"Wait," Medrit said imperiously. "No sparring with jetiise until you're properly dressed." He crooked a soot-stained
finger at Fett and led him to his workshop. "Heads will not roll. Okay?" Laid out on the bench was a set of armor plates, the mid-green paint still unmarked. It was a common color for Mandalorians; it happened to be Fett's color, too. "Might as well make the most of the new beskar deposits." Medrit picked up the breastplate and twirled it between his hands. "I said you should ditch that durasteel armor, didn't I? Here's your proper beskar'gam. Wear it in case the Jedi gets lucky. She'll need to hack away with her jetii'kad for a week to dent this."

"Humor him," Beviin said. "He made a collar section specially..." Fett didn't plan on testing the beskar'gam in earnest, but the collar intrigued him. It was a near-circular band that hinged open and protected the neck between the helmet and gorget plate. If his father had worn one, he would probably have survived Mace Windu's decapitating lightsaber blow. Fett slipped it on and rolled his head to test the range of movement in it.-Chpt.7