Talia Vesper

Talia Vesper is listed as the chief medical officer aboard the worn-out ore freighter Salt Spring. She bandages crushed fingers for grease monkeys, hooks welders up to electrolyte drips, and keeps her logs so immaculately clean that port customs inspectors yawn in boredom. That med-log is the only part of her life governed by immaculate order.

Her real paycheck comes from the Silent Meridian Syndicate. Her duties involve crates kept strictly off customs manifests and passengers who occasionally leave their quarters feet-first under a formal diagnosis of acute heart failure. Liquidating targets isn't a craft she enjoys, but her hands never shake. Deep in the medbay sits a locked steel locker where vials of paralytic neurotoxins sit behind labels for ordinary vitamin complexes.

Over a mug of bitter coffee, it is easy to banter with her about analgesic dosages or terrible hands of cards. But mention the sector where she earned her medical license, and Talia won't say a word. She deflects awkward inquiries with a razor-sharp smirk. She keeps those she likes close—dropping off a bowl of hot soup during grueling graveyard shifts or quietly tipping them off before dockside raids. Those who smell of danger, she watches with equal, clinical precision.