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When he was satisfied, Sarita led the way into the cargo hold of the Aspis. It was very roomy, certainly a far cry from the typical maintenance equipment-strewn holds of your average smuggler's freighter, with starkly-lit steel internal walls shining down upon a pristine floor with naught but the chevron-shaped markings typical of industrially-produced plating for features. At the far end from where they stood was another airlock, and a few security cameras equipped with automated laser defense systems idly scanning the interior of the imposing hold. Whatever one could say about the mercenary's ethics, it was clear from the pristine condition of the vessel that she ran a very tight, organized ship.
“Fortunately, there will be no awkward interactions with more-or-less monolingual hispanophone crew members. Some simple algorithms control the turrets, in the rare case I find myself intercepted, and aside from a silent droid or two I get to enjoy the peace of the void. Of course, if I'm headed through rough space, I can always hire some temporary additional hands,” she explained as she led him thru the second airlock. Past it lay a stairwell, made of the same barebones sheet metal as the cargo hold but with some smooth handrails along the walls. It was wide enough to allow a person or robot to carry about one crate's worth of goods thru the stairwell, but no more.
As they exited the stairwell and entered the bridge, they were met with a surprisingly comfortable, if simple, area. Genuine wooden paneling rest snugly atop the metal superstructure, with a large, comfortable rug adorned with traditional secular Maltese iconography covering roughly the left third of the floor. A small burgundy-colored synth-leather couch sat atop it, big enough for three people to comfortably sit or one to lay down, along with an oak coffee table and a small bookshelf. The CIC and control section was remarkably straightforward—a typical metal-and-synth-leather swivel chair, typical for large transports, was quite firmly bolted to the floor, and while the control scheme was large enough it might perhaps be ideally operated by two co-pilots, it wasn't so overbearing that a single caffeinated captain (or sober Outcast, given their superhuman reflexes) couldn't operate it effectively on their own.
At the far end of the bridge, foot-thick pseudoglass windows reinforced with titanium supports revealed the dreary rocks of the Silverton field, a sight Cobra was surely all too familiar with. On the right wall, closest to them, was a small shrine atop a simple table made of some unknown wood, likely native to Malta, complete with two sets of candles, one orange and white and the other set black, green, and gold. On the whole, a very comfortable atmosphere, though likely far more luxury than most Xenos had ever been accustomed to.
