The space station was crowded. Beings of all species rubbed elbows, or what passed for elbows, as they went about their business.
The swirling mass of sentient life flowed around the merchant stalls, which dotted the middle of the corridor like a chain of islands. Small eddies were created as people stopped to admire the baubles hawked by the owners of the booths.
Above it all stood the Sentinels, the shiny black facemasks of their helmets hiding their faces. They were at attention, looking for ripples of trouble, the way a spear fisher looks for the ripples of his prey.