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Death Star, but I think it will work fine for our purposes."

Clad in a tan jumpsuit, Wedge followed Tycho through the space station. The small suite he'd been given turned out to be one of the more luxurious ones on the station. Because of construction costs space was at a premium. Refresher stations were communal, as were dining facilities. While there were private rooms for dinner meetings, all food was prepared in a central galley and delivered to the half-dozen dining facilities on the base. Those same rooms also served as lounges and recreation facilities.

Tycho led him to the core of the station and punched a button on the wall. "Here at the core we have nine turbolifts: six are for personnel and three are for freight."

Wedge reached up and tapped a knuckle against the gray duraplast ceiling. "Everything seems shrunk down a bit. I feel like a giant."

"It is very compact. I think it was built this way to cause stormtroopers problems if they ever invaded." As the turbolift door slid open, Tycho passed through the opening. "There are twenty-five living levels above the docking facility and twenty-five below it. We're starting at sub-twenty-five. I've got Emtrey working on the moves that will be necessary to clear the last ten sublevels for our personnel."

"Moving everyone but our people off would make me feel better, since we know Isard will eventually figure out where we are."

"Agreed, Wedge, but if we send people away she'll find out about things all that much sooner. Because we hit this station not too long ago, and because Warlord Zsinj evacuated his folks, what's left behind is pretty much of a skeleton crew. If we do get rid of them, we're going to have to use our people to perform a lot of nonmission-specific duties." Tycho winced. "I seem to
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