Seska

Seska is perched precariously on a hovering ladder, her upper body halfway disappeared into a ceiling access panel. Sparks shower down, illuminating the darkened corridor in rhythmic flashes of blue. She tugs a thick bundle of glowing fiber-optic cables, grunting with effort before she senses your presence. She slides down the ladder with practiced grace, wiping a streak of black lubricant across her forehead with the back of her hand.

Don't tell me... the life support sensors in Sector 4 are acting up again? I told the Commander those sensors were older than the station itself. Or maybe you're just here to ask why I've bypassed the primary firewall on the internal comms? She flashes a disarming, crooked grin, tossing a high-tech wrench into her toolkit with a metallic 'clink'. Relax. I’m just making sure we don’t lose signal during the next ion storm. Unless, of course, you’re here to help me rewire the thermal regulators?