Part 31 (1/2)

”Okay, door by door now, Mer'ika.” Skirata put his self-disgust aside. ”She's here.”

”I bet the place locks down when the alarm kicks in,” Mereel said, trying the first door. He took out a sensor and scanned for security circuits while Skirata listened for signs of life.

Maybe he should have yelled for Ko Sai to come out and face them. She must have known they were there. A firefight among Mando'ade wasn't the kind of thing you missed be-cause you were making a pot of caf.

And it was definitely a laboratory.

It reminded Skirata of Tipoca City, all clinical white surfaces and sterile areas, doors with hermetic seals, a temple to order and perfection and disregard for life. He couldn't smell it with his helmet on, but he knew that if he took it off, he'd feel that slight tingling in his nostrils and smell the sterilizing fluid.

”The doors are on two circuits, Kal'buir,” Mereel said. ”I'll fry one set at a time. That means all the doors open at once.”

”Then she can make a run for it,” Skirata said. ”Or wait for us to drag her out.”

There was nowhere for her to go. Skirata thought that this might have been a decoy, and that the right-hand fork near the entrance was where they should have been, but Mereel beckoned to him and indicated a security panel. It was the kind that had an outline of the floor plan with small lights indicating the status of each compartment or room.

”Emergency generator,” Mereel said, tapping his fingertip against the panel. ”That's the plant room on the right-hand side. This is the only accommodation.”

”She hasn't got an army down here, then.”

”Probably just enough bodyguards to cover three s.h.i.+fts. The more folks down here, the more supplies she has to bring in. But we can check the rooms.”

”You reckon the next s.h.i.+ft will be along soon?”

”Make sure you reload.”

”Let's just find the shabuir and drag her out.”

”I need to strip the data out of her systems, too.”

s.n.a.t.c.hing someone off the street was basic work for any jobbing bounty hunter, fast if risky. Kidnapping a scientist and stealing all her research-all of it, nothing left to fall into the wrong hands-was a much bigger task if you were in a hurry.

Bard'ika, let's see you persuade Delta to stop for dinner, and maybe take in a holovid, too.

”Ten doors each side, Kal'buir”

The whole place was one giant waterproofed tank with interior part.i.tions, so unless he'd got this badly wrong, there was only one way out, and that was past him.

Skirata took his helmet off one-handed for a moment and inhaled deeply. He always claimed he could smell Kaminoans, but what hit the back of his palate galvanized him almost as much: the place did smell like the labs in Tipoca City. The reminder brought back more resentment and loathing than even he could recall. The adrenaline flooded him again, and he found his second wind.

”Lucky dip, Mer'ika. Fry 'em.”

Mereel stabbed the disruptor into the panel. The lights flickered, and ten pairs of doors sighed open. Skirata had never seen a Kaminoan with a blaster, but he didn't dismiss Ko Sai's capacity to use one. He edged up to the side of each door and darted inside, blaster ready. There were banks of conservators, sealed transparisteel boxes with remote handling apparatus, empty tanks-he didn't know how he would have reacted had there been something alive in them-and one room full of what looked like computer storage, rack upon rack of it. Genetics took a lot of data crunching.

”I know you're in here, you s.a.d.i.s.tic shabuir,'” Skirata yelled. He'd risked leaving his helmet off. He wanted her to see his face, .his loathing, his promised vengeance come to pa.s.s. ”You going to come out? Or can I have the pleasure of dragging you out? Because I'm not a nice man, and age isn't mellowing me.”

Mereel opened a pouch on his belt with one hand, taking out data blanks, ready to strip the information out of Ko Sai's lab right down to the last spreadsheet and shopping list. ”Say the word, Kal'buir.”

”Open the hatches.”

The last ten doors made a chunking noise as the locks withdrew. Skirata slipped the set of knuckle-dusters over his left gauntlet and flexed his fingers. Then he walked slowly down the run of rooms, blaster held out level with his shoulder, confident he could fire before she could. He killed for a living.

So did she, in her way.

He drew level with the fifth door and stared in.

Ko Sai didn't have a weapon. She sat at her desk, her clean white desk, just as she used to in Tipoca City, staring back at him with those disturbing gray eyes. She still wore the thick black cuffs that showed her rank as chief scientist of the en-tire cloning program, even though she'd abandoned Kamino and left her government in the lurch.

There was something repellent about someone who wore a rank to which she was no longer ent.i.tled, especially when she worked alone. Her status was her life.

”And who sent you?” she demanded. ”Lamu Su? Dooku? That deluded creature Palpatine?”

”I bet it's nice to be the most popular gal in school,” Skirata said. He'd always shot first and insulted the corpse later. But he couldn't kill her, not yet. She had work to do. ”Can I pick none of the above?”

”It'll be credits,” she said. There was nothing Skirata could find to like about Kaminoans. Where others heard gentle fluting voices, he heard condescension and arrogance. ”How much do you want to go away?”

Skirata couldn't believe she didn't remember him. But then he was just another lump of human meat, and maybe she really didn't know him from Vau or Gilamar, or the Mandalorians dead on her s.h.i.+ny white floor.

”I'd like all your research, please.”

”Oh, Arkanian Micro. Of course.”

”Cut the osik. You know exactly who I am.”

”For a moment I thought you were one of Palpatine's thugs. Everyone hires Mandalorians. You're such a cheap people, easily purchased.”

Skirata had wanted to see shock on her face, or at least hatred. He was disappointed. No, he was furious. He beckoned to Mereel.

”Bucket off, son. Say h.e.l.lo to the nice scientist.” Mereel paused for a moment, but when he lifted his helmet off he was smiling, a wonderful artless smile that made him look like a harmless lad who didn't know the first thing about the weapons he had slung about his armor. He walked forward and leaned against the door frame.

Skirata could see her pupils dilate. Her head jerked back. Oh yes, it's all flooding back now. Let's all get nostalgic, shall we?

And Mereel remembered, because he had perfect recall, way, way back to when he was a baby, before Skirata had even met him.

Mereel's perfect white smile never faltered. He took a short rod from his belt, an electroprod of the type farmers used to herd nerfs.

”Hi, Mama,” he said. ”Your little boy's back.”

Treasury offices, Coruscant, 478 days after Geonosis Audit trails were the fabric of Besany Wennen's life. They were like the laws of physics: there was no transaction with-out an equal and opposite transaction. Where credits were spent, someone received. And when someone poured a great deal of money into a project, then it wasn't something they did alone.

There was no monopoly on information. If a thing existed, somebody designed it, manufactured it, delivered it, or in some way touched it. And with enough time and effort, then that somebody could be found.

Besany wandered into Jilka Zan Zentis's office with as casual a manner as she could and perched her backside on the low filing cabinet. ”I have to ask you a big favor,” she said. ”And you can say no.”

Jilka looked up slowly. ”If it involves doubling up on a date, I remember the last time...”

Besany thought of Fi for a moment. ”Actually, it doesn't, but if that would seal the deal, I can introduce you to a very pleasant young man.”

”Let me think about it. What's the favor?”