It's him. He's the menace. I've been stuck in this god-forsaken ship("The Razor Crest", he calls it) for about a week now, counting the days with the light that streams through the cockpit's window. I have no idea what planet we're on, much less where the Mandalorian is. Or if he's even coming back. I look down at the small green child in my lap, his tiny hands grasping at the ends of my hair.
"That's not for you to eat, Baby Bright Eyes." Pulling it out of his grip, I hand him his favorite toy, a small metal sphere, to play with instead.
I don't know where we are because Grumpy didn't tell me. Not for a lack of trying on my part. Recalling the moment before he headed out, my eyes roll.
"You don't need to worry about it. You won't be doing anything anyway." He told me, punching buttons to land the ship.
I frowned at him. "Is this about fighting? 'Cause I may not look like it, but I can put up a fight," I pointed out, thinking of the brawls I would have with other scavengers for scraps.
His helmet turned towards me, seemingly looking me over. I felt my shoulders rise under his gaze. He exhaled sharply.
"Didn't 'put up much of a fight' the last time I checked."
My shoulders released from their tense position and I gaped at him, at a loss for words.
...He was cheekier than I thought. Then again, I knew almost nothing about the Mandalorian, save for the fact that he really, aggressively cared about Baby… And also had quite bad taste in ships.
I turned away in a huff and spotted the child wandering around the floor. We made eye contact.
"Baby, your dad's a jerk."
Baby gurgled at me.
"Yeah, okay."
Which leaves us here. Don't get me wrong, Baby makes for good company. I can talk continuously at him and he won't get irritated. Can't say the same for another particular man. On Tatooine, after my mother passed away, I was constantly alone. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Better silence than having to deal with people trying to pick a fight.
But it was also stifling. And lonely. I discovered that talking to myself sometimes makes me feel like I'm not truly alone. Like I'm just some character in a story, with the reader accompanying me and making sure I'm safe on my journey through life. Kind of depressing, huh?
Baby seems hungry, as always. It should be about time for his dinner. I open up a new rations packet for him, mumbling about how hard it is to pry the tops off. He seems undisturbed by my frustration.
I suddenly have an idea. "Hey Baby, can you do that little magic trick you did before?"
He looks up at me blinking, like he's confused as to why his food hasn't been delivered to him yet. I try to elaborate in baby talk.
"You, know… Choke? Choking thing? Kill man thing? Except instead of killing another guy, do it to this." I hold the packet in front of Baby's uncomprehending face.
He sits patiently, waiting for me to get my strange thoughts out of the way and just open his food for him. We have a short staring contest, him with his big, brown eyes, and me, with my intense stare.
I lose.
Mildly disappointed but not surprised, I end up using my teeth to rip a hole through the packet before pouring it into a bowl for Baby to get at.
As I watch over him happily sipping up his meal, I think about how to spend my day. I've already tried cleaning the ship. Virtually all surfaces in the ship gleam from how much time I've spent scrubbing each and every one.
I'm not a mechanic, but I've spent enough time around junk and broken things to know how simple machines work. It was hard work in the beginning, trying to fix small spots around the inside of the ship. I chalk that up to too much time as a collector and not enough time as a creator. But I fixed the pieces I could wrap my head around. Some wires soldered here, maybe some screws tightened there. There's so much wrong with the ship that I get the feeling that by the time I attempt to fix everything, I will have become a master craftsman. Who knows? With how long I've been here already, I wouldn't bet against it.
My mind eventually drifts back, as it seems to often now, to the Mandalorian. As much as I'd like to deny it, his and Baby's unexpected presence in my life has caused the most excitement I've had in many years.
At first, it was scary. I think of how it felt to see my eyesight fading into black, the sheer panic and nauseating feeling that I would die right there on the floor of his ship, air to my lungs cut off. It's been almost a month since the incident, but remembering how I felt back then still sends shivers down my spine. Not to mention his large array of weaponry, hidden behind a metal sliding panel in the wall. It still is scary to me, in a way.
But it's not nearly as bad as before. Especially since through my short attempts at conversation with the Mandalorian, I've found that he's not such a crazy killer like I first believed him to be. Still wildly dangerous. But controlled. Nothing really sets him off, and I know my incessant babble is irritating, particularly for someone so set in silence as he is. Sometimes, he's even a little annoying, on the rare occasion that he speaks first, only to point out my obvious(to him, at least) character flaws. I swear he's poking fun at me in his own, twisted and quiet way.
I don't miss that part of him.
...I don't miss his presence at all, actually.
And I most definitely do not miss him when I hear random scuffs against the ship's walls coming from the outside. Nope.
I just miss his blasters. Oh, what I would do to get my laser back.
The Mandalorian has taken it and put it somewhere I can't find. It was one thing to watch him take apart my collection of scrap metal. A whole other thing to see my laser in his hand, after fully believing it fell out of the ship during the scuffle. He still doesn't trust me, I guess. That's a reasonable conclusion to come to, especially given the harsh nature of his profession. Rule number one of bounty hunting: don't give the loud girl you strangled a dangerous weapon. Makes sense.
While I have my head in the stars, my tiny green friend has already finished his food and started to waddle about on his short, albeit quick, legs.
My eyes follow Baby around the floor of the ship as I wonder about his strange powers. I still have no idea why his small, three-pronged hands can perform miracles and choke bad guys from afar, but I've warmed up to the idea of it over the course of my time on the Razor Crest. It seems to only work in times of great distress or chaos. I've been trying to get Baby to help me with chores around the ship, but he just stares at me like I'm the green one. The language barrier is a serious problem. We're working on it.
In addition to the magical power development attempts(by me mostly), I have also been trying to teach Baby how to speak. He's got the "make noise" part down pat, but in terms of forming actual words? His little teeth can't seem to manage it. Yet. I'm confident I can get the little bean to say one word by the time his father comes back. If he comes back at all. I frown.
I don't doubt that Bright Eyes can understand what I'm saying. It's definitely a rough understanding, like the time he tried handing me his toy instead of a screwdriver I needed. But he knows enough to tell when I'm feeling down or angry.
How could I stay in a bad mood when his adorable round eyes are looking up at me? He's the cutest thing I've ever seen. Coming from a girl born and raised on Tatooine, that doesn't say much, but you would say the same if you could see him.
As much as I love talking to Baby and fawning over his pretty eyes, I'm also bored out of my mind. He's still wandering around, now fidgeting with random controls that open and close the front panel of Grumpy's assortment of weapons. Maybe not such a great idea.
Just as I walk over to Baby and scoop him in my arms, there's a loud clanging noise against the side of the ship, strong enough that it resonates through the floor under my feet. There have been other noises before coming from the outside, but never this loud. Or this shaky.
I exchange nervous glances with Baby.
"Rule one. Don't leave the ship," I faintly recall Grumpy saying. "No exceptions," he said.
The noise grows louder. There's one big thump against the ship, followed by two smaller hits.
My feet cautiously tip-toe towards the entrance of the Razor Crest. I can feel my heart racing.
Another big hit. The hit lands with a 'thunk', and slides down the ship. What the hell is going on out there? My curiosity grows with my fear. That damned curiosity again.
"Rule two. Don't. Leave the ship." The memory is clearer now. I remember just barely stopping myself from rolling my eyes at such a serious list. The repetition of the rule seems more fair, now. But the more I think about Grumpy's rules, the more I find myself wanting to break them. I wonder what it would look like out there. A foreign, mysterious land. Somewhere I've never been. What will I find?
A series of five hits. Not against the ship this time, but close enough to hear through the thick metal walls. Are those blaster shots?
"...And rule three. Keep the kid safe." I stop just short of the entrance, hand paused over the controls to let the ship's ramp down. That's a rule I can't compromise on. I look down at the big-eared child nestled in my left arm. He looks back up at me, waiting.
I go to put him down, but his babble only grows louder as my arm gets closer to the floor. Hmmm.
The crashes are also getting louder. Would it even be safe for Baby if he's alone in here? What if he gets into trouble? Or worse, what if the trouble finds him? Reasoning against my better judgement, I eventually decide to take him with me. Besides, Grumpy never said I couldn't take Baby out of the ship, right?
The emotions propelling me to move are equal parts trepidation and excitement. I've had the same daily routine, in the same place, with nearly the same people, all my life. Except for now. This is my first venture into the galaxy outside Tatooine. It would practically be a sin to deprive myself of the experience. Plus, I've been stuck inside this piece of junk for way too long now. Even feeling the blazing hot suns of Tatooine is better than the cold nothingness I feel trapped in here. I never thought I would miss that heat.
I press randomly at the controls of the ramp. After multiple attempts, the ramp starts lowering, and my eyes go wide at what I see.
It's dark. And bright. Somehow at the same time. Nothing like Tatooine.
The night sky has settled, cool-toned colors seeping into the palette of my perspective. I can't see many stars, but what I do see almost makes up for it. In front of me, sparkling and shining and as far as my eyes can see, are dazzling lights, pigments ranging through the whole spectrum of the rainbow. It's louder than I expected. People riding speeders zip through the air around me. I can feel my knees go weak. The Crest is secure on a round landing pad, I notice.
There are structures so tall, I'm not even sure if they count as buildings anymore. They fill the space around the landing area, each and every one glowing with pretty, twinkling stars of their own. Peering closer at the stars, I can see that the flashy lights aren't so much as man-made stars, but rather different shapes of glass that let out light from the inside of the structures. Windows. How can windows be that beautiful? Baby looks almost as awestruck as I feel. His eyes are impossibly brighter, vivid colors reflected in his large pupils.
For the first time in my life, I feel a powerful and exhilarating urge. A want. No, a need. To explore the galaxy, to see all the different planets in all their unique glory and experience each of the distinct, rich cultures they have to offer. To experience life. As it could be. As it should be.
I stare so hard and long at my surroundings, imprinting the sensation of this specific world into my brain, that I almost forget why I've come out of the ship in the first place. The banging noises are quieter out here, with so many other sounds competing for my attention and drowning them out.
Snapping out of my reverie, I tentatively make my way towards the source of the repetitive sound.
As I near the side of the ship, the noises become clearer and more distinct to my ears. I can hear the individual shots of each blaster mixing with the groans of wounded people. A fight broke out next to our ship? My blood runs cold. What if the Mandalorian is injured?
Before I can stop myself and think it through, I rush to round the edge of the ship and find myself face to face with a stranger. That's not Grumpy. I can tell by the nasty sneer they give me. Their arm reaches out in what feels to me like slow motion. Not this again. My body instinctively moves to hide Baby from their reach. As it turns out, they weren't reaching for Baby. They were reaching for me.
An ear-splitting scream pierces the air and makes my head spin, before I realize with a start that it is my own scream that I am hearing, and instead of the noise being the cause of my spinning head, it's the hand yanking at my hair.
I vaguely hear Baby start to cry out from within my arms, but can't pay attention to him for long.
My scalp burns. I wrench my eyes open, not even understanding how I had them shut tight before. I can feel stinging tears start to well up around the corners of my eyes, thin rivets of liquid dripping down my cheeks from the build up.
It's all over before I know it. Right as I blink through my tears to fight back against the stranger, to do anything to relieve the fierce pain shooting through my temple, he appears.
I barely even see him at first. All I see is the stranger, leering down at me, hands wrapped in my hair, pulling me towards them, before a glimmer of metal cuts clean through their neck.
Their hands don't quite release from my hair as the body collapses, and my vision tilts dangerously towards the edge of the platform. I haven't even processed their death as I fall.
It feels like I fall for a very long time.
In reality, it was probably less than a second until he had me there, in his arms.
I can't tell if I'm blinking or not when I stare into his helmet. It takes a while for my mind to catch up. Is that me hiccupping? His figure is dark against the backdrop of lights. The silhouette of his armor is so pretty, funnily enough, outlined by the reflection of starry windows.
I feel my senses rush back into me. Ironically enough, I owe him my life. My eyes are dry now. Too dry. Rapidly blinking up at him, I try to explain myself. He's watching me flounder, silent.
No words come out. I wasn't sure what I was going to say to him, much less what he expected me to say. His head tilts back up to do a quick check on our remaining surroundings and all but drags me back into the ship. I don't fight him. I can't. How could I?
Baby is fast asleep in the metal crib. While the Mandalorian is pressing the necessary buttons to launch us into space, I take the time to calm down. It's much easier to do so when I look at him, so my eyes involuntarily drift over to the pilot's seat to the front-right of mine where he sits. From the way his figure hunches over and leans into the back of the seat, he looks exhausted. I make an attempt to talk to him, to no avail. The silence hurts louder than any insult he could have thrown at me.
"I gave you three rules, and you managed to break all three of them," he finally bites out.
To be fair, two of them were the same thing. And I didn't really break the last rule. I don't say that out loud. He seems more on edge.
"I'm sorry." My voice cracks slightly as I apologize. I mean it. I'm not sure what I expected from leaving to explore the sound, but I had definitely learned my lesson a hundred times over.
"You—the kid could have gotten hurt." I wince at the minute shift in his words.
"Do you get what rules are? You promised." My eyes raise to look up at him. His head is facing me. I shrink back into the cushion of the seat.
There's another strained silence that passes.
"...Where I come from, promises are always kept." I feel his gaze bore into me. "We trust each other. To break that trust is to break the code. Only traitors break the code."
...I understand now. The regret that twists my stomach is unbearable. Tired of pathetically looking away, my eyes steadily meet the direction of his hard stare.
"I won't let you down again," I swear to him, tired but as sincere as I can be. "And that's a promise I will never break."
His body is unmoving.
Then he nods, once. And it is over.