I woke up in a jolt. The floor was cold on my cheek and I heard a numbing whir in the distance, informing me I was in a ship. I never much liked traveling through space and didn't ever warm up to it. I pushed myself up on my forearms and seethed at a new pain that surged through my left shoulder. Scenarios came back to me in pieces—the Mandalorian, a sandstorm surrounding us, the Dark troopers—and I felt my heart accelerate at the realization of what I'd done.
I touched my shoulder to massage my muscles a bit while simultaneously feeling for the satchel, but it was gone. Someone had removed it and was likely severely disappointed. My plan had at least worked that much, but now I was steeping in my own cold sweat on an Imperial ship. I sat up a bit straighter and leaned my shoulder against the wall of the cell, scanning the room. The cursive letters that defined the Empire's law were scribbled into the walls, bordering the cell as a reminder of who you're imprisoned to. There was a bench on the opposing side of where I sat with a small blanket and a bowl, made of some kind of plastic. The last detail I acknowledged was that there was no metal in sight—it was designed completely for my species, wooden planks set into the floors, walls, and even the door. To no one's surprise these people knew what I was and put me somewhere I had no control. I felt myself begin to panic.
Footsteps approached the door to the cell. Two storm troopers moved aside, and a man with a slick green suit appeared in the entry. He had his hands behind his lower back and his hat was on his head far too tightly. My body recoiled.
"Well, well, well," he said, taking two steps towards me. "I never thought I'd live to see the day where a bender and I cross paths."
I struggled to keep my expression stern. My identity was revealed, and I felt naked. The man's small, black eyes thinned as a condescending smile spread across his face.
"And traveling with a Mandalorian?" he shook his head pompously and clicked his teeth. "What has this world come to."
I remained silent. He came closer and crouched beside me, lowering his voice. "Moff Gideon will be ecstatic. No child, I see, and I must admit, you fooled us…" he examined his fingernails for a moment, the black paint chipping away at the edges, allowing his next few words to sink in. "But we know where the child and where the Mandalorian are."
My eyes widened. The Captain was satisfied with himself at my reaction and stood back up, turning to leave the cell. Subconsciously I jumped up and bended the thin air at his side, sending him into the wall of the cell. The oxygen levels in this ship were minimal and I didn't have as much control over this element within the physical laws of the galaxy. It certainly was not the same as the typical habitable planets I was used to and used much more of my energy to do so. Several storm troopers raised their blasters at me and inched closer. The Captain extended his hand to steady them and smoothed his blazer down, turning to face me.
"Your abilities are useless here," he noted, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I was panting harshly and drained from the effort. I put my arm out and caught myself, using the wall to help keep me standing. "No suns to fuel your fire bending, no oxygen other than the air you breathe, and certainly no water. You'll be too exhausted to do much else other than create a calming breeze within the ship."
He exited the cell and the wooden door closed behind him quickly, the sounds of bamboo chiming in his absence. I crumbled to the floor of the ship, completely defeated, both from my sad attempt of an attack and at my exposure. My spirits attempted to be kind, reminding me in my depressive state about the child, and how I may have saved him—but it was overwhelming. I curled into a ball, wrapped my arms around my head, and screamed hopelessly into the abyss of the ship.
The Mandalorian drove the speeder bike back into Nevarro. Though he knew he should be relieved at evading yet another attack from an Imperial ship, he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty at how he'd done it. Something strange inside of him clicked when Quinn walked away from him in the sandstorm, her newfound coolness about being captured leaving him speechless. Not only did he felt his trust in this woman solidify when she allowed him the opportunity to escape with the child, but his admiration for her character was becoming clearer to him.
He walked through town and made a beeline for the office, keeping a quick pace. "I need your help," he said to Cara, her feet propped up on her desk. Her lips curled into a smile.
"Already?" she said, leaning forward. "What is it?"
"They have Quinn." he said, his fist leaning on her desk. The child sat in the nook of his free arm, looking between them.
"Who does?" Cara was confused.
"She distracted a few Dark troopers so we could get away," the Mandalorian put the kid down on the desk, remembering the scripture on the ship for reference. "Now they've taken her. I need your help finding her."
"Dark troopers?" Cara's puzzlement thickened on her face. To calm the Mandalorian down, she lowered her voice. "But she doesn't have him," she pointed towards the child. "Right?"
"What's your point?" He asked impatiently.
Cara's eyebrow twitched. "Mando, hear me out. You have the kid. Why not just get the hells out of here? They'll probably let her go once they realize the child isn't with her anymore. You're wasting time," she stood, thinking she should steer him out so he could get some ground between him and the war lords, her concern about the situation rising.
The Mandalorian hesitated. He knew he could confide in Cara regarding Quinn's abilities and her history, but it would be dishonest towards Quinn. He paced the office, trying to think of a good enough reason to get Cara to help him.
"I can't go into detail, but there's something about Quinn that ex-Empire thugs, especially Moff Gideon if he truly is still alive, would be…interested in," Cara's eyes widened at the Mandalorian's mention of recent rumor's—Gideon. The thought of his return made Cara feel a sudden need to take a deep breath, one that filled her lungs, before she released it. "If I don't help her, they'll destroy her."
Cara's face turned to curiosity. The anticipation of hidden knowledge always interested her. She kept her voice steady. "What is it?"
"Are you going to help me or not?"
Cara sighed, crossing her arms, realizing the Mandalorian's tone was turning nasty. The child cooed and reached his hand up at the Mandalorian, who's hot stare was still burning into Cara. She scoffed and shook her head at herself—she was tired of this battle she still faced with the Empire and wanted it to be over with. With one last glance at the Mandalorian's impatient glare, she made her decision and walked out of the office with him following behind, wondering what the urgency was about this woman.