Aryn. I’m not going at that cruiser, but I can help you get aboard.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you stow away on an Imperial transport heading for it.” He pointed at a distant black form moving across the afternoon sky. “They come and go regularly and always to the same spaceport. And I know that spaceport. I’ve parked Fatman there myself a few times. I’ll figure out a way to get you aboard a transport while I find a ship to get me offplanet. So no good-byes yet. I still need your help and you still need mine. Good enough?”
Aryn did not have to consider long. She could use Zeerid’s help, and she wanted to keep his company for as long as possible.
“Good enough,” she said.
“And who knows?” he said as she climbed into the speeder. “Maybe you’ll come to your senses in the meantime.”
ZEERID DROVE THE ARMIN SPEEDER LOW, hugging the urbanscape, until he reached a bombed-out apartment building. There was nothing particularly notable about it. It just seemed a decent place to hole up.
The façade had fallen away from the building’s upper levels, exposing the interior flats and rooms. It looked as if the Empire had peeled the rind off the building to expose its guts. Zeerid supposed the Empire had done just that to all of Coruscant: they had vivisected the Republic.
The rubbled façade of the building lay in a heap of glass and stone at the building’s base, a pile of ruin intermixed with furniture, shattered vidscreens, and the other indicia of habitation.
The interior remained largely intact, though the dust of pulverized stone coated everything. Shards of shattered glass like fangs hung from windows. A few live wires spat sparks. Water leaked from somewhere, formed a minor cascade pouring down from one of the upper floors. Not a single light glowed in the entire building. It appeared abandoned.
“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