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A dead ship floating in a neutral zone of space only ever meant one thing – disaster. Whether that disaster would be beneficial to Jango and his crew remained to be seen, but he wasn’t getting his hopes up.
It was a model that he’d never seen before – and Jango had seen more of the galaxy than most. He stuck closer to Mandalore in recent years, now that Jaster had managed to successfully con him into joining the security council, but he still took trips out with a squad, sometimes.
And one such trip was exactly the thing that led to their position now, boarding a large transport floating slowly through space, its lights dim and flickering with the last of its emergency power.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect, since no one had responded to their attempts to hail the ship, but by the time they came across the first body, Jango knew what they’d stumbled upon.
A massacre.
Jango’s mouth flattened into a tight line, glad that his grim expression could be hidden behind his helmet.
“Fan out,” he ordered. “Search for survivors.”
His squad set off, splitting up into groups of two. Silas stayed by Jango’s side, a sad tilt to his helmet as he glanced over the bodies.
“They didn’t stand a chance,” his friend commented quietly, taking in the vicious wounds and the splayed positions that the corpses were laid in. “This wasn’t even close to a fair fight.”
Jango grunted in agreement. “It rarely is, with force users.”
There was no doubt about the cause of this tragedy – Jango recognized lightsaber wounds when he saw them. And given the brutality of the attack and the damage to the ship itself… Jango suspected that a Sith was responsible, which would be just his luck.
Given how quiet everything had been so far, Jango doubted there was anyone still alive on this rustbucket, but he sent out a quick burst to his team regardless, telling them to keep on their toes.
In the meantime, he and Silas continued through the ship, thankful for the filters on their helmets as the bodies continued to pile up.
They were all wearing very similar armor, he noticed, though not the greatest make. Not decorated in the way a mandalorian’s would be – almost all of them had completely identical paint patterns, dusty red on top of grimy, white plastoid. A band of mercenaries, perhaps? Or some dignitary’s private army?
It was about the only thing that made sense at this point.
Jango considered trying to dig (perhaps literally) for more information, but almost all of the bodies still had their helmets on, and the ones who didn’t were lacking a head entirely. Rooting through their bodies for identifying traits felt… wrong. At least not before they’d cased the whole ship, made sure there was no one left alive after all this, though Jango couldn’t see how there would be.
“Aw, man…” Silas said, sounding alarmingly teary. “There’s a massif…”
Jango turned his head, against his better judgment. There was a massif – half-hidden under the bulk of another soldier, this one with a slightly different armor design than the rest. Probably a higher-up in the food chain then, though it didn’t seem to save them.
Jango blew out a slow breath, not looking any closer. The smell managing to pierce through his filters was bad enough.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said gruffly, and squeezed Silas’ upper arm in silent comfort.
They traveled down several dark corridors, following the signs of battle that had scorched themselves into the metal.
Whoever had been responsible for this, it wasn’t merely a small tantrum. This was cruel, deliberate intent.
Jango’s hand traced the deep cut carved into the wall, the edges melting into sharp, twisted shapes.
They turned the corner to see the ship’s hangar bay, and damn.
Fliers were strewn about, wrecks of metal and lingering smoke.
“They didn’t try to escape,” Silas said, moving to inspect one of the downed shuttles. “There’s nobody in these.”
Jango grunted, and his eyes followed the pattern of damage, heading towards the center of the chaos.
Ah – just as he expected.
“Look, Silas,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice. He knew nothing about these soldiers, or the battles they fought, but this display…
“What is it?” Silas wandered back over, arm brushing against Jango’s.
“Found our Sith,” Jango said, and unsheathed his vibroknife to poke at the body.
He assumed so, anyway. Given the dark black suit, a stark difference to the white and red of everyone else they’d seen. Plus, in his experience, something about Sith philosophy seemed to inspire a lot of bondage gear or black leather, and this sorry bastard had both.
Jango used his knife to tilt the Sith’s face up, taking in the mechanical jaw and the truly impressive shot that had gone right through their eye.
Silas whistled. “Damn. I’d love to meet the one who managed that.”
It must have taken significant skill – and a good distraction, considering that most force-users could bat away blaster shots like it was nothing.
“Me too,” he said. “Do you think they might still be – ”
“Don’t move,” a voice rasped.
Jango froze, fighting against his instinct to go for a blaster. He slowly leveraged himself up onto his feet, Silas putting his hands up next to him as they both turned to look at the speaker.
It was one of the soldiers – the only one still alive. He was sitting across the hangar from them, propped up against the wall in a pool of his own blood, one hand wrapped around the wound in his side, and the other pointing a blaster at the two Mandalorians with a steady hand.
He huffed, the sound warping oddly through what must have been a broken filter on the helmet. “Told you not to move.”
“You’re hurt,” Silas replied, because of course that was the idiot’s first thought. “Please, can we get closer?”
Jango stayed silent, willing to allow his second-in-command this first contact, biting his tongue to hold back his own more abrasive nature.
The blaster wavered, and then dropped to the ground with a clatter, the soldier letting out a heavy sigh.
“Don’t suppose I can stop you.”
The words were bitter, but neither allowed that to stop them, stepping closer. There were several other unmoving bodies around them – the distraction, Jango realized. It was a sick, awful feeling, leaving a pit in his stomach, but at the same time, that admiration rose once again.
These warriors fought off a Sith. And even if they didn’t all make it through, they still won. They died a warrior’s death, and that was something every Mandalorian longed for.
It was enough for Jango to extend his hand to the sole survivor, at the very least.
“Just stay still, we can get you out of here – ”
The warrior laughed, a sharp bark of sound that echoed through his helmet. “I am not going anywhere with you, Jango Fett.”
Jango paused, something itching at the base of his spine. It wasn’t the animosity – Jango had earned his reputation honestly, and he knew that many held a grudge against him from his bounty-hunting days.
No, what got his hackles up was how personal this sounded. Jango thought he would have remembered pissing off somebody who could kill a Sith.
“Got something to say to me, stranger?” Jango said, leaning back and getting out of the man’s space.
He struggled to push himself up, slumping further against the wall as he pulled his helmet off with one shaking hand.
The soldier glanced up, making eye contact – and Jango drew in a sharp breath, a hand going to his blaster automatically.
Jango’s own face was looking back at him, mouth curled into a snarl that emphasized the scars carved into his skin.
“Yeah. I’ve got a lot to say to you, Fett.”