JasBen: The Meeting

Title: The Meeting
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Series: JasBen
Series Order: 1
Fandom:  Star Wars
Genre: Fix-it, Time Travel AU, Rule 63(Obi-Wan Kenobi)
Relationships: pre-Jaster Mereel/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Canon-level Violence, Minor Character Death (Montross, Tor Vizsla)
Author Notes: I wanted to write a Obi-Wan saves SpaceDad!Jaster fic. Threw in Lady Obi-Wan for funsies. May or may not become a series.
Word Count: 1,376
Summary: It wasn’t that Jaster did not like Jedi, it was just that he had never expected to meet one—they were the Republic’s leashed dogs, after all. Meeting this one was a surprise, a horror, and kind of amazing.

 

 

“Montross, Clan Oss, House Vizsla!” a woman’s voice called while they were setting up their base camp on Korda VI.

Jaster frowned and went to see what was going on. Nearly all of his warband came at his heels. The woman was tall with copper red hair. Everything else about her form obscured by layers upon layers of robes—Jedi robes.

“Montross, Clan Oss, House Vizsla,” the woman said once she laid her eyes on his second. “You are accused of killing four children—age fifteen months, age two and a half years, and a pair of twins age four years—and their sole guardian. You disabled their ship between hyperspace jumps, boarded, and tore all five innocents to pieces. Then you sent their ship to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant on autopilot—inflicting further terror upon innocents upon Coruscant.

“What defense do you have for these crimes?”

Jaster was speechless. His second had killed children? Four children all under the age of five? No. No way. The Jedi was wrong.

But Montross didn’t deny her claim. He gave a loose, full-body gesture—the armored equivalent of a leer at the woman. “They were in Mandalorian Space, little Jedi. We have every right to take out the trash.”

Jaster turned to his second in horror.

If the travelers had been between hyperspace jumps, they had to have been on the Hydian Way. There were no laws that denied outsiders the use of the major hyperspace lane through Mandalorian space. In fact, there were three treaties that ensured it, including one with the Republic directly. The Republic treaty had an entire page of clauses about what Jedi were or were not allowed to do in Mandalorian space.

Using the hyperspace lane safely was the first item in the allowed column.

“Montross, House Oss, Clan Vizsla, by your own word you are found guilty of five counts of murder. For murder, your sentence by the Will of the Force is death.”

Montross snarled wordlessly and pulled a blaster.

The woman reached out one of her small hands and clenched it into a fist in a single, sharp gesture.

Montross’s helm crunched as if it had been entirely in her palm when she closed it. Several of his warriors hissed and stepped back and Montross’s corpse, complete with newly pulped head, hit the ground.

“Apologies for the mess, Mand’alor,” the Jedi said breezily. Only then did Jaster realize she had been speaking Mando’a the entire time. “May I enquire as to the appropriate disposal method of his body by his Clan’s custom?”

“Burn the corpse in full armor and return the charred armor the Clan Oss.” He said almost automatically. Then. “He was House Mereel.”

The Jedi raised a fine copper eyebrow at him. “You should check his personal comm logs before I burn him, I believe.

“My research was very thorough.”

He opened his mouth to say something but the air was suddenly filled with shouts and shots—blaster and slugthrower shots.

The Jedi whipped around to stare in the direction of what Intelligence had reported were nothing but abandoned buildings. Despite his outward confusion, Jaster’s mind raced. The only Mandalorian warriors that regularly carried slugthrowers were Death Watch.

Probably-Death Watch were inside what Intelligence had said was their safe zone.

Montross, as his second, was in charge of Intelligence.

Maybe the Jedi had a point.

“Secure that body,” he ordered Myles. Myles was a solid warrior and loyal. “I want to know when that bastard turned on us and everything he’s done since.”

“Yes, Mand’alor,” Myles tapped his fist to his breastplate.

The ground rocked.

“Anakin!” the Jedi shouted, took one step toward the noise and blurred through their camp.

Jaster followed. He pulled off his cape, grabbed a jetpack off a rack, and took off. A dozen of his warriors followed.

When he landed, the Jedi was three deep in Death Watch, her blue sword of light raining down death or permanent injury on every warrior that tried to surround her—even those far out of the sword’s range.

“Vizsla!” the Jedi bellowed in the unmistakable tone of a battlefield command. “Touch my child and I will tear you in half!”

Jaster followed her line of sight to see Tor Vizsla standing on a tank, trying to open the hatch.

Well, Jaster owed the Jedi one.

He owed Vizsla more than one, actually, though that debt was entirely different from the Jedi’s. He triggered his jetpack and slammed into Vizsla, feet first. Before the man was on his feet, Jaster had a blaster in either hand and was raining hot plasma down on the bastard.

“He’s mine,” Jaster growled when he saw one of his warriors make for Vizsla. The warrior kept going to take down the sniper on the roof of a nearby warehouse.

Vizsla finally climbed to his feet and pulled the Darksaber. Compared to the Jedi’s whirling death, Vizsla was an untrained toddler trying to deflect blaster bolts. Unfortunately, his armor was good enough that it didn’t matter whether he could deflect the bolts or not, nothing got through.

It wasn’t working.

Jaster holstered his blasters and triggered his jetpack.

Another shot from the cannon rocked the ground and Vizsla teetered. Jaster took him full in the chest.

The Darksaber flew out of Vizsla’s hand as they both went tumbling.

Jaster was back on Vizsla faster than the younger man could recover. He pulled off his helmet and punched him full in the face.

Once. Vizsla’s head rocked back.

Twice. Vizsla’s nose broke in a splash of blood.

Three times. Vizsla’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went lax.

Jaster stood, pulled his blaster, and put Tor, Clan Vizsla, House Vizsla down like the sick beast he was.

The Darksaber was his.

-*-

“Anakin!” the Jedi—Jaster should really get her name—shouted at the tank once Death Watch was either dead, wounded and therefor captured, or kneeling in submission to their new Mand’alor. “What do you think you are doing!”

“They weren’t using it!” A very young voice came back through the external speaker. They were both speaking Basic. “No one was even inside!”

“Where is Artoo?”

A droid sounded off next, again through the speaker.

The Jedi actually growled. “Artoo, you bastard! You were supposed to keep him on the ship!”

The droid came back. Jaster didn’t understand binary as the Jedi clearly did but the tone was sharpish and more than a little rude.

“The Falcon is not a piece of junk!” she protested. “Get down here. Both of you.”

“Teacher!” the kid—Anakin—whined. “You said if I won it, I could keep it!”

“Which you took as permission to steal my sabacc winnings and buy your way into a pod race!” the Jedi threw up her hands in frustration. “Two days! I had the money in two days! There was no reason to risk your life!”

“It worked and now we have twice the money!” Anakin argued back. “Freedom is expensive!”

The Jedi pinched her nose, further expressing her frustration. Something Jaster thought Jedi never did—express emotions. “We’ll go free your mom! Now get down here!”

“But my tank!”

“It won’t fit in the ship,” the Jedi sighed and her shoulders slumped. “We don’t have connections to sell it out here. Take the electronics you want and we’ll burn the rest.”

“Yipee!” Anakin cried.

“Burn it?” Jaster asked softly.

“I’m not leaving it for Death Watch to reclaim,” the Jedi declared.

“I could buy it from you,” he offered. It would fit in his main hold. They would have to move the food supplies to the secondary hold and perhaps give some of those supplies to these Jedi, but it would all fit.

Food and supplies were the least the Jedi was owed for the blow they were able to deal Death Watch with zero notice.

She frowned at him—intensely and invasively—then she nodded. “Anakin! New plan!”

“Awe!”

“I hope you’re prepared to haggle,” the Jedi warned. “He’s not letting that tank go easily.”

Jaster just raised an eyebrow and offered his arm. “Jaster, Clan Mereel, House Mereel.”

The Jedi took his forearm in the proper Mandalorian fashion. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight.”

 

 

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