Chapter Text
Sunrise on Mandalore is an uninspiring thing. The sky is always murky with clouds, so instead of the bright streaks of colour you get on a planet like Nevarro, the sky goes from black to a dull yellow before it settles on grey. In daylight, the damage to the surface is fully visible with glass and rubble stretching to the horizon in every direction.
Of course, none of this can be seen from underground, where the Mandalorians have set up camp. Din and Grogu decided to stick around for a few days after dropping off the beskar recovered from Yoular Misk’s mansion, and so far they’ve spent most of it either in the repurposed Imperial base (what’s left of it, anyway) and the small cleared area between the base, the forge, and the living waters. It’s good to spend time with their people, and it gives Grogu the chance to play with the other children.
They have a school now, set up in a corner of the Imperial base that has a few conference rooms close together. The children are mostly taught by a man named Relly, who Din recognises by his armour but doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to. Relly is apparently the most well-read of the warriors on Mandalore, and he teaches the children reading, writing, arithmetic, science, history, geography - all the basic things they’ll need in order to learn everything else. Another man from the tribe handles their combat and weapons training (though everyone pitches in on that), and there’s a woman from Bo-Katan’s crew who teaches them basic mechanics. It’s a hard job teaching the foundlings. They’ve all come from such different places, with different levels of education and different frames of reference.
Din spends a lot of time talking to Relly that first day, trying to explain Grogu’s situation. Grogu clearly understands basic, though he can’t speak it, and is a really smart kid, but it’s hard to tell what he already knows and what he doesn’t since he can’t tell anyone. Din lists everything he’s been teaching Grogu, and which things seem to have stuck and which Grogu seems disinterested in. He hasn’t been able to work out if Grogu can read or not - sometimes it seems he can, but other times he just blinks sweetly at his father until Din reads it aloud instead. Is it too hard for him or does he just not like doing it? Grogu also seems to find numbers particularly boring, and is very resistant to learning hyperspace calculations or how to budget their credits. He loves stories and history.
Relly listens to everything with rapt attention, and assures Din he’ll figure it out. When Din retrieves his son and puts him in Relly’s classroom, the kid looks very suspicious, and it takes a blue cookie and the promise of more later to get him to stay put.
Din goes to the other teachers next and observes them with the foundlings they’re teaching. He’s less concerned about combat and mechanics, since that’s stuff he’s confident teaching his son himself, and he knows anyone on Mandalore would be a worthy fighting teacher. It’s the academic stuff that worries him. He doesn’t want to set his kid up for a hard life by failing to properly prepare his mind, but he doesn’t feel at all qualified to handle that part of his education without help.
After he’s satisfied that his son is in good hands, he’s not quite sure what to do with himself, and ends up wandering aimlessly through the base and the wreckage of the city. People greet him as he walks past, but no one invites him to join them. Some are sparring, some are playing dejarik or sabacc, some are working - sifting through supplies or clearing rubble. He tries to remember the last time he visited his people without some specific purpose, but finds he can’t. It was always to hand over credits, to recover from an injury enough to go back to work, to talk to the Armourer, to receive an assignment or a list of things to procure for the covert. Even when he went back to them after his redemption in the living waters, that was for Grogu to bond with their people and to make sure Bo-Katan was fitting in. It wasn’t just to spend time with them. He hasn’t just spent time with other Mandalorians since before he became a hunter, and he’s pretty sure all the people he knew back then are dead.
There are so many people here whose names he doesn’t know, or whose names are the only thing he knows about them. He doesn’t know why Tened’s foundling has a helmet that opens at the back, who Jeena had lost that made her paint her armour grey, or what convinced Benke swap out his blasters for vibroknives, and he doesn’t feel like he can ask. He doesn’t know anything about Bo-Katan’s people at all, except that there are no foundlings among them. They’d all been born into Mandalorian clans, as far as he knows, and though they are mostly polite, they aren’t very welcoming.
After a while, he decides he needs to find Bo. He knows she’s busy organising the reconstruction, and maybe she can give him a job to do so he won’t feel so lost.
He doesn’t have to look for long. He’s just re-entered the Imperial base, almost shivering at the sudden change from blackened rubble to sleek, clean corridors, when Koska appears. She steps around a corner and stops in front of him as if she’d been waiting there for his arrival.
“Hey,” she greets. “Bo wants to see you.”
He inclines his head, trying not to look too excited at the prospect of being given something to do. “Take me to her.”
He’s led down several winding corridors to what looks like Gideon’s communication centre. It’s a round room lined with screens and holo projectors. Helmetless Mandalorians occupy two of the consoles, and a woman in green and black armour from his own tribe occupies a third. He thinks her name is Aenna? Bo-Katan leans over Aenna’s shoulder, looking at her console’s screen.
“I’ve found him,” Koska announces when they step into the room, and Din tries to ignore the weird feeling in his chest when Bo turns around and locks her eyes on his visor.
“Good,” she says, and pats Aenna’s shoulder. “Play the recording.”
A staticky transmission plays a staccato message in Dadita. The rapid beeping tones of the ancient code sound desperate, a last-ditch call for help its originators couldn’t risk being overheard.
“It’s from a covert on Dantir Five,” Bo explains as the message continues to loop in the background. “They had heard Mandalore was reclaimed and were packing up to join us here when they were attacked. Most of them were captured, including many of their children, and the few who escaped sent this message. They need our help.”
Din has never been to Dantir Five, but he knows it’s a bit of a skughole. An ideal place to put a covert. “It could be a trap,” he says.
“It could,” Bo acknowledges, “but I don’t think it is. Dadita isn’t a well-known code - I’m sure this transmission was recorded by a Mandalorian. We need to send a small, skilled team to Dantir Five to find out what’s going on and determine what needs to be done. If you’re not committed to a job already, I’d like you to go.”
Of course. Of course he’ll go. If any of their people are in danger, he’s honour-bound to help them, and even if it weren’t required by the Creed, he would still want to. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he’s eager to get out of this suffocating place, too - though it does sting that Bo is sending him away again so soon.
“This is the way,” he answers, Aenna echoes it. He chooses not to acknowledge the two other technicians smirking, and keeps focused on Bo.
“I’m sending Koska as well,” she continues. “Koska will choose someone from the Nite Owls and I’d like you to choose someone from your tribe. It should be an even split.”
Before Din can answer that he’ll bring Grogu, Aenna stands up from her console. “I would like to volunteer,” she says, looking from Din to Bo-Katan and back again as if unsure who she should be asking. “If you approve.”
Din doesn’t know much about Aenna, but he has no particular objections. “Thank you,” he says. “We will be glad to have you with us. When do we leave?” He addresses this question to Bo.
“As soon as possible,” Bo replies.
Koska steps forward. “I can have a ship ready to go in an hour. We just need to load up some supplies.”
****
He ends up leaving Grogu on Mandalore, which doesn’t feel great. This will be the furthest and longest they’ve been apart since Grogu came back from the Jedi. He knows his son will be safe - there’s really no safer place for him than here, surrounded by warriors who would die to protect him, but it still feels wrong.
He went straight to Relly’s classroom after accepting the assignment from Bo-Katan, and saw how happy Grogu was with the other children. Relly told him he was welcome to take Grogu, obviously, but he thought it would be good for Grogu’s education to stick around for a while. He wouldn’t be gone that long, and when he spoke to the kid he didn’t seem bothered either way (which did not hurt), so he couldn’t think of a reason not to let him stay.
Bo had told him once that sometimes Jedi could see the future, especially if something very bad was going to happen to someone they cared about, so he figured if the kid wasn’t concerned, this would probably be a quick and easy job.
After saying goodbye to his kid, Din packs what little he needs to bring with him, and goes to help Koska load up the supplies. The crew member she’s chosen is a fresh-faced young man with dark skin and extremely curly hair. His armour is the same design and colour as the rest of Bo’s crew - mostly muted and dark blue - but he has a strip of red painted down each pauldron. It looks like it was painted recently, still bright and undamaged.
He greets Din enthusiastically and introduces himself as Lendarus, “but you can call me Len!” before continuing to push a crate of rations up the ship’s ramp. Aenna arrives shortly later, and it seems Lendarus already knows her name, though she doesn’t know his.
It isn’t long before they’re in hyperspace, speeding towards Dantir Five.
The journey takes three days, and Din is already getting impatient after two hours. There really isn’t much to do, and he regrets not bringing Grogu immensely. He keeps looking around for him, thinking he’ll see the kid rifling in a crate for snacks, or bothering one of the crew to play with him, or holding up his holopad to get Din to tell him a story. Every time he doesn’t see his son, he remembers he’s left him behind and feels a tugging in his heart urging him to turn back. It’s really not helpful or productive, and he silently vows he’ll never leave him behind again.
“You’re quiet,” Koska comments once. “I thought you were asleep, but your hands are worrying at your gloves. Something bothering you?”
He stills his hands and takes a deep breath. “I miss my kid.”
He’d known he was going to have a harder time with this than Grogu. The kid is so at ease with new people, and he never seems to doubt that Din is coming back. It’s a good thing. It’s not healthy for a child to cling too tightly to their parent. For Din, though, it’s harder - he’s reminded a little too much of what it was like before Grogu came back to him. Before he saw the kid on that rickshaw with Peli, he genuinely hadn’t cared if he died in that battle - what reason did he have to keep going?
It’s different now. People need him again.
When they arrive on Dantir Five, the weather is pleasant. It’s a bit of a grimy place, largely grey and brown, with a modest market in the town centre. He imagines it would be miserable in the rain, but with the sun shining and a light breeze blowing through the streets, it’s not half bad.
They park the ship in the dusty clearing that passes for a spaceport and exit the ship, heading into the small town. As expected, they get a lot of stares from the locals, and this particular brand of staring reads to Din more as ‘I’ve never seen a Mandalorian before and here come four!’ rather than ‘there’s more of them?’ so he’s not sure how easy it’s going to be to find the person who sent the distress call.
He finds himself walking into a cantina, and suddenly realises the others are following him without any discussion of who would be in charge. He would have thought Koska would be the leader for this hunt, but the blue-armoured woman is walking very deliberately a step behind him. He decides not to read into it. They’re looking for someone, and he has the most experience tracking people down. That’s all it is.
He approaches the bar, leaning against it - in any town, the bartender knows the most about the people, knows their business, knows if there have been any visitors, knows who’s been acting strange, and most crucially, will tell you for a few credits. A middle-aged Gran approaches, polishing a glass. Her three eyes narrow at the sight of them.
“What can I get you?” she asks, her voice low-pitched and scratchy.
“We’re looking for others of our kind,” he says, gesturing to their helmets. “Do you know where we might find them?”
The Gran scoffs. “Not around here, that’s for sure.”
Din slides a few credits across the bar. “You’ve never seen any Mandalorians here?”
“Nope,” she says, eyeing the credits but not taking them. “You want drinks or what?”
“I could do with a drink,” Len says, and when Din turns to tilt his helmet at him, he sees Aenna elbow him in the ribs. “Ow! What?”
“Drinks might not be a bad idea,” Koska interjects. “We can get settled and then ask around.”
Din sighs. The Gran has folded her arms and is looking at him expectantly. “Fine.”
Len and Koska order themselves a drink each, and when the bartender says, “no drink, no seat!” Din and Aenna order something too. It’s not exactly busy in the cantina, so it’s not like the bartender is missing out on sales if they sit down, but it won’t help them to upset her. They find a table against a wall, but not in a corner, and sit around it so that each of them has eyes on a different part of the cantina.
“Are we sure this is the right place?” Len says, leaning in across the table. He has removed his helmet, releasing his tight curls. They don’t seem to have lost any of their springiness despite the time they spent compressed under beskar. “She seemed pretty sure there weren’t any Mandalorians here.”
“Our tribe lived under Nevarro for years,” Aenna replies, “and the people there were sure there was only one of us.” She indicates Din with a tilt of her head.
“It’s true. If the townspeople don’t know about them, it doesn’t mean they’re not here,” Din says. If he remembers correctly, there’s no guild presence on Dantir Five, so if this covert is supported by a hunter, they wouldn’t be doing business on this planet. It’s perfectly possible the people of Dantir Five had never seen them. “If we don’t learn anything from the people in this cantina, we should scout the town and look for any markers to indicate the covert’s location. Koska?”
Koska has also removed her helmet and is sipping on her drink. She shrugs. “This is your world more than ours. I trust your judgement.”
A few more people come into the cantina, and Len goes to talk to them. He is the least threatening of the four of them, and looks very young without his helmet on, so they decide as a group that he’s probably the best one to approach the skittish townspeople. After each conversation, he turns to them with a shrug and a shaking head.
Din’s about ready to call it and suggest they move on when a very large Zabrak walks in, swathed in a dark cloak. Len gets up and goes to speak with the man, and as soon as he mentions Mandalorians, the Zabrak’s face lights up. He clocks Len’s armour, and turns to their table. His eyes widen when they fall on Din.
The speed at which the Zabrak approaches their table has all three occupants reaching for their blasters.
“Din Djarin, is that you?” the Zabrak says, unreasonably excited. There’s something familiar about his voice, but Din is absolutely certain he’s never seen this man in his life.
“Who are you?” Din replies. He’s on his feet, blaster out now but still held at his side. He can see Len behind the Zabrak, looking utterly bewildered.
“It is you! I’d recognise that voice anywhere. Your armour is different, but our Armourer’s work was always distinctive.”
Our Armourer?
The Zabrak slaps a hand onto his face as if he’s forgotten something obvious. “Of course, no helmet. Sorry - it’s me, Kevol!”
It feels like a trap door has opened under his feet and he’s falling into a nightmare. Kevol. Really? Are the fates laughing at him?
Koska has moved to stand next to him and he nearly jumps out of his armour when she puts a hand on his shoulder. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”
No. “Where is your helmet?” Din asks Kevol, and the Zabrak pulls forward a bag that had been slung behind him.
“It’s in here,” he says, lifting the flap and revealing the very familiar blue and orange helmet, complete with horns to match the ones on the man’s head. “A lot of things have changed since I was last with the tribe.”
Koska is glancing between the two of them, her eyes narrowed. He’s sure she can read the tension in his posture and really hopes she doesn’t ask.
“Are you from our tribe?” Aenna asks. She was hanging back by the table, but takes a few tentative steps forward.
Kevol’s attention is drawn to her immediately and he scans her armour, eyes lingering on her lack of a signet. “Yes,” he says. “I was separated from the tribe after the purge and wasn’t able to find my way back. I’m guessing you’re one of the foundlings? You were probably very young when I left.”
Aenna nods, and probably would have replied, but Koska interjects, getting them back on task. “We received a distress call from these coordinates. A message in Dadita. Do you know anything about that?”
Kevol’s lips press together and he straightens his back. Din had forgotten how tall he is - he makes all four of them look small in comparison. A memory pops into his mind of a younger Kevol and a not-dead Paz arguing over who was taller. It was Paz, but not by much.
“Come with me,” Kevol says, and walks away, not waiting to see if they will follow.
The four of them trail after him, each clearly wrestling very different emotions. Len still looks a little puzzled, but is walking with an easy bounce in his step. Koska is all focus, and has even put her helmet back on. She’s walking nearly at Kevol’s side, and there’s a determined slant to her shoulders. Aenna is harder to read, and is the only one Din feels he owes an explanation.
He walks level with her, and while she tilts her helmet at him, she doesn’t speak, clearly waiting for him to say something. “I knew Kevol a long time ago. He was born into our tribe and is a great fighter. I haven’t seen him since a while before the purge, but we were-” he struggles to find the right word, eventually settling on “close.”
Her helmet whips around to face him, and he has a distinct impression her mouth is gaping. “You and him?” she says.
He’s glad he’s wearing a helmet so she can’t see his face heat up. He’d tried to be vague, but obviously not vague enough. “It was a long time ago.”
It was a long time ago, and he’s been over it for almost as long, though it’s not one of his favourite memories. Kevol had pursued him quite aggressively, and it had been very flattering right up until the Zabrak discovered he was human and was apparently repulsed. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d found out in a conversation, but it was during a very heated moment that should have been intimate - the first time Din allowed Kevol to see his bare skin, after months of courting. It had hurt him deeply at the time, though Kevol had apologised profusely after the fact.
Anyway, it was a long time ago and it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t.
“He broke the creed,” Aenna says in a small voice.
It shakes him out of his memories, and he glances at the back of Kevol’s head. “Yes,” he says, but he can’t judge Kevol for that - not after breaking it himself.
Aenna is silent for a while, and Din wonders what she’s thinking.
Kevol leads them through a winding series of alleys and passages before entering what looks like an abandoned building. He taps along the floor with a foot until a wedge comes loose, and he stoops to pry it up, revealing a trap door.
“Down here,” Kevol says, pulling his helmet out of his bag and putting it on before heading down the steps. The four of them follow and the floor is slotted back into place after them. Kevol leads them further into the dark, and Din switches his HUD to night vision. He imagines the others have done the same.
As they go deeper underground, he’s reminded eerily of the covert on Nevarro after the Imperial attack. He can feel the lingering presence of their people, but it’s too quiet. There are children’s paintings on the walls, scuffed floors from boots and blaster burns from target practice, but there’s no one here.
Eventually, a light shines in the distance and they head towards it. It’s shining through an open doorway with a mythosaur painted over it. Their footsteps echo painfully as they step into the light, and a small hunched figure kneels before an unlit forge.
“Ba’buir,” Kevol says, and the figure turns its helmeted head - Din sees the black-painted beskar in profile. The shape of the eyes is similar to the Armourer’s, but more slanted. “Help has arrived from Mandalore.”
The figure stands, leaning heavily on the forge for support. “Who has come to help us?”
There is a beat of silence as each of them expects someone else to answer before Din takes a step forward. “I am Din Djarin,” he says, inclining his helmet respectfully. “With me are Koska Reeves, Lendarus Linek, and Aenna Nomara. We were sent from Mandalore by Bo-Katan Kryze.”
The figure stiffens, and there is a distinct impression of a glare when they turn to face the newcomers. “Bo-Katan Kryze? You are loyal to her?”
“Yes,” Din answers, standing firm. He remembers what the Armourer had said about Bo-Katan the first time he asked about her, and figures this covert probably holds the same prejudices.
“She and her ilk destroyed our way of life,” the black-armoured person replies. Koska surges forward and Din has to turn and stop her with an arm across her chest. She’s wearing her helmet, so he can’t see her face, but the way she angles her head is a clear challenge.
Before Din can say anything to her or the elderly warrior before them, Kevol speaks.
“I have not met Bo-Katan Kryze,” he says, “but I knew Din Djarin on Concordia before the purge. He is honourable, and we can trust any group he leads.”
Din doesn’t say that he’s not technically in charge of their group, but no one else argues either. Easier to let Kevol’s statement of support stand.
The elderly warrior - it’s not clear if they are a man or a woman, but it doesn’t really matter - stares at Din (or at least points their visor at him and doesn’t move). He stands his ground, waiting for the elder’s judgement.
“Very well,” they say. “Can I trust you to handle this matter, Kevol?”
“You can, Ba’buir.”
The warrior turns back to the forge, running a shaking hand over the edge of it before kneeling down again, and Kevol ushers them out of the room.
Once they’re safely out of earshot, Koska rounds on Kevol.
“If your alor has a problem with Bo-Katan, we can easily go home,” she spits. Kevol lifts a placating hand, but she swats it away. “Bo has sacrificed so much for our people. She doesn’t deserve the scorn of some decrepit old-“
“Hey!” the volume of Kevol’s booming objection surprises Koska enough to cut her off. He continues at a more reasonable level. “Ba’Buir is not our alor - our alor was captured with the others. If your Bo-Katan Kryze is the leader you think she is, she will not want you to prove her doubters right by abandoning a covert in need.”
Judging by the slope of Koska’s shoulders, she knows he’s right. Din nearly reaches out to touch Kevol’s shoulder, but can’t quite finish the gesture. “We will not abandon you,” he says. “Tell us what happened.”
****
Kevol takes them to a very empty mess hall and distributes some rations before taking a seat at one of the tables and gesturing them to join him. Koska and Len remove their helmets and start eating, while Din and Aenna opt to wait until they have more privacy. Kevol joins the two who are eating, placing his helmet next to his plate on the table.
It’s disconcerting to see him without it. Din had always known that orange and blue horned helmet as Kevol’s face, and it feels like he’s just taken off his head and casually set it down beside him. The face of the Zabrak in front of him belongs to a complete stranger.
Kevol must see his visor angled at the helmet. He grimaces slightly. “This covert is less strict,” he says, sounding almost apologetic. “After the purge, when I lost contact with the tribe, I was so lonely. As soon as I found another covert I joined them. If they were more liberal than ours, well - I got used to it.”
Din doesn’t reply. He doesn’t really know what he can say to that. He’s sure Kevol did what he needed to, and who is Din to judge? It’s just uncomfortable.
“How are things with the tribe? Does the Armourer still march with you? How is Paz?”
Kevol clocks Len and Koska’s pained faces at the mention of Paz and dips his head.
“The Armourer is still our alor, though she too is loyal to Bo-Katan. Paz was lost during the battle to retake our home,” Din says, as neutral as possible. “Many of the warriors we were raised with were lost after the purge. I thought you had been lost as well.”
Despite the heaviness in the air, Kevol smiles. “I wonder how many more have survived but are still in hiding. Maybe they’ll emerge now that Mandalore is rebuilding.”
“Maybe,” Din replies. He’s feeling more and more on edge with every word Kevol says, worried that the man will start to get too personal if he lets him continue reminiscing about the tribe. They need to stay focused. “What happened to this covert? You said there was an attack?”
Kevol’s body immediately shifts into a more upright posture. “Yes,” he says. “We had heard the news about Mandalore and were preparing to leave, so we were perhaps a little more lax with our security. I was off-world when it happened, procuring a ship large enough that we could all leave together. The attack came in the night, and instead of killing our people, the attackers took them. Only Ba’buir, our armourer’s apprentice, and our hunter escaped capture. The apprentice and the hunter - Yvonne and Vens - are scouting the hideout as we speak.”
“Do the attackers know they missed anyone?” It’s the first time Aenna has spoken since her and Din’s conversation outside the cantina.
Kevol shakes his head. “Not as far as we know. They were thorough, but Yvonne hid with Ba’buir under the forge, and Vens was off-world too.”
“They won’t be expecting a counterstrike,” Din says. “We should move quickly. Every hour that passes it’s more likely they will kill the prisoners, if they haven’t done so already.”
“I’m sorry,” Koska says. She meets Kevol’s eyes to press her sincerity. “We’ll get them back.”
****
The hunter and the apprentice return shortly after they’ve finished eating. Yvonne is absolutely tiny - a short, skinny young girl in pale blue and green armour. When she removes her helmet, Din guesses she can’t be older than fifteen. She is human, almost translucently pale, with close cropped white blonde hair and a serious set to her brow. Vens is around Din’s height, perhaps a shade taller, and his scuffed and scratched armour is a burnt orange colour. The weapons he has strapped to his body are varied and mis-matched, and he walks with a slight limp - evidence of an old injury. Din would have known instantly that he was a hunter even if Kevol hadn’t told them. When he too removes his helmet, it’s revealed that he is also human, and very handsome with wavy black hair and thick, even stubble.
The attackers are hidden in an abandoned mine some distance from the town. They scanned the area as best they could with sonic imaging, but the thick rock prevented the vibrations from reaching too deep into the facility, so they only have a map of the area around the entrance. They counted two dozen mercenaries, though they suspect there are more. They saw no evidence of the prisoners, but it stands to reason any holding cells would be deeper inside the base.
“Is this the only entrance?” Din asks when Vens and Yvonne show the group the holos they made of the base and its surroundings. There’s a large hangar door built into the rock, and the holos show a number of ships parked just inside.
Yvonne nods. “It’s the only one we found. Only way in and out.”
“It’s guarded, but the patrols are fewer at night,” Vens adds.
They all stare at the flickering blue hologram, thinking. Eventually Koska breaks the silence. “We shouldn’t overthink this,” she says. “There are seven of us. We took Gideon’s cruiser with four.”
Five, really, but Din’s main contribution to taking the cruiser was ousting the dark troopers, which had ended up flying back in anyway - he’d only really cared about finding Grogu. “You’re right,” he replies. “I destroyed an Imperial base similar to this in Nevarro with a team of three. Whoever this gang is, it’s unlikely they’re better equipped than the imps.”
“The prisoners can join us once they’re released,” Aenna says. “We can bring extra weapons to distribute. Even if they get reinforcements, we’ll have more support on the way out.”
This leads into a short discussion of what weapons they have available. When the covert was ransacked, their supplies and weapons were taken as well as their people, so they only have what they were carrying at the time. The rescue party from Mandalore, however, have more than enough to share.
By the end, the seven of them are confident they can take the base - well, maybe not confident, but confident enough not to want to waste any more time.
“Right,” Len says, putting his helmet back on and clapping his gloved hands together. “Let’s go!”