"Lea— I mean, Mi— Sky… I want to go back and put my armor on."
"Mmh." Max looked around and couldn't help smiling. "What's wrong with you three? Not used to it?"
"Yeah. It feels… weird."
"Feels like I'm—like I'm a New Mandalorian or something. Heh."
Four Mandalorians in plain clothes walked stiffly down the streets of Coronet City, capital of Corellia. They looked completely out of place in the bustle.
Look closer and you'd see it: Christopher Ryen, Eldon Awood, and Bazel Elda—plus Max, forcing himself to look casual—were all faintly trembling on and off. This was the first time since they'd first worn Mandalorian armor that they'd taken it off and walked out in public. Their first time "going shopping."
In an unfamiliar environment, without the comfort of their armor, Christopher, Eldon, and Bazel didn't know what to do with themselves.
What if someone in the crowd suddenly pulled a vibroknife from point-blank range? What if a sniper barrel poked out from a distant window? How were they supposed to respond?
The brave, fearless Mandalorian warriors were, at this moment, intensely tense and anxious.
Max wasn't tense. He wasn't anxious.
He was fighting something else.
He missed home.
Since arriving in this galaxy, Max had almost never let himself think about it. He didn't dare. He was afraid that once the longing started, he wouldn't be able to stop it. Every time the thought surfaced, he crushed it down.
But today, he couldn't hold it.
Ever since he got here, he'd been trapped in life-or-death struggle nonstop—either fighting or on the way to a fight. Even when homesickness flickered up, the next battle came fast enough to smother everything else.
Today was different.
He'd stolen half a day of peace… and the dam broke.
He saw a couple on his left and immediately thought of his girlfriend. He snapped his gaze to the right—an elderly man, and memories of his grandparents surged up. He forced his head forward again, staring straight ahead. In the blurred distance, he thought he saw a family of three.
He was about to break.
Mom. Dad. I miss you so much.
His vision grew more and more indistinct, and that faint family silhouette seemed to vanish into darkness. Gone. If he couldn't see them now… would he ever see them again?
Tears gathered in Max's eyes. He tried to focus harder, but everything in front of him was still washed in haze. Stubbornness flared in him. No matter what, he had to see them again.
Max forced his eyes wide. So wide it hurt. Blood rushed into the whites of his eyes until his vision tinted red.
And then—he saw them.
In that red-washed world, the family of three became clear. The Force answered the heat of his emotions and granted his desperate wish.
(This is the dark side—)(No. I've got it.)
The dark side's whisper had only just begun, and it shattered under Max's sudden surge of joy and gratitude.
Thank you, Force. I saw them.
And thank you… because you just gave me a way home.
If I keep training—if I raise my mastery of the Force high enough—could I use it to pierce whatever barrier separates worlds and find a path back?
Maybe the odds are tiny. But if there's even the slightest hope, he'd fight for it with everything he had.
And when that day came, he was going to pay a personal visit to the ones who butchered the legends back home and leave them a surprise they'd never forget. Dank farrik—those later holofilms were bantha poodoo.
"Clap, clap—hey." Max clapped his hands and forced brightness into his voice. "Relax. Come on. I'll take you to do something familiar."
"Copy!"
"Yes."
"Do what?"
"You see that booth?" Max nodded. "Come on. We're going to shoot targets and win prizes. Let's see who ends up with the most."
"This is the Way."
"This is the Way."
"Copy."
"Uh—Sky… why are you crying?"
"Huh? Wind's strong. Got dust in my eyes."
…
Long toy blasters, short toy blasters, Corellian starship models in different variants—before long, the four Mandalorians had won so many prizes from the target-shooting booth that they could barely carry them. When the owner had to close early due to something urgent at home, the Mandalorians were visibly unsatisfied.
They hadn't even settled who was best yet.
"Sky," Christopher asked, turning a model over in his hands—a Consular-class Republic cruiser—"what do we do with all of this?"
"Too much to carry," Max said. "Everyone pick one or two things you like. We'll give the rest away."
"This is the Way."
"This is the Way."
"Copy."
"Come take a look! Don't miss out!" Max started calling out, waving his arm. "Free toys—first come, first served—while they last!"
"Really, mister?"
"Mister?"
Max froze. Shock punched straight through him. For half a second, he had the urge to give this kid a sharp lesson.
But when the boy took two steps back—genuinely startled—Max forced a smile and softened his voice.
"Yeah. It's real."
"Wow! Awesome! Mister, I want that laser sword."
(Hah. Me too.) Max shook his head and handed over a plastic tube. "It's a lightsaber, kid. May the Force be with you."
"Thanks! May the Force be with you!" The kid bounced in place.
"Me too, me too!"
"Hello mister, I want a blaster!"
"Mister, can I have a mask?"…
Once the crowd realized it was truly free, the kids erupted in cheers. Christopher, Eldon, and Bazel had never seen anything like it and didn't know what to do with their hands at first.
But joy spreads fast—soon they were laughing along with the children.
"Hi big brother, can I have that robot doll?"
"Sure, sure. Take two—no, take three!"
…
After they handed out the last starship model, Max led Christopher, Eldon, and Bazel—who were visibly more relaxed now—along the route Killian Fieg had provided. They twisted and turned through backstreets until they slipped into a narrow, hidden alley.
Here was an entrance to Coronet City's largest black market.
Today's spending was on Young Master Fieg.
The Mandalorians were looking forward to it.
.................................
PS: The Consular-class Republic cruiser is often mistranslated as a front-line "war cruiser." In practice, this class is commonly used for Republic and Jedi diplomatic missions, and is typically not heavily armed.