Din Djarin didn't get nervous before an op, not anymore. He did in his earliest bounty hunts, although even then he had his training to keep his spine stiff and his aim steady. Once he'd had enough success and reputation under his belt, nervousness became a useless reaction. Something unwanted to distract his mind. He funneled that energy into a fanatic devotion to detail instead, timing his moves and ensuring he had as wide a scan of the situation he was in as possible. It became a tactical benefit, a clarity of awareness that made his enemies think he was impossibly ghostlike, a genuine danger on the opposite end of the field.

In the interests of full disclosure, sometimes he had a lot of that energy at his disposal. Today was one of those days. From the moment he passed through the front gate of Voontu's fortress, everything around him seemed hard-lined and in perfect focus. His mind collected what people said around him as if he were transcribing it, no matter how small the verbal detail.

Voontu's brother would be welcomed into the palace within the hour. Worrex, son of Ebin, second-born and chosen heir of the last great house of Bilbousa, they who wish to remake Nal Hutta as a great world of merchants and makers. He was a jeweler by craft. His assistant, a prim and sharp-eyed Twi'lek man who arrived overnight to arrange the visit's final details, claimed to Voontu that Worrex had privately suggested and then personally finished a few last flourishes to the royal wedding band of General Organa herself. He'd kept it quiet, assuming it was true, out of respect for the General's previous encounter with the related Hutt clan.

Din, his turn to be hidden behind those porous walls, found himself amused to hear the name come up, and entertained himself with the idea of the 'wrong' Hutt going down today. Voontu looked much less impressed with the tale, although he graciously accepted the gift the factor had brought with him - a hand-wrought golden chain holding a single great red stone. It was faceted so perfectly it still looked almost spherical, yet its carving made it seem to constantly glow as it caught and trapped the light. It was a damn nice piece, he thought.

Meanwhile he traced the changing patterns of the guards, and kept watch on Fadilan. The Ithorian was having a busy day himself, accompanying the factor and passing to and fro the comms room to ensure today's incoming ships were on schedule. The two big Gamorreans stayed with him throughout, which could become a hassle later, but not an insurmountable one. Wouldn't be the first time Din Djarin shot up their kind for getting in his way, wouldn't be the last.

Time passed, both too slowly and too quickly. There was no thought of lunch for the Mandalorian today, his body was focused on the job and needed nothing but busy hands and a fast mind. The guards thought he'd selected a certain hollow place behind the walls because it hid a quick, potentially dangerous entry to their guest's room, not far from the audience chamber. In truth, he ensconced himself there only to watch Worrex arrive, chatting with his Twi'lek employee about how pretty the dancer's gardens were, and finding he immediately sort of liked the new Hutt. Afterward, he moved to his other hiding place - a blind corner that he could collapse and entirely cut off a whole sector of the fortress. He toyed with a handful of detonator charges while he waited, listening as patrols went by.

And he waited, patiently now.

. . .

The two unreliable, easily excitable Gamorreans the Mandalorian disliked so much, Dragh and Murg, were asleep at their post outside Voontu's fortress. They were supposed to take turns sleeping through their long midday shift, but that had lasted about an hour as the sunny heat sapped their energy, already drained from being up half the night doing odd jobs to prepare for the big visit. Besides, everyone was safely locked up inside, and that snotty Mando the boss had just hired was probably enough to scare off anything that might show up all by himself.

So they slept well past noon, hard enough that the first crack of blaster fire didn't stir either of them all the way. Dragh cracked open an eye to see if a tree was about to crash into the missile shield that arced haphazardly over the crucial parts of the fortress, saw nothing, and closed that eye again.

The second shot turned part of the blast-resistant fortification Murg was leaning on red hot, and he yowled himself all the way awake and into a shaky adrenaline rush. He grabbed his rifle and began firing back indiscriminately as Dragh stirred from the other fortification, grunting angrily at him for answers about what the hell he was doing.

A barrage of shots from somewhere in the jungle settled the question. Murg screeched, a cauterized wound appearing on his bicep and he dropped into cover. Dragh began to slam on the emergency keys behind his fortification, all of them, instigating a full alert within the fortress. Dragh, made of courage, then curled into a ball behind his shield to wait for backup.

Whatever silliness was going on, he wasn't going to make it his problem.

. . .

Worrex glanced up at the sound of the klaxons ricocheting throughout the narrow halls of the palace with a wince. He had chosen the martial art of manners from a young age and had forcefully kept himself from making any remark about the way the inside of the fortress was built from slipshod scraps and how it amplified every godsawful noise. Like a rancor fart in a mining shaft. This was getting to be a bit much, and why in the name of Hutta would there be an attack on his brother's sedate logging facility? Father had been so proud that Voontu was making an attempt to create something for himself that didn't involve violence. "Do the lumberjacks grow restless, brother Voontu?" he asked blandly, trying to not make a thing out of it and probably failing. Well, he was still young.

Voontu growled, his red eyes narrowing. "The village," he snapped, as if that answered something.

"They work well for you, you suggested at lunch. A mistake, perhaps, or some disaster at the mills?"

Voontu snapped a look his way, hot and angry. "My men would not set off such alarms for a mistake, little brother."

Worrex inclined his head low, deferring to his elder kin. His hands, surprisingly long and nimble for a Hutt, worked together in discomfort. He too was in fair shape, but he would credit his efforts more to a fondness for slithering around the Bilbousan port regularly for new ores and jewels. "Of course, of course."

Voontu turned to one of those two hulking Gamorreans he kept close - well, it was something of a tradition, Worrex had reluctantly decided - and barked a series of orders Worrex didn't entirely catch after one of them muttered something to him. They did not seem kind. So it was an attack.

His fears were confirmed a moment later. Suddenly contrite and eerily friendly, Voontu turned back to him. "My apologies, little brother. There does seem to be some issue outside. We will enter lockdown. Would you please return to your quarters? I must keep you safe. For the family."

Worrex smiled amiably enough, smelling a Kowakian rat. But the word of truce between kin was inviolable. If something was amiss, it probably wasn't over his visit.

Probably.

He glanced at his assistant as the two Gamorreans stormed off, his old friend, the elder Twi'lek Nari, and saw the ghost of real suspicion on his face. Well, that was the man's job, wasn't it? To be his paranoia, his advance guard. They would be careful.

Meanwhile, it would harm nothing to nip off to his private lounge, waiting to see what happened.

. . .

Din Djarin waited until the younger Hutt had sealed himself in the guest hall, then quickly moved to his secondary roost. The Hutt didn't need to be any part of this, in his reckoning. The second wave of guards would be called for within the next few minutes. He waited for the call to come over the internal comm system, waited for the shadow of some broad Trandoshan figure down the narrow, fragile halls the guard contingent lurked in, and then set off the detonators he'd placed that morning.

Screams and the ear-splitting sunder of metal told him it was a good blast. He didn't wait around to double-check, putting himself on Fadilan's trail as shouts of confusion began to fill other corridors nearby.

"Where is my Mandalorian?!" The scream echoed over the internal comm, making him wince as the feedback screeched along the walls. Fury and desperation were clear in Voontu's voice, and that was a nice sound. "Get to the defensive line! Other orders rescinded!"

That's going to have to be a no. Din didn't realize he was grinning to himself, the chaos within the fortress becoming fully grown, swinging around a corner knowing full well one of the two bulky Gamorreans was there, and cold-cocking the guy straight into sunset.

The other squealed a curse at him as Fadilan's door slammed shut of its own accord. The curse was cut off as the Mandalorian shot him high above the eye with his blaster, instantly cooking him straight out of existence.

He waited to see if there was going to be some sort of followup, a secondary set of guards, the other one waking up too quickly. Nothing. "Fadilan?" he called through the thick door. "We got a job to do. I think you'll appreciate it."

"I will be no part of whatever murder that Hutt demands of you, Mandalorian!" It was muffled by door and heavy, frightened breathing both.

"Me, either. So let's break up his party, instead."

Silence.

"Fala Deera told me the score. The village is shooting up the front so we can get a message out without Voontu stopping us." He kept himself from flowing into an easy threat to the Ithorian - you can help me by choice, or I'll make the choice for you. A reflex, not always the most useful one. He went for cheerful friendliness instead. "You in?"

The door began to scrape open.

. . .

Worrex looked up at the sound of his brother's voice over the comms. "A Mandalorian? Nari, were you aware of a Mandalorian's presence when you arrived?"

"No, young lord." Nari stayed at the door of the lounge, a shock-rifle kept down and ready. "I apologize that I have missed such a detail."

"Your apology is refused as unnecessary. This was a secret, and for reason." Worrex lifted his chin, thinking quickly. "You were right this time, Nari. I'm afraid you were right. We should have brought a full security entourage."

"It gives me no pleasure for my distrust to be validated in this way, young lord."

"Well, it was once all fair among Hutt families." Worrex hoisted himself up off the lounge, slithering across the gilt room with a quickness similar to his brother. "And I did not tell him my good old friend was once a proper warrior himself."

"Lord?" Nari looked at him, quickly and with concern.

Worrex waved it off, still thinking. "Nothing of that. The attack outside has nothing to do with us but timing, Nari. If I ask it of you, would you go help them?"

Nari blinked rapidly, sputtering. "My lord - if a Mandalorian-"

"The mercenary sounds too busy to serve my brother's command." He frowned. "There is much here I do not know, but I think we're not in current danger."

"You'd have us put ourselves into it?"

"For my family's good name, yes. I want to know what my brother has done. I am now responsible for our legacy, not him, and I will see whatever mess he's caused resolved."

There was a reluctant pause. "I am your loyal servant."

"And a friend. Always. Go, assess the front gates. And if you can help, please do so. I will remain in cover, meanwhile."

. . .

Fala Deera chucked one of her preciously rare flash grenades at the gate defenses, blinding them long enough for her men to take a couple free shots at the guards trying to reclaim the towers. Not being a fool, she'd gotten those locked down first. This might be just a distraction, but she was going to make it a professional one, and she was going to make it count.

Fifteen of Voontu's men down so far. She gritted her teeth, satisfied in a bitter and hungry way. The Mandalorian suggested she'd get her fun, and she supposed it indeed was fun, after a fashion.

Mostly it was about releasing the rage she'd been sitting on for years. The money the village could have put towards the children's education, and the Hutt had brought in a damn skiff the first month his crew had shaken them down. She took a shot, cutting down a man trying to look suave with dual blasters.

The lumber mills they'd built, knowing the jungle loam could support a healthy, harmless cycle of regrowth and good, strong wood, claimed by Voontu's shifty Rodian and all its profits skimmed. She took another shot, wishing it had been that Rodian. But no, she wasn't that lucky.

The fear she felt every time another ship showed up, carrying a bounty hunter, a dancing slave, a killer, a smuggler, a scam artist. That poor damn Ithorian, who they couldn't save from servitude. She lobbed another grenade, a thermite round, and watched the already damaged tower begin to creak threateningly.

Revenge was something to be cautious about. Fala understood. Carrying it could cut one's own hands apart just as easily. But, she thought, there was also justice to this. Fighting to reclaim what should be theirs - this peaceful, beautiful jungle they'd tried to befriend and tame on its terms.

The Hutt had simply swept in to take it from them.

She didn't realize she had screamed in fury, lobbing another grenade she could barely afford to risk, until the tower began to fall in earnest. Then she began to laugh, ducking behind her makeshift shield. It choked off in her throat as she heard another sound, rising in a sharp approach, recognizing it instantly, hoping to the stars above that it was a mistake.

A child's screams of makeshift bravery.

"No," she rasped. "No, no, no…" She jolted out of cover, barely seeing the figure start to break out of the jungle line. She flapped frantically at the sniper closest to the line. "Haku, it's Dyrric!"

The old man squinted at her, not hearing. She pointed, ignoring a whizzing shot, sweat beginning to drench her back in instant fear. "Dyrric!" she screamed instead, fear coming into her voice. "Behind you!"

Haku's sniper rifle lowered as he realized what she was saying. He took a scraping shot to his hand for his brief lack of attention, nothing fatal, but enough to topple him backwards in shock.

She screamed again as Dyrric saw it happen and then ran to the old man. By dumb child's luck, it put him in cover. Partial, anyway, as he pressed his child's body over the old man's shrunken one, putting pressure on the wound. Smart move, but…

What was he doing here? Fala Deera swept the battlefield, putting together a new plan. They needed to cut off enemy fire as best as they could. They could take the shots, the risk of death, but what if Dyrric had brought other children with him? The sweat turned cold, dripping down her back.

They needed to try to make a real push. Shove the Hutt's guards back, and scatter them. Absorb all the fire they could. Like a shield.

. . .

Din Djarin shot two surprised guards high through the chest before either of them could raise their rifles. Fadilan continued to breathe in raspy horror behind him as the Mandalorian continued to press towards the comm and control room. It wasn't a long march between Fadilan's room and the lockdown, no, but a bit of luck had failed him and a number of guards had decided to use the hall before the comms as a staging area before heading towards the ever-rising noises of combat.

Four more came around the corner at him. They died, too. And another two. And one, who saved his small, human life by instantly dropping the blaster in his hands once he saw the Mandalorian. "I hate this job anyway. The pay is garbage."

"Run, then," said Din, grating his words for full effect.

The guy did, and to his credit, he didn't try a single stupid thing on his way past. That left them with the mute pair of salvaged blast doors.

"The doors require a security override protocol in a full lockdown," said Fadilan, still nervous. "Code-string. For each door."

"How long does that take?"

"A few minutes."

"Be more specific, Fadilan. Please. I don't want to waste ammo or get caught in a reload."

"Three minutes, first door. Two, second." He paused. "There is a droideka laser inside."

"A droideka?" Instant hostility made him see red.

"Its laser, only. It is rigged to the ceiling, makeshift. If it sees me, it will be fine. When it sees another during lockdown, it will fire. You will want to destroy it when the door opens."

Will I ever. He didn't say it out loud. He grunted instead. "Thanks for the warning."

"Yes. Of course." Fadilan got to work.

Din pinched himself in scant cover by the corner, and waited for the next klaxon blare.

This one was automated. "CONTROL ROOM ENTRY ATTEMPT. CONTROL ROOM ENTRY ATTEMPT."

Well, at least it was going to peel off some more fighters from the front gate. He checked his blaster, and got ready to shoot all incoming.

. . .

Voontu smacked at the back of one his guards, the full power of his musculature behind it. The human staggered. "Take a squad, find out what's happening at the control room. Kill it, if necessary. If this situation crawls further from our hands, I will be most upset."

The human nodded and got to work. Voontu peered around the reinforced corner, seeing for himself flecks of the tiny rebellion afire outside his gates. The woman, Fala. Her men, most of whom were old and foolish. One of his towers was down, that was negligible. A little effort and they could retake the other. And when he had this stamped down, he would arrange far more deadly fortifications. Perhaps he had been too kind.

He ripped one of the bulkier las-rifles from one of his guards, feeling it tink against the plated armor protecting his most vital coils. Sometimes one had to make a little personal effort to make sure a point came across. Voontu would be more than happy to teach the village a lesson.

. . .

"Fadilan!" The blaster was starting to run hot. This was a lot of shooting to be doing with his butt out to the wind. Three guards had managed to entrench themselves just out of clear range, and it was too risky for him to lob one of his remaining detonators in here. They liked to pop in and make sure he was awake, too. It would be nice to at least have the shelter of one of those damn blast doors. "You've had four minutes!"

The Ithorian made a faint, frantic noise but didn't say anything.

"We getting somewhere? You said three for one door!"

"Five total! Five! Do not rush me!"

Din realized his minor mistake with a cold slap. The doors weren't going to open one after the other. Fadilan's code-running meant they would both open as one, and then the droid-brained laser would tag them. While he had three guards trying to get in his face. Within the next few seconds.

Frag me, he thought with hot irritation, and turned at the sound of the doors opening, his senses slowing down to absorb everything that happened next… the trio of timed blaster shots that slammed into his beskar armor, pushing him harmlessly but annoyingly forward into the Ithorian, stumbling them, slowing and confusing his aim. His helm's visual aids catching the light of the droid-laser fixating on a target, the tiny hum of it heating up, the building whine of the next salvo of blaster fire…

Din inhaled to freeze the world around him for a crucial moment and blew the laser off the ceiling, shoving himself half across the floor with the Ithorian dragged safely beneath his armor, through the twin blast doors, and then flopping over onto his back to kick the controls and shutting the doors behind them. Frag me!

Fadilan, high on one of the worst days of his life so far, started to gag.

Din dragged himself upright and quickly scanned the console, finding exactly what he hoped for. He slammed the commlink awake and input the frequency command he wasn't supposed to know about.

The response was almost instant. "Unidentified contact, clear the line," came a clipped male voice.

"This is an emergency signal out of Jhas Krill, eleventh moon of Jhas, Hoth system," said Din. "Civilian population is being held against their will under the control of a Hutt cartel."

"Sir, prank comms carry a heavy fine under-"

"Come fine me. Civilian population is currently in conflict outside the Hutt's fortress, no idea about casualties."

"Sir-"

"I'm talking to some kid in Echo Base. Go get your supervisor, tell them to come kick my ass, I don't care, send that damn X-Wing squad you've got unless you want a town full of dead Republic colonists on your hands today."

Dead air.

"Sir, please identify yourself," said another voice, just as clipped, but a hell of a lot older and refined sounding.

"I'm a concerned citizen." An idea struck him. He reached out with the line still active and slammed the blast doors open. Blaster fire snapped and echoed throughout the air, amplified by the crappy acoustics and followed by the frightened shouts of the Ithorian. He shut the door again as he listened to feedback squeal off the comm, followed by the man on the other end of the line swearing up a storm. That ought to convince him. "Requesting that emergency launch ASAP."

"We're on it. Citizen." The comms cut out.

Din tiled his helmet down to regard Fadilan. "That was easy."

"No it was not!"

"You up for helping the front lines clean up some of Voontu's men? Got a spare blaster."

Fadilan began to quiver all over again. "No! I cannot fight, I am a-"

"Relax, Fadilan. I'm kidding. You did great." He reached down and patted the Ithorian's shoulder. "I'm going to make sure you're safe in here before I go help them myself."

. . .

The village rebellion collectively froze for a dangerous second as the armored Hutt slunk forcefully afield, the broad head looming high enough to command fear, and the red eyes wide and furious under a black helmet. The rifle in those thick hands got them moving again, one of the younger gunners trying to keep his forward push going suddenly falling back to avoid the salvo of las-rifle fire. He dodged, but barely, and lost the precious meters of fighting space he'd been trying to hold.

The sniper, Haku, had let the boy slap a bacta patch onto his hand. Now Dyrric was stuffed under his elbow, and he used the now-silent lad to steady his aim while he painfully took a shot at an exposed part of the Hutt's face. The shot glanced off the helmet as Voontu's luck made him turn his head to shoot at another attacker, causing him only to roar and draw down on the sniper instead.

Haku shoved himself and Dyrric prone, wincing as shrapnel shredded off of their makeshift fortification, landing hot on his back. He glanced up to see his fear confirmed. Their shielding was now worthless. The others would have to try and cover for them until they could get into a safer position.

A single shot, so powerful and slow that it seemed to wheeze as it pushed through the air, forged a small crater in front of the Hutt. Voontu reared back with a shout, looking up at the remaining tower.

Haku sensed his chance and grabbed Dyrric, following Fala Deera's call without stopping to look. As he fled into renewed cover, he caught a glimpse of a Twi'lek taking a sniper's roost of his own - and artfully downing a pair of the Hutt's hirelings while Haku shoved the child down behind Fala. "Not one of ours."

"No," she said, peeking carefully around the edge of their shielding. "Not the Mandalorian, either."

"Would you recognize him without the armor?"

She squinted at the profile of the man in the high tower. "Well, for one thing, be a pain in the rump to hide those lekku tendrils under a helmet. For another, our guy is shorter."

"Well, anyway, blessings to him and all his shots." Haku stripped a drained shot cartridge from his own rifle and slapped in a new one. "So what brought you out here, child?"

Dyrric shivered, on the light edge of shock. His eyes had far too much white in them. None of this had been in his innocent fantasy. "I just wanted to help!"

"No one else with you? Not the Mandalorian's strange child?"

"No! I would never! Dad's playing with him! He doesn't know!"

Haku and Fala Deera shared a wry, exhausted look before the shooting started anew, dropping them all into fading cover as the Hutt's presence seemed to refresh his mercenaries.

"Are you going to tell him?"

Fala took a lucky shot, dropping a would-be melee attacker before he got to their front line. "Damn right I am, Dyrric. You are damn right."

"He's going to kill me."

She shook her head and lined up another shot. Kid, if this doesn't end us all, you'll survive your dad.

. . .

Din Djarin sensed the figure coming up on him this time, catching the faint hint of coils slithering along the metal floors. He snapped around to see the Hutt still at the far end of the hall, then lowered his blaster as he saw it was Worrex instead, his hands up. "You should get back into safety."

A look of amusement creased the thick muscles of the young Hutt's face. "If you're not here to kill me after all, Mandalorian, then I expect I am safe enough." Another one of those dense, turf-destroying shots echoed throughout the halls. They were close to the front now, enough to hear Voontu's men swear at each other while reloading. "And I will be safer yet when I'm closer to my old friend."

The Twi'lek. Din thought the man seemed unusually aware. And, by the sound of it, he was a heavy sniper.

Nice.

"We need to end this matter," said the Hutt, as if sensing the rest of his thoughts. "If we can get to my vessel, I can call for a Republic patrol. Voontu's devices can't block my ship. I know his tricks too well."

"That's already done. They're on the way."

Worrex looked at him appraisingly. "Excellent. You are with the villagers, then?" He took Din's silence as an answer. "I have many questions about my brother's lies, but this is not the right hour for them. And likely you are not the right man to answer all of them. I will shield, Mandalorian. Walk beside me. Voontu will not fire on me. You will have free aim for what you think you may need."

"That's a rough gamble, Hutt." He didn't bother to keep the doubt out of his voice.

"It is. It is also the only game that matters. If he would willingly break the vows of our family, then he was never meant to be our heir." Worrex's voice turned firm. "And that realization, if nothing else, can break him." He glanced down at the Mandalorian, beginning his quick slither towards the front. "If you will excuse the polite jest, it is… our way."

. . .

The Mandalorian's Amban rifle was in his hands as he strode onto the field in Worrex's large shadow, disintegrating a Trandoshan merc busily shooting up a creaking scrap of cover midfield. Logic told him the mercenary had been focusing his fire there to get a command target instead of helping his chums fend off another attempt at a charge, probably Fala Deera herself. He took advantage of the confusion that rippled throughout the scene at the sight of two Hutts, clearing the way for a partial charge along the left flank, taking a clean headshot with his blaster.

The Twi'lek sniper didn't miss a trick. He followed up on Din Djarin's executions with a heavy shot at one of the remaining defensive fortifications on the enemy side, taking out the Gamorrean hunkered there as collateral damage. Now that partial charge could make a full push, stunning the Hutt's remaining defenders.

They did as Voontu roared in anger, his attention divided by the sight of his brother approaching, by a glint deeper afield. Fala Deera's fortification couldn't hold. Din saw her, an old man, and Dyrric, of all damned people, fully exposed to enemy fire. Din jerked forward, his mind already calculating the outcomes and finding all of them bad.

Voontu had done the same, drawing down on the trio with the rifle in his hands. Time slowed once more for the Mandalorian.

The Amban wasn't ready to fire again yet. His blaster wouldn't be enough to penetrate that thick armor, much less the Hutt's hide. He was too far away to intercept the shot with his own armor.

He began to run anyway, his imagination already seeing the shots fly through the air, seeing Dyrric prone and still, the old man shattered, Fala gone, all of it.

"Voontu!" Worrex shouted, faster than Din, slithering past him with a rush of air to put his bulk in front of his brother, his hands in the air. Unarmored, eyes open, ready to take the shot into himself. "Don't do this. Don't."

Voontu snarled and raised the rifle. Din saw what was coming and kept moving. He could aim over his brother's shoulder and kill the villagers anyway, kill the pale, crying boy, yet keep his oath to do his kin no harm. The rifle was rising as time slowed, a thick finger curling around its trigger… Din was still out of position to absorb the shot, and he ran, hoping…

The shot never came. Din stood where he needed to be, the Amban giving a soft whine to tell him the next shot was ready, but Voontu did nothing. His eyes stayed locked on something behind the Mandalorian, never looking at his brother. And still in silence, the rifle lowered.

"Voontu," said Worrex, reaching towards his brother. Voontu slapped his hands away, roughly. Worrex tried again anyway, and a moment later he'd gently wrested the weapon out of his brother's hands. He passed it behind him, towards Din. He stepped forward to take it. "It's over. The Republic is coming."

Voontu jerked, looking around as if for an escape.

"No. You're staying. I am staying. We will sort this matter out, resolve what you've done. Together." Worrex didn't let go of his brother's arm, turning towards the Mandalorian and then looking towards Fala Deera. "Are you in charge of the village, mistress?"

"I'm sister to the head," said Fala shakily, obviously not quite sure what to make of this. Her arms stayed wrapped protectively around Dyrric. "Security."

"I understand," said Worrex, kindly. "I have an excess of medical supplies on my ship, mistress. Nari will retrieve them for you. I see many of you stand but are wounded. When the Republic arrives, I will help explain what I can, and I look forward to understanding, and then, rectifying, what my brother has done to your people."

Voontu grunted, sounding small and defeated.

"I understand if you're unconvinced. It will be my honor to overcome that." Worrex turned to the Mandalorian, politely ignoring the look of shock on the human faces. "Thank you for accompanying me."

"Didn't do much on this part."

Worrex squinted at him, amused in a cheerful way that was a bright mirror of his brother. "It mattered. You were here to witness an important thing."

"Which is?"

Worrex turned to his brother. "You chose to not take that shot, Voontu. You have kept your oath, and even in your desperation and rage, you did not kill one who was defenseless."

"Weakness," snapped Voontu. He snuck a ferocious glance at Dyrric, as if the child himself was the one to defeat him.

"No," said Worrex. "Another kind of strength."

"The hell happened on Nal Hutta?" asked the Mandalorian, unable to stop himself.

Worrex rolled a heavy, ruby eye over to him. "To be fair, my family is regarded by many other clans as… eccentric." He looked up as new sound ripped through the skies. The X-Wings were arriving. "I like to think of it as an evolution. Sometimes evolution is difficult, at first. But worth it."

Fala reached for the Mandalorian's arm, glancing up as the first lean shape passed in front of the sun. He took the hint. If he wanted to get out of the scene, now was the time. Let the Deeras and the younger Hutt sort this out. Maybe not jump offworld just yet - the kids deserved a goodbye. But at least shove the Crest somewhere more hidden and hunker down, keep his name out of it.

He slipped off before anyone could thank him again.