Skirata was a touchingly generous man. Darman took the credits and squeezed his shoulder. This was his family—his sergeant, his brothers—and however much he wanted to be with Etain, he needed them, too. So Niner had his answer.
“Thanks, Kal’buir.”
Skirata smiled. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad.”
Darman understood what that meant. But it didn’t really need saying, because Skirata had taken on the responsibility of being the commandos’ father a long time ago.
“You know what that means, Dar?”
“You’ve adopted me. Formally, I mean.”
“Yes.” He patted Darman’s cheek with his free hand. “Time I adopted you all.”
“Are you rich, Sarge?” Corr asked. “I always wanted a rich dad.”
“Richest man alive,” Skirata said, half smiling. “You’ll be amazed what I’m going to leave you in my will.”
Skirata sometimes had his little jokes, and the commandos didn’t always understand them. Darman didn’t like to think of his sergeant writing a will. It was all too early for that, but then he was a soldier, and those things had to be dealt with sooner rather than later.
“We’d rather have you, Kal’buir,” Niner said. “Though a country estate on Naboo is a reasonable second choice…”
They found refuge in laughter again. Darman left Skirata with his grandson and went to look for Etain.
He found her waiting in the lobby, sitting on the fat upholstered arm of one of the sofas, arms folded tight against her chest. She looked upset.
“What’s wrong?”
Etain shrugged. “It’s just sad, that’s all.”
“He’s happy.” Darman showed her the credit chip. “He loves kids. He’ll be in his element. Look, he gave me this and said to go off and have some fun. Anywhere you want to go?”
Etain had that same expression that he’d just seen on Skirata’s face. He knew he must have said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He unfolded her arms with a little gentle pressure and took her hand.
“The baby’s upset you somehow, hasn’t it?” he said. Of course; being a Jedi, Etain would never have known her parents. “Does it remind you of being taken from your family?”
“No, let’s think about where we can go.” She threw that switch and turned into the little general again, her wavy brown hair bouncing as she walked briskly ahead of him, hauling him by his hand. “Have you seen the botanical gardens at the Skydome? Amazing plants in there, a nice place where you can eat, all kinds of stuff.”
Darman knew all about plants. He had his GAR fieldcraft database of everything he could safely eat if he had to live off the land on a mission, planet by planet. It was a novelty to think of plants as something fascinating to admire. But his mouth felt connected somehow to uncontrolled thoughts that just dug him deeper into this emotional mire. He had to say it. He knew what was bothering her now: she wanted him to have a normal life, and she probably thought he wanted a child now that he’d seen Venku, because Mandalorians loved their families and that was how she saw him.
“If it’s the baby that’s upset you,” he said, “you don’t even have to think about having one for ages. Not during a war. It’s not a good time, is it? Not for either of us.”
There. He’d said it, and she would feel better now, let off the hook. There was no point dwelling on his shortened life span. Neither of them knew what was around the corner. He’d take the pressure off her, because it was the responsible thing to do.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not the right time.”
The Skydome gardens were just as beautiful and fascinating as Etain had promised. He could tell she was trying to be cheerful and enthusiastic about them, but there was something sad and wounded about her that he didn’t know how to make better.
Evacuating Qiilura must have been worse than she’d let on. But she’d tell him in her own good time.
Chapter Twenty
Order 65: In the event of either (i) a majority in the Senate declaring the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) to be unfit to issue orders, or (ii) the Security Council declaring him to be unfit to issue orders, and an authenticated order being received by the GAR, commanders shall be authorized to detain the Supreme Commander, with lethal force if necessary, and command of the GAR shall fall to the acting Chancellor until a successor is appointed or alternative authority identified as outlined in Section 6 (iv). Order 66: In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established.
—From Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic: Order Initiation, Orders 1 Through 150, GAR document CO(CL) 56–95
The Kragget all-day restaurant,
lower levels, Coruscant,
548 days after Geonosis
“I always said you were a fine officer, Bard’ika,” Skirata said. “I feel this is my fault.”
He slid onto the bench and faced Jusik across the table; the Twi’lek waitress was there in a heartbeat. The Kragget had real live staff, for its regulars at least, and this place was 90 percent regular trade.
“Usual Arterial Blocker, Sergeant Kal?” asked the Twi’lek, whose dancing days were over but who still brightened his day. “Extra egg?”
“Please. And top up the caf for my skinny young friend here, too.” Skirata waited for her to walk away. “Bard’ika, I’m so sorry it came to this.”
“I’m not,” Jusik said brightly. It hadn’t ruined his appetite, either. If anything, he looked purged. “Okay, it’s scary to walk out, but I did it, and I had to. The only thing I feel bad about is leaving my command, not that the men need me holding their hands, and not being on the inside for you any longer.”
Skirata had long since decided that Jusik was an exemplary man but a potentially lethal officer. He wouldn’t see men as resources to be expended in battle to win wars, a price worth paying; he cared too much and stayed too close, and so he would never be an efficient tactician. Skirata both loved him for it and knew he was a liability, and so had made a silent pledge to keep the kid alive—whatever that took.
Jusik had made a stand on pure principle, a man’s decision that so few of his superiors seemed to have the gett’se to make. That was mandokarla.
“Son, I need you now on the outside more than you can ever know. Anyway, you haven’t left your boys any more than I have. You’ll see plenty of them. You’ve just… well… shifted sideways into a self-employed consultancy capacity. Right?”
“I have to get a job and a place to live for the first time in my life. The Jedi Order doesn’t set you up for life on the outside. No resettlement package, just like the clones—but at least nobody sends a hit squad after us.”
“You’ve got a job to walk into.” It was such uncanny timing that Skirata decided not to make any more cracks about the Force, or maybe he was just a five-star opportunist. “And a home, if you don’t mind sharing a space with me and Laseema. Oh, and Venku. In fact—”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“He’s going to need someone around with your special skills to help him deal with his own abilities. Etain won’t be there often enough.”
“I’d love to. I really would. But I can still be useful in the war.”
“Oh, I know. Poor old Zey. He thinks that if he confiscates your identichip, you’re locked out. He really doesn’t get it.”
“I think he knows otherwise,” said Jusik, “but he doesn’t want to be reminded of it.” The waitress returned with more hot plates and jugs of caf. “Venku, then.”
“I think we might need to call him Kad.”
“Why?”
“The lads were talking about names, and Darman said he liked Kad. He really ought to choose his son’s name, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
<
br /> Jusik chewed, contemplating. “Call him Kad, then. Kad’ika. You weren’t called Kal when you were taken in by Munin. Doesn’t mean he can’t be Venku, too, if he wants.”
“See? You’re a real problem solver. Earning your keep already.”
“And I get to take him to Manda’yaim when I visit Fi.”
“Deal.”
They finished their meal in relatively happy silence. There was nothing so bad that it couldn’t have something worthwhile wrung from it, and good luck was simply a matter of what you decided to do with the hand you were dealt. Skirata had climbed out of the depths of despair of recent weeks, and was back on the attack, making things happen.
Ko Sai—she definitely hadn’t had the last laugh, not by a long shot. Nu draar.
He was glad the Kragget never asked its patrons to open their bags for security checks, because that nice Twi’lek waitress probably wouldn’t have seen him quite the same way ever again.
“Here’s a code key to the apartment, Bard’ika,” he said, “but let Laseema know you’re coming, because she’s still a bit nervous of unexpected visitors. I’ve got to do Delta a favor.”
“They haven’t reported to Zey yet. I asked them to hold off until you were ready.”
“Good lad.”
Jusik’s gaze flickered and settled on the bag. “Is it in there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Gross.” But Jusik carried on eating. It was an act, but he was probably trying hard not to think Jedi thoughts about compassion. “Anything I can get on with while Kad’ika’s asleep?”
“Yes.” The boy was a gem, he really was. Skirata was thankful for whatever it was that put fine men—fine sons—in his path. “See what you can dig up on high-security prisons here. There’s a certain Sep scientist I’d like to visit, one who knows a lot about Fett clone genomes. Dr. Uthan must be bored out of her skull by now.”
“Handy that Omega hauled her back from Qiilura, isn’t it?” Jusik winked. “Kind of… destiny.”
“I promise,” said Skirata. “No more Force jokes. This is no time to make new enemies.”
Skirata walked out onto a grimy lower-levels walkway, carrying his prize in a cryoseal box in a bag, and found that he was whistling.
No, she wasn’t going to have the last laugh at all.
Arca Company Barracks,
SO Brigade HQ, Coruscant,
548 days after Geonosis
Delta Squad were still waiting in the TIV on the landing strip when Skirata got there, and Sev wasn’t very happy about it.
“This had better be good, Sarge,” Scorch said, looking ruffled and in need of a haircut when he took off his helmet. “We haven’t eaten in twelve hours.”
“Well, thanks for not signing in yet.” Skirata put the bag on the deck of the cramped compartment and pulled out the box. He handed the package to Sev. “Guess who.”
Sev looked at the box suspiciously. “This isn’t the family-sized pack of spicy warra nuts, is it?”
“No. Definitely not. But if you’re going to open it, be careful not to drop it. It’ll make a mess.”
Sev swallowed. “And why are you giving us this, Sarge?”
“I want you to walk into Zey’s office, put that on his desk, and tell him you found her. He can have Tipoca City check the Kaminoan DNA records.”
“Her?”
“You know who I mean.”
“Ko Sai?”
“No, the Queen Mother of shabla Hapes. Who do you think? Of course I mean Ko Sai.”
“She’s dead, then.”
“Either that, or she overdid the diet.” Skirata rolled his eyes and popped the seal on the cryobox. Sev held on to it, but the smell hit him, and he took the briefest of glances before closing it again. “I’ve made it look like she had an encounter with incontinent ordnance so it fits your story. And it’s a body part she couldn’t do without, not something like a finger that any amateur chakaar could slice off. It’s absolute proof she’s dead.”
Sev had stopped counting the kills he’d made, and he was no longer sure if tinnies outnumbered wets on the tally. But this shook him, maybe because Ko Sai had been such a figure of authority for most of his short life—and because the Mandalorian knot he’d found anchoring the headless skeleton now made sense.
“You killed her, then, Sarge. It was your knot.”
“No, son. Neither.” Skirata was looking around as if he was expecting company. “She had Mando bodyguards, though. And I didn’t kill her. We just found the body, I swear. I’d tell you if I had done it, because I don’t care any longer, and frankly I’d have enjoyed slicing her up, the sadistic hut’uun. But I didn’t. And that’s all you need to know—for your own good.”
Skirata turned to go. Boss caught his arm. “I hear we lost General Jusik.”
“You’ll see him around…”
“And what did happen to Fi?”
Skirata looked aside, as if concocting his official line. Sev knew that look now.
“RC-eight-oh-one-five is dead, lads. Call me if you need anything.”
They watched him go and closed the hatch behind him.
“The shab Fi’s dead,” said Boss. “I’d love to know what really went on there.”
“No, you wouldn’t, because we don’t need to,” Fixer said. “Go deliver your present to the old man, then, Sev. Let’s call endex on this whole time-wasting exercise.”
Sev held the box gingerly in both hands, just in case he had an embarrassing spillage, and made his way down the corridor to Zey’s office. He wondered whether to tell Zey what was in the container or just to let him open it and ask him to make a wild guess. Sev would get a few moments of amusement out of his general’s reaction, anyway.
We just found the body. I swear. I’d tell you if I had.
“Yeah, sure you did, Kal,” Sev muttered. “I believe you.”
Sev would have been disappointed if Skirata had done anything less than fulfill all the vows he’d made to slice the Kaminoan into aiwha-bait. It crossed Sev’s mind that this also enabled him to look Vau in the eye and not have to feel he’d failed his sergeant.
Yeah, Skirata was a thug, and a thief, and even a little nuts, but he had his sense of honor and decency where the troops were concerned. This was a very generous favor to do for them all.
Sev put down the box, rapped the knuckles of his gauntlet against Zey’s doors, and waited, then tucked his helmet under one arm and Ko Sai’s neatly packaged head tightly under the other. He jerked his own head at the others in a leave-me-to-it gesture.
The doors slid open. The general was sitting at his desk, tapping a datapad on the edge of it in distracted annoyance at something other than Sev’s interruption.
“Oh-Seven,” he said. “You’re back.”
“Sir.”
“I could do with some positive news, if you have any.”
Sev placed the box in front of Zey and took a step backward. “Not sure if it’s positive, General,” he said. “But it’s certainly definitive.”
Zey stared at the package for a while. Then he looked up at Sev. “Oh,” he said.
Jedi had that spooky sixth sense. Maybe Zey knew what was in there already. But he looked anyway, and didn’t recoil even though his face went distinctly ashen when he lifted the inner seal.
“I think she’s dead, sir,” said Sev.
Zey closed the box. “You think so? You should take up medicine, my boy.”
“You can check the DNA with the Kaminoans. At least the Chancellor has a definite answer, even if it’s not the one he was hoping for.”
“Would you care to fill in any of the details? Because Palpatine is going to ask me how this… trophy came into my possession.”
“We dug our way into the lab she’d constructed. It had collapsed after an explosion. Messy.”
“Ko Sai wasn’t the careless type…”
“No, but she had a lot of people with short tempers on her tail.”
“Dead when you got to her, you
say.”
“We didn’t kill her, sir. You said alive. We can do alive… when we try hard.”
Zey stared into Sev’s face, then sighed. “I know you’re telling the truth. If you have any information on who got to her first, though, I’m sure that the Chancellor would love to hear it.”
Sev rode his apparent honesty a little farther into dangerous deception territory and hoped the omission didn’t show up in the Force.
“I don’t have any proof who killed her, sir,” he said. “But I’d think that the Kaminoans took a dim view of her jumping ship with their trade secrets like that.”
“Speaking of which…”
“Nothing, sir.” It was all true, all of it. Sev could see Zey measuring each word he said, a little frown puckering his brow. “Her computers were totally trashed. No sign of any data.”
“And presumably Kaminoans would know what they were looking for.”
“We found a few dead Mandalorians, though.”
“Ah.”
“No ID. Might have been there to protect her, or might have been caught in their own attack. Either way—no Ko Sai, and no data. We did our best, sir.”
Zey’s shoulders sagged. He was a big man but suddenly he looked smaller than Skirata.
“I know, Oh-Seven. I know. You did well to find her. Take a day’s leave, all of you. Dismissed.”
Sev wasn’t expecting praise. He always felt he was letting someone down—usually Vau—so the comment caught him off guard. He also wasn’t sure what to do with a day off, but sleep and excessive eating were the first things that sprang to mind. He saluted, turned smartly for the door, and then stopped.
“I’m very sorry to hear General Jusik has left us, sir.”
Zey was still staring at the box on his desk. “So am I. It’s always a blow to lose a good man, but it’s worse to lose a good Jedi when we need to keep our focus.”
True Colors Page 47