“I can but try.”

“Try hard, then. I don't want them crashing in like the di'kutla Treasury did tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. An audit officer was sent in to monitor GAR staff siphoning off supplies. But that isn't my biggest problem right now.” Don't mention the shapeshifter yet. “Okay, here's my offer. I now have forty-three individual locations that we believe the Separatists are using or visiting in Galactic City. We have to concentrate on the high-value targets, and you really don't want to know what we'll be doing there, so what if we give you a list of the others to pick off as you see fit?”

“When?”

“When we've recce'd the high-value ones and have an op order planned out—you know, precise timings. That way we don't fall over each other.”

Obrim had gone rather quiet. “I can authorize that. But I've got no control over the OCU.”

“Then find someone who does. I mean it, Jailer. We're not playing by rules of evidence.”

“You've really gone bandit, haven't you?”

“Do you really want to hear the answer to that?”

“Fierfek … my eyesight problem has now affected my hearing, too.”

“I thought it might. I'm waiting on a meeting right now and after that, I'll have a list for you, a reliable one. Just remember that if there's any talk of explosives sales being of interest to CSF, tell them to steer clear until further notice?”

“I'll just say military intelligence and leave it at that.”

“Good.”

“You go careful, friend. And those rather hasty boys of yours. Especially Fi.”

Skirata closed the link and went back into the main room. The Gurlanin was breathing more steadily, although its eyes were still closed and the two Jedi were still leaning over it. It was just as well they could stop the bleeding. There wasn't a medic on Coruscant who knew a thing about the physiology of a shapeshifter like this one.

And Wennen was watching the whole scene suspiciously. Okay, so she had a Treasury identichip. Skirata didn't trust anybody, because this leak of information was still very much an inside job. Until he knew otherwise, everyone except his assortment of clone soldiers—and the two Jedi, he conceded—was a potential risk.

“Ma'am,” he said. “I hear you don't approve of the war.” Civilians did odd things in the name of peace. “How much don't you approve of it? And why?”

Wennen chewed over the question visibly, and both Jusik and Etain flinched at something Skirata couldn't see. Wennen's expression changed to anguish. She stood up with some difficulty, and Skirata noted that Ordo's hand went unconsciously to his blaster.

“This,” she said quietly, “is why I don't like the war.” She went up to Corr, who was still conscientiously collating data and writing it on the flimsi with an expression of intense frowning concentration. “Corr, show me your hands. Please?”

The trooper put his stylus aside and held them out, metallic palms up. Corr placed her hands underneath so that his rested on hers for a moment and looked him straight in the eye. Single prosthetic hands—efficient, unnoticeable—were common; but to lose both hands seemed to pass beyond a threshold of what was flesh and blood.

“It's not right,” she said. “It's not right that Corr and men like him should end up like this. I'm wondering what kind of government I'm working for. One with a slave army, that's what. You know how that makes me feel? Disgusted. Betrayed. Angry.”

Skirata knew that feeling only too well. He just hadn't expected to hear it from someone who did an office job and could switch off HNE with its heroic and sanitized images of the war anytime she liked. Jusik caught his eye and nodded discreetly: She really means it, she's upset.

Skirata acknowledged Jusik with a slow blink. “You said it, ma'am.” Got her. We have an ally. She'll come in useful one day. “Believe me when I say that what we're doing here is aimed at stopping things like that happening to more lads like Corr.”

Wennen seemed satisfied, if someone that upset could reach that state of mind. She made her way back to the chair and handed Skirata her datapad. “Go on.”

“What?”

“I don't know what data might be of use to you, and you're not going to discuss detail with me. So take the datapad and copy what you like.”

“You're very trusting. You're sure we're who we say we are?”

Wennen laughed and stopped abruptly. That had to hurt her ribs. “Look, I know what I'm seeing. Now, if I'm out of contact for more than forty-eight hours, the Treasury will notice. So think about what you're going to do with me.”

Skirata hefted the little 'pad in his hands. Treasury data, codes, encryption algorithms. Oh, my Null boys will love slicing this. “And who else is going to notice you're gone?”

“Nobody. Absolutely nobody.”

Skirata pondered on that revelation for a while as he watched the unconscious Gurlanin. Jusik and Etain knelt back on their heels and looked as if they'd run a very tiring race.

“It'll be regaining consciousness soon,” Etain said. “And I still have no idea how you restrain a shapeshifter.”

Ordo picked up one of the Verpine rifles, checked the charge level, and stood over the inert black body.

“This does the job,” he said.

Recce team observation point, residential area, business zone 6, 0110 hours, 385 days after Geonosis

“I wish I hadn't eaten that hot sauce,” Sev said.

“Told you so.” Fi held out his hand for the infrared scope. “My turn.”

They had found a spot to hide between two top-floor apartments facing the building they were watching, a six-floor tower of a house with closed blinds at every window. A climate-conditioning access space nearly at the top of their vantage point gave them an uninterrupted view below of a very quiet, very private group of homes away from the sky-lanes in a dead end.

The upper floors arched into a fashionable overhang only seven meters from the facing building. No passing traffic could enter from the front to bother them here, not even a taxi, and the rear access was nonexistent, which left only the roof for access by a small green speeder. It was private and a good place to defend—or get trapped. Fi rather liked the idea of the latter.

The access space felt like being in a drawer. They could just about crawl through it on all fours. Fi knew he wouldn't have enjoyed serving in a tank company at all.

“Roll on your back for a while,” Fi said helpfully.

Sev hesitated then surrendered to the suggestion with a groan. “How many?”

Fi tracked from right to left with the scope. “Well, I think we've got ten bodies in there, judging by the GPR image, and they've been in there for an hour now, and they're not moving around much. I call that an operational base. Agreed?”

“Okay. Let's set up the remote holocam and get out of here.”

“Given the layout of that place, it's going to be a bit busy slotting them all when we go in.”

“I like busy,” Sev said.

“Have Scorch and Fixer reported in yet?”

Sev held his datapad level with his eyes. “Now, that sounds like fun.”

“What does?”

“Scorch says they've confirmed the third cluster is a small commercial docking area. CoruFresh fruit and vegetable distributors. Loads of spacegoing vessels of all sizes.”

“Yes, that's my idea of fun, too.”

“If we could get them all to meet up for a nice ride …”

“Dream on. But we could certainly stop them from leaving in a hurry.”

Fi backed out of the space, pushing himself on his elbows with his DC-17 crooked in both arms, collecting more dust and dead insects on his bodysuit. He turned sideways on to a narrow shaft that opened into the building's plant maintenance room and dropped his left leg into the gap, searching for a foothold with his boot before finding the ledge and scrambling down to the floor. Sev simply rolled off and landed with a thud beside him.