“Take it in over the villa,” Niner said.

“Open country, Sarge. Bit risky.”

“I think we’ve lost the element of surprise.”

“Okay. Long lens, though.”

“What you doing?” Guta-Nay asked. To him, they were traveling in silence. He couldn’t hear the conversations going on between helmet comlinks. Niner switched channels with a couple of deliberate blinks.

“Taking a look at that villa.”

“I know about villa.”

“We all know about the villa.”

Niner would have welcomed a visit from Jinart. They hadn’t seen the shapeshifter since yesterday. She could have been anywhere, of course, but she hadn’t made herself visible. He hoped she hadn’t run into problems.

Five minutes now. No time at all. They’d be a squad again, and they’d have a commander. They’d be at the RV, and then they could rest up, eat, have a wash, and generally clear their heads. It began to feel like good news.

There was just the matter of taking Uthan and the nano­virus, then getting out in one piece.

* * *

Etain had almost grown used to thinking of Darman’s ar­mored anonymity as a friendly face. Then three more exactly like him emerged from the trees and disturbed that fragile equilibrium.

And then they took their helmets off.

It was rude, she knew, but all she could do was stare, and she found herself slowly putting her hand to her mouth in an attempt to disguise her shock.

“Yes, sorry about the Weequay, Commander,” one of them said. He had Darman’s voice and Darman’s face. “He’s a bit ripe, I know. We’ll have him clean himself up.”

They were utterly identical, except for one with a terrible scar across his face. The other two seemed like different moods of the same man, one serious, one pleasantly calm and unconcerned. They were all staring at her.

“I can’t tell you apart,” she said.

“I’m CC—”

“No, you have proper names. I know you have names.”

“It’s—it’s not policy, Commander.”

Darman lowered his eyes. “It’s a private thing.”

“Everyone calls me Fi,” said the calm one, clearly not bothered by policy. “And this is Atin.”

“Niner,” the serious one said, and saluted. Etain couldn’t sense a great deal from either of them, but the scarred Atin exuded a sense of loss that was almost solid. She could feel its weight. She tried to concentrate on the Weequay. She didn’t need to tap into the Force to tell that he was terrified. He was bent over as if about to drop to his knees, staring up at her.

Weequay didn’t all look the same. She knew this one. He had chased her across a barq field. He was a rapist and a mur­derer, not that the descriptions set him apart from any other of Hokan’s thugs. She reached for her lightsaber.

“Whoa,” Darman said.

“Girlie?” Guta-Nay said.

“I’ll give you girlie,” she said, but Darman caught her arm and she was instantly ashamed of her reaction. Again, it was anger. It was what stood between her and making sense of her calling. She had to get the better of it. If Darman could exercise force without venom, then so could she.

“What’s he here for?” she asked, thumbing off the blade.

“We thought he might have useful information,” Niner said.

Etain was desperate to be useful. She felt as if she were only capable of performing conjuring tricks: enough skills to distract, but not enough to be a functioning soldier. She also wanted Darman to stop treating her as if she were merely in need of a little more instruction. She wanted him to tell her how much he despised all that potential power wasted on a girl with no discipline or focus. He wasn’t stupid. He had to be thinking that.

“What do we need to know, Niner?”

“How Hokan thinks, Commander.”

“Give me some time with him.”

Guta-Nay straightened up and took one step back, shaking his head. He was expecting Hokan-style treatment.

Fi chuckled. “Guta-Nay thinks you’re going to cut off his … er, braids, ma’am.”

Braids. She’d forgotten. She pulled a section of hair free of her collar, plaited it as fast as she could, and fumbled in her pocket for a piece of cord to fasten it. This is what you are. Live up to it, if only to justify Darman’s faith in you.

“We’re going to have a little chat,” she said. She let her braid fall back inside her collar. “Sit down … Guta-Nay.”

It wasn’t easy for him to settle down on the ground with his hands still tied, but Etain wasn’t taking any chances. He knelt and then fell sideways in an undignified sprawl. She hauled him into a sitting position and they sat outside the shelter in silence. She wanted him to calm down before she attempted to influence him.

A sudden clack of armor made her glance over her shoul­der, and she was astonished to see Atin giving Darman an awkward hug, slapping him on the back. She caught Dar­man’s eye: he looked bewildered.

Whatever had given Atin his huge emotional burden had been slightly relieved by rinding Darman well. Then the two men parted as if nothing in particular had happened. Etain turned back to Guta-Nay, suddenly very aware that for all their calm manner and unnatural appearance, these soldiers were every bit as painfully human as she was.

Bred to fight.

A new doubt was growing in her. She shook it off and turned to Guta-Nay, who wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“You’re not afraid,” she said quietly, and visualized the gentle trickle of water from the fountain of her clan home on Coruscant. “You’re relaxed and you want to talk about Ghez Hokan.”

He certainly did.

“Haven’t seen Jinart?” Darman said.

“Not since yesterday.” Niner cleaned his armor. It didn’t matter how visible they were now, and he hated scruffy rig. Darman had stripped down his Deece and was wiping the ig­nition chamber more than it needed it. Fi wandered around the temporary camp, cradling his rifle, keeping watch.

“Well, whether she’s here or not, I think we go in sooner rather than later.”

“The villa or the facility?”

“Latest intel we have from Jinart indicates the villa.”

“But…”

“Yeah, but. I’d find it hard to walk away from a place I could defend, too. That villa’s nothing but firewood.” He put down the shoulder plate he was cleaning. “Show me that plan again.”

Darman clipped the DC-17 back together and reached into his belt for the holochart sphere. “She did okay to get this.”

“Our commander? Jinart seemed dismissive of her.”

“C’mon, Niner. She’s a Jedi. She’s an officer.”

“Well? What do you think?”

Darman rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’s got a lot of fight in her.”

“And?”

“She’s … well, she’s not exactly Skirata. But she’s learning fast. And you should see the Jedi stuff she can do. There’s more to it than just the fighting skills.”

Niner occasionally had his doubts about nonclone offi­cers. They all did. They never admitted it publicly, but Ski­rata had warned them, quietly, privately, that outside officers sometimes needed help, and while you always obeyed or­ ders, you needed to be able to make helpful interpretations if the officer was less than specific. Officers could unintention­ally get you killed.

“Nobody’s Skirata,” Niner said. He was watching the com­mander discreetly. Whatever she had done to Guta-Nay had transformed him into a true conversationalist. She was actu­ally looking bored, as if she’d been cornered by someone who really, really wanted to explain every engineering detail of a repeating blaster.

“You have to admit that’s quite a skill,” Darman said.

Niner tried not to think about it. It made him uneasy, not knowing how many of his actions were his own choice. He didn’t like the other conflicts she created in him, either. He had never been this close to a human female before, and he was relieved that she was emaciated, unkempt, and gener­ally less than appealing. The proximity still made him feel edgy, though, and from the way Darman was looking at him, it seemed they shared the realization.