Chapter 13

Outside, in the coldness of space, two figures stood beside the fallen Jedi ship. When it had been built, it was the peak of design and technology. In fact, this class of ship was a direct ancestor of the Raven – it had a massive wingspan, though one had broken off in the crash, with a long, thin front end. They were lucky – it looked as though there was minimal damage. The ship must have come down at a shallow angle. Behind them there was a long indent in the rock where it had slid along the surface of the asteroid.

Garr was working at opening one of the rear side air-locks. The gloves of his suit made the job much more difficult, as did the intense gravity that he was fighting against. It took too long – they both knew that they were short on time. They couldn't say for sure, but they had guessed that the air in the Raven would last less than an hour, and the air in their own suits would be gone perhaps an hour after that. They needed to work a lot faster than they were.

Finally, the air-lock door released. They couldn't hear it, but they could see the air flow out of the narrow gap that had appeared in the door as the room beyond depressurised. Garr held out his hand and Batalla used it to pull herself up from the sitting position that she had been in. They both took hold of the door and worked together to slowly pull it open.

Inside, there was no light other than the light of the computer consoles. Garr approached one of them as Batalla pulled the door closed behind them. He was silently praying that the air-lock controls were still functional, and that the ship's hull integrity had been maintained despite the crash. He flicked one of the switches, and an image appeared on the monitor above the console. Garr turned to Batalla, who had moved behind him and was observing his progress. He smiled, though she couldn't see his face through his helmet, and gave her a thumbs up – the controls seemed to be working.

It took a few moments for him to familiarise himself with the controls. Suddenly, they were greeted by the reassuring sound of air filling the room. A display on the monitor showed the progress of the repressurisation. After a minute or so, when the room was repressurised, the monitor blinked green.

Although everything seemed to be fully functional, they both still hesitated. They knew that the room had been filled with gas, but for all they knew it could have been pure Carbon Dioxide rather than Oxygen. The pair stood still for a moment, looking at each other. Batalla could sense Garr's trepidation, but they both knew that if they couldn't even make it past the airlock then they would never get off this rock. She decided that she would take a leap of faith.

As she moved to remove her helmet, Garr moved his hands upward as though he were going to stop her, but chose not to. She struggled to remove her heavy helmet, and, as Garr heard the click that indicated that the helmet had been released, he held his breath. Visions of Batalla suffocating, and thrashing around on the floor in agony flashed through his mind.

Instead, the nervous look on her face turned to a smile. The air in the crashed ship seemed fine.

Garr removed his own helmet and moved to help Batalla, who was struggling to push open the air lock's inner door. As it slowly swung open, the lights in the corridor beyond flickered into life. They cast an eerie glow across the inside of the ship. The crash had caused damage, but not a lot of it – there were occasional rips in the walls, or consoles which had overloaded. But the structure of the ship seemed to be undamaged.

All of which worried Garr. If the landing had been so smooth, then the Jedi – or whatever they were now – could have easily survived. So where were they? There must have been three or four, assuming they had all survived the chaos that must have overtook them when the wave from the orb hit them.

Still, they couldn't afford to waste any time.

"B", he said to his companion. "We're behind schedule. You see if you can salvage the oxygen filtration unit, and I'll take care of the engine parts. And let's hope to god that we can carry the stuff back to the Raven in this gravity".

"Um… where does this go, do you think?"

Progress in the cockpit of the Raven had been slow for a while, but it had ground to a halt in the last few minutes. Marc had spent most of the time watching Elle work. He found himself enjoying seeing her so determined – the scrunched up look on her face was cute, and she had been concentrating so hard that she hadn't noticed that her hair had come free and now hung down to her shoulders.

And Marc had been surprised at just how quickly Elle had figured out the mechanics of the Raven. Back on Socorro she had filled her days with school and her art. She'd been totally incapable of holding down any kind of job – she'd tried working in market stalls, in the orphanage. She even tried working in a ranch. Not Marc's family ranch – a smaller, rival one close by. She'd told Marc that she'd left because the work hadn't stimulated her mind enough. Marc had always figured she was hiding the fact that she couldn't cope with the manual labour, but looking at her working on the Raven made him think that maybe there was something special going on in her head.

That is, until now.

"Uh…" Marc said. "I think that's the door handle".

Elle carried on looking at it with a frown. After a few moments of silence, she spoke. "Oh", she said. She turned her head to the door – specifically at the place where the handle should have been. "Well we'd best put it back, don't you think?"

Marc smiled, and his eyes followed her as she strode across the room to the door. He couldn't help but notice the limp. It brought his mind back to what happened at the temple. He still couldn't remember everything that had happened, but even when he was completely out of it Elle's screams still managed to fill his head. Jani, the Grey Jedi who had led them on, promising to help them save their friend, had betrayed them. All she had wanted was the Orb – the same object that now sat in the cargo hold of the Raven, and the object that now called out to every person who was sensitive to the Force in the Galaxy.

Jani had turned on them when they had finally reached their goal. Their friend was long dead, killed by Jani's former lover who was, in turn, killed by her. And when Jani feared that she might not get what she had fought and killed for, she had taken her anger out on Elle. Many of her bones had been snapped, and though the medical bay on the Raven had been able to mostly heal those wounds, it looked as though she was still feeling the pain.

"Sit down", Marc said softly. "Take a rest".

Elle didn't even look around when she answered. "Marc", she said sternly. "We're trapped on an asteroid… we're quickly running out of air, and our engines are broken. Now isn't the time to sit on our asses and do nothing".

Marc looked at the back of her head, and he sighed. "And you think that fixing the door handle is going to help us survive this?" he asked. She turned and gave him an angry look – it seemed he had struck a nerve. "Listen", he said, his voice soft again to try and soothe her irritation. "I know you want to help – hell, you've managed to fix the flight console by yourself. You've done all you can. It's down to the others to bring back the equipment we need now".

Elle sighed, and then she trudged over to where Marc was sitting and collapsed beside him. Marc didn't say anything, but her weight in the increased gravity almost crushed him when she landed. It took all his willpower not to cry out.

Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently pushed her head onto his chest. "We'll be fine", he said. "Trust me".

"I know", Elle said. Her voice had become small again – it seemed as though the determination that had filled her up until then had drained away. She was backed to being frightened. "I think… if I stop doing things then all I can do is sit and worry about everything, you know? And I hate that. Even after all we've gone through, I still get terrified over everything".

"Yeah, me too". Elle looked up into Marc's eyes, and he smiled down at her. "I think that's a good thing. Shows we're still real". He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead, before closing his eyes and leaning it back against the wall. "So… how do you think they're doing?"

"God damned piece of crap!"

After separating from Batalla, Garr had moved straight down to the engine bay. When he'd arrived, he saw that the engine was mostly intact, which was good news. The bad news was that the engine in this Jedi ship was different to the broken engine in the Raven. He knew that this would make it more difficult to integrate these systems into the Raven – and, worse, it would take more time. But it wasn't impossible.

He had crawled into the maintenance tubes behind the engine, which was the place where all of the connections to the other systems were. If he could disconnect the cables that connected the engine to the rest of the ship, then he was pretty sure he could modify them to fit with the Raven. But it was proving a hell of a lot more difficult that he thought, especially with the added problem of everything weighing five times as much as it should.

He'd spent the last ten minutes trying to gently unscrew the cables to avoid any chance of damaging them. But it hadn't worked, and his frustration had grown and grown. He had resorted to hitting the connection with anything he could find – his tools, the debris, his foot – in the hopes of dislodging it. And it was working – the wires were slowly becoming looser and looser, until finally they dropped to the floor with a loud clang.

Garr quickly grabbed them and dragged them back out of the maintenance tube and back to where the main part of the engine was held. It was about ten feet high, and just as wide. The outer casing had started out with a metallic sheen, but through the years it had been in service it had become covered in black grime. Because these engines were so reliable they were often poorly maintained, so if they ever did break down it would be even more difficult to repair them.

There was no chance of Garr being able to drag the entire unit out with him, but thankfully he only needed certain sections of it. He took out a screwdriver and began to unscrew one of the panels.

Suddenly, a loud bang reverberated through the engine room. Garr spun around, and he raised the screwdriver up as though it were a weapon.

He took a few nervous steps forward. "B?" he called out. There was no answer. He waited a few more moments, but there was no more sound. He decided that it must have just been some loose equipment that had fallen to the ground, and he turned back to his work.

Suddenly, he felt cold hands grab at his face from behind him, and he felt a sharp pain in his neck, as though someone had stabbed him. He cried out in pain, and forced his head around so that he could catch a glimpse of his attacker. He couldn't get a clear view, but what he did see was the side of someone – or somethings head. Its hair was stained with blood, and he knew what it was. It was one of the Jedi who had piloted this ship. And he realised that he hadn't been stabbed at all. His attacker had sunk his teeth into Garr's neck.

Garr raised his hands and tried to push his attacker away from him, but its grip on his neck would not release. His mind was starting to shut down with the panic – there was no one here to help him, and he knew that there was no chance of him being able to overpower a Jedi.

And then his attacker started to pull away from him, without releasing its grip on his neck. Garr screamed as he felt a chunk of his neck tear away from his body, and as he felt the pain shoot through his body. He fell to his knees.

Through the pain, he forced his eyes upwards. What he saw sent chills straight to his soul. This… things face was mutilated with scars, with dried blood covering almost all of its skin. Its eyes were wild, and crazed. Their eyes met, and in that moment Garr knew that he was going to die.

Suddenly, the creature's chest exploded, sending blood and guts shooting out, drenching Garr. He cried out again, and quickly moved his hand to his eyes to wipe away the blood which had covered them.

When his eyes were clear enough for him to see again, he turned around slowly. Behind him, Batalla stood, blaster rifle in hand. She had saved him.

Back at the Raven, Marc and Elle were slumped on the floor. Elle had her head on Marc's chest, and his arm was draped over her. They were both exhausted.

The Raven's cockpit was as ready as they could make it. Elle had done her best to repair the consoles, and she was fairly happy with the way they had turned out. The key systems had mostly survived the crash, and Elle had spent her time repairing the few that hadn't.

For his part, Marc had spent most of his time clearing out the cockpit and making sure that when the engines were working again this room was actually capable of keeping the four of them comfortable. The floor had been cleared of all the clutter, and the seats had been fixed back into position. It was starting to look like it had done before the crash.

They were pleased with the progress that they'd made, but there was something that had been hanging over their heads.

"How long?" Elle asked without lifting her head. Marc turned to look down at her, but he didn't answer. Elle lifted her head and looked him dead in the eye. "How long?" she repeated more sternly.

Marc sighed, heavily. "Twenty minutes until the filters cut out", he said. "I guess we'd last another ten or so after that. But it won't get that far. They'll be back soon".

Elle's face contorted into a doubtful expression. "Yeah..." she sighed. Then she lowered her head again and rested it back on Marc's chest. Marc began to gently stroke her hair while he thought.

Marc was more worried about what would happen if they did come back. With the tiny amount of oxygen left in the tanks, even if they were replaced that moment it would still only buy them another couple of hours. He had no idea how far the nearest habitable planet or space station was. He hated the thought of giving Elle false hope only to find out that they'd only delayed their deaths for a while.

Then they head a loud bang coming from beyond the door. Elle jumped up and backed away. Marc followed her, a little more cautiously, and positioned himself between her and the door. He knew that it had to be Garr and Batalla. There was no one else alive on this rock... was there?

Another loud bang, and the door crept open just a few centimetres. There was a makeshift airlock just beyond, which was used to cushion the cockpit from the vacuum outside. Someone had obviously re-pressurised it.

Another bang, and the door crept open a little more. Marc tensed, trying to get himself ready for anything that could come through. He knelt down quickly and grabbed a spanner from the floor beside his feet. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

Then they heard a voice calling through the gap, and relief washed over them both.

"Hey, assholes", Garr's voice yelled. "You gonna help with this door or what?"

Elle jumped with joy, a wide smile spreading across her face. "It's Garr!" she screamed, before she rushed forward and started to pull at the door. Marc followed, slower but no less relieved. Together they managed to prise the door open enough for Garr to squeeze through. He was still in his space suit at this point, but once he was inside the cockpit he began to slowly remove it, discarding the pieces on the floor.

Elle looked around outside the cockpit, but couldn't see anyone else there. "Um..." she mumbled. "Where's Batalla?"

Garr looked at her and grinned. "Batalla", he said, "is fitting the shiny new parts for our engine. We've just finished fitting the Oxygen filter. I just need to activate it from here".

"How much time has it bought us?" Marc asked. He wore a frown on his face, and Garr realised that he knew that they were in more shit than he'd let on.

There was a long pause before Garr answered. "Less than three hours", he replied. "If we can't reach a breathable atmosphere to replenish our oxygen tanks before then we'll suffocate".

The three of them looked at the floor in silence.

"Still", Garr said with a smile. "At least it's better than nothing". Then he walked swiftly over to the front console and pressed a few switches.

They all felt the fresh oxygen wash over them. Elle closed her eyes and savoured it, but Marc's mind was more focussed on their fate.

"Is there any place we can reach before the air runs out?" he asked.

Garr didn't even look round. Instead, he continued to stare at the front console. He looked confused.

"Wait..." he said. "Wasn't this console broken when we left? Did you fix this?"

He looked up, and Marc nodded. "Elle did", he sighed.

Garr looked across at her, and she looked down, embarrassed. "Well", he said. "I'll be damned. I doubt I could've figured this shit out as quick as you. There's hope for you yet".

Marc was growing more impatient. "Garr", he said sternly. "Answer my question. Is there anywhere we can reach before we all suffocate?"

Garr met his gaze. "With out old engines..." he replied. "No, there isn't. But these new parts B's fitting now should improve the performance. If we're lucky, they'll make us quick enough to reach somewhere in time".

Marc wasn't convinced, but he stayed silent.

They heard rustling behind them, and Batalla appeared through the door. Once she had secured the door, she removed her helmet and nodded at Garr.

"Right", he said, sliding into the pilot's seat. "Looks like we're ready. Hold on to your asses".

The engines stuttered into life as Marc, Elle and Batalla secured themselves in their seats. The Raven lifted slowly and painfully into the air – there were squeals coming from seemingly every part of the ship, but at least it was flying again.

"Success!" Garr yelled, punching the air. "Are we good or what?"

Even though he was still worried, Marc couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his lips.

The Raven rose higher and higher into the air, and then, in a single burst of speed, it shot off into the depths of space.