[h1][b][i][color=olivedrab][center]Ansgar Staudinger[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]

	"Careful lass, ah'll be holdin' ye to that!" The engineer barked from the under the deck plates, playing 'plug the socket' before the equipment exploded in his face and, likely, brought the ship down with it. All he readily could do right now was, well, keep the power flowing, shields online, and pray to whatever god came with humanity that they survived this whole fiasco. Help or no help, the jerking and wrenching to break the docking clamps free brought a bitter scowl onto the man's face. That was more work for him to deal with, more repairs, and he couldn't readily rely on any of these people to see it happen. That's another docking session with no leave, keeping this bucket of bolts floating was a gods damned nightmare. Eventually, he could tell they weren't under attack anymore, and after waiting just long enough to be sure the pirates weren't coming back, another red indicator that the shields were down again came online as Ansgar hauled himself up from beneath the deck plates.

	"Ah swear, if we e'er find any o' t'em bastards again, ah'm stringin' em up by t'eir unmentionables!" The engineer was brushing off black splotches on his attire, where the rampant, uncontrolled power had tried to electrocute him and failed thanks to the protective attire, and considered the fact they were no longer under attack. Walking over to the bulkhead, he unlocked it, well after any further attackers would have been killed or, unfortunately, surrendered. Well, maybe fortunately, he would be taking a pound of flesh off the survivors for every hour of work he had to put into this ship to get it back up and running. The first thing he did was pull the heavy, top half of his working uniform off again, wrapping it around his waist and leaving the tank top on, sweat soaked as it was. He was already moving back to double check the fuel line patches when the captain's request on what was working and broken caused him to damn near trip over himself. What was working? It'd be faster to say that, all things considered, so he spun on heel and answered her flatly, clearly irritated more so than usual.

	"Engines, fuel, life support, some weapons, backup navigation. Oh, an comms ah' reckon. E'erythin' else? Suspect ah best, completely bloody shot ah worst. An yes, ah'm still on mah feet, t'ank ye for askin'. Hope yer planned dockin' point has enoug' scrap fer this damn bucket..." Muttering under his breath, Ansgar double checked the fuel line and, once satisfied that it was up and running, promptly went about securing and rerouting the lines that had leaking fluids and seeing about minimizing the amount of damage that wold need repaired due to neglect on the damaged systems. This was definitely going to be a number of sleepless nights to get up and running in time for their next job, and he sure as fuck wasn't getting paid enough as it was. He'd suspect it couldn't get much worse, but his gods forsaken sister was out there somewhere, so it [i]could[/i] very much get worse. Least the odds were slim she'd be showing up anytime soon...