Ben wondered if it was his last chance to refuse, but he knew he couldn't. If Shevu was taking part in this—and Shevu was dead straight, a man the other officers described as an old-fashioned land of cop—then it had to be the right thing to do.
Girdun responded to his chirping comlink. It was Zavirk, judging by the side of the conversation that Ben could hear. Girdun slid the comlink back in his pocket, a big grin on his face.
"Intelligence is sending a couple of handlers with Omas," he said.
"Just overheard their arrangements. Oh-five-hundred start, leaving from his private landing pad and transferring to an unmarked Intelligence cutter in Coruscant orbit. Sneaky, eh? But it helps when you know their code names for various VIPs." He checked his chrono. "If I ever end up back in Intelligence, remind me to make them better. Got to go."
Shevu raised an eyebrow. "He loves his work."
"Are you okay with this?" Ben asked.
"Okay with what?"
"Gejjen."
"I'm not a spook," Shevu said. "Never was. But if Gejjen has Omas killed, it'll destabilize the whole GA. So I'm okay with it."
"Do you think he will?"
"I'd want proof that he wouldn't. Personally, I think we should blow our cover and stop Omas from going, but that just compromises our whole
operation. So we're riding along with you to make sure Omas gets home in one piece."
Shevu never made any comments on whether he thought Omas was a traitor betraying the GA, or a visionary taking a massive risk for peace.
He didn't get involved with politics and opinions. He just stuck to the law as best he could. And that wasn't easy in the GAG.
"What are you waiting for?" Shevu asked.
"I just wondered if you think I'm right to do this."
"That's not my call." Shevu busied himself with holocharts of Vulpter, opening three-D images of the spaceports and public buildings.
"You've got your orders."
Lekauf gave Ben a nudge in the back. "Come on, I've got to turn you into a passable sniper by tomorrow morning."
The indoor range had that ozonic discharged-blaster smell with a tinge of burned plastoid. Something in the air made Ben's eyes sting. It was an expensive facility that Lekauf said had been cobbled together from equipment originally intended for Intelligence: hologram simulations, regular targets, and even something he called "dead meat."
"I'm not sure I'm going to be much use with a rifle," Ben said.
"Aw, come on." Lekauf was unconvinced. "You're a Jedi. You're not like the rest of us. You've got this visuospatial ability we haven't—my granddad used to tell my dad amazing things about Lord Vader. Really uncanny accuracy in three dimensions, whether he was flying a ship or using a weapon. I used to think Dad was making it up until I saw real Jedi doing that stuff."
"Why not a blaster?"
"Loads of reasons. We need overkill. We need something that doesn't light the place up like fireworks. And we want something that can be silenced. Believe it or not, that thing is quite discreet."
Ben steadied the Karpaki against his shoulder, sighted up a few times, and took his firing position. He was quite pleased to get that far without making a fool of himself. "You seem to have a good opinion of Vader."
"My granddad thought the world of him. When he got badly burned on a mission and had to be discharged from the Imperial Army, Lord Vader made sure he was taken care of for the rest of his life. Whatever some people say about Vader, monsters don't look out for lieutenants."
"That's good to know," said Ben. He liked the idea of his grandfather having his kind moments, and that some people still thought well of him. Not everyone had been sympathetic to the Rebellion. Ben imagined Vader doing the difficult things that Jacen was facing now.
And that I'm facing.
At the end of the range, a shadowy man walked quickly across Ben's field of view and vanished. Ben's instinctive reaction was that this person was real, and breaking safety regulations, so he lowered his weapon and called a warning. Lekauf burst out laughing.
"Ben, that's your target.'"
"That wasn't a hologram. It was solid."
"Uh, yeah . . ." Lekauf put his hand on the control console and the
"man" walked back into view again to sit on a chair in the target zone.
"It's a gel-form. It's an adjustable droid made of gel and plastoid to mimic flesh and bone. So you . . . well, so you get used to a target moving like a real person. That one's been adjusted to match Gejjen's build and gait based on holonews footage, so you get used to what he'll look like and how he'll probably fall."
Ben was transfixed. It was just a dummy, just a clever piece of training technology. He checked it in the Force—yes, it was just a machine—but he still felt awful about it.
"That's pretty yucky."
"You know how much those things cost?"
"What happens when I shoot . . . it?"
"It gets up and repairs itself."
"Okay." Ben found it disturbing to watch the figure walking around in the small bay at the end of the range. Through the rifle's optics, it was clearly a featureless, translucent gel figure with the shadowy framework of artificial bone within. "You sure it doesn't feel anything?"
"It just moves, Ben. It doesn't think. It's not even a proper droid. More like a puppet." He looked at the chrono display on the wall.
"You've got less than nineteen hours to get up to speed."
"No pressure, then . . ."
"In your own time, fire when ready."
Ben recalled his recent training. "Why not center mass?"
"That's the army way—kill or wound, you've still put the target out of action. Police snipers have to worry about hostages and stuff, so they're trained to incapacitate instantly—head shot. Assassination doesn't have to be as instant, just dead. But a head shot's still best."
Lekauf crooked his forefingers and thumbs five centimeters apart and made a gesture as if he were putting on a blindfold. "That's the zone you're aiming at. A five-centimeter band around the head at eye level. Put one in there and you've got a kill. But with the kind of frangible round you'll be
using, as long as you hit the head or neck at all, the result's the same."
"What if I can only get a shot at center mass?"
"He won't respond to cardiopulmonary resuscitation after a round hits him, believe me." When Lekauf was getting technical, Ben knew he was enjoying his subject. "Optimum is still the head shot, though."
"But there's wind speed and everything."
"This Karpaki has smart sensor optics. Senses the windage and allows for it. They've improved a bit in recent years."
"If it's that clever, then why do I have to train?"
"To get used to shooting someone who's not trying to kill you. Who doesn't even know you're there. Not the Jedi way, is it?"
It was just a dummy. But it moved like Gejjen.
Ben aimed.
It was just like using a lightsaber, really. Letting the Force guide the hand, the eye . . .
He squeezed the trigger as the gel-form sat down on the chair, and the round caught the point of its right temple. Gel and fragments plumed in the air, and the dummy slumped forward.
Lekauf, arms folded, considered the inert form with the eye of a connoisseur. Ben was taken aback by how uncomfortable it made him feel, especially when the gel-form suddenly sat upright, then stood.
He was sure he couldn't shoot it a second time.
"And again," said Lekauf.
Ben spent the next hour getting used to anticipating movement, waiting for
the gel-form to settle for just long enough to take the shot.