As undercover jobs went, this one was shaping up to be no fun at all. Din stayed on the verge of growling out loud from the time he woke up and discovered a message stuck on the outside of the tinted window that informed him what time he was supposed to show up at Voontu's fortress for work, and then well into the evening. At least Dyrric was somehow managing to keep the kid under wraps. It would be a whole new world of disaster if the foundling managed to waddle his weird little butt up to the place. Din had three potential contingency plans in mind if that happened, but all of them rounded up to 'shoot a lot, grab the kid, run,' and then the details kind of tapered off from there. Since his ship still had no fuel, escape wasn't endgame.
Then there were the consequences to the village to worry about.
So it wasn't so much a set of contingency plans as it was just some stuff to keep his mind busy while the Rodian crew chief wasted his time with a bunch of pointless garbage. He spent three hours standing by and looking scary on the low-orbit platform while the guy, Koffrith, haggled over wood prices. He spent two escorting the lone Togrutan dancer down a path to a garden space she'd apparently wheedled out of the Hutt for a hobby, which, honestly, that bit was nice. The dancer was taking his employment at face value and flatly refused to talk to him, which he understood, so again he stood around looking scary while she repotted some imported succulents that were flowering quite well.
He spent one hour not eating outside, given a can of nutrients and a hunk of cured meat that was probably coming out of his alleged pay, wondering if it was worth his time to bother explaining to the pair of Gamorrean punchlines that also stayed outside that he would not eat where anyone, especially a pack of gormless fools, could see him. In the end, he didn't, and mentally wished for one of Dyrric's pot pies. His stomach did the growling he wouldn't allow his mouth to utter.
It was around this point that he realized the Hutt was keeping him outside the fortress on purpose. A smart enemy wouldn't let their new, most dangerous hireling wander around the place and learn all its secrets and defenses until he felt more comfortable with the arrangement. Din swore to himself, then was thankful he hadn't pressed to get inside at any point. Maybe day two, he'd get in for a proper scouting. A little testing phase, nothing more. He doubted Voontu was that patient.
. . .
No, it wasn't day two.
The dancer had another hidden garden, and the Mandalorian also got to stand around that one like well-armed furniture. They still didn't talk, but apparently the lady had rolled some mental dice and decided she didn't like him. That was fair, but it also stung for whatever illogical reason, putting another limiter on his mood.
The Rodian cheated at Sabacc, then lied about cheating at Sabacc. They were not going to be friends.
A cold but tasty meat pasty, eaten alone in the common room of the inn in the dead of night, was little consolation.
The Hutt might be patient, but Din Djarin, in this situation, was not. His legs started to ache from the burdensome weight of doing exactly Rancor poo, and he flopped around in his sleep uncomfortably enough to wake the child, who was somehow apparently also a night person. Then he decided the best place to go back to dreaming after several minutes of happy baby babble was going to be inside Din's twitching elbow.
. . .
Day three.
Dyrric's tense face before the Mandalorian left suggested he was running out of ways to keep people from noticing Din's current routine. The child also tugged at him as he geared up, wanting him to stay and play, and the look on his round, green face, was a textbook case of extremely effective guilt-tripping.
The two gate Gamorreans were no longer afraid of him, spending their time squealing cheap jokes to each other as he dutifully checked perimeter security and wrote up a (mostly accurate) log of all the flaws he found. At least that would put a shock stick in their happy rumps once the actual security chief reviewed it. He also ran a set of diagnostic scans on the outside Gonks, making sure they hadn't been tampered with, or worse, gotten a sense of personal identity.
He didn't eat lunch outside again, and fought the urge to shake someone to death while screaming 'I AM NOT YOUR TECH GUY' hard enough to make his helmet vibrate when a Trandoshan asked him why the landspeeder in the garage seemed to be listing a bit to port when it went over a certain velocity. Din Djarin had no idea why he got asked. It was going to haunt him. Was it because the damn thing had been chromed? Shiny vehicle, shiny armor guy, hey, maybe the shiny armor guy can fix shiny stuff?
He didn't know, but he decided he hated that Trandoshan, specifically. It gave him something to fixate on instead of how damn bored he was.
. . .
Day four. The Ithorian met him at the front of the palace with a polite bow, then, finally, while the Mandalorian tried to not sag to the ground in annoyed relief, led him inside.
. . .
This was a little more interesting. But just a little. The Hutt had another visitor, and so he had a reason to show off. Din studied the hunched, furtive looking man, not moving as he stood at attention by Voontu's side. The sight of him, Amban rifle resting easily in his hands, kept the smuggler from interrupting as Voontu kept rearranging certain details of their business together. Din mostly tuned it out. Spice smugglers were common, even today. It used to be the Hutts had most of the illicit industry on lockdown, but the Empire's fall and the Republic's attempts to clean some things up had scattered most of the old gangs.
Of course there were already new ones to replace them. Tales as old as time. Fumigate one batch of Tranthilarian heat-roaches, and a new egg-clan would move in next month. And the Hutts would try to regain control until, eventually, they did. The cartels were tenacious, and they were never fully gone.
Before the foundling, this would have mattered more to Din. Fights between syndicates meant plenty of bounty work coming in. Now he didn't know what was next, and found the smuggler's careful, diplomatic complaints to Voontu intellectually dull.
"Of course, of course," stammered the smuggler to something Din missed. The rising tone of it brought his attention back. The deal was coming to an end.
"You will transmit the terms as we have mutually decided?" It wasn't a question, and to call it mutual was also, by the look on the guy's face, a stretch.
"Naturally, great Voontu. It's an absolute pleasure to work with you." A limp, rubbery smile. "We'll have this system closed off to upstarts within months. Only we will control the spice throughout Hoth."
"Hmm." Din felt the Hutt's thoughtful rumble through the soles of his boots. "Mandalorian."
"Lord Voontu." He kept it clipped and professional.
"Take Fadilan. Walk with my guest to the northern hall. Fadilan, my good friend," this was towards the smuggler again. "Will ensure that your message is sent. My Mandalorian will then escort you to your ship." My Mandalorian. Din's fingers wanted to tighten around the trigger of the Amban. He didn't allow it.
"Of course, great lord. It will be an honor." The smuggler beamed at Din like a fool.
"Was there anything else?"
The smuggler shook his head harder than a wet Wookie. Din watched the Ithorian arrive, as if cued. Probably had been.
"You may go." The Hutt swept his arm towards his guest, dramatic to the end of the deal.
. . .
Din marched just behind and to the left of the still nervy smuggler, mapping out this new hall in his mind and stitching it to the rest of the architecture. Lower active security, but still a number of auto-observation devices in the walls. A few panels bore tell-tale grooves that said there were hidden guard tunnels beyond, probably shortcuts the regular guards used. Din was still just a trophy, a show of strength. Well, it's what I sold Voontu, I guess.
He focused on the way ahead instead of worrying about that right now. Dyrric had said the fortress was controlling communications in and out, as he'd guessed. Finding where those messages funneled through, that would potentially be useful when the Mandalorian had enough to make a plan.
The Ithorian stopped them at the first blast door, blinking apologetically to Din. "Here I will send our friend's message. You must wait here, Mandalorian."
Din grimaced inside his helmet. Should have seen that coming. All he said was, "Right." He switched on every scanner he could as Fadilan led the smuggler through the door and up to another one a few meters away, just as solid, and getting a quick glimpse of control room on the other side of that one.
He tried to burn the scant details into his mind. Imperial set-up, probably scavenged whole off an abandoned cruiser or something, along with the dual door kit. Automated systems, didn't even trust a guard in there normally. Fadilan was the comms guy, hence the holo-brand. His trust had been forced. Not difficult to operate if Din could get in there.
If.
Din eyed the blast door with deep hostility, knowing it was the same sort of junk that made Imp Destroyers such a hard nut to crack back in the day. They were blaster resistant, las-cutter resistant, explosive resistant… it was the point of the damn things. Could he get through on his own? Yeah, with a couple of months to work on it, a set of good books to read, and an industrial las-drill with a self-recharging power core.
He resisted the urge to sigh and shifted his weight, rifle still down and ready, and felt a prickle of warning strike his entire body. He glanced to his right, back up the hall towards the Hutt's audience chamber, and felt a flicker of unwelcome surprise slap him across the face.
Voontu was right there. The Hutt had slithered up to him without making a single noise, the gilded armor and fancy chains left aside. Those arms, bare and thickly-muscled, helping to pull him silently along the smooth halls - that's why the floor is so well-kept in here, damn it, Djarin, you missed a trick - of his small fortress.
"Lord Voontu," he said, not a hint of any tremor in his voice.
"We bore you, my poor Mandalorian. These few days with no… stimulation." Voontu smiled at him from an equal height. He could raise himself higher, but deliberately chose not to. The effect was meant to instill the opposite of equality - the sense that the Hutt was amused by lowering himself to the bounty hunter's level. It sort of worked. Din fought to not recoil. The tail flickered lazily through the air, unbothered. "My great apologies. It has been an effort to find you work that will matter."
"I do what's necessary."
"What you've done so far has been entirely unnecessary, but I appreciate your… diplomacy." Voontu didn't blink. "The gardens of my lady Cosha are as lovely as she, but not fitting work for men like us."
Din said nothing. They were nice flowers, and when he was a child he'd potted a couple spindly alois that had thrived on his sill in the bright months before the droids came. He'd enjoyed doing it. Honestly, he was considering getting a herb terrarium going on the Crest, the kid could use the nutrients. He didn't need every one of those carbonite bays, not these days.
"I feel I must assure you that I will need your true services soon." The Hutt continued to study him, the broad, huge face only a couple of feet from his. "Listless minds wander too far from duty, I have found."
The prickle thrummed down his spine, cold and electric. No possible way the young Hutt knew what Din had in mind. It had to be a standard bit of pressure, a game the Hutt liked to play with his hirelings. He kept his response light, on the edge of politely sardonic. "I do counting tricks. How many support posts in a room, how many Actunian geese in a flock-"
"How many guards behind the walls of my chamber." Voontu broke the tension with a laugh, an honest, easy one that caused the hall to reverb around them. Din refused to move. "I would expect nothing less of you, my Mandalorian. Have no fear."
"Your Lordship." If he'd had lunch, it would be a hot stewpot of acid chunks right now. He hadn't, so it was a lava lake in his stomach instead. He wasn't sure that was better, but his control of himself remained firm.
The hand at the end of the muscled arm was small, but its fingers grasped at Din's armored bicep with irresistible strength. "Your coming has given me such grand ideas. I must thank you. And I will. Soon. Quite soon." The Hutt inclined his head. "Be patient with me."
"Of course, Lord Voontu."
"Tomorrow you may rest in the village. Watch them for me, if you like. But rest." Voontu let Din's arm go, slithering backwards. Eerily silent. He turned his head to regard the Mandalorian one more time. "In fact. Let those idiots at my gate take that fool to his ship. Go. Enjoy a pleasant evening, and a morning, too."
"Thank you, Lord Voontu." He paused before moving, looking for a play to ingratiate himself. "It won't be an insult to your guest, will it? My time is yours."
Voontu flapped his hand. "He is unimportant. He will be replaced with someone less squeamish within days. I would insult him to his face, but that is too simple. Leave him to the younger Gamorreans. Their squeals could annoy the dead."
"With pleasure," said Din, mostly meaning it, and grateful for the chance to get the hell out of there for a while.