Darman stood to Niner’s right, saying nothing.
“Got a job to do, sir,” Niner said noncommittally. He could smell a fresh herb scent like tea and the metallic aroma of ink or copying fluid. “No heroics. Just the job.”
“Well, I’m still impressed you got Camas,” Melusar said.
“He seemed to want to be got, sir.”
“Oh, he’d have made a run for it if he could have. But Intel’s pretty sure that the Ranger escaped, possibly with some Padawans. They’ve been piecing together ship movements that coincided with your raid. Latest analysis says Kester’s shipping escapees from planet to planet and then to a couple of Masters—Altis or Vamilad.”
Niner felt the hidden datachip gnawing away at his pocket. He was so used to dealing with Jedi officers that he expected Melusar to be able to sense his deception, but Melusar was a regular guy, and that changed things.
Melusar tapped his stylus on the holochart control. One more green light winked out of existence. “You know why removing Camas was a coup, Niner? Because every Jedi Master we remove lessens the chances of the Order rebuilding itself. Without the Masters, the cult starts to die. They’ve learned all the tricks. If they can’t pass them on, can’t organize—it’s over. Cut off the head and the body eventually dies.”
Niner wasn’t sure about that. “But the Knights are pretty smart, too. As long as there’s one Jedi out there, they’ll know enough of the basics to find Force-sensitives and train them.”
“Exactly.” Melusar looked at Darman, and then nodded to himself, smiling. “They’re all a risk.”
Niner couldn’t work out if Melusar was testing him or leading up to some revelation. “We’ll do whatever we’re tasked to do, sir.”
“Jedi don’t have numbers on their side now, Niner, and they don’t have the taxpayer bankrolling ships and arms for them. They’ll hide for a while and lick their wounds. But then they have to do two things—contact other Jedi to regroup, and then latch on to mundane beings to mount an insurgency. They need an army to do their dirty work for them. They’ll sniff out dissent wherever they can find it, ferment it, and ride it. Nobody who’s that used to power can ever give it up.”
Niner understood that only too well. On Qiilura, Zey and Etain had trained and organized the locals to fight the Separatist occupation; they called it a resistance. When the Seps did the same thing against the Republic, that was called exporting terror. Niner just saw it all as combat by any means available, although he knew whose side he was on at any given time.
They’re as bad as each other. And we’re always the meat that gets minced between the two.
“Sir, I don’t understand,” he said. “Are these new orders? Are we going to be tracking Jedi by looking for insurgent hot spots?”
“Everything we discuss in this room goes no farther.”
“That’s a given, sir.”
“Not even to your squadmates.”
That felt pretty uncomfortable. A squad shared everything. Niner never liked agreeing to anything before he knew what it was, but he was deserting in a few hours, so this was either intel he might be able to make use of in his new life, or something he could forget the moment Ny Vollen’s ship left orbit. Darman just watched—probably doing his best not to lose it, Niner supposed. It couldn’t have been easy to listen to a casual conversation about Order 66.
Did Melusar know? Did he know about Etain, who she’d been, what had happened to her? Niner racked his brains to think who might have been around and able to gossip. No clones, that was certain, but there’d been a lot of CSF cops around, and however tight-lipped they were under Obrim’s command, everyone talked sooner or later.
“Understood, sir,” Niner said.
“Sergeant, this office is soundproofed, and I sweep it for surveillance devices every time I open the door.” Melusar was a man after Niner’s own heart. “This really is between us.”
Wow, he’s jumpy. Or he’s going to shake us down.
“Got it, sir.”
“Your squad was very close to General Jusik, wasn’t it? Give me your assessment of him.”
Niner’s gut almost tied itself in a complete knot now. It didn’t show on his face, he was sure of that, because clones learned in Tipoca City how to present a bland face to the Kaminoans. For the ordinary troopers, it saved them from being reconditioned. For commandos protected by their ferocious training sergeants, it was just a habit, but a useful one.
“Depends what you mean sir. As a soldier?”
“As a Jedi.”
“He left the Order, sir. He was ashamed of it in the end. Argued with the Masters, told Zey they’d lost their moral authority. Didn’t want to be a Jedi anymore. If you’re wondering if he’d be regrouping survivors—no, not him.”
It was true. Niner just hoped he hadn’t said it with too much conviction, though.
“Just curious. I’d heard he walked out, and walking away from power is pretty unusual in most species.” Melusar seemed to back off. Niner was now on full alert. “Remember that not all Force-users are Jedi, and they’re not all on the run. Some of them are right here pretending to be on our side. But I don’t buy that. The only side they tend to be on is their own.”
Niner just concentrated on the green lights of the holochart so that he didn’t blurt out something he’d regret. Does he mean Vader? Does he know about Palpatine? If he does—he’s going to be a dead man. Shame. But I can’t help him now.
Niner was now painfully aware of the chrono ticking, delaying his escape, but at least the Nulls would know why he and Darman might be running late.
“You’re very quiet, you two.”
Darman suddenly came to life, scaring the osik out of Niner. He had no idea what was going to come out of Dar’s mouth next. “We haven’t got a lot to say, sir.”
“You know why I’m telling you all this?”
“No sir.”
“Because I need a few men I can trust in difficult times.” Melusar’s understatement almost reminded Niner of Vau. “I don’t doubt any trooper’s loyalty and discipline, but sometimes we’ll need to do things without Intel noticing. And from what I’ve heard over the last year or two—you fit the bill. You had a very independent sergeant in Skirata. You were completely loyal to him and to the Grand Army. By some extraordinary process, all your Republic records, helmet logs, and everything else relating to your service has now disappeared from the Defense mainframe.” Melusar paused. “I know enough about you from the war. You didn’t desert when you could have with the others, but you haven’t betrayed Skirata now, either. That can’t be easy.”
Melusar had no idea just how not easy that was. Niner felt horribly ashamed as he hovered on the brink of making an excuse to leave. To desert. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was entrapment. But then Melusar was taking a big risk confiding in them that he was planning to sideline Intel. This was his first day as their boss. He obviously didn’t believe in hanging around.
“What do you want from us, sir?” Niner said. He only had to keep this up for an hour or two at most. “Just say the word.”
“I’m not convinced that Intel is free of Force-users. They think we mundane folk don’t notice, but I can usually spot them. So … sometimes I’m going to have to task you without their knowledge, because they can never be on the side of the average citizen. They’re trying to recruit more of their own Force-using kind. Or at least that’s how I’ve interpreted their request to bring the Z-list Jedi and other small fry back alive.” Melusar oozed contempt. “Personally, I’d rather spend the security budget on more akk hounds.”
Business as usual. Omega and the Nulls had spent the whole war keeping things from Intel, and from the senior command, too. And it wasn’t because they were Force-users.
But Melusar really had it in for everyone with Force powers. Niner wondered what had happened to him to make him so unusually rabid. His arguments made perfect sense, but he meant that distrust and dislike with every cell in his
body. It oozed from him.
“Are you comfortable with that?” Melusar asked quietly.
“We understand perfectly, sir,” Darman said, before Niner could respond.
“Excellent.” Melusar seemed genuinely relieved. “Pity that we don’t have the principled General Jusik on staff. A Force-user who doesn’t want power would be very useful.”
Niner hoped Ordo picked that up. The comment could have meant anything. It might have been an oblique offer to Jusik, which—of course—Bard’ika would have the sense not to accept. It might have been a setup. Niner was beginning to resent everything about this world for making him doubt and question every single word said to him. He wanted to live in a society where hello just meant hello.
But he needed to seize his chance. Now seemed a good time. “Sir,” he said, “during the war, our commanders let us go into town when we were off duty. Do you mind if we do that? It’s not even mentioned in the regs, so …”
Melusar slapped Niner’s shoulder as if his conscience had been pricked. “Of course, Sergeant. A man’s got to relax and have an ale from time to time. Good for the soul. Maybe take Rede with you. I worry for these youngsters.”
Niner had to get out, right now, before he dug himself in too deep. “Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed. And don’t worry so much. You’re still the soldiers you were, and everyone respects that.”
Darman matched Niner’s hasty escape down the corridor, striding as fast as he could without breaking into a run.
“He’s really down on Force-users,” Darman said.
“Do you blame him?”
“No.” Dar seemed to be chewing something over as he walked. He stared at a point a few meters ahead. “But they’re all the same, aren’t they? Jedi, Sith—doesn’t matter who’s in charge as far as most folks are concerned. The Force-users run the show, at least behind the scenes, and never us.”
“You think the Jedi ran the Republic?”
“You said a Sith did. The Jedi were the enforcers—even before Palps.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m scared stiff. This galaxy’s falling apart.” Dar dropped his voice as they turned into the mess lobby. “My kid. What’s going to happen to my kid? You heard what Holy Roly said. He can’t even trust Intel now. We’ve swapped one rotten regime for another.”
“Welcome to the real world,” Niner said. “But there’s always a door marked EXIT.”
They didn’t need to take anything with them. They didn’t have anything of value, anyway. Niner had to keep his helmet on to maintain comms to the ship.
Rede was busy cleaning his boots when they walked into the squad room. He looked up, wide-eyed. No, science couldn’t possibly cram enough into these Spaarti clones in a year. Poor kid—they were walking out on him when he needed them most. Ennen wasn’t around.
“Are you going to show me some vibroblade techniques, Sarge?” Rede asked. “I’m a fast learner.”
“Tomorrow,” Niner said. He felt awful. Now he had to lie completely. “We’re just going for a recce around town. Old buddies to check up on. We’ll be back before lights-out.”
Rede frowned slightly, but went on cleaning. The truly weird thing was that he seemed to be changing before Niner’s eyes. He really was learning by the minute. In the space of a day, he’d picked up habits and gestures. Whatever medical science tried to do to human beings to speed up their development, they still had to go through that process of learning from adults around them and then fitting in with the tribe. Rede was just doing it faster than a Kamino clone.
And we did it faster than mongrels.
“See you later,” Darman said. He was pretty convincing.
Niner put his helmet back on as they walked through the main doors and headed for the perimeter gate. Beyond that lay what had been Galactic City, now Imperial City, and Niner could probably have counted the number of times he’d walked out into that civilian world on one hand.
He opened the secure comlink. “Ordo? You receiving? We’re on our way.”
“Nice excuse, by the way.” Ordo sounded relaxed. “We picked up most of that cozy chat. What an affable fellow Holy Roly is.”
“He’s crazy,” Niner said. “He’s going to be running his own private army.”
Jaing interrupted. “I’m shocked, I tell you. Who’d abuse their command privileges so shamelessly? And guess what—his family’s from Dromund Kaas. You won’t find that in your database, ner vod, because it wasn’t even on Republic charts. The place is run by dark side weirdos called the Prophets. They make sure their prophecies of doom and dark destruction come true. Now, I’m no psychologist, but between the saber-jockeys and the mad monks, I think I can guess what shaped your boss’s bad attitude to our paranormally gifted friends.”
“Pity he’s on the wrong side,” Ordo said. “Kal’buir would like him.”
“Kal’buir’s never going to get the chance.” Niner picked up speed as they passed through the security gates. “We’re coming home, vode.”
“Oya manda,” Mereel said approvingly. “I hope you two don’t mind hiding in a water tank while we exfil.”
They were going to Mandalore. Niner could rarely recall being excited, but this was like nothing else he’d ever known. It was a leap into a new life, one he couldn’t begin to imagine, and just not knowing was a thrill in itself. He thought that was odd for a man whose nickname was Worry-Guts.
He’d try farming. Fishing. Bounty hunting, if he got bored with the rural life. And he’d find a nice girl, just like Fi had.
Fi. He hadn’t seen his brother in nearly two years.
And Darman—Niner didn’t ask, because he didn’t need to. Dar was going to be reunited with his son.
“What did Ordo have to say?” Darman asked. He was shut out of the secure link, but he could guess Niner was talking to the Nulls. “Everything okay?”
“It’s all going fine,” Niner said, regretting that he’d never get to ask Holy Roly what had happened back home to make him bitter enough to defy Force-using Intel agents. “Soon be home.”
10
There’s something unusual about that clone Darman. I can’t quite place it, but he feels … different. I get an unusual sense of Force-users woven into his being, and he reacts to me as if he senses what I am, which is impossible. He may be dangerous; keep a close eye on him.
—Sa Cuis, Emperor’s Hand, shortly before his death on a mission to test the new Lord Vader’s resolve
Kyrimorut, Mandalore
“Have you been here all night?” Gilamar asked.
Uthan looked up from her notes, elbows on the lab bench, head propped on her hands. In front of her, she had the rough sketch of the level-10 containment unit she’d need to safely re-create the virus that had been unleashed on Gibad.
“More or less,” she said.
“How’s it going?” He pulled up a stool and sat down next to her, laying his hand on hers with the kind of firm grip he probably reserved for his drinking buddies rather than women. It was still comforting to have someone hold your hand when your world—in every sense—was in tatters. She hadn’t pegged him as the hand-holding type. “I wasn’t expecting you to be working on this. But … yes, it helps. After Tani was killed, I think I read every paper on pituitary tumors in the Republic Institute.”
“I’m working on justice,” Uthan said. “And I don’t mean the clones’ problem. Palpatine wants to play dirty? Fine.”
Gilamar glanced at the diagram. “You going to explain?”
He was a Mandalorian. He’d understand. He wouldn’t spout some high-minded piety and tell her that brutal vengeance just brought her down to her enemy’s level. He’d want to eliminate future threats.
She liked him a lot.
“I’m working out the fastest way to re-create and manufacture the phase-one FG thirty-six virus,” she said. “And then I’m going to let it lo
ose on Coruscant.”
“Understood,” he said, nodding.
“Of course, once I’ve got a few canisters, I’ll need transport to the Core. It’s a very economical virus. You can accelerate its spread by airborne distribution, or just seed a few carriers and let it progress at its own pace. Incubation period six days or so in humans, infectious for six weeks, designed to work through an entire population and defeat normal quarantine measures. Go on, tell me how clever I am for building such a stealthy pathogen.”
She waited for him to explain why she should just stay home and bide her time, all comforting and sensible. But he just nodded again.
“I’d do the same, I think, except with something that made a lot more noise and flame.” He picked up the datapad and looked as if he was calculating what materials were needed. “It’s a really simple process, then. What did you base the virus on?”
“It’s a modified version of nebellia.”
“That just causes minor respiratory tract problems and diarrhea. It’s not fatal.”
“It is after I’ve done a little nip and tuck on its DNA …”
“Clever girl.”
“All I need is a sample of nebellia and the cell culture to host the virus—preferably Gespelides ectilis—and I can grow industrial quantities of the strain within weeks. Great value, bioweapons—expensive on the R and D side, of course, but dirt cheap on production.”
“You could just propagate monnen spores, of course,” Gilamar said. “Naturally occurring, and patent-free.”
“You know, Mij, I’m not sure if you’re encouraging me, mocking me, or humoring me.”
“I’m just seeing the downside of this, but also wanting you to avenge your world and kick Palps so hard up his shebs that his eyeballs rattle.” Gilamar shut his eyes for a moment. “There’s only so many times I can say how sorry I am. You don’t need to be told how bad it is. I think you’re the kind of woman who needs to get even.”