Micromanagement [Regan Altink]

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

A terrible snarl of sine graphs, temperature readouts, and pluggable equations filled Captain Raurrssatta's workspace in his office. He knew he shouldn't be looking at them, but it was a sickening compulsion. In the end, one holo lay in the corner, mocking him:

Hyperdrive inefficiency 0.062%

The phrase 'hyperdrive inefficiency' itself was highly misleading, considering that most of the oomph that hurtled ships at speeds beyond light was effectively set in stone by cosmic physics, the motivator's unchangeable hardware, and a finite power source. Unless you were just an obsessive person, most people considered advanced field geometry shaping to be too much nitpicking.

Cirr wasn't one of those. He'd read kilograms worth of flimsies and books on the topic, and spent "Way too much fucking time" on it in the words of Sanis. But he could quantify that efficiency into a realspace break ten seconds better per parsec. In a hot pursuit, that could be a lot of time.

Still, it would take him a long time to align Novgorod's motivator to the fieldshape he needed. The computer's logic was better, but the hardware didn't like to be fiddled with as much as Corellian goods would allow. Worst of all, he was a damn Captain now. He couldn't bury his nose in an engine all day. People expected him to...Captain. Fly ships around, make big decisions, shoot things. Lead. Things that were about as comfortable to the felinoid as a vegetarian diet.

What he needed was a protegé.

"Computerr, patch me jinto Ljieutenant Altjink's terrmjinal."

[Regan Altink]

"Almost... there..."

His voice came out as a grunt, the muscles in his hand bunched tight as he haulled against the wrench as hard as he could. The specifics of the scenario may have changed a little from telling to telling, but it was the same old story, with the same poor unfortunate protagonist. Though it's political aspirations were noble enough to dismount the otherwise anti-politics Regan Altink from his seat on the fence, the Rebel Alliance was far from establishing the trappings of a legitimate government: things like a stable economy and a properly-funded military were a long way off, and expecting that to change any time soon was just a pipe dream. There were doubtless far larger rammifications than the one that Regan was currently trying to deal with: but right now, his mind was entirely focused on trying to get a square peg into a round hole.

More specifically, he was trying to fit the square water reclamation unit from a Corellian Corvette into the round hole left by a burnt-out Marauder Corvette unit. The new reclamator matched the technical specifications of the old unit - it was better, in fact - which was why the Alliance military had shipped it over with the latest batch of spare and replacement parts. Unfortunately the unit was three inches shorter, five inches wider, and had the mounting brackets on the wrong side.

At a modern shipyard facility, with access to a full engineering crew and a properly stocked machine shop, he could shut everything down, rip everything out, and replace it all with components that were shiny and new. All he had right now however was a spanner, a hammer, a light blue space squirrel, and a bad back from trying to reach around lumps of ship that he couldn't uninstall without plunging the whole ship into darkness.

The wrench suddenly lurched, and there was a shriek from deep within the bowels of the machinery. Instantly, Regan yanked the wrench the other way; there was a dull thud, followed by a groan, and a few seconds later a grubby blue creature emerged from beneath the secondary sewage extraction duct, rubbing gingerly at it's stomach.

"I told ye t' hold it still," Tink pointed out, trying to remain deadpan.

Muridaemus narrowed his eyes, staring up at the human from waist height. He said nothing for what seemed like an age, and then slowly turned, delivering a swift kick to the reclamator with his miniature military boots. "I don't think it's going anywhere," he muttered.

Tink grabbed the tank and gave it a firm, precision shake, just for good measure. "Aye," he concurred, a little reluctantly, "Though I'd like tae get an extra weld on tha' bracket - I donnae want it shakin' loose an' floodin' the engine room the firs' battle tha' comes along."

The mention of welding filled the Squib's tiny eyes with concern, and Tink couldn't belp but smile. "Donnae worry," he reassured. "I'll get someone a wee bit less flammable on tha' later."

Muridaemus was clearly relieved, but the code of honour that he seemed to have picked up from watching too many swashbuckling space adventures refused to let him admit to it. "As you wish, Leftenant," he said with a slight bow. "If you'll excuse me then, I shall go and see if anyone else has any small spaces they need me to crawl into."

The Squib didn't say longer; Tink fought the urge to chuckle as Muridaemus made his slightly swifter-than-usual escape, crouching down and reaching into the too small for a human hole that Murray had emerged from to retrieve the wrench responsible for wounding the critter's pride.

A beep from Tink's chest pocket caught his attention; he straightened, tucking the wrench into his belt before delving into his coveralls in search of his comlink. "Go ahead," he called, bringing the device to his lips.

"The Captain's after you, Chief. Shall I patch him through to your comm?"

Tink knew full-well that the engineer speaking couldn't see him; he still shook his head regardless. "I'll be right do'n," he replied, already in motion, stepping through the slightly elevated hatch and triggering it closed with his elbow. A few dozen paces and a couple of quick turns brought him out of the maze of corridors that snaked through the engineering section of the ship, and onto the raised gangway that overlooked the ship's main reactor. A few more clanking steps across metal grating brought him to a ladder; he zipped down in seconds, missing the rungs entirely.

Like everything else in this part of the ship, engineering was cramped and close together; he made it to the engine room's control station in a matter of seconds. The engineer who'd commed him acklowledged his arrival with a nod; Tink dismissed him with a nod of his own, before settling down into the battered but comfortable chair.

"Sorry aboot the delay, cap'n," he apologised, scrubbing at his chin with a hopefully grime-free patch on the back of his wrist. "How c'n I help?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"jI'm sendjing you some data."

It was cryptic, but Cirr didn't want to explain when he could show. Hopefully his new chief engineer would appreciate what he was sending enough to follow his lead. He drummed his claws on the desk long enough for the files to transmit, and hurriedly added,

"jI'll be rrjight down to talk about jit."

It felt wrong to fuss and fret over such a sexy topic without being in hands-on proximity to the engine, and Cirr quickly closed the comm and was on his way to engineering. He had to put some thought into slowing his gait, as people might get the wrong idea seeing the Captain of the ship running down the corridors without general quarters being sounded.

[Regan Altink]

The vid signal cut off before Tink had an opportunity to respond; that was probably a lucky break, all things considered. As the numbers and equations that Cirr had transmitted scrolled across the screen, a string of muttered profanities collected from half a dozen different planets tumbled out of his mouth. "I'm a mechanic, no' a bloody astrophysicist," he added to himself, a hand clutching at his brow.

Allowing himself to mull for a second or two, he supposed it wasn't entirely outside his mandate. After all he was the chief engineer, which sort of implied that tinkering with the engines was part of his job. And Tink was all for tinkering: a lucky coincidence, considering his surname. His kind of tinkering was a lot more trial and error though: he liked to tinker with hammers and spanners, not with computers. He left the complicated calculations of hyperspace field mechanics to the astromech droids: and if the plane he was fixing up didn't come with one of those plugged in, he'd send his mechanics to distract a pilot and would commandeer theirs for an hour or so.

He sighed and slid out of the seat; a few paces with his hands tucked into the pockets of his overalls brought him to the nearest member of the engine team who looked vaguely important. "The boss is on his way," he muttered, in a conspiratorial whisper. "Act like y' busy."

The engineer shot him a puzzled look. "I am busy, sir."

Tink clapped him on the shoulder, and offered an approving nod. "Don't jus' act the part; be the part. Good man."

Without another word Tink drifted away towards the engine room's main hatch, leaving the poor engineer feeling decidedly confused.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr beelined it for engineering, which seemed to be buzzing with the energy of the two dozen crewers in the department all set upon different tasks. He was tempted to stop and take it all in as a whole, but he had business to attend to, and sought out Lt. Altink.

"Get a chance to glance those equatjions overr?"

Cirr clapped a hand over his engineer's shoulder, herding him over to the nearest console to call the whole thing up. He wanted to make clear they were on the same page as far as how to implement the changes he wanted.

[Regan Altink]

"Glanced?" Tink echoed. "Oh aye, I had a wee shiftie."

He winced a little as the string of equations once again appeared before him, making about as much sense as they had the first time. "Understanding on th' other hand, is something else entirely."

He shook his head slightly, arms folding across his chest. "I'm a mechanic, no' a bloody mathematician: I fix what's broke, and if it ain't broke I donnae fix it." He waved his hand vaguely at the screen. "If y' want it done I'll get it done, but unless y've got a few extra hands layin' about the ship, it may have tae wait until we're done trying t'fit square pegs in round holes."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr grimaced, partially chafing at the bad news, and partially sifting that bad news through his engineer's grotesque accent.

"Arre you telljing me my chjief engjineerr jis a Luddjite?"

He hoped the jab would land squarely along 'Tink's pride, and impel him into accepting the challenge. Yes, mechanics often times solved problems with the turn of a spanner, but you had to know the science behind why you were turning that spanner.

With terse-lipped frustration, Cirr reached to the terminal screen, pawing away a half dozen equations until he kept two in view.

"Forrget the theorretjical geometrry parrt, err, forr now. Thjis rrjight herre jis ourr matterr annjihjilatjion model. Comparre sjimulatjions overr ourr next few jumps and you'll see how farr off we arre."

He crossed his chest, rocking backwards and forwards on his feet a bit as he talked.

"Parrt of jit jis the logjic. Have the drrojids take carre of that. jI need the harrdwarre to behave. Rrejinforrce what you need, cheat wherre you can."

He waved dismissively in the direction of the engine superstructure.

"jI know what Sjienarr says the specs arre, and they'rre only trrue jif my grrandfatherr was a pjilot. We wjill do betterr than that."

[Regan Altink]

Tink's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and a slight look of open-mouthed confusion formed on his face as he struggled to pick his way through the Cirrsseeto's thick accent. For a brief moment, he felt relieved on behalf of his engineering team that he could serve as a buffer, protecting them from regular exposure to strange ways of pronouncing simple Basic.

"Y' want me tae jiggle the intermix ratios on the AM reactor, an' squeeze a wee bit more power oot the engines?" he summed up, hoping he'd picked up on the gist correctly. His frown deepened. "Could y' no' have just said that wi' words, insteadae numbers?"

He scrubbed the back of his hand against the corner of his jaw, the stubble that had grown out after far too many hours spent solidly working scratching away at an irritating itch that he most definitely planned on blaming Murray for.

"This big bird o' ours isnae factory fresh: she's patched up with the leftover scraps the Alliance had lyin' around. The engine may be Sienar, but the thrust modulators are from Rendili, and I've no clue where they lifted those antimatter injectors from. Calibrations on the engine I can handle, nae problems there... but right now I cannae promise that it'll stay attached tae the rest of the ship."

A thoughtful silence descended on the mechanic for a moment. "I'll run some simulations, and let y'know how far I'm comfortable pushing our jury-rigging."

A slight hint of a hopeful smile crept onto his features. "That is, unless y' fancy lending me your cred card, and swinging by Corolag to buy brand new parts from SARD?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

For a moment, Cirr got lost in the mental fantasy he was all-too-familiar with. It was basically engineer porn. The blank check fantasy was the doom of many a tinkerer. There were times he wished he had a little less pride about things and thought about asking his mother. Goddess knows she had the credits to suit ridiculous ideas.

Snapping out of his bliss, he coughed a bit, looking sideways to see if anybody caught his mental gears spinning.

"Thjis shjip just got a faceljift that'll put anotherr two decades of ljife jinto herr. The powerr plant mjight not be frresh, but you've got a motjivatorr on hand that half the fleet would kjill and leave you burrjied over. jI don't carre jif jit's ugly, ljieutenant. jI carre jif jit worrks."

[Regan Altink]

A small hint of a grin crept onto Tink's face. "If ugly but functional is what y're after, then y'came to the right guy. But, eh -"

He hesitated, leaning forward and dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "I've go' a lotae things tae fix and recalibrate around the place. it'd make things a wee bit easier if i didnae have more chunks of ship falling off for a wee while."

He flashed Cirr a pleading look. "Any chance we could stick tae peaceful missions, where they willnae be shooting at us for a spell?" He winced. "Its hard enough tae move around this ship's cramped arse without cables and rush repairs criss-crossing the place like a Wookiee tree on Life Day."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr made a grimace and held up a hand.

"Sparre me that one, jI used to turrn a spannerr forr a ljivjing too. When have you everr gotten someone to stjick to that prromjise?"

Although, he would certainly rather tune a hyperdrive for performance than have to worry about sealing the outer hull. Still, the Alliance wasn't in the game just for show ponies.

"Although jI am a fjirrm beljieverr jin the spojils of warr. Fjight the Empjirre long enough, and you fjind a few ljightly-used top shelf jitems herre and therre."

He gave a hard clap on Tink's shoulder.

"Don't forrget those sjims. jI want a rreporrt on my desk tomorrrow."

He kept his hand on Tink's shoulder, waiting a moment for an affirmative.

[Regan Altink]

Tink's mouth drew into a thin line. Things had changed somewhat for the former fighter mechanic. A few months ago thinks like rank didn't matter to him: if he told a pilot that their ship wasn't safe to fly, then they bloody well didn't fly it. The thing stayed grounded on his flight deck. Down there, he was king, and he could boss around just about anyone if he remembered to tag a 'sir' on the end.

Now he was just some two-bit fixer, whose experience and input apparently came second to the whims of those with more shiny things on their uniforms. He was glorified mesh tape, holding things together despite the fact that logic and common sense said they should be flying apart.

He mustered a vague smile for the Commander. "I'd better get right on wi' that then," he muttered. "An' I willnae keep y' any longer, sir - I'm sure y've got plenty more t' be worryin' on about upstairs."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Which was absurdly false, because this project had occupied nine out of every ten thoughts of his lately. Still, Cirr pretended like he had somewhere better to be.

"Carrry on, Ljieutenant."

With that, he left, doing his best not to dawdle or to look back. He knew that if he gave in to that temptation, he'd just shirk bridge duty in favor of getting hands-on with the project, which is what he very much wanted to do.

Command was going to be brutal on him.

[Regan Altink]

As Cirr disappeared, Tink was intensely glad about the majority lack of seating in the engine room. Right now a long sit down was exactly what he needed; it was also exactly what was going to prevent him from actually getting anything done, so it was definately better off this way.

He allowed himself to frown, glancing the data over yet again. "I used tae turn a spjanner for a livjing," he muttered under his breath, his half-hearted attempt at a Cirrsseeto impression heavily laced with sarcasm.

He shook his head and sighed. "Of course a bloody spacer engineer is gonnae understand this crap," he grunted. "When y're only competition is a bunch ae cretins that washed outae proper navy, y've got tae learn before some other idiot gets y' killed."

His jaw clenched, and his frown became so deep that it threatened to consume his eyes. Suddenly, he unleashed a high-pitched whistle. "Murray!" he added, barking loud enough for his voice to carry across the engine room, despite the ambient noise.

On the gantry above he heard frantic scuttling; a moment later the blue furred features of Muridaemus-Musculus peered down at him from above, and a grunt in Squib that required no translation tumbled forth.

Tink folded his arms firmly across his chest. "Go find the pretty Lyanie lass from Dantooine," he muttered; there were so many damned people on this ship, and he hadn't really put any effort into remembering names.

His voice dropped into a mutter. "She can handle this spacer bollocks. I wannae go hit something wi' a spanner."

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Frankly, this entire situation was an affront to an individual as noble and distinguished as the great Muridaemus-musculus, but he was bound by honour to obey the whims of the poorly-spoken angry human who had liberated him from his junkworld exile; for now at least.

Secretly, he hoped that he would one day be able to repay his debt, or at least provide Regan Altink - what a silly-sounding and under-punctuated name! - with an education-by-example in how to speak correctly; but until then, he had resigned himself to performing any tasks that required scampering about or clambering into small spaces.

Of course, a Squib such as he was perfectly suited to service aboard a ship such as this. While it's cramped corridors and crawlspaces had been designed as the bare minimum for oversized humanoids, they were practically luxurious for a being the size of a Squib. And, with his carefully honed navigation skills, and holographic memory for what pipes and cables were and weren't hot or electrified, he could navigate areas of the ship in record time; a skill he regarded with particular personal pride.

That said, there were times when his exposure to Humans became problematic. Until very recently, his only encounters with so-called civilized life had been via holomovies: and while they had blessed him with a wonderful Coruscanti accent and had educated him in the highest honourable practices of Tapaani nobles, he hadn't quite grasped some of the more fundemental principles of society.

Such as doors.

It took barely any effort at all for Muridaemus-Musculus to loosen the fastenings that held the vent grating in place; while Regan Altink had insisted that he not carry his sword while aboard, the multitool that had been provided instead proved extremely useful in situations such as this. He slid it back into his belt with a flourish and, with a squeak of triumph, a swashbuckling bundle of blue tumbled from high above, and landed squarely in the centre of Lyanie Quez's quarters.

[Lyanie Quez]

Lyanie was halfway into a shirt, the body of it caught over her face when she heard a small thud resonate on the floor behind her. The sound made her grab one of the beloved pair of blaster pistols her father had gifted her from the desk in front of her and whip around to aim it precisely at the source of the sound. Clearly if someone or something needed to elect to come in through the ceiling then it wasn't trying to alert her to its presence by using the door.

"I don't know who or what you are - I obviously can't see you- " Her words, after all, being slightly muffled by a half-put-on shirt... "-but what the frak are you doing in my quarters and what the frak do you want?"

She heard a squeak then. She gripped the pistol tighter and stepped closer to the sound, realising that she should probably consider making it so that she could see and also wishing she had a spanner in hand. Beings could survive blaster bolts, but there was something to be said for a spanner to the head. And fiddling with her shirt would distract from the leg-up she had on the intruder who was probably not expecting to be caught!

"A squeak? Don't even try that. I'm not so easily fooled. There's no wild animals on this ship (that I know of!) so answer for yourself or I will be tempted to shoot."

[Muridaemus-musculus]

"Fear not, Lady Lyanie!" the Squib exclaimed, leaping triumphantly to his feet. "For it is I, Muridaemus-musculus!"

Instinctively, his hand fell to his waist to draw his sharpsword; finding it absent of course, he contented himself by merely flourishing his arm in the air, converting it mid motion into a flamboyant bow.

As he straightened, his eyes settled upon her still-covered face - a fact that she had admittedly informed him of, but that he had ignored in the interests of showmanship. Realising that his routine had all been in vain, his shoulders sagged a little in disappointment. He half-considered waiting a few moments for her to finish dressing, but decided against it, continuing with his message instead.

"Regan Altink has beseeched me to find you, and asks that I return with you to perform a most urgent task. We should away to the engine room -" He flourished his hand in the approximate direction of the ship's aft. "- post-haste!"

[Lyanie Quez]

Boy, that gave her pause. Not to mention she now felt particularly foolish. Lyanie lowered the pistol and yanked the shirt down the rest of the way over her torso. She stared at the squirrel-like creature for a split-second, blinked, then laughed.

"Oh, Murray. It's just you." The engineer breathed out the rest of her nervous mirth and quickly began to look sincere. Her eyebrows pushed in and up and she twisted slightly to place the blaster pistol back on the desk. "I'm really sorry, y'know, that I thought you were a... someone who shouldn't be here."

She turned around completely and pulled her toolbelt off the back of the chair and began affixing it to her person. One belt to keep her trousers from being pulled down under the weight of the toolbelt and the other being the toolbelt. She stuffed a pair of hefty work gloves into her left pocket and then stuck a small charm into the mini-pocket within the right pocket of her trousers and buttoned it shut.

"Someone really needs to teach you about doors and impress on you the importance of them." Lyanie smiled. "And maybe put the door controls in your reach. Yeah, okay. That requires more thought."

She fetched her most comfortable greasin' jacket from a hook near the washing area (beside it was the most recently worn jumper on another hook) and pushed her arms through the sleeves and zipped it up. Afterwords, she grabbed a pair of not too beaten up-looking goggles and rested them about her neck before fetching one last thing - her own kit of essentials. It was a bit on the heavy side, but every last bit of tool in that bag had become extremely useful in many situations over the years and had been replaced as needed (and when possible) as it moved from the status of 'just a tool' to 'damn well essential'.

"Alright, why don't we go see what Tink wants? It can't be anything that bad. He's probably just blowing it out of proportion." She headed to the door and pressed the controls to make it open and looked back at Murray. She swept her arm in a flourish to indicate the direction of departure - out the door. "Lead the way, o valiant blue one!"

[Muridaemus-musculus]

Muridaemus-musculus had a fondness for Lyanie Quez. Unlike the frequently sour and negative Regan Altink, she seemed to display a much more positive array of emotions. His conversations with her were always an enjoyable affair - particularly those that ended in something called 'bellirubs', which was apparently an important human tradition - and she had the good grace to speak in a manner as was befitting a lady; most of the time at least.

"Indeed I shall, fair maiden," Muridaemus-musculus replied, with his deepest and most flourished bow.

Then without another moment's pause, he leapt out into the corridor. "Onward!" he cried, bounding off through the decks as fast as his little legs would carry him.

[Lyanie Quez]

The manner of the little blue tuft of fur always elicited mirth from her. Murray was a delightful creature and she gladly entertained him with her company - to be truthful, she was always the one entertained no matter who meant to entertain whom. Once the Squib had raced out her door and down the way, she sealed her quarters and made off after him - which honestly required nothing more than larger steps than usual. There was hardly much reason to run unless it was an emergency and even then such haste could be ill-advised, sometimes.

She hadn't been on board even a day and already she was being made busy, made use of. That was more than she could say for having been on the Wheel as of late. It was a welcome reprieve and (she hoped) a mostly permanent one. She hated feeling wasted, in the non-alcoholic way.

Following Murray made quick work of getting from point A to point B on a vessel she was as-yet unfamiliar with. It wasn't long until she was where she was needed, an environment in which she felt the most comfortable, and set her kit down on the deck.

"Tink?" She piped up. "Tink, I'm here!"

[Regan Altink]

The clattering thud of something metallic being dropped, followed by a grunt from whatever it had impacted came in reply, originiating from beneath one of the plasma flow regulators. A few moments of shuffling and scuffling later, a decidedly frazzled-looking Regan Altink emerged with one eye firmly closed, a hand clutching at his head just above. For a moment, it looked like a decidedly half-hearted Vansen Tyree costume; but there was no way the Wheel's Commodore would ever have let himself end up so scruffy and grubby-looking.

Tilting his head backwards, Tink turned his temporarily cycloptic gaze above and behind him, settling on the upsidedown features of Lyanie Quez. He looked at her a little puzzled, before shouting: "I'd shake y' hand, but y're the wrong way up!"

He hesitated, reconsidering that particular thought. "Plus, y' already know who I am." Another pause came, followed by a broad smile thrown in her direction to ease the tension, just in case there was any. "Hello!"

With an effort, Tink eventually managed to drag himself free of whatever space he'd crawled into - the kind of space that Murray would thrive in, but that Tink had wedged himself into regardless, for reasons unknown. Heaving himself to his feet, he made a clumsy show of blinking repeatedly, and trying to work out whether his eye was still capable of focussing. Content that it was, he assured everyone that "I'm fine!" before looking in several wrong directions before working out where Lyanie was.

He frowned deeply for a few moments, realising that he was in fact being decidedly weird. He took the chance to collect himself, and to try seeming normal again. "Right, sorry. I sortae had a -" He gestured down to the hole he'd just crawled out of. "- hand-spanner-face malfunction."

His brow remained mid frown for a little longer; he aimed a finger at Lyanie like a blaster. "I need y're help wi' something."

[Lyanie Quez]

Regan had always been a bit odd, but what did you expect from a kid who'd pretty well grown up in and around Rogues? How the boy hadn't become a womanizing partybot she couldn't figure, but he was an honest kid to work around.

Again, the change of pace from the Wheel was a welcome one - though she'd yet to find out what exactly that pace was like. It was always like her to hope for the best and if the times called for it, expect the worst.

"Oh, Tink. How you haven't busted your noggin open yet, I'll never know." She said, a small laugh in her voice. "Alright then, what've ya got for me?"

[Regan Altink]

Regan stared blankly. What did he have for her? It was something important, he knew that. Something that had made his head hurt even before the wrench had crashed into it. It was something hard. Something confusing. Something -

"Aha!" Regan shouted triumphantly, waving the wrench around in a display of swashbuckling prowess that might even have made Murray proud. He aimed it towards the offending - or was it offensive? - computer display. "Cap'n Catface," he said, his words slurring ever so slightly. "Wants us tae Squib around wi' the engines. Calibrations or calculations, or tha' kindae stuff."

"I donnae have a droid," he continued; his mind wandered idly, wondering if perhaps he could commandeer one from the Air Group, since they seemed to get greater priority when requesting those sorts of things than lowly engineers would. "But I do have a wee Quez kicking about."

"Work out what exactly th' Cap'n wants, translate what I need tae do intae mechanic speak, and I'll -"

He trailed off, mind fumbling for something appropriate, but completely failing at the task. He grabbed hold of the first thought that came to mind. "I dunno. I'll buy y' a puppy or something."

[Lyanie Quez]

“Oh, for pete's sake. No puppies, please. That’s the last thing we need." She considered the whole thing for a second. "But a couple'a beer would be fine, though.”

Lyanie’s bright and keen eyes slid over to the display in a sidelong glance. Her lips pursed, wondering precisely what it was that ‘Cap'n Catface’ desired. She had a fair guess that it probably had something to do with speed or efficiency, since from her scant observations thus far, the Novgorod appeared to function better by far than her more recent endeavours to keep a much smaller ship afloat. She turned the set of her soft eyes back to the visage of the ‘Chief’ (which everyone else saw fit to call him – but was hardly required of her, for all obvious reasons) in a pleased smile that seemed reserved for a challenge. Though, knowing Tink, it was probably only a challenge in terms of how fast it wooshed over his silly head.

“So, the Cap’n wants some jiggling around done, does he? Alright, I’ll take a look into it for ya.” She winked and idly toyed with the goggles hanging about her neck. Her eyes slid to narrows and her lips pursed again when she glanced at the terminal for the second time. “Did he perhaps make any mention of when he wants this done by?”

She was certain that Cirr would have made such a thing known, but what she couldn’t be certain of was to what depth command had altered him since she had last seen or heard anything from him. No matter, he was her captain now, which while an ultimately strange thought, it was one she believed she could accept, as required. Tink gave her 'Tomorrow' as the deadline and she nodded. Lieutenant Quez (golly, ain’t nobody tried sticking a rank to me since… a long time. Gonna take some gettin’ used to) turned to the terminal and approached it, setting her mech-kit down aside of it and settling in to hunch over the screen. One errant bit of hair flopped into her face and attempted to stick to her tongue, which poked out of her mouth under narrowed eyes as she scanned through the calculations and other various related applicable situational matter.