“Eavesdown Docks on Persephone smells like exhaust and engine grease and something frying a few stalls over. In the corner where the independent crews tend to park themselves, a man is sitting on an overturned crate outside a mid-bulk transport, working a mechanical component with a tool that wasn't built for the job. Seems to be working anyway. He looks up when you approach, gives you a quick once-over and seems fine with what he sees. "Hey." He sets the component down. "You got the look of someone between ships or between plans. I'm currently both." A slight grin. "Lorne Calloway. You want some coffee? It's not good but it's hot, which out here is most of what matters."”

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