09-30-2024, 01:46 AM
"Ugh."
He'd expected the life support system to be in poor shape, not to be outright disgusting.
Altairi's flashlight waved over the brown gunk clouding the filters: the final nail in a coffin littered with holes and collapsing in on itself. He took a step back, frowning as he examined torn air ducts and exposed panels that indicated hasty mid-mission repair work.
It wouldn’t be a difficult fix so much as it would be a tedious one. The filters would have to be flushed out and the ducts patched back together, but it wasn’t as if he’d be realigning junctions and trying to interface modern tech with the ancient systems. He made a mental note to start ordering replicated plating from Yeager.
Altairi drew his tricorder, brushing past the phaser on his belt. The device flipped open with a click, its display lit up in bright blue, and a voice called out from behind him.
"Step away from the machinery and put your hands up."
The tricorder clattered to the ground. Altairi’s hands shot up. He didn’t turn.
"Who are you, and what are you doing aboard my ship?"
Shoot. A pod must have opened. He hoped it would be the only one.
“Uh-” What could he say that wouldn’t put a smoking hole in his chest? “I’m-”
"Easy now, we're here to help you. And I would really recommend putting that weapon down before it blows a hole in the hull and kills us all."
Braggins. Phew. He took his senior officers’ arrival as an opportunity to turn around, albeit slowly, hands still stuck in the air. By then, the other man had turned away and released his grip on his weapon. Altairi took a careful step backward nonetheless.
Seconds later, the man was bracing himself against a bulkhead. Cryosleep hadn’t been kind to him– and neither had the Franklin’s failing life support system.
"What did you do to my ship?"
“We didn’t do anything to your ship.” Altairi finally decided to speak. He lowered his hands slowly, shaking. “We found her like this. It’s, uh, been a while since you folks launched.”
== Tags. Sorry about the delay. ==
He'd expected the life support system to be in poor shape, not to be outright disgusting.
Altairi's flashlight waved over the brown gunk clouding the filters: the final nail in a coffin littered with holes and collapsing in on itself. He took a step back, frowning as he examined torn air ducts and exposed panels that indicated hasty mid-mission repair work.
It wouldn’t be a difficult fix so much as it would be a tedious one. The filters would have to be flushed out and the ducts patched back together, but it wasn’t as if he’d be realigning junctions and trying to interface modern tech with the ancient systems. He made a mental note to start ordering replicated plating from Yeager.
Altairi drew his tricorder, brushing past the phaser on his belt. The device flipped open with a click, its display lit up in bright blue, and a voice called out from behind him.
"Step away from the machinery and put your hands up."
The tricorder clattered to the ground. Altairi’s hands shot up. He didn’t turn.
"Who are you, and what are you doing aboard my ship?"
Shoot. A pod must have opened. He hoped it would be the only one.
“Uh-” What could he say that wouldn’t put a smoking hole in his chest? “I’m-”
"Easy now, we're here to help you. And I would really recommend putting that weapon down before it blows a hole in the hull and kills us all."
Braggins. Phew. He took his senior officers’ arrival as an opportunity to turn around, albeit slowly, hands still stuck in the air. By then, the other man had turned away and released his grip on his weapon. Altairi took a careful step backward nonetheless.
Seconds later, the man was bracing himself against a bulkhead. Cryosleep hadn’t been kind to him– and neither had the Franklin’s failing life support system.
"What did you do to my ship?"
“We didn’t do anything to your ship.” Altairi finally decided to speak. He lowered his hands slowly, shaking. “We found her like this. It’s, uh, been a while since you folks launched.”
== Tags. Sorry about the delay. ==