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Jaster was still a bit floored. Not that Galidraan had been a trap, but that the Jedi sent to kill them had taken one look at the situation and recognized a setup. The battle had been a route after that; and now Jaster and his verde were safely back in the Compound, the Darksaber on his hip, sitting with a dozen Jedi as they all ate in the mess. It was a strange day.
And Jaster recognized the opportunity. He was going to ride this momentum and establish a friendship between the True Mandalorians and the Jedi Order, bring peace and cooperation instead of needless confrontations. The Jedi sitting across the table was of particular notice to him. Master Yan Dooku was a formidable man, tall and elegant, and Jaster would be lying if he said he didn’t share his verde’s interest in their guests. But more importantly, Master Dooku was of high-rank and held sway with the Council; that he was a great warrior and had saved their lives was a matter for a verd’s private thoughts.
A com beeped and Master Dooku put down his utensils with a level of care Jaster had never seen outside of posh holomovies before retrieving his com from his belt. His eyebrows raised at the caller ID and he met Jaster’s curious gaze, “Would it be impolite to answer a call in the mess?”
“Not at all,” Jaster assured him; as if his verde cared about such things. It was actually refreshing to see manners conducted so naturally, unlike the stiff overdone way the New Mandalorians tried it.
Master Dooku tapped to receive the call, holding up his com so he wouldn’t crane his neck looking down at it, and Jaster wondered who’d beaten such good posture into the man. “Hello, Qui-Gon. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” He glanced up at Jaster, “My former Padawan.” Jaster nodded and saw a verd lean over for a better view at the table behind him, obviously broadcasting the call to the entire network. Jaster kept his face neutral, interfering with Mandalorian curiosity never worked out well for anyone.
“Hello, Master,” a voice said from the com, “I just wanted to let you know that Obi-Wan and I are in the Healing Halls and will be off the roster for a few months.”
Master Dooku’s face was unimpressed. “What muddy pit did you throw that boy into this time?” Jaster wished there was a way to unobtrusively put on his buy’ce and watch the feed, but alas. He’d watch it later.
“A conference room with a corrupt official who didn’t want to come quietly,” the voice – Qui-Gon – didn’t miss a beat. “An Umbaran who, in a last-ditch effort to escape, used his abilities to break Obi-Wan’s shields.” The entire collection of Jedi cringed and groaned from their positions around them, no one even trying to hide that they were eavesdropping, and even Master Dooku subtly winced. “The healers estimate three to four months before he’ll be ready to go out again.”
“Has he passed the twenty-four-hour mark?” Master Dooku asked, his posture suddenly rigid. Jaster might not understand exactly what had befallen Obi-Wan, but an injured ad was never easy on a parent – or grandparent, in this case.
“Not yet. We’re at fourteen hours.” There was a pause then a quieter “Your Grandmaster.”
“Don’t wake that boy up.” Master Dooku admonished, miffed like a tooka with its fur petted the wrong way. Two days ago, Jaster would have never dreamed of seeing such a domestic side to Jetiise – Jedi, he corrected himself; best to call a culture by their own name.
“He was already awake,” Qui-Gon defended himself. “He’s been dropping in and out, and they won’t let me put him under.” There was an indistinct mumble and every verd wearing a buy’ce stiffened in their seats.
“Hello, Grandmaster…” the voice was sore and younger than Jaster was expecting. Much younger.
“Go back to sleep.” Master Dooku was the type to show caring through orders, it seemed.
“Yes, Master…” the voice trailed off into a mumble.
“Is he having emotional distress?” Master Dooku asked, presumably at Qui-Gon.
“It comes in waves, but he’s starting to breathe through it.” A pause. “Hold on.” There was a clack, most likely as the com was set aside. “Need up? Alright, here’s a bag.” Then the pitiful sounds of a child who had been sick for hours and had nothing left in him. Jaster winced, every parent knew that sound well.
“Keep the lights as dim as possible,” Master Dooku ordered. “And a cool cloth on his head.”
“Of course.” Master Dooku didn’t comment on Qui-Gon’s tense tone of voice. There was a shifting sound as the com was picked back up. “But that’s my news, I’m afraid. How are things on your end? Master Yoda was here earlier, preening about your capability.”
“My old Master needs to inform the Senate to be more cautious.” And wasn’t that interesting? Both the closeness to the Head of the Order as well as Qui-Gon’s description; Jaster had thought Jedi would be more uptight about hierarchies. About everything, really. “A great many innocent lives could have been lost.”
“Mace did say that the Order would be looking to gain more autonomy from the Senate because of it. Finally…” Another interesting piece of news. His verde were hanging on every word.
“Indeed.” Master Dooku said dryly. “You well know my position on the matter. I’m here with Mand'alor Mereel if you would like to meet him.” His eyes darted up questioningly, and Jaster nodded, pleased to meet another of the man’s ade.
“Certainly.”
Master Dooku tapped at his com and a holo appeared. Qui-Gon didn’t look anything like Jaster had expected, long hair and unkempt around the edges; but then again, he was taking care of an injured child. And Jaster had met the fireball that was Komari.
“Hello, Alor,” Qui-Gon greeted, tilting his head respectfully. “I am Master Qui-Gon Jinn, former Padawan to Master Dooku.”
“Well met, Master Jinn,” Jaster tilted his head as well. “My sympathies for your Padawan’s injury. Is the assailant in custody?” If he wasn’t…
Qui-Gon’s pleasant smile edged toward something dangerous. “Most of him.”
Jaster respected that. “Which prison is he in?”
“Coruscant Penitentiary #337.” Qui-Gon’s eyes were knowing. Good. “Thank you for taking such a polite interest.”
Master Dooku chimed in, “Be sure to send me the report of the confrontation.”
“I have the security footage, if you would prefer,” Qui-Gon offered.
“I would, actually.” Master Dooku narrowed his eyes and Jaster would bet good credits that the man would pick the footage to pieces.
“I’ll send it along, then.” Qui-Gon looked to his side, his expression softening, “I think we’re going to try to get some sleep here.”
Master Dooku nodded. “Please do. I’ll com tomorrow for updates.” Hopefully in a public area so Jaster’s verde wouldn’t harass him for news.
“Force be with you, Master, Alor.”
“And with both of you.” Jaster tilted his head again along with Master Dooku’s parting words and the call ended. Master Dooku placed his com on the table, awaiting the footage.
“How old is Obi-Wan?” Jaster asked. His voice had sounded prepubescent, but…
“Eleven.” Master Dooku returned to his meal like an artist picking up his tools.
That was indeed much younger than Jaster had expected. Mandalorians didn’t let their ade start taking to the field until thirteen, and even then… “I had no idea Jedi started that young.”
“It depends on the individual,” Master Dooku began. He had to know that he was being recorded and was going to slip a lecture in there. It would probably do the verde good, to be honest. “Initiates are taken as Padawans between the ages of ten and thirteen. The younger ones are supposed to be kept from dangerous missions, but…” he sighed, “beings do love a target.”
Jaster nodded empathetically. The number of beings who tried to pick fights with Mandalorians just to prove how tough they were was shocking. One would think the general populace would have figured out by now that stun knuckles don’t work on beskar. “What did he mean, ‘break his shields?’”
“A Jedi builds mental barriers around their mind to protect it from intrusions, both mundane and malicious.” Master Dooku had definitely given this speech before. “They filter the mental ‘noise’ from their environments and prevent attacks from psychic species as well as ill-intentioned Force users. But the shields can be broken by a strong enough assault and require time and patience to rebuild.”
Jaster was fascinated; and frankly amazed that he was being told at all. “And broken shields cause illness?”
“It’s a great shock to the system.” Master Dooku paused and considered his words. “Much like a Twi’lek with a severed lekku.”
Jaster – and several others – quietly exhaled. It was an unfortunate fact that verde sometimes encountered that situation.
The com beeped again, and Master Dooku tapped to open the file, the holo beaming up to eye level and the room silent. It opened right into a firefight with Qui-Gon and a young boy who had to be Obi-Wan defending dignitaries from the blasts. The sight of adults cowering behind a child made Jaster’s jaw clench. He tried to focus on the boy, noting his strong stance and the resolute expression on his soft face. “He’s very skilled.”
“The best of his age group,” Master Dooku stroked his beard, eyes firmly on the scene. “If he keeps at it, we may make something of him.” And that was how the man did pride, apparently. Qui-Gon spoke to the Umbaran, telling him to surrender, who snarled something inaudible in response and shot a hate-filled glare at Obi-Wan. The boy made a sound like an injured baby animal and dropped like a stone, his lightsaber shutting off before it hit the floor. Exclamations and the sound of shifting chairs filled the room and Jaster glanced up. Some of his verde were half out of their seats, like they were ready to start a fight, Jango among them. There was a flash from the holo and Jaster glanced back down to see Qui-Gon dashing over to his Padawan, the Umbaran dis-armed (in more than one sense) laying on the ground screaming as security forces rushed in to apprehend him.
Bounty Hunters often kept contacts in prisons. Jaster didn’t need to say a word.
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Jedi and Mandalorians had a great deal in common, Jaster was discovering, as well as similar means of burning off steam. Komari, Jango, and that age group were all sporting colorful bruises from endless ‘sparring’ which looked more like enthusiastic brawling from Jaster’s point of view; and a couple of the Knights seemed to be going for some kind of record with bed partners. He and Master Dooku – Yan - had spent a very enjoyable evening sipping tihaar and sharing perspectives; and the Council had approved Yan’s request to allow his team to aid Jaster in hunting down the remnants of Death Watch. All in all, their peoples’ path to friendship was going swimmingly.
Jaster and Yan sat their trays down for midmeal. “Before I eat, I think I’ll com Qui-Gon to check on Obi-Wan,” Yan announced slightly too loudly for just them as he took his seat. The mess fell silent in an instant and the corner of his lips tilted up in a small smirk. Jaster was quickly realizing that he might be in trouble, regarding Yan Dooku.
Yan pulled out his com from his belt (that seemed to carry more than it should be able) and swiped it open, his long fingers tapping with the same practiced precision he did everything, and Jaster had to drag his eyes away before he started imagining… things. The com rang only twice before Qui-Gon answered it, looking tired even through the holo, with a small spiky-haired head tucked into his neck. “Hello, Master. Alor.” The verde around them were getting great shots of it.
“I hope I’m not waking either of you.” Yan lowered his voice a bit, careful of sensitive ears.
“No, you caught us at a good time.” Qui-Gon rubbed a hand over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “We’re doing a bit better. The bouts of sickness have tapered off, more or less.” It was sweet that Qui-Gon was the sort of parent who used ‘we.’ “We just got out of the sonic, which is the most movement we’ve had since it started, so we’re worn out.”
“How is his mental state?”
Qui-Gon sighed as Obi-Wan snuggled deeper. “Still some shallow waves of distress, but they’re manageable. The Healers say that he’s clear of any danger.”
Jaster smiled fondly at the cozy image, “That’s good to hear.”
Qui-Gon hummed an agreement. “Oh, you may be interested to know that I’ve received word from my friend on the Council. The Umbaran we arrested will unfortunately not be facing trial as he was killed by another prisoner late last night.”
Jaster had a wealth of practice keeping his tone right. “A pity how these things happen.” His eyes met Yan’s. “Dangerous places, prisons…”