501st: An Imperial Commando Novel

by Karen Traviss

  “Okay, I’m upset about Dar and Niner. I really miss them. I really need to see them again. Am I going to live long enough to see them come home?”

  He looked at her for a while as if he was expecting her to tell him to get a grip. She hadn’t realized how rapid aging would start to trouble the clones. Maybe they all felt a sense of life racing past them now, faced with the changing seasons on a rural planet. Time was visible here.

  Yes, Kal. I do understand. I understand why you’d do anything for these boys.

  “Of course you will, Fi,” she said. “It’s not going to be forever. And everyone beats the odds here, right? Look at you. Good as new.”

  “Not quite. But good enough.”

  Ny kept him company, pulling up her collar against the chilly spring wind. She hoped he was joking about Jusik’s piloting skills. Liability or not, that freighter was her last link to her old life. There were memories of Terin in it. She wasn’t sure when she’d be ready to let go of them completely.

  Kyrimorut, Mandalore

  Cornucopia settled on its dampers, and Ruu leaned back in her seat. The silence in the cockpit almost throbbed.

  “Okay, I’ll head Dad off,” she said at last. “You know he’s going to go nuts, don’t you?”

  “I’ll deal with him.” Jusik unbuckled his seat restraint and turned to fix Maze and Zey with a warning stare. “Not a word until I’ve placated him, okay?”

  Maze, arms folded, looked more intimidating now than he ever had in his smart white armor. Jusik wasn’t sure if it was just the stubble or the look in his eyes.

  “I’m not afraid of the old barve,” Maze said. “I did this. I’ll be just fine telling him why.”

  Zey looked crushed. He was a big man, a big personality, but all Jusik could feel from him was a sense of guilt that dwarfed him.

  “I could just turn around and disappear again,” Zey said. “It’d be better for everyone.”

  Ruu leaned across the console and pressed the hatch controls. “Not now you know where we are. You’re not going anywhere until Dad says you can.”

  Maze gave Jusik a mock bow of the head. “After you, Bard’ika.”

  It had to be done. Like all awkward things, it was best done quickly and without prevarication, Jusik decided. He wondered if he should have warned Ordo before the ship landed. But that just meant someone else had the task of breaking the news to Kal’buir. Jusik couldn’t dodge his responsibilities like that. The hatch ramp beckoned like a condemned man’s last walk to a scaffold.

  What made it worse was Skirata’s warm welcome when Jusik stepped off the ramp onto Kyrimorut’s soil. Ordo stood right behind him.

  “Good to have you back, son,” Skirata said.

  “You might change your mind when you see what I’ve brought back with me.”

  “Ah, never.” Skirata, all smiles, looked past Jusik into the open hatch. “Maze is okay. Isn’t he, Ord’ika?”

  “I don’t mean him.” Say it. Just spit it out. “Buir, Maze had someone with him when we picked him up. And it was me who decided not to dump him out the air lock.”

  Skirata half smiled. “As long as it’s not some Death Watch shabuir.”

  “No. I brought back Arligan Zey.”

  Somehow, Jusik had managed to forget what would be the biggest shock for Skirata; the fact that Zey was still alive at all. Skirata just stared into his face, blinking, as if he knew he hadn’t heard right and was trying to guess which words his failing hearing had mangled. But the news didn’t stop Ordo in his tracks.

  “Maze shot him,” Ordo said. “I heard the blaster discharge. I left them both in Zey’s office.”

  “Well, whatever—Zey’s alive, and Maze saved him.” Jusik stepped forward and caught Skirata’s shoulders. “Buir, I’m sorry. I had to make a snap decision. It was probably the wrong one.”

  Skirata looked ashen. That was worse than seeing him erupt into a rage. He looked slightly to one side of Jusik, probably not believing that Zey really would come out that hatch.

  “Why, son?” His voice was a whisper. “Why didn’t you comm me first?”

  Jusik wanted to die of shame. His first substantial act after Skirata adopted him was a moment of madness, dangerous madness that made everything worse. He didn’t deserve a father like this.

  “Stupidity,” Jusik said.

  And maybe I’m not as Mandalorian as I think I am.

  Ordo stepped in and took over, as he always did when he sensed things were about to get out of hand. He stormed up the ramp and vanished into the ship. For all Jusik’s extra senses, he wasn’t taking in the feeling in the Force because he was so fixed on the shocked pain on Skirata’s face. He heard raised voices—Ruu, Maze, Ordo—and he was aware of movement in the background as Fi, Besany, and Ny came out of the house to see what was going on.

  Jusik knew that the quieter Skirata was, the worse things would get. Kal’buir found it easier to let off steam about smaller matters. His silence had begun as shock and was now turning into a logjam of fury, resentment, and hurt. Jusik sensed it all in the Force. At point-blank range it was like standing in front of an open furnace.

  A real Mandalorian wouldn’t even blink about ditching Zey. Am I still a Jedi deep down? Is Kal’buir having doubts about me? Is his hurt coming from me?

  Skirata seemed distracted by what was happening behind Jusik. When Jusik turned, Zey was stepping down from the ramp, flanked by Maze and Ruu. Ordo was right behind them as if he was shoving them out of the ship.

  “I didn’t think you’d be pleased to see me,” said Zey. He held out his hand uncertainly, but Skirata didn’t take it. “Thank you, anyway.”

  “Nothing personal.” Skirata’s voice was hoarse, as if the conversation was choking him “But if any Jedi’s going to come back from the dead, it ought to be Etain.”

  “I heard,” Zey said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I just can’t believe you’re jare’la enough to stroll in here. That’s nerve. That’s arrogance.”

  Ordo gave Jusik a look of pure ice and turned Skirata around bodily, facing him back toward the house. “Get inside, Kal’buir,” he said firmly. “We can’t sort it out here. Ny? Ny, get the ship under cover. Come on, inside. Now.”

  Jusik felt Skirata’s anger swallow him whole, a great red tunnel where sound and light were instantly an infinity away. There were times when Jusik became so attuned to another being in the Force that he almost felt what they felt, and this time it scared him. He fell into that red vortex for a second. Skirata’s pounding pulse shook his whole body and Jusik’s with it. It took all Jusik’s will to jerk himself back out of it and stand apart again. Kal’buir’s frustration, three years of a hated war underpinned by decades of resentment, was looking for a valve to vent from. It would spurt out in the direction of Zey. Skirata stormed back inside.

  Scout and Kina Ha appeared at the doors but stood back as if a speeder had nearly run them down. Jusik held out his arm to stop them following Skirata and Zey into the karyai, but Kina Ha drew herself up to her full height and withered him with a glance born of centuries.

  “I would never abuse your hospitality,” she said. “But this man is a Jedi, and so he is my business as much as yours.”

  “I was his Padawan,” Jusik said, as if it was an answer.

  “Are you sure you still aren’t?”

  It was hard to hide doubt from another Force-user. Jusik was so wounded by the comment that he didn’t bar the door. An angry little group gathered in the karyai. Maze stared at Kina Ha and Scout, almost ignoring Skirata. The captain had never seemed the shockable sort, but it was clear he hadn’t expected to see Jedi here.

  “So you didn’t have the stomach for it, then, Maze,” Skirata said. “Or did he spin you some osik about his respect for all life and what a great little clone you were? How dare you bring him here.”

  Jusik tried to get the situation back under control. “It’s me, Buir. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Maze.”

  “No, I
want to know why he thinks it’s okay to bring a Jedi here, especially now that there’s an Imperial garrison on our doorstep. Whether he shot him or not is his business, but when he wants to bring him here, it’s mine.”

  Maze seemed distracted by Kina Ha and Scout. “Well, looks like it’s Jedi Night at Kal’s, if you don’t mind my saying so. And a Kaminoan? Going soft, Sergeant? So you’re going to lecture me on consorting with the enemy, are you?”

  “Kal, let’s discuss this calmly,” Zey said. “I don’t blame you for being angry.”

  “This place is for clones,” Skirata said. “Get it? They’re the ones who need help. Not shabla Jedi whining how tough things are and how they need protection. Is this some experiment to see how much insult you can add to injury without the whole galaxy imploding?”

  Zey didn’t even try to defend himself. Jusik tried to gauge who was going to snap first. He bet on Ordo.

  “I’m not proud of what we were party to, Kal,” Zey said. “I’m not claiming innocence or that I was only following orders. But don’t you think we got our punishment for that?”

  “So what do you want from us? We’re collecting so many Jedi here that we’re going to show up like the shabla Jedi Academy on Palpatine’s Force radar.”

  “You know he’s a Sith, then.”

  “Of course we know he’s a Sith. We did business with them for generations. We know stuff about Sith that the Jedi Order erased from the records. You just can’t hide history from everyone, Zey—there’s always some other source. Our only problem is spotting the difference between you two gangs of crazies.”

  “Kal, you know that the Sith are bad news. They’re evil. They’ve always been the cause of endless war and carnage across the galaxy.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one,” Skirata said. He mimicked Zey’s baritone growl. “ ‘My decapitations are more morally valid than your decapitations.’ Only difference I can see is that they plan to end up with trillions dead, and you do-gooders manage it by accident.”

  “I’m not asking you to save the Jedi Order, Kal. I’m not even asking you to save me. I can leave. I should never have come here.”

  “The only way you’re leaving here is dead, Zey. Because I wouldn’t trust you not to shop us filthy Mando savages to the Empire.”

  It was pointless telling Kal’buir that Zey was genuine, and broken. Skirata would find no pity. He even seemed torn about Maze. Jusik felt the conflicting waves of sympathy and anger when Skirata looked at the man.

  Skirata stared up into Maze’s face. “Just tell me,” he said quietly, “that you didn’t do this out of loyalty.”

  Maze leaned over just a fraction. No, he wasn’t intimidated by Skirata at all. “I did it because I thought he should get a fair trial. And because he used to make the caf in the office. It’s funny how the little things tell you all you need to know about the man.”

  “So, give you a pot of caf—no sugar, splash of cream, maybe some nice cookies—and it’s okay to send men to their deaths without asking them if they mind.”

  Ordo hovered, ready to intervene. Maze wasn’t scared of him, either, even though the Null had once punched him out. Maze stabbed a finger at Skirata but stopped short of jabbing it in his chest.

  “Zey’s here,” he snarled. “I’m responsible for that, the war’s over, and you need to change the recording, Sergeant, because it’s getting kind of monotonous.”

  “He’ll get you killed.”

  “So? It’ll be my choice. I’m not one of your poor dumb victim clones. You didn’t free them from the Jedi. You just brainwashed them for Mandalore. When are you going to let them think for themselves?”

  “Right now,” said Ordo.

  Just as Ordo’s fist came up, Jusik reacted instinctively and Force-pushed him backward. Maze staggered back a few steps as if the aborted punch had landed; the wake of another Force-push tugged at Jusik as it ebbed. For a split-second both clones looked disoriented, and Zey grabbed Maze’s arm.

  “That was you, was it?” Maze asked.

  “Sorry.” Zey shook his head. “Don’t fight over this. Please.”

  “Come on.” Jusik stepped between Skirata and Maze. “Buir, go for a walk. Everyone, get out and leave us to talk. You two as well.”

  Ordo herded Skirata to the door, somehow forcing Kina Ha and Scout ahead of them. Maze scowled but looked to Zey for a nod to go.

  “Just remember what you are, Bard’ika,” Ordo said.

  It was one of those moments when Jusik felt he was broadcasting his innermost fears. The doors closed and he was alone with his old Master. The truly odd thing was that he had no sense of the past now, no memory of how it actually felt to be tied to Zey in apprenticeship. He recalled all the details. He simply couldn’t reproduce the emotions.

  “Some things can’t be undone,” Zey said. “I should have known Skirata would react like that. And he’s right. He owes me nothing, and all I can bring him is more trouble. I’m sorry, Bardan.”

  Jusik struggled. He wanted to be a good Mando’ad. “So where will you go?” Why am I asking him that? Am I shaking him down for information? “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t run forever.”

  “And Maze?”

  “He put his life on the line for me. As an equal, in case you were wondering. I’ve got to consider his welfare.”

  Jusik decided not to mention Altis. “I need to know something.” He didn’t feel right calling Zey by any name now—Master, General, Zey, Arli, anything. He didn’t know what Zey was to him any longer, only that the man had been instrumental in his youth, and that had to count for something. “Are you going to try to rebuild what the Jedi had before?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  “I need to know if anything I do to help you will end up cutting my brothers’ throats one day.”

  “What did we ever do to you, Bardan? What did I do to you to drive you away like this? It’s not just a principled stand about the degeneration of the Order—much as I respect that.”

  “I’m still working it out.” All or nothing; that was how Jusik was, and he knew it. He was raised in one cult and he moved seamlessly into another. He knew all that; he understood why the bond of combat transcended even family, too, but that didn’t mean he had any control over it. He’d settle and find an equilibrium in years to come, but not now. He couldn’t face his Jedi past for so many reasons. Mandalore represented unquestioning acceptance and space to work it all out. “This is my family. I need to be here for them. I’ll do what I can for you, but not at their expense.”

  “Was it losing Etain that tipped you?” Zey asked. “We all lost too many friends. There’s nobody left.”

  “Maybe there is.” Jusik felt Zey’s pain. Maze must have been the only person left that he could trust. “Did you think Maze would shoot you?”

  Zey ran his huge hand through shaggy graying hair, eyes shut. “Right up to the moment the blaster bolt hit the wall a meter from me. I didn’t even sense his emotions.”

  “Good man, Maze.”

  “Good friend. Yes.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you to a room. We’ve got plenty. Kal will calm down, and then we can talk sensibly.”

  “Buir means father, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. He adopted me.”

  Zey didn’t say another word. He just put his hand on Jusik’s shoulder as they walked down the passage, diverting via another corridor to avoid the kitchen. Jusik could hear the voices there. He showed Zey into one of the spare bedrooms still waiting for deserters in need of a new identity, threw him a towel from the cupboard, and left him to clean up. Then he went in search of Jaing.

  Jaing was in the small workshop that he’d set up in another bedroom. Screens and scopes covered every shelf, and a thick wooden plank of a workbench stretched across the width of the wall. Kom’rk had claimed a corner to himself and was hunched over a 2-D holochart, tapping numbers into a datapad, completely absorbed in the calculation.
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br />   “Who’d have thought it, Bard’ika?” Jaing said, not looking up from the screen in front of him. “Saucy old di’kut, showing up like that. Moral of the story—always go back and check for a pulse.”

  “Ordo’s never going to live that down,” Kom’rk muttered. “Ha … ha …”

  Jaing printed out some more data. “Is it hard for you? Zey, I mean. The Master-Padawan relationship must be pretty close.”

  “No different from families. Or marriages.” Jusik didn’t want to be dissected. “Some are great. Some aren’t. Some don’t get on at all. Me and Zey … I don’t know. More managerial than paternal.”

  “But he’s not an innocent bystander like Kina Ha or Scout. Command rank’s got to mean something.” Jaing paused, smiling to himself as if he’d found something juicy in the files. “Still, it’s hard to cap someone who’s just standing there looking pathetic, even when you know you’ll regret it one day if you don’t.”

  “I’ll do it,” Kom’rk said. “Nothing personal. Just necessary.”

  “Or we could use them to our advantage.” Jaing tapped his finger on the pile of flimsi. “Because one day, the Empire’s going to really tick us off, and we’ll need the skills of some saber-jockeys who owe us.”

  Kom’rk laughed. “They’ve owed a lot of people for a long time. Don’t see much of them repaying their debts.”

  “Yes, but there are ways of enforcing moral obligation.” Jaing grinned. He always did. He enjoyed problems and had complete confidence of his own ability to solve them. “Like by keeping a firm grip of their gett’se.”

  Jusik could see the logic. And he found it telling that Jaing could think of him as both an ex-Jedi and a non-Jedi in the same breath. “Buir wants the Jedi out of our lives, advantages or not.”

  “Let’s not be too hasty. We know where their bolt-holes are, and with a little ingenuity we can track their movements. They step out of line—the Empire gets a treasure map with here be Jedi on it.”

  Kom’rk laughed again. “That boy’s sick.”

  “You got that location yet?” Jaing asked. “Chop-chop. Get a move on.”