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“I believe you owe I-Five an apology,” Barriss said. Again, there was something in her voice, something he couldn’t quite pin down. She seemed, well, older. Much older. But that was silly.

“Unnecessary,” I-Five said. “I am, after all, merely a droid. Why should I take offense?”

Den sighed. “I’m sorry, I-Five. I was a parsec out of line. I, uh… oh, to deep with it. Let’s play cards.”

Klo began to deal—they had dispensed with the CardShark’s services several games back, and now it usually sulked in a corner while they played.

So there it was, Den thought. Another reminder of the difference between droids and biologicals. Someone they interacted with as a person could be…shut down, just like that, because she had a widget that was more useful elsewhere. Of course, people died in wars all the time— companions with whom you shared drinks and laughs could be taken away in the blink of an eye, zip-zap, just like that, but this was different. It made a Sullustan stop and think.

Den picked up his hand, glancing at Eyar Marath as he did so. She smiled back. Good. At least his temper tantrum hadn’t driven her off. She was beautiful. How long had it been since he’d even sat at a table with one of his own species, much less clapped flaps? Too long.

A thought occurred to him. “Well. Sorry. After all, once the drive they ordered arrives, they should be able to repair Teedle and she’ll be as good as new, right?”

There was another moment of frozen silence. Then I-Five said, almost gently, “They didn’t requisition the new drive, Den. The military will compensate the corporation that owns Teedle, but they see no need to pay for the repairs twice.”

Den stared. “Kark,” he said.

“An apt expression,” I-Five replied.

Merit dealt the cards.

19

Jos had finally managed to obtain a jacket and a pair of thermal gloves, which meant that the dome would almost certainly be repaired soon. It seemed like it never failed that, if he went out of his way to prepare for something, the need soon vanished. But at least for the moment, he was better off.

He was on his way to the chow hall when his comlink beeped.

“Doctor Vandar, we have a problem in the OT.”

“I’m off duty—” Jos began.

“Yes, sir, Colonel Vaetes knows that, but he asks if you’ll please stop by.”

“Okay. I’m coming.”

At the operating theater, business was slow, with only a few patients. Half a dozen doctors and nurses were gathered around one of the tables, Vaetes among them. He turned, saw Jos, and stepped away from the patient, who was hidden from view by the group.

“Colonel? What’s the problem?”

“You ever work on a Nikto?”

Jos’s eyebrows went up. “You have a horn-face? I didn’t know there were any on this world.”

“Afraid so. One of the crew working the bota fields. Ran over a piece of unexploded ordnance and blew the harvester to pieces. Patient’s full of shrapnel, and nobody here has ever opened a Nikto before. You’ve cut on a slew of species—any experience on this one?”

Jos blew out a sigh. “Not since my first-year surgical rotation. I’m not really qualified to—”

“Nobody else here has ever laid a blade on one, Jos. Not even Lieutenant Divini. Whatever you know is better than what we don’t know.”

He was right. “I’ll scrub,” Jos said.

“Thanks. Tolk is already here.”

Jos nodded.

He hurried through his scrub, was gowned and gloved by the sterile circulating nurse, and stepped up to the field. He saw Tolk across the table, lining up instruments. He’d been hoping to get more of a sense of her mood, but they had a crowd watching, and that wasn’t how he wanted to talk to her.

As if some bored war deity had read his thoughts, the drone of a medlifter dopplered up.

“Incoming, people!” Vaetes shouted. “Jos, you got this?”

“Probably not, but you looking over my shoulder isn’t going to help much. Go. If I have a problem, I’ll yell.”

The watchers cleared out, leaving Jos, Tolk, and the circulating sterile droids. Jos looked across the field. The sparkle and shimmer of the overheads against the electro-static boundary gave Tolk