Then he cracked the seal on his helmet and breathed unfil­tered air for the first time in many hours.

It smelled complex. It wasn’t the air-conditioning of Tipoca City and it wasn’t the dry dead air of Geonosis. It was alive. Darman released all the gription panels on his armor and stacked the plates inside the circle of the sanger, set his helmet to detect movement, and left it on the makeshift wall. Then he peeled off his bodysuit section by section and rinsed it in the flowing water.

The day was surprisingly warm; he’d had no way of telling what it felt like while he was sealed in the suit, just the am­bient environment data on his display.

But the water was shockingly cold when he stepped in. He washed quickly, sat in the pool of sunlight to dry off, and then replaced the panels of bodysuit. They’d dried a lot more quickly than he had.

Before he let himself nod off he put his armor back on.

There was no sense in getting used to the pleasant sensation of not wearing it. It was drilled so thoroughly into him that he was surprised he’d thought otherwise even for a second: in enemy territory, you slept in full gear with your blaster ready. He cradled his rifle in his arms, leaned back on his pack, and watched the insects dancing on the sunlit water.

They were hypnotically beautiful. Their wings were elec­tric blues and bright vermilion and they wove a figure-eight. Then, one by one, they dropped down and floated on the sur­face, drifting with the current, still wonderfully vivid, but now apparently dead.

Darman reacted. Airborne toxin. He shut his eyes tight, puffed out the air in his lungs, and snapped his helmet back into place, drawing breath again only when the seal was se­cure and his filtration mask could take over. But there was no data on his visor to indicate a contaminant. The air was still clean.

He leaned out and scooped up a couple of the insects caught in an eddy. One kicked a leg a few times and then was still. When he looked up, there were none left flying. It seemed sad. What bothered him more was that it seemed in­explicable.

Curious, he fumbled for an empty ration cube container and dropped the insects into it to consider them later. Then he closed his eyes and tried to doze, rifle ready.

But sleep eluded him. His helmet detected movement and woke him every few minutes at the intrusion of small crea­tures no threat to him. Once or twice it picked up a gdan, and he opened his eyes to see glittering points of reflected light staring back at him.

The system picked up something larger once, but it wasn’t as large as any humanoid in his database, and kept its dis­tance before disappearing.

Get some sleep. You’re going to need it, son.

Darman wasn’t sure if it was his own voice or that of his imaginary commander. Either way, it was an order he was only too willing to obey.

* * *

Ghez Hokan never took kindly to being summoned, but Ovolot Qail Uthan had the gift of being charming about it. She invited him to meet her in the research complex. She even sent one of her staff with a speeder to collect him from his offices.

Hokan appreciated the gesture. The woman understood how to use power and influence. The Neimoidian grocer had yet to learn.

Uthan was not particularly pretty but she did have the knack of dressing well—in plain dark robes—and carrying herself like an empress. That balanced the scales. What Hokan liked most about her was that while she seemed to know that feminine charm wouldn’t override his common sense, she never dropped her seductively reasonable facade. She was a professional, and mutual respect went a long way with him. The fact that she was a scientist with subtle politi­cal skills impressed him further still. He could almost forgive the unnatural act of fighting without real weapons.

The decaying exterior of farm buildings gave way to rein­forced alloy doors and lengthy corridors with what appeared to be emergency bulkheads. Hokan carried his helmet under one arm, unwilling to leave it—or his weapons—with the servant. The wizened man looked local. The locals were all thieves.

“Expecting some grain silo fires, then?” he said, and prod­ded the recessed blast bulkheads with his forefinger.

Uthan laughed a low, tinkling laugh that he knew could just as easily switch to a commanding voice and freeze a pa­rade ground of troops. “I’m grateful you could make the time to see me, General Hokan,” she said. “Under normal circumstances, I would never bypass someone with whom I had a contract and speak directly to his… subcontractor. It’s very rude, don’t you think? But I’m a little concerned.”

Ah, Ankkit wasn’t part of this conversation. Hokan began to understand. And she was laying on the flattery with a trowel. “I’m merely Hokan, a citizen. Let me address your concerns… madam?” He felt suddenly foolish. He had no idea what to call her. “Mistress Uthan?”

“Doctor will be fine, thank you.”

“How can I reassure you, then, Doctor?”

She steered him into a side room and indicated three shim­mering beige brocade upholstered chairs, clearly imported from Coruscant. He hesitated to sit on such a conspicuously decadent seat, but he did because he would not stand before her like a servant. Uthan took the chair nearest him.

“You have some idea of the importance of the work I carry out here, I think.”

“Not in any detail. Viruses. From the building specifica­tion, anyway.” He’d policed the construction crews, who were also all thieves. “Hazardous materials.”

If Uthan was surprised, she gave no indication whatsoever. “Exactly,” she said. “And I confess I’m somewhat disturbed by the events of recent days. Lik Ankkit assures me my secu­rity is guaranteed, but I would really welcome your assess­ment of the situation.” Her tone hardened just a fraction: still syrup, but now with gritty, sharp crystals in it. “Is this proj­ect under any threat? And can you maintain its security?”

Hokan didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I believe your facility is vul­nerable.” He was a master of his trade. He saw no reason to lose his reputation over a restriction not of his making. “And no, I can’t guarantee anything with the level and quality of staff that I have.”

Uthan sat back with controlled slowness. “Last matter first. Do you not have the resources to employ them? Ankkit’s contract is quite generous.”

“That generosity has not filtered down to my operation.”

“Ah. Perhaps we should shorten the supply chain in the in­terests of efficiency.”

“I have no opinion on that. Ankkit’s welcome to his cut as long as I have the tools to do the job.”

“That wasn’t quite the cut I had in mind for Lik Ankkit.” She smiled. There was no warmth in it. “And you believe the recent incursions are related to this facility?”

“Circumstantial evidence. Yes.” Hokan returned the smile and suspected his was a few degrees cooler. If she’d do this to Ankkit, she’d do it to him. “It’s a big planet. Why the Im­braani region? Why send Jedi agents?”

“Have you located any forces?”

“No. I’ve identified at least two points of hard contact and one downed vessel, though.”

“Hard contact?”

“Situations when soldiers actually engage each other.” Not that his rabble of mercenaries rated the distinction of soldiers. “I can’t gauge numbers.”

“If I were to arrange for you to have command of Sepa­ratist droids and their officers from our nearby garrison, would that make your task easier?”

“I take no sides. I won’t lie to you and pretend to support your cause.”

“You have military experience, of course. There’s no dis­grace in being a mercenary.”

“I’m Mandalorian. It’s in my soul as well as part of my education. No, there’s no shame in it as long as you give of your best.”

Uthan suddenly melted into what seemed to be a thor­oughly genuine and sympathetic half smile. “I think I should share something with you. It might be distressing.” There were still hard edges in her unctuous tone. “The Republic has created an army of cloned troops. Millions. They have been bred to fight and serve Jedi generals without question, altered to be their willing servants. They have had no normal life and they age very rapidly—if they survive being wasted in foolish battles. Do you know whose genetic material was used to create these unfortunate slaves?”