Sacrifice

"I know. But take a planet in postwar recovery, an ongoing civil war, and a new find of beskar, and we might have visitors. If not armed, then at least trying to do deals."

"Whatever. I don't lose sleep over what . . ."

Beviin filled the gap. "Aruetiise."

". . . aruetiise think of us. I'll talk to Yomaget in the morning.

See what MandalMotors can commit."

Medrit chewed thoughtfully, staring at Fett. "You could have a decent set of beskar'gam to replace that durasteel osik you're wearing, too. It'll last several lifetimes."

"It only has to last a year, then."

Medrit stared at Fett, got no response, and turned to Beviin. He shook his head: Later. Dinua took the hint, too. Her kids gazed from face to face, looking for an explanation of what had plunged the grown-ups into silence. Fett was past caring whether anyone knew he was dying. Most wouldn't believe it anyway. It was hard to imagine the mortality of someone whose face you couldn't see.

"Plenty more nuna," Beviin said suddenly, pushing the serving plate of glistening, spice-crusted meat in front of him. "Home-raised, too."

It was never going to be a relaxed family dinner anyway. Just being Fett made sure of that. The food was spicier than he was used to and the portions were too big, but he cleared his plate because these were generous people who gave him a refuge here and who refused payment, even though he could have bought the entire planet twice over. It was what Mando'ade did for one another when someone was in trouble. The fact that he was Mand'alor was irrelevant.

He could almost hear Medrit telling Beviin later what a surly shabuir Fett was, and asking if Beviin really had to invite him around so often.