The doors sealed behind them with silent precision, and the storm vanished as though it had never existed.
Inside Tipoca City, the world was white.
Not merely clean — immaculate. The corridor stretched forward in a seamless curve of polished surfaces and diffused light. Walls and floors blended almost imperceptibly, their contours designed without harsh angles, everything streamlined and efficient. Illumination panels embedded along the ceiling cast a cool, even glow that erased shadow entirely. To human eyes, it felt almost sterile to the point of discomfort.
To the Kaminoans, it was likely radiant.
Lama Su moved ahead of them with long, deliberate strides, hooved feet making no sound upon the pristine floor. His elongated frame seemed to glide rather than walk, black fabric trailing behind him in disciplined symmetry.
"Tipoca City houses our primary growth and training facilities," he said smoothly as they advanced. "The Republic's order has been proceeding for nearly a decade."
Nearly a decade.
Kael's helmeted gaze shifted subtly at that.
He walked beside Yoda, the muted hum of climate control systems replacing the violence of the storm outside. Through tall, curved transparisteel panels set along the corridor's outer arc, the ocean could still be seen — a dark, roiling expanse beneath endless rain — but here it felt distant, insulated.
They entered a wide observation chamber.
Below them, through a vast pane of reinforced glass, rows upon rows of cylindrical cloning pods stretched into the distance. Each pod was filled with pale blue nutrient solution, and within each floated a human form in various stages of development — some barely more than outlines, others fully shaped but suspended in artificial stasis. Soft internal lights illuminated the chambers in rhythmic pulses, casting a faint aquatic glow across the room.
Kael stood very still.
Thousands.
No.
Tens of thousands.
"This is the growth acceleration wing," Lama Su explained without pride or apology. "Our technology allows maturation at twice the standard human rate. What would take two decades elsewhere requires only ten standard years here."
The pods extended so far that the far wall seemed to dissolve into perspective.
Kael's reflection in the glass hovered faintly over the floating forms below — black beskar helmet superimposed over identical faces suspended in blue.
Yoda's ears lowered slightly.
"Efficient," he murmured.
"Necessary," Lama Su corrected gently.
They moved on.
The next chamber opened into a training complex. Rows of young clones — no more than adolescents by physical measure — marched in perfect synchronization across polished flooring. Their movements were precise, disciplined beyond their apparent age. In adjoining sections, older cadets engaged in hand-to-hand drills, blaster simulations, tactical exercises projected across holographic fields.
Kaminoan overseers observed from elevated platforms, datapads in elongated hands.
"Our soldiers are engineered for obedience," Lama Su continued as they walked along the upper observation deck. "Behavioral modification ensures loyalty. Combat training exceeds that of conventional planetary forces. They will outperform battle droids in adaptability and coordination."
Below, two squads of clones executed a complex maneuver without a single verbal command.
No hesitation.
No deviation.
Kael's jaw tightened faintly beneath his helmet.
"They look young," he said.
"They are precisely on schedule," Lama Su replied.
There was no irony in his tone.
Another corridor curved ahead, leading them deeper into the facility. Here the hum of machinery intensified subtly — not chaotic, but immense in scale.
Suddenly, a tonal chime resonated softly through the corridor.
Lama Su paused.
He turned his head slightly, and a faint projection shimmered before him — a citywide communication interface activating in response to his presence.
"Prime Minister broadcast," an automated voice indicated.
Lama Su inclined his head.
"Proceed."
His voice carried seamlessly through the city's internal systems.
"All active clone divisions are to initiate deployment protocol," he announced evenly. "Report to assigned commanders immediately. Proceed to landing bays Alpha through Theta. Boarding of Acclamator-class assault ships will begin at once. Departure authorization has been confirmed."
There was no dramatic inflection.
Only instruction.
Within seconds, subtle shifts began to occur around them. Through adjoining corridors and observation panels, clones altered direction in coordinated unison. Training drills ceased. Units pivoted and marched with flawless precision toward designated exit points.
From an adjacent viewport, Kael glimpsed the outer docking platforms extending beyond the city's curvature. Massive shapes rested there — Acclamator-class assault ships, their angular hulls dwarfed only by the scale of the ocean beneath them. Ramps extended from their sides as disciplined lines of clone troopers advanced upward in synchronized waves.
Lightning illuminated the platforms in brief, violent flashes.
"They depart for Geonosis," Lama Su said calmly. "As arranged."
Kael's gaze lingered on the marching columns.
"They've never seen combat," he observed.
"They have been bred for it," Lama Su replied.
Yoda's expression did not change.
"Their first battle," he said quietly.
"Will be decisive," Lama Su answered.
They resumed walking.
The corridor ahead curved toward a broader viewing chamber, one that overlooked a staging bay where armored vehicles — AT-TE walkers and support transports — were being maneuvered into position beneath the assault ships.
Kael felt the scale of it now.
This was not a militia.
Not an auxiliary force.
It was an army in full.
And it had been waiting.
"For ten years," he said quietly.
Lama Su did not deny it.
"Commissioned by the Republic," he replied. "Fulfilled without deviation."
Yoda's cane tapped once softly against the white floor.
"Ready, they are," he murmured.
Below them, ranks of identical soldiers moved like a single organism — precise, obedient, unyielding.
Kael stood at the railing, helmet visor reflecting endless lines of white armor marching toward war.
Somewhere beyond this storm-wrapped world, Jedi were already descending into a desert arena.
And here, on a planet erased from maps, an army had been waiting for its first command.
The corridor widened again and opened into one of Tipoca City's primary deployment bays.
Sound struck first.
Boots.
Hundreds of them.
The synchronized impact of plastoid armor and magnetized soles against polished decking created a steady, thunderous rhythm that echoed through the chamber with mechanical precision. It was not chaotic. It was not hurried.
It was perfect.
The bay itself was vast — a cavern of white architecture curving outward toward an open docking platform exposed to the raging storm. The far wall had retracted entirely, revealing the ocean below and the violence of Kamino's sky. Rain slashed inward in sheets, diverted at the threshold by invisible atmospheric fields that kept the worst of it from flooding the interior.
An Acclamator-class assault ship loomed beyond the opening.
Its angular hull dominated the platform, durasteel flanks glistening under relentless rainfall. The vessel's massive forward ramp extended downward to meet the bay's floor, forming a broad, slanted bridge between city and warship. Engines along its stern pulsed faintly with restrained power, ready to ignite.
Clone troopers marched up the ramp in disciplined columns.
White armor gleamed beneath the bay's sterile lighting, blindingly pristine and uniform. Twenty plates of plastoid-alloy composite fitted seamlessly over black bodysuits, helmets crowned with narrow fins that caught and refracted the light. The armor bore the faint aesthetic echo of Mandalorian shock trooper design — angular lines, T-shaped visors — though rendered through Kaminoan austerity into something more clinical.
Command units stood at intervals along the floor.
Some bore narrow yellow stripes along their pauldrons — commanders. Others displayed red or blue markings across chest plates or helmets — captains and lieutenants. Green bands marked sergeants directing squads forward with clipped efficiency.
"Move, move, move!"
"Maintain formation!"
"Board in sequence!"
Their voices were identical.
Same timbre. Same cadence. Same discipline.
No inflection betrayed individuality.
No hesitation disrupted the flow.
Outside, lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the endless ocean in violent flashes. Wind screamed against the hull of the assault ship, rain striking armor and metal in relentless percussion.
Not one clone faltered.
Not one turned his helmet upward in distraction.
They marched into the storm as though it did not exist.
Kael stood near the edge of the observation line, helmet visor reflecting endless white ranks moving forward. Water beaded and slid from his own beskar plating as he watched.
This was not theory.
This was deployment.
"This is but one of many," Lama Su said calmly as he joined them at the railing. "Thirty-six Acclamator-class assault ships stand ready in orbit and on platform staging. Approximately one hundred ninety thousand units will depart within the hour."
His tone suggested efficiency, not magnitude.
"They will reach Geonosis in coordinated waves."
Below them, another column of clones pivoted sharply and ascended the ramp in flawless synchronization. The rhythmic pounding of boots continued without interruption.
"What do you think of our army?" Lama Su asked.
For a moment, neither Jedi answered.
Yoda's gaze moved slowly across the ranks — not merely observing their discipline, but sensing the living presence beneath identical armor. The Force flowed through them as it did through any being.
"They are… impressive," Yoda said at last.
There was no exaggeration in the word.
"A great service, you have rendered the Republic."
Lama Su inclined his head slightly.
"Kamino fulfills its contracts without deviation."
Another line of troopers advanced past them, helmets turning only in alignment with formation.
Yoda's expression grew more contemplative.
"Known, Kamino will be," he said softly. "As birthplace of the Republic's army."
The words felt both acknowledgement and warning.
"A Jedi Master will remain," Yoda continued after a pause. "To oversee and protect. After Geonosis."
Lama Su's black eyes shifted toward Kael.
"Will that be you?" he asked.
The question was smooth.
Almost curious.
Rain lashed against the assault ship beyond, lightning reflecting in the curved surfaces of white armor.
Kael's visor remained fixed on the marching clones for a heartbeat longer before he answered.
"With all due respect, Prime Minister," he said evenly, voice filtered slightly through his helmet's modulation system, "it will not."
He turned his head slightly toward Lama Su.
"If war truly comes, I'll be needed at the front."
He gestured subtly toward the ramp where clone troopers continued boarding in perfect order.
"I don't see the fairness in sending them to fight while I remain here."
Lama Su regarded him for a long moment.
Then the faintest curve touched his thin mouth.
"Spoken," he said smoothly, "like a true Mandalorian."
The comment lingered in the sterile air.
Kael did not respond.
Below them, the final ranks of one division completed their ascent. The ramp began retracting slowly as sealed hatches engaged along the assault ship's hull. Engines brightened, their low resonance intensifying into imminent ignition.
Beyond the platform, the storm raged without mercy.
Inside the bay, an army moved with mechanical inevitability.
And somewhere far beyond Kamino's ocean-wrapped horizon, Geonosis waited to meet it.