* * *
Heavy blaster fire ripped through the hull of the Monument. To Togorian warship had taken aim at the bridge, but with the sudden thrust of the huge ship, the blaster bolts had struck the ship behind their mark.
Obi-Wan pushed away the thought of who might have died in the attack. He reversed thrusters.
The warship’s next salvo fell short, blasting harmlessly into space. Obi-Wan took half a moment to aim his proton torpedoes, the launched them down the warship’s gullet.
As he was sucked toward the space vacuum, Qui-Gon called his lightsaber to his left hand. He aimed a blow at the pirate captain’s feet. The Togorian grabbed a handhold and leaped high, evading the cut, then landed directly on Qui-Gon’s left arm with his booted feet.
Fighting the pain, Qui-Gon tried to bring up his lightsaber, but the huge Togorian had him pinned. Qui-Gon twisted desperately, but he couldn’t get away. With his left arm pinned and his right arm badly wounded Qui-Gon could do little to fight the monster.
The pirate captain roared madly in triumph, and the wind seemed to roar with him. It tore down the corridors like a tornado. Qui-Gon could hardly breathe.
Suddenly the pirate’s head disappeared. The huge Togorian hurtled backward, grabbed by the fury of the wind.
Qui-Gon looked up the hall. Clat’Ha crouched on the floor, desperately clinging to the handle of a locker door with one hand, her heavy blaster in the other.
In the heat of battle, the Togorian had forgotten all about the woman.
Down the hall was a bulkhead door that should have closed automatically when the air pressure dropped. But with all the damage to the ship, it was no surprise that it hadn’t worked.
Qui-Gon was bleeding badly, and could hardly breathe. Weakly, with the last of his will, he reached out with the Force and moved a bit of debris, touching the controls to the door and sliding it closed. As the wind stopped screaming through the ship, everything became deathly silent.
All that Qui-Gon could hear was his own heart beating, and Clat’Ha gasping for air.
The Togorian warship exploded in a burst of light.
Si Treemba worked at the communications console, launching distress beacons. It might take days for a Republic ship to respond, or one could arrive in a matter of seconds. It was impossible to know who would be traveling the space lanes.
Suddenly the Togorian warships peeled away from the Monument. Their gun ship and warship were destroyed. Their captain’s cruiser and second boarding vessel had ripped away from the Monument’s hull, and dead pirates could be seen littering space.
The last of the pirates blasted off into hyperspace, never guessing that they’d been bested by a twelve- year-old boy.
Obi-Wan piloted the Monument among the glimmering stars. Warning claxons were ringing everywhere. Monitors showed air leaks from a dozen holes.
“It looks like the shi is falling apart,” Obi-Wan said to Si Treemba.
Si Treemba nodded his triangular head worriedly. “We have to land now, Obi-Wan.”
“Land where?” Obi-Wan asked, looking ahead at nothing but empty space.
Si Treemba bent over the nav computer. “It’s not working,” he said.
“I know,” Obi-Wan replied. “That’s why I’m flying manually. Where are the crew? Why isn’t anyone coming to help us?”
“They’re probably dealing with the wounded or maybe they are wounded themselves.” Si Treemba peered ahead through the view screen. “Wait! There!”
Obi-Wan could just glimpse the planet ahead, a blue marble the color of water, shot through with white clouds.
“How do we know we can breathe the air?” Obi-Wan asked. The atmosphere might be poison, the planet might be hostile.
“It had got to be better than breathing in a vacuum,” Si Treemba suggested.
The Arconan’s faceted eyes met Obi-Wan’s. The great ship shuddered, and another warning monitor went off, signaling that the air pressure was dropping.
“We don’t think we have a choice,” Si Treemba said softly.
Grelb and his men hurried down the hallways through the Arconan side of the ship. Jemba the Hutt’s miners had fought well against the pirates on their side, but dozens of stout Hutts and Whiphids had died.
There was a good chance that the Arconans would be dead, too. Grelb was hoping to steal some loot from the bodies.
But when he reached the doors to the Arconan hold, he found that the Arconans hadn’t fought at all. Instead, they’d let their pet Jedi protect them.
Grelb glanced around a corner and saw the hated Clat’Ha helping Qui-Gon off the floor. The Jedi had a deep wound in his right shoulder, and his left arm was sore and swollen.
The Hutt smiled, and jerked his head back from the corridor before anyone looked his way.
He whispered to the Whiphids at his back, “Go and tell Jemba: the Arconans are all cowards who dared not come out of their rooms to fight. And their precious Jedi looks as if he’s barely alive. Now is a good time to strike!”
