Page 52 of Rogue Starfighter

“Our core will fail first.”

“Then we’re not going back out. Find me a landing site.”

“The moon has no atmosphere.”

“This ship doesn't have wings.”

“You have one engine and almost no maneuvering control.”

“I’m aware of the equipment list. Landing site?”

Vesh searched the surface below us. “There. A narrow plain beyond the ridge. Four kilometers.”

“Slope?”

“Six degrees. Crater field at the far end.”

“Any good news?”

“The surface will not actively shoot at us.”

“I’ll take it.”

I guided the Wraith deeper into the field, using the rock to hide our descent. Gravity was weak, but not weak enough. The ship wanted to roll toward the missing engine. Every correction from the remaining jet made the controls shake. The landing site appeared on my display. Too short. Too rough. The ridge at the near end rose higher than Vesh’s first scan had shown.

“We need more altitude,” he said.

“We don’t have it.”

“We are going to hit that ridge.”

“I know.” I increased power to the port engine. The Wraith rolled toward the dead side.

“Starboard jet,” I said.

“It may not fire again.”

“Ask nicely.”

Vesh hit the control. Nothing. The ridge rushed toward us.

“Again.”

The jet coughed. Once. The Wraith lifted barely enough. Black rock scraped beneath the damaged wing with a scream that traveled through the frame. We cleared the ridge. The plain dropped away in front of us.

The engine fired. I pulled the nose up. The Wraith hit the surface on her belly and bounced. The second impact tore something loose behind us. The cockpit filled with alarms. We slid sideways across black rock.

“Crater ahead,” Vesh said.

“I see it.”

I fired the engine one last time and turned the slide. The Wraith spun past the crater’s edge, struck a low outcropping, and stopped hard enough to drive the harness into my ribs. Silence. Then the tick of cooling metal. I kept both hands on the controls and waited for the ground to move again. It did not.

“Priya?”

“I’m here.”

“Injuries?”