Star Wars: The Colors of the Force

Chapter 8

Luke adjusted the bundle of joy in his arms as he traversed the hallway strewn with robotic death troopers.Black plastisoid armor shredded by lightsaber in surgical fashion. Crushed heads and computer chips and black oil pooling on the floor.

R2-D2 rolled beside him, as they headed toward the turbovater. The little blue droid beeped and tweeted at the tiny creature in Luke's arms.

Dressed in a rough, homespun tunic of brown wool, the Youngling in his arms was shorter than forty centimeters. He almost fit in the palm of his hand. The green creature reminded Luke of the frogs he knew this species loved to eat. However, the ears were pointed and larger than the rest of his head. Combined with his bulging black eyes and expressive bald forehead, the Jedi could tell the young boy's mood. But none of these answered any of Luke's questions.

When they reached the secondary docking bay, R2 let out a stream of insults at a silver EV droid hanging around the X-wing fighter Luke had flown in. "Halt!"

The silver droid turned its buglike head at the trio, but R2 did not hesitate. He sped on all three wheels across the hangar and rammed the tall droid. Once on the deck, the blue-and-white cylindrical droid extended a utility arm and electrocuted the aggressor. Blue energy crackled across the chrome body and then the yellow eye sockets faded to black.

"What was it doing to the ship, Artoo?"

The little droid spat out a line of upset noises.

"You watch your language, Artoo." Luke held up the young one in his arms. "Got a Youngling here. Scan the ship for tracking devices while I complete the preflight check. Don't want any surprises in hyperspace."

With his protegé in his right arm facing away from him, Luke started opening compartments under the wings with this left arm to check out the hydraulics for the stabilizers as well as the life-support hoses.

"Hey, Jedi!"

Luke looked up and hit his head on the lower wing. Rubbing the quickly forming bump, he peered around the snub fighter until he saw the owner of the voice. The Mandalorian.

"I forgot to give him something." The man in shiny beskar armor still held his helmet under his arm, but in his other palm he offered a silver ball about five centimeters in diameter. "This is his." The man with the round face and medium-brown hair spoke with a grizzled voice.

Having witnessed the emotional farewell between the man and the child only moments earlier, Luke wasn't sure this was good for either of them. He could sense the attachment they both had, an attachment he was willing to allow as long as it didn't interfere with the child's training.

But before Luke could say one word about it, the Youngling extended his hand and pulled the ball through the air with the Force. Within a second it sped across the twenty meters and hit his chunky paw with a thunk. The little one tilted his head and raised his ears, his eyes rounding. He lifted both hands outward toward his "father."

"No," the man said with quiet reserve. "You know you have to go. I'll see you again, but you need to train first."

Luke considered both, scrutinizing each face, reaching out with the Force to the young one and picking up surface thoughts and his name. "I promise, Grogu, you will see your father again." And not just one of them, if you are as strong in the Force as I think you are. "What's your name, Mandalorian?"

"Din. Din Djarin."

The Jedi Master pulled a code cylinder from his sleeve and tossed it to him with the Force. "There's a secure communication code installed on that cylinder. Anytime you want an update or want to see him, just call. Someone will bring him to you." He adjusted the little one in his arms again. "Just give us six weeks first. That's all we ask."