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Someone’s out to get Duke Kryze of Mandalore.
Jango shouldn’t even be anywhere near the Senate, not after the last stunt he pulled when his home system was involved with the Order. Still, Kryze was a friend of his master’s and is the only one looking into Arla for Jango and is the only one who could explain where Cody came from. Jango owes it to Jaster to look out for his people, and he owes it to his sister to find her.
It just happens to be this someone—this bounty hunter in sleek and well-maintained durasteel—is very good, even when pitted against a Jedi, and Jango comes away from his speeder chase across Coruscant with a toxic dart etched with unrecognizable symbols, which Dex identifies as belonging to the scientist planet of Kamino.
“Look, kid,” Jango says, having snuck into the crèche at the crack of dawn to avoid the créchemasters, “it might be a while before you see me again. I’ve found a new lead, and it’s gonna take me to Wild Space. So, hang in there.”
Cody, almost two human standard years, blinks large dark eyes at him before babbling in reassurance. He’s been doing that a lot in Jango’s last few intermittent visits, and the crèchemasters had assured Jango that his language acquisition is coming along well… before they started growing concerned with Jango’s extreme attachment to the two younglings he’d brought in.
Rex, younger than Cody by six months, coos at Jango from the neighboring crib. He has the same dark Fett eyes, though his hair is a shock of wheat blond and finer waves, just like Arla’s as a kid.
Discounting the ages, they could be mirror images of Jango and his older sister at birth, if not for the off-the-chart midichlorian counts. Jango barely met the Order’s requirement when Jaster dragged him in. Arla had been as Force-sensitive as a rock.
“Right then,” Jango says gruffly. “Ret'urcye mhi, ade.”
“We’ve been expecting you, Master Fett,” the Kamonioan says to Jango upon introduction, and Jango feels a spark of paranoia arise in his chest. He had said nothing to the Council about this planet, had reported his flight as standard training. But in the Force, Taun We feels calm, like this is routine for her. Part of her job. Seems she might have really been expecting him — or at least a Jedi.
She introduces him to Lama Su, the prime minister of Kamino who once again speaks to Jango with the surety of something he’s missing out.
“You will be delighted to hear we are on schedule,” Lama Su explains. “Two hundred thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way.”
Units of what ? Jango does not ask, because Jaster may have been better at the verbal part of investigations in their partnership, but Jango had always found his target in the end. It’s part of what makes him such an effective Shadow… when he’s listening to the Council.
“Excellent,” Jango replies.
“Please tell your Master Mereel that we have every confidence his order will be met on time and in full,” the prime minister continues, and Jango feels a punch to the gut. “He is well, I hope?”
He reaches into the Force, but everything is muddled; he cannot be sure whether Jaster was indeed involved with this mysterious project Lama Su is discussing or not. Jango wants to believe he wasn’t, that his master wasn’t doing something behind his back, but his master was part of the Council; it’s possible there is a lot Jango wasn’t privy to.
“Master Mereel died over a year ago,” Jango says flatly.
Lama Su blinks at him, his surprise evident in the Force. “I’m sorry to hear,” he says, but he doesn’t particularly sound sorry. It’s still just business as usual for him. “This had not been conveyed to us yet. Are you here to replace him as representative for the Jedi?”
“Yes,” Jango says. “Show me the units.”
The units that Lama Su keeps referring to are children, hundreds if not more of distinctive children no older than four or five, and the Kaminoans tour Jango through different facilities of these children eating, training, and sleeping.
Jango does not understand what is significant about these children until he watches one toddler in a lab setting interact with a colored block and then slowly raise it into the air with a wobbly, chubby hand.
“These children are all Force-sensitive,” Jango realizes, and Lama Su glances at him in curiosity. He can’t sense it himself — these facilities must employ some kind of Force-nullifiers or dampners — but it is undeniable from the child’s demonstration.
“Yes, as Master Mereel requested,” Lama Su explains. “It was quite the challenge to take on, but finally, our scientists managed to render our prototypes with the ability to use the Force. We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent than the original hosts. As a result, they are totally obedient, taking any order without question.”
Force-sensitive, genetically modified experiments. Thousands of them. Jango is not big on the spirituality of being a Jedi, not like Jaster was, but this is a perversion of the Force. One can only be born with the ability to touch and reach the Force, like Jango and Jaster and the rest of the Jedi, even if it remains latent for a majority of someone’s life; no one can be granted the Force like this.
Force-sensitivity cannot be copied or cloned… or at least all the Jedi philosophers and researchers Jango has read throughout his studies had claimed so.
“Who were the original hosts?” he asks, dreading the answer.
“A mix of talented warriors, creatives, and innovators from across the galaxy,” Lama Su says, “all human. We had some individuals specifically chosen, and others were left to the judgment of our consultant, who procured the genetic material for all.”
“And who is your consultant?”
“A bounty hunter by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi, hand-picked by Master Mereel,” continues Lama Su. “He lives here, but is free to come and go as he pleases. His pay is considerable, and he also requested one unit as an apprentice, who stays with him.”
“I would very much like to meet this Kenobi,” Jango tells Lama Su, making it very clear with his tone that it is a demand and not a request.
“I would be most happy to arrange it for you, Master Fett,” Taun We chimes in. “For the night, however, we have arranged quarters for you to rest in.”
The next morning, Taun We fetches Jango, clean and dressed again in his robes, and guides him across Tipoca City to stand before a sleek white door in a residential corridor. She accesses the panel to its right, causing a faint chime to originate from inside the apartment, and then, they wait.
There’s the sound of footsteps before the door slides open to reveal a small, tow-headed boy who can’t be more than ten. He stares up at Taun We briefly before his eyes quickly slide over to Jango, gazing up at him with suspicion that mingles with curiosity.
“Anakin, is Obi-Wan here?” Taun We asks, her tone light and a bit kinder, though from what Jango has noticed, the Kaminoans are not very expressive.
“Yep,” Anakin, the boy, says, and he has a strange mix of an accent, torn between posh Coruscanti and flatter Outer Rim.
“May we see him?” continues Taun We. She waits patiently, clearly familiar with this young boy. Jango, who has purposefully not spent much time with the younglings in the crèche other than the occasions where Jaster would drag him to care for them during his padawanship, follows her cue.
For a long moment, Anakin continues to stare at Jango in curiosity. Jango stares back in well-masked bewilderment. He feels the faintest prickle in the Force, almost like a puzzled little poke. Jango, unlike Jaster, is not kind enough to poke back, but he doesn’t need to.
“Obi-Wan, Taun We is here, and she’s brought someone who feels like me in the Force!” Anakin hollers, suddenly loud and reminding Jango of why he avoids the younglings to begin with.
As Anakin ventures back into the apartment, Taun We and Jango follow, the door sliding shut behind Jango. A door within the apartment slides open, and out comes Obi-Wan Kenobi, the bounty hunter whom Jango’s been searching for.
Kenobi is young, younger than Jango, who has been a Knight for almost two decades at this point, likely in his early to mid-thirties. He is built muscular but not as burly as Jango and is just a few inches taller, with auburn hair swept neatly back and trim facial hair to match. Like Anakin, he wears tan tunics and trousers with a lot of wraps, with no visible scars and looking nothing like a bounty hunter that Jango would expect, but his eyes give him away: blue, sharp and well-knowing.
“Welcome back, Obi-Wan,” Taun We asks while Jango’s gaze jumps to the bedroom exposed behind Kenobi. He gains just a brief glimpse of some familiar sleek armor before Kenobi’s eyes catch his. Unprompted, Anakin scurries to close the door. “Was your trip productive?”
“I accomplished what I set out to, to some degree,” Kenobi says, and when he speaks, Jango understands Anakin’s accent confusion, for Kenobi sounds like he’s been ripped out of the Galactic Senate with his High Coruscanti accent.
“This is Jedi Knight Jango Fett,” continues Taun We. “He has come to check on our progress.”
“Oh, splendid,” says Kenobi, and sounds like he actually means it. “How can I help you, Knight Fett?”
His expression is perfectly pleasant, but something intelligent shifts behind those blue eyes. In the Force, he feels like a river — placid and cool but with the currents disguising the murky depths. Jango doesn’t trust him one bit.
“I was interested in your role as consultant in this project,” Jango states. “The units are very impressive. You must be very proud.”
“Pride is for a vainer man than I,” Kenobi replies, chuckling genially. “Anakin can attest: I am a simple man following his own way in the galaxy. As the Force wills it, as I believe your people would say, Knight Fett.”
Perfectly disarming. He would have made a near-perfect Jedi Shadow. Jango feels a tug in his gut at Kenobi’s lie, but this is one he cannot attribute to the Force.
“You know much about the Jedi,” Jango comments. “Is that knowledge you picked up on Coruscant?”
Kenobi laughs again. “My accent is that much of a giveaway, Knight Fett?” He straightens. “I will admit, I did grow up on Coruscant in my youth, but I could never shake the accent.”
Taun We watches Jango and Kenobi’s conversation like a bolo ball match, her narrow neck nearly snapping from the movement of her head. Anakin stares loyally up at his guardian; he has a very good sabacc face for someone so young, and Jango knows where he picked it up.
“Have you been any time recently?” Jango asks, his hand coming to rest on his belt. Kenobi and Anakin’s eyes follow the motion and the proximity of his lightsaber clipped there.
“Perhaps once in the past few months,” Kenobi admits after a calculated hum. “Why such an interrogation, Knight Fett? I promise that our paths have not crossed until now.” His gaze darkens. Jango readies himself for a prickling in the Force. “I would have remembered a face such as yours.”
For the first time, Anakin’s face creases in disgust. No kid, no matter how well-trained in subterfuge, can stand to see their guardian flirt.
Jango blinks, taken aback. This bounty hunter could have given Jaster a run for his credits with his wordplay. He returns to his task at hand. “Then you must have met Master Mereel.”
“Master Mereel?” Kenobi echoes. “I have heard of him, yes, but I have been denied the pleasure of meeting him thus far. It is above my pay grade.”
“Knight Fett has brought us news of Master Mereel’s passing,” Taun We chimes in, and Kenobi adopts a look of sympathy.
“Oh, my condolences, Knight Fett,” Kenobi says. “Are you to be the new Jedi representative on Kamino? Do you like the work we have done thus far?”
“They are very impressive,” Jango says truthfully. “A task that difficult, you must have had your work cut out for you.”
“I can assure you,” Kenobi promises, “given some more time, my efforts will prove themselves.”
Jango is afraid of that. “Thank you for your time, Kenobi,” he says curtly.
“It’s always a pleasure to meet a Jedi, Knight Fett,” Kenobi replies, and Jango knows, as he and Taun We step out of Kenobi’s apartment, that the bounty hunter is being truthful.
That doesn’t mean that Jango trusts him as far as he can throw.
Jango is a light sleeper, which is a consequence of his master dragging him across the galaxy on research missions, so when the Force rings alarms in his head and pulls him out of his doze, he reacts in a quick flurry of limbs, his body moving before his mind.
“I don’t mean you any harm,” says a posh voice, calm but quick, as Obi-Wan Kenobi raises his defenseless hands to Jango, who sits on his hips to pin him down. Kenobi stays still, though he cranes his head away from the blazing ‘saber to his throat that washes them both in blue light.
“You snuck into my quarters,” Jango bites, pushing his lightsaber closer to Kenobi’s pale, thin skin. There is a faint edge pressing against Jango’s side, and using the Force, Jango yanks the vibroblade from Kenobi’s grasp; it embeds in the wall opposite the bed. “I’ll be kind enough not to mention the knife. Why ?”
“I mean you no harm ,” Kenobi reiterates. “You’ve taken my weapon. Remove yours, and we can talk.”
It’s a simple demand. Kenobi is obviously a negotiator used to his word being followed. Jango is an unstoppable wall who listens only to the Force… and occasionally the Jedi Council. They are locked in a standstill.
“Trust in the Force,” Kenobi adds, not a plea, not a demand, but a reassurance that wouldn’t be amiss from Jango’s peers at the Temple.
Jango cocks his head, and he listens to the Force. For Jaster, it was always a buzzing, a large question mark of where to go next and what mysteries to uncover. For Jango, the Force has always been a warrior’s chant. The march of an army. The sounds of a blade being sharpened. Not war, not battle, but training and the rhythm of being.
A Mandalorian through and through, even as a Jedi.
The Force tells him to trust, to trust in Kenobi. It echoes around him to the tune of a Mando’a ballad that Jaster taught him that would be sung between battles about warriors returning to their lovers. Odd choice, but Jango gets the point. Trust Kenobi.
That doesn’t mean that Jango is going to make that choice easily.
He extinguishes his blade and leans back on his haunches, using the Force to tap the light switch and flood the room with light. Kenobi becomes fleshed out beneath him, his hair glinting in the sterile light, his color more washed out. He’s traded his loose clothing from earlier for darker colors.
“Thank you,” Kenobi says gratefully.
“What was with the knife?” Jango probes. “If you meant me no harm at all?”
“I did not come to harm you,” Kenobi retorts, eyes narrowed, “but you had a weapon to my throat. If you hurt me, I will defend myself.”
Kenobi may be one of the better-mannered bounty hunters who Jango has found himself facing.
“There are better ways of getting my attention than sneaking into my quarters in the middle of the night,” says Jango, and he slides from Kenobi’s body to his feet, calling the vibroblade back into his hand. He doesn’t give it to Kenobi just about yet and slides it into his belt inside, a motion Kenobi watches acutely.
“Not with this,” Kenobi says flatly, and he sits up in the bed, gracefully folding his legs beneath himself. He then clears his throat and leans into Jango, who still looms over him. “You don’t understand this conspiracy that you’ve walked into. Neither of us do.”
“This conspiracy?” Jango questions skeptically. “You mean, the impossible Force-sensitive babies out there? The assassin sent to kill a Mandalorian leader who is obviously you? This hidden planet near Wild Space? What part of this screams conspiracy to you?”
Kenobi snorts, but then sobers back up. “Look, something is wrong here. When I was first hired on almost a decade ago, I was told that the work the Kaminoans were doing was to support the dwindling ranks of the Jedi, all under contract from the Jedi. The circumstances were—” Here, he hesitates “— interesting , but the pay was considerable and they distracted me with Anakin when I began to ask questions they didn’t like.”
“They bribed you with a son,” Jango surmises.
Now, Kenobi grimaces. “I wouldn’t necessarily… call Anakin a son. He’s more of what a padawan would have been for a bounty hunter.” When Jango raises an eyebrow: “I’m not the paternal type.”
“Not my business,” Jango says matter-of-factly. Kenobi’s description sounds like a cocktail of attachment and daddy issues for Anakin, and while Jango can’t be called a perfect Jedi with attachment issues of his own, he knows where to keep himself out of.
“Right,” says Kenobi gratefully, returning to his topic at-hand. “Over the years, we have had check-ins from Master Mereel, and I have been sent out to collect genetic material from various donors, though calling them that may be too generous at times, as well as messier business as per my contract with the Kaminoans. It’s all seemed legitimate… but then, we had radio silence from Master Mereel for over a year, and today, you showed up, and you clearly had no clue about the project, even if you had the Kaminoans fooled…”
Kenobi must be even sharper than Jango accounted for if he picked up on that. Jango’s never been a strong actor, but he’s always been able to sell a lie.
“The man you met as Master Mereel was an imposter,” Jango tells him. “I know because Jaster Mereel was my master, and he would have never condoned this project, not when it goes against everything we were ever taught to hold sacred as Jedi.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Kenobi begins to protect.
Jango cuts him off. “Jaster brought me to the Jedi Temple from Concord Dawn after Mandalorian terrorists devastated my home. He was born on Concord Dawn as well and considered my parents friends. He practically raised me. He would never do such a thing.”
“So someone was out there for the last decade masquerading as your master,” Kenobi realizes. “Could it have been another Jedi? Someone on your Council?”
There’s occasionally no love lost between Jango and the Council, but he knows that they have nothing but the best interests of the Order in mind. This work that continues on Kamino is not it.
“No one from the Jedi Council would attempt to pervert the Force like this,” Jango says with certainty, “but if it was an individual Jedi pretending to act on the word of the Order, I could not say. What did this fake Jaster look like?”
Kenobi closes his eyes and squints. “I met with him on a few occasions, but if you asked me to recall him, I could not say. I cannot picture anyone in my mind, even if I swear I could in the past. I could only say with certainty that he is human or humanoid.”
Only someone with strong telepathic abilities would be able to affect someone with a mind such as Kenobi. No one whom Jango can think of in the Order with such capability has the moral code to do so. Something else in the Force is flagging for his attention, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach.
“It may be possible that we are dealing with someone other than a Jedi,” Jango says. “Someone who has accessed the dark side.”
“That… is possible,” Kenobi says after a long pause. “But why would they want thousands of Force-sensitives engineered for the Jedi Order?”
“I don’t know,” Jango says grimly, “but this smells like—” He stiffens, the Force alerting and clanging in his ears like gloved hands on beskar. He yanks Kenobi to his feet without touching him. “We’ve run out of time. Grab Anakin and whatever you can carry. I’ll meet you at my ship. I know you know where it is.”
“Where are you going?” Kenobi asks, stealing his vibroblade from Jango’s belt. Doing so brings him close to Jango, close enough that Jango can count the spray of delicate freckles across his face, close enough that Jango can smell the musk of his cologne coupled with blaster grease. It’s a heady smell.
“To get some answers,” Jango says, too close to Kenobi, but he doesn’t dare step back.
It feels so insignificant in the grand scheme of things nor do they have time for this, but Jango has felt the solidness of this man’s body beneath him. He doesn’t think he could forget that so easily.
“I don’t think you’ll find the answers you want so easily,” says Kenobi, swaying closer until his breath ghosts across Jango’s lips.
“I don’t really care,” Jango replies. He can still feel Kenobi’s fingers hooked into his belt. The tunic Kenobi wears cuts low enough to reveal his collar bones; Jango wants to bite them.
“You’re not a very good Jedi, are you?” Kenobi asks, and there’s some judgment in that statement that Jango willingly ignores.
“I don’t think you really care either right now,” Jango tells him, and he wraps his fingers around Kenobi’s hip and pulls him forward until he can lock his elbow around his neck and devour his mouth.
Kenobi gives as good as he gets, hooking his ankle between Jango’s legs and digging his nails into the skin of Jango’s stomach before he ultimately moves his hands to clutch at Jango’s biceps. He is just as sly as that glimpse into his mind indicated, and Jango finds kissing him akin to holding a gushing river in his fingers. He becomes so caught up in trying to keep Kenobi under his mouth’s purchase that he barely registers the wall of his quarters crumbling until he unconsciously stops a blaster bolt inches from their heads.
“Time’s up, darling,” Kenobi tells him in between pants. He looks near feral, his eyes darken and his lips reddened and his hair mussed, as he takes his vibroblade and rockets it into an approaching battle droid’s neck.
“Blast them!” the other droids cry when their comrade’s body tumbles near their feet.
“I think not,” growls Jango, who had been entertaining thoughts of leveraging Kenobi against the bed and seeing just how uncontainable he became with their clothes off. With one strong swipe of his ‘saber, he cuts right through the first line of droids. Kenobi takes down any stragglers with a few quick shots of the blaster he unstrapped from his ankle.
But that’s just the first wave. From both ends of the hallway comes a march of what must be dozens of droids. A verifiable army.
“Looks like our imposter knows we’ve caught on,” Kenobi says grimly.
“Get Anakin, meet me at my ship,” Jango reiterates, but Kenobi shakes his head.
“No time,” he explains, checking the charge on his blaster. “That’s two different ends of the city. Anakin can make his way towards me, but there’s still the younglings to protect. They don’t deserve to be caught up in this vendetta.”
“What kind of bounty hunter are you?” Jango groans as he throws back a group of droids with the Force. He caves some of the wall on them for good measure. “You should have been a Jedi instead of me.”
“Nearly was,” Kenobi says, and he chuckles at the look of sheer surprise on Jango’s face. “That’s another story I owe you, including the one of how I met your sister.”
This revelation hits Jango like a punch to his chest. “ You’ve seen Arla ?” It takes all his training to hold onto his lightsaber and continue blocking blaster bolts rather than turning to Kenobi and shaking him for answers.
“Who do you think brought her children to the Temple?” Kenobi asks, continuing to grin at Jango’s shock. “She made me promise.”
“Where is she?” Jango demands. “Is she still alive?”
“She’s still alive, but I’ll tell you all about her when we make it out of this,” Kenobi promises. Briefly, he turns from the droids he’s been blasting down and kisses Jango with enough tongue that he’s tempted to turn his back as well. “I’ll see you at the Temple on Coruscant soon.”
“With answers,” Jango demands.
“With answers,” Kenobi repeats. He winks at Jango. “I’ll try not to be late.”
Before Jango can reply, a droideka rolls between them, springing into its full, deadly form, and when Jango finally succeeds in bypassing its force field and cutting it down, Kenobi is gone. Jango curses and turns back to those pesky droids, cutting them down with renewed vigor.
He knows that he can trust in the Force that he will be seeing Kenobi again very soon.