Off toward the far, far port, in the darkest corridors of the honeycombed caverns where Comorrites seldom tread, lies that which the station has allowed for the refugee settlement. A makeshift workstation has been erected in a clearing - little more than a dinged-up card table with a holographic emitter displaying a schematic - and it is there that Mika stands with Einornesk, fiddling with the controls until the device is at its brightest. Ren Arnassis glares back at Tamila defiantly. "I know how I'd handle some uppity cat-eared girl with a blowtorch workin' on my innards," he mutters.