Ice Trawlers were the lifeblood of the Belt. It's people could pride themselves on their work all they wanted, but water was king. Water and oxygen, but... he always figured water begat oxygen, if only because water fed the plants that helped them recycle and create their own air. It was why he always greeted an Ice Trawler when it came into dock. He was doing it now, standing with his mag boots locked onto the decking, watching as the trawler corrected itself with small bursts of it's thrusters, easing it's way into cradle to begin unloading the gigantic blocks of ice that would help feed the station and then the Belt. He was proud to say that they didn't have to ration water here - at least not to the extent other stations like Ceres did. The benefits of a small population and abundant supply. They'd have to keep an eye on it, though, lest they burn through it too quick. "Welcome home." He murmurs into his helmet, letting out a short sigh of approval at the beast slipping in to berth. This water would be fed through the pipes and into the rest of the station; a station crawling with people in search of work an entertainment. He turned, disengaged his mag boots, and pushed off towards the airlock above him. Perhaps he'd go take a jaunt through the shopping areas - see the station as it lived and breathed. Catching himself on the rail as he reached the airlock, he cycled it open and went inside, using the handholds to correct his orientation towards the floor before engaging his magboots again. Clamping to the floor, he began the process of cycling, and waited as the oxygen and pressure normalized before taking his helmet off. "Another day in paradise." He says, to no one in particular. "Let's go see how the workers are doing."