Quoted By:
“Accelerate your timetable as fast as you can. We’re bugging out back to Babylonia as soon as we get everything fixed.”
That…doesn’t sound too good. He didn’t mention Gully or the Mackerel, but you decide to file that away later in lieu of a sitrep. Punching into an old analog computer to run a manual diagnostic, you inquire, “What about you? What’s goin’ on up top?”
“Eh…could be worse,” offers Chief Holt in a muffled, ragged sing-song voice. In the background of her transmission, you can hear engineers shouting and the chaotic whir of hand machines and hydraulics. “Could be better.”
“Chief…”
She sighs. “It’s a fuckin’ mess, pardon my French. We were steamin’ away from the Olympia at full burn, but the waves from the blast damn near capsized the ship. Engine’s stalled, and the reactor started goin’ into the red…Skipper gave the order to kill the reactor before the control rods had a chance to start dancin'.”
You grimace, biting back a string of curses. The failure of containment would be an unmitigated disaster for all involved. For the whole ship to lose both oil and water pressure to the engines and reactor, those waves had to have been tall. “Tell me the crew’s equipped for radiological threats.”
“The moment Gully said the reactor was still hot, I had ‘em all shut up and suit up. While the whole ship ain’t insulated, most of the crew should be. Only essential deckhands up top, everyone else is hunkerin’ down as far away from the bulkheads as possible.”
It’s gonna cost a pretty penny to decontaminate the Calypso back home. Hopefully that’s an expense that Stolze, the local Port Authority and the Salvage Guild are willing to pay. If not, you’d be the first one to raise twelve kinds of hell on behalf of the whole crew.
“Any casualties?”
Holt doesn’t answer immediately. “…crane fell on one of the operating crews. Killed two instantly, bled another to death, and pinned another five against a bulkhead. We’re still tryin’ to cut them out, but it’s…a mess.”
Shit. “I’ll get up there as fast as I can,” you begin, but she cuts you off.
“You gotta focus on yourself, Unami,” she says, in a voice that brokers no argument. “I might be the Deck Chief, I’m also your PUEXMech. And right now, your situation’s a hell of a lot worse than mine is. One thing at a time, but let’s see if we can’t get you back up and runnin’.”
An old diver once said that if you hear a bang or a crack, and have time to think about it, then you’re going to be okay. Granted, he was talking about submarines, but the same principle should apply to PUEXO piloting. The fact that you aren’t a fine, chummy paste splattered against the sphere of the cockpit is a good indicator that things aren’t completely fucked.
But you aren’t about to start a pissing contest with her to see who has it worse. “Right. Okay, let’s…diagnostic’s coming back.”
(cont.)
