Jusik mouthed Captain Maze at her.

She waited. Ordo grunted. “I'll stand by.” He shook his head and turned to her. “What's wrong?”

“Ordo, I owe you an apology. I was wrong to use the check command and you're right to be angry with me.”

He just nodded. It still surprised her that a man who was physically identical to Darman could somehow look so different.

“I realize you had a bad deal, Ordo.”

“On Kamino?”

“Even now, I think.”

Ordo blinked a couple of times as if she wasn't making sense. She had no idea where his mind ranged in those split seconds other than that he felt like a flurry of activity in the Force.

“I didn't have a mother or a father, but a stranger willingly chose me to be his son. You had a mother and father, and they let strangers take you. No, General, don't pity me. You're the one who's had the worse deal.”

It was shocking and it was true. The extraordinary clarity of his assessment hit her so hard that she almost gasped. It told her things she didn't want to know about herself. None of them changed her intentions. But she knew her motives better now, uncomfortable as they were.

She wondered if her real parents ever thought of her.

She would never know.

18

Withdraw from Qiilura? If that's what it takes to keep the Gurlanins from turning on us, it's a price we were going to pay anyway. We're too thinly stretched to maintain the garrison, and the Senate has no interest on continuing to support a mere two hundred thousand farmers on a backworld. Let me talk to Jinart and reassure her. The damage her people can do is enormous– far beyond the scope of one anti-terror operation. And we need them on our side.

–General Arligan Zey, to General Iri Camas and the chair of the Senate Committee on Refugees

The Kragget all-day restaurant, lower levels, Coruscant, 0755 hours, 385 days after Geonosis

Jinartthe Gurlanin had kept her word and provided the information she had promised—and no more. Zey appeared to have kept his. The sleek black predator had slipped out into the Coruscant night and vanished.

But Skirata would always feel that she was standing right next to him in some guise or another. Like the Jedi, her hypernatural abilities—especially telepathy—made him wary and suspicious.

But she could only sense the thoughts of her own kind, they said. Like that's some kind of comfort.

Skirata finished his eggs, rubbed his hand across his chin, and realized he needed to shave again. But things that had seemed crushingly impossible in the early hours of the morning looked a lot more encouraging on a full stomach in broad daylight.

“Gurlanins on the loose?” Jailer Obrim's voice was almost a groan. “That's all we need.”

“Yeah, that'll be one of the best-kept secrets of the war, I reckon.”

“You believe them?”

“That they might be everywhere? You have to, Jailer. And I can't lose any sleep over a few Qiiluran farmers.”

They sat side by side, looking out toward the walkway through the Kragget's grimy transparisteel front. Neither of them were men who wanted to sit with their backs to any door. Obrim leaned in a little toward him.

“So do you want us to pick up the suspects the Gurlanin identified?”

“No thanks.”

“Is this where my eyesight and hearing fail again?”

“Right now, you can't even see me, let alone hear me,” said Skirata.

“Okay. Organized Crime Unit isn't happy, but they understand the words armed special forces really well.”

“It was OCU in the plaza, then?”

“I gather so.”

“How did they end up there?”

“Your friend Qibbu uses well-worn channels of communications in the scum strata of society. OCU isn't stupid and it isn't deaf.”

“Ah.” There is no monopoly of information. Skirata's happily full stomach chilled a little. Obrim showed no signs of being smug. But he was almost certainly aware that Skirata was planning a sting operation involving explosives. “So they knew who the Seps were and didn't bother to—”

“No. That wasn't the route.”

“What, then?”

“They were carrying out surveillance on a known criminal and that criminal happened to meet up with one of the group that you were watching. Message boy, one chance encounter.” Obrim picked a chunk of smoked nerf from Skirata's plate and crunched on it thoughtfully “You just be careful. I hate finding friends on the slab in the morgue.”

Apart from Jusik, Obrim was one of the few nonclones Skirata felt he might be able to trust completely one day. He was still undecided on Etain. While he didn't doubt her sincerity, she had an emotional, impulsive streak of the kind that got people killed.

Like you. You're a fine one to talk.

“Your boys okay?”

“Tired, edgy, but giving it all they've got. One of 'em has sworn to gut Vau, another is having a love affair with a woman he shouldn't even look at, I'm collecting waifs and strays like an animal shelter, and we nearly killed a Treasury agent. But if I told you the really bad stuff, you'd think I had problems.”

Obrim laughed raucously. “And people think they're good little droids ...“

“Discipline apart, they're still lads.”

The Twi'lek waitress topped up their caf and smiled alluringly. “Where's your son today?”

“At the office, sweetheart,” Skirata said. “Won't I do instead?”

Her lekku coiled ever so slightly but he didn't have a clue what it meant. She glided away, glancing back to smile again. Obrim sniggered. “I see Ordo made an impression.”

“They all have this naive streak about them. It's fatally charming, apparently. Youth, muscle, heavy weapons, and a trusting expression. Maybe I should try it.”

“Forty years too late.”

“Yeah.”

And then Skirata's communicator chirped. He lifted his wrist as close to his mouth as he could. Even in a restaurant full of police officers, he took few chances.

“We like what we see,” said a voice with a Jabiimi accent.

It was interesting how accents were more noticeable over a comlink. Skirata, still looking toward the walkway, scanned his field of view without moving his head. He was sure he hadn't been followed—but this was a bad place to be spotted if he had. “It's not noon yet.”

“I know, Kal. We're keen.”

“What next?”

“Can you get to the bank plaza again in half an hour? I can't locate your comlink signal. But then I can understand why you're a very cautious man.”

Too right, you chakaar. Bard'ika went to a lot of trouble to make me invisible. Skirata was ten minutes by speeder bike from the plaza. “I can just about make it if I hurry.”

“This is just for a conversation. Be there, and don't bring anyone else.”

The comlink went dead. Obrim chewed, silent, but his look said it all.

Skirata reached in his pocket and put some credits on the table to cover the bill. “You're deaf and blind, remember?”

Obrim pushed the credits back at him. “You pick up the tab next time.”

It was his good-luck ritual. Obrim seemed to hope that by saying it, he'd ensure there was a next time.

Skirata had every intention of making sure there would be.

Lower level, skylane 348, 0820 hours, 385 days after Geonosis

Skirata kept the speeder at a steady pace and looped back on himself a couple of times. There was no reason to expect anyone to be following him, but he assumed it anyway. The maneuver also padded out the ten-minute journey to a credible half hour.

No point being too early.