Before dawn, on a cold morning, mist rose from the fields surrounding Kyrimorut.
“Mereel.”
His brother, tall as he was, had disappeared into the mist, always onto the next thing.
But Mereel froze and didn’t turn around. Caught, again. “Ordo,” he muttered. “Hey...”
The words leaving so soon were already spoken when Mereel finally turned and saw his brother’s face. Mereel sighed, his shoulders shrugging limp arms at his sides.
Ordo approached him, not all convinced still that he was real, because Mereel always came and went like a character in a dream. When he reached Mereel, he lifted his hands to touch the sides of Mereel’s face. Dark brown eyes, deeper than any ocean, met.
“Be careful.”
“I know.”
Ordo leaned in and kissed his brother on the mouth. “Be. Careful.”
“Ordo, I know. I’ll see you soon, all right?” Mereel tapped Ordo on the back and they parted. Mereel looked down like he’d been wounded. His arm reached up and grabbed the back of Ordo’s head, and he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. The moment felt like an eternity, then it was over, and Mereel turned and went into the mist.
Alpha watching was the activity of the week. From the air vent above the training room, Ordo could lay comfortably on his stomach and watch the Alphas spar. He couldn’t see Jango Fett from that angle, but he could hear him barking commands.
Ordo shifted and propped his head up on his elbows. The vent was starting to get a little tight, now that he was almost six standard years. Kom’rk joked that Ordo was going to get stuck if he kept eating like he did.
He pressed his nose against the vent to see the Alphas directly below. One was bleeding from the nose, twisted up in a grapple beneath another. Ordo stared. Why didn’t he just tap out? There was no way he’d–
There was a shout from the bleeding Alpha’s opponent, and he jumped up. “You bit me!”
Jango appeared in an instant. Ordo could barely make out the Mandalorian’s hard features, and he said something beyond Ordo’s hearing. Then he dismissed the session.
The bleeding Alpha lingered until the rest left, nursing his bloody nose. Then he was alone.
“Hey,” Ordo called down to him.
The Alpha was surprised for a split second. But it was no secret that the Nulls could appear at random in the air vents. He looked up in Ordo’s general direction.
“Nice work.”
The Alpha sighed and started to walk away.
“I mean it,” Ordo said. “You were down but not out. In a real fight, you would have won.”
“Thanks,” he said just loud enough. “So do you do any training yourself, or do you just watch?”
(WHY NOT BOTH?) House of Cards/Up Above: Our muses stuck in detention together/My muse pushing yours to talk to that one boy/girl they’ve been looking at for the past hour or so
Ordo spoke under his breath. “This is a garbage assignment.”
“Do you think it maybe–possibly–had to do with what you called the General?”
The redheaded commander had a point that Ordo would never openly agree with. The sun was beating down on both of them as they walked along the dusty trail. “No,” he replied, his helmet still facing forward. His HUD panoramic view gave him a clear picture of what followed them: a gaggle of refugees that they were tasked with escorting to a village two klicks from camp. The General thought it was best to send them with protection. Or maybe the thought struck her after Ordo called her gedin’la to her face, and she looked up what it meant.
Eryn didn’t have to roll her eyes for Ordo to think she wanted to. “This isn’t so bad.”
“Baby-sitting seems more fitting for your kind than combat.” Ordo didn’t mean the way it came out. He turned his head toward her. “It’s peaceful.”
If she was bothered by his remark, Commander Halcyon didn’t show it. “Protecting people is what we’re meant to do, Captain.”
Ordo watched as Eryn glanced over her shoulder. There were a dozen refugees of varying species. The Theelin male stood out because he was the only one who smiled, especially when he caught the Commander’s eye. Ordo had very few social graces, but he was observant, and he noticed when Eryn glanced back, and the Theelin smiled.
“You could talk to him,” Ordo said abruptly.
“What? Who?” Commander Halcyon, flustered, whipped her head back around to face forward.
“The Theelin. His name is Crish.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So you’d be able to look where you’re walking. I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve managed to avoid every rock and stick in your way while you gazed over your shoulder at the man in question.”
“I could push you into that ravine, you know.”
Ordo snorted. “Yeah, I know you could.”
“I guess I could…”
“What, push me?”
“No! Talk to–to him.”
Grinning, Ordo nodded. “Yeah. Spread the good word of the Order. Make them remember that the Republic is here to help. Whatever it is you do.”
He only caught it out of the corner of her eye–her hand flaring out, and suddenly something hit him in the shin and he stumbled, almost face-planting into the ground. When he caught himself, she had left his side, going for the group of refugees. And she said hi to Crish.
"Hey, do you remember that time," Ordo ripped the key from the EMP grenade and lobbed it over the wall, "you lost your shit and drove your speeder into that garden?"
Their helmets were off. Com channels compromised, even local. Mereel laughed, his whole face scrunched.
"Then I got out and said sorry to that statue." Mereel blasted a few droids. The conversation was a distraction of the imminent battalion coming down on them.
"Out of our minds."
An air strike boomed, distant. Heat soaked them with sweat. He had never felt so small on that planet with an empty pistol, a broken ankle, and an ignored distress beacon. He lobbed another EMP.
"You know what will stink?" Mereel asked.
“What?”
“Us, if they ever bother to unzip our carcasses.”
It wasn’t funny, losing your shit, but sometimes it was.
Ordo bit down on his lower lip and glanced away from the console screen as the office door opened. A cleaning droid rolled in, the type of model without a visual feed. He looked back at the screen.
The feed showed an empty podium and a few reporters milling around in front of it. Ordo checked his chrono.
"One minute," Kal'buir said in his ear. Ordo could imagine him pacing the safehouse back on Coruscant even though this was the part of the mission where all his boys were out of dodge. Now was a time for waiting and for thinking.
"Signal's coming in strong," Mereel said. "How's the trigger finger, Ordo?"
Ordo stared at his chrono. "Haven't lost it."
"Here she comes."
The news camera widened to show the entire stage and a Theelin in dress robes was walking out onto stage, waving and greeting the crowd. When she stepped up to the podium, a hush came over the crowd, and she began speaking. Ordo's lips moved silently with hers as she began her speech. As we gather together ... as an unyielding force ... end this brutal war ... the crumbling Republic.
Ordo pressed the detonator.
He switched off the screen just as the news stream was terminated.
"Welcome to Black Talon, Ordo. How's it feel?" asked Mereel.
"To be a terrorist?" Ordo locked the door to the control room behind him and ran a hand over his hair, realizing for the first time that sweat coated his face. "Cold."
“Yes, ma’am.” Ordo paused as the tank’s console tuned up. “Once. In a simulator. I’ve read the manual.” He synced his HUD with the TX-130 Saber-class tank’s interface and his eyes glazed over with the multitude of data streaming across his field of vision. Ordo realized that reassuring General Tarik in such a way probably was not much reassurance, but the manual was actually very helpful to bring back the stored information about long-range artillery.
“In a simulator?”
“To be fair, these are pretty big to store just for training. Wouldn’t you say, ma’am?”
“Please tell me you can provide adequate cover, Captain.”
“One of these babies is usually manned by two troopers to fire the cannon.” Ordo turned to a panel behind him and stared at the three-dimensional map of the battlefield, its life flickering in and out. “And this tank was badly damaged. But sure, I can manage.”
“Send a hello to the Sep stronghold on the north pass. We need to get the platoon through. And fast, they’ve got us pinned.”
“Roger that. Calculating.” He would have liked another set of eyes to look at the data and his calculations, but it had to be good enough, and it had to be now. A Saber with a broken repulsorlift may not have been a prime target for the Seps for the moment, but General Tarik’s men were. And at any rate, Ordo couldn’t be sure how stable the tank would be even after the first shot. He was certainly sitting in the hot seat. “Aiming.”
The tank was sitting crooked on a couple of boulders. As the turret shifted, so did the tank. Ordo gritted his teeth, his fingers dancing across the controls with final adjustments to the shot. “Fire.”
The tank rocked and teetered from its perch after the blast, sending Ordo onto the nearest console. It was nearly on its side and he needed to bail on it before the fuel tank became compromised. He clambered out of the top hatch and sprang out of the tank.
“Captain! Nice shot!”
“Thanks. Not like we needed that airstrike or anything.” Ordo looked over his shoulder just as the Republic airstrike they had been refused minutes ago flew over and glassed the north pass.
Mereel's voice was hollow, his words as careless as the weather report. When Ordo glanced away from the skylane to his brother, he found Mereel had curled his legs up into the seat and his body jammed up against the door, and he was staring out the window.
Mereel snorted. "I did."
Traffic backed up and Ordo hit the accelerator to change lanes. The woman was a bartender and Mereel spoke of her with the kind of fondness a man used for a sister. Now she was dead.
"You wanna go somewhere?" Ordo asked.
"No, I don't wanna fuckin' go anywhere."
"Home?"
"Fuck."
Ordo exhaled and redirected the speeder to get onto the highway. Mereel's head was propped up on the transparisteel window and the lights reflected off of his tanned face. It was dusk and it seemed like an eternity, but this day was finally ending.
"You think you know someone. You really do."
The thought made Ordo's stomach turn because Besany's flat was a mere two kilometers south.
"You did what you had to," Ordo murmured.
"Fuck that. She should've--" Mereel wiped a hand down his face and used the other to brush the rest of his thought out of the air. There was blood under his fingernails.
"It's done." Ordo looked up at the red sky and took the fast lane, pushing the speeder to its limit.
Ordo paced in front of the heap of flesh that had once carried himself like an ARC trooper.
"I have to go now, Kal’buir."
Ordo held his hand out to Kom’rk for the blaster. Kom’rk placed it in his brother’s open palm. The apartment was closed up and hot and they were down to their undersuits.
The Nulls didn’t have any further taunts or questions for the vod kyramud. It didn’t matter to either of them if the war had gotten to the ARC trooper. Ordo raised his chin when the bruised and bleeding face identical to his lifted to meet his. He leveled the blaster and fired.
With a sniff and a turn, Ordo handed the blaster back to Kom’rk, wouldn’t look at him. Walked right past him to the window and opened it. The air pulled in the window, thick and hot, and the light from the suns was bright yellow. Ordo squinted.
