They’re never exactly the same

[Lilla Syrin]

The elderly man stared at the tank full of liquid. His younger self stared back at him.

“You cannot beat Arkanian cloning technology,” said the facility executive. “As good as the Kaminoans’, and a full year’s lead time to adult, as well – we don’t rush the process. We guarantee a stable product.”

“But this is what, your third clone. I presume you did not come here to check on progress, sir.” The executive bit his lip. His words sounded a little hostile, defensive even. “Although we always welcome your company.”

If the elderly man had taken offence, he didn’t show it. “You are astute. I have a new project for you. Or rather two. Not clones and no flash-learning. I have two samples of blood and wish for you to work with. Unlike my own clone, I do not want identical perfection. Imagine I simply want a younger sister for each of the donors.”

The elderly man ran the fingertip of his glove down the permaglass of one vat and stared at empty space beyond.

“It can be done…” began the executive, pausing slightly.

“Yes, I know,” the elderly man said, cutting across him. “But it will cost. I am prepared to pay the price.”

 

[Lilla Syrin]

The Kaminoans decanted their clones as juveniles and matured them naturally. The elderly man wanted this method to be employed – but did not trust anyone but his current supplier.

Having outlined his wishes, he now sat in the executive’s office, a glass of vintage Corellian brandy in a cut crystal glass in front of him on the table.

The Arkanians were very obliging contractors. The old man sat and watched carefully as medical technicians took the two blood samples he’d spent some time and a rather sizeable amount of credits collecting.

And now he was entrusting them to the Arkanians.

The executive sat back in his chair. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you into an exact clone?”

The elderly man decided to use silence and a sip of his brandy as his response, allowing the amber liquid to evaporate on his tongue and enter his palate in the manner he’d been taught as a young boy – first time around.

“And no speeding up the process, and no training of any kind.” The executive counted off his client’s orders on his fingers. “Understood.”

“No training beyond the minimum – Basic, the use of utensils to eat. That sort of thing.”

“And when will you collect them?”

The elderly man squinted, clearly deep in thought. “At what age are they sufficiently independent to survive yet have no memories of this place?” He waved a hand expansively to refer to the cloning facilities.

“There is no precise time. They may even be ready at different times.”

“Then contact me when they are ready. I shall collect them both at the same time.” It was clear he’d heard the Arkanian, but had chosen to ignore the information. It did not fit in to his plan.

Or rather, his experiment.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

Some years passed. The elderly man ignored the first summons. One of the subjects was ready, but not the other. He waited patiently until both were ready to be set free into society.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

The first was placed on Coruscant. A splendid apartment was purchased and servants retained. A significant trust fund was established and a local law firm engaged to be the child's ward until she reached the age of majority.

The best schooling was paid for and the best personal tutors identified to teach her the finest things in life - from art to literature and from music to etiquette. She wanted for nothing yet was not spoiled per se. Everything she received was entirely pragmatic. It served a purpose. She did not receive anything she asked for on a whim. She was taught the value of credits, even though they were unlimited in her case.

If she needed something, she received the best that money could buy. But if she did not need it, she did not receive it, save for a small allowance she could spend on whatever she wished.

By every logical argument going, she would learn values and given a privileged background, would no doubt end up in some upstanding role in society. An honest politician, the CEO of a charity, or - if blessed with Force sensitivity - a Jedi.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

The second was left on Tatooine. Quite literally left. Deliberately placed where a passing Jawa convoy would pick her up and no doubt either use her, or sell her into slavery.

She was to be given no credits, no logical source of training or education and she would be forced to do whatever it took to survive. There was every chance slavery would kill her, but if not, it was most likely that her upbringing would lead her to a path of crime, or begging or a lifetime of slavery. If she were fortunate enough to be Force sensitive, she'd end up a Sith, or a Knight of Ren. Or maybe Dark Jedi.

She would have learned to fight to survive and take what she needed. It was a school of hard knocks that only the toughest and most ruthless would survive.

 

[Lilla Syrin]

So the billionaire set his little experiment into motion. He was strong enough not to interfere. He set the scene and stacked the odds -- but beyond weighting the dice, he allowed the game to play out.

He knew, deep down, the way it would pan out. It was inevitable. It was undeniable.

But it was also little more than a theory. And as such, nothing could be taken for granted. Especially given the donors of the DNA that coursed through each of the girl's veins.

Blood. Thicker than water, that was never in doubt. But stronger than the environment?

Only time would tell...