CHAPTER 13

THE RISE AND FALL OF DEATH WATCH

Hos Brenth sat back in a chair with his mud caked boots kicked up on the terminal in front, looking over one of the sleek Westar 34s like a piece of art. The chrome shine of the dallorian finish was lost with age and less than pristine care but the pistol was still of fine quality. It was a relic of the Mandalorian Civil War fought nearly two decades before his time. A sly smirk crept onto his dark face, relishing in the rich history of which he had studied into long and hard.

With his free hand he drew the single hard-edged blocky shape of his own Westar 35 blaster, a weapon he had carried for nearly fifteen years as an operative for Death Watch. With the two vastly different blasters held side by side he couldn't help but appreciate the evolution of the blaster and the culture but hardly considered the upgrade as an improvement.

For Hos, the Mandalorians of forty years ago were not the Mandalorians of twenty years ago and an even farther cry from the pitiful remnant of his people today. Death Watch under the warlord, Tor Viszla, was a formidable force of terror. The plundering of Mandalorian space under his command was a worthy part of Mandalorian history. It wasn't quite the substance of legends such as the Crusades of ancient time under Mand'alor the Ultimate. His was the legacy of the likes that Tor Viszla and Death Watch tried to depose the pretender reformist, Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, in order to revive.

The Westar 34 was a favorite to many of Mereel's pitiful followers. Scanning over the elegantly crafted pistol, Hos wondered about its story, who was the real owner of this relic? Was it anyone of note of Mandalorian history? Who has it killed?

He mused at the mere possibility, the slim odds that this was the very blaster used to kill Tor Viszla himself at the hands of Mereel's successor, Jango Fett. Hos smirked at the ridiculous notion but continued to wonder just how many Death Watch soldiers of old had died by it, reducing their numbers to the mere splinter cell they had fallen to in his time.

The resurgence of Death Watch under Pre Viszla a mere twenty years after the death of Tor Viszla by Fett had brought the cell out of the shadows, starting their path once again to dominance of Mandalore. Hos was merely twenty years old at that time, highly impressionable to Pre Viszla's war cry to continue the fight that Tor Viszla had started, waging war against the pacifists that were an insult to the Mandalorian's warrior legacy.

Hos was young, not recognizing Pre's reign for the weak, pathetic child's play that it was till seeing the the crushing impact that Death Watch had on their enemies under the reign of Viszla's conqueror, Lord Maul. Under Maul's cunning, the pacifist regime was destroyed and Death Watch for a time attained the dominance it had strived for, for generations. The decision to remain with Maul even well after Death Watch was rolled into Crimson Dawn was easy. Power and domination was all within his grasp. Just thinking about it caused him to relish at his inevitable rise in power from this little competition he had with Qi'ra.

So far, the bounty hunter to progress the furthest in this hunt was this young boy calling himself after the pretender Jaster Mereel. Even with Jaster's blaster in hand, he was not impressed but he couldn't deny how much he wanted to know more. Who was he really, and how did both the name and the blasters come to him?

Hos was disrupted from his train of thought at the approach of a spindly alien figure in expensive gold glossy robes that belonged nowhere near the dirt and muck of Kessel's mine fields. Bulbous, pupil-less, glowing purple eyes set on a tiny pale face narrowed as drops of a yellow acidic saliva dripped from twin spouts dangling from sagging jowls. "I am not impressed with your protection as of yet, Mandalorian."

Hos stood up from his chair. "Is something wrong, Master Pyke?"

"I have just heard about an attack at the refineries desposal depo. A droid is offline and two sentinels dead, yet all you do is sit here. Crimson Dawn's contract for security is in jeopardy here."

"I am well aware of the attack. The loss is negligible and the one responsible will be caught, we have his ship." The leader of the Pyke Syndicate stood tall as he looked down his flat face at Hos. Behind him, two others of the Pyke species exchanged glances. "Guards have already been posted as a further measure, a remote lockdown system has been installed that only I have access to. Hos holstered his own Westar 35 on his hip and put on his helmet over his face. "I do suggest that I relocate you until this is finished. It's overkill, but if it would put Master Pyke at ease."

Ahlot Pyke clearly did not appreciate the condescention in Hos's voice. "Very well," he seethed then turned back to his advisors behind him. "Gyoot Soa, remain here and oversee operations." Gyoot bowed her head respectfully.

Hos smirked from behind his helmet, relishing in his own power. "After you, Master Pyke."