It begins in a rambling sort of tirade about the size of the Universe, using a lot of metaphors involving basketballs on Corsucant and single atoms on Corellia, or the number of whalodon baculum it takes to stretch from Mon Calamari to Yavin IV. It then gets into more useful facts, like the fact that, although the baculum is known as a "spacers' toothpick," one should never, ever, insert one into ones mouth. This contradicts information in Granth's Guide to Xenophiliac Relations though, as of now, no editing has been done to either book.
A typical entry, selected at random, is this:
The fact that this quote is from Garrett Granth IV, the most prolific writer in the history of the Galactic Guide, should in no way suggest that his entries are more or less informative than any other writer. In fact, many of his entries - and many in the Guide altogether - are self-serving, error-prone, and contain contradictory information.Galactic Guide
Destination: Sardis Station
Reporter: Garrett G. Granth the IV.
Sardis Station is between Corellia and Coruscant, between the Corellian Trade Spine and Hydian Way, near the obscure planet Kuat. . It serves as a stopover point for traders needing repairs or refueling, smugglers seeking to switch routes, pirates looking for unwary traders, and bounty hunters looking for unwary smugglers. There are a lot of things looking for a lot of people in this place, and I wasn’t looking to become one of the latter because of one of the former.
Sardis Station isn’t a particularly dangerous place, though – so long as no one who wants you dead knows you’re there – but the same goes for pretty much anywhere. Security is decent – they don’t ask many questions and generally serve up quick vigilante justice on the hot end of a blaster or the cold airless side of an airlock. Aggression is frowned upon, and that frown tends to take the form of a riot mask in your face and a stun baton on your ass.
Illegal spice, heavily modified weaponry, slaves, bounties to market, switched transponder codes, assassination droids; you can get at it here, if you want. They have droid facilities, communications hubs – sub-ether, subspace band, even holonet access; all for free.
The manager is a guy named Lando who isn’t Lando Calrissian. He wouldn’t divulge his last name, but I, dear readers, have certainly seen Mr. Calrissian, and this scoundrel he is not.
Lando tells me that the domes in the ceiling of the main cantina (where most of the stations’ dealings go down) are gunfire detectors coupled with laser turrents – you fire a weapon, you get laser fire rained down upon you. He also told me, with an non-reassuring grin, that the system has malfunctioned more than once, but that his buddies in the New Republic and the Empire (and who doesn’t have friends on both sides these days?) are there to absolve the station of any legal difficulties resulting from such a problem.
The bartender is a wookie named Kal’Syyk, so tip while you’ve still got the arms to do so. He mixes a mean cocktail, enough to strip the paint off a Star Destroyer, but the beer selection is fairly limited.
The docks will accept anything smaller than Destroyer size, fuel is cheap, but the technical crew is not. Repairs on Sardis Station will cost any limbs left after ticking off the barkeep. Freighter and smaller craft will find ample landing pads and bays.
Those who aren’t just in the system to drink will find plenty to do at Sardis Station; live podracing and murderball plays on vidscreens downstairs; starship races are available for anyone who wants to participate – I hear the track is fairly deadly; and swoop bike racing is possible, if you bring your own swoop. There’s a no-death-allowed fighting arena, but I hear the rules are sometimes loosened to allow for the real deal. Gambling, of course, is encouraged – any game you can think of can be played upstairs, and if you can’t think of a game, the heavily-armed referee droids can explain the rules to all of them. You can also bet on races, fights, and anything from the stock market to the number of drinks you can put under your belt.
All in all, three and a half out of five stars. It certainly isn’t fancy, it certainly isn’t plush, and it certainly isn’t orderly, but Sardis Station is the place to go if you’re looking to get away from something very specific – not to get away from “it all.”
The fact that such a wrong-headed book is considered the standard reference source for most of the citizens of the galaxy goes a long way towards explaining the galactic situation.