A'den's right. As usual.
Here's that specific passage if anybody wanted quick reference...
[spoiler] A young man with short white-blond hair was striding toward them through the sparse crowd, arms held a little away from his sides, a large bag over one shoulder. His knee-length dark blue coat was wide open. But that didn't mean he wasn't carrying an armory under there somewhere. Fi unfolded the Verp's stock one-handed under his jacket and prepared to draw it and fire.
The man then held both hands up at shoulder level and grinned.
"Fierfek," Skirata breathed. "Udesii
, lads. It's okay."
The blond manóFi's height, very athleticówalked straight up to Skirata and crushed him in an enthusiastic hug. "Su'cuy Buir!
. Fi knew the voice.
"Suc'uy, ad'ika. Tion vaii gar ru'cuyi?
"N'oya'kari gihaal, Buir.
" The man looked almost tearful: his pale blue eyes were brimming. He wiped them with the heel of his hand. "If I'm not careful I'll wash out this iris dye."
"That hair doesn't suit you, either."
"I can change that, too. I've got lots of different colors. Did you like what I added to the five-hundred-grade thermal?"
"Ah. I did wonder."
"I'm still a better chemist than Ord'ika, Kal'buir.
Fi finally saw the face in front of him as a negative image, and suddenly imagined dark hair and eyes, and realized why the man was familiar. He wasn't one of Skirata's own sons. He was a clone, just like Fi: or, to be precise, just like Ordo. It was astonishing how much different pigmentation alone made to someone's appearance: a simple but effective disguise, for casual use anyway.
Skirata beamed at him with evident pride. "Lads, this is ARC Trooper Lieutenant N-7," he said. "My boy Mereel."[/spoiler]