Chapter Text
The Mandalorian entered the tavern, his eyes watchful and the Child at his side, carefully teetering along. They had come to a planet on the outer rim. The worst of the galaxy’s scum could be found in these parts. Any of those inside this tavern could want to take he and the kid in for the bounty. Din counted on the fact that most of those here had death sentences hanging over their heads and as such, would not want to go anywhere near civilization to collect a bounty. Even one as sizable as what they had paid him for the kid a few weeks ago.
He found a table with two chairs, unoccupied. Careful to keep his eyes on their surroundings, he reached for the child and lifted the kid up into a chair. Just because no one would come at them for the bounty, did not mean his Baskar was not attracting far too much attention. A sensible criminal might remove it in favor of something less likely to draw attention or be remembered. Din was not a sensible criminal.
“What can I get you, sweet thing?”, a busted droid asked.
Din looked the thing up and down. He still did not trust a droid, despite recent events. Old beliefs did not easily fade.
“Some bone broth for the kid.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Nothing.”
The droid paused, then turned and rolled away. Din surveyed the room again. No one stuck out as a bounty hunter. Didn’t mean no one here was, just that no one struck him as sharing that profession with him. Granted, now that he was on the run, Din supposed he could nolonger function as a bounty hunter. Pity, he was good at it.
He felt a familiar pang of guilt. There would be no more jobs from him to help fund the foundlings. His own tribe had t move because they had stepped out of their safe, hidden places, in order to defend him. His choice to break his code as a bounty hunter, had cost his fellows dearly. The Armorer and hers would have to move her foundry and the foundlings, to find a new place to hide and survive. All because of his snap decision.
Din looked over at the child. The kid was currently eyeballing a flying insect with great interest. Large ears moved as the kid’s eyes followed the insect’s movements. If given it all to do again, Din would not have chosen to act differently. He had to protect the kid. It was the Way.
His attention was moved to the droid, returning to the table with the kid’s broth. The droid placed the broth and a spoon onto the table and rolled off. Din was surprised the thing had not asked for payment first or at delivery. Perhaps it was counting on Din ordering something for himself in a moment.
While the kid ate their broth, Din considered their options. Bounty hunting was out, however there were other possibilities for someone with his skillset. Working as a private hunter, going after people with whom your boss had a personal score to settle. Bodyguarding for some of the minor warlords. Smuggling was not entirely out of the question.
“Mandalorian!”
He spun around, placing himself between the voice and the child. His hand moved to pull his blaster before he could finish the breath he had been taking, barrel trained on the origin of the voice. There stood a Chiss, his hands in the air, a smile on his blue face.
“I had not seen one of you in some time. Thought maybe the Empire finally stomped you all out, before they fell.”
Din regarded the man. Well dressed, nice armor, well kept weapons. He appeared young, barely old enough not to be considered a kid, with a wide smile that Din instantly distrusted.
“I wish to employ you. Will you hear me out?”
Din nodded. The man put his hands down only after Din put the blaster back in his holster. The Chiss took a breath, then made his way over, grabbing a chair to sit at the table. He almost reclined in the damn rickety chair as he grinned over at the Mandalorian, carefully pulling out something akin to a bounty puck. Din pressed the button to bring up the image.
“This man wants to kill me and my brother.”
“Why?”
“I stole his woman and my brother beat him in a game of cards. On the same night.”
A gambler and a womanizer. Hardly upstanding citizens. Then again, in this area they were probably model citizens.
“How many men does he have?”
“Three, maybe six at most. He wants to cut my head off and keep it as a trophy. My brother, well he wants my brother’s hands.”
“Sounds like a sick person. Probably not someone you should have played cards with. Or meddled with his woman.”
The Chiss smiled, shrugging one shoulder.
“What’s life without a little risk? I pay well. Handsomely, even. Just need the protection for a few days. Then I’ll be out of this man’s reach and won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“We can discuss details.”
The Chiss’s grin widened, revealing perfect, nearly shimmering teeth.
“Good. Now, order anything, on me.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
He really should have known the job was too perfect. Falling into his lap moments after he landed, while sitting in a tavern on a forsaken outer rim planet, only weeks after he had turned his life upside down.
Din fired two shots overtop the cargo he was hidden behind, then ducked back down, taking a couple deep breaths. His thigh burned from the grazing shot that had hit him over the edge of his armor. He also felt a throbbing in his head from being too close to a small explosion and the fingers on her left hand were immobile, probably broken.
“I hate this planet.”, he thought to himself as he waited for the guys to take a few more shots.
It grew silent. Din checked his blaster. He was running low and he still had quite a distance to the Razer. Popping up quickly, he fired three shots, taking out two of the guys who had been trying to kill him all day. Then he heard it. A different blaster sound. Something more like his rifle.
Risking it, he tipped his head up just far enough to look over the cargo he was hidden behind. He watched. A figure appeared almost like a wisp of smoke, ducking in among the tree cover and firing only once per appearance, making a direct hit with each shot. Everyone they fired at went down permanently. Whoever it was, they were fast and they were good. Din was in trouble if this was someone out for his head. Or the kid.
Readying himself, Din waited. He was not going down without a fight. He had to get back to the kid.
The scene grew silent. Din hated it. No blaster shots, no screaming, no scrambling for cover, no ragged breaths of the injured. He waited. On the count of ten, he would move.
10 - No sound.
9 - He took a breath, his finger on the trigger.
8 - Din released the breath.
7 - He listened. Nothing.
6 - He took another breath.
5 - He released the breath and listened carefully.
4 - Nothing. Silence. Stillness.
3 - Another breath.
2 - Release.
1 - He dove around the side and there was a fireball.
Din felt himself flying backward until he slammed into something. A tree, he thought, before falling forward onto the ground. All he could hear was a high pitched whistling in his ears, his head pounded, and as he tried to look, his vision was swimming. Fire. Smoke. Two men on fire running between the burning trees.
Din tried to move. He had to get back to the Razer. The kid was waiting for him. He would be helpless, alone. Din reached. He was crawl if he had to.
There was a boot. Din turned his head to look through the crimson sliver of his visor. He moved his eyes as he could nolonger turn his head any further. A figured in some kind of shroud, stood with a rifle in hand. Din tried to reach for his blaster but the darkness was closing in. He felt it. Then he felt nothing.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Din shot forward, a silent scream caught in his throat. The first thing he did was to check his helmet and its integrity. It was on his head and seemed intact. His body hurt and his vision was still a little iffy, white stars forming here and there as he sat up and turned his head to look. He was on the Razer.
The kid! Where was the kid? Din forced himself onto his feet, his legs threatening to give out as he stood. He balanced against the wall, pulling his blaster to make his way up to the cockpit. An excruciating moment later, he was aiming his blaster at the back of a black-clad head and the kid was sitting in his new travel-seat, atop the co-pilot’s chair.
“Who are you? Why are you in my ship?”
His modulator for his voice was damaged, allowing more of his natural tone to escape. The black-clad figure held up their hands. They were ungloved now, showing pale, five-fingered hands with short, bunt nails of solid black. Din wondered if they were dyed or natural.
“May I turn in the chair?”
“Slowly.”
The chair moved, revealing a pale face of a race he didn’t recognize right off. Human looking except for the nearly glowing green eyes with slitted pupils where a human’s wound be round. The person appeared female, with white hair peaking out from under a black hood, a semi-sheer black scarf was draped around their neck and shoulders, a black blouse tucked into black pants, with a black sash, black boots, and thin, black armor over her chest, forearms, and stomach. He saw that she appeared to have no weapon in arm’s reach.
“My name is Liseel Gairis. You’ve probably never heard of me.”
Din narrowed his eyes behind the helmet. The name did sound vaguely familiar, at least the first name. The clothing, however, was the true giveaway. At least to him.
“You’re an assassin.”
“Used to be.”
“From what I saw in those woods, I’m not so sure about the past-tense.”
She arched her left eyebrow.
“No one assigned me the job or paid me after. So no, not an assassin anymore. Just like you’re not a bounty hunter anymore.”
“Now I remember. I had a bounty on you, a few months ago, and it went dark. Thought you’d been killed or bagged.”
She smiled.
“I made other arrangements.”
“Why are you on my ship?”
She let out a slow breath. He could almost see her calculating in her head. Her skin was so pale, she almost looked like a dead human.
“My ship was destroyed when I landed on that rock. Some Chiss wanted me to work for him and I declined. He didn’t take kindly to my refusal of his offer for work. Less so of my rebuffing his advances of a less financial nature.”
If Din hadn’t already decided he hated that Chiss, he would have made up his mind to do so now.
“I’ve been hiding out in those woods for three weeks, hoping to find a way off that planet. I saw you land and when I spotted the Baskar and the helmet, I figured I might be able to buy passage with you to get out of here. Safe passage.”
“Why would seeing a Mandalorian make you think that?”
Her smile was fond for a flash, before turning to a more businesslike expression. Din did not miss the slight slip.
“I had a Mandalorian save my life a few years back. I grew up among a different kind of people. Ones who would have happily slaughtered their own best friend, for the right price. Traveling with the Mandalorian, hearing him speak of The Way… guess it ingrained a sense of trust towards your people. You have a code, a faith of sorts. Keeps you from being the greedy, distasteful smucks I usually meet out here.”
“How did I get back on my ship?”
“Let’s say I earned my sore back. You aren’t a featherweight, Mandalorian.”
“Why?”
“I already explained that.”
“No. You explained why you would be on my ship. Why did you bring me back?”
“Didn’t know if you were alone. If you weren’t, having you bleeding in my arms was a better bargaining chip for getting on here, than showing up with a report of you being dead. Turned out that once your kid here saw me dragging you, the kid didn’t put up any argument about my dragging your carcass up here. Flew off a bit, then went down to patch you up as best I could. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your helmet- so couldn’t do much to patch up your braincase.”
“Were you injured?”
“Not badly. I wasn’t the one standing right next to something explosive when that idiot fired off a grenade. Don’t worry, he took himself out with that move.”
“Where can I drop you off?”
“Wherever you’re going to next, Mandalorian. I’m not picky.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
She shot him a cheeky grin. Din felt a slight flush on his cheeks. The woman was attractive. Probably how good she was with a rifle and her moxy.
“You’ll have to get to know me better to make that determination, Mandalorian. Now, do you think you’re in any shape to fly this relic, or should we get you back below and make sure your head isn’t going to crack open?”
He nodded, moving back down towards the ladder. She had a point. He had been forced to lean more and more of his weight against the spare chair in order to stay upright and keep his blaster trained on the woman in black. Liseel.
He heard her following him, the kid right behind her. Din all but collapsed onto the table he had woken up on. A moment later, Liseel was lifting the kid up onto the table beside him. Three stubby fingers moved to trace the edge of his helmet. Din reached, rubbing his thumb across the kid’s head as his hand moved to settle across the little back.
“I’m alright.”, he told the kid.
The kid gurgled on concern. Din moved his hand, trying to rub the kid’s little back reassuringly. The woman seemed to pay them no mind, except her eyes. They gave her away. She was watching them with a curiosity and, dare he say a warmth?
She ran a scanner over his head, her brows knitting a bit. She read the report and shook her head as she moved over to where he kept his limited supply of medical tools and supplies. He had never been much of a surgeon.
“You seem awake enough. Want me to take the kid back up and you can patch your scalp up?”
He looked up at her, confused for a moment. Then he remembered. She had recounted spending time with a Mandalorian who had saved her life, implying she had spent enough time with this other Mandalorian, to have learned a few things about their culture. Din was a bit impressed. Most didn’t listen well enough to know about their helmets.
He nodded and gave the kid one last head brush, before she scooped the kid up to carry off with her. The kid gave her a bit of a look. Din smiled.
“Oh, don’t give me that look, kiddo. Your papa needs some privacy and I need to check our coordinates. Your papa will be up when he’s done.”