The doors slid back. Ordo placed his right hand discreetly on the grip of one of his repeating blasters. His attention went instinctively to Vau, then to the strill lying on his lap, and then to the fact that he had a clear shot at both. It took less than a second to process the information and then to subdue the impulse.

Behind Vau's head, the walls of General Zey's meeting room were a beautiful soothing shade of aquamarine, but they weren't working. Skirata wasn't soothed.

And Captain Maze was sitting at the table beside Zey, arms folded across his chest and looking none too impressed, either. There was an ugly purple bruise at the point of his chin, more discoloration around one eye, and a cut on the bridge of his nose.

I didn't think I hit him that hard, Ordo thought. Unfortunate.

Zey motioned Skirata to enter just after the man strode in of his own accord, and indicated chairs at the lapiz-topped table. Bardan Jusik sat beside him, hands clasped on the tabletop in an attempt at serenity.

“Well,” Skirata said, and sat down. He ran his hand across the luxurious polished surface. “This is nice. I hope I never hear anyone complaining about the GAR's expenditure on armor and weapons.”

“Kal,” Vau said politely. “It's good to see you again.”

Vau was settled in one of the deeply upholstered hide chairs with the strill draped across his lap on its back, all six of its legs flopping in an undignified sprawl while he scratched its belly. Its huge fanged mouth was slack, tongue lolling, and a long skein of drool hung almost to the floor. Its body was a meter long, lengthened by a whip of a tail covered in more loose skin.

The strill was still prettier than Vau, though. The man had a long square jawed face that was all bone and frown lines, and graying dark hair cut brutally short. Faces rarely lied about the soul within.

“Walon,” Skirata said, nodding.

Zey gestured to Ordo to sit but he remained standing and simply removed his helmet. He transferred the bead-sized comlink connector to his ear, noting Zey's expression without looking directly at him.

Skirata looked up. “Take a seat, Captain.”

Ordo obeyed only one man's orders, and that man was Kal'buir.

Zey was visibly thrown—again. No doubt all other ARCs and commandos jumped when he said so, but he should have known Ordo by now. Maze certainly did. He was staring at his brother ARC as if one snap of Zey's fingers would give him permission to jump up and return that punch.

“Maze, perhaps you'd like to go and have a break;” Zey said. “This is just going to be a tedious administrative matter.”

Maze paused for one beat, his eyes never leaving Ordo's. “Yes sir.” He grabbed his helmet from the table and left.

Zey waited for the doors to close behind him. “Let's hear your plan, Sergeant.”

“I want to deploy Delta and Omega on Coruscant to identify and neutralize the Sep network here, because it is here,” said Skirata. “It has to be in order to strike us so easily. And CSF doesn't have the expertise or personnel to deal with this, and there might even be someone inside the CSF passing intel to the terrorists.”

Zey's eyes were locked on him. “Commandos are a military asset. Not an intelligence one. Nor police. We have theaters of war across—”

“I wasn't planning to arrest anybody. This is a shoot-to kill policy.”

“I wasn't aware we had one.”

“You haven't, so you'd better get one fast.”

“I can't ask the Senate to authorize use of special forces against Coruscant residents.”

“Don't ask them.” Skirata became pure ice at times like this: Ordo watched him carefully, anxious to learn more nuances of the part of soldiering that required no weapons beyond nerve and psychology. “Is the Jedi Council squeamish about that sort of thing, too?”

“Sergeant …”

“Then don't ask them, either. In fact, we never had this conversation. All you've done is tell me you can't ask the Senate to give its blessing to a change in the GAR'S terms of reference.”

“But I know what you're suggesting,” Zey said.

Skirata was fidgeting with his blade. Ordo could see it: it was a tiny movement, but he could detect the flex of his forearm muscles through his jacket. Skirata had the point of the blade resting on his curled middle finger and was pressing it ever so slightly up and down, a preparation for dropping and catching the grip.

“The Jedi Council is pretty adept at turning blind eyes,” Skirata said. “For an organization that knew it was taking on an army with an assassination capability, you do send out conflicting signals to simple soldiers like me.”

Vau was watching the exchange like a man being mildly amused by a holovid. The strill yawned with a thin, high-pitched whine.

“The difference the Senate will see,” Zey said, “is that this is Coruscant.”

“General, the days when wars were fought elsewhere while the home fires were kept burning are long gone.”

“I know. But there are armies, and there are … bounty hunters and assassins. And the Senate will be wary of crossing that line on home ground.”

“Well, that's what tends to happen when you let a bunch of … bounty hunters and assassins train your army.”

“We didn't know we even had an army until a year ago.”

“Maybe, but the fact that you're sitting here now with a general's rank means you've accepted responsibility for it. You could have objected, collectively or individually. You could have asked questions. But no. You picked up the blaster you found on the floor and you just fired it to defend yourself. Expedience ambushes you in the end.”

“You know what the alternative was.”

“Look, General, I need to clarify a few things, being just a simple assassin and all that. Answer a few questions for me.”

Zey should have been furious that a mere sergeant was treating him as if he were an annoyingly pedantic clerk rather than a battle-hardened general. To his credit, he seemed more intent on a solution. Ordo wondered where expedience ended and pragmatism began.

“Very well,” said Zey.

“Do you want to stop attacks on vulnerable targets that are starting to compromise the ability of the GAR to deploy and are destroying public confidence in the Senate's ability to defend the capital?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it's a good idea for some of our hard-pressed special forces lads to have an unprecedented break on Coruscant after months in the field?”

Zey paused, just a breath. “Yes.”

“Do you need to ask anyone else to authorize that purely administrative matter?”

“No. General Jusik is responsible for personnel welfare.”

Ordo kept his face utterly blank. Leave? There was never any leave for the GAR, or their Jedi command in the front line. Neither would have known what to do with free time anyway.

Jusik looked pinned down. “I do believe some R and R would be a good idea, actually.” Skirata smiled at him with genuine warmth. Jusik was all right, one of the boys, all desperate courage and desire to belong. It was hard to tell if he was now playing the game or just being a decent officer. “I'll look into it.”

“And sir,” Skirata said, “is it true that you knew all along that I was a complete chakaar who could never follow orders, who kept you in the dark, who treated his squads like his own private army, and was generally a Mando lowlife just like Jango and the rest of that mongrel scum?”

Zey leaned back in his seat and pinched the end of his nose briefly, staring hard at the blue stone table.

“I do believe I might realize that at some time in the future, Sergeant.” The corners of his eyes crinkled for the merest fraction of a second, but Ordo spotted it. “I have my suspicions. Proving them is hard, though.”