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The coins kept piling and piling up in front of Clara every time she called a number. She had no idea how much her winnings were worth—alien money was hard to keep track of—, but the glares she got from the other players around the table told her it was a lot. She enjoyed them, both the glares and every clink the coins made when they joined their predecessors in her growing mountain of money. They more than made up for all the stagnant smells in the sordid and—perhaps—highly illegal casino.
“All right, guys, I think I’ve fleeced you enough for one day,” she said after about an hour as she leaned forward to surround the pile with both arms to bring it closer to her, unable to hold back a smug smile as she did so. It wasn’t her fault that no one else had an amazing boyfriend who rambled in-depth about the practical uses of probability whenever he had to prepare a presentation for his students. For a second, she wondered if she should tell him about how she used his teachings, but ultimately decided against it. A better idea would be to buy him something nice on the way home. Yes, she would do that.
However, to do that, the first step was to take all of this money back to the TARDIS. It wouldn’t do to put it in a bag and carry it like a lithe, easy-to-rob Santa.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” one of the robots who worked in the casino—droids, the Doctor had called them—said as if it had been able to read her mind. Although maybe she had just let go of her poker face. “I can change your earnings into higher denomination currency. Free of charge, of course.”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she replied, nevertheless separating a few of the coins to give the droid as a tip. Thus, a few moments later, Clara left the casino with four small black cylinders with a silver-looking coating in the middle that fit in the palm of her hand.
While it was nice to be back in the sun and the fresh air, she felt kind of cheated. Perhaps she hadn’t won as much money as she had expected. “Oh, well. Still better than losing it all, I guess,” she murmured, and set off to find the Doctor. It took her only a couple of streets before she found him in front of a food stand.
“So, what did you have for lunch in the end?” he asked as he himself started to eat something crunchy out of a bag the purple woman behind the stand gave him.
“Nothing yet,” she replied and showed him the four cylinders. “I was doing this.”
The Doctor stared at her hand with wide eyes for half a second before whispering, “Put that away!” nearly dropping all of his food with the urgent jerking motions he made trying to force Clara’s hand back to her pocket. “Where did you get that? Do you know how much it is?”
“I got it in a casino, but I promised I thought it was a restaurant at first! And no, I don’t know how much this is.”
“It’s a lot and I can’t believe you went and bet away the lunch money I gave you. Next time, I’m coming with you.”
“So you can bet more?”
The Doctor huffed and ate what was left in the bag and didn’t dignify that with an answer. Clara grinned and scored a point to herself.
“In any case,” the Doctor said as he began to walk down the street and she followed, “you have to be careful, Clara. There are several unsavory characters around here.”
“There are unsavory characters anywhere,” she retorted. “If it was that bad, you would have told me when we arrived.” Something she thought fair to point out since this didn’t seem like the most civilized-looking place the Doctor had taken her to, with the streets all made out of loose earth fit only for the carts pulled by strange beasts that looked nothing like horses. Not to mention all those food stands whose owners didn’t seem to believe in hygiene the same way people from 21st Century Earth did—which was why she had insisted on going to a restaurant to begin with.
“You weren’t carrying that much in cash!” the Doctor exclaimed in the lowest voice he could muster. “For example,” he continued, pointing with his head at two gray-skinned individuals in desperate need of moisturizing. “Look at their bracelets. Those mean they’re in a gang.” Then, he pointed to another group farther ahead on their left. Half of them looked like overgrown abyssal fish and Clara wasn’t sure about what to compare the rest to. “Those over there have too many scars where their scales should be. I doubt they spend their time picking up daisies or volunteering for charity.”
Despite the Doctor’s serious tone, Clara still had her doubts about the real urgency of his words. Whatever that people did, it couldn’t be that bad if the Doctor wasn’t actively trying to stop them. Besides, something else had caught her attention: a humanoid person two blocks from there, easy to spot due to a shiny armor, shiny helmet, and some kind of rifle on the back. “What about that one there? Is he a soldier? No one will do anything if there is an authority figure around, will they?”
However, the Doctor scoffed and said, “Oh, no, that one’s even worse. That’s a Mandalorian. They’re mercenaries. Always ready to follow the deepest pocket.” The Doctor followed his words by chewing more of his food with intent and glaring at the mercenary as if their mere existence offended him. “The one good thing is that Mandalorians will leave you alone if there’s no gain in doing otherwise. Yet, you can say the same about everyone else around here.” He grunted. “This planet wasn’t like this before. It absolutely went downhill in the past century.”
Clara gave up with a sigh. “Why don’t we go back to the TARDIS, then? We could go to a nice place with some fancy restaurant and where I can buy something nice for Danny.”
That brought the Doctor back, but he kept frowning. “Why?”
“Because I’m still hungry.”
“No. Why would you buy him something nice?”
She laughed. “Because he’s my boyfriend!” And because she wanted the lingering sense of guilt of using something she learned from him to cheat at space roulette to disappear. But she wasn’t going to admit that out loud.
The Doctor shrugged. “Whatever. You can afford it,” he said, which was the closest thing to an outright yes she was going to get. She’d take it.
However, that would have to wait because of the gang members. A dozen more blocked their way to the TARDIS. They looked menacing, ready to draw their weapons, which ranged from knives to guns.
The Doctor kept eating as if nothing happened. Clara followed his cue as he asked, nonchalantly, “Is there anything we can help you with, gentlemen?”
The one who seemed the leader, the one with the driest skin, almost rock-like looking, took him at his word. “The money,” he said. “Give it and you walk in one piece.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Money, money, money. It’s always about money. Can’t you, I don’t know, work for it or something?”
“We may need help to carry some bags later on. I can give you a tip,” Clara chimed in, cheerful, but all she got was some hissing from a second thug.
“Give us the money!”
Even though they looked human, with the way their skin looked, other than their attitude, Clara had no way to tell their ages. However, their attitude yelled bratty teenager quite loudly. Enough, at least, to make her think that the strict teacher routine might just work to make them leave. Therefore, she put both hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and made herself look as cross as possible. More than one headmaster had cowered before her when she got like that.
“Now listen, young man,” she began. “That’s no way to treat people you just met.”
The leader of the bunch drew his gun and aimed it at her face. “Is this it, then?”
Why did it have to be a sassy one?
Before anyone could move another muscle, the Doctor, drawing faster than ever before, used his sonic screwdriver on the gun, making it sparkle. The surprised thief yelped and jumped and dropped it to the ground. Taking advantage of him and his friends staring at the ground, the Doctor grabbed Clara’s hand and dragged her behind him as he began to run away through the streets. However, the gang recovered fast and ran after them, weapons out from their holsters. All in all, a normal Friday afternoon. Even for the locals, it seemed, since not a single one of them paid them any mind.
“What’s today’s lesson, then?” the Doctor asked in a low voice after some time, once they had found refuge behind a heavy shelf out on the street, neatly packed with boxes and bottles.
“Always keep your money out of sight,” Clara said.
“Right. Let's start with that.” He took a deep breath. “I think we lost them.”
“Lost who?” someone else whispered behind them.
Both Clara and the Doctor turned around immediately. The one who spoke was a four-armed, green-skinned woman Clara recognized instantly. She had been one of the people she had fleeced in the casino.
Clara smiled her biggest and shinier smile. “Hello, there. Fancy meeting you here! No hard feelings, right?”
In contrast, the woman’s smile was terrifying. “No hard feelings, yes.” However, instead of doing the mature thing and letting the whole thing go, she began to rattle all the shelves she could reach. “They’re here! They’re here, Goo!” she yelled.
“No! Stop!” Clara exclaimed.
“Clara, let’s go!” the Doctor exclaimed, reaching out for her hand, but he was too slow.
The woman used two of her arms to grab Clara’s forearms with a grip that would leave bruises. Unable to get free and with the gangsters on their way, Clara jumped to the last resource: she bit her captor. Not enough to break the skin—ew—but enough to cause pain. That and the surprise were enough for her to let Clara go and to stumble backward, bringing the shelves with her.
Clara decided to let her suffer the consequences of her actions, but the woman reacted fast and pushed the shelves forward. The next thing Clara knew, the Doctor had pushed her away while the heavy contraptions fell between them.
“Found them!” one of the thugs called, too close for comfort.
There was no way for Clara to reach the Doctor before they arrived, and he knew it too. Thus, he shooed her away.
“Go! I’ll go the other way round! Meet you at the TARDIS!”
But he stayed where he was, and Clara was certain that he’d stay there, watching her, until she left. The thugs were nearly upon them and, right now, the only way she had to protect him was to run. So she ran. She ran as fast as she could through the street, lifting a cloud of dust at every step.
The yelling behind her warned that at least some of the gangsters followed her. Clara didn’t waste any time finding out which ones nor how many, she just kept going. Two thoughts were in her mind: one, that she probably should avoid gambling next time around, and two, that she hoped the Doctor got back safe to the TARDIS. Then, a third thought joined the others as she felt footsteps gaining on her: she didn’t remember the right way back to the timelord’s ship. All she could do for now was to turn right and left at random while she tried to think, to find any kind of familiar landmark that would lead her back. Nothing did, and the thugs didn’t seem to get tired. Unlike her. Breathing was getting hard and her calves felt like they had been wet on fire. She had to find a safe spot to take a break, the sooner the better.
Then, she turned left and came to be face to face with an armored humanoid.
The mercenary.
Clara’s eyes widened. She stopped and raised her hands to show she was unarmed. Then, she drew the largest breath she could take to ask, “Are you for hire?” He kept still and didn’t answer, so she continued between pants. “They’re chasing me… to rob me…”
The mercenary’s head tilted a bit to the side. “Who?” The voice came out slightly distorted but clearly male.
At that moment, the thugs turned around the same corner she had, yelling at her.
“They!” she said, jumping behind the guy who still didn’t move a finger. Right. A mercenary. Clara didn’t know what else she expected. Giving up to the cold and merciless reality, she produced one of the cylinders from her pocket and showed it to him, hoping it would be enough. “This is yours if you take me back safely to my ship!”
Without hesitation, the mercenary took the cylinder, pocketed it, and drew his gun.
“Wait! Try not to hurt them!” Clara exclaimed as he did. She didn’t want to risk the Doctor getting upset if he found out about this.
Fortunately, the mercenary complied and all he did was to fire a few warning shots at the feet of the oncoming thugs.
Clara’s pursuers stopped mid-step to jump backward and hide around the corner. However, as soon as they realized that none of them was hurt, their leader leaned forward, showing the upper part of his torso, hands up even if still holding the gun.
“Hey, Mando, what’s your deal? What did we ever do to you?”
The mercenary too kept the gun in his hand, aiming at the other guy’s head. “You didn't pay me. She did,” he explained, matter-of-fact and business-like. “Now scramble,” he added, with the ‘or I won't miss next time’ part heavily implied.
There was a rumble of murmurs around the corner until a high-pitched voice said, “Screw it! I’m not doing this.”
The rumble became a noise of collective agreement as the failed muggers left the place one by one. Even the boss gave up without any further comment. He just glared, but the mercenary remained unfazed. As for Clara, she had been on the receiving end of that kind of glare every other week since she started teaching. Still a normal Friday afternoon.
Once they left, the mercenary put the gun back into its holsters and turned to her. “Where to?”
“I— You see, that’s the thing. I was kind of running all over the place and I don’t know where I am.”
Despite the helmet that covered his entire head and didn’t show a single inch of his face, it was obvious that the mercenary swallowed a sigh. On the plus side, he didn’t ask for more money. Instead, he checked the shoulder strap that kept a rifle-like weapon on his back and began to walk to one of the main streets. “All right,” he said. “Describe your ship and the general area you landed in.”
She followed him. “Between two houses somewhere. It’s a blue box,” she said. Better to stick with the obvious and practical for the moment and leave the wonder for later. “It’s not obvious it’s a ship at first glance.” She made a pause in which the mercenary’s thoughts remained a mystery and carried on. She figured he’d tell him when her requests reached the limits of the payment made. “I came here with a friend who was my guide, but we got separated. If we find him…”
“We’ll find your ship,” he finished for her. “Fine. Describe your friend.”
“Very tall, white hair. Looks perpetually grumpy and sometimes acts like it.” He’s also a fantastic, clever man who has no doubt saved your life a hundred times over and you never realized, she added to herself.
The mercenary nodded and kept walking as if he knew where he was going, which wasn’t possible, but Clara could only admire the effort.
“So, is your name Mando?” she asked.
“That’s what they call my people.” There was a pause of almost a second before his answer as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t know that. Well, she didn’t; she wasn’t from around here at all. Not even close.
“Can I call you that? It’s not offensive?”
“It’s fine.”
“Great! Thank you.”
He nodded again and, from then on, they walked around the city for the next hour. Mostly on silence save for the occasional question to the different bystanders asking for the Doctor. But none of them had seen him—or at least, none of them admitted to having seen him. Soon, though, they ran out of people to ask around noon, when the heat became so bad there was no one else out on the streets.
“Ah, come on! How big can this town be?” Clara exclaimed. On top of being hot and lost, she was increasingly hungry. The silver lining was that she and her bodyguard had found refuge from the relentless sun under a shade next to the now-closed stand of a cloth seller. There was even a nice, smooth rock for her to use as a seat. “We’ve gone all over it already.”
“Not all,” the Mandalorian said, but then interrupted himself before starting to walk away. “Wait here,” he added, not looking back but using the firm tone one would use with a child, leaving Clara torn between taking offense and wondering if her money had finally run its course.
She didn’t have to wonder for long, though. A moment later, the Mandalorian came back dragging a nervous fish-like man by the shoulder and had him stand in front of Clara.
“Does he look familiar?” the Mandalorian asked.
Her eyes narrowed. It was difficult to tell, with a species she was so unfamiliar with, but his clothes gave him away: the fish-man was another one of the many people who lost to her in the casino.
“Yes, I have met him before,” she replied.
The Mandalorian squeezed the fish-man’s shoulder harder. “Talk.”
The gills on the sides of the fish-man’s head fluttered. “A—about what?”
“About why you were staring at her.”
“I—I wasn’t—”
The grip on his shoulder intensified and the gills fluttered faster.
Clara could get used to having an enforcer.
“I—I was just wondering if she already heard what happened to her friend.”
Up until then, Clara intended to tell the Mandalorian to let him go because the fish-man’s beef was understandable, but not anymore. She stood up and leaned forward, not caring about how the fish-man was taller than her. “What happened to the Doctor?” she asked.
The fish-man cowered before her, so much that the mercenary had to shake him to get the answer out of him. “The Mayor’s men took him.”
Clara’s frown deepened. “How bad is that?”
The fish-man made a feeble attempt at laughing, heralding that yes, it was indeed quite bad. “He—Your friend, he’s a Time Lord, yes? We don’t get to see that many around these parts. He’s a rare species, we could say. The Mayor collects them. He guts them out and stuffs them for display in his manor.”
Clara’s blood left her head but she fought the need to sit down.
“He collects rare species?” the Mandalorian repeated in a low growl.
“Ne—never someone a companion would miss,” the fish-man said. “We all thought Goo and his gang would kill her! I just wanted my money back!”
“Well, he didn’t,” Clara said, standing up once again, both hands on her hips. “And you won’t get it but I will get the Doctor back. Let’s go, Mando,” she finished, firm and resolute and expecting the mercenary to ask for more money.
He didn’t, though. Instead, he let go of the fish-man and checked the device attached to his wrist. For a second, it looked to her that his shoulders had relaxed, but, on the one hand, it was hard to tell for sure under that armor and, on the other, he spoke again. “We’ll need a plan.”
Just how much are those coins worth, then? A lot, obviously. Clara had begun to understand why everyone wanted her head.
“The Mayor works on his collection when he finishes his day work,” the fish-man called. “I’d say you have about an hour.”
“So now you’re helping,” Clara said and kept going even if she didn’t know where. She was in a hurry but she didn’t have any intention of giving this guy even a single penny back; she’d earned that money fair and square.
Kind of. No one had to know the details.
“He has information we can use,” the Mandalorian muttered when he reached her, which wasn’t difficult since his strides were longer than hers. “And nothing stops him from telling the Mayor we’re onto him.”
Clara stopped on her tracks. There was no doubt in her mind that the fish-man had sold the Doctor to be stuffed and put on a case for a monster’s sick entertainment—and he wouldn’t even be the first victim. The fish-man would not hesitate to do whatever benefited him the most without caring about what the consequences were for others. The people who did nothing but chase after the deepest pocket was terrible.
And yet, she thought as she turned to see the mercenary, she had one of those at her disposal. He still worked for her, didn’t he? She had to make it worth the while.
Clara nodded at the Mandalorian and, he, without a word, threw a net from the back of his fist that tangled itself tightly around the fish-man, making him fall to the ground. The fish-man thrashed around, like a real fish. It would’ve been hilarious in other circumstances.
“All right. Let’s find out what he knows,” she said.
The Mandalorian dragged the net and its content to the alley he brought the fish-man from. He turned out to be a coward with no loyalties and a few questions were enough to get all the answers. The fish-man worked as an assistant cook in the Major’s manor and was familiar not only with all the entrances but also with everyone’s schedules. When they left him, all cozy and safe hanging inside the net in an empty building with the promise of their return to set him free, their ‘get in, find the Doctor, and get out’ plan was as complete as it could ever be.
On their way to the manor’s back door, the Mandalorian checked his wrist device again, sighed, and kept going.
“Is everything fine?” Clara asked.
“I have everything I need,” the Mandalorian replied, which wasn’t what she asked, but she didn’t push it. They had a mission to accomplish.
Soon, they reached the last row of buildings before their destination: a two-story building surrounded by a small garden with the same desert vegetation Clara had seen all over.
They stopped there to wait for the change of guards. Initially, the Mandalorian wanted to execute the rescue on his own, but Clara wouldn’t have it. The Doctor had expressed his distaste of soldiers in general and of the Mandalorian in particular. Chances were he wouldn’t let himself be rescued unless he saw her. In the end, the Mandalorian had agreed after a pause in which Clara was sure he had rolled his eyes.
“Wait here,” he said after a few moments in the same stern tone as before and set off to incapacitate the two guards, the one finishing the shift and the one starting it and who were now exchanging pleasantries. They were so caught up on their conversation and so used to nothing ever happening around here that they didn’t see the Mandalorian coming from behind them to smash their heads together. Twice. Once to disorient them and twice to make sure they wouldn’t be a problem when he dragged them out of sight to be tied up. Clara knew that he would’ve been lethal if she hadn’t specifically asked him not to be. Once he was done, he made a hand gesture for Clara to join him.
“Any final instructions?” she whispered.
“Keep your head down, don’t get on my way, and duck when I tell you,” he whispered back.
“I won’t lie. I kind of expected you to offer me a gun.”
“Can you use one?”
Clara made a face. “No.”
The Mandalorian just turned around to stare at her for half a second in silent judgment before going back to focus on the way ahead.
How he could be so expressive with a helmet covering his entire face, she had no idea. But it would be a truly handy skill to have.
As the fish-man said, there were no guards inside. Most of the staff was busy preparing dinner while the rest prepared the Major’s torture chamber. Their informer had called it a workshop, but Clara refused to use that term on principle out of sheer disgust and basic decency.
The interior of the manor was very conventional, even for one that belonged to a member of an alien race Clara knew nothing about. A bit cluttered, but that made it look cozy, which was awful. As for the Major’s collection, they only found it after going through the secret door behind the bookcase the fish-man told them about.
The illusion of this being a place where normal people lived was broken as soon as they crossed the threshold. The hall in front of them had on either side a row crystal cases each containing a different creature with lifeless eyes stuck in a position that seemed serene and spoke nothing of the horror that should have been their last moments alive. The cases were placed on columns of different heights depending on the size of the creature they supported. The human-sized ones, for example, got a very small one about thirty centimeters high, while the bigger columns were reserved for the creatures that fit on the palm of Clara’s hand.
At the end of the hall were two empty columns, shinier than the others. Newer. Freshly installed. One of them was small and something told Clara it waited for the Time Lord. The other one, tall enough to reach over her waist, seemed to be, extrapolating from the others, about the size of a big housecat.
The Mandalorian stopped next to this second column and touched it for an instant before checking the device on his wrist again. “No signal,” he hissed as he poked the thing with a finger and with increasing violence.
“Is everything all right?” Clara asked.
The Mandalorian unsheathed his gun. “Let’s go,” he said.
Once more, despite his armor, he looked tense. Enough that Clara preferred not to ask any more questions. She just went after him.
At the end of the hall, there was the final door, the one that would take them to the actual torture chamber. But before Clara could get close enough to type in the long and convoluted combination the fish-man had given them, the Mandalorian shot at the lock. On the one hand, it worked. On the other hand, however…
“You activated the alarm!” Clara exclaimed.
“Don’t care. We’re running out of time,” he grunted as he went right in, gun at the ready. Unable to do anything else, she went after him.
They surprised the Major readying his tools next to the dissection table, which was still thankfully empty. Clara was also thankful that this monster didn’t want anyone else in the room while he worked.
“Who—who are you?” he bellowed, but shut up immediately and held his four arms up because the Mandalorian’s gun was aimed at his head.
“Clara!” the Doctor exclaimed from the back. He was in a cage and held in his arms a small, long-eared green creature that cooed in excitement at the newcomers, flailing its four little limbs with enthusiasm. A baby—and the other victim meant for exhibit on top of the taller column.
Clara’s stomach made a turn and she stopped caring about reining back the Mandalorian and his proficiency with weapons.
“Doctor!” she called back, running toward him. “We’re here to rescue you!”
The Doctor, in true Doctor fashion, scoffed. “That wasn’t necessary. We had everything under control.”
“What does that even mean? You’re in a cage!”
The Doctor looked at the baby. “Come on, show her.”
The baby made an adorable noise and raised his hand. Then, he made a pushing motion toward the door of the cage, which came loose from its hinges and flew away, all the way to the back, with enough force to break a cabinet next to the wall. Clara barely managed to dodge the thing.
While she gaped, the Doctor placed his hand close to the baby and offered him a high five. “Great job!”
The baby giggled and hit the Doctor’s hand with both of his a couple of times.
“We need to practice more, but this is a good start,” the Doctor said, finally stepping out of the cage. But then, his good-natured demeanor disappeared and he grew serious as he addressed the Major. “Now, you,” he began. “You’re lucky everything I want to say to you is not appropriate for children’s ears.”
The Major grinned and, without lowering any of his arms, he pointed at the broken cabinet. “Mando, all that money is yours if you get rid of them.”
Clara’s jaw dropped when she saw what the Major meant. About a hundred cylinders like the one she had given to the Mandalorian and the three that remained in her pocket, had spilled from the drawer.
All that money could be his and she had only three more cylinders for a counteroffer. They were doomed.
The Major knew it too and his smile became crueler. “Just don’t harm the little one. It’ll be the rarest piece—”
He didn’t get to finish the phrase because the Mandalorian step forward to elbow him on the face. And once more on the back to make sure he would stay down.
“Dad! What’s going on, dad?” someone called from the door. It was Goo, the thug that had wanted to mug Clara and the Doctor earlier. He stared in disbelief at the Major on the ground and then pointed his gun at the Mandalorian. “What did you do to my dad?”
But that was as far as he went. The little green baby made the cage door fly again, now to hit Goo, knocking him down.
“Oof,” the Doctor said, wincing in sympathy. “What a family.”
“Tell me about it,” Clara said. She didn’t understand what had happened, but since they were alive and unharmed she wasn’t going to complain. “What now?”
“The first step is to reunite this little fellow with his father,” the Doctor said and the baby cooed in agreement. “He’s sorry he left the ship but some space barnacles made a hole on the floor. He knows that kind of thing is dangerous and he had to deliver that information immediately. Also, he was bored. You should invest in toys, you know,” the Doctor finished, offering the baby to the Mandalorian who, to Clara’s surprise, took it in his arms with all the care in the world.
“I know, I know,” the Mandalorian replied.
“You’re the dad?” Clara asked, as if the baby’s happy snuggling against the cold metal of the armor wasn’t an obvious giveaway, right next to the fact that he hadn’t taken the Major’s money.
“Yeah,” the Mandalorian replied. He turned around and began walking away. “Let’s get you back to your ship.”
“What are we going to do about them?” Clara said, pointing at Goo and his father.
“As soon as we’re back on the TARDIS, I’ll make a few calls about them and their operations. There’ll be a hefty bounty on their heads before midnight.”
“If that’s a promise, I’ll be here to collect it,” the Mandalorian said.
“That’s a promise,” the Doctor said.
Clara said nothing else. The Doctor must’ve been furious if he was fine with the mercenary getting the upper hand. But, even if she shared the anger, she was also happy to have him back in one piece.
“Ah! Home, sweet home,” the Doctor said when they were in front of the TARDIS. It was between two houses, like Clara remembered, a few blocks away from the casino. She promised to herself to pay more attention next time.
“Good,” the Mandalorian said after a moment’s hesitation, any surprise he may have felt at seeing the outside of the Time Lord’s ship covered by his helmet. “Job’s done.”
Clara produced one of her remaining cylinders from her pocket and offered it to the Mandalorian. “Here.”
“You already paid me,” he said.
She then offered it to the child, who promptly grabbed the shiny thing to chew on it. “Then for you, for going above and beyond in keeping the Doctor safe.”
“It was the other way around, actually,” the Doctor complained but Clara ignored him.
“Besides, you need those toys and your dad needs to fix that hole and baby proof your ship.”
“The ship was supposed to be baby-proofed already,” the Mandalorian said, showing the device on his wrist.
“If you still have the warranty, you should complain,” the Doctor said.
After that, they said their goodbyes and the Mandalorian walked away, down the street, with the baby perched on his shoulders, still chewing on the coin, to take down the fish-man from the net.
“It must be so uncomfortable with those ears under the helmet,” Clara mused after the Doctor made the calls he promised. She had been thinking about that since the reveal of the baby and the Mandalorian's relationship and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
“What?” the Doctor asked and, when he got it, he waved his arms. “Oh, no. He’s adopted. It’s a fun story! The baby told me all about it. Do you want to hear it?”
“Sure,” Clara replied and took a seat next to the console.
“It all began on a faraway planet…” the Doctor began as he moved levers and pushed buttons to send them to their next adventure.
Which was the fancy restaurant Clara had asked for because by then she was really, really starving.