He saw another ship there, too, a modified Imperial drop ship, Dragonfly-class. He rolled a dial on the macrobinoculars to magnify the image.

No Imperial markings, and the landing ramp was up as if it were ready to launch.

A couple of dozen workers in dungarees went about the business of operating the port, as did half a dozen or so droids wheeling among the ships, fuel lines, loading cranes, and comp terminals.

A flash of lavender filled the binoculars’ field of vision and he backed out of the high modification.

A Twi’lek female had walked in front of the window and temporarily filled the lenses with her lavender skin.

Lavender skin.

He watched as the Twi’lek and a squad of uniformed Imperial soldiers in half armor put six hooded and manacled sentients into one of the shuttles. Zeerid tried to keep the binoculars on the Twi’lek, who appeared to be giving orders to the troops, but it necessitated hopping the binoculars from window to window as she moved, and he sometimes lost her.

Like the Twi’lek in the vid at the Jedi Temple, she wore twin blasters on her hips. She also wore the tight-fitting trousers and high boots.

“Has to be her,” he said. But he wanted to confirm, so he waited, and watched, and at last she turned her face to the window and he saw it, the jagged scar on her throat.

“Gotcha,” he said.

The Twi’lek spoke into her comlink, and the shuttle with the civvies started to wind up. As it rose on its thrusters, the roof doors of the pad slid open, once more spilling light into the night sky. When the shuttle broke the roofline, it engaged its engines and took off, presumably heading back to Valor. The doors closed behind it.

The Twi’lek and about a dozen troops remained on the pad. Workers, too, and droids. Zeerid watched a team of workers and the treaded box of a maintenance droid start refueling one of the shuttles from a thick hose connected to an underground tank.

Seeing that, Zeerid struck on a plan. He pocketed the binoculars and hurried back out of the hotel, to the speeder, and back to Aryn.

THE SHUTTLE FLEW a silent vigil over the ruins of the Jedi Temple. Malgus’s pilot’s voice carried over the intership comm. Boredom tinged his tone.

“Shall I remain here, my lord?”

“You will remain until I say otherwise,” Malgus answered. “Internal and external lights are to remain off.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Malgus’s shuttle hovered over the ruins of the Jedi Temple at about three hundred meters. From that height, the Temple was little more than a tumble of stones in the starlight. He had lingered over the ruins for hours, as day had faded to night, and still Aryn Leneer had not shown.

But she would come. He knew she would.