“Why would you even think of paying such a terrible price for us?”
“Because you needed me. And I never regretted it for a second. My relationship with my … former family was as good as dead before you were even thought of. Don't you ever give it a second thought, because I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No question.”
“But I wish we had known.”
Do I have the right to keep another secret, then? “I'm sorry.”
“So apart from Darman's unborn son, is there anything else you keep from us?”
He'd heard him arguing with Etain, then. Skirata felt the most agonizing shame he had ever experienced in his life. His whole existence now rested on the absolute trust between him and his clone family. He couldn't bear to lose that.
“So you know what I'm going to ask of Jinart, then. I heard the news when you did, Ord'ika. And no, there is nothing else. I swore I would never lie to you, and I never have.” Skirata pointed to Ordo's matched blasters. “If I ever do, I'd rather you used those on me. Because being there for you was the only decent thing I ever did in my life. Understand?”
Ordo just stared at him. Skirata put both hands up on his shoulders and stood there in silence.
“Okay, son, tell me what I should do about Darman, and I'll do it.”
Ordo still had that look of blank appraisal, the expression he adopted when dismantling a new and fascinating puzzle. “I don't think the time is right. We have to do what's best for our brothers.”
It was the pragmatic thing to do. Skirata fastened his jacket and checked that his knife was in place, his ritual for leaving any building and walking out into the unknown night.
“Agreed, Ord'ika. Now all I need to do is have a little chat with General Zey.”
Arca Company Barracks, Special ForcesHQ, Coruscant, 395 days after Geonosis
It was an op order—an operational order—like many others they had been given. Niner glanced at the datapad and shrugged.
“Well, that'll be interesting,” he said. “Never worked with the Galactic Marines before.”
Skirata sat on the table in the briefing room, swinging his legs. Delta Squad had left that morning to prepare the battlefield—a nice military understatement for going ahead of the main assault and sabotaging strategic targets—on Skuumaa. Omega had drawn the slightly longer straw and had a similar task to carry out for the Marines.
“Everyone okay?” The question was directed at Darman as much as anybody. “Any questions?”
“No, Sarge.” Fi sounded a little subdued. Atin actually seemed more cheerful than Fi did, which was an interesting reversal of attitudes. “It'll be nice to see Commander Gett again.”
“Gett wants you embarked in Fearless by oh-seven hundred tomorrow. So if there's anything you want to do, do it today.” Skirata reached in his jacket pocket, took out four high denomination credit chips, and passed them around. “Go on. You know your way around the interesting bits of Coruscant now. It'll be a few months before you're back here.”
“Thanks, Sarge.” Atin stood up to leave. “You'll still be here when we get back today?”
“I always see you off, don't I?”
“Yeah, Sarge. You do.”
Fi took his chip and pressed it back into Skirata's hand. “Thanks. I've got to do some calibration on my HUD. I'll stick around the barracks today.”
“He's gone all sober,” Niner said. “Don't know what's come over him.”
“I'm an unsung hero,” said Fi. “I've got my public image to protect.”
The Omega boys, like all squads, were well attuned to one anther's sensitivities. They knew Skirata was hanging around to talk to Darman on his own. Niner shoved Atin and Fi toward the doors. “See you later, Sarge.”
There was no question of Darman joining them for a last day out in town. They knew where he'd want to spend his time. Skirata waited for the briefing room doors to close and slid off the table to stand in front of Darman's seat.
“Now, son, anything troubling you?”
“No, Sarge.”
“Etain's off to Qiilura for a few months, to start the rundown of the garrison.”
Darman actually smiled. “That's a safe deployment compared with the jobs she's pulled recently. I'm glad.”
“She's hanging around the barracks waiting for you.”
Darman seemed relieved. He took a deep breath and grinned, but it was that smile Skirata had seen on many mercenaries' faces before they left for a new battlefield.
Fierfek, should I tell this boy now? Should I tell him he has a kid on the way? What if something happens to him before he gets a chance to find out?
Skirata took a sudden and impulsive risk. He could square it with Zey later, like the bill for the anti-terror operation. Always better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. “You can go to Qiilura with her if you want.”
Darman shut his eyes. The pain showed on his face.
“I've had that choice before, Sarge.”
“You love her, though?”
“Yes.”
“I can make this happen.” Maybe it wouldn't be right for you, son. But it's your choice. “All you have to do is say the word, and Corr will take your place in the squad. He's still around. Zey's letting me train him.”
Darman let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes still shut. When he opened them, they were brimming with tears.
“Qiilura's safe. My squad deploys in the front line. How can I not be there with them? You could have walked away from Kamino with a fortune and never given us another thought, but you couldn't do it, either.”
“That was different. I was washed up, a di'kutla—”
“No. You were loyal.”
“You sure about this?” Of course you're sure. Your loyalty is overwhelming, too. That's how the stinking Republic uses you. “I won't think any less of you if you go.”
“But I'll think less of me.”
“Okay, no need to tell her, then. It was my idea, not hers. And Ordo will make sure you two can stay in touch whenever you want.”
Darman brushed the tip of his nose and sniffed hard. “You always put us first.”
“I always will.”
“We know.”
Yes. He always would. “There's two ways you can think of females in wartime, son. One is to get obsessed and let them take your mind off your work, and that gets you killed. The other is to focus on them as what you're really fighting for, and draw strength from knowing they're going to be there for you when you get home.” He tapped Darman's cheek a few times with the flat of his hand, firm but paternal. “You know which you're going to choose, don't you, Dar?”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“Good lad.”
Skirata knew that Darman might never arrive home, throw his kit bag on the hall floor, and sob on his wife's shoulder, relieved and grateful and swearing it would be his last tour of duty. But he'd make sure he brought him as close to that sweet normality as a cloned soldier could ever come.
At least Etain understood what a soldier went through. All Skirata had to do was make sure the kid was safe when he was born, and educate him properly. Jinart had held up her end of the bargain and would see that Etain was taken care of on Qiilura. The shapeshifter understood Skirata's obsession with looking after his tribe. She was doing the same thing herself. They were both beleaguered fighters with no love for the Republic, just an uneasy tolerance.
“Go on, then, son.” Skirata nodded toward the doors. “Go and find Etain. Have a day out. Be a regular couple for a few hours and forget you're soldiers. Just be discreet, that's all.”
Darman smiled and seemed to brighten. He was a resilient lad. “Sarge,” he said. “How can I forget I'm a soldier? I don't know how to be anything else.”
Skirata watched him go and wondered when the desire to tell him would overwhelm him and it would slip out. Maybe Etain would find the strain too great, too. It was a pity that something that was a source of joy to ordinary people was so dangerous for Darman and Etain.