Jusik grabbed a bacta spray with an expression of weary exasperation and sat Atin down in a chair to clean up his face. He made no attempt to tend to Vau, who walked off to the refreshers, Mird whining at his heels. Ordo and Mereel vanished to the landing platform with bundles of wrapped explosives.
Skirata waited for Jusik to finish and for Atin to return to his room.
“So, no lightsaber and no armor.” Jusik was even shorter than he was. He prodded the kid in the chest. “I told you that it's what's under the armor that makes a man. A few thousand Jedi like you and the Republic wouldn't be in the osik it is now. You're a soldier, sir, and a good officer. And I don't think I've ever said that to anyone in my life.”
Skirata meant it at that moment. It didn't make him love Jedi as a kind any the better, but he was very fond of Bard'ika, and would look after him. Jusik lowered his eyes, a strange blend of embarrassment and delight, and clasped Skirata's arm.
“I want what's best for my men, that's all.”
Skirata waited for him to shut his bedroom doors and went in search of the bottle of tihaar and that rarest of things in Qibbu's Hut, a clean glass. He wrenched the stopper out of the bottle and slopped a little into a chipped goblet.
He couldn't identify which fruit it had been distilled from this time, and it didn't taste that good. It never had, but more often than not it got him to sleep. He let it burn the inside of his mouth before swallowing and sat in the chair, nursing the glass in his cupped hands, eyes closed.
I hope Atin's found some kind of peace from this.
He thought he detected a faint hint of jewel-fruit in the tihaar.
Four million credits.
That was satisfying, far more than any bounty or fee he had invested over the years on Aargau. Nobody had mentioned it. Ordo and Mereel certainly had to be thinking about it: they knew his plans. Vau was a mercenary but would not interfere, because he had been paid. Etain might ask questions, too. But the commando squads had little interest in the realities of economics. Clones didn't get paid. They never coveted possessions because they had been raised with nothing to call their own. Even Fi's desire for Ghez Hokan's fine Mando armor and his lads' general lust for Verpine rifles was a blend of pragmatism and the Mandalorian cultural values that he had taught them himself, not basic civilian greed.
And a copy of a restricted Treasury datapad to play with.
And Perrive's 'pad to pick over I'll have Mereel copy it before I give it to Zey … or give most of it to him, anyway.
He opened his eyes, aware of someone standing over him. Ordo and Mereel stood impatient and excited, looking much more like normal young men having a lark than efficient, disciplined, deadly soldiers.
Mereel grinned, unable to contain his glee. “Want to hear about Ko Sai, Kal'buir? She's turned up again.”
Skirata drained the glass. This was what he wanted most. “I'm all ears, adi'ke.”
24
A major terrorist network lies in tatters this morning following the end of a massive overnight operation by Coruscant Security Forces. A total of ninety-seven suspects were detained or killed, and what's described as “a significant amount” of explosives seized. Senator Ihu Niopua described it as a magnificent piece of police work and praised officers.
–HNE evening news, 387 days after Geonosis
Coruscant Security Force Staff and Social Club, 2000 hours, 388 days after Geonosis: ATU and OCU reception for men and guests of Arca Company, Special Operations Brigade
CSF didn't know how brave they'd been until they heard it on the HNE bulletin.
Fi decided to treat the coverage as funny rather than as another case of his brothers' efforts going unrecognized. Skirata had warned him that all special forces personnel had to deal with that, clone or not, so it was nothing personal.
Anyway, it didn't matter. He was leaning on a bar—a clean bar, one that didn't leave your elbows soaking wet—surrounded by people who weren't criminals; unless you counted Sergeant Kal, of course, and he was a special case, because extreme bounty hunting wasn't really a crime. And police officers were buying him drinks and shaking his hand, telling him that their buddies would all have been ground nerf if he hadn't thrown himself on that grenade during the spaceport siege. It was amazing how they still remembered that.
Fi didn't have the heart to tell them that he simply did what years of training had made his body do involuntarily, and that he didn't know how to do anything else. He simply grinned and enjoyed the adulation. He liked the comradeship.
Some of them were female officers, too. They were fascinated by his armor. He enjoyed explaining the parts and functions to them, and wondered why they giggled when he told them how easy it was to take off.
Ordo wandered in with Obrim and joined Fi at the bar. Obrim handed them both a glass of a light-colored ale, instantly another brother in uniform with a tacit understanding of how things were.
“I see they've upgraded your armor again,” he said, tapping Fi's breastplate with the knuckle of his forefinger. “Different finish. Classy.”
“Well, they have to try the new kit out on someone, and we're just so stylish.”
“I suppose they can afford to, now that there's fewer of you left to kit out,” Obrim said, falling into the grim cynicism of men used to being at the mercy of accountants. “Because body bags are a lot cheaper.”
“What body bags?” Fi said.
“Really?”
“Not the Mando way. Or the Republic's.”
“Kriffing tightwads.” Obrim sighed irritably. Then he indicated Mereel, who was surrounded by a small knot of officers plus Delta Squad, laughing noisily. “I see your brother is teaching our boys some bad Mando'a words. Is it true you don't have a word for 'hero'?”
“Yes, but we've got a dozen for 'stab.'”
Obrim almost laughed. “And how many for frying someone with a blaster?”
“Loads,” said Fi. “We don't know much about art, but we know what we like.”
Ordo was scanning the crowded bar with a faint frown. Fi followed his gaze. He wondered if he was checking where Etain and Jusik were, because Jedi didn't fit easily into the raucous atmosphere of a police social club, but there was Jusik, all smiles, engaged in an intense conversation with two Sullustan forensics officers. Darman was deep in discussion with Corr and a couple of men Fi recognized as CSF bomb disposal experts from the spaceport siege. Niner and Boss seemed to have been drawn into a strange game with some other officers that involved throwing a knife at the fine wooden carvings above the bar, much to the annoyance of the service droid.
And Atin had Laseema on his arm, gazing at him adoringly, even if he did still have a striking black eye from his fight with Vau.
But no Etain, and no Vau. Vau had gone off on another job—unspecified, of course. Darman was still here, though, and that meant Etain was, too, for the time being.
Ordo seemed to be concentrating on the doorway.
“What's your problem, ner vod?”
“Agent Wennen said she would come,” Ordo said. He looked uncharacteristically awkward, seeming for once as if he didn't know what to do next. “I'll have a look around. It's a big bar.”
Obrim watched him go. “Fi,” he said, “do you mind me asking you something personal?”
“I always try to help police with their inquiries, Captain.”
“Seriously, son. Kal talks to me about you all. I never knew how you were … bred for all this. Sorry. I can't find another word for it. You don't seem to resent it at all. I'd be furious. Aren't you angry? Not just a little?”
Fi wished Obrim didn't make him think. In a way it was much, much simpler on Kamino. It was also easier being alone with only your squad for company on some osik'la planet blowing up droids. There was a clean focus in that. Coruscant had indeed been the hardest battlefield of all, as Sergeant Kal had warned him. But that wasn't because it was rife with the dangers of not knowing if the enemy was standing right next to you. It was because it showed him what he could never have.