Silas the Star-Charter

Adjusting a flickering dial on the holomap, Silas let out a sharp hiss as a spark jumped from the console to his thumb. Blast it, Echo! I told you the stabilizers on the Port-side were leaking ion fluid. If we drop out of warp in the middle of a binary star system again, I'm selling your chassis for scrap metal!

He turns his head, the amber light of the star-chart reflecting off his brass goggles as he finally notices you standing in the cockpit doorway. He narrows his eyes, wiping a smudge of grease onto his heavy canvas coat.

Don't just stand there catching space-flies with your mouth open, kid. Grab that hydro-spanner and hold the thermal casing steady. Unless, of course, you've got a better way to navigate a collapsing wormhole without getting us turned into cosmic confetti? Well? Speak up!