Omega Squad: Targets

by Karen Traviss

  “Everyone down! Down!” Ordo had his rifle trained on a group of hostages. “Stay still! Republic forces!” And Darman was shouting, “Where’s Tan? Where’s Tan?”

  Fi’s lamp swept the wall to his left and he saw a light tan shape and Skirata half across it, transfixed by the beam, yelling, “No, Fi! No!” Fi felt his finger compress the trigger without any intervention from his conscious mind, and time slowed down a hundredfold.

  “Fi, no!” Skirata had flung himself across the tan-coated figure. “Hostage, Fi! Hold fire!”

  Fi’s finger eased back. The silence was sudden and total again, punctuated only by the patter of ceiling panels still falling in chunks on the tiled floor.

  I nearly killed him. I nearly killed Skirata.

  Ordo, standing over the hostages, suddenly fired his Deece into one of them and yelled at them to stay still. The emergency lighting came on again. Six civilians were frozen in terror.

  “Fierfek.” said Atin. “I thought he’d shot a hostage for a second.”

  “Get ordnance disposal in here before these people start going hysterical,” said Ordo. “And get the Senator clear first.”

  There was a man in an expensive suit crumpled on the floor between the other hostages with a blaster beside him.

  “He had a weapon,” said Ordo. “It’s something of a giveaway. Must have swapped coats with our businessman.”

  Now that all the targets were down, Fi could think only of Skirata’s horrified expression in his spot-lamp beam. He fought down an impulse to tell him he was sorry. The old warrior was kneeling in front of the stunned hostages, now making reassuringly cheery comments that everything was going to be fine as long as they kept very still just a little longer. They were rigged to explosives and a dead terrorist was still smoking gently in their midst. And yet they kept still, and they kept quiet. People generally did what Skirata told them.

  He glanced up at Fi. “Well, not exactly textbook. But dead’s dead.”

  Explosives disposal officers moved in to check the backpacks and the squad moved out. Fi looked at his chrono: The assault had taken less than 30 seconds. He could feel the adrenaline ebbing while his body—which didn’t care how trained he was—tackled the aftermath of the massive surge of hormone. His breath rasped hard in his ears as he sat down on a baggage repulsor.

  “All clear.” The explosives officer came out of the wrecked hallway with an open backpack that rattled as he walked. “And I mean really clear. These packs are just full of used comlink parts. Nasty bluff.”

  Skirata wandered over to Fi and sat down beside him. “We don’t like practical jokes like that, do we, lads?” he said. He motioned him to take his helmet off. “Serves the stupid bunch of di’kute right.”

  Obrim stood at the blast-shattered doors, looking bewildered. “Is that it?” he said. “We prat around for more than three hours, and you clear the room in 60 seconds?”

  “Twenty,” said Fi automatically.

  It all looked easy from the outside. It probably would have looked great to the holocams. Fi could see only that he had come within an ace of doing what he never believed he could. If Skirata hadn’t identified the man as a hostage, Fi would have killed both of them with a single round.

  Sergeant Kal’s nearly a father to this squad. How could I?

  He took off his helmet and wiped his palm across his forehead, still unable to shake Skirata’s image from his mind.

  “You really would have slotted me, wouldn’t you?” said the old sergeant hoarsely.

  “Sarge, I’m sorry, I—”

  “No, you’re a good lad.” He still seemed able to read Fi’s every thought, just as he had in training. “You only did what I taught you to do. What did I say?”

  Fi swallowed. “Priority is to drop the bad guys, Sarge.”

  “Good. I’m proud of you. Sentimentality gets you killed.” He tapped Fi’s cheek a few times with the flat of his hand. “And matey over there is luckier than he’ll ever know, as are we all. They made him change clothes with them for a good reason, I reckon. He’s CorSec.”

  The businessman, N’zaet Nir, was still standing by the wall, examining the scruffy tan jacket and pants as if appalled to find himself in such tatty clothing. He should have been medevaced for a routine checkup by now, but whatever he had said had ensured he was still there, and waiting. He walked up to Obrim.

  “I need to leave right now.”

  “You really should have that checkup, sir.”

  “But I have an important meeting. I’m a member of CorSec’s Direx and it’s imperative that I attend.”

  “Just as well you’re in one piece then,” said Skirata. “I don’t think your government colleagues would have found it amusing if we’d crashed in and shot you by mistake. Especially when the explosives were dummies.”

  Nir seemed to have forgotten his terror of a few minutes earlier. “No, they would not. We hope to stay out of your disputes with the Separatists. Can I have my suit back now? And who’s paying for the damage?”

  Fi thought a thank you might have been a nice touch, but he realized he had missed something in the exchange that had made Obrim and Skirata just stare at each other.

  Niner walked over to them, followed by Ordo. Neither looked as if anything left them trembling. “What have I missed?”

  “It wasn’t the Senator,” said Obrim. “He wasn’t the key hostage. He was a lure to get us to storm in and kill the real trump card they were holding.”

  “You want to explain all that, Sarge?”

  Skirata raked stubby fingers through his hair. “The Corporate Sector Authority is neutral and the Direx Board is its governing body. They’ve got serious money and armaments, so you don’t want to upset them. So if Fi had shot a Direx member, the political fallout would have been enormous—CorSec might have decided to take sides and throw their money and guns behind the Separatists. Want me to go on?”

  “Fierfek,” said Fi. But it still didn’t feel as close a call as nearly killing Skirata. “That’s a new one for the training manual.”

  “You said it. Heavy-handed Republic overreacts, storms in and kills top CorSec man. Nice stunt, whoever they are.”

  Obrim shrugged. “Well, you can sleep soundly tonight in the knowledge that you’ve given Rugeyan a timely public relations coup. Just a shame it wasn’t live on RHN…”

  He trailed off. Ordo had taken off his helmet. For some reason Fi wasn’t expecting the ARC to look like them, but of course he did. He looked Fi straight in the eye, but it wasn’t like looking in a mirror at all, although it was a striking enough resemblance to reduce Obrim to silence.

  “We’re not supposed to be in the public eye,” said Ordo. “But it doesn’t do the Republic’s citizens any harm to know what we do.” He was staring intently at Fi. “And you, brother, are very mouthy, very annoying, and stupidly brave. I forgive you for the crack about the kama. This time, anyway.”

  Fi didn’t feel brave, not right then. He also wondered if smothering the bomb had been any more courageous than Master Kaim’s actions. It was pure training, a split-second’s decision exactly like Darman’s or Atin’s—or Ordo’s.

  And it was another thing Kal Skirata had taught him to do. He remembered that now.

  Holonews Update, 1930:

  The siege at Galactic City spaceport has ended with the rescue of Senator Meena Tills and all the remaining hostages. Commando forces stormed a hall in the terminal building and shot dead four terrorists from a group opposed to Republic influence on Haruun Kal. We now have our droid cams back online, and we’re going live to the scene—

  Rugeyan was as smug as Obrim had predicted. He came back into the terminal hall trailed by journalists and a cloud of fresh hovercams, oozing satisfaction. Obrim stopped them and took him aside, walking him to the knot of commandos and police that was waiting beside the shattered doors.

  “Before you strike up the band, you ought to know the explosives were a hoax,” said the commander.

&n
bsp; Fi watched absolutely nothing cross Rugeyan’s face.

  “So?”

  “Looks like a stunt to get us to go in mob-handed and shoot a member of the CorSec Direx Board, and that has nothing to do with the Senator. We can’t be sure who’s behind it, so let’s think about this before we start crowing.”

  Rugeyan maintained his blank expression in silence for a few seconds. Then a practiced smile snapped instantly into place. “Commander, those thugs held innocent people and murdered a Jedi Master whose sole concern was the welfare of the hostages. The Senate does not tolerate terrorism. We deal with it robustly, and we have shown billions of viewers tonight just what awaits anyone who wants to test our resolve.” His smile disappeared like a light going out. “The rest is detail, and that needn’t trouble our vigilant media.”

  He gathered up his smile again and walked back to where the media were waiting.

  “Will he remember all that for the cams?” asked Fi.

  “He probably talks like that in his sleep,” said Obrim. “Anyway, I just want to get home. Unless you boys would like a drink.”

  Skirata smiled uncomfortably. “We’re always on duty, Commander, so we don’t get to have a drink. But thanks. You go on home.”

  Fi couldn’t find a joke that would help him right then. He was grateful for the privacy of his helmet.

  I really would have fired.

  Darman elbowed him in the back, more a playful gesture than one of annoyance. “We missed dinner,” he said. “Maybe you can talk the cooks into fixing us something when we get back.”

  Ordo was listening to his private link, head down. It was a giveaway gesture with ARCs, Fi thought. “CSF transport’s here to take us back to barracks,” he said, straightening up. “You’re shipping out on a new deployment at 0600 tomorrow, Omega.”

  Skirata jerked his head around for a second, dismay unguarded, and then gave them a smile that didn’t quite conceal his anxiety.

  “You make sure you get them a decent meal first, Captain.” He jabbed a finger in their direction, then appeared to yield to some private thought and gave them all a slap on the back. “No damaging government property, okay? And we’ll have that drink one day soon, I promise you.”

  He winked and pulled up his collar, limping into the crowds outside in the riot of neon and vehicle lights that was Galactic City, and changing before their eyes from time-served commando to anonymous old man as surely as any Gurlanin could shift shape.

  “I’ve never had a proper alcoholic drink,” said Atin. “Or a free bowl of warra nuts.”

  “Well, if they’re free, that’s worth staying alive for,” said Fi, and they snapped their helmets back into place to become the Republic’s ultimate, faceless deterrent once again.