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“Don’t go jinxin’ it now,” Holt warns, “But let’s get this corridor clear, yeah? There should be some caution tape ‘round here somewhere…”
>You spent the day helping Holt and her deckhands repairing some of the damage the Calypso suffered.
>You have gained Holt points!
>>Day Two
>In the PUEXO Hangar Bay(s), with Gully…
What few PUEXMechs Holt had been able to spare focus almost exclusively on the Magellan. Gully’s Caprica, on the other hand, remains undisturbed and unmaintained. Save for a scrubbing of any radioactive sand or fissile materials, the Mk. IV sits on the gurney without as much as a single technician going over it.
It isn’t out of spite or punitive edict from the captain. The Maggie’s just simply the one between the two that got off (comparatively) lightly in the raid…and the one that’s battle-ready should the Khanate attack again. There isn’t much in the way of replacing the busted actuator outside of a proper drydock, but there’s enough spare parts to compensate.
“…need any help with that?”
Gully cuts the power to the plasma cutter, stopping the lightshow as you saunter into her PUEXO Bay. Perched atop the good shoulder of her Caprica, it seems that you’ve caught her in the middle of an impromptu repair. One that’s going to take her a long while, given the absence of any help.
“I thought you were busy with yours,” she replies quietly. It isn’t phrased as a question, but nonetheless invites an explanation.
“They don’t need me there,” you reply. “All they’re doing is buffing out bullet holes and rearming Maggie. I’ll check in every hour or so, but I don’t have to be hovering over their shoulders.”
“I see.” She chews on that, then casts an eye towards the damaged section of her PUEXO. “How much do you know about Mark IVs?”
“A few things,” you answer wryly, “I know that they were meant for space before the Cataclysm. And that while they don’t dive nearly as far down, they block out radiation a whole lot better.”
“Have you ever piloted one?”
“No, can’t say I have. Highest I ever went up on the generational totem pole was a Hercules.”
That was only because Reggie had gotten sick, and you had to pull double while the Maggie was in maintenance. After years of working with the Magellan and (your) HOPI, climbing into that cockpit had been…an experience. Like an odd, out-of-body experience, or a really bad bender after some of the Ishtarite’s holistic incense.
“That’s…a Mk. III, right?” asks Gully with a frown.
You nod. “Yeah. Had a buddy back on the Duck who piloted one.”
She hums again, this time electing to slide off the PUEXO. Her arc takes her down the arm, hitting the deck with a one-two step as she comes to a stop a handful of feet away. Crimson eyes appraise you, looking up and down, then flick towards the Caprica and all the cables, gimbles and hooks dangling from the ceiling.
(cont.)
