Chapter Text
A helmet with a T shape slashed across the centre, silver armour and under it a man large enough to block your escape. That is all you saw. That is what your universe had narrowed to when you made a wrong turn and ended up in this maker-forsaken dead-end alleyway. The alley seemed to suck light into it like a black hole; a damp, dirty black hole. And the steel man at the other end was the polar opposite: a bright white star, pulling you back into the world and the reality you were trying so hard to escape.
_____________________
You’d come to U-Midus only three weeks before. It was a backwater trading post of faded appeal, it promised anonymity and the main town was a technically backwards, frontier market settlement with a medium grade spaceport. You’d been on the run for almost a year, surfing the Outer Rim, trying to stay hidden, but not really knowing who from. Your life had fallen apart with such force and so fast that sometimes you couldn’t catch your breath.
You were no expert on evading the authorities, but you’d got this far, so you found yourself wondering where you had slipped up. Maybe you’d been caught on security as you came through on a false passport you’d bought from a backstreet dealer on your last planet. That was something you couldn’t even believe you had done, it felt so wrong. And you supposed you might never know and so you had to focus on getting out of this mess. Now.
When you had arrived planet side, you’d found part time work in a haberdashery. The owner was a miserly Umidan, who paid pittance, but it was a job. Since taking you on, he made sure he got his money’s worth, sitting outside the shop, playing cards with his friends, while you laboured behind the counter. Better that way, you thought. At least then he wouldn’t be tempted to chat to you. On previous planets, it had been a headache, trying to make small talk while evading too many questions about where you were from. You should really make up a story and stick to it. It would be easier that way.
U-Midus was a planet where it rained most of the year. The shop where you worked was in the old town, where filthy water overflowed from the gutters with every downpour, coating the cobbled streets with a film of grease. There was a permanent smell of damp around the place, but its off-putting appearance was something you valued. It meant few visitors and more chance to disappear.
Maybe here you could keep your head down for a while, although you knew that the uneasy feeling that clouded your heart would return and you’d feel a shiver and pack your things and move on, as you’d done so many times over the last year.
You never felt truly comfortable anywhere. Always went to bed and woke again the next morning with a feeling in your gut that something bad was on the way. You’d hoped that this is what had kept you safe. Using that feeling. But it was exhausting, always pushing through your anxiety and now, it was over.
It was pure chance that you managed to get a head start on your pursuer. Because if you hadn’t remembered that the client who was just leaving the store had another purchase still on order, you wouldn’t have turned back at the door of the shop to mention it to them.
And you wouldn’t have caught sight of a determined figure making his way across the glistening street towards your shop. But you did, out of the very corner of your eye, and as you entered the gloom of the shop and turned fully round, you could see that he was some kind of killer. Helmeted and covered in metal like a loader droid, his gait was sure and powerful.
And then what you suddenly felt was blind panic.
Finally the elusive ‘they’ had caught up with you. The planet-hopping, the constant looking over your shoulder, the dead end jobs, the filthy cheap beds and friendless nights had been for nothing. You had something they wanted, you knew that for sure, but you had taken it, as you had been told to do and you had kept it hidden this long.
Now the figure making his way across the road towards the shop and closing the distance between you seemed like he was winding back the clock through all of the last months, erasing them, making them worthless. Making your journey with your precious cargo futile. He was counting down the seconds to the end of your life with every step.
Oh Kray, you thought, for the 8 millionth time since that night, What did you do to me?
And still the assassin was closing in. Was he going to gun you down in the shop? Drag you out the back and dispose of you there?
You were not waiting around to find out. And so you had run, not really considering whether you would get away but just going. It felt like you’d been on the run for so long now that just taking off without looking back was second nature to you.
U-Midus had a pretty big crime problem, and so most business premises had basic security measures and the haberdashery was no exception. Running behind the counter, you brought down the hinged flap with a bang and, reaching up, yanked down the metal grille which sealed off the shop front from the back of the store. It locked automatically and you turned on your heel and raced out of the back door into the alley behind.
Skirting the side of the shop, you peered round the shop front and out into the street, and, not seeing the steel man, you dashed across the road and made for the alleyway directly opposite. The alleyway fell steeply down and then turned sharp left as it descended into the tight passageways of the old town. The locals name for an alley was a ‘close’ as they narrowed and twisted through the historic part of the town in a confused jumble. Surely you would be able to evade him here, in this warren of rain soaked lanes.
Tearing off your headscarf, hoping to throw the man off your trail, you wove your way through the crowds heading for the bazaar in the old town’s main square, hoping that by placing yourself in the throng, you would be absorbed and hidden from view.
It was slow going on the main slope. People dragging children and animals stalled you continually, and you veered from one side to the other trying to find the fastest way through. You didn’t dare to look behind you, hoping that by keeping your face forward, you’d be hidden better.
The crowds milled about you, and you tried to hurry, bumping into an old woman with a cart, nearly tripping over it.
“Look where you’re going,” she cursed and turning to apologise you looked up at the street you had come along. At the top of the steep incline where the street left the square there was a glint of metal and a helmet. He was coming. Maker, how had he got your trail so fast?
Veering to the left, you turned into the first close you came to, nearly skidding on the wet cobbles in your panic. You could feel things slipping out of your control. He was there - how was he so close behind you? Breaking into a run now, you tore down the alley, not stopping to look behind you. One random turn and then another, as you blindly moved down on through the twisting streets. The light faded as you got further and further into the labyrinth of lanes where ancient tenements crowded in on one another, the upper storeys nearly touching. The slap of your wet footsteps echoed and you could hear your ragged breath.
The square of the bazaar was on your left as you raced along, your lungs on fire. You didn’t want to end up trapped amongst the crowds there, so you kept going, but it was just fear now making your choices for you. You knew that there was no reason to your path. You were simply running for your life.
And then the dead end. The far side of the close shut by a metal fence with rubbish piled against it.
“No! Damn it,” you cried in exhausted frustration, not knowing whether to turn again and keep going. But in your heart you knew it was over. You’d made it this long on fumes alone, constantly amazed that no one had caught up with you before, all the while hoping that you hadn’t really needed to be on the run at all and that Kray had been playing some sort of joke on you.
But now you realised that he had been right to tell you to go. He’d put you in danger but he’d tried to save you. He’d tried and you’d failed. And you had let yourself get cornered.
Because even without looking, you heard the slow, measured footsteps behind you. Even without turning you knew that your pursuer had somehow found you and was closing the gap, making his way towards you. You bent your head, your chest still heaving from your flight. Were you ready to die? Did it matter? Yes, you realised, it did. You weren’t ready.
And so you’d slowly turned around to meet the assassin standing not three feet from you.
___________
The alley was mostly dark but there was a shaft of light coming from the small patch of visible sky and it shone down onto the figure standing there. And it was enough to see that the person blocking any chance of your escape was large. Not bulky but imposing. And he (because it was undoubtedly a he, broad chested and muscular) was covered in armour and weaponed up to the teeth. Dank farrik the armour looked terrifying. The sunlight reflected off one side of him, illuminating his shoulder armour, one thigh plate and the side of his helmet.
He didn’t move a muscle, was all calculated tension, and it was terrifying. And there was that dark T across the front of his helmet, a space so devoid of light that you at first wondered if you were facing down a droid of some sort. But then you saw his hand reach for his belt and the fluid movement was most definitely not droid, but what it was you didn’t know.
When a voice came from under the helmet, it didn’t give you any clues either. “You might want to stop running now.” It was monotone, deep, slightly scratchy and filtered through the voice modulator of his helmet. But even if you couldn’t grasp onto anything to identify your adversary, the intention behind the command was crystal clear: do what I say say and do it now.
You watched the gloved hand reach for the belt and what was undoubtedly a blaster, and it felt like the galaxy was caving in on you. So this is it? you thought. This is the end of your life. The end of a life which up until a year ago had been just you making your way in the world in the only way you knew how. A life of contradictions and wonder, of moments of serene beauty and moments of loneliness. Just a life. Not a life that hurt anyone, not a life that really mattered.
And here you would die. At the end of a filthy, damp alleyway, with no one to help you and no one to mourn you. You couldn’t even muster up the words to say anything, couldn’t even ask who it was had sent him here. Who was paying him? Did you even want to know? Would it help you in these last seconds?
You were almost, almost resigned to your fate and squeezed your eyes shut so you wouldn’t have to stare down the barrel of a blaster. But no blast came. Your heart pounded and slowly you inched open first one eye and then the other and you saw the man pull out a pair of binders and hold then by his side. And then the voice came again:
“Hands out.”
Wait, what??
You were stunned into inaction for more than a moment. Your brain, just for an iota, couldn’t compute what was being said to you. And then it struck you. This guy in front of you hadn’t come to kill you. He wasn’t an assassin. He was a bounty hunter. He was a hunter - and he was here to take you in.
____________________
Instantly you started looking around for an escape. You were in panic, but one thing was clear in your mind: you would do everything in your power to avoid this. You’d rather die here in this alleyway now than to be captured and taken maker knew where…
The alleyway was short and tight, with a ring fence at your back and the sides of the two buildings which formed it had neither doors nor windows. But you weren’t far from the street you had turned off from and people were passing along the alley entrance along that street. It was a pathetic hope but you had to try. So as a couple with a small child passed across the mouth of the alley you shouted out: “Help me!” as you tried to dodge past the imposing figure in front of you with the binders you did not want to have around your wrists…. “please….”
All it took was one arm, which shot out from the hunter’s body, faster than you though someone could move, and your way was blocked. The couple stopped momentarily at the mouth of the alley and stared at you. You locked eyes with the woman, only for a second, and the pity in her eyes was palpable. But the man could see the reality before him. He knew better than to get involved with this armoured thug, knew that it would put him and his family in danger and you could understand him, even while you begged him with your eyes to help. You watched in helpless despair as he shepherded the woman onwards and past the mouth of the close and away. Away from whoever it was you were and whatever it was you had done, safe in the knowledge that his family, his life, didn’t involve being cornered in a squalid alleyway.
The arm that closed off your escape was solid and felt like an iron bar, and the man at the end of it didn’t look like he was expending any energy at all to keep you from passing. He had hardly moved a muscle since he cornered you. And now you were up close, you realised that he might not be a droid, but he was definitely the most intimidating being you had ever come across.
Pushing off the arm that caged you in, you turned in utter desperation and made a run for the ring fence at the end of the alley. You knew it was impossible. You knew that there is no way in the galaxy that you could make it over that kriffing fence, but you had to try. And you didn’t care if you looked ridiculous or desperate. You didn’t even care that you would almost certainly get two feet up that fence and be dragged back down again. You would not go. You. Would . Not. Go.
And exactly as predicted, the moment you started to climb, you heard a sound like a mechanical hiss careering in your direction. A cable snaked effortlessly round your ankle and then was pulled tight, yanking you away from the fence and dragging you roughly to the ground into the filthy mud, onto your knees. The hunter was on you in an instant, clamping one arm behind your back and slipping the binders on your wrist in a practised motion that you knew has been used over and over again on countless other desperate individuals. He turned you round then, snapped the other binder on you, tapped some device on his wrist and they locked down with the glow of a blue light.
“Nice try,” came the voice through the helmet, the tone harsh and mocking, seeing how desperate and pathetic you were. And didn’t you know it. You should have run further, you should have gone farther away, to the end of the galaxy, not ever thinking you were safe, not letting your guard down. Maybe then you would still be free.
He grabbed hold of the binder chain roughly and marched you unceremoniously out of the alley. That stinking, dirty alley which had the ignominious title of being the last place you would get to experience freedom in this whole, ugly galaxy. The irony wasn’t lost on you. You’d probably remember that alley for the rest of your life, because turning down it was your downfall and also somehow symbolic of the way that your life had spiralled out of control. It was as if you had been pulled down that alley to be trapped and then caught and then humiliated because that’s what this life had planned for you. If there really was a maker, this was some pretty dark stuff he had planned out for you.
And to follow, there was the walk of shame you were forced to submit to as this brute marched you straight down the main street in the direction of the port. Stars, the humiliation. You’d always had a certain amount of attention on you, doing what you did. You were used to people watching you, paying attention to your expressions and words. But right this minute, with your hair falling over your face, mud on your trousers and your hands bound, half tripping to keep up with the strides of your captor, you really felt ashamed.
The looks were hard, when they looked. Some pity, but more often than not a sneer. And there was a lot of turning away, of people hiding children behind them. But that might have been more about the iron clad monolith that was marching you silently towards whatever ship he must have left parked at the spaceport.
Whatever their thoughts, people were obviously glad to think that another criminal was off their streets and in the hands of a bounty hunter. Except they didn’t know, did they? They didn’t know who you were and why you were on the run. Only two people knew about you, knew who you were and why you were here and why you were being brought back. One was god knows where, if he was even alive, and the other had you in binders and was dragging you to a fate you couldn’t bear to imagine.
Your next thought was to try to appeal to the hunter. “Listen,” you panted as you were manhandled along the street, “you don’t have to do this. You can just let me go. I’ll disappear, I swear. Just tell them you killed me.” You didn’t even know who was after you, who it was that had now put a bounty on you. That day you ran, you hadn’t even had time to find out. That’s was what was so ridiculous.
“Ne'johaa!” came the monotone voice from under the helmet. A harsh, guttural sound in a language you’d never heard before. The man gave you a jolt of irritation, straining your wrists and elbows. Maker, he was strong.
“Please,” you tried, “Don’t do this.”
“I said shut up.” came the stark response.
“But I can’t go back.” you pleaded, hoping that the emotion in your voice would at least stir something in the heart of this steel plated monster.
“Yeah?” came the reply, “that’s what they all say.”
And then the realisation hit you like a blow to the chest: this man knew and he was still taking you in. This hunter had your information, your history, in order to track you and find you and he didn’t care what he was dragging you back to. The thought was terrifying. That someone could care about that so little and far more about what he would gain from handing you over to what you presumed would be a pretty unpleasant fate. And that realisation brought you to a halt, digging your heels in, bringing the hunter to a reluctant stop.
The helmet turned towards you for the first time since he bound you in the alley, fixing on you as you struggled against his hold on your bound wrists. You tried to twist away from him, even as you knew there was no way in all the planets that you could get out of his iron grip. But something in you just refused to give in. Not yet. Maybe someone would see you and stop and get you out of this nightmare. Maybe this hunter would be forced to let you go. Again you shouted a plea into the crowd: “Please, can somebody help me? Please…” But the faces turned away, the crowds parted, the hunter gave you one last blank stare, an annoyed grunt and yanked on your arms, nearly pulling them out of their sockets and you were on the move again, this time half dragged along because you had nothing to lose and were still resisting.
“Give it up.” came the growl from the under helmet.
You were pulled the rest of the way to the city spaceport in a fog, only coming back to yourself as you were led through the security gates and the bounty hunter showed his pass to the guards there.
You were pushed in the direction of a medium sized ship in the far corner, where a couple of Ugnaught mechanics were finishing up what looked like some repairs on the hull of the craft. It was an old ship, a hulking metal cage which you were about to be thrown into.
Your captor walked you closer to the ship, the gangway was down and you could see crates and containers in the hold of the ship. One of the mechanics came over and started explaining what repairs he’d done and while he was talking, you scanned the dock, still wondering if there was some hope - some faint stroke of luck, please, maker - that you could find a way out of this. Because you knew once you set reluctant foot on board that ship, you were not going to be able to escape being delivered to whoever had paid for you to be picked up. The open hold in front of you felt like the mouth of a sarlacc. Once you were in there and the gangway closed on you, there would be no escape. And the journey back would be torturous. You might not be being digested in the belly of a carnivorous beast, but you’d be stewing in your own fear.
A big guy in a uniform with a holopad wandered over to take payment, and sign your captor out of the port. He looked you up and down with a chuckle before adding some details to the pad. And just as your mind was turning to thoughts of how you could find the next possible escape route, he turned to the bounty hunter and said: “Well, Mandalorian, looks like you got your quarry.”
You froze for what seemed like an eternity, heart in your mouth.
A Mandalorian?
Stars and suns, you were done for.