Order 66

  Enacca swung down from the higher level, yawling warnings that she had her orders, and she agreed with those orders, and so she would carry them out with extra enthusiasm. Etain had to go home. She was taking her home.

  “But we can’t leave Sev!” It was her fault; she’d told them to take the turbolaser position faster than Omega could, turning a life-or-death mission into some stupid joke because she thought it was better for morale than warning them about their chances of surviving. “I can find him, I can get him back—”

  She found herself thrown like a sack of tubers from Wookiee to Wookiee along the bridge and across gaping chasms. Her Force powers should have enabled her to at least fight back, even if she was a scrap of nothing compared to these enormous beings, but she would have had to use a lot of damaging force to stop them.

  I can’t abandon Sev. He’d come back for me.

  Etain concentrated, pushing away from the next Wookiee’s grasp. It was a big, elderly female; the matriarch tottered and almost fell. Wookiees knew what they were doing up at these heights, and Etain’s Force pushes just messed things up. She landed on the next platform on her feet, but was then pinned down by three more Wookiees and warned in no uncertain terms that she was going to get one or more of them killed.

  Maybe I want an excuse to run. Maybe they know that and they’re sparing me my own shame.

  She almost missed the next platform and was grabbed by both arms, hauled inboard, and shoved into a heavily camouflaged shuttle nestling under a trellis of slim branches. Enacca strapped her into the seat, then dropped her bag beside her.

  “We can’t leave Sev here. We never leave a man behind. We—”

  Enacca roared that she would take her to Coruscant, or even Mandalore if she wanted, and then go back to search for Sev with the other Wookiees. If he hadn’t been killed immediately, then the best people to search for him were Wookiees, not humans. If Etain hadn’t located him with her Jedi powers, Enacca pointed out, then she might never find him anyway. So—she could leave.

  Etain tried to find Sev in the Force. She thought she knew him well enough to find the impression he left, that strange blend of focus, confidence, fear, and a child-like need to please, to excel. But she only felt the combined pain and fear of men fighting a battle. Enacca lifted the shuttle clear of the platform and wove between the branches just under the canopy, heading away from Kachirho and the coast and out of the battle zone. Eventually, the vessel’s nose lifted at a sharp angle and they were in bright sunlight a long way inland, with the palls of smoke just visible in the distance as the ship looped around and climbed out of the atmosphere.

  Etain found herself putting her hands over her ears. She didn’t understand the reflex. It was just instinctive.

  “He’ll think someone’s coming for him,” she said. She couldn’t just forget Sev like a closed topic and move on to the next item on the agenda. “If he realizes he’s been abandoned, can you imagine how he’ll feel?”

  Vau had raised his young clones to be hard, ruthless men. They never got any love from him, Skirata had told her, because he had never had any from his father. Vau had told a different story: that he pushed his boys harder than they ever thought they could endure, because the tougher they were, the longer they’d survive. Atin had tried to run a knife through his old sergeant more than once for the terrible scars—physical for sure, mental almost certainly—that Vau’d given him.

  Enacca listened patiently to Etain’s outpouring of guilt, then rumbled a placatory response that General Yoda had ordered Delta to pull out, so she had no choice.

  “Did he tell them to leave Sev behind?” Etain snapped. “Did he even know they had a man missing? Would he have given the same order if he had?” She knew she was on blasphemous ground now, because Master Yoda was the most venerated of living Jedi, the guiding hand of the Council for centuries. He couldn’t be criticized. He was the Jedi Order. “We sent ARC troopers to rescue Jedi from Hypori. We didn’t say, ‘Oh, war sure is tough, we’re bound to lose a few.’ We decided it was worth risking clones’ lives to get them out. Why isn’t Sev worth that? Why is a Jedi worth more to the war effort than he is? Because we’re running the show? Because we own them?”

  Enacca said nothing for a long time. Etain leaned back in the seat and shut her eyes. She found herself searching in her pockets and bag to find Kad’s toy nerf, and pressed it to her cheek so she could lose herself in that very primal, uncomplicated emotion for a moment.

  Enacca trilled, asking if she wanted her to let Vau know that Sev was missing.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Etain said. “If he doesn’t already know.” She took out her comlink. Comms had been very patchy on Kashyyyk; but she had messages waiting, data received while she was fighting and unaware of receiving, and so she read them. Most were operational, not urgent, but one was very special indeed, and she felt intense guilt that she could swing from despair for Sev to selfish elation in a matter of seconds simply because she had a message from her lover.

  MHI SOLUS TOME, MHI SOLUS DAR’TOME, MHI ME’DINUI AN, MHI BA’JURI VERDE. TRANSLATE AND RESPOND. RC-1136.

  Her Mando’a wasn’t even close to fluent, but she was learning. She knew what that meant, though. If she just repeated that pledge, that vow, it was an agreement in Mandalorian law, which managed to be simple, informal, and binding at the same time.

  “Of course I will,” she said to herself. Enacca glanced back at her from the cockpit. She copied the marriage vow carefully, then stored the reply so that it would transmit as soon as the ship was back in realspace.

  DAR’IKA, I’M SORRY I’M SO FAR FROM YOU. MHI SOLUS TOME, MHI SOLUS DAR’TOME, MHI ME’DINUI AN, MHI BA’JURI VERDE. I LOVE YOU, DAR. I’ll BE BACK BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.

  And it was as simple as that; as soon as the vow was transmitted, she would be married.

  She should have been happy. She was now going back to the first place she could ever really call home, to live with her husband and their son. No matter how many years they had left to share, it would be enough. It was a magically ordinary situation that neither of them had been raised to expect, in a galaxy where almost every other being took it for granted.

  But she was also leaving a comrade behind, a man she was responsible for as commanding officer. Sev wasn’t a friend, but his life mattered as much as anyone’s. She couldn’t stop herself from veering between those two extremes of emotion.

  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

  Enacca caught up with the last sitrep received before the hyperspace jump, and told her that Coruscant was now largely peaceful, with most of the Separatist forces driven out. Only one or two pockets of fighting remained, involving citizens of CIS planets already living on Coruscant who had rallied to Grievous during the attempted invasion. Things would be back to normal soon; General Kenobi had been sent after Grievous.

  “We might as well go straight to Coruscant,” Etain said. “That was the original plan, and if you drop me there, you can be back on Kashyyyk sooner. And I need to pick up some clothing.”

  Enacca yowled that it was very thoughtful. She had a war to fight, she said, and she was keen to get back in the fray, however kind and generous Skirata had been to her.

  “And it’s best that I tell Vau in person why I left Sev,” Etain said.

  Even if it was acceptable to exchange marriage pledges by comlink, bad news deserved to be delivered face-to-face.

  It wasn’t the only message she had to deliver personally, though. She had one more. She read the message on the small screen, satisfied herself that it was dignified and final, and stored it to be transmitted.

  It was to General Arligan Zey, Director of Special Forces. It was notification that she had renounced her status as a Jedi, and wanted a brief meeting with him to explain—without mention of her son or her clone husband—why she had decided to leave the Jedi Order, and begin a new life as an ordinary human being.

  Arca Barracks, Coruscant,

  0600 hours, four days
after the Battle of Coruscant, 1,089 days ABG

  Darman passed Ordo in the corridor leading from the accommodation block. The captain gave the impression of still being utterly dedicated to his GAR duties, or as much as a Null had ever been. Ordo could act.

  “Make sure you’re ready,” he said, pausing to clasp Darman’s arm, Mando-style. “Anytime now. Etain’s on her way back.”

  Over the last few days, Darman’s mood had lurched from fear to elation to being so tired that he would have been content to drop dead. It was the roller coaster he lived with in this job. Now his gut settled on excitement. Things were happening.

  Etain’s coming back.

  “I thought she might go straight to… you know.” He was afraid to say it aloud, just in case the walls had ears. “But I suppose it’s safe here now.”

  “Yes. Still a few stragglers and basic criminals around, but the clearing-up is under way.”

  “Where are your brothers?”

  “Mereel’s… home, and the others are heading that way.”

  “How’s the… doctor?” He meant Uthan. “Has the reality dawned on her yet?”

  “She’s been locked up in seclusion for more than two years. She’s used to not knowing what’s outside her door.” Ordo pointed in the direction of the briefing rooms, then walked away. “You’ll be late. Go keep Zey quiet.”

  Yayax, Aquila, and Manka squads were already getting their briefings from Maze when Darman caught up with the rest of Omega. It was all domestic security tasking with CSF.

  “Are we just the home guard now, sir?” Cov asked. “Parking duties, maybe? Haven’t they got enough meat-cans on every walkway already?”

  Maze gave him that watch-my-eyebrow-show-disapproval look that seemed common to all ARC troopers. “Civil order must be maintained, Private. We have looting of damaged property, and any number of malcontent Separatist sympathizers still on our turf. Just because the enemy fleet’s gone, it doesn’t mean that all the dangers have passed.”

  “Permission to go after the malcontents, then, sir?”

  “If you’re volunteering for public order patrol, be my guest.” Maze looked at Omega. “Unless you sensitive artists have got any special requests, you’re deployed with Aquila and Manka—two men riding with each CSF assault ship. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get to it. The cop ships are picking up from the parade ground.”

  It was fine by Darman. There was a time when he would have bridled at confinement to the capital, and wanted to be out doing real soldiering, as Skirata called it, but not now.

  Corr seemed in very high spirits. “Atin, you and me?”

  “Fine.”

  “Come on, then, Dar’ika,” Niner said. “Corr, don’t you lead our old married buddy astray. I know what you’re like.”

  Atin hadn’t seen Laseema since the start of the siege, and just chatted with her in snatched moments by comlink. Darman couldn’t even talk to Etain until she dropped out of hyperspace; Enacca was taking her time. He checked his comlink, found no message, and reminded himself that Etain was fine.

  “Heard about Sev?” Cov said, brushing past them. “MIA. They pulled out of Kashyyyk without him. Vau’s going to go off the deep end. I assume he knows.”

  Niner moved in as if to quash any defeatist talk. “Come on, the battle’s still ongoing. Delta might have been pulled out, but we’ve still got troops there. They’ll look for him.”

  It was true, in theory, but Darman already knew what Sev’s chances were. Special forces were the ones who were supposed to do the extracting, not the ones who needed it. It didn’t bode well.

  Atin looked uncomfortable. “We ought to volunteer to search.”

  “I don’t think they’re asking for volunteers,” Cov said. “You were one of Vau’s, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I was.”

  It took just one flicker of the eye, one breath held for a fraction too long, and suddenly they all felt bad about not grabbing the nearest ship that wasn’t secured and inserting into Kashyyyk to bring back one of their own. There were plenty of beings in theater who could do it, and who should have been doing it, but somehow even thinking that made Darman feel like he’d walked away and personally left Sev to die.

  “I’m disgusted with Delta.” Cov was angry. Bralor’s squads had a reputation for being all-or-nothing. “They’re still in the gun battery complex, and they see he’s not with them, and they don’t go back? Just because they lost comms? The general could have kissed my shebs, because I’d have gone back. All of us, or none of us. That’s the way this game is. What a bunch of chakaare.”

  He stalked off. Darman felt suitably chastened. He’d been that man stuck behind enemy lines.

  “No, Dar,” Niner said, able to read his mind pretty accurately now. “That’s one step too far. It’s not your problem.”

  Atin gave him a friendly shove with his shoulder as they walked out onto the parade ground to wait for the CSF ships to land.

  “I voted to carry on the Qiilura mission without you, ner vod,” he said quietly. “So if I ever get stuck, you don’t owe me. Vau raised us different when it came to survival.”

  Darman hadn’t known that. The whole squad had risked their necks looking for him. “Would you vote the same way now?”

  “’Course not. You’re my vod’ika. Your life matters more than mine, because if I had to stare at your empty seat every day, I wouldn’t have much of a life, would I?”

  Darman understood that perfectly. When everyone thought that way, everyone came home alive. Tion’ad hukaat’kama? It was the phrase they all used: Who’s watching your back? If they didn’t look after one another, nobody else would.

  It was a nice day for a trip out, but even in the capital, even with the threat level reduced, Darman still watched Niner’s back, and Niner watched his.

  Arca Barracks,

  2100 hours

  Ordo estimated that he had less than four hours left to spend on Coruscant. He decided to use some of them shaving and making himself presentable.

  He laid his helmet on the windowsill in the ’freshers and inspected the state of his reflection, feeling for stubble. Long day. Soon, it’ll be over. Only A’den and Etain still had to report in at the RV point. Omega were on patrol again after a six-hour break, and he knew exactly where they were to within a block at any given time. Mereel had reached Kyrimorut.

  Everyone else was waiting in Aay’han, or at least on the underground quayside.

  Ordo took out his razor-edged knife and shaved the Mando way, drawing the blade carefully across his skin. No lubricating foam, no fancy depilatory chemicals; the kind of shave you could have anywhere, anytime, and leave no telltale scent of toiletries to betray your presence to an enemy. He noted that it was time to get his hair cut, and that he now had a few gray hairs at his temples.

  The doors parted. Maze walked in to relieve himself.

  “Tell your two brothers,” Maze said, staring straight ahead at the tiles, “that Grievous was indeed at home when General Kenobi came to call. Now he’s dead.”

  “I know.” Ordo concentrated on not drawing blood. Besany always fussed over cuts. “They give good intel.”

  “Eventually…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are we the last two ARCs left on the planet?”

  “Looks like it, ner vod. Is this how you saw your glorious service career when Jango was honing you into a perfectly formed killing machine?”

  “Not really.” Maze shook his hands under the steri-dryer. “But who knows where I’ll be deployed next, now that the army’s changed shape so dramatically?”

  Ordo wasn’t sure if Maze was being literal, or if he was making an oblique opening gambit to discuss an unofficial early retirement. It was hard to tell if Maze was the deserting kind.

  Ordo patted his face dry with a cloth and then dried his knife. “Those Five-oh-first lads are a little keen for my tastes. They’ll replace us, you know.”

  ??
?And what about you, Ordo?”

  “What about me?”

  “Career plans? No, don’t answer. I’m not sure I need to know.” Maze headed for the doors. “Zey’s over at the Jedi Temple—I think it’s the news on Grievous. He’ll be back soon, he says, but I’m rostering off for the night.”

  It would probably be the last time Ordo saw Maze, but a hearty farewell seemed asking for trouble. He listened to the ARC’s footsteps fading down the corridor, and went on tidying himself. Jaing was right; it was good armor, even if it was a little too aruetyc in places. He’d have to leave it behind, even the buy’ce. All the data in it had been downloaded and duplicated, and all he had to do now to make it safe to discard—safe in the sense of having too much data stored—was to break out the memory modules and pocket them. He’d leave the kit here, and walk out of the building in his black bodysuit and a jacket to pick up his beskar’gam from a locker at the anonymous public storage facility on the way to the reservoir.

  No… he’d take the Aratech bike to save time, and dump it. They’d realize he’d deserted sooner or later.

  Ordo was about to brush his teeth when he heard the comm warning in his helmet blipping. He slid it into place, annoyed at the interruption, and wondered if it was A’den checking in, or Etain dropping out of hyperspace.

  It was a voice message.

  And it was neither A’den nor Etain.

  “Execute Order Sixty-six.”

  It was the Chancellor, the source verified by security encryption.

  Ordo had perfect recall. Memorizing all 150 contingency orders for the worst scenarios had taken him no time at all, but every ARC, Republic commando, and clone commander had learned and repeated those orders from childhood until they knew every syllable and comma. Some of them found it a slog, but it was part of the job. CSF officers had their own set of emergency orders, covering their different responsibilities; every Republic service and department had a handbook of procedures like that, to be put into action when things went badly wrong.