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The Razor Crest was a perfect vessel. Built post-empire yet pre-republic, fast, and sturdy, it was exactly what a bounty hunter needed to get through the galaxy without attracting too much attention.
And yet, now that Din was responsible for the Child, he realized, for the first time, that the Crest was rarely categorized as child friendly – or particularly warm – by any of her occupants. Since taking in the foundling only a few weeks prior, it had become more obvious to Din that the ship could be better suited to take care of a child.
One thing is clear: there was no place to sleep.
Built for military use, the Crest didn’t have sleeping quarters. But, since Din sometimes needed more than a few days for his missions, he had designated a locker, placed between the carbonite freezing system and the weapons storage, for sleeping.
The sleeping quarters that were on the Crest were largely unfit for two people. In fact, the improvised sleeping chamber wasn’t long enough to fit his whole body, and he had to bend his legs to sleep. Thankfully, he didn’t always need to do so.
Usually, Din was on a planet somewhere by nightfall, eliminating the need to use his sleeping quarters. The locker was rarely used, mostly because it wasn’t built for sleeping, although Din couldn’t guess at any other use it might serve.
With a sigh, Din let Sorgan enter his thoughts. Although the pair had only left a few days beforehand, he hadn’t needed to worry about a sleep plan as long as the village prepared a bed for the two of them.
If Sorgan had taught Din anything, it was that the Child wouldn’t be safe staying in one spot, no matter how much he wanted the kid to have a chance at a childhood – or a semblance of one. Din still didn’t even have a clue as to what the kid was, let alone where the Child belonged.
On the ship, the two could jump to hyperspace in case of an emergency. It could get a lot stickier on a planet’s surface.
He refocused on the task at hand: the compartment was not fit for both him and the Child. And tonight, the two needed to sleep on board the Crest.
Din’s knee popped as he rose from his seat to lean against the back wall of the cockpit, the Child sitting in one of the two seats behind him, cooing.
He could leave the child in the cockpit overnight – in terms of comfort, the seats were a dismal substitute for a bed, but they were better than any other spot in the Crest. Better yet, Din thought, he could also leave the Child in the hovercraddle that usually held the foundling when the two were on planet surfaces.
Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, the Child scrabbled onto the pilot's seat, eyeing the black blaster and steering controls. The outreached hand didn’t make it to the dashboard.
Din intercepted the Child’s outstretched arm, and plucked him from the seat by his brown tunic and held the wriggling figure against his chest.
When Din looked down at the Child, the two made eye contact.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked.
The Child did not respond.
The cockpit was now officially out of bounds for a sleeping spot, despite the conveniently placed yawn that cut through his thought process.
Considering the dozens of weapons held on board, the Child needs to be kept close – or Din could risk a grenade or blaster-involved catastrophe overnight. Knowing where the foundling is will be important, and the cockpit is too far from the locker to keep a close eye. Din also knew that the Child could get out of the hover cradle alone, which knocked out that option as well.
Child in-hand, Din climbed down into the main compartment of the ship. With a groan, the door to the sleeping compartment opened, revealing a small locker with a blanket. Din eyed the walls of the compartment, which were tall enough that Din doesn’t entirely fill the locker alone.
There wasn’t be enough room for the two of them laterally, but maybe –
Din placed the Child down on the makeshift bed, and turned to grab at the hovercraddle. Hastily, he pulled out the soft covering that lined the inside of the cradle. It wasn’t a lot of fabric, but with a gentle stretch, Din knew that it was not strong enough to hold the Child’s weight alone. He tossed the fabric back in the cradle.
Din strode over the other side of the ship. He knew that he had stronger, yet soft, material somewhere in the ship.
The Child weighed less than some of the blasters Din stored on the Crest– something had to be sturdy enough to hold him. He dug through his storage lining the hallway of the ship, which had all been carefully reorganized and packed following his return from Sorgan.
Finally, he found it under a box. A small tensile netting material he had picked up on Nevarro. Once, it had been a part of a net of some sort, now it was a scrap he had forgotten to throw out.
It would be enough to hold the Child’s weight.
Ripping off just enough to stretch from one end of the to the other with some slack, he returned to the compartment.
Miraculously, the foundling hadn’t run from the locker while he had his back turned. The Child’s eyes furrowed as the mandalorian towered above him, tying the wire-blanket contraption to the wall, just above the doorway.
“Trust me,” Din said, mostly to himself. He heard the gentle hum of the Crest’s engine as he tied a few strategic knots. “I think I know what I’m doing.”
His main concern was the Child falling out at night, onto the floor of the Crest, or onto the locker bed – which is hard and unforgiving. It would be an overstatement to call it anything similar to a mattress. Although, the distinction has never mattered to Din until now. He tied the net so it wouldn’t get caught on the door as it closed downward.
If it was too uncomfortable, the Child would probably jump out at night and cause a fair amount of chaos on board.
After testing the strength of the makeship hammock, he grabbed an extra cloth to pad the net and gently placed the Child on top, ready to catch him if the net collapsed.
“Well?” asked Din. “Is that comfortable?”
The Child coo-ed in response.