“So?” said Skirata. Omega had disappeared back to the rooms that led off the main one. Except Atin: Atin waited, a block of black hatred, and Ordo stacked the explosives.

“So at least we don't have to worry about her being missed too badly.” Vau glanced at Atin, almost as if he was seeking a greeting, but got no reaction. “And she confirmed that there was one other person in logistics that she had to leave information for in an agreed place, a dead letter drop inside the GAR complex, whenever she could manage it. In a locker in the female 'freshers.”

“What? You're kidding me.”

“I know. We spend millions on the latest ships but we're stuffed by a simple security leak that wouldn't baffle a Kitonak grocer.”

Etain felt Skirata generate a little dark vortex of rage. His face drained of color. “Why are they so shabla clueless?”

“Because they're a bureaucracy, and they're not the ones in the front line. Anyway, none of the traffic information is impossible to dig out by other routes. It's just quick and easy—all wrapped up in one chip. Worth having because it saves them a lot of time, which means they don't have many personnel. Small and opportunistic network, I reckon.”

Skirata was rubbing his face slowly with both hands, exasperated and weary. “So she didn't know who collected the data, other than that they could use the female 'freshers without attracting attention? Or what their schedule was?”

“If she had known, I can guarantee she would have told me.”

“I'll bet.”

“So we need someone in there to flush that person out.”

“That's me,” Ordo said, and went on making the thermal plastoid into neat piles. Etain had counted two hundred small rectangular packets so far. “All I have to do is withdraw the trooper who's seconded to the transport division and step in.”

“And what happens to him?” Vau said.

“He stays here until I'm finished,” Ordo said. “You can make a commando of him in the meantime, Kal'buir”

“Well, this is going to be very cozy.” Vau rubbed the still's back, and it shuddered with visible delight. “Because you have to find room for me, too.”

“Then the strill sleeps on the landing platform,” Skirata said.

“Then I do, too,” said Vau.

Fi emerged from the room he shared with Atin and stared at the animal. “We could always leave it downstairs in the bar as an air freshener.”

“One day, RC-eight-oh-one-five,” Vau said, smiling with unusual sincerity, “you might be very glad of Mird's natural talents.”

Etain suspected they were not dissimilar to its master's.

Qibbu's private rooms, Qibbu's Hut, 1150 hours, 381 days after Geonosis

“So this is why you write off my debt,” Qibbu said. He swallowed a pickled gorg whole and sighed. “You use my fine establishment as a base so that trouble does not follow you home.”

Too right, Skirata thought.

“My little girl needs to start up her own business,” he said, beaming convincingly at Etain. “So she can look after her old dad in his dotage.”

Etain looked suitably sullen. She continued to surprise him with her capacity to do whatever was needed. She could act brave, and she could act calm, and now she could act the wayward and spoiled daughter of an overprotective mercenary.

“She is too skinny to make a living as a bounty hunter,” Qibbu said, and shook with laughter. “Mando females are supposed to be big and tough.”

“Her mother, the chakaar, was a Corellian and she left me to bring the girl up,” said Skirata. “What Etain lacks in muscle she makes up for in business acumen.”

“Ah, I thought your fondness for the Republic's army would prove to have a financial motive. You care nothing for your … boys.”

Kal bit the inside of his cheek. “No. You ever met a Mando'ad who cared about the Republic?”

“No. So what is for sale?”

“Something armies have a great deal of.”

“Ah … you follow the news closely.”

Skirata made a silent vow to be very, very kind to Mar Rugeyan in future. That turf war cover story had worked all too well and the man probably didn't even know it. “There does seem to be a sudden gap in the arms market, yes.”

“You made that gap, yes?”

His stomach somersaulted. He managed a grin. “I'm not that big a player.”

Qibbu swallowed the hint whole like a gorg. “So what can you obtain?”

“Blasters, assault rifles, thermal plastoid, ammunition. Anything larger than that I'll treat as a special order and it might take longer. Don't ask for any warships, though.”

Qibbu laughed. “I put out the word and we see if it attracts customers.”

“I'm sure I can rely on your discretion. You like this place, don't you?”

“I want no trouble finding its way back here. But I will expect … commission. Twenty percent.”

“That's my dowry,” Etain said sourly. “Papa, are you going to let this chakaar steal from me?”

Fierfek, she was getting good, this kid. “ 'Course not, ad'ika.” Skirata leaned toward Qibbu and jangled his length of chain in his pocket as a little reminder. “Five percent, and I'll see that your lovely establishment here remains in one piece and unvisited by the riffraff of this world.”

Qibbu gurgled. “If this partnership is successful, we renegotiate terms later.”

“You get the business and we'll see.”

Skirata stood up as calmly as he could and led Etain out onto the walkway to get some fresh air. The smell of frying, stale ale, and strill was getting to him.

“I thought chakaar was a nice touch,” he said.

“I pick up the odd word.”

“You okay?”

“Actually, that was hard. I envy your nerve.”

“You reckon?” Skirata held out his hand, fingers spread, palm down. It was shaking. She needed to know that in case she thought he was invincible, and her misplaced faith got her killed. “I'm just a soldier. A commando, you'd call it. I'm groping my way through all this.”

“But Qibbu's scared of you.”

“I don't have any problems with killing people. That's all.” The reality of his situation had become starkly clear now: edging farther and farther out on that limb, either to safety or to plummet into the torrent rushing beneath, with a breath between one extreme and the other. And no way of stepping back onto the riverbank. “If anything happens to me, I need to know someone will look out for my boys.”

“You're asking me?”

“There's only you and Bard'ika to ask.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“The Force is telling you that, is it?”

“Yes.”

“What else does the Force tell you?”

“What I have to do.”

“If and when we meet these scum face-to-face, are you up for it? Can't have my boys visible. Too obvious.”

“Not Bardan?”

“I don't have to ask Bard'ika. He'll want to be there anyway. I'm asking you.”

“I'll do whatever you command. You have seniority here.”

Skirata was hoping for an expression of confidence rather than obedience.

But it would have to do.