Star Wars: The Mandalorian Junior Novel

by Joe Schreiber

  Mando stepped into view. The Twi’lek female, leering with delight and displaying sharp canines, responded at once and began flinging knives at him. He ducked, moving fast, dodging the blades, and coming up underneath her. After all that time, his speed was a surprise to her.

  Mando gripped her around the waist. His own dagger was in his hand, underneath her throat. Xi’an’s eyes flicked to him, and she went very still.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mayfeld stood motionless in the darkness. He knew the Mandalorian was out there somewhere, stalking him, coming closer. Mayfeld sensed his approach, and as the light flickered overhead, he felt his nerves start to give way to panic. Sweat broke across his upper lip, and he could feel his heart pounding. His mind flashed to what he’d said earlier, taunting the Mandalorian about being paranoid.

  Who was being paranoid now?

  He’s nearby, Mayfeld thought. I can smell him. He’s somewhere very close. His firing arm whirled senselessly, sightless in the shadows.

  The next thing he felt was a gloved hand gripping him hard.

  He didn’t have time to scream.

  Mando found Qin on the ladder leading up to the Razor Crest. When the prisoner saw Mando’s shadow on the wall, he stopped trying to escape and looked over his shoulder at the bounty hunter. His voice sounded resigned. “You killed the others.”

  “They got what they deserved,” Mando said.

  With a snarl, the male Twi’lek whipped around, weapon in hand. But the bounty hunter was waiting for him with a blaster already pointed at his chest.

  “You kill me,” Qin said, “you don’t get your money.” He grinned, teeth gleaming savagely. “Whatever Ran promised, I’ll make sure you get it, and more.” The prisoner took a step toward the Mandalorian, then another, advancing slowly, arms at his sides. “Come on, Mando. Be reasonable.” He tossed his own blaster aside and held out his wrists, chuckling. “You were hired to do a job, right? Isn’t that your code? Aren’t you a man of honor?”

  Mando didn’t answer.

  On board the Razor Crest, the Child had been enjoying his game of hide-and-seek with the droid named Zero. At least, it had seemed like a game at the time. But then the droid had found him, and the Child perceived that the game had turned serious. The droid had a rifle in its hands, and the rifle looked dangerous. Perhaps it wasn’t just a funny game after all.

  Zero pointed the blaster at the Child, and the Child raised his hand, closing his eyes. As he concentrated, his long ears drawing flat with the intensity of his focus, there was a burst of violent energy from behind the droid. A sudden explosion of sparks burst from its chest plate as it crumpled over.

  The Mandalorian stood there, blaster in hand.

  The Child cooed and smiled at him.

  “Where are the others?” Ranzar Malk asked.

  Back at the Roost, Ran had been waiting to meet the Razor Crest as it docked and sent down its ramp, allowing Qin to step off and meet him. As Ran greeted the prisoner with a hug, the Mandalorian looked down at the bearded man.

  “No questions asked,” Mando said. “That’s the policy, right?”

  “Yeah,” Ran said. “That is the policy.”

  “I did the job.”

  “Yeah, you did.” Ran tossed him a bag of credits. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  “Just like the good old days,” Mando said.

  “Just like the good old days.”

  The Mandalorian walked back up the gangway and hit the switch to close the hatch. A moment later, the Crest’s landing gear lifted from the pad as the ship began to move upward and out of the port.

  Watching the ship go, Ran raised one hand, smiling and waving. He waited until the Crest began to move out. Then his smile disappeared. He leaned down and activated a communications line. His voice was cold, dismissive.

  “Kill him.”

  He could hear Qin chuckling as the docking doors alongside them opened, the lift rising to bring the gunship into view. It would make quick work of the Razor Crest, Ran knew. Nobody would ever hear from the Mandalorian again. His good old days—all his days—would soon be over.

  Beeping made him look over to see Qin holding a blinking device in his hand. Apparently the Mandalorian had tucked it into the Twi’lek prisoner’s pocket before he’d brought him back.

  “What’s this?” the Twi’lek asked, holding it up.

  Ran stared at the tracker in shock, realizing what it meant. Through the open hatch, he could already see the three ships from the New Republic racing toward them. They appeared to be approaching the space station at a very aggressive rate of speed.

  “Are those X-wings?” Qin asked. He sounded confused.

  Ran didn’t have a chance to answer before the ships opened fire.

  “MY FRIEND.” Greef Karga’s image flickered to life on the ship’s holoprojector. “If you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive.” The Guild agent gazed out at him, hands on hips. “You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive, too. I guess we can call it even.”

  The Mandalorian watched the image carefully, listening to every word.

  “A lot has happened since we last saw each other,” Karga continued. “The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out.” Karga crossed his arms, getting right to the point. “If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far against their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize. So here is my proposition. Return to Nevarro, and bring the Child as bait. I will arrange an exchange and loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the Client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the Child, and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile.” Karga paused, allowing the terms to resonate in Mando’s mind. “I await your arrival with optimism.”

  Mando switched off the transmission and turned around to look at the Child. He was fast asleep in his pram, snoring softly.

  The Mandalorian turned to the navicomputer and plotted a course for Sorgan.

  Fighting always made Cara Dune feel better about her life choices. Winning bets while doing it was just an added bonus.

  In the time since Mando’s departure, she’d been restless and bored, looking for ways to make money, preferably while blowing off steam. In the common house where bone broth was the local specialty, attached by an energy tether to a male Zabrak fighter, she’d found a way to let out her aggressions—and win a few bets.

  If she survived long enough.

  Wham! The Zabrak slammed her in the face, sending her backward against the bar. All around her, the crowd cheered. Stumbling, Cara shook it off and charged him, hammering him hard in the jaw and following up with a roundhouse kick to his stomach. That made him angry, and sloppy, which was precisely her goal.

  “Come on!” the Zabrak snarled, grabbing the tether in both hands and pulling her across the floor toward him. Cara allowed herself to be dragged closer, letting him tire himself out with the effort. At the last second, she ducked as his fist whistled over her head, and while he was still off balance, she came back hard with a rib-cracking side punch that doubled him over.

  Say hello to the floor for me, she thought.

  The Zabrak grunted, sucking wind. Swinging on top of him, she grabbed the tether and wrapped it around his neck, yanking it tight until he finally deactivated his end, thudding to the floor.

  The crowd applauded, roaring their approval. Panting, Cara raised her hands in victory and pointed at the ones who had bet against her. “Pay up, mudscuffers!” she cried out, and gathered the credits from their hands. “Come on, that’s mine. Thank you….”

  As the crowd parted, she saw the Mandalorian making his way toward
her.

  “Looking for some work?” he asked.

  Later, sitting at a table together, he outlined the operation for her, as Greef Karga had explained it to him. “They’re providing the plan and firepower. I’m the trap.”

  Cara’s eyes moved to the small, long-eared creature who was following their discussion with avid interest. “With the kid?”

  “That’s why I’m coming to you.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been advised to lay low.” She glanced at him dubiously. “If anybody identifies me, I’ll rot in a cell for the rest of my life.”

  “I thought you were a veteran.”

  “I’ve been a lot of things since,” Cara said, thinking of the various jobs she’d done, and the hard feelings she’d left behind. “If I so much as book passage on a ship registered to the New Republic—”

  “I have a ship,” Mando told her. “I can bring you there and back with a handsome reward. You can live free of worry.”

  “I’m already free of worry,” she said, “and I’m not in the mood to play soldier anymore.” She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. “Especially fighting some local warlord.”

  “He’s not a local warlord,” Mando said. “He’s Imperial.”

  Cara paused at that, reconsidered, and raised her cup. “I’m in.”

  Cara traveled light, and it didn’t take long for her to pack up. Within the hour, they were aboard the Razor Crest, heading into space. The Mandalorian set the system for autopilot, and they went down to the ship’s hold. Cara studied the onboard arsenal of blasters and explosives, deciding what weapons suited her best. They all looked good, but the thermal detonator held a particular allure. Cara weighed it in her hand.

  “Whoa!” she shouted as the ship veered abruptly to the side and started to shake. Mando grabbed the wall for support and made his way up into the cockpit, where alarms were blaring and pulsing from the display. A moment later, he saw why.

  The Child was sitting at the helm, where he’d taken hold of the throttle and was babbling happily, trying to steer the ship. Lunging forward, the bounty hunter managed to lift him away from the throttle and pass him back to Cara before taking over the controls. He stabilized the vessel and switched off the alarms.

  Cara let out a breath. “We need someone to watch that thing.”

  “Yeah,” Mando said.

  “You got anyone you can trust?”

  The Mandalorian thought he knew just the one.

  Kuiil was harnessing his blurrg when he saw the familiar shape of the Razor Crest descending in front of his homestead. When the hatch opened, he greeted the new arrivals and led them inside. The Mandalorian was there with the Child, and another one, a fighter from the look of her.

  The Ugnaught studied the Child. “It hasn’t grown much,” he said, and glanced at Cara. “What about this one? Does she have a name?”

  “This is Cara,” Mando said. “She was a shock trooper.”

  “You were a Dropper,” Kuiil observed.

  She nodded. “Did you serve?”

  “On the other side, I’m afraid.” Kuiil lowered himself into his seat. “But I’m proud to say that I paid out my clan’s debt, and now I serve no one but myself.”

  The door behind him opened, and a droid stepped into the room. IG-11 was so tall that it had to bend down to clear the hatchway, but the tea tray in its hands remained perfectly level.

  Seeing the bounty droid, Mando sprang to his feet, blaster in hand, and Cara joined him. IG-11 remained unperturbed.

  “Would anyone care for some tea?”

  “Please,” the Ugnaught said, “lower your blasters. He will not harm you.”

  The Mandalorian kept his weapon trained carefully on the bounty droid’s head. “That thing is programmed to kill the baby.”

  Kuiil shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  As Mando and Cara listened, the Ugnaught relayed the story of how he’d found the droid in the wake of the battle, devoid of all life. He had gathered the IG and loaded it onto the back of his blurrg, taking it to his workshop to assess the damage. It was extensive. Little had remained of its neural harness, and reconstruction was difficult. Once the mechanical repairs were finished, Kuiil had spent days teaching the droid everything from scratch—how to stand, how to walk, simple tasks like how to pick up a box or pour out water. It had required patience and repetition.

  “I spent day after day reinforcing its development with patience and affirmation,” Kuiil said as the droid poured tea for the guests. “It developed a personality as its experiences grew.”

  Mando was unconvinced. “Is it still a hunter?”

  “No,” the Ugnaught said, “but it will protect.”

  IG-11 raised its arm, extending a cup. “Tea?”

  The Mandalorian looked at it and sighed.

  Later that night, while Kuiil was feeding the blurrgs, Mando spoke to him about why he’d really come back to Arvala-7: to hire him as a protector for the Child.

  “I cannot accept your offer,” the Ugnaught said. “But IG-11 will serve your needs. I can reprogram him to watch over the Child.”

  “No,” Mando said firmly. “I don’t want that droid anywhere near him.”

  The Ugnaught blinked at him. “They are not good or bad,” he said. “They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them.” He straightened up and regarded the Mandalorian. “Do you trust me?”

  “From what I can tell, yes.”

  “Then you will trust my work,” Kuiil said, as if the matter was settled. “I will go with you, and IG-11 will join me. We do it not for payment, but to protect the Child from Imperial slavery.” He gazed up at the Mandalorian and spoke from his heart: “None will be free until the old ways are gone forever.”

  There seemed nothing more to say, so Mando simply agreed. “Okay.”

  “The blurrgs will join me, as well.”

  “The blurrgs?”

  “I have spoken,” said Kuiil, and walked away.

  The blurrgs fit nicely in the Razor Crest’s cargo hold, and the Ugnaught rode next to them, apparently content with their company. Once they were underway, Cara approached the Mandalorian. He was at a table near the cargo hold with the Child. She dropped a handful of credits in front of him, sat down, and extended her hand.

  He looked at the credits, then up at her. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Cara grinned. “You scared?”

  He planted his elbow, clasped her hand, and a moment later they were both straining to push the other’s arm over. Cara knew they would be pretty evenly matched, but as she pushed harder, she felt Mando starting to weaken.

  “I got you, Mando.”

  He was grunting. “Care to double the bet?”

  Cara pushed harder, her smile tightening across her face. Now she knew she was going to win, and when she did, she was never going to let him hear the end of it, especially—

  Suddenly her thoughts broke off. An invisible hand seemed to be tightening around her neck, choking her. She sat bolt upright, clutching at her throat. With her vision already starting to darken around the edges, she caught a glimpse of the Child with his eyes closed, hand outstretched in her direction.

  “No!” Mando shouted, and she saw him reach over and grab the Child “Stop! We’re friends! Cara is my friend!”

  The choking ended, and she felt herself being released. With a gasp, she sat forward and pointed at the Child. “That is not okay!”

  The Mandalorian lowered the Child into his crib.

  “Interesting,” Kuiil said.

  “Interesting?” Cara gaped at him. “That thing almost killed me!”

  Mando regarded the Ugnaught. Kuiil was watching the Child, processing what he’d just witnessed. “What you told me about the mudhorn now makes more sense,” he told Mando finally.

  “I could use your skills,” the bounty hunter told him. “Could you modify the Child’s crib with some cushions so that he sleeps better?”

  “I will fabricate a better one,�
� Kuiil said, and set to work.

  Cara rubbed her throat where she’d felt the invisible hand gripping her airway. From then on, she’d be more careful around the little one.

  LANDING ON THE LAVA fields of Nevarro, they found Greef Karga waiting for them, along with a trio of local bounty hunters—a human, a Nikto, and a Trandoshan. Kuiil unloaded the blurrgs, leading them down the Crest’s ramp, and Mando and Cara joined him to mount up and ride over to Karga.

  Karga and his hunters stood their ground, watching as Mando and the others approached. “Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando,” the Guild agent said. “But things have gotten complicated since you were last here.” He spread his arms. “Now, where is the little one?”

  Mando clicked a button on his wrist gauntlet, and the silver pram floated forward, opening to reveal the Child’s face. At the sight of him, Karga blinked in surprise.

  “So,” he said, “this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about.” Reaching down, he lifted the Child up. “What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head.” Replacing the Child, he looked back at Mando. “I’m glad this matter will be put to rest, once and for all. Shall we go?”

  The sun dropped fast on Nevarro. They traveled for a while on foot across the lava fields, none of them speaking much, and then set up camp at the riverbank, with the intention of making their way into town at first light.

  That night, as they were gathered around the campfire, Kuiil fed scraps of meat to the Child, who devoured it hungrily, smacking his lips.

  “I guess the little bugger’s a carnivore,” Karga marveled. “Never seen anything like it.” He leaned in closer. “They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing.”

  “Let’s go over the plan again,” the Mandalorian said.

  Karga sketched out the steps. It wasn’t complicated. They were going together to the public house with the Child as bait. They would join the Client at the table, where Mando would kill him. Any complications involving his accompanying team of stormtroopers—four at the most, Karga promised—would be handled by his own hunters and Cara Dune. It all sounded very straightforward.