Mereel withdrew the docking pin and walked back down the passage in the general direction of Procurement. The moment the Kaminoan was out of sight, he dropped back into the ocean of whitearmoured bodies and worked his way down the wide corridors and walkways to the maze of service passages that led to lesser-known landing platforms.
Mereel knew every metre of the complex. Skirata had encouraged the Nulls to run wild as kids, much to the disgust of the Kaminoans. He looked into the cloud-locked sky and rain hammered his visor like shrapnel.
“Ready, Kal'buir,” he said. “Get me out of this dar'yaim.”
place and time: republic special-ops freighter tiv z766/2. cato neimoidia portal. hydian – 461 standard days after the battle of geonosis.
“This wasn't in the op order,” said Atin. “We were supposed to sabotage the factory and return to base.”
Prudii had ordered the traffic interdiction vessel to Neimoidian space. The pilot didn't seem worried. TIV pilots never did.
“I know,” said Prudii. “But this is all about presentation.”
“Even this TIV can't take on an armoured transport.”
“You sound scared, ner vod. Look at me. No helmet. Would I take a risk without my suit sealed?”
Atin considered showing Prudii where he could dock his character assessment the hard way. “But it's not unreasonable to ask why you're presenting a target to the Seps just to get a few thousand droids that are probably from a spiked batch anyway.” He paused for a breath. “Lieutenant.”
“No need to stand on ceremony with me, vod'ika.” Prudii shrugged. “We're all brothers. Even those unimaginative Alpha planks, Force bless 'em. Why am I doing this? Emphasis, ner vod. Emphasis.”
A small, bright spot grew larger in the view plate and resolved into a yellow and gray transport with horizontal spars picked out in scarlet. Prudii let it draw a thousand metres behind the TIV.
“Ready torpedoes,” he said.
The pilot tapped the console. “Torps ready.”
“Steady…”
The transport was accelerating slowly towards the jump point.
“On my mark…”
He was calculating blast range. Atin could see it.
“Take take take.”
“Torps away.”
A spread of six proton torpedoes streaked from the concealed tubes in the ship's underslung drive. The TIV shuddered. Atin reminded himself that his Katarn armour and bodysuit was space-tight for 20 minutes, and then realised help would be a lot more than 20 minutes away if anything went wrong. It always was – why did they bother? But Prudii didn't have his helmet on. Either he was confident or he was mad, and being a Null meant he was probably both.
The first and second warheads punched one-two into the transport's starboard flank in a blaze of gold light. Atin didn't see the rest strike because the TIV accelerated from standstill to way too fast in a matter of seconds, heading for the jump point. It was definitely emphatic.
Stars stretched and streaked before them as the TIV went to hyperspace and left the stricken transport far behind. Prudii wasn't even waiting to confirm a kill. He smiled as the acceleration levelled out and the TIV settled steady again. The pilot yawned. Atin said nothing.
“You're going to tell me what an or'dinii I am for pulling that stunt, aren't you, ner vod?” asked Prudii.
“Pointless bravado.” If he took offence, Atin was ready to swing at him. “Reckless, even.”
“But it's what the GAR would do if it came across a droid transport and didn't know a lot of tinnies were already as good as useless, isn't it?” Prudii sounded as if he regarded the Grand Army as something separate and external. “I didn't bust my shebs around half the galaxy this past year so the Seps could work out that their tinnies were already sabotaged. So it's worth the risk to make it all look real. If we don't take a pop at them whenever we get the chance, they'll wonder why.”
Atin dealt in the measurable and the solid, things he could deconstruct to find out how they worked, and things that he could build. He was trained in camouflage and feint attacks. But the world that the Nulls moved in, the arena of black ops, was a nebulous haze of bluff and counter-bluff. Just when he thought he had the hang of it, they'd do something that was obvious in hindsight but that hadn't occurred to him at the time.
“You think they're that smart?”
“I never underestimate the enemy,” said Prudii. “Especially when I'm not sure who the enemy is.” He tapped the pilot's shoulder. “Drall RV point, my good man, and make it snappy.”
“You Null boys are my favourite fares,” said the pilot, and yawned again. “Never a dull moment.”
place and time: republic special-ops shuttle. uncoded. en route from kamino to drall RV point corellian space – 461 standard days after the battle of geonosis.
Mereel swung through the hatch into the crew bay, and Skirata gave him a playful tap on the ear with the flat of his hand.
“Don't do that again,” said Skirata. “If those gray freaks had caught you, they'd have reconditioned you.”
“They might have tried.” Mereel caught Ordo narrowing his eyes in disapprovaclass="underline" Kal'buir was not to be distressed, ever. “Anyway, this could well be worth it.”
Safe from detection even by the Republic, they sat in the crew cabin of the unmarked shuttle and pored over the data from Mereel's haul while they waited for Atin and Prudii to rendezvous. They watched the files play out on Ordo's datapad like the latest holovids while the Treasury software from oh-so-helpful Agent Wennen flagged the most heavily encrypted files and those that had been subject to secure erasure.
Mereel was almost joking when he keyed in the search parameter “Palpatine.” It was always worth seeing if there was data about key politicians in any files he sliced, just in case, but he didn't expect to find anything.
But he got it.
“Osik,” he cursed.
“Problem?” Ordo nudged him.
“Maybe.” Mereel stared at a triple-encrypted file that yielded to the Treasury software. But it wasn't a message or a data file; it was a copy of a holotransmission.
He hit the key. It was a frozen holo of Lama Su. Fierfek, it was the Kaminoan Prime Minister, and he appeared to be talking to Chancellor Palpatine.
Skirata swallowed audibly. “Now this is where life gets a bit dangerous.”
But they watched, transfixed, as the shimmering blue image of Lama Su sprang to life from the datapad emitter.
“If you require more clones beyond the current order, then you must authorize us to begin further production immediately. An initial payment of one billion credits….”
There was a crackling pause: Palpatine's response wasn't recorded, but it was clear he had interrupted. Lama Su's head bobbed in annoyance.