Under revisions & rewrites
Book 1
" My only order to you is to not follow orders "
Dakota Ky. General of the 501st, Jedi of the Galactic Republic. The Perfect Warrior.
~
The Clone War is in full force across the galaxy. Jedi Knights of the Galact...
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FLASHBACK: 22 BBY
Rain lashed against the exterior transparisteel as Dakota meandered down the sterile white hallway, a half-step behind Obi-Wan, her black cloak rippling slightly with each delicate step. Fluorescent light glinted off the white walls, reflecting the clinical sterility of the facility.
Her eyes were up, not focused on Obi-Wan or the tall, thin Kaminoan gliding beside them, but on the stormy world beyond the tall window. An endless ocean, gray and churning like a storm trapped in glass. Her expression was unreadable, and she relied on Obi-Wan to do all of the talking. To ask the questions.
The place unsettled her. The assembly-line nature of life. The mass production of war. Children and cells in tubes, fostered for combat.
"They are growing at double the rate of normal humans," the Kaminoan guide enlightened in her musical cadence. "Very efficient."
Dakota tuned her out, pausing to overlook a room that stretched on farther than she could see. Identical children, sitting and eating a meal at long, steel tables. Hundreds, thousands of them.
Then, a sound of boots. Not Jedi boots. Military. Coming from the opposite hallway. She kept moving, keeping pace with her friend as they were led deeper into the facility.
Two young clone troopers strode past at a crosswalk intersection. One of them—CT-7567, soon to be known as Rex—turned his head as he passed. He had no helmet on. His dark hair was short-cropped, brown eyes sharp and curious.
The clone walking beside him, Mars, leaner, and a bit little more lighthearted, kept talking about a training exercise.
But Rex had stopped listening.
Because he saw her.
The first non-Kaminoan woman he'd ever seen.
He slowed slightly, eyes locked on her as she walked beside the other Jedi Master, graceful and otherworldly in her stride. Her black hair was cut short, but a few strands slip free, dancing with her motion. There was something about the way she carried herself that struck him, strong and observant. Emerald eyes, catching and noticing everything around her.
He saw all of it.
However, she didn't seem to see him.
Her gaze was elsewhere—focused on the ocean. Focused on the factory and the infants growing in tubes. Or maybe get attention was nowhere at all, and she was a figment of his imagination in passing.
