“Dar, she’s not going to collapse on us, is she? We can’t carry anything else.”
“If she drops, it’ll be because she’s dead,” he said. “Trust me, she’s tougher than she looks. Physically, anyway.”
“She’d better be. Let’s get those remotes deployed.”
Jinart had identified a couple of high points to place the cam remotes. One was on the gutter of a farm building overlooking the entrance to the facility; the other was a tree whose canopy gave a good 270-degree view of the villa. The third remote—the one loaded with ribbon charge—needed more careful placement. She sat up on her hind legs and a pouch formed on her stomach like a cook’s apron.
“Normally I would carry my young around in this,” she said. She placed the three spheres in the pouch, giving the impression that she’d swallowed some particularly lumpy prey. “But if I don’t help you, my chances of raising another litter are remote. So I consider it an appropriate act.”
Niner was as fascinated as ever by the Gurlanin. The more he saw of the creatures, the less he knew about them. He hoped he might have the chance to find out more one day.
In an hour it would be midday. Atin took out his ration pack and mess tin, a flat sheet that snapped into shape. He placed his remaining ration cubes in it and held it out. “How much have we got among us?”
“I’m down to half a day’s worth,” Fi said.
“Me, too,” Niner said.
Darman reached into his pack and pulled out a carefully wrapped brick-sized bag. “A day’s worth of cubes and this dried kuvara and jerky. Let’s pool this and have two meals before we go in. If we pull this off, we’ll be running too fast to have lunch. If we don’t, it’d be a shame to die hungry.”
“Gets my vote,” Atin said.
Niner was going to ask Etain, but she was sitting cross-legged with her eyes shut and her hands in her lap. Darman put a finger to his lips and shook his head.
“Meditating,” he mouthed silently.
Niner hoped she emerged from it transformed. He was still one squad short of an adequate force for this job.
“You have ten seconds to live,” Ghez Hokan said. He took out Fulier’s lightsaber, and the blue shaft of energy buzzed into life. He wondered what made the blade a consistent, finite length each time. “Speak.”
Guta-Nay, looking more bemused than he recalled, ignored the lightsaber. “I been captured by soldiers. I get away.”
“Republic troops? Human?”
“Yes. They catch me, they make me carry stuff.”
Hokan sheathed the blade. “They obviously spotted your talents. How did you get away?”
“They were sleeping. They not care. I go.”
“How many soldiers?”
“Four. And girlie.”
“Girlie?”
Guta-Nay pointed at the lightsaber. “She got one like that.”
So the woman with them was a Jedi. “Just four?”
“They got another lot.” He pursed his lips, grappling with a new word. “Squad.”
“Very well, so we have two squads. Eight men. That would fit.” Hokan turned to Hurati. “And our Trandoshan friend?”
“He says he’s highly irritated about his business being interrupted, sir, and he offers himself and three colleagues to help you deal with the inconvenience.”
“Thank him and accept his offer.” Hokan turned back to Guta-Nay. “I want you to think very hard. Did they say what they were going to do? Where they were going?”
“The villa.”
How predictable people were. The locals would tell you anything for money, sell you their daughters, inform on their neighbors. Hokan had half expected the ruse to be almost too obvious. “You’re doing well. Tell me what equipment they have.”
“Blasters. Explosives.” The Weequay made an indication of great width with his hands. “Big gun. They got armor with knives in gloves.”
“Describe.”
“Like yours.”
“What do you mean, like mine?”
Guta-Nay indicated his head and made a T-shape with his fingers. “Your helmet.”
It was difficult to take in. Guta-Nay was an inarticulate brute, but there was no ambiguity in his description. “Are you saying they were wearing Mandalorian armor?”
“Yeah. That it.”
“You’re sure about that.”
“Sure.”
“Anything else?” Hokan wondered how he expected this creature to be able to assess intelligence. “Anything else unusual?”
Guta-Nay concentrated on the question as if his life depended on it, which it did not; Hokan would kill him anyway. “They all look the same.”
“They were wearing uniforms?”
“No, the men. Same faces.”
Children could be unerringly accurate in their observation of detail, and so could stupid adults. Guta-Nay was describing something that Dr. Uthan had told him about: soldiers, identical soldiers, mindlessly obedient soldiers—clone soldiers.
Hokan couldn’t believe that clone troopers could operate like this. And the one weapon that would work against them was denied him, because in its present state it would kill everyone, Uthan and her team included.
But there were probably only eight of them. He had nearly a hundred droids. He had weapons.
“Hurati? Hurati!”
The young captain came running and saluted. “Sir?”
“I think we face a two-pronged attack. There are two squads, and I find it unlikely to imagine that they would not have one squad attack the villa, while the other made an attempt on the most obvious target. Divide the droid platoons between the locations.”
“That’s what you would do with two squads, sir? Not concentrate your forces?”
“Yes, if I weren’t sure my objectives were consolidated in one place. They can’t know who and what is in which building. And they’ll attack at night, because while they’re bold, they’re not stupid.” He shook his head, suddenly interrupted by his own preoccupation. “Who would have thought clones could carry out this sort of operation? Uthan said they were no more than cannon fodder.”
“Commanded by Jedi, sir. Perhaps our tactician is the woman.”
It was an interesting idea. Hokan considered it for a moment, then realized that Guta-Nay was waiting expectantly, oddly upright and apparently unafraid.
“Well?” Hokan said.
“I tell you stuff. You let me live?”
Hokan activated the lightsaber again and held it out to his side, just above the level of his right shoulder.
“Of course not,” he said, and swung the blade. “It would be bad for morale.”
15
So how do we justify what we are doing now? Breeding men without choice, and without freedom, to fight and die for us? When dp the means cease to justify the end? Where is our society heading? Where are our ideals, and what are we without them? If we give in to expedience in this way, where do we draw the line between ourselves and those we find unacceptably evil? I have no answer, Masters. Do you?
–Jedi Padawan Bardan Jusik, addressing the Jedi Council
Etain jerked involuntarily, as if falling in a dream. She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead.
“He’s dead,” she said.
“Who is?” Darman had been watching her meditate, worrying what might happen to her in the coming battle, afraid both for her and because of her. She could be either a liability or an unimaginable asset. “What’s wrong, Etain?”
Niner caught his eye with a look that suggested he thought Darman was being too familiar with an officer, whatever she had ordered. Then he went back to checking his datapad.
“Guta-Nay.” She rubbed her forehead and looked defeated. “I felt it in the Force.”
Fi looked about to say something, and Atin silenced him with a frown. Darman gave both of them a shut-up look. There was a way of saying unpalatable things to people, and Darman thought it would be better coming from him than from his comrades.