The crew emerged slowly, like feral animals approaching a potential source of food and warmth. They crawled out of maintenance shafts and supply closets, wearing scuffed and grease-stained uniforms along with rebreathers and oxygen packs. Most wore cadet insignia and had an air of youthful uncertainty; three were noticeably older, white-haired or entirely bald. Twenty in total surrounded Soran, blocking the corridor in both directions. “You hid from the New Republic?” Soran asked. He directed his question to a bejowled captain who fingered a blaster pistol. He did not raise his voice.
