Star Wars: The Mandalorian Junior Novel

by Joe Schreiber

  “You’re going to have to relocate,” Mando said.

  The soldier responded without hesitating. “This is the Way.”

  “This is the Way,” Mando repeated.

  He cradled the tiny, cowering form of the Child, turned in the direction of the ship, and began to run.

  —

  “Hold it, Mando,” Karga said.

  The Mandalorian was halfway up the ramp of the Razor Crest and turned to see the Guild agent standing there, brow furrowed, blaster in hand.

  “I didn’t want it to come to this,” Karga said, “but then you broke the Code!”

  Mando just looked at him. Incredibly, the man at the other end of the ramp actually seemed offended, as if what the Mandalorian had done were some sort of personal affront. Was it possible that, after everything that had happened—after threatening to kill him and strip him for parts—Greef Karga still somehow thought of Mando as a friend?

  Hardly shifting his gaze away from Karga, he moved his arm and fired a cable bolt into the control panel, releasing a sudden cloud of pressurized gas that immediately filled the space between them. The cloud left Karga scowling and squinting, shifting his blaster erratically from side to side, trying to see where the Mandalorian was.

  Then Mando shot him.

  It wasn’t until they were inside the cockpit of the Razor Crest and airborne, rising over Nevarro’s atmosphere, that the bounty hunter reached over and unscrewed the ball from the top of the lever. He handed it back to the Child and felt the small, curious being take it from him with a soft coo of interest.

  Mando looked at the Child’s face and saw those big eyes gazing back at him. All that was left for them was to find somewhere to hide out—some backwater planet where they could wait for the heat to cool down.

  Surely, such a place—a place of peace—would not be hard to find.

  THE VILLAGERS WERE still fishing when the raiders attacked.

  Omera and the others had spent the morning with their nets, gathering great harvests of blue krill from the shallows, just as their parents and grandparents had done when they had first seeded those waters. Droids moved among them, carrying bags of the harvest. It was a good catch, Omera thought, and would feed the village well.

  She looked up from her work and gazed across the green-and-blue landscape and the surrounding trees. Children were running, kicking a ball, laughing and playing games. Her daughter, Winta, was somewhere out there among them. Omera knew the time would come when her daughter would join them in their work with nets and wicker baskets. Then she saw her daughter chasing a frog along the creek and smiled.

  Let her be a child, she thought, for a little while longer. And later, perhaps—

  Her smile faded.

  She could hear them coming.

  Her breath froze in her lungs. There was a sound like thunder, the reverberation sending flocks of startled birds up from the branches. An instant later, the entire forest seemed to erupt—terrible red blaster fire smashing down from the upper limbs and exploding through the open land, blowing it to pieces and driving up plumes of smoke and water. With a sudden cry of terror, the villagers dropped their nets and fled.

  “Mama!” Winta screamed, her voice bright with terror.

  Omera saw her down in the creek where she’d been chasing the frog, and ran for her. Another blast from the cannons struck very close, shooting up a spray of water and steam, seeming to shake the very planet, and Winta screamed again.

  Omera grabbed her daughter and pulled her down into the pond, holding her so just her head was above the surface. Beneath the water, she could feel Winta clutching her tightly, her small body trembling with fear. They were both breathless, wide-eyed, unable to speak.

  They’re coming, Omera thought.

  Hardly thinking, she reached for one of the curved wicker baskets and flipped it upside down to cover their faces. She and her daughter peered out through the basket and saw the raiding party emerging out of the smoke.

  The Klatooinian raiders charged into the village. They came as they always had in the past, with their weapons raised, roaring, ready to take what was not theirs. From where she and her daughter huddled in the water, Omera watched as the bandits poured into the camp, grabbing nets and bags and baskets, stealing the village’s harvest, delighting in destruction. Omera stared as one of the raiders drove his spear into a droid, impaling its neural processor.

  Finally, the raiders turned and carried off what they’d stolen, leaving the village burning in their wake. Omera held her daughter but couldn’t bring herself to move.

  She wondered if they would ever feel safe again.

  The Razor Crest moved through space.

  In the cockpit, the Mandalorian was focused on their next destination. The Child sat beside him, fascinated by the array of different-colored lights. He reached out and pushed one of the green buttons on the navigation console. Click! The ship’s engines began making a slightly different sound. The Child cooed, happy with the outcome, and pushed another button—a red one this time. Click!

  “Stop touching things,” the Mandalorian said.

  The Child looked at him, wide-eyed, not moving. Then, very slowly, without looking away from Mando, he leaned over and pushed another button. Click! The ship started rattling and shaking, briefly veering off course.

  Mando picked up the Child and moved him away from the controls. “Let’s see,” he said, checking the charts. “Sorgan. Looks like there’s no starport, no industrial centers, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it’s perfect for us.” He glanced at the Child. “You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple months, you little womp rat? Nobody’s gonna find us here.”

  Nestled in his arms, the Child blinked and looked around, more interested in the red and green lights.

  Carasynthia Dune had learned long before to sit with her back to the wall. It was the safest place to be.

  From her usual table in the common house, she saw the Mandalorian walk in and take a seat. He wasn’t traveling alone. Tottering along behind him was a small, childlike being with green skin, long ears, and big eyes. Cara watched as the Mandalorian lifted the being into a seat and settled in across from it, ordering a bowl of bone broth from the proprietor.

  What are you doing here? Cara wondered.

  Such vigilance was second nature to her, honed over years of survival in dangerous and sometimes deadly circumstances. During the war, she had served the Rebel Alliance as a shock trooper, going in where the action was hot, infiltrating areas that traditional infantry couldn’t, fighting her way out without support. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and those instincts had kept her alive.

  And right then, they were telling her it was time to go.

  She stood up and slipped out the door and around the corner, hurried down the enclosed space between buildings, then waited in the shadows, listening.

  A moment later, the Mandalorian followed. Cara heard him coming and waited until he was close enough to attack. She leapt up to grab an overhanging bar, swinging her feet forward to kick him in the chest. While he was still recovering, she landed and punched him hard in the head and again in the torso, knocking him back against the wall. He lunged forward, swinging, and hit her in the ribs, then smashed her in the face. Cara grabbed him by the throat, underneath his helmet, and hurled him down with a grunt.

  The bounty hunter activated his flamethrower. Cara launched herself into the air and brought both feet down on top of him as hard as she could. Swinging herself around, she grabbed her blaster, and they ended up on the ground, both of them panting for breath, weapons pointed at each other’s faces.

  Off to the side, Cara heard slurping sounds. She looked over and saw the child the Mandalorian had brought with him, watching them while happily sipping from a bowl of bone broth.

  “You want some soup?” the Mandalorian asked.

  Back in the common house, they sat down at the table and Cara told him what she’d been
up to. “Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor,” she said. “Mostly ex-Imperial warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They’d send us in on the drop ships. Then when the Imperials were gone, the politics started.” She shook her head. “Not what I signed up for.”

  “How’d you end up here?” the Mandalorian asked.

  “Let’s just call it an early retirement.” She took a sip from her bowl and looked at him. “Look, I knew you were in the Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That’s why I came at you so hard.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Mando said.

  She stood up. “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.”

  As she walked away, the Mandalorian looked at the Child, who gave him a quizzical glance. “Looks like this planet’s taken,” he said. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  That night, as he was preparing the Razor Crest for an early-morning departure, he heard someone making their way through the trees. If it was an enemy, they were doing a terrible job of sneaking up on him. A moment later, two men stepped out of the woods, one young, one slightly older, neither looking too sure of himself.

  “Excuse me,” one of them said, sounding nervous. “Excuse me, sir?”

  Mando turned. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  They hesitated, and then the first one spoke up again. “Raiders, sir.”

  “We have money,” the other added.

  The bounty hunter regarded them for a moment. Both men were staring at him with a mixture of hope and desperation. “So you think I’m some kind of mercenary?”

  “You are a Mandalorian, right? Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor?” The younger of the two men was almost breathless with excitement. “Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people…your tribe…and if half of what I’ve read is true—”

  “We have money,” the other repeated, holding up a bag to show him.

  “How much?” Mando asked.

  “It’s everything we have, sir.” He swallowed hard, the muscles in this throat tightening. “Our whole harvest was stolen.”

  “Krill,” the other man added. “We’re krill farmers.”

  “We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.”

  The Mandalorian looked at the small sack of credits in the man’s trembling hand. “It’s not enough,” he said, and turned away.

  “Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is!”

  “I know it’s not enough,” Mando said. “Good luck.” Before they could respond, he hit the switch to extend the boarding ramp of the Crest, which expelled a sudden gust of steam as it lowered. The two men drew back, muttering to themselves over the failure of their mission.

  “It took us a whole day to get here,” the younger one complained. “Now we have to ride back in the dark, with no protection, to the middle of nowhere….”

  Mando raised his head. “Where do you live?”

  “On a farm,” the man who’d brought the bag of money said, looking over his shoulder. “Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

  He thought again about the promise of sanctuary, a place where he and the Child might be safe, an opportunity to regroup and decide on his next move. Perhaps this planet might work out after all, at least for a while. “In the middle of nowhere?”

  The older one nodded. “Yes.”

  “You have lodging?”

  “Yeah,” the younger man said, “absolutely.”

  “Good,” Mando said. “Come up and help.”

  The two exchanged puzzled glances, not sure exactly why their luck had suddenly changed, and then set to work. As they helped load supplies in the lifter, preparing to head out for their village, the bounty hunter realized someone else might be able to help.

  “I’m going to need one more thing,” he said, and held out his hand. “Give me those credits.”

  The older man looked at him in surprise. “So now it is going to be enough?”

  Mando put the last of the bags on the lifter. “We’ll see,” he said.

  He found Cara Dune sitting by her campfire, eyes alert, blaster already pointed at him. Mando responded by tossing the bag of credits at her feet.

  “Ready for round two?” he asked.

  She frowned, but lowered her blaster to listen. The credits bought him enough time to explain the situation that the two men from the village had presented him. Based on the information they’d provided, he thought he could use another pair of hands, someone who knew their way around a blaster.

  “So we’re basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?” Cara asked when he’d finished describing the situation.

  “They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere,” Mando said. “Last I checked, it’s a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Worst-case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we’re a deterrent.” He turned to regard the woods around them. “I can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

  Cara said nothing, just gazed at the fire. The Mandalorian leaned back and waited for her decision. He already had a feeling what she was going to say.

  BY DAWN the next morning their speeder had emerged from the woods, gliding into the village. News of their arrival must have reached the villagers already, since a group of local children rushed out to meet the speeder. Mando and Cara watched as the kids came running up, laughing and waving, taking an immediate interest in the Child, who looked back at them, his hands raised, cooing with pleasure.

  “Looks like they’re happy to see us,” the Mandalorian said.

  Cara’s expression remained neutral. “Looks like.”

  He climbed out of the back of the speeder and began to unload the supplies. From what he could see, the village itself was a cluster of huts and barns with thatched roofs, surrounded by a series of small ponds with nets suspended above them, where the villagers and farmers caught their krill. A peaceful community of fish farmers where nothing could be terribly threatening.

  Walking through the camp, Mando carried his gear over to the barn where he was told he would be staying. The woman inside was drawing the blinds from the window to let in the light. She had dark hair and kind, welcoming eyes. She smiled at him. “Please come in,” she said. “My name is Omera. I hope this is comfortable for you. I’m sorry that all we have is the barn.”

  “This will do fine,” Mando said, and set down the case he’d brought with him.

  “I stacked some blankets over here.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind—” Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he spun around on reflex, blaster already in his hand. Looking toward the doorway, he saw a small girl cowering just outside. He lowered his weapon, but the fright remained in her eyes as she went to the woman’s side.

  “This is my daughter, Winta,” Omera said. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.” She ran her hand over the girl’s head reassuringly. “This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

  The girl looked at him. “Thank you.”

  “Come on, Winta,” Omera said. “Let’s give our guests some room.”

  Later the two of them returned, just as he’d begun cleaning his rifle. This time Omera brought a tray with food, and Winta glanced at the Child, who was perched in a makeshift crib next to Mando’s bunk, blinking up at the visitors with bright-eyed interest.

  “Can I feed him?” Winta asked.

  “Sure.”

  The girl knelt down. “Are you hungry?” she asked, and giggled when the Child accepted the morsel of food she’d held out for him. She looked back at Mando. “Can I play with him?”

  He sighed. “Sure.” Lifting the Child from the crib, he set him down on the hardwood floor.

  “Come on!” Winta said, and ran out, the Child gurgling happily as he started to follow.

  “I don’t think—” Mando bega
n.

  “They’ll be fine,” Omera said.

  “I don’t—”

  “They’ll be fine.” Omera smiled at him again, and he felt some of his misgivings starting to dissolve. “I brought you some food,” she said. “I notice you didn’t eat out there. I’ll leave it here for you when I go.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said, turning back to his task, but she was still standing in the doorway looking at him.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  The bounty hunter nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve taken that off?”

  “My helmet?” He paused. “Yesterday.”

  “I mean in front of someone else.”

  Mando glanced out at where the children were playing, with the Child toddling happily alongside, making small noises of excitement. “I wasn’t much older than they are,” he said.

  “You haven’t shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?”

  “No,” he said. “I was happy that they took me in. My parents were killed and the Mandalorians took care of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  He looked back at her. “This is the Way.”

  Omera gazed at him again for a moment. “Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and stood watching as she turned to go. After she was gone, he sat down at the table where she’d placed the food. Through the window he could hear the children playing outside, laughing and running in circles. Their voices sounded happy, carefree, full of life. The Child was among them, giggling, too, perfectly in his element.

  Mando reached up to grasp his helmet, lifted it off, and began to eat.

  That evening, Mando and Cara walked the area surrounding the village. It was a good night for a reconnaissance mission. The twilight was peaceful, the air virtually silent except for the faint chirring of insects. Reaching up, Mando made an adjustment on his visor, and the infrared scope switched on to reveal a series of footprints leading into the forest.