Ten years, first month, and twenty-sixth day after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, first month, and twenty-sixth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Eight months and eleventh day since the arrival).
The Dravian Spaceport, also known as Dravian Station, was an artificial astronomical object located on the outskirts of the Tamarin sector far in the southeast of the galaxy.
Stretching across the territory of three quadrants at once – N-18, O-19, and N-19, this region of the galaxy and the neighboring Rseik sector had long since plunged into complete anarchy.
Stories that Imperial forces were still present here were nothing more than rumors that reached the Core Worlds from the fringes at the speed a sentient's word could reach their interlocutor's ear.
The Tamarin sector and the neighboring Rseik sector.
The authority that had existed under the Empire was no more.
There were no more warships, no clear guard of the Sevarkos system where spice was mined, no more patrols or surveillance systems.
Here, only strength ruled – and nothing more.
It had taken Sergius some time to ascertain this.
The region had become a paradise for pirates, smugglers, robbers, slavers, spice dealers, and all sorts of adventurers willing to sell their own sister on the slave market for a few extra credits, or hand their mother over to a brothel.
A filthy place where you shouldn't turn your back even to an astromech droid – otherwise, it would try to rob you, severing your tendons with a circular saw so you couldn't run while it rummaged through your pockets with its manipulators.
Traveling the planets of the Tamarin sector, Sergius had seen enough of that to last a hundred lifetimes.
And now he sat in a cafeteria next to the hangar where his ship was parked, sipping mediocre caf and pondering the details of his assignment.
His mission, like that of all "Bravo"-class agents, was fully autonomous and granted exceptional authority.
No contact with command, no transmitters, beacons, or anything similar.
Nothing that could lead anyone to the chiefs behind Bravo-Eleven.
Sergius sipped his caf and pondered the situation.
The initial assignment – locate the local Moff and infiltrate his circle – could be considered a failure.
He was about a year too late for that mission.
Immediately after the Battle of Endor, the Tamarin sector was rocked by a wave of anti-Imperial uprisings.
The rabble crawled out of every crack, attempting to seize power.
Moff Lobax Ressun, who commanded here, faced widespread challenges not only from the crime that sensed weakness in Coruscant but also from fledgling planetary governments.
Ressun was also forced to combat the demoralization of the remaining Imperial forces and desertions.
According to data from Imperial archives, the sector fleet in Tamarin was very far from the vaunted two and a half thousand ships.
Tamarin was the fringe, a cancerous tumor tolerated by the Imperial Center solely for the spice mining on the planet Sevarkos II, which was a colony for extracting that raw material.
The Empire considered it excessively foolish to spend time and resources sorting out the local gangsters.
Therefore, Ressun's forces remained minuscule, directed exclusively at protecting the spice mines.
It was no wonder that after Endor, he had only one Imperial-class Star Destroyer left – Vengeance, aboard which he transferred his government.
Organized crime had transformed from small-time arms dealers and spice smugglers into a powerful military force sustaining the sector's economy.
Moff Ressun had managed to retain enough power and influence to avoid any open uprising against the Empire before Endor.
Over the years from the Battle of Yavin to the Battle of Endor, the Empire had pulled all possible forces to fight the Rebels, while local problems were left for the sector government to solve.
Ressun had tried to solve them for nearly five years since the first Death Star was destroyed.
He held several assets, but the united pirate forces defeated him last year.
By the time everyone forgot about the Moff, and he had nothing left but Vengeance.
The united pirate forces struck the Imperial research station in the sector, looted it, and destroyed it.
Soon after, Ressun himself was killed, and his ship – captured after heavy fighting.
Now it was somewhere in the sector and under pirate control.
Which, of course, having rid themselves of the sector government's leadership, began dividing power among themselves.
Blood flowed like a river all year, and few outside the sector cared at all.
Companies operating here preferred to buy off racketeers or use their own mercenaries to minimize business problems.
Thus, the Dravian spaceport had become a haven for smugglers and other scum because the planet was a great distance from any populated systems.
Due to the types of people who frequently visited the Dravian spaceport, the space station eventually filled with various kinds of businesses, including casinos, hotels, and restaurants.
Robbery and murder were rare here – security at least pretended to be interested in performing their duties.
Otherwise, the station resembled a hungover morning after a party interrupted in full swing by a sudden storm.
Dirty, musty, repulsive.
But it was here that "Nar Shaddaa Shipping" operated, which through fronts had ordered a significant number of Lucrehulk-class ships from the Hoersch-Kessel yards.
Why?
Not yet reliably known.
That was what Sergius had to find out.
The chain his colleagues had sniffed out on Nar Shaddaa needed to be carefully pulled further until it became clear who, for what purpose, and by what deadline would receive an entire fleet of warships.
Sergius had already familiarized himself with the affairs of "Nar Shaddaa Shipping."
Once they had gone well.
Now it was just another shell corporation, which, besides the office that Bravo-Eleven was watching while sipping his caf, had nothing else.
Not even in management, let alone ownership.
An interesting question, isn't it – how does a company whose most valuable asset on the balance sheet is a neon sign have hundreds of billions to acquire ships capable of transporting an occupation army, and moreover refitted to defend against an Imperial Star Destroyer and give it a proper fight back?
It was assumed that Ressun might know the answers to these questions.
But even if he did, the dead couldn't share their secrets.
There remained another, simpler, more dangerous, and more textbook way to obtain the necessary information.
Yes, undercover work.
But not in "Nar Shaddaa Shipping" itself – there only a recruiter worked, who kept no records.
No archives, logs, or anything similar.
Pure anarchy, the goal of which was to hire pilots and fighters who then departed in an unknown direction.
A scheme too familiar to ignore and attribute to some local pirate invention.
That was exactly how the Zann Consortium recruited pilots shortly after the Battle of Yavin, when the threat of this criminal organization became a revelation to the Galactic Empire.
Therefore, "Nar Shaddaa Shipping" was an enterprise affiliated with the Zann Consortium, recruiting fighters on the galactic fringes while other sectors were busy solving their own internal and external problems.
Simple, cheap, and nasty.
No one misses them; they're always, everywhere, and in all times used as expendable material.
Mercenaries, only at a big discount.
And that was a chance for him to infiltrate.
That's why an hour ago he had climbed into his Headhunter and started hunting space debris, blasting it with all the starfighter's guns.
Then he broke away, leaving several old Mandalorian patrol fighters looking foolish.
After that, he simply circled over the spaceport's landing docks, chose one that looked a bit better than the last, landed there, and settled in this cafeteria.
His actions were supposed to alarm and interest someone, and that's exactly what Sergius had aimed for with his maneuvers, so he was pleased with the result.
He had already caught interested glances from several mercenaries a few times; security in the form of two sentients loitered near the room's entrance, pretending to be busy with their affairs.
But a trained eye noted that their blasters were not in a carry position but in full combat readiness.
Just draw from the unbuttoned holster, aim at the target, and pull the trigger.
Sergius poured himself another mug of caf, leaned back in his chair, and continued watching the local holographic entertainment channels.
An hour and a half after his antics near the station, the locals' reaction didn't take long.
Several sentients in what passed for uniforms, blasters in hand, burst into the cafeteria.
They looked like security fighters, but they weren't.
Just thugs.
Who approached Sergius's table with unmistakable intent.
The latter greeted them with a smile, saluted with his caf mug, and then drained it.
They didn't find it as amusing as the agent did, so they grabbed Bravo-Eleven by the arms, dragged him out of the cafeteria, and led him down the station corridor toward the security section.
They hauled Sergius up the stairs, into a huge office, where they unceremoniously sat him in a chair and tossed his documents onto the massive desk.
Leaving only a couple of the six thugs as "honor guard," the escort retreated behind the door, leaving the agent in the office with one sentient.
An Ithorian.
Short, stocky, with narrowed eyes and hands diplomatically folded on the desk, he was so dapper and charming that he seemed the perfect pirate as portrayed in entertainment holodramas.
And despite the fact that up close Sergius could see dirt under his nails and numerous scars on his face and neck from past battles, the intangible magnetism of this sentient could not be denied.
Bravo-Eleven had encountered similar contingents of sentients over his long career.
Recruiters.
Something between a coach, psychologist, ordinary salesman, and thug all in one.
Especially this one.
His name was Marg Sonat, and once he had been the right-hand man of a pirate leader who operated against the local Moff.
It had ended lethally for the Moff, as known.
And for Sonat's commander too.
The Ithorian had killed the woman with his own hands.
After which the local civil war among the pirates had begun.
Marg Sonat.
The Ithorian looked good-naturedly at the deck lying before him, then stated:
"You're either a fool or a suicide, human, flying here in that starfighter. And especially – whatever you were doing with it near the station, unnerving our pilots and gunners."
"No, your pilots and gunners just pissed themselves when they saw what I'm capable of," Sergius feigned a relaxed smile and crossed his legs as if the pirates had come to his office, not the other way around. "I just showed you all what a skilled pilot can do."
The Ithorian burst out laughing:
"You think we'll thank you for that show?"
"I don't care what you say," Sergius shrugged. "I'm looking for work, not lectures and cheap intimidation."
"And you thought you'd be welcome here?" Marg Sonat clarified.
"First, I'm always welcome everywhere," Sergius slowly turned and looked at his guards. "Second – I've seen how you recruit anyone who can hold a weapon and at least put an X in the 'Signature' box. I, a professional pilot, am much more valuable than half the scum you've enlisted in the past weeks."
The Ithorian's gaze sharpened:
"And what makes you think we're recruiting pilots?"
"Who you are doesn't interest me at all," Sergius declared. "I was waiting for that clerk from 'Nar Shaddaa Shipping' to notice me. I doubt your outfit is from here. So either spill what you want from me, or get lost and don't interfere with me waiting for someone to come and hand me a case of credits for being such a hotshot."
The Ithorian no longer hid his genuine interest.
Had Sergius resorted to some manner of logical persuasion about what a great specialist he was – they would have put him against the wall or tossed him into the trash chute ending in an airlock.
Logic isn't loved in criminal circles.
But bragging, boldness, and the ability to back up simple, understandable words with action – yes.
"Suppose it depends on me whether you get hired at 'Nar Shaddaa Shipping' or not. What do you say now?"
And now the familiar haggling began.
The one with more audacity and peculiar arguments fitting pirate logic would win.
The other would be quietly disposed of.
If Sergius lost – they'd finish him off to eliminate the troublemaker at the recruitment point.
If Marg lost – his respect among the gang he was part of would drop lower than the bottom of a black hole.
And judging by the Ithorian's cheeky mug, he had no intention of ending his life path as a "pawn."
That meant he'd wriggle out in a way to stay in the plus.
And the only way to resolve this situation was one.
Sergius leaned forward in his chair:
"Well, then hire me. You know what I'm capable of. An organization that plans such large operations can't fail to pique my genuine desire to join and participate in the impending mess. I'm sure I'll be useful to you too."
Marg Sonat couldn't hold back:
"Useful? Ha! We're a force unto ourselves. What Hutt made you think we need your help?"
The agent smiled at him with all thirty-three teeth, but the smile was far from friendly:
"But I did trounce your pilots, right? And the station's gunners couldn't even get a lock on me. So I'm better than anything you've got active on this station. And your bosses will chew you out properly if you let a desperate guy like me slip away."
This statement brought a smile to the Ithorian's face.
"So, you think you can offer us your services. In what capacity?" he asked.
"Pilot," Sergius said firmly. "I think the whole station watched my flight quals. And the fact that I managed to steal a modified Z-95 from Baroness D'Asta's troops just proves I'm one lucky son of a bitch."
The ship had indeed once belonged to the baroness's forces.
Sergius had honestly stolen it from Nez Peron, fulfilling his part of the infiltration mission.
Infiltrating Imperials or pirates – no difference.
The main thing was he had a backstory that could easily be verified if you knew whom to ask.
If the Imperials were in power, they would have hired him as a pilot with his own ship without issue – on the fringes, that was welcomed, as small Remnants sometimes couldn't even repair damaged fighters.
For pirates, such a candidate fit perfectly on all fronts.
And since "Nar Shaddaa Shipping" was part of the Zann Consortium, checking his "legend" was no big deal.
Obviously, that's what they'd been doing from the moment he landed on the station until they dragged him here.
And the fact that he hadn't just stolen the ship but fought off the baroness's patrols only added realism to the story.
The Ithorian shook his large head:
"We have no pilot vacancies. We need fighters. I think you know how to handle a blaster too."
And that was part of the check too.
"So you're bullshitting me," Sergius jabbed a finger toward the wall where, in his opinion, the company's office should be. "Everyone knows 'Nar Shaddaa Shipping' is recruiting pilots. Their ads are all over the Outer Rim. If I wanted to be a grunt, I wouldn't have risked my ass stealing a fighter."
Imperial Intelligence used any chance to penetrate the organization they wanted.
If Sergius agreed right now to switch recruitment profiles – he'd at least get "on file."
As a rule, such "fickle" ones who easily changed preferences were simply killed.
There were pirates who scooped up everyone indiscriminately.
And there were those who had the audacity and self-belief to openly recruit fighters.
And it was worth remembering that the latter were the ones who had somehow destroyed Imperial authority in the sector.
That meant they had brains.
And since they were still alive, they could smell fakes from a parsec away.
"No one asked you to steal it," the Ithorian stated. "Am I supposed to enlist every schmo with a flying heap as a pilot?"
"If they fly like I do, you definitely won't regret it."
Marg Sonat laughed good-naturedly, easing the tension between the interlocutors.
"You amuse me, little human. But that's not enough to become a pilot in one of our squadrons."
"Then boot out at least one loser you've stuffed in there," Sergius advised. "Or give me a one-on-one fight with him. Survivor becomes pilot. And the loser... Who'd remember him anyway."
"Like hell!" Sonat's voice turned cold as ice. "You'd better get one thing straight about me right away, kid. Giving me ultimatums means digging your own grave. It'll be as I say – if you want in the gang, go to the infantry. And we'll give your ride to someone more deserving."
"Understood," Sergius cast a lazy glance at the two bruisers standing behind him and realized it was too early to relax. "In that case, you can shove your offer deep up your ass and stay out of my way. I'll find a gang where the recruiter has brains instead of a Hutt's ribbon in his skull."
With those words, he stood, but a heavy hand from one of the bruisers immediately landed on his shoulder.
"Stand down," the Ithorian ordered. "I wasn't finished."
But now there was no turning back.
"But I am," Sergius replied, executing a hold.
Agreeing to become infantry meant falling into the "meat" category, which would die in the first fight.
And here, none of his skills would suffice to survive.
The Zann Consortium's infantry in the past had been pumped full of drugs that dulled their fear and self-preservation instincts.
Pilots didn't get that – otherwise they'd be shot down like bloodsuckers in the swamps.
Unlikely that without changing the recruitment approach, the organization's leaders had deviated from their worldview regarding mercenaries.
That was at minimum unpragmatic.
Such rabble was cowardly and would scatter at the sight of an AT-AT on the horizon.
The second bruiser watched as his intellectual brother now lay face-down on the dirty floor.
And Sergius had twisted the one's limb with one hand while disarming him with the other.
"Shoot and you won't leave here," the Ithorian burbled with his double mouth, gesturing to stop the second bruiser. "The whole spaceport is under our control. If you go out alone – the hunt starts for you."
"I'd rather take the risk," Sergius assured. "At least to tell my contacts that mercenaries aren't valued here, and you specifically can't even properly assess a candidate."
"But I caaan," Bravo-Eleven heard a hissing voice behind him.
Right where the blank wall had been when he entered.
The agent slowly turned so as not to leave his back exposed to a possible attack.
It seemed he had indeed managed to interest someone bigger than the Ithorian...
"Boss," the frightened Marg Sonat jumped up from behind the desk and trotted toward the burly Trandoshan in a yellow pilot jumpsuit with a white load-bearing vest.
A powerful rifle hung over his shoulders, but the Trandoshan was calm, relaxed, and looked at Sergius with undisguised interest.
"I was negotiating and..."
A blow from the scaly paw knocked the Ithorian to the floor, where he whined deeply in pain and humiliation.
Which prompted the Trandoshan to "add" with kicks.
"Silence, Ssssonat," the Trandoshan's voice literally oozed malice and irritation. "Don't tessst my patience."
"Y-yes, b-boss..."
The Trandoshan smiled, insofar as one could call it that for a predatory grin of an upright two-meter (or so) solidly built reptile.
He approached the second bruiser, lightning-fast grabbed him by the neck, yanked him down, and kneed him in the face, sending him to the floor just like the Ithorian.
"Ussselesss," the Trandoshan pronounced irritably, looking at his underlings with annoyance.
He shifted his gaze to Sergius, to the bruiser he held, and grinned predatorily.
"Do me a favor, human," he hissed. "Shoot this halfwit."
Sergius didn't need to be asked twice.
The blaster drilled a hole in the first bruiser's occiput, and the agent released the limb of the fresh corpse.
"I like you," the Trandoshan approached the Dominion agent closer. "You're hired, pilot. Whom did you ssserve in the past?"
"Alderaanian Guard," Sergius saw no need to hide another part of his fictional past.
"Don't like Imperials?" the Trandoshan inquired.
"Pay me and tell me which ones and how to kill," Sergius chuckled smugly.
"And Republicccans?" asked the boss of the now-silent Marg Sonat.
"I cull the defective ones with the same efficiency," Sergius yawned. "So, when do I start?"
"You already have," the Trandoshan assured him, extending his right hand. "What's your name, human?"
"Ace," Sergius introduced himself.
"You'll ssserve on my ship, Ace," the Trandoshan assured him. "I'm called Bossssk."
('As if I didn't know who you are').
"Nice to meet you, chief," Sergius replied carefree, shaking the Trandoshan's scaly palm.
('I'll make a belt out of you, you pathetic reptiloid'), the Dominion agent decided the fate of the Zann Consortium lieutenant.
Bossk.
***
"...Kaminoan scientists have been placed under reliable guard by guardsmen at the facility," Colonel Astarian reported. "The new Spaarti cloning cylinders obtained during the operation on Smarck have been assembled and are in the process of testing and verification. According to reports from my operatives involved in overseeing the Kaminoans' work, the installations are ready for reproducing new clones and have directly participated in launching the fifth batch of the current year."
Clone production in the Dominion follows simple logic for ease of accounting.
First – year of manufacture.
Given the accelerated aging of Spaarti clones, this is a very significant factor.
Second – production batch.
That's already specifics.
We've debugged the process so that in a standard year of three hundred sixty-five days, we produce twenty-four full batches of clones.
Fifteen days to manufacture one batch.
Thus, at the end of the second month of the tenth year after the Battle of Yavin, we already had four full batches of twenty thousand elite specialists each.
Starting from the fifth batch, we'll produce twenty-seven thousand clones to replenish the personnel of the Dominion Armed Forces.
Another two hundred cloning cylinders have been transferred to the laboratory under my direct control, engaged in producing Grodin Tierce clones to replenish the Dominion Guard's personnel.
Given the rapid construction of secret facilities across the Dominion, the need for elite security to which I can unconditionally entrust guarding top-secret matters is higher than ever.
In total, by year's end, we'll produce five hundred forty thousand new naval, army, and other specialists.
Enough to crew thirty-six Imperial-III-class Star Destroyers.
And besides this category of ships, we have heavy, light, and patrol cruisers, other destroyer types, escort carriers, gunboats, corvettes, frigates...
"How are the studies of the cloning cylinders obtained on Mustafar progressing?" I asked.
"I've assigned three Kaminoans, including two technicians and a geneticist, to work in that direction," Astarian reported. "Preliminary conclusion – the equipment is unstable. Design flaws from using parts from various systems make these autoclaves dangerously unstable."
"That doesn't rule out their repairability," I noted. "At the core lies Arkanian technology, which, though not without effort, can be obtained on galactic markets."
"That's true, sir, but the Kaminoans warn that Arkanian technologies have a very significant side effect," Astarian said. "Significant acceleration of metabolism, as well as accelerated aging, even more pronounced than in Kaminoan or Spaarti clones. Additionally – more pronounced psychological instability, manifesting after a very short period. My people received something like a cloning manual from the Kaminoans; I'm ready to forward it to you."
"Expected," in the next instant, the indicator on the holoprojector blinked, notifying receipt of the data packet. "Data received, Colonel. Is that all?"
"On cloning stabilization – yes, sir," Astarian confirmed. "Permission to propose, Grand Admiral? Regarding Arkanian cloning technologies and their profitable use in the Dominion's needs."
And now that's interesting.
"Continue, Colonel," I said, peering intently at the hologram of the Dominion Security Service director.
"As I already indicated, these technologies have very dangerous side effects," Astarian reminded. "You noted the possibility of repair, but I assume that will cost the budget enormous funds. In the end, we'll get a comparatively small increase in fast-aging clones with a significant percentage of progressing psychiatric disorders. I won't judge the expediency of repairing such installations. However, considering plans to destroy the Zann Consortium and capture its capacities, I assume that ultimately we'll have far more Kaminoan cloning cylinders than more expensive Arkanian ones."
"Closer to the point, Colonel," I requested.
"Yes, sir. I would suggest using Arkanian cloning cylinders to clone criminals we're sending to Kessel."
What the...?
Wait a minute.
There's a certain logic to this.
We have technology that's expensive to repair and generally not cost-effective.
At the same time, this H1 contraption works and breeds mad clones – and not just humans.
We have a regular "demand" for "feed" for the spice spiders – and how are clones worse than originals?
But there's one nuance.
"Colonel," I addressed the Dominion's chief counterintelligence officer in a calm tone, "amendments to the criminal laws imply the death penalty for certain categories of crimes. Spies, saboteurs, drug dealers, agents of influence, rapists, maniacs, murderers, deserters, traitors, collaborators, pirates, slavers... As well as a number of other criminals whose crimes are classified as exceptionally dangerous to society. Which of these categories do clones of beings fall into, who have committed nothing except having one face and one memory with a criminal sentenced to death?"
Astarian's image flickered for a moment.
"None, sir."
Commendable.
So he still remembers my opinion regarding the "guilt" of clones in their originals' affairs.
"Children" are not responsible for their "fathers'" deeds.
This principle is unchanged and not subject to revision.
At least until such weighty grounds are obtained that force me to reconsider them.
At present, I see only the opposite – "children" are as effective as their genetics allow.
"In that case, the stated thesis, though deserving attention and consideration as an emergency option, will not be implemented at present," I declared.
"Understood, sir," Astarian replied. "Permission to continue work on assigned tasks?"
"Granted."
The hologram faded, and I, after checking the received file, transferred it to the workstation and began studying the data.
I never cease to be amazed at how much useful data can be obtained from subject specialists, as well as from Imperial archives.
To start, Colonel Astarian's report contained data on the "Spaarti Creation."
The latter was a unique factory on the planet Cartao in the Prackla sector.
There were holographic images of the complex, created during the Clone Wars.
Both before and after the factory's destruction.
There was a detailed report from Republican and Imperial investigative commissions, unanimous in opinion.
"Factory destroyed and irreparable."
"Equipment destroyed, irreparable."
"Acquisition of new equipment impossible due to its absence in the galaxy."
If Imperial agents' data is to be believed, the Galactic Empire searched for parts to restore the "Spaarti Creation" right up to Palpatine's decision to cease using clones as the basis of the Stormtrooper Corps.
This occurred due to the uprising on Kamino, brutally suppressed by the 501st Legion.
Well... This doesn't exclude the fact that the cloning procedure was known to Palpatine.
He had his own stock of Spaarti cloning cylinders, and the official cessation of investigation and parts search doesn't mean that the Emperor's Hands or his guards, Shadow Guard, or other trusted persons didn't continue resolving the "Spaarti Creation" restoration after the official ban.
The technology and factory itself were too intriguing.
The point isn't even that the "Spaarti Creation" could produce cloning cylinders capable of creating a full clone in a year (without ysalamiri).
The "Spaarti Creation" could retool its equipment overnight for producing an entirely new product.
But thirty-one years ago, the factory was completely destroyed by a Republican warship under remote control, which crashed into the roof and caused a fire that simply melted the priceless technology.
Which seems to suggest the technology is lost.
As far as I know, the only cloning cylinders to survive Palpatine's crash – organized to discredit the Jedi – were those delivered inside Mount Tantiss and later discovered by me.
But then how to explain that the "Black Sun" or the "Zann Consortium" obtained seven thousand two hundred Spaarti cloning cylinders, similar to the twenty thousand I already had in stock from last year?
The answer to this question might be clarified by Makus Kaynif, currently in DSB custody and being interrogated by Astarian's subordinates, but the man maimed by Mara Jade remained silent.
Despite torture.
Scanning his memory wasn't feasible – his brain had implants blocking the "centrifuge."
The latter was apparatus for extracting "imprints" of a human mind for subsequent replication and implantation into clone brains depending on their field of activity.
At present, the issue of surgical implant removal was being studied, but it required time and intensive preparation.
Even Third admitted that simply extracting the implants from deep brain tissue wouldn't work – there's a high chance Kaynif would remain an idiot, with whole sections of his brain simply dying.
Which again brought us to psychological and operational breaking of the fat man, stubbornly refusing to provide the information we needed.
However, there are good news too.
Finally, thanks to Kaminoan scientists, we've obtained more detailed, thorough, and complete information on what we're dealing with in cloning matters.
Spaarti cloning cylinders acted as artificial wombs filled with nutrient chemicals and organic catalysts, used for accelerated clone growth.
However, that was known before.
Creating clones from Spaarti cylinders was the fastest known form of cloning to the Kaminoans.
Kaminoan technology required ten years for one "duplicate," Spaarti – just a standard year.
Arkanian technologies – several years.
But at the same time, the Kaminoans reported that according to their data, the Arkanii had dealt with Spaarti technology during the Clone Wars.
Well, I have another question – how, if Palpatine ordered all surviving cylinders moved to Wayland, and no other Spaarti cloning cylinders should exist at all?
And one can also recall that there was such a figure as Zeta Magnus, who worked with Arkanian technologies and produced clones, including Jedi, in hours.
On what installations did he work?
What became of them?
For now, add these thoughts to the piggy bank of rhetorical questions, as finding answers isn't easy even with logic.
And I had no desire to engage in guesswork.
Nevertheless, Kaminoan cloning was far more effective, as ten years of constant training and drills created perfect warriors despite the long wait.
Spaarti clones underwent no training; instead, their personalities were formed via a process known as "flash learning," which involved implanting another person's memory recordings into a fresh clone's brain.
At that, the Kaminoans knew nothing of the "GeNod" program, which only underscores its uniqueness and gives grounds for another conspiracy theory.
Editing originals' memories for transmission to clones was a revelation to the Kaminoans, which they studied diligently.
Perhaps, familiarizing with such an intriguing way to train new soldiers will allow us to make a certain leap in developing our own cloning capacities.
Well, the Kaminoans indicated that on Kaynif's orders, they also experimented with extremely rapid clone growth without ysalamiri.
They only got madmen, more dangerous to allies than enemies.
So what turns out?
Both we and the "Zann Consortium" solved clone madness using ysalamiri.
Well, and now something we didn't know, or was mentioned in Imperial documents only in passing.
To begin, Kaminoan geneticists posited that between Spaarti technology and cloning practiced by certain Khommite, there is a definite connection.
Possibly, Spaarti cloning cylinders are not an independent invention of planet Cartao but merely copies of other equipment.
Hm...
Interesting thought.
Let's note it.
One could even assign investigation of this aspect, as well as examination of the "Spaarti Creation" ruins, to Shadow Guard operatives, but there's a catch.
Khommite are humanoids from planet Khomm.
Not much is known about them, only that about a thousand years ago they decided they'd reached the limit of their development, so they should preserve their society.
And instead of sexual reproduction, switch to cloning.
Well, an intriguing history.
Which not only demonstrates that Spaarti cloning cylinder technology may not have been original at all, but also that the Kaminoans know of their "competitors."
And though Khommite were never observed creating clones anywhere but to replenish their own population, possessing such valuable technology could be highly promising.
Possibly, the Khommite have already realized this from personal experience.
Why do I assume that?
Because planet Khomm, homeworld of this species – the only place they live – is in quadrant L-12.
And that's the Deep Core.
That is – territory controlled by Palpatine.
Well.
Now I have no questions as to why Palpatine left Wayland and Mount Tantiss as a handout for those who wanted to fight the New Republic.
What are twenty thousand cloning cylinders if you have a whole race of clones at hand, who may have created Spaarti technology in deep antiquity?
How many cloning cylinders on Khomm?
Five million?
Ten?
Twenty?
Evidently plenty, since it allows sustaining a race that's lived in isolation for a thousand years, but rumors about them still circulate.
And that in turn means Palpatine may have a very, very large number of cloning cylinders.
Therefore, if Khommite can create a full clone in a year or two, currently we're talking potentially millions to billions of clones in various fields.
Well, if so, then...
It's all quite simple.
The reason Palpatine pulled as many starships as possible to the Deep Core.
He might not have worried about fully crewing them.
After all, he could always replenish any personnel losses with clones.
Which can't be said of the ships themselves.
Given the scale of the slaughter within the galaxy, losing the lion's share of ships would cost him delaying his ambitious mad plans to regain galactic control.
He didn't call for crews.
He pulled starships to Byss.
And was primarily interested in them.
Not the crews.
As practice shows – replenishing personnel, given pro-Imperial populace, is far easier than building ships given limitations in means and resources.
And when almost every shipyard in the galaxy built the fleet before, with the state's collapse, the number of yards loyal to the New Order sharply decreased.
Well...
Storm clouds gather.
Two known mass clone production points – and both presumably captured by the enemy.
Kamino – by the "Zann Consortium."
Khomm – by Palpatine.
Possibly other races engage in cloning, just unknown to me.
Khomm...
Well, if I dig into memory, I know this name only in the context of young Jedi adventures from Luke Skywalker's Praxeum.
There was one clone among his students from a planet where all development stalled because the local government believed...
Well, credit where due, even a supercomputer brain like Chiss can't process all known and ever-read information from my past life.
For that, a targeted "brainstorm" and associative chain on key points are needed.
Well, now a bit more is known about my current physiology.
And the reasons why Mitth'raw'nuruodo so often and for long periods was alone in complete silence.
Extended time is necessary to properly assess the situation from the side.
From each side.
I need it.
I'm sure that over the years of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's life, he had already mastered operating his natural data with great speed in evaluation and comparison of information, as well as decision-making.
Well, something to aspire to.
And return to studying the report.
Towards the end of the Clone Wars, the Galactic Republic used Spaarti clones from the Arkanian company "Arkanian Microtechnologies," supplementing the Grand Army of the Clones produced on Kamino, due to Spaarti production speed.
At that, the existence of a secret cloning center on Coruscant's moon Centax-II (the very one where Admiral Gial Ackbar and his Home One "parked" sloppily) remained a secret to most sentients close to Palpatine.
At the same time, clones produced on Centax-II differed from Kaminoan not only in "manufacture" time: one year versus ten.
Soldier-clones of the 14th Infantry Brigade were one of the first generation of grown Spaarti Fett clones. The rest were assimilated into the 501st Legion and the Coruscant Guard stormtroopers – a special unit of the Grand Army of the Republic, garrisoned on the capital planet and tasked with maintaining law and order there.
By the end of the Clone Wars, the number of Spaarti clones of Jango Fett numbered in the billions and was practically comparable in some periods to the number of Kaminoan clones.
But they differed strikingly from each other.
Spaarti clones received only brief training in military basics, like how to shoot a rifle.
A notable example is that during their first deployment, the 14th Infantry Brigade didn't bother taking cover from enemy fire, and their weapon accuracy was surprisingly pitiful.
This was noted by clone commandos from "Omega" squad, one of the Grand Army's elite units that covered themselves in glory during the Clone Wars, just like "Delta" squad or Null-class Advanced Recon Commandos.
Kaminoan "brothers" quickly identified Spaarti clones.
Primarily trained by Mandalorian instructors, Kaminoans, unlike Spaarti clones, knew Mandalorian culture, customs, language.
This fact indicates that Mandalorian culture was never presented to Spaarti clones during training.
Thus, without ysalamiri, Spaarti clones typically demonstrated poor marksmanship and lack of combat tactics.
Observers note that their combat tactics mainly involved frontal assault on the enemy until all targets were neutralized – regardless of clone losses.
It was even known that they refused orders and shot their own allies due to clone madness.
This problem became acute during the New Order era, and the Kamino clone uprising was the last straw, after which Palpatine finally abandoned this technology and continued recruiting soldiers for the Stormtrooper Corps more traditionally.
Well...
At least the official version is so.
But I know Palpatine didn't cease cloning experiments, at minimum for his beloved self.
Given the scale of his intrigues, it's not to be ruled out that various cloning systems were used directly to refine his immortality technology.
I've pondered this before and now am even more convinced based on new evidence.
Now to clone training.
We have several clone training variants.
The first we use is "flash learning."
It's applied for creating Spaarti clones.
But in the past, no one ever used it with the "GeNod" program, editing clone memories.
We essentially remove from future clones' memories everything that doesn't relate to military service or public life.
The technology's essence is loading vast amounts of knowledge and memories directly into a person's brain during cloning.
This is possible thanks to the Spaarti cloning cylinders' computer data processing system, which connects directly to the developing clone's cerebral cortex.
According to Kaminoan scientist-geneticists, this is what causes the brain, without ysalamiri protection, to "overload" and lead to "clone madness" cases.
The percentage of brain usage in the Far, Far Away galaxy's humanity doesn't differ much from Earth's, so one can imagine what cloning subjects experience when tons of information dump on them at once.
Preliminary, the Kaminoans indicate that editing donor memories allows removing up to seventy percent of donor information-memories, which positively affects clone psyches.
Our Spaarti clones' indicators are eighty-five to ninety percent matching donors', and this percentage grows as the clone gains personal experience and "tests" what it inherited from its progenitor.
In other words, clone training after leaving the autoclaves helps faster restore skills.
Nice to know we hit the right development path by "scientific poking."
The Kaminoans used on their clones a so-called "accelerated learning" process.
It involved using holographic flashes to train young clones during growth. The process allowed a clone to accumulate knowledge, skills, and competencies at accelerated rates.
In other words, Kaminoans, growing clones to biological ten-year age, then moved them to training zones, alternating theory and practice.
In developing the Grand Army of the Republic, recently created soldier-clones first trained in weapon handling and tactics, then moved to simulations, drills, and live-fire exercises.
Let's note the thought.
We go to Clone Wars events shown in the film "Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones."
Kaminoans show Obi-Wan Kenobi complexes where numerous clones work on computer programs.
"This group was created five years ago"...
Thus – these are ten-year-olds, given the doubled accelerated maturation method.
But Kaminoan "delivery" occurred only when clones reached adulthood.
That is, at minimum biologically twenty-year-old males.
And now let's look at this from another angle.
A Spaarti clone is created in a year, with all the donor's knowledge loaded into its head.
Without preparation and training (at least long ones), it's sent to the front, where it shows low combat effectiveness.
Now take Kaminoan clones.
First, they're grown for five years, loading into their heads everything needed for their future "career."
Then five years training on ranges and computers, after which handed to the client.
And yet – Spaarti clones are worse than Kaminoan.
Am I the only one seeing double standards in such comparison?
Not only do Spaarti clones get in a year, say, the same as Kaminoan in five years, but the former were immediately thrown to the front, while the latter were trained five years to apply skills in battle.
As I recall all those laments.
"What can a conscript learn in a year, who's only seen a rifle at the Oath and twice at the range?"
In other words, Spaarti clones are conscripts to whom the necessary minimum was somehow crammed via accelerated course without any thought to consolidating it in practice.
While Kaminoans deliver to the customer a clone who's spent five years non-stop in boot camp, absorbing knowledge like a sponge, since a child's brain reacts that way to interesting information.
And what can be interesting to one created for war and unable to think of anything else due to programming?
Precisely the fact that Kaminoans provided more combat-effective clones allowed them to get huge money from first the Old Republic, then the Galactic Empire.
Let's note this thought and consider that the Republic was modeled by Lucas directly after the United States of America (where even the Grand Army of the Republic exists).
And there, lobbying a private military contractor while glossing over some "nuances" is a fully working and legal scheme.
No wonder after creating the clone army, Kaminoans got a seat in the Old Republic Senate and advocated increasing clone purchases every time the issue arose.
Which, however, doesn't negate that Kaminoans excellently trained their clones.
While Spaarti clones simply weren't given a proper chance to prove themselves after necessary preparation.
And the technology was, to put it mildly, raw.
Now we're getting excellent clones, and no one complains about quality.
At least if it doesn't concern the remaining clones produced under Colonel Selid's "GeNod" program and currently in carbonite.
The second Kaminoan subgroup is working on solving this problem.
Human resources aren't infinite for us, nor can we replenish them instantly.
Destroying clones just because personality dementia started is foolish.
At minimum, Kaminoans know how to wipe clone memories – they did it to their "products" during the Clone Wars.
And the current working hypothesis is: conduct an experiment removing the old personality in a clone and replacing it with the original donor's personality for the clone.
In that case, theoretically, no "body and mind conflict" should occur, as with clones of various donors into which Colonel Selid loaded his memory matrix.
It's a pity that even Colonel Selid's body was badly damaged during the attack by the mad clone of Luke Skywalker, whose head held the matrix of the equally mad Joruus C'baoth.
The third Kaminoan group is working to thaw the body and check for DNA chain damage.
The fact that prolonged freezing in carbonite can affect genome structure is, of course, saddening.
Precisely because carbonite by default isn't meant for freezing living beings – only food products.
Prolonged presence of carbonite inside Colonel Selid's wound could cause irreversible DNA destruction.
While there's a chance to restore his genotype and get clones like the late THX-0297 and the currently alive THX-0333, it must be worked out to the end.
The end of the "Kaminoan part" of the report contained a real treasure trove of information for me, which put a lot in place and plugged "lore holes."
General Rahm Kota, as well as some other universe characters, categorically stated that cloning a Jedi is impossible.
Practice shows this assertion is false.
Force-sensitive clones can be created.
And much faster than in one year.