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Jango hurries into the hall and out of the rain. He is back from a job, and even the short walk from his ship to the doors has left him drenched. It leaves him with a nostalgic feeling for Tatooine, and if that isn't indictment of his feelings on Kamino he doesn't know what is.
He is so busy thinking about the warm shower and Boba waiting for him that he almost doesn’t notice the clones down the hall.
“You are not a defect,” one clone says to the other.
“The Kaminoans-” the blond one starts, but the older dark-haired one cuts him off.
“Kriff them,” his voice is low, and the anger is clear in his voice. “You are not defective. You are my vod. They will not decommission you.” It’s an empty promise, but the kid makes it sound like he can bend the universe to his will.
Jango doesn’t think they had seen him, so he keeps still. The clones look like they are eight, and considering the rapid aging, it would make them four or five in real-time. Boba is six.
It is not that late, but Jango knows that the clones are not supposed to be out here after lockdown. He considers his options and then walks forward, making sure to have his shoes make a squeaking noise as he approaches them.
“Sir!” The older one exclaims as he sees him, and they both spin to face him, straightening to stand at attention.
Walking up to them, Jango removes his helmet and looks between them. “What’s the problem?”
The clones are disciplined enough not to fidget or give any other sign of discomfort, but they are wearing his face. Jango can read their thoughts in the tightening of their jaws, the frown on their brows.
Boba’s face. The thought hits him, and for some reason, it sticks in his mind.
“No problem, sir,” the dark-haired clone says, and Jango raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but the clone only just his chin out in defiance. Jango almost smiles. He has seen that look on his own face before. He is not getting anything out of that one. Jango turns his gaze to the blond clone and stares him down. It takes all of five seconds before he breaks.
“I’m defective, sir,” The blond says and he can’t quite meet Jango's eyes.
Jango blinks and looks the clone over. “You look healthy to me.” That makes the clones glance at each other than at him in surprise.
“My hair,” the clone says, and when Jango just looks at him, the clone explains. “I’m blond.” The “and you’re not” hangs between them, and it takes longer than Jango wants to admit for him to connect the dots.
When he does, Jango feels his anger rise, and it must show on his face because the boys take a step back. He looks away, takes a deep breath, and lets the anger go. There is no need to be angry on their behalf. They are just cannon fodder for the upcoming war between the Jedi and the Sith. He knew this when he took the job. Why would he care that this clone gets decommissioned?
Jango looks back down on them, and his breath catches. He would swear that, for a second, he was looking at someone else. Another pair of blond- and dark-haired siblings.
Oh. Fuck.
He goes down on one knee while holding his helmet under his arm, putting him on their level. “What’s your name?”
“CT-7567,” the blond says.
The dark-haired one clenches his jaw but answers. “CC-2224.”
Jango feels hollowed out, but he tries to keep his voice steady. “CT-7567, you are not defective.” He takes a deep breath. “I had a sister.”
CT-7567 and CC-2224 look taken aback by this information, but they keep quiet, so Jango continues. “Her name was Arla, and she had the same blond hair as you do.”
He meets CT-7567 wide eyes, the same color as his as Bobas, but it’s Arla’s face he sees. “She died a long time ago.” Jango stops speaking and gets back up on his feet. “You should get back to the barracks.”
CT-7567 hesitates, but CC-2224 takes him by the arm and drags him along. Just before they round the corner, CT-7567 looks back at him and smiles.
Jango puts his helmet back on and walks away. This doesn’t change anything, Jango tells himself.
(He is wrong, of course. This changes everything.)
--
The door to his quarters opens, and Jango is greeted by the nanny droid he left in charge of Boba.
“Master Fett, your back early!” the droid exclaims and rushes forward to hand him a datapad. “Boba is asleep at the moment. He spent the day with Master Tervho and Master Skirata.”
“Any injuries?” Jango asks, but he is not worried. Vonthe Tervho and Kal Skirata are good people. They would never hurt a child, even in training.
“Some bruises, but nothing serious.” The droid keeps on chattering, but Jango is no longer listening. He walks into his son’s room and sits down on the bed, removing his helmet as he goes. The sight of Boba, asleep and safe, calms him down, and Jango can feel his muscles unclenching.
The droid takes the hint and goes away, leaving Jango alone with Boba.
Boba’s hair is getting long, not that Jango can convince him to cut it. Boba had taken one look at Vhonte’s long red braids that hung free from beneath her helmet and proclaimed that he wanted to be just like her. Vhonte had been delighted, of course, and had spent days telling Boba all the ways she was better than Jango. Not that Jango minded, she was a better hunter, and her skills with a blaster were unparalleled, plus she was a Mando’ade trough and trough. If Boba wanted to learn from her, Jango would encourage it.
Looking at Boba brings him back to the thoughts of the clones. Thousands of children with the same face as him and Boba. Thousands of children will be used as pawns in the war between the Jedi and the Sith.
Fuck.
Half an hour later, Jango has made a decision, and he has the bare bones of a plan, but Jango is Mando’ade. He will make do with what he has, and what he has is 75 of the best Mando’ade he knows off. It will still be a long shot.
--
It takes almost two weeks, but when Jango has the things he needs, he goes looking for Kal Skarita, and Jango finds him in the sals where he is overseeing training. He is standing with his helmet under his arm, keeping a close eye on some of the older troopers. Jango steps up next to him, and Skarita turns his head to look at Jango, who keeps his helmet on.
“Where's Bob’ika?” Kal asks as he looks behind Jango.
“He has classwork to catch up with since someone decided he didn’t need to do it while I was away.” Jango keeps his voice light. He is not really angry. He knows that Kal and Vhonte have an unusual teaching style.
“Eh,” Kal makes a dismissive sound. “He needed some hands-on learning.”
Jango doesn’t argue, just places his hands behind his back and keeps quiet.
“What do you need?” Kal asks.
“We need to talk.” Jango keeps his eyes on the troopers, but he can see Kal out of the corner of his eye. They have always had an up and down relationship, but Jango knows Kal. He trusts him with his life, and more importantly, Janog trusts him with Boba’s life.
“Hm,” Kal glances over. “In private?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll clear the schedule for tonight-”
“No.” Jango cuts him off. “I need you and one other you trust with the life of your ade to meet me tomorrow on Slave I.”
There is a long uncomfortable silence, Jango keeps his head forward, but he is watching Kal. Jango knows that Kal has not officially adopted the Null’s, but everyone knows that it is only a matter of time. The implicit threat to their life will surely get Kal’s attention.
“Mij and I will be there,” Kal says, and Jango nods in approval. Mij Gilamar is a good man. He is also a patient man and will keep a level head when the fight breaks out.
Deeming the conversation over, Jango turns to walk out, but Kal stops him. “Fett.”
Jango turns back to face Kal, but he has put his helmet on, and when Jango’s helmet com pings, he accepts the call. There is a brief silence before Kal speaks. “I’m not gonna like this, am I?”
“No.” Jango agrees, and Kal nods slowly.
“I took this job because of you.” The shift in topics throws Jango off, but he knows Kal. He will get to the point, eventually. “I was hoping that you were calling the Haat Mando’ade back together.”
Jango turns fully and sets his feet. “I was not.”
“No.” Kal murmurs in agreement. “But I followed you anyway. You are the Mand’alor.”
“I’m not the Mand’alor. He died on Galidraan with the Haat’ade.” Jango feels his hackles rise. This is why he and Kal can’t be trusted to be in the same room for more than five minutes. They always go for the jugular.
Kal only shrugs. “You look healthy to me.”
Jango bares his teeth at Kal. Didn’t he say something similar to CT-7567?
“I wasn’t on Kordia 6 when you were elected Mand’alor, but had I been, I would have stood by you,” Kal says, and then he huffs. “Even if you were only thirteen, you were the best man for the job. Still is.”
“I lead them into a massacre.” Jango gets out through clenched teeth, and Kal nods in agreement.
“Doesn’t change the facts. You’re still Mand’alor.” Kal crosses his arms, and in a subtle move, places his closed fist over his heart. It’s a greeting reserved for the Mand’alor, and Jango hasn’t seen it in decades. “And I would still follow you.”
Jango grits his teeth and stalks out. They’ll see if that still holds true after tomorrow’s meeting.
--
Lowering the ramp, Jango keeps his eyes on the datapad in front of him, “I thought I said to bring only one other.”
“You know Rav,” Kal calls out as he removes his helmet. “She can’t let things go.”
Jango feels his lips twitch. Rav Bralor can be like a strill on the hunt when she feels there is something amiss, and he can’t deny that she would have been his second choice in conspirator if Kal hadn’t been available.
“Fuck you too, Kal,” Rav says and pulls her helmet off. “So what’s this secret meeting about?” The question is directed at Jango, but Mij interrupts.
“I hate this fucking rain.” He has taken off his helmet and is running his hands over his neck. “I would never have taken this job had I know I would be stuck on this planet. It’s too fucking wet.”
Jango considers the three of them. This insane plan of his might work. “Then, this meeting will not make you feel better.”
The three of them study him, and then Mij speaks up. “Alright, stop being dramatic. Give us the bad news.”
The taunt is almost enough to make Jango smile, but the thought of what is coming brings his mood back down, and the others can read his mood clear enough if the concerned glances they share are anything to go by. He sometimes forgets that they are also training hundreds of children wearing his face. They can read him better than most people.
“You ever wonder why this job is so secret?” He asks. This will take time to explain.
“We are making an army for the Republic for a war that has yet to begin,” Mij looks around at the others. “I can’t imagine that would go over well for the public at large.”
Jango nods in agreement and leans against the wall. “True, but why has there never been a Jedi here? We are making this army especially to fight for the Jedi.”
“Because they don't want to get their hands dirty,” Kal throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know, Jango? Why don't you tell us.”
“Because they don’t know,” Jango tells them, and Kal freezes.
“What do you mean they don’t know?” Rav takes a threatening step forward. “There is an entire army being made just for them on their orders.”
“True, but the Jedi that ordered the army did so in secret, and he was then killed shortly after the meeting with the Kaminoans.” Jango studies the Mandos in front of him and then drops the metaphorical bomb. “Besides, I was never approached by the Jedi for this job.”
“Not approached by the Jedi?” Kal repeats in disbelief. “Then who in the ka’ra contracted you?”
“Darth Tyranus.”
The silence is deafening, and Jango meets the eyes of all three of them in turn.
“Darth as in the Sith?” Mij asks, and when Jango nods, he starts coursing.
“We are making an army for the Sith?” Kal asks, and his voice is as cold as ice.
Jango grimaces and meets Kal’s eyes. “The army is for the Jedi, but in the future, they will be used to kill the Jedi.”
“No,” Rav denies. “I might not like the Jedi much, but I know my men. They are loyal. They will not turn against their Generals.”
Jango nods in agreement. That had been the hardest part of the puzzle to figure out. He could determine much of the plan with the information he had, but he knew the clones would never turn on Jedi. Finding the designs for the chips had been easy when he knew where to look for them, and now he hands the datapad to Mij.
“What’s this?” Mij asks even as Jango can see the information registers and the horror of it set in.
“That is the design of a biochip that is installed in almost every clone that will wipe away their personality and “reset” them to factory mode where they will follow any orders given to them,” Jango explains, and then he holds out a chip for them to see.
“In every clone?” Kal asks, his voice weak, and Jango shakes his head.
“Not the first couple of thousands,” he reassures him. “But every one after the first two years.”
“That’s still...” Kal trails off. “That’s still too many.”
“Yes.”
“It is a slave army,” Rav whispers and looks up at Jango. “And you agreed to it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Rav asks him, and Jango has to look away for a second before meeting her eyes again.
“Tyranus offered me revenge against the Jetiies,” Jango tells her, and he can see that the explanation falls flat to her as he knew it would. There was a reason he had not gone to Rav with this but had instead approached Kal. Clan Bralor had lost several of its members on Galidraan, including Ravs older sister.
“We have to take the chips out,” Mij interrupts them, and Jango shakes his head.
“We can’t,” Jango hurries to explain when all of them look at him in disbelief. “The Kaminoasn will know-”
“Screw the Kaminoans!” Kal yells.
“You know the Kaminoans will decommission every clone in this facility if they think their product is defective,” Jango counters. “And what about the Sith? You think they won't just kill us all and start over again?”
That shuts them up for a minute and gives Jango a second to breathe. “The Sith has the upper hand. We need to be smart and play the long con if we want to survive and get the clones out alive.”
“Fuck.” Rav rubs at her eyes and sits down on her haunches. “We are so screwed.”
“Yes,” Jango agrees and looks at them. “But we can do this.”
“Can we?” Kal counters, and Jango looks at him. “How?”
Jango grimaces, places his hands on his hips and looks down at the floor, then back up at Kal. “We ally with the Jedi.”
“We are so screwed,” Rav repeats into the silence and then stands back up. “But let’s do this. Why not? We pull this off, or we go down swinging.”
“Spoken like a true Mandalorian,” Mij offers a smile, but Kal and Jango are too busy staring at each other down to see it.
“A True Mandalorian, huh?” Kal crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at Jango.
Jango wants to punch Kal in his smug face, but he resists the temptation. There are still some things they need to be told.
“One more thing,” Jango waits until he has all of their attention before continuing. “Darth Tyranus is only the apprentice. He is not the Sith Master.”
“How do you know that?” Mij asks.
“Tyranus hasn’t been a Sith long enough to be the leader of anything, and this plan is too good to be thought out and executed in such a short period of time,” Jango tells them.
“You know who Tyranus is.” Kal states and Jango takes a second to straighten up and set his feet. This will not go over well with anyone.
“Tyranus’ real name is Count Yan Dooku.” The words are barely out before Rav punches him in the face. It’s not really a surprise, but it’s hard enough that Jango goes down anyway. He lets her get in a couple of more punches before he starts defending himself, and even then, she gets in a few more before Jango gets back on his feet. His nose is definitely broken, and his lip is bleeding, but he has no puncture wounds, so Jango counts himself lucky.
“YOU ARE WORKING WITH DOOKU?!” Rav screams at him. Jango keeps his eyes on her, but he can see that Kal has crossed his arms and is leaning back against the wall. Mij is looking between them but is not interfering.
“He promised me revenge against the jetiies.” Jango reiterates, but the hate in her eyes doesn’t dim.
“He killed our family,” Rav says and Jango carefully doesn’t flinch.
“Yes.”
Rav turns and kicks her helmets across the floor, howling in rage. She ends up leaning her forehead against the wall, tears streaming down her face.
No one says anything for a long moment until she has calmed down and turned back around to look at Jango.
“The only reason you're still alive is because of Boba,” Rav tells him, and Jango nods in thanks.
“Vor entye.” Jango agrees and Rav nods.
Jango looks at Mij, who shrugs and nods. All of them look at Kal, who is still leaning against the wall studying Jango.
“You still with me?” Jango asks. Kal holds his eyes for a second before he grins.
“I will always follow you,” Kal tells him.
“Then let’s get going,” Jango says, letting his lips twitch up in an answering bloody grin. “I need to call in the Haat Mando’ade.”
Kal can’t suppress his smile as he places his hand over his heart. “Mand’alor.”