Star Wars - [Republic Commando 02] - Triple Zero (by Karen Traviss)

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TRIPLE ZERO

KAREN TRAVISS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Sergeant KAL SKIRATA, mercenary (male Mandalorian)

Sergeant WALON VAU, mercenary (male Mandalorian)

Null ARC Trooper Captain N-11 ORDO

Null ARC Trooper Lieutenant N-7 MEREEL

Republic Commandos:

Omega Squad:

RC-1309 NINER

RC-1136 DARMAN

RC-8015 FI

RC-3222 ATIN

Delta Squad:

RC-1138 BOSS

RC-1162 SCORCH

RC-1140 FIXER

RC-1107 SEV

Clone Trooper CT-5108/8843 CORR

General BARDAN JUSIK, Jedi Knight (male human)

Captain JALLER OBRIM, Senate Guard, seconded to Coruscant Security Force

Anti-Terrorism Unit (male human)

General ETAIN TUR-MUKAN, Jedi Knight (female human)

General ARLIGAN ZEY, Jedi Master (male human)

ENACCA, associate of Skirata (female Wookiee)

QIBBU, entrepreneur (male Hutt)

LASEEMA, employee of Qibbu (female Twi'lek)

BESANY WENNEN, a GAR logistics employee (female human)

PROLOGUE

Republic Commando covert insertion on Fest, Atrivis sector, Outer Rim, ten months after Geonosis

Private journal of RC-8015, "Fi"

Y ou have to see the funny side of things in the army. I think they have a real sense of humor in

Defense Procurement, too.

"So," I ask. "How long ago did you put in a request for black stealth armor?"

"Seven standard months," says Darman, staring out the gunship's crew bay onto an unbroken

plain of snow. White snow. The freezing wind is whipping flurries of it into the open bay. "When we got

back from Qiilura."

"And now they issue it to us? To do a raid on Fest? The whole planet's covered in snow from

pole to pole."

I can hear the gunship pilot laughing over the comlink cir-cuit. He can't resist it. "Want to borrow

my armor? It's nice and white."

Yes, they've deployed us in black Katarn armor. It'll take a direct hit from laser cannon to put a

dent in us, but it would be nice to have the comfort of camouflage when we hit the ground.

Even Atin's laughing. But Niner, who tries to take the place of Sergeant Kal and reassure us it's

all going to be okay, is not. He's worried that we've run out of luck for this mission.

And so am I. Republic Commando losses in the first year of the war are running at 50 percent.

Today we have to infil-trate a Separatist factory developing some new supermetal called

phrik—whatever that is—and carry out a little asset denial, known in the trade as blowing stuff up. It's

not a com-plicated mission: avoid droids, get in, lay charges in the pro-cessing plant and the foundry,

avoid droids, get out. And then press the detonator.

One of Captain Ordo's Null ARC trooper brothers found this place: Clone Intelligence Units,

they call them. I must write to thank the di'kut sometime.

So I try to keep the squad laughing, because it takes our minds off calculating the odds.

"Okay," I say. "What do we all want most right now?"

"Roba steak," says the pilot.

"White-clad camo," says Niner.

"A really thick slice of uj cake," says Atin.

Darman pauses for a moment. "To see an old friend again."

Me? I'd like to go back to Arca Company Barracks on Coruscant. I want to see Coruscant

before I die, and so far I've seen next to nothing of the place. Someone promised to buy me a beer there

once.

The pilot is skimming a couple of meters above the snow, taking us through a narrow pass to

avoid detection. It's all mountains and ravines now. And snow.

"I've got visual on the factory," the pilot says. "And you're not going to like it."

"Why?" Niner asks.

"Because there're an awful lot of battle droids out there." "Are they made of phrik?"

"I don't think so."

"No problem, then," says Niner. "Let's spoil their entire day."

The gunship slows enough for us to jump clear, and we scramble through knee-deep snow to

take up a position in the lee of an outcrop. There's nothing like a quick hello from 'a Plex rocket launcher

to show droids who's boss. No, they're definitely not made from phrik.

I reload the Plex and keep turning the droids into shrapnel while Darman and Atin make their

way to higher ground to reach the factory.

Yeah, a nice beer on Coruscant, on Triple Zero. Dreams like that keep you going.

Find Skirata. He's the only one who can talk these men down. And no, I'm not going to

obliterate a whole barracks block just to neutralize six ARCs. So get me Skirata: he can't have traveled

very far.

—General Iri Camas, Director of Special Forces, to Coruscant Security Force, from Siege

Incident Control, Special Operations Brigade HQ Barracks, Coruscant, five days after the Battle of

Geonosis

Tipoca City, Kamino, eight years before Geonosis

Kal Skirata had committed the biggest mistake of his life, and he'd made some pretty big ones in

his time.

Kamino was damp. And damp didn't help his shattered ankle one little bit. No, it was more than

damp: it was noth - ing but storm-whipped sea from pole to pole, and he wished that he'd worked that

out before he responded to Jango Fetes offer of a lucrative long-term deployment in a location that his

old comrade hadn't exactly specified.

But that was the least of his worries now.

The air smelled more like a hospital than a military base. The place didn't look like barracks,

either. Skirata leaned on the polished rail that was all that separated him from a forty - meter fall into a

chamber large enough to swallow a battle cruiser and lose it.

Above him, the vaulted illuminated ceiling stretched as far as the abyss did below. The prospect

of the fall didn’t worry him half as much as not understanding what he was now seeing.

The cavern—surgically clean, polished durasteel and permaglass—was filled with structures that

seemed almost like fractals. At first glance they looked like giant toroids stacked on pillars; then, as he

stared, the toroids resolved into smaller rings of permaglass containers, with containers within them, and

inside those

No, this wasn't happening.

Inside the transparent tubes there was fluid, and within it there was movement.

It took him several minutes of staring and refocusing on one of the tubes to realize there was a

body in there, and it was alive. In fact, there was a body in every tube: row upon row of tiny bodies,

children's bodies. Babies.

"Fierfek," he said aloud.

He thought he'd come to this Force-forsaken hole to train commandos. Now he knew he'd

stepped into a nightmare. He heard boots behind him on the walkway of the gantry and turned sharply to

see Jango coming slowly toward him, chin lowered as if in reproach.

"If you're thinking of leaving, Kal, you knew the deal," said Jango, and leaned on the rail beside

him.

"You said—"

"I said you'd be training special forces troops, and you will be. They just happen to be growing

them:'

"What?"

"Clones."

"How the fierfek did you ever get involved with that?"

"A straight five million and a few extras for donating my genes. And don't look shocked. You'd

have done the same."

The pieces fell into place for Skirata and he let himself be shocked anyway. War was one thing.

Weird science was an -other issue entirely.

"Well, I'm keeping my end of the deal?" Skirata adjusted the fifteen-centimeter, three-sided blade

that he always kept sheathed in his jacket sleeve. Two Kaminoan technicians walked serenely across the

floor of the facility beneath him.

Nobody had searched him and he felt better for having a few weapons located for easy use,

including the small hold-outblaster tucked in the cuff of his boot.

And all those little kids in tanks . . .

The Kaminoans disappeared from sight. "What do thosethings want with an army anyway?"

"They don't. And you don't need to know all this right now." Jango beckoned him to follow.

"Besides, you're al-ready dead, remember?"

"Feels like it," said Skirata. He was theCuy'val Dar—literally, "those who no longer exist," a

hundred expertsoldiers with a dozen specialties who'd answered Jango's se-cret summons in exchange

for a lot of credits . . . as long asthey were prepared to disappear from the galaxy completely.

He trailed Jango down corridors of unbroken white du-raplast, passing the occasional Kaminoan

with its long grayneck and snake-like head. He'd been here for four standarddays now, staring out the

window of his quarters onto theendless ocean and catching an occasional glimpse of theaiwhas soaring

up out of the waves and flapping into the air.The thunder was totally silenced by the soundproofing, but

thelightning had become an annoyingly irregular pulse in thecorner of his eye.

Skirata knew from day one that he wouldn't like Kami-noans.

Their cold yellow eyes troubled him, and he didn't care for their arrogance, either. They stared at

his limping gait andasked if he minded being defective.

The window-lined corridor seemed to run the length of the city. Outside, it was hard to see

where the horizon ended and the rain clouds began.

Jango looked back to see if he was keeping up. "Don'tworry, Kal. I'm told it's clear weather in

the summer—for afew days:'

Right. The dreariest planet in the galaxy, and he was stuck on it. And his ankle was playing up.

He really should have in - vested in getting it fixed surgically. When—if—he got out of here, he'd have

the assets to get the best surgeon that creditscould buy.

Jango slowed down tactfully. "So, Ilippi threw you out?"

"Yeah." His wife wasn't Mandalorian. He'd hoped shewould embrace the culture, but she didn't:

she always hatedseeing her old man go off to someone else's war. The fightsbegan when he wanted to

take their two sons into battle withhim. They were eight years old, old enough to start learningtheir trade;

but she refused, and soon Ilippi and the boys andhis daughter were no longer waiting when he returned

fromthe latest war. Ilippi divorced him the Mando way, same asthey'd married, on a brief, solemn,

private vow. A contractwas a contract, written or not. "Just as well I've got anotherassignment to occupy

me."

"You should have married aMando girl. Aruetiise don'tunderstand a mercenary's life." Jango

paused as if waitingfor argument, but Kal wasn't giving him one. "Don't yoursons talk to you any longer?"

"Not often."So I failed as a father. Don't rub it in. "Obvi-ously they don't share the Mando

outlook on life any more than their mother does." -

"Well, they won't be speaking to you at all now. Not here.Ever."

Nobody seemed to care if he had disappeared anyway. Yes, he was as good as dead. Jango

said nothing more, and theywalked in silence until they reached a large circular lobbywith rooms leading

off it like the spokes of a wheel.

"Ko Sai said something wasn't quite right with the first test batch of clones," said Jango, ushering

Skirata ahead ofhim into another room. "They've tested them and they don'tthink these are going to make

the grade. I told Orun Wa thatwe'd give him the benefit of our military experience and takea look."

Skirata was used to evaluating fighting men—and women, come to that. He knew what it took to

make a soldier. He was good at it; soldiering was his life, as it was for allMando'- ade, all sons and

daughters of Mandalore. At least there'd besome familiarity to cling to in this ocean wilderness.

It was just a matter of staying as far from the Kaminoansas he could.

"Gentlemen," said Orun Wa in his soothing monotone. He welcomed them into his office with a

graceful tilt of the head, and Skirata noted that he had a prominent bony fin run ning across the top of his

skull from front to back. Maybethat meant Orun Wa was older, or dominant, or something:he didn't look

like the other examples of aiwha-bait that Skirata had seen so far. "I always believe in being honest

aboutsetbacks in a program. We value the Jedi Council as a cus-tomer."

"I have nothing to do with the Jedi," said Jango. "I'm only a consultant on military matters."

Oh, Skirata thought. Jedi. Great.

"I would still be happier if you confirmed that the firstbatch of units is below the acceptable

standard."

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摘要：

TRIPLEZERO KARENTRAVISS DRAMATISPERSONAE SergeantKALSKIRATA,mercenary(maleMandalorian) SergeantWALONVAU,mercenary(maleMandalorian) NullARCTrooperCaptainN-11ORDO NullARCTrooperLieutenantN-7MEREEL RepublicCommandos: OmegaSquad: ...

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Star Wars - [Republic Commando 02] - Triple Zero (by Karen Traviss)

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