How far is too far, Kal?

Vau was much more detached about handing out all that punishment than Skirata could ever be. It was very hard to hurt your sons, even if it helped them survive the unsurvivable.

“Well,” Skirata said, mortified that Fi could take it in such good spirits. “The nerf guts were the fun part. It all goes downhill alter that.”

Sev seemed quite animated. “Do we get to do assassinations?”

“If we do, they never happened. You imagined them.”

“Whoops. My trigger finger just slipped, Sarge. Honest.”

“You catch on fast about the fascinating world of politics in which we now find ourselves, young man.”

“Is it okay if I say politicians are gutless chakaare?” Scorch asked.

“Call 'em what you like, son. You still haven't got a vote.” Skirata felt the thud of boots striding down the passage outside. The vibration carried; their voices didn't. “Wars are legal violence. Everything else is just crime. Fortunately we're Mandalorian, so we're a lot less prissy about that fine distinction.”

“Just point us at the bad guys and say go.”

“That's the awkward bit.”

“What is?” Scorch asked.

“You've got to find them first.”

“Well, we found quite a few so far …”

Delta laughed like one man, even Sev, and Omega joined in. The coded entry system blipped and the doors slid open. Ordo strode through them, probably aware of the kind of entrance he could make.

Delta had never worked with a Null ARC before. Maybe they thought it would be no different from working with Alpha or any of the other Jango-trained ARC troopers. Skirata watched with interest. Ordo would certainly break some more ice.

“Sir!” Delta said sharply, all at once. Niner and the rest of Omega just touched their brows casually.

“Sorry I'm late, Sergeant.” Ordo took off his helmet, tucked it under one arm, and handed Skirata a datapad and a rather heavy flimsi-wrapped package about the size of a small blaster case. “Not much information, but Vau is still working on the problem. And General Jusik sends his compliments.”

“Thanks, Captain.” Skirata glanced at it and then unwrapped the parcel. But it wasn't a weapon; it was a box of candied vweliu nuts. Jusik was a very thoughtful officer indeed. Skirata broke the seal and got up to place it on the table within the reach of both squads. “Fill yer boots, lads.”

Fi had his usual silly grin on his face, the faintest hint that he might be planning to do something at Ordo's expense.

“Ooh, nice new skirt!” said Fi. “You went to all that trouble just for us? What happened to the old kama? Did it shrink in the wash?”

He got up and stood a pace or two in front of Ordo, still grinning and clearly expecting some backslapping or some other show of delight at reunion after several months.

“ 'Scuse me, Sergeant,” Ordo said calmly, and smacked Fi down on the floor with a none-too-playful body press. Fi yelped. Being hit by someone in armor when you weren't wearing your own hurt.

Boss's expression was a study in shock. The Delta boys jerked upright in their seats and stared as if they were debating whether to step in and break it up. Ordo looked like cold death; even Skirata had times when he wasn't quite sure which way Ordo would jump.

“Your big mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble one day,” the ARC hissed. Fi, eyes locked on Ordo's, neck tensed, looked ready to fight back. “So you better hope I'm there when that happens.” Then Ordo burst out laughing and got to his feet in one move. He hauled Fi upright by his arm, slapping his back enthusiastically. “The old firm back together again, eh? Good stuff!”

Boss glanced at Skirata, who smiled enigmatically, or so he hoped. Nulls were either your best friend or your worst imaginable enemy. Fi, luckily, had a devoted friend. He still looked shaken by the nature of the reunion, though.

“Okay, you can thin out now and we'll resume tomorrow morning with our little generals for a full intel briefing at oh eight-hundred,” Skirata said. “Now that we all understand each other.”

Ordo took a handful of candied nuts and stepped outside with Skirata. The two men stood in the corridor, giving the squads a chance to chat now that Delta had been suitably unnerved. And maybe they thought he couldn't hear them, but Skirata wasn't as hard of hearing as they imagined, years of exposure to deafening fire or not.

And it wasn't what he expected to hear.

“Fierfek, I remember thinking he was just bent over breathless, but he was actually crying and throwing up. And it wasn't the nerf guts.”

“He never liked knocking us around.”

“And he always apologized and made sure we were okay afterward.”

“Top man.” That was Niner talking. “Jatne'buir.”

The best father. Well, that was a joke. His own kids had formally disowned him and declared him dar'buir instead—no longer a father. It was a very rare and shameful thing for a Mando father to be formally shunned by his sons.

But he couldn't have left Kamino, or even told them where he was and that he hadn't completely abandoned them. Not even Ordo knew about the declaration of dar'buir.

You put your clones first, before your own flesh and blood, didn't you?

“Are you all right?”

And I don't regret doing that, not a second of it.

“I'm fine, Ord'ika. Vau must be losing his touch, then. Nothing useful from our friends?”

“There might be nothing to get out of them, of course. But it's not a quick process, interrogating experienced suspects without killing them.”

“What about getting one of our jetiise to help out? They're good at persuasion.”

“Possibly too squeamish. Jusik is always anxious to please, though.”

“He's much more use in the field. Brave lad, handy with tech, and a good pilot. But the girl's got an edge to her. Let's see if she'll put pragmatism above principle.”

“Do you dislike them, Kal'buir?”

“It's not a matter of liking them or not. It's whether they're reliable. Look, Zey will waste you and every last clone—and me—if he thinks it'll win the war and save civilians. But Jusik hero-worships you. And I don't know which of those two extremes is the more dangerous.”

“This is your opportunity to help them become the soldiers you made of us, then.”

Ouch. “Why do I always get the feeling that you were more of a man at four years old than I would ever be?”

Ordo gave him a playful shove. He was clearly in a good mood today. “Let me ask General Tur-Mukan to interrogate the prisoners. If she finds that morally unacceptable, then her view of you won't be tainted by it.”

Skirata had to bite his lip. Ordo often shamed him with unexpected compassion and diplomacy. “Yeah, I reckon she'll find it easier to do the heroic infantry stuff than get dirty along with us. But leave her to me.”

“Very well,” Ordo said. “Have you decided where we need to base the operation?”

“I've got a few people who owe me favors. Where would you hide soldiers?”

“Hide hide or conceal hide?”

“Not-taking-much-notice-of-activity hide.”

“Somewhere with a bar. Somewhere you'd get a lot of off-duty traffic.”

“You don't drink. Never seen a clone drink much at all.” Skirata was suddenly ambushed again by Ordo's agile brain. For a man who knew little of life beyond warfare, his ability to learn and extrapolate from the smallest scrap of information was breathtaking. “And you never get off duty.”

“You said, Kal'buir, that you might disguise the presence of some hulking big boys in armor by having a lot more of them around. You were going to see Mar Rugeyan about a smokescreen.”

“Sorry?”

“Remember Mar Rugeyan? The man who can talk out of all three corners of his mouth at the same time? The man you grabbed by the—”