[Legacy Of The Force] - 05(48)
“My father,” said Fett, “finally destroyed the Death Watch. That’s his legacy to Mandalore.”
“Sectarian feud. Irrelevant to most Mando’ade’s lives. Now, are you going to give me a sample?”
“What kind of scientists have you got access to that I haven’t?”
“Some things,” Jaing said softly, “can’t be bought. I have my resources, believe me. Got a medpac with a sharp in it?”
“Yes.”
“Draw some blood, then.”
“I’ll do it,” said Mirta.
With Fett, it wasn’t a case of simply rolling up sleeves. He had so much equipment on his forearms that Jaing ended up holding the flamethrower attachment, whip assembly, and assorted projectiles. Fett was an armory on legs. Mirta didn’t expect him to flinch when she finally found a vein, and he didn’t. The few moments while she applied pressure to the blood vessel with her thumb to stop the bleeding afterward were the longest of her life, because he wouldn’t meet her eyes, and it reminded her that she could touch him and still not reach him.
Jaing held the vial of red-black blood up to the light and admired it. “That’ll do nicely. Give him some candy for being a brave boy, Mirta.”
“What now?” Fett asked, unmoved.
“You drop me off, and I’ll let you know what we get.”
“How?”
“I’ll deliver it personally to Keldabe.”
“Better make it snappy, then. Or you might be in time for my funeral.”
“Oh, I’ll be back, and so will plenty of other Mando’ade. You asked us, remember? You asked us to come home.” He turned to Mirta. “When the old chakaar dies and they divvy up his armor, make sure you get the flamethrower. Because his plates are duse. Not even proper beskar.”
So Jaing wasn’t out of touch with events on Mandalore, and he thought Fett’s durasteel armor was garbage. The strill padded closer to Jaing and yawned extravagantly with an expression that said it was totally underwhelmed by the discussion. Mirta could smell its breath, whichoddlywasn’t unpleasant at all.
“How does that thing hunt if it’s got such a strong scent?” Fett asked.
Jaing bent and ruffled Mird’s neck folds. “Only humanoids can smell it. And don’t be too hard on Mirta for getting ambushed, Bob’ika. Few people can deal with a full-grown strill swooping down on them. These things fly, you know.”
“I don’t keep pets.” Fett seemed on the edge of a concession. “If you want something to eat, the galley’s through that hatch.”
Jaing opened a pouch on his belt and took out something dried and dark that looked like leather straps. He threw a strip to Mird and chewed on one himself. “We’re fine, thanks.”
It took a few seconds for Mirta to work out what was going on. He doesn’t want to leave any DNA. He’s even more cunning than you, Ba’buir.
Fett turned and swung back through the hatch. Mirta had hoped the two men would find something else to talk about, but the fact they shared a genome clearly meant nothing. Still … this was a relative. This was her relative, a great-uncle, even if Mandos didn’t care about bloodline half as much as most species. The Kiffar half of her cared about it a lot.
“I feel bad for you, kid,” Jaing said. “I feel bad for him, too, I suppose. But apart from some admiration for his skills, I think he’s the worst excuse for a Mando’ad this side of the Core. On the other hand,
he wins, and we need winners. And my dad would have expected me to help him, no questions asked.”
Jaing spoke as if he came from a totally different family, not a vat that contained the duplicated chromosomes of Jango Fett. He slipped a three-sided knife from his forearm plate and trimmed the dried meat into smaller chunks, utterly at ease.
“Jango’s not who you mean by ‘dad,’ is he?” Mirta said.
“No.” Jaing smiled wistfully to himself for a moment. “Genes don’t count. You ought to know that by now. The man who adopted me was my training sergeant. Finest man who ever lived.”
Jaing sounded like he’d come from a far happier family, a strange thing for a clone soldier. “I seem to be bucking the trend of devoted kids,” Mirta said. “I tried to kill my grandfather.”
“So did your mother, I hear. Boba’s obviously got this magic touch with the ladies.”
“You seem to know everything about me, but I don’t know much about you.”
Jaing just grinned. “That’s my job, sweetheart.”
“So why did you get involved with Cherit’s gang over the Twi’leks?”