It was a weary chorus. “Yes, Sarge.”
“Great Darakaer of Irmenu, I’ve been struck deaf for my sins. I said, got it?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” they barked.
Vau seemed temporarily satisfied. He accompanied Scorch through the corridors to Zey’s office, smelling faintly of fresh sweat and bacta ointment.
“Are you on brigade strength again, Sarge?” Scorch asked.
“No. Still civilian status.” Vau wore a slightly preoccupied frown that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the business at hand. “That way I can tell Zey where to stick his orders without feeling I’ve lost my military self-respect. An army that refuses orders is a rabble.”
Scorch had heard it all before. It was like a litany, and he knew his lines. “An army that refuses orders is a danger to its citizens.”
“An army that refuses orders is dead.”
“You ever disobeyed an order, Sarge?”
“Only when it was unlawful. And that’s not always an easy call, not when the bolts are shaving your nose hair. I’ll leave that wisdom to the lawyers sitting on their padded shebse years after the event.” Vau had never been a chatty man at the best of times; maybe this was the private Vau, the one his squads rarely saw. “How are things with you?”
“Sorry, Sarge, say again?”
“I hear and see all. There’s no shame in losing it from time to time, not in a fools’ war like this.”
Nobody could keep their trap shut, it seemed. But it was probably Etain who blabbed, not the squad. None of them would have told Vau they thought Scorch needed a bit of help. The old Vau would have given him a thrashing for what he’d done at Hadde—stupid risks, emotional outbursts, generally not being ice when it mattered. Today’s Vau seemed a little more tolerant, and that was unsettling in itself. Scorch wondered if his own grip on reality was in a worse state than he thought.
“Bit tired,” Scorch said. “That’s all. Shipping out to Kashyyyk some time soon. We’ll be there awhile…”
“I know, but I want to see you in my quarters at eighteen hundred, okay?”
Scorch’s gut churned. “Right you are, Sarge.”
There was always a chance this wasn’t really Vau but a shapeshifting Gurlanin. Sometimes, Scorch heard, they didn’t quite manage to get in character. Scorch felt fine now. He couldn’t see what the fuss was about. He was just reacting to being surrounded by chakaare who enraged him. He had bad dreams, too, but everyone did. He’d tell Vau as much.
Boss, Fixer, and Sev were already waiting in Zey’s office when Scorch opened the doors. There was no sign of Captain Maze. Zey had both elbows on his fancy blue lapiz desk, arms crossed, a sure sign that he was crawling the walls instead of just being extra-agitated.
“Gentlemen, this is a confidential briefing,” he said. The doors snapped shut from the control on his desk. “What’s discussed here goes no farther.”
Scorch was offended. Every shabla job they did was top secret. He noted Vau’s jaw take on a more set angle; definitely not a Gurlanin, then. The old martinet Vau was still in there.
“I think you can trust us to be professionals,” Vau said. He adjusted the collar of his fatigues, probably ill at ease out of armor or formal clothing. “Whatever it is, how bad is it?”
“It’s about the compromised computer networks.”
“I know. You’ve already briefed us on that. We need some leads from the Nulls and the Treasury techs before we can get on with it. Shouldn’t Omega be in on this, too?”
“That’s the nub of the problem, Walon.” Zey had the air of a man edging his way across a rickety bridge. “I need someone to keep an eye on Skirata and his Nulls. And I don’t mean checking they’ve got enough caf and cookies to keep them happy.”
“What are you asking me to do, General?” Vau’s expression was set in granite now. “You’ll have to be explicit for once.”
It wasn’t the first time that Zey had kept Skirata out of the loop on an operation. He hadn’t wanted him to know about the mission to locate Ko Sai. But it was the first time Zey had asked anyone—anyone in this room, anyway—to treat him as potentially hostile rather than just prone to slicing up Kaminoans that the Republic wanted alive.
“Much as I respect the man as a soldier, I want to be sure that he’s not misusing his position,” Zey said. “I want you to observe what he and his little private army are up to.”
“You want me to spy on a comrade. Yes?”
“I want to be sure he isn’t harming the Republic, Walon. That’s all. I know how much he cares about his troops, and I know he bends the rules past breaking point, but I don’t begrudge him whatever he creams off the budget—I know it’ll be for the clones’ benefit. And I can’t argue with the Nulls’ record on black ops. I just need to know Skirata isn’t sabotaging the war effort, deliberately or otherwise.”
Vau looked as if he was chewing it over before spitting it against the wall. Delta Squad just sat there and said nothing; the conversation was being conducted over their heads, as it often was, and Scorch wondered if Zey just had them sit in on these sessions so he could try to sense from their reactions in the Force if they knew anything. Scorch felt increasingly uncomfortable with that idea. It was like the constant monitoring by the Kaminoans to check for deviance, reminding him of all the subtle ways that clones presented a nice, tidy, unremarkable façade to avoid reconditioning. Some never returned from that. You had to try to be as un-individual as you possibly could, in case the aiwha-bait spotted you and carted you off.
“You must have some evidence of dodgy behavior to try to enlist me,” Vau said at last. “I don’t like flying blind. Level with me. Tell me where you think I should be looking, or he’ll completely bamboozle me—or cut my throat for betraying him when I’m least expecting it.”
“So that’s a yes, then.”
“No, it’s a tell me what I’m getting myself into before I say anything. I’m too old to play guessing games.”
Zey leaned back in his seat. “I have no doubt he’s stealing.”
“Well, they say that’s what Mandalorians are like, after all… all the same…”
Zey ignored the barb. “But even Skirata couldn’t purloin enough to put a dent in the conduct of the war. I’m looking for active sabotage of missions, withholding of information, unhealthy contact with Separatists, that kind of thing.”
Scorch knew Skirata got up to all kinds of mischief, and he’d even taken part in some of it. So did Vau, come to that; but that was why the Special Operations Brigade had them on the payroll. It wasn’t Junior Scout-Ranger work. They had to mix it with the lowest forms of life in the galaxy.
Vau was now a statue of self-control. Etain said he always seemed utterly calm in the Force, even when he was shoving a vibroblade down someone’s gullet. Zey looked none the wiser.
“I’ve known Skirata for some years,” Vau said. “He’s a criminal by Coruscant standards. So am I. But an outright traitor—no. He’s a professional.”
“So Mandalorians never do double-agent work, Walon?”
“Not for the rates you pay, General.”
Zey met Vau’s unflinching gaze and looked away before reaching for a datapad, tapping to select something, and pushing it across the polished desk. Vau picked it up to read.
“That’s a list of Separatist combatants taken prisoner during the last month,” Zey said. “Recognize any names?”
Vau was still totally unmoved. “Yes.”
“When Skirata mentioned his daughter was missing, I felt sorry for him, so I ran some name checks on government databases just in case she showed up at a medcenter or registered for work somewhere.”
“And you found her in a Republic prison.”
“I assume it’s the right woman. He didn’t spell her name.”
“R-U-U-S-A-A-N,” Vau said. “Ruu, for short. And you think that having a daughter fighting on the other side would make Skirata put his beloved clones at greater risk than they already are.”
“She’s his flesh and blood.”
“You still don’t understand Mando’ade at all.” Vau let out a long and weary sigh that sounded real. “Aliit ori’shya tal’din. Family is more than bloodline. And if you looked at any Mando working for you—and doing a solid job, might I add—you’d find some of their kin fighting for one of the Republic’s enemies at any given time. We’ve worked as mercenaries for millennia. When you hire a Mando, you get professional loyalty as part of the deal. Funny how you see us as private contractors fighting for the cause of freedom when it’s your credits, but as amoral scum when we get paid by someone else. Maybe we’re like all your fine Jedi who come from non-Republic worlds, perhaps…”
“I didn’t call you in for a debate on the ethics of private military contractors, Walon.”
“Yes, I realize this is one of those philosophical gray areas that you struggle with. But if you want me to slide a blade into a man I’d have to trust with my life in battle one day, I require grounds. Because clients come and go, but your professional community is with you forever.”
“Very well,” said Zey. “Intel says someone has been poking around in files and places that concern them greatly. They won’t tell me exactly where, because apparently as Director of Special Forces I have no need to know. But I can watch the unseen by the shadows it casts, and I know this is Treasury, and I know this is Defense, and if there’s anyone who has the wherewithal to get this far into Republic systems leaving no direct trace, it’s Skirata and his very clever boys.”
Vau still didn’t move a muscle. Despite the office security soundproofing to thwart eavesdroppers and bugs, a sudden noise interrupted the hold-your-breath tension. It was the sound of claws scraping the doors. Mird had shown up.
“I can’t argue with your logic,” said Vau.
“In?” Zey didn’t even ask Boss for Delta’s position. It was irrelevant. “Or not in?”
Vau waited five beats. Scorch had seen him do that many times, and the longer he waited, the more scared Scorch always got. Five beats was a warning of serious displeasure.
“You’re paying me,” Vau said at last. “If I find him doing anything to help the enemy, I shall give you full details. But only because he’ll be in breach of his contract with you. Our word is our bond. It has to be, or we’re just savages.”
Wisely, Zey didn’t come back on that last line, but Scorch was never sure if Zey shared the common view of Mandalorians. He might have been ignorant of the culture, but he was a pretty tolerant guy for a mystic.
“Remember, I expect discretion.” Then Zey almost said dismissed. Scorch saw his teeth come together and the shape his lips were beginning to form. He stopped short. “Thank you.”
The doors parted as Vau walked toward them, followed by Delta. Mird sat patiently at the threshold and made no attempt to bound into the office. The strill trotted ahead of them down the corridor, nose almost welded to the pleek-wood floor in pursuit of fascinating scents. Scorch switched to his helmet circuit so that Vau couldn’t hear.
“Skirata’s going to cut off his kriffing gett’se and ram ’em down his throat if he finds out.”
Sev snorted. “I told you it was getting a bit too much like Keldabe around here.”
“Kal wouldn’t scupper the Republic,” Boss said.
“You sure about that?” Fixer sounded unconvinced. “More to the point, is Kal sure?”
Vau said nothing until they reached the doors leading to the training wing of the HQ building. He turned slowly, and stared at them as if their helmets weren’t in place and he could see not only into their eyes but into their minds.
“In case you’re wondering why, if, and when,” Vau said, “this is Cuy’val Dar business, and I will not involve you in it. Stand from under—stay away from it. Tayli’bac?”
It was the most aggressive way a Mandalorian could ask someone if they understood, and if the question ever required an answer, yes was the best one. It was an order to back off. But Delta was tasked by Etain, and she was very much on Skirata’s team. It put them in an awkward spot.
“Sarge,” Boss said, “where does this leave General Tur-Mukan?”
Vau dropped his chin and gave Scorch that benign but I’m-not-joking warning look. “Like you stay out of Cuy’val Dar affairs, I keep clear of internal Jedi politics. Until you receive an explicit order to disregard her in the chain of command, she’s still your CO.”
Scorch liked to be clear. They all did. Sometimes he envied the white jobs for the clean lack of politics in their working lives.
“Well, shab,” Sev said, watching Vau walk back into the gym again. “I’m going to start a sweepstakes. Place your bets, vode—who’s going to be left still standing in Kal’s happy little gang this time next year?”
Galactic City Utilities Department standby underground reservoir,
Coruscant,
late evening
“So when was he going to tell me that my girl’s a prisoner of war?”
Skirata sat on Aay’han’s casing, so besieged by his torrent of problems that he’d overloaded and reached the relatively comfortable stage of simply picking them off as they floated to the surface. Do what you can. It’s all you can ever do. Vau paced the edge of the permacrete quay as if he was measuring it for a carpet, head down, hands clasped behind his back.
“Try to look surprised when he finally does, Kal.”
Skirata opened his palm and stared at the data crystal from Vau’s concealed audio recorder. No Mando with two brain cells ever went into a contentious meeting without an electronic witness hidden somewhere. Vau always had one on him, in his collar or belt, even in his underclothes, ret’lini—just in case. It was a Mando mind-set. You never knew what was coming around the corner to ruin your entire day.
“Don’t worry, I’ll win an award for dramatic presentation,” Skirata said. “Thanks, Walon. So—is he going to use Ruu to shake me down, or has he told you just to see if you’d come running to warn me?”
“Well, we know it’s true—she’s on the POW list. I checked. Better assume every malign motive until proven benevolent, though. But Zey’s not a holo-chess player. He’s just drowning in the war like everyone else, grabbing what flotsam he can to stay afloat.”
“You’re in full Imperial Irmenu Navy mode today, I see.”
“It’s the water. Brings out my inner sailor.”
The underground lake, stored as an emergency supply for homes across Coruscant, cast rippling reflections onto a vaulted permacrete roof that stretched far out of sight into darkness. Aay’han was moored down here, courtesy of yet more folks who owed Jaller Obrim a favor and so turned blind eyes when asked. She could have been laid up on the surface easily enough, ready to bang out at a moment’s notice; but this was a forgotten place, perfect for hiding a submersible starship. The exit, when the day finally came, was via the sluice bulkheads at the far end of the reservoir.
Ordo said the distance was enough to reach takeoff speed before the ship slipped through the narrow opening into the daylight and clear air. Aay’han was going to give someone a massive surprise when she punched out of the side of a utilities plant. No rehearsal was possible. Ordo had to get it right the first time, but he was Ordo, and so he would.
“My alarm bells went off when Zey said he wanted Mereel, Jaing, and Besany to investigate the virus,” Skirata said. “It’s the get all the suspects in one room approach. Like a Corellian holodrama.”
“If I were laying bets, I’d say that’s unhappy coincidence, but we plan for the worst. What’s the state of play with Etain?”
“Well, the news gutted Dar and he’s not talking to her at the moment.” Skirata checked the chrono on his forearm plate. He preferred to work in full armor; it was as much tool kit as protective clothing. “They’re due back at barracks from Nerrif in a couple of hours. With any luck, Bard’ika will make it by then, too. I think we have to treat this as the last big planning meeting.”
“You’re going to
come completely clean with Omega?”
“Despite what happened with Dar… oh, I think I need to keep them away from any fallout from my mess until we’re literally ready to move. So, not yet.”
For a moment, Skirata’s natural suspicion tugged at his sleeve and said: Yeah, good idea, get all the gang in one place, and warn Vau so he can tip off Zey. Not knowing now who he could and could not trust got to Skirata in a way few things ever could. But that was their aruetyc game—divide and rule, sow distrust, set Mando against Mando by adding a little poisonous doubt to the mix.
If Vau’s set me up, and this is some clever double-double game, then I’m going to take my time killing him.
The trouble with war-gaming double-cross scenarios like this was that there was no logical point at which to stop. It was layer upon layer. It could drive you crazy. Skirata knew Vau all too well after being cooped up on a Force-forsaken stilt city on Kamino for years; if he was the double-crossing kind, it would be a first time for him. But… Skirata shook it off as best he could.
Mandalorians needed to learn to stick together, to look after one another and let the rest of the galaxy find its own fall guys to do the fighting and dying in their place.
“If you don’t feel comfortable having me at this meeting, Kal, just say so.” Vau squatted down to pet Mird, who had finished inspecting the makeshift dock and trotted back to report with a series of grumbles and whines. “Just because I’m good at this slippery two-faced stuff doesn’t mean I enjoy it, and if there’s another unfortunate coincidence, I wouldn’t want to be seen as the leak.”
Skirata wasn’t sure if he felt ashamed or amused at hearing his very thoughts laid bare, but the comment made his gut flip for an irrational moment either way. “How long have you been the only telepathic Mando, then?”
“Long practice, overfamiliarity, convergent thoughts…”
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