"Listen to me," said Melia Varro.
She paced in front of her people in the hangar bay, a mix of Imperial troops and Merrix guards working together uneasily. Some of the Merrix employees had been uneasy to learn who their new coworkers were. But the smart ones adapted quickly to the more open corporate structure.
And the pathetic residents of Sorgan would cooperate fully. The children of that village would serve as an example to the rest. Maintain order, or face the wrath of the Empire.
It was a terrible blow to lose the Panopticon to the filthy New Republic. But using this station and the resources of Sorgan Varro would rebuild a new center of power. Easily she had overwhelmed the small New Republic force who tried to take apart her company operations here. By the time their stretched forces could regroup, it would be too late.
And it was for the best. A blessing in disguise. How tiring it was to skulk in the shadows, hiding behind that fool Merrix. Now she would declare herself openly in the glorious struggle to reclaim the Empire.
If only dear Isidore could be here to see it. And her father.
Poor Merrix. He only wanted to have his games.
"Our opponents have only one trick and they've overplayed it," Varro said. "When they get here, this Greef Karga will trot out the Mandalorian and his little creature, pretending to hand them to us as prisoners. There will also be the absurd new 'Marshal.' It's all a gambit to get closer to our hostages, make no mistake. I see very well through this Karga and his plausible lies. Once they leave their ship, we will unobtrusively surround them as they keep talking. They will try to put on more of a show—oh, yes, I tricked the Mandalorian, I'm on your side now, here he is, and so forth." She raised her hand. "Then you will kill them all, at my signal. All except the Mandalorian and the child. I will stun them into submission with this."
Varro opened her hand to reveal an odd little weapon, a little like a blaster but shorter and thicker. Then she looked around the hangar bay. No more prisoner transport ships, only tie fighters and her personal craft with its experimental cannon that cut the New Republic to pieces. The place was not designed to be a long term prison, just a transfer station, but there were plenty of holding cells below.
"A design from the fertile minds who created the Panopticon. Those two are mine. Take them alive. If anyone should kill them, your life is forfeit." The force field opened to admit Karga's yacht. Varro stood behind her men as they moved into formation around the ship. As its engines powered down, the exit ramp opened and lowered to the hangar deck.
They waited.
No one came.
"Karga," called Varro. "Bring out your prisoners now. Otherwise I might not feel so generous with my terms."
No one came.
After three long minutes had passed, Varro's lieutenant muttered, "Ma'am, I don't like this. I wish we had blew them out of the sky when we had the chance."
"Then I would have lost my chance at the Mandalorian and the child."
"His beskar would have survived the blast." In answer she backhanded him.
"Fool," she said. "Do you really think that's all I care about? I need to child to continue Moff Gideon's work. And I need the Mandalorian in one piece for other reasons. Send in your men."
"I suggest we toss in a stun bomb," said the lieutenant stubbornly. "Tranquilize them all."
"The stun bombs we have are too crude. Too much risk of killing either the child or the Mandalorian. No, we need to do this the old fashioned way and stun them with this." She waved her weapon. "Go. My orders are not up for debate!"
With a skeptical look on his face, the lieutenant gestured six stormtroopers towards the ramp. No doubt they would be slaughtered immediately, but then would come six more, and six more—they had strength in sheer numbers. No one as obedient as a stormtrooper when it came to walking into certain death.
No sound. No one came out.
After several groups of stormtroopers simply vanished into the depths of the ship, the lieutenant felt emboldened to say, "Ma'am, maybe we should reconsider. They…rather have the advantage here." The ranks of men surrounding the ship were looking noticeably thinner. Their supply of men was finite.
But Varro just gave him a furious look. She was insane, the lieutenant realized unhappily. Her desire to claim the Mandalorian and alien child had completely unglued her from reality. Well, he had raised his concerns, but now he had no choice. Years of conditioning in the service of the Empire had robbed him of any ability to refuse bad orders. So he waved forward one more group of men toward the ramp. But this time, there was a popping sound, followed by a low whine like attacking insects, and the stormtroopers collapsed as whistling birds felled them.
Then Din came down the ramp, weapons in both hands, blasting at the rows of waiting stormtroopers and guards. Grogu rode in the new sling with the beskar-lined hood pulled over his head. Mayfeld and the other mercenaries followed, shielded by Din's beskar-clad form.
It was all going according to plan.
###
Back on Karga's ship, they had known Varro wouldn't believe Karga's story. But she wanted Din and Grogu alive, badly enough to make bad decisions. Her unhinged threats had driven that point home.
"They'll be expecting us to try to keep up the pretense," Din had said, looking at Karga and Mayfeld. Omera had come to join them, standing beside her husband and following the conversation with her intense dark eyes. "You said it yourself, she really wants me and Grogu alive."
"Definitely has a hard on for torturing you to death, my friend," answered Mayfeld. Din and Omera gave him a look. Grogu blinked curiously. "What? In a manner of speaking."
"Language," said Din and Omera together.
Mayfeld rolled his eyes. "So we can't play that script any more," said Karga.
"Exactly. They're not expecting a full-on assault. So that's what we give them. Mayfeld's right."
"Finally," Mayfeld had said. "The best defense is a good offense."
###
So the plan had worked beautifully.
The hapless Imps who had tried to enter the ship were disabled, to put it politely, with a few terrified prisoners guarded by Karga and a very angry Omera.
Now Din and Grogu led the attack into the hangar. The Armorer's gifts worked beautifully. The sling was lightweight and safe, allowing Din total freedom of movement. And the new hood kept Grogu's vulnerable head safe, with only his bright eyes peering out.
The wrath and ferocity of their assault dismayed the Imps. Din felt much as he did when he had stormed Moff Gideon's ship to rescue Grogu—with strong allies at his back, all of his fury was channeled into action, into battle rhythm. And now Grogu literally had his back. The boy's determination to save the children seemed to give him new steel.
Confused, frightened stormtroopers mounted an ineffectual defense while the Merrix guards fled in terror. Varro tried to shout orders but few heeded them in the panic.
"You FOOLS," screamed Varro. "It is only ONE MAN with a CHILD!"
But of course that wasn't the case. One of the mercenaries had loaned Mayfeld a spare automated weapon mounting, like the one he had used when he and Din first met in their disastrous assault on the prison ship. The neural pairing had worked perfectly and now Mayfeld wore it strapped to his shoulders, firing three blasters at a time. He picked off the defenders with cold, precise efficiency. And Karga's hardened, loyal group of hand-picked bounty hunters and mercenaries had no love for the Empire either.
Some of the more organized stormtroopers took cover behind stacks of crates, and managed to take down one of Karga's people—Taliss, the Twi'lek pilot. Grogu toppled the crates on their heads with a push from his hands. A door opened nearby, revealing a fresh squad of stormtroopers. Grogu waved his hand and the door slammed shut on their faces.
Then to Din's dismay Grogu leapt from the sling and scurried to Taliss, who lay sprawled on the deck.
"No, Grogu!" shouted Din. But it was just like him to run into danger so he could help a new friend, wasn't it? Din started to run after him when one of the braver guards took a swing at him with a stun stick. Din parried it with his vambrace and the beskar dissipated the current so Din only felt a small jolt. With a snarl Din wrenched the weapon from the guard's hands and dealt him a blow that sent him flying meters away.
Then Din turned back to his son. Despite the battle around them, Grogu had plopped down next to Taliss and placed his hands on her bare arm. Dammit, Grogu. Another guard leapt onto Din's back. He was only armed with a baton, but he was strong and agile. He was also an experienced street fighter. The guard used his baton to try to choke Din from behind. He managed to work it under Din's faceplate. Din tried to throw him off but the guard clung tenaciously. Finally Din activated the jet pack and rose up about four meters. The guard screamed from the pain of his burns but still held on. Din hurled himself backwards against a wall. That did the trick. The guard's limp body fell off his back.
He was going to have to emulate the jet pack techniques Bo-Katan and Woves used more often.
Din landed on his feet and raced again toward Grogu and Taliss. But Varro herself sprung from behind a weapons locker. She fired an odd weapon like a blaster, but short and thick. Not a blaster—it was an old-fashioned projectile weapon of some kind. The projectile bounced harmlessly off Din's pauldron. Instantly he lashed out with the whipcord and lassoed Varro by the knees, bringing her to the deck with a crash as she tried to run.
But the projectile was still suspended in air near Din.
Before he could do anything else, the tiny round bullet-like thing exploded with a burst of an odd, pinkish gas. Din's helmet filters could protect him against most chemical attacks but this substance seemed to go immediately toward the tiny ventilator and into his nose and mouth. A powerful, greasy, cloying smell. A wave of dizziness made him wobble unsteadily on his feet. Some new thing she had developed. But Din kept pulling on the whipcord, pulling her towards him and she scrabbled to escape.
He blacked out well before he hit the floor.
###
Din opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by trees, lying flat on his back in a mossy clearing.
Dreaming, he thought.
Maybe a hallucination, like before? Or dead.
Oddly, the idea of being dead didn't really upset him.
He sat up and looked at the fragrant twilight forest surrounding him. Silver fog hung over everything. It was Sorgan, but different.
Din got to his feet. He felt light and strange, but peaceful. Sometimes he seemed to be wearing his armor and helmet, sometimes not, but again unbothered either way. Without thinking he chose a direction and began to walk through the foggy forest. He came to a small rise in another clearing—not even large enough to be a hill—and began to climb. Where was he? What had happened back at the station? At the moment it didn't matter. All he wanted to do was climb.
At the top he saw a small figure sitting cross-legged on a stump, silhouetted against the misty light. A hood concealed the head. Din felt a powerful tug of curiosity and he came closer, drawn to the figure irresistibly.
The little figure stood on the stump and turned to face Din.
It—no, he, Din was sure—wore a simple brown robe. Bright metal gleamed at his throat. He pushed back the hood to reveal an astonishing face. Not old, but not young. Wisps of black hair shot with silver. Prominent ears.
Green skin.
And dark, dark eyes, full of intelligence and humor and curiosity and a little mischief and fathomless compassion.
And love.
Din sank to his knees.
"Grogu," he said.
"Bu'ir," said Grogu, and ran to his father as if he were still a child and not a grown being.
For a long time Din could only hold Grogu close. Grogu held onto his neck as if for dear life. He was bigger, but still very small and light. Yet he felt strong and sinewy in Din's arms. Solid. Din had no idea how this could be, this adult. But in this dreamlike place he immediately accepted this strange reality with only mild confusion.
If it was a hallucination, it was a joyful one.
"I don't understand," said Din at last. He pulled back to study his son's face. His adult son. "How is this possible?"
"All things are possible with the Force, Bu'ir," answered Grogu gently. His voice was raspy, a little croaky.
"This all feels so real. But I'm also sure I'm hallucinating."
"We are in a sort of…in-between place. A plane of the Force." Grogu clambered off Din's lap and settled down in front of his father, crossing his legs, and Din followed suit. "Some have called it the World Between Worlds. Think of it as many pathways in time and space, linking all moments in time together."
"I understood about half of what you said," replied Din, tilting his head. Grogu laughed.
"No one understands," he said. His eyes sparkled. "Not even me. I have been able to reach it, perhaps, once or twice before. Only those very strong in the Force may do so."
"Well, that doesn't describe me."
"No, but the strength of our bond endures." A shadow crossed the wrinkled face. "It has been, I think, three hundred and eighty-two years since you and I were parted." Grogu sighed. "Father. Bu'ir. I face now the greatest battle of my life. My old Enemy has fled to Sorgan, of all places. But I will stop him. I must. Failure is not an option."
The determination in his tone made Din shiver slightly. "Who is this Enemy?"
"You do not know him yet, and it is hard to explain. Suffice to say he is impossibly strong and he poses a threat to the Jedi, to Mandalore, and to all free peoples. To gather my strength and courage for the coming battle I have meditated long on the teachings of my Jedi masters and the Creed of the Mandalorian people." He patted Din's hand. "But mostly I have been thinking about you. I remember every day we spent together and every lesson you taught me. Especially our terrible ordeal on Riello. How brave you were! And I remember too our time on Sorgan, when we came to rescue my dear friend Winta. That was truly the great turning point of my young life, although neither of us knew it at the time."
"So…are you a Jedi now?"
"I trained with them some more, and for a while I was one. I even became a teacher myself. But now I walk my own path. I am both Jedi and Mandalorian." Grogu pushed aside his robe and Din saw that he wore chain mail and the rondel of Clan Mudhorn, and the mythosaur pendant on a black cord. "I will protect my people and my friends, and all innocent people everywhere who suffer. For a long time I resisted this destiny but now I embrace it."
"Did you ever find any others like you?" asked Din softly, feeling a pang of sorrow.
"No," said Grogu. "For a time this made me sad, but over my life I have known great friendship and love. Like you, I prefer solitude. Yet like you, I seem to bring people together. The Jedi thrive again at long last, despite many setbacks. And Clan Mudhorn thrives! Isidore did wonders for us. So many children. So many Foundlings."
"You're…happy?"
"Happiness is too simple a word, but yes, I think it might be the best way to express it." Grogu paused. "As I meditated on you, I seemed to have been able to access this place and draw you in. The drugs in your system are helping! Our attachment in the Force is very strong."
"I thought Jedi weren't supposed to have attachments."
"The Jedi are rethinking some old ideas. Attachment, love, emotion, all have their place. And they make us stronger. This I have taught the Jedi. And the Mandalorian people, I think, are in turn learning the values of peace, of compromise, of moderation."
"That sounds like an uphill battle," admitted Din.
"Indeed. But in this my lessons come from you. Your feelings gave you great courage." He poked Din in the knee. "Don't you see? One man—one very hard man, if may say it—opened his heart to love a child. And without meaning to he changed the destiny of worlds."
"I'm just a simple man," protested Din.
"Making his way in the galaxy. Yes, just like our friend the Daimyo used to say. But I know the truth." Grogu sighed. "Our time together grows short, Bu'ir. I sense the approach of my Enemy."
"Let me help you in your battle," said Din.
Grogu jumped up again to give Din another fierce hug. Grown-up but boyish. "You already have, simply by being here with me."
"I can fight with you," Din said stubbornly.
"You must return to your own battle as well."
Then they both rose to their feet. Din saw now that in one hand Grogu held a saber, much like Ahsoka's. It seemed to be designed for his claws, light and small, not as heavy (or ugly) as the Dark Saber.
"Master Skywalker taught me how to make one," said Grogu. The saber came to life with a streak of pale green fire. Now in his other hand something else glittered—a short, gleaming staff. "And yes, this is beskar. I had it forged from your pauldron. The rest of your beskar went to our clan. Beskar is not appropriate for weapons, but in my case an exception was made because I seem to be the shortest Mandalorian warrior in history. In my life I have been both hunter and prey…with the emphasis decidedly on prey."
"Will I be able to see you again?" asked Din. "There's so much I want to know about your future. And mine."
"And there's so much I want to tell you, but I can't. The future is always in motion. And of course you'll see me again. Just open your eyes!"
"I mean, like this."
"I know what you mean. But I do not know. I hope so."
Grogu pulled the hood back over his head. It was lined with beskar mail. Then he pressed a hidden control and beskar plates emerged from the hood to cover his face like a mask. It looked a little like Din's own faceplate staring back at him from under a hood.
"Good trick, isn't it?" Grogu said in a modulated voice. "A normal helmet isn't any good for the shape of my head. Mandalorians are rethinking some old ideas too." He turned to go, but paused. "Bu'ir. Know I carry you with me. Always."
Then Din opened his eyes.