Part 18 (2/2)
”No wonder we're not winning, if that's how Jedi fight wars,” Mereel said.
”Rules of engagement, son ... last resort.”
Ordo had never understood it, either. He could recite any statute or regulation, including all 150 Contingency Orders for the Grand Army-which all clone officers had to know by heart-with all the ease granted by his eidetic memory. But making sense of rules was another matter. Why start a killing war if you were going to slam on the brakes and de-clare one way of killing someone morally preferable to an-other?
”They'll end up killing them all anyway,” Ordo said. He would never disobey his father, and he loved him too much to allow him to be even slightly disappointed, but he had to at least ask. ”Kal'buir, are you certain you want me in Qiil-ura? I can be more use to you finding Ko Sai.”
Father. Yes, he'd always felt like Skirata's son, but now... he actually was.
”Etain's used to you, Ord'ika.” Skirata had promised he would never lie to his men, but he'd admitted not telling Ordo everything. Perhaps he wasn't leveling with him now. ”She might get gedin 'la if Mereel or Vau show up. You know how cranky women are when they're pregnant.”
”No, I don't.”
”Well, they are. Hormones. And Etain's cranky enough to start with.”
Vau looked up and put his comlink back in his belt pouch. ”I got on very well with the young woman when we last worked together, actually.”
Skirata gave Vau the long stare, the one that said he didn't think the comment added anything useful to the sum of the galaxy's knowledge. Vau shrugged and got up to wander around calling for Mird, who'd gone exploring, leaving only his pungent aroma to keep the sofa warm.
”Come on, Mer'ika,” Skirata said. ”Let's contact your tinnie friend and find that pilot. Time is of the essence.”
Ordo couldn't disobey. Kal 'buir had his plans, and this was where Ordo fitted in. He didn't have to be happy about it. though. He was being handed a soft job, a nursemaid job, the kind he always did when his brothers were racing around the galaxy carrying out anything from a.s.sa.s.sinations to elaborate financial frauds.
Do they resent me? Maybe they pity me.
”Yes, Kal'buir” Ordo said. ”I'll treat it as a medical emergency.”
Mereel tossed him an identichip, the kind that opened security locks. ”Take the shuttle I used to get here. I left it next to the cantina.”
They lived that kind of life. Credits, transport, supplies, the cost was no object: if the Republic didn't bankroll it, they stole it, directly or indirectly. Ordo didn't have any more personal desire for wealth than his brothers. He was used to finding all his needs met, but his needs seemed nowhere near as rich and varied as those of the beings around him. All he wanted right then was a piece of the cheffa cake that Besany had sent him, so he took half from the galley, slicing it in two pieces with his vibroblade, and left the rest for the others- even Mird, if strills ate such things. Then he went in search of the shuttle, just another mercenary wandering around on a lawless planet, and sat in the c.o.c.kpit chewing the cake for a few minutes.
It was dry and spicy against his tongue, like licking scented velvet. The comfort effect was immediate and from another time and place.
Sometimes Ordo felt just as he did when he was a small child and Skirata first towered above him: part of him was competent far beyond his years, and the rest was hollow terror because the kaminiise were going to kill him, but Skirata had s.n.a.t.c.hed him and his brothers to safety and fed them all on uj'alayi, a sticky-sweet Mandalorian cake. It was a powerful act of salvation, one that had defined Ordo. He felt it as freshly now as he had then. It was the cake. That was it. The cake had brought it all back. He felt safe again.
And this was from Besany Wennen. She was saving him too, in her way.
Ordo folded the remains of the cake in a piece of cleaning rag, slipped it into the pocket on the thigh of his flight suit, and fired up the shuttle's drives to head for Qiilura. He had no idea-yet-what to do with a pregnant Jedi who was showing signs of miscarriage on a backworld planet a long way from competent gynecological help, but he'd find out. He was Ordo. Nothing was beyond him.
Hutt s.p.a.ce, 476 days after Geonosis ”He can't shoot straight,” Boss said. ”But he's spoiled my paint job.”
The TIV jinked again to avoid cannon fire from the pursuing s.h.i.+p. Sev checked via the external holocams and there it was: a Crusher-cla.s.s fighter. It harried the TIV, closing up and then falling back several times, loosing cannon rounds to one side then the other.
”You could have creamed it by now, Boss.” Sev wasn't sure what his sergeant was playing at. ”Or maybe just hyper-jumped out of here. Forgotten what the Big Red b.u.t.ton's for?”
”Curiosity is the sign of intelligence, Sev.”
Scorch had a tight grip on the restraining belt. ”I'm not that curious.”
”Think about it.” Boss rolled the TIV as if he was enjoying it. ”If this guy hasn't killed us, either he can't, or he wants us in one piece because we've got something he wants. I want to know who he is.”
”Sometimes it's better to leave a little mystery in a relations.h.i.+p,” said Scorch.
Sev felt the steady beat of his heart, nothing else. He'd pa.s.sed the point of fear, and his body was on autopilot; he'd strapped himself in for a rough reentry somewhere almost without thinking about it. ”So land and see if he follows.”
”You get there eventually, don't you?”
Nar Shaddaa was the next planetfall, unless they landed on Da Soocha, and n.o.body ever landed there, not even the Hutts who named it. That was going to be cozy. The planet was all ocean except for a couple of small islands that broke the surface. But Delta had done their job and transmitted the data already, so if anything went wrong another squad could pick up where they left off.
Did I secure my locker back at the barracks? I've got the code key here. Fierfek, they'll have to force the door open if I get killed. . .
Sev had no idea why he was thinking about death or fo-cused on such a trivial worry. Death hadn't crossed his mind that often before, not in a concrete way. Besides ... it wasn't as if Boss couldn't handle a skirmish with a tourist, was it? Anyone who wasn't Grand Army was a tourist, by defini-tion-an amateur.
The Crusher was chancing it, getting too close. If he tried that tailgating maneuver again, one of them would end up with a hull breach.
Scorch seemed intrigued by the idea. ”What if he thinks we really are a courier shuttle and he's planning a robbery?”
Fixer came to life. ”In a fighter?”
”He could have stolen the fighter, too.”
”Oh yeah. I bet that happens all the time . . .”
”We do it.”
”We 're special forces.”
”Okay. Time's up.” Boss banked to starboard, and the array of lights on the navigations display tilted to show a course for the nearest planet-the third moon. ”Let's find out.”
Scorch went through the ritual of checking his suit's seal integrity again. ”You got charts for that place, Boss?”
”n.o.body has. Let's make some.”
The third moon of Da Soocha had landma.s.ses. Sev could see them as the TIV neared the atmosphere. If the pursuing Crusher really thought his quarry was a courier shuttle, heading for this deserted lump of rock would have tipped him off that it wasn't; but he was still on their tail. Sev closed his eyes and clenched his fists on reentry-it always bothered him to see the hull temperature climbing on the console display-and thought that it was good of Scorch not to rib him about his phobias. He never had.
”It's going to be fun when we land.” Scorch was going through the motions of hitting the release catch on his restraints and swapping firing modes on his Deece, over and over, like it was all an Ooriffi meditation ritual. ”He who dis-embarks first, wins.”
”Nah,” Fixer said. He was almost chatty today. ”He who disembarks first is a nice target.”
Boss brought the TIV down into a b.u.mpy landing on gra.s.sland, skidding fifty meters through driving rain and slewing sideways before coming to a halt. Sev, concentrating on the charge level on his Deece, saw the Crusher's jets al-most fill the front viewport as it dropped down in front of them and came about to land with its nose facing them. There was an awkward pause.
”He's charging cannons-” The TIV shook. Boss swore, and for a moment Sev didn't know if the vessel had been hit or if Boss had fired. Either way, the Crusher clearly hadn't been expecting the TIV to be anything other than a lightly armed vessel, because there was suddenly a cloud of steam building beneath it as it powered its drives again. Then its port wing shattered into fragments, sending a ball of fire into the damp air. ”Go go go!”
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