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Archaeologist. Researcher. Historian. These were all words that you had used to describe yourself, and the work that you did. Singularly, none of them quite fit, none of them were quite enough to express to others what you risked life and limb for. Artifacts, to be retrieved and returned to their rightful owner. Knowledge to be learned from the planets you visited. History of the Galactic Civil War had been your current focus, visiting planets devastated by Operation Cinder, talking with their survivors, learning their stories. Reporting back to the New Republic so they could deal out sentences for those involved.
But there was always a bigger fish. And the story of Mandalore, and what happened to its planet captured your attention when you overheard an old clone talking to his comrades in a cantina about how he fought in the Siege of Mandalore. You’d bought him a drink, thanked him for fighting in a war you barely remembered and he told you all of it. And then he told you what the Empire did to it, turning it to glass. Warned you to stay away, that it was destroyed, poisoned, a death wish for anyone who went there.
Not you. You just couldn’t let it go, plotting a course to Mandalore as soon as you had paid done the trade off of a relic that had put you in the cantina in the first place. Your trusty BD droid sat on the console in front of you as you kicked up your feet, the blue light of hyperspace whizzing by. BD-7, an upgraded model from the original class, who you fondly called Honey Bee, since he had golden yellow accents with black gadgetry.
“Bee, bring up the map of Mandalore.” You ask your droid, who beeps in response and projects the map of Mandalore for you to see, a bright red marker lighting up where the capitol of Sundari used to sit. Bee then flips through any photo records on the holonet of Mandalore, only one post-Purge. And the destruction was indescribable.
The singular photo didn’t capture the devastation that the planet had incurred, the surface blackened and charged when the ship drops out of hyperspace a while later, dull even against the black backdrop of space.
“Off.” You flick your thumb behind you to Bee, who hops off the console dutifully and powers down on the floor next to your feet. You begin to bring up the reports that your ships scanners were giving you but something on the planet was skewing the results, and the readings were inconsistent. You had no idea whether, if you set foot on the planet, whether you would die or become incredibly sick immediately.
Taking a deep breath, and feeling grateful that you hadn’t traded your hazard suit to that suspicious Quarren several cycles ago, you pilot the ship down onto the surface, letting the autopilot guide you to the destroyed city, Bee powering up and following you as you went to get suited up.
Air filter on? Check. Suit properly sealed? Check. Blaster? You frown as you remember the suit had no pocket for a blaster, and you couldn’t be sure a blaster bolt would set off any sort of reaction, either. At least there was no one around. No one stupid enough to be here, your mind supplies unhelpfully.
Deciding that you were as protected as you were going to be, you step outside the ship, hopping off the end of the ramp, Bee following close behind, scanning objects as they were discovered.
Banging the side of the scanner still didn’t regulate the readings, but you felt fine and your bio-indicators in the suit itself were reading okay, so you venture further forward, picking up any objects Bee had determined where worthy and placing them in the pouch that hung across your shoulder.
A green shard catches your attention, and you bend down to pick it up, running your gloves over the edges that were once sharp but had weathered down with time. The inscription had you intrigued, but you didn’t know Mando’a and you had traded your translator to the shift Quarren, thinking you knew most languages well enough by now that you wouldn’t need it. Even though you had never come across a Mandalorian in your life, you figured someone must know what it says.
Placing that in the pouch and mentally going over your lists of contacts who may be able to translate, you head further towards the broken dome, finding very few objects of interest along the way.
You stop on what was perhaps once a spaceport platform, peering into the abyss down below. Suddenly, the platform you were on begins to groan loudly and Bee chirps, warning you that it was about to collapse. You leap as far as you can towards the solid ground just as the metal gives way.
The distance was too great, and you scramble for purchase as you begin to slide down the rock edge you had collided with, your boots scraping away and rock tumbled away beneath your feet. Bee, who was clipped to your shoulder chirps and flashes a light as you fall, and you grab on to the rock he had indicated to, swinging as you held on with one hand. You manage to click your boots together and a spike flicks out from the soles, and you stick that into the rock in front of you, stabilising yourself.
Cursing at your ripped gloves and the shooting pain in your shoulder from the jarring movement, you manage to get your rope and hook from your bag, tossing it as high as you can, and it takes several goes before it lodges itself it the ground above.
Retracting your boot spikes and grabbing the rope, you haul yourself up, taking a moment once you reach sold ground, kneeling as you catch your breath, inspecting the cuts in your hand, finding more in the suit. The bio-detectors were working and said everything was fine but you don’t want to chance it, getting back to your ship as fast as you could. This planet was cursed and you didn’t want to find out what would happen if you stayed.
You’re quick to get the ship back into hyperspace and as far away from Mandalore as possible, settling into the refresher while you pulled off the compromised hazard suit, cleaning the cuts in your hand while Bee warbled sadly. After they were wrapped, you decide to check your vitals. If you were going to die soon, you needed to get your affairs in order.
“Looks like I don’t need to find you a new home.” You look up a Bee and give them an easy grin, the med-scanner saying that you were perfectly healthy and hadn’t been poisoned by the air on Mandalore. Small victories. Bee warbles happily and you pat them on the head before leaving the ‘fresher to go eat. All that activity had made you hungry.
Several days later you find yourself on another planet, grumbling as you walk back to your ship from the cantina where you had spent a good amount of credits for a contact who couldn’t read the language on the stone, and could only speak it. He’d only told you that after you’d given him the credits and he wasn’t about to give them back. And that was after visiting several planets and using up valuable favours. You were going to have words with your so-called colleagues. Bee warbles from where he was perched on your shoulder, in an attempt to be re-assuring.
“Excuse me.” A hand grabs your shoulder and you’re quick to react, spinning around and holding your blaster up, adrenaline surging through your body at having to protect yourself.
Instead of that contact who probably was going to mug you for the last lot of credits you had, you instead find yourself standing in front of a wall of beskar, on an actual Mandalorian. Your mouth drops open and you curse under your breath.
“Im sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says politely, which, despite never meeting a Mandalorian felt very out of character and if he hadn’t sounded so sincere you would have wondered which low-life had put a bounty on your head.
“Can I help you?” You ask wearily, wondering if he was being disarming on purpose to lure you into a false sense of security. You lower your blaster slightly, but it remains tightly gripped in your hand.
“I heard you had something from the surface of Mandalore?” He asks, and you wonder whether your contact gave up the information for a price. You had no idea if the object was valuable. And maybe it was, to a Mandalorian. You nod slowly. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“I’d rather not go back there. I can tell you back at my ship.” You gesture in the rough direction of your ship, hopeful that you wouldn’t have to go back into the cantina, sure you were going start a fight with that mud scuffing contact.
The Mandalorian pauses for a few moments before nodding his head for you to lead the way and you fall into step with him, still weary at having him behind you where you couldn’t see him.
“Where did you get it?” He asks, but before he can answer a strange noise emits from him and he sighs, your brow furrowing in confusion. “No, Grogu.” He says as he stops and you wonder if he had been exposed to something on Mandalore, before, and wasn’t quite all there.
Its not until he lifts the little green child out of the pouch that had been slung across his shoulder, half hidden by his cloak, which is why you hadn’t noticed him, your eyes having been focussed on the cold t visor of his helmet.
“Bah!” Grogu says, tilting his head and inspecting you before his attention turns to Bee, who had tilted his head at Grogu, never having witness a creature like him before.
Bee warbles curiously, looking at you, hopping a little on your shoulder and you smile at your droid, raising your arms out so Bee could hop along them, putting him right in front of Grogu. Grogu beams, his hands lifting outwards – and then Bee suddenly shoots across the short gap into Grogus arms, shrieking at suddenly being restrained by this tiny – but powerful – child.
“Hey hey hey! No squeezing!” The Mandalorian says, extracting Bee from Grogus arms and handing him back to you, Bee crouching on the shoulder away from Grogu. The Mandalorian turns to you. “I’m sorry about that. He’s still learning his boundaries.”
“Its alright.” Bee chirps indignantly from your shoulder but you ignore them. They’d be fine. The pair of you resume pace, Grogu staring at Bee, who was pointedly ignoring him. “Is he your son?” You venture, unsure what to really make of their relationship.
“He’s my foundling.” The Mandalorian says, looking at you and you look back at that black t visor, wondering how on Malastare he sees out of that thing. “Do you know much about Mandalorian culture?”
“A little.” You reply with a shrug. “I know that they’re warriors, until they splintered and the city became pacifists but a faction remained faithful to the old ways and wanted to go back to that. I know that their home was destroyed in the Great Purge as part of Operation Cinder, but beyond that, there’s very little that I have been able to find, through reports or first hand witnesses. If I’m being honest, I’ve never met a Mandalorian before.”
The Mandalorian nods. “We are warriors. We have been scattered. But we’re a clan, stronger in numbers. I rescued Grogu-“ Grogu makes a noise, breaking his concentration from Bee as he looks up at the Mandalorian at the sound of his name “-and returned him to his people but he came back to me, so he’s part of my clan now. He is my responsibility.”
“What do you want with the object, then?” Sounded like the guy needed to settle down in the outer rim, not be traipsing around the galaxy with a kid in tow.
“A personal matter. On Mandalore.” He replies as you make it to your ship, letting the ramp hit the ground before ascending it, Bee scuttling off and out of the way as soon as you were inside, Grogus head turning from side to side as he takes in the small vessel.
You take the Mandalorian and his charge to the living quarters, fixing yourself a drink and setting down in the booth style seat in the corner of the room next to where the Mandalorian and Grogu had settled themselves, Grogu playing with a small silver ball his…father? Had given him, keeping him occupied. You slide a drink across to the Mandalorian, and set your datapad over in front of Grogu, who immediately picks it up and starts pressing random buttons. It was your old spare one, so he couldn’t do any damage to your research by touching anything.
Taking a sip, you set the tumbler back on the table as the Mandalorian watches you take out the shard, not paying any attention to the drink you had given him. You pass him the green shard and he turns it over, gloved thumb running over the inscription. It occurs to you he may be able to translate it.
“Do you know what it says?” You ask, curious and the Mandalorian shakes his head softly.
“Its too damaged and the writing has eroded away so its almost illegible. But that doesn’t matter. Tell me where you got this.”
“On Mandalore.”
The helmet snaps up to look at you, that black and silver stare intimidating and you find yourself reaching for you drink so you didn’t have to look at him.
“You’ve been?” The Mandalorian implores.
“Yeah.”
“And its not poisoned?”
“I don’t think so. I went a few weeks ago, wore a hazard suit but it got compromised when part of the city collapsed underneath me. Subsequent med scans have been fine, and I haven’t died or gotten sick…yet.”
“What was it like?” The Mandalorians attention is solely on you, and you realise how important this was for him, to know whether he had a home to go back to.
It hurt a little to say your next words. “Its ruined.” You reply with a sad sigh. “Sundari is nothing more than collapsed dome. The surface is desolate. No signs of life. Its gone.”
The Mandalorian tips his head forward and lets out a long sigh, the action catching the attention of Grogu who makes a small noise and looks up at the Mandalorian, reaching an arm to tug on his flightsuit. “I’m alright, kid.” He says warily to the kid, who then looks to you as if you can help him.
Not with that you couldn’t, but you may be able to help with the object. “I think I can help you clean up the inscription. It might reveal something I didn’t see.”
The Mandalorian looks up at you. “You’d be willing to help me? I have credits.”
Despite needing credits, something inside you was telling you to help him for nothing in return, that he needed it for some greater purpose, reminding you of all those people who had their heirlooms, their relics, returned to them after the Empire had stolen them. The shard wasn’t yours, and it belonged with a Mandalorian.
“Don’t worry about the credits. Come on, I’ll show you to my lab.” Downing the last of your drink you stand up, The Mandalorian collecting Grogu and following you to your lab.
‘Lab’ was being generous; it was really the second bunk room into a makeshift lab, a tiny table in the middle, a wall to ceiling row of storage containers containing everything from chemicals to tools to datapads filled with records. Setting the shard on the table you pull over a bright light, shining it on the object and walking to the shelves, pulling out a few draws and cursing yourself for not having a better filing system, finally finding the things you needed. Taking them back to the shard, with the Mandalorian (and Grogu) watching, you get to work, Bee appearing to hand you the things you needed like the good assistance they were.
“…That should do it.” You say about an hour later, pulling off the magnifying goggles off your face and resting them atop your head. The Mandalorian, who had told you his name was Din, inspected the shining object of his home, the writing much more legible than it was before. “Take your time, I’ll take Bee and Grogu out to give you some privacy.” You gesture to the small seat you had managed to fit in the room so you could research with everything at your fingertips if needed. “Lets get you fed.” You say in a playful voice to Grogu, who babbles happily when you take him from Din, and head out of the room.
Its several hours later before Din re-surfaces, Grogu asleep in your lap as you stroked his ears. “Thank-you.” Din says, and you’re not sure if he means for the shard or for entertaining the kid for several hours, and you wondered if he ever got a break.
“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, and awkward tension in the room, neither of you sure what to say next since it seemed that Din got what he was after and you had picked up your next lead on an ancient sith artifact that you were keen to go look for.
Din looks at Grogu, fast asleep in your arms. “You could come with us, you know. I could use your help. Your good with him.”
You give Din a small sad smile. He seemed like he was still looking for his clan, for his home. “I appreciate the offer, but I cant.”
Din doesn’t ask for a reason, or an excuse, accepting your response, the only indication of his disappointment the slight slump in his shoulders. “I should go.” He says, walking over and extracting Grogu from your arms, Grogu fussing until he realises it was Din who picked him up and Grogu snuggles against the flightsuit, his head resting in the space between his arm and chest where there was no armour.
Getting up, you see Din out, waving him goodbye, giving him your comm in case he wanted to tell you more about the Mandalorians, or ever needed your help. He said you owed you one, but when you went back to your lab to tidy up you found a large pouch filled with credits, no note, no explanation, just a silent thank-you and you smile at it. Maybe Mandalorians weren’t like their violent past would suggest, and, at least in Dins case, they were kind, caring, and thankful. You had your own journey to go on, but you hoped you would cross paths with him again one day.