Aryn strode toward the shuttle while the Twi’lek backed up the landing ramp, taking aim. Before the Twi’lek could fire, Aryn gestured with her left hand, and both of the blasters flew from the Twi’lek’s hands and landed at Aryn’s feet. The Twi’lek mouthed something lost in the muffle of her mask. Aryn stepped over and past the blasters.

The Twi’lek, wide-eyed, turned to flee into the shuttle’s compartment. Again, Aryn gestured and a blast of power went forth from her, slammed into the Twi’lek’s back, and drove her hard into the bulkhead. She collapsed within the shuttle’s compartment, only her feet sticking out far enough for Zeerid to see.

Aryn deactivated her blade. She stopped for a moment and lowered her head, thinking.

Zeerid let himself hope, almost called her name again.

But then she raised her head and walked for the landing ramp, stepping over the corpse of the soldier.

Zeerid hung his head for a moment, saddened. It was her decision, her fight. He gathered himself, turned, and shouted at T7.

“Get that Dragonfly open, Tee-seven. It’s time to go.”

VRATH AWOKE TO THE SOUND of blasterfire, the high-pitched whine of sirens, and the voice on the port’s speaker system saying something about a fuel leak. He’d taken a sleeptab to put him out and it took a few moments for his head to clear. He’d fallen asleep in the cockpit. He checked his chrono. Almost dawn, or just after. He’d been out the better part of the night.

Something thudded into Razor’s hull, a blaster shot.

“What in the—”

He undimmed the cockpit’s transparisteel canopy and looked out on the landing pad. Razor’s angle offered him a very small field of vision so he could see little, merely part of one of the Imperial shuttles docked near him. Strangely, he saw no workers, no Imperial soldiers, no droids.

He heard a few more blaster shots from behind the ship. He had no idea what was going on and had no desire to find out. He did not yet have permission to leave Coruscant, but he would not leave his ship in dock in the midst of a firefight or whatever was happening out there. He figured he’d just take Razor into the air and stay in-atmosphere. He put the dull monotone of the spaceport’s automated announcement on his in-ship comm.

“A hazardous substance spill has occurred in landing bay sixteen-B. There is significant danger. Please move rapidly toward the nearest exit. A hazardous substance spill …”

On the wall near him, written in large black letters, were the words: LANDING BAY 16-B.