Behind the fallen pirate, more Togorians rounded a corner and ran toward them. Clat’Ha, in a blind panic, pulled her own blaster and opened fire. One Togorian screamed in pain, it’s huge fangs gaping and showing blood.

All of the Togorians returned fire with their own blasters. Qui-Gon dodged two bolts, then used his lightsaber to deflect three more.

Clat’Ha dropped low, screaming in rage. She was an able warrior, but they were outnumbered twenty to one. Qui-Gon vowed to do his best to keep her alive.

The door to the bridge was sealed shut, and burning hot. Obi-Wan could feel heat radiating from it as he tried to open it. A fire raged on the other side. Ignoring the pain, he tried to wedge his fingers in the crack and pull it open.

“It’s no use,” Si Treemba told him. “That’s a fire door. It locks if the bridge is burning.”

Obi-Wan backed from the door. The bridge must have taken a direct hit from one of the Togorian ships. But a hit from a heavy blaster or a proton torpedo would have done more than just start a fire. Most likely it had punched a hole in the hull.

It would be dangerous to try to open the door. There might only be a fire, but it could be worse. All the air could have escaped from the room.

He remembered the look on Qui-Gon’s face as the Jedi Master asked for his help. He couldn’t let him down this time.

Carefully, Obi-Wan struggled to calm himself, to use the Force. He could sense the latching mechanism, and it would take only a little effort to move it.

But then what? If he opened it, he could get pulled into space. Or toxic smoke could roil into the corridor and suffocate him, or the fire might spread into the halls.

He didn’t have a choice. He focused his attention and the door slid open.

Immediately, a stiff wind knocked him on the back. The breath left Obi-Wan’s lungs, and the sips air whisked pat him, sucked into the vacuum of space. Obi-Wan grabbed the door frame to keep from getting sucked out. It was all he could do to hold on. Behind him, Si Treemba got a handhold on the edge of a control box.

The bridge had indeed been hit. Air screamed out through a small round hole up above the view port.

“I have to plug that hole!” Obi-Wan shouted to Si Treemba.

But before Obi-Wan could move, Si Treemba dropped to the floor. He crawled across the bridge, reaching for handhold after handhold. Obi-Wan could only hang on to the door frame and watch. He couldn’t stop Si Treemba and he couldn’t help him.

Si Treemba reached for a spherical compass — the round metal object that served as a backup in case the main nav computer was hit or disabled. Fighting the screaming wind, Si Treemba stumbled to the hull and released the compass near the hole. The vacuum sucked it in, and immediately the rushing air quieted.

“Good Work!” Obi-Wan called as he ran to the pilot console. The captain and his copilot were still strapped into their seats, drowsy from loss of air. In another minute, they’d have suffocated. As it was, both men were unconscious. The room felt hot. Blaster fire had ripped through the navigation terminal, and metal slag pooled everywhere. But with so little air in the room, the fire had gone out.

Obi-Wan unbuckled the captain and moved him onto the floor. Then he looked at the control panel. There were so many lights and buttons. For a moment he was stunned, unsure what to do.

He looked up at the view port.

Togorian warships surrounded the Monument. A heavy cruiser that had been refitted as a gun ship edged nearer. Its shields had to be down for it to be so close.

A red light blinked insistently on Obi-Wan’s console. In a daze he realized that the forward proton torpedo tubes were loaded and armed. They were standard defensive gear for transports traveling in such a region. His targeting computer was down, but he aimed for the bridge of the gun ship without it.

His heart pounded. He was afraid of what he had to do. He hoped qui-Gon was tight, the pirates wouldn’t dare fire back with their own men aboard. Because if they did fire, they’d hit with everything they had.

“What are you going to do, Obi-Wan??” Si Treemba asked, holding on to the bridge console.

“Send a message to the Togorians,” Obi-Wan answered grimly. “We’re not dead yet!”

Reaching across the console, he launched the proton torpedoes.

* * *

Blaster fire lit the smoky corridors of the Monument, blinding him. Qui-Gon deflected and dodged the bolts.

Dead Togorians were strewn in the hall behind. Live Togorians choked the hall ahead. Their roaring resounded from the walls.

For a moment, he was pinned behind the dead. He wished that he had some backup. But the Offworlders were fighting on another front.

“Where are your Arconans?” he shouted to Clat’Ha. “We could use some help.”

“Arconans don’t fight!” Clat’Ha shouted back as she snapped a shot at a Togorian. “They probably locked themselves in their rooms!”

“What about Jemba’s men?” Qui-Gon asked. “Maybe you should contact them for help!”

“They wouldn’t come,” Clat’Ha said grimly. “I’m afraid it’s you and me, Qui-Gon..”

A Togorian pirate captain lunged down the corridor, bursting through the screen of smoke. He was huge, nearly twice as tall as a man. His black body armor was scarred and pitted from a thousand fights. A Human skull dangled from a chain around his neck. His fur was dark as night, and his green eyes gleamed wickedly.

He carried a huge vibro-ax in one hand, an energy shield in the other. The pirates pointed ears were drawn back flat against his skull. He stepped forward to meet it.

“Meet your death, Jedi!” the Togorian pirate roared. “I have hunted your kind before, and I will gnaw your bones tonight!”

Suddenly, Qui-Gon realized that the pirates behind their dark captain were retreating, back toward the hold. There was nowhere to go back there, except another access tunnel. The pirates were probably trying to circle behind him.

Clat’Ha rushed forward and fired her blaster. The Togorian raised his shield against it, deflecting it easily. Then he raised his deadly vibro-ax. With only the slightest touch, the weapon could sever a man’s head. Qui-Gon moved forward in one flowing movement, his lightsaber held high.

“No doubt you have killed before,” Qui-Gon said softly. “But you shall not be gnawing any bones tonight.”

He leaped at the Togorian pirate. The pirate roared and swung his ax.

A blinding flash as bright as a solar flare lit space as the proton torpedoes struck the Togorian gun ship.