Attack of the Clones (24 page)

“And what of the droid?” he asked. “Can you identify the unit?”

Boba climbed up the side of the fighter and studied the markings for a moment, then turned back to his father,
finger to pursed lips, an intense expression on his face. “It’s an Arfour-Pea,” he said.

“And is that a common droid for this type of starfighter?”

“No,” Boba answered without hesitation. “A Delta-Seven pilot would usually use an Arthree-Dee. It’s better at keeping the guns targeted, and the fighter is so maneuverable that handling the laser cannons is tricky. I read that some pilots wind up shooting their own nose cones off in this fighter! They do a snap-roll, coming out over and around, but they haven’t compensated the manual swivel …” As he spoke, he moved his arms over each other and about, tangling them up in front of him.

Jango was hardly listening to the details, though he was thrilled that Boba had taken to his lessons with such energy. “Suppose the pilot didn’t need the extra gunnery skills of an Arthree-Dee?” he asked.

Boba looked at him curiously, as if he didn’t understand.

“Would the Arfour-Pea then be a better choice?”

“Yes,” came the halting response.

“And what pilot wouldn’t need the extra droid gunnery skills?”

Boba stared blankly, but then a smile spread on his face. “You!” he blurted, seeming quite pleased with himself.

Jango took the compliment with an appreciative smile—and it was true enough. Jango could wheel any fighter, and if he ever had the opportunity to fly in a Delta-7, he’d likely choose an R4-P over the R3-D. But that wasn’t what he had in mind right now, for he knew of one other type of pilot, pilots with heightened senses, who would similarly choose the better nav, but less weapon-oriented droid.

Jango Fett looked back up at the sky, wondering if a host of Jedi were about to descend upon Tipoca City.

*  *  *

Great racks holding glass spheres stretched across the immense room to the end of Obi-Wan’s vision. Each sphere contained an embryo, suspended in fluid, and when the Jedi reached into the Force, he sensed strong waves of life energy.

“The hatchery,” he stated more than asked.

“The first phase, obviously,” Lama Su replied.

“Very impressive.”

“I hoped you would be pleased, Master Jedi,” the Prime Minister said. “Clones can think creatively. You’ll find that they are immensely superior to droids, and that ours are the best in all the galaxy. Our methods have been perfected over many centuries.”

“How many are there?” Obi-Wan asked. “In here, I mean.”

“We have several hatcheries throughout the city. This, of course, is the most crucial phase, though with our techniques, we expect a survival rate of over ninety percent. Every so often, an entire batch will develop a … an issue, but we expect the clone production to remain steady, and with our accelerated growth methods, these before you will be fully matured and ready for battle in just over a decade.”

Two hundred thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way
. Lama Su’s previous boast echoed ominously in Obi-Wan’s thoughts. A production center, supremely efficient, producing a steady stream of superbly trained and conditioned warriors. The implications were staggering.

Obi-Wan stared at the closest embryo, floating contentedly in its fluid, curled and with its little thumb stuck into its mouth. In ten short years, that tiny creature, that tiny man, would be a soldier, killing and, likely, soon enough killed.

He shuddered and looked to his Kaminoan guide.

“Come,” Lama Su bade him, walking along the corridor.

Next on the tour was a huge classroom, with desks in neat, orderly rows and with students in neat, orderly rows. They all looked to be about ten years of age. All dressed the same, all with the same haircut, all with exactly the same features and posture and expressions. Obi-Wan reflexively looked at the shining white walls of the huge room, almost expecting to see mirrors there, playing a trick on his eyes to make one boy seem to be many.

The students went about their studies without paying any more heed to the visitors than a quick glance.

Disciplined
, Obi-Wan thought.
Much more so than any normal children
.

Another thought grabbed him. “You mentioned growth acceleration—”

“Oh yes, it’s essential,” the Prime Minister replied. “Otherwise a mature clone would take a lifetime to grow. Now we can do it in half the time. The units you will soon see on the parade ground we started ten years ago, when Sifo-Dyas first placed the order, and they’re already mature and quite ready for duty.”

“And these were started about five years ago?” the Jedi reasoned, and Lama Su nodded.

“Would you care to inspect the final product now?” the Prime Minister asked, and Obi-Wan could hear excitement in his voice. Clearly he was proud of this accomplishment. “I would like your approval before you take delivery.”

The callousness of it all struck Obi-Wan profoundly.
Units. Final product
. These were living beings they were talking about. Living, breathing, and thinking. To create
clones for such a singular purpose, under such control, even stealing half their childhood for efficiency, assaulted his sense of right and wrong, and the fact that a Jedi Master had begun all of this was almost too much to digest.

The tour took him through the commissary next, where hundreds of adult clones—all young men Anakin’s age—sat in neat rows, all dressed in red, all eating the same food in the same manner.

“You’ll find that they are totally obedient,” Lama Su was saying, seemingly oblivious to the Jedi’s discomfort. “We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent than the original, of course.”

“Who was the original?”

“A bounty hunter named Jango Fett,” Lama Su offered without any hesitation. “We felt that a Jedi would be the perfect choice, but Sifo-Dyas handpicked Jango himself.”

The notion that a Jedi might have been used nearly floored Obi-Wan. An army of clones strong in the Force?

“Where is this bounty hunter now?” he asked.

“He lives here,” Lama Su replied. “But he’s free to come and go as he pleases.” He kept walking as he spoke, leading Obi-Wan along a long corridor filled with narrow transparent tubes.

The Jedi watched with amazement as clones climbed up into those tubes and settled in place, closing their eyes and going to sleep.

“Very disciplined,” he remarked.

“That is the key,” Lama Su replied. “Disciplined, and yet with the ability to think creatively. It is a mighty combination. Sifo-Dyas explained to us the Jedi aversion to leading droids. He told us Jedi could only command an army of life-forms.”

And you wanted a Jedi as host?
Obi-Wan thought, but he did not it say aloud. He took a deep breath, wondering how Master Sifo-Dyas, how any Jedi, could have so willingly and unilaterally crossed the line to create
any
army of clones. Obi-Wan realized that he had to suppress his need for a direct answer to that right now, and simply listen and observe, gather as much information as he could so that he and the Jedi Council might sort it out.

“So Jango Fett willingly remains on Kamino?”

“The choice is his alone. Apart from his pay, which is considerable, I assure you, Fett demanded only one thing—an unaltered clone for himself. Curious, isn’t it?”

“Unaltered?”

“Pure genetic replication,” the Prime Minister explained. “No tampering with the structure to make it more docile. And no growth acceleration.”

“I would very much like to meet this Jango Fett,” Obi-Wan said, as much to himself as to Lama Su. He was intrigued. Who was this man selected by Sifo-Dyas as the perfect source for a clone army?

Lama Su looked to Taun We, who nodded and said, “I would be most happy to arrange it for you.”

She left them, then, as the tour continued, with Lama Su taking Obi-Wan along the areas that showed him pretty much the entire routine of the clones at every level of their development. The culmination came later on, when Taun We rejoined the pair on a balcony, sheltered from the brutal wind and rain and overlooking a huge parade ground. Below them, thousands and thousands of clone troopers, dressed in white armor and wearing full-face helmets, marched and drilled with all the precision of programmed droids. Entire formations, each made up of hundreds of soldiers, moved as one.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Lama Su said.

Obi-Wan looked up at the Kaminoan, to see his eyes
glowing with pride as he looked out upon his creation. There were no ethical dilemmas as far as Lama Su was concerned, Obi-Wan knew immediately. Perhaps that was why the Kaminoans were so good at cloning: their consciences never got in the way.

Lama Su looked down at him, smiling widely, prompting a response, and Obi-Wan offered a silent nod.

Yes, they were magnificent, and the Jedi could only imagine the brutal efficiency this group would exhibit in battle, in the arena for which they were grown.

Once again, a shudder coursed down Obi-Wan Kenobi’s spine. For the first time, he appreciated Senator Amidala’s crusade to stop the creation of an Army of the Republic, and the inevitable consequence: war!

A Jedi Knight here on Kamino. The thought was more than a little unsettling to Jango Fett.

The bounty hunter fell back in his seat and tightened his face in frustration—such were the problems with working for the Trade Federation. They were masters at weaving deception within deception, and they were up to so much right now that there was no single focus Jango could determine.

He looked across the room at Boba, who was hard at work poring over the schematics and capabilities of a Delta-7 starfighter, and matching them up against the known strengths and weaknesses of an R4-P unit.

Life was so simple for the boy, Jango thought with a touch of envy. For Boba, there was the love of and for his father, and his studies. Other than those two givens, the only real challenge before the boy was in finding enjoyable things to do at those times when Jango was away or busy with the Kaminoans.

At that moment, looking at his son, Jango Fett felt vulnerable, so very vulnerable, and it was not an emotion
with which he was the least bit comfortable. He almost told Boba to go and pack, then and there, so they could blast away from Kamino, but he recognized the danger of that course. He would be leaving without learning anything about his potential enemy, this Jedi Knight who had arrived unexpectedly. His boss would want that information.

And Jango would need that information. If he took off now, after receiving a note from Taun We telling him that he would be receiving a visitor later that same day, it would be fairly obvious that he was fleeing.

Then he’d have a Jedi Knight on his tail, and one about whom he knew practically nothing.

Jango continued to stare at Boba, at the only thing that really mattered.

“Play it cool,” he whispered to himself. “You’re nothing more than a clone source, well paid enough to want to know nothing about why you’re being cloned.”

That was his litany, that was his plan. And it had to work.

For Boba’s sake.

A wave of Taun We’s hand brought forth the chime of an unseen bell, reminding Obi-Wan yet again of how foreign this world of Kamino, this city of Tipoca, really was. He didn’t give it much thought, though, for he was focused on the locking mechanism on the door before him, an elaborate electronic clasp and bolt. Quite a bit of security, it seemed to him, given the supposedly genteel nature of Jango Fett’s relationship with the Kaminoans, and the obvious control the cloners held over their city. Was the locking mechanism designed to keep people out, or to keep Jango in?

Likely the former, he reasoned. Jango was a bounty
hunter, after all. Perhaps he had made more than a few dangerous enemies.

He was still studying the device when the door suddenly opened, revealing a young boy, an exact replica of those Obi-Wan had been viewing all day.

The identical one that Jango had demanded, only this one was
actually
ten years old.

“Boba,” Taun We said with great familiarity, “is your father home?”

Boba Fett stood staring at the human visitor for a long moment. “Yep.”

“May we see him?”

“Sure,” Boba answered. He stepped back, but his eyes never left Obi-Wan as the Jedi and Taun We stepped across the threshold.

“Dad!” Boba yelled.

The title struck Obi-Wan as curious, given that this was a clone and not a natural son. Was there a connection here? A real one? Had Jango wanted the exact replica not for any professional gain but simply because he had wanted a son?

“Dad!” the boy shouted again. “Taun We’s here!”

Jango Fett walked in, dressed in simple shirt and trousers. Obi-Wan recognized him immediately, though he was many years older than the oldest clone, his face scarred and pitted, and unshaven. His body had thickened with age, but he was still physically imposing, much like many of the old gutter dwellers Obi-Wan encountered in far-flung places. A few extra pounds, sure, but those covered muscles hardened by years of tough living. Tattoos crossed both of Jango’s muscular forearms, of a strange design that Obi-Wan did not recognize.

As he glanced up, he recognized the clear suspicion with which Jango was eyeing him. The man was on edge here, dangerously so, Obi-Wan understood.

“Welcome back, Jango,” Taun We remarked. “Was your trip productive?”

Obi-Wan studied the bounty hunter intensely. Back from where? But Jango was a professional, and his expression revealed not the slightest tic or wince.

“Fairly,” the man casually offered. He continued to size up Obi-Wan as he spoke, his eyes narrowing in an almost open threat.

“This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Taun We said, her tone lighter, obviously an attempt to relieve some of the palpable tension. “He’s come to check on our progress.”

“That right?” If Jango cared, his tone didn’t show it.

“Your clones are very impressive,” Obi-Wan said. “You must be very proud.”

“I’m just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe, Master Jedi.”