By the time she drags herself up the cargo ramp, General Eclipse has to brace herself against the bulkhead to stay upright. "PROXY, prep the cargo hold." Her command is breathless. "Just lash everything to the bulkheads."

"General Eclipse, you're bleeding--"

"No time," she growls, lurching past him into the cockpit. "Prep for a dozen. Kids. Maybe more. I want them as safe and comfortable as possible."

"Certainly, General Eclipse."

Juno doesn't watch him go. She ignores the pain as she twists into the pilot's chair; clamps her jaw down over the way the console in front of her swims uncertainly. Instead, she digs into fresh reserves of stubbornness.

She's got a job to do.

«Acknowledged.» Juno's response is softer than she'd like, but she knows he can hear her. «The hatch is open, so board when you're ready...»

She grunts, sliding sideways out of the chair. A bit of scrabbling, and she manages to catch herself on the edge, hauling herself upright as she snarls a curse and bares her teeth at the white-hot twinge burning through her side.

«Don't mind the blood.» Maybe she'd better warn him. This is important, though, or she wouldn't have taken the foolish risks she had in getting back to the ship so soon. «Should have room here for a dozen of them.>>

A hand reaches up to check the sensors and shields. Ignoring the pain takes a conscious effort of will. Clean radar. Shields at full. No problems. She primes the cannon just to be certain; checks the shields one more time.

The lives of those captives are much more important than her discomfort.

«Any more and you'll have to move them to the Razor Crest after we can exfil.»

Smoothly, she brings the ship down, satisfied when the Rogue Shadow touches down too smoothly to feel the jolt. Her instincts, at least, are still spot-on. She can hear the faint electrical sound of the hatch opening and the ramp sliding out to await The Mandalorian and his freed captives.

Her mouth twitches, satisfied. At least they were able to make something right, today. She's suddenly tired, so tired; and the cockpit is so cold... but maybe they made a difference in those kids' lives, today. No sooner does the ramp closed than she's keying in coordinates.

«Prepare for... lightspeed...» Her voice is no more than a mumble. When she punches the throttle, she has to do it twice; her fingers slip off the surface with a bloody smear.

It's not until the Rogue Shadow is on its way toward the Razor Crest that she accepts that the cargo is all safe. Swallowing and grimacing, she eyes the instruments. Just a little further. A little more speed, as those engines rage and scream beneath her. As the instruments light up and change over to autopilot, though, she smiles crookedly and sags in her chair, exhaling softly.

That's where he'll find her, in a pool of blood, but damn if she didn't do what she told him she'd do.

She's a professional.