[Boba Fett](22)

“K’oyacyi, Buir.” Hang in there. Mama.

It was one thing carrying a wounded comrade between two-Fett couldn’t recall ever doing that, of course-but maneuvering a jet pack in addition was hard. He thought she’d die before they touched down: she kept repeating “You promised …” ever more weakly, and when they reached Slave 1, she was barely

Beviin eased off her helmet while Fett activated the emergency med droid that he kept and had never needed to use. The unit, a round-ended cylinder the length of his arm, darted around her like an insect, attaching sensors.

“Transfusion needed,” it announced. “Hypovolemic shock. Stabilize, tie off blood vessels in-“

“Transfuse, then, you hut’uun’ said Beviin. Droids had no bedside manner. “I got you, Briika, it’s okay. You’re fine.”

“You promised,” she said, suddenly very lucid. “Dinua. Gai bal manda.”

“I did,” he said. He took off his helmet. “I swear. Don’t you worry about that. K’oyacyi. Hang in there.”

The med droid slipped catheters into Briika’s arm and neck, and Beviin kept looking to the hatch as if willing Dinua to show up. Fett reflected on the variable nature of penetrating wounds, and how unreliable stabbing was as a method of stopping an enemy. Beviin stood by the hatch, blinking rapidly and occasionally shaking his head as if arguing with himself.

The med droid started bleeping.

“No pulse,” it said. “Unable to resuscitate.”

It hadn’t even started the incision. Beviin didn’t say a word; he simply pushed himself away from the hatch to begin cleaning up the blood that was drying in dark patches on Slave 1’s scrupulously clean deck. Dinua arrived at a run, boots clattering in the hatchway, a matter of minutes too late.

“Dinua …” Beviin always kept his word. He caught her by the arm before she got to the body. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad.” He glanced briefly .it Fett, and the translation was for him, not her. “I know your name as my child.”

He didn’t have to say that her mother was dead or that he was sorry. The instant adoption told the girl all she needed to know.

Dinua held her helmet upside down in both hands and gazed into it, eyes fixed and glassy, as if frozen in the act of putting it on. And Fett could suddenly feel hard metal in his own hands: crouched in the shadows, bone-dry red dust stinging his eyes, staring at a silver-and-blue helmet and both utterly destroyed and totally numb at realizing his father was gone forever. He knew better than anyone how she felt, and for a brief moment he experienced a rare connection.

“It’s okay to cry,” Beviin said quietly. “We all cry sooner or later. I have, that’s for sure.”

He was talking to Dinua, but it still made Fett start. She sniffed loudly and flipped the helmet upright between spread fingers.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“That’s my girl.”

There were no orphans in Mandalorian society-not for long, anyway.

Except me. Fett was fine with that. Nobody could ever replace his father. It was better that they didn’t try.

Nom Anor: observations.

The Mandalorians are just like any other infidel, it seems. They are as weak and corrupt; they traded their entire galaxy for a few years of immunity for their wretched little sector. In a way, I’m… disappointed. I had higher hopes of them.

A few years? Perhaps less than that. Perhaps a few months.

I had expected them to be better warriors, I admit. Their reputation for savagery has been exaggerated from what I’ve seen of them in this war. But they still remain very useful for intelligence gathering and sabotage, and I shall keep them very much undercover even from our own warriors. They think their culture is eternal, but they’ll be erased when I have no further use for them. The more I look at them, the more weakness I see.

Armor. Iron armor. Lifeless shells.

How… weak.

Slave I: crossing Mandalore sector, two standard weeks later.

Fett was impressed by the ability of the average Mando to keep his mouth shut and close ranks even without being asked.

The regular overnight intelligence summary transmitted to Slave J recorded two contacts between Mandalorian vessels and the New Republic, where noncombatant Mandos were treated as hostiles just as Fett needed them to be. Both pilots obliged in keeping up appearances by returning tire and in one case destroying the New Republic tighter.

“Carry on hating us,” Fett said aloud. “Now we’ll keep the intel we get and use it ourselves.”

Mandalorian engineers were already working on developing enhanced weapons specifically for use against the Yuuzhan Vong. Word had spread within the Mando community about the real nature of the deal with the invaders, but that was as far as it got. Nobody else’s business, of course: outsiders wouldn’t understand anyway. Aruetiise. He saw no reason to learn the language, but the odd word was useful.