“Okay, in real terms, there’s a layer of solid droid on top of the cellars. Can’t free-fall in. So it’s through the front door, the wall, or the drains. And the drains look like thirty-centimeter diameter.”

“Bore-bangs?” Fi said.

“They won’t drill far enough into the ground to penetrate the cellars, and they’re not powerful enough anyway.” Dar­man’s gaze was fixed on the holographic plan. “Although they might be if Atin modified them and packed in a bit of the thermal tape. I was saving it for the blast doors in the fa­cility, but I could spare a meter. That’d be ample.”

“How about a remote?” Atin said. “If we can direct it into the building, that is. If you took out the recording compo­nents, you could pack in the thermal tape—about a couple of meters, easily.”

“They’ll be able to spot anything that’s flying.”

Jinart, in aged crone mode, looked from face to identical face. “What size is this device?”

Darman formed a fist. “About this big. I’ll show you one.”

“I could carry that to the villa, right to the walls, if you can direct it from there.”

Niner pointed into the shimmering image of the building. “Down the roof vent, which would put it in the main hall run­ning front to back.”

“Or maybe along the main drain from this culvert about two hundred meters behind the house. I like that better.”

Etain joined in the communal ritual of staring at the holo­graphic display as if an answer would eventually emerge on its own. “The only point in blowing up the villa is if you could hit as many droids with it as possible.”

“Then we have to convince them we’re going all out for the villa,” Niner said. “That means a feint of some sort, which would be fine if we had more men. But we don’t.”

Then Etain did have an idea, and it was one that she wasn’t proud of.

“How about sending Hokan a direct message?” she said. “What if Guta-Nay were to escape and tell him we were planning to attack the villa?”

“But he knows there are only four of us,” Darman said. “Sorry, five.”

“Six,” Jinart said sourly.

“We could convince the Weequay that we have another squad or two in the area,” Etain said. “At this point, he’ll be­lieve anything I tell him. But I’ll be sending him to his death.”

Fi nodded. “Yeah, if Hokan skewers him without waiting to hear what he’s got to say, we’re stuffed.”

He was cheerfully, benignly callous. Etain was briefly ap­palled before letting the reality wash over her. Given the chance, Guta-Nay would have abused and killed her without a second thought. Aside from that, the squad’s target was ef­fectively a weapons factory, a weapon that would kill mil­lions of men just like Niner, Fi, and Atin. And Darman. If they didn’t kill, they would be killed.

It didn’t take her long to move from her reverence for all living things to thinking waste the Weequay. She wondered if that was the true nature of corruption.

“I’ll do my best to give him a good opening line,” Etain said.

“He’s scum,” Jinart said suddenly. “If his death can help remove the Trade Federation and all their minions from my world, then it is a cheap price to pay.”

My world? Etain obviously had the same thought as the commandos, because they all reacted, looking at the shape-shifter expectantly.

“We didn’t realize this was your homeworld,” Niner said.

“It is,” Jinart said. “I’m among the last of my kind. Various invaders have driven us from our habitat without even seeing us—and now I doubt they would have done any differently had they known we were here. Yes, we’ll help you rid this world of Neimoidians and every other hostile alien species that’s here. That’s our bargain with the Republic. You help us; we help you. That’s why we risk our lives. It is not for the greater glory of your cause.”

“Nobody told us,” Etain said. “I’m sorry. I can’t speak for the Republic, but we’ll do our best to see that they keep their word.”

“Mark that you do,” Jinart said. She indicated the commandos with a swing of her fine black head. “Like your young friends here, we are few, but we have no problem in­flicting a great deal of damage.”

Etain could only nod. At least Jinart was brutally honest. Perhaps telepaths, deprived of secret thought, had no other style of interaction. The creature was staring at her, all un­blinking orange eyes, and she could see for the first time that the four fangs protruding over the Gurlanin’s lower lip each ended in a double point.

“I’ll place scent marks around this camp,” Jinart said stiffly. “The gdans won’t bother you tonight.” She slipped away and merged with the land, leaving a trail of rustling noises as she moved through the bushes.

“Okay, let’s see what Guta-Nay can manage,” Niner said. “If we don’t see signs of movement toward the villa by mid­day tomorrow, we’ll go in anyway, and that’ll mean splitting the squad and taking both groups of droids. We really don’t want to do that if we can help it.”

“This has the makings of a diverting evening,” Fi said. “Anyone for supper?”

It was an elaborate charade, and the bizarre thing was that it needed no rehearsal. Guta-Nay was entirely unquestioning: Etain had begun to see him as a monstrous and sadistic child, unable to comprehend the feelings of others, or control his own. They sat around and ate the merlie stewed with dried kuvara, talking about leaving enough for the “other squad” when it showed up. They discussed in hushed tones about how “the villa” was their target. If this was the misin­formation game, it was an easy one.

Even so, Etain definitely didn’t feel proud of her sub­terfuge when she cut the ties around the Weequay’s wrists, ostensibly an act of kindness so that he could eat. It was de­signed to send him to his death. At least she felt some relief that as soon as it was dark, and they made a show of turning their backs on him and being preoccupied, Guta-Nay would try to escape, and vindicate Jinart’s judgment that he was scum.

The decision still sat heavy on her.

Fi and Darman were asleep, judging by the position of their heads. It was impossible to tell with their helmets on, but they were sitting against a tree, chins resting on their breastplates and arms folded over the rifles clutched to their chests. She had no doubt that if she walked over to them, they’d wake and be on their feet in a second.

She glanced up. Niner was on watch, perched in the fork of a tree with one leg dangling, occasionally peering down his rifle scope at something.

“What can he see?” she asked.

Atin, cross-legged with an array of wires and detonators spread around him, looked up. He’d taken off the armor section that protected his backside and was using it as a convenient plate for components while he worked.

“Line of sight? Up to thirty kilometers in good viz. Con­nected to a remote ship system? Well, you name it, Com—sorry, Etain.” He pointed to his rifle, and then went on packing tight-coiled black and white ribbons of explosive into the remote. “Have a look through the Deece. Safety’s on, but don’t press anything.”

Etain shouldered the rifle. It was a lot lighter than it looked, and the view through the scope was startlingly vivid despite the failing light. She found it difficult to shut out the display that was superimposed on her field of vision. It nar­rowed the view to a tight focus on the target. “Is this what you see through that visor?”

“Sort of.”

“Can I try the helmet? I want to know what it’s like to be inside it.”

Atin gave her a dubious look and shrugged. “You won’t get all the readouts without the rest of the armor system, but you’ll see enough. It’s top shelf. They upgraded it just for this mission.”

She lifted the helmet and held it above her head, a bizarre coronation. As she lowered it into place, the feeling of con­finement and stifling heat almost made her nauseous, but she steeled herself to tolerate it.