501st: An Imperial Commando Novel

by Karen Traviss

  “Shab, we’ll just have to shoot them the old-fashioned way, then,” he said, and hoped he meant it.

  “I can always engineer something new.”

  Skirata didn’t answer. The room was noisier now, and didn’t leave a ringing silence for anyone to interpret. Uthan had a cause for war with the whole Empire. All Skirata wanted was a small corner where his family could live in peace and not invite trouble to visit them.

  So what do we do if Dar or Niner send us intel that’s no use to us, but would help a resistance somewhere? What do we do with that information?

  He put the idea to one side. It might never happen. He watched Besany standing with her arm around Ordo’s waist, clearly devoted to him, and Parja fussing over Fi, and Corr whispering something in Jilka’s ear and getting a laugh out of her. This was what Skirata wanted for his lads—the normal life that every other human male took for granted. Rebellion was someone else’s problem.

  Ny sat down next to Skirata on the cushion-strewn seat and nudged him with her elbow. “What are you going to do about the others?”

  “What others?”

  “How are they going to find someone to settle down with in the middle of nowhere? And what if they can’t bring them home to meet the folks? Romances break up. But disgruntled exes always know where you live.”

  She was right, and he’d tried not to think about it. Kyrimorut was already less than a secret. Rav Bralor had refurbished the place with local labor, and every clone who passed through would have a location that could be revealed.

  “It’s a risk we’ll take,” Skirata said, not knowing where to start to solve it. “Mandos keep their mouths shut.”

  “What if one of the boys meets someone he likes who isn’t a Mando?”

  “We’ll have to lock her in once she gets here.” He gave Ny a wink, but she just smiled as if she didn’t understand. It was just as well. He couldn’t worry about his own needs while there was so much to do for his boys. “We’ll think of something.”

  Kad tottered around from person to person, getting picked up and fussed over at every stop. When he reached Ordo, Skirata watched, knowing what was coming next. Ordo scooped him up in his arms and took a few steps away into a space.

  Ordo wasn’t a natural with kids, but he looked determined to learn. Skirata saw his expression change as the boy stared into his face with that wide-eyed expectation that disarmed adults every time.

  “Kad’ika, your daddy couldn’t come back this time. My fault. Bad Uncle Ordo did something silly.” He tapped Kad’s nose with his fingertip, which usually made the kid giggle, but not this time. “We’re going to see if we can make something clever that helps him talk to you. He misses you. Would you like that?”

  It was hard to tell what Kad understood, because he always reacted as if he knew exactly what the grown-ups were talking about. Skirata could see his chin wobbling and a frown forming. He could have been responding to Ordo’s distress rather than feeling upset about Darman.

  But Kad didn’t cry. He rarely did. He just took it and got on with life, even at this early age. Skirata tried to imagine the man he’d grow into.

  “He’ll make a great dad one day,” Ny said.

  “Kad?”

  “Ordo. He’s still getting the hang of it. Look at Besany’s face.” Ny smiled sadly. Besany was watching Ordo with complete adoration, oblivious of everything else. She was a striking woman anyway, but the beatific expression made her luminous. “We’re pushovers for guys who are kind to kids and animals.”

  “We can forget the rich and powerful osik, then.”

  “Being rich really doesn’t solve life’s problems.”

  She had that right. The rapidly growing fund in the Clone Savings Bank, as Jaing called it, hadn’t brought Dar or Niner home or stopped the rapid aging yet.

  “True,” Skirata said. “But it gives you more options than being poor.”

  Skirata shut his eyes and visualized the tick-list of things that still needed to be sorted out. Jusik could now go to retrieve Maze, and maybe take Ruu or Levet with him. They both deserved a break. As soon as Gilamar and Atin got back, they could start building Uthan’s virus factory, then get her back on track with the anti-aging research. Then there was Arla. What the shab was he going to do about her? And the Jedi; they couldn’t stay here forever, and they couldn’t leave.

  I’ll think of something.

  He shut his eyes and half dozed, soothed by all the relaxed conversation around him. Kad scrambled onto his lap, smelling of sticky preserves and baby powder, and fell asleep.

  I’ll think of something …

  “Buir?”

  A hand gripped his shoulder gently. He opened his eyes and stared up into Jaing’s puzzled face.

  “I’m not dead, son. Just rehearsing.”

  “I’ve recovered a fair chunk of the data from that chip,” Jaing said. “It looks like a gold mine. I’ve still got to bypass the encryption on some file contents, but from what I’ve skimmed, it looks like the complete guide to how to hide escaped Jedi. Safehouses, sympathizers ready to give aid, ships, locations, comm codes, arms caches—the whole shebang. Obrim must have got that far with his recovery program and realized what he had.”

  Skirata sat up slowly, trying not to disturb Kad. “Sure it’s not a decoy to throw Palpatine off the real trail? Even Jedi aren’t naïve enough to risk recording all that on datachips.”

  “Slicers like me rely on naïveté, Buir. It might only be a small part of their network, of course, in which case it’s not as dumb as it looks.”

  “So why was Obrim sweating bricks about getting it to us? No offense to our guests, but I really don’t give a mott’s shebs how many Jedi the Empire catches. I’d happily pay my taxes if it got all of them.”

  “There’s a file on there that might be closer to home.”

  Skirata was wide awake now. “How close?”

  “Ships and names. Friendlies. You’ll know at least one of them.”

  Skirata felt slightly queasy. He knew what was coming next. He really should have let his natural suspicion have the upper hand. It was his fault for not asking a very obvious question months ago.

  I was blinded. Grief and greed. Etain dead, the chance of a genetic break right in my lap. Grief, greed, and … getting too soft.

  Skirata looked slowly around the room to see where Ny was. She was talking to Cov, the sergeant from Yayax Squad. It was nice to see the Yayax boys joining in. They tended to keep themselves to themselves, rarely coming in for meals with everyone else.

  “It’s Ny, isn’t it?” Skirata said quietly.

  Jaing nodded. “Yes, Buir. It is.”

  Commander Melusar’s office, Special Operations, 501st Legion, Imperial City

  “I’m sorry, sir. Things got a bit out of hand.”

  Niner took the fact he was sitting in Melusar’s office rather than standing to attention in front of the desk as a good sign. But then Melusar was a hearts-and-minds kind of officer. And this was just a routine report about discharge of weapons in a public place. A grenade round versus a repulsortruck, and the grenade won. Holy Roly didn’t need to know more.

  “Meaning?” Melusar said.

  “I should have alerted the police.” Niner found it hard not to say CSF every time. “I used lethal force to stop a vehicle thief.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a capital offense under this Empire, Sergeant. But I’d like to know why you did it. You’re experienced. Special forces. Not some trigger-happy security guard.”

  Niner reached for an outright lie. It was easy. He hadn’t realized just how easy. “I think I’m overreacting, sir. I’m finding it hard to switch off from the war. Everything starts me off. Ordinary stuff.”

  Melusar just looked at him, not with that I’m-waiting-for-the-truth expression Zey would have worn, but with concern. Real concern, not an act he’d learned on leadership courses.

  He might just have been a great actor, of course. Niner wasn’t ab
out to abandon caution.

  “I’d be surprised if it didn’t,” Melusar said at last. “And I don’t think there’s a quick cure, because it’s a part of what makes you a fine soldier. You’ve been in life-and-death situations. You react instantly to stay alive. It doesn’t come with an off switch.”

  Niner felt terrible. He was getting sympathy he hadn’t earned. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all. He wasn’t like Darman, erupting and lashing out when things got too much. Was he?

  I’d know. I’d know if I was losing it. I’m sure I would.

  But an insistent little voice reminded him that he always felt pursued, spied upon, threatened these days. The Empire kept an even tighter watch on its citizens than the Republic had. Conspicuous new public holocams were springing up everywhere, so he knew he wasn’t imagining all of it. But it was not knowing where to draw the line between the real and the imagined that was eating away at him.

  “I know Darman wasn’t with you at the time,” Melusar said. “I want to talk to both of you, though.” He got up and opened the doors to summon a droid. Niner heard him. “Five-em, get Trooper Darman, please.”

  The doors stayed open for a change and Melusar sat down. Niner hadn’t seen Darman since he’d walked back through the main gates and reported the incident. It wasn’t concealable from his end, whatever Obrim might have done with security holovids, and he decided against discussing it with Darman and dragging him farther into it.

  Does Dar even know I came back?

  There wasn’t a lot that escaped notice in a small closed world like this unit. Niner kept his gaze fixed on the wall, wary of making eye contact with Melusar and falling into conversation, because the guy was just too easy to talk to. Anything might spill out in that state, Niner thought. Eventually he heard brisk footsteps in the corridor. Darman marched in, helmet under one arm, and came to attention as if he hadn’t even noticed Niner was there.

  “At ease, Darman.” Melusar gestured to the chair next to Niner. “Take a seat.”

  Darman sat with his fingers meshed on his stomach, elbows braced on the arms of the chair. For a second, his eyes met Niner’s. All Niner could see was quiet disappointment, not surprise or anger.

  Melusar closed the doors from the desk control, sinking the office back into that soundproofed, padded silence.

  “I’ve not been entirely honest with you,” he said. “But I think you know that.”

  Niner tried to stop himself from guessing where this was leading, but he couldn’t help it. He evaluated threats fast. He’d been drilled to do that since infancy. Only he and Dar were here; that meant it wasn’t about Squad 40, and it wasn’t about former Republic commandos, because Ennen was absent, and Ennen had a Corellian training sergeant. Common factor: two men from a Mandalorian-trained commando company. Narrow it down: Darman hadn’t been involved with blowing the truck up, so it wasn’t about the incident.

  Niner could have just waited to see what was coming, but he couldn’t switch it off.

  “You probably noticed that my first move on taking over this unit was to single you out,” Melusar said. “It wasn’t all about being dazzled by your dispatch of Camas. Darman, you really bothered Agent Cuis. I like that in a trooper.”

  “I haven’t had much contact with Agent Cuis, sir.” Darman seemed to be playing it dead straight. “I’m sorry if I gave him cause for concern.”

  “I’m not. You knew he was a Force-user, didn’t you? And he knew you knew.”

  Darman’s larynx bobbed as he swallowed. “Can’t help but notice the past tense, sir.”

  “Agent Cuis was killed on duty. I don’t get to hear every detail, but I hear enough. Intel is riddled with these mystics and their little cliques. At the risk of being exposed by telling you this—I want you two to report direct to me, only to me, and not deal with our otherworldly chums. Are you up for it?”

  How did anyone say no to that?

  “Define deal with, sir,” Niner said.

  “I don’t mean neutralizing them. I’m eccentric, but not nuts. I mean to gather intel on them, maybe even derail their schemes when need be.”

  “Isn’t that … treason, sir? For us, I mean.”

  “Depends on your lawyer. Me, I think of it as keeping tabs on the enemy within. They’re not on the Empire’s side. The Empire belongs to its ordinary citizens. I won’t see it bled dry by these mumbling hand-wavers. Otherwise we’ve just swapped the Jedi for another secret cult.”

  Melusar was definitely not putting on an act. He was as enthusiastic and affable as ever, but Niner watched his hands on the desk. He held his stylus in a white-knuckled fist, thumb scraping rhythmically up and down the metal clip and twanging the end with the nail. His other hand was flat on the polished wood as if he was going to stand and slap it down hard.

  “We’re not the only commandos who could do this, sir,” Darman said. Good point; and Niner wasn’t sure why he was included in this conversation, other than being part of the double act. “I can spot Force-users. So can you, obviously. No magic to it.”

  “I know what they used to say about Omega Squad. Overrated Mando-loving weirdos. Sergeant Barlex was a little more neutral—born-again Mandalorians. Mandos aren’t awed by Force-users. Some Mandos really hate them.”

  “Plenty of men left from the Mandalorian-trained squads,” Niner said. “Quite a few from Kal Skirata’s and Walon Vau’s, in fact.”

  “But nobody left who’s been so close to the Null ARC troopers and so steeped in Mandalorian nationalism—except you two. Skirata’s own.”

  Niner didn’t take the bait. “We’re good, sir, but even two of us aren’t the army you seem to need.”

  “The smaller the circle, the lower the risk,” Melusar said. “But just as the Intel Force-users can’t keep everything secret from us, because they can’t avoid contact with common beings, your comrades got to know a fair bit about you. And I think you’re as motivated as I am in your own way to reduce the dominance of Force-users in galactic politics.”

  He didn’t elaborate. Maybe he knew something, and maybe he was fishing, so Niner didn’t rush to fill the silence that followed. Neither did Darman. Melusar waited a little longer, then seemed to accept he was dealing with expert stonewallers.

  There might well have been speculation in the ranks about Darman and Etain. But the chances of Melusar knowing about Kad were remote.

  Darman stared at him a little longer, then put on his harmless voice. “Your family’s from Dromund Kaas, aren’t they, sir?”

  Melusar seemed caught short for a moment, lips slightly parted. “The Dromund system is just a myth.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  Neither Niner nor Darman knew anything more than where Holy Roly came from, but it was a big card to play. He hadn’t a clue how they’d know anything about an obscure Sith world that wasn’t even on the Republic charts. The look on his face told Niner that he felt he’d bitten off more than he could chew with Darman. Niner decided it was a good place to park the sabacc game for the time being. Melusar seemed to take the hint, too.

  “Beskar,” he said, not so much changing tack as skipping some preamble. “It all hinges on Mandalorian iron. You know all about beskar, don’t you? Well, Imperial Procurement’s done a deal with the Mandalorians to mine it. Beskar is overkill given the existing size and punch of the Imperial Army, so this is for dealing with Jedi and other Force-users. Ever seen it in action?”

  “You mean have I seen beskar’gam deflect a lightsaber blow?” Niner couldn’t recall. Skirata swore by it, though, and the Nulls all had genuine beskar armor. “Most of the Mando training sergeants wore it. It beats durasteel and other alloys hands-down.”

  “Beskar’gam,” Melusar said.

  “Armor. Means iron skin. Mandos live in their armor.”

  “Anyone who wanted to put Force-users in their place would do well to have a supply of this stuff, wouldn’t they?”

  Niner could follow the logic. Melusar wanted to find s
ome edge over Palpatine’s dark side Intel operatives. But did he know Palpatine was a Sith too? If he did, he was biting off a lot more than anyone could chew. If he didn’t, then—it was all the same in the end. Niner gave Holy Roly a life expectancy of a couple of months.

  But isn’t that why we’re still here, and not on Mandalore right now? Because Dar wants to protect Kad from all this? And our whole clan? Common cause.

  “And a supply of Mando ironsmiths who know how to work beskar,” Niner said. “You’d be needing that, too.”

  Melusar looked as if he hadn’t considered that—a quick flash of the brows, a glance to one side for a fraction of a second—and seemed to chew something over. “You can walk away from this and we can forget anything was ever said.”

  Darman unmeshed his hands. “You can rely on me, sir.”

  He didn’t say for how long. Niner hated these discussions made up of double meanings and inferences. Ordo called it ambiguity. Niner just saw it as being given enough rope to hang himself, but he nodded anyway.

  “I don’t have any memories of Dromund Kaas, for what it’s worth,” Melusar said. “I grew up without my father. And one day, you can tell me how you even know the world exists.”

  “That’ll be interesting for both of us, sir.”

  Melusar paused for a beat. “Dismissed, men.”

  Niner just took the revelation with a nod, and left with Darman. They walked in silence until the doors to the central lobby closed behind them and they reached the parade ground, as private a place as any. Dar didn’t even look at him. They had about two minutes’ walk time to deal with the unsaid stuff before they were back within walls that might well have had ears.

  “Sergeant Barlex,” Niner said, trying to make his peace with Dar. “Second Airborne, Two-hundred-and-twelfth Battalion. Remember him? Miserable di’kut. He called us born-again Mandos, and his loadmaster said they’d been up against Mandos fighting for the Seps, and he called us—”