SEE ME, SEE YOU: Series Two

C H A P T E R T H R E E

REINA'S POV

I clung to Din's torso as he drove the speeder through the desert sand-dunes. My temple pressed against his jetpack, gifted to him by the Mandalorian Armorer, on his back. His cape whipped around on my left. Snuggled in a knapsack was the Child, laughing in excitement during the joyride.

"Riding behind you is a lot different, I'll tell you that much!" I shouted over the revving engine of the speeder, and I couldn't help my grinning. Din didn't reply, or if he did I couldn't hear him. It was a long ride. We even had to camp out once the two suns set, and we dined with a few friendly Tuskens. I had no idea Din could speak their language until that moment, nor did I think the Sand People could be hospitable. In the morning, we continued our journey, and in the far distance, something emerge above the horizon. Din began to slow our descent into what seemed to be Mos Pelgo.

However, there wasn't much to behold. The old mining settlement was made up of one strip with run-down buildings lining each side. I felt an eeriness all around me. There were civilians, all stared at us as we cruised slowly through the middle. We stopped at what looked like the saloon. Always a good place to start finding information.

"Something's not right." I commented as Din parked the speeder. He helped me dismount as he too looked around. "It is strange there is still a settlement here." I picked up the Child and followed Din to the entrance.

When we entered the saloon, there was only the bartender present. He eyed us and met us at the counter. "Can I help you?" he asked in a rough voice.

"I'm looking for a Mandalorian." Din spoke up while I allowed the Child to walk around, stretch his legs.

"Well, we don't get many visitors in these parts." The bartender admitted. "Can you describe them?" For a moment, Din paused, as if it was benign question to ask, and I nudged him softly to be patient.

"Someone who looks like me." He couldn't hold back on the sarcasm.

"Hmm...You mean the Marshal?"

At this moment, I heard someone approaching the saloon's doorway and when I turned my head, my eyes widened. "Mando..." I said.

"Your Marshal wears Mandalorian armor?" Din ignored me.

"Mando." I yanked on his cape to get his attention.

"What is it, Reina?" My partner asked impatiently.

"See for yourself." The bartender nodded to the doorway, and Din finally saw who I was beckoning him for.

There, standing in an intimadating stance, one hand resting on his blaster at his hip, was a tall,  thin man wearing a Mandalorian chestplate and helmet that was much too small on him for his long torso. The armor was beat-up, cracked, dented, and scuffed—You could hardly tell it used to be a secondary color. On the man's wrists were rusted gauntlets. On his back was a jetpack with a missle attached to it. He also wore dark cargo pants, a belt, a holster, a loose collared cardigan, and worn boots. Despite his posture, he didn't look very intimidating...

"What brings you here, stranger?" The Marshal questioned, approaching Din slowly. I felt Din's energy surge. "I've—We've been searching for you for many parsecs."

"Well," The Marshal huffed. "now, you found me. Weequay, two—no, three snorts of spotchka." The Marshal's t-lined visor met my eyes as if to acknowledge my presence. He then finger-grasped three glasses and handled a clear jar of blue liquid to a nearby table. "Why don't you join me for a drink? Your lady-friend can join us, too."

I knew Din and I were thinking the same thing: Why would a Mandalorian offer us a drink if neither Mandalorians can remove their helmet?...

Right before our eyes, the Marshal plopped himself in a seat and slipped his helmet off without hesitation. Din froze in his place.