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The analog computer spits out its diagnostic on a DDOS-style screen. What it says confirms what you suspected had happened, and why you don’t have any power: adapter isn’t making contact with the reactor core. Something must’ve gotten dislodged in the explosion. A bad situation, but not the end of the world.
Reporting this to Holt, she speculates, “You should be able to bypass the link to the main reactor then reroute the draw to the auxiliaries. The backup draw’s gonna feel the strain, but it’ll give you enough of a kick to restart the Magellan.”
You nod…then think about the ridiculousness of the gesture when you’re the sole occupant of the PUEXO. “That just might work.”
“Might,” interjects a skeptical Aalto. The radio isn’t completely able to mask the nervousness of her voice. “I think skipper and the XO are gonna need better than ‘might’ considering how Gully and the Mackerel are-”
“It’s the only thing I can think of that’ll work,” the chief retorts hotly, “What we both think’ll work. If not…you’re more ‘n welcome to go down and try and fish him up.”
"You first, you knuckle-dragging wrench wench."
The bickering doesn’t last too long before Geary tells them both to shut up. “We’ll leave it to you, Razor. Once you finish, let us know immediately.”
You grunt an affirmative, straining to reach an override key placed at the very top of the cockpit. Whiffing on the first swipe, but you manage to stretch far enough to grab it. With a twist, a big, red button tinged with orange and black stripes pops open just above your head. Pushing it begins the first in many sequential steps to restart the reactor.
You go through the motions, recalling ingrained mental and muscle memories from years’ worth of training. Switches are flipped, buttons are pressed, and override keys are inserted and turned. You punch in the manual command on an old analog computer, and hover your finger just above the ENTER key.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” you mutter, “It’s time to get back to work.”
You hit the ENTER key with only slightly more of a dramatic flair than is absolutely necessary.
…
… …
… … …
…and when nothing immediately happens, save for a long string of text that scrolls down the screen, you feel like an idiot.
“Well that was anti-climactic-”
There’s a noticeable CLUNK that runs through the cockpit as the Magellan comes roaring back to life. Emergency lighting dims, flickering before you get the full brilliance of the cockpit, console and monitors without any sort of warning. The knife sawing into your frontal lobe is temporarily upgraded to a chainsaw as you blink the white spots out of your eyes.
“FUCKING OW!”
“Re-re-re-re-recalibrating…” stutters the artifact-ridden, static-laced voice of HOPI, “Re-re-re-recalibrating…”
Cursing, you mutter, “Give a guy a warning next time, why don’t you?”
(cont.)
