"You can't be serious," said Doc, bag slung over her shoulder and foot halfway off the loading ramp. "You can't leave a baby alone in the middle of the woods on a ship."
"He's fifty years old," defended the Mandalorian.
"He's a baby. Besides, he can walk. Just let him come along and be done with it." Doc turned her back and began walking. Nala sprinted ahead and back to her, eager to be out of the Razor Crest.
In the trees above them, light filtered down through the leaves and birds of species Doc had never seen before flitted around the branches.
Doc took a deep breath in, glad to finally be on a planet that smelled clean and fresh. She turned back to see the Mandalorian and the child following behind her. She bent over and scooped up a stick, throwing it far for Nala. The hound chased after it, kicking up plumes of dust and weeds in her wake.
Heat scans had shown a small settlement not too far from here. They decided it would be fine to check it out as long as they kept low profiles, hopeful to find some lodging.
The damp bark bent gently beneath her feet. It had been a long time since she had been on a planet so untouched by civilization yet so full of life.
They continued through the woods until they could hear the chattering of people nearby. Doc could smell fresh stew being cooked. They entered into what appeared to be the communal dining area. It had little more than hearty tree stumps holding the structure up and vendors of all walks of life were set up in the center trying to sell their goods.
"You! Yes, you, miss!" a young woman called out. "You look as though you could use some fine jewelry!"
Doc looked down at her tattered clothes. Her boots were covered in mud. Her black pants were covered in mud. Her short gray cloak no longer looked gray because of how much mud it was coated in. Even her fingerless gloves and sleeves had mud on them.
"Do I now?" she asked, amused. "I'm curious which piece of my attire says I am a curator of jewelry."
"Uh, well, it is more your lack of jewels that concerns me. What waste it is to go through this life not surrounded by beautiful things."
"She's covered," the Mandalorian stepped in, pulling Doc away from the booth.
"I wouldn't be opposed to getting new clothes not caked in desert mud," admitted Doc. "If you got new gear, I want new gear."
"We could probably find something."
Meanwhile, the child had disturbed a feline creature, prompting it to hiss defensively. Nala snapped back with even more terror, causing it to cower back into its hiding spot.
"Careful, little one," cautioned Doc to the child. He looked up at her with fear in his eyes. "Try to stay close, hm?"
They found a table on the opposite end of the establishment. The Mandalorian helped the child up into his seat before sitting opposite of Doc. Nala came and sat beside them, eyes watching the people move about their lives.
A woman came over – presumably a local – to take their order.
"Welcome, travelers," she said, giving them all kind smiles. "Can I interest you in anything?"
"Bone broth for the little one," said the Mandalorian.
"Well, you're in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there's plenty. Can I interest either of you in a porringer or broth as well?"
"I'll have whatever he's having," said Doc, pointing over to a man across the way. Whatever the liquid was, it was bright blue and spilled all over the man's shirt.
"Ah, a local specialty. Spotchka, as we like to call it. And for you, sir?"
"Nothing." He paused. "That one over there. When did she arrive?"
Doc knew who he was motioning to. She had also seen the woman in the corner when they had arrived.
The server was flustered. "I've seen her here for the last week or so."
"What's her business here?"
"Business? Well, there's not much business in Sorgan, so I can't say..." she began chuckling uncomfortably.
The Mandalorian threw down a few coins for her. She looked up at him, slightly confused.
"She doesn't strike me as a log runner. Thank you, sir. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible and that flagon of spotchka."
"That went well," Doc said as the server left.
"She's gone. Watch the kid," ordered the Mandalorian, already getting up from his seat. Doc glanced behind her and saw that the woman was indeed gone. When she turned back, he and Nala were also gone.
Doc looked at the child. "Never a dull moment, huh?" She lifted the child out of his seat and went over to the center bar area. "Any chance we could get that to-go?"
"Oh, yes, miss. Here you are," the server said, handing them their goods. Doc reached down and handed the child his bowl before dropping a few extra credits on the counter.
She followed the Mandalorian's trail out of the hut and into the village. There were not many places they could have disappeared to, so Doc picked a direction and started walking, the child strolling behind her with his broth.
She could hear a commotion behind the next hut and came around to be met with the sight of the Mandalorian and stranger throwing each other into the sides of crates and buildings alike.
Doc sat down on a nearby crate where Nala had taken up position. Nala's intuition was always right about people – if she wasn't attacking, they were not the enemy. Doc took a sip of her spotchka as the two wrestled each other to the ground and pulled guns on one another.
"You two lovebirds done?" she asked. Their heads slowly turned in Doc and the child's direction. The child took a slow slurp of his soup. "Or perhaps I should start placing bets on who will win."
"You want some soup?" asked the Mandalorian.
If looks could kill.
They both clambered up from the dirt and put away their blasters.
"Nice tattoo," said Doc as she lead them back into the hut. "Serve for very long?"
They took seats at their original table. Doc took a long sip of the spotchka, the cool drink coating the inside of her throat.
"You could say that," the woman said. "It takes one to know one. How about you? Did you serve?"
"Oh, I wasn't a soldier," Doc clarified. "Just worked with them. I did medical work where they needed it."
"They needed it everywhere."
"Exactly."
"I saw most of my action mopping up after Endor," the woman started. "Mostly Ex-Imperial Warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They'd send us in on the dropships. No support, just us. Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers protecting delegates, suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for."
"Peacekeepers with weapons," Doc laughed cynically into her cup. "That's been done before. Tends to not work out well."
"How'd you end up here?" asked the Mandalorian.
"Let's just call it an early retirement," said the woman. "Look, I knew you were Guild. You," she motioned to Doc, "I have no idea what the hell you are, but I figured you guys had a fob on me. That's why I came at you so hard."
"Yeah, that's what I figured." The Mandalorian looked over at the child.
"Well, this has been a real treat," she said, getting up. "but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first." The woman set down her bowl and walked off.
"Well, looks like this planet's taken," said the Mandalorian. Doc chuckled.
"Guess so. I'll miss the trees," she said. "It would've been nice to be able to kick around here for a bit."
"Such is the life," he said. They got up from their table and began the long walk back to the Razor Crest.
"Mind if I take a look at the landing pads before we leave? I'm pretty sure one of them is leaking more fluid than it's supposed to be."
"Not like we're in a rush to get anywhere," said the Mandalorian. Doc pulled a toolbox from an inner compartment and crouched under the ship. He followed after her, letting Nala watch the child onboard.
"Yeah, see? This front one has been leaking all day," said Doc, unscrewing the panel under the dripping metal. "Think you could shine your light up here for a second? Thanks."
The Mandalorian clicked on his helmet light and Doc set about soldering a piece of metal over the crack in the pipe.
"I think that should be all set," she said, tugging on the metal to make sure it stayed in place. She picked up the panel and had the Mandalorian hold it steady while she bolted it back into place.
"I'm going to look at the left foot. It felt strange when we were landing. In the meantime, got any ideas where we should head to next?" he asked as he moved to a different landing gear.
"Depends on how much you wanna spend on gas," she said, coming over to help him remove the panel. "Plenty of places to hide, just not very economical to get to. It'd take a small fortune to get to most places I can think of."
Night had fallen on Sorgan. The double moons rose and cast their light down through the leaves leaving eerie shadows in their wake. Insects awoke from every corner of the forest, all singing their songs in unison. The wind whistled through the treetops, shaking new needles down on them.
Doc noticed the company first. She elbowed the Mandalorian's side and nodded towards a lantern in the forest moving in their direction.
"H-Hello?" a voice called out from the night. "Excuse me."
"Can we help you gentlemen?" called Doc from below the ship. The Mandalorian kept working.
"Uh, yeah," the scrawny one said. "Raiders."
"We have money," his companion chimed in.
"So you think we're some kind of mercenaries?" asked the Mandalorian.
"Well, you are a Mandalorian, right? Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?"
"It is."
"Here, pass me that bolt," Doc muttered. He handed her the bolt by his foot and she tightened it into place.
"See? I told him," the scrawny one said. "Sir, I've read a lot about your people... uh, tribe. If half of what I read is true –"
"We have money," the other said.
"How much?"
"Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen. Krill. We're krill farmers. We brew spotchka – our whole village tipped in."
The Mandalorian paused to think. "It's not enough."
"Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is."
"I know it's not enough. Good luck."
Doc poked her head out from under the ship. She held a hand up to the men, silently ordering them to stay in place, before tailing after the Mandalorian.
"Hey, hold on," she said, reaching out to hold onto his shoulder. He turned to face her. "Let's hear them out."
"They can't pay enough," he said.
"No, but they said they're farmers. You know where farmers live?"
"On a farm?"
"In the middle of nowhere," she corrected. "We rough up some hooligans in the middle of nowhere. They get their harvest back and we get a place to lie low that's out of the way of civilization. Don't even have to change planets and there's no Jawas here to steal parts off the Crest."
His helmet tilted to look at her.
She hadn't spent much time particularly looking at or getting to know her traveling companion. Most of their time on the Crest had consisted of her conducting repairs elsewhere while he stayed in the pilot seat. She had still never seen what his face was behind the mask not understood why he refused to remove it in her presence entirely. This was not the Mandalorian way she was accustomed to.
Since Nevarro, things had not changed. She felt no closer to understanding this man or his motives since she first met him. Everything was business-related.
It was intimidating staring into the visor of an unknown ally. At any moment, something could change and she would be none the wiser.
"Fine," he finally said. "Can you two provide lodging?"
"Oh! Y-yes! Absolutely," the visitors said, hope gleaming in their eyes.
"Good. Come up and help unload."
They all set to work unloading the valuables from the Crest. Doc hadn't seen so many weapons in one place since the war.
"I'm gonna need one more thing," said the Mandalorian when they were close to being finished. "Give me those credits."
The farmer handed over the sack of credits. The Mandalorian walked past Doc. "I'll be back."
"Got a hot date in the woods you've got to get to?" Doc mused.
"Something like that."
Doc wasn't sure what surprised her more: that he had found the shock trooper from earlier or that she had actually agreed to come with them. Regardless, the seven of them piled into the free spaces of the cart and set out for the krill farmers' village.
Nala rested with her head on the lap of the Mandalorian and drifted off into a deep sleep. Doc leaned back into a sack of blasters, child silently sleeping away in her arms.
"Can I ask you something?" Cara – as they had since learned the shock trooper's name – asked Doc.
"You can always ask," said Doc, looking up at the stars between the openings in the trees.
"The boys and I would hear stories," she began. "Mostly from the times before we were called into action."
"There's lots of stories during wartime."
"Yes, but a few revolved around this person everyone always referred to as 'The Doctor.' No one knew what planet they were from or how they did it, but they were capable of... magical feats."
"Magical feats?" Doc reiterated. "Those are just a bunch of fables to inspire morale. I heard the same tales you did from the soldiers I treated, and that's just what they are – stories."
"Where were you stationed?" Cara pressed. "All doctors had systems they operated exclusively in."
"You are assuming I was a Rebel doctor."
"So you're an Imp?"
"Another assumption," said Doc. She let the cool breeze blow her braid hanging out of the cart. "I'm a doctor first and foremost. It doesn't matter what amour they're wearing or what leader they mindlessly followed – if they're bleeding out on the ground and calling for help, I help them."
"So, you're not on the side of the Rebels?"
"I agree more with their politics if that's what you're asking. But politics aside, you think it really matters who's sitting on the throne in Coruscant to a starving woman on, say, Tatooine? Everyone is always preaching alliances and peace – which sound great in theory – but they can never truly be realized. There will always be conflict, and anyone who says otherwise is fooling themselves."
"Isn't it worth fighting for?" Cara asked. "The chance for peace?"
"Peace? What about the peace for the soldiers the Empire brainwashed into fighting for them? What about the peace for the billions dead because of that damn war? When is the price for peace met? And who decides when the galaxy is at peace? The Rebels? As much as I support the idea of a democracy, there will still always be someone vying for control."
"That's a pretty cynical view of the universe," said Cara.
"The universe is a cynical place." Doc looked down at the child in her lap. "Good and evil are concepts only created by those who won."
She glanced up at the Mandalorian, whose visor hadn't left her face the entire ride. "I've met plenty of cruel people, and I've met plenty of people who only seek to help. I hope you're right, Cara. I hope the galaxy can know the peace so many people imagine because Maker knows it is long overdue for it."
Doc slumped back and closed her eyes. "I met this man once who was so hellbent on bringing lasting peace back to the galaxy that he gave up everything for it."
"What happened to him?" The Mandalorian spoke this time. A small, sad smile appeared across her lips.
"He did it," she said. "Or at least believes he did."
No one dared break the silence again. The stars above were from a sky she didn't recognize. The Mandalorian and Cara got comfortable behind her. Nala jumped into her lap and curled into a tight ball. Doc allowed her mind to drift off into oblivion.
"Doc." A hand moved gently on her shoulder. Sunlight glared directly off the Mandalorian's helmet and into her eye. She squinted against it and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," she said, swatting his hand away. Morning birds swooped around them singing their songs. The cool morning air crept under her cloak, sending small shivers up her spine. When Doc went to stand up, her bones and joints ached in resistance from the unnatural position. The Mandalorian helped her up with an outstretched arm.
"You were pretty out of it," he said.
"It's not like I've had the chance to sleep for the past seventy-two hours," she said, rubbing the back of her head. She glanced around, now acutely aware of the curious people surrounding their cart. "I'm going to guess we're here."
Children crowded around, giggling with wild smiles spread across their faces.
"Well, looks like they're happy to see us," said the Mandalorian.
Cara smiled. "Looks like." All the children had gathered around Nala and the child, cooing and awing over the foreign creatures.
"He's so cute!"
"Look! Her fur is sparkling!"
"Aww!"
Doc began to pull boxes off, but people swarmed around her and took them from her hands.
"Allow us, please."
"If you insist," she said, still drowsy from having just awoken.
"There's a barn for the two of you just beyond those cooking pots," one pointed into the village. "The other one can stay with my wife and me."
"Thank you, friend." Doc and the Mandalorian set out waking. Large pools filled with krill lined the sides of all of the walkways. Doc could look in and see families swimming together and weaving in and out of the vegetation.
They arrived at what they assumed was the correct hut – the one just beyond the cooking pots. It was taller than the others, presumably for storage. Doc could see the right weaving of branches and leaves made it waterproof to the outside world. Crates and boxes were scattered around, and two cots lay in the center side by side.
They stepped inside, greeted by a woman with kind eyes and dark long hair. She wore what Doc could only assume to be traditional robes of the women here. She was tying up the shades for them.
"Please come in, you two," she said, finishing her knot. "I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn."
"This will do fine," said the Mandalorian.
"We're just glad to be off the tin can," added Doc, trying to lighten the mood from the stoic Mandalorian's demeanor.
"I stacked some blankets over here," the woman said.
"Thank you. That's very kind." The Mandalorian suddenly whipped around, surprising even Doc.
"Maker, Mando. Relax, it's just a kid," hissed Doc, seeing the terror on the little girl's face in the doorway. "Apologies for our abruptness. We're just a little road weary."
"It's alright," the woman said, hugging the little girl. "This is my daughter, Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers."
Doc walked over slowly and knelt down beside the girl.
"Winta is a lovely name," she said with an outstretched hand. "People call me Doc. It's nice to meet you."
Winta looked up at her mother before accepting Doc's hand with a timid smile. "It's nice to meet you, too, Doc."
"I don't believe I caught your name," Doc said, addressing the woman.
"Omera," she said. She hugged her daughter close and began playing with her hair. "These nice people are going to help protect us from the bad ones."
"Thank you," whispered Winta. Her eyes went to Doc first before settling on the Mandalorian. He only gave her a small nod, uncertain of what else to do.
"Come on, Winta. Let's give our guests some room," said Omera, pulling her daughter away. Doc watched them disperse into the busy village outside before turning to unpack some things.
"It's a nice little community here," said Doc after some time. "Beautiful planet. Reminds me of Naboo."
"Can't say I've ever been to Naboo," said the Mandalorian. "But you're right. It is nice here."
"And the women are nice, too," she teased with a raised eyebrow. The Mandalorian tilted his helmet at her, knowing what she was getting at.
"Not going to happen," he said, moving boxes around.
"Oh, don't be such a hard ass," she said, scratching under Nala's chin. "Even the universe's most fearsome warriors deserve a little bit of fun. Isn't that right, Nala?"
Nala yawned in response. Doc took out a spare battery and gave it to her to chew on.
"She's probably married."
"Doubt it. She was not giving you the 'I'm already spoken for' eyes."
"Knock knock," Omera's voice sounded at the door. Doc shot the Mandalorian a sly smile.
"Come in," he said. Omera entered with a tray of food for both of them. Winta followed in, staying close to her mother.
"Can I feed him?" She asked tentatively. Doc gave the look of answer them, dammit to the Mandalorian.
"Sure," he managed out.
Winta approached the crib with some berries. She popped them into the child's mouth who eagerly gobbled them up.
"Can I play with them?" she asked.
"I don't think that's –"
"I think that's a great idea!" exclaimed Doc, clapping her hands together. "How about I show you what happens when dear Nala here gets all excited, hm?"
Doc ushered Winta towards the door with Nala and the child. She paused before exiting, grabbing a bowl of soup and a cup of spotchka before throwing the Mandalorian a wink and leaving him alone with Omera.
"Can we see? Can we see?" The children crowded around Doc, Nala, and the child.
"Alright, alright, little ones," she laughed, sitting down on a stool and putting her food down momentarily. "Are you ready, Nala?"
She shook her dark fur out, gleeful sparks flying around. Doc threw the battery as high into the sky as she could. Nala leapt after it, a fountain of sparks showering them in the clearing. The children laughed and ran around, trying to catch the sparks in their hands. Even the child stared up in wonder, hands outstretched.
"They don't hurt at all! They just kinda tickle," said Winta, dark eyes wide. Nala came down having caught the battery and nestled beside Doc, chewing her hard teeth around the outer shell.
"She has good control over that sort of thing," said Doc, reaching down for her bowl of soup. She nudged the child in the direction of the other children. "Now, go along little one. Try to stay out of trouble."
The child waddled happily into their mix. Doc watched as the children laughed and played while she ate her dinner.
It was a nice change of pace, she decided. But even among all this chaos, she couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes on her.
"What's up, Doc?" Cara asked, taking a seat beside her with her own cup of spotchka. "Where's the metal head?"
"Hopefully impressing the locals," joked Doc. "One of the village women has her eyes on him."
"Think he'll go for it?"
"I doubt he'll actively pursue anything," said Doc. "But perhaps with some subtle nudges in the right direction he'll get there. Half hoping he meets a nice lady and loosens up a bit. But it's hard to date when you never show your face."
"You haven't seen his face?" Cara asked. Doc shook her head.
"It's peculiar," she admitted. "I've had run-ins with Mandalorians in the past and they never seemed to be particularly bothered with removing their helmets. Maybe it's a post-Empire kind of thing."
"Well, they were very nearly wiped out," said Cara. "Maybe it's the individual tribe?"
Doc thought for a moment. "Perhaps."
Omera came over to them, asking them if they needed anything else.
"Does your village have a doctor I could speak to? Or a medicine man of some kind?" asked Doc.
Omera looked concerned. "Are you ill?"
"Oh, no, nothing of the sorts. Just wish to exchange notes with them. This is a flourishing planet – I'm sure many of its plants have medicinal properties. It's a bit of a hobby of mine."
"Oh, are you a doctor?"
"In name and trade," Doc admitted.
"I'll show you to her," said Omera. "I'm sure Dayak would be more than humbled by your questions."
Omera led her to a hut on near the southern edge of the village. When they stepped inside, an old woman was muttering to herself.
"Dayak," said Omera. "Dayak, I have a visitor for you."
"A visitor?" The old woman peered around and gazed at Doc with large goggles. She came over and began pulling at her clothes. "Dayak wasn't expecting visitors."
"She has questions for you," said Omera. "I'll leave you two to it."
Dayak spoke with a shrill voice. "What kind of questions would a traveler have for Dayak?"
"I'm curious about the medicines used on Sorgan," said Doc. The old woman rubbed her chin in thought. Doc couldn't help but be slightly repulsed by the smell coming from the old woman's body.
"Ahh, it is knowledge you seek, then. Very well - come, come over here to my cabinet." Dayak led Doc over to a bookcase containing hundreds of vials. "You see this one?" she asked, pulling a yellow liquid off the shelf. "It's good for the fevers that sweep through these little villages every spring."
Doc uncorked it and took a whiff, nearly gagging at the horrendous smell. "What is that?"
"Fawren root mixed with water," said the old woman. "It grows in the krill pits. Also good for backaches and menstruation cramping."
"That's quite an unusual combination," said Doc. "What about this blue one here?"
"Ah, that one is made of the intestines of grinjers mixed with needle oil. It's a numbing agent for surgeries," said Dayak.
"How long does it stay active for? Is it a localized agent? Do you think –"
"Patience, child," said Dayak as she rested a weak hand on Doc's shoulder. "Slow down. Dayak is an old woman who cannot focus on more than one thing at once."
They must have sat in that hut for an hour talking about the properties of the various resources found on the planet. Dayak told tales of traveling to the bottom of the deepest lakes in her younger years to acquire the algae that grows without sunlight. Doc listened, taking in all of the information.
"Doc?" Omera interrupted. "They're looking for you."
"It appears I must be going now," said Doc. "Thank you, Dayak, for your time and expertise."
"Come see Dayak anytime," she said. "And we can continue the conversation then."
Doc followed Omera out of the hut and back into the afternoon light. She saw Cara and the Mandalorian discussing something in hushed tones.
"What seems to be the problem?" asked Doc.
"You wanna tell her or should I?" said Cara.
The Mandalorian broke the news. "We found AT-ST tracks in the forest. This isn't just a deterrence job."
"Empire?" Doc asked. "All the way out here? There's nothing on Sorgan to try and pillage. I don't understand."
"Yeah, well they're here," said Cara. "This is more than I signed up for."
"We can't just leave them," said Doc. "These people will be slaughtered if that thing comes here."
"And us along with them if we stay," argued Cara.
"Enough," said the Mandalorian. "If we can convince the villagers to move, then they won't be in danger anymore."
"Somehow I don't think they'll like that idea," said Doc.
They went over to the main gathering area. People looked towards them, eager for the news.
"Bad news. You can't live here anymore," said the Mandalorian. Panicked murmurs spread around the crowd. Doc sunk against the hut, observing. Cara tried to hush the crowd.
"Nice bedside manner," mocked Cara. She turned to address the crowd. "I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options."
"You took the job!" Cried the villagers.
"Yeah!" More hushed murmurs.
"That was before we knew about the AT-ST – the armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us."
Omera spoke. "We have nowhere to go."
"Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I've seen a lot smaller," defended Cara.
"My grandparents seeded these ponds."
"It took generations for the fields to be as bountiful as they are now!"
"I understand. I do. But there are only three of us. What hope do we have against that thing?"
Doc glanced over at the blaster on the hip of the Mandalorian. An idea formulated in her head.
"The three of us can't bring down an AT-ST, at least not with the weapons we have," she started slowly. All eyes were on her. "But fifty of us could."
"They aren't soldiers," hissed Cara back at Doc. "I've seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes."
"We're not leaving," said Omera. The townsfolk agreed with her.
"Who has more reason to fight?" asked Doc. "The people invading the land or those there defending it? If we train them properly, we can take it out."
It was the next day and people were moving about the huts getting ready for the incoming fight. The Mandalorian was in charge of training shooters, Cara in charge of overseeing tactical training, and Doc overseeing the construction of the barriers and traps for the AT-ST. Despite all of this preparation, there was a feeling deep down that Doc could not shake. Although their plan was sound, Doc couldn't help but feel there was something they didn't know about.
Doc was knee-deep in the krill patch, digging away until the sweat of her labors mixed seamlessly with the water. Krill poked at her through her clothes, leaving small marks over her body.
"I think this one is deep enough," she said, swimming down until the pit was nearly two lengths her height. "Let's cover it up with branches and get the rest of them finished up."
"Doc, how deep should these trenches be?"
"How many barriers should we make?"
"Should we try to move the krill to other ponds?"
Questions flew at her from every direction. She took it one at a time – any more and no tasks would be complete. They dug, tied, and covered until their knuckles bled. The sun hung low on the horizon and Doc took a seat on the edge of the trench. The work was finished for the most part; now it was just a waiting game.
The Mandalorian came over and sat beside her. Doc rolled up her sleeves, wanting to feel the fresh night air on her skin.
"Didn't take you for a tattoo person," he said, nodding down to her left arm.
"Oh, this?" she asked. She pulled up her sleeve even farther, exposing hundreds of tattoos covering nearly every inch of her arm. "Everyone on my homeworld has tattoos like these. They're supposed to represent various accomplishments and whatnot."
"Still haven't told me anything of your past," he said.
"Neither have you," she joked, taking a sip of water from her canteen. "My homeworld is deep in the Unknown Region. Let's just say it's been a long time since I've been back."
"Bad memories?"
Doc shook her head. "I just wanted something different."
"What does that one mean?" he asked, pointing down to one that resembled a flower.
"It represents the old goddess Feria," said Doc. "They were apart of the old religion and are still used in ceremonies and festivals. Feria was the goddess of maternity. Of life."
"I didn't know you were a mother."
"I'm not," she said, her eyes cast downward. "But I started out as a midwife of sorts. The idea is the midwife acts as a mother in equal parts, as they helped bring the child into the world. Hence, the mother tattoo."
"That's... really beautiful."
"And this one," she said, pulling off her glove to reveal more dark ink marks on her hand down to her fingertips, "is my born family crest. It's the head of a dolcher hound. There's another spot on my shoulder for if I ever marry and take on another crest. It's similar to how the Mandalorians do their crest stuff."
"Did you read about that in a book?"
"You're hardly the first Mandalorian I've come into contact with," said Doc. "I used to run with quite the batch of them back in the day. One thing they took a lot of pride in was the culture, that's for sure."
"You met other Mandalorians?" he asked, trying not to let his interest show too much.
"It was a long time ago," she said. "I don't know what ended up happening to them or if any of them are still alive. But I did have a question for you."
"I'm all ears."
"You don't take off your helmet?" she asked.
"This is the Way."
"Ah, so it's an honor thing," said Doc, thinking. "It's a quality I both respected immeasurably and learned to loathe about the Mandalorians."
"Do you loathe me?"
"Not yet." She took another drink, finishing the canister. She looked down at her wet clothes, particularly wishing she had spent the time to look for an extra pair while they had been in the marketplace. "I should go to make sure everything is ready for tonight."
She gave the Mandalorian a friendly pat on the shoulder and left him to his thoughts in the trenches.
Pulling her cloak back over her head, she began strolling around the perimeter of the village. She made small adjustments to what they had accomplished during the day. Times like these she would normally spend her time with Nala, but her loyal hound was off with the child and village children. Mist began to rise from the krill flats as the temperature dropped, and silence encompasses her as she stood alone in the field staring down at the woods.
The feeling was back. The nagging itch in the back of her mind pushed its way to the forefront of her thoughts. Something would go wrong tonight.
She turned back to look at the village behind her. The soft glow of lanterns began to light up the faces of people trying to defend their homes. She saw people who had never fought a day in their life picking up weapons to defend their livelihoods. She saw the Mandalorian talking with Omera and Cara, seemingly going over the plan one last time before they would disappear into the woods. She lit up a spice stick. Her supply was running out. The soft embers lit up her face.
She wanted to believe the village stood a chance. She had seen fewer people do more with far fewer resources. But they had been trained for that sort of scenario. How would these people react with staring at someone down the barrel of their gun and pulling the trigger?
Could she pull the trigger if she needed to? Could she end a life?
"Are you ready?" Cara asked behind her. Cara and the Mandalorian had come from the village. "It's time."
Cara handed Doc a blaster. "Let's get this over with."
The Mandalorian held Doc back for a moment. "Here," he said, triggering a lever on her blaster. "It's set to stun. They'll be out for a few hours at worst. You don't even have to hit them in the knee for it to work."
The three of them set out into the misty woods, uncertain of whether they would see the village again. The Mandalorian took point, motioning them to fan out in case they spotted something. They used his visor to track their trail back to their camp.
Through the trees was a very visible campfire. They snuck around the side, searching for a way to create a diversion. Doc split off from them in search of the AT-ST. If she could disable it before it got a chance to be used, the village would more than likely live to see another day. She slunk around the tents, watching her step at every turn to not create unnecessary noise.
An explosion happened elsewhere in the camp. Doc cursed under her breath. It was much earlier than expected – she hadn't even found the damned walkers yet. The raiders, all startled awake, began shouting at one another and taking up arms.
And then Doc saw it, rising from the ashes as though it were some kind of Phoenix. The AT-ST began firing on the Mandalorian and Cara on the opposite side of the camp. And then a second one rose up to meet it.
They had only planned on one. Doc let ideas race through her head. The raiders still had no idea she was in the camp. That could be used to her advantage. She looked down at her utility belt: only one bomb. She would have to make it count.
The Mandalorian and Cara took off into the forest. Doc was certain they could handle themselves. She watched swaths of men follow after them, all with weapons of their own. Finally, she saw the second AT-ST disappear. When the camp was clear, she took a torch from the fire and began setting ablaze the tents. They were not going to have a reason to stay in the area.
Doc left the area and climbed up a tree. If she was going to have a chance at that walker, she would need all the stealth she could get. She took a deep breath and began jumping from branch to branch in the direction of the village.
It was certainly easier to find when you could follow the sounds of heavy artillery. Doc swung around wide, perching atop a tree just on the perimeter of the open field surrounding the village. When she had heard the firing stop, she had hoped that meant it had fallen into the trap, but the primary walker had stopped just short. The other one stood halfway in the field.
Below her, raiders talked in hushed voices among themselves. The two directly under her were arguing about something, but they were mostly separated from the others.
The fog was thick that night, thick enough to rise even into the treetops. There would be no chance of anyone seeing – no one would ever know.
She dropped down, fists ready to go. The raiders had no idea what had hit them. Doc landed with a roll as the bodies dropped to the ground. They blended into the mist as though they had never been apart of the night's endeavors.
She heard the AT-ST closest to the village begin firing, and behind it, the other one was warming up its guns with a sharp hissing sound. The men hidden in the trees began charging the field, firing freely at will. Doc hid amongst the mist until the last one passed by.
No doubt the Mandalorian knew of the second AT-ST by now. She could feel the collective terror of the village as their brains wrapped around the possibility of defeat. Doc snuck around the tall grasses, careful to avoid friendly blaster fire as it came aimlessly in her direction.
She snuck up behind the walker closest to the forest's edge, mustered all her might, and jumped high, landing on top of the walker.
To say it was graceful would be generous. The AT-ST immediately began reacting wild to her presence on its head. Doc had to hold on tight to prevent being thrown from the top. She'd have one shot at this. She focused on the hatch, unscrewed it with her free hand, and flung it open wildly. The man inside cowered in fear, uncertain of what to do. Doc reached in and grabbed him by the collar before throwing him out of the machine entirely. He scrambled back into the woods, terror in his eyes. Doc pulled the charge from her belt and activated it before jumping off and bolting in a direction that would bring her away from the middle of the battlefield. Behind her, the walker exploded into millions of pieces. Some raiders turned back to investigate, confused as to how their walker could have been destroyed.
Doc made a beeline for the edge of the trench, crouching as she followed it to the center where she knew Cara and the Mandalorian would be.
"You got any more charges?" she asked, coming up behind the Mandalorian.
"Doc? Where the hell have you been? How did you –"
"No time," she said. "Come on, Mando, you got another charge on you?"
"It's a suicide mission if you go out there," said Cara.
"Only if you get shot," said Doc, taking the charge from the Mandalorian. "I need one of you to make a distraction. I can climb up the back and set the charge."
"I'll do it," said Cara, motioning for the Mandalorian's rifle. "But you're not going to get a ton of time."
"I'll cover you both," he said.
"Tell you what, if this works it'll be a hell of a story," said Cara.
Doc laughed as she pulled up her hood. "These are the kinds of stories legends are made of."
Doc disappeared back down the side of the trench, passing by confused villagers. She gripped the charge tight in her hand, as though at any moment it may cease to exist.
The Mandalorian started clearing a path for her through the raiders. She kept low in the mist and grasses, not wanting to have to deal with an added layer. She gave Cara a nod when she positioned herself behind the walker. Cara ran out and took cover in the krill pond, walker bombarding her with shots. She tried a few unlucky shots, trying to take out the pilot through the eyes.
Doc grabbed onto the legs and made it halfway up before the walker violently turned around, throwing her to the mud. It turned around to face her, it's red glowing eyes peering directly down to her very core.
"Shit," she muttered before bolting off towards the tree line. It chased after her, sending shots right at her heels. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, right past confused raiders. When they saw her and the walker, they began chasing after her, too.
One particularly well-placed shot sent her flying into a tree. She could feel the air being forcefully pushed from her stomach on impact and dark spots hugged at the corner of her vision.
Need an idea. Need an idea. Think of an idea, dammit.
Her mind couldn't focus on any one thing except to keep running. She scrambled up to her feet, nearly tripping on another explosion at her feet.
Her feet.
She started booking it back towards the village. If it wasn't going to go into the ponds, she was going to make it.
Blaster fire flew by her as she tried to run in a pattern that seemed unpredictable. She turned back, firing her own blaster blindly into the darkness. The walker was in full pursuit, feet clambering down on the earth.
She could see Cara still dumbstruck in the krill pond, the Mandalorian beside her trying to figure what to do. The villagers started firing back at the raiders when they were back in proximity. Doc set the countdown on the charge and dropped it on the ground just before the traps.
The walker landed another good shot that sent Doc flying forward. She rolled onto her back, world spinning and the taste of iron forming in her mouth. A gloved hand grabbed onto her own and pulled her into a krill pond, their body shielding her own as the charge on the ground went off.
The AT-ST, trapped on the village side of the blast, went flying into the trap they had set for it, rendering it inoperable. The operator inside unscrewed the hatch and scrambled out in time for the walker to explode into bits and pieces.
"Doc!" a voice called out to her, but she was already slipping into the abyss.
You have to stay awake, the voice in the back of her head said. Open your eyes.
Open them.
Her eyes flew open. She could hear the cheering of the villagers as the remaining foot soldiers cowered back into the forest. She looked up and saw the Mandalorian's visor staring back at her. He was holding onto her in the water. Doc's eyes scanned around as she tried to make herself upright against the pains in her limbs. She steadied herself with a hand on the mud wall.
"You've got guts," said Cara, who was there in the pond with them, too. "Stupid guts, but guts."
"I'm retiring," muttered Doc, putting her throbbing head into her palms. "I'm moving to Naboo and becoming a shaak herder."
Cara gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder, sending more pain down Doc's back. She climbed out of the krill pit and went to discuss rebuilding with the village leaders.
"You doing alright?" asked the Mandalorian, his tentative hand hovering over her back before gently coming to rest between her shoulders.
"My head is killing," she said.
"Well, you did get blown up."
"Twice," she corrected.
"How did you take down that first walker?" he questioned her with a firm stare. "It didn't even try to throw you off until you got to the top. How the hell did you manage that?"
"Guess I just got lucky," she said. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Lucky," he repeated, unconvinced. "Come on, let's get your head looked at."
"I can already tell you it's a concussion," she said. "I don't need a doctor - I am a doctor."
"Suit yourself," he said, helping her out of the pit.
Doc had mud and grime smeared all over her clothing and face. Her boots squished with every step, a constant reminder that she had been soaking wet for most of the day.
"Doc, are you alright?" asked Omera, coming over to help with what she could.
"Never been better," said Doc with a small smile. "Could use a bath, though. For me and my clothes."
"I can get you some fresh clothes and I'll send Winta to get a bath started," said Omera. She stopped Doc for a moment and looked at her, half of her face revealed by the light of the lanterns. "Thank you."
Doc waived it off, uncomfortable from the direct attention. She let Omera lead her into a bathhouse. When she went to fetch Winta, Doc intervened.
"I'm sure I can figure it out," she said. Omera nodded and left without another word.
Doc began stripping off layers and equipment. Clothes fell in heaps to her ankles before being cast aside by her foot. Doc pulled a plug and water began filling the wooden tub. For a backwater village, they at least had decent plumbing.
Doc stepped into the lukewarm water and began scrubbing. Mud pooled around her body under the surface as it was scrubbed off. Doc took her braids out, carefully removing the charms at the very end and placing them on the edge of the tub. For the first time in a few days, she let her hair fly free and washed it free of the grime.
The water stung against cuts previously hidden from her. She figured they must have been caused by debris spray. No doubt she would be fishing small bits of metal out from under her skin for the next few days.
"Doc? It's Omera. I brought you fresh clothes," said Omera from behind a partition. "I'm just going to leave them here on this crate."
"Thank you," said Doc. "I shouldn't be much longer."
Doc expedited the process. Though she would have liked to take her time, she could feel her eyelids trying to seal shut. Every moment was a constant battle to stay awake. Doc stepped out and drained the tub, the cool night air clinging to her naked body like a wet cloth. She rang out her hair before throwing her new clothes on, water beads dripping off of her ringlets and onto her back.
Omera had supplied her with spare clothing she had no doubt pulled from her own wardrobe. She had left a long blue tunic, dark linen pants, and a pair of sandals that were just a size too large for Doc. But nevertheless, she was grateful to be out of wet clothes.
Doc picked up her bundle of clothes and stepped out into the eternal night. The village was much busier than she had expected it to be. Some people insisted they begin cleanup that night. Others argued they should go to bed and begin in the morning.
Doc was in the latter of those groups. She skirted around the celebrations and arguments, just longing for some peace to make her head stop pounding so loudly. Even when Cara tried to stop her to discuss logistics, Doc politely said her goodnights.
She found her way to the barn, grateful to find it was empty save for Nala. Nala came over and rested her head on Doc's knees as Doc slid down the wall of the hut, too tired to care she didn't make it to her cot.
"You know, Nala," she said, stroking gently at the die that lay between her ears, "I'm getting too old for this kind of crap."
They sat in silence for some time. From the commotion outside, it had appeared the village had decided to begin reconstruction. Doc's eyes watched the flickering of the flame in the lantern on the floor across from her. Its blaze swayed gently, unaffected by the world around it. Ignorant to the idea that it, too, would one day burn out.
Her mind swirled around the events of the night. It had been many years since she had been in the level of activity that she had undergone for the last few days. Things that had long been suppressed were once again bubbling to the surface.
She should tell the Mandalorian. It would be wrong to keep such a large secret – and one that would benefit the child greatly – under wraps. But there were people out there still hunting for people like her.
If she told him, it would open up to more questions than answers. Then again, the child seemed living proof enough that he wouldn't turn her in.
But...
What if?
She glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist. It never came off. It was the only safeguard she had between herself and her identity to those who would hunt her.
The less he knew of this world she existed in, the better. The less complicated it would be. The less anyone knew of this world, the better. The Jedi were dead. The Sith were dead.
And the dead were best left buried.