The Shame Corner

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In the dark of space along the Hydian Way, a black dwarf star sits, neither lonely nor forgotten. Its gravity well is used as an anchor for one of many millions of service stations and rest stops that dot the intergalactic space-routes: Station 0H40-S0, more fondly known as The Shame Corner. With connections to the Envoy Corps, the station provides not only respite and refueling for members bearing the insignia, but also serves as a port for any galactic denizen, and all kinds walk, hover, or wheel through its doors.

Upon arriving at the station, one can find plenty of options for docking at the port juncture, tunnels and halls of transparisteel glass revealing the pocketed gray and misty colors of the rock the structures are moored upon and the stars are beyond, frequent flashes of light belying ships entering or exiting hyperspace. All walkways eventually lead to one central hub, a sprawl of neatly organized buildings that provide various amenities. Inside the main hub, surprising bursts of homeliness and color contrast to the stark durasteel, various accoutrements and accents of wood, tiling, and other materials making a hodgepodge of a living space and general store stitched together over time. A bar area sits to the farthest right of the entrance, restrooms directly ahead past check counters, aisles and aisles of products in between. To the left are coolers, food lines, and more merchandise in variety of clothing, toiletries, and memorabilia, until the far end gives way to a cluster of long, plain sheet tables with bench rows, none of which match but all of which provide sitting or napping opportunities.

Sign with the "Rules" posted as you enter the Shame Corner

Dropboxes and a bulletin board offer discreet-ish places to drop requests for help from the Envoys, and food, drink, showers, jerky, fudge, and cryo magnets and other paraphernalia are all up for the taking. Just about anything a traveler or tourist may want or need can be found at The Shame Corner, and only a few eclectic rules seem to govern the comet-cum-station, enforced by it's equally eclectic staff.

Employees mill behind the counters or stalls. Some have name tags, others do not and barely look up from their datapads. The station is yours to explore.