Reading Time: 112 Minutes

Title: To Hold Infinity
Author: Belvella
Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian
Genre: Action Adventure, Dimension Travel, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship(s): Din Djarin/Jaster Mereel, Boba Fett/Fennec Shand, Paz Vizsla/OFC
Content Rating: R
Warnings: Major Character Death, Slavery, Torture, Violence-Graphic, Violence-Against Children/Child Abuse, Discussion of rape, murder
Word Count: 108,363
Summary: In a galaxy far far away. All hope was abandoned with the fall to the Darkside of Rey Skywalker and the rise of the First Order. With the defeat of the rebellion and the execution of Mon Mothma by Kylo Ren all hope seemed lost… A Witch’s desperate attempt at a forbidden spell. A heartbroken fathers despair and conviction to do what ever it takes to avenged his loved ones. An interruption at a critical moment gives a dying Force a chance to correct some wrongs and save the galaxy.
Artist: Tpena19

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Chapter 3

Year 937 ARR/ 63BBY

Jaster Mereel leans back in his seat keeping an eye on the door leading into the cantina. The cantina is dark and smokey with almost all of the patrons being far from polite members of society. He is seated in the one dark corner which allows him to keep the whole room and both exits in view. His helmet is on the table next to his drink. The visor turned towards him, clearly showing his intent of not talking to anyone. He takes note of the time and settles deeper into the shadow of the corner, his companions still a while out. Whatever job Montross had found had better have a great pay-out, Pagodon is a frozen hell hole on the edge of the galaxy. It is parsecs away from anywhere.

A commotion across the room draws his attention. A beautiful red female Twi’lek is being accosted by three men. They have an unsavoury look about them, that reminds Jaster of the slavers he has seen on Tatooine. Before he can stand up to interfere the door to the cantina opens letting in a gust of freezing air. For a moment everyone is still taking in the newcomer. He is a mandalorian in brown and red armour. With a horned creature as a signet in white. Jaster stills and draws deeper into the shadows.

He knows that the new governor of Concord Dawn has put a bounty on his head after it became clear that more and more of the protector journeymen had decided to join him in his exile. Between that and Death Watch being after his head since more of the traditional clans decided to not only join but to swear to him after he published his super commando codex. He had only taken over the mercenary company five months ago and already their number doubled.

It is getting to the point where he is considering splitting the group in two. He is also considering renaming the Headhunters to the Haat Mando’ade. They are growing so quickly that soon they will be more of a faction than a mere mercenary company.

The three men that were accosting the Twi’lek are now gunning for the new Mando. Jaster watches as the mando stalks up to the bar. The obvious ring leader of the group, a thickly built bald man with a wild beard and a scar running across his left cheek walks up to the bar and accuses the mando of making him spill his drink. Since he is not speaking basic it does not appear as if the other mandalorian understands him.

The largest of his accomplices joins him at the bar bracketing the mando in from the other side. Merely looking straight ahead Mando seems unconcerned about the danger closing in on him. “Uh he… here. Let me get you a new drink” The bartender stutters, pouring a drink and pushing it down the counter to the first ruffian. Before he can pick it up, Mando grabs it and slams it into the face of the man on his left with enough strength that Jaster can hear bone shatter knocking the being unconscious.

Ruffian one pulls a knife but in the pull back from smashing the beaker into his colleagues face mando elbows him in the throat grabs the hand holding the knife spins him around and stabs him in the back. From the angle Jaster knows that it is a fatal blow. The third most likely slaver tries to make a run for it, but the mando shoots out a whip cord snagging him around the ankle just as he exits the building. Falling, the ruffian turns on his back and pulls a blaster and shoots at the mando.

Mando merely leans to the side letting the shot harmlessly fly pass his head, before pulling his own blaster. Pulling the struggling man back in through the door he shoots the door control and watches dispassionately as the man is cut in half by the closing door. With a flick of his wrist the whipcord is drawn back into the vambrace. With a sigh the mando places some credits on the bar before stalking across the room to where the Twi’lek is sitting.

“Mando!” She exclaims. “Fancy seeing you here. What brings you to this desolate sith hole?” She asks while smiling alluringly up at mando. He reaches into one of the pouches on his belt and pulls out a tracking fob.

“You got to be kriffing me!” she shouts as she gets to her feet. “That asshole actually put a bounty out on me!” Jaster winces at the shrill sound of her voice. Every eye on the cantina cautiously watches the unfolding drama. “Are you coming or am I going to have to drag you?” The mando’s voice is very soft, low and husky.

Jaster shivers, between the sheer competence of the fight and that voice he is more than a little aroused. He knows the mando must have seen him as he entered the bar. No one that competent could have missed all the threats in the room. And Jaster as a mandalorian himself is a pretty big threat. He suddenly seriously regrets that his helmet is indicating that he does not want to be bothered because manda does he want to be bothered by this fine specimen of a fighter.

“Oh kriff you. Fine!” The Twi’lek grabs a bag that is resting on the ground next to her. Pointing at the door. “Well lead the way.” Mando merely tilts his head clearly waiting for her to walk in front of him. The twitch of her lekku indicates several rude things to the mando. He merely snorts.

“I just wanted a holiday.” She grouses as she heads out the door with Mando following her closely on her heels, his one hand resting protectively on her lower back. “Next time inform your father before pulling a disappearing act.” Mando dryly states as the door closes behind them.

Jaster only debates with himself for a minute before he dons his helmet and heads out the cantina. Rushing out the door he runs straight up into Montross and Beck Ordo. “Jaster,” Montross greets as he stumbles back a step. “Did you guys see the other Mandalorian?” He demands as he tries to look around.

Sharing a glance Beck and Montross shake their heads. “We did not see anyone.” Montross answers. “What other Mandalorian?” Beck asks. Jaster sighs and sag a little. “My ven’riduur.”

“What?” Montross chokes. Jaster grins, glad that his bucket is hiding how red his face is, and explains what he had just witnessed. “I swear I am in love.”

Beck shakes his head and huffs out a laugh asking, “Do you even have the name of your future love interest?” Sighing deeply Jaster could only shake his head. “I also did not recognise his sigil, but it is unique and I just know our paths will cross again” he states with certainty. Montross shakes his head. “Only you Jaster. Only you.” Putting a hand on Jaster’s shoulder he starts to steer the other man back into the cantina. “You can search for your future partner later, for now we have a job to do.”

Year 937 ARR/ 63BBY

Boba slumps down wearily on the only unbroken chair in the cantina for Mos Pelgo. He watches Fennec scavenging behind the bar counter. With an exclamation she straightens and holds up a glass bottle filled with a blue beverage and two unbroken glasses. “I found some spotchka.”

Boba grunts and checks the perimeter to ensure there is no one to see them before taking off his helmet. “I could do with a drink.” Walking over Fennec places the two glasses and bottle on the wobbly table next to her partner. With a sigh she removes her bright orange helmet. Placing it next to Boba’s she traces the purple outlining her T-shape visor. The rest of her armour is done in black and shades of dark purple. She looks around before shrugging and straddles Boba sitting down facing him. Holding onto his shoulder with one hand she leans back picking up the bottle and pours them each a drink.

Smirking Boba picks up one of the glasses, his other hand settles onto Fennec’s hip holding her steady. “I am pretty sure there are other seats around.” Wrapping the arm that she had used to hold onto his shoulder around his back she leans in and steals a kiss. “Sure but none of them is as comfy as this one.” Sitting up straight she picks up and knocks back her drink. “How long do you think before any of the locals come looking for us?”

Boba takes a sip of his drink as he contemplates their current circumstances. “By now word would have spread that Krayt’s Claw have taken Mos Pelgo, destroyed the Mining consortium and banned slavery.” he states. The dark haired assassin hums as she tangles her fingers in her partner’s hair. “We will have quite a bit of work to rebuild the town and setting up the guild hall.” she answers. Boba sighs and brings his hand up to pull Fennec into a gentle mirshmure’cya. Simple breathing together for a long moment, eyes closed.

“Hi Boss man, do you have your bucket on? The towns folk have picked a representative and wants to speak to you!” a shout comes from the outside. Huffing out a laugh, Fennec slips off Boba’s lap and picks up her helmet. Boba throws back the rest of his drink and picks up his helmet. He looks as the duty green and remembrance red for a long moment. With a quick smile at his partner he dons the helmet, waiting until after Fennec has put hers on, he turns and shouts at Odon Anak. “Yeah! Show them in!”

The door to the cantina opens and the Anak twins struts in followed by a human male. The two tan coloured zabraks scan the room before crossing it and takes up places behind the two mandalorians. For a split second Boba mourns the fact that neither of the two is at all interested in swearing the creed and becoming mandalorian. They hold to the same values that the tribe does, it was one of the reasons why he snapped them up for his crew when he first met them. The twins are only slightly younger than he is, and their potential is clear.

Looking over at the human male he notes the tired look and more importantly the fresh scar encircling his throat. Twitching his fingers in the sign for the Broken Circle Boba watches the man freeze before he slumps in partial relief. “Anku?” the blond haired spokesperson for the people of Mos Pelgo whispers. Boba shakes his head, “No, analav. I would offer you a seat but.” waving a hand at the broken furniture. The former slave huffs out a laugh before freezing in fear. “Be at peace.” Boba knows how intimidating he appears, how cold the vocoder makes him sound. “I am Boba Fett, and this is my riduur Fennec Shand. You have already met my lieutenants Keeth and Odon Anak.”

The former slave nods and runs a hand through his dirty blond hair. He is tall, he has at least 5cm on Boba, but he is lanky build and clearly underfed. “We…” He stops and swallows before trying again. “That is, the town folk want to know what’s going to happen to us now?” he wrings his hands. Fear of the warriors that have overthrown the known order, wars with the relief of having his shackles broken.

Cocking his head to the side in consideration Boba glances at his partner. Fennec answers with a small nod before moving to pick up her sniper rifle that is leaning against the bar and heads out the back of the cantina.

Turning back to the now clearly nervous and stressed out spokesperson. “Now we get everyone treated for their injuries. Make sure that all the slave collars are disabled and then if anyone is chipped get those removed.”

“And after that?” The blond man presses. “Then we rebuild this town. You can go or stay as you choose.” The mandalorian replies. “Why?” is the next question.

“Krayt’s Claw needs a base of operation. We are going to open a Guild hall here for bounty hunters in this section. So we need a town that is independent of the Hutt’s or the Pykes.” Boba rests one hand on his belt and flexes his other hand. “Mandalorians do not believe in slavery. So we will not tolerate it in our space.” Shifting on his feet the man swallows. “And those of us who stay?”

Boba shrugs, “Do what you want. Run your businesses. Live your lives. As long as you follow the rules and treat everyone who comes here fairly we will have no issue.”

The man closes his tired eyes for a long moment. When he opens them a weight seems to lift off his shoulders. Holding out a hand to Boba, “I am Marsh Vanth.” Clasping his hand Boba greets him, “Well met Marsh Vanth. Between us we will make Mos Pelgo a safe haven for all.” Putting a hand on his shoulder Boba starts to steer the man towards the door. “Come let’s inform your people that you are now all free.”

Year 937 ARR/ 63BBY

Boba enters his and Fennec’s room and pushes the door close behind him with a tired sigh. He notices that his partner’s armour is already on the stand next to their bed. He can hear her moving around in the fresher. Sitting down on the bed he considers just flopping over and going to sleep.

“Don’t even think about it.” He has his blaster pulled and aimed before he even realizes that it is Fennec that has spoken. She is leaning against the door leading to the fresher, wrapped in a large and very fluffy white towel. Her long black hair that is normally done up in a braid hangs loose in a soft silken fall of black. She looks like a beautiful siren risen up out of old sailor stories.

“Manda but you must be beyond tired if you are saying such nonsense.” She snorts as she stalks across the room towards him. Oh he must have said that out loud. “Yeah you said that out loud, farmer boy.” Reaching him she carefully places her hands on the sides of his helmet and waits. Boba sluggishly lifts his hands and cover hers and together they remove his helmet. “Ka’ra but I am tired.” He mumbles as Fennec moves to place his helmet in its proper place on his armour stand.

Returning she slowly starts to remove his armour murmuring the prayer of thanks as each piece is placed on the stand. When he is down to his kute he slowly struggles to his feet. “I need a sonic.” Pushing him back down Fennec shakes her head. “Not as tired as you are, when did you last sleep? You were gone for a whole week.”

Leaning his head into her stomach he wraps his arms around her holding onto her. “About three days ago for about two hours. This job was a complete and utter shu’shuk.” Gently petting his hair Fennec hums. “I am never setting foot on Degobah ever again.” Boba swears. “Oh?” Fennec prods. “The shabuir I was hunting crashed his ship, then the fool thought it would be a brilliant idea to try and hide in the Cave.” Boba shudders. “I had to follow him in.”

He tightens his arms around his wife pulling her closer to him. “I killed you.” he whispers brokenly. “I killed all of you, Buir, Din, Paz, Ba’buir.” A sob tears through him. “I couldn’t shake off the darkness. I fell and killed you all.” Reaching out, Fennec pushes light and love and peace through the force bond they share. “Hush, cyare. You did not fall. You saw the darkness and yet here you are still as light as you were before you entered that cave.”

Gently lifting his head so that she can look him in the eyes. “You Boba Fett are one of the most stubborn and tenacious beings I have ever met. It will take far more than a vision in a Dark Force vergence for you to fall.” Reaching up, Boba gently touches his partner’s cheek. “I thank the Manda for the gift of you every day.” Laughing Fennec pushes him back onto the bed and starts to undo the clasps on his kute. “No one would believe how soppy you get when you are this tired.”

Boba shrugs the top of his kute off. “Only ever for you.” He answers with a large yawn. “Did you at least get the bounty?” Fennec asks as she pulls his kute off completely, dumping it in the hamper to clean it in the morning.

“Mmm, yes after I got my head back on after my rather spectacular melt down in the cave, I found him catatonic in one of the side passages. He is currently in lock up. Keeth will deliver him to the client in the morning.” Climbing into bed next to Boba, Fennec pulls the blanket over both of them. “Then sleep, tomorrow will come soon enough.”

****

Sitting in the cantina that serves as the Guild Hall in Mos Pelgo, Boba is busy going through the bounty contracts that are currently open. He marks those that he feels will suit his people and rejects those that he feels is inappropriate or that the Force warns him off. In the seven months since Krayt’s Claw had taken over the town it had changed beyond recognition. Gone where the scared hushed people terrified of the slave masters and the slave traders that ran their operations through the town. Now it is slowly growing into a bustling business centre. Children are playing in the streets and businesses are thriving.

Mos Pelgo has also become a hub for bounty hunters, mercenaries and space traders. But instead of becoming a hole for crime and sleaze it is becoming rather respectable. Several small Mandalorion clans have also settled in the town. Their number is now up to twenty-eight. None of the other Mandalorians are tribal but they all are traditionalists.

A hush suddenly falls over the busy cantina. Raising his head to see what is the cause, Boba suddenly grins. “Vod!” he exclaims as he notices his brother standing in the door of the cantina. Din steps into the cantina followed closely by a beautiful red skin Twi’lek female. Tilting his head in a question Boba felt his eyebrows raise. His brother has never brought anyone with him when he visited. In fact, except for that brief thing between Din and Paz in their late teens, Boba would have sworn that his brother was not interested in relationships.

This is only the third time Din has visited them. Boba is in fact still a bit salty about the fact that his younger brother has joined the Guild Hall on Nevarro rather than join him and Fennec on Tatooine. Even though he understands that Din wants to create a name for himself on his own terms.

Din starts to cross the floor over to the table where Boba is seated. The older Mandalorian notices that his brother appears tired. Din hides it well, but Boba has known the younger man since they were very small children. He knows all of his tells. Din discretely places a hand on the lower back of his companion guiding her towards Boba. Boba rises up from where he was seated and clasps his brother’s arm in greeting as he reaches him. “Vod” Din greets warmly.

Pulling his younger brother in Boba gives him a quick hug before turning to Din’s companion. “And who might this be?” He asks, while using his HUD to run facial recognition. “Boba meet V’enna. She has qualifications in Sentient Resources and Administrative management.”

Boba looks the young woman over. She is dressed in practical cargo type pants with a white button up shirt and sturdy boots. She also had a blaster on her belt. Pointing at the blaster, “Do you know how to use that?” he asks. V’enne nods, “Yes sir. My father made sure that I was trained in self defence. Both unarmed and with a blaster and knife.” Pleased with the answer, Boba turns to Din. “Buir might have mentioned that you were looking for an assistant to help with the admin for the Guild Hall here.”

Switching to their private in helmet channel Boba asks. “You trust her?”

Din sighs and rolls his eyes, knowing that even though his brother cannot see it with his helmet on he would know it. “Yes I trust her. I have known her for some time now.” Staring at his brother Boba frowns before turning and calling Odon over. Looking back at V’enna he states. “Well yes I really do need an assistant. I am pretty sure Fennec is about to murder me in my sleep if I keep pushing some of my flimsy work off on her.”

Clapping his hands, he continues. “Well V’enna lets give this a three month trial period.” Turning around back to the table he scratches through the pads before finding the one he was looking for. “For now we will go with the standard entry level guild administrative package. This includes room and board and standard compensation. After the three months we can either renegotiate or go our separate ways.”

The young woman’s lekku twitch with what Boba can only interpret as relief. “Thank you for this chance Ser Fett.” Boba shakes his head, “No need to thank me yet. I work my people hard.”

Odon snorts as she joins the group. “Don’t listen to him. The Boss man is a big softy, it’s his wife that is the scary one in this marriage.” Lazily reaching out to smack Odon lightly behind the head Boba sighs dramatically. “Undermined by everyone. Odon, V’enna is joining Krayt’s Claw, please get her set up with lodging and get her on our comms and get her a schedule and introduce her round.” Linking her arm with the newcomer Odon grins. “Come on darling, let me show you around and help you get settled.” The two brothers watch as the ladies make their way out of the cantina.

Turning back to his brother Boba clears his throat. “So what exactly is this all about?” he asks. Din slumps slightly before shaking his head. “Not here.” Boba stares for a long moment at his brother before turning and starts to gather up everything on the table. “Well come along then.” He states as he makes his way to the back of the cantina where his and Fennec’s private rooms are located.

Din sighs and pulls off his helmet as Boba closes and locks the door to his private office. Walking over to one of the large and comfortable chairs he sinks down wearily. Pulling his own helmet off Boba places it on his desk before heading over to the side cupboard and pulling out two glasses and a bottle of tihaar. Holding the bottle up he waits for Din to nod before pouring two solid amounts for each of them. “You look tired vod.” He states as he hands the one glass over.

Grimacing Din takes the glass. “It has been a difficult time.” Boba makes an enquiring sound as he settles into the seat next to Din’s. “The dreams are getting worse, and…” Din trails off.

Nudging his brother’s leg with his foot Boba waits for Din to continue. Din takes a sip of his tihaar before pulling a letter from one of the pockets on his belt. He hands it over to Boba before tipping his head back onto the back of his chair and stares up at the ceiling. Frowning Boba opens the letter and carefully reads through it. Reaching the end he looks incredulously over at the younger bounty hunter. “What the kriff?” He demands, “Is this for real?”

Din gives a half hysterical laugh, “Yeah it is for real. Ba’buir confirmed it.” Boba knocks back the rest of his drink. He considers getting back up but then just shrugs and pulls the bottle of tihaar over to him using the Force. Din lifts his head for a second to watch the bottle float across the room. “If ba’buir sees you now she will kick your ass.” Snorting Boba refills his glass. “I’m no damn jetii. I have these abilities so I damn well will use them.” Gesturing at Din’s glass Boba waits for him to knock back the remaining liquid before refilling his glass.

“Okay so as disturbing as the content of the letter is I take nothing can be done about it at the moment.” Boba states. Din hums an agreement. “Okay so let us talk about things that we can actually affect right now.” Boba states. “Tell me the real story behind V’enna.” he orders.

Sitting up straighter and swirling the liquid in his glass Din frowns lightly. “I first met her about two years ago. In fact she and a friend saved my shebs after the whole mudhorn debacle.” Boba makes an inquiring noise. “After killing the mudhorn and getting the bounty I was dead on my feet. I barely managed to get back to the ship. In fact I was so out of it that I couldn’t get the door open. I collapsed right next to the ship. Half delirious and barely conscious. V’enna and her friend found me. They sliced into the ship to open it up. Got me in and treated my wounds. Somehow the two of them knew enough about mandalorians to not remove my buy’ce. They stayed and nursed me for the two days it took for me to recover enough to make my way back to the tribe. It was the strangest thing, they could have robbed me naked but they did none of that. When they were sure that I was okay to travel on my own, we exchanged comm codes, because while they denied it. I owed them a debt.” Din takes a sip of his tihaar before continuing. “About a year goes by and I hear nothing from either of them. Then about eight months ago Calypso comms me asking me if I would be willing to take a bounty for a live retrieval and what it will cost her.”

Boba starts, “Calypso as in…”

“As in the Pirate Captain Nym’s badly kept secret adopted daughter, Calypso.” Din agrees. The older man stares at his brother before shaking his head. “Only you, vod. Only you.” Din rolls his eyes before continuing. “So I tell her that as I owe her a debt I will do it for free. She tells me that V’enne got caught up in a job gone bad and needed an extraction that won’t bite her in the shebs. So I get Calypso to post a bounty through Nava on Nevarro. I track V’enna down to Pagodon and ‘captures’ her.” Din takes a drink, to collect his thoughts for a moment. “I delivered her to her father and went on my way. Then four days ago I got a call from her, nearly hysterical. She was on Nevarro. Her father had been murdered by her uncle and he tried to sell her to the Hutts.”

Boba hiss and sits up straight. “He did what?” Din nods, “She managed to escape and made her way to Nevarro. Calypso is currently clear across the galaxy doing something most likely very illegal in the Corporate Sector. So she didn’t know who else to trust.”

Slumping back in his chair Boba considers what Din has told him. Noticing the look in the older man’s eyes Din quickly continues. “She really has all of her qualifications. She was working as her father’s second, doing most of his admin duties.”

Boba pursues his lips, before asking, “Will she not want to join her friend on her crew?” Shaking his head Din answers, “I have asked V’enna and she states that although she and Calypso are as close as sisters, the pirate life is not for her. She needs something on solid ground and a smidgen more legal than the waters that Calypso likes to tread.”

“And you think she will be a good fit for Krayt’s Claw?” Boba asks. “Yeah, pretty sure. She is a hard worker and very detail oriented. And I think your crew will give her the safety and security that she craves.” Din hesitates before he continues, “I think that the creed and the tribe is what she needs.”

Taking a slow drink Boba contemplates what Din has told him. “You think she has what it takes to be Mandalorian?” Nodding Din answers immediately. “She is not scared of fighting, she is scared of being alone. Scared of being betrayed as her uncle had betrayed her family. Give her a chance, I will bet you she will be ready to swear the Resol’nare in less than a year.”

“I take it Buir agrees with you.” Boba states, waving his hand to stop Din from answering, he continues, “Okay I will take her on and talk with Fenn. I will also speak to Arna Vau and ask her to take V’enna under her guidance and start her training to become mandalorian.”

Getting up out of his chair, Boba grabs Din’s arm and pulls him to his feet. “Now for you vod. You are going to get clean and then get some sleep. I will come and wake you when it is time for late meal.” Pushing the younger bounty hunter in the direction of one of the sleeping rooms leading from the office Boba hushes his brother before he can make any complaints.

Year 937 ARR/ 63BBY

Jaster Mereel frowns down at the reports in front of him. The last nine months have been hectic, but at the same time very profitable. The job on Pagodon had netted them enough credits to buy a second ship and Kal Skirata had got them a lead on a second hand CR70 corvette in very good condition for a great price. The Haat Mando’ade now numbered just over two-hundred active fighting members with another ninety support staff. Most of the active members took solo or small group jobs with the two main companies taking larger contracts.

At the rate they are growing Jaster will have to invest in a much larger carrier ship to act as their transport base. Currently they are using Zanbar as a base, and it irritates Jaster that they have to be so far from either Mandalore or Concord Dawn. A knock on the door draws his attention from the job offer he was currently trying to read through. “Come in.” He calls.

“Jaster” Kal Skirata greets as he enters Mereel’s office. “Kal,” Jaster greets, “Have a seat.” he points to the chair in front of his desk. Putting down the pad he was reading, Jaster runs a hand through his dark blond hair. He is tired but he needs to finalise the last contract and get it filed before he could finish for the night. “So what brings you to my office this time of night? I would have thought that you would have bunked down already seeing as you are leaving early tomorrow for a bounty contract.”

The man nods. He is currently dressed in only his kute and vambraces. “I was in fact getting ready for bed when I got a comm message from one of my contacts.” Handing over the pad that he had brought with him he continues. “You know how you have noticed that we haven’t received any job offers for the last five months for the outer rim sector between the Corellian Run and the Corellian Trade spine. In fact we have not gotten any jobs in the last six months that would take us even close to Tatooine.”

Taking the pad Jaster nods. He had in fact noticed that the job on Pagodon had been the last one that he or any of his people had received in that side of the galaxy. He had not noticed it in the beginning because of how busy they had been. He had taken more jobs in the mid rim than he would have ever thought there would be. The only reason he had since noticed was when he tried to find a name for the mandalorian he saw collecting the red skin Twi’lek bounty. “So what did you find?” He asks Skirata.

“About seven months ago a group called Krayt’s Claw took over a small settlement on Tatooine called Mos Pelgo. They killed the mining group and slavers that were operating out of the settlement. Freed all the slaves and then established a Guild Hall there. According to the Guild register it is the only legal Guild Hall on Tatooine.”

Kal points towards the pad. “The leaders of Krayt’s Claw is a Mando’ad named Boba Fett and his riduur. No name for the riduur but they are listed in the guild records under the moniker Kyramud.”

Jaster frowns as he opens the guild record and looks at the two images. “Assassin, what a bold name to claim.” He murmurs. Boba Fett’s armour is green with red highlights with the exception of his left pauldron that is done in tan. The sigil done in black was some sort of stylised constellation. Duty, honouring a parent, loyalty and justice. It made quite the statement. In turn his partner’s colours were justice black, with purple luck and shereshoy orange. Flipping through the rest of their guild profile he notices that there is no image of them without their helmets on. He motions for Kal to continue.

“Krayt’s Claw has a crew of about 12 members. Those two are the only mando’ade registered under the group, but…” And Kal leans over to open the next document on the pad. “There are at least eighteen other mando’ade registered with the guild as operating out of Mos Pelgo.” Sitting back in his chair Kal fidgets with his vambrace a bit.

Browsing through the guild records for Mos Pelgo Jaster frowns, “So most of the contracts in that area are given to them?” Kal tilts his hand in a so so motion. “Yes and no. It appears that the majority of the contracts are split between The Hall on Mos Pelgo and the Guild Hall on Nevarro.” Pointing at the pad. “If you open the third document you will see Nevarro’s top hunter.” Jaster flips through the documents to find the one Kal mentioned. There in full colour is the mando he saw on Pagodon. He eagerly reads through the very short bio. He frowns, the only name given is Mando. Sitting back he frowns. “There is barely any information on them here.”

Kal nods, “I noticed. My contacts have informed me that they never remove their helmet and the only name they have given is either Mando or Beroya.” Jaster freezes for a long moment before dropping his eyes back to the image on the pad.

“Ja’hai’ade.” He murmurs. He takes note of the mudhorn sigil on the right shoulder, but notes the same sigil that Fett and his partner wears on the left shoulder. Tapping a finger on the star sigil. “Do we know which clan or house this sigil belongs to?”

Shaking his head Kal answers, “No I have sent a request to the Goran be Keldabe but will most likely only receive an answer in a day or two.” Lightly biting the nail on his thumb Jaster considers his options. “For now there is not much that we can do. We have more than enough work in our sector and the mid rim that we need not muscle in where we are not wanted.” Handing the pad back over to Kal Jaster gets to his feet. “Let’s take a wait and see approach. With the tension back in Mandalore the last thing we need is to piss off any traditionalists. And from what little information that we have found it would appear these are Ja’hai’ade.”

Taking the pad Kal freezes. “Do you really think these are Children of the Watch?” Jaster tilts his head. “I have no proof but my gut is telling me that yes they may be. Either that or very orthodox traditionalist.” Getting up Kal considers the information. “They are a long way from manda’yaim.” Nodding Jaster stretches trying to relieve the ache in his back. “Not much is known about The Children, just that they are Tribal instead of following the house system and very, very insular.”

Heading for the door Kal throws out a joke. “Hi, maybe they know what happened to the lost tribe?” The scholar in Jaster lights up with that idea. Maybe he should take a holiday to Nevarro. See if maybe his Mando likes talking about history. Opening the door Kal looks back over his shoulder and snorts as he takes in the look on his friends face. “Ah, nerd mode activated.” He laughs. Jaster flaps a hand at him. “Get some sleep di’kut.” Laughter follows Skirata out the door leaving the head of the Haat Mando’ade alone in his office.

Year 937 ARR/ 63BBY

Fennec enters the kitchen of her and Boba’s apartment while tying off her braid. Looking up she notices Din sitting at the kitchen table. He has a spoon hovering halfway between his mouth and a bowl of porridge. He seems to have forgotten that he is busy eating as he is completely distracted by whatever is on the pad that he is currently reading. “Morning, stranger,” The assassin greets.

Looking up from what he is reading Din blinks in surprise. “Fennec?” He greets. Shaking her head she chuckles and walks over to the stove top where a pot with porridge sits. Looking at its contents she frowns. “Who made this?” she questions.

“Uhm Boba did.” Din answers. Hearing the response Fennec grabs a bowl and starts dishing herself some of the porridge. “What’s got you so distracted kid?” She asks as she joins him at the table. Din glares at her. “I am only two years younger than you, you know.” he grouses.

Laughing, she grabs the sweetener to pour over her meal. “I will keep calling you kid for as long as you rock the sweet boy next door look.” She snarks back. “Now answer my question.” Din rolls his eyes. “I am reading Jaster Mereel’s thesis on how modern day Mandalorians should interpret the Resol’nare and how to incorporate the honour code in day to day living.”

Fennec frowns. “Isn’t Mereel the Alor of the Haat’ade?” Nodding Din finally takes a bite of his porridge. “Jip, he took over the Headhunters about a year ago. They renamed themselves to the Haat Mando’ade about seven months ago. Currently they are the largest Mandalorian Mercenary and Bounty hunter company.” He takes another bite and chews slowly before he continues. “After he published his Super Commando Codex their group started growing.” Ponting with his spoon at Fennec to emphasise his point. “If his numbers keep growing at this rate. They will grow into a faction that might actually be competition for both the Evaar’la’Ade and Kryt’stad.” Fennec observes the younger man go on about his topic before smirking. “Well. Well, well. It seems someone has a bit of a crush!”

“Who’s got a crush?” Boba asks, walking into the kitchen. Looking over at her riduur in glee Fennec answers before Din can. “It seems our baby brother has got a bit of a crush on the Alor of the Haat’ade.”

“I do not!” Din exclaims while blushing bright red. “Mmm you seem a bit red around the ears vod.” Boba teases. Crossing his arms Din pouts. “I am just interested in his views and their political implications.” Nodding the older bounty hunter agrees, “Sure his political views.”

Din glares before slumping in his chair. “You are so mean to me.” Boba ruffles Din’s hair as he walks past. “No we’re not.” Squawking Din flaps his hands at Boba before trying to straighten his hair. “So how long are you staying?” Fennec asks. Shooting a glare at his brother Din turns back to her. “A few days. I have a shopping list from buir and the Alor for the tribe. I can get most of it here and I will get the rest on Naboo before heading out to the tribe.”

Sitting down next to Fennec with his own bowl of porridge Boba nods. “Okay let me know if there is anything you need help with. We also have some goods here to send back to the tribe for the foundlings. In fact, speak to Arna. She just mentioned the other day that she wants to send three foundlings to the Tribe to see if they can find compatible buire for them.” Din signals his agreement before turning back to his pad and his reading.

 

 

Chapter 4

Year 938 ARR/ 62BBY

Jaro Tapal slowly twists his wrists gauging the amount of give in the chains that is being used to keep him captive. He carefully looks around him. He and the rest of the pirate crew that he had infiltrated are bound and kept in the centre of the large hangar of the pirate base. He curses his luck as he watches the mandalorians that have captured the base. He is unsure of how many there are. The beskar in their armour makes it difficult for him to feel them in the Force. There are at least ten guarding the prisoners that he can see, but he knows for a fact that there has to be more.

He is so close to finding out who is funding this crew. There has been an upturn in piracy and slavery in the mid rim in the last two years. Master Yaddle is sure that it is connected to the moves the Banking clan and the Trade Federations are making in the Senate, but they need proof. So several Shadows have infiltrated different crews and gangs trying to find information. One of the only good things is that he does not have his lightsaber on him. He can not even imagine how much trouble he would be in if it was discovered that he is a Jedi.

Movement at the door leading deeper into the base draws his attention. A Mandalorian in black and red armour enters the room. On their left shoulder is a mythosar skull in black on a yellow shield background. Jaro curses internally before carefully releasing his aggravation into the Force.

Jaster Fucking Mereel is here himself. What is the leader of the True Mandalorians doing running bounties on pirates on Daalang? The situation has now gone from mildly inconvenient to kriffed up. The only way he is getting out of this would be to reveal himself as a Jedi and that would mean blowing his cover. Beside that, most mandalorians aren’t exactly fans of Jedi. With the exception of the handful that makes up his family.

One of the mandos in dark green and gold armour is showing Mereel something on a pad and pointing in the captives direction. The lasat male suddenly has a very bad feeling about this all. The Force is shrieking in warning. Whatever is happening is not good. He is glad he left his padawan in the care of his master. If he is to die here today, he knows Yaddle would take over raising her. Jaro watches as Mereel and the other Mando make their way over to the captives. Stopping just out of reach from where Jaro is kneeling, the Mandos stare at him for a long moment.

“Tell me,” Mereel looks down at the pad, “Nardo Jass, why does the Zygerian Queen have a fifty-thousand credit bounty on your head?” Jaro cocks his head to the side and shrugs. Okay that was quite the increase from the twenty-thousand it was the last time he checked. Yeah there is no way he is telling the mandos it is because he stole several ships from the Zygerians containing slaves. He wants to close his eyes, there is no way he is getting out of this alive.

Before he can think of anything to say. The lights are cut plunging the hanger into darkness. The mandalorians freeze only briefly before they start to move.

Jaro knows the darkness is no hindrance for them. But before they can move more than a few steps the lights start to flicker in an irregular pattern and very loud disorientating music starts to play. Music Jaro unfortunately recognises immediately, it is the dance mix that Fennec made for his padawan. It was a cacophony of drums, screaming and other noises that apparently gets called House trance dance. For a brief second he feels a familiar presence poke at him. Din. Din was here. Jaro feels hope grow. His chances for survival have just increased from certain death to maybe death.

Jaster Mereel is having a wonderful day. He and his crew have managed to capture the pirate crew that they were hired to capture easily and one of the pirates has a very large bounty on their head. He is trying to figure out why the Zygerians want this pirate so badly. Jaster does not like dealing with them. True Mandalorians have no time for slavers. So he is not that interested in handing the lasat over, but depending on his answer there might be others willing to pay the price on his head.

Before he could get an answer things went to haran. Darkness is no issue for mandalorians, their helmets have settings to deal with different light levels but between the flickering of the lights and the noise blaring at ear bleeding levels over the base sound system, even well trained ori’ramikad is taking a moment longer than necessary to react.

Switching to internal comms and lowering the outer sound input Jaster calls to his second on this trip. “Skirata what is going on?” he demands. Jaster frowns when he gets no response. “Ordo, Vau report!” He demands harshly. Signalling to the rest of the commandos in the hangar with him to secure the entrances he takes note of their numbers.

Only half of his company is in the hangar guarding the prisoners. So that is twelve including him here with the other twelve spread through the base as they search it for stragglers and information. Jaster hears a click of his internal comm a second before the same hideous noise is blaring in his ears. It takes all his training not to rip his helmet off his head to get away from the sound. Noticing the rest of his men flinching he realises that it is affecting all of their communications.

It has been less than a minute since the commotion started before a flash grenade is rolled into the room through the same door that he had entered not ten minutes before.

Turning his head not to get a flash in his face Jaster sees an unknown Mandalorian drop down from the roof right behind the lasat he was questioning earlier. It takes the strange mando a mere second to have the lasat unbound and with a push the lasat is running for the door. Jaster lifts his blaster to shoot the fleeing pirate but before he can take the shot the unknown mando is in his way. “Ke’mot!” Jaster shouts.

The rest of his men form up to surround the intruder. The intruder stands loose limb and tilts his head to the side as if he is listening to something. Jaster grimace, he is certain that the intruder most certainly does not have the infernal noise blaring in his ears. With the twitch of his fingers Jaster instructs his men that he wants the intruder taken alive.

It takes a few flashes of the lights before Jaster realises that he has seen this being before. It is the hunter from Pagodon, the one listed in the Guild records only as Beroya. Something stirs in Jaster, he has wanted to measure himself against the hunter. To prove to both of them their skill.

Beroya must have heard his thoughts because one second he is still and loose and the next he is moving like lightning. Out of nowhere he produced a telescopic quarter staff. Everyone attacks as one. The hunter is weaving in and out between the Haat Mando’ade like a wisp of smoke.

With a flick of his wrist Myles goes down, his feet swept out from under him in a move so quick that no-one even realised what happened until the next person gets pushed back and trips over him. Jaster manages to get a hand on the attacker’s arm only to have the grip reversed and spun around. For a single heartbeat they are visor to visor and he would swear to his dying day that the mir’sheb winked at him.

He can feel it in his bones. The moment lasts an eternity and passes in half a second, before he is spun away and pushed into one of his men. The hunter twists and, using his staff like a pole, vaults over the two between him and out of the outer door of the hanger.

Jaster has not even noticed that the fight has been steadily moving towards the door leading outside. It is a mere handful of steps and they are all outside. Four of Jaster’s commandos manage to flank the Beroya, all have blasters aimed at him.

“Ke’mot!” Jaster commands again. Noticing that he is surrounded, the hunter collapses his staff and attaches it to his belt. He looks around at the warriors surrounding him, all aiming their blasters at him and slowly lifts his hands in the air. Jaster feels the glow of victory starts to fill his bones. It was a glorious fight even if Beroya had managed to take out half of his fighters. He observes the man. He is wearing the light armour of a hunter. It offers less protection than the heavier armour of the ori’ramikad but allows far more in flexibility. And Jaster has taken note during the fight of exactly how flexible the hunter is. The one thing that stands out is that the hunter is not wearing a jetpack.

Just as he starts to move closer to his captive the sound of a ship overhead distracts him for a second. With both hands still up the hunter suddenly uses one to wave at Jaster before shooting out a whipcord towards the ship. With a jolt it connects and the next moment the man is gone, pulled up into the air after the ship streaking away into the night far faster than anyone wearing a jetpack can follow.

Jaster is shocked. That, that was the most di’kut jareor move he had ever seen in his life. He didn’t know if he was furious or turned on, but most likely both. The whole fight lasted less than fifteen minutes.

Grinding his teeth he rips his helmet off staring into the dark after the man that had once again proven to be formidable. “Find out what is the issue with our comms and fix it. And someone checks on the rest of the team.” He orders before he dons his helmet again and re-enters the hanger to check on his men that the hunter has taken out. He dreads what he is going to find. Entering the room he notices Myles sitting up next to one of the downed fighters. “Myles report.” He orders.

The younger man slowly gets to his feet. “No serious injuries A’lor. A few bruises and the worst is Teka. She has a mild concussion.” Jaster freezes.

“No serious injuries?” He questions. Shaking his head, Myles answers. “No he took us all out without dealing any true injuries.” He points at the pirates who all appear unconscious. “He also dropped something when he freed the one prisoner that knocked out the rest of them.”

Before he can answer the noise cuts out and the lights come back on normally. There is a hiss of static and then Jaster hears Kal’s voice over the comms. “Jaster, are you alright?”

Breathing out in relief Jaster answers. “I am Kal, and you? I couldn’t reach you on comms.” Skirata curses under his breath. “Some shabuir got the drop on me.” Kal reported.

Jaster can hear the recrimination in his voice. With a snort he answers. “He got the drop on all of us.” Jaster sighs as slowly the rest of the team checks in all with the same story.

One moment they were alone and the next they were tied up. Closing his eyes the Haat Mando’ade leader can feel a migraine forming. Training, so much remedial training for all of them. The fact that one man, no matter how good he is, could get the better of a super commando squad of twenty-four is not acceptable. Opening the all call channel, “Have we retrieved everything we came for?” he asks. When he receives confirmation from all the members of his team he sighs. “Then let’s get the prisoners loaded and get out of here. I want to get our payment before anything else can happen.” He clicks off only to immediately click back on again. “And I want all the footage that there is of the Beroya.”

Turing to look back out into the night sky he swears that he will find the hunter and he will fight him and when he wins he will get permission to court him, because anyone that can pull off what this man has done was the type of man he wanted as a riduur. Just first he needs to figure out who the hell he is.

Year 938 ARR/ 62BBY

Din grunts as his whipcord pulls tight and drags him into the air after his ship. Strengthening himself with the Force he activates the pull function of the whipcord and twists around to face his ship. The Force has been kind and the cord is attached next to the side door. As he gets closer to his ship the door opens and he watches as Jaro leans out of the ship holding a hand out to him. Grabbing onto his friend’s hand as soon as he is in reach he allows himself to be pulled into the ship. The moment his feet touch the deck he spins around and closes the door locking it.

As soon as he is certain that everything is secure, he turns and shouts up to the cockpit of his ship. “Get us out of here Cal!” He staggers, as in lieu of answering the pilot pulls back pushing the ship’s nose skyward and pushes the ship full speed into space.

“Hold onto your britches boys!” A warm voice yells back as the ship lurches into hyperspace mere seconds after leaving the planet’s atmosphere behind. It takes a few minutes before the bumpiness evens out. Din slumps as he turns to look at Jaro.

“Interesting friend you have there.” Jaro says as he steadies the mandalorian. Din chuckles, “Come let me formally introduce you.”

Climbing up into the cockpit of the ship Din grabs the back of the pilot seat and moves to the side to give the large lasat room to enter to. “Jaro meet Calypso. Pain in my shebs and up and coming pirate queen. Calypso, Jedi knight Jaro Tapal. My Ba’buir’s last padawan.”

Calypso turns and grins at the two men. “My, my, what interesting family you have Din.” Jaro starts a little at her use of Din’s name. “And it is an honour to meet the man that is currently driving both the Hutt’s and the Zygerian’s up the wall and has been giving hope to all those on the freedom trail.”

Jaro carefully observes the young woman. He can feel her sincerity and honest delight in the force. She has shoulder length curly brown hair and bright shining brown eyes. She is dressed as a typical spacer. Her clothes are well made but also well worn. He also immediately clocks the red of fresh blood staining her white shirt just below her left breast. Din notices it at the same time.

“Haar’chak!” Din snaps and spun to get the first aid kit from behind the second seat. “Did you tear your stitches again?” He demands as he kneels next to her and carefully starts to move her top up. Calypso shrugs, her hair bouncing around her head in a halo of ringlets. “I might have. Your ship controls are set up for your ridiculously tall body.” She snips back before leaning back slightly and pulling her shirt out of Din’s hands and then fully off leaving her in only her bra. The bandage across her stomach soaked in blood. With careful hands Din unwraps the bandage to reveal a long and deep gash starting on her right side just under her breast that wraps around her torso across her stomach to her back.

Jaro winces, this is a serious wound that needs more medical attention than what they can offer here on the ship. Carefully applying more bacta Din, frowns. “What heading did you pick?”

Calypso breathes shallowly, clearly in great pain. “Tatooine. It was the only safe port I could think of.” Din nods and slowly starts wrapping a new bandage to keep the bacta in place. “Good call. Boba will have the necessary medical facilities to treat you and it should not take us too long to get there.”

The brunette nods. “That’s good because I am pretty sure I have also broken my leg.” The kneeling mandalorian freezes before he gently finishes tying off the bandage. “I am going to comm your father and tell him what a disaster you are.” Frowning at him Calypso pokes his helmet right over his nose. “That is just plain mean.” She pouts.

Getting up Din moves slightly to the side. “Jaro, can you help me get her up and moved to my bunk?”

Nodding the Jedi knight moves to take Din’s place and gently scoops up the young woman. “Wow,” She breathes before looking up at Jaro through her lashes, “Well hello there big guy.”

Jaro huffs out a laugh before carefully moving down from the cockpit to Din’s bunk. He waits for Din to arrange the pillows before gently placing her down. Before she can say anything Din stabs her in the neck with a hypo-spray. “What the kriff, Din” she hisses even as her eyes slowly start to close and her body relaxes into sleep.

Din shrugs at the look that Jaro gives him. “She needs rest.” Is all the mandalorian says even as he pulls a blanket over her. He beckons Jaro to follow him back up to the cockpit.

Taking a seat he runs through all the settings and checks to confirm the heading. It had been a rough jump into hyperspace and he needs to ensure himself that his ship didn’t take any damage. “So…” Jaro begins even as he takes the second seat. Din cocks his head to indicate he is listening.

“Calypso?” the knight asks. Din shrugs a shoulder and adjusts some of the settings. “She might be a pirate but she hates slavers. Between her and her father they have liberated several slaves. In fact they run part of the freedom trail that runs through the Zygerian’s space.”

Jaro considers this information. “So how did she end up injured and what are you doing here on Daalang?” Flicking another switch Din observes several readings before turning to look at his friend. “We are looking for someone specific. One of Nym’s lieutenants betrayed him and was spying on them for the Hutts. Calypso asked me to help her track him and eliminate him before he can give the information that he stole over to them.”

Reaching into one of the pouches on his belt he pulls out a data stick. He tosses it over to Jaro who instinctively catches it. “What is this?” He asks as he looks down to the stick in his hand. “All the payment information and deals for the last year for the group you had infiltrated.”

Jaro blinks and looks down at the small data stick. “This, this…” He swallows throat suddenly tight. “Thank you. I thought that this whole operation would be a loss.” Turning in his chair Din finally removes his helmet. “I may not agree with how the Jetii have allowed themselves to be haltered by the senate. But I know the work you and ba’buir are doing to help slaves.” Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Din slumps in his seat. “Now where is your ad?” He asks.

Carefully tucking the data stick into a pocket Jaro replies. “She is at the temple with Master Yaddle.”

Nodding Din closes his eyes for a moment before turning back to give the flight deck another look. “Are you hungry?” He asks as he pushes out of his chair.

“I can eat.” Jaro replies as he gets up to follow Din to the small galley. As they climb down the stairs to the lower level where the galley is, Jaro asks. “How upset is she going to be with you drugging her like that?” Din snorts as he opens a cupboard to pull out some rations.

“Oh she is going to be pissed. If I am lucky she will only try to stab me once or twice.” Jaro laughs at that. “Your family is insane.” Looking over his shoulder Din grins happy but tired. “You do realise that you are part of this family right?” Jaro freezes, unable to come up with a response.

Year 938 ARR/ 62BBY

Kal Skirata leans against the wall watching Jaster spar with Beck Ordo. There are several of the ori’ramikad resting around the room. Kal shifts as Mij Gilamar joins him. The doctor is only silent for a moment taking in the scene in front of them.

“How long has this been going on?” He asks as he folds his arms across his chest and shifts trying to settle his armour. Glancing at the doctor from the corner of his eye Kal shrugs one shoulder. “He is going on hour four.”

Kal frowns, running a hand through his dark hair. “He has worked through most of his personal squad. Ordo is the last man standing so to speak.” They both wince as Jaster drops and spun low kicking his sparring partner’s feet out from under him. In a flash he spins around and pins the other man. Everyone waits, and after several minutes Ordo taps out.

Clearing his throat, Mij steps forward. “Alor!” he calls out. Jaster releases Beck and stands up. Holding a hand out for his friend he pulls him to his feet. Turning to look at the rest of the warriors resting against the wall. “Okay verd. One hour of formation training then you can take a break.” Mereel orders.

Some of the soldiers groan but everyone gets to their feet and starts to form up in formation. Giving his men one final look over, the red and black armoured mandalorian walks over to where Kal and Mij is standing. “Baar’ur.” Jaster greets the blond haired doctor.

Mij looks past his leader at the rest of his squad as they start formation training. Turning to look at Mereel he clears his throat. “You missed your last check-up, Alor.” Mij starts. Raising a hand before Jaster can respond he continues, “You are scheduled for a mission in two days and need to get your mission clearance check.” He lifts his chin stubbornly waiting for a response. He now desperately wishes that he had worn his helmet, but he is still getting used to his armour.

Mij has only joined the mandalorians a year ago when he married his wife Tani. She is one of Jaster’s lieutenants and in charge of one of the ori’ramikad squads that made up the Haat’Mando’ade mercenary company. The blank stare of Jaster’s visor feels oppressive before the fully armoured man nods. “Lead the way, Baar’ur” Mij turns and heads out the room before he slowly exhales.

They are silent as they walk through the base to where the clinic is located. Entering one of the private exam rooms Mij locks the door and activates the privacy settings. Turning around he gestures to Jaster’s armour. “If you would kindly remove your armour.”

Jaster snorts and pulls his helmet off. “What is up with you Mij. In the whole year I have known you, you have never been this skittish.” Placing his helmet on the exam bed he starts to pull off the rest of his armour.

“Yes well,” Mij reply, “In the year I have known you, I never had to watch you systematically kick eleven of the toughest bastards in the Haat’ade asses one after another.” Placing his last piece of armour on the bed, Jaster suddenly droops in exhaustion.

“Yeah well. We managed to get our shebs kicked by a lone beroya.” Nodding Mij picks up a scanner and starts with a basic scan. “I can get where that will lead to more training, but what I do not understand is why you are pushing yourself so hard.”

Leaning against the bed the dark haired man considers his answer. “I am the Alor of this company. I have to be an example to all of our people. I cannot ask something of them that I am not willing to do myself.”

Taking Jaster’s hand and pricking a finger to gather a drop of blood to run the standard panel test Mij considers the answer. “Okay but you are pushing yourself far harder and if you keep this up you will burn out.” Pausing, Mij looks up at Jaster. “There has to be more to why you are so driven to improve your battle skills so drastically.” he stated.

Letting the bed take some more of his weight, Jaster feels exceedingly tired. “When Tani courted you, she did it in the tradition that you were raised in, correct?” He asks. The doctor nods to confirm, keeping an eye on the test readout.

“Well there are a few ways to court very traditional mandalorians. But the one most of the orthodox traditionalist respect is a courting fight.” Mij stops and looks up at Jaster.

“Wait what?” He asks flummox. Laughing at his stunned expression Mereel continues, “So to prove to someone that you are worthy of their time you need to fight them and impress them enough that they will agree to a courting.” Wincing as he shifts and cooling muscles start to protest. “And because I am the Alor of the Haat’Mando’ade I need to be better than just good.”

Mij considers what he has just been told and then it clicks. “The Beroya!” it made sense all of a sudden. The demand for all the helmet feeds of the hunter. The call for any and all information on the nameless hunter.

Jaster huffs. “I really don’t like how sharp your mind is.” but he does nod his head in agreement. “Can you just imagine what having a hunter like that at my side would proclaim? Especially if I beat him in a courting battle.” Gesturing for Jaster to redress Mij answers, “That seems very… mercenary.”

Jaster hums as he pulls on his armour. “It might seem like it but the very first time I saw him the Manda itself rang like a bell. I don’t know how or when but the hunter is supposed to be mine and I will do whatever it takes to speed that process along.”

Mij stares at his leader taking in the determination and a heavy dose of possessiveness. “As long as you do not lose yourself in the process, Alor.” Donning his helmet Jaster tilts his head. “I will be careful my friend, for if I lose myself I am certain that I will lose my chance at my hunter.”

Year 938 ARR/ 62BBY

Jaster grits his teeth and reframes from rolling his eyes as his client continues on parading himself in the open. For a man who has hired an entire squad of mandalorians he was remarkably resistant to following their orders in protecting him. They have been on the planet for two weeks now and still there was no sign of the so-called assassin who he claimed has been hired by his opposition.

The job was for four weeks of protection, as he claimed that as soon as the deal he is currently in the process of brokering is signed his life would be secured as his death will then do more harm than good. But if he is taken out before the trade deal has been secured then the opposing company would be in control.

So here Jaster and his personal company of ori’ramikad are trying to keep a vain peacock protected from some nebulous assassin. The pay is good, very good. It is the only reason he accepted this job. It is so far into the inner rim that it might as well have been the core.

Jaster twitches as a shadow crosses overhead. The open roof top garden is far too exposed and he can see at least forty sniper positions with just a quick glance. He has been arguing with the over dressed fob about going back inside where they can close the windows and monitor the movement more carefully. But no. He wants to show off to the half dozen women he is currently entertaining.

That is another issue on its own. Jaster’s men search the women every time they come but he is aware that a really good assassin can find a way to slip something in the more people come and go.

The fob’s head of security – and Jaster really must start using his name or else he is going to call him a fob to his face soon – saunters over to him. The fully clad mandalorian turns to face the stocky draag. “The Marquise wants to discuss security arrangements for tomorrow’s meeting with the Trade Federation.” The gray skin draag states. Nodding Jaster points for him to lead the way.

“A Mereel, my good man. Come join me for a drink and then we can discuss tomorrow’s meeting and what to expect.” The Marquise Zuza grandly proclaims as Jaster joins them.

Summoning Beck Ordo with a carefully concealed hand gesture to his side. “Thank you for the offer. But we don’t drink while we are on the job.” Jaster answers. He and all of his people have kept their helmets on at all times while on the planet only taking it off to eat in private and to freshen up.

The draag shifts to stand slightly behind and to the right of his employer facing the two mandalorians. Just as the Marquise opens his mouth Jaster hears a knell and the draag disintegrate. Spinning around he pushes his client behind Ordo and on the open comm calls the rest of his squad to secure the building.

Looking in the direction of where the shot had come from he zooms in to see a familiar brown and red armoured mandalorian slinging an amban rifle over his shoulder and turning to head away from their current location. “Skitara shekemir.” He orders as he spun around and ignites his jetpack to follow the hunter as he races across the roof tops in the direction of the city border.

He catches up to him two blocks over. Landing on the rooftop in front of the beroya. One of the first things he notices is that the Beroya is still not wearing a jet pack. He also takes note of the Amban sniper rifle that is slung over the man’s shoulder and the fact that he has a full set of ammunition for the rifle slung across his chest in a bandoleer.

Din comes to an abrupt stop as the leader of the Haat’Mando’ade himself drops out of the sky in front of him. He knows that taking that shot in front of the Haat’ade would draw their attention, but he is on a deadline and if he is being totally honest with himself he wanted to show off for Mereel.

“Ke’mot!” The other man orders as soon as his feet touch the ground. Din can sense other armoured individuals closing in on them. Tilting his head to the side he lets himself feel a bit of a thrill. Taking a careful step backwards he watches and smiles as Mereel responds by stepping forward. Without waiting to see if he would take another step Din launches himself at Mereel and kicks out at his side. Stepping into the kick to redirect the force of it rather than avoid it Mereel grabs his ankle and spins them around.

Din’s smile turns into a grin of delight. Twisting out of the black armoured mandalorian’s hold Din steps in close and manages a punch low to Mereel’s side where he knows there is no plate protection.

See that is the thing when mandalorians fight each other, they know the shortcomings of their distinctive armour.

His delight grows when Mereel doesn’t even flinch, he merely repays the hit by turning and kicking Din on the inside of his thigh hard enough that Din knows the bone will be bruised. He breathes through the pain and feels adrenaline start to rush.

Din’s armour is lighter and covers less than Mereel’s. Din is a bounty hunter and needs to be far lighter on his feet than most mandos. That is both a strength and a weakness. He is far more manoeuvrable than Mereel but he also has far more openings for the other man to exploit.

They trade blows for several minutes, Din growing more impressed with the other man with every blow and kick that lands. For a mere moment Din wants to forget the reason why he is here, wants to believe that this fight between him and Mereel has another meaning, that he is not buying time while he waits for his pick-up to extract him.

He senses as much as see from the corner of his eye three other ori’ramikad land on the roof top. He starts to carefully steer the fight towards the edge of the roof. Casting his senses out he feels Jaro approaching at ground level at high speed. They are at least 10 stories of the ground so he will need to time his exit carefully.

Ducking under a high punch from Mereel he steps in closer, grabs his wrist and pulls the other man flush to his chest. Spinning them round so that Mereel’s back is to his backup, Din twists his wrist letting the spring loaded blade in his gauntlet springs free. Reaching up he cuts through the fuel line of Mereel’s jet pack, before giving him a hard Keldabe kiss and using his momentary disorientation to push him back towards the other three. At the same time Din takes a step back and steps off the roof, letting himself fall towards the ground.

“Nayc,” Jaster shouts as he watches the hunter step off the roof. Rushing to the edge he leans over just in time to see Beroya lightly land on the back of a swoop being driven by the same Lasat that he had stolen from Jaster on Daalang. He watches as they take a hard turn and disappear into the covered alleyways of the city.

He opens the all call coms. “Get me eyes on the port and find out what ship they are on. Then let the carrier know to intercept them. I want to have a long talk with that hunter.” He snaps. Immediately two of his people leave trying to follow the pair with a third racing to catch up to them.

Kal walks up to stand next to Mereel. “I have called for a lift considering,” He gestures to Jaster’s back and the damaged jet pack. Nodding Jaster listens in with one ear as his men call back stating that they have lost the hunter.

Shutting down the comm, Jaster turns to Kal, “Lets get back to the Marquise and try and find out why someone would hire a top level hunter to take out his head of security?”

Turning to look at Jaster, Kal tilts his head, “You think the Draag was his target?” Skirata asks, as he starts to follow his leader to the opposite side of the building where an aircar was approaching.

Jaster waits until they are both settled in the back of the aircar, heading to the house of their client before he answers. “Yes, he had a clean shot of the Marquise, and someone like the Beroya don’t miss. He was already moving away even before the round hit his target. He got his mark and I won’t be surprised if he is already off the planet. I also doubt that they will catch his ship leaving.”

Kal considers the answer. “Well one thing we have learned from this is that the lasat seems to be some sort of partner.” Jaster taps a finger on his thigh plate. “Yes, we need more information on the lasat. Our investigation after Daalang did indicate that the identity he was using was fabricated. Very well fabricated but false all the same.”

Leaning back against the seat of the aircar he breathes deeply as his side where the hunter had punched him ache. “Get Ordo to search the Draag’s rooms let see what he was up to.” Kal nods and starts to send out instructions to the rest of their team.

Muting his vocoder Jaster sighs deeply. For a brief moment the fight was almost fun. He flexes his hand, as he remembers the feel of the other man’s body when he pulled him in. After this job he will need to make a visit to Keldabe to see the Goran there. Flicking through his helmet’s video recording he freezes the image of the hunter when he had stepped back after Jaster had landed on the roof.

There on the right side of his belt was an empty knife sheath. Carefully decorated with the traditional symbols meaning future and partnership. It is an ancient tradition that only the most orthodox followers of The Way still follow. An ancient tradition Jaster is going to use to get what he wants.

****

Din leans into Jaro’s back as the Jedi knight manoeuvres the swoop bike at breakneck speeds through the tight alley ways. He lazily shoots a stun bolt backward clipping one of their pursuers. He notices how one more falls back to assist their fallen comrade. Now they only had one on their tail. Taking in their surroundings he shoots out an anchor line and watches a heavy drape fall downwards knocking their last pursuer to the ground.

Tapping Jaro on his shoulder to indicate that they are in the clear. The knight nods and slows down gently coming to a halt in a dark spot in the alley. Getting off the bike he hands Din a large dark grey cloak. Putting it on Din pulls the hood over his helmet, bowing his head slightly to ensure that his face is in the shadow. Donning a similar cloak, Jaro starts to lead him deeper into the city away from the port.

After about thirty minutes of walking in silence they enter a small scrap shop, the owner barely acknowledges them as they head through the shop to the stairs leading down into the basement. In the basement they take off their cloaks before changing into new ones. Jaro opens a hidden door and the two enter into the sewer tunnels to find another person waiting there for them.

“Mando, this is Knight Ion Tholme. He is here overseeing the trade negotiations between the Marquise Zuza representing the local government and the Trade Federation.” Jaro says, pushing back the hood of his cloak. Turning to his friend Jaro nods in Din’s direction. “Ion this is Mando.”

Ion lifts an eyebrow at the introduction. “Mando.” he nods in greeting. “Jetii.” The Mandalorion returns. Ion can feel the other man weigh him up, yet most surprisingly considering the history between the Jedi and the Mandalorians the force feels calm.

Reaching into one of the bags tied to his belt, Din pulls out a data stick. “Here, you will need this.” he adds as he thrust the stick out towards the new jetii. Taking it with care, the black haired traditionally dressed jedi asks, “What is this?”

“Proof that the so-called Marquise is taking bribes from the Trade Federation to ensure that the deal comes out in their favour.” Din shrugs.

Tholme freezes, “You’re certain?” he asks. Nodding Din turns to Jaro again. “We have to leave, our exit window is closing.”

The large Lasat turns to his friend. “I would stay and offer my aid, my friend but I fear my mission is time critical.” Tholme nods and hands over a data pad with a map loaded.

“Follow the yellow route on the map and it will bring you to a grate right next to landing hanger three.” Taking the pad, Jaro nods. “I will see you back at the temple. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you as well my friend, Mando.” The Jedi reply before turning and disappearing into the darkness in the opposite direction from them.

Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head again, Jaro turns in the direction indicated on the map. “Well if we hurry we should get there in just under ten minutes.”

****

Din carefully lifts the grate of the sewer, and breathes a sigh of relief when the grate opens up right beneath their get-away ship. He can hear Calypso shouting at the droids loading the ship with the cargo she has bought as their cover. Slowly he reaches up and pulls open the service hatch that leads into the belly of the ship. Stepping back down into the sewer, he silently indicates for Jaro to go first.

He waits underground until he feels a light force tug before quickly climbing back up and into the ship, lowering the grate with the force he pulls the service hatch close. Rolling onto his back he breathes deeply, letting his blood settle.

Coming down from an adrenalin high is always the worst. Laying in the dark cramped crawl space he listens as Calypso finishes with the loading and closing up of the ship. They stay in place as they feel the ship lift off the ground. It takes about half an hour before the tell tale rattle that indicates that they have entered hyperspace rolls through the ship.

Finally the decking above their heads lift away to reveal a grinning Calypso. “Din, Jaro! How has your day been?” She asks with a laugh. Jaro huffs and climbs out of the crawl space, turning he reaches down and pulls Din out after him, “A bit more eventful than yours.” he replies.

“Oooh sassy.” The brunet pirate smirks, before turning back to Din, “Well?” She demands.

“Daveron is dead as well as the broker he was using to sell the information through. I got to him before the trade could go through.” Din answers.

Calypso sags in relief, “Oh thank the maker. My father will be very glad to hear this. I will get him to add a nice bonus.”

Din shakes his head. “Cal no. I am not doing this for payment. That shabuir betrayed you and Nym and was going to sell out information on the freedom trail to the Hutt’s.”

Cal smiled softly before pulling Din in for a hug. “I know, and that is why I will have him send the payment to Boba.” She states as she turns to head back to the cockpit. “So Jaro where are we dropping you off?” She shouts over her shoulder. “If you can drop me off on Raithal I can get public transport back to Coruscant.” Jaro shouts back.

****

Jaster frowns as he watches the Marquise freeze as a large group of new people enter the conference room where the negotiations between him and the Trade Federation delegates is taking place. The overly dressed fob rushes to his feet only to bow deeply to the person in the lead. “Your Highness, what are you doing here?” he stammeres.

The older man dressed in a stark cut black suit with a simply golden circlet on his brow frowns at the bowing man. Jaster immediately recognises him.

High Prince Severan, the elected leader of the ruling council. With him is the Minister of Trade and, Jaster stills, a Jetii. Following them are ten members of the royal council guards. Prince Severan turns away to look over at the delegation from the Trade Federation.

“Gentle beings at this time negotiations will have to cease.” Holding up a hand before anyone can respond, he continues. “Some unfortunate information has come to the fore and the allegations of bribery have been made. These allegations will need to be investigated first. We ask that you please leave the planet immediately. We will contact you to continue discussions after these allegations have been sorted.”

The head of the Trade Federation delegates a tall neimoidian with blood red eyes, stands and pulls himself to his full height. “This is unacceptable.” He states.

The prince turns to look at him. “The Marquise is being taken into custody while his alleged crimes are investigated. As such he has no authority to make any deals on behalf of our planet.” He waves one of the guards over to the still bowing Marquise. “As and when a new spokesperson for trade has been appointed you will be contacted to continue these talks.” Raising an eyebrow the prince continues. “Please also inform your superiors that all future talks and negotiations will be overseen by the Jedi.”

Jaster watches in fascination as the neimoidians freeze before all raising to leave. “Very well.” The one in charge snarls, “But do be aware that this will have an impact on what we would be willing to trade now.” With a flurry of his robes he stormed past the prince and his entourage.

Turning to look at the Mandalorians, the Prince seems to consider his words for a long moment. “Ser Mereel, have you received your payment in full?” Stepping forward, Jaster nods. “Yes your highness, we received the last of the agreed payment this morning.”

The prince turns to look at the Jedi. Stepping forward the black haired Jedi folds his hands in his robes. “According to all information, Ser Mereel and the True Mandalorians have acted honourable and their contract is for four weeks of protection for Marquise Zuza during the talks with the Trade Federation.”

Turning back to Mereel, the prince looks over the group of mandalorians. “Then Ser Mereel, I must inform you that the Marquise no longer needs your protection and that you are released from the contract.” He turns towards the Minister that is still standing quietly. “Minister Haru, please see to it that the True Mandalorians are provided with reference letters in recognition of the excellent work they have done.”

Knowing a dismissal for what it was, Jaster inclines his head. “We thank you for your consideration, your Highness.” Waving a hand, the prince responds. “No need, Ser Mereel. Most of the inner rim knows about the honour and work ethics of the True Mandalorians. Hopefully we will meet again in the future under more pleasant circumstances.”

Nodding his head, Jaster signals to his team to follow him and leaves the room. Opening an all call channel he starts to give instructions. “Pack up verd. Our contract has concluded earlier due to some unforeseen circumstances. Allee you are in charge of getting everyone to the port and arranging our departure.” Listening back to the confirmations from his team, he switches to a private command channel. “Beck, Kal talk to me, what have you managed to gather about the departed draag?”

Kal is the first to answer. “Melvo has been using his position as the marquise head of security to broker a deal between a pirate named Daveron and Gradulla the Hut. According to the messages between them, Daveron had some information about the Freedom trail.”

Jaster frowns as he walks down the stairs heading outside. “Had?” he questions. It is Beck Ordo that answers. “Had. Daveron was found dead early last night. It appears that he was tortured to death and his hotel room was ransacked.”

Reaching the road, Jaster gets into the waiting aircar in the front passenger seat, turning to look at Beck sitting in the back seat.

“Tortured?” He asks. Beck nods, “Whoever killed him was looking for information. Every single pad or data stick in the room was destroyed.” Beck hesitates for a moment before pulling up an image on the data pad he was holding. “His death is very much a message.” He says as he hands over the pad to Jaster.

Jaster carefully looks over at the still images that were taken of who he presume is Daveron. He appears to be a near human male. He is a bloody mess and Jaster can see several knife wounds and even on the still he can see that most of the man’s fingers are broken. What stands out clearly is the symbol carved into his forehead. The ancient Mando’a for traitor. This is clearly the beroya’s work. Now the question is why would a top tier hunter, hunt and kill some two bit pirate and mark him as a traitor.

“Get me everything that you can on Daveron.” He says as he hands the pad back to Ordo. “For now let’s head back to Zanbar.” Turning back to sit more comfortably in his seat. “With the payment from this job we now have enough to look at getting a better command carrier for us.” Both Kal and Beck respond with a quiet “Alor.”

 

 

Chapter 5

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

“Cara!” Din comes awake shouting for the new republic marshal. He rolls out off his bunk, heaving with nausea, his heart pounding with grief, tears rolling down his cheeks. It takes him several long minutes to get his breathing under control. By the time he is calmed down, he cannot remember what or who he had been dreaming of. Sitting up he rubs his hands through his hair.

He is exhausted, but his sleep has been disturbing lately. Filled with strange heartbreaking dreams that fades as soon as he wakes. He knows that his aliit worries, but he cannot explain it to them. It is like he is on a precipice waiting for something big to happen.

The alarm indicating that he is about thirty minutes from his exit out of hyperspace, rings through the ship. Dragging himself to his feet he stumbles up and into the fresher for a sonic. Looking into the mirror he frowns. The dark rings under his eyes are getting darker and he is losing weight. His buir will have him up in the Baar’ur’s clinic before he can even greet her if she sees him now.

He cleans himself up and pulls on a clean kute and then his armour. Pulling on his helmet he closes his eyes as the Ka’ra Beskar of his helmet soothes his frayed mental shields. He will need to make time to meditate before he goes after his next bounty. In his current mental state he is sure to make mistakes.

Settling into the pilot seat, he goes over all the functions of his ship. Reaching the correct point he exits hyperspace and carefully plots his course bringing him into calling range of Bespin City. Reaching out to the authorities he verifies his credentials and his bounty puck. Getting a berthing space he transfers the required credits and also books a refuelling for his ship.

The St-70 had been a great find. He had purchased it with the reward credits he had gotten for finding and returning the Duke Solha of Serenno’s daughter. At first he had tried to give the money over to his tribe, but their Alor had insisted that he keep the reward money and use it to get himself established as a bounty hunter. As with many things the Alor had been right. In the almost four years since he had bought the ship he had more than made up for its cost in the bounties he could take with his own transport.

He also on the rare occasion will run contraband for Calypso and his oath sister is always over generous with the cut of the proceeds that she gives him.

Carefully bringing his ship in for landing he goes through the shut down cycle. After everything is secure he opens his holo connection to see several messages waiting.

First is from Nava, the Guild master of Nevarro with a second bounty offer. It is for a live capture with the bounty believed to be hiding on Anoat. After considering the bounty, Din sends his agreement. He knows that Nava would update the bounty and mark it as his. Next are messages from his vod and his buir. He marks those for later. Lastly there is a message from his ba’buir simply saying to contact her as soon as possible.

He opens a secure encrypted comm unit and calls one of the two numbers stored on the device. The answer came almost instantaneously.

“Din.” His ba’buir’s voice greets him. He notes that she looks tired, her long green ears are drooping and there are dark circles under her eyes. “Su cuy’gar Ba’buir, Yaddle.” He greets. “You look tired.” He states.

Yaddle frowns at him. “Still kick your shebs I can.” She huffs.

Din grins at the small and feisty jetii who have claimed his aliit as her family. “Your message sounded urgent.” He says before the both of them can get sidetracked by their bickering.

Yaddle shoulders sag a bit. “Difficult this is. Want to help my old friend but is scared of the hurt it may case you.” She replies. “Your father has knighted his current padawan.” She closes her eyes for a second. “Wishes to meet you he does.”

Din freezes. For a moment he can’t breathe, can’t think, he has known that this request would come someday. After the letter that Yaddle had passed on to him from the man who had sired him. He is torn in two, on one hand he wants to meet the man, on the other he has a family. His buir who loves him and raised him since he was four years old. His vod and the rest of the tribe. But… But his buir would understand and meeting the man does not need to mean anything. He slowly breathes out. “I have two bounties that I need to take care of first, but after… After that I would be willing to meet him.” He answers the unasked question.

Yaddle stares at him before she nods. “Come to Coruscant. Your ba’vodu’ad wants to spend time with you.” Din tilts his head in consideration. He very seldom heads that deeply into the core, but Kih’Keldabe was on Coruscant. There are several spices and other products that the tribe would love that are very difficult to obtain in the sector of space that they call home these days.

“Very well. I will let you know when I am finished and heading in your direction.” He pauses, “Will you be there when I meet him?” Din asks hesitantly.

Yaddle’s eyes soften and she smiles kindly. “If you want me, then yes. My bu’ad you are. Only ever have to ask and help I will provide.”

The mandalorian swallows back tears. “Thank you Ba’buir.” Yaddle nods. “Now go and hunt, and careful be. Listen to the Force.” She signs off before he can respond.

Sitting back in his chair he pulls off his helmet and rakes his fingers through his hair. His father. He has no idea of what to do with this whole mess. Putting his helmet back on he gets up, no good will come of brooding over this. He has a job to do.

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

Jaster ducks behind a broken wall cursing. This whole karking job has been a shit show from the beginning. From his team splitting off from the main company, taking a bounty only to discover it was off the books after he had accepted the contract. To being diverted to Anoat, to half of his team coming down with kriffing food poisoning. To being ambushed in the lower levels of the ecumenopolis by slavers and now being separated from the few members of his team that had come on land with him.

Shooting another one of the shabuir who had ambushed him, he curses. He is seriously out numbered and the dark and narrow alley ways of the deep levels make fighting more difficult. His attackers has the advantage of both high ground and the knowledge of the terrain. He is good, better than good but even the best of the best can be overwhelmed if the enemy has enough bodies to throw at you.

The other issue he has is the innocent bystanders. He cannot use any of his more widely destructive weaponry as he could hurt them. The slavers has no such morals and are using increasingly more devastating weapons in their efforts to kill him.

He has no idea why they are set on killing him, but he is very certain they are after him specifically. From what he can overhear they seem to be promised a large payday if they can bring his head to whoever has hired them.

Leaning around the edge of the wall to take another shot, he looks up just in time to see one of the weeqay slavers fire a missile at him. Jaster breathes out. This is it, this is how he dies, there is no way he can get out of range in time. And no matter how good his armour is, he is not surviving a missile to the bucket.

Just before the missile hits he hears a strange whine and then the floor underneath his feet gives way. He looks up as he drops through the hole that has suddenly appeared seeing the missile explode where his head had been mere seconds before. A blast of heat rolls over him but he is falling far enough away that his armour can protect him from the concussive force and heat. So great, not dying by missile but well by falling to his death, he thinks sarcastically.

He really wishes he had worn his jetpack today. Before he hits the ground, he feels a sharp tug on his back arresting his fall. He hangs suspended in space for a moment and then he is being pulled up and into an open shaft. Landing hard he immediately rolls to his feet bringing his blaster back up. Standing calmly a few steps deeper into the shaft is the Beroya.

Jaster watches as the red and brown armoured hunter reel his whipcord back into his vambrace. “Not going to shout ‘halt’ this time?” The hunter asks. Straightening out of his crouch, Jaster breathes out slowly, calming his nerves. “I probably should for form’s sake.” He answers when he is certain that his voice won’t betray his shot nerves. He watches in fascination as the hunter throws his head back and laughs. It is a delightfully bright sound.

Clearing his throat, Jaster continues. “I have to thank you for saving me. I owe you a debt.”

The hunter stills for a second before shaking his head. “No debt.” He replies. Turning to head deeper into the tunnel he beckons Jaster to follow. “Do you know why half of the slavers and gangsters on the planet have it out for you?” He asks.

Following after, Jaster shakes his head. “No idea. We’re not even supposed to be here. Our ship malfunctioned and we landed here to get medical aid and repair our ship. I got separated from the rest of my team when we were attacked.” He clenches his fist in anger. “And something is messing with my comms. I have not been able to contact them. I am not even sure if they are alive.” he grounds out.

The beroya looks back over his shoulder. “They are all fine. They managed to fight free and made it back to your ship. The slavers were so focused on getting to you that it was easy for them to retreat and regroup.” Stopping in front of a ladder leading up the hunter looks over at Jaster. “From what I could determine they are gearing up to come look for you.” Something in Jaster’s chest loosens hearing that his team is fine.

“So what are you doing here?” Jaster asks as he starts to follow his rescuer up the ladder. “Bounty.” the answer came back down from up ahead. “Mmmm.” Jaster hums. “I hope that rescuing me hasn’t interfered too much with your job.”

He receives no answer as they continue to climb. It takes about thirty minutes of climbing before they get to a landing platform. Pulling himself up on to it next to the hunter Jaster tries his internal comms again. “Still not reaching my verde.” He tells the hunter.

The man simply nods before carefully splicing the door to open it. “We have to cross two districts to reach a transport shaft that will take you straight up to the hangar where your ship is.” Looking over at Jaster the man cocks his head to the side. “Ready for a running fight?” He asks.

Jaster grins, pulling out both of his blasters. “Sounds like fun.” He answers. Beroya nods and pulls his own blaster then he opens the door and sprints out shooting as he goes.

With a laugh Jaster follows. The hunter was right. It is a running fight. They are bobbing and weaving through the alleyways shooting at the slavers trying to corner them. They dance around each other, naturally covering each other’s back. Jaster has never worked so flawlessly with anyone. Not when he was with the Protectors, not even with his own team of ori’ramikad whom he has trained with for years. It is like they are one soul in two bodies. It is exhilarating and fascinating.

Nearing the transporter shaft Jaster’s comm crackles. “Jaster, damn it. Jaster fucking Mereel answer me.” Kal Skirata’s voice crackles over the suddenly active comm.

Breathing out in relief he shoots at one of the slavers trying to sneak up behind the beroya. “Kal, manda be thanked. We are on level twenty transport shaft ten.”

There is a moment of silence and then, “We?” The question comes from Kal. “Ran into a certain Beroya.” Jaster answers as the same hunter pulls him out of the way from a shot before returning fire. “We are five minutes out.” The response comes. “Do hurry up if you want to have any fun. It seems we are starting to run out of bodies.” Jaster answers.

Stepping into the hunter’s personal space Jaster spins them around to shoot another slaver in the face. He hears the sound of jetpacks before he sees his team coming down the shaft.

They land like avenging angels, all fire and death and within minutes the space is quiet. All the slavers are dead or dying. Turning around, Jaster spots his hunter edging away from the rest of them. He is close to one of the open air droid shafts that drops straight down to the ground levels of the city.

“Ke’mot!” Jaster shouts. The hunter stills right on the edge and huffs. Jaster swallows. “You never told me your name.” Jaster states as he slowly starts to walk over to the hunter.

“I know.” The reply comes. Jaster huffs. “Well?” He demands. The hunter takes another step backwards, now right on the edge of the drop. “Do something to really impress me Mereel, and I might just give it to you.” and with that reply he steps off the edge and drops down into the darkness of the shaft.

With a curse on his lips Jaster runs over and looks down but all that he can see is droids moving up and down the shaft. There is no sign of his hunter. Turning back he can hear his men snickering. “Yeah, yeah laugh it up.” He snaps. “Let’s get off this manda forsaken planet.”

Heading back to his ship with his soldiers, he vows to himself he will get the hunters name.

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

Din sighs as he maneuvers the carbon slab containing his current bounty into the storage slot next to the cage in the storage deck of his ship. Making sure that everything is tidied up and packed away, he heads back up to the cockpit. After he had helped Mereel get back to his people, he had managed to hunt down his bounty. He had been in such a foul mood that he had shot the man with a stunner right in the face. He had then dragged the unconscious man half way across the planet to get to his ship.

He had kept a careful ear out for the Haat’ade but Mereel had left the planet mere hours after meeting back up with his people. If Din is being honest with himself he would be willing to admit that his foul mood was due to the fact that part of him had hoped that Mereel would try to search him out.

Settling into his seat he checks the coordinates and he sends a quick update to Nava about both his bounties and then sets the hyperspace vectors to take him to Nevarro. He needs to talk with his family. He really needs to talk to his Buir but the Tribe’s current location is too far out into wild space to make the trip for nothing more than wanting some comfort from his mother. Entering hyperspace he pulls off his helmet. Settling back into his chair he picks up the pad he had left on the console and continues reading through Mereel’s Codex. There are a lot of things that line up with the Tribes values. Although some things were a lot more lax than the Tribes beliefs.

Of the groups that make up the tribes the Ja’hai’ade or the ‘Children of the Watch’ is the most stringent in their beliefs. Believing that removing their helmet in front of anyone but their aliit would make them dar’manda.

In contrast their tribe, Goten teh Ka’ra also known as the ‘Star Born’ is the most liberal with that. They are not like most Mando’ade in that they will take their helmets off freely. It is just that who and what they consider aliit is far more vast. Like Calypso, Jaro and the rest of his family and friends. A large number of them are not mando’ade but he considers them family so he shares his face with them. The Star Born Tribe members also share their faces with the whole tribe and allies. It is considered a sign of the utmost trust. The Shey’laar’ade or Children of the Silent Song is in between in that they share their face only with members of their tribe and not with those outside of their tribe.

Checking his heading again he decides to try and get some sleep. It is roughly six hours to Nevarro and he is dead tired. He hopes that being as tired as he is will allow him some dreamless sleep for once.

****

Din strides down the dusty main road of Mos Pelgo heading for the cantina that is the headquarters of the Bounty Hunters Guild Hall on Tatooine. He had dropped off his bounties on Nevarro and informed Nava that he was taking a short break from hunting. Nava had laughed and said she would let the other hunters know, so that they could thank him for giving them a chance at the larger bounties.

Din had merely rolled his eyes. When Scak Raan, a Duros bounty hunter who had overheard his conversation with Nava proclaimed a loud toast to Mando for taking a vacation, Din had only lightly punched him in the gut as he exited the cantina. The uproarious laughter had followed him all the way to the landing strip and his ship.

Din didn’t socialise much with the other hunters in the Nevarro guild hall, but he is careful not to completely antagonise them. He is still young and he is carefully building a network of acquaintances and favours. After leaving Nevarro he had recorded a message for his mother to let her know about his meeting with his birth father on Coruscant and to ask about a shopping list for the tribe. Then he had headed for Tatooine.

Entering the aptly named ‘Krayt’s Lair’ cantina, he noticed several other Mandalorians lounging about. And inevitably there are even two that wear the very discreet mark of the Ja’hai’ade.

The Children of the Watch is the most well known of the tribes and they consider it their duty to offer protection to the other tribes. You would almost always find a Ja’hai’ade in the vicinity of either a Star Born or a Song Child.

Other mandalorians would not easily recognise the marks, but the three tribes are all loosely related and know how to recognise each other. Crossing the room to the back door that leads to Boba’s office he wonders how many of their kind are fleeing Mandalorian space to get out of the way of the brewing civil war.

He knocks on the office door and enters when Boba yells that whoever is trying to bother him should leave and come back later he is having his lunch damn-it. Turning he locks the door and pulls off his helmet. “Su cuy’gar vod.” he greets as he strolls over to his favourite chair and promptly collapses into it.

“Su’cuy,” Boba answers. In front of him was a plate containing tiingilar and haarshun bread, “Have you eaten yet?” Boba asks before taking another bite of food.

Din grimaces and waves a hand, as to wave away the question. “Not hungry.” He replies shortly. Boba shoots him a long look, clearly taking in the dark circles under his eyes, and the armour that sits just that little bit too loose. “Mmmm,” the older Mandalorian hums before taking another bite. “Sure, and next you will be telling me you get a solid eight hours of sleep every night as well.” He responds.

“Can we not?” Din asks tiredly, slumping deeper into his seat. “I actually do have a reason for being here, you know.” He continues. “A reason that has nothing to do with my current diet or sleeping habits.”

Before he can continue, Fennec enters through the second door in the office, the one leading to their living quarters. She is carrying a large mug that has steam lazily rising out of it. The fragrant smell of a rich pog soup travels with the mug. Before he can even greet her she thrust the cup in his direction, “Drink!” she orders, glaring at him with a look that promises pain if he tries to refuse.

Taking the cup from her he sighs. “I really am fine, you know.” He takes a small sip. “And really not hungry.” He states as he leans forwards to place the cup on Boba’s desk. The strong clearing of a throat makes him freeze, before he slowly pulls the cup back to him and takes another sip. “Su’cuy,” Fennec finally greets him. “Su’cuy,” Din greets back while rolling his eyes at the assassin.

“So I have a question.” Boba states before taking another deliberate bite from his food all the while staring pointedly at the cup in his brother’s hand. Frowning at the blatant bullying from his siblings, Din continues to take small sips from his soup.

“Can you maybe explain to me why one of the best splicers from the Haat’ade is digging into your guild file?” Din freezes before taking another sip from his cup. “I really cannot say.” He answers nonchalantly.

Boba carefully places the fork he is eating with down to stare at the younger Mandalorian unimpressed. Fennec shifts so that she can lean into Boba while his desk carries most of her weight.

“You cannot say…” Boba drawls. “You cannot say because you don’t know or because the answer will mean you did something reckless that you don’t want to confess to?”

Din shrugs with one shoulder and loudly slurps his soup, trying to look innocent. Fennec snorts and Boba sighs, “Yeah that look hasn’t worked on me since before your Verd’Goten vod.” The older man snarks back.

Din sighs loudly, “I might have run into the Alor of the Haat’ade a time or two.” he answers. Raising an eyebrow, “Might have?” the dark haired assassin leaning into his brother asks.

Wrinkling his nose, Din drains the rest of his soup in a few large gulps before placing the now empty cup on the table. “Okay so I have run into him three times.” he states.

“And?” Boba and Fennec ask together when Din does not elaborate. Realising that he is not getting out of this conversation Din pouts before answering. “The first time was by accident. Calypso and I was trailing a group of pirates that was involved in the slave trade. She had been betrayed and injured pretty badly and.” Boba holds up a hand to stop Din. “Wait, was that last year when you showed up here with her unconscious and Jaro in tow?” He demands.

Din nods, “Yes, we were tracking Daveron, when he got the drop on her and managed to get in a lucky hit. I left her on the ship and followed him to where we believed he was meeting the information broker. But instead I found a pirate base that was freshly overtaken by the Haat’ade and no sign of the shabuir Daveron. I was about to leave without making myself known when I realised that Jaro was among the captured pirates.” Boba nods, “Ah so that was the undercover job that he was on last year.”

Waving a hand Din continues, “Yeah, so I wasn’t going to leave him there. I disabled the ramikads that was on their own. Then I distracted the rest with light and noise and managed to free Jaro. In that altercation I might have ended up fighting with Mereel and some of their forces buying Jaro time to escape.” Boba stares and Din before turning to look at Fennec helplessly. “Don’t look at me.” She states, “He is your vod.” She places the emphasis on the word ‘your’.

Clearing his throat Din draws their attention back onto him. “Should I continue?” He asks pointedly. Blowing out a deep breath Boba waves him on. “Please do.”

Din runs a hand through his hair before he continues. “Yes, well I managed to get away after I was certain that Jaro had escaped. And I thought that was that. Won’t run into them again because let’s be honest we don’t really run in the same areas or circles.”

Boba nods to acknowledge that statement. “So we leave, I bring Calypso here and Jaro heads back to the Jetti’yaim and Ba’buir. Then a few months after that we get information that Daveron is on some small inner rim world trying to sell information on Calypso and Nym and the freedom trail. Jaro was investigating an information broker that was working for the Hutts on the same world. The three of us teamed up and managed to find and eliminate both of them. But in doing so I crossed paths again with the Haat’ade.”

Din swallows his throat dry after all of the talking. “And the last time I came across Mereel was a week ago. I was on Anoat tracking a bounty when I heard chatter that a large group of slavers was trying to kill a mandalorian. So I went to investigate and found out that they were after Mereel. He had gotten separated from the rest of his squad and was seconds away from being blown up courtesy of a missile to the face. I pulled him out of the way and helped him get back to his people.” Din opens both his hands. “And that’s it.”

Boba and Fennec share a long look before turning back to Din. “That’s it?” Fennec queries incredulously.

“What do you want me to say? That is all that there is to it.” Din groused. “Can we please now get back to the real reason I came here?” He demands, crossing his arms over his chest. Boba leans back in his chair and gestures for Din to continue.

“So Ba’Buir Yaddle contacted me.” Din pauses and steals himself. “My…” he trails off, unsure of how to phrase what he has to say. He swallows. He finally decides to just blurt it out, “My father wants to meet me.” The two across the desk from him freeze, before Boba very carefully asks, “Why now?”

Din picks up the mug from the desk only to put it down again and starts to fidget with his vambraces. “He has knighted his current padawan, so he now apparently feels it is safe for us to meet.” He leans forward and tiredly brace his elbows on his knees while he holds his head in his hands. Surprisingly it is Fennec that speaks up first. “Do you want to meet him?” She asks softly.

“Yes… No… Maybe…” a sigh, “I don’t know.” Din looks up, he hesitates before coming to a decision, “I am too mentally unbalanced to make this decision. The dreams have been getting worse and the Ka’ra have been strange for better words.” He swallows, “But at the same time I get the feeling that this meeting is very important.”

Boba tilts his head, “Important?” he asks. Din nods, “Yes, like it is some sort of shatter-point. A fork where my decision is important for better or worse.” All three stop as they feel the truth in the statement echoes through the Force. The pulse of ‘urgent pay attention, choose carefully’.

Din closes his eyes and rests his head back onto his hands. “Well okay then that answers that question.” He states tiredly. Boba hums and then rakes his fingers through his curly black hair.

“Okay, so apparently you are meeting your biological father.” He states, “Where will you be meeting him?” Still hiding his face in his hands Din mumbles, “Coruscant, Ba’buir have asked that I go there. She has also said that she will be there when I meet him.” Boba considers the logistics of that. “Have you spoken to Buir about this yet?”

Din shakes his head. “I sent her a message but have not spoken to her directly.” Pursing his lips the older warrior considers several scenarios.

“Okay, first; if you are going to Coruscant then everyone and their strill is going to have a shopping list. So you can’t go on your ship. Laara has mentioned last week that she is considering heading core wards and Arna seemed interested in going with. There is also a pair of Ja’hai’ade that can accompany you.” Din looks up affronted. “I do not need chaperones on a trip to the core!” He nearly shouts.

Holding his hands up in a gentle movement. “I am not saying you need a chaperone, but considering the political scene back in Manda’yaim, it is better for any of us to travel in groups when we head for any of the enclaves.” Boba smirks suddenly, “Besides, do you really want to do everyone’s shopping on your own?” Din pulls a face. “Yeah no, I hate shopping enough as it is.”

“Then having four others with you will lighten that load.” Boba continues. “The two Ja’hai’ade actually have a large ship so that will work out nicely.”

Din looks at his brother, “You are very free to volunteer their services without having spoken to them.” Boba merely waves it off. “They are Guild members and I actually do need some things and it will work out cheaper to pay them to go get it for me than other less trusted means.” Din merely hums at that and turns to look at his brother’s wife. “Any comments to add, Fen?” he asks.

Fennec taps a finger to her lips as she thinks. “Merely that if you are seeing Ba’buir I have some gifts for her and for S’lene. Jaro has mentioned that his padawan is interested in throwing knives so I have a set that I want to send her as a gift.” Din nods. “We also need to speak to Jaro about S’lene’s Verd’Goten. She will be turning thirteen next year and she will need training armour.”

Boba suddenly laughs, “Can you just imagine the look on those stuffy high council members’ faces when they realise that one of their most prestigious lineages has converted to Mandalorians.” Din giggles slightly hysterically at the thought, and thus misses the worried look that Boba shares with Fennec.

Walking around the desk Fennec carefully pulls the still giggling hunter out of his chair. “Come vod’ika, you need some sleep.” She states softly. Dins giggles turns to strangled sobs, “I can’t, the dreams…” He trails off. Boba joins them, taking Din’s other side. “We will shield you vod, no dreams will find you tonight.”

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

Jaster stands in front of the large window of the hotel room that overlooks one of the garden squares that sits on the edge between Kih’Keldabe and one of the less prominent trading sectors. One of the less reputable space ports is one district over. Behind him several of his team commanders as well as close friends argued over the information that they had received.

“How do we know we can trust this!” Montross exclaims, waving the pad that contains a message from Nam Beroya of clan Awaud. “This could be a trap, created by the Vizlas.” Montross is practically foaming at the mouth. “We have clear evidence that Tor Vizla has taken the lead of Kyr’stad.”

Goran be Kih’Kelbade shakes their head. “Nam Beroya is an honourable verd and while traditional, they have no time for Vizla’s expansionist ideology.”

Jaster’s uncle Jareal Mereel, taps a finger on the table clearly deep in thought. “If you accept this, then it will elevate Clan Mereel to a size that you can claim House status.”

Turning away from the window back to the table Jaster considers the implications of his uncle’s statement. “The Haat’Mando’Ade are already one of the largest non military mercenary companies.” He states as he walks back over to the table. “As of yesterday we number just over a thousand active fighting Verde and another eight-hundred ne’kaan.” Reaching the table he picks up a carafe of shig and pours himself a cup. “We have more than quadrupled our numbers in the last two years.” He stops and takes a sip of the shig.

“And If you declare yourself a house, then that number will most likely double overnight, as those that are uncomfortable with either Kyr’stad or the Evaar’la’Ade policies turn to a more moderate faction.” Jareal states.

“Your uncle is correct, Mereel” The Goran responds, “Already more and more are turning to look for a third option.” They sigh and slump just slightly in their seat. “The number of mando’ade passing through here looking for safer grounds grows by the day.” They seem to contemplate their next words carefully. “Most of them have already withdrawn from Mandalorian space.”

That made Jaster pause. “I know that a large number of Traditionalists have settled in both the Arkanis and Karthakk sectors.”

The Goran nods. “The Guild Hall on Tatooine has drawn a large number of the wandering clans.”

Jaster drains the rest of the shig in his cup before placing the cup back onto the table. “Under Boba Fett.” He states. Turning back to the window he looks across the room to where Beck Ordo stands. “Get in contact with Cassus Fett, I believe his youngest was born just a few months ago at the end of last year?” He waits to see a nod from Beck confirming his timeline. “Send him a message with congratulations, and then ask him what he knows about his clan member on Tatooine.” He waits until Beck leaves the room to continue.

“When I accept Clan Awaud’s fealty, things will move fast.” Jaster stops in front of the window again, clasping his hands behind his back he stares down onto the bustling square below.

“You are correct,” The Goran confirms. “You will only need two more large clans after Awaud to swear to you to bring you on the same level as Vizla and Kryze.” Watching mando’ade mingle down below him Jaster hums, “Or several smaller ones”

He cocks his head and frowns at the back of a particular mando down below, something about them seems very familiar, but he could not get a clear view of them.

“I expect to see an influx of smaller clans looking for support and safety.” Frowning, he reaches up and opens the window to see if he can get a better look. “We will need to take Keldabe. We absolutely must have a base on Manda’yaim itself.” He turns to the small sideboard next to the window where he had placed his helmet earlier, picks it up and dons it. “Jaster?” Jareal asks as he gets up from the table and moves towards his nephew.

“I think I see someone familiar.” Jaster merely states as his uncle and Kal Skirata joins him at the window.

“Ba’vodu!” a shrill young voice rings out above the noise from the square. Jaster immediately turns his head to see a young female twi’lek child with the softest blue colouring he has ever seen dash across the square towards the person he had been watching. Following far more sedately behind the young girl is a very familiar lasat male, still dressed in spacer clothes. The mando turns and Jaster’s breath catches as he watches his Beroya pick up the young girl to spin her around in a hug. “Well look at that, not only is he a good fighter, but is good with kids as well.” Kal murmurs next to Jaster.

Rolling his eyes, Jaster zooms in and raises his helmet’s audio pickups to listen in to the conversation. Standing next to Beroya are four other mandos, Jaster zooms in closer, “Isn’t that your ba’vodu’ad Laarna?” he asks Kal. He waits for Kal to see where he is pointing before Kal confirms. “Yeah that is Laarna, wonders how she knows your hunter?” he muses. Turning his focus back to the scene down below.

“Ba’vodu Jaro.” His hunter greets the lasat warmly, clasping hands in the traditional way. The lasat rolls his eyes, “I am only four years older than you, you know.” He grouses. Cocking his head the hunter chuckles, “Still Ba’buir yougest.” He shifted the twi’lek so that she is sitting comfortable on his hip. “Now how is my favourite ba’vodu’ad?” he asks her as he taps a finger on her nose. The young girl curls her legs around his waist and leans far back to avoid the another boob.

“I am your only niece.” She states. Dipping her Beroya twirls her around before placing her back on her feet on the ground. “That you are my verd’ika. I have some gifts for you from your Ba’vode.”

Jaster watched as the child’s eyes lit up in glee. “Gifts?” she squeals. “S’lene,” the lasat sighs loudly, “But buir, dinui.” She pleads pointing a devastating pout in the direction of her parent. Before he can answer another voice rings out over the square. “Mudhorn!” Jaster watches as several people pause and turn in the direction of the shout. His hand drifts down to his blaster as he identifies the being who had shouted. Calypso. One of the most feared pirates in the outer rim. She has one of the largest bounties on her head, sponsored by both the Hutts and the Zygerians.

She stalks across the open space with several of her crew trailing behind her. Jaster notes how many of the beings in the square suddenly start to leave as if trying to get out before the fighting starts. She stops before Beroya and pokes him in the chest with a finger, an angry glare on her face. “You better tell that bantha-ass to stop kriffing around in my business. Just because I like to take his dick for a ride every now and then, it does not give him the right to interfere in my affairs!” She hiss at him, poking him in the chest with every second word.

“Hi aunty Cal.” the ade pipes up. Jaster watches as one of the most feared women in the outer rim pales and drops her eyes down to the young child. “Hi S’lene.” She greets weakly. Calypso closes her eyes and slowly opens them again. It seems she just spotted the child’s parent as well. “Hi Jaro.” The lasat smirks and nods his head in greeting. Looking back down at the child, Calypso slumps a little bit, “Don’t repeat any of the words I have just said till well past your eighteen year, please.” The fearsome pirate begs.

“What has that blockhead done that has gotten you so worked up?” The hunter asks, dragging Jaster’s attention back onto him. Calypso opens her mouth before closing it, visibly censoring herself. “The idiot tried to rescue me! Me! And nearly interrupted a heist.” She hissed. She lowered her voice down to a mere whisper, Jaster could only just make out her words. “We had several freed that we were moving to safety and he nearly disrupted that.” That makes Jaster pause as he considers the statement. It would explain why both the Hutts and the Zygerians were so eager to get their hands on her. If she is part of the freedom trail… It is actually quite genius, who would ever suspect a pirate to be part of the freedom trail.

Before either could continue the lasat step forward. “I think we need to take this somewhere private.” The hunter freezes for a moment before turning and looking up directly at Jaster. “Yes, that does seem prudent.” He replies. He must have given instructions on his internal comms because the other mandos with him just nods and head off in different directions.

The hunter stares at Jaster for a moment longer before picking up the child, turning and disappearing into the crowd with the pirate and the lasat trailing behind him. The rest of Calypso’s pirate crew also dispersing into different directions.

“Well that was interesting.” Kal murmurs next to Jaster. “Wasn’t it just.” Mereel responds. “It does explain why he would rescue him.” He considers, “And why he has such a large bounty on his head.”

Kal nods, “Well now we do have a real name to investigate.” Kal is already typing on a pad. “Jaro and he clearly have ties with Calypso.” Jaster winces, and then sighs. “They appear to be aliit.” He turns when Kal goes quiet and watches as his shoulders shake in that way he has when he is laughing. The shabuir has muted his vocoder to hide his laughter.

“Jaster?” Jareal Mereel asks, a wealth of questions wrapped in his name. Both he and the Goran had joined them at the window. Jaster shoots a look at Kal who is still quietly laughing in his bucket. He turns back to the window and pulls it close before removing his helmet.

“Merely a Beroya we had run across a few times.” Jaster tries to play it off. A still snickering Kal pulls off his own helmet. “Our Alor here is upset because the Beroya refuses to give him a name and keeps jumping off high places to get away from him.”

Shoving Kal in the shoulder the dark haired leader of the Haat’Mando’ade stalks back to the table to pour himself another cup of shig.

“Mmmm,” the Goran hums. “Tribals are very fierce, and extremely insular.” Taking a deep drink from his cup Jaster pauses and turns to the Goran. “So he is a Child of the Watch?” Jaster demands. The Goran shakes their head, “Two of his companions are most definitely, but no, he is not.” Tilting their head in consideration the Goran continues, “Not a lot is known about the different tribes. Most know about the Children of the Watch and how strict their Creed is.” They take their previous seat again before continuing. “Even before the Dral’Han the tribes tended to be nomadic only returning occasionally back to Manda’yaim. After thought most of the tribes completely disappeared, with only the Ja’hai’ade visably returning to Mandalorian space.”

Jaster nods, “The history is very vague about the Tribes, but there are some documents about them. With the exception of the Tribe Goten be Ka’ra.”

The Goran nods. “The lost tribe.” He murmurs.

“Well your hunter does claim non mando’ade as aliit.” Jareal speaks up.

“Yes, yes, Mereel’s fascination with his nameless bounty hunter is quite entertaining but we do have real business to attend to.” Montross sneers from where he is still seated at the table.

“Montross is correct.” Jaster says as he takes a seat at the head of the table. “We need to finalise my response to Clan Awaud and draw up the proclamation of our intent to elevate Clan Mereel to House status.” He turns his focus back to the real reason he is here on Coruscant. The mystery of his Hunter will have to wait for another day.

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

Din follows Jaro as the Jedi leads him and Calypso through several back alleys deeper into some of the more dangerous parts of Coruscant. Jaro finally stops at the door to a run down apartment building in one of the gambling districts. Unlocking the door Jaro quickly ushers everyone in before locking the door behind them. Inside is a dark and dirty hallway.

Taking the lead again Jaro beckons then to follow. At the end of the hallway is another door. It opens before they can knock. “Late you are padawan mine.” Jedi Master Yaddle states as she stands in the now open door.

“Forgive me Master, but we ran into some unexpected company.” Jaro states, bravely refraining from sighing. Calypso leans around the large lasat’s frame. “Hello Yaddle!” she brightly greets.

Yaddle merely raises an eyebrow. “Greetings, Calypso. Not know that on Coruscant you are.” The pirate shrugs and tosses her curly hair over her shoulder rather dramatically. “Well I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I would stop over for some shopping.”

S’lene lets go of Din’s hand and dashes over to her Grand master. “Calypso shouted at Uncle Din using bad words.” She whispers conspirational. Tapping the young girl on the head with a finger, Calypso pushes her way into the room.

“Don’t go snitching on me, little star.” The pirate openly casing the place says. She stops in the middle of the room when she spots an older man clearly dressed as a Jedi waiting at the table on the other side of the room.

Merely shaking her head, Yaddle waves Din and Jaro into the room before closing the door behind them. “Hunter, please allow me to introduce you to Jedi Master Dooku.” The old Jedi says as she slowly walks over to the other man. “Dooku, this is Beroya.” She completes the introduction.

Dis swallows nearly overcome by nerves. “I… I got your letter.” He stammers out. Dooku nods, he too appears visibly nervous, which is so strange for Din. He has always believed that Jedi show no emotions. Part of him knows that is not true, but truthfully he does not really associate his aliit with the Jedi. Yaddle was his ba’buir and Jaro was far more mandalorian in attitude than what Din believed a Jedi to be.

Dooku smiles nervously and points at the couch and pair of chairs that stand to one side of the room. “Please sit.” He takes one of the chairs leaving the couch and the other chair for the rest of the group.

Yaddle pokes Jaro in the direction of the other large chair before climbing up the couch. She pats the space next to her and Din hesitantly crosses the room to take the seat. Calypso watches everybody before moving to lean against the wall next to the couch. Resting her hands lightly on her belt next to her blasters. A clear move to indicate to Din that she has his back.

“Yaddle has been teaching me about mandalorians and the differences in your creeds. And the different factions that are emerging.” Dooku speaks up after the silence stretch out a bit too long. “So I know about the whole name and…” He waves at his face indicating the helmet. “the helmet thing.”

‘Helmet thing’, Calypso mouth at Jaro while pulling a face. “What I mean is,” The normally well spoken diplomat rambles on, “that I don’t expect you to tell me your name or to share your face with me, but that I hope that we can get to know each other.” He wrings his hands together. “That is if that is something you might be interested in.” Dooku stammers on. He cannot remember the last time he was this nervous or uncertain on how to act.

Din tilts his head, clearly taking in his birth fathers nervousness and consequentiality feels a bit less nervous himself. “Why now?” He asks the question that has bothered him for the last three years.

Dooku sighs heartsore and tired. “I have just knighted my last padawan.” He pauses, deciding on how to word what he needs to say. “I love Qui-Gon Jinn, but I am not blind to his faults. He is so entrenched in the living force that he is not always able to discern how his actions can appear thoughtless or impact those around him.” Dooku stops for a moment, finally releasing most of his anxiety into the Force. “I feared that if he were to become aware of your existence he would inform my former Master.” He pauses again to take a deep breath. “My former master is the Grand master of the order. And I fear that if he were to become aware of you, the council would forbid me from having contact with you.”

Din considers this. “You truly believe that they would forbid you to have contact with your family?” Din asks.

Dooku nods. “As well as how they would react to the knowledge of well trained Force using Mandalorians. The history between our people is filled with violence and misunderstandings.”

Din nods at this, well aware thanks to both his buir and Yaddle about the tumultuous history between their people. Dooku looks over at the man who is his son. “Do you have any questions for me?” He asks.

Din nods. “How did you meet my birth mother?” He asks. “I have almost no memories of her. She died when I was very young.” His voice is soft.

Dooku smiles, “I met your mother when I was seventeen, just before I became a senior padawan. I was on a mission with my master in the outer rim. We had gotten separated and I was stranded on this small no name space station in the literal middle of nowhere. I was trying to get enough credits together by playing sabacc to purchase space on a ship travelling to a larger space port where I could contact the temple from. I have just been accused of cheating when in strolled the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She glowed in the force and I was drawn to her.” He stops for a moment trying to remember everything about that encounter. “She realised that I was in over my head almost immediately, and managed to distract everyone enough that I could slip out unnoticed.”

He pulls on the cuff of his robe before hiding his hands in the voluminous sleeves. “Somehow she had managed to track me down and cornered me. She demanded to know what I was trying to do, and everything just spilled out. About how I got separated and was trying to make my way back to Coruscant. She was only a year older than me and was on her first solo trip. She was moving cloth from her home on Aq Vetina to Agamar to sell. She offered to take me with her. I could easily find a ship there that would take the hyperspace lane from there to Bandomeer and it would be easy to get transport from there back to Coruscant.”

Dooky smiles softly. “I fell madly and deeply in love in the five days it took us to reach Agamar. I told her that if she asked me to stay, that I would. That I would give up being a Jedi for her.”

He shakes his head ruefully. “Your mother had merely kissed me goodbye and told me that staying with her was not my destiny. She then stuffed enough credits in my hand to buy a ticket on one of the large transports back to Coruscant. When I returned to the temple my master was waiting for me and informed me that I had passed my trial to become a senior padawan.” He breathes out slowly. “I have thought of her many times over the years and I have wondered what had become of her.” Dooku ends softly.

Din blink rapidly trying to prevent tears from falling. “She returned to Aq Vetina, and some months later I was born. She moved to one of the smaller villages away from the main city.” He answers. “When I was three years old a rumour reached the village that a Jedi seeker was on the planet and that he was taking all the force sensitive children under the age of five to send them to the Jedi temple. I was told that my mother grew scared of them taking me and she contacted her sister who is a Mandalorian. My buir came immediately and whisked me away before the Jedi could reach our village. I was five years old when my Buir informed me that my mother had passed away. It would be many years later that I would learn that she had been killed by slavers who tried to capture beings on Aq Vetina to sell to the Hutts.”

Dooku closes his eyes in sorrow. When he opens them they are shiny with unshed tears, “Is your Buir kind to you?” he asks, his voice thick with emotions.

Din nods, “I grew up surrounded by love.” he confirms. The Jedi master bends his head trying to hide his emotions, “Part of me wishes that you had been found by a seeker and brought to the temple.” He swallows tears back, “But the larger part of me is glad that you got raised in a family surrounded by love.”

Din turns to look at Yaddle, “Are Jetii not raised with love and support?” The old master sighs. “Dedicated care, support and encouragement are shown. But at the same time younglings are taught not to become attached. Strong emotions are decried.”

Calypso snort derisively. “Yeah because adults that do not have a drop of emotional intelligence would know how to deal with relationships and healthy interactions between sentience. No wonder so many of you fall to the ‘Dark’ side.” She made quote marks when she utters the word dark.

Yaddle slowly nods her head. “The great debate this is. Some believe that strong emotions lead to anger and anger leads to hate and hate leads to the darkside.”

Din holds up his hand to stall the debate between the two women. “Can we not have this discussion now?” He asks wearily.

The pirate ducks her head in apology, while Yaddle nods agreement. “True this is not the reason we are all here.”

Din turns to look at Dooku. “I would like to get to know you.” He clenches his fist before visibly relaxing. “I can give you my comm code.” Dooku smiles with relief and the beginning of joy.

“I would like that very much.” He considers before continuing, “I am going to be taking the position of Watch Being for the Dustig sector. That will remove me from the scrutiny of the council and will allow us to communicate without risk to you.”

Yaddle hums. “Upset Yoda will be.” She states. “Put forward your name to take place on the High Council he has.” Dooku waves it off with one hand. “That will teach him to ask and listen to people before he makes decisions for them”

“The Dustig sector is not far from my normal hunting grounds.” Din states. “It will make communication easier.” He looks up at Calypso before looking at Jaro. He pushes to his feet. “We need to get going. We do have actual trading to do while we are here.”

Dooku nods and stands up as well. “It was good to finally meet you.” He says. Din pauses before, “Din. My name is Din.” He states.

The dark haired Jedi’s face lit up with joy. “Din.” He breathes. “Thank you for this trust.” He puts his fist over his heart and nods his head in the traditional Mandalorian sign of respect.

Din echos it before starting for the door. “Jaro, come by the ship tonight with S’lene, then we will give you your gifts.” He nods to Yaddle, “Ba’buir. We will see you tonight as well?” He asks. “Yes bu’ad, tonight.” The small green master agrees.

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

Din starts awake, nearly falling out of the narrow bunk he is sleeping on. His heart pounding he struggles to kick off the blanket that is twisted around his legs. Getting free he stumbles towards the door of the small cabin he is staying in while on the Ja’hai’ade ship. He barely remembers to grab and pull on his helmet as he tumbles out the door in his rush to get to the cockpit and the long distance communication array there. He only just acknowledges Arna Vua’s presence on watch before he is calling Boba’s comm code.

It takes nearly five minutes before Boba answers. It is deep in the middle of the night cycle on their part of Tatooine and from the image in the holo, it is clear that Boba had been sleeping. “This better be bloody important or someone is getting a blaster to the face.” Boba groused.

“You have to service your sen’tra.” Din blurts out instead of a greeting. “Din?” Boba asks, clearly confused by what is happening. “You have to service your sen’tra and wear it on your next hunt.” Din insists again. “Promise me Boba. Promise me that you will service your sen’tra and wear it on your next hunt.” the urgency and fear in his voice finally getting his older brother’s attention.

Boba stills for a moment before looking at the younger hunter. “Udesii, vod, udesii.” Boba speaks softly trying to calm his brother down. “Promise me!” Din demands again. “Haat, ijaa, haa’it” Boba swears. Hearing his brother’s pledge, Din slumps like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Boba watches the blue form of his brother on through the holo. “I take it was a particularly overwhelming vision?”

Din nods tiredly. “I am pretty sure that you will die on your next hunt, if you don’t take your sen’tra.”

Boba exhales sharply. “Okay right. I will service my sen’tra first thing in the morning and I will take backup on my next hunt as well as wear my sen’tra.”

Din sways and grabs the edge of the console he was standing in front. “Vor entye.” Din breathes in relief. Boba snorts. “I am pretty sure that I am the one in debt to you Vod’ika. Now go back to bed and get some more sleep.” Boba commands. Din merely nods before disconnecting the call.

He leans heavily against the communication console just breathing heavily for a moment trying to calm his racing heart.

Arna cautiously clears her throat. “So the rumours are true.” She states, awe clear in her voice. “You are of the lost tribe.”

Din winces. “I don’t know why everyone calls us that. We are not lost, we know exactly where we are!” He states half snappishly.

Arna shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe because you never announce yourself.” She taps her chin. “And because a lost tribe of ka’ra’tigaanur makes for great stories.”

Din merely snorts at that. “I am going back to bed.” He pushes off from the console he was resting against. “I would really appreciate it if you keep this to yourself.” He asks.

“Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” Arna swears. “Your secret is safe with me.” She considers for a moment, “Does the two Ja’hai’ade know?” She asks.

Din nods, “Almost all the other tribes use them as a front.” He tiredly waves a hand to encompass the whole concept. “Less questions if everybody thinks that they are the only tribe left.”

Nodding to show her understanding, she makes a shooing gesture. “Off to bed with you. You clearly need more sleep.” Din nods and heads back to his tiny cabin in the hopes to get some more sleep.

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

It is early in the morning, so early that most of Jaster’s friends and council are still asleep after the very late night they had planning the ascension of house Mereel. About halfway through their planning after Jaster had sworn to the Goran that he would uphold the Resol’nare as the Alor of House Mereel. That he would pledge to protect those sworn to him and that he would strive to always do what is best for all of the Mando’ade he had started to hear drums.

First it had been soft, right at the edge of his hearing but as it became clear that by claiming House status, the Haat’Mando’ade will change from a mere mercenary company to a full fledged reformation movement the sound of the drums have increased. So much so that by the end of the night when Jaster had sent everyone off to get some rest the sound of the drums had been overwhelming.

When he had finally stumbled into his own bed his dreams had been strange. When he had woken up he could not remember his dreams, except for odd snippets of a conversation that he had with someone, but he could not remember who he had spoken to in his dream.

After getting dressed fully, Jaster feels anxious, like there is some place he absolutely has to be right now. He stops in the dining room space of the set of rooms he has booked for him and his people.

“Mereel,” the Goran of Kih’Keldabe greets the Alor of the soon to be House Mereel.

Jaster nods a greeting, “Su cuy’gar, Goran.” Jaster greets as he places his helmet on the table and walks over to the caff station to make himself a cup of spiced caff. “Can I get you anything to drink?” He asks as he pours the boiling water into a mug.

The Goran shakes their head. “No, I have already had some.” They seem to assess Jaster for a long moment before they speak again. “You are hearing it then?” They ask. Their armour is black with shades of dark blue and green. They seem to melt into the shadows. A figure of justice, duty and reliability.

For a moment Jaster contemplates pretending that he does not understand what the Goran is referring to, but then he nods. “It started last night after I had sworn to uphold the Resol’nare.”

The Goran hums under their breath. “It has been a long time since the Manda has taken an interest in a specific person.” The being contemplates the man standing in front of them. “You are a hope for our people, for better or worse your choices will shape what will come for all of Mando’ade.”

The Goran’s words seem to echo through the room, laced heavily with prophetic promise. Jaster shivers at the sudden chill that runs down his spine. “Pick your council wisely Jaster Mereel,” The Goran continues. Then they seem to shake as if waking up from a trance. They pause and tilt their head slightly, and Jaster will swear to his dying day that he could feel them smirking at him. “If you want to practice, there is a training salle behind the forge that is off limits to most, only those who I personally invite can enter there. It will give you the privacy to exercise.” Jaster quickly drains the nearly forgotten mug of caff, dons his helmet and thanks the Goran before high tailing it out of there.

The walk to the Forge has calmed his nerves and the drums that had gotten louder with every word that the Goran had spoken has quietened down to a soft murmur at the back of his mind. It is still there but where before it was overwhelming and interfered in his thinking now it seems to almost help him calm. As he nears the door of the salle he hears movement inside. There must be someone there already exercising.

He stops and turns to leave, not willing to share space right now with anyone. But as he takes a step away from the door the drums grow louder, insistently, nearly painfully so. He stops and turns back to the door, touching the handle the drums quietens but at the same time their sound grows almost gleeful, excited. Jaster steels himself, it seems the Manda wants him to meet whoever is on the other side of the door.

He very quietly opens the door just wide enough to slip in and let the door close just as silently behind him. He pause letting his Buy’ce adjust to the dim light. The sight steals his breath for a moment. In the very centre of the room in circle of light, there is his Beroya. He has a spear in his hands and seem to be practising a very traditional spear kata. His graceful movements speak of practise and beskar levels of control.

Every movement is precise and deadly, he makes the kata seem less like practice and more like a breathtakingly beautiful dance. He seems to flow from one form to another moving so smoothly and acrobatically that it almost appears as if his armour is made from silk instead of heavy metal. “Mesh’la” Jaster breathes out before he can help himself. The hunter stills and turns to face him.

Din had left the ship after spending a few restless hours trying and failing to fall back asleep after the terrifying vision and the frantic holo call to his brother. The day they had arrived on Coruscant, he had searched out the Goran as he had a parcel to deliver to them from his Buir. They had offered their private training space to him if he needed it. He had thank the being then and now he was beyond grateful for the private place to exercise the restlessness out of him. He is so deep into the moving meditation that he does not hear anyone enter the room. It is only when the other person speaks that he becomes aware that he is no longer alone.

Jaster Mereel stands just inside the room next to the door. Din squints looking at the other man. Something about him has changed. Every time they have crossed paths the Manda have seemed to curl around the man wrapping around him but not touching. Now it drapes across his shoulders like a rich heavy cape.

The drums of the Manda have taken a triumphant note as if proclaiming to all who listens that it has chosen a new favourite. It pulls at him and in his current state with his defences down it leads him to do something his vod will most definitely call stupid. “Mereel.” He acknowledges the other man, “Want to spar?”

Jaster nearly starts as the other man speaks, but the question that is asked is like a dream come true. “Yes.” He answers quickly, before the other man can change his mind. “Weapons?” He asks as the stalks across the room to where the hunter is standing.

“Hand to hand and short blades.” The response comes.

He nods “Till first blood or tap out.” He states. The hunter nods and turns and walks over to the weapons rack where he places the spear back with the others.

As he walks back to the centre of the room he seems to shake himself like he is settling into his body. Jaster grins under his helmet, he has dreamed about this, never thinking he would get to spar with his hunter this soon. Pulling a dagger from the sheath at his back, he drops into a crouch. The hunter nods and pulls a knife from a hidden sheath in his right boot. They circle each other. Looking for an opening.

Jaster attacks first, swiping at the Beroya’s unguarded left side only for the hunter to step into him and hook a foot around his ankle and to grab his extended arm and to spin them around and twirl away out of reach. He huffs out what Jaster thinks might be a laugh before he strikes back.

They trade blows, neither gaining nor losing ground, time seems to lose all meaning in this dance of violence. Jaster has picked up a fair amount of new bruises and from the way the hunter is breathing he knows his last blow had definitely bruised their ribs.

In a lightning fast move, the hunter steps into Jaster’s reach instead of dancing away as he had for the last few minutes. Jaster grins viciously and manages to catch his arm and hook his leg around the hunter’s, spinning him around and taking him down to the floor.

The hunter reacts faster than Jaster can anticipate and rolls them over so that Jaster is on his back bringing his blade into the crack between Jaster’s helmet and gorget and kneeling crouched over Jaster. At the same time Jaster hooks a hand into the top of the man’s breastplate and pulls the man down towards him while pressing the point of his dagger in the opening just beneath his breastplate where there is a very small gap between the armour and the flack jacket that the hunter wears.

They both still. The hunter seems to sigh and settles down pressing his ass into Jaster’s crotch. Jaster says a silent prayer in thanks to his armourer for the space in his ven’cabur as most of the blood in his body decides to head south.

“Impressive Alor.” The Beroya breathes letting Jaster carry more of his weight. Jaster drops his head to the ground as the other man seems to grind down onto him, “Kriff!” He moans out.

The hunter chuckles, “Not that impressive though.” He answers before flipping off Jaster neatly disarming the man in one smooth move.

Rolling to his feet Jaster catches the dagger easily as the hunter tosses it back to him. “Impressive enough to get a name maybe?” he asks.

The Hunter stills and seems to consider it. “Not quite but close.” and with that he steps into the shadow and seems to disappear. With a curse on his lips Jaster rushes over to where the man has been mere seconds before. He comes to a sudden stop right at the edge of an open sewer access. What the haran is it with his hunter and jumping down holes and buildings.

Din breathes heavily as he makes his way through the sewer system to the area where their ship is docked. He cannot believe himself. Nobody can ever find out about this, Boba and Fennec will mock him mercilessly if they were ever to find out about his flirting with the leader of the True Mandalorians.

Year 939 ARR/ 61BBY

Boba stumbles, Keeth Anak, his first lieutenant adjusts his hold on his commander’s arm and side steadying him. “Hold on Boss we are nearly at the speeder.” With the last of Boba’s strength he takes the last few steps collapsing into the back seat of the vehicle.

Keeth hurries to get the medical kit from the front of the vehicle. “Boss I need to get you out of your armour. It is caked in acid. Boba grunt, “Everything but the helmet.” He breathes pain lacing his voice.

“I know, I know.” Keeth answers, “the helmet stays on.” The zabrak assures even as he starts to carefully strip the armour. Placing it in the footwell next to Boba. “Is the fucker dead?” Boba asks, trying to get the strength together to help.

“I am pretty sure you killed him good and dead boss.” Keeth assures the older man. “The explosion was rather epic.” He continues as he finally rid Boba of the last pieces of armour.

“Mandalorian jetpack fuel can be a weapon in its own right.” Boba wheezes out.

“Hi Boss man, stay with me. I need to get you out of your bodysuit. The sarlacs’ acid is eating through it.” The tan coloured zabrack is several shades paler than normal in fear. “And you cannot go into shock until we are back at base. Your wife will kill me if I let that happen.” The man continues as he manages to finally pull the body suit off, leaving Boba in just his underclothes. Ripping off his own gloves that have gotten saturated in the sarlacc’s acid, he grabs a bottle of very valuable water and starts to wash off all the places where the acid had eaten through Boba’s clothes.

Getting them both as acid free as possible in the middle Dune sea, Keeth slaps on bacta patches on the worst of the burns, before securing Boba on the back seat and jumping in behind the wheel. “Hang on Boss. This is going to be a fast ride.” He shouts over his shoulder as he starts the speeder up and takes off at full speed, racing across the sand towards Mos Pelgo.

Fennec stands on the walkway in front of the Krait’s Lair Cantina. She is restless, she has had a bad feeling about this job. It had only gotten worse after Din’s midnight call, forcing Boba to promise him to wear his jetpack. She zooms in on every movement out in the desert. The job is supposed to be easy. Some small-time gambler that owes the wrong people money. Who was stupid enough to think he could hide out in the waste of Tatooine. The job should not have taken more than a mere handful of hours, but it now has been nearly a full day since Boba and Keeth left. The Manda itself is restless, the drums beating a discordant note while the Force is full of unclear warnings.

She freezes when she notices Boba’s speeder in the distance. It is travelling at full speed and shows no sign of slowing down. “Odon, V’enna!” She calls out. “Get the medic!” She starts down the stairs, her helmet zooming in and seeing that Keeth is in the driver’s seat. She cannot see Boba.

Keeth pulls up right next to the cantina just as Fennec steps down into the road. “What happened?” She demands as the man jumps out and rushes to open the back door. Fennec’s breath catches in her throat as she notices Boba stripped down to his under clothes. His skin is burnt and blisters and his breath is wheezing through his vocoder.

“It was a kriffing ambush.” Keeth snarls as he carefully undo the safety straps holding Boba tied to the back seat. “They pushed him into a sarlacc.”

Before Fennec can reply the doctor that runs the local clinic shows up. Hissing at the sight of Boba’s burn wounds he starts to take vital readings. “What happened to him?” He demands from Keeth.

“Sarlacc.” The zabrak answers. Stepping back so that his two nurses can help get Boba on a stretcher, the doctor turns to Fennec. “We need to get him into a bacta tank immediately. I do not like the sound of his lungs.” Fennec nods and turns to follow the stretcher carrying her husband. “Keeth,” She calls out to their lieutenant, “Come on. You are also injured,” Keeth nods tiredly and his sister steps in to help him to the clinic.

V’enna stands and watches as the group heads towards the clinic clenching her fists. She turns slightly when Marsh Vanth comes to stand next to her. “Lock down the town.” She quietly instructs the town’s Marshall. “Nobody in or out.”

Marsh nods. “What are you going to do?” He asks. She smiles coldly, “Find the bastard that is responsible for this.”

The blond haired man hums. “How?” He asks. “By finding who posted the bounty.” She merely states. Marsh nods, doffing his hat in the twi’leks direction. “Well, ma’am, Happy hunting.” He states as he heads towards his office to start the process of securing the town.

 

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