Chapter Text
The Mandalorian stole quietly down the dim sandstone passage, cape swinging softly, helmet visor scanning. The sounds of running feet and angry voices behind him had retreated for the moment. He knew the pig-like Gamorrean guards and impressive menagerie of thugs and bounty hunters searching for him were forcing him more deeply into the lower levels of the labyrinthian monastery than he wanted to go, but for now he was safe. He was at a junction of tunnels with doors here and there down each one, and Din doubted any of them led to a promising exit, but he was not particularly concerned just yet. He had recognized many of the rag-tag bounty hunters from the old days and knew most of them had long ago failed out of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild. And honestly, brainless Gamorrean guards deserved less than half a thought. The Mandalorian adjusted the pulse rifle at his back, and did a quick gear check of his vambraces, belt, blasters and blades.
Din shook his helmeted head, and sighed, the sound dulled by the voice modulator. When he had confidently entered the front entrance of the B’omarr Order Monastery on Teth that morning to complete a bounty job, he had no idea that within 20 minutes he himself would be a wanted bounty, worth a bucket of credits. His client, a dangerous crime syndicate boss named Kostek Gaines, had commandeered the monastery and now used it as a base for his multi-faceted illegal activities. That morning, Kostek had taken one look at the Mandalorian’s pristine beskar armor and decided it was worth much more to kill Din and strip him of his armor than to bother accepting the delinquent smuggler the Mandalorian bounty hunter had captured for him. Blasting his way out of that audience chamber to escape the crime lord’s hired guns had been one for the books. What Kostek’s thugs lacked in brain power and tactics, they made up for in sheer numbers and fire power.
Suddenly Din’s helmet mic picked up the sound of marching feet coming towards him from a new direction and he knew his quick breather in this particular tunnel was over. He skimmed along the wall on light feet and twisted the knob of the first door he came to which opened in his gloved hand. As he entered, he glanced into the dimly lit room then closed the door behind him. It seemed to be some kind of storage area, taken up by shelves piled with intricately woven baskets of various shapes, and larger baskets with beautiful designs stacked here and there along the walls. The light bars scattered along the ceiling were ineffectual at chasing the gloom and the room was filled with shadows, but it seemed quiet and deserted.
The Mandalorian listened at the wooden door as a few squealing Gamorreans thumped heavily by on their way past. He was about to slip out the door but then quickly spun to face the room again, blaster at the ready, having heard a metallic clanking sound from a dim corner. Droid? But his now activated visor display picked up a heat signature and he saw a small female figure hesitantly stand and move into the light. The young bronze-skinned woman regarded him solemnly with large black eyes, her long raven hair plaited at the back with the end trailing over a thin shoulder. Din noted that an iron collar around her neck connected her to the wall with a long chain, which allowed some limited space and movement in her corner. She was wearing a thin knee-length shift made from some rough brown material and she held a partially completed basket in her hand. Mm. Slave labor. Common enough in the underworld.
Deeming the female slave a non-threat, the Mandalorian lowered his pistol, turned back and cracked the door open to hopefully continue his escape down the tunnel. But a new set of footsteps coming along the passage forced him to close the door, and then speedily retreat further into the shadows of the room when the steps halted just outside the door. He did not want a fire fight to break out if he could help it, to avoid alerting the other searchers of his location. Din backed into the shadows near the girl just as a tall thin humanoid male entered carrying a tray with water and food.
The grinning man moved towards the young woman and his pointed ears waggled in an excited manner as he said mockingly in a sing-song voice, “You better watch out Ela. There’s a vicious Mandalorian on the loose in the compound and he’s gonna get you!” He thrust the tray towards her and pushed into her space to back her into her corner. “Mandalorians cut slave girls up, you know, and then cook ‘em with their fire launchers! What’cha gonna do when he comes in here? Scream for help?” The young woman eyed him silently and her tawny face was impassive as she took the tray. The Mandalorian was surprised she did not give away his presence but his muscles were coiled and ready to spring at the slightest provocation.
The man opened his mouth in a course laugh, showing fanged incisors. “That’s right, no screaming from the likes of you. Dumb, pitiful Ela. Even if you could scream who would come? Not me ducky. One less slave to bother about for ol’ Farron.” He grabbed her face roughly and maliciously licked up the side of her face with his long tongue as she regarded him darkly.
The overseer released her with a satisfied snicker as he turned away, taking a ring of keys off his belt. “Better safe than supper, though, Ha Ha. Boss don’t want no losses so I’m gonna lock your door up tight ‘til they blast that filthy Mandalorian to----”
The words died on his lips and he dropped the keys as his casual glance sharpened, and he took in the shadowy form of the Mandalorian poised near a stack of baskets. Farron’s eyes grew large and he immediately reached for the comm device on his belt when Din launched himself forward and punched the side of the man’s head with a heavy blow which knocked the overseer straight to the ground. Din was on him in a second, grabbing for the comm device before he could sound the alarm, but the thin man was hardier than he looked, and rallying, kicked the Mandalorian in the leg and knocked him to his knees. The overseer came up swinging but Din was already on his feet and blocked his punches before landing two of his own, which sent the wiry man staggering back towards the opposite wall. The now thoroughly shaken hireling fumbled desperately with the comm device clutched in his fist when a single blaster bolt hit him in the head and he crumpled to the dusty floor.
The Mandalorian swept over to the lifeless form and ground the comm device under his boot. As he stood to leave, he heard a commotion from the corner. The young woman had dropped the tray with a clatter, and gripping the collar with both hands moved to the very limits of her chain. Pointing to the keys forgotten on the floor, to her collar, then to the hallway outside, she finished by gesturing a zigzag pattern emphatically. Din studied her, and asked, mildly interested, “You know how to get out of here?” Her eyes widened a bit at the sound of his modulated voice but she nodded earnestly, her black eyes never leaving his black visor.
The Mandalorian considered her a moment. Her small stature and dark coloring indicated she was from one of the indigenous tribes who inhabited the jungles surrounding the B’omarr Monastery. Kostek Gaines probably discovered there was a black-market niche for unusual native handicrafts and took the girl in a raid for free labor to fulfill the demand. Din did not actually need a guide inside the monastery because of the holo-diagram of the compound Greef Karga had unexpectantly given him, along with the bounty puck for the job. However, Din’s escape into the depths of the compound had taken him far from the entrance he had originally used, and his ship, the Razor Crest, was hidden in a small clearing a good distance from his current location. A local might be useful in getting him through the jungle and back to his ship once he was clear of the monastery. And though she hadn’t spoken, she appeared to understand Basic.
Decision made, the Mandalorian grabbed the key ring and tossed it to the eager slave. She unhesitatingly selected the correct key and handed it to Din, turning her back to expose the locking mechanism of the collar. He removed the collar, and as she turned to face him, he could see a long thin scar snaking around the middle of the left side of her neck at the level of her vocal cords. The scar looked old but her neck was red and chaffed from the iron collar. The girl absently rubbed her throat then ran to the overseer’s body stretched on the floor.
Din attached the key ring to his belt just in case, then watched in faint surprise as the woman intently rifled the dead man’s clothing, searching various pockets with growing impatience. After tossing aside sundry items, including a ration bar and a small bag of credits, she stilled and slowly pulled up to the light a long string of red carved beads. She reverently kissed the bracelet, wound it around her thin wrist several times then knotted it firmly. Next, she roughly jerked the overseer’s utility belt free, which boasted several closed compartments as well as a good-sized knife in a sheath, and standing, fastened it around her small waist. Staring fiercely down at the dead man, she sharply kicked his side with a bare foot, and spat at him contemptuously.
The Mandalorian’s eyebrows rose and his mouth twitched slightly in the privacy of his helmet as he watched her, hands on his hips. Fiery little thing.
“All set?” he inquired politely. She stood still at his words and nodded gravely; her dark eyes raised to watch him carefully. The young woman did not seem particularly frightened by him but her blank face was unreadable and she hadn’t spoken a single word. Din sensed her silence was deceptive. There was a tense readiness in her stillness, and the knife at her belt gave the Mandalorian a little pause. Introductions might be in order.
She turned to the entrance, but Din lightly held her arm a moment at the door as they both paused to listen for sounds on the other side. “Ela, is it?” he murmured. She nodded and he took a moment to gently tilt her chin up to inspect the silvery scar on her throat. “Just to be clear…can you speak at all?” She pulled her chin from his gloved hand, and with her black eyes trained to his visor, shook her head soberly. Din nodded thoughtfully and offered, “My name is Din.” The Mandalorian would normally keep his true identity hidden and use “Mando,” but after all, who was she going to tell? Ela smiled slightly, then formally pressed her palms together at her chest as in prayer, and bowed her head once in polite greeting. Din found her unexpected courtesy charming and he allowed the tightness in his core to relax a little as he acknowledged her bow with a single nod of his own. Mm. On the run, and now with an unlooked-for traveling companion. What else will this day bring?