[img]https://i.imgur.com/nalNq9e.jpg[/img]

The new catalyzer fit like a dream.  Didn’t take Abby no time for tah pop it inta place, just like Marisol taught her.  More she learnt, more she conjured most things in the ‘verse was butt simple...til folk stepped in an’ made ‘em all complicated.

Like Fireflies.  Once yah got tha flow down, they’s jest easy tah suss out.   She checked the fuel tanks.  Full an’ ready.  Run her eyes all along lines an’ couplin’s to the pumps.  They showed pressure an’ standby mode, jest like they should.  Reactor was warmed up an’ ready, soon’s she kicked over tha radion core. No leaks, no weird sounds, all happy gauges an’ green lights. Still, she took ‘er time, folllowin’ tha checklist one by one.

Marisol had kept a good log.  ‘Sides the catalyzer, she mentioned two-three things looked like they’d need replacin’ in another couple runs.  One ‘o’ tha heat exchangers was wearin’ down, and somethin’ called a tri-modal supply router fer the portside atmo engine.  She’d give each one a look-see in turn, soon’s she had ‘em off shore power.

Power distro looked shiny, even if ‘twas in shore bypass mode.  Life support...all good.  Water tanks was full, an’ tha recycler’s empty.  In a minute, all these workin’s would come to life.  China Doll would be herself again.  “Engine room,” she announced herself over the comm.  “I’m ‘bout tah start ‘er up.”

Pen come right back with an “all clear.”  Abby took both hands on tha core crank, pushin’ it over til it clicked home.  Tha core give a chug, then another, and another as she cycled an’ commenced tah spinnin’.  Her data screen come alive with fuzzy green numbers cyclin’ up whilst the core set tah hummin’.   Things looked right.  Numbers looked good as her checklist.

Abby had her hair tied back, pony tail tucked ‘neath ‘er collar as she moved about the engine room.  She’s wearin’ a pair ‘o’ her new denims...durn if Thomas’ mom couldn’t measure an’ take ‘em in just right.  First time a pair ever felt good on her waist an’ hips.  Brand new socks in her boots was already warm, an’s she’d pulled stuff out fer when it got cold.

“”Pen,” the girl keyed her mic.  “Engine room checks out.  I’m headin’ fer tha atmo engines.  Gotta walkie if ya’ need me.”