My sleep is short-lived. One minute, I'm tangled in the sheets with the Mandalorian, and the next, a rapid beeping interrupts my nightly concoction of dreams.
Din gets up quickly and leaves the bunker without saying a word. I linger for an extra moment, trying futilely to straighten my clothes and fix my hair.
I dash up the ladder and into the cockpit. Frog lady is still sleeping, slumped over in the passenger seat.
"Razor Crest, M-One-Eleven. Come in, Razor Crest," a voice crackles over the intercom. "Do you copy?"
I swear I feel two smaller ships flank us before I see them out the window. They're newer and definitely faster than us.
"This is Razor Crest," the Mandalorian replies groggily. "Is there a problem?"
"We noticed your transponder is not emitting."
"Yes," Din answers smoothly. "I'm pre-Empire surplus. I'm not required to run a beacon."
"That was before. This sector is under New Republic jurisdiction. All craft are required to run a beacon."
"Thank you for letting me know. I'll get right on it."
"Not a problem. Safe travels."
"May the Force be with you," Din says lamely.
"And also with you," the officer replies.
There's a moment of silence. My heart still thuds rapidly in my chest, every fiber of my being hyper aware of their ships.
"Just one more thing," the voice over the intercom cuts in.
"Yes?"
"I'm gonna need you to send us a ping. We're out here sweeping for Imperial holdouts."
Fuck.
"I'll let you know if I see any," the Mandalorian says uneasily.
"I'm still gonna need you to send us that ping."
"Well, I'm not sure I have that hardware online," Din lies.
"We can wait," the officer replies tersely.
"Yeah it..." the Mandalorian trails off dramatically. "It doesn't seem to be working."
"That's too bad. If we can't confirm you're not Imperial, you're gonna have to follow us to the outpost at Adelphi. They'll run your tabs."
We don't have time to go to Adelphi. Not to mention that we don't exactly have a spotless criminal history. I don't know everything the Mandalorian has done, but I know it certainly hasn't all been legal.
"Oh, wait. There it is," my master says with false enthusiasm. He presses a series of buttons slowly, hoping for some miracle. "Transmitting now."
The frog lady releases a loud gasp as she wakes up, her large eyes snapping open.
"Be quiet," I hiss, praying desperately that she understands me.
"What was that?" The officer asks.
"Uh, nothing. The hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold."
The frog lady continues to grunt loudly, despite my glaring looks directed at her.
"Carson, can you switch over to channel two?" Another officer asks on the intercom.
Fuck. We have to be busted.
"Copy," Carson replies.
We sit in dead silence, weighing our options. None of them are good.
"Was your craft in close proximity of New Republic Correctional Transport, Bothan-Five?"
The Mandalorian picks our option. Without warning, he floors it, banking down from the two New Republic craft. Frog lady shrieks, gripping her seat as my stomach revolts.
We enter the nearest planet's atmosphere, dashing into the cover of thick, white clouds. On any other day, I'd marvel at their beauty. Now, I just hope it's not the last thing I see before I die.
"Razor Crest, stand down," Carson commands. "We will fire. I repeat, we will fire."
We don't respond. Instead, we weave in and out of the clouds, the atmosphere weighing down on us. We can't last long like this.
The Mandalorian cuts the power, causing us to plummet straight down toward the planet's surface. Our passenger screams as I curse, Din silent as ever.
We spin wildly as I force myself to keep my mouth closed, vomit burning in my throat. The Mandalorian rights ourselves as we break through the thick layer of clouds, barely above the snowy exterior of the planet.
On any other day, I'd marvel at the shades of periwinkle, white, and cream, but today I'm trying my best not to throw up or die. Or, even worse, both.
We aim ourselves toward a canyon, a jagged scar on the face of the icy world.
"Come on, Razor Crest," Carson pleads over the intercom. "Don't make us do it."
We snake through the narrow labyrinth of ice shoves, the scenery nothing more than a blur. That's when we spot it. A narrow opening, barely enough to fit a ship through.
The Mandalorian yanks on the steering, causing us to scrape up against the icy canyon walls. We slip through the hole, the New Republic ships darting past us.
"Hold on," the Mandalorian commands as we struggle to stop.
The belly of the ship scrapes against the ice, screeching in protest. We skid and thud against the cold landscape, my neck snapping wildly with each motion.
With one final bang, we come to a stop. I gasp wildly for breath, my neck aching and my heart erratic.
Then we hear the crack.
Without warning, we plummet downward, ice and snow showering down on us like evil confetti. This time, everyone screams.
We land with a jolt, my head snapping forward and smacking against the dashboard. I immediately feel the warm trickle of blood down my face, but I ignore it. There's more important things to tend to right now: mainly being that we're alive.
Sparks fly around us, cruel imitations of fireworks. I try to stand up, only for dots to dance in my vision. My legs give out, and the floor greets me eagerly.
XXX
"Aster." A gruff voice calls me from the edge of my consciousness. "Aster, please wake up," the Mandalorian pleads.
My eyes slowly open. I'm still on the cockpit floor, but something is different. I'm freezing. My hands are so cold that they burn as my enter body involuntarily convulses.
"How long was I out?" I manage to croak.
"I don't know." The Mandalorian shakes his head. "I was out too."
My teeth chatter uncontrollably as I struggle to sit up, my movements slow and clumsy.
"I've gotta find you some blankets. Keep you warm," the Mandalorian mutters, mostly to himself.
He dashes out of the cockpit before I can say anything else.
It's so insufferably cold. It reminds me of the first planet I ever went to with the Mandalorian, except we weren't nearly in as bad of a predicament as we are now. And my master and I didn't have the same relationship we do now.
He returns swiftly with the Child, frog lady's eggs, and warm blankets. He tosses me one of his cloaks.
"Put this on," he says, not in his Din voice, but in his bounty hunter one. Not that I needed any encouragement. I slip the cloak on eagerly, ignoring the way the fabric scratches my skin.
"If you haven't guessed, we're in a tight spot," the Mandalorian says, placing the Child on my lap. "The main power drive is not responding, and the hull has lost its integrity." He hands the frog lady and I a handful of blankets. "I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls. I'll have a better idea of our prospects at that time."
The Mandalorian sits down beside me. He surprises me, wrapping his arm around my waist and drawing me nearer. His armor is cold and covered in frost, but I'm grateful for whatever body heat he produces.
The frog lady speaks rapidly in her language, pointing at her eggs.
"Sorry lady, I don't speak Frog," the Mandalorian apologizes. "Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. I recommend you get some sleep."
She whimpers sadly, pulling the eggs closer to her chest. Din does the same with me, not stopping until I'm on his lap. I'm still shivering wildly as he pulls the blankets tighter around us.
"Get some sleep, Aster. You'll need it."