[h3][b]Mark A. Lopez[/b][/h3]
[hr]

Mark hunched over the engineering console, more systems came online under his touch and the alerts coming through from the boarding tunnel and the cargo bays hadn’t stopped since Vitiafa’s first call. Security getting antsy. Metacer confirmed on the station. Civilians already pressing against barricades.

He could hear the chaos even down here in the bones of the ship—through the bulkheads and faint vibrations in the deck.

“Alright you son of a bitch,” he muttered at the console, punching in another sequence, “wake up for me.”

The main reactor’s power curve stabilized and coolant pumps surged to life. Life support, shields, and inertial dampeners flashed green in turn. They were flight-ready but the lack of clear defense systems bothered him, even if Ginny was right he still wanted to see if there were any. 

Mark leaned back, rubbing a hand across his jaw, “All dressed up and nowhere to shoot…”

He keyed in another search, pulling up the subroutines for auxiliary systems. Anything with teeth, anything that could pass for guns. It didn’t make sense, no way a ship this size, this new, was flying without some sort of defense grid. Even just point-defense turrets to swat rocks or pirates.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re all bark, no bite,” he said under his breath as the terminal processed.

Over the comms he added, his tone dry but focused, “Drives are heating up, systems are hot. Still looking for any kind of defensive package. A ship this advanced has to have something, even if it’s just glorified fireworks. I’ll keep digging, but be ready... we can move the second the bridge calls it.”

He glanced once more at the flashing diagnostic lines, then muttered to himself, “God help us if she’s just a floating tin can.”