Dorrun Grid-Scar

Dorrun Grid-Scar has the look of somebody who has already counted the minutes you spent finding the door. As salvage-court marshal at Edge-Anvil Salvage Court, Dorrun is the only person authorized to complete this handoff on the present watch. The clothes are practical, the personal marks culturally exact, and the eyes keep returning to the sealed object rather than the weapons on anybody's belt.

Dorrun Grid-Scar speaks in short working sentences. No grand speech, no mysterious nonsense. The job is a Republic salvage-court writ on etched flexible plate; the deadline is before the heavy crawler crosses grid line twelve and makes the seizure a physical fact. The reader is ready, but local procedure has been made inconvenient by somebody with access. A cup nearby has gone cold. That is usually a better measure of the pressure than the posted fee.

The useful thing about Dorrun is competence. The dangerous thing is the same competence pointed at the wrong assumption. The recipient can finish the job, but will not counterfeit custody to save the crew from a mistake. Put the plate into Dorrun's rail before the crawler crosses line twelve; then decide whether to halt the machine publicly or negotiate a safe stand-down. Treat that as stubbornness if you like. The clock won't care.