Galaxy (GIVEN UP)

Chapter 3

The good thing about the dust covering the... everywhere of the engine room was that it was very easy to make sketches in. Problem was, those sketches were very hard to see.

Virgil had been staring at a number he'd written in the dust for three minutes, trying to work out whether it was a three or an eight.

"This is why we go'n'get paper, Virgil." He muttered to himself. He sighed and jumped up, reaching up to the hatch to pull himself out.

Virgil sat on the rim of the hatch and turned his torch band off. He shook dust out of his hair and set off around the ship.

It had taken Virgil a year to fix this ship up enough to give it a legible name. He'd always liked reading about E-75 Gods. Specifically, the Egyptian Gods. So, he'd given his ship the name The Osiris. Probably the best decision he'd made in a long time, actually.

Virgil poked his head in the cock-pit. Maybe he'd left a notebook in there? He pushed a chair aside and started flipping through the books on the controls panel.

The Osiris was in no good condition to fly. Well, maybe it was, Virgil didn't know. He just fixed ships, he didn't fly them. He wouldn't know the first thing about flying, even if-

A glint from the junk yard made him look up. An ancient X-Wing model was screaming into the junk yard, smoke tailing behind it. Virgil couldn't see the pilot but he wasn't even sure if they were trying to stop the ship. It was practically nose-diving towards the ground.

Holy shit, it was going to crash!

Virgil sped out of the cock-pit, grabbing the wall to steer himself around. Whoever was in that ship, they were either incredibly dangerous, incredibly stupid or both. And in any of those situations, it was better to face someone like that with a blaster. Which Virgil happened to have.

He just didn't know where he'd put it.

Roman blinked. He'd crashed. Again.

Roman undid his seatbelt and did a quick once over. He could feel all of his body and nothing hurt or felt numb. Great. He should be okay. There was a crack in his visor and a couple rips in his suit but that was fine. Trusty Kaboom Raa 15, never hurt him once. Yet.

Question was, where had he crashed? Roman tapped his ear-piece but only got static as an answer.

"Perfect." Roman grinned. "They ain't gonna find me here."

The wind-screen was absolutely blow to bits so Roman gave it an almighty kick. The whole thing fell away with a crack and Roman managed to crawl out of it.

"Okay, where actually have I crashed?" Roman asked, looking around. The sky was practically black, even though it was only five halves by his calculations. The whole area smelt of something sour and burnt and Roman wrinkled his nose against the smell.

Someone emerged from a ship near-by, holding their hands behind their back. They were... humanoid, at least. Though where they were from, Roman had no idea. Black hair so maybe Notria but they were also pale enough to be from Hoth. Who knew, honestly? They could be from Tatooine, considering their height.

Roman raised a hand to wave. "Hello." He said, praying they spoke his language. "Um, do you know where-?"

They pulled a gun on him. By the children of fire, they had a gun! And they were pointing it directly at him. Roman put his hands by his head quickly.

The humanoid said something in a language Roman didn't understand. He furrowed his brow and they rolled their eyes.

"Don't move." They tried again. When they realised he could understand them, they spoke louder.

"Don't move!" They snapped. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm not hostile." Roman said. He took a small step forward.

"Don't move!" They yelled.

"I'm not hostile." Roman repeated, trying to stay calm. "I'm with the Resistance." He gestured to the patch on his jacket. "See?"

"The Resistance doesn't mean shit here." They snarled. That was good, at least. "Who are you?"

"I'm Roman." Roman said. "What planet is this?"

They tilted their head on their shoulder. "Why d'you want to know?"

Roman scoffed. "Because I'm stood here and I'm lost." He said. "Look, who are you?" He dropped his hands, his arms were aching.

Their eyes swept him and his broken ship over once. Slowly, like they clocked he wasn't a threat, they lowered their gun.

"I'm Virgil." Virgil said. He still kept his gun clasped tightly in his hands. "And this is T-3.5." He raised the gun again. "Now what do you want?"

THEY MEET! HUZZAH!
Bye,
Blaize