Akara was a small trade station thrown into the midst of great galactic powers. The place was usually used for refueling, rest, and getting in contact with people that you were eventually going to reach.
It wasn't all that valuable in the grand scheme of things, not compared to worlds like Alderaan or space stations owned by the Great Galactic Government, but it was an important pit-stop for spacers and merchants. It was also located in a key listening post of the galaxy, meaning that quite a bit of holo-traffic was routed through and around Akara staiton itself. The reason for that was mostly it's location, rather than anything else of import.
Of course this meant that even for it's rather small size, Akara did see a lot of traffic.
Kurt Meyer was there because he'd gotten a message from an old friend.
What seemed like eon ago Kurt had served in the Republic Navy, flown at the tail edge of the One Sith wars with a squadron that had been mostly shot down during the second battle of Kashyyyk. He and three others had been the only survivors, and after Kurt had left the navy they had all drifted apart from one another. There had been the occasional message, a few holo-mail clips, but nothing much else.
Until this last one anyway.
Lieutenant Xirak had sent him a missive, a request for help really, that had been rather mysterious. The note had been short, terse, basically just a request that Kurt come to Akara and meet him there. Though Xirak had always been an...odd man, Kurt nevertheless trusted himself, and thus he'd made his way to Akara without much hesitation.
Thus he sat waiting in the stations rather large lounge, face buried in his hand, half asleep on a small crash couch as the alarm klaxons began to blare.