The hangar was a small one, its interior compact and appointed with purpose. A rolling repair cart rested neatly against the left wall; a darkened holovid was mounted into the right wall, its panel blinking softly as if to announce its readiness. The landing pad itself sat in the center of the room, taken up by a light freighter painted the kind of black that swallowed starlight.
The gangplank had been lowered to extend a sort of welcome to the ship's lone visitor. Faint light shone down from the interior, beckoning. No sound could be heard from inside, though other lights could be seen winking through the darkened glass of the cockpit and the windows of the attack shuttle nested on the roof. Glasya's presence radiated from the place, echoing through the chamber like a barely perceptible thrum. It grew stronger as Bellamy drew nearer to the ship. Then:
"Bellamy. You made excellent time."
Glasya walked to the middle of the gangplank. He was dressed again in white, this time in long robes that moved around his black boots like cresting waves breaking over rock. He smiled, and motioned Bellamy closer. A series of cheerful chirps and beeps sounded from behind him. "The droid seems to approve as well," he said, chuckling. "Please, come in."