Skirata gave up trying to handle the welter of emotions. He could see a red-and-white blur striding toward him, but he didn't look up. "There's no point going over it now. We did what we did son, and for reasons that made sense to both of us at the time."

Son. It slipped out. Ordo, helmet under one arm, moved purposefully into the range of the holovideo pickup and put his hand on Skirata's arm. It was a real hands-off-my-father gesture.

"Buir, General Tur-Mukan needs to speak to you." Ordo's tone was pointed and maybe Skirata was imagining it, but there was some emphasis on the buir. "She's about to leave."

It broke the spell. "Got to go, Tor," Skirata said. "Get that data to me as soon as you can."

"Buir?" Tor asked. "He called you father."

So how did you introduce your estranged biological son to his adopted stepbrother? Skirata decided he wouldn't even try. "Tor, this is one of my sons. Captain Ordo Skirata. Look, tell Ijaat-tell him not to worry and that it's all going to be okay."

Skirata closed the link abruptly and looked up at Ordo. The Null managed to look both faintly disapproving and guilty at the same time.

"Sorry, Kal'buir."

"I wouldn't have known how to end the conversation anyway, son," Skirata said. "It's bothering you, isn't it?" "Not exactly a joyous reunion."

"I'm not even sure Ruu's missing. They just don't know where she is." Skirata decided to keep an open mind until he could hack into Ruusaan's bank account and see if it was still active. "She sounds like a restless spirit."

"I meant," Ordo said grimly, "that you're distressed by your sons."

"Are you?"

"If you want to be reconciled with them, we'll do whatever you want to ensure it's ... trouble-free."

Ordo had never shown the slightest sign of jealousy as a kid. Each of the Nulls was-in that curious clone way-anxious not to have more privileges than his brothers; it was a way of avoiding conflict in a closed stifling, wholly artificial clone society in Tipoca City. But the Nulls had also been genetically altered to maximize the potential for fierce loyalty in Fett's typical Concord Dawn genome. Their brutal infancy before Skirata rescued them had made that potential manifest itself fully, and if a Null liked you, he'd die for you. If he didn't, it was a good idea to run for it. They had no middle path.

"They're never going to take your place, son." Skirata gripped his arm. "And I wanted to tell him to usen'ye, but I have to be bigger than that, because a father's responsibility doesn't have an expiry date. I could have tried to stay in touch better than just transferring creds."

Ordo-very upright, thumbs hooked in his belt-tilted his head slightly. "They bled you dry and finally rejected you, and you still love them. Don't you?"

"I don't know, Ord'ika." Skirata saw Etain making full speed on a collision course with them, two lightsabers swinging on her belt, and dwarfed by the huge concussion rifle slung across her back. "But if they hadn't, I'd never have had to take Jango's offer to train clones, and then I'd never have met you."

Ordo's head dropped a little. "And we'd have been euthanized, because nobody else would have thought our lives worth saving. If the tidy nature of fate is the point, I accept the argument, but that doesn't change what happened to you."

"Well ... if you want something to shine bright, it has to be polished hard." Skirata wondered exactly what Jango would have done if he hadn't been there to stop Orun Wa from having the Null kids put down. Jango talked tough-was tough-but his callous attitude didn't extend to children, however brutal it looked from the outside. "Jango might have been a self-centered chakaar, but don't believe all that bluster about Boba being nothing more than his apprentice. He wanted a son, no doubt about it. He knew what it was to be a kid waiting to die, so I reckon he'd have given the aiwha-bait a good hard kov'nyn and sent him on his way."

Shame you didn't do a hit more for the other boys cloned from you, Jang'ika, but I suppose you didn't have much pity left after all that happened to you.

Etain strode up and looked into Skirata's face. "What's wrong?" she asked. "And what's a kov'nyn?"

"A head-butt," said Ordo. "A Keldabe kiss."

Etain wore a little frown of concentration. Skirata suspected she was memorizing every Mando'a phrase she could, the better to be a good Mando wife in due course. "Kal, the two of you are radiating trouble like a beacon. Can I help?"

"Family strife," he said. "Your Jedi radar is pretty impressive."

"So is the strife," Ordo said cryptically, then squeezed Skirata's bicep in parting. "Ret", Kal'buir."

Supply droids and repulsor trolleys began filling the deck, transferring pallets of food, spare parts, and fuel cells from stores to a replenishment shuttle. Redeemer was a heavily armed warehouse. Etain and Skirata were about to go their separate ways again.

"Any message for Veshok Squad?" she asked. "I'm paying a field visit."

Skirata pulled out a packet of candied bofa fruit and handed it to her. "Tell them to remember to brush their teeth afterward."

"You miss them."

"Yeah." Skirata wondered what Etain was going through being separated from her son so often. "In case you're still wondering, I just spoke to one of my biological sons for the first time since he disowned me. It's never easy." "It's your daughter, yes?"

"She's probably gone off on some adventure, but I'll find her anyway, just in case."

"I can't work out if Ordo's jealous or scared, but he's very upset."

"He's got nothing to worry about. That boy's my heart, and he knows it."

"Just let me get this straight, Kal. I did the sums. You were still supporting your kids financially when they were pushing thirty. None of my business, but I think you more than did your duty by them." Etain had an earnest little face dusted with freckles. Skirata sometimes found it hard to reconcile her durasteel will with that apparently fragile exterior. "The way you first described how they disowned you made me think they were still children, not grown men. And you didn't walk out. You were dumped."

"It was my rough Mando charm. Irresistible."

"I'm saying that you've got nothing to feel guilty about. I'm with Ordo on this. It's not healthy to be at their beck and call."

There was a small place in Skirata's mind where he knew that was true, but the rest of him felt he'd failed. Etain meant well. Like Ordo, she seemed only to want to protect him. "Now how about you?"

"I'm going to tell Darman about Kad when he comes back from Haurgab."

"Okay."

"And I'm going to leave the Jedi Order." Skirata kept his reaction to himself. She'd sense it anyway. "Now?"

"No, but I'll know the right time. My work's not finished yet."

Someone called to her. A young lieutenant-not a clone, but a random human being-stood with one boot on the rail of a small armored shuttle. "General? Flight checks complete, ma'am. Ready when you are."

Etain gave Skirata a wink. "I'll make sure Veshok brush their teeth. Force be with you, Kal'buir."

She walked away, still looking like an attachment to the cone rifle. He knew very few Jedi with a taste for the weapons of the ordinary soldier. So far, they'd all ended up in his motley gang.

Kal'buir. She calls me Kal'buir.

Skirata checked his comlink data display for files from Tor, and wondered what Ruusaan would call him when he found her.

Chapter 6.

As a Jedi, I was taught to preserve life. I led these clones-no, these men-to their deaths. These were living, sentient beings. What I have been asked to do is the opposite of everything I was trained to do as a Jedi.

-Master K'Kruhk, in self-imposed exile on Ruul, explaining to Mace Windu why he chose not to continue as a general, shortly before returning to the Order to fight again Hadde forward operating base, Haurgab, one and a half months later "What happened, General-did we finally find something worth pillaging from this planet?"

Etain just sighed to herself, but it wasn't directed at Scorch. He knew that Etain was the most relaxed of generals and didn't mind her commandos mouthing off. He shook his head at the size of the Haurgab base, which had grown to something approaching a small city itself, and wondered why the GAR presence here was getting bigger rather than smaller. This ball of rock wasn't worth the effort. If the locals wanted to kill each other, Scorch could sec no reason to get in their way. The whole planet could turn Separatist and nobody would ever notice the difference.

"Ours is not to reason why, ner vod," Sev said. "Bred to be happy with our fate, and all that sewage."

"Shabla osik," Scorch said. "Remind me to punch the next dumb civvy that says that."

Scorch doubted he would ever get within punching distance of a civilian who knew enough about them to even say it, but it was a nice fantasy for a few seconds. Boss and Sev went off in the direction of the mess, and Fixer hung around like a little black cloud of disapproval. He examined the new ordnance.

"Yes, we should have put the civilian government back in the pilot's seat and withdrawn troops from here by now," Etain said. "But it doesn't seem to work like that. Grab yourself something to eat while things arc quiet."

She strode off in the direction of the base commander's office. Inside a minute, there was a distant but deafening whumppp and the whole building shook. Scorch ducked instinctively as dust rained gently from the joists overhead.

"Incoming ..." a clone's voice called, feigning boredom, and everyone around laughed.

"Yeah, quiet." Fixer pried open an ammo crate with his gauntlet vibroblade and rummaged through the contents. "Regular spa retreat." He tutted loudly. "De-skilling, that's what this is."

"What is?" Scorch asked thinking about his next meal. In this game, you grabbed whatever you could whenever you could and as much of it as possible-food sleep, water, laughs. There were a lot of clone troopers milling around, and he didn't recognize the unit flashes on a couple of them. Scorch didn't like not knowing things. He filed it mentally as something to catch up on later. "Going to lodge a complaint with the Galactic Union of Amalgamated Building Wreckers?"

Fixer examined the new Merr-Sonn entry grenade with sighing disdain. "Even a Weequay could use this."

"That's the whole idea, genius. You ought to suggest that to Merr-Sonn as an advertising slogan." Scorch took the grenade from him and attached the stand-off rod, then slid the grenade's housing over the muzzle of his Deece. A couple of troopers watched warily. It wasn't a smart thing to do inside a building. The device was designed to blow out doors from a safe distance-safe for the operator, anyway-to effect a rapid entry. "Personally, I don't mind trading professional exclusivity for an absence of pain."

Fixer held out his hand for the grenade. Scorch returned it, and the troopers appeared to relax again. "I thought you were a craftsman."

"I am. I just don't like being met with a hail of blaster bolts when I knock on doors, that's all."

Fixer slipped a couple of the grenades into his belt pouch. The two of them wandered off toward the scent of frying oil and hot sauce, removing their helmets to get a good deep lungful of the seductive aromas without air filters getting in the way. In the mess hall, white armor in various states of cleanliness, from snow-field to rolling-in-the-dirt, formed an unbroken sea except for a little craggy island of matte-black, burly Katarn Mark III rig. Etain was huddled at a table in conversation with Omega Squad.

"Thought she was heading to see the CO," Fixer said.

Scorch looked around for a splash of red and orange to spot Sev and Niner. They were in line, getting their plates loaded by a droid that seemed a little too obsessive about portion control for Sev's taste. Sev's voice carried across the burble and hum of mess-hall chat: "I need extra protein. Otherwise my aim wanders, and then I shoot tinnies. By accident, on account of being starved."

"She must have diverted." Scorch wanted to stay on the subject. "Well, she could hardly walk past Darman, could she?"

"It'll end in tears," Fixer said. "Spoilsport."

"Seriously. It's not right. Clones shouldn't mix with officers. Let alone Jedi officers."

"What, in case we get ideas above our station? Don't know our place, to die nice and quietly so we don't upset the civvies?"

"You spend too long talking to Fi and those Null dingbats, Scorch."

"You've seen the average galactic citizen now. We didn't know any better on Kamino. If anyone's superior, it's us, not them."

Fixer just stared at him. It was the most dangerous thought Scorch had ever expressed. But he wasn't going to be made to feel he was less than fully human because he'd been hatched rather than born, because he'd seen plenty of natural humans now, and they weren't much to write home about.

He was the best of the best. He deserved the same respect as the next man, and maybe a little more.

"You're jealous of Darman," Fixer said at last.

"She's not my type." Scorch felt unaccountably angry. "But if you're saying I envy him for having the guts to live his life, not the life he's been told to get on with, then yes. I am."

"Di'kut," Fixer muttered.

Sometimes-too often, in fact-Scorch had nothing to do but wait, and thinking filled the time even when it was the last thing he wanted to do. He often thought about Skirata's new grandson. Clones, like all beings in the galaxy, speculated and gossiped.

"You reckon that baby is a clone's?" Scorch said at last.

"What baby?" Fixer targeted the menu suspended above the servery; they actually had a choice. Troopers parted to let him pass. "What's up with you today?"

"The baby Skirata brought into the barracks when Zey was away. His grandson."

"Snack-sized. Yeah. Why do you think that?"

"It's just weird to hand your kid over to a Mando who's fighting in a war. I mean, how bad must things be at home if the kid's safer with Skirata?"

"So why does it have to be a clone's baby? And maybe Skirata's family lives in the shebs end of the galaxy, so it's an improvement to have the old shabuir hauling Junior around minefields."

"Coruscant. Not exactly minefields."

Scorch thought of the baby's curly black hair and dark eyes. There was something . . . something very familiar about him. The kid could easily have been one of the younger clones back on Kamino, those baffled and serious youngsters who once stared at older clones like Scorch in the refectory. That was me, not so long ago. Scorch saw himself in their eyes: desperate to succeed aware of yearning for something but not able to articulate it, feeling safe only among his immediate brothers.

Scared. Scared of everything.

"I think I'll have the minced nerf stew," Fixer said, like he was some kind of restaurant critic. Scorch couldn't recall if fixer had ever had that wide-eyed look when they were kids. "You, Scorch?"

"Uh ... whatever's the biggest portion. Chaka noodles."

Looking after a clone's kid was just the kind of thing Skirata would do. He'd been an assassin, a debt enforcer, any number of brutal and unpitying things, but he loved his boys to blind distraction. If any of them had found time to get a girl pregnant, he would take in that kid as his own kin.

"What if it's one of Omega's kids?" Scorch said.

Fixer turned his head slowly. He had to twist from the waist because his backpack frame was too high to glance over his shoulder.

"What are you yammering on about? Drop it."

"I said what if the baby was fathered by one of Omega Squad?" Scorch tried to keep his voice down. "They're his favorites."

"Have you been drinking contaminated drive coolant again?"

"Okay, forget it."

Fixer was far more interested in his meal. Scorch turned very slowly to watch Etain and Omega chatting. It had been no secret when the two squads did joint ops on Coruscant that the general and Darman were lovers. Scorch had found that such a difficult concept to handle that he simply shut it out and reminded himself he didn't have time for anything but staying alive. He worried that he was getting like Fi. The smart-mouthed little di'kut had become a watchword within Delta Squad for doing everything a clone commando was supposed to avoid-he craved the outside world too much, he voiced his dissatisfaction, and he encouraged the same kind of dissent among his brothers. He was subversive. He should have known the only way out was in a body bag. What was it they were all told back in training? They had certainty, they had a purpose, and that was more than most beings ever got in their miserable lives. Okay, so why isn't it enough?

"Might be Darman's love child with the General," Fixer said, seeming to tune back in to the topic. The droid slopped a brown liquid mass onto a mound of mashed vegetables. It would have needed a forensic test to confirm it was minced nerf in gravy, but this was still a long way from the bland nutrition cubes they'd been fed as kids and still carried as part of their dry rations. Hot, savory food was a luxury that Scorch never took for granted. "She disappeared to Qiilura for ages. Or maybe it's Captain Maze's, because he's such a smooth-talking rogue that no female could resist him."