Spoils of War
Episode III: Right of Rescue
Thousands of stars streamed from lines back into dots as Din's freighter dropped out of hyperspace. Vorus stood brightly against darkness, a rust-and-orange planet with most visible surface remaining uninhabited save for a few clustered cities that looked like dark grids against the rocky surface. Din's eyes shifted. The surface wasn't where they were headed. Offworlders weren't allowed there.
Din could already spot some small patrol ships already heading his way. A massive space station was directly ahead, a steely gray main structure with multiple spindles reaching out for three-hundred and sixty degrees—docking halls. He guessed that's where he'd be directed. Several more identical stations haloed the planet, serving as both border control port authorities and luxury living for the Vorian upper class. An incoming hail request lit up on his console and Din flipped the switch to accept. A crisp, official-sounding voice came out of the small speaker. "Identify yourself, Corellian vessel."
Leaning forward, Din keyed in the identification code provided in the job assignment. "Relaying approval code."
"Standby."
Silence returned. And with it, more misgivings. The million credits were moments away—and he'd imagined this moment would be triumphant. Instead, all he felt was a vague sense of guilt.
Two weeks ago, he'd taken this job with a nearly poignant sense of having arrived. Not only was the bounty the largest offering he'd ever secured, but it confirmed that his efforts hadn't been in vain. Five years into this practice of searching down runners, hiders, criminals, bail jumpers, and various other scoundrels, Din had finally hit his stride. It was only recently that most of the members of the Tribe had begun to earnestly respect him and what he brought to the table. Initially, the others had expressed uncertainty about putting their already-fragile fate into the hands of Din Djarin, the foundling-turned-warrior. The Armorer had believed in him the most deeply, and it had since become his obsession to prove himself to everyone else. Singlehandedly financially supporting his people was both an honor and a source of massive, all-consuming pressure. But after what they'd done for him… he owed it. This was the Way.
The voice from his console interrupted his thoughts. "Docking coordinates incoming." The console lit up. But the coordinates weren't to the space station ahead. Din squinted at his target destination: a very expensive-looking large yacht lazily floating through space starboard. The sight of the wastefully opulent vessel was immediately insufferable. Din began approach, trying to ignore his growing distaste. Two light escort ships accompanied his path in. He didn't like that either.
Once close enough to the yacht, the tractor function engaged and Din shut off all engine power, letting his freighter sidle up. The ship docked to the yacht with a very final, resounding clunk. No turning back now. Not that there ever had been. Din sat with himself a couple seconds longer, hesitating despite everything he knew about himself. Being a bounty hunter, he couldn't afford personal stakes in business that didn't concern him. And that included Tala. That included everyone. The Tribe's welfare depended on him. With that in mind, he rose and exited the cockpit.
The hold was dim and quiet, occupied by one dejected passenger. She sat slack against the dark wall where he'd left her, and she hadn't cleaned her face or removed the Stormtrooper armor. A final act of defiance, he imagined. But she didn't look defiant anymore. She'd given up. She was done running. He passed the thrown trooper helmet as he crossed the distance between them, avoiding looking at her face—his resolve had been compromised from the second she saved that kid. Looking at her directly would make that resolve even weaker. He crouched and removed her remaining restraint, electing not to walk her in with binders. He could give her that dignity at the least. She'd earned it with escape efforts he now had to consider valiant, even if they'd been a pain in his ass at the time. Like he'd realized and subsequently told her: she had honor. Guilty again, he stood and waited for her to rise.
She stayed in place, staring at his knees with a drawn expression and quick breath coming in and out of her nostrils. She made no other movement. Din exhaled softly, imagining perhaps he could eject his edginess through breath alone. "Get up," he instructed.
Slowly, dark eyes rose to look into his. Even with a dirty face and messy appearance, she was beautiful. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed. She said nothing, but her eyes implored him to consider changing his mind.
If only it were that simple. He reached out for her arm then hesitated, gloved fingertips just brushing the side of her arm. He never felt regret when it came to his work. But in this situation… he did. She'd been free on Bracca. Working hard, toiling away, but free. He'd taken that from her. He reminded himself of what he'd told her: if not him doing this, it would have been someone else. The words were soft and foreign on his tongue, but most of all, earnest: "I'm sorry. I'm just doing my job." An apology he didn't have to give that would make no difference. He probably shouldn't have said anything at all. He grasped her arm at the elbow. For a moment, he thought she was going to stay seated and give him no choice but to manhandle her up to her feet. Then, she stood slowly.
It felt like they were inordinately close when she reached her full height. Her gaze searched into his, hopeful and hopeless at the same time. "… Don't you ever make exceptions?" she whispered.
Some howling madness seized him briefly at her soft question—a madness that wanted to do exactly what she suggested. He slammed the flaring impulse down like one might slap a hand onto a small flame to extinguish it. "Let's go." Din pulled Tala along with him—but not roughly. Lukewarm, she complied. The look on her face was like someone on their death march.
Din opened the hatch on his side of the airlock and the yachtside hatch hissed open to reveal a shiny protocol droid waiting in a brightly-lit, marble-floored, sumptuously-appointed interior. "Hello!" the droid greeted brightly as Din and Tala crossed into the yacht. "I am TC-18, and I welcome you aboard the SunStryker, the most luxurious yacht in this galaxy and beyond. The illustrious Leon Stryker awaits you eagerly. This way, please." Behind them, the hatch slid closed smoothly. Posted along what Din recognized as a welcome hall, four private security guards stood stock still with high-caliber Stryker-brand weapons at their sides.
Din grudgingly followed the whirring droid with Tala beside him held by the elbow. Down a grandiose hall they went. Each guard they passed, Din sized up. Chumps. All of them. Commissioned paintings and portraits lined the way and Din discreetly took them in. Leon Stryker was featured in most of the depictions, pictured with famous crime syndicate members, politicians, other billionaires, and celebrities. The photos were repulsive, meant to flaunt his position and status. Din's attention caught and softened on a lavish family portrait featuring Leon Stryker and his nine children: three sons, four daughters. They wore extravagant furs and jewels and posed as royals might. Din spotted a young Tala staring at the camera in a way that felt resistant and blank at the same time. Her sisters all looked similar. The sons held themselves proudly with confidence, faint smirks making them appear smug. Din saw no photos of their mother anywhere.
The bustling protocol droid led them into a large lift outfitted with shining gold siding and a gleaming stone floor. As they rode upward, Tala looked sicker by the moment. Her eyes stayed downcast and even under the armor, her shoulders noticeably sagged. Din could imagine that she was probably cursing the moment he had shown up in her life. He couldn't blame her. The lift doors opened to the top-level promenade galleria, revealing a gathering taking place. The droid led the way straight through wealthy sentients in absurdly decadent cocktail attire who held toasting glasses filled with amber liquid. Low music thrummed and soft uplighting set a moody scene that was supposed to be decadent and luxurious, Din guessed. Laughter drifted between the low buzz of conversation. Not many people took notice of Din and Tala, but those who did were visibly put off at the sight of a dirty girl in armor and a Mandalorian guiding her way.
As they passed by one particularly overt gawker, Tala swiped the drink right out of their clawed hand, downed it in a single gulp, then shoved the empty glass into the hand of a different ogling partygoer. She huffed shakily, and Din could hear the dread and resolution in the sound. Truth be told, he wouldn't have minded a drink either. He couldn't wait to have this over with.
They passed by a large spirits fountain in the center of the space. A sparkling crystal chandelier floated above a golden statue of the god Talasia, whose hands poured wine. Din eyed it with distaste then spotted a large mural on the far wall etched in precious metals. In the design, Din glimpsed Talasia yet again, depicted in a scene lording over his wives and numerous children. Ugh. People who devoted themselves to the Talasian creed were a cult.
The protocol droid led them to a grand doorway, motioning for them to enter. When the door swept up, it revealed a palatially appointed lounge thick with cigar smoke. Men sat around a low table in lazy sprawling positions playing sabacc and drinking heavily. Two armored bodyguards were positioned in either far corner of the exquisite room. At their entry, all eyes came to the newcomers and Leon Stryker rose. He was white-haired and in his late sixties but still had the vigor of youth about him and must have imagined himself intensely important. The fancy sash across his chest, the fur-lined cape, and the shining shoes all said self-important, grandiose egomaniac. He addressed the card players in the room with a single clap of the hands and a pleasant, strong smile. "Gentlemen! A most pleasing game. Now if you don't mind. My sons and I would like to greet our… guests." A dart of the eyes went to Tala, and darkness showed through Leon's carefully crafted outward demeanor.
The players filed out, leaving only Leon, Tala's three older brothers, the armed guards, and an elder man dressed in blue—more than likely a trusted advisor or close friend. The door shut, and the noise of the party beyond instantly disappeared. The room fell into an unsettling silence. Beside Din, Tala was like a stone. Her brothers regarded her with smug loftiness as if silently taunting her for failing to fully escape their clutches. Din's discomfort increased with every passing second.
Leon slowly and deliberately approached his daughter. Cold anger and command glinted in his eyes as he made a show of looking Tala up and down with disgust. "Why do you look like this? Like a chewed-up rat?" He came close and grasped her roughly by the chin, yanking her forward and keeping her young face crushed in age-spotted hands decorated by garish rings. "You have humiliated this family for the last time," he spat. "The next time you defy me, I'll send an assassin. Schutta." With a shove he let go then wiped his hand on his garment pointedly, his glare silently berating his daughter for coming into his presence with a dirty face.
Tala's glare was similar to his, albeit containing much more fear. What she said next both impressed and concerned Din. "I'll slit my own throat before I give you the chance to take my life."
Leon's face registered rage at her defiance and as if he had done it a hundred times before, he backhanded her across the face so hard that she stumbled to keep her balance. It took a lot to shock Din Djarin. But he had to forcefully lock his body in place to keep from reacting physically to that. As Tala turned her face away and burned red, Leon invaded her space threateningly. "You and your coward of a mother are an embarrassment to the Stryker name! Why must you madden me this way?!" Slow and obstinate, Tala turned her face and raised her chin as her wrathful eyes glared boldly into his. One of his rings had cut her cheek. Leon regarded his daughter with disappointment and scorn, shaking his head softly. "Why she waited to kill herself until after you were born has always been beyond my understanding. If only she had taken you with her, to save me the hassle." His voice became deathly foreboding. In Tala's eyes, unshed emotion glinted. "You will learn your place, girl." Without looking, he motioned at his sons. "Lon." The oldest came forward and took his sister by the arm crushingly. She made no sound and went with him, her face portraying a mixture of hatred, resignation, and contempt all at the same time.
As if nothing was wrong with what had just happened, Leon smiled generously at Din, who barely paid attention—he was following Tala's movement tensely. If they took her from the room, he wasn't sure he would be able to stay put and not follow. Lon didn't take her away. He merely took her to the back of the room and shoved her to sit in a chair, which she did with absolute helpless fury on her face. Din stared at the small bleeding cut on her cheek. In his ears, he could hear his pulse pounding hard and his elevated breathing. She'd called her father a monster. Din was finding that incredibly easy to believe right about now.
Leon gestured gracefully, approaching Din in a way that felt disconcerting considering what he'd just done. "Please. Pardon my… emotions. I'm sure you understand how troublesome losing property can be." Property. The bitter aversion in Din's mouth was quickly becoming hatred. Without moving his head he looked at Tala again, whose face was like a rock. She had no one here to defend her, and even though by now Din knew she could protect herself… she simply wasn't capable in a situation like this. No one would be. Din could only imagine what she was thinking, and couldn't believe what he was thinking: kriff the credits. He had to get her out of here. "I was not misinformed about the quality of service you provide," Leon droned on. Din barely heard him. "Ord. Bring the sum." He snapped his fingers and another of his sons brought over a large case with a handle. "Your payment," he said, and Ord set it onto the ground in front of Din's feet then opened it, revealing a hundred shining ten-thousand value Imperial credits. Din stared at them silently. He did not feel how he had imagined he would in this moment. "A great people, the Mandalorians," Leon continued. "Such a shame they were wiped out by the Empire. Testament to your skill that you survived, I'm sure."
Din's hand twitched as he imagined whipping out his sidearm and blasting this gloating imbecile in the face. He knew he couldn't do that without setting off very major consequences, so he hesitated. While he wasn't averse to shooting his way out if he had to, this was a highly sensitive situation for multiple reasons: whatever he did next would get out to the public and affect his career; additionally whatever he did next would either make Tala's future either safer or more treacherous. Din had to play this like a game of strategy to do the least damage. But how the kriff did he get out of here without starting some sort of war? On the edge of his vision, another golden statue of Talasia loomed. A wild idea abruptly came into his mind. An idea that just might work.
"What, are you asleep under there?" Leon asked, his voice thinning in patience.
Din let an impolite beat of silence proceed his answer before he looked up from the credits. "Turns out I won't be needing the bounty."
Everyone in the room was instantly confused. Leon's eyes narrowed dangerously as he tried to understand. "And why… exactly… is that?"
Din straightened, preparing himself for anything, depending on how this went. "Deal's off." He was about to bet everything on a mere hunch of a hunch that this wealthy fool was as religious as all the iconography around his prized yacht indicated. With a deep breath in, Din made his gamble: "I invoke the Talasian right of rescue."
Leon's face went slack. "You what?" Across the room, Tala's face dropped with shock as her father peered into Din's helmet visor with hard eyes. "… Is this some sort of joke?"
Din hoped he got the details right. "I saved her life at peril to myself and thereafter returned her to her father. According to creed, the right is mine." It was an absurd sexist tradition he'd heard about while in the Belderone sector last year which entitled men to women. Only the truest fundamentalists believed in or perpetuated such garbage. But from the look on Leon's face… Din was speaking his sick and twisted little language. Bingo. This was their ticket out of here.
Technically, it was a marriage rite. Din personally wasn't interested in that sort of arrangement and could only imagine what kind of awkward conversations might follow between him and Tala, but invoking the tradition would protect them both. In Leon's eyes, it would remove his perceived ownership of his daughter while also removing any acceptable reasons for retaliation against Din. This was one of those use-the-thoughts-of-others-against-them situations. And Din could already see it was working.
Leon gaped at his daughter, whose wide eyes stared at Din in disbelief. "Is this true? He saved your life?"
Tala was in such a state that words escaped her. With an uncertain finger and perplexed eyes that scanned back and forth from Din to her father, she pointed at the visible pink scar on her forehead, then with some quick maneuvering of armor and her sleeve, she showed her healing IV sight to her father, whose face registered disbelief and blaming disappointment as he put the pieces together well enough to understand he wasn't being deceived. Din watched sourly, still eying Tala's cheek.
The man in blue spoke for the first time. "A Mandalorian, a discipline of the Talasian creed… how peculiar." With slight nervousness, he eyed an increasingly angered Leon. "He is within his rights, your excellence. As… unfortunate as it is."
"What absurdity do you suggest?" Leon demanded, approaching Din stormily. Behind him his guards closed in, sensing a coming altercation. "You dare set foot onto my ship and presume to invoke rights over me?! Take my daughter as your bride?!"
Din strangely found himself enjoying the power dynamic shift as Leon grew more flabbergasted. He imagined the smirk on his lips was audible in his reply. "That's right."
Leon's belief system dictated that he was obligated to give Din what was asked for. It was time to convey how serious he was. In a microsecond, his blaster was out. In two blasts, the two bodyguards were dead, the three sons were on their feet, and Leon was held at the end of Din's blaster in disbelief. Din shook his head ever so slightly. Pompous fools. Entrusting their protection to guards instead of arming themselves. He was sure they were regretting going weaponless. Turning his helmet a fraction toward Tala, he motioned 'come here' with his free hand. She skirted away from her brother incredulously then scooped up one of the bodyguard's abandoned blasters before standing uncertainly beside Din. He could hear her trembling, confused breaths. Things had changed quickly.
Leon Stryker trembled, grasping at straws. "You will take my last marriage-age daughter for yourself?!"
Din stepped closer and Leon shrank. "Be glad it's all I take." With a downward glance, Din briefly considered taking the credits too. No. Anything that might upset the balance wasn't an option. Din stepped closer still as Leon lost proverbial ground. "Now speak the rites."
"I'll double the amount," Leon sputtered, "I'll triple it!"
His eldest son Lon spoke up, his face expressing that he thought this had gone far enough. "Don't be absurd, Father. Her marriage to the Ongarion isn't even worth all this. I've told you since the start that I'm against the idea. All she'll do is turn our allies against us! She can't even bear children, how do you think Ongaria royalty will react when they discover it? We'll lose the entire system." Lon looked at his sister with distaste. "Trouble at home, trouble beyond."
Leon considered tensely. Din was running out of patience. His blaster clicked as he armed it and kept it aimed at the patriarch. "Speak the rites. Or lose three sons."
Cornered in multiple ways, Leon took a handful of distressed, angry seconds to deliberate. He eyed his statue of Talasia, made eye contact with his son, then turned a scornful glare onto his daughter. Then he visibly pivoted. "The gentleman makes a good point," he said, turning his steely gaze onto Din. "Perhaps it is better to be rid of this nuisance of a daughter once and for all. May she curse your life instead of mine." Cavalier and sarcastic, he spoke the rites: "Upon the stones of Talasia, she is yours."
The rites were much simpler than Din had expected. Interesting. He lowered his blaster slowly, watchful for any sign of trouble. None came. Din left them with a final message to dwell on: "If you send anyone after either of us, either now or in the future, the last thing you ever see will be the end of my rifle." He holstered his blaster. "Nice doing business with you." He turned toward Tala, who clearly couldn't believe what was happening. "Come on." He led the way out, pressing the door panel.
One of the brother's shouts followed them, semi-lost in the noise of the party they slipped into. "You'll never work again in the Outer Rim, Mandalorian!" The door slid closed behind them.
Din guided Tala by the elbow as sheer disbelief made her colorless and confused. "What the blazes are you doing?!" she asked in a hiss, her eyes wildly scanning around as she clutched the blaster she'd taken and tried to be discreet about it.
They kept a quick pace that was just short of an urgent stride. "Getting you out of here. Would you like me to recant?"
Tala shook her head blankly, throwing a disbelieving glance backward. "N—no. Nope."
"Then keep walking."
The protocol droid reappeared in their path, gesturing in a way meant to mimic surprise or delight, Din wasn't sure which. "Oh! Allow me to escort you back t—" Din put a hand in the droid's face component and shoved, sending the droid flying into a beautifully stacked display of stacked wine flutes nearby. The terrific crash startled the partygoers, who stared at the couple who disappeared into the lift.
The noise of the party shut out as the lift door panels shut, leaving the space so silent that Tala's breathlessness became audible. Din jabbed a finger into the keypad, directing the lift down to the welcome hall. Tala seemed terrified and outraged at the same time. "He'll send assassins after you for this!"
"No he won't." Din turned his head toward her. "And if he does, so be it. I meant what I said."
She was too dumbfounded to reply. They stayed like that for a long couple of seconds before the lift doors reopened in the welcome hall. Din led the way, tensed and ready for possible combat. However, none of the security guards budged from their posts. Good. They'd been told to stand down. Tala openly gaped, incredulous that they were seemingly being let go.
They reached the ship and successfully entered. Din closed the hatch behind them and headed to the cockpit as Tala followed in a baffled daze. "Did you really just walk away from a million credits?"
Din paused to give her a pointed look from the pilot's seat. "I thought that wasn't much money to you." He flipped multiple switches and a low thrum sounded as the repulsors came to life. Tala blinked a couple of times at his blasé callback. Din switched the subject, already detaching his freighter from the yacht. "I'll take you wherever you'd like to go. From there, your fate is yours."
Tala sank into the copilot seat uncertainly with her blaster held loosely, visibly second-guessing everything as she struggled to understand her changing reality. "I—I don't know. I can't… I can't even think right now." They drifted far enough from the yacht for Din to engage the engines. Tala's eyes lingered where his did: on the nearby patrol ships. "Just get us out of here." He could agree with that plan.
Din headed for open space, starting a hyperspace calculation to the next system over just to be on the safe side. However, it did look like the patrol ships weren't coming after them, which told Din that Leon Stryker was smarter than he looked. Calculations complete, Din took them into hyperspace with a pull of the lever. Tala let out a soft exhale and relaxed by a couple of degrees. On the console, Din noticed a blinking indicator. A transmission had been received while he was away.
The leather seat creaked beside him. Tala had shifted to gaze at him with a look on her face that was too soft and searching. Too interested and too thankful. "What's your name?"
The unexpected question made him bristle in a way he wasn't quite sure what to do with. He didn't know how to respond. He settled on, "There's no need for that." He switched the engage button to play the message, effectively cutting the conversation off. Tala settled uncomfortably into her chair, eyeing him sidelong.
Greef Karga, a rising talent with the guild appeared in blue on a recorded relay. "Mando! Hope your million-credit gig went smoothly. I have an update on Craz Lindarion I figured you'd want. We have positive ID on Toth from a real reliable source. It's in Wild Space, so I hope you got the gun well repaired on that hunk of junk freighter of yours. Client's real impatient over this one so lemme know if you need me to get another guy on it. We'll see you soon." The message ended.
Wild Space. Always an interesting time. And he did need some currency to take back to the Tribe—supplies and food were running dangerously low. The Tribe. Din's impulse decision to rescue Tala instead of collect reward began to fill his mind. He shouldn't have told the Tribe about the job to begin with—because now he had to tell them what he'd done and the money that was no longer coming their way. Beside him, he heard leather creak again. "You need a gunner if you're headed to Wild Space."
Din turned his head just slightly and answered curtly. "I'm aware." Wait. He turned his head more. The look on her face said that she wasn't just stating random facts. Intrigued, Din studied her. "You're offering?"
Sitting in the seat that was always empty beside him in her muddy Stormtrooper armor, Tala somehow managed to look intimidated and confident at the same time. "I owe you."
Din turned his head away, uncomfortable again. "No you don't." On the other hand… "… But I do need a gunner." Skeptical as he was, he knew one thing about this Tala Stryker: she had surprising brass, and he had an instinct that she might have more tricks up her sleeve. He was about to find out, either way. If he couldn't bring home a million credits, at least he could bring home a few thousand. Anything more than zero to soften the blow. He flicked a couple of switches on the console, trying not to be obvious when he eyed her bleeding cheek. "You better hope you're a good shot."
Later
Tala stepped out of the tiny built-in fresher, feeling more like herself than she had in ages. She quickly dried off and wriggled back into the stretchy black bodysuit that went under the Stormtrooper armor, watchful for any unannounced reappearance of the ship's captain. But the cockpit door stayed shut. Tala finished stretching herself into the bodysuit. Earlier she'd washed it, wrung it out, then dried it the rest of the way using the stove unit on low heat and some creativity. While she'd done that while wearing some spare coveralls he had offered over, the Mandalorian had silently spray-painted all the Stormtrooper armor components a dark forest green. "Less conspicuous this way." That's the reason he'd muttered her way when her questioning stare refused to be ignored, anyway. He had avoided her attempts at conversation and disappeared into his cockpit shortly after.
His freighter was small and bare, with only a few utilitarian details Tala could make sense of. A workbench, a crate of tools, an armory, a large bottle of dark spirits, multiple tools for restraining persons, and endless supplies—some that made sense and others that didn't. He slept on a roll-out mat, best she could figure. Beside the fresher on a ledge, a little mirror had been stuck to the wall, and a razor, comb, and tooth cleaning kit were stacked neatly under it. Other than that, no personal effects she could spot. The space was sort of cold. Like no one lived here. The longer she was with this enigmatic stranger, the less she felt like she understood him.
With little else to do but prepare herself for the unknown, Tala stood at the mirror and worked on braiding her air-drying hair. She typically wore it long with various-sized braids in the lengths to keep it neat and out of the way. Then the braids were tied back or put into neat twists or buns. Today, she put it back long, too keyed up and restless to spend longer than needed on it. Anxiety was high, but so was elation. It was a strange combination. She had no money and no belongings except her medpen and the clothes on her back. And well, the drying Stormtrooper armor on the floor, she guessed. But she also had no one chasing her anymore—she didn't think, anyway.
As she looked into her own eyes in the mirror, she had a striking thought: the Mandalorian looked into this same mirror. Not for the first time, she wondered what her rescuer's face looked like. Tala picked up his comb, trying to see if she could decipher what color hair he had. The comb was clean and offered no clues. She set it back down as the most bizarre and shocking moment of her life replayed in her mind for the hundredth time.
"You dare set foot onto my ship and presume to invoke rights over me?!" Her father's angry shout echoed. "Take my daughter as your bride?!"
The Mandalorian's answer still made her feel a shiver. "That's right."
He'd said it without hesitation. Meaning he must have understood what the rescue rights meant. Tala had grown up hearing all the fables about Talasia, so of course she knew about that absurd tradition… but she had never, ever imagined it would be used on her, much less by a man whose face she'd never seen and whose name she did not know. A shudder of disbelief ran through her, then a tidal wave of emotion. She looked at the cut on her cheek in the mirror as her eyes pooled. A faceless man who 'married' a total stranger in an ancient ritual without hesitation, all to seemingly give her back the freedom he'd been paid to take. No wonder her head wouldn't stop whirling. He had rejected the million credits—just to save someone who needed saving. Some might think it was a romantic gesture. Tala wasn't sure about that. She was just glad he'd had a change of heart, even if it had been at the last possible minute.
She just couldn't understand why he'd done what he did, and her mind continued to obsess on it in the background of her thoughts. With tentative fingers, Tala applied a bacta patch to her cut cheek. Minor cuts and scrapes posed only a little bother and mild risk when the medication was in her system, which it was after Daiyu. Her mind turned to her offer to be gunner. Hopefully, all those secret, stolen hours doing simulations wouldn't let her down. As long as she could apply the skill she'd been forbidden to learn but learned anyway, the Mandalorian would never find out she'd never actually fired a ship cannon before, let alone engaged with an enemy fighter. She let out a charged breath. Don't mess this up, Tala.
After finishing her hair, she noticed a drawer underneath the ledge with his mirror and grooming tools. Taken by curiosity, Tala hesitated. She shouldn't snoop. But she did anyway. Inside the drawer she found dark-colored tunics and a small, soft leatherbound book. She raised the corner of the book and glimpsed strong penmanship in bold ink. A journal. Surprised, she quickly let the book fall closed without catching any of the written words. Then a glint caught her eye. Her fingers slipped into the abyss of tunic fabric and raised out a curious item. It was a small metal token, hand-hammered with a faded insignia that looked like a fish and a hook. The token was on a soft leather cord long enough to be a necklace, but a short necklace. Like the size a child would wear.
"Looking for something?"
She jumped, gasped, and whirled, clutching the item tightly in her hand. The Mandalorian had caught her red-handed, and he was so close that she had to shrink back just a bit to stay appropriate. "S-sorry," she apologized, grinning self-consciously as her chest and neck burned. She shrugged and handed it over meekly, cursing herself for never learning. "Always been a little nosy." Including now, because she couldn't help but make a comment that cast around for more information: "Didn't take you for the jewelry wearing type."
In his gloved hand, it sat like a shining coin and he looked down at it for a lengthy few seconds. "It belonged to my mother."
Tala hesitated, understanding instantly because of his use of the past tense. That, and his husky voice had the hint of something new in it. Sadness. "You lost her."
His hand closed around the object and he looked at her for a silent beat before he turned abruptly and started to walk off. Disconcerted, Tala had to be very quick. "Why?" she asked when she got into his path. He stopped just short of running into her. Tala's eyes searched the nothingness that made up the horizontal view strip. "Why'd you save me? I don't understand." And it felt very important that she did.
If she could have seen past the helmet, she would have seen his eyes drop to the cheek that had been hit. She would have seen him look at her bacta patch for a long moment with unreadable eyes that would slowly come back up to hers. His answer was quiet. Almost gentle. "I guess sometimes I make exceptions." Tala swallowed, thrown off by the softness.
He lingered a beat then brushed past roughly, leaving Tala feeling abruptly thrown off again by his difficult-to-predict behavior. "You're really not gonna tell me your name?" she called after him, exasperation tightening her voice.
The Mandalorian paused at the cockpit's threshold, turning half his body only. His silences before his answers were infuriating and excruciating. Especially that one. "Get some rest. I'll wake you up when it's time." He disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Tala to stare after in frustrated curiosity and mystification.