Written in the style of The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie:

It wasn’t the worst airship that Arno had seen, but then again, he’d seen pretty bad.

The skyfreighter was crammed inside a hangar so tiny there was hardly any space between its hull and the walls. A pudgy engineer with frazzled greasy hair skipped across the top-deck, hunched down to avoid banging the rounded ceiling just inches above his head.

Several aerotechs, Ryits by the look of them, worked with no apparent coordination, welding plates into place, punching rivets into metal, pulling out wires, and shouting to one another above the din as if having a casual conversation.

No one heeded the foreman, who stood with his back to Arno, hands on the hem of work trousers that flared out at the thighs, faint wisps of short black hair poking out from the back of his aviator’s cap.

What Arno saw did not inspire much confidence.