The problem now was that there simply weren't weapons to go around for all of the prisoners. And the tools in the uniform workshop didn't seem very promising.
"What are we supposed to do," said one of the prisoners helplessly, holding up a tunic. "Smother them? Strangle them?"
"I'd say death by fashion," said another with a shrug. "But flattering uniforms are the Empire's only gift to the galaxy. Have you seen the New Republic's white shoes?"
"Stop whining," said the foreman. He gestured at Sixty and together they began breaking apart the fabric cutting machines to extract their blades. He held one up for Din to see—it was savagely sharp—then wrapped one end in cloth as a makeshift grip.
"We're taking it right to the control room at the top," said Din. "That's where we can disable the energy field before help arrives. And stop them from destroying the Arena." And then, he added to himself, we'll hunt Varro and Merrix.
"I wish the prisoners there could help us," mused Nine, putting his helmet back on. Din had told Nine and the other clones about Merrix's use of the abandoned town. "I could use a Trandoshan right about now."
The whole time alarms had blared. "Lockdown protocol in effect. Lockdown protocol in effect," droned an automated voice. The lifts for people and cargo had been shut off. But soon they would realize that the floors would no longer deliver swift pain and death, and the hatches separating the levels would no longer lock. And then the fight would become one of survival.
"Buddy," said Din quietly to Grogu, turning his head a little. "You good?"
"Esss," the boy answered in a conspiratorial whisper. Most of the prisoners had not noticed him yet. He tapped Din's helmet. "Guuuuhd." Din liked having Grogu on his back except that it was hard to see him. Struck by an idea, he held up his wrist, turning the vambrace until he could see Grogu's face reflected in the shining beskar mirror. His eyes shone and his ears were perky. A good sign.
"Okay. Be ready for anything." Then he tried Mayfeld again. "Mayfeld, what's happening?"
"We got these levels," he answered, to Din's relief. "The prisoners figured out the floors are turned off. There's a lot more of them than the guards and so you can figure out what happened next. How 'bout you?"
"We're going straight to the top." He was about to say more but a familiar, hateful voice sounded over the loudspeakers.
"This is Miss Varro." Her tone was cold and business-like. "Superintendent of this facility. I address now all staff. Lockdown protocols will continue. All guards must remain on their assigned levels until the alert is cleared. You are to maintain order and discipline no matter what rumors of a disturbance you may have heard. Any guard leaving his post is subject to immediate demotion to prisoner. To all inmates in this facility, I issue this warning. Production will continue and all quotas will be met. If you are in rest cycle, you will remain in your cells. Obey your guards. If you fail to comply, the floors will be activated to level 10, the most lethal level. You will receive no further warning."
There was no panic in her voice even though she clearly knew the floors wouldn't work anymore. But the fear they caused remained a potent weapon—and she was smart enough to use it. Prisoners would hesitate to rise up if they thought it would result in instant death.
"Engineer," said Din. "Can you do something about that? Can we stop her from making announcements?"
"I can try…and I might be able to loop in the loudspeaker system to this channel."
"Do it!" urged Mayfeld. "We gotta let everyone know what's really happening."
They approached the door to the twisting stairwell, Nine and Din in the lead. Ten of the strongest prisoners who seemed most comfortable with weapons followed, armed with stolen blasters and makeshift swords. Din counted one, two, three on his fingers. At the signal he and Nine sprang ahead, then began up the stairs followed by the others. Taking up the rear were the clones One Thousand and Two Thousand. ("Can I just call you One and Two?" Din had asked. The answer was a firm and immediate no.) They kept their eyes on the stairs behind in case of threats from below.
Cautiously they climbed the dark stairwell, lit only by emergency lights which flashed like red lightning. There were no windows in this concrete tube, but Din knew there could be cams all over. Nine took out several with his blaster. The sirens echoed deafeningly. They reached the thirteenth level, then twelve, eleven…
"Where are they?" asked Nine, his low rumble barely audible. "At some point they'll notice the video feed is gone."
The answer came at the eighth level. They heard running feet on metal stairs, then blaster fire rained around them. Din and Nine returned fire instantly. A guard screamed and toppled over the low railing, falling past them and down to the bottom level. Another scream and another falling body—but this was a stormtrooper.
"Cover me!" Din shouted.
"Too risky!" Sixty shouted back.
"My son and I are shielded by beskar. Just cover me!"
As Nine, Sixty, and the others exchanged fire with the guards, Din leapt up the stairs, hugging the wall to avoid being seen. He reached a small group of Imps, but they were too focused on the prisoners with blasters lower on the stairwell to even see him until it was too late. Din kicked one over the railing, then struck out at another with his blade, catching him at the back of his knee. He rolled down the stairs with a howl. Then Din lunged at a third stormtrooper, but this one fought back. They grappled for a few seconds until Din managed to fire his blaster directly into his head. The door to level eight opened and a guard ran out. But he immediately seemed to trip over his own feet and went tumbling down the stairs. From the corner of his eye Din saw Grogu's small hand. Good work, buddy. The door slammed shut so hard that sparks flew.
"Hey lady, you having any luck?" yelled Mayfeld.
"Just about…now!" She paused. "But I need to know which one you will speak."
"Mayfeld, go on," said Din, panting. Nine and the others were now fighting alongside him. They were pushing back the Imps with blasters and swords but it was slow going.
"Hell no! You're the motivational speaker."
A panicking guard took a swing at Din with a stun stick but Grogu knocked him to the floor of the landing. "Mayfeld!" Din grunted with effort as he seized the stun stick and swatted down several Imps. "This isn't a good time!"
"Shit. Okay."
"Ready when you are, Mr. Mayfeld."
And then Mayfeld's nasal voice echoed throughout the facility.
"Hey, is this thing on? Listen up! This is Mica…oh, fuck it. This is Migs Mayfeld. I was a prisoner. I was the floor manager on six. I'm here to tell you that the floors are off. Varro is lying to you. You outnumber these guards by a long shot. This is your chance to get out of here. Help's coming, but you gotta start fighting back. And hey, if you're a guard? You need to join the winning fucking side. You're no better off than the prisoners, stop lying to yourself. We all gotta work together to bring down these dirty fucking Imps. So get moving! We—"
His voice was abruptly cut off—but maybe that was enough.
The resistance above them fell back. The guards must have heard Mayfeld and be reevaluating which side they were on. But Din and the others still had a long way to go. Frankly his legs and knees were protesting after all these stairs. And how many stormtroopers were at the top? They had to take the hangar bay and seize the ships, prevent Varro and Merrix from escaping.
They continued to climb. The fight was spreading throughout the facility. At level six they heard shouts and blaster fire from the cells and workrooms as the prisoners rose up.
"I'm sure we'll find a pleasant surprise waiting for us at the top," growled Nine. And he was right. At level five, Din heard a movement from above. He glanced up to see a small, silver cylinder hurtling toward them. An incineration grenade, what soldiers across the galaxy commonly called a "cinder." Another nice Imp invention, outlawed in the New Republic.
"Take cover! A cinder!" shouted Din uselessly. The next few seconds went slowly, agonizingly so, as Din watched the arc of the deadly little weapon falling toward them. The fire would turn everyone in its path into ash. No time for regrets, for goodbyes, for anything. One level above them, it exploded. The fireball blossomed out, roared down to them…
…and stopped. It was as if a curtain of glass blocked off the stairwell from the deadly flames above. And Din had seen this before.
"What the…?" said Sixty.
Din turned his head, raised his wrist again to see Grogu's reflection. The child's ears were back as he frowned in the deepest concentration, pushing with tiny three-clawed hands as if physically pushing away the fire. Without fuel, the fire extinguished itself in seconds. The boy slumped against Din's neck, trembling with exhaustion, and Din would never, never get used to this, would never be used to the miracle of his precious son. He stretched back his hand awkwardly to touch Grogu's fuzzy head. "You did it. You did it again, ad'ika," he murmured. Grogu sighed deeply, leaning into Din's touch. "Rest. Don't try anything more for a while."
"Did he do that?" asked Sixty in utter bewilderment. "Is he a…?" But there was no time for explanations. Nine was more pragmatic.
"We need to keep moving up. We've been given a second chance, let's use it."
They continued their climb to the control center and Varro's stronghold. The chaos around them grew as the prisoners on all levels rebelled in earnest. Soon they were at the top levels. At the hangar bay they met with stiff resistance from stormtroopers and a few guards who had not listened to Mayfeld's advice.
"Mayfeld," said Din over the comms channel, ducking behind crates to avoid blaster fire. "You and your people need to get up here. We need to take the hangar bays, stop Imps from coming. Or going. When help comes—"
"—IF help comes—" Mayfeld interrupted.
"—then we have to secure this place. Help IS coming, Mayfeld."
"Yeah, when?"
"When we take the control room and disable the energy field," Din answered, trying to ignore Mayfeld's doubts. And his own. Had anyone even heard his desperate messages? The New Republic had not exactly been swift to respond to Greef Karga when pirates laid siege to Nevarro. Teva was a good man, but could he convince the New Republic to send the help really needed to bring down Merrix, Varro, and the Panopticon?
And then there was something more disquieting, the threat of treachery. The only reason these prisoners were all here in the first place was because officials in the New Republic had been threatened or bribed, or were secret traitors. It only took a few—but those few might stand in the way of any rescue.
There was nothing to do about that now except keep going.
"They're coming," said Din. "I don't know when but you need to get here no matter what."
"That's a hell of a climb, big guy. We'll be there as soon as we can."
"We've got them blockaded there," said Nine. "They're stuck in that hangar bay for now. And from what you say, that energy field will keep their ships here. We've trapped them."
"But they have access to the weapons in the warehouses and cargo ships docked there. We have to make it so the New Republic can land."
"Do you really think they're coming, Mandalorian?" asked Nine.
"I have to believe they are," answered Din.
"Is he all right?" Nine asked, looking past Din's helmet at his snoring son. "Is he…sleeping?"
"Using his abilities tires him out. And he's a sound sleeper."
"I thought that all of them…well. No time for that. We must get to the control room."
"Agreed."
The Engineer's voice crackled over the channel. "Mandalorian, I have managed to cut off the video feeds to the control room. You have the element of surprise for now. But hurry. They are well-armed against prisoner uprisings."
They left One Thousand and Two Thousand in change of a force of prisoners surrounding the entrances to the hangar. Nine, Sixty, four other prisoners, and the foreman from fourteen followed Din past the guard quarters and dining rooms. On their way they passed the still-ruined door that led to the Game Room and Din's vision came back to him.
Fear not, son of Mandalore. You are redeemed. Now take your place by your son's side. Rejoin your comrade. This is the Way.
A short lift ride was all that separated them from the Control Room. Two stormtroopers guarded the lift, but they were unprepared for the ferocious assault. Nine and Sixty brought them down quickly. But the doors wouldn't open.
"Engineer, I thought we took care of this."
"They are on a different circuit. Working on it now."
Blaster fire came from behind as a group of stormtroopers edged their way down the corridor.
"Engineer…"
"Do be quiet. I can't concentrate with everyone bellowing in my ear."
Blaster fire startingly close to Din's head—and Grogu's. Din fervently wished the boy had a helmet. Nothing he had to commit to, just something made to fit that would protect his head. Which was the entire point of a helmet, wasn't it? He felt a flash of annoyance towards his own people. Why did there have to be so much mystique and drama around helmets, simple tools for self-protection in a dangerous universe? He felt a stab of guilt for his apostasy, but not as much as he expected. Well, yet again, this was something he'd have to think about later, when they were both safe. If they could get out of here.
Not if, when. We'll get through this. We'll keep each other safe.
"Got it!"
The doors to the lift opened and Din's group moved in. It was large enough to hold them all without needing to bunch up. Sixty slammed the controls and the doors shut. Din tried to remember when he was in Varro's office, disguised as a guard. His memories were fuzzy from the pain she had inflicted with the floor, but he remembered her office was part of a level just for her and Merrix kept separate from the rest of the prison. Corridors of transparasteel and glass, like tubes, linked it to the control room and a separate hangar so they could go directly to their own ships. But the energy field kept them grounded as well. There was nowhere else to go on this planet besides the arena, and that was about to be destroyed. They just had to get past the Control Room.
Teva and the New Republic probably would want Merrix and Varro taken alive for questioning. That was a bit of a "nice to have." Din would just be happy to see them both dead.
The lift doors opened onto the control room, its windows looking out at the vast prison, revealing chaos on every level. Technicians were seated at control panels, looking panicky, while stormtroopers mixed with other guards stood uncertainly. Heads turned toward the lift in surprise. Had they all really thought they were safe here? Din moved quickly to knock down one of the stormtroopers with the stun stick he had taken from a guard. Nine and Sixty exchanged fire with the others, bringing them down shortly.
"Stormtroopers today," said Nine in disgust.
"No one move," ordered Din. An officer tried to rise from this station, blaster in hand, but the foreman knocked it out of his hand.
"Don't try it, buddy," the foreman warned.
"Which one of you controls the energy field and the destruct sequence for the Arena?" Din demanded. The officer raised his hand timidly. "Well, turn it off! Now!"
"Merrix and Miss Varro will kill me!"
Din refrained from saying, so will I. "We'll protect you from them. Just do it."
"But I need the command code."
"You need to listen to him before I take your head off," the foreman answered, raising his sword.
"No, really!"
"It's a number?" asked Din.
"Yes! Really! Look, you gotta believe me!"
Not this game again. Din ran down the Guild codes in his head again. "8745." That was the code to rescind previous instructions.
He tried it. "Nope."
Well, maybe the code for emergencies. "78-C2."
"No, and we only have one more try until we're locked out."
Din tried to steady himself, tried to think clearly despite his fear and exhaustion and frustration, tried to think back to his years in the Guild. He was still a member, technically, but there was so much to look back on with shame. Xi'an again, and Qin, and the treacherous Ranzar Malk. They had skirted around the code of the Guild, taking many questionable assignments. The last job, on Alzoc III, had ended in disaster and death—so much death—with Qin imprisoned, taking the heat for the team.
And it had all been triggered by Malk's message: 99XX.
Guild code for leave no survivors.
"99XX," Din said.
A light flashed green. The officer sighed. "Okay, it's canceled."
"Engineer, confirm."
"Confirmed," she said, sighing in relief. "The destruction sequence for the Arena is off. The shield is off."
Din also sighed to himself. "Good. Now we're going after Merrix and Varro. What can you tell me about their place?"
"That's it's dangerous. The floors are deactivated but Varro may have other dirty tricks in mind to protect herself. I do not have access beyond the control room. There's something in there that's draining quite a lot of power. Plus the plans are incomplete. I don't like it, Mandalorian."
"Does she have extra guards?"
"I can't tell. But I do know they have a ship there, and you'll need to hurry."
Din looked back at Nine. "Will you come with me?"
Nine had taken off the guard's helmet as he listened closely to the exchange. His eyes met Sixty's. Their gazes locked and the unspoken communication there reminded Din of how Grogu spoke to Ahsoka—and to him. He understood little about these clones. How similar was Boba Fett to these two, really? And to the insane Warden? "Yes," said Nine simply. "Sixty will remain here to keep an eye on this rabble."
"I'm coming too," growled the foreman. "I'm giving these assholes a piece of my mind."
Din felt a stirring from Grogu on his back as he awoke from his brief but intense nap. "Okay?" he asked.
"Hooohkey."
Leaving Sixty in charge of the control room along with a group of well-armed prisoners, Din advanced through the corridor that led to Varro's office. Nine was close behind. Below and around them stretched the many levels of the Panopticon. But instead of orderly workshops and factories, there was smoke and fire and broken windows as the prisoners revolted on every level. Din hated how exposed he felt surrounded by nothing but windows, but they had to keep going.
The door to Varro's office at the far end opened, revealing a second glass door. It opened and a crew of stormtroopers emerged. They fell back under fire. Din and the rest advanced quickly—in retrospect, too quickly. Stormtroopers weren't that easy to defeat. Din was the first one through the door. In the office the stormtroopers fanned out around the door, but curiously enough lowered their weapons.
Behind Din, something heavy and fast dropped onto the floor with a shudder, separating him from the door. And the rest of the group. Din turned.
It was a Dark Trooper.
It had been on the ceiling the whole time.
Din fired. Nothing happened. He used the flame thrower. Nothing happened. He used the last of the whistling birds. They brought down three stormtroopers but not the Dark Trooper. In the reflection of a window Din saw Grogu raise his hand but he was badly frightened by this old enemy and could not control his terror enough to use his powers to push it back. A huge black hand gripped Din's neck, raising him off the floor as he struggled uselessly. With its other hand, the Dark Trooper picked up Nine and threw him back into the corridor. The glass door to the corridor shut, then another glass door at the other end of the corridor slammed down. A thin gray mist began to fill the corridor.
"NO!" shouted Din. The Dark Trooper wrenched away Din's blaster, breaking a finger in the process.
The men clutched their throats, bent over coughing, and, one by one, fell. The last was Nine. He grimaced and staggered to the glass door. Din could only watch helplessly. The clone pointed up with a trembling hand but his eyes were serious, calm. Then he nodded and saluted. His eyes shut and he crumpled into a heap.
"How moving," said Gallia Varro icily. She came into view from the other side of the office. She was not in an elegant gown but in the full uniform of an Imperial officer, her hair sternly knotted back and her hands behind her back. His eyes glittered.
"We're getting some great footage, aren't we, Gallia," chortled Merrix. He trailed behind her. "We'll broadcast the Mandalorian getting pulled to pieces all over the known galaxy. Exclusive subscription pricing."
"Yes. It will help us recover funds lost to this absurd mutiny. And it will bring me such personal satisfaction." Varro's eyes narrowed. "Because now I know the truth, filthy Mandalorian. Or should I call you Din Djarin? I know now who you are. I know you are the one who killed my father."
Din took out his blade, stabbed upwards against what might be a vulnerable joint in the Dark Trooper's elbow. The blade snapped in half. Grogu now seemed frozen in terror, and why shouldn't he be? "I don't know who your father is," Din rasped out in the pitiless grasp. "But I'm glad I killed him."
"Oh, you know who he was. You murdered him on Nevarro. The finest servant of the Empire, dedicated to making our galaxy orderly and safe. He made a simple deal with you—find the bounty and get the beskar. He paid you handsomely. And you betrayed him and the code of the Guild. For an animal." She clenched her gloved fist. "I wasn't sure if you were the one, so I hired you. And at last I have received confirmation. Dear Mr. Merrix will ensure your suffering will be quite prolonged." She smiled. "But first I will retrieve the little animal on your back. I must continue the work of my father."