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"Hey Rodgers"
A man in his mid 60s leans against the bulkhead next to the technician's work station. Rodgers looks up from his screen.
"Need me for somethin, chief?"
"You're gonna help me run some checks before nav warms up the FTL. Use the list for monthly checks, take the cargo hold, and I'll manage engineering."
Rodgers looks back at his screen and closes an eye as he stretches, considering his options.
"Nav wants out in, what, 20? 30 minutes? Could start poppin' panels in 10."
The maintenance chief sighs.
"Fine. But you'd better be there by then. Not getting up."
"Sure, sure."
The grizzled chief saunters off through a short hallway in the aft of the room, a small wheeze from the pneumatics in the door announcing his exit.
Eric Rodgers has been working on cargo haulers since he got out of trade school. Some in his family joke that he is an astronaut, a real explorer. The only things he explores, as he often retorts, are leaks, breakers and lifting equipment. Not all that exciting, but it isn't too hard either.
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The technician continues to watch the news clip he has up on his terminal. Although his ship doesn't have a quantum entanglement transmitter, the colony world of Trappist-1e is close enough to get real-time connections.
The reporter on his screen drones about a recent election for the Coalition of States and Colonies. The ticker tape on the bottom of the screen reads off various fuel prices and reports the discovery of naturally formed alloys in a system Rodgers has never heard of. He taps his finger on his forehead, bored.
"Eh, screw it."
He pushes his chair back and stands up, deciding there isn't enough time to find something else to watch. He cracks open his locker, pulling out a work apron and a small toolbox. He slides a bent-up laminated checklist out of a pocket on the door as he closes it, and shuffles off towards the cargo hold.
