"You can take the macho thing too far, Captain," Jilka said fixing Ordo with a baleful stare. "Try flowers next time. Maybe dinner and a show."

She shuffled along the bulkhead and sat up on the curve of the repulsor housing. She wasn't exactly screaming in terror. But then Besany had said she was a tax investigator, and she was used to Hutt levels of violent objection to her carrying out her duties. It would have taken more than a hijack to really rattle her.

"Tell me this is a rescue," she said.

Ordo nodded. So she'd worked out the other possibility, then. "It is."

"My life's screwed forever now, right?"

"'Fraid so. But it beats whatever Rep Intel or the RDS would have done to you."

"We'll see," she said.

Vau seemed very pleased with himself. "It's okay, my dear," he said. "You can join our little bandit gang as a tax avoidance consultant. The hours are terrible, but you get to see the galaxy on expenses."

That was about her only choice now. Everything dug her-and them-in deeper. She held out her hands to indicate that she wanted the cuffs removed, but Ordo decided she could wait until they got to the safe house before he uncuffed her. There was no point taking chances.

Her eyes narrowed a little. "And you're not Separatists..."

"We're not on anyone's side but our own," Ordo said. "Sometimes I can't tell the difference between the Republic and the Seps anyway."

As soon as he said it, it struck him as being more profound than he intended. Maybe there was no difference at all; the Republic now had as much reason to treat him as a hostile as the Separatists did. The speeder vanished into the lower levels via a flood conduit, plunging the cabin into darkness lit only by the faint green glow from the cockpit panel.

"Good point." Jilka's disembodied voice was weary. "I can't see the difference, either."

Chapter 12.

You worry too much, Clonemaster. I only require your clones to be fit for purpose, and that means they have no need to meet the same exacting standards as the army bred on Kamino. The Grand Army has to he the very best in the galaxy for one single special operation ahead of them. This is the culmination of my strategy-two armies with two quite separate tasks.

-Chancellor Palpatine, to the Spaarti lead clonemaster supervising the production of a new army on Centax 2 Arca Barracks, Coruscant, one month later Etain had teetered on the brink of following Jusik into the state of limbo outside the Jedi Order, yet the final leap still proved too hard.

Zey tried to press the right buttons. But she couldn't resent him for it.

"I want you on Kashyyyk with Delta," he said. "You did line work on Qiilura organizing the local population to resist the Separatists. The same job needs doing there."

Zey knew exactly how things had been on Qiilura. He'd been there with her, keeping the insurrection going; in the days before he became chained to a command desk, he was a fighting man, a good Jedi, a good officer. It wasn't that she didn't respect him now. It was just that they were too far down different paths, and unable to step off.

"I'm happy to go, Master Zey," she lied, wanting a few more days with Kad and Darman. "But we're talking about Wookiees and Delta here. Neither need my feeble hand-holding. However, if I can make a difference..."

"Kashyyyk is going to be critical in the war."

"Then I'll give it my best shot, as ever."

"I know what you do, Etain."

She didn't sense any accusation or disapproval in him. Her first thought, though, was that he knew her secret. "What do I do?"

"You treat your men as equals."

"Well, they are. At the very least."

"I meant that I approved. As soon as I can get this discussed by the Council, I intend to improve our command style with our troops-I know we're sadly lacking in too many areas. A little respect and kindness go a very long way."

Well, you're a little late to the party. General. But she had never seen Zey treat any clone as less than fully human. He'd been Jusik's Master; the two would never have lasted in that relationship as long as they did if there had been a fundamental difference in their outlooks.

"Better late than never, General," she said.

Captain Maze walked in with a pile of datapads for Zey to check. It seemed a waste of a highly trained ARC trooper to have him in a post like this with a staff officer-there were fewer than a hundred of these men left-but that was the way the Chancellor wanted it: a senior clone trooper for every key Jedi, expert military advice on hand as well as close personal protection. Etain thought Maze was probably frustrated by the role, knowing ARCs as she now did.

"Would you like a cup of caf, Captain?" Zey asked absently. He got up and poured from the jug on the side table. "It's fresh this time."

"That's very kind of you, sir. Thank you."

Maze took his cup and left. Zey stared at the closed doors for a few seconds afterward.

"What do you think is going to happen to a man like that after the war ends?" he asked.

"Will happen, or should happen?"

"Either."

Was Zey working up to confronting her, or did he know-or feel-that she had a better insight into the psychology of clone troops than most Jedi?

"They'll be more alienated the longer this goes on," she said. There was no point pulling her punches now. "We're storing up trouble for the future. You can't take an optimized human being-very intelligent, very resourceful, very dedicated-and then restrict his life. It's not just morally wrong-it's dangerous for all concerned. Once they see their full potential, they won't forget it, or go back quietly to their barracks. We must plan to give them full lives, General. Freedom, in other words. Choice."

Zey was silent for a long time. Etain didn't feel inclined to interrupt his thoughts. She could see him standing up at the Jedi Council to make that point, and she didn't want to imagine their reaction. It was one depressing thought too many.

"It's so easy to become accustomed to the abnormal and unacceptable simply by being exposed to it for too long," he said. "We get used to doing terrible things. That's why I need the Skiratas of this world. He lives his compassion, even if he has no idea what it is philosophically. But so many of us cherish it as a theory, without application."

Etain look that as a confession. She wondered how Skirata would take it.

"Well, let's both apply it now, shall we, sir?" she said. "I'll see you on my return."

As she felt the whisper of air from the doors closing behind her, Etain had the feeling that she was abandoning Zey in the throes of a quiet crisis, and that he might have needed to talk to her for much longer. But Darman and Kad needed her more. She packed her small bag in her cabin at the barracks-she hadn't stayed at the Temple in a very long time-and took an air taxi to the Kragget, to say her good-byes at Laseema's apartment.

She was getting practiced at it now. It still hurt every time, but the more she left, the more she knew she would come back. The Force had made her certain about Kad and his destiny-that he would affect many lives-and now it made her sure she would come home, and that the war was in its final days.

Darman was already at the apartment, playing with Kad. He sat on the floor with the baby, letting him explore the workings of his helmet. Every time the tactical spot-lamp activated or the HUD flashed icons, Kad squealed in delight and giggled. Darman seemed utterly at ease with his son.

"I hope you've deactivated the uplink," Etain said, kneeling down beside them. "Or else he's just committed five battalions to attack Corellia."

Darman laughed. "So you got us shipped to Fostin Nine to twiddle our thumbs."

"There's work to do there...," she said. Kad plucked a wire connector from the helmet and offered it to her, grinning. "Why, thank you, sweetie! I think Da-da needs that to talk to his boss. Shall we put it back?"

"Not much," Darman said. "It's a recce job."

"Commandos do recces. It's in your job description. Besides, my son's father has to come home safe, and there must still be five females in the Outer Rim that Corr hasn't dated yet. I don't want to stop him short of the galactic record."

Kad had now found a marker stylus in Darman's belt pouch, the type he used to mark an unconscious Atin's forehead when he'd given him medication on the battlefield. Oh, Qiilura. That was horrible. I'd never have survived if Darman hadn't shown up. The baby scrawled on the lining of the helmet's chin section, and Darman admired his efforts.

"Now I'll have something to remind me of you when I'm away, Kad'ika." He lowered his voice and gave Etain a dubious look. "Can we have another kid one day?"

This was what she wanted to hear. This made her feel solid. They were a family, no mistake about it. Things were going to be all right. "I'd love that. With more painkillers, though."

"I really want out of the army, Et'ika. Not long to go." "You feel that?"

"Kal'buir still thinks all the logistics add up to a big push soon, and he wants us out. It's just a matter of waiting for him to call endex."

Etain knew all this; she knew Skirata's plans, and she was part of them. But the end was now acquiring a solidity of its own, becoming a separate entity that wouldn't tolerate any prevarication or delay on her part.

Fine. It can't come too soon.

She felt guilt for all the men she could never help-men like Corr, who had blossomed at the first opportunity to explore a wider life-but she had to save those she could. The underground escape route beckoned; she would be good at making that work, using her Force skills for something tangible. And maybe she'd influenced Zey into pursuing a more humane approach to the army.

Stop bargaining with yourself.

The chrono ate away at the remaining hours. Kad was in a giving mood today and kept handing her one of his toys, a small fluffy four-legged thing that was supposed to be a nerf. She got ready to leave, dreading the moment Laseema returned because it meant that her time was up. But it wasn't Laseema who walked through the doors next. It was Enacca, the Wookiee.

Kad was transfixed. He'd never seen a Wookiee before. Etain lifted him up so Enacca could hold him, and to his credit he didn't burst into tears. He tugged at her fur as if he couldn't believe she was real.

Enacca made a purring noise, and Kad squealed with delight.

"What brings you here, Enacca?" Etain asked. "Has Kal trashed more vehicles and left you to round up the wrecks?"

Enacca yowled that she was going back to Kashyyyk to help drive out the Separatists who were despoiling her home-world.

"I'm headed there, too," Etain said. She didn't believe in coincidences. "What made up your mind?"

Enacca jerked her head in silence, a Wookiee shrug. Etain could guess. Eventually Skirata arrived with Laseema, wearing his it's-nothing-to-do-with-me expression. Etain just raised an eyebrow.

"You need all the Wookiees you can get," he said.

Etain couldn't bring herself to berate him for leaning on Enacca to play minder to her. The Wookiee probably did want to do her bit for her homeworld. It was good to know he was looking out for them all. It felt a lot better than being the object of his anger.

"You look after yourself, at'ika," he said. "And that's an order."

"I Kal'buir."

He left her to take her leave of Darman and Kad and she walked away from the apartment clutching her son's nerf, feeling that it didn't look out of place at all with a concussion rifle and two lightsabers.

Kragget restaurant, lower levels, Coruscant, later that day "Forgiveness is a wonderful thing, Kal." Gilamar ignored every health warning that his former profession had issued and tucked into a plate of assorted fried meats and werris eggs, moistened with extra melted roba fat that soaked into a breadroot patty. He'd been away for a few weeks and seemed to want to make up for lost time. "All that aggravation about the baby's been forgotten. If only the rest of the galaxy could agree to shake hands and move on."

Skirata was treading water now, waiting for a window for the next stage of the withdrawal. At least Jilka had shut up pretty fast. He hadn't told Besany how close he'd come to slotting her, and Besany hadn't yet told her how she'd come to be in the frame for something she hadn't done. He just hoped Besany wouldn't give in too soon to her honest urges and confess all. It wouldn't be pretty.

Jilka was a fugitive now, anyway, whether she liked it or not. It had a remarkably sobering effect on anyone.

"Guess who's joining us for refreshments upstairs," Skirata said.

"Palps?"

"No, he had another engagement. Someone we haven't seen for a few years."

Gilamar contemplated the translucent yellow glaze of egg yolk on the white patty. "If it's Dred Priest, let me get my special rusty scalpel first."

"Nothing like that. Come on, eat up. Jaing's dropping in with a handy contact, too. Plans to make, work to do, Mij'ika."

Skirata had never quite worked out how Alpha-02 had managed to escape from Tipoca before the war, but he was content that he had. Gilamar bolted down his meal and followed Skirata back to Laseema's apartment. It was going to be a big shock for him.

"Surprise!" said Skirata, opening the doors.

Three clones sat around the table with Besany and Laseema, playing sabacc: Fi, Sull, and Spar.

"Look at Fi, good as new." Skirata wondered if Fi was ready to return to even easy duties yet, but morale and feeling part of a squad again would do him more good than half the fancy medics in Coruscant. "Mij, remember that lad? It's-"

Gilamar walked up to Spar and slapped him on the back. Spar-not usually the most cheerful of men-stared at him for a moment, and then his face split into a knowing grin.

"How you doing, Spar?" Gilamar started laughing. "How's the headaches?"

"Ooh, it's me back, Doc, I can't move ... and the voices ... the voices!"

Both men burst into peals of laughter and embraced each other. "You chakaar. You made my day, you know that?" said Gilamar. "So you've done all right for yourself. Busy?"

"Oh, bit of this, bit of that. I even turned down a job. Mand'alor or something."

"You don't want to do all that Mandaloring stuff, ad'ika. Look what happened to the last two. Terrible promotion prospects."

Skirata heard every cough and spit in Tipoca City, every scam and scandal in the claustrophobic Cuy'val Dar community, but Gilamar had a few cards he kept close to his chest. It was only now that Skirata saw Spar and the medic laughing that he put two and two together, and wondered why he hadn't ever managed to make it add up to four.

"So you're the one who got Spar off Kamino," he said. Gilamar bowed theatrically, armor creaking. "You saved your favorite sons, I saved mine." "You never told me."

"You never told me what Jaing was doing to the banking system ..."

"Good for you, Mij'ika." Skirata meant it. "But you can tell me now, can't you?"

"Jango came and went as he pleased, even if we were stranded. You got your supplies of tihaar and uj cake, didn't you? There were outbound parcels, too, if you know what I mean. Jango knew when to turn a blind eye to the cargo in Slave's hold. He owed me one."

Skirata wanted to ask what reciprocal deal had taken place, but it could wait until they were both well away from Coruscant and a bottle or two of tihaar had been consumed.

"So you're going to join the team, Spar?" Gilamar asked.

Spar reverted to his usual unsmiling self. "I don't want pay. I want a chance at that cure when you lot find it. I want to live as long as the next man."