Torven had been on station for a while.  Weeks in fact.  Longer than he really liked to stick around.  But, when a rival'd pretty much fragged your last ship and there'd only been a couple survivors, who'd split afterwards . . . beggars, choosers, and all that rot.  Still, he'd managed to spin his credits out a bit longer by doing odd jobs.  There were always people on stations looking to work around the law.  So he'd been getting in a lot of practice at tweaking weapons.<br/><br/>Unlike most of the others already at the dock, he didn't really stand out much.  Sure, his looks would get at least a second glance in most station bars, but he didn't go for the flash the many of the others seemed to.  No, Torven simply looked like an average guy with a duffel, a pair of sunglasses (maybe a bit odd on station), and pseudo-leathers.  And both practice and live steel shortswords and tanto slid into his belt.  In fact, there was more serious ordinance stowed in his duffel, plus a virtually undetectable needle gun in easy reach.<br/><br/>On the HUD glasses, the engineer accessed the messages from his potential new captain as he walked.  He'd spent years working on the double vision necessary to do this without stumbling.  When he found the proper berth, Torven used his comm implant to switch on the glasses' thermograph and anti-glare features as he looked over the other candidates quietly from just inside the room.  Despite being known for some . . . impetuosity, he did like to get a bead on who he was dealing with in these situations.