The Mandalorian's Slave

Trask

I'm the first one awake. My dream left me feeling groggy, but as I slowly blink awake, I don't mind. The view of the planet is worth it.

Trask is a larger planet, with thick swirls of blue, green, and white. I can practically feel the life teeming below.

An alarm quietly goes off on the dashboard, waking the others.

"Looks like we made it," I say, breaking the silence.

"Get ready for landing," Din says, his voice still hoarse from his nap. "Fuck! The landing array isn't responding. Without the guidance system, it'll be a manual re-entry. It might get a little choppy. Once we're through the atmosphere, there should be enough fuel to slow us down."

"Should?" I ask, nervousness pooling in my stomach again.

"If we don't burn to a crisp," the Mandalorian says.

"How delightful," I say dryly.

The Razor Crest screams in protest as we enter the atmosphere. Flames ignite on the outside of the hull, burning bright against the sky. Alarms blare within the cockpit, warning us of our impending doom.

"Come up here," the Mandalorian shouts over his shoulder. "I need your hands!"

The floor rumbles beneath my feet as I scoot out of my seat. I stumble forward, sweat beading down my forehead.

"This lever needs to stay back," Din says. "Can you do that?"

"Yeah," I holler, gripping the lever with both hands.

"Keep it steady," he commands. "Here we go."

We plummet through thick gray clouds as we approach the planet's surface. Below us, the dim lights of a small city shine.

"Razor Crest, this is Trask flight control." A woman's voice crackles over the intercom. "Please reduce your speed to port protocol."

"I'm trying my best here," the Mandalorian snarls. "Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!"

"Razor Crest, do you copy? You have to reduce speed," the flight control officer commands.

"Almost there," Din promises me, "almost there."

"Razor Crest, do you copy?"

I peer out the window, at the gray sea below us. This isn't going to be a pretty landing.

"Razor Crest, you're coming in too fast. You have to..." he slams a button, muting her.

I hold my breath as we slowly stabilize. The ship is still shaky, but at least we won't crash into the ocean.

"Here we go," the Mandalorian says. "Nice and easy."

We're about twelve feet above the landing pad. My arms ache from pulling the lever back, but I don't dare to let it go yet. There's a loud pop, and suddenly we're lurching sideways, into the water.

Panic grips my chest as we sink below the waves. I can't swim. On Jakku, there's no lakes, ponds, rivers, or anything. Just endless seas of sands.

"Are you ok?"

I shake my head. "We need to get out. Now."

"It's ok," Din says in an attempt to sooth me. "They'll pull us out."

"I can't swim," I hiss, fear paralyzing me.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Aster," he promises.

There's a loud thunk. I jump as the ship is slowly pulled above the surface of the water. We're placed, not so gently, on the landing pad.

The second the door opens I jump out. The ship is still dripping water and covered in seaweed. The Razor Crest looks like little more than a scavenged corpse.

"So, how can I help you?" A dock worker asks us. I recognize him as a Mon Calamari. They're an aquatic alien, perfect for a world like Trask.

"Can you fix it?" Din asks.

"Fix it?" The worker laughs. "Nah. But I can make it fly."

"Do what you can," the Mandalorian says, pressing a bag of credits into the Mon Calamari's palm.

"I'll fuel it up," the alien promises. "If it still holds fuel."

The Mandalorian and I follow the frog lady. She paces the docks restlessly, crying loudly in her language. Her anxiety is so visible it makes my heart ache for her.

Then we hear a response. A male frog voice calls from the distance.

The frog lady squeals in delight, running across the slippery dock to him. The couple embraces tightly.

I try to ignore the envy burning within me. They're so obviously in love. It's something I'll never have. Not in public, not like this.

Instead, I force myself to study her husband. His skin is green, with deep swirls of blue. His eyes are lighter than his wife's, more of a red-brown than an endless black. They gently touch each other's faces, their eyes shining with happiness.

The frog man comes up to us and shakes my Master's hands. He speaks rapidly in his language, his words lost on us.

"You're welcome," Din says. "I was told you could lead me to others of my kind."

The frog man points to a building in the distance.

"The inn?" I ask. "Over there?"

The frog man nods enthusiastically. We follow the couple through the crowd, inching forward to our answers.

Trask is a gray planet, all color swept away into the gray sea. The buildings are made of rusty metal, and shoved together at haphazard angles. Knotted fishing nets dry in the humid air, their gaping tears evident of hard usage.

The frog people lead us into the inn. It's filled with Mon Calamari and another alien species that I don't recognize. The air is damp and smells like sea salt and fish, but I'm so hungry I hardly care.

"Thank you," I say to the couple. They nod and walk away, their half of the bargain fulfilled.

"Have a seat over there," a Mon Calamari instructs us. We sit at a small wooden table with wobbly chairs. "What can I get you?"

"Nothing for me," the Mandalorian says. "Two bowls of chowder for my friends."

"These seats are scarce buddy," the waiter warns. "Everyone seated needs to eat."

"I can buy something else," Din offers. He slides a stack of credits over. "Information." The Mon Calamari paws the money. "Have yoy seen others that look like me?"

The waiter glances over his shoulder as he fills our bowls. "Others with Beskar have been through here," he admits.

"Who can take me to them?"

"I know someone who might help." The server briskly walks away.

I stare at my meal. Slowly, I take a sip of it. The fishy taste is overwhelming, bordering on inedible. But food is food, and I can't pass that up.

"There is a Mandalorian," the waiter says to an alien with thick tentacles where a beard would grow. "Looking for others of his kind. He was asking about passage... he's wearing Beskar." The his voice trails off.

The alien gets up and saunters over to us. He plops down heftily at our table.

"You seek others of your kind?" He asks in a deep voice.

"Have you seen them?"

"Aye. I can bring you to them."

"Where?" Din demands.

"Only a few hours' sail. It'll cost you, though."

Whatever the price is, the Mandalorian will pay  it. I know he will. I wolf down my soup and prepare for another journey.