The Mandalorian's Slave

The Most Dangerous Mission

Life could be worse, I think to myself, as we drift across space. My belly is full and I'm well- rested. My Master has a new mission, one that will pay more than well. Granted, I have no idea what Beskar steel is, but it sounds important. The Mandalorian seems to think it's worth our lives. Not that my life is worth much anyways.

Dying right now wouldn't be bad. In these past couple of days I really have started to enjoy life. That's something I thought that I would never be able to experience. And it's all thanks to the strangest person I've ever met.

I roll up my thin mattress and return to the cockpit of the ship. The Mandalorian is stiff as ever, body rigid as he guides the ship through the swirling galaxy. I slip into the passenger seat. It groans as it holds the meager weight of my body.

"Sleep well?" His is gruff as he asks me.

"Like a rock."

He nods, face forward to the inky darkness that we rocket through. Every inch of him is covered, from his head to his toes. An irrational part of me wants to see him without his armor and tough outer shell. But I know I'm lucky to even see him like this.

"I've never accepted a mission like this before. But the pay was too good to deny. Enough Beskar steel for me and the foundlings."

Now is as good of a time as ever to ask him what that is. "What's Beskar steel?"

"A lot of people call it Mandalorian steel. It's what my people make our armor out of. It's incredibly strong and durable."

"Oh." I hear hurt in his voice. I wonder if I should press on, ask more questions.

"The Mandalorians are a dying breed. We're hunted down. No where is safe for us."

"Why?"

"We're dangerous. Together, an army of Mandalorians could do terrible damage. Our enemies fear that. So we practice in secret. We're hidden in small pockets scattered across the galaxy."

"Wow." I feel stupid saying so little, but this is a lot to take in. It's not like anyone ever bothered to teach me history or any current events. I'm a slave. The one thing I'm good for is labor, and that's it. I wasn't made to think.

"What's a foundling?" It's stupid to ask so many questions. I have no right to be doing this. But for once, at least one barricade surrounding the Mandalorian seems to be taken down.

"A child in training. Not yet vowed to the Creed."

I nod like I understand what the Creed is. My own inadequacy is overwhelming.

My Master must be good at reading expressions because he adds, " the Creed is the sacred vow all Mandalorians take."

"Thank you for explaining it all." I am truly grateful. No one has ever shown such kindness to me.

"We're here." The ship shudders as we enter the small planet's atmosphere. I grip the armrests on my chair tightly as we descend.

Through the window I see a rust-colored world. The ground is tumultuous, forming peaks and valleys as it pleases.

My Master guides the ship to the flattest bit of land we can find. The ships gives one final shake as it plants itself onto firm ground.

The Mandalorian gets up abruptly. He turns, leaving me in the cockpit. I scramble to catch up. I know it's not my place to make decisions like this, but I want to go with him. If this person is so dangerous, he'll need all the help he can get. And if the past few days have shown me anything, it's that I'm not completely helpless anymore.

The door hisses open, and a wave of hot, metallic-smelling air washes over me. Out of some hidden pocket, the Mandalorian pulls out a small beeping device. It looks like nothing more than a remote control with a small antenna and blinking red light. But I know exactly what it is. It's a tracking device. The same kind slave owners use to track down their runaways.

"I want to come with you." I'm surprised by my own boldness.

"You can come for a while. But once we get close you'll need to wait. As backup." I'm even more surprised by his answer. I was almost convinced that I would get an adamant no.

The Mandalorian turns, watching the blinking dot and annoying beeping get louder and faster. Then he shoves the device back in some hidden wallet and gets back aboard the Crest. I, obedient as ever, follow him.

We climb down into the the lower quarters, weave our way through freezers, and reach a small, unassuming closet. Too fast for me to see, the Mandalorian jams in a code on a small key pad and the closet door swings open. He immediately reaches for some kind of glorified rifle. Then a pistol. Then another. And yet another, which he thrusts in my direction, along with a holster.

"You'll need protection." I don't argue. I'm lucky enough that he's letting me go along with him. I don't want my Master changing his mind. And it's probably for the best that he doesn't know that I don't know how to fire a gun. That's a conversation for another day.

Apparently satisfied by his weapon choice, the Mandalorian locks his miniature weapon arsenal. I follow him back outside, where the air is dry but blazingly hot. We walk a few feet away from the Crest when I notice strange shapes in the distance.

"What are those?" I point toward some of the strangest creatures I've ever seen. They have thick, leathery skin and massive, sturdy legs which seems almost comical in comparison to their stunted, shriveled arms.

"I'm not sure." My Master raises up the scope to his helmet. He surveys the creatures in the distance as I tie my hair up. I've been outside for a minute and I'm already sweating.

I feel a warning flash within my chest and I look up to see one of those creatures barreling towards us. I don't know how something so large could be so stealthy, but it slams into the Mandalorian before I can even open my mouth. The monster clamps down onto his arm with three inch yellowed teeth.

My Master lets out a pained yelp as I fumble with my gun. Shooting something that big can't be hard, right?

"Shoot!" The Mandalorian yells as the creature swings him around as if he weighs nothing.

"Trying!" I yelp back as he begins punching the creature in a beady eye. His fist connects with flesh and the creature lets go. The Mandalorian stumbles away, only for it to head-butt him and send him flying. Now would be a good fucking time to learn how to shoot.

Almost too fast to see, the Mandalorian reaches into a side clip and retrieved what looks like a dart. He throws it and it connects with the beast's thick hide, sending electricity jolting through its body. The creature collapses immediately, landing heftily on his arm.

But the danger hasn't passed yet. Another beast is charging at him, its feeling slamming against the planet's rocky surface, ropes of saliva dripping from its mangled teeth.

I aim (at least I'm pretty sure this is aiming) and pull the trigger. There's a faint click, but nothing happens. Fuck.

Electricity arcs through the air, and another dart pierces the beast's flesh. Except this dart didn't come from the Mandalorian.

The second beast flops onto the rocky ground as the Mandalorian yanks himself out from underneath the other one. He's gasping for air. We've only been here a few moments and we already almost died.

"Thank you," he says, turning to address our strange hero.  He's a little man perched atop one of those beasts as if it's a horse. He has pink skin and a strange, pug-like face. He's dressed like some sort of strange pilot, which doesn't make sense because I don't see any ships around.

"You're a bounty hunter." His voice is low and gravely.

"Yes," my Master replies. He's still gasping for breath.

"I will help you." We both stare at the strange man. "I have spoken."

"I accept your help then." The Mandalorian gets up and brushes the dust off his clothes. I have no choice but to shove my gun back into its holster.

"Follow me." Like two obedient children, we follow a complete stranger through the scorching desert. No one says anything. There's no need for words at this point.