The Berg - Hangar & Docking Bay
Jawas.
Ubiquitous, sometimes helpful, sometimes a nuisance, nearly always in their little tight knit Clans and family groups.
Except this one, Mo, who was a common enough sight in the various Bays and Hangars of the Berg. He was alone, and he knew better than to bother the technicians, pilots or passengers with solicitation.
Starstrider didn't stand for it, and Mo relied on his good will to come and go, so they had come to an understanding some time ago.
Like most of his kind he was covered in his robe from head to foots and had his satchel as well as a bandolier. He moved with his short little stride from bay to bay, as he often did, looking for passage. He also had an ancient looking ion carbine over one shoulder on a battered leather sling.
He rarely got takers, as he could rarely offer much, but the prospect of some mundane work around the ship, maintenance in a droid, or a cut on whatever he might find while he was out, was enough to tempt some of the more adventurous or less discerning Captains.
"Do you take passengers?" Was the question, in his rapid native language. And if they failed to understand, the display on his wrist made it simple enough.
It hardly mattered where they were going, as there would almost always be work there for an enterprising Salvager.