Madlands

27. Proof

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This would be going a lot better if he wasn't on a world like Rin.

Mando knew how to make do when it came to ship repairs—repurposing, rethinking, and general ingenuity by necessity—but typically he at least had access to a local scrapyard for salvaged parts. Even though the issues he was battling hadn't come from hostile fire, or heat, or water, or from going too fast for too long, and instead just falling rocks, the array of damage they'd inflicted was almost impressive. The ship had smashed and cracked components, severed lines, and a number of exterior elements just... missing. He should have known he'd be in for it, based on all of the failures and warnings that the alarms were throwing off during the short but difficult trip back here.

That train of thought was brushed away—there was little chance that replaying it all one more time would reveal the wondrous thing that he could have done or said differently to make it so that Grey was still here.

That part of his journey was, quite clearly, done.

He cursed as the wires he was trying to reconnect decided to instead short each other out, throwing sparks in his visor like a rebuke. If a scrapyard was too much to ask, even a shady Jawa scavenge dealer with terrible prices would be welcome right now.

He let go of the wires, let his body go limp, and sighed. Lying on his back, on the floor of the hold, with his head craned up to see into the small electrical compartment was turning out to be not just awkward but exhausting. He'd also been at the repairs for what must be a full day. He glanced out the open rear gate, and wagered that it was late-afternoon. Pallis was turning out to be the galaxy's largest and strangest clock.

Thankfully, he'd already managed to work his way through the biggest issues. The damage to the starboard engine hadn't been as bad as he'd expected. Number one, it had still been there, and number two, what it had needed more than anything was to be banged back into shape. The outer casing had absorbed most of the shock, and once it was no longer oddly shaped and jammed against the compressors inside of it, things started moving again. If he could finish this one thing—rewiring the propulsion cooling system, the Crest would be about as space-worthy as she often was.

Maybe if he was on his side instead of his back.

Mando shuffled and quickly realized that this angle was not going to work, even if it felt good just to change positions. All he could see was straight along the bottom of the hull wall where it met the decking.

He was about to call it for a much-needed break when he noticed something small and unfamiliar tucked along the very edge of the deck, an arm's length away. It looked sleek but dirty. Either it was part of the ship that had come loose during their escape from Cereda, or it might be something he could use as parts. Stretching, he could just reach the silver cylinder, and felt its heavier than expected weight as he brought it in for a look. This was not part of the ship. It looked very new despite the clay-like grime. Brushing it off, the indented line-work of fine machining became visible along the outer casing. It had a port at each end—some kind of connectable tech—and it looked almost like a New Republic design.

Curiosity sealed the deal on taking a break.

Seated at the helm, Mando found that one end of the device was compatible with the Crest's hardware, and plugged it in. Connecting an unknown drive was always a risk, but he figured that it more likely belonged to Grey than to someone with malicious intent. He quickly realized that this meant that he shouldn't be doing this; apparently his foray into her archive on the lost worlds was an unwelcome one. But before his second thoughts had time to turn into action, one of his displays flickered to life.