It had been a power station, once, before the new geothermal rigs came in during the late Old Republic and rendered solar unnecessary this close to the city. Now it's just a field full of wildflowers dotted with some rusted-out frames that once held solar panels, the panels themselves probably long since scavenged and transplanted to some further-out homestead. But the ramshackle wire fences at least keep out all but the smartest of the large endemic critters, and it isn't too close to anybody's house or field.
That means nobody is apt to get hurt by a stray blaster bolt. Which is probably going to be most of them.
The target, a battered old box that had formerly held a delivery of vaccine supplies, won't stay balanced on the bent, rusty solar panel frame. Grumbling under her breath, Yara wastes a few meters of good medical tape getting it fastened on.