It had been three days of uneventful sweeps across the barren world below. The briefing had promised radicalist cells, hidden caches, rebel stirrings—yet the skies had been silent, the ground empty. Kallia Veynn had flown over the surface scouting for Kallia pulled off her flight helmet as she stepped back into the hangar, the hum of the Star Destroyer’s engines a welcome constant.

She spotted the other pilot already tugging free of his gloves, equally weary.

“This is the third day we’ve flown circles over nothing,” she said flatly, tucking her helmet under her arm. “Tell me you feel it too, these flyovers are a waste of time.”