Chapter 15
YOU'RE A NOBODY
Landing Site-06 was a hollowed out cave beneath the rim of a massive sinkhole refitted for docking larger ships merely kilometers away from the major mine operations unlike the landing pads established out in the open where Jaster's Slave 1 was landed. It made sense that the more diplomatic side of the Pyke's operation was ferried from the enclosed location, a measure to allow for safer and more anonymous transit of the syndicate's officials and their illustrious associates and guests.
With the speeder stashed by a stack of crates at the edge of the platform set just outside of the cave, it was still available for a quick getaway, yet unassumingly hidden in plain sight. Sin had suggested for him to remain with Slave 1 and wait for her to disrupt the lock transmitter in order for him to provide the getaway with the ship. Jaster refused.
Casually walking down the platform into the hangar bay cave, he kept his anticipation in check. Hos Brenth had taken two things away from him that day and Jaster was going to tear them back from his clutches personally. Besides freeing Slave 1, he was looking forward to being able to ditch the Sentinel's blaster rifle he had picked up to use as a weapon for his own Westar 34s.
Sin walked beside him, disguised in the same uniform of the Pyke Sentinels as he was. The heavily padded uniform was extra bulky on him being worn over his Beskar chestplate concealed under his tan cape. As they walked down the platform into the cave, Jaster rolled his shoulders with some difficulty to test his range of motion. Three landing pads deep into the cave, they spotted their target.
Nothing about the ship other than the size was impressive. The hull was long and boxed with a rounded out underbelly. At the flat bow of the ship was a large domed oculus.
"Not very fancy for a Crimson Dawn guy," Sin mused.
"Mandalorians only go for what's practical," Jaster muttered back.
"What do you think, entry ramp?" she inquired.
Jaster looked up at the ramp extending to the entry on the side of the boxy hull occupied by two identically dressed guards. "No, there's got to be another way in." Jaster scanned about the relatively flat surface of the hull for a clue. As they approached the stern of the ship, he spotted rungs of a ladder climbing to the top. "There, the ladder. Maybe their's an access port." He veered closer to the ship and Sin followed.
A staircase led up to a walkway that hugged against the hull. They climbed it, careful not to look too eager by their pace. Jaster reached the bottom rung and slung his rifle to climb. The ladder carried him forty feet from the platform. He and Sin reached the top and made their way back down towards the bow of the ship. One fourth down the length of the hull, they approached a sealed hatch at their feet.
"An emergency exit, can you get in?" Jaster asked.
Sin rounded to the other side where an interface port was installed. She drew a hand held datapad from her belt from under her guard's uniform. Sin drew a cable from the device with a plug on the end. Jaster barely heard her mumble something about hoping she had a compatible plug. With the connection made, her datapad's screen glowed to life as she sliced the security system. With a series of beeps, the access port's doors opened.
"Can I get in," she mocked back at Jaster with a snide tone before jumping inside. Jaster followed after her, dangling from the lip of the port before releasing and dropping to the deck below with a hard clang. The area was dark, poorly illuminated by the glow of the overhead lights in the roof of the cave. Jaster removed the box headed mask of the uniform along with the rest of the heavy padding.
"You don't think these are worth keeping?" Sin inquired as she stripped.
"No guarantee that these guards patrol this ship. Besides, I can barely move in all of this." Sin moved to the door and worked with her data pad on the control console. Another series of beeps and the door opened. One behind the other, they moved through the door, with blasters at the ready. The maintenance room beyond the door was dark and empty with only the lights of the mechanics systems blinking on and off.
"Could your lock transmitter be in here?" Jaster asked.
"I doubt it. These are just the ship's systems." She approached a specific terminal screen for a loud bulk of machinery located in the middle of the room. "But this should help pinpoint where we are going." Sin worked the controls, hitting a single button to awaken the display screen. She studied the diagram before tapping the screen with her fingernail. "There."
Jaster peered over her shoulder. "What?"
"This is the power regulator, it controls and routes the power flow throughout the ship. These units here," she indicated a specific column on the display of various level sliders, each designated to a specific component of the ship. "These are the ships primary systems; engines, shields, weapons, life support, coms. The rest are auxiliary power routes. This one here," she tapped her fingernail again. "This level is too high for any normal security room, especially for this system which is total chizk. It shouldn't need this much power."
"So you know where to go then?" Jaster asked.
"Got a pretty good idea."
"How long?"
"Fifteen minutes, tops."
"Good. Get my ship free, meet back here."
Sin frowned and turned to Jaster. "Uh, where are you going?"
Jaster moved to the exit and opened it with a simple press of a button on the control. "Getting back what's mine." Before Sin could protest further, Jaster was already moving down the hallway, her hushed voice barely audible over the hum of the maintenance room.
As he continued through the wide open hallways of the ship, his fingers flexed around the grips of the blaster rifle. Again his Westars came to mind and slowly as he progressed, another thought sounded in his ear. This is stupid, he thought. I'm risking this entire job over two old blaster pistols. Is it even worth it?
The hallway came to a fork continuing in two different directions bending around a bulkhead. Jaster paused at the apex. Finish the job, get rich, buy a new blaster – be practical. The thought came to him, almost as a transmission to his feet to turn back, but he stayed.
As he pictured his Westars, a flood of memories came to mind. A broad shouldered warrior clad in silver Beskar adorned over a dark blue flightsuit drenched in a downpour of rain from a never ending stormy sky – the Westars, bright and polished in his gloved hands as the fierce black 'T' on the helmet stared him down. As the image lingered before his mind's eye, it warped and shifted. The Beskar remained in place but the silver armor of the first figure darkened into shades of black and red. The Westars in the hands of this new figure grew old and weathered.
Jaster hated it. The mere thought of Jango's Westars in Hos' possession heated his blood and turned his hands to fists, hungry to lash out and strike. He trudged forward, jogging down the hall when he came to an open door. Yellow tinged lighting bars set along the base of the wall provided a cool glow drawing him inside. The room threw heavy shadows in the corners with only the yellow lighting displaying the items adorned on the wall.
Jaster looked over the weathered and rusted collection of old blasters set on display along with armor vambraces in various conditions and colors, few of which featured ejected blades that were chipped and stained with time. Standing flat against each wall were full sets of Mandalorian armor on display all staring at him. Old books and datapads were displayed on pedestals among other items that Jaster didn't recognize but appeared to be carved from wood. All the more unsettling to him was the banner hung on one of the walls illuminated by the bar. The banner's black fabric was torn and tattered yet the striking red jagged claw mark emblem of Death Watch was unmistakable.
The silence of the room was shattered by an all to familiar ring of blaster fire. Jaster felt as if his hand was torn off as the blaster rifle at his side exploded with sparks and was ripped from his grip. Stumbling from the momentum and clutching his right hand, Jaster cursed and struggled to regain his balance, finally turning around once he did.
Hos stood in the doorway, a smoking Westar 34 in his grip. "Five inches down the receiver and the tibanna gas would have gone up and your hand would be vaporized." He lifted the blaster off his target, holding it before the 'T' of his helmeted face in admiration. "The accuracy of these beauties." Jaster glared at Hos, still grumbling from the pain in his gloved hand which felt sprained and out of place. "I'm glad you found this," Hos indicated with his hand at the shrine surrounding them. "Icons and artifacts of my people. "Tell me, what do you think?"
Jaster heaved heavy breaths of rage as he fixed his eyes on his blasters in Hos' position.
"This all must mean something to you," Hos continued. "First the name that you go by, then these pistols and now, the Beskar." Hos pointed to Jaster's chest plate. "I'll ask you again, who are you?"
"I already told you," Jaster growled.
"A name is merely the beginning of an identity. It's the story behind it that defines it. A name like 'Jaster Mereel' I'm sure has a story that I want to know."
"You're going to be disappointed." Jaster stood up, regaining his focus. "Now give me those."
Hos chuckled as he slid the pistol into his holster. "Come, take them from me."
Jaster drew on all his rage, launching himself at Hos in a powerful tackle. Hos was ready, squaring his broad shoulders and bracing himself for the hit. The impact knocked them both to the floor but Hos flowed with the momentum, kicking Jaster off of him as he rolled on his back and onto his feet. Jaster slammed his back hard on the wall of the hallway but rolled onto his stomach to push back onto his feet. Face to face, Jaster struck with his hands, elbows and knees only to be parried and blocked blow for blow by his opponent.
"Var'yeh Sel, good. The first combative form taught at childhood. Your form is clean. You've fought like this all your life," Hos observed. "So you were trained by a Manda – tell me who!" The attacks picked up in intensity, faster than Jaster could block. Hos jabbed powerfully at his sternum with an open palm, pushing Jaster back up against the wall. Jaster regained his footing and squared up again, advancing, throwing a kick which was easily fended off before following through with a quick elbow. The blow threw Hos' head to the side as he stumbled back.
He laughed as he repositioned himself. "Kandosi," he complimented. Jaster made his move with a left hook, careful to minimize the strain he put on his injured right hand. Hos blocked with ease, quickly securing Jaster's right wrist with his other hand then following through with a headbutt. Jaster crashed and slumped against the wall, feeling blood start to trickle from the reopened gash on his head.
Still dazed, Jaster kicked out trying to sweep Hos' legs. With a smirk behind his helmet, Hos kicked back directly at Jaster's leg; the young bounty hunter's shin hit hard on his Beskar shin plate. Jaster grunted from the pain and attempted to roll away and gain space from his opponent.
He was toying with him. Already Hos had had plenty of opportunities to finish him off. For whatever reason, Hos was holding back. Jaster wondered how much longer that would last. He stumbled to his feet, still feeling dazed.
Hos closed in but Jaster swung first, a tired left hook easily caught in Hos' large hand followed by a series of punches of his own. The first punch broke his nose, and each following battered the face under his fist. Hos' moves lost all sense of form or flow, instead throwing every strike with sheer brute-like strength.
He grappled Jaster and threw him into the wall, stooping down and lifting him to his feet only to throw him again to the other side with, not releasing Jaster's cape in time. The cape's corner tore free from its fastener, entirely exposing the green beskar chest piece underneath.
"Guess I was wrong," Hos scoffed. "You were right, I am disappointed. You're a nobody after all." Jaster writhed on the floor, spitting out blood. He was blinded by his blood, his face tender and almost numb from the beating. His hearing was muffled and distant as if he was slipping away into a void of silent darkness.
The sound of a blaster was barely heard, tightening the grip of Jaster's consciousness. His vision still hazy and red, He barely saw the silhouette of a figure stooping down to his side.
