A Young Girl's War Between the Stars [Youjo Senki/Star Wars]

84

A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars84

Kamino. 35 BBY/965 GSC.

“I’m surprised you got this done so quickly,” I commented as we walked through the Kaminoan building to their surgery theater/lab, from the testing lab where we had just finished establishing baselines for ourselves.

“Developing the process with your initial sample took the longest, because we needed to conduct extensive tests to ensure quality. For your Padawans, the process was much simpler by comparison,” the tall woman answered as we entered a clean room.

I looked to my Padawans and pointed to the robes provided. “Strip, go through the shower, and put on the robes,” I instructed, and they quickly got to it. I stepped into the sonic/UV shower as well, but left my gear on—I wasn’t the one getting operated on. I would be present in the room to oversee the process, but well back from the actual cutting being done.

When I finished, the tall alien woman asked, “Are you not going to join them?”

“I already had my eyes replaced,” I pointed out, wondering if this wasn’t a different woman. Kaminoans all looked alike—because they were a race made up largely of clones who had all been genetically engineered for their idea of perfection. There was very little differentiation between clone lines that I had seen.

“Did you not receive our message?” she asked, raising what passed for an eyebrow. When I shook my head, she explained, “We have finished production and testing of several new organs, ready for implantation. I have a list if you would like to see it?”

Intrigued, I nodded, and she handed me a data pad. I quickly began reading over it, slowly nodding as I did.

First up was an entire enhanced ear structure and a new subdermal hearing organ. The first would allow my regular ears to pick up sounds at higher and lower ranges from further away—a simple enhancement over what I already had. The second would attach to my skull and act in much the same way a bone conduction hearing aid would—allowing me to use my entire skull as a microphone to pick up things even further outside of normal human hearing, and the suggested placement would allow for better perception of direction and movement.

Next, a new, small organ that would attach to the olfactory bulb, olfactory nerves, and tongue. Another simple upgrade, which would greatly enhance my sense of smell and taste. It should be comparable to a dog’s sense of smell, in their estimates.

I felt my entire body shudder at the thought of what that surgery would entail, before forcibly pushing it from my mind.

Moving on, the next options left me raising an eyebrow.

They had apparently developed enhanced lungs that performed better than the human standard at a third of the size. If I agreed to this one, they would replace my lungs with three new ones. The second and third lung would each seal themselves off normally, but biological sensors would detect environmental oxygen content, my heart rate, blood oxygen levels, and other inputs and open up the second and third as needed. Either in low oxygen environments, or if I got into combat or any sort of prolonged exertion, in order to increase oxygen flow. Those same new sensors would continue to measure blood oxygen levels constantly, in order to prevent oxygen toxicity.

The choice of three new lungs instead of four was intentional. Removing two thirds of a lung on one side created an intentional asymmetry that made room for an enhanced heart and a secondary heart, and all the connective tissue, veins, and arteries required to make them work together.

Enhanced kidneys were next on the list. It was another straight performance upgrade, though nothing to really write home about.

Like the lungs, they had found a way to increase the effectiveness of the digestive tract and reduce its overall size while maintaining a performance increase over what it would be replacing. It was another of those quality of life improvements that would be nice to have but wasn’t , but like the design of the lungs, was meant to go with another enhancement—another artificial organ that tied into the new lungs, heart, and my immune system.

This one would produce and store extra red and white blood cells, along with platelets, cycling them out and replacing them over time under normal operation. But if I hit a certain level of stress or exertion, it would release a flood of red blood cells to increase blood oxygenation—, in other words. If I got sick, it would likewise flood my body with white blood cells. If I got wounded, it could pour out extra platelets while minimizing risk of complications from that, such as heart attack or stroke.

A final note said they were looking at my livers, but honestly, they were already ridiculously developed and efficient and they were coming up short on ways to improve those. Go figure.

I handed the datapad back, then moved to start getting changed. “I’ll approve all of them except the improvement to smell and taste for now. I’m worried that doing so would be overwhelming when combined with the change to hearing.”

“Very well,” the kaminoan woman nodded as my Padawans hurried out and began changing into robes.

“I’ll go last. Take care of them first and I’ll use the Force to heal them, before you do mine.” In the middle of pulling on the hospital robe, I looked over my shoulder and asked, “What’s the expected recovery time from this?”

She hummed, tapping at the datapad. “We would normally advise a month inside a bacta tank to heal fully, however, after your demonstration of using the Force for healing upon your last visit, we have adjusted our numbers somewhat. We’ve halved our estimated timeline for recovery.”

“I see,” I murmured. “Do you have a spare bacta tank and a supply of bacta I can purchase?”

She paused, before tapping away at her pad. “…Yes. Why?”

I grinned and finished pulling on my robe. “I’m going to call my mechanic and have her bring some supplies and tools down. We’re going to make some modifications to one. If I have to be awake and inside another bacta tank for more than a few hours, I’m not going to be bored and cut off from the outside world. Can you provide a sterile lab where we can work?”

“Certainly. We would of course appreciate seeing any modifications you make. Anything that can be used to improve the experience, we would be willing to license.”

I nodded and grabbed my holocom, putting in a call to Cindy. The blonde answered on the second ring, looking up from where she was apparently in the middle of helping out with maintenance on the . “Hey boss lady. Thought you’d be with the kiddos getting their medical visit done by now?”

Following the girls and our kaminoan guide, I nodded. “We’re heading that way now. Listen, I need you to get cleaned up, head planetside, and bring some supplies with you. Have the loading crew help you load up a box of kyber crystal and another with songsteel. Also, a hologram projector and speakers that can survive immersion in bacta. I’m sending you coordinates to a landing pad. I need you to bring that down, along with whatever tools you think you’ll need to disassemble and reassemble a bacta tank.”

Cindy grinned, raising an eyebrow as she turned away for a moment to tell someone she had to go, before hurrying down the corridor she was in. “Boss, you’re not supposed to live in one of those things, you know?”

“. And yet, I keep finding myself stuck inside one every so often. This time, I’ll have entertainment and some advantages.”

She considered me for a moment before asking, “You’re going to do the same thing you did with the ship?” When I nodded, she chuckled. “Got it. I’ll be down in about an hour. I assume you want to bring it back with us when we’re done and I should go ahead and make some space for it in your level on the ?”

“Please,” I confirmed.

“Will do! See you soon!”

With that, the call disconnected and we entered the surgical theater. I put away my holocom and prepared myself for what was to come.

“You can go first,” Allaya said.

“Mm… I’ll let you do it,” Asajj countered.

I rolled my eyes.

“Play rock, paper, scissors and figure it out, before I decide. If I have to pick, you’re both getting extra PT,” I warned.

The girls went wide-eyed and quickly extended their hands. A moment later, Allaya won, and Asajj groaned quietly before climbing onto the waiting bed. I glanced at Allaya and offered, “You can wait outside if you don’t want to see. Seeing surgery involving the eyes has a tendency to unsettle most people.”

She frowned, before stubbornly shaking her head. “I’ll stay.”

I considered her for a moment before nodding. If she felt she could handle it, I would let her try.

Floating in warm liquid with unfortunately necessary tubes shoved in uncomfortable places, I sighed as I cracked my eyes open from my last session of prolonged meditation and healing. My body felt tingly all over from bacta, but otherwise mostly back to normal. The aches, pains, and itch of healing was gone.

Taking a moment to self-reflect, taking in my body’s state and comparing it to before the latest surgery, there were some noticeable differences.

Closing my eyes, I focused on my sense of hearing. Through the transparisteel wall of the bacta tank that, with my Force powers and some help from Cindy, we had reshaped from a cylinder into as close to a sphere as we could get it, I could hear the sounds of conversations, machinery, and distantly the distinct sounds of blaster fire and shouts of instructors training clone troops. I could even faintly hear waves outside, crashing against the building. The sounds should have been more muffled, even inaudible through the bacta and walls of the tank, but some property of the combination of enhanced ears and the bone conduction allowed them to come through relatively clearly. Clear enough that I could make out orders being given, and the sounds of my Padawans playing a game of holochess as they talked quietly nearby.

Then, there was the other omni-present sound filling the tank. My hearts beat a steady but unfamiliar rhythm of , at about half the speed my old heart had each, but roughly the same number of beats per minute, keeping my blood pressure about the same. It might be a little high, but that could be my new normal. Or it may take some time to adjust. I’d need to wait and see.

My breathing seemed strange. Over-full. Like I couldn’t take a full, deep breath. I hit about a third of that and my lungs—, I reminded myself—felt like it was ready to burst. There was another feeling there in my chest, like a clenched muscle. Focusing on it, I unclenched, and my diaphragm expanded—then expanded the rest of the way up to a full breath, filling all three lungs. I let out a relieved sigh, letting those muscles clench again, then focused on accustoming myself to what felt like very shallow breathing.

And then, there was the hunger. I was . I felt like I could eat a horse—metaphorically speaking. I was thirsty as well. The tube-supplied carefully calculated nutrient paste and water didn’t feel like they were enough. I also felt bone weary—drained and like it would take days to recover physically. As far as the Force went, the modified tank helped as I’d thought it would, and had kept me supplied with a constant, concentrated stream of Force throughout the entire process, allowing me to heal myself nonstop the moment I’d been dumped into the tank and the lid closed.

Reaching up, I hit the controls to start draining and filtering the bacta back into its containers and open the top. A moment later, I nearly fell as the bacta was vacuumed out of the tank and the initial cleaning sequence started, flushing the tank and hosing me down with water. As that went on, I went through the uncomfortable process of disconnecting myself from the.Once that finished, the top opened and moved aside and a short ladder descended into the tank. Climbing out on shaky arms and legs, I hefted myself onto the platform above the tank and sat for a moment to catch my breath.

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“Master?!” Asajj yelped as the pair of girls jerked up from where they had been playing holochess.

“I’ll get a robe,” Allaya murmured, hurrying over to a nearby cabinet and collecting one to bring over. I waved her off and stepped into the nearby shower, taking the time to properly wash the bacta out of everything, followed by running it on sonic mode to dry off.

By the time I was finished and accepted the offered robe, I heard footsteps approaching from down the hall at a fast pace. The strides were too long and the weight too low for a human, so I assumed it was a kaminoan. A moment later, the door opened and one of the tall aliens entered.

“What are you doing? You should not be out of the tank yet! How are you even mobile?”

“Constant healing. That’s what the modifications were for,” I explained, sitting down on a bench as the tall alien came over and waved a handheld medical scanner over me. The weakness was slowly leaving my body now that I was up and moving around. My personal assessment was that after a good meal and some time to process it, then a bit of light exercise to warm up, I should be back to normal.

“This is incredible,” the kaminoan murmured. “We will have to update our models.”

“I’m sure. What time is it, and is the chow hall open? I’m starving.”

The man looked at me incredulously. “You shouldn’t be hungry at all. The nutrient flow was precisely calculated—” I pointedly looked at the datapad in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “….”

“Mm.” I stood, looking around a minute before spotting my clothes. “I’m going to get dressed, then get something to eat.”

“We need to run tests and see how well the new organs perform, and ensure there are no problems…”

Nodding, I ushered him towards the door. “And we will. After I’m dressed and have eaten.”

With that, I closed the door behind him and sighed quietly as I heard him walking away, before turning back to my Padawans. “Anything happen while I was out?”

“Nn,” Allaya shook her head. “Nothing interesting.”

“We mostly just trained and got used to our new eyes,” Asajj confirmed.

“Boba was annoying,” the redhead added, as I headed over to the dresser that most likely had my things in it.

Opening it up and finding what I was hoping for, I began to get dressed. “In what way?”

Asajj shrugged. “He said it’s not fair that we have the Force and he doesn’t and that if we didn’t, we couldn’t beat him when we spar.”

I rolled my eyes. Working my way into my body suit, I explained, “People aren’t equal. That’s just reality. Height, potential for strength, speed, intelligence—these are all things we have no control over without outside intervention, such as what the kaminoans do here. They’re intrinsic traits that you’re born with, determined entirely by your genes. You can’t change those things naturally, once a child is born. Unfortunately, there is no exercise that will give you an extra foot of height once you hit the end of your growth. There are limits to how much you can improve yourself by working hard, with training and study.

“If we take baseline humans as the universal standard, then a wookiee is going to be taller and stronger. Siniteens can plot hyperspace routes in their heads and cereans like Master Mundi have two brains. And while sometimes that means they can be twice as wrong or wrong twice as fast, such as with the case of Master Mundi, it also means they have a higher general level of intelligence. To my knowledge, the Force is likewise one of those things you’re born with. Either you can use it or you can’t.”

Sealing up my suit, I turned and met their eyes. “Is it fair that wookiees are stronger than us? Is it fair that siniteens are smarter than us? Is it fair that you can use the Force and Boba can’t? Perhaps it isn’t. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what you choose to do with those advantages if you have them, and what you do to close the gap or find ways to compensate if you don’t. Whining about how is what losers do. Perpetual victims who don’t want to put in the work, or find a way to overcome the differences. Those sorts of people will only hinder you because they want to drag you down to their level, and should be avoided.”

Grabbing my robe, I pulled it on over my suit and secured my weapons. Sending them an amused look, I added, “Or he was just being a child, complaining because he’s embarrassed at getting beaten at something he’s supposed to be good at. That’s normal. He’ll grow out of it. Just don’t be a brat about it if you beat him at something and he’ll get over it and won’t resent you for it. Now, let’s go find the cafeteria.”

I allowed the kaminoans a week to run their tests as I adjusted to the new organs, in order to keep an eye on things and avoid any complications. Everything performed better than expected, according to their readings. My body had assimilated and adjusted to the new organs and they were working better than they had even under their most favorable lab conditions—a result of the Force, no doubt.

The changes to my baseline performance were well beyond my own expectations. By the end of that week of testing, my body felt stronger, faster, and overall better than it ever had. My endurance was off the scale. I could run further, longer, and faster without the Force. I could pump weights that had been beyond my base strength, and do far more reps at that weight than I could at my previous best.

My senses were sharper and it didn’t take as long as I had feared to adjust to the new hearing. I could pick out individual breathing, heartbeats, and steps from impressive distances. It had come easily enough that midway into the week, I approved the surgery to install the artificial organ to increase my sense of smell and taste as well.

took more of an adjustment. The smell of the sea was nearly overwhelming—not to mention the scents of a thousand or more clones, Mandos, and kaminoans mingling in the facility and the ever present lingering stench of body odor and sweat. Restrooms were a nightmare and took some getting used to—to the point that I made a mental note to wear a breathing filter if I ever needed to go to any swamp planets, ecumenopoli, or other planets with unpleasant smells in abundance.

And then there was my own scent. For the first time, I could smell my own pheromones—at least, for the first few days. Apparently I released trace amounts even while controlling myself. It was…. Hard to describe. Soft, sweet, a bit floral, but also somewhat umami.Thankfully, I was immune to my own metaphorical poison. It just made me hungry, until I stopped smelling it and went nose-blind to it again.

Taste was also a nuisance. Some foods I hadn’t minded before were suddenly awful. Anything processed tasted like chemicals. I would also have to adjust my use of spices, once I got back to the ship.

The results of everything when I used the Force were amazing. I wasn’t any stronger in the Force than I was before, but I could do more physically with what I had. If I were to fight Master Mundi or Krell again under the same limitations as before, I would wipe the floor with them.

After that week of observation and testing to make sure nothing was being rejected, I confirmed with the kaminoans that they had the other two batches ready, and pitched the idea to the girls. They were reluctant, but agreed at my urging. They went under one at a time, giving me time to concentrate on healing first one, then the other. Then, it was more tests to make sure they adapted properly as well and wouldn’t need constant care. The girls bounced back faster than I had—the benefit of youth, I guessed—and were soon running around with Boba again.

Finally, with all the testing done and new research and development approved and paid for and my modified bacta tank shipped up to the , I called a meeting with the clones and Mandos. The largest training field was just large enough for everyone to gather late on the last evening of our stay.

Looking around at the gathered mass of clones, I didn’t see a crowd of two faces repeated over and over hundreds of times. I saw soldiers eagerly waiting for orders and future citizens, even if they didn’t know it yet. Clearing my throat, I cast a public address formula and began.

“Jango tells me you’ve all done well in your training. I’ve seen you all working and confirmed this for myself. I can say with confidence that you exceed every standard the Republic sets for their regular forces and match up to the skill of the Mandalorians this training course was modeled after. Congratulations on making it this far. You’ll do us proud in the coming war.” I turned, looking to Jango and his chosen group of trainers. “You’ve all done a fine job of instructing these men and women in the art of war, and I’ll make sure you’ll be receiving a handsome bonus on top of what you’re already being paid in recognition of that.”

There were some quiet cheers at that and I allowed them a moment, before continuing. “That being said, I’d like to speak of the future.” I looked out across the gathered clones, meeting their gazes. “Your future. Not just the coming war, but what comes after. But first, I need to speak of the past, so that you understand how we came to be here, what this means for you, and your options going forward.”

Waving my hand, I cast an illusion formula, projecting an image of Master Dyas above us—rendered at ten times his scale. “When I joined the Jedi Order, it was because I saw the signs of a war brewing and was brought in to warn the High Council of the coming threat. The Trade Federation were gearing up for a conflict with the Republic and I found the paper trail, laid out in purchases, equipment buildup, and so forth. Of all the Jedi on the High Council, aside from my own Master, only Master Sifo-Dyas was willing to actually act on the information I provided. Together, we raised the funds to create a grand army capable of dealing with the threat of the Trade Federation. Little did we realize at the time how complex the situation truly was.”

I paused for a moment, letting them take that in before continuing. “To put things very simply… The Trade Federation want free reign to exploit the people of the galaxy in every way they can and have positioned themselves to make an attempt to take over the Republic, both through financial means and some direct conflict in order to pressure the Republic Senate to hand over power to them. The Republic, on the other hand, will want the Trade Federation neutralized as a future threat… so they can continue exploiting the people of the galaxy every way they can.”

There were some feelings of confusion and quiet murmurings at that, so I explained. “For over a thousand years now, since the Ruusan Reformation, the Republic have been the uncontested governing body in the galaxy—with the Hutts as the only real holdouts, and that’s only because the Republic didn’t see them as worth bringing into line and under Republic rule. What does that mean for the rest of the galaxy? What does Republic rule look like? Well…

“It means every inhabited sector in the galaxy over a certain population size pays taxes to the Republic, ostensibly for their protection and the protection provided by the Republic’s fleet from pirates, raiders, and the like. It means giving the Core—Coruscant and other ecumenopoli—first dibs on foodstuffs, sold at ruinous costs that anyone with eyes would label as slave labor. Likewise, it means sending tithes of processed materials and technology to the Core, so Republic shipyards can build and maintain the Republic navy’s fleet. A fleet that was cut down to a bare minimum after the Reformation. A fleet that is under-manned, under-supplied, and under-gunned. A fleet that only truly protects the Core and fails to patrol out past the Mid-Rim, leaving those of us in the Outer Rim to fend for ourselves. It means that when Mid- and Outer Rim planets and sectors rightfully come to the Senate to address these grievances, they are barred by red tape, met with every bureaucratic obstacle imaginable, attempted bribes, stonewalled, and ultimately denied. And this has been going on for .”

I paused to swallow and wet my throat, giving them a moment to digest that and gauge their response. For the most part, the clones were either apathetic, or disappointed. I could understand why, in both cases. Either they didn’t care because this didn’t affect them, or they cared enough to be disappointed that the side they had literally been created to defend weren’t as great as they had likely been told. The Mandos, on the other hand, were quietly nodding along—I wasn’t saying anything they didn’t already know, even if they had been kept on a comms blackout and the last news they got from off Kamino came from the when we arrived and they were just catching up.

“That is why a group of like-minded planets in the Mid- and Outer Rim have joined together and left the Republic, forming a Confederation of Independent Systems. Under Master Dooku’s—” I paused, then corrected myself as they wouldn’t use that title. “Under Suzerain Dooku’s leadership, we have taken matters into our own hands, to bring peace and stability to our sectors and the Mid-Rim and Outer Rim regions. We’ve begun building up a fleet to combat pirates and drive the Trade Federation off of worlds they’ve illegally occupied. We have an elite force of Mandalorian fighters and are building a navy and army composed of volunteers from around the Confederacy. But it’s going to take time to train them up to our standards. What we lack right now is raw manpower and a trained force of fighters ready to go, to act here and now to defend the Confederacy and our independence. Which brings me back to .”

I gestured towards the image of one of the few Masters whose company I enjoyed, who I would very likely never see again. “When Master Dyas and I put in the order for this army, we weren’t certain what the future held. Just that we were building it to counter the threat of the Trade Federation and their ability to mass produce droids and armor for cheap. We didn’t anticipate a secession from the Republic over the Republic’s failures to uphold its oaths to its constituents. Unfortunately, while we have been unable to confirm it at this time, we believe Master Dyas has died—most likely killed by a Sith. That leaves me in charge of this operation. I would like to honor my friend’s wishes, but I didn’t help build this army to see it turned against me and my people. That said… You are clones. You were created to fight. But you are human beings. Sentient, living, thinking people. You deserve the freedom to choose your own future. So that is what I am here to offer. A choice.”

Anticipation, doubt, and a storm of other emotions filled the air from the clones, while the Mandos grew grim and wary as quiet murmuring picked up among the clones. At my direction, the illusion of Master Dyas faded away, shifting to simple glowing text. The first section read, ‘Option one: side with the Republic.’

“Option one: you continue as you have been. Stay here, continue training without the , and eventually when the Republic declares war, you’ll be turned over to them as an asset to use in their fight against the Trade Federation and the Confederacy. You’ll be little better than property and I can’t say what rights, if any, you will have within the Republic. They won’t have a plan for what to do with you after. They will spend your lives, then when your accelerated growth ages you out, I don’t know if they will have any sort of plan for allowing you to retire.”

I could feel the discontent about that option, but some of them seemed to settle in and stubbornly make their decision on the spot to stick with it. So, I pressed on and a new line joined the first. ‘Option two: disband.’

“Secondly, you can choose to disband. Retire. You will be paid out for your time served so far and transport off world will be arranged. I’ll speak with the Kaminoans and ensure that you keep your rifles and sidearms, and are issued appropriate civilian clothing and supplies. After that, you’re on your own. You can go where you like, do what you like. You won’t have any legal identity in the Republic systems, but you could spend your entire lives living happily without them.”

That seemed to appeal to a few of the clones, but the majority were indifferent. I finished up with the choice I hoped they would make. ‘Option three: join me.’

“I’ve saved the option I hope you’ll choose for last. Obviously, I’m biased—I’ll freely admit that. I want your service and your loyalty, and I am willing to purchase it and fight to keep it. I want you to fight not just for the Confederacy, but for me, as your Mand’alor. I don’t care that you’re clones. I know your templates, your father and mother if you will. I’ve fought beside Jango and Sheeka and am proud to call them clan brother and sister. That’s what I’m offering you. Your freedom. Your lives. Clan and family. Citizenship and identities within the Confederacy and adoption into our clan, making you true Mandalorians. A place to call home.

“That is, of course, in addition to pay, benefits, and a retirement plan that doesn’t involve a blaster bolt to the back and ending up in a shallow ditch. I’ll have the full details sent to your datapads later, but if you choose to serve me, we will move you off of Kamino and resettle you on a planet within the Mandalorian sector to continue your training under the until it’s time. I will promise you, if you follow me, I will not spend your lives frivolously. We will not instigate a war with the Republic nor seek to conquer their worlds. We will only go to war with them in response to them attacking us first. I won’t lie to you, however. War with the Republic is almost guaranteed—they can’t let the secession stand. If you join, you are almost guaranteed to see action—definitely against the Trade Federation and potentially against the Republic, as this spirals into a three-way war.”

Looking around again, I found that the offer had interested just as many, if not more than those who wanted to stick it out for the Republic. So, I moved to wrap things up. “As a gesture of good faith, regardless of what you choose, I’ve spoken with the Kaminoans. When they engineered you, you were made to age quickly to adulthood. Unfortunately, they didn’t really take life after ‘service life’ as a metric they should consider. This means that you will continue aging faster than a baseline human should. You may, if you’re lucky, have fifty or sixty years of life before you die of old age. Or at least, that was to be the case. I’ve instructed the Kaminoans to work on a way to slow your aging down to human normal and administer the same longevity treatments you would get on practically any other civilized world, either in the Republic or Confederacy. If I can help it, then barring death in battle, you will all live long, healthy, full lives once this war is over, regardless of what you choose.”

A ripple of shock ran through the crowd at that, followed by joy, happiness, and a bit of anger and frustration. I brushed the emotions aside and added, “I’ll leave you to your decision. I will be leaving Kamino tonight. Jango,” I focused on the man and he snapped to attention.

“Mand’alor.”

“Have your people gather their things and make ready for travel. The will wait for your call and send shuttles down for any who need transport. I expect you en route for Mandalore first thing in the morning, where you’ll rendezvous with Jaster and Satine for debrief.”

Jango nodded. “Roger that.”

Raising my voice, I called, “Dismissed!”

The clones reacted as they were trained, turning and marching for their barracks, while the other Mandos made their way to their own housing section. I collected my Padawans and made for the , to meet with the and head home long enough to drop off any passengers, then it would be out to parts unknown to continue their training.