“Not good.”

The Chief shook her head in a blend of worry and frustration, her already rich features darkening further into ebony. “Whatever dark spirit’s gone and taken to foulin’ up the reactor ain’t given up yet.” She swiped at the sweat on her forehead, bared teeth at the console.“Persistent little bastard, ain’t no sayin’ otherwise.”

“How bad is it?” Faith crossed the distance between them, leaned over d’Arc’s shoulder, eyes scanning the panel, searching.

“Bad.” Came the Chief’s hasty response. “We’re short on manpower, but she’s still risin’.” Setting her jaw, she bit at the corner of her mouth and pulled at it absently in a split second of concentration. Hands clenched at her sides, tensing, debating action, ready to force a solution into the breech the instant one came to mind large enough to patch every inch of the problem in one go. Knuckles cracked quietly under force, and in one smooth move that came on the wings of an exhale, d’Arc spun away from the numbers ticking across her screen and crossed the deck to the greasy, booted feet of a technician who lay sprawled out under a nearby console. Buried in the guts of the system’s optical circuitry and light emitting leads, he was almost invisible, a stowaway lost in the working components of a ship that was inhumanly vast.

“Panem! Hey Panem!” d’Arc shouted, giving the booted feet a kick. Legs shifted, flexed, tools hanging from a worn belt clinking as the young technician got to his feet, wiping at the grease and sweat smeared across his face.

“Chief?” He asked, and the honest eagerness in his voice showed the scars of a losing battle against heat and fatigue. Pulling a darkly soiled rag from his worn and stained overalls, he wiped at his hands, smeared more grease into his slick skin.

“Spray up.” d’Arc gestured, and the movement was a clear, upward jerk of the thumb. “You and me are going into the deep reactor, son.”

“Wait, Chief.” Faith stepped up, eyes flicking between d’Arc and the young technician. “I volunteer. I’ll go.”

“The hell you will! What you think you sayin’?” The chief shot back, whirling to face the Admiral, hands fixing defiantly to hips.

“You said it yourself, you’re short handed, and it’s a sure bet that you know the console systems up here better than Captain Lazar or I do.” She gestured loosely, shoulders leveling, her smile calm and confident. “During my first year on the Cloudwalk, I spent six months working with the engineering teams in the deep reactor. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had all the basics.”

“I appreciate the thought, but with all due respect, we’re the ones that live down here, Admiral.” She paused, hand straying absently to her wrench. “It’s the job of people like us to handle it.”

“She’s right, Admiral.” Lazar tried. “We should–”

“Stay if you want, Lazar,” Faith cut him off, her tone still calm, still level, as smooth as carbon steel. “Someone’s got to handle this, and it has to be done quick. I’m qualified for deep reactor work, and this ship needs its Chief of Reactor Operations up here where the operational consoles are, so I volunteer to be the one to make the deep repair.” She fixed d’Arc with a sharp eye that dared argument, dared defiance. “...and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“I’m still gonna send Panem with ya.” The Chief said, her tone flat, serious. “He knows the way, and he’s better with a wrench than any what on this old boat.” She jerked her thumb at her chest. “‘cept me.”

“You sure you won’t need him?” Faith asked immediately.

“Not as much as you’re gonna.” d’Arc shot back. Faith’s nod came firm, confident.

“Alright.”

“You’re gonna be wantin’ a few cans of this, I think” the Chief leaned over, reached into a panel and tossed a pair of fist-sized cylinders to each of them. “It gets hot down in the reactor. Exotic radiations near the core sometimes spike, cause lesions in seconds, boil the blood, crystalize the tissues of the vital organs.” She shook her head. “Not something to go and be messin’ with. Go heavy, being there’s a rise. No more than three hours to a coat, ya?”

“I thought the recommended safety limit for these cans was five hours.”

“Three hours to a coat, Admiral.” d’Arc repeated. “No man who goes five hours in the deep reactor with but one coat ever comes back in a body worth wearin’.” She paused, half-squinting with one eye. “Thought you said you’d worked in the deep reactor before.”

“I did.” Faith grinned. “But we wore suits.”

“That’s encouraging.” Lazar managed, folding his arms, almost hugging himself as he looked away.

“You going down too, Captain?” d’Arc asked.

“Sure.” He looked back, eyes glancing off Faith’s. “Yeah.” He let his eyes drift back to meet the Chief’s again. “Against my better judgement.”

“You said it,” d’Arc grinned, tossed him a pair of cans. “Not me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Lazar sighed against the fragment of a smile. “Thanks, Chief.”

“Don’ mention it.” The Chief’s grin widened, her lips parting on wide, sharp ivory.

“We should get going then.” Panem ventured, tone nervous, uneasy as he jerked his thumb into the ferrous darkness. “There’s a place up ahead where we can apply the spray.”

“Good.” Faith managed her own grin and breathed a sigh, reshouldering her pack as she nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”