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Chapter Text

Merisee

Din and Grogu’s first trip together in their own ship had been fun so far. Grogu’s pod fit nicely in one of the cockpit seats of the Razor Crest, but he didn’t stay there. Instead, he stood on a different seat, peering out the viewport. When he got tired of the whirl of hyperspace, he chirped at Din.

Going to check the holovision.

“The game hasn’t started yet. I have Zippo keeping watch on that.” When Grogu had been living with his grandparents, starting times for sports were predictable. On a ship, traveling from planet to planet, time zone to time zone, having the astromech keep track of the sacred limmie schedule was a must.

Grogu looked up at him with those wide eyes. Bored.

“There are vids you could watch.”

“Bah.”

“Let’s play a game, then. I brought my vocabulator,” he said. “You talk to me in Pak Pak, and I’ll try to talk back.”

The baby didn’t think this was much of a game until he heard Din croaking back to him. Apparently, Din was hilarious, based on the laughter. He’d hoped to get a little practice on speaking the language himself, but instead he began mispronouncing words on purpose to make Grogu correct him. He used bad grammar, and the baby scoffed at him.

“You’re good at this,” he said in Basic. “You learned all those new words just talking to Ba’buir?”

Ba’buir’s master took him to a ‘purse’ planet. They made pretty gold things. Din received a mental image from Grogu: Fintan visiting a giant purse and sitting atop it, doing detailed work in gold leaf for a wealthy Neimoidian’s mansion. Ba’buir’s master must’ve been one of note to be hired by someone so wealthy. 

When the time for the game arrived, they went down into the ship’s hold. After years of afternoons at the cantina with Fintan, Grogu had developed a fondness for watching limmie, called Meshgeroya by Mandalorians. Din had liked limmie when he was a kid, too, so it wasn’t a sacrifice. Keeping a small holovision and only using it for tutorial holovids and limmie games was a simple enough compromise between education and entertainment. Grogu also liked to eat fried gorg while he watched, but this wasn’t the cantina and pickled gorg eggs were less messy.

Once the game ended, Din announced that it was bedtime. He set the ship’s alarm to wake them when they were close to dropping out of hyperspace. He put Grogu into his little hammock and crawled into the bunk below, smaller than the one on the Balac. Smaller, but the ship was all theirs.

The alarm roused them both. Merisee hovered in the viewscreen, blue and white swirls with only two continents. Hondo Ohnaka had brought the Fortunate Tide here once so the crew could make repairs. The local industry was mostly based around agriculture or fishing. Most of the population was in the eastern hemisphere, so naturally the pirates had landed in the western hemisphere. This was where Din headed now.

They skimmed over the broad azure waters of the world’s largest ocean, the Ocean of Memory. Grogu made excited sounds as they approached a pristine shoreline. Below them, the water had become turquoise.

Din set the Razor Crest down a respectable distance from the water, above the high tide line. He asked Zippo, the ship’s droid, for the outside conditions. The droid’s reply, translated from Binary to Basic via the ship’s computer, told him that it was sunny and warm. Breathable atmosphere, no structures or ships nearby. Din could’ve opened the ramp to learn the same information, but it was important to interact with their new droid, to become familiar with him.

Once Din had squared away the ship and put the droid on watch for visitors, the pair changed into their swim clothes. At least Din did. A naked Grogu dashed past him when he lowered the ramp.

“Hey! Come back here!”

He snatched up the baby’s togs and gave chase. Grogu leapt in great bounds with the Force, treating Din to repeated flashes of his little green butt as he flipped mid-air.

Beach beach beach!

The child was waist-deep in a tidal pool when Din caught up to him. He lifted him and began dressing him in the little suit.

No! Wanna splash!

Force, the little stinker could squirm.

“Not without the outfit. You do not want a sunburn down there.”

Grogu relented and permitted Din to put the bathing togs on. Once released, he began chasing tiny fish.

Din sat nearby and watched the rolling surf, stealing glances at the child now and then. Maybe it was self-indulgent of him to start their travels with time at the beach, but they’d never been able to travel for fun before.

The child finally caught a fish and swallowed it whole. Most of the local lifeforms were safe or could be made safe with the proper preparation. Grogu had eaten several of the little golden fish before with no ill effects.

“Taste good?”

The response was a giggle.

“Do you want to swim with me?”

The water was cool and felt good on their sun-warmed bodies. Din swam well, but Grogu needed the Force to keep his head above water. Din wore a harness across his shoulders for the child to ride on. They bobbed with the waves, cool water soothing the burn of the sun.

Afterwards, they collected bivalves for cooking. The child was fascinated by the headless creatures that dug into the sand after every wave, and eagerly grabbed for them. Din stopped him before he shoved one into his mouth.

“They’re full of sand. We have to get the sand out before we cook them. I’ll show you.”

Cooking is a waste of time.

“Not for Buir. Buir would like to eat some, too. I learned how to prepare them when I went on that class trip to Spira. Don’t you want to learn what the Jedi taught me?”

Technically, Din was cheating. The island on Spira had contained more of the raw materials for cooking the clams. Din had brought the things he thought they’d need on the Razor Crest. It was easier to cook them with more equipment, and they would taste better with a little seasoning.

They commed the family at Vlemoth Port to let them know that all was well. During his turn to speak, Grogu told Fintan how bad Din was at Pak Pak. Buir said everything wrong, and his vocabulator sounded funny. The pair enjoyed a good laugh at his expense.

Din slathered them both with bacta lotion after the call. Even with the togs, they’d both burned after a day in the sun. It would make sleeping a little sticky, but sticky was better than painful.

Before they went to bed, Din flipped the switch that let him communicate with the astromech.

“We’re bedding down for the night, Zippo. Keep watch for us.”

The droid’s response, translated again by the ship’s computer, was: “You’re wasting a lovely view. The moons are almost full.”

“Maybe tomorrow night.”

“You can never guarantee tomorrow’s weather.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Grogu was already asleep in his hammock; Din slid into the bunk underneath and shut off the light.

He closed his eyes, but found himself thinking of the last time he’d spoken with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

When they’d begun their maiden voyage with the Razor Crest, Din had first taken the child to Tatooine to see the former Jedi. They’d found him riding an eopie in the Jundland Wastes. The years and suns had given the man deeper lines in his face and hints of gray in the hair. It was the first time the baby had seen Obi-Wan since the Temple fell. The old Jedi led them into a ravine where they could sit and talk. The trio sat down in the shadow of a sandstone cliff, taking out their canteens, while Obi-Wan’s eopie rested nearby. Din gave the creature a pallie he’d brought as a snack for Grogu.

Obi-Wan was pleased that the child was healthy and happy. Grogu sat in the Jedi’s lap, burbling happily, while Din told the older man about his decision to take the child with him in his travels.

“My buire were doing their best to educate him, but he doesn’t learn things in the same way human children do.”

“That’s fair,” the Jedi said. “That’s why Grogu had so many tutors in the Temple. He was behind the other Initiates in physical maturity, but ahead of them in his connection to the Force.”

I’m right here, Grogu sent.

Kenobi smiled at the child. “Yes, you are. What do you think?”

I’m his Padawan. Like you promised.

The man’s eyebrows rose, disappearing under his cowl. “Like I promised?”

Din moved closer. “You said that one day I would need to leave the Temple. But you also said that if I became a Knight, one day I might take Grogu as my Padawan.”

“I wasn’t aware I was promising,” Obi-Wan said with a chuckle. “I thought if you did, you would also be as old as I am now. He’s still quite young.”

I’m already his Padawan. Grogu sent pictures of Din trekking through the fields of Dantooine and the wooded areas between the cities of Carratos with Grogu on his back. The nights spent practicing meditation and the lightsaber forms. The stories of Darth Revan. The battles against Perdition and her apprentice.

The Jedi glanced up at Din. “He communicates very rapidly in the Force. Are you able to follow him?”

“Yes, but I’m used to it. Grogu, slow down a little.”

The child sighed and composed himself. This time, he sent pictures of them both in armor, practicing forms with their weapons. Din promising to pass his own lightsaber on to Grogu when he was older. This last was sent with great excitement.

“Oh, my,” the Jedi said.

“He has to be trained,” Din said, flushing from more than the suns. “Without training, he will always be in danger. I—I’m sharing everything I know, but I’m not a Knight.”

“You might as well be. If we were still in the Temple, I’d say that you had faced your Trials and met them well.”

“But-but I have attachments, Master. My buire, my child. People I love. I’m not qualified.”

Kenobi smiled gently. “The Temple accepted you as you were, Din, Force Bond and all. You always chose the greater good. And there is no Temple to return to.”

“Oh. Could you offer me some guidelines for training him …?”

Obi-Wan leaned back against the stone, withdrawing from them. His eyes closed.

Din anxiously studied his face, but kept quiet. Had he overstepped?

After a few moments, the man came back to life. “The person who knows the most about the way Grogu learns is you,” he said. “You’re the one who studied beside him every day in the Temple. And he seems to retain what you teach him.”

“Thank you, Master. Do you have any advice?”

“Work on his connection to the Force. Everything else he could learn flows from that.”

Well, Din was trying.

In the morning, they put on clean bathing togs and went to the beach for meditation. Grogu wanted to swim, but Din reminded him that he’d wanted to be Din’s Padawan. They would swim later, he promised.

They linked minds and opened to the Force. Life surrounded them. Behind them, the grasses waved in the breeze. Under the sand, the bivalves thrived. Above them, birds flew. In front of them, the ocean teemed with fish and plants. Further out, they sensed cetaceans swimming in pods.

The song of the Force sang around them, and they put themselves in harmony with it. The ocean spread as far as they could see. It was open and broad, full of possibilities. Din felt that their lives were opening in front of them as well. They had a ship, and he had a trade. They could travel wherever they wanted or needed, and had a home to return to. Maybe they would have their own place one day.

They snacked on sliced nuna eggs before returning to the shore. Grogu quickly supplemented the eggs with more live fish. Din decided to try something he’d only read about: building a sandcastle. He shoved a mound of sand together, but it didn’t look like the pretty pictures. Some people used plastoid molds. He viewed using molds as cheating. The point was to form shapes with your hands. He piled more sand on, then filled the now-clean bucket he’d used for the clams with wet sand and seawater from the ocean’s edge. The wet sand dribbled from his finger into interesting shapes on his foundation, piling up into spires and rounded towers.

Grogu watched him from one of the tidal pools. After eating a couple more fish, he toddled over.

Help Buir make castle.

The Force wrapped around the sand and twisted it into delicate shapes.

“That’s beautiful, ad’ika,” he said, “but I was taking a little time off from Jedi study to have fun. Would you like to get your hands dirty?”

The child’s motor control left something to be desired, but Din wanted him to help. How was the kid supposed to develop dexterity, except through practice? For every mound of sand he added to the foundation, he knocked down a couple of spires. Din put some of the wet sand into Grogu’s hands and showed him how to dribble it through his claws. Together, they rebuilt the castle. It was a messy structure, but Din decorated it with shells and dubbed it Castle Grogu.

They returned to the ocean to wash the sand off and practice swimming again. The child did better, now that he trusted Din to rescue him if the waves were too big.

After lunch and a short rest, they went back out to the sand, closer to the ship this time. Din took his lightsaber and Grogu brought the beskad Fintan had made for him. It had been a while since they’d had time to fully practice the forms together. Grogu took the lessons more seriously now that he knew he would be getting a lightsaber of his own. He was already watching Din’s indigo blade with proprietary eyes.

Din usually sunk into trance during his katas, but this time, he linked with Grogu, nudging the child into the proper steps when needed. Eventually, the child became bored.

Same moves over and over again.

He smiled at the child. “We’ll stop for a moment. Stretch tall. Reach up as high as you can. Now, relax.”

Grogu plopped on his rear end. Din sat beside him.

“When I was learning lightsaber forms in the Temple,” he said, “our master was Cin Drallig. He was trained by Master Yoda. He made us work our butts off. Remember when I would come back to the nursery, and my arms would be sore?”

The child nodded.

“We had to do the forms over and over again to teach our bodies how to react. Master Drallig said that a Jedi’s greatest weapon was the guidance of the Force. Battle had to be trained into our bodies so they would the correct moves without thought. He said muscle memory would save our lives.”

Grogu fell asleep that evening while Din was rubbing bacta lotion on him. The little guy was worn out. Din loaded the swim clothes into the cleaner and changed into his own pajamas. They were red, like the ones he’d worn on Aq Vetina as a child. It was a way of connecting to his origins. He settled down with the crystal he’d been healing and resumed his work.

Din had battled several Inquisitors since the fall of the Temple. As a result, he’d acquired a collection of Force weapons with kyber crystals. Every crystal that had come from an Inquisitor had cried in pain, filled with the sorrow and hate of their users. Healing them gave him great satisfaction, and an occasional glimpse into the psyche of their wielders.

In the morning, after meditation and firstmeal, Din brought out a double saber he’d taken from one of the Inquisitors he’d fought. He’d been able to get an idea of how the flying function worked at Arumorut, but the trees had gotten in the way of experimentation.

The beach was an ideal location.

He stepped a decent distance from the Razor Crest and raised the weapon, a metallic ring, and ignited the blades. With a push to the button for the repulsors, the blades began whirling. The device lifted him off the sand slowly. Below him, the baby watched, awed.

You may need to catch me if it stops, Din sent.

The weapon carried him over the beach, north, then south again. He didn’t want to lose sight of Grogu. He soared higher; the Razor Crest shrunk to toy size, the child a mere speck in the sand. His gaze shifted to the turquoise waters. On their way in, he’d seen a barrier reef. Would the device take him that far?

If he went out there, he needed to have Grogu with him. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to practice another landing. The whirring blades descended at a touch to the proper button, and he sunk to the sand in front of the child.

Want to take a ride?

Grogu squealed happily and leapt onto his free arm.

They glided above the waters, the turquoise near the shore deepening as the water did. Larger shapes moved in the water, bigger fish. Too bad he didn’t have a boat and fishing gear. Hondo had kept a water vessel in the ship’s hold, and the pirates had brought fish for Din to cook. He directed Grogu’s attention to the fish, and the kid enjoyed watching them.

Ahead, the reef stretched across their view of the water. The coral was pink-orange, in brilliant contrast to the waters.

It’s alive, Grogu sent.

Yes. Millions of organisms stacked together. He shared a little information about coral and its role in the oceanic ecosystem. Eventually, his upright arm complained about the lack of circulation and he shifted arms, using the Force to keep them both stable while he made the trade.

They explored a little more before returning to the ship. Din heated some frozen tiingilar he’d brought from home, and poured cassius tea for them both.

“We’ll rest for a bit,” he said. “Then we’re going to practice with your beskad.”

After meditation the next morning, they practiced Force pushing. At the Temple, Master Kelleran had paired Initiates in a large room padded on all sides—walls, floor, and ceiling. They’d matched their command of the Force and their willpower against each other. It wasn’t just telekinesis, although at least one kid went flying during every class. The Master was there to catch them, though, so no one got seriously hurt.

Waylen had always been eager to test his mettle against Din. He’d shoved hard.

Din tried this exercise with Grogu in the nursery once, but the baby flung him into the walls hard enough to bruise multiple times, and Yoda had threatened to separate them if they did it again. Their home in Arumorut wasn’t suitable, either. The walls of the vheh’yaim were too pliant and the trees outside weren’t pliant enough. In this wide-open space, though, the risk was considerably smaller.

Din wore his armor so he wouldn’t tear up his skin, but Grogu, like Master Yoda, only had chain mail and didn’t even wear sandals. He had no illusions about which one of them would get knocked on their shebs, but Grogu was very small and he would need to be careful.

“No flinging,” Din told the child. “We’re just going to shove each other back.”

They locked wills and began pushing.

Grogu planted his little butt on the ground. Good idea; the tunic and chain mail would protect his behind and he was less likely to fall. Din dug his feet into the sand and braced himself with the Force. As the pushing began in earnest, he slid backwards, leaving deep trenches in his wake.

Grogu’s plan was to shove Din about a klick down the beach, based on the pressure he was exerting. Din’s strategy was to remain upright, stay within shouting distance, and outlast the toddler.

He focused his will, not wavering, not yielding to the pressure, moving himself closer whenever Grogu stopped to breathe. The child growled and pushed him away again and again.

Finally, Grogu relented.

I’m bored. And hungry.

“Me, too, buddy.” He scooped the boy up and carried him towards the ship. “How about grilled nerfcheese sandwiches and pog soup for lunch?”

After three days of meditation and swimming, Din cleaned the interior of the Crest and put everything back in order. They’d had a good retreat, but it was time to go to work. Grogu sighed mournfully as the planet shrunk on the viewscreen.

“We’ll come back another time,” Din said. “We might even visit the inhabited area, see who lives there.”

Once they were properly in the black, Din looked up the time at home. He needed to check in with the family again. It was the middle of the night on Vlemoth Port, but Ba’vodu Konn should either be on or near Tatooine.

“Su cuy'gar,” Konn Eldar said when Din commed. His uncle was on the Balac, headed to Tatooine to pick up jobs. “How’s the new ship handling?”

“Good so far. How’s it feel to be working without a clunky apprentice?”

“Tiring. I have to chase the crooks myself. That’s what the apprentice is for.”

“I’ll remember that.”

The pale image of Konn’s face squinted. “Is that fuzz on your face?”

“I thought I’d see what I looked like with a mustache and maybe a beard.”

“Don’t go too long on the beard. Gets caught in the helmet seals. Are you coming to Tatooine?”

“I’m going to try the Guild Hub on Carajam. Explore some new places with the squirt.”

“Avoiding Fett?”

Din shrugged; he’d rather not think about Boba. “More like the Empire. Places like Paqualis III handle mostly Empire jobs. Carajam’s more like Tatooine.”

“Yeah, same deserts and villages with half the charm. Oh, and the Death Plains, which are as advertised.”

“Still, gonna try it.”

“Carry extra water. Hey, kid, has your buir taken you on any jobs yet?”

The baby burped “No” in Pak Pak.

Din leaned closer to the child. “Can you say nayc? Tell Ba’vodu Konn ‘nayc’.”

“N-nay-thhh…”

“Very good!” Konn said. “Make sure you stay safe and do what your buir tells you.”

Grogu blew a raspberry.

"No translation necessary for that," Konn said.

Chapter Text

Carajam

During their flight to Carajam, Din and Grogu played with the Force. He’d picked up some soft toys during their travels, and hung hoops in various locations on the Crest, forming a track around the interior of the vessel. They floated the toys through the hoops, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Din even invented a scoring system; the faster the speed, the higher the score. Points got knocked off for hitting the hoops or each other. Grogu approved of this indoor sport, and getting him to practice his fine control was easy with the game.

The child was less charmed with the lessons Din conducted in universal signage symbols. They were all utilitarian images, used throughout the galaxy to caution and direct a population with an overwhelming number of languages, but utilitarian only meant boring to Grogu.

“This one means a spaceport is ahead. Usually, it appears with an arrow telling you which direction to take. This one means no entry. This one means a fresher is nearby, this one means explosive gas. You should especially note the warning symbols.”

“Bah!” This is silly.

“No, this is practical. Signs can help you find things and warn you about dangers. Most of these can be found in spaceports. Which we will be spending a lot of time in.”

The child glared up at him and tapped the cord of silka beads wrapped around the base of his ear. Din had picked it up on Tatooine; Grogu’s original strand had been lost sometime between their adoption by Mandalorians and last month. I’m a Padawan. I’m supposed to be learning about the Force.

Din knew that Grogu was just trying to get out of the lesson. When he actually tried discussing Force theory with the kid, his eyes glazed over. “A good Padawan learns how to get around by himself. To negotiate the world. Remember when we were sneaking through spaceports and stowing away on freighters to stay ahead of the Empire? Understanding signs was very helpful.”

Buir knows how to read them already. We’re always together. I need more saber lessons.

Din pressed his lips together. He’d always been told to release his emotions into the Force, but it felt like pollution.

He looked directly into the kid’s eyes.

“Buir will not be here forever,” Din said. “You will probably live another nine hundred years. By the time you’re one hundred, I’ll be dead and gone. My job as your buir is to prepare you to function in the galaxy without me.”

The baby stared up at him, unblinking. Then, he jumped and threw his arms around Din’s neck. He pressed close. I’ll fix you, like I do Ba’buir Fintan.

“Fix me? Wait, what do you mean, you fixed Ba’buir Fintan?”

His knees hurt, so I fixed them. He had trouble lifting his hammer, so I fixed his shoulder.

“Dank farrik.”

Fixing his heart was the hardest. It kept moving.

Din tried not to goggle. “That’s—that’s amazing, kid. Um, I’d like to scan Ba’buir before you fix anything else on him.”

“Ek,” Grogu said. Yes.

“‘Lek. You’re getting better at that.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to the child’s. “You still need to learn these signs.”

The kid plopped in his lap and patted the viewscreen. Gas goes boom.

Carajam was very much as Konn had described. Hot and sandy, only one sun. Not too far from Port Haven, the planet where Hondo Ohnaka had put them planetside and where they’d first met their buire. Maybe he and Grogu would run into Hondo at some point. That would be amusing, the pirate king seeing what they had grown up to be. Well, what Din had grown up to be. Grogu was only a couple of centimeters taller.

They landed at the spaceport in Danan Karr. The Guild Hub was in a nearby village, so Din brought out his speeder. While his bike had been a convenient secondary vehicle during his training with Ba’vodu Konn, it was not particularly useful on its own. Grogu was small enough to be a non-passenger, but a bounty hunter needed a place to transport a prisoner. He’d invested in a medium size vehicle modified for extra speed, and altered it further with restraints in the passenger seats and overhead cameras for monitoring.

The golden dunes, with their crests and ripples shaped by the wind, reminded Din very much of Tatooine. The sky was clear and so bright that his eyes hurt, even with the filters in his visor turned up. Grogu’s pod sat in the seat behind him. It was open, but the child had his hood pulled low on his head. Stunted trees sprouted by broken rocks. Ripples of heat distorted the horizon.  

They entered a canyon with a dry riverbed. Din flew alongside it, knowing better than to fly directly above it. He didn’t know yet if this place had a rainy season. Rock walls enclosed them, granting some welcome shadow.

The outline of buildings darkened the horizon. Once he was certain it wasn’t a mirage, Din rubbed Grogu’s head. “Here’s where the fun begins, Padawan.”

The buildings surrounding the local version of Chalmun’s were taller than those of Mos Eisley and rounder. He strode into the cantina with the kid trailing behind in his pod. It had cameras and was flyable when closed, but Grogu opened it as soon as they were out of the sun. He kept his hood on to prevent strangers from getting a good look at him.

The closest clientele to the entrance fell back. Buzzing voices stopped, leaving only the piped-in music. A Mandalorian was an intimidating sight, and Din had learned to play the role by watching his uncle.

He strolled to the bar, followed by the pod. “I need to speak to the Guild representative here,” he said.

The local functionary was a Twi’lek woman. He provided her with his registration information and his new status as an independent bounty hunter. She gave him a pleasant but not effusive welcome and directed him to a viewing screen for regional pucks. The highest bounties were displayed as floating holograms.

Almost none of the jobs paid as well as the ones he’d done for Jabba, but several were better than the standard Tatooine fare.

Grogu, pod open but still hooded, watched while Din considered his options.

After he made his first choice, he scanned the area around him. Carajam wasn’t that far from Mandalorian Space.

He turned back to the woman, who was programming his fob. “Do you get many Mandalorians here?”

She raised a lek. “You mean Boba Fett?”

His ex had been on his mind, but Din was curious about other Mandalorians, ones that weren’t from the enclave on Vlemoth Port. “Him or others.”

She nodded. “Competitive. We do get other Mando hunters, and Fett comes by when the Hutts aren’t keeping him busy enough.”

Din nodded.

Her eyes shifted to the pod. “Is your companion an apprentice?” the Twi’lek inquired. “If so, we need to register him.”

“He’s my kid,” Din said.

“Of course.” Mandalorians, the woman thought. If it were a baby sand-devil, they’d still adopt it.

Din caught her thought and smiled under his helmet.

Agamar

Their first bounty was supposed to be on Agamar, a planet Din remembered vaguely as a Separatist planet during the Clone Wars. Din had a strong grasp of the geography of Tatooine, Ryloth, and the Arkanis Sector, but this was an entirely new area. It wasn’t even on the Hydian Way.

The target: Jurlo Vott, human. He was the son of someone prominent on Cademimu V, a planet Din was more familiar with, and had killed a romantic rival. His family’s friends had gotten him off planet to Agamar—which apparently had no extradition treaty with Cademimu V—and the dead man’s family had put up the money for a hunter to bring Vott to them. One or both families were probably arms dealers—Hondo had procured weapons there once for resale.

Agamar, though, was unknown territory. Din started in Calna Muun, the capital city, in the cantinas. A few bribes spread among local weapons merchants led him to smugglers familiar with Vott. Between a few more bribes and the general intimidation factor of being a Mandalorian, he got the name of a friend who lived in the nearby village of Onluzun.

Din got out the speeder and prepared to leave the ship behind again. “Hey, Zippo,” he said, fingers already on the button to close the ramp. “Run security while we’re gone.”

“What is security really, but ignorance of the future?”

Splendid. He had a droid that was a pessimist. “Keep the ship safe. And play back your memories of the ocean. You liked the view.”

After they’d gotten out of the city, he stopped at an intersection to point at a sign with destination names in Aurebesh lettering. “Which one of those points to Onluzun?”

Grogu cooed and sent a picture of the name beginning with the letter Osk.

“Very good.”

Why aren’t any of the words in Mando’a letters?

“Because most people aren’t smart enough to read them,” he replied.

What about Pak Pak?

“Pak Pak is written in Trade Federation Basic. I imagine Neimoidia and the purse worlds would have signs in that language.”

The child grumbled. Too many letters to learn.

“Don’t worry. You have time. We’ll focus today on what you can learn during the job.”

They stopped at an orchard on the way to the village. Din carried Grogu to the edge of the fence. People, mostly teenagers and older people, were picking fruit. Din had picked fruit as a day laborer himself, when he and Grogu were kids fleeing the Empire, and recognized the binka trees. The cafeteria at the Temple had sometimes offered the kids vegetarian sandwiches based off a popular slider offered at Dex’s Diner. A slice of binka fruit was included. When he had to pick them himself, though, he discovered that they were well-protected by thorny leaves.

One of the laborers was ambling his way. Din made his posture less threatening and hoisted Grogu higher in his arms.

“Can I help you?”

“Just showing the kid where binka comes from. Otherwise, he’ll think they grow presliced and in plastoid.”

“The kid” scowled at him.

Be nice, Grogu.

Din shifted his energy to make it more pleasant and persuasive. “I have a friend in town,” he said. “I’ve come to pay off a bet. Do you know where I could find Petro Maketi?”

“What sort of bet?”

Din had been trained by Konn Eldar; he didn’t miss a beat. “Meshgeroya—uh, I think you call it limmie. The regionals. I bet on Team Fwillsving, he bet on Kothlis. I owe him a bottle of Mandallian Narcolethe.”

“Fwillsving was robbed,” the laborer said.

Grogu chirped in protest.

“The kid says that no one is going to beat Birhan Tesfay this year.” Din cocked his helmet at the boy. “Traitor.”

“He’s probably right. Maketi’s farm isn’t far from here. Keep going down this road and turn right after the Happy Momong Tavern. The house is half a klick on the right from there.”

Din thanked him and started to leave.

“Wait.”

The man tossed him a binka fruit. “For the kid. Who does he like for the Tournament?”

Maketi’s house wasn’t as large as some of the ones they passed, but it fit well into the hilly landscape of the surrounding vineyard.

Din parked the speeder off the road. He unhooked the fob from his belt and showed it to Grogu. “This is a fob. Once you get close to your target, it’ll light up and show you the direction you should go.” He pointed at the house, and it lit up. “See?”

Grogu nodded.

“Now, stay here. Buir’s going to do a pickup.”

Din jetted towards the house. The laborer must have called the farmhouse to let them know company was coming, because Vott shot out the back door with a pack on his back and a blaster in his hand. He jumped onto a speeder bike. It rose and spun in the air, then took off across the fields.

Two men came onto the porch and opened fire on Din. Most of the shots bounced off his armor, but at least one hit him in the side and another in the thigh. They burned.

Kark.

If Vott got out of the vineyard’s confines, he would easily outrun Din. He urged his jet pack to greater speed. When he got close, he fired his whipcord launcher, but Vott jacked his accelerator and moved out of range.

They were rapidly approaching the end of the vineyard. Din probed for weaknesses in the bike, but found few. The fence was coming up rapidly.

A crate of berries flew into the bike, delivering a solid hit. It wobbled in flight.

One of the harvesting droids was next to be airborne. Vott was thrown from the vehicle and landed in the vines, forming a squishy pile.

Din landed next to the man, immobilized him, and put the cuffs on. He stripped him of his weapons—blaster and vibroblade—and gave them to Grogu, who had defied orders and trailed behind him in his pod.

“Thank you. We need to talk again about following instructions.”

The child giggled.

A good portion of Din’s trip back to Carajam was spent treating his blaster burns. The baby wanted to help, but he directed the child to keep an eye on their prisoner.

Vott, bound hand and foot, glared at them both. “My family will pay you double what you’ve been promised to let me go.”

“I didn’t take a contract with your family,” Din retorted. “I follow the code of the Guild.” He finished applying bacta and put a bandage over the injuries, then zipped his kute back up.

“Double, and my father can give you a lot more work than the Guild.”

“I have a carbonite freezing unit on board,” Din said, snapping his cuisse back on. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

Vott chose the ‘warm’ option.

The Twi’lek’s hands flew over the datapad. “Jurlo Vott’s bounty was 25,000 Imperial credits. 25,000 credits will be deposited to your account.”

After the disaster with the mining ship, his uncle had advised him to take cash whenever possible, at least for a while. They’d all landed on the Empire’s radar.

“I need it in cash.”

She sniffed. “We rarely deal in cash, sir. The Empire doesn’t pay in cash.”

“This is a private client.”

The blue-skinned woman heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I can contact them, but it will take time.”

Din suddenly had an idea. “Wait. I could accept some of the reward in goods, if that would help.”

They negotiated a payment of 10,000 credits, an old BARC with a sidecar, and an Amban phase-pulse blaster, a weapon he’d wanted for a while. If anyone could get him one, it would be a client from Cademimu V.

“10,000 credits will be deposited to your account. But if I deduct 1,000 right now, you can get a half-day package at the Jorgan Spa.” She bent a little closer. “If you’re paid under 10,000 credits, there is no auto-notification of the Empire.”

No one on Tatooine had ever offered him a spa deal. A thousand credits was expensive, though. Din began to refuse, but Grogu chirped at him with curiosity.

What am I getting? I caught him.

Din sighed. There would still be enough left to make a payment on the loan his uncle had given him for the ship. “Before we go any further: is this spa a joyhouse? My kid travels with me.”

Her lekku twitched with amusement and she actually smiled. “No, but if you’re interested in one, I can arrange a session with Zeilla Flower Escorts, and a droid to babysit—”

“Uh, no.” Din looked at Grogu again. “What’s in the spa package?”

The Besalisk masseur eyed Din’s back. “I can use the Jorgan Spa’s trademark lotion, imbued with a proprietary blend of Cantonican cactus essences to refresh your skin in this harsh climate … or, if you prefer, I can use our Muscle Relief formulation: Maridunian seed pod oil infused with bacta for deep healing.”

“Let’s go with the bacta oil.” While the masseur spread oil over his four hands, Din turned his head to check on Grogu.

The baby was propped up on pillows and wrapped in a hand towel in lieu of a robe. His face was covered in cactus goo and he had gourd slices over his eyes. Grogu wouldn’t eat vegetables, but he was fine with wearing them. Two women cooed over him; one was giving him a manicure, the other a pedicure.

“He’s adorable,” the manicurist said for at least the third time. “What species is he?”

“I—ungh—don’t know.” The Besalisk had begun pressing into his back. One pair of hands kneaded his shoulders, the heels of the other pair were sliding parallel to his spine.

“So cute,” the pedicurist echoed. She must’ve tickled his feet, because Grogu giggled.

By the end of the afternoon, Din was convinced he would slide out of his armor when he put it on again. It was a comedown to return to the spartan quarters of the Razor Crest and lie down on his bunk after the posh comfort of the spa.

Grogu dangled his arms over the side of his hammock, showing Din the sparkly polish on his claws again.

“Looking good, buddy.” He snapped a picture with his comm. “I’m going to send this to Ba’vodu Konn. Make him jealous.”

To:       Konn Eldar

From:   Din Kelborn

I’ll be sending you that first payment shortly. I’m working, and Grogu is living the life of a Hutt princeling. See attached.

Din

To:       Din Kelborn

From:   Konn Eldar

When Naril sees those nails, she’ll start pestering me for the same thing. Stop spoiling your kid before I go broke!

Ba’vodu Konn

Chapter Text

Telerath

Din and Grogu had enjoyed their time at the Carajam Spa, but, alas, their next few missions were not followed by pampering. Long-term indulgence was bad for the bank balance, although it had been a fun way to start their adventures together. Instead, they meditated, raced toys through the obstacle course on the ship, and studied anything Din could get Grogu to sit still for. He was willing to play the games on the educational datapads, but he would squint up at his buir with a “You’re not fooling me, you know” expression on his face.

Din usually looked for pucks that would take him to places he’d already been to on the Hydian Way: Harloen, Taris, Jestan, Feriae Junction. Hunting was quicker if he was already familiar with the planet. When an especially lucrative bounty was offered, though, he couldn’t resist. This was what led them to Telerath.

The target, Hrill Brrowth, was wanted for hijacking a transport of sun crystals on Jazbina. The cargo was sold off at a shadowport, and Brrowth had reportedly caught a ride to Telerath. The mission: go to Telerath, a tropical planet that catered to vacationers, pick up the target, and return him to Jazbina. Not a long trip, and Brrowth was a native Jazbinan, a felinoid race that should be easy to pick out from the humans, Chagrians, and Arkanians listed as the primary populations of Telerath.  

Din and Grogu had spent their childhood in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by a city they’d mostly seen from a distance. After the clones sacked it, they fled the Core and had spent most of the last decade in the Outer Rim. Visiting an archipelagic metropolis sounded interesting, and they were not disappointed.

The height of the cities on Telerath was stunning, even more so because the buildings and residential areas were surrounded by a sheer drop to the ocean on all sides. Monorails and air ferries connected the citizens to their jobs on adjoining islands. During the flight in, Din was inundated by ads from various hotels and resorts, as well as listings for various water excursions. Any thoughts of entertaining Grogu were quickly put aside when Din saw the prices.

Once they were close to the spaceport at Noua, they received an official warning by the local government: the planet operated under something called Sword Law. All disputes were settled by personal duels, and by solid-edged weapons only. Blaster use was almost entirely illegal.

Not a problem for Din.

He added extra handheld weapons to his loadout and left his blasters locked in the weapons cabinet on the Crest. He still wore his vambraces; it was one thing to obey local law and another to be stupid. Criminals rarely followed the rules.

“Keep a hand on your beskad, buddy.”

Grogu, already in his pod, waved his little weapon at Din.

They took the monorail from the spaceport into the city. The deeper they went into the stacked towers, the more minds pressed on Din’s barriers. He reinforced them and focused on his plan of pursuit. His first visit would be to the bank.

According to the research he’d done before their arrival, Telerath had built its civilization around two features: its stellar beauty and its bank. The first feature explained all the resorts and the outdoor activities. The planet’s bank had risen to galactic recognition when, thousands of years ago, it pioneered the idea of using real people instead of droids or the Holonet to serve its clients. The public was intrigued by the idea of walking into a bank on a whim and meeting a person who would help them right then, without an appointment or the limitations of an options menu.

The planetary bank had eventually been absorbed into one of the companies the Banking Clan controlled, but it still relied on the personal touch. A Chagrian greeted Din when he entered the local branch and fetched a manager when requested.

Within a short time, he was seated in an office and the manager asked about the type of account he wanted to set up. Did he want to create a separate account for his enchanting child?

He understood the mistake the manager had made, but not the deference. Then he realized—from her glances—that it was due to his armor, handmade from high quality beskar. He was probably wearing enough of it to buy his own villa here.

Din identified himself as a bounty hunter and provided his authorization for Brrowth’s capture, and a request, signed by the king of Jazbina, for the bank’s assistance in determining if the target had opened an account under one of his aliases. If so, learning where he was spending his credits would be greatly appreciated.

The woman looked disappointed, but fulfilling a king’s request had its own cachet. She made a call, and one of the vice presidents, a Neimoidian, was willing to examine Din’s documentation and make a decision.

Being a vice president meant having a superior office. The seats were covered in natural fabrics, and one entire wall was an aquarium with small, colorful wildlife. Grogu immediately went to look.

Can I pick one for lunch?

This is a bank, not a restaurant.

The child turned to the Neimoidan and asked politely, in Pak Pak, if he could have one of the fish.

Din’s wince was hidden by his helmet. But, to his surprise, the vice president said, “What a charming child.” The man walked over to converse further with Grogu, explaining that most of them were beautiful but poisonous. Much like life.

He’d left his viewscreens open in plain sight, and Din noted that one of the screens displayed Muun characters. The written language was mostly stenographic, and he tried parsing it. The amount of interest they charged on loans here was exorbitant, not a surprise. The branch on Kroctar seemed to have the best rates in the Vaathkree Trade Corridor.

The Neimoidian’s voice had lowered. Din ran his audio up, and discovered that the man was asking Grogu if he was Din’s employee or his slave. A member of his race was very rare.

He started to lurch out of the seat, but Grogu explained that he was Din’s son. His ba’buir, a skilled armorer and metalworker, had made their armor. In fact, his ba’buir had traveled to a bridge city on Cato Neimoidia to work for Plannam Gunray. Did he know him?

Din discovered that Nemoidians could blanch.

“I apologize for my distraction,” the vice president said as he retook his seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet someone so young and yet so fluent in my language.”

“It’s the second language in our home,” Din said. “My grandfather lived on one of the purse worlds for a while, and made many tomade there.” He used the Mando’a word for allies rather than friends.

“A pleasure to meet you both. May I see your letter again?”

Brrowth did have an account, and was staying at the Euphoric Shallows on the eastern shore of the city.

“Thank you very much,” Din said, and rose.

They exited to the lobby.

“Would your companion like a lollipop?” the Chagrian that had greeted them asked, indicating the dish of candy on his desk.

“Yes, he would.” He handed Grogu a red one shaped like a fish. “Don’t eat it yet. I’m going to take you to lunch. You did well in there.”

Fish?

“Fish.”

After their meal, Din hired a water taxi to take them to the Shallows. Their guide was also impressed by the Mandalorian armor, going so far as to joke about the weight sinking his boat.

Grogu was busy with his lollipop. He started to rip the flimsiplast wrapper with his teeth, and Din snatched it back to undo the wrapper before it went down the child’s gullet or blew into the water.

They left the dock and sped towards the golden domes to the east.

“The Shallows is a good place during the daytime,” their guide said, “but be careful at night. If you and your friend need to go somewhere, take one of the registered taxis, like mine.”

“What happens at night?”

“There are gangs that operate. A guy like you should be fine, but the kid will need protection. One group works with the slavers, and a unique little person like that might catch their eye.”

Din tipped his helmet back at Grogu. “They’d be sorry if they grabbed him. They’d give him back right away.”

“Patu,” the child said.

“Maybe you can help us. Have you seen a felinoid man recently? Looks to be in his late twenties, has a lot of cash?”

“You mean a Zygerrian?”

“Not quite Zygerrian. More humanoid than that.”

A ferry passed them going the other way. Water sprayed from its repulsors, and Grogu squacked at the sudden wet.

“Maybe. Is he at the Shallows?”

“He’s supposed to be.” Din drew some credits from a belt pouch. “If you see him later, don’t tell him about me. There’s more if you have more information.”

The driver became livelier. “Cat guy, but not Zygerrian? I picked up a couple of passengers who were going to the Port of Parrots. Can’t guarantee he was your man, but one of them had eyes that reflected under his—”

Danger.

Uneasiness prickled up Din’s spine like a Gorgarian buzzadder.

Distress.

A friend was in trouble.

The concern of the taxi driver brought him back. “Are you still listening to me? What’s up with the kid?”

His eyes flicked to Grogu. The child’s ears were pinned back, and the lollipop hung loose in his mouth.

Din sent the boy a pulse of reassurance. I feel it, too.

“Take us that way,” Din said, pointing in the direction of the danger.

“That’s not where the guy is. Port of Parrots is—”

He pulled out more credits.

“Yes, sir.”

The source of the distress was soon visible. Another water taxi was zigzagging through the water, kicking up high spray.

Din and Grogu’s pilot turned the helm and hit the jets to avoid being sideswiped. “Can’t even get to the bar before they start fighting. You can tell it’s Zhellday.”

Din scanned the other vessel with his HUD and saw dark forms struggling. Then, he saw a flash of red. A blade of red light … wielded by someone in black body armor.

Inquisitor!

He grabbed more credits from his pouch and tossed it into the driver’s jar.

“Thanks for the lift. Getting off early.”

With me, Padawan.

Din leapt off the side and activated his jet pack. Grogu followed in his pod, gliding over the waves.

When they were close, Din saw that there were two Inquisitors. They seemed to travel in pairs. This water taxi, a bit larger than the one they had left, held five other people: the driver, two women, and two smaller figures—children. One woman had a yellow lightsaber, the other a blue one.

Throw the shorter Inquisitor into the water. I need room to land.

He was fairly certain he heard the baby giggle before the man was tossed into the drink. Then Din landed on the deck of the vessel, beskad in hand.

“I have a grievance with you,” Din announced, pointing at the remaining Inquisitor before swinging his weapon.

The Inquisitor had separated his lightsaber blades to work in closer quarters; he dodged Din’s blow, and then spun to deliver a double blow.

The Mandalorian blocked one blade with his own, and the other with his vambrace. It was nice to have armor that could deflect a lightsaber, but he needed to keep the Inquisitor on the defensive. He didn’t want to give him an opening to Force Choke anyone.

Din strode forward, pushing into the other man’s space, and slashed with a parkad move. The Inquisitor blocked, and they shoved one another, blade to blade. Then Din twisted, pushing the other man’s blades to the side, and punched his kal dagger through the Inquisitor’s inferior armor. One Keldabe Kiss later, the man was on the deck, and Din followed through with a sharp twist to break his neck.

Danger.

His scalp prickled before the invisible hand closed around his throat. The second Inquisitor stood at the stern of the boat, arm outstretched. Seawater dripped from the tentacles at the bottom of his helmet. A Quarren.

Buir!

The invisible hand loosened and the Quarren collapsed. Grogu, crouched on the man’s back, tugged to get his tiny beskad out of the base of the man’s skull. It came loose, and he plonked on his little butt.

He only saw me do that move once, and he memorized it.

“Excellent work,” he said aloud. His voice was raspy.

I saved Buir!

Yes.

Din straightened and addressed the driver, a Selkath who was cowering under his dash panel. “Sorry. Their family started a blood feud with mine. What do you do with bodies here after a duel? You don’t throw them in the ocean, do you?”

“No. Illegal. Bad for tourism. We call Sanitation. There’s a station near the Revnog Hideout.”

“Oh.” What an accommodating planet this was. “I’m sorry for the mess on your boat. Um, hope this helps.” He drew more credits out of his pouch and dropped them into the pilot’s jar. At this rate, the job was going to end with him in the red.

Din turned to the passengers. The women had extinguished their sabers. The one with the yellow blade was a Twi’lek, rosy-skinned. She wore a dark flak jacket over armorweave, and a protective helmet with openings for her lekku. A blaster was strapped to her leg. The other was a human with coloring similar to Din’s tutor in Force Healing; perhaps she was also from Lothal. She wore a cortosis weave gambeson over pants of Karlini silk.

Two boys peered from behind them. They were human or near-human, with golden skin and markings on their foreheads. Probably Chalactans; an odd mix to be traveling together. The older one was barely a teenager.

He nodded to the group. “Are any of you injured?”

“Nothing more than scrapes and bruises,” the human woman said.

“Do you need bacta?”

Neither woman spoke. Instead, they stared. Grogu, back in his pod, had floated to Din’s side.

“Patu,” he said.

“Who are you?” the Twi’lek finally asked.

“Just … a bounty hunter.” They had to be Jedi, or at least former students like himself. Their blades weren’t red. And the Inquisitors had attacked them, so they weren’t allies. “This is my ad’ika.”

Your Padawan, the baby corrected.

The human woman smiled; the Twi’lek laughed. Recognition flared inside Din. That voice, that clear note in the Force …

He removed his glove and reached for the hand of the Twi’lek. She wore the same shade of deep blue he remembered as her favorite color; her eyes and skin were still the color of haneli flowers.

Betha?

She stopped laughing and stared, eyes sweeping up and down his form, taking in his armor again with confusion. Then he felt a touch to his mind.

Din? Are you really Din?

Their minds touched again with growing joy.

“You lived!” they said aloud at the same time.

“You know him?” The human woman’s eyebrows furrowed.

Betha turned to her, excited. “He’s one of us. We belonged to the same Clan.” She tapped his pauldron. “Mudhorn. You became a Mandalorian?”

“Yes. I was adopted.”

“Oh, I’m glad you were adopted,” Betha said to Din. “I remember when your parents died.”

The other woman studied him with interest. Her Force signature was more serious, more … evaluative. “This isn’t the time or the place for this. We need to avoid more trouble.”

Betha thumped Din’s shoulder. She was sturdier than the average Twi’lek female, with deeper curves. “Yes, we should have this discussion elsewhere. Our ship or yours?”

Who is your friend?

Elimar Salud.

Din received a mental flash of Elimar when she was younger. Now he recognized her; she was a little older than they were. She’d been Master Osdra’s Padawan.

Is Master Osdra also alive?

The Twi’lek jumped. “You are good at that. No, he died a year ago.”

Din sighed, and then noticed the pilot, who was watching them curiously.

The Selkath asked, “Are you still talking?”

“Yes,” Din said aloud. “Sorry. We should get off your vessel and let you go about your business. I tend to attract trouble.”

“Didn’t you always?” Betha said.

The pilot shifted his gaze to Elimar. “Do you still want to go to the Misty Waters Pub?”

“I think we need to go back to the Minidosa Reef,” the woman said. “Unless our new friend”—she eyed Din—“has an urgent matter elsewhere.”

Din decided that the hunt could wait. “Not as important as meeting you,” he said, broadening his shoulders.

The pilot turned the vessel towards a nearby island. Not too far from the Shallows, assuming Din got back to the hunt tonight.

He picked up the Inquisitors’ weapons and took their identification while the vessel hummed towards its destination.

“What are you doing with those?” Elimar asked, hand resting on her blaster.

“You shouldn’t leave these lying around.” The Empire will be alerted faster, he added through the Force.

Minidosa Reef turned out to be an artificial island consisting of a cluster of private spacecraft hangars. Impressive.

They got off at the dock. Betha turned and addressed their pilot.

“This incident was a personal dispute. Respect our privacy and tell no one.”

The Selkath replied, “I will respect your privacy. I will tell no one.”

Din was impressed. Outside of learning how to make people ignore them when he and Grogu were on the run, he hadn’t done much with Jedi mind tricks. He hoped the kid wouldn’t pick the skill up. Ba’buir would feed him fried gorg all day.

They followed their new friends into one of the hangars. Inside was a DeepWater-class light freighter.

“I’ve never seen one of these up close,” Din said. “Does it really travel underwater, too?”

“Once a ship is airtight, you just need the right propulsion,” Elimar replied. She tapped the comm on her wrist, and a ramp extended from the ship.

Trust? Grogu felt a little uneasy next to Din.

Betha was my friend at the Temple. Stay alert, though.

The children followed Betha inside. They didn’t seem nervous about being with the women or going into the ship—instead, they were feeling safer. So they weren’t kids who had been snatched up to become slaves. Good sign.

They entered a lounge area with couches and soft chairs. The ramp closed behind them.

“Now,” Elimar said, “tell us more about who you are and why you’re here.”

Din removed his helmet. The air inside the ship was cool and had a vaguely floral scent. “I’m Din Djarin. Din Kelborn became my name when I was adopted. Betha and I were the same year in the same clan.”

Betha moved closer and touched his face. “I remember those brown eyes. You grew up to be handsome.”

He flushed to the roots of his hair. “You grew up to be beautiful.”

“And I’m chopped convor liver,” Elimar said. “Why are you here on Telerath?”

She was determined to be suspicious. “I’m a bounty hunter. I took a job.” He pulled out the puck and showed them the picture. “Did any of you see this man?”

They all shook their heads no, including the boys. The Force wasn’t that good to him.

Elimar pointed at Grogu. “Now, tell us about him. I’m dying of curiosity.”

Grogu’s ears perked up at the attention.

Din shifted and raised his eyebrow at Betha. “Remember the incident with the Master Yoda doll?”

“The one that fell in the grass?”

“He wasn’t a doll,” Din continued. “It was this guy.” He smiled at the baby. “His name is Grogu. I brought him to class because he kept begging.”

“Wait. The trip to Spira,” Betha said. “Was it him Master Yoda pulled out of your luggage?”

“The same. And he’s still sneaky.”

“How did you meet him?”

The boys moved closer to the pod, curious about the green child.

Din rested his hand on Grogu’s shoulder, covering it entirely. “The second night we were at the Temple, I heard him calling through the Force. He was lonely. The next morning, they found me asleep with him in his crib. He didn’t want to let me go, so they moved me into the nursery.”

Betha’s rosy eyes lit in comprehension. “Is that why you had to leave at night? You weren’t sick?”

“Master Yoda decided to tell people that I had a special health need. They were keeping Grogu in a secret nursery because the Sith had come back.”

Elimar frowned. “How did he become a Padawan so young? He looks like a toddler.”

“He’s older than I am.” She was going to be hard to win over, just like Sesta. “I promised him that when I became a Jedi Knight, I would make him my Padawan and we would travel together. When we fled the Temple, he sort of decided that the time had come. He was a baby. You don’t argue with a baby. I’ve been training him in what I remember.”

Betha reached out and carefully traced Grogu’s ear. He cooed.

Elimar rolled her eyes. “Oh, Force. And how did you just happen to find us at the right moment?”

“We sensed danger. Then I spotted the Inquisitors. They’ve been after us for a number of years. I try to be watchful.”

“But you killed them. Why?”

“Because if you let them go, they come back, better prepared. The first time we met them, we ran away. The next time we saw them, they’d brought stormtroopers and a ship.”

“How many Inquisitors have you killed?” one of the boys, the taller one, asked.

Din noted that the teen seemed familiar with the term. Perhaps they had been the true targets. In which case, Betha and Elimar must be protecting them. “Four so far. Grogu got one today. We met a Sith once, but she was no match for Grogu.”

His son chirped proudly.

Elimar stared at Betha, and Din sensed a question hanging between them in the Force.

“They’ll draw attention to the operation,” the older woman said. “They need to leave before we’re all discovered.”

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” Din said, “but it’s been years since I saw Be—anyone from my Clan. This is—this is important to me.”

“Us, too. You found no one else from the Temple?” Betha asked.

Din looked away. He wanted to tell them about Master Obi-Wan, but the Jedi had sworn them both to secrecy. He wasn’t sure why the man was living on Tatooine when there were other planets with better climates, but he’d said the Force had a purpose for him. “Waylen found us,” he finally said. “They—the Inquisitors—had turned him into one of them, and set him on us. We were both twelve when—when I had to kill him. We’d reached a peace when we were at the Temple, but all I could sense at the end was his hate.”

After talking a little longer, Din relieved Elimar’s anxiety by taking his leave. He still had a target to catch. Betha accepted his comm code and promised to contact him again when things were “less intense.”

They arrived at the Shallows a few hours off schedule, caught the felinoid, and took him back to the spaceport. On the way back, Din had the water taxi go by Miradosa Reef. The hangar that had held the DeepWater ship was empty.

Chapter Text

Perdition

Lady Perdition, member of House Venem, which had served Sith Lords since the birth of memory, frowned at the report from Telerath. The two Inquisitors the Grand Inquisitor had allowed her to use, the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Brothers, had gone incommunicado. Their shuttle was still at the Noua spaceport on Telerath, but the pair seemed to have fallen into the ocean.

The Mikkian was already in a bad mood; she’d had a bout of vertigo when she rose that morning, and had been useless for the first hour of her workday. It stemmed from an injury she’d had years before. One of the Jedi younglings she’d been hunting, a toy-sized version of Grandmaster Yoda, had slammed her into the side of her own ship with the Force and ruptured her eardrum. Most Mikkians didn’t have ears, but Perdition was uncommon in too many ways. She’d lost hearing in one ear until surgery, but some of the tiny bones deep inside were unrepairable. The surgery droid had prescribed patches for dizziness and nausea. There was only so much that bacta could do.

Perdition opened the file with the feeds from the individual Inquisitors and accessed the most recent recordings from her agents. After losing too many Inquisitors in the field, along with their information, Perdition pushed for headcams that would broadcast continuously through subspace. Her head tendrils curled in irritation. It was grubby clerical work to take on herself, something that should have already been done, but berating her lessers would take energy she didn’t have. She was already reduced to drinking Summer’s Seed tea, a brew of crushed phusine seeds and amethyst buds with citrus balm thrown in for ‘flavor.’ It needed less flavor in her opinion, but it was better than spice.

The images loaded. She went to the last hour on the Sixteenth Brother’s feed and began there.

It started inside their shuttle. The Seventeenth Brother was rubbing moruga nut oil on his tentacles to protect his skin. She was tempted to fast-forward the video, but the pair might say something of use. Alas, they did not. The only thing of note was the Sixteenth Brother spending entirely too much time staring at an advertisement for Zeilla Flower Escorts on the transport between islands.

She should have had more Inquisitors to deploy. When Lord Vader had named the Pau'an as Grand Inquisitor, though, the Sith Lord had put them all under Onionhead’s command. The man was rightfully envious of a member of the Venem lineage, a family that had served Darth Plagueis, Darth Momin, and other lords with distinction for centuries, and took pleasure in denying her resources. He’d implied recently that she had outlived her usefulness to Vader and should retire to Mikkia. Perdition would see him peeled first.

A new scene filled the screen. The ocean surrounded the Sixteenth Brother’s chosen vantage point on one of the city-islands. He and his cohort were using binocs instead of the Force to locate their quarry. How many times had she drilled into their heads that their eyes would lie, but the Force would reveal the truth?

The view shifted; Seventeenth Brother was tapping his shoulder. The waters were full of taxis and ferries, transporting tourists to scenic beaches and luxurious villas. It had been a long time since Perdition had been somewhere nice. Maybe she should personally pursue the members of the Hidden Path. Not on a water world, though. All that bobbing would—even thinking of it made her gorge become buoyant. Daiyu would be a better choice.

“That’s them,” the Quarren said.

They set their blades spinning and flew toward one of the taxis.

Perdition counted five people in the vessel. The pilot, two women, and two children. The children might belong to the human female; the other was a Twi’lek. Her Inquisitors landed and confronted them.

“Oho,” the Mikkian murmured. “I’d heard there were Jedi in the ranks.” The women had drawn lightsabers. The Brothers were matching them blow for blow. The intensive combat training she’d given them seemed to be paying off, but why were they—

The Quarren was on the Sixteenth Brother’s right. Then he vanished from his field of vision, almost as if he’d been jerked away. The camera angle swung that way, then jerked back as someone landed in front of them.

It was a Mandalorian; the beskar helmet with the T-visor was unmistakable. He brandished a large blade—a beskad—and shouted something about having a personal problem. Then he was on the Sixteenth Brother, who dodged and counterattacked. Good, good—he remembered his training—but the beskar blade and armor were blocking the lightsaber blows.

Perdition ground her teeth when the Mandalorian drove an exotic dagger into the Brother’s side. A closeup followed of the helmet colliding with his head, followed by a jerk and the sound of a neck snapping.

All she saw now were legs. She heard screams, a shuffling noise, and a thump. This was followed by what was, at best, a partial conversation. A gap of time passed, during which she had a splendid view of the pilot’s feet and tip jar, to which the Mandalorian contributed a few credits. Eventually, the local sanitation crew took custody of the Brother’s body and the camera as well.

The recording from the Seventeenth Brother’s headcam began much like the other one. The shuttle, the trip on the transport minus the irritating escort ad, going to the vantage point. Flying after the human Inquisitor to the water taxi. The women and their lightsabers.

Then, the view jerked. Bubbles and water filled the screen. It was too much after the circling of the previous battle. Perdition paused the video and breathed deeply until the nausea passed. The view moved deeper underwater, then tilted upwards, following the shadow of the taxi. The Seventeenth Brother broke surface, and used his double blade to rise from the waves.

There was the Mando, trading blows with the other Inquisitor. His movements were disturbingly familiar.

Djem So. He was using a modified version of a Jedi form Lord Vader also preferred. He’d attacked in defense of the women; was he Temple-trained?

Beyond the fight, a small pod circled. It was too small to hold a human passenger; perhaps it was a droid? She peered closer, but then the Quarren began to Force Choke the Mandalorian. He was more powerful with the Force than most of his cohort.

The Quarren’s fist closed in the foreground of the feed, strengthening the Choke. Then the view jerked, and Perdition was staring at a view of the deck again. It bounced, as if someone was lifting and dropping the Brother’s body.

With the facedown perspective, there wasn’t much to see. But before he fell, he’d seen something the Sixteenth Brother hadn’t. The Mikkian backed up the feed until she could see the pod again. She sharpened and magnified the portion of the viewscreen with the object. It was the pod, and someone was seated in it. Someone small.

“Ferglutz!” Perdition shouted, and her empty cup shattered.

It was the little piece of chuba fungus that had given her the ear injury. The Baby Yoda. He was wearing a tiny chestplate. The Mandalorians who had intervened at their last meeting must have taken him and his human companion into the fold.

Anger was replaced by glee. If she presented them both to Lord Vader, or at least the child, he would be pleased. He might even take the child as an apprentice for his own amusement. Her standing would be elevated, possibly even replacing Onionhead. She would have resources and respect again.

Perdition had an ally in ISB who dealt with the Mandalore sector. A little stroking of his ego, the promise of a favor to be specified later, and she would have a starting place.

Nar Shaddaa

Once he received the Jazbina payment, Din visited Lantillies and withdrew a large sum of cash from his account. The amount of the transaction wouldn’t be noticed on a world where starships were built and sold. He might have been able to make a covert deal with the Neimoidian banker on Telerath, but the man had been a little too interested in Grogu for his comfort.

Instead, he had Zippo calculate a course to Nar Shaddaa. The Hutts were hostile to the Banking Clan, they didn’t report deposits to the Empire, and he already knew the ways in which they were untrustworthy.

They landed in Hutta Town. Like Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa was an ecumenopolis. Unlike Coruscant, even the upper layers were filthy. He was grateful for the air filters in his helmet; trash lined the edges of buildings, and scummy fluid lurked in walkway cracks. Most of the buildings had been treated to resist graffiti, but it did nothing for blaster burns. Garbage barges passed under the skyslums that connected its high towers. Beings of every species lurked between buildings.

A multitude of minds pressed against Din’s shields. Voices chattering in his audio, voices murmuring in his mind. The greed, the desperation, the darkness. Conspiracy and isolation. He wondered how the Jedi endured Coruscant. Had the Temple had shields like a starship?

Din hadn’t brought Grogu’s pod. He’d strapped the kid into a birikad next to his body for extra security. Buir Sesta had given him the names of a few sleemos who would take cash instead of gutting him on sight for his armor, but only a few.

One of them, a Duros, forged a fake identification for him, including a counterfeit chain code. For a smaller fortune, he created false documents for the child. Their next stop was the Mebba-Denga Bank, where, under the name of Than Kellen, recently of Tatooine, he opened an account for himself and his son, Than Garu. Both of them would have access to the account, which had a substantial initial deposit.

They left the bank with new banking chits and searched for a place to eat. He found a cantina in Oruba Square that didn’t look too scuzzy.

The semifinals game between Team Kothlis and Team Kubindi was on every viewscreen above the bar and adjoining tables. Grogu squealed with joy, and Din knew they weren’t going anywhere in the near future.

“A clean table or booth, please,” he told the host, a Zabrak. “Within view of the game.”

The man's tattooed face grimaced. “No one’s budging until the game ends. We’ll have to set up a plastoid table. Will that work?”

“As long as it’s clean.” Grogu would normally be screeching for food by now, but he was watching the viewscreens instead.

Once they were seated, he ordered fried gorg for them both. Frying should kill anything objectionable in the meal. Their server offered crunchbugs, but he declined when the humanoid couldn’t tell him where they’d come from. Grogu had eaten bugs during their time on the run, but those had been in forests and fields. The bugs here might carry bacteria that could hurt the kid. For all Din knew, they picked them out of the trash behind the cantina. There were no grassy fields on Nar Shaddaa.

The gorg wasn’t as spicy as the version the Sheb Niktose cantina served, but it was decent. The kid tried a Fizzyglug while Din drank the local version of ne’tra gal. It wasn’t particularly sweet, but it definitely had a kick.

At the bar, rows of limmie fans dressed in team gear cheered. A couple of Klatoonians were taking bets. Din ignored them until Grogu squawked loudly in Pak Pak that he wanted to place a bet. It pierced the general roar of the crowd.

What the—? No!

I have money now, the baby retorted.

One of the Klatoonians was coming over. He made a face at Grogu that was probably a smile.

Kark.

“The child wants to make a wager?”

“Not a large one,” Din said. “I think he wants to do what the adults are doing.”

Grogu asked, in Pak Pak, if they were also betting on point spreads.

He stared at the baby. “What has Ba’buir been teaching you?”

How to eat gorg for free.

“Not too much money.” He turned to Grogu. “Which team do you want?”

“Ko-thulis.”

“Team Kothlis,” Din said.

“And the point spread?”

Grogu said “Coo-uhh.”

Din’s eyes widened; the baby spoke Mando’a much better than he had expected. “Four.”

The man nodded. “How much?”

“One hundred credits.”

The baby wanted to bet a thousand credits.

“Cash only,” Din replied. “Two hundred.”

Five.

He groaned. “Three hundred, and that’s it.”

The Klatoonian happily took his cash and noted the bet on a piece of flimsi. “You probably better hold it for him.”

“Good idea. His Life Day gifts may be riding on this.”

Crunchbugs.

“Okay, okay.”

Grogu’s faith in Birhan Tesfay was justified. Kothlis won, and by four points. By now, everyone knew that the green kid had made a bet, and they cheered as the Klatoonian counted out his winnings.

“Thank you,” Din said, and turned to the child. “We should leave. It’s past your bedtime.”

Once Grogu was asleep, Din checked the time in Vlemoth Port. Not quite sunhigh. He commed his grandfather.

“Su cuy'gar!” Fintan’s image formed, blue and transparent. “Is everything all right?”

Din heard hammers in the background; Fintan must be at the community forge.

“Ba’buir,” Din said, “I need to have a word with you.”

Fintan studied his face in puzzlement. “Something wrong?”

“Yes. When did you teach Grogu to gamble?”

“What, did you take him to a casino?”

“No, a cantina. The semifinals were on.”

“Ah. Well, he loves the game, and it was an excellent way to teach him mathematics.”

“He says it was to get free gorg. That’s why I give you money for the cantina!”

“And it made a good stake.”

“Ba’buir!”

On the Sea Shadow

While training, young Jedi were expected to meditate five times a day. Forming a strong connection to the Force was the most important activity for them to do. In theory, active Jedi should also meditate five times a day, but other duties got in the way.

In Betha’s case, it was also thoughts.

The image of the lithe ten-year-old Din Djarin kept popping into her mind, followed by the face and body of the adult. Her mind dwelled on his purposefulness, his confidence in battle, the expressive brow, and the tender look he gave the Baby Yoda—Grogu. He was gorgeous.

Elimar dropped out of trance and frowned at her. “Must you?”

“Sorry.” The Twi’lek stared down at her hands. “Seeing him brought back memories.”

“I think you were having future fantasies.”

“Maybe.” Betha wasn’t accustomed to having fantasies of this sort. She’d had a few flings in her time, but hadn’t found them particularly rewarding. Insert Tab A into Slot B, release some endorphins, go back to the ship.

This is just the memory of your longing, she told herself.

“It’s disrupting your concentration. Perhaps you should ask him out.”

Humans raised their eyebrows. Betha cocked a lek instead. “Wouldn’t that make it worse?”

“There’s a difference between attachment and animal attraction. Resolving your desire might help your ability to focus afterwards.”

“I like how you think.”

Invitation to Corsin

The comm in Din’s vambrace pinged. He checked it, and found a text from Betha.

Betha: How are you? How is Grogu?

Din studied the display. He’d hoped Betha would contact him, but he hadn’t been sure she would. She and her companion were both cautious with good cause. Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted extended contact, either. Even being seen together was a risk.

But she’d just sent him a message, and he was delaying. What should he say?  

Din: We’re both fine.

Betha: Did you catch the person you were after?

Din: Yes.

Betha: Good. Maybe we could see each other again. It’s been so long, and I thought you were dead. That’s a weird sentence, but it’s true.

Din: I thought that, too. Glad to be wrong.

Betha: Is Grogu with you, or is he with your family?

Din: With me. I teach him between jobs.

Betha: What does Grogu like to eat?

Din: Anything that can’t outrun him. I wish I were joking.

After exchanging messages with Din for a few days, Betha invited him and his son to meet her on Corsin. The pair flew into the spaceport at Hustana and took a transport to Clifsano Bay.

She was waiting for them at one of the restaurants near the water. She wore deep blue again, but of a lighter fabric suited to the local climate. The bodice of the tunic was cut to show her figure to good advantage. Din was glad he’d taken the time to polish his armor and trim his hair and beard. Grogu rested in his arm, confident in his natural charm.

The host escorted them to a table on the beachside patio. A server followed with a highchair for Grogu. Betha thanked them, and requested that they be given a few clicks to make their choices.

Once they were alone she opened her bag, made of finely stitched leather, and showed Din a device inside. A scrambler. “I hate eavesdroppers. I hope it won’t mess with your audio.”

“I hadn’t noticed. But, not a problem.” He removed his helmet.

Her face lit up as she looked at him. “I still can’t believe you’re alive. I’m glad we’re meeting again under nicer circumstances,” she said. “I come here when I have spare time, which isn’t often. They have an excellent shellfish dish with blue butter, and a blackened garfish that will make you weep from the spices. If you don’t like fish, their roba steak is very good.”

She smiled down at the child. “What do you like to eat?”

“Everything,” Din said. “Although he favors proteins and sweets.”

“What about seafood?”

“If he can fit it in his mouth, he’ll eat it. Either raw or fried.”

The baby glared at his father. She asked me, not you.

“My apologies.” He was too used to answering for Grogu. But the kid was learning to speak, and he should be also able to communicate with Betha through the Force. How would he become more independent if Din kept getting in his way?

The boy squinted at Betha. “Guh-orhh-guh,” he said.

The Twi’lek looked at Grogu with an amused expression. “Is … are you saying you want gorg?”

The child nodded.

“You can always get gorg,” Din told the baby. “Are you sure? They have plenty of seafood. Betha mentioned shellfish and garfish.”

Wasn’t fried. ‘Seafood should be breaded and fried as the Manda intended.’

That last was a quote. The pronouncement surprised him. Who says?

Ba’buir.

No wonder Fintan’s heart needed fixing. “You ate fish raw when it came out of the ocean.”

It was live. Wiggles in the tummy.

Din tried not to make a face. “Well, let’s check the menu.” He pointed to the the table’s hologram display. “Try reading some of the options here. Here’s the word ‘fried.’ Look for that first.”

The boy squinted and grumbled.

“I’m teaching him to read Aurebesh lettering,” Din told Betha by way of explanation. “He’s not always appreciative.”

The menu had pictures, which made choosing easier. Din still made him translate the lettering. “Sometimes, all you’re going to see in a small town is the daily special written on a board. You can’t become a Knight if you can’t work on your own in the field.”

“Are you training him, then?” She closed her eyes, concentrating. To be a Jedi?

Her communication in the Force was simpler than theirs. She probably hadn’t had a constant companion as adept as Grogu.

A Mandalorian Jedi, he sent. “I’m teaching him everything I can, including Mando’a,” he added aloud. “It’s part of the Resol’nare.”

After they ordered—Din chose the garfish—Betha sat back and studied him further. “The armor suits you. Did you head to Mandalore because you’d taken Mando’a?”

“No. We were hiding on an island and the Mandalorians landed there with their ships. We stole one.”

She almost choked on her Corellian ale. “You’re joking!”

“No. They adopted us, and my uncle trained me to be a bounty hunter. What happened with you?” He lowered his voice. “How—did you get out?”

Betha leaned forward, turning her head to check for eavesdroppers. Her lekku shifted, and the crystals on her headdress caught the light. He noted, for the first time, that she’d had eyebrows tattooed onto her face, like many female Twi’leks. “Master Kelleran saved me. He took me to Naboo, where I met Elimar. We became friends.”

“Naboo?”

“Senator Amidala was an ally to the Jedi. She’d just died, but the new Queen helped us.”

Their meals arrived. The garfish was spicy enough to remind him of home and sweet inside. The side dish, Empona noodles, was mild enough to offset the spice, but he downed a great deal of tarine tea anyway. Beside him, Grogu gleefully dunked fried scallops in sunfruit sauce. Betha had also ordered him a Kiffu Fruit Fizz, which he’d demolished in two gulps.

Din indicated the fish. “The word in Mando’a for this would be draluram—which means ‘bright mouth.’ Delicious.”

She laughed. She’d chosen the shellfish with fungus dippers. “I’m glad they had dishes you both could enjoy.” She licked the blue butter off her fingers, which affected him so much that he had to look away.

Dessert was zoochberry pie. “One of my early jobs was picking these,” he told her. “I was a day laborer for one of the agricorps.”

“I’m surprised you’re eating it at all, then.”

“I would have to hate all fruits and vegetables.”

After dinner, Betha invited them to the boardwalk to continue their conversation. He wore his helmet again. The child rode in Din’s arm and pointed at things.

Betha still couldn’t believe it was really Din. She’d cried over him; she’d only been ten. She’d cried over everyone else who’d died, of course, but Din had been her first friend at the Temple. He’d been quiet and withdrawn. The other kids in their clan thought he was boring: too serious, always studying. It made her feel protective instead. When she’d been able to coax him out of his reserve, his attention had felt like a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day. He’d been thoughtful and sweet.

She looked at Grogu again. She knew that Master Yoda belonged to a rare species, had seen holopics of Master Yaddle, but she’d never met a young one before. The child smiled.

“I really did think he was a doll,” she said, indicating the boy. “He was so small. How big was he when you first met him?”

“Just this big.” He adjusted Grogu so he could hold his hands about fifteen centimeters apart. “I thought he was a toy until he moved. Sat up and blinked at me.”

“He must’ve been adorable. And you slept in his nursery all those years?”

“Every night.” That shaft of sunlight was on her again. “Tell me more about what happened to you. Did you grow up on Naboo?”

“No. The Emperor sent his forces to Naboo because he knew a lot of us had gone there. Most of the—fugitives—were killed, but a man named Ferus took us to Bellassa. He used to be one of us. After the Empire took down The Eleven—they were rebels—we went into hiding in the mountains. Mostly in caves.”

He touched her hand. His gloves were warm. “You lived rough.”

“Master Osdra said to think of it as our Trials. Eventually the Empire became less watchful, and we escaped to Alderaan.”

“You said that the Master was gone. What happened to him?”

She tried not to wince visibly. “We went to Savareen, his home world, to fight Crimson Dawn.” There was more to that story, but Betha would rather hear his. “How did you survive? Did you find someone from—our school to help you?”

“Yes, but not a master. One of the kitchen staff helped us get offworld. Then her brother got us some camping items and a ride away from the Core. After that, it was just me and Grogu.”

She slipped a hand onto his free arm. “That must have been hard. How did you stay alive?”

Instead of speaking, he bent his head and pictures poured into her mind. The pair stowing away on ships. Harvesting melons in a field. Walking cross-country, Grogu in a pack on Din’s back. Nights in a tent. Climbing into a smashed starfighter with a decayed corpse still in the pilot’s seat.

She jerked and stepped back. “Whoa! Too much! I got some of the pictures, but what was that dead body about?”

His shields closed with a virtual slam. “Sorry; I should have stopped before Dantooine. We worked salvage on a battlefield there. It paid better than farm work.”

“Both of you?” She eyed the baby.

“I did the heavy labor, but we both did what we needed to at the time.”

She nodded. “You are good with …” Telepathy.

“Years of practice.” He glanced at the child, who tilted his head up to see him better. “He couldn’t do conversation at all until I taught him Pak Pak. He’s learning to say words in Basic and Mando’a now.”

The wind from the sea strengthened, and she shifted her position. She felt his eyes fall on the little scar above her cheekbone, close to one of her lekku. A reminder from her fifteenth year, when slavers tried to seize her in Mos Eisley. Master Osdra had disabused them of the notion quickly. At least she’d had a protector.

“You were so alone,” she said.

“No.”

“Really, you were.” She found his gaze through his visor. “Even at the school. You couldn’t spend time with us. You always had to leave.”

Din ducked his head in embarrassment. “I had Grogu. He needed my company more than I needed to sleep in the same room as the clan. I was his only friend.”

“Maybe. But you have a family now? Parents and friends?”

“Yes. Parents, grandfather, uncle, aunt, and a cousin … a young girl. And my son.” He smiled at Grogu. “I adopted him when I came of age.”

“A spouse?”

He chuffed. “No such luck.”

The tall sea grasses whispered as they resumed their walk. “I’m still living the Je—meditative lifestyle,” Betha said. “No family. Elimar is like a sister, though, and our home is the ship. Master Osdra was always Master Osdra. We were given a place to stay when we were on Alderaan, but Eli and I have lived on the ship alone since the Master died.”

“What do you do to make a living?”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “When we’re not being attacked by Inquisitors, we transport cargo. Limited sizes, and one job at a time. A boutique operation. The three of us started with an HWK-290 freighter.”

“I thought they stopped making those.”

“They’re starting again, but ours was from before the war. We upgraded a couple of years back.”

“Your current vessel has a large passenger area for a freighter. If you pulled out some of the bunk area, you could carry more cargo.”

“True, but sometimes we carry people as well as cargo. Families who are relocating. A very customized service.”

Din made a hmm noise. “Sounds like you’re smuggling refugees.”

She turned her eyes up to his visor, amused. “It does sound like that.”

Concern entered his voice, despite the vocoder. “What precautions do you take? Do you have hidden compartments? You have a scrambler, but do you also have a signature modulator? Or a cloaking device?”

“You know a lot about smuggling for a bounty hunter.”

“I’ve hunted a lot of smugglers.”

She smiled again. “Tell me more.”

Chapter Text

ISB Assistance

Perdition had asked one Lieutenant Gideon in the Imperial Security Bureau for information. The lieutenant did not disappoint her.

“Since you asked so sweetly, I ran a comparison of your subject’s signets against known Mandalorian clans,” he told her. “The horned creature, a mudhorn, doesn’t match any family on file. The falcon, on the other hand, belongs to the Kelborn Clan, which is small but very old. They were associated with Mandalore the Preserver, one of the great leaders during the Neo-Crusader period.”

Perdition nodded. “So, he belongs to this Kelborn Clan.”

“Yes, and this should perk your tendrils up. The most recent record for the Kelborn Clan on Mandalore was before the Clone Wars. Saxon’s people have nothing past that. Your subject’s name was Din Djarin, correct? We have a Din Kelborn in our file on bounty hunters, a Mandalorian. The known age matches. Planet of origin is listed as Gargon, and he was a Foundling—an adoptee.”

“That’s very useful. Anything else?”

“He originally worked out of Tatooine, but has been taking jobs in Carajam since his apprenticeship ended. He flies a Razor Crest gunship. I’m sending his Guild profile to you now.”

“I am in your debt.”

“I know, gorgeous. You’ll hear from me soon.”

A New Calling

It was a month before Betha contacted Din again. They were on their way back to Vlemoth Port and looking forward to time with their aliit.

They were in the Bothawui system; they’d stopped to refuel the Crest. Since there were no facilities to speak of on the asteroid, he and Grogu were practicing evasive leaping inside the ship. Grogu was doing the leaping; Din was firing paintballs at the little green bean. So far, he’d left two splotches of yellow on the kid’s tunic and six on the walls of the Razor Crest.

The kid leaped from the lower level to the cockpit, which was largely blocked with tarps. Din bounded after him. He could use the Force, too, and it was safer indoors than the jetpack.

His comm flashed; he glanced down and saw that it was Betha.

“Pause game!” he shouted. “Pause, I have a call.”

The small green head, large eyes protected by a face shield, popped out from under his chair. “Pthppptthhththth!”

Grogu had his own training glove on. He raised it.

“Kark!” Din slid down the ladder as the first volley of paintballs flew over his helmet. “Stop for a sec! Pause game!” Feet scampered above him. He only had moments before the baby reloaded. There was nothing loose for him to use as a shield.

He dove into their sleeping quarters and closed the hatch. After fumbling with the buttons on his comm and switching the signal to his helmet, he returned the call.

“Betha?”

Something splattered on the other side of the hatch.

“Din. Is this a bad time?”

The hatch began to open; he used the Force to slam it back down.

“No, the kid and I were just playing.”

“Where are you? We could use some help.”

The hatch slid open again. Din forced it shut, but not before he got nailed by the kid, who squealed with victory. Twice on the chest, once on the shoulder.

Grogu! I’m talking to Betha!

“What sort of help do you need?”

“It’s … I won’t lie, it’s a little dangerous. I’d rather give you the details in person. Can you come?”

“Sure. Where should we meet?”

Oya, they were going to have to clean everything up, and quickly.

The Hidden Path

Din thought that Betha might need help with pirates. Or wanted him to help her smuggle something. Maybe she had problems with Inquisitors again. He was almost right.

They flew to the Ramordia system, not close at all to Din’s usual haunts, and rendezvoused with the Sea Shadow. When the pair boarded the DeepWater-class ship, they were startled to see Obi-Wan Kenobi. Grogu squealed and leapt into the Jedi’s arms.

“Hello, little one,” he said. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.” His eyes shifted to Din. “I didn’t realize you three knew one another.”

Four.

The man smiled down at the child. “Yes, four.”

“We didn’t meet until recently,” Din said. “How may I help you, Master?”

“Are you familiar with the Mustafar system?”

“Enough to avoid it.”

“Fortress Inquisitorius is on the moon Nur. A kidnapped child is there, and we’re organizing a rescue. Are you willing to help?”

“You had me at Inquisitors.”

Obi-Wan sent him to the lounge area, the only space on the Shadow large enough to host a group. Betha and Elimar were on a couch, with a holoprojector on the side table next to Betha.

An Arkanian sat in one of the comfy chairs nearby. Like most Arkanians, she was pale with white hair. Her eyes were pupilless, denoting her caste. She nodded to him. “I’m Merulla. I work with Elimar and Betha.” She studied Din’s armor, then the child in his arms. “Betha brought you in, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. A Mandalorian could prove useful.”

Feeling a little judged, Din took one of the chairs and held Grogu in his lap.

Obi-Wan entered the lounge with a woman in Imperial uniform. He introduced her as Tala, an officer who had changed loyalties. She had already been a great help to them. The pair sat on another couch.

The Master then deferred to Betha, which surprised Din. The Twi’lek turned on the holoprojector and showed them an image of a dark red planet with a bluish moon. She used a pointer to highlight and enlarge an area of the map. “This is the planet Mustafar, this is the planet Jestefad. The Fortress Inquisitorius is located on Nur, a moon that’s changed ownership between them over the centuries. The Inquisitors are holding the Princess of Alderaan at the Fortress as a hostage.” A photo of a young girl dressed in an embroidered jumper and puffed sleeves appeared on the screen. “Master Obi-Wan is going in to do an extraction.”

Din felt like he’d wandered into a holonovela by accident. They were obviously already a team. He had just become reacquainted with Betha, barely knew Elimar, and didn’t know either of the other women. Why had he been invited to come?

Betha raised her lekku; she must have caught his thought. “We normally don’t go outside the Network, but its largest ship is already committed to another mission. They asked if another ship or ships were available. Elimar and I volunteered the Shadow, but by itself it would be ineffective.”

She indicated Din. “Din’s ship has more powerful guns, a smaller, nimbler build than our vessel, and a superior signature modulator. Tala has provided us with a ship profile that would not immediately raise alarms in the system. It’s our best bet for the getaway vehicle.”

Din swallowed, glad for his helmet. They were asking him to zoom into Inquisitor Central, under the shadow of Fortress Vader itself, as the most visible part of a jailbreak. He’d think they were all crazy if the Master weren’t nodding along with the plan.

Betha continued. “Din also has experience with Inquisitors. He’s fought them in the past.”

Grogu made a disgruntled noise.

She smiled. “Sorry. Grogu has also fought them.”

Din winced. He didn’t want Obi-Wan to get the wrong idea. “We don’t hunt Inquisitors. They mostly come for the kid, and we live through it.”

“That will do,” the Master said.

Betha brought up a diagram of the Fortress and the surrounding area.

“Since the Fortress is located in the oceans of Nur, we’ll use the Sea Shadow to approach from underwater. Eli and Merulla will carry Obi-Wan close to an airlock. Meanwhile, Tala will travel to Nur in her Imperial vessel and use some bantha poodoo to get into the Fortress. Once she’s inside, she can give Master Obi-Wan access to the airlock and help guide him through the fortress. Once he breaks the child out—”

“If I break her out—”

Betha’s lekku coiled. “When the master breaks her out, they’ll have to leave the Fortress at a location above water. Fortunately, there’s an open landing area that extends all the way around the exterior of the base. That’s where Din and I will come in. We’ll pick them up and take off.”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet. We? Betha was flying with him?

“You’re trusting that everything goes according to plan,” Elimar said. “What if Tala is denied entrance or they arrest her on sight? She already blew her cover once on Mapuzo.”

“Then Master Obi-Wan opens the lock with the Force and finds his own way,” Din said.

The Master gave him a sideways look. “You didn’t learn that at the Temple.”

“It was a community course.”

“And he’ll break Tala out, too,” Betha added.

“Glad to hear I won’t be left behind.” Tala studied the diagram. “You should approach from the western side. The eastern side is where most flights come in. The checkpoint for the turbolift is there, too, so there are extra officers.”

Betha had already packed her bag and was ready to go. Din rushed into the Razor Crest to straighten the bunk area before she saw it. “I’ll change the bedding,” he shouted from the small room. “Let me move Grogu’s hammock.”

The child screeched.

“Buddy, it won’t kill you to sleep on the cot with Buir.”

The Twi’lek put a hand on his shoulder. “It would be easier if I slept out here and let you keep your space as it is.”

“You’re our guest. And female. You need a door.”

She stopped and stared at him for a moment before smiling. “You’re so proper.”

He shrugged. “Temple-trained.”

“Perhaps Grogu could stay in his hammock. So I would have a chaperone.”

The child babbled his approval of this idea.

“Show me your room, Grogu.” She carried the baby into the quarters. “Your hammock looks very comfortable. What are these scratches on the bulkhead?”

Inquisitors we got.

Din sighed. “After he took one out, he decided to keep score. Four for me, one for him.”

Not very Jedilike. She wouldn’t mention it to Elimar.

Once she had her things situated, the three of them went up to the cockpit. Din let Zippo take over the flight after launch. He shifted in his seat, turning to Betha. It would take days to get to Mustafar; he had time to ask questions.

“When you called for help, I assumed that you needed me to run pirates off or provide an escort in Hutt Space. Instead, it’s a rescue mission. Are you two smugglers, or are you even in the freight business?”

Her emotions rippled; Din sensed both guilt and anticipation. “Both. Elimar and I do haul freight, but it’s not all we do. Do you remember the boys that were with us on Telerath?”

The ones he’d been concerned about. “Were they from the Creche? They couldn’t’ve been. Too young.”

“There aren’t many from the Temple left, even from the Creche,” she said. “The ones who escaped the initial attack were mostly killed in the Purge that followed. But new sensitives are always being born. And there are those who never came to the Temple, but are now being hunted. Elimar and I belong to a network that helps them. The older boy would have been brought to the Temple if he’d been a little older. We’re not sure about the younger one yet. But the Empire had discovered them. Children who are Force-sensitive … do things.”

“I’m familiar with that problem.” He reached over to rub Grogu’s head. “So, you were transporting them somewhere?”

“We belong to a network called the Hidden Path. It helps Force-sensitives escape the Empire. Elimar and I were taking them to a safe house.”

“What about their parents? Their family?”

“The Empire has the father, but we were able to extricate the mother from a holding cell.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “They were given new chain codes and sent elsewhere.”

That’s—good. A new hope for people like them dawned in Din’s heart. He hadn’t felt it in a long time; the galaxy was a harsh place. “The Jedi run it?”

“No. Most of the members have no Force sensitivity at all, just a connection through a friend or family member. The man who leads the network was married to a Force-sensitive. The Inquisitors hunted her down and killed her.”

“This is his revenge?”

“That’s what he calls it. More constructive than Saw Gerrera and his Partisans.”

Din didn’t have to debate the issue to make a decision. “How can I help?”

“You’ve already started.”

The Rescue

Perdition’s tendrils were in rebellion again. She’d been the one to intercept that transmission on Balnab, she’d been the one following the trail of the Hidden Path, she’d been the one who had found the Path’s connection on Daiyu. Now ‘Haja,’ as she knew him, was in the wind and the entire network was probably on the alert.

Once again, Onionhead was at the root of it. He kept provoking the Third Sister, who was an unsecured ion cannon at the best of times. The entire Inquisitorius wasted their anger on one another instead of their enemies. How she missed the days when the Dark Side walked in lockstep!

Only scraps of information were filtering down to her office—Hidden Path safehouses on Mapuzo, which she already knew about, new faces on recent footage (to be identified and traced), and talk of a new Jedi’s involvement. Wasn’t Quinlan Vos bad enough?

Perdition was matching names and locations when everything began spinning. It was him. The upstart. The little goblin. The one who had hurt her so. He was here. Through exertion of the Force, she stopped the whirling.

At nearly the same moment, alarms blared.

Breach in the Prison Block.

The Mikkian already wore her blaster; she unlocked the top drawer of her desk with her thumbprint and took out the lightwhip. The Prison Block was in a lower level; her nemesis was situated above the Fortress, perhaps still in the black.

The turbolift to topside was fast and often nauseated her; she was certain the Grand Inquisitor had assigned her an office deep in the Fortress for just that reason. Against her better judgement, she smoothed a verti-patch on the back of her neck. It would reduce her sensitivity, but vertigo was much more debilitating.

The lift doors opened to chaos. Squads of troopers dashed by as she exited. Others were headed to strategic points in the hangar that surrounded the outer walls on this level. She opened her senses again—he was close now, as were other bright points in the Force. Was he a prisoner? Had someone else captured him? Disappointment and excitement blended in her chest.

She headed towards the starlike presence. The Third Sister was already charging that way with Purge Troopers and a squad of storm troopers. Good. Let her draw be the one to draw fire first.

The blue of the ocean below was pierced by a dark needle that jabbed upward. Even from miles away, its ripple of malevolence made Din’s stomach clench. Grogu was quiet for once, a frown rumpling his little brow.

“We’re here … Fortress Inquisitorius. Try not to think too loudly,” Betha said. “The Shadow is moving into position. Waiting for Tala’s call.”

“Oh, Maker,” Zippo whined. “What sleeps ‘neath that obsidian spire?”

Din deemed it prudent to ignore the astromech. Instead, he stacked smoke bombs near the ramp.

“Grogu,” he said, “I need you to stay—”

No! You need help!

“Let me finish. I need you to stay next to the door and throw these at the guards. I’m going to be shooting.”

The baby cooed, mollified by the prospect of throwing bombs. Not Jedilike, but very Mandalorian.

“They’re coming, and in a hurry!” Betha dropped the ship directly down beside the black citadel. She fired the Razor Crest’s guns into the hangar before moving closer. “Grab a handhold. Ramp’s dropping … now.”

Grogu sent out the first volley of smoke bombs. The clouds spread across the landing, and Din fired the Amban rifle into it. Two Purge Troopers went down, then a stormtrooper.

There were two Force-users in the hangar, both hostile. One was a small ball of fury, and the other was sickeningly familiar.

Padawan, shield yourself. Perdition is here.

Din leapt, igniting his jetpack. A moving target was always harder to hit. Betha took his place at the door, giving covering fire. He took out another trooper, then loaded a fresh power cell.

He aimed the rifle into the center of Perdition’s presence and fired at the maximum setting.

A gunship, probably dating back to the Clone Wars, fired shots into the hangar, killing several stormtroopers and wreaking serious damage. Perdition sensed the presence of the Baby Yoda in the ship. Then the gunship turned, hovered at the edge of the platform, and a side door opened. Spheres sailed into the hangar and exploded into smoke, enveloping the soldiers and concealing their target.

Fortunately, Perdition had the Force to see for her.

She slipped through the crowd, dodging Purge Troopers and Imperial grunts.

The Fifth Brother barged past her, followed by the Fourth Sister.

Another smoke bomb was thrown from the ship, followed by a concussion grenade. Only the Third Sister kept her feet. The young Inquisitor rushed for the ramp of the ship. A moment later, she was flying over the edge of the platform, over the ship, and into the ocean below. Many, many meters below.

Perdition had already noticed that the Third Sister seemed especially vulnerable to Force attacks.

There were other Force presences besides theirs in the hangar, too: a young one, perhaps the prisoner the Inquisitors had taken; a powerful one, shining in the Light so brightly he could only be a Jedi; and the protective one, the companion of that bat-eared bantha turd.

Her tendrils tingled. Danger!

She didn’t have time to think. She shoved the danger aside with the Force, diverting it.

The bolt from the Amban rifle curved and hit the Fourth Sister, who disintegrated on the spot.

Kark. Din thought he’d had her.

He shifted his aim to the tall Inquisitor with the metallic headpiece, only to see him rise into the air and sail off the platform into the waters below.

Hee, hee, hee.

Grogu, of course.

So much for that. Din slung the rifle back over his shoulder and dropped to the ground. The disruptor blast might not have worked on the Mikkian, but his beskad—

Urk. An invisible hand closed around his throat. Not again.

Din was tired of this crap. He didn’t think about what to do, he just pushed and the hand loosened. He pushed harder, and his airpipe was free.

Her voice chuckled in his mind. You’ve finally learned. Too late, I fear.

Something bright and red and sinuous coiled in one of the Sith’s hands. A lightwhip. He’d only read about them. Best to treat it like a whipcord … a whipcord that could remove your limbs.

He dove in time for the whip to miss him. When he rolled back to his feet, he had his beskad in one hand and his kal dagger in the other. He’d discovered that either, with sufficient force, could get through armor, including beskar.

She lashed at him again, and he blocked it. The whip coiled around the beskar blade and down his arm, burning through the armorweave of his kute. Smoke rose from the skin beneath, and bright points of agony lit up his nerve endings. If he hadn’t had the vambrace, the guards on the beskad’s hilt, and the beskar plating on his glove, he might have lost the hand. Score one for Ba’buir’s handiwork.

He reached for his Jedi training. Block the pain. Move, before you get killed.

The plasma coil was still wrapped around his beskad. He lunged forward into the opening with his dagger before she aimed for something not armored, like his neck.

The whip abruptly vanished and reactivated in Perdition’s hand. She backed away, giving herself room to swing the weapon again.

A stormtrooper interposed himself between them, and Din used the Force to push him into the Mikkian woman. A Purge Trooper moved into the gap with an electrostaff; Din spun and blocked the trooper’s strike with his blade. Another jolt of agony shot up his arm. He continued the spin and swept a leg, knocking the man’s feet from under him.

Obi-Wan burst through the crowd near the lift. He ran for the ship, hand in hand with a little girl. The Imperial woman followed. Betha was on the Crest’s ramp, firing her blaster at approaching troopers. Din shoved between two men and ran after them.

Keep going, he sent.

He slowed long enough to fire a round of explosive darts at the soldiers between them and the ship, but another wave of men surged forth.

Then, a brilliant blast knocked everyone to the ground.

The Sea Shadow hung above and behind the Razor Crest, firing into the hangar. Water and seaweed dripped from its hull. It fired again, scattering the remaining Imperial forces.

Obi-Wan had reached the Crest’s ramp, his small charge running beside him. They scrambled into the ship. The Imperial turncoat, Tala, followed them. The Jedi’s stride had been confident in the smoke, but Tala lagged behind.

Din activated his jetpack and snatched the woman up, carrying her into the hold. He was still blocking the pain, but his arm was weakening.

Once everyone was on the Crest, Betha tossed another concussion grenade and closed the ramp.

“Door is sealed. Let’s go!”

The ship lurched forward and upwards.

Din waved his good hand at the mattresses on the floor of the hold. “Sit down and hang on to something,” he told the trio.

Betha was already in the cockpit. “We’ve got company!” she shouted. “I need you up here, Din!”

He ignored the ladder in favor of the Force. TIE fighters were on the viewscreen, giving pursuit. She started to give him his seat, but he pressed her back down.

“Hand injury. I don’t think I can manage the guns,” he said. “But I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Got it.” She fired on one of the TIEs, and it exploded. “If you could talk your droid into a jump—”

“You heard the lady, Zippo!”

“Well,” the droid’s voice whined from his comm. “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

“Calculate multiple jumps, Zippo. Random, not patterned.”

“What is our ultimate destination?”

“Somewhere on the Corellian Trade Spine.”

“Helpful as always, sir.”

Din ignored him. The adrenaline of the fight was wearing off and the pain was harder to ignore.

Betha took them into a spin. “Those TIEs are too karking fast.”

She fired. She wasn’t aiming where they were, but where they would be.

Light flared across the viewscreen, and the ship rocked.

“Good shot,” Din said. New blips appeared on the screen; more TIEs were on their tail. “You can jump anytime, Zippo!” he shouted.

“The ship has taken damage. Recalculating.”

“Jump anyway!”

“Nice knowing you, sir.”

The stars blurred around them.

He slumped in the seat. Shock was taking over. “There’s a medkit on the bulkhead behind me,” he rasped. “I need it and Grogu.”

Betha finally got a good look at the burned kute and the blistered skin under it.

“Grogu! Get up here!”

After a shot of symoxin for the pain, Betha was able to remove the vambrace and glove with Din’s help. She picked the burned pieces of his sleeve away from the blisters and applied a bacta spray. The cool bluish fluid would start the healing process. Grogu crouched over the hand, which was white in places and blistered in others.

The Force surged under the child’s claws, renewing seared flesh and knitting skin together. Betha watched in awe; she’d never seen such powerful healing. Grogu was even healing the muscles under the skin. She knew Din could heal wounds, too, but staying upright with the drugs and the lingering shock in his system was challenging enough for him.

Once Grogu finished, he crawled into Din’s lap and collapsed. Betha studied the child’s work and shook her head.

“You’re amazing.” The hand was completely healed. The blisters on Din’s forearm were already shrinking with the help of the spray; Betha took a long strip of bacta patches and wound them around the arm and wrist.

“Do you think you can make it down to the hold? You should probably lie down.”

“Give me a couple of clicks.”

Obi-Wan and Leia sat on the mattresses below. Tala was smearing bacta gel on Leia’s cuts and Obi-Wan’s wounds.

Din and Grogu descended with the Force, Betha took the ladder.

“Sorry for the bumps,” the Twi’lek said to their passengers.

“I never complain about a successful getaway,” the Jedi replied.

Din sat and leaned against the bulkhead. Grogu slid down next to him.

The little girl, Leia, studied the child. “Who is he?”

“That’s Grogu,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s Din’s son.”

She looked up at Din, then back at Grogu. “Is he adopted, like me?”

“Yes,” the Jedi added. “Mandalorians frequently adopt children.”

“Hello.” The girl gracefully extended her hand, and Grogu stood and toddled over.

“I’m Leia, and this is Lola.” Lola was a toy droid, small enough to fit in the girl’s hands.

Din noticed that Leia had the educated Core accent he’d worked so hard to eliminate. Her dark hair was carefully braided and pinned up in a style too mature for her age. Same for her manners. It had been a long time since he’d dealt with anyone from the Core, and never royalty.

Grogu took the girl’s hand and chirped, then petted Lola.

“He understands Basic,” Din told Leia, “but he can’t speak much of it yet.”

The baby asked if she understood Pak Pak.

“Only a little,” the girl said.

The Mandalorian watched energy dart between the children and raised his helmet to look at Obi-Wan. “You could have explained that you already had a student. I would not have pressed further about Grogu.”

“What?” The Jedi glanced at the girl, who already understood Grogu on a non-verbal level. “No, she’s not my student. She’s the child of two dear friends.”

“Dear friends that rule Alderaan?”

Obi-Wan paused. “Don’t pry.”

Din knew, from the emotions he sensed, that the Jedi had made a slip of the tongue somewhere. He didn’t know what it was, though.

They had Leia’s attention again. “But I am from Alderaan,” she announced. “And Grogu’s from Coruscant. He’s very nice.”

“He’s a little menace,” Din replied.

“I lived on Alderaan for a while,” a voice said from above. Betha was standing above them. “You are Bail Organa’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Leia transformed before Din’s eyes, composing herself with hands in her lap and an interested tilt of the head. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She already had shields. Din was impressed.

Chapter Text

Reva Sevander, the Third Sister, was choking. She was also floating a few feet off the ground.

“You were warned what defeat would bring,” Darth Vader spat. “I will tolerate your weakness no longer.”

Reva’s feet kicked. She struggled to speak. “I let them go.” When the pressure on her throat eased, she added, “I sent a tracker with them.”

“When?” the Fifth Brother demanded. “While you were drowning in the waves?”

“No. On the girl.”

The Sith Lord made a hmm sound. “It seems I have underestimated you,” he said. He released Reva, who landed with a thump.

“Prepare for pursuit.”

Leia slept squished next to Tala in Din’s bunk. Grogu slept in the hammock above them.

The Sea Shadow had departed in a separate direction to divide their pursuers. It might be all the way to the Mid Rim by now. The other adults slept on the mattresses spread on the floor, Din helmetless but still in his armor. The lights in the hold had been dimmed.

Betha listened to Din’s breathing. He wasn’t sleeping yet. Probably thinking about their next step. She grabbed her blanket and moved closer to him. She formed the thought You were amazing, and projected it.

Din turned to face her. We couldn’t have done it without you.

She sent her memory of the Mikkian Force choking him, and her relief when he broke free. Does your throat hurt?

I used bacta. She saw an image of him treating sucker marks on his neck. Like a tentacle instead of a hand. Disturbing.

How did you break the Choke?

“I’ll give lessons when I get up,” Obi-Wan said. “But stop thinking so loudly.”

“Sorry.”

Trouble Brewing

They got a few hours’ sleep before the proximity alarm went off. Din climbed to the cockpit, followed by Betha. He sat in the pilot’s seat, and addressed Zippo.

“Where are we?”

“Sil’Lume system. Direct route. I had to improvise. Do you have a set destination?”

Betha studied the map of the Corellian Trade Spine. “Zippo, set a course for Javin.”

“Computing course now.”

“Is that a safe place?” Din asked.

“Safe as we’re going to get.”

A small voice piped from below: “There you are, Lola!”

Grogu’s squeal followed.

“The children are up,” Din said. “I’d better get firstmeal on.”

Tala and Obi-Wan moved the mattresses out of the way and set up the table while the Mandalorian cooked. The hold contained a small galley with a conservator, a nanowave stove, and a dish cleaner bolted to the wall. Din set out plates of sliced nuna eggs, fruit, bantha yogurt, and a hash he made from chopped protatoes, onions, and cubes of shaak meat.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” the Jedi asked. “They didn’t teach this at the Temple.”

“Another community course.”

Once everyone was situated, Din took a couple of plates to the cockpit. He handed one to Betha, and sat down with the other.

“We have a problem,” Betha told him. “Zippo loaded the course, but your hyperdrive is offline.”

“What? Why didn’t you say something?” They’d never had trouble with the hyperdrive. Din had the ship checked regularly to ensure it was in good order. Maybe that mechanic in Harloen had been a poor one. Ba’vodu Konn had always used a woman in Mos Eisley who was unorthodox but competent. They were a long way from Tatooine, though.

“I decided to check everything I could before bothering you. I thought I should let you finish making firstmeal. Zippo’s running a diagnostic. Meanwhile, we’re headed to Berrol’s Donn at sub-light speed.”

Din put his plate on the console and stood. “I’ll go look.” He didn’t like the idea of the hyperdrive not working when they had just offended a group of Darth Vader’s personal lackeys.

One of the lines to the motivator had become disconnected. Din wasn’t sure how it had happened, but their takeoff had been rough. The opening for access to the motivator was narrow, so he popped Grogu into the space to reconnect it. Problem solved. Zippo laid in the course, and they were on their way to Javin.

Din returned to the cockpit and ate his protato hash, now cold. At least he’d gotten a fresh cup of caf to go with it.

Obi-Wan joined them. “Thank you both for helping. Senator Organa is an old friend.”

“He helped us when we fled Naboo,” Betha said.

The Master nodded. “He was always a good friend to the Jedi.”

Below them, Tala loaded the dishes into the cleaner. The girl Leia continued to play with Grogu. She would toss the ball to Grogu, and he would send it back without touching it. The toy droid flew around the trio in a loop.

“Will you be taking Leia on as a student?” Din asked.

Obi-Wan, who had still been speaking to Betha, turned. “You think she’s sensitive?” he asked, rubbing his beard.

“Sensitive enough to form a rudimentary shield,” the Mandalorian said. “Sensitive enough to form a rapport with Grogu.”

“I can’t do that now, I’m afraid. My duties are elsewhere,” Obi-Wan replied. “And I think the Force is calling her in a different direction.”

The Jedi was explaining the finer points of blocking Force Chokes when the Razor Crest dropped out of hyperspace. The ship lurched like a wounded puffer pig.

“Shazbot!” Din jumped out of his seat and went to check the connection the kid had fixed. Nope, it was fine.

Obi-Wan turned to Betha. “He’s developed a more colorful vocabulary,” he observed, with typical Jedi calm.

“Zippo,” Din shouted, “tell me where energy isn’t running in the drive.”

The droid’s voice came over the ship’s comms. “I am conducting a diagnostic.”

“A diagnostic could take hours, and I don’t think it’s a bad board. Look for a place where the current should be running, but isn’t.”

“Are we eyeballing it, sir?”

“Indeed we are.”

This time, a cord had been cut. Din replaced it, but he smelled an unbathed Nuxan in the airlock. He put on his helmet before studying Tala to shield his expression. Tala and the child Leia were the only people he hadn’t known before the mission. He sensed guardedness from the Imperial, but no duplicity. She hadn’t said much since they’d met, though. Little Leia had guile, but she was ten and had been the prisoner.

He climbed into the seat next to Betha again. “Where are we now?”

The Twi’lek rubbed her tattooed brow. “Almost to Isde Naha.”

He moved closer and spoke in Ryl. “Act like we are still headed to Javin.” He formed his thoughts into a spear. But we’re not.

“Qa? Qato?”

We have sabotage, he sent.

She frowned. “Frotz.”

Din switched the audio off for the astromech and typed a request:

No Audio/generate a random destination, near Javin AND not Javin. Begin jump.

Zippo affirmed the command.

He slid down the ladder into the hold. They needed a major distraction, something that would cover up any further talk he had with Betha or Obi-Wan.

“Leia. Have you ever used training darts?”

Soon, the two children were chasing each other around the hold, shooting paint at each other. They’d each been given extra ammo for reloads. Leia wore a piece of tarp to protect her clothes and a smaller piece over her hair. Grogu already had a tarp coverup and a face shield in his size. Din put his own shield on the girl’s head; not a great fit, but it would do. They’d been instructed not to aim for the face, but accidents could happen.

The adults took refuge in the cockpit, except for Tala. Since she and Leia had bonded, she was tasked with keeping the kids from killing each other. This had the dual advantage of keeping Tala within sight and away from most of the ship’s systems.

When they came out of hyperspace, they were at Lutrillia. Not far from Javin, but far enough to avoid detection. By this time, Din and Betha had cleaned the walls of most of the paint marks, and Din fed the group mutta with more bantha yogurt to dip it in. He was going to have to get new supplies soon.

Betha and Zippo worked on a jump to Sibisime while Din and Obi-Wan checked the hyperdrive for new problems. Din chased Lola away from an access panel. He carried the tiny droid back to the hold after confirming that everything was in its proper place.

“Leia, please keep your toy from—”

The ship lurched. He stumbled, dropping Lola.

Everyone grabbed for a handhold.

Betha’s voice, coming from the cockpit, was high with alarm. “We’ve got Imperials! Big ship!”

Din sensed a presence, dark and of enormous power. Grogu jumped into his arms, and they shrouded each other in nothingness. The presence passed over, seeking someone, but it wasn’t Din or Grogu. It wasn’t Perdition—too powerful—but it felt familiar to the Mandalorian.

Everyone stood still, perfectly quiet.

“We’re being sought,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Keep your mind blank.”

They needed to move. Din drew in his aura further, projecting that he wasn’t there, and prepared to head for the cockpit. Grogu linked more closely with Din, and they blurred their Force signature further. They’d learned to do that years ago, when they were stowing away on ships.

Once the aura of nonpresence was established, Din shifted Grogu to his back and quietly climbed the ladder to the upper level, followed by Tala. Betha was sitting upright in her seat, mind clear of any thought besides putting more distance between them and the image on the viewscreen.

Karking stars. That was the biggest ship he had ever seen. It was nowhere close to them, but he could almost make out its silver tower in the distance.

“The Devastator,” Tala said. “Darth Vader’s flagship.”

Din slid past Betha, and typed a command to Zippo again:

No Audio/jump to Sibisime now

The ship lurched again, and they were in hyperspace.

Betha sighed heavily and checked the sensors. “I think we’re clear of them. No shadows.”

How did they find us? Din reviewed their actions. No one on the ship but Zippo and I knew where we were going.

He typed a request to the astromech:

No Audio/Question did you share Din Kelborn’s destination with any person, computer, or droid not on this vessel

Response:

No Audio/No

Now for the real question:

No Audio/Question did you share Din Kelborn’s destination with any person, computer, or droid on this vessel

Response:

No Audio/No

The others joined them in the cockpit. It had less to do with being useful and more to do with apprehension. There weren’t enough seats, so Tala brought pillows and sat on the floor. Din had decided the former Imperial officer was on their side; her fear of the Star Destroyer had been as great as theirs, maybe even more so.

They sat silently. The hum of the engine and the gentle noise of air ventilation ruled.

Leia, bundled into Obi-Wan’s lap, dozed, clutching Lola with one hand. Lights from the console played over her pale face.

Grogu rested against Din’s stomach. Din rubbed the fuzz on top of the child’s head. Eventually, he began thinking about the presence he’d felt. The dark powerful mind had been familiar, which made no sense. Outside of Perdition and the Inquisitors, he’d never encountered Dark Side sensitives.

He sunk into the twilight state between sleeping and waking. Images flickered in his mind—the clones firing on their masters, the fallen statues, the tapestries aflame. And leading them, a fallen hero with desperate emotions.

Din jerked awake. Wait. Wait.

Grogu grumbled in protest at the sudden motion; Din soothed him. “Master Obi-Wan?”

The Jedi, who had been half-dozing himself, opened his eyes. “Yes, Din?”

“Is Anakin Skywalker still alive?”

“I … why do you ask?”

“He’s the one looking for us.”

“Really? I didn’t know you’d met him.”

Din kept his voice low. “We touched minds that night. At the Temple.” He didn’t need to explain which night “that night” had been.

The master stared out the viewport. “Anakin was gone by then. Palpatine had already conferred the title of Darth Vader on him.”

“Anakin is Darth Vader?”

“I hope that somewhere in Vader, Anakin still lives.”

They didn’t discuss it further. Obi-Wan sunk into a private hell, and the anguish Din felt from the master was enough to prevent more questions. Guilt, loss, blame.

There had been only one burning thought from Skywalker—Vader—at the Temple: Save her. Save her at any cost. They had all paid an enormous cost, but Din didn’t think Vader had succeeded in his mission.

The board lit up again with a beep of alarm. The swirl of colors around them vanished, and they were back in the black.

Din got up, jostling Grogu into grumpy protest again, and scanned the cockpit. Everyone was here. Most of them had been asleep until the alarm went off. None of them had left, not even to use the fresher. They’d all been here, so who—?

Everyone was here, but something was still missing.

“Leia,” he asked, “where is Lola?”

They all searched for the toy droid. Betha found the latest sabotage, another cord cut. Din dug out another replacement. First rule of being a bounty hunter: be prepared to make your own repairs. “I’ll fix it. If the system comes up, get us into hyperspace again.”

“Got her!” Obi-Wan shouted. He carried a struggling Lola out of the bunk, wrapped in a blanket. “Watch out, she zaps.”

Leia followed him. “Don’t hurt her, Ben!”

“Not my intention.” The Jedi turned the little droid around, examining her. “Hmm. She has a restraining bolt.” He looked down at the girl. “A device to take control of a droid.”

Leia frowned. “Reva must have put it there. She was interested in Lola.”

“Reva?”

“Reva Sevander,” Din supplied. “Tra'cor Clan. I’ve fought a number of former classmates.”

Obi-Wan was still examining the little bolt. “It has a tracker.”

“Destroy it!” Leia said.

“It would be smarter,” Tala said, “to send it somewhere. Lead them away from us.”

“Finish the jump,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s me Vader wants. Take me to Chibias instead of Sibisime; I don’t have arctic gear. I’ll get off with the tracker. You three must take Leia home.”

“No!” Leia objected. “I won’t leave you!”

Obi-Wan knelt and took her hand. His eyes were gentle and sincere. “You must go home, dear. The galaxy will need you in years to come.”

“I’ll go with you,” Din said. “Betha can take the children to safety.”

“No.” He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Although I am grateful for the offer. In another life, you would have been my Padawan. I had already spoken to Master Yoda. But,” he gestured to Grogu, “You have your own Padawan to train now, and a family waiting for your return.”

Din heard the individual words, but they swirled in his head, defying comprehension. Obi-Wan had wanted him as his Padawan? “Y-yes, Master.”

“And you.” He pointed to Grogu. “Be the best Mandalorian Padawan you can be. Listen to your master.”

The Jedi’s eyes shifted to Tala next. “Don’t even try to follow me. You will be arrested anywhere you go for treason and desertion. Alderaan is the safest place for you. You’ll speak for her, won’t you, Leia?”

“Yes,” the girl choked out.

“And you,” he said, turning to Betha. “Your service in the Path is of great value. Be careful; we need you.”

Once they reached Chibias, Betha brought the ship down in a rural area near one of the cities. Obi-Wan disembarked with some ration bars, some water pods, and a wrapped slice of uj cake.

“Eat the cake first,” Din told him. “It will give you strength. Besides, my mother made it.”

“Reason enough.” He clasped Din’s hand. “Take care of Leia, and get her home safely. Take care of your Padawan—and yourself.”

Din was conflicted. He might never see Obi-Wan again. He blurted out, “I-I’ve always wanted to thank you. For being direct with me in the Temple. About my choices.”

“You deserved the truth. Then your choice was taken away. I am not blameless.”

Din offered the only comfort he could. “But we survive to make things right. Chaos, yet harmony. Reach for the harmony. Ret'urcye mhi.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I will do what I must. Ret.”

Darth Vader stood on the bridge of the Devastator, staring at the planet below them. The captain approached.

“The rebel ship made landfall a short time ago. The tracker is on the planet’s surface and moving at a much slower pace. We believe that either a member of the crew left the ship with the tracker, or the tracker was attached to something else moving, like an animal or vehicle.”

“And the ship?”

“They’ve dropped the profile they were broadcasting, Lord Vader. The ship is pre-Empire, and it doesn’t have the standard beacon. They will probably try to blend in with the traffic surrounding the planet. We must begin a sweep of the vessels around Chibias immediately.”

“That will be a waste of time,” Vader said. “I sense Kenobi’s presence on the planet. He is our true target.”

The man did his best not to stare. The Sith was known for his unpleasant and often deadly responses when contradicted. “My Lord,” he said in his most respectful voice, “we must capture the insurgents. They should be able to identify the other members of the network and its strongholds. We cannot prioritize one lone Jedi.”

Darth Vader slowly turned to face the captain. “He is not just any Jedi. Follow the tracker and prepare my ship. I will face him alone.”

“At once, Lord Vader.”

Reva and Vader

Reva crouched in the shuttle’s fresher. It was the only place on the shuttle Lord Vader shouldn’t have a reason to visit. She was fairly certain that the suit did that function for him. Then she stopped thinking, because thinking of Vader was sure to gain his attention.

It didn’t matter.

About ten clicks into the flight, Darth Vader’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

“You can come out of the fresher now, Third Sister. Your ruse was successful. We are alone.”

She straightened, grabbed her weapon, and stepped into the open space in the center of the passenger seats. 

Vader stood in the cockpit, tall and dark. “Why are you here?”

“I came to h-help you, Lord Vader.”

“How would you … help me?”

His contempt was galling. “I can watch Kenobi on the flight back to the Devastator.”

“There will be no need for that. He will be dead. Tell me the true reason you are here.” He strode to the closest viewscreen and stared down at the planet, showing his back to her.

Reva’s hand tightened its grip on her double saber. “I want to make up for my earlier failure.”

“It will not change the fact that you failed.”

“When you take Kenobi, my objective will be a success.” She spoke gently, moving closer with the weapon in her hand.

His mask turned, malevolent eyes boring into her. “Do you really believe I do not see your true objective, youngling? Vengeance?”

Reva lunged forward, lighting her weapon.

Vader raised his hand, trapping the saber in the air, and turned. Reva was shoved back by the Force. “You used Kenobi to lure me into your own trap. I let you. Now he is in my sights, and you are of no further use.”

She screamed and charged, stabbing at him, and he turned the weapon aside with a wave of his fingers. The light of her blade painted the walls of the shuttle like blood.

“You killed the kids who looked up to you, you barve,” she said.

The saber whirled on its track, becoming a red blur. Then it slowed of its own accord and yanked itself out of Reva’s hand, flying into the Sith’s.

Vader silently separated the blades and tossed one to the young woman. She whirled around him, jabbing, slicing, but none of her strikes touched him.

“I tire of this game,” the Sith said, summoning her blade back and rejoining the parts of the weapon.

He advanced on her, and she flashed back to the Temple, when Anakin stared into her eyes and lifted his lightsaber.

Once again, he stabbed and the searing pain tore through her. She crumpled to the floor of the shuttle, mind a fevered haze.

The hiss of the ramp could have been a click or an hour later. The pressure of Vader’s overwhelming presence faded. He was searching for Kenobi now.

Reva fell back to the floor with a whine when she tried to get up. She was reduced to a slow creep, pulling herself bit by bit until she reached the cabinet with the medical supplies.

She fumbled with a hypo and shot a stim pack into her arm. Blessed relief from pain and a rush of energy followed. There was a tube of high-grade bacta, too; nothing but the best for Darth Vader. Reva squirted the blue gel directly into the hole in her abdomen. It was cold, but numbed the pain further.

The cabinet also had symoxin and antibiotics, but she didn’t have time for that. If Kenobi eluded Vader again, she would have company soon.

She checked the cockpit. It was empty and waiting. Now that she could stand, she stumbled inside and sat at the controls.

Aftermath

Now that the sabotage had stopped, the Razor Crest made good time—at least good time for such a long trip. Din wasn’t familiar with many shadowports in this portion of the galaxy; Hondo had favored places like Ord Mantell and Port Haven. Fleeing at top speed seemed like the best move.

He and Grogu were more than a week overdue for their arrival at Arumorut. Their buire must be frantic. Bounty hunting was a dangerous job: targets fought apprehension, their hiding places were remote and hazardous, and most of the jobs were in the Outer Rim, a place fraught with slavers, bandits, and pirates. Din couldn’t contact them, though; if they were still being traced, the Empire might turn its attention to his family.

The further they traveled, the fainter the sense of imminent danger became. But something inside Din was unsettled. During their sleep cycle, he dreamed of the Temple burning, running through smoke, the clones cutting down the teachers and children alike. He sensed Perdition lurking, the invisible hand choking him. The landscape shifted from Dantooine to Nur to Port Haven. Waylen, bleeding on the sands. Then back to the Temple, with the tall dark figure at the center of the killing, pointing his lightsaber at Din.

He awoke with a jerk, finding Betha’s arm across his middle.

“Are you all right?” Her concern pressed at the edges of his distress, foreign but soothing.

“Just a dream.” He turned on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, dim in the sleep lighting, and saw a splotch of paint they’d missed in cleanup. “Do you think Obi-Wan is still alive?”

She squeezed him. “I hope so. I think one of us would have felt it if he died.”

They stopped at Kriselist to refuel and took the speeder to pick up supplies and do a drive through Biscuit Baron. Fortunately, Din had a spot-on locator for several fast-food chains.

Grogu was delighted to discover that Leia had never visited a Biscuit Baron. He wanted to give her the benefit of his experience. Din pulled up a menu so the girl could see the offerings. His son recommended the Jolly Meal and the Bantha Breakfast Biscuit with the blue sauce. “‘Lek,” he said, pointing to the pictures.

“‘Lek?” Leia asked.

“It’s ‘yes’ in Mando’a,” Din supplied. Grogu was getting better with his words.

She smiled at him. Her teeth were transitioning from milk teeth to adult. The imperfection made her more charming. “What do you recommend?”

Din thought for a moment. He doubted that Leia was familiar with fast food at all. This might be a rude shock to her system. “I usually get the Bantha Breakfast Biscuit and Protato Hash on the side. Have you ever had nausage gravy?”

“Nau-what?”

“Go for the Jolly Meal.” It was milder.

To his surprise, Leia loved the Jolly Meal. She tried some of Din’s biscuit and hash, and liked them, too.

“When I get home, I’m going to find out if we have one of these Biscuit Barons. If not, I’ll have Mother invite them to build one near the palace.”

Oh, to be a kirik-fly in the room for that conversation.

They stopped again at the Renillis system for more supplies, including fresh clothing for the females. Betha had packed one spare outfit and a sleeping shift, but Tala and Leia only had the clothes on their backs. The women weren’t picky, but Leia was. She’d been dressed by other people her entire life, she said, and she wanted to choose her own clothes. Tala and Betha took her to a Ross outlet, where they both took pleasure in showing her little outfits and helping her try them on. Eventually, she chose a tunic-and-pants combo similar to the one Tala chose, including a wide belt woven with a colorful pattern. She also selected a dark blue-gray dress in case they had an evening engagement.

Their next stop was for groceries. The agriworld had a selection of food Din could prepare on the ship. The largest crop was goatgrass, but it wasn’t something Grogu would eat. For him, Din got several varieties of eggs, kibi strips, nerf patties, and a package of tailring bacon. He loaded them in the speeder with sacks of protatoes, amber-root, and muja fruit.

Leia was more interested in finding another Biscuit Baron. Unfortunately, the closest fast food to the spaceport was a Flangth-2-Go, which always brought back bad memories of Din’s time on Carratos. He told her that the food wasn’t as good, but she wanted to try it.

Din had the Fiery Flangth Combo, the newest featured product. It was definitely spicy; not as good as Mandalorian or Tatooinian food, but strong enough to cover up the taste of the flangth. He was pretty sure that whatever the animal was, it was canine. Grogu had flangth nuggets and protato curls; Leia had the Serreno Style Fried Flangth Sandwich. She preferred the protato to the meat, and opined that Biscuit Baron was better.

Next stop: Alderaan.

Chapter Text

The persistent light of stars filled the viewscreen of the Razor Crest as they entered the Core. It felt like millions of eyes to Din. He’d avoided coming to the Core since he and Grogu had fled it ten years before. At least it wasn’t Coruscant. He didn’t think he could ever return there. The Senate existed as the window dressing of consent. The Temple had become the Imperial Palace. The fires, the deaths of his clanmates, and his flight from the clones with Grogu hadn’t stopped appearing in his dreams. The memories had haunted him every time he closed his eyes since their encounter with Darth Vader.

Alderaan was a planet he’d never been to, which helped. From space, it was a blend of whites, greens, and blues. What helped more was the joy Leia radiated. For her, this was yaim—home. She pointed at the continents and told Grogu their names.

Betha used her legal name when conversing with the officials at the Aldera spaceport. “Betha Zulik, visiting for pleasure. My pilot’s license is …”

Din was struck by Aldera’s similarities to Arumorut as they descended. Both territories were bracketed by impressive snow-capped mountains. Each had a large, clear lake. The pines at home were taller and thicker than these, but the buildings here were gracious structures of white synthstone, designed to enhance the landscape rather than blend into it like the Mandalorian vheh’yaime.

The Twi’lek informed them that they had a berth at the spaceport.

“Why aren’t we landing at the palace?” Leia asked.

“Because I don’t think Security there will let us,” Betha replied. “Even if we say we’re bringing you home, they’ll assume we’re trying to gain access to the palace for nefarious purposes.”

“Like what? I already got kidnapped.”

“Stealing the crown jewels.”

“Oh. That would be bad.”

“Yes.”

They boarded a sightseeing transport that would take them to the Mountain Palace. Din had never been in a major city with such orderly traffic. As they got closer to their destination, Leia began telling them about the history of the older buildings. It amused the other tourists on the ride; she was quicker than their guide. Din expected to view the Palace from behind a fence or through a dome, but the real obstacle they faced was the crowd of tourists there to take holovids of the building and the Royal Gardens. Several people asked Din to pose with them in holos. They seemed to think he was part of the décor. It was embarrassing. Betha declined for him and hustled them along, up to the security checkpoint for entry to the Palace.

Fortunately, there was a person there instead of a droid. Leia harumphed until he looked at her, then stared him directly in the eye. “Please inform my parents that I have returned,” she said.

The man stared at the little girl. “Princess? Is it really you?”

She curtsied. “I am she. Now, please contact my parents. I’m certain they are concerned for my welfare.”

He glanced up at the three adults and child behind her. “Are these people—”

“They are my entourage.”

“I will notify your parents immediately. In the meantime, I’ll have someone escort you and your—entourage—to a Waiting Room.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

Several guards dressed in white, blue, and gray appeared. Their faces were stoic, but the sight of the Princess started a flurry of emotions in the Force. The ranking officer bowed.

“A pleasure to see you again, Your Highness.”

She curtsied again. “A pleasure to see you as well, Cartok.”

Your Highness. That’s right, Leia was a princess. That fact had been pushed to the back of Din’s mind around the time she began dressing in normal clothes and eating fast food.

“We’ll take you and your guests to a Waiting Room. Please proceed through the scanner.”

The women weren’t a problem. Din, of course, set off everything.

“We require that you disarm, sir,” Cartok said.

He balked at the order, and Leia spoke up for him.

“Master Kelborn is a Mandalorian; weapons are part of his religion.”

“But …”

“He has delivered me home unharmed. I trust him.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

They were led through an entrance hall lined with high windows to a well-appointed room with a small fountain in the corner.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable.” Cartok indicated the couches and chairs. “Refreshments shall be provided.”

“Thank you,” Leia replied.

Time passed. They were served Gatalentan tea and pastries, which made the children very happy. After that, Grogu went to explore the fountain, which had real fish swimming in the bottom. Leia giggled, watching the boy chase them with his claws.

The door slid open. A woman in white and blue draperies entered, followed by Cartok. The woman’s hair was arranged in coiled braids woven with ribbons. “Greetings. I’ve been sent to inquire—”

“Tiava!” Leia cried, and ran to the woman.

“Princess!” The woman dropped to her knees and took the girl by the shoulders. “Is it really you?” She checked the face, then the hands, then the little feet.

Grogu hopped back to Din and climbed to his pauldron. They watched as the woman continued her inspection.

“Tell me, Princess. What was your first toy?”

“An arallute flower. It’s traditional. The petals dry around the seeds and it becomes a rattle.”

“And the name of your handmaiden?”

“Agira. I like to play dress-up with her.”

Tiava squeezed her hands. “I’m so happy to see you safe.” She stood and asked Cartok to remain in the room. She returned with a woman in a brocade gown and a man, dark as Din, in a tailored tunic. The pair cried out when they saw Leia, and the girl ran into their arms.

The man, presumably Leia’s father, was the first to straighten. “Where did you find her?”

Din looked to Betha. What should we tell them?

“Fortress Inquisitorius,” she said.

The dark man scowled. “She was with the Inquisitors? Why?”

She and Din glanced at each other. “We aren’t sure.”

The woman, who held Leia pressed to her side, said, “Who are you? One of you looks familiar.”

The Twi’lek bowed. “I travel under the name Betha Zulik, Your Majesty, but my given name is Betha Chatzu. I lived on Alderaan for a few years with Elimar Salud and Master Osdra.”

“Oh, yes,” the woman, apparently the Queen of Alderaan, said. “Is the Master still …”

“I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

“Tragic. His calm presence was a comfort during the early years of the Empire.”

Betha indicated Tala, who moved forward with trepidation. “This is Tala Durith. She was instrumental in Leia’s rescue, and she seeks asylum here.”

The Imperial flicked a nervous glance at Betha.

The Queen acknowledged Tala. “We will need to learn more about your circumstances, but we welcome you today as a friend to the Crown.”

Bail was studying Din’s pauldron insignia with interest. “And the Mandalorian...?”

“Din Kelborn. And his son, Grogu.”

The baby waved, producing smiles.

“I’m Bail Organa,” Leia’s father said. “We’re very grateful to have our daughter home. But, outside of Betha, we are unfamiliar with you. How did you come to find her?”

Once again, Betha took the lead. “Master Obi-Wan needed help getting her back. Elimar and I volunteered, and I knew Din.” Betha was glossing over the part that involved the Network, but that was probably best.

Senator Organa glanced at Grogu. “And the young one?”

“He helped, too,” Din said.

“He’s a rare species.”

Din smiled under his helmet. “I’ve heard.”

“Obi-Wan didn’t come with you?”

He shook his head. “No. We were being pursued by Darth Vader, and the Master led him away from us.”

The Senator’s mouth turned down. “Do you know if he survived?”

“I’m not sure. He’s lived through a lot, though.”

The Organas offered to reward them for returning their daughter safely.

Tala requested temporary asylum; it was granted.

Betha’s response was gracious: they had taken her in when she was fleeing the Empire, so helping them recover their child was the least she could do.

Din said he needed no reward, but he would appreciate enough fuel to get back to the Outer Rim. Also, Grogu wanted to know if he could eat one of their fish.

Leia asked if there was a Biscuit Baron in the city. Her parents stared at her as if she’d been the one to ask for the fish.

At the Table

They did not go to Biscuit Baron for lunch; Leia’s parents didn’t want to leave the grounds after just getting their child back. Instead, they invited Din, Tala, Betha, and Grogu to have lunch with them and stay at the palace for a few days.

“That’s very gracious of you,” Betha said. “We accept.”

“Our clothes are in the ship,” Din whispered to her. “Would they mind if—”

She patted his arm and addressed the Queen. “If we’re going to stay here, we need to go back to our ship for clothing and toiletries.”

“Bring your ship here,” Senator Organa replied. “It will simplify things, and make it easier to fuel before you depart.” He pulled out a comm. “What make is it?”

“It’s a Razor Crest,” Din said.

“A respectable ship," the man said, "used for patrols before the War. And her name?”

“I just call it the Razor Crest.”

Grogu said that Buir was bad at naming things.

“I didn’t name it,” Din retorted, but Bail was already snorting. Apparently, he understood Pak Pak.

Tala stayed at the palace so Bail and Tiava could begin the asylum process. Betha, Din, and Grogu were given a ride back to the spaceport so they could fly the Crest to the palace’s landing pad. A suite with adjoining rooms had already been prepared by the time they returned. Din carried Grogu into the one with the crib, then checked the fresher. There was a sonic of decent size next to a bathtub. A tub! Big enough for Grogu to wade in! Big enough to soak the ache out of his back after days sleeping on the floor of the hold.

Later, he thought. He stripped the kid and himself, then stepped into the sonic.

Once they were clean and dressed in fresh clothes (a clean kute and armor in Din’s case), the rescue party was escorted to a dining hall with tapestries of candlewick flowers and a dark table of carved kiriin-wood. Leia was dressed in an embroidered gown for lunch, and her hair had been arranged into a slightly different configuration of braids. The trace of yellow paint from target practice was gone.

Grogu was seated in a highchair with extra cushions to boost him further. He wore his chain mail and tunic, but one of the servers offered Din a large bib to put over the child’s front. He thanked the man and fastened it around the child’s neck.

The children were given mintea to drink, while the adults were served crystal flutes of Toniray, a bluish green sparkling wine. It was sweet and bubbly, but alcoholic enough for Din to decide on restraint.  

“I must thank you again,” the Queen said, “for bringing our daughter back. Are the rooms to your liking?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Betha said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The Queen smiled. “I gave you adjoining rooms because I didn’t know if you two were married.”

“We’re not. We knew each other as children, but didn’t meet again until recently.”

Din stayed quiet, but with his helmet off there was no way to hide his blush.

The entrée was meat pies. It was topped with berries, which Din didn’t expect. The sweetness blended well with the savory flavors.

“Are these … fickleberries?” he asked.

“Yes,” the Queen said. “It’s the traditional recipe.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of berries, but they’re a nice addition.” He checked on Grogu; the kid wasn’t picking them off, so either he was being nice to Leia’s parents, or he thought they were good, too.

Breha asked politely, “Do you cook?” 

One of the servers offered him more Toniray, but he declined. “I do cook, although it’s mostly Mandalorian dishes and sweet-sand cookies for the womp rat.”

Senator Organa set his drink down. “Are you from Mandalore, or one of the sister planets? Kalevala? Concord Dawn?”

“From the diaspora. I’ve never been to Mandalore,” he said, which was true. He’d only been to Mandalorian space when he was stealing beskar. “I was a foundling.”

“Were you also a refugee from the Temple?” the senator asked.

Din turned to Betha.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You can trust them.”

“Yes. I made it to the Outer Rim, where my buire found and adopted me.”

Organa’s glance went from Din to Grogu, then back to Din. “And your son?”

“Grogu was my best friend at the Temple. We fled the Empire together. He … grows slowly. When I came of age, I adopted him.”

“He’s fortunate to have such a friend.”

“He brings joy to my family. And to me.” He looked at his son. Memories of their flight to the Outer Rim filled his mind. Too many memories. If he hadn’t had Grogu to protect, Din might have surrendered to the Empire that first year. He might have broken, like Waylen and Reva. Emotion flooded him. Protecting the child had given him purpose, kept him whole.

A sniffle interrupted his thoughts. Din felt claws on his arm. The baby cooed at him.

Betha’s eyes were wet. Tala’s as well. Across from her, the Organas were wiping their own eyes. Leia was snuffling into her napkin.

He flushed; it had been a long time since he’d leaked his emotions. “I’m sorry. Please, talk around me.”

The Queen was the first to regain her composure. “Betha. What have you done since you left Alderaan?”

“Master Osdra got a commercial pilot’s license and took on small jobs with the HWK-290 for Consolidated Shipping. Elimar and I helped while we trained in flying,” she said. “We got our own licenses and worked together. After a few years, we saved enough money for a larger ship and started our own service. Eli helped us during the rescue, but had to go back to the Mid Rim afterwards. We have obligations.”

While she spoke, their plates were taken away. New ones with arranged slices of fruit in bright colors replaced them. Betha picked up one of the pieces from Din’s plate. “This one is starblossom fruit,” she told him. “You need grounding. Open up.” She popped a slice into his mouth. It was juicy and sweet.

Grogu had crawled out of his chair and into Din’s arms. He opened his mouth expectantly, and she fed him a slice, too. Din took over the feeding after that.

When the meal ended, Betha spoke to the Queen privately. Afterwards, Her Majesty proposed that she and Leia take Grogu for a tour of the grounds while her consort and Tala conversed further. Perhaps Betha and Din could rest for a while; she understood that they had done most of the flying from Mustafar.

Love Blossoms

Din put his helmet back on as soon as they left the table. Betha could feel his humiliation as they returned to their suite. He’d lost control and embarrassed himself. He was also confused by why he was feeling so many emotions.

She studied his presence in the Force as they walked. He was tired. He’d been in emergency mode for days, and now that they were here, mission completed, that tension had been released but not resolved. He needed someone else to take charge for a while.

Their suite was luxuriously furnished and quiet. “Come.” Betha extended her hand. He took it and let her lead him to a couch near the balcony. They could see the lake and the mountains beyond.

“Sit,” she said.

He complied. She went to the glass doors of the balcony and opened them. A light breeze brushed her face and lekku.

“Now breathe,” Betha said, walking back to him. “We just finished a hellish escape, and this has been a long day.”

Din started to say something, but she put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re worn out. Just breathe.”

They breathed in the mountain air. The scent of pine and the rush of water from the nearby river entered the room.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’m still wired.”

“Maybe you should change into something more relaxing. Or do you wear your armor all the time?”

He grunted. “Wearing armor is part of the Resol’nare.”

“Those are the Six Actions, right? I vaguely remember them from class.” She didn’t explain that she’d begun studying the culture again after their meeting on Telerath, hoping to understand him better. He was the person she remembered, but years of experience had added to that.

“Correct. Wearing armor is one of the Actions.” The vocoder made his voice pedantic.

She smiled. “So there are no Mandalorian pajamas or business suits?”

“This is my business suit,” he said. “Some Mandalorians are so strict that they never remove their helmets. My family is more—uh, mainstream. I have sleep clothes and some regular clothing. And a swimsuit.”

The mental image of him in a swimsuit made her bold. “I’m glad your tradition is more relaxed.” She slid her fingers under the lip of his helmet, caressing his chin, and felt his brain derail.

Too much. She quickly withdrew. “You can take your armor off when you feel more comfortable. We’ve all been under a lot of stress.”

“Thank you.”

“You haven’t been wearing sleep clothes on the ship.”

“I’ve had guests.”

“Still, it must get uncomfortable. Didn’t it hurt when you were sleeping on the floor?”

Din sighed, then undid his seals and lifted the helmet off. He placed it on the low table in front of the couch. “Sometimes I forget that I even have armor on.” He looked up at her, running his fingers through his hair.

He was the most beautiful man Betha had ever seen. The thoughtful brown eyes, the expressive brow, the hair he’d just rumpled.

“You don’t find it too confining?” She traced the edge of his vambrace, then took his gloved hand and dug her thumbs into his palm. He groaned softly. She sensed the stiffness and ache in his hands, like he’d been clenching his fists for days. Maybe he had been.

“You get used to it.” He released his left vambrace and removed it with the gauntlet, then did the same with the other vambrace and gauntlet. They went onto the table as well.

Betha took his bare hand and clasped it between her own, then went back to the massage. “You are safe, you know. We’re not being tracked any more, and the ship is fine. You can check it over tomorrow if it would make you feel better.”

He sighed. “I’m worried about Obi-Wan.”

She switched to his other hand. “Me, too. But I think he’s alive. Either way, he’d be glad we brought Leia home.”

His attention was focused on her again, like that shaft of sunlight. His eyes were dark and serious. This close, she could see his long eyelashes as well, the whiskers lining his jaw, the noble curve of his nose.

“You smell like honeyblossoms,” he said.

“Yes.” They were the flowers she’d loved most in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. One afternoon, they’d sat next to each other on one of the garden benches, and she’d rubbed the petals into her wrists. She’d held them up for him to sniff, and his warm breath had prickled on her skin, making her feel off-balance.

In the present, he looked puzzled. “Where did you find perfume?”

“I brought it along.”

“Why?”

“Because I was traveling with you. Was that too forward of me?”

“No.” He lifted her wrists and bent his head, pressing a kiss into each palm.

Oh. Her fingers found his chin and stroked his whiskers again. He leaned into her touch, and Betha resisted the urge to play in his heavy curls. She was supposed to be helping him recenter himself.

“Saving Leia and coming here brought back some memories, didn’t they?”

“Couldn’t have. This is my first time on Alderaan.”

“True, but seeing Obi-Wan again, seeing Reva—she was in a different youngling clan, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And then we felt Vader hunting for us, and you’d touched him in the Force when the Temple fell.”

He pulled his head up and back. “You heard that?”

“With everything that happened, I wasn’t able to sleep.”

“I get that.”

There was a wrinkle between his brows; she smoothed it. “Memories have been giving you bad dreams. Kept you awake.”

He grimaced. “I should have more control. I shared my sorrow with everyone.”

“No,” she said, more sharply, “it was your joy we felt. You’d realized that loving Grogu had made you stronger than you would’ve been on your own. It stunned him.”

Din sat up straighter. “It what?”

“I don’t have exact words. But he thought you were just a fearless person all this time. He didn’t realize that he had something to do with your courage.”

“Oh.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders. “I think it pleased him, to know that you loved him that much. He loves you, too.”

He drew her closer, resting his cheek against her belly.

Betha’s breathing quickened. “I had a terrible crush on you when we were Initiates.”

His shields were still up, but wavering. “I may not be the same person I was ten years ago. We were children.”

“I’ve been watching you. I think you are that same person. Just wrapped in armor as well as reserve.” Her mind touched his, curious but not pressing. “Would you commune with me in the Force, where our circumstances matter less?”

He stood, taking her face in his hands. When she met his gaze, he pressed his forehead to hers. Then, he lowered his barriers and allowed her to see the jumble of thoughts roiling within. The desire and fear braided together.  

“Oh.” Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “This is a kiss, isn’t it?”

“The Keldabe Kiss. Used to express love or deliver an effective headbutt.”

“How Mandalorian.” Her cheeks were hot.

He drew in a breath, and she felt his mind reaching for hers. A flash of memory: Din holding a red crystal, finding the song deep inside, separating out the discordant notes. Waylen’s crystal. Waylen had seen something that Din, tangled up in keeping secrets, had missed. Din and Betha had arrived at the Temple on the same day, had spent years together, but he’d needed to hide his true life from everyone outside the small circle of teachers that surrounded him and Grogu. The child had been his world. He’d been so busy keeping secrets, he’d closed himself off from his only friend on the outside.

Betha sighed and framed his chin in her hands. Gently, she lifted her face and pressed her lips to his. Then, she pulled his head down so their foreheads could touch again.

They put walls between us to protect Grogu. He opened further, showing her the secret nursery, the life with Grogu he had to hide.

She met him with her own worries from childhood. Din had confused her, withdrawn one moment, and caring for her cuts and bruises the next. Staring into her with those serious dark eyes, then disappearing after dinner. Her fear that someone so skilled with weapons and languages would see her as a lesser. The thrill when Waylen picked on her that one day, and Din plowed into him, heedless of Waylen’s size or the punishment he would receive.

“I never saw you as lesser,” he whispered, returning her kiss. “You were everything I wasn’t. You calculated navigations in your head for fun. You ran rings around me in diplomacy. And you were my only friend in the outside world. You were so important …”

Betha stopped and put her fingers over his lips. “I’m glad you noticed me. But your thoughts are whirling.”

“They are.” He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and kissed her fingers. “I thought you were dead or worse. But you’re here.”

“It’s all right.”

She longed to be closer. Din, finding her need in himself, buried his face in her neck, kissing under her jaw and inhaling more honeyblossom scent. He hunted for the source and found it under one of her lekku. He nuzzled the small scar he’d seen earlier.

A burst of pleasure rippled through her, and his beskar was suddenly just another barrier between them. She wanted it off.

“May—may I remove more of your armor? It’s not comfortable.”

So, he showed her how to detach his pauldrons. She tugged at his cuirass, and he undid the clasps. She ran her hands over the kute he wore beneath, and he shuddered.

She stopped. “Am I moving too fast?”

He took her hands and pressed them to his heart. “No.” If anything, he seemed relieved. He’d had to hide so much. Now, his shields were open, revealing emotions stronger than spicebrew.

Betha pressed him back onto the couch and removed his boots. His body trembled again when she reached for one of his thigh guards. “Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want,” she reassured.

He nodded, and she removed them, admiring the muscle beneath. She straddled his lap and pulled her tunic up and off. Underneath was a thin shift that was almost transparent. His hands were warm on her breasts, caressing them through the fabric. Her nipples wanted his touch. Without needing to ask, he traced them with his thumbs until they were peaks. Betha shivered with delight.

“You are so very beautiful.” His eyes fell on the headpiece that enclosed her lekku. He opened the seam and removed it, taking the lekku in his hands. They were pliant, stirring with his caresses. She flushed down to her navel.

Betha deftly opened his kute and stroked his chest with her palms, moving down to his belly. She paused, and he reached for her in the Force, sharing his growing arousal. She nodded, and dipped to the smallclothes beneath. He inhaled sharply as she outlined his cock with her fingertips, and pushed the sensation back to her.

Betha gasped. “That’s what you’re feeling, isn’t it? You’re on fire.”

He flushed. “I—I can stop if you want.”

“No. Don’t stop. I think we need to take this to the other room.”

“Force, yes.” He cupped her ass and stood, hoisting her up. She thought he might be showing off a little. She laughed and wrapped her legs around him.

The bedroom was dark except for a shell-shaped nightlight next to the fresher door. Din stretched Betha out on the bed; she was pleased to discover it had a frame and mattress instead of shaped plastoid and foam. He shed the rest of his clothes and bent over her belly, pressing his lips to it.

Her hands caught in his hair again and she ran her nails over his scalp, leaving traces of electricity behind them. Their sensations were blending together.

Din kept kissing her belly, sensing the building ache inside her, and found her knee with his free hand. His fingers slid up the inside of her thigh. Her legs trembled and parted, letting him in.

With wonder, he touched her delicate folds. He hesitated before exploring; he didn’t want to be clumsy.

Oh. Inside the folds, he discovered that she was warm, and deeper in she was slick. The river of sensation rushed from her into him, and back. Her edges were blurring with his. Din spread the slick with his fingers and found the places where his touch awakened her pleasure.

“Oh, Din.” She tilted her hips, offering herself to his hand. He stroked faster and was rewarded by a moan.

“Inside,” she murmured.

He pressed gently, seeking her entrance. Betha felt silky to his touch, yielding to him. His fingers sunk inside.

“More,” she whispered.

He slid deeper with his hand.

“Ahhh.” Her hips moved again, pushing against them.

Her pleasure encompassed him, rising like the tide, drawing him in further. Then, she grabbed his hand.

“I’m not coming on fingers when the rest of you is here.” She urged him up the mattress and caressed his body, wrapping him in her warmth.

He pressed words of desire into her neck, giving it open-mouthed kisses. His whiskers brushed against her bare skin, making her shiver.

She wrapped a hand around his cock, her thumb gliding over the head. A whine built in his throat.

“Poor baby, you’re creaming. Come on.”

Then he was between her legs and pushing into her.

Oh, Force. It could have been his thought; it could have been hers.

Her body clasped his, and she was slippery and warm inside. He gasped, overcome. Exhilaration filled his senses, spilling over into hers.

She moved underneath, and he almost came undone.

“Oh, Force,” he panted, aloud this time.

Her surprise washed over them. “This is new to you.”

“Sort of.”

Betha took his hips, guided them. “Let me—”

“Is this—?”

“Yeah.”

They found their rhythm, and he opened to her again, letting her feel his joy. Emotions and sensations coursed through him like waves, flooding her body, filling her senses. He lost himself to it, thrusting harder, deeper. She was overwhelmed with his passion. Her body arched, then clenched in ecstasy and he tumbled into it after her.

They lay together, breathing hard, until their awareness of the bed, the tangled sheets, and the room around them returned. Din shifted his weight off Betha and pulled her close. They curled together and dozed.

The light in the room was dimming when Betha awoke. She checked the time. Grogu should be returning soon; she’d asked the Queen to give her a couple of hours to settle Din. He did seem to be calmer; he didn’t even move when she slipped out of the bed and checked the closet. Several robes hung inside, made of fine Sulian cotton. She threw one on before searching his bags. It was true; Mandalorians did have sleep clothes.

Din’s back was to her; his skin golden in the light of the lowering sun. She ran a hand over his shoulder blade, and he jerked awake. He turned over, blinking up at her with bleary eyes.

She held out the soft shirt and pants. “You should probably put this on before we have company again.”

He started to rise. “Is Grogu—?”

She pressed him back into the bed. “He’s not back yet, but I think they’re bringing him. He has to be worn out by now. A little nap with his dad would probably be good for him.”

Betha was correct. When Grogu arrived, his ears were drooping. He sent them both a few images of chasing frogs at the lake and Leia boosting him into a tree before Din wrestled him into his pajamas. The child curled up on his father’s chest and passed out. Betha, now in her sleep shift, climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over them all.

Din was surrounded in warmth and affection. His thoughts were fuzzy around the edges, but a worry surfaced. “What about latemeal? Won’t they expect us?”

“I gave our regrets to Her Majesty. Jump-lag. She said she’d send up some food, including eggs for Grogu.”

“What about Tala? Is she back?”

“Came back with him. She has a big room to herself for a change. I think she’ll like that.” She rubbed the space between Din’s eyebrows again. We’re all safe. “Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.”

So he did.

Chapter Text

Staff Meeting

Perdition’s tendrils pulsed with irritation. As usual, Onionhead was blaming the failure of his team on everyone but himself. He acted like the ineffective Reva had singlehandedly denied victory to Lord Vader. 

“An unfit Inquisitor—one of a series trained by our dear lady,” he said, directing his yellowish gaze Perdition’s way. “The Fifteenth Brother was merely incompetent—killed by a simple dagger. We still don’t know what happened to the Fourteenth Sister and Twelfth Brother. They disappeared on a mission to Tatooine.”

She bared her teeth. “Maybe we would know more, if you’d had the foresight to require headcams for Lord Vader’s agents.”

“If your trainees were competent,” he snarled, “they wouldn’t need monitoring. Or if they were loyal.”

Perdition noted that he was wearing a new insignia to indicate his rank. They’d found Vader’s shuttle on Feenix, along with the Third Sister’s armor, but she had taken the Head Inquisitor badge with her, probably to spite the man.

Now, she gave him her sweetest smile. “I’m surprised that you didn’t correct my so-called errors, then, when you took them away from me. I gave you obedient trainees. If they were incompetent or plotting betrayal, it fell to you to deal with it.”

A cold hand closed on her throat. Perdition looked to Onionhead, but he was also choking. Gasping, the pair floated off their feet and were turned mid-air to face their true master, Darth Vader. He stood at the head of the table with raised fists.

“You have both failed me,” he spat. “I was aware of the Third Sister’s treachery, but she lacked the power to execute it. Her desire for vengeance made her my foil to lure Obi-Wan from his hiding-place. Your lack of perception is dwarfed by your ignorance of strategy.”

He opened his hands, and they both fell to the floor. He addressed the Pau’an first.

“Grand Inquisitor, it is time for you to test the strength and loyalty of your ranks. Interrogate every subordinate you have, from the most powerful Inquisitor to the lowest of the Purge Troopers. Once the traitors have been eliminated, subject the remainder to intensive training. The harsher, the better.”

His fierce gaze shifted to Perdition. “I assigned you to identify and locate the members of the Hidden Path. You followed their footsteps too long before taking action. They have scattered to the winds and must be found again. The children they transport will become the next generation of Inquisitors.”

A glimmer of hope pierced her miasma of fear. She knelt. “I shall find them again, Lord Vader. I request that I be granted the resources to capture them myself.”

“A period of separation from the Fortress might be beneficial. Choose yourself an apprentice and seek the refugee pipeline in person. Take one of the shuttles and a team of troopers to assist you. Where an army of stormtroopers and a squad of Inquisitors failed, a smaller group might succeed.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The Mikkian returned to her office and made herself another cup of Summer’s Seed tea. Not for vertigo this time, but for the headache twisting her tendrils into knots. Despite the Grand Inquisitor’s best efforts to blame her for the failure with the Hidden Path, she’d been given another chance. No, a new opportunity. She had been granted a new apprentice and could operate outside the Fortress again.

No doubt Onionhead would claim that she had been cast out, but when she returned with the Hidden Path destroyed, she would be vindicated. And when she captured the child of the Yoda species, her status would outstrip his. The child’s power dwarfed that of any Inquisitor. He was still young enough to be turned. Darth Vader or even Lord Sidious himself would want the boy as an apprentice.

Din Speaks to Bail

Refreshed, the rescue team joined the Organas for firstmeal.

This morning, Leia was talking about her rescue from the Fortress and the flight back to Alderaan.

“Din let Tala and me sleep in his bunk. Grogu has a hammock, which is wizard. And he’s keeping a tally by the bunk for Inquisiting people they’ve killed. He just added a new mark for Din.”

Din winced. “Not my idea.”

“And once, they dressed us in ponchos and let us shoot training darts at each other. Splat!”

“So that’s how you got the paint in your hair,” the Queen said.

The girl turned to Din. “Could we play that again? There’s a lot more space here.” She looked at her mother. “We could play it outside.”

“It wouldn’t last long. Almost all of the ammo is gone,” Din said. He glanced at her father. “The training darts are part of Grogu’s education as a Mandalorian.”

“And it’s fun,” Leia added.

“Perhaps we can find something here that works as well,” the Senator said.

The Queen’s eyes widened. “Really, Bail, I’m not sure—”

“It will entertain the children, dear.” He smiled indulgently at Leia. “If we find something that works, you can introduce it to your cousins. I’m sure you could become a better shot than Niano.”

The head of the palace guard was able to procure a training glove small enough for Leia and paint darts that would leave harmless marks. The Queen’s personal attendant found better protective gear for Her Highness than a piece of tarp. There was no training glove small enough for Grogu, so he was still using the one Sesta had made for him and the remaining ammo from the ship.

Soon, the Organas sat on the South Terrace with Tala and Betha, sipping Chandrilan tea and watching the children chase each other. Din joined the royal couple after showing Leia how the new training glove worked. Several guards placed themselves around the children during their game, ducking when necessary. Kidnappers had gotten through security once; they were taking no chances.

“Tell me about your armor.” Bail waved at the subject in question. “What do the symbols on your shoulders mean?”

Din touched the falcon. “This, the falcon, is the symbol of my Mandalorian clan, Clan Kelborn.” He touched his other shoulder. “This is a mudhorn, the symbol of my Jedi clan at the Temple.”

“So you carry both parts of your history on your armor.”

“And family history as well. Armor is passed down from generation to generation and contains its spirit. Since I am a foundling, my ba’buir reshaped one of his own pauldrons so I would partake in it.” He indicated the falcon again. Fintan’s chest plate was gray, in honor of his late wife, but he had left his pauldrons unpainted for potential grandchildren. His other pauldron had gone into the making of Grogu’s chainmail, but Din suspected that there might be leftover beskar for future growth spurts.

“Ba’buir?”

“My grandfather. He made my armor. The mudhorn was a surprise, but armorers are fond of symbolism.”

The adults talked about visiting the Royal Museum. One of its exhibits was an inert wayfinder, of interest to Betha. There was supposed to be a falconry demonstration as well, which would be of more interest to the children.

Din waited until the servants were gone before broaching another topic with Leia’s parents.

“I think you should know that your daughter is Force-sensitive.”

Bail hmmed. “Did she use the Force during the escape?”

“I’m not certain. But watch her shoot.”

The Senator sat forward and watched his daughter nail Grogu in the center of the chest. “She’s got good aim.”

“She knows where Grogu will be.”

“I imagine he finds that annoying.”

Din smiled. “He does. She also has instinctive shields. Most children are easy to read at her age, but she’s not.”

“Is stubbornness a Force power?” the Queen asked.

“Maybe,” he replied. “Grogu’s got plenty of it.”

Breha’s eyebrows drew together. “If she does have the Force, what do we do?”

Kark. He hadn’t expected to be asked for advice. The Mandalorian thought of Obi-Wan, who believed that the Force had other plans for Leia. “If she starts floating things, tell her not to do it in front of other people. And don’t heal strangers’ injuries. That’s what brought the Inquisitors down on me the first time.”

Bail tilted his head. “You don’t think Obi-Wan would teach her?”

Din decided to be politic about it. “He wouldn’t teach Grogu. He said he had a duty to the Force that came first.”

Betha, who had parked herself by Din’s side, piped up. “If Leia wants to learn the Jedi teachings, Elimar might be helpful. She was Master Osdra’s Padawan, and has done her best to preserve the teachings.”

Thank you, Din sent silently.

Arumorut at Last

The Razor Crest rendezvoused with the Sea Shadow at Lantillies. Din was reluctant to see Betha leave. So reluctant that he moved the pillows from the mattress in the hold to his bunk after she left. Her scent lingered there, and no one was going to know but Grogu.

They were overdue at home by nearly four weeks. Enough time and distance had passed since the rescue. Din decided it was safe to contact the family and let them know that he and Grogu were fine and on their way back to Vlemoth Port. He steeled himself before using the comm.

Buir Bretta shrieked with joy, then burst into tears. Buir Sesta took the comm from her and dressed Din down. How dare he be alive after scaring them to death? Where had he been?

“I got a last-minute job that took a lot longer than I hoped.”

“And you couldn’t call?”

“It would have been a bad idea. Will you kill me if I come home now?”

The familiar pines of Arumorut stirred in the wind as the pair stepped out of the Razor Crest. Din looked up at the strands of travelers’ joy waving from the branches; they were beginning to bloom. He got maybe two good breaths of resin-scented air before Buir Bretta tackled him. He sat down on the ground, hard.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” she said, pulling his helmet to her chest. “We thought you were dead!”

“You and the baby!” Sesta added, standing over them. “We thought we’d lost him, too.”

“We’re okay,” Din said, standing and brushing the pine needles from his pants. “Both of us.”

Ba’buir Fintan didn’t say anything. He held his arms out for Grogu. “Let’s go inside,” he said. “Bretta’s been cooking all day.” He clapped Din on the back as they walked into the vheh’yaim.

They had a few clicks to clean up and change into fresh clothes before going to the table. Din had spent the last part of the trip trying to get a believable story together. Telling his buire that he’d traveled to Mustafar to get into a fight was a bad idea.

Bretta had made gi dumpling soup in honor of their return. Din watched Grogu shove a spoonful of fish into his mouth.

I thought seafood should be breaded and fried.

Unless Buir Bretta cooks it.

I like your logic.

“Now that we’re together again, it’s time for you to explain what you were doing for all that time,” Bretta demanded.

“I was hired to help someone get his daughter back,” Din said. “It was in the Core. Getting there and back took forever, and most of it was boring. Grogu and I did a lot of target practice, and he watched some Meshgeroya.”

The baby blinked at him in confusion. Only two games. What about the fighting?

I don’t want to upset them.

Oh.

“And you couldn’t karking call?” Sesta demanded. “You scared us all.”

“We were trying to avoid being detected by the kidnappers,” Din replied, projecting sincerity. It usually didn’t work on his buire, though. He needed to learn Mind Trick from Betha. “I didn’t realize how long it would take when we started. We kept changing locations during the chase.” He did not add that they were the ones being chased.

“I see. “The blonde woman glared at him, then abruptly changed the subject. “What did you think of the Core?” she asked. “You came from there, right? It’s different from the Outer Rim, isn’t it?”

“More people,” he said. Sound casual. “A lot more stars. And more Imperials. I could do without them.” He knew, from the lines around her mouth, that this wasn’t over.

“You can always go back to Tatooine.” Bretta refilled Grogu’s cup of sunfruit juice. “You’d be closer and could come home more often.”

“The bounties are better in the Mid Rim.”

“There’s that, then,” Fintan said. “How do you like it, Grogu?”

Grogu told him in Pak Pak that traveling with Buir was fun.

“So, you like helping your buir?”

Yes, and, the child trilled, they’d met people like them.

“Mandalorians?”

No, Jedi.

“You found jetiise?”

Ba’buir and the buire turned to Din. He set his spoon down. Haar’chak!

“A couple of months back, we met some people who were at the Temple with me.”

Bretta tightened her grip on her cup. “A couple of months? And you didn’t tell us?”

Now Din was flushing. “I didn’t think they wanted other people to know about them, Grogu.”

The toddler leaned closer to Fintan and peeped.

“Oh.” Ba’buir smiled, amused. “Grogu says we should keep that a secret.”

Sesta tilted her head innocently at the child. “How nice. Any other secrets?”

Grogu peeped again.

The old man’s eyebrows went up. “Mmm, one of them likes Buir. Grogu says she’s a Twi’lek.”

Dank farrik. Din was not ready to have this conversation. “She was in my clan and year. We took classes together.”

Fintan hummed. “Grogu also said that she’s really pretty.”

“Wait,” Buir Bretta said. “Were you really on a job, or were you having geroya with a Twi’lek girl?”

“I wouldn’t lie,” Din growled. “And I wouldn’t take Grogu on a trip like that.” He was no longer a teenager. He couldn’t storm off to his room and lock the door. But oh, how he wanted to. Grogu, please stop talking.

The child must’ve heard the desperation in his thoughts, because he lowered his head and began eating his soup again.

Sesta gave him a sly smile. “Was she your cyar’ika in the Temple?”

“No, Buir. We weren’t allowed to fraternize like that.”

“How disappointing. What’s her name?”

He sighed. “Betha.”

Buir Bretta took mercy on him. “What does your friend do now?”

“She’s a freighter pilot.”

“Oh. Something normal.”

What he didn’t add: And she smuggles Force-sensitive children away from the Empire.

Later, Din had a serious discussion with his son about what information should and should not be shared.

You want me to keep secrets from Ba’buir and the buire?

“They don’t need to know everything. Some things are private.”

I didn’t tell them you’d mated with her, the baby retorted. When Din began dating his first girlfriend, Ba’buir Fintan had explained to Grogu that seeking a partner was part of becoming an adult, and showed him some nature videos.

“You don’t know that we mated.”

I could tell. Your feelings get wiggly. Like tasty frogs.

Din wasn’t certain his grandfather had ever given “the talk” to a small child before. His late wife had probably been the one to speak to Buir Bretta about such things, and Grogu wasn’t even the same species. He wished his grandfather hadn’t shown him the nature videos, because the child had latched on to the term ‘mating.’ He couldn’t change that, though, so he replied, “Thank you for not telling. Please don’t.”

The Truth Can Hurt

The next day, Buir Bretta informed Din that he would be cooking to make up for his lengthy absence. Din nosed around in the kitchen, taking note of what was in the conservator.

He heard a step behind him, and turned around. It was Sesta.

“We’re going shopping.”

“I can probably cobble together something with what you have—”

“You’re going shopping. Now. You and me.”

Din discovered that his speeder bike had been painted black. Also, Sesta was taking it.

“Use Bretta’s bike,” she said. “You haven’t been here for a while, so we’ve been driving around Arumorut like we did when we were young.”

His other buir’s bike was a fresh shade of forest green. He supposed they had the right to enjoy the new freedom they had with both ade gone, but it felt weird.

Driving on the path between the tall trees was pleasant, though. Most of them were native pines, but they passed a farm dedicated to growing veshok trees, originally from Mandalore. Varos fruit, for the making of tihaar, was also grown in Arumorut, but only in greenhouses. The local climate was too cold for them.

Sesta left the path, heading into the park surrounding the lake. Its surface was broken up by wavelets today, probably due to the wind. It was as he’d guessed; his buir wanted to have a private conversation.

They got off the bikes near one of the many benches overlooking the water’s edge. Sesta sat, and waved to him to do the same. They removed their helmets.

“Tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“No one spends that amount of time keeping comm silence unless they’re hiding something or are being hunted. Your ad isn’t nearly as good at keeping secrets as my brother, so I’m going to go with being hunted. Who’s after you? Black Sun? The Hutts? Please say it’s not the Hutts.”

Din looked at her, then turned to the lake. It was deep like the lake on Alderaan, but the mountains were more remote. “No one is hunting us. Not anyone new, at least.”

“Did the Empire learn who you are?”

His mouth went dry. Manda, I hope not. “I wouldn’t have made it home if they did.”

“But you were doing something risky. With the jetiise?”

Din growled.

“I’ll make this easier. I promise not to tell Bretta,” she said, “until you turn up dead, of course.”

“Optimist,” he huffed. “I would like that, though.”

“Elek. I promise. Is the Empire chasing you?”

“It was. But we got away.”

“You and the jetiise.”

“We were asked for help. A child had been kidnapped and taken to Mustafar.”

Her mouth fell open. “You went to—you dinii! What did you do with Grogu?”

“Um … made him stay in the ship?”

“Mnnnaaaaahhh!” She lunged for him, and they both tumbled from the bench, along with their helmets.

The fight was short but frenetic. They rolled on the ground. Din blocked most of her punches, but when he tried to get up and back away, she took him down with a leg scissor and lock.

“Karking shabuir!” she growled.

He broke the lock, and her response was to slam a boot into his groin. “Sooran, shab!”

Pain turned his vision white. Din shrieked and lurched backwards, landing in a pile on the grass.

Sesta was running towards him, fury and fear radiating from her. His vision cleared and he saw he was about ten meters from her now.

At least I’m not in the lake.

Din lifted a hand. “I’m sorry. Please stop.” Nausea surged in his gullet; he struggled to master it.

She waited until he was able to look at her again. “You’re supposed to protect him. You’re his buir! He’s little more than an ik’aad!”

There was no point in arguing that Grogu was older than he was; he was still a youngling for his species. “We’ve been through a lot together already. Before we met you.”

Her nostrils flared and she bared her teeth. “You were running from danger then, not into it.” She advanced, and he stepped back. Din could use the Force to stop her, but it would make things worse. Sesta mistrusted anything jetii, even after all this time.

Wait. Jetii.

“Grogu wasn’t alone on the ship,” he pleaded. “Betha stayed on the ship with him, using her blaster to keep the Imps away. And they threw smoke bombs, too.”

Buir Sesta blinked. “I thought you said she was a jetii.”

“She is. But a blaster works better from a distance.”

Her stance relaxed a little, but not entirely. “Is she really a freighter pilot, or did you lie about that, too?”

“I didn’t lie,” he snapped. “I just didn’t tell the whole truth. And you have more of it than the others.”

“That’s true.” That seemed to please her.

“It was an emergency. A little girl in danger. I didn’t have time to take him home.”

“Don’t go to Mustafar again. That’s an order. And if you do, get a childcare droid for Grogu and leave him behind.” She uncurled her fists and sighed. “We should get to the market before it closes. Put on your helmet.”

They returned with arms full of shatual and bantha wrapped in flimsiplast, puffer pig bacon, sacks of amber-root, onion, red gourd, and another bag with assorted vegetables and edible flowers.

Buir Bretta helped them put away the supplies while Grogu supervised. She glanced at Din’s face and came closer.

“Is that a bruise?”

“Bounty hunting is dangerous,” Din said, whisking the marinade for Gruuvan Shaal kebabs.

“You two were gone for a while. Something I should know?”

“No. I think latemeal will be ready on time.” He tossed the meat in the marinade and set it in the conservator for later. “I have a special treat that’s still in the ship.”

Grogu toddled over. Cookies?

“Not cookies,” he said to the child. “This is a treat for adults. But I’ll make cookies just for you.”

After everything was settled in the kitchen, Din remembered something else he needed to do. He found Fintan in the den, reading his datapad, and got his attention.

“May we go to your room? I need to scan you.”

The old man tilted his head. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I want to scan you.”

They went to Fintan’s room. Grogu sat on Ba’buir’s pillow while Din centered himself and then reached for their grandfather in the Force. He scanned Fintan’s shoulders and knees; they seemed to be normal. Less arthritic than he remembered, but constructed correctly.

He took a deep breath before sinking his consciousness into Fintan’s chest.

The heart was where it was supposed to be, a good thing. He probed deeper, studying the structure of the organ, the way the blood flowed through it. The strength of the muscle.

It was whole. Normal. In good shape.

Din turned to the child, who was watching him with calm eyes. How did you restore the heart?

The cells remember how they were. I restored them to the memory.

Grogu … you never cease to amaze me.

Fintan, who was not privy to Force talk, tapped Din as he straightened. “Well? Why did you need to scan me?”

“Just to see how you are. It’s been a while.”

“And …?”

“You’re doing very well. Grogu told me what you eat at the pub and I was concerned.”

“Which is why you two were talking in a way I can’t hear.”

While Din was trying to choose words, the baby blurted out the truth.

Fintan’s bushy white eyebrows went up. “What do you mean, you fixed me?”

Din tried soothing him. “Don’t worry, you’re fine. We were trained in healing for years at the Temple.”

“What did he fix?”

“Your shoulder. Your knees. Stuff like that.” He gave the child a stern look.

Do not tell him about the heart.

Ba'buir was not convinced. “Then why did you have to check?”

“He wanted to make sure he’d done it right.”

The old man moved his face closer to Grogu’s. “You should not fix people without their permission. I appreciate not hurting so much, but from now on, I want you to ask me first.”

Grogu nodded.

After latemeal, Din presented a plate of sweet-sand cookies to Grogu. Then, he brought out the starblossom fruit and the bottles of Alderaanian wines. One dry white, one red, and one Toniray.

Fintan lifted the third bottle, chilled in the conservator. “I didn’t think they shipped Toniray offworld.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Din said. “It was a gift.” The Organas had offered to pay him for his part in the rescue, but he had declined. Taking money for doing the right thing seemed wrong, and a deposit from Alderaan would probably alert the Empire anyway. Wine, though, was something he could share with his buire.

Boranda Inn

In a way, Grogu had done Din a favor by spilling the polta beans about Betha. Buir Bretta stopped suggesting he find work on Tatooine, and when Betha asked Din to come to Boranda for a few days, she and Fintan were happy to keep Grogu.

Boranda was a popular tourist destination with deep azure oceans, volcanic islands, and tall mountains. Most people preferred to stay at the shore, but Betha had chosen an inn perched on one of the verdant mountainsides. It was quiet, and their room had a balcony where they could stare at the ocean and meditate.

That was not what they did the first evening. Din had thought about Betha and being with her since their time on Alderaan, and Betha had been thinking about Din the same way. They kissed when they entered the room, and then Betha removed his armor, piece by piece, pressing her body to his as he increasingly lost his shell. Once he was down to his kute, he untied her tunic and opened it, murmuring his longings into her soft neck. They lay down on the richly colored duvet of the bed, touching and taking off more layers before moving on to other things.

In the morning, Betha ordered a pot of ch'hala tea and two cups.

“I don’t know how we should proceed from here,” she said, “but I would like to spend more time with you. Do you have a schedule for your bounty hunting?”

Din was lost in his cup. The last time he’d had ch'hala tea, he’d been at the Temple. The sweet-smelling steam reminded him of his meeting with Master Yoda and the talk they’d had about Grogu’s future. He’d learned that whether he became a knight or not, he would have to leave Grogu. He hadn’t wanted Grogu to be lonely. As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered.

Her hand closed on his shoulder. “You’re brooding.”

The past was gone and dead. Now was what mattered. “Sorry. The tea brought back memories.” He set the cup aside. “I have a sort of rotation with the bounty hunting. Grogu and I usually spend four weeks hunting and then two at home. Closer to one at home, if you subtract the travel time. There are lulls between hunts, though. We could carve out some time, maybe rent a childcare droid.”

She frowned. “Half of your time off is spent in travel?”

“The area I hunt in isn’t very close to my family.”

“Are you exiled or something?”

“What? No. My uncle still hunts in the area around Tatooine, and I don’t want to compete. And there’s a bounty hunter I was—involved with—who works for Jabba the Hutt. I moved to the Carajam Guild so I wouldn’t run into him as often.” Although he had spotted Boba a few times. They were politely ignoring one another, something Grogu had yet to learn. The boy still hissed when he saw him.

Betha snorted at the mention of Jabba. “That makes sense. Have you ever considered getting an apartment closer to where you hunt?”

“I haven’t. We can sleep on the ship, and we didn’t have anyone to come home to near Carajam.”

“Ah. You prefer to spend your free time with your loved ones.”

He smiled. “I didn’t know you were alive until recently. But you’re on the move, too.”

One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Would you consider leaving Grogu with your family when you do some of these cycles?”

He didn’t want to spend a month or more away from Grogu. He hadn’t liked it when he was training with Konn, and he was working much closer to home then. That’s why he’d had the hammock installed in the sleeping quarters and spent his free time teaching the kid. After a moment, he said as much.

“My buire spend months apart at a time,” he added. “It’s not unusual in my community, with so many of us being mercenaries and bounty hunters. But they’re adults. This is my child. He needs me more than two weeks out of every six.”

“I see your point. I wouldn’t want him to think of me as the woman who took his father away. I want him to like me.”

“I want that, too, cyare.” The word was clumsy on his lips, but gave him a tingle inside.

“Perhaps you could spend some of your free time aboard our ship. More room, and a potential babysitter for Grogu.”

“You should get Elimar’s opinion first.”

Din returned to Arumorut with some seaweed salve for his buire and a tiny frog carved from wood. He attached it to the end of Grogu’s silka beads. The child cooed happily, then peered up at him with suspicion.

Buir has been mating, hasn’t he?

That’s Buir’s private business.

With the nice lady that likes me?

“Grogu,” he said aloud, “do not ever ask Betha if she has been mating.”

With the nice lady. Good.

“I’m glad you approve.”

Do I get a present every time you mate?

“Grogu!”

Chapter Text

Attachments

Elimar Salud wasn’t enchanted with Betha’s plan to have trysts on the Sea Shadow with her former classmate. She should have known that once Din Djarin, the boy Betha had cried over their entire first year on the run, reappeared on Telerath he would cause trouble. She’d thought Betha would have a little fun with him, sate her desires, and they would all move on with their lives.

Instead, Betha was becoming more attached to the man. Her meditative focus was still shot to stang, and her thoughts felt like butterflies. But Elimar and Betha were Jedi, and Din wasn’t. He could use the Force, he was handy for getting rid of Inquisitors, but he’d committed himself to being a Mandalorian, a culture incompatible with Jedi principles. Worse, he was raising what was probably the last living member of Master Yoda’s species to be one, too. The boy wore chain armor and had already killed someone with a wee blade. It might be part of the Mandalorian tenets, but an abomination for a Jedi child.

The young Twi’lek pressed her case. “I didn’t object when you had Siptah stay with us for two months.”

“That was just sex. And he helped us with the cargo. Did I cry when he left with that Zeltron woman?”

“No, but you were cranky for weeks.”

“My libido wasn’t through with him yet. But you have an attachment to Din.”

“To Djarin. Din was his family name. No one at the Temple kept the names straight, and he learned to answer to Din.”

Elimar had heard this story before. “He kept Din in his adopted name.”

“To honor his birth family.”

“The point is, you were attached to Djarin then and you’re attaching to Din now.”

Her besotted friend put her fists on her hips and huffed. “Maybe my libido isn’t through with him.”

“You’re dancing close to a steep cliff.”

“There’s something else I know about him that you don’t,” Betha shot back, smiling like she had a green sylop in her hand at the sabacc table.

Elimar set her jaw. “Go on.”

“Master Obi-Wan said that when the Temple fell, he’d already asked for Din to become his Padawan. He wouldn’t have told him now if he’d changed his mind. Din is Jedi material, not just his son.”

“He did not.”

Betha touched her forehead. “See my memory.”

Elimar’s carefully shaped eyebrows drew together in concentration. “Ah. Flattering, but he’s a Mandalorian now.”

“You’re the one who keeps talking about restoring the Jedi.”

Elimar let her breath out in a hiss. “All right, he can visit. But we need to talk to him about it. He hasn’t seemed interested so far.”

“He might be if you weren’t so prickly. He’ll be bringing his son—where he goes, Grogu goes. It would be very appreciated if you could spend time with him.”

“You mean convenient for sex.”

Betha gave her the tooka eyes, the expression that had launched a thousand indulgences when she’d been more of a little sister to Elimar than an equal. “You’d be able to talk to the child about the Jedi Code while we weren’t there.”

“Hmm.”

The Kelborns’ first sleepover took place while the Sea Shadow was carrying a load of jogan fruit to the prison on Ord Cestus. Kawlan Roken, who led the Hidden Path, would be contacting them during the visit. Din had yet to speak to the man in person, but he was eager to learn more.

He left the Razor Crest in secure docking and joined the women on the ship. His guest gifts were a bottle of Chandrilan Blue and a loaf of fresh bloom-bread. He also brought Grogu, Grogu’s toys, and Grogu’s snacks. Oh, and some clothing and toiletries. It wasn’t a sleepover, it was an encampment.

Elimar greeted him with more cordiality than he had expected. Her dark hair was still pulled back, but in a loose twist with a gold clip shaped like a sheaf of wheat. She thanked him for the gifts and took them to the galley.

Betha pressed her forehead to his helmet, then helped him carry Grogu’s things into one of the empty staterooms.

When he put the child down, the boy toddled out of the room to explore.

“Stay away from the cockpit area.”

The boy continued to toddle.

“I’ll know if you go in there, Grogu.”

“Vatstu.”

“Language! Where did you learn that word?”

The pub. Unapi said it when his team lost.

He was going to have another talk with Ba’buir when they got home.

After they watched a holovid, Betha took Din’s hand and offered to let him see her quarters. Elimar thought she would be showing him more than her collection of goddess figurines. That left her alone with the son. She studied the miniature Grand Master sitting across from her on the couch. He was about half Yoda’s height, and Yoda had been smaller than a toddler. Grogu didn’t even come up to her knees. The child’s chain mail would’ve made one glove for a human. The only things large about him were his liquid dark eyes and his ears. He was adorable, except for the sharp teeth and being a little stabby for a Jedi.

“So, you were at the Temple with Din?”

The little goblin nodded.

“Do you remember the things they taught you?”

Another nod.

“Were you old enough to learn the Jedi Code?”

He heaved a dramatic sigh that used his entire body. You don’t like Buir.

It took Elimar a moment to decipher the influx of thoughts. “Sorry, not as fast with Force telepathy.”

You don’t like Buir.

“I don’t know him. I care about Betha.”

He won’t hurt her.

“Emotions can be hurt, not just the body.”

Buir doesn’t want to hurt her. The child was firm. Buir is nice.

“She was very fond of him when they were both children. But now they’re adults. They may not be the same people.”

The baby blew a raspberry at her. Buir is the same. He’s just taller.

A memory entered her mind’s eye; a small dark-haired boy climbing into Grogu’s crib. Red pajamas. Holding Grogu. It was very sweet.

She leaned forward. “If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret?”

He nodded again.

It would be bad if either Betha or Din overheard her. Elimar formed her words into a thought and directed it at the child. Your buir is not a Jedi.

Buir is a Mandalorian, Grogu replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

But he could be a Jedi. Like Betha.

She likes him anyway.

Elimar couldn’t help it; she laughed. The child laughed as well. Some of the tension went out of her spine.

Are you a Mandalorian? she asked the child.

I’m Buir’s Padawan. He indicated one ear. Leaning closer, she saw a strand of silka beads wrapped around it, close to the head. A tiny frog charm dangled on the end.

“Only a Jedi can have a Padawan.”

I’m a Mandalorian Padawan.

“You can’t be both.”

Tarre Vizsla was.

“Oh, kark.”

Language.

When the lovers emerged from the room a while later, Betha no longer wore her overtunic or her boots. Din, however, had his full suit of armor on. Elimar was impressed; it had to take time to put it back on again.

She and Grogu were floating pebbles. She’d fly them in a pattern, and Grogu would duplicate it. He was really very good.

“Has he behaved?” the Mandalorian asked.

“He’s been excellent,” Elimar replied. “He has more fine control than I thought he would.”

“We practice frequently. I have an obstacle course set up on the ship.”

Grogu had given her mental images. It looked like fun. Unfortunately, there were more serious matters they needed to discuss. “He says he is your Padawan.”

Elimar watched the man draw himself up and broaden his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Are you a Jedi?”

“I am a Mandalorian. Doesn’t mean that I forgot what I learned in the Temple.”

“Eli—” Betha’s lekku curled with concern.

She held up a hand. “Betha is ethnically a Twi’lek. That doesn’t keep her from being a Jedi.”

Grogu blinked at the Lothalite, puzzled.

“If you have a Padawan, you should be a Jedi. Could you set some of your Mandalorian ways aside to be his master?”

Oh, he had snapped his barriers shut. Not going well.

“I am his father,” Din said. “And being a Mandalorian is cultural; I have sworn the gai bal manda and the Resol’nare. If I break those oaths, I shouldn’t be trusted with a new one.”

“You would raise him to kill? To hunt people for money?”

“I will raise him to be able to protect himself,” the man said, voice colder than Hoth.

Elimar sensed the building tension. She needed to correct the course of the conversation.

“Din, you know the Jedi ways as well as anyone. The bond between a Master and a Padawan isn’t just about training. It’s about guidance, mentorship, and instilling a sense of ethics.”

Din’s eyes narrowed slightly, his posture remaining rigid. “And you think a Mandalorian cannot provide that?”

Elimar shook her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. But the path of a Jedi requires certain sacrifices, certain commitments that sometimes conflict with other ways of life.”

Grogu tilted his head, eyes darting between the two adults. Elimar sensed his silent plea for peace between them, of understanding.

Din took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was steady but with an underlying note of frustration. “Grogu will choose his own path when he is older. But the galaxy is dangerous; he’s already experienced that for himself. My job is to prepare him to face it and survive. Mandalorian culture isn’t just about fighting. It’s also about honor, loyalty, and family. Aliit.”

“He already has command of the Force,” she replied. “It’s not going to vanish, and his power is explosive. A Mandalorian isn’t going to be able to offer him the guidance he’ll need.”

Elimar couldn’t help but feel sorry for Grogu, who was now puffed up like the mossy sac of a bluebell squish. He didn’t understand that she wanted what was best for him. “He should be raised by Jedi.”

Din had received advice from his buire about the finer points of parenting. He’d had various masters in the Temple ask him to help Grogu learn. But since their time in the homeless shelter on Carratos, no one had ever questioned his ability to raise the child. Punched him for stupid decisions, maybe, but believed him capable. He clenched his teeth so hard they hurt.

Her words replayed in his mind, the doubt he felt from her, her judgement. His hands, curled into fists, shook at his sides.

From the fear he was picking up from the women, he must be radiating his rage. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and quelled it.

He turned from them and approached Grogu. “He was being raised by Jedi,” he said, picking his son up. The child whimpered and clutched Din’s cloak. “Both of us were. But the Jedi are gone.”

“Someone who still follows the Jedi Code, then,” Elimar said.

Din chuckled without humor. “I was taught not to argue over who was the better Jedi.” He could tell Elimar that he meditated on one of the older versions of the Code daily, but the Temple followed many more tenets than the basic code.

“So, are you a Jedi or not?”

“I am a Mandalorian who listens to the Force. I’m teaching my ad’ika everything I know, including the Jedi Code. He will choose his own path when he’s older.”

He reminded himself that this was Betha’s best friend and business partner. She’d dedicated her life to saving people like Grogu. No matter how much he wanted to throw her out her own airlock, he should try to find a resolution.

Grogu had no such limitations. YOU WILL NOT TAKE ME FROM BUIR.

The dark-haired woman flinched at the child’s ferocity.

“It’s okay,” Din murmured to the baby. “No one here wants to hurt you.”

“Grogu and I have a Force Bond,” he finally said, opening his aura to both women. “It formed the night we met. The masters could not separate us without the child refusing to eat. I lived in his nursery instead of the clan quarters.”

Betha’s face softened. Elimar’s resolve wavered.

“We are bound by more than the vow of adoption. We will always have an attachment to one another.” It was true; it was why his masters feared that he wouldn’t pass the Trials.

Din sought for common ground between them. “You received all of the basic training, Elimar. Perhaps you could teach—”

BAD WOMAN DOESN’T LIKE BUIR.

Din tilted his helmet towards Elimar. “Do you dislike me?”

She thought for a moment, which worried Din. “No. Like us, you’ve done your best. I’m just concerned that Grogu will use the Force to serve emotions instead of ethics. There are so few of us left to keep the Jedi ways alive.”

He thought she disliked him at least a little, but she had a valid point. “I’ve done my best to teach him how to use the Force, and to use it for good purposes.”

Grogu cooed and tilted his head towards Elimar.

“But you’re also teaching him to be a Mandalorian,” she said. “It could confuse him. He might not learn either path well.”

Grogu’s ears drooped. He glanced back at Din, needing an answer.

“I think he can learn both,” Din said, “and choose what works best for him when he’s older. He has time; he will outlive us all. I want to give him every tool I have for survival. If you can give him more of the Jedi teachings, I’m for it.”

“Pfft.” Don’t want to be her Padawan. Want to be your Padawan.

“We learned from many teachers in the Temple, Grogu.”

NOOOO!

“I think you should stop arguing about Grogu, especially in front of him,” Betha said. She took Din’s hand. “We should go in the other room, get some rest.”

Betha watched Din put Grogu on the bed, which had only been straightened in a cursory fashion. The child whined and held on to his father’s cloak.

“Udesii,” he said, sitting next to the boy. “You’re safe.”

Don’t let her take me.

Din rubbed the top of the child’s head. “Gar morut’yc. You are under my protection.”

Betha sat on the other side and booped Grogu’s nose. “Elimar wouldn’t steal you. We’ve transported lots of children, and she never tried to keep any of them.”

Din’s anger flared. None of them were my child. The unspoken words hovered between them.

“It’s not you.” The Twi’lek put a hand on his arm, but he had closed off his thoughts. “She wants him to be trained in the Force, and she’s a purist. It doesn’t help that he looks like Master Yoda.”

His shields were tight, but she knew his mind was roiling. It was like a distant thrum.

“She’s correct, though,” he finally said. “I’m a Mandalorian, not a Jedi. I’m probably not the best person to be teaching him.”

The baby wailed.

Betha put a reassuring hand on the child’s back. “You’re perfect, Din. You know how to use the Force, and you know how to survive. Most importantly, you love him.”

“That’s attachment. It’s against the Jedi tenets, remember?”

Grogu didn’t like the sound of that. He whined and tugged on Din’s cloak.

Buir, hold me.

Din pulled the child into his arms. “I think someone is tired. At least, I am. He and I should go to the other room to sleep.”

She didn’t want to leave things like this. She pictured them in the guest room, Din uncomfortable with the situation and Grogu worrying about Elimar. “Stay here, please. Both of you.”

“Are you sure?”

Betha pointed to the toddler. “I want him to feel safe. Protected. There will be two of us here.”

Din addressed Grogu. “Do you want to go to the other room, buddy, or do you want to stay here?”

Grogu grumbled. Want to go home. He burrowed against Din’s side.

“Here will have to work tonight.” Din placed his helmet on the bedside table, followed by his gauntlets. Those solemn brown eyes pleaded with Betha. “I tried to avoid an argument. This is her home as well as yours, and I’m the one encroaching on her territory.”

“You’re new to her, and your experiences have been different. She needs time to adjust.” While Din removed the rest of his armor, she slid out of her tunic and pants and put on a sleeping shift. Din left his kute on and worked his way under the covers. He pulled the child onto his chest.

Betha dimmed the lights and pressed herself to his side, close enough to feel his warmth. The bed smelled of honeyblossoms, cooking spices, and the tang of beskar. She draped an arm over his, touching the child. “Everything will be all right.”

Grogu wriggled closer and clutched Din’s collar. 

Having them both in her bed felt alien and comfy at the same time. Din rubbed his son’s back idly as they relaxed. She closed her eyes and let the movement carry her to sleep.

Apologies

Din awoke. Grogu was distressed, and he wasn’t in the bed.

He got up quietly and searched the room first. Everything seemed to be in its proper place until he spotted the vent. The cover had been removed.

Kark.

Grogu?

No response.

Behind him, the sheets rustled. “Din? What’s wrong?”

“Grogu is gone.”

Elimar—

It was Betha’s first thought, but she didn’t voice it.

“I don’t think so,” he assured her. “If she’d taken him, he would have screeched from here to Malastare.”

“So, what do you think happened?”

Din bent close to the open vent. “I think he’s hiding. It’s not the first time he’s gotten into a ship’s ductwork. Grogu!” he called.

“I’m going to get Elimar up,” the Twi’lek said, slipping into her robe. “She started this; she should help look for him.”

They went into the lounge area outside. Betha disappeared into Elimar’s room.

Din stood in the center of the ship and opened his senses, searching for Grogu. The kid had tried stowing away on Ba’vodu Konn’s ship so many times, he had this down to a science.

The Lothalite interrupted his concentration.

“I’m so very sorry,” Elimar said, face contrite. “I overstepped my place last night.”

“Yes, you did.” He clenched his jaw.

“Your son has so much potential, and I was … too eager.”

“Everyone in the Temple said the same thing,” Din snarled. “They wanted to enlist my help, though, rather than separate us.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated softly. “I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

An image entered his mind. A memory: Elimar saying, He should be raised by Jedi.

Grogu’s memory.

Come out, Din sent.

No. She was thinking about me. Woke me up.

Elimar dropped her chin to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to frighten him. I didn’t realize he was so perceptive.”

The Mandalorian ran his hand over an area where the bulkhead met the ceiling. “He’s only learning to speak now, but he’s good with telepathy.”

Ah. He’d found Grogu. There you are.

A wave of Force pushed him back.

“Ad’ika, if you want to leave the ship, you have to come out of the ductwork,” Din coaxed.

Want to go home.

Din leaned closer, projecting reassurance. “How about back to the Crest?”

The child agreed to this, but wouldn’t budge.

Elimar joined Din next to the wall. “Grogu, I apologize to you. Sometimes, we want more than the Force is willing to give. That also violates the Jedi tenets. I promise not to separate you from your father. Just come out.”

The baby was thinking hard. Din let him do it. Then the clips on a nearby vent opened and the cover fell off. Grogu slid out of the opening and dropped into Din’s hands.

“Thank you,” he said to Elimar, brushing dust from the boy’s clothes.

She looked at her feet. “The Order is no more, as you said. May I make an alternate proposal?”

“I’m listening.” He lifted his chin. “But Grogu gets to make his own decision.”

“I don’t train him. I train you. He can be there if he wants, or you can teach him.”

It was Din’s turn to think hard. He wanted to learn more about the Force. It had been his goal as a child. He would have an excuse to see Betha more often. But the memory of the small, fearful child he’d held last night made him balk.

He lifted Grogu, looked into his huge dark eyes.

What do you think?

No hesitation. If you are there. I trust you.

“I’m willing to try it.”

With that settled, Din made firstmeal. There was no point in going back to bed; no one was going to be able to sleep. The aroma of brewing caf and Quor'sav-fried steak was comforting, and the addition of hotcakes with poptree syrup gave everyone a splendid excuse not to talk.

Grogu laid waste to everything, washing it all down with a mug of blue milk.

After eating, they watched a holovid, a comedy, to continue soothing frayed nerves. Grogu fell asleep in Din’s lap, which did much to improve his own mood.

Once the time for the call came, Betha contacted Kawlan Roken. She made introductions, emphasizing Din’s contribution to Leia’s rescue and his willingness to help in the future.

Roken was a stocky human with curly hair and a beard. He sat at a desk in what appeared to be a cave. Interesting. He seemed very placid for a man defying the Empire, except for his lively eyes, which studied Din.

“Thank you for your help with the princess. We’re between actions at the moment,” he told them. “We just shipped off a group of refugees. It’ll be a while before the next operation starts, but we always need help with extractions. We’re scoping new locations; our agents have reported Empire operatives sniffing around our safehouses.”

Din nodded. “I understand. You need to keep rotating where you take refuge.” Then, he thought of the Bes’tsad.

“How secure is this channel?”

Roken’s brow furrowed. “Encrypted and scrambled on my end. Yours?”

Din glanced at the women.

“The same,” Elimar replied. “We can’t always communicate in person.”

“I once belonged to a traat'aliit that reclaimed beskar from the Empire,” Din said. “It … disbanded, but we were never bothered at our stopping points.”

“What were those locations? If you’re willing to share.”

“Mostly minor places a bit off the Hydian Way. Harloen, Mindor, Feriae Junction … We hid a ship on Taris once.”

“Taris isn’t a good idea,” Elimar countered. “There used to be Jedi there. The Empire would know where to look.”

“I’m familiar with the history, both Jedi and Mandalorian,” Din said. “But the wastelands were a good place for us to hide a ship. And Senator Pamlo is no friend of the Empire.”

“Maybe it could become an emergency stopover,” Roken mused. “As a last resort.”

“Boltholes never hurt.”

Per Grogu’s wishes, they returned to the planet where the Razor Crest was docked. Din was grateful to leave the Sea Shadow without getting into another argument, but he could still sense the distrust Grogu had for Elimar. The kid was as stubborn as a Gamorrean.

The Apprentice

Perdition Venem didn’t look far to find her new apprentice. Her sister, Malice, had birthed five children. They all had varying degrees of talent with the Force, although they’d thought Sangro was a dud until he struck his twin Talon temporarily blind during an argument over an electrostaff.

Four of the children were male, one was female. Sevver was the most powerful, but Perdition could tell from the shape of his tendrils that he would have a short, violent life. This was an investment of time and effort. Young Renda wasn’t as … direct as her brothers, but she was the most practical. She was also willing to take directions, an important part of being an apprentice.

Since Lord Vader had asked her to spend time outside the Fortress, Perdition returned to Mikkia and told her sister the wonderful news. Malice didn’t warm to the idea until currying the favor of the Chosen One came up.

Renda, who had just found a teratoma in her hepatomancy homework, was instructed to wash her hands and pack her things. She was about to become an apprentice to her aunt. She tossed her homework to the nydaks outside, who promptly ate it. As foretold, the call to adventure had arrived.

Perdition’s niece presented herself and her luggage for inspection. She was a tiny thing, more rose-skinned than true red, with long, graceful tendrils. Malice had dressed her in a proper zeyd-cloth robe. An amulet hung from a strand of basalt beads around her throat.

Perdition examined the amulet. “Harterran moonstone. To enhance your Farsight?”

“Yes, master.”

“Renda is very talented with visions,” Malice proudly stated. “I’ve had all her tools and incenses packed for you.”

They boarded the Agrotera, the Phi-class shuttle Darth Vader had authorized, and left the Venem estate. Their first stop was the ancestral shrine on Mount Clanari, where they entered a circle of stone slabs inscribed in glyphs of the Old Tongue.

“We come from a long and distinguished line,” Perdition said, kneeling before the hearth at the center of the circle. “Our strength is our ability to work together. I’ve brought you here so we can attune ourselves to our ancestors and to one another. As your master, I will use our bond to help instruct you.”

Once the heart was lit, they sat under the dumusinth trees and meditated together on the Code of the Sith:

Peace is a lie. There is only passion.

Through passion I gain strength.

Through strength I gain power.

Through power I gain victory.

Through victory my chains are broken.

The Force shall free me.

Chapter Text

Enter Juxul

Din was in love. It had been a long time since he’d felt such longing, such joy, such anticipation of the future. He desperately wanted to spend more time with Betha, but he didn’t want to spend it on the Sea Shadow. He’d reached a truce with Elimar, but he still felt self-conscious around her. Din definitely felt like a sleemo being intimate with Betha when her friend was just outside, watching his kid. It felt … tawdry. Vulgar.

The bunk on the Razor Crest didn’t have room for two adults. Grogu’s hammock was directly above it, too. Love hadn’t entered his plans when he chose the ship. It was for work, and he wasn’t going to bring bed partners on board with his son present.

There were plenty of hunters who worked Carajam. Most probably worked out of their ships, but a few might have rooms or even houses on adjoining planets. Betha had asked why he didn’t have his own place so far from home, and he’d said he’d never had the motivation. Now, he did.

Din and Grogu began hanging out in the bounty hunters’ cantina after cashing in. Grogu was fine with this; they served fried gorg and streamed Meshgeroya on the holovision, just like home. Unlike Chalmun’s on Tatooine, the locals rarely came in; the cantina catered nearly exclusively to members of the bounty hunting industry. Din met several human hunters, a pair of Zabrak arms dealers, and a Wookiee. It took a few days before another Mandalorian entered. The man glanced Din’s way and changed directions. His armor was painted in a combination of terra cotta and a deep shade of orange. Din didn’t recognize the device on his pauldron; not from one of the families of Arumorut.

Distrust was common among both bounty hunters and Mandalorians, so Din gave the man his space the first time he saw him. A week later, he saw the hunter in the cantina again. The dark warrior still didn’t seem interested in the company of others. Was he from Mandalore itself—Empire territory? One of its associated worlds? Din rose and moved closer. This produced a flare of wariness and hostility from the other man.

He tried projecting friendliness, but all that did was change the wariness to contempt. Not a nice guy.

“Vod!” a voice behind him cried. Din turned and saw another Mandalorian coming his way. “It’s been a while.”

This warrior was Devaronian, and a colorful one at that. His armor was a mixture of gold, purple, and green. His visor was framed by a white mask with feline-shaped eyes.

“Come sit with me.” He indicated the other end of the bar. “Let’s catch up.”

Either he had mistaken Din for some other silver-armored Mando with a green kid, or he wanted to draw Din away from the lone warrior. So far, the other man had been inhospitable, so Din followed the new stranger.

The Devaronian eased down onto one of the stools. Din sat, too. Grogu followed in his pod and hovered next to Din.

“Let me buy you a drink. Old Janx? Slipthroat?”

“Ne’tra gal, if they have it.”

The strange Mandalorian seemed a little disappointed in the answer, but crooked a huge finger at the kid. “And him?”

“Fizzade with a straw.”

Gorg.

He didn’t offer dinner.

Their host ordered the ale and the fizzade, and a shot of Old Janx Spirit for himself.

“Thank you for your generosity,” Din said. “I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“I don’t think you had it. You’re new.”

“That would explain things.”

“Yes. I thought I would prevent you from making a mistake.” He leaned his massive head closer to Din’s. “That’s Hattan Tenau. He’s Black Sun. Blood and money are his only friends.”

“I see.”

Their drinks arrived. Din handed Grogu his fizzade, and took the black ale. He removed his helmet and had a swig of the ale. It was good.

Their new friend lifted his helmet slightly, and knocked back the shot.

Ah. Din studied the Devaronian’s armor. Handmade for him specifically; no parts appeared to be standard manufacture. Didn’t remove the helmet. He could be a Child of the Way, like Sabe’s Tribe. He was disappointed because I chose a drink that required removing my helmet.

He turned his visor slightly and noted that the other Mando was gone. “Well, Tenau seems to have left. Thank you for the warning. I’m Din.”

The other man nodded. “Call me Juxul.”

He gestured to Grogu. “This is my son in the pod.”

Juxul studied the child, who was still wearing his hood. “A Foundling?”

“Both of us were.”

“Foundlings are the future. I see he already has some armor.”

“Yes, but I think the helmet will prove more of a challenge.” He noted that the Devaronian’s helmet was hinged to accommodate his horns. “Your Tribe must have a skilled armorer.”

“It does. Your ad looks a little young yet to be hunting. Do you take him on your jobs?”

“Leaving him alone on the ship would be a bad idea.”

Juxul chuckled. “You have no family to keep him?”

“I do, but he wants to be with me.”

He drank his ale; Juxul ordered another shot. The baby belched, making them both laugh.

The man seemed pleasant enough, so Din took a chance.

“Are you a Child of the Way?”

Juxul straightened. Wary, but not hostile. “Will that change your opinion of me?”

“No, I’m just nosy. I’ve met a few.”

“I am. And I have no business socializing with an aruetii, but you were headed for trouble.”

“I appreciate your compassion.”

The Devaronian held his shot glass up to the barkeep for another refill. “You aren’t the only nosy one. If you know other Followers of the Way, where did you find them?”

“There is a group in Arumorut—Vlemoth Port.”

“Ah. We call them the missionaries.”

Din took another sip to hide his smile.

First Mission

Kawlan Roken contacted Din personally a month after their introduction over the Shadow’s comms.

“How close are you to Jestan?”

“Just left Bandomeer.”

Roken grunted. “You’re closer than anyone else I’ve got. I have people who need off the planet.”

“How many?”

“One, possibly two if the operative needs to leave, too.”

“How fast do you need me?” He had a target frozen in the hold.

“Fast. The local Imps followed the refugee from Shili. Our operative got him out of the spaceport before they closed it, but we don’t have a safehouse on Jestan. I can send you the most recent coordinates.”

Din glanced at Grogu. “On our way.”

The region of Jestan the Razor Crest landed in was mountainous with some decent farmland in the valleys. The area spaceport had one tower and a group of small hangars. A nearby field looked like it was used for extra landing space.

Din didn’t have a puck, but he had the comm code of the operative, Russa Lam. Roken had advised minimal communication to avoid attracting Imperial notice to a largely uninhabited region.

In her last message, Lam reported that they had passed through the village of Fafelan and were headed west into the mountains. They would hide until someone from the Network arrived.

Fortunately, Din had infrared filters in his helmet. And the Force.

Din got the speeder out of storage and packed a side bag with a first aid kit, a DuraShelter, a JugFilter, and some ration bars. After some consideration, he added an extra can of fuel for his jetpack. Then, he donned a sling for Grogu.

“We’re going to have company on the way home, so I don’t think there’ll be room for the pod. You’ll have to travel with Buir.”

Once he found Fafelan’s location on the area map the spaceport provided, they set off in the speeder. The surrounding town was small and soon they were passing isolated houses with fields of grain and green patches of leafy taba. Other patches looked like root vegetables; his days working for Hof-Lala Harvesting had given him an eye for such things.

The pair arrived at the coordinates for Fafelan but found no village. They were in the shadow of one of the mountains. Din got out of the speeder and looked around … then he looked up.

A path wound up the side of the mountain, with a wooden bridge spanning a fissure in the rock. Above the path, rough terraces had been hewn into the earth. Huts crouched behind boundaries of stone.

Ah.

“Here’s the plan,” he told Grogu, who stood next to him with his head tilted back as far as it would go. “We’re going to move the speeder off the district trail. Then, I’m taking you for a ride.”

The ingenuity of the village’s residents was more apparent during their flight overhead. Channels with reinforced sides had been carved into the mountain to divert runoff; the one true waterfall had a mill beside it. The people appeared to be a mix of humans and Togruta. Grogu, nestled in Din’s arm, waved down at them.

They continued their flight west, following the sun. Din scanned the area below, looking for paths or natural areas that looked easy to cross.

The air took on a chill as they gained elevation. They landed at a spot with a good view and Din pulled his cape further to the side, wrapping it around Grogu and tucking his little feet in.

“I think we need to try using the Force,” he told the kid. “Let’s link together and let it guide us.”

They closed their eyes and breathed slowly, matching breaths until they fell into unison. The wind passed through the nearby trees, making a sound almost like rain, making the edges of the cape stir.

The brilliance of the sun countered the cold, but it was dropping in the sky, shining through the visor and Din’s eyelids. He would need to shift his filters.

You’re not focusing.

“Sorry.”

He sunk into their bond, broadening their perceptions of the Force around them. Grogu looked; Din listened. Trees always vibrated in a low tone. A bird, small creatures were soft notes in the song of the Living Force. Then, he heard hands rubbing together. A shuddering breath.

That way.

Grogu agreed.

Din didn’t think they were close, though. “We’re going to try something different,” he told the child, reaching for the circlet hanging from his belt.

It had taken time, but he’d healed both the kyber crystals in Waylen’s Inquisitor weapon. He squeezed the trigger, activating blades of orange and yellow, and started the repulsorlifts. Not something he wanted to do in public, but this was an isolated area.

The blades spun and they floated upwards, producing a pleased coo from the child. Din nudged the weapon with the Force, and it pulled them in the direction they needed to go.

Long shadows stretched over portions of the crags below them. The pair they sought were further out than Din had expected them to be. He was on foot again; he didn’t know how long the repulsorlifts could fly before they ran out of power, and the lightsaber blades were playing havoc with his infrared scanners. The wind blew ice crystals into his armor, making pinging noises.

He had begun looking for a spot where he could camp with the kid when he felt the spike of emotion. Half fear, half anticipation. Sentients. Who could it be, but the people they were seeking?

They headed towards the stream of anxiety.

If Roken’s agent was experienced, they should be in a place of natural shelter by now. During their time on Carratos, he and Grogu had traveled cross-country for the better part of a year. Din scanned under evergreens and near fallen trees with his infrared. He sought fissures in the rocky shelves large enough to hold humanoids. Two heat signatures came up under a rock overhang. The inhabitants had put branches over the entrance to block the wind.

Stay alert, Padawan.

He approached the figures slowly. A familiar click told him that a blaster was being pointed at him. Din spread his arms.

“Don’t shoot!” He edged closer. “Is one of you Russa Lam?”

“And if one is?” a voice challenged.

“Roken sent us.”

The form with the blaster edged out of the makeshift barrier. “How did you find us?”

“It’s my day job.”

“You said ‘us.’ Where’s your partner?”

“I’m holding him. It’s my kid.”

“Come closer.”

A Togrutan woman stood and aimed a glowrod at him. “A Mando.”

Grogu made a noise of discontent.

“And my son.”

The light moved to the bundle in his arms. “By the Force! Why would you bring a baby out here?”

The boy blew a raspberry. I’m not a baby, I’m a Padawan.

“He’s a prodigy.” Din extended an empty hand. “I can help you with your shelter. And I have ration bars and water.”

The blaster lowered. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

Russa and the fugitive, Omad, were both Togruta. Din had expected Omad to be a gifted child; instead, he was an old man. The song of the Force was strong in him, though.

They’d piled pine needles on the stone floor inside their hiding place to offset the chill. Two branches rested against the back wall: crude walking sticks. Din set up the DuraShelter immediately inside the barrier, cutting down on the wind.

“Sorry that I only have one this size; we came out as soon as we got the call. One of you should get inside after we eat. You can take turns if you prefer, but the kid goes in with you. He’ll fit.”

Omad frowned. “What about you?”

Din thumped his breastplate. “I have climate controls. Are either of you injured?”

“No.”

“Good.” He broke out the ration bars and the water pods. Then, remembering that Togruta were carnivorous, he opened his side pouch and pulled out the kibi strips he kept for Grogu.

“Sorry, buddy, you’re going to have to share. How long has it been since you two last ate?”

Russa looked thoughtful. She was either white- or yellow-skinned; the light of the glowrod bleached color. “About a day. We stowed away to get off Shili; I only had a couple of packs of jerky. We got some water at the spaceport.”

After they ate, Omad insisted that Russa rest first. “You’ve been working very hard.”

“No, you should rest.”

“You should rest first. If I take my turn right before we leave, the journey will be easier on me.”

This convinced the woman, and she slid into the DuraShelter, leaving the glowstick with Omad. Grogu crawled in after her.

Din draped his tattered cloak around the old man. “Sorry, it’s seen better days. I guess you didn’t want to risk a fire.”

“No. We were cautious of patrols. And setting the pine needles afire.”

“Makes sense.”

Omad shut off the glowstick and made himself comfortable in the dark. Din leaned against the stone closest to the entrance in the barrier.

“I am curious,” the old man said. “Why would a hunter come to help someone like me?”

“Because I have also been hunted.”

“Ah. Tell me about your son. What species is he?”

“I don’t know its name. Neither does he.”

“He has a brightness of spirit.”

“That he does.”

They were quiet for a while. Snores told him when the woman and Grogu had dozed off. Din took advantage of the darkness to open his hand and extend the Force towards the man. He was in decent shape, given the circumstances. His extremities were cold, but not in danger of frostbite. Din didn’t think it was winter here yet, but the air didn’t hold heat well at this elevation.

“You are touching without touching,” Omad whispered.

Din withdrew. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“Ah. Now I know what it feels like.”

“You’ve done this to others.”

“I am a healer.” The old man shifted position, shoving his feet under the fabric of the tent.

The Mandalorian reached for the cape, adjusting it more snugly around Omad. “Is that what got you into trouble?”

“My village is far from Corvala, from any place with a facility. There was a child. His heart wasn’t shaped correctly. He would die. I saw what had to be done and did it.”

Even more challenging than what Grogu did with Ba’buir. No cell memory. “Someone took notice.”

“They called me Y'grritii, a holy man. People came from other villages to see me. Then the Empire arrived.”

“All I did was heal a girl’s cut,” Din said. “I was out of bacta.” And the Inquisitors came.

“They came for a Mandalorian?”

“I was adopted by them later. I was just a kid in the Outer Rim then.”

The man huffed. “I doubt you were ‘just a kid.’ And your parents?”

“Died in the Clone Wars.”

“I grieve for you. My son also died in the Wars. Killed by Zygerrians on Kiros.”

Din remembered the battle for the planet; Anakin Skywalker had gone there with Master Obi-Wan. He’d dreamed of becoming Skywalker’s Padawan once. Instead, he’d met Vader.

“I grieve for you as well.”

When the sky grew light again, Din packed up his gear, Russa and Omad straightened their clothing and got their sticks, and Grogu went off in search of bugs. The kid was the only one who got firstmeal.

Din used his comm to locate the speeder, and they took off in that direction. Now that it was daytime, he saw that both Togruta were yellow-skinned. Unlike Omad, though, Russa had more of an Outer Rim accent.

The trip back was slower, since flying wasn’t an option for Din’s charges. At least it was warmer at the lower elevations. An hour into the hike, the ice from the heights had thawed enough to produce runoff. He filled the JugFilter with the rushing water and put it to work.

His audio picked up rustling in the trees and the soft crunch of twigs. If they were unable to finish the trip today, he might be able to catch something for the group to eat. It had been a while since he’d hunted for food; the last time was during his verd’goten.

He used the jetpack twice to be more certain of their bearings. Finally, they reached the village Din had seen on the way in. They drew a few stares as they walked through, but none were hostile.

They were on the last portion of the path leading down to the valley. If no one had tampered with his …

“Kark.”

Three Imperial speeder bikes were parked around his vehicle.

“Stay here.” He handed Grogu to the old man and jumped off the path, activating his jetpack. He was going to try talking first. It was one thing to open fire on a squad of Purge Troopers when he was rescuing a kidnapped girl from Inquisitors, and another to shoot men who were just checking out a strange speeder.

The trio of stormtroopers were startled to see a Mandalorian descend in front of them. They had their weapons trained on him by the time he hit ground.

Din tried to project ‘casual.’ “Hello, officers. Have I parked in a bad place?”

“Someone reported an abandoned vehicle in the area,” one of the troopers said. “Have any ID?”

“Yeah, sure.” He showed them the one from the Bounty Hunters’ Guild.

“A bounty hunter? You have a puck?”

He pulled out the one for the man sitting frozen in his hold.

“Says he was caught already. Yesterday.”

Din nodded. “Yes, by me.”

“Where is he, then? Is he already in your speeder?”

“No.” He really, really didn’t want them getting into the speeder. He didn’t have any contraband in there, but they would tear it apart.

The talkative one gestured with his weapon. “What are you doing here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Kark.

Din thought frantically. What would Ba’vodu Konn say?

“I had an assignation,” he blurted.

“A what?”

Droop the shoulders slightly, rub the back of the neck. “I have a girlfriend here.”

“Really? Where is she?”

He pointed up at the huts built into the mountainside.

“Yeah, you’d need a jetpack to get up there.”

One of the other troopers pointed. “There. Is that her?”

It was definitely Russa. She ducked back into one of the fissures.

“Hey, you!” the loud one called. “Come back out. Who are you?”

Suddenly, another voice shouted from above. “Tunguma!”

Omad picked his way down from a higher point on the path, holding the hooded bundle that was Grogu. “Tunguma! Where have you been?”

Russa poked her head out. “Khos!”

The old man stopped and glared down at Din. “You! I told you to stay away from my daughter!” He shook his fist.

Din promptly shouted back, “You can’t stop our love!”

Omad lifted the bundle. “Are you the father of this baby?”

Din was certain that humans and Togruta couldn’t reproduce, but kept his mouth shut.

The three stormtroopers looked at the tiny bundle, then at each other, then at Din.

“You’re in pretty deep, fella,” the spokesman for the group said. “We’re supposed to prevent trouble. Need us to arrest you, so you can get out of this alive?”

“No,” Din said. “If it’s my kid, I should probably talk to the old shabuir. Maybe he’ll see sense. May I leave the speeder here?”

“Yeah. But don’t shoot anyone. Someone turns up dead, we have your ID and speeder information. Got it?”

The Mandalorian heaved a loud sigh. “Vor entye.” He activated the jetpack.

The stormtroopers left after watching the trio for a few clicks. Before he let Russa and Omad come the rest of the way down the slope, Din took a loop of the area to check for more patrols. He flew with Grogu in one arm, which delighted the child.

Their departure from the spaceport was blessedly uninterrupted. Russa directed him to a smugglers’ landing in the wilderness, where her own ship waited in concealment. Omad would continue his travels on the Razor Crest.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Omad said to her.

“Your best thanks will be to survive.”

Once the Crest was in the black, Din heated gi dumpling soup, nerf kebabs, and shig tea, which was a comfort to everyone after the trek in the mountains.

Din returned to Carajam to drop off his still-frozen target and collect payment. If Omad found his profession unsettling, he didn’t comment on it. They then proceeded to Mindor and rendezvoused with the Sea Shadow.

Betha smiled as Din entered with the old Togruta. After the argument he’d had with Elimar during their last visit, she wasn’t certain he’d ever come on board again. She sent the Mandalorian to the galley to fix Grogu a snack while she and Elimar helped Omad get settled into a room.

After a short, heated discussion with Elimar about not scaring the boy again, Betha went to find Din. He was sharing Gruuvan shaal with Grogu: he was feeding the child the chunks of meat while he ate the intervening vegetable slices. He’d learned to make it when he was cooking for Hondo’s crew; now he knew that the dish was Twi’lek in origin and one of Betha’s favorites.

He smiled as she entered. “Grogu only ate a couple of the flowers before he realized that they weren’t meat.” The boy had piled them in a mound on the edge of the plate.

She scooped them up and popped them into her mouth. “Is there any way you could ride with us?”

Din looked concerned. “You need backup on the flight? Are the Imps sniffing around again?”

The Twi’lek snorted. “I just meant travel with us on the ship. It’s been a while since I saw you.” She smiled down at Grogu. “Both of you.”

Grogu tilted his head up at them.

Watch limmie?

Mincing Words

Din put his ship into short-term storage and fetched a duffel of their things from the Crest. This time, he put the bag into her quarters without asking. Betha thought that they were unlikely to get up to much with his son there, but sleeping close to him would be nice.

The distraction of their guest prevented any discussions—or arguments—between Din and Elimar. They were more interested in Omad’s life on Shili. Din, in particular, was interested in the older man’s akul-tooth necklace. Omad described the hunt he’d participated in as a youth. The warriors had split up to find the large predator, but it had found Omad first.

“To wear the teeth of an akul, you must slay one single-handedly. I was just trying to stay alive. Even after my brothers arrived and congratulated me, I was afraid it would jump up and eat us all.”

When they got to Feriae Junction, located where the Hydian Way met the Gordian Reach, they transferred Omad into Roken’s care at a shadowport cantina. The Togruta thanked them for their help, then followed Roken to his speeder, back straight and head high.

Afterward, they went to Junction City for dinner and then picked up ingredients for nerf kebabs, a loaf of munch-fungus bread for Betha, protatoes, meilooruns, and more kibi strips for Grogu.

As soon as they were back on the Sea Shadow, Elimar suggested that they discuss the properties of the Force. “Finding out what you already know would be helpful.”

She was looking at Din, but the green child huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

No. Limmie tonight.

“There’s a limmie game in about half an hour,” Din said.

“Jedi training takes precedence over silly games,” Elimar replied.

LIMMIE. TONIGHT.

“Jedi don’t bother with contests of no consequence.”

THESE ARE THE PLAYOFFS.

“You can argue with him,” Din said, “but you’ll be wasting your energy.”

“He needs discipline.”

“He’s a toddler. He needs structure. They put us on a schedule at the Temple before they taught us anything else. This is part of his schedule, and it’s also his reward for good behavior.”

Elimar grumbled, but conceded the point.

He and Grogu watched the game with Betha. The adults cuddled up while Grogu sat on a cushion, eyes fixed on the screen.

“I’m surprised that he even knows about limmie,” the Twi’lek said. “Is it popular with Mandalorians?”

“They call it Meshgeroya. My grandfather likes to take Grogu to the cantina. They eat horribly unhealthy food and watch the game on the big screen.”

“So it’s one of his social activities.”

Din scowled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I should have; Knight Tessa took me to limmie games to help me control my empathy.”

Betha’s tattooed brows rose. “They let you leave the Temple?”

“Exposure to crowds helps you build stronger shields. It just happened to be fun, too. I always brought a cookie home for Grogu so he wouldn’t be jealous.”

“Watching the games connects him to you.”

He squeezed her hand. “I guess it does.”

In the morning, they gathered in the lounge for a cup of ch’hala tea before meditation. Elimar lit a cone of sweet-smelling incense, and the four of them sat together on the carpet.

“I apologize; it’s not uneti incense,” Elimar said. “Occasionally uneti is advertised on the black market, but it’s rarely real. This is mostly santala.”

Betha put herself between Din and Elimar, while Grogu sat in Din’s lap. She noted that Din wasn’t wearing his armor, just the red clothing he favored. When they’d met as children, the first thing he’d said to her was, “We wear red.” He repeated it when he was issued his first Initiate clothing in the Creche. Something cultural.

But Elimar was ready to start.

They began with the Jedi Code:

There is no emotion, there is peace.

(Emotion, yet peace.)

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

(Ignorance, yet knowledge.)

Elimar broke trance, staring at Din, and they all jerked back to the present. “That’s not the Code!”

“It’s an older version, predating Odan-Urr of Ossus. Possibly even the original version,” Din said. “We learned both forms. I prefer it; I’ve never been able to convince myself that my emotions and ignorance don’t exist.”

Her tone became challenging. “True, but it is not the standard mantra the Jedi use. We must do away with our emotions, do away with our ignorance, with our passion.”

Din sighed. “Moving into peace from emotion, and knowledge from ignorance, is closer to the natural way things work. Denial of something that currently exists is a mental contradiction.”

Elimar crossed her arms. “You should release your emotions into the Force.”

Din leaned in. Grogu reached up, grabbing the laces of his tunic. “Are you aware that when you release your emotions, I can karking feel them?”

Betha slapped a hand on the carpet. “Stop, both of you. Elimar, he’s an empath. If you want to teach him, curb your temper.” She rounded on Din. “Since she is the teacher, Din, and we use the standard Code here …”

“I get it,” Din said. “Standard Jedi Code, Grogu, like they used in the Temple.”

Chapter Text

Testing

Elimar was glad that Betha had intervened in their argument. Din had accepted, at least temporarily, that she was the teacher. For her part, she would be more open-minded about his opinions. Master Osdra had always listened to her ideas and examined them with her.

Once they slipped into linked meditation, she sensed that the Mandalorian’s connection to the Force was very strong, as strong as theirs. Betha hadn’t been wrong about his empathy; emotions stirred his psyche like a Bestine anemone. His son hovered on the periphery of their minds, positively radiant with power. The bond to Din grounded the child, kept him from fear, kept him open to guidance.

When they emerged from trance, she gave the man a true smile. “Betha said you and Grogu meditate regularly. It shows.”

She stood. “Let’s have a brief break, perhaps get some cold tea. And maybe something for Grogu to eat.”

Grogu approved of this plan.

Testing Din’s empathy was not a good plan for today; if he could feel emotions released into the Force, she’d already buffeted him enough.

Instead, she had him do some of the telekinetic exercises she’d put Grogu through. The child clapped as Din followed her directions, floating the pebbles through loops and intricate patterns.

“Excellent. Let’s move the tables and chairs back to the walls for the next test.”

Betha’s lekku curled in interest. “Push-Feather?”

“I think we can do it here, although you should probably take the china to the galley.”

The Mandalorian was scanning the room, concern creasing his face.

“Problem?”

He was looking at his son, not her. “I think we should start gently and increase pressure slowly. The walls aren’t padded.”

Elimar smirked. “Confident, are we?”

“No, but Grogu wants to go next. He’s aggressive.”

The boy cackled and bounced on the couch. He looked a little too gleeful for her comfort.

“Let’s start with you and see how things go.”

Din nodded and shifted into a braced position. Elimar mirrored it.

They began slowly, as he had requested. He was strong, she would give him that. But he wasn’t as adept at redirecting the Force as she was. If his only partner had been the boy, he was likely used to resisting brute force. She’d had Master Osdra as her challenger.

Elimar shifted her pushes, diverting his in minute ways, upsetting his balance, forcing him to respond and to change his stance.

She wasn’t surprised by his startlement, but it quickly transformed into interest. Old memories blended with sharp attention. He was still on his feet, although his hair was damp and clumped on his forehead. His chest rose and fell in rapid breaths.

Their battle evolved. Din was adapting, trying her tactics against her. She’d expected anger or retaliatory emotions; instead, she sensed fierce joy. He was relishing the challenge.

Elimar pressed harder, using subtler tactics mixed with surprise shoves. The Mandalorian finally went down with a thump. Then, he lay on his back and laughed.

She wiped sweat from her face and stared, puzzled. The man’s shirt was soaked, and his hands were trembling, but he was glowing with happiness.

“Oya Manda,” he said between gasps for air.

Grogu ran over and patted his chest, squealing. Then, he gurgled at Elimar.

Me next! Play with me next!

Sharing Knowledge

Betha and Elimar found a transport job in Junction City before they left the spaceport. This time, it was a load of frozen Kessinnamon rolls for delivery to the residence halls at the Nessem Shipyards. Loading the cargo went quickly with Din’s assistance.

During the trip back to Mindor, Elimar spent more time quizzing Din about what he’d learned at the Temple. His memories of the time surged to the fore, and when she discovered that his knowledge of Coremaic and Tionese exceeded hers, she was elated.

She gathered the flimsi sheets from the table and stacked them. “I’m trying to reconstruct a primer,” she said. “For future Jedi. Having a section on the ancient languages would be very helpful. Did you specialize in Jedi languages?”

He shrugged. “No, I just have a general knack for languages in general.”

While they shared knowledge, Betha showed Grogu how to play Push-Feather. They both sat for the exercise, which helped prevent injuries. When the boy shoved too hard with the Force, though, Betha broke out her secret weapon: the Force-Tickle.

The Sea Shadow dropped off its cargo at Nessem, and headed for Mindor. Din’s ship was waiting, safe at the spaceport.

“Let’s take the ships out to one of the uninhabited areas,” Elimar said. “I haven’t seen you fight with your lightsaber yet, but I imagine you must be good.”

Din had been on Mindor several times now, mostly during his days with the Bes’tsad. The planet was largely farms and grasslands. He led them to an area deep in the continent, far from the nearest village. They dropped below the cloud layer, revealing rivers and herds of grazing creatures on the plain before he set the Razor Crest down.

The Lothalite woman examined one of the flatter areas, judging its suitability. “You should remove your armor. It will obscure your form.”

Din began to object—Mandalorians rarely went without their armor—then stopped. It was a fair request. She needed to see his stances and foot placement.

He shucked the armor, leaving his kute on. It didn’t seriously inhibit his movement, and she was wearing her cortosis weave gambeson, which was also protective. The wind lifted his hair, brushing it back from his face.

Nearby, Grogu was searching for bugs. Betha grimaced as he popped one in his mouth.

“I’ll use my personal saber,” he said. “The Inquisitor weapons don’t have a setting for spars.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’d want to use bled crystals at all.”

“You’re right. I can feel their pain. I heal them first.”

Now, she frowned. “Purify or heal?”

“Heal. The first weapon I took was Waylen’s. It didn’t seem right to purge his crystal.”

Her gaze dropped to the circular hilt at his hip. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Din lifted and activated it. “The orange blade is his crystal. The other one belonged to a young woman. I think she died.”

Elimar put her hand over her mouth, staring at the yellow blade. Then she dropped her arm and straightened. “It belonged to Saadia Bint. She was Master Palesa’s Padawan. Same year as me.”

“I’m sorry,” Din replied. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

“It’s painful for us all. But we must forge on. Please, show me the forms you remember.”

Din ignited his lightsaber, and she murmured. He knew his blade, a deep indigo shade, was a rare color. Professor Huyang said that it indicated a subtle and diplomatic nature.

Certainly not a Mandalorian nature, he thought.

He went through the Jedi katas, sliding from one form to the next. Din had practiced them almost daily since his time in Grogu’s nursery; her sounds of approval confirmed that he hadn’t lost the forms.

Muscle memory.

“Let’s spar,” she said. “Set your weapon to training mode, if you haven’t already.”

A pair of peregrines passed overhead as they took ready stances. Betha stood at a safe distance, now holding Grogu. The child chewed on his knuckles, watching them.

Elimar activated her blade. It was blue like Obi-Wan’s, like Anakin Skywalker’s.

They saluted one another, then closed for battle. Elimar began with the deceptively simple moves of Shii-Cho, striking to disarm him. Din responded with Makashi, deflecting her attack and making one of his own.

She sidestepped and blocked his next two blows. He retaliated with a leg sweep that sent her tumbling. Grogu squealed and clapped his little hands.

“This is a test of your skill with the saber,” she carped, “not general combat.”

He grinned. “Sorry. An ethnic weakness.”

The spar resumed after she got to her feet. Circling, she lunged with a shiak.

He slapped the attack aside and followed up with a slash and a Force shove.

He was a boy in the Temple again, trading blows with Waylen. Master Drallig walked by each sparring pair of Initiates. “Let the Force guide you,” he advised. “Let it flow through you.”

Din leapt, somersaulted, and delivered an overhead blow. Elimar barely got her saber up in time.

“You can still do that?” she puffed. “I would’ve thought the armor would have discouraged practicing Ataru.”

Rather than reply, he closed with a flurry of strikes. She shoved him with the Force this time. “Attacking isn’t all you should do. Show me some defense.”

Din stopped and stepped back, waiting for her to take the lead. She was breathing heavily; he wasn’t. Then again, he was used to fighting with his armor on.

After a few more breaths, she came at him with Djem So.

He obliged with Soresu, turning aside blow after blow. Instead of retreating, though, he advanced. Grass crunched under his boots as he pressed closer, pushing her back while his blade held steady against her attacks. He sank into the Force further, letting it direct him.

It flowed through his body, delivering a counterstrike.

They were locked in a dance, a place where currents met and swirled, where notes blended into a song of light. He dealt powerful blows, sparks rising from clashing blades, until she held up a hand.

“Stop!”

He paused. Were they through?

Elimar extinguished her saber and crossed her arms. “How did you learn Form Seven?”

“I was granted permission,” he replied. “Juyo, but not Vaapad.”

“So you learned it in the Temple?”

He shrugged. “Mostly. The Inquisitors use something like it.”

“I see.” She rubbed her forehead. “Be careful what you copy from Inquisitors. Touching the Dark Side is risky.”

Padawans

The time came to part ways. Din and Betha kissed; Grogu made a face at them.

After takeoff for Carajam, Din took stock of the food in the little galley. If they were going to keep transporting fugitives, he needed to maintain a larger supply of items that would keep over time. He wasn’t always going to have frozen soup his buir made on hand to feed others. More survival gear might also be useful, although there was only so much he could carry besides the jetpack and Grogu. Maybe a heat stick. That would’ve helped in the mountains.

Din had lost a good chunk of work time traveling with the women. His buire might forgive him for taking time off to see his cyare, but Ba’vodu Konn wouldn’t forgive a late loan payment.

They had a little time in hyperspace before they arrived at the Guild hub, so he picked up his datapad. Elimar had given him a chip with homework. Since he had homework, Grogu had homework, too. The boy watched educational (not nature) holos while Din read.

She’d created a file of information based on texts like The Jedi Path, the first text all Initiates received, and analyses of the Rammahgon and the Poetics of a Jedi, based on her memories and Master Osdra’s. A separate section, written by Osdra alone, was a reflection on his experiences with his Padawans and the lessons he’d learned from them.

Osdra’s notes for Elimar touched on the war in passing, but rarely mentioned the clone troopers. The fall of the Temple had been horrifying, but what had it been like for Elimar and Osdra to be the only two Jedi in a sea of clones when they turned against their commanders?

In this last section, though, he’d written, “Never underestimate how resourceful and wise a Padawan can become when they have someone younger to protect.” Din had discovered his inner strength protecting Grogu from the Empire; perhaps Elimar had found her own protecting Betha after they met at Naboo.

Din thought about the lessons he’d learned from Grogu:

• Padawans are bribable. Be economical if possible. Fried gorg is cheap; spa dates, not so much.
• Don’t leave your Padawan unattended. He will play with the local wildlife and make unscheduled flights.
• Watch what your Padawan does. He doesn’t know what he can and can’t do. You could learn something.
• Watch your own behavior. Padawan see, Padawan do.
• Never trust a Padawan to keep a secret.
• Padawans will judge your personal companions and make their opinions known.
• Padawans are masters of disguise—but only in their own minds.
• Sometimes you take care of the Padawan—sometimes, he takes care of you.
• Don’t leave your Padawan alone with your grandfather for too long. He will take the Padawan to the cantina and teach him to gamble.
• Don’t take your Padawan to Mustafar and tell your mother afterwards. Corollary: invest in a codpiece.
• Your Padawan will always be cuter than you.

Second Mission

The next time Roken called him wasn’t for a rescue in the wilderness. It was an extraction. Their man was in a cell on Djurmo.

The prisoner, Voggo Vander, was an actor. He’d come to the planet to shoot a holodrama of the Imperial Navy battling Huralok pirates. His role in the drama was the dashing young lieutenant destined to save the ship when the grizzled but noble Imperial Captain was injured. Unfortunately, during the recording of a scene where Vander was perched on a replica of a Star Destroyer’s tower, he’d slipped off. Instead of crashing into the floor ten meters below, he’d floated the last three. The Imperial officer acting as a consultant to the holodrama immediately had the actor thrown into the local jail and contacted the Inquisitorius.

Fortunately for Vander, the Network still had a mole or two at Nur. The leaked footage on the Holonet didn’t hurt, either.

The holodrama was being recorded in Darkash, a village short of money and long on scurvy-looking types that made excellent extras. Din landed outside of town and left Grogu behind on the ship, with strict instructions to the astromech Zippo to keep the boy on board.

“If I comm and tell you to come, come to my signal. If I tell you to take off, you leave. Take the kid home.”

“Emotional or spiritual?”

“Arumorut.”

“Physical. How pedestrian.”

Personal security was held in high esteem on Djurmo—most of the population carried weapons, even the children—but the same could not be said about their jails. Since Inquisitors were supposed to be en route, Din didn’t bother calling Russa for backup. He located Vander within the building, cut the power, and blew out one of the doors with a grav charge. The only real resistance he encountered was from the Imperial officer, who had stationed himself at the cell to ensure that the actor didn’t bribe or sweet-talk his way out of the jail.

After dispatching the Imperial, Din blew the door lock with his blaster and strode into the cell.

“Come with me. I’m getting you out of here.”

“Now? I’m due to be arraigned in the morning,” Vander said. “Holonet News is supposed to be there.”

“If you don’t come with me, you’re going to be on a shuttle to Mustafar in the morning.” Din checked the face with his infrared filters, then the aura. Face matched the holopic, presence was bright in the Force, but he didn’t seem very smart.

“I believe in due process.”

The Mandalorian heard feet running their way. He did not have time for this poodoo.

“One sec.” He tossed a smoke bomb through the opening behind him, then grabbed Vander. “This is for your own good.”

“Help!” the actor shouted. “I’m being kidnapped!”

Din spun him around and cuffed him. Then, he shoved a sound sponge into the man’s mouth. Boba had advised him to carry one, and now he knew why.

He fled the jail with his unwilling charge slung over one shoulder. Vander kicked at his chest, mostly hitting beskar. Naturally, there were other people blocking the exits by now. Din burned a brace of darts and a concussion grenade before he was free to take off with the jetpack.

Zippo brought the Crest when he commed, dropping the ramp down so he could fly into the hold with his prisoner. Din dumped Vander on the floor and cuffed his legs. He hoped the idiot had bruised his knees on his cuirass.

Grogu toddled over for a closer look. Did Buir find a bounty?

“No,” Din said, “I rescued him, but he’s a di’kut.” He had at least two blaster burns that needed bacta. “Zippo … take us to Taris. Now.”

He looked at the kid and pointed to Vander. “Keep watch over him. He’s wriggling like a dune worm.”

The child giggled.

When Din exited the fresher, burns treated, he saw that Grogu was sitting next to Vander. “You’re doing a good job. I’m going to check in upstairs.”

He climbed to the cockpit. Zippo already had them in hyperspace; the astromech had become accustomed to hasty exits.

“I’ve got a burn on my ass,” Vander complained. “I have a nude scene coming up. If it scars, I’m going to sue you for adversely affecting my professional life.”

The hunter muffled a snort. Padawan, see if you can heal him without a scar.

Already did.

“My medical officer tells me that you’re going to be fine. I’ll come down and check your shebs in a few clicks.”

When he was finished in the cockpit, Din returned to the hold. He found the scorch in Vander’s pants and checked the area underneath. No sign it had ever been hurt.

Excellent job, he told the kid.

“Your ass looks like an ass,” he told the actor. “And not one to crow about.”

“Well,” the man admitted, “they were planning to enhance it in post-production.”

“I’m going to recuff you with your hands in front,” Din said. “It will be more comfortable. If you fight me, I’ll stick you in carbonite. It may take a while for your vision to return if I do that.”

“C-carbonite?”

Din pointed at himself. “Mandalorian. Bounty hunter. Freezing unit. They go together.”

“Someone has a bounty on me?”

“If you do, it’s not high enough. I’d demand ten thousand credits extra for the aggravation value alone. Now, are you going to hold still?”

Vander complied. “What about releasing my feet?”

“You’ll need to earn that privilege.”

“I might need to visit the fresher later.”

“Then I suggest you start behaving fast.” Din fetched two chairs and unfolded them. He parked the actor in one and sat in the other. He did not remove his helmet. “It’s time I explained some home truths to you. You’re Force-sensitive.”

He studied the man. No ripple of surprise; this was not new information.

Well, then. He continued. “Unfortunately, the Empire also knows you’re Force-sensitive now. The Inquisitors are coming from Mustafar. You’re going to disappear. Your career as an actor is over.”

“No! That video is all over the Holonet. The tooka’s out of the bag.”

Oh, now Vander was afraid. “The Empire will have that video scrubbed. Anyone who remembers it, or you, will get the message.”

“So, you rescued me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“I’m asking myself the same question.”

“Sorry.” The man was silent for a moment, then brightened. “You rescued me, and you’re dropping me off at Taris?”

“No, I’m passing you to a compatriot. You’re still going to disappear, but you’ll have all your limbs.” Din had noticed that an uncomfortable number of Inquisitors had hand or arm replacements.

“Just take me to Taris and drop me off. I can travel incognito.”

Din shook his head. “Your chain code won’t let you.”

Vander smiled charmingly. Well, he was an actor. “I’m good at making friends; I’ll get a ride. Drop me off at Taris. No need to endanger anyone else.”

Din felt a mental shove. Holy happabore, the man was trying to Mind Trick him. He scowled and shoved back, hard. The shabuir nearly fell out of his chair. Grogu squealed with laughter.

“Try that again,” the hunter growled, “and ni ven’broka gar lo dush jahaal.”

“What?”

“I will beat you into bad health.”

“Gotcha.”

Din turned to Grogu again. “Keep watch on him. He’s not to be trusted. I’m going to make a call.” He needed to let Roken know that the operatives receiving Vander needed to be Force-sensitive, or the man would escape. If he did, he might fall back into the Empire’s hands and trade his knowledge of Network members for his own life.

Perdition is Notified Too Late

Lady Perdition enjoyed training her new apprentice. Her niece was obedient, clever, and had a strong admiration for her aunt. The girl’s connection to the Force was strong and she was already skilled in Farsight, divination, and Force persuasion. Malice had begun training her in Memory Rub and Drain Knowledge, but she would require further practice before using them.

What Renda really needed was more training in combat. The tiny Mikkian was no match for the adults she would be fighting. She wielded a lightsaber pike—well, more like a lightsaber twig—which could keep her opponents outside arm’s reach, but defensive moves weren’t enough to win a battle. Perdition sparred with her twice daily and made her work on telekinesis the rest of the time.

This should have exhausted the child, but instead she would disappear into her room with a plate of ghost spydr legs and read the Dark Holonet. Once her rest period was over, she was revived and ready to go again.

Perdition thought this was a useless pastime to indulge until the girl came bouncing out of her cell, holding her datapad. “Auntie—Lady Perdition! Look at this!”

She expected it to be a video of wurrek hatchlings or the like. Instead, she watched a bland-faced human actor fall from a stage and float to the ground. The narrator said that the actor had been arrested as a suspected Jedi, but had subsequently broken out of jail.

Perdition took the pad and inspected the associated notes. It was only a few days old and had already disappeared from the public Holonet. The Empire had acted swiftly; why had no one contacted her? Djurmo was very close to Mikkia. It would have taken them less than an hour to jump there and make the pickup.

The answer to the unspoken question was clear: Onionhead. He’d embargoed the information so his team could make the apprehension. Instead, they’d lost a prime target with some public standing. Not great standing; she’d never heard of Voggo Vander before.

What good did it do her to arrange for information leaks to lure the Hidden Path out of hiding, if she didn’t receive the information herself? She contacted her minion at Fortress Inquisitorius and instructed him to contact her immediately with such information; clearly, her comms weren’t included in the alerts any more.

Chapter Text

Entertaining Grogu

The next time Din and Grogu boarded the Sea Shadow, they had plans for a trip. Grogu, Din, and Betha were going to Tirahnn to visit the Great Fair. Tirahnn was known for its grand bazaars and markets, which extended for miles, but the Great Fair was an annual event with many free offerings under their day pass, including rides and shows and other entertainment.

“How have you been?” Din asked Betha. “Have you heard anything about Omad?”

The Twi’lek smiled. “Busy as always. Omad went on to a new life, but was safe the last I heard.”

Someone poked him from behind. He turned to see Elimar.

“I should register a complaint with the Network about that joker you saddled us with.”

Joker..? Oh, Vander. “He was a handful. I warned you.”

“Whined the entire trip that you’d threatened to kill him, then tried to Mind Trick us both,” the Lothalite said.

“I threatened to kick his shebs, not kill him.”

“Oh, we were both tempted to do the same,” Betha said. “Elimar put paid to the Mind Tricks. She rendered him mute for ten clicks the first time, then kept lengthening the quiet period when he got out of line. I thought we should make him forget how to use Mind Trick, but Elimar thought that was too Dark Side.”

“It would have been too enjoyable,” Elimar allowed.

Elimar planned to spend her day at the Celebratus Archive on Obroa-skai. The Empire had done a massive purge of information on the Jedi, but there were rumors that the Archive still had some notes buried under other headings. She hoped to lengthen the primer she was creating for new Jedi.

Din hadn’t given her his honest opinion, which was that the Jedi, as a body, were gone. A new Order might form, but it would take decades, maybe even centuries, to restore a semblance of what it had been. The Empire was still hunting Force sensitives to destroy or recruit.

Din remembered the hum of the Temple. There had been thousands of Jedi, linked together through the Force. Most of them had been murdered in one night. Their song was gone, leaving only a few lost notes.

Empires fell; Din knew that. Palpatine was old. But he’d learned that good people often died young, while meanness seemed to grant longevity. He shouldn’t discourage Elimar, though. Knowledge was precious.

“I’m making time for your work,” Din said aloud. “I rarely have the opportunity to read.” He’d studied Mandalorian history in the Temple, then learned more when he was preparing to become one, but that was years ago. Ba’vodu Konn had verbally shared his experiences as a bounty hunter, which were educational and part of his training, but it wasn’t reading. These days, Din was trying to teach the kid Mando’a. Which was his duty as Grogu’s father. “What do you hope to find in the Archive?”  

Elimar gave him a surprised look. “Lost history. Mentions of the Jedi, the locations of old temples. Maybe other Force-based religions.” She cocked her head. “What would you read, if you had time?”

“My parents were Disciples of the Whills,” he said. “Learning more about them would interest me.”

“Oh. That explains your red clothing. Did you ever visit the Holy City?”

“No. My parents said we would go when my sister was a little older.”

They dropped Elimar off at the spaceport and took the Sea Shadow to the trade planet. Betha thought that the orbital docking price was outrageous, but Din said the convenience was worth it. There was nothing worse than waiting for a ride off planet if Grogu tired out early, was frightened by the crowd, or ate something that made him sick … not that Din had ever seen the latter happen.

Betha hoped that everything would go well. This was their first “kid date”—one set up to please the child. So far, she and Grogu had gotten along, but most of their time together had been during crisis events. She’d suggested that they do something Grogu would enjoy for a change, and Din liked the idea.

They were issued a purchase ID when they checked in. She didn’t think either of them would be buying anything, but Grogu might decide he couldn’t live without a present. Betha had figured gifts and food into her budget for the day.

The fair was … staggering, to put it mildly. Colorful striped tarps shaded stands where natives from hundreds of worlds offered their wares. Wampa-skin rugs, toy droids, Zink-sleds, and large seashells caught Grogu’s gaze. Din admired the hand-sewn leather goods, jams and jellies made from exotic fruits, and the bowcaster and Rykk blades at a booth staffed by Wookiees. They even had webweaver silk, but it was placed behind the counter. She’d heard that getting the silk was a dangerous proposition, even for Wookiees.

A hovering Toydarian hawked Oshora rainbow pearl necklaces, kilassin claw pendants, and glowing sein jewels from Naboo. The merchant tried to catch her attention, but Betha was more enticed by the headdresses and bath oils some nearby Twi’leks were selling. Din escorted her to that booth, keeping his hand at the small of her back.

She resisted the lure of the headdresses and colorful clothing, but the honeyflower-scented bath oil was her downfall.

“For the next time we visit Boranda,” she said, smiling up at Din. “We’ll get a room with a large bathtub.”

They almost escaped the market without Grogu finding something he couldn’t live without.

Almost.

Then the child was screeching and pointing at a booth managed by a large droid.

“I don’t think he’s for sale,” Din said. “We don’t have a place for him on the ship.”

“Owee! Kih!”

“Orikih? Tiny?”

The boy frantically nodded and pointed again.

Din zoomed in with his HUD, and saw small figures moving around on the transparisteel surface of the booth.

Anzellans.

He carried Grogu to the booth, and let him watch the tiny craftsmen at work. A group worked on a toy droid smaller than Leia’s; a single Anzellan worked on a nanowave stove that might be able to hold a fingerling protato.

The child cooed with joy as he watched them. It was probably the first time he’d seen someone from a species smaller than his own.

Then, he held out his arms and one of the Anzellans zipped into them. The pintsize worker kicked his feet, which, unlike his hands, were bare.

“No!” the craftsman screeched, whiskers trembling with rage. “Pummee down!”

The other Anzellans had stopped work and were protesting from the counter. “Leggo him!”

“Grogu!” Din pried the boy’s hands loose. “This is a person, not a toy.” The Mandalorian placed him gently on the booth, near his compatriots.

“Bad baby,” the worker said. “No squeezie!”

“He’s not bad,” Betha said, hiding a laugh. “He’s still learning how to behave.”

“Bad baby,” the Anzellan repeated. “No grabbee.”

Grogu whined.

“My apologies,” Din said. “Perhaps I could purchase something from your wares. That might please everyone.”

The Anzelllan adjusted his goggles. “Hokay.”

They looked at model spaceships that could fly, a Chandrilan worry doll, a miniature probe droid, and even a clockwork rancor. But what attracted Grogu’s attention was a wrist comm in his size.

WantThatWantThatPleeeeze?

“Who would you call?”

“Ba-boo.”

“Ba’buir?”

“Lek.”

“Not sure it has the range, buddy.”

But the child was insistent.

Din sighed and addressed the droid. “Does it have parental controls?”

The comm, like most of the items on display, was expensive. Din could’ve bought a bracelet of Corusca gems at that price.

Din helped Grogu make his first call. He was surprised to discover that the device could actually reach Vlemoth Port. Grogu croaked happily to Ba’buir in Pak Pak. When Fintan ended the call, they headed for one of the amusement areas. Banners flapped from the balconies of restaurants. Piped music softened the buzz of the crowd and cries from excited younglings.

They boarded a low-orbit zero-G ride that gave them a good view of the planet under the transparisteel bottom of their carriage, but Grogu had far more fun zipping around with the help of the Force. The other children could push off from surfaces and float as if they were in water, but Din’s kid could actually fly.

They watched Grogu do somersaults and flips. Years of practicing Ataru had given him skill.

“I’m jealous,” Betha told the child. “You’d probably do even better if you weren’t wearing the chain mail.”

Din, content to float, spoke up. “Beats full armor.” He rolled slowly in mid-air, cautious even without some of his favorite weapons. The Amban rifle, which he had used to great effect against the Inquisitors, was illegal on this planet.

Once they were back on the ground, they wandered through the concession stands. The air was filled with the scent of fried food, meats, and spices. They found a booth that served amphibian skewers, which thrilled Grogu. Din got Traladon ribs, and Betha found a stand with Viamarr blackroot sandwiches. After a short wait, a concierge droid located an empty table for them in the designated eating area.

Betha was pleased with her selection. “This is better than I expected. The vinaigrette dressing was a nice touch. What about your skewers, Grogu?”

The child trilled happily.

After lunch, they went to the entertainment pavilion to watch a puppet troupe from Naboo. “I’m surprised that either of you chose to wear armor today,” she said. “It has to be hindering your movement.”

“Doesn’t slow Grogu down.”

“Not much, that’s for sure.”

“I’m raising my son in the Mandalorian culture. Ba'jur bal beskar'gam: education and armor.”

She frowned. “From the Resol’nare?”

“Yes.”

Betha glanced at Grogu. It explained the armor, the tiny sword, and the dart glove. She’d thought he wanted to imitate his father, and the family was humoring him. But they were all Mandalorians, weren’t they? How would a Jedi fit in?

The thought made her stop walking. What a foolish question. A Jedi would try to get along with everyone. Why would she worry about fitting in?

Din slowed and turned. “Did you see something you wanted a closer look at?”

“No, just thinking.”

They took Grogu on another ride, the Smugglers’ Spinner. This one had model freighters that one or more children could ride in. Sparkling crystal stars and glass globes dangled from above, out of the reach of small hands. Grogu was too small to sit and still see over the edge of the pretend spaceship, so he stood in the seat while Din kept a steadying hand on him. The child’s easy trust in his father made her wistful.

Then the boy stretched out his claws to her, and she took them. They wrapped around Betha’s finger.

Her heart beat faster. Did he trust her, too?

Grogu burbled happily.

Once they were back on the ship and headed for Obroa-skai, Din put the child in Betha’s bed. Grogu was wiped out from his busy day and had fallen asleep on the shuttle to the spaceport. Once he was settled, Din joined the Twi’lek in the cockpit.

“I’ve begun looking at apartments,” Din said. “With a separate room for Grogu. But—Betha—if I find one, will you be staying there with us? Or would we be better off booking hotels and a childcare droid?”

Staying with—oh, he must mean between their respective jobs. She sighed and slumped. “I don’t know. Our jobs take us in different directions most of the time. And then there’s the Network. If you just want to do hotels, I’d understand. But … it might be nice to have one place to come back to.”

Din grinned. “Then I’ll keep searching.”

When Elimar reboarded the Sea Shadow, she presented Din with a datastick. “The Archive had some information on the Disciples and related religions. I saved the files for you. It includes a collection of prayers and writings from one of the scholars.”

“Thank you,” he said, surprised. “You didn’t—you didn’t have to do that.”

She gave him a smile, rare but genuine. “Consider it incentive to make more time for reading.”

Arumorut

“Your accent has changed,” Buir Bretta said while chopping up amber-root on the counter.

Din looked up at her from the stove, where he was coating chunks of nerf meat in flour before dropping them in the skillet. A broad apron protected him from the popping grease.

“Changed?”

“Your Mando’a is as it always was,” she elucidated, adding the cubes to the bowl of sliced calarantrum, carrots, and Red Nebula onions. “But you’re picking up that Core accent again in Basic.”

“Sorry; I’ll work on it.”

“Is it the influence of your new friends? Particularly the special one?”

He flushed; explaining that Betha was a Jedi and couldn’t be anyone’s girlfriend wasn’t something he could easily explain. Never mind that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other when they were alone together, never mind her efforts to befriend and bond with his son, never mind the love he felt when they touched minds.

She was a Jedi. She wanted him to be a Jedi.

Din stirred the chunks of meat. “It could be. We developed the same accent at the same time.”

Once the stew was on and cooking, Din went to his room. He passed Sesta’s workroom, where his other buir was busy pinning a new tunic onto Grogu. The child wanted to wear the colors of Kothlis, his favorite limmie team, and he was too tiny for anything from the shops. A purple tunic over green skin … well, his kid wasn’t the type to blend into the background.

Din took off the apron and picked up the Inquisitor weapon from his bed, along with a sheet of flimsi. Between the battle with Darth Vader’s minions and his new training, he’d come up with some ideas for a more effective weapon.

Ba’buir was in the great room, checking Din’s armor over for damage. He checked it regularly himself, but the old man had made it. He wore a visor with magnifying loupes, similar in many ways to the ones the Anzellans had worn.

“Everything appears to be in good order,” Fintan said. “You’re polishing it more, I see. Someone to impress?”

Kark, the blush was coming back. He was too old for this. “I’ve been socializing more.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“No.” He sat down next to his grandfather. “I’m sorry I got pulled away from my work. I’ll focus harder.”

“You’ve done quite a bit of traveling in the last few months. Alderaanian wine that can only be acquired on-planet …”

“It was a gift.”

“A comm for your son that’s better than your own …”

“That was sort of an apology to the Anzellans. He tried to play with them and they didn’t like it.”

Fintan lifted the visor, revealing his blue eyes and gray eyebrows. “You’re allowed to have friends, Din’ika. And a cyare. I wouldn’t mind another bu’ad.”

“Ba’buir!”

“I try not to intrude in your life, but Grogu gossips. You’ve been spending a lot of time with this girl.”

“She’s a Jedi,” he grumbled.

“I have nothing against jetiise.”

Din clenched his jaw. “They can’t attach to people. Can’t … marry.” Why was it easier to tell Ba’buir some things he couldn’t bring himself to tell his buire?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Fintan was looking at him intently.

“Do you want to marry her?”

Din shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

The old man sighed. “It matters. But it does require that both of you agree.”

“Not going to happen.”

“You could ask. You might be surprised.”

“I … I’ll think about it. I came in here to ask you for something.”

“Then ask.”

Din showed him the Inquisitor weapon with the circular hilt and the sketches he’d made of the internal parts.

Before Din returned to the Mid Rim, he dropped by the Mebba-Denga Bank in Nar Shaddaa to withdraw some cash. He hadn’t been living up to his obligations. He still owed Ba’vodu Konn for his loan, and his family had just paid his share of the levy for public works. When they hit Corsin, he deposited the credits into the account under his real name and repaid the debt.

Din hadn’t served his buirkan, the required two years each resident of Arumorut spent working for the community, because Din had gone immediately into an apprenticeship as a new adult. He could be recalled immediately to fulfill that duty if the levy wasn’t paid, and it was his responsibility to do so. He regretted every indulgence he’d allowed himself and Grogu in the last few months. Well, maybe just the ones for himself, although the purchase of the Anzellan comm was entirely Grogu’s fault. He might think they were cute, but their sense of boundaries was strong.

He buried himself (and, by default, Grogu) in Guild work when they reached Carajam. After clearing a number of pucks, he transferred more money to his clan’s account so they’d be able to pay the next levy.

After a few weeks, his comm went off. He’d conversed with Betha via text, but this time, she was calling in person.

“Su’cuy!” she said.

He closed the file of Disciples poetry and gave her his full attention. “Su’cuy. How are you?”

“Wondering where you went. I thought you might have fallen off the edge of the galaxy.”

“No, just working. Bills to pay.”

Her form, small and blue in the comm projection, shifted. “Do you think you’d have time to visit again? I’ve missed you.”

Din rubbed his hand against his breastplate. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Vander

Voggo Vander slunk out of the cantina with his pockets full of coins. Convincing a number of people to give him money for a drink had been easy, between their own inebriation and his ability to convince others. The women on the ship had called it a Mind Trick, but he knew that he was also a good actor. He had been destined to be one of the greats before that stupid accident on the holo set. Everyone had gone mynock guano crazy after that. But soon, he would be back on track to stardom.

The Imperial consultant had shoved him into a cell, but the local dimwits bent to his will easily. Vander had called his agent, Shapir, and learned that the video of the accident was trending on the Holonet. Several news crews were flying into Djurmo to cover the arraignment. The Besalisk thought that the notoriety would make him a standout in the film.

Instead, a Mandalorian had abducted him from his cozy cell and dropped him into the hands of meddlers convinced that they were helping him. The Empire believed he had fled; worse, his fans would think the same thing. They weren’t his fans yet, but they would have been before the “Hidden Path” stepped in.

Vander tried using the Force to get the Mandalorian to release him, then the women flying the ship he was transferred to. It hadn’t worked on any of them. He’d been dumped into a “safehouse” with a group of dirty, common refugees, then bundled onto a ship bound for the Outer Rim.

His so-called benefactors turned them all loose on Selitan with new identification and a few credits for upkeep until they found work or a way offplanet.

Since the local options appeared to be service occupations or mining, Vander definitely wanted offplanet. Hence the bar prowling to acquire more credits.

Once he had enough money to buy a comm, Vander contacted Shapir. It was one of the few comm codes he’d bothered to memorize. There was also his mother, but she would chastise him for screwing up on the set and leave him to stew in this mess. His agent might actually help him.

After a short argument with the man’s secretary droid, Shapir came on the line.

“Vanny! You’re in a lot of trouble!”

Finally, a sympathetic voice. “Tell me about it. I was waiting for my court appearance when a bunch of rebels broke me out of my cell. I fought, Piro, I fought. I wanted to be perfectly compliant.”

“Of course.”

“Then, after they “saved” me, they dropped me off on Selitan. I need passage off of here like last Taungsday. Could you book me onto a ship? I didn’t have my wallet with me when I was abducted.”

“Sure, Vanny. But if you have no identification, I can’t get you a ticket.”

“I have new identification. They gave it to me.”

Silence on the other end of the call. Then: “Those rebels must be pretty slick if they can do that. But why you?”

“I don’t know why. Nothing about this makes sense,” Vander said, which wasn’t true. The Mando had told him that the Empire now knew Vander was Force-sensitive and would ship him to some gulag on Mustafar. But that was ridiculous. They were looking for Jedi, which he most certainly was not, and he had already been scheduled for court. They couldn’t just send him to prison; he had rights.

Piro was quiet again.

“Are you there, or have I lost the connection?”

“I’m here,” the Besalisk assured him. “The Outer Rim has a lag. Can you give me the new ID information?”

Vander gave him the chain code and his new name. “Just get me back to civilization. We can set a new court date and fix this.”

“You got it. I’ll call you back once I’ve gotten you a seat.”

“Thanks. You’re a black tie, Piro. One more thing—”

“Yes?”

“Have they recast my part?”

Shapir sighed after Vander ended the call. He didn’t want to get involved, but now he had no choice. The ISB was monitoring his visitors and communications. Activating the comm again, he tapped in the number he’d been given.

“Voggo Vander just called. He wants to turn himself in. What should I do?”

Chapter Text

Now that he—and Grogu—had found common ground with Elimar, Din was willing to try another sleepover with the ladies. He and Grogu joined Betha and Elimar on the Sea Shadow. This time, they were hauling nerf meat from Vorpa'ya. Din helped them load and unload the cargo, cooked them fried yobshrimp and ghoba rice that evening, and everyone was happy. Things were going well.

Until they got the call.

They were critiquing Elimar’s newest chapter for her primer when Roken called. Even in the transparent blue light of the comm, the man’s smile appeared strained.

“Good, you’re all together,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Not quite to Levian Two,” Betha said.

“That’s ideal. There’s an emergency at Nouane.”

The leader of the Hidden Path laid the problem out for them. The agent Din had worked with before, Russa Lam, had been transporting a young Force-sensitive girl to Taris when they were waylaid by Empire ships. Her vessel was damaged in the battle, and they’d had to land on Nouane. Now Imperial agents had her ship and were hunting for them in the capital city. The pair needed a lift off-planet.

Din had been to Nouane in search of a fugitive once before. It wasn’t a bad location for a member of the network to go to ground. Nouane was technically an Imperial client state, which gave it a little independence. Unfortunately, it was close enough to the Core to have patrols.

Getting onto the planet wasn’t difficult. The libraries of Nouane had suffered over the years, especially at the hands of the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders, but they still provided many offerings for visiting scholars. Finding a private spaceport was easy.

Once they were on the planet’s surface, Betha was able to contact Russa. She and the refugee, an adolescent girl, had fled Unexpected Visitor Housing and were taking refuge in the Grixium Gallery of Alsakan Mosaics. They took a hovertaxi to the Archaeological District, after the driver was Mind Tricked into believing that Din had a religious exemption for his Amban rifle.  

The Gallery displayed the largest fragments of the destroyed mosaics in an enormous transparisteel structure on one end of the building. The Mosaics had been one of the Twenty Wonders of the Galaxy when whole. Grogu, riding in a pouch at Din’s side, cooed in awe at the chunks of tiles that were taller than their home.

Din would have liked to go in, see something that he’d only heard about in the Temple, but his armor made him a magnet for attention. The women entered instead, paying the fee for entry. They were more appropriate for the setting, especially Elimar. Even in cortosis-weave, she had a scholarly air.

The area around the Gallery had been landscaped into a park. Din sat on one of the benches and observed the area, wrapping the Force around himself to be as unnoticeable as a Mandalorian in full armor could be. Perhaps he would be mistaken for a piece of art. There weren’t many people outside the building, but he did see a stormtrooper sitting on a speeder, watching the main entrance to the museum. The trooper might be there for security reasons, but Din doubted it. He scanned with his HUD and located another, positioned near one of the other entrances.

Grogu was more interested in the gigantic mosaic fragment inside the transparisteel, which was surrounded by spectators.

What is that?

“That’s part of the Mosaics of Alsakan,” Din murmured, scanning for more troopers. “A long time ago, it competed with Coruscant to be the capital planet of the galaxy. The Mosaics were created by the ancient city of Rucapar. The centerpiece was in the main square, but lanes of tiles were built to the five mountains surrounding the city.”

Someone broke it?

“There was a war. There were seventeen wars. Be glad you didn’t have to take Core History at the Temple.”

The child gurgled.

Two more stormtroopers arrived on their bikes. Kark.

We have company, he sent to Betha, along with a mental picture of the troopers.

Her brief response was that troopers were also inside, and Mind Tricking was afoot.

Grogu was no longer looking at the mosaic. He was tugging on Din’s cape.

Danger. A quick flash of an approaching vehicle. More troopers.

Yes, Padawan.

Din sent an image of the secondary entrance to both women. Out now, or I’m coming in. He stood, unclipping a smoke bomb from his belt and handing it to Grogu. “Get ready to use this.”

The jetpack left a fiery path behind them as they launched into the air. Passersby gasped. Din drew the rifle and descended on the trooper monitoring the chosen doorway.

He stunned the man with an electric shock and turned to the entrance.

Betha bit her lip. She’d easily convinced one of the troopers that Russa and her charge weren’t fugitives, but the other two had stronger wills. The girl, a Lorrdian based on the multiple layers of her robes and her silence, hid behind the Togruta woman.

Elimar glared at the men and raised her chin haughtily. “As I said, this girl is one of the students in my archaeology class. Miss Tita here is my assistant.”

The ranking officer was not impressed. “Please provide identification.”

Elimar fumbled at her belt, fingers creeping towards the cylinder wrapped in cloth. “I really don’t understand why you’re even on-planet, let alone bothering children in a museum.”

The alarm went off, accompanied by shouting.

All three troopers’ heads snapped towards the sound. A Mandalorian had entered the building, probably without paying. One of the door attendants was pointing, and the security guard was accosting him. The Mandalorian grabbed the guard and tossed him aside in a smooth throw. Then he was charging their way.

Betha backed away from the troopers and drew her blaster. She fired on one of them and shouted, “Run!”

Russa and the girl ran towards the door, past Din.

The troopers returned fire and patrons began screaming.

Smoke bomb coming, Din sent.

Grogu launched the sphere. Betha and Elimar ran for the exit, letting the Force guide them.

Din lunged past them to intercept the troopers.

Outside the museum were more stormtroopers, firing at the entrance. Russa and the girl were crouched behind the sign with the museum’s name and logo. Russa was returning fire, but the plasteel sign was cracking apart from the attack.

Betha dove for a nearby pillar and fired on the troopers as well, forcing them to divide their shots between targets. Elimar moved behind her, reaching for her lightsaber.

“Spread out!” one of the troopers, probably an officer, shouted. “Keep them here. More men are coming through the building now.”

Din would be in trouble. She reached out for him in the Force to warn him, but the troopers were focusing on her now, hammering away at the pillar. Chunks of duracrete flew. She scanned for openings, but they were surrounded.

Elimar ignited her weapon and leapt away from Betha, placing herself on the stairs. She swung her blade masterfully, deflecting the shots. “Go!” she shouted to the others.

The other women slipped behind her and were able to shoot their way past one edge of the cordon. They liberated a couple of the Imperial speeders and fled, the girl clinging to Russa’s waist.

Several of the troopers broke off to pursue them.

Troopers defeated, Din ran out of the museum. Elimar was blocking the stairs, deflecting blaster shots with her blade. Troopers surrounded her, firing again and again. She was going to lose; it was a matter of when, not if. He launched himself into the throng of troopers with a boost from his jetpack, pulling his knees to his chest to protect the kid.

Run, Eli!

He didn’t stop to watch her. Instead, he rolled a concussion grenade under his attackers and launched himself into the sky.

The resulting explosion vibrated his helmet, but he could feel Grogu’s frustration.

Wanna help!

Find Elimar.

There!

He looked in the direction Grogu’s attention pointed to, and she was running. She was also limping.

Dank farrik.

“You need to protect her, buddy.” He dropped lower, and released Grogu when he passed overhead.

Catch.

Grogu floated down into her hands. Wheeeee!

By now, the park was clear of visitors. They raced across the grass, leaving the troopers further behind. Unfortunately, a vehicle carrying more stormtroopers was coming the other way, blocking their path.

Din sped on, headed directly for the vehicle. It was open-top, like the ones on Tatooine. Several troopers and one man stationed in a turret on the back fired on him, but he dodged easily with the assistance of the Force, deflecting some blaster shots with his vambraces. He fired a brace of darts at the stormtroopers, then drew the sword from his back. Cutting the jetpack off, he plunged directly into the mass of men.

His blade cut through plastoid and flesh alike, while his beskar turned aside most attacks. He had a kal dagger in his off hand, which he used to punch directly through plastoid chestplates.

Even a Mandalorian’s arms and legs are weapons. He viciously went for troopers’ knees with his boots and slammed helmets with his vambraces. He grabbed the helmet of one trooper and twisted, breaking his neck. Some panicked troopers were firing their blasters, often wounding one another instead of Din in the close quarters.

When a number of them tried to grapple him simultaneously, Din set off his flamethrower, producing shrieks of pain.

Elimar winced at the sight, while Grogu clapped his hands with glee.

When the troopers began fleeing, he let them.

Din kicked the dead and wounded out of the vehicle bed. “More enemies are coming. We need to get out of here. You drive.”

Elimar eyed the keypad. “We don’t have the code.”

“Kid,” Din said, and pointed.

Grogu chittered and held his hand over the keypad. The vehicle rumbled to life.

“Got it!” Elimar put the transport in gear, and they were off, barreling down the middle of the street. Once they were out of the museum area, they hit traffic. Speeders scattered ahead of them. Scholars ducked back into buildings.

Several stormtroopers pursued them on bikes, but Din was seated in the back turret of the vehicle. He aimed low, going for the machinery, and opened fire. Soon, they were free of pursuit, but something else was following them now. A flying craft.

He studied the craft as it got closer. It resembled a Lambda shuttle in some ways, but much better armed. Faster, too.

Din aimed the turret gun at it and set loose a stream of bolts. Unfortunately, the craft was nimble and the pilot was good at dodging.

The craft had a separate gunner, aiming—

Jump! he shrieked in the Force.

He leapt from behind the gun, and engaged his jetpack just in time. The blast slammed into the carrier and shredded it. Kark, was that a proton cannon?

No time to stop and check on the others. Either they'd survived or they hadn't. Din shot in an arc towards the craft, firing his blaster to keep the pilot occupied. When he was close enough, he dropped onto the fuselage and drew his beskad. The shielding was almost nonexistent; everything had been sacrificed for speed. He sliced open the roof and dropped a thermal detonator inside, then let go and jetted away.

The explosion shattered the windows of the closest buildings, dropping shards of blue, yellow, and green onto the pavement.

Din doubled back, heading for the wreckage of the transport. He sensed his ad’s presence before Elimar and Grogu appeared on his HUD. Everyone else on the street had fled; the baby was trying to steal a speeder and the Jedi wasn’t helping.

He landed next to them and approached the child, who was fumbling with the control locks while standing on them. “Looks like you found a ride.”

“We can’t do this,” Elimar shouted over the approaching sirens. “This is theft from a citizen.”

“Exigent circumstances. Would you rather be arrested by the locals instead of the Empire?”

When they got close to the private spaceport where they’d left the ship, Din pulled the speeder to the side of the road. He gave Elimar and Grogu a lift over the fence, and they rushed across the field towards the Sea Shadow, which was prepared for takeoff.

He nudged Betha through the Force, and the ramp dropped. They flew up the opening together, the ramp closed, and Betha did a vertical takeoff. Din climbed into the gunwell once the ship stopped rocking.

The planet shrinking behind them was a welcome sight, but it wasn’t over yet.

“We’re being followed,” Betha said. She switched to the rear camera, and they saw a ship that dwarfed theirs.

“That looks like the Gozanti-class that shot us down,” Russa said.

“Shush. What you don’t say can’t terrify me,” Betha replied. “Taking evasive action.”

“There’s the TIE fighters. I took one out, but …”

The Twi’lek pressed the comm for the gunwell. “Din,” she said. “TIEs.”

“Already aiming.”

The camera display whited out, and they could hear Grogu cheering.

“Keep doing that and we’ll be fine.”

Betha continued evasive action, and Din nailed the other two TIEs. The larger ship continued to harry them, though, keeping them from jumping to hyperspace.

Finally, they opened a gap between the ships near Ejolus, but they were nowhere near one of the lanes. Any jump would have to be short.

The situation was desperate.

“Triewahl just has a docking station,” Betha said. “We’ll be trapped.”

Din commed from the gunwell. “Jump to Bogden.”

“Bogden?”

“It’s a good place to hide. And the pirates will be a distraction.”

Elimar stared at the comm. “The what?”

“It’s worth a try,” Betha said, and entered the coordinates. She pulled back on one of the controls, and they went into hyperspace.

Din was impressed. “That was fast.”

“Like you said once, I calculate things in my head.”

When they dropped back into the black, they saw the large reddish orb that was Bogden, surrounded by its many moons.

Betha eyed it with mistrust. “Are we landing on the planet?” she asked Din, who had joined them in the cockpit.

“It’s not really stable. But the garbage around it should hide us.”

As they drew closer, the sensors picked up smaller blips—destroyed starships, trapped in the same gravitational field that had ripped the planet apart. Some looked straight out of a history holo—centuries old.

“Just … slide in with the rest of the flotsam and pretend to be part of it,” Din recommended.

She smiled at him. “Fly casual?”

“Something like that.”

Betha nosed the ship into the ring of wreckage, and the six of them sat quietly, waiting. Betha adjusted their position a couple of times when a piece of wreckage got too close. The tension reminded Din of Lutrillia, where they’d sweated while Vader searched for them.

He merged his mind with Grogu’s, and they sunk into an aura of nonpresence. After a moment, he murmured, “Force Concealment is your friend.”

“It would be,” Betha murmured back, “if someone had introduced us before we got into this fix.”

Oh. Of course. “Link with us, both of you.” It was easier to show than to describe.

They spent about an hour meditating together on not being there, letting the Force flow around them, before Grogu got bored. Or hungry. Or both.

The child hopped off his father’s lap and toddled towards the galley. Din rose and followed. There was leftover rice in the conservator, but that wasn’t the sort of food Grogu liked by itself. Din checked the other containers on the shelves, looking for eggs or something with meat in it.

Someone rapped their knuckles on his helmet.

He turned, and Betha reached past him for a shallow blue box. She held it out to him. “Stew. Put it over the rice.”

“Thanks.”

Pirates!

Now that the silence had been broken, they spoke softly while Grogu demolished the food.

Russa applied bacta to the scrapes the girl had incurred during their escape, and Betha offered them pods of muja juice to drink.

They returned to the cockpit, where Elimar was treating her wounded leg. Betha handed her a pod as well and took the controls again. “Do we float here forever?” she asked Din.

“We can go to one of the moons,” Din said. “Bogg Five is relatively safe if we keep to ourselves. There’s a cantina.”

“Finally.” She nosed the Sea Shadow out of the moving detritus. “I would kill for some flash-fried zuchii.”

Grogu poked at Din and croaked something.

“We’re not going there.”

The toddler gestured with his little claws.

“Yes, I remember there are pirates on the Bog Moon.”

The boy poked him and croaked more urgently.

“Kark. Betha, go back to the—”

The viewscreen and the comm lit up at the same time.

“Excuse me.” The Mandalorian flipped the comm on, and a heavily accented voice filled the cockpit.

“Surrender now. Prepare to be boarded.”

“No,” Din replied.

“Refusing would be foolish.”

“Boarding would be foolish.” Din turned on the visual, and a Weequay’s face appeared above the comm.

“A Mandalorian!” the Weequay said. “A long way from home, aren’t you?”

“You’re a poor replacement for Ren-Cha,” Din replied.

“If Ren-Cha is still alive, he’s a guest of the Empire.”

“Of course. Who are you?”

“Pakraq the Plunderer.” A successful one, from the looks of him. He had jewels woven into his braids and gold caps on his chin horns.

Din offered him a greeting in Sriluurian.

“Not bad for an outsider,” Pakraq replied.

“I was a cook on a Weequay ship for a while.”

“A Mandalorian cook? Is that like a Jawa who swims? What did you make?”

“Anything but protein pellets.”

Pakraq laughed. “Excellent. I almost believe you.”

Dropping back into the junk belt around the planet wouldn’t work for long. Pakraq would hang around, waiting for them to emerge again. Unless—

Grogu, join with me. We need to move objects.

He switched off the comm. “Betha, head for Bogg 5. Through the ring!”

The view ahead of them spun violently and ducked downwards. A battered battleship grew in size at an alarming rate.

At the last moment, the Twi’lek pulled back on the controls, and they skimmed over it.

Din-and-Grogu watched the sensors. There was Pakraq’s ship, which looked like a modified SS-19 cargo transport, followed by a couple of snub-fighters.

Din-and-Grogu seized the wrecked ship they’d just passed over, and lifted. Their pursuers swerved to avoid it.

“Hold on,” Betha said. Elimar, Russa, and the girl reached for handholds.

The Sea Shadow darted between the wreckage of a freighter and another battleship, and the gap closed behind them. One of the snub-fighters veered; the other was crushed.

The transport had to go around; fortunately, by then, they were well on their way to the moon.

The Mong'tar Cantina and Brasserie offered a variety of fried items. Most of them were disgusting, but that meant Grogu was eager to try them all. No zuchii, so Betha and Elimar had to settle for fritzle fries.

Russa introduced them to Touana, the girl they’d all rescued. She was, in fact, a Lorrdian.

“You’re a long way from home,” Din said.

Touana turned to Russa.

“Her family moved to Celanon to hide from the Empire. Unfortunately, they were found. Touana is the only one left.”

Din nodded. “I’m very sorry. I lost my family during the Clone Wars. We’ll do our best to keep you safe.”

Shadowports

Once Russa and the girl were safely deposited on Taris, Elimar contacted Roken with an update. He was very interested in Din’s familiarity with shadowports.

“Tell me more about these shadowports; the only difference between us and smugglers is that we’re trying to help people. Which ones have you been to?”

Din snorted. “I visited several about eight years ago. Mostly pirate locations, mostly Outer Rim. The Empire may have rooted most of them out by now.”

Roken raised a curly eyebrow. “Do you work with pirates?”

“When I was a kid. We were fleeing the Empire and Hondo Ohnaka boarded the ship we were on. We joined his crew.”

“Could you name some ports?”

“Bogden’s still active. Otor's Hub, StarForge Station, Kwenn Station, depending on how you feel about Hutt Space. Florrum, of course.”

Roken rubbed his beard. “You Mandos get around. Thank you for the suggestions. I’ll add them to the other ideas.”

After the call was over, Elimar settled into unpleasant emotions. Din could feel them. Just when they’d started to get along.

Might as well kick the bluebarb wasp’s nest. “Something new is bothering you?” he inquired.

“You were a pirate?”

“Eli, please …” Betha pleaded.

“It was a strategic decision,” Din said.

“A strategic decision? Robbing and killing people?”

Din sighed. “It was our best option. We were being chased by Inquisitors. Their numbers and their ship became our shield.”

“And now, you hunt people for money.”

She was, of course, correct in both cases. Din had stolen—as a pair, he and Grogu had stolen food and supplies long before they’d met the Ohnaka Gang. The Galaxy had been a harsh place. Then, he’d become a bounty hunter—he’d mostly gone after people with warrants, but he did take private clients. He hadn’t always felt comfortable doing those jobs. Ba’vodu Konn had assured him that turning a spice smuggler over to Jabba’s tender mercies was a public service, but when the Hutt had thrown him to the rancor to be ripped apart while still alive …

“Yes,” he said, when he realized they were all looking at him, even the kid. “I am a Mandalorian. It’s a traditional occupation for us; my uncle was my mentor. The Guild has its own code of ethics.”

Her emotions rolled off of her like storm clouds. “You murdered a good number of people on Nouane. The ones you stabbed, the ones you blew up, the one you broke the neck of …”

Elimar had to be kidding. “They were there to take the girl and kill us. Or make us give up the members of the Path. You didn’t think there would be a fight?”

“Betha and I were working on quietly removing Russa and Touana from the museum.”

“Yes, but outside, troopers were gathering. The Empire knew we were there. It wasn’t going to work.”

“No,” she conceded. “But you didn’t have to kill everyone.”

“I didn’t kill them all. Some I just wounded.”

Or set on fire.   

The Lothalite rounded on Grogu. “Do you think a real Jedi would laugh about people who were wounded or set on fire?”

Grogu growled and climbed to Din’s shoulder. He hissed at Elimar.

They were bad people.

Din kept his breath steady as he met her eyes. “They were the enemy.” He spoke slowly, wishing he had his helmet on so the vocoder could modulate his voice further. “I am sorry that I failed the Order’s expectations. I did not have a master to guide me, nor a place like Alderaan to keep us safe. Grogu and I had a tent, a knife, and each other. I allowed the experience to roughen me.”

He addressed Betha, who had turned pale. “I am going to take Grogu to the fresher. We both need a sonic. Afterwards, I would like to stay in one of the empty rooms until we reach the nearest port. I’ll find a way back to my ship.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Her lekku twisted in distress.

“Yes, I do. My child is upset, and so am I.” He shifted his gaze to Elimar, whose face was expressionless. “But I refuse to argue further. This is your home.”

At Betha’s insistence, the Sea Shadow took the pair back to Corsin, where the Crest was stored. Her argument that Grogu would not be safe on public transportation won Din over. Din and Grogu stayed in the empty room, door locked, with their luggage. The child slept, wrapped in Din’s cloak, while Din shielded himself from the ball of rage in the cockpit.

Betha buzzed him over the intercom a couple of hours later, offering to bring food in for Grogu. He acquiesced, and unlocked the door.

The Twi’lek entered, set the tray of food down on the dresser, and threw her arms around Din.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a thick voice. “I hoped things would get better between you two.”

He pressed his lips to her lek. “This was going to happen. I’m a Mandalorian now.”

“No.” Her fingers sought the curls on the back of his head. “She forgets how many times Master Osdra had to fight slavers who wanted a Lethan Twi’lek. The Outer Rim isn’t for the faint-hearted.”

Of course the slavers would have wanted Betha. Red Twi’lek women were rare to find and expensive to buy.

Betha continued. “She shouldn't have judged you.”

Grogu, already awake and perched next to the tray, chittered.

“I apologize to you, too,” she said to him. “She had no right to scold you. She’s not your buir or your master.”

The child made a mollified sound.

“It will be a few more hours. May I stay here with the two of you?”

“Yes,” Din said, pulling her to his shoulder. “I think, though, that Grogu and I need to stay off the Sea Shadow. I can’t do much about the sleeping situation on the Crest, but I’m going to find us a place to stay.”

Vander: The Other Shoe Drops

Voggo Vander was headed back to the holo set, and he was ecstatic. He ordered a Bespin Fizz from the drinks droid and silently toasted his success. Piro had assured him that his role had not been recast. In fact, his new aura of notoriety was considered a bonus for publicity. How more “bad boy” could you get than a suspected Jedi?

The agent had come through with a decent berth on a flight to Djurmo. The selection of drinks was decent, the seats were cushioned, and the other passengers didn’t stink. Vander had been on too many trips with other actors who tried making their own jet juice or smuggled emotional support popahens onto the ship.

He was surprised when he was offloaded at Bandomeer for his transfer to Djurmo. Bandomeer was a drukhole of a planet. Half the population were farmers; the other half were miners. He wouldn’t have thought of it as a transfer point, but Djurmo wasn’t on the beaten path. That’s what made it a great set for the film.

Looked like he was the only person who was transferring here. The rest of the passengers were traveling on to Corsin or somewhere else less … atmospheric. Vander had a career-making film waiting for him. He’d meet the advocate Piro had set up on the planet, he’d get cleared of the charges or make bail or whatever, and then he’d go back to work. Vander really hoped that Piro hadn’t hired a litigation droid. They were cheaper, but “seditious conspiracy” wasn’t your normal charge. It wasn’t like getting high on glitterstim and crashing your speeder.

Please, don’t let it be a droid.

“Voggo Vander?” someone asked behind him. A woman.

Perhaps the advocate was meeting him here, to begin working on his case now. Get the job done faster.

“Yes!” He turned on his most brilliant smile and spun around, only to be met by a tall Mikkian woman with blood-red skin and body armor. Behind her was a smaller, paler version of the woman wearing dark robes and … troopers. A group of them. Their plastoid armor wasn’t white, though. It was black.

“Um. Hello.”

“Good afternoon,” the Mikkian purred. Kark, he could bottle that sound and sell it. “We’re here to escort you to your final destination.”

For some reason, he didn’t think it was a holo set.

Chapter Text

Recommendations

Din began his search for a new place in earnest once he was back on the Razor Crest. There were many, many planets, but a Mandalorian and his goblin sidekick would be very noticeable in the ones he first thought of. A hut in the grasslands of Mindor would keep them out of sight, but the point was to find a place that Betha would also be comfortable staying in. She’d probably prefer indoor plumbing.

He should find a place closer to Carajam, anyway. Mindor was Inner Rim.

The whole situation was frustrating. No, depressing. He wasn’t the first man to clash with the friend or family of a beloved—Ba’vodu Konn couldn’t be in the same room with Haakon Rook for an hour without starting a fistfight—but he wanted to like Elimar. He wanted her to like him. He admired her for creating a new Jedi training manual for prospective Initiates. He enjoyed testing his lightsaber skills against hers. He appreciated her thoughtfulness; she’d found information on the Disciples of the Whills for him.

They just kept stumbling over the ways in which they were different. And then they wanted to strangle each other.

“Wayii,” he muttered.

“Way-ee,” Grogu muttered back. He held up his wooden blaster, partially assembled. Din had picked it up in the market on Arumorut. The parts had been carved to approximate the actual parts of a blaster; it was a teaching tool for learning fast assembly and care. He’d bought the smallest one offered, but it still looked enormous in Grogu’s hands.

Din smiled in encouragement. “That’s very good, ad’ika. You’ll have it together in no time.”

A Jedi child learning to put a blaster together. What would Elimar say about this domestic scene?

A thought occurred to him. “You know, she was right about something.”

No.

“Fighting the Empire is not like Meshgeroya. Someone wins, someone loses, but limmie is just a game. No one dies. People die in battle.”

They were attacking us.

“Yes, but Master Yoda would tell you that taking a life isn’t something to celebrate. Or burning someone. We’re all part of the Living Force.”

Grogu sighed. His ears drooped. But they were bad.

“Bad is too simple a word. They were there to capture or kill us. We had to fight. But they were ordered to do it. It was their job.”

So Bad Lady was right?

“About that, yes. And I probably shouldn’t have broken that man’s neck.”

Buir is good. Not bad.

“I need to try harder.”

Mandalore itself wasn’t that far from where his work took him, but it was firmly pressed under the thumb of the Empire. There were other planets near Mandalore, though—Concord Dawn, Ordo, even Gargon, the planet Ba’buir had listed as Din’s homeworld when his buire claimed him as a foundling.

Carajam kept sticking in his mind. He had no desire to live there—the more frequently bounty hunters saw Grogu, the more likely they were to find his puck in the system—but other Mandalorians visited the Guild hub frequently. If they were loyal to the Empire, they wouldn’t need to leave Mandalore to find work. So, where did they live?

Din needed to focus on hunting anyway. If they were going to live somewhere outside the ship, it would cost more credits than they had.

The next time Din shared a meal with Juxul at the cantina, he asked the man about apartments. “I’ve been looking for a place planetside where a Mandalorian wouldn’t stand out that much.”

Juxul put down the slice of Corellian sausage he was about to slide under his helmet. “Besides Mandalore?”

“It’s a little far out from where I work. And I don’t like dealing with the Empire.”

“Hmm.” He considered for a moment. “There’s Gargon. Ordo, although it’s a little clannish. And further away if you’re thinking about the distance from Carajam.”

Grogu cooed and pointed at the sausage. Juxul gave a piece to him, and the child squealed.

“Do you live on Gargon?” Din asked. “If I’m being too nosy, just say so.”

“Me? No, I took a different approach.” He waved a huge hand at himself. “I’m going to stand out in any crowd. Devaronians and Mandalorians are both hard to ignore. My solution was to avoid crowds altogether. Go where there were fewer people and more room. Why live in an apartment where I’d have to tiptoe, when I could have the place to myself?”

Din could picture the enormous man tiptoeing. He sent the image to Grogu, who giggled. “Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, like a desert?”

“Yes. I didn’t go for a desert, personally. Most of the desert homes I’ve seen are partially underground. Low ceilings. Didn’t want to get the horns caught in a chandelier.”

“There are places with cliff dwellings.”

“If you like deserts, you might prefer Er’Kit. Closer than anything in Mandalorian Space.”

“I get enough of deserts as it is. Er’Kit’s in the wrong direction. I’m looking for a place near the Hydian Way.”

Juxul harumphed and turned to face Din more directly. “Is it just you and the boy? If living on the ship has been working, why change now?”

“It’s not just us. I have a girlfriend—”

Juxul’s attitude changed. He leaned closer, and his voice took on a tone of delight, noticeable even through the vocoder. “Oho! A love nest! Is she married or single?”

“Single. I’m not that sort of man.”

“Of course not, ner vod. Honorable at all times.”

“She’s a freighter pilot. Her hours are like mine, irregular. I need a location that would be easy to get in and out of. Two bedrooms.”

“Of course, a separate room for the ad’ika.” He held up a finger. “It would be pricier than an apartment, but I have a suggestion.”

“Okay.”

“The same planet I bunk on. Halmad.”

“Halmad?”

“I live in a settlement called Wexwood. Small spaceport, but large enough for a ship like yours. Forested. Covers a valley and up one of the mountainsides. They have houses, but also cabins you can either rent or buy. The main attraction, though, is a decent blaster shop with a couple of Guild terminals in the back. Planet used to have a bounty service before the war.”

“Mm. What is your place like?”

“I have a cabin in the valley with a high ceiling. Stores within speeder distance. I’ve been happy.”

“How primitive are the cabins?”

“You can get ones with temperature control and a decent fresher for a good price. Or, if you want to go rustic—”

“No. What about a kitchen?”

“She cooks?”

“No, I do.”

The Devaronian turned to Grogu, who had returned to his nerf nuggets. “Your buir is a man of many talents.”

When Din and Juxul were free at the same time again, they flew to Halmad in their respective ships.

“You’ll need to give me your opinion on what we see,” Din told Grogu. “This will be a place we stay at between jobs. You’ll have your own room. When Betha’s free, she will be staying with us, too.”

Does Betha get her own room?

“She will be sharing with Buir.”

You’ll need a big bed.

“Good point.”

She could have my room. More space.

Ah. Din cleared his throat. How was he going to put this? “Betha and I will share the same room at night. For romance.”

For mating?

“That, too. But the three of us will spend most of our time together.”

What about—a mental image of their buire and Ba’buir popped into Din’s head.

“We’ll be visiting them like usual. We’ll just have our own place.”

Nur

Vander screamed and writhed in his restraints.

“Tell me.”

“N—aargh!”

His captor hissed and unclenched her fist; the pain ebbed away. He sank against the table and blinked up at the metal ceiling.

A chair slid by itself from the nearby station to Perdition’s side; she sat in it.

“Let’s take a break, so you can remember what it’s like not to hurt. I’d hate it to lose its … effectiveness.”

The actor inhaled deeply. His wrists stung and felt tacky. Could be sweat, could be blood. He could already taste blood; he’d bitten his tongue during the last session. Or was it the one before?

The girl was perched at the station, which apparently tracked his vitals. They’d hooked him up after the first time he fainted from pain.

He didn’t understand how the hag could put him into agony without even touching him. Vander only knew a little about the Force, mostly from the reports he’d read during the war, trying to learn about his own gifts. None of them had mentioned pain.

None of them mentioned what the Jedi woman had done to him, either. He would have given up the information Tentacle Bitch wanted days ago, but he was unable to. Just as she’d been able to stop him from speaking, the woman on the ship had put a command on him to not speak of her or her compatriots.

“I w-want to,” Vander stammered. “But—”

“You can’t. You’ve said so many times.”

“Then why—”

Perdition sighed and stretched. Her tendrils uncurled as she did, making her look like a giant dandelion. “A compulsion can be broken with sufficient pain or fear. Deep down, you are resisting,” she said. “Part of you believes holding back will prolong your life. It won’t. I’ve seen the body break before the will many times.”

His clothes were damp from sweat; now that he’d stopped hurting, they felt cold.

Her eyes sharpened, became predatory again. She raised her hand, and he braced himself for more agony.

The door chimed, and a man entered, dressed similarly to the Mikkian woman. He wasn’t human; his skin was stark white, hairless, and covered with parallel furrows. His face had been painted with red under the eyes and on the endless forehead.

“You’ve had enough time with him, dear lady,” he said to Perdition in a lilting voice. “It’s my turn now.”

Marvelous. They were tag-teaming him. Vander dropped his head to the table and took in a deep breath.

The new arrival came closer. His scent was a strange musk that wasn’t quite … right by human judgement. Almost vegetable. His face appeared above Vander’s, studying him with yellow, almost glowing eyes.

The actor couldn’t help it. “Sorry I look a wreck,” he said. “Haven’t had time to put my face on today.”

“Feel fortunate if you leave with your face intact,” the man replied.

Now that he was closer, the smell was stronger and more offensive. It reminded him a bit of … onions.

Elimar

Betha and Elimar hadn’t spoken much since the incident with Din. Betha didn’t see the point; Elimar wanted to rebuild the Jedi Order, and Din was too Mandalorian for her. His aggressive methods had saved them all on Nouane, but led to an explosive argument afterwards. She wasn’t going to approve of him, even if he had been trained in the Temple. Even if he was saving Force-sensitive people like they were.

But now they needed to talk. Din had found a planetside place to live and wanted her to come see it. She was going to leave the ship for a few days.

She broached the subject with her usual subtlety. “Don’t schedule anything you can’t work alone next week. Din is picking me up on Primeday.”

“Another excursion?”

“He wants me to see his new place.”

“Oh,” the Lothalite said in a tone that was a little too sweet, “he’s found an apartment?”

Saying that he’d gotten a place because Elimar had made it impossible for him to stay on the Sea Shadow would start a real fight. “It takes a lot of travel time for them to go home, and living out of the ship is a little challenging with a child.”

“So you’re visiting him.”

“Yes. Maybe you could get Merulla to help you while I’m gone.”

Elimar folded her hands across her chest. “I think that you need to decide what you really want for yourself.”

Betha blinked. “What?”

“Do you still want to be a Jedi?”

Did she? “Of course I do.”

“Then you need to let him go. He’s found a place for the three of you to live, like a family. He’s formed an attachment to you.”

“My lovers are none of your business.”

“I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about attachment. This has gone beyond fulfilling a childhood crush. You’ve been seeing him for months.”

“You saw Siptah for months.”

“And now I rarely think of him. You think about Din and his child daily.”

“I care about them.”

“You were so worried when Din didn’t comm from Skorrupon, you forgot that Roken was due to call.”

Betha shifted her stance. She already felt off-balance. “Din has a dangerous job.”

“So does Roken. But unlike Din, Roken depends on us. The Network depends on us.”

Betha’s lekku drooped. Her feelings for him had taken precedence over her responsibilities. “Din also helps the Network.”

“Because he loves you.”

That made her stop and think. There was a large amount of truth there, especially when she roped him into playing point on Nur. Still … “Maybe when he started. But he’s been working with other people, like Russa. And he genuinely cares about the children we help.”

Elimar conceded the point. “True. I don’t think he’s going to become a Jedi, though. No matter what Master Obi-Wan said. His struggle for survival over the years led him to fear and anger. And criminal acts that have tainted him.”

“His spirit isn’t tainted. Being adopted by Mandalorians made him secure and strong again. A fearful man wouldn’t have gone to Nur to save anyone.”

“No. But he’s never going to be a Jedi Knight. I tried to teach him, Betha. He’s gifted, and remembers a great deal of his training, but he’s a Mandalorian.”  

The Twi’lek pointed at her. “You pushed him. Especially over his child. And you got too angry with him about Nouane.”

“That was partially my fault, yes. You keep telling me that I’m not his master, but I was teaching him. I feel responsible for what he did in the fight.”

“You weren’t though. He didn’t even use the Force. He’s not … Dark.”

“No.” Elimar shook her head. “But this isn’t the point. We’re talking about him instead of you.”

“But you think he’s the problem, don’t you?”

“No. Betha, only a few of us are left to rebuild the Jedi. I can’t do it alone. Before you met him, you were able to love freely and without attachment. Check your feelings now. Check your connection to Din in the Force. You have a bond with him and have been developing one with his child as well.”

She was silent. Elimar was right; she hadn’t had the same feelings about the few previous lovers she’d had. She’d thought that she just wasn’t that interested in romance or a family because she had been raised to be a Jedi.

What made this so different?

The Nest

Buir found a nice place in the forest for them to stay when they weren’t hunting. It had windows so they could see the trees and a place for a fire and a kitchen so Buir could make food he liked. There was a creek nearby with frogs and snails, so Grogu could have the food he liked.

The cabin came with some furniture, but Buir got more. He and Mask Man carried it in together. Mask Man was like the Masked Wookiee doll Grogu slept with, but he wasn’t a Wookiee. His mask was over his helmet, so maybe he was the Masked Mandalorian.

They went home to get some of their things so the cabin would be a nicer place. Buir called the cabin a “crash pad” when he spoke to Buir Bretta, but Mask Man had called it a “love nest.”

Grogu wasn’t certain what a love nest was, so he asked Ba’buir when they were alone together. He’d learned to ask such questions when Buir wasn’t around, because he always turned red and wanted Grogu to stop talking.

Ba’buir said that when birds wanted to attract a mate, they would sometimes build a nest and decorate it so the other bird would want to move in. Humans sometimes did this, too, but with houses and apartments. That made sense; Buir had brought in a comfy couch and a pretty rug and a large bed, bigger than the one in their ship. Grogu had his own room in the cabin with his own bed, although Buir said he could sleep in the big bed when it was just them. Or if he had a bad dream.

Buir took Grogu to a toy store to pick out a toy box and a few new toys to add to the ones from home. Then they went to the droid counter and Grogu got his very own toy droid. He was very pleased, since he’d liked Lola once Master Obi-Wan fixed her. His new droid’s name was Tuttle, and Tuttle had arms so he could lift things. He also understood both Basic and Pak Pak. Grogu quickly learned that Tuttle would help him put his toys back in the box if he asked politely.

Buir was making the nest nice for everyone. Grogu decided to help Buir decorate for Betha. He toddled outside, Tuttle following, and chose small sticks and pretty leaves to bring into the cabin.

Din was installing the holovision when he noticed Grogu stuffing twigs and leaves into the corner of the room. Tuttle, rolling behind the boy, was carrying more of them. He finished securing the screen, then walked over for a closer look. Had the kid decided to bring one of the local animals inside?

“What are you doing, buddy?”

Helping build the nest for Betha. The baby projected a memory of a video into Din’s head: a colorful male bird building a tall nest for a female. His beak poked delicate twigs into the structure, adding shiny bits of metal to make it fancier.

“Oh. Thank you.” His mind raced; he wasn’t entirely sure about the esthetics of twigs in the corner. Then, an idea came to him.

“Here, bring those things to the table.”

He spread a sheet of flimsi on the table and helped Grogu pile his materials on it. Then he took some of the longer twigs and bent them carefully, weaving them into a rough base. “I think you should make her a nest she can look at. We might find some string or thread to help bind it together.” He wondered how many nature programs Ba’buir had shown the boy.

Yes! Pretty string. And metal things.

“Good. Once I get the holovision set up, we can go look for some.”

Is the holovision for Betha?

“No, it’s for you. So you can keep up with the Meshgeroya games.”

Is that so I will like the nest?

He smiled at the child. “Yes.”

Attachments Redux

Halmad was a pretty planet with plenty of water and vegetation. Din had told Betha once that his family lived on a mountainous planet with towering pines; Wexwood was nestled in the mountains, but the trees were mostly oaks and kallnuts.

Din drove them through the town in his speeder; Grogu stood in Betha’s lap and pointed at things.

“Most of the stores are here in the valley,” Din said. “They just stock the basics, but I can bring in anything special you’d like to eat or drink.”

He turned off the main route onto a speeder path that led up into the foothills. Soon, they were looking down at the town, with its small houses and shops. The view broadened into one that encompassed the entire valley, with the spaceport at one end and a lake at the other. Grogu cooed and waved at the scenery, speaking in a goulash of Basic, Mando’a, and the other language he used with Din.

“Meff-la.”

“Yes, mesh’la,” Din said. “He thinks it’s pretty here. We’re almost there.”

They made another turnoff, and she saw a compact structure of stone and wood ahead. He pulled the speeder into a space nearby. She’d expected it to be a step up from a shack, but this was very nice.

Din escorted her inside and put Grogu down next to her. “See if it’s to your satisfaction. I’ll get your bag.”

Betha looked around the cabin. Cold filled her heart. Elimar was right; he’d made a home for the three of them. There were places left conspicuously empty on the mantle for someone else’s things, a bookshelf that was empty, two bedrooms: one larger, one smaller. The bed in the larger room would easily hold both of them, and the duvet was the shade of blue she liked best.

Part of her was flattered, pleased even, but the other part was terrified. Had she led Din on? He had gone to great trouble and expense. He was trailing her now at a respectable distance while she inspected the rooms. Grogu, however, was directly behind her. She didn’t make sudden turns because she was afraid of stepping on the tiny child. There was something he wanted her to see, she could tell.

When she stepped into the dining area, which had a splendid view of the forest outside, she knew what it was. A clumsily-made nest graced the center of the dining table, woven through with blue thread and little charms. A decorative item would have been more regular in dimensions and the twigs would have been treated or made from artificial wood. Instead, Grogu’s energy was all over it.

She lifted it carefully. It had been woven well enough to stay together, perhaps with Din’s assistance. “This is beautiful. Did you make it, Grogu?”

The child cooed and beamed up at her. If he knew how mixed up she felt, he wouldn’t smile.

“You’re very talented,” she told him.

Grogu was happy, but Din’s posture had changed. His mood had changed; she could sense his uncertainty.

She met his eyes and nodded at the child. Din turned to Grogu.

“Ad’ika, Betha and I need to talk. Would you and Tuttle go play in your room?”

Now the child was anxious. He glanced at her before trotting off with the droid.

Din opened the doors to the small deck adjoining the dining area, and they went outside. The branches of the nearby trees waved in a gentle wind. Din was silent, and she could hear every crunch in the undergrowth, every bird call, every rustle of leaves.

Finally, he said, “I moved too fast, didn’t I?”

“No,” she replied. “You told me you were looking for a place. Staying on our ship became impossible. It’s—it’s beautiful here.”

“But I went further than you expected.”

“No. No, it’s me. I’m—conflicted.” Beyond them, the moons rose over the mountains. Betha stared at them blindly, replaying every conversation they’d had, every emotion they’d revealed to one another. What an idiot she had been.

Din stared out at the valley, adjusting one of his gloves. He started to speak, then stopped.

She blinked. “Yes?”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at her. His breathing slowed, became more controlled. His mental touch receded.

Protecting himself. She’d hurt him. Betha didn’t know what to say, but she needed to say something. She could leave now, leave him to hurt, but also to recover. But would she recover? Getting Din back from the dead had felt like a gift from the Force, a miracle. Elimar thought that it was a test, a temptation luring her from the Jedi Path. Perhaps they were both correct.

“I’m—I’m at an impasse,” she finally said. “I’ve always followed the Jedi Path. You’re calling me away from it.”

“But you called me.” He searched her eyes with his. His hands curled and uncurled, leather creaking with the tension. “You invited us to Corsin.”

He was right; she’d initiated the first calls, invited them to dinner at one of her favorite places at Elimar’s suggestion. She’d encouraged Betha back then, thinking that her interest was purely physical. “I’d missed you. I wanted to see who you were.”

“I wanted that, too. And then, on Alderaan …”

She’d been the one to reach for him. To comfort him when memories of the past had overwhelmed him. To coax him out of his armor and into bed. Then, she’d invited him to Boranda. And onto the Sea Shadow for visits. He had every reason to make assumptions. But they hadn’t really been assumptions, had they?

“You’re right,” she said, fingers shaking as she touched his shoulder. “I pursued you. I thought it was just lust.”

His response was a snort. “Can’t say I didn’t have that, too. But I want more.”

“More than becoming a Jedi again?”

“Yes. The Force is a part of me. But so are my family … my friends. And love.”

“But you were so dedicated. You were the smartest student, the best fighter. You studied the Code in your spare time. Ulend thought you were going to be the next Caleb Dume. Why would you choose a life of attachment?”

He stiffened; she felt a flash of old pain in him. “You have it backwards. I started life with an attachment,” he said. “To Grogu. But I chose the Jedi Path. That’s why I worked so hard; I wasn’t qualified to be at the Temple.”

“Yes, you were. They wouldn’t have kept you otherwise.”

A muscle tensed in his jaw. “The Council decided to keep me. I’m not sure why. Half of my instructors thought our bond was the will of the Force, the other half thought I would fail the Trials.”

She shook her head. “They didn’t think that. Even if they did, they knew better than to say it.”

Din swallowed. “They didn’t have to. Like you said, I’m good at telepathy. And knowing what people are feeling.”

“What am I feeling?” Betha touched his face.

“It’s a mix. You want me, even love me, but you want to push me away, too.”

“Yes. I—I want the Order to return, and only a few of us are left from the Temple to rebuild it. We have to be free of attachments to be Jedi. And I don’t know what to do.”

“If you’re still conflicted,” Din said, “you’re not ready to choose either. It’s too late to leave tonight, but you should probably leave in the morning. Mandalorians love with all their heart, and I … I don’t do anything by half-measures.”

He was very kind; he bunked with Grogu and let her have the bed. The child was confused and upset. He knew Betha was sniffling in the next room. Something had gone wrong, but he didn’t understand what had happened.

Before they left for the spaceport the following morning, Grogu climbed on the table and picked up the nest. He carried it to Betha.

For you.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “But I don’t want to take your nest away.”

He extended it again. Made it for you.

Chapter Text

Din thought about selling the cabin after the breakup, but he’d gone to a lot of trouble to make it pleasant for everyone, including Grogu. Plus, it was a good place to relax between jobs. He and Grogu meditated on the deck when the weather was good, and the trees provided new challenges for their paintball chases.

Juxul offered his condolences on the broken relationship and watched Meshgeroya with them in their new home. He enjoyed trying Din’s family recipes for tiingilar and gi dumpling soup, and, for the games, homemade Mantell Mix. Grogu chattered away during the games, and Din translated the tot’s running commentary on the teams. Juxul expressed his admiration for the child’s expert knowledge.

Din and Grogu resumed their normal routine of picking up pucks on Carajam and hauling in miscreants, although they did take a few of the small jobs offered from the Wexwood outpost. They’d suffered a significant cut in income due to the back-to-back rescue missions they’d done for the Hidden Path. Now that money was coming in again, Din had the Razor Crest serviced and updated Zippo with the newest programs and charts. He also arranged for a new transfer between his account and the Kelborn family account. It had been a while since he’d made a substantial contribution to his clan.

Old Acquaintances

Since they saw Juxul socially now, the three teamed up when a call came to pursue escapees from the prison on Ord Cestus. It was a major break with hundreds of escapees. Every available hunter was invited, and a flat fee would be paid for each prisoner returned to the facility. Din and Juxul rented an HWK-290 with partitioned compartments and loaded it with rations, water, bacta, extra cuffs, ropes, and other types of restraints.

Juxul piloted while Din and Grogu prepared the compartments to hold temporary prisoners. The child wanted to know what he would be doing during the hunt.

“When we break the speeders out, you’ll be riding with Juxul.”

Din had brought his BARC. Since its purchase, he’d added restraints and confining bands to the side car. Juxul was riding in a rented repulsor truck with a droid driver and a roof with a retractable hatch.

“You’re sitting next to the droid. Your job is to push the button to open the hatch when we call you,” Din told Grogu. If it looks like you’re going to crash or the truck’s going to blow up, jump out and use the Force to get to safety.” Taking the kid into a potential firefight was probably a bad parenting decision, but what he didn’t tell Buir Sesta wouldn’t get him killed. “Otherwise, help us as you can. Disarm prisoners, trip them. If any of them have speeders, mess them up. Try not to be seen while you’re doing it.”

Protect Buir?

“Protect yourself first. If something happens to me, go with Juxul. Oh, and don’t drink the local water.” Information on the planet had included a caution about toxic organisms.

To drink the water, though, they would have to find it first. Ord Cestus was largely desert, and the prison had been built in the middle of a large one to discourage escape. They began a search sweep about fifteen clicks from the facility. Juxul used the ship’s scanners to detect movement and cooler spots in the heat. Din used the Force, soon picking up sources of pain and fear. They scooped up their first group of targets easily, not even needing the speeders. These prisoners, mostly human, weren’t prepared for the harsh hot environment and were happy to be lightly restrained and parked in the shade with pods of water. Soon, though, they were pursuing hardier prisoners—Klatooinians, Weequays, and Twi’leks—over hot red sands in their speeders. Not much subtlety was involved; they descended on the escapees, subdued and restrained them, and tossed them into the truck. Sometimes, Juxul didn’t even bother getting back into the vehicle. He stood on the roof, providing an imposing figure to the escapees.

When the truck’s cargo bay was full, they returned to the ship. Zippo, who had replaced the astromech in the HWK-290, had been following them from a distance and dropped the ramp so they could drive the vehicles into the hold. Din guarded the compartments while they returned to the prison. He gave out a few more water pods and ensured that only the recipients he’d chosen consumed them.

They received receipts for their haul and went back into the sands for more. The first group had been the easy targets; other prisoners had stolen vehicles from the prison and were further away. Worse, word continued to spread about the break and more bounty hunters had arrived looking for quick money. It wasn’t long before they were clashing with other hunters following the same people.

Din recognized Dojarat, who usually stuck to the Mid Rim, Zingo Gabnit, a Carajam regular, and a pair of Nikto brothers he’d seen in the cantina a few times. At least they had the sense to stay out of each other’s way once gunfire had been exchanged.

He and Juxul were closing in on two Zabraks when an overwhelming sense of danger swept over Din. One moment, he was focused on the chase, the next, he was a womp rat in the crosshairs. He braked the speeder bike and veered sharply; a concussion grenade exploded where he’d been. The shockwave was still strong enough to send the bike spinning.

Definitely not an accident. He only knew one hunter that used a grenade launcher as a calling card.

“Bossk!”

The Trandoshan, riding a jump speeder, swooped down on him. His arm had grown back, but he clearly hadn’t forgiven Din for its removal.

And he was aiming at him again.

Din ignited his jetpack and leapt from the bike. The second grenade exploded, followed by the sound of crashing metal. Shabuir. He turned in midair and pulled out the Amban rifle.

His first shot fried the jump speeder. The Trandoshan flew over the top, hit the sand, and rolled. The impact scuffed his suit up, but did little damage to the rest of him.

Din pointed the Amban at the other hunter. “Walk away, Bossk.”

Bossk countered by lifting his blaster. “I thhhhought you didn’t work for thhhhhe Empire.”

“The prison is privatized,” Din said sharply. “They’re paying, not the Empire. There’s plenty of people to catch. Go find some.”

“You made it perssssssssssonal when you attacked us on the mining ship.”

“No, Boba Fett made it personal when he shot my mother. I apologize for hurting you.”

“An apology is worthhhhh nothhhhing compared to a misssssssed limb. Did your mother die?”

“No.”

“Ffffffffffffortunate.” Bossk’s eyes, brighter than the sands, flicked briefly off of Din and back.

Din felt Juxul behind him. And Grogu.

The launcher ripped out of the Trandoshan’s claws; Grogu’s work.

“Let’s go our separate ways,” Din said. “We’ve each lost a speeder and probably some income.”

“You haven’t assssssssssssked about Boba.”

“If he were dead, I’d know. If he were here, I’d know. I’m leaving now.” He lowered the rifle, turned and walked past Juxul. The Devaronian kept his blaster rifle trained on Bossk.

“He’ssssssssssss never painted over that spot in his armor,” Bossk said. “You know the one. Ssssentimental. I’ll tell him I ssssssaw you. To torment him.”

Din hesitated, then kept walking. It was about to get more crowded in the truck.

Misery

Betha arrived back on the Sea Shadow the day after she’d left, carrying a round tangle of twigs and twine in her hands. Din followed her, pulling her luggage in one hand and holding a snuffling child in the other. His shields were as hard as his armor, and he left rapidly with Grogu. He didn’t even bother to greet Elimar.

The Twi’lek broke down sobbing as soon as she and Elimar were alone on the ship. She and Din had separated. The other woman was overjoyed that Betha had committed to remaining a Jedi, even if the decision was a painful one. The cluster of leaves and twigs was a gift from the child. Later, she learned that Din was the one with the sense to recognize that divided loyalties wouldn’t work. It improved her opinion of him.

She expected Betha to be upset for a while, so Elimar signed on to extra cargo jobs. They would provide a distraction until the Twi’lek became more of her old self.

Elimar didn’t expect the old self to be the one she’d met when Betha was eleven, though. She rarely spoke, and when she did, she sounded teary.

If only Master Osdra were still with them. He’d been very good with everyone’s grief, including Betha’s. Unfortunately, recommending that Betha treasure the time she’d had with her lost lover wasn’t going to work when the man was still alive.

To comfort her, Elimar picked up a statuette of the Twi’lek Goddess at one of the ethnic enclaves on Corsin and gave it to her. Betha looked at her goddess shelf, where that lump of twigs sat, and began to cry.

New and Exciting Methods of Torture

Voggo Vander had entered a new phase of his life as a prisoner of the Inquisitorius. Yellow Eyes didn’t take the same approach as Perdition did to torture. Instead, he brought in a number of junior associates, one barely older than Perdition’s apprentice, and proceeded to lecture them on enhanced interrogation techniques. Those techniques weren’t like the ones the Mikkian woman used. She was able to make him feel agony with the touch of a hand. Yellow Eyes had his students strap Vander into an interrogation chair and showed them how to hook Vander up to various torture devices.

They put a helmet on him with attachments that they screwed into his temples. Blood trickled from the divots in his skin. Restraints that were entirely too tight. Electrical lines at his neck, his spine, the soles of his feet, his groin.

One by one, they activated the features of the chair. Spasms shot through his body. The restraints bit into his wrists and ankles when he convulsed. The electrical conduits burned his skin. It was going to leave marks; it was going to scar.

He wanted to tell them what he knew, but that bitch’s compulsion was still there. Vander screamed and writhed, pleaded with them that he wanted to be good, that he wanted to tell them everything. He would do his best, if they would just stop.

The treatment paused, and he was given his opportunity. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t get his mouth to form the words. Yellow Eyes snapped cruelly at his pupils and demanded that they try harder.

“I will leave you to him. Perhaps you will become more creative without me to tell you what to do.”

As soon as he left, one of them turned up the pain until Vander fainted.

“… karking idiot, you don’t get another turn. What if he’d died?”

“Maybe we should kill him.”

“And Lord Vader comes down on our hulls like a turbo laser. Remember when he snapped the Eighteenth Brother’s neck? Didn’t even have to touch him.”

“He’s awake,” a voice said from the back.

They tried more old-fashioned methods this time. One broke his fingers while the others watched. Another tried choking him. A third applied her red blade to his arm and he could smell his own flesh. He wept for the damage they did to his skin, to the body he’d honed for acting, but he still didn’t speak.

Surgery. Bacta. He could still be restored.

Something seized that flutter of hope, something outside of Vander. Opened it, considered it.

He gasped when a squeeze bore down on the emotion, crushing it.

“Back away,” that voice said again from the back. He raised his head to look. It was a woman wearing a sleek black helmet with a single slash opening for vision.

The others didn’t move fast enough, and terror seized Vander. The actor shrieked, and so did the students around him. Two threw themselves into corners, others pressed against the wall behind him. He thought that the smallest one might be under his chair.

The woman advanced, put a gloved hand on his face.

“You care about how you look.”

Vander whined from a deeper fear. Every skin cell under her touch trembled; he was convinced of it.

Slowly, a scalpel floated across the room, to land in her free hand.

Her grip tightened on his jaw.

An image in his mind; himself in a mirror. Red, irregular lines crisscrossed his face, with a puckered scar that distorted one eye. Holes had been drilled into the teeth his mother had spent a fortune to straighten and whiten. Half of one ear was gone; the other was folded in on itself.

He screamed, and was back in the interrogation chamber. It hadn’t happened. It hadn’t happened yet.

The smallest pupil was standing beside the woman. She offered him the blade.

“If you could draw anything on his face,” she said in an almost kind voice, “what would it be?”

“A dick.”

“A dick?”

“Of a Zabrak.”

Her head tilted. “You’ve seen one?”

“No, but I bet they have spikes.”

A new image swelled; scars outlining a piece of male anatomy on his face. Everyone laughing when they saw it, turning away from him. Bar patrons jeering, throwing their drinks at him.

The scalpel touched his face. He felt the tremor in the boy’s hand.

Something inside broke. “Taris!” he screamed. “The Mandalorian handed me off at Taris! And then I went to a safehouse!”

“Where?” the woman asked.

“Just get him away from my face!”

Vlemoth Port

Din’s family was full of questions when he returned to the Kelborn vheh’yaim. He and Grogu had spent an extra month away, and they curious about this woman he was seeing. Per an unspoken family rule, the interrogation began during latemeal.

“We broke up,” Din said, wishing that he had local friends to drink with. Anything to be out of the house. “We spent a lot of time together, but it didn’t work.”

“That happens,” Fintan said. “But you won’t take the territory if you don’t enter the battle.”

Sesta pushed aside this philosophical view. “Who broke up with whom?”

Din shrugged. “It wasn’t a matter of one of us breaking up with the other. I suppose I’m the one who broke it up. We wanted different things.”

“Was she not ready for children?” Bretta asked. “But Grogu’s so good!”

The kid peeped anxiously; Din could tell that he’d never considered himself a negative for romance before. Boba had, but the feeling had been mutual on Grogu’s end.

Din placed a firm hand on the child’s back. “She loved Grogu. She and her friend would have been happy to train him. But Betha was raised to be a Jedi. She isn’t supposed to have attachments.”

Sesta tilted her head to the side. “What are attachments, exactly?”

“It’s like … Dagoyan monks, sort of.”

“Who are they?”

Kark. “Never mind. Jedi are forbidden to have emotional attachments of any sort. Including marriage. We didn’t even own personal property. The Order provided everything, including clothing. I had a toy from home, which they let me keep as a kindness.”

Her pale eyes narrowed. “How charitable of them.”

He continued, feeling awkward. “We were taught to seek wisdom, not wealth. We were taught to love all things, not bind ourselves to individual people. If we could not let something—or someone—go, we might misuse the Force. Romantic love was forbidden.”

“So they didn’t have children. No wonder they had to steal them,” Sesta said.

Not again. I’d love to strangle whoever told her that bit of poodoo. “Dank farrik! No! The Jedi ask the parents for permission. My parents were very proud of me.”

“Let’s get back to the present,” Bretta said. “If she wasn’t supposed to fall in love, why was she spending so much time with you? I presume it wasn’t for meditation.”

It hadn’t been, but the idea of telling his mother that it was largely sexual mortified him. Din’s face and ears burned. He really, really wanted to slam his helmet back on and disappear into the woods for a week. Or maybe a month. “I can’t speak for her, and I won’t speculate for you.”

“But Din,” Buir Bretta pressed, “she hurt you. I can tell.”

“I’ll live.”

“You’ve never said you weren’t allowed to love,” Sesta said. “And you were raised by the jetii, too.”

“I was a lousy Jedi,” Din said. “I bonded with Grogu when I was three. I think the Force meant for me to become a Mandalorian.”

“M’too!” Grogu shouted.

They all gasped. Then Bretta bent to kiss the child’s head. “Elek, you, too!”

Din was happy for the distraction. He focused on getting the kid fed and coaxing him to try a few more words. After the meal ended, he took Grogu for a bath. The sonic was serviceable, but water was preferable.

Once they were alone, Grogu cooed and fixed him with those enormous eyes.

You are a great Jedi.

Perdition and Mini-Me

It took a few days before Perdition discovered that the actor had finally broken. It wasn’t under her interrogation, tragically cut short, but it wasn’t under Onionhead’s, either. The Eleventh Sister, who had been one of the toughest Jedi to crack, had succeeded where others had failed.

They learned that the Hidden Path had shifted their handoff points to Taris and Feriae Junction, probably due to the Kenobi incident. The Inquisitorius already knew that Selitan was a dropoff point for the ‘new citizens’ the network created, thanks to Vander’s call to his agent. Onionhead was dispatching Inquisitors and Purge Troopers to eradicate or capture all parties involved. He would reap most of the glory, but she had been the one to bring the informant in.

Vader had sent her a commendation for “friendly competition” and ordered her back into the field to conduct another independent investigation. The informant had been terminated, deemed unfit to join the Inquisitorius. It was just as well; the term “callow youth” had been invented for people like him.

Perdition continued training her niece, but they moved to the Agrotera full-time. She had her own moles in the Inquisitorius, and she planned to beat Onionhead’s agents to their targets. Little Renda was already adept with the Dark Holonet and other underground social media, so she put the child to work finding stories that hinted at Force use. The Mikkian woman spent that time tracking known agents, although most of the time she didn’t have a full name.

She did have one complete name to investigate, though: Din Kelborn. Former Jedi Initiate turned Mandalorian. Most of his jobs did, as Gideon had told her, come through the Bounty Hunters’ Guild at Carajam, but the most recent record she could find was an open call for the prison break at Ord Cestus.

There were two ways to proceed. Find her target, or … have the target find them.

The Job

Din and Grogu were in the Carajam hub looking over pucks when the local Bounty Hunters’ Guild representative called them over.

“I have a private client who’s specifically looking for a Mandalorian,” the Rutian Twi’lek told Din. Her lekku, blue with pink tattoos, curled under her chin.

“The client’s name?”

“A business. Redemption Vine.”

“What sort of business?”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“Clients who go by a business name usually want wetwork. I don’t do wetwork.”

“No wetwork. They want a retrieval. An employee went missing on Gargon.”

That’s why they were looking for a Mandalorian hunter. Someone who would blend in. “Who’s the target?”

“A Darven Meen.” She handed him the puck.

He studied the target, a male Pau’an. Most Pau’ans were slender, but this one was more robust. His head reminded Din of a Nabooian leek, not the sort of comparison he’d usually make.

Well, the money was good.

The Money

The Head Inquisitor and Lady Perdition were supposed to be on their best behavior towards one another. Lord Vader had said as much. And, so far, the Head Inquisitor had followed the order to the letter. He hadn’t antagonized her since the staff meeting, at least not directly. But, since they were supposed to be working separately now, he had also stopped notifying her about Inquisitor matters and sharing information. Perdition had noticed; she thought that he didn’t know about her moles in the Fortress, but it was his job to know everything that went on in Fortress Inquisitorius. She had a steady stream of information flowing to her, which he had allowed to continue. The personnel in question understood, of course, that the flow of information should run both ways. Lord Vader might find it entertaining to play them against one another, but he wouldn’t tolerate it in underlings.

The Mikkian woman overestimated her own importance in the scheme of things. Skill, intelligence, and power mattered, not bloodlines or family history. Or obsessions.

The Pau’an was very aware of her fixation on the child of the Yoda species. He would be a valuable prize to any of the Inquisitors, especially if captured alive. Either the Emperor or Lord Vader would take The Child as an apprentice, for the symbolic meaning if nothing else.

So, when Imperial funds were used as a down payment for services from the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he investigated. It was his duty to ensure that Imperial funds were used for legitimate reasons. 

Perdition had set up a bounty under an assumed name, for a target that was clearly a ruse. He did admire her cheek in using his image. The bounty was to be given to Din Kelborn, a Mandalorian. Since a Mandalorian had accompanied The Child on Telerath, and one had been among the invaders of the Fortress, the connection was easy to make.

Going personally wasn’t an option. By the time he arrived, either she would have The Child in hand or the tendrilled idiot would be dead. But the Seventh and Eleventh Sisters should be in the area, headed for the Junction. He picked up his comm.

The Friends

Boba Fett walked into the Guild hub at Carajam. Bossk had mentioned seeing Din Kelborn at Ord Cestus, mostly to needle him. He was surprised the Trandoshan hadn’t killed Din. Or maybe he’d tried.

Boba had no business being nosy about Din’s current location. But he worked pucks from Carajam occasionally, and it was better to know for sure if an awkward meeting was possible. Especially if Din had his kid with him. Kark, he was still having bad dreams after meeting the Baby Yoda. Seeing him took him right back to Geonosis, after Windu had killed his father. Boba was grieving, feeling lost, wondering what would become of him, and the Grand Master had arrived with a transport of soldiers who all bore his father’s face. He still dreamed of seeking his father in a sea of clones.

Boba continued to ruminate until a claimed puck caught his eye. The client had specifically requested a Mandalorian hunter. The money was good. Din had claimed it.

The problem was, Boba had the local Guild agent on unofficial retainer. She was supposed to contact him about jobs like this, especially at this level of payment. Was she playing him for a fool, or had Din offered her a larger sum for first notification? There was another option, he realized, but it was worrisome.

He wondered if Din would even answer the comm if he called. It might be nothing. Boba didn’t want to deal with an uncomfortable conversation over nothing.

There were other Mandalorians who worked out of Carajam. He wandered through the cantina until he found Tenau, the Black Sun stooge who liked to lurk in corners between jobs. As usual, the man was parked in a booth with enough room for syndicate contacts.

Boba stood in front of him, blocking his view of the cantina, until Tenau acknowledged his presence.

“Jet off, Fett, or state your business.”

“The Redemption Vine job. Did you see it before it was taken?”

“No, it was already claimed by Kelborn.”

“I’m surprised. You’re always here. Did the agent offer it to him directly?”

“If you’re going to keep asking questions, I’m going to start charging by the click. My time is money.”

Boba shoved his blaster into Tenau’s visor. “Maybe I’ll teach you courtesy for free. Answer the question.”

“I don’t know,” the man snarled. “Go ask his buddy. The Devaronian.”

“That’s better.” He holstered his weapon and stepped out of the cantina. He’d seen a Devaronian at one of the storefronts outside; it was from the side, but he’d been wearing the distinctive Mandalorian helmet.

The man was still there, bargaining with a shopkeeper; he was ordering the galaxy’s smallest Meshgeroya shirt. He was in full Mandalorian armor, even if it had a cat-eyed mask welded to his faceplate and a paint job worthy of a Nar Shadda prostitute.

Boba was nicer than he’d been with Tenau. He waited until the enormous hunter finished his order.

“Birthday gift?”

“For the playoffs.”

“I understand that you’re Din Kelborn’s friend.”

The man’s posture became more imposing, and he straightened to his full height. “And you are…?”

“Also his friend. I knew him on Tatooine. Perhaps we could stand over here, away from listening ears?”

They shifted away from the storefront.

“Who are you?” the larger man demanded.

“I am Boba Fett.”

After a short study of the armor, the Devaronian nodded. “You look like the pictures. What’s your business with Kelborn?”

“When I was in the cantina, I noticed that he’d taken a job on Gargon.”

“I saw that, too.”

“Was it ever available with the usual pucks?”

“I don’t know; it was on the claimed list when I saw it. I presume he took it at first sight. Good payout.”

“Thank you.” Boba stalked back towards the cantina.

Juxul trailed after him. He had time to kill before the pucks from the Mid Rim came in. There was always something good from Ord Mantell.

Boba Fett—the Boba Fett—was confronting the Guild representative. “You offered it to Kelborn directly, didn’t you? Did the client put you up to it?”

Everyone had been right about Fett’s temper. He seemed to barely be in control of himself. But Juxul thought that there was something else behind the fury: concern.

“Per Guild policy, I cannot disclose—”

“You’re going to karking disclose this time. Did the client specifically ask for Kelborn?”

The woman’s lekku twitched. “I am always monitored, sir. Even if I wanted—” Her lekku twitched again.

Fett’s demeanor changed. “I understand. May I see the information available to agents who would have wanted further details?”

“Of course. I’ll send it to that viewer over there. I can let the client know of your interest in any new jobs, if you prefer.”

“Not necessary. Thank you.”

Fett studied the viewer, making notes. His free hand clenched and unclenched. Then he entered information into the terminal and tapped the counter next to the viewer as he waited for results.

Juxul edged closer.

When the other hunter backed away from the terminal, Juxul was there. Fett immediately drew his blaster.

The Devaronian raised his hands, open and empty. “Is Din in trouble? She wouldn’t tell you—”

“She couldn’t answer the question directly without a reprimand. But Twi’leks also communicate with their lekku. It was him they wanted.”

“You think it’s a trap for him?”

“He has enemies.”

There was at least one Trandoshan who disliked Din. “I presume we’re going after him?”

Chapter Text

Gargon was a rough planet, mountainous and populated largely by Mandalorian mercenaries and spice runners. But it was listed as Din’s home planet in the Arumorut records, so he should probably visit it in person at least once. He’d studied maps and pictures of the planet’s surface a few times, debating which section of the planet he would have been “from.”

Ba’buir Fintan said most of the mercenaries had been exiled to Gargon by the New Mandalorians after the Civil War. The man didn’t like talking about the Civil War; his riduur, Bretta’s mother, had been killed during the devastation of Keldabe. When Clan Awaud left Mandalore decades later to remove themselves from the clash between Duchess Satine and Death Watch, the Kelborns left with them.

Din parked the Crest in one of the canyons and engaged Zippo’s safety protocols. He hadn’t seen Jawas among the known inhabitants of the planet, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Then he and Grogu headed into the wilderness on his new BARC, the one he’d replaced after the incident with Bossk.

The air was cooling with the lowering sun and the terrain was craggy and dotted with pines and shrubs. Life still stirred around them: birds swooped down on insects and small lizards.

Darven Meen was supposed to be holed up somewhere on the south side of Mount Konal. So far, though, no structures or signs of vehicles. That was just as well; this struck him as an excellent area for smugglers to bunk, and he didn’t need the trouble.

He took out his binocs and scanned the area. Nothing. If Meen were here, though, he might be living in one of the cracks in the cliff faces. They traveled through the canyons, stopping frequently for scans and reaching out with the Force.

Din suddenly became aware again of the sounds around them—or, rather, the lack of them. The cries of birds, the scampering of reptiles had stopped. Instead, he felt an eerie note in the air, not one heard by ears. Something dark.

Something familiar.

Dank farrik.

He spun the BARC directly towards the mountain and took off at high speed.

Perdition smirked from her vantage point atop one of the cliffs. Din Djarin had sensed the trap, but it was too late. His bike wouldn’t be able to outrun her airspeeder.

“The chase is on,” she told her apprentice. “Jump in.”

The BARC was faster than his other speeder, but not fast enough. Their only advantage was the head start the Force warning had given them. Grogu clung close under Din’s cloak; cold sand whipped around them. The airspeeder was closing the gap rapidly, though. The long shadow of the Mikkian’s craft edged into his helmet’s field of vision.

Din skirted the edge of a mesa and pushed for the mountain chain. His only defense was staying close to the ridges; it would make it harder for her to get a clean shot at them.

Swerve. The Mandalorian didn’t even think, he just did it.

Laser blasts hit the ground next to them, bathing them in light and a shower of glowing bits of sand.

He almost felt the target graphic locking on them; he darted around a tall rock formation, which promptly cracked with the next shot.

Keep going. Emotion, yet peace. If he felt fear, the kid would know. What they needed was cover. They were almost at the foot of the mountain.

One good surprise would help.

Grogu. He sent a picture of the craft going into a barrel roll and veering off course.

The kid was bright. He seized on the image and lifted his claws.

It felt like forever to Din’s heightened awareness, but probably only took a quarter click. The airspeeder made a noise it shouldn’t, and the gap reopened.

They roared into the foothills.

Renda was screeching; Perdition struggled to keep control of the speeder and her gorge. She lost both battles. She spewed on her side of the dash while her niece steered the craft out of its spin.

When her eyes stopped tearing, she saw that they’d lost track of the BARC. That little green worrt dropping was responsible; Perdition just knew it.

Nothing to do but drop altitude and try to find it again.

Time to comm the Purge Troopers on the Agrotera, which had secured the Mandalorian’s ship. The trap had been sprung; her hounds were needed to run their prey to ground.

Din pulled the small survival bag out of the BARC’s storage compartment. Their best options were fleeing or fighting, but the bike wasn’t a good option. There was no way they were going to outrun the airspeeder, and knowing Perdition, she had a stash of stormtroopers somewhere. Maybe even another Inquisitor apprentice.

He concealed the BARC as best he could between a group of boulders and secured the bag over one shoulder, Grogu’s sling over the other. He debated leaving the jetpack behind to save weight; using it would generate light and heat, which would only get easier to detect as night fell. On the other hand, if they were cornered … Kark, his back was going to hurt if they lived through this.

He was too far from the nearest settlement to get a comm signal, not that he had any friends planetside. It was more likely to draw attention to his location than help. Hailing Zippo was a bad idea for the same reason.

Something that would help: using the Force to conceal their presence. It had been years since they’d used the skill to sneak onto ships and into abandoned buildings, but they needed it now.

“Ad’ika, we need to cloak ourselves. They will be looking for us. Link with me.”

But Grogu was doing something else. His mind was elsewhere.

He jiggled the sling. “Grogu, stop. If you use the Force, they’ll notice.”

After a moment, Grogu connected with him and they wrapped themselves in concealment. They weren’t there, eyes would slip off of them, ears would not hear, and they were invisible in the Force.

Three sharp whistles erupted from the comm and Betha sat up in her seat. “Grogu’s in trouble,” she said, staring at the image on the projector.

Elimar glanced over from the co-pilot’s chair and saw the galactic symbol for distress floating above the word ‘HELP’. “What?”

The Twi’lek began pulling star charts up on her side of the viewport. “Grogu’s in trouble.”

“Isn’t Din with him?”

“If he is, it’s very bad!” she snapped.

The Lothalite leaned closer. “He knows how to comm?”

“A little. Din bought him a comm in Tirahnn. Pulling up coordinates now.”

“Where is that? Oh, wait, that’s us, near Taris … Is that Mandalorian space?”

“The edge of it. Gargon.”

Betha loaded the coordinates into the navigator. We’re coming, she typed into the comm. She hoped Grogu could read.

“That’s going to take us well off our route,” Elimar said. “We’ll miss the connection.”

“Then we’ll eat the cost. If Grogu had to call for help, they’re in serious trouble.”

Kark. Elimar began checking for alternate connections. If this turned out to be nothing, Grogu’s father would be eating the cost.

The Hunt

Scattered snowflakes swirled down from the peaks of Mount Konal. It was too cold for a decent snow, and too dry for a concealing fog. Grogu burrowed deeper into the sling. Din climbed atop a natural ledge in the limestone cliff and surveyed the crags below. It was nearly dark, so he switched to night vision and heat readings. 

Bright forms scaled the mountain. Two of the forms made daring leaps far beyond the capability of the average humanoid. Those were the Force users. The larger one had to be Lady Perdition. The shorter one might be a young apprentice, like Waylen had been. He hoped not; he didn’t have the stomach for it. The other shapes, climbing with more effort, were probably troopers.

The Mandalorian waited, keeping his body flat and low against the cliff face. From this angle, the men were unlikely to spot them with their scanners.

We’re not here. Just cold stone.

Staying still forever wasn’t going to get them out of this, though. He needed to even the odds. Slowly, he raised his Amban and found one of the troopers in the scope. The man was on his comm, so he flicked on the scope’s audio.

“… further north for a better view. Keep your position till the ship arrives.”

Kark. Sensors in the sky would be much harder to fool.

Or would they?

He reached for his pack.

The Purge Troopers closed in on a shape glowing on their scanners. It looked like a Durashelter with a heat source inside. The Mando might have protective armor, but he was carrying the kid the Lady wanted. And a kid had to be kept warm, especially when it was snowing.

They flanked the tent, looking around warily as they drew closer.

Poink! Something round and metallic hit the ground.

Then it blew up.

Boba Fett and Juxul Hex dropped into atmo on Gargon in their respective ships. The Devaronian was more familiar with the Razor Crest than Boba, so he found the little gunship first. It was parked in a canyon between Mount Konal (mentioned in the job specs) and a slightly smaller mountain.

Most of the terrain below was broken up with deep ravines. Finding a good spot to land would be like finding a burr seed in bantha dung. The only close location seemed to be taken by an Imperial shuttle.

Juxul immediately veered away with his U-wing, followed by Fett. They put distance between themselves and the shuttle. Imps rarely traveled alone.

After a short wait while they sweated detection, Juxul commed Fett. “I don’t see much movement.”

“I have long-range eyes on the ships,” Fett replied. “Looks like there’s a trooper guarding both. There might be more in the shuttle.”

“Why didn’t they blow the Crest out of the sky, if it was a trap?”

“They want the kid alive. Better to lure them off the ship.”

The Devaronian growled. “Imps are after the kid?”

“A recurring problem, yeah,” Fett replied.

“Are we going to ambush the shuttle, or look for our friends?”

“The trooper’s getting back in. Hold tight.”

Perdition had slapped another vertigo patch on her shoulder after the spewing incident. The last thing she needed during a hunt in the mountains was dizziness. Djarin was somewhere up there, heavily armored and packing a Baby Yoda. Tyhun and Serdo had reported a heat source. They were investigating.

She’d raised the Agrotera to get aerial support, but the Force was already making her tendrils twitch.

The cliff above went boom.

The shuttle sent by the Grand Inquisitor, a Zeta-class, descended into the mountain chain. The Seventh Sister, a Mirialan, checked the sensors.

“Wurrek Hair’s ship is on the move. And I think it’s being followed.”

She zeroed in with the visual scanner, revealing an older model U-wing and an ancient, battered ship that resembled a fabric press. “Don’t even know what that second one is, but I bet it dates back to the Confederacy.”

“Should I fire on them?”

“No, trail behind and activate the cams. This will make a pretty show for the Grand Inquisitor.”

The Eleventh Sister nodded and nosed the ship lower. The Purge Troopers on board grabbed for handholds.

Din aimed the Amban’s scope at Perdition. She had the handle of her whip in one hand, ready to go. Then he shifted the view to the smaller form behind her.

Ka’ra bal ka’ra!

The girl wasn’t old enough to even be a Padawan. Same race as her master, dressed to match. Something similar in the face. Kark, it was probably her kid. He couldn’t vaporize someone in front of their own kid.

He pointed the weapon at the stone beneath her and fired. Then he switched it over to electrical pulse and leapt.

Perdition landed on a rock shelf about five meters below where she’d been standing. Her lightwhip had fallen at least five more; she summoned it to her hand and ignited it. Renda jumped down beside her and raised her pike.

Djarin had missed, but he intended to finish the job. He hit the shelf, too, and lunged forward with his pronged weapon.

She dodged, using the Force to keep her body up to the task. Too many violent shocks had happened in too short a time. She tried reaching for him with that power, but he was stronger, more resistant.

The little Yoda was with him. He detached from Djarin’s shoulder and bounded for her, but Renda had other ideas.

Grogu recognized the woman with the wiggly hair; it was that nasty Perdy lady. She lit her glow-whip and swung it at Buir. He launched himself at her, but someone got in his way. It was a smaller version of Perdy, pink instead of red, although her wiggly hair was just as long.

Finally, he got a challenger of his own! He was a real Padawan now, fighting at Buir’s side.

The girl wore the same Sithy outfit as her mother, but her weapon was different. She had a lightsaber blade at the end of a staff instead of a hilt. That was wizard; maybe he would do something like that when he earned Buir’s blade.

“You hurt my auntie. I’m going to get you!”

Oh, Perdy was her ba’vodu. He pulled the beskad off of his back.

What is your name, challenger?

The girl blinked, then said, “Renda.”

Grogu. Let’s go!

She ran at him, and he used one hand to push her away with the Force. She gasped, then lifted her own hand. Now he was being pushed back. Just like the games!

He shoved harder, and she skidded backwards, leaving skid marks in the dirt with her boots. Her knees bent, her eyes narrowed in concentration, and she vaulted for him, blade leading the way.

The boy did a quick somersault, and the blade hit a rock face instead, hissing and cracking it.

Renda jerked the lightsaber pike back and swatted at Grogu with it. He blocked the blow with his beskad, holding it with both hands, and sparks flew from the clash.

She lunged forward and poked at him. “Die, frog boy!”

The baby dodged, chittering. He’d show her.

I eat frogs.

Then, he leapt high, coming down on her with the Hawk-Bat Swoop. He shrieked with excitement; he’d practiced it with Buir, but this was his first time in a real battle. She brought up the pike’s lightblade, so he diverted his path with the Force, executing a barrel roll and landing on her staff instead. He gripped it with his foot-claws and whacked the durasteel with his own blade. It didn’t hold up well to beskar.

Renda dropped the staff and pulled a vibro-blade from her hip.

Grogu did a backflip and raised his fist.

Three balls of paint smacked into Renda. One in the chest, one in the face, and one in the—

The girl grabbed at her head; bright yellow came off in her hand. “Aiee! My tendrils! Ew! Ew, ew!”

The baby blinked. Had he hurt her?

“You are—rude! You icky boy!”

The jolt from the prongs shot through Perdition, but she was already bolstered by the Force. She staggered once, then swung the whip at him.

He jetted aside. The flame from his jetpack brought his form into brilliant relief. When it faded, his rifle was on his back again and he had a familiar circular hilt in his hand. Two blades, one orange and one indigo, sprung from it.

“Waylen’s crystal. You dare to use my apprentice’s weapon against me?”

He separated the handles, raising the blades in a Jar’Kai pose. “With some customizations.”

“So be it.” She snapped the whip at him, keeping him at bay beyond saber range. He moved to deflect and edged closer with each block. She tried disarming him, but the hilt of the separated weapon had been altered. It was now the same shade of silver as his armor.

Fine. She could adapt.

Perdition lunged to the side and twisted, casting the coil in a loop. It ensnared his arm and she pulled, hard. His armor might save his limb, but if she played this right, he might lose the blade anyway.

Din had tried. He’d tried not to kill the woman in front of her kid, and it had been a mistake. Now Grogu was in his own fight, and he couldn’t help. The Sith harridan had wrapped her whip around his other arm this time, close to the elbow, and he could hear his armorweave sizzling.

He could move away, or in.

He chose in.

Din slammed into her body full force, beskar against durasteel and phrik. They rolled on the stone shelf, Din seeking an opening in her armor for Waylen’s blade, until she dropped her whip and slapped a hand on his neck.

The Force shot through the fabric and into his head. Pain shot through his ears and teeth, and he shouted.

“Forgot this, didn’t you?” she cooed.

His hands jerked and spasmed, letting go of his weapons. He tried to twist, throw her off, but his body wasn’t obeying him.

She fumbled at her hip for something—a stiletto, he saw. His body continued to spasm.

In desperation, he reached out with the Force and pushed a button.

They exploded into fire.

Brilliant light illuminated the side of the mountain. The Purge Trooper flying the Agrotera spotted it and arced in flight towards the burst. There had been flames, but they were dying back now.

Perdition and Din ripped free of each other. Her tunic was smoking and several of her head-tendrils were charred. He had burns, too, but the armor and kute had held up against his flamethrower.

Grogu, who had been getting chased by Renda until he saw the fireball, bounded in front of Din and raised his claws. The Mikkian woman shot into the air and off the mountain. The girl shrieked and ran after her master.

“You just wait!” she shouted behind her, waving her bent pike at the boy. “I’ll get you, Grogu, and your Mando, too!”

Confrontation

The pain was gone; well, most of it was. The nerves in his jawline still jangled with hyperawareness. Din took maybe two clear breaths before a spotlight flooded the shelf, and the Force urged him to move. He grabbed the kid and dove off the ledge as laser cannons cut twin swaths into the cliff face. Instead of the jetpack, though, he used the Force to break their fall. He didn’t need a glowing trail pointing to them.

Then they were scrambling down the mountainside. Subtlety was tossed to the wayside; staying ahead of the next blast took priority.

They got out of the shuttle’s line of sight long enough to squeeze into a fissure. Grogu burrowed into Din’s side and whined.

Scary, Buir.

Yes, Din acknowledged. You may need to flee. Leave me behind.

No!

No more time to argue. He knelt, Amban rifle raised. The lights from the shuttle, the edge of its wing, were growing in its scope. He slid a fresh power cell into the port, and waited till the body of the vessel came into view. 

His shot hit the rotation joint between the wing and the rest of the ship. Sparks flew. The shuttle rocked, and the wing drooped, crackling. Its laser cannon hung, useless.

The rest of the shuttle slid into view and aimed with its good cannon. Din jumped again. This time, he used the jetpack.

Sensors tracked his movement, and the roof of the Agrotera slid back, revealing a missile launcher. It tracked the figure in beskar.

Then, a torpedo hit the Phi-class shuttle and blew it out of the sky.

“What the…?” The Seventh Sister swerved away. That rattletrap ship had just blown Lady Perdition’s shuttle out of the air. A few moments ago, it had been an old hunk of junk; now, a launcher had popped out of it, and other weapons as well.

It changed course, veering their way.

Kark. The owner knows we were trailing him, the Mirialan thought rapid-fire. If they engaged the flying fabric press, the target would escape with his Mando guardian. There was a chance they might lose, especially if the U-wing joined in.

“I sense rage,” the Eleventh Sister said. “Lady Perdition is here.”

“She’s about to become angrier.” Wurrek Hair always hid her projects, wanted to have all the credit for herself. She only worked with others when it served her interests.

The Seventh Sister whirled in her seat to face the trooper behind her.

“Enova. Take the controls.” She rose and gestured to the other Sister and the rest of the Purge Troopers. “We need to secure the target. We can’t do that from here.”

The two Inquisitors readied their weapons. The troopers prepared for the jump.

“Take the ship over the top of the mountain,” the Seventh Sister commanded Enova. “Find a flat place to drop us, and give us covering fire.”

As the side door opened for their exit, Enova’s despair flowed over the Eleventh Sister. The trooper knew she was probably going to die here. As her parting gift, the Sister drew Enova’s emotions into herself, leaving the trooper resolute and calm. She would need all her courage to fight the other ships. Then she closed her eyes, and a low thrum began in the Force.

The sky lit up above Din and Grogu. The snowflakes were more like stars, backlit by laser fire and ion cannons. A fourth ship descended in the distance, skirting the battle. It was the Sea Shadow.

Betha?

Boba’s ship and Juxul’s U-wing continued to pummel the second Inquisitorius shuttle, which was much larger. It exploded and crashed in the valley, but not before dropping its cargo. Imperial troopers descended with the aid of jetpacks. They weren’t alone; two dark figures descended with them, Inquisitor sabers spinning above them like pinwheels.

Kark.

Two Mandalorians jetted from the west to intercept them.

Juxul and Boba, he sent to the kid. They came to help us. How had they known he and Grogu were in trouble? How did they know to come to Gargon?

And Betha, the baby sent. To the rescue!

Din was more concerned about the Mandalorians. Imperial troopers were one thing; Inquisitors were much harder to handle.

“We need to help them, kid. Stick close to my side. If any of those troopers get too close, shove them away.”

Elek.

They took off.

Boba led the attack on the jump troopers, opening with a concussion rocket. He followed up with his carbine.

Juxul joined him, cutting into two men with his repeating blaster.

They advanced. A portion of Boba’s attention stayed on the location of the two dar’jetiise with their whirling lightsabers. Oddest weapons he’d ever seen. He swooped around the invaders, firing again. Two more soldiers died before he felt the invisible hand close around his throat. He knew, somehow, which of the women was responsible.

“What happened, Mandalorian?” the woman taunted through her vocoder. “You were fighting so bravely.” Her helmet concealed her entire face; all he could see in the flashing red light of her blade was the white semicircle decal and pointed top.

He clutched at his throat, but there was nothing to fight against. The vise grew tighter, squeezing his windpipe.

The Devaronian beside him stopped shooting and turned to help, but there was nothing he could do to protect Boba’s throat.

“You inserted yourself into our little drama. Now pay the price,” the woman said, her smile evident in her tone.

A small droid hovered beside her; a red light in the center of its body glowed like an eye.

Desperately, Boba pointed and Juxul turned, recognizing the author of the attack at last.

He aimed his blaster, but the Inquisitor waved her hand, and the Force jerked it from his grasp.

The vise loosened and Boba drew in a ragged breath before it tightened again.

Juxul rocketed towards the woman. Jump trooper shots rocked him in flight as he headed for her, but he was heavily armored and had momentum. He shot his whipcord around her and jerked, knocking the blade from her hand. She dropped; her droid dove in and fired from its eye, hitting the Devaronian square in the chest. The impact knocked the wind out of the larger man, and he dropped with his captive.

Fett was breathing again; he launched another concussion rocket, but the second Inquisitor put out her hand and it reversed direction. His memory flashed back to the fight on the mining ship, when Din had done the same thing. This time, they were in mid-air and he could dive. He opted to do so.

The second woman wore a sleek black helmet and mask with only a slash for a visor. Her armor was dark and had a kama to protect her legs. She shut off her whirling blade and dropped behind him.

Din arrived at the battle and decided that Juxul needed help first. He had an akul by the tail, and she wasn’t going to be held in that whipcord for long.

Padawan, crush that droid.

Hee, hee, hee.

He plunged towards the two forms. The Devaronian had righted himself, and the Inquisitor had slowed her descent with the Force. Her blade, spinning by itself, was headed back to its master.

Din drove the prongs of his Amban rifle’s resonator into the Sister, giving her an electric shock at a setting he normally reserved for narglatches and canyon krayts.

One blortch later, she was falling again.

Din landed on one of the mountain’s ledges, sending showers of pebbles flying. He needed a view from a stable place. Heat coursed down his body from the burns he’d received, but inside, he was as cold as the caverns of Ilum.

He lifted his comm. “Boba, back off. Danger.” He sent the same message to Juxul.

The buzz in the Force became a pulsing note. It clashed with the song of the planet.

Instead of backing away, Boba was approaching even faster. Juxul had landed on a cliff above Din, and was jumping down to his level. Fierfek!

Elimar followed Betha’s jumpspeeder across the broken plain. The Twi’lek’s lekku rippled behind her like flying serpents. Her own face tightened, lips chapping, as the cold blast of air whipped her skin.

Lights exploded on the mountain ahead of them. Its barren crags were lit by the sparks from one—no, two crashed shuttles. Figures trailing fire behind them darted above the cliffs, exchanging blaster fire and rockets.

Betha lowered her head and pressed the speeder’s limits, barely making it over rock formations. Her focus was narrowed to the beacon of the child, heedless of the dangers ahead.  

The mountain swelled ahead of them. The firefight flickered on the cliffs.

There, Elimar sent, indicating a path up the mountain. The speeders could deal with rough terrain; they slowed enough to negotiate the turns.

A crawling sensation made Betha’s lekku vibrate; something ahead was wrong. Very wrong.

Then boulders floated upwards and blocked the light. They hovered, then flew straight at them.

Elimar and Betha both flung themselves from their vehicles, rolling on the ground.

The Lothalite spat dirt and scrambled up, trying to get her bearings. She’d saved herself, but her vehicle was a crushed mass of metal and plasteel. Where was—ah, there Betha was. Like Elimar, she was covered in sand and dirt. One cheek was scraped.

She wasn’t looking at Elimar, though. A woman—an Inquisitor—was striding towards them, double blade casting a red glow over her dark armor.

Her voice, enhanced by her vocoder, rang over the sound of the jets. “How delightful! Attack one Jedi, and others show up to defend him. Lord Vader will be pleased by your deaths.”

Elimar drew her lightsaber; the Twi’lek fired her blaster.

The Seventh Sister batted the shots away with her blade. One leap, and she closed with them. Betha fired again at point-blank range before Elimar stepped in and blocked the Inquisitor’s blade. Now that she was closer, she saw that the woman was a Mirialan. Her armor had been marred by the blaster shot; the scent of burned flesh made Elimar’s nose wrinkle.

Betha ignited her own saber.

The Sister broke her weapon into separate blades.

“Come on, then,” she invited.

The pulsing note was stronger, making Din’s skin clammy, his muscles tight. He strengthened his shields and did a sweep with his HUD. Red blades clashed below with yellow and blue. Betha and Elimar must have arrived.

Two other forms below were advancing on them. One was smaller than the other. He knew who they were.

He directed Grogu to the smaller form. Padawan, throw the girl somewhere.

The apprentice squawked as she zipped off the ground and down the side of the mountain. Din hoped she knew how to slow a fall.

He fired explosive darts at the other form before falling into a battle trance.

The Mirialan was a better warrior than either Elimar or Betha. She danced and whirled, blocking their strikes easily. Betha brought her down with a tackle, but the Inquisitor tossed her into a stand of scraggly bushes with the Force.

She struggled out of the branches and drew her blaster again. If she could get close enough for melee, she’d be in range for a point-blank shot.

One good Force Jump, and she’d be back.

Her plan immediately dissolved when she heard the bursts. The woman from Nur with the Force Whip was here, and Din was on the attack.

Every barrier she’d created around her emotions in meditation, every plan to lead a life of singular duty to the Jedi, every justification she’d used to convince herself that she’d made the right decision disappeared like the snowflakes in the heat from the burning shuttles.

It’s Din.

“Betha!” Elimar screamed. She was scrambling backwards, blocking the relentless blows of the Inquisitor.

She jerked back into the present and fired at the Mirialan.

The Mandalorian was using the Fifteenth Brother’s blade in one hand, Perdition noticed. Pity that duty had called before that boy was fully trained. He’d been eager enough to kill his former classmate, but his skill wasn’t equal to his ambitions. She snapped her lightwhip at the offending hand, but the Mandalorian caught it with his vambrace, letting the end loop around it, and pulled.

Perdition extinguished it and did a backwards hook jump, staying out of saber range. She shot the whip out again, but something turned it at the last moment. Twice more she tried, striking low, then high.

There!

A tiny, clawed hand reflected the red light of her weapon. Djarin was carrying the child with him. She already had a bone to pick with that little sachet of bantha dung; Renda hadn’t been killed by his flinging stunt, but she could have been. Perdition reached through the Force for the boy’s nervous system, but he was doubly shielded by his own mind and his guardian’s.

The rush of jets overhead drew everyone’s attention. The other two Mandalorians had arrived. Kark.

The Seventh Sister was fighting what appeared to either be two Jedi Padawans—or perhaps they were bokken Jedi. With new arrivals on the scene, they would need to work together.

She hoped the Seventh Sister agreed.

The girl Renda landed at the bottom of the mountain. She managed to create a Force cushion, but she still hit the ground hard. Frog Boy—Grogu—had to be the one responsible. His giggle had been in her head during the short time she was airborne.

Her side and arm hurt, but she could still move. She dusted off her robes and looked around for her lightsaber pike. Its kyber crystal flared at the base of a cactus. When she picked it up, she saw that the body of the pike was bent even further. Renda let out a sigh too long-suffering for a Sith her age.

Her surroundings looked familiar. They’d parked the airspeeder near here, hadn’t they?

Well, this fight has gone to poodoo, the Seventh Sister thought. Dancing with the two amateurs hadn’t been a problem, but then the Mandalorians had gotten involved. Their flamethrowers and ranged weapons added an additional level of challenge, and their armor held up to lightsaber blows.

The worst of them was the guardian of the Yoda-species child. The child was flagging from too much Force use, but the father—yes, that felt like the most appropriate word—was still strong. He’d been well-taught. He knew his forms, even Juyo, and he shifted fluidly between Jedi forms and moves she didn’t recognize. She presumed those were Mandalorian.

A shame they couldn’t take him alive. The Eleventh Sister could break him if anyone could. He’d make a splendid Inquisitor.

Suddenly, the Seventh Sister wasn’t alone. The Mikkian Sith was beside her, driving off the headtail Jedi on her right flank. About time she worked with the Inquisitors instead of against them.

They dropped into rapport and moved together, shifting from target to target. The Mirialan also tried to keep at least one of their foes in the line of fire to discourage the Mandalorians from shooting.

The Eleventh Sister had come closer, but her best attack was limited as long as she and Wurrek Hair were in the same area.

The guardian slid under her guard with a shiak. She blocked his saber in time, but he spun and delivered a kick to her knee with a heavy boot.

“Pfassk!” Only the Force held her upright. The man probably wore beskar on his feet, too.

She felt a hand on her arm, nothing compared to the pain shooting up her body. Then, the pain stopped.

The block is temporary. Be careful, the Mikkian sent.

Their enemies moved closer.

The airspeeder didn’t handle the mountain terrain well. It didn’t help that the main controls were coated in her aunt’s puke. Renda was glad she had gloves on. She’d expected blood, but fighting Jedi got icky.

The clash of sabers ahead lit the cliff faces like a holiday display. Her tendrils prickled as she got closer to the fight; something lurked nearby, ready to strike.

She needed to get her aunt out of this mess.

When she had a straight shot, Renda fired the laser cannons. Watching everyone dive for the ground was gratifying. She fired again, then landed next to her aunt and the Inquisitor and popped open the hatch.

Master!

Her aunt didn’t need a second call. She Force-jumped through the opening, pulling the Seventh Sister with her.

Renda closed the hatch and hit the jets, leaving Mount Konal behind.

The Darksiders had fled. Din took a survey of his friends. The women had scorched armorweave and burns, but nothing bacta wouldn’t fix. Boba and Juxul had mostly lost some paint from their armor.

Then why didn’t he feel safer?

Something was tingling underneath the flow of the Force. A soft buzz, like the wings of a bluebarb wasp.

The others could feel it too; even the Mandalorians were shifting, scanning the area.

Din’s audio picked up the sound of brush being shoved aside. The cries of animals, the scrambling of feet, the flapping of wings. Whatever was coming down the mountain behind Boba terrified every creature on it.

Juxul moved beside Din. He turned to stare at the wildlife fleeing around them.

The pulsing became a heartbeat. A throbbing of pain in the Force. Of fear.

Grogu screeched in terror and grabbed his father with the Force. The child pushed him backwards.

More Purge Troopers descended from above, firing at them.

Cries and the sound of Boba and Juxul returning fire echoed against the cliffs, then stopped abruptly.

A tall, stocky figure in black descended one of the nearby crags. An invisible corona of power surrounded the woman. The sheer intensity made Din want to avert his eyes anyway.

Terrible, horrible, paralyzing…

Boba and Juxul were frozen behind him. Din could feel their fear as well, although they were fighting it. Betha had her blaster out, and even Elimar was drawing hers.

The troopers continued to advance. They were confident, and why not? They were with the nightmarish woman; they were her minions.

The fear washed over him yet again. It was …

Not his own.

Din gripped Boba’s shoulder. “Boba.”

Boba gasped, then raised his carbine at a trooper who was halfway down a rock shelf. “Force osik!” he snapped, and fired. His body was shaking, but his aim was on target.

“Use your jets, get out of here.” Din grabbed Boba’s jet pack and activated it from the back. The clone zoomed away, tumbling as he gained control of the flight.

He turned. “Jux.” He placed the child in the Devaronian’s arm and touched his elbow. The enormous man shuddered and blinked. “Take Grogu and follow Boba.”

Grogu screamed and shot forward in Juxul’s arms, pulling them both towards Din. Juxul was working equally hard to pull them both back.

No! Want Buir!

One of the troopers fired; Din barely moved in time for it to hit his cuirass instead of his head. He stumbled against Juxul, who almost fell with him.

Kark.

“Grogu,” he said, reaching through their connection, “I need you to protect Juxul and Boba. They don’t have the Force.” The boy wasn’t paralyzed, but he was frightened.

Stay with Buir.

“Go and protect them, Padawan.” He put his hand on the boy’s head and sent a wave of calm through his fingers. It was a trickle in a raging flood of terror, but when Juxul launched his jet pack, Grogu didn’t resist.

Now, it was just him and the women. He could sense their apprehension, but they were still with him.

Two of the troopers were advancing on the ground, three were in the air. He raised his arm, fired his last brace of explosive darts at one of the hovering figures, then pulled the rifle from his back.

He moved upward, into the scream of the Force.

Waves of fear washed over Din like the breakers of Spira. He was there, suddenly. The memory of Desh swelled inside him in a tide of shame.

This is the student with the force bond. The one they are worried won’t pass the Trials.

He pushed back, shoving his mind back into his body. It was dark, but blaster fire was coming from behind him. Snow fell. His shoulder hurt, he was down on one knee, and the soldiers were closer.

The Amban was still in his hands. He aimed.

The man in front was gone, disintegrated.

The other trooper charged, firing his blasters.

Din deflected the shots with his vambraces. He charged as well, reaching for the circular hilt at his belt.

Fear enclosed him in smoke and dust. The ground trembled. Bricks fell from the buildings, and the bakery was on fire. Ahead of him, he saw the red of his mother’s robes. She fled from the droids with his father. Din ran after them. Where was his sister?

No. He hadn’t been there, only sensed it at the time. A memory. A trap.

He dispelled the smoke, only to see the helmet of the trooper above him. Din was on his back and empty-handed. Every nerve in his body crackled in pain.

The trooper raised the electrostaff again.

Din slammed down every pain response in his body and shoved with the Force. The Imp smacked into a nearby cliff face and slid down.

The stocky woman in black armor stood maybe ten meters from him. Her weapon, a Jedi blade bled to a brilliant red, illuminated her mask and gloves. He rolled to his feet, calling his weapon to his hand, and faced her.

He’d never experienced the Force like this before. But he recognized its root. It was empathy, turned outwards to paralyze them all.

He reached for the woman, and the Force storm surrounded them both.

The larger Mandalorian landed on a rock formation. Boba landed behind him.

Grogu saw the lightsabers below and squealed, pulling Juxul’s arm. The Devaronian looked at Grogu. “Jetii friends?”

He waved his clawed hands. “Beh-Beffah.”

“Oh! The Twi’lek, right?”

“‘lek.”

The trio stared at the fight. The women were battling multiple troopers each.

The Devaronian handed the child to Boba. “Hold him.” He pulled the blaster rifle from his back.

Grogu squirmed, but Boba wasn’t having it.

“Gev! Your buir wants you safe.” He knelt, raising his carbine and activating the sight. “Help me shoot.”

This worked. The toddler climbed on his back and put his head close to Boba’s.

The clone centered his sight on one of the troopers; the weapon shifted slightly in his hands, zeroing in.

“Kagwe!” Grogu shouted. Boba didn’t know the word, but he fired. One of the troopers fighting Elimar dropped.

“Ori’jate, ad’ika.” What else was he supposed to say to the kid? “Again.”

Din fled through smoke-filled halls. The Temple was on fire. Where was Grogu? He ran into Master Minas’ classroom, and stopped short.

Anakin Skywalker was there. Din’s initial surge of hope—he’s here to save us—curdled into the bile of horror. The Knight was cutting down the children with his lightsaber.

Kill the traitors, kill the Jedi poured out from the clones. No regrets, no inner conflict. Terror and shock from the other children washed over Din. At the center of the room, though, sheer anguish pulsated from Anakin Skywalker. For a moment, they locked eyes, and Skywalker’s desperation stabbed through the boy. Save her.

Then Skywalker strode towards Din.

Din, now an adult, strode towards Skywalker’s shade. I will save her.

He passed out of his memory and into the Sister’s mind. I know you.

The world was white spattered with red. Snow surrounded Tessa. The clones were shooting at them. Master Simms blocked the shots while her young Padawan and Master Hudorra fled on platforms stolen from the Separatists. Tessa only had her mastmot, which carried her deeper into the icy hills of Toola.

Hunted. She could feel the clones hunting her. Reaching for other Jedi was like grasping for fireflies, fireflies that disappeared into a growing darkness.

Din stretches out his hand to her, and the scene explodes with pain.

They are bound in a cell, writhing in agony. A Pau’an, flanked by figures in black, reaches into the Knight with the Force, raking claws through her psyche, shredding and reshaping it. The others hover round, snuffing out each spark of hope or resistance they find.

Join us or die, they say.

Din, buried deep inside her mind, eases her wretchedness and shields the most delicate portions of her mind. The memory of being overwhelmed draws a curtain on the scene.

The Knight, now the Eleventh Sister, pours torment and misery into her kyber crystal, bleeding it. Nearby, an Inquisitor weapon hilt waits to become its new home. She twists the bright energy, easing her own pain by sharing it with the crystal, weeping at what she does. 

But Din knows how to fix this.

In the physical world, his hand covered hers, sensing her crystal in the circular hilt she carried. His mind touched the crystal, meeting pain with comfort, torment with peace, and trauma with healing. Then, he followed the agony back to its source.

Her pain has been turned outwards, projecting fear and anguish. Din had done that once himself, when he’d felt his parents die. Tessa had come to him then, bringing balm with her touch and showing him how to shut it off.

He did this for her now.

In the ensuing psychic quiet, he released the warping of her nature. He started the process, but relinquished control when her original personality reasserted itself.

Din shifted back to the normal world. The troopers were gone, and he was kneeling. He sat back on his heels and blinked. His friends surrounded him.

The Sister, trembling, pulled off her black helmet, revealing golden hair and tawny eyes. She had a strong jaw, making her handsome rather than beautiful.

The Mandalorian looked up at the women. “This is Tessa. She was—”

“No,” the woman said. “Please, I don’t want to talk about—” Shame rolled off of her.

Din was exhausted and decided not to argue. “She was my teacher. She needs help.”

Grogu jumped from Boba’s shoulder to Din’s chest; he caught the boy with a whoof.

You were there, the child sent. When Buir’s parents died.

Stop! Tessa struggled to her feet. “Just let me go.” She squeezed the hilt of the weapon, and yellow blades emerged.

Elimar studied the woman, who refused to look at her or the others. “You turned her. That’s amazing.”

Din addressed Tessa instead. “You’re safe. Shut that off, and come here.” He extended his hand, and the woman obeyed, slumping against him. “She needs a quiet place to recover.”

“She tried to kill all of us,” Boba replied.

“It’s okay. I’ll take her with me.” Din scanned the area with his HUD. “I have a BARC around here somewhere.” The Inquisitor shifted, and he swayed.

“You’re not driving. You’re out on your feet,” the clone said. “Come to my ship; I’ll take you back to the Crest. I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

“I’ll come with you,” Betha said.

Boba gave the Twi’lek a suspicious look. “You have a claim on him?”

She frowned, and her lekku curled.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Juxul murmured.

Fortunately, Elimar told the pair to stop posturing. “Both of you, come to our ship. We have spare quarters. Big Guy, think you could find his BARC?”

Boba and Juxul flew their own ships to the Crest while the Sea Shadow followed.

Aftermath

Din rested in one of the unoccupied rooms. The trip didn’t take long, but Din couldn’t be roused when they arrived, and Grogu refused to leave him. Tessa was similarly indisposed in a separate room.

The Mandalorians entered the Razor Crest to search for restraining bolts and trackers. Zippo was suspicious of Boba, but recognized Juxul and, more importantly, his astromech KayKay.

A short time later, Betha went out to join them with her bug sweeper. The clone—she had been surprised to see a clone in this day and age—was prickly in her presence, so she spoke to the Devaronian instead.

“You two are Din’s friends?”

“Yes. I am Juxul. You are Betha?”

She nodded. “Did he call you for help?”

The large man tipped his helmet towards the other man. “Boba Fett thought there was something wrong with a job Din took. It sounded like a setup. We came to check on him.”

“I’m glad you did.” Boba Fett? Didn’t sound like a clone nickname. “What did Din tell you about me?”

“Not much. I didn’t know you were a jetii.”

“Oh.” Was she, really? Did she even want to be one any more?

“I didn’t realize Din was one, either.”

“He was a child when the Temple burned,” she said. “He was adopted and swore to the Resol’nare.”

“How is he?”

“Dead as the moon of Antar. We can’t wait for him to wake. The Inquisitors will come back.”

Boba finally turned his helmet her way. “What about his ship?”

“I’ve flown it before, but he has an astromech,” she said. “How is Zippo?”

The astromech’s voice came through the speakers. “Finally, someone asks about me, but it’s only because she wants something. I’m doing well, for a former prisoner of the Empire.”

“I’m sorry, Zippo. I should have asked about you earlier,” Betha said, then turned to Juxul and Boba. “I can help you finish your search.”

“Check the carbonite storage,” the droid said. “One of the troopers was threatening to flash-freeze a companion.”

It didn’t take long to finish the search for Imperial souvenirs with all three of them checking the gunship.

“Where do you suggest we go?” the Twi’lek asked. “I don’t want to lead the Empire to one of our standard destinations.”

“Go where you want,” Boba replied. “I need to get back to business, but not on Carajam.” He headed for the Crest’s exit ramp. “Ret'urcye mhi, Juxul.”

“Ret,” the Devaronian replied.

Betha waited until she heard the Firespray’s engines before speaking to Juxul again. “Did I offend him in some way?”

“I’ve heard that he doesn’t like jetiise,” Juxul allowed. She sensed other thoughts dancing behind his white and gold mask, but he didn’t share them.

“Mmm. Where was he headed?”

“Probably back to Tatooine or Nar Shaddaa. We could try Ord Mantell,” Juxul said. “There’s usually work there for me, and enough of a population to hide a few fugitives.”

She frowned. “It’ll take some calculating. No direct hyperlane route.”

“I can give you the route if you start from Halmad.”

“The Empire’s already looking for my ship. If we’re spotted, they’ll conclude we use Halmad as a base. Would that be unfortunate for you?”

“Um, very.”

“I think you should go to Ord Mantell. Splitting up offers us the most safety.”

“What about vod?”

“He’s probably going to sleep for a while. We’ll care for him and his son. And Zippo.” This last was addressed to the astromech’s comm.

Once it was just her in the Razor Crest, Betha addressed the astromech again. “Zippo, we need to get you and the ship off this planet. The Empire will come looking for you.”

“A sensible plan. When the boss returns, we shall leave.”

“That’s the problem. Din is out cold, and I don’t know when he’ll wake up.”

“Oh, dear.” The droid’s voice sounded concerned, even expressed through the ship’s comms. “Is he injured?”

“Not badly. Mostly exhausted.”

“I see.”

There lay the dilemma; she and Elimar could probably get Din back into his own bunk, along with Grogu, but the pair might need care. It would be unsafe for the two Jedi women to split up, each flying a ship, when one of their patients would possibly be an Inquisitor again when she awoke.

She rose from the pilot’s seat, groaning softly as her muscles protested. “I need to go discuss this with Elimar. I’ll be back with a plan.”

“Ah, yes, the organics must decide, and I must languish in my socket, unconsulted.”

“Oh,” she said, “do you have a suggestion?”

“You advised the Devaronian to avoid Halmad because he might be tracked by the Empire. There are locations the boss uses to avoid Imperial notice. The disadvantage is that they are in isolated areas.”

“Isolation sounds like what we want.”

Elimar sat on one of the Sea Shadow’s couches with her legs stretched over the cushions. She had a mug of caf in her hands.

Betha was jealous.  “How are they?”

“Still out. I strapped a nutrient pod to Din’s arm. It should help him recover. I woke Grogu long enough to give him some juice. I didn’t want to experiment with pod sizes. He’s so tiny.”

“What about …” she waved to the other berth in use.

“Our prisoner? Possible refugee? I have her hooked up to fluids and H4b. It should encourage her to keep sleeping until we decide how to handle her.”

“Good idea.”

The Lothalite took a sip from the mug. “You know we need to leave this planet? Like, an hour ago.”

“Yes. Zippo had a suggestion.”

Shortly thereafter, both ships lifted off the cracked surface of Gargon, nav computers set for an unpopulated area of Mindor.

Chapter Text

Once they were in hyperspace, Betha went to check on Din and Grogu. Both were asleep in the bunk under a hastily-draped blanket, Grogu curled up against his father’s chestplate. Din was still mostly in his armor, although the helmet and boots were off. His thigh plates had been stacked near the door, next to his jetpack. The pod was on his arm, but it looked like Elimar had punched the IV connection through his kute.

She poked her head back out of the door. “Did you give either of them a shot of bacta?”

“I gave one to Din; Grogu looked unhurt. Sorry about leaving Din’s arm thingies on, but I didn’t know which button set off the flamethrower. Oh, there are some wipes in there if you need them.”

“Thank you.” Betha returned to the bunk and checked the child first. He grumbled in complaint as she removed the chainmail shirt and the purple robe.

“Sorry, I’m just checking you.” Claws and toes intact, no marks on the green skin. It looked like Elimar had already cleaned him up. The container of juice was next to the wipes; she made him take a sip.

Cold.

“Sorry.” She put his robe back on and wrapped him in one of the blankets. “I’m going to see to your father.”

Unlike Elimar, she did know how to remove Din’s armor. She detached his vambraces and pauldrons. Peeling off his gloves, she saw that one of his arms had been burned again. Probably that lightwhip. He sighed and shifted when she unclasped his cuirass and lifted it.

“It’s all right,” she soothed. “I’m going to take off your kute. Is that all right?”

His response was a grunt, which she elected to interpret as consent. She began pulling the garment off, using the Force to lift him as needed.

She used the wipes on him, checking him for more injuries at the same time. Outside of the burns on his arm, he was merely bruised and suffering from Force exhaustion.

Perhaps he should invest in some cortosis weave gloves or wraps if he was going to keep fighting Sith. She applied some spray bacta to the arm and wrapped it in gauze again.

After she was satisfied with her treatment, she put the child on Din’s chest and dimmed the lights. She pulled a blanket over them both.

Making Up

When Din awoke, he was bracketed in warmth. Grogu was asleep on his chest, and he was in a bunk.

He opened his eyes to a darkened room. He was still on the Sea Shadow, in one of the guest cabins. Betha was dozing in a nearby chair, but jerked awake when he stirred.

“Feeling better?” the Twi’lek asked.

He suddenly realized that he was only wearing his smallclothes. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Din replied. “Who undressed me?”

“I did. Elimar was afraid to touch your armor; she didn’t want to launch something.”

“Accidents do happen.”

Betha hmmed and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He shoved down his surge of longing, of shameful hope. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Did you miss me, too?

“Someone else is awake,” Betha said. “Yes, I missed both of you, Grogu. I have your nest in my room, right next to the goddesses. I’ve been putting my offerings in it. Flowers.”

Sounds pretty.

The Twi’lek stood. “I want to talk to your father privately. Would you like to go to my room and see the nest while I do that?”

Grogu agreed, and she lifted him into her arms. “Be back in a moment, Din.”

While she was gone, Din took an inventory of himself. He was mostly bruised, and he’d gotten burned on the other arm this time. Someone had already treated it, probably Betha.

A half-full bottle of fruit juice sat near the bunk; he sat on the edge of the conform-foam pad and finished it off, wishing that he had an icy Galaxy Guzzler from Tatooine. He could press it to his forehead. The inside of his skull felt sore, like it had been squeezed. Images of the fight flickered in his memory, jumbling with those of waking up with Betha there. He rubbed his temples. Why would she want to be alone with him, stirring up emotions neither of them should have?

His stomach knotted; maybe that juice had been too acidic.

The door opened and the Twi’lek re-entered. “Still tired?” She didn’t sit. Her lekku coiled and uncoiled over her shoulders.

“Just worn out. I need a break from wandering Inquisitors.”

“We all do.”

He looked up and saw that Betha’s posture had changed. She’d straightened her shoulders, and her shields were up. “But … Inquisitors aren’t what you want to talk about,” he hazarded.

“No. I made a decision while you were asleep.”

He tried not to guess. “Okay.”

“I love you. I never want to be separated from you again.”

He blinked, bleary-eyed. A tremor went through his body. “You what?”

She reached out, then paused. “May I touch you?”

“Y-yes.”

Her thumb brushed over his forehead. Then she touched his hair. “I love you. Can you still love me?”

His eyes widened. Betha stroked his head, his face, his shoulders like a tooka. This couldn’t be happening. He stared at her as if he’d been poleaxed. In his chest, something broke apart, fizzing into energy.

“But you can’t have attachments,” he said, voice soft. “To keep the Jedi alive.”

“No.” Her fingers cupped his chin and lifted his face. Her eyes fixed on his. “People like Kawlak Roken are keeping the Jedi alive. People like Tala and Russa are keeping the Jedi alive. You’re keeping the Jedi alive, too. You may have even brought one back from the Dark Side last night.”

“But you could still be a Jedi.”

“I don’t think so.” She sat beside him and took his hand. “It’s funny, really. When we were still at the Temple, I hoped that I would become Master Kenobi’s Padawan. He traveled with Anakin Skywalker, which meant that we would travel together. I daydreamed of the many adventures we would have. I’m sure they would have shot me off to the AgriCorps instead, with thoughts like that.”

Dawning joy filled Din’s heart. “I’m sorry we weren’t Padawans together. That would have been fun.”

“The point is, I wanted to be with you. I realized that during the fight. The important part was being with you. Being a Jedi all this time has been a fallback position because I thought you’d died. Following the Code was easy until we met again. You said that you started at the Temple with an attachment; well, so did I. I’ve been attached to you since we were children. Maybe even from the moment you offered me your sleeve to wipe my tears.”

Din took both her hands and kissed them. “Marry me,” he said, pressing his forehead to her fingers. “Be one with me forever, together or parted.”

“Elek.” She pushed him down on the bed and kissed him again and again.

Later, when they were curled up and half-dozing, Din lifted his head.

“What if Skywalker had chosen Waylen?”

Betha snorted. “When he could have you? No way.”

When Din and Betha entered the lounge, Din dressed in his customary red clothing, they saw that Grogu and Elimar were playing a Force game, rolling Wuur marbles around the rims of cups.

Elimar looked up; it only took a glance to read Betha’s intentions. “You’re going with him,” she said, crossing her arms.

“For now. I intend to keep working with the Path, but I can help without being a Jedi.” Betha softened her tone. “We’re going to get married. I know it’s not what you want—”

“No. But being a Jedi should always be by choice.” She sighed, and turned to Din. “Congratulations.”

Din nodded. “Thank you.”

She eyed the kute slung across his arm. “Planning to put that in the cleaner?”

“Yes. And make repairs, if you have the materials.”

“Sorry I had to punch through it.”

“Not a big fix. I’m more concerned about the lightwhip damage.”

Din went to the utility area in the corner of the room while Betha joined Grogu and Elimar on the couch. Perhaps he would make food after he started the cleaner or go check on Tessa. The women needed to settle this between themselves.

“What about the business?” Elimar asked. “Am I on my own?”

“No,” the Twi’lek reassured. “We can work out the details when I get back.”

Din could tell from her voice that Elimar had relaxed. “So, you do plan to come back?”

“Din still has his bounty hunting. We still have a business, and a girl’s got to make a living.”

Tessa Awakens

The four of them were eating nerf nuggets with Corellian buckwheat noodles when Din heard the mental shriek. He put his plate down and sprinted for Tessa’s room, followed closely by Elimar.

The golden-haired woman was balled up on the conform-foam pad with her arms wrapped around her head. The pod with her fluids and sedative lay on the floor. “Go away! I’m not safe!”

Din sat next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s happening?”

“He calls!”

Elimar knelt next to the bed, and they both extended their awareness in the Force. A strand of fire was attached to the Genetian’s aura; it pulsed with an unpleasant sound.

Din surrounded the strand with the Force and pressed it into silence. It flared like a punctured flukebladder pipe, nearly knocking him off the bed.

“Who is he?” Elimar demanded.

“M-my mast—” A spasm broke off the woman’s words.

They both felt the presence then, strong, hateful, overpowering, and a snarling face with glowing yellow eyes. The onion man from the puck, Din realized.

“Push it back,” Elimar told Din. “Betha! Grogu! In here!”

Din worked on blocking the mental fingers of fire that sought Tessa. Betha sat on the floor next to the Lothalite woman, Grogu in her lap.

“Link with me,” Elimar commanded. “All of you.”

Din reached for her in the Force. He normally perceived it as sound, but this time it was music. Elimar’s presence was a sharp, precise voice in the Force, holding the melody. Betha fell in beside her to harmonize. Din provided deep chords, adding power, and Grogu floated above them in instinctive counterpoint.

The Lothalite gathered the voices around her, focusing them, aiming them.

Power building, preparing to strike…

NOW!

A bolt of lightning shot down the invader’s bond with a resounding crack in the Force. The strand of fire wilted and twisted, shrinking into charred fragments before disappearing.

Once they had Tessa calmed and cleaned up, they moved her into the lounge. She wore one of Betha’s robes. Din brought her a mug of H'Kak bean tea, well known for its restorative properties.

“Thank you,” the Genetian said, speaking in a low voice. “I can’t believe you’re Din.” Her eyes flicked up and then down again. “You were young the last time I saw you. You’re grown up, and… a Mandalorian?”

“Yes.”

She took a sip of the aromatic tea and turned to Elimar. She didn’t make eye contact. “And you are..?”

“Elimar.”

After a pause, Tessa said, “You were Master Osdra’s Padawan.”

“I was. I’m afraid he died a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry. And you?” Tessa shifted slightly towards the Twi’lek. The Genetian seemed utterly cowed. Her shoulders were rounded, and she stared into her cup while she asked the question instead of looking at the person she was addressing.

“I’m Betha. I was in the same Jedi Clan as Din.”

“I was in the Mudhorn Clan myself. And this young one…?” She managed a weak smile for the child.

“Grogu.”

She nodded. “Please pardon me for asking, but are you real?”

Din put his hand on hers. “We’re real.”

“We’ll help you recover,” Elimar said. “Bring you back to normal.”

“It’s been over a decade. I doubt that I will ever be normal again. The darkness…”

Elimar squeezed her free hand. “You’re safe here.”

Tessa took another sip. Then she jerked and lowered the mug, her eyes wide. “No, I’m not. And neither are you.”

“We drove that man away. You’re safe.”

“No. I know who you are. The Jedi on the Mon Calimari ship. Part of the Hidden Path.” The woman lifted her head to meet Din’s gaze at last. “And you are the Mandalorian that travels with the child of the Yoda species. You are known to the Inquisitorius.”

Din’s brow furrowed, but his voice was reassuring. “Grogu and I have been dealing with Inquisitors for years.”

“They know where your stops are. Taris and Feriae Junction, and the dropoff point at Selitan.”

“Stang!” Betha jumped up from the couch. “I’ve got to make some comms!”

“What have you done with my helmet?” The Genetian had become more animated. “It has a camera feed that transmits to the Fortress.”

“Incinerator, now,” Elimar replied, also rising. She ran for Tessa’s room.

“I’m so sorry,” Tessa said.

“It’s okay,” Din replied. “Drink your tea.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who broke him.”

“Broke whom?”

“One of the refugees. An actor.”

Din pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vander?”

“Yes. He called his agent. We—the Inquisitorius was monitoring his contacts. He was going to be in some movie.”

“I spoke to him, told him why that wouldn’t work.”

“It didn’t take.”

Elimar, now at the incinerator, interrupted. “I put a compulsion on him to keep him from giving information on us.”

“Compulsions can be broken with a sufficient amount of fear.” Lines formed around Tessa’s mouth. She’d gritted her teeth.

“What did they do with him? After?”

Her tone was flat. “The Grand Inquisitor decided he was of little use and had him destroyed.”

“Ooooh.”

They all turned to look at Grogu, who had finished his nuggets and had a can of fizzade in his hands. His ears were drooping.

These were terrible things to discuss in front of a child, even if he’d seen worse. “Sorry, buddy. I know you thought he was funny.”

Tessa’s face slackened. “I cannot atone for what I’ve done.”

“They broke you, too,” Din said. “I saw it.”

“Better that I had died.”

“Better that you live and restore what you can,” Elimar said. “There are many ways you could help people.”

The Talk

After the meal, Din cleaned Grogu up and they went back to the room they’d been sleeping in. He placed the boy on the bed’s pillows to give him extra height, and pulled a chair over.

“Grogu, I need to talk to you about something important. Maybe I should have asked your opinion first, but I just blurted it out.”

The child lifted his ears and cocked his head just like Master Yoda. “?”

“I asked Betha to marry me, and she said ‘yes.’ That means she would be part of our family, our aliit. She would also become your other buir.”

Grogu pulled his feet under his robe and lowered his head. Betha doesn’t like kids.

“Doesn’t like kids? No, she likes kids. She likes you.”

Din rubbed his jaw, and Grogu looked up and met his eyes. A picture flashed from son to father, a memory from their last visit home:

“Was she not ready for children?” Bretta asked. “But Grogu’s so good!”

“Buir Bretta was wrong,” he said, pulling the child’s hands out from his sleeves so he could hold them. “And I told her so. Remember? I told her that Betha was a Jedi, and they can’t have attachments.”

Grogu looked puzzled. Perhaps he had stopped listening to the conversation when he thought it was his fault. “It wasn’t you. Jedi aren’t supposed to marry, or even have kids.”

You’re my kid.

“Yes, I am. And you’re mine.”

Is Betha a Jedi now?

“She wants to stop being a Jedi and join our family. Would that be all right?”

Grogu nodded.

Din pressed his forehead to his son’s. “Thank you for this gift. Vor entye.”

Mindor

Once they were on land again, the small group left the Sea Shadow and walked into the grasslands of the planet. Too many things had happened, and they sought peace in the upheaval.

Din took them to a spot he knew had an excellent connection to the Living Force. Miles of waving grass surrounded them. Large hooved mammals and birds were the only other presences there.

They sat, breathing in time to the wind. Breathing with every creature there. Serenity, in short supply everywhere in the galaxy, seeped into them from the earth below.

Elimar started the group meditation not with a recitation of the Jedi Code, but the mantra from the Guardians of the Whills:

“The Force is with me,

And I am one with the Force;

And I fear nothing,

Because all is as the Force wills it.”

Without Betha’s misery holding her back like nexu-claws, she fell into her center easily. Oh, what a relief. And yet, she still felt pain.

She had hurt her friend. Elimar had called her back to her duty as a Jedi, but it hadn’t brought peace and calm to her. Instead of a clear lake, Betha had become a stagnant pond, murky and toxic.

The Force flowed freely through her now; it rushed joyously towards the future. Perhaps she had done an injustice to Betha, and to Din as well.

Elimar reached out to the pair in the Force; Betha slipped into harmony with her easily. Din seemed startled at first; he had probably expected resentment. Instead, she offered acceptance. He, too, fell into harmony, followed quickly by his son.

Din was the one to bring Tessa into the fold. She was an open wound in their circle; vulnerable, hurting, not belonging. The Mandalorian embraced her with reassurance and protection.

“I wish I could be who I was before,” Tessa said aloud. “I’m tainted.”

“My people believe in cin vhetin,” he replied, also aloud. “Once one takes the armor, the past does not matter any more. Once you find a new path, I hope you will discover the same.”

When they returned to the ship, the Razor Crest was next to it. Din and Grogu went to check on the ship, Tessa in tow, while Elimar set about clearing the miasma of depression from the Sea Shadow. She lit chandana incense and fumed the cockpit, the lounge area, and all of the bedrooms.

Betha watched quietly from one of the couches in the lounge. When she finished her circuit, Elimar returned to the large room and set the censer down on one of the nearby tables. Then, she sat beside Betha.

“I was wrong.”

Betha blinked. “Wrong?”

“To think that only Jedi could rebuild the Order. We’ve been working hand in hand with non-Jedi in the Network, and we couldn’t save all of these people without their help. Many of them loved someone Force-sensitive. Others are Force-sensitive without being Jedi. Like Din.”

Perhaps Elimar had picked up Betha’s own thoughts during the meditation. “Yes.”

“I treated him badly because he isn’t the only one to have an attachment to you.” Elimar stared at the floor. “I do, too, especially since Master Osdra died. It was wrong of me to try to control your decisions because I didn’t want to be alone.”

The Twi’lek lunged forward and pulled Elimar into an embrace. “Thank you, thank you. You’re not going to be alone. Not forever. I’ll be back and working soon.”

“I don’t think I’ll be alone. Tessa needs someone to help her find her balance again, and I think I’m well-trained to do that.”

Now that her decision had become a matter of mere logistics, Betha divided her possessions between the ones she would leave on the Sea Shadow and the ones she would take to the cabin on Halmad.

When Din saw the Nest, he discovered that it was full of blossoms.

“I make offerings of flowers to honor the Goddess,” the Twi’lek told him. “It seemed like a good place to put them. A symbol of protection, of family.”

Making the choices didn’t take long; Betha didn’t have many personal possessions, a holdover from her time at the Jedi Temple. Once she was finished, Betha and Din transferred the items that were going with them to the hold of the Razor Crest: clothing, footwear, outer garments, figurines of the Goddess, blasters, body armor, data pads, incense, teas, and more.

Tessa offered to help, and seemed pleased to do something practical. The conversion of a room for her personal use had already begun. Elimar was planning a shopping trip after they left Mindor.

“Take her to Biscuit Baron for me,” Din said. “She can have a cookie in my honor.”

The Genetian looked startled, then smiled—her first real smile since her arrival. “You remembered.”

He grinned back.

When only a few items were left to carry, Betha held her arms out. “Let me have Grogu.” The child cooed happily as Elimar handed him over.

She took him into her quarters, followed by Din. “Now, Grogu, you have the most important job. I need you to carry the Nest.”

The trip back to Halmad seemed quicker with Betha in the pilot’s seat. She and Zippo found the quickest route back to the Hydian Way, and it was smooth flying after that.

While they were in hyperspace, they slept on one of the mattresses they’d used during the trip back from the Fortress Inquisitorius. Din made a mental note to create a larger sleeping area to accommodate two adults. Perhaps Grogu could have the bunk to himself. The idea pleased him.

This time, when Betha entered the Wexwood cabin, she assessed its contents with a more critical eye. Some shelves were rearranged to blend more esthetically with her icons and figurines, the teas were moved to a larger and lower shelf, and Din’s clothing was organized more compactly so her clothing would also fit.

“We need to get another cabinet for my gear, but this should work otherwise,” she finally said. “It’s a good thing you only have one set of work clothes to hang up.” Betha indicated the armor stand.

Meeting the Family

Once Betha was settled into the cabin, Din commed his family. Buir Bretta cheered when she heard the news, but Sesta was more cautious.

“I thought she couldn’t marry.”

“She’s decided otherwise.”

“Is she allowed to do that?”

Din sighed. “Even when the Order still existed, she could’ve left if she wanted.” He heard Fintan in the background, asking for a turn.

His question was: “Will you be coming home for the riduurok?”

Well … yes … but he should ask Betha first.

Betha thought that a wedding with the family was best, but she wanted to invite their friends as well. Din gave her the coordinates of Vlemoth Port for Elimar’s benefit, and the Twi’lek was dismayed. “You told me that the trip was long, but I didn’t realize how long. It’ll take days to get there.”

“Not being near her usual haunts for a while might be a good thing. The Network is still being hunted.” Roken had escaped the Inquisitors, but many of his cohorts had been caught in the Empire’s net. Din worried about Omad, although he hadn’t been sent to Selitan. Omad had asked to return to Jestan, the planet Din had rescued him from.

At least the Imperials there think he’s local, Din thought. He has a backstory.

Tala was safe on Alderaan, and Merulla was with Elimar. No one had heard from Russa. Or Obi-Wan, for that matter.

The flight to Vlemoth Port from Halmad took a week. By the time they arrived, Din was tired of sleeping on the mattress in the hold. He wondered if the mechanic Ba’vodu Konn used on Tatooine could refer him to someone who could create true sleeping quarters on the Crest.

“We’re heading directly to Arumorut,” he told Betha when they dropped out of hyperspace. “The planet is owned by the Muuns, but we don’t use their spaceports.”

They skirted the cities and sailed over the northern mountains of the central continent.

“Arumorut is near the edge of the tundra,” he told her, dropping lower so she could see the pines. “In the winter, the snow gets very deep. There, on the right—where the clear spot is—is Arumorut.”

They descended further, and she could see the outlines of roads, partially concealed by tall pines, and the lake. She studied the complex of green domes below them with interest.

“What’s that?”

“That’s Clan Home. Seat of the Awaud Clan. They settled this place. Over there”—he pointed—“are the municipal buildings.”

He guided the Crest over the trees, looking for the break in the green where the Kelborn property lay. “Here we are. Home.”

Betha stared out of the viewport as he looked for the best place to park the ship. “Is that where you live?”

She was pointing at the dome made from bent branches of green wood, vines, and sod. The grass growing on the roof was getting tall. “Yes. That’s called a vheh’yaim.”

“Doesn’t the rain come through?”

“In the old days, Mandalorians draped animal skins to keep the wet out. Now, they use a little modern magic for more effective protection.”

“It’s just … different from what I’m used to.”

Din took her hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry, we have our little cabin in the woods.”

They landed near the dome, a little closer than they usually did. Din’s family was assembled outside the front entrance, eagerness and curiosity radiating from them.

Grogu grabbed his toy wookiee and made for the ladder. Din stood and sent: stop.

The boy stopped in his tracks.

“Grogu,” he said aloud, “wait for us.”

Betha straightened her clothing for the thirtieth time. For her first meeting with Din’s family, she’d chosen a chromasheath vest over a dark blue tunic and leggings. Her usual aura of calm assurance blanketed her, but her hands betrayed her anxiety with a tremor.

“It will be all right,” he said. “They’re just as nervous to meet you.”

“And you?”

“Oh, I’m terrified. Only Grogu has his priorities in order.”

The child was bouncing at the top of the ladder. Come on! Dinner’s cooking!

“Buir Bretta, Buir Sesta, this is Betha Zulik. Betha, these are my mothers. And this is Fintan Kelborn, my grandfather.”

His family had chosen to wear clothing rather than armor, probably for Betha’s comfort. Even Ba’buir Fintan had on a simple jerkin, sweater, and pants. They sat down in the great room; Din with Grogu in his arms, Betha with her usual grace.

She was still anxious; Din could sense it.

Grogu wriggled out of Din’s grasp and climbed into Betha’s lap. He took her finger and cooed at the family.

“Well, you have Grogu’s endorsement,” Bretta said. “A good sign. Tell us more about yourself. You’re a freighter pilot?”

The Twi’lek’s lekku twitched. “Yes, although I will be moving off the ship. We’re taking on another crew member, and another pilot will be trading off with me.”

“You can afford all that?”

“I won’t make as much as when I flew non-stop, but I’m looking forward to having a home and a family.”

Fintan and Bretta both nodded approvingly.

“Din said he knew you in school,” Sesta pressed. “You’re a jetii?”

Betha folded her hands in her lap. “I was trained to be,” she replied, “but the Temple fell before I was old enough to become a Padawan. Din and I were from the same year.”

“It’s fortunate both of you survived,” Fintan said. “And you will have a greater understanding of each other’s past than a stranger would. We’re still learning things about Din.”

“You know everything,” Din said.

“Eh, you still surprise me from time to time.”

Grogu croaked at Fintan.

“You surprise me all the time,” the old man told him. “But it’s fun.”

They joined the Eldar side of the family for Primeday dinner. Medar and Ila Awaud showed up as well, bringing Ondan, their young son. They looked at Betha, and exchanged smug smiles.

Din could guess what most of the people in the room were thinking. The successful bounty hunter had picked up a pretty Twi’lek for a riduur. Considering how many Twi’lek Mandalorians there were in Arumorut, there was probably some truth in the stereotype.

Konn took him aside.

“So,” he said, draping an arm across Din’s shoulders, “You did really well. Your lady is gorgeous.”

“I didn’t choose her based on her looks. We knew each other in the Temple.”

“Now I know what you were praying for.”

“Ba’vodu Konn!” he hissed. “Please don’t say things like that to her.”

His uncle grinned. “I won’t. I don’t want to scare her away. At least she’s not Boba.”

“Din!” his aunt called from the living room, cutting off his retort. “The neighbors just commed. Grogu is in their yard riding their striile.”

“I gotta go,” he said. “A buir’s job is never done.”

Riduurok

The morning of the wedding arrived. Sesta had taken Betha to Konn’s home the night before so they would have room and privacy for the bride’s preparations.

Din had polished his armor to a high gloss, trying to match the new pauldron his ba’buir had made for him. Underneath it, he wore the white kute reserved for ceremonies and special occasions. He’d gotten a new black cape because the old one was ragged, but Bretta had tut-tutted him. She and Ba’buir led him to Ba’buir’s room, where a white cape edged with fur was draped across the bed.

“I wore this when I married your grandmother,” Fintan said. “Your mother wore it when she married Sesta. I would consider it an honor if you wore it, too.”

Din stuttered, then said, “Thank you. It would be my honor.”

Bretta settled the cape across his shoulders while Fintan closed the beskar clasp at the front. They arranged the sides neatly, then led him to a mirror so he could see.

He looked like someone else. The armor hadn’t changed, but it was almost like looking at a stranger.

“Cin vhetin,” Ba’buir said. “You’re entering a new phase of life.”

Bretta fetched Grogu so he could see. The child stared, dark eyes traveling up and down.

“What do you think of your buir’s wedding armor?”

“Oya!”

Din grinned under his helmet. “So you like it?”

Yes. Buir looks happy.

While the Mandalorian riduurok was designed to serve couples on the battlefield, Twi’lek customs were more elaborate. Bretta had reserved a spot near the lake and let Betha set up an altar to the Twi’lek Goddess with sweet incense and flowers as offerings. Her favorite statue, a gift from Elimar, held pride of place.

No one was permitted to enter the sacred space yet, so Din greeted the guests. Juxul had come from the Mid Rim for the wedding, and clasped his hand with enthusiasm. “You look a proper groom today. And your ad is a proper prince, with his own retinue.” His nod to formality was a purple cloak edged in gold.

Din had been forbidden to hold Grogu until after the ceremony. Bretta wanted his outfit to stay white. The boy stood next to Fintan, wearing a tunic with embroidered sleeves under his chain mail. On his other side was his friend, the goose. Well, the goose did live in the lake and was in the area. It would have been rude not to invite him. Din hoped no one (especially Betha) stepped in goose poop during the ceremony.

Din was surprised to see that Sabe and her riduur had come. She was still wearing her distinctive pink armor. The pair came to greet him, Sabe holding a blond toddler in her arms.

“Congratulations,” she said.

“Congratulations to you, too. On the child. He’ll make a strong Mando’ad.”

“His name is Wengo. Wengo, this is Din. A friend.”

The boy hid his face in his mother’s shoulder.

“Shy,” Sabe said, by way of explanation. “You look good.”

“Thanks.”

Elimar and Merulla had come, most likely for Betha. Tessa was with them. The Genetian was able to smile, something he was glad to see.

Merulla fumed the area near the altar with chandana incense, then drew Din into the space.

She turned to Juxul. “Are you the groom’s honored guest?”

The Devaronian looked at Din. He shrugged, and she drew him in as well.

With the chime of a bell, the bride approached.

Betha crossed the grass. Her head was crowned with an elaborate headdress of white feathers and sun opals. She wore a form-fitting gold bodice with filmy white sleeves and long skirts. They swayed gracefully as she walked.

Elimar followed her, holding a bouquet of vormur flowers. She wore her Jedi robes proudly, perhaps defiantly considering the setting.

The riduurok ceremony was very short. There were only four phrases, which could be recited in any language understood by the parties. They’d decided that Din would handle the Mando’a, while Betha would say the lines in Basic.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.”

The assembled family and friends knocked gauntlets and clapped.

Merulla then stepped forward and recited a blessing in Ryl, asking the Goddess to bring good fortune. She beckoned to Grogu.

The child entered the sacred space, holding up a long ribbon of webweaver silk. The goose waddled behind him, carrying the trailing end.

In the Jasshi’rr, the Twi’lek wedding ritual, the couple would have their lekku bound together, but Din was human. Instead, they were joined at the wrist.

“May your lives be as one,” Merulla said in Basic, “and your love call you together, no matter where you wander.”

An ori'skraan was held after the ceremony. The couple was toasted with ne’tra gal, tihaar, Mandallian Narcolethe for the Awaud cousins, and cassius tea for the nondrinkers.

After the meal, they opened the gifts Din had asked the guests not to bring. Some of them were practical, like bedspreads and crockery, while others were amusing, like filmy garments for Betha to wear on the honeymoon.

The final gift was Fintan’s. He presented a carved box to Betha. “Welcome to our aliit.”

Inside was a pair of bracers. One with the Kelborn falcon, the other with the Mudhorn signet matching Din’s. “Made from one of Din’s pauldrons. I’ve been told that you were both raised in the Mudhorn clan as children. He carries both signets to show his dual heritage; I hope you will find the same comfort.”

When they left for the honeymoon, Grogu ensconced in Fintan’s arms, Din beckoned Betha into the Razor Crest.

“I have temporarily solved the problem with the sleeping accommodations.”

She gave him a skeptical look and climbed the ramp. Her eyes widened.

“What have you done?”

A large prefab shelter stood in the center of the hold. The flaps covering the entrance were open, revealing a real mattress covering the foam inside. Pillows, sheets of Chandrilan linen, and an ultramarine satina bedspread completed the setup.

“The bedding was a gift from my buire,” Din said, “and the shelter was Juxul’s idea. He said that it was better than blindfolding Zippo.”

She sat on the bed. “I like it. So, where are we going?”

“First, back to Boranda. I liked the inn there. Then, I want to take you to a special place on Merisee. Grogu and I had our first vacation there.”