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“Is the battle still going on out there?” Toryn asked.

No one knew.

“Let’s split up,” she said. “Find different viewports and conduct a visual reconnaissance. Report back here in ten Standard minutes.”

Ten minutes would let the ship roll around twice. They could get a good look at space around them.

Everyone rushed down passages and into rooms, looking for viewports. Toryn found herself back at the viewport in the attack door. She grabbed the comlink at her waist and contacted a dedicated hacker droid mounted to the console in the wall. “Droid,” she said. “This is Toryn Farr. Have you calculated answers to my last questions?”

“Information on possible further attacks on this ship, the total number of survivors, the estimated duration of air supplies, and the ship’s course remain unavailable.”

“Are you connected to any functioning exterior sensors feeding you any kind of information whatsoever?”

“No.”

“Do you have access to any data on air supplies whatsoever?”

“No.”

Toryn had heard no air being pumped through the ship. “If we estimate one-hundred survivors, how long could they live on just the air present on the intact decks?”

“4.38 Standard hours.”

“How much time has passed since the attack?”

“1.29 Standard hours.”

They had maybe three hours of air.

“I have a count of sixty-seven survivors on freight deck one. There are eight of us on this deck, an indeterminate number on freight deck two. Factor those numbers into future calculations.”

She saw no sign of battle in the sector of space she hurried to observe: no pinpoints of light that would be explosions, no Imperial ships moving against the backdrop of stars or Hoth itself. It was almost as if the battle had never taken place. The system seemed utterly quiet.

But wait. She gripped handles on the attack door and squinted at the space just coming into view as the ship turned.

Lights. There were lights there, moving in space. Three clusters of them—

Ships. Wrecked Rebel ships. The clusters of lights were viewports glowing in them. They were careening along together in a ragged line.

Surely there were survivors on those ships, too. She ached for them. She wondered what they were doing to try to save themselves.

Just as the wrecked ships dropped out of sight, Toryn caught sight of a brighter light moving toward the wrecked ships.

Self propelled. Functioning.

An Imperial Star Destroyer.

They were starting the mop-up. She was seeing them pull in the first wreck for its survivors, droids, information.

In a short time they would be at what was left of this ship.

Toryn hurried back to the pods and met the others just returning. Some had seen wrecked ships, too. The count varied between Toryn’s three and fourteen, maybe more. Others had seen the Star Destroyer heading toward the wrecks.

“If we hurry, we can fire the pods before the Imperials get here,” Toryn said. “If we fire while the Star Destroyer is occupied with a wreck, the pods have half a chance of making Hoth.”

“We should send those in best shape,” someone said. “They need to be in good shape to survive down there.”

“Some need to be in good shape, certainly,” Toryn said, “but we should assume eventual rescue of anyone who reaches Hoth and consider sending those who can help the Rebellion most—even if they are hurt now. We’ve got to find out who’s left on this ship, and we’ve got to find out fast.” She turned and spoke to the hacker droid. “I encountered two medical droids on freight deck one. Contact them and have them download all information on survivors into your databanks. I want as complete a list of survivors—including droids—as you can give me when I check back in five minutes.”

“At once,” the droid said.

“I want everyone here to speak your names. Droid, add these names to the list you are compiling. Rory,” she said to a man she knew, “you start.”

Rory, Seito, Bindu, Darklighter, Crimmins, Sala Natu, Meghan Rivers.

“Rory,” Toryn said when everyone finished, “get to a viewport and watch that Star Destroyer. See how long it takes it to strip down one of the wrecks