“Okay, Shiny Boys twenty-six, Hut'uune nil,” Corr said. He was picking up Mando' a fast. “I call that a home win.”
Jusik stood staring into the inside of his helmet as he held it in his hands. “No witnesses left standing. Just a nasty argument between crime gangs.”
“You'll never get any public praise for this,” Skirata said. “But let me tell you now that every last one of you made me a proud man.” He looked down at the strill, limping on one of its six legs as it circled Vau, grumbling deep in its throat. “Even you, Mird, you stinking heap of drool.”
The strill looked up at Etain and made a musical warbling sound. She'd wrapped one arm around Darman's waist, head resting on his chest plate with her eyes closed, but she opened them and watched Mird.
“Mird likes you,” Vau said. “You took care of it and let it have its kill.”
Fi gave Darman a weary slap on the back. “She has a way with dumb animals, ner vod.”
An exhausted silence settled on the team. The droids labored around them, carrying girders, stacking duraplast sheets, oblivious. If anyone thought wild celebrations followed operations like this, they were wrong. The instant elation of seeing a vessel go up in flames or an enemy drop from a well-placed shot was very short-lived. The hyperalertness of adrenaline lingered for a while, and then was swallowed up quickly by fatigue and a sense of … of void, of odd purposelessness, of looking for the next task.
The adrenaline had to drain away. They'd be back to normal after some rest. Skirata was determined they'd get some.
“Let's get back to base,” he said. “We can clear out of Qibbu's in the morning.”
He got no response.
“Anyone hungry? Maybe an ale or two?”
“ 'Freshers,” Niner said. “Shower.”
“Who's on watch roster tonight?”
“Me,” Vau said before Skirata could open his mouth. “Go on, Bardan. You head back with Etain and Mird. I'll take Kal.”
Skirata hauled himself onto Vau's speeder. The painkiller was wearing off and the ache had started gnawing his ankle again. He opened his comlink and called Jailer Obrim.
“Kal here. How's it going?”
Obrim sounded as if he was in the middle of a riot. There was a lot of shouting in the background and then a loud muffled whump. Commandos weren't the only ones who laid charges for a spot of rapid entry, then.
“Busy,” said the CSF captain. “We've pulled in around sixty suspects so far. Pretty low on the food chain, but they lead to all kinds of other people CSF has an interest in, and they're off the streets for a while.” He paused as another loud whuntp interrupted. “I don't know where we're going to put them all, though. The lockup is filling fast.”
“Never had that problem. Our targets don't get out on parole, either.”
“I'll bet. You all okay?”
“No serious injury. Everyone's walking. Quite a mess for you to clear up, though.”
“My pleasure. CSF Staff and Social Club, all of you. End of the week. I will not take no for an answer and neither will CSF. Be there.”
“Count on it.”
Skirata closed the link and let his head drop so that his chin rested on his chest plate.
Vau squeezed into the seat in front of him and powered up the speeder. He reached behind him and passed Skirata a datapad. “Perrive's pad. Enjoy its contents at your leisure, ner vod. So, a drink or a fight? What's it to be?”
“Walon, you're very lucky I'm too tired.” Skirata pocketed the datapad, another little treasure trove for his Null boys to play with. “I'd just slap you.”
“I need to make my peace with Atin.”
“He'll still kill you after he's had a good night's sleep.”
“The brief unity of triumph, and then back to the fray. Crushing, isn't it? The victories seem so insignificant compared with the size of the war.”
“Doesn't mean we shouldn't try,” Skirata said. “It's only what individuals do that adds up to history.”
“We've written ours, then.”
It was one of the few times that Skirata found himself staring at Vau's back without feeling the urge to reach for his knife. “Tell you what,” he said. He took out the disabled remote det from his pocket. “Why don't we swing by the diplomatic quarter and pick up that nice green speeder? Perrive's not going to need it now. Can you still hotwire a speeder?”
“You bet,” said Vau.
23
When you can no longer know what your nation or your government stands for, or even where it is, you need a set of beliefs you can carry with you and cling to. You need a core in your heart that will never change. I think that's why I feel more at home in the barracks than I do in the Jedi Temple.
–General Bardan Jusik, Jedi Knight
Operational house, Qibbu's Hutt, 0015 hours, 386 days after Geonosis
The suite of rooms on the top floor of Qibbu's hotel looked like inventory day in the GAR equipment stores.
Fi stepped over stacked piles of armor and packs of five hundred-grade plastoid explosive and flopped into the first chair he found.
“You going to sleep in that bucket?” Mereel said.
Fi took the hint and popped his helmet seal, inhaling warm air scented with sweat, stale carpet, caf, and strill. There were times when the buy'ce was a comfort and a quiet haven, insulating him from the world, and he felt in need of that now for reasons he didn't understand or want to think about.
Mereel sat at the scratched, battered table unwrapping packs of thermal plastoid and working a colorless liquid into them. Fi wanted to get up and look but he was simply too tired. He could see Mereel pressing a hollow into the cakes of brown plastoid with his thumb, pouring in a few drops of the liquid from a small bottle, and then kneading it in with a steady folding motion.
“Ah,” Fi said, remembering.
“Got to add the stabilizer compound before we put it back into stores or else this is going to kill a lot more vode than the bad guys ever could.”
“Want a hand?”
“No. Get some sleep.”
“Where's Sergeant Kal?” Fi had quite enjoyed calling him Kal'buir. But he donned old habits along with his armor. “I hope he hasn't knifed Vau.”
“They're liberating a speeder on behalf of the Skirata Retirement Fund.”
“Come on, he'll never retire.”
“He still wants the speeder. Merc habits die hard.”
Fi found it hard to think of his sergeant as having any interest in a life beyond the army. He spent a while wondering what the man might really want, and apart from a wife to look after him, Fi had problems imagining what that might be. It was the same problem he had with his own dreams. They were intrusive and insistent—but they were limited. He only knew there was something missing, and when he looked at Darman and Etain, he knew what it was; he also wondered how it could work out even if he got it. He wasn't stupid. He could count and calculate odds of survival.
“Good night, ner vod.” He left Mereel to his task and wandered around, unclipping his armor plates as he went and stacking them in a pile by the bedroom door. Black bodysuits and briefs hung drying on every peg and rail. However exhausted they were, the squads still washed their kit conscientiously.
Fi glanced into some of the rooms to check who might be awake and willing to chat, but the Delta boys were all out cold, not even snoring. Niner and Corr slumped in chairs in one of the alcoves with a plate of half-eaten cookies sitting on the small table between them. Darman was stretched out on his bed in the room he shared with Fi, apparently none the worse for his ordeal, and Ordo was curled up in the next room with a blanket pulled over his head. Odd: he always seemed to do that, as if he wanted total darkness.
There was no sign of Jusik or Etain. Farther along the passage, Fi struck lucky. Atin was sitting in the chair in his room, cleaning his armor.