Spoils of War

Episode II: Pitstop

Daiyu City, Daiyu
Outer Rim

Inside a hot room in a bustling clinic located in the dilapidated city center, Tala watched the medic finish the injection line on her inner elbow. The lifesaving, golden-hued formithrin began to spiral down the intravenous tube. The second it hit her vein, the tension she'd been holding since losing her med-pen four days ago melted and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd held. She was going to live.

Her eyes flicked over to the silent Mandalorian who stood nearby, blocking the way out of the small room. He'd chosen to spare her life. While she was thankful for that, she otherwise was in a foul disposition. He hadn't told her a thing since he disappeared into the cockpit initially—he'd left her to grow increasingly woozy and convinced of her impending death until the ship suddenly dropped out of hyperspace, cruised for a moment, made an approach, then settled down for landing. The armored stranger had then reappeared and told her to get up. She'd barely been able thanks to the increasing physical weakness. He'd ended up having to carry her after the third time she fell. She remembered spotting her reflection in his helmet and then looking away when he turned his silent facade toward her. It felt strange to be that close to whatever face was hidden underneath the shining helm. It felt stranger still to be completely at his mercy.

They'd landed in a large, derelict city on a swampland planet. The sky was overcast and gray, while smog made a haze that cast everything a flat yellow. The city floated over a swamp, built on a series of interconnected platforms of various sizes. Most buildings were cast of rough clay or duracrete. Instead of dry streets, beings made their way down wide sidewalks or via the waterways that ran beside those. Small vessels glided along the passageways while hover platforms, walkways, and bridges made crossing the murky waters possible by foot. Sentients of all kinds were present, most appearing to have one thing in common: poverty. There was a small but noticeable Imperial presence in the city—Tala noticed Stormtroopers in weathered armor stationed in various spots holding their long blasters casually in front of themselves. Their helmets reminded Tala of skeletons.

"You should start feeling better very soon," the medic said, bringing Tala's attention back to the clinic. The medic was a female Weequay with a leathery face and a kind, helpful personality. "I'm glad you made it in when you did. Not a moment too soon." Her eyes briefly went to the Mandalorian, betraying how leery she was of him.

Tala nodded, aware of how close it had come. Even seconds after the formithrin hit her veins, she felt physical improvement and mental clarity returning. "Thank you." The words didn't really encapsulate her gratitude. She'd live—but the thought of being delivered to her father made her stomach turn. Tala wasn't in the clear yet. Could this medic possibly help her escape? The Weequay turned to a supplies container and fished around for a long moment. Tala's eyes cut discreetly at the Mandalorian again, who was silent and unreadable. As casually as she could manage, Tala's eyes scanned the room for potential weapons. Even while feverishly carried here, she had recognized this scenario as a potential escape. She had taken stock of the building layout as they entered, noting potential exits. She had to get away from him after her treatment was completed.

The Mandalorian abruptly moved closer and Tala frowned up at him and leaned away by a fraction even as a soft tug at her wrist accompanied a quiet click. By the time Tala looked over at her hand, she saw that he'd restrained her to the metal bed rail with binders. Aghast, Tala gawked up at him as her hope of escape shrank down to the size of a small bean. That mellow, husky voice cautioned her like he'd read her mind. "Don't get any ideas." A micro turn of his helmet set the frozen, watching Weequay medic with an intimidating look. "You either."

Eyes nervously darting to the multiple weapons bristling on every inch of his body, the medic nodded once. She clearly wanted no trouble and avoided Tala's beseeching gaze. "This will take about an hour sir. Apologies—as I mentioned before, it would be faster with droid administration."

The Mandalorian's voice was crisp and slightly threatening. "No droids."

The medic nodded, apprehensively eying the long, thin blaster at the warrior's side. "Your call." Finally, the medic gave Tala a brief, sympathetic look as she handed over a med-pen containing a month's worth of formetra. "Don't lose this one, dear."

Tala took the medication with her free hand, desperate to catch the medic's eye and silently beg for rescue, but the medic was already scuttling off. Hot with frustration she could do nothing about, Tala settled back into the steep incline of the raised bed restlessly, then studied her captor sidelong through a poorly disguised glare.

The Mandalorian now stood at the doorway to the room with arms crossed as he leaned a shoulder into the doorframe. He gave off the air of resigned boredom and total command at the same time. He was intimidating to look at, but on his arm near the crook of his elbow, a strip of fabric had been tied. No doubt a bacta patch from his medkit was under the fabric against his skin where she'd stabbed him. Tala again felt small satisfaction that she'd done something to slow him down. Hopefully she'd get a chance again.

Treatment first. Then escape. She studied her ankle, which was in a bacta wrap to speed the healing where she'd twisted it. Covertly, she contemplated her opponent again. She hadn't been prepared to face him back at the compactor yard because he'd had the element of surprise. But now, she could take an inventory of him and be ready for the next time. He was mysterious, and probably on purpose. He was a bounty hunter after all. The less he gave away about himself, the more dominance he had over his prey. Still, she tried to determine what she could about him. She already knew that he was fast and determined and a good shot, with many weapons and tools built into his armor. He was tall and built broadly, but it was hard to tell much else about him thanks to the layers of tunics, pants, armor, and weaponry. The way he was covered from head to toe revealed little to nothing about him, not even his species. However, Tala had caught a glimpse of fair human skin earlier when he was carrying her. Just the smallest sliver where his neck-wrap ended and the helmet began. That meant he was just a man. A very armed, very dangerous man.

She eyed his pistol at his hip, then the two-pronged Amban phase-pulse blaster slung across his back, then the thermal detonators lining his utility belt. At the top of one of the greaves armoring his shins, she spotted even more weaponry of some kind. Even the vambraces on his forearms appeared to be weaponized, and a bandolier of high caliber ammunition completed his armed-to-the-teeth ensemble. His helmet was shining silver metal, but the rest of his armor was a duller earthen russet. The nameless Mandalorian was visibly a killing machine. But he had chosen to stun her instead of blast her, then he had taken pains to get her medical treatment. From those actions, she could deduce that her father had more than likely requested she be brought in alive. So she could assume within probability that this bounty hunter wouldn't use lethal force on her. With nothing but time, Tala decided to do as much fact-finding as possible.

"Are you a real Mandalorian?" she ventured, keeping her tone guarded. "Or did you steal all that armor?"

His tone revealed nothing. "I'm the real thing."

A curious claim. "I thought they were wiped out in the wars." Tala watched him closely, not that it made much difference. He didn't have any tells that she could find.

"Not me."

Internally, Tala sighed with aggravation. He was clearly one of those strong, silent types. He gave little indicators of anything. And maybe that was the point. Or, maybe that's all there was to him. No matter. Tala looked out the nearby window with hard eyes, mind working overtime as the medication continued to bolster her clarity. It wasn't so ludicrous to believe some Mandalorians had survived the war, she guessed. Not that it really mattered one way or another. It didn't change the fact that she was captive to one. She didn't think he would answer her next question, but she asked anyway: "How much is my father paying you to bring me in?"

She heard the slightest shift in fabric before he answered. "A million."

Surprised both that he answered and at the amount, Tala looked over with insult painted thickly on her features. "That's all?" Leon Stryker was a multi-billionaire. A million credits were nothing to him.

The Mandalorian's helm rotated fractionally toward her. He let silence hang just a little too long to be comfortable. "I'm good with the amount."

A hot wave of fury and embarrassment hit. The amount was purposeful, and to this bounty hunter, she wasn't even a person. She was a means to an end. The only thing she'd ever been to anyone. Fuming, Tala had to calm herself down. She had no power—no money—and no tools to bargain with. This was Father's exact design for his daughters. Even six months after escaping his clutches, she still wasn't out from under his control. In her hand, she squeezed her med-pen so hard it almost cracked and she had to focus herself. It wouldn't do any good to be angry. She had to be smart. After taking a second, Tala appealed again, humbled and pained. All she had was the hope that she could somehow get this bounty hunter to pity her. "My father is a monster," she said, not even sure where to begin with explaining how much so. Her intensely vulnerable emotions leaked through even though she tried very hard to sound firm. "Please—don't send me back there."

He turned his head to look out the nearby window, arms still folded. "If I don't, someone else will. Be glad I saved your life."

"Saved my life?" Tala repeated, eyes darting upward briefly where the forehead gash she couldn't see was underneath a huge bacta medi-patch. Surely he was joking. "You're the one who bashed my head into the ground!"

He turned his head back to her coolly. "You ran."

"Who wouldn't?"

He looked out the window again, infuriating her. "Enough talking."

Fuming silently, Tala clenched her fists as she listened to her vitals beeping faster. A string of colorful insults ran across her mind, all aimed at him as she mentally threw him out the window. Outside, two Stormtroopers ambled by said window, ramping up her stress level. Pressure to form some plan of escape persisted. Tala settled into the bed and after about twenty minutes of silence, she plucked up the courage to try talking to her jailor again. Maybe if she could humanize herself to him, she could find a way to compel her way out of this. An absurd hope, but she had to try. But how could she talk about herself without being incredibly transparent? She looked at the tube in her arm, watching the golden substance for a moment. "I've had to do these treatments since I was small," she reflected quietly, not missing them for a second. She briefly indicated the med-pen in her hand. "Thanks to the invention of formetra, I haven't done this kind of thing since I was ten." She peered over at her silent captor, left in mystery about how compelling he found this information. She decided to cut more closely to the chase. "Do you know anything about my family?"

His leather gloves creaked as he shifted his folded arms and looked pointedly out the window. "I said enough talking."

Tala gave up and stewed, and there was silence for the rest of the hour. The Weequay came and checked three times, each time being incredibly quick and dodging Tala's eye line. Finally, the med console beeped. The medic reappeared. The Mandalorian ceased leaning and stood more closely, watching her peel the patch off Tala's head, unwrap her ankle, then check some vitals. "It's done?" he asked.

The medic turned to answer him. And then there was a thrumming whiz, a deep boom, and everything shook from a deep impact. Eyes flying up to the ceiling which rained down grit and dust, Tala's breath caught in her throat. "What was that?" And then there was another, then another.

The medic removed Tala's intravenous tube and sealed the wound site with a small patch, working quickly with dogmatic concentration. "More bombings," she said grimly. "There's rebels hiding in this city."

The Mandalorian came closer and removed the restraints from Tala's wrist, pulling her to her feet and barely giving her a chance to shove her still-sore ankle into a boot. "We're leaving."

"This building is one of the only ones they won't bomb!" the medic protested.

The Mandalorian didn't even pause, and Tala was dragged out of there like it or not. Lucky for her, he was in such a hurry that he neglected to put her in the binders again.

Outside, mass hysteria had taken hold as the city was attacked. The sidewalks were full of sentients racing all directions as bombs peppered the city from overhead in no discernible pattern. Din dragged the girl along with him through the madness, his only thought to get to his ship and out of the crossfire. He despised the Empire and refused to get caught up in one of their pissing matches. He was so focused on striding through the terrorized throngs of people that when he felt his firearm get pulled from the holster at his side, it was already too late. When a single screaming shot blasted straight into the side of his helmet, the force of it knocked him back and down, where he found himself stunned and being trampled underfoot. Din breathed hard, a sound that filled his helmet and ringing ears. Despite the concussive effect, he was already finding his feet again.

On two feet again, he was without two very important things: his blaster, and his bounty. Immediately, he tracked for footprints with his heat sensor—but there were hundreds of footprints around. Swearing, Din scanned the immediate proximity, trying to catch sight of his target or figure out where she'd gone. He was jostled from all sides and couldn't spot anything except pure chaos. Knowing every second he stayed still he lost any chance of spotting his mark, he sprinted down the sidewalk to the closest bridge for a better vantage point. That's when he noticed a heat signature swimming under the water close to where he'd just been. Pushing in, he watched sharply and saw a small, brown head break the surface. It was her. Dripping wet, she hauled herself onto the opposite sidewalk, looked over her shoulder and spotted him, then ran with a slight limp around a corner… with his blaster in her hand. Din was already racing after her even as another bomb went off nearby, vaulting over a crashed speeder bike and whipping his rifle off his back to incinerate a Stormtrooper in his path.

Din skidded around the corner Tala disappeared behind and immediately leaped sideways as he realized his mistake: believing she'd kept running. She had instead taken cover behind a small vendor stand and was raining lasers down on him as he found cover behind a crate. Growing incensed at himself and her too, he aimed and fired his whipcord launcher. The grapple end tore his blaster out of her hands, sending it clattering on the ground toward him. Din strode out from behind his cover and snatched his firearm up as Tala ran into a dusty, chaotic marketplace. Unlike the waterways covering the city, this place had solid ground.

It was a turbulent scene: Vendors and customers were panicking. Many sentients were attempting to flee, some were trying to salvage their goods, others were looting. Tala tore through the pandemonium and kept throwing things back at Din—a basket of small squawking birds, a clay pot, a slimy sucking octofish that plastered to Din's helmet and caused him a brief blackout. The second he managed to tear it off with a squelching pop, another low whizzing sound preceded a deafening sonic boom. The impact was close and so immense that he fell—and so did the building next to him. Something huge and heavy hit him from above, knocking the wind out of him. Briefly, all he could hear was buzzing in his ears.

Dust. People screaming. Things on fire. The marketplace was suddenly ruins. Din had to blink twice to clear his vision. Incredible pressure radiated on his lower body.

Din looked down at himself and saw that a heavy beam pinned the better part of his lower half, especially his left leg. If not for the armor, he was sure he'd be short a limb. He began to push and pull himself out from under it with effort, a feat that took all his strength. Not that far off, Tala had been luckier than him and had only been thrown down. Dust had stuck to her outfit and most of her face, turning to mud on her wet skin and clothing. While her face registered vertigo and disorientation, she spotted him getting free and pushed herself up to her feet with a burst of determination. Cursing internally, Din forced his shock aside and got out from under the beam and formed a quick plan as he sprinted after her: set blaster to stun, scale the single-story building she was running alongside, then take her out from above. She was slower thanks to her ankle, which hadn't healed all the way.

Sprinting as fast as he could, he shot his grapple at a ledge then swung upward with the momentum, arcing through the air gracefully and landing on the rooftop square on his feet. He was already racing for the end of the building. Once there, he knelt quickly and readied his sidearm and aim. Tala was running this way with a visible limp, throwing a glance or two backward, which assured him that she hadn't seen his rooftop ascent. He switched the firearm to stun again, hoping she didn't crack her head open this time. And then she stopped running toward him, and instead peeled off to her left toward a flaming pile of something. Only it wasn't a pile. It was a person. A very small person. A child. Tala dove at the child, taking the youngster into a roll that extinguished the flames. Din felt his tense muscles soften in genuine confusion. What was she doing? He saw her bent over the child, panic on her face as she looked around for family members or help. Seeing neither, she shocked Din when she scooped up the kid, visibly debated and cursed then ran back the way she'd come. Toward the clinic. Toward where she thought he was. For the briefest second, Din found himself too surprised to know how to react. Then he snapped back to himself. Focus on the job. He had to apprehend her.

He raced back the way he'd come, gaining ground on her. At the exact right moment leaped off the roof, tucked into a roll, then sprung to his feet with his blaster extended. Tala came up short, almost running face-first into his blaster. Held against her tightly, the little girl looked only four or five years old and had lost consciousness. Burns covered her tiny body, and her face had sustained a terrible wound. Din's aim wavered. His resolve flickered. Another bomb went off.

"Shoot me or move!" Tala demanded, clearly terrified of multiple things.

Din hesitated. Then pulled out his restraints and cuffed one end to himself then the other to her. "No more escapes," he growled, then nodded his head back the way they'd come. Disbelief filtered across her face, then dogged determination. Briefly, they were in a truce. Together, they ran. A couple more bombs went off, sending rubble flying. Each time, Din used his armored body to shield Tala and the unconscious child.

The clinic they'd just left was a different scene by the time they made it back. The waiting room was loud and full of wailing. Blood smeared the floor. The stench of burnt skin was thick. A medic appeared out of nowhere, scooping the little girl up and whisking her away, yelling about bacta tanks. The building shuddered as a bomb nearby shook the planet. Din watched how Tala's worried eyes followed the kid. He yanked on her. They'd done what they could. "They'll take care of things from here." He pulled her toward the exit.

"Are you crazy?! We'll get killed out there!" Tala protested, but Din was on the move, giving her no choice but to run and wince at his side.

Somehow they made it the two blocks to the spaceport where he'd left his ship—and then Din immediately ducked into a concealed alleyway when he saw that the way off the planet had been put into Imperial lockdown. A platoon of Stormtroopers guarded the way out.

Tala saw too and seethed, yanking on his wrist with the restraints angrily. "Congratulations, we're stuck and about to get blasted to bits!" she hissed.

Din paid her no mind, only poked her head out from the small alley and scanned the scene for a solution. "I don't get stuck." A lone Stormtrooper strolled by.

"Then what's your plan, buckethead?" Tala demanded. After seeing the trooper, Din had one. And he implemented the first part by taking his wrist out of the restraints and promptly locking his bounty to a metal grate on the wall she stood beside. "Hey!"

Without another word, Din disappeared briefly then reappeared, throwing down the Stormtrooper who'd just walked by. Only now, he was dead. The trooper's gun clattered onto him as Din threw that down, too.

Tala's eyes bulged before she looked at Din for clarification like he was crazy.

He thought it was obvious. "You wear that uniform and get us past the checkpoint."

She looked like she'd misheard, then like she'd heard correctly and couldn't compute. "… Is this your idea of a joke? You're gonna let me carry that blaster, while you're in binders, then walk you through a checkpoint full of Stormtroopers?"

Another explosion rocked the city. Din was losing patience. "Your choice." In rough situation, things had to be done that didn't make sense otherwise. "We stay here and get blown to bits, or we leave before Imperials can get reinforcements here." Another bomb went off and he got mildly aggressive. "Decide."

Sullen, Tala rattled at the binders. "Fine. Now take these off so I can change."

Now Din wondered if she were joking. After chasing her on two planets now, he wasn't letting her out of restraints until the last possible moment. He crouched and began to pull the trooper's armor off piece by piece, tossing in her general direction. "I'm sure you can manage."

The way she looked down at him was incensed, prim, and hateful. With her face set like stone, she decisively began to undress, staring at him until he was obligated to sigh and look away.

The Stormtrooper armor was clunky, hot, and uncomfortable. The inside of the helmet smelled like the body odor of the poor sap who'd died in it. With the Mandalorian at her side in binders that weren't locked, Tala was feeling more and more doubt as they crossed the distance between the alley where they'd hidden and the entrance to the spaceport.

"They'll never buy this," Tala muttered under her breath, then whacked him in the back of the helmet and spoke louder for effect. "Move it, laserbrain." At the very least, she could enjoy herself for a second.

The Mandalorian turned his head disapprovingly at her and she privately gloated. With any luck she'd get them past the checkpoint, all right. Then steal his ship and do herself the favor of never being caught unawares ever again.

But first things first. The spaceport had a cluster of troopers gathered to either side of the grand entrance. Most of the troopers had the look of soldiers standing by waiting impatiently for action. Tala headed straight into the center where only two troopers were intercepting anyone who dared approach. Her mouth became dryer and dryer. As they got close enough to be in earshot, she thought she caught one of them leaning into the other one and saying something about "a little short for a Stormtrooper?"

Nervously, she clutched her blaster and nodded crisply, walking in a way that said she wasn't going to pause and chat.

"You caught yourself a Mandalorian, huh?" one asked.

Turning just slightly to make it known that she planned to walk past them, Tala proceeded at a pace she hoped wasn't too fast to look hurried or too slow to look suspicious. "No time to spare, comrade."

The trooper got into her path, forcing her and the Mandalorian to stop. The trooper seemed very interested in the Mandalorian. "You peeked under that helmet yet?"

The trooper moved closer and Tala stopped him hard with the length of her gun at his chest, thankful that the helmet she wore hid the alarm she could feel on her face. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. The first excuse she could think of came out of her mouth: "Boss wanted that pleasure for themself," she said firmly, hearing her voice break as she tried to posture like someone who meant business.

Tala had to use every ounce of brass she had not to wither in the silence and then the look the other two troopers exchanged. And then another bomb went off and not far away, a firefight broke out. The troopers all ran that way, except the two who apparently couldn't leave their post. Seeing her opportunity, Tala opened fire on them then turned and began to fire at the Mandalorian too, forcing him to find cover. She ran for his ship, spraying fire backward every few paces. His long gun came out, and she gasped inside her helmet. She didn't think those things had stun options. Then his aim went up, and a deafening shot fired. Above her head, a huge crate began to fall. Tala leaped out of the way, rolling on the ground and losing grip of the blaster in the process.

The Mandalorian jumped on top of her mid-roll, slamming her wrists to the ground beside her head and using his legs to squeeze hers in a pin where he was over her, chest to chest. Muscle memory kicked in and Tala shoved her feet flat into the ground and thrust her hips up with all the power of her lower body, making the Mandalorian fall forward, clutch for balance, and let go of her wrists for a second. The second was all she needed. She was already grabbing onto his left forearm and hooking her left leg around his, using the surprise to shove-roll them to the side and gain brief dominance. She'd noticed one place he didn't have armor—his groin. She slammed her knee into it as hard as she could, then scrambled up and ran for the ship.

Proving himself incredibly mind-over-matter, he was already up and pursuing albeit slightly doubled over. He caught up to her from behind mere meters from the ship, throwing an arm like a vice over her chest. Tala clutched his arm with both hands, dropped low while pulling, and slammed him over her to the ground. Punching would be a bad idea, so instead she slammed her trooper-booted foot into the small space between his helmet and shoulder pauldron. Bad idea. He grabbed her leg on the second kick and yanked. Down she went. After grappling, he triumphed and slammed his weight on her from behind, pinning her to the ground on her stomach. She could hear him panting just like she was, and a frustrated sound escaped him as he yanked her wrists hard together behind her back then snapped the binders back into place.

Much to Tala's furious dismay, he yanked her to her feet and dragged her into his freighter, foiling her attempts to escape.

Hyperspace

Din sat back from the ship's console. It had been quiet for the past hour. The area between his neck and shoulder still smarted, not to mention… other parts.

The last he'd heard from his prisoner was the clunk made by the Stormtrooper's helmet. She'd hurled it at the cockpit door (using only a vicious ram of her head into naked air to launch it). He eyed the small screen showing live blue-tone footage. It showed a subdued, scared girl wearing Stormtrooper's armor restrained to his ship's hull. He imagined she would guard the emotions on her face more closely if she knew he had a security camera installed. He contemplated her for a moment longer, then stood up and went into the hold.

The second the cockpit door swooshed open, she straightened and her expression became unpleasant and mistrustful. She said nothing. Neither did he.

Taking his time, Din sat across from her on the bench and contemplated her lengthily. It was always interesting to see what individuals did in this situation. Most beings found his facelessness intimidating. He wasn't sure if she did or not. She stared defiantly into his eyes, even without being able to see them. He noticed a small, raised pink scar on her forehead where the gash had been.

"About six hours until arrival," he finally told her, watching the faintest reaction show: she swallowed and the strength in her glare flickered. He wondered if she'd keep staring like that when he shared this next part: "I read your file. Your education was limited to etiquette and social studies." The defiance flickered again, then grew stronger. "So I wonder where you learned to fight like that." Her jaw tightened and eyes cut away. Interesting. Din probably should have left things there. Or not even talked to her at all. But one thing had been weighing on him. He debated saying anything. But in the end, he wanted to know. "You could have left the child on the street where you found her."

Tala looked at him again. At first, she looked confused. Then suspicious and accusing. "What kind of monster would leave just a child alone like that?"

He could think of a few. Din studied her closely. "You could have gotten away if you left her."

Flustered and visibly loathing her situation, Tala was prickly. "What's your point?" He said nothing. She defied him silently for a beat, hating him for recapturing her. But she didn't seem to have any regrets about helping the kid. "I had to help her. There was no one else." She went silent, and her gaze went far away. He could imagine she was wondering about the kid's fate.

He studied her for a very long moment, drawing a conclusion he didn't know how to feel about. "You have honor." As soon as he said it, he realized he did know how to feel about that. He didn't like it. He turned to the container beside himself. He was used to hunting down depraved lowlives and cheats and swindlers. Not people like Tala. He recognized that dangerous thought and his drifting conviction and quickly reminded himself: a million credits. He began to look through the container for items.

Her voice softened as he took his time. "Please, just let me go." He didn't look at her, but he could hear her genuine despair and fear. "I know you're a bounty hunter, and this is how you make your living, and I know it's a lot of money but—if you care at all about honor, don't send me back there." Her reference to honor made unpleasant tension and guilt build. "I—I could work for you. I'm a good shot, I know a little bit about engines and hyperdrives. And I can fight."

Indeed she could. More mysteries that didn't fit with the file he'd read on her. It explicitly detailed that she had no arms or tactical experience. That was one of the reasons she'd managed to catch him off guard twice now: he'd been misinformed. But maybe she had secrets not even her father knew about. He turned his head toward her, studying her again. He shouldn't ask this. But he did anyway. "Why exactly is it you hate the idea of returning home so much?"

Her face registered intense stunned confusion for a moment that he asked her that. Then visible nerves picked up, then hopefulness, then hopelessness. All in a flash. "If you're born into the family a son, you become a crime boss. Rich, powerful, untouchable. Scum. Corrupt. Morally bankrupt." The sourness her tone took on indicated personal resentments. Her pause became pained. Self-conscious. Her eyes were downcast and shamed. "If you're born into the family a daughter, you get married off at eighteen to whoever it is that will make the family more powerful. I've never seen any of my sisters after the days they're given away in marriage. All five. Just… gone. I don't know if I'll ever see them again." Her pain was somehow almost tangible in the quietness of the hold. Din could sense deep love and worry for her sisters. Her eyes showed intense emotion. "I've never wanted the life I had. I've especially never wanted the future I always knew was heading my way. Why do you think I worked so hard to escape? My sisters were the only family I had." The momentary pained tenderness evaporated in the place of intense hatred. "My father and brothers are not my family." She held her composure, but tears came out of her eyes and her voice almost gave out. "I don't want to go back."

And he believed her. Din shouldn't have asked. He had known better. And now, he felt. Feeling was dangerous in this line of work. He had to be careful how he replied. He wondered how he could tell her he was sorry on both counts: that she'd been given that lot in life, and that he had to do his job. He settled on a heavy, quiet reply. "You should have hidden better."

He didn't intend it to be a cruel statement but that's how she took it. Fire blazed in her dark eyes. "Kriff off, I'm not exactly an expert at a life of running and hiding, am I?"

He stood up, letting silence answer her. Clearly she wasn't. He freed one of her arms from the binders, probably raising her hope for a fraction of a second until he extended the rag and water canteen to her that he'd gotten out of his supply container. "Clean yourself up."

She looked at the items then at him, and for a moment, her eyes were unguarded. Deep. Pleading for him to save her. "You could still let me go," she urged softly, and he could tell she was trying to see in through the obscurity of his helm. A useless attempt. "I can sense that you have a kind heart," she said, and he doubted that she meant it. She just wanted freedom and would say anything to get it. "You want to help me. I can hear it in your voice," she continued, her voice wavering with more desperation. "Please."

He took by the wrist that was free, then pushed the canteen and rag into her hand. He couldn't listen to more of this. "No more talking."

He turned his back on her and headed for the cockpit, already knowing what was coming next. "Why did you even come down here and ask me that if you don't want to talk?!" Conk! The canteen dinged off his helmet and he sighed then left the hold. Behind him, he heard her shriek. "Insufferable metal sleemo!"

He sat down into the pilot's seat as the doorway slid shut softly. Through the transparisteel viewports, the mottled obscurity of hyperspace swirled. His eyes saw nothing.

A million credits. The thought had soured in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more he saw Tala's face and the pain in her eyes in his mind. He turned his focus to the Tribe—his family. The ones he was sworn to protect and provide for, because they had protected and provided for him.

Forcefully, he pushed Tala Stryker's plight out of his conscience. It wasn't his concern. It just couldn't be. Still. He had a hard time with the silence for the next six hours, and he eventually had to turn off his security feed so that he wouldn't keep looking at her.

Author's Note: I'm having so much fun writing this :) please let me know what you think so far! Next chapter is the tradeoff… which I'm guessing you can tell from the story summary isn't going to quite go how either of our heroes thinks… hehe.