“Why?”

“That armor isn’t looking such a tight fit on you as it should.”

Fi nodded. “She’s right. Expending about thirty percent more calories than planned, Sarge. They didn’t calculate for us carrying gear overland.”

“You’ll exhaust your rations soon,” Jinart said. “Merlies are delicious. Just never shoot one, please. If necessary, I could hunt them and leave them for you.”

“Why?”

“The one you shoot might be me.”

It was one more angle they hadn’t covered on exercises. Not even Kal Skirata had dealt with Gurlanins, it seemed, or if he had he hadn’t mentioned it. Niner liked them. He won­dered what world they came from. It was bound to be a fas­cinating one.

“Where will you head now?” Jinart asked. “I need to let Darman know where you are.”

“I’d have said RV Gamma, but that’s going the wrong way, from what you’ve told us.”

“I can give you the location of a suitable area nearer Im­braani, and when I return to Darman I will give him the same coordinates.”

Atin cut in. “They mine gems here, right?”

“Zeka quartz and various green silicates, mainly, yes.”

“Picks and shovels or mechanized?”

“Mechanized.”

“They’ll have explosives for blasting, then. And remote detonators with nice, safe, long-range settings.”

Gurlanins chuckled just like a human. She might have been amused. On the other hand, she might have been thinking Atin was a madman. But Niner liked the direction that Atin’s inventive mind was taking.

“Get your holocharts,” Jinart said. “Let me give you a vir­tual guide to the gem industry of the Imbraani region.”

NOTICE TO QIILURAN CITIZENS

Anyone found with Republic personnel on their land will have that property confiscated and will forfeit their freedom. They, their family, and anyone employed by them in any capacity will be delivered to the Trandoshan representative at Teklet for enslavement. Anyone actively aiding or sheltering Republic personnel will face the death penalty. A reward is offered for anyone providing information leading to the capture of Republic personnel or deserters from the former militia or the Separatist armed forces, in particular Lieutenant Guta-Nay or Lieutenant Pir Cuvin.

–By order of Major Ghez Hokan, commanding officer, Teklet Garrison

A thin, cold drizzle started falling almost as soon as the sun came up. It felt like Kamino; it felt like home, and that was at once both reassuring and unpleasant.

The moisture beaded on Darman’s cloak, and he shook it off. Merlie wool was full of natural oils that made it feel un­pleasantly clammy next to the skin. He longed to get back into the black bodysuit, and not only because of its ballistic properties.

Etain was pushing the rear of the cart. Darman was pulling it, walking between its twin shafts. There were times on the rutted track when she had the worst of it, but—as she kept telling him—Jedi could summon the Force.

“I could help,” he said.

“I can manage.” Her voice sounded like she was straining it through her teeth. “If this is lightweight gear, I’d rather not see the regular variety.”

“I meant I could help with martial skills. If you want to train with your lightsaber.”

“I’d probably end up slicing off something you’d miss later.”

No, she wasn’t what he was expecting at all. They walked on, trying hard to look downtrodden and rural, which wasn’t so much of a challenge when you were hungry, wet, and tired. The dirt road was deserted: at this time of year there should have been visible activity at first light. Ahead of them was the first safe house, a single-story hut topped by a mix­ture of straw thatch and rusting metal plates.

“I’ll knock,” Etain said. “They’ll probably run for their lives if they see you first.”

Darman took it as a sensible observation rather than an in­sult. He pulled his cloak up across his mouth and pushed the cart out of sight behind the hut, looking around slowly and carefully as if he were casually taking in the countryside. There were no windows at the rear, just a simple door and a well-worn path in the grass leading to a pit with an interesting aroma and a plank across it. It wasn’t an ideal location for an ambush, but he wasn’t taking chances. Stopping in the open like this made you vulnerable.

He didn’t like it at all. He wished he could feign invisibil­ity like Sergeant Skirata, a short, wiry, nondescript little man who could pass completely unnoticed, until he decided to stop and fight. And Skirata could fight in a lot of ways that weren’t in the training manual. Darman recalled all of them.

He pressed his elbow into his side to reassure himself that his rifle was within easy reach. Then he slipped his hand under his cloak and felt for one of the probes in his belt.

When he reached the front again, Etain was still rapping on the doorpost. There was no response. She stood back and seemed to be looking at the door as if willing it to open.

“They’re gone,” she said. “I can’t sense anyone.”

Darman straightened up and walked casually toward the rear of the house. “Let me check the regular way.”

He beckoned her to follow. Once around the back, he took a probe and slid the flat sensor strip carefully under the gap beneath the back door. The readout on the section that he was holding said there were no traces of explosive or pathogen. If the place was booby-trapped, it would be very low tech. It was time for a hands-on check. He pressed on the door with his left hand, rifle in his right.

“It’s empty,” Etain whispered.

“Can you sense a tripwire that’ll send a row of metal spikes swinging into you?” he asked.

“Point taken.”

The door swung slowly open. Nothing. Darman took a re­mote from his belt and sent it inside, picking up low-light images from the interior. There was no movement. The room appeared clear. He let the door swing back, recalled the re­mote, and stood with his back to the entrance for one final check around him.

“I go in, look again, then you follow me if you hear me say in, in, in, okay?” he said, almost under his breath. He didn’t meet her eyes. “Lightsaber ready, too.”

As soon as he was inside, he pulled his rifle, stood hard up in the corner, and scanned the room. Clear. So clear, in fact, that last night’s meal was still half eaten on the table. There was a single door that didn’t appear to open to the exterior. A cupboard, a closet—maybe a threat. He trained his rifle on it.

“In, in, in,” Darman said. Etain slipped through and he ges­tured her to the corner opposite, then pointed: Me, that door, you, back door. Etain nodded and drew her lightsaber. He walked up to the closet and tried to raise the latch, but it didn’t open, so he took two steps back and put his boot to it, hard.

They didn’t build well around here. The door splintered and hung on one rusted hinge. Behind it was a storeroom. It made sense now: in a poor country, you locked away your food supply.

“They left in a hurry,” Darman said.

“Are you wearing your armored boots?” Etain said.

“I wouldn’t be kicking down a door without them.” He’d covered them in tightly wound sacking. “No boots, no soldier. As true as it ever was.” He stepped through the gap into the store and studied the shelves. “You’re just learning the first step in clearing a house.”

“What’s that?” Etain reached past him for a metal con­tainer marked gavvy-meal.

“Who’s watching the door? Who’s watching our gear?”

“Sorry.”

“No problem. I expect it never occurs to you when you have Jedi senses to rely on.” There: he hadn’t even tried to call her ma’am this time. “If we knew why the occupants left in such a hurry, this might have made a decent place to lay up. But we don’t. So let’s grab some supplies and move on.”