“Nice day out, Kad’ika!” He loved that kid. Maybe he was putting too much pressure on Parja to have one just like him. “See all the funny Mando’ade playing with knives and blasters, and singing rude songs?”
Kad clung to his scorched toy nerf with both hands and refused all attempts to distract him. He gazed out of the speeder window as if he was looking for something. Fi was sure he was watching in the hope of seeing his mother or father, whatever Jusik said about the kid understanding death better than ordinary babies.
“I think you get more excited about a day out in Keldabe than he does,” Skirata said, hands relaxed on the steering yoke. “It’s good to see you happy again, son. You heal an old man’s heart. Etain would be so pleased.”
“When we go back for Dar and Niner, I’m in, okay? I want to do that mission.”
“You will be.”
Skirata seemed to be in a mood that Ordo called contemplative. Something was up, and his willingness to go to Keldabe made Fi wonder if it had anything to do with Shysa. But Kal’buir insisted he was just going to buy some stuff to keep Uthan happy—holozines, toiletries, maybe even a bottle of fancy wine. It was too much of a risk to get goods delivered to Kyrimorut from outside the area. And Skirata seemed to need to get out and stretch his legs occasionally.
“Kad, want to try my buy’ce?” Fi held his helmet over the child’s head like a Basani high priest performing a coronation. “Lots of funny noises. Lots of colors.”
Kad looked up at him with big, wary, dark eyes. Then his lips flattened into a thin, tight line and he frowned, tears wobbling on his eyelashes. But he was silent. He was very good at not crying aloud. Fi reckoned that every baby had the right to bawl its eyes out, Kad more than any of them.
Fi lowered the helmet anyway. “Here it comes, Kad’ika… look at the pretty colors. Buckets on! There, you’re a soldier now.”
Kad accepted the crown for a moment, with Fi’s hands taking the weight. Then he squirmed away. “Dada,” he said. “Dada?”
“Can’t start the kid too soon,” said Skirata. “We’ll have Beviin Verhayc make him a nice little buy’ce of his own. No expense spared. Even a little flight suit. Mirgo Ruus makes good ones. Only the best for my bu’ad’ika.”
“Is Bardan going to teach him to use the lightsaber?”
“No reason why it’s a weapon only for jetiise.” Skirata was worried, Fi could tell. There was always that carefully controlled note in his voice that cut off some of the higher registers. “Discreetly, of course.”
Fi watched Kad like a Fleet Met storm forecast. He was sure the kid could sense his father in the Force, and if anything happened to Darman, Kad would know first.
Keldabe was busy today. It wasn’t Coruscant by a long chalk, but Fi had given up on his ambition to rappel from the highest tower in Galactic City. Keldabe was on a scale he could handle, and he was more confident with every passing day that—eventually—he would remember his way home without ever needing a datapad prompt. The two men wandered through the alleys for the morning, Skirata carrying Kad on his hip in typical proudly paternal Mando fashion.
They stood in the square outside the Oyu’baat tapcaf, looking over the edge of the rail into the Kelita River to amuse Kad. He was still more interested in the sky for some reason. He was looking for something.
It was then they first saw the ships.
Overhead, assault vessels and transports swept in a loose formation toward the east of the river. They’d once been a welcome sight on the battlefield, but now they were a threat of dark days to come. The Imperial garrison was moving in, and they hadn’t wasted any time. They were obviously in a big hurry. Skirata looked up and sighed.
“I’ve got what I came for, ad’ika,” he said. “I think it’s time we disappeared.”
“I’m glad I didn’t take the Mand’alor job,” said Fi. “I bet Spar is, too.”
So that was what Kad had sensed and fretted about: Jusik could sense trouble in the Force, so Kad probably could, too. That was what he’d been watching for. Fi preferred to think so rather than imagine him pining for poor Etain.
They headed back to the speeder. A man in amber armor paused to touch Skirata’s arm as he passed. “Have you heard?”
“What, that we’re going to rue the day we let Palpatine in?”
The man shook his head. “No, Shysa. Fenn Shysa’s just accepted the kyr’bes. He’s our new Mand’alor. The ale’s flowing in the Oyu’baat.”
The man walked on, apparently happy that the three-year interregnum without a Mand’alor since Fett’s death was now over. Maybe he didn’t know what Fi knew: that Shysa had told Skirata he’d take the top job if he didn’t like the look of his Imperial guests. Shysa had obviously made up his mind right away.
“I don’t think I’m thirsty.” Skirata glanced at Fi. “Are you, son?”
“I’m the designated driver,” Fi said.
A gunship—not quite the beloved LAAT/i, but close, clad in the new Imperial livery—swooped low over the center of the city, looking as if it was going to clip the MandalMotors tower.
Fi put a finger to his lips. Stay quiet. Kad mimicked the gesture in complete silence. It was a good habit to get the boy into. Kad looked up with his fist in his mouth, eyes wide, brow puckering with the start of tears. He already knew that he’d need to be unseen and unheard to survive the years to come.
Skirata watched the sky until there were no more ships, and Fi had seen that look before: wary but not cowed down, wary—but with something up his sleeve, something more than his three-sided knife. Kad whimpered quietly.
“It’s okay,” Skirata said, stroking the boy’s head. “I’m here, son. I’m here.”
Karen Traviss, Order 66
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