501st: An Imperial Commando Novel (32 page)

At her age, she should have been knitting vests for
Kad’ika
and telling him stories.

But terrified or not—crazy or not—it made her feel thirty years younger.

Commander Melusar’s small office had a dead, muffled silence that made Niner feel that his ears had blocked up.

The walls were covered in sheets of flimsi—charts, lists, calendars. A single desk lamp and a holochart projection lit Melusar’s face from below and made him look cadaverous. It all felt like a dressing-down session waiting to happen.
Reasons in writing with no caf
, Skirata called it, a terse could-do-better speech from your CO. Niner held his helmet under his arm, systems still active, wondering how much the Nulls would be able to hear.

“Camas was your commanding officer, wasn’t he?” said Melusar. He didn’t sound in dressing-down mode, though. “Can’t have been easy facing him like that.”

This had to be a test, then. Niner was determined to pass it long enough to get to the extraction point. Melusar seemed like a nice enough guy, but Niner and Darman had plenty to hide, and so any figure of Imperial authority was a threat until proven otherwise.

Two of our old squad on the run. Our sergeant and everyone we know—all on the death list. Even Zey didn’t trust us completely. Why should Melusar
?

“We weren’t conscious at the time, sir,” Niner said.

Melusar looked up from the holochart. He was moving virtual markers around with a stylus, each green point of light representing the last known whereabouts of an escaped Jedi. The green lights were dwindling in number.

“Sorry?”

“We were put in stasis when we got back from Geonosis, then revived three months into the war,” Niner said. “So we didn’t see much of Camas. General Zey was our CO for most of the time.” And there was something he had to add, because Melusar’s observation didn’t make sense unless he was stupid—which he clearly wasn’t—or trying to entrap them. “Most troops had to take out their own Jedi officers, so it was no harder for us than it was for them. Easier, actually, sir. Camas was firing at us.”

Omega hadn’t carried out Order 66, of course. They’d been too busy trying to desert. Niner had a terrible sick feeling in his gut as he was reminded just how close this was becoming to a rerun of that awful night.

“But it’s about doing the job, Sergeant.” Melusar said. “It’s about being a professional. And you’re still here when others aren’t.”

Only a civvie would have thought of Order 66 in simple terms of either unflinching loyalty or cruel betrayal. It was neither. It was
complicated
. It was the sort of
complicated
you could only truly grasp if you were standing there with a rifle in your hands, if all your buddies were dead, if you understood exactly why orders weren’t optional. And it was the sort of
complicated
you just didn’t have time to debate and second-guess in the middle of a crisis.

That was why you drilled. That was why you had orders. It was to make sure situations—and soldiers—didn’t fall apart when things got tough.

There were clones who liked their Jedi officers, or hated them, or didn’t know them well enough to have an opinion, and there were clones who felt the Jedi had simply used up troopers’ lives in their plan to overthrow
the government. But most of them carried out the order, and for one reason—lawful orders couldn’t be ignored when you felt like it. The army was there to do the bidding of elected governments, not to decide policy for itself. Orders came from those who had the bigger picture when you didn’t.

But we didn’t obey
.

Nothing to do with some moral stand. Everything to do with wanting to get away, and not wanting to kill two ex-Jedi who gave up everything for us. Our buddy. And Dar’s wife
.

Niner didn’t feel good about that. Part of him now wondered if fate was punishing him for letting the other squads down. They’d behaved like pros, whether it had broken their hearts or not, and Omega hadn’t.

Darman stood to Niner’s right, saying nothing.

“Got a job to do, sir,” Niner said noncommittally. He could smell a fresh herb scent like tea and the metallic aroma of ink or copying fluid. “No heroics. Just the job.”

“Well, I’m still impressed you got Camas,” Melusar said.

“He seemed to want to be
got
, sir.”

“Oh, he’d have made a run for it if he could have. But Intel’s pretty sure that the Ranger escaped, possibly with some Padawans. They’ve been piecing together ship movements that coincided with your raid. Latest analysis says Kester’s shipping escapees from planet to planet and then to a couple of Masters—Altis or Vamilad.”

Niner felt the hidden datachip gnawing away at his pocket. He was so used to dealing with Jedi officers that he expected Melusar to be able to sense his deception, but Melusar was a regular guy, and that changed things.

Melusar tapped his stylus on the holochart control. One more green light winked out of existence. “You know why removing Camas was a coup, Niner? Because every Jedi Master we remove lessens the chances of the Order rebuilding itself. Without the Masters, the cult starts to die. They’ve learned all the tricks. If they can’t
pass them on, can’t organize—it’s over. Cut off the head and the body eventually dies.”

Niner wasn’t sure about that. “But the Knights are pretty smart, too. As long as there’s one Jedi out there, they’ll know enough of the basics to find Force-sensitives and train them.”

“Exactly.” Melusar looked at Darman, and then nodded to himself, smiling. “They’re
all
a risk.”

Niner couldn’t work out if Melusar was testing him or leading up to some revelation. “We’ll do whatever we’re tasked to do, sir.”

“Jedi don’t have numbers on their side now, Niner, and they don’t have the taxpayer bankrolling ships and arms for them. They’ll hide for a while and lick their wounds. But then they have to do two things—contact other Jedi to regroup, and then latch on to mundane beings to mount an insurgency. They need an army to do their dirty work for them. They’ll sniff out dissent wherever they can find it, ferment it, and ride it. Nobody who’s that used to power can ever give it up.”

Niner understood that only too well. On Qiilura, Zey and Etain had trained and organized the locals to fight the Separatist occupation; they called it a
resistance
. When the Seps did the same thing against the Republic, that was called
exporting terror
. Niner just saw it all as combat by any means available, although he knew whose side he was on at any given time.

They’re as bad as each other. And we’re always the meat that gets minced between the two
.

“Sir, I don’t understand,” he said. “Are these new orders? Are we going to be tracking Jedi by looking for insurgent hot spots?”

“Everything we discuss in this room goes no farther.”

“That’s a given, sir.”

“Not even to your squadmates.”

That felt pretty uncomfortable. A squad shared everything. Niner never liked agreeing to anything before he knew what it was, but he was deserting in a few hours, so this was either intel he might be able to make use of
in his new life, or something he could forget the moment Ny Vollen’s ship left orbit. Darman just watched—probably doing his best not to lose it, Niner supposed. It couldn’t have been easy to listen to a casual conversation about Order 66.

Did Melusar know? Did he know about Etain, who she’d been, what had happened to her? Niner racked his brains to think who might have been around and able to gossip. No clones, that was certain, but there’d been a lot of CSF cops around, and however tight-lipped they were under Obrim’s command, everyone talked sooner or later.

“Understood, sir,” Niner said.

“Sergeant, this office is soundproofed, and I sweep it for surveillance devices every time I open the door.” Melusar was a man after Niner’s own heart. “This really is between us.”

Wow, he’s jumpy. Or he’s going to shake us down
.

“Got it, sir.”

“Your squad was very close to General Jusik, wasn’t it? Give me your assessment of him.”

Niner’s gut almost tied itself in a complete knot now. It didn’t show on his face, he was sure of that, because clones learned in Tipoca City how to present a bland face to the Kaminoans. For the ordinary troopers, it saved them from being reconditioned. For commandos protected by their ferocious training sergeants, it was just a habit, but a useful one.

“Depends what you mean sir. As a soldier?”

“As a Jedi.”

“He left the Order, sir. He was ashamed of it in the end. Argued with the Masters, told Zey they’d lost their moral authority. Didn’t want to be a Jedi anymore. If you’re wondering if he’d be regrouping survivors—no, not him.”

It was true. Niner just hoped he hadn’t said it with too much conviction, though.

“Just curious. I’d heard he walked out, and walking away from power is pretty unusual in most species.”
Melusar seemed to back off. Niner was now on full alert. “Remember that not all Force-users are Jedi, and they’re not all on the run. Some of them are right here pretending to be on our side. But I don’t buy that. The only side they tend to be on is their own.”

Niner just concentrated on the green lights of the holochart so that he didn’t blurt out something he’d regret.
Does he mean Vader? Does he know about Palpatine? If he does—he’s going to be a dead man. Shame. But I can’t help him now
.

Niner was now painfully aware of the chrono ticking, delaying his escape, but at least the Nulls would know why he and Darman might be running late.

“You’re very quiet, you two.”

Darman suddenly came to life, scaring the
osik
out of Niner. He had no idea what was going to come out of Dar’s mouth next. “We haven’t got a lot to say, sir.”

“You know why I’m telling you all this?”

“No sir.”

“Because I need a few men I can trust in
difficult
times.” Melusar’s understatement almost reminded Niner of Vau. “I don’t doubt any trooper’s loyalty and discipline, but sometimes we’ll need to do things without Intel noticing. And from what I’ve heard over the last year or two—you fit the bill. You had a very
independent
sergeant in Skirata. You were completely loyal to him
and
to the Grand Army. By some extraordinary process, all your Republic records, helmet logs, and everything else relating to your service has now disappeared from the Defense mainframe.” Melusar paused. “I know enough about you from the war. You didn’t desert when you could have with the others, but you haven’t betrayed Skirata now, either. That can’t be easy.”

Melusar had no idea just how
not easy
that was. Niner felt horribly ashamed as he hovered on the brink of making an excuse to leave.
To desert
. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was entrapment. But then Melusar was taking a big risk confiding in them that he
was planning to sideline Intel. This was his first day as their boss. He obviously didn’t believe in hanging around.

“What do you want from us, sir?” Niner said. He only had to keep this up for an hour or two at most. “Just say the word.”

“I’m not convinced that Intel is free of Force-users. They think we mundane folk don’t notice, but I can usually spot them. So … sometimes I’m going to have to task you without their knowledge, because they can
never
be on the side of the average citizen. They’re trying to recruit more of their own Force-using kind. Or at least that’s how I’ve interpreted their request to bring the Z-list Jedi and other small fry back alive.” Melusar oozed contempt. “Personally, I’d rather spend the security budget on more akk hounds.”

Business as usual
. Omega and the Nulls had spent the whole war keeping things from Intel, and from the senior command, too. And it wasn’t because they were Force-users.

But Melusar really had it in for everyone with Force powers. Niner wondered what had happened to him to make him so unusually rabid. His arguments made perfect sense, but he
meant
that distrust and dislike with every cell in his body. It oozed from him.

“Are you comfortable with that?” Melusar asked quietly.

“We understand perfectly, sir,” Darman said, before Niner could respond.

“Excellent.” Melusar seemed genuinely relieved. “Pity that we don’t have the principled General Jusik on staff. A Force-user who doesn’t want power would be very useful.”

Niner hoped Ordo picked that up. The comment could have meant anything. It might have been an oblique offer to Jusik, which—of course—
Bard’ika
would have the sense not to accept. It might have been a setup. Niner was beginning to resent everything about this world for making him doubt and question every single word said
to him. He wanted to live in a society where
hello
just meant
hello
.

But he needed to seize his chance. Now seemed a good time. “Sir,” he said, “during the war, our commanders let us go into town when we were off duty. Do you mind if we do that? It’s not even mentioned in the regs, so …”

Melusar slapped Niner’s shoulder as if his conscience had been pricked. “Of course, Sergeant. A man’s got to relax and have an ale from time to time. Good for the soul. Maybe take Rede with you. I worry for these youngsters.”

Niner had to get out, right now, before he dug himself in too deep. “Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed. And don’t worry so much. You’re still the soldiers you were, and everyone respects that.”

Darman matched Niner’s hasty escape down the corridor, striding as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

“He’s really down on Force-users,” Darman said.

“Do you blame him?”

“No.” Dar seemed to be chewing something over as he walked. He stared at a point a few meters ahead. “But they’re all the same, aren’t they? Jedi, Sith—doesn’t matter who’s in charge as far as most folks are concerned. The Force-users run the show, at least behind the scenes, and never us.”

“You think the Jedi ran the Republic?”