“Mister Varen. Can I hel-”

That was a gun. She complied with their instructions on partial autopilot, still working through the fact that she’d just been directly shot at for the first time in her life and was now being held at gunpoint by someone she knew. Having a coworker pointing a gun at you was a jarring experience in a completely different way. She wanted to ask what they were looking for, why they thought she was a threat or at least have some witty remark about the lead engineer’s ‘copping a feel’ comment, but her mind just kept going back to the shotgun threatening to do what the bad guys hadn’t managed while at the same time processing Varen’s getup. Contrary to the situation and to her own surprise, she started snickering at the display of tactical beachwear.

“Hostiles kitted out like local armed forces, comm jamming, ship full of whoever happened to be close by... ‘Shitstorm’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Probably shaved off at least three years off your dear Captain.” She summed up what little she knew on her way to the shield console, “We’ve got about two and a half tons of extra live mass on board.” She guesstimated the weight of the thirty-or-so extra people that weren’t supposed to be on the ship. Plus 65 kg of live mass and tools, give or take, she wasn’t supposed to be there either. Why was she even there? Damn ship was done, she could’ve gone on vacation and left the routine stuff to someone who needed some overtime. She wanted to see Iceland ever since she learned her family was originally from there. She could’ve at least taken a sick day and stayed at the hotel. Of all the times she could’ve chosen to let the inner workaholic loose, she had to do it now.

“Friendly reminder, I supervised hull construction, I only know as much about the shields as was necessary for that purpose.” She cautioned the other engineers. Fortunately, at least the interface looked simple enough. Now, she knew the maximum rated output of both reactors - which was really the ‘long-term safe’ output and thus up to 105% of that could be sustained for brief periods, that was industry standard - but didn’t have access to power control, so had no clue how much power the rest of the ship was drawing except that it was taxing the power supply by at least 50% on account of the engines. Who knew what life support was using up with 30 extra people on board or if it could even keep up with that demand? Unlike the reactor guys, whom she knew well, the life support equipment team supervisor was an insufferable bint whose presence Vigdis could never stand for longer than the amount of time it took to use the coffee machine. [i]No, Denise, I don’t care that you write poetry in your spare time, your garbage doesn’t even rhyme.[/i] Rear hemisphere would do for now, they were in a fjord anyway, only places to go were forward and up. “Chief, how much free power capacity do we have for the shield?” Unless the attackers brought anti-ship weaponry, she assumed the shield - presumably designed to handle debris and civilian-grade ship weapons - would hold up just fine. But what if the bad guys [i]did[/i] have access to anti-ship missiles? They had army equipment after all…  Somewhat back in her element and with no bullets flying around her, her brain had at least gotten some traction and was quickly working through the gears. Of course the boys were suspicious. If you wanted to pull a stunt like this, having someone on the inside would’ve helped and she’d been there for two years, knew every one in three bolts and welds on the ship and knew someone who knew the other ones.

[i]‘Can you blame them, chief?’[/i] That would’ve been a good one, damn it.