Part 27 (2/2)

Seven kilometers south of Tropix island, 478 days after Geonosis Mereel stepped out of the drained-down air lock in his briefs and pulled the aquata breather from his mouth. Then he shook himself like Mird, showering water across the cargo bay, and slapped a cold wet skull into Vau's hands.

”If we're going to run DNA tests,” he said, ”this seems to have teeth in it.” Skirata handed him a towel, and he rubbed himself down. ”Not a shred of meat or clothing on the thing. Whoever it was, I'm guessing that they were stripped of any identification and tied to an anchor so that the body wouldn't float to the surface and so the local wildlife could remove soft tissue and everything else that identified him. It's a him. by the way. Had a look at the pelvis.”

”Killed first?” Vau turned the skull over in his hands while Mird watched. It might have mattered; a disposal was a different crime and motivation than weighting someone down to drown. Not all humanoids drowned fast, either. ”Or punishment?”

Skirata shrugged. ”I don't think he died of old age, so it's probably irrelevant.”

Mereel looked anxious for a moment, as if he'd let Skirata down simply by being unable to give him an answer. ”I can't tell, Kal 'buir. No obvious fractures or marks on the bones.”

”It's okay, son. Get dressed, 'cos we need to carry on looking.”

Mereel padded off, hitting the heel of his hand against his ear to shake out the last of the water. They needed proper diving suits if they were going to work outside the hull for any lengthy period. Vau put it on his list of things to acquire.

”I'm going to guess,” he said, ”and you know I don't do that very often, but I bet we'll find this is the last person to see Ko Sai.”

”What makes you say that?”

”The Twi'lek. He delivered the equipment to whoever was piloting the barge, and if that had been a Kaminoan, he'd have noticed. Someone had to hand the stuff over, which meant seeing her or the location. Not someone a crafty piece of work like Ko Sai would have wanted around to blow her cover.”

Skirata swabbed down the water on the deck. ”When we go ash.o.r.e again, I'll see if any staff went missing. I can't see Ko Sai having a human sidekick.”

”Well, maybe she didn't-not for long, anyway.” Vau listened carefully and caught a faint beeping. ”Is that the c.o.c.k-pit alarm?”

Skirata paused and straightened up, frowning. His hearing had taken a pounding from standing too close to artillery over the years, even though he managed to hide the fact.

”Unless you know it isn't, why are you standing around asking the question?”

They made for the c.o.c.kpit, but Mereel was already leaning across the pilot's seat, talking to a familiar voice on the other end of the open comm. Vau caught the word Delta just as he squeezed into the compartment.

”It's General Jusik,” Mereel said. ”Delta are on their way here. Want to talk to him, Kal'buir?”

”Osik.” Skirata raked his fingers through his hair. ”What happened, Bard'ika?”

”They caught up with the Twi'lek pilot. Not much I could do, but at least I stopped him from giving them too much detail.”

”What did you do, shoot him before he could talk?”

”Bit of the old Jedi magic. He got as far as saying he'd told some Mandalorians about Dorumaa, so I suggested they'd been wearing green armor. If he'd said gold, and black, and... well, Delta know your armor, Kal.”

Skirata closed his eyes. ”Thanks.”

”And I made sure he didn't get as far as giving them coordinates for the drop. But they know it's Dorumaa, and they've had to divert to pick up some scuba armor. I estimate you've got ten to twelve hours, but I'm going to be there in six.”

Vau cut in. ”To do what, exactly? Not that we don't appreciate your a.s.sistance, but-”

”You haven't found Ko Sai yet, have you?”

”We're close,” Skirata said.

”Well, if you haven't found her in six hours, I'll help you.”

Vau nudged Skirata in the ribs. ”And if we haven't found her by the time Delta get here, you keep them busy. How are they planning to insert, anyway?”

”Land during the night and just pose as sport divers if they have to.”

”Thanks, Bard'ika.”

They couldn't have expected Delta to be far behind. The Problem with hunting for someone was that the hunt itself tended to bring debris to the surface, and even if Delta didn't quite have the Nulls' remarkable access to information, they'd been trained in the same techniques. Vau felt a little flush of pride that his squad hadn't done so badly compared with Skirata's precious boys and all their genetic enhancements, but he decided not to rub it in.

”Come on,” Skirata said wearily. ”More caves to ping.” He settled down in the copilot's seat.

Whatever differences Vau had with him, the man had an extraordinary tenacity; the size of the task ahead was so huge, the chances so flimsy, that any sane individual would never have bothered to start. It wasn't just a matter of finding one Kaminoan who didn't want to be found. Vau wondered if she was even capable of doing what Skirata wanted.

If this is all a wasted effort . . . how's the little chakaar going to take it?

The quest-oh yes, it was a quest, a sacred calling for Skirata now-seemed to sustain him. It was as powerful as religion. He was so fixed on his boys' welfare that he seemed to have no plans for himself, and his definition of who qualified as his boys was now so all-encompa.s.sing that it seemed in danger of sucking him dry. It was more than the Nulls, who had been his sons in fact if not in name from the day he met them. His obsession had then spread to the commandos, and now to any stray trooper who came into his...o...b..t, like Corr. It was as if Skirata was desperate to avoid any thought of himself, to erase himself in every waking moment.

Maybe his memories were unhappier than Vau knew; he seemed to be reinventing himself a day at a time, and he rarely talked about his past now, not even his father.

He never talks about his mother. And apart from the knife-does he recall anything of his birth parents?

Toxic things though they were, Vau still found families interesting. The best thing he'd ever done was to run away from his own. As if on cue, Mird appeared at his side and clambered onto his lap, the only family he had, and maybe the best kind.

”Did you ever think of asking Arkanian Micro to take a look at some clone tissue?” Vau asked. ”Just in case.”

”I did.” Skirata was staring straight ahead at the s.h.i.+fting three-dimensional display of the sonar mapping scanner, reflected onto the transparisteel viewport. ”But it'll be my very last resort. Once they have a genome to play with... well, I don't want to see any more lads bred to die.”

”What if they hadn't been Jango's clones?”

”What?”

”Mando'ade don't care about bloodlines. What if they'd been from a Corellian donor, or a Kuati? Would it still tear you up to see them used?”

Mereel seemed to be making a point of staying out of the conversation. Skirata sucked his teeth thoughtfully.

”If I'd met them as little kids about to be exterminated, I think I'd have done the same.” He looked distracted by the idea, as if he hadn't ever considered it. ”Being Jango's blood just made it more relevant. But Jango or not, they'd still have needed a sense of belonging, wouldn't they? And it would still have been my duty to give it to them. And that would have made them Mando'ade.”

”Interesting formations ahead,” Mereel said. Vau thought he might be trying to change the subject, but maybe not. ”Going in for a closer look.”

Vau looked at Mereel in profile and tried to see Jango in him, but it was surprisingly hard. Odd as that might have sounded to an outsider, it was true: the clones usually didn't remind him of Jango Fett at all. Part of that was living among them for years, and becoming blind to the superficiality of appearance, but there were many ways in which they didn't even look like their progenitor. Jango-born of parents who lived hand-to-mouth, undernourished as a youngster-hadn't been much taller than Skirata, but the Kaminoans had man-aged the clones' nutrition carefully from the day the egg was fertilized, and they'd turned out tall and muscular. In a hundred and more ways, they weren't exact replicas of Fett.

Nor was his son, Boba. Poor kid: it was a terrible age to lose a father, and the boy had n.o.body else in his life. He was worse off than any trooper. If he managed to survive, Vau predicted he'd turn into the hardest, most bitter, most messed-up shabuir this side of Keldabe.

Even I had a second father to adopt me ... too late, maybe, but better than never...

”What's that?” Skirata said suddenly. He pointed forward. ”Lots of debris.”

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