Sun-Hee Park files from the Lunar Districts, where prosperity and grievance share a habitat wall. Born in the south-polar settlements around the ice, she grew up close enough to Earth to be lectured by it and far enough to resent the lecture, a proximity she has made her whole subject. She covers District politics, the Verne Station shipyards where most deep-space vessels are actually welded together, and the endless negotiation of who answers to whom. Her prose is fast and dry; she distrusts anyone who calls the Moon 'the future' with a straight face, having watched too many futures get value-engineered. She feuds cheerfully with the outer-colony desk over column inches. She has never once romanticized a launch. She thinks the most interesting story off-world is not the frontier but the plumbing, and she is usually right.
The hull that was supposed to prove Verne's throughput sits with her spine open. Nobody at the yard will promise a date.