There was a low rumble behind them. Sev turned to see Leb’s ship powering up, driving clouds of dust and grit into the air with the downdraft of its thrusters.
“But whoever’s after Ko Sai can still find him, except he won’t be able to give them an answer this time, so how does that solve his problem?”
“I didn’t say it would solve his,” Jusik said. “But it certainly solves some of ours.”
It wasn’t very Jedi of him, but then maybe Sev didn’t fully understand their beliefs. “What about those Mandalorians? You sounded like you knew something.”
Jusik shrugged and opened the hatch on his shuttle with a gesture of his hand. It might have been some Force trick or simply a remote control. “Let’s just say Ko Sai’s in demand.”
“But who are they?”
“Competition. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Sev accepted need-to-know even if it annoyed him. He watched Jusik disappear into the shuttle and rejoined Delta in the TIV, trying to work out what he felt about Mandalorians, and whether they were all like him.
“The general’s scrambled the Twi’lek’s brains,” he said, slumping into a seat and fastening his restraining belt for takeoff. “So he isn’t going to be discussing his travel arrangements with anyone else, at least.”
Boss tutted in annoyance. “We should have asked him for a bit more detail about where he did the drop. But Jusik seemed really keen to get rid of him.”
“Well, he knows something we don’t.”
Nobody said it, but Sev knew they were thinking it. Mandalorians. It was always sobering to run into them-or the mention of them-and find they were on the Separatists’ side, or on no side at all, but not the Republic’s allies. Like most of the commandos, Delta Squad had been raised and trained by Mandalorian sergeants; men like Walon Vau had done what generations of Mando fathers had done, raising their sons to be self-sufficient warriors, passing on a Mandalorian culture that made strong, tight-knit armies.
Yeah, but there s Mando, and there s Mando. Is that me? Is that who I really am? And how do real Mandos see us?
Omega were very Mando now. All Skirata’s squads were; he was a real hard-liner, old Kal, all tradition, emotional sentimentality, and-if anyone got in his way-complete no-holds-barred violence. Sometimes Sev preferred Vau’s cold distance, because it was for their own good. But there were times he envied Omega; Vau said Skirata was too soft and made weak soldiers, but all Sev saw was someone he didn’t have to be afraid of and who would let him make mistakes.
Too late to think about that now.
“Okay, Dorumaa it is,” said Boss. “Hope you packed the swimwear, Fixer…”
Tropix island resort, Dorumaa, Cularin system, 478 days after Geonosis
Tropix was a manufactured paradise with every facility a sun-seeking visitor might want, and as far from Skirata’s idea of bliss as he could imagine.
It was all bright colors, noise, and heat. Lulari trees imported from Hikil tinkled like wind chimes in the breeze, and their heady scent was pungent enough to give him the start of a headache. Mird bolted along the shell-paved beachfront path ahead of Vau, whipping its tail and whimpering with excitement as it picked up strange new scents.
It was a Separatist planet, at least as far as the Cularin system was Sep-loyal. Skirata felt everywhere was enemy territory regardless of whether it was red, blue, or yellow on the charts, and didn’t let the stereotyped idyll weaken his guard.
“Well, this is classy,” he said. Beings of various species lounged on a white sand beach lapped by a turquoise sea so vividly blue that it could have been dyed. Twi’lek waitresses whose skin almost matched it wandered among the vacation-ers with trays of drinks. Droids trundled between, raking sand and somehow managing to leave no tracks behind them. “Imagine being stuck here for two weeks. What do you reckon, Mer’ika?”
Mereel shrugged. Out of armor, in a plain white shirt and beige pants, he suddenly looked so ordinary-so civilian-that Skirata could only think of all the routine things he was denied.
“I could probably find something to occupy me,” Mereel said. “Do you two realize how much you look like glitterstim dealers?”
Vau looked back over his shoulder, a rather splendid pearl-inlaid blaster shimmering in his holster. “I’m going for the casual but menacing look. Glad I pulled it off…”
“It’s the Arakyd special, Walon. Says more about you than credits ever can.” The gangster look was less conspicuous here than full Mandalorian armor. The idea was to look like they’d come for sportfishing so that submerging Aay’han offshore didn’t attract the wrong sort of interest. “Looks rather expensive.”