Kamino was raining like always did. Jango had stopped thinking of the weather. His ship settled onto the platform with a muted hiss, repulsors whining against the wind. No one greeted him with ceremony.
He stepped out alone, and Taun We was waiting, as expected. Watching him the way Kaminoans watched everything, like he was a variable already slotted into a formula.
"Jango Fett," she said.
"Prime Minister," he replied.
They didn't shake hands. Kaminoans didn't do that.
Inside, the halls were just as sterile as he remembered. White walls. Clean floors. No decoration. No history. Everything here existed to serve a purpose, and once it stopped doing that, it would be replaced.
"You've reviewed the terms," Taun said as they walked.
"I did," Jango answered. "And I'm agreeing with conditions."
She tilted her head slightly. "We anticipated that."
Good, Jango thought. Means they know I'm not desperate.
They stopped outside a medical suite. Jango didn't go in yet.
"No mental reprogramming," he said. "Training is fine. Indoctrination isn't."
"Noted."
"I want one clone unaltered. No growth acceleration. Raised normally."
A pause.
"That is… unusual."
"So am I."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Accepted."
"And one more thing," Jango added. "They're soldiers. Not expendable hardware. If I find out you're burning through them like droids deal's off."
Taun We studied him for a long moment.
"You place restrictions on assets you do not yet possess."
Jango met her gaze. "I'm placing restrictions on you."
Eventually, she nodded.
Kamino always preferred profit over pride.
The medical room smelled faintly of chemicals and recycled air. Jango removed his armor piece by piece, placing each part where he could reach it again without asking permission. He stayed standing while they worked. He'd done worse.
The needle slid in.
He didn't react.
Pain wasn't new. Neither was being used for something bigger than himself.
Still, as he watched his blood disappear into Kaminoan instruments, he felt a twist in his gut he hadn't expected. Not fear. Not regret.
Just weight.
"That sample will be replicated across multiple batches," one of the technicians said.
Jango nodded. "Don't waste it."
They showed him the chambers afterward.
Rows of vats stretching out farther than the eye could follow, each one holding a version of him that hadn't decided who it was yet. It should have unsettled him more than it did.
Instead, he found himself thinking about Mandalore.
About Dxun.
About Jack.
Jack had talked once about soldiers—about how Spartans were made, not born. About what it costs. Jango hadn't asked for details. He didn't need them.
"Will they be loyal?" Jango asked.
Taun We didn't hesitate. "They will follow their training."
"That wasn't my question."
"They will be loyal," she said carefully, "to the structure that raises them."
Jango nodded. That was honest enough.
Dxun was never quiet.
Even when the jungle seemed still, something was always moving, breathing, watching, waiting to kill you if you slipped. Jack liked it that way. It kept people sharp.
Noble Team moved through the undergrowth without speaking. No unnecessary motion. No wasted effort. Shields flared briefly when something large and angry charged from the trees, then vanished just as fast.
Jack watched from above, arms crossed, helmet clipped to his belt.
They were clones.
And they weren't.
Same instincts. Same habits. Same way of clearing corners and covering arcs. But there was something new there, too awareness. Choice.
When they regrouped, one of them glanced up at him.
"Feels real enough," he said.
Jack nodded. "Good. That means it is."
Cassandra's voice cut in over the channel. "Combat data logged. Survival probability trending upward."
Jack smirked faintly. "Always nice to hear."
Back on Kamino, Jango stood at the observation window longer than he needed to.
One of the clones inside a nearby chamber shifted, fingers twitching. Alive. Already stronger than most men would ever be.
"This changes things," Taun We said behind him.
"Everything does," Jango replied. "Eventually."
"You understand," she continued, "that these soldiers will shape the future of the Republic."
Jango didn't look away from the glass.
"Then let's hope they're better than the people ordering them around."
Two projects moved forward in parallel.
On Kamino, an army was growing in silence.
On Dxun, another was being rebuilt from memory and blood and stubborn refusal to let the past stay buried.
Jack and Jango didn't speak during that time.
They didn't need to.
Both of them were preparing for the same truth:
Someone was going to try to take what they were building.
And when that happened, the galaxy was going to find out what kind of men they really were.