Chapter Two: What Meets the Eye

Consciousness returned with the force of a blaster bolt.

Thane's eyes snapped open, a wave of instinctual panic washing over him. He couldn't breathe. A fit of coughing overtook him, doubling him over, tearing at his insides like a clawed beast. He tasted blood and carbonite as his diseased lungs spasmed, fighting for air. His heart pounded and raced as though it would burst free of his chest. His head threatened to split open; his vision tunneled and grayed. His entire body began to go numb.

But finally, just when he thought he was going to black out again, the fit passed, leaving him panting and dizzy and utterly spent. He gritted his teeth as he caught his breath. His Kepral's Syndrome was advancing by the day—it would not be long now before he was incapacitated entirely.

He was dying.

Not that it would matter for long, if the Mandalorian turned him over to the Hutts.

Forcing such thoughts from his mind, Thane took a few moments to assess his situation. His hands were cuffed behind his back, then secured to a pipe on the wall near the floor. He was in a warehouse of some sort—no, that hum was the sound of engines. A cargo hold, then, on a ship with a wheezing hyperdrive. And poor environmental controls: the metal bulkhead at his back seemed to leach all the warmth from his body. His hands were numb from the cold.

He couldn't be certain how long he'd been unconscious, but judging by the stiffness of his joints, it had evidently been some hours at least. The blaster burn on his upper arm ached fiercely, but no longer bled. His head still spun a little, blurring his vision and making it difficult to think.

But he had to focus. This ship had to be the Madalorian's Razor Crest. He'd long ago memorized the vessel's layout and capabilities, and wondered briefly—but gratefully—why he hadn't been frozen in carbonite for the journey, as had become standard procedure for bounty hunters since the fall of the Empire. A glance around the hold quickly answered that question: a panel near the carbon freeze chamber lay open, torn and charred wires spilling out like viscera. A spanner lying discarded below a fresh scuff on the far wall suggested a repair attempt given up in disgust.

Thank Arashu for small favors.

That malfunction had given him a chance, and Thane was not about to waste it. All he had to do was free his hands, and—

Someone was coming.

Thane closed his eyes and let his head loll. If he let the Mandalorian think he hadn't yet woken, he might learn something useful.

But the footsteps that approached weren't the long, heavy stride of the bounty hunter. They were the pitter-patter of tiny feet, accompanied by a Force presence that Thane didn't even have to try to detect. It was impossible to miss, flooding his awareness like sunlight.

The child.

Thane remained still, certain the Mandalorian wouldn't be far behind. He seemed to care about the child; surely he was aware of where the boy was. Thane reached out with the Force, trying to locate him, but the child's presence was blinding. He could sense nothing else.

There was no other sound, though, no indication that the Mandalorian was coming. Alone, the child approached slowly, cooing, not a trace of fear in his voice. His presence was overwhelming, a pure innocence that brought a lump to Thane's throat. It brought memories rushing back of Kolyat, of the first time he'd laid eyes on his son.

It has been a long and difficult labor. Irikah is exhausted, pale, rapidly weakening and I am beginning to fear for her life. It is only for her sake that I find the strength to remain outwardly calm. Within, I am frantic with worry.

But the nurses are calm, the doctor still smiling and offering gentle encouragement. I can do nothing but clutch my wife's hand and pray to Arashu she will make it through.

The doctor tells Irikah to push one more time. She gathers what seems the last of her strength and bears down, squeezing my hand until I think the bones might break, and lets out a scream that threatens to stop my heart. But then the baby slides free into the doctor's waiting hands, and Irikah collapses back onto the bed, sobbing with relief. I stroke her cheek, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"Sere Krios?"

I turn, and a nurse is standing there, a tiny bundle in her arms. My mind is spinning, and for a moment I don't recognize it.

She holds the bundle out to me. "It's a boy."

She places the bundle in my arms, and time seems to slow down as I stare at the tiny little face peeking out of the blankets. My son. My son.

He is beautiful. His big, dark eyes gaze up at me with an unsettling wisdom that belies his age. His mouth forms a round O of curiosity as he takes in this huge, bright, cold world he's been brought into. More than that, his presence in the Force is just… pure. Pure innocence, pure trust. And suddenly, I am overwhelmed with a determination to protect that innocence with all that I am, for as long as I am able.

He was shaken from his memories by the child poking at his face and burbling insistently. Giving up his charade, Thane opened his eyes and raised his head.

The child cooed at him, smiling, his huge ears perking up. It seemed he hadn't been fooled, not for an instant. Or perhaps he was only happy to have elicited some reaction—he was only a baby, after all.

"You'd better go, ashi," Thane said gently, the endearment slipping from his mouth before he could think about it. "I suspect the Mandalorian won't be pleased to find you down here."

But the child didn't listen, or didn't understand. His eyes fell on the wound on Thane's arm, blackened and bloody, and his smile faded. He reached up and poked at it with one tiny finger.

Thane hissed in pain and pulled back as far as his bonds would allow. "Please don't do that," he ground out.

The child's ears drooped a little, and he toddled forward, reaching out toward Thane's arms again. With nowhere to go, Thane braced himself. "I said don't—"

But the child didn't touch him. His tiny hand hovered just above the wound, and his eyes drifted closed.

And the pain began to fade.

Thane could only stare in amazement. The child was using what had to be an instinctive command of the Force to heal him. He hadn't even known the Force could be used in such a way at all, let alone by one so young, and untrained.

"I told you to leave him alone."

Thane looked up as the Mandalorian strode across the cargo bay, scooped up the child, and deposited him in what looked like a storage locker converted into a tiny bedroom, keying to door controls with decidedly more force than necessary. He said nothing, but instead took the opportunity to study his captor.

Though the Mandalorian's voice had betrayed no emotion as he'd spoken to the child, his every movement radiated anger. And the longer Thane watched him, the clearer it became that it was not an anger born of hatred, nor of indignation at having been attacked. It was rather an anger born of fear—fear for the child's safety.

Once he'd secured the child, the Mandalorian looked over at Thane. "You're awake. That's good," he said flatly. "We're arriving at Nar Shaddaa in a few minutes, and I didn't want to have to drag you again." Then he turned on his heel and disappeared up the ladder into the cockpit.

So the Mandalorian was making good on his threat, then, and turning him over to the Hutts. While he remained grateful he wasn't frozen in carbonite, the thought of being paraded like chattel through the streets of the Smuggler's Moon did not appeal in the slightest. He needed to find a way out of his bindings. Once free, it would be a relatively simple matter to incapacitate the Mandalorian, commandeer the ship, and retreat back to Tatooine.

It would probably be easier, he reflected, to simply kill the Mandalorian. He could certainly make use of a ship like this, even in its current state of disrepair. But the child changed all that. He clearly had a bond of some kind with the Mandalorian, and Thane would not deprive him of what seemed to be the only parent he had.

He knew exactly what a loss like that could do to a child. His memory flashed once more to Kolyat, this time to cold, hard eyes glaring up at him in accusation. Why weren't you there?

It took an effort to set the insistent memory aside.

Thane looked around the cargo hold for something he could use to pick the locks on his cuffs. Droid parts, repair tools, anything. Eyes lighting on the gutted carbon freeze chamber, he spotted a piece of wire that should be thin enough but sturdy enough to do the job. He let his eyes drift halfway closed, reached out with the Force, and pulled it to him.

But in his imprecise grasp, several larger pieces came with it, scraping along the bay floor with a resounding screech. Thane stopped, his pulse thundering in his ears as he listened for the Mandalorian's return.

But no sound came from above.

Redoubling his concentration, Thane picked up the entire pile of scrap and floated it noiselessly—but far from effortlessly—to within reach of his bound hands. He set it down as quietly as he could, extracted the wire he wanted from the surrounding debris, and in moments had his right hand free.

The Razor Crest juddered out of hyperspace as he turned to free his left. Time was of the essence. It would not be long now before they made planetfall and the Mandalorian came to collect him.

But despite the urgency of his predicament, something gave him pause. The blaster burn on his left arm… was gone. Completely. Not even a scar remained. If not for the charred hole in his sleeve and the dried blood crusted nearly to his elbow, he might have thought he'd imagined the wound entirely.

Thane quickly picked the second lock and stood, joints and muscles complaining from cold and lack of circulation. He glanced back at the door behind which the mysteriously powerful child lay, and allowed himself a single moment of awestruck wonder. Then he gritted his teeth, turned toward the ladder, and prepared to storm the cockpit.