justwrite100words

Neither had ramped up their attack. It always started this way. Evaluating the opponent. Settling the grip. Grounding the body. Easing into the offensive. A steady blossoming of tension in the arm and shoulder. Finally, the chest. All parts locking into a cohesive unit. Opposite forces meeting with no advancement forward.

Cara grinned.

Din could feel the strain in his neck the harder she pushed. The bacta was doing its job but the burn itself hadn't yet completely healed. The full range of motion still bordered on painful. The injury was at the heart of their clash.

Her gaze flickered over his shoulder towards the open cargo ramp.

Despite being in friendly territory, instinct kicked in. His grip relaxed for a split second as reflex propelled him to turn, face the unexpected, and reach for his blaster.

She slammed his arm over and down, vambrace connecting with their makeshift tabletop. He grimaced. The wince he couldn't keep from traveling. Adding insult to injury, Paz allowed his deep-seated chuckle to erupt without restraint as he went about his business in the hold.

"So," Cara prompted, recapturing his attention. "Still want to leave today?"

He sighed. That patented sigh they'd come to expect from their longsuffering ruler. "Tomorrow might be better."

With his free hand, he pointed to the outer ring. "Ge'tal."

"Ge!" Grogu repeated excitedly.

"That's right. You already know that one." Although at second glance, it was almost orange rather than red. The first ring was the least defined. It seeped out in all directions, running wherever gravity pulled. On the inside was a thin barrier of yellow. The depth was miniscule compared to the other bands. Beyond it was-

"Vorpan."

Grogu uttered a questioning sound and then used both hands to indicate himself.

"Like you, yes," Din confirmed. "What's at the center?"

Grogu cooed.

"Yeah, it's pretty, isn't it? Kebiin."

Grabby hands shot out.

"I'm afraid you've just missed him." Boba's body language was decidedly just as relaxed. He lounged in full armor, one hand on his rifle and the other propped up on the armrest. Over his shoulder, Fennec was still, eyeing the New Republic agents with intense scrutiny.

"Do you know if he'll be back?" Rotta's soft-spoken question brought the conversation to a stop. Boba swung his gaze. Fennec merely shifted her eyes.

Boba rose to his full height on the dais, cradling his weapon in crossed arms. He lorded over his uninvited guests. "Why should I answer that?"

Zeb stepped to the side, putting himself between his new partner and Tatooine's daimyo. "We have a mission ahead of us and could really use his expertise. He's not answering his comm or responding to messages."

Boba considered the response for a long moment. Let the tension ride high and hang. Finding the explanation without guile, he offered truth up in return. "He will be back. Perhaps in a few days. The New Republic is not the only house he chooses to serve," he explained. "Unfortunately, you've come at an inopportune time. There is a storm fast approaching. You have two options."

"And what might those be?"

"You may leave and return at your convenience. Or you can move your ship into the hanger and accept my hospitality until the Mandalorian returns. A handful of sensible rules will be imposed upon you to ensure the security of my home. Decide quickly. You have less than half an hour before the winds pick up."

Zeb wordlessly sought out Rotta's input.

"Is Grogu here?"

The force sang. From below the grating, a happy chitter chatter babbled up. The roar of a beast echoed up behind it.

Rotta balled his fists and dragged himself forward, anger flashing in his eyes. "You put him in with a rancor?!"

Fennec leveled her riffle. Zeb drew his pistols. Boba raised his hand, palm out. "Calm yourself," he ordered. "No harm will come to the child under my watch. The two are the closest of friends, I assure you. Fennec-"

She reached down and flip a switch. The throne room trap door fell open. Like an interceptor shot out of a launch tube, Grogu flew out of the pit and landed squarely in Rotta's arms. Headbutting and snuggling ensued. A happy squeal conveyed his delight at being reunited.

Rotta chuckled. "Hey, little buddy. Long time, no see. These guys treating you right?"

Grogu twisted in his arms, throwing a hand back toward Boba and Fennec. Presenting them. Affirming his relationships and love. "Patu!"

The instructions were clear, in a voice unaltered.  A woman’s rough alto.  A simple exchange.  One man for another.  A set of coordinates, a date, a time, and a warning that any trickery would result in Din’s immediate execution.  

“She works for the Pykes.”  Fennec’s keen eye examined the recording from over Boba’s shoulder, her ear as sharp as her aim.  The unspoken was clear.  This wasn’t a hoax or some low-level play for power.  Din was nothing but a convenient lure and his continued existence was tied to his usefulness.  

Boba heard but didn’t respond.  An explosive outburst of violence had released the pressure valve of rage upon the first viewing.  It had swept in after the sickening sense of dread that plummeted to the pit of his stomach.

"How do you want to handle this?"