"Hey, leave that alone," said Din, waving away a hovering medical droid.
It backed up, blinking its white visual receptors. "But I must examine your eye," it said in a pleasant voice. "Your protective shell has been damaged, and it is likely your eye has been as well."
"Good observation," Din sighed. "I'm fine. If I have any problems, I'll come back, okay?"
"But my programming requires me to --"
"Just . . . finish the bacta infusion and let me out."
He was anxious to see the child again. When Ahsoka had brought them here to the medical bay, the little one had clung to him, scared to let go.
"The bacta infusion is sixty-five percent complete," said the droid.
The droid had hooked up a line in his wrist to get the stuff in his system, and it was sending a slow fire through his veins. They'd also been working on his leg, making sure things stuck together as the bacta regenerated the tissue. It wasn't exactly comfortable, and Din had to wonder how many credits would come out of his pocket for this. He didn't care much for this place either. Medical droids floated everywhere like giant bugs, and the interior was pristine and chilly. It was the medical bay of an old cruiser from the Clone Wars. The New Republic didn't yet have the resources for manufacturing their own vessels on a large scale.
Din had to persuade the droid a few more times that it wasn't necessary to remove the helmet or any other pieces of armor. Then after the infusions were finally done, Ahsoka came to see him.
She pulled up a seat next to his bed. "Feeling okay?"
He was pretty tired, and still sore. "Fine. You?"
"Better," she said.
"And the others?"
"Your friends are recovering. And Sabine did well. She was able to take back the Darksaber."
"That's good news. What about the child?"
She laid a hand on his arm. "He's fine. We got to him before he was in serious danger. I have the impression they were saving it for when you came."
"In coming for him, I put him in danger, then."
"They would have done it eventually, regardless," said Ahsoka.
"Done what, exactly? Why did they make him watch?"
Ahsoka closed her eyes for a minute, troubled. "Dark force wielders draw on their pain for power. They let it fester, and use it against their enemies." She paused, and looked at Din, her expression concerned. "They intended to take him down the first steps toward the dark. When he watched you suffer, he suffered."
This more than confirmed Din's fear. "So this is how. The inquisitors said he would become like them."
"That is why they have hunted Jedi and younglings for many years, yes. To increase their numbers. Or eliminate them. But Gideon . . ." She paused, brows drawn. Then her eyes widened with realization. "Gideon wants the Child's power for himself. But it's not naturally attuned to the dark." She twisted her mouth as if catching a foul odor. "He thought that by making the child suffer first, it would turn him to the dark and maybe spare him, the receiver, from the pain necessary to use the power in that way. I don't think it would work, but the fact that he would try that . . ."
"I felt something . . . cold."
Ahsoka's expression was grave. "It wasn't just Gideon."
"The child."
Ahsoka tightened her lips.
Din grew tense. "What's going to happen to him?"
"Everyone gets hurt," said Ahsoka. "That doesn't mean they will turn to the dark. It just . . . makes it easier. But it also opens the way for light."
Din wondered at that.
"He won't unsee anything," said Ahsoka. "But you can help him fill the wound with the care of a father. Comfort him, and don't make him push away his feelings. Help him work through them."
"He's just a child," said Din. "He shouldn't have to be caught up in all this."
"He is powerful and pure," said Ahsoka. "But at some time or other, he must face both the light and the dark in order to comprehend the whole, in order to channel and direct his powers."
"Can you teach him, then?"
"He has already begun to see both in you."
Din met her gaze from behind his blurred display. She returned it, as if she could see through the helmet, into his eyes, into his soul, all the shadows there. He wanted to pull back, but he didn't.
"He has seen darkness in me," he said quietly. "I've been angry. He's watched me kill. I left him in Imperial hands for a camtono of beskar."
It felt so cheap. But it shouldn't have. It belonged to his people. Vizsla had been right. He had no right to wear it.
"The memories you carry with you have given you compassion," said Ahsoka. "You came back for him."
"It was almost too late. My tribe was destroyed because they defended us. If I hadn't left him in the first place, they wouldn't have had to. They died because of me. I did it."
"No," said Ahsoka. "You didn't. It was Imperial forces under a man consumed with ambition and hatred. Your friends made their choice. And you made yours. You saved a life when it was beyond what others expected of you, because that is who you really are."
Din gave a sigh. "I don't know how long I can protect him. They'll never stop hunting us. I have no idea how to raise a kid. I don't understand his powers." He looked up at Ahsoka. His voice stuck in his throat. But he had to ask. "Will you take him?"
Ahsoka gave him a long look, as if searching out an answer in him, or . . . something beyond them both.
"I have seen many things through the Force that he would not yet comprehend," she said. "Not until he has passed through many trials, as I have. He must experience both light and dark, and learn to trust anyway. He will only begin to understand by watching someone struggle between the different parts of their self. Then he will learn to make those choices on his own, to find the way."
"I do not know the Jedi way. And the life of a Mandalorian is too harsh for one so small. We have no home. Someone's always following our trail. We have to fight to survive. It's . . ."
"Lonely," said Ahsoka.
Until now, he hadn't realized that was a problem for him.
"The life of a Jedi is much the same," said Ahsoka. "But even a hard life can be complete. Even a fugitive can find peace."
He didn't know how to do that either. There was a reason he couldn't stay on Sorgan. He had to keep moving, always. That was the life he had chosen.
"Din, you can't change the fate of others," said Ahsoka. "You can't protect them from everything. You can't go back and save the ones you've lost."
A pang, sharp and stark, burrowed into him. Why did she remind him? Again, the old memory flashed through his mind. People he barely knew taken by fear, falling to the heated blasts of battle droids' weapons. No shelter. His parents setting him down, throwing open the shutters, holding him one last time, then lowering him into the darkness. The wrenching image of their faces as they closed the shutters against the light of an overcast sky. They'd known that as long as he was with them, he'd never be safe. The shadows would never stop coming for them. But they'd left him alone.
Two heavy blasts slammed into the shutters.
Din battled past the pain, as he'd done many times. He wanted to stop thinking that way about them, about them leaving him.
"What can I do?" he said. "How . . . do we go on?"
Ahsoka's gaze softened. She knew the weariness, the gaping heartache, not knowing what to do with it. She laid a strong, gentle hand on his shoulder. "Live, Din Djarin."
* * *
Later on, after Din had a chance to recover some, Sabine dropped in, carrying the child in her arms. She had her helmet on, and the hilt of the Darksaber was clipped at her side. So the mando'ade had a new leader. That was good.
"Hey, you're looking better, I guess," she said.
When the child saw Din sitting there on the bed, his eyes lit up, and his mouth opened in a big smile. He squeaked, reaching out until Sabine put him in Din's arms.
Din held him tight, and the little one wrapped his arms around his neck, cooing and burying his little green face into his shoulder. Then looked back up at Din with bright, adoring eyes, cocking his head slightly like he was trying to make sure Din was really there and really okay. Din worried that he could see through the crack in his visor. But a small part of him almost wanted him to.
He tucked that thought away. There were other ways he could try to reassure the little one. But deep down, he knew he wouldn't always be able to protect him. And he got a sense that the child was afraid that he couldn't rescue Din from everything either.
But at the moment, they were safe. Din didn't have to wonder what was happening to the child. He was right here, alert and alive, looking to him for comfort, wanting to be close to him.
"I missed you, kid." Din's voice quavered a little, and his eyes started tearing up again. That, of course, wasn't the only reason for his fuzzy vision. His visor display was still a mess. "I'm . . . sorry I lost you. But I know better what to expect now. I'm going to do everything I can to protect you."
The child lifted his ears. He believed Din.
Sabine was watching, her head cocked slightly, like there was some tender feeling beneath that beskar. "If you ever need help," she said. "You can call on us."
"You've done so much," said Din. "Thank you."
There was a pause, which he hadn't expected from Sabine. Then without a word, she unclipped the Darksaber hilt from her belt and held it out to him.
Din went still.
"This belongs to you," she said.
Din stared at the hilt in her hand, unmoving. How could she say that? Gideon had almost killed him.
"Your friend Cara told me how you would've beaten him if his trooper hadn't broken the code and fired on you."
"Maybe," Din said. "But you won it from him. You're our mand'alor now."
Sabine's grip on the hilt tightened. "No. It wasn't an equal fight. He was already weakened by the time I got to him."
Din found he couldn't say anything. Claiming the Darksaber had been the last thing on his mind when he'd fought. And there was a chance he didn't even have a right to wear the beskar anymore.
"Tell me," he said. "Can you see anything through the crack in my visor?"
"What does that have to do with it?" said Sabine.
She should understand by now. "To show my face is to break my word and my honor," he said. "How could I hold the Darksaber?"
"I can't see you," said Sabine. "These things are built to withstand lightsabers, you know. Look." She lowered her gaze, leveling with him. "You did it for your kid. I know you'd give anything for him. This is the heart of the resol'nare. You are worthy."
Din looked down. "No, it's not mine to claim. I'm no leader. We must wait for Bo-Katan's return."
"We've been waiting for a long time," said Sabine.
"You think she's dead?"
"I don't know," said Sabine.
There was another pause. The child looked up at Din questioningly.
"Will you hold it until she's found?" said Sabine. "I can teach you how to wield it. Could come in handy."
It wasn't easy to pass up the opportunity to learn a new weapon. And this one . . . that vibration, that song. He knew he wouldn't ever be able to forget it.
"You can teach me," he said finally. "And when I hold it, I'll take care of it. But I do not claim it for myself."
Sabine hesitated. Then, "Understood."
She held the hilt out to him again, and he lifted his hand to take it. Even the act of holding it seemed a great responsibility. It had been passed down for a thousand years. It had led the mando'ade into battle, united them, made them strong.
Din was just a simple hunter, and he was rethinking even that because of this child that he wasn't even a real father to. The little one had his own people somewhere. Once he found them, there wasn't much for Din, looking forward. He would have no clan, no one to provide for and protect, no one to raise in the way of the mando'ade. Without the child, he could not live all the resol'nare. So how could he wield this blade?
It was no longer in Gideon's hands, Mandalore could be free now. Din wasn't sure this would really make much difference. Most of the mando'ade were dead.
But Din could feel a pull . . . from the saber hilt, something within it. Probably his imagination. But he couldn't ignore it. There was something he wasn't seeing, something he was missing that needed to be filled.
He took the hilt. It was heavy in his hand, solid. For a minute, he stared at it. Then he looked to Sabine. She was watching, from behind her visor, a slight tension in her posture. It hadn't been easy for her to let go of it. So why had she done it?
Under Din's gaze, she relaxed her shoulders, like it was a conscious effort, "Ready to go?" she said. "Need a hand?"
"Sabine. You saved my life back there. Vor entye."
"Just returning the favor, ner vod. It's the least I can do."
"Thank you for helping me rescue the child. There must be something I can do to repay you."
Sabine tilted her head, thinking. Her casual mannerism seemed off, in light of what had just passed between them, and it didn't come effortlessly like before.
She pointed at him. "Let me paint your armor."
Din hesitated.
"Don't worry," she said, folding her arms. "I'll make it look like you."
What did she mean by that?
Sabine lifted her hand to her faceplate. "Let's see . . . Red might work for the base. Not bright red. Maybe a burgundy. Or blue. Like a dark sky blue or cobalt. What do you think? Are you going for the color meanings or is it just a matter of taste? What color could represent Clan . . ."
He'd told her he had no clan.
"Can I ask what name you go by?" She was serious again. "Or is that against your code?"
Din wasn't sure what was going on under her helmet. She wasn't being upfront with him. Discussing color palettes was a distraction. But she had saved his life. She'd stuck with this mission even though there was nothing in it for her. She'd stood by her fellow mando'ad. And this time, it hadn't cost something terrible, like it had for his tribe.
"It's . . . Djarin," he said. "Clan Djarin, for now." Until he found the ones the child really belonged to.
Sabine gave a nod. "I'll let you think about it, Djarin. When you've chosen, just give me the word."
Din paused, then nodded.
"You ready?" said Sabine. "They're waiting for us."
Din found that he could stand, but he had to lean on Sabine a little because the regenerated tissue in his leg wasn't with the program yet. She led him out to the hangar. Ahsoka had arranged for transport back to the moon where the Razor Crest still waited, hopefully.
Cara and Greef were already inside the ship when they got to it. It was a Crix-class assault shuttle with shell-like hulls that made Din feel like he was walking into a giant oyster.
"Mando, you're back!" said Greef, reaching out to shake his hand.
Din accepted, giving him a nod, and glanced at Cara.
"Are you two okay?" he said.
Cara gave him a smile, a real one that came after relief from a lot of worry and stress. "Doing fine."
"It could've ended much worse," said Greef. "We were lucky. Now Moff Gideon will be brought to justice." He chuckled. "And how's the little one? Remember me?" He gave the child a little poke on the nose.
The child cooed happily, his eyes bright.
Sabine tapped Din on the shoulder. "Time to settle in. We've got places to go."
Cara looked up, and gave Sabine a grateful nod. Maybe she'd seen her stepping in for Din at the last minute. Sabine returned the gesture, and headed toward the cockpit where Ahsoka waited.
Din found a seat and strapped himself and the child in as the engines started powering up.
"So what happened on Navarro?" said Din.
"Well, you know Gideon," said Greef. "He doesn't like to be crossed. And when he discovered you'd left the planet with the kid, well, we got the brunt of his fury."
"I'm . . . sorry about that," said Din.
"He's finally on his way to be properly tried," said Cara. "They might be able to get some information out of him, too. It could help the Republic target other Imperial remnants, and it could help to free your homeworld."
She gave him a smile, but there was something sad about it. Din understood. She had no homeworld to free.
"How's the enforcer job going?" he said, hoping to get her mind on something else.
She shrugged slightly. "It feels different being on the other end of the stick. I have to admit, I was nervous one of those Republic officers would recognize me and bring me in."
"Not a chance," said Greef. "Your code is clear."
"With the Guild," said Cara. "Not Republic enforcers."
Greef turned to Din. "She's done very well. Her history is a point in her favor. She knows how these criminals work."
Cara gave Greef a sideways look, which he didn't notice. But she didn't say anything.
The shuttle lifted from the hangar and began its voyage through space, leaving behind the cruiser and the broken, molten world of Lola Sayu. Once they'd made the jump to hyperspace, Ahsoka joined the passengers in the hold to get a little rest. The child had dozed off in Din's arms, content to be safe with his buir. But Din decided this would be a good time to get something done.
"Will one of you watch the kid while I do some repairs on my visor?"
"Let's go to the cockpit," said Ahsoka. "Give you some privacy here."
She reached out, and the child stirred as Din handed him over.
"Thank you," he said.
Greef started chatting again as he followed Ahsoka into the cockpit, noting the advantageous features of the ship. Cara was last to go. She paused, and the blast door closed, leaving just her and Din. She stood there silently, clasping her gauntleted hands, trying to meet his gaze, but also . . . afraid to.
Din wasn't sure what was going on. So he waited for her to say something.
She unclasped her hands and let them fall to her sides. "I'm sorry," she said. "I couldn't help you back there." She swallowed, and to Din's surprise, a couple of tears formed in her eyes.
That took him aback. "You had your hands full," he said gently. "You okay?"
Cara nodded. "Got shot in the shoulder. They pinned me down. I couldn't get to you."
"It's okay," said Din. "We're alright now. You're alright, aren't you?"
"I'm fine. Bacta." She kept looking at him, like she was searching, trying to figure out what he was really thinking.
"I'm the one that got us all in this mess," he said. "You were safer on Sorgan."
"I jumped right in," said Cara. "And I don't regret it." She looked down, fidgeting a little. "I shouldn't have let you and the kid go off alone."
"I could've handled bounty hunters," said Din. "Those sorcerers were another story."
Cara gave him a dark look. "Sorcerers? Not Jedi . . ."
"Inquisitors."
There was a hint of fear in Cara's eyes. "They came after you?"
"You know something about them?"
"We'd heard rumors," said Cara. "But I didn't know what people meant by them being Force wielders. Sounded superstitious to me, until now."
Din felt a chill. "What did they do to you?"
"Gideon threatened to summon them, get information out of us," said Cara. "Your arrival interrupted him."
Din remembered the blood and bruising on her and Greef's faces when he'd found them captive. He could feel that heat rising again in his chest. "What did Gideon do to you?"
Cara's eyes hardened. "He started with the usual. I've been trained to cope with that. I don't know what he would have had the inquisitors do."
"What information did he want?" said Din, voice edged.
"New Republic forces, supply chains, tactics," said Cara. "He didn't get anything from me. Nothing up to date, anyway."
"He didn't question you about the child?"
"He said he already knew what he needed."
"So why was Greef beat up?"
"Intimidation," said Cara. "To get me to talk, to get you to buckle when you saw us."
Din drew in a slow breath. "The hut'tuun."
"What's that?" said Cara.
"A coward. Can't face his enemy warrior to warrior and leave others out of it. I'm sorry for what he did to you, and Greef."
"It's not your fault," said Cara. "It's why we fight."
He nodded slowly.
"Din," she said.
He looked up.
"Can I call you that?"
"You already know it," he said. "But just . . . when others aren't around."
She paused. "I wanted to go with you and the kid."
It was back to this again. Din wasn't sure where she was going with it, and why she'd purposefully waited for a chance to talk to him one-on-one. But it sparked the smallest warmth in him, something he didn't know he'd hoped for. When he'd left Navarro with the kid, he'd tried to reconcile himself to her staying by convincing himself she was safe there. But he'd been wrong.
Cara looked down, clasping her hands again, fidgeting a little. "I couldn't do it," she said. "Not because I don't care. I do. But . . . attachments aren't really my thing."
Din made no answer. He wasn't sure how to process all this, and he found his heart sinking a little.
"I've lost so many comrades," said Cara. "The war, Alderaan . . . And then when I thought we'd lose you . . ." Her voice was beginning to crack, but she held it together. "Anytime you fight alongside someone for awhile --"
"It just makes it harder."
She nodded, swallowing.
"I understand," said Din.
"You've lost a lot of people too."
"Well . . . not a whole planet. I . . . can't imagine that."
She tightened her jaw, not saying anything.
"Sorry for getting you into a mess," said Din. He realized this was at least the second time apologizing for this. Usually he only felt the need to say something once.
"Hey," said Cara. "You've been a good friend."
"You too, Cara," he said quietly.
She held his gaze for a minute, and there was a lot of pain behind her eyes. Din wanted to do something about it, but he had no idea what.
"I guess I'll let you get on with those repairs," Cara said.
Din watched her turn and go, something warm and sad welling inside him. He didn't entirely understand what had just gone on between them, but it had passed. The warmth was gone suddenly, leaving Din empty.
He knew Cara felt that way too. Hollow, cold, until all the grief came to the surface again. Surviving hadn't been easy for either of them. But something, like a voice far away, told him it mattered that they did.
* * *
"One. Two. Three. Four."
The Darksaber and its white counterpart hummed, then crackled as they made contact. Din was still sore and stiff, but it felt good to move, the vibration of the Darksaber in his hands somehow gave him strength.
"Five. Six. . . . Kandosii!" Sabine lifted the white saber before her face in a salute. "You're getting the hang of this."
Din returned the gesture, then lowered the Darksaber, only a little. He'd learned to watch for surprises from Sabine. They'd gone out on a rise a little way from the hangars to practice while the ship fueled. Din hadn't expected her to graduate him to using the actual saber so soon. They'd only been traveling a couple days since Lolay Sayu. They were nearly back to Navarro, where they would return Greef, and maybe Cara. She hadn't decided yet. Ahsoka would stick around for awhile to give the child some training in the ways of the Force, while Sabine trained Din with the Darksaber. They weren't yet sure what to do with it beyond that.
Overhead, a convor wheeled, as if keeping watch over its nest from above. Din couldn't imagine why it would've built one in a noisy spot like a shipyard. But right now, the place seemed calm.
"Do you feel it?" said Sabine.
Din looked at the beskar hilt in his hand, the source of the powerful dark blade, edged with crackling white. The hum of the saber's kyber crystal seemed to have regained its harmony after they'd freed it from Gideon. It sang to him an ancient chant of leading warriors into battle, of unity and honor. It belonged in the hands of a Mandalorian.
"Yeah," he said. "I can feel it."
And there was an even older song, beneath the centuries of warfare, more subtle, yet just as strong. This blade belonged to a protector, a defender.
"I remember the first time I picked it up," said Sabine. "I was scared, to be honest. I didn't want the responsibility that came with it. But really, it belongs to all of us. We stand behind the mand'alor who leads us, and the mand'alor earns our trust."
A ship was coming in low from the west. Din watched it for a minute, and as its shape resolved, he sensed something familiar about it.
"A Kom'rk-class fighter," he said, pointing. "Haven't seen one of those in a long time."
"So . . . were you ever on Mandalore?"
"Only for a short time. My buir fought during the siege."
The ship passed over them, a dark arrow shape against the sun. Its engines made the ground shake and stirred up a swirl of dust around them.
"Ahsoka was there too, you know," said Sabine, once it had passed.
"Was she?"
Sabine nodded. "She came to help liberate us. My mother told me about it."
Behind them, the ship rotated its wings to a vertical position as it landed, and its powerful engines rumbled, powering down.
"And then the Empire stepped in," said Din. "I think everyone was too occupied with that to get around to telling me much."
He turned and watched as the ship's pilot stepped out. She wore a set of blue and slate Mandalorian armor, with an owl-eye visor for her helmet. She looked up, right at Din and Sabine. When a mechanic approached her, she waved him away and made straight for the rise. Din caught his breath. He recognized her.
"Sparrow, su cuy'gar!"
She was alive. She'd survived the massacre on their tribe.
When she reached the top of the rise, she halted. "Ner vod." She knelt on one knee before Din. "Ner mand'alor."
He wasn't prepared for that.
His gaze fell to the saber in his hand. "Wait. I didn't win this." He nodded toward Sabine. "She did."
Sparrow looked up.
"It took both of us to reclaim it," said Sabine. "We're waiting for Bo-Katan."
"So, Moff Gideon is dead, then," said Sparrow.
"Defeated. The Republic took him into their custody," said Din.
Sparrow rose to her feet. "I'm not sure that will be enough."
"Maybe not," said Sabine. "And there are more out there like him."
"So then we cannot wait," said Sparrow.
"My mother, Ursa Wren, is leading a search for Bo-Katan," said Sabine.
Sparrow pointed. "Well, one of you needs to lead in the meantime. Din, you know that hiding didn't work so well for us."
"How many survived?" he said.
"Not quite a dozen, from what I can tell. Some of us made it back to Mandalore."
"Past the blockade?" said Sabine.
Sparrow nodded.
"And the foundlings?" said Din.
"Only a few," said Sparrow. "I'm sorry."
Din's heart sank. "No. I'm sorry."
"You were always generous toward them."
"There is . . . another," said Din. "A foundling. Unless I can find his people, he belongs to us."
Sparrow followed his gaze down below to the shipyard. "The one you rescued."
"Yes. I owe you all a great debt."
Greef was just getting back to the hangar, with some large containers of food in tow. Ahsoka stepped out of the Razor Crest, the child in her arms. Cara followed, and Greef began displaying the rarities he'd acquired. It was fitting that part of the bounty for the child was now feeding him. Din could just hear his little coos of anticipation rising up to the hill. Cara pinched the little one's ear affectionately, and he laughed.
Sabine deactivated her saber and gave Din a look, head cocked to one side. "I think he's already found his people, Din."
The End
Upcoming sequel: Homeworld