Star Wars - Clone Wars 12 by Republic Commando 04-Order 66 # Karen Traviss

Author:Republic Commando 04-Order 66 # Karen Traviss [Traviss, Republic Commando 04-Order 66 # Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-09T00:52:17+00:00

Arca Barracks, Coruscant, later that day

There was something going wrong; Darman knew it.

“Shouldn’t we be out hunting bad guys by now?” Niner leaned against the transparisteel wall that ran the length of the recreation area overlooking the parade ground. He rested his forehead against the clear sheet, hands in the pockets of his red fatigues. “No briefing? What’s happening, d’you think?”

Darman, boots up on the low table opposite his chair, was psyching himself up to finally face Skirata, and he couldn’t put it off any longer. But when he returned the comm call, Skirata didn’t respond. Darman shoved the comlink back in his pants and rehearsed a long monologue to Etain in his head for the umpteenth time.

I can’t sulk about this forever. I have to see Kad. He’s mine.

“Dar?”

“Don’t ask, At’ika.”

“I thought we were meant to be deployed with Delta. Where are they?”

“Look, we can’t do anything until they get some leads for us to follow. You want to kick down every door on Coruscant?”

“Okay, Dar. Just asking.”

“Why would I know? I’m just the coolie labor. I don’t get told anything.”

Corr didn’t join in. He was examining one of his prosthetic hands, the synthflesh covering peeled back while he tinkered with the miniature servos. He’d lost both arms just above the elbow, and seemed to need to confront the loss head-on. Sometimes he dispensed with the synthflesh and went with the bare-metal look, even sharpening his vibroblade on the durasteel fingers the way some females filed their nails? for diversion when bored. Darman took it as bravado; losing one hand seldom bothered anyone in a society that had good medical care, but losing both somehow stripped you of a touchstone of humanity. Besany had been very distressed by it. Corr was the first trooper she’d got to know personally.

“Dar,” Corr said at last, “do you want me to come with you?”

“Where?” Darman knew exactly where he meant. Clone brothers knew each other so well that they could think like one another, which was usually a comfort, but Dar felt more like he was under siege. “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t face this on your own. Let’s go see your kid.”

“I don’t know where he is. I walked out before Etain explained any of that.” “Well, ask her.”

Darman wasn’t sure what he’d do when he saw his son. He’d been trying hard to recall his face from when Skirata had laid the baby in his arms—oh, now he understood now he knew why Kal’buir looked so tearful—but the kid wasn’t going to look like that now. They grew fast, babies. Clones were surrounded by their brothers at every stage of development in Tipoca City, because the Kaminoans didn’t bother to hide the transparisteel gestation tanks. Darman felt he knew enough about baby boys to handle seeing his own.

“Okay,” he said. He commed Skirata again.

Niner didn’t need to be told what Darman was doing. He walked over to his brother and stood watching.

“Son.” Skirata’s voice sounded a bit breathless, as if he’d been pulled away from some crisis.

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