| Frequently Asked Questions about Electricity |
| Summary: | Special delivery for the Eidolon goes very, very wrong. |
| Date: | 6 May 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Call and Response |
| Players: |
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| Hangar Bay |
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| The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #69 |
The hangar bay's bustling with a little more activity than usual, this morning. There are a few marines at attention, armed and ready for… what? Its there mere presence that creates the slightly buzzed aura in the otherwise active-as-ever hangar bar. The mission? Hardware installation. One IFF device derived from cylon technology, a team of engineers to install her, one Raptor crew, a pair of viper escorts… all of them on a date for the Eidolon.
Quinn steps out onto deck, already in her flight suit and pig tails she's been preferring these days to a simple knot or braid. It keeps down the frizz, supposedly. She's got her helmet under her arm and pre-flight checklist clip board in hand as she heads straight over to Harrier-307, her usual baby, and begins looking across the machine for all the usual matters…
"…the damnest thing I ever saw. You hop your band into the EHF band, right? Then you pop in something on your portable player, and modulate it into EHF, and when you pipe it at them, their nav systems go all squirrely. If it's got a lotta guitar with flange, they do this little wobble when they try and lock targets. Cutest damn jam I ever saw…" Raf is busily explaining some of his less ordinary EW tactics to any and everyone will listen. He's also right behind Quinn, deviating at the last moment to head toward the knot of engineers. He folds his arms as he waits, neck craning this way and that as he looks over the deck.
"Does it matter what kind of music?" Penny wants to know, draining a large paper cup of coffee. She looks a touch wired, just coming off shift for this little outing. "I dated a bloke once was into easy listening jazz — lots of synth and vibraphone. Made me want to shoot him."
A fuel truck rolls across the hangar floor, beeping steady and clear. The marines stand at attention, meanwhile, keeping a close eye on the raptor and its precious cargo… and we don't mean the passengers.
Haeleah is puttering around with the Raptor with the Engineering team, loading up. Suited up, tech kit on her back, all ready to rock and roll. Technically speaking. "I heard you all knocked this IFF thing together like clock-work, El-Tee," she says to Penelope. "All this is just downhill. So, you going to take the long ride down to Leonis when everybody sent in?" She's conversational as she gets settled. A side look at the pilot and ECO. ECO in particular. "You do any DJ'ing your spare time, Lieutenant?"
Alessandra's all set, geared up in her flightsuit, helmet in hand as she does her preflight. There's a deck member following along, the pair double checking everything out twice, not taking any chances. Not after the other day. "Looks like everything's good here…" Allie comments to the guy before ducking around, preparing to look at the other side.
Quinn is half listening to her ECO for the night, half finishing her pre flight list. She does cock a red brow in his direction, though, flashing a bit of a smile. "This mean I'm going to get entertainment along with your superior jamming capabilities? Mm… Maybe I need to trade Bootstrap out for you more often." She flashes a teasing grin, clearly joking, especially since she knows Bootstrap is probably around here somewhere. Still, it's good to give her new partner a confidence boost. Mother Hen Maggie then slips up into the Raptor, doing her inside checks just as smoothly.
Indeed, he is. For once, it's not Bootstrap who's backseating for Harriers' SL, even if he's still flying with her. Don't be fooled by how he's wearing his flight suit; he's officially on-hand as an electrical engineer and the project lead. "You into cockrock like Lucky, Paris?" It's a straight delivery but Quinn undoubtedly would know better. To Parres — not Paris — he quips, "Let's not say 'downhill' as that is suggestive of impending doom."
Sniffing his nose in apparent distaste, Raf glanes sidelong toward Penny and Haeleah. "Ya know, I could swear that kind of music was a shooting offense on some colonies… Nah, I don't DJ. Play guitar, though, and pretty meanly, too. None of that thrashy stuff the Cancerons seem to love so much. More… smooth, like," he says, gesturing with his hand as if the gesture could convey 'laid back.' As he does so, he seems to realize his glove isn't sealed on his flight suit, and begins re-fastening it. "I 'spect this here ride could get more exciting than an overturned bucket of monkeys, we don't roll the dice right. I woulda brought my guitar, but Toast told me to leave that and my lucky shirt behind. So all I have is Takako." His lucky hula-girl ornament.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Tobias "Crashland" Xaviar goes through the motions in his viper, checking himself out and giving the okay to tow his craft towards the launch tubes. He broadcasts over the comms, You ladies ready, or are we still powdering our noses. I got a hot date waiting for me. Yes. And her name is Ambrosia.
"Yep. Looks like I'm going," Penelope smiles at Hae, her expression grim at the edges. "Praise the Lords and pass the ammunition." She utters a short laugh, shaking her head at Trask. "Cockrock? Nnnot so much. I'm an Allegheny girl — if I can't clog or jig to it, don't bother me." She raises her eyebrows slightly at Raf's lucky charm, poking a finger at its hips so it wiggles. "Nice to meet you, lass," she tells the plastic ornament. "All the luck we can get, I'll take."
Quinn ducks her head out of her Raptor, handing off the clip board to one of the deck snipes and making one last call…"Come on, all aboard, boys and girls, this bus isn't going to wait forever!" Her smooth, clipped Caprican calls out towards the various milling officers finishing up their last checks and preps for the hopefully routine mission. She smirks towards Crashland, shaking her head and broadcasting back over the comms….I think your right hand will wait, Crashland… we got a job to do.
Lucky gets finished with pre-flight and slips into her Viper, getting it to finish checking stuff out and getting powered up, her expression falling to intense the closer she gets to launch time. "Okay…let's do it." Strapping in, she makes the call, asking permission to launch.
[CTC] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "Cerberus, this is Lucky. I'm green for the tubes. Do I have permission to launch?"
"I'm an optimist, Trask. You roll down hill. For impending doom I use cliff metaphors. Sharper drop," Haeleah Parres, not Paris, retorts with a grin to the ECO-cum-Technician. A rueful nod to Penelope. "Me, too. Which was probably stupid but, frak, I want to see what's cooking down there, you know?" Speaking of cliffs. But she gets aboard the Raptor for this outing without any apparent worries. "Don't disrespect a little techno, sir," she says to Raf as she belts in.
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "Lucky, this is Fleet Control. Your flight is cleared for launch."
A hop, skip, and jump places Raf inside three-oh-seven, whereupon he proceeds to perform all of that fun strapping-down process, booting the EW pod, and plonking Takako down on the readouts in front of him. Slamming his helmet down onto his head, he gives Haeleah a thumbs-up. "All music is good music, el-tee, just not always my kind of water in the tea. All right… Systems lit green, boss, and we're golden on the power. Pile is hot, rods are ready for pull," he says, radio crackling to life on the internal com system.
[CTC] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Cerberus, Jugs here, all systems are green and we're ready to launch."
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "Jugs, Fleet Control. Affirmative. You are cleared for vertical lift. Please proceed."
The moment Trask hears Allegheny, it's like something goes 'PING!' and his brown eyes lock on Penelope. For a moment, he just looks at her. "Really?" Oh, yes. His interest is piqued like a cat who just espied a canary. "Last I checked, one couldn't jig or clog to bluegrass. Well… not well anyhow." Buckling in, he flashes a proud smile when Quinn cracks her comment about Crashland's 'date'. "Going downhill, although typically easy, is not always a good thing," is the reply to Haeleah. "True dat on the cliffs, though."
Once traffic control green lights the launch, Crashland is off the ship like a bat out of hell. Frakking finally. Sorry, sweet heart. My right hand's got better things to do than that. Don't you know I'm a lefty? Let's get this chaperon date over with and go home. His viper swoops into the void, only slowing down as an afterthought.
Space, as the story goes, is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the drug store, but that's just peanuts to space. Listen… and so on. The space surrounding the Cerberus isn't quite as wide open, what with the nearby frigates in tow. The Eidolon sits in space a decent, but hardly insurmountable distance away. It's like the middle child of distances. Too far away for the impatient, but too close for a light jump. The radios buzz with the usual crosstalk, broken chatter, and radiological pollution from the stars themselves. It's not a nice day out here. It's never a nice day. It's just empty.
Once all her ducklings are settled into the back of 307, Quinn goes through her quick start up sequence, as smooth and reliable as ever. This is as natural to her as breathing these days. Permission for lift off granted, she activates her thrusters and releases the mag locks, getting up off the deck and heading for the launch tubes. "On our way, boys and girls…" She calls over the comms, though now that she's in flight, a smirk crosses her lips as she comms back to Crashland…"I figured if it was a date you were going for 'The Stranger' tonight…" She begins the flight towards the Eidolon, keeping close to her Viper escorts…
The Viper Allie's going to be piloting is launched and she finds herself having to hurry to catch up with Crash, something that gets her to grumble. "Easy there," she comments to the other pilot while looking intently at her DRADIS. "We're not here to put on a show. Stay close to the Raptor." Smiling, she slips over to where the other ship is, guiding Crashland to where it is they are needed to be.
Strapped in all snug and safe-like, Penelope relaxes for the ride. She turns her head to regard Trask, interest piqued right back. "You can clog to blugrass just fine," she laughs. "If y'know how. An' Glade Valley — you know it? — is northern Allegheny, so… we've got a good spillover of the north-folk's music, too." She lifts her chin towards Quinn. "Speaking of which, Maggie played a soddin' amazing fiddle at Beltane. She had half the ship dancing — or enthusiastically trying to."
"Vipers acquired, signals synced to 'friendly', and mapping vectors," Raf continues, his running commentary of systems having supplanted 'favorite crazy things to do on-mission'. A few more murmurings about heat levels, radiator performance, he he actually shuts up. One finger flicks at the hula girl, causing her to wobble crazily, while he absently watches the DRADIS. There is at least some of his attention diverted to those riding as passengers, however - he keeps glancing over toward them, his face constantly a mask of confusion. Fiddles must elude him, conceptually.
Yeah yeah. I really shouldn't knock it. postualtes Crashland. It beats cap. Just once around the block and you're home. He slows down a bit, staying to one side of Quinn's raptor in spite of his obvious desire to just afterburn to the Eidolon and then shoot back, as if it's a race.
"I'm still looking for somebody on board who can beat-box," Haeleah remarks. She sits back and enjoys the ride. As much as one can.
Penelope snrrks at Haeleah, shooting her fellow snipe a grin. "Now there's an art that'd be tragic to lose."
Quinn blushes, just a touch, as she hears her fiddling being complimented back there. She calls over her comms, "Thank you, LT. Beltaine… it really was quite a nice evening." Maggie is taking her time with the flying, just going the general cruising speed, in no hot shot rush to get home to a date or otherwise. She won't risk messing up this mission to keep up with a young viper pilot's ego. "Thanks for keeping with the rest of us, Crashland… keep to the mission specs, thank you very much. We're not in a rush. We're here to get the job done right."
The cabin lights in the Raptor flicker for just a moment, accompanied by a faint buzzing noise, then everything is alright again. A generally forgettable moment.
The usual aplomb Bootstrap has when in-flight? It's not quite there, although the only one who's likely to notice such a thing is Quinn, and it's not as though she's in a position to see him. It's one thing to backseat and another to be a mere passenger. "I wouldn't know," how to clog to bluegrass. "I'll take your word for it, though, having only been to Glade Valley once. I tend to stick to Blue Ridge," which is the choice tobacco country. "An' she should," Quinn, that is. "Magpie comes from a very musical family." Finally, to Parres, "Lieutenant Oberlin. Man knows how to drop rhymes an' beats." He may or may not be serious.
Lucky keeps herself fairly quiet, keeping to herself for the most part today. She does make a quick comment to Crashland, however, a dry, "I doubt this will be a walk in the park, Crash," before she looks out her cockpit, getting herself mentally prepared for what it is they're doing.
When Haeleah confirms his statement, Trask shoots Penelope a 'told you so' look. This gets truncated, however, with the technical glitches. Indeed, he's not about the stay still. "If you ladies will excuse me…" Aforementioned usual ECO then unbuckles and moves Rafwards, regarding the console.
Penelope levels a look at Trask, obviously not buying it. "There is no one in the Colonies whiter than Lieutenant Oberlin," she states.
"What, brah?" Raf is already double-checking the power readings. He doesn't bash the console or kick it, like one might expect. Rather, he finesses it, like it was a pet or a favorite toy; fingers slide over the switches, making minute adjustments and honing scans. "Aww, nah, brother, you don't get to route that way on my watch," he mutters, his body language suddenly very intent. "Hey, Jugs… I'ma ramp our ECM up a touch, but push it into the HF band. Gotta borrow some juice from the spool for a sec, so don't jump, okay? Power's acting hinky."
Haeleah grins at mention of Lieutenant and his mad skills. "I knew the boy could rap okay, but if he can set down some beats, I'll have to look him up again about it. I'm telling you, you haven't lived until you've seen an Intel officer drop rhymes after a meeting. I still need to invade his recording collection." Eyes shift at the momentary buzzing. Back to the ECO. Not being able to read the board directly seems to make her a little tetchy. But it is of no moment, so she stays in good passenger mode. A nod to Penelope. "It's pretty surreal, Pen. A good show, though."
The Eidolon hangs in space. The engines are off, along with the reactors. She's nearly ready, and the Raptor's cargo is what will make her complete. She's close enough to admire, at this point. It's been through pain and suffering, but she's a tough girl and is close to becoming a functional member of the extended family.
The flickering power in the Raptor doesn't go unnoticed by Maggie, though she simply frowns a bit, looking up and then back to her controls…"Do what you need, Kahuna… Keep me updated. Do you know -why- the power's acting hinky?" She asks him, a touch of wary concern in her husky, clipped voice, but she keeps it professional. After a heartbeat or two, she gives a look back to Penny and company, adding quietly to their passengers, "Lieutenant Paris… if you enjoyed the fiddle, you should thank Bootstrap there. He was the sweet sucker who took his last shoreleave to actually go back to my home and -get- it for me… Never can repay the man…" She flashes her usual ECO a bit of a smile before gazing back towards her controls, trying to hide worry.
Penelope barely seeks to have registered the glitch in the power at all, leaning forward to get a view of the Eidolon, then nodding at Maggie with a grin. "So you've said," she nods. "Always knew Kal was a soft touch, though." She grimaces slightly as Trask gets up and heads to Raf's station, glancing at Hae. "Backseat ECO… no good can come of this."
"Nah, not yet. Looks like we're losing some power between secondary passive scanners and…uh…what the heck is that? The maser linkup, looks like. Here…" Raf says, stabbing a finger at the readout once Trask is looking over his shoulder. "Damndest thing, too. When the power flickered, I saw this big fat EW signature right here, like… Under my ass, maybe. Mighta been an echo on the surge, but maybe our cargo is being wacky, too. I dunno."
"You boys let us know if you need some more hands back there," Haeleah says. She's being good so far, bad manners to molest working machines without permission, but she does fight the urge to tech rubber-neck along with Trask. She smiles half-sheepishly at Penelope. Even folding her hands in her lap. Good little engineer passenger.
Quinn broadcasts over the coms, "Cerberus, Lucky, Crashland… we're having a few minor technical issues over here. I've got my boys looking at it, but forgive us if we're a bit slow for a few minutes…" And then she switches to just the internal comms, trying to keep her flying smooth and steady, "Alright, Kahuna, Bootstrap, I don't know what the frak is going on but these thrusters aren't responding like they're supposed to. Not too slow but… just a bit sluggish. I know how my bird normall feels, and she doesn't feel right." Maggie admits, any joking or casual chit chat now completely one.
And the Eidolon grows steadily larger, looming like a really bad feeling that's about to get a whole lot worse.
"It's probably nothing," Penelope reassures Haeleah, laughing a little. "Couldn't be the cargo — it's got no power. We're almost there, anyhow." She glances up at the more-serious tone Quinn takes, however… and now she doesn't look entirely reassured. "Kal? That's right, isn't it? There's no power to the transmitter?"
The sound will likely turn out to be a lot less deafening in retrospect, if there is a retrospect. The loud, hollow sounding noise comes from seemingly everywhere in the Raptor. To the technically inclined, the CRACK would be the generators effectively burning themselves out in a blaze of glory, and the FOOM would be the rear thrusters burning themselves out, so say the smell, and so say we all. The craft lurches forward at high velocity, and then all the cabin lights go dead. The flight stick feels worthless. There's a high pitched whine as capacitors bleed off and say goodbye to this cruel galaxy. One by one, the ship displays begin to dim, then perish.
Crashland blinks, peering out his cockpit at… whatever the hell just happened inside the Raptor. What the shit… you guys okay in there? Juggs, come in. Radio in. What's going on? The radio still works, at least.
And the Eidolon grows steadily larger, looming like a really bad feeling that's about to get a whole lot worse.
"Roger, Jugs. Maybe…scrubbing the mission might be a good idea? Or we can get you guys set up with a bird that flies the way it should…" Lucky starts to make suggestions but then falls quiet, her eyes going wide. No way she's missing that. "Cerberus, this is Lucky. It looks like Raptor-<whatever number> is experiencing some frakked up technical issues. I repeat, our Raptor has lost power."
Raf pauses as 307 begins to make…noise. "Aww, baby, don't be like that. Toast told me not to paint your nosecone, but I wanted to! I was gonna give you a pretty vase with flowers poking out, with some kind of pun about Jugs on it…" he cries out, slapping the release on his restraints in an effort to get to a ceiling access panel. Unfortunately, this puts him directly out of his seat as the thruster blow. There is a short "Whoaaaa!" as he sails two feet through the air, plants his face on the rear bulkhead, and slumps over on the ground, unmoving.
[CTC] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "Cerberus, this is Lucky. It looks like Raptor-307 is experiencing some frakked up technical issues. I repeat, our Raptor has lost power."
"SOD ALL!" Penny yelps, luching forward against the seat harness, heart hammering. She yanks the harness free, grabbing an emergency kit from the overhead and cracking a light stick. Eerie torch in hand, she hot-foots if over to the unconscious ECO, checking him for serious injuries. "Frak, frak — frakity frak," she whispers, shaking a little.
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "Raptor 307, this is Fleet Control. What is your status?"
Maybe it's because he's a bit on-edge having his job being done by Cortez in his seat, but Trask doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Not from where he's standing, anyway. "Dunno," he tells Raf, expression somewhat intense with rumination. "After the Viper incident," wherein Shiv's exploded on deck, "I'm not gonna dismiiii-" It's then that he grips unto the back of the other ECO's seat in an attempt to remain upright. This doesn't go as well as planned, what with Kahuna wiping out. "Frak," is muttered from somewhere on the floor after a *thud*. "No idea, Henny Penny," he then calls out, navigating in the lack of light to get the repair kit. "Go take a look. You a'right Cortez? Quinn?"
[CTC] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Cerberus, we're losing all power. Back thrusters are dead. I have no flight control."
"Frak!" It's exclaimed at the same time as the *crackfoom*, so Haeleah's profanity is kept mostly to herself. Fortunately, she's sitting and strapped in. Even so she jolts and weaves in a way that looks none-too-healthy for her neck. And she bumps Penelope. Not hard, but the LTJG has elbows under her suit. Once she's steadied again she also unbelts, standing and motoring back to rubber-neck with the other techies. Politeness kills. She will take this as the lesson for this whole affair. "He all right?" she asks with a wince at knocked Raf.
[CTC] The reply is nothing but a pregnant pause that weighs heavy in the void. "Raptor 307," comes a voice that cannot contain its concern, "You are on a direct collision course with the Eidolon. Eidolon, this is Fleet Control." "Fleet Control, this is Eidolon. Our engines are offline."
Quinn swears quietly and in a very non lady like way as she realizes she's pretty much lost all steering control. She shakes her head, not able to get the stick to budge at all. Raf, while he gets a briefly concerned look, is being helped by Penny so she looks quickly to Trask and the worried Haeleah, "We've got about 2 minutes to get flight control back or we're going to have to abandon ship… Let's see what we can do." And while Maggie is no expert Engineer, she's got a fair hand with basic repair, so she's dropping to the floor, ripping off panels among the smoke so they can try to figure out what is going on. She seems fine.
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "Active Vipers Lucky and Crashland…. Please go weapons hot and stand by."
[CTC] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "Roger, Fleet. Lucky's weapons are hot."
[CTC] "Crashland" says, "Weapons h… no. Frak no. I'm standing by, but that's all I'm frakking doing."
"I think he's okay…" Penny reports, checking vitals on the unconscious Raf. "There's a bit of blood, but I think it's just a scalp wound. He's out sodding cold, though. I dunno? Concussion, maybe? He's breathing and his pulse is good, but I don't think he's coming back online for a while." She looks up, going pale even in the emergency light. "Weapons hot?" she echoes, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Swallow. Breathe again. Alrighty, then. "Right. I'm going to check the cargo, then."
Lucky's quick to power on her weapons but then she diverges her course, trying to get close to the defunct Raptor. "Jugs, this is Lucky. I got an idea which might work but it's risky. Basically going to try and nudge you out of the collusion course your on." She won't do it if the others tell her not to, of course, but she's preparing just the same, slowing down her Viper to a mere crawl as she inches closer.
Finally finding the repair kit, Trask retrieves the heavy-duty flashlight and turns it on. There's no electricity whatsoever, so he mentally runs through countless possibilities, as befits an aerospace engineer. (Yes, he's that, too.) "I'm bankin' that the power regulators are shot. Power is a no-go. We do have fuel, though, and it doesn't sound like the side thrusters were taken out, so we can probably jury rig something to get those activated. Otherwise, our options are abandon ship or become roadkill." That all said, the ECO is already trying to work his mojo on the Raptor.
Quinn looks down to Trask, reaching a hand over and at least holding that flashlight in place for him so he can work with both his hands. "Report, Kal… otherwise I'm going to tell Lucky to play bumper cars with us!" And then she calls over the comms…"Lucky, stand by and get in position… it'll be a last resort, but do stand by."
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "This is Fleet Control. Estimated time to impact, three minutes, twelve seconds."
Alessandra coughs a bit but nods. "Alright, Jugs. Going to start sliding up to your nose." The Viper speeds up a little in an attempt to get ahead of the other vessel, calling over the coms to CTC at the same time.
[CTC] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "Cerberus, this is Lucky. I am going to attempt to divert the course the Raptor's in by pushing them out of the way. Pray for us, please."
Haeleah gets her own little flashlight out of her engineering kit. A tool pack is handy for a girl to carry on her outings. "I'll go with either of the not-roadkill options," she says, though the attempt at a joke is less than hearty. She kneels by the board to poke around. "I think the electrical system's intact. Just looks dead because of the blown capacitors. Frak lot of good that does us right now, though. Not sure how to get it back up. Side thrusters do look like they're still up. They won't work perfectly but…" A look up and glance between Trask and Quinn. "…we can try to rig them. Or try to. You guys know these birds better than we do. If we need to jump out…" Grimace. She's up for it. If there's no other choice.
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "Eidolon, Fleet Control. All hands brace for impact. Are you sure you cannot power up your engines in time?" "That's affirmative, Fleet Control. They are completely offline. We need… more time than three minutes." "Active Vipers, do not interfere. You will miss and we will lose another viper. Your orders are to proceed to the Eidolon, bearing zero four five carom two seven. Hold position, target Raptor 307. Your hard ring is three thousand clicks. You are ordered to open fire on your target if it enters that radius. Please confirm.""
Penelope comes stumbling back from checking the cargo. "Nothing's going on with the transmitter — whatever happened, I don't think it had anything to do with it…" She grips a handle on the wall to steady herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as the com chatter sinks in. "Holy Hecate."
Maggie's quiet for just a heartbeat or two, knowing time is of the essence. She looks down towards her crew frantically working on the electrics. "You have 1 minute. If this isn't jury rigged in 60 seconds, we're bailing and the vipers will blow the craft to bits. Clock is ticking." She states strongly.
[CTC] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Lucky, Crashland, you heard it from Command. Back away from us and prepare to fire."
[CTC] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Cerberus, I've given my crew one minute to hopefully rig up our side thrusters. If they don't, we're abandoning ship and the vipers will still have just under a minute to destroy 307. Copy?"
[CTC] "Crashland" says, "Yeah, I heard it. It's bullshit, but I heard it."
[CTC] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "Alright, Jugs. Can't say I'm happy with it but okay."
Crashland's viper shoots away from the wayward Raptor, streaking across the void. It turns in midflight and coasts to a stop, aiming directly at the Raptor as it approaches. If one can see the look on the pilot's face, it's dubious, as though the entire situation is idiotic. The pilot's probably not terribly far from the truth.
"Thanks, Magpie," is murmured to Quinn as she takes the flashlight, thus freeing both of Trask's hands. A quick check with the multimeter he keeps in the kit confirms his suspicions. "You're right about the thrusters, El-tee," he tells Haeleah, "but you'd be dead wrong — literally, if permitted to proceed — about the electrical. We need to get those side thrusters on-line. Now." It is at this juncture that the man starts delegating what needs to be done, in his professional opinion as a knuckledragger of six years.
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "This is Fleet Control. Two minutes to impact."
Quinn leans down, doing her best to assist beneath the board with exactly whats going on in the mechanical works. She's also holding a flashlight and watching the clock while this all happens. "30 seconds, boys and girls, and I'm not joking. Lieutenant Paris, I want you ready to get an arm around Kahuna and take him with us if we've got to abandon ship. We're not leaving the big boy behind." And the clock keeps ticking…
With the clock ticking, Penny turns and yanks open a panel. "Need a hose — what's this? Environmental control?" She yanks a hose out of the wall; coolant splats all over the deck. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's about to get a little uncomfortable in here. Sorry." She thrusts the hose into Trask's hands — "You're patching the fuel line, right? This should work — it's the wrong frakking grade, but it's close enough for Colonial work."
How cute. Penny and Kal make a fantabulous team, yet again. Between his knowledge of avionics and her l33t jury-rigging skillz, they manage to rig up a system off the fuel feed line of the port side thruster, to burn fuel for electricity. "Good to go over here," Trask calls out to Haeleah, "What's your ETA, Me 2.0?"
Tick, tick, tick. Haeleah slides down to get to poking at the thruster's mechanical components. And…*BZZT*!!! And…that didn't go well. "Frakfrakfrakfrakfrak…" the stream of profanity is spit out as she quickly yanks her hands back. Without safety gloves, that would've hurt. "A frak-ton longer than it was a second ago. Must've gotten a component crossed down there. Frak…!" Her hands are shaking now, with self-recrimination as much as fear at imminent crashing. "It's down for good. We've still got the other side, though." Hopefully. "If it'll be enough."
"I could kiss you!" Penny exclaims to Trask, watching him pick up the ball and run. Yeah — not a bad team at all. She blinks and swings 'round to Haeleah, hearing the other engineer report — and winces deep. "Can we get fuel to the other side?" she asks quickly.
Not only does Trask run with the ball, he makes it all the way into the end zone, scores a touchdown, spikes the pigskin, and does a victory dance, figuratively speaking. There are reasons why the man is grudgingly appreciated even while simultaneously inspiring others to want to strangle him. "Does that require clearance?" he glibly require about the kiss, "'cuz I'm still waiting on that /other/ paperwork to go through." True to form, he's cracking jokes despite impending impact. "Already on it, Henny Penny," he relays about the fuel. Yay for aerospace engineering.
"It's doable, and better try," Haeleah says to Penelope, grimacing over the busted thruster again. That is just nasty. "Fixing this one is going to be harder job than just moving the line." No jokes from her. Just visible relief and Trask works his ECO Mojo that he do so well.
The MOMENT Maggie has response to her flight controls she's jerking the barely working side thrusters into action and tossing them on. She's not shooting off in another direction, but she's at least doing a rather unstable port-side turn, sliding around where she might be hitting the Eidilon in just a few moments. It doesn't help them long term, but short term is stops the pancake issue. She's straining with the flight stick, some sweat breaking out on her brow, but she's managing…
[CTC] Fleet Control says, "Flight Control to Raptor 307. We are observing a course change. What is your status?"
[CTC] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Command, Alright, looks like we should be able to slip clear. We're still in a free-fly, though, and I'm not certain we're going to get a better handle on these engines…"
[CTC] Fleet Control exhales, obviously relieved. "Eidolon, stand down. Raptor 307, we are dispatching a SAR team now. Can you salvage the Raptor?"
Trask informs Quinn, "It's not irreparable, but the ol' girl's not gonna be back on the front line, any time soon."
Penelope turns and slides down into an ungainly sitting position, back to the wall panels. She pulls a few pins out of her hair, letting it fall so she can rake her hand back through it, breathing deep. Grinning. She giggles, then starts full-out laughing. "That… was sodding close."
Quinn just takes a moment to breath, reassessing her head. She nods, "Alright, now that we're off course can we get her to slow down and stop enough they can at least pick us up and tow us in without causing some massive fuel fire?" Maggie looks down to the very, very jury rigged fuel line, feeling a bit skeptical the thing is going to hold all that long.
"Sodding is right…" Haeleah murmurs to Penelope. Deep breaths. She's sweating, more from compressed nerves than the heat inside the wobbly Raptor. She'll wait happily for the tow home.
Now I can jerk off in peace! Crashland shakes his head, staying close to the damaged Raptor… but not THAT close.