Chapter Text
Ferocious winds howled outside as the Tatooine sandstorm brought down its full might against the small ship they were hunkered down in just outside of Mos Pelgo.
Somehow, Cara Dune managed to get ahold of an impounded Zeta-class Imperial shuttle, The Dream, that had been seized by the recently established stronghold of New Republic authorities on Nevarro. Apparently, the spice runners who had salvaged the ship after the fall of the Empire hadn’t quite grasped the meaning of the word ‘inconspicuous’ and failed to recognize the massive renovation of the planet’s economic morals under its new leadership. Their less than creative name for the ship certainly didn’t help matters. According to a smirking Cara, the runners learned their wares weren’t welcome on Nevarro the hard way. Now cleared of its illegal cargo and ‘borrowed’ from the New Republic impound, it faced a form of hell straight out of a spice dream.
Sheets of unrelenting sand whipped against the outer hull and Din was almost certain he could hear each single grain striking the metal, the storm itself hounding them like some chaotic, sentient monster hell bent on reaching the occupants within. He wasn’t prone to claustrophobia- rather, he couldn’t afford to be- but the thought of their shuttle being buried under feet of sand, doors sealed shut under the sheer weight of the new dunes formed over them…it was almost enough for him to want to tear off his helmet and gasp in deep lungfulls of air like it was on the verge of running out. But he couldn’t. Not with all these people around.
The Dream was anything but. It felt like a nightmare. The shallow block shape and wide cargo bay was much like a tomb, compounded by the fact that they were being buried even further within it as every second passed. There was nothing but darkness beyond the front windows in the cockpit and it was impossible to say whether it was the night sky or a wave of sand from the storm. It helped if he just didn’t look at it.
Fett’s Firespray was back at Peli’s hangar in Mos Eisley. The ex-bounty hunter regrettably informed their small crew that his ship would be far too recognizable by any Imperial affiliates, so they were forced to leave it behind. The plan had been to fly to Mos Espa for one of his weapons stashes, but the sandstorm grounded them before they made it halfway.
As far as bad omens went, that could have been a sign.
Din was certain he was overreacting. The engines on the ship were good, if it managed to get them through lightspeed from Nevarro to Tatooine then it would be able to shake off a bit of sand. Still, the stark unfamiliarity was suffocating on its own.
Din Djarin did not have much experience with constants. Homes changed so much over the years, people came and went, and he never stayed on one planet for long, always on the move, running or hunting. He didn’t have the luxury of getting used to anything, other than the constant presence of his armour on his body, the helmet on his head, and the weapons strapped close.
But he’d gotten used to the Razor Crest. That old ship was as much of a project as it was a home, and it wasn’t until it was reduced to ash and rubble that Din realized that was what he considered it. Home. It had been with him through so much, becoming one of those scarce few constants he had in his life. No matter what shape it was in, it was always there to return to. And now it was gone.
And so was the kid.
A lance of guilt and worry cut through him like a vibroblade to the chest and Din squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find something else to focus on even as his fingers betrayed him and sought out the small metal ball stowed safely in his pocket. He needed his head to be clear on this mission if they were going to have a womp rat’s chance of succeeding.
What better distraction than the raging storm outside.
“Even without the krayt dragon underneath, sometimes you just think the sand on Tatooine is alive,” Cobb Vanth had said earlier with one of his crooked smiles directed at the Mandalorian, eyes glimmering in the low light of the ship. “Kids used to make up all kinds of stories about it. Made you afraid to step outside even on a fair day.”
But Din seriously doubted such tales ever struck fear in the marshal. He was a man unafraid of anything.
Otherwise, why would he have agreed to come? It was the same words that spurred Cara which had Cobb ready to drop everything and follow.
They have the kid.
Din knew it wasn’t a mistake to bring him along. He was amazed at how quickly Cobb was able to fit in on the first day, installing himself permanently on Cara’s good side. Fennec took some warming to as he’d apparently heard rumors of her deeds working for the crime families in Mos Eisley, but after a round of shooting targets in Peli’s hangar they seemed to get along just fine.
Then, of course, there was Boba Fett. Dressed in the armour that Cobb had bought from the jawas, armour that saved his life- his town. Armour that he’d worn for years. Din hadn’t given any thought of how Cobb would react up until the moment the two met when Fett stepped out of The Dream to retrieve the repaired jetpack from Peli, helmet tucked protectively under his arm.
Din expected a fight. Angry words at least.
But Boba and Cobb just stood there assessing each other for a few moments, both becoming familiar with the concrete form of a man they’d only known in thoughts. Cobb only knew Boba as the armour’s previous owner, and Boba simply knew Cobb as the man it had ended up with. And now here they were.
It was Cobb, surprisingly, that moved first, stepping forward to tap a knuckle against the breastplate and chuckling as he stepped back, his expression easy and light.
“Well I definitely know this belongs to you. Ain’t ever fit me right like that.” Cobb had grinned in his usual friendly way. “Our friend here told you I wasn’t the one who broke the jet pack, right?”
Boba had smiled and shook his hand.
And just like that, they were fine.
Din climbed down from the cockpit and let out a ragged sigh, pressing a gloved hand against the nearest wall to steady himself and feeling the insistent vibrations of the storm outside beneath his fingers. If only socialization was their biggest problem.
“You good there, partner?” Cobb asked from where he was sitting atop several crates of black market munitions- courtesy of another New Republic siege, legs stretched out comfortably as he used a knife to peel away at the skin of a jogan fruit. Despite his casual appearance, there was a note of concern in his voice that spoke of his underlying tension and those keen hazel eyes of his turned gentle as they fixed on the Mandalorian.
Cobb Vanth was gloriously golden under the Tatooine suns, tanned skin and the imperceptible streaks of once sand colored hair catching the light handsomely like a dune sea mirage. The flecks of gold and rich brown in his eyes turned aflame in the binary sunset, an image Din had only seen twice now and knew he’d never forget.
But here, in the dim white interior lights of the cargo shuttle, Cobb was brilliantly silver. The pale light illuminated the white and silver of his hair and drew out the slight ring of blue in his irises. His red shirt was bound to attract too much attention where they were headed, and Cara told him as much when they picked him up, seizing Din’s satchel that he’d left stashed on Nevarro- the only belongings he had to his name that weren’t already on his body- and shoving the other marshal toward the fresher to change. He emerged in what he was wearing now, a pair black pants that once fit Din years ago but seemed perfectly tailored to the marshal’s lanky form, and a loose, deep blue shirt with two durasteel vambraces locked over his forearms. He was the very picture of night, glowing like a moon and stars, draped in cuts of cloth from the sky itself.
When did Din start noticing these things?
His breath caught in his throat for the briefest of moments and he forced a nod, looking away from the marshal while he still could.
“Yeah,” Din said hoarsely, voice far too strained for his liking. “I’m fine.”
“Better not be losing your head over there, Mando,” Mayfeld called out snidely from his own seat on the other side of the shuttle, using another crate as a bench as he awkwardly fiddled with his transmission equipment with his cuffed hands.
“Hey, how ‘bout you shut that mouth of yours before I come over there and do it for you,” Cobb warned, pausing from peeling the jogan fruit to level the knife in Mayfeld’s direction. The convict let out a low whistle, but said nothing further. The grin Cobb cast Din’s way set something warm alight in his chest and he found himself returning the smile beneath his helmet, feeling foolish that it couldn’t be seen.
Turning away, Din focused on observing Mayfeld work as he tried to intercept any messages travelling on nearby Imperial channels. His reddish beard was flecked with grey now, his round face bearing more weathering and harder lines that it had when Din left him locked up in the New Republic prison facility all that time ago.
The prison labor fields had changed him into something rougher. Whether that was good or bad for their cause was something yet to be determined, but Din was keeping a watch on every beady eyed look thrown his way. As was Cara. Mayfeld was high on the list of their potential liabilities. Din had no reason to suspect the retired Imperial sharpshooter had any lingering allegiance to the Empire itself, but he also knew that Migs Mayfeld wasn’t on anyone’s side but his own. That could become an issue.
At least Fennec Shand wouldn’t be a problem. She’d proven surprisingly helpful as they stocked the ship in Mos Eisley, going off to gather rations and weapons from some ‘old friends’ while also taking Mayfeld to pick up his own stash of old Imperial radio equipment. Din half expected her to make a break for it and let Mayfeld loose, but the odd ex-bounty hunter in battered Mandalorian armour didn’t seem the least bit concerned as his partner headed off to the city without him. Fennec had returned within the hour on a loaned speeder stocked with supplies, and a small tin of what looked like an expensive version of bacta balm in hand. The silver container of salve was no bigger than two Calamari flan stacked together and looked like something straight off Corellia or Coruscant, not the rugged street market of Mos Eisley. Din found himself wondering more about why she’d gotten it than how, but it was quickly answered as she moved past him toward the shade of the ship where Boba Fett was resting and gently tapped him on the shoulder, pressing the tin into his hand. Din was far enough away that he couldn’t hear their conversation without activating his helmet, so he simply observed the strange transaction, Fennec gesturing to Fett’s scarred head, then the tin, and a gentle smile worked its way across the older man’s weathered features as he nodded his thanks.
Fett had described his ordeal with the sarlacc only briefly while making conversation on the trip to Tatooine after springing Mayfeld. Until then, Din hadn’t even considered what kind of pain he must still be in from the experience, his face and body visibly scarred from teeth and acid. The experience with the krayt dragon’s bile taught Din a harsh lesson on the brutality of Tatooine monsters’ gastrointestinal fluids, leaving what scarce bits of skin it reached under his armour raw and scratchy for weeks after. He couldn’t even imagine what being trapped inside a sarlacc for so long would be like.
No one lived to tell.
Except Boba Fett.
The salve was for his wounds. And judging by Boba’s reaction, he hadn’t asked Fennec to get it. That wasn’t the action of someone bound under a debt. That was the kindness of a friend. It was proof enough that the former crime family assassin had changed for the better. Din wasn’t one for optimism, but that notion gave him at least a small fraction of hope.
The strange pair were sitting together in a corner cleaning their weapons, engrossed in silent conversation. It didn’t seem to be anything conspiratorial, and if Din had to guess, Boba was likely telling Fennec a story. One of his many adventures, perhaps.
He could imagine Greef Karga sitting with them and spinning a tale of his own, albeit one much taller and less honest than whatever Boba was regaling his friend with. The magistrate elected to remain behind and keep an eye on Nevarro in Cara’s absence which was probably for the best. Still, it would have been nice to have one more person he could trust.
This was their crew. Two Mandalorian bounty hunters, a marshal who had never set foot off Tatooine, a trained assassin, a former rebel shock trooper, and an ex-Imperial sharpshooter turned escaped convict with a converted Imperial cargo ship spice freighter. Bound by varying levels of allegiance.
Still, it was the best hope Din had of rescuing the kid from Moff Gideon.
No, it was his only hope.
“All right,” Mayfeld held his cuffed hands out eagerly as Cara moved to unlock them, the blue lights dimming as they were disengaged from his wrists. He moved to stand, but Cara shoved him back down roughly and he got the message, holding his hands up innocently as she placed a holo on the floor in front of him. “Kriff, lady! Wanna remind me why the hell I’m doing this again?”
“To get your charges dropped with the New Republic authorities.” Cara snapped, the words no doubt bitter in her mouth. It was a hard discussion to have with her, but Din knew it was the only thing they had to offer him in exchange for Mayfeld’s cooperation. Credits were scarce and his physical freedom was a few blaster shots away. Freedom from going back on the wanted registry and from being hunted for the next few decades was the best and only thing they had. “You help us find Moff Gideon, and no more looking over your shoulder until the next time you screw something up.”
“Oh, and you can get me that, can you?” Mayfeld’s tone was as sneering and doubtful as it was the first time they explained the deal, but a brightness in his eyes betrayed his interest. He could wriggle all he liked, but he was a fish on the hook all the same.
Din turned to look at Cobb, catching the mildly disgusted look he was giving Mayfeld as the convict massaged his wrists and flexed his hands, enjoying his newfound freedom. The marshal finished the last of his fruit and stowed his knife away, rising to his feet and crossing his arms as he came to stand by Din.
“Someone want to explain to me again why we need an Imp helping us out?” Cobb frowned dubiously, looking at the faces around him. “From what you’ve told me, I trust this man about as far as I can throw him.”
Mayfeld’s eyebrows rose and he shot to his feet before Cara could push him down again. “Oh, you want to throw down, hot shot? Come on, pretty boy, let’s have it!”
Cobb’s grin was all teeth and no warmth, and Din felt a shock travel down his spine. The marshal cracked his knuckles and adjusted his stance, banging the vambraces on his arms together and sending a sharp, metallic clang throughout the small craft. There was a practiced coolness in his drawling tone, sinking lower until the words were a smooth rumble. “Right here?”
“Right now,” Mayfeld agreed, snarling and lunging.
Fennec and Boba had their blasters trained on him in milliseconds, but Cara and Din both surged into action first, the marshal shouting something as she seized Mayfeld around the middle and threw him bodily into the wall, letting him crumple to the floor with a groan.
Din was not so brutal, simply placing a firm hand on Cobb’s chest and pushing him back toward the opposite side of the ship, meeting his gaze firmly through the visor. He ignored the warmth of Cobb’s body that he could feel even through the shirt and gloves, ignored the steady thrumming of the other man’s heartbeat as his own roared past his ears, ignored the crystalline shine of his eyes in the light, and stilled him with that unseen look.
For a brief moment, Din worried that Cobb might choose to throw him aside and go after Mayfeld, and he couldn’t say he would have blamed him. But, after a few moments, Cobb just let out a soft breath, finally giving in. The tension visibly leached from his wiry body and Cobb settled against Din’s hand, meeting his eyes- or at least looking at where he assumed they were beneath the helmet- and giving him a small nod.
They were good.
Din sighed, relieved that at least they had whatever level of trust it was that allowed him to calm the marshal from the fight. The last thing they needed was their crew falling apart before they even got off the planet.
“Enough!” Cara shouted, sweeping her hands out to keep both men separated as Mayfeld got back to his feet, now eyeing her cautiously as he slowly moved beyond her reach in case she decided to grab him again. “The next person who acts up gets thrown out into the sandstorm to be dug up in the morning, got it?”
Mayfeld swallowed nervously, swiping his tongue over his lips as he continued to massage his wrists. “Got it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cobb nodded politely at Cara and Din noticed the small pleased smile that snuck onto her face.
Maker above, Cobb knew exactly what he was doing. Din could have laughed, but it didn’t come that easily. Not for a while.
“Good,” Cara sounded satisfied, and she nudged the holo with her foot, activating the projection. A blue beam of light flickered from the small puck in the center of the floor and Boba and Fennec made their way over, recognizing something was happening. “Mayfeld, show us what you’ve got.”
The holo took the form of a ship, suspended in the air as the small group gathered around. Din couldn’t help but feel a curl of disgust coil in his stomach as he recognized the flickering image before him.
Moff Gideon’s cruiser.
It was something he couldn’t forget, seeing it concealed in the clouds above Tython and helpless to do anything as it destroyed the Crest and took his child in a matter of moments. That ship and the man who ran it took everything from him. It was impossible not to hate even the sight of it.
“Right,” Mayfeld clapped his hands together, getting down to business like it was just any one of his old heists. “Well, what you’ve got here is your standard Arquitens-class light cruiser. Imperial officers used these as escort ships to support larger vessels, but they also work as light warships. They’re small, but they can pack a punch.” His hand passed through the holo as he pointed out the protruding engines at the back. “Three engines at the back, two forward spars, and up here’s the bridge.”
Looking at it now on the holo, it seemed bigger than it actually was, but Mayfeld was right- it was actually rather small. The ship was triangular and almost narrow in build, much like a spearhead. Three large engines rested at the back and Din could make out the small T-shaped structure of the bridge just ahead of them on the main hull of the ship, just as Mayfeld indicated.
“Now, I don’t gotta tell you this thing’s got guns,” Mayfeld said, giving a pointed look at Din as he continued gesturing to the holo. “There’s a reason they built a navy out of these. The ventral laser cannon down here’s what took out that hunk of junk you called a ship-”
“Easy,” Din cautioned in a low voice, hand tightened around his blaster, and Mayfeld checked himself.
“Fine, beautiful ship, darling of the Outer Rim sky, whatever,” Mayfeld shrugged dismissively. “Point is it’s gone. Don’t let the Arquitens’ size fool you, that’s all I’m saying. It’s got turbolasers, missiles, and between the shields and medium range sensors there’s no way Moff isn’t going to see us coming. They’ll blast this spice freighter out of the sky before we can even dream about docking.” He tapped the wall of the shuttle for emphasis.
“We could jet up,” Boba suggested, looking to Din. “I saw where those droid troopers went in when I followed them up to the ship. There are two entry bays on either side on the inferior of the underbelly. Easy enough to use our jetpacks and fly up just like they did.”
Din shook his head. It was a good plan, but it wouldn’t work with their crew. “This mission is going to need more than just the two of us.”
“We can carry the others,” Boba looked around as he spoke and immediately Fennec held her hands up, smiling almost nervously.
“No, I’m not doing that again. Not after that fiasco in Mos Espa.”
“I caught you,” Boba sounded almost comically defensive, eyes widening slightly.
“After you dropped me.” Fennec persisted.
Cobb raised his hand slightly, glancing over at Din. “Not that I don’t trust you, friend, but I would like not to be dropped before we get your kid back, if it’s all the same to you.”
Din allowed himself a soft chuckle, so quiet that even he couldn’t hear it.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Mayfeld held his hands up in a time-out signal. “Go back to the part about the droid troopers. Nobody said anything about droid troopers. What did you see?”
Boba gave a brief description of the large, black metal droids that had snatched the child and Din watched as confusion, then steady realization dawned across the former sharpshooter’s face.
“Wow,” Mayfeld raised his eyebrows and ran a hand over his bald head, looking around at the group. “You really are going on a suicide mission. You have no clue what you’re going up against.”
Cara grit her teeth impatiently. “Care to enlighten us?”
“Well,” Mayfeld blew out a breath, leaning back against the wall. “It sounds to me like Gideon made himself some dark troopers.”
There was a beat of silence as Cara Dune visibly blanched. In all their time together, that was the second time Din had seen her as rattled at this. Whatever those things were, she knew about them.
“Those were all destroyed.” she said steadily, but it sounded like she was just trying to convince herself. “How does Gideon even have the resources to do that?”
Mayfeld spread his hands. “Hey, lady, I just call it like I see it.”
“Dank farrik,” Cara cursed under her breath, looking away.
Din had about ten different questions on what that was supposed to mean, but judging by Cara’s expression it wasn’t the time to push it.
“Where are we headed?” Fennec cut in almost impatiently, absently spinning a vibroblade she plucked from her belt. “I could do without any more surprises.”
Mayfeld picked up one of his tablets, skimming through the contents. “I managed to patch into an old encrypted Imperial channel somewhere nearby- this equipment is pretty good at reaching messages that aren’t more than a few sectors away- and it looks like there was a message received by a Dr…Pershing on Kamino, somewhere in the city of Tipoca. I imagine that’s where we’ll be headed.”
“Kamino?” Boba Fett’s voice was rough when he spoke, and as Din glanced toward him he could see the last flickers of emotion quickly swept away. The waver in his tone was something hard to miss.
“That’s where the Republic got their clones, isn’t it?” Cara frowned at him, arching a dark eyebrow curiously. “You know it?”
“I-” Boba swallowed, adjusting his hold on his helmet as he kept it close to his side like he was reassuring itself of its presence. “It’s my homeworld. I’ve not been back in many years.”
There was clearly a story there, but not one they could entertain at the moment. Cara simply nodded, grabbing the tablet from Mayfeld and projecting a holo of the planet where the cruiser had once been.
Cobb whistled gently, eyes wide as he assessed the image in front of him. There was a level of wonder in his face that Din never expected to see on him, gaze adhered to the shimmering blue planet. “That’s more water than I’ve seen in my entire life. I never knew that much existed in the whole entire galaxy.”
Din almost smiled in spite of himself. It was easy to forget that someone like the marshal had never set foot off his home planet. His amazed expression was worth more than a hundred camtonos of silicax crystals and Din was almost afraid to see it dim, but it remained a bit longer.
“There’s much more to the universe than the dune seas of Tatooine,” Boba said sagely, a gentleness to his words as Cobb’s awe spread infectiously. Fennec looked like she wanted to stifle a laugh and Cobb shook himself out of his daze, casting an impressed look in Din’s direction before turning his attention back to the holo.
“Mando, you’ve been real quiet,” Cara looked Din over with a critical gaze as if there were some outward deformity that betrayed his frayed internal state. “I may talk big, but this is your mission. How do we do this?”
He sighed, looking over the holo. There was a distinct sensation of hopelessness that was beginning to creep up his spine, attempting to wriggle its way under his armour and helmet. The stakes had never been higher than they were now. It wasn’t like sneaking onto a base and blowing a reactor, and it wasn’t like trailing a bounty to the nearest backwater skughole. One mishap and the kid- Grogu- could be taken from him for good.
He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to the child then. There was only one reason they were fetching Dr. Pershing from Kamino. Din remembered the large hypodermic needle extending from the medical droid he shot down as he rescued Grogu from the Imperial safehouse on Nevarro all that time ago. It wasn’t until they crashed the lab and came across the ‘gram from Pershing that he discovered what its intention was.
They wanted the child’s blood. For what purpose, Din didn’t care to guess.
Dr. Pershing seemed sympathetic toward Grogu, at least. His fearful words rang out in Din’s head as the memory flashed across his mind, the doctor curled in the corner of the makeshift laboratory, afraid for his life, but defending the child all the same.
“Please don’t hurt him! It’s just a child!”
He’d thought Din came there to kill the kid. Even with a blaster in his face he begged for the Mandalorian to spare the weakened infant. What was a man like that doing working with Moff Gideon?
“I protected him!” Pershing insisted fearfully. “If it wasn’t for me he would already be dead! Please, please-”
They meant for him to kill the child and drain all of his precious lifeblood in one go. It was only due to his efforts that the child was alive for Din to rescue back then. But still, a question remained. Would Dr. Pershing do the same now? Would he continue to protect him?
But how could he protect the child against his own cruel experimentation?
Din shook his head imperceptibly. He didn’t trust any help to come from him.
They had to get this right.
An unfamiliar knot of dread curled in his gut like a Rodian eel, but he forced it down, drawing his shoulders back as he crossed his arms, speaking to all of them, but looking at Cobb- not that anyone could tell.
“I see this going one of two ways” he said evenly, trying to think. “The ship is small enough to where it could land above the water outside of the city, but they might also wait in the air and send a transport down to grab him. There’s no way we’ll be able to take this ship close enough to the ship to board without them noticing, so our best bet is sneaking aboard whatever transport they use to get Pershing.”
“It’ll depend on the weather,” Boba interjected, stepping forward. “Storms can get bad on Kamino. Sometimes they won’t risk transport ships for fear of lightning downing it into the water. A cruiser Gideon’s size would have no trouble hovering above the waves, so it’s possible they’d risk a small transport to run the short distance from the city across the water. With the city so close, we’d have a better chance of escape once we rescue the child.”
“There’ll be escorts for the Doc,” Mayfeld added, taking his tablet back from Cara with an irritable glance. “Imperial scientists are few and far between nowadays, and they’ll likely be expecting us. We should disable the guards and hijack the transport. Easy enough.”
“We?” Din turned to face him.
Mayfeld shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a team player.”
Din didn’t dare let the fledgling flicker of optimism grow any further for fear of it consuming him. Their plan was somewhat simplistic, but he’d heard worse. They had much more going for them than he’d hoped. With Mayfeld’s experience as an Imperial soldier and Boba’s familiarity with the planet, there was little in the way of logistics that could get past them. Fennec seemed silently enthusiastic while Cara nodded lightly, eyes gleaming
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not a huge fan of crashing Gideon’s party with a ship named after a spice dream ,” Cara smirked, looking around the shuttle like she could still remember all the camtonos of illegal spice that filled the cargo hold. “Anyone got any suggestions?”
“You should name it, partner.” Cobb touched Din’s shoulder lightly, resting his hand over the pauldron as he looked over at the Mandalorian. “It just seems right.”
‘After what happened to the Razor Crest’ was unspoken.
Cara shrugged. “Fine by me. Mando, you want to do the honors?”
That took him by surprise. He looked around as if in search of guidance, but there was none forthcoming. Din almost sighed before his attention was captured once again by the weight on Cobb’s hand on his shoulder that was increasingly difficult to ignore the longer it stayed there. When was the last time someone had done something like that? When was the last time anyone but Grogu even touched the beskar without him trying to snap their wrist in two?
“Marshal,” Din said after a pause, only half aware that he’d spoken aloud. He cleared his throat and looked at Cara. “Marshal Three.”
Mayfeld snorted. “Right, because that’s somehow less conspicuous.”
“Does he have an off switch?” Fennec twirled one of her vibroblades menacingly and Mayfeld held his hand up in mock surrender.
Cobb and Cara both seemed pleased by the ship’s new moniker, and Din felt his face warm beneath the helmet the longer he looked at Cobb’s brilliant smile, softened by the artificial lights of the ship, but radiant all the same.
“Well, we’d better get some rest while we can,” Fennec suggested, striding over to ladder and climbing up to the cockpit. Judging from the following sounds, it seemed like she was throwing herself down in one of the seats and stretching her legs out over the control panel. “We’re not going anywhere until the storm clears and the suns rise. Might as well get comfortable."
There were no arguments there.
“I’d rather not sleep in shackles if it’s all the same to you,” Mayfeld eyed the restraints warily.
Cara looked to Din, and after a moment he found himself inclining his head forward by the barest degree of a nod. She huffed and settled down on the opposite side of the ship, glaring at Mayfeld. “Fine.”
Surprisingly, it was Boba who stepped up in front of Mayfeld, standing just mere inches from his face as he stared him down, his words barely above a growl.
“If you try and slit anyone’s throats or make a break for it while we sleep, I will get you, and I will torture you so slowly you’ll be begging me to throw you to a sarlacc. Is that understood?”
Mayfeld’s throat bobbed nervously as he swallowed. “Yes.”
Cobb grinned at Din, making himself comfortable against the nearest wall. “This is gonna be great.”