“This should serve,” he said to Aryn and T7. He piloted the speeder around and through the rubble until he had it near one of the exposed lower apartments.

“Serve for what?” Aryn asked, and T7 echoed her question with a beep.

“I’m going to scout the spaceport. You both are going to stay here.”

Aryn shook her head. “No, I should come.”

“I work better alone, Aryn. At least when it comes to surveillance. Take some time—”

“I don’t need time. I need to get to that cruiser.”

“And this is the best way to do that. So take some time to eat and … pull yourself together.” He winced as he said that last, thinking she’d take offense, but it appeared barely to register. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He tossed her another of the protein bars he’d taken from the speeder’s console compartment.

“Zeerid …,” she said.

“Please, Aryn. I’m just eyeballing it. I won’t do anything without you.”

She relented with a sigh and climbed out of the speeder. She unclamped T7 and lowered him to the ground.

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” Zeerid said. “Keep an eye on her, Tee-seven.”

The droid whooped agreement and Zeerid sped off.

AVOIDING THE SEARCH-AND-RESCUE TEAMS working in the still-smoldering ruins, Zeerid made his way toward the quadrant’s port, the Liston Spaceport. He could see it in the distance, framed against the night sky, the curved appendages of its large craft landing pads raised skyward like the hopeful arms of a penitent. It appeared undamaged by the attack, at least from a distance.

As he watched, the roof doors to one of the many small-craft landing bays opened in the main body of the port, a mouth spitting light into the dark air. He killed the speeder’s thrusters and pulled to the side.

In the sky above the port, the running lights of three Imperial shuttles came into view as they descended into the port. The mouth of the doors swallowed them, closed, and killed the light once more.

At least he knew there were ships there.

Zeerid stayed where he was and for a time watched to see if there was more traffic. He saw none. In normal times, even a small spaceport like the Liston would have been buzzing with activity.

He fired the speeder back up and drove on, wanting to get a closer look. The area around the port to a distance of several kilometers had been hit hard by Imperial bombs. Burned-out buildings tilted like drunks on their foundations. Jagged, charred holes pockmarked the ground. Autowalks hung askew, forming a mad web of walking paths that led nowhere. Live wires spat angry sparks. Chunks of duracrete lay here and there, haphazardly strewn about by the force of the bombs.