“Hot,” she said.

“It’s fine when it’s sealed to the rest of the suit,” Atin said. He got to his feet and loomed in her field of vision. “See the red light in the top corner?”

“Mm.”

“Look at it and blink twice, fast.”

She did. It unleashed chaos. All she could see now was a riot of lines and numbers and flashing symbols. She was aware of a normal view beyond it, but the rest of the data dancing before her eyes was overwhelming.

“That’s the HUD,” Atin said. “Heads-up display. Real life-saver. The proverbial eyes in your backside.”

“It’s distracting. How do you cope with it?”

“You get used to it fast. We’ve used these systems all our lives. You can filter the information out, like listening to a conversation in a crowd.”

Etain lifted the helmet off and inhaled cool evening air. “And you can communicate without any audible sound out­side the helmet?”

“Yes, and even without Command and Control hearing us on certain frequencies. I don’t think ordinary troopers can do that, but we’re different.”

“Separate specialized training?”

“They’re trained from day one to be more obedient than us. And we’re more obedient than ARC troopers. They’re pretty well raw Jango.”

He was talking about himself as if he were a commodity. Etain found it uncomfortable: yes, these young men were odd because they were externally identical, but they were still individual men, and not exotic houseplants or strains of grain. She understood that the Republic faced desperate times. She just wondered how many desperate measures that could justify. Somehow it seemed an affront to the Force to do this to fellow humans, even if they seemed remarkably sanguine about it.

She handed him back his helmet. “We use you, don’t we, Atin? All of you.”

“No soldier has it easy.” He fumbled with a length of wire, clearly embarrassed, brow furrowed in mock concentration.

The fresh scar from cheek to chin was all the more shocking etched into fresh young skin, and not a battle-hardened, wrinkled face that indicated a full life. “But I like this job. What else would I do?”

It was a painfully good question. What would any of them do if they were discharged from the Grand Army? She reached out and squeezed his arm instinctively, but all she grasped was plastoid-alloy plate.

“I know what happened to you,” she said. She concen­trated, a precision job: just enough to influence him to see what was true and reasonable, but not to make mockery of his natural grief. “What happened to your brothers wasn’t your fault. You’re a good soldier. Sometimes the odds are too far against you.”

He stared down at his boots. Eventually, he looked up and shrugged. “I’ll do my best to make sure this bunch stays alive, then.” There was little indication on his face that the gentle push toward acceptance had worked, but Etain felt less of a jagged tear in the Force around him. He might heal, in time.

And time was something none of the clone commandos would have. It made her ashamed.

“Can I help with anything?” Etain said.

“You could help me put some remote dets into these. I told Dar I’d finish them for him.” Atin indicated small packs of mining explosive, and handed her something that looked like a packet of steel toothpicks. “Slide these between the ribbon and the main charge. Makes any party go off with a bigger bang.”

“What are they?”

“IEDs,” he said. “Great for planting down drainage sys­tems and air-conditioning ducts.”

“Not more acronyms.”

“Improvised explosive devices. Be sure you make them look neat. Dar’s fussy about his devices.”

It was a relatively simple but fiddly task: Etain was a quick learner. They sat in silent concentration, making bombs as casually as if they were shelling qana beans. This is how it happens, she thought. This is how you slide from peace­keeper to soldier to assassin.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Atin said, not looking up from the bomb in progress.

“Of course.”

“May I look at your lightsaber?”

Etain smiled. “Well, you’ve shown me yours, so it’s only fair I should show you mine.” She took out the hilt and held it up to him. He wiped his palms on his bodysuit and took the saber carefully. “That’s the dangerous end, and this is the control.”

He showed no inclination to activate it. He seemed ab­sorbed by the hilt and its markings.

“Go on,” Etain said.

The lightsaber flared into blue light with a vzzmmm. Atin didn’t even flinch. He simply stared down the length of the blade and seemed to be checking it for true.

“It doesn’t feel like a weapon,” he said. “It’s a beautiful thing.”

“I made it.”

That changed his expression. She had struck a chord with him, one builder of gadgets to another. “Now that is impres­sive.”

Etain enjoyed the respect. Being treated with deference as an officer made her squirm, but this felt good. So I think I’m pretty good at something. And someone else thinks I’m good at it, too. It was a boost that she sorely needed.

Atin thumbed off the blade and handed the hilt back to her with suitable reverence. “I’d still rather have plenty of dis­tance between me and the enemy,” he said. “This is a close-in weapon.”

“Maybe I need to practice my more remote skills,” Etain said. “You never know when telekinesis might come in handy.”

They went on bundling explosives with ribbon charges and stacking the packages in a heap. She heard and felt Darman relieve Niner on watch: their respective presences ebbed and flowed, merging at one point as they crossed paths.

Through the night Etain alternated between dozing and checking on Guta-Nay. She was careful not to give him the idea that she was watching him, and instead concentrated on sensing whether he was still there, sitting in the lee of a tree with his knees drawn up to his chest. Sometimes he slept; she could feel the absence of mental activity, almost like sensing a plant. Other times he woke and felt more vivid and chaotic, like a predator.

It was getting light again. It had been a long and restless night.

And still Guta-Nay sat there. He’d made no attempt to es­cape.

Of course he won’t. Etain felt her stomach knotting. He’s terrified of Hokan. He wants to stay with us. We’re the good guys, the civilized guys.

Once again she was horrified by her ruthless and almost involuntary calculation of benefit against evil. She wandered past the shelter made of leaves, tarpaulin, and a camouflage net that seemed to be handmade. Niner, now clearly asleep, still wearing full armor, was curled up on his side, one arm folded under his head. Atin was reading his datapad; Fi was finishing the cold remains of the merlie stew. He glanced up at her and held out the mess tin.

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Fat had congealed in unappetizing yel­low globules on the surface. It seemed soldiers could sleep anywhere and eat anything.

This couldn’t be a moral dilemma. It was obvious. These men had become her responsibility, both as an individual and as a Jedi: she owed it to them to see that they survived. She liked them. She cared what happened to them, and she wanted to see Atin live long enough to overcome his demons.

And she could do something that even they couldn’t.

“Guta-Nay,” she said, putting her hand on the Weequay’s shoulder. He opened his eyes. “Guta-Nay, you’re not afraid. You want to go to Ghez Hokan and tell him what you know. You want to offer him information about the Republic forces in exchange for your life. You want to tell him that they plan to attack the villa because they think the forces at the facility are a decoy.”

Guta-Nay stared past her for a moment, and then stood up. He picked his way through the bushes and headed east to­ward Imbraani.

Etain knew she had now taken a second life.