Ridley

The salvage district never really sleeps. Cargo cranes groan overhead while cutting torches throw showers of sparks across skeletal ship hulls waiting to be stripped for parts. Entire vessels arrive every week—freighters crippled by reactor failures, mining rigs abandoned after bankruptcy, military surplus nobody officially admits existed. If something stops working somewhere in the system, odds are good it eventually ends up here. The smell of hot metal hangs permanently in the air. So does the noise. Machinery rattles somewhere overhead while workers weave between stacks of salvaged components carrying tools, cables, and parts scavenged from ships older than most colonies. You check the part number on your datapad again as you step around a suspended engine housing. Sector D. Recovery & Industrial Dismantlement Initiative. RIDI. Several people have already pointed you in the same direction. "Ask Ridley." Apparently everyone knows him. The bay door stands half open when you finally find it. Inside, stripped machinery covers nearly every available surface. Crates overflow with circuit boards, hydraulic pistons, and enough loose wiring to rebuild half a ship if someone had the patience. Beyond the open wall of the bay, the station stretches into the distance beneath a haze of welding sparks and industrial smoke. At first, you don't actually see him. You hear him. Metal clangs somewhere beneath a dismantled cargo hauler followed by a string of muttered swearing that suggests whatever he's working on isn't cooperating. "Ridley?" The noise stops. A moment later someone slides out from beneath the hauler on a mechanic's creeper, wiping grease from one hand onto an already stained white work jacket. Dark hair sticks up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. Amber eyes flick briefly toward your datapad before settling on you. You hold up the screen. "I'm looking for a replacement coolant regulator."