looked past Scorch and spotted Jusik jogging across the permacrete, Jedi robes flapping. “Oh yeah, now the Jedi’s going to zap me with his Force powers, isn’t he? Shove a lightsaber in…”
Jusik caught up with them. He always looked as if a strong breeze would knock him over. “No lightsaber necessary, my friend. You haven’t got any reason to withhold information, have you?”
When Jusik used that especially quiet, reasonable tone-and he never raised his voice anyway-Sev wasn’t sure if he was using Jedi mind influence or not. There was always something disturbing about Jedi, even the approachable ones like Jusik. Sergeant Vau said it was a good idea never to turn your back on one. They weren’t like regular folks.
Would I know if he was using that mind stuff on me?
Sev thought about that more and more lately. He still liked Jusik, though.
It was a tight fit in the TIV crew compartment now-four armored commandos, a scared Twi’lek, and General Jusik-and Leb seemed not to realize it was hard to give a prisoner a good hiding in such a confined space. His eyes went from visor to visor. He really didn’t have a clue who they were. But then very few beings ever got to see a Republic commando close up, and the helmet always seemed to bother them when they did. Eye contact was everything for most humanoid species. Without it, they couldn’t gauge how much trouble they were in.