A/N: Playtime is over, buckle up.


Mace, Ben, Yoda, and Qui-Gon walked into the briefing room together. The rest of the High Council slowly trickled in, some just arrived from the impromptu tournament. Their competitive airs were gone, replaced by solemn consideration. It was an air Ben knew well from the Clone Wars. Once the entire assembly was present, the lights dimmed and the large comm unit flickered to life. A blue projection of Yan Dooku appeared above the holodesk, looking toward the head of the room. "Masters," he greeted the august company, "and Qui-Gon, what a pleasant surprise."

Qui-Gon nodded politely. "Master," he bowed.

"I see your protégé has dragged you into this with the rest of us. I'm glad."

While the reminder of Ben's odd relationship to Qui-Gon - and to Dooku, for that matter - made some councilors fidget. Qui-Gon himself gave a small smile. Ben's mind was already plunging far ahead into the matter at hand. He rubbed the edge of his beard between forefinger and thumb. "What have you found?" he asked the hologram.

"To the point, as ever, Master Kenobi. I've followed a tip from one of my contacts in the Coruscanti Orbit Control, and have been tracing Dyas' steps for the past three weeks - he's left rather a convoluted trail, I can tell you. I have sent Master Windu the details," Dooku looked to the Master of the Order.

"They're being reviewed," the Korun told the assembly, "but on a first glance, do not seem to offer any new insights. Please, Master Dooku, continue."

Dooku nodded. "I shall not bore you with the details, but after much searching, I have found Dyas' ship."

"Oh?" Ben seemed surprised.

Dooku sighed. "Yes… orbiting in the asteroid fields of Bothawui. There are multiple breaches in the hull."

"Any sign of Dyas?" asked Mace.

Dooku's face fell. Only Qui-Gon and Ben, who knew him best, knew to be surprised by the uncharacteristic show of emotion. "He was on the ship during the attack, but as I said, the hull was breached, and I suspect the ship has been floating for several months, at least. There is... not much left to recover. I have, however, found his lightsaber."

The council members all nodded solemnly. "Receive it we will," Master Yoda said. The subsequent silence was taut with the unspoken question: should Dias be honored as a Jedi Knight in death, or were his actions too far outside of the Code to consider it? There would be an investigation, but that would come later, after they had paid their respects to the dead - whether they were Jedi or defectors.

At length, Ben said, "What on earth was he doing on Bothawui?"

Dooku seemed happy to return to business. "Bothawui is a major junction between several hyperspace lanes. I do not think he was headed for the planet itself. I suspect he was in transit to another system when he was shot down and the debris drawn into orbit."

"So you believe this was an assassination?" Saesee Tiin frowned. Dooku turned to look at the Iktotchi and give a short shrug.

"Assassination, a hit, a bounty. Whoever did the deed, someone paid them - handsomely, I'd wager - to murder a Jedi."

Ben was the only one in the room who looked completely unsurprised. Years as a war General had given him a dark sense of humor, so he drew a few alarmed looks when he laughed and said, "Yes, two guesses as to who that might be. Were you able to recover any useful data from the ship?"

Dooku shook his head. "Whoever attacked this ship knew what they were doing. The navigation history and databanks have all been wiped clean. However," his mustache quirked up in a smile, making him look distinctly pleased with himself, "they forgot Dyas' astromech droid. It was in pieces when I got here, and quite beyond repair, but I've managed to recover some of its shortstorage memory, which includes an order from Dyas, given just moments before the droid and the ship were destroyed." Dooku fiddled with something out of view, and the comm audio crackled, now broadcasting a static-laden recording of Sifo Dyas' last moments.

Ion blasters boomed in the background. A loud series of beeps emanated from the droid itself, it's band wheels whirring against the ship's floor. Voice growing louder as the droid drew closer, Dyas shouted, "R9! You've got to get us out of here, set coordinates for 709,-073,006, and - ahh!" A huge explosion of blasterfire. "Force dammnit - now, R9! Now! We've got to get-" static, and then silence. Dooku's projected gaze bore down on Ben Kenobi.

"Do these coordinates jog your memory, Master Kenobi?"

The councillors all looked to Ben, who smiled, just slightly. "They do. Those are the coordinates to Kamino."

"Home of the galaxy's finest cloners, or so I've been told," Dooku rustled through some records while the council muttered. They had all heard whispers of Ben's suspicions, of course. Mace would never keep his fellow Councilors completely in the dark, but they had been slow to believe the scale of what Ben claimed. "Also among the droid's memory were some orders Dyas gave to it earlier that day… unfortunately, my investigation compromised the fidelity of the record, but I was able to transcribe the pertinent details. Dyas submitted an inquiry into the activity of a bank account on Coruscant - Ben, I believe you know more about this than I."

"Is it to do with the Medical Studies grant?"

"I suspect so, though of course that is hardly revealed by account numbers alone. I will send you the transcript." Dooku's brow drew down in concentrated confusion. "I cannot play back his exact words, but I must say… Dyas sounded distinctly disturbed when he put in the call. Almost suspicious."

Ben frowned, trying to make sense of it. "As if he were not the only one accessing the account?"

"I suspect so."

Mace Windu did not like being put out of depth, and turned to Ben with an inquisitive expression. "What is this medical grant you're talking about?"

"I'm afraid the clones have been funded by a public grant," Ben explained, which raised quite a few brows around the room. "I've been tracking it for several years, but have not found anything concrete enough to warrant further investigation."

"Until now, apparently," Qui-Gon put in. Mace sighed.

"We'll have to look into it."

"Yes," Ben agreed, "but not directly, not per protocol. We don't want them to know we suspect their use of the grant, or they will withdraw, leave us with no leads, and furthermore know that we're onto them. I'll investigate myself, as I have been already. I'll find a way to do it without bringing Kamino into question."

"You'll never be able to gather all the information we need without a warrant," Adi Gallia pointed out. "Working your way in under the radar will only get you so far."

Ben smiled. "I do not intend to work under the radar, Master Gallia - just on a less dangerous side of it. Republic Grants are always wrapped in bureaucratic tape, I'm sure I can uncover a doorway somewhere." He nodded at Yan. "Master Dooku is not the only one with advantageous contacts. I will look into the accounts and see if I can determine who has been accessing the funds - aside from Dyas."

"I would like to know how Dyas used funds in the Order's name without our knowing," Plo Koon said, arms crossed, fingers drumming curiously against his forearm. "If he ordered the creation of these clones for the Order, the Council should have received word about it within days. Are we sure the order was even finalized?"

"Follow the money in the accounts, and we'll see," advised Ki Adi Mundi.

"If the Sith are behind this, and they have ways of manipulating Republic finances, exactly how far within our Senate has their corruption spread?" asked Master Rancisis.

Ben and Mace shared a nervous look. They were the only two present who knew the identity of the Sith master. They had discussed revealing this information before, but Mace was convinced that some councilors would demand immediate action, which, considering Palpatine's extensive contingencies, could prove disastrous for the Order and possibly the Republic. Ben was compelled to agree.

Master Yoda looked at Mace for a moment before he tapped his cane on the ground for attention. "Important, all of these questions are, and some more easily answered than others. Investigate the financials Master Kenobi will without alerting the Sith. Master Dooku," Yoda looked up to his older apprentice, who looked back, attentive. "Continue your investigation into Dyas you will. Determine who killed him and who paid for it, you must."

Dooku bowed. "Yes, Master."

"And answer Master Koon's question, we must. Send someone to Kamino, we will."

"I will go," Mace Windu volunteered. The Councilors all seemed happy with this, but Ben was frowning.

"With all due respect, masters, the Sith will be watching this planet very closely. The presence of a Jedi will be poorly received enough, but a councilor?" He shook his head. "We must make this look like a routine operation."

"We have to send someone who has been briefed on the situation," Mace reminded him, and glanced around the briefing room of councillors. "If not a council member, who did you have in mind?"

Ben opened his mouth to say "me", but then realized he'd already volunteered for an equally as important mission. His mouth paused in frustrated silence. Unspoken deductions weaved silently through the air. There was only one person in the room who was not a Councilor and who did not already have a mission.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat politely. "Let me go," he said. Ben immediately shook his head.

"No. Absolutely not. You've already bared your neck showing up on Alaris Prime and-"

Qui-Gon cut in: "Which means the Sith see me as a threat, but not an official one."

Ben scoffed, but Mace was intrigued. "How do you mean?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "So I show up on two separate occasions to interfere with this Sith's business. I am still no councilor, I hold no high office of authority here. I cannot control where I am sent and when. The Sith will be forced to conclude that any threat I pose is one of happenstance."

"If he sees you meddling so often, he will not ignore it. Councilor or not, it puts you in considerable danger," Ben insisted. Qui-Gon fixed him with a reproving look.

"And who would you send into that danger instead? Someone who didn't know the risk?" He held his former padawan's gaze until the younger man looked away, and glanced around the room. "Let me minimize the threat to others here. I've already drawn his eye once, but I am not a powerful player."

"Qui-Gon is right," Yan spoke up from across the galaxy. "We should not expose the entire Order to the Sith's interest. Keeping him occupied with smaller pieces may be the best way."

Ben refused to think of Qui-Gon as a small piece in the puzzle. He rubbed furiously at his beard. "What we need is a pawn," he muttered, "or better yet, a powerful piece that looks like a pawn."

Qui-Gon heard him and answered to the room, "I've been told I can appear very pawnlike, when I want to." He glanced over at Ben, who glared back. Stubborn Is and Stubborn Does held a staring contest as the rest of the room waited on a verdict.

Cutting through the tension, Yoda attempted to placate his grandpadawan, "A reconnaissance mission this will be. Minimal the risk is."

"Alaris Prime should have been low-risk," Ben retorted. "But now the Sith are sure to be watching everyone involved."

"You don't know that," Qui-Gon said.

"I do."

"You have no concrete proof."

"And we have no choice," Mace Windu cut into the master-apprentice squabble. "If you have a better suggestion, Master Kenobi, please, tell us."

They waited. At length, Ben sighed. "We will have to work quickly."

"The files should be transferring to you now, masters," Dooku said.

"I will draw up an official mission request to investigate the last movements of fallen Jedi Sifo Dyas, in the… " Mace glanced down at his datapad, where he'd pulled up the coordinates relayed by Dooku. An empty spot blinked back up at him where Kamino should be. "...Abrion sector, and forward summons and details to Master Jinn. Are we agreed?"

The Council was unanimous. Ben gave begrudging agreement. Qui-Gon hung by his side as they left.

"I have a bad feel about this," Ben grumbled to the universe at large.

"You always have bad feelings about things," Qui-Gon noted.

"Yes, and unfortunately, they're rarely wrong."


The next twenty-four hours were a buzz of activity as Councilors drew up mission details for Kamino and dug deeper into their intelligence contacts. Ben could feel the tension building in his bones, as if he could hear the Council's anxiety through the Force itself. As ever, he opted to occupy himself with more pleasant trivialities.

"Careful there," Obi-Wan said as he rounded the corner, diving out of the way of Ben's unruly cargo. Ben dodged and carefully lowered the potted plant from in front of him.

"My apologies," he said, trying very hard not to step on the trailing vines and leaves, "it is a bit too big to be carrying around like this."

"Force, is that your dorva vine?" Obi-Wan whistled lowly. "It's gotten too big to stay on your fridge, I take it."

"Yes," Ben chuckled, kicking some vines out of the way of his feet. "It's gotten a bit unruly, so I've asked the groundkeepers' permission to rehouse it in the gardens."

Obi-Wan smiled, "That's great - I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Would you like some help?"

Ben glanced down at the vines, which looked far shorter when dangling off the top of his refrigerator. "You know, I think I would."

Obi-Wan stooped to gather the trailing vines delicately in his arms. They began walking toward the gardens together, Ben in front, Obi-Wan in tow. With the extra help, Ben was now free to hold the pot low enough to see over it. He glanced back at Obi-Wan.

"I'm grateful for the assistance, but what are you doing here? I'd expect you to be working with Dooku this time of morning."

"Oh. No, just running some last minute errands. Qui-Gon and I are leaving today… for the, uh…" he glanced around at the busy halls, "...you know."

"Oh." Ben blinked. He was embarrassed to realize that, because Qui-Gon had been the only one present for the mission brief, he'd hardly even thought of Obi-Wan. "Yes. I suppose you would go with him, of course," he said, more to himself than to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan understood. "He offered to let me stay behind. Tried to make excuses about all the risks, the doubled exposure to the Sith after the whole Alaris Prime debacle. It's insulting, really."

"Insulting?"

Obi-Wan gave an exasperated sigh. "I know he's trying to look out for me, but my place is at his side. It always has been, it always will be. I think I'm old enough to take my own risks."

"And by offering you the option to stay behind, he's giving you the opportunity to choose those risks. He's being courteous, not overprotective."

Obi-Wan shrugged. In his stage of life, with a parental figure like Qui-Gon, it was very difficult to differentiate between the two. "I suppose."

Once in the gardens, Ben went to the spot the groundskeepers had reserved for him and planted the dorva vine into its new home atop a ridge by the waterfall. From a few metres in the air, its vines could stretch to their full length, which was far more impressive than Ben's cramped apartment could allow.

"Wow," breathed Obi-Wan as they stepped away from their work. "It looks a lot bigger than it did in your kitchen," he glanced around at the large, expansive gardens. "And also a lot smaller."

"So it does," Ben smiled, and considered the flowerpot he held in his hand. "I'll have to find something to do with this. Perhaps I'll get another plant."

"You're practically a one-man greenhouse."

They laughed and walked out of the gardens. As they passed, Obi-Wan spotted a familiar, if not far larger and older, friend. "Wait a moment," He paused along the path, and pointed to a bushy, long-leafed plant. "Isn't this your woosha from eons ago?"

Ben walked by it often. "It is," he smiled.

"Force, it's huge! Didn't it used to sit on your coffee table? It's big enough to be a table."

Ben laughed. "Imagine that." He studied the plant fondly, wide, long leaves springing up from the center stalk like they'd been this big their entire lives. He still remembered the hardships of those early days, cooped up in the temple under censure, not sure of himself, never knowing how or when he would be ready to embark on his real mission. And now, here they were, a whole organized team, going to Kamino and the Senate and the farflung reaches of the Outer Rim for answers. It was a delicate game, but he was not alone. His network had grown just like the leaves of his woosha, and he now felt so at home it was as if it'd always been that way.

He glanced up at the dorva vine, still visible from a distance. Its vines waved in the breeze tossed up by the waterfall. A few leaves were torn off by the buffeting air and water, but Ben knew that over time, it would thrive.

Obi-Wan followed Ben's gaze. "Does it still stop growing if you look at it wrong?" he joked. Ben gave a small shrug.

"Yes, but it always comes back stronger. I'm very proud of it."

Obi-Wan shook his head, laughed, and continued on to the door. "I hope I'm never so sentimental about plants."


A few hours later, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan departed from Coruscant and began their journey across the galaxy. Although Kamino did not appear in the ship's navigation computers, thanks to Sifo Dyas' coordinates, they knew exactly where they were going. On the map it appeared as a blank spot to the Galactic South of Rishi, just over the border of the Outer Rim and a few parsecs away from Hutt space. Out of the way, but well within reach of hyperspace lanes. Convenient, Qui-Gon thought, for surreptitious visits from clientele.

The journey from the Core was long and quiet, and left plenty of time to think. Unfortunately, most shades of 'thinking', when undertaken by Obi-Wan Kenobi, had the tendency to evolve into corresponding shades of brooding.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Obi-Wan announced to the silence of the bridge. Qui-Gon had been reading to pass the time, but looked up at his apprentice with a long-suffering expression.

"I don't sense anything."

Obi-Wan frowned in concentration. "I'm not sure what it is. It's this mission."

"Or perhaps this mission's connection to the Sith?" Qui-Gon suggested.

The apprentice pursed his lips. "Perhaps… It eludes me." His brows scrunched together as he attempted to analyze his own perceptions. Qui-Gon watched the effort for a moment before instructing,

"You should not focus on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. Keep your focus on the present moment."

"Yes, Master," he answered to the familiar reprimand. To distract himself, he reopened the very scant dossier they'd been given for their mission. It had been written almost entirely by Mace Windu, with a few notes from Ben.

"What sort of people are these Kaminoans?" Obi-Wan asked, flipping through the holo-less pages. "I've never met one."

"Neither have I," Qui-Gon admitted. "Even if I had, I doubt one sampling would be a true representation of the whole. I suspect it takes a certain type of Kaminoan, as it would take with any species, to condone the manufacture and distribution of millions of sentient clones."

Obi-Wan had been struggling with the ethics of such an undertaking. "It's like livestock," he mused, sadly. Qui-Gon hummed his agreement.

"They likely see no moral or ethical downfalls to their own actions. We must be very careful with what we say, and how we say it."

Obi-Wan smiled. In this area, he excelled. "Of course, Master."

Mace's descriptions proved accurate. Kamino was a tumultuous aquatic planet, rampant with stormy gales and waves that could sweep a starship right out of the sky. The Jedi visitors were forced to communicate extensively with Kamino's air traffic control in order to land safely.

"It's a very clever place for questionable projects like cloning," Qui-Gon mused after they'd gone off the comm with ATC. "You either know who's coming to visit, or you'll see the debris of their ships in the water the next morning."

It was a brutal but efficient strategy.

They landed at the Kaminoan cloning facility after spending nearly an hour battling the whims of the atmosphere. Massive, circular structures built on stilts stood like rocks amid an ever churning maelstrom. Water slapped up and over the sloped buildings, but the mid-sea city never budged an inch. Up close, it was impossible to see the extent of the structures against the darkness of the storms, but from above, the Jedi had seen rings of white lights, delineating the edges of the buildings. There complex went on for miles.

Nearly as soon as they stepped off of their ship, master and apprentice were soaked through. Jedi cloaks were designed to wick water, but 'wicking' was a weak ability when faced with an entire ocean of water falling from the sky.

Metal clamps emerged from the floor of the docking bay to latch onto their ship's landing gear, holding it in place as waves continued to wash over the edge of the artificial land. At the bulkhead, a door opened, creating a rectangle of bright white light amid the stormy world outside. "Masters Jedi," a tall, slender figured raised its voice above the roar, "we've been expecting you - please, come inside!"

The Jedi were only too happy to accept the welcome. They ran inside and their Kaminoan greeter shut the door after them. Without the roar of the storm gone, the Jedi's ears rang. The loudest sound became the incessant dripping of their clothing.

"I must apologize for the timing of your visit," said the Kaminoan, who Obi-Wan knew must be male because he sported a thin white crest on his head. "Our weather is unpredictable and violent, not like what you are accustomed to on Coruscant."

"It's quite alright," answered Qui-Gon for both of them, "I must apologize for tracking water into your home."

Kaminoans did not have lively senses of humor. This one blinked its fathomless eyes and nodded its long neck in a serene bow. "No apologies are needed. We are a world of water, after all. My name is Pauw Qan."

Qui-Gon bowed in turn. "I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Obi-Wan bowed politely.

Pauw nodded. "Of course. We are so glad to finally receive an emissary from the Jedi Order. Please, take of your cloaks and let them dry." As he spoke, a small droid buzzed up to them and extended a long, telescopic appendage that sported a claw at the end. It snapped expectantly at them. The Jedi handed over their cloaks, and the droid took them away. Pauw watched it go and turned back to his guests.

"Please follow me. I will take you to Taun We. She is expecting you."

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon as they walked. "I don't suppose you know who Taun We is?" he asked, mentally. Externally, Qui-Gon looked as confident and self-assured as he ever did, even while soaking wet.

"Not the slightest idea. This is a reconnaissance mission, Padawan. We're only supposed to look like we know what we're doing."

"Ah," Obi-Wan allowed the smallest of smiles to break his stoic facade, "it's business as usual, then."

They followed Pauw through long, silent corridors. The smooth white curves of the walls and doors were an utter contradiction to the harsh climate of Kamino, and soundproofed against the chaos outside. The Kaminoans themselves were tall, willowy creatures, who moved with lithe grace around them as they passed. Some paused to bow their heads respectfully. It was an incredibly surreal experience, for Obi-Wan. He'd never heard of the Kaminoan culture, and he'd never seen its like before.

Suddenly, the walls turned into windows, offering a panoramic view of their surroundings. They were walking through an elevated tunnel in a massive metal warehouse, filled with towers and structures whose purpose remained a mystery. Thousands of lights shone at them from every direction, distended glass bulbs glowing in evenly spaced rows, on the walls and around the towers and along the edges of the floor.

"What is this place?" asked Obi-Wan aloud.

"The nursery," Pauw explained, looking out into the chambers with a fond Kaminoan smile. "I expect Taun We will tell you more. This generation is developing well, and she is very proud."

Obi-Wan looked closer, and his eyes grew wide in fascinated horror as he realized that the bulbs were not lamps, but fluid-filled tanks. And the things inside them were not diodes, as he'd assumed, but were in fact backlit silhouettes of human fetuses. As he watched, one of them moved, kicking and sucking its thumb, blissfully ignorant of its own existence. And now that Obi-Wan saw it, he felt it, too: thousands upon thousands of tiny human lives, still developing, hearts beating in perfect and unnerving unison. He swallowed.

"Kriffing hell," he thought, broadcasting without realizing. Qui-Gon said nothing in reply, as was too occupied by looking out of the opposite set of windows to even glance at his apprentice.

"This generation," the master repeated. "How many generations are there?"

"This will be the third," Pauw said, sounding almost apologetic. "I understand you must be anxious to see the full five orders met in good time, but I can assure you that we strive for quality. The first generation had some… problems." He paused, and added, "Taun We will be able to tell you more. Just this way," he gestured to the hall up ahead.

They passed through the opposite side of the nursery and the windows were replaced by plain white once more. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon finally shared a look to communicate their amazement as well as their alarm. This was far, far bigger than they'd thought.

They did not have time to discuss the ramifications of what they'd just seen before a door opened and a tall female Kaminoan turned her head to look.

"Mistress Taun We," Pauw bowed, "these are the ambassadors from the Jedi Order, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The Jedi bowed respectfully. Taun We nodded slowly and gracefully, which Obi-Wan supposed must be typical among her species. "We are glad to welcome you here, Masters, and appreciate your interest in our work."

Qui-Gon nodded. "We are grateful for your accommodation, of course."

"Of course. But you are not here for accommodations. You will want a tour of the facilities, to see that your order is being filled as per the Order's specifications."

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to look at his apprentice. They had not communicated any specific mandate to the Kaminoans when they'd arrived. They hadn't had to. They'd merely announced themselves as ambassadors from the Jedi Order and had been let in without question. "You seem to know our mission better than we do," Qui-Gon teased with subdued irony. Taun We smiled and began walking.

"This way. I will show you your army. We are very proud of the result."

They left Pauw behind and let Taun lead them through the facility. Away from her gaze, the Jedi shared a look, neither entirely believing what they were seeing, but knowing they ought to brace themselves for more.

Taun led them back through the nursery, and onto the birthing room, a place of squalling trauma that made Obi-Wan grimace. Then it was onto the creche, where dozens of completely identical toddlers played with each other and educational toys, mediated and coddled by droids.

"Their growth rate is double that of a normal human - until they reach physical maturity, of course," Taun We was saying. "So the first few months of their lives are critical. We do all we can to optimize the proper brain functions and neural pathways necessary to successful adult life."

"I see," Qui-Gon said, still trying to absorb everything. It was difficult to mask his surprise.

Then it was on to the adolescent classrooms, where young clones were separated by age into automated learning stations. Surrounded by screens, suits wired with sensors, helmets equipped with eye-trackers and headphones and more input devices that Obi-Wan could not identify. Even through the windowed tunnel, Obi-Wan could hear a cacophony of studious energy as the teens rattled off answers to quiz questions, practiced speaking alien languages, and recited various codes of conduct.

A few of the boys looked up to see Taun, and paused when they saw the Jedi. More than one face began frowning and looking at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan intently.

"You must excuse them," Taun said, carrying on without breaking stride, "they have never seen a human who does not look like them - at least, not in person."

Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder as they passed, and locked eyes with one of the clones. Despite his clinical surroundings, the boy looked very much like any other boy Obi-Wan had ever known or seen in the mirror. He was a thinking, intelligent person, with a personality and thoughts and dreams and, maybe, a name. The boy turned his body to watch Obi-Wan go, and as he did, the Jedi spotted a patch on his uniform, a string of four numbers in the place where a nametag should be. Their eye contact was broken when Obi-Wan walked through a doorway.

He wanted to say something about it to Qui-Gon, but he wasn't sure where to begin.

"We start their physical training almost as soon as they are born, but we cannot begin intensive military training until they are matured. This is the second generation," Taun We gestured to the upcoming chamber, "and I believe they will prove the gold standard for their younger brothers."

White. The warehouse below was crawling with it, white plated armor made in the Mandalorian style, strapped over pitch black bodysuits. They marched in unison, brandished their weapons in unison, turned and walked and saluted in exact, intimidating unison. Obi-Wan could not help it when his mouth fell slightly open. He covered it with a hand, pretending that he was stroking his chin thoughtfully.

They watched the display in silence for several minutes before Qui-Gon asked, "How many are there?"

"Twelve thousand born, ten-thousand of them acceptable - many in the first generation have some untoward genetic mutations that made them largely unsuited for military use. We have another ten thousand in gestation. As I have told your colleague, we have started with small generations in order to ensure quality DNA variations throughout the entire cloning pool. The generations will increase in size to meet your orders as time goes on."

"Our colleague?" Qui-Gon asked. "Who do you mean?"

"The other Jedi, Sifo Dyas."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. "We were under the impression that Sifo Dyas was dead," Qui-Gon said.

Taun blinked slowly. She tilted her head in confusion. "You must be mistaken, Masters. Sifo Dyas arrived here only hours before you did. I believe he is still here - I understand he had some concerns about our neural programming modules. I thought you knew."

The Jedi were nonplussed. Sifo Dyas? Alive? Here? "Perhaps you could show us to him?" Said Qui-Gon, as calmly as he could.

"Of course," Taun We nodded, and tapped an order into the keyboard on her left vambrace. She led them into a small anteroom where they took a lift up several floors. The lift was encased in glass, and gave them an ascending view of the the armored clones and their marching exercises. Ten thousand, the number echoed in Obi-Wan head. It was not the millions that Ben had spoken about, but Ki Adi Mundi's suspicions against the fulfillment of the order were well and truly debunked.

They arrived at a new level and Taun offered her fingerprint to let them into a wide, simply furnished room. It offered similar views of the clones below, and connected to hallways that branched out to other sectors of the facility. However, there were also computer consoles, holovideo feeds, and chairs. Obi-Wan wondered if they could control the clones from places like this. He hoped not.

"Ah," Taun said, seeing a far door blink green as a newcomer was admitted. "This must be him."

The door slid open to reveal a new figure. "Master Dyas," greeted Taun, "are you finding everything to your satisfaction?"

Sifo Dyas did not answer. He looked down at the pair of Jedi before him with surprise. The Jedi looked back up at him with equal, if not greater shock. Qui-Gon drew his lightsaber.

"That is not Sifo Dyas," he said. Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber as well.

Taun We glanced between the three with alarm. "Master Jinn, I assure you you are mistaken," she said, attempting to manage a civil tone amid the hum of the Jedi's lightsabers.

"Yes," replied the giant, looming Zabrak called Sifo Dyas. His black and yellow tattooed lips raised in a sneer. "They are."

He reached behind his back and brought out a thick metal shaft. He pressed his thumb to it, and wicked crimson lightsaber blades sprouted from either end.

"Sith," Obi-Wan breathed, almost too shocked to believe it. Qui-Gon was quicker on the uptake, and interposed himself between Obi-Wan and the attacker as the Zabrak made a leaping first strike.

Blades clashed in sudden, white hot contest. Taun let out a shrill noise, screaming something in the Kaminoan language. She fled the room and hit a button by the exterior door panel. A klaxon blared, and metal doors slammed shut around both ends of the room, sealing the combatants inside.

Qui-Gon took the first blow, but when it knocked him off his feet, Obi-Wan recovered to take the rebounding strike. Qui-Gon darted to the door and found it locked. He plunged his weapon into the wall by the door panel, and the lock inside the wall exploded with burst of sparks. He threw it open with a massive Force-push.

"Master," Obi-Wan warned, just as the Sith's lightsaber came barrelling down. Qui-Gon ducked and came up to block a strike aimed at Obi-Wan's neck, a close call which the padawan noticed only afterward.

"Into the hallway," Qui-Gon instructed telepathically, "it will restrict his movement,"

Obi-Wan nodded and darted through the gutted doorway, baiting the Sith to follow. The confined space made it harder for Obi-Wan to move, but it made it almost impossible for his saberstaff-wielding opponent to do so. Still, he plunged forward toward Obi-Wan, orange eyes hungry for violence. Qui-Gon followed them into the hallway, effectively trapping the Sith in between the two Jedi. As one, Master and apprentice leaped into action on either side of their opponent.

The Sith growled in frustration as he realized his mistake, and redoubled his efforts against both Jedi, alternating between his blows and parries on either side. His saber screeched against the glass walls of the walkway, scoring it in haphazard patterns. The lines glowed red the moment after impact and faded. They remained hot, however, as Qui-Gon found out when he tried a too-wide Ataru attack and the Sith tossed him into the wall. The hot glass burned through his tunic sleeve and left a line of blistering flesh along his arm. He yelled through the pain and brought his saber back to a ready stance.

Very suddenly, he remembered what Ben had told him about Ataru, years ago. He'd not been practicing Soresu as often as he had when he was actively training with Ben, but now, with a painful reminder of his form's weaknesses, he tried to drudge up whatever muscle memory remained of those lessons.

On the other side of the Sith, Obi-Wan was faring well, if only because of the tight space. Makashi required great mobility forwards and backwards, space which he had in ample supply. But the side-to-side room that his enemy needed was blocked in by glass and a long, long drop. The Sith struck more often than Obi-Wan did, but the Jedi had only to step out of the way and wait for his own chance. When Obi-Wan struck, the Sith had to parry or attack in retaliation.

Switching between the two very differently styled opponents, the Sith proved himself to be a formidable fighter. But Ben killed you, Obi-Wan found himself thinking fervently between bouts, or he killed someone just like you. How are you here?

Qui-Gon was struggling, alternating between Ataru and Soresu with choppy grace. He was a true Jedi master, and in a fair fight would have a good chance at besting this Sith. But this was not a fair fight; it was contained in a very small space, he was injured, and his opponent was considerably taller and larger than he was. He was at a disadvantage, and he knew it. The Sith knew it, too. He redirected the brunt of his attacks from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon, whose saberwork grew more frustrated with the space and the pressure.

"No," Obi-Wan growled, striking desperately at the Sith to regain his attention and only succeeding in letting the Zabrak demonstrate his superior blocking skills. They had trapped the Sith between them, but by the same token, they had trapped each other on either side without immediate backup.

In a burst of energy, the Sith tossed Qui-Gon back toward the room from which they'd fled. In the same instant, Obi-Wan landed a hit on his armored shoulder. The blade cut through to flesh, but glanced off when the Sith turned. With an enraged scream, the Zabrak rounded on Obi-Wan and shoved him back with a devastating saber-on-saber blow. Before the Jedi had time to think, the Sith whirled toward him, slicing a giant 'X' in the glass walls as he did so. The Sith lowered his blade and extended his hand. Compelled by a dark perversion of the Force, Obi-Wan flew toward him, lungs seized, neck landing hard against the Zabrak's palm. The Sith grabbed him by the throat and hurled him against the glass. It shattered, and Obi-Wan fell.

"Padawan!" Qui-Gon screamed, still scrambling back to meet his opponent.

Obi-Wan had not yet hit the ground far below when the Sith turned to the fallen boy's master. "Either you just watched him die," the giant threatened, "or he is about to watch you die, master." He spat the name like poison and leaped, sparing no more caution for their close quarters. The glass above them shattered as his saber plunged through, and Qui-Gon ducked in a protective Soresu circle of shelter. Flecks of burning hot glass peppered his back and arms, burning through his tunics and making him hiss in pain. No longer caged by the walls or ceiling, the Sith was free to use every ounce of power he'd not had room for; but so was Qui-Gon. Driven by adrenaline and decades of practice, Qui-Gon launched himself into a high Ataru flip, twirling just over the Sith's blade and landing on his other side. A long hallway stretched ahead. Qui-Gon had no idea where it led, but he knew he had the low ground here. He ran.

Many stories below, in the small crater made by his desperate Force-push to cushion the landing, Obi-Wan lay moaning on the floor. Disoriented, he rolled over. There was a throng of identical faces hovering above him, all clad in white and black, some with helmets and some just taking them off, all peering at him with concern and fascination. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked up just in time to see glass shards falling to the ground. Far above, two red and one green saber flew in a wild storm of light.

"Are you alright?" asked one clone. Did he have a name? Obi-Wan blinked and looked for a number somewhere on the armor; there was one, but his mind could not read it fast enough for his discombobulated mouth to speak it. "You need medical attention, sir," the clone said, in somewhat uncertain tones of authority.

"No," Obi-Wan insisted, rising. "No, I need to go - I have to help my master. That man, the one with the red sabers, he's evil, he's going to kill people," he rambled, wondering if these sheltered clone men even understood what he was saying.

"But… he's a Jedi," The clone said, an obvious conflict of interests waging in his mind.

"No, I'm a Jedi," Obi-Wan breathed, "and Qui-Gon is too - that man, the tall Zabrak, with the red sabers, he's a Sith. Sith kill people, and they like killing Jedi most of all," he panted, feeling sore. "Please," he tacked on, when there was no immediate response. "Help me, I need to get to him. Now."

The clone looked uncertainly at his blaster, and uncertain in general. It was beginning to dawn on him that the real world might pose significantly different challenges than his training exercises, and at significantly higher stakes. "These are just training blasters," he said helplessly, "but… I can show you where to go." He pointed to Obi-Wan's lightsaber. "Can that cut through doors?"

Obi-Wan nodded. The clone nodded hurriedly back.

"Follow me."

They jogged across the open training grounds, breaking up marches and drills. "Trooper! Back to your station!" shouted clones who Obi-Wan supposed were of higher rank. His newfound companion plowed on, still holding his training blaster, as if it would do him any good.

"Can't!" He shouted back, "Emergency, or don't you have ears?"

Klaxons were firing across the entire complex, slowly spreading mayhem as the Sith and Qui-Gon - wherever in the damned nine hels they are, Obi-Wan thought - carved a path of destruction deeper and deeper into the building.

All around him, clones were reacting to the mounting red alert.

"-the hel is going on?"

"It's just a drill."

"They don't run drills like this.

"It's not a kriffing drill!"

As he ran, the small part of Obi-Wan's brain not occupied by fear or pain or the determination to overcome both wondered when or why the Kaminoans had taught that particular word to their creations.

"Here," his clone friend was skidding to halt on a door that said, in bold red letters, DO NOT OPEN - ALARM WILL SOUND. "Cut it open."

"I suppose another one won't hurt," Obi-Wan mumbled, and sliced a neat circle around the door's lock. It slid open, leaving a smoldering wedge of door on the lock that pleaded with him one last time to DO NOT. Another klaxon joined the chorus, the pitch a sharp, ear-splitting contrast to the rest. The Jedi and the clone jogged through the opening and down the service tunnel beyond until they came upon a turbolift.

"The building's on lockdown, the lifts won't work," Obi-Wan said.

"Nope," agreed the clone, before he turned, braced his footing, and open fired on the lift control panel. After a dozen or so stun blasts, it shorted out. "But when the electrics go down, all lifts will use their last charge of energy to evacuate to the highest floor. This one goes to the fifteenth, the main floor, that's where you friend is - or was, from what I saw."

"Right," Obi-Wan pried the doors open and climbed inside. The clone made sure he got in safely, holding the door open a moment.

"I-I learned in class that you Jedi have a saying, a sort of good luck thing," he said suddenly, uncertainly. The sirens continued to wail. "I'm not sure I buy the whole Force thing, to be honest, but… may it be with you, I guess," he said.

Obi-Wan smiled, absurdly. "Thank you, uh…" he peeked around to see the number emblazoned on the left pauldron. He read at an award angle, "Two, two, two," he could not see the last number.

"The lads call me Cody, sir," the clone offered. He looked over to see a security droid coming to investigate. "Chssk - you have to go. Good luck." He slammed the door shut. As soon as the latch hitched, the lift shot upwards double its normal speed, red emergency light washing out all details of the dimmed controls.

It opened on the fifteenth floor. When Obi-Wan stepped out, a trail of jagged sabermarks and sparks was there to welcome him, winding down the hall and around a bend. He followed them with his eye and could see faint red reflections on the walls ahead. The sounds of saberplay echoed toward him.

Drawing his saber, Obi-Wan picked up his feet and ran, heart pounding in his chest.

Some ways around the corner, Qui-Gon was fighting for his life, quite literally. There had already been five or so moments when he was sure, had he not paid attention to Ben's instruction in Soresu, he would have been killed. Unfortunately, even those lessons were beginning to fail him. He was one man, he was injured, and - with the sort of sinking feeling Qui-Gon never thought he would feel - he had to admit: He was old.

Sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes as he ducked again, parrying the Sith's one-two, one-two-three attack in mad whirl of defense. He had no offense left in him. He had no Ataru grace, even though he had ample room for it. His energy was gone. He had grey hairs clinging to his face and sweat in his brow. The Sith had knocked out the hallway lights some time ago, and in the dark the dizzying haze of red and green and red again blinded him, confusing him past his best attempts at focus.

He would have tried to meditate, but it was too fast, too brutal. Survival was his only ambition. He wondered, briefly, where Obi-Wan was.

Neither the Jedi nor the Sith noticed it at first, hidden among the sounds of their own weapons, but a third contender was barrelling down the hall. Only when both combatants paused their movements did the Sith hear that third hrum growing nearer. He turned to see Obi-Wan charging flat out toward him, saber drawn. Unable to ignore the threat, he turned his back on Qui-Gon to face the apprentice.

Despite his prowess against his peers, Obi-Wan was not as good a swordsman as his master. But he was young, and he was brave, and he was loyal to a fault. So the fight that he gave this new Sith was, Qui-Gon would say later on, one of the most vicious displays of Makashi fury he'd ever seen, barring perhaps Dooku.

Their duel whirled in circles, back and forth down the hall. Tired but emboldened by his apprentice's strength, Qui-Gon pressed the Sith from behind, distracting him and giving Obi-Wan openings to strike. The apprentice landed a hit to the Sith's shoulders, and then his thigh, enraging the man even more. The massive red saberstaff whirled in progressively more aggressive arcs. One such arc sliced through the panel of a door, severing its lock. The Sith clenched a massive hand and yanked the door off its mounts to send it slamming toward Qui-Gon. The master ducked to protect himself, but it still managed to knock him clear across the floor.

"Master!" Obi-Wan yelled. Left alone with the Sith, Obi-Wan's chest was heaving. He was growing tired. He swallowed and his mouth tasted like wool. He had to tip his head back to look up at the Sith, this monster that towered over him by nearly a meter, crowned with horns, eyes raging orange with hate. Ben had faced a Sith before, and won. But he was not Ben, Obi-Wan realized. He was just him. It suddenly occurred to him exactly how completely, utterly terrified he was.

In his fear, Obi-Wan let the Sith press him back through the door he'd just destroyed. They tripped an alarm, and an emergency rayshield erupted over the open doorway.

"INTRUDER ALERT - INTRUDER ALERT - INTRUDER ALERT" announced an overhead voice.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon shouted, running toward the sealed doorway, too late to act. He plunged his saber into the bulkhead of the room, but the walls, built for security, were too thick to allow him purchase on the interior controls.

"Obi-Wan?" The Sith said. It was the first time Obi-Wan had heard him speak. The Sith grinned, teeth wicked and sharp. "Kenobi," he recognized the name, and sneered in fury and perverted relish. "He killed my brother," he advanced. "I will kill his nephew."

The next strike tossed up sparks so thick it was like a cloud. The glass hallways had been cramped quarters; this room was nearly unnavigable. It was small, and cylindrical, with a massive mechanical pillar in the middle. Glass capsules lay behind thick transparisteel all around the walls. As he desperately tried to gain his bearings, Obi-Wan thought he saw the word DNA more than once. He saw Qui-Gon beyond the rayshields, saber digging into the wall. The Sith stepped in front, blocking out all view of his master. He struck, hard, forcing Obi-Wan into the defense.

The saberstaff was a disadvantage here as much as it was in the hall, but here, Obi-Wan was faced with the greater challenge; in such small quarters, he was forced to walk backwards in a circle, his right elbow cornered against a pillar and constricting his movement. He could not move forward; backward was a never-ending trap. His opponent was nearly twice his height and had three times his reach with that saberstaff, so if he tried to flip above him he'd surely be cut in two.

Gulping, chest shaking with adrenaline, Obi-Wan switched his saber to his left hand, and fought.

He fought like he'd never fought in his life. No number of katas or exercises could have prepared him for this. He could not miss. For a while, he did not. He blocked and parried and dodged. And then, the moment came to strike: the higher blade of the saberstaff came whirling toward him and he blocked it, sending it glancing off at an awkward angle. In the split second before the Sith could recover his grip, Obi-Wan pulled his saber up and cut the staff clean in two. One blade remained; the other skittered to the floor in one piece, deactivated.

It was a remarkable hit, and a sound victory. It lasted only a moment.

No longer restricted by the length of his weapon, the Sith unleashed his rage. Deft and merciless strikes fell like rain. Dark tendrils wrapped his Djem-So in in a power unlike anything Obi-Wan had ever felt. He blocked them desperately, feeling with every blow his arms buckle closer to his chest. He stepped back, and back again, until he was practically falling over himself. The Sith still had the advantage, able to maneuver his dominant right hand around the pillar while Obi-Wan was stuck using his clumsier left.

Desperately, he reached out to Qui-Gon across their bond for help; for some source of center. But even while Qui-Gon stood there, strong and present, Obi-Wan felt helpless. There was only so much that one Jedi could give.

Their blades met in a white-hot clash. The mix of blue and red light stung Obi-Wan's eyes. He pushed the Sith back with a shout of exertion and carved an angry line down his arm. With a shout of pain, the Sith stepped back and raised his arm to strike, and Obi-Wan scrambled to defend himself.

But he was using his left hand, and he was tired, and his high guard, as ever, was infinitesimally too slow. There were no centimeters to spare. The blow broke through his guard like flimsi.

The blade hit his face first and slashed across his body like a lightning bolt. He fell, almost instantaneously, to the ground. He could not feel it when his saber fell out of his hand. He could not see Qui-Gon, or the Sith. He could hear them.

"OBI-WAN!" Qui-Gon shouted, at a volume and a pitch Obi-Wan had never heard in his life. He waited to die. Something moved near him, and then away.

The Sith bent to retrieve Obi-Wan's lightsaber and strolled, almost leisurely in spite of his injuries, to the door where Qui-Gon waited. The wall around the door controls was red hot and melting, but not fast enough. The Sith smiled through the raysheild, and held up the padawan's saber.

"I said one of you would watch," he said, "You chose for me." He lifted his own saber and sliced Obi-Wan's in two, emitter to pommel. The crystal shattered to pieces at his feet.

Qui-Gon was frozen in anger and fear, and he could not say or think or do anything but exactly what the Sith wanted him to do: watch. The Zabrak saw the defeat in his face and laughed.

Behind the rayshield and the gloating Sith, Obi-Wan's hand scrabbled through the mess of his own blood to grasp at something, but his fingertips were too slippery. Concentrating, digging into that well he'd thought he'd dug dry just minutes ago, he summoned a last wave of strength, clenched his fist, and called on the Force to help him complete the impossible.

When a lightsaber screeched to life behind him, the Sith turned to look, but he turned too late. The red blade ran straight through his chest and into the wall behind, cutting deep through the bulkhead. The Zabrak choked and tried to take a step forward, but physics had taken over. His body fell dead to the ground. Beyond, Qui-Gon could see his apprentice: propped up on the pillar, blood streaming down his face and pooling around him, hand outstretched and absolutely luminous with light and power.

The lightsaber deactivated. The interior control panel that it had skewered exploded, and the rayshield dropped.

Obi-Wan collapsed onto the bloodstained floor, his hand landing with a wet thud.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, running into the room and kicking aside the jagged half-saberstaff that had saved Obi-Wan's life. He slid to his knees at the apprentice's side. "Padawan - sweet Force," He could hardly look at the wound. "Obi-Wan, can you hear me?" No response. "Obi-Wan…?" he was whispering now, unable or unwilling to stay silent. "Padawan, stay here, come on, come on." He shook his head, trying to apply pressure to the wound, wondering if there was a concussion, or a skull fracture, trying remember if applying pressure to a head wound with unknown bone integrity was a good idea. The fact that a lightsaber had drawn blood meant that it had struck an artery and moved too quickly to cauterize the wound, but this knowledge gave him no way to staunch the bleeding.

He tried to reach across their bond, and was met with silence. Not death, but silence, and a very soft sliver of light. "Don't do this," he begged, though the apprentice would not hear him, "Obi-Wan, you damned rule-follower, listen to me very carefully, you're not allowed. That's an order." He was not a crying man. He couldn't see for tears. "Force's sake, child, you should've stayed behind."

He heard commotion outside, people coming toward him. "Help!" He shouted over his shoulder, "Over here!"

A Kaminoan and a clone charged into the room.

"Were they damaged? Were any of them damaged?" The Kaminoan asked frantically, before she saw the dead Zabrak, and Obi-Wan. "Oh my stars,"

"Please help him," Qui-Gon was unused to helplessness, "he needs a medic now."

"Trooper, see to it," the Kaminoan ordered, and the white-clad man knelt at Obi-Wan's side. The Kaminoan called someone on her comm.

"He needs to be in a med bay," the clone said.

"His head - we need a stretcher."

"He doesn't have that kind of time," the clone looked up at Qui-Gon and, though he glanced at the man's copious burns and scrapes, said, "Help me carry him." The Jedi did as he was told, and carried Obi-Wan's shoulders and head while the clone carried his legs.

Qui-Gon would never remember the exact path they took or how long it took them. He remembered arriving at the medbay and seeing mouthless, silent creatures cart his apprentice straight into an operating room and being barred from following. He remembered looking down at himself and seeing blood soaked through his tunic, and his sleeves, and on his hands, and realizing that it belonged to his apprentice.

He remembered when Taun We appeared, voicing her shock at how easily the Sith had infiltrated her planet, and utter horror at the devastation he'd brought with him. "Was Sifo Dyas ever a Jedi?" Who have we been in contact with?" She'd asked. Qui-Gon had not been able to answer.

They offered him a comm unit. He took it and without thinking dialed the frequency of Mace Windu. As the dial tone rang, he watched his apprentice through a window: pale-faced, clothes cut open, features obscured by blood and frantically working medics, laid out out a stretcher.

"Mace Windu," the councilor answered.

"Mace, you need to send an extraction team to Kamino," Qui-Gon said, in a tone hammered calm by shock.

"Why? What's happened?"

"Obi-Wan, he…" Qui-Gon paused, vision tunneled in on his apprentice. He'd never seen the boy so still. "There was a Sith. The apprentice. Impersonating Dyas."

"What? An apprentice?" Mace said, tone transforming in an instant. "Where is he now?"

"Dead. Obi-Wan killed him. But…" his voice trailed off again. He couldn't say it. He wouldn't say it. "Please hurry, Mace." Ever so slightly, his voice cracked.

The line fell silent for a long moment. "They're leaving now."

"Send Vokara Che," Qui-Gon said suddenly. "We may… we may need her services."

"We will be there as soon as we can, Qui-Gon." A shocked pause. "Just hold on."

Qui-Gon did not have the energy to respond. He set down the comm, and crossed his arms. He felt the stale blood press wetly against his chest and unfolded them again. Frozen in disgust and fear, he watched as monitors screamed and medics crowded around the boy he should've knighted months ago. He could not even clench his hands for the feeling of dried blood on his palms.

Unmoving, he waited.


On Coruscant, the fully outfitted ship was practically off the ground when Vokara Che clambered on board with her apprentice, Luna.

The length of the trip made it harder. They rode in the mobile medical unit for hours in silence. They had not spoken of what they were doing, nor what they might have to do.

"Should I draw it up now?" Luna asked, every fiber wrought with apprehension. "To… to make it quicker, if…?"

"No," Vokara said firmly. "No, I'll write it myself, when… if the time comes. Not a moment sooner."

Luna nodded and set the datapad aside. "Yes, Master."

Among the many services Vokara Che afforded to the Jedi Order, she was duty bound to affix her signature to every death certificate of the fallen. She bit her lip and stared into space. "The Force will provide a solution," she whispered, hoping it was true.