“Okay, we don't mention the shoulder?” Fi started up the speeder. “We'll get it sorted ourselves. Bard'ika can do that Force healing if the bacta doesn't do the trick. But Vau needn't know.”
For the first time since he'd met the man, Sev softened visibly.
“Thanks, ner vod,” he said. “I owe you.”
17
So you want a knife, a nice sharp knife. You hone that blade to its limits. It even cuts through stone when you want it to. It saves your life. And then you're outraged when it cuts you accidentally. You see, knives don't switch off. And neither do people, not when you hone them to a fine edge.
–Sergeant Kal Skirata to General Arligan Zey, on the nature of training
Operational house, Qibbu's Hut, 0115 hours, 385 days after Geonosis
The Gurlanin opened its eyes, panting.
Etain couldn't tell one Gurlanin from another unless they allowed her to. They could shut out her Force-senses just as easily as they could reach out to her. She could detect nothing from the creature: no sense of identity, no emotion, and no purpose.
And then the air around her came to life with a shuddering sense of past, of long memory, and of betrayal.
“Girl,” it said in a familiar liquid voice. “Can you do nothing right?”
“I … I know you,” Etain said.
“Several of you know me.” The creature lifted its head and tried to rise, but sank back down again. “Darman, is Atin well?”
“Fierfek.” Darman edged forward and knelt down by the head of someone who had carried out vital intelligence work for the squad on Qiilura. Etain could see the pain on his face. Niner caught her eye and simply looked resigned, as if he expected everyone to betray them in the end. “Jinart?”
“Yes. I expect we all look the same to clones.”
Darman almost grinned but appeared to stop himself. “Atin's fine.”
Ordo cut in. “Just explain why you think killing my brothers is going to help Qiilura.”
Jinart focused wild orange eyes on Etain and struggled into a sitting position, flanks heaving. Etain could sense her fully now, bitter and determined, calling out to the void with her mind: she was probably reaching telepathically to her consort Valaqil, once General Zey's agent both on Coruscant and Qiilura. Skirata had his right arm across his body, almost but not completely casual, clearly ready to reach for his Verpine and take a shot if Jinart moved.
“You think I am giving the Separatists information.”
Ordo stepped in and Darman got out of his way. “I'm inclined to think that anyone who bothers to shapeshift into Vinna Jiss might do that, yes.”
“She disappeared, like she often did. I simply adopted her form to move around unnoticed.”
“I noticed. We'd already executed her.”
“Then I made an error in taking her form.”
“Too right you did. Now, what's your problem with the Grand Army? Why not target politicians? You could walk in anywhere—even the Senate chamber itself.”
“You assume too much. Are you one of the renegade clones that Zey so dreads?”
“That's me,” Ordo said.
“I am not the one leaking information to the Separatists. And I am not targeting anyone.”
“Are you still working for General Zey?” Etain asked.
“No. My people no longer serve the Republic—if we ever served you at all. We had an agreement. You broke it.”
“But—”
“We had an agreement, Jedi. You said you would give us back our world and stop the farmers from destroying us.”
“In the middle of a war?”
“We served you in the middle of a war! When my people were dying of starvation, when our prey was being driven away by the colonists, we kept our bargain. And all you did—you, Jedi, you and Zey—was make them better able to fight and hold their land.”
Etain didn't look at Darman. She didn't want to provoke him into defending her or—more probably—catch a hint that he might agree with Jinart.
She thought that all she had done was to ensure the farmers were a guerrrilla force able to resist the Separatists, but the native Gurlanins didn't see it that way.
“We'll root out the informants sooner or later,” Ordo said. “You can cooperate or not, but I might as well execute you now if you're not going to be useful. We can't handle any more prisoners.”
It was always hard to tell if Ordo was playing the interrogation game or simply stating his intentions. Judging by Skirata's quick glance at him, it was the latter. He motioned Etain to stand clear and charged up the Verpine.
“I can identify the informants for you,” Jinart said calmly.
Ordo simply held the muzzle to Jinart's head. Etain looked to Jusik, and then to Darman and Niner and Vau, but they were all simply watching impassively. Corr was engrossed in the holochart, still logging movements. Wennen sat in the chair, her hand to her brow as if shielding her eyes, but nobody was making any attempt to intervene. Etain's gut said it was wrong.
But she did nothing.
“You're bargaining,” Ordo said. “I'll kill you anyway.”
“You're the one who needs to bargain. This isn't about my life.”
“Game's over.” Ordo held the Verpine steady. Etain waited, torn by indecision. She could stop Ordo for a fraction of a second—
“Remove your forces and the colonists from my world and I will identify the Separatists for you.”
Ordo—unblinking, passionless—lined the muzzle up about level where a normal animal's ear might be. “You haven’t told me why you were mimicking Jiss. That actually interests me more.”
“Ordo, I'll deal,” Skirata said. “Stand down.”
Ordo simply raised the Verp and held it back against his shoulder without hesitation. Etain imagined he would need to be coaxed into withdrawing: she'd seen the potential violence swirling within him constantly. But he obeyed Skirata without murmur.
The sergeant prodded Jinart with his boot. “You tell me, then, shapeshifer.”
“I observe,” Jinart said. “I watch to see when you move troops to and from Qiilura and how much you send to the farmers by way of aid to keep them loyal. All the things you never tell us, but that show your true intentions. I spy on you.”
“Let me explain something,” Skirata said. “I'm not the Republic. The work I do for them is actually for my own people—these lads here. So if you're not helping me keep my people alive, I'll make certain that Qiilura gets reduced to molten slag. And that's a promise. I'm not a Jedi and I'm not a politician, so I can do pretty well what I like. Your whole species is expendable. Understand?”
Jinart managed to get to her feet, or at least raise herself on her front legs.
“I will identify the people you want. But the Republic must agree to withdraw from Qiilura and remove the colonists within a year.”
“Okay, let's get hold of Zey now,” Skirata said. “If he doesn't agree, we move on and I'm not letting you melt back into the city.”
“Do you know how many of us there are, or where we are?”
“I don't care. Zey might.”
“My people are here, on Coruscant itself. You'll never track us down and we can be far more damaging than bombs.”
“Look, the logistics leaks are a sideshow right now. Save it for Zey.” Skirata opened his comlink. If the general was sleeping, then someone could go and wake him. War didn't keep office hours. “Supervisor Wennen, why don't you make us all some caf?”
He expected some complaint, but none came. She stood up, still clutching her ribs, and made her way unsteadily to the kitchen area.
“It's Besany, Sergeant,” she said.
Yes, she's on our side. Result. “Okay, I'm Kal.”
“Who likes it sweetened?”
“All of us,” Skirata said. “Two big spoonfuls. It's going to be a long night.”