Chapter 16: Dropping by for Tea and Blasters

"Could we go over the plan again?" came a muffled voice. Muffled not so much due to its owner as to the rather awkward predicament in which I found myself. That predicament stemmed from the clandestine nature of my current operation which precluded the use of any well-maintained or roomy vessel. That was, in short, how I found myself sharing a whitecloak fighter with two other Padawans on the way to the far Outer Rim. The grunt that I emitted after banging my head against the underside of the console currently giving me grief was somehow interpreted as permission to proceed by my colleague. "So we land over there, hope they don't spot us and just walk in the door?"

Despite being bent over double, having grease smudges all over my hands and face, and generally experiencing every difficulty imaginable, I could not suppress a burst of hearty laughter.

That, it appeared, was not what Bardan Jusik expected – or wished – to hear. I felt a wave of incredulousness wash through the Force and the indignant query come, "That wasn't your plan Nik? …I hope?"

Wiping my hands on a tattered rag, the constant companion of anyone with at least some knowledge of ship mechanics, I resumed a more comfortable position, chuckled some more, and thought I'd put him out of his misery. "You just unwittingly quoted something I heard word-for-word, that's all. Never fear though, as fun as that would be with an infiltration squad, it is not my intension this time. In fact we are doing the exact opposite."

"What? We land, hope they spot us, and then still walk through the door?" That came from Etain, my second co-worker on this venture.

"Exactly!" I announced matter-of-factly, "We're here on an official inspection tour. We've got the clearance to be here as representatives of the Jedi Council."

"Then why did we spend three hours clamped to an asteroid, hiding from Republic freighters?" Sometimes, being around the more jaded members of the Jedi Order, I forgot that the even Knights – not to mention Padawans and those my junior – were not yet exposed to the minefield of shadow play and intrigue that was our glorious Galaxy. Having a fresh perspective on the situation, and not exactly having grown up in the idyllic Jedi Temple, I at times forgot that for many Jedi, the Republic was at the height of its golden age, and that for them, no evil existed in the outside world.

The reality could not be further from the truth. "Those freighters were Gallofree GR-20s. That means low-budget, short-range craft. A Coreworld manager would not get caught dead with one in his possession. So tell me, why did they have a freshly painted Republic device on the hull? Or why the cargo pods were brand new, while the hull was older than Master Yoda's grandma? No my friend, those were SBI sleeper ships, probably revamped with the newest in anti-ship weaponry and sublight drives."

"The Senate Bureau of Intelligence, they don't exactly like us, do they?"

"I'd put it differently Bardan," the humour was back in my voice, "I'd say they hate our guts. Armand Isard doesn't like when people step on his turf and poke holes in his investigations, bad for profit you see, when two thirds of the SBI is on someone's payroll." I felt the beginnings of indignation boil behind his rather floppy mental shields, and seeking to avert a righteous storm I continued, "Yes, it's terrible, and makes life a bunch more difficult for us Jedi, but that's how government and bureaucracy work."

I heard the proximity alert chime and thought that I would leave world-shattering revelations until a later time, there would be enough of them today as it was. "Stand by for realspace reversion, dropping out in five… four…" with surety born of countless transitions already performed, my left hand settled itself on the drive switchover board, "…three… two… one." With the last word, the mottled blue of hyperspace faded into the familiar starlines. It was no more than a second before they shrank back to their normal state as pinpricks of light. A second was all I needed for my left hand to switch position over to the throttle controls and for my right to grasp the fighter's stick.

"We ready? I queried one last time, looking over my shoulders at each of my companions, "everyone know their backstories?"

"Ready…" and "Ready…" were my replies.

"Then here we go!" with slight exuberance in my voice, exuberance at what I was going to pull off dirtside, and definitely not at the prospect of navigating Kamino's stormy atmosphere, I jammed the stick forward and sent my ship on a confident insertion vector toward the cloning planet ahead.

Rain pelted the transparisteel viewport and jagged lightning bolts crackled round the whitecloak, illuminating the stormy clouds of everyone's favourite place to get a shower, with bright flashes of electric-blue light. Honestly, I had nothing against the rain, especially enjoying it on several occasions, but not while flying, and not while receiving a hail from Tipoca City control.

I felt a spike of nervousness emanate from my companions when we were challenged, so before replying to the controller I gave them a friendly smile and a general wave of reassurance through the Force before thumbing on the comm. "Tipoca City Tower, this is Jedi starbird niner-Aurek-niner, requesting landing permit for—" I did not get a chance to finish or squawk my identifier when a new voice – apparently the supervisor came on.

"Master Jedi, you are cleared for Airbase Krill-two-zero-four, uploading nav beacon now. An escort will be waiting your arrival."

"Affirm Starbird niner-Aurek-niner proceeding to Airbase Krill-two-zero-four. Transmission clear, over and out." Being a little busy trying to keep us alive, I did not consider it a good idea to give my companions a triumphant grin, instead I settled for, "I told you it would work!" and brought the fighter about for the final approach.

The landing, to my surprise, was my best to date, in no small part thanks to the whitecloak's VTOL capabilities, but it still was a gentle one nonetheless. Drawing up my deep hood like a mysterious Jedi ought to, I once again checked on my cohorts. Satisfied with their nods of readiness, I popped the canopy and stepped out into the pouring rain of Kamino.

Needless to say, all three of us could not get under cover fast enough. The lobby into which we piled after a – hopefully dignified – jog was, as expected, austere white with some shiny accents, and little to none defined edges. In short, typical Kaminoan design. At least it wasn't raining… and the temperature was warm.

"Greetings Jedi, we have been expecting you…" that was our hostess, who had until this point escaped my visual notice, blending in quite well with her surroundings. Had I not had the Force, I would have been most startled. Even if I did not agree with many of their methods, I had to respect that tactic. Clearly show who the boss is and who's got home turf advantage. Pity – for them – we were all Jedi here, and I could play the first impression game as well as anyone.

"Director-Colonel Sunrider," I offered with a respectful but firm bow, "Jedi Council Special Tasks and Acute Response. These are STAR operatives Mukan and Jusik." My companions, being quite new to this whole charade, chose to remain passive and observe. I don't blame them, of all of us, I was the more experienced, and even so was totally winging it. On the other hand, their silent appraisal of the situation came off as no-nonsense and menacing. That suited me just fine.

"I'm sure Master Syfo-Dias would be delighted to hear of our progress…" said the Kaminoan in a …saleswoman voice?

"Master Syfo-Dias has not been delighted in four years, nor has he heard anything in that time. He was killed shortly after he placed the order for the Clone Army. I'm his former Padawan."

"We are sorry for Master Dias' loss." There was a brief pause, I guess what counted for respectful with Kaminoans, and then she continued, "I do not believe you came only to inform us of his demise. Do you wish to inspect our progress yourself Director?"

"That is why I'm here. My Master took the security of the Republic very seriously. I only discovered the existence of this project after the Council informed me personally. Tell me be about it please."

To Assistant We's great regret, Taun We being our welcoming committee, the Kaminoan Prime Minister was presently unavailable to meet us, so to while away the time, we embarked on a brief tour of the Tipoca City operation.

Salesmen, and all derivatives thereof, were never placed on speaking terms by me, so the longwinded spiel re how the longnecks tried their utmost best to provide the perfect army for the Republic, got old after the first minute. The technobabble lasted no more than ten seconds after that.

In all honesty, I could not care less for the hardships the scientists endured in the making of the perfect clone, or the minute alterations to the gene code ya-da-ya-da-ya-da-ya, what interested me were the methods used for conditioning, the basic skillset of a trooper, their baseline abilities to adapt to situations off the battlefield, basically, all the info that all your knowledge of the EU could not grant you. Complete awareness of the EU was a good place from where to start, but it should never be a substitute for real-world experience. Let's put it like this; it's not a crutch, but a travelator. As such, I found myself gritting my teeth, and paying as much attention to our hostess, as my two companions were.

I shall not withhold that I was overjoyed when after a comlink call, Taun We informed us that the Prime Minister was eagerly awaiting our presence.

The conference lounge, to which we were led, was just as covered in disorienting white as it was depicted in AotC – one of those rare similarities which somehow, after more than two months, seemed more disconcerting than the discrepancies.

After a round of polite introductions, we took our places in the peculiar floating seats and turned to business.

"I trust my assistant gave a satisfactory tour." Came the conversation starter from Lama Su.

"Indeed, your operation here is most impressive; I must commend you on your dedication."

"We thank you, Director Sunrider. You will of course be delighted to know that our work is proceeding on schedule. Three-hundred-thousand units have begun the advanced course of flash training, with eight-hundred-thousand due to enter in less than a month."

"That is gladdening to hear, Prime Minister," Etain, doing so for the first time since we landed, spoke up. "What will they be taught?"

"Why the very best in military tactics, battlefield skills and weapons competencies…" I was not yet a good judge of Kaminoan expressions, but I was relatively certain that Lama Su was offended. "We pride ourselves on our combat training programs. They far surpass those of Arkanian Micro or anyone else on the market."

Oh yes, here we go again. I was just bracing myself for another sales pitch when Etain saved me from that arduous task. "What about daily living skills? Societal norms, galactic history, culture?"

Now the voice had hints of patronisation in it. "Operative Tur Mukan, the Republic needs an army to protect it, we are building that army with utmost efficiency. The units will do their job well."

"Every warrior needs something to treasure, something personal to protect, and values to uphold, otherwise he is either a monster or a mindless automaton…." The Jedi serenity was beginning to crack in Bardan Jusik's voice. The Kaminoans with their perfectionist nature were grating on everyone's nerves, not least on those of a twelve-year-old Padawan. With that sentence, Bardan was beginning to prove to me that he would be well-suited to the plan I had devised.

Plan! I gritted my teeth and uttered a few mental curses. The more time I spent with the Jedi, the harder it was for me to distance myself from them – from their lives, and to go around manipulating them to suit a scheme that would take a decade to come to fruition. A scheme that many might not survive. I was beginning to experience the joys of command, and what joys they were.

Before my training began, Master Adi was but a means to an end; to obtaining the skills of a Jedi … now, well let's just say if Maul showed up – and I really thought he wouldn't – I would personally shove a thermal detonator down his gullet, probably followed by a frag for desert.

I tuned back into the conversation to hear the tail end of the PM's speech, "…ight for the Republic, and I assure you, clones are vastly superior to droids, even after we tampered with their genetic structure to make them more docile than the original host."

The thundercloud of roiling indignation that crackled in the Force would have been impossible to miss, even were I unconscious. Before my two righteous companions could start a diplomatic incident, I raised my hand in a gesture of calm, simultaneously sending "Hush! We'll handle this after! I'm grumpy too!" through the Force, and aloud saying, "Peace. We respect and acknowledge your work for the Republic, Kamino will be well known in history for their deeds."

I was not yet adept in direct Force-compulsion, but with a mighty mental exertion, managed to swamp the area in thoughts of peace. Saturation if not accuracy they say. That works as long as you have ammo, and when you have the Force, you never run out of ammo.

My crude but effective fix seemed to tilt the balance back in favour of cordiality, and as if nothing had happened, Lama Su resumed his welcoming and respectful tone. "Director, I hope you are planning on staying a while. There is so much we can show you, and I am sure we can arrange a review for you to attend."

Call it my paranoia, but that proposal just sent all manner of red flags shooting up inside my head. I would have been frantically scrambling for excuses to both our hosts and my companions, had I not already planned to leave this very day. "I appreciate your hospitality Prime Minister, but sadly, duty calls and I'm afraid that a mission awaits me on Velabri by twenty-two hundred."

"Sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do for you while you are here?"

"Thank you, Prime Minister. I would much appreciate a portfolio on the army project, especially a progress report and completion estimates. While that is being prepared, I wish to visit some of the commando training exercises. The Force tells me that my observations will be most enlightening if they were to happen in a … natural environment."

"Of course," Taun We acquiesced, "I will be most delighted to arrange your visit."

The rhythmic clack of boots on polished floor, though far less impressive coming from three pairs of feet rather than three hundred, still buoyed my confidence at the task ahead. A task that, judging by the whizz of lasers and the racket of explosives, was almost upon me. To be truthful, I was just a little bit nervous. After all, for this to work, a lot of things would have to go my way, and for that to happen, I would either need some great luck – in which Jedi did not believe – or some massive good-Will from the Force. And I wasn't all too sure how much of it I had in reserve, especially with the Galaxy's Biggest Bluff I recently pulled.

The doors before us split open and we were immediately swamped in the noise of battle. And I thought Vandelhelm was loud… that was nothing compared to the din of blaster rifles hammering away at oncoming practice droids, the whizz-pop of EMP grenades and the low thuds of nastier stuff.

"This is one of our urban exercise grounds." Taun We noted, "I believe that Gamma, Kappa, and Lambda squads are currently engaged in the Dagary Minor scenario."

"Dagary Minor?" I mused, "Sounds familiar…" even if it actually didn't, I didn't know everything after all.

"A battle fought in the Mandalorian Wars." Bardan supplied as we walked over to the observation balcony, "Clan Kebiin assaulted the planet thinking it would be easy pickings. It would have been, had the Exile not been there. The garrison was vastly outnumbered, and the only reinforcements were a company of war droids and a Jedi. The Exile had charges used to blow trenches in the streets and ordered the droids to set up on rooftops. What trenches were abandoned quickly became death traps for the Mandalorian advance. A platoon of Republic soldiers with substandard training and equipment held off alor Naast's entire infantry force, at least until he called in the mechanised units."

"You know your history," congratulated a Mando'a accented voice, one of whose owner I was almost certain. A quick probe through the Force let me ascertain that my guess was indeed right.

"Greetings, Kal of Skirata. Forgive me, but 'su'cuy' does not seem appropriate."

"Jedi, I didn't think any of you knew Mando'a." Someone from upper class society might have been offended by the gruff nature of the greeting, I guess I just thought it was the Mandalorian norm.

"Sergeant Skirata, meet Director Colonel Sunrider, Jedi Council Special Tasks and Acute Response Force." The gracious introduction was giving by Taun We when none of us did so on our own accord. "These are operatives Tur Mukan and Jusik."

"Come to inspect your army," the preconceptions which I harboured might have sought out condescension in those words, but the reality was different; they were said civilly.

"Not as such. I am here to inspect the conditions for the verd below. Sorry for the deception Taun We, but the Council already knew the specifics, Syfo-Dias left behind very detailed notes on the army, I am here to ascertain whether this operation complies with intergalactic statutes on dealings with sentient individuals, and what I've seen so far, does not stack up well in your favour."

On cue, as we planned, Bardan and Etain throw back their cloaks and settle hands on lightsabers, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"First of all, sentient experimentation; Force knows why cloning is allowed by galactic law, but to achieve 'satisfactory' results, your scientists committed at least thirty sentient rights violations, at least that's what our Intelligence boys managed to dig up. Next, the genetic tampering you did is completely unacceptable, especially in the areas of growth acceleration and docility. I won't even start on the amorality of not giving the clones a culture, or the complete ridiculousness I'm seeing below."

I must admit to a certain feeling of pride, both from the no-nonsense-ness of my voice, and from the spike of wonder from Kal Skirata.

"Director," Etain spoke up hesitantly, "Aren't they using practice ammunition? It looks brutal, but I thought it was in a controlled environment."

The blast from a concussion grenade punctuated my reply, "No Etain, this is a live-fire exercise, which is strike four against our hosts. By Mando culture, kids – they call them adiik in their language – would have already participated in a real battle. But that would have happened at the side of a loving parent who trained them since birth, taught them how to hold a blade, and in turn held them when they could not sleep. As much as they all try, one training sergeant is not enough for a hundred kids. He cannot be at two places at once, or always protect them. Case in point…" I shrugged out of my cloak and pointed at a spot of building below. For a moment nothing happened, but then a rocket impacted on the wall. When the dust settled, three bodies were seen, trapped by fallen debris.

Though the structures were made of light plasteel, and would not pose an impediment to a grown man, they were beyond the capabilities of an eight-year-old to lift in any great hurry. And though we all knew that the three trainees were alive, they were not likely to remain so, as a squad of assault droids capitalised on their incapacitated state and moved in.

It was the perfect opportunity for me to intervene. With an Anakin-style "If you'll excuse me!" I leapt over the railing and headed for the beleaguered Lambda Squad.

Let's just say I really need to work on my Force-enhanced jumps in general, and landings in particular. I was certainly going to 'feel that in the morning' in the famous words of RC-1262. On the bright Side of the Fall, I had reached my desired landing zone, and with an all-too-practiced roll to my feet, I was up, my saber was ignited, and I was ready for action.

The skirmish on the urban exercise floor took no more than five minutes.

Having dispatched the imminent threat that was the squad of assault droids, I used the Force to free the trapped clones, and after linking up with their fourth teammate as well as Kappa and Gamma units, I led a charge at the centre of the enemy's position.

Strange that the Exile's strategy – or more precisely, the implementation of that strategy by the Kaminoans – did not account for the possibility of an attacking force scaling the buildings and using the rooftops to negate the height superiority of the butcher droids.

In essence, that was exactly what I did. Having the snipers clear us a building, I led the rest to secure it, and then provided cover as the snipers caught up. From then on out, it was a textbook staggered advance until the finish line. In other words, game over.

After the exercise, Skirata seemed to gain some respect for me, something about me not being all talk or other. Personally, I was glad for that turn of events, but would have rather preferred different method; one that did not include me leaping ten storeys down, or going up against potentially lethal droids. Etain and Bardan, from what I gathered, agreed with my assessment, and were dearly hoping that I would not try something like that again. It appears that over the course of this mission, I had not only gotten an ally in Skirata, but two new friends in my co-conspirators.

An ally in Skirata, to me, that turn of events was as puzzling as the instant obedience of the three commando training squads. True, the former was my purpose for coming in the first place, and the second was a very handy bonus, but I really did not think it would be as easy as joining in a training exercise. By all rights it should not have been. The recent trend of my actions seemed to point at me taking on the Qui-Gon approach; listening to the Force at the spur of the moment, and completely ignoring the need to think or plan. And though the job got done so far, I could not rely on the Force to get me out of every scrape and jam. In the words of wise Jedi, 'the Force is never a nursemaid'.

It would be a long seven years, when under heavy shelling by the droid army on Allanteen Four, Skirata would tell me what happened this day. The clones, still naïve after but four years of life, and conditioned by the Kaminoans to comply with Jedi, simply did not question the stranger that came dropping from the sky to their rescue. At first they followed me as the only alternative, trusting to fate that I would not lead them wrong. I didn't. That day was when I started earning the respect and trust of the Grand Army of the Republic, and of a certain Mandalorian training sergeant, simply by upholding what I said with my actions, and showing that despite the stereotype, Jedi actually cared.

It would be long years until the traditional rift between the Mando'ade and Jedi could mend, but nevertheless it would, to the betterment of both cultures and the Galaxy at large.

That however, would be more than I could say for the relations between the Jedi and the Kaminoans. Nineteen millennia were an awfully-long time to dwell in almost complete isolation, or require cloning as a means to survive. Perfection was the Kaminoan way, not compassion or the value of life. Their culture was theirs alone, and I had no right to interfere, save when it impacted other sentients and crossed every line and moral boundary that I possessed. I was not one of those idealists or bleeding-heart-saviour-types, but I would have done what I did even if I did not need the clones to be on good terms with the Jedi.

While in yet-another set of talks with Lama Su, this time involving more hard-handed methods of negotiation, I had Jusik whip up a senate decree that forbade pretty-much all the Kaminoans' current practices as well as arranging that the 'defective' clones – ones with accuracy lower than ninety-five per cent, et cetera – were reassigned to the Mandalorian training sergeants instead of being terminated or used for experimentation. In fact, I had the whole cuy'val dar moved to an unused city so that they would not have any Kaminii hanging over their shoulders and telling them how to do their jobs. Well that, as well as to avoid any further genetic manipulation, anti-Jedi indoctrination and a chance at what passed for a normal life these days.

I even would have had the Kaminoans administer the anti-aging treatment, but Ko Sai was nowhere be found, and probably had not invented the cure at this point in time. And as it pained me to say it, the clone wars were not going to be averted or wait for the stars to align in our favour. We needed that army in five years, six months, three days and counting.

Our departure was a quiet affair, respectful farewells on part of Lambda Squad and Kal Skirata, gracious well-wishes from Taun We and a promise from Lama Su that when we returned next, things would be quite different.

I was surprised to know that, at least outwardly, the Kaminoans resented the changes to their routine rather than the Jedi who made those changes necessary. Their true feelings I figured, would be revealed at a later date.

To make sure that date was in the far off future, I did not take the whitecloak directly to Coruscant. If anyone wanted to do some housecleaning, that route would have been much too predictable. Instead I plotted a course that would correspond with our supposed destination and made no effort in hiding our vector or reversion from hyperspace above Gaulus. What I did do, was head to Wrea instead of Velabri, hopped on the Corellian Run and skedaddled to Coruscant as fast as the fighter could go.

Back again! The end of the year sure is a hectic time, go do this, go do that, deadlines here, deadlines there, 'this has to be done by yesterday' ya-da-ya-da-ya!

The fact is, it has been around nineteen months since I first started this story, and I have advanced as an author, from naive little plots, to (I hope) grandiose, convoluted schemes. From grammatical slips that make me gag, to slips that only make me wrinkle my nose in disgust. :-) The point is, my standards have climbed higher, and I ask more of myself every time I write. That, and the fact that this story is drawing to a conclusion, make writing more difficult. Quality over quantity and quickness, as I always used to retort.

This chapter, though not being action based, sets the scene for the future to come, in fact this whole story was intended as a world-builder, where the fun-stuff was supposed to start in the next instalment.

I wish to thank the 11 people who have favourited this story, the 17 who are following it directly, the 10 who follow me as an author, and everyone else who reads this fic of mine.

Also, I wish to apologize to / sympathise with those with a print disability who are unable to read this story because of FF.N's 'nocopy' policy. I truly feel for you.
It has made life rather difficult...

I thank you for reading, and remember, the Fiction will be with you, always...

Clean word count: 4546 words | Posted: 30/10/13, 1117 hours GMT