Fek off.

It wasn't the response Fett would have given to the complaint about her monopolizing the independent training arenas. He knew about it—he double checked everything—but he let it ride. Wondered how long it was going to take Dread to come to him.

The man didn't. Apparently he was just waiting for reinforcements to get madder first.

"I have a complaint," Vhonte brought up at a staff meeting. "I think someone else needs to be in charge of the open arena requests."

"Why?"

"Ad'ra hogs them."

The girl didn't win any friends. It was hard to have an adenn who routinely pissed people off just because she could.

"Ad'ra. Are you hogging training arenas?"

"No, sir."

Vhonte lost her cool. Slapped the table. "I wouldn't care if you were actually on the kriffing things when you sign up for them! I'm tired of coming to see what you're constantly doing out there and you not even being onsite!"

Fett nodded. "This is a legitimate complaint. Do you have a rebuttal?"

"You're not supposed to see us," she said simply. Just lifted her brows at him.

He stared her down. Watched her fight the smile. Get it back under control. Tuck the left side of her mouth hard against her teeth. The little dimple-line she had appeared. Disappeared. Appeared. Disappeared.

He went to the large vid-board and tapped in a few commands.

"What night was the problem, Vhonte?" he asked.

"Look at Tuesday. She had it marked off for thirty-six hours!"

"We're in the sit-and-wait business, Jango," Ad'ra began. Her voice wasn't the careless drawl he expected and he wondered what he was about to find. Looked over at her. "Please don't light them all up," she begged.

He considered the request. Glanced at the schedule. She did have four contiguous blocks of space reserved for a large stretch of time.

"Just two," he told her.

Plotted hers. Which didn't appear.

"Seriously, Ad'ra?" he snarled.

He drew his finger down a series of her guys' transponders.

Felt like shit when they lit up all over the portion of the compound he'd brought up.

"These the lads you didn't see out there?" he asked Vhonte.

She subsided. Looked over at the miserable girl. "My apologies, Ad'ra," she offered.

Ad'ra nodded, her face still woeful.

"Ad'ra's good at logistics and allocation. It's why she was given charge of the free-training spaces. If you want them, get your spots reserved before she does. If you have any complaints about what you're left with I'll address it on a case-by-case basis."

Of course that wasn't good enough…

"You? Or her—using your account?"

"She's my second in command," he reminded Reau.

"She's a hindrance and I don't know why we put up with it," the woman griped. "Someday soon you're going to regret your impudence."

"Big words," Ad'ra mocked in an undertone. Her brows went up.

"You want small words, bitch?" Casalla leaned forward. "I-"

Fett reached over, jerked her up by her shoulder pads, and slammed her bodily onto the table.

The woman squeaked once, then held her face.

"Keep your dogs under control if you want them to run free here, Priest. If you can't keep them on the leash I'll put them down," he told the other man. Looked around. "Any other complaints?"

Rav shook her head. Looked over at Ad'ra. Shook it again.

Ad'ra hunched down in her chair a little. Honestly, she didn't feel like taking on Rav again just yet.

"I'm not complaining, I just want to know how you know when there's a shipment coming in for my AO," she told the girl.

"I… um…"

"She's spying on you," Fett told the other woman. "It's what I pay her for—to watch my back."

Vau looked over. Glanced up at Jaig, then at H.G.

"I told you there was no good bouncing off of transponders," Ad'ra told Jaig.

He snorted. "You didn't tell me you were the one listening."

She shrugged. "It's not always me."

"What does that mean?" Kal Skirata asked.

"You're cuy'val dar," Ad'ra told him. "Dead men don't speak. Did you really think no one would be listening for hidden signals and buried frequencies?"

She glanced around.

Some wouldn't meet her eyes. Some did, with a look of superiority.

She wished she could wipe those smirks off their faces.

If they thought they were outsmarting her and her boys there was a rude awakening coming. She had files of the files she'd copied. Planned to reprint and publish huge chunks of them the day after her tenure as cadre here ended.

.

.o0o.

.

"Hard lesson, here," Fett told Ad'ra later as he dealt out a hand of sabaac in his private quarters. He tugged Boba down a little in his seat. Watched his five-year-old son arrange the cards in his hand. "If you're going to tell people to fek off you should probably have the muscle to put behind it."

"I don't need muscle. I just need to be let off my leash," she told him.

Boba thought that was funny.

Fett turned when the main doors opened. Waited, expecting a message from the science team or perhaps a service droid or something. He just lifted his brows when the strill scurried in and let out a yowl before slumping at Ad'ra's feet.

"Change that. I don't want Walon's strill coming and going in here, Ad'ra."

He'd said it before.

"Yes, sir. He just likes-"

The thing wound around her ankles. Yowled at her again.

Boba reached for it. Ad'ra's fingers snapped sharply in disapproval when it tried to avoid the child's hand.

The creature looked up at her and submitted to being petted.

"Jesu. It reeks so bad. I can't decide if it's worse when it's wet or a little bit better…"

Ad'ra just smiled at him and rubbed it with her booted feet.

"I can't figure out why it likes you."

"I hear that a lot," she admitted.

Laid out her card in turn.

Counted and concentrated and considered.

After Boba went to bed she flopped onto the couch beside him and questioned him about the tactics involved in having multiple snipers working in the same area. Referenced her exercise from earlier in the week, mentioning the efficiency of the drill she'd run as compared to a near-identical program she'd laid for them with different participants a few weeks prior. Asking if he anticipated presenting some kind of log to the purchasers of the clone army regarding which operatives were best suited for which roles. She had a codification she'd come up with and laid it out for him. Based on a discussion she remembered him and her father having about the criteria for supersoldiers—a conversation that had taken place seven years before. She'd studied the outline her father had made while they spoke and as she discussed the things she'd learned about her commando company she redrew it, listed the numeric designation of the pertinent clones under the headings just as he and Liam, along with Jaig, H.G., Priest, and Vau had added names of cuy'val dar as they issued invitations, recruited, and hired.

.

Fett scheduled a meeting the next morning.

"I want an honest assessment," he demanded. "Have you or any of your kind done any experimentation on Ad'ra Rottske?"

"Not to my knowledge, Master Fett," the soft-swaying head shook gently. Looked at the other two cloners in attendance.

"Gil?"

"I don't see anything coming up in her bloodwork, other than increasing levels of gonadotropin and estrogen, FSG & LH, but nothing out of bounds as far as I can tell. Bearing in mind that I'm not a geneticist, gynecologist, or pediatrician."

"It's too late to do anything about it," Fett offered carefully. "I just want to know."

"Why?" Orun Wa asked. "Why would you suspect that she'd been a subject of trialing?"

"She's able to do things I've seen very few un-altered humans do."

"Like, what?" Gil asked, leaning forward.

Fett shook his head, made a face. "Her recall of events—able to give detailed recounting of card games and after-action reports—it's almost robotic. There's no hesitation, no pause or uncertainty. And no mistakes. She doesn't have to be told things twice. Remembers details about events she studied, languages, maps, schematics. She can tell you if a wall is off, if there's a hidden recess, because her mind measured the space from outside a building and once inside registers that there's a discrepancy. Stats and computations still have to be carried out, but she remembers figures as they're thrown at her. IF she takes notes it's for calculation purposes. Her brain absorbs what she reads—facts or figures—and can regurgitate it at will. If she doesn't read it or it's not in a language she knows she doesn't absorb the information. But she can redraw symbols or hieroglyphics that catch her attention and are given meaning. So not photographic… Eidetic, if I didn't know better."

"Didactic," the Kaminoan corrected. "What you describe is more probably considered didactic memory."

"Whatever."

The other long-neck freak leaned closer.

"I would be most interested in the results of some testing…"

"Absolutely not," Gilamar objected.

"No," Fett agreed. "I just—I wanted to be sure-"

"We have no current interest in your second in command. If what you say is true, though, and she has such complete recall as well as the ability to adapt and apply learned data… she would make an intriguing specimen. Possibly even as a potential for future endeavors."

The other one blinked. "You've done successive blood draws, Doctor? Do you still have those collections?"

"I do not," Gilamar lied. "I destroy them after the results are tabulated."

"Pity."

He made a mental note to never leave Ad'ra's labs unattended.

"I just wondered," Fett said again, leaning back. "If you had performed some adjustments of some sort I was interested in what had been done and if it was permanent or what…"

"If you change your mind about allowing us to do some very basic testing please let us know," Ko Sai interrupted.

"I'll discuss it with Ad'ra and get back to you."

The meeting was obviously over.

Gilamar stared at Fett in horror.

"You'd let them experiment on her?"

"Of course not."

"She's a child! She isn't mature enough to make any kind of lasting decision for herself! What's to discuss!?"

Fett glanced around. Leaned closer. "The fact that she's to never, ever find herself in a situation alone with Ko Sai and that under no circumstances, no matter what they say, is she to allow a blood draw or swab."

Gilamar blew air out of his cheeks.

"Shab. No osik."

"Did you know she's special?"

"Her ability to cheat at cards is not what makes her special, Jango," the other man corrected.

Fett just lifted his brow at that.

"Do you see any of us as anything more than assets?" the physician asked.

"You're all getting well-compensated for being assets to this operation."

"Even the ones who walk the plank?"

"The loss of their salaries helps offset the cost of starting over," he said blandly.

"Terrifying. The fact that you're willing to raise children under these circumstances is terrifying."

"If not for these circumstances I wouldn't have Boba."

"And Ad'ra?"

"Ad'ra was hardly mine to raise. Liam did a spectacular job with her and she's never faltered."

Gilamar wished he could have seen what went on behind those shark-dead eyes of Fett's sometimes. And sometimes he was almost glad he didn't know.

.

"Fek off, Sergeant Skirata!" he heard Ad'ra screech as they rounded a corner. "If you come after me again I'm going to put you in the refuse chute and your boys can track you through the ocean by following the wake of your drunken bubbles!"

"What's going on now?" Fett asked wearily.

"She's taken their showers away!" the other man objected. "You can smell the poor lads and-"

"Why are we giving up bathing?" Fett asked.

"Because sometimes ops require you to stay canned up in these things for days and days on end-"

"At least let them strip down at night and clean up-"

"Did you discuss this with Gilamar?" Fett asked.

Ad'ra's face drew up in disbelief. "Of course not. Good, honest sweat never killed anyone. I told them to let me know the minute they felt any hot spots or sore places come up."

"Like they would!" Skirata objected. "Good lads that they are!"

"We practiced lots of field-related first aid first, Jango," she told him. "Warning symptoms, things like that. But they need to learn to deal with or ignore itchy scalps and dried sweat and their body armor stinking like hell. How often have you gone days without-"

"Often. Usually the suit offers enough protection that it's not the end of the world."

"Fine. Then it won't be the end of the world. But I want them to learn to be patient through the desire to pop off a couple of plates and stretch their ankles. I caught one of them using his elbow to rub instead of scratch and realized that other than standing at attention or having actual bumps and bruises, they're largely unversed in being uncomfortable."

"What are you reading?"

"The Mando'a Motherhood."

"Aww," Gil murmured. It was a book he was familiar with, full of advice about child rearing, plus common maladies and easy cures for them.

"Why, Ad'ra?" Fett complained.

"There's a hundred and four of them and only one of me. I thought it might have some interesting information. I was looking for traditional child-rearing techniques for different warrior castes."

"And?"

"Serving as page or as squire seems to be the most popular choice throughout various eons and cultures."

"Worked for you. Your father did a fantastic job indoctrinating you in the Mando'ad."

She beamed at him.

"Poor lass," Skirata decided. "Doesn't even know her mum."

"I know enough to be glad she wasn't the one with a hereditary role for me to assume," Ad'ra groaned.

"I can arrange a meeting, when appropriate," Fett offered.

"Spare me," the girl countered.

He nodded. "Let me know how this works out. How long do you think to make them go?"

"A week, if we make it, at this run. I'll see what happens. Their armor isn't as well-made as mine. And it doesn't fit them right."

"I'm not going to-"

She held up both hands. "I wasn't opening it up as a request," she swore. "Just stating a fact."

"A week seems fair. You're letting them eat?"

"Just what they'd get on prolonged ops," she said apologetically.

"Is this why you skipped breakfast?" the man asked.

She nodded. Sighed.

It had looked so yummy, too.

"Ad'ra. You know you don't have to put yourself through every deprivation they're subjected to, right?"

"I wouldn't feel right, Jango. Not when they're so hungry and want their tummies full…"

Skirata let out a loud sniff. Swiped his arm across his face.

"Poor lads…"

Gilamar shook his head. Eyeballed the girl. "Make sure you're getting enough rats," he ordered. "You need calories, too. Probably as much as them, this current growth spurt you're in."

She smiled at him. "I will."

"And drink, Ad'ra," Fett warned.

"We are. I'm letting them change their filters more often than we really would on a real op. You know?" She wrinkled her nose.

He well knew the dubious joys of reclaimed water. It was one of the innovations their forefathers had perfected over time… allowing an armored soldier to stay sealed for a prolonged period of time.

He redirected Skirata, allowing her to make her escape.

Apparently she considered the weeklong bathing restriction a success, because her next goal was a month.

He walked amongst her company at the trooping of the colors and suddenly backtracked.

"Ad'ra. Are half your Rangers maybe two inches taller than their vode?"

"No, sir, Mand'Alor," she told him.

He shifted. Narrowed his eyes.

Across from him Maze did likewise.

"RC-1109, step out." When the boy did he called a random number from the back of the pack. Compared them. "You're telling me this commando isn't taller?"

"No, sir. Not in bare feet, sir," she replied smartly. "It's the boots."

He stepped back. Compared. Groaned.

Went to internal comms.

"What have you done?"

"We worked on them together. It's not prohibited."

"Why? And why only half of them?"

"Our training tempo's been kind of pressing this week, Jango," she complained. "I can't help it when we have these ideas. And there were some things on our schedule that you'd have gotten bitched at if I ditched. Or rescheduled."

"What did you and your merry little gang of miscreants do?"

"We rebuild the sole and ankle with servos and air-pods. I got the idea from the Slave 1's new landing gear."

"You're terrifying. Why?"

"We can drop three stories now and land on the balls of our feet without fucking up our knees or ankles. And land soundlessly."

"I thought you were already soundless."

"Pretty. Damn. Close."

"Demonstrate," he told her.

She changed comms. Gave an order.

Two of the guys in the back row tucked their hands up, boosted a third so that the young man was suddenly launched straight into the air. The kid grabbed for some escape scaffolding on the outside of the building that towered over them. Hauled himself up. Bowed like a demonstrative skin diver on Monta-Eiy. Flipped over at the waist and let himself come all the way around before landing—on the front of his feet, in his original spot. He straightened and returned to attention beside his vode.

"You, too?" Jango asked.

She nodded. "I did mine first to make sure it would work."

"I'd have liked to have seen that."

"I could justify a couple broken ankles or a jacked up knee on myself. Didn't want to risk them on the first attempts."

"Hurt yourself?"

"Not with the servos. They worked pretty well."

He let it go. Moved on.

Commed her again from in front of Hege Lollo's Gamma Company.

"I have to know…"

"I tried to do a cartwheel in them and it took some getting used to. My shoulder is killing me."

"See Dr. Gilamar," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"I mean it."

"I will."

"Anything else?"

"I started my period and my tummy hurts. It sucks. I don't want to be a girl anymore."

The watching cadre had no idea why he jolted upright and around. Looked over his shoulder and then shook his head.

"If you need anything let somebody know."

"I figured it out. I knew it would be coming. Just… there's only so much reading about such things prepares you for what it actually feels like."

"I hear ya."

He thought about it.

"Ad'ra," he ventured. "At a time like this a young woman might want her mother. I could-"

"I can only think of one thing I'd say to my mother right now," she interrupted.

"What's that?"

"Fek off."