“What's it doing?”

Vau laughed. Mird balanced the body on the rail like a sack of stones, wobbled a little, and then launched itself into the air. Etain was stunned by its ability to move a man weighing at least eighty kilos, but not half as stunned as when she saw its free fall turn into a vertical climb as it struck out and its parachute of skin became wing membranes.

Mird soared like a raptor, carrying its prey.

Mird flew.

“Fierfek … ,” Etain said. There was no other word for it.

“Language!” Vau said, clearly amused. Mird thudded onto the ledge and hauled Perrive up behind it. Vau crouched as best he could on the narrow strip of stone and felt inside the tunic for the datapad. “Got it. Let's go. Good Mird! Clever Mird! Mirdala Mird'ika!” He opened his comlink. “Kal, Perrive's no longer a problem, and we have a useful datapad. See you shortly.”

Mird was ecstatic, whimpering and slobbering in delight as Vau rubbed its head. As retrievers went, it could have no equal.

“What about the body?” Etain said, still stunned. “Are we just leaving it here? On an office window ledge?”

“It'll give CSF's forensics team a fascinating project to keep them occupied,” Vau said. “And we didn't even have to enter a diplomatic compound, did we?”

Etain, now used to death and assassination, couldn't help herself. She reached over and rubbed the still's head, too, although it stank and could probably kill her in a single vast bite. It was still miraculous.

“Clever Mird!” she said. “Clever!”

Somewhere near CoruFresh Farm Produce distribution division, Quadrant F-76, 2150 hours, 385 days after Geonosis

“That armor suits you, Bard'ika.”

Skirata sat astride the speeder's pillion seat, datapad and chrono at the ready. The operation was under way. Perrive was dead. Now it was time for Skirata to check that the credit transfer had been made.

He watched the screen that showed the status of the temporary bank account that would vanish without trace or audit trail in just over a day.

“I suspect the Jedi Council wouldn't agree.” Jusik adjusted the bags on the bike's cargo straps. “Not even if General Kenobi himself wears armor.”

“You don't worry much about that,” said Skirata.

“I haven't thought that far ahead.”

“A Mando mercenary has to plan for the future these days, son, even if there turns out to be no future at all. And so should you.”

Jusik laughed. “I thought you Mando'ade lived only for the day. You even have trouble using anything but the present tense.”

Skirata's eyes never left the datapad's screen. Then it reloaded, and suddenly an anonymous numbered account in a bank on Aargau was four million credits in the black. Skirata hit VERIFY and the credits were there.

Yes, this was real. He had the credits.

He felt one tension evaporate from his chest and another—familiar, comfortable, an old friend—take its place. He was ready to fight. He opened the comlink to the whole strike team.

“Stand by, vode, stand by. The credits have cleared. We're moving in to make the drop now.”

“Ordo here, copy that.”

“Delta here, copy that.”

“Mereel here, copy that.”

“Do we get ten percent?” Fi muttered.

Jusik powered up the speeder bike. “You'd be amazed what you might get out of this, Fi.” The speeder shot up into the air and spun ninety degrees before Jusik aimed it at the CoruFresh depot. “Preferably not a broken neck, though.”

“Sorry, Kal,” said Jusik.

Skirata checked his chrono: 2155.

A good rousing chant of Dha Werda might have psyched him up better, but this was a different battlefield.

“Bard'ika, those explosive packs are well wrapped, aren't they?”

“Thoroughly. They're really affecting the handling of this speeder, too.”

“We've got a few minutes. Take it easy.”

“Udesii ...” Jusik grinned. “If things get a little hairy out there, I can use my Force powers, can't I?”

“No witnesses. Go ahead.”

Jusik took the speeder high over the landing strip, and Skirata noted Ordo and Sev flat on the roof of the warehouse as they spiraled down to land. The two soldiers didn't move. Omega and Delta were nowhere to be seen. That reassured him enormously. It had been a joy to train commandos who became better soldiers than he could ever be.

Tonight would test them, though. There were enough explosives in the area now to take out a quadrant and well beyond. Fine on a battlefield—but not in a city.

Careful. Go careful.

The speeder settled and hung at rest just above the ground. A group of five men and the middle-aged woman he'd seen at the meeting earlier were the welcoming committee, and they all had blasters visible on belts or held loosely at their sides. They directed Jusik to a spot between two trucks, sheltered from anyone who might pass by.

Skirata and Jusik got off the speeder bike and stood with their arms at their sides, calm and business-like. Skirata removed his helmet. Jusik kept his buy'ce on.

“The credits cleared fine,” Skirata said.

The woman inspected the speeder, which was laden like a Tatooine bantha with anonymous bags of rough sacking. “This is all the five-hundred-grade?”

“Four hundred quarter-kilo packs, bagged in tens. I suggest you split the load for safety.”

The woman shrugged. “We know how to handle explosives.” She reached out to unfasten one bag and squatted down to slide the ten bundled packets onto the ground. She squinted at the thick packaging and took out a knife from her pocket…

Skirata didn't need to see Jusik's face to know that the blood had drained from it.

Don't stick anything metallic into it. The electrolytic reaction will set it off

Mereel's little chemical enhancement to thwart the bomb makers in the event of their getting away with any of the explosives was about to kill them all.

“Whoa!” Skirata sighed irritably and hoped to the Force that he didn't sound the terrified man he was right then. “Don't shove a knife in that, woman! Unwrap it properly. Here, let me do it. Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

There was a collective involuntary gasp in his comlink earpiece, a very restrained one. He heard Ordo mutter, “Osik.”

“You insolent little Mandalorian thug,” she sneered, but she stood back to let him take over. And she held her blaster to his head.

Skirata ripped the bundle open with nervous hands and broke out one packet, tearing the flexiwrap with his teeth to expose the soft light brown contents. It tasted … oddly sweet.

“Here. Believe me?”

The woman scowled at him and squeezed the explosive between her fingers. “I'm checking that this isn't just dyed detonite.”

“Tell you what,” Skirata said, wondering if Jusik might try a spot of mind influence right then, “pick as many packs as you like at random and I'll unwrap them, and then you can prove to yourself that they're not booby-trapped, either.”

He heard Ordo's voice in his ear. “Kal'buil, you're scaring us …”

“Okay.” The woman pointed to another bag on the speeder bike. “That one. Empty it in front of me.”

Skirata obeyed. He unwrapped the bundle and waited for her to choose a pack at random. He tore it open and let her inspect it. She repeated the process three times.

Skirata stood up, hands on hips, and sighed theatrically. “I've got all night, sweetheart. Have you?”

The woman looked into his face as if she liked the idea of killing him anyway. “Bag it up and get out of here.”

He glanced at his chrono: 2220. Obrim would be getting jumpy now, with squads of CSF officers waiting throughout Galactic City to raid the long list of suspect addresses he'd given them.