"Warning! Damage to hyperdrive!" An LE-series repair droid reported from the copilot seat of the Amphibious Interstellar Assault Transport/infantry, as the Mandalorian pilot growled. Like the droid, his armor was black, but had red streaks around the seams.

His unruly brown hair fluttered in the circulated air, as his equally chocolate eyes ran through the alarms, before shutting them all off.

"Doesn't matter. This old bird's tougher than that. Punch it!" he ordered, as the stars began to streak in pseudomotion.

But... something was wrong, as the stars warped, and an explosion, a flash of light... then a planet.

"Hyperdrive failure detected. Unable to establish a connection with any known communications. Hyperdrive compass unable to lock on Galactic Center." The droid droned, as the Mandalorian sighed.

"That's impossible... unless..." he pulled out a datapad, quickly scanning through a series of equations.

"Unless the hyperdrive warped us into an alternate dimension." he muttered, as the droid beeped.

"It does appear that way, master Belmont."

"Scan that planet. Find us a starport below-" he began, as the lights suddenly shut off.

"Damn it! Of all the times to crash, the onboard system picks now?" The mercenary raged, as the ship plunged to the planet below."


"Try to reboot the system, Tau. We need con-" the Mandalorian began, as the ship lurched, slamming his head into the control panel, knocking him unconscious.

When he came to, the Mandalorian found himself chained to a chair, sitting in front of a small table. The single hanging light barely illuminated the furniture, leaving the mercenary unable to gauge the size of the room.

"State your name for the record." a heavyset man in a business suit, his face obscured by the dim lighting, said from across the table.

An interrogation. Great. What happened while I was unconscious?

"Drake." he replied curtly.

"Last name?"

"Belmont."

The man leaned forward, showing an image of the crashed starship.

"Are you the owner of this... aircraft?"

Drake shrugged.

"You could say that."

The man frowned.

"Are you affiliated with an organization called 'Amalgam'?"

The Mandalorian leaned back as far as his chains would let him.

"I've been involved with a number of organizations: Black Sun, Zann Consortium, Hutt Cartel, I can't keep track of them all."

The man bent down, grabbing the man's gauntleted hand, threatening to break one of his fingers.

"Answer the question. Are you involved with Amalgam!"

Drake smirked, unafraid of such pitiful injuries.

"No. Unless I was subcontracted."

"Then what motive did you have in crashing your... vehicle into our HQ?"

The Mandalorian shrugged.

"Coincidence. I lost control in orbit. Last thing I remember is giving a Keldable kiss to my control panel. Next thing I know, I'm in this interrogation room."

The man turned away, looking towards the darkness.

"So, this was all an accident? A little... convenient."

"Poodoo happens."

"What is your occupation?"

Drake shrugged.

"Mercenary, soldier for hire, bounty hunter, pilot, gunrunner, you name it, I've likely done it."

"Would you be interested in working for Mithril, for a time?"

The Mandalorian shrugged again.

"Depends. Is the pay good?"

"Depends on how good you are."

"I'm a Mandalorian. My service won't come cheap."

"Six months service, and we'll forgive your little incident."

Drake paused, deep in thought.

Not much choice: they possess the Phoenix, although... if I can get ahold of my comm, I could summon my Bes'uliik and fight my way through the base. Best play along, however... knocking a few heads isn't going to raise some questions, though.

"Name your job." he said, crossing his arms as best he could with the chains.

The lights turned on, as a young woman, about seventeen years of age, Drake guessed. Her silver hair and eyes reflected a keen interest. Yet her gait seemed... hesitant.

"Depending on your skills, we have a number of positions. What kind of skills does being a... you said a Mandalorian? What kind of skills do you have?"

Drake coughed, as he indicated the chains.

"Care to remove these for me, please?"

The woman nodded, as a man stepped forwards, undoing the chains.

"So, judging by your uniform, you're an officer, correct?" he asked, briefly rubbing his wrists, trying to get feeling into them.

The woman nodded, as Drake suddenly overpowered the man, grabbing his gun, and with one quick motion, held the woman against his chest, training the weapon on her temple.

"Drop your weapons. One false move, and I'll spill her brains all over this room." he ordered, shocking everyone as they complied.

The woman glared at him in fright, as he moved her towards the door.

"Now... where's my ship?" he growled, digging the gun into her side. "Remember, no funny business: one alarm, and I won't have any regrets on turning you into another corpse."

"Then kill me now." she said, looking away in disgust.

Drake frowned, obviously perturbed by the woman's lack of fear.

"Don't bother being a hero. I can see your fear. Don't worry, though: I don't plan on actually killing you if things go right. You're a valuable person to this organization. Besides, it's not honorable to kill an unarmed opponent."

The woman looked up in shock, as the man nodded towards a fork in the corridor.

"Which way, miss..."

"Thugs like you don't deserve my name."

The man growled, as he pulled the woman's ear close to his mouth.

"I'm. Not. Just. A. Thug! I. Am. A. Mandalorian." he hissed. "I am an honorable mercenary, not just some street punk. It would do you well to remember this, ad'ika. Now, let's try this again, your name, captain?"

"Testarossa."

"Eh, that'll do. Now, Miss Testarossa, could you tell me where I can find my ship?"

"Level 17, north hangar."

"Anything touched or removed?"

The woman shook her head.

"We can't open it. We had to get two of our M9s to haul it to the hangar."

Drake nodded, as they boarded an elevator.

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to put up a fight. Why is that?"

The captain looked away.

"I'd rather not talk about it. Especially to a thug like you."

Drake scoffed, keeping his temper in check, as he checked the numbers.

"Listen, you wanted to know my skills. Once we're in the most secure place, I'll tell you some of my abilities. The most secure place would be my ship, since I have enough jammers to block out any communications or sniffers."

Testarossa looked at the mercenary, trying to discern his true nature.

"So, this entire hostage situation..."

"Is simply a charade. But I'll explain better once we're on my ship."


Onboard the ship, Testarossa looked around, admiring the technology, as Drake tapped a few buttons.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Testarossa?" he said, opening a compartment. "I think I've got some Anisonian tea left somewhere around here."

The young woman nodded, as the man pulled back out, setting up a small black kettle, and began brewing the beverage. She was mildly surprised that, despite having her in a hostage situation, he didn't try to bind her. Nor did he drop the courtesy title. It wasn't even in a mocking voice; it was as if he genuinely wanted her to feel relaxed, like this was a casual thing, not like the last incident... on the Danaan.

"Well, as far as skills, you've seen two so far: hostages and escape tactics. Yet, I've taken you here to talk, not to hold you for ransom. I give you my word. After this talk, you're more than welcome to take me back into custody and imprisonment. I did crash a massive starship into the side of your HQ, after all."

Testarossa nodded, as a sweet-smelling aroma filled the air, relaxing the captain.

"Well, since this is just a talk, I guess it should be alright to call me by my first name: Teletha, although my friends just call me Tessa."

Drake smirked, as he poured a cup of the black liquid, handing it to the captain.

"Well, Teletha... I'm more competent than I look. Think about it: I have you in my hand, yet I had no interest in wresting control or committing acts of terrorism. Normally, I'd just leave, but your group..." He was silent for several minutes, as he sipped his tea, with the captain following suit, noting the sweet taste, with just a tiny tang.

"What about Mithril?" she asked.

"Well... your people are weak. Where I come from, I would have been overpowered by the hostage. Which leads me to my next question: why didn't you put up a fight?"

Teletha shrugged, staring into the inky depths of the tea.

"The truth is... I'm quite uncoordinated. I can't hope to overpower someone like you." she explained, looking down.

"I can't even take five steps without tripping."

Drake looked her over, before letting out a laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm often beat by my younger sister... and she's half my size. She can't even hold her balance on a beam for very long. Give me another excuse."

Testarossa looked at the Mandalorian in shock, as he stood up, moving to another cupboard.

"Anyways, it seems that your group needs some competent people. I think I'll stick around a while."

The woman started.

"I don't think you can just join up with us!" she retorted, slamming the cup down forcefully.

Drake smirked, as he turned from the kitchen, offering a simple potted meat to the woman.

"I think your superior officers will say otherwise: I just performed an escape from your facility, with no loss of life, and, above all, with no prior knowledge of the building's structure. I even kidnapped a high-ranking officer to boot."

Teletha looked him over again, trying to gauge his character.

"How will I know you won't betray us to another organization that offers you more money?"

Drake snorted.

"I see you need some extra reassurance. Very well. I'll give you the self-destruct code for my ship. Should I betray you, you have my full permission to destroy my ship and all its contents. That enough collateral? Everything I own is in here."

The woman thought for a moment, before nodding in approval.

"Then it's settled. I'll sign my six month contract, and I'll give you my security codes."


Drake frowned, as he reread the contract.

"Security detail?" he asked in disbelief. "You have a natural-born warrior, and you want me in a position any amateur to fill?"

The older man nodded, adjusting his glasses.

"That's correct, Ensign Belmont. If you have any objections, you may refer to your superior officer."

Drake shrugged, as he pointed to a subsection.

"If I'm reading this right, I am not allowed to use any of my weaponry. Only Mithril-mandated ordinance, right?"

"That is correct."

Drake shook his head, tapping his breastplate.

"You can take my guns, you can take my detonators, you can keep my ship impounded. But the armor stays. I'm a hired hand, not an enlisted soldier."

The man's frown deepened.

"Already disobeying orders?"

"Just altering the terms. My armor's like a second skin, see? To wear anything else would be... disadvantageous for all of us."

"Very well, ensign. I'll see what I can do. But we can't have you using your guns. Only Mithril weapons, understood?

The Mandalorian shrugged.

"Doesn't make any difference to me, but I'm not sure that will take full advantage of my abilities."

The commander's frown deepened again.

"The captain will make that decision, ensign."

"Very well. Just out of curiosity, who is the fleet captain I'm serving?"

The door opened, as a silver-haired woman walked in, smiling at the new subordinate. Drake did a double-take.

"Oh, Hell...o Captain Testarossa."


A/N: I wonder why nobody made this. After all, what could be more fun than merging Star Wars and Full Metal Panic! I plan to widen out this cross at a later date, but right now, I want to keep things low key and focus on a single Mandalorian stuck on Earth. If you look closely, you can guess what era I'm going with. Get ready for some real fun in the future. Just bear with me through this initial arc, ok? We'll eventually get to the point of Arm Slaves against the Dark Lord soon enough.

As always, I'm open to ideas, and would love to see any suggestions for this. Reviews would also be appreciated (again, anonymous reviews are always allowed.)