11

SECURITY MEASURES

Jaster got no sleep during the night. After returning to the Slave 1, he checked every inch of the ship's interior, even shuffling down the crawl space in the tail of the ship where many of the weapons functions were stored. He ran a full diagnostic check, monitoring the maintenance, wary of any sign of sabotage. When the morning finally came, Jaster head out early to the Coaxium refinery. It almost surprised him that something as valuable as the refinery, though in shambles as it was, was to be found on the backwater world of Savareen. Again, Jaster found Aal Gosha's claim of the locals not speaking to be true. It wasn't till after a man working at the refinery dragged a young girl over to Jaster that he was finally able to communicate with them. As Jaster asked a question, the old worker would respond through hand formations and movements. It almost amused him when the young girl translated the old man's request for compensation for the information he was willing to give. Reluctantly, Jaster handed him the credit chip.

"He says he saw them. Two or three men, one young, one old, a large hairy beast and a woman," the girl said.

"What were they flying?"

The girl looked to the old man who merely shook his head. "He doesn't know."

Jaster huffed a sigh. "Great."

"All he remember is one of them say something foolish. Something about making Kessel run in thirteen parsec or something?" she confusedly look back at the man to make sure her translation was true.

"Thirteen parsecs?" Jaster echoed. The old man nodded. From behind his helmet, Jaster frowned. "Thanks," he said with a nod then turned away wondering if the information was credible. Upon returning to his ship and checking the star charts, he found himself able to believe the old man's words a bit easier. Kessel was a mining world with its major export being the highly valuable Coaxium. It made sense as the logical place for Beckett and his crew to have gone before coming to Savareen. With his next destination locked in, Slave 1 lifted off of the landing pad and blasted off into space. With the ship in hyperspace and set to autopilot, he once again felt at ease.

Cleaning his Westar 34, he sat at a crate for a makeshift workbench. It didn't take long for Jaster's mind to go blank as he cleaned and his thoughts to drift, ultimately fixating on his meeting Cad Bane. Jaster had heard a great deal about the notorious bounty hunter. For a brief time, he had even shared a cell block with him in the former Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center but his path never crossed the Duros'. As Jaster wiped out the detached barrel of his blaster pistol, he pondered. Why did Bane single him out? Did he see Jaster as a threat? As the thought crossed his mind, he smirked. Good. Reattaching the barrel, Jaster slid the tibanna gas and power cell cartridge into the slot over the handle and secured it in place. The blaster vibrated in a short burst in his hand, signifying its readiness to fire. Jaster gazed over its weathered chrome barrel. Aside from the Beskar flak vest chest plate he now wore and the Slave 1, the blasters were all that he truly held on to of Jango Fett's. Customized to the Mandalorian bounty hunter's liking, they had become part of his signature during his reign as the most notorious and fearsome bounty hunter In the galaxy. It was with these blasters that Jaster learned how to shoot, instruction that Jango had lead him since he was four years old. Jaster stood from the crate and with practiced flare, spun the pistol on his trigger finger before depositing it in its holster. Both hands still on the grips, Jaster smoothly drew them in a blur, spinning them both while smoothly grasping them in a firing position again in between flips. With a smirk, Jaster spun the pistols back into his holsters. He suddenly felt as if he was only seven years old again. In amazement, he had spied Jango executing the very same moves through the scope of a sniper blaster rifle, watching the Mandalorian at work. The Besalisk was slumped dead against the wall, all four arms sprawled lifeless on the floor, a fresh smoking blast point on his chest. Through the red imaging of the scope, Jaster had watched the short exchange. Jango had dropped through the rainy night sky into the alleyway with a flare from his jet pack. Jaster saw the alien's mouth move but couldn't hear a word. A moment later, a single high powered shot lit the alleyway and caught the Besalisk by surprise. Neither he nor Jaster had seen the blaster pistol get drawn but Jaster watched with a boyish grin as the pistol spun in Jango's hand and slid back into the brown leather holster. With a blaring flash, the jetpack lifted Jango out from the alley, back toward where Jaster lay in watch.

"You gotta teach me that, Dad," Jaster heard himself say.

"You'll have plenty of time to practice triggernometry tricks, right now, focus on your marksmanship, Boba." Jaster remembered feeling belittled at that moment as he then watched Jango break down the sniper blaster rifle. As if shifting through time, Jaster's mind carried him to another day. In the room of an abandoned apartment, Jango had established a surveillance outpost across from the penthouse of his target, a wealthy Rodian on the world of Rodia. Without even looking away from the probe monitor at the table beside a window, Jango spoke to him for the first time in half an hour.

"Boba, what did I tell you about fancy blaster tricks?" he called back coolly.

"But, Dad, look!" The young boy waited for Jango's head to turn around. "Come on, Dad, look!" Begrudgingly, Jango turned in his seat, his scarred face sternly watching. The young Jaster drew both of Jango's pistols from the oversized holster he had strapped to his thighs, the slack of the fastening belt flapped freely from the poor fit around the legs of his blue trousers, yet the boy spun the shining chrome blasters with ease and slid them back into the holsters. A wide eyed expression of glee shined on the boy's face. It didn't take long before Jango's stern façade seemed to crack away a grin crept onto his unshaven face. Jaster could help but feel that same grin on his own face, now a decade later, standing in the hold of the Slave 1. A series of broadcasted beeps called out to him, bringing him back to the here and now as the ship approached Kessel. Jaster moved to the ladder at the back of the ship to climb up to the cockpit module. Reaching the top, he stepped through the mini corridor and sat down at the controls. The beeping indicator light intensified as he sat down then pulled back on the hyperdrive ignition throttle. The swirling blue tunnel of light suddenly popped as Slave 1 entered normal space but was engulfed in a gaseous fog. Lighted buoys guided the way through a path in the fog which Jaster navigated. Moments later, he spotted the clouded world of acidic orange surrounded half submerged in the storm of the maelstrom. Jaster gazed over the world. He didn't know what to expect down on the surface. He directed his ship, following the coordinates to a major mining operation on the planet surface. As Jaster descended through the soup of clouds he found streams of vapor and white smoke poured into the clouds, blotting out the sky entirely. Far below, the ravaged surface was hard as rock and barren, littered with machinery. Mills and refineries spouted flame from their smoke stacks, lending more to a sulfuric hellish feeling of despair. An alert beeped on his communications interface. Jaster pressed a button and a voice came through on the ship's onboard speaker.

"Unregistered craft, you have entered Pyke controlled air space," the voice announced. "You are ordered to land at security post 341B. Do not attempt to flee. Any deviance and you will be shot down."

"Talk about paranoid," Jaster muttered as he followed the newly broadcasted coordinates. A massive triangular hole had been dug into the earth, reaching many stories below the surface. Jaster flew Slave 1 to a bunker with a control tower extending from the circular roof that was set on the ledge of the triangular mine. The bunker was surrounded by five landing pads interconnected by scaffold supported walkways. Three of the five pads were unoccupied. Jaster eased Slave 1 onto its back, slowly landing the base on the pad. Looking forward, up into the cloud and smoke blanketed sky, Jaster unfastened his restraints and rolled out of the seat to the corridor and crawled down the ladder, through the hatches before reaching the main hold. Collecting his helmet, he placed it over his head before activating the release on the entry hatch. As it rose open, folding into the ceiling overhead, Jaster ducked as he stepped down the ramp. The air was dense and humid and had an industrial earthy tinge. Across from his landing pad was another occupied by a large shuttle. As Jaster made his way from the landing pad to the walkway leading to the bunker, three figures approached. A spindly limbed, outdated T-series droid with weathered red coloring and a dimmed out photoreceptor was flanked by two guards with quilted, long coat uniforms and a helmet with air supply attachments armed with blaster rifles. Jaster looked them up and down with a smirk, his hands already resting on his blaster pistols – he could take them. The droid stepped up as he approached.

"You're in my way, droid," he said.

"I am TG-013, ambassador for Ahlot Pyke. Identify yourself and your business."

"Name's Jaster. I'm looking for the guys who stole the Coaxium from here." The droid's head suddenly jerked back and stood silently as it received remote commands. Jaster looked about the surrounding mine operation as he waited. The machinery and grinding of earth was a constant overtone of the air around him. As he stood in wait, he couldn't shake feeling in his gut.

The droid refocused on him. "Follow me. Hos Brenth, head of Security has requested to meet you." Jaster frowned as the droid turned around and started back down the walkway. He eyed the two guards whom stood in wait. After a moment of not moving, the guard to the left demanded for him to follow in a harsh alien language and a wave of its blaster. Jaster took cautious steps, following after the droid. As he and the droid moved past them, the guards fell in behind. Jaster felt sweat start to crawl down his forehead, brought on by more than just the heat of Kessel's midday. The droid led them down the walkway to the door of the bunker which buzzed at their approach and opened. The inside of the bunker was a cool metal chamber with a single lift shaft stationed in the center leading up to the control tower. The droid stopped and focused on the shaft while the two guards stood at their posts at the door behind them.

"Who am I meeting again?" Jaster asked.

"Head of Security, Hos Brenth."

"Is he a Pyke?"

"Negative," the droid replied.

"So he's not in charge here?"

"The administrator here is Ahlot Pyke, replacement for Capo Quay Tolsite."

"What happened to him?"

"Quay Tolsite was killed during the riot."

Jaster frowned from behind his helmet. "Riot? What riot?" Suddenly the doors for the lift slid apart and a tall broad figure stepped into the chamber. Jaster's eyes widened and felt his breath catch in his throat, losing the ability to speak. The man was armored from head to toe in black and red plates of Beskar. The fierce black Mandalorian 'T' on the helmet fixed on Jaster as he approached. Jaster's heart picked up speed and he felt his hands slip from the grips of his blasters still holstered to his legs.

"Jaster, this is Head of security, Hos Brenth." Already standing a half foot taller than the young bounty hunter, Hos slowly turned to look down on him.

"What is your name?" he demanded with sharpened intrigue.

"Jaster Mereel," Jaster said after finding his voice.

Hos glared down on him, the fierce Mandalorian helmet giving nothing away. "Really. Tell me, is that a family name?" Hos inquired. Jaster suddenly felt very uneasy in his stomach, the man in Mandalorian armor clearly knew much more than Jaster was used to.

"No, its just mine."

"Really," Hos repeated sharply, taking a step closer in on the young bounty hunter. "And why are you here, Jaster Mereel?"

"I'm looking into the guys who stole the Coaxium from this place," Jaster said, trying to regain the momentum and confidence he had just moments before the Mandalorian entered the room. "They killed one of my employers."

"And who hired you?" Hos demanded with a knowing tone and unrelenting dominance. Jaster had a sick feeling in his gut. He didn't like where this was going.

"Crimson Dawn." Even as he said it, the words didn't feel quite right.

"Really," Hos said with an almost sinister amusement. "Take off that stupid helmet," he demanded.

Jaster stared back puzzled. "Why?"

Hos stepped up closer, squaring up on him. "Why?" he echoed. The two stared the other down before Jaster finally relented. He reached up and pulled the red plastoid helmet from his head. Hos scoffed at Jaster's age, taking the helmet from him without contest. "Let me show you something, boy," he said as he turned his armored shoulder into Jaster's face. "Recognize this symbol?"

Jaster did recognize the jagged red claw-mark scratched into the black finish of Hos' shoulder bell. "Some kind of claw?" he replied simply.

Hos scoffed again. "This is the sign of Death Watch, the last true Mandalorians." He turned to show his other shoulder the golden crest of Crimson Dawn's split circle emblazoned brightly against the black of his armor. "I know you know this one."

"Crimson Dawn," Jaster affirmed.

"That's right," Hos mocked. "Now you come in here as if you were the baddest bounty hunter around, with the name of a Mandalorian pretender and saying you work for Crimson Dawn. Got anything more to say?"

Jaster looked from his helmet, still seized in Hos's gloved hand to the black Mandalorian 'T'. "Are you going to let me pass, or do I have to blast my way through?"

Hos threw back his head with a hefty laugh. "Even for someone who's full of chizk, you've got some balls on you, kid." Jaster glared at him, unsure of what to expect. "You can go through," Hos finally said. "But try and pull anything," he warned. Hos dropped Jaster's helmet to the floor before stomping down on it hard, crushing it in with sizzling circuitry snapping under his boot. The message was understood loud and clear but Jaster's blaster was already drawn and leveled at Hos. He stared him down with grit teeth. Hos moved with speed and skill unlike Jaster had seen since his childhood. Hos disarmed him, seizing his outstretched arm with one hand while brining him into a chokehold with the other, quickly throwing him to the floor and holding his head down with his boot with his own blaster aimed at him. Hos released him with a scoff from behind his helmet. "Get up, kid." Jaster lay there slightly dazed for a moment, looking at his stomped in helmet still fizzling on the floor. With a huff, he stood back on his feet and brushed his long curly hair from his eyes fixed venomously on the Mandalorian in black armor still holding the Westar 34 pistol in his hand.

"Give that back," Jaster snarled.

"Tell you what, you go through, do what you came here to do and leave within the next hour and you can have this back," he said brandishing the blaster. Hos looked it up and down the barrel in awe. "Good ol' Westar, some fine workmanship." Jaster glowered at Hos. An unrealized sense of attachment awoke within him as Hos brandished the blaster pistols, a deep feeling spurned on by far more than just the trusty reliability the pistol had proved to him for nearly his entire life. Hos suddenly pointed the blaster back at Jaster. "Don't think I didn't see the double rig, hand over the other one too." Jaster's glower sharpened and intensified, gritting his teeth so hard they could have cracked under the force. He drew the second blasted from behind his cape and spun the grip towards the Mandalorian. Hos snatched it from him then turned away back to the lift. "Time's ticking." The lift doors closed and Jaster was left with the droid and two guards.

"We will escort you wherever you go around here," the droid said.

"Take me to the mine, show me where it happened," Jaster growled as he pressed forward. The droid took him to the door at the far end of the chamber where another walkway led to a lift descending to the mines. Jaster felt the empty holsters at his side as he and the two guards rode the lift down. How could he have let Hos get the upper hand like that? He suddenly felt as if losing the Westars was a let down to far more than just himself, but to their former owner himself, Jango. What would he say to all of this? What would he say to Jaster, seeing how weak and pathetic he was against Hos. Jaster knew one thing, Jango would hate to be insulted by anyone donning the symbol of Deathwatch, that was for damn sure. As a veteran and survivor of the True Mandalorians himself, Jango Fett knew well the stories of the Mandalorian Civil War to young Jaster. The conflict of Deathwatch fanatics overthrowing the reign of the Mandalore himself, Jaster Mereel of whom Jaster borrowed his name, was one of many stories Jango was sure to pass on to the boy, he made sure of it, he was afterall, Jaster's Legacy. Jaster scoffed to himself. Some legacy he turned out to be, letting a Deathwatch radical get the better of him. The lift finally stopped and let Jaster and the two guards off onto a lower level of the excavated earth where series of tunnel entrances allowed further access inside. Jaster was instead led to a speeder which carried him across the triangular chasm to the mine level on the opposite side.