Feemor is, for no particular reason, reminded of the time his source turned out to be running an elaborate scheme to double cross his own criminal syndicate and, instead of telling Feemor any of that, proceeded to lead him around in circles for weeks while hyping himself up as a threat under an alter ego.
A Mandalorian wanting to keep their involvement in a Jedi investigation a secret is hardly that strange. There are other Shadows who’ve found themselves allied with Mandalorians for one reason or another, sometimes on a very temporary basis but Feemor knows one of his former mission partners still goes out drinking with her’s when they find themselves in the same system.
Still, he thinks as he strides forward, it would be nice if his sources would give him a little warning sometimes.
The Mandalorian looks up at Feemor’s approach, their posture cautious but not at all skittish like their messages implied. They hold themself with the confidence of someone who has lived and fought long enough to know what they’re doing.
Feemor sits beside them, orders a drink for himself and sips at it. It’s stronger than it should be but he never remembers which systems use which name for which drink. The Mandalorian is looking at him though Feemor can’t be precisely certain where their gaze lands.
There are half a dozen seats he could have chosen that are not right next to a Mandalorian. If anyone was paying even a bit of attention they might note the oddity.
They aren’t. Feemor barely has anything to do with it.
The Mandalorian is wearing a red cape and really, they could have just said they were wearing a helmet. It would have been vague enough.
It doesn’t matter.
Feemor turns from his drink and, casually as anyone can manage when the words are lines copied from an opera over three hundred years old, says his code phrase.
The Mandalorian, as best Feemor can explain it, lights up in the Force with recognition.
Feemor casually takes a sip as he waits for the returning answer.
The door explodes.
There are Jedi who don’t believe in luck. Feemor’s luck is pretty good, most of the time. Most of the time isn’t all of the time.
Someone lobs what Feemor guesses but doesn’t want to find out is a grenade through the smoking remains of the door. The bar is wide awake now. Feemor figures there’s little point in subtlety and sends it right back out the way it came.
The resulting explosion tells him he hasn’t lost his touch on grenade identification.
The Mandalorian peaks around his shoulder and Feemor moves to block them better as he takes his lightsaber out. He has no idea how good that armor is and he’d rather not lose his best source of information to a stray bolt. They can spar over the insult or something later.
He takes a breath, reaches out with the Force, realizes a moment too late that he never saw the bartender leave.
Feemor does not take a wooden chair directly to the back of the head, which is much appreciated. The Mandalorian, his only source of information does, which is very much not.
He shoves the perpetrator back with the Force and hopes that helmet really is of at least decent quality as he catches the Mandalorian before their body hits the floor.
Feemor tells himself, in the brief moment of wry humor he allows before snapping back to the fight at hand, that convincing an unconscious Mandalorian to retreat is probably much easier than convincing a conscious one.
Jaster wakes up with a ringing in his ears and a Jedi watching over him. Well, watching might be generous. They’re completely knocked out with their head tipped back in their chair. They’re drooling a little.
Jaster is pretty sure he gets it now. The whole reputation Mandalorian have for impulsive commitments. He’s feeling a little impulsive at the moment. Not very impulsive, just a little.
Myles would probably blame the concussion. Jango would absolutely blame the concussion.
Jaster should blame the concussion.
They’re holding his helmet in their lap.
Jaster does not find that endearing, not at all. He does not run the brief memory of the Jedi standing in front of him, lightsaber at the ready as if to defend him over in his mind. He does not recall the bewildered rush of recognition at the Jedi’s words.
Really, in his defense, concussion or not, is it so strange for a Mandalorian to appreciate a decent fighter? A decent fighter with fascinating taste in romantic operas. It’s one of Jaster’s favorites, sure, but it never really caught on outside Mandalorian space.
A light touch to his head informs Jaster that the hit was bad enough for treatment, bacta by the slightly unpleasant texture. He sits up slowly and wonders how long he’s been unconscious for.
Long enough to make the journey to what is presumably the Jedi’s ship and for the Jedi to treat him and then fall asleep, which is also presumably long enough that he missed his check-in and maybe even Myles contacting him to make sure missing it was incidental. All told, not encouraging.
He glances up at the Jedi again and considers his options. Technically, he’s been kidnapped for purposes unknown. He has no idea where they are or how much of a pain getting his ship back will be. He has no idea what possessed a Jedi to defend him or take him with them when they retreated. Jaster hadn’t actually managed a response to the casual flirtation and Jedi aren’t known for kidnapping potential partners. They aren’t known for potential partners at all.
The cot creaks loudly as Jaster leans back to weigh his options. He winces as the Jedi wakes up with a start.
“Hello,” he manages a slightly amused smile as the Jedi clearly remembers how they got there, and also that Mandalorians don’t tend to react well to their armor in other beings’ hands.
“Ah, apologies.” They don’t scramble to hand his helmet back, though their cheeks flush just enough Jaster thinks it’s more out of ingrained professionalism than anything. A decade’s less experience and they might have dropped it in their haste. Now, their moments are smooth and careful.
As much as it might be nice to see the Jedi’s face turn a truly fetching pink Jaster has enough reverence for his armor to be grateful they’re meeting now and not before. He gives the helmet a brief once-over and puts it on.
Mandalorians are, only mostly out of necessity, some of the galaxy’s best at sturdy, reliable electronics. Still, Jaster is not terribly surprised to see his HUD flicker and glitch hard enough to make him flinch before going out. There are limits to even the best and whatever hit him was enough he’ll need an armorer’s expertise.
He takes the helmet off and sets it at his side.
“It looks like whatever hit me was a bit too much for it, unfortunately.” Jaster says.
The Jedi makes a sympathetic noise and answers the unasked question.
A chair, really? Jaster really didn’t think he’d upset anyone in that system badly enough to hit him in the head with a chair. Well, he tilts his head in thought, the bounty target notwithstanding.
“I apologize for removing your helmet but…” The Jedi starts and Jaster waves him off.
“I understand, medical necessity and all.” He starts and continues after a moment’s thought. It isn’t exactly a secret. “There are a few of our people who would forbid it, but I am not one of them.”
“I’m glad then, it was not my intention to offend.” The Jedi nods and bows with a slightly awkward smile. “Jedi Knight Feemor.”
“Well met, Knight Feemor. I am Jaster Mereel.” This gets no real reaction beyond polite acknowledgement and Jaster finds himself glad. It isn’t impossible he was sought out because of his position, he doesn’t know this Jedi well enough to judge, but unrelated interest would be nice.
“Your friends?” He continues, smiling with all the charm he can manage with ringing ears. It’ll probably go away in a couple hours.
“Not sure.” Feemor admits. “We could discuss it over tea? I’d offer caff but…”
Jaster’s mind turns to several lectures about all the things to stay away from after a hit like this and agrees to stick to tea.
Feemor’s informant is handling this well. Really well. Shockingly well. The messages he’d managed to convince them to send him, always involving several paranoid safety measures, had read as terrified.
Now, something dangerous has actually happened, and Jaster seems fine.
Perhaps that chair did more damage than Feemor thought.
He tries to subtly gauge Jaster’s status as they shuffle the few steps over to Feemor’s table. He apologizes for the state of things, one of the legs is a little wobbly, and Jaster waves him off with a smile. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to fall over.
Feemor will just have to keep an eye out.
They don’t talk as he makes the tea. Feemor appreciates it. This entire mission has been… such a journey. He sets a cup in front of Jaster and settles into his surprisingly comfortable seat with a small sigh.
“Long day?” Jaster asks, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Long month.” Feemor answers, more honest than he probably should be.
Jaster nods and waits for Feemor to take a comforting sip of his favorite blend before he asks his first question.
“I suppose I should start by asking where we are?” He says, something almost amused in his delivery.
“Moon, forgot the name but just off planet, quiet enough it should be safe. I assumed you wouldn’t want to go too far.” That’s an understatement, what little his go-between would say implied his informant has a real fear of leaving.
Jaster nods. “I’m afraid I only paid the docking fees for the week.”
Stars, Feemor really hopes this doesn’t take another week.
“Well, hopefully your information is good enough that we’ll both be long gone by then.” Feemor takes another sip.
“Information?” Jaster asks. His brows furrow in genuine confusion.
No.
No.
This cannot be happening.
Stop questioning my methods, Jedi! It’ll all work out great, Jedi! How dare you suggest there might be more than one person in a bar wearing one of the most common colors in the galaxy, Jedi!
Feemor sets his cup down and buries his head in his hands. “You aren’t my informant.” He does not scream. He is calm and collected and doing great.
“Ah,” Jaster says with faint realization. “No.” Feemor picks up some trace of what might be disappointment in the answer but frankly cannot deal with parsing that out right now.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about child kidnappings in this sector?” Feemor will admit his voice takes on a slightly desperate note.
“In this sector?” Jaster says. “No, I’ve only got here yesterday. Mandalorian space has been having trouble though.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Feemor says, and he honestly is. “I’d offer to help but that probably wouldn’t go over well with leadership.”
“The Republic?”
Feemor snorts, Jedi have plenty of experience dealing with that. Shadows have been known to stretch things when asked for help. “Mandalorian.” He can only imagine the nightmare. It’s one thing to help a planet outside the Republic when invited. It’s a very different thing to show up unannounced and unwelcome.
Jaster actually perks up at that. Feemor actually notes the Force’s strange contentment properly for the first time and does not groan. The last thing he needs is to find out he kidnapped someone important by accident.
“We haven’t fully consolidated yet but…”
“Please tell me you aren’t the Mand’alor.”
“Well, like I said we haven’t fully consolidated yet.” Feemor doesn’t look up but he can hear the smile in Jaster’s voice. “I’ll help with your investigation, if you’ll help with ours.” He offers and continues. “After all, it wouldn’t do to let whoever hit the Mand’alor in the head with a chair escape unpunished.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”
Jaster will admit, if only to himself, that it’s mildly disappointing to learn Feemor thought he was a contact. He is handsome, if clearly exhausted, and over the last several hours Jaster has learned he’s a little weak to Jedi who can drag him out of a firefight without even a scratch.
“So, what do you know about your kidnapping problem?” Jaster is no quitter. The fact this was a case of mistaken identity on Feemor’s part doesn’t mean Jaster has to give up on the possibility it could be something more.
Feemor sips at his tea for a moment, sighs.
“Children might be a little vague.” He starts. “Really, none of them have been under eleven standard and most are between twelve and sixteen. All human, which is odd.”
Jaster opens his mouth but Feemor continues with a mild gesture. “I know, I checked in with some locals and that does seem to be accurate. None of the nonhuman communities I spoke with had heard of anyone going missing so probably not reporting bias.”
Jaster nods, not terribly surprised but glad that Feemor had already thought of it.
“No one’s seen anything strange. The Jedi were called rather quickly because one of the first to go missing was force sensitive. One of our seekers inquired about her around a decade ago but the parents declined further contact.” Jaster finishes his tea and politely declines another cup. “It isn’t that either, or at least, if it is the kidnappers are bad at identifying them. None of the others appear to be force sensitive. There have been no witnesses, no clear idea where they’re being taken from or where too. I was supposed to get something from an informant but that’s probably a dead end too given I walked right into a trap.”
Jaster feels his eyebrows raise a little at the sparse information. He’s not an investigator, barely even a mercenary these days. He’s too busy.
“What is it with the demographics?” He mutters to himself and, at Feemor’s curious look, clarifies. “Ours have been humans that age too, though we have a suspect at least.”
Jaster watches Feemor’s face tighten, knuckles white around his cup for a moment as he sets it down.
“Suspect?” He asks.
“Death Watch.” Jaster gives him the basic name and elaborates with disgust. “They want to return to glory days they don’t remember or understand. To pillaging and invading without cause.”
“The opera.” Feemor says, breathless with something that might be realization. Jaster does his best not to get distracted by his expression. “You recognized it.”
“Yes.” Jaster feels his face heat just slightly. “It’s still a beloved romance in parts of Mandalorian space, if rather outdated. My mother introduced me to it.”
“I looked into it.” Feemor says, slowly. “It hasn’t been officially performed outside Mandalorian space once in the last hundred years.”
“Huh,” Jaster hadn’t known that.
“Why do you suspect them?” Feemor asks, insistent.
Jaster is beginning to see the form of Feemor’s thoughts. “No one knows for sure what happened to trigger it but they’ve been bleeding followers for over a year now. The New Mandalorians tell me their cities are having to set up new educational centers for those who’ve sought refuge. I can count several large clans worth of people who have joined my cause. That isn’t even counting those who have struck out alone or simply returned to their unaligned clans.”
Jaster takes a deep breath, does his best not to get caught in the memory of the first case brought to him.
“There were… rumors.” He decides. “That children were going missing but it was… difficult to confirm at first.” The audacity of some of those he had questioned, about where their children had gone, only to be told that they had passed their verd’goten. As if that was enough to abandon them to their own devices. As if clan ties meant nothing at all. They should have known earlier.
“A smaller clan reported that before they’d left there had been worrying shifts in recruitment talk.” He continued. “That Vizsla was talking about the old ways. That a child unprotected enough to be taken is rightfully adoptable. It’s… usually more complicated than that.” Mandalorians of even the eras Vizsla claimed to admire did not tend to argue adoption in those terms.
“They got sloppy.” He concludes, hating his next words as he says them. “Started taking children who would be missed.”
Feemor doesn’t say anything to that, just reaches out across the table and gives Jaster’s hand a small squeeze before withdrawing.
So, Feemor has perhaps stumbled into a much more complicated answer than he’d originally anticipated. It’s true that there aren’t a lot of organizations with the resources and skill to pull off a string of kidnappings this complicated. It’s one of the most baffling aspects of the case so far.
As wonderfully convenient as it would be to have one organization behind the problems of two systems the Force doesn’t seem to be arguing he’s on the wrong track.
Well, he thinks as he hears his comm go off with the chime he’s set for local officials, there’s only one way to find out.
“Shall we see what the local officials have for us?” He asks and offers Jaster a hand up.
Jaster takes it and, to Feemor’s mild relief, seems more steady on his feet this time.
They’ve caught one of the attackers. An associate of one of the local small-time gangs. A troublemaker who swears up and down he was hired by someone. Who? He doesn’t know. It was good pay. Too good to pass up, even if the target was a Jedi.
“Huh,” Feemor notes a few details from the report. “It looks like they didn’t know about you. Can’t say if their benefactors did or not but there’s nothing about killing any Mandalorians, just a Jedi.”
Jaster tips his head in agreement.
“Do you really think they thought it would work?” He asks.
Feemor considers the question for a moment and shrugs. “Who knows. We’re generally hard to kill but people get lucky, sometimes. I’m only one Jedi.”
Jaster hums, neutral, and Feemor waits for him to finish reading the report.
“What’s next?” Jaster turns.
Feemor takes a breath. He really wishes they had more to act on. It’s one thing to have a suspect but a suspect only takes you so far with no idea where they might be hiding.
“If this is Death Watch…” He starts. “Do you have any theories about where they’re based?”
Jaster’s face twists into a mild grimace. “There are theories but… nothing certain.”
“I see.” Feemor nods. “What would they need?”
Jaster closes his eyes in thought. Something about the action strikes Feemor as vulnerable, trusting. It startles him, almost enough to miss the answer.
They don’t know if the children are still in-system or not but… Feemor pulls up maps of the planet and its moons. He can check. The Force hums with something unnameable. An anticipation that makes his teeth hurt. It wants him to follow this line of thought.
Yes, he doesn’t know the children are still in-system but he can trust.
Jedi are strange beings.
Jaster knew that, sure. It’s what everyone says about them.
There’s a difference between hearing that Jedi are strange and seeing a Jedi dismiss entire warehouses without even sparing a glance inside.
Feemor carries himself with a quiet confidence and focus that only comes with years of work. It is… attractive.
A part of him wants to argue they should go back and check. A part of him really wants to ask questions. Another part of him would kind of like to find out if a Jedi’s lips taste strange too. It feels like there should be an electric aftertaste or something.
Jaster remains a professional, at least on the outside, and reminds himself that spacer’s tales about Jedi mind-reading are only spacer’s tales. Probably.
“Here.” Feemor softly calls a halt outside the last warehouse on their list of options and Jaster stops.
“This one?” Jaster asks, it’s hardly the most likely one. The records have it continuously rented for years by the same innocuous client.
“Yes.” Feemor nods.
“Alright.” Jaster steels himself.
“Can you get to the roof?” Feemor doesn’t look over.
“Yes, won’t be silent though.” Jaster warns. “And if it is Death Watch they’ll definitely recognize the sound.”
Feemor hums, expression calculating. “Would it be alright if I push you?” He makes a gesture with his hands that Jaster vaguely understands as referencing the Force.
“Yes.” Listen, attraction or not. Jaster is not going to turn down the chance to experience something so rare.
It is incredibly disorienting and feels a lot like a scramble but before Jaster knows it he’s looking down through a skylight.
Wouldn’t you know it? The Jedi was right.
That certainly is Death Watch armor and those are definitely not cared for and cherished Mandalorian younglings huddled in the corner. Jaster clenches his jaw.
“Wait for my signal.” Feemor murmurs.
Jaster wants to argue that he can help but knows it isn’t a slight against him. For all that he hasn’t had a very good showing thus far he doesn’t think Feemor sees him as incompetent. This is the Jedi’s mission. Not his.
He watches as Feemor delicately opens the skylight and maneuvers his way onto a ceiling beam, moving like it isn’t even work to stay balanced. The guards don’t even notice as he waves the locked door open and coaxes the younglings into following him.
Jaster doesn’t know whether to be impressed with Feemor or deeply unimpressed with the Death Watch guards as they make it out unnoticed. Probably both.
They hand the little ones off to some officials they’d warned in advance to wait for them far enough from the warehouse district that they shouldn’t be in any danger of being recaptured.
Jaster tips his helmet in Feemor’s direction once they’re safe.
“Ready?”
Feemor nods.
It isn’t visible with his helmet on but Jaster grins. He thinks Feemor sees it anyway.
Jedi Shadows are, as the name implies, meant to be subtle.
Feemor is usually quite good at subtle. He barely stands out in full Jedi robes as it is. In spacer’s clothes walking around a warehouse district? He doesn’t need the Force to ensure people forget he was ever there.
He breathes, careful and steady, doesn’t let Jaster’s enthusiasm touch him… much.
He can feel the beat of intent. Desires for justice and safety swirling together.
He helps Jaster up to the roof again at his request, probably for the best given his recent experiences with head injuries, and then jumps down to face the wide doors of the warehouse.
Mandalorians aren’t known for subtly. Feemor can oblige.
He stands before the doors, reaches out, and tears them apart.
To their credit, these Death Watch Mandalorians react in moments, it doesn’t matter. The younglings are safe but there are more out there who are not. He will see this mission through to the end.
He ignites his lightsaber and darts forward.
Jaster can’t help but jump as the doors wrench hard. Metal screaming in protest.
It’s time.
His rifle is reliable, though he only pulls the trigger when it seems like Feemor might be overwhelmed and at targets farther out. He wishes he could trust his aim to be true the way he knows it should be but his helmet still isn’t working and the ringing in his ears has only recently relented. Not the time to try for impressive stunts.
He tells himself it’s enough and, well, watching the dust settle it looks like it is.
Feemor surveys the incapacitated fighters and glances up to Jaster’s hiding place with a smile.
It’s a wonderful smile.
Local enforcement helps with detention and Jaster hears Feemor say something about interrogating them later as he helps Jaster down of the roof.
“You know…” Jaster starts, strangely nervous. “I really appreciate your offer to help with what’s turned out to be our shared problem.”
Feemor chuckles, lighter now that at least some of the younglings are safe. Jaster finds he wants to keep the sound with him.
“After we’ve resolved all of this.” He continues. “How would you feel about a vacation? My treat.”
“A vacation?” Feemor asks, his eyes sparkle with something knowing. “All to myself? I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Well,” Jaster tries not to feel decades younger than he is in his eagerness. “I think I’m due for another one myself, considering how this one went. I could join you, if you don’t mind.”
“Hmmm… something to consider.” Feemor’s face breaks into a true smile, amused. “I am supposed to take leave after this and I’ve never been to Mandalore before.”
Jaster nods, willing himself not to grin too wide or stick his foot in his mouth. It’s not a no. In fact, it’s almost certainly a yes.
“I cannot believe I was worried about him!” Jango hisses.
Myles can only sigh.
“Is that a karking lightsaber?” Jango demands.
Myles can only shrug. It sure looks like it but he’s never really been this close to one before.
“He’s flirting isn’t he?” Jango seethes. “With a Jedi!”
“He sure is.” Myles shakes his head.
“...”
“Is that fucking kyr’tsad!?”