Captain Pellaeon was not in the habit of hurrying, especially at the demands of subordinates. He knew how to hurry, which was how he was blazing through the corridors of the Star Destroyer Chimaera, and he knew, even more importantly, when to hurry. And this was one of those times.
It was generally a bad sign when a well-respected biochemist tells you to get your posterior down to the lab as soon as "kriffin' " possible, especially when they generally have the sense not to swear at the second-highest ranking man on the ship.
Arriving at the cloning laboratory, Pellaeon adjusted his uniform briefly, then entered the lab. Doctor Mezarith greeted him immediately. "Captain, I apologize in advance for the unfortunate... setback we have encountered in the cloning process."
"Cut out the chat, Mezarith. What happened, why, and can it be fixed?"
The lanky, grey-haired biologist winced. Gesturing for Pellaeon to follow him, he began to explain. "The specimen is in perfect health, and we expect him to be ready to release from the cloning cylinder in five days. However, I believe you should take a look at him yourself." Leading Pellaeon to a vertical vat filled with what appeared to be bacta, he picked up a datapad. "According to our data, Skywalker is one-point-seven-five meters tall. Now, clones may be taller then their source material, due to enhanced nutrition, but a healthy clone is never shorter." Pellaeon gazed through the murky blue fluid, and found that the clone was indeed short. "The subject ceased gaining height four days ago- at the height of one-point-six meters."
Handing the datapad to Pellaeon, he continued. "During routine examinations throughout the growth of the clone, we have taken pictures of the subject's eyes. Skywalker's are blue. Although, due to the necessity of the low light in the tank, we have not been able to determine the actual color, they are clearly dark. Most likely brown or hazel."
Pellaeon was no fool. "So it's not Skywalker."
"I'm afraid not, sir. Your strike team must have retrieved the wrong hair."
"Could it have been contaminated?"
"Possibly, but not likely. The midi-chlorien count of the subject is too high to have been anyone other than a very powerful individual."
"So the project may be salvageable."
"Indeed." Mezarith took his datapad back, and nodded. "I'm no military man, but if you're looking for a new Emperor, you may actually have better luck with this one. We have no idea who he is, but he may be one of the trainees at the Jedi Academy. We know Skywalker's a light-sider. He may be Vader's son, but he may have something in his genes that cancelled it out. A clone of someone else may be less stubborn- more trainable."
Pellaeon's mood brightened. "And he may be less powerful than Skywalker. Maybe it would be a good thing to have someone not as... scary... as Vader breathing down our necks."
Mezarith laughed, and turned to escort Pellaeon out. "Well, then, I apologize for making such a big deal out of it. I'm glad that it's going to work out all-"
Abruptly, they were cut off by a scream, a blood-curdling wail which seemed impossible for a human to make. Both men whirled, to find one of the junior biologists rushing over to them. "Sirs, the subject is aware!"
"Impossible!" Mezarith gasped. "With the CNS depressants used to maintain a stable growth of the clone, he shouldn't be aware for at least a day after we pop the hatch!"
Pellaeon and Mezarith ran back to the cylinder, only to find one of the younger white-coats staggering towards the vat as though in a trance. His hand slowly, haltingly, raised to a prominent lever on the side of the cloning cylinder. Mezarith dashed forward. "Don't!" However, he was too late. With a hiss and a rush of smoky bacta, the entranced scientist collapsed to the ground. Pellaeon tried to help Mezarith to his feet, but froze as he saw the subject, staring down at him with chilling crimson eyes.
The clone stepped effortlessly out of the tube, and although he was much shorter than Pellaeon, the captain still felt like an Ewok in the presence of a krayt dragon.
Finally gaining his composure, Pellaeon stepped back and bowed, praying to any and all gods that he didn't look as shaky as he felt. "Welcome. I am Captain Gilad Pellaeon, and you are aboard the Star Destroyer Chimaera. Do you understand Basic?"
The patient's eyes- those demonic red eyes!- narrowed. "If you refer to English- the language we are speaking- then I understand it well enough."
It was impossible! No newly hatched clone could speak! But here this frightening young man was, speaking with a heavy accent, but clearly fluent in Basic. Pellaeon knew that he had to be as civil as possible with this dangerous... being.
"You are here as a result of an experiment in cloning. Your genetic material is not that of the person we had intended to clone, but we had planned to create a new leader for our Imperial Navy." The face of the clone was unreadable. "We had hoped to create a powerful new Emperor to help us increase morale and regain the upper hand against the Rebellion."
"So I am to be your Emperor?" Pellaeon could swear he saw a triumphant smirk on the lips of the man. "Is there a higher-ranking officer on this ship?"
"Y-yes. I will see if he will speak with you."
Nodding curtly, the young man asserted, "See that you do. And see to it that I receive some clothing." And Pellaeon hurried once more, partially to obey, but mostly just to retreat from those bloody eyes.