But the others killed in the disaster had probably deserved to live, too. Chance was too cruel to pay attention to what people deserved.

Dez was studying the inscription on the sandstone statue. Reath asked, “Can you read it?”

“No, it’s not written in Aurebesh, and the glyph groupings don’t look like Basic,” Dez said. “But it’s not wholly unfamiliar, either. Reminds me of a couple of ancient languages we studied. An actual scholar might be able to translate. Luckily we’ve got one on board.”

Affie wondered whether she should mention the tools or not. The Jedi didn’t seem to care one way or the other about who might’ve used the station recently, so she decided she’d keep that information to herself for the moment. When she had a chance to talk with Leox or Geode alone, they could discuss this and decide what the Jedi did—and didn’t—need to know.

When Cohmac got his first good look at the small ship approaching them at one-tenth power, he felt a moment of empathy—almost tenderness. It had been literally patched together from at least four or five other ships, none of which appeared even vaguely similar in design. What poverty must have inspired this? At least desperate need had been matched with determined innovation. Where most would’ve considered themselves planet-bound and trapped, these people had found their own way to the stars.

As soon as they had confirmation that all species aboard could breathe inside the station, Cohmac indicated that the ragtag ship could dock at the nearest airlock and went out to meet them, Orla at his side. The initial exploration trio returned to stand beside them as the second airlock spun open.

“Oh, look,” Nan whispered as she walked forward. She was even tinier than she’d appeared on the screen—a girl hardly more than a meter and a half tall, dressed in a shabby but colorful dress. Her dark hair was vividly painted with blue streaks, a flash of vivacity and life. “It’s like my terrarium, but big enough to walk in!”

“Yes, just like your terrarium,” said the elderly Zabrak hobbling out after her, chuckling. His clothes were a match for hers, and his walking stick had countless notches carved into it as a record of some measure of a life Cohmac could hardly imagine. “Hello, there. I’m Hague, and apparently you’ve met my ward, Nan.”

“Cohmac Vitus, Jedi Knight.” He held out his hand to shake, a custom that fortunately seemed to be as familiar on the frontier as at home. “Welcome. Let me introduce my compatriots, Dez Rydan, Orla Jareni, Reath Silas, and Affie Hollow. We hope to turn this station into a place of refuge for those stranded by the hyperspace closure.”