Jango went tense suddenly, sensing a movement nearby, a footfall, perhaps, or just a smell, something to tell the finely attuned bounty hunter that he and his boy were not alone. There weren't many enemies to be found on Kamino, except far out in the watery wastes, where giant tentacled creatures roamed. Here there was little life above the water, other than the Kaminoans themselves, and so Jango wasn't surprised when he saw that the newcomer was one of them: Taun We, his usual contact with the Kaminoans.
'Greetings, Jango,' the tall, lithe creature said, holding up a slim arm and hand in a gesture of peace and friendship.
Jango nodded but didn't smile. Why had Taun We come out here-the Kaminoans were hardly ever out of their city of globes-and why would she interrupt Jango when he was with his son?
'You have been scarce within the sector of late,' Taun We remarked.
'Better things to do.'
'With your child?'
In response, Jango looked over at the boy, who was lining up another rollerfish. Or at least, he was appearing to, Jango recognized, and the insight brought a knowing nod of satisfaction to the crusty bounty hunter. He had taught his son well the art of deception and deflection, of appearing to do one thing while, in reality, doing something quite different. Like listening in on the conversation, measuring Taun We's every word. 'The tenth anniversary approaches,' the Kaminoan explained. Jango turned back to her with a sour expression. 'You think I don't know Boba's birthday?'
If Taun We was fazed at all by the sharp retort, the delicately featured Kaminoan didn't show it. 'We are ready to begin again.'
Jango looked back at Boba, one of his thousands of children, but the only one who was a perfect clone, an exact replica with no genetic manipulation to make him more obedient. And the only one who hadn't been artificially aged. The group that had been created beside Boba had all reached maturity now, were adult warriors, in perfect health.
Jango had thought that policy of accelerating the aging process a mistake- wasn't experience as much a part of attaining warrior skill as genetics? — but he hadn't complained openly to the Kaminoans about it. He had been hired to do a job, to serve as the source, and questioning the process wasn't in his job description.
Taun We cocked her head a bit to the side, eyes blinking slowly.
Jango recognized her expression as curiosity, and it nearly brought a chuckle bubbling to his lips. The Kaminoans were much more alike than were humans, especially humans from different planets. Perhaps their singular concept, their commonness within their own species, was a part of their typical reproductive process, which now included a fair amount of genetic manipulation, if not outright cloning. As a society, they were practically of one mind and one heart. Taun We seemed genuinely perplexed, and so she was, to see a human with so little apparent regard for other humans, clones or not.
Of course, hadn't the Kaminoans just created an army for the Republic? There wouldn't be wars without some disagreement, now, would there? But that, too, held little interest for Jango. He was a solitary bounty hunter, a recluse-or he would have been if not for Boba. Jango didn't care a whit about politics or war or this army of his clones. If every one of them was slaughtered, then so be it. He had no attachment to any.
He looked to the side as he considered that. To any except for Boba, of course.
Other than that, though, this was just a job, well paying and easy enough. Financially, he couldn't have asked for more, but more important, only the Kaminoans could have given him Boba-not just a son, but an exact replica. Boba would give Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up with a loving and caring father, a mentor who cared enough to criticize, to force him to perfection. He was as good as it got concerning bounty hunters, concerning warriors, but he had no doubt that Boba, bred and trained for perfection, would far outshine him to become one of the greatest warriors the galaxy had ever known.
This, then, was Jango Fett's greatest reward, right here, sitting with his son, his young replica, sharing quiet moments.
Quiet moments within the tumult that had been Jango Fett's entire life, surviving the trials of the Outer Rim alone practically from the day he learned to walk. Each trial had made him stronger, had made him more perfect, had honed the skills that he would now pass along to Boba. There was no one better in all the galaxy to teach his son. When Jango Fett wanted you caught, you were caught. When Jango Fett wanted you dead, you were dead.
No, not when Jango 'wanted' those things. This was never personal. The hunting, the killing, it was all a job, and among the most valuable of lessons Jango had learned early on was how to become dispassionate.
Completely so. That was his greatest weapon.
He looked at Taun We, then turned to grin at his son. Jango could be dispassionate, except for those times when he could spend time alone with Boba. With Boba, there was pride and there was love, and Jango had to work constantly to keep both of those potential weaknesses at a minimum. While he loved his son dearly-because he loved his son dearly-Jango had been teaching him those same attributes of dispassion, even callousness, from his earliest days.
'We will commence the process again as soon as you are ready,' Taun We remarked, bringing Jango back from his contemplations.
'Don't you have enough of the material to do it without me?'
'Well, since you are here anyway, we would like you to be involved,' Taun We said. 'The original host is always the best choice.'
Jango rolled his eyes at the thought-of the needles and the probing-but he did nod his agreement; this was really an easy job, considering the rewards.
'Whenever you are ready.' Taun We bowed and turned and walked away. If you wait for that, you'll be waiting forever, Jango thought, but he kept quiet, and again he turned to Boba, motioning for the boy to put his atlatl back to work. Because now I have all that I wanted, Jango mused, watching Boba's fluid motions, his eyes darting about, searching for the next rollerfish.
The industrial sector of Coruscant held perhaps the greatest freight docks in all the galaxy, with a line of bulky transports coming in continually, huge floating cranes ready to meet them and unload the millions of tons of
