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“That is his dura,” said Stephen, inserting a gloved finger into the bleeding hole and feeling for the source of the flow. Yes? No? Yes, that felt like it. He threaded a fiber-optic probe along his finger, watching the monitor hanging above Franklin’s chest: yes, probably. Still holding the probable site of the injury with his finger he withdrew the probe and inserted a Litvack applicator, applied the patch, and was withdrawing the applicator to reinsert the probe when Devon collapsed to the floor. “Ah,” said Stephen.
Up in the great cabin, Jack was receiving the carpenter’s report. Mister Lorre was a short, balding, bear-like man, now looking slightly disheveled from his inspection of the Roth following her awkward jump to hyperspace. “The worst is between frames 12 and 16 on the starboard boat deck - beams slipped from the clamps. We’ve got some additional knees in there to support her, but I dursn’t use the hangar till the dockyard has taken a look. Also the forward gangway door in the same area is jammed. We could free it with a heavy persuader and a ram, but I doubt it would want to close again, so I think best is to pull out the hatch, straighten the frame, and rehang it sir - that would require the commander’s bypass for the christmas tree, in course. In the hangar itself, some of the boat clamps in the hangar were pulled out of alignment, and one of the shuttle craft took a tumble and looks to be a total loss. Ms Bergman reports that the lighting on the forward berth deck is all out, and Mister Humphries is fitting a Robbins pipe to the secondary loop for the prime mover. The rest is smaller stuff - one of the telescreens in the crew’s recreation fell off the bulkhead, and the universal machines shifted, like that.
“Begging your pardon, sir, and no disrespect meant,” continued the carpenter, now looking at his feet, “but Roth is an old girl, and that was a tough shake for her, going into hyperspace like that. I don’t know that she can take another.”
Jack looked up from his desk, where he had been taking notes on his tablet; this was no way to address an unfamiliar captain. He said nothing, however, as privately, he agreed with the carpenter’s assessment, and the man’s sincerity and deference were evident. “Well, Mister Lorre,” he said, “we must do what we can to patch her up for now. It’s only for a few weeks, until we reach Neva 4.” He looked at his tablet, reviewing the list of damages, “when you’re ready to rehang that hatch let me know, and I’ll bypass the christmas tree for you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mister Lorre, saluting and departing. Jack stared at his tablet, not particularly seeing it so much as the damage it recorded, in his mind’s eye. Eventually he pushed back his chair and stood up, crossing over to the to the food generator and ordering a drink.
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