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stormkobra-5 · 2 years

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The Heir of Djarin

Episode 4: Unsanctioned

Summary: Three months have passed, and the First Order has started cutting off supply convoys when they can find them. The most recent one has been a medical supply convoy, and now the Resistance is trying desperately to find a way to get what they need before they collapse. Good thing Poe and Laylah don’t have a problem disobeying orders for the greater good, right?...Right?

A/N: And so the story finally picks up! Enjoy a variety of Grogu/Beebs cuteness sprinkled with two best friends who might be in love but they don’t know, a brand new Hutt and some probably-inaccurate science references.

Notes: The Huttese I literally got from a Huttese translator on Google, so its accuracy is... questionable. Also, I know Luke Skywalker gave Shara Bey and Kes Dameron the Force tree to put in their backyard, but I changed it for... reasons...

Warnings: This story is rated 14+ for canon-typical violence, action, and language. The main character is recovering from a traumatic backstory for the sake of the plot, so there is mention of distrust, social anxiety, self-doubt, and emotional damage. Later chapters may involve mature themes for drug usage (spice), excessive alcohol consumption, and clubs that imply adult entertainment (the main characters do not take part). Nothing explicit in any chapters. This chapter involves drug usage (spice) and alcohol consumption (the main characters do not take part). There is also brief mention of previously fighting depression and suicide (the OC has since recovered).

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Three months have passed since my arrival at the Resistance base. Din and Grogu are still with me, having officially decided to stay, and the Slave is fully operational and entering-atmosphere safe. Sometimes Din will go on diplomatic missions and leave Grogu with me; carrying him around in a satchel is more work than I thought it’d be. He’s always grabbing at things, and more than once I’ve found he’s somehow sucked all the bacta out of a pack. The only thing that keeps him occupied are three things: sleep, a healthy supply of frogs I have to find and catch myself (therefore carrying an extra pack full of dead frogs), or those damn blue cookies that I have to refrain from eating myself. Things have been quiet with the First Order, mostly, so missions are few as the Resistance tries to spare its resources for something drastic-- although somehow they keep pegging our supply convoys. Most recently was a medical supply convoy, and with a bunch of learning medic/doctors, that’s not very convenient. Dia has had to divvy up the time of a dozen medics just to ensure that there might be enough supplies for learning mistakes-- trust me, you’ll break a few tubes when you pull them out of the makeshift practice mannequin, and you’ll definitely waste some bandages and gauze. Shortening lessons shortens the number of items wasted or broken, so. Unfortunately, that leaves me with way too much free time. I train, I help with what I can, sometimes I shadow Din, and sometimes I even go straight to Leia to see what else I can do to help. I can’t even help Poe or Beebs with anything, because they’re in the air almost all day drilling and patrolling. I don’t think there’s a time when the mountains aren’t alive with the roar of X-wing engines. Except for today. Today Black Squadron is taking a much-needed rest, and Poe sent BB-8 to bring me to them. I was in the middle of wandering aimlessly while trying to find somebody to assist, so I figured why not? I didn’t expect to enter the tarmac and find the whole of Black Squadron and a bunch of other pilots all gathered around cheering and passing bets between them. I tap the shoulder of Jess, who BB-8 discreetly avoids. Apparently she has a thing with getting droids blown up all the time. “What’s going on?” “The commander’s going up against Balfro!” I’ve heard of Balfro. A tough, gray-skinned, broad-shouldered ex-bodybuilder from some planet I can never remember the name of. I’ve heard everybody makes it a point to challenge him to a boxing match. Guess I should’ve known that Poe would eventually end up in that mix. “Why am I not surprised?” Over the course of the last few months, Poe and I have become close-- we tell each other everything, which is something I could never really do even with Din. I’ve told him every detail of my time on Earth; about how I’d fought off depression and suicide myself in my teen years because I didn’t want my family to worry, how it was prompted by the times I lived in and my evil father, and how I’d never really recovered from being turned away and abandoned by everyone my family met. He’s told me about his childhood on Yavin, how he ran away and ended up with the spice runners of Kijimi before joining the Republic Navy-- and apparently he’s never really told anyone about being the whole Kijimi bit. “How would it look if the best pilot in the galaxy was an ex-spice runner?” He’d say. He told me about the mysterious Jedi who appeared one day at his house when he was little-- a Togruta, Ahsoka Tano-- and gave his parents a piece of the Force Tree to grow in their backyard. About how sometimes he feels like because of that, he might be a little Force-sensitive himself. We’re close. Very close. We know each other better than we know ourselves and always gravitate toward one another when we’re near-- which is why, somehow, Poe’s ended up eating with Din and I if he’s in the mess hall, and Din pretends he doesn’t approve but he really does. He’s my one and only human friend, though I’m only one of his, so he always tries to incorporate me in anything the Black Squadron does on a rest day. It’s slow progress, because I’m still anxious around strangers (and because Snap and I are always trying to out-smartass each other), but nobody minds, and I appreciate the fact that he does that. Although right now I’m wondering, really, how big of a dumbass he actually is. Balfro is only 5’ 9", so he’s the same height as Poe, but man is he monstrous. He’s like an orc from Lord of the Rings. He’s got spikes on his head and a fricking eight pack, and the guy can do flips and kicks like he’s right outta Mortal Kombat. He always wears war paint, his teeth are filed to fangs, and the horns on his head give the distinct impression that he rams people if necessary. Dathomir, that’s where he’s from. I remember now. Balfro doesn’t really speak Galactic Basic-- he more grunts, more of the silent type-- so right now he’s roaring a stream of what’s probably some vulgar insults in his native language. He doesn’t even have boxing gloves on, not caring at all that his knuckles are busted and bleeding. Poe, meanwhile, the cocky bastard, is literally hopping, ready for the next round, with an arrogant smirk on his face. He’s drenched in sweat, with his flight suit halfway unzipped and tied at his waist by the sleeves. His white tank top is covered in his own blood, because his lip and forehead are busted and he’s scraped up from being slammed into the duracrete. Does he even realize he’s bleeding? I don’t think so. I can tell already his forehead is going to need stitches. I stand beside Snap with my arms crossed. “How long have they been at it?” He answers without even shifting his position. “’Bout twenty minutes. The commander’s getting his ass whooped, but for some reason he thinks this is fun.” “Dumbass.” At this point I think BB-8 may have gotten me to patch Poe up, or maybe stop the fight. Before I can say anything at all, though, Poe lunges, manages to get a few hard hits in, and then Balfro’s actually picking him up, and throws him. Poe goes flying overhead, landing hard and with the breath knocked out of him behind us. Beebs and I rush over as the crowd cheers for Balfro’s win. “Hey Bez,” He wheezes as he rolls onto his back, wincing. “Hey dumbass,” I quip, leaning over him with my hands on my knees. “Got your ass beaten good enough yet? Or you want a broken bone in there with the internal bleeding and concussion?” He pretends to think about that for a second. “Nah, I’m good.” “Good.” I gesture to his whole body generally. “By the way, without all the blood, this is really a hot look for you.” He tries to laugh, but the effort makes him grunt with pain. Instead, he forces a bloody grin through his wincing and flinching. “Thanks, Bez.” For some reason he thinks I’m joking-- though, we’ve always had this flirty kind of banter going, so maybe he thinks I am. “Mando!” Roars Balfro from behind, and I whirl around. By now everybody knows me even without my armor, which I haven’t worn since my arrival. Being addressed by the massive, furious creature is absolutely terrifying. He can say few words in Basic, so his next sentence is clipped. He bangs his chest in challenge like a gorilla. “Fight! No armor!” “You want me to fight you?” This guy could break me. “Mando...” Balfro growls out, “Coward?” The gathered crowd oohs, looking back and forth, and everybody passes out new bets while finishing paying the ones from the previous fight. Balfro urges them on, throwing his arms up at them and cheering. Mandalorian coward? I think the kriff not. Poe’s hand shoots out and grabs my ankle, holding on tight-- I’m may be fit now, but I’m still extremely thin. His whole hand fits around my ankle with room to spare; I’m wearing capri pants though, so he’s holding bare skin. At first I freeze, unused to the contact and ready to tear myself away from him-- but then I relax. This is Poe. He’s safe. My heart is calming down as my eyes trail up his arm to his face to meet his eyes, filled of warning. His brow furrows and he shakes his head minutely. “Bez. Don’t.” I shake him off. Din trained me to use my size against large opponents. I already know where to hit him. In all seriousness, I say to Poe, “Watch and learn, Poe. Watch and learn.” He’s a pilot, so he’s been trained in various forms of combat, clearly, but not like I have. Not like a Mandalorian. Poe rolls his eyes. I help him to his feet and limp over to Snap, who keeps him steady and standing. Poe tries to hand me the boxing gloves, but I shove them back at him and shake my head. His brow furrows even further, concerned for both my safety and sanity. “Laylah...” He only uses my first name when he’s extremely serious, which has only been a handful of times so far. Usually I listen to him when he says my first name, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I can do this, even if Balfro is unfairly ginormous. “This is how a Mandalorian does it.” BB-8 beeps worriedly. Though Binary isn’t an exact language, I can feel his frustration. I brought you here to get him to stop, and now you’re doing it? Humans. Balfro and I face each other. I take up no visible fighting stance, but I’m ready-- all my training kicks to the forefront of my mind. Balfro grins, and I see his muscles tense up before he lunges, giving me a split-second warning. I take a single step and spin, bending backward to go right under his arms as he tries to close them around me with intent to crush me. I come up behind him and deliver a hard elbow to a pressure point in his back that makes his legs crumple out from underneath of him, sending him sprawling face-first on the duracrete. For a few seconds, there’s silence, and I’m not ashamed to be very, very smug. Poe’s face is priceless. “What? Nothing?” Then they’re cheering. “Man-do! Man-do! Man-do!” Poe cheers with them for a second as I take it in. That’s right. This is how it’s done. Then I’m seeing all their faces at once, and all the attention gets to be too much-- especially Balfro’s scowling face as he stands, eyeing me with a furious glint in his gaze that sends me hurrying to Poe. He subtly shifts so that he’s between me and Balfro-- we both know he probably won’t actually attack me, but the paranoid fear still has me in flight-or-fight mode. Though Poe can walk on his own, overcoming the initial pain of his injuries, he has an arm around my shoulders and keeps his side flush against me. We exit the crowd and move over to a nearby stack of supplies, where I make him sit on a nearby crate of bolts so that I can check him. BB-8 follows closely with a series of whistles and beeps. Poe doesn’t say anything until he’s sitting. “That was awesome, Bez. You’ve gotta teach me that sometime. Or is it the Way?” He grabs a couple bolts laying on the lid and starts rolling them between his fingers, bouncing his leg rapidly; yes, he does have ADHD, which I thought was extremely odd given his occupation. On Earth that would be a factor that would disqualify one from fighter pilot consideration, right? When I brought it up, Poe had only laughed. “Keeps me sharp in the air. Why do you think I get in trouble so much for doing stuff I’m not supposed to? I do it because I have to, I need to move. So if I’m sittin’ in a X-wing for eight hours, I’m gonna need to do a couple barrel rolls.” I chuckle, shaking my head in fond amusement as he starts tossing a bolt between his hands. I gently pull his thick hair away from a clump of blood on the back of his head. “Can’t show you our martial arts unless you’re a Mandalorian. Ready to take the Creed?” “Hell no. That armor won’t fit in my cockpit.” After a second of rapidly drumming his fingers on his thigh while his other hand messes with a bolt, he smiles, trying to catch my eye as I inspect his wounds. “Though that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about how badass I would be in beskar to match Black One.” I can picture it easily enough. Black beskar with orange highlights. I can’t imagine what Poe would do if given a jetpack. “Ooh. That would be badass.” He leans his head back to look at me, pulling his wound away from my attention. I move his head back to its original position so I can continue my assessment. “You said something about having Boba Fett’s armor...” I swat his arm, realizing too late that it’s already bruising. “Ow.” His attention isn’t really on what I just did, but on the idea of wearing beskar and the bolt. “That armor is to be passed on to foundlings, Poe. Boba’s wishes.” He tosses the bolt up and catches it. “I could be a foundling.” “Foundlings are children taken in by the Mandalorians,” I chuckle, just picturing Din taking him under his wing, too. “Not full-grown men.” His eyes flick up to try and counter my statement with a childish glare. “It’s not like I’m old.” Snickering, I use a nearby rag to swipe away the drying blood under the cut on his forehead. “No, you’re just too old to be a foundling.” His eyebrows shoot up, interrupting my work. “If a teenage girl can be a Mandalorian, I can do it in three years at the much-more-mature age of twenty-eight.” I rub the spot between his thick brows until he relaxes his forehead. “A, you’re thirty-one, you liar.” He grimaces, tossing the bolt up and catching it. “B, it took me three years to become a Mandalorian, working every day strictly for that goal, which you don’t have time for. And C, I’m not a teenage girl. I’m a grown woman.” He taps the bolt against my hip pointedly. “Bez, I don’t care how mature you are, you’re in that gray area between ages. You still have a teen in your age, but you’re also a young woman, so.” I step back for a second to mock glare at him. “What, you think I act like a teenager?” “No, you act like you’re my age,” He replies honestly, and I go back to inspecting his injuries. “But technically you’re still a teenager. Emotionally...” He drops the bolt and it rolls away. BB-8 goes rolling after it to retrieve it before it causes somebody to hurt their foot. With a shrug, Poe grabs another bolt. “You’re a lot older than just nineteen.” “Thank you, Dameron.” “You’re welcome, Djarin.” I’m in the middle of inspecting the matted blood in the hair behind his ear when he pokes me in the stomach, trying to get my attention. “Somebody’s looking for you.” I turn to find Reli, a medic I’ve sometimes trained with. She has dark circles beneath her eyes and she crosses her arms, looking sullen and defeated. The kriff’s wrong with you. “There you are, Djarin. I’ve been looking for you.” “Oh? What for?” “Dia needs us. It’s important.” She frowns when she sees Poe, who nonchalantly waves. Apparently when he comes back from missions, he more often than not rushes to the medbay with a broken bone or two. I haven’t seen that yet, but I have known him long enough to see that he’s usually always injured in some little way or another. Reli gestures at him vaguely, impatiently, before turning away, not looking to see if we’re actually following. “Bring him, too.” Reli is silent, and though I want to ask questions, I don’t. I’ll learn the answers in time. I just have to be patient. When we reach the medbay, Dia is standing with all of the medics-in-training gathered in front of her, looking very distraught and worried. I guide Poe to a bed where a more experienced medic begins to treat him, and then I follow Reli to the far side of the medbay, where Dia awaits. Once we’re all accounted for, she begins to speak. She shakes her head as if to contradict whatever bad news she has for us. “...There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just get right to the point. The First Order has intercepted another medical convoy, and now all of our suppliers refuse to act since they’ve been found out. Finding new ones will be difficult, since the First Order broadcasts their victories so obviously. Everyone’s scared. “Because of this, I need medics who have finished or almost finished their training. Those of you whom have not, the most I can let you do is what you do already, treating lesser injuries. Until we find a new supplier and receive a new shipment, your medical training is suspended... indefinitely.” Everything else she says fades to background noise as it hits me. Suspended... For how long? It wasn’t just the selfish anger I felt, the anger at having my future put on hold again, the flashbacks to Earth where my father’s greed and the people we were surrounded by made it so we were always. Waiting. I feel the anger of a medic being denied the supplies with which to help people. How many people will we lose if we can’t treat them? Without a working medbay the Resistance might as well be finished. Taking from me is one thing. I’m used to waiting. But these people, who desperately need it? They can’t do that to them. They can’t put them into the endless cycle of waiting that’s the theme of Earth. I’m leaving the medbay before I realize it. I’m so angry, everything’s a blur. The rage builds, and builds, and then it all comes out in a burst of fury so intense I slam both fists into a wall. I feel a tremor of something else that cracks the rock. I don’t have time to be worried about what I just did, about the fact that my hands are bleeding now and pieces of rock are actually falling off, because someone’s grabbing my shoulder and I turn, ready to hit them hard-- --but it’s just Poe. Poe. The fury evaporates, but not the anger. I all but collapse, leaning on his chest and trying to calm down-- I feel not just rage anymore, but fear. What just came of my anger has me scared. The fact that Poe glances nervously at the wall before putting his arms around me only makes it worse. “What the hell happened?” My tone is laced with venom as I choke out, “The First Order. They’ve effectively blocked all our medical supplies.” I pull back as he’s clenching his jaw. “We’ll find a way. We always do.” It sounds like he’s half trying to convince himself of that. His lips are pursed and his eyes are narrowed, and the stubble makes him look all the more serious-- then I realize he still has the strings of stitches hanging out of his forehead and manage a small smile. I reach up to finish the work real quick. One of his hands rapidly see-saws his wrench between two fingers, the other fidgets with my belt, and he bounces his leg impatiently, moving his head as he scans our surroundings absentmindedly. The gears in his head are turning-- he gets this certain light in his eyes when he’s thinking of a plan. When I finish, Poe pockets his wrench and spins me around by my belt until I’m facing away from him. He gives me a bit of a shove down the hall, taking me by the elbow and pulling me along with him. BB-8 beeps a question, but I ask it for both of us. “Where are we going?” Poe unties the sleeves of his flight suit and shrugs it on, zipping it up to try and retain some semblance of professionalism. I have a feeling we’re gonna need to make a stop by his bunk for him to wash off real quick. “To go see what we can do about it.”

- - -

“I can’t sanction a mission to gain new supplies with any good conscience,” Leia says to the room full of commanders. Every single one is here, and she stands in the center of the circular room, holding all of our attention. “Not until we have more information. Everywhere we go the First Order lurks, and we’re always caught in ambushes.” She extends an arm toward Din. “Commander Djarin is leaving for Tenbari in an hour. Hopefully he can get new supplies for us there.” “Hopefully?” Admiral Ackbar scoffs in disbelief. “Tenbari would rather send all their fusion technology to the First Order than give us medicine! They hate the Resistance just as much as they hate them, if not more! Why would they help us?” “Any hope is better than nothing, Ackbar,” Leia replies steadily. She doesn’t seem worried externally, keeping cool and confident, but I’m sure she’s plenty concerned right now. “What about a deal?” Poe speaks up from beside me. Somehow nobody’s questioned the fact that he has both BB-8 and myself beside him, though neither of us are exactly allowed in here. I catch a gleam in his eye and I know the gears in his head are turning just as rapidly as the wrench he’s drumming on his thigh. Leia regards him carefully, like she knows she’s gonna regret asking. “What did you have in mind?” “Some places might have unregistered medical supplies. We’ve just gotta know where to look.” He pauses to see if anyone objects, then stands to address the whole of the room, coming to pace by Leia. “Any of you heard of Tiersa?” “The old prison colonies?” Admiral Statura asks reluctantly, and Poe nods. “Yeah. Once the planet was freed up, some gangs set up shop there.” Even as people start shaking their heads and muttering, Poe continues unwaveringly. “One of them in particular deals with excess supplies disgarded by the First Order, or even stolen. Food, weapons... medicine. Edda Hutt.” “Edda Hutt is cruel,” Din says sternly; it looks like Poe jumps a bit. Din has so far succeeded in making Poe think he doesn’t like him, much less approve of us being friends. “And unreasonable. His prices run way too high. We can’t afford it.” “He doesn’t always deal in credits,” Poe counters, confident. “Besides, it can’t hurt to look. We’re desperate enough, aren’t we? How many of you are absolutely certain that somebody will give us supplies before the Resistance collapses?” Leia turns her head, catching his eye. Her eyes narrow. For a second, it seems as if she briefly considers it, but then she says, “You’re suggesting we send someone to a planet which has a crime rate so high they actually count the days nothing happens instead, to ask a Hutt a question.” “I’ll go,” My blurted offer makes everyone turn to face me with surprise, even Poe-- or, in Din’s case, a warning to shut up and stop being stupid. I’m surprised by what I’ve just said. BB-8 whistles unsurely. But I cross my arms and keep my expression unreadable. “You’ve all seen me fly the Slave. Dad can attest to my skills otherwise. I can get the information and get back here unscathed.” “Can you speak Huttese fluently? Or at least understand it?” Ackbar questions. This catches me off-guard, and I suddenly realize why it sounds like such a stupid idea. You kinda need to understand the Hutt to make a deal with the Hutt, dumbass. I shift nervously, trying to keep an embarrassed flush off my face. I’m overly-aware of everyone’s eyes on me. “W-Well, no, but--” Ackbar bobs his head in confirmation, turning to the address the rest of the gathered assembly. “Then you can do nothing here! Tiersa is off the table.” Leia nods slowly, eyes flicking over me for a second; I avert my gaze, instead focusing on Poe, who looks sympathetic and determined to push his case. Leia has the attention of the whole group, though, so Poe can only try to interrupt respectfully and without speaking over her. “I agree with Ackbar. We won’t go to Tiersa, not yet. We’ll wait until Commander Djarin returns from Tenbari. We have a few other prospective ideas; Tiersa will be a last resort.” She surveys the room as if asking for objections-- and to give Poe and I a look of warning-- and then nods, confirming that most of the room is in agreement. “Dismissed.” Poe and I leave immediately, side-by-side and frustrated. BB-8 whirs anxiously, sensing we’re thinking about what to do. I know exactly what he’s contemplating. I only need to give him the final shove. Luckily the departing commanders are lingering in the conference room, discussing alternatives and other solutions that everybody knows aren’t gonna work. I lean closer to Poe and lower my voice so he can hear me. “When do we leave?” “What?” He plays dumb. He makes the most exaggerated what you’re crazy look I’ve ever seen anyone give in my life. To anyone else it might even seem half-believable. But he’s doing the nervous-wrench twirl, the one he does when he’s thinking of doing something that will definitely get him in trouble but he’s definitely gonna do it anyway. I half shrug, nonchalant. “This was your idea. When do we leave?” He looks around to see if anyone heard me and then pulls me into a nearby hallway, where he leans close and lowers his voice to an almost-whisper. “You heard Leia. We can’t go without an order.” My eyebrow goes nearly to my hairline. “The fact that you’re dragging me off to the side to whisper about how we can’t go makes me think you’re going to.” He frowns, trying to say something in a poor defense, but I interrupt him by lifting a finger. “Ah-ah! Sh! Listen: she didn’t say we couldn’t go,” I point out, “She said we as in the Resistance in general, not we as in Poe Dameron, Laylah Djarin, and the one-and-only BB-8.” His dark eyes search my face for a moment, then he drops his head with an exasperated shake. He starts spinning the wrench again. “You’re gonna do this with or without me, aren’t you?” I scoff, making him look up at me from under his brow. “Aren’t you? You need your badass Mandalorian best friend to watch your back, I need a guide and a Hutt-translator, Mr. Ex-Spice Runner. I’ll be at the Slave in an hour. We can’t take your X-wing anyway.” I start to walk away, but he stops me-- the wrench is back somewhere in his pockets, both of his hands on my shoulder. Currently, all of his focus in on me. I’m used to him having something else besides me to occupy his attention, so this is... unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Poe this serious as he tries to get across the gravity of what we’re doing here. “We do this, there’s no going back. You might get demoted, or your training suspended anyway, or you might not even be allowed to be a medic anymore. You might be considered unreliable, and then what?” “I don’t give a damn what happens to me,” I hiss under my breath, “What I care about is getting the Resistance the medical supplies that they need. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. We all know it’ll be a miracle of any of these planets give us aid. But this Edda Hutt-- how steep are his prices, exactly?” Poe scoffs, somehow shaking his head in disbelief and nodding to emphasize his point all at once. “They usually involve somebody dying to get him some obscure piece of whatever. That’s how steep.” “Oh, well, that’s it?” I chirp as if that’s perfectly reasonable, “Alright, now I’ve got a heads-up.” He shakes his head, grip tightening on my shoulders. “I’m doing this, Poe.” “We’re doing this,” He corrects sharply, his dark eyes locking with mine. There’s a spark of amber in them, like fire. “I’m not letting you go alone-- you can’t, you’ll never find Tiersa...” He straightens up a bit, putting his hands on his hips. “...And this was my dumbass idea anyway.” Resolved, we agree to meet at the Slave in an hour. I swing through the armory first, grabbing a stunner-- I know I’m gonna need it. I’m at my room in five minutes, and have finished putting on my beskar save for the helmet in twenty. Someone knocks at the door just as I’m about to leave and have finished scrawling a note that says:

Dad, sorry I had to stun you to get off the base on a mission I’m not supposed to go on. I promise I’ll be careful and listen to all your lectures when I get back. Tell Grogu I’ll be back soon. Love you.

I hear the code being inputted. Kriff... I hear distinct jangling as Din enters. I hang my head, avoiding his gaze as I stand up, setting a bag packed full of food and first-aid supplies down on my cot. Din places Grogu on the bed next to my pack before turning to me, trying to seem imposing-- even with the armor, he just isn’t to me anymore. He’s Dad. His voice is firm but still it’s usual calm level when he says, “Don’t do this, Laylah. It’s too dangerous.” I try to meet where his gaze might be. It’s hard to tell. “I’m a Mandalorian. Danger is just a part of my religion as weapons.” “And is risking the lives of others? That’s carelessness,” Din counters swiftly, and I bet he’s narrowing his eyes at me. “Dameron’s willing to follow you through hellfire, but would you really let him? The Resistance needs him-- needs you. If anything happens to either of you, not only will they be short medical supplies, but they’ll have lost two of their best pilots.” I save my ass from crashing one time, and suddenly I’m Han Solo? His head snaps over to Grogu, who is rummaging in my bag and pulling out the blue cookies. “Grogu. No.” Grogu whimpers plaintively as he plops down and stares at the cookies wistfully, ears drooping. We look right back at each other. I say, convicted, “Nothing’s going to happen to me-- or to Poe-- because of our mutual decision of reckless behavior that may or may not get what we need.” Din sighs, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “You can’t know that for certain.” “Not unless I make it happen.” I’m surprised by how strong and determined it comes out, when I’m worried and concerned myself. “If we don’t do something soon, the First Order is going to win. You know what’ll happen if we don’t get supplies-- and you know as well as I do that nobody’s going to give them to us.” “Let me go to Tenbari first.” “We can’t wait that long, Dad,” I turn away, starting to grab the strap of my bag. And the stunner, but Din’s so worried that he doesn’t see. That, and he’s trained me well. “We’re going. And we’ll be careful. I promise.” Before he can say anything else, I take a deep breath, heart pounding. “Sorry, Dad.” I yank the blaster out and stun him without a second thought. He falls with an oof, sprawled out on my floor. I stare at him for a second, shocked. Kriff. I just stunned my kriffing dad. I just attacked him. I wonder if he’s going to abandon me after this, abandon me for betraying him for the greater good. I’m going to fully expect it. I sway, trying to fight something that feels like a panic attack. I’m shaking so badly I fall to the ground, back against my nightstand. It’s done. It’s over. I’ve just ruined my relationship with my dad. He’s gonna hate me after this. He’s not gonna want anything to do with me. I start to hyperventilate. I think I might be apologizing repeatedly, but I can’t be sure. Stop it. You promised Poe you’d be at the Slave. Poe. I need to get to Poe and finish this mission. Get the supplies for the Resistance. Whatever happens with Din, I’ll at least have Poe. I snatch my bag, pull my helmet on, look at Din again. I’m pretty sure I’m crying now. “I’m so sorry, Dad.” I leave my room after putting my note in his hand. Maybe by some miracle he won’t leave me. “Bye Grogu.” I close my door. Din should only be out of it for an hour or so, so we need to be out of here quickly. I ignore the looks of confusion as I rush to the Slave, but thankfully everyone is too intimidated by the armor of a Mandalorian to approach me. When I reach the Slave, the ramp is already down, and Poe is already inside with BB-8, spinning a wrench between his hands. On the ground beside him is his own pack. When he hears me come up into the ship, he looks up, putting the wrench in his pocket. Raising his eyebrows, he points behind me, and I turn to see Captain Connix hurrying to the Slave with a bunch of soldiers with her. With them also is Admiral Statura, looking very very agitated, and I know we’re in trouble, because he usually remains extremely calm. Now he looks pissed. “Dank farrik...” I slam my hand on the button to close the ramp and toss Poe my bag. He sets it on top of his and secures them both with the seat belts as I run to the cockpit. “Strap yourselves in, guys.” I’m climbing into the cockpit, powering up the Slave, when the comlinks blare to life. “Djarin, your departure is unauthorized.” I don’t recognize the voice, but I can almost feel Leia standing nearby on the other side. “Please power down your ship and exit--” I flip the comlinks off. Kriff. I’m doing a lot of horrible things today. Takeoff is nothing like it was before; smooth and easy. After a few seconds, the engines are blasting us up, vertical, and then we’re speeding off toward space. An alarm goes off as an X-wing patrol tries to intercept us, but the Slave is more maneuverable than ever before. I pitch the throttle and we abruptly dive, before leveling out and blasting up underneath of them toward free space. They’re on our tail, though, undeterred, and I have to punch the lightspeed button as soon as I see blackness with the only destination I can think of: Yëa. As soon as we’re in the blue tunnel of streaming starlight, I lean back in the seat, taking several deep breaths. Adrenaline and anxiety buzz together, and I have to sit there for a second and convince myself that we just disobeyed orders for a damn good reason. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Dad cares about me, right? Right? I hear Poe coming up behind me, and I turn to look at him out of the corner of my eye as he reaches the landing behind my seat. He doesn’t look as stunned as I am-- probably because he does this kind of thing a lot. Which is good, because having somebody with experience on this little trip really helps. “...Did we just do that?” He nods gravely, and I face the window, trying to stop shaking. “Yeesh, we’re in so much trouble...” “They’ll thank us later,” Poe assures both himself and me, then adds, “After they’re done yelling at us.” He leans forward to try and see the coordinates I’ve entered. “Where are we going?” “We had to get away from the patrols fast, so, I inputted Yëa’s location. Anybody else know where Tiersa is? We might be met with a friendly ambush trying to knock some sense into us.” Poe chuckles, shaking his head. “Everybody knows of Tiersa. But the only ones who can actually find it are those who already know where it is.” I bury my helmeted face in my hands, laughing quietly at the absurdity of that statement. It’s times like this where I wonder if I’m just having an elaborate dream influenced by reality, but if that’s the case, where the hell are the elves and dragons? I lean back, tilting my head up to see Poe looking very concerned, raising an eyebrow at me and frowning. I manage through my laughter, “What is this? Pirates of the Caribbean?” His face smooths out and he smirks a little. “...Is that some Earth reference I’m not gonna get?” “Yeah.” Poe shrugs, nodding in understanding. “Just checking.” He pats my shoulder. “By the way, you now have grappling hook marks in the walls of your ship.” “In the walls of my--” The Slave?! Kriffing grappling hook marks when we spent so long making her shiny and new?! “What the hell did you need a grappling hook for?!” Poe looks sympathetic. Probably because if anyone dares to scratch his baby Black One, things happen. I once seen him enter the mess hall looking all scruffy and covered in grease demanding who the hell clipped his X-wing with theirs, fully prepared to kick somebody’s ass. When the guy tried to sneak away into the kitchens, I then witnessed how fast Poe Dameron can run, even sliding over the tables as a shortcut to grab the guy and drag him out onto the tarmac to fix the scratches himself. “Not me; Beebs. He needed to hold on until we were level. I couldn’t find any other place to strap him down. I’ll patch ’em up when we get back, don’t worry.” Luckily, I understand. Laying down in those space-shuttle-like seats can’t be easy for a little droid, and it’s certainly disorienting at first even for a person. “Understandable.” He gestures to the streaking lightspeed out the window. “You should just drop out here. Commander Djarin knows you’ve only got a handful of coordinates in this thing, so where do you think he’s gonna try to find you?” “You’re right.” I really do not want to run into him after what I did, so I drop out, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but vast, black emptiness for as far as the eye can see. I turn to Poe questioningly. “Now what?” He slides onto the tiny ledge between the seat and the control panel, gripping the back of my seat for balance as he leans over, reaching for it; he takes a second, scanning the old setup for the navicomputer. I scoff a little under my breath when I realize where my eyes are drawn to. “Nice ass.”

“Thanks,” He replies in full seriousness without pausing his search, then, “...Where the hell is your navicomputer?” I point to it almost accusingly. He inputs the coordinates in a format I’ve never seen before, then launches us back into lightspeed before I can warn him. Even with the upgrades, the initial jolt still gives us some turbulence. Poe yelps as he loses his grip on the chair and slips off the ledge. He slams into the transparisteel window on his back, still sore from being thrown onto the duracrete. I flip on autopilot and hop down just as he catches his breath and is rolling onto his side with extreme difficulty. “Yeah. That hurt.” “I bet.” With my help, he’s back up on the ledge and is moving toward the seats behind the pilot’s chair. Every third step apparently warrants an “ow,” and I purposefully pat his sore back a couple of times. “It’s your own fault, y’know.” “Ow ow ow. Was that really necessary?” He turns to look at me in mock-betrayal. I try and fail to stifle a chuckle. “Maybe you’ll think twice about challenging somebody like Balfro to a wrestling match next time.” “Maybe. No promises.” He starts to go back to his seat, then stops, staring at me expectantly as I take my seat. I stop and wait for him to ask whatever it is he’s wanting to. He sounds like a little kid when he says, “...Can I fly for a bit?” “No,” I reply immediately. Not out of fear for the Slave, because he could drop us out of lightspeed right now and send us into death-defying maneuvers near the corona of a sun, and I’d completely trust him. I tell him no because his face is priceless. “Dammit.” Poe goes to his seat, muttering to himself, and I turn back to the controls, deciding to keep it on autopilot for awhile. Something feels off. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’ve just stunned my dad and broken every rule the Resistance ever had, not to mention I disobeyed a direct order-- but... Something feels different. I cross my arms, suspicious but unable to act on anything. I worry myself into a dozing state, my half-dreams of Din abandoning me and Leia being so ashamed that she kicks me out of the Resistance interspersed by sunshine-snippets of Poe singing softly to himself and making a beat with his wrench on the wall of the ship.

- - -

I wake up to BB-8’s frantic whistling and beeping. It makes me nervous as soon as I hear it. The off feeling is even worse now. Kriff, there’s somebody on the ship that’s not supposed to be. “What is it, buddy?” I hear Poe ask, then repeat dubiously, “...What do you mean there’s something moving in her pack?” I twist around in the cockpit, alarmed. “What do you mean there’s something moving in my pack?!” I make sure the ship is still on autopilot and hurriedly climb around to find Beebs and Poe both staring at my bag as it crawls across the floor of the grated platform with a life of its own. After a second, Poe nods decisively, turning to face me with his hands on his hips. “I’m gonna shoot it.” “Don’t shoot it!” “Say that when you open it to find a spider as big as your head.” I rush forward with an awful, horrible suspicion. Nah, that can’t happen. Nah, he was on the bed, right? I said goodbye to him and everything. I tear the flap open, reach inside, and scoop out a familiar green face, proving that he was not on the bed when I’d left my bunk earlier. “GROGU?!” He babbles incoherently, probably trying to formulate an acceptable excuse as to why he stowed away. He’s even flinging his arms about like there’s no way in hell he can possibly be held accountable for his actions. Poe whistles low under his breath, avoiding meeting my gaze. I turn to Poe desperately. “What the hell do we do?!” This time, he can’t hold back a laugh of disbelief. “Why are you asking me?” “You’re older than me! You’ve been adulting for longer!” I cry, but even as I say it I hear how stupid that sounds. Poe scoffs, putting his hands on his hips after gesturing vaguely at Grogu. “Well I can tell you right now I’ve got twelve more years of adulting experience than you do, and I have no idea what to do. I’ve never had a baby stow away on my X-wing.” Beebs beeps in affirmation. I shift the way I’m holding Grogu, imagining the absolute terror Din must be feeling right now. Does he think I took him on purpose, or does he figure he stowed away? “Should we drop out of lightspeed, turn around?” “Too late now,” Poe shrugs, trying (and failing) to hide the fact that he’s attempting not to laugh. “We’re almost to Tiersa. If we go back now, we can kiss the deal with Edda goodbye. We’re not gonna get out of there easily again.” Grogu agrees with a tiny little sound I hardly catch. I don’t know if we should keep going or head back-- but if we do that, we’ll never get off D’Qar again. And honestly? I’m not really ready to face Din’s reaction to me stunning him or taking his kid. Or potentially getting booted from the Resistance. Vocally, I try to reason with myself and Poe. “Poe, we can’t go on some daring mission with Grogu with us! He’s a baby!” Beebs lets out a slew of beeping noises. Poe nods along with him for a second, listening very seriously, and then raises his eyebrows at me points to him as if BB-8 knows best. At this point, he probably does. “Droid’s got a point. Djarin did it all the time in his younger days if the stories he tells are true.” Helplessly, I hold Grogu and am suddenly really regretting doing this. Why why why why why? Why? Wait... Then I realize why he was in my bag, heart sinking to my boots. My eyes widen with realization and I lean down to dig through the contents, finding a very empty pack of cookies and my bag full of crumbs. “He wanted the cookies. Dad told him no-- Maker, Poe, he came because of the damn cookies!” He turns, putting his hands on the back of his head; when he turns back around, he’s almost laughing. “And what have we learned about your sweet tooth? You have no self-control and will eat a whole cake by yourself if left unattended, even attended--” “That was one time--” “--and you attract stowaway infants on dangerous missions." I sigh, running a hand down the length of my helmet. “Great. Perfect. Now not only are we breaking rules, but I just accidentally kidnapped my baby brother.” BB-8 beeps low, and rolls away to hide under a seat with a whir of anxiety. Poe is desperately trying not to laugh, half-pacing because every time he looks at us he almost busts out laughing. “Gotta tell you something, though: your dad’s gonna be pissed.” He bites his knuckles to stifle the laugh that nearly escapes him, wincing at the very idea. I glare at him even as Grogu tries to shove his last cookie in my face as a peace offering. This mission may very well be a bust, because Din isn’t likely to be unaware of our location for long. “You ever hear the story of when Grogu was kidnapped by Moff Gideon?” Poe puts his hands on his hips, taking up a very serious air about him, though the corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a grin. Matter-of-factly, he says, “And your dad went and rounded up a bunch of Mandalorians and old friends to storm his ship, won the Darksaber, and summoned Luke Skywalker somehow?” He nods for emphasis when he sees my expression; Din doesn’t often tell his stories, but when he does they spread quickly. I was never aware that he’d told that one; it’s rare to hear it from him. I’m sorry I missed it. “Yeah. I’ve heard it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he jetpacks right through the cockpit window any second now.” “We’ve made a horrible mistake...” I sigh as I brush crumbs off of Grogu’s robe and face, trying to remain calm. Poe comes closer, going from teasing to reassuring in just a second. “I’m sure Djarin’s trying to find us, but he won’t. Not here. Which means you’re in charge of protecting Grogu now, and I’ll help you. Nothing’s gonna hurt that little guy so long as we’re around. But if we turn around now, with nothing to show for it? We’ll have just disobeyed an order for no reason. We have to keep going.” I’m already nodding; I can’t back out now, anyway. What kind of Mandalorian does that? I already swore to protect Grogu. Like, it’s pretty much completely legal according to Mandalorian law if I take him, technically. Probably. “So now we have two goals: protect Grogu, and make a deal with Edda Hutt.” Poe inclines his head, glad I’m getting it, and turns his attention to Grogu. “Hey, buddy. We’re on a very dangerous mission right now, so you have to do everything your big sister and I say, alright? We’re gonna keep you safe.” “Badu,” Grogu agrees-- at least, I hope he agrees, instead of saying yeah ha ha whatever I’ll just be doing my own thing. Poe beams and holds up his hand for a high-five, which Grogu awkwardly returns. “Alright, great.” He straightens up with a sigh, twirling his wrench in one hand and suddenly serious. “When we get to Tiersa, you’ve gotta follow my lead. Edda knows me from when I was a spice runner; we did some deals together, but not many because of how he runs things. He doesn’t know you, and he’s less inclined to make a deal with somebody he doesn’t know.” “He hold up his end of the bargains?” This is what I’m worried about. A hopeless, useless endeavor that may have cost me my relationship with my father. He huffs, shaking his head. “Always, if you could get what he wanted. I almost died twice making deals with him. He may be an evil slimeball, but he’s an evil slimeball of his word.” He notices that I don’t really respond to this, that I’m standing there quietly bouncing Grogu up and down and looking down at the floor. He nudges my shoulder. “You alright there, Bez?” I shake my head. “I stunned my dad for this. I accidentally kidnapped his kid. He’s probably gonna hate me.” “You say his kid as if you’re not one of ’em,” Poe scoffs, trying to make it sound lighthearted, but there’s sympathy in his eyes and the way his smile suddenly seems forced. He knows how scared I am about being abandoned... Which seems absolutely obsolete compared to the worry about getting the necessary supplies for the Resistance. I have to push my personal feelings aside to focus on the mission, I know this, but it’s hard. I’ve never done it before. His voice is soft. “He wouldn’t’ve named you his heir if he didn’t truly think of you as his daughter, Bez. It’s gonna be alright, you’ll see.” I take comfort in his confidence. I make myself believe him, even if deep down I’m still terrified. Slowly, I start nodding to show that I appreciate his assurances and understand; Poe shakes his head in disbelief, keeping his eyes on me as if to gauge how bad I’m feeling. “What the hell did those people do to you, Bez?” I don’t-- can’t-- answer. I’ve already told him everything. At this point, I’m now trying to block all my personal fears for the sake of the mission. I’ll deal with them later. Right now all that matters is getting the medical supplies for the Resistance. I take a breath and change the subject. “...I’ve never seen a Hutt.” He takes a second, nodding to show that he understands I’m done talking about it. He shifts back into his cocky, hotshot self with a shrug, stepping back a bit. “I’m not surprised. Picture a slug, but with a frog face, and as big as a speederbike.” The image is disturbing at best. “Beautiful.” Poe adds, shaking his wrench at me, “Oh, and he reeks like a swamp.” My whole body responds in some kind of accepting gesture of great. “Splendid.” Grogu babbles and reaches for the pack, which is still on the ground. He’s completely ignoring our conversation, instead only wanting the kriffing cookies. I sigh heavily, expecting to have to deal with an angry toddler that wants cookies the whole damn trip. “Sorry, Gizmo. That’s all I brought. You ate them all.” Poor Grogu looks like he’s ready to cry. He lifts his head and leans back to look at me, probably trying to see with the Force if I’m telling the truth. When I shake my head to emphasize that there are none left on this ship, Grogu sorrowfully examines his crumb-covered hands and I swear he’s about to burst into sobs. “Did he, though?” As if by magic, Poe pulls a smaller pack of cookies from his jacket pocket, presenting them to Grogu with a beaming smile. Grogu’s face lights up immediately, and he reaches with both arms for the cookies babbling rapidly in what might be either gimme that or please can I have it. With Grogu it’s sometimes hard to tell. Poe opens them for him and passes them on. “Here you go, buddy. These ones really are the last ones, though, unless...” He turns around in circles expectantly, gesturing with wide arms to the whole of the ship around us, “You got some secret stash of candy somewhere, Bez? Maybe a whole cake or two?” “Shut up, Dameron.” He turns to stare at me, unamused-- he’ll do this until I admit to it. What self-respecting Mandalorian addicted to sugar wouldn’t keep a secret stash of candy? I shift my weight back and forth, trying not to give in... but, then I do. “...Fine. I do.” He immediately goes off in search of it, but I stop him by grabbing his arm. “But you’ll never find it, so don’t even try it! Besides, it’s all hard candy. Grogu can’t have any.” Poe somehow manages to keep a straight face, though it looks really hard for him to do. “...It’s that yellowish one that you say tastes like butterscotch, isn’t it?” Yeah, it is, and I’m surprised he remembers; although I really shouldn’t be. When I first discovered it I literally ate myself to sickness because I said it tastes like butterscotch. I was stuck in the medbay as I worked off a sugar high and was unable to keep any actual food down. During the event, Din and Poe were concerned, but after it was over they haven’t stopped teasing me about it when it’s brought up. Of course, he’ll never find it. Good luck hunting out the loose panel that is otherwise flush unless you bang on it right. I shake my head in disbelief, gesturing to him up-and-down. “What about you, huh? You just randomly carry cookies on you, do you? For no apparent reason?” “I’m always prepared,” Poe replies, clapping me on the shoulder. “Kids love cookies. So say I’m in a town with a bunch of kids, I always pass out cookies. They deserve it.” “Huh,” I hadn’t realized he’d ever done that. That’s brand new information about him, and it’s... I beam at him. “That’s... actually really sweet of you, Poe.” He shrugs, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s something I’ve always done. I’m sure everybody passes out cookies or candy to kids if they have a chance.” He reaches over and takes Grogu from me, trying to mimic the way Din holds him, and points at the cockpit. “We’ve been in lightspeed for about an hour now. We should drop out at any minute, and just flying straight on autopilot is gonna get us killed pretty fast. I’ll be up in a minute, I’m gonna try putting him in the bag like your dad does.” BB-8 is already handing him the bag, having stuffed all of my things in with Poe’s while we were talking-- the droid thinks ahead. Maybe he should be in charge. As Poe kneels down to adjust it, I turn and hurry into the cockpit. I’ve just finished strapping myself in when we drop out, and I pull on the brakes-- not that it’s needed here. In shock, I kind of just sit there for a second, frozen. “What the kriff?” Thankfully, my questions don’t have to wait long, because Poe is coming up beside me. He seems unfazed by the view, but I start waving my arm at it, vainly trying to explain why I think this is unusual, but the only phrase I can seem to utter is, “What the kriff?!” It’s nothing. As in, there’s no planet. There’s no moon. There’s no debris showing that Tiersa may have been obliterated. No clouds of colorful space-dust. There’s just empty space before us. Empty. Space. “What the kriffing kriff, Poe?!” He keeps his gaze on the extraordinary expanse of absolute nothing before us, eyes flicking around like he’s looking for something. “Just keep flying forward. Slowly.” I wonder if he’s currently suffering a lightspeed-induced hallucination. “There’s nothing there!” Poe turns his head to look at me. Even with my helmet he somehow meets my eyes, and I’ve never seen him look more serious since I’ve known him. “You trust me?” Of course I do. I trust him with my life, illusions before us or no. He knows what he’s doing. I heave a sigh and start easing up on the brakes, moving forward at an incredibly slow pace. “You know I do.” Poe nods toward the window, anxious and tense. I only ever see him like this when he’s about to go out on a mission definitely involving a fight with the First Order, which has only happened twice since I’ve known him. His voice goes all commander mode-- though it’s hard to take him seriously when Grogu is trying to copy him and be all stern. “Then fly forward, very slowly. Turn the comlinks on. And when we’re hailed, let me do the talking.” I flip the switches as he orders me to, tilting my head a little and settling into my seat with a whooshing deep breath. I readjust my grip on the throttle. Poe’s nervous, which makes me nervous. Being nervous isn’t good. Just be cool, like Poe is. “Gladly.” My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it-- or maybe I’m hearing his. The blood rushes in my ears and I take a deep breath to make my hands go steady. What the hell is out here that we can’t see? “I’ve never done anything like this before.” “Well, lucky for you, I have. Just stay calm.” He reaches down and squeezes my shoulder in assurance. “If they see you’re nervous, they’ll take advantage of it. Ready?” “No. But whatever.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s watching out the window, and so I do. As we get closer, I start to see definition: Machinery. Hexagonal slivers of light. Cannons. There’s a freaking orb of metal around this planet, which is pretty recognizable to somebody from Earth if they’re a huge fan of sci-fi, like myself. “A Dyson sphere,” I breathe in awe. How the hell... Poe looks down at me curiously, absentmindedly keeping a hand on Grogu as the little guy tries to climb out of the bag to explore the cockpit. “What?” I struggle to find the words to explain. I’m not a scientist, I’m a doctor. Ninety-percent of my sci-fi knowledge comes from movies and outdated books from my childhood, gathered when I’d wanted to be the pilot of the space shuttle. Before NASA kriffing retired it... Although the Slave is a pretty badass equal to the space shuttle. “A Dyson sphere. A hypothetical structure built to fully encompass a star and harness its solar energy, beaming it back to a planet via a series of powerful satellites. At least... it was hypothetical on Earth. Guess it’s not here.” The fact that this galaxy has so many similarities to mine makes me worry about whether or not Din is right about me having memory implants. Is this the original, and Earth was fake? Or is Earth the original, and this is fake? Am I in some kind of coma on Earth? Or did I die? Which, if I had, that kind of makes Din and Poe my guardian angels, maybe. Poe hums when he hears my definition of a Dyson sphere. I push my worries out of my head and focus on the task at hand. “We call it a planet-shield,” He tells me, “Back when Tiersa was a prison colony, they built this to keep anybody from leaving. When they were freed, the Tiersans used it to their advantage. This is why nobody can find it-- or if they do, they crash into it before they even know what happened.” “Lovely,” I choke out, forcing myself not to ease up until he tells me to. “So what now?” “Just keep going.” Ahead of us, a door opens. Blinding white light flashes, and I wince away before my helmet darkens to the equivalent of glareshades. I glance over and see Poe actually putting a pair of glareshades on. “So do you just have an entire stash of various supplies hidden in your jacket?” He shrugs, unwrapping something and popping it into his mouth. “Maybe.” I stare at him for a second, trying to see what exactly he’s eating. “...Is that my kriffing space-butterscotch?” He bounces his eyebrows and gives me a smug smile. “Told you I’d find it.” I, meanwhile, am trying to figure out how the kriff he found it so fast. “How the hell--” “Don’t be so surprised, Bez.” He turns his attention back to the window, hands on his hips. Grogu has ducked into the bag to avoid the light, mumbling to himself in baby-babble. “That loose panel was asking for me to hit it.” My eyes narrow. He’s just given himself away. “...You found it while I was dozing off, didn’t you?” Poe casually stands there and makes absolutely certain that my space-butterscotch crunches once loudly before he talks. “...Maybe don’t doze off when you’ve got an already-fidgety X-wing pilot with ADHD on board. Your own fault.” I peer around him in a vain attempt to see what the hell else he messed with. “What else did you mess with? Or break?” The comlinks flare to life, making me jump so badly I almost fly right out of the seat. “Firespray 31-class, identify yourself.” Poe turns away and covers his mouth to try and stifle the fact that he’s stopping a laugh and to try and keep from choking. When Poe composes himself (though he’s still chuckling), I turn expectantly to him. The people on the other end don’t at all sound friendly. Poe is fully serious now, and somehow he’s already swallowed the candy. He gives a here we go shrug, shifting around the chair to push the button, careful of Grogu in the bag at his waist. “This is Poe Dameron from Kijimi. I’m here to talk business with Edda Hutt.” There’s silence on the other end, and Poe lets go of the button so that he can speak freely to me. “Edda pretty much runs the place. Almost everybody answers to him. He’s a powerful crime lord, so just play along with whatever I say or do.” Man, it’s a good thing I trust him. If I were doing this with anyone else-- hell, if this were an official mission and I’d been paired with somebody who told me that, I know I’d end up screwing it up, because doing whatever they say without any context is not gonna work for me-- unless it’s Poe. I know he’ll get us in and out of there safely so long as I play my part. “Gotcha.” We wait. I start bouncing my knee nervously until Poe absentmindedly reaches over to hold my leg still. “Stop it. You’re making me nervous.” I glance over at him. What about your leg-bouncing, flyboy? But then I recall that he’s got this kind of special ability. When Poe’s in the middle of something extremely important, all his focus is on what’s he’s doing. Somehow he can channel all of his ADHD into completing a task-- probably more so when it involves guns, potential death, and danger. All of his senses are watching for danger and ready for fight-or-flight. Grogu seems to sense our nerves, and tucks himself into the bag. It looks like Poe just has a regular satchel on with nothing special inside, because Grogu remains still as a stone once he’s in there. Poe even latches the bag shut securely. “Good idea, buddy. Stay hidden.” I hear Beebs asking questions from below. I lean over to see him at the foot of the ladder, looking as anxious as a droid can as he wobbles back and forth. “I don’t know. They’re quiet.” “Probably seeing if this is alright with Edda,” Poe says. Then he straightens up, tense, and points to two spots on either side of the open hangar. “They just trained cannons on us from there, and there. If Edda doesn’t approve this, we’ll be shot right outta orbit.” Oh kriff... I start flipping switches, preparing the Slave for any sudden evasive maneuvers I might have to pull. Every system is ready for a sudden reverse. Nothing moves, and everything is far too silent. Nerves have me wanting to yank the Slave back out of the range of the cannons now, just to be safe. But they haven’t opened fire and Poe hasn’t given me that order yet. “Poe...” He doesn’t move. I can’t tell where his eyes are because of the glareshades. “Easy, Bez. Don’t move yet.” The comlink flares to life, and I brace myself to yank back on the throttle. A prompt appears on the navicomputer: landing coordinates and instructions. “You’re to follow these instructions, and you’ll be met with an escort at the landing pad.” Curtly, they cut off the channel, and the light shuts off, leaving a burning afterimage even though my helmet was darkened. Poe leans back with a breath of relief, taking off his glareshades-- from the furious way he’s blinking, I’d say they did just as little good as my darkening visor. “You might wanna let me pilot now, Bez. Tiersa’s got one hell of a climate.” Immediately, I start unbuckling. He is the best pilot in the Resistance, after all. He can literally fly anything. And though I don’t believe he will at all, I still feel the need to jokingly mock, “You crash the Slave, and I won’t have to kick your ass. Boba Fett will come back from the dead to do it for me.” He’s barely paying attention. He’s watching the cannons and squinting at the open hexagon before us like he’s expecting an attack. “Noted.” Once I’m standing, he pulls the strap of Grogu’s bag up over his head and puts it on me. Grogu squeaks with surprise as he bangs against my hip lightly. Poe jumps into the pilot’s seat, but he doesn’t seem excited-- only cautious. “Go strap yourself in. We hesitate for much longer and they’re gonna blow us up anyway.” “Nice of them.” I hurry to the seats behind him and strap myself in, holding Grogu protectively to my chest. BB-8 whirs in apology before latching himself to a wall. “It’s fine, Beebs. Just make sure you hold on. If you fall the length of the ship...” He’s a sturdy droid, but that’s a tough fall. I think that Poe must have been paying attention to the few short times he’s watched me pilot this thing up close and personal, because he somehow knows where everything is-- or maybe he’s just that good. It’s hard to tell. Somehow he’s in total, complete control of the Slave and all he had to ask was where’s your navicomputer. “Kriff, Poe,” I say as I watch him from my seat, a little jealous as I remember how many times it took me to learn the controls of Din’s starfighter. Worse, how the one time Poe showed me the workings of an X-wing (not in his precious Black One, and on the ground), I couldn’t remember any of the buttons except for the one that started the engine. “Wish I could fly like you.” Poe scoffs as he guides the Slave into the enclosed atmosphere of Tiersa. “You’ve got a whole different set of skills I can’t top, Mandalorian.” At that, I make a face of acceptance and nod to myself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Carry on with your badass pilot self, Dameron.” I see him mock-salute, but then both hands are working to keep the Slave stable as we enter a whirlwind of beige and brown dust and clouds. I can’t see a thing, which means Poe is probably relying solely on the systems. He’s flying blind, which is something I can’t do at all. The view outside the window is making me nervous, so I focus on little Grogu, who decides to eat one of the cookies Poe gave him. I can’t help but smile when he gets crumbs all over not only his little burlap robe and the beskar chainmail underneath, but my armor, as well. It isn’t long before we’re feeling strong turbulence. I glance to Poe, but being unable to see his face, I can’t tell if he’s worried about that or not. Grogu whimpers with concern, clinging to me through the bag and tapping my shoulder to get my attention. “It’s okay, buddy. This isn’t the craziest stuff you’ve been through, right?” I sometimes forget that even though Grogu is a baby for his race, he’s still far older than I am-- far older than even Din or Leia, or even the Slave. I wonder how much he’s seen... Din told me about what happened to him on Coruscant, and that I was not to mention it, ever, under any circumstances, in front of him. I wonder how terrifying it was to witness the slaughter of the Jedi Temple by the one who would someday become Darth Vader. Only Luke, apparently, knows exactly what he saw. When Grogu and I communicate through the Force, it’s always with emotions and pictures, never words, and it leaves Grogu exhuasted. I hate using it anyway, because if I keep trying, will I reach the point of being able to become a Jedi-- or Sith? I think about how angry I got when Dia told us the news. I shouldn’t have been able to break that wall. It’s unnatural. I shouldn’t have let that rage come out in the Force, if that’s what it was. Doesn’t that mean I have the makings of a Sith? Letting anger control and fuel my actions? It’s the last thing I want. If I were turned into a Sith, I’d betray everyone I know and care for. I’d start killing. I’d be the one ordering the interception of medical convoys. I’d be stripped of my Mandalorian identity and honor, given black robes and a red saber. I’d become exactly what I never wanted to be, something akin to all the villains of Earth that wipe out the good. It terrifies me. Din wants, more than anything, for me to take on the task of restoring Mandalore, which I’m happy and eager to do-- what other purpose could I have here? Where I dropped into the galaxy made that pretty obvious. But then he’d also told me that he’d pass on the Darksaber to me when the time came-- the saber that felt so much better than a blaster, that complimented my preferred reverse grip. I could still, very clearly, remember the sound of the plasma blade igniting. The air around it crackling with heat and energy. It is a very powerful weapon, and I wish I had it with me so that I might better be able to protect Grogu. I only wish that there were two. Holding one saber with two hands felt wrong. My other hand needs a blade. I wonder if I might be able to find a lightsaber to go with the Darksaber, or if it would even be allowed. I will admit-- despite detesting the idea of using the Force, I prefer the idea of lightsabers as a weapon than blasters. Din had told me once that having a saber doesn’t make somebody a Jedi or a Sith. But if I can use the Force and have a lightsaber, what exactly does that make me? The Slave tilts. In a matter of seconds the seat is horizontal and I hear the engines powering down. Poe appears as I’m unstrapping myself and standing. He looks nervous; shifting his weight, biting his lip... BB-8 rolls over to him with a beep of assurance, and Poe kneels so that he’s eye-level with him. “Stay with the ship. Be ready to power it up.” BB-8 beeps in understanding and rolls toward the cockpit. I regard Poe for a second, confused. “The Slave doesn’t have a droid interface.” He shakes his head, pulling a respirator mask out of his jacket pocket and ignoring my reaction to that. The wrench, glareshades, cookies, this mask... The jacket of infinite wonders... He have an X-wing in there? “Doesn’t need one.” He locks eyes with me, trying to convey how serious his next words are. “Remember, no matter what I say, just play along.” I readjust Grogu so that he’s at my hip with one hand, grabbing Poe’s arm to reassure him with the other. “I’ve got it, Poe, don’t worry.” Poe and I stand side-by-side at the base of the ramp. He pulls the mask on, making sure it’s sealed around his face and is secured tightly by the straps. He looks at me for a second; my helmet systems lock onto him when I touch a specific button on my earpiece, and start recording his vitals. His heart is pounding. Kriff, how dangerous is this planet? He jerks his chin at me, voice muffled. “That thing filter air?” I think about that for a second, but then realize what I’ve seen Din to, the stories he tells of Bo-Katan. “It should. It can let me breathe underwater, but I haven’t tested it.” He turns back to the ramp, hand hovering over the button. “Even if it doesn’t, it should block the worst of the pollution. That bag should keep Grogu safe, so long as he doesn’t poke his head out. Ready?” I face the door. Man, I hope this works... They could just shoot at us and take our ship. On that note, I prepare to leap in front of Poe and shove Grogu behind me at once. My beskar will protect me, but Grogu doesn’t have a helmet and Poe has nothing in the way of armor. “As I’ll ever be.” We both take a second to brace ourselves, then he pushes the button and the ramp begins to lower. Waiting to greet us is a dreary sight: windswept old plains, littered with dead shrubbery and trash, are lit dimly from giant lights on the underside of the planet-shield above that can’t exactly pierce the brownish smog. Just a few hundred yards from the dusty old tarmac is a congested, dirty city. I hear people screaming, coughing, and blasterfire even from here. Kriffing yikes. No wonder Leia didn’t want us coming here. Standing with old blasters that I’m not going to risk doubting the functionality of are at least six people from various species in old, tattered clothes. Dirty, scruffy, and with drying blood and healing bruises in places, they look ready to try and rob us rather than take us to Edda. Which strikes me as odd. I glance sideways at Poe, keeping my voice low. “What the hell did you do to make them think they need six guys to keep you in line?” He can fight, sure, but six guys with blasters are a match for anyone but a Mandalorian, and they can’t have possibly known I was here until here until the ramp opened. “I’ll tell you later,” He says to me before addressing what is hopefully our escort. “I’m here to see Edda Hutt.” A purple-gray Twi’lek sneers, baring rotting teeth once filed to fangs. He jerks his rifle at me in gesture. I rest a hand not on my blaster, but on the top of the satchel Grogu is in. “What’s with the Mandalorian?” Poe has clearly already thought of our story, because he says calmly, “She’s my bodyguard.” He sounds so entirely convincing that even I almost believe him. One of them stalks up the ramp by order of the Twi’lek. “Your weapons.” Poe and I pass them their blasters, and I spend ten minutes removing all my knives and throwing daggers. “And you talk about me,” Poe mutters to me when the man marches back down to his comrades with a bag full of our weapons. The Twi’lek waves his weapon around at us carelessly. “Search them, you idiots!” Two rush up and don’t hesitate in roughly patting us down. The one searching me practically hits Grogu’s bag hard enough to make him yelp, and I don’t even realize that I’ve clocked the guy hard in the center of his face until he’s sprawled on the ground holding his bloodied face, crushed by the beskar handguard. The escort’s weapons are powered up and aimed at us, while Poe spreads his arms and steps between me and the escort. “Hey hey hey! Easy, everybody calm down!” The guy that had searched Poe bends over to pull his groaning ally away. I’ve taken up a fighting stance, but not the one distinctly used for the flamethrower and whistling birds I’m keeping hidden. They might find that a little odd and take my vambraces, and then what? We would be entirely defenseless. “Laylah,” Poe warns, “What are you doing?” He hears Grogu whimpering, and then understanding flicks in his eyes. I think I might even see anger before he turns back to face our escort, keeping himself between us. “The Mandalorian stays here!” The Twi’lek orders frantically. “The Mandalorian is going with Dameron whether you like it or not,” I say back very calmly, but Poe turns to give me a stern shake of his head, keeping a hand on my shoulder. “Easy,” He urges, “He just... accidentally hit her... pet. She’s protective. But it won’t happen again. Will it?” He points that last bit at me, and I bite back a sharp retort along the lines of, So long as these bastards keep their hands to themselves and keep their weapons where I can see them, but I stop myself just in time. I only manage a stiff nod. Poe turns back to the escort, keeping his hands up. “See? Just a misunderstanding... Are we good?” Reluctantly, the escort steps back so that we can disembark. Poe takes my elbow, probably to try and stop me if I try anything else, and guides me off the ramp. I close it behind us. I ignore the escort’s death-glares and the fact that their weapons are uselessly aimed on me, but keep an eye on those aimed at Poe. One shot is all it takes... While keeping tabs on them out of my peripheral, I turn on the light on my helmet and peer into the bag, silently asking if Grogu’s okay. “Badu,” He mumbles softly, shielding his eyes from the harshness of the light; I don’t see any bruising and he’s nibbling on a cookie, so I think he’s fine. I turn off the light and return the bag to its place at my waist, keeping a hand on top at all times. The other is ready to use my whistling birds. It’s a tense and overly-long walk into the crime-ridden city. The sandy buildings may once have been sandstone, but are now crumbling ruins of green-gray with slats of wood for doors, boarded-up windows, and surrounded by piles of muck, rotting animal bodies, and trash. I see three guys mauling a jawa, two others shooting the hell out of a shop, and an ugnaut running off with a bag I initially think is full of stolen goods until I seen blood staining the burlap and realize he’s carrying a dead body. Kriff. I tighten my hold on Grogu and keep my eyes on Poe. Maybe Dad was right. If Poe gets shot up here, I’d never forgive myself. I trust him to be aware of his surroundings directly ahead of him, so I take up a position behind him, watching his sides and guarding his back. It seems like an eternity before we reach an alley filled with people clearly using spice. They’re all either high or drunk, laughing and partying and dancing, watching gamblers and wrestling matches. They eye us, throw themselves into our path and mumble some incoherent words before the escort shoves them off, or openly point us out to whole parties that eagerly turn to watch the procession. Grogu has curled up, tense and silent. All my senses are focused on him and Poe, and I worry for BB-8 all by himself in the Slave. Poe keeps glancing over his shoulder at me and scanning the walls and roofs for danger. One time when people start shooting each other at a party, he yanks me down to duck with him seconds before one of our escort right beside me gets his head shot clean off. A hit at that velocity would’ve knocked me out even with my beskar, and then Poe and Grogu would be left undefended. I’ve never seen an injury that gruesome, though-- it takes all I have not to retch. Thank the Maker I’m wearing the helmet. We’re led into a building, through a less violent party, and down a hidden staircase to a basement where people were still partying, but significantly less exuberantly. People here seem to be working off their high, at least for the night. We’re taken down a wide, sandy stairwell, where we enter a very different setting. Clearly, Edda Hutt-- a disgusting, enormous slug-thing that was just as Poe had described him, only a pale greenish-white with brown stripes-- is in charge here. Everybody seems scared of him. Sure, they snort spice off dirty tables and dance a little, but Edda’s focus is on the star of the show, so everyone else follows suit. A weird little thing that looks like an anteater with the body of a frog is trying to sing, but it’s a horrible sound. The music is off-tempo and screechy. In the center of the ring of people, a Twi’lek female in hardly any clothes tries to dance, but with the horrible music and the chain on her neck, it’s difficult. The chain is attaching her to the Hutt, and I realize she’s a slave. I tense. You kidding me right now? A slave? I’d lived in America in the 21st century. Slaves, to me, were a thing of history. Stuff you read about in school. Never thought I’d actually ever see one. It makes me angry. I want to storm down there and blow Edda to a disgusting mass of slime with my flamethrowers and free the girl. She’s clearly terrified. She is a living, thinking person and deserves to be free. How dare he? My jaw clenches so hard it pops when I turn my narrowed gaze on Edda, fist tightening on my empty holster. How dare you? How dare you? How about I tear you down from there and make you dance? I can think of a few words choice words for him: Monster. Evil. Cruel. Inhumane. But none of them come close, none of them can even attempt to describe an act so wretched as this one. But we can do nothing. Poe stiffens at the sight, but he’s seen this before. Hutts keep slaves, and that’s a known fact. Neither of us can do anything here. If we do, we’ll never make it out of here alive, and get ourselves killed along with the slave without anything to show for it. Not to mention, the Resistance will go without the medical supplies it needs to keep going. Our priority right now is to watch each other’s backs, to watch over Grogu, and to make this deal. One day, maybe I will become a bounty hunter, but of a different sort. After I revive Mandalore, restore my people, I’ll come after every slaveholder in the galaxy and give them what they deserve. Not one of them will ever be brought in warm. The Twi’lek at the head of the escort tells us to wait where we are, while he slithers through the crowd to whisper in what might be Edda Hutt’s ear. Edda narrows overly-large eyes, grumbles a stream of unintelligible muttered phrases in Huttese, then raises tiny stubby arms and says in a loud, gurgle of a voice, “Shulu gone, add of uba!” The music ceases immediately. Nice. The first party I’ve ever crashed. Guests and entertainment disperse, abandoning piles of spice and discarding cigarettes on the floor. Soon there’s nothing but Edda’s guards, our escort, and his slave. He yanks her against him, and my free fist clenches almost hard enough to trigger my flamethrower. Blasters poke Poe and I in our backs, urging us forward until we’re in the center of the room, standing before Edda. I make a point to keep a couple paces behind Poe, trying to watch our surroundings for any sudden moves. Edda smokes what’s probably spice out of a long, thin pipe. He peers at us, gaze barely passing over me, before he narrows his eyes at Poe with a too-wide smile. “Oom-move uta-sha maskey.” Damn am I glad Poe came with me, because I don’t understand a word he’s saying. Poe reaches up for his mask, and I grab his sleeve, stopping him wordlessly. The kriff you taking off the stuff that lets you breathe for? “It’s fine,” He assures me, “The air’s not so bad down here.” “What about the spice?” The last thing I need is a hotshot pilot with ADHD on spice. I’m not sure how it would affect him, because this stuff could be laced with other drugs, more dangerous ones. He could have anything from a simple high, an almost-deadly reaction, or even go into anaphylactic shock if he’s allergic. I’m thinking of all the many different ways him taking off his mask could go horribly wrong. “It’s okay; I know the smell of this spice. I built up an immunity to it when I was a runner,” He answers, and removes his mask. I have to hope and pray it’s not laced with anything that will affect him secondhand. Although, on a lesser note, I also have to resist the urge to pat his curls down, because it looks like he’s just rolled right out of bed; if I were Edda, I wouldn’t be able to take him seriously. Poe addresses him calmly and coolly. “I’m sure you remember me...” He shrugs a little. “Or maybe you don’t. In either case, I’m here to do business with you.” Edda laughs deeply, apparently amused by something. “Bal uba think jee beeogola?” He takes another whiff of his pipe. “Meekiyuna keekah whooh uba beet, Dameron.” Poe remains cool, calm, and collected. No one else would be able to tell what he’s thinking-- I barely can. Damn, he’d be a good actor. Or senator. “I’ve decided the Resistance just isn’t for me. Too much work, too little profit. Got back into the spice business a few months ago.” Edda perks up at this little tidbit of false but convincing information, and Poe adds quickly, “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for another trade.” Edda leans back a bit, pulling roughly on the chain connected to his slave’s neck. She chokes, but Edda doesn’t care; he looks disappointed that Poe isn’t offering space-drugs. I don’t see the appeal, never will-- my ancestors used marijuana and peyoti to induce visions from the gods and their messengers, not for highs. Hell, it’s not even a pretty and sparkly glitter-drug, like in Dune. It just looks like a pile of ugly sand. “Haku oid uba doo mind?” Somehow Poe sounds completely confident, even though we’re standing on a grate that drops down into who-knows-where, we’re surrounded, we’re underground, and we’re in the middle of a crime-ridden city. If things go wrong here, we’ll never make it out. “You know as well as any the price of certain items on the black markets. But I’ve been with the Resistance so long, I don’t have good stock. I’ve come to see if you would bargain with me.” Edda gestures for him to continue. “I want medical supplies. All you’ve got. I’m sure you can get more from your beneficiaries. In return I’ll get you something you want, something nobody else will get you and you can’t get yourself. You’re eccentric, I’m sure you’ve already got some idea of what you want for your...” He waves an arm, searching for the right word. “...collection. Just like the old days. If you remember me, you know I always deliver.” And here I thought Poe had told me everything there was to know about him. Never once had he mentioned Tiersa or Edda Hutt during his long tales of his spice-running days on Kijimi. I just now realized that. I make a mental note to ask him about all these new stories for him to tell me. “Jee oom-membah uba, Poe Dameron,” Edda replies, leaning forward to glare at him. He’s practically crushing his poor slave. “Besh lo’z been andoba-doba cycles nrom eesgoo oeal. Jee huujah bu oom-mnants Emperor Palpatine’z lightsooah! Seel uba heeda sho?” I stiffen at the mention of Emperor Palpatine. I may not know Huttese, but I can make out that much. I want to speak up, maybe to ask what the kriff did he say about Palpatine, but Poe’s supposed to be in charge here. Bodyguards don’t speak to their charge, and if I undermine Poe’s authority here, he might lose any standing with Edda that he has. I hold my tongue and hope this is over as soon as possible. “I can,” Poe promises, nodding decisively. Great. What’s he just agreed to? “I’ll get you the pieces of Palpatine’s saber.” I swear, it takes me everything I have not to say What?! Even Grogu stirs a bit, like what the hell did he just say the pieces of who now’s lightsaber? I have to keep copying Din’s introvert-silent-intimidating-Mandalorian pose, to be a good bodyguard and stand here silently. How the hell are we supposed to get him that? Wasn’t it incinerated in the Death Star? “But you’ve gotta give me more than that. Any idea where it is?” Edda leans forward more, talking with one grubby hand and waving his pipe around as he speaks. “Nop Coruscant, nind Kerooh Lar. ’z gang kajidii bu oeepest oom-gions, bu old podracing arenah. Beke uba seel nind shash before kidds uba, an bargon bu map, lo widd take uba bu sooah.” The Hutt chuckles grotesquely. “Alright. Then, it’s off to Coruscant.” Poe puts his hands on his hips, ready to leave. Edda, however, has other plans, and raises a hand to stop him. Guards and our escort all move to block exits, weapons ready. I loosen up, prepared to leap forward and trigger my whistling birds. Even now they’re targeting all of our enemies, which do not include Edda, because I’m more than positive we can outrun him. Edda chuckles, “Hold nop. Kava bal jee keekah soh uba wa-hu sedd bu lightsooah?” Poe explains calmly, “Because. If I were to just sell the saber, that’s a one-time profit. I might get killed by the First Order for having it, or my business shut down, and I don’t want that. I want a steady income. I can trade different supplies for more, sell them... You get it. So...” Poe smirks, and I feel like that’s the most evil he can get, though it doesn’t look very intimidating to me. “If I want to stay out of prison and get those medical supplies, then I’m gonna bring you back that saber.” Edda seems reluctant for a second. I start calculating what it’s gonna take to get Poe and I off this grate before it falls completely and drops us into oblivion. Finally, the Hutt gives his consent with a wave of confirmation. “Uba doo duba oays, Dameron.” Poe snickers in disbelief. “Hold on, I wanna see the supplies. You think I’m stupid?” Edda grinds his flat teeth. It’s an awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard. He swings an arm at the Twi’lek and his escort. “Stang hoohat lo!” To Poe, he says, “Joppay uba’laz oone, uba boll Coruscant!” Poe nods, starting to turn toward the door we’d come from, where our escort waits. “As soon as we see them, we’ll be on our way. You’ll have your saber.” We’re escorted out of his little chamber and through a backway, through the less-populated alleys of the city and to a hidden, locked-up warehouse. The Twi’lek raps out a code on the ridged metal door, and it opens to reveal a spider-faced alien that chitters impatiently as the Twi’lek quietly informs him of the situation. Poe and I remain silent, though my helmet’s systems point out at least a dozen snipers watching us carefully from the roofs. I wish Poe and I had come up with some form of code beforehand, so that I can warn him. Instead, I’m ready to launch my whistling birds at a moment’s notice and shove Poe to safety. Not that that would protect him from a headshot, since his mask is made of plastic and rubber only. Suddenly I wish that I had given him Boba Fett’s armor. The door is opened, and we’re led inside. Our eyes take a second to adjust, but when they do we stop short and stare in awe. Crates upon crates of various sizes are stacked, lined up, and arranged. Holy kriff... Poe had said that Edda deals primarily in unregistered supply trade, but I hadn’t realized this much. I see mostly weapons and ship parts with the First Order crest, which makes me shudder. The Twi’lek takes us further in. I’m grateful for my life-signs detector built-in to my helmet, because I see the guy running up between the boxes with a knife before Poe does. No, no... Swinging Grogu behind me, I step between the attacker and Poe with my whistling birds vambrace aimed at the escort, my other aimed at the attacker. I pull my fist down far enough to push the pressure-trigger, and a jet of fire streams out just enough to scare him back on his ass. “Back off!” Poe is reaching for his blaster, but remembers too late he doesn’t have it and swears loudly as he scrambles for a weapon. The escort has all blasters aimed at us, and the snipers are moving into position. I have one whistling bird less than needed, but I’m blinding their scopes; they can’t get a lock on us. As the attacker recovers, I sidestep around Poe and give another warning blast of fire at the escort, which makes them yelp and stumble back, shielding their singed faces. “Back off! You want me to blast your heads off?! Back off!” “Laylah!” Poe yells, snatching a dropped blaster and putting his back to mine, “What the hell are you doing?!” “Yeah, you’re welcome. This guy was about to gut you.” “I wasn’t!” The Rodian attacker whines, rubbing his burned nose and quite near tears. What scares me is I don’t even feel mildly sympathetic for him. “I-I wasn’t, I swear!” “Explain why you were running at him with a knife then,” I sound eerily calm. The Rodian keeps a hand raised toward me as poor defense. “I-I was warning Ael-Ti of an attack! The second warehouse is under siege! Somebody found it!” “Who the kriff is Ael-Ti?” “Me,” Snarls the soot-covered Twi’lek. “Are you going to put your weapons down, or are we going to have to make you?” I sneer at him, jerking my chin. “You first.” “Laylah,” Poe hisses, putting his blaster down and keeping his hands up. He reaches over and makes me put my arms down, standing almost flush up against me to say low in my ear, “Calm. Down. You wanna lose this bargain?” Reluctantly, I lower my arms. “I’m not giving them my vambraces.” “You don’t have to. So long as you don’t set anybody else on fire.” “I didn’t set him on fire. I almost set him on fire.” Poe shakes his head; I see a faint smirk under the mask. “And they call me hotheaded...” I don’t turn my back on the Rodian, who speaks with Ael-Ti in hushed tones. Ael-Ti reluctantly sends the rest of his escort back with the Rodian, who leads them down a wholly separate path to avoid me. Ael-Ti is now, as far as Poe’s concerned, all by himself, so he turns and tugs me close enough to say where my ear should be on the other side of the helmet, “Do not attack him, Bez.” I won’t risk it unless necessary, because the snipers still have their rifles powered up and pointed at us. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot when I tried to crisp the Rodian. Curtly, I nod, and Poe keeps a firm grip of my arm. Ael-Ti keeps a close eye on me as he leads us through the crates, walking like a crab so that his back is never to me. Strangely enough, I’m completely okay with what I’ve just done. I’m defending two people I love very much. When it’s an enemy, I have no problem with anything I do that might inconvenience them. The more they hate me, the better. When we reach the medical supplies, Poe and I falter. Three ten-foot-long and four-foot-high white containers sit side-by-side on the ground. Some of them have temperature-controlled interiors like a fridge-- conservator (sometimes, even after three and a half years, I still revert to Earth names for things). Poe turns his head to me, and when he has my attention, jerks his head toward them. “You’re the medic. Go and see if they’re legit.” I’m reluctant to turn my back on Ael-Ti, but I hurry forward anyway, beginning to pop the lid of a crate. The snipers are easing up a bit. Poe can handle himself against that weasel. Nobody will attack unless a move is made. Ael-Ti apparently finds me checking the boxes suspicious or something. “Thought you said she was your bodyguard?” Poe only puts his hands on his hips as he pretends to watch me, but his eyes aren’t focused. He’s watching Ael-Ti out of the corner of his eye. “She’s also my medic.” Inside the first crate, I find primarily cooled medicines, vaccines, anesthesia, and bacta. In the other two I find various good stock of other medicines, surgical tools and equipment, PPE equipment, bandages, splints-- anything a doctor might need at any given point is in the crates. It’s enough to give us a boost, to keep us going until we find more suppliers, especially if we don’t for awhile. I check the very deepest packages I can reach as well as the top and middle, only a couple of each, to ensure it’s really medicine. My internal systems help me, but they can only do so much. Even the Force wouldn’t be able to help me much here. Once I replace and secure the lid of the final crate, I return to Poe’s side, still feeling a little iffy about this whole thing. How do we know they didn’t just make fake medicine? Some of them were impossible to tell. “So far as I can see, it’s legit. This is the shipment we’re getting?” I immediately mentally smack myself. Bodyguards don’t ask questions, even if they’re also medics. Poe puts me completely at ease by acting as if that’s a totally normal, reasonable question to ask, even from someone who he’s supposed to be in charge of. Technically, if I think really hard about it, he is one of my commanding officers, I guess. “It better be, or Edda can count on never getting the pieces of Palpatine’s lightsaber,” Poe says this pointedly to Ael-Ti, who raises a hand and frowns. He inclines his head. “Yeah yeah, this is the one you’re getting. Edda’s been after those shards for a long time, so this will be closely guarded for you.” He bares his teeth in an angry hiss before leading us out of the warehouse, feeling the need to escort us all the way back to our ship. We pass the body of the guy who was shot instead of us, already crammed into a clogged drain. Eesh. Luckily the city seems to be calming for the night; even criminals need to sleep, right? The trip back, without having to find a path through groups of robbers and murderers, is considerably shorter. We get our bag of weapons once we get to the Slave, and we purposefully slowly count in front of Ael-Ti. All of our weapons are accounted for, thankfully. “No loitering!” He snaps as we’re closing the ramp. Poe goes straight to the pilot’s seat, and BB-8 comes whirling out as I’m strapping myself in and opening Grogu’s bag. Poe takes a moment to greet his friend. “Hey Beebs. Any trouble?” BB-8 gives a couple of beeps in answer. “No? Good.” He rubs the droid’s head, eliciting a happy whistle from him. “Thanks for watching over the ship, buddy.” Hearing that we’re considerably safer, Grogu pokes his head out of the bag, covered in blue cookie crumbs. I laugh, brushing him off. “How you doing, Gizmo?” He babbles and cheers as the ship pitches in its flight pattern to escape the awful fake atmosphere of Tiersa-- even though it’s dark, Poe somehow navigates us easily out into space. Once we hit smooth flying, the ship launches into lightspeed and I get out of the seat, setting Grogu on the platform with BB-8. The two of them begin to chatter in a weird combination of baby babble and Binary about the little adventure they’ve had so far. When Poe comes stomping around the pilot’s seat, I know I’m in trouble. He tears off his mask and puts his hands on his hips, glaring-- but I don’t think Poe’s ever actually been angry. Besides, I can’t very well take him seriously with his hair all messed up again. “What the hell was that out there?” I shake my head to try and stop whatever he’s about to say, lifting my hands in much the same way Grogu was trying to explain himself as a stowaway earlier. “Look--” “What were you thinking? First you punch the guy-- which, okay, he hit Grogu, but not to defend him, but he didn’t know he was there, and you could have just taken a less violent approach? And what the hell was with the flamethrower?!” “I was trying to protect you!” I snap, remembering the guy running up with the knife all too clearly, “I thought that guy was gonna attack you... I couldn’t let that happen.” His stern visage softens. “We were outnumbered. You’re lucky they didn’t blast us all to hell. Six against two isn’t exactly fair, even if the two are a Mandalorian and the best pilot in the galaxy.” “...Thirteen.” I admit this very reluctantly. “Huh?” “Counting the snipers on the tallest stacks of crates, there were thirteen. The six snipers on the roof outside might not have been able to get in quickly enough to do anything about us before we found an escape route.” Poe takes a second to let that sink in. He steps closer and takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “You... You attacked when we were thirteen to two?” It sounds worse than it is. Or maybe it really is that bad. I’m not a soldier, I’m a healer. I don’t have experience in this field, I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe it was stupid of me. Still, I try to explain myself. “I had twelve whistling birds trained on all the snipers and the escort. That only left the Rodian. We would have been fine.” Poe starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. His jaw is clenched like he’s trying to stem a flow of curses-- but he’s frustrated. Not mad. Still, I hate to see him like this with me. It gives me a bad feeling in the core of my chest. He’s back to standing in front of me in a few strides, his voice unnervingly calm and quiet, “You could’ve gotten us all killed.” “I wasn’t thinking--” “Do you ever?” He snaps, and the ship goes quiet. I flinch, echoes of Earth ricocheting in my head. Outside of my little family, I lost track of how many people had said those words to me. This is Poe. He doesn’t mean it the same way. I meet his dark eyes and remnants of Earth melt away. For some reason, I’m not scared of losing Poe, or of him turning on me. Something tells me he’s never going to walk away like that. He cares, and that’s why he’s so pissed right now. I take a deep breath, then say quietly, but not meekly, “I wasn’t thinking about the odds. All I could think of was Dad’s warning about not letting anything happen to us, and about the fact that I didn’t want to see you bleeding out on some backwater planet. I thought I had to act, and I did it in the hopes of keeping you safe. I had all of them in sight, and the flamethrower was blinding their scopes so none of the snipers could have gotten a clear shot at you. I’d stunned what I thought was your attacker and the escort. You grabbed a blaster, didn’t you? We could have gotten to cover. We could have made it out. At that point, I didn’t even care about the damn medicine. Just you, and Grogu. Although I should have taken a less dramatic approach. That knife couldn’t have gotten through my beskar or leather easily-- it was old. All I had to do was step between you, but...” “But your mind went to the worst possible place,” Poe finishes for me softly. “You went offensive instead of defensive.” After a second, a small, fond smirk makes its way onto his face. “...Like a Mandalorian.” I scoff, fighting tears. Why did I do that? Why didn’t I do the normal thing? “What kind of Mandalorian almost gets her only friend killed?” I say bitterly, and he shakes his head, pulling me in for a tight hug that I lean into. His voice rumbles my head even through the helmet. “You even hear the stories your dad tells? He sounds like you. So does Boba Fett and Bo-Katan. You Mandalorians... you always do that. You’re always ready or looking for a fight. That’s always where your mind goes, no matter the situation... Why?” I think about that for a second, and then I realize what we all have in common: Bo-Katan, her sister murdered and her goal always just out of reach. Boba Fett watched his father die in front of him and then was trying to live the life of a bounty hunter, even accepting a job from Darth Vader until Han Solo nearly killed him, and then even his retirement didn’t go smoothly. I pull back, squeezing Poe’s shoulders in appreciation of his gesture. He keeps a hold of my arms. “Because, Poe... we’ve all been through hell.” I take my helmet off, patting down the static on my crown braids. Talking about my recklessness must be over, because Poe puts his hands on his hips and is smiling for some reason; then he slowly smooths down the hair on the back of my head, pointedly. “Can’t take you very seriously when you have helmet hair.” On that note, I reach up to tousle his hair out of the just-rolled-out-of-bed look. “Yeah, well, I can’t take you seriously when you have gas-mask hair.” I glance out the cockpit window, at the stream of blue-and-white light with a faint smile. “So what now? Where we headed, Black Leader?” Poe snorts with amusement and gestures to the seats. Somehow we both simultaneously sit on the platform instead, leaning our backs against the seats. Beebs and Grogu meander over to sit near to us, but continue their own little conversation. Poe pats BB-8 on the head on his way by, but addresses me. “Now, I fill you in on the plan.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles. I set my helmet beside me. “Please do. All I got out of this was something about Coruscant and Palpatine’s lightsaber.” Poe actually laughs. “That’s... pretty much it.” He waves his hands and the wrench. “No, really, I’ve gotta tell you the details. So, we’re getting medicine-- all of what you seen-- if we bring him back the shards of Palpatine’s lightsaber in three days.” I raise a hand like I’m in school. Poe points his wrench at me like a teacher pointing a pencil. “Yes, Djarin?” “Correct me if I’m wrong-- and, I might be, ’cause I’m not really from around here, but-- wasn’t he blown up on the Death Star?” Poe shrugs, banging his wrench against his palm. “Who knows? Maybe it’s just something everybody’s calling Palpatine’s saber but Edda’s stupid enough to believe it. To find it, we’ve gotta get to Coruscant and find Keru Lar, a crime boss who supposedly has a map leading right to it. Apparently he hangs out on the lowest levels, in the old podracing rings.” I’m struck by a sudden thought. “Great. Cool. How much you wanna bet he’s gonna have us race him for it?” Poe retains a completely serious straight face. “Ten credits that he doesn’t. And once we get the map from him we just... go get the saber.” I scoff, fiddling with the top of my rangefinder. “You mean after navigating a treacherous gauntlet of unforeseen circumstances.” “Yeah,” Poe answers, and I’m suddenly doubling over with laughter. He pauses in spinning his wrench, raising his eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” I can barely wheeze out an answer. “Guess I got what I wanted!” Poe is slowly smiling. “What?” “Something to do.” Poe snorts, then laughs, and suddenly we’re both laughing so hard we can’t breathe, and neither of us really know why. The combined confusion of BB-8 and Grogu only makes us laugh harder. Poe runs his hands down his face when we finally stop, wheezing for air and still smiling. “Alright, Bez... We’ve got three hours before we reach Coruscant. I am gonna take a nap. I doubt we’ll get much sleep otherwise, so I suggest you do too.” I glare pointedly at the back of the pilot’s seat. “Dozing in the cockpit made my neck hurt.” “Maybe don’t doze off in the cockpit,” Poe quips, shoving his wrench in his pocket. I start to crawl over to him. “I’m using your shoulder as a pillow. Deal with it.” He positions himself so that he’s leaning with his back on a ladder. I scoot closer until I’m flush against his side and resting my head on his shoulder. His chuckle resonates into my head; it’s a comforting sound. “Always a pleasure, Miss Djarin.” Grogu toddles up, reaching out, and Poe lifts him into the crook of our laps, where he immediately curls up in preparation for a nap; he yawns with a little squeak. I keep a hand on him so that he doesn’t accidentally roll anywhere-- babies have a tendency to roll places you wouldn’t think of. BB-8 comes up in silent question, on Poe’s other side. He elicits a tiny blip, and Poe lifts his arm in welcome. “Come here, Beebs.” With a beep of appreciation, BB-8 nestles up under Poe’s arm. He shifts so his other arm is around me. This is nice. This little family here? It’s nice. I could stay like this forever. I’m already exhuasted-- it’s been a long, stressful day. My eyelids are so heavy I can hardly keep them open, and it doesn’t help that Poe is warm and comfortable. He tries to lean his head back in order to sleep, but instantly regrets it. “Ow. Metal pillow. That’s not gonna work. I’m gonna use your head.” I echo his words to me from a moment ago. “Happy to help, Commander Dameron.” He laughs softly as he rests his head on mine, fully encompassing me in his embrace. I’m glad he can’t see my face, because I’m blushing from the contact; though I’m sure he can hear my heart pounding. I feel Poe smile softly. “...This is... kinda nice.” He has no idea how nice. After we started talking that first night I met him, the X-wing wasn’t my safe place, he is. It’s an incredibly odd thing to feel so safe and relaxed around another human being, but... I can’t help it. He’s my best and only friend, but... Maybe sometimes, he feels like more than that. Neither of us will say it, though. I sigh, content. “...Wish we could stay like this.” Poe lowers his voice to a whisper when he sees that Grogu is starting to nod off. “You mean safe? Relaxed? Or in this position? Because if it’s the latter we’d eventually go numb, Bez.” I chuckle into his jacket. He smells like fuel and iron, and it relaxes me. “Together,” I specify. He tenses and shifts a bit, careful of Grogu. Then I realize he’s brought the arm behind me up a bit so that he can tuck loose strands of hair behind my ear, but he keeps his knuckles resting on my temple. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “One day, okay? I promise.” I wonder if his words mean more than they sound like, but I’m sure that I’m probably overthinking it. He’s my best friend. Maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see. “...I’ll hold you to it, Poe.” He doesn’t move, keeping his face in my hair, but I do-- I shift enough to wrap my free arm around his chest and nestle closer, without moving Grogu. He doesn’t object, only tightening his grip. Before long, we’re all falling into light sleep, feeling comforted and safe in the blue-white glow of lightspeed.

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