Gamemaster Port Good Hope (IF)

Solar Hard SF Setting

Port Good Hope (simply “Hope”), a standardized Tier 4 spin habitat built during reconstruction after the Fall. It can be placed anywhere in the Solar System as a versatile home port for an adventuring crew.

Overview

A typical reconstruction cylinder: radius ~2 km, length ~20 km, garden surface around 120 km², population potentially 1 million. It is made up of two counter-rotating habitats named Hope and Esperanza. The rotation period is 140 seconds — slow enough for stable daily life but too fast for reliable natural sunlight. Illumination comes from artificial arrays surrounding a central microgravity tunnel. Power is supplied by “Old Hopeless,” two D–D fusion reactors one in the microgravity zone at each end of the two cylinders, hurried into service during reconstruction with all the problems of rushed construction.

Navigation and Orientation in Spin Habitats

Life inside a rotating cylinder requires a local system of directions that reflects how gravity and movement actually work. Traditional cardinal directions are meaningless inside a spin hab. Instead, residents use three axes of orientation: radial, circumferential, and axial.

Transiting Between Rings — Inboard and Outboard

Larger habitats are often constructed as paired cylinders — two rings spinning in opposite directions to cancel torque. These are known as the Inboard Ring and the Outboard Ring. Moving between rings requires traveling through the non-rotating hub near the poles. This is called a Crossing. Crossings can be disorienting, as Coriolis reflexes learned in one ring must be unlearned in the other.

Axial Direction — Close and Away

Each habitat has two endcaps known as poles. All axial directions use the poles as anchors.

• Open Pole — The public endcap. Main docks, Spin Pod berths, and visitor access are located here. This is the habitat’s primary fixed reference.
• Closed Pole — A restricted endcap used for administrative, technical, and military operations.

• Close — Toward the Open Pole. Also Astern in spacer slang.
• Away — Toward the Closed Pole. Also Ahead.

This replaces “north/south” or “up/down the street” and is used constantly in daily navigation.

Radial Direction — Up and Down

Spin gravity increases with distance from the core. As a result:

• Down — Toward the hull, into higher gravity.
• Up — Toward the core, into lower gravity.

Decks are numbered downward from the core:

0 — Central Core (microgravity)

1 — Open Air (gradually increasing g)

2 — Garden Level

3 — Residential Level

4 — Industrial Level (noticeably higher g)

5 — Shielding & Reserves (painfully high g)

Sublevels use letters. Examples:

1:B — a platform or regrav station in the Open Air zone

2:D — a hilltop on the Garden Level

Radial height is measured as a positive distance downward from the Core for convenience, even though “Up” leads toward the axis.

Circumferential Direction — Spin and Anti

In small habitats, Coriolis effects make Spin and Anti painfully intuitive. In larger habitats, signage and habit matter more than instinct. Local signage may use block numbers instead of distances or degrees. Along the ring, direction follows the habitat’s rotation:

• Spin — With the direction of rotation. Formally Spinward.
• Anti — Opposite the direction of rotation. Formally Anti-Spinward or Counter-Spinward.

Measurements may be

• absolute degrees (“322° Spin”), taken from a marked Zero Line
• relative degrees (“30° Anti from the elevator”)
• ground distance (“Walk 2 km Spin”)
• local block numbers

Combined Directions

These terms are used freely in speech.

“She lives in Dogtown, 3 km Spin and 1 km Away from here.”

“Go Down to 1B, then 22° Spin and 2 km Close.”

“The regrav lab is Up to 0:A, two blocks Anti of the main shaft.”

“Maintenance corridor is 500 meters Away, then a short walk Spin.”

This system allows residents, spacers, and visitors to navigate a spin habitat as naturally as walking a city grid.

Hope Ring

Esperanza was populated before Hope, mainly by the crews working with post-Fall restoration and families. Many of them has since moved out, but Esperanza is still a fully functional habitat, bone tired by requests for help frpm Hope. We will be focusing on the inbound ring, Hope.

In the Fall many habitats were damaged and lost their solar power. Hope was built in 2311 as an emergency refuge and suffered for it. Many evacuees were traumatized survivors from habitats destroyed by the solar storms. The mix of cultures, trauma, and scarcity created social tension but also opportunity: anyone can find a place on Hope, if they are willing to fight for it.

A significant influence on Hope’s history is Oranjeland, a Dutch/Afrikaans trading habitat whose people carried cultural identities — and prejudices — into Hope.

In 2336, the old administration shaped by Oranjeland traditions was indicted for trafficking colonists to higher-Tier habitats as indentured labor. Earthforce intervention shattered the ruling structure, leaving Hope leaderless and struggling to rebuild while wrestling with its Oranjeland legacy.

Travel and Infrastructure

Movement on Hope reflects the station’s technocratic ambitions — and their limits. The habitat was designed around hubs and axial transit, but comfort, reliability, and maintenance shortfalls shape how people actually travel.

Poles

At each end of the huge cylinder that is Hope there is a direct link to outside space. Unlike some exclusive habitats, Hope’s endcaps are flat rather than rounded — thick, reinforced plates tied directly into the spoke structure. This simplifies docking and axial transport, at the cost of elegance. Internal spokes carry structural loads inward, compensating for the lack of curved endcaps and doubling as infrastructure trunks.

These two endcaps are known as the Open Pole — available for use by anyone — and the Closed Pole — reserved for administration and military traffic. The Closed Pole on Hope sees very little movement. In practice this extends to security. Limited oversight allows smugglers and even some pirates to use the Closed Pole as a base. Despite its designation, it is often the least controlled access point on the station. It is easiest to dock along the axis of rotation, and each pole has a spaceport capable of handling many ships at once. Smaller ships, shuttles, and Spin Pods are secured in axial cradles and moved on internal tracks down toward parking and service bays in the Visitors and Spin Pod District.

Hubs and Spokes

No location on Hope lies more than two kilometers from a spoke hub. These hubs act as infrastructure nodes, concentrating elevators, utilities, communications, and authority. Each spoke connects the deepest industrial levels to the Core, forming the rational backbone of the habitat.

Axial trains run through the Core, linking hubs from Open Pole to Closed Pole. For cargo, this system works well: containers tolerate microgravity, variable schedules, and rough handling. For passengers, it is another matter. Travel through the Core involves repeated transitions between gravity regimes. Even when transfers are smooth, the shifts are disorienting. On Hope, the system is further burdened by poor maintenance and drifting timetables.

As a result, Core transit is favored for cargo and by space workers accustomed to microgravity traveling through the Open Pole into space, and by people under time pressure. Most residents avoid it whenever possible.

C-rail (Cerail or Crawler)

Running beneath the ceilings of the Babel and Industrial decks is the Cerail or Crawler — a ceiling-mounted tram system clinging to the structural spines that link hub to hub above the boulevards. On Adam, there never was a Cerail; walking and views are status markers, and live-in servants replace commuters. Below, workers value the Cerail despite its unreliability.

Maintenance gaps, mismatched timetables, and factional disputes mean the Cerail is convenient when it works — and unreliable enough that most Hopites plan around its failure. Trains run only where adjacent hubs have negotiated power, access, and maintenance, and service may vary from day to day. Traveling beyond the local hub usually involves delays and changing trains.

Cerail stops, each reached by roughly fifteen meters of escalators, are spaced about five hundred meters apart, but many remain inactive. Trams do not stop in dark zones, and a stop can be quietly removed from the schedule if local power turns hostile.

Surface Travel

Most short-range movement happens along the residential boulevards. Scooters dominate: quiet, efficient, and slow enough to coexist with pedestrians. Cars are permitted but discouraged; they struggle to navigate scooter traffic and narrow intersections, becoming impractical status symbols. Local deliveries are handled by small drones similar in scale and speed to scooters.

Following the boulevards, the longest possible surface journey on Hope is just under thirty kilometers. In practice, this can be covered comfortably in about an hour. For most Hopites, this is faster, simpler, and more predictable than relying on station transit.

Floors and Sections

Central Core

The Central Core is a long microgravity chamber a hundred meters wide, running the full length between the Open Pole and Closed Pole. It is the spine of the habitat: a dim, humming tunnel where cargo, power, data, and personnel once flowed in uninterrupted cycles. Gravity here is negligible; handholds, tether points, and webbing line every surface.

Microgravity Environment

The Core is not built for comfort. Humidifiers, coolant pipes, and structural trusses crowd the space. Air moves slowly and unevenly, drifting in convection patterns created by the machinery, not human needs. Crew working here adapt to the float, the constant low vibration, and the silence broken only by fans and distant machinery.

The Core belongs to maintenance crews, scavengers, and those who prefer to work out of sight. Almost no one lives here — workers commute in and out. For most residents, it’s a place you move through, not a place you stay.

Cargo and Industrial Functions

The Core was built to serve as Hope’s internal logistics spine — a microgravity corridor where freight, equipment, and personnel could move quickly between the Rings. Automated cranes, drone rails, and spoke-elevator hubs were designed to keep cargo flowing smoothly without overloading the gravity decks.

In practice, the system works, but never as well as its designers intended. Hope is young, but political friction, underfunding, and fragmented authority mean that nothing runs at full efficiency.

Current operations include:

• small-load cargo drones running on partial segments of the guide rails,
• maintenance and emergency repair sleds serving the Rings as power allows,
• spoke-elevator hubs moving crew and supplies between decks,
• and microgravity workshops handling precision fabrication and calibration.

Several additional spokes were constructed during initial build-out, intended for future expansion. They remain structurally complete but unfurnished — empty shafts waiting for equipment, funding, or a faction to claim them.

The Core is not a ruin; it functions every day. But it is slow, uneven, and constantly negotiating its own bottlenecks — a logistical system shaped as much by Hope’s social tensions as by its engineering.

Light and the Masai Adaptation

The Core’s lighting was modified after the Masai took stewardship of the Garden Level. Savanna grasses rely heavily on the red : far-red ratio of light to track seasonal cues and growth cycles, and stray full-spectrum light leaking from the Core disrupted dormancy timing and root–shoot balance. Cattle, in turn, respond best to a stable dusk–dawn rhythm with minimal harsh blue-light exposure.

To protect the Garden’s photoperiod control, the Core’s illumination was adjusted:

• broad-band white is suppressed,
• red and far-red wavelengths dominate to avoid triggering plant growth responses,
• blue-spectrum pulses are tightly regulated to preserve circadian timing,
• and “skylight” ports transmit only filtered wavelengths into the Garden Level.

The result is distinctive: a dim, reddish ambiance, like perpetual late evening. It is comfortable for working eyes, minimally disruptive to the savanna biosphere above, and unsettling to newcomers. Maintenance crews call it “cattle light.”

The Spine Train

A maglev line runs the entire length of the Core, connecting the Open Pole and Closed Pole. It was once the fastest transit system on Hope, carrying technicians, freight, and emergency teams in minutes.

Now it sits dormant. Power fluctuations, corroded coils, and outdated control systems make it unreliable. The track still exists, and the cars still cling to their guide rails, but:

• the Open Pole station is half-functional,
• the Closed Pole station is sealed,
• the mainline switches need calibration,
• and emergency braking magnets misfire.

Restoring the Spine Train would change daily life in Hope — and shift the balance of power between the two Rings — which means several factions quietly oppose its repair.

Hidden Life in the Core

Despite neglect, the Core is never truly empty. People drift through it:

• scavengers searching for abandoned caches,
• technicians patching failing conduits,
• smugglers using microgravity to move goods unseen,
• monks making use of the silence for meditation,
• and Masai technicians adjusting the light filters.

Rumors persist of sealed pockets where old cargo still floats unclaimed, or where air recyclers have grown forests of fungal mats feeding on ancient coolant leaks.

The Core is the station’s forgotten backbone — a place where Hope still breathes, but unevenly, and always in the dark.

Open Air

The vast interior sky of Hope stretches from the Central Core down to the Garden Ring, a cylindrical expanse nearly two kilometers deep. Twelve evenly spaced spokes run the length of the habitat, arranged on a point-up hexagonal grid. Each spoke is roughly one kilometer from the next, creating broad “sky corridors” that define the open-air landscape.

From either Pole, the spokes appear in three converging lines, each separated by sixty degrees. From the center of any district, the sky seems almost unobstructed — six wide corridors of open space, with only the faint perspective taper of spokes receding in the distance. Near a spoke, the closer struts occlude the farther ones, maintaining the illusion of a real sky rather than a scaffolded chamber.

The Open Air is used for training, gliding, racing, aerial sports, bird flight, and atmospheric management. Most structures are integrated directly into the spokes to keep the volume unobstructed.

The Spokes

The twelve spokes that go from one side of the factory level, passing all residential levels and the garden level, up through the central core, and down to the opposing point on the industrial level. Each pair is set 2.3 km (2 miles) apart at 30° angle, forming a twin helix across the open air level, creating two twisting corridors of air. One such corridor is called the Away Flow, the other the Near Flow, and fliers are supposed to follow the direction each stream is named for.

Each spoke serves as the anchor points of the Open Air houses hidden systems behind aerodynamic panels:

• Atmospheric Turbine Collars — transparent or semi-transparent turbines recessed into spoke-mounted collars regulate airflow without disrupting the sky’s appearance.
• Humidity Vents — fine mist nozzles on each spoke control moisture for the Garden biome; mist spirals naturally under spin, creating occasional drifting veils of cloud.
• Drone Bays — recessed pockets conceal rescue drones, inspection units, and atmospheric monitors.
• Observation Perches — favored by birds, gliders, and those who like to watch the races.
• Infrastructure — the interior of each spoke has several motor elevator from Garden to Core, as well as pipes and cables. Most of these are not in use and may need maintenance.

Regrav Wards

Three spokes house controlled-gravity training facilities:

• the Open Pole Ward,
• the Closed Pole Ward,
• the Hospital Hill Ward.

Each ward contains elevator rooms that move along the spoke to vary the local gravity. Riders can shift smoothly from microgravity near the Core to about 1.05 g at the lowest accessible radius in the deep industrial level. This range is sufficient for medical therapy, vestibular conditioning, and basic flight or mobility training. Hard-g conditioning requires dedicated centrifuges — none of which are available on Hope.

A small section in the Open Pole Ward is maintained at 0.15 g for low-gravity visitors.

Sky Culture and Flight

Spoke collars and turbine bands create predictable thermals and wind shifts. Hope is too small for true hang gliding, but ultralights thrive here — low-powered wings, gliders, and prop-assist rigs fill the air. The Dragons & Griffons dominate this culture, using the spoke-defined corridors as racing lanes and aerial arenas. Their mock battles draw crowds to the upper Garden balconies and the Pole parks.

Aviary and Wildlife

Birds define much of the Open Air’s ecology:

• At the Poles, tropical species thrive among visitor gardens — parrots, lorikeets, finches, and small toucans.
• In the Maasai-dominated spans, only savanna birds are maintained: lilac-breasted rollers, superb starlings, red-billed hornbills, weavers, and the occasional secretary bird for ground hunting.

Spokes serve as their primary roosting strata. Maasai stewards oversee nesting sites, population balance, and behavioral cycles, giving them quiet authority over much of the habitat’s sky.

Emergency and Safety Systems

To avoid clutter, emergency facilities are concentrated at four spokes — every third column hosts a staffed rescue node. All spokes contain drone bays.

When a pilot loses lift or a glider stalls, fast-response drones launch automatically:

• catching the flyer or wing,
• deploying a drag chute or tether,
• guiding the rescue to the nearest spoke platform.

Because drones handle almost all rescue work, the sky remains clean, open, and minimally staffed.

Environmental Effects

The Open Air experiences subtle “weather”:

• mist bands from humidity vents drifting in spirals,
• thermal layers from turbine updrafts,
• rare fog cycles used to cool the habitat,
• visual arcs and halos as filtered sunlight interacts with moisture,
• predictable six-fold airflow patterns caused by the hex-grid of spokes.

To newcomers, these effects seem uncanny; to residents, they are simply how the sky works.

Maasai Stewardship

While the spokes’ interiors belong to the habitat administration, their exteriors — the surfaces facing the Garden — fall under Maasai ecological authority. They maintain:

• exterior cleaning and algae control,
• bird roosting zones,
• microclimate calibration,
• humidity vent tuning,
• the cultural appearance of the upper savanna.

Their quiet stewardship keeps the sky balanced, breathable, and beautiful — a calm dome over a station otherwise full of conflict. It also means many Hopites feel shut out of the great central savanna and pushed toward the tropical Pole parks, a simmering source of resentment.

Garden Level

The Garden Level of Port Good Hope is a continuous interior landscape stretched around the inner curve of the cylinder. Most of it is managed by the Maasai ecological sect, shaped into a broad dry savanna reminiscent of their ancestral lands on Earth: rolling grasslands, scattered acacias, rocky kopjes, and long sightlines under a warm, artificial sky.

The central core emits directed light, meaning the part of the central core straight above is very bright, while those further away shine less and fade into nothing over distance. This appears as an elongated sun fading away towards the two poles.

Biome and Terrain

The terrain follows the elevated savanna pattern of the old Maasai Mara and Serengeti. Low, rounded hills rise from the plains; boulder outcrops break the horizon; and seasonal grasses ripple in long bands between cultivated tree clusters.

Water flows through a network of engineered streams. Hidden pumps release water near hilltops, feeding meandering channels and shallow seasonal rivers that circle the ring. These flows look natural at a glance, maintaining the illusion of gravity-driven watersheds inside a rotating habitat. Weather is similarly controlled, creating seasonal rain and dry periods.

Maasai Range

Outside the visitor zones and small towns, most of the Garden Level is Maasai-controlled range. Herds of cattle roam freely under their supervision. Management blends ritual practice with technical expertise: drones monitor soil hydration, predators, and trespassers, while cultural tradition guides the herding patterns. The Maasai treat this ring as both workspace and spiritual retreat, and access is regulated by custom more than law.

Gangs from the Residential Ring occasionally stage unauthorized “cattle raids” or simply spill onto the savanna for gravity-play and mischief. True theft is rare and quickly suppressed; the cattle are valuable, tagged, and drone-guarded. Harmless romps — racing gliders, mock skirmishes, daring runs across the grasslands — are tolerated as long as the participants avoid damaging the landscape or interfering with herd patterns. Drones watch everything, and a polite warning usually ends the fun.

Towns and Access Shafts

Several small towns sit where major installations from the Residential Ring break upward into the Garden Level: the university, the hospital, administration nodes, and technical hubs. These facilities were designed for a full Tier-4 population but lack the personnel to operate at full capacity. Dozens of additional elevator shafts connect the Residential Ring to the surface. These access points are lightly camouflaged — disguised as rock formations, thickets, or low maintenance huts — to preserve the landscape. Most see little official traffic.

Visitors and Spin Pod District

Near one of the cylinder’s endcaps lies the Visitor Garden Zone, a subtropical oasis separate from Maasai oversight. It surrounds the Spin Pod docking district, where visiting crews berth their pods and where Port Good Hope’s itinerant operators maintain their lairs and bases.

This area serves as the public face of the habitat: warm light, lush greenery, water features, and social spaces. Residents often come here for leisure precisely because it is not governed by Maasai cultural norms.

There is no residental or industrial decks in this area, tough there are sub-garden access corridors. The volume that would normally hold these decks is inseat kept open as docking space.

Residential Level

The Residential Level is divided into two primary decks, each twenty meters tall and spanning the full circumference of the habitat. Together they house the majority of Hope’s population. Officially, the decks have the letter designations A and B, but in everyday speech they are called Adam and Babel — names that have stuck despite never being formally ratified.

Adam — Upper Residential

Adam lies closest to the Garden Level and is widely considered higher status. It is brighter, quieter, and better maintained, though the differences are subtle rather than absolute.

Broad, tree-lined boulevards run from hub to hub, forming a loose spiral around the ring. These boulevards are landscaped with grass, planters, and promenades, and serve as the main arteries of movement and social life. Smaller parks and squares break up the flow, especially near hubs.

Back streets follow the same grid as below, but function differently. On Adam, they are service arteries: narrower lanes used for deliveries, waste removal, and access to rear entrances. Many buildings face the boulevards but open onto the back streets for practical traffic. Commerce clusters along these routes, quiet by day and busy at scheduled hours.

Some buildings near the Garden have concealed skylights beneath pools or landscaped features above. The light they admit is diffuse and eerie rather than bright, and opinions on their desirability vary.

Babel — Lower Residential

Babel lies beneath Adam and is more heavily used, though not overcrowded. Most Hopites live here. The streets are plainer, the lighting harsher, and the air warmer, carrying faint traces of the industrial levels below.

Boulevards exist here as well, mirroring Adam’s layout, but they are simpler and more utilitarian. There are no suburban stretches or private lawns. Instead, social life centers on public squares, shared parks, and wide intersections where people gather, trade, argue, and celebrate.

Back streets on Babel are not service corridors but ordinary residential streets. People live on them directly; front doors open onto them; children play there. There is little separation between “front” and “back” of a building.

City blocks often contain internal yards. Some are communal gardens shared by several buildings, others are fenced utility spaces allocated per household. Their condition varies widely and often reflects how well neighbors cooperate.

Empty Blocks and Dark Zones

Hope was built to house more people than ever arrived. As a result, entire blocks on Babel — and smaller pockets on Adam — stand empty: streets lit but quiet, buildings locked but unsecured, utilities disconnected.

These empty stretches are known as dark zones — places where only the trees are lit, surveillance is unreliable, and those who wish to remain unnoticed make their homes. Such blocks are easy to squat in, though living there means doing without daylight, power, water, and heat unless these are stolen or improvised. If enough people settle and organize, utilities can be restored and the area recognized as a formal commune.

In the dark zones, lighting is tuned for trees, not people. Red and blue light washes the streets in a bruised purple glow, deep enough to feed the canopies but harsh on human eyes. Faces lose their color, shadows blur, and depth becomes uncertain; distances feel longer than they are. The trees thrive, leaves dark and glossy, while the streets below feel unreal.

Power and Proximity

Spokes act as vertical lifelines, connecting the Core to the lowest industrial levels, and each spoke hub functions as a local power center.

Major factions typically control a hub outright. Lesser factions cluster near the hubs of allies or patrons. Independent groups live between hubs, trading convenience for autonomy. The most reclusive — or most wanted — retreat into the dark zones, far from spoke traffic, where utilities must be stolen and neighbors are few.

This pattern repeats across both Adam and Babel, producing a patchwork of influence, neglect, cooperation, and quiet tension that defines daily life on Hope.

Industrial Levels

Below the Residential decks lie the Industrial Levels, designated C, D, and E. Each deck is twenty meters tall, but many facilities on the D and E decks and a few on C deck span multiple levels, creating cavernous vertical spaces where heavy machinery and long assembly lines dominate. Gravity here is only marginally higher than above, reaching about 1.05 g at the bottom of E Deck — enough to matter for processes, but barely noticeable to people.

These levels are where Hope works — when it works.

C Deck — Light Industry and Offices

C Deck sits closest to the residential levels and handles work that benefits from proximity to people rather than raw materials. Here are offices, telecommuting halls, clean research labs, design bureaus, and light manufacturing floors. Advanced fabricators assemble items too complex or too large to print as single pieces. Control rooms for deeper industrial sites are often located here, allowing operators to oversee heavy machinery without entering harsher environments.

C Deck feels cleaner, quieter, and more orderly than what lies below, though large stretches are still locked and inactive. When shifts end, entire corridors go dark.

D and E Decks — Heavy Industry

D and E Decks form the industrial core. Many facilities span both levels, taking advantage of the combined height to house tall reactors, assembly rigs, chemical processors, and gravity-dependent materials work. This is where shuttles, fighters, and other small craft are assembled; where specialized alloys are processed; and where materials recovered from the outer shielding are converted into usable industrial feedstock.

Access points to the Shielding and Reserves lie here as well. Ice, slag, and stored mass are broken down, refined, and routed upward — some destined for heavy fabrication, some reprocessed into standardized feedstock for non-industrial printers.

The Industrial Levels are not crowded. They are vast, underused, and dangerous — the quiet engine room of Hope, always one failure away from becoming something far worse. Despite the scale of machinery, the human workforce is small. Skilled specialists and their apprentices and assistants oversee largely automated systems. Heavy loads are moved by machines; if more power is needed, someone rents a bigger tractor or brings in an outside contractor.

Fusion Reactors

Near the Closed Pole, deep within E Deck on opposite sides of the hull, are Hope’s two primary D–D fusion reactors. They are physically inside the habitat but isolated from inhabited areas by distance, shielding, and containment.

The reactor district is designed to absorb failure. Surrounding volumes are filled with water for shielding, with heavy bulkheads and sacrificial compartments that allow rapid isolation and venting. Routine operation is automated and remotely supervised; direct human access is rare.

Roads, Shafts, and Logistics

The boulevard pattern continues through the Industrial Levels, but here it becomes structural infrastructure. On D and E Decks, the boulevards are tall, enclosed shafts designed for bulk transport. Traffic is unidirectional, optimized for mass flow rather than convenience. Hope doesn't have nearly the cargo flows to need this structure, but still follows standards. Each hub connects to two routes — one running Close toward the Open Pole, and one running Away toward the Closed Pole. Cargo headed the wrong way must be redirected at the next hub.

Special industrial elevators serve these decks, capable of moving heavy machinery and sealed cargo units. They exist only at selected spokes near each pole, making access uneven and politically sensitive. They have numerous safety door to avoid large leaks and prevent invaders from quickly transitioning decks.

Activity, Darkness, and Security

Much of the Industrial Levels is inactive at any given time. Most sites operate on short shifts — often four hours per cycle — after which systems idle or continue automated tasks unattended. Outside these windows, whole districts are dark, silent, and sealed.

This creates a vast security problem. There is nowhere near enough oversight to monitor accidents, leaks, or unauthorized activity. Minor failures can go unnoticed for days; major ones for weeks. Squatters, recluses, and illicit operators exploit this, stealing utilities on a personal scale with relative ease. Industrial-scale theft is harder — but illegal factories often survive simply by registering as legal ones and trusting that Administration will never have time to inspect them.

Fire, Atmosphere, and Emergency Control

Unlike the residential levels, the Industrial Levels are designed to be sacrificed if necessary. Sections can be hard-sealed and vented to vacuum to suppress fires, chemical reactions, or contamination. Large continuous volumes are permanently unpressurized, accessible only through airlocks and rarely entered without cause.

Empty but pressurized zones are handled by automated emergency systems. Firefighting and containment drones respond aggressively, prioritizing suppression over safety. In officially empty areas, these systems are deliberately brutal. Teleoperators can assume control, but initial responders are rarely specialists. True experts are called in later — often an hour or more after the event begins. When disasters exceed Administration’s capacity, outside help is hired. Sometimes this means temporary labor under official supervision. Sometimes it means handing an entire crisis to an independent contractor with its own chain of command.

Shielding & Reserves

Beyond the Industrial Levels lies the outermost layer of Hope: the Shielding & Reserves. This is not a deck in the conventional sense. There are no streets, no walls, and no continuous pressure hull. Instead, the layer consists of a vast array of trellises that anchor resources in a giant three-dimensional maze. For every hundred meters out from the hull, gravity increases by 0.05 g, to a maximum of 1.25 g at 400 meters out. Seen from the outside, the hull acts as a ceiling. Gravity points outward, away from the habitat, pulling stored mass into open space against restraints and rails.

Structure and Movement

The shielding mass is divided into large, modular loads — sacks, blocks, and tanks — lashed to trellises extending from the habitat. Drones move along the trellises and cooperate to reposition loads, either into the factory levels or to other locations.

Releasing a load directly is extremely dangerous. Because of the habitat’s rotation, an unsecured mass does not drift gently away. Instead, it is flung tangentially along the hull’s velocity vector, becoming an uncontrolled projectile. For this reason, all cargo must be continuously controlled — either anchored to the trellises or moved by groups of cooperating drones — and is never free-released.

Stored Materials

The reserves consist primarily of two resource types:

Refined Solids — Material processed at mining sites to high, but not perfect, purity. Common stocks such as silicates, iron, cobalt, and related industrial metals are stored in more exposed positions further out. More valuable or hazardous materials — copper, silver, gold, uranium, and similar — are kept under tighter control on the inner trellises.

Water & Ice — Used for radiation shielding, life support reserves, industrial feedstock, and radiation buffering. Bags of water or water ice are among the largest structures attached to the hull and are carefully distributed to provide even shielding.

Access and Risk

The Shielding & Reserves are not a place where people live or linger. They are open to space, presenting constant vacuum and radiation hazards. Maintenance here is dangerous even by station standards. A failed tether, a misaligned cart, or a corrupted control signal can turn routine work into catastrophe. Crews are therefore small, highly specialized, and often contracted only for specific operations.

Loads are vulnerable. It is relatively easy to release multiple loads and follow their trajectories as they are thrown into space. An attacker need only follow one released mass, while defensive patrols must attempt to intercept them all. Because of the risk of theft or sabotage, and the inherent dangers of open space with gravity pointing away from the hull, access is tightly controlled through Industrial Level transfer locks. Most work is performed by remote systems. When humans are present, they operate in suits or sealed service pods.

Hope credits are secured by these assets, making them a vital guarantee of Hope’s future. Administration therefore prioritizes this area, maintaining constant teleoperated surveillance and strict inventory control.

Hubs

Six great pillars run straight through Hope, from large airlock openings toward the Shielding & Reserves on one side of the hull to the other. Together with the Core, they form the circulatory system of Hope, carrying people, cargo, feedstock, air, and water wherever they are needed.

Each of these pillars, running from the Core down through the Industrial Levels, is called a spoke. Each spoke has a name and serves as the center of infrastructure for both residential and industrial decks. The spokes are arranged in pairs, each pair designated by a number and the individual spokes by a letter: A & B for the first pair, C & D for the second, E & F for the third, G & H for the fourth, I & J for the fifth, and K & L for the sixth and final pair.

Each spoke has six boulevards extending from it. Two lead to the other spoke of the same pair, two lead to hubs Close, and two lead to hubs Away. Hubs closest to either pole, of course, have only two such neighbors.

Each spoke is surrounded by a hub on the residential and industrial decks. Hubs are centers of habitation, commerce, and infrastructure. Boulevards and trams converge here; population density is highest; commercial and political power is concentrated at the hubs. All of this is by design.

What is not by design is how, on Hope, various power groups have taken control of individual hubs and use them as the centers of their own small realms. As a result, each hub and spoke has developed a strongly individual character.

Hospital Hill

Hospital Hill is built around Hope’s original standardized reconstruction hospital, a facility designed to serve a full Tier 4 population. During the early years, it was vital: trauma wards ran nonstop, emergency surgery was routine, and refugee medicine defined daily life.

When Port Good Hope was declared safe and Earthforce medical assets redeployed, the professional medical corps left with little warning. What remained was a fully equipped hospital without the personnel to run it as intended.

Today, Hospital Hill is a hollow giant. Core infrastructure still functions — operating theaters, diagnostic suites, isolation wards — but most are dark or running in degraded modes. Independent medics, the Ward, and black-market specialists operate out of surviving sections, often jury-rigging systems they barely understand. Administration keeps the lights on and the doors sealed, but lacks the authority and expertise to restore full services.

A Regrav Ward is housed here, making Hospital Hill the primary site for physical therapy, spin-sickness treatment, and long-term recovery. It is one of the few hubs visited by nearly every faction, making it neutral ground in theory — and contested territory in practice.

Administrative Spire

The Administrative Spire is the technocratic heart of Hope. It was never meant to be a seat of power, only a coordination node: offices, data centers, scheduling halls, and oversight rooms stacked vertically along a spoke from the Industrial Levels to the Core.

After the fall of the old regime in 2336, Administration was forced to grow into a governing body by default. The Spire expanded to absorb responsibilities it was never designed to handle — taxation, housing allocation, emergency response, arbitration — all handled through protocols, queues, and spreadsheets.

The result is a building that feels busy but strangely hollow. Decisions are made slowly, records are immaculate but incomplete, and authority diffuses the higher one climbs. The Spire is well-lit, carefully climate-controlled, and deeply unpopular.

Its proximity to the Core makes it a natural transit hub, and many factions maintain offices or liaisons nearby. Few trust Administration, but everyone needs access to it — which is exactly how it maintains relevance.

Hope University

Hope University occupies a full reconstruction-era academic complex attached to a spoke hub. Like the hospital, it arrived fully formed: lecture halls, laboratories, libraries, and fabrication spaces designed to train specialists for rebuilding civilization.

What it never received was a faculty.

Today, the University functions as a fragmented cabal of training rooms, informal research cells, and half-legitimate workshops. Administration nominally oversees it, but lacks the expertise to impose coherence. Students, scrappers, autodidacts, and fringe researchers drift in and out, forming temporary schools around whoever seems to know the most that week.

Some halls are pristine and unused. Others are dangerously overactive, filled with unauthorized experiments, improvised instruction, and equipment salvaged from across the station. Credentials issued here are inconsistent, but skills learned are often very real.

Hope University is not a place of enlightenment. It is a pressure cooker for ambition, frustration, and invention — one of the few places on Hope where something genuinely new might still emerge.

Dockward Hub

Dockward Hub sits beneath the Open Pole gardens and serves as the primary interface between Hope and space. Spin Pod traffic, cargo capsules, visiting crews, and transient labor all pass through here. The hub is loud, crowded, and perpetually in motion.

Shops cater to outsiders and short-term residents: gear brokers, translators, entertainment dens, quick clinics, and contract halls. Money moves fast and loyalties are thin. Administration maintains a visible presence, but real control is fragmented between dock unions, brokers, and hired muscle.

Dockward never sleeps. When traffic slows, tension rises.

Red Lantern Hub

Red Lantern Hub is Hope’s de facto Chinatown — though no one uses that term officially. It began as a cluster of migrants who shared language, trade networks, and mutual aid, and grew into a dense cultural and commercial enclave.

Food halls, small manufactories, schools, clan offices, and quiet temples pack tightly around the spoke. Signage is layered, symbolic, and often opaque to outsiders. Disputes are handled internally when possible; outsiders who ignore this tend to regret it.

Red Lantern is busy, orderly, and insular. It does not advertise power, but it has it.

Market Spiral Hub

Market Spiral is built around one of the largest residential boulevards on Adam, where multiple spokes intersect nearby. It is a hub of commerce rather than authority: bazaars, service exchanges, auction floors, and informal labor markets spill outward in widening rings.

Prices here are fluid, favors matter as much as currency, and information trades hands constantly. Many small factions maintain footholds here without truly controlling it. Paratil patrols regularly, but only at the edges.

Market Spiral is where deals are made, broken, and overheard.

Greyreach Hub

Greyreach lies between active districts and was never fully populated. Construction stopped early; utilities were never fully brought online. What lighting exists is dim and tuned for trees rather than people.

The spoke still functions structurally, but most side corridors are sealed or abandoned. Squatters, recluses, and people who want to vanish gravitate here. Power is stolen, water is rationed, and everyone minds their own business.

Greyreach is quiet, watchful, and dangerous in subtle ways. Things go missing here — sometimes people.

Sunfall Hub

Sunfall was once intended as an industrial showcase near the Closed Pole. When investment dried up, it emptied fast. Large sections are sealed; others are open but dark, maintained only enough to prevent structural decay.

Sons of Helios maintain a presence here, treating the abandoned spaces as places of reflection and trial. Automated systems still function sporadically, sometimes without warning.

Sunfall feels wrong. Sounds carry too far. Light behaves oddly. Few visit without a reason.

Broken Crown Hub

Broken Crown was designed as a civic centerpiece that never materialized. Its upper levels are finished and empty; lower levels are raw and exposed. Administration offices briefly occupied it before retreating to the Spire.

Now it is contested space. Small factions cycle through, trying to claim it as a seat of power, only to be driven out by logistics, infighting, or quiet sabotage. No one has managed to hold it for long.

Broken Crown is a symbol of Hope’s failures — and its temptations.

Factions

The factions of Hope are diverse, many having a inheritance expressed in language and culture, but Neme translation makes this mostly transparent; two organizations using different languages can still communicate using Nemes, but subtle nuance might be lost.

Earthforce Relief and Reconstruction Office (ERRO) — T5 Oversight

A tiny Earthforce oversight post: a handful of administrators and a single marine squad. Locals call them “error.” They have one mandate — prevent further crimes against humanity — and one threat: calling in the Navy. They overlook minor infractions to avoid destabilizing the station. ERRO provides quter access, licenses, technical designs, and virtual training, but lacks personnel to enforce anything consistently.

Lt. Commander Hester Duval, Reconstruction Officer A meticulous, soft-spoken administrator who believes in the mission more than the institution. Duval spends her days arbitrating disputes between factions, updating compliance logs, and quietly begging Earthforce for help she knows will never arrive.

Sergeant Ryen Vos, Marine Squad Lead Professional, patient, and tired. Vos runs the only fully armed unit on Hope, yet knows that showing force risks collapse. He trains constantly, negotiates reluctantly, and quietly documents every violation for a tribunal that may never happen.

Their concerns:

• Pressure from Earthforce to produce “measurable improvements” despite dwindling resources.
• Growing suspicion that one faction is stockpiling weapons — and hoping ERRO won’t notice.
• A missing container of tribunal-sealed evidence has resurfaced on the black market.
• ERRO’s data links experience unexplained outages, possibly sabotage or political maneuvering.

Administration — T4 Logistics Bloc

A former logistics branch from a Caribbean habitat forced into political leadership after the 2336 scandal. They attempt to manage Hope through infrastructure, schedules, supply chains, and protocols — treating social problems as routing issues. Technically competent but socially overmatched, they are accepted yet not respected. Their internal language is Jamaican English; little cultural heritage survived their home habitat’s destruction, leaving them hollow and pragmatic.

Marlon Hutch, Acting Infrastructure Director A systems-obsessed manager who sees Hope as a network diagram, not a society. Brilliant at solving bottlenecks, hopeless at public relations. He believes Hope would run smoothly if everyone would just follow the protocols.

“Auntie” Rayna Clarke, Senior Dispatcher Unofficial morale officer and the closest thing the Administration has to a diplomat. Rayna knows every elevator, pipe, and crew rotation by heart. People trust her more than the directors, which both helps and annoys them.

Their concerns:

• A critical routing server keeps glitching, threatening rolling outages across both Rings.
• Administrators suspect sabotage in the Residential Ring but fear confronting the wrong faction.
• A supply contract renewal with the Foundryworks is going badly, risking material shortages.
• Internal whistleblowers warn of a shadow accounting ledger maintained off-books.

Kaaphandel Kompanjie — T4 Cartel

The de facto power on Hope. They control salvage rights, prospector markets, and external trade channels. With deep Oranjeland roots, they brand themselves with Dutch East India Company imagery, including a full-rigged ship emblem. Afrikaans is their internal language. They do no physical labor, relying on Administration, Paratil, and independent prospectors for execution. Their wealth and off-station contacts give them disproportionate influence — and lingering bigotries carried from Oranjeland.

Coenraad Strijdom, Factor-General Smooth, polite, and utterly ruthless when profit is threatened. Strijdom manages Kaaphandel contracts and is skilled at turning minor bureaucratic friction into leverage.

Anneline Venter, Salvage Assayer A forensic genius with scrap. Anneline can look at any piece of twisted hull and name the ship class, damage source, and likely resale value. Less political than Strijdom, but quietly influential.

Their concerns:

• A lucrative salvage route has gone silent, and Kaaphandel suspects a rival faction has seized it.
• An off-station creditor is demanding repayment in political concessions rather than cash.
• Counterfeit salvage tags are circulating, undermining Kaaphandel’s market authority.
• Workers in two Rings are refusing to accept Kaaphandel-set prices, threatening open conflict.

Maasai — T4 Cult

A syncretic ecological sect descended from Maasai pastoralists. They maintain Hope’s ecological systems but use the garden ring as a shared cultural retreat. They shape it into an idealized savanna and don adapted Maasai attire “on the range.” This is spiritual and psychological renewal, not performance. They face accusations of monopolizing the garden deck but maintain visitor corridors and structured retreat access. Many visitors have a hard time keeping up with the pastoral herder lifestyle of these retreats. Internal language is Maa; their culture blends pastoral tradition with high-tech environmental engineering.

Naserian Lenkopir, Range-Keeper Calm, observant, and fiercely protective of the Garden’s cycles. Naserian oversees grazing rotations and ecological tuning. She is polite to visitors but brooks no disrespect toward the savanna.

Saitoti Nashipa, Systems Ecologist A former orbital agritech student who joined the Maasai after a revelatory retreat. Saitoti manages data models of the habitat’s biosphere and sees patterns no one else notices.

Their concerns:

• An unexplained shift in soil acidity threatens a whole section of the Garden ecology.
• Visitors wandering outside the retreat corridors are stressing the herds.
• A faction wants to repurpose part of the Garden Ring for housing, provoking quiet fury.
• One of the Masai’s sacred data archives shows signs of unauthorized access.

Rivierlicht Biofarmacie — T4 Cartel

Grey-market pharmaceutical designers specializing in drugs many communes ban: stimulants tuned for low-gravity labor, anti-vertigo regimens for spin sickness, tailored antidepressants for post-Fall trauma, and euphorics with narrow therapeutic windows. Legal on Hope only because ERRO tolerates them under strict reporting. Their wealth and biotech expertise make them influential — and frequent targets for “reformers,” thieves, and vigilantes. This makes them hire gangs for protection; Afrikaans is their internal language.

Dr. Bryn Visagie, Formulation Director A brilliant pharmacologist with a ruthless business sense. Dr. Visagie designs most of Rivierlicht’s signature compounds and sees Hope’s population as both a market and a clinical dataset.

Mateo “Stitch” Lerm, Security Liaison An ex-ganger turned corporate fixer. Stitch coordinates protection deals with the River Boys and quietly pays off Paratil officers when needed. He prides himself on never overreacting — a rare trait in his trade.

Their concerns:

• A shipment of precursor chemicals has gone missing, and Rivierlicht suspects internal theft.
• Rumors spread of a knockoff version of one of their top-selling drugs hitting the markets.
• ERRO is demanding deeper access to clinical trial logs — which could be disastrous.
• A new compound in development is showing dangerous side effects, and someone wants it rushed anyway.

Batlhabine Foundryworks — T3 Industrial

Batlhabine Foundryworks runs the external centrifuge forges five kilometers off Hope. Most of the work is teleoperated from inside the Rings, but a rotating cadre of repair and calibration crews commute physically to the structure. The foundry cluster is microgravity, with sealed centrifuge wheels providing g-levels for smelting and separation. Cable-tethered service pods and suit-only maintenance bays make it one of the more dangerous workplaces in Hope space, but also very independent, with its own D-D fusion plant.

Batlhabine’s microgravity workforce descends from Sotho–Tswana diaspora communities. Their internal language is a compressed blend of Sesotho, Setswana, and mining jargon; their culture prizes solidarity, precision, and the quiet pride of craft. They maintain their own initiation rites for new technicians and refer to the forge cluster as Kgoro — “the court,” or “the gate.”

These are the people who process the metals brought in by miners into saleable feedstock. They are respected for competence and resented for their independence. No faction on Hope fully controls them; their value is too great, and their workplace too remote. They negotiate contracts with both Rings but commit to neither.

Mpho Thabeng, Teleoperation Supervisor A disciplined and sharply analytical administrator who manages the telecommuter workforce inside Hope. Mpho juggles power allocations, remote-operation scheduling, and political pressure from both Rings. Known for a flat affect and a total refusal to compromise safety margins, she has become the quiet backbone of Foundryworks’ remote operations.

Kgosi Ramatladi, Microgravity Lead Technician Kgosi is a veteran repair diver with decades of microgravity skill and the scars to prove it. Calm, superstitious, and deeply respected, he mentors new technicians in Kgoro’s initiatory rites. When something breaks in the dark between the centrifuge wheels, he is the one they send. Some say he knows parts of the structure better than the schematics.

Their concerns:

• Unstable power feeds to the centrifuge wheels threaten to halt production — or worse, tear a wheel apart.
• Unauthorized tug traffic has increased around the forge cluster, raising fears of theft, sabotage, or quiet factional probing.
• A missing repair crew has left part of the microgravity maintenance lattice unmonitored, and Foundryworks wants answers.
• Kaaphandel Kompanjie is pressuring the Foundryworks to accept new oversight rules that would undermine their independence.
• Teleoperation latency spikes hint at interference — technical or deliberate — jeopardizing precision metallurgical runs.

The Brass Claws — T3 Street Syndicate

A hardened outfit controlling several blocks of the Residential Ring. They enforce order through fear and regularized tribute. Known for brass knuckle implants and heavy use of intimidation crews. They almost count as a political faction, but lack structure and vision.

Activities: major protection rings, mid-tier prostitution, narcotics distribution, coordinated theft, debt collection. Tone: brutal, disciplined, semi-professional. Strength: their tributes fund real weapons and ex-military talent. Threat: capable of taking and holding territory from weaker gangs.

Garran “Brass” Luyten, Block Warlord The de facto boss of the Claws’ main turf. Garran is thickset, ex-military, and runs collections on a strict schedule. He believes in predictable brutality: everyone pays, everyone knows the rules.

Isha Kade, Ledger Keeper Thin, watchful, and rarely seen on the street. Isha tracks every debt, payoff, and favor. She knows who can be squeezed harder and who’s close to breaking — information she sells to Garran at a premium.

Their concerns:

• A new T2 gang is testing their borders, poaching clients and mocking the Claws in public.
• One of their enforcement crews vanished during a routine collection run.
• A key ledger tablet has gone missing, and Isha suspects an inside job.
• Rumors say an ex-Claws lieutenant is talking to Paratil about “cleaning up” the block.

Paratil — T3 Defense Squadron / Police

The battered remnants of the original defense squadron, forced into police duty after Earthforce intervention left Hope without a civilian authority. Too small to defend the station and too undermanned to police it well, they survive through stubbornness. Their internal language is Dutch, inherited from Oranjeland.

Lieutenant Bram Verhoef, Acting Commander A principled officer trapped in an impossible job. Verhoef wants to maintain order but lacks manpower and political backing. He files reports no one reads and enforces laws no one thanks him for.

Petra “Steen” Koenders, Enforcement Specialist A tough veteran who handles most field actions. Steen is practical, intimidating, and privately exhausted. She still believes Paratil can regain honor — if the factions stop grinding them down.

Their concerns:

• A stolen cache of crowd-control gear has appeared on the black market.
• A faction is refusing to recognize Paratil authority in their district, risking open clashes.
• Rumors persist of a mutiny brewing inside Paratil’s junior ranks.
• A surveillance drone feed shows tampering that only insiders could have done.

River Boys — T3 Street Gang

A street-level power bloc formed from Brazilian-heritage refugees. They provide security — or protection rackets — for small traders and for Rivierlicht. They avoid firearms, favoring physical intimidation and martial arts. Core members speak Brazilian Portuguese; most recruits only a few battlecries. Capoeira is their martial art and cultural signature; they sponsor a small yearly carnival that briefly unifies parts of the station.

Jair “Bamba” Souza, Gang Captain Charismatic, theatrical, and fiercely protective of his people. Bamba treats the gang as a cultural guardian, not just muscle. He mediates disputes and trains dancers and fighters alike.

Mirella Teixeira, Carnival Marshal Planner of the yearly carnival and unofficial diplomat. Mirella has contacts across both Rings and uses festival logistics to hide favors, deals, and political messages.

Their concerns:

• A rival micro-gang is disrupting their protection circuits and provoking retaliatory violence.
• Rivierlicht wants more control over them than they’re willing to give.
• Someone is sabotaging their rehearsal spaces ahead of carnival season.
• A missing capo’s last message warned of “trouble in the Core.”

Reformed Church of Hope — T3 Cult

A straight-laced Reformed Christian church in the Zwinglian tradition. The name references the Ring, not a doctrine of optimism. They preach strict rules, hard work, and scripture alone. Closed community and powerful contact network, often operating behind the political curtain. They accept anyone after careful vetting, but Afrikaans fluency is nearly required.

Predikant Adriaan Botha Stern, ascetic, and unyielding. Botha believes Hope survives only through moral discipline. His sermons are crisp, his judgments absolute, and his influence surprisingly wide.

Magdalena Coetzee, Community Steward Kind in private, relentless in administration. She coordinates aid, allocates food, and keeps the Church’s communication lines humming. She sees every convert as a long-term investment.

Their concerns:

• A charismatic outsider is drawing away several young members.
• A hidden financial shortfall threatens their influence.
• Doctored messages mimic Church doctrine and may spark a schism.
• Someone has begun tagging over their scripture murals with cryptic symbols.

The Dockside Unionists — T3 Syndicate

A loose coalition of cargohandlers, shuttle techs, and tug operators who never regained stable employment after the Fall. They operate semi-legit load crews and “priority access” to berths, and sometimes enforce their claims with improvised tools. Their heritage is mixed Terran orbital cultures; their identity is built on shared work songs, dockside rituals, and the belief that the station literally cannot function without them — which is partly true.

Omar Velik, Tug Coordinator A jovial but calculating veteran of the old shuttle lines. Omar remembers every docking accident since Hope’s construction and uses that knowledge to pressure Administration for concessions.

Suri Chanda, Load Boss Efficient, unsentimental, and fiercely loyal to her crew. Suri keeps the berths moving, whether the work is legal or not. Her authority rests entirely on competence.

Their concerns:

• A new automated loader threatens to replace half their workforce.
• Someone outside the Union is selling priority berth access under their name.
• A damaged tug is drifting near the Closed Pole with crew unaccounted for.
• Administration is auditing fuel logs — a danger to many “informal” arrangements.

The Ward — T3 Hospital Gang

The gang controlling the hospital; they levy tolls for access to medical resources. They protect the independent medics working there, but clash with the Menders’ Circle and deny them access. They desperately need techs to maintain and repair failing hospital systems. They claim Gaelic heritage, though only a few speak or study the language; Anglic dominates day-to-day communication.

Máire Callan, Ward Matron Authoritative and intimidating. Callan enforces order inside the hospital and negotiates with outside factions when medicine becomes currency. She believes strict control is the only way to keep the hospital functioning.

Finn O’Dalaigh, Biomed Tech One of the few technically skilled Ward members. Finn frantically patches aging machines and curses anyone who brings in contraband medical mods. He’s too smart for his job and knows it.

Their concerns:

• A critical sterilizer unit is failing, and the Ward lacks replacement parts.
• A Menders’ Circle sympathizer inside the Ward may be leaking information.
• Rumors of a drug-resistant infection spreading in the lower decks.
• A high-value patient disappeared before the Ward could process them.

Sons of Helios — T3 Cult

A movement rather than a culture. They see humanity’s downfall as divine punishment from the Sun and regard technology as a necessary evil. Members come from everywhere and hold all kinds of jobs, but their ideology is uniform: suffering purifies, comfort corrupts. Life on Hope has pushed them toward apocalyptic rhetoric. They have no shared internal language.

Daran Heliotis, Sunreader A fervent preacher whose calm delivery makes his prophecies more unnerving. Daran believes Hope itself is a test of worthiness and warns that indulgence will bring another Fall.

Tariq Nablus, Penitent Engineer Once a talented technician, now a self-denying true believer. Tariq sabotages “unnecessary comforts” and repairs only what aligns with doctrine. Paratil considers him dangerous but hard to pin down.

Their concerns:

• A splinter sect demands immediate “purification” actions inside the Rings.
• An artifact from a burned-out solar array is being worshipped — and fought over.
• A Helios cell infiltrated a maintenance crew and may have planted rituals where circuits belong.
• Their leader claims to have received a “solar omen” pointing to the Garden Ring.

Bart’s Benders — T2 Squadron

A motley band of pirates and smugglers operating out of the Closed Pole, taking advantage of its low traffic and poor oversight. Bart’s Benders are invisible to most of Hope’s population and irrelevant to crews who never leave the station, but they are a persistent threat — and rival — to any Squadron crew. They operate a single patched shuttle and a number of light fighters equal to their Tier. Their vessels are mismatched, ugly, and aggressively over-tuned, favoring short-range ambush and rapid disengagement over sustained combat. Their primary business is smuggling contraband manufactured on Hope to outside markets: illicit pharmaceuticals, restricted tech, unregistered fabricator designs, and occasionally people. When opportunity presents itself, they raid lightly defended storage sites, especially exposed sections of the Shielding & Reserves.

Bart’s Benders survive by staying small, mobile, and deniable. They avoid actions that would force Earthforce to look closely at the Closed Pole, preferring thefts that can be blamed on “losses,” “accidents,” or rival crews.

Bart “Bent” Calder, Captain A former independent hauler who crossed one line too many and never went back. Bart is charismatic, profane, and risk-tolerant to the point of recklessness. He keeps the crew loyal by sharing profits evenly and taking the worst risks himself.

Ishara Kade, Pilot and Navigator Cold-eyed and precise, Ishara flies like she expects to be betrayed at any moment. She plans escape routes obsessively and maintains hidden fuel and supply caches throughout Closed Pole space.

Their concerns:

• A recent raid on the Shielding & Reserves drew more attention than expected, and someone is quietly tracking their flight signatures.
• A Rivierlicht shipment went missing after handoff, and Bart suspects a setup rather than simple theft.
• One of their fighters returned with unexplained structural damage and corrupted sensor logs.
• Rumors suggest Earthforce is considering a surprise audit of Closed Pole traffic — whether real or fabricated, it could end the Benders overnight.

Dragons & Griffons — T2 Marines

A gang divided into two sections: the Dragons and the Griffons. Both are marines specializing in aerial combat, sharing the same leader — an Angel named Heiklion. They ride ultralight planes and powered gliders and conduct mock battles in the Open Air. These fights draw heavy crowds and betting. They take security contracts and bounty jobs. Members have no shared heritage; most speak Anglic or use Nemes.

Heiklion, Wingmaster An Angel whose charisma and martial skill hold the entire gang together. Heiklion treats aerial combat as both art and discipline and enforces strict rules of engagement.

Vesper Dane, Flight Marshal A grounded logistics expert who keeps the Dragons and Griffons supplied, repaired, and paid. Vesper mediates disputes between the two wings — often violently.

Their concerns:

• A fatal crash during a mock battle threatens their public legitimacy.
• A rival aerial crew from another habitat has challenged them.
• Heiklion has received a mysterious summons from the Closed Pole.
• An important patron is refusing to pay after a failed bounty run.

Hope University — T2 Cabal

All reconstruction habitats came with standardized university facilities. Hope never developed a faculty; what exists are training labs without instructors. Functioning under Administration oversight, it attracts technicians, scrappers, and savants. This makes it chaotic, political, and full of internal conflict.

Dr. Leina Morgan, Acting Chancellor A former materials scientist thrust into academic leadership. Dr. Morgan spends more time refereeing disputes than teaching.

Kai Otero, Rogue Researcher A brilliant autodidact who scavenges equipment and runs experiments in unauthorized wings. Kai’s work swings between genius and hazard.

Their concerns:

• A dangerous experiment is missing — including its containment module.
• Students are forming factions around competing “professors.”
• A lost database from the original reconstruction era has resurfaced.
• Administration is threatening to shut down entire wings for safety.

The Iron Two — T2 Street Gang

Named after their turf along Industrial Level 2–East, these are half-ex-workers who turned to rackets when legitimate shifts dried up. They’re big enough to intimidate but not big enough to matter politically. They wear metal plates or stamped tags as badges.

Activities: protection rackets, minor industrial theft, black-market tools, muscle-for-hire. Tone: blue-collar anger turned predatory. Strength: know every unlisted crawlspace in their section.

Duke Rammel, Shift-Boss A broad-shouldered ex-welder who treats the gang like a disgruntled shift crew. Duke runs operations with industrial efficiency and zero patience. His loyalty is real, but only to his section.

Kessa Holt, Pipe Runner Lean, fast, and fearless. Kessa moves through crawlspaces no one else fits, carrying messages, stolen parts, or makeshift weapons. Her knowledge of Industrial Level 2 makes her indispensable — and dangerous.

Their concerns:

• A rival smuggling route is cutting into their tool-running profits.
• A collapsed maintenance duct trapped two members; sabotage is suspected.
• Administration inspectors are poking around their turf, threatening their hidden workshops.
• Someone has been impersonating the Iron Two to extort outsiders — sloppily.

The Lanternfold — T2 Refugee Commune

An ad-hoc community formed in the darkest days of reconstruction. They maintain dim shelters lit with hanging lanterns and reflective cloth, believing gentle light protects the psyche from the chaos of the Fall. They trade small comforts — teas, stories, quiet rooms — and serve as a refuge of last resort. Their inheritance draws from contemplative traditions across lost habitats.

Asha Virani, Lightkeeper A calm, steady presence who tends the lanterns and mediates disputes. Asha has an uncanny ability to soothe panic attacks and trauma episodes.

Brother Nilsom, Quiet Host Tall, silent, and patient. He organizes safe rooms and keeps watch in the dim corridors. Nilsom rarely speaks, but when he does, people listen.

Their concerns:

• A series of lantern thefts threatens their sense of safety.
• A traumatized refugee speaks of “shapes” in the dark corridors.
• A faction wants to evict them to repurpose their shelters.
• One of their quiet rooms is being used for clandestine meetings.

The Menders’ Circle — T2 Cooperative

A paramedical mutual-aid network drawn from clinic staff, first responders, and biotech apprentices who couldn’t secure positions with Administration, Rivierlicht, or the Ward. They provide back-alley medicine, prosthetic repair, and counseling. Not a gang, but confrontational when protecting the vulnerable. Their inheritance is scattered communal health tradition; if they share any language, it is Latin, with Nemes used for communication.

Dr. Elda Saretti, Street Surgeon Unlicensed but brilliant. She stitches up gangers, children, and fugitives alike. Elda dreams of real credentials but distrusts all institutions.

Milo Karsen, Prosthetic Mechanic A gentle giant who builds and repairs mobility rigs from scavenged parts. Milo has a soft spot for Axle Rats and former soldiers.

Their concerns:

• The Ward has blockaded access to a critical surgical suite.
• Badly made counterfeit prosthetics are injuring patients.
• A powerful faction wants the Circle to look the other way during a planned crackdown.
• An epidemic of spin sickness in a lower district may not be natural.

The Painted Saints — T2 Gang/Cult Hybrid

A shrine-building street gang formed by refugees from multiple fallen habitats, united by painting devotional murals in abandoned corridors. They act as vigilantes in some areas and extortionists in others. Their iconography is fragmented and syncretic, sometimes causing internal disputes over interpretation.

Sibyl Dane, Vision-Caller The closest thing the Saints have to a prophet. Sibyl interprets the murals’ symbolism and claims to sense when corridors are “spirit-sick.”

Jonas Reddin, Shrine Captain A fighter and organizer who protects the artists and enforces tribute collection. Jonas believes the Saints are restoring meaning to Hope, one mural at a time.

Their concerns:

• A rival faction has painted over a sacred mural.
• A Saint visionary vanished after reporting a “new pattern” in the tunnels.
• Donations from protected blocks are falling, straining their operations.
• Someone is forging Saint murals to claim fake protection.

The Velvet Lanes — T2 Street Gang

Operating out of a neon-soaked stretch of residential microclubs, they run small-time sex work, stimulants, and “companionship packages.” Their leadership is slick, stylish, and dangerously good at secrets.

Activities: escort services, light drug pushing, blackmail, nightlife protection. Tone: seductive but vicious; they keep books better than most cartels. Strength: information brokers with ears everywhere after dark.

Liora Vale, Velvet Madam Elegant, calculating, and never seen without perfect presentation. Liora manages the Lanes’ “companionship rotations,” controls their blackmail portfolios, and knows more about Hope’s private sins than any intelligence service.

Tarek Dho, Nightfloor Enforcer Soft-spoken until the moment he isn’t. Tarek handles security inside the microclubs, maintains discipline among workers and clients, and has a reputation for removing problems quietly — and permanently.

Their concerns:

• A high-profile client is threatening to expose the Lanes unless his debts are erased.
• Someone is distributing counterfeit “Velvet packages,” damaging their brand and revenue.
• A rival gang is shaking down dancers and escorts on their own turf — a direct challenge.
• A recording device was found in a VIP room, with unknown amounts of blackmail data missing.

The Axle Rats — T1 Microgravity Gang

A group of zero-G youth living in the upper service galleries near the spin axis. They use magnetic skates and improvised gliders to move in the low-G environment and survive by scavenging and courier work. Mostly nonviolent, but known for theft and sabotage when cornered. Their culture is entirely station-born — slang, songs, and games shaped by microgravity.

Skiff Calder, Glide Leader Fearless and a little reckless. Skiff organizes courier runs and salvage dives and sees the Core as their rightful playground.

Nema Solano, Tinkerer A brilliant improvisor who builds gear from scrap. Nema repairs the Rats’ skates and gliders and secretly dreams of engineering school.

Their concerns:

• A new security drone pattern threatens their movement routes.
• Someone is hunting the Rats in the dark galleries.
• A stolen courier package has put them in conflict with a major faction.
• One of their hideouts collapsed after unauthorized maintenance.

The Cutline Crew — T1 Street Gang

A scattered group of alley-rats who haunt the maintenance corridors along a disused power trunk (“the Cutline”). They shake down passersby, pick over scrap, and pick fights they can’t finish. They mark their turf with burnt cable insulation tied in knots.

Activities: mugging, petty extortion, scavenging, boosting personal electronics. Tone: twitchy, teenage, barely organized. Weakness: fall apart if one or two leaders go missing.

Snipe Jallo, Corridor Scamp A wiry kid with fast hands and faster excuses. Snipe leads half the muggings on instinct alone. He survives through luck, bravado, and knowing when to bolt.

Karrin “Patchwire” Lue An older teen who repairs stolen electronics well enough to resell them. Patchwire keeps the Crew flush with batteries, chargers, and jury-rigged gear. Quiet, anxious, and smarter than she pretends.

Their concerns:

• A section of the Cutline has gone dark, and kids who went to check it out didn’t return.
• Someone is shaking down the Crew’s marks *before* they reach the Crew — a turf provocation.
• A stolen device turned out to be tracked, and now a major faction is hunting for it.
• Rumors say an adult organizer is trying to unify the Cutline Crew under new leadership.

The Grainsong Collective — T1 Agrarian Refugees

Displaced agricultural workers from small spin farms. They occupy unused hydroponic niches in industrial levels, growing low-yield crops and sharing food through strict rotation. Too small to exert force, they survive through mutual support, work chants, and rural ritual.

Lirato Mbeki, Crop Steward A soft-spoken agronomist who keeps the Collective alive through sheer tenacity. Lirato monitors nutrient lines constantly and negotiates with rival crews for light access.

Juno Halberg, Seed-Keeper Archivist of the Collective’s seed stores. Juno treats each plant variety like a memory of a lost world and fiercely protects them from theft or contamination.

Their concerns:

• A fungal infection is spreading through their lower trays.
• Someone is siphoning their nutrient solution at night.
• A faction wants to evict them for industrial expansion.
• Their heirloom seed vault shows signs of tampering.

Gutterwake Boys — T1 Street Gang

A loose brotherhood squatting in flooded lower-storage space where a failed recycler once burst. The air stinks of mold and ozone, but it’s cheap property. They run petty vice dens and cheap synth-alcohol stills.

Activities: gambling, cheap liquor trade, low-grade prostitution, improvised weapons for hire. Tone: filthy, opportunistic, resentful. Weakness: always broke; can be bought or redirected easily.

Hob “Mudcat” Tressin The unofficial boss by virtue of being the biggest and meanest. Mudcat runs the stills, demands tribute from anyone passing through, and settles disputes with a length of rusted pipe.

Lyle “Rusty” Kornin A scrawny tinkerer who turns scrap into improvised weapons — clubs, spikes, pipe-shot pistols. Rusty handles the gang’s gambling dens and knows every mold-free hiding spot in the Gutterwake.

Their concerns:

• A new leak in the lower storage threatens to drown their entire living space.
• Someone is poisoning their synth-alcohol batches, causing hospitalizations.
• A rival gang has begun extorting their prostitutes and gamblers.
• A crate floating into Gutterwake contains something valuable — and dangerous — enough to attract bigger factions.