Ten years, one month, and twenty-three days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fifth year, first month, and twenty-third day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and eight days since the Arrival.)
Ever since the Devaronians, more than twenty-seven thousand years ago, invented their own type of hyperdrive and ventured out into the reaches of the galaxy, many peoples had considered them the living embodiments of demons from their religious — and almost always delusional — legends.
Male Devaronians, in whose thick blood — despite millennia of evolution — the indomitable spirit of adventure and a drive to explore everything new remained, could be found in every corner of the galaxy, tirelessly drawn forward into the unknown.
A Devaronian.
For Lieutenant Martok, commanding a squad of commando shock troopers, the campaign in the D'Astan sector was exactly that kind of place.
Hundreds of systems where countless battles raged, each one a place where he and his fellow Devaronians could show their mettle and immortalize their names with glory.
Well, the remnants of the D'Astan army fighting for the Baroness could grab their own piece of glory too.
Though, compared to Martok's battle-hardened fighters, those little humans would find it healthier and more useful to sit in trenches and guard bases rather than charge into attack.
Martok licked his lips as a waiter droid set a full mug of lumin ale in front of him.
Now that was an excellent start to the day.
A two-liter vessel, grasped by the Devaronian's mighty hand, began moving toward his face...
A massive shadow fell across the table before him.
"Lieutenant Martok," he heard a voice new to him.
Male, commanding, authoritative.
"Well, that's me." The Devaronian shook the mug, knocking off the foam, while simultaneously eyeing the figure that had approached his table from the left.
As it turned out — not alone.
"Whoa." He bared his teeth. "Mandalorians have finally shown up in our systems. You're a bit late, boys. This cantina is rented out by me to celebrate our latest victory."
Lieutenant Martok.
In fact, he was sure only one of the two beings standing before him was a Mandalorian.
The one clad head-to-toe in armor, carrying a hefty heavy blaster.
But the second...
Of average height, sturdy build, military posture, a piercing gaze...
Dressed in simple field camo, a blaster pistol on his hip.
Nothing unusual around these parts, really.
"An Imperial?" he asked the man without armor.
"You may call me General," the man said, pulling the nearest chair closer and sitting down. "I've been sent here to take command of the unified forces allied with Baroness D'Asta."
"Is that so." Martok took a swig of ale. "Did she issue you a posthumous permission to boss me around?"
Instead of a thousand words and explanations of varying usefulness, the General placed a portable holoprojector in front of the Devaronian.
A small volumetric projection appeared above it.
Martok was so surprised he snorted ale from his mouth.
"Bastard," came a voice from beneath the Mandalorian's armor, who'd caught most of the drink.
Accidentally, of course.
"Lieutenant Martok, I understand that after the battle for the Savareen subsector, you remained the senior officer loyal to the legitimate authority in the sector," the hologram announced. "Therefore, in no way diminishing your merits or removing you from command of your commando unit, I am sending our new allies to you. General will take command of the combined forces of our troops and will implement the overall plan to liberate the territories of the D'Astan sector occupied by bandit groups. I ask you to give them every assistance..."
"The Baroness?" Martok scratched his chin with clawed fingers. "Well, suppose I've seen the message. Am I supposed to take your word that this is a real recording? Off the top of my head, I know a couple of craftsmen who could knock something like this together for a couple mugs of ale. And you wouldn't be able to prove otherwise..."
"Lieutenant," the "recording" suddenly spoke. "I strongly advise you not to interrupt me or share your undoubtedly profound thoughts on the nature of this communication method."
"Oh, may my horns be filed off!" Martok's eyes went wide. "Baroness! Turns out you're alive?"
"And I will be returning to Nez Peron shortly," the aristocrat declared. "By then, I would like you to assist the General and our new allies in resolving the issue of liberating those planets where our forces are currently unable to dislodge enemy garrisons."
"Uh... Yes, of course..." the Devaronian was flustered. "I serve to live..."
"The other way around," the General said.
"Ah, right, exactly," the Devaronian chuckled. "I live to serve."
"I hope so." The Baroness's hologram faded.
"You should give some warning," Martok tossed at his unexpected guests, nodding the Mandalorian toward the next table. "Grab a chair — we'll hold a war council."
A few minutes later, the three of them were seated around a small cantina table, silently eyeing several mugs of lumin ale, various simple but undoubtedly tasty snacks, and a small datapad with a built-in holoprojector that Martok had laid out in front of him.
"We'll pass on the drinks and food," the General said, sweeping his gaze over the abundance of treats.
"They're not for you anyway." The Devaronian snorted. "This is my snack. I hate talking business on an empty stomach."
"I want to know the situation of the Baroness's armed forces," the General said.
"Whatever meaning you put into that question, the answer is the same — bad," Martok replied. "We control forty percent of the sector, and only because Kavil's Corsair fighters have dug in and are holding every planet to the death. We hold the capital — Nez Peron — and Ord Cestus, which, just like in Republic antiquity, has become our headquarters and military depot. The Nalroni on Selanon are also supporting us, and only because of that we haven't been cut off from the Hydian Way. The traders are happy with the current situation — minimal control over them. In effect, thanks to the tax breaks from the Baroness, the Nalroni keep us fully funded. If we lose that planet, we'll be cut off from the rest of the galaxy. That's why most of the Baroness's remaining fleet is concentrated there. The enemy has tried to take the system many times, but we've pushed them back with heavy losses for the rebels."
"Nalroni can't be trusted," the Mandalorian said firmly. "We've dealt with that little people. If offered better terms, they'll betray."
"Like any traders in the galaxy," the General stated, studying the sector map. "You hold the southern territories and systems of the sector; the enemy holds the north."
"More or less," Martok agreed. "We have over half a dozen planets where ground battles are raging nonstop between our forces and the enemy's mercenaries. Our last attempt to counterattack in the Savareen subsector ended in huge losses — we lost all our heavy cruisers and achieved nothing. We don't have enough ships, but we have enough small craft to repel their raids. According to intelligence, they now have at least a dozen Kaloth-class battlecruisers alone — they arrived a few days ago, after they got bloodied in the Samarin subsector. But we took just as much damage, if not more. Right now, the rebels are probing our defenses in several systems, sending in scouts, but we're maneuvering our available forces to make it look like we have more than a hundred beat-up corvettes."
"Are the enemy's centers of initiative known?" the Mandalorian asked.
"You bet." The Devaronian snorted. "At the head are aristocrats from Serenno. As far as we know, they had some kind of internal power struggle. Those who supported the D'Asta family were destroyed or taken hostage. The rest are alarmists demanding independence. The enemy controls the entire Valahari subsector, and consequently their engineering and construction capabilities, including the shipyard. Our raiding groups have managed to strike at convoys and disrupt small craft production, but if they assign even a couple of Kaloths to protect the convoys, things will go south fast. Our corvettes are no match for their battlecruisers. And it would take a huge number of strike craft to really maul them, let alone destroy them. Kavil's Corsair light cruisers are good, but not against their capital ships."
"In other words — your forces are small and nearly exhausted," the General said concisely.
"That's what I said." The Devaronian grinned. "We're trying not to lose heart." He pointed at the half-empty plates on the table before him. "Despondency doesn't aid digestion."
"Feasting after losing your comrades in arms? Isn't that a bit cynical?" the General clarified.
"It was a victory." The Devaronian belched contentedly. "Besides, after all the trouble, you've brought me joyful news."
"What news?" the Mandalorian wondered.
"Everything ingenious is simple." Martok drained the contents of one of the mugs. "Now you get to command this whole mess."
* * *
It seemed this conference room was due for the nickname "Negotiation Hall."
How many had been held here already, and how many more would there be...
"Greetings, Senior Geneticist Orun Va," I said, addressing the Kaminoan brought in under guard. "My name is Grand Admiral Thrawn. I am the ruler and Supreme Commander of the Dominion. This conversation is necessary."
Like a typical representative of his species, Orun Va was quite tall — over two meters.
But due to his slender, by human standards, build, his weight barely exceeded sixty kilograms.
The Kaminoan sat down in the indicated seat with majestic detachment, without making a single remark about the fact that I was alive.
Honestly, all those exclamations were getting tiresome, but by staging my death, I understood the far-reaching consequences.
However, in the case of Orun Va and the Zann Consortium base on Smarck, there was no doubt they had no idea who I was at all.
Given the isolation they'd arranged for themselves, it was perfectly logical.
Even if the Kaminoan was surprised that the Grand Admiral of the Dominion before him didn't look like a human, he wouldn't show it — this race, over the course of its natural and directed evolution, had unlearned being emotional.
Generally, it was worth focusing on the biology of these creatures to understand their psychology.
Based on the information I'd collected and knew from the past, a fairly coherent picture emerged.
The Kaminoans evolved from their ancestors — unknown aquatic creatures that lived in the vast oceans of Kamino.
And that was the key factor that shaped them.
The Kaminoans retained much from their ancestors.
Elongated body shapes, tough epidermis that galactic rumor claimed had luminescent qualities — meaning it glowed in the dark.
A powerful muscular frame and developed joints that enabled upright walking at such height.
The Kaminoans' almond-shaped eyes could also see colors in the ultraviolet spectrum. So what appeared as white dwellings to ordinary beings was actually painted in shades that humans and a number of other species couldn't see.
As I recalled, the Phase I armor of the Grand Army of the Republic's clones had special markings that only Kaminoans could see, allowing them to unfailingly identify the numerical "names" of their genetic "products."
In Kamino's distant past lay the secret of why they became obsessed with genetic experiments.
Long ago, the planet experienced an ice age.
Perhaps a consequence of civil war, perhaps a climatic pattern.
I hadn't been able to establish this fact reliably from interrogations of other Kaminoans.
And generally, only a few knew anything beyond their official duties and work information.
Primarily — the geneticist specialists.
Technicians and operators were nothing more than simple executors, minions who, in the Kaminoan caste system, were treated slightly better than the "products" they produced. And in practice — sometimes worse.
Returning to the ice age, which resulted in mass flooding of the planet due to melting ice and retreating permafrost, it was worth noting that only through developing mastery in selection, genetics, and cloning did the Kaminoans manage to survive.
The calculating survival instincts demanded of the remaining Kaminoans left an indelible mark on their later, formative culture.
Kaminoans were minimalists in design; perfectionists bordering on intolerance.
That was why this conference room contained only a table and a couple of chairs.
Though, from Orun Va's expressions, even the table seemed to him an impermissible and offensive luxury.
But he remained silent.
Primarily because Mara Jade stood behind my back, with whom he had a brief but memorable acquaintance.
"State your business," the Kaminoan broke his silence, giving no indication by movement or tone that he cared at all about the Hand being in the same room.
Hmm...
Interesting.
The geneticist sat in a closed posture.
But not the typical human "arms crossed, legs crossed" rather, the traditional posture of his people.
Moreover, reviewing the interrogation data, I'd noted that such a posture was characteristic exclusively of higher-caste representatives — geneticists — not ordinary workers.
This raised the question: did the Kaminoan geneticists, on orders from their government, interfere with the genome of the lower castes, thereby creating entire generations of docile servants for themselves?
On one hand — my observations, backed by one geneticist's account that several thousand years ago, the Kaminoans experimented on their own citizens, seeking to create individuals suitable for exploring the galaxy.
Yes, that was a single instance, and the captured Kaminoans didn't provide other such examples.
On the other hand — and this was the other side of the issue — the geneticists insisted they did not conduct experiments on their own race.
But then, given the absence of targeted behavioral conditioning within castes, how did the Kaminoan service personnel end up so submissive, even behaving differently, not using the same gestures as the geneticists?
The Kaminoans in general did little besides their cloning, and interacted with aliens as little as possible.
For negotiations with clients, they had a separate caste — the rulers and their assistants.
I wasn't an ichthyologist and didn't know all the nuances of fish school behavior; I didn't even suspect whether such behavior existed among them, but the emerging picture reminded me of a bee swarm.
Not in every detail, but in many ways that was the behavior pattern.
A rigid division into castes, each occupied exclusively with its own work.
"I am proposing that you and your group work for the Dominion."
"Who manufactured your cloning cylinders?" the Kaminoan asked without the slightest preamble.
"They were produced by Spaarti Creation during the Clone Wars," I answered the question.
"Are we talking about the cylinders you captured, or do you have more?" Orun Va asked.
"I do," I confirmed. "And I need geneticists to perform tasks related to producing clones for my armed forces."
"My group possesses the necessary knowledge to work with equipment like Spaarti cloning cylinders," Orun Va said. "We can help you with clone production. If you meet our conditions."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mara lean forward, applying psychological pressure to my interlocutor.
Drawing attention to herself, she was undoubtedly trying to remind him of the circumstances of their last encounter.
Including the unambiguous hint that there were no conditions for cooperation.
Strangely enough, she herself had reported this incident in her mission debrief on Smarck.
THX-0333 had confirmed her account in his.
And the Kaminoans had recounted it verbatim during interrogations.
And here a certain causal point arose.
The fact was that Kaminoan psychology and economy were built on extracting profit and benefits for their race solely through their labor in the genetic field.
In the past, at the dawn of their experiments with genes, the Kaminoans conducted natural barter — providing their services in exchange for imported goods.
They found clients on their own; the number was quite limited, but large and wealthy enough that Kamino had everything — so that those clients would ask nothing of their customers.
In exchange, those customers received perfect clones tailored to their needs and "technical specifications."
They produced absolutely any type of clone: workers, miners, soldiers, assassins, prostitutes...
The Kaminoans were very proud of their scientific discoveries, but gave little thought to the ethics of their work or the consequences of their application.
The Kaminoans' most infamous work was their design and development of the clone army for the Galactic Republic. Using the Mandalorian bounty hunter Jango Fett as a template, the Kaminoans created and trained a vast army of clone troopers for the Republic under the order of Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. Their work ultimately brought them to the brink of destruction once again, as their world was targeted by the Separatists to halt the supply of clone troopers. The Kamino Defense Forces, staffed by specially trained clone troopers including ARC troopers, defeated the Separatist forces.
"As I recall, Hand reminded you that prisoners of war don't get conditions," I said.
"We are civilian specialists, hired employees."
"Who created clones used to undermine the foundations of the Empire and destroy the Dominion," I cut in. "You are no better than those who produce weapons for our enemies."
"And who is to blame that this weapon is aimed at you?" Orun Va asked. "The manufacturer, or the one who holds it?"
"Convenient, cynical logic," my comment had absolutely no effect.
Well, I hadn't expected any different.
Genetics is genetics, but I doubt that such valuable specialists as Orun Va — even if the Kaminoan government does experiment on its wards — have had their survival instinct "switched off."
"Your conditions do not interest me, Orun Va," I clarified the situation. "There are my conditions. Whether you accept them as the leader of the group that will follow you, or refuse them as a potential prisoner and the offer passes to the next geneticist in line, is of little concern to me."
"My deputies do not possess the necessary knowledge and qualifications that I do," Orun Va said indifferently. "Imprisonment does not frighten me. Your soldiers and your agent saw my clones in action. With only basic information loaded into their minds, without training or preparation, they slaughtered the Smarck garrison with their bare hands. I have demonstrated my competence in creating superior clones. My knowledge is in my head. Whether you lock me up or not, sooner or later you or your representatives will come to me and ask me to make such clones. I imagine that will be when your Dominion is on the verge of collapse. But then my price will go up."
"By that time, you will be dead," I explained. "We have Spaarti cloning cylinders, as well as imprint machines. Digitizing your knowledge will not present much difficulty. We will place it in a clone. We have already learned how to structure subordination priorities and flawless execution of orders using the GeNod program as an example. As you can see, my offer to let you live and send you to do what you love is nothing more than a gesture of mercy from the Dominion."
What appeared on Orun Va's face could be interpreted as an arrogant smile.
"You forget who you are speaking to, Grand Admiral," he said. "I have studied the technology of the Spaarti cloning cylinders. They were created on Cartao solely for the production of human clones. They are incapable of anything else. You will not be able to create a Kaminoan. Therefore, my memories will be useless — I think in the language of my ancestors, in images that are imperceptible to a human. Even if you try to reproduce my memories, it will look like nothing more than a set of beautiful, wavy drawings."
Good. Very good, even...
"Are you so sure?" I inquired.
Honestly, I even enjoy arguing and dialoguing with him.
Recruiting valuable personnel is like testing your own eloquence.
Different psychotypes.
Different races.
Different worldviews.
All this, and more — excellent mental exercise.
"I am the best geneticist on Kamino since Ko Sai, who created the Grand Army of the Clones, disappeared," Orun Va said. "Every word of mine is weighed and emphasized. You have no other option but to agree to a deal with me..."
Right, of course.
I demonstratively turned my attention to the datapad.
I only need one holo-file from the supercargo's card catalog on the Chimaera.
An old file — several months old at that.
I'll have to work for it.
"Continue," I said, noticing Orun Va had fallen silent. I lifted my gaze from the screen and with a permissive gesture invited him not to stop. "Your conditions. You insist on them so vehemently that I've become curious. Voice them; perhaps they will even interest me."
Orun Va began to sway his tiny head on his long neck almost imperceptibly, demonstrating superiority over his verbal opponent.
"My people and I will receive generous compensation for our work," Orun Va said. "We will have comfortable laboratories and private quarters. You will not control my work, you will not look over my shoulder" right, as if that's convenient — "you will not use my clones against my own people — I will ensure that in their programming. Also, you will..."
Found it.
"You are absolutely right, Orun Va," I interrupted the Kaminoan's delusional demands, turning the datapad's screen toward my interlocutor. "We will not be able to create a clone of you using a Spaarti cloning cylinder. And you seized the moment to simply present me with your conditions for cooperation. I heard your speech. Now hear mine. Are you familiar with this specimen of advanced genetic technology?"
The Kaminoan blinked.
For a moment, his whitish eyelids covered his almond-shaped eyes.
"That is a cloning cylinder produced on Kamino," the clone-maker identified without error. "And the knowledge-implantation apparatus we used during the creation of the Clone Wars."
"Excellent that you acknowledge it," I set the datapad aside. "Given that the Kaminoans once used this same equipment to create clones of hundreds, if not thousands, of races, I am confident it will also be suitable for cloning a Kaminoan. I generally have a theory that this is precisely how you create your technicians and other support staff, who differ from clones only in physiology for you."
Now the bet is on Orun Va's talkativeness.
"Yes, you can make a clone of a Kaminoan using our own equipment," the geneticist did not disappoint me. "But for that, you would have to go south of the Rishi Maze and subjugate the planet, as well as my kin. I think you will have problems with that, given the amount of time the 'Zann Consortium' has ruled my world."
"That is precisely why I am offering you one last chance at cooperation," I smiled politely. "You will forget all your wishes and listen to what I tell you. First — the Zann Consortium will not learn that you, offended by the neglectful attitude toward your own genetic enhancements, conducted a demonstration of your clones' capabilities for us, essentially presenting us with the base on Smarck as a gift for the sake of future cooperation, along with everything that remained inside it, including the Spaarti cloning cylinders, and your own team."
The Kaminoan was silent, studying me intently.
It seems he was interested.
Well, I should think so.
He surely understands that losing the base on Smarck — not on Makus Kaynif's terms — will only anger those behind him.
And the Kaminoans will clearly be hunted everywhere.
"Second. After what has been said in this compartment, you and your subordinates will work under the close control and supervision of our specialists. You will explain every action to them, clarify every algorithm and DNA sequence. If it becomes known that you have done anything to the genetics of my clones, you will be killed."
"I can alter their program without touching the body," Orun Va continued to bluster.
Judging by Mara's expressionless face, she is already mentally cutting the cold-blooded one into leather straps.
Though, we haven't done such deep analysis on Kaminoans yet, so perhaps they, like some water-dwellers on Mother Earth, are warm-blooded.
"Disappoint you. My people handle clone programming through imprint machines perfectly well on their own. So that will proceed without your involvement."
"You set conditions for me, yet you are directly dependent on me," the Kaminoan grinned again. "That is not logical."
"Let's continue," my ignoring of his remark was again met with interest by the Kaminoan. Apparently, he had already realized that I had a certain trump card up my sleeve and now hoped to hear it. "Your demonstration of the clones truly interested me. As did the fact that you were behind the Null-class and Alpha-class ARC commando clone projects, which carried out the most critical and dangerous missions during the Clone Wars. They performed successfully. You indicated that you corrected the defects made in the creation of these clone types. I want to know which ones and how exactly."
The Kaminoans consider themselves the highest form of life, yet they remained polite to outsiders.
For them, any species striving for self-improvement was worthy of respect, but those who did not were clearly inferior.
And now I was playing on the geneticist's professional interest.
"For what purpose do you wish to know this?" he asked.
"To revive those programs," I explained. "As I was informed, you have already met my fighters from the Fourth Special Assault Commando Squad. And even assessed one of them as promising for further study."
A bit of logic and no deception.
Due to their long history of isolation, the Kaminoans were xenophobic toward other life forms, but most simply appeared outwardly modest.
They also showed great skill and care for their creations, but still treated them as product.
That's why I'm dangling the opportunity to continue his personal research to "hook" him.
They have already worked with humans, so I think there won't be major problems with continuing Colonel Selid's program..."
"Your clone is not bad," Orun Va said. "But it is not perfect. And it never will be."
...expected.
"Elaborate," I demanded, correlating in my mind the reports of his behavior on the base on Sparc and what he was saying now.
"Every candidate of mine for cloning is a work of art, selected according to specific criteria. Your clone is a soldier. He is not an object of my professional interest. Such work is not worth my attention or direct involvement."
He is negotiating.
"But that didn't stop you from making clones of those whom Makus Kaynif delivered to you," Mara interjected.
The girl's face showed she was at a certain stage of boiling.
"Because they were all originals," the Kaminoan continued. "Your clone is a manufactured product. You cannot make a new product from a manufactured product. The laws of genetics and cloning are indisputable. Making a clone from a clone means condemning the entire population to extinction. The degradation of DNA chains is imperceptible, but they break down, and dementia plagues the clone."
"In other words, you were interested in TNX-0333 not as a template for creating new clones, but as an individual platform for improvement?" I clarified.
"Yes," Orun Va replied. "A single specimen. I could work on it to solve a number of general human problems, like correcting errors in your genetics, but that would be no more than entertainment to kill free time once the laboratory is up and running. That's how I created the improved-design 'Vulture' clones."
Well, well, well, that is interesting.
The intelligent being had launched into professional topics.
I see his contemptuous expression and understand that his arrogance and offended sense of greatness compel him to explain such simple things to me.
"The improved Vultures were modified before the cloning process began," I concluded. "Did you intervene in the original's DNA, or did you work with the provided blood samples?"
"The second option is more complex to execute and was used to create the Grand Army of the Republic using Kaminoan equipment. There, it is possible to separate streams of products for specific specialties during the embryo's development. The Spaarti cloning cylinders lack this capability. Whatever you put into the autoclave is what you get out."
"In other words, your task was to use a single genotype to create all the Vulture units," I summarized. "And you, to save time, modified the original donor."
"That is what I said," the Kaminoan declared, clearly already "floating" on his work. "By using the original and observing the selection of intelligent beings, you can derive a superior product. For example, I could alter the genes of your Hand" Jade flinched. "She would become faster, stronger, more agile. Reaction speed would increase thanks to modification of the nervous system and muscular framework. I would make you a perfect..."
"Over my dead body," Mara blurted out.
I could swear she reached for her lightsaber.
"Furthermore," Orun Va declared. "I would make sure all her changes are inherited by her offspring."
"You are talking about implanting dominant genes," I said. "Which form over the course of evolution."
"Precisely," the Kaminoan agreed. "The changes we make for clones are recessive. Even if they manage to mate and produce common offspring, its continuation will not receive any of that set of genes we put into the clone."
Let's file that thought away.
As far as I recall, there is at least one descendant of a modified ARC clone and... a Jedi.
I wonder what the Kaminoan would say to that?
Well, we'll keep useful information to ourselves.
As well as the fact that the Kaminoans can reverse everything they have done to human genes.
But of course, they won't do that.
Bad for business.
The accelerated aging program is the foundation of fast clone growth.
But some clones — the Nulls and those ARCs who joined them — managed to get rid of this affliction.
With the help of the aforementioned Ko Sai.
Consequently, the Kaminoans can provide clones with a normal lifespan.
But they don't do it in their "domestic work."
Why?
For the same reason they don't pass altered genes to the children of the clones they manufacture.
Because there is a chance that the customer might start breeding bastards to save money on the next clone purchase.
This way, the product looks like an ordinary sentient but ages twice as fast.
Say, if it's a miner, its death is only a matter of time.
From old age or from unbearable working conditions — the question is less important in the current situation.
At the same time, it cannot give birth to a child with the same data that the Kaminoans gave it, a child that could become its replacement in the same jobs in the future.
And then the mine owner would turn to the Kaminoans again for new products — which would go into the same cycle.
Given the high cost of genetic profile research, you could say the clone-makers have arranged things quite conveniently.
"Well, your speech was substantive, Orun Va," I said. "Without any doubt, I will not hand over Hand to you under any pretext. I know that the Kaminoans have experimented more than once with the genes of sentients sensitive to the Force. I am sure that, since you consider yourself successful in creating the 'Vultures,' you hope to continue other research."
"Of course, I am a scientist," Orun Va agreed. "You have the original of my Vultures. Change the loyalty settings in the training programs and continue creating them. This woman is strong, resilient..."
"And dead," I added. "The Zann Consortium destroyed all the cargo ships holding the cargo and bodies recovered from the surface during their retreat. Whatever you did with the Vulture original, she is destroyed."
"Is that confirmed?" Now the Kaminoan was clearly puzzled.
"Your own Vultures blew up the ships so the valuable cargo wouldn't fall into our hands," I explained. "So, you'll have to start your work from scratch."
"That is painstaking labor," Orun Va frowned. "A new donor, new genes, new experiments..."
That's curious.
"I am ready to begin the task of creating the clones you need," Orun Va declared.
He changes his mind quickly.
And I don't think it's due to any personal quirks of his.
No, this sentient is doing exactly what I am doing right now.
"Quite quick to change your mind about wanting to cooperate," Mara said.
As had been agreed beforehand, she was fulfilling the role of a destabilizing element, pointing out problems in the Kaminoan's own logic.
"Simply because now I am certain that you will agree to them," the Kaminoan declared. "The Vulture donor is destroyed, which means you cannot implant her data from the imprint machine into the minds of other clones — that would lead to clone degradation within a short time."
That's precisely why we "ran out" so quickly of Colonel Selid's clones, who had stuffed his memories into four thousand of the most varied clones. Only those lucky enough to have the DNA of the former commandant of Mount Tantiss in their incubators survived.
The rest... "Killed in action."
That's the official phrasing for the clones with the Colonel's memories but not his body being removed from "circulation" upon exhibiting dementia and frozen in carbonite.
Because destroying them or letting them continue missions would be foolish.
Perhaps it might be possible to reverse the process...
"And you can do nothing about this degradation," Orun Va dashed my hopes (for now). "You produce clones, and you succeed. But not so well — otherwise you wouldn't have sent your agent behind enemy lines to capture enemy clone-makers. Judging by what I saw of your assault commando squad — one clone and three regular fighters — you either have equipment problems and therefore use mixed units, or you have run out of suitable originals for cloning for specific specializations. And you hope that my group and I can restore the original's genetic code and continue supplying your troops with specific clones. That cannot be done — I have already explained why. You can extract as much information as you like from the minds of the clones you have, but you cannot impart it to other genotypes. Human genetics will not allow such experiments. The dementia I promised will occur. And wasting precious time producing clones that, after a few weeks, will forget which end of a weapon to hold is wasteful. You have no other options — you need my help. And you will get it on my terms! Only that way!"
I calmly looked at the Kaminoan sitting before me, applauding him mentally.
Yes, he grasped the essence of some of our problems in the area where his knowledge surpasses ours.
And even drew almost correct conclusions.
The only problem is that while he was gathering information from me during the conversation, I was doing the same regarding him.
"Are you done?" I asked.
"Yes," the clone-maker replied.
"Well, I can congratulate you — you have just proven the value of your knowledge as a specialist," I said.
"As I have already said — I am necessary to you!"
"Not you," Mara said, poorly concealing her moral satisfaction. "Only your knowledge."
"The problem is that you will not get it," the clone-maker replied. "I won't give it voluntarily, and you cannot force me to work through torture. I will not work on anyone else's terms."
"And you won't have to," I declared. "Your clone will do it for you."
"Which you will not be able to manufacture in the Spaarti cloning cylinders you have," the Kaminoan reminded me. "And even if you throw your forces into reconquering Kamino, it will take you ten years..."
"Four to five months," I corrected him. "Yes, we know about the ysalamiri effect on accelerating the cloning process."
"But you don't have the lizards themselves," the Kaminoan geneticist continued searching for arguments.
"To your misfortune, we do," Mara was barely concealing the venom in her voice. "Or did you think we manufacture clones over a year, as the Spaarti program prescribes? No. Fifteen days — and we have a combat-ready clone, whose skills and knowledge are constantly updated thanks to the successes of the originals."
"Your help was needed only on a few points, which you graciously revealed during this conversation," I said. "And I thank you for your honesty — working with you is dangerous. But your clone..."
"First, conquer Kamino," for the first time in our entire conversation, an emotion appeared on the clone-maker's face.
Yes, spite and sarcasm, but still.
"And I guarantee you that none of the inhabitants there will want to cooperate with the followers of the Empire, no matter what conditions you offer," Orun Va continued with undisguised venom in his words.
"At the moment, I have just over twenty-seven thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders," I admitted. "In two cycles, the Dominion can equip a whole squadron of ships or six legions of stormtroopers. But these are all details. The main thing is that you won't live to see it."
"I will live long enough for you not to conquer Kamino..."
"You will live exactly as long," I said, "as is necessary to grow your clone in a Kaminoan cylinder that I possess. And it will obediently do what it is told."
"You lie," Orun Va blurted out. "You cannot have such technology! It was never supplied anywhere, and is not supplied!"
"Then perhaps you forget how often and how much time the Empire spent on Kamino, learning your secrets," I said. "The cylinder is fully functional — I created my own clone some time ago. And it successfully completed its task."
It's just a shame that when copying my memory, they couldn't find the knowledge of Mitth'raw'nuruodo.
It seems they are lost forever...
But what is there to grieve over?
"Then what was this meeting for?" The clearly enraged Kaminoan geneticist leaned forward.
"Simply obtaining the information that interests me," I shrugged. "As well as necessary and valuable experience communicating with representatives of your caste, which gave me all the answers regarding how to make your subordinates work in your absence. Until the clone is ready, of course. After that, I will allow you to enjoy the moments of it obediently executing my commands, like a droid. I won't hide it — I'm curious how strong your personal crisis will be when you realize you've turned from a 'producer' of clones into a 'product.'"
"You are conducting psychological experiments on me," Orun Va stated. "Are you also an experimenter seeking the ideal? Then you are my colleague, albeit in a related field."
There was even a note of admiration in his voice.
It was so disgusting — hearing approval from his lips — that I barely kept myself from grimacing in revulsion.
When an engine mechanic calls a surgeon a colleague, simply because each of them works with the 'heart' of a moving object, the mechanic either gets punched in the face or is offered to rebuild the motor while the engine is running.
In my memory, no one of the 'mechanicals' has ever managed that.
Physics and biology, they are sciences, of course, but not about the same thing.
"Don't try to ingratiate yourself with me by searching for supposed commonalities between us," I interrupted the geneticist's encroachment on my psyche, continuing to look into his eyes. "And I'll even reveal to you, as 'colleague to colleague,' senior geneticist, that the results of working with you and your colleagues will allow me to develop the most correct tactics for communicating with your own kin. So that they, unlike you, would serve the Dominion after their liberation from the control of the 'Zann Consortium' of their own free will."
"You are a monster," Orun Va pronounced. "A villain, a murderer, the same kind of destroyer of racial identity as all Imperials!"
Mara laughed out loud, unashamed, causing the Kaminoan to flinch nervously and start looking around.
These 'final convulsions mixed with accusations' always look like part of a comedy sketch.
"You have no idea how right you are," I agreed. "Fortunately, the vacancy for galactic hero was not offered to me."