* Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcomed.
Pershing
Everyone was raring to go now that they had the coordinates, but they still had to work smarter, not harder.
With every passing day, as they drew nearer to Moff Gideon's ship, Din realized that they could make a few pit stops along the way. He knew they were in Bo-Katan's neck of the galaxy. She and her friends were extremely skilled fighters, and he could use their help. That is, if they would want to. In the short time that he knew her, Din had seen that Bo-Katan operated on her own set of rules. Still, he had to try. The more numbers, the better.
Although, finding her was proving to be challenging. Apparently, they moved around. A lot. Din assumed it was in order to find more Mandalorian artifacts and steal them back from the Empire. After the fall of Mandalore, there wasn't a doubt in Din's mind that the universe had such things hidden away in every corner.
It was on their way to a nearby refinery planet, where Bo-Katan was last rumored to be seen, that a small shuttle showed up on radar. With how close they were drawing to Gideon's ship, this couldn't be a coincidence. They kept their distance, but stayed on its tail. Even though Boba was the pilot of his ship, he looked at Din expectantly.
Din's hand gripped the edge of the console. He stared viciously out the windshield, at the little grey dot that was the shuttle. It wasn't the Moff's cruiser, and yet it felt like they were right on its doorstep. If the inhabitants of the shuttle knew anything about Grogu…
To break the silence, Boba spoke up. "It might be wise to let them go. If we interact with them and they slip away, they will warn Gideon."
Din's response was instant. "More than I already have?"
Boba paused. "Good point."
"If this shuttle is out here," he mused. "Then that must mean the cruiser is still nearby."
Moff Gideon was no coward, not one to run from anyone or anything. That said, Din knew that his threat from a couple nights ago had almost been a foolhardy move. Almost. It was apparently not enough to deter Gideon whatsoever, if this shuttle was any indication of the cruiser being close.
Boba scoffed slightly. "They think we're not worth their time. Such arrogance." He looked at Din again. "What do you wish to do right now? What do you hope to gain?"
"We've been travelling for a few days now, and there is still work to be done. I have no idea whether Grogu is still alive or not. If he's hurt, I-" He inhaled sharply. "If these Imperials can tell me something, anything…"
Boba nodded, and readied the guns. "We will warn them that they will be boarded. Should things get out of hand, well, the universe will have a couple less Imps."
"Not 'we'," Din clarified. "Just me. Get me in close so I can board, and I'll take it from there."
"I will agree to that," Boba said slowly. "Until I know how levelheaded you are."
Din glared at him, and he knew that Boba could see it even with his helmet on.
Boba explained. "When most people are distraught, they allow emotions and dramatics to take hold." He stared at Din. "You seem to go silent and cold. Any Imperial would be foolish to go up against you either way, but where are you, mentally?"
Din stared harshly at him. Unfortunately, it was a valid inquiry. Din had seen it many times in the past, how lethal and unhinged a Mandalorian could become when their child's life was in danger. He was a mildly self-aware person, aware enough to know how numb he still felt. Going almost completely blank and emotionless was currently how he was keeping it together.
"Ask Cara if you're so curious," Din eventually said. "She can vouch for me." He shook his head at Boba. "I will not compromise us. Any of us," he clarified with a snarl.
Boba exhaled in understanding. "Including your child."
Din nodded once.
Boba gripped the controls. "That is all I needed to know."
Appreciating his trust, in a show of good faith, he agreed to have Cara accompany him onto the shuttle. As it turned out, this was definitely the right move. Of all the people to be inside the small ship, it was Dr. Pershing. And he was being guarded by two incompetent pilots.
Pershing confirmed that Grogu was still alive. But Din could only take a second to feel relieved.
They didn't board this ship to take any prisoners, but one of the pilots held Pershing at gunpoint, probably to prevent him from saying anything he shouldn't. The pilot ran his mouth, mocking the fall of Cara's home, causing Cara to shoot him with ever-deadly accuracy. Moments later, both pilots were dead. Pershing got the backlash of it, his right ear grazed and all but disfigured.
Cara stalked away, clearly in turmoil. But she returned almost immediately, with a set of cuffs, and handed them to Din. All the while, in the background, Pershing screamed and gasped in pain.
Tensely, Cara shrugged at Din. "I lost my cool," she said simply, and unapologetically.
Din sighed, and also shrugged. Cara was merciless and fast, but it was rare when she was impulsive. He didn't fault her whatsoever. He turned towards Pershing, who was clutching his ear as blood steadily dripped onto the floor of the cockpit. He wasn't screaming anymore, reduced to wheezes and groans.
Din held out the shackles. "Cuff yourself."
Pershing looked at him in astonishment. "No offense," he huffed. "But if your goal was not to kill me, I'd say you're doing a poor-"
"Your pilot should've minded his manners," Din said. "My friend is a good shot. She's the reason why you're still alive." He shoved the cuffs against the doctor's chest. "Don't make me repeat myself. You're coming with us."
Without any choice, and with blood-soaked hands, Pershing positioned the shackles around his scrawny wrists. "I suppose I am," he muttered. "What will you do with me?"
Din and Cara didn't answer him. They simply led him into Boba's ship. Once inside the hull, Din grasped Pershing's shoulder and shoved him to take a seat on top of a bench, across from a locked armory. He instructed Pershing to stay put.
He and Cara walked into the cockpit to brief Boba and Fennec.
"He works for Gideon," Din explained to all of them. "He's experimented on Grogu in the past."
Boba was leaning forward in his seat. "What are we to do with him, then? We already have the coordinates we need. He's not on our side, and he's clearly not a fighter. As far as I'm concerned, he's cargo."
Cara nodded. "Dead weight."
"He's information," Din pointed out. "He could be invaluable. And him being here means that they can't do anything to Grogu just yet."
Cara flexed her jaw. "So we interrogate him."
Fennec half-smirked calmly. "Anyone know any good torture methods?"
Din resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Torture won't be necessary for him. He's spineless. I'll talk with him. See what he's willing to share."
Boba tilted his head. "Willing?"
Din nodded. "Like you said, we already have Gideon's coordinates. That's pretty much all we need. Anything extra would be a bonus. Finding Pershing was unexpected. He's a commodity. Not a punching bag."
Boba slowly leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Shame on me for doubting your restraint," he commented.
"You need any backup," Cara asked.
Din shook his head. "He's no threat. I've got it handled." He walked away from them, and went in the hull.
He breezed right past Pershing, not reacting to the way the doctor flinched and tried to curl in on himself. Din stopped in front of the armory and opened its doors, looking for a bendable sheet of metal that Boba had recommended to him.
He heard Pershing sigh shakily. "I need that med-kit."
Din ignored him, not caring what kit he was even referring to.
"My ear is still bleeding, you know."
Din half-shrugged. "I imagine it is."
"You're a bounty hunter, yes? That means you know which areas of the body are most likely to bleed out quickly. The blood vessels in one's ears are fragile and numerous. You're keeping me alive, which means I'm no good to you dead."
Din turned to look at him. When most people got clever with him, they often had arrogant smirks. Pershing's face was blank and fatigued. Respectful, if slightly irritated.
"Please," he asked dully. Using both of his index fingers, what with his hands shackled together, he pointed up at a high shelf. A med-kit was sitting up there. "I would've gotten it myself, but I didn't want be shot for insubordination." Despite his submissiveness, there was still a hint of sarcasm in his tone, one that Din could respect.
Din leaned the metal sheet against a wall. He took the med-kit down and handed it to Pershing. Clumsily, he opened it, snatching up a can of bacta spray and swiftly spraying the side of his head. While he tended to his wound, Din sat down across from him, crafting a holster for the beskar spear. He currently had no way of carrying it while remaining hands-free. He needed to create some sort of sleeve for it.
"Are you through," Din said blandly, causing Pershing to stop spraying. "I might need that for my friends when this is all over."
Pershing lowered the can into the kit, and carefully locked it inside. "You're about to go into battle."
Din nodded.
"Against who? Gideon?"
"That's none of your concern."
Pershing frowned deeply. "You're looking for the child. Gideon is the only one who has him right now."
Din's voice was tight, yet determined. "Not for much longer."
Pershing's mouth was a thin line as he stared at the floor, too intimidated to consistently look at Din.
Din rested the spear against a wall. "Tell me about Gideon."
Pershing exhaled, slowly shaking his head. "I will answer whatever questions you have, but it may not be to your liking. There are some things that even I'm not privy to."
Din cocked his head. "But you're a right hand to Gideon, given how important the kid is."
Pershing scoffed. "I am as much of a prisoner as the child is."
"Explain," Din demanded as calmly as he could.
Pershing looked at him then, though his eyes still flickered to the sides. "I'm not Imperial. I simply work for them."
"Same difference."
He shook his head. "No, it's not. I am invaluable because I'm a tool, nothing more. The moment that is no longer the case, and Gideon finally gets what he wants…" His skin paled, and his jaw clenched. "None of this is my choice. It never was. When my usefulness runs out, they'll dispose of me. I know they will." His brows came together, sympathetically. "I think that me and the child are alike in those regards."
Din felt his teeth click together, a harsh inhale causing his lungs to spasm. His child being treated like a lab rat was horrific enough, but the imagery of him being tossed aside at the end of it all -
No, damn it. He couldn't think about that, not for a single second. Right now, he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. Grogu's fate wasn't sealed. Not yet at least. And he would be damned if it ever got to that point.
"What does the Empire want with Grogu," Din asked.
Pershing's eyes widened as he snapped his attention to the visor. "He actually has a name?"
Dank farrik. Even something as simple as a name spelled a moment of weakness. Din mentally scolded himself. "Answer the damn question," he bit out.
Pershing looked away again. "I…Classified information is-"
"Answer," he commanded louder. "…the damned question. If you can spout scientific nonsense to a log, then you can tell it to me."
"What log?"
"From the base on Nevarro. You mentioned using his blood, and that you needed it to experiment with. It sounded like you had test subjects at your disposal."
"Oh," Pershing muttered. "That." His eyes were now glued to the floor and nowhere else, his brows close together. He wasn't lost in thought. Din could practically see the gears in his head turning. When he spoke again, Din wasn't sure what was true and what was self-preservation. "Then you know about as much as I do. Gideon keeps things on a need-to-know basis." He shrugged. "As you can tell by my disposition, I wouldn't exactly be the first person to tell operations to."
Din's eyes narrowed, not satisfied by his answer whatsoever. Although, Pershing had no reason to lie, given his current situation. He got to work bending and shaping the sheet of metal, trying to figure out what he wanted his next question to be.
"What do you want with the child?"
Din stopped his work to look at Pershing, but didn't answer him yet.
"You don't seem to wish him harm," Pershing continued to muse, his brows together, his words filled with genuine curiosity. "I don't understand what you have to gain from all of this."
Din continued his work. "You wouldn't be the first to speculate. And I also don't expect you to understand. It isn't something that can be explained in your language."
Pershing gave a bland chuckle. "No. You're right. I'm afraid there is no scientific term for pure selflessness."
Din didn't respond. He simply rolled the metal around the beskar until he had the desired shape. Once he was ready to affix it to his armor, he stood up. With detachment, he said to Pershing, "You'll stay down here for right now. We'll see if we can make use of you yet."
Before Din could walk away to join his friends, Pershing spoke up.
"I remember you, too. From Nevarro. You shoved me aside and took the child away. You rescued him from the Empire that day." He inhaled sharply. "From me. And you have my thanks for that. Until that day, I had never seen a one-man army shoot his way into an Imperial compound before." He looked up at Din, face neutral, but with a modicum of confidence. Almost hopeful even. "Whatever happens from here on out, I know who's more likely to win."
Din walked away, ready for the next step of their plan.
