Barely anyone was there this morning, as they had only begun to pack up their supplies. It wasn't of his concern; just another theatre of combat he had to deal with. No, he was inside his ship, sitting in the pilot's chair, enjoying his caff. It was a darker roast, beans managed to be salvaged from the ship before.
Thankfully most of the crew here, including the Duros, managed to get everything how it mostly was.
No one else arrived yet, so he configured the music selection to his own preferences, chosing to play something of a Chissian number. It followed thru with a whimsicle note, the orchestra flowing along perfectly to the percussion. It was a good morning in the desert, and it would be a busy day at that. For now, he had returned to the only home he had known in years, its smoldering wreckage nearly a distant memory. It was time to start again, to learn from one's fault and failure, and to do ones best to not repeat them.
He couldn't repeat them again.