Mird braced visibly and then shot out into the corridor. It always responded to the word oya with wild, noisy enthusiasm because that meant they were going hunting, but it was intelligent enough to know when to stay silent. Mirdala Mird: clever Mird. It was the right name for the strill. Delta advanced down the corridor toward the ducts and environ-mental control room that kept the underground bank from freezing solid, following Mird's wake, which-even Vau had to admit it-was marked by a trail of saliva. Strills dribbled. It was part of their bizarre charm, like flight, six legs, and jaws that could crunch clean through bone.
Sev skidded on a patch of strill-spit. "Fierfek..."
"Could be worse," Scorch said. "Much worse."
Vau followed up the rear, his helmet's panoramic sensor showing him the view at his back. There was an art to moving forward with that image in front of you on the HUD, an image that sent the unwary stumbling. Like the men he'd trained, Vau could see past the disorienting things the visor displayed.
They were fifty meters from the vents that would take them back to the surface and Fixer's waiting snowspeeder when the watery green lighting flickered and Mird skidded to a halt, ears pricked. Vau judged by the animal's reaction, but Sev confirmed his worst fears.
"Ultrasonic spike," he said. "I don't know how, but I think we tripped an alarm."
Fixer's voice filled their helmets. "Drive's running. I'm bringing the snowie as close to the vent as I can."
Boss turned to face Vau and held his hand out for the bundle. "Come on, Sergeant."
"I can manage. Get going."
"You first."
"I said get going, Three-Eight."
No nicknames: that told Boss that Vau meant business. Sev and Scorch sprinted down the final stretch to the compartment doors and forced them apart again. The machine voice of rotors and pumps flooded the silent corridor. Every-one stopped dead for a split second. They could hear the clatter of approaching droid and organic guards, the noise magnified by the acoustics of the corridors. Vau estimated the minutes and seconds. It wasn't good.
"Get your shebse up that vent before I vape the lot of you," Vau snapped. Osik, I put them in danger, all for this stupid jaunt, all for lousy credits. "Now!" He shoved Boss hard in the back, and the three commandos did what they always did when he yelled at them and used a bit of force: they obeyed. "Shift it, Delta."
The vent was a steep vertical shaft. The service ladder in-side was designed for maintenance droids, with small recessed footholds and a central rail. Boss looked up, assessing it.
"Let's cheat," he said, and fired his rappel line high into the shaft. The grappling hook clattered against the metal, and he tugged to check the line was secure. "Stand by..."
The shaft could only take one line at a time. Boss shot up the shaft with his hoist drive squealing, bouncing the soles of his boots against the wall in what looked like dramatic leaps until he vanished.
The hoist stopped whining. There was a moment of quiet punctuated by the clacking of armor plates.
"Clear," his voice echoed. Sev shot his line vertically; it made a whiffling sound like an arrow in flight as it paid out. Metal clanged, and the fibercord went tight. "Line secure, Sev."
Sev winched himself up the shaft with an ungainly skid-ding technique. Scorch waited for the all-clear and then fol-lowed him. Vau was left standing at the bottom of the shaft with Mird, facing a long climb. Mird could fly, but not in such a confined space. Vau fired his line, waited for one of the commandos to secure it, and then attached the bundle of valuables to it. Then he held out his hands to Mird to take the flamethrower from its mouth.
"Good Mird," he whispered. "Now, oya. Off you go. Up, Mird'ika." The strill could hang on to the line by its jaws alone if necessary. But Mird just whined in dissent, and sat down with all the sulky determination of a human child. "Mird! Go! Does no shabuir ever listen to me? Go!"
Mird stayed put. It'll never leave me. Not until the day I die. Vau gave up and tugged the line as a signal to the commandos to haul away. He didn't have time to argue with a strill.
"If I'm not out of here in two minutes," he said, "get all this stuff to Captain Ordo. Understood?"
There was a brief silence on Vau's helmet comlink. "Understood," said Boss.
The next few moments felt stretched into forever. The staccato clatter of approaching droid guards grew louder. Mird rumbled ominously and stared toward the doors, poised on its haunches as if to spring at the first droid to appear.
It would defend Vau to the last. It always had.
Eventually the length of thin fibercord snaked back down the shaft and slapped against the floor. Boss sounded a little breathless. "Up you come, Sergeant."
Vau reattached the line to his belt and scooped Mird up in both arms, hoping his winch would handle the extra weight. As he rose, kicking away from the shaft wall, the machinery groaned and spat. He could see the cold gray light above him and a helmet not unlike his own Mandalorian T-shaped visor peering down at him, picked out in an eerie blue glow.
Now he could hear the throb of the snowspeeder's drive, Fixer was right above them. As Vau squeezed his shoulders through the top of the vent, Mird leapt clear. Scorch and Sev dropped to the rock-hard snow with their DC-17s trained on something Van couldn't yet see. When he hauled himself out, a blaster bolt seared past his head and he found himself in the middle of a firefight. A ferocious wind roared in his throat-mike.
Vau slammed the vent's grille shut and seared it with his custom Merr-Sonn blaster, welding the metal tight to the coaming. Then he dropped a small proton grenade down the shaft through a gap. The snow shook with the explosion below. Nobody was going to be coming up behind them.
But everyone and his pet akk now knew the Dressian Kiolsh bank had intruders-Republic troops.
A distant boom followed by the whomp-whomp-whomp of artillery almost drowned out the blasterfire and howling wind. The Galactic Marines were right on time.
"Okay, Bacara's started," Scorch said. "Nice of him to stage a diversion."
Mygeeto's relentlessly white landscape gave no clue that it housed cities deep below. Only a few were visible on the surface. The packed snow of eons was pierced by jagged mountains that formed glass canyons like extravagant ice sculptures. A surface patrol-six droids on snowshoe-like feet, ten organics who were probably Muuns under the cold-weather gear-had cut them off from the snowspeeder just meters away. Rounds zapped and steamed off the vessel's fuselage; Fixer, kneeling beside it, returned a hail of blue Deece fire that kept the security patrol pinned down.
If that snowie gets damaged, we're never getting off this rock.
Vau checked his panoramic vision. Mird was close at his side, pressing against him. He could see only the patrol; nothing else showed up on his sensors. That didn't mean there weren't more closing in on them, though.
The big bundle of plunder lay on the snow where Delta had dropped it. Right then, it was simply convenient cover-Vau crawled behind his oversized multimillion-credit sand-bag and took aim. The bdapp-bdapp-bdapp of blasters and ragged breathing filled his helmet-his, Delta's?-but there was no chatter. Delta Squad exchanged few words during engagements lately. They'd been born together, raised together, and they'd come as close to knowing one another's thoughts as any normal humans could. Now they were laying down fire exactly as he'd trained them while Fixer defended their getaway vessel, all without a word.
How the Muuns would explain away a Mandalorian fighting with Republic forces Vau wasn't sure, but then everyone knew that Mandos would fight for anyone for the right price.
Scorch clipped a grenade launcher on his Deece.
"Not good," he said. "More droids."
Vau now saw what Scorch could. His HUD picked up shapes moving in rigid formation, almost invisible to infrared but definitely showing up in the electromagnetic spectrum. Then he saw them rounding an outcrop of glittering crystal, clanking ludicrous things with long snouts, a platoon of them. Scorch fired the grenade, smashing into the front rank of four. An eruption of snow and metal fragments fanned into the air and were whipped away by the wind. The rank behind was caught by the shrapnel from their comrades; and two toppled over, decapitated by buckled chunks of metal.
But the rest kept coming. Vau checked the topography on his HUD. They were approaching down an ice wadi almost opposite the first patrol's location, about to cut across the path between Fixer and the rest of them, and that meant the only way to the speeder now was to run the enemy gauntlet.
Sev and Boss began working their way to the snowspeeder on their bellies, pausing to fire grenades high over the ice boulders and then scrambling a few more meters while the droids paused and the Muuns took brief cover. Shots hissed around the commandos as blaster bolts shaved paint off their plates and hit the snow, vaporizing it. One round deflected off Vau's helmet with an audible sizzle. He felt the impact like being slapped around the head.
All he felt at that moment was . . . foolish: not afraid, not in fear for his life, just stupid, stupid for getting it wrong. It was worse than physical terror. He'd overplayed his hand. He'd put Delta in this spot. He had to get them out.
"You're conspicuous in that black armor, Sarge," Scorch said kindly. "It's worse than having Omega alongside. What say you back out of here and leave me to hold them?"
If anyone was going to do any holding, it was Vau. "Humor an old man." He fumbled in his belt for an EMP grenade. "I stop the droids, you pick off the wets." Wets. Organics. He was talking like Omega now. "Then we all run for it. Deal?"
Scorch twisted the grenade launcher to one side and switched his Deece to automatic, forcing the Muun guards to scatter. Two dropped behind a frozen outcrop. He fired again, shattering the ice, which turned out to be a brittle crystalline rock that sent shards flying like arrows. There was a shriek of agony that turned into a panting scream. It echoed off the walls of the canyon.
He grunted, apparently satisfied. "Sounds like nine wets left in play."
"Eight, if one's taking care of him," Vau said.
"Muuns aren't that nice."
"Fixer, you okay?" Vau waited for a reply. The world had suddenly gone silent except for that screaming Muun. The droids seemed to be regrouping behind a ten-meter chunk of dark gray ice. "Fixer?"
"Fine, Sarge."
"Okay, here goes."
Vau fired. This EMP grenade had enough explosive power to make a mess of a small room, but its pulse was what really did the damage over a much larger area. It fried droid circuits. The small explosion echoed and scattered chunks of ice, and then there was a long silence punctuated only by the distant pounding of cannon as the Galactic Marines smashed their way into Jygat.
Vau refocused on the EM image in his HUD. He crawled to the bundle, dragging it into cover and strapping it back on his chest. It was way too much to carry, and he couldn't move properly. He knelt on all fours like a heavily pregnant woman trying to get up. "I don't see movement."
"It's okay, Sarge, they're zapped."
"Okay, just the wets to finish off, then." He switched back to infrared. The Muun guards would show up like beacons. "I'll warm them up while you make a move."
Vau pulled out the flamethrower, eased himself into a kneeling position, and opened the valve. Mird cocked its head, eyes fixed on the weapon.
"Where'd you get that, Sarge?" Scorch asked.
"Borrowed it from a flame trooper."
"Does he know?"
"He won't mind."
"That thing could melt droids."
"I was saving the fuel for a tight spot." There was still no movement; Vau estimated that the patrol was still in the canyon, maybe looking for a way around behind them. The Muun who'd been injured was now silent-unconscious, or dead. "Like this. I should have a full minute's fuel, so once I start-run. You too, Mird." He gestured Mird toward the snowspeeder and pointed to the flamethrower. "Go, Mird. Follow Boss."
It was just a case of taking a blind run at it. I'm not as fast as I used to be. And I'm carrying too much. But a wall of flame was a blunt and terrifying instrument against almost any life-form. Vau struggled to his feet and ignited the flame.
The roaring jet spat ahead of him as he drew level with the small pass where the Muun patrol was holed up; then the sheet of flame blinded him to what lay beyond it. He only heard the screams and saw the flash on icons across his HUD as Delta Squad sprinted for the idling snowspeeder. Vau backed away, counting down the seconds left of his fuel sup-ply, ready to switch to his blaster when it ran out.
Nobody was expecting a flamethrower on an ice patrol. Surprise was half the battle.
Vau turned and ran, gasping for breath. Not a bad turn of speed for his age, not bad at all on ice and so heavily laden, and there was Mird ahead of him, having listened for once, and the speeder was coming about...
And the ice opened up beneath him.
It took him a moment to realize he was falling down a sloping tunnel and not just sinking into unexpected soft snow. Fixer called out, but even though the sound filled Vau's helmet he didn't catch what was said. The two bags of booty took him down.
"Get clear!" Vau yelled, even though he had no need to with a helmet comlink. "That's an order..."
"Sarge, we can't."
"Shut up. Go. If you come back for me-if anyone comes back-I'll shoot you on sight."
"Sarge! We could..."
"I raised you to survive. Don't humiliate me by going soft."
I can't believe I said that.
Delta didn't argue again. Vau was in semidarkness now, his HUD scrolling with the icons of Delta's view of the ice field beneath the speeder as it lifted clear.
". . . party . . ." said a voice in his helmet, but he lost the rest of the sentence, and the link faded into raw static.
The last thing I'll ever say to them is-shut up. Noble exit. Vau..
Mortal danger was a funny thing. He was sure he was going to die but he wasn't terrified, and he wasn't worried about more patrols. He was more preoccupied by what he'd fallen into: a vague memory came back to him. As he slid down a few more meters, trying to stop his fall with his heels more out of instinct than intent, a detached sense of curiosity prevailed: so this was what dying was actually like. Then he remembered.
Mygeeto's ice was honeycombed by tunnels-tunnels made by giant carnivorous worms. He came to rest with a thud on what felt like a ledge.
"Osik," he said. Well, if he wasn't dead, he soon would be. "Mird? Mird! Where are you, verd'ika?"
There was no answer but the crunching and groaning o' shifting ice. But he still had the proceeds of the robbery strapped to him, both his goal and his fate.
Vau wasn't planning on dying just yet. He was now too rich to let go of life.
Chapter 2.
Clone subjects in the study showed a more marked variation in biological age and genetic mutation than seen in naturally occurring zygotic twins. In the group of 100 cloned men aged 24 chronological years, and who could reasonably be expected to present as the equivalent of a 48-year-old uncloned human, key biomarkers showed a range from 34 to 65 years with a median of 53 years. Further research is needed, but exposure' to battlefield contaminants and high levels of sustained stress appear to accelerate normal genetic mutation in men already designed to age at twice the normal rate. By the time Kamino clones reach the equivalent of their mid-40s, those mutations are very apparent and-like natural zygotics-they grow apart.
-Dr. Bura Veujarij, Imperial Institute of Military Medicine, "Aging and Tissue Degeneration in Kaminoan-cloned Troops," Imperial Medical Review 1675 * * *
Republic Administration Block, Senate District, Coruscant, 470 days after Geonosis Can't the cops shift them?" said the security guard on the main doors of the Republic Treasury offices. He stared past Treasury agent Besany Wennen-not something that many males managed-with an expression on his face that said he felt the protesters were messing up his nice tidy forecourt. "I mean, they're Sep sympathizers, aren't they? And the cops are just standing there, doing nothing."
Besany hadn't missed the protesters. She'd taken a keen but discreet interest in them, in fact, because the war with the Separatists had become an intensely personal one for her. These were expatriate Krantians, protesting about the pounding that their neutral planet had taken in a recent battle.
They'd taken up a position opposite what they saw as one of the centers of the war effort, the Defense Department ad-ministration building, where they seemed to think they might have some impact. Several government offices ringed the pedestrian concourse. Office workers had appeared at the windows to watch for a while, then returned to their desks because it wasn't their war, not yet. They had an army to protect them.
"They're neutrals, actually," Besany said. "So how would they protest to the Separatists?"
The guard looked at her, visibly puzzled. Holoscreens dotted the wall behind him, giving him a view of every floor and corridor in the building. "What do you mean?"
"They're here because they're allowed to be. Where would they go if they wanted to lobby the CIS?"
The question seemed to have stumped the guard. He shrugged. "Want me to see you safely past them, ma'am?"
"I don't think they're a threat, but thanks." Besany wondered how she was going to spend the evening, but she knew what would occupy her: worrying about a Null ARC trooper captain called Ordo, a man she was too scared to contact be-cause she had no idea if he was on a mission at any given moment, and if a message on his comlink would compromise his safety. "I'll risk it."
She stepped out into Coruscant's temperate, climate-controlled early-evening air and gave the small protest a wide berth. A couple of CSF officers in dark blue fatigues were watching the protest from a doorway; one acknowledged her with a nod. She couldn't recognize him because the white riot helmet obscured too much of his face, but she'd had occasional contact with the Coruscant Security Force during investigations and they obviously found it easy to recognize her. She nodded back and clasped her bag more firmly under one arm.
Life went on in Coruscant despite the war. The protest here was a small rock in a river of normality, and the current of office workers and shoppers parted around it on the con-course and merged again downstream as if nothing had ever interrupted their routine. Besany wondered if they would flow around her in the same oblivious way; she was another isolated outcrop of the war. Eighty-three days ago-she was an audit officer, and exact detail was her job-a Jedi general had shot her with a nonlethal round, and she'd been plunged into a small, close-knit community of special forces troops. It was a window on a world of war without rules, of anonymous heroism, and an extraordinary and totally unexpected affection.
And it was her secret. Not even the Treasury knew about it.