“Toss me that spanner,” Tariq called over the rumble of Hobbs and W.B. carting parts from the bridge toward the engine room.
Liishi looked through the case of tools, picked the most likely one, and underhanded it over the console to him. He yelped and sat up, rubbing the top of his head. “Sorry,” she said, then: “Isn’t your head harder than that?”
“Har har,” he muttered and leaned back over to the console’s innards.
“How much longer?” Liishi asked for—she knew and hated herself for it—the twentieth time in the last two days. All the sitting had worn a hole in her leathers. And she had punched a hole in the bag Tariq had kindly hung in the storage space she exercised in. Oh, she’d helped to the best of her knowledge, but when it came to shipboard work, her skill set was particularly limited.
In answer, Tariq tapped the com switch on the console. “Moe? How’s she looking?”
“All systems go down here, boss.”
Tariq smiled. “Fire it up.” He slipped into the pilot’s seat and flipped a few switches, adjusted a few dials. The whine of the engine dropped an octave, and the ship shuddered violently, then the shaking subsided. A look of concern passed his features, but he shook his head. “Good enough until Bilbao gets a look at it. Is anything down there redlining?”
“No. All looks good here,” W.B. replied. And Moe added, “It’ll do until we find Bil, sir.”
“Good.” Tariq glanced at the forward screens then back down at the boards. “There you are,” he said. “Let’s go get our engineer back.”