was a catastrophic loss of atmosphere." Tycho winced. "The Twi'lek was sucked out of his office through a hole the size of, say, a blaster bolt. The Givin lived and patched the hole."
"So now no one is running the station."
"The merchants here have formed an Economic Council and seem to be running things fairly well as far as they are concerned. We'll need to put someone in to control them, but I don't have a candidate in mind yet." Tycho opened his arms. "This is the main docking area, which contains ten levels all its own. The middle six deal with cargo transfer and storage. The outer two on each side contain crew housing, some small shops and two tapcafs—home away from home for freight haulers. The tapcafs serve exactly what the rest of us eat, but they lower the lights and hike the price."
"You know, with the right ambiance, that tauntaun would have tasted fine."
"Sure, Wedge, believe that if you want." Tycho pointed to the triangular landing extending out into space. "Ships land here, unload, pick up or exchange cargo, and head out again. If the crew wants to stop over, its ship is parked in orbit and the station shuttle service brings them to and from the station. Hangar space is rare, and what this station has is being reserved for us right now, though there is some space for repairs if a ship needs it."
"Fair enough." Wedge watched a small yacht make an approach on the station. Its sleek lines and down-curving wings reminded him of a native Corellian fish. "Looks like the Pulsar Skate is coming in. Have you had any word from them?"
"No, but there was a funds transfer to the account of Huff Darklighter, so I assume things went well."
"Good." Wedge pointed back at the lift. "Let's go down, greet them, and see exactly what our money bought us."