Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vance ra’Venn had always been creative with her expletives, but the quiet stream of invective she uttered now was impressive even for her. Nasal laughter erupted from the two small cloaked figures, whose heads barely came to her waist.

“You can’t do that with an angle wrench…at the very least the womp-rat would object.” Her grasp of the Jawa’s language wasn’t the best but it she knew enough to understand it.

“I thought you didn’t understand basic? You’ve let me stand here for five minutes struggling with Jawa and you understood me perfectly well?”

The jawa shrugged unapologetically.

“Gives an advantage in negotiations. Changes nothing though – your ship’s wrecked. Not flying again. Scrap only! Two thousand credits. No more!”

Vance calculated her options; she had to get moving soon. The Imperial Remnant probably thought she’d died in the crash, but if they sent anyone from the nearest outpost to check they’d be here soon.

“Fifteen hundred, a lift to the settlement, and if anyone comes asking if there were survivors, you say no.”

 The diminutive salvagers nodded their agreement and went to work with astonishing speed on the carcass of her ship.  She shook her head bitterly and went to find somewhere out of the suns to sit; her pale skin was already starting to crackle with the heat, and she didn’t need sunburn on top of everything else. A sharp blast-furnace-hot wind was rising, agitating the sands just enough to drive them into every seam of her clothing and every cut that lay beneath.

She tucked herself into a corner of the cargo bay on their sand-crawler and allowed herself a moment to just sit and ache. She could feel the tightness of drying blood across her brow. Reaching up she felt cautiously around the sand and blood encrusted gash just under her hairline. It was lucky that the jawas were willing to trade at all – in her state they could have finished her off and just taken everything without too much trouble. The rifle across her shoulders had clearly made enough of an impression to give them pause, but it wasn’t out of the question that whatever “settlement” they took her to would turn out to be a slaver. A swift inventory of her injuries found innumerate bruises and abrasions, and her left arm had a feeling of wrongness about it that she feared would turn out to be a fracture. The medpack she’d salvaged was dulling the pain for the moment, and she wasn’t looking forward to that wearing off.

Her hands were beginning to shake from the aftermath of the crash and the adrenaline leaving her bloodstream. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her with her good arm, and tried to focus hard on simply breathing. After a few ragged breaths, she found her way into the quiet space that existed between each inhalation and buried herself there for a time.

By the time an exciteable stream of chatter woke her, the suns had mercifully set and the metal bulkhead at her back had grown cool. The cargo bay around her was packed with parts of her ship. A panel in front of her bore the painted logo and designation of the Midsummer; a curling vine in full leaf. She felt a stab of sorrow for the ship. Her daughter had been conceived and born in its berths, and she’d run mission after mission for the Rebellion with it. She lay the flat of her palm against the scored and battered paintwork as she would against a loved one’s coffin, and silently bid it farewell.

“I have no idea what this thing is saying, get the translator out.”

The dismissive male voice had the nasal quality that came when projected through a helmet speaker. She could hear the jawas protesting loudly, and felt an edge of panic creep in. Beside her, a large piece of her old bulkhead leant against the wall. Vance pressed herself into the gap between two. Hidden like this she’d be trapped if spotted, but injured as she was, running wasn’t going to work either. Pressed painfully in the narrow space the sound of her breath echoed loudly around her, surely audible.

“Say it again in here.” Another stream of the jawa’s language and then a moment later the neutral tones of a translation unit informed Helmet-Voice that they’d found no survivors – just the burnt-out wreck.

“I’m going to check it out myself.”

Footfalls made their way up the ramp, followed by a dull thud and a curse as someone struck their head on a low beam. A flash-light scanned the interior of the cargo bay.

“Real mess in here, Captain. I don’t see how anyone could have made it out of this.”

Through a hole in the bulkhead that concealed her, Vance could see two armoured figures in the hated Stormtrooper armour. She felt her temper sparking again; after everything they’d gone through during the Rebellion, to see them still brazenly walking around burned at her. The light played across the wreckage for a few moments more, before clicking off.

“No-one walked away from this, sir. You can see the rips where the engines came clean away through the fuselage. The…item…was almost certainly destroyed anyway.”

“Fine. Knew this was a waste of time anyway.”

Listening to the receding footsteps, Vance reached her fingers into her pocket and closed them hard around the handful of data chips concealed there.

Chapter Text

This was the fourth mechanic that The Mandalorian had spoken to, and the refrain was equally depressing. The togruta shook his head at the list of repairs and exhaled sharply through pursed lips, a sound with a universal translation.

“Your credits won’t even cover the parts, friend. If the main thruster mechanism and vent is as badly damaged as you say, then that’s going to take two days to fix on top. I’m not trying to cheat you – I’ve got small ones of my own.” The oil coated mechanic nodded at the bag over the Mandalorian's shoulder and with a twitch of irritation he saw that in spite of his firm instructions to stay hidden, the Child had poked his head out and was gazing at passers by, occasionally sneezing from the dust. Feeling his regard, the tiny creature looked up at him with trusting eyes.

“I believe you.” The Mandalorian shook his head, reaching up to rub the muscle at the back of his neck that seemed to be permanently sore these days. The suns were reaching their apex, making his armour unpleasantly hot, and the beskar steel ensured the stiff breeze blowing down from the dunes couldn’t reach him to offer relief. “Is there some arrangement we can reach?”

“Friend, I doubt you could offer anything I’d be interested in buying – no offence intended.”

"None taken."

“Perhaps I can help. How short are you for the parts?” A new voice. The three of them turned to take in its owner. Short and slight, the human woman was non-descript, neither pretty nor unattractive enough to draw comment. The Mandalorian would have placed her in her early forties, but she was so covered with wind-blown dust it was hard to tell.

“He’s short five hundred, for the parts, but then the same again for labour.” The mechanic shrugged apologetically.

“I’ll cover your shortfall, and fit the parts for you, in exchange for a drop off at a planet the next sector over. Fair?”

She spoke assertively but there was a brittleness to her tone. With a hunter's gaze, the Mandalorian studied her. She was dressed in one of the all-covering shawls that the natives here favoured, her head bound with a long wrap that could be drawn against the sand. Slimline goggles protected her eyes but beneath this local gear, she wore what was clearly a ship-suit and boots that while practical, had not been designed for desert living. She carried a shoulder bag and tool roll, but slung across her back was the sort of rifle designed to be used at such long range that it surely couldn’t be meant for hunting game. Beneath the dust, her cheek was bruised and scraped. A livid bruise on her forehead drew his eye, and the edge of her head wrap was dark and crusted with something that looked suspiciously like it could be blood. She was standing slightly oddly, with the tentative posture of someone expecting pain, and finally he spotted the medical brace at her wrist.

“Who are you running from?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile that was either bitter or rueful. She glanced down towards his bag, where the Child was determinedly trying to climb out, and her face subtly shifted. It was only for a moment, too quick for him to judge the expression, but the reaction was there. Beneath his helmet, his eyes narrowed slightly.

At this point the Child made its most determined bid for freedom and succeeded in tumbling from the bag. Seemingly unperturbed, it sat back on its haunches and looked up at the stranger before waving and making the soft sound that he generally interpreted as a greeting. The woman smiled again, more genuinely this time.

“You're cute." She knelt briefly, to return the Child's greeting. A polite gesture but one she seemed to immediately regret as she stood again, visibly wincing. "Your Foundling?”

The Mandalorian’s head snapped up. His kind were no longer that commonplace, most would not have known the right word. Sensing his tension she raised a placating hand.

“You’re not the first mando I’ve come across. That’s why I approached you at all. If I’m going to take a gamble on a stranger, at least make it with one who I know has some sort of code of honour.” She glanced back at the mechanic. “Look, I’ve watched you trail round at least three repair yards this morning, and you’re not going to find a better price. I can help you; you can help me.”

“Watched me?”

She shrugged. "I'm cautious, I'm injured, and I'm half your size. Can you blame me?"

“You still haven’t told me who you’re running from.”

“My ship got shot out from under me by raiders. I need to get home, and don’t have enough credits to buy passage.”

She was looking up at him unflinchingly. Most people were unsettled by the helmet. Their eyes would shift nervously, trying to find somewhere to settle. Hers did not. Either she was genuine, or practiced at convincing people that she was. He watched her for a moment, considering. Instinct told him that she was lying about something. Most people who had just walked away from a crash would be making straight for either a medic, or a cantina. She was too relaxed, too bright. Whether her lies need concern him, was a different question. He sighed. Battered and bruised, she was hardly in a condition to pose a threat to him.

“Seems like neither of us really have much choice today. All right.”

She paid the mechanic in local currency, talking him into loaning them a grad slev to haul the parts as well. As she arranged the load, he noticed again how gingerly she was holding the braced arm again, favouring it and wincing anytime she had to use it.

“You actually going to be able to do this work?”

“I’ll be fine.” There was a slight bite to her voice this time. She hauled the final component up one handed and strapped it down, before reaching down and lifting the Child up onto the sled.

“Stay there, Bean. You don’t want to walk through these streets barefoot. All sorts of nastiness to get between your toes.”

“Bean?”

The woman shrugged. “You didn’t offer a name, and I know you lot can be cagey about that sort of thing. He’s small, he’s green; he’s Bean.”

“Don’t even think of giving me a nickname like that.”

A deliberate pause as she considered him, the half-smile returning. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Speaking of names, is yours likely to turn up on Guild lists?” He didn't ask out of a particular desire to know, but to see her reaction. No matter how well trained a liar, giving a false name was nearly always enough to make someone pause. The woman didn’t hesitate at all.

“Hardly. If you’re hoping for either an exciting passenger or an easy contract, you’re going to be disappointed. I’m Vance, and I'm just an engineer.”

She didn’t ask his name in return and he nodded his appreciation. It was clear she’d encountered Mandalorians before and he wondered if he could find a way to ask where, without coming across as prying or too eager for news.

*

The Razor Crest's hangar was blissfully sheltered from the sun. While not exactly cool, it at least offered some relief from the glare and the wind-borne sand. Vance cast her eyes over the ship’s hull, unconsciously echoing the sound the mechanic had made. It was a fair assessment; the engine closest to them had half of its casing missing and the whole side of the ship was black with carbon.  The nose was pressed to the ground, where the front landing gear had failed and buckled. There was no pretending that this wasn’t battle damage, and he wondered if she’d reconsider their arrangement at sight of it.

After a moment she pulled down the goggles around her neck, and looked back at him over her shoulder. Dust-shadows of pale skin highlighted eyes that set against the plainness of her face were arresting. She raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“So…who are you running from?”

He said nothing, simply turning his gaze to look at her directly and maintaining the silence that would usually have people sheepishly cough, and back down from their question. She chuckled slightly instead and held her hands up for a moment in mock submission before turning back to the ship.

"She's an old lady, isn't she?" There was no censure in her voice, only the sort of indulgent fondness often reserved for elderly pets. "I prefer them like this. Less complex, less to go wrong, and easier to fix when it does."

"It does the job."

"More heavily armed than the standard models?"

That gave him pause. The Crest was an old Imperial model, not commonly seen anymore. A knowledge of ships was one thing, but to know Imperial military ships well enough to recognise modifications was another. Something was off. Misgivings multiplying, he responded.

"It does the job."

She laughed at the repetition. “I'm sure. I’ll need some help with the crane.”

She made her way over to the stricken Razor Crest. The Child elected to follow her, and with a swift smile at him she modified her pace to accomodate shorter legs. As she drew near, she lifted her good hand and traced her fingers along the battle-scared side, as though the ship were an injured animal that had to be approached carefully. Pausing at the nose, she lay her palm flat against it, looking up towards the cockpit viewport.

Too relaxed. Too bright. If he was right, he could be allowing a potential threat on board. The Child seemed to like her well enough, but the Child had also liked Karga and so could hardly be described as a good judge of character.

Vance looked back at him. “As in, I’ll need some help with the crane right now?”

For a second, he looked between his potential passenger and the Child, then with a resigned sigh, strode across to assist.

Chapter Text

Usually, whenever the Mandalorian spent any sort of time with someone, the inevitable questions would come. It would start with basic enquiries about the helmet and armour. Did he really never remove it? How long had he worn it? Why didn’t he share his name? How did they tell each other apart? Then would follow the incredulous responses, and almost always prying questions about other more intimate areas of his life. Mostly he would respond with a hard, direct stare. Sometimes, for his own amusement he would pay back the impertinence with an entirely false answer that would leave the questioner slack-jawed.

Vance asked no such questions. She worked as quickly as her injuries had allowed, as eager as he was to be on the move, and hadn’t particularly attempted to engage him in the pointless small talk that so many found compelling. They had conversed when there was something to talk about, but when the silences had opened up they had been comfortable. The Child seemed to like her too, and she was unperturbed by his attempts to “help” with the repairs. Still, it had taken two days for her to complete the work. With his ship out of commission, he felt caged. Being bound to one planet, knowing that he and the Child were being hunted had left him with a permanent headache. It left him longing to be able to ditch the helmet for an hour and press something cold to his brow.

He watched Vance as she ran through the final tests. She had usurped his seat in the cockpit, sitting with her boots kicked off and her feet tucked underneath her on the worn leather.  He fought the urge to hover behind her as she worked, forcing himself to stillness in the co-pilot's chair. She had got rid of her desert gear. The ship suit he’d spotted beneath it was now undone to her waist, with the sleeves tied up and out the way. Her hair was a vague brown, pulled up into an untidy bun that made it impossible to determine how long it was.

With the dust cleaned off, and the headwrap taken away, her injuries were far more apparent. The cut that ran into her hairline was deep, and was clearly going to scar. A sleeveless black base layer she wore beneath the ship suit showed off arms and elbows that were as bruised and cut up as her cheek. While the med-brace on her wrist seemed to be doing it’s work, but she still moved it awkwardly.

"All right, I'm fairly confident this won't do anything catastrophic...." Her hands moved rapidly across the controls, and a moment later the sub-light engines engaged. She looked back at him. "Does that sound right to you?"

He tilted his head, trying to discern any difference. The helmet's visor may enhance his vision, but it did no favours for his hearing.

"Sounds good to me."

"Ideally I'd like to do a test run first and then analyse the readings but given that you're giving off the vibes of a caged nexu I assume you just want to get going." Without waiting for a response, she unfolded herself from the seat and ceded it to him. Pausing only to ensure the Child was secured, he signalled their departure codes and took them out of the hangar and up.

After the blazing desert sun, the cool half-light of the stars was a balm. Free from the planet's bounds, he felt the tension begin to ease from his brow. Dim lights from a myriad of buttons and controls played and reflected across the steel of his armour as he gratefully prepared the Crest for hyperspace.

“Razor Crest’s better than she was before, from these readouts.” Vance gave her easy half-smile as she glanced in his direction.

“Doesn’t surprise me. Not had the chance to make running repairs for a while. So, where to?”

She hesitated. “I need to get to the Yavin system.”

He felt a flash of irritation. “That’s more than ‘the next sector over’. It’s a three-day trip.”

“I’m sorry; I wanted to get a read on what sort of person you are before putting myself in a position where I’d be effectively trapped with you for that long. I have some credits left if the issue is fuel. If it’s time, then just as near as you can take me.”

He couldn’t fault her caution. He sighed and began programming the nav computer.

“So what’s on Yavin for you, home?” Her own apparent lack of curiosity had piqued his own.

She made a generic sound of agreement but offered nothing further. Instead she busied herself with the Child, who rather than going to his own chair had pottered across to hers and raised his hands to be picked up.  She settled him on her lap, lacing her fingers in front of him to prevent a fall. In his small hands, was a tangle of nuts and bolts, driven through a wrecked section of panelling she’d replaced during repairs. She’d smoothed the edges and bound them, and had been teaching the Child how to use the wrenches and screwdrivers to unfasten and refasten the various bolts and screws. So far, he could only manage if things were very loose but it kept him entertained.

“I’m not convinced that teaching him to take the ship apart is the best plan.”

“I get the feeling that he’d figure out other methods even if he didn’t have the tools.”

The Mandalorian tried to keep his posture relaxed, but his blood ran momentarily cold. Had she somehow spotted the Child’s unusual abilities while watching them? He thought back to the flicker of a reaction he’d spotted at the shipyard when she’d first seen the Child. He’d dismissed it as fatigue-induced paranoia, but suddenly he wasn’t sure. His mind ran on, increasingly spinning out suspicion: what if she already knew who they were and was hunting them? The cuts and bruises were real enough, but she could be exaggerating the rest; it wasn’t an unknown tactic. He’d known a bounty hunter who made a speciality of the “damsel in distress” play.

Without moving his head, he looked sideways at her. She seemed relaxed, but like him, sat with a taut stillness. She might have bestowed a cute nickname on the Child, but if she were a bounty hunter working for the Imperial Remnant, then that wouldn’t stop her turning him in. She could be getting him to fly straight to her base and have a crew of thugs waiting. Beneath his helmet his brow furrowed. If she was hunting “Bean” then a comment like that was careless in the extreme. No; more likely she had thrown it out there in a deliberate attempt to gauge his reaction, which was more perplexing. He let the silence hang.

The Child was the one to break it, as with a squeak of frustration he nearly flung himself from Vance’s lap in an attempt to loosen a bolt. She flashed a grin that he couldn’t decide whether or not was genuine, and turned her attention fully back to her tiny apprentice.

“Wrong way Bean; don’t forget ‘Right-y Tight-y, Left-y Loose-y”

The Mandalorian looked back down at the Yavin co-ordinates she’d indicated; she wanted him to go to the fourth planet in the system, at a point that seemed to be some distance from the main spaceport. Without comment, he changed the hyperspace exit point by a few hundred clicks. At least he wouldn’t be jumping into an ambush. He wanted to be wrong, but he hadn’t survived this long by being trusting.

He hit the panel to jump, and the stars rushed towards them, drawing them in to the familiar spiralling blue vortex.

“Look Mando, I noticed that your compensators were out of alignment. Mind if I go and sort that out? I’m not one to sit idle and I feel like I owe you for being willing to take such a long detour.”

He considered for a moment before nodding. She was hardly about to sabotage a ship she was going to be travelling on for the next few days, and he could check everything before they left hyper-space. Depositing the Child on his lap as she passed his chair, she made for the ladder and disappeared below.

Chapter Text

As soon as her feet hit the deck below, Vance hissed a sharp curse. She’d overplayed her hand and set the Mandalorian on edge. Fatigue and the sheer stress of the last week had clearly made her sloppy. Her sharper edges had cut through the persona of the perky and disarming engineer.

Pinching the bridge of her nose against a burgeoning headache, she went to the back of the cargo bay and retrieved her bag. Listening carefully for any movement from the cockpit, she perched on the edge of the hammock she’d strung up. First pulling out her tool roll to cover her actual intent, she took out a small data pad, and one by one plugged in the data chips that had been nestling in the depths of her hip pocket. She scrolled through the data again, looking for the face of the foundling.

After a few minutes she was convinced that Bean wasn’t on the list she had so recently “liberated”. Not all of the names had pictures attached, but there was usually at least a species listed. She carefully extracted all the of data chips and re-hid them. The Imperial’s list was longer than hers, with at least twice the number of Force-sensitive children, and every single family on it was in danger. It was three days to Yavin, and from there it could take weeks to get protections in place. She swore again. That was a long time for her opponents to work unchecked, and now that they knew that she had this information, they’d be motivated to work all the faster.

Glancing back towards the ladder as she collected her tools, she wondered if the Mandalorian in the cockpit even knew what he was dealing with. She waggled her wrist experimentally; almost no pain at all. The brace was just for show now.

It had happened while she’d been working on the main thrusters.

Bean had followed her through into the dark and cramped compartment and was sat playing with a spanner and watching her work. The metal was completely slagged in places – melted by what was clearly blaster damage – and it had made removing the old components difficult. While wrestling with a bolt her good hand had slipped and badly jarred her injured one, causing her to yell. Bean had looked up at her sharply, with eyes that suddenly did not belong to an infant. Carelessly dropping the spanner he’d crossed the short distance to her side.

“Please don’t repeat that word in front of your Mando friend, I doubt he’d be impressed.” She sat cradling her wrist for a moment, gritting her teeth against the pain.

The Child was fixated on her wrist. Reaching out he’d gently touched his stubby fingers to her arm. Thinking he was just interested in the medical brace she had allowed him to, but then a sensation had swept through her that had made her cry out afresh. Her arm had grown hot under the touch, but this feeling went beyond the physical. It was something primal – as though the animal that was her body was being goaded into action. Compelled, it began to heal itself. This was not the commonplace slow, gradual healing, but an urgent command that demanded immediate response. Her body worked with the same fierce intensity as it had when she had birthed her daughter, and now just as then she was naught but a passenger to it.

As suddenly as it had started, the sensation had passed leaving her gasping, and the tiny being had almost immediately fallen asleep.

Now, less than two days later, and her arm felt almost completely healed. She’d said nothing to the Mandalorian, keeping the brace firmly in place and visible, taking care to act as though she were still in pain. Looking around his ship, it was clear that the place was not set up for a child, and the two of them simply could not have been travelling together for long. It was possible that he didn’t know about the Child’s abilities. If that were the case then she’d have to approach this very carefully.

The other option was more worrying, that he did know. The battle damage on his ship was obviously recent. What if it had been acquired in some fight connected with the Child? Was he a hunter, and the Child a bounty, or had he really taken on a foundling blind, and then found himself with more on his hands than expected? Bean certainly gave no sign of being afraid of his locum parent. She drew in a steadying breath. Speculation was wasted energy - she needed more information.

Her opportunity came that first evening. After their evening meal, which The Mandalorian had eaten alone in the cockpit, he’d returned to the cargo bay. Ostensibly he seemed to be making running repairs on the small arsenal he kept in the storage locker, but Vance knew enough about weapons to see that all of them were already in perfect condition. She watched him quietly for a while, trying to work out how to approach this one. His movements were quick and precise, almost to the point of delicacy sometimes. It pleased her in the same way a perfectly tuned engine did.

After a moment she made her opening gambit. Given that her oblique comment earlier had set him on edge, she decided a little directness was in order. Nodding in the direction of the Child, who was still wrestling with the bolt-toy, she shaped her face into what she hoped was a relaxed expression.

“I’ve never seen his species before, where did you find him?”

“Not on his home planet.”

He didn’t continue but she hadn’t expected him to.

“He’s sort of cute, whatever he is.” She laughed then as the Child abandoned his toy, and went grasping for a blaster that Mando had lain down on the crate ready to clean, causing its owner to scramble to retrieve it and admonish the would-be bandit. “You’re really not used to having kids around are you?”

“Are you?” There was an edge of intensity in his response that didn’t fit with a casual enquiry. She smiled inwardly, realising that he was working as hard to gauge her as she was him. Vance mentally cracked her knuckles – this was always a dance she enjoyed.

“Enough to know to distract them first when you want to do anything delicate or risky. Here, Bean.” She pulled out a few dried kala roots from her bag and passed them to the Child; their honey scent immediately fascinating him. He began to chew one experimentally, and finding the flavour to his liking, sat down and began to gnaw at them in earnest. Her daughter had teethed on them, and Vance had wondered if they would appeal to the small creature as much as they had to her.

“Why do you look at him like that?”

Shit. Her thoughts had drifted, back to earlier times and earlier hurts.

"I'm just tired."

"Really." Suspicion edged his tone.

“Really. Its been a rough run and I bloody loved that ship. I ... did a lot of living in her." She cultivated her half-smile again, calculating carefully. A truth told. A touch of vulnerability to reassure. Now to redirect the conversation to something more useful. Reaching up she patted the Razor Crest's bulkhead. "You get attached to them don't you? I finished my job and then bastard raiders got me just as I was leaving port. Same for you?”

“I didn’t stop to ask their motivations.”

She made an amused noise, while carefully making a mental note. While she lied easily about the fate of the Midsummer, he simply evaded and omitted. Vaguely aware of the importance Mandalorians placed on honour, she wondered if it was connected. Regardless it didn’t help her; she needed to know his intentions towards the child. She made a show of looking around the barren cargo bay; all fatigued metal, racks of weapons and sharp edges.

“Look, I don’t mean to be critical, but where does he even sleep?”  A deliberate barb of a question; most people responsible for a child would react badly to any implication of poor treatment. It might piss the Mandalorian off, but the answer could be telling.

“He had a crib.” His voice was indeed defensive and close to sounding irritated. Vance felt a touch reassured. “We had to leave it behind at our last stop.”

“I suppose if people were shooting you, then you won’t exactly have had time to pack up carefully.”

He stayed quiet but deliberately put down the weapon his was pretending to clean and looked at her steadily. There was no doubting the sharpness of this man’s wits.

“I can probably rig something up from some of this scrap if you like?” She reached up and tested her weight against an overhead joist. “I could rig it with hooks so you can suspend it from here. The rocking would most likely soothe him.”

“Thank you.”

Looking at him, Vance suddenly had a sense of deep weariness coming from him, of someone fatigued from constantly looking over their shoulder. She felt a wave of sympathy and even an edge of guilt creeping in.

“I’m sorry if I seem like I’m prying.”

He actually laughed then, quiet and short, but distinct. Like his voice, it was a pleasant sound with a slight gravel to it. She wondered to herself what his voice would sound like without the slight distortion of the helmet.

“No you’re not. But for what it’s worth, I understand.”

Chapter Text

The visor in a Mandalorian helmet was built for function. It could magnify distant targets. It could show him stress fractures in walls, and let him detect disguised entrances. What it couldn’t do was render the subtle contrasts in the texture of space that shone so clearly in the dark of the cockpit. For all that it could identify the composition of a nebula cloud, the sweeping shifts in colour that made others sigh at the beauty were often lost on him. With it, he could see the path that a fugitive had taken on a dark and cold night but would never know the exact colour of their eyes. The helmet rested on his lap now, and with his own, unenhanced eyes, he drank in the spiralling vortex of the hyperspace lane. The hypnotic spinning and quietness of it was soothing, and he revelled in the minute details that would normally be hidden from him.

The insistent chime of the comm channel brutally broke into the quiet, reminding him that he hadn’t just come up here to relax. Running his fingers through his hair to push it back from his eyes, he carefully re-secured his helmet, ready to present that impassive mask again. He hit the comm panel and the cockpit was bathed in the soft blue light of the projection.

“Karga; that was quick.”

The Navarro guild master spread his hands expansively and gave his professional crocodile smile – seemingly so warm and inviting but never reaching his eyes.

“Figured it had to be good if you were getting touch so soon after leaving. You hit trouble?”

“Perhaps. I’ve picked up a passenger, and I need you to search the name for me in the Guild records.”

“You really think you are in position to piss off the Guild even more? You know that’s not something I’m supposed to do.”

The Guild master’s tone was speculative, clearly wondering if he could squeeze some profit from this. The Mandalorian clenched his jaw in annoyance.

“Its to protect the Child…he saved your life, remember?”

Karga leaned back in his chair, all traces of false humour gone from his face.

“Fine, but this clears that debt. Besides, figure I owe you for introducing me to Dune.” Karga turned slightly, his hands disappearing from the projection as he worked some unseen terminal. “Give me the name.”

“ra’Venn, Vance. Human female, early forties, give or take.”

Karga’s face flickered slightly as the terminal screen he was in front of cycled through various faces and files, before his eyebrows rose up sharply.

“She’s not a Guild member, but you could turn around a quick profit on her. Bounty was posted on her in the last few hours, nothing extravagant but enough to make it worth your while to bring her in.”

“That wouldn’t be honourable. I already made a contract with her.”

Greef laughed heartily at that. “Friend, there’s nothing to say you can’t complete the contract you have with her first.”

“No.” His distaste at the idea surprised him slightly. Technically there would be nothing wrong with getting her to Yavin and then immediately taking her into custody. A few years ago he might have done it; it was the sort of play that would have delighted his former crew but now the thought sat uncomfortably. “Who’s raised the bounty?”

Greef gave a sharp snort of amusement.

“You’re going to love this one Mando; the Imperials want her, although they don’t give a reason why. Strange they're not using their own people. Looks like you’ve picked up the one passenger that could bring more heat down on you. There’s an old bounty here too from years back…” Greef trailed off, looking puzzled. “Either the dates on this are wrong or she’s a lot older than she looks. Wait….”

“What?”

“Looks like she has a long career of pissing off Imperials. This dates back to the early Emperor’s reign.”

“That can't be right, she’d have been a child.”

“She was; fourteen according to this. Official notice is saying she was an ‘absconded Imperial Ward suspected of espionage – must be captured alive’. What sort of bastard puts out a bounty like that on a kid?”

The Mandalorian made a disgusted sound. The Imperial Wards had been a propaganda scheme; children orphaned during the Empire’s “pacification” campaign were taken in and held up as examples of the Empire’s care for its innocent citizens. Thousands of children had been taken this way. After having their memories wiped, the Imperials conditioned them, convinced them that been rescued rather than stolen from their homes. Most had ended up as Stormtroopers, although some were formally adopted by high ranking officials and paraded around for the holo-casts. He found himself feeling considerably more sympathetic towards his passenger.

“How much would it cost me to have you neglect to issue that bounty to anyone on Nevarro?”

“What? You get beaten around the head again?” The guild master’s incredulity was well deserved.

“No, I just don’t want anyone coming after us and finding a sweeter pot.” With a jerk of his head he indicated the rest of the ship, where the Child lay sleeping, oblivious to the continual danger.

The guild master sighed heavily. “Forget it – I’ll sit on this one for a while. The fee’s not high enough to make it a great loss. You owe me now Mando.”

“Agreed. Thank you.”

The connection cut off, and after a moment he drew off his helmet again, rubbing his hands across his face, before working to un-knot the aching muscles in his neck. Letting his gaze settle back on the hyperspace vortex again he tried to digest everything he’d just heard. If the Imperials were gunning for her, then having her onboard could put the Child at risk, but that couldn't be helped now.

"I'm just an engineer."

He ground his jaw. His intincts had been right - she had been lying. The Imperials wouldn't be raising bounties on simple engineers. One thing reassured him at least; her lies were a shield rather than a weapon.

A weariness swept through him. He was beginning to feel nostaligic for simple missions, for hits, for captures, for recoveries. Since the Child crossed his path, everything became tangled, complications weaving themselves through the once predictable patterns of his life. Picking up the helmet, he regarded his own distorted reflection in its surfaces. Dark eyes looked back at him from beneath unruly hair just as dark. They contrasted sharply with skin that never saw the sun. Even from this poor mirror, he could see the tracery of lines across his brow and the slight shadows beneath them. He knew that grey now laced his hair. His face was beginning to show the weight of every battle, every loss, and every death that stretched out behind him, and to what end?

He pushed back with pragmatism against the maudlin track his thoughts were taking. Every being on his ship was hunted. He had to stay sharp, and that needed rest. Settling back into the chair, arms folded, he sought refuge in sleep.

Chapter Text

The Razor Crest purred. The Mandalorian’s passenger hadn’t lied about disliking idleness. Vance had made her way through the ship, dealing with the small rattles and quirks that he’d stopped noticing years ago. Perhaps this was how she dealt with stress; by drowning it in activity. When opportunity allowed he had watched her work, sideways glances from the edges of his visor. Whatever her story, whatever she ran from, she kept it to herself. Somehow she maintained a demeanour of openess, while giving him nothing at all. It was impressive.

A crash sounded behind him. Vance had spent the last half hour rummaging around in the storage loft that extended back from the cabin. He seldom went up there unless it was to sling some scrap up there that may one day prove useful. She had scrambled up there to stash the left over pieces from her repairs, and like all engineers had become immediately fascinated by the mechanical detritus up there.

“There’s room for a whole cabin back here! Why don’t you clear some of this stuff out and make yourself a decent place to sleep?” Her slightly muffled voice issued forth from the small hatch hanging open over the cockpit access ladder.

“Never needed to – what’s wrong with the berth in the cargo bay?”

Curiosity finally satisfied, Vance appeared in the narrow opening and swung easily down from the ladder.

“You have spent too much time alone out here, Mando.”

A sideways smile took the sting out of her needling.

“By choice.”

“Ah, you’ll be rid of me soon enough.” Vance settled herself into the co-pilots chair and examined the Nav-com. “We’re close now.”

Surprisingly, the thought of having the Crest back to himself wasn’t as appealing as it once was. For all that he had poured himself into the role of the lone hunter, stalking pray in solitude hadn’t given him the satisfaction he sought.

The Covert on Nevarro had provided him with a family of sorts; brothers and sisters in arms. Their presence had been the solid wall he set his back against. Within those dark tunnels there was complete understanding; no awkward questions, no incessant debates, no fear of betrayal. There was certainty and there was strength in the knowledge that they would stand together. But now that subterranean lair stood silent. His kith slain because they had chosen to stand with him. Battle and death were part of their existence; The Way would endure but its disciples would not. Yet despite knowing this soul-deep, he still ached with remorse at their loss.

He looked across at Vance. After her initial probing, she’d not questioned him about the Child again. The cradle she had promised to make now hung from the cargo bay roof. The Child seemed to enjoy its gentle swing so much that they had spent an evening speculating that his species may be arboreal.  Once the crib’s basic shape was done, she’d spent each evening etching its sides with sweeping curls and spirals that spoke of wind and waves. Whatever else she concealed, the peace found in her work was unfeigned. Thus occupied, her quiet and undemanding company had been pleasant.

“So, what’s next for you?”

She looked up at his question, slightly perplexed.

“Your ship is gone; that’s no small loss.” He paused. After all the work she had done he owed her a warning at least. "And now you have an Imperial bounty on your head."

A sea-change took hold, her features becoming sharp and wary. He held up a placating hand. “I have no intention of taking that contract – it wouldn’t be honourable.”

“That’s a complication I could have done without; I thought they’d given me up for dead.”

“They might have done; the bounty is a small one. ”

“Small enough for me to be insulted?”

“I would be.”

“I’ll work something out.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“If you can’t, I can use someone with your skills.” He heard himself speaking before he consciously chose to, the words coming from that empty space once occupied by friends and allies who now lay dead and cold.

She turned to look at him with a sad smile that made her seem years older.

“In another life I’d accept, but I have responsibilities that I can’t walk away from yet.”

The Mandalorian nodded and turned back to the control panel in front of him, trying to ignore the sting of foolish disappointment.

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace in a few minutes.” He paused, wondering whether to confess his change of exit co-ordinates or just quietly hope she wouldn’t notice. He decided on honesty. “When we do drop out, we’ll be slightly off from your original course. I didn’t want to drop myself into an ambush. In my line of work you make enemies.”

“It pays to be cautious.” Vance sounded more amused than annoyed.

“Always.”

She shook her head and gave a gentle laugh.

“It really is a shame I can’t take you up on your offer; we think alike. The co-ordinates I gave you were slightly off already.”

*

It took them an hour to manoeuvre on to the correct approach path.  Yavin’s forests stretched out beneath them. From this height the densely packed canopy looked like a sheet of crumpled velvet. Here and there the angular ziggurats of ruined temples peeked through the trees. As they descended, a light rain began to fall, obscuring their view screen and making the approach all the more difficult. Maintaining the ship’s approach vector demanded all his attention. He focussed intently on the instrument panels before him, relying more on the ship’s readings than his own eyes.

“You’re looking for a small break in the trees; you won’t see it until you’re right on top of it. It’s a tight space. Do you want me to take her in?”

“Last time you flew a ship, you crashed it.”

When she didn’t answer he glanced up, wondering if that particular jibe had cut too close. She wasn’t paying attention to him at all, instead staring fixedly forward. Following her gaze, he saw the thick plume of smoke rising from the canopy. As they watched, a small explosion sent tongues of flame licking into the trees.

“Shit. Shit.” Her hands were already flying over the sensor controls, scanning for other ships.

“Do we need to veer off?”

“No... no. There’s nothing else on the scope. Whatever did this is gone or too well hidden for us to see.” She continued to work the ships sensors, refining her search ever tighter. “There’s nothing down there; no detectable power, no signals…there’s too much background noise for me to look for life signs. We shouldn't land on the usual platform ... It might have been rigged.”

Returning his gaze at the instruments before him, he noted a patch of trees that was thinner than the rest, about a kilometre from the original landing site. He pointed it out to Vance and she nodded distractedly. Gone was the good humoured and relaxed travel companion of the last few days; instead she sat taut as a drawn bow, intent on the readouts before her.

The Crest cracked its way down through the upper boughs, sending birds screeching for the skies. Vance was already up and out of her chair and sliding down into the cargo bay, seemingly unconcerned by the rough descent. It took a minute to stabilise the landing gear and get the ship to something approaching level. By the time he caught up with her, she had already shouldered the pack carrying her meagre possessions and was slinging her long rifle across her back. The Child was stood near her feet with a look of intense concern, one small hand reaching out to hold onto the leg of her ship suit.

“Kid, you need to stay here.” He picked his protesting foundling up, carried him through into his own berth and secured the door, then headed to the weapons locker. He reached for a blaster with a closer range than her rifle, and a thermal detonator for good measure.

Despite her urgency, Vance’s voice was gentle.

“Your contract is fulfilled – I can’t ask any more of you.” She tossed a small roll of credits to him. “As agreed.”

He looked down at the credits in his hands wondering why he felt almost embarrassed to take them. She had the right of it; their contract was concluded. There was no call for him to assist her further, but the same instinct that had dragged him back to Nevarro to rescue the Child was pulling at him again. That inner voice that had compelled him to ignore the rules then, told him that simply leaving this woman to face her enemy alone would be something he’d regret.

“You’re good company Mando, but I have no idea what I’m running into and I can’t ask you to put yourself or Bean at risk.” Her gaze flicked across to the door of his cabin. “You should get out of here – keep him safe.”

“I need the exercise. You need my help.”

She nodded mutely and gratefully, offering no further arguments, before she turned and hit the control for the exit ramp. The scents and sounds of the sodden forest filled the cargo bay, tainted by the odour of oily smoke. She was out of the door before the ramp was even half- way down.

Chapter Text

Haste was pointless, but Vance ran anyway.

Her carefully formed plans were kicked to the side like the leaf litter scattered by her feet. She pulled away from the Mandalorian; her familiarity with the terrain and her lack of armour giving her the advantage. Ducking beneath one low slung branch and vaulting the next, she closed the distance to the smoking ruins quickly. Once she heard him call out to her, but his words were lost in the susurration of leaves beneath her feet.

Fifty metres back from the clearing, she slowed, and darted into the hollow left by an uprooted tree.  By the time the Mandalorian caught up, she already had her rifle out, and was using the scope to get a better look at the site.

What she should have seen, was a small fortified encampment, with room for thirty or so personnel. A docking strip had room for two ships, and feeders to underground fuel reservoirs. A small outdoor canteen boasted enough of a drinks collection, that she had hoped the Mando could have been persuaded to stay long enough for her to broach the subject of his foundling again. Her cell had operated out of this base for three years now, making it the longest she’d ever lived anywhere. Now only a smoking wreck remained. She could see no movement.

Quickly fitting her scope back to her rifle, she thrust it at the Mandalorian.

“Swap you. Loan me your blaster and cover me.”

“I’m the one in armour – let me go in first.”

“I’m quicker and quieter.”

“We can test that one another time.” He turned back to the base and reached up to adjust the scan function on his visor. After slowly sweeping his gaze across the wrecked camp, he shook his head and spoke gently. “No-one’s alive in there Vance. We might as well move together.”

Vance swallowed hard and forced down the rising swell of dread. Abandoning stealth, she stood and formed her words carefully and precisely, trying to convince herself that she was in control.

“I need to find out who did this.”

She was dimly aware of the Mandalorian keeping pace with her, weapons drawn despite his previous reassurance. As they entered the glade, she scoured the ruined terrain, seeking any sign of life. The ground was scarred with a series of burnt craters, arranged in neat pairs across the length of the camp. The makeshift buildings had been obliterated. A column of smoke belched from a deep pit that had once been the fuel reserves. The subterranean control bunker now stood open to the sky, the ground blistered and burnt with a dozen impacts.

Approaching what would have been the canteen, Vance stumbled across the first body. Twisted legs sprawled, naked and raw where the fires had burned away cloth. She thought the upper half was buried in debris; it was only when she got closer that she realised that the cadaver was in fact completely blown in half. Nothing above the waist remained – no way to identify them. She inhaled sharply in shock, feeling sickened. This was a mistake – her indrawn breath drew the taste of burnt meat across her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment trying to recall every focus technique she had every learned, but her mind simply refused to co-operate.

A firm grip on her upper arm brought her back to herself.

“Twin canons on a fighter?” Despite the warm grip, The Mandalorian’s voice was all business. She glanced down at the fingers that easily wrapped around her arm, noticing for the first time the detail in the gloves. For a moment, she buried her attention there; the different coloured fingertips, the tiny stitch-work. It grounded her.

“Agreed. I need to see if there is anything left on the data core.” She glanced back around the glade, her eyes resting on more piles of charnel, and more soil-shrouded figures. “Will you count the dead?”

At his affirmation, she turned and jogged over to the bunker. Her shock-numbed mind was slowly beginning to function again. They had been operating from this base without issue for years – who had suddenly decided to take them on? Who had they annoyed so much that they would take the risk of attacking them? Who had even managed to find them? She’d been involved in planting this hold-out; it was explicitly placed to be virtually invisible from the sky. Anything that could be seen was meant to look like nothing more than a smuggler’s outpost. Only those who worked here and a few commanders were supposed to know where it was.

Subconsciously, her fingers slid into her pocket and gripped the data chips that nestled there, and a cold pit opened within her. Was this her fault? Had they somehow tracked her here? She shook her head – it wasn’t possible. They had no reason to think that she hadn’t died when the Midsummer crashed. Even if they knew she’d lived how could they have known that she’d left on the Crest, and even more so, how could they have known that this was where she was heading? She pushed her hands savagely through her hair in frustration.

The entry way to the bunker was almost collapsed. Edging between a straining ceiling support and a slide of rich forest soil, she was very aware that a wrong move from her could bring the whole lot down. Sunlight now penetrated these formally-subterranean rooms, breaking in through great gashes in the ceiling. The bodies here were more intact, most killed by falling debris. She stepped over colleagues; people she had drank with, worked with, slept with in a couple of cases, and lived alongside for so long. Her cell didn’t wear ID tags, but as she moved amongst them, she committed each staring face and each ravaged form to memory.

One body gave her pause. Liam. His receding white blonde hair was clogged with filth, and his pale blue eyes wide in a permanent expression of shock. Along with Niall, they’d escaped from the Imperial officer who had “adopted them” together. This hadn’t meant that they’d always been close. Liam was overly cautious, officious, and sometimes it would take a good proctologist to find his head. For all of that, he was one of the few adults who remembered the child she had been. The older she got, the more important that had become.

Wrapped in nostalgia, it took her a moment to notice the bloom of blood on the front of his tunic. Frowning, she wrestled him over. In the centre of his back was a blaster wound. This was no glancing shot from a starfighter – it was a neat and precise hit that had struck Liam from close range. As the implications crystallised, her hands begin to shake. This had been done by someone within the base; someone who Liam had trusted enough to have his back to.

Arranging Liam into a more dignified position, she continued her search. There was enough damage to disorientate her. This once familiar room rendered strange by tumbled walls, hanging tree roots and shattered equipment.

When she finally found it, her heart sank. The data interface was heavily damaged. It was half buried in a collapsed wall and she had to dig away the soil with her hands. The force of the blaster fire had fused the core into the casing, making it impossible to remove for a more leisurely study. After some elaborate cursing, she managed to coax it to life. Wrestling with the failing interface, she found the security recordings. Most of them were too badly degraded to be of any use, but one from the far edge of the glade had captured the attack. She leaned close to the screen, trying to see anything out of the ordinary. The image recorder showed the glade; the canteen was in the foreground with five base personnel sat eating. She recognised Tasha and Sita, sat ever-close, laughing and sharing the casual intimacies of long-established couples. Aching within, she ran the recording forward – not able to bear watching them blown apart at normal speed.

The attack was brutally sudden – a siren sounded less than ten seconds before red fire began to rain down. It was only in the last frame that she managed to catch any sign of their attacker. She froze the image. At the last moment, before the recorder was destroyed the silhouette of a ship crossed the top of a frame. Whoever had done this had been in a TIE Defender.

Chapter Text

Corpse eighteen was lying face down, thorax shattered and burnt from a blaster hit. The Mandalorian rolled it over with his foot and looked impassively down into the remains of rhodian features. This task was hardly pleasant, but unlike Vance, at least he didn’t know any of them personally.

Turning, he slowly swept his gaze across the glade, looking for any unfortunates he may have missed. The rain had stopped. The scent of wet greenery and earth seeped through the helmet filters, giving pleasant relief from the stink of burning oil and flesh. The forest birds, briefly silenced by the downpour, had begun to whoop and call again. 

Their song masked the tell-tale warble of the probe droid’s approach.

He spotted it just in time to evade its gaze, flattening himself against the remains of an up-ended workbench. It was an old Imperial model. With its gleaming black carapace glittering from the rain, and probes and weapons dangling below, the droid glided in from the edges of the clearing. It set him in mind of a scavenger come to pick over carrion. He waited, wishing he’d taken Vance’s rifle. His blaster didn’t have the range to be completely accurate from here, and if he missed, the droid would send half a dozen alerts before he had time to fire again.

It hovered across to the entrance of the bunker, scanners active, chirruping away to itself. Something had caught its attention, and he realised it must be picking up Vance’s life signs. Right now, it was probably trying to work out whether it was picking up a person or some native fauna. He couldn’t give it the chance to decide.

Standing, he walked towards it with measured pace, blasters raised. To run would risk falling; he just needed to close as much distance as he could before firing. He was twenty metres away when it spun to face him. He exhaled and fired. The shot hit true. Moving closer, he continued to unload bolt after bolt into it, until nothing remained but a scorched collection of parts, completely devoid of life.

Vance scrambled back up from the bunker, summoned by the blaster fire. She ran to his side before staring down at the ruined droid.

“Your people ever use these, Vance?”

“No. Did it see you?” She was filthy from crawling around in the bunker; mud had soaked through the knees of her trousers and embedded under her nails. Wayward strands of her hair had escaped and hung forward over her brow. 

“Don’t think so. It was sniffing round the bunker though, so it may have picked you up.”

“Piss.”

The Mandalorian sighed inwardly. Karga had been right; this was going to attract trouble. They had been here for half an hour and seen no signs of life. It stood to reason that the droid must have been scanning the surrounding area during that time. There was every chance it had seen the Razor Crest. He rounded on Vance. 

“Last time I asked this, you dodged the question, and out of professional courtesy I let you. Now I need to know. Who is chasing you?”

Vance exhaled sharply, and dropped to sit on the ground, staring blankly into the smoking remains of the droid. She sank her head into her hands for a moment.

“I suspect it’s the same people who are chasing you.”

“Keep talking.”

“Fuck it. What choice do I actually have here?” She gave a bitter laugh before continuing. “During the war I worked for the covert wing of the Rebel Alliance. I still do.  Six months ago, we learned that the Imperials were abducting children who showed unusual abilities” She pulled off the wrist brace she’d worn since they’d met, and flung it into the nearest debris pile. “Given that your foundling healed me, I think you know what I mean by that.”

The Mandalorian remained silent, not wanting to reveal how out of his depth he felt. 

After a moment Vance quirked an eyebrow up. “You don’t know what I mean, do you?”

“I know he has abilities that I don’t understand and I know that the Imps are after him. I’ve been told that his powers are the same as old enemies of the Mandalorians.”

Vance snorted with dry amusement. “Enemies? Depends distinctly on which group of Mandalorians you talk to.”

“And you will tell me more about that later, but you’re ducking my question again. Why are they chasing you?”

“When the first child was taken, we thought it was an isolated incident, but when another, and then another went within a few weeks, we realised that this was a campaign that wouldn’t stop. We needed to know their list of targets so that we could move to protect them. I was sent to get that information. I was able to infiltrate a unit on a suspected retrieval mission and gain access to their data.” 

He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “You managed to get secret, tactically valuable data from an armed unit of Imperials?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious?”

“Believe me, if they hadn’t caught me on the way out and shot up my bloody ship, I’d have been considerably more smug about it.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Trust me, if you want to be underestimated, be a plain, middle-aged woman.”

An odd and unfamiliar sensation was growing within him; he wanted to call it hope. She wasn’t Imperial, she had proven herself capable, and it seemed that she knew more than he did about what the Child could do. She could prove a valuable ally. Tangling itself with that hope was something else. She’d need to come with him now, and for all that the realisation brought a twitch of unease, he was glad of it.

Knowing she didn’t need his help, he proffered his hand. When she took it, he pulled her to her feet.

“If I’d pulled a job like this, I’d be monitoring those droids constantly, keeping a watch for stragglers. We need to put some distance between us and Yavin.”

“We?” Vance’s eyes went wide with genuine surprise, before she seemed to check herself. Her face fell again, and she shook her head. “Why put yourself at risk for me?”

“The kid likes you and he’s a good judge of character.” She managed half a smile at that, for all that it quickly faded. He continued, trying to instill some urgency into her.  “We need to move now, ra’Venn. We can talk about this when we’re safe.”

She took in the shattered remains of her base one last time, before turning away and matching her steps to his.

Chapter Text

Swift escapes were something The Mandalorian prepared for. Activating the protocols in the nav-computer was the work of moments. Rising above the canopy it was clear that the forest would soon forget the camp. The rain had served to extinguish the smouldering remains, and only the smallest traces of smoke still crawled up into the sky. With no time to bury so many bodies they had left them, knowing that scavengers would soon ensure nothing remained.

He lingered in the cockpit, ceding the cargo bay to Vance and her grief. He had no wisdom or comfort to offer; this grief simply had to be endured. It was only when the Child began to agitate for supper an hour or so later, that he made his way down the narrow ladder to join her.

“Do you have anything alcoholic on board?”

It was the first thing she had said since leaving the glade. Vance sat on the floor of the cargo bay, back against the bulkhead, exactly as she had been since they’d got back to the Razor Crest. She’d made no attempt to clean the filth from her hands or clothes, and fresh streaks across her face showed where tears had been wiped away.

“Way ahead of you.” He handed her a plain flask of scored and scuffed steel that held a Nevarran grain spirt. What it lacked in refinement, it made up for in potency.

As he pulled together a simple meal, he watched her take a swig from the flask. As soon as the fire-water brew hit her lips she spluttered in surprise.

“That’s…exciting.” She took a second sip, somewhat more cautiously, then a third. “How strong is this?”

“Very.”

“Then I should hold off until I have something resembling a plan.”  She fastened the flask’s cap and set it down with the air of someone regretting their resolve. “I need to contact my superior without giving our immediate position away. If you’re right and someone is watching for stragglers or transmissions...”

“No. Not tonight.”

“Every delay puts someone like Bean at risk.”

“Vance; any plan you make right now is going to be flawed.” His thoughts flicked back to the Covert; to the pile of helmets in the now-silent lair. “I’ve been where you are. Trust me. Eat. Drink. Remember them. We’ll work out our next steps in the morning.”

The Child was making a determined effort to climb up onto the food-prep unit. After an overly ambitious reach, he lost his grip and tumbled a short distance to the floor. Startled rather than hurt, his ears drooped and he looked up at the Mandalorian beseechingly.

“You can levitate a mud-horn, but not yourself?” He righted the little thing and set the food before him. All hurt was instantly forgotten as the Child proceeded to stuff his cheeks.

“He can levitate a what?” Vance’s eyes went wide, and she stared at the Child with astonishment.

“Can any of the others do that?” The Mandalorian felt a bizarre twist of pride in his foundling.

“I wouldn’t know…Bean’s the first I’ve actually met.” As she spoke, Vance pulled her eyes from the Child and looked back at him, studying his ‘face’ intently. He questioned what it was that she saw there; what could be gleaned from the dark visor and expressionless beskar. “I am grateful for your help Mando, but I doubt that you’re given to charity. Why did you decide to help me?”

He studied her in turn, remembering well what she had said about women like her being underestimated. Despite her quickness in the forest, he could tell she wasn’t someone who regularly fought her way out of a problem. Her choice of weapon, a long-range rifle, suggested to him that she preferred to stay out of close combat. Yet she had survived, and if her stories were to be believed, didn’t need to fight to secure her objectives. The hope he had felt on Yavin kindled again but was still tempered by caution. Trust did not come easily to him, for all this woman's disarming frankness.

It was the Child who finally decided him. His meal done, he was looking between the two of them with interest. His huge eyes once again filled with an unchildlike wisdom. Feeling his regard, the Child pottered across the floor to Vance and laid a hand on her outstretched shin, before looking back at him and grinning. The Mandalorian let out a weary sigh.

“Because your enemy is mine Vance, and I’m tired of fighting this one blind.”

Her half-smile came back. “Talk to me.”

Telling their tale took longer than he expected. By the time he’d told her of the bounty, of the zeal with which the Imps were pursuing them, of Moff Gideon, and of his quest to find the Child’s own kind, the subject of their conversation had curled against his side and drifted off to sleep. Gathering him up, The Mandalorian set him gently into the hanging cradle. Relating their story had left him feeling wrung-out and raw.

“He can’t become a Mandalorian, so the Way dictates that I find his kind and return him to their care.” Looking down into the cradle at the slumbering Child, he asked a question that somehow caught in his throat. “Do you know how I can find them?”

“Perhaps.”

“What’s going to happen to the others on the Imperial target list?”

“The other children?” Vance took a long drink from the flask before answering. When she did, she seemed conflicted.  “As far as I know, they’ll be given a choice. To remain with their families, or to come with us and be placed into the care of someone who can raise them and teach them to control their skills.”

“That would be best for the Child.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Vance watched as he settled the blanket a little closer around The Child and set the cradle rocking with the slightest push. Her voice was soft, and he couldn’t tell if it was for the slumbering Child’s benefit or his. “You care for this child deeply. I don’t need to see your face; your actions scream it. And what about what Bean? Despite being snatched away from everything he knew, he’s come to trust you, and rely on you. Are you really ready to hand him over to strangers no more familiar to him than the Imperials are?”

“This is the Way.”

“Not what I asked but answering my question all the same.”

She wasn’t wrong. Looking across into those perceptive eyes that saw more deeply than he was used to, he caught himself wondering exactly what colour they were. Through his visor, all he could tell for certain was that they weren’t dark.

“What we want rarely maps to what we get, Vance.”

“I’ve got enough of life behind me to know that.” She took another drink from the flask and he noted how high she had to tip it now. “This is the sort of brew you claim is growing on you when its actually just killing your taste buds. Seems rude for me to be sitting here drinking your alcohol alone. Isn’t there some way to share this?”

“I’ll catch up later.”

“We could always turn the lights off.”

The Mandalorian, tipped his head to the side, raised an eyebrow, and held an amused silence until Vance’s increasingly sodden mind caught up. His visor registered the slight change of temperature in her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”  She laughed, and slid the remains of the Nevarran liquor across the floor, before turning and deliberately setting her back to him. “I promise I won’t look.”

He believed her, but nonetheless stepped behind the wall of the small cabin. After the briefest hesitation he drew off the helmet and rubbed his hands through flattened hair. The flask was markedly lighter, but there was still enough to hold the promise of a hangover. For a few minutes he drank in silence. Leaning his head back against the bulkhead, he closed his eyes against a wave of weariness. The weight of their secrets lifted, he realised how heavily they had hung on him, that constant pressure of concealment. Sleep was starting to drag at him when Vance spoke again. 

“These trainers I spoke of … they aren’t really ‘his people’. They have no claim on him.”  Vance paused, as if waiting for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she went on. “These powers can manifest in anyone, and no-one knows how many have them. You still have a choice…and he has one too.”

*

In the darkness between the stars, the moments of waking were always disorientating. Without the light of a sun, there was no way to tell whether it was dawn or the middle of the night. The ship was silent, bar the gentle vibration of the engines and Bean’s snuffling snore. No sound came from the Mandalorian’s berth. Thus far he had always woken before her, so she took that as her chronometer and tried to roll over and court sleep again. It was a futile endeavour. Into her mind crept plots and plans, theories, and confusions. After half an hour, she surrendered and swung down as quietly as she could from her hammock. Upright, her head spun and her stomach rebelled against the Nevarran brew and for a moment she just sat, trying to regain her equilibrium.

By her feet was the small satchel that contained the remnants of her possessions. Rummaging through it, she pushed aside tools, a holodisk, and a short braid of red hair before pulling out the only change of clothes she had. She made her way to the cramped refresher. A water shower was too much of a luxury to hope for on a ship this small and she made do with the sonic cleaner, letting it drive mud and sweat from her skin. By the time she had finished, she felt clean but no more refreshed than before. She pulled on a long-line tunic over her remaining pair of breeches, leaving her hair loose.

For a moment she stood, listening intently; there was still no sound from the Mandalorian’s berth. The Child snuffled in his sleep, sounding no different from a human child. It was difficult to believe that he was older than her. 

Climbing up to the cockpit, Vance usurped the captain’s chair and began programming the comms sequence that would both mask her location and prevent her transmission being traced. The holo-projector flared to life. A smiling synthetic face appeared, too smooth and perfect to be convincing, with an equally featureless voice:

“Silo Courier Services; please provide your consignment designation.”

“Kestrel 36-18-G.”

“Vance? You made it out?” The image changed and the stoic visage of Jarvis appeared. Small dark braids formed an intricate knotwork before falling down her back. Dark skin and darker eyes were rendered pale blue by the holo-projection. Vance had worked for her for nearly five years and had never seen her flustered no matter what occurred. It made the clear tension in her features all the more alarming.

“Yes; from the Hoethe mission and Yavin. Have you heard?”

“We’ve heard. We got a three-second distress signal from Yavin before they went dark. I need a full report but for now, give me the short version. What happened?”

“I was shot down on my way out of Hoethe; the Midsummer’s scrap.” Vance tried to keep her voice level as she précised the last week rapidly, voice low and urgent. “Two key things Jarvis. First, we have a name: Moff Gideon.”

“The ex-ISB commander?”

“Less of the ‘ex’ by the sounds of it.”

“And the second?”

Vance leaned back in her chair, pushing her hair back from her face. She was about to ruin Jarvis’s day.

“I think we have a traitor. One of the dead on Yavin was shot in the back, at close range. No-one else there was killed that way, and we found no sign of a ground incursion. Then there is the fact that whoever did this managed to sneak up on the base. I watched the recordings; the sirens didn’t go off until seconds before. Someone must have disabled the long-range sensors.”

Jarvis’ lips pressed into a thin line, her expression became flinty and she savagely spat a single expletive.

“Seconded.” Vance held silence and watched as Jarvis digested this new information.

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

“Not yet, but I may have to. I’ve fallen on my feet here, Jarvis. This Mando has his own axe to grind with Gideon and right now he’s the only person I know for sure isn’t our turncoat. I have some experience with Mandalorians; if they take a job, they finish it. If he’s willing to help us take Gideon down, I’m not going to keep him in the dark.”

“Bring him… them… in. I want to meet them. Transmit the Imperial’s target list to me now.” 

Even in the imperfect image of the holo Vance could see the tautness of Jarvis’ frame. Her forehead was tight with tension, and shadows ringed her eyes. As Vance worked on encrypting and sending her data, she watched the furrow appear between her commander’s brows.

“Jarvis, what’s going on?”

“You weren’t the only agent caught-out in the field. Yavin wasn’t the only SIS base attacked. We’ve lost almost a hundred people over the last week.”

Too shocked to even swear, Vance slumped back in the worn chair, wrapping her fingers around the fatigued metal.

“Someone’s painting targets for them. This is… organised… This is huge.”

Jarvis nodded grimly. “Get back here. Take the long way round; supply first on Lothal to make sure you aren’t followed. Clean is more important than quick. Jarvis out.”

The holo went dark.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Vance jumped hard and spun in her chair to see the Mandalorian leaning against the bulkhead behind her. She couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to climb the ladder without her hearing him. “I think that resolves which one of us is quieter.”

“It most certainly does not.” As her heart rate returned to normal, she suppressed her annoyance at his stealthy eavesdropping, telling herself firmly that she’d have done the same thing. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough. You trying to recruit me, ra’Venn? I’m not interested in aligning myself like that. I stay clear of politics.”

“Politics isn’t staying clear of you.” She folded her hands together on her lap and tried to form a coherent argument. Mentally she ran through the conversations of the past week, trying to work out how best to appeal to him. “Let me ask you this: do you want Moff Gideon’s influence to increase? Do you want him to gain more forces, and more power, until there is no hope of battering through them? So that he can send hunter after hunter after you, without having to set foot outside of his figurative fortress?”

“Why are you so sure that he’s the one doing this?”

“Gideon is ISB. He understands the importance of an intelligence network in war. You want to cripple a regime? You take out their eyes and ears first. This could be the first move in a major offensive. They're trying to rebuild the Empire.”

“No, people wouldn’t stand for it.”

“You’re not that naïve, Mando. Most people don’t care who’s in charge as long as they have enough to eat.” She tried another tactic. “Why do you think he wants Bean?”

The Mandalorian crossed slowly to the co-pilot’s chair and sat. “I don’t know. There was a scientist there who was carrying out experiments. Maybe Gideon wanted to figure out his powers.”

“Think about it; what caused the downfall of the Emperor? The Jedi. He’s capturing children with the same powers – he’s trying to create an order of his own, under his control. The more powerful he gets, the more likely it is that he’ll get his hands on Bean.” 

"Specultation."

"Yes. Give me a better theory."

The Mandalorian shook his head and reached up to massage the muscles at the back of his neck. It made him seem more human. She felt an odd impulse to go and try and work away the knots for him; to touch the warm skin beneath the armour. Pushing the thought away, she stood and stepped back from the pilot’s seat.

“I’m in your chair.” She tried to judge where his eyes sat beneath the visor and locked her gaze there while he moved to the chair and began to programme the nav-computer. To her relief, she saw maps of Lothal appear on the screens.

“Let me ask you something Vance; how do you know I’m not an Imperial agent trying to infiltrate your operation? Why do you trust me?”

“It did occur to me.” She watched him work for a moment; quick and precise. “I judge people by what they do, Mando, and nothing else. You chose honour over profit. You chose the life of an innocent over the rules you’ve lived your life by. That’s enough for me.”

Chapter Text

A light breeze rippled across the grasslands of Lothal, sun-bleached plains rolling to the horizon in all directions. Occasional outcrops of hard rock smoothed and shaped by millennia of wind provided the only landmarks. It was behind one of these that the Crest lay hidden. The Mandalorian, having finished locking down the engines and landing gear, rose from the pilot’s seat and made for the cargo bay. Hand already on the ladder, he paused, realising his travelling companion was yet to move.

Vance gazed out at the vista from the cockpit, eyes narrowed, lower lip caught between her teeth. Her fingers drummed restlessly on the arm of the co-pilot’s chair. She’d been unusually quiet on the journey here, wrapped up in her own thoughts. 

“This place we’re going, this farmstead – I thought it was a safe house?” 

She startled slightly at his voice. “It is. We have them scattered through the galaxy, so operatives have a secure place to refuel, or just lie low. They’re staffed by SIS agents on deep-cover missions and are as secure as we can make them.” 

“And yet you’re just sitting there.”

“There’s some things I want to check first.” Provoked into action, Vance turned to the sensors and began scanning the area. Coming to stand behind her chair, The Mandalorian watched as she ran every search the sensors were capable of: life-signs, ship signatures, and chemical compositions. Once those checks were completed to her satisfaction, she began to run communications intercepts. 

“You’re worried that this may be a trap.” It was a statement rather than a question. “That’s why you didn’t want to land right next to them.”

“Paranoia is an occupational hazard for both us, isn’t it?” She looked up at him with an attempt at a smile that didn’t quite succeed. “It’s just odd that Jarvis specified where we should refuel; she would normally leave that to my discretion. It’s been gnawing at me the whole way here. I’ve been sat here spinning theories and counter theories; I’m tying myself in knots.”

“Then let’s go and establish some facts. The Razor Crest needs fuel, we need supplies, and you drank all of my alcohol.” As he spoke, he rested a hand on her narrow shoulder. He meant nothing more than to bring her back to the here and now, but Vance reached up and briefly laid her hand over his before finally standing. It was the most fleeting of contact, but something stirred within him at her casual familiarity. It unsettled him. Connections were distractions that he could ill afford.

The farmstead was some twenty minutes’ walk from their landing site. They pushed through the sharp knee-high grasses, golden and dry. Insects chirped around them as they passed and occasional disturbances in the grasses hinted at a richness of fauna.  Vance carried the Child, to better keep his own hands free for blasters. The small passenger fussed at being restrained, but given that the grasses were taller than he was, setting him down was too dangerous. He’d be lost in moments.

The day was warm, with a low afternoon sun beginning to paint the sky red and gold. It would have made for a pleasant walk under different circumstances, but they were both on edge. He was intensely aware of how easy they would be to sneak up on. Vance kept giving him sideways glances each time the sun flashed on his armour; it would catch the eye of anyone looking for their approach.

“Can I ask a personal question?” 

“Here it comes.” He made no effort to hide the weary resignation from his voice. ‘Personal’ was a synonym for ‘intrusive’.

“How do you stop your jetpack setting fire to your cloak?”

He laughed at the sheer banality of her enquiry with the surprised mirth of someone not given to jollity. 

“Or your arse for that matter…” She threw up her hands in mock irritation at his continued amusement. “It’s a serious question! I can’t see any scorch marks - is there some sort of fire-proofing going on under there?”

“The cloak is shorter than it used to be.” 

“I’d like to recommend not igniting the thing here; setting fire to the plains will not make for a quiet and subtle entrance.” She gave him the half smile that he was growing to like. It was a relief to see some vivacity creeping back in after her uncharacteristic quiet on the journey.

Moments later, she pointed ahead at a small cluster of buildings just visible against the glare of the low afternoon sun. “There. I’m expecting to be met by an Azellan man called Anto. I’ve worked with him before. He’s quite a character.”

Nothing marked the farmstead out as unusual. A small group of buildings, arranged in a u-shape, sat around a dusty yard. Stretching away on one side was a field with rows of some sort of legume. Native fowl scratched around, barely registering their presence. An electrified fence wrapped around the buildings and land, humming quietly. 

“What’s the fence for?”

“When you’re only knee-high, Loth cats are a serious hazard.” 

To the side of the field was a patch of packed earth. Scorch marks indicated a ship had made a rapid departure at some point. The Mandalorian swept his gaze across the horizon, visor set to highlight heat trails. Nothing stirred.

The door to the farmhouse slid open.

“VANCE!” The diminutive Azellan greeted his companion cheerfully, with a voice that was unexpectedly loud for such a small frame. Less than thirty centimetres tall, the small blue-skinned creature was wearing a dust coloured set of overalls that caused him to blend completely with his surroundings. Vance knelt and dropped a friendly peck on the top of his head. She remained on one knee, politely staying on his level. “Ah, you try to be charming now, but you never call, you never come and see Anto.”

“The Mando’s a friend Anto, you don’t need to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending! I’m serious! Ach, spies. Always on the lookout for ulterior motives where none exist.” He tutted dramatically. “What do you need from me this time, hmm?”

“Fuel, rations, a place to stay for the night, and I owe this man a drink or twelve.” 

The Mandalorian looked at her sharply; staying here hadn’t been part of the plan. He opened his mouth to object, but Vance shot a warning glance over her shoulder. Frustration flared; he disliked both the sudden change and her assumption of his compliance. 

“Owe him a drink, do you?” The Azellan waggled his considerable eyebrows.

“Professional partners only, Anto.” She shifted her voice to match the Azellan’s brogue: “Ach, field agents; always bored and looking for gossip.” 

“I thought my fences were supposed to keep out cats!” The Azellan laughed, taking any sting from his words, and he gestured at them to follow him. “You can have the guest rooms, and I’ll forgive you if you test some of my nectar wine.”

Gritting his teeth, The Mandalorian followed their diminutive host and his partner. He was beginning to wonder if she had any plan at all.

**

Vance glanced around the small quarters Anto led them to. A small bathing room led off a living area, as did a single bedroom. The solo bed could have led to some awkwardness, had she any intention of them both trying to sleep at once. She sat down on a curved sofa that hugged against one corner of the room and liberated Bean from her bag. The Child proceeded to bounce slightly on the soft surface, clearly enjoying the contrast with the Crest’s sharp edges and cold metal planes.

“Thanks Anto, this will be fine.” She smiled for the Azellan, despite wanting him gone. She couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s face, but his irritation was palpable. Anto, savvy enough to notice it too, left them quickly, with a promise to return with food in an hour or two. The door to the quarters slid closed, and they both waited for the patter of footsteps to fade. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I’m amused by the assumption that my plans are ever fixed.” 

“Not the time to be flippant, Vance. You should have told me that staying here was on the cards.” His tone pulled her up sharp – he sounded genuinely annoyed, perhaps even offended. “We’re supposed to be working together; I’m not some transit pilot to be ordered from one destination to the next.”

His annoyance was justified and she made no argument. She was out of the habit of working with a partner. In these last few years, those she encountered were seldom more than tools. She would befriend a cantina girl to learn about her officer boyfriend, or buy liquor for the raw recruit so that she could steal his access card when he passed out. It was something she always justified to herself as a necessary evil, but in moments like this, that excuse felt hollow. The man before her deserved better.  She rubbed her hands across her face, feeling jaded and world-weary.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m used to working on my own, and this whole situation… It’s got me more rattled than I’d like to admit.” 

“That I can understand.” The Mandalorian crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the sofa, neatly catching the Child as he overbalanced on the cushioned surface. “Explain it to me. If you think this could be a trap, why are we staying here?”

“I need to know that I can trust Jarvis. If I can’t…” She shrugged helplessly “…then quite frankly I have no idea what to do next. This is a test, one where we are in control. If we pass a night here un-molested, I’ll feel a lot safer asking you and Bean to come in with me.”

He nodded his understanding. “We’ll take it in shifts to sleep.”

“Agreed. I’ve rigged the Razor Crest’s sensors to stay active and I’ll sneak out and wire some sensors into Anto’s fence as well. If any ships or ground forces approach, we’ll be warned.”

“How good are you with these?” He extracted a pair of blasters from his belt and laid them on a small table, before thinking the better of it and moving them to a higher shelf, out of the reach of Bean.

“If this devolves into a firefight, the most sensible thing I can do is grab Bean and stay out of your way. Give you two less things to worry about.” 

He snorted at that one and didn’t dispute it. 

When night fell, she insisted that he sleep first. Vance turned off the lights and settled herself on the sofa. A small window gave a view of the rolling grasslands outside and the rock formation that concealed the Crest in the distance. A light breeze continued to blow, weaving sinuous patterns through the grasses. She spent much of her life in space but never lost the sensation of being caged on ships, as though she were constantly holding her breath. In spite of everything else, with solid earth beneath her feet and fresh and plentiful air to breathe, she felt some of her tensions ease.

Glancing back at the door of the bedroom, she smiled to herself, wondering exactly how much armour the Mando had taken off to sleep. In a situation like this, she doubted he would remove any of it.  The thought that he was lying there without his helmet stirred her. She would never ask, but she wanted to know. She wanted to know what scars he bore, the colour of his eyes, and how old he was. It would have been a simple enough matter to rig a remote viewer but he would never forgive such a betrayal. The mere thought of losing his good opinion troubled her and the realisation was unnerving. When had this stranger’s opinion of her begun to matter?

The first half of the night passed uneventfully, the moons making their slow progression across the sky. Vance heard the Mandalorian rise and unfolded her cramped limbs. Stretching as she rose, she nodded a greeting before wordlessly handing him the remote sensors and heading for the now-vacant bed.

The room was pitch black, blinds drawn tight against any prying eyes. Parting them slightly to admit some of the lilac-toned moonlight, she cast aside boots and belts before turning to the bed.

A few stray hairs clung to the pillow. Lifting them to the meagre moonlight, she saw that they were dark, mid-length, and inclined to curl towards the ends. One shone silver. Smiling, she added this to a mental picture of her companion. She settled herself beneath the blankets, into the shadow of warmth that he had left behind. Her face against the pillow, she caught a trace of his scent. Steel and fire, reminiscent of a furnace, with an earth-like undertone. 

Irresistibly, her thoughts began to drift. 

Chapter Text

Dawn came without incident. Watching the sky brighten and listening to the impatient sounds of Anto’s fowl as they anticipated breakfast, the Mandalorian knew he should be grateful. In truth he was disappointed. This careful dance that Vance deemed necessary was wearing him down. He was beginning to hunger for a clean, honest fight against a foe that had the courage to attack him head on.

When his companion rose, she spent hours crawling over the Razor Crest looking for signs of tampering. Her careful search found nothing but a list of small jobs to add to her maintenance list. By the time they had moved the Crest to the landing pad by the settlement, refuelled, resupplied, and taken delivery of a crate of Anto’s nectar spirits, it was already mid-afternoon.

The Azellan tried to persuade them to remain for dinner, but the Mandalorian flatly refused, eager to be moving again. Their host shook his head and affected a dramatic expression of woe.

“Go carefully, Vance, and remind Jarvis I exist, won’t you? Tell her to look at my transfer request again!” He turned and made swiftly for the cover of the settlement. Realising that he was small enough for the downdraft from the Crest’s engines to throw him some distance, the Mandalorian gave him plenty of time.

As they broke free of the atmosphere, Vance leant across him to programme a hyperspace route. From what he could tell, the backwater world they were headed for mostly consisted of swamp and fen land. He frowned at the nav-computer as it flashed a red warning signal.

“Vance, this world has a ‘stay-clear’ plague warning beacon on it.”

“So, it does.” She smiled, and catching on he exhaled sharply, an amused sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

“Clever.” 

They stowed their supplies and dealt with the necessary domestic duties before lapsing into what was becoming their evening routine. They sat quietly in the cargo bay, each absorbed with their own tasks. The Mandalorian sat with Vance’s rifle across his knees. Since coming on board, he hadn’t once seen her clean the weapon and despite her protestations that it was fine, he’d spent the evening taking it apart. He was working on the main bore when a crash came from his sleeping berth.

Within the sparse room, the Child had managed to pull down an battered leather bag from the storage net. Scattered across the bunk were spare clothes and the rare personal items that he’d decide to keep. There was very little there: the first blaster he had owned, the meditation aids he had used during the vigils before swearing to the Creed, and a small piece of cut leatherwork in deep burgundy. Fleeing from his proxy father’s obvious annoyance, the Child scuttled away, gripping something tightly. The tiny thief made it as far as the door before Vance caught him and liberated the deck of Sabacc cards he was clutching. 

“These cards look older than I am.” Her inflection made the statement a question.

“I’d forgotten I even had a deck.” In spite of his irritation with the Child, he smiled beneath the helmet. The deck was a souvenir from a particularly memorable job on Tatooine, but he wasn’t about to share that. Evading Vance’s increasingly common probes for information was giving him a perverse pleasure. He wondered how long it would be before she realised that direct questions were more likely to yield results with him. “You know how to play?”

“Better than you do, I suspect.” 

Unwilling to let that comment go unanswered, he cleared a crate to use as a makeshift table. She proved an able opponent, changing tactics regularly and giving nothing away. Half-way through the fifth hand, he was getting ready to concede defeat.

“You’re good at this.”

“I’ve spent many years practising a good ‘sabacc face’.” She sipped at a cup of Anto’s spirits. “If you’ve worn that thing since childhood, I suppose you never needed to learn.” She gestured at his helmet. Again, the gentle foray into his past.

“I have a plan. I’m going to wait for enough of that liquor to hit your bloodstream that you get overconfident.”

"Perhaps you should pour me a glass?" She handed her battered cup over.

"I'm not a bar tender."

"Shame. Every time you look in the direction of that bottle your visor reflects some of your hand."

He stared at her, not sure whether to be amused or angry.

After a moment she held up her hands. "I'm joking. I would never use such dishonourable tactics."

"You absolutely would."

She laughed freely then, and beneath his helmet he couldn't help but smile in repsonse. Vance leaned across him to get the bottle herself, and he made a show of pulling his cards away from her, provoking a fresh burst of laughter. She added a generous measure to her cup.

“I’ll leave the rest for you. Shame we can't share it." She gestured at his helmet. "An old friend had a way around that – she had a flask rigged up on her belt with a feeder pipe going up inside her helmet. Meant she could actually enjoy going to a bar.”

“I got to get one of those. This the Mandalorian you worked with before?” 

“In truth we didn’t work together, but we were friends. There were a few years when I couldn’t work in the field.” Her voice had shifted, her tone oddly flat. All light had gone from her eyes and a tense frown creased her brow. “I ran a safe house, like the one we stayed at last night.”

She paused to consider the cards in her hand, and he watched as she made a conscious effort to smooth her features and recover herself. There was some deep pain here that he had unwittingly brought to mind. He was about to change the subject and spare her the recollection when she went on. 

“There was a Mandalorian Covert nearby. We clocked each other straight away but politely pretended that we hadn’t for months.” She took a sip, sounding steadier now. “But I was young, and bored being stuck in one place and there was this one Mando who clearly felt the same. She and I ended up making something of a game out of pretending not to see each other, and eventually became friends. I’d love to know what Cat would have made of you.”

He stiffened at the casual mention of another Mandalorian’s name and she noticed. 

“That clan followed different rules to yours. They were more relaxed about sharing names, and Cat even took off her helmet when alone with close friends or kin.”

The idea that anyone claiming to follow the Way would voluntarily show their face so casually, shocked him. The Armourer had warned them of heretics claiming the name ‘Mandalorian’ but he’d never encountered one. He’d always assumed that their weaknesses had exposed them, and they’d been wiped out. “A good friend, you say. Are you still in contact?”

“No. This was fifteen years ago now, and I moved on from that assignment somewhat abruptly.” The shadow had fallen over her face again. She took another long drink before casting her cards onto the table in front of him. “Pure sabacc.”

As the evening wore on, despite her promise to leave the rest of the wine to him, Vance drank more than was sensible. It didn’t surprise him when she overslept the next morning. Despite him clattering around preparing breakfast and the Child even trying to clamber into her hammock at one point, she remained soundly asleep. They were fifteen minutes away from leaving the hyperspace lane, and he was rising to go and prod her, when her step finally sounded on the ladder.

Looking distinctly worse for wear, she paused briefly to rub the Child’s ears affectionately, before slotting herself into the co-pilot’s seat. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes against the brightness of the dancing lights cast by hyperspace.

“Headache?” He couldn’t keep the smirk out of his voice. 

“Yep - a right bastard behind the eyes. Given you took the rest of it to bed with you, how’s your head?”

“Sore.”

“Maybe we’re both too old for this.”

“I’m forty-five.”

Vance had the grace to look embarrassed. “I was trying to be subtle.”

“You’ve been ‘trying to be subtle’ since we started on Anto’s wine last night.” 

“Are you surprised? You’re a walking enigma, and my life revolves around uncovering secrets.” The pitch of her voice dropped a little. “You must see how enticing that is.” 

He quirked an eyebrow at her choice of words; she was probably just trying to regain the upper hand through distraction, rather than meaningfully flirting. “You complicate things; sometimes you can just ask.” 

“Are you trying to educate a spy on information extraction? Perhaps when you’re done, I can give you some tips on weapons maintenance.” Her tone was arch, but she was barely managing to suppress a smile.

“I’m human, before you start on that one.”

“See how successful my method is? You’re actively volunteering information now.” 

He aimed a pointed stare in her direction, and she laughed.

The spinning vortex of the hyperspace lane collapsed and was replaced with the pinprick lights of normal space. As the Crest banked, the cloud-shrouded orb of their destination appeared.

“Shil’ea. I wish I could recommend it as a destination.” Vance activated the comms. 

“Silo Courier Services; please provide your consignment designation.”

Vance hesitated for a moment, glancing sideways at him. The artificial voice repeated it’s hail. Seeming to resolve her inner quandary, she gave what he assumed was her call-sign and recognition code. The mark of trust warmed him, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“My ship was destroyed, so I hailed a taxi. Expect consignment delivery from Razor Crest and authorise for V.I.P. landing.”

“Acknowledged Razor Crest. Approach pattern gamma.” The comm link broke off.

“You’ll need to let me pilot us in. There are eight different patterns and if you get it wrong, ion cannons will take you out.”

The Mandalorian handed over the controls reluctantly; he was not one of life’s passengers. 

The Crest broke through the cloud layer. Flat marshes punctuated by numerous small lakes filled their view. The sun was barely able to penetrate the thick cloud, making it seem as though they flew through a perpetual dusk. Flying reptiles scattered beneath them as Vance took the Crest through a complex series of manoeuvres.

Freed from the responsibility of landing, he was able to fully appreciate the operation here. Reaching up, he flicked to a different mode on his visor and saw the heat signatures and magnetic resonance of powerful anti-ship cannons. A moment later, a settlement came into view. Landing platforms like lily pads stood proud of the marsh on stilts, with a low central structure. As they approached, its roof retracted, revealing a substantially larger space that he’d anticipated. A motley of small vessels and half a dozen X-Wing class fighters were docked there.

“The Lana Suu!” Vance’s yell of delight startled him and caused the Child to squeak in alarm. A relieved smile rendered her plain features lovely for a moment. “Old friends who were based on Yavin. After the attack…” She broke off and shook her head. 

With the Crest safely down, Vance practically leapt down the ladder to the cargo bay. He did not share her enthusiasm. Looking up he saw the roof of the hangar bay closing overhead, preventing a speedy escape. He shook his head and swore; it prevented any escape. The only upward exit he could see was a narrow sloping walkway that was far too small to get a ship through. Looking through the cockpits’ carbon-scored glass, he saw banners with Republic symbols. They were echoed on the X-Wings livery and the standard orange jumpsuits of mechanics and pilots. He clenched his jaw, feeling suddenly caged.

A tremor ran through the Crest as the exit ramp extended. He turned to pick up the Child, only to find him already gone from his chair and looking eagerly down the ladder.

“You sure this is a better deal?” The Child looked up, his feet tapping an impatient dance. Not feeling at all reassured, the Mandalorian scooped him up and made his way down the ladder. “Fine; but if this is a trap then it’s the last time I trust your judgement.”

They reached the bottom of the ramp to see Vance wrapped in a rib-crushing hug that lifted her clean off her feet. The man holding her set her down and took half a step back, grinning broadly. 

“You’re slipperier than a damn skink, woman! Rhea and I were so sure you’d been killed we broke open the Naboo Red and toasted your memory.” The man stood taller than Vance by a head and had holo-star features. Dark hair styled to look careless fell forward over black-brown eyes. His accent was crisply Imperial. Spotting the Mandalorian, he turned and sketched a slight bow. “And is this the person we have to thank for pulling your arse out of the fire?”

“She pulled herself out of the fire. I’m just transport.”  

The private jest earned him Vance’s half smile. “Mando, this is Niall Heron. He’s smarmy and infuriating, but we’ve been friends for nearly thirty years. He’s extremely good at what he does.”

“Which is?”

“My wife Rhea and I like to be front and centre. We distract attention so that others can sneak in by the back door.”

A door at the end of the hangar bay swept open. Crossing the hangar with ground-devouring strides was Jarvis. Powerfully built and with tell-tale callouses on her hands that spoke of hours spent wielding a blaster, the Mandalorian found it baffling that she’d submit to a desk job. Jarvis fixed him with a look he recognised well; a hunter sizing up potential prey. 

“Ra’Venn, I’m assuming that this is the Mandalorian we discussed?” 

“Yes.”

“Involving him is a risk. This goes wrong and it’s on you.”

“I know. I stand by what I said before.”

Jarvis nodded grimly and turned to Niall. “Heron, fetch the Freelancers and meet us in the briefing room.” She turned and strode away without another word but with the clear expectation of being followed.

“Who are the Freelancers?” The Mandalorian queried his companion.

“Agents like me. We’re not on the books, and Jarvis likes to give us long enough leashes to follow other paths when we need to. Makes our actual runs look less suspicious.”

“Sensible.”

The Mandalorian had that known his new companion was part of something bigger, but to see it was jarring. He felt a tension building within; in spite of her recommendations, Vance wasn’t the one to make the decisions here. ‘Freelancer’ or not, she was still under the command of another. Jarvis could easily order her to cease working with him. He looked down at Vance, feeling distinctly unhappy at the thought.

Moving quickly to keep pace with Jarvis’ long strides, they travelled down a steeply angled ramp, and the Mandalorian realised that the majority of this facility was underground. They passed along a corridor with a refectory, a med-bay and dormitories leading off. All-in-all, he estimated there was room here for close to two hundred personnel. Eventually, they reached a small briefing room. As soon as the door closed on them, Jarvis spun and addressed Vance.

“First things first: are you fit for duty?”

“Of course…” 

Jarvis’ mouth formed a dry smile that did nothing to soften her look. “Don’t think this is just concern for your well-being. You’ve had a difficult run, and I can’t afford an agent making mistakes through exhaustion.”

“No, I’m not walking away from this.” She looked across at the Mandalorian.  “Mando is open to the idea of helping us deal with Gideon. He seems intent on getting his hands on Bean. Given how potent Bean’s skills are, we have to stop that from happening.”

“Bean?” A furrow of puzzlement appeared between Jarvis’ brow for a moment. “Ah yes, the infant.” She turned and fixed her gaze on the Child, who shrunk back slightly into the Mandalorian’s arms. 

“In exchange I’ve agreed to help him find a Force user; his traditions dictate that he has to place the child in their care. We have contacts, yes?” Vance’s voice drew Jarvis’ attention. Freed from her scrutiny the Child relaxed slightly.

“I’ll make the call, but don’t expect a quick response. Skywalker is a busy man, although there may be others we can reach out to.”

The Mandalorian’s head spun; ‘Force user’ and ‘Skywalker’. These were words from propaganda and myth surely? A pleasant fairy tale told to children at the end of the war, to help protect them from nightmares. He frowned and shook his head slightly in disbelief.

“Are you prepared to work with us under those terms?” Jarvis was sharp and direct, clearly having caught his gesture. 

He glanced at Vance again. Despite his misgivings this was still his best lead yet to finding the Child’s kin. “On the understanding that I’ll be working with ra’Venn, yes.”

Jarvis narrowed her eyes slightly looking between the two of them. He didn’t doubt that she noted the slight softening of Vance’s expression at his insistence.

“I see no reason to disrupt a decent team.”

“Then it is acceptable.” 

“Good. Tracking down this mole and Gideon are your primary tasks now. I’ll give you missions for cover, but that’s it.” Jarvis looked down and drew a deep breath. “Discuss it with no-one else, not even me until you have a target.”

The Mandalorian was impressed by her good sense. “You think your communications could already be compromised.”

“Yes. I’m only willing to trust Vance because by all rights she should be dead twice over. I was sorely tempted--” Jarvis cut off mid-sentence as the doors to the briefing room opened.

Niall entered followed by three others. A finely-boned human female stood close enough to him to suggest more than a mere working relationship. She had a dancers’ physique with sleek, fair hair and aristocratic features. Next came a kushiban. The lagomorphic creature’s long ears and silken fur made her look like something from a children’s book, but from her steely expression and the serrated knife on her belt, he suspected anyone calling her ‘cute’ would meet a messy end. Finally, a Mon Calamari paced in.  With a precise economy of movement, he came to stand next to Vance, who gave him a quick smile of acknowledgement. His skin glistened wetly, and the light saline scent that hung around him made it clear he’d recently left a hydration pool. Turquoise tattoos spiralled across his brow. Lambent amber eyes swivelled to examine the Mandalorian.

“We have a guest, Jarvis?” The Mon Calamari’s voice was rich and sonorous.

“Of sorts.” She indicated each of the newcomers in turn. “Rhea Heron, Jula, and Salis Ginser. The Mandalorian will be partnering Vance for a time. The infant is his foundling.”

“Mandalorian - do you have a name?” The kushiban gained the briefing room table with a powerful jump, sharp clawed feet clacking against the polished surface.

“Yes.”

Jula waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she rolled her large eyes. “Oh fuck, he’s one of those Mandalorians.”

The Mandalorian bridled and stepped forward. 

“Now’s not the time.” Jarvis cut in, her irritation clear. “We now have enough evidence to confirm our suspicions; the Imperial Remnant are going after children showing signs of wielding the Force. Ra’Venn was able to secure a list of their targets. Divide that list amongst you and carry out reconnaissance. Leave monitoring devices if you can, and then hand over to local field agents.” 

Jarvis brought up a holo of a galaxy map over the table. She was lifting a hand to point to some mark, when the scream of alarm claxons ripped through the base. 

Chapter Text

In the Mandalorian’s arms, the Child shrieked and reached to paw at his tender ears. The room heaved, and an explosion loud enough to feel like a punch to the stomach staggered them all. For a few moments he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. Without knowing how he had ended up on his knees, he dragged himself upright and  heard Jarvis’s voice, sounding distant and tinny.

“Status!”

“Ma’am, ariel assault from the North. Watchtower Four reports visual with three TIE fighters.”

“Visual? Why didn’t the sensor grids pick them up?” Niall was hauling Ginser to his feet.

“Not our first priority.” Jarvis’s voice was utterly calm. “Vance, Ginser, control room; scramble their sensors and blind the bastards. Niall, Rhea, launch Lana Suu, get past them, and find what ship they are coming from. Mando, Jula, with me.”

Handing the Child to Vance, he obeyed without question and followed Jarvis to the hangar bay. All around base personnel bolted for their posts. A group of pilots ran down the corridor ahead of them, pulling on helmets and yelling for their astromechs as they ran. 

As they reached the hangar, another run of explosions crashed above them. A shower of earth and rain fell from the overhead hangar doors as blaster fire tore a gash in them. There was a shout from a technician.

“Commander – that last salvo took out the hangar door mechanism. We can’t launch!”

As Jarvis made her way to assist she shot a command over her shoulder. “Mando, Jula. The surface cannons aren’t firing. Find out why.”

They both sprinted for the ramp to the surface exit. Running on four legs rather than two, the kushiban was swifter and began to pull ahead. The Mandalorian’s blood sang in his veins, spurred on by a raw hunger for battle. The attack on Yavin had been an aerial assault only; he hoped this time there would be ground troops. The fatigue brought on by the plots and confusions of the past weeks slid away as he moved, unthinkingly evading the hails of blaster fire that came down through the damaged roof. He didn’t even break stride as a nearby explosion sent slivers of shrapnel slicing through the fabric of his sleeves and ricocheting off the beskar plates.

As they reached the base of the ramp, an impact directly overhead triggered a cascade of dirt. Jula vanished into the choking rain of soil, and he battled through it blindly before emerging into the damp swamp air. On either side of the ramp entrance sat ion cannon emplacements. Ray shields still glowed around them, flickering but intact. Jula bolted to the right and he turned to the left. 

The shields were only designed to block high velocity objects, and he stepped through unhindered. Entering the emplacement, it was instantly evident why the guns were silent. The gunner was dead, her throat slashed. With warrior’s pragmatism he hauled the corpse from its seat and brought the cannon to bear. From the craters in the ground the attack pattern was clear. The TIE’s were making long sweeping runs across the complex with a slight shift in approach angle each time. 

Predicting where they would appear, he swung the cannon round, training the sights on the underside of the clouds. He could hear the whine of the TIE’s engines; the characteristic moan that told him they were coming around for another sweep. Forcing himself to breath steadily, he commanded his body to stillness in spite of the adrenalin that surged through his veins. The smallest detail centres the mind. The words of his own mentor sounded as clearly as if he’d been standing behind him. Pressing his hands to the triggers, he felt the seams of his gloves press against his fingertips. He held his attention there, blocking all else. His heart rate slowed. Control was his.

Then they came. Breaking through the murk, screeching like harpies, they descended on the base. His prediction was accurate and his shot struck true. Its systems and power grid instantly crippled by the ionic charge, the TIE spiralled to the ground. The scream of metal that accompanied the impact told him that it had crashed into the hangar roof. The other cannon fired as well, with Jula managing to clip another TIE’s wings. A shout of victory escaped him, and he brought the cannon back to bear again and waited for his prey to come into range. 

He strained his ears to hear the scream of the final TIE’s engines coming back around but heard only a rapidly diminishing whistle. They were fleeing. The Mandalorian spat a frustrated expletive.

“Yeah, the cowards are running, but we got two of the sods.” Jula appeared in the entrance to the emplacement, her eyes bright and wild. She gave a bark of amusement before spinning on her haunches and making back for the downwards ramp.

Back in the hangar bay, Jarvis stood, hands on hips, directing the damage control efforts. The heavily shielded roof had prevented complete destruction, but nothing down here had escaped completely. Small fires burned everywhere, with fire crews scrambling to extinguish them. Pilots directed their astromechs to cut through the debris blocking the entrance to the rest of the base. As he watched, they managed to haul back a girder, making enough room for people to squeeze through. One X-wing was completely destroyed, crushed by falling sections of roof. Knowing a moment’s anxiety, he looked across to where the Crest was docked. A burning Republic banner had fluttered down from its anchorage and was lying draped across one the engines, but otherwise it appeared undamaged.

Jarvis acknowledged them both with a curt nod, holding up a hand to stem the flow of Jula’s report. The comms in her hand crackled and spat.

“…all external landing pads have been destroyed, as have Watchtowers Two and Three. Serious flooding in computer core and communications centre. The control room was hit hard – the roof has partially collapsed. We’re getting medical evac teams in there now, but they’re overstretched…”

The Mandalorian’s battle-heated blood turned leaden. The control room – where Vance and his foundling had been sent.  He ran.

Throughout the base, the wounded lay where they had fallen. Everyone who was still moving seemed to be fighting fires or trying to shore up crumbling corridors. Many of the corridors he ran down were slick with mud, where silt sludge seeped through shattered ceilings.

Only a handful of others had reached the control room ahead of him. The roof had indeed partially collapsed, and peat-darkened water pooled around the piles of sodden earth that had fallen through. Light broke through holes ripped by the TIE’s cannons. Here and there, the strangest things had survived; a data pad with someone’s mealtime reading, or a cup thrown to the floor but unbroken. Tiny incongruous details of regular life amongst the chaos.

Amongst the tumbled detritus and falling dust it took him a moment to realise that some of the irregular heaps sprawled across the control room were people. Striding heedlessly past strangers that reached for him beseechingly, and those who would never move again, he searched until a low flicker of movement caught his eye. 

In the centre of a perfect circle of ground that was clear of any debris, the Child peered over the soft form of his partner. Vance had curled her body around the infant to shield him. Whatever the Child had done to protect them from the collapse of the roof hadn’t fully saved her from the blasts and shrapnel. The back of her shirt was torn open, her back bloody. A savage gash sliced through a tattoo of a stylised corvid between her shoulder blades. With a relief that almost sickened him, he saw her ribs rise and fall as she heaved in lungfuls of dust-laden air. 

As he reached her side, she tried to rise before falling back to the floor with a gasped curse. Seeing him, the Child reached up to be held, eyes wide with distress. Sweeping him up he cradled him against his shoulder with one hand, where the frightened infant immediately buried his face in the worn cloak. The Mandalorian rested his free hand on Vance’s shoulder. This close, he could hear an alarming rattle from her lungs. 

Medics pushing floating grav-stretchers began to arrive in the room, and he waved one across impatiently.

“Are we safe?” Her voice rasped.

“For now.”

Helping the medic manoeuvre her onto the stretcher, he felt an empathic ache when her face contorted with pain. A breather mask clamped down across her mouth. The stretcher elevated itself and automatically made for the medical bay, and carrying the Child, he followed.

The med-bay hadn’t escaped the onslaught unscathed. Of the three bacta tanks along the rear wall, two had cracked and drained, making the floor treacherous. The medical droids that moved around the ward were impaired by the debris and damaged medical equipment that lay scattered across the floor. Vance was transferred to a spare bed, and the harried looking medic left them in search of more victims. A medical droid glided to the bed, running triage scans while the Mandalorian stood impatiently by.

“You are wounded also.” The droid’s tone was silken and artificially gentle; designed to calm a patient, it was having the opposite effect on him.

“I’m fine. It’s superficial.”

Hands and sensors still busy, the droid turned its head and regarded him coolly for a moment.

“You are correct.”

As the droid worked, the Mandalorian’s gaze swept the med-bay. The beds were filling with wounded, and those still on their feet sprawled against walls. The single remaining bacta tank was being loaded with an older man in an engineer’s overalls, his features completely obscured by burns. A rack of infusers, similar to the one IG-11 had once used to save his life, was being steadily emptied. The droid deftly added a shunt to a vein in Vance’s neck and proceeded to pump in some unknown cocktail of medication.

“You have bacta infusers. Why aren’t you using them?”

“We have limited supplies, and they are reserved for critical personnel.”

“She’s critical to me!” His exclamation was louder than intended, causing a brief lull in the conversation around them and the Child to flinch against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. This woman has a 72% chance of survival – better odds than many.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but it was already gliding away. He bit down hard on his frustration, trying to ignore the fear that edged it. A light touch on the back of his hand snapped his attention back to the bed.

“G2’s right. Basic triage. Prioritisation.” The eyes that looked up at him through swollen lids were glassy. She coughed a few times and drew in a laboured breath. He suppressed an urge to brush back the hair sweat-plastered to her brow. Beneath the breather mask he could see she was trying to force a smile. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look exactly?”

“The ‘you look like death, but I don’t want to seem worried’ look. It messes with your image.”

He shook his head in disbelief, both at her accuracy and that she was choosing to tease him at a time like this.

“How do you do that?”

“It’s the way you tilt your helmet.” Her words petered out in another wracking cough. Unthinkingly, he slid his hand beneath her pale and bloody one. 

“Stop trying to be funny – coughing your lungs out isn’t worth it.”

She was succumbing to whatever painkillers and sedatives were flowing through her system. Her eyes began to drift closed. For a while he sat watching the monitor beside her, until convinced that her vitals were steady, and that she merely slept. As her heartrate and breathing stabilised, so did his, the adrenaline finally leaving his system. It left behind a hollowness and the uncomfortable awareness that seeing this usually-vital woman lying broken on the floor had shaken him badly.

He examined the hand he held – her knuckles scraped raw and blackened from the residue of the explosion – and then deliberately and carefully withdrew his touch. His carefully constructed barriers were under assault again; first the Child, and now this.

The ward around them was rapidly filling with others in similar states and worse. Cries of pains interwove with the monotony of the medical droid’s voice; it was suffocating. He glanced back at the vitals readout again. Nothing was changing and he needed air.

Chapter Text

The flicker of an old memory clawed at his consciousness, demanding attention. Another time of explosions and destruction. Another time of cries of pain and loved ones lying broken. Another time of a frightened child clinging to a Mandalorian.

The Armourer taught that once the fight was won, Mandalorians should celebrate their survival to honour the lost. The Way bound them to revel in the act of breathing, feeling, tasting, seeing, hearing, and of simply being , but he began to feel that it had not been written for times like these. The bounties he hunted were rarely worthy foes. When the Covert rose up to help them escape Nevarro, he had known a few moments of battling as a clan should, but after the victory was won, there had been no revels, no camaraderie, no retelling of the tale. Instead he had fled alone. His victory over Gideon’s TIE was subsumed in the regret of not ripping open the wreck and ensuring the job was finished. It was an initiate’s error. The Imperial Remnant still came for the Child, and dozens like him.

With the Child cradled against his shoulder, the Mandalorian moved swiftly through the clamour of the base corridors. Even with the fires extinguished, the scent of oily smoke and scorched metal snaked its way through the helmet filters and burned his throat. The Child clung to him, face hidden, flinching at every crash of metal and every shout. He made for the hangar bay and the sanctity and familiarity of the Razor Crest .

In the hangar arc welders flashed, and the occasional rain of dirt from overhead told of crews working to free the bay doors. The Crest with her unadorned gunmetal hull seemed out of place beside the bright livery of the X-Wings and the Lana Suu . The republic banner that had fallen across her had burned itself out, leaving only a blackened lacework draped across her engines like a widow’s veil.

Once on board, he slammed a fist against the ramp control, shutting them off from the frenetic activity outside. In the sudden and welcome quiet, he leaned heavily against the bulkhead. The metal’s chill seeped through his clothing and armour, cooling his blood. Away from the chaos, the Child untangled himself from the cloak and looked up at him, with dark eyes rendered black in the dimness of the cargo bay. Aside from a slight graze on the top of his head there wasn’t a mark on him, but he still trembled. Tiny hands retained a vice-like grip. The Mandalorian rubbed the base of his ears in an attempt to soothe.

“You did well back there. If Vance makes it, she’ll have you to thank.” The Child was unconvinced, gesturing at her empty hammock. With no honest reassurance to offer and feeling badly out of his depth, the Mandalorian cast around for some way to distract the little being. Opening up a storage crate he pulled out a length of kalla root. “Worrying won’t help her, pal. Here, eat something.”

Appetite overcame anxiety and the Child set his teeth to the sweet, fibrous root. The Mandalorian set him in the hanging cradle and gave a light push. His foundling occupied he dropped wearily to the edge of Vance’s hammock, sliding his fingers beneath his helmet to try and massage away the ache in his neck.

Something sharp was digging into his hip. Carelessly scattered across the hammock were the files and paring knife that Vance used to work some scraps of wood she had collected from Lothal. A half-worked round of some reddish wood lay beside them, just a few inches across. He flipped it over and saw a copy of the mudhorn on his pauldron, set into a circular cartouche. Pulling off a glove, he rubbed his thumb across its rough contours, thoughts returning to the woman who was fighting to breathe in the med bay.

A foundling I can’t train, and a partner who fights without firing a shot. He thought without rancour, his gaze fixed on the carving, fingers tracing each careful scrape and incision. A partner. Jarvis had named them as such. It felt strange. He had spent so long alone, only to have his life invaded by not just the Child, but this woman as well. This clever, capable, and whip-tongued woman. Partner. For the briefest moment, he allowed other meanings of the word the play through his mind, a new kind of tension growing in blood and sinew.

The Child looked up sharply at the access ramp with a soft gurgle, and a moment later the comms crackled to life.

“Crest, are you home to callers?” Jarvis’ clipped tone. 

The Mandalorian crossed the bay and opened the cargo bay door, admitting both Jarvis and the bustle of the hangar. She paused at the base of the exit ramp, displaying spacer courtesy. She may command the base, but this was his ship. He gestured a welcome and she boarded, eyes sweeping the cargo bay, lingering on the Child, the additional hammock, and then the open weapons locker.

“Nice collection.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Ostensibly I’m here to commend you for your actions during the attack. I know that you don’t require praise, but for the benefit of the watching work crew, I am going to shake your hand and you are going to let me.” 

With a grim smile she did so, and he felt something press into his palm. Glancing down he saw a data pad. As subtly as he could, he slid it into one of the pouches bound to his thigh.

“Vance has the access code to that pad. It contains all the data you need for your hunt.”

“What’s the point? Your leak is obviously here; your gunners didn’t cut their own throats. Lock down the base, interrogate everyone, and stop dancing around it.”

“Do I look like I dance, Mandalorian?” Jarvis’ eyes sparked angrily. She was perfectly still, setting him in mind of a nexu before a strike. “Believe me, I’d like nothing more. My people are being killed and I am seriously invested in getting my hands around the throat of the person responsible.” She stepped past him to examine the rack of weapons, tracing the tips of her fingers across the rarest piece. “Unfortunately, this is bigger than one mole. Even when we find them, we can’t just deliver an honest blaster bolt to the head. We have to play them as hard as they’ve played us.”

“So you’re going to let them escape?”

“I have to!” Jarvis practically spat, as frustrated with the situation as he was. “It’s not ‘the Way’, is it? Are you regretting our arrangement?”

“I’ve already given my word.”

“Good. Follow Vance’s lead. She knows this ‘dance’ well – Imperial intelligence started training her when she was seven.”

“They start late.”

Jarvis gave a short bark of amusement. 

His fingers clenched over the carved mudhorn. “Have you been to the infirmary?”

“I’m too busy with those still on their feet.” Jarvis closed the door of the weapons locker and turned to face him. “I will honour our agreement, Mando. I can make the call regarding your foundling immediately but if my communications are compromised, then it’s going to paint a big target on you.”

“And that could jeopardise the mission.” The Mandalorian looked across at the Child, still busy with his kalla root, and sighed. “We can wait.”

“Thank you for your understanding.” Jarvis looked friendlier when she didn’t smile. “And for your marksmanship. You saved more lives than you took today.”

*

Vance was aware of the small presence before she woke. Nestled in between the crook of her elbow and her side, Bean slumbered. She felt better than she had any right to; her breath came easily and shifting her weight experimentally brought only a dull pain. She looked back at Bean again with furrowed brow, wondering what it had cost the little creature to affect such a thing.

The medical bay was mercifully quiet. The floors had been cleared of debris, and the only patients left here lay silently sleeping. The lights were dimmed for a rest cycle, and the soft bubble of the bacta tank obscured all other sounds. She glanced at the chronometer; outside dawn would be greying the horizon.

The Mandalorian sat slouched in the chair at her side. She couldn’t tell if he slept or was simply lost in thought beneath the blank mask of his helmet. He seemed out of place here, a man alone amidst the hive-like co-ordination of the SIS. She thought of the Razor Crest with all its bare functionality and no hint of family or companionship. Yet here he sat, keeping watch over an infant he’d risked all to save and a woman he barely knew, but already called “critical”. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. A confused warmth filled her, a hunger for connection edged with trepidation.

G2 glided across to inspect the readouts over her head. “Remarkable. Considerable improvement even without infusions. Perhaps now your mate will cease harassing me.” 

Beside her, the Mandalorian jerked upright; he had slept then. 

Vance lifted an eyebrow at the droid. “My mate? Are you moving into matchmaking now, or did I forget something fundamental?” 

“This is your mate.” G2 turned its impassive gaze to her and spoke with confidence. “Analysis of voice stress patterns indicates a strong attachment, and the amount of time spent here with you is consistent with a mate. This is not in dispute.”

She winced painfully as a laugh bubbled up; partly at the droid’s insistence but also at her ‘mate’s’ awkward shifting in his chair.

“I tried to tell it. How are you feeling?” His voice was blurry with sleep.

“Better than I should be.” She indicated the Child with a nod. “Did he help with that?”

“He was worried about you. Couldn’t get him to settle so brought him here.”

The droid interjected dryly. “Yes. The infant was worried. Of course.” It glided away, either oblivious to the glare that the Mandalorian shot its way, or merely uncaring. A silence stretched between them.

“We were both worried.” 

“It’s hard to imagine you worried about anything.” 

He gestured towards the Child and herself. “It’s a rapidly increasing list.”

Unsure as to what to say, she turned her palm up, extending it in invitation. After a moment he pulled the glove from his hand and slid it into hers. She startled. From anyone else, it would be a small gesture but from him, the brush of skin against skin felt intensely intimate. She closed her fingers around a hand that was warm and calloused, and only a shade darker than hers. The warmth within her solidified into something certain and needful.

Aware that the monitor beside her showed a quickening of her heart rate, she lifted his hand and touched her lips to the back of his fingers. For a few seconds he didn’t react at all, and the fear that she’d misjudged things terribly formed a knot in her throat. She began to scramble for a way to frame it as friendly affection, when wordlessly he reached forward with his free hand. With a feather touch, he brushed her hair back from her forehead, before tracing his fingers lightly down her cheek.

“Rest while you can.” His voice was gentle, but with an energy in it that she hadn’t heard before. “I doubt Jarvis will give you much chance when she hears you’re awake.” He carefully gathered the sleeping Child from her side and with a last grip of her hand, left her side. 

The droid soundlessly rolled its way back towards her, adding some additional medication to the shunt in her neck.

“Your mate. As I said.”

Chapter Text

Vance’s shirt was ruined. The explosion had rent the back open, leaving it hanging together only by the collar and the hem. It was a small loss, but it left her with exactly one set of intact clothing. G2 had arranged for some spares to be sent from the quartermaster, but even the base layers looked too like uniform for Vance to be comfortable with them. She pulled on the pale roll neck gingerly, feeling every inch of the cloth’s progress down her back. Bean may have healed the worst of her injuries but hadn’t spared her from the bruising. She bent to fasten the buckles on her boots and winced.

“Let me help.” Rhea Heron stood framed in the doorway, artfully posed. She deposited a shoulder bag onto the base of Vance’s bed and knelt to fasten the boots for her. Every movement the woman made had the elegance of a dance. Even knelt to tighten a strap, her poise and posture remained perfect. It was something Vance had quietly envied as long as she’d known her. “I realised that you would be running short of supplies so I took the liberty of finding some things that wouldn’t scream ‘Republic’.”

“Thank you, Rhea.” She was slightly nervous about what Rhea would deem to be suitable clothing but was grateful, nonetheless.

“I’m pleased to see you in one piece. What is this Vance, the second time in a month now that you’ve ended up bleeding?” Rhea’s Imperial accent was more prominent than hers. Her precise consonants and lingered-over vowels managed to make Vance’s name sound like a sigh.

“It could have been worse. It has been worse for a lot of people.” She heard her own Imperial dialect sharpen in response.

Rhea nodded grimly. “We had a near miss or two as well. The Lana Suu is going to be grounded for at least a week. When they got those doors open a piece of debris came down and shattered our forward view ports.”

She finished arranging the buckles and stood smoothly.

“G2 tells me that your new partner is becoming attached to you. Is that an… organic… development or are you working him?”

Vance snapped her mouth shut on a sharp reply and Rhea laughed.

“You can’t actually be offended; you have form for that particular methodology.”

Eight years later, and Vance still felt a flare of shame. Rhea’s recruitment was not something she looked back on with pride. “G2’s a nosy bastard.” 

“G2 is perceptive.”

The droid in question, who had been on his way to a less fortunate patient, paused mid-track. “They were holding hands. Little perception was required.” 

Vance shook her head emphatically. “He’s not a target, Rhea. We’re on the same side.”

“Are you sure? I’m not an idiot Vance, someone is taking co-ordinated action against SIS. How do you know he’s not part of it; that he’s not the one working you? A lot of Mandalorians were hand in glove with the Empire.”

“Not all of them, and this one certainly isn’t.”

“Vance.”

“Rhea, please don’t complicate my life further.” She felt suddenly tired, pulled down by the weight of the agendas and twisting truths that made up her life. The Mandalorian’s more direct approach had been a balm. “I trust him.”

“Quite the declaration from you.” Rhea smiled, warmly this time, creases appearing at the corners of her eyes. She stood and with an affectionate touch on Vance’s shoulder turned to leave, neatly framing herself on the doorway once more. “Travel safely, friend.”

*

“You’re limping.”

“I was blown across a room last week. Honestly, you should see the bruises on my back – I’ve seen less colourful Twi’leks.”

Crossing the hangar to the Crest , Vance was intensely aware that this would be the first time that they’d be unobserved together. In the week she’d spent in the medical bay, he’d visited often. More than once she’d woken to find him dozing in the chair by her bed. Talk had been limited by necessity and opportunity; they’d rarely been alone. Were it not for the occasional touch or the warmth in his voice, she would have wondered whether or not she’d imagined his tentative affection before.

Jarvis wanted them away from Shil’ea as quickly as possible. The cover task that had been assigned was straightforward enough – a supply run to other bases that had been hit but not destroyed. It had been the work of moments to plan and they’d run out of work-talk before getting to the end of the corridor. 

Walking up the Razor Crest ’s ramp, Vance felt an odd sense of homecoming that caught her entirely by surprise. She paused for a moment to glance around its increasingly familiar surroundings, eyes sweeping over the occasional patched panels and work worn surfaces. Home had been The Midsummer for so long – it felt oddly unfaithful to see this ship in the same way. 

“You ok?” The light touch on her back that accompanied his query made her flinch, and the hand was swiftly withdrawn.

“I’m fine.” She found a smile for him and bent down to retrieve the wrench that Bean was playing with and set him down in her hammock, which was now the only open space. The bay was rammed with cargo. Her hammock and the Child’s cradle were now walled off in one corner by towers of crates. “This is going to make things awkward.”

“We’ll manage. First stop is only a day away.”

The necessary work of leaving port and reaching orbit occupied them both for a time, but Vance wondered if he spent as much time as she did trying to catch sidelong glances. She smiled ruefully to herself – not that she’d be able to tell if he was.

Trying to make the gesture as casual as possible, she moved to stand behind his chair as he programmed the nav-computer. Ostensibly, it was so she could claim to be looking at further details of the destination, but as she did so she rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t react, but nor did he move to dislodge it; she wondered if he could even feel it resting there through the armour. Despite her preoccupation, she squinted at the coordinates he entered.

“That’s not the usual path.”

“No; the Imps used to have recon drones all along that route. They’ve been dormant for years but given recent events I didn’t want to risk it.”

As he spoke, he finally reacted to her touch. Reaching up, he took hold of her hand and drew it down across his chest until it rested just over his heart. He held it there while he finished loading the hyperspace commands, leaning slightly into her.

“Busy airspace; we’ve got a fifteen-minute hold in orbit until the next window.” The silence that opened up had a different quality to the comfortable quiet of their first weeks together. There was a heaviness and expectancy to it. Vance could feel a tension in the fingers that gripped hers now, a tautness in his frame.

“So… how does this work?” She was aware she must sound foolish and felt colour rise to her cheeks.

“How does what work?”

“Stop laughing at me under there. I don’t believe for a second that you don’t know what I mean.”

“You’re too good at reading me.” He stood as he spoke and turned to face her, his hands coming to rest on her waist.

“You’re not as good at concealing things as you think.”

He was quiet for a moment. Vance continued to look up into the visor, slightly disconcerted by seeing nothing but her own reflected gaze.

“Close your eyes. Keep them closed until I say otherwise.” 

"Close my eyes? That's all you ask?"

"Usually, no." There was the slightest catch in his voice, a crack in those soft tones.

In her quiet hours in the medical bay, her thoughts had lingered on the shape this moment might take. She had expected a blindfold at least, or some quip about him being good with his hands. She had even half-prepared witty and flirtatious replies. His earnestness forbade them. Instead, she nodded mutely, and obeyed.

His hands withdrew from her waist. She heard a light hiss, followed by the metallic sound of his helmet being set gently down. A pause; long enough to make her feel vulnerable standing there unseeing, then un-gloved hands encircled her wrists and lifted them until her fingertips encountered lightly stubbled cheeks. 

She drew a sharp breath at the sensation, keenly aware that this was the greatest intimacy he could offer. She traced her fingers slowly across his features. A sloped brow, with a tracery of lines stretching across it, sat over slightly hooded eyes that flicked closed at her touch. High cheekbones, and an aquiline nose that had been broken at least once made her smile; in her own musings she’d always expected his face to bear some scars from the life he’d led. As her touch moved down to the line of his jaw, her thumb traced across lips that turned to kiss her palm.

She swept her hands back into a curling tangle of roughly cropped hair, and he lowered his face to kiss her. For a few moments he simply laid his mouth over hers, drawing her as close as his armour allowed, before instinct parted his lips. There was a clumsiness to his kiss that contrasted with the surety of the hands that drifted down to her hips, an inexperienced hesitation in the stroke of his tongue. That hesitation evaporated quickly.

Vance surrendered to her hunger. She had never been reticent in such things; her life afforded her no such luxury as a slow seduction. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and pressed herself closer until the jut of his armour threatened to bruise. As they grew accustomed to each other’s rhythm, and slowed slightly, she became aware of the tremor that ran through him. Eyes closed, she paused.

“You’re shaking...”

He didn’t draw back from her, laying his brow against hers.

“Remember that list of things that worried me?” He felt her slight nod and continued. “I’m not young. You know that. I’m yet to meet an enemy that I couldn’t survive, and I’ve done that without once deviating from the Way. Right now, all you need to do to destroy me, is open your eyes.”

“I’d never do that…”

“I know. I trust that completely, and it scares me. You’ve been part of my life, for what, a month at most, and I trust you with everything that means anything to me.”

She stood speechless, trying to think of some response that didn’t sound completely trite.  She began to say something about being honoured by his trust when his mouth pressed to hers once more and drove all ordered thought from her mind.

*

“Let me look at you.”

“I hope you appreciate the irony of that request.”

The Mandalorian chuckled as he eased himself from beneath her. She settled back against the wall, languid with encroaching sleep. Resting his fingers across her closed eyes to shield them from the sudden light, he tapped the small lamp above his berth. After the pitch blackness, even the dim glow made him blink.

After spending the evening impatiently waiting for the Child to fall asleep, hunger only deepening with each stolen touch, they had finally stumbled back into his sleeping area. The narrow berth and necessary darkness had only added to the usual awkwardness of a first joining, but they’d managed, albeit with the occasional bumped head. Vance had greeted the challenge with good humour, gasping and then laughing softly when she had risen to sit across him and brought bare skin into contact with the cold bulkhead wall.

Only without his helmet could he truly see the colour of her hair and skin, the contrast between her lips and cheeks, and the soft flush that still lingered on the latter. He traced his fingers across a form that spoke of a life lived. She was slender, but there was softness over her abdomen and a pattern of silvered scarring spreading from her naval that spoke of stretched skin.  As his palm came to rest there, she became very still beneath his touch and a furrow appeared between her brows.

He resolved not to question her. She didn’t owe him her past. Leaning forward he kissed her gently, until he felt the tension ease from her limbs.

“Turn over – show me these bruises.” 

She obliged, letting him admire the myriad of colours created by her healing injuries. He touched his fingers to the tattoo between her shoulders. Clean of the blood and scorching now, he could see it was meant to be a black, long tailed bird, rendered as though in flight. The fresh scar made a white streak across its body now.

“There’s beauty in the scars the journey leaves.”

“I’m glad you think that. I have enough of them.”

Turning back over she reached up and tangled her fingers into his hair, drawing him back down to the bed. He pulled blankets back over them both, forgoing for once the spacer’s precaution of always sleeping dressed in case of emergency. She settled against his shoulder, a hand resting on his chest and a leg tucked across his. He rested his cheek against her hair. This touch, skin to skin and the full length of his body, was something he hadn’t experienced for a long time. He’d never trusted Xi’an enough to sleep beside her like this. For a while he lay savouring it, breathing in the scent of her hair.

“What colour are your eyes?” He murmured the question quietly in case she was already asleep.

“You can’t tell?” Her voice was soft and indistinct.

“No – the visor shows me that they’re not dark, but that’s all. They could be blue, grey, gold, even violet.”

He felt her smile against his chest. “Ah, it will have to stay a mystery then. Seems only fair that I get to have one.”

Chapter Text

“We’re almost there.” The Mandalorian pulled himself up into the storage loft at the back of the cockpit. It was a tight squeeze. The space widened out further back, but at the top of the hatch he had to twist awkwardly to get through. How Vance thought she could turn this into a sensible space to sleep was beyond him.

She was sitting on a crate towards the back of the compartment, surrounded by piles of spares and scrap. A single lamp at her feet threw savage looking shadows across the walls and ceiling. The jagged scrap created menacing shapes, making her look as though she were surrounded by battle droids ready to sweep in. For the briefest moment, a darker thought crept to the surface, before she looked up and graced him with her lopsided smile. 

“You didn’t need to scramble up here, you could have just called.”

“You’re right – I could have.” Dropping to sit beside her, he encircled her waist with an arm and laid a hand against her cheek. After so long untouched, this new intimacy was intoxicating. Laying her hands on either side of his neck, Vance slid them up beneath his helmet until the tips of her fingers brushed the line of his jaw. It was the slightest touch, yet an answering wave of heat swept through him. It took an effort of will to maintain his focus. “The Child’s in the cockpit.”

“You locked out the controls, didn’t you?” She moved to straddle his lap, fitting herself closely against him. 

“Of course.”

“He can’t climb ladders, so…” Vance shifted her weight against him in a subtle yet calculated fashion, causing him to catch his breath and instinctively move with her. 

The sound of the Crest’s engines shifted. They dropped from hyperspace and the sub-lights kicked back in with the usual nauseating twist to the gut. Almost at once the comms began to chime as a hail came in. He laughed softly at her frustrated expression, even as he echoed it. “Work fast, and we could be out in a few hours.”

She stepped away with a rueful expression and went down the ladder ahead of him. As she answered the hail and confirmed her security credentials, he laid in their approach.

The hyperspace exit was almost directly above the base coordinates, and he pitched the Crest as steeply as he could to avoid having to make a fuel-wasting loop. They dove down towards a vast range of mountains that stretched from horizon to horizon. White peaks towered over valleys and gorges thick with towering, black-leafed trees that stood as straight as spears. Below them a blue-ice glacier carved a jagged path.

“That’s our approach. The base is just above the treeline, about two kilometres ahead.” Vance was pulling on a heavy cold-weather jacket that had been slung over the back of the chair in preparation. “Bean’s going to need an extra blanket. I might even try and wrestle some of my socks onto his legs.”

“He’ll pull them straight off – I’ve tried it before. We can just leave him in the sleeping quarters, he’ll be safer. You better not expect me to make distracting small talk while you slice the base computers.”

“No, you just have to sit around looking bored and faintly menacing.” She was distracted, reading once more from the data pad that Jarvis had given him. “No need for subterfuge or slicing today. It would look more suspicious if SIS Command weren’t investigating these attacks. For once I get to just walk in and ask for what I want, and then we move on to the next base.”

“And then the next, and the next.” Frustration crept into his tone. None of his hunts had ever begun by slogging around eight Republic bases, asking polite questions.

“Out of curiosity, if you hadn’t run into me, what was your plan for finding Jedi?”

“To seek out other Mandalorians and ask for their guidance.” 

“I see.” He was beginning to learn her ‘tells’. Whenever she was trying to be diplomatic, or conceal her feelings, her Imperial dialect became more pronounced.

“What?”

“It just seems… vague. Why do you think that they would know any more than you do?”

He clenched his jaw but said nothing. Ahead of them, the glacier-cut gorge was beginning to narrow. A raised landing platform clung to an edge, hundreds of metres above the valley floor. Fresh lengths of steel plating contrasted with blackened struts, emphasising hasty repairs. Even at this distance it was apparent that a lot of improvisation had gone into the work. Grateful for the chance to change the subject, he nodded towards it.

“Is this their only pad?”

“Doesn’t look stable.” Vance was gripping the arms of her chair more tightly than usual and he raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t like heights?”

“Most of us don’t have jetpacks.”

He smirked beneath his helmet, swinging the Crest around to land. As the ship spun, the bulk of the complex became visible. Long thin viewports extended along the gorge wall on either side of the platform, many of them blown in, and in the process of being boarded up with durasteel sheets. He brought the ship down cautiously, provoking loud groans from the platform that made his companion swallow hard.

A rake thin man in his middle sixties, bundled in a fur lined coat and gloves, awaited them. Healing injuries were roughly bound with bandages now filthy with oil. To his side stood a similarly bandaged, scrawny youth with limbs that seemed too long for his body.

“Agent ra’Venn? I’m Engineer Ferris, the ranking officer here now for what that’s worth. James here will unload our supplies.” He gestured to his subordinate, who set to work carrying crates into the base, with a nervous glance at the Mandalorian. “I understand from Jarvis that you want to look at the computers as well. What exactly are you looking for?”

“Sensor data.” 

“Fine, but you won’t find anything we didn’t already report.” Ferris looked frustrated and tired. “The sooner my replacement arrives, the better.”

The Mandalorian felt a momentary flash of pity for the man. Given how many SIS staff had been killed, he suspected the replacement would be a long time coming. He turned to survey the savage beauty of the vista. Vance’s cheeks were already red with the cold, and the icy air was driving its fingers into the plates of his armour and through the padded layers beneath. He wondered what the possible benefit could be of a base this far out from civilisation and so far from any established travel routes.

Something flashed near the tree line, on the opposite side of the gorge, and he froze, locking his eyes on that spot. 

“Ferris, you got watchers in the hills?”

“No. I don’t have the people to spare.”

The flash came again and this time held. A perfect disk of reflected light. He spun to shield Vance, before hauling both her and Ferris behind the bulk of the ship. An instant later a blaster bolt impacted on the side of the Crest, showering them with sparks.

“Again? Didn’t the Imps didn’t kill enough of us the first time?” Ferris was pale, aping anger to hide alarm.

“No; this isn’t the Imp’s MO. This is something else.” He edged cautiously around the Crest and immediately saw the flash again. “Vance, how good are you with that rifle?”

“Good enough.”

“Cover me. Take a shot if you have to but leave them alive.”

She nodded and ran round the back of the Crest to the rear entrance. Seconds later, she emerged and flattened herself beneath the exit ramp, with just the muzzle of the rifle visible. She called out. “One-thousand-meter range. Just the one sniper. I can’t guarantee a no-kill shot at this distance. They’re up a tree and so…”

“…They can’t get a line on me if I come in overhead.”

A master of Rising Phoenix could control the jetpack with a thought, as if it were an extension of their own body. He was no master. As he fired the rockets, the boyish thrill at the sudden acceleration and flight was edged with trepidation. There had been little time for practice, and he wasn’t confident that he had enough control to land precisely above his target.  

He swept upwards as quickly as possible, not wanting the sniper to have time to bring their weapon to bear. All sounds diminished as he lifted into the quiet of the clouds, until there was nothing but the roar of the jetpack. Eyes fixed on the tree line, he saw the tell-tale flash of the scope again as the sniper tried to get an angle on him. The report of Vance’s ballistic rifle reached him, tinny and distant, and the scope flare jerked away. 

Once over the trees, he slacked off power and dropped as rapidly as he dared. As he neared the canopy a flock of offended corvids took flight, screeching at the invader in their domain. He cursed as some of them battered against him, obscuring his view. Feeling the whip of branches against him, he drew his blasters in readiness, hoping he’d come in close enough. He was too far away to hear Vance’s rifle now, but a splintering of wood and an effusive string of Rodian expletives below made it clear she had fired again. He cut his jets and dropped.

The sniper knew he was coming. As he crashed on to the makeshift platform they’d rigged up, a hail of blaster shots flew past him, each one going wide. Landing heavily and bringing his own blaster to bear, the cause of the Rodian’s suddenly terrible aim was clear. Vance’s shot had hit the trunk of the tree, sending substantial splinters of wood flying. One of them had embedded deep into the Rhodian’s eye. Green blood filled the orb and made a sharp contrast as it seeped down across yellow skin. 

The creature hissed at him sharply before carefully raising her blaster out of the way in submission. Gold jewellery pierced through long fronds and ears, and rare yellow colouration clashed with a bright red fitted duster that would soon be ruined by blood. He knew her.

“Keesha.”

“Mando.” Her voice was strained, and her breath hissed in and out with pain from her ruined eye. “I wasn’t here for you.”

“Who were you here for?”

“The SIS agent. I was in the area – she’s not worth enough for a detour.” 

“How did you know we were here?”

The Rodian choked out a laugh that turned into an anguished gasp as the shift in expression pulled at her impaled eye. The Mandalorian swept forward, gripping the collar of her coat hard and twisting it slightly. 

“How did you know?”

“You are out of touch, aren’t you? I’d heard rumours. Guild updated the bounty six hours ago. They upped the price and added a location.”

“The contract chip; give it to me.” 

“Left pocket.”

“No. You give it to me.” He snatched the blaster from her hand and pulled back. He knew better than to go searching through Keesha’s pockets; she often worked with poison darts. She gurgled a slightly hysterical sound and reached instead for her right pocket, drawing forth the circular bounty contract. He took it carefully, glad he was wearing gloves.

“If I’d known you were protecting her, I wouldn’t have taken the bounty.” 

“Wise.”

“Never thought you were one to work with the SIS.”

He looked her over, weighing his options. Keesha’s breathing was coming short now, and he noticed a tremor in her hands. A pallor was creeping across her skin. Pain and shock were taking their toll. Without medical attention she’d be in trouble. 

“Thinking of killing me Mando? I suppose another broken Guild rule wouldn’t hurt, would it? Yes, let’s add ‘killing another hunter’ and ‘interfering with a hunt’ to your debacle on Navarro.” 

“You took aim at someone under my protection, so yes, I interfered.” He ground his teeth and holstered his blaster. In the distance the whine of approaching speeders could be heard. He tipped his head towards the sound. “I’m not killing you today but your prey might.” Reaching down, he yanked the power cells from her weapons and kicked the now useless rifle and blaster over the side of her platform. “In accordance with Guild laws, I give you due warning; come after her again, and I’ll kill you.”

Giving Keesha a final glare, he ignited his jetpack to return to ra’Venn. Mid-flight, he flicked the switch on his wrist that activated their private communications channel.

“Vance, we’ve got a problem.”

Chapter Text

By the time Vance crawled out from beneath the computer core, the sky had darkened, and a light snow was falling. The Razor Crest was less than fifty metres from the heavy base doors, but by the time she reached it, her fingers and cheeks were already red from cold. The landing pad groaned and shifted in the rising wind, causing her heart to race . 

She dropped the ship’s ramp, opening a warm rectangle of light in the evening gloom. Against the jagged landscape and iron grey sky, even the Crest managed to look homely and welcoming. In the cargo bay, Bean slumbered in his cradle, snoring softly. She waited for a moment to see if the clanging of the closing ramp would wake him. When he didn’t stir, she made for the cockpit where the Mandalorian sat waiting.

“Let’s move. I dislike being where bounty hunters expect me to be.” 

“Agreed. I’m going to make for open space; if they had this location, they might have the next, and I don’t want to walk into an ambush. We’ll work out a plan once we’re clear.”

Vance toyed with the idea of sliding her now ice-cold hands beneath his clothing to warm them. With a private smile, she decided that her amusement at the resultant yell wouldn’t be worth it and let him work unmolested. He swiftly programmed a route and ignited the engines. As they lifted away from the rickety platform, Vance exhaled with relief.

“What is your problem with heights?”

“Common sense.”

He laughed at her as he gave the engines the extra power they needed to break free of gravity’s pull. As the planet receded behind them, the cabin grew dark, illuminated only by the lights from the control panel. The Mandalorian made a few final adjustments, before sitting back and pulling the circular disk of a bounty contract from his pocket. “Price on you has gone up.”

“And they knew where I would be.” She massaged her temples. “Do they just have one location, or our whole damn itinerary?”

“I don’t know. There was no location at all on this. Did they find anything out from Keesha?” 

“Not yet. She’s still unconscious in a bacta tank.” The bounty hunter may have tried to kill her, but the injuries Vance had unwittingly inflicted were horrific. She shuddered at the thought.

Her partner didn’t respond, turning the contract over and over in his hands.

“I might be able to find out what they have.” He reached for the comms panel. “I’m going to make a call. Stay out of sight.”

She rose and tucked herself into a shadowed corner. Whoever he was calling took a long time to respond. He was about to give up, when a heavyset human finally answered.

“You need to look at clocks before you call, Mando. It’s the middle of the night here. What do you want?”

Vance narrowed her eyes. Night it may be, but the man was fully dressed, and there were no traces of sleepiness on his face. He seemed wary and unsettled.

“I’m looking for work, Karga. Do you have anything for me?”

“You’re under sanction, Mando. Giving you anything at all could cause me a lot of trouble.” As he spoke his eyes flicked upwards as if looking at something beyond the scope of the holo. The small movement was almost lost in the flickering light. 

“So find me something off the books.” 

The guild master looked distinctly unhappy, but his gaze shifted to look at some unseen interface. Light played across his face as he scrolled through files. “You still got my little friend with you?”

“I do.” Her partner’s tone was wary. Vance nodded to herself, pleased that he too had noticed something odd about the man’s manner. 

“I’ve got a straight hit on Rishi Maze. Cartel business, so comes with the usual risk of retaliation. I couldn’t persuade any guild members to take it.” 

“Send me the contract. Is it exclusive?”

“Are you kidding? You know how open contracts work: first to find, first to get paid. Transmitting it now.”

The Mandalorian inclined his head formally. He seemed to be considering how to proceed, and Vance knew a moment’s anxiety. She was growing to love his lack of artifice, but it wouldn’t serve him here.

“Did anyone turn in the bounty on my passenger?” 

“Not yet, though a few took the contract when the price went up. A location was added this afternoon.”

“Just the one location?” Her lover shook his head dismissively. “That won’t help. She was the sort to move around a lot. Why has the price gone up?”

“I don’t know, someone’s clearly pissed at her.” The guild master shrugged. “They’ve removed the live capture order but are paying more if she’s still breathing. Why, do you want the job?”

“I don’t work for Imps.”

“I’ve been feeding you contracts for years, Mando. Other than the kid, you’ve never given a damn about finished jobs. Why the interest in this one?” Karga leaned back in his chair, lifting his chin to study the Mandalorian with narrowed eyes. “She’s still with you, isn’t she?”

“I completed that contract almost a month ago.” 

Behind him, Vance rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Short and simple lies were the most effective. The word “No” would have been enough and would have ended the questions. His precise, truthful answer screamed evasion. It would convince no-one.

“I’m sure that’s technically true.” There was no trace of humour in the guild master’s face.

“Yes, she’s still with me. Make sure anyone coming for her knows that. I serve them due warning.” The Mandalorian’s voice was a low growl, fierce and defiant.

“Noted. I wish you the joy of her, friend.” 

Karga killed the connection. Vance came out of her corner and perched on the chair beside him. He reached for her hands, holding them more tightly than was comfortable.

“Was that wise?”

“I have a reputation. It might protect you.” His voice was steady, but his grip on her hands hadn’t lessened.

“You’re rattled.”

“I’m not rattled, and you shouldn’t be either. No-one’s getting past me.”

“My own Mandalorian bodyguard. People used to pay a fortune for such a thing.” She found a smile for him. “Is your guild master always nervy?”

“No. He wasn’t alone; someone was making him nervous.”

“I agree.” She stood, folded her arms, and began to pace back and forth across the cockpit. “Under normal circumstances…” She broke off. “I don’t want to put you in a difficult position. Are you bound to report interference to the Guild?”

“Our bond supersedes my loyalty to the Guild.”

“I… thank you.” She flushed and dropped her gaze, the intensity in his archaic turn of phrase disquieting her. They had lain together once, and he already spoke easily of bonds; life had taught her to be more circumspect. Swallowing hard, she went on. “There are times when the SIS aren’t able to tip their hands publicly. The Guild have been very useful; even the hunters don’t know who they’re working for. You remember the Mon Calamari on Shil’ea, Ginser? He is our man within the guild and can make it look like a bounty has already been claimed. Unfortunately, now that the Guild know I’m with you, that would raise questions. It could expose Ginser.”

“Karga could be bought off easily enough.” He stopped tracking her motion across the cockpit and leaned back in his chair. “What did you find at the base?”

“I found nothing at all. The sensor data was complete and showed exactly what we expected; a pair of TIEs coming from nowhere and hammering them. There was no sign of any slicing, and no reports of any unusual deaths.” She continued to pace. “If we find the same at the other bases, then it’s actually good news. It makes it likely that we have just one or two moles rather than an infestation. Shil’ea is our most heavily defended base; disabling the sensors and taking out the defences were necessary to get anywhere close. What we saw at Yavin may have simply been a rehearsal. The other targets could have been painted for the enemy remotely.” 

“Which means we’re looking for someone mobile, who can get into both locations, and is a slicer.”

Vance nodded. “Our route had eight stops on it; only someone able to access Jarvis’ communications could have known where we were heading first and updated that bounty. That narrows it down to a very small list.”

“A small list is good. So why are you wearing a track into my floor?”

“This behaviour is reckless, brazen. Whoever did this has got to know that they are leaving a trail a blind man could follow. Either they are trying to frame someone, or they don’t care about blowing their cover.”

“I disagree. Only someone with your skills could see half of this.” He stood and caught hold of her arm, stilling her pacing and drawing her close. She set her hands to his waist and slid them under the padded layer that carried his beskar breastplate. “That’s why your bounty’s gone up; someone knows that you’re the hunter to find them.”

Vance closed her eyes and rested her brow against steel. He stood a full head taller than her, and for the briefest moment she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of being small and shielded. She inhaled deeply. “If you’re right, then the mole must know me well. Most likely, it’s one of the Freelancers.” 

The thought sickened her. She wanted desperately to be wrong. Her life had been spent shifting from place to place, mission to mission. She could walk into a cantina as a stranger and walk out an hour later on first name terms with half of the patrons, but her friends could be numbered on one hand. The Freelancers were as close as she came to a family.

“Talk me through it. Who’s on the list?” 

“I am, for a start. They could be trying to frame me.”

“That won’t work now. You were with Jarvis right up to the attack.”

“We can rule Jula out straight away. Slicing isn’t her thing. Not that sort of slicing, anyway. Ginser certainly could. Rhea isn’t a slicer, but she’s clever enough to talk someone else into doing it unwittingly. She’s… compelling.” Vance felt herself blush, remembering exactly how compelling Rhea could be.

“You two have history.” 

It was a statement, not a question. She shifted uncomfortably and stood back from him a little. “Yes. She was an Imperial diplomat’s daughter. I was sent to recruit her, and that ‘recruitment’ got a little out of hand. I was meant to befriend her and ended up in her bed. Rhea forgave me, eventually.”   

“Are you sure?”

“I introduced her to her husband.” Niall. The thought of having to tell her closest friend that his wife was a traitor made her feel physically ill.

“What about Niall?”

“No.” She shook her head emphatically, dismissing the thought at once.

“He doesn’t have the skills?”

“He absolutely does, but I trust him. We escaped the ISB together as children. Since then he’s saved my life a dozen times over.” She rubbed her hands across her face, beginning to think wistfully of the crate of Anto’s wine. “I can see why you’d suspect him, but when my life fell apart, he was the one to persuade me to keep living it.” 

The Mandalorian was silent. His questions were almost tangible things, but she ignored them, battling instead to push down memories of a childish giggle, red curls, and her own despairing screams. Hauling back control, she spoke carefully and precisely, taking refuge in her professional expertise.

“Ginser or Rhea would be the most likely candidates, but I’m not going make that sort of accusation until I am damn sure.” She lifted her chin determinedly, trying to project a calm that she didn’t feel . 

His discomfort was palpable, though whether caused by her plan or the cracks in her calm she couldn’t tell. 

“Vance, that narrows it down to two people. Why not just round them up, throw them in a cell and then work out which of them it is?” He spoke with the same barely contained impatience that he used when Bean misbehaved. She felt a flare of annoyance.

“This is just speculation! Our mole could still be some minor comms tech at Shil’ea who happens to be a genius slicer as well.” Her exclamation was louder than intended. “Besides, you heard Jarvis, we need to find them and then use them, not just lock them up somewhere. We have to be certain.”

He regarded her steadily, holding a disapproving silence. She braced herself for further argument. Instead he wordlessly reached out to claim a hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. After a moment, he exhaled audibly.

“And seeing the other base computers is the only way to be sure. Fine, we’ll do this your way.”

Chapter Text

Last of all, they came to the base on Dantooine. Sweeping low across the endless grasslands, the Razor Crest flew past the skeletal ruins of the old military base that had once stood there. An SIS training installation had been built amongst the remains and nestled among the cracked shells of the old bunkers and barracks. It had some of the best sensor equipment in the sector, but other than that lacked strategic value. Most of the people here were students. The Imperial Remnant hadn’t spared them. Lacking the armoured bunkers of Shil’ea, the attack had cut a bloody swathe through the upcoming generation of SIS personnel.

It was over twenty years since Vance had been here, and she didn’t relish the return. She’d come to Dantooine after her defection from the Empire, eager to act on her newfound convictions. Her idealistic dreams of a free and egalitarian Rebel Alliance had been swiftly quashed by Trainer Sidara Mieville. 

The now-aged Trainer had started work the year that Vance was born. She was exacting in her expectations, demanding the same perfection from her students as she did from herself. Despite her pomposity and savage sarcasm, there was no denying that those who left her charge were well equipped for the field. What was more, her commitment was never in doubt. The deaths here would have hit her hard.

With that in mind, Vance had resolved to be respectful and sympathetic, but the wiry base commander loosed her acidic tongue the moment they landed.

“Agent ra’Venn. I had much to do this afternoon, but now I see I’ll spend it supervising your efforts instead. Your assumption that you will be able to find anything that I could not, astounds me.” Mieville still wore the old uniform of the Alliance, spurning the more relaxed cut of the New Republic’s attire. Taken in over and over, it hung oddly on her bird-like frame.

“Trainer… “

“Commander; I am the ranking officer here now. Some of us have actually advanced our careers.”

Beside her the Mandalorian twitched. His irritation made her bold.

“And some of us have been putting our skills to use in the field, Commander.”

Mieville gave a sceptical snort. “Indeed. Nonetheless, I cannot allow you into the computer core unsupervised.”

“Commander Mieville, I appreciate that this has been a trying time, but our orders are explicit.” 

“So, I’m just supposed to usher you in, and leave you to it?”

Vance had been prepared for this; she held out the data pad containing their authorisation.

“And what of these two?” The Commander ignored the outstretched pad, turning her sharp gaze on the Mandalorian and Bean. 

Vance merely proffered the pad again. Mieville pulled her lips into a tight line and took it. She made them wait while she examined every line before spinning on her heel and leading them into the nearest building. This was no command centre. Youthful faces looked up from desks and monitoring arrays. Vance felt a wave of pity for them. Many looked exhausted and fearful; they’d come here expecting theoretical battles, only to have a real one crash through their door.

Without pausing, Mieville stormed through the space and led them down a steep, narrow passageway cut into the bedrock. As they descended, it grew ever tighter. Vance was grateful for her smaller frame; behind her the Mandalorian muttered curses as he manoeuvred himself through. Halfway down Bean’s cradle had to be abandoned, the little being carried in his protector’s arms instead.

“Our core took no damage at all; it was too deep underground.” The old woman gave a self-satisfied chuckle. “Dinshaa said I was a fool to install it in such a place. I must get in touch with her, now my wisdom is proven.” 

“Excellent.” Vance remembered Dinshaa well. The seven-foot-tall Wookie had taught infiltration techniques, and the core would have been utterly inaccessible for her.

The passageway opened up into a deep circular space that had the look of an old aquifer. It was some fifteen meters across and three times as deep. The core almost completely filled it, with only a metre of space around the edges. The metallic cylinder, surface glittering with indicator lights, contrasted strangely with the roughly hewn rock walls. A grilled walkway extended around the edges, with a single ladder dropping down into the pit. Mieville moved to stand at its head, fixing her gaze on the Mandalorian and blocking his way.

“This computer core holds sensitive information. Are you certain that this so-called Mandalorian can be trusted to keep a secret?” 

“Are you joking? I’ve been having sex with him for the last two months and I don’t even know his name.” Vance worked hard to keep her tone neutral and her expression innocent. 

Mieville was visibly flustered by her quip. She drew herself to her full height and shook her head defiantly, setting the ornaments in her tightly pinned grey hair to jangling. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work then, if only to expediate your departure.” 

Finally, she left. Once her footsteps had receded, Vance exhaled deeply with relief. Her partner remained silent. During their travels, she’d learned to interpret his quietness well. She could usually tell the difference between annoyance and indifference, but this time it eluded her. His silence was unreadable, and she felt a touch of unease.

“Thank you, Mando.”

“What for?”

“Not shoving Mieville off the walkway.”

“Watching you get angry was more fun.” With Bean clutched to his chest he spun and slid to the bottom of the ladder. The Child squealed with delight at the sharp descent. Vance followed more sedately.

“What’s Mieville’s problem with you?” 

“I came here with Niall when I was fifteen. Because we’d escaped the ISB, Mieville was convinced that we were double agents and treated us accordingly.” She crouched down and began to remove the access hatches into the core. “Luckily, I was only here for two years. They had me in field at seventeen. Can you pull up the sensor logs?”

Her prompt was unnecessary; the Mandalorian was already at work. She watched him for a moment, distracted. At work or rest, they’d grown used to one another’s habits and rhythms. It seemed impossible that mere months ago they’d been strangers. 

“Admiring the view, ra’Venn?”

With a slight flush, Vance twisted round and crammed herself into the narrow inspection crawl way that ran through the core. Bean followed her in there, crawling up beside her and coming to sit next to her head. With a parent’s habit, she began to narrate herself as she worked.

“We should get something good here Bean; Dantooine has some of the best sensor tech the SIS has. It must have seen the ship the TIEs came from. We’re also looking for any changes in the wiring, or any strange things that are out of place. Here, hold this torch for me and point it at this junction box. Good lad, that’s perfect.” 

She was part way through her inspection of the core’s connections when the Mandalorian nudged her foot. “This isn’t right. The visuals show what they always show -  the TIEs attacking - but those same TIEs don’t show up at all on the sensors.”

“That makes no sense. Are you sure?”

“I can read a screen, Vance. There’s no change to the usual background noise. There’s nothing wrong with the gear either; earlier in the day it picks up a supply vessel on the other side of the system, and then later it shows a New Republic scout ship arriving.”

“And the records don’t show any downtime?” 

“None.”

Vance shifted her focus to the junctions and processors that connected the sensors to the rest of the core. At the junction between the sensors and comms, she found it. It was brilliantly concealed; whoever had placed the device had gone to the trouble of weathering the components to make it look the same age as everything around it. Cracking away the casing, she uncovered a shunt running from the sensors to the comms system.

“Mando, pull up the comms log.”

She examined the device carefully; if she’d planted something like this, she would have rigged it to send an alert when tampered with. Vance opened a channel through to the control room.

“Commander Mieville, I need to cut the comms system for five minutes.”

“Why?” The commander’s voice came through with a spit of static as she snapped her question.

“Safety protocol.” Mieville would know she was lying, but she was sick of bickering with the woman. She took the answering silence as permission and reached for the override switch.

“What have you found?” 

“Some sort of shunt connecting the comms and sensors. It’s a guess but I think…” As she broke the last connection a small needle sprang forward, and a savage electrical charge arched through her. She shrieked, as much from surprise as pain. 

The Mandalorian dropped quickly into her field of view, alarmed by her shout, hand reflexively lunging for his blaster. Bean bolted from the tube, digging his clawed feet painfully into her thighs as he scrambled away.

“Damned dank fucking farrik!” A livid, almost delicate lightening shaped burn ran from her hand and up her wrist. Her hand felt oddly numb and her fingertips stung. “Porg-pissing bastard!”

Her expletives elicited a surprised chuckle from her partner. “Damned what? That one loses marks for not making sense.”

“No, but the alliteration appeals.” She spoke through gritted teeth as she rubbed her hand, trying to get some feeling back into it.

Satisfied she wasn’t hurt, the Mandalorian stood and went back to the comms log. “If the kid starts swearing, it’s your fault.”

“Wait, out of the two of us, I’m the bad influence?” 

He ignored her jibe. “Alright, I’ve got the comms log up – what am I looking for?”

“I’m expecting a pair of messages, one on each side of the attack.” With a final twist she freed the device from its moorings. Staring at it, she felt a cold and uncomfortable familiarity with the way it was put together, as if she had seen this person’s work before. “Whoever made this is a bloody genius. That shock wasn’t meant to hit the person finding it; it was designed to fry the data chip. This is beautiful work.”

“Vance, you were right; come and look at this.”

Gratefully pulling herself out of the cramped space, she stood beside him as he pointed to two log entries: one fifteen minutes before the attack and one after. Both contained nothing but a location ping, the sort of thing you’d expect from a satellite or ship transponder. She nodded to herself. “It’s speculation, but I’ll bet that if we ran details on that, we wouldn’t find a match anywhere. I bet it’s a signal to the shunt to tell it to kill sensors. They must have known how good the sensors were, and that they had to be taken out.”

“Clever.”

“Very. All the attackers would have needed was the right transmission codes.” Only one of the Freelancers would have the freedom and skills to do this. Hollowed out, she went on, her voice sounding strange to her as she tried to keep it level. “This makes it almost certain that we are hunting just one or two people.”

Her partner understood at once. “The attacks all happened within a week of each other. If there was someone on the ground at Yavin and Shil’ea, then they couldn’t have been here too. They wouldn’t have had time. This must have been set up in advance.”

“Exactly. All we need now, is access to the travel logs stored on Shil’ea. We should be able to work out who this is and play them like a valachord.”

“They could point a straight line to Gideon. I can finish what I started when I brought his TIE down.”  

There was such energy in his voice, such anticipation to be done with that task. Their paths ran together for now, but once they were done, they would diverge once more. Within the confines of the Crest it was easy to forget their differences. This common purpose would only last for so long. A tightness formed in her chest. 

“What’s wrong?” Three months ago, he wouldn’t have noticed the shift in her expression, nor cared to know its cause. She looked up into the impassive black gloss of his visor.

“May I ask… once Gideon is gone, and Bean is with the Jedi, what will you do?” 

He took a few slow paces away from her, with arms crossed and head bowed. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. She wished that she hadn’t asked. If she had held silence, she could have stolen a few more weeks of hopeful ignorance instead.

“A Mandalorian without clan or foe is not a Mandalorian.” He spoke softly, almost to himself, before turning to face her. “The Imperials killed my friend and almost wiped out my Covert. They made themselves my enemy, as well as yours. You fight their rise. If there is a place for me at your side, I would remain there.”

Relief swept through her at the reprieve, but the tightness in her chest didn’t diminish. The wise thing to do would be to hold silence, and simply accept his response without further comment, but in some things, she had never been wise.

“Good, because I love you.” 

“Din Djarin.” His words made no sense to her, but his voice was as intense as she’d ever heard it, warm with feeling. She wondered if this was some expression of affection from a language she was unfamiliar with. Before she could query it, he spoke again. “My name: Din Djarin.”

Her breath caught. She’d had partners in the past who had spoken words like ‘love’ so easily that they were rendered meaningless. This quiet offering of his name held a stronger affirmation than a dozen such protestations. Smoothing her hands about his lean waist she repeated it softly.

“It sounds better when you say it.” He cupped her face with his hands and gently laid the cool brow of his helmet against her forehead. Vance couldn’t tell which one of them was shaking. “Moff Gideon knows it. I don’t want you hearing it from an enemy’s lips before you hear it from mine. You never asked… Thank you.”

“When a spy respects your privacy, you know they’re serious about you.” She smiled. “You didn’t volunteer it. I thought it must be some rule of your Covert to never share names.” 

“Not ‘never’, just very rarely.”

Her brow against his, his visor close enough to mist with her every exhalation, she ached to kiss him. “A lover whose name I can’t use, and whose face I’ll never see…”

His voice soft, he interrupted her. “Again, not ‘never’.” 

He laughed quietly at her astonishment. The hands that had cupped her face, trailed down her throat and sternum, lightly grazing across her breasts. A delighted giggle at their feet made them both jump. Bean grinned up at them broadly, and Vance felt herself blush. The Mandalorian scooped him up.

“I’m going to find this one something to eat.” He regarded her for a moment, and she didn’t need to see him to know the expression hidden beneath the helmet; the smile was clear in his voice. “Work fast. Get back to the Crest.”

Chapter Text

Greef Karga leaned his head back against the abrasive surface of the old lava tube. He barely even noticed its sharpness anymore. He shifted awkwardly, the grit of pumice scraping flesh as he moved. Even his slight movement triggered a cascade of dust from the ceiling, irritating his already raw throat and eyes. He fought the urge to cough; it would only serve to drag the filth deeper into his lungs. 

The stormtrooper guards bought him food enough to survive, and murky water. A single lamp stood by the iron grill, making ominous shadows of the most banal thing. Worn iron grills blocked the tube at each end, creating a makeshift cell. They didn’t bother to chain him now. He was no threat to them. At least it was warm down here.

Time was meaningless. Was it weeks or days or months since Xi’an had first come into his office? The violet skinned twi’lek had plied a feral charm, claiming to have a task for the Mandalorian and asking if he knew how to reach him. He had brushed her off without a second thought and laughed as she left. When she had dragged him from his bed that night, flanked by storm troopers, his amusement had faded. Bound, head covered, a blaster in his neck to prevent him calling for help, he had been bundled into a speeder and stolen away into the night.

Xi’an had already concocted a scheme to lure the Mandalorian in. Her plan had been to have Greef call him, claiming to have news of the now deserted Covert. Then Mando had called and a new plan was formed in moments. Even with a blaster to his head, Karga had tried to warn him. Glances off viewer, inventing an unattractive job, questions so direct about his travelling companions that even Mando should have balked. If the man had caught wise, he had given no sign. The trap laid, the twi’lek had left to spring it, leaving him locked in the darkness.

He’d tried everything to reach his guards; bribery, threats, promises of rewards, and even appeals to their morals. They remained impassive. After a while he’d given up hoping for release. It was easier to try not to think at all and let the hours and days drift past, in texture-less, unchanging darkness.

He had managed to tumble into an uneasy sleep when a rhythmic click caught his attention. Footsteps. His guards had been lounging on makeshift stools made from storage crates, a game of sabacc spread between them. The cards scattered as they jumped to their feet and stood sharply to attention. With a predator's grace, Xi’an strode into the dim pool of light that now defined his world.

At the sight of her, a cold sweat broke across his brow. She crouched down before him and gave that wicked smile, drawing the tip of her tongue down a pointed canine.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly.”

She hit him. The blow was shockingly hard, so quick he barely even saw her move. His head slammed to the side and he felt blood trail down his lip. He barely had time to level himself before she struck again, this time connecting with his eye.

“You’ve behaved so well and still I’m treating you so cruelly, but you have to look the part for your next performance. The thing is, Mando didn’t take your bait. I had a lovely time on the beaches of Rishi, but no Mando, no Mando’s pet.” She reached out and placed a sharp nail beneath his chin, forcing him to raise his head and meet her gaze. “So, we’re going to try something else. You are going to call your lovely Marshall and tell her everything. You are going to tell her where we are, and why we have you. Be sure to tell her exactly how many troopers we have. You are going to tell her all of the things I want to do to Mando, and everything I will do to you if I can’t. She’ll run straight to Mando and tattle some tales.”

“Cara’s smarter than that. She’ll see right through it.” 

Xi’an laughed again. “Darling, there’s nothing to see through. You’re going to tell her the truth.”

“And what makes you think Mando will come to my rescue?” Greef’s swelling lip made it hard to enunciate. The hot metal taste of blood was making him nauseous.”

“He and I are intimately acquainted. I know how his mind works. Make him think it’s his fault, and his sense of honour will demand it. If not, maybe I’ll go after his woman next. Gideon has told me all about her.”

“I’ll do it, if only so that I can watch them take you down.”

“No, you’ll do it because I’ll kill you, and half of your little town if you don’t.” She practically purred. Standing she crooked her finger at another trooper who came forward with Greef’s portable holo device and set it at his feet.

“Not my best angle.”

“Can’t have you looking too comfortable.” She withdrew slightly to ensure the holo wouldn’t catch her. “Now…”

Xi’an hit the record and raised her eyebrows expectantly. For a moment he held her gaze, scrabbling to think of any way around this, any way to give Dune more information or warn her of the trap. The corners of the twi’leks mouth tilted upwards and her eyes glittered. It was as if she sensed his nascent rebellion and grew excited at the thought of crushing it. He ground his teeth; he had no choice. He looked down at the flickering holo.

“Dune, I haven’t got much time. I’m being held in a crevasse twenty clicks from the town by a twi’lek named Xi’an, and a whole squad of Imp troopers. She’s working for Gideon, but you know what her fee is? Mando, just Mando. She’s got some score to settle and is trying to use me to lure him into a trap. You’ve got to warn him, Cara, tell him to ignore any messages that seem to come from me.” He licked his lips and flicked his gaze back up to a delighted Xi’an. She raised her eyebrows at him and gestured that he go on.

“Insane bitch is obsessed; she’s not going to stop hunting. You should hear what she’s got planned for him, and anyone close to him; his kid, even the woman he’s taken up with. Don’t try to rescue me, there are too many of them. I’ll keep her occupied as long as I can. I’m sorry this didn’t work out as we’d hoped. Warn Mando, Cara. Warn him to stay clear!”

Xi’an killed the connection.

“Very good!” She sat back on her heels and applauded. Closing with him, she smoothed her hands around his throat, digging her sharp nails into his flesh. “I hope he takes the bait, because if he ignores me again, I’m going to send him your head.”

Chapter Text

Night had fallen by the time his lover returned. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, the Mandalorian’s visor picked her up as she crossed the grasslands, a patch of bright heat in the darkness. 

“Good, because I love you.”

Who was the last person to say that to him, the last one he had believed? His mother? Something within him sang. This wasn’t the surge of excitement before battle. This wasn’t the pleasure taken from a victory or any celebration that followed. This was an all-encompassing warmth that flooded through every fibre of his being. Vance wasn’t bound by clan or Covert; she had no obligation to him. She was simply his, for his own sake.

Their personal comms channel crackled in his helmet. It had taken her nearly a week to talk him into letting her modify it, and as she’d worked he’d spent a fretful time locked away in their berth, but the convenience was undeniable.

“We’re done here. Fire her up, let’s get ourselves gone before Mieville decides she has more wisdom to offer.” Vance sounded exhausted. 

The engines sprang to life at his commands, and he reset the nav computer for Shil’ea. As soon as he heard the hangar door close, and the clatter of her bag being thrown into its storage, he hit the controls to lift off. For no reason he could name, leaving a planet always felt easier at night, the transition from one darkness to another smoother somehow. He tapped a forefinger impatiently against the thruster controls as they ascended, making the jump to hyperspace the moment they cleared the atmosphere.

Below him he heard the quiet domestic sounds of Vance moving around, finding food, and stowing her gear. The background noise of a space shared. Satisfied their course was steady, he dropped down to the cargo bay to join her.

Vance stood by the Child’s cradle, a hand resting on its rim. The Child slept soundly, small whiffling snores escaping. She looked as weary as she had sounded, her gaze unfocussed and thoughts clearly far away. For a moment he said nothing, just watching her. 

“So much damned trouble, for such a small package.” 

He smiled privately at words that she could have applied to herself. “You’re not kidding. You need to tell him that hidey-hole you made is for hiding himself, not whatever he plans to eat later. I had to clear four grass lizards out of there; live ones.” 

“How can he even fit one of those into his face?”

“I’ve stopped asking that.”

She stepped away from the cradle and retrieved a bottle of Anto’s wine from its crate. “Only one left after this, but I need a drink.”

While she poured measures into two battered soup cups, he pulled a long crate into the centre of the floor and sat at one end. She moved to sit behind him, setting her back square to his. Sitting like this had begun as a way to share a quiet drink or meal together without risk of her seeing his face. The comfortable closeness it allowed had made it a habit. 

“K’oyacyi, cyar’ika ner.”* She lifted her cup.

“That a toast?”

“It is. You’ve not heard it before?” She sounded confused. 

“New one on me. What does it mean?”

“Stay alive, my love.”

“Same to you.” He lifted his helmet enough to bring the cup to his mouth. Sitting like this, he could feel her every move and breath. She rested her head back against his shoulder, unusually quiet. “You know who it is, don’t you?”

“I think so. The work I saw today was distinctive.” She took a long drink from her cup, draining it with a swiftness that courted a serious hangover. “The Imps trained Niall and I in basic slicing, and so there wasn’t much that Mieville could teach us on Dantooine. Instead, we spent a year with Ginser, learning every which way to slice and play a system. There was an elegance to his work that I’ve never been able to replicate. What’s more, he has ties into the Guild; setting and updating the bounty would be easy for him. He still trains cadets now and again, meaning he would have access to the core on Dantooine, and the rest of the time, he’s perfectly placed to get access to Jarvis’ files. Bastard.” She sighed heavily and reached for the bottle on the floor beside them. He caught hold of her hand instead, interlacing his fingers with hers. 

“The life that agents lead is unsettled, always on the move. We don’t often get the chance to form relationships. You develop an understanding with others in the same profession and become kin of sorts. Other than Niall, I’ve known Ginser longer than anyone.” The flatness and weariness in her voice was so unlike her. She untangled her fingers from his and refilled her cup. 

“What happens next?”

“If I was working alone, I’d manipulate the information Ginser has access to, put tracks on all of his comms, and use him to find Gideon’s base. Then I’d infiltrate Gideon’s operation… “

“By yourself?!”

“Yes, by myself. Will you please stop being surprised by the fact that my job is as dangerous as yours? Once inside, I’d assess the situation and determine a course of action.”

“What is there to assess? The man needs to die.”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave a known player on the board, than risk what could rise in their place.”

He made a disgusted sound. “And if you get caught?”

“Then I expect you to cry at my funeral.” 

She gave a dry laugh, but the humour was lost on him. Tilting his helmet upwards again, he emptied his own cup, trying to drown the hollowness that her words had opened up. If she tried a move like that, he wouldn’t be there to protect her. He could feel the press of her narrow shoulders against his back, how slight she was compared to him, and quietly began to wonder if she’d agree to some combat training. 

“Well, you’re not working alone, so that’s not going to happen. Gideon is not walking away from this.”

Quiet stillness met his decisive words.

“I don’t want to think about this for a while.” Picking up the bottle, she stood and looked back at him with clear intent, then made for the ladder to the upper deck. With a final check of the Child, he followed. 

In the end, she had managed to carve them out a space to sleep from the old storage loft. Sat between the engines, it wasn’t the quietest place when in sub-light, but it was warm, afforded them a little more space, and a lot more privacy. He followed her through the newly widened hatchway, ducking his head slightly. The roof was low in here, but they spent very little time standing. A narrow viewport, covered by slatted blinds, admitted the flickering blue light of the hyperspace vortex. 

Vance kicked off her boots, threw her belt to one side, and sat on the low bed. Drinking the wine directly from the bottle now, she watched as he began to remove his armour. Piece by piece he set it aside. When he reached for the last awkward clasp of the breastplate, her hands were there first, lifting it away. She turned to close the blind, to wrap them in concealing darkness.

“No, leave it open. I want to see you.”

“Is it just your face I’m not allowed to see? Is the rest fair game?”

“Naked with a helmet is not a good look.”

Her half-smile rewarded his quip, then obediently, she closed her eyes. Even now his pulse still quickened as he lifted his helmet clear and reverently set it to one side. He took her hands and held them to his face in what was becoming a nightly ritual, enjoying a touch that most would take for granted. After a moment she traced a fingertip down the centre of his brow, to the tip of his nose, before closing to kiss him with gratifying hunger. Her mouth tasted of honey wine.

She pulled him down to the bed, pausing only to allow him to take off the sleeveless fitted shirt she wore. Dropping his lips to the curve of her throat, he traced the line of her collar bone with his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth. He felt the pulse in her throat, the slenderness of her bones, the softness of a form that never wore armour. Vulnerable. Fragile.

“How good are you in a fight?”

“You’re asking this now? Is this some sort of Mandalorian foreplay you’ve not dared to mention before?” She laughed as she kissed him again. Her hands slid beneath the base layer he wore under his armour and drew it up over his head, before reaching down to the fastening of his trousers.

“I’m serious.”

She looked perplexed, but replied, punctuating each phrase with a kiss. “I’m a decent sniper, you know that. If I can get this close to someone, I can hold my own hand-to-hand for a while. Any sort of mass brawl or gunslinger match and I’m screwed. Most of my skills revolve around avoiding conflict.” Her hands returned to rest on his face, the better to gauge his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you in one piece by the end of this.” 

In the rippling light that filtered through the viewport, he saw her face become still and tender.

“You’re not used to this, are you? Having people to worry about?” 

“I’ve always travelled alone, or with other warriors.”

“And then Bean and I turned up and complicated everything. It’s not something you can escape Din; to love is to fear.” Was that sorrow marking her features? Her brow furrowed, before she suddenly reached for him and kissed him with a bruising fierceness that sent fire through his veins. Breaking off she spoke again, lips brushing his as she did so. “It’s worth it, I promise, it’s… ” 

She trailed off in a soft cry as he smoothed his hand over her abdomen and downward, sliding clever fingers between cloth and flesh. Awkwardness was gone between them now. What was needed was taken, and what was wanted was given. Later, he voiced his own cry, and his lips formed her name unbidden. 

*

He lay awake long after she had surrendered to sleep, his nose buried in hair that always managed to smell like sunlight, no matter how long she spent shut up on the ship. They had crawled back into their clothes before going to sleep to be ready for anything space flight could throw their way. He shifted back from her a little, to see her face. 

The light of the hyperspace vortex gave enough illumination to make out the curve of her cheekbones, and the soft sweep of her mouth. Knowledge of the soul within rendered her plain features lovely.

He should lean across her to close the blind; if she woke now, she would see him. A strange impulse took hold. He wanted to wake her with a kiss, see those striking eyes flick open, and allow her to know him as completely as he knew her. His lips were a centimetre from hers before he caught himself and urgently reached past her to block the light. Plunged into darkness, he lay back, breath coming short. Vance stirred in her sleep, unconsciously feeling the tension in his frame. Without waking, she nestled back into his shoulder, murmuring some unintelligible comfort.

He moulded himself against her, resting his face against her hair. With no more sound than an exhaled breath, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Stay alive.”

Chapter Text

The Mandalorian woke alone. His instinctive reach into the darkness met nothing but a cold bulkhead. Vance’s pillow didn’t hold even a trace of warmth. She rarely woke before him; most mornings she wouldn’t even stir as he slipped away from their shared berth.

Rising, he wreathed himself in beskar once more, buckling each piece back into place. Before Vance came to share his bed, he slept in his armour, removing only the vambraces to prevent a rude awakening from accidentally-triggered Whistling Birds.  Ironically, the repeated practice had made him swifter, and within minutes he was fastening the final cuisses.

Vance was in the cockpit, in the centre of a holo-projected galaxy marked with base locations and the timeline of attacks. She sat on the floor with data pads strewn around her. A cold mug of tea that had barely been touched, stood abandoned on the control panel. He moved to crouch beside her, disrupting the projection as he did. Distorted planets and stars rippled across beskar and scattered across the room.

“Is the kid still asleep?”

“Oh, he’s been up. He woke up when I did, stuffed his face with more breakfast than was sensible and sparked out again.” Her voice was vague and distracted, her attention firmly on the pads in front of her. He picked a few up at random. They were the reports and data downloads from their mission.

“You doubting yourself?”

“If I’m wrong, it will cost us dearly. The real mole will be free to work unimpeded.” A lock of hair fell forward over her eyes as she reached for another pad. “That, and the idea of turning in a friend and mentor is… unappealing. I feel like I’m betraying him .”

“You can’t betray a traitor.”

She looked at him directly for the first time that morning, and he tucked the errant lock back behind her ear. She sighed, before beginning to collect up the data pads without another word. Leaving her to it, he took his seat, just as the nav-comm signalled their arrival.

Sub-light engines engaged with a roar as they dropped from hyperspace. Shil’ea loomed before them, wreathed as ever in clouds. Sweeping over the pole, they dove down into the atmosphere on the planet’s dark side and were swallowed by shadow. The Crest ’s chronometer jumped, informing them that although their cycle had just begun, at the base it was late evening. He no longer needed Vance to input her landing authorisations. He’d watched her so many times that he knew them as well as she did. Kestrel 36-18-G.  

“Razor Crest , approach pattern epsilon. VIP landing is full, please come down on lily-pad D.”

His partner didn’t usurp the controls this time, instead directing his descent with clipped instructions, dictating angles of approach and turns, without so much a glance out of the viewports. It wouldn’t have made a difference if she had; there was nothing to be seen. A blanket of thick fog swathed their approach, and it was only at the last moment that the dim lights of the landing pad managed to penetrate the murk.

It was clear why they referred to these external platforms as ‘lily pads’. They were only just big enough to support the Crest, and as he cut engines the pad lurched beneath the ship’s weight. Displaced swamp water sluiced across the grilled surface before booms inflated on each side and stabilised them. Through the viewport he could see nothing bar a thin trail of green lights that disappeared into the fog.

Vance was pulling on an SIS uniform jacket that he hadn’t known she even owned. It was crumpled, as though it had been shoved to the bottom of a bag and left there for a long time. Unmarked by wear, it sat strangely over her worn boots and trousers. He watched as she fastened it tightly, then closed her eyes and drew a few steadying breaths. When she spoke, there was no trace of her usual warmth. Her voice was cool, her Imperial accent precise.

“Bean’s still asleep, you may as well wait here. Jarvis will want to speak to me alone first anyway.” She clipped a comms piece into place over her ear, the double of the one now integrated with his helmet. “I call you when she’s ready for you.” She left without another word.

Her sudden coolness didn’t trouble him. It was an armour of her own against the unpleasant task that lay ahead. It was a detachment necessary to survival that he was intimately familiar with.  Her slight figure appeared below him on the pad, walking away into the fog. He switched his visor to scan for heat, and the black wall of fog filled with colour as it registered the myriad life of the swamps. Vance’s form, lit in reds and violets, retreated steadily away, until it finally disappeared from view completely.

He was so absorbed that the chime of an incoming comms made him jump. Recovering himself at once, he activated the viewer, and a familiar visage sprung up before him. Dark hair hung loose on one side, braided on the other, and a small tattoo sat below her left eye like a tear.

“Greef is in trouble. Seeing as it’s your fault I thought you’d come and help me get him out of it.” Cara Dune spoke without preamble, as direct as ever.

“My fault?”

“After you left, Greef set me up as a Marshall. Couple of months ago, I had to chase down a spice runner who’d made a break for it. Took me longer than expected and when I got back Greef was gone.” She looked down for a moment, clearly unhappy. “His clerk told me he was away on some private business but when he didn’t come back after a week I started looking. Security visuals in his office show him talking to a twi’lek woman. She leaves, but later that night turns up again with a squad of troopers and takes him. They wanted us to see – the twi’ poses for the camera and blows a damned kiss at it. Sending you a visual now.”

A familiar visage filled the screen. A wicked smile, a vicious beauty, a lithe and lethal physique. The holo rendered everything in shades of blue, but he knew the skin was violet, the eyes dark. 

“Xi’an.”

“Glad you remember her, because she certainly remembers you. I looked everywhere but couldn’t find a trace. A few days ago, Greef managed to get a message out.”

The image changed again, and a recording played. The quality was terrible, but it was clear that Karga was in a bad way. His face looked thin and pinched. A livid bruise was visible even in the recording, and his lip was split and crusted with blood.

“You should hear what she’s got planned for him, and anyone close to him; his kid, the woman he’s taken up with.”

Cold fury filled him. He thought of Xi’an, standing behind Greef as they’d discussed the Rishi bounty. He could perfectly picture the expression on her face at his declaration that anyone coming for Vance would have to get through him.

“I scouted the position; it’s defensive and only has one approach. They have an E-Web by the main entrance. This is going to be messy.” The ex-trooper’s face reappeared. “This woman of yours; she any use to us here?”

He shook his head. “She’s resourceful, clever, and a damn good tech, but in a head-on fight like this? No.” 

“She sounds like Kuill.” 

There was a quiet warning in Dune’s tone. Kuill, whom he’d dragged into a conflict that had left him dead in the Nevarran sands. Kuill, with his clever hands and quiet wisdom, who had paid for his willingness to help with a broken body and an anonymous grave. He remembered burying him, remembered seeing his features vanishing beneath the sand. The dark grit had flowed into his friend’s nostrils and mouth, over glazed eyes locked open by death. It was too easy to see Vance’s face sinking beneath the same sands. Ice ran through his veins.

“I won’t be bringing her.”

“And the kid? You going to leave him with her?”

“Wherever I go, he goes. Besides, I can tell him what to do and lock him in the berth. Vance wouldn’t take well to that.” Dune’s mouth quirked. Her expression was an odd mix of amusement and something else he couldn’t quite decipher. “What?”

“Nothing. How soon can you be here?”

He checked the nav-comm. “Thirty-one hours.”

“I’ll make the preparations. Thanks, Mando.”

He cut the connection. Leaning back heavily in his chair, he pulled off his helmet and rubbed his hands across his face. Vance would want to come with him. Even if she did agree to stay behind, she would ply her trade, searching for alternative approaches, researching Xi’an’s history. The twi’lek had been wanted by the Republic long before the raid on the prison ship. Her files would be extensive. Perhaps Vance would even find out about the work they’d done together, 

Few things brought him a sense of shame, but that last honourless, blood-soaked job was one of them. Xi’an’s visceral vitality, which had once so enflamed him, had shown itself as a cold brutality. Their target had been a New Republic munitions factory. Their foes had been unworthy; technicians and mechanics. What they couldn’t steal, Xi’an had detonated. The twi’lek had laughed, as the collateral damage had ripped through the site, killing countless unarmed workers, who had posed no threat to them. He had left that crew without a word the next day, but that wouldn't erase the files, security recordings, and images that doubtlessly remained.

He looked down at the helmet in his lap and met his own reflected stare. Eyes so dark they were almost black looked back, with no more wisdom to offer. If Vance asked, he would tell her, but she couldn’t find out without him there to explain, and there was no time for such things. He had to go now, quietly slipping away like a thief. She would be furious.

An untrained warrior is a risk to all, especially themselves. His mentor’s words steeled him. To take her into combat would be irresponsible. His efforts to protect her could kill them both. He could face her curse-laden anger if she lived to deliver it.

Time was short and he had to move quickly. Finding a crate, he began to pack her belongings. A lucky shot from the enemy would be all it took to prevent him returning, and he wouldn’t rob her of what little she had left.

Methodically, he began to strip her away from his life. Her tools and clothes, data pads, and the scraps of real wood that she would carve and shape in idle moments, were all thrown into the crate. One piece he kept, a small model of the Crest that she’d carved from a deep red wood. He tucked it carefully into a pocket at his waist, feeling the press of it against his ribs as he continued to work.

Two things remained. From a belt pouch, he drew the small roll of credits that she’d thrown to him on Yavin 4. He’d carried it ever since. He tightened his fist around it for a moment before throwing it into the crate, hoping she would understand the gesture. Finally, a data pad, with a hastily composed explanation that would have to suffice until he saw her again. 

Sealing the crate, he pushed it down the docking ramp, handing it over to one of the stevedore droids with firm instructions. He rested his palms against it for a moment, before steeling his resolve and letting go.

The Crest had been modified for swift retreats, and it took moments to fire the engines and be ready for launch.

“Razor Crest, this is control. Power down. Your departure has not been authorised.”

He ignored them, rocking the lily-pad platform with the speed and force of his take-off. 

“Razor Crest , I repeat, your departure is unauthorised, please stand down and return immediately.”

He doubted that they would fire on him but wasn’t willing to take the risk. Hauling back on the control lever, he slammed the Crest into a near engine-stalling climb, accelerating hard out of the range of the ion cannons that lurked in the fog. Engines screamed. He wondered if Vance would hear the familiar sound and come running.

Not that she could do anything about it if she did – it was too late now. He was close to the ionosphere when their private comms channel crackled. Vance’s frantic query was distorted and broken by the increasing distance. 

“Vance, I’m sorry. This is the Way.” 

With a final burst of static, the connection died. He passed beyond her reach. 

Chapter Text

Without the soft green landing-pad lights, Vance would have been lost in moments.  The fog swallowed everything, even muffling the sound of her feet on the metal grill of the lily-pad as she walked away from the Crest. She knew that less than a hundred metres away was the steep ramp that would lead her down into the warm and brightly lit hangar of Shil’ea base, but for now it was beyond her perception, wreathed in the oppressive murk. It was easy to imagine terrible things lurking just out of sight. The swamps here were thick with life; she could almost feel the weight of it. Eyes watching her walk. Prey hiding from sight and hunters waiting for her to make a false move. The fine hairs on her arms and neck prickled and lifted. She forced a laugh at her foolishness. The only thing likely to be watching her was the Mandalorian, tracking her heat signature and figuratively walking her to the door. 

Still, the short walk felt longer than it should. Counting her steps, she wondered if she had somehow managed to walk onto another landing platform. Her pace increased. When the hulking shape of the ion cannons coalesced ahead of her and a gate guard called out a challenge, she felt momentarily giddy with relief. The hangar door opened, a beacon in the night.

Vance made her way to the hangar, footsteps echoing in the confined and steeply sloped passage. Even at this hour, the hangar rang with sounds of industry. The shouts of technicians floated up, along with the chirrup of astromechs and the occasional spit of an arc welder. After weeks spent with only her Mandalorian and Bean for company, the sudden confusion of people jarred.

It was clear why they had been refused landing in here. The X-wing compliment had doubled, and sprawled in the centre of the bay, was the Lana Suu. The elegant Rendili-Surron vessel was scored and burnt, her usually pristine hull torn. Black trails on the hangar floor suggested her landing had not been a smooth one. Shaped like a half-opened fan, she leaned drunkenly against a prop, while a heavy-duty repair droid manoeuvred a replacement landing foot into place. A small hoard of technicians swarmed her, arc welders flaring. 

Vance diverted her course, making for the stricken ship with a sudden anxiety that only eased when Niall sauntered down the ramp. She quickly closed the distance between them and wrapped her friend’s angular frame in a fierce embrace.

“What happened?”

“The Imperials happened.” Her friend was grim, without even a trace of his usual languid humour. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “We had recovered two Force sensitive children. We were almost clear when the Imperials attacked and took them both.” 

Vance hissed out a breath. “How did you and Rhea get away?”

“Not easily. Rhea took a blaster bolt to the hip – she’s currently taking a bacta-tank swim with G2.” 

“Bastards.”

“And other such words. She’s going to be fine, but it could take weeks for her to be able to walk easily again. As soon as the Imps had the children, they retreated. They just did enough damage to stop us chasing and then bolted.”

“That’s odd.”

“Quite. Imps aren’t known for restraint. I don’t like it.” He turned to survey his battered ship, resting a hand lightly on the bulkhead. “This one will be easier to repair than my wife. Lana Suu will be back to her beautiful self in a matter of days, and we’ll be sent back out there with a ‘there, there’ and a pat on the head, while Rhea gets to relax for a while. What about you? Any trouble?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got hunters after me, but nothing Mando can’t handle.”

“I’m sure.” He gave a speculative smirk.

“I need to report, Niall. You can tease me later.” Her bag weighed heavily on her shoulder, full of incriminating data and the device from Dantooine. A tightness was forming in her chest at the task that couldn’t be avoided for much longer. She gripped her friend’s hand for a moment, wishing she could talk to him about it.

“Is something wrong, Vee?”

“Almost always. I’d tell you if I could.”

He inclined his head with the understanding of a man who had walked this path as long she had. They parted without another word, each heading to their own private intrigues.

Vance found Jarvis in the conference room. The lights were off, and Jarvis was lit eerily from below by the illuminated charts on the long glass table. The commander didn’t look up straight away, continuing to manipulate the charts before her, allowing the silence to grow ominous. With a flick of a forefinger, she assigned an unknown code mark to an asset, before closing the display, slowly straightening, and calling for the lights. The overheads flared on, and Vance flinched at the sudden brightness.

“Agent ra’Venn, there is a reason I give my Freelancers long leashes. It’s to conceal your movements, allow you to act on your initiative, and circumvent the rules when needed. It is not so that you can wave that status in the face of base commanders. Mieville seems to think you are, and I quote, ‘a credulous incompetent, endangering our security for the sake of a personal indulgence’.”

“Commander Mieville was being obstructive. I admit I may have been a little provocative in response.”

“Mieville was exercising due caution. What you do to secure the co-operation of assets is not my concern but giving other ranking officers reasons to think you may be compromised, makes all of our lives harder. Be less ‘provocative’ next time.”

“Yes, Commander. My apologies.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have a name for me.”

“I have strong circumstantial evidence and a suspect… “

“…Stop dancing. Name.”

“Ginser.” Jarvis closed her eyes and lifted her face to the ceiling. Vance ran through her reasoning, placing the Dantooine device before Jarvis, as a celebrant would lay an offering on an altar.

“And Ginser was the only agent who didn’t have some attempt made to disrupt their last mission.” Jarvis spoke softly, considering. “You had attention from the Guild, and I’m expecting you’ve already seen that Niall and Rhea had problems with Imperials, as did Jula. Ginser may be one of the best but it’s strange that he slipped the net while the rest of you did not.” 

Vance frowned. “That seems careless. I said this to Mando; you only take this many risks with your cover when it won’t be needed for much longer.”

Jarvis nodded. “We’re close to their endgame.”

The two women held silence for a while, each absorbed with their own contemplation. Vance had never been ambitious, and at moments like this she remembered why. She watched as Jarvis contemplated their next steps, grateful that the decision was no longer hers. Jarvis parted her lips to speak, when a disembodied, youthful sounding voice intruded over comms.

“Commander, we have an unauthorised departure by Razor Crest and a refusal to respond to hails. His flight path has evaded our air defences; should I scramble X-wing intercept?”

Jarvis held Vance’s wide-eyed stare steadily for a fraction of a second before replying. “No. He’ll have hit orbit and jumped before we can get in the air. Let him go.”

Vance reached for her comms, fumbling the controls in haste and shock. 

“Mando, what are you doing?” There was a crackle of static in response, the ghost of his voice, and then silence. “Mando? Mando!” 

Jarvis raised an eyebrow. The world seemed suddenly distant, the sound of her pulse drowning out everything else. She laid her hands to the smooth gloss of the table before her as she scrabbled for comprehension.

“I need to check my messages. He must have left some explanation. Something must have happened…” 

“Or, we could have a serious problem.”

“What… “

Jarvis cut her off. “You’ve spent the last two months taking this Mandalorian on a guided tour of our surviving bases, discussing our defensive capabilities, cell structures, and networks. You finish that tour, and he chooses that exact moment to disappear?” With the precision of a hunter Jarvis laid both of her palms flat on the table and leaned across it, staring fixedly at ra’Venn. Her voice was as soft as the paw of a cat the moment before it’s claws unsheathed. “Give me one reason not to think him an Imperial spy.”

“No! Like you said, I’ve spent months with him, living with him, sharing his bed. If this were an act, I’d have seen through it.” She could hear a tremor rising in her voice and swallowed hard in an effort to control it. “The man can’t lie to save his life.”

“Or he’s a master of it. How do you know that he even is a Mandalorian? Do you have any proof, other than the armour?”

“I’ve worked with Mandalorians before, I know their ways…” And every other Mandalorian she had met spoke Mando’a. He hadn’t even recognised a basic phrase. Her hands began to shake.

“…Making you predisposed to trust them. Could he know your clearance codes?” Unrelenting, Jarvis bit out question after question. Had she discussed her plans for the next move? Did he know who she suspected? Vance lapsed into a stunned silence that was answer enough. 

It was too much. She couldn’t think. Hurt and confusion entangled with disbelief and anger. Fear ran beneath them all. Oppressive as the swamp’s fog, they obscured all clarity of thought. Somewhere Jarvis was talking, unintelligible sounds that seemed a long way off. There was irritation in her tone; a question repeated. 

“A name, ra’Venn. Did you at least get a name?”

Din Djarin. Vance held herself very still. “No. I didn’t.”

Jarvis rounded on her, pitiless. “Do you remember what I said, when on your recommendation, we took this man on?” 

“That if it went wrong, it was on me.”

“Yes, and it is, very much, on you. A guided tour to a potential spy.” Jarvis practically spat. 

The injustice stung. Anger felt better than fear. It bought focus. Vance clenched her fists and met the commander’s predator stare, her voice low and sharp. “Or, I could have secured the SIS an incredibly valuable asset, with links to a group that up until now we’ve had zero influence with. He could be entirely innocent. If this is on me, give me a chance to find out which. You’re right, he knows a lot about us. If ISB get hold of him, then who knows what information they could rip out? We need to get to him first.”  

“And if he does turn out to be a spy?” 

“Then rest assured that I know every gap in that armour.” Beneath his chin, where she slid her fingers to steal a touch. Under his arms, the quickest way to his heart. Inner thighs and groin, where blood ran close to the surface, and her hands and mouth would work when they had no time to undress. She clenched her jaw and pressed her eyes closed for a moment. Jarvis was still watching.

“You’re not going alone. I want at least one operative on this who can be objective. Take Niall Heron and take this.” Jarvis pulled a fistful of data sticks from her pocket, selected one and slid it across the table. “It’s a tracking code for the Razor Crest .”

“You tracked us?” A stupid question that escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Of course I did. The device is by the weapons rack; I put it there myself while you were in the infirmary. We’re done here. Make sure you are out of here the moment the Lana Suu can fly again.” Jarvis strode past her and swept from the conference room, dodging a stevedore droid with an irritated hiss. 

The droid, completely nonplussed by the Commander’s annoyance, waited for her to pass and then entered the room, pushing before it a small crate with the Crest’s mark on the side. Vance felt her barely retained control cracking. Accepting the consignment with a bio scan, she dismissed the droid. For a few moments, she couldn’t move. Keeping her breath steady and herself upright was challenge enough.

With an intense distaste for her own paranoia, she ran a swift scan of the container, before checking the seal for any sort of triggering mechanism. Finding it clear, she reached down and cracked the seal. 

Her possessions. Clothes, tools, everything. Everything apart from her rifle. She thought of her weapon, nestled in the rack where she had left it, alongside a dozen others. A trophy? No. On the top of the pile nested an old, scavenged data pad, as life-worn and battered as everything else on the Crest , a short message on the screen.

Over and over her eyes ran across his words, mining each bland statement for meaning, trying to force her thoughts to coalesce into something coherent and controlled. She tried to drag herself clear of the storm of feeling. Her eyes stung and her vision blurred with hurt, her hands shook with fury, and all the while some crazed part of her wanted to laugh. Once again, she anchored herself in anger.

With a harpy’s shriek, she flung the pad across the room. It struck the wall so hard that it rebounded almost to her feet, its casing cracked. Retrieving it, she tried to hold the broken shell together, as the words on the screen now flickered and glitched. Breathing hard, she set her back to the wall, determined not to let her anger dissolve into tears just yet.

Niall. She needed Niall.

Chapter Text

Grogu awoke hungry, but he always did. Head still muddled with sleep, he sat up, the slight motion setting his cradle to swinging. The steady throb of the engines, and the absence of overcrowding thoughts, told him they were in space. Something was wrong. Something was absent. As with the sudden silence after the cessation of an ever-present sound, it took him a moment to realise what it was. Vance wasn’t here. Peering around the cargo bay from his lofty vantage point, he saw at once that things were missing. Her bag was gone from its hook. The jumbled pile of scrap wood she’d picked up along the way was gone. The dusty woollen wrap she’d been wearing when they first met was likewise gone from its place by the ramp. 

He reached for the Mandalorian, calling him with his mind, pushing thoughts of his anxiety and his empty tummy in his guardian’s direction. With an audible whimper, he recoiled. Waves of wrongness crashed from the Mandalorian. Doubt and guilt rolled from him, edged with fear. He’d never known his protector to fear before. It was contagious, and Grogu felt his heart begin to race. 

His protector couldn’t be afraid. If he was afraid, it must be something terrible. Grogu’s hands dug into the cradle, claw-like nails leaving indents of their own. He pushed at the fear, trying to cast it away. The cradle jerked drunkenly, and the doors of the weapons locker crashed open. Cannisters fell from storage shelves, sending their contents rattling across the floor. The Mandalorian was there in an instant, sliding down the ladder and spinning, poised for whatever threatened him.

Grogu gazed up, wondering if he’d be angry. Seeing him unharmed, his protector’s shoulders slumped. The man crossed to his cradle, lifted him up, and cradled him against his shoulder. Vance’s arms were softer and warmer, but nestled against steel, face cushioned on the roughspun cloak, he felt safer than he did anywhere else.

“We’ll get you some food, you’ve slept so long you must be starving.” The Mandalorian rummaged through the food storage container. There was a clink of glass as his hand knocked against the last bottle of the sweet, yet poisonous water they had acquired from the little man at the place of cats and tall grass. He went very still, hand poised over the bottle. Slowly, he extended his gloved fingers, the leather resting gently against the glass. Grogu felt his protector’s attention drift away from now and back to evenings past. He felt the absence too.

Grogu was confused. If he was sad without Vance, why didn’t they go to her? Staring fixedly at the glossy visor, he pushed a vision of her half-smile into the Mandalorian’s mind, and the sense of being held. It didn’t help. A spasm of hurt flashed through the man, an ache not so different to the ache of his own hunger.

Where was Vance? He stretched out his thoughts towards her and found her a long way distant. He closed his eyes, thinking of the cradle she had carved, reaching for the mind that had shaped the waves and swirls on its side. Echoes of anger and hurt came back. Somewhere she cried and raged. He whimpered, entangling his fingers with the coarse wool of the Mandalorian’s cloak. 

“I know kid, I know. You’re hungry.” 

Spurred back into motion, the Mandalorian went back to rummaging through the crate and found a few strips of jerky and a swamp apple.  Setting him down, his guardian sat the food in front of him before straightening and rubbing the back of his neck, the unconscious gesture that signalled his stress so clearly. Grogu ignored the food. Vance was crying. Why wasn’t the Mandalorian with her?  Tottering to the bottom of the ladder, he pantomimed looking up, and then pointed at the hook where her bag should have hung.

The Mandalorian exhaled slowly. “We’ve got to go somewhere dangerous kid. Some… bad people have an old friend, and we need to help him. When we get there, you have to promise me you’ll stay in your hidey-hole while I deal with it.”

Grogu tipped his head on one side. That didn’t explain where Vance was. He remained where he was, pointedly looking up the ladder again.

“She’s not here. These people would try to hurt her, and we can’t let that happen. She’s too important.” He paused, speaking softly. “Loyalty is Life, without our clan we are nothing. She’s like clan to us, and we protect our clan, even when they don’t realise that they need protecting. This is The Way.” Grogu had never heard the Mandalorian utter that phrase with so little conviction. Picking him up, he sat him down next to his food again. “She’s going to be mad at me for leaving her behind, but she’ll be safe. Eat up. Come on.”

But Vance didn’t feel safe, and she was already hurt. 

Eschewing the squidgy swamp apple, Grogu began to chew at the tough jerky, watching as the Mandalorian began clearing the fallen cannisters. Moving methodically from one shelf to the next, restoring some form of order and then turned to resecure the weapons locker door, which still hung open. 

“Dank farrik!” A further stream of words clearly borrowed from Vance’s colourful vocabulary followed. Grogu jumped, dropping his breakfast with a squeak of alarm. “I’m sorry, kid. It’s not you. I forgot something when I packed her gear.” 

The Mandalorian lifted down Vance’s long rifle from the locker. He cradled it in his hands as gently as he would Grogu and drew a hand along its dark barrel. Finding some mark there, he reached for his cleaning gear and settled himself on a crate opposite with the air of a man grateful to have something to do. With movements so practised they were virtually unconscious, he began to take the weapon apart and clean it. Indecision: he could feel his protector wavering. Doubt clawed at him. Grogu perked up his ears. Perhaps the man was finally coming to his senses. They should go back and get her. 

Reaching the mind of someone like the Mandalorian was hard. The man was stubborn, strong willed, and hid his thoughts and feelings even from himself. He remembered his lessons of long ago; time spent in polished and sterile halls with masters whose lives flowed so much faster than his own. Trying to force new thoughts into a mind like the Mandalorian’s was impossible. He had to lean into what was already there, lift it to the forefront, and prevent it being pushed aside by will or distraction. Closing his eyes for a moment, Grogu focussed. Yes. You should go back for her. Look, you forgot her gun. How can she protect herself without it? She’s not just angry, she’s hurt. You might lose her. Go back. Explain. Tell her that you love her.

The Mandalorian dropped the rifle barrel and stood, pacing the cargo bay.

“There’s no time to go back. Dune’s expecting me.” He paused in his pacing and stood for a moment, looking down at his feet. “She’s not a fighter, kid, she said so herself, and this bad person I told you about would go straight for her. I know it.”

Vance wasn’t a fighter, but she could mend and fix, make and repair. She could pick up broken pieces and hold them in their shape. Perhaps she could stay with him in his hidey-hole while the Mandalorian killed the bad person. Grogu decided to try once more. Pulling at his tunic, he found the jangles that they had set about his neck. Strung together was the Mandalorian’s spiky cold steel and the warm smoothed wood that Vance had added. He held them up as high as he could and made a sharp sound to attract the Mandalorian’s attention. Mando looked up, saw the proffered pendants, and exhaled heavily.

“I miss her too. We’ll see her again, I promise.” Mando looked away. “Even if it’s just once, and she’s yelling at me the whole time.” 

Chapter Text

“So, to summarise, you got an arse-kicking from Jarvis, then your lover abandoned you, then you got yet another arse-kicking. Now we are going to hunt aforementioned lover, who may or not be an Imperial spy, and a warrior without equal? Sod the wine, I’m opening the brandy.”

Vance leaned back against the curved sofa and watched as Niall turned to a drinks cabinet somewhat depleted by the Lana Suu’s recent crash landing. The base technicians had worked double shifts and she had been ready to fly within twenty hours, slightly bruised but back underway. Now the haste felt pointless. The Crest had to come out of hyperspace before they could track her, and until she did, there was nothing they could do. They hung over Shil’ea, waiting, like children dangling their heels in a pond. 

Lana Suu was nothing like the Crest. Looking more like a yacht than a freighter, she was considerably more suited for passengers. One could be fooled into thinking they were inside some sort of expensive hotel room. The table before her was of a black wood, enhanced with angular geometric patterns she had carved long ago, when her craft was new and tentative.

The crew quarters contained proper beds, and one of the smaller cargo bays had been converted into a water bathing room. It was a ludicrous luxury for spacers, perfectly in keeping with the Herons' image and cover. Everything was clean and soft. Along the curved edge of the hull, narrow windows stretched, giving them a backdrop of stars. She heard the squeak of a cork being pulled from an expensive looking bottle of brandy.

“Not for me Niall, I need to think straight.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Vance?”

“Please.” His lackadaisical manner irritated more than usual. It had never been her favourite characteristic.

“I’m sorry, love. May I see the note he left?”   

The data pad sat cradled in her lap, barely held together after its impact with the wall. She hadn’t dared turn it off, lest it refuse to reactivate after her rough treatment. The Mandalorian’s words remained etched across the screen.

Something’s come up that I have to deal with now, and I have to deal with alone. 

Last time I joined battle against this foe, I lost a friend. It was my fault; he wasn’t a warrior, and I should never have taken him with me. I won’t take the same risk with you.

I’m sorry.

Reluctantly, she passed it over and fixed her gaze on the wooden table surface, pretending to be absorbed by a recent-looking scratch. It was preferable to watching Niall’s expression as he read.

“That’s somewhat cold, isn’t it? Is he always so blunt?” He chose his words with care, repressed pity in his voice.

“He’s a man of few words. One who clearly sees me as a liability who can’t take care of themselves.”

“You’ve spent years perfecting the ‘helpful and harmless’ act. You can’t blame him for actually buying it. The coldness of this actually stands in his favour; more authentic than some flowery, romantic epistle.” Niall hesitated. “Of course, it’s more likely a ruse to give him time to get away, and to discourage you from following.”

“Will you please at least entertain the idea that he may be innocent in this? 

“That’s not what I’m on this mission to do. Besides, no-one who leaves my oldest friend fighting back tears gets to claim innocence.” Niall came to sit beside her on the curved seats and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was a strange sensation to be held by someone not encased in armour, to feel heat leaching through his clothing. “Vee, I need you to consider that Jarvis is right, that he is a spy.”

“What, I’m so incompetent that I gave over all of our secrets because someone batted their visor at me?” She tried to find some genuine offence. It felt safer than yielding to hurt.

“I’m not saying that, but we’ve seen this before. When someone gets their hooks into you, you’ve got blind spots a mile wide.” Niall spoke gently. “He wasn’t just a mark, was he? You’re actually in love. Shit, I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t answer, and mercifully her friend held his peace as well for a time. He swirled the brandy in its glass, the deep amber liquid sending ripples of refracted light across the tabletop. “I’ll admit I don’t understand what you saw in him, but I hoped you’d finally found someone to ground you. Ever since Thea died, you’ve just… drifted.”

Vance pulled back sharply from Niall’s encircling arm, their long friendship making her unafraid to show her anger. “Are you actively trying to make me feel awful? Any other wounds you’d like to rip open?” She stood up and paced over to the window. Shil’ea hung below them, its near constant wreath of clouds obscuring its spin and making it look oddly inert. “I hate just waiting here.” 

“Lana Suu had a hyperdrive upgrade last season. She’s much faster than the Crest and we can make the journey in half the time. R6 will wake me the moment the Crest shows her ugly face.”

“She’s not ugly, and it depends how far he’s going. He could have done the job and turned back before we even get there.”

“Our best-case scenario.”

She fought the urge to pace. Every moment of stillness was another chance for her fears to assault her. She couldn’t believe the Mandalorian was a spy; he lacked the artifice. What she could believe was that he thought her incapable of defending herself, but to leave like this, without warning or conversation? 

How good are you in a fight? His words last night, when her own focus had been on a lean, battle-scarred torso, and a kiss grown smooth and confident. Had he known then? She was used to being underestimated and for the most part had come to accept it. In fact, she weaponised the low expectations of others, but the Mandalorian knew her. He knew of her resourceful cleverness, and yet still he’d discounted her without a moment’s hesitation. Her throat tightened again. The smoked sphere of Shil’ea became even less distinct as her vision swam.

“Vee…” She jumped hard, not having heard Niall’s approach. He rested his hands on her shoulders. 

“I’m fine.”   

“A lie in the face of obvious truth.”

“Perhaps, but I need to be fine until the job’s done. You know how this works.” She drew a deep breath and forced her features into a neutral expression. “I’m going to take advantage of that ridiculous liquid shower of yours, and then get some sleep. You’ll wake me as soon as we have a target?”

“As ever.”

*

Two hours later, Niall Heron paused outside her door. Silence. She’d cried herself out at last. Opening it, he looked inside and saw the figure of his oldest friend curled up in an exhausted sleep. He felt a touch of nostalgia for the child he had met three decades ago. Sneering at his softness, he made his way to the Lana Suu’s cockpit, and prepared for his second dance of the evening. 

Treading intrigue’s measure with ra’Venn was always a delicious challenge. When objective, she was sharp-witted and perceptive, able to see links and connections in a seemingly random mass of information. She could strike up a conversation with anyone, pull out their life stories and worm her way into their favour as easily as she sliced her way into a computer. Her failing was this: once her trust was earned, and her affection gained, she was blind. You could sneak a rutting bantha past her. 

Even so, Niall hadn’t lived so long by being careless. Spinning her about the figurative floor, he had kept her off-balance and dizzy with emotion. All evening he had needled her heart, insinuating the worst, leading her thoughts to dwell on past pains without being so overt as to alert her. He thought he had gone too far when he had mentioned her daughter. Her sharp response had set his heart racing, but he needn’t have worried. She trusted him, and he knew exactly how to make her stumble.

More utilitarian than the rest of the ship, the cockpit was still elegant and refined. The seats were comfortable, with heated elements to ease the stiffness in the shoulders on long journeys. His astromech sat snuggly in a shaped niche, warbling quietly to himself. Viewports wrapped all around, giving him an untrammelled view of the cosmos and the bulk of Lana Suu’s hull. He leaned forward until he could see the viewport in Vance’s cabin. It remained dark.

“R6, shut down for a while please. I need to make some confidential calls. I’ll wake you when I’m done.”

His next dance partner was different. This one needed to believe that they led, while all the while being manoeuvred themselves. Niall’s long fingers worked the comms control, running the signal through a dozen different encryptions. After a moment, his call was answered, and the second dance began. The aristocratic face that hovered into view held the expression of faint boredom that came with supreme confidence. It was a look that Niall had tried to perfect himself, but even he couldn’t manage the continual look of disinterested contempt that graced this face.

“Moff Gideon, I’m flattered that you have answered my call personally.”

“Come now Heron, you are one of my most valued assets. Such dedication is rarely found, and the Empire will always reward loyal service.”

“Thank you, although I do not work for hope of reward, but for the glory of the Empire.”

“Of course. The two children you delivered are now with Dr. Pershing and are being assessed.” Moff Gideon’s mouth quirked to the side. “I trust your wife was not seriously harmed?” 

“Rhea is a traitor to the Empire. Her fate does not concern me. Indeed, she grows suspicious of my loyalties. She may have to be eliminated.”

“That would be unfortunate; she is still a useful leverage over her father. Still, a matter for another time, and one I doubt is the reason for your call.”

Niall paused, savouring the moment. “I have something of incredible value to you, something you have been hunting for some time. I can give you the location of the Child.”

A remarkable change came over Gideon’s face. Humour slid away to be replaced by an intense hunger. “Where?”

Niall felt a thrill of power run through him. To have this man hanging on his words was intoxicating. “There is a tracker on the Mandalorian’s ship. I am transmitting the beacon code now. As soon as he leaves hyperspace, you’ll have him.

A predator’s smile spread across the Moff’s face, his eyes scintillating. “Excellent work, Heron. You will be honoured for this. I only wish we could do so publicly.”

“The time may have come for that. Giving you this information will expose me. I need extraction.” The Moff remained silent, his face impassive. Gideon was above all efficient. He would not expend effort on the part of an agent who had outlived their usefulness. Niall was too good a dancer to have not foreseen this side-step. “I have some additional leverage, something that can’t be sent over comms. If I were to deliver it, I could join you then.” 

A slight upward tilt of Gideon’s chin, a narrowing of his eyes. He was intrigued.

“I have on board a long-serving SIS agent; Vance ra'Venn. She’s valuable for her ill-chosen career alone, but I think the fact that she shares the Mandalorian’s bed will be of more interest to you. Having her would give you options, should the Child’s protector becomes difficult.”

“Very interesting.” He raised an immaculate eyebrow. “Securing her could also secure the Child’s co-operation as well. Very well, rendezvous with us when we move to recover the asset. I trust I will not be disappointed.”

The connection cut. The subtle threat in the Moff’s farewell was not lost on him; make an error here and his long service would count for nothing. Niall Heron simply smiled. His every move had to be perfect, but perfection was his play. Locate the Child. Keep Vance away from the Mandalorian, until he could hand her over to Gideon, and if everything went wrong, have an escape plan that would preserve both his skin, and his cover. 

He needed a plausible scapegoat. Fortunately, one was to hand: Vance ra’Venn. Good little spy that she was, she hadn’t mentioned her mole hunt to him at all. His accomplice had told him that. Knowing she hunted them had unsettled them both. The Guild had been sent to hunt her but framing her would preserve their façade should this mission fail. With equal access to the tracking data, it would be easy enough to make it look as though she had leaked it. He smiled slowly, practically purring. This was perfect. Either way, by the end of this she would no longer be a threat to him.

On the panel before him a light lit. The Razor Crest had dropped out of hyperspace. His smile broadening, he set the coordinates, discarding his promise to wake Vance. Keep her spinning, don’t give her time to think. Let her wake as they arrived and be thrown straight into the action. Besides, their long ‘friendship’ had to count for something; he owed her one last night of sleep.

Chapter Text

It took a return to make the Mandalorian realise how long the journey had been. Last time he had come to Nevarro, the Child had been a mere complication, he’d believed that his Covert was still here, and Greef Karga had been the trap’s architect, rather than its bait.  Last time, he had never heard Vance’s laugh, nor imagined the effect that a quiet half-smile could have. 

The Child stood on the control panel, nose pressed against glass already fogged with his breath. A lava-wrought landscape rolled beneath them. Black canyons and gullies opened onto flats thick with pumice and black sand. The occasional flare of molten rock stood witness to the planet’s volatile heart. 

“You need to strap in pal, we’re starting the landing sequence. I need that back too.” 

For a miracle, the Child obeyed, handing him the shifter control head, then climbing awkwardly down from the control panel. Screwing the small steel ball back into place, the Mandalorian locked on to the landing beacon of what was once his most common port of call. He rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to loosen muscles objecting to the first night for months spent in his armour. He had slept poorly, unsettled by the cold space beside him.

The settlement had changed. When he had lived here, much of the town had been smothered by solidified lava. The populace had existed on the edges, eking out an existence at the whim of the volcanic flows. Now they had begun to reclaim the town. Black rock had been quarried away, creating a broad avenue that bustled with traders. As he swept in to land, the downdraft from his engines set dozens of bright banners to dancing. It was disorientating. As he deactivated the engines, he smoothed a hand across the Razor Crest’ s worn control panels. It seemed this ship was the only thing he could rely on to stay the same. 

He was reaching for the comms to signal Dune, when he saw the athletically built woman making her way across the landing area. Everything from the defiant tilt of her chin to the bold gleam in her eyes spoke of a woman who refused to be prey anymore. She held up a hand as she approached with the universal gesture that bid him to stay put. He dropped the ramp, and moments later she ascended the ladder to the cockpit, the acrid scent of dust and sulphur sweeping in with her.

“Less chance of us being overheard in here.” Despite the lack of a greeting, she smiled warmly at them both, dark eyes sparkling. Glancing back over her shoulder, she nodded towards the new sleeping berth.

“A new cabin? This woman’s got you domesticated.”

The Mandalorian could imagine his lover’s response. The exact sardonic arch of her brow as she would retort, “ Hardly, I just prefer sex without the risk of concussion.”

“It’s practical, leaves more room for the kid.” 

“Yeah, I can see how much space he takes up.” She smiled down at the Child and stroked his cheek with a crooked finger.

“I can still turn around and leave, Dune.” 

The Mandalorian shifted in his seat, confused as to why her teasing bothered him. It was considerably milder than the ribald comments he had once endured from Ran’s crew. The ex-trooper gave an amused snort but mercifully changed the subject. Swinging herself down into the seat he now saw as Vance’s, she pushed a data cylinder into the Crest’s holo terminal. A shaky and gridded scan appeared, showing a square kilometre of terrain.

“I managed to track the transmission and scan the area.”

Amongst tightly packed stacks of extinct lava flows, the entrance to Xi’an’s lair sat at the head of a deep gully. Directly before it was a wide-open area, bordered by towering vertical walls of black rock, and perfectly suited for sniper positions. The entrance itself was embedded deep into the rock, narrow, with a gun emplacement on each side. 

“It’s a killing field. If they’re at full strength, there’s no way we are getting near. We’ll have to draw them out.”

“How? Troopers won’t abandon a defensive position like that in a hurry.”

“Xi’an might order them to. She’s impulsive and impatient.” He studied the map for a moment. “Xi’an’s going to have watchers in the town. She probably already knows I’m here, so a surprise is out. Let’s make a big show of landing some way off and then sit quiet for a while. Xi’an will get suspicious and send out scouts. We cut them off and start whittling down their numbers.”

“It’s worth a try.” Cara nodded. “How do you know the twi’lek?”

The Mandalorian hesitated. “Business contact.” 

“A business contact that’s seriously pissed at you. Did you spot these?” She indicated the heavy gun emplacements by the entrance. 

He nodded. “The cliff above, what’s the surface like?”

“Rough, but sheer. I wouldn’t chance climbing down if that’s what you had in mind.”

“I don’t have to climb. Hopefully, they’ll forget that too and won’t be guarding it. Once we’ve got them thinned down, you make some noise in the gully. Make them think we are still there, and I’ll drop in from above.”

“Sounds good.” She sat back and strapped herself in. “Let’s get this done. Greef’s been waiting long enough.”

*

They flew low, so low that eddies of pumice and dust spiralled in their wake. As they swept over the gully that hid Xi’an’s layer, the Mandalorian accelerated hard, making the canyons ring with the echoed roar of the Crest ’s engines.

“They can’t have missed that.” Feeling a brief boyish delight at the racket, he swung round and took a path parallel to the gully. After a while, it opened again into a broad plain dotted with stacks from extinct eruptions. He brought the ship down a short distance from the gully entrance, their descent throwing up clouds of black sand and pumice. He turned to the Child, who was busy wriggling out of his restraint straps.

“Kid, remember what we talked about? You need to hide.” 

The Child scrambled down from his chair and made his way to a nondescript rack of buttons and switches on the cockpit’s back wall. Each of the indicator lights glowed dimly in the darkness, looking no different from any other on the ship, even showing the scrapes and chips of long wear. Vance had spent hours carefully weathering that panel. He’d watched with quiet amusement while she’d abraded it, rubbed oil into the surface, and even thrown it around the cargo bay for a while.

With the prideful independence of the very young, the Child input a short sequence and the whole panel swung forward. With a cheerful grin at them both, he crawled into the little space that Vance had made between the bulkheads. It was lined with blankets, had a place for snacks and water, and a small push lamp. There was even a tiny chemical privy chute. A comms speaker, set to the lowest volume, was set into one wall. A distress beacon sat next to it, although they had yet to manage to impress upon the Child that an absence of snacks did not constitute an emergency. Wooden puzzle balls and a collection of playthings were tucked into one corner. The panel closed behind him seamlessly and clicked into place.

Satisfied his foundling was secured, the Mandalorian looked back up at Dune. “Kid’s still got a bounty on head. That thing’s shielded, with its own air supply. You’d have to know it was there to have a chance of finding it.”

“Nice! Can I get one in my office?”

“You have an office now?”

“A lot has changed, Mando.”

Night was falling as they strode away from the ship, feet crunching on black pumice and lava-borne grit. Beside him, Dune adjusted a night vision eyepiece. A tap to his helmet’s brow and the murky black landscape was lit in blues and purples. The tumbled stacks of rock grew more frequent, until they merged into a plateau of basalt and pumice, riddled with canyons and channels. The gully that would lead them to Xi’an’s lair was narrow and deep, an old lava run eroded away until it opened to the sky. Sheer walls reared up thirty metres above them, although the passage itself was less than fifteen across.

“Narrow. At least they won’t be able to slip past us. Flip side is that we could get pinned.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Sides of gully are too damn sheer for an ambush; we need some sort of alcove.”

Dune’s face cracked into a mischievous smirk and she hefted a thermal detonator. “We could make one.”

Snorting with amusement he shook his head. “More likely to collapse the walls. Look at that.”

He pointed ahead, where a rock fall had partially blocked the way. Tumbled boulders created a choke point, a perfect spot for an ambush. Tucking themselves behind the convenient barricade, they settled in and waited for the scouts.

Very little of a warrior’s time was spent fighting. Far more was spent simply waiting. Waiting for orders to come through. Waiting for an enemy to make their move. Waiting for the foe to walk into an ambush. Remaining alert was the challenge. The Mandalorian shifted his weight, wearing himself a more comfortable niche in the loose pumice. Sand and grit had managed to work their way into the seams of his clothes, scratching unpleasantly against his stomach and elbows. 

“What’s her name?” The trooper kept her voice low.

“The twi’lek? Xi’an. I thought you knew that.”

“Not her. The woman travelling with you. I don’t want to just keep calling her ‘your woman’.”

“Vance.”

“How did she take being told to stay behind?”

“I don’t know. I left a message.”

“Wait, you just left? You didn’t talk to her?”

“There wasn’t time.”

The trooper gave a long incredulous exhalation and shook her head. “Man, you are in the shit.”

He made no reply, feeling again that unpleasant clutch of uncertainty in his gut. A dull flare of reds and purples appeared in the corner of his vision. Someone was coming. The uncertainty faded. This was something he knew how to handle. This was solid ground.

“Company.” After a moment, the jumble of colours resolved themselves into four distinct shapes. Stormtroopers. Aware that Dune was watching him, waiting for guidance, he held four fingers up against his breastplate, trusting that the contrast between the beskar and his gloves would be enough for her to see them. She nodded imperceptibly. A thermal detonator appeared in her hands.

“Tell me when.”

He waited. The troopers were moving cautiously, and rightly so, scanning the lip of the overhang for snipers. They would surely spot them soon. Their visors weren’t as sophisticated as his own, but they were equipped with basic heat sensors. One hundred metres away. Seventy-Five. Fifty. Twenty-Five.

“Sir! Behind those rocks!” The nasal tones sounded young and scared. 

“Scout unit, find cover!” Another young voice, female this time. Were the Imperials so desperate they were sending out children now?

Dune was already in motion, her fluid throw sending a detonator spiralling overhead. He tucked his head into his chest, shielding his visor from the explosion’s dazzling light.  Even shielded as he was, the concussion wave hit him in the gut. Pumice rained down on him, making his amour ring, and the air became choked with dust. Thankful for the helmet filtering the dust, he vaulted the fallen rocks. All but one of the troopers lay prone. The one left on their feet staggered drunkenly, leaning against a gully wall for support. Raising his blaster, the Mandalorian closed the distance between them rapidly. The trooper was reaching for comms.

“Touch those comms and I’ll kill you. Surrender and I’ll set this to stun.” He willed them to be sensible, but with a lunge they went for their comms and made the connection. 

“Base, this is TC-6347…” It was Young-and-Scared, terrified, yet stupidly brave.

His words cut off in a wet gasp. With a clean shot that caught him squarely in the neck, the Mandalorian ended it, hissing out a frustrated breath at the waste. No sensible commander would send such green soldiers out to face someone like himself or Dune. No commander that gave a damn about their lives. Xi’an, of course, wouldn’t care. They were meat to her, to be expended without a second thought.

He cast an eye across the others making sure there was no movement. Dune appeared alongside him.

“Four. Greef said that Xi’an had a full squad which means there’s at least six left.”

“Easy odds, even with those gun emplacements.” He chewed his lip. Xi’an would know they were easy odds as well. She was either overconfident or had something else planned. “We can’t wait around. Let’s move.”

As planned, Dune set out along the gully. He activated his jet pack just long enough to reach the top of the sheer walls and then matched pace along the surface, hoping that no watchers had spotted the signal flare of its thruster. Xi’an already knew they were coming; there was no need to make it easier still.

Feet occasionally skidding on the loose surface, he increased his pace, breath condensing on his helmet. The gully beneath widened, giving him further to run than Dune. Now they came to it, the open field at the gully’s head. Keeping himself low, he sprinted around the edge. The entrance came into view, flanked by not one, but two E-Web emplacements. A trooper sat by each weapon, their white armour practically glowing in the night. Two outside, which meant the other four would be within.  

Another figure stepped from the entrance. There was something distinct in the way Xi’an moved, a unique music of motion that was entirely hers. She leaned briefly on one of the trooper’s shoulders, catlike grin revealing sharpened canines.  A snarl curled his lip. She had lied to him, betrayed him, and now she threatened those he loved. Those he loved. The thought both startled and steeled him. Death is Life, we die as we have lived. Xi’an’s actions had brought him here. Her death would be of her own making and no cause for remorse.

By the time he was in position above the entrance, she had disappeared. Looking down into the killing field, he saw the shadow of heat that was Cara, tucked behind a tumble of rock near at the end of the gully. He flashed the light on his helmet once, a signal that she and no-one else would see. Dune exploded from cover, sprinting from one side of the gully to the other firing as she went. A shout from below and the E-Webs opened up. Activating two incendiaries, he dropped them precisely over the side, turning away from the sudden blast of flame. Then, with a controlled burst from his jet pack, he dropped down amidst the heat and fury.

One of the troopers had been killed outright. The other was clawing desperately at themselves, the black base layer of their armour fully ablaze. The Mandalorian put them out of their misery and stepped sharply to the side of the entrance. A moment later with blasters firing towards Dune’s position, two more troopers bolted out. Dune’s shot caught one of them, and the other fell back with a snapped neck, never having even seen the Mandalorian. The motion wrenched off the trooper’s helmet, revealing a callow red-haired youth, face still cratered with teenage blemishes.

Sickened, the Mandalorian spoke into the comms. “What is this? A damn cadet squad?”

“They made their choice, Mando.”

“This leaves two inside, along with… ” He stopped short. A strange sound was echoing through the canyons. A low whine that rapidly escalated to a harpy’s scream. “TIE fighters! Find cover!” 

Behind him the entrance hatch snapped shut, denying shelter. Breathing hard, he bolted for the gully. He was halfway there when two of the fighters screeched overhead, with the characteristic howl that echoed in the nightmares of so many. He expected it to end there, with a hail of blaster fire, but they passed over without firing a shot, simply wheeling around and pinning them. Gaining the cover that Dune had so recently quit, he dove to the ground.

There could only be two reasons for the TIE’s restraint. Either they weren’t looking for them, and this was some horrible coincidence, or they were pinning them in place for someone else.

“Watch for ground troops.” He shouted across to where Dune was likewise pressed into cover. Drawing his second blaster, he stood ready with a weapon in each hand while the fighters droned overhead. A new sound joined them, the deeper notes of a troop transport. Snapping his head up, he caught sight of it, sweeping down to land in the open space by the entrance, flinging up dust and pumice chips. “Move now! Use the dust as cover!”

Dune was already in motion. They had odds tilted against them. With the killing field soon to be filled with troopers, they had no choice but to run back down the gully. Alone, he would have had more options; his jet pack would have given him half a chance of escape, but he wasn’t about to leave Dune. They bolted as fast as they dared, knowing that a false step could be fatal. Even with their night-scanners, they both stumbled and tripped as they ran across the rough ground, expecting the assault from above at any moment. His breath began to grow ragged, sweat making his base layers chafe uncomfortably. Halfway back to the ship a crazy hope that they would make the distance began to grow. In the blackness of Nevarro’s night, they couldn’t make out the exit onto the plains yet, but it must be close.

He didn’t see them at first. Their bodies didn’t flare with heat as an organic would. Instead of the riot of reds and yellows, only a deep violet emanated from them. By the time he realised what it was he was seeing, they were already too close to avoid.

Gloss black, their humanoid shapes blended into the night. It was their eyes that gave them away; glowing red triangles that peered at them from trooper-like helmets. Arms raised, their weapons weren’t things that they held, but morphed from the limb itself. Their motions were precise, uniform and unrelenting. Two of them approached through the gully. Stones skittered down the sheer walls beside him and he risked a glance upwards. Two more sets of glowing eyes shone above them, quashing any hope of an aerial escape.

“Droids!” Dune yelled as she opened fire, sending a hail of blaster bolts into arcing across their attackers. Every shot bounced off the slick armour. Her steps faltered and then stopped, as did his own. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his nose like an errant tear. They both opened fire again, but no matter how many bolts sank into the black forms, they kept coming inexorably forward.

The Mandalorian had always known that this was how he would meet his death, in some wasteland of a battleground. It wasn’t fear he felt, as the droids finally halted their advance. As they levelled their weapons at himself and Cara, all he knew was regret. Regret for a job left unfinished, regret that Xi’an would live to see him beaten, and regret for a lover he’d never see again.

He touched his comms.

“Kid, hit your emergency beacon. Vance will come and get you. Stay alive.” A worried cooing sound came back, and he cut the connection, not wanting the Child to hear him die. 

“I’m sorry, Mando.” Dune’s voice was low and steady. She too, was raised to this.

He just had time to incline his head in salute before the droids fired.

Chapter Text

Vance ra’Venn woke from a dream of falling. Tangled in luxurious textile bedding she lay paralysed, eyes wide, still expecting her body to crash into the ground. Another spasm gripped her, a shaking that seemed to come without volition and from outside her body. As her sleep addled mind slowly caught up, she realised that it did. Against her chest, a small metallic pendant was vibrating, and a different fear swept through her. It was Bean’s emergency beacon.

Deactivating the vibrations with a tap, she tried to force some coherence to her thoughts. It could be a false alarm. Maybe Bean had realised she wasn’t there and was worried. Maybe he’d just run out of snacks. Rising swiftly, she pulled on clothes and boots and dragged her hair into a rough plait. She was twisting the band into place when another thought struck her. For the beacon to be reaching her, the Crest must have left hyperspace. Snapping up the viewport blind, she looked out into the vortex. Lana Suu was already underway. Taut with annoyance, she bolted for the cockpit.

“You were supposed to wake me!”

“You needed the rest. Besides, you’d have just sat here fretting and wearing yourself out. I was going to wake you when we arrived.” Niall was leaning back in his seat with a breakfast tray balanced on his knee, his lassitude a stark contrast with her own agitation.

“Look at this.” She held up her pendant, glowing now with a soft red light. “It’s an emergency beacon I gave to Bean. They’re in trouble.”

“Or perhaps it’s just Bean who’s in trouble.” Niall frowned. “Give me the frequency. I can plug it into Lana’s nav com in case you lose that pendant.”

“There’s no point; the beacon is built into the Crest herself, and we can already track her. How close are we?”

“An hour or so. The Razor Crest seems to be stationary on Nevarro. Does Mando have any call to be there?”

“His Covert was there before the Imperials wiped them out.”

“I checked the latest intelligence reports. Other than an old mining outpost there’s no Imperial presence there that we know of.”

Vance slumped back in the chair, trying to fool her body into calmness. She moved to put her feet up on the console as she would have done on the Razor Crest, before catching herself. Something about the slick luxury of the Lana Suu discouraged such treatment. She felt a wave of homesickness for the vintage vessel. Brutal and plain for certain, but relaxing for it, with no need to stand on ceremony.

“I missed Rhea last night.” Niall’s voice was soft. “It’s difficult isn’t it? A night alone after so long in company.”

She nodded mutely. “I don’t think I’ve spent so long next to the same person before, night after night. Now there’s a damning indictment on my life.”

“Nature of our job. You’ve had options though Vee, Thea’s father springs to mind. What is so appealing about this one? Is he stunningly handsome under the helmet or something?”

“I wouldn’t know; he only took it off in the dark.” She pinched the bridge of nose, wondering why she felt like she had a hangover despite not having touched a drop. “With him, I don’t have to be anything other than who I am. I’ve never known that before.”

Niall watched her steadily for a moment as she battled against a sudden clutch of hurt, before reaching across to give her hand a friendly squeeze.

“We’ll be there soon. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

*

Forty-seven minutes later and slightly ahead of schedule, Lana Suu dropped out of hyperspace, her sub-light engines engaging with a purr. Nevarro stretched beneath them, black and barren, with a streaks of fire and fury seeping through a wounded surface.

“Well, they do say people come to resemble the planets they live on.” Niall laughed at Vance’s glare, and flipping up a panel in the console began to set a series of dials. “What shall we be today? An Imperial freighter, or just a patch of bad weather?”

“You have a ghosting system? Since when did the Lana Suu have that sort of tech?” An odd sensation grew in her chest, an intangible uneasiness.

“It was added along with the hyperdrive upgrade.”

“And Jarvis approved it? She usually only lets one agent at a time have one of those and Jula still has hers!”

Niall said nothing, his face carefully neutral with only a flicker of amusement lighting his eyes. “A patch of bad weather it is, then. Strap in.”

Vance rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. Compensators on this thing are so good that I could be building a house of cards and not notice …” She broke off sharply as a delicate chime alerted her to a new contact on the scanners. “Niall, there’s an Imp cruiser over our landing point!”

She worked the controls swiftly, capturing data, trying to identify the ship. Nothing came up at all, despite the ship clearly not being new. She chewed at her lip nervously. They had multiple agents in Imperial fleet administration; for them to not know about a ship usually only meant one thing.

“She’s ISB, Niall.”

“Doesn’t matter who they are, they won’t see us.”

Vance felt a sweat break across her brow. The vessel’s sensors might not see them, but someone looking out of the window at the wrong point would. Lana Suu wasn’t a dull gunmetal shade like the Razor Crest; she shone like molten silver even on the night-side of the planet. She barely drew breath during their descent. Even Niall was silent, hands constantly hovering over the emergency thrusters, until it became clear that they were going to pass unmolested.

“Still want to criticise my illicit upgrades?” He flicked an eyebrow at her and feigned a smug smile, a forced levity that didn’t fool her for a moment. “My scans are showing that the Razor Crest is a short distance from some sort of a network of old lava tubes. Vance, I’m showing two TIEs and a troop carrier already on the ground, not far from her. No indication of combat. That’s…concerning.”

“If he was going to meet them, he would have landed right next to them.”

“Maybe there wasn’t room – the landing zone is in some sort of basin amongst the gullies, so space is limited. Look, one of the TIEs is up on the plateau instead.”

“Is there terrain you can hide Lana behind?”

“A slender lady like this? Absolutely.” 

Bringing them in low across a field of extinct lava stacks, Niall brought them down five hundred metres from the Crest, tucking his ship neatly behind a tumble of eroded rocks. 

“I’m reading two life signs on board. It could be Mando and Bean, but I can’t tell from here. I’ll hail them.”

“No! We’ve come down close enough that whoever is on board will have seen us. If it’s Mando, he’ll have recognised Lana Suu. If it’s not, then we shouldn’t be announcing our connection.” Vance glanced sideways at her friend. He should have known that without prompting.

Together, they paced across the ground between the two ships, pumice crunching beneath their feet. The older ship seemed at home here, her dull metal hull sitting comfortably against the black stacks of rock and the pumice strewn surface. There was no sign or any damage, no sign of a struggle or a fight. The rear ramp stood open and two speeder bikes were parked beneath. A stormtrooper leant against one of them, white armour practically glowing in the night. 

Vance’s heart twisted within her. Only the controls on Mando’s bracer could open that ramp with any sort of speed. For it to be standing open like this, he’d either opened it for them or they’d had hours to work undisturbed.

“My turn to play.” Niall strode confidently forward, raising a hand in greeting. Vance let him work, all the while trying to force herself into something approaching a relaxed posture. “Evening friend! We’re having a mechanical issue with our ship; are we within walking distance of the main settlement?”

The trooper prevaricated for a moment, hand hovering between his comms and his weapon. He chose his weapon, levelling it at them both.

“You should have been able to see it on the way down.”

“Our nav comm went down and we’re on the edge of a complete electrical failure. Couldn’t persuade the old girl to go any further.” Drawing ever closer, Niall went on, gesturing towards Vance. “When I say the old girl, I mean the ship of course, not the wife.” 

The trooper shook his head at the appalling joke. As he did so, he made his error. He looked down. It was only for an instant, but that was all Niall needed. A blaster appeared in his hand and the trooper hit the ground before he even had time to flinch.

An irritated shout came from within the Crest. “Look, I get that you need the practice, but could you stop randomly firing that thing? It’s making me nervous!” 

A mature woman appeared at the top of the ramp, wearing an Imperial technicians uniform. Intent on the clunky scanners she was carrying, she kept talking without bothering to look up. “The scans are picking up nothing; are they sure there’s another…” Vance felt a sweep of sympathy. She had done the same thing herself more than once; become so absorbed in her task that she’d merrily chattered away to entirely the wrong person.

Vance took no joy in this part of her job. When the tech glanced up and realised her mistake, she didn’t seem afraid, or angry, just tired. At the last instant, Vance flipped her weapon to stun, leaving the tech insensible but still breathing.

Niall raised an eyebrow. “Feeling generous today, I see.”

“It’s harder to strip a corpse and I might need her uniform.” 

Vance liberated a set of binders from the weapons locker, noting her sniper rifle stowed neatly on the top rack. The Mandalorian had found time to clean it again. The long dark barrel had been burnished to a high shine and the wooden grip was spotless. She rested her hand against it for a moment, before hauling her thoughts back to the matter at hand. Throwing the binders at Niall she headed down the ship towards the cockpit ladder.

“Bean’s probably hiding in the cabin. I’m going to make sure he’s all right and then check the logs to work out where Mando went.”

As she set her foot to the worn ladder a soft warble overhead made her jump. Huge black eyes shone down at her from the top of the ladder. Bean half-jumped down into her arms. His ears were drooping, distress written across his features. She cradled him against her shoulder, ran his long ears through her hand soothingly. Clawed fingers formed a death-grip on her shoulder, tangling with her plaited hair. 

“You’re safe, little love, I’m here.”

“There can’t be many places to hide up there, how did they fail to find him?” Niall’s voice was intent.

“Because Aunty Vance is very good at her job.” She smiled at the creature in her arms, surprised at the strength of her own feeling at the reunion. Bean lifted his head and stared intently at Niall. “It’s all right, you remember Niall, don’t you? He’s a friend.”

Bean seemed unconvinced, nestling closer in. 

“Don’t take it personally, he’s just frightened. Come on Bean, let’s find Mando.” His ears perked up at his protector’s name. “It settles one thing though; Mando can’t be working for the Imperials. Bean wouldn’t have been hidden away if he was.”

Climbing the ladder one-handed was awkward, but it was clear Bean wouldn’t let go anytime soon. Once in the cockpit, Vance sat herself in the pilot’s seat and opened the control panel for the comms. As a matter of course, the Crest wouldn’t hold records of communication chatter, but sometimes the most recent contacts could be retrieved from the buffers. The antiquated system resisted her efforts, and she was about to give up when the holo finally sprang to life. 

Finished with the trooper and the tech, Niall swung himself up into the cockpit and leant over the back of her chair, resting a hand on her shoulder. Together they watched the message from the powerful-looking woman. Only the incoming message was saved; the Mandalorian’s responses nothing but tantalising voids.

“A rescue mission. It’s a fucking rescue mission!” A dance of emotion left her giddy, each feeling a competing partner that spun her wildly. Relief that he wasn’t a spy, guilt that she had ever doubted it, and hurt at his lack of faith in her skills. Resting her cheek against Bean’s fuzzy white hair, she drew a steadying breath, forcing each feeling back until coherent thought reigned again. “It’s a reasonable assumption that we’ll find them near the troop transporter. Let’s follow the gully  along the top and see what’s going on.”

“We should borrow the Imp’s uniforms. What’s it to be Vance: Stormtrooper or tech specialist?” 

“I’m a little short to be a Stormtrooper.”

Niall laughed and disappeared back down to the cargo bay to strip the unfortunate Imperials. Vance looked down at the small child who fixed her with worried eyes and kneaded at her with sharp fingers.

“You have to hide for a bit longer.” Pulling off her jacket, she wrapped it around him and thus swaddled, settled him back into his hidden compartment. “Don’t worry, love. I’m going to pull your papa’s arse out of the fire.”

*

It didn’t take them long to gain the lip of the gully on stolen speeders. Vance flattened herself to the ground, edging as far forward as she dared. The tech’s uniform was slightly too loose and bunched uncomfortably beneath her waist. She fought the urge to squirm and risk drawing attention. Bringing up a pair of binocs, she scanned the scene below.

The gully opened into a broad basin that was crawling with Imperial personnel. The troop transport they had detected from orbit was sat near the gully entrance, while a TIE fighter partially obscured the blast door set back into the rock. There may have been no sign of a fight near the Crest, but there certainly was here. Incendiary explosions had gouged the ground and left the blast door so covered in soot smears that it blended seamlessly with the rock. On the opposite side of the basin, a second TIE perched on the edge of the plateau, with a pair of troopers standing guard.

Three figures knelt on the ground. Bound hand and foot, her lover’s head hung forward between his shoulders. As she watched, he shifted his weight, moving with the awkwardness of one waking from a long period of insensibility. Beside him, the burly woman and battered man that she recognised from the holo recording.

Pacing back and forth before the captives was a figure in black. A long cloak flared behind him and for the briefest instant, Vance’s blood turned to ice. Memories of earlier times and earlier wars created a figure from nightmares. Then the man turned, and she saw that he wore no helmet.  It was not the one so many had feared. Berating herself for even the momentary panic she muttered back over her shoulder to Niall.

“Mando’s still in one piece, at least. If we can get those binders off…”

“Vee, I know you’re good, but sneaking a Mandalorian and two hostages out from underneath that many troopers is impossible.”

“I know; it’s going to be messy.”

“Which is neither your skill-set or mine! We should get Bean to safety in Lana Suu and then call for back-up.”

“We don’t need back-up. We just need to get Mando free.”

She ignored Niall’s incredulous bark, continuing to scan the encampment.

“There – the troop carrier has ion suppression cannons. If I can get into the camp, I can overload them, and knock out everything with an electrical circuit in the basin. It will spring those binders, take out most of the weapons, both ships on the ground and the droids. Only issue is the TIE on the plateau; the blast won’t reach that far. You’ll need to get up there, take both it and the troopers guarding it out, and then get back down into the gully as fast as you can and join me.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Do not use the comms unless there is no other choice. Any ISB agent worth a damn will be monitoring for transmissions.” Her companion remained silent and stony faced. “Where’s your spirit of adventure gone, Niall?” 

“It’s busy contemplating all the ways for this to go wrong.”

She pulled a face at him. Despite the risk, despite the fatigue and worry of the past few days, an effervescent energy crept through her. Difficult infiltrations were her speciality; she almost enjoyed them. Scrambled back from the gully edge, she ran swiftly back to her speeder. 

Niall jogged up beside her and caught hold of her elbow. “You had better tell me where you hid Bean, for when you inevitably get yourself killed.” 

“And miss the satisfaction of watching you search later?”

“This isn’t a game, Vance.” A light sweat had broken across her friend’s forehead and his eyes were bright with anxiety. “This is suicide. There are two squads down there, and I’ve never seen droids like that before. If your lover is so damn good at fighting, how exactly did they catch him in the first place?”

She hesitated. Niall’s point was a fair one.

“They must have got the drop on him somehow. Perhaps those droids were the issue…”

“…And perhaps he was simply overpowered. If that’s the case, what chance do you have?”

“What do you expect me to do, walk away and leave him there?”

“What if he was the one who set off Bean’s beacon? What if he realised it was hopeless and so summoned you to rescue the infant? How do you think he’d feel, if you barge in there, and get yourself killed?”

“Niall… you’ve seen me walk in and more importantly out of far worse. This is what I do best.” His lack of confidence stung her.

His lips formed a thin line, but he conceded. “Fine, but you need to tell me where the child is hidden, in case you don’t make it out.”

“He’s…”

A disembodied voice from the Imperial technician’s comms interrupted them.

“TS-3789, progress report.” 

Vance glanced up and winked at Niall. Matching her accent and timbre to the late technician, she replied. “Nothing yet, but I’m having some problems with my equipment. I’m going to leave the trooper here and head back for a replacement shortly.”

“Acknowledged, TS-3789.”

Vance glanced up at Niall, her half-smile unfeigned. “And there is our way in.”

*

Vance knew her limitations. She also knew her strengths. She may struggle to deal out death with the swiftness and efficiency of a trained warrior, but what she could do was this: she could walk into an enemy camp and no-one would question her.

With the technician’s bag loaded with her own tools and slung over the back of a speeder, she picked her way carefully along the gully, making no attempt at concealment or stealth. Nor did she make any attempt to shield herself from the dust and grit thrown up by the speeder. By the time she reached the checkpoint, her face was dirty enough to conceal at least some of the differences between herself and the captive tech.

The gully entrance was only lightly guarded. One trooper stood casually on watch, more interested in what was going on the other side of the basin than in a returning technician. People would always see what they expected to see and seldom looked further. The trooper would be expecting to see a female technician coming back with a heavy bag of equipment. As long as she did nothing to attract his attention, then that’s what he would see. 

Look past me. I’m not important. I belong here. She walked without pause, hefting the cumbersome pack on her shoulder. Willing them not to stop her, she held up the tech’s purloined security rod for inspection. The trooper barely looked at it, waving her through without a second glance. A peal of female laughter rose from the centre of the space, and his head jerked round, distracted. Then she was past him.

I belong here. I’m busy. So are you. Ignore me. Vance made unerringly for the troop carrier, walking straight across the centre of the camp. It brought her closer to where the tall Imperial had the Mandalorian and the other two hostages. She couldn’t risk lingering, catching only a trace of conversation as she passed by.

“Your fate is set Djarin. There’s nothing you can do to change that, but your friends, you can save. Answer me one question: where is the Child?” 

Where is the Child? This must be Moff Gideon. She was close enough now to catch a glimpse. The SIS file photos hadn’t managed to fully capture the superior sneer that graced the man’s face.

Head down, she kept walking. No-one stopped her. Reaching the troop transport, she slipped round to the side facing the steep gully walls, shielding herself from a casual glance. She made a point of looking at a data pad before rolling out her tools as blatantly as if she were working on the Razor Crest. It’s fine. I’m just an engineer. Just doing my job. Nothing to see. As she leant down to pick up a wrench, she looked swiftly beneath the body of the ship. Gideon still paced before the Mandalorian, his face a picture of restrained frustration. 

“Xi’an, I promised him to you, and don’t wish to damage your prize. Perhaps you would care to see how far this Mandalorian will go to protect his foundling?” 

A violet skinned twi’lek stalked to stand before the Mandalorian and then crouched down before him with a broad and feral smile. Her lover raised his head to meet her gaze with a weary defiance.

Making sure no one was nearby, she reached beneath her cap and tapped her comms, activating the encrypted channel that only the Mandalorian would hear. Unwilling to chance a voice transmission, she tapped the sound pick-up three times instead. A distinct yet subtle reassurance. Slowly, his gaze swept across the camp. She stood before it reached her, not wanting his fixed gaze to draw attention, and set to work in earnest.

Rewiring the cannon was the work of minutes, but it took longer to rig the trigger switch. She was almost done before anyone paid her any attention at all. As she worked, she kept half an eye on the troop movements. Two white-armoured men were making a slow circuit of the encampment. Any attempt to evade would draw attention, so instead she pretended to ignore them, fighting the urge to look up as they approached.

“What are you doing, technician?”

“What I’m doing, is wondering who allowed this ship to fly with the cannons in such a state. Look at it! If this thing had shorted out mid-flight, everyone on board would have died!”

“You didn’t come in on our transport.”

“Nope. I was assigned to the lunatic twi’lek, and believe me, I am very much invested in getting out of here in one piece. There, done.” Palming the trigger switch, she replaced the panel and began battening it down. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any of the vegetable stew ration packs have you? Crazy as it sounds, I love the bloody things, and haven’t so much as sniffed a green vegetable in weeks.” 

The trooper laughed at her, provoking a genuine smile. Food; a subject guaranteed to distract almost any soldier. “I know techs get a bit eccentric, but seriously? Those things are vile.”

“Not as bad as the slime they refer to as ‘cream pudding’. That texture...”  She broke off with a feigned cough and a snigger, that was echoed by one of the troopers. The other shook his head.

“Thanks for ruining my favourite desert forever.”

“Sorry.” She gave a cheeky grin over her shoulder, before nodding towards one of the senior officers. “Sergeant’s watching, you better keep moving.”

Watching them go, she felt a swell of pity. They probably had minutes to live. She doubted the Mandalorian would be restrained when his binders fell away. Behind her, there was the crack of a loud slap and a husky yell.

“Enough play. Tell me now, or Dune dies.” The Moff’s patience was wearing thin. 

“Ra’Venn, you need to work faster. Another patrol is coming around, get clear of that troopship.” Niall’s voice crackled loudly over the comms and she fought hard to keep her face neutral. What the fuck!? Had Niall forgotten the need for radio silence? She risked another glance beneath the ship. Sure enough, a technical specialist was calling to Gideon, waving him across to a monitoring station. She watched as he paced over, set his ear to the proffered headset, and then smiled slowly. Her time was up. She had to move. Walking as calmly as she could, she shouldered the bag and made towards the other side of the compound, where a small refreshment station was set up. No-one would suspect a technician in search of tea.

Gideon returned to the Mandalorian’s side. Facing the troopship, he held his arms wide to the darkness. “A rescue attempt? Vance ra’Venn, former Ward of the Empire. It saddens me deeply when fortunate, indeed favoured ones such as yourself turn against us.” He gestured to two of the strange droids that flanked him. They slunk away and began circling out around the outskirts of the camp like wolves. 

The Moff began to pace theatrically. “And now you side with this Mandalorian, and his ‘foundling’. I’m curious, ra’Venn; does protecting this Child assuage your maternal guilt? You weren’t there when your own daughter died were you? Off playing spy on Corellia. Do you think she screamed for you as she died?”

If Gideon sought to throw her, then he succeeded, but not in the way he had intended. Nothing he could say about Thea would awaken a deeper anguish. There was no image that he could place in her mind that she had not created herself a thousand times, in ever increasing detail. No-one could make guilt’s knife sharper or push it deeper. What threw her was Corellia. That she had once rocked a daughter to sleep wasn’t widely known, but nor was it an utter secret. That she had been on Corellia when Thea died was. It had been a mission so shrouded in secrecy that no records were kept. Only agents assigned to the task had known, and most of them were dead. Two were left alive. She was one of them. The other had just given her away over the comms.

“Too much veg stew? You look pale.” She looked up sharply. The trooper from before stood by the refreshment counter, helmet tucked under his arm, coffee in hand. A surprisingly friendly face that hinted at a Clone father smiled down at her. Vance did what she always did. She dragged her thoughts back to the job. She battered her heart into submission. She forced a smile.

“Too much cream pudding.”

There was no time for this. Concealing her departure by seizing a cup of tea from the bench, she turned away, and reached once more for her lover’s comms channel. This time, she risked a voice call.

“Brace yourself. I’m about to level the field. Try not to kill me.” She pulled the comms piece from her ear and shoved it deep into a pocket, then glanced back over her shoulder to see what was happening.

The prowling droids grew close, scanning every face.

The twi-lek knelt down before the Mandalorian. Her manner towards him was unmistakable. It spoke of intimacy, or at least the desire for it. She leant in close, tracing her fingers across the contours of his helmet, then letting them drift down across his breastplate, coming to rest on his thighs. With a predatory smile, she brought her hands back to his helmet, gripping it firmly. Her voice carried across the camp.

“I can destroy you without spilling a drop of blood.” She laughed and began to lift. The Mandalorian became rigid. A sliver of jawline showed.

No more time. Vance hit the trigger.

Chapter Text

Vance was here. Questions crowded into the Mandalorian’s mind; the how, the why, and the what forced their way forward in turn, even as he tried to absorb Gideon’s words. A Ward of the Empire; that he had known. A child lost; that he had suspected. It was a pain she kept hidden, even from him. To hear Gideon brazenly declare it felt like as much of an intrusion as the casual use of his name. His temper flared on her behalf. 

He swept his awareness through his body, assessing his readiness to fight. His ankles were bound, and the length of time he’d been on his knees had turned his legs to lead. Flexing and twitching his muscles, he tried vainly to work some blood into them. His hands had been fastened before him but in such a way that he couldn’t reach the controls on his bracers. At least his shoulders weren’t as numb as his legs. A metallic taste seeped into his mouth as anticipation sent adrenalin racing through his veins.

“Brace yourself. I’m about to level the field. Try not to kill me.”

Her voice, tense yet focused. ‘Brace yourself’? What exactly was she about to pull? ‘Try not to kill me’? She must be here, disguised as an Imperial. He peered into the murk of the encampment searching for her slight frame. Most of the figures milling around were stormtroopers, with only a handful of dark uniformed technicians amongst them. One caught his attention, a woman talking to a trooper with a steaming mug in her hand. Willing her to look his way, he didn’t see Xi’an approach. 

The twi’lek dropped down before him, and with an assured familiarity, she traced her fingertips down his chest. Her nails scraped unpleasantly across the beskar, eliciting shrill metallic squeals. She was close, close enough that if he snapped his hands up quickly, he could catch her hard under the chin and drive those sharpened teeth into her lips, perhaps even break her jaw. 

“I can destroy you without spilling a drop of blood.”

Xi’an took hold of his helmet, curling her fingers beneath its rim.  With a wicked smile, she began to lift. The shock of the violation drove the breath from him. No. Not this way! The shift lifted the visor above his eyeline, rendering him blind. Cool night air kissed his jaw. Reflexively, his hands jerked upwards in a desperate strike at her, just as the high-pitched scream of an overloading ion cannon ripped through the compound. Realising Vance’s plan, he gritted his teeth in anticipation of the pain to come. As his bound hands connected with Xi’an’s jaw, the wave came, the sweep of ions that meant death to every circuit within range. The energy shields in his armour shorted and sparked, needling him with dozens of small shocks. His visor flared painfully before going completely dark. As his bracers failed, the Whistling Birds mistook that final surge as a command to fly. They exploded outwards, each one finding a nest in the twi’lek’s exposed throat and chest. Back arching, she clawed vainly at her ruined throat. He spared her only a single cold glance as she died. 

The binders fell from his hands and feet. Cramped muscles screaming, the Mandalorian flung himself into a sideways roll, coming up to his feet three metres from where he had been. Swiftly, he assessed his position. The surge had half blinded him; without the heat enhancements, the dark glass of his visor was more impediment than protection. His bracers were useless, and the ion sweep ensured there were no functioning weapons within reach. 

Behind him, Karga was struggling to his feet, too weak from a month of incarceration to be much use to them here. Dune had come up fighting, seizing the troopers that had been guarding her and slamming their skulls together. Trusting her to protect Karga, he reached for his bracer, pulling out the one blade they hadn’t found and confiscated. It was a short savage thing, barely six inches long but wickedly sharp.

As Vance had intended, their enemies were in a worse state. The black droids that had proven immune to their blasters lay crumpled in the dust like broken toys. Stormtroopers milled in confusion. Their officers shouted orders in a vain attempt to regain control but only succeeded in adding to the furore. Without their blasters, visors, or servo supported armour, they were lost, and chaos reigned .

“Secure the prisoners!” Gideon’s voice rang through the camp, more distant than expected. With a snort of disgust, the Mandalorian realised that he was fleeing. The disarmed troopers would be no match and Gideon knew it. They were simply there to delay the warrior, a shield of flesh for the retreating Moff. The troopers knew it, too. They exchanged glances, each waiting for someone else to move first. 

“Swarm him!” A young and furious female voice. “We outnumber him! He’s only one man!” 

The Mandalorian would have laughed, had he not pitied her so much. Spurred into action, troopers began to advance, some bunching their fists in an almost comedic fashion, others wielding their useless blasters like clubs. 

He called back to Dune. “Vance is here somewhere, so watch who you hit!”

“As long as she doesn’t hit me first, we’re golden!”

His vision was hampered, but the trooper armour practically glowed in the night. Unthinking, he cut his way through the pack, kinetic memory taking over. Each evasion became a sweeping attack. Each time he buried his blade, he selected the next target. Now and again, a badly aimed blow would ring against his armour, but his rhythm was relentless. On and on and on, until he spun and not a white armoured figure remained. Turning to his allies, he saw a trooper on their knees before Dune, hands held up in supplication. Her face a grim mask, she slammed her boot into their helmet hard, sending them sprawling. She swept a predator’s gaze across the camp, seeming almost disappointed that no enemies remained.

“Is that all of them?”

“I think so; some of them had the sense to run for the bunker.”

He’d lost sight of Vance . He spun, searching. Nothing moved. Trying to ignore the ice creeping down his spine, he took a few steps towards where he thought he’d last seen her, stumbling over the leg of a downed trooper in the dark. Seeing no-one left standing, he began to walk among the bodies. If she were on her feet, she would have made her way to his side by now. Forcing her name through a suddenly dry mouth, he called for her.

“Behind you.” Her voice was closer than expected and strangely muffled. Spinning on his heel, he saw her kneeling by a tumble of dark metal that resolved itself as one of the strange new droids. “Give me a minute. I’m taking this thing’s data core for analysis.”

Her voice was so damn calm and entirely at odds with the relief that left his own heart racing. As she spoke, she glanced up, and he saw that her mouth and jawline were dark with blood.

“Is that your blood?” 

“It looks worse than it is.”

Dune made her way across to them, half carrying Greef. She seemed unhurt, although the darkness was doubtlessly masking a plethora of bruises. She exchanged a nod with Vance. “Thanks for the assist; I thought they had us for a while there. Anyone see which way Gideon went?”

The Mandalorian shook his head. “Lost him in the fight. He probably made for that bunker.”

“Or the TIE up top.” Greef Karga interjected, his voice hoarse and weak. “If he’s in the bunker we’ve got no hope. That blast door would take too long to break through, and that whole time reinforcements could be on the way.”

“My partner was supposed to disable the TIE.” There was an uncertainty to Vance’s voice. She straightened, the liberated data core in her hand, and touched her bloody face gingerly. “Either way, Karga – pleased to meet you - is right. We need to move.”

They made their way to the relative safety of the gully with frustrating slowness. Karga limped heavily, his knee twisting awkwardly with each step. For his own part, the Mandalorian wasn’t much better, stumbling often in the near blackness. At his third trip, Vance proffered an elbow.

“Do you need help?” It was the first time she had looked at him directly. Her features were carefully neutral. He had expected her to be angry. This uncanny calm was somehow worse.

“I’ll manage.”

“Contact!” Cara called out, and he knew a moment’s shame that despite being ahead, she had seen this new threat first. 

A stormtrooper was walking towards them, a heavy blaster held confidently. Catching hold of her arm, the Mandalorian hauled Vance behind him. Dune and Karga were already flattening themselves to a wall when the trooper called out.

“That you ra’Venn? Is everyone in one piece?” The rich Imperial tones of Niall Heron echoed down the gully, incautiously loud.

“So far. Did Gideon come past you?”

“Who?”

A scream of a TIE engine overhead cut off her exasperated explanation, and she looked up, tracking the sound. Then she turned and fixed the other spy with a glare, raising an eyebrow.

“How…I don’t understand…I shorted out its computer core! There’s no way it should be flying!” Heron pulled off the trooper helmet and looked at his friend with earnest consternation. “There must have been a way up to the plateau from the bunker, or a concealed entrance and another ship!”

The Mandalorian’s battle-drenched mind grew cold. There was no exit on the plateau. He and Dune had searched it. Niall was a gifted slicer; Vance had told him as much. That he had suddenly failed to disable a fighter, a relatively straightforward task, was unlikely. He looked to Vance, wondering if she had realised the same thing. She was watching Niall steadily, with nothing of the usual warmth giving life to her eyes.

“If we’re lucky, we’ve got about twenty minutes until Gideon gets to the cruiser. Move.” There it was, the sharpening of her accent that always signalled her stress. 

As Niall turned back the way he had come, Vance moved to the Mandalorian’s side. Resting a hand on his waist, she leaned in close, as though she were going to kiss the steeled cheek of his helmet. Warmth seemed to flow from her touch, and he knew a twinge of relief at her nearness. Then she spoke, pitching her voice low so that only he could hear, and his heart sank at the coolness of her tone. Her closeness was a ruse, a way to make her murmured message look natural.

“Get ahead of Niall. Don’t let him past you. It’s him. He’s the traitor.”

At that moment, Niall called back to them. He had stopped just ahead and stood looking back and forth up the gully, seemingly watchful for attack. “Look, we’re short on time. I can move faster than the four of you, I’ll run ahead and get the Crest ready for launch.”

“No. You won’t.” Vance’s voice was quiet and sad.

For a moment everything was still. Then, with a wild volley of blaster fire that sent them diving for cover, Niall turned on his heel and bolted. The Mandalorian pursued, heedless of the rocks and debris that could send him sprawling headlong. Gaining ground swiftly, the Mandalorian was within a few strides when the traitor spun and fired again. A glancing blow seared a path across the Mandalorian’s unarmoured side, burning through the cloth and into his flesh.

His momentum carried him forward, the planned tackle degenerating into a clumsy collision. Inelegant as the strike was, it was effective. His shoulder rammed into Niall’s side, bearing the spy to the ground beneath him and knocking the blaster from his hand. 

Squirming out from under him, Niall drove an elbow up into the blaster wound, making him yell with a fresh wave of pain. Suddenly soaked with sweat, his senses faded, and for a horrible moment he feared he would vomit into his helmet. Groaning, he attempted to rise, making it to his feet and staggering against the gully wall. Through the bright starbursts of pain that marred his vision, he saw Dune skid to a halt beside him as Vance levelled the dropped blaster at her friend’s head. 

*

“No. You won’t.”

Until that instant, Niall still believed he could win. Gideon’s grandstanding had almost certainly blown his cover, but Vance was distracted. She may not put things together at once. If he could get ahead and steal the Crest, he would have all the time he needed to find where she had stashed the green brat. Presenting Gideon with that coveted prize may be enough to buy his way back into the Moff’s good graces. 

He had the only functioning blaster. Unfortunately, Vance had a functioning Mandalorian. 

As he hauled himself out from beneath her attack dog, Niall looked frantically for the dropped blaster, but Vance was there ahead of him. He sat back on his heels and started up into the barrel of the weapon. A bizarre impulse to applaud gripped him.

“And thus you unmask your mole. I hope you enjoyed the hunt.” A slight crease appeared between her brows, and Niall cursed inwardly. She had never told him about her mission.

“I’m embarrassed it took me this long.” 

“As I said before, you’ve got blind spots a mile wide when you give your heart.”

She remained quiet, watching, waiting for him to go on. It was a technique so old she probably didn’t even use it consciously anymore. The human impulse was always to fill a silence, to justify. Many a taciturn prisoner would begin to talk when the questions stopped. He wasn’t immune and felt wry amusement as words flowed irresistibly forth. “Gideon; that man’s ego will be his undoing as well as it is mine. He can never resist the dramatic monologue.”

“How much does he know about Corellia?”

“That’s your question? Really Vance, I’m hurt. I thought your first questions would be ‘why’ and ‘how long’.”

“How much does he know about Corellia?”

“Everything.”

The battered man interrupted, sounding exhausted and exasperated in equal parts. “Can someone please explain what’s happening here? Why are pointing a gun at someone who’s just helped to rescue us?” 

Niall looked at his old friend. Her face was cold and still. He knew then that he was done. There was no way to freedom now; no charm would be enough to disarm this one. Only one play was left to him: get her to kill him here. Then there would be no interrogations, no shameful sham trials, and no chance of betraying his co-conspirator. His life had served the Empire. His death would, too.

“You look upset Vee, shall I explain? Gideon thought to distract Vance by ripping open an old wound. Some twenty years ago, she found herself with child; a casual encounter with long-reaching consequences. She was settled out of the way, to watch an SIS safe house and revel in domestic bliss for a while. When her daughter was three, Vance was called away to a mission on Corellia. The day after she left, Imperials attacked the settlement. Her daughter was amongst the collateral casualties.”

He saw the briefest tremor twitch Vance’s lips, before she pressed them into a thin line and flexed her fingers around the grip of the blaster.

“The problem is that mission was a rather nasty little black ops job. So nasty, that no records were kept. Only the operatives involved knew about it. Vance and I are the last survivors, and safe to say, she hasn’t been having cosy chats with Gideon.” He swore eloquently. “Twenty-six years of deep-cover blown by one man’s sense of theatre .”

“We don’t have time for this. Knock him out, drag him back to the Crest and we’ll deal with him then,” said the dark-haired woman that Niall recognised from the holo message. 

Niall ignored her. “So, what happens now?”

“Either I shoot you here, or I haul you back to base and let Jarvis get her hands on you.”

Back to base, where he would be injected with drugs and interrogated. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. “Twenty-six years of friendship count for nothing, then?” 

“Friendship? I was your bloody mark! Someone to talk into defecting with you!”

Excellent. Her cool façade had cracked, spilling out expletives and cold fury. He had to keep pushing. “True enough, but getting attached to the marks is simply an occupational hazard.” He turned and looked deliberately at the Mandalorian with a smirk. 

She shook her head with disgust. “Piss off with the games, Niall.”

“You’re right. That was underhanded of me.” He shook his head. “There were no games all the times that I’d sneak into your dormitory, to bitch about Mieville. No games when we’d drink together and try to laugh off the hurts of a mission. Vance, there were no games after your daughter died. I was the one who dealt with your drunken rages, covered your arse to our commanders, and saved your damn life when you decided the drink wasn’t killing you fast enough. You’re right; I only needed you to add credibility to my defection. Once my cover was established with SIS, I could have walked away from you. I didn’t. Is that worth nothing to you?

“You don’t seriously think she’ll just let you go?” Dark-hair again, with a tone-deaf intrusion.

“Of course I don’t, you stupid bitch. Kindly shut up, this conversation doesn’t involve you.”

She took a step forward, her fists bunching, but Vance flicked up a warding hand. 

“Ginser.” She spoke the name of his partner softly and without preamble, leaving him no time to school his expression. His features betrayed him: a widening of the eyes, a tightening of his lips, and a tension across his brow. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but it was enough for Vance. She had him. She nodded once to herself, satisfied. “So I was at least half right. Give me your comms.”

Clever bitch. With a flash of irritation, Niall threw it across. He’d been in the process of working out how he could send a last message to R6, ordering the droid to overload the Lana Suu’s hyperdrive , destroying the computer core and perhaps even taking the Razor Crest out with her. Without lowering her blaster, she caught it deftly.

“You owe me a clean death, Vee.”

“I don’t owe you anything. Stand up. Walk away.”

“Ah, so we’re going to make this look good then. Shot in the back at twenty paces; killed while trying to escape. Very well.” Niall Heron stood, dusted himself off, and sketched a formal bow, like an actor finally departing the stage.

“Long live the Empire.”

“Enough.”

 She unloaded her blaster point blank. He was dead before he even realised that she had fired.

Chapter Text

Vance had one memory that she couldn’t place, one memory that the Imperials had not obliterated from her young mind. It was a memory of being small and standing on a frozen lake, trying to peer through the fractured transparency of the ice. It was a dangerous place. When the seasons turned, the ice would creak and groan as it grew thin, until it reached the point where a single misstep would send you crashing through into a blackness from which there was no return. Looking down on Heron’s crumpled form, she felt as though she stood there again. A thin veneer of control over an abyss of hurt. Enough? It was already too much. It was odd to think of ice when surrounded by fire, but it was ice that she had to be.

There was no time for this. She had a job to finish and each moment they stood here, Gideon got closer to his cruiser. She took a moment to master her voice and hailed the droid on Lana Suu. 

“R6-K9, Fulcrum override, VRB-Kestrel-36-18-G. Acknowledge authorisation and belay all terminal commands.” A series of warbles and chirrups came back in response. “Heron’s dead. I need you to fly two passengers to the settlement, and then take Lana Suu back to Shil’ea. Accept no incoming transmissions. Lock out all computers and data cores to my authorisation.”

Pumice crunched behind her as the Mandalorian made his pained way across. He limped, and his arm was wrapped protectively around his side.

“How bad is it?”

“Hurts, but it didn’t go deep.” He reached for her with a clumsy attempt at comfort that sent cracks racing across the cold surface of her control. She sidestepped his touch. Not yet.

“Can you walk?”

“Slowly.”

“Then make for the Crest now. There is a tracker in the weapons locker. Find it and destroy it. Niall gave Gideon the frequency, so we have to stop the transmission before that TIE reaches its mothership.” 

At the mention of the tracker, the Mandalorian stiffened. “A tracker on my ship? Did you put it there?”

 “No. I had no reason to think I’d need one.” Vance raised an eyebrow, then transferred her attention to the other woman. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Cara Dune.”

“This may be a little forward for a first meeting, but I’d appreciate your help in packing a corpse. There’s a carbon freeze unit on the Crest. Help Mando, then bring it back here. We load Niall in, and then Greef can ride it back.”

She almost wanted Dune to challenge her sudden assumption of command and give her some minor annoyance to focus on, but if anything she looked amused. 

“Dune, a hand here?” The Mandalorian began to hobble pointedly away from them. Dune caught up with a few long strides and ducked beneath his arm. Thus supported, his pace quickened.

Her voice drifted back. “What did I tell you? You’re in the shit.”

Vance watched them go. The presence of Niall’s body sprawled in the dust behind her was a near palpable thing. Steeling herself, she turned and knelt beside him. His handsome features were a ruined mess. Determinedly not looking, and breathing carefully through her mouth, she began to search him. She removed a ring that she knew Rhea had given him, and then went through each pocket until she was certain there was nothing of note concealed there.

“Are you going to get into trouble for shooting him?” Vance startled. She had half forgotten that Karga was even there. The exhausted man was sprawled against the rock walls, dark skin and dust covered clothing rendering him almost invisible in the night. 

“No. He wasn’t working alone. If I brought him in alive, his partner would realise that they were compromised.” 

“And then you couldn’t use them, right?”

“The record will show he was killed in combat.” Rhea. Would they tell her the truth, or let her think her husband was a hero? 

“Sounds like a bolt to the head was the least he deserved.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“As do we all, whether we want to or not.” Despite the urgency, she stopped and looked up into his tired and world-weary eyes. There was genuine understanding in the older man’s voice. He gave a pained chuckle. “I wondered what sort of person would put up with Mando. Well, if you do get into trouble, I’m the Magistrate here. I owe you my life, and I’ll swear to whatever story you want.”

*

It’s when it doesn’t hurt that you need to worry. That had been his mentor’s idea of reassurance as he cauterised a training gash, and a boyish Din choked back sobs of pain. It provided as little consolation now as it did then.

The cold of the Crest’s cargo bay bulkhead seeped through the Mandalorian’s clothes and into muscles that already ached. With Cara half carrying him, he’d managed to stay on his feet long enough to get to the ship before sliding to the floor with something approaching dignity. Hastily applied medpac painkillers made him light-headed. He could only watch as Dune found the tracker, and threw both it, and a bound and mostly naked Imperial tech from his ship. Then with a grim nod, she had left with the carbon freeze unit.

A soft scrabbling sound came from the cockpit, the sounds of claws losing their grip on metal. With a soft thump, the Child landed at the base of the ladder. Picking himself up, the infant ran across the floor. In spite of everything, he felt a twist of pride. “Learning to get down the ladder, now?” 

Seeing his burnt and blistered flesh, the Child’s whole demeanour shifted. Looking suddenly much older, he gathered himself, closed his eyes and stretched out a hand.

“It’s ok kid, it’s not bad. Save your energy.”

Looking unconvinced, the creature sat down and nestled his head against his protector’s thigh. Pulling off a glove, the Mandalorian smoothed his fingers through the white fuzz of the little one’s hair. The Child looked up at him and then towards the open door, his ears low with worry.

“She’ll be here soon, kid. She’s…” He stopped. To say that Vance was fine would be a blatant lie. Her coldness and control in the aftermath of her friend’s death had both impressed and unnerved him. “She’s in better shape than me right now.”

It didn’t take long for the two women to return, pushing the slab of the carbon freeze bed. The control panel on the side glowed red, informing them that the body within was lifeless. They quickly manoeuvred it into place against one of the side walls.

“I don’t mean to seem rude, but we have to get moving. R6 will see you back safely to the settlement. Don’t worry; with that override in place, he’s nothing more than a drone.” Vance’s voice remained business-like and crisp. “Help yourself to the drinks cabinet.”

“I will. Until next time.” The ex-trooper nodded to each of them, and then left.

As the bay door closed, Vance watched him intently, appraising his condition. “I’ll get us underway, and then come and see to that wound.”

For once, he felt no call to haul himself into the pilot seat, content to simply sprawl in the grasp of the painkillers. He was dimly aware of the ship’s motion, the change in engine sound as hyperspace kicked in, and then the soft cadence of Vance’s voice as she made a comms call. He wasn’t sure how much time passed --perhaps he dozed -- before she climbed awkwardly down the ladder laden with an armful of clean clothes. She deposited them on the floor beside him and set out the medical supplies. Even with his visor broken, he could tell that she was pale and drawn. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Vance… ”

“Stop.”

“I had to go…”

“I have a job to finish. We’re not doing this now.” Her jaw was clenched tightly enough to set the muscle twitching. Conceding, he watched as she began to explore his injury through tattered cloth. “I need to take your cuirass off to get to the wound.” 

Without hesitation, she unclipped each fastening, removing it almost as swiftly as he would have done himself. Lifting his base layer away was harder. As she rolled the clothing beneath out of the way, it stuck briefly to the edge of the wound, and he flinched. “I’ll try not to hurt you, but this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re even willing to try.”

“Oh, I have range. I can be furious and concerned all at once.”

She leant forward a little to see the wound, and the overhead lights fell harshly on her own injuries. Most of the blood had been cleaned off, revealing a painful looking cut that split both her upper and lower lip. The smudge on her cheek that he’d thought to be an oil stain resolved itself into a livid bruise. Unthinkingly, he reached up to touch his fingertips to the line of her jaw, only to have her block him as savagely as if he’d gone to strike her. The denial opened a dreadful void within him, a fear that something fundamental had been broken.

Black grit had worked itself deep into the wound. For what seemed an interminably time she worked gingerly around, cleaning out each speck of filth. His breath hissed in and out as she worked. A sharp herbal scent filled the air as she unscrewed the lid of an unlabelled jar of ointment.

“This is going to sting.”

“What, more than it already…” He broke off with a yelp as she applied a balm to the raw flesh. Slowly the burning heat of the wound gave way to a numb coolness and his breath became even again. Watching her unroll bandages, he tried to counsel himself to silence but this void between them was more painful than the blaster hit.

“Vance, there was no time…”

“It would have taken you minutes to call me and explain.” Again, that uncanny flatness to her voice, yet there was a tremor in her hands. She was having to hold herself hard.

“You saw what we faced.”

“Yes; while I was rescuing you from it.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“You humiliated me.” Finally, feeling broke through. Her voice became low and savage, ragged with fury. “You left me scrambling for some shred of professional credibility, looking like a blind, infatuated fool. I wasn’t sent here to rescue you Djarin, I was sent because Jarvis thought you might be a fucking spy! I was hunting you!” 

The Child looked up at her with a whimper of alarm and retreated into a fold of the Mandalorian’s cloak.

Explanations and protestations died in his mouth. If he had been a spy, could this woman, who had slept at his side, had told him that she loved him, and now gently dressed his wounds, have put a sniper bolt past his armour? His eyes slid past her, to the black slab that rested against the opposite wall, the corpse contained within mercifully turned face down.

“Since when have I given you any sign that I can’t take care of myself? I’m not a fighter, I know that, but don’t you dare assume that I haven’t put myself to as many hazards as you have!”

He remained silent. In the face of her hurt and anger, there was nothing to say that didn’t sound trite.

“What? No retorts? No arguments? No ‘you’re not a warrior, this is the Way?’” She finished fastening the wound coverings and sat back on her heels. Every line of her face and form radiated anger. “You wanted to talk about this; bloody well say something!”

“I love you.”

The shattering of her control was a visible thing. Her eyes went wide. Her lips parted as if to speak but she made no sound. He heard himself apologise, and made to take hold of her hands. Standing shakily, she stepped back out of reach. 

“I… I need some time.” She turned to the ladder and fled.

*

The ice had cracked, and Vance had fallen. 

“I love you.” 

Words she had never expected to hear him say. The warmth of his admission broke through and set the hurt, betrayal, and the grief free. Like a wounded animal, she had found a corner to hide in, curling herself up on the bed in their darkened cabin, knees pulled up to her chest. Now she was wrung out and raw; her throat and head ached from the sobs she’d stifled as best she could. 

Mercifully, the Mandalorian had left her alone. After a while, she’d heard him moving around in the cargo bay. The irritating whine of the sonic cleanser in the refresher and the sounds of Bean being put into his bed came up through the ventilation ducts. Then came his tread on the ladder, more awkward than usual. There was a lengthy pause. She could feel him on the other side of the hatch, hesitating. Finally it swung open, and he pulled himself through, carrying a steaming mug that fogged the steel of his cuirass. The dim light from the window was just enough to limn his outline and glint on the edges of his armour. Stepping over her discarded boots and belt, he came to perch on the side of their low bed. 

“I made you some tea.” 

He made no attempt to touch her and sat silently as she drank. The weight of his declaration hung between them. She knew she should say something, but it felt too huge. For now, she just wanted to be small, and hidden.

“Vance, I don’t know what to do, what to say. Tell me what you need.”

“Someone in my life who says what they think and does what they say. That would be a novelty. Even better, someone who doesn’t piss off when things get awkward, or drive a knife so far between my shoulders that I could use it to scratch my chin.” Her voice threatened to crack as she spoke, and she clenched her teeth against the tremor. She tried to stop talking but the words kept coming, disjointed and broken. “My life has depended on my ability to predict people and see through their masks. How could I have missed this? Niall was a constant in my life for so long, the one constant, in fact. I trusted him. Now I can’t even trust myself. How can I rely on anything after this? How can I trust anyone now?” 

She turned her face against the wall, not wanting to see her pain reflected in his visor. She felt his weight shift on the bed.

“I stay at your side, until you command that I leave.”

His voice sounded strange and raw. She turned and looked into eyes so dark, that they seemed black in the dim light. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

Angles and planes both strange and familiar made up a surprisingly kind face. His hair was darker than hers, and a few days growth of salt-and-pepper stubble framed his features. She lifted a hand to his cheek, reconciling what her eyes saw with what her touch already knew so well. He held her hand in place, turning slightly to kiss her palm.

“I…You…You didn’t have to do this.” Her voice was little more than a cracked whisper.

“I know." There was the slightest softening of his expression that might have been the precursor to a smile. "Your daughter; will you tell me her name?” 

The non sequitur startled her briefly before she understood. His query was a quiet request for an answering sign of trust. 

“Thea.” 

She reached for a small wooden case that always hung from her belt. With a twist she activated a holo emitter, projecting its image through the cutwork surface. Her much younger self crouched down, her hair as short as his, and her smile radiant and unburdened. Beside her, grinning up at the imager, was a small girl who bore her mother’s face, but with two stubby red pigtail plaits. “I should have told you sooner but how do you even start a conversation like that? It’s always too early, or too late …”

“You don’t owe me your past. We’re both old enough to have history.” He reached across and brushed the hair away from her face, a crease forming between his brows. “Mandalorians have a daily ritual required of us by the Way. We recite the names of those lost to us. Let me honour her name.”

“Thea was only three years old; why would you place her name among warriors?”

“She was yours, and you are clan to me.” 

Vance could no longer see. Tears blurred out her vision. She listened to the familiar sounds of clasps being unfastened, and armour being set aside piece by piece. The mattress dipped as he moved to sit beside her. Pulling her knees up to her chest, and surrendering to the arms that wrapped around her, she curled against him like the child she had lost.

For a long time, she rested there, listening to the rhythms of his body, and hiding herself in the stillness between each breath. After a while he shifted slightly, and she felt a blanket being drawn up around her shoulders. At once it began to trap their shared warmth.

“I’ll fall asleep if you do that.”

“I thought you already had. Some sleep would do you good.”

“And you.”

She sat back from him, instinctively closing her eyes before remembering that she no longer needed to. Again she saw the subtle softening of his features and the twitch of his mouth that might have been a smile. Shivering, she settled herself in her old place, watching with fascination as he took off his boots and came to lie beside her. The light from the viewport played across his face, highlighting one feature after another.

Mindful of his wounded side, she turned her back to him. He moulded himself against her, drawing blankets over them both, and placing a single kiss at the base of her neck. She caught hold of the arm that reached across her and touched the back of his hand gingerly with her cut mouth.

“I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Vance was late for the debrief, and the Mandalorian had never been good at small talk. Fortunately, Jarvis had little appetite for it either. For a while they politely ignored each other across the glossy briefing table. He stood impassively, comfortable at last after G2’s liberal application of painkillers. Jarvis scrolled through reports. The Child rode in his cradle, fiddling with the puzzle ball Vance had made.

As yet, the commander had made no comment about his unexpected departure, nor the action she had taken. With a cooler head, he understood her concerns, although one thing still rankled.

“You put a tracker on my ship.”

“Of course I did.” Jarvis looked up from her screen and met his stare, completely unrepentant. “If I hadn’t, you’d be dead by now, and the infant would be Gideon’s prisoner.”

“You didn’t put it there with my best interests at heart.”

“No.” 

“Are you going to try and pull that again?”

“Are you going to try and pull another vanishing act?”

“Not from Vance.”

The commander raised an eyebrow. Somewhere, deep in that cool stare, was a flicker of amusement.

The briefing room door chimed softly and swept open, admitting Vance. Changed and clean, the cuts across her mouth looked all the more livid, and the shadows beneath her eyes were marked. Her hair was still damp from the shower, pulled back into an untidy braid.

“I’m sorry I’m late; I ran into Rhea on the way here. What did you tell her? She thanked me.”

“She’s got the official story. Her husband was killed in action against the Imperial Remnant.” Jarvis’s face held the same neutrality that Vance’s did when dealing with something unpleasant. He wondered whether they were trained in it by SIS. “Otherwise, we’d have lost her as an agent, I’m certain of it. She may have even defected.”

“She’d have good reason to.” Vance looked unhappy, clearly thinking of her own role in Rhea’s life, but didn’t contest her commander’s decision. “What’s our next move? Feed misinformation to Ginser?”

“It’s not ‘our’ move. It’s mine. You need to sit this out.”

“What!?” The Mandalorian’s voice overlayed his lover’s as they objected in unison.

“ra’Venn is compromised.”

“I’m not…” Vance stopped short. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she turned her back and took a few paces away from them. 

“Explain.” Defiant he rounded on Jarvis, who held up a hand.

“Corellia. Vance filled me in on the job Gideon shot his mouth off about. It was the assassination of a sitting senator who had turned traitor. SIS were ordered to kill him quietly to prevent unsettling neighbouring systems. If Gideon made this public knowledge, it would lead to investigations, incriminations… even if it came to nothing, we’d be undermined and de-clawed for months.”

“How much heat could this bring down on her?”

“I don’t know. Nothing official of course, she was just following orders, but the senator’s family may feel differently.” Jarvis took a few paces as she considered, before addressing Vance once more. “We need to see what Gideon is going to do with this information. In the meantime, you need to go dark.”

“For how long?” 

“A few months at least. It will take us a couple of days Mando, but we can clear your records with the Guild, erase the record of the little incident on Nevarro. Pick up your old life, take ra’Venn with you, and she’ll virtually disappear.” There was an unusual softness to Jarvis’ voice that might have been sympathy. “Vance, this must have been hard on you. I’m ordering you to take a break… a nice relaxing, bounty hunting break.”

Jarvis’ quip surprised an amused snort from Vance that he was relieved to hear. It was the first hint of her usual vivacity since Nevarro. “I have an old alias with Guild credentials.”

Jarvis turned her gaze on him. “Is that acceptable to you? You’ll be paid, of course.”

A few months ago, that would have been his first question. Now it grated that she’d felt the need to mention it. “We fight the same enemy. I go where she goes.”

“Or in this case, she goes where you go. Now, I believe we had a deal regarding Bean.” Vance’s pet name for the Child sounded odd from the stoic commander’s lips. The Child looked up at the commander with interest. “We sent a message to Skywalker, but as yet have had no response. It's possible he’s not received it; some of his training locations are very remote. However, we do have another lead, one I wasn’t prepared to offer until we had the measure of you.”

The Mandalorian felt a coldness creep through him that had nothing to do with Jarvis’ lack of trust. He locked eyes with little being to his side who had so profoundly changed his life, the one the Armourer had named as his clan. Long ears perked up, and a small hand reached up to take hold of his index finger. 

Jarvis was still talking. “…She used to be a Fulcrum operative during the war and we’ve stayed in touch. After you’ve taken a few days to heal up, I'm going to give you a location. We’ve let her know that you’re coming. She gets to make the call as to whether or not she’s there.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Corvus.”

*

The base guest quarters were utilitarian but clean, with a small side room for Bean, and an actual immersion bath. The look of aching relief that Vance had given the latter had been enough to silence the Mandalorian’s grumbling about having to stay here. He would have preferred to be underway at once, taking his strange family away from these intrigues and plots. Bounty hunting could never be described as a particularly clean profession, but at least it was straightforward.

A long narrow window, less than a metre high, stretched all the way along one wall at chest height. At this time of year, the lower half was submerged, and the Child had spent an hour gleefully trotting along the deep sill, exclaiming at the creatures that occasionally came into view in the murky water. When night had fallen and the moons had risen, they’d left the room lights off so that he could enjoy watching the fireflies dance above the water. Fascinated, he stared and stared until falling asleep, propped against the glass. 

Vance had liberated the last bottle of Anto’s wine from the Crest. Every sip was making her wince as the alcohol stung her cut lips, but she persisted doggedly.

“Are you planning on sharing that?” 

She didn’t reply, simply tipping her glass in salute and going to stand by the window. She was small enough not to have to duck to see through it, the divider between water and air on a line with her eyes.

Carefully, he lifted the slumbering Child from the windowsill, cradling his head with a gloved hand. Huge eyes flicked open for the briefest moment, before sliding shut once more. A small hand locked itself around his thumb.

“That’s it, you stay asleep kid.” He settled the Child in his cradle, tucking blankets around him. Certain he was asleep, the Mandalorian took off his helmet and looked through his own eyes at the green tinged skin, and fuzzy white hair. The thought that they’d soon be parting ways, left a knot in his chest.

“Do you have to give him up?” 

The Mandalorian didn’t answer at once. He closed the lid of the crib and went to join her by the window. Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her close, took the glass of wine from her hand and took a long drink. “I have to find his people. Then it’s up to him. If he doesn’t want to go, I won’t make him.”

She nodded and looked across at the crib, a weary sadness in her eyes. Resting her head against his shoulder, she sighed and reclaimed the wine glass. For some time, they held silence, passing the glass between them until it was drained. He watched her expression in the reflection of the window, wakeful yet exhausted, worry still tensing her brow. With a touch beneath her chin he guided her mouth to his and kissed her cut and bruised lips as gently as he could.

“You’re doubting yourself.”

“I should have seen through Niall’s act sooner.”

“You got him, you got both of them.”

“Too damn late. Hundreds of personnel are dead, and nearly all of the Freelancers are now out of action. Niall’s gone. Rhea’s in pieces. Ginser is a traitor, and I’m side-lined. That leaves Jula, and she has a skill set better suited to your line of work.” She retrieved the bottle of wine and deliberately over-filled their shared glass, managing to fit at least half of the bottle in there. 

“Efficient.”

“I thought so. Sod elegance.” Her half-smile crept onto her face but faded quickly. “They tell children stories of how all it takes is one person to make a difference, how one hero could turn the tide. They never mention that one villain can do the same.” 

“I don’t believe in heroes and villains. No order, no fate putting someone where they need to be. It’s just people making the best of the hand they’ve been dealt and trying to survive the day.” Lifting his hands to her face, and tracing his thumbs across her cheekbones, he looked down into eyes as grey as unworked beskar. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No?”

“It means there’s always someone who can turn things around.”

*

When Grogu awoke it was still dark, with no hint of the coming dawn. The moons were setting, leaving only the slightest tinge of silver lining the objects in the room. He had never feared the darkness; he didn’t need the light to see. He knew that out there, swamp creatures moved through the waters, hunting, hiding, and surviving. In the other room, Vance and Mando slept, her head on his shoulder, his arms encircling her. Their minds were quiet now. Hurt and doubt had all fallen away with sleep. They were still and content.

He sent his thoughts elsewhere, tumbling into the paths and currents that linked all things. Other minds drifted in and out of his awareness. Sleeping minds, wakeful minds, grieving minds. Somewhere, someone sobbed for their lost love. An engineer on a night shift battled sleep. A guard on watch snuck a glimpse at the picture of her family, warmed by her wife’s last message.

He wandered deeper, into the voids between worlds where everything was quiet and empty. Someone was waiting for him.

“Is it you? Are you the one who’s coming to me?”

“Are you the one who’s waiting?”

“I don’t wait, you’ll have to catch up.”

“My protectors are good at catching people.”

Amusement. “So, who’s going to catch me then? Who are you?”

“I’m Grogu.”

“I’m Ahsoka.”