white winged dove
KUAT | KUAT DRIVEYARDS
They followed the signage from the landing dock to reception, Tansu chattering excitedly the entire time. Especially when they passed the manufacturing wing. A massive ring encircling the lush, blue-green planet below, the Drive Yards held the sort of grandeur that demanded appreciation. Entire starships hung suspended mid-construction, their skeletal frames jutting out into space while zero-g welding crews crawled along the struts like tiny little ants. Massive gantries carried whole freighter hulls from one arm of the station to the next, the movement almost balletic despite the scale.
Inside the client wing, the air smelled of sterile sealant and recycled coolants, tinged with the something floral to offset the industrialness of everything else. Walkways were polished transparisteel. Displays floated mid-air, projecting 3D rotational renders of custom models with names like Sunveil-Class, Dynast Havoc Runner, or the understated but terrifyingly fast Vakkar Ghost.
"Y'know, poor planning on your part bringing me to a place where you're in competition for prettiest thing to look at, cowboy."
Private buyers were whisked through sleek corridors by concierge droids with flawless diction and built-in datapads. Republic senators, defense contractors, royal families—all walked the same halls, their entourages quietly competing over specs, speed, and exclusivity. The kind of people that chose Kuat Driveyards for discretion on top of precision. Tansu understood that's why they were here. The type of shipyards in her price bracket were dustier and more prone to haggling. Here, she imagined the negotiations only got heated around the colour of the interior's leather or number of cupholders.
Try as she might, there was no way in the galaxy she'd look like she was meant to be here.
She stopped just shy of the pristine check-in console, eyes flicking over the too-white counters and the concierge droid that looked like it'd short-circuit if anyone tracked dirt in. Talsin, on the other hand, looked like he belonged here. Hair neat. Collar crisp. That lazy, charming grin already half-formed.
"I can't believe you're thinking this is a good idea." She murmured, brushing against his arm as a test for what amount of outward affection was acceptable here. "Everythin' in this place looks like it would be offended to be scratched."
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