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HOURS PASS AND THE condition of theRazor Crest isn't all that much better. Judging from experience and lack of equipment and vitality of part replacements, Kera knows it's going to take a lot more than a few hours to fix the almost ancient gunship.
Her fingers ache from the rewiring and the freezing temperature. And Kera's turning walking ice-popsicle due to how cold she is. Kera shivers, dropping her selection of tools that pool at her feet to pull up the collar of the leather jacket then pauses when her fingers automatically move to trace the white brandishing made by the Empire. Fire burns through her veins, sizzling, smoking.
For a moment ── for a splinter of a second Kera both aches and mourns for that little girl she knew long ago. That girl stained with legacy and promise instead of blood and ruin. A question ponders the back of her mind: would her mother be proud of her? No, Kera eventually decides an instant later, swallowing the lump in her throat. Mama would be horrified at what you've become. Then words echo in her mind over and over like a prayer. A continuous mantra to soothe the stinging torment in her heart ── survive.
It's the very fact that Kera wants to get off this blasted frozen planet that pushes her through her depleted energy. It surprises her how she writhes for some rest, for some sleep despite the repeated horrors that reoccur in her slumber. Kera kneels before her battered green toolbox, hating the sensation of the cold powdery consistency of the snow seeking through her clothes as her nimble fingers rummage about through tools and other bits and bobs.
She hears the reprogrammed Imperial droid before she sees him. The plan she briefly and minimally discussed with the Mandalorian was to repair as much as possible to working order. Ultimately, in Kera's mind, it meant: Mando repairs that side of the Razor Crest and Kera repairs the other. Kera nearly smiles. What happened was in the events prior ── Kera had annoyed the helmet head with so much of her chatter he'd sent her to the other side of the ship.
"Kera!" K-3SO repeats, his robotic voice slathered in distress. "The tin can and the womp rat have vacated the area!"
"Huh?" Kera discards her tools to stand, whirling to face her droid and notices the bits of ice stuck to his metal body. "Wait! Don't tell me! I don't want to hear it!
"We were left behind!" The droid wails.
When K-3SO's words finally hit her Kera laughs, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand. "Pfft. Yeah, right. Just because I haven't seen Mando for, uh, a good couple of hours doesn't mean anything. The Mandalorian isn't very chatty, unlike you, unfortunately. I was directed especially to work on the furthest way away from him, apparently, it covers more ground. . ."
