“Yes. I—”

“Then I don't want to hear it. If you want my help, I have conditions.”

She knew that. She should have known. Skirata took his paternal role obsessively, and he was a hard man, a mercenary, a man whose whole instinct had been honed to fight and survive since he was a small boy.

“I need your help, Kal'buir”

“Don't call me that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You want my help? Then here are my terms. Darman is told he has a son when it's safe for him to know, not when it suits you. And if that isn't when the kid's born, then I name the boy as a Mando'ad. Fathers name their sons, so if Dar can do that, then I'll make sure that he does.”

“So I don't have any choice.”

“You could skip town to any one of a thousand planets if you wanted to.”

“And you'd find me.”

“Oh yes. I find people. It's my job.”

“And you'd tell the Jedi Order. You hate me.”

“No, I actually like you, ad'ika. I just despise Jedi. You Force-users never question your right to shape the galaxy. And ordinary people never realize they have the chance to.”

“I think … I think it would be very fitting for Darman's son to know his heritage.”

“He'll do more than that. If Darman can't raise him as a Mando, then I will. I've had plenty of practice. Plenty.”

Etain was helpless. Her only choice was to run—and she knew that wasn't fair to anyone, least of all to the baby. It would have confirmed to her that all she wanted was a child, something to cling to and love and be loved by in return, regardless of how she got it.

This had to be for Darman. His son could not grow up an ordinary man. And Etain had no idea how to raise a Mando son. Skirata did. If she refused, she knew exactly how far he would go to get his way.

“How will you cope with a Force-using child?” she asked.

“The same way I raised six lads who were so disturbed and damaged by being placed in live-fire battle simulations as toddlers that they never stood a chance of being normal. With a lot of love and patience.”

“You actually want to do this, don't you?”

“Yes, I do. More than anything. It's my absolute duty as a Mando'ad”

So that was his price. “I can disguise the pregnancy—”

“No, you're going to have a nice quiet few months under deep cover on Qiilura, with one of Jinart's people to keep an eye on you. And just watch me make that happen. Then you return with the child, and I raise it here. A grandson. Given my family history, nobody will turn a hair.”

“What will you call him?”

“If Darman is in a position to know when the child's born, it'll be his choice. Until then, I'll keep my ideas to myself.”

“So you agree Darman shouldn't know yet.”

“If I tell him, or you do, then how is he going to go off to war again and keep his mind on his own safety? He ships out again in a few days. So will you. This isn't like telling a regular lad that he's made a girl pregnant, and that can be bad enough. He's a clone with no rights and no real idea of the real world, and he's made his Jedi general pregnant. Do I have to draw you a picture?”

Etain had never truly enraged anyone. The Jedi who had raised her and trained her all her life had been far beyond that emotion. They allowed themselves a little impatience or irritation, but never anger. And on Qiilura, when she had the responsibility for four commandos thrust upon her for the first time in a desperate, dangerous mission, Jinart's anger at her inexperience had been well short of rage.

But Skirata was now drowning in it. She could feel his blind anger and how he was holding it in check. She could see the ashen tone of his face, drained of blood. She could hear the strain in his voice.

“Kal, you of all people should know how much it matters. Your own sons disowned you for putting your clone soldiers before them. You must know what it feels like to risk hatred and contempt to do the right thing for those you love. And why you'd do the same again.”

“If you had been Laseema telling me she was carrying Atin's child, things would have been very different,” he hissed.

There was a movement behind them.

“Kal'buir?”

Etain turned. Ordo stood in the doorway. She hadn't felt him approaching; compared with the disturbance Kal was generating in the Force, he was invisible.

“It's okay, son.” Skirata looked embarrassed and beckoned him across. He managed to feign a smile. “So Captain Maze got his own back, then?”

Ordo, attuned to Skirata's reactions, looked at Etain suspiciously. He felt like the strut in the Force right then, except there was no joyful sense of a wild infant at play, just ferocity. “Honor has been satisfied, as they say. I wondered if you wanted to join us for a drink. Besany is anxious to see you again.”

“Ah, us sounds as if you two are getting on very well.” Skirata smiled, and it was real: Besany Wennen was not, of course, a jetii, a Jedi. She was acceptable. “I'd love to, Ord'ika. Etain and I were just finishing our chat anyway.”

Skirata left as if nothing had happened. Etain leaned on the rail, forehead on her crossed arms, and felt almost completely crushed. But Skirata was right in everything he had said: and he would honor his promise to help her. The price was inevitable. She would pay it.

She focused on the joy that surrounded her son in the Force. However hard things became, that was one thing nobody could take from her—not even Kal'buir.

Of course I've planned a way out. I've been a mercenary since I was seven years old. You always plan for what happens when the current war is over. It's called an exit strategy, and mine's been in the planning a long, long time.

–Kal Skirata to Jailer Obrim, discussing the future in an uncertain galaxy

Coruscant Security Force Staff and Social Club, 0015 hours, 389 days after Geonosis

“Well, that was fun,” Jailer Obrim said, heaving himself onto a bar stool. The club was almost deserted now. “They don't drink much, your boys, do they?”

“They make up for it with eating.” Skirata was working out how he would deal with the current crisis. Jinart the Gurlanin had disappeared in that way that only shapeshifting Gurlanins could. She didn't have a comlink, and he wouldn't run into her eating a fried breakfast at the Kragget. He had to find another way of summoning her. “Enormous appetites. It's the accelerated aging that boosts their metabolisms.”

Obrim scratched his cheek, looking embarrassed. “I know, friend. I've not been through what you've been through with them, but anyone in our game will understand just how you feel.”

“Yeah.” But Darman has a son now. I'm angry that Etain let that happen without even asking him, but he has a son. Even if I never get hold of that Kaminoan aiwha-bait Ko Sai, he does have some kind of future now. “I'm sorry if I take it out on you sometimes.”

“Don't you ever worry about that.”

“Thanks.”

“What would you do if you could run the galaxy now, Kal? I mean anything.”

Skirata didn't even pause to think. “I'd stop the war right now,” he said. “Then I'd go back to Kamino and grab those gray freaks by their rotten skinny necks and make them engineer a normal life span for every single last one of our boys. Then I'd take the whole army home to Mandalore and spend the rest of my life making sure they had wives and families, and a purpose that was theirs, not some aruetii's private feud.”

“I thought you might say that,” Obrim said. “I ought to be getting home now. Last few days have been a bit rough on my wife. Y'know, never at home. Why don't you come around for dinner sometime?”