The Mandalorian's Slave

Tatooine

As excited as I am to go to another desert planet, I get some sleep. It's nice, to not have to worry about Caben or raiders or anything. I'm surprised by how much I missed the sound of the Razor Crest's engines.

The Mandalorian and I have gotten closer since the raiders and Caben and everything. But there's a strange tension between us. Part of me longs to be near him, while the other, rational, part of me reminds myself that slaves shouldn't want to be near their Masters.

Of course there's stories about slaves marrying their Masters and living happily ever after. But there's also stories about slaves being forced to marry, because, let's be real here, marriage isn't much different than slavery for us. But the Mandalorian certainly isn't the marrying type.

But here I am, thinking about marriage as if there's anything between us. There's lust, maybe, but nothing else. I need to focus on other things. Like the Child and my powers. Our powers, apparently.

I wake up to the sound of blasters firing and the ship shuddering. Great! We've been hit.

I run to the cockpit where the Mandalorian is gripping the steering wheel, unsuccessfully maneuvering us away from our attacker. The cockpit is filled with sparks and flashing red lights. This isn't good.

"Hand over the Child, Mando." A voice crackles through the intercom. Another blast hits the ship, causing the entire Razor Crest to tremble. This certainly isn't good. "I might let you live."

The Child whimpers in fear and I scoop him into my lap. If this is our last moment, I want him to be comforted.

We're hit again. Alarms scream and the entire ship seems to be rebelling against the Mandalorian. We're not going to make it.

He glances at me. "Hold on." I strap myself to the seat as the ship flips upside down, causing the blood to rush to my head. "Come on," the Mandalorian hisses.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold," the voice says over the intercom. I see red laser beams shooting past us, narrowly missing.

Then the Mandalorian does the unexpected: he cuts off the engines. We slam to a halt, our heads whip lashing forward. The enemy ship speeds past us, scrapping the top of the Razor Crest. But it's too late for him.

"That's my line," the Mandalorian huffs. He presses the trigger and shoots, hitting the enemy ship directly. It explodes in a ball of red and orange flames.

For a moment it's silent except for the desperate beeping of the alarms. The Mandalorian flicks switches desperately, but the Crest has been pushed beyond her limits.

"Loosing fuel," he mutters, just as the lights power off. We sit in silence as the Razor Crest floats aimlessly through space.

The Mandalorian gets up and flicks a switch, causing the dashboard to light up in red, angry colors. He sits down roughly and flicks more switches. More things light up on the dashboard, but the engines still remain dead.

I watch everything quietly. I've never worked on a Razor Crest specifically before meeting the Mandalorian. I'd like to become as familiar with it as possible.

He jabs at one button. The engines roar to life, except it's not really a roar but a sputter. That'll do as we limp across space.

Tatooine lays sprawled out in front of us. It's a planet bathed in different shades of brown and gold. Pretty, from afar.

"This is Mos Eisley tower. We've been tracking you. Head for bay 3-5. Over." The voice crackles through the intercom, startling me.

"Copy that," murmurs the Mandalorian. "Locked in for 3-5."

I grip the edge of my seat as we make the rocky descent. I squeeze my eyes shut for a while, only daring to open them when the violent shaking of the ship stops.

"The ship will definitely need some work," I say, staring at my surroundings. I'll admit, when you're not baking under the scourging suns, Tatooine is pretty. There's golden sand dunes and ridges that seem to be made out of a million shades of brown.

"It does," the Mandalorian admits. "But you and the Child are staying in here below deck. I'm going to hire some help and find a quick job."

"But I can help," I begin to protest, only to be cut off.

"No. You'll stay here. Understood?" My Master's tone leaves no room for argument. I nod solemnly.

We land clumsily, but at least we're alive. The Mandalorian leads me below deck, were he has a small hammock for himself and extra supplies.

"Both of you stay." He climbs the ladder back up and leaves us.

I sigh, wrapping the Child in an extra blanket. This is going to be a long day.

XXXXXX

The bad news is the Child doesn't want to nap. The good news is, it's been a while since the Mandalorian left. So I'm willing to venture outside.

I know, it's probably a bad idea. But the ship needs as much help as it can get, and I don't want to stay hidden below deck. Besides, I can handle myself. I think.

Even the ship's door seems to think that this is a bad idea as it slowly creaks up. The sunlight is blinding as I step outside of the ship.

I blink rapidly as I hear the squeal of a droid. It's blisteringly hot outside, but it's better than sitting and waiting.

"I'd stay in that ship if I were you," a voice warns. But it's not a gruff male mechanic, but a woman's voice.

"I'm sorry," I hastily apologize. "I'm property of the Mandalorian. I'm here to help you repair the ship." Even as I say the words, I picture the earful that I'll be getting from my Master.

I squint as the speaker comes into focus. It's a woman with riotous curly hair, like mine. She's wearing a worn brown mechanic suit that's the exact same color as her hair. Her skin is leathery from the sun, but I see smile lines too. I immediately know I can trust her.

"I apologize." She hands the rifle that she was apparently pointing at me to one of the droids. "I was unaware that he was traveling with anyone else." She spies the Child in my arms. "Who's that?"

"He's..." I trail off. I don't have a good explanation for the Child. "He's under the Mandalorian's protection."

"Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" Without waiting for an answer, she barks at one of her droids, "Fetch us something to eat."

The droid squabbles back. It reminds me of the droids I used to repair, back on Jakku.

"I don't know, something with bones in it for the kid," she shoots back.

"We don't know the kid's name," I offer, "but I'm Aster."

She scoffs, "Where are my manners? I'm Peli. Now, once those droids come back, we can eat and talk. Then, we'll get to work. And trust me, there's plenty of it."