"Lieutenant," he said quietly. "Any sign of my former employee, Guta-Nay?"
"Not yet, sir. Patrols have been briefed."
"Good, and keep an eye on Cuvin for me, won't you? I don't think he's going to make captain."
Hurati paused, but briefly. "Understood, sir."
It was amazing what the unspoken promise of an extra rank insignia could do. Hokan wondered what had happened to the code of conduct.
So there were perhaps ten commandos operating in the region. Hunting them down would be enormously time-consuming. Barring luck, Hokan would never catch them, not with droids and these young academy theorists. Sooner or later, the enemy would need to resupply; sooner or later, they would show themselves.
The Republic was playing decoy games with him, and he with them. It was looking better all the time. They didn't appear to be adopting their usual tactic of landing infantry in force. It was a game of wits, and if need arose he could sit tight and force the Republic to come to him.
If he wanted to bring the Republic close enough to shoot, then he might need an even more compelling bait.
Dr. Uthan would understand. She was a pragmatic woman.
Fi was getting edgy. It wasn't like him. Niner had only known him a matter of days, but you made quick judgments on small detail if you were a clone commando, especially among your own.
He didn't sleep when Niner relieved him on watch, and after fifteen minutes Fi came forward to the observation position and settled down beside him. The fires seemed to have stopped; the glow was still visible, but it was static. It had probably reached one of the streams and was burning itself out.
"They know we're here anyway," Fi said. Niner needed no telepathy to know he was worrying about Darman. "We could try the comlink at longer range."
"They'd get a fix on positions."
"They'd have to get lucky."
"And we only have to be unlucky once."
"Okay. Sorry, Sarge."
He lapsed back into silence. Niner adjusted his infrared filter to remove the distracting light of the fire. Suddenly, it was abnormally silent, and that meant the gdans had stopped their incessant prowling, which was not good.
Niner looked down his rifle scope one-handed to get a narrower focus on the bushes in front of him. As he panned across 180 degrees, he caught sight of little paired reflections, the alert eyes of gdans huddled in uncharacteristic stillness to avoid something.
Movement. His scope flashed blue in one quadrant, warning him. Maybe whatever it was could see infrared. He killed the targeting, switching to image intensification and the Mark One Ear'ole, as Skirata called it. You got eyes and ears, son, good ones. Don't rely on the tech too much. Something was coming, something slow, stealthy, smaller than a man, more sly than a droid.
Niner put his hand on Fi's shoulder—Stay down—not daring to speak, even on comlink.
It was ten meters away, coming straight at them, making no attempt to stalk. Maybe it didn't know what they were. It was going to get a surprise, then.
Niner flicked on his tactical spot-lamp, and the blinding beam caught a shining black shape. He cut the beam immediately, muscles relaxing. The creature was so flat to the ground now that it looked as if it were flowing water. It was only when it was right in front of them that it sat up and became Valaqil.
"I thought I'd let you see me coming, given your armaments," said a voice that wasn't Valaqil's but was equally liquid and hypnotic. "I make it a rule never to startle a humanoid with a rifle."
"Just as well that we've seen a Gurlanin before," Fi said, and touched his glove to his helmet politely.
"I didn't seem to surprise your colleague, either. I've come to brief you. I'm Jinart. Please don't call me ma 'am every two seconds like Darman does."
Niner wanted to ask a hundred questions about Darman, but the Gurlanin had used the present tense and so he was alive. Niner was glad he had his helmet in place. Displays of emotion weren't professional, not to outsiders, anyway.
"You're heading for the wrong target," Jinart said. "You're on a course for the Separatist base. Normally you'd be knocking on the door of a barracks with a hundred droids inside, but they've moved half of them to defend the research facility and patrol the area. Neither Uthan nor her nanovirus is at the actual facility any longer."
"So it's all going just great," Fi said cheerfully.
"Your targets are at a villa just outside Imbraani, despite what evidence you might see of the facility being defended. It's a trap."
"What's Darman doing?" Niner asked.
"He has your special ordnance and detailed plans of your targets. I've sent him into hiding with the Jedi."
"General Fulier? We thought—"
"You thought right. He's dead. The Jedi is his Padawan, Tur-Mukan. Don't get your hopes up. She isn't commander material—not yet, perhaps never. For the time being, this is still your war."
"We weren't planning on a frontal assault, not without infantry," Niner said. "Now that we've lost the advantage of surprise, we're going to have to get it back again."
"You do have one element—Ghez Hokan has no accurate idea how few of you there are. I've made sure there are many, many obvious signs of movement through the woods and fields."
"You've been busy."
"I can do a good impersonation of a small army, or at least its movement." Jinart glanced at Atin and Fi as if checking them. Maybe she was working out how she would mimic the
form of a commando. "Not thinking of shooting and eating any merlies, are you?"
"Why?"
"That armor isn't looking such a tight fit on you as it should."
Fi nodded. "She's right. Expending about thirty percent more calories than planned, Sarge. They didn't calculate for us carrying gear overland."
"You'll exhaust your rations soon," Jinart said. "Merlies are delicious. Just never shoot one, please. If necessary, I could hunt them and leave them for you."
"Why?"
"The one you shoot might be me."
It was one more angle they hadn't covered on exercises. Not even Kal Skirata had dealt with Gurlanins, it seemed, or if he had he hadn't mentioned it. Niner liked them. He wondered what world they came from. It was bound to be a fascinating one.
"Where will you head now?" Jinart asked. "I need to let Darman know where you are."
"I'd have said RV Gamma, but that's going the wrong way, from what you've told us."
"I can give you the location of a suitable area nearer Imbraani, and when I return to Darman I will give him the same coordinates."
Atin cut in. "They mine gems here, right?"
"Zeka quartz and various green silicates, mainly, yes."
"Picks and shovels or mechanized?"
"Mechanized."
"They'll have explosives for blasting, then. And remote detonators with nice, safe, long-range settings."
Gurlanins chuckled just like a human. She might have been amused. On the other hand, she might have been thinking Atin was a madman. But Niner liked the direction that Atin's inventive mind was taking.
"Get your holocharts," Jinart said. "Let me give you a virtual guide to the gem industry of the Imbraani region."
10
NOTICE TO QIILURAN CITIZENS
Anyone found with Republic personnel on their land
will have that property confiscated and will forfeit their
freedom. They, their family, and anyone employed by
them in any capacity will be delivered to the Trandoshan
representative at Teklet for enslavement. Anyone
actively aiding or sheltering Republic personnel
will face the death penalty.
A reward is offered for anyone providing information
leading to the capture of Republic personnel or deserters
from the former militia or the Separatist armed forces, in
particular Lieutenant Guta-Nay or Lieutenant Pir Cuvin.
—By orde
r of Major Ghez Hokan, commanding officer,
Teklet Garrison
A thin, cold drizzle started falling almost as soon as the sun came up. It felt like Kamino; it felt like home, and that was at once both reassuring and unpleasant.
The moisture beaded on Darman's cloak, and he shook it off. Merlie wool was full of natural oils that made it feel unpleasantly clammy next to the skin. He longed to get back into the black bodysuit, and not only because of its ballistic properties.
Etain was pushing the rear of the cart. Darman was pulling it, walking between its twin shafts. There were times on the rutted track when she had the worst of it, but—as she kept telling him—Jedi could summon the Force.
"I could help," he said.
"I can manage." Her voice sounded like she was straining it through her teeth. "If this is lightweight gear, I'd rather not see the regular variety."
"I meant I could help with martial skills. If you want to train with your lightsaber."
"I'd probably end up slicing off something you'd miss later."
No, she wasn't what he was expecting at all. They walked on, trying hard to look downtrodden and rural, which wasn't so much of a challenge when you were hungry, wet, and tired. The dirt road was deserted: at this time of year there should have been visible activity at first light. Ahead of them was the first safe house, a single-story hut topped by a mixture of straw thatch and rusting metal plates.
"I'll knock," Etain said. "They'll probably run for their lives if they see you first."
Darman took it as a sensible observation rather than an insult. He pulled his cloak up across his mouth and pushed the cart out of sight behind the hut, looking around slowly and carefully as if he were casually taking in the countryside. There were no windows at the rear, just a simple door and a well-worn path in the grass leading to a pit with an interesting aroma and a plank across it. It wasn't an ideal location for an ambush, but he wasn't taking chances. Stopping in the open like this made you vulnerable.
He didn't like it at all. He wished he could feign invisibility like Sergeant Skirata, a short, wiry, nondescript little man who could pass completely unnoticed, until he decided to stop and fight. And Skirata could fight in a lot of ways that weren't in the training manual. Darman recalled all of them.
He pressed his elbow into his side to reassure himself that his rifle was within easy reach. Then he slipped his hand under his cloak and felt for one of the probes in his belt.
When he reached the front again, Etain was still rapping on the doorpost. There was no response. She stood back and seemed to be looking at the door as if willing it to open.
"They're gone," she said. "I can't sense anyone."
Darman straightened up and walked casually toward the rear of the house. "Let me check the regular way."
He beckoned her to follow. Once around the back, he took a probe and slid the flat sensor strip carefully under the gap beneath the back door. The readout on the section that he was holding said there were no traces of explosive or pathogen. If the place was booby-trapped, it would be very low tech. It was time for a hands-on check. He pressed on the door with his left hand, rifle in his right.
"It's empty," Etain whispered.
"Can you sense a tripwire that'll send a row of metal spikes swinging into you?" he asked.
"Point taken."
The door swung slowly open. Nothing. Darman took a remote from his belt and sent it inside, picking up low-light images from the interior. There was no movement. The room appeared clear. He let the door swing back, recalled the remote, and stood with his back to the entrance for one final check around him.
"I go in, look again, then you follow me if you hear me say in, in, in, okay?" he said, almost under his breath. He didn't meet her eyes. "Lightsaber ready, too."
As soon as he was inside, he pulled his rifle, stood hard up in the corner, and scanned the room. Clear. So clear, in fact, that last night's meal was still half eaten on the table. There was a single door that didn't appear to open to the exterior. A cupboard, a closet—maybe a threat. He trained his rifle on it.
"In, in, in," Darman said. Etain slipped through and he gestured her to the corner opposite, then pointed: Me, that door, you, back door. Etain nodded and drew her lightsaber. He walked up to the closet and tried to raise the latch, but it didn't open, so he took two steps back and put his boot to it, hard.
They didn't build well around here. The door splintered and hung on one rusted hinge. Behind it was a storeroom. It made sense now: in a poor country, you locked away your food supply.
"They left in a hurry," Darman said.
"Are you wearing your armored boots?" Etain said.
"I wouldn't be kicking down a door without them." He'd covered them in tightly wound sacking. "No boots, no sol-
dier. As true as it ever was." He stepped through the gap into the store and studied the shelves. "You're just learning the first step in clearing a house."
"What's that?" Etain reached past him for a metal container marked gavvy-meal.
"Who's watching the door? Who's watching our gear?"
"Sorry."
"No problem. I expect it never occurs to you when you have Jedi senses to rely on." There: he hadn't even tried to call her ma 'am this time. "If we knew why the occupants left in such a hurry, this might have made a decent place to lay up. But we don't. So let's grab some supplies and move on."
He took dried fruit and something that looked like cured leathery meat, making a mental note to test all of it with the toxin strip in his medpac. It was too kind of the locals to leave all this. There was, of course, every chance they had fled in terror from the same violence that he had witnessed looking down from his observation point just after he landed.
Etain was filling a couple of water bottles from a pump outside.
"I've got a filter for that," Darman said.
"Are you sure you weren't trained by Neimoidians?"
"You're in enemy territory."
She smiled sadly. "Not all soldiers wear uniforms."
She'd catch on. She had to. The thought that a Jedi might be unable to offer the leadership he had been promised was almost unbearable. His emotions didn't have names. But they were feelings that had memories embedded in them— finishing a fifty-kilometer run thirty-two seconds outside the permitted time, and being made to run it again; seeing a clone trooper fall on a beachhead landing exercise, weighed down by his pack and drowning, while no directing staff paused to help; a commando whose sniping score was only 95 percent, and whose whole batch disappeared from training and were never seen again.
They were all things that made his stomach sink. And each time it did, it never quite regained the same level as before.
"Are you all right?" Etain asked. "Is it your leg?"
"My leg's fine now, thank you," he said.
Darman wanted his trust back, and soon.
They resumed their path along the dirt track that was gradually liquefying into mud, the rain at their backs. By the time they got to the next farm the rain seemed to have set in for the day. Darman thought of his squad making their way through sodden countryside, perfectly dry in their sealed suits, and he smiled. At least this made it harder for anyone to track them.
A woman with a pinched expression like a gdan stared at them from the front step of the farmhouse. It was a grander building than the last one: not by much, but the walls were stone and there was a lean-to shelter along one side. Etain walked up to her. Darman waited, looking, aware of an outdoor refresher to the right that might contain a threat, keeping half an eye on a group of youngsters tinkering with a large machine on rollers.
They all looked so different. Everyone was so different.
After some conversation, Etain beckoned him and indicated the lean-to. So far, so good. Darman still didn't plan on relinquishing his ordnance. He reached into the barq for his helmet and detached the comlink, just in case Niner tried to contact him.
"
Are you coming?" Etain asked.
"Just a moment." Darman took out a string of AP micro-mines and trailed them around the front of the house as far as the cable would stretch. He set them to run off a remote signal and tucked the transmitter section of the detonator in his belt. Etain watched him with an unspoken question, perfectly clear from her expression. "In case anyone gets any ideas," Darman said.
"You've played this game before," Etain said.
He certainly had. The first thing he checked when he entered the farmhouse, one hand against his rifle, was where the best observation point might be. It was a perforated airbrick that gave him a good view of the road. There was a large window in the far wall with a brown sacking sheet tied across it. Reassured—but only slightly—he sat down at the table that dominated the front room.
The family that took them in consisted of the thin gdan-faced woman, her sister, her even thinner husband, and six youngsters ranging from a small boy clutching a piece of grubby blanket to the nearly full-grown men working outside. They wouldn't give their names. They didn't want a visit, they said, as if a visit was much more than it seemed.
Darman was riveted. These people were humans like him; yet they were all different. But still they had features that looked similar—not the same, but similar—to others in the group. They were different sizes and different ages, too.
He had seen diversity in training manuals. He knew what different species looked like. But the images always came to mind with data about weapons carried and where to aim a shot for maximum stopping power. This was the first time in his life that he had been in close contact with diverse humans who were in the majority.
To them, perhaps, he also looked unique.
They sat around the rough wooden table. Darman tried not to speculate on what the stains in the wood might be, because they looked like blood. Etain nudged him. "They cut up the merlie carcasses here," she whispered, and he wondered if she could read his mind.
He tested the bread and soup placed in front of him for toxins. Satisfied that it was safe, he dug in. After a while he was aware that the woman and the small boy were staring at him. When he looked up, the child fled.
Star Wars - Republic Commando - Hard Contact Page 14