Sev yelped. The joint made a wet shhhlick sound as it slipped back into the socket.

“Sorry, ner vod.” Fi folded Sev's arm back against his chest and held it there while he struggled to get the sleeve section reattached. He could almost feel the torn ligaments and muscle fibers screaming. Sev's face was white, his lips compressed. “Nothing worse than bracing for it, though.”

“For a moron, you're not a bad medic!”

“Kal said that if we could take a body apart, we ought to learn a bit more about putting it back together again if we needed to.”

“Fi, I have to be fit to fight.”

“Okay, okay. Bacta and ice packs. Right as rain in no time.”

“Vau'll kill me.”

“Look, what is this thing with Vau?” Fi pulled Sev out into the walkway again, and they jogged back to the speeder they'd left a block away. “I know he had a reputation for beating the stuffing out of trainees, but why are you ready to gut Atin?”

“Atin's sworn he'll kill Vau.”

Fi almost stopped dead. “Atin? Old don't-interrupt-me-I'm-working-on-a-really-interesting-circuit? Our At'ika?”

“Seriously?” Sev asked.

“Yeah, sometimes I get serious. It happens?”

“Okay. Atin's pod was the only one that ever lost men!”

“Geonosis. Ruined Vau's clean record?”

“It's not that simple. Atin was doing that survivor guilt thing when he got back, and Vau just focused him a bit.”

Odd: Skirata hadn't been around when Fi returned from Geonosis. But he'd worry about that later. “That explains the scar on his face.”

“You got it.”

“Doesn't explain the rest of the scars he was showing you.”

“You ask him about that.”

Sev was as near to scared as Fi had seen him. He couldn't imagine being afraid of Skirata. The man might have sworn himself to a standstill when he was angry, but nobody in Skirata's company ever felt they had to fear him. He was Kal'buir: he lavished ferocious care on his commandos to the exclusion of all else.

But Sev didn't want Vau to know that he'd injured himself doing something reckless. Whatever the reason, Fi owed his brother some support.

“Okay, we don't mention the shoulder?” Fi started up the speeder. “We'll get it sorted ourselves. Bard'ika can do that Force healing if the bacta doesn't do the trick. But Vau needn't know.”

For the first time since he'd met the man, Sev softened visibly.

“Thanks, ner vod,” he said. “I owe you.”

17

So you want a knife, a nice sharp knife. You hone that blade to its limits. It even cuts through stone when you want it to. It saves your life. And then you're outraged when it cuts you accidentally. You see, knives don't switch off. And neither do people, not when you hone them to a fine edge.

–Sergeant Kal Skirata to General Arligan Zey, on the nature of training

Operational house, Qibbu's Hut, 0115 hours, 385 days after Geonosis

The Gurlanin opened its eyes, panting.

Etain couldn't tell one Gurlanin from another unless they allowed her to. They could shut out her Force-senses just as easily as they could reach out to her. She could detect nothing from the creature: no sense of identity, no emotion, and no purpose.

And then the air around her came to life with a shuddering sense of past, of long memory, and of betrayal.

“Girl,” it said in a familiar liquid voice. “Can you do nothing right?”

“I … I know you,” Etain said.

“Several of you know me.” The creature lifted its head and tried to rise, but sank back down again. “Darman, is Atin well?”

“Fierfek.” Darman edged forward and knelt down by the head of someone who had carried out vital intelligence work for the squad on Qiilura. Etain could see the pain on his face. Niner caught her eye and simply looked resigned, as if he expected everyone to betray them in the end. “Jinart?”

“Yes. I expect we all look the same to clones.”

Darman almost grinned but appeared to stop himself. “Atin's fine.”

Ordo cut in. “Just explain why you think killing my brothers is going to help Qiilura.”

Jinart focused wild orange eyes on Etain and struggled into a sitting position, flanks heaving. Etain could sense her fully now, bitter and determined, calling out to the void with her mind: she was probably reaching telepathically to her consort Valaqil, once General Zey's agent both on Coruscant and Qiilura. Skirata had his right arm across his body, almost but not completely casual, clearly ready to reach for his Verpine and take a shot if Jinart moved.

“You think I am giving the Separatists information.”

Ordo stepped in and Darman got out of his way. “I'm inclined to think that anyone who bothers to shapeshift into Vinna Jiss might do that, yes.”

“She disappeared, like she often did. I simply adopted her form to move around unnoticed.”

“I noticed. We'd already executed her.”

“Then I made an error in taking her form.”

“Too right you did. Now, what's your problem with the Grand Army? Why not target politicians? You could walk in anywhere—even the Senate chamber itself.”

“You assume too much. Are you one of the renegade clones that Zey so dreads?”

“That's me,” Ordo said.

“I am not the one leaking information to the Separatists. And I am not targeting anyone.”

“Are you still working for General Zey?” Etain asked.

“No. My people no longer serve the Republic—if we ever served you at all. We had an agreement. You broke it.”

“But—”

“We had an agreement, Jedi. You said you would give us back our world and stop the farmers from destroying us.”

“In the middle of a war?”

“We served you in the middle of a war! When my people were dying of starvation, when our prey was being driven away by the colonists, we kept our bargain. And all you did—you, Jedi, you and Zey—was make them better able to fight and hold their land.”

Etain didn't look at Darman. She didn't want to provoke him into defending her or—more probably—catch a hint that he might agree with Jinart.

She thought that all she had done was to ensure the farmers were a guerrrilla force able to resist the Separatists, but the native Gurlanins didn't see it that way.

“We'll root out the informants sooner or later,” Ordo said. “You can cooperate or not, but I might as well execute you now if you're not going to be useful. We can't handle any more prisoners.”

It was always hard to tell if Ordo was playing the interrogation game or simply stating his intentions. Judging by Skirata's quick glance at him, it was the latter. He motioned Etain to stand clear and charged up the Verpine.

“I can identify the informants for you,” Jinart said calmly.

Ordo simply held the muzzle to Jinart's head. Etain looked to Jusik, and then to Darman and Niner and Vau, but they were all simply watching impassively. Corr was engrossed in the holochart, still logging movements. Wennen sat in the chair, her hand to her brow as if shielding her eyes, but nobody was making any attempt to intervene. Etain's gut said it was wrong.

But she did nothing.

“You're bargaining,” Ordo said. “I'll kill you anyway.”

“You're the one who needs to bargain. This isn't about my life.”

“Game's over.” Ordo held the Verpine steady. Etain waited, torn by indecision. She could stop Ordo for a fraction of a second—

“Remove your forces and the colonists from my world and I will identify the Separatists for you.”

Ordo—unblinking, passionless—lined the muzzle up about level where a normal animal's ear might be. “You haven’t told me why you were mimicking Jiss. That actually interests me more.”