"How about sending Hokan a direct message?" she said. "What if Guta-Nay were to escape and tell him we were planning to attack the villa?"
"But he knows there are only four of us," Darman said. "Sorry, five."
"Six," Jinart said sourly.
"We could convince the Weequay that we have another squad or two in the area," Etain said. "At this point, he'll believe anything I tell him. But I'll be sending him to his death."
Fi nodded. "Yeah, if Hokan skewers him without waiting to hear what he's got to say, we're stuffed."
He was cheerfully, benignly callous. Etain was briefly appalled before letting the reality wash over her. Given the chance, Guta-Nay would have abused and killed her without a second thought. Aside from that, the squad's target was effectively a weapons factory, a weapon that would kill millions of men just like Niner, Fi, and Atin. And Darman. If they didn't kill, they would be killed.
It didn't take her long to move from her reverence for all living things to thinking waste the Weequay. She wondered if that was the true nature of corruption.
"I'll do my best to give him a good opening line," Etain said.
"He's scum," Jinart said suddenly. "If his death can help remove the Trade Federation and all their minions from my world, then it is a cheap price to pay."
My world? Etain obviously had the same thought as the commandos, because they all reacted, looking at the shape-shifter expectantly.
"We didn't realize this was your homeworld," Niner said.
"It is," Jinart said. "I'm among the last of my kind. Various invaders have driven us from our habitat without even seeing us—and now I doubt they would have done any differently had they known we were here. Yes, we'll help you rid this world of Neimoidians and every other hostile alien species that's here. That's our bargain with the Republic. You help us; we help you. That's why we risk our lives. It is not for the greater glory of your cause."
"Nobody told us," Etain said. "I'm sorry. I can't speak for the Republic, but we'll do our best to see that they keep their word."
"Mark that you do," Jinart said. She indicated the com-
mandos with a swing of her fine black head. "Like your young friends here, we are few, but we have no problem inflicting a great deal of damage."
Etain could only nod. At least Jinart was brutally honest. Perhaps telepaths, deprived of secret thought, had no other style of interaction. The creature was staring at her, all unblinking orange eyes, and she could see for the first time that the four fangs protruding over the Gurlanin's lower lip each ended in a double point.
"I'll place scent marks around this camp," Jinart said stiffly. "The gdans won't bother you tonight." She slipped away and merged with the land, leaving a trail of rustling noises as she moved through the bushes.
"Okay, let's see what Guta-Nay can manage," Niner said. "If we don't see signs of movement toward the villa by midday tomorrow, we'll go in anyway, and that'll mean splitting the squad and taking both groups of droids. We really don't want to do that if we can help it."
"This has the makings of a diverting evening," Fi said. "Anyone for supper?"
It was an elaborate charade, and the bizarre thing was that it needed no rehearsal. Guta-Nay was entirely unquestioning: Etain had begun to see him as a monstrous and sadistic child, unable to comprehend the feelings of others, or control his own. They sat around and ate the merlie stewed with dried kuvara, talking about leaving enough for the "other squad" when it showed up. They discussed in hushed tones about how "the villa" was their target. If this was the misinformation game, it was an easy one.
Even so, Etain definitely didn't feel proud of her subterfuge when she cut the ties around the Weequay's wrists, ostensibly an act of kindness so that he could eat. It was designed to send him to his death. At least she felt some relief that as soon as it was dark, and they made a show of turning their backs on him and being preoccupied, Guta-Nay would try to escape, and vindicate Jinart's judgment that he was scum.
The decision still sat heavy on her.
Fi and Darman were asleep, judging by the position of their heads. It was impossible to tell with their helmets on, but they were sitting against a tree, chins resting on their breastplates and arms folded over the rifles clutched to their chests. She had no doubt that if she walked over to them, they'd wake and be on their feet in a second.
She glanced up. Niner was on watch, perched in the fork of a tree with one leg dangling, occasionally peering down his rifle scope at something.
"What can he see?" she asked.
Atin, cross-legged with an array of wires and detonators spread around him, looked up. He'd taken off the armor section that protected his backside and was using it as a convenient plate for components while he worked.
"Line of sight? Up to thirty kilometers in good viz. Connected to a remote ship system? Well, you name it, Com— sorry, Etain." He pointed to his rifle, and then went on packing tight-coiled black and white ribbons of explosive into the remote. "Have a look through the Deece. Safety's on, but don't press anything."
Etain shouldered the rifle. It was a lot lighter than it looked, and the view through the scope was startlingly vivid despite the failing light. She found it difficult to shut out the display that was superimposed on her field of vision. It narrowed the view to a tight focus on the target. "Is this what you see through that visor?"
"Sort of."
"Can I try the helmet? I want to know what it's like to be inside it."
Atin gave her a dubious look and shrugged. "You won't get all the readouts without the rest of the armor system, but you'll see enough. It's top shelf. They upgraded it just for this mission."
She lifted the helmet and held it above her head, a bizarre coronation. As she lowered it into place, the feeling of confinement and stifling heat almost made her nauseous, but she steeled herself to tolerate it.
"Hot," she said.
"It's fine when it's sealed to the rest of the suit," Atin said. He got to his feet and loomed in her field of vision. "See the red light in the top corner?"
"Mm."
"Look at it and blink twice, fast."
She did. It unleashed chaos. All she could see now was a riot of lines and numbers and flashing symbols. She was aware of a normal view beyond it, but the rest of the data dancing before her eyes was overwhelming.
"That's the HUD," Atin said. "Heads-up display. Real life-saver. The proverbial eyes in your backside."
"It's distracting. How do you cope with it?"
"You get used to it fast. We've used these systems all our lives. You can filter the information out, like listening to a conversation in a crowd."
Etain lifted the helmet off and inhaled cool evening air. "And you can communicate without any audible sound outside the helmet?"
"Yes, and even without Command and Control hearing us on certain frequencies. I don't think ordinary troopers can do that, but we're different."
"Separate specialized training?"
"They're trained from day one to be more obedient than us. And we're more obedient than ARC troopers. They're pretty well raw Jango."
He was talking about himself as if he were a commodity. Etain found it uncomfortable: yes, these young men were odd because they were externally identical, but they were still individual men, and not exotic houseplants or strains of grain. She understood that the Republic faced desperate times. She just wondered how many desperate measures that could justify. Somehow it seemed an affront to the Force to do this to fellow humans, even if they seemed remarkably sanguine about it.
She handed him back his helmet. "We use you, don't we, Atin? All of you."
"No soldier has it easy." He fumbled with a length of wire, clearly embarrassed, brow furrowed in mock concentration.
The fresh scar from cheek to chin was all the more shocking etched into fresh young skin, and not a battle-hardened, wrinkled face that indicated a full life. "But I like this job. What else would I do?"
It was a painfully good question. What would any of them do if they were discharged from the Grand Army? She reached out and squeezed his arm instinctively, but all she grasped was plastoid-alloy plate.
"I know what happened to you," she said. She concentrated, a precision job: just enough to influence him to see what was true and reasonable, but not to make mockery of his natural grief. "What happened to your brothers wasn't your fault. You're a good soldier. Sometimes the odds are too far against you."
He stared down at his boots. Eventually, he looked up and shrugged. "I'll do my best to make sure this bunch stays alive, then." There was little indication on his face that the gentle push toward acceptance had worked, but Etain felt less of a jagged tear in the Force around him. He might heal, in time.
And time was something none of the clone commandos would have. It made her ashamed.
"Can I help with anything?" Etain said.
"You could help me put some remote dets into these. I told Dar I'd finish them for him." Atin indicated small packs of mining explosive, and handed her something that looked like a packet of steel toothpicks. "Slide these between the ribbon and the main charge. Makes any party go off with a bigger bang."
"What are they?"
"IEDs," he said. "Great for planting down drainage systems and air-conditioning ducts."
"Not more acronyms."
"Improvised explosive devices. Be sure you make them look neat. Dar's fussy about his devices."
It was a relatively simple but fiddly task: Etain was a quick learner. They sat in silent concentration, making bombs as casually as if they were shelling qana beans. This is how it
happens, she thought. This is how you slide from peacekeeper to soldier to assassin.
"Can I ask you a favor?" Atin said, not looking up from the bomb in progress.
"Of course."
"May I look at your lightsaber?"
Etain smiled. "Well, you've shown me yours, so it's only fair I should show you mine." She took out the hilt and held it up to him. He wiped his palms on his bodysuit and took the saber carefully. "That's the dangerous end, and this is the control."
He showed no inclination to activate it. He seemed absorbed by the hilt and its markings.
"Go on," Etain said.
The lightsaber flared into blue light with a vzzmmm. Atin didn't even flinch. He simply stared down the length of the blade and seemed to be checking it for true.
"It doesn't feel like a weapon," he said. "It's a beautiful thing."
"I made it."
That changed his expression. She had struck a chord with him, one builder of gadgets to another. "Now that is impressive."
Etain enjoyed the respect. Being treated with deference as an officer made her squirm, but this felt good. So I think I'm pretty good at something. And someone else thinks I'm good at it, too. It was a boost that she sorely needed.
Atin thumbed off the blade and handed the hilt back to her with suitable reverence. "I'd still rather have plenty of distance between me and the enemy," he said. "This is a close-in weapon."
"Maybe I need to practice my more remote skills," Etain said. "You never know when telekinesis might come in handy."
They went on bundling explosives with ribbon charges and stacking the packages in a heap. She heard and felt Darman relieve Niner on watch: their respective presences
ebbed and flowed, merging at one point as they crossed paths.
Through the night Etain alternated between dozing and checking on Guta-Nay. She was careful not to give him the idea that she was watching him, and instead concentrated on sensing whether he was still there, sitting in the lee of a tree with his knees drawn up to his chest. Sometimes he slept; she could feel the absence of mental activity, almost like sensing a plant. Other times he woke and felt more vivid and chaotic, like a predator.
It was getting light again. It had been a long and restless night.
And still Guta-Nay sat there. He'd made no attempt to escape.
Of course he won't. Etain felt her stomach knotting. He's terrified of Hokan. He wants to stay with us. We 're the good guys, the civilized guys.
Once again she was horrified by her ruthless and almost involuntary calculation of benefit against evil. She wandered past the shelter made of leaves, tarpaulin, and a camouflage net that seemed to be handmade. Niner, now clearly asleep, still wearing full armor, was curled up on his side, one arm folded under his head. Atin was reading his datapad; Fi was finishing the cold remains of the merlie stew. He glanced up at her and held out the mess tin.
"I'll pass, thanks." Fat had congealed in unappetizing yellow globules on the surface. It seemed soldiers could sleep anywhere and eat anything.
This couldn't be a moral dilemma. It was obvious. These men had become her responsibility, both as an individual and as a Jedi: she owed it to them to see that they survived. She liked them. She cared what happened to them, and she wanted to see Atin live long enough to overcome his demons.
And she could do something that even they couldn't.
"Guta-Nay," she said, putting her hand on the Weequay's shoulder. He opened his eyes. "Guta-Nay, you're not afraid. You want to go to Ghez Hokan and tell him what you
know. You want to offer him information about the Republic forces in exchange for your life. You want to tell him that they plan to attack the villa because they think the forces at the facility are a decoy."
Guta-Nay stared past her for a moment, and then stood up. He picked his way through the bushes and headed east toward Imbraani.
Etain knew she had now taken a second life.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes screwed shut, and wondered what had happened to her, what Master Fulier would have thought had he been alive. Then she was aware of someone watching her.
She looked up. Darman, perched in the same fork of branches as Niner had been, stared down.
"It's hard to send someone to their death," she said, answering his silent question.
His expression was hidden behind the visor of his helmet. She didn't need to call on any of her abilities as a Jedi to know what he was thinking: one day she would do the same to men like him. The realization caught her unawares.
"You'll get used to it," he said.
She doubted it.
14
There is nothing wrong with fear. You need never be ashamed of it, as long as it doesn't stop you functioning. Fear is your natural warning system; it keeps you alive so that you can fight. Show me a man who isn't afraid, and I'll show you a fool who is a danger to his entire ship.
And I do not tolerate fools in my navy.
—Admiral Adar Tallon, addressing the new intake at a
Republic academy
Hokan stood on the veranda of Ankkit's villa and stared out at a bright autumnal morning. There were still too many leaves on the trees for his liking.
They were out there somewhere. Republic forces. A handful.
But they were not an army.
He walked to Uthan's laboratory complex, a comfortable fifteen-minute stroll. It occurred to him that he was a good target for a sniper, if a sniper had been able to penetrate Mandalorian armor. Even so, he decided to divert via a coppice. His path took him along a dry-stone wall to the rear of the installation, and he made a complete circle of the farm building before walking up to the single entrance at the front.
As a lure, this was a good one. The line of droids across the entrance was spectacular. Hokan made a point of inspecting them at a leisurely pace and then engaged them in conversation about their cannons. If anyone was observing—soldier, spy, or talkative farmer—they would get the message.
Inside, though, Dr. Uthan was losing her glamorous cool.
"Is this the last time you're going to move me?" she said, tapping her nails against the polished metal of her desk. Her files and equipment were still in packing crates. "My staff members are finding this extremely stressful, as am I."
Hokan took out his data
pad and projected a holochart of the installation above the surface of the desk. The place was a cube within a cube: below ground level, the accommodations, storage, and offices lay in a ring around a central core. The core contained a square of eight small laboratories with one more—the secure room—nestled in the center. The rest of the complex had bulkheads that could be brought down and sealed to isolate a biohazard escape. It could be defended.
But it wouldn't come to that. He'd laid a careful trail to Ankkit's villa and a greeting from fifty droids, along with cannons and powerful explosives.
He wanted to get it over with.
"Yes, Doctor, this is the last time I'll move you," he said. "Try to understand why I've done this, Doctor. I believe I'm facing a small commando force. Rather than chase them, which could be diversionary, I've decided to bring them to me. This means they'll be facing a conventional infantry and artillery battle that I don't think they're equipped to fight. Those are battles of numbers."
"I'm not sure if I do see your point, actually."
"We can defend this installation. I have the numbers and the firepower. Sooner or later, they'll take casualties."
"You're certain about this?"
"Not certain, but everything I see suggests they have landed a minimal amount of troops—for example, no evidence of large-scale transport. They hijacked explosives from a quarry to destroy the Teklet ground station. If they had the materiel, they wouldn't have bothered."
"And then again, maybe that's a diversionary tactic, too."
Hokan looked up from the holochart. "Nobody has perfect knowledge in battle. No plan survives contact with the
enemy. Yes, I'm making an educated guess, as every commander in history has had to do."
Uthan considered him with cold black eyes. "You should have evacuated my project from the planet."
Hokan folded his arms. "When you move, you're vulnerable. You're vulnerable crossing the countryside between here and the spaceport. You're even more vulnerable attempting to leave Qiilura with a Republic assault ship on station. And now we have no communications beyond runners, and a bunch of droids relaying messages. No, we sit tight."
Star Wars - Republic Commando - Hard Contact Page 20
