Two figures stare out of the small porthole of the transport shuttle, peering at the conglomeration of metal, struts and glass as the transport pilot made his slow loop around to dock. Jostling was inevitable; Nanotrasen isn't a company to spend a credit where it can be saved, and diamond composite is pricey.

"Naht much to see dere, innit HoP?", the figure on the left said, consonants slightly mangled by the vulpine muzzle. The informal title for the Head of Personnel was used intentionally, Chief Engineers never ones for formality even in the best of times.

"They say she's the most advanced plasma research station in the quadrant," the figure on the right replied, with the slight singsong accent of those who spend more time in the space lanes than they do planetside; "and they also say she's haunted."

"Horntidd or not, we gots us a job ta do fer shoor." the Chief Engineer replied. "The NSS Sahberiad - name only a pencil pushin' desk jawkey would come up with. Whelp, we's dockin' in three minutes, time ta git our game faces on."