Star Wars - Republic Commando - Hard Contact

by Karen Traviss

  "The commander's still in one piece?"

  "Well, this bruise is hers. I'm teaching her to fight dirty. She's catching on."

  "Get the kettle boiling, then. We're bringing a guest."

  Darman's faintly impatient expression dwindled below the remote and was replaced by an open view over Imbraani. It wasn't so much a town as a scattering of farms, with a few knots of industrial-looking buildings dotted among them. Atin sent it higher and a few more remote buildings were visible.

  "Take it in over the villa," Niner said.

  "Open country, Sarge. Bit risky."

  "I think we've lost the element of surprise."

  "Okay. Long lens, though."

  "What you doing?" Guta-Nay asked. To him, they were traveling in silence. He couldn't hear the conversations going on between helmet comlinks. Niner switched channels with a couple of deliberate blinks.

  "Taking a look at that villa."

  "I know about villa."

  "We all know about the villa."

  Niner would have welcomed a visit from Jinart. They hadn't seen the shapeshifter since yesterday. She could have been anywhere, of course, but she hadn't made herself visible. He hoped she hadn't run into problems.

  Five minutes now. No time at all. They'd be a squad again, and they'd have a commander. They'd be at the RV, and then they could rest up, eat, have a wash, and generally clear their heads. It began to feel like good news.

  There was just the matter of taking Uthan and the nano­virus, then getting out in one piece.

  Etain had almost grown used to thinking of Darman's ar­mored anonymity as a friendly face. Then three more exactly like him emerged from the trees and disturbed that fragile equilibrium.

  And then they took their helmets off.

  It was rude, she knew, but all she could do was stare, and she found herself slowly putting her hand to her mouth in an attempt to disguise her shock.

  "Yes, sorry about the Weequay, Commander," one of them said. He had Darman's voice and Darman's face. "He's a bit ripe, I know. We'll have him clean himself up."

  They were utterly identical, except for one with a terrible scar across his face. The other two seemed like different moods of the same man, one serious, one pleasantly calm and unconcerned. They were all staring at her.

  "I can't tell you apart," she said.

  "I'm CC—"

  "No, you have proper names. I know you have names."

  "It's—it's not policy, Commander."

  Darman lowered his eyes. "It's a private thing."

  "Everyone calls me Fi," said the calm one, clearly not bothered by policy. "And this is Atin."

  "Niner," the serious one said, and saluted. Etain couldn't sense a great deal from either of them, but the scarred Atin exuded a sense of loss that was almost solid. She could feel its weight. She tried to concentrate on the Weequay. She didn't need to tap into the Force to tell that he was terrified. He was bent over as if about to drop to his knees, staring up at her.

  Weequay didn't all look the same. She knew this one. He had chased her across a barq field. He was a rapist and a mur­derer, not that the descriptions set him apart from any other of Hokan's thugs. She reached for her lightsaber.

  "Whoa," Darman said.

  "Girlie?" Guta-Nay said.

  "I'll give you girlie," she said, but Darman caught her arm and she was instantly ashamed of her reaction. Again, it was

  anger. It was what stood between her and making sense of her calling. She had to get the better of it. If Darman could exercise force without venom, then so could she.

  "What's he here for?" she asked, thumbing off the blade.

  "We thought he might have useful information," Niner said.

  Etain was desperate to be useful. She felt as if she were only capable of performing conjuring tricks: enough skills to distract, but not enough to be a functioning soldier. She also wanted Darman to stop treating her as if she were merely in need of a little more instruction. She wanted him to tell her how much he despised all that potential power wasted on a girl with no discipline or focus. He wasn't stupid. He had to be thinking that.

  "What do we need to know, Niner?"

  "How Hokan thinks, Commander."

  "Give me some time with him."

  Guta-Nay straightened up and took one step back, shaking his head. He was expecting Hokan-style treatment.

  Fi chuckled. "Guta-Nay thinks you're going to cut off his ... er, braids, ma'am."

  Braids. She'd forgotten. She pulled a section of hair free of her collar, plaited it as fast as she could, and fumbled in her pocket for a piece of cord to fasten it. This is what you are. Live up to it, if only to justify Darman's faith in you.

  "We're going to have a little chat," she said. She let her braid fall back inside her collar. "Sit down ... Guta-Nay."

  It wasn't easy for him to settle down on the ground with his hands still tied, but Etain wasn't taking any chances. He knelt and then fell sideways in an undignified sprawl. She hauled him into a sitting position and they sat outside the shelter in silence. She wanted him to calm down before she attempted to influence him.

  A sudden clack of armor made her glance over her shoul­der, and she was astonished to see Atin giving Darman an awkward hug, slapping him on the back. She caught Dar­man's eye: he looked bewildered.

  Whatever had given Atin his huge emotional burden had

  been slightly relieved by rinding Darman well. Then the two men parted as if nothing in particular had happened. Etain turned back to Guta-Nay, suddenly very aware that for all their calm manner and unnatural appearance, these soldiers were every bit as painfully human as she was.

  Bred to fight.

  A new doubt was growing in her. She shook it off and turned to Guta-Nay, who wouldn't meet her eyes.

  "You're not afraid," she said quietly, and visualized the gentle trickle of water from the fountain of her clan home on Coruscant. "You're relaxed and you want to talk about Ghez Hokan."

  He certainly did.

  "Haven't seen Jinart?" Darman said.

  "Not since yesterday." Niner cleaned his armor. It didn't matter how visible they were now, and he hated scruffy rig. Darman had stripped down his Deece and was wiping the ig­nition chamber more than it needed it. Fi wandered around the temporary camp, cradling his rifle, keeping watch.

  "Well, whether she's here or not, I think we go in sooner rather than later."

  "The villa or the facility?"

  "Latest intel we have from Jinart indicates the villa."

  "But..."

  "Yeah, but. I'd find it hard to walk away from a place I could defend, too. That villa's nothing but firewood." He put down the shoulder plate he was cleaning. "Show me that plan again."

  Darman clipped the DC-17 back together and reached into his belt for the holochart sphere. "She did okay to get this."

  "Our commander? Jinart seemed dismissive of her."

  "C'mon, Niner. She's a Jedi. She's an officer."

  "Well? What do you think?"

  Darman rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She's got a lot of fight in her."

  "And?"

  "She's ... well, she's not exactly Skirata. But she's learn­ing fast. And you should see the Jedi stuff she can do. There's more to it than just the fighting skills."

  Niner occasionally had his doubts about nonclone offi­cers. They all did. They never admitted it publicly, but Ski­rata had warned them, quietly, privately, that outside officers sometimes needed help, and while you always obeyed or­ders, you needed to be able to make helpful interpretations if the officer was less than specific. Officers could unintention­ally get you killed.

  "Nobody's Skirata," Niner said. He was watching the com­mander discreetly. Whatever she had done to Guta-Nay had transformed him into a true conversationalist. She was actu­ally looking bored, as if she'd been cornered by someone who really, really wanted to explain every engineering detail of a repeating blaster.

  "You have to admit that's quite a skill
," Darman said.

  Niner tried not to think about it. It made him uneasy, not knowing how many of his actions were his own choice. He didn't like the other conflicts she created in him, either. He had never been this close to a human female before, and he was relieved that she was emaciated, unkempt, and gener­ally less than appealing. The proximity still made him feel edgy, though, and from the way Darman was looking at him, it seemed they shared the realization.

  They both watched Guta-Nay unburdening himself to the commander until she seemed to tire of it and got up from her cross-legged position. She walked over and looked at both of them uncertainly.

  "I'm sorry, Darman," she said to Niner. Then she gave an embarrassed shrug. "Sorry. Of course—you're Niner. I got a little detail out of him, but he isn't the analytical type, I'm afraid. I can tell you that Hokan carries a Verpine shatter gun and a custom KYD-twenty-one blaster. He's got a lot of Trandoshan equipment, and as far as any of the militia knew, there were no more than a hundred battle droids at the garri­son. Hokan is also apparently something of a game player-he likes to bluff and double-bluff."

  Niner considered the information. "That's useful, Com­mander. Thank you."

  "I was going to see if I could summon Jinart. She could i probably see what's happening down there at the villa."

  "Can you do that?" Darman asked.

  "I can sense her, when she wants me to. I'll see if she can sense me." She stared down at her boots. "And please don't call me Commander. I haven't earned the rank. Until I do— if I ever do—I'm Etain. Darman knows that, don't you, Dar­man?"

  He nodded. Niner didn't feel comfortable with that. He liked to know who stood where in the hierarchy of things. "Whatever you say. Can I ask you a question?"

  "Certainly."

  "Why did you say of course you 're Niner?"

  She paused. "You feel different. All of you. You might look the same, but you're not. I don't normally identify indi­viduals by their effect on the Force, but I can if I concen­trate."

  "We seem different to you?"

  "You know you are, surely. You know you're Niner and he knows he's Darman. You're as self-aware as I am, as any other human."

  "Yes, but..."

  "All beings are individuals, and their essence in the Force reflects that. The act of living makes us different, and in that way you're like twins, only more so. Atin's very different. What happened to him to make him so burdened?"

  The answer stunned Niner. He was used to being a prod­uct. His squad and his sergeant had treated him like a man, but the Kaminoans certainly hadn't. This was the first time that a Jedi, a commander, had confirmed the clone comman­dos' intensely private suspicion that they were no less than normal men. It was no longer a secret dissent that had to be hidden.

  "Atin was the only survivor of his first squad, then he was reassigned and lost all three brothers in action again," Niner said. "He feels guilty."

  "Poor man," she said. "Does he talk about it?"

  "Not much."

  "Perhaps I could help him see he has nothing to feel guilty about. Just a little encouragement. Nothing like the influence I used on the Weequay, I promise."

  "That's kind of you."

  "We have to look out for each other."

  Right then Niner didn't care if she had less idea of guer­rilla warfare than a mott. She possessed one fundamental el­ement of leadership that you couldn't teach in a lifetime: she cared about those she led.

  She had earned her rank on the strength of that alone.

  "Contact, five hundred meters," Fi said.

  The squad abandoned their impromptu meal of stewed dried meat and put their helmets back on. Etain was again surprised at how fast they moved. They were lying prone in the undergrowth, rifles trained, in the time it took her to turn and check where the Weequay was.

  You 're not going to make a sound, Guta-Nay. You want to be totally silent.

  He was. But she felt what was approaching. She scram­bled into the bushes on her hands and knees and leaned close to Darman. "It's Jinart," she said. "Relax."

  Darman, Fi, and Atin sat back on their heels. Niner stayed prone, still lined up on his sights, and held his hand away from the trigger in a conspicuous gesture.

  "Niner likes to be sure," Darman said. "No offense."

  The grass shook visibly, and then a living oil slick flowed past the kneeling commandos. It seemed to be carrying something horrific in its black swirls. The slick resolved it­self into Jinart's natural form, and she had a huge lump of raw meat in her jaws. She laid it on the ground.

  "I gave you plenty of warning," Jinart said, staring at Niner. She sniffed the air and appeared to follow an invisible beacon with her long snout. Her gaze settled on Guta-Nay, dozing against a tree, bound hands in his lap. "What pos­sessed you to collect that souvenir?"

  "We thought he might come in handy," Fi repeated.

  "You can't even eat Weequays," Jinart said, and metamor­phosed into her human form. "Better not let the creature see me for what I am, just in case. Have you eaten? Would you like some merlie?"

  Fi took his helmet off and grinned. "We've got time for that, have we?"

  "You might as well fight on a full stomach," Jinart said. "You have a tough job on your hands."

  Fi picked up the leg of merlie and rinsed it with water from his bottle. "Dar, you got any of that dried fruit left?" He ejected the vibroblade from his knuckle plate and began cut­ting the leg into chunks. Etain wondered how he had devel­oped his relentless good humor; she couldn't imagine him shooting anyone. One thing she had discovered in the last few days was that professional soldiers were neither habitu­ally angry nor violent.

  They didn't even talk tough. They were a mass of contradic­tions. They washed their clothing and they shaved and cooked and generally conducted themselves like well-behaved, well-educated Padawans. Then they went out and blew up instal­lations and killed total strangers and cracked bad jokes. Etain was getting used to it, but slowly.

  While Atin kept an eye on Guta-Nay, the rest of them sat listening to Jinart in the shelter.

  "I have been observing," she said. "Hokan has made much of reinforcing the Neimoidian villa under strict security, and he does indeed have most of his hundred droids there. The whole building is packed with explosives, most of them in the wine cellars. But he has also moved Uthan back to the in­stallation."

  "Our fragrant Weequay friend was right about the double bluff, then," Etain said.

  Niner shrugged. "It's what I'd do. Defend the strongest po­sition."

  "So we go for the installation, then," she said.

  "We'll have to deal with both targets. They're only two or three kilometers apart. Once we start on the main facility, the

  droids from the villa will pop over for a visit in a matter of minutes."

  Etain rubbed her forehead. "If they followed the plans when they built the facility, then the only way in will proba­bly be through the front door."

  Darman shrugged. "We can make our own doors. That's what frame charges and water cuts are for."

  "Sorry?"

  "We blow holes in the walls. But I'd rather avoid that if we're dealing with hazardous materials. Don't want to break any bottles, I reckon."

  "There isn't even a fire exit. One door, no windows, no large ventilation shafts."

  "Doesn't look like anyone enforces building regulations around here." Darman shrugged. "Front door, walls, or drains. Walls would be best, but how we can get into position unno­ticed is another matter."

  Niner looked at Darman as if waiting for a suggestion. "A split attack could divert them if it's noisy enough."

  "Well, if Hokan's been kind enough to load up the villa with things that go bang, it would be a shame for them to go to waste." Darman studied the holochart plan of the villa. "They won't fall for a droid bomb again, but we do have a lot of explosives we could introduce to the mix."

  "You make it sound as if it's going to be relatively easy," Etain said.


  "No, it's going to be hard. But that's what we're trained for."

  "I'd rather have you effecting rapid entry to the main facil­ity," Niner said.

  "But we should place our own explosives inside the villa, in the cellars if we can," Darman said. "A high-energy explo­sion will set off the rest of their charges. If we can place one, it'll direct the blast upward, and if the droids are on top of the pile, it'll solve that problem, too."

  "Okay, in real terms, there's a layer of solid droid on top of the cellars. Can't free-fall in. So it's through the front

  door, the wall, or the drains. And the drains look like thirty-centimeter diameter."

  "Bore-bangs?" Fi said.

  "They won't drill far enough into the ground to penetrate the cellars, and they're not powerful enough anyway." Dar­man's gaze was fixed on the holographic plan. "Although they might be if Atin modified them and packed in a bit of the thermal tape. I was saving it for the blast doors in the fa­cility, but I could spare a meter. That'd be ample."

  "How about a remote?" Atin said. "If we can direct it into the building, that is. If you took out the recording compo­nents, you could pack in the thermal tape—about a couple of meters, easily."

  "They'll be able to spot anything that's flying."

  Jinart, in aged crone mode, looked from face to identical face. "What size is this device?"

  Darman formed a fist. "About this big. I'll show you one."

  "I could carry that to the villa, right to the walls, if you can direct it from there."

  Niner pointed into the shimmering image of the building. "Down the roof vent, which would put it in the main hall run­ning front to back."

  "Or maybe along the main drain from this culvert about two hundred meters behind the house. I like that better."

  Etain joined in the communal ritual of staring at the holo­graphic display as if an answer would eventually emerge on its own. "The only point in blowing up the villa is if you could hit as many droids with it as possible."

  "Then we have to convince them we're going all out for the villa," Niner said. "That means a feint of some sort, which would be fine if we had more men. But we don't."

  Then Etain did have an idea, and it was one that she wasn't proud of.