The forested moon of Algol lays at the edge of a far-flung system. It had once been a rich source of iron ore, but the mines ran out decades ago. Only a few stragglers remain in the decaying settlement. The Razor Crest lands in the old spaceport. An Ugnaught stands ready to greet the pilot of the old ship. The Mandalorian emerges followed by the Child.
“Welcome to Tirith. I am Boon, mayor of this humble village. What brings you to the wastelands?”
Din Djarin bends down to pick up the Child before answering. “Supplies.”
The Ugnaught tilts his head. “We don’t have much, but we are willing to share. Come with me. It is the hours of rest before returning to the crops.” He beckons to the Mandalorian as he turns toward the remains of the town.
The Mandalorian follows the Ugnaught to a large structure where a group of Ugnaughts have gathered. They are busy sitting at large tables and dining on food gathered from several large crates. The Ugnaught sweeps his arm toward the crates. “Please, take what you need back to your ship. All we ask is that you leave the crate behind. Supply ships don’t come here since the mines ran out decades ago.”
“Thank you.” Din walks over to the crates of food and begins to inspect the contents. After a few minutes, he picks out a nearly empty crate and begins to fill it with a variety of fruits and vegetables. The child sniffs the air before climbing into a crate and biting into a piece of fruit resembling a purple pineapple. Din removes the Child from the crate and places a half-dozen of the purple orbs into his borrowed crate.
As he picks up the filled crate to return to the Razor Crest, Din notices that the child has crawled back into the crate of purple fruit. Before he can take action, Boon picks up the crate with the Child. “Hungry little thing, isn’t he?”
Din nods in response. “Thank you all for the food. What do I owe you?”
“It’s not often that we get visitors. The burning question is – are we an Empire or a Republic?”
“The Empire is gone.” Several of the townspeople gasp at the news. “There are still pockets controlled by warlords, but the New Republic is slowly gaining control of the fringes.”
Boon nods. “Good, good. Maybe now there will be more visitors. We are a forgotten people. Perhaps you could send some traders our way.”
Boon accompanies the Mandalorian back to his ship. Din unpacks the contents, then trades the empty crate for the one containing the child. A small ship lands nearby as Boon starts down the ramp with the crate. At the bottom, he meets two Rodian bounty hunters on speeder bikes. They draw their blasters while the one on the left demands that Boon raises his hands. He drops the crate and complies. “Where’s the Mandalorian?”
“Is he in the ship?” the other Rodian adds.
An old woman steps out from the shadow cast by the Razor Crest. She is wearing the logo of a Corellian shipyard on her tunic. “There is no one in the ship,” she replies smiling at the gunmen. She places herself between the gunmen and Boon. “This is my ship. I stopped here to restock my pantry.”
The Rodian on the right pulls out a tracker. “She’s lying. The tracker says the asset is here.”
She stares him down as she walks slowly toward them speaking softly. “You have no tracker. That’s a womp rat in your hand. You will drop it before it bites you and destroy it with your blaster.” At her suggestion, the Rodian does exactly that. She stops advancing on them and raises her voice to a more audible level. “You have no business here. You need to leave. Now, apologize and go.”
“We need to leave,” the Rodian tells his companion. “We’re sorry to have bothered you.” They turn their speeders around and rush back to their ship.
The woman watches the bounty hunters board their ship and take off. She turns and walks back to where Boon is standing. She places her hand on his shoulder. “You can relax now. They won’t be coming back.”
The Mandalorian emerges from the Razor Crest and approaches the old woman. “You are a Jedi.”
“I am a Corellian,” she replies, extending her hand. “Cydd Darra, Master Shipwright.” The Child appears from behind the Mandalorian and waddles over to the old woman with his arms in the air. She kneels and welcomes him into her arms. “Hello, little one. It’s been over half a century since I saw one of your kind last.”
“He seems to trust you.”
“We have something in common. The Rodian bounty hunters were looking for the two of you. How did you come by him?”
“I was sent to find him.”
“You were paid a bounty for him. Yet, you stole him back.”
The Mandalorian draws his blaster, “Get out of my head.”
“I’m not in your head, but I was in theirs.” She points to the departing ship just before it disappeared above the clouds. “Why bring him here? There are other places far better suited for taking on supplies than this backwater moon.”
“I’m trying to find his people. I heard that the Jedi might know who they are.”
“So, you came here looking for a Jedi?”
“What about his people? Do you know anything about them?”
Cydd smiled. “A little. I met one of his kind, a Jedi Master named Yoda, over sixty years ago. He was over eight hundred years old and stood no higher than my shoulder at the time. I was barely a meter high myself. And I was in trouble when we met.”
“Corellian Security was looking for me, but I shrank into a dark corner and disappeared while they searched the area. I had caused a fair amount of havoc during a fit of pique, upturning ships and tossing around crates making a mess of a local docking bay. Fortunately, a strange visitor easily swayed CorSec to leave.”
“The green-skinned alien waited until the dust had fully settled before putting to right what I had sent asunder. I watched from my hiding place as he righted the ships in the yard that I had flipped over. When he finished, he came over to where I sat. He helped me to my feet.”
“He had a strange way of speaking. ‘Yoda, I am.’ That’s how he introduced himself. ‘Cydd Darra, you are,’ he knew my name.”
“I asked him what he was and he replied ‘Jedi, I am.’ I rephrased my question. ‘Where do you come from? Who are your people?’”
“’Jedi, I am,’ he repeated. ‘Jedi, you must be,’ he insisted.”
“‘I don’t want to be a Jedi. I want to build ships,’ I protested.”
“‘Teach you, I must. Control, you will learn. Fear, you will not. When yourself you have mastered, then ships you may build.’ He trained me, taught me how to control the force, to control my emotions, and to use the force for guidance.”
“Do you know where I might find him?”
“The last I’d heard; he had passed on. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more. But if you ever find yourself in need of my help, just tell the Child. He’ll know how to contact me.” Cydd winks at the Child and hands him back to the Mandalorian. He watches her while she helps to carry the empty crates back to the common house in the village. He carries the Child on board the Razor Crest and lifts off.
After the Mandalorian leaves, the settlement falls eerily silent.
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