“It really is better to serve in heaven than to rule in hell.” Faith remembered telling the then Lieutenant Henryk Virek in the messhall of the Cloudwalk on one of their shared breaks all those years ago. “Just ask any Chief of Reactor Operations. There is no place on a ship more like hell than the engineering section, especially the deep reactor.”

Climbing down the grease-slick passages choked with humid, acrid air, Faith almost smiled at the thought.

Some things never change.

“You alright, Admiral?” Panem asked, squinting against the heat and sweat as he looked up, wiping the slime of grit and wet and grease out of his eyes. The constant bombardment and total saturation of every inch of plating within the six hundred meter egg that served as the shell of the deep reactor with exotic radiation kept the air hot and disturbingly thick, stifling and harsh on the lungs. Passing deeper in, they’d been forced to stop long enough to strap masks and goggles to their faces, filters for air so thick it soiled the white fabric of the filtration masks within minutes, fighting a perpetual battle of staining corruption with the cultures of active nanites threaded into the material as the toxic mix ate steadily at the mask.

“Don’t worry about me, Lieutenant.” She managed, glancing up to turn her reddened eyes to the booted shape of Lazar’s descending silhouette. In the haze, she adjusted her goggles for what seemed like the ten-thousandth time, silently wishing for the kind of full body coverage a proper deep reactor suit like the ones she’d worn on the Cloudwalk could provide. “I’ve been in the pit before, but this is a first for the Captain.

“I wish it was under better circumstances, sir.” Panem offered almost sheepishly.

“That makes two of us,” Lazar managed, trying a wry smile, his lips unwilling to part, to allow him a full grin in the oppressive air, even with the protection of the mask.

“I take it all the suits are in for filter repair.” Faith interjected.

Panem nodded lightly, stepped off the ladder and onto the catwalk grating of the passageway at the bottom of the narrow shaft. “We got hit in the middle of our maintenance turnover– we had three suits new out of the filter bays, but the men who were wearing them... well...” He swallowed as he stepped back, making room for the Admiral and Captain Lazar. “It was something I wish I hadn’t seen.”

“We’ll put in an order for a dozen new suits as soon as this is all over.” Lazar stepped up, gently touched the young technician’s shoulder. “I’ll see to it myself.”

“T-Thanks, Captain.” The technician stuttered, his eyes darting, unable to meet Lazar’s. Beside him, the Admiral smiled, nodded silently. Maybe Lazar could hold his own in a command position after all.

“At least a dozen.” She put in. “Even on a loose-run ship, there should be enough suits to go around,” she turned to meet Panem’s gaze, and the young technician immediately looked away “and then some, even in the middle of a maintenance turnover.” She gestured loosely, and he looked back. “I want you to tell d’Arc when we get back that I want a check done once things level out and she has people to spare– however many suits she needs in order to bring the engineering section up to code and surpass the minimums, she’s got it. Just tell Lazar, and he’ll get her whatever she needs.”

“I’ll sign the requisition order as soon as I get it.” The Captain nodded.

“Yes sir!” Panem said, then looked quickly to Faith. “M-Ma’am.”

“That’s what we blackpants are for.” She grinned, and he could see it in the way her cheeks stretched, the way her eyes smiled. “It’s the job of the brain to make sure the body gets what it needs.”

“Y’all down to the pit yet?” d’Arc’s voice came across the speakers built into the masks loud and laced with static. “These rising figures are startin’ to frighten me, I’say.”

“We’re here.” Panem pressed the comm unit against his cheek, giving the bone resonance techniques of the speakers more to work with.

“Ready to rock and roll when you are, Kali.” Faith grinned again, adjusting the weight of her tool pack against her shoulder. “Just tell us where you want us and what to do there.”

“Junction 47A.” Came the Reactor Chief’s rapid response. “Ninth left, right into the stairwell. Panelbox 1147G is at the bottom, between plasma cylinder assembly 33 sigma and 34 alpha.”

“Roger.” Lazar responded, eyes flicking back to focus on Faith and Panem each in turn.

“Let’s go.”