Kamino was raining like always, the miserable planet it was.
Not gentle rain. It is a constant, grinding deluge, water hammering the endless with oceans that were deep and endless. This gave it the illusion of no horizons, only storms stacked on storms, the world reduced to function and pressure.
As Jack's ship cut through the clouds and descended toward the spires rising from the sea.
White spires that look over sterile and indifferent. Only with a just purpose with no life of its own, no color.
Jack stepped onto the landing platform alone, helmet sealed, cloak snapping violently in the wind. Rain struck beskar and energy shields alike, sliding away in clean, disciplined streams. Defensive emplacements tracked his movement, weapons following every step, but silent.
Cassandra's voice came softly through his comm.
"Atmospheric pressure stable. Defensive systems are active but non-hostile."
"They know why I'm here," Jack replied.
Two figures waited at the far end of the platform.
Kaminoans.
Tall, impossibly thin, their movements precise to the point of discomfort. One stepped forward, hands folded neatly.
"I am Prime Minister Taun We," she said. "You requested an audience."
Jack inclined his head, neither deferential nor dismissive.
"I did."
"You arrived without escorts," Taun observed. "Without prior announcement."
Jack's visor tilted slightly.
"I didn't want competition."
The Kaminoan paused.
They rarely did.
They moved through immaculate white corridors, rain streaking across transparent walls like veins of liquid metal. The facility was silent, efficient, and controlled. Every surface gleamed. Every motion had intent.
This was not a place that valued life.
It valued precision.
"You understand," Taun We said as they walked, "that Kamino does not accept all clients."
"I understand you accept the right ones, the ones with money," Jack replied.
At Cassandra's silent signal, financial data flowed into Kaminoan systems.
Not hacked.Not forced.
Offered.
Investment streams.Supply guarantees.Construction funding.Long-term operational contracts.
Taun We stopped walking.
"…This is a substantial proposal."
"It's an opening," Jack said. "Not the end."
"You seek soldiers," she said.
Jack corrected her immediately.
"I seek continuity."
That made her turn fully toward him.
They entered a private chamber overlooking the storm-wracked sea. Thunder rolled beneath the floor like distant artillery.
Jack removed his helmet.
Bright blue eyes. Light blond hair, armor from the rain. A young face carrying the weight of decisions far older than it should have been.
Taun We studied him carefully.
"You are young," she said.
Jack allowed himself a thin smile.
"You are here for cloning services," she continued. "Scale?"
"Controlled," Jack said.
Cassandra projected clean, precise data between them.
"Thirty-two unique genetic templates," Cassandra stated. "All classified as elite military assets. Each template is to be treated as an independent lineage."
Taun We's long fingers flexed slightly.
"This is… unconventional."
Jack leaned forward.
"Those are Spartans," he said calmly. "And for now, the number will do fine ."
A second dataset appeared.
ODST profiles.Combat histories.Psychological assessments.
"These," Jack continued, "scale if they have to."
Silence stretched, broken only by the rain.
"You would fund expansion," Taun We said slowly.
"Yes."
"You would pay for secrecy."
"Yes."
"And you would commission a secondary cloning facility," she added, "separate from our primary operations."
"Yes."
She regarded him for a long moment.
"You are not attempting to control Kamino."
Jack shook his head.
"No, I'm just a client ."
Taun We turned toward the glass wall, watching the storm batter the endless sea below.
"Kamino has enemies," she said. "And clients who value silence."
"I know."
"You would finance a fully staffed, fully supplied auxiliary facility," she continued. "Operated under Kaminoan authority."
"As long as production parameters are mine," Jack replied.
"And if the Republic asks questions?"
Jack's voice was flat.
"You're expanding capacity for future demand."
Taun We looked back at him.
"You plan far ahead."
"Yes."
That ended the discussion.
Taun We inclined her long neck.
"Kamino accepts you as a client," she said. "Your projects will remain… discreet."
Jack replaced his helmet.
"They will."
"Construction will begin over the outer ocean," she added. "Isolated. Secure."
Jack turned to leave.
"Know this," Taun We said. "What you build here will shape the galaxy."
Jack paused only long enough to answer.
"That's the idea."
What Taun We did not see was Cassandra already working.
Stealing and learning their cloning methods.
Every system Jack was allowed to observe was mirrored. Every protocol demonstrated was indexed, cross-referenced, and internalized. Environmental controls. Growth acceleration matrices. Behavioral imprint scaffolds.
Kaminoan science was elegant.
Which meant it could be understood.
Cassandra absorbed:
Clone gestation methodologiesGenetic stability correctionMemory imprint limitations, Failure rates and mitigation strategiesLong-term degradation prevention
She'd copy files; she learned how they thought.
By the time Jack returned to the landing platform, Cassandra already possessed a functional conceptual model of Kaminoan cloning.
Enough to replicate and to eventually surpass.
As Jack's ship lifted from Kamino for the second time, Cassandra finally spoke freely.
"I now possess sufficient theoretical and procedural understanding of Kaminoan cloning to replicate the process given time and materials."
Jack asked, "How long until full independence?"
" Five to Several years," Cassandra answered. " With Dxun's isolation."
Jack nodded.
"Good," he said. "I don't plan on needing Kamino forever."
The ship vanished into hyperspace.
Unaware that it had just taught its most dangerous client how to replace them.
Some time later.
Dxun did not welcome visitors.
The jungle moon loomed beneath Jack's descending ship like a living thing of green-black canopies stretching endlessly across broken terrain, massive trees choking the land with tangled roots and spore-heavy air. Storm clouds rolled low and heavy, and lightning flashed deep within the foliage, illuminating shapes that moved far too slowly to be harmless.
Cassandra's voice cut in as the ship pierced the upper atmosphere.
"Environmental hazards confirmed. Picking up toxic spores, aggressive carnivores, and some electromagnetic interference." "Spartan," Cassandra added dryly, "this moon appears actively hostile to life." Jack snorted. "Good. Means it is going to be fun."
The ship shuddered as turbulence slammed into the hull. Winds howled across the canopy below, and something large, very large shifted beneath the trees, snapping trunks like kindling.
The landing thrusters roared, flattening a clearing through brute force. Trees bent, snapped, and burned as the ship touched down hard, kicking up clouds of spores and ash. The jungle screamed in response, distant roars echoing through the canopy like territorial warnings.
Jack stepped onto the wet, damp ground. The air was thick, heavy with decay and life in equal measure.
As he scanned the terrain, he said, "This is it." "They built here."
"Yes," Cassandra replied. "Multiple anomalous structures detected beneath the surface. Architectural patterns match ancient Mandalorian design principles."
Jack's visor tilted slightly.
"Old Mandalorians ."
"Correct."
They moved through the jungle slowly.
Dxun did not allow haste.
Every step threatened ambushes by predators diving from the canopy, reptilian shapes stalking through undergrowth thick enough to swallow tanks. Jack moved with Spartan precision, rifle tracking motion before it happened.
When something lunged, it died.
When something roared, it learned.
The jungle adapted.
So did Jack.
After nearly an hour of movement, Cassandra flagged a structure ahead—barely visible beneath layers of moss, roots, and collapsed stone.
"There," she said. "Subsurface complex. Power readings are minimal but present."
Jack pushed aside hanging vines and stopped.
A Mandalorian sigil stared back at him.
Weathered. Scarred. Ancient.
But unmistakable.
"…Found it," Jack murmured.
The outpost emerged from the jungle like a buried memory.
Stone and durasteel fused, half-swallowed by the land. Defensive towers lay collapsed, their firing ports choked with vines. Massive blast doors stood sealed, marked with clawed symbols and worn kill tallies etched into the walls.
This was a fortress to withstand a war.
Jack approached the central gate, running a gloved hand across the ancient plating embedded in the structure.
"They probably didn't abandon this place," he said.
"No," Cassandra agreed. "They were driven off or left deliberately to survive ."
Jack planted his palm against the door and fed power into the ancient systems.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the outpost woke up.
Ancient lights flickered to life, casting harsh white beams across moss-covered halls. The blast doors groaned, metal screaming in protest as they began to open for the first time in centuries.
Something deep within Dxun growled.
Jack stepped inside.
The interior was vast.
Training halls scarred by impact marks. Barracks lined with weapon racks. Forges cold for centuries but is still intact. Symbols of clans long dead or forgotten lined the walls. Everything was in surprisingly good shape due to it being sealed up tight like a tome
"This place was used to train shock forces," Cassandra reported. "Extreme-environment conditioning. Live-fire drills. Beast combat."
Jack nodded.
"Same doctrine," he said quietly. "Different tools."
They moved deeper.
In the lowest chamber, Jack stopped.
The floor was engraved with massive circular docking grooves burned into stone by something that had once landed here.
Cassandra's processing spiked.
"…Jack."
"Yeah," he said. "I see it."
Basilisk war droids that were not destroyed.
Dormant systems lined the walls, control pylons, maintenance arms, and ancient Mandalorian interface glyphs etched alongside power conduits, old Mandalorian technology.
"These schematics," Cassandra said slowly, almost reverently, "They are old Mandalorian technology."
Jack stood at the center of the chamber.
"A lost technology," he said. "Buried where only the insane would look for it."
Jack glanced at the ceiling as something massive moved above them, shaking dust loose from the stone.
He smiled beneath his helmet.
"Yeah," he said. "This'll do."
As the outpost fully powered up, ancient systems cycling through diagnostics older than recorded Republic history, Cassandra spoke again quietly, calculating.
"With sufficient resources, this facility could be restored. Expanded. Adapted."
Jack turned slowly, surveying the ruins.
"This isn't just a base," he said. "It's a crucible."
"And Dxun will ensure only the strongest survive," Cassandra added.
Jack activated his comm.
"Verd," he said. "We found it."
Static crackled, then Verd Fett's voice came through.
"Ancient?"
"Older than our grudges," Jack replied. "And meaner."
A pause.
Then approval.
"We will come," Verd said simply.
Jack looked back at the Basilisk cradles, the jungle pressing in around the ancient Mandalorian bones of the outpost.
The galaxy had forgotten what Mandalorians once built.
Jack hadn't.
And Dxun was about to remind everyone.