Chapter Three: Warning Shot
The courtroom was hushed in appropriately solemn silence as the three panel judiciary council filed in and took their seats at the bench. The few other attendees, all on the petitioner's side of the closed courtroom, took their seats as well. The respondent's side of the room was unusually empty and the outcome had been predetermined weeks ago. Ja'Taren Allonis Revan had made certain of it.
Ja'Taren tried to quell his impatience as the bailiff droid and magistrates rattled off the preliminaries and shifted in the hard wooden chair, trying to find a comfortable position for his frail body. Since it was too unproductive to waste time paying attention to the Magistrates that he'd already bought and paid for, he switched on the console on the desk, connected to the Courscanti Intergalactic Commodities Exchange and frowned over the unexpected spike in the price of Gubashi crystals until his attention was abruptly brought back to the courtroom by a discreet cough of his lawyer and long time business representative, Sixt.
The Gossam attorney nodded to the Chief Magistrate. Ja'Taren followed his gaze, fixing an expression of proper respect on his face when the Magistrate spoke.
"We have reviewed your petition for custody of your great-grandchild. Given the evidence that your granddaughter has been officially declared dead, the unsuitability of Mandalorian customs to a healthy and happy child, the evidence presented of the mother's preference in custody and the fact that the father has failed to appear at this hearing, we hereby grant custody of Ja'Taren Revan Ordo to you, Ja'Taren Allonis Revan."
The Quarren banged the gavel and just like that, Ja'Taren was one step closer to his goal. As the Magistrates convened the court to the droning of the Bailiff droid, Ja'Taren shook his attorney's slender three-fingered hand.
"Nicely done."
Sixt snorted as he gathered his datapads. He spoke in his native language of trills and croaks. "As if there was any doubt about the outcome."
Ja'Taren shrugged and unfolded his aching body from the torture device masquerading as a chair. "True. But you've been wading through the red tape for almost six months to push this through." As a businessman who preferred to spend time actually creating companies and making money, it was a skill that he could definitely appreciate in those in his employ. Sixt been his front man for over twenty years, and his skill at following directions, quick thinking and cutting through the banthashit were priceless. The Gossam was very good at creating the impression of propriety and legitimacy, even when it was a complete lie.
"This was nothing. Getting your granddaughter declared legally dead – and quietly too – now that was a challenge."
The familiar ache of guilt and grief welled up in his chest. Arthritic fingers clenched around the datapad that contained the last communication he had with her.
"It was the only way we could move forward," he said, more to himself that to Sixt. A piece of him had died that day, and some ways, it was worse than when she'd 'died' the first time. When Darth Revan had died, it had been almost a relief. But when Minuet, mother of his great-grandson and his only living relative that wasn't a useless bloodsucker left to go die in the unknown regions on some damned mission, it was devastating.
Realizing that he'd somehow missteped, or perhaps just to cover his ass, Sixt quickly changed the subject. The wrinkles on his pebbly blue skin deepened with his frown. "You do realize that this is simply a piece of paper. It's useless unless the Mandalorians on the Duxn base suddenly decide to start honoring Republic law."
Followed by his herd of lawyers, accountants and bodyguards, Ja'Taren headed brusquely out of the courtroom – at least as brusquely as his seventy plus year old body would allow. His elegant cane, once merely carried for ornamental distinction, now supported more of his weight than he cared to admit. It tapped against the marble tile as he plodded along. Sixt fell into step beside him.
"They won't, of course," Ja'Taren admitted. "But we will need this after he is removed from the Mandalorain base by the agents I planted there."
They stopped in front of a luxury airspeeder, long, black and blasterproof. One of Ja'Taren's burly bodyguards that doubled as a driver opened the door and helped him into the vehicle. Sixt settled in next to him, while the rest of the entourage followed in their own vehicles.
Silence lapsed as they weaved through busy Courscanti air traffic. Ja'Taren had known Sixt long enough to realize that if he wasn't pestering him with one-thousand and one business details that needed his attention, something must be troubling the Gossam.
Irritated, because he had a pretty good idea what it was, Ja'Taren snapped, "Spit it out."
"Sir, I really think you're underestimating the risk of removing the boy from the base. I've read the file our research department compiled on your granddaughter's Mandalorian mate. He's an extremely dangerous mercenary-"
Ja'Taren crossed his arms over his chest as he cut his attorney off. "He is nothing but a thug with only a passing interest in my grandson. Once Tar is removed he will protest loudly and rattle his saber to save face in front of his gang, but in the end he will abandon the boy the way he abandoned Minuet."
Sixt looked doubtful. "And what if he doesn't?"
"Then I have contingency plans in place. If it makes you feel any better, think of this as just another hostile takeover."
"A hostile takeover involving Mandalorians with grenades and blasters," Sixt muttered.
Ja'Taren looked out the window. It didn't matter what it cost. It didn't matter that it might come to violence and bloodshed. This was his last chance to leave a legacy. To make things right. To build a dynasty. Failure wasn't an option.
But Ja'Taren didn't expect Sixt, who had seven children and five of his own grandbabies to understand. Ultimately, it didn't matter, as long as he carried out Ja'Taren's orders. "Are the preparations for my grandson ready?"
Sixt scrolled through his datapad. "Almost. With your generous donation to the Courscanti Boy's Academy, they've ensured us that once he is of appropriate age he will be admitted and placed in the same class as Senator O'bjinn, Councilman Uoolo and Chairwoman Ingri's grandchildren. Among others."
As the 'others' were the children and grandchildren of elite and powerful Courscanti businessmen and politicians, Ja'Taren was pleased. "Excellent."
"His room in both your Courscant penthouse and Alderaanian manner house have been prepared to your specifications. I have a dozen potential nannies with impeccable references for you to review. Once you narrow down the ones you prefer, I can set up interviews or interview them myself."
"No. I want to do it." Ja'Taren was determined that this time he was going to be involved in every single aspect. Not being more intimately involved in his son's and grand-daughter's upbringing had lead to tragedy. He was not going to make that mistake again.
"We have found several force users who could potentially train your great-grandson," Sixt continued. "We're in the middle of conducting background checks to discover any affiliation with either the Sith or former Jedi order.
"Very good. I want them thoroughly checked. There is no room for error. I am not about to lose another of my kin to either the Jedi or Sith."
"Are you certain you wish him trained? Is it wise?"
"Minuet would have wanted it. She believed that it was necessary." In truth, Ja'Taren didn't believe in the necessity of it. He was force sensitive himself, but never had the inclination or time to train. Still, if Minuet wanted it, he would trust her judgment. Besides, it would eventually give Tar an edge over his future business rivals.
For the rest of the speeder ride, they went over a dozen other arrangements for his grandson's arrival, including pushing through the custody paperwork on every planet Ja'Taren had holdings on, to arraigning for Sixt's youngest granddaughter to be Ja'Taren's playmate. Finally the aircar glided into Ja'Taren's sprawling penthouse compound.
As they both deboarded, Sixt started to follow him inside, but Ja'Taren waved him off. "Leave me. Make sure that I am not disturbed."
Sixt hesitated, but then folded his body into an acquiescing bow. "As you wish."
Ja'Taren's non-committal grunt and shooing motion, Sixt finally left him in peace. Alone, Ja'Taren wandered through his quiet penthouse. For years, only an odd servant and a few droids were his only company. It was heartening to know that it wasn't going to be that way for much longer.
When he reached his office, he crossed the priceless Iridonian carpet and sank into the chair behind his desk. After several failed attempts to be productive, he swiveled his chair around to the floor to ceiling window that ran the length of the room, brooding until the sun set over the horizon and he fell asleep.
It was a beep from his comm that woke him from his fitful dozing. A glance at the chrono told him that it was late in the evening, and he frowned at the offending sound, wondering why Sixt had allowed this comm call to reach him when he saw transmission code. Hot fury pushed away the last ruminants of sleep as he sat up straight and punched the comm.
The ghost white form of his worthless grandson-in-law flared to life. "You want something?"
Ja'Taren was so angry that it took him a few long seconds to find his voice. "You are a real piece of work, Mandalorian."
The Mandalorian ran a weary hand over his face. "You left seventy three messages to tell me that?"
"No. I left seventy three messages over the last six months because it has been over a year since I've seen my great-grandson."
"We've been busy," the Mandalorian snapped.
Ja'Taren's lip curled into a sneer. "Yes. Gallivanting across the galaxy with that Enchani you've been fracking. I can see how that would be much more important than returning the comm call of your wife's only living relative."
If the Mandalorian was at all ashamed of his extramarital affairs, he kept it from his face. "What the hell do you know about it?"
"The Ebon Hawk's pilot was quite talkative when given the right incentive." The old man's eyes narrowed. "I have to admit that you had me fooled. I should have known that you were just as worthless as all of the other men she's ever dallied with."
That the Mandalorian didn't deny the intelligence Ja'Taren had received from Atton Rand, was all of the evidence Ja'Taren needed to prove that it was true.
"I went looking for her, you useless bastard," the Mandalorian grated from behind clenched teeth, but Ja'Taren knew that the words were a lie. "What have you ever done besides sell her to the Jedi?"
"Not nearly as much as I should have, which is why I fully intend to honor the promise I made to her before she left and look out for her son. I want to see the boy as soon as possible."
The Mandalorian gave him a curt nod and said, "Fine. I'll comm when arrangements can be made."
The words were such a surprise. After being ignored for months on end, he had not expected the Mandalorian to agree to a meeting. Still, it was too little too late. An agreement to arrange a meeting changed nothing other than giving his operatives an easier chance to remove the boy.
"No. We will make arrangements now. I'm not waiting another five months before you can be arsed to return my comm calls."
"I'm his father," the Mandalorian snarled. "You'll see him when I say."
Ja'Taren arched an eyebrow. "First you dishonor my granddaughter and now you play games and keep me from her son? Do you have any shame at all?"
"Your granddaughter dishonored me when she abandoned her vows." The Mandalorian glanced over his shoulder at something out of the range of the viewfinder, perhaps the boy himself, and lowered his voice and leaned closer to the screen. "Where were your lectures on shame then?"
"She didn't break her vows. She went to fight a battle which is something that man who claims to be a warrior should understand."
"Those vows included fighting together. Becoming Clan includes fighting together," the Mandalorian sneered. "Which is something a man who claims to care about family should understand."
"Enough." Ja'Taren jabbed one gnarled finger at the ghost white image before him. "You knew she had a tendency toward self-destruction and you swore to protect her from herself. You failed her and I will not have you failing her son too. I want access to my great-grandson within the week."
"Forget it," the Mandalorian snapped. "I'm not one of your corporate lackeys, old man. You don't get to dictate terms to me."
"I will not allow a glorified thug to keep me from the only family that I have left. Consider yourself warned, Mandalorian."
Ja'Taren cut the comm with a jab of his finger. It was extremely satisfying to watch Mandalorian's face wink out of existence. Any guilt that Ja'Taren might have felt for his plan to take Tar away from the man who had sired him was seared away by his righteous anger.
The boy was about to inherit an empire, and nothing, not even the thug who called himself Mandalore could stop it.