Mando OneShot

“Buir! Buir!” A shrill voice resounded in the dark room and little hands tugged ineffectually at the figure cocooned in the blankets. “Buir! Wake up!”

Mor’Tak groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. The child scrambled up on the bed and crawled across the twisted sheets. He slapped the sleeping man’s head with a pudgy hand. “Buir!” He wailed.

The man moaned, yawned, and rolled over to look up at his son. “Jate Vaar’tur, adi’ka.” He muttered sleepily.


Arani looked up as Mor’tak shuffled into the kitchen in his nightshirt with Kadshik on his shoulders. She put her hands on her hips. “Kad’ika, I told you not to wake Daddy up.”

Kadshik covered his face with his chubby hands. Mor’tak smiled and put his free arm around his wife.
“It’s okay, cyar’ika.” He kissed her. “What time is it?”

“Two thirty.”

“Oof.” He said sheepishly. “I guess that’s why I’m so hungry.” He kissed her again.

She smiled. “There some caf left. Sit down and I’ll make you something.”

Mort put Kadshik in his booster seat and sat down in one of the rickety kitchen chairs. He picked up the ratty newspaper and thumbed absently through the pages. Mandal Memos, the first (and only) newspaper to come out of Keldabe, had been in operation for almost three centuries and had never been bothered to make the switch from the bulky, rustling paper of tradition to the holograms of common practice. There was something special about the musty smell of the newspaper over a cup of caf and a plate of werris eggs in the morning… or so they said.

“Where is everybody?” He asked from behind the sheaves of paper.

“Ba’buir took the kids to Sundari for the day.” Arani spoke from above his shoulder and set a cup of scalding caf on the table by his hand. “And Orin is out doing something with the Roba.”

Mort nodded and pried Kadshik’s hands off the spoon he was vigorously attempting to murder the butter with. “Did they take the Sorosub?”

Arani shook her head, scooping three werris eggs from their crackling greases onto a chipped porcelain plate and nestling two crispy pieces of flat bread next to them. “No, the Seraph. Nik’o said the ‘Sub was too flashy for Sundari.”

Mort “mhmm’ed” into his mug. “Nik’o was always picky.”

Arani smiled and set the plate of gently crackling grease in front of Mort. As he tucked into the meal with obvious relish she picked Kadshik up and wiped the burberry jelly off his face. She sat down on a creaky chair with ‘Shik on her lap and began tearing small pieces off a piece of fry bread and putting them one by one in Kadshik’s mouth. The child ate happily, thumping a pilfered butter knife on the table in an effort to imitate his father. Mort smiled around a mouthful of nerf and Kadshik gurgled happily.

Somewhere in the yard a gruff voice shouted curses in the midst of a cacophony of angry squeals. Arani put her fingers in Kad’s ears. Mort tried not to laugh. “He never has gotten the hang of farm work, has he?”

Arani tried to hide a smile. “His blue maize grew up last year. Made a tidy profit. Granted… it turned out pink.”

Mort snorted and nearly choked on his eggs. Kad squealed with delight as his father’s face reddened with laughter.

Orin, Arani’s half-brother, had been raised in the lower levels of Coruscant and hadn’t even seen a tree until he was twenty four. Nevertheless, when he had been invited to live with Mort and Arani while recovering from a rather traumatic injury, he had thrown himself into farm work with an almost martyr-like zeal. With the aide of books and instructional vids, and rather unforgiving practical experience, Orin had undertaken the arduous task of reforming himself into a man of the soil. It wasn’t working.

“I’d better go help him.” Mort shoved the last two bites of his toast into his mouth and stood up, tucking his shirt into his pajama pants.Taking his pistol belt from its hook by the door, Mort shoved his feet into his boots and clomped out into the wintery afternoon. An instant latter the screen door banged and Kad tumbled out after him.