“Always is, General,” he said. “Always is.”
He slipped his helmet back on and sealed the collar.
She knew without asking that he had started singing, completely silent to her, but one voice with his brothers.
* * *
Special Operations Brigade HQ, Coruscant, twenty minutes after the explosion at Depot Bravo Five, 367 days after Geonosis
Captain Ordo needed General Bardan Jusik, and he needed him fast.
He wasn't answering his comlink. That irked Ordo because an officer was supposed to be contactable at all times. And this was precisely the kind of emergency that proved the point.
Ordo settled the two-seater Aratech speeder bike outside the main doors—far enough to one side not to obstruct them, as safety precautions dictated—and strode down the main passage that led to the briefing and ops rooms.
“Location for General Jusik, please,” he said to the admin droid that was operating the comlink relays in the lobby area.
“Meeting with General Arligan Zey and ARC Trooper Captain Maze in the CO's office, sir, discussing the incontinent ordnance situation—”
“Thank you,” said Ordo. Just say bomb, will you? “That's why I'm here, too.”
“You can't—”
But he could; and he did. “Noted.”
The red light above the office doors told Ordo that the general didn't want to be interrupted. He expected the Jedi's Force sensitivity to detect him coming and open those doors, but they remained closed, so Ordo simply made use of the list of five thousand security codes that he had memorized for an eventuality like this. He would never trust them to a datapad alone. Skirata had taught him that sometimes you could only take your own brain and body into battle.
Ordo took off his helmet first, a courtesy Skirata had also taught him, and tapped in the code on the side panel.
The doors parted and he walked up to the meeting table, a pool of dark blue polished stone where Zey, Jusik, and Zey's frankly surprised ARC captain sat staring at him.
“Morning, sir,” said Ordo. “My apologies for interrupting, but I need General Jusik now.”
Jusik's thin pale face with its straggly blond beard was the picture of horrified embarrassment. Ordo thought all Jedi could sense him coming, but that never seemed to buffer their surprise when he arrived on urgent business.
Jusik didn't move fast enough. Ordo made a gesture toward the door.
“Captain, it's not customary to interrupt emergency meetings,” Zey said carefully. “General Jusik is our ordnance specialist and—”
“That's why I need him now, sir. Sergeant Skirata sends his compliments, but he would like the general to join him at the incident scene, seeing as he's the explosives expert and his skills would be best spent on practical matters rather than discussion.”
“I think your sergeant should be leaving all that to Coruscant Security,” said Captain Maze, who clearly didn't understand the situation well enough.
Typical ordinary ARC. Typical stubborn ARC.
“No,” Ordo said. “Not possible. If I could hurry you a little, General Jusik, I have a speeder right outside. And please remember to leave your comlink active in the future. You must be contactable at all times.”
Maze looked at Zey, and Zey shook his head discreetly. Ordo caught Jusik by his elbow and hurried him down the passage.
“Sorry about reprimanding you in front of Zey, sir,” Ordo said, scattering droids and the occasional clone trooper as they hurried back up the passageway. “But Sergeant Skirata is livid.”
“I know, I should have left it on—”
“Like to pilot, sir? I know you enjoy it.”
“Yes please—”
It was the rapid thud of boots behind him that made Ordo stop and turn just as Captain Maze put his hand out to tap him on the shoulder. He deflected the ARC'S arm and brushed it aside.
Maze squared up. “Look, Null, I don't know who your sergeant thinks he is, but you obey a general when he—”
“I don't have time for this.” Ordo brought his fist up hard and without warning right under Maze's chin, knocking him against the wall. The man swore and didn't go down, so Ordo hit him again, this time in the nose—always demoralizing enough to stop someone dead, but nothing seriously damaging, nothing to cause lasting pain. He would never harm a brother if he could help it. “And I only take orders from Kal Skirata.”
Jusik and Ordo sprinted the rest of the way to the speeder to make up lost time.
“Ordo.”
“Yes?”
“Ordo, you just flattened an ARC trooper.”
“He was delaying us.”
“But you hit him. Twice.”
“No permanent harm done,” Ordo said, lifting his kama to slide over the pillion seat behind Jusik. He sealed his helmet. “You can't convince Alpha ARCs of anything by rational argument. They're every bit as obtuse and impulsive as Fett, believe me.”
Jusik looked perplexed as he started up the drive. He took the speeder bike into a straight vertical lift and spun it around at the top of the climb. His hair, tied back in a bunch, whipped across Ordo's visor on the slipstream, and the ARC brushed it aside in irritated silence. It was high time the boy braided it or got it cut short.
“Where to, Ordo?”
“Manarai.”
“Brief me,” Jusik said.
“CSF is struggling with this. If you get in right now and use the Force while the incident scene is fresh, we might get a break.”
Jusik banked right to avoid a slim spire and chewed his lower lip. He seemed to be able to fly without thinking. “I've been over the data six or seven times and I can't see any consistent pattern in any of the devices. Not the materials, not the method of construction, nothing. Just that they're all very complex devices, and hard to set.”
Ordo blinked to switch his helmet audio to filter out the wind noise. Next time, he'd commandeer an airspeeder with a canopy. “Always explosives.”
“Say again?”
Ordo adjusted his volume. “I said always explosives.”
“Chemical and biological ordnance has limited use on a planet with more than a thousand different species. Things that go bang, though, are guaranteed to hurt every race.”
“I'd buy that if these devices were being used randomly. They're not. It's all Grand Army targets. Humans.”
“Are you sure it's me you need for this?” Jusik asked. “I'm not as adept with the living Force as others.”
“You want to go back and have a nice meeting?”
“No.” Jusik looked back over his shoulder with a big grin. Ordo had learned not to tell him to keep his eyes straight ahead, but it was still unnerving to watch a Jedi navigate a craft by his Force-senses alone. “I've never seen anyone walk over Zey like that.”
“I simply had to get the job done, sir. No offense.”
“Do you mind my asking you something, Ordo?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why do you tolerate me? You don't take the slightest notice of Zey. Or Camas. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Skirata respects you. I trust his judgment.”
“Oh.” Jusik didn't seem to be expecting that answer. “I—I have a very great regard for our sergeant, too.”
Ordo noted the word our. And that was what made Jusik different, as far as Kal'buir, Papa Kal, was concerned: he had thrown in his lot with his men. But, as Kal'buir said privately, you could stick a Weequay officer in front of the clone army and they would still fight well. An army of three million men with very few Jedi officers had to be self-directing.
Ordo was well used to directing himself.
Jusik never asked if Ordo thought of him as his commanding officer, though. He probably knew, and didn't need to be reminded that Ordo answered only to the one man who had stepped physically between him and death once, twice, more times than was decent to count: Kal Skirata. And while Ordo knew intellectually that a detached, unsentimental officer was the kind who won wars and saved the most lives, his heart said that a sergeant who was ready to die to protect his men got the very last drop of sweat and blood from them, and given gladly.